A burning desire took over her like wildfire. It fired up her throat and trickled down her spine, spreading to all of her nerves until her entire body was ablaze. She excused herself to take a moment's calm inside the comfort room.
But the confined space that was the cubicle engulfed her in flames even further. Incapable of resisting it any longer, she allowed herself to succumb: first a finger, but it barely made impact. She then inserted two, wiggling her fingertips around the warm- and wetness inside, until she made it three to reach the stimulation she desired. She thrust them deeper, her chest heaving as she tried to catch more air---
And then she squirted. She gave out a stifled grunt as the pool of sick flooded the depths of the toilet bowl, leaning on the door behind her as the force of releasing half of her dinner drained much of her menial strength and self-control.
After a few more minutes she went back to her friends, chewing in the next course after expelling dinner's demons, worry eradicated from her face now that there's room for some more.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Cleansing
When the clouds unveiled that bright, massive orb of a full moon, he knew he didn't have to wait any longer. He feared that this moment will never come, but it did. He set off.
He went down by the stream. He stripped off his clothes and dipped his body into the fresh water: Toes first, sinking deeper into his waist, and then his chest and his head, until he was submerged fully into its cold and stillness.
And at that exact moment the night screamed, screamed litanies of scandals revealing his act. The water turned into a river of blood, emitting that stench reminiscent of the body he disrespectfully corrupted. The trees wilted and the birds dropped dead onto the earth. Everything alive around him expired, just like the boy he molested and killed, and molested again---
The screams died and he rose from the waters. Moonlight bounced back from his marble skin, unblemished and once again giving that eerie glow that enticed all that he lustfully and brutally smothered.
The monster was ready to strike again.
He went down by the stream. He stripped off his clothes and dipped his body into the fresh water: Toes first, sinking deeper into his waist, and then his chest and his head, until he was submerged fully into its cold and stillness.
And at that exact moment the night screamed, screamed litanies of scandals revealing his act. The water turned into a river of blood, emitting that stench reminiscent of the body he disrespectfully corrupted. The trees wilted and the birds dropped dead onto the earth. Everything alive around him expired, just like the boy he molested and killed, and molested again---
The screams died and he rose from the waters. Moonlight bounced back from his marble skin, unblemished and once again giving that eerie glow that enticed all that he lustfully and brutally smothered.
The monster was ready to strike again.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Rick
"So, anong pangalan mo?"
"Ryan," was my automatic reply.
"Totoo mo bang pangalan 'yan?"
"Hindi."
He laughed at my brutal honesty. I laughed, too: It was easier to tell the truth than coming up with a made-up name. It's not that I wanted him to ask, or to get interested with something so trivial a name even, but I simply knew what to do when the moment does come, like what it did last night. I gave a fake name. I lied. It felt so natural, because it was but natural.
We walked through the shadows, making one for each of ourselves along the sidelines as we did. He introduced himself as Rick. I felt obliged to ask, in respect of how conversations naturally flow, or of how information is expected to be given in exchange of another. But I opted to ask, because in light of what transpired earlier that night, the tongue was only supposed to wrap, to lick, to suck---not to talk much. But at that moment, talking can't be avoided, or else we'd get swallowed by the darkness of our own shadows.
As the lamp post highlighted the glow of deceiving innocence in his face, I tried my luck one last time.
"Tara, check in?" I let my gaze fall onto the direction of the several motels lining the road parallel to ours.
He laughed once again, this time with a tinge of excitement mixed with apprehension. He previously shared how such places make him extremely uncomfortable. He preferred the saunas, but its high temperatures amplified by the heat of our own bodies won't make him hard enough. It won't make me hard enough, either.
Several buses came into view as we reached the end of the road. It was time to say goodbye.
"Well, see you when I see you," I said.
"Yes. Thanks ha. Ingat." He offered a fist bump.
He took a bus and I took another, traveling the same road but never intending to see each other again.
"Ryan," was my automatic reply.
"Totoo mo bang pangalan 'yan?"
"Hindi."
