For Rent

In the relationship I’m in, I hardly make decisions. Partly because I really am less dominating, but also because he’s more critical. He’s more set in his ways, and I’m more open to anything. It’s a match actually. My favorite line, “Up to you”. So taking the reins for a major date night was huge for me. But I took the chance.

It was back in January that I struggled to even consider planning it. There were so many reasons to. I was about to be fresh out of a job, with loads of free time to spare. It was Valentine season, a first for us, a major reason for a major date. A friend was going to have his star shining on that stage, and I was thrilled at the chance of watching him. And I had never watched Rent before, not in the movies, not on video, not on stage, not ever.

So I scoured the net for ways to get tickets. I found it, and asked Hubby if he was game, without revealing what exactly I was planning. I tried to keep it a secret. I chose a date, he marked it off. I wondered what seats would be good, he left the choice to me. I opted for what I guessed to be the best seats to watch from. I made the reservation, paid through a bank deposit, and it was set. On the very opening day, the very first evening performance of its 2011 run, I was finally going to be able to watch Rent.

Though our reservations were still for the 8:00 pm show, we had practically the whole day planned out. We met to have lunch, some mmm mmm Savory chicken after his morning meeting. I skipped yoga to keep my day open for our big date. We drove to the Rockwell area, where he had some work to do for a client, with which I was able to help out as an extra pair of hands. I truly enjoyed that. From there, we had an early dinner at XO on Jupiter Street in Makati, and headed finally to RCBC Plaza early so we’d not have to be hustling our way there.

We got the tickets we reserved, and had about an hour to spare. So we grabbed some coffee, and hung out. After a while, we took one last trip to the restrooms, and headed in. Drumroll… and… whew! I was happy that he approved of the seats I got. Not too near, not too far. We were right smack in the middle of Orchestra Center.

Soon, a robotic sing-song voice flooded the theater. “This show will begin in ten minutes. Thank you.” Then five minutes. Then two minutes. Before I knew it, the lights dimmed, and I held my breath…

Before this, all I knew about Rent was that it touched on HIV and AIDS. And of course, Seasons of Love. I knew that three hundred sixty five days, at twenty four hours per day, and sixty minutes per hour, made ‘five hundred twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes‘. That’s all.

So without giving anything away, I giggled at Gian Magdangal’s grind, groove and guy-liner, I am humbled with how homey OJ Mariano plays a homo, I was superbly shocked to see Ciara Sotto’s sensual, sultry and slutty side, I mooed at Maureen’s maniacal monologue, and of course, I acclaim at the acrobatics and antics of the amazing Angel, played by Job Bautista, famed tomcat of the Pole Cats, and fellow Yoga for Lifer. Bravo!

Of course, as pleased and excited I was every minute I was there, Hubby had different things on his mind. Thanks to my super power of peripheral vision, I could see every smirk, every sigh, every tsk, every head scratch, every eye roll… everything from notes not hit, to lines unheard, to palengkera pokpoks behind us, to the cigarette breath of the guy seated next to us, he was just stressing himself out.

It wasn’t easy. It just wasn’t easy. But then, he’s just like that. Blame that he is himself musically gifted. Blame that he is a performer himself. Blame the hypertensive genes. Blame age. Whatever. I admit, it wasn’t easy, but it was fine. I try my best to appease him whenever he gets like that. Thank heavens I don’t sweat the petty stuff myself. Maybe opposites do attract, huh?

Well, he didn’t exactly ruin the evening, despite all that. He did have a good laugh as we got lost in the parking lot. He did admit that criticizing stuff was one hobby he enjoyed and enjoyed a lot. He did say he was happy just spending the whole day with me. Good answer. Good answer.

So would I recommend watching Rent? Of course! It was a great place for a Valentine date, and a perfect last hurrah to my bumhood. Now I’m not naturally a critic, not of the performing arts at least, but I can safely say I enjoyed the production. Immensely.

I giggled every time the “AZT break” punch line got thrown… oh, boy, could I relate! And I got teary-eyed when Angel got kinuha-ni-Lord, and even when he showed up again at the curtain call. Cheesy! And I absolutely especially loved every time the chorus sang the all-too-familiar Seasons of Love. It never tires. It never tires. Fine, so maybe I’m not really musically inclined enough, but who cares if the highest note Mimi hit was the screech of her thighs against a cold metal pole?! Ah basta, I enjoyed myself!

Perhaps it helped that I was relating on a personal level. Perhaps it helped that I myself have been counting my own five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes for the past almost three years now. And mind you, I’m still counting and I have no plans of stopping just yet. Go and check out Rent. Perhaps someone you know is counting his or her own five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes. I can only say, there’s only me. There’s only us. No day but today. No day but today.

Rent is being held at the Carlos P. Romulo Auditorium in RCBC Plaza, from February 12 to March 6, 2011, on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays. For more information on the schedule, reservations, and tickets, visit www.9workstheatrical.com.

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Honeymoon + Wedding

The year 2010 wasn’t so bad. Status quo, I think. As 2010 slipped away, it left me wondering how 2011 would fare. Or more like how I’d fare in 2011. Hmm. Aside from the usual family thing we have on January 1st every year, I started the year of with a planned trip to Tagaytay, primarily for our Yogi Babe’s wedding, but at the same time an out-of-town trip with the Hubby. A wedding and a honeymoon. A honeymoon and a wedding.

Sunday morning, I was lugging my backpack, a shoe bag and my yoga mat, on my way to Greenhills to meet the Hubby. I waited outside a Starbucks. In almost perfect timing, he passed by after a couple of minutes, had me load my stuff in the trunk, and hop in as we proceeded to the parking area. From there we walked back to Starbucks and chatted over drinks.

Why Greenhills? Hubby and I were going to mass. It was a Sunday, after all. He had invited me before to attend mass with him so I could see him play, but I’d never gotten the chance to. I knew it was important for him, so even if I’m not really a staunch churchgoer, I was there. Watching him on the organ while the choir sang was entertaining. If not for the couple of cute boys on the choir, just seeing him move, a la Cecile Licad at that. And he was so proud. I was happy he wanted to share that experience with me.

After the mass, around noon, we forewent lunch to get on our road trip. A stopover along SLEX to buy ice and reload the toll thingy, and we were off. Traffic wasn’t bad, considering most were going the opposite direction, on their way back to Manila. The next stop we made was at Paseo de Sta. Rosa for lunch. Poquitomas, not a very attractive name, but the food not bad at all. After a go at the buffet, we took a little stroll around the picturesque grounds. And full with gastric and scenic delights, we resumed our trip.

I think it was about 2:00 pm when we got to the house in Tagaytay. It was his aunt’s place, which he borrows sometimes. We’d actually spent a weekend there together already once last year. Our little love shack, if I may say. We unloaded our stuff, and settled in. We were both tired from the trip, but after a while just laying in bed, talking, tired but unable to doze off, we decided we’d just head on out and take in the town.

We headed off to find dinner, ending up in a quaint restaurant called Greek Taverna. Just two tables were occupied, again perhaps because everyone had left the little vacation town as the holidays drew to a close, and were on their way back to the real world already. But we appreciated the quiet. We ordered some pasta, lamb and skewers, all the while taking snapshots of ourselves documenting our little meal.

We went to get coffee at the nearest Starbucks, but the lines were too long. We did however chance upon a holiday bazaar, where we each bought a warm and fluffy animal cap - him a pig, since he was born in the Year of the Pig, and me, a goat, only because there was no horse, and not even for an Arian, which I am not. It wasn’t too late yet, so we thought we’d visit the wedding venue, an ocular of sorts, armed with a printout of a map, just so we could study the route which at that point we were both unfamiliar with.

I admit, we made stopovers on the way, at a drugstore and a couple of convenience stores. We looking for... lube. We were on a honeymoon, weren’t we?! Depressing how the drugstore and the first convenience store didn’t have any water-based lubricant, so much so that I actually felt I had to buy out the stocks of the second convenience store just to make sure. Supply and demand. Supply and demand. I demanded.

Anyhoo, we didn’t actually make it to the wedding venue that evening. We didn’t get lost, but we gave up. The only resolve was realizing that it was much farther away than the map suggested. Oh, well. We’ll find it tomorrow. We went home, washed up, relaxed, and put the condoms we brought and lubricant we bought to good use. Mmm.

Come morning, I awoke first and started preparing early. It was the wedding day itself, but I was dressed down in shorts and a sleeveless shirt. Nope, not for the wedding just yet, but for yoga. Yep, Yoga was part of the wedding itinerary.

Hubby dropped me off at Hacienda Isabella, where the wedding and all the other activities were to be held. Yep, he just dropped me off. Even with the other Yoga for Lifers there, he drove off without even getting introduced to them. He’s shy. Discreet somehow about what we have. Truth be told, of all my friends, he’s only ever managed to agree to BFF to meet us as a couple.

