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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Pride

Oi, What a weekend it was. All as usual. Walked the Lil Bastard as soon as I woke up. Had breakfast. Gave the Lil Bastard a bath. Took my own shower. Went to the grocery with mom. Had lunch. Yoga for Life day, but this time, without the yoga. Yep, Yoga for Life without the yoga. Today was going to be different. We would be walking instead of yogaing. It was the 2010 LGBT Pride March.

The LGBT Pride March. LGBT stands for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender. I belong to the gay part, of course. I’m not lesbian, because I’m not female. I’m not bisexual because I’m not sexually attracted to females. And I’m not a transgender because I’m still all male body parts, no more, no less.

Gay. I’ve never been ashamed of being gay. Not even if most of the paminta population was up in arms declaring they were “bi” when they actually were really gay. Not even if and when the stereotypical gay was the parlorista, keribels. I’m gay, and proud of it. Bakla ako, may reklamo?

I was always out to prove that there are so many forms of being gay, and I was the discreet kind. I never dressed up in women’s clothes... okay fine, I did once when I was fielded to a beauty pageant by my college organization... but on a daily basis, I am still all man. And even if I was the “penetrated and perpetrated”, as my officemate would call it, I have never had the desire to sport a vagina or labia.

Unashamed, but I’ve never needed to shout out to the world that I am gay. As such, this year, I joined my first ever Pride March, as part of the Yoga for Life contingent.

Now Yoga for Life is in no way particularly targeted towards gays. But the reality is that most straight men would either underestimate the effort needed to do yoga, or cower at the possibility of them walking out of the class in a tantrum of I-can’t-do-this. Oi, men and their manhood. That being said, majority of those attending Yoga for Life are men... let me qualify that... men who have sex with men or MSM. A frustrating fact that the straight women who join us have to face. Hehehe.

That being said, whether Yoga for Life belongs in the Pride March is a resounding yes, if not just for the fact that both Yoga for Life and the gay community advocate acceptance and tolerance. Not to mention, this year, the Pride March was to be jointly celebrated with World AIDS Day.

So Saturday afternoon, instead of heading to Makati, I headed to Tomas Morato. This is the first time I remember that the Pride March was not being held in Manila, Malate being the unspoken home of the gays. And being a Quezon City boy, I was glad and proud that QC finally hosted the event. And I actually hope it steals it away from Manila altogether.

I was anxious, because I am never comfortable in crowds, not to mention the extra pretense of a gay crowd. Remember, we are the ones who brought scrutiny to the whole new level of okray. So, I was dressed in my usual comfortable clothes, purposely veering away from any attention-grabbing garb to keep myself under the radar. All I had was a backpack of essentials, plus our Yoga for Life banner in hand, as the cab dropped me along Morato.

I needed to wait a few minutes before the rest of the Yoga for Lifers got there, a few minutes of awkward paranoia, shielding myself both from the sun and from being noticed by others. Upon being prompted, I walked to the meeting place, ready to see my comfort zone.

Greetings and hugs aside, we stowed into a coffee place craving for some protection from the afternoon heat while waiting for the parade to start. Some more Yoga for Lifers trickled in one after the other. Soon we were about ten, thereabouts.

The sounds of percussion drew us out of the café, and we were ready to march loud and proud. Yogi Bear and Babe were there of course leading the pack, dressed in black outfits, a cross between sleek and sultry. The Yoga for Life banner. Some fuchsia balloons. And then the rest of us. Most of us were actually Pride virgins, which may have explained the mix of excitement and anxiety... but really, everyone was game, and we were just all out to have fun and proud to represent Yoga for Life. Then the parade began.

We walked. I spotted Carlos Celdran walking by us, and our Yogi Babe approached him to join us for a picture. He was game! The energy was high. We were following a float of trannies, and their music and antics were keeping the energy high. It was a great place in the parade to be.

We walked. Now I knew that media would cover the event and all. So was I scared of getting exposed as part of the Pride contingent? Not really. Being gay is the least of my issues. What if my mom sees my face on TV? Well, she knows I’m gay. Other people? So what?! My HIV status? Well it’s not like it’s tattooed on my forehead, is it?! I was just hoping I don’t get interviewed... else I might just faint. Hehe.

