Blog Post

"Say something," it said.

I had been staring at it for a while. But despite knowing that I have so many things to say—and actually knowing what to say—my mind remained blank, simply incapable of translating these thoughts into coherent, sensible words.

Silence ensued. Finally, I could feel the words forming, running toward the tip of my fingertips, craving to be expressed, overflowing, trying to outdo one another, craving to be written first—

An then they were gone. I once again stared at the blank canvas that was my Blogger new post screen, wondering how something that came so swiftly could be gone just as fast.

Now, who's the boss?

I pleasured him with another round of sucking to make him extra hard. I then rolled the rubber down his dick. I squirted a liberal amount of lube after, wrapping my palms on his tool to spread it out. Facing him, I positioned myself on top and slowly lowered myself until a mixture of pleasure and pain invaded my hungry man hole.

I placed my hands at the back of my head as I rode him. He placed his hands on my hips but I pushed them away—I wanted to show him who was truly in control. I went up and down, pounding myself against his manhood as hard as I could, taking in all its thickness and length, drowning in ecstasy, feeling the pleasure—

We shifted positions. I lied on the bed and guided him to my hole. This time, I relinquished control. He pumped teasefully, pulling his dick almost out before pushing it in with a swift, forceful movement. He spat on me again upon my request, and this seemed to have brought me to the edge.

I could feel something building up from within. It was gathering so much force that I knew no amount of will power could hold it any longer. A few pumps more, and then I panted, "Fuck, I'm cumming!"

Thick rods of warm cum splurged out of my cock. It splattered generously on my belly and my chest, showering myself with the fruits of pleasure that ensued in the past several minutes. He pulled out and ditched the rubber, and like an insatiable dog craving for more nourishment, I hungrily sucked on his dick and pulled his balls. Soon after, his sweet smelling cum joined the huge puddle on my chest.

We lied down as our heartbeats started to settle to a more normal pace. "Fuck you," he said. "Nilabasan ka ng di nagsasalsal. Damn."

"First time," I said, much to his awe.

We cleaned up and left. We took the same ride but it would be me who had to alight the jeepney first. He gave me his card one block before my pitstop.

"I'll text you," I promised before going down the vehicle.

As the jeepney disappeared at the distance, I pledged to have that tool fuck me again. I guess, in the end, it was still he who dominated.

But I'm not complaining.

Bus Ride

The bus conductor roused me from my sleep. My hazy vision welcomed a dimly lit morning sky, with  the Sunday dawn having just cracked and the sun waiting to shine just around the corner. She and the driver requested all passengers to transfer to another bus as their break was having problems.

I took a seat at the farther end of the new vehicle. With so much alcohol pumping through my veins, I easily fell asleep, but not deep enough to be unaware of the guy seated on the couches at the other side of the aisle.

He was staring and made no effort to be discreet. I stared back: he was tall, lean, looked clean and decent. He was wearing a neat pair of shorts and long sleeves, and carried a brown fabric bag with him. How contrasting with my stained corporate attire and leather messenger bag, I thought.

The stares continued until it was time for me to alight the bus. I left my seat and looked back to give him the stickiest stare my drunk self could manage. As I prepared to step out of the bus, I saw him leave his seat through the periphery of my vision.

I walked down the street slowly so he could catch up. When he reached my side, I gestured him to cross the street and stop by the traffic light at the corner. It was him who spoke first.

"Pauwi ka na?"

"Yup," I replied. "Ikaw?"

"Oo."

"San ka ba?" I asked.

"Sa ____," he said.

"Dapat pala di ka na bumaba ng bus," I said innocently. "Ako, dito lang sa ____, so isang jeep na lang and I'm home."

A moment's silence, then—

"Buti sumunod ka. Bakit ka sumunod?" I asked with a pointed, hungry stare.

He gave a sly smile. "Sabi ko sa sarili ko, if you look back, susundan kita. And you did. So I'm here. Sinong kasama mo sa bahay?"