So with the Yoga for Lifers, we walked in and took in the sights. From what areas we had access to, it was amazing. Sprawling lawns with flourishing trees and charming structures all around. And to realize we were going to do yoga outdoors on the grass in the morning sun and cool breeze was amazing. It was an exhilarating practice, along with some of the other wedding guests, about twelve of us if I’m not mistaken, that left us energized for the day ahead, and the bride de-stressed hopefully from the wedding jitters.

Feasting on a well-deserved breakfast of eggs Benedict, I hitched out with the Yoga for Lifers, and got dropped off at the house where Hubby was waiting. He had had breakfast as well on his own. I showered and rested a bit, after which we hit the road again, to get some Good Shepherd products for him to take home, and have a hearty lunch of kare-kare at Sanctuario.

Back home, we laid in bed a bit. As in, a bit. It was twenty minutes, maybe, before I realized I had to start preparing for the wedding ceremony. I needed to shower, dress up, and pack the rest of my stuff so everything would be ready, as we planned to head back to Manila right after the wedding dinner. Nope, Hubby wasn’t coming with me to the wedding. He’s shy, remember? He was just really there to spend the rest of the time with me.

So I hitched to the wedding with one of the Yoga for Lifers, just to save Hubby from the long drive so he could just relax at the house. Now the wedding was to die for. The ceremony itself was heavenly, less religious than usual, but solemn and romantic nonetheless. Perfect. Simply perfect.

Drinks and finger food by the pool, a raid of the photo booth, and a hangout at the wish quilt, and I got a text. Hubby was in the parking area. I rushed over to keep him company, but he ushered me back in, saying that he’d just hang out and wait. How could I? He wasn’t there just to be my driver, ya know. But he convinced me he was okay waiting, and I hesitantly headed back in already planning my early exit.

I tried to enjoy dinner as much as I could, and the great food made that easy. The guests all sat at long tables dining on pasta, skewers and veggies, capped off by a slew of desserts, from fruit salad to strawberry crepes. But then I really couldn’t get away from the fact that someone was waiting for me in the parking lot. Mmm.

The programme started, and as much I would have wanted to go up to the couple and thank them for the wonderful evening, they were too enthralled in each other and in the speeches their families and friends were giving, that I decided against it. So I sought permission to go from the Yoga for Lifers instead, as BFF volunteered to accompany me to the car. Again, BFF is so far the only one privileged to see us as a couple. A hug and a kiss goodbye, I packed myself into the car and we drove off.

In the car, I did get the vibe that he wasn’t totally okay just waiting it out in a parked car. But he did know he made that decision. Besides, he was able to go for a spa day while I was at the wedding. So after a while, we were all good again.

We had dinner again along the SLEX, but still, in a whiff, thanks to the traffic-less streets, we were home around 11:00 pm. What a way to end the holidays, and start the New Year. It was a tiring trip, but I dare to speak for both of us when I say that we had a lot of fun. Enough warmth to cut through the Tagaytay chill. A honeymoon and a wedding. Not bad. We haven’t gotten a lot of opportunities to go out of town together, so to start the year off with this one should make the rest of 2011 one hell of an adventure.

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Money Matters

I’ve been feeling a financial crunch lately - on a personal level, that is. Right now, I have less than PhP 200.00 in my wallet. That’s pretty decent on a regular day. But it’s a weekend. And even before the gimmick worthy night creeps in, I’m already concerned. We usually have lunch out at work every Friday. So I’ve been forced to feign a diet and watch what I eat. Not for the calories, but for the pesos I’ll be spending.

Oi. Money. They say it makes the world go ‘round. If there’s any truth to that, then my world is coming to a screeching halt.

Okay fine, I’m not really that broke. It’s just that for my last few paydays, I seem to have racked up a good amount of expenses. Let’s do some accounting.

Naturally, daily expenses are there. Commutes to and from work, meals and other incidentals at work are staples. If only I could stop at staples. There are the monthly bills to pay, of course. But wait, there’s more!

The first spend that I remember is also the most remarkable. Christmas. I’m not excited, but a sale makes it too easy. This early, I’ve bought Christmas gifts for both my mom and myself. Remarkable, I say, because buying an LCD television for each of us isn’t a joke. One of the rare times I’ve allowed myself to eat into my savings. I rationalize it with the sale price, the savings on electricity I stand to gain, and the look of disbelief on my mom’s face when her least successful child offers to pay for a little bit of luxury. Hehehe.

And then there are all those tests I needed to pay for when I last paid RITM a visit for my CD4 count. Over PhP 2,000.00 worth, and I’m not even done yet. They say I need to go back for a repeat of my RPR to check if my syphilis is indeed still active. Argh. Another thousand there.Recently, I offered to shoulder medications for someone confined at the RITM. Considering it wasn’t anyone I knew, I really didn’t need to help. But the way Ate pulled me aside and told me how this person’s mother would choose walk to and from the drugstore every day just to save on fare, my heartstrings were pulled. With an unexpectedly small amount, I was able to cover her needs for a month. At least, her mom can lay off the walkathon for a month.

My exercise regimen is something I’ve added. There’s Yoga for Life. Of course, the sessions are really free, but any donations are used to shoulder the cost of the venue. Indigent students aren’t expected to donate if they can’t. But then, HELLO! I’ve got my pride. I am NOT indigent. So I give what I can to shoulder my share. Take that! Oh, and I have been in the process of putting together some way to work out at home. I have my yoga mat, a bench, and my first installment of dumbbells. Slowly but surely, so the costs come slowly as well. Hehe.

My little Bastard is another factor. It’s like having a kid. I get carried away shopping for stuff for him. A cage, food, toiletries, pee & poop pads, leashes & collars, a little carry bag, and lots of toys. And it’s depressing when he foregoes his toys to play with the plastic bag. Argh.

And as my first official dog, I’ve made it a point to get friendly with a vet for him. All the consultations, vitamins and shots really rack up as well. Good thing he got his last set of shots last week. Whew. He’s good till next year, we just gotta keep him healthy. It’s bad enough that I wasn’t careful enough to keep my own doctor away, so I’m bringing him up the right way now. Yep, even in the canine world, prevention is better than the cure.

And then of course, we cannot forget this little relationship that I’m in. I don’t know if I speak for anyone else, but dating can be expensive. Especially for me, since I’m coupled with someone who won’t let a week pass without seeing me at least twice. The dinners and movies are fun, but then he’s not the eat-just-anywhere type. He needs restaurants with decent food and excellent service, which means no Burger Machines and Aling Nena‘s Carinderias. But neither am I the freeloading type. I pay for my fair share of the tab. Yep, that’s proud little me.

So there. I’m maxed out. Well I’m not exactly broke. It’s my miserly fault too for doing everything in my power not to touch what I already have in savings.

So at this point, I need to beg. From you. From anyone out there. Not for myself, but for my beneficiary at the RITM I mentioned earlier. She’s confined right now, and is on medication for six months. A cocktail of medicines for some sort of respiratory infection, I think. Based on the per piece prices I got at the Generics Pharmacy, here’s the damage:
~ Rifampicin, 450 mg - PhP 8.25
~ Isoniazid, 300 mg - PhP 1.30
~ Ethambutol, 2 x 200 mg - PhP 4.20 each
~ PZA or P2A, 500 mg - PhP 3.50

Sorry, I’m just reading off the prescription Ate wrote out for me. So this is her daily regimen, which racks up to just a bit over PhP 20.00 a day. Not bad for us who are financially able. Compare that to some of our daily luxuries, right? But the reality of things is that one trip through Starbucks can already mean about a week of life to some who really need it.

So with that, I’d like to once again extend my plea to those of you who’d like to help. Please, please, please? Don’t hesitate to get in touch with me if you already know my contact, or via e-mail, pinoycumeater@yahoo.com.

For now, I remain budget conscious myself, and will draw upon the easy-to-please side of me. But I’ll be trying to do what I can as well. Thank heavens it was payday yesterday. Because money or not, the world will - and should - continue to go ‘round.

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Owned

Okay fine. I’m going to say it. I’m going to try to say it.

I dread having to admit it. But this being my journal, I can only say it because it’s the truth.

I’m... gulp... seeing someone.

Da bitch is owned.

He’s someone who found me online... yet again... on one of my personals sites. I held off on meeting up as long as I could, but he was persistent. I told him I was HIV positive. He still wanted to meet. I ran out of excuses.

We eyeballed at a local Starbucks, drove around a bit, and he brought me home. He snuck me into his house, got me comfortable, got me in bed, and got it on. This was last year. And that was that.

I couldn’t see him anymore because the time came when I was supposedly in a relationship. But that’s not to say that he wasn’t trying to see me. But I knew I couldn’t and I shouldn’t, so I didn‘t.

Of course, my relationship ended. This guy was still keeping in touch every so often. So June this year, he texted asking how I was and how my relationship was going, I decided. Fine I could see him again. No more reason not to.