We walked. Shortly we encountered some guests, protesters to be exact. Waving bibles, disapproving condoms, and declaring “God did not make you gay”, it was laughable, especially since there were just three or four of them there. Old issues that for me were non-issues. Geesh, nothing better?

We walked. A lot of people came out to watch, from the residences and the buildings we passed. Our Yogi Babe was outrageous, approaching people encouraging them to do yoga poses for photo ops. From street kids and fab femmes, to policemen and titillating trannies, to hiphop dancers and construction workers, she was just out to get them! Oi, straight female wins over the gay contingent on this one. Hahaha!

We walked. It was hot. Scorching hot. Not gay friendly. Make-up melts, you know. And oiliness, they say, is next to ugliness. And sweatiness is next to confiscation of the gay license. Argh. But seeing everyone still all out in spite of that was great. It was good too that the streets along which the route ran were pretty wide, compared to Malate where I imagine the density of people would’ve added to the afternoon heat. QC rules!

We walked. Tomas Morato. Eugenio Lopez Drive. Panay Avenue. Timog Avenue. One last turn back to Tomas Morato, and we saw the home stretch. The protesters were back, the same ones we passed going the other way. Namaste. Peace, peace, peace. Some other city should host their march.

We walked. Oi, just a few more blocks... Finally, we made it back to the starting point, a good hour or so of walking under our belts. Geez, an hour?! All for pride. All for pride.

We got a breather before the program started as the darkness of the night set in. A few more Yoga for Lifers joined us, better late than never. As the show started, I think my energy went off with the setting sun. I was pooped! I couldn’t wait to rest. But we wanted to wait until they acknowledged the groups who participated in the event. As fate would have it, they made the announcements in alphabetical order. Yoga for Life? Oi, we were third to the last out of sixty groups. Oh well, we’ll take it.

After some part of the program, including speeches by Quezon City Mayor Herbert Bautista, Vice Mayor Joy Belmonte, both putting Quezon City behind the advocacy of HIV & AIDS awareness and LGBT rights, some musical numbers, a cameo by Journey frontman Arnel Pineda, the descent of seemingly godmother to the gays Risa Hontiveros, and a short segment allowing our Yogi Bear and Babe to talk about Yoga for Life, I split.

I had actually promised the hubby we’d meet, considering the proximity of the venue. But I had tipped him off after the walk about how tired I was already, and had already called our date off. But I thought I’d just push myself a little bit more, and ended up in a cab to his place. I was tired, sweaty, sticky and smelly, but still got the hugs, the kisses, dinner, a movie, and arms to fall asleep in. Mmm. Not a bad way to end the Pride weekend... Happy and Gay!

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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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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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The Bad Trip

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Yoga Gaga

Yoga for Life has been going on for quite some time now, almost two months, if I’m not mistaken. During the first month, I was a regular of the Wednesday evening classes in Ortigas. And by the time the second month crept in, I found myself a regular of both Ortigas Wednesdays and Makati Saturdays. Yoga twice a week? And coming from a guy who has been brushing off any regular exercise routine because he was too tired and would rather rest? Yes, I surprise even myself.

And Yoga for Life is also growing into the point where you can sort of figure out who the real regulars are, and those who really aren’t or weren’t into it are falling on the wayside. Trust me, it’s a normal thing. Even I have needed to figure that out for my own self.

Of course, I did pass the stage of worrying, “Oh no, what if they think, ‘Sweaty-yoga-novice-boy is here again!’” So what? I don’t care. Hehe. Of course, that was just my paranoia. And even if it wasn’t, I was there for yoga, right? So thankfully, at this point, I’ve gotten over the initial anxiety of being new at yoga, and being new at any workout in general. I’m just past that excuse.

And also, for the past few yoga sessions, I’ve been consciously stopping myself from texting peeps prior to a session, “Let’s go yoga together later” or “You going to yoga today?” I don’t want to be at yoga just because I’m going to see someone, for example BFF, there. I mean, if he’s there, then great. If not, keri. And the opposite works as well, I don’t want to hear myself think, “I won’t go to yoga unless so and so is there.” I just think, “I want to go to yoga” and that should be enough reason.

