Basagan, Pussywagon-style

I get really amused whenever someone tries to make me feel bad by telling me I’m promiscuous and egoistic. It doesn’t work, because I AM promiscuous and egoistic, totally acknowledged. You don’t kill me using my own weapon. Really.

The comment:

“I am caught by your blog description “Going againsts the typical pretty girl image”. How can you go againsts something you are not? You might be sexy in your own context but being “sexy” and pretty are two different things.”

“This post is oozing with bitterness masked by self-inflated ego. What a pitiful creature you are. You are not special. In fact, you might be a bit lesser than the norm individual. I am not saying this based on your promiscuous behavior. There are lots of promiscuous persons there that are really one of a kind. But sad to burst your bubble… it isn’t you. You are just a plain jane trying to be something hence the self-declared promiscuity. Guys love promiscuous women, but they can’t stand fake sense of superiority of girls.”

“Tsk. Feeling alpha-female. That should be your blog description.”

Interesting. I actually toyed with the idea of deleting this. Usually I react to this type of messages with a derisive snort. Yes, this is not the first time I’ve received comments like yours, and my favorite part of the whole thing is me sending a go-fuck-yourself-and-make-your-blog-as-good-as-mine message to the kupal sender. Of course I didn’t publish those comments. Just compare me to a restaurant manager having the right to refuse entrance to certain diners/patrons at his discretion. This should be damn embarrassing for me, right?

But no, I will indulge you with my observations. It’s 3 am, my cats are asleep, those three guys in my bed (I can’t survive with just one guy, I’m promiscuous, remember?) are already snoring from exhaustion and I don’t feel like using my 12-inch vibrator and anal beads to continue where they left off…yeah, I’m pretty much bored out of my skull. Yes, pretty and sexy are two different things. I KNOW that, dimwit. Take note that the “sexy” bit didn’t come from me, it came from you. So does this mean you think I’m sexy? Nah.  Wishful thinking, no? I’m blabbering, sorry.

Chuckle.

The “pretty” part? By God, you missed the whole point. I assume you didn’t read the entire blog, or did you?

That post? It IS bitter. I wrote it exactly the way it should be, brimming with eloquent bitterness. I wouldn’t have it any other way. If it’s not bitter, then I failed as a writer. The ego? It IS inflated, c’mon. At least, according to you. It is subjective, anyway. So…what are you gonna do about it?

The last part..ahh, my favorite part of your comment. See, I’m kinda torn here. I have a strong feeling you know me personally, but if that’s the case, how could someone from my own intimate and trusted circle write something so… wrong about me? Now, if you happen to be someone I don’t know, well, hell, that’s your opinion, one you can never really substantiate.

John Keats, I may have an idea who you are or which group you belong to. You could be (a) One of HIS friends dead set at getting back at me because I had the guts to take my revenge on their wuss of a comrade, (b) One of my colleagues, possibly a writer, who really, really hate my guts, or (c) one of those guys whose sexual innuendoes I have turned down repeatedly. But the force suggests that you are a woman, which makes things even more delightful here. Bitches really hate my guts, don’t they?

About my infamous promiscuity…Lord, you really made me chuckle here. I am promiscuous because I enjoy sex, not because I’m trying to be somebody. Leave this alone, dear. Guys who have had the opportunity to shove it up mine more than three times are the only ones who have the authority on the subject of my promiscuity. So…did I sleep with you? If I did, then damn, you’re one lucky bloke (or bitch). Count your blessings, you should.

As always, I respect other people’s comments, but this one has deadly malice written all over it, and I’m inclined to respond to it. If the intent here is to break me and make me feel like “a plain jane trying to be something,” this is not working. I’m so protected by my inflated ego that comments like that just bounce off to oblivion.

Fine, mayabang na ako. Sige na, feeling diyosa ako. Haha. Okay.