So we’ve been going out since June. He immediately made clear that he couldn’t commit to anything just yet. That we could take it slow and just enjoy what we had. I honestly didn’t think I could commit either. I was at a point where I had come from committing myself to a relationship that turned out to be physically unsatisfying. So I was itching to just cruise the meat market, really. So taking it slow and just having fun was just perfect.

So yeah, we were dating regularly, once, sometimes twice a week, but not exclusively. I was dating other guys. I was sleeping around. I even had a bus buddy and a sex week, remember? What other things he was doing on his end, I didn’t really need to know. I didn’t ask. But he wanted to know what I was up to. I didn’t see any reason to keep him from finding out. And then it happened. He arranged for us to have a serious talk. Uh-oh.

To put it simply, he wasn’t happy. He was jealous. He was sad. He was disappointed. I could even say he was pissed. He was certainly reconsidering what we had. But what did we have? Technically, nothing. But introspect told me I wasn’t happy seeing that glum look on his face. So his sudden display of these emotions was, for me, a call to rethink where whatever we had was going.

So who is this guy? Well, he’s older than I am. Taller. Fairer. Built with a little bit extra, which is fine with me.


The bad news?

He’s a pessimist, putting himself down, especially when it comes to what we have. Lines like “Ayaw mo naman ako i-hug eh” after a perfect date piss me off, regardless of how little it’s meant. I just think it’s uncalled for, and there’s no right response to something like that.

Sexually, he’s more vanilla than I’d really like. But it’s something we can still work on and are still working on. No biggie.

He’s got a temper. He sometimes won’t let bad service at a store or a restaurant pass. He voices out getting pissed at rowdy kids at the mall. He barks at promo people who pester him. Believe me, even I have been on the receiving end of that temper already. Not the best way to start a date.

He’s paranoidly discreet. He takes a lot for him to give me a smack in his quite tinted car. He won’t hug me in public, not even in a bromantic way, and sometimes stops me from putting my arm around him. He’s even threatened to walk out if he hears any of my pozzie kids call me “mom”. Seriously?


The good news?

We have common interests. He’s an architect, and I’m a frustrated one. I match his educational and professional background in design with my fanaticism with the Lifestyle Channel. I sort of understand property development, have engineering somewhere in the back of my background, and know that ottoman pluralized is not ottomen.

He misses me. A lot. And very easily. Maybe too much. We’re still together and he already says he’s going to miss me. I know. Cheesy much.

He worships me. Not my most preferred role, but it’s good for a change. Still getting used to it. He knows everything about me, from my indecencies to my HIV, but still proudly declares something to the tune of “My boyfriend is a slut!” Oh, I’m fine with that. Not like it’s a far-fetched idea.


At this point, we’re still “together”. After that serious talk we had, we sort of honeymooned, spending a weekend in Tagaytay, albeit just sleeping in most of the time. We see each other at least weekly. He calls me his boyfriend. He uses the word “love” liberally. I admit I’ve used that L word as well. Gah! Cheesy! So not like me.

So there, that’s what’s been happening. I am owned. Or at least I’m letting myself be owned. Let’s see how things will go from here.

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Sex Week

Sex-wise, I’ve been such a good boy. Not totally good, but relatively, I could’ve used a whole lot more. After my sexless Papi-stage, sex has been few and far between, and more vanilla than I’d prefer to be. A combination of choice and chance. I just wasn’t going all out just yet. There was an election day fuck, a feast of german sausage, and some mini servings of vanilla here and there. Ugh, I’ve been good. I’ve been too good. I’ve been good long enough.

I wanted sex. I didn’t need it. I wanted it. Enough goody-two-shoes.

I finally gave in to my accounts on some gay personals sites that were craving for attention. I wouldn’t want to give them too much time speculating about my absence, right?

So I took the initiative to plan out some sexy time. What? I’m single. I’m horny. So? Go!


Episode 0 (Yes, even before Episode 1...)
Monday. I was rushing home. I crossed the overpass. I made eye contact with someone going the opposite direction. I glanced back. He was looking. I continued walking, turning to look every so often. He was still looking. He stopped at the end of the overpass. I was at the opposite end making my way down. I could see his silhouette against the bright lights behind him. His arm was up. He was inconspicuously calling me over, pretending to be fixing his hair. Should I, or shouldn’t I?

Should I! I was particularly brave this day. I turned around and climbed back up the stairs to cross to meet him. He walked beside me. “Anong gusto mo?,” he asked. Confirmed. He just wanted to get off. He led me to his car, where he nervously tried to get it on. He had me explore different parts of his buff body with my tongue. And despite the hesitation every time someone would pass by, he came. It wasn’t much action, but it was a good quickie to start the week.

Episode 1
Still that same Monday. The first planned session of the week. A guy I met online was inviting me over to his place. So I made it home, had dinner, showered, and waited for the go signal. His roomies were gone. He sent me a text message calling me over. A tricycle ride, a short walk, and another tricycle ride... I was there.

This was my first eyeball in a while. I wasn’t as nervous as I usually am on eyeballs. Odd. Might be the age. My age. He was much younger. He led me in, and we sat and talked in the living room. Then he led me into the bedroom, where we did the deed… in his roommate’s bed. Yikes. In the end, we were spent. He thanked me. I thanked him. And a condom manufacturer thanked us both. I finally got the chance to bring my condom stash to life.

Episode 2
Fine, I rested a couple of days. The next session I had was set for Thursday. Someone I met online was inviting me over to his friend’s place after work. The rain and traffic that day were really challenging my determination. But it was set, and I didn’t want to back out at the last minute. So late and wet as I was, I made it to the meeting place. From there, he bought us some takeout for dinner, some drinks… and of course, rubbers and lube. And off we went to his friend’s place.

A long walk and a tricycle ride later, we were there. He keyed the door and… oh. Of course. It was naïve of me to think we’d have his friend’s place without his friend. So, I was going to have my first threesome since a while ago. I’m not new to it. I know what it takes to balance two cocks at one time. I just haven’t been able to practice lately. And it showed. I was a bit awkward admittedly, but at the end of the evening, I got them both off. Whew!

Episode 3
This particular one, I told you about already in The Bad Trip. It was the fortunate or unfortunate and unexpected falling into place of all elements of being in the right place at the right time, all for one hot and steamy encounter. But one of the biggest factors that allowed this to happen was actually another surge of braveness that evening. Hell, I hopped in a stranger’s car... doesn’t that say it all? I can’t exactly say I’m more confident, maybe just more daring...

And all this happened, while I was on my way to...

Episode 4
So there, fresh... or not so fresh... from an encounter with a stranger... yes, cum-breath and all... I headed off to meet up with the guy with whom I’ve been dating most regularly. Good thing he didn’t suspect anything. We’ll, it’s not like we’re a couple or anything just yet, so it should’ve been fine anyway. I just needed to work within my green mind to downplay the afterthoughts and the afterglow and concentrate on the task at hand.

Well, this particular one shouldn’t even be part of this list because, technically, I’d really consider this a date more than a sex session. That particular evening, we just hung out at his place... albeit half or totally naked... teased a bit, napped a bit, and basically enjoyed the time together in private... in a comfortable but non-orgasmic way. Anyway, this guy is a whole other story, so I’ll tell you more about him in his very own post probably.

Episode 5
Saturday, I had an eyeball. The guy didn’t even have a picture in his profile, but then again, that may have just intrigued me more. We planned to check into a motel and do the nasty. Our preferences were a perfect match. That was something I was looking forward to. I got pissed a bit with how hesitant and finicky he was with the actual meet up, with him worrying that I was “halata”. Saying, “I’m here. Meet me. If you don’t like what you see, then just tell me off,” did the job.

Me? Halata? Hello?! So we met. Him leading me to the motel may just have meant he did like what he saw. He wasn’t so bad himself. He was older than I was, but looked good. Er na er. And he lightened up once we started talking and getting comfortable in bed. So sans all the sordid details, after two spent condoms and getting him to cum three times, I can confidently say that he enjoyed every minute of the four hours we spent together. This was one perfect fuck. And he’s looking forward to more.

Episode 6
To cap off a whole week of steamy encounters, I unwittingly ended with a bang. Reviving some old buddies I used to jam with, a conspiracy ensued to have hot fun. Of the buddies I used to have, the guys I had less qualms about keeping in touch with were the “strictly safer sex” guys. My sensibility says I wouldn’t have to convince them to safer sex. While with the rest, they’d probably be wondering why I suddenly shifted to safer sex after years of doing it with them unprotected.

So with worries like that out of the way, five horny guys got together and had a whole lot of fun. Fetishes and kinks all the way. Oh, you’re still stuck at lucky number five? Well, a five-some isn’t even the maximum I’ve ever had, so you shouldn’t be surprised at all. In the end, all five of us had fun, the chemistry surprisingly still there despite not seeing each other for over a year. Close to perfect. But the perfect way to end the sex week.


