Parties and presents. Cakes and candles. Greetings and gifts. Yes, it was… my birthday. It was my 32nd birthday. Yes, 32 years on the face of the Earth. I’m not ashamed to say I’m 32. Not one little bit. Not at all.
But with my birthday always being strewn between several other occasions, like Labor Day, the elections, Mother’s Day, both my parents’ birthdays, and several others, it was never really a big deal. And I liked it that way. Was this year any different?
Before, it’d be easy to get greetings personally or via mobile. But this was my first birthday post-Facebook, where Facebook takes all the work out of trying to remember everybody’s birth dates. So, though supposedly expected, I am astounded that I got tons of greetings. Yes allow me some room for pride, but I was absolutely amazed!
Of course, family. I was happy to hear from my sister who I haven’t talked to in a while. Then there was my pozzie posse and other pusits who shouted out. There were old friends from school, even way back elementary... oi, history. Some greeting from those who were more than friends, from former fuck buddies, guys I dated, crushes, ex-boyfriends, and lo and behold, even an ex-girlfriend! I know… GASP! Hell, even Cebuana Lhuillier greeted me... I used to frequent Cebuana when I used to send cash to Baby Nathan and others who needed help. Hehehe.
The day itself was not meant to be a biggie. Because there was no longer such a thing as birthday leave for me, I was at work. I wasn’t planning on a blow out or anything, but my gurl friend in the office arrived with a cake in hand with my name written all over it. Aww... both the cake and the gesture… sweet. So sweet.
Over lunch, I got asked what I had planned for the day. Nothing really. No dinner, no nothing. They had to cheer me on though. “Birthday sex! Birthday sex!” Hahaha. Not that I was pressured. But I wish. I wish.
I had been texting earlier with the guy I had been dating this past week. Initially, he suggested we’d celebrate together Saturday night, but I’d already made plans with the pozzie posse. I asked him what he was doing that evening. He said he was free. I took a leap. “Then you’re mine tonight.” Was that me? Was that me?
Figuring out where to meet, we decided on somewhere halfway between our respective workplaces. But the meeting area being near his place and his offer to take me home after just didn’t make any wholesome sense. Gulp. I know my logic was rocked, but oddly, I was still a go.
So we met at Shangri-la, and like the heavens were on my side, we got there within minutes of each other, and actually bumped into each other without having to agree on where exactly we’d meet. From there, it was dinner at California Pizza Kitchen. It was penne for me, ravioli for him, and focaccia between to two of us. Absomalutely yummy. Agh. Both Italian boys we are. We are.
Frozen yogurt was next. Coconut for him, New York Cheesecake for me. Still felt sinful for yogurt. And with that, there were loads of calories to burn. He took me for a walk. A couple of blocks in, I knew I wasn’t heading home. I put my arm around his shoulder, my way of telling him I had no fear. No fear. And a couple of blocks more, he held my hand in the dark of the night. That told me, we’re okay. We’re okay.
We got to his place and settled into his room. All sweaty from the walk. Both of us. I love a guy who sweats. Because I sweat. A lot. Sitting down and cooling off, he stripped down to his skivvies. He said it was hot. Yeah, right. And although we’d been flirting a lot in recent days, I still needed that cue. That cue. That cue.
Okay, just to make things clear, this was someone who knew about my HIV status. Hell, he knew so much about me there wasn’t much left to hide. So he knew exactly what he was getting into seducing me into bed. And to me that’s hot.
It was hot indeed, so I took my shirt off. We hugged. We sat facing each other. He leaned over and we kissed. And two hours later, we were plopped on the bed, spent. Both spent. Two hours?! I know...
We both washed up, dressed up. He drove me home, and dropped me off as we kissed goodbye. I believe I got home around 11:00 pm, the only time I drank my ARVs since I ignored my alarm when it rang while we were in the middle of things. And with that I basked in what he calls a post-coital glow that was expected to last a good three hours.
I know some of you might think it’s just sex. Just sex. But sex is a huge thing for me. I have absolutely no qualms about having it on a first date. So this time, three wholesome dates before getting it on was quite different. Quite different.
Sex. It’s usually a make or break thing for me. But it’s not like I want a certain type of guy or expect certain sizes or demand certain acts. I mean, yeah, I have preferences, I have preferred roles, I have my fetishes and kinks, but they’re not carved in stone.
It’s more on chemistry for me. The comfort. Someone who knows what he wants? Great. Someone without hang-ups? Perfect. Personally and sexually, I’m really more of a pleaser. It ain’t about me getting pleasure. Having my partner drowning in ecstasy does it for me. Satisfying someone satisfies me. Part of the masochist in me, I think. I think.
For a first time for us, it wasn’t bad at all. Yeah, of course we did have to figure each other out somehow, and getting there after a single sessions is a lot to ask for. But our still keeping in touch even after the deed seems like a good sign. A good sign.
And for a first time for me in what... eight months?! OMG eight months without sex?! What kind of life is that to live? Hehehe. Well it was a choice for me. And for this kind of a birthday milestone to break my sexless streak... rigid candles blown till the hot wax flowed... not bad at all. Not bad at all.