Whoever the hell you are, admit it…You ARE fascinated with me and what I write about. You may hate me, but you can’t get enough of my material. I get on your nerves because I don’t give a flying fuck about what other people think and I have the chutzpah to write about stuff that most women wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Di masama mainggit, te. Tao ka lang eh. Natural yan. Pero kung mangyuyurak ka ng dangal ng ibang tao dahil sa inggit mo, ibang usapan na yan. Tsk. Loser lang.

Next time you attempt to piss me off, please, try harder. You do not bring knives to a gunfight. For me, you bring out your badass rocket launcher and pray to God that I get even just one scratch. Remember, you are dealing with an inflated ego. Keep it up though, I love receiving fan mail. LOL.

Xoxo,

Pussywagon

P.S. I see you’re still trying to piss me off with more comments. Sige lang, dear. I’m not gonna dissect those “mediocre” comments anymore (oops, that came from you, right?) baka isipin mo naman importante ka. Sige na nga, have fun at my expense, dear. It’s the least I can do for creatures like you. It’s obvious you got nothing better to do…loser. 

I’m Going Through Changes…

I should feel sorry for myself right now, really. To say that 2010 is an unfortunately bad year for me is an understatement.

Let me tick off some of the things that happened to me for the past few months. One, I got my heart broken so bad I don’t know if I’ll ever recover completely. Two, I’ve been estranged from my family since August. This is something I’d rather not discuss. Three, some dickhead made me realize how vulnerable I really am when it comes to intimacy and made me commit the most cruel deeds I ever did on the male ego .

I’ve morphed into somebody I hardly recognize anymore. I’ve always been strong, yes, but I was never brutal and heartless. Rules of the game changed when several people managed to make a major mess of my life since 2007. Suddenly, it made no sense to hold back my dark side. I saw no reason to bestow mercy on people who don’t deserve it. I realized there’s no point in holding yourself back from wishing somebody dead.

Yes, you. You know who you are. I still pray for your untimely demise. I’d give anything to see you floating on the Pasig River, or sprawled naked on some gutter and beaten to unrecognizable pulp.  If you only know how much I still detest the very idea of your continued existence, you’ll hire someone to start your car every morning. Always keep that in mind. The best birthday gift would be your severed head on my desk and the knowledge that you have suffered so much from your ordeal.

I transformed into somebody I never thought I’d become – a woman enclosed in an impenetrable shell, telling people off just because she can, without a smidgen of guilt. I closed, no, slammed doors left and right, double-locked and barricaded them from the inside.  I became a self-centered woman who doesn’t give a flying fuck about anyone but herself. I’ve become one of the most self-serving individuals I know, and coming from me, that’s saying much. It’s my way or the highway, and anyone who agrees otherwise will have to bear the ugly consequences. I became obsessed and relentless in keeping score; anyone stupid enough to mess with me will experience hell and damnation.

I became the person I swore I’ll never be. But you know what? I don’t feel sorry about it. In fact, I’m totally unapologetic. Whatever changes I went through is totally justified. I’ve been stupid enough to let some undeserving people enter my life and wreak havoc on my pure intentions and loving heart. I extracted my revenge and caused considerable damage on their lives and yet… I feel good about it. Not because I’ve become hopelessly evil, but because for the first time in so many years, I’ve learned how to fight back for the sake of my dignity. I’ve learned that although martyrdom runs in my family, I’m simply not meant to join their ranks. Being a doormat is not my destiny, if I’m inclined to believe in such things.

Despite all the roadblocks that life have dealt me for the past few years, the boss upstairs compensated for it by giving me one of the best things that a human being could have – unbelievable resiliency. A lesser woman would have crumbled already with all this emotional shit. A lesser woman would be sitting on a shrink’s couch right now and boo-hooing her eyes out. A lesser woman would have drank herself to stupor and screw the first available man just to take a break from the unbearable loneliness. Hell, a lesser woman would have drawn a gun and blasted her brains out.

I didn’t do any of these things.  Shrinks are too expensive; I’ll leave them to those people who spilled their issues on Oprah and Tyra’s couches. And I’m too much of an OC to let my brains spill out on the floor and create a totally grotesque mess. Imagine how many bottles of Lysol it would need to remove the bits and pieces completely, never mind that someone else will actually do the cleaning.