So there. Seven sessions for a week. An average of one per day. From a regular date to old buddies to new eyeballs to total strangers. From an intimate one-on-one to an unexpected threesome to a full-fledged orgy. From total vanilla to going all the way to having the kinkiest of kinks. This was one hot, hot week that gave me the sex fix I wanted. And I’m left saying to myself, “HIV and all, I still got it.” Pak!

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Bus Buddy

An ordinary weekday morning. I hopped on a bus on my way to work, all seats were taken. I stood in the aisle. I took a seat that became available at the rearmost of the bus. I was followed by others who had just gotten on.

And then, of course, as buses are somehow the root of some worldly desires for me, it got weird.

A guy took one of the other seats in the six-man row I was in. My peripheral vision was teasing me. Was he looking at me? I’m oddly visually challenged. I’m far-sighted. So I can’t really scout out guys who are seated too near. Or I just don’t really want to seem too obvious. Hmm.

As people got off along the way, I was able to transfer to the two-seater just ahead. I still felt like I was being watched. It was just him left in the row behind me. He was oddly leaning forward foregoing comfort for something else. But a lady was seated across from me, which may have been stopping him from making a move. Or I was just being too presumptuous.

We had reached Shaw Boulevard, and I felt him gathering his things. He slid over to the aisle. I felt his hand on my headrest. I heard a piece of paper. Then a couple of taps. I was intrigued but remained unobvious, both to him and the lady seated across. He got up and headed up front to get off. I tried looking out the window to see if he’d give one last glance, but didn’t spot him.

So what was that? Was he indeed trying to show interest? I remembered the sound of paper I heard. I ran my hand up the headrest and took a piece of paper slipped into it. It was a bus ticket. Today’s date, the fare, the origin and the destination. At the back, a name and mobile number was scribbled.

I had all the options in the world. I could have thrown it away. But then, of course, I’m a pleaser. I had a chance to make someone happy. How could I just ignore the guy? A guy who did not shove my face into his crotch on the first bus ride for a change? So yes… I sent a text message to the number.

And then the exchange began. He was relieved that I noticed the little message he left in the bus. Naman! I’m not that dense. With that, we became text mates. We’d text daily, at least mere good mornings or what not. This went on for a number of weeks. Maybe a month.

One Saturday morning, I was on my usual mall routine with my mom. At the hardware section, while looking at rechargeable lamps, my eyes caught a glimpse of someone. A guy. Tall, dark and neat, built with a little bit extra. We just stared at each other, short of saying “You look familiar,” “Where do I know you from,” and “Is that you?“ It was him. We didn’t talk or anything. We just texted.

At some point during that text conversations, I realized how ridiculous it was for us to be relying on chance to see one another. So I suggested that we plan out the next time we’d bump into each other. He agreed.

August crept in. And upon establishing the common point of our respective daily commutes, we agreed to meet and share rush hours. I arrived at the bus stop first, he came in a bit. Must’ve been funny seeing two grown men who couldn’t wipe the smiles off their faces.

We hailed a bus that would run our common route. We took seats beside each other. Sometime during the trip, he took my hand and held it the rest of the way, not even minding if other people would see. Cool. It was really nice having a hand to hold through traffic. There was a movie playing on the bus, too. Vic Sotto and Rosanna Roces. Basta Ikaw, Nanginginig Pa. Oy, is this a sign from the heavens? Not really. We were really without the kilig of it all because we were giggling at how ridiculous the movie was. He tapped my leg before getting off at his stop.

The next day, same thing. We rode together. Same bus line. No Pinoy movie this time, which we giggled about again. Again he had my hand firmly in his. Rush hour again. Traffic again. He got to his stop again, and tapped my leg. As he stood up he looked at me, sort of waiting for me to say something or wanting to say something himself. I’m sure I had a confused look on my face. He leaned in and gave me a smack on the lips. And then he turned and trudged to the front of the bus to get off, not even looking back.

Wait... what just happened? But no more confusion, I had a smirk on my face by this time.

I got a text message from him shortly.
“Ingatz”
     “Ikaw rin. Hmp nanggugulat ka. Hahaha.”
“Hahaha… Nakuha ko ba sa bilis?”
     “Oo. Kung Pinoy movie yun, dapat sasampalin pa kita. Hahaha.”
“Hehehe… Sige di na nga maulit.”
     “Oo. Di na mauulit na magugulat ako.”
“Hahaha… So laging ready ka na?”
     “O baka ikaw na magulat. Sige. Ingat ka ha.”

The next day, same thing. Without the movie. And without the smack. He didn’t even hold my hand. I felt he was teasing me. So I took initiative and grabbed his hand. Hmp, akala mo makakatakas ka ha. So there. We were officially bus buddies, and this was our daily routine. I felt like I had a date every single day. I did, sort of.

Okay, fine, we haven’t always been that patweetums. I think there’ve been three occasions that he holds my hand and leads it towards his crotch for me to feel his erection through his slacks. But that’s the farthest we’ve gone. Nope, he still hasn’t shoved my face into his pubes. But he’s managed to keep me curious as to what’s down there. Wholesome, but naughty.

As of this writing we’re still on it... our daily date. I think in almost a month, we’ve missed just three or four days, but I liked how the days we missed together aren’t a big deal. Because on days we were together, the least we’d be is just napping in the bus holding hands. Nice.

Basically, we're barely past being acquiantances. I don't know his surname. Not even his real name. I don't know what he does, nor does he know what I do. And no, I haven't told him the virally significant secret that I hide. Not like he'll catch anything by holding my hand.

So there, now you know my bus buddy. We’re not a couple. No commitment. No I-love-yous. Just something comfortable. And major-major safe. A huge ego boost, for me, at least. Nice. Really nice. And naughty too sometimes.

Isn’t life great? And aren’t buses too?

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Trust

Despite my early morning jog being called off last minute, I still had a full Saturday planned out. It was really a mishmash of stuff that got thrown into a 24-hour period, so I really wasn’t sure how it could all get sewn together into a sensible story.

But I can always try. Bear with me.

I needed to convince myself to do another morning run. I had all the excuses. I was lazy, I was sore, I’d be tired so early, I wanted to save energy for yoga, etcetera, etcetera. But fine, I’ll do it. Up at 4:30 am Saturday, I awoke to a text from running buddy calling the run off. I was neither happy, nor bummed. Deadma lang. So I had breakfast, and back to bed I went. Thus, I worked in 9 hours of sleep. Ah loved et!

Next on the menu was family bonding. Needed to go to the grocery with mom and run some errands. No biggie, nothing unusual. Was back home within just an hour. Had lunch, and had a few minutes of food coma, and then needed to get back on my feet and prepare to leave again. It was yoga time.

I couldn’t miss yoga. I had a Yoga for Life virgin coming in to join us. Plus Basyang already got in the way of our Wednesday yoga, and I was already craving for it. So off I went, bussing to Makati in the noon traffic and heat. I got there half an hour early, but just a few minutes after my guest, so it was perfect.

It was again a tight group, all familiar faces. It started out with the usual. Maybe what was most unusual was that it was a noticeably light, less strenuous and lower impact yoga session. But then two words threw my complacency into the air. Two words simple enough on their own, but when put together made my jaw drop. Head... Stand... Headstand.

Headstand?! Oh my gosh… We were going to do a headstand today?! I’ve never done a headstand before. I don’t even think they teach that in Kamasutra! I’ll be honest, I was scared. But we were assured that we were to be guided and assisted one at a time. But still... gulp.

So one by one, starting with the most yoga-experienced, our yogi got us into headstands. I was getting more nervous as my turn approached. Four others did it before me, and did it successfully at that. So I had the chance to be the pooper… but I felt dared and challenged. Fine. Let’s do this.

Propped on my hands and elbows, ass up in the air and seeing the rest of the room upside down, I was given three counts to boost my feet off the floor and up onto the wall. One… two… three… and caution was thrown into the air. Next thing I felt was our yogi catching and assisting my legs till they were straight on the wall. I did it! I did it! I would’ve given myself a round of applause if I could!

I was only there less than a minute, but already I could feel all the blood rushing to my head. I was then told to roll out of the headstand when I was ready. What?! I’m here already! I’m not budging! It would be a challenge anew to get out of the headstand. But fine, I would have gravity on my side this time, right? So down I went. It was less of an effort than getting into it, and easier than I expected.

I needed to ask myself. Did I really do it? I sat stunned for a few minutes, until someone from across the room gave me a thumbs-up, asking if I was okay. I smiled back and nodded. I did it. I really did it. Next thing I knew, I was picturing my room in my head, thinking against which wall I could do headstands. Whoa! And I wanted to do more of it?! Hahaha!

That was a yoga session to be remembered. And that headstand was worth more than the minute I was in it. It was empowering. It was liberating. I cannot thank our yogi enough.