He laughed at my brutal honesty. I laughed, too: It was easier to tell the truth than coming up with a made-up name. It's not that I wanted him to ask, or to get interested with something so trivial a name even, but I simply knew what to do when the moment does come, like what it did last night. I gave a fake name. I lied. It felt so natural, because it was but natural.
We walked through the shadows, making one for each of ourselves along the sidelines as we did. He introduced himself as Rick. I felt obliged to ask, in respect of how conversations naturally flow, or of how information is expected to be given in exchange of another. But I opted to ask, because in light of what transpired earlier that night, the tongue was only supposed to wrap, to lick, to suck---not to talk much. But at that moment, talking can't be avoided, or else we'd get swallowed by the darkness of our own shadows.
As the lamp post highlighted the glow of deceiving innocence in his face, I tried my luck one last time.
"Tara, check in?" I let my gaze fall onto the direction of the several motels lining the road parallel to ours.
He laughed once again, this time with a tinge of excitement mixed with apprehension. He previously shared how such places make him extremely uncomfortable. He preferred the saunas, but its high temperatures amplified by the heat of our own bodies won't make him hard enough. It won't make me hard enough, either.
Several buses came into view as we reached the end of the road. It was time to say goodbye.
"Well, see you when I see you," I said.
"Yes. Thanks ha. Ingat." He offered a fist bump.
He took a bus and I took another, traveling the same road but never intending to see each other again.
Monday, May 7, 2012
One night stand
"Did something happen between you and Mark last Saturday night?"
I was not surprised that Neil raised that question as we walked out of the deserted mall. The moment he invited me for a quick trip to shoe salons this afternoon, I knew. Perhaps, I was that intuitive.
Or perhaps, Mark and I were a little too obvious that night.
A simple "yes" was my polite answer. I never considered denying---I was more interested in seeing someone having the courage to ask.
I studied Neil's face as the sound of cars drowned in silence. I delved into those brown, brotherly eyes, looking for a streak of judgment wanting to rage out. I probed between the fine lines on his forehead, watching out for possible contempt, kept at bay, the years of friendship we shared drawing the possibly thinning line.
Yet somehow, the thumping on my chest didn't come. I remained calm and silent, as equally imperturbable as the silence surrounding us, the squelching of cars dissipating alongside the senseless sidestreet chatters: impassible, inconsequential, unimportant---
"Well," he said, "I knew you can take care of yourself better than I do."
His intentions behind window shopping were finally unveiled. Not that I did not suspect---Neil had a "stint" with Mark. Thinking about it, it started so similarly that Mark could have been doing it so regularly: a Saturday night of intoxication, a lustful embrace from behind, and locking you up in a dark room when almost everyone is too drunk to mind.
And I knew, my hindsight knew, but I consciously let alcohol take over consciousness itself, my body equally in need of meeting worldly pleasures as his, Mark's tool pushing deep inside me as we burned in flames, as our tongues fought for ultimate domination...
I came back to my senses and addressed Neil. "Are you mad?"
"No," he chuckled.
"But did you fall?"
His gaze locked with mine. "Yes," he murmured. "But as I said, I know you can take care of yourself better than I do. You don't make the same mistakes I do."
"I'd like to know what you think. What does this make me?"
"Nothing that should bother you," he assured. "As I said, you know how to take care of yourself. You always know what you get yourself into."
It has only been 15 minutes, but it was time to go back to work.
"Well, thank you," he said.
"Thank you as well," I replied. "See you tomorrow?"
"Yes, maybe."
He then joined the group of people crossing the street, still vividly recognizable as he disappeared in the chattering crowd.
I was not surprised that Neil raised that question as we walked out of the deserted mall. The moment he invited me for a quick trip to shoe salons this afternoon, I knew. Perhaps, I was that intuitive.
Or perhaps, Mark and I were a little too obvious that night.
A simple "yes" was my polite answer. I never considered denying---I was more interested in seeing someone having the courage to ask.
