The Beki Diaries, Chapter 1: Pilot

Author’s Note: After two years of writer’s block, finally! This is my attempt to write something current, smart, relatable and socially relevant. Enjoy! 🙂 Oh, and please don’t forget to rate and share. Mwah.

Chapter 1 – Pilot

bbeki

He took a thorough sip of his Diet Coke before finally blurting out a word. I have been waiting for him to speak out for fifteen minutes since we got to the nearest 7-Eleven from his apartment. My eyes were wet, my teeth were clenched and my right fist was ready to launch at his handsome face anytime.

“Sorry.”

It wasn’t the brevity of the apology that got into my nerves. It was the tone of nonchalance that really upset me. He made it seem like catching him fucking a guy that is not me, his boyfriend for three years, on the coffee table that I bought him for his 23rd birthday is one of those mistakes that I must get over with faster than a speeding provincial bus in a national highway. Heck, Gloria Arroyo sounded more heartfelt on national TV. And partida, she’s a politician.

“Sorry’? That’s all I get from you?” I cried while trying to remain calm and composing myself.

“What do you want me to say?” He retorted without looking at me, “I screwed up and apologized. Isn’t that enough?”

“Allen, you didn’t knock over my favorite vase; you cheated.” I let out a sigh of disappointment. “I guess I should have known better than to expect remorse from you. You’re a clinical sex addict. In fact, you can give Michael Fassbender on Shame a run for his money.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t. Because you never bothered to watch a movie with me! You never shared anything with me!” Suddenly, my voice started to grow louder as I became more and more frustrated.

“Hey, that’s unfair! I sat through that whole Terrence Malick shit with you even though I knew it would bore me to death.”

“It’s Tree Of Life! And it won Palme d’Or!”

“It was still tedious and mind-numbing!”

Allen let out a long breath before looking away from me to the busy people outside the convenient store. “That’s the thing about you, Harry. You don’t care about my feelings.”

And then finally, I saw it. There was a sign of emotion in his eyes now, which is exactly what I yearned for all this time from him. But instead of guilt and shame, I found loneliness.

“Do you remember how we used to argue over where to eat dinner? There was only one instance when I won that pathetic contest over you. I just got out from work. We met at Glorietta 4 in front of McCafe. I was on my corporate attire while you were wearing your fitted blue t-shirt with a small white Labrador print on the left chest and jeans. I suggested trying out the newly opened Japanese restaurant at Glorietta 1. You said you’re not in the mood for something raw and uncooked. I managed to persuade you anyway but then you started acting out inside the restaurant. I tried to lighten up the mood by taking a photo of you eating and posting it on my Instagram. But you got even more pissed. You took my phone, submerged it in a bowl of Ramen and walked out on me. I had boxes of chocolates in my laptop bag for you. It was our 18th monthsary.”

I was silenced by his words as tears start to stubbornly escape from our eyes. He continued on.

“I never asked for your sorry because I love you and I know that sometimes it’s best to just swallow your pride and take the wins with the losses. Because pride will only get in the way of our relationship.”

At this point, all I wanted to do was hug him and make everything okay. But it isn’t that easy, is it? No matter how hard I try I couldn’t keep the images of him and the other guy from plaguing my mind. His lips touching the lips of another man, their body passionately pressed together, and his dick, one of the few things he swore to be solely mine, inside the body of another person, vigorously thrusting back and forth waiting for his load to blow. No, nothing is okay. And hugging him will be a huge mistake.

“I admit sometimes I do get a mood on,” I said calmly. “When I have to go out in the rain to buy takeout, when my editor sends me back my article asking for improvement, when self-esteemed Catholics think they monopolize righteousness in the world. But you… you cheated on me, Allen. What you did was an act of infidelity, a breach of my trust, a disrespectful deed towards me and my family who loves you and trusts you so dearly. You were fucking another person when you should’ve been with me. You were kissing him when you should’ve been kissing me. You risked jeopardizing this relationship we painstakingly built for three years… for what? For a few minutes of cheap thrill and pleasure? Yes, I sometimes get a mood on. But I do not manage it by screwing another person behind your back.”