So there, that was my looooong birthday day. Too bad it fell on a Thursday, otherwise I could’ve extended it into the early morn. Of course I needed to go to work the next day, albeit hungover not from alcohol but from a lack of sleep… and of course, basking in that afterglow. That afterglow. That afterglow. What a gift. What a gift. The afterglow of candles blown.
Saturday, May 08, 2010
Blowing Candles
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Thirst-Day
It was just another regular Thursday. No biggie.
Or so I thought.
What should have been just a regular commute to work turned into a whole telenovela of emotions worthy of being featured in a chick flick.
Or so I thought again.
Let me tell you my story.
I used to take the MRT to work to avoid the traffic, but realized the face-tradingly crowded trains, long walks to and from the train stations and steep climbs to the platforms just aren’t worth it. I don’t really mind the traffic anymore. My consolations are that I’m seated comfortably for most of the ride, and picked up and dropped off at more convenient places. I’ve now traded in the speed of the MRT for the hour-long weave of a public bus in and out of traffic on EDSA.
So last Thursday was like any other. I started off with my daily routine, heading out the door to brave the traffic that I’ve eventually gotten used to facing five times a week. Although I’m so used to it, I hardly find it boring enough to manage to sneak in some shuteye during the approximately hour-long trip. An hour long, if I’m lucky.
I’ve always been the type who loves seeing people, not to mention adoring them. I’ll admit, I look more at men than anyone else. I’ve been a man-watcher ever since, and all the more now that I’m HIV-positive, with the rationale that it’s the safest sex there is. And with that as my new hobby, the traffic is a huge plus. The more time I spend on the road, the more people there are to see.
The bus I was in reached Cubao, and queued at the foot of the MRT station. I’m pretty sure I’d seen so many good looking guys already, being just halfway through my trip, and my eyes had made their quota for the day.
And then there he was, just standing there, waiting for a ride. A guy. The guy. He was in a sexy, body-hugging, blue shirt, tucked into a pair of equally sexy jeans, every perfect muscle making itself known to the world against the constraint of his outfit. Admittedly, a guy’s body usually does make a huge initial impact on me. And I have this crazy habit of actually voicing out my appreciation whenever I see a perfect specimen. And so I let out my signature Wow, Wow, Wow through the glass panes of the bus, knowing I was safely away from his earshot.
I wanted to see if he had the face value to back up his great physique, but wasn’t at the right angle to judge clearly. I noticed he was looking into the bus I was in, trying to see if there were vacant seats. I knew it was half empty, and found myself saying Oh please, Oh please, Oh please, wishing he would get on the bus so I could get a better look at him.
I lost sight of him for an instant as he approached the front of the bus. And then, there he was, climbing up the steps at the door, making his way onto the bus. Oh yes, Oh yes, Oh yes, I finally got the chance to look at him straight in the face. It was as perfect as his body. Dark, clean cut hair, just as I like it, a fair, clear face that anyone would like, and the most beautiful eyes hidden behind a pair of dark rimmed, almost geeky glasses. He was a complete picture: the innocence of Clark Kent flaunting his Superman of a body.
At that point, I was in heaven already. I’d gotten my ultimate fix. The icing on the cake was seeing him look my way. Icing that melted away when I realized he was making his way towards where I was seated. Oh shit, Oh shit, Oh shit. I was panicking. Why was he headed my way? There were certainly so many other vacant seats. Why walk to almost the rear of the bus and squeeze into a two-seater with me? I felt faint.
Sure enough he sat beside me. Oh no, Oh no, Oh no. I was nauseous by that time, not knowing what to do. So I sat quietly, but was still observing. He seemed extremely comfortable beside me. Calf to calf, thigh to thigh, hip to hip, elbow to elbow, and arm to arm.
I could feel some electricity as his arm grazed the hair on my forearm as he reached into his pocket for money as the conductor came to collect his fare. "Guadalupe lang", he said in his deep, sexy voice. I caught myself realizing that I’d be late for work if I overshot to Guadalupe and just took a ride back to Ortigas. Hmm. I slapped myself mentally.
What was I supposed to do or say? Hi, I’m HIV. or Whoa, before you start groping me, I’m HIV-positive. or I really do have HIV, it’s not an alibi!, I imagined myself saying. I think my sanity got off back in Cubao.
So anyways, it seemed to be the longest ride between Cubao and Ortigas I’ve ever been on, and I suspect it was because all my blood had unconsciously rushed from my brain all the way down to my groin. Before I knew it, we had reached Ortigas, my stop. I stood up and excused myself, and got down from the bus without even looking back. Whew, Whew, Whew, I remember saying.
I looked at the bus as it drove away, trying to see the row where we both sat. It was vacant. Oh fuck, Oh fuck, Oh fuck. The panic was back. My imagination ran wild, thinking he’d gotten down to try and catch me. Of course, that wasn’t the case. I looked behind me and didn’t see him.
My ten-minute walk from the highway to the office left me with a lot of time to think, and as usual, I was suddenly struck with a bit of regret, missing my chance to meet a possibly great guy. Crazy, ain’t I?! Or is it just the Valentine thirst? Geesh, I think I need a life.