I’ve also let go of pestering my peeps too much to attend yoga. While the invite is always open, I’m thinking, if they’re there, then cool, but if not, no biggie. I mean, for me, I don’t want them to be there just because I think they should. While there are many benefits to Yoga for Life, I can’t give anyone else a reason to be there. They gotta find the reason themselves.

Personally, I do yoga for me. I focus on the fact that I’m enjoying yoga and feeling good. And the precedents of two of our regular yoga buddies increasing their respective CD4 counts by more than 100 points each? A huge bonus if ever it happens to me.

So Saturday, I found myself on the way to Makati for yoga. I arrived to find only our yogi babe there. It was on the brink of becoming a one-on-one session when our Ortigas trio of yoga buddies arrived. So it was a tight group of regulars, which was taken advantage of with an extra intense session. Believe me, I soaked up two towels with sweat.

By the end, my legs were burning, and I was almost falling asleep from exhaustion during the meditation. But it was a good and refreshing hard sweat. And I was proud to have held up throughout most of it. And with that, it’s evident... I’m officially gaga over yoga.

But that is just a side story...

Segue to the previous weekend before last. If you recall, I had a family lunch before going to yoga. I needed to leave ahead of everyone, and I had made that a pre-announcement to my cousins earlier on. My girl cousins curiously asked where I was headed... whether it was work or just a gimmick. I nonchalantly said, “Neither... I have yoga.”

And then it hit me. Me and my big mouth.

They, of course, were interested in doing yoga. These cousins of mine were both ballerinas when they were younger, so they aren’t new to the flexibility thing. And they admitted they had tried yoga a few times before, but never carried it though. They were now seriously asking me about where I do yoga. I was caught off guard, so I had to spill the beans... just inches short of mentioning HIV.

I may have been sweating beads at that moment, bewildered as to how I could possibly cut the conversation short. Thankfully, they did it themselves, saying they’d like to join me for yoga sometime. Whew, I was safe... for now. Let’s prolong the agony, shall we?

So with that, a dark and anxious cloud looms over my yoga head. If and when they do join me for yoga, I’m probably going to have to tell them about the HIV link, am I not? That will surely fast track my coming out of the positive closet. And if I still want to tell my sister before anyone else in the family, that’ll zoom in even faster. Argh.

Don’t get me wrong. I would love to have my cousins come and share the yoga experience with me. But as to how I’ll get from being in the HIV closet, to having them with me at my complementary HIV therapy? Oi, heaven knows. We’ll just have to wait and see.

Hayyyyy... Yoga... it’s so gaga.

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Too Much

Now, work is no question. I do need to make a living. So around half the hours of five days of every week is dedicated to work, inclusive of lunch breaks and daily commutes. That leaves 12 hours each from Mondays to Fridays, plus entire weekends to do everything else.

It may sound like enough time, but I’ve come to realize it’s not. Right now, I’ll be humble enough to say that I'm taking on... too much.

This entire week has been heavy. It started Sunday night, when I had to go out late to meet a pozzie friend. He was to hand over pasalubongs for BFF and myself, as he had gone abroad recently. It sounded simple enough. I left the house around 9:30 pm, unusual, because I’d usually already be in bed or at least in my room by that time.

But considering it wasn’t often that he was in the Metro, I gave the proposal a nod. We met at a little coffee shop, and he treated me to some coffee. And we went on, and on, and on. Before we knew it, it was almost midnight. The load of a busy weekend, the going past my bedtime, my Efavirenz, and thoughts of the coming Monday were heavily creeping in.

I mean, don’t get me wrong. I seriously had a great time hanging out, dishing out the dirt, catching up, and getting cruised by the late night boys, but my body clock could not tick for much long. So he headed off, as I battled my way back home. Not even the boys in the dark who were checking me out could stop me, seriously. It was that bad. So with that, it was going to be a sleepy start to the week.