Silence lingered as we both turned the other way, like Adam and Eve seeing themselves naked for the first time. If this were a James Bond movie, this should be when Adele starts singing the theme song.

“So…” Allen muttered in a sullen tone. “Is this the end?”

“You tell me.”

Allen let out another sigh. “Three years, Harry. I was loyal to you for three, long years.”

“Until you weren’t,” I answered. “Until you decided you had enough being loyal and it’s time for you to make me pay for those years of loyalty. You broke us, Allen.”

Allen crossed his hands the table, laid his head on them and cried again. “I am sorry. I never meant to hurt you. But I did.”

I quickly wiped my tears and looked away from him.

“But we’re not perfect, Harry. That’s my flaw,” he added as tears roll uncontrollably down his cheeks.

“You cheated. That’s not a flaw, that’s a mistake. You had a perfectly sound mind and the choice not to commit that mistake, but you did it anyway.”

He abruptly grasped my hands, leaned closer to me and looked at me like a whimpering Sampaguita vendor tapping on a car window during the rush hour EDSA traffic. “I love you, Harry.”

“I’m sure you love me, Allen. With all my heart, I know you do. And I love you, too. But why isn’t love enough?”

Allen stared at me, eye to eye – his hazels to my dark orbs. “Because love loses out and the differences take the trophy.”

Everything between us was silent for a few seconds until I mustered the strength to stand up and bid him farewell, “Take care, Allen.”

I slowly walked away from the table, out of the convenience store and out of his life.

***

Two days and seven bottles of Red Horse later, I was out with my two friends, Andrew and Isko, at the Food Court of the Enterprise Center in Ayala Avenue waiting for our other friend, Toffee, to arrive. Andrew Tan is a restaurateur and the only son of a wealthy Filipino-Chinese couple, which explains why at the age of 26, he’s still a closeted gay guy with daddy issues. Basing on his handsome, boyish looks and smooth and slender physique, he’s what the homosexual circle would fondly refer to as a twink.

Francisco “Isko” Pinaglabanan, on the other hand, is your typical Filipino gay promdi. Unlike Andrew who’s a certified city boy, Isko hails from a rural yet proud fishing town in Pampanga called Sexmoan. When we asked him how he felt about his town’s name, his exact words were “the Americans are perverted assholes for calling it that way” but continues by stating that he’s proud of his “Sexmoanian” heritage. He’s also a senior law student from UP Diliman, an active member of a certain leftist movement, and lives with his boyfriend of five years, Joseph, in an apartment in downtown Makati.

“Iced tea, anyone?”

Totally ignoring my offer, the two went on to eat whatever stuff they have on the table while I stared out of the window to the busy avenue.

“I’m not sure which is worse,” Andrew said after swallowing a piece of lettuce from his salad. “Him, cheating on you or the fact that you two broke up in a 7-Eleven.”

Isko gave Andrew the killer eye, or what Toffee and I would refer to as “the communist’s stare.”

“What?” Andrew yelped at Isko.

“That is such an elitist thing to say,” Isko responded. “No wonder you’ll die alone. Nobody wants a high maintenance, closeted Chinoy homo with no balls, which reminds me… do you know why this country is damned? Because we’re led by corrupt oligarchs with no balls.”

“A whining left-winger from UP,” Andrew teased. “You’re such a trope. Why don’t you just join the NPA and get this over with.”

“Hey, you two,” I heard enough and butted in. “A discussion of our insurgency problem over a cup of coffee isn’t exactly my idea of brunch and what I came here for. Please be reminded that you’re here to perform your friendly duties to your grieving friend, me.”

“I’m sorry,” Andrew said.

“Apology accepted. But you’re still paying for my sandwich.”

Isko, who is seated in front of me, leaned closer to me and asked, “Harry, did you ask him why he needed to have sex with another person?”

“I didn’t. It was too painful. But I did ask him why my love isn’t enough for him.”

Andrew dropped his fork and touched my hand on the table. “What did he say?”

“He said our differences prevailed over the love we have for each other.” Tears began to swell up my eyes once more but I did my best not to let them pour.

