The Art Of War

On second thought, I'm just prude. Because I know, to strike is easier nowadays.

Twitter Entry
February 25, 2010


The boylet stood just outside the door as if waiting for someone. His eyes scanned his surroundings, as if he's searching for his night's prey. The air outside was warm and humid. The corner of Orosa and Nakpil was a little less chatty. The emptiness of the surroundings; the biting chill inside the bar; friends huddling together to celebrate a good night; they all made me feel more of an outsider than I used to.

Our eyes first met when I was about to pay the bar fine. He was looking at me. I could see it in my side vision. It was Thursday and only few people go to Malate on such a lazy night. He was eyeing me perhaps, because of the lack of interesting guys to seduce. Pardon the choosiness, but I don't see anyone either - except him. He may look plump at the midsection and facial lines show due to his age, but still, he's worth the catch. He's my target should I fail to find someone better before the night ends.

The game begins. We stood next to each other at the edge of the dance floor, but separated by a comfortable distance to respect each other's space. He stared at me, smiling. I stared back, nodding, as a show of accommodation. A drinking toast gave way to small talks and soon, details about him began to trickle as our skin brushed against one another.

The guy looks like one of my gym instructors. In Eclipse Gym, they hire good-looking coaches for reasons unknown to me. He is fair-skinned but sports rugged features that make him look barumbado to be tagged as fairy. He speaks in a low voice and if not for his Red jeans, white shoes and white collared shirt, nobody would ever think he's one of us.

I learned that he's waiting for a friend who never showed up. He was on his seventeenth bottle and was beer binging since 8 in the evening. It was already past one when we met so he must have been used to drinking to remain sober that long. Asking for his age, I freaked out to learn that he was far far older than what I assumed. Impressions tell that he was in his early thirties, but guess what, he was already 49. He must be gifted with good genes to look so young - that those who chase daddies wouldn't find him a catch.



I wasn't up for a party when I decided to head to Malate. Aside from money concerns, it was never a habit to go out on a weekday night. Forced to go back to the office to do some extended work, I questioned my decision to box myself when I deserve some break like meeting boys or go partying.

Inside the club all I did was to observe, and drink, and watch my potential prey bust some moves, which are, all but hopeless. There was hesitation on his part; unassured of his dance steps. I also noticed that despite our growing closeness, he dislikes being touchy. His eyes still scanned his surroundings.

This trading glances he did, despite my presence would cost him some awkwardness that night and a royal humiliation of an intruder who confidently thought my possession was his. As I recall, it started with a bottle toast. The guy who looks like Maurice Arcache (for those of you who lived through his time) found him hot and became touchy. I was there behind them and with my elbow leaning over my boylet's shoulders, I was subtly telling Maurice to back off. He just ignored my presence. The Maurice look-alike then - with his big bulge of a tummy and a receding hairline that was too shiny to look at - wrapped his arms around my boylet's torso. It was rudeness beyond comprehension, and if not for the thought my partner might prefer older effeminates to a young, masculine hunk like me, I would punch Maurice's face and make a scene inside O-Bar.

But of course, I wouldn't do such a thing. Aside from no competition, I am too proud to beg for some other guy's attention when I can get another guy myself.

So I slowly retreated and allowed Maurice to take my place. Realizing that he prevailed, he made sure I'd see how he tried to make a public display of affection which kinda didn't bother me at all. The boylet was obviously annoyed (I tried kissing him inside the bathroom earlier. he evaded my lips after getting a green light when he squeezed the junior inside my pants)

The night wore on, and Maurice tried everything in his sleeve to stir a response from the boylet. The boylet merely brushed off his moves. In desperation, Maurice held his hand, leaned his head on his shoulders, locked his arms around the boylet's elbow, massage his back while a drag show was taking place on the ledge. I was there watching them, while deviously plotting to reclaim my possession.

Perhaps, out of sheer annoyance at how Maurice took advantage of his kindness, the boylet excused himself to the bathroom. I knew the intruder would follow and since the boylet was hinting me not to abandon him, I went to the bathroom as well only to guard the door where he took a leak. Maurice did follow and since I was already there, with my hawkish gaze striking him, he had no choice but to wait in the dance floor.

The boylet and I returned to the spot we left behind. Confident that I have regained my partner, I busted some killer moves to nail my target. Bending my knees, arching my body to dangerous angles that made my tummy disappear and swerving my hips and shoulders in an erotic turns which alighted my partner, he went closer to make sure nobody comes between us. I was short of taking off my shirt to expose whatever cuts and muscles I posses just to shame Maurice for

ever
daring
me

to a challenge. But I am already short of winning. In a desperate attempt to win back my boylet, Maurice tried to be touchy with both of us. I brushed him off. Coldly, while the partner tried to deflect Maurice's attention by putting his hand over my chest.

I evaded it.

Leaving the dance floor to take my last cigarette break, I let Maurice take-over to see if he can still win back my partner. Upon returning, I saw him trying to kiss him but he merely pushed him away. Finding me standing standing in front must probably the best relief he had. For the first time that night, he took my hand and pulled me close sidestepping Maurice once and for all.

"Akala ko iniwan mo na ako."

"Siyempre hindi, I'd stick with you until you need me pare."

Maurice was still there, now this time, his focus was on me. I was annoyed of course, but life taught me to be humble towards the defeated ones. In a sense, I felt sympathy for Maurice. His persistence, despite the obvious odds moved me. I would never do such a thing - even in my most drunken state. I held my partner close, the fingers of our hands interlocking tightly. Exhausted, he wrapped his arms around my waist while hugging him tight.

"Pag tanda ko, ayaw kong maging katulad niya..." The partner smiled at my remark, and leaned his face against mine.

We never kissed, like the others I once won over but at that moment, I learned how it pays to be a little more patient, and in control despite being challenged by someone who tries to make it look they appear superior to you.

"I have to go."

"Tara hatid na kita sa sakayan," I suggested.

Maurice trailed behind, while his friends locked their eyes on the three of us, probably, feeling sorry too for their friend who lost the bidding. But in a place where looks and attitude and pretentiousness matter most, I think the cruelty has numbed some people's sensibilities and made them think that every guy they like, is but a sex object. Maurice could just gape and feel jealous, but probably, he would forget everything the next time he finds himself drunk inside the club.

But for me who saw how the bitter seduction war among PLU's was waged and won over with absolutely more bounty for my own self-esteem, Maurice is someone I would remember for a long time.

Epilogue:

So I was taken home and had sex. Despite the boylet's earlier suggestions that he never kisses, he had to play by my rules and do what I want. To describe in details how the one night stand was performed would be too disrespectful to the host. The only thing I could reveal is that Serendra Boy still holds the key and I am on my second month since the last insertion and probably the boylet wouldn't remember a thing about our encounter after he slept shortly upon reaching orgasm.

Which left me to do my thing alone.

His number is bound for deletion on my phone book.