"Parents and sibling," was my short reply. He said he stays with his family as well.

"So," I began. "Anong gusto mong gawin?"

"The exact same thing you have in mind," he said with an evil gleam in his eyes.

We did not think twice. We took a jeepney to the nearest apartelle, paid the fees and went inside our (exceedingly and excruciatingly) modest room.

He went to the rest room to pee. I took my own leak after he did, and when I stepped out of the comfort room, he was already lying on the bed, shirtless.

I did not waste any minute. I took my place on the bed and locked my lips with his.

"Nakainom ka, 'no?" It was more declarative than inquiring. Nevertheless, he resumed kissing my lips and played with my tongue.

I went beyond and devoured his neck. My tongue then traveled up the side of his face and licked the inside of his ear. With the way he was moaning, I could tell that he was having a good time.

I dove down and attacked his pits, moving into his nips before doing down his navel and the bulge that teased through his sexy pair of blue undies. My eyes sparked with a hungry longing when his dick popped out of the fabric.

A thick, six-inch monster sprang out and slapped onto his flat belly. Its fair complexion enhanced the smoothness of its body, making it so enticing that it was almost irresistible.

I took in the head and submerged it with the warmth of my mouth. His moans became louder, his back arching away slightly from the bed, prompting me to do better. His moans climaxed when I buried my head against his crotch, so deeply that the head of his throbbing dick reached the depths of my tonsils.

"Fuck you," he said. "Get up and remove your shirt."

I did what I was told. "Nice," he muttered, his hands reaching out and caressing my chest. "You go to the gym?" But even before I could reply, he was already pushing me down the bed, went on top of me and took his turn to please me.

He mostly focused on my lips. He kissed, bit, and sucked on my tongue. This went on for a minute or two until he raised his head away from mine and stopped.

His lips looked as if they were brewing something. Knowing what was coming, I opened my willing mouth to receive the spit that slobbered out of his lips. He spat two times with such force that made my carnal desires escalate even more. Spitting is a huge turn on for me.

Craving more of the hardness and thickness of his tool, I pushed him to his back and sucked his cock once more. This time, though, I also cupped his balls inside my lips and licked the sensitive space between his balls and bum hole.

"Do you rim?" he asked.

I responded by pushing up his legs and bathing his crack with my tongue. But being the ass whore that I am, that wasn't enough: I spread his ass cheeks so my tongue can go in and out of his hole.

I got up to remove the rest of my clothing. When I was about to strip off my underwear, he grabbed my leg and said, "No. Stand on top of me." He motioned me to move above his face and signaled me to remove my briefs.

His face drowned in ecstasy. I lowered myself and pointed my dick into his mouth which he willingly took in. A few moments later, he ordered me to sit on his face.

I was surprised to find his dominance arousing. I did as I was told, and immediately I felt a tongue wetting my hungry hole and a finger going in.

I lifted myself off his face. I pulled a pack of condoms out of my bag and threw it to him as I fumbled through my things for the tube of lube.

He placed his hands behind his head and looked at me in the eye. "Gusto ko ikaw ang maglagay," he said, his face twitching to an evil grin.

Bring it on, I told him silently. I'll show you who's the master here.

Me, talking to yet another friend

There wasn't much to talk about.

Unaware (Pretense)

He wanted us to still talk even after the break up. I knew this would have complications, but I chose to gamble.

He checked on me out of the blue two weeks ago. It was the first time he reached out after the breakup, so I responded, and was actually engaged in the conversation.

He messaged again last week to inquire how I did in my finals. That was tolerable, and so I replied.

Then just this Sunday, he once again left a message on Facebook, and asked if I went to the Maginhawa Food Festival.

I swiped the notification leftwards to ignore the activity log on my phone.

Break Up Cuddle

It was getting late and hella fun. I've downed more than 10 pitchers of sangria with friends, and I was getting really, really noisy and rowdy. I was about to take another sip from my wine glass when my phone flashed a new message.