“But that’s why there’s such thing as compromise!” Isko exclaimed as he pounded the table with his hand. “There’s no such thing as a perfect fit, a perfect couple. Little compromises are inevitable in a relationship and they are totally okay as long as you’re not giving up too much of who you are and what is important for you.”

“Wait,” Andrew interrupted and turned to Isko. “Didn’t you choose Joseph over your family? Does that mean your family isn’t important for you?”

“That’s a totally different thing. I made that decision not for Joseph but for myself, because I wanted to be happy and free. And I know my parents quite well. When all is said and done, I’m certain I will still be their favorite son. And when push comes to shove between me and Joseph I can always play the “I chose you over my family” card. In fact, I’m already using it now. How do you think I was able to compel him to pay for our monthly rent?”

“You are so smart,” I told Isko in a mocking voice.

“I know. Thank you,” replied Isko while chewing a few sticks of French fries.

“By the way, what’s taking Toffee so long?” Andrew looked at his insanely expensive wristwatch for the nth time. “It’s almost twelve. I’m gonna be late for work.”

“Andrew, you’re the restaurant owner. You are never late for work.” I devoured my sandwich like it was nothing. “Fucking McDonald’s. All my hard-earned peso for this miniscule piece of genetically modified meat.”

“I know right,” Isko interjected. “These capitalists would do anything just to widen their profit, even if it means selling their souls to the devil. I mean, have you seen the latest Pond’s commercial with Julia Barretto in it? It doesn’t only fool the already irrational Filipino consumer, it’s also downright racist.”

“Well, Filipinos are naturally racist. It’s who we are. And what’s wrong with businessmen wanting to increase their profit? These men worked hard and sacrificed a lot just to get where they are now. Really, our society has got to come into terms with the ultimate reality that the world is never fair,” argued Andrew. “I mean, look at us. We’ve been fighting for our rights even before the Martial Law. And yet, not a single bill to tell the bullies, the homophobes and the pseudo alpha males that it’s not cool to discriminate the gays. Because the world is fricking unfair.”

“We’re still lucky we’re not in Uganda though.” I took a fry from Isko’s tray, dipped it in ketchup before putting it in my mouth.

“Or in god-forsaken Russia,” Isko added.

“I have a friend who has a Russian boyfriend and I think he’s really, really nice. It’s the government that has serious issues.” Andrew ate the last leaf on his eco-friendly paper plate.

“Anyway,” Isko sighed. “Harry, we’re always here for you. I know you cannot forget three years in a few days, or a few weeks, or months, or even a year. But we’re here for you and we’ll help you forget about Allen. I can even hook you up with someone of your type. UP Law School is full of them.”

“What, hotties and smarties?” I giggled flirtatiously.

“No, hipons and weirdos,” Isko rebutted.

Allen and I may have broken up but I cannot let Isko just lambast my taste of men. “Allen isn’t hipon! He’s just uniquely colorful and distinctly attractive and aesthetically well-shaped in an unconventional way.”

“I love how you worded that,” Andrew broke in. “Like he was a fish.”

My friends and I shared a long, refreshing laughter. For a few minutes, they made me forget that my heart is broken and my life’s one ugly train wreck. “Thank you, mga bakla. I appreciate that.”

I think the world is like a ball of yarn, and that our lives are interwoven by a complex network of love-hate relationships. While I do not want to sound too deterministic, I think that the actions we undertake in our lives have some sort of a butterfly effect in the lives of the people around us. For example, the guy who Allen cheated on me with. He could be a bored, stupid bastard who recently got laid off from his job for watching gay porn in his Cityland office and woke up one day to find all the time in the world in his hands. Since he’s stupid, he’s got no other interest but to fuck like a rabbit. And because he’s bored, he fucked my boyfriend. I mean, ex. But what if he waited to watch that porn at home and didn’t get fired by his boss? Would he have changed fate for the three of us? Would Allen and I still be together? Maybe. But then again, maybe Allen and I broke up not because he did someone else. Maybe we broke up because after three years of being in a state of delusion, we’ve finally gathered enough guts to confront the reality that love is like the meat in Sinigang; that it remains raw and inconsumable without the other ingredients, and that Sinigang, no matter how much meat there’s in it, is always wrong with peanut butter.