It was almost 4pm when I left Makati. Where to? Another date. Same guy I was with at the movies last weekend, so it wasn’t just any eyeball. I headed home to dump my stuff and freshen up. Within a few minutes of getting home, rain started to pour. Was I lucky to get home in time? Or have I jinxed my night out? Argh.

Really, it was raining enough to activate the laze in anyone. But I had made a promise. I promised we’d hang out at his place. It was a promise that I was set on keeping. So I just sent a text message asking for some leeway to wait for the rain to hold up slightly. He was fine with it. After a good fifteen minutes or so, I charged out. In a cab and armed with some instructions with which to direct the driver on where to go, I crossed my fingers hoping that we don’t get lost.

I was lucky enough to get a good driver, who was slightly familiar with the area and didn’t take advantage of my not knowing. I let my don’t-look-lost façade down, and we worked together to find the place. Success. At least I’ll know how to get there next time.

My date led me in, and plopped me down onto his bed. We watched TV and talked, wrapped in a blanket and each other’s arms the whole time. After four hours, I was tired, sleepy, and drugged, and said I had to go... Okay fine, rewinding, we did get a bit frisky within some of those four hours. It was not anything we both weren’t into.

So from there, we freshened up and left. We drove-thru on the way for a light midnight snack. He dropped me off where I could get a ride. I bid goodbye... without a hug or a kiss because of his stand against PDA... hahaha.

As much as I’d like to say that my trip home was uneventful, it wasn’t. It’s not every day that someone makes a pass at me and strikes up a conversation on my walk home. Argh. Small talk is hard enough for me, let alone with a stranger. Good thing he was a pretty decent guy… decent enough to say I didn’t really have to tell him my real age when I could pass for someone in his mid-20s. Hehehe. Talk about a last minute ego boost.

So, as you can see, I had another packed Saturday. It seemed like I was just all over the place, until I watched Nim’s Island on cable today. It was my first time watching it, and I enjoyed the story. Very feel good. But there was one particular line that caught my attention...

Trust is the secret to adventure.

Indeed, trust was huge for me this weekend. Trust in fate. Trust in my instinct. Trust in our yogi. Trust in my body. Trust in gravity. Trust in the weather. Trust in the understanding of others. Trust in a cab driver. Trust in unknown paths. Trust in a date. Trust in a stranger. And over all, trust in what the heavens had in store. A whole lot of trust... and not even counting the condoms I always have on hand just in case. Hehehe.

For a pretty juvenile movie, Nim’s Island hit the nail on the head. Trust is the secret to adventure. It is, at least, the secret to mine. And my adventure just happens to be this little thing I call life.

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Unreproductively Productive

I was supposed to be in Tagaytay last weekend. An uncle of mine arrived from the US and had planned an out of town trip for the family. I was hesitant. Even in family situations, I’m still aloof. At 32, I’m caught in the middle of the generations. Too young and shallow to mingle with the grownups. Too old and out of fad to hang with the kids. The one person I could have related with would be my sister, but she’s been able to evolve and dodge most of our family gatherings. Which left me with a huge decision. To go or not to go?

Not to go. My reason? I had other plans.

It was the truth, I did have other plans. There were so many things I could do instead of being stuck in Tagaytay, succumbing to heaven-knows-what plans the family had for the weekend. Don’t get me wrong Tagaytay is a nice place to be, but I would rather be there with the freedom to do what and go where I’d want. So I decided to stay home alone and get my own stuff done for the weekend.

I’ll be honest. With my mom’s early retirement, I don’t get much time home alone. The times she goes out are usually the same times I’m at work. When I’m home, she’s always there. So I treasure every bit of home alone time I get. I know it sounds harsh to talk about my mom like that. But it’s the truth.

So I woke up early Saturday, and hit the road at around 5:00 am, even before my mom got picked up by the Tagaytay-bound carpool. Why so early? I had a date… a running date. I was trying out being a running buddy to one of my Yoga for Life friends. I’m not new to running. I spent a whole semester with Running for Fitness as my P.E. course in college. But I never got to do it regularly after that.

I got to Ultra shortly before our 6:00 am call time. Running buddy was already there. And so our legs got moving. Warming up walking a couple of times around the oval, we nodded ourselves into a gallop. Alternating rounds between running and walking, chatting with almost every step, entertained by the sight of all the yummy boys and hot men there, and at the same time distracted by all the females, we had gotten into a good rhythm.

Before we knew it, we had been at it for over an hour, without even taking time to sit and rest. We actually lost count of the number of rounds we did. I guessed 10, he guessed 16. So it must’ve been somewhere in between. And if the track was a standard size of 400 meters, that gives us some 4 to 6 kilometers maybe. Good enough for a short distance marathon. Not bad for a first time.

From there, we headed off to get some brunch. Pasta for me, and a huge sandwich for him. My favorite advocate-doctor-yogi caught up with us in a bit, pouncing on some eggs benedict. And then we got chatting away. Before we knew it, it was past 10:00 am. We all needed to go. What I really needed was to rest, but I needed to go home and start preparing for what was next on my itinerary... yoga.

I was falling asleep on the bus ride home, which was refreshing. I got home, but didn’t have enough time to nap. So I just got on the net a bit to check mail, unloaded my bag, packed new stuff, showered and changed, and I was off to Yoga for Life. Sadly, I was unsuccessful at trying to nap on the bus ride to Makati.

Again, I got there almost on the dot. And again, my favorite advocate-doctor-yogi was there. It was a tight group this time, just 6 of us there. And I have a feeling Murphy was there, too. The day’s yoga routine just happened to focus on the lower body. Great. Torture for me. But I endured. And it actually felt good. Like a delayed cool down from the morning run.

A run and yoga on the same day?! I actually surprised myself. Coming from me who has been passing off on working out with the excuse that I don’t have time nor the energy for it, doing yoga as much as twice a week and even squeezing a run in between makes me give myself the evil eye and say, “Well, well, well!”

After an hour of yoga, some of us took a dip in the pool. I couldn’t because I had to be somewhere by 4:00 pm. And it was almost 4:00 pm, I was surely going to be late. I left with our yogi, and was finally introduced to PozzieBoy, one of the newer poz bloggers. We walked together a bit, before PozzieBoy bade goodbye and went his own way. Yogi and I rode the MRT, he to his next yoga class, and me to Quezon City for what was literally my next booking... E’s booklaunch.

I got to there late as expected. And I believe I didn’t have enough energy to even worry about the crowd there. You know how I am in groups of people, right? Luckily, though, E was outside and spotted me right away, waving and calling me towards him. Shortly we went in. The program was about to start, which meant I was late but perfectly timed. Hehe. Fashionably late, if I may say so.

There were some familiar faces there. The first of who was one of the publishers, who just happened to be my highschool classmate. Geesh. Just don’t ask why I’m here, please. I currently do not have a ready alibi. A bit small talk with him, and I was off. A lot of pozzie friends were there to support E. My eldest kid, my grandson, some empowerment batchmates, and others. Some fellow bloggers were there as well, JohnStan, WanderingPolarBear, and of course, McVie and ManilaGayGuy... it was their night, of course!

A word from the publisher, an excerpt from each book, some words from the authors, and it was time for the book signing. We headed out because the place was hot and stuffy, obviously not equipped to handle that many people. BruskoBoi and BFF arrived while we were outside. We waited for the lines to disperse before having our own books signed. To what name? B.I.T.C.H., of course! Both McVie and ManilaGayGuy needed to ask me whether I was sure about that. Naman!

From there, we left E who was still signing books. The posse was going for dinner. And I was off to what was next on my agenda... a movie date.

Of course I couldn’t leave without getting teased that I was just having an eyeball. But this was someone who I encountered through a personals site, way back, before my Papi episodes. Even before we met, I told him of my status. He was okay with it. We went out a couple of times before. And then just kept in touch while I was “with” Papi. And so recently, when we were both available, we got back to going out.

We’re somewhat dating, but with no strings attached. Everything’s clear to us both, no pressure, no expectations. Just fun. And I’m still thankful about how the HIV thing is a non-issue for him. He does ask questions sometimes, and he does get reminded of it every time I take my ARVs when we’re together. But still, he doesn’t care much about it. I got lucky.

So I walked to a nearby Starbucks to meet with my guy. He picked me up and we headed for the mall. We window shopped, had dinner, got some juice, and watched the last full show of Karate Kid. Not bad. It was just nice having a hand to hold while watching... and a head resting on your shoulder, too. It’s been a while since I had that. Argh! Cheesy alert!

Anyways, the movie finished past midnight, I think. I was really nearing the end of my wick after a long, packed and tiring day. And my Efavirenz taking effect didn’t help either. So he brought me home, ending the night with a hug and a kiss in the car. I had to convince him... and dare him even... he’s a pretty shy guy with public displays of affection. Hehehe.

