Pushing the Limits

Sigh. Remember the days. Those innocent days. The days when nice hair did the trick. The days when a deep voice sent your mind reeling. When beautiful eyes could melt you on the spot. When a sweet smile could make your jaw drop. When a gentle touch sent chills down your spine.

I remember those days. Those days are gone. I’ve dared to push past them. And past many of my limits, too.

Let’s just say I moved onto bigger things. My eyes would no longer be content with just hair, eyes and smiles. I remember the time when peeping into the sleeves of guys sitting across me in a jeepney and seeing their hairy armpits was one hell of a turn on. Then, when that wasn’t enough, I wanted to see guys in sandos or tank tops. And then I wanted to see more... bare chests.

From there, I liked seeing a guy’s treasure trail leading down into his pants or shorts. Then I came to savor every time I got a peek up the legs of a guy’s shorts. Remember those tommy-tommy days? And then I needed to see a guy in underwear or swim trunks, complete with the bulge and the pubes. And then even that wasn’t enough. I wanted to see them buck naked.

At first, of course, I would only get to see guys stripped down to the flesh in pictures. And then they were naked in pictures, having sex. Detailed sexual encounters were not far behind, be them in verbal or written form. And boy, could I picture every scene in my head. And then the pictures and stories merged, and I got to watch sex on videos. I didn’t even have to imagine anymore.

And from just watching them, I wanted to be with them… I wanted to be them. Seeing wasn’t enough. I wanted to touch them and be touched. I was mimicking what I saw in pictures and videos. And yes, I came to a point where I thought and believed I could even do better than some pictures and videos that I had seen. Oi, you’d be surprised…

Truly, I barely left anything to the imagination, and barely anything of me was left to the imagination either. I was pushing my sexual limits further and further. I would say I almost had no limits. I was just so game for anything. I dared. I enjoyed the dare.

I’m painting a picture of myself as such a daredevil right now, but believe me, I could’ve been worse. I could’ve pushed myself even more. When it comes to places I could go to, my limits were hardly ever pushed. When it comes to seedy and blatant places, I’m a wimp.

I have never been to a gay bar. Neither as a client, nor as someone who works there... just to make that clear. I just always thought that, unless I had money to “ipit in the singit”, it would just be a feast for the eyes, and it’d just leave me with blue balls and a heavy puson. Aside of course from the fact that I feel it’s going to be a waste of money.

I have never been to a bathhouse, or gay club, or whatever you call these F-, Q-, and E-type places. I always worried about being labeled as the new putahe of the place. Yeah, pretty paranoid, I know. Not knowing who I’m going to be groping with in the dark doesn’t help either. And again, there’s the fact that I think it is an unnecessary expense.

I’m proud to say that I’ve been to a massage place once. I already knew I was HIV-positive at the time, so I knew my limits. Plus I went with a friend, so I wasn’t going to be there cruising or anything. I was told that it was actually a legit massage place, even though it’s clear that staring at others’ nakedness is acceptable in the wet area, and the sauna has so many dark hidden corners very inducive to doing steamy stuff. But I was really just there for the massage. And that first and only body massage ever was great. Fine, I admit, I ended up giving a blowjob to the friend I went with, but honestly, 99% of the time there was spent just relaxing. Okay, fine, 90%.

Dance clubs are a different thing. Yeah, I’ve been to a couple. I don’t think sex is supposed to happen there, but, especially if it’s somewhere in Malate, it becomes pink and seedy nonetheless. I mean, yeah, people are there dancing, but you’ll notice that some guys’ eyes are dancing around more than their bodies are. Minus points for the paranoid and anti-social like me, and the taunting of my claustrophobia in these places doesn’t help either.

So far, I think my limits with motels are those which I pushed to the limit. The privacy they afford does wonders for introverts like me. I’ve been to a lot of them, especially prior to my finding out I was HIV-positive. The first time I was actually able to step into a motel was back when I was 17. I know. Menor de edad.

It can be awkward going into a motel as a same-sex pair, but several years ago, I realized that females going in with their boyfriends have much more to “lose” in terms of dignity than I do. I’m not sure if it was a turn for the better or the worse, but no longer was I ashamed to be seen walking into a motel with another guy. People working there know what happens behind all those doors. And hypocrisy and judgment were not part of their job descriptions. See, that’s how far south my mentality has gone.

So really, my limits have been getting pushed. Some of them, at least. I have dared. But I tend to question myself. When should one stop daring? When should one stop pushing his limits?

At this point in my life, post-HIV and all, I’m starting to notice I’m not pushing my limits – sexual limits, specifically – as much anymore. Of course, it helps that I’ve pretty much pushed all my limits already. And in all that pushing, I hardly have any regrets. I can almost confidently say Been there, Done that to most things. I may have tried almost everything at least once... sans of course sex with the opposite gender. Okay, I’ve tried at least everything that fits my principles. O diba, I have principles daw?!

So maybe I’ve stopped pushing my sexual limits. Why? It’s not because I’ve gotten too old for it. And neither is it because I’m HIV-positive. I could have sex if I wanted to. But that’s the thing, I no longer want to. I’m beginning to realize I no longer need to. I mean, I want to have sex, but allow me to be cheesy and say I want something much more meaningful this time. Okay, that really sounded cheesy.

Basta, it feels like I’m beginning to see that I no longer need to prove anything to myself. I don’t need to be constantly daring myself and pushing my limits... not sexually, at least. That’s not a bad thing, right? KJ ba? Baka kunin na ako ni Lord? Don’t worry. I’m still me... complete with all the fetishes, kink, fantasies and horniness. I’m just taking more control. I’m daring to limit. And I’m limiting the dare. But for life’s other dares, just keep ‘em coming! Push on! Push on!