***

While the three of us were having brunch, Toffee, our other friend, was having a guy named Nate he met on a bus to Makati. They started rubbing elbows and exchanging glances somewhere in EDSA-Ortigas; Nate initiated a talk upon reaching Guadalupe; and by the time they entered Ayala, his hand was already inside Toffee’s pants, rubbing his throbbing dick. Toffee was courteous enough to text me and ask for a rain check while the guy he met on the bus was blowing his penis in a restroom somewhere in the business district. He said something came up. Yeah, something ‘came up’.

Among the three, I’ve known Christopher “Toffee” Castillo for the longest time. I was a freshmen student in FEU when we first met on Guys4Men, a defunct dating site for guys who want men, either for a relationship or sex. His nickname was ‘hotmestizo4u’. What initially caught my attention were his photos of a good-looking mestizo guy with an exquisitely chiseled body and rosy pink nipples. At first, I thought he was some insecure and desperate poser looking for attention. But then again, his photos did seem authentic because they were not pixelated and my gut said so. A Queer as Folk quote he had on his profile page had me hoping that maybe, there’s some depth and substance in him beneath the ‘tripper’ façade he was trying to project. It said “I don’t believe in love. I believe in fucking. It’s honest. It’s efficient. You get in and out with maximum of pleasure and minimum of bullshit” And so I pinged him the obligatory “hey, nasl” to which he replied “meet me @ mcdo p.campa now. my # is…”

The first time I laid eyes on him, it became clear why he’s one of the most viewed users in the dating site. Toffee is all the kind of handsomeness and body a typical Filipino gay man could want for a boyfriend. Think young Chris Banchero, without the basketball skills. He was fair-skinned, 5’11” tall, seamlessly physiqued, and has a conventionally beautiful face. Back then, he was a communication arts student at UST. He’s the typical Pinoy gay metrosexual you’ll catch dead at TriNoma wearing a yellow pastel colored sando, turquoise shorts, a hemp anklet and comfy slip-on shoes.

Toffee and I didn’t have sex on our first date. He said it was a first for him. Actually, we haven’t had sex at all. Well, you may not believe this but he did offer but I didn’t want to. You see, I’ve always had some sort of insecurity issues with overly attractive men at that time. Getting attached to good-looking men I have casual sex with was something I was wont to do. But these men, no matter how much affection you show them during sex, they still wind up treating you like a fuck buddy, a one-night kind of thing, a mere sex object. So as defense mechanism, I detach myself from them at the soonest possible time.

Maybe it’s their sense of entitlement, these insanely attractive men, to smash as many other guys as they please whoever they are, that makes them oblivious of the fact that someone might actually like them in a serious, ‘you make my heart bleed’ kind of way. Maybe they are arrogant because they know these men are willing to go all Takeshi’s Castle on them just to get in their pants. But then again maybe their whorish ways is also a reflection of their own insecurity; the constant wanting to prove and justify themselves. Perhaps fucking is their own version of a dead man’s switch to keep themselves from self-destructing.

Toffee is different though. He’s not one of those shallow himbos who have nothing to talk about but men, gadgets and the personal lives of the Kapamilya stars. There’s something enigmatic buried within him, transcending the mestizo skin and his more than 40,000 G4M profile views. Thus, he became my friend. My best friend. And I became his.

“Almost there.” Toffee let out a grunt as Nate sucked on his dick while he seductively gazed at him. His eyes said ‘I’m your slave, you are master’.

“So,” Nate said, intermittently taking his mouth off Toffee’s penis. “Are you… single?”

Toffee leaned down to him and grabbed his hair, “I’m the last single man.” He gave him a peck on the forehead.

“Great,” the sucking guy replied as he took out a pubic hair from his tongue. “I am single, too. My ex and I… just broke up… like four months ago.”

Toffee rolled his eyes. “I don’t wanna hear it.” With his hand, he steered Nate’s head over and rammed his dick into his mouth. He began to suck him harder.