And so my day came to a close. Thinking about it, I could’ve taken advantage of having the house all to myself, and invited some fuck buddy – or buddies – to come over and bang the hell outta me. Honestly, I thought about it. But I had a full day planned out, and not much energy left for any banging. My mind was kept off those kinds of things. No regrets.

Run, brunch, yoga, booklaunch, dinner, movie... Whew! I had a great Saturday… eventful, fun, busy, and most of all, unreproductively productive.

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The Cocky Asian

I’d been messaging with a European guy a couple of months ago, with him planning a trip to Manila in May. Physically, from pictures and descriptions, there was chemistry. And it was mutual, too. He liked me and I liked him. Sexually, we were a match. When the time came that I was convinced that he indeed was coming and that it wasn’t just a prank, I had to tell him that I was HIV-positive. Well, okay, I didn’t have to tell him, but I wanted to, so he could take that factor into consideration. I was prepared for any response. But I was hoping for the best.

I won’t deny that I’ve done it with men of different nationalities. I may even be too proud. I remember, during my pre-test counseling, that was among the questions asked… what the nationalities of my sex partners were aside from Pinoy. I listed them down proudly, from Asians all the way to Caucasians. Hell, I didn’t care about being thought of as a global slut. At least I told the truth, right?

So far, with my non-Pinoy conquests, the Caucasians in particular, I’ve had a pretty good record in the sex-to-HIV field. It just really seems that they’re more open-minded about the issue. A couple of them were okay with it, even if we had unprotected sex prior to finding out I was HIV-positive. They even made it known that they still wanted to have sex with me. Hmm, haba ng hair...

I think the worst reaction was from one American guy who went into panic. What if I am sick?, What if lose my job?, and I’d rather die! were among the hysterics that he gave me. He pushed me away. But shortly after, he made his presence felt again, apologizing and revealing that he was actually in a long term relationship with someone who was HIV-positive, too. I never did figure him out.

Even now, I still touch base with a number of foreigners who find me online and who still look forward to meeting, mating and more with me, even after disclosing my HIV-status. Potential meets and mates in the future. And knowing me, right now single and all, I’m game.

And so... back to my story. Last week, I was in touch with my European guy, as he shared his itinerary with me, laying out the days we could possibly meet. And finally, last weekend, the fateful day came. Would it push through? Or would it fall through?

I had to work overtime last weekend, a one-to-sawa meeting that was to taunt my pending date. With just half an hour to spare before our agreed time, I was off. I rushed home to freshen up, and zoomed off into the night headed for the guy’s hotel. I was so fast that I left my mom wondering what could cause me to pop in and out of the house with such speed.

Already late, I took a cab straight to my destination. I got there and asked the receptionist to buzz his room. He asked me to wait, he’d fetch me at the lobby. So I sat and waited. Odd. I wasn’t nervous. I usually am on first meets like this. Really odd.

I heard steps coming down the stairs, and there he was, the same as he looked in his pictures. He led me up to his room, stepped in, as we both plopped onto his bed. He offered me a drink as we got to getting to know each other. And as casually as we were talking, so did our hands start groping. One thing led to another... and another... and another.

Indeed, the virtual chemistry we’d established chatting, messaging and e-mailing were expectations we did live up to, kink and all. And with that, I added one more to my list of nationalities. Yes, I had my German sausage. The issue of safer sex was addressed by the fact that he was mostly into oral... making it relatively safer... and he was an oral-inserter at that, meaning he preferred to be the one getting blown... making it relatively safer again. Take note, I use the words “relatively safer”, as oppose to being absolutely safe.

But as if that wasn’t enough, he surprised me again when he performed some oral on me as well. I appreciated it, but before long, we turned back to our preferred roles. Soon, the scents of steam, sweat and sperm filled the room, and we were spent.

As we cooled off, we got back to talking... about everything under the sun. From work, to family to our motherlands, to his Philippine experience, and other stuff. Of course, we touched on my HIV experience as well, and he expressed how appreciative he was of my honesty with my status, and I expressed my appreciation of how open-minded he was. After over an hour of conversing, we were both ready to call it a night. So I showered and headed on home.

The following day, we were still in touch, and there were plans to meet that night again. The plan didn’t push through though, because we both took the time to rest for our big tomorrows… him for his early flight home, and me for the start of another work week. But at least the desire to meet again was there. Argh, the sex... ahh, I mean the chemistry was that good!

Was it the fact that he was Caucasian? Well, probably not that in particular. I’m not particularly what they'd call a Potato Queen. I'm just a cocky Asian. Hehehe. Although, I do remember an American friend of mine tell me that I was the type who matched well with Caucasians, himself included. Because I’m open-minded? Maybe. My dry humor? Possibly. Hmm, wait... mukha ba akong katulong? Just kidding... let’s call it... exotic. Hahaha.

So once again, I proved that HIV-positives can still have sex. Safer sex, but hot sex nonetheless. And I do believe it factored in significantly that I was not burdened by the need to be carrying my HIV baggage at the back of my head the whole time, and that we were both completely consensual to everything that happened that evening.

So there. Disclosure of my HIV-positive status isn’t exactly damaging my sexlife. Not even with those who are negative. Just the way it should be, with Caucasians or otherwise. That’s what safer sex is for. Hopefully more Filipinos will follow suit. Let’s prove that this kind of knowledge, power, acceptance, openness and awareness isn’t something that only Caucasians are capable of.

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The Hot Weekend

Fine, my birthday is over. But was it over when it was supposed to be? The truth is, unlike any other in previous years, my birthday this year sort of got an extension of sorts. I mean, yeah, I did have a "celebration" somehow on the day itself, but the celebrations didn't end there. It leached on into the weekend. The hot weekend. The hot birthday weekend.

For the first time ever I think, I had a day blocked off for a birthday treat. I mean back when I was still in school, my birthday didn’t count because it would always be summer vacation. When I started working, there would always be birthday leaves set aside. And for other persons in my life, there actually came a time when I’d hibernate for the whole day and just be by myself.

I know it sounds pathetic, but I’d disappear, stay unreachable, and just space out. It wasn’t that I was lonely, I just really loved being alone. Plus, the fact that I hated attention. The worst that I had done on a birthday? There was one year that I left the house early, checked into a motel for a whole day, and in a series, watched porn, jerked off, showered, slept, and repeated. Till the night crept in and I headed home. Needless to say that was one draining birthday.

This year would be different. Thanks to LuckyTrese who almost never let a day pass without asking when and where my birthday blowout would be. Fine. A blowout once every 32 years isn’t bad at all, right?

So Saturday was the day, and it was to be a pozzie day. I met with BFF at the MRT, and headed on south in the afternoon heat. We made a stopover to pick up a newbie who I was to be meeting for the first time. And from there, we headed to Mall of Asia.

One by one, people showed up. My pozzie grandkid, a couple of my pozzie kids, my pozzie parent, and pozzie bloggers LuckyTrese, E, APositivePointOfView and RecordBreaker. All generations well represented. Sounded like we were a lot but had everyone invited showed up, we may have just doubled in number. Agh.

We had dinner. Italian, because I said so. A tomato based penne, a pesto spaghetti, and a couple of pizzas, bacon cheeseburger and double anchovy. Yum. Of course some of us got their fill just eyeing all the hot boys in the resto. Shameless, shameless, shameless. But allowed. Hehe.

From there, we took a stroll back and forth down the baywalk. Not realizing that no one had any idea where we were going. Finally, our gala boys decided to head to Malate. We left E behind, who was heading out of town that same evening. I was really glad he showed up, late but nonetheless. Oh and E’s gift, a little figurine with my picture and the words “Sexy Star” on it? Priceless. E... such an a-hole. Hehehe.


With his spot quickly filled by a new negative friend standing in for his unconfirmed-pozzie friend, we were off to Malate. We were conveniently approached by a driver who offered to take all ten of us. Considering the long queue for taxis, we took it. And this driver was something. We weren’t conscious about getting all homo with him, but amazingly, he was riding along. Type ni manong si Derek Ramsay! Tarush!

Malate. A nice, cool, chill bar served as our refuge, as we made the most of the final hours before the upcoming election’s liquor ban kicked in. I just had a couple of bottles of Red Horse. Others had their own concoctions. A couple stuck with non-alcoholic drinks. And almost all quenched their thirst with more eye candy. Hot stuff. Hehehe.

I think it was before midnight that we hit a fork in the road. One group would go on partying into the wee hours, and the other would head home. I, of course, headed home. ARVs, two bottles of beer, and going way past my bedtime did it for me. Slept like a baby.

Sunday was no rest day. I had lunch with the extended family. Nope, not for my birthday, but a combination of Mother’s Day and my mom’s 60th birthday. Wow, 60. Senior citizen. She now qualifies as my dependent. I wonder if she’d be comfortable being a dependent of someone who would also technically qualify to have a disability? Hmm.