"Hey, Ryan. Are you still using this number?" It was from Jon, one of the few who was not able to join us that night. He had dinner with another set of friends in Ortigas, and driving to Greenbelt felt inconvenient.

"Yes, I am. Hello. :-)"

My simple response led from one thing to another. He wanted to check on me as I just broke up with Karl that afternoon, and was curious if I was downing pitchers of alcohol to drown the pain away.

"You must be in stitches now. Hugs, Ryan. Tagal niyo rin, ha."

Another beep, and then: "You can sleep over here if you like. Yun nga lang, wala akong extra bed."

Next thing I knew, I was on his passenger seat. He picked me up in Shaw. As we were driving through the outskirts of the Ortigas Business District, I could feel the mutual understanding that no one should know we were together. I told the gang I would go straight home when we parted.

He pulled in front of an old house. We silently tiptoed our way in so as not to awaken his housemates. Moments later, he was showing me his room.

"Masikip ang bed. You need that," he said with a smile.

He took his side of the bed as I fixed myself before sleep. The moment my body touched the mattress, he grabbed me from behind, locked my legs in his, and placed his head against the back of my neck.

"You had so much to drink," he said after a sniff. "What did you have?"

"Sangria, as always." I loved how his warm breath lightly tickles the hairs on my nape.

"How many pitchers?" I could feel his lips brushing on my ears.

"You ask difficult questions, Jon," I said sleepily. "We don't count. We just drink and stay merry all night."

But sleep was not as merry as the night out with the other boys. We slept light, waking up from time to time, becoming too conscious of how our skins touched and the boners that teased in moonlight. Conversations would punctuate the stillness of the night, while feigning ignorance of the throbbing mass that rubbed against each other as we interlocked into a tight, face-to-face embrace.

"God, Ryan," Jon muttered. "Just how much did you drink? I can still smell the wine."

Oh. He was sniffing me again.

The skin contact continued. In some moments his lips stayed too close to mine that I thought they would touch. Other times, I could feel something hard against my behind. We would talk about Karl, fall asleep, our breakup, fall asleep, the sex, fall asleep. We would later switch the discussion to the men he dated, years younger than him, the sex, the entire experience. It was a never-ending cycle until the sun was high up and it was time to leave.

We got up and dressed, not bothering that we see more of what we would normally conceal to others. After all, the last time we slept beside each other, we fucked hard. Really, really hard.

Me, talking to another friend

On my recent breakup with Karl:

Him:  Speaking of, how are you?
Me:    Single and bottomable.

Presence

A sudden nervousness jolted me awake. I could tell by the dimness of the room that the night has fallen. It would have been totally dark if not for the kitchen light that I left switched on before I went to sleep.

The nervousness transformed to panic. What time is it? I promised to just take a nap but ended up snoozing on the sofa for four long hours. I needed to get up and start school work. I have three papers to submit the coming week.

My eyes were still adjusting to the light when I realized I slept with my phone in my hand. I squinted reflexively as the glare from the 5.7-inch screen met my eyes. There were a few tweets and Facebook messages, but what grabbed my attention was the three missed calls from my sister. My heart started pumping faster than the usual. She doesn't call like this, I thought.

I got up. The wall clock showed it was already past seven. I felt disoriented and made an effort to pull myself together. Was it really a Sunday? The last thing I remembered was publishing a blog post, which I did after getting home from an orientation on the sacrament of confirmation for godparents. The orientation was scheduled on a Saturday morning. Okay, no need to panic, I said to myself.

I heard my sister blow her nose from her room upstairs. Is she back? I was heading to the farthest room from the second floor landing when I heard Dad's footsteps from the room to my right. I turned the knob and pushed the door open. I wondered why nobody bothered to wake me up.

The room was as dark and empty as it was when Dad left this afternoon to meet up with Mom.