A few seconds later, Toffee’s cum was spewing all over Nate’s face.

After a minute of rest from his gratifying exhaustion, Toffee took off discreetly from the restroom, leaving Nate inside the cubicle who was wiping him from all over his face with toilet paper. Nate then quickly checked his face on the restroom mirror before going out to run after Toffee. He found him outside the building smoking a cigarette from a street vendor.

“Hey,” Nate yelled as he run over to Toffee’s side.

Without turning to Nate and removing the cigarette from his lips, Toffee muffled, “Hey.”

“That was fun,” Nate smiled.

“It was.”

“Yeah, except for the semen that got into my left eye. It really stung.” Nate let out a mild laugh. “Let’s do it again some time. But the next time, I hope to be at the receiving end.”

“I’m not really into that,” Toffee replied bluntly.

“Oh. Do you mean you’re top? Like a power top?”

Toffee gave him a short, irritated glance before looking back to the vehicles on the road. “You can say that.”

“Wow. Okay. Well, I am versa. Top versatile to be exact.”

All that Nate got was a short, uninterested nod from Toffee who chucked the cigarette butt on the ground.

“Do you mind if I get your number?” Nate persisted.

“Why? Are you selling condos?”

“No, I just want to keep in touch.”

Toffee chuckled and shook his head.

“So?”

“Let me give you my Facebook email instead so you can search for me.”

“I guess that would suffice. How about Twitter? I’ll follow you on Twitter. My mom’s on Twitter but she’s just there for Kris Aquino. She doesn’t really read my tweets.”

He took out his cellphone and let Toffee save his email.

Tantalus0110@yahoo.com. I’m surprised someone still uses Yahoo Mail,” he said as Toffee handed him back the cellphone. “I mean, the interface is so slow and clunky and I’ve had enough spams. You should switch to Gmail.”

“I guess,” Toffee told. “I got to take off now.”

“Already? Wanna go grab something to eat?”

The handsome man brushed him off. He started to walk away from the building.

“I just gave you a blowjob! You’re supposed to be hungry!” Nate yelled as passers-by looked at him strangely. He had his eyes glued on Toffee as he headed for the busy Paseo underpass.

“I want that man,” Nate thought to himself. “I want, want him.”

Unbeknownst to him and all the other guys who are hungry for the man, wanting is all that there is between them and Toffee. They can never have him. Toffee is the eternal punishment the gods have bestowed on them; he’s the elusive fruit, the receding water; a sweet temptation without possible satisfaction.

Meanwhile, I was wracking my brains out for a good topic to write about in my long overdue article when suddenly, my cellphone began to ring.

“Hello?”

“I gave him my Facebook.”

It was Toffee. His voice sounded bizarrely cheerful, like he just got laid for the first time, which is a thought well beyond impossible I’m not even sure how it occurred to me.

“You gave who what?”

“I gave him my Facebook.”

My brows curled up in confusion. “But you don’t have a Facebook.”

I could picture a sinister smirk cracking across his naturally reddish lips.

***

Later that day, I was home doing the laundry manually in the bathroom while my younger sister, Mika, was all cheerleader-y watching a UAAP basketball game. She’s a freshman accounting student from UST with a short, silvery blue hair and a slender figure. We live in one of the rooms inside a big house somewhere near the intersection of Edison and Dian Street in Makati, rented out by a senile old lady who visits us sporadically, asking questions like ‘what is your religion’ or ‘why is your face so round’ or ‘is Noynoy Aquino a virgin’. The last time she came over, she told a story about how the woman who previously lived in our room murdered her German boyfriend here and ate his penis. That was when I had to stay late to up meet a deadline for an article and apparently her story didn’t inspire much motivation.

Going back to my sister, the relationship I have with her is very much like Monica and Ross from Friends. Like we’re always there for each other, but at times we make each other so angry. Like there was this one time when I forgot to buy her sanitary napkins and she threw a used one at me and the bloodied side hit my face. She apologized by liking all my Facebook statuses and posting a photo of a sanitary napkin with a ‘sorry’ on it (she spelled ‘sorry’ as ‘SRY’) on my wall. I was mortified.