Monday. Work as usual. Usual, until I was reminded that one of my poz kiddos, ImNotDyingImLiving, was scheduled to leave the next day. So BFF and I got planning to at least take him out to dinner one last time before he left. It was going to be another long day. But I wasn’t going to let the last chance to see him pass.

BFF and I showed up at his place, where my favorite doctor-advocate showed up with our Yoga for Life yogi followed. It was a perfectly tight little group. We had dinner, after which we strolled around cruising the local hot boys. Hmm, I seem to be doing a lot of cruising lately. Must be the weather. And with that, sans any boohoo moments, we hugged ImNotDyingImLiving goodbye one last time and wished him care and luck on his trip. Sigh. One less pozzie in the Philippines? Sort of.

Hehe. BFF and I headed home together, to my place actually, so he could get his pasalubong. More catching up, plus a bit of cruising, and I took him out to the highway where he could catch a cab. A big hug, and I was off, home and into bed.

Okay, it was a Monday and I already owed two fractions-of-a-day’s worth of sleep. So Tuesday night, I made sure I slept early. Or earlier rather. Still only got seven hours of sleep.

Wednesday, of course, was Yoga for Life day. I was running late, literally running, so I was heaving to begin with. Add to that an extremely intense yoga session. Hell, almost every inch of my shirt was dripping wet. It was a good workout, but a real “work” out. Whew. Five of us had dinner after, which meant another late night out. I think I got home just before 11:00 pm, and with a cool down and a cold shower, I must’ve been asleep by midnight. Again, I got less than my forty winks.

Thursday, I made sure I went straight home. I was in bed by 10:00 pm. Ugh, my first complete 8 hours of sleep for the week. I swear, I was sleeping till the very last minute before my alarm woke me up. It was gooooooooood. But I could use more rest.

And throughout the week, tiring as it already was, the pending weekend was already haunting me. Saturday was to be saturated day. Running buddy was calling for an early run. Grocery with mom mid-morning. Yoga for Life in the afternoon. A foursome bloggers birthday bash of ToiletThoughts, OdinHood, WanderingCommuter and ClosetGeek in the evening. And another dinner invite to be one half of a pair of dates of my favorite doctor-advocate. Oh, and a last minute addition, a family lunch thing. Hoooooo-kay.

I could actually do everything. Really, I could. But geez, this was just not a good week to be dumped with so much. There is actually such a thing as too much. And this... this was just too much.

So I decided to let some things go. I begged off from running... I’d be too drained too early in the morning. Grocery can wait. The rest, I either want or need to do. The family lunch would be the last chance I’ll get to see my uncle and his family for a while. Of course, I want to Yoga for Life... I’m getting used to having it twice a week already.

The evening is surely booked. I want to do the birthday bash, because they’re all my friends, and it’s not often that ClosetGeek is in town. I want to do the dinner, too, because I’m sure I’ll get a hug there. Haha. Though I still have to figure out how I’ll be in both places at once. Geez!

So there. It was just too much. It ain’t the HIV. Not at all. It’s just me managing my priorities. It’s just me making sure of what exactly I can do, I want to do and I need to do. It’s just me being human. It’s just me knowing when to say it’s too much.

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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 Threesome

There's a threesome happening this weekend.

A threesome of book launches, that is... tsk, tsk, tsk, you and your dirty mind.

From the (dirty?) minds of three renowned bloggers, come three tremendous titles of particularly pink prose.

Now these are the books to break the rules.


From McVie of The McVie Show fame comes The Wetbook: Stories from the Bathhouse, an informative but rather funny take on an otherwise raunchy topic: the subculture of subcultures of gay sex in the bathhouse setting.

From the one and only homo hero, Manila Gay Guy comes Dear Migs: Letters to Manila Gay Guy, a compilation of the most notable letters he received through his blog, which becomes an overwhelming picture of the diverse experiences and emotions of Filipino gay guys, and the people around them.

And last but not least, there’s E's The Chronicles of E, the personal story of a handsome young Pinoy (naks!) who discovers one day that he is infected with HIV, revealing first hand what experiences led him to such life-changing event, and how he currently lives as an HIV-positive gay guy in the Philippines.