No, thank you. Whatever pressures I have can be dealt with by getting drunk on Red Horse with the company of my few but very reliable and trustworthy friends.

I made some major life adjustments. I’ve stopped the compulsive screwing. This is perhaps one of the most surprising things I’ve done in years. To the disappointment of this blog’s few fans, I went on a sexual sabbatical a couple of months ago, and I’ll stay on it for as long as it takes. Why, you ask. Back then, I was always at the mercy of my insatiable needs. I became a slave to my sex drive; its wish was my command. I had no qualms about screwing till kingdom come and the day after that. Don’t get me wrong, I still love sex, but ever since my issues came at boiling point, I couldn’t gain satisfaction in the bedroom. It doesn’t help that the last few ones I’ve slept with were practically worthless in the sack. One couldn’t sustain his erection long enough to finish even just one round and the other is a poster boy for premature ejaculation. These episodes of bad sex were enough to convince me to put on a chastity belt for the time being and wait for that someone who will have the ability to rouse me from my sexual and emotional hibernation.

I have already accepted that I have to be alone for the time being. I badly need a break. I’ve seen too much, experienced so much. I’ve totally lived my 20s to the brink. The sex, alcohol, and rock n’roll lifestyle – I was its faithful disciple for years.  I did things that “normal” women wouldn’t even contemplate doing. I was an outlaw who prefer to live on the edge. Predictably, I paid a heavy price for my rebellious outlook in life. “Normal” men wouldn’t take me seriously because I was hopelessly imprisoned in their Madonna-Whore complex. I could never be the sweet, respectable girl they can take home to their mommas, never mind that I’m probably ten times more intelligent and fascinating than the women they chose to take seriously. For them, I was too bold, too brash, too sexual, too independent and intelligent for my own good…too much. It took months of contemplation and countless bottles of Red Horse to realize that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with me and I was just mixing up with the wrong kind of men. I was like a bully taking on someone not equal to my size.

It was a tough 29 years alright, but no, I don’t feel sorry for myself. Self-pity is not in my vocabulary. It never will be. Obviously, I have issues but I’ve learned how to look at my life with sardonic amusement. It’s a trait I’ll always thank the high heavens for. It may be a hopeless cliché, but I’ve learned how to live my life one day at a time. I’ve managed to shrug off some of my omnipresent pessimism and believe that although my future is still uncertain, it doesn’t mean that nothing fantastic could come out of it. I’ve learned how to love myself better by instantly eliminating things that contain even just a hint of bullshit.  I’ve walked out on people who didn’t have my best interests at heart and royally gave them the finger. I simply refuse to be a victim, and this hard-earned conviction is probably the best gift I can give myself after all these years.

I can’t be destroyed. The boss made me realize that just in time for my birthday.

Top 10 Reasons to Hate Me

10. I dress like it’s nobody’s business. I constantly violate the office dress code which I try to make amends for by wearing a jacket everytime there are big bosses roaming around the premises. I comply because these people handle my paychecks. Otherwise, they can all go to hell. I’m still waiting for someone to explain to me why short skirts are more acceptable than sleeveless blouses. Are the shoulders sexier, more arousing, and more distracting than the legs? Hm.

9. I automatically check people’s blog posts and status messages for any sign of wrong grammar. I can’t be blamed for this because it’s part of my profession; it’s already drummed into my subconscious, seared into my brain. Of course, I don’t mind being corrected whenever I make mistakes, only an idiot would claim perfection. So don’t take it personally if I call your attention and say, “Psst, mali spelling, pre.” It’s constructive criticism, not an insult.

Unless I’m really out to insult you, well…you’ll know.

8. I say pretty much anything I want, when I want it. I have the knack for saying things that most people would rather keep to themselves; I dish them words and thoughts out with utter relish. Diplomacy has never been my strongest point; quite a number of people have already told me that I have the makings of a dictator, that I have Hitler in my genes.