Anyhoo, again, several generations were there, from my grandmother to my cousin’s daughter. I made the most of the buffet lunch, chowing down on four platefuls of such viands as lasagna, tempura, baked potato, and sushi. Worth it, except when, at the end of the meal, a cousin asks me why I seemed so thin. After eating all that? What was I supposed to say?

The rest of the day, I declared too hot to move. Didn’t even want to go to the mall. Just stayed home and slept. Ran a few errands as the sun set. And a quick go-see with BFF in the evening. I needed to save my energy for the next day. It was, after all, going to be election day.

Woke up early the next day. I was ready, actually excited, to vote. My mom and I took the two minute walk to the polling precinct thirty minutes before it was set to open. Credit that for my being number 7 to vote. We beat all the lines, and were done in about 5 minutes. All went well, except for the more than generous amount of indelible ink I got. Indelible AND incredible. And then it was hot again.

But surprisingly, something got me to brave the heat. I got a text message at around 10:00 am, from someone saying he was horny and asking if I was free. This was an old buddy, who I’d been successfully avoiding during the time I thought I was in a relationship. Now that I was single, what was to stop me?

So in fifteen minutes, I was off on a short walk to his place. It may have been a year since I last saw him. Sat down, talked a bit, caught up, and then the clothes came off. I was almost sure I was going to enjoy with this guy, because I did every time before. It was always fun, with no inhibitions nor strings attached, and we were just such a perfect sexual match. Both the bottom and the cumeater in me were always happy. Teehee. I know, TMI.

And with a Wham! Bam! Thank you, man!, I was outta there in less than an hour. So I was bad. I was really bad. But it was good. It was really, really good. Another good drizzle to end an 8 month drought. A good, long, hot, sticky drizzle to cap off the hot weekend.

I... had... sex. Gasp. Right now, I just consider it as one of my birthday gifts to myself. Having safe fun... being carefree... giving in… for now. But at some point, I will really need to take a good look at myself and decide where I’m taking this.

Right now, I can feel the old B.I.T.C.H. creeping in. Pre-HIV. The B.I.T.C.H. who enjoyed sex a lot. The B.I.T.C.H. who could handle 6 guys in one session. The B.I.T.C.H. who had as many as three separate sessions in a day. The B.I.T.C.H. whose record was having 100 guys in the span of 4 months. I amaze even myself.

I could go back there. But do I really want to? Do I really need to? Think, think, think.

I’m not saying sex is a no-no. I’ve always said that even HIV-positives can have sex... safe sex, or course. But if I just really needed to release the sexual tension, my right hand is always on call, right? I just don’t want to find myself using sex as too much of an escape. I don’t want to catch myself playing with others’ emotions. A predator, I refuse to be. An opportunist, I am not. Pure evil, far from it. But an angel, I am not either. I still absolutely love sex.

And with that, my long, busy, hot birthday weekend came to an end. Hot. Really hot. Till next year. Maybe it’ll get... even hotter.

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Blowing Candles

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.

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Missions Accomplished

It’s been another busy weekend. A long weekend, but a busy one.

May 3rd is a holiday here, a resched of labor day. But like a three-day weekend wasn’t enough, I decided to take the day off from work Friday.

So it was a really long weekend. A really long weekend, but a busy one. Missions abound.

E was planning to go to the RITM April birthday bash, and bugged me to go as well. You see, he doesn’t go to gatherings like this much. And if he’s like me by virtue of being my friend, having a comfort zone of familiar faces there makes it much easier. I was to be one of those familiar faces, I assume.

So three birds with one stone. Socialize, of course. Possibly considering have this nagging cough of mine checked up. And was also going to leave with Ate the stash of Neurobion and Celecoxib meds for the pusit who needed help. Thanks Myke and Moi!

I got a haircut, took the MRT to Ayala Station, and with my share of the potluck, Malabon’s pride sapin-sapin, took a bus to Alabang. I successfully bypassed having to wait in line for a minivan to RITM, only to realize I wasn’t late after all.

Walking into the back office, I didn’t recognize anyone of the handful already there. I sat down to cool off, and texted PositiveEqualsRebirth. I hadn’t met him yet, but have been chatting with him for some time now, and he said he was planning to go. Soon the door opened, one of my “kids” walked in, RedAppleBlackMark, practically screaming my name.

Embarrassing as that was, good enough as well. It turned out that PositiveEqualsRebirth had apparently been in the room the whole time, and upon recognizing my name, stepped up to introduce himself and his partner who was with him. Finally we’d met. And because, as evident in our online chats, we do share some wavelength, this should be a first of many.

In a while, more familiar faces arrived. Fellow positive bloggers E, LuckyTrese and ImNotDyingImLiving, another of my kids, Little Jenny a.k.a. Jeje, Papi with his friend, and several others I knew. So really, I did have a comfort zone there, and I believe I was less of a wallflower this time. I think… you tell me.

The food was fine: chicharon, pansit, donuts, and a huge cake. The ambience would’ve been okay, if not for one older pusit whose stories of choice dealt with who AIDS killed, who died when, what the person died of, who died next, who’s next in line, etcetera. Who is this a-hole anyway? And he actually claimed to be part of a support group?! Supporting what? Did his support group not teach him that no one dies of AIDS per se?

It would’ve been considerate of him to note that there were relative newbies in the bunch. And yes, we needed to do damage control after. Thanks a lot. Nakikain ka na nga lang, nang-nega ka pa?! I would’ve rather he shut up and started digging his own grave. Agh.

By mid afternoon, the group thinned and it was time to go. I hitched a ride going north, braved an odd summer storm and got stuck in horrendous traffic. Fortunately, we got “forced” by the weather to have dinner as a group, with BFF catching up with us, and having a bit of coffee as a nightcap. Not a bad way to end a long day.

The next day was not to be less “positive”. E invited us over to his place. Oh, no. More like he badgered us. He had been counseling a newbie for some days now, someone still waiting for his HIV test results, but was already sulking in paranoia and being haunted by suicidal tendencies. And E needed reinforcements, lest he get fed up and give the kid a list of ways to take his own life. Yes, patience is not one of E’s strong points. Hehehe.

So O, BFF and I headed there for lunch, picking up newbie and his friend along the way. My eldest “kid” was there too, as well as LuckyTrese. A second batch even arrived after we finished lunch.

So from the trip throughout lunch, we were really showing newbie that life will and does go on. He and his friend were actually in the medical field, but it was a classic case of knowing too much but lacking real world experience and not understanding it all, leaving them just paranoid and negative. So they fielded as much questions as they could, and later on I noticed that they were both lightening up, even immersing themselves in the okray mood of our little group.

From there, we left E around mid-afternoon. I was going to Shang. I had a date… a date with a friend and fellow advocate, so yes, he did know about my status. And BFF, newbie and his friend decided to stalk us. Argh. There wasn’t much to stalk. We weren’t planning on getting busy… just going to hang out over some coffee and stuff. After a couple of hours chatting, my date needed to go and rest after starting his day early, aside from a lack of sleep. Cool with me.

He brought me to the MRT station, where we hugged and headed our separate ways. Shortly, I learned BFF was still in the area with the kids, so I ambushed them at another coffee place. They of course didn’t let me pass without ribbing me about my date… about not being able to wipe the smile off my face and about having an afterglow. Wahaha! Toink!

But seriously, I think it helped newbie boy to see that, yes, we can still have a dating life, even with negatives! During that hour more of us hanging out, it was clear that he was in a more positive mood. And he knew that whatever happens, he wouldn’t need to go through it alone. He had us.

From there, we headed off into the night, BFF and I together. And because BFF and I always have the most perfect dates together, we did not call it a night. We did some catching up and evaluated the weekend together over some dinner first, and then headed home.

Sunday was spent just home, for a change. I was really dead tired already from the past two days, but it was all worth it. A good end to April, and a great start to May. And it wasn’t even all fun and games. Missions accomplished.

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How NOT to Celebrate

I’d been tapping my fingers waiting for mid-April. April 17th. It was to be two years since I got diagnosed with HIV. I always thought I’d treat it as a special day.

Last year, I did have an entry, Happy Positiversary. But this year, as the day came closer, I was having second thoughts. I wasn’t exactly as excited.

Was this really something to celebrate?

April 16th, I had to trek to RITM early in the morning. No choice. I drank the last of my supply of ARVs the day before. I got my meds and hung out with Ate a few minutes as well. My regimen booklet was handed to me as well... it’s this passport-slash-bankbook looking thingy where all the ARVs we get every time are recorded. Apparently, they want us to take responsibility for our own booklets, rather than the old protocol where we’d leave all our booklets with Ate every time. Good luck, hope I don’t ruin it or lose it.

From there, I headed off to work. I rode a bus back to Makati. Nothing special, it was actually hot on the bus, and I fell asleep for most of the trip. When we hit Magallanes, a lot of people got off, including the person beside me and those seated across the aisle from me. Someone walked up from the rear of the bus to take the seat across. And then it started getting weird.