Being in the blogging circle, I have met Manila Gay Guy once before, and McVie a couple of times. And then of course, E is practically my BFF. That should be enough reason to get me there.

What would keep me away? Of course, there’s that one little complication about this being another social event... where anti-social me should not really belong. But aside from that, the reality is that seeing the list of people comprising the publishing team, I suddenly realized that one name stood out. It stood out because it was familiar. Lo and behold, it was one of my classmates from high school. Ngarrrr.

So at this point, I’m being brave and saying Bahala na! It’s not like E is gonna be shouting Hoy pusit! as soon as I walk into the room. Or will he? Hahaha. But fine, I still plan on going. Will I be recognized? Will I be asked why I’m there? Will he wonder how I got to know E? BAHALA NA.

As readers of this blog, you are officially part of the blogging community, so you are invited to this momentous event. You’ll get to meet the three bloggers in person... and if you’re smart enough to pick me out of the crowd... hahaha... oh noooo!

The book launch will be tomorrow, July 10th, Saturday, from 4:00 - 7:00pm, at theROOM, Ground Floor, Unit 8802 Crowne 88 Condominium, 88 Panay Avenue, Quezon City. The launch will feature performances, cocktails, and a chance to meet the authors and have the books signed. The threesome of books will be available at the launch in a limited edition box set at PhP450. The books will also be sold individually.

The threesome of books is published by Grey Matter Publishing, and the launch is being held in partnership with The Safety Series, an HIV advocacy campaign.

See you there!

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The White Party

Last weekend? I was dreading it. It was to be a particularly not-so-usual one. This was one of the few times I would have rather not had the weekend.

A party? Am I supposed to be happy because I was going to a party? Well I wasn't.

What party was this? The White Party... in Malate.

The White Party. In Malate. Malate, I've been to before. But never really got the hang of it. It's... too pretentious. Too snooty. Too sleazy. Too gay even. Yep, that's how this twisted mind of mine works. And the White Party is like exponentiating the usual Malate weekend to the hundredth power. Gah.

Okay, I wasn't really going there for the party itself. I was going to be there to support the Take the Test booth which was going to be set up as part of the event. Note from E: Wear white and baby blue. White?! And baby blue?! Not exactly the best combination for a melanin-enhanced individual as myself. Read: MAITIM AKO. In white and baby blue? Glow in the dark!

And with that, even just preparing for that weekend was stressful too. I had to buy myself a new pair of white shorts. And without shoes to go with that, I had to get a new pair too. I was able to dig up an old light blue and white striped polo, but worried I'd be overdressed for my own sake, so I had a simple light blue shirt as back up.

So after a full day Saturday, with yoga and a quick dip in the pool in the afternoon, I was able to sneak in a couple of hours of sleep before heading off to Malate for the 10:00 pm calltime.

I got there early, as expected. And not knowing anyone there yet, I just stood out on the street waiting for word from E and our Take the Test boss. Was glad to see LuckyTrese pass by, but he was on his own romp for the night.

After a while, the boss showed up. We set up a tiny table with signs, while waiting for E who had the flyers, late as usual. Hehe. This time, no actual testing was going to commence. We were just going to give out flyers with a bit of HIV trivia, a list of testing centers, and the URL of Take the Test site for further information. E showed up after a while. And then it started... stage fright... and I wasn't even onstage.

I'm anti-social. You know that, right? So the prospect of having to face people by the droves was absolutely dreadful. The boss and E were game to do it. Good thing a lot of other friends were in the area willing to help us give out the flyers. One particular guy, a stranger actually, came over to help out, in exchange for being able to put his beer bottle down on our table. Hehehe, works for me.

I got assigned to fold the flyers. Okay fine, I volunteered to do it. I was able to give a few flyers away to passersby, but not without every ounce of anxiety I could muster.

How did people take it? Some just walked by, and some got curious wondering what we were about. Some took the flyers, some waved it off.

I think the worst was two guys who approached, extremely curious. We handed them each a flyer, but when they found out it was about HIV, they hurriedly gave it back as if they had an allergic reaction or would get infected by just having it in their possession. Oi. Sad, sad, sad.