7. I’m VERY vengeful. With the most grievous of offenses, I rarely forgive and I never forget. People in my shit list can stay there for as long as five years, or indefinitely. If you belong to the latter, it’s best not to greet me if we happen to run into each other in the streets or malls. You just ignore me and hope that I don’t see you. Or better yet, run.

6. I talk about sex as openly as Margie Holmes…and I’m not being paid for it. I’m not called the office “boldstar” for nothing. I can talk about copulation all day, endlessly, you have to make me shut up. I can talk about threesomes, orgies, sex toys and all kinds and hierarchies of fornication as casually as I can talk about the weather.

5. My sarcasm level is off the charts. I’m a dedicated student of the Dr. Gregory House School of Sarcasm. No one, not even my own mother, is spared from the lashings of my acid tongue.

4. I’m very much aware of my sex appeal and I don’t hesitate to use it whenever I could, whatever purpose it can serve me. Hey, don’t you just hate it when I say, “I’m very much aware of my sex appeal?” without batting an eyelash, without an iota of shame? Deal with it.

3. I swear like there’s no tomorrow. I say cuss words as naturally as I say “Hello there!” and I have no problem saying the word “vagina” out loud, for everyone in the room to hear. I think vagina is more decent-sounding than pussy or cunt, although I have no problem saying those either.

2. I eat like a construction worker and it doesn’t register on the weighing scale. Well, barely.  I’m genetically blessed (or cursed, depends on how you look at it) with a naturally slender frame. Some “normal-sized people who diet” would attempt to ridicule me and tell me that real women have curves. I just scoff at their half-filled plates and diet plans and say, “Real women eat real food. Get over it. Go exercise or something.”

1. I own up to all these. And I don’t care what you think.

Ground Rules

Okay, fuckers. Let’s talk.

Yes, I’m talking to you, SG, CP and 3rd dude.

SG dear, you’re great in bed and all that, but I already told you that gaining access to my pad is like earning your stripes in the military. Fine, I kinda told you that you can already come over and spend the night, but I changed my mind. Sorry. I change my mind constantly these days, but DON”T PUSH IT. Whatever business we have to do, we have to do it outside. And if it’s too far from where I am, then I’m just not up to it. I’d rather stay home, watch House or have a beer or two with my friends. Surprised? Of course you are. Not a lot of people know that I can actually control my libido, especially since I got used to having sex with just one and one guy alone for almost half a year. Sorry to burst your bubble but come to think of it, the former was um, more well-rounded than you are. And I’m not gonna settle for anything less than what he gave me. I’d rather NOT have sex. If you don’t like my conditions, then we can just shake hands and remain semi-friends, no hard feelings.

CP, you just stay where you are right now, which is like, a city away from my humble domicile. You have potential. I’ll call you when I need you. Don’t worry, I will. I just don’t know when.

3rd dude (I haven’t decided on a nickname for you yet, and I don’t think I need to), do we even need to see each other again? I’d rather cuddle with a boa constrictor than poke you with my pretty fingernails. Hell, I’d rather straddle an alligator than get intimate with you. I ain’t feeling it, dude. Sorry. Besides, the girls told me you have quite the small dick. Now THAT won’t work for me. I want a pork sword to fit snugly inside my keps and I want my mouth full when I’m sucking dick. Any guy who has less than five, six inches and does not shave or even trim should stay the hell away from me. I mean it. I take good care of my keps and I practice good grooming down there. Shaving it clean is a religion for me. I expect my men to be as meticulous as I am when it comes to that. No, you can’t have this hot, tempestuous body, not on this lifetime or the next. And I’m not sorry about that.

Let’s get this straight. I’ve ditched and ignored people far more important than you eggheads, so eliminating you from my black book, if that becomes necessary, should be a fucking walk in the park. Umayos kayo ha. I don’t mind being alone nowadays; in fact I relish the peace and quiet. I can definitely survive without intimacies for quite a long time. I’ve lived and learned. I can close my legs with as much imperiousness as I have when I’m spreading them wide open.