I felt he was looking at me. I had to glance over. It was a guy in a black shirt, nice looking actually. But still couldn’t say for sure if he indeed was looking at me or not, because he had shades on. One reason I hate shades, I never know what someone’s looking at. So anyway, noticing that he’d look away every time I glanced at him, I shrugged it off as nothing.

Ayala turned out to be his stop. He stood to get down, but not before he tapped the headrest of the seat in front of me twice with his fingers. I found it so odd. Was that supposed to mean something? I waited if he’d look back, but he didn’t. Still curious, I drew the curtains aside to see if I could spot him one last time on the street. I did.

I was expecting him to be walking or something, but no. He was standing there, waiting for the bus to pass, looking my way the whole time. I thought to myself, too bad he didn’t make his intentions clearer... I probably won’t ever get the chance to see this guy ever again. The world ain’t that small.

So there. Made it to work, late of course. Oh, but not before getting another pass from a guy on the jeep. Argh. The heavens were taunting me. Fine, so I’m single, but really, must it pour when it rains? Anyway, I’ll take it. The rest of the day was spent at work, plus a dinner meeting for something we’re coming up with hopefully in time for World AIDS Day in December... exciting! No details yet, but the ball has started rolling!

Saturday was gonna be a night. A date night at that. This was someone I had known since before. Had sex on the first date years ago. Wholesome second date in MOA, movie, dinner, walked around and plopped down on the sidewalk for some hours just talking. Simple... simple and nice actually. Then sex again on the third date.

After that, I started avoiding him, mostly because I was dealing with finding out I was HIV positive. He was one of those I advised anonymously to get tested. His persistence to see me again forced me to disclose to him. I don’t remember exactly when I did, but I think it was late last year. Still he was willing to see me. My next reason why I could not see him was that I was dating someone exclusively, which I was.

And now that I am transitioning from a so-called relationship, I have no more excuses. So when he asked to see me, I agreed. Saturday was gonna be a night. The night. The date night.

A date? Big deal?! Well, it was a big deal for me, because it would be my first date since September last year. Yep, that was the last I was ever on a date. Pathetic to think I was actually in a relationship since that time? I know. But again, no regrets. So this was to be a first in 7 months. Kawawa no? Hehe.

So we met in Makati, and watched a movie. I Love Phillip Morris. Not exactly the feel good movie we were expecting. I didn’t know what to think about the part where he gets out of jail by faking his medical records and making it appear that he has AIDS, successfully getting himself into a guinea pig program… and this is supposed to be based on true events?! Toink.

From there, we had dinner at Shakey’s. Penne pasta, a huge salad, and a basket of Mojo potatoes. Yum. Washed down with two pitchers of draft beer? Heavenly. I was bashing him for leaving me to do the eating, while he was bashing me for leaving him to do the drinking. He was actually counting the mugs, forcing me to bottoms up a couple of times just to catch up with him. I, of course, was up for the challenge.

From there, having downed my ARVs. We took a walk along Pasong Tamo to a little open air bar called Obeertime. No, we didn’t go in. We just sat by the pavement across it, talking while watching people pass by. He wanted to take me there initially, but decided on Shakey’s instead, not sure if I’d be comfy in that type of place.

From there, we raided some convenience stores for bottles of water and giant cones of dark chocolate ice cream. Yum. Sat down and talked a bit more. We walked to the next block, which was Buendia already, where we crossed the street to pee... together... in the street. Complete with pee splashing all over each other’s feet. Bwahaha! Not a common thing for someone like me with a shy bladder.

From there we decided to call it a night. Will there be a next date? Well he did ask me when we’d see each other again... So we’ll see.

Sunday was just spent at home resting. The highlight of Sunday came when I happened to open one of my accounts on one of the adult personals sites. I received a message with the subject “I think I saw you.” Creepeh...

Talking about Friday and enumerating every detail of the trip from Alabang, lo and behold, it was from that guy I was riding with on the bus! Bwahaha! I seriously didn’t know what to think... but found myself giving him my number for him to contact me. He had me at “I want a bottom like you.” Hahaha. Haven’t heard from him yet, but plan to disclose anyways before follow-up meet of any sort. Ya know, laying all the cards out onto the table...

So there. My weekend has been busy busy busy. Was it all in celebration of my second year? Hell, no.

Well, it wasn’t that I was suddenly getting all negative about the day I was told I was HIV-positive. It’s more like... okay, I celebrate 1 year, I celebrate 2 years, I celebrate 3... it feels like I’m counting down or something. Hello?! I plan to live much longer, ya know! At this point, I know this HIV thing isn’t a death sentence, so eventually, I’m sure I’ll get tired of counting. So I thought to myself, maybe I should stop counting now, and just live, live and live. So I did. No celebrations. I just lived.

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Stupid Love

Love works a different way in different minds. The fool it enlightens, the wise it blinds. – John Dryden

Love. I lost it. Nope, nothing sudden or new. It’s been going on – or off – for some months now. It just took me a while to really muster the guts to say it out loud. I just always never knew how to answer how “we” were. Because I really never knew. I was always the last to know. Amazing how it takes other people to drum into your head and make you feel how stupid you’re looking already. And every time, I’m made to feel that way, I can only smile and shrug and take it. I’d say that I was okay. I was. I really was... I think.

Was I being stupid? Stupid, the dictionary says, is being slow of mind, or lacking intelligence or reason. Falling in love makes one stupid? How could that be? Well, definitely, I deny being slow of mind, because after all, I did get to where was, didn’t I? Lacking of intelligence? Well, I have that accounted for. Because when it comes to love, intelligence is sooooo overrated anyway. Maybe lacking reason. Well I think love can justify itself. If it is for nothing more than the unadulterated state of mind that love can bring, that’s reason enough. Now, if anyone can devise a foolproof way of rationalizing and concretizing love into whys and hows, well then you can gouge my eyes out.

If being “stupid” like this was supposed to be wrong, then maybe I should know what I should be doing right now. Drop everything, pick up where I left off, go straight, get married, have three kids, and live in a house with a picket fence? Maybe I should do that, huh? Well, you know my answer to that one. Many others have made a hobby out of being stupid and they have several different reasons. Trust me, I’ve seen much worse.

But for me, if it means sucking all the passion out of life, putting a little more of myself into it, not letting anyone get more out of my life than I do, enjoying the life that I have, having the life that I want, even if it means listening to my heart, dancing to the rumba beat, putting my heart on the line for someone I love, even for a small moment, for the simple reason of who-knows, could-be, and we’ll-never-know, well, then I’d rather be stupid. Wouldn’t trade it for anything. And you can quote me on that.

I don’t think I was being stupid at all. Brave, maybe, and God knows what I wouldn’t give to be even a fraction braver, albeit more “stupid”. Giving is best if it is given willingly. And I gave willingly.

Yes I don’t deny that sometimes I realized that I was going way off my path for something that seemed so perfect yet so unattainable. Sometimes, I can’t help but submit to destiny. Sometimes, the only thing that drives me is the hope, the anticipation, the passion, but still, that doesn’t make it pointless to pursue. I can only dream to be like that, a person driven by true passion, fueled by pure hope.

But ultimately, in love, as in anything, the decisions are mine to make. The philosophies of look-before-you-leap and better-safe-than-sorry are much overrated, and may have better applications than love. Use those mottos for sex, not for love. More importantly maybe, I’d rather thrive on live-in-the-moment and no-regrets.

I have no regrets. Lost a love? Well, I can still love him... as a good, good friend... no regrets. Not even for the months and months of not really knowing where I stood... no regrets. Not even for the months and months of believing I was dating someone exclusively, only to realize that I was not being exclusively dated myself... no regrets. Not even after months and months of only wanting to be intimate with one person, and barely even getting to first base... read: yes, months and months without sex is sooooo unlike the bitch I was built to be... no regrets. Not even months and months off the dating scene and now finding myself chucked back on the meat rack... hell, I have a dates lined up starting tonight... so why regret? Hehehe.

If anything, I’m actually glad to have gone through this. I’m glad to realize that I am capable of making the sacrifices that a commitment can demand from me. I’m glad to know that life hasn’t left me too jaded, and that I do still have at least this little to offer if and when the right guy comes along. I'm glad that I still have the gall to worry about love, which means I'm not doing so bad HIV-wise.

Too much a martyr? Hahaha. Too idealistic? Maybe. Too mushy? Indulge me. Too stupid? I wouldn’t admit it.

Honestly, I believe one to be more stupid if he lets the chance to experience true love pass him by. It’s not true that love is blind, or stupid for that matter. With all due respect to John Dryden, that may just have been the rationalization of some pathetic person who wished not to admit he could fall into such vulnerability. Love always has its reasons, mysterious as they may be.

How about you? Go back to the times that you felt love made you stupid. Did it really? Think about it. But even better, don’t think. Feel it.

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