And the best? One guy approached the table with some friends, and took a flyer telling us, "You're doing a good thing with this." That was nice.

Past 1:00 am, we closed shop. I think we gave out around two-thirds of the flyers... which, if we started with a ream of bond paper cut in half, would be somewhere over 600 pieces. Not bad.

From there, we headed over to a bar to meet some friends. Oh, I needed a drink badly... I still hadn't drank my ARVs yet. That makes me around 4 hours late. Shhh. So anyway, I finally downed them against a shot of some blue concoction which I'm not familiar with... sorry I'm really not an alcohol expert... I could live on just a pale pilsen any day.

After a short while, we headed to Bed, the bar I mean. I was not looking forward to it actually. Bed on a normal weekend is dense enough. On a White Party weekend? You guessed it. Packed! We headed in, at which point I actually lost sight of my friends for a few minutes. I stood midway up the stairs trying to make out any familiar face in the dimly lit room. Good thing I saw them finally near the bar.

Making my way to them, claustrophobia was already setting in. It's worse than the MRT at rush hour, because it was dark, and hot, and everyone was trying to sway to the beat. Geez, just give me my beer. From there we headed up to the second floor. I found an oasis when I chanced upon a vacant seat at the couches. When it's that tight a space, you appreciate even the breathing space you have between your face and your knees. Seriously.

Slowly, I was wilting away. I was tired. I was on ARVs. And of course, it was way past my bedtime. So I made my great escape, leaving everyone else behind. Walking out to get a cab, I glanced at my watch. It was 4:00 am. Really, it was time for me to go.

Honestly, I had no regrets. Being tired, getting harassed and all, it was fine. Was just glad to get the chance to be witness to Take the Test for the first time, if at least just by my presence. I just really hope we at least made a few HIV ripples in the crowd that night.

Other than that... my other thought would be... that I've had enough of Malate for another 5 years. Obviously! It took me a week to recover enough to blog it, right? And so the question remains... Inay... bading ba talaga ako? Just kidding! Proudly! Pwera Malate...

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Shtatus: Shingles

Last weekend was a long weekend. I went to work Friday, but I didn't work. Huh?

Well, let me clarify. It was our company outing. Hmm. I know, a bit odd that it happened just as the rainy season stepped in, but hey, who's not up for some fun, right? So I woke up early Friday morning to make the meeting time of 6:00 am. I know, 6:00 am is aghhh. But I made it with time to spare. After a few delays, we were on our way. Are we there yet?

By around noon, we got to the place. A huge house with a pool, nestled in a quiet neighborhood in Batangas. It was three days of a lot of things.

A lot of food. There was a yummy spaghetti with uber crispy fried chicken. There was sinigang. There was a milieu of comfort breakfasts from hotdogs and fried eggs, to crunchy boneless bangus. And so much more. And mind you, some of these meals, our big boss cooked himself!

A lot of fun. There was a videoke for a while. All the vices available... I had a few drinks, not enough to get me drunk, and some drugs too, a.k.a. ARVs... hehehe. Games in the pool, from Doctor-Quack-Quack to Shout-A-Word-Underwater-And-Have-Us-Guess-What-You-Said. And of course, there was Taboo. Conveying a word to other people is hard enough for the socially- and communicably-challenged as myself. Add to that some words that you're prohibited to say? Agh, pure torture.

A lot of sleep, especially for me. My bodyclock would still wake me up at around 6:00 am, but I'd just go to the bathroom and head back to bed and sleep another couple of hours. I will also be the first to admit that I do NOT need a tan, so I made a habit out of sleeping through the sun, and coming out to swim only at night or when the sun had set. Teehee.

A lot of being one of the boys. I got bunked in the huge attic with all of the straight guys! You'd think it was heaven for me, but it's not like I was planning to grope them all, ya know. And like like-poles, each of us sort of repelled each other into our own little alcoves scattered around the vast space. Funny, really, but all of us were comfortable that way. Hehehe.

But by the third day, I sort of felt it was too much of a lot. Three days of isolation... I'm talking no TV, no internet, no mobile phone signal, even... it was driving me mad! I was happy, not bitin at all, and I found myself welcoming the time to go home.