Now if you decide to drop a big-ass bag of cash at my feet or you came to give me the most beautiful Siamese cat that I will ever see in my entire life, I might let you in. But I assure you that you will not get further than my living room. I guarantee that the bedroom will be off limits and that I will close the door whenever you’re around. No strangers in my trusty airbed and that’s final. It will only be my sweat and my scent on those sheets, at least for the meantime. I am just not ready to share that bed with another man yet.

Of course, there are always exceptions to the rules. All I can tell you is that I have only two people in mind who can bypass those rules, knock on my door and stay here without me making a fuss. And yes, they know who they are. All they have to do is ask.

Now get back to work. I’m tired now.

Smoke

“What do you want to do next?” he asked me.

I smiled at him and pulled down the garters of my white lace panties. “Something I haven’t done before.” I slipped the flimsy thing off my legs, threw it on the floor and spread my legs wantonly for his uninhibited view. I rubbed myself gently in front of his transfixed eyes.

“Eat me.” I purred.  “Feast on this.”

“Wait…no one’s done THIS before?” he asked, confused.

“Of course not, silly. Let’s just say I was starved by my latest former. Basta. Go down on me. NOW.” I commanded, feeling the rush of pleasure from giving orders to my willing and able slave.

“Of course.” He grinned wickedly, moving to the lower edge of the bed. He pulled my slender legs towards him and positioned his face directly in front of my shaved pussy. He ran his tongue on the full length of my ccunt but stopped just as he was about to reach the clit.  He lifted his head and grinned at me. I moaned in protest.

“Starved eh? So. Let’s make up for that.” He shifted his weight and started kissing the insides of my thighs. He made wet circles on the tender skin with his tongue, nipping and sucking as he made his way torturously back to my pussy again. He ran his tongue all the way up, this time reaching the clit.

“Oooh..” I moaned, moving my hips impatiently towards his teasing mouth. He gave me this huge grin and lapped at my pussy again, doing slow figure eights, licking up and down and then flicking lightly on my clit.

“Nipples and clit. You’re making this easy on me, you know.” He rubbed my already swollen clit with his thumb with increased pressure, which made me gasp out loud and my body shudder involuntarily. He rubbed and rubbed until my moans became audible enough to be heard in the next room.

“Oh shit! Shit! Ang sarap!” I whispered as I tried to hold back my orgasm. No, I thought. Not yet. I lifted my body and moved towards the headboard.

“Anything wrong?” he asked.

“Nope, nothing’s wrong. Go on, kainin mo pa ko. And don’t stop until I tell you to stop.” I spread my legs wider and pushed his head towards my cunt. I let him lick me up and down for a couple of minutes, then I reached out towards the bedside table on my right. After knocking down the remote controls to the floor, I managed to get hold of my cigarette pack. Making sure that he didn’t stop what he was doing, I took out a stick and lit one quickly. I took a deep drag and exhaled slowly. He looked up.

“May I?” I drawled as I took another drag of my cigarette.

“Haha. So that’s it. Smoking while having your pussy eaten. Sure. Tangina, ang sarap mong kuhanan ng picture.”

“Haha. Can’t do that right now. Continue what you’re doing. Don’t stop.”

He chuckled and went right back to business. He continued licking up and down nonstop and circling my clit with his hard tongue. I closed my eyes and took another puff, letting the waves of pleasure take over my sprawled body. He didn’t let up until I finished my cigarette. Then, after I stubbed it off in the ashtray, he grabbed my hips and used his arms to hold down my legs. He started eating my cunt again, more voraciously, now focusing more on my clit. He ran his tongue slowly all the way up to the base of my clit, then stopped for a couple of agonizing seconds before flicking it entirely with all the force that his tongue can muster.

“Oooh SHIT!” I gasped as I felt the powerful force of his tongue sweep across the tender flesh.