I closed the door and surveyed the other end of the corridor. The darkness ahead told me that my sister wasn't in her room. That I was, in fact, alone in the house.

I rushed downstairs to get some fresh air. Once outside, I was met by an unusual chill from the early evening air: I could feel it slithering up my skin and sending chills down my spine. I could feel how each pore of my skin contracted, barring entry to the unknown energy that infiltrated the air. In no more than a few seconds, I was feeling numb, from the cold that came from the night and also from within.

I went back inside, grabbed my phone and started texting everyone. What does this mean? An ex-nun recently told me that I have hypersensitive senses. Underdeveloped, yes; but good enough to see, feel and hear, from time to time, what most of the population couldn't.

My messages won't send and Mom was out of reach. Impossible, I thought. My imagination sure was just running wild. They couldn't be those who I sensed. They couldn't possibly be... dead.

But where the hell are they?

How's Karl, by the way?

"How's Karl, by the way?" my manager asked over lunch earlier this week. "I haven't heard news about him for a while."

My heart skipped a beat. The name sounded so familiar yet so distant, seemingly beyond reach despite the recency of the events that took place. But the memories remain so much real, and as my eyes fell on the skyscrapers at the distance, bits from the previous weeks flooded back to my consciousness.

It started with a Facebook post. He published a short, self-penned poem talking about doors that have already been closed, and asked why a certain person has to open them again. I was not angry but questions burned inside my head. I knew this person. Perhaps, it's my affinity and considerable proficiency for anything literary, but it was no effort unlocking the secrets presented by the short poem he wrote. I opened up to him about it in one of our bus rides home.

Calm tempered the drama that could have otherwise ensued. Karl confessed that he started looking for attention from Gelo, the guy he dated alongside myself until I requested for an exclusive partnership. Our partnership was never official, though—I wanted to be formally introduced to his family the way he was to mine, especially because his mother was a bit disapproving of our budding relationship. It did not bother me because what I had with him felt so secure that I did not see the need to ascribe labels on it.

But one confession led to another. It turned out that he was actually piggybacking on my idea of making us official. He liked that my mind worked this way, because he was actually not ready to commit.

I could not understand, at least back then. And I was honest to him about it. I could not process what that meant to me, to him and to us, and Karl was gracious enough not to force me to understand. We parted ways with no tension to fear.

Weeks passed and I felt significant changes in my behavior. Karl's messages no longer excited me. We would still talk, but talking to him became a chore. Making love felt too plain. All in all, it felt that I had to constantly keep up with the eccentricities of a 19-year-old while carefully trudging the dark spots of his conflicted persona.

People have warned me how Karl could be emotionally needy, but I chose to set those apprehensions aside. They were not mine to begin with, and I would truthfully fall short in giving Karl the time, effort and attention that he deserved. I would go on business trips and lead strategic projects at work, and I had to juggle these with the demands of my overflowing coursework this semester. It did not help that I was sick for almost three weeks (albeit not gravely), and that I have an emotionally deprived mother, ingrate sister and apathetic father waiting for me every night when I go home.

Yet, when I did have free time, I would spend it in the gym, cruising for guys to fool around with after each workout instead of spending my free time with Karl.

That was when I finally admitted to myself that my (pseudo) relationship with Karl was not something I needed. After several tears were shed and bundles of guilt confronted, we officially parted ways last Monday.

* * *

"Ryan?"

I snapped back to my senses. My manager was waiting for a response. She was surveying me with questioning eyes, sparkling with a confused mix of concern, wonder, and anticipation.

"Oh, uh," I began. "I—we were—we were together just yesterday. He's okay," I finished before diving once more into what was left of my lunch.

Karl

I know that somewhere—where we first met, where we had our first date, where we first made love, where you would wait for me after class, where we first kissed, in that field under all those stars—somewhere, anywhere—you must be singing this song. And I know how you are feeling. It's just that I chose to be free.

And I'm sorry.

Lyrics here.