Got home Sunday evening, hell tired, despite all of the sleep and relaxation I claimed to have had. But not much time to rest. Another Monday to start another work week loomed.

It was to be a normal work week, jumpstart-worthy, but normal nonetheless. Until... one of my colleagues at work confirmed a couple of red bumps he had on his chest to be... shingles.

Shingles. It's the nickname to herpes zoster. It's related to the varicella virus, which also causes chickenpox. If I'm not mistaken, this is how it goes: Basically and commonly, a person only gets chicken pox once in his or her life. I got it back when I was in grade 4, I think. Even if you've gotten it and recovered from it, the virus remains in your body. And it is a recurrence of this virus that causes shingles. So it's like only persons who have had chicken pox can get the shingles.

I don't know about you, but I think when the common person hears "herpes", he'd usually think it's one of the Sexually Transmitted Infections or STIs. Partly true, because a close relative of the shingles would be herpes simplex, under which falls genital herpes.

Okay, for the record, I've had herpes. What kind? The shingles as well.

I think it was back in 2007. I developed a rash around my midsection. Fortunately, my boyfriend at the time was in the medical field, and it didn't take him long to figure out it was the shingles. I remember he prescribed some medicines for me, and that was it. It wasn't too hard for me, nor was I worried. Mostly, I wasn't worried because he showed me he wasn't worried. We were still sleeping together on the weekends, and he'd apply some ointment on the rash as it crusted up and healed. No big deal. I don't even think my mom was concerned or was even aware that I had it. No harm done and no marks left.

So now, even after spending a day with my colleague who got the shingles, I wasn't worried. Even if we were swimming in the same water the whole weekend, I was okay. Even if he is actually my seatmate here at work, it wasn't a big deal. I'm sort of in the mentality that if I catch it, then fine.

Of course it doesn't help that I'm not able to instantly feel any itching around my midsection because of the burn in the abs that I'm left with after yoga. Hehe. But I'll be fine. When in contrast one of my other officemates broke down in tears worrying that she might have caught it.

So there. Actually, reasearch tells me shingles often hits people who are in their 50s. Otherwise, one's immune system is usually able to keep it at bay. But the immunocompromised? Watch out. I know a couple of my pozzie friends whove gone through shingles as well, some of theirs even coinciding with the time of finding out they were HIV-positive and immunocompromised.

Well, of course, right now - the immunocompromised thing - that's possibly me. But back in 2007? Hmm. That sort of brings the thought that I just may have been immunocompromised already back then. Remember, I only found out I was HIV-positive in April of 2008. So I wonder, could I have been HIV-positive already way back in 2007? Heaven knows.

So there. Right now, my colleague is on leave recovering from his shingles. My other officemate got herself checked up, and is relieved to know she doesn't have it. And me? Life goes on. Shtatus? No shingles.

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Self-Empowerment

Self-empowerment? A self-empowerment course? I admit, I was avoiding it. Why? Well, first, all the sharing and public speaking... stage fright galore. And second, I’ve seen the previous batch that supposedly underwent self-empowerment. Didn’t seem like it worked, not for everyone at least. In just the week after they did, all the drama, all the issues, all the arguments, all the bitterness, and all the negativity they were throwing around… even more than before... it made me skeptical of this self-empowerment thing. Seriously.

But thanks to being badgered by BFF and pressured by E, I got convinced to go. But I had a disclaimer beforehand... don’t be surprised if I end up scoffing and rolling my eyes the whole time. And I swore I wouldn’t cry as others had apparently done a lot of in the previous batch. Aside from there really being nothing to cry about, E would be there, and he’d mock me. Of course, I’d gladly do the same to him as well. Hehe.

So Saturday morning, anxious and over-packed as usual, I got schoolbussed to the venue with BFF and another guy by AA, who had attended the previous empowerment session. He told us about their experience, about the sharing and how physically and emotionally draining it would be and all... and already, I was dreading it.