“So this is what you miss, huh?” he whispered, then proceeded to flick on my clit with his tongue relentlessly, until I was almost crying with helpless pleasure.  His stopping for a few moments before licking the entirety of my clit totally killed me. “You bastard…” I whispered to him as he continued torturing me with his tongue. The sheets were soaking wet with my juices, which flowed continuosly  from my swollen cunt. Just as I was about to think he was finally winding down, his hands reached out towards my breasts. His fingers started playing with my nipples while he continued eating my pussy.

“Tanginaaaaa!” I screamed. My shaking hands grabbed at the bedpost and my legs wrapped more tightly around his head. After a few minutes, he lifted himself off my hips and sat in front of my wide open legs.

“Kaya pa?” he chuckled. I can now see his straining erection trapped inside his black briefs. He took it out and started to stroke himself. “You want it now?”

“Please.” I pleaded.

“Hm. Wag muna. May kulang pa eh.” He pulled my legs towards him again and slowly inserted his middle finger inside me. He pushed in and out, slowly at first, then with rapid thrusts as my cries filled up the room instantly. Then he inserted another finger inside me, slowly opening up the tight walls of my cunt.

“Tangina, ang sikip mo. Grabe.” He started fingerfucking me, his fingers going faster and faster. I was already out of my sanity at that moment. I can feel the walls of my pussy tightening around his fingers, which made him increase his speed more. Then, without stopping the movement of his fingers, he bent down and started licking on my clit again, hard and mercilessly.  I couldn’t take it anymore. I cried out and came hard on his fingers. My body was wracked with mindless shudders that wouldn’t stop. My pussy gripped his fingers so tightly, soaking them with so much pussy juice.

He couldn’t contain himself anymore. He got on top of me and rammed at my soaking wet cunt while I was still shuddering with the most powerful orgasm I had in weeks. “Grabe, ang sarap sarap mo talaga!” he moaned.  He pounded on me mercilessly, using sharp, rapid thrusts that drove me to the brink of further madness until at last, he let out an inhuman groan and came hard inside me, his heart pounding wildly, his hands clutching my small waist. He lay still on top of me, catching his breath. After a couple of minutes, he whispered, “Are you sure your bed at home can take all these?”

I laughed. “We’ll just have to find out.”

First come, first served

Starbucks, sometime over the weekend, around 1 in the afternoon.

“I told you I have my bloody period. No sex for three more days.” I whispered to him as I buzzed his cheek. He texted me several hours earlier and asked me to meet him and have coffee.

“Relax. I happen to be in the area, so I texted you na lang. It’s not everyday that I drive here all the way from Antipolo. And yeah, I know that you can’t, darn it. Let’s just have coffee before I go back to the boondocks.” He laughed heartily.

I sat on the couch opposite him and put my boot-clad feet up on the small table in front of me. “Nah. I quit coffee already. Just get me some tea.”

He stood up and sauntered his way to the counter. I watched his fine ass move beneath the khaki slacks he was wearing. Goddamn this period, I cursed silently.

He got back to the table after a few minutes and handed me this green tea latte thing. I took a sip and made a face. “Damn.”

“Why, you don’t like it? I thought you said tea.”

“This tastes like shit.”

“Ah okay. You want me to get you another drink?”

“Nah, this is okay na.” The green tea tasted awful, but then again, I didn’t come here to satisfy my taste buds.

So we sat there for an hour, talking about stuff. He can hold a great conversation, but I was only half-listening to whatever the hell it was we were talking about. Mentally, I was already undressing him, thinking of very impure thoughts that will definitely get my ass kicked out of Starbucks if I were to act on them.

He was telling me about the quality of mini laptops, but all I could think about was reaching out to him and running my hand along the front of his pants. I wanted to unbuckle his belt and take out his cock, which I would stroke longingly and lovingly until it becomes rock hard in my hand. Who cares about mini laptops when all I wanted to do was to corner him in the restroom and do my very own Starbucks scandal?