Well, she and I were trained to be close and cover each other’s ass ever since she was born. When I was eleven and she was four, our Mom would leave us alone in our house in Cavite and go to ABS-CBN to watch ASAP with our Tita Julia, who is an avid Zsa Zsa Padilla devotee. She would then come back at night with a box of Dunkin’ Donuts only to find our Dad on their bed with our neighbor Kuya Fred, who is also our town engineer and used to fix our roof leak. I can recall our Dad asking her to calm down while removing a condom from his dick. To be fair, she was indeed calm and serene, until she grabbed our family shotgun and fired it to the ceiling. Dad was so panicky he pissed on the floor. And then they separated.

Our roof leak came back but it would be awkward to ask for Kuya Fred’s expert advice now, wouldn’t it? So what we did, we did nothing.

After their separation, my Mom flew to Singapore to work as an office secretary for some Myanmar firm there. She left us to live with Tita Julia in her house in Sta. Cruz in Manila. Mika and I grew up with our Tita’s only son, Jesus (pronounced in the Spanish kind of way) who is not only a pervert but also an addict and a high school dropout; and her husband, Tito Jigs, who is so under de saya and so poorly nutritioned Hitler would feel sorry for him. Also living with us was our Grandma Kimberly whose real name is Rosario but coerced us to call her ‘Kimberly’ because she was a fan of Pink Ranger from the original Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers. She has Diabetes and her blood pressure fluctuates like the mood of a person with bipolar disorder.

Mom returned to the Philippines and never went back to Singapore when Grandma suffered a stroke. She had her sent to our house in Cavite so she could take care of her while Mika and I continue to live with Tita Julia in Manila. We’d visit her during weekends and that’s how our setup has been to this time, except now I’m working and paying for my own place. Mom was able to start her own business, a canteen near De La Salle Dasmarinas, and she still sends Mika her weekly allowance. The last time I asked her for money, I wanted to join my friends in Puerto Gallera. She gave me three hundred pesos. After that, I never asked her for anything ever again.

My family isn’t exactly a Selecta ice cream commercial but we’re fine. And we’re adequately carrying on in life and from wherever our parents left off in ours. I guess there are no perfect families. Sometimes, you just got to make do with what you have because that’s all there is to it. Because most of the time, everything sucks and you just got to cope with a life without a fucking washing machine.

“Mika,” I called from the bathroom. “Could you get me the hangers?”

“Just a minute! UST’s losing and Coach Pido is starting to become a joy to watch!”

“Oh come on! I’m on my fucking underwear and I still need to go to the grocery after this!”

Mika got up, took out a plastic bag of hangers from the cabinet and dragged her heavy feet to the bathroom. She abruptly opened the door of the bathroom and tossed the hangers on the sink. I covered myself with my hands as she glared at me strongly like she was about to punch me.

“I do not understand how you can wander carefree around the room with your balls dangling like a punching bag in a boxing gym when you’re with me! I’m a fucking woman!”

She then slammed the door in my face and sat right back in front of the TV.

“Will you get me some iced tea!? Thanks!”

***

An hour later, I was walking from Greenbelt to Landmark to do some grocery shopping when I received a text message from my Mom.

Harry how ru n Mika ur granma is sick its prbbly d Diabtes she wantd 2 sing so I bought a videoke machne. Cud u tke cre of ur sisters alownce 4 nxt wk tnx lov u miz u

What the hell? How am I supposed to pay for the rent which is also due next week? I cleared my mind and tried not to think about it too much so I can concentrate on my grocery shopping. Nobody wants a bloody napkin slapped on his face again.

While scouring every shelf of the grocery store, I would catch this gorgeous guy in corporate outfit staring at me from the fruits and vegetables section. Moreno, slightly shorter (I’m 5’9”) and his hair well-kempt, he’s a crossover of a young Daniel Matsunaga and a sexier Enrique Gil. But since I’m not really in the mood to flirt and play ‘the game’ – you know, staring at each other until somebody finally gives in, approaches the other and asks for his number – I shrugged him off and continued with my shopping.