This self-empowerment training had been done several times in the past before, but we were only the second batch since the National AIDS/STD Prevention and Control Program (NASPCP) of the DOH took it under its wing and funded it last month. Previously, it was just a philanthropic venture by volunteers and concerned people.

Getting to the hotel in Manila that would serve as venue, only E wasn’t there yet. The rest were already taking lunch. Passing the public announcement video system at the lobby, it was funny how the sponsors of our event were spelled out explicitly. Department of Health. Research Institute for Tropical Medicine. National Center for Disease Prevention and Control. National AIDS/STD Prevention and Control Program. Okay, a few inches short of disclosure, but fine, but no big deal.

We went up to the function room, signed in, and headed down to attack the buffet. There we found some of the other participants, my eldest kiddo, Lil Jenny, and PositiveEqualsRebirth were the some of the few familiar faces there. It was natural to stick to who you knew. The others were yet to be revealed. E showed up shortly, and we all took our time savoring the buffet of spring rolls, sautéed cabbage, lemon chicken, cream puffs and chocolate brownies.

After that, the training commenced. I’ll try not to make this too much of a spoiler for future attendees of the self-empowerment training, so please bear with me. Led by Doc Rita, who is incidentally the sister of our dear Doctor D at RITM, the session began with introductions all around and a getting-to-know-you activity at the same time. And then it got serious.

Part of getting to know each other was to come from learning about each others’ pasts. And revisiting childhood days, family life, till the present, including the time each one found out he was HIV-positive, was not an easy thing for some. This early, tears were shed. But the air of support, listening and openness we had was a nice ambience to be in for something like this.

It was then that we found how balanced a group we were. Though we were all male and all poz and all RITMers, that’s where the similarities ended. From newbies, months into the HIV journey, to not-so-newbies, already years past. From gay and bi guys, to some who were on the straight road or had vowed celibacy. From those gliding in acceptance, to some still wallowing in confusion, and even one intriguing guy who had gone through years of subscribing to AIDS denialism. Amazing. I was thrilled to meet my first AIDS denialist in person.

This first part took longer than expected. What normally took 3 hours for other groups, took us a record breaking 6½ hours! So record-breaking that we obviously stressed Doc Rita out And our record-breaking streak went on into the following activities. Enhancing self-image. Finding the power in you. Taking control of one’s life. Creating a healthy balance in life. Career planning. Appreciation of others.

So again, I wonder why the self-empowerment seminar didn’t seem to work for some from the last batch. Well, looking back after going through it myself, I realize you’re not expected to leave the seminar empowered. You’re just given the tools to work towards empowerment, and left with some questions for introspection. It will be up to you and what you do with them that will determine whether you get to empowerment or not.

And then, I believe, the foundation for self-empowerment lies in such simple things as openness, self-awareness and self-evaluation. If you’re not open, or are clueless of your concerns or what negativity it is you are feeling and what causes it, then the facilitator won’t be able to give you an objective evaluation of your situation. Am I making sense?

And finally… one last hunch. You know how being with certain friends makes it sometimes harder to be honest about how you really feel? Because they might make fun of you, or they’re fair-weather friends you’re only used to having fun times with?

I also believe that the composition of the group as a whole played a part. Having friends there is nice. But if having friends there makes you too self-conscious that you’d want to hold back information about yourself, then that won’t be a good thing since you won’t be able to paint a clear picture of yourself.

Our batch was not dominated by one single group... I mean, yeah, I was close to E, BFF, and my eldest kiddo among others, but we were a mere fraction of the 16 person group. Plus, we weren’t fair-weather friends nor the types to judge each other. We actually know more than our TMI share about each other. No reputations to ruin, no pride to swallow, no shame to dread.

So there, I think that’s as much as I can reveal. Empowering? Not automatically. But you should have learned something. You should at least come out of it a better person. If you come out even worse than you were going in… more negative, more of a drama queen, more issue-laden... then something definitely went wrong... or something’s wrong with you. So nega-monsters... check yourselves.

Two days, just 6 hours of sleep, a lot of yummy food, and around eighteen hours of seminar later, it was time to go home. Met new friends. Learned new things. Left with some work to do... on myself and on the world. Empowered? I will be. Definitely.

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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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