I studied Neil's face as the sound of cars drowned in silence. I delved into those brown, brotherly eyes, looking for a streak of judgment wanting to rage out. I probed between the fine lines on his forehead, watching out for possible contempt, kept at bay, the years of friendship we shared drawing the possibly thinning line.
Yet somehow, the thumping on my chest didn't come. I remained calm and silent, as equally imperturbable as the silence surrounding us, the squelching of cars dissipating alongside the senseless sidestreet chatters: impassible, inconsequential, unimportant---
"Well," he said, "I knew you can take care of yourself better than I do."
His intentions behind window shopping were finally unveiled. Not that I did not suspect---Neil had a "stint" with Mark. Thinking about it, it started so similarly that Mark could have been doing it so regularly: a Saturday night of intoxication, a lustful embrace from behind, and locking you up in a dark room when almost everyone is too drunk to mind.
And I knew, my hindsight knew, but I consciously let alcohol take over consciousness itself, my body equally in need of meeting worldly pleasures as his, Mark's tool pushing deep inside me as we burned in flames, as our tongues fought for ultimate domination...
I came back to my senses and addressed Neil. "Are you mad?"
"No," he chuckled.
"But did you fall?"
His gaze locked with mine. "Yes," he murmured. "But as I said, I know you can take care of yourself better than I do. You don't make the same mistakes I do."
"I'd like to know what you think. What does this make me?"
"Nothing that should bother you," he assured. "As I said, you know how to take care of yourself. You always know what you get yourself into."
It has only been 15 minutes, but it was time to go back to work.
"Well, thank you," he said.
"Thank you as well," I replied. "See you tomorrow?"
"Yes, maybe."
He then joined the group of people crossing the street, still vividly recognizable as he disappeared in the chattering crowd.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Age doesn't matter
The man walked along the aisle with a sense of purpose. Judging by the crease on his face, he must be around, if not exactly, 60 years of age. He made his way toward the line of seats at the back, swaying a little despite the rather smooth drive along the road.
He stopped short in front of the bus conductor. "Magkano hanggang Puregold?" he asked in a pleasant voice.
"Bente otso," the conductor replied. He made to punch his digital ticket printer when the man gestured to the breast pocket of his orange, shabby shirt.
"Senior ako," the man said brightly. He took out his Senior Citizen Card from his breast pocket and showed it to the conductor.
"Bente kwatro na lang po," was the conductor's simple reply.
The man smiled a bit wider. "Hindi ba pwedeng bente na lang? Senior naman ako eh." He took out his card again and flashed it for anyone who cared to see.
The conductor dud not bulge. He calmly explained the transport fee discount system and, after a few push backs, the man conceded. He handed his twenty-peso bill to the conductor and scoured for coins from his side pockets.
As the man finally took his seat, I began to ponder over that kind of behavior I just witnessed. It's sad how people tend to abuse the little privilege they have. We should only get what we should, what we deserve, what is realistic, what is fair.
Too bad for the orange-shirted man, equity does not recognize a Senior Citizen card.
He stopped short in front of the bus conductor. "Magkano hanggang Puregold?" he asked in a pleasant voice.
"Bente otso," the conductor replied. He made to punch his digital ticket printer when the man gestured to the breast pocket of his orange, shabby shirt.
"Senior ako," the man said brightly. He took out his Senior Citizen Card from his breast pocket and showed it to the conductor.
"Bente kwatro na lang po," was the conductor's simple reply.
The man smiled a bit wider. "Hindi ba pwedeng bente na lang? Senior naman ako eh." He took out his card again and flashed it for anyone who cared to see.
The conductor dud not bulge. He calmly explained the transport fee discount system and, after a few push backs, the man conceded. He handed his twenty-peso bill to the conductor and scoured for coins from his side pockets.
As the man finally took his seat, I began to ponder over that kind of behavior I just witnessed. It's sad how people tend to abuse the little privilege they have. We should only get what we should, what we deserve, what is realistic, what is fair.
Too bad for the orange-shirted man, equity does not recognize a Senior Citizen card.
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