I’m totally a natural grocery shopper. Like, given my limited five hundred peso grocery budget, I’m good at prioritizing which stuff to buy. It’s a gift. Like there was this one time when I had to give up the shampoo for a pack of Mik-Mik because it brings a lot of childhood memories, and when I came home Mika handed me sachets of different brands of shampoo her classmates dumped in her bag. She said they were supposed to use it for a Chemistry experiment, but then their professor bailed out on them for a trip in East Timor.

With my talent, I can also make a pretty good prediction as to how much my shopping basket will come to. However, my powers don’t seem to work in this particular time. While paying for the groceries at the checkout counter, I realized I was a hundred peso short. I had no choice but to take out a few packs of Pancit Canton, one box of cheese and a loaf of bread. All of a sudden, there was a tap on my back. I whirled around to see that same guy from the fruits and vegetable section smiling at me.

“Uh, can I help you?” I stammered.

“You don’t need to take those back. Use this,” he handed me like a privilege card with shades of orange and yellow.

“What’s this?”

“It’s an electronic gift card. Use it to pay for the groceries. Just don’t forget to return it to me after.” He cracked a smile as he returned his wallet in the back pocket of his slacks. I had no idea he was so irrationally handsome when he’s this close. His smile was handsomely perfect. His lips were perfect. His teeth were perfect. He’s like the complete antithesis of the kind of guys who would usually hit on me. I was totally blown away.

“I’m sorry, I can’t accept this.” I returned the card to him. “I can pay for my own groceries.”

I got to keep it together. Harry, you got to fucking keep it together. I got to show him that I am an independent 23-year-old man who can afford his own Pancit Canton, his own cheese, his own bread. I got to act like I’m annoyed, like he’s not the Pinoy version of Alex Pettyfer. After all, what he did was insulting. I mean, you just don’t offer your money to a stranger like it’s nothing, especially if that stranger didn’t even beg for it. That is unless you’re trying to impress him or you think he’s a prostitute in need of your money. And that’s how he made me feel. Like a whore. Like he’s buying me for my attention. And it’s distasteful and very DOM-ish.

“I insist,” the guy responded. My rejection didn’t erase the smile from his face.

Gosh, Harry, don’t blush. Don’t blush. “No, really, Mister – “

“It’s Hamed,” he interrupted, pointing to his ID hanging off an Ayala Land lanyard.

“Hamed? Is he a Muslim?” I thought to myself. “Is he Allah’s answer to my prayers?”

It took a while for me to respond so he bypassed me and talked directly to the cashier clerk. He handed her the card, but the lady was hesitant to swipe it because she knew I was against it.

“Sir, should I use the card?” the lady asked me.

“Do it, uhm, you,” he asked me while making those adorable Puss in Boots eyes. He was so charming and cute and sexy, all at the same time. That person who said ‘nobody’s perfect’ obviously has not met this beautiful creature yet.

“Fine.”

Remember how you felt the first time you had sex? You were lying on the bed feeling clueless and scared and excited and ecstatic all at the same fucking time, like your heart was going to burst any time. He kisses your lips, your neck, you nipples, your body, and after several failed attempts, finally enters you. That same moment, you allowed him, another human being, to become a part of who you are – leaving inside you a piece of him with every thrust and every stab to your freshly corrupted body. And then after a few minutes, thoughts start to gather in your mind; thoughts of uncertainties and insecurities; thoughts that remind you of a song by The Shirelles.

Is this a lasting treasure? Or just a moment’s pleasure?

But you were happy. You weren’t ready but you were happy. And so you give in. Because the moment; the experience; the feeling of him on top of you, using your body, makes you nothing but happy.

“Fine,” I told the cashier clerk before finally smiling at the most beautiful creature I have ever seen in this world.

I gave in. He’s Satan and this sinner succumbed to his temptation clothed in a Jean Dujardin smile. He’s the clit that makes my knees go weak; a popsicle in the mouth on a hot summer day.

His name is Hamed. And this is how our story started.

 

For Chapter 2, click here.

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