After listening patiently to all his talking, we finally stood up and made our way to the parking lot. “You don’t have to take me home, you know.” I said. “It’s a little out of your way, I think.”

He smiled. “Get in here.”

With my heart beating hard and my panties already moist with anticipation, I got inside the car. As soon as I closed the door, he grabbed me hard and kissed me furiously.

“Shit.” I moaned. “I can’t do anything right now, tangina.”

“I know, but I guess you just have to endure this.” With one swift motion, he pulled down my spaghetti strapped blouse, taking my black lace strapless bra along with it. He put his hands on the small of my back, bent his head down to my breasts and started to lick my right nipple. He played with the achingly stiff nipple with his tongue, lightly tracing it then sucking on it relentlessly. After a couple of minutes, he started sucking on the other nipple while his hand started massaging my right breast.

“You love that, don’t you? Your nipples are your greatest weakness. Maybe one day, I can make you cum just by sucking on these perky buds of yours.”

I almost passed out with pleasure. In my delirious state, I reached out and rubbed his stiff cock, which was already straining underneath his pants. I was starting to unzip him when he stopped what he was doing and pulled my hand away from his bulging erection.

“Don’t do that na. I might rape you right here in this car, period or no period.”

I grinned. “I want you in my mouth”

“You can do that this weekend.”

I laughed and started fixing my blouse.

He pulled my hands away started caressing my breasts again.

“Get rid of the other guys.” he said.

I chuckled. “Why?”

“Get rid of him. Them. Am I not enough for you? I can give you all the sex that you want.”

I just smiled at him lazily, concentrating on the sensation of his fingers playing with my nipples.

“Hm…so when will you let me visit you in your house?” he asked.

I smiled some more. “Fucking me in my apartment is a privilege, dear. You have to earn it.”

He bit on the tender flesh on my right neck. “So… this weekend?”

“Let’s see.”

“Thursday?”

“Not sure. Let’s see.”

“Why? You plan to see another guy this weekend?”

“Maybe. Or maybe not. We’ll see.”

“Well, if somebody’s trying to make plans with you, tell him to wait.”

I laughed.

“Why not? Whoever this guy is, he can wait.”

I smiled mischievously. “Yes. But so can you.”

“That’s not fair.”

I leaned forward and traced his earlobe with my tongue. Then I kissed him full on the lips, letting my tongue play on the lower edge of his lips.

“First come, first served, sweetie.” I whispered. “Now THAT is fair.”

He laughed and started adjusting my blouse back to its proper place. “You’re getting really good at this, you know. Just remember, there’s nothing that this other guy can do that I can’t do better, and you know it.”

I arched my eyebrow at him. “Don’t be so cocksure of yourself. I had the best time of my life when he banged me on my kitchen sink…”

“Hey wait, you mean HE can come over to your house while I can’t? I don’t think I like that. That’s so unfair.”

“I told you. That privilege has to be earned. Do you want to know how we did it? He…”

“Hay nako, spare me the details. Whatever it is that he did, I WILL top that.”

I laughed gleefully and gave him directions to my house.

Medicine

Do you wanna know why I still keep Sex God’s * number even though I haven’t seen the man for a very long time? I just knew that there will come a time when I will need him and his uhrm, skills. That time has come. See, when something shitty happens to me, I still have the ability to think of solutions that will get me out of Misery Town as fast as possible. And right now, what I need to do is to erase the memory of the last person who touched me and replace it with another one. It will take time, yes, but I have no intention of sitting around feeling sorry for myself. In situations like this one, I can be very straightforward with what I need and be very methodical in getting it.

After mulling things over for several days, I sent SG an SMS and told him to go online. Sure enough, he buzzed me a few minutes after. After giving him a short paragraph about my predicament, I asked him pointblank:

7:35 PM, via YM

Me: Can you give me what I need?

SG: Yes. As long as I can. You know me…

Me: I’m pretty messed up. I need my fix.

SG: Then a fix you shall get.

Me: I will give it to you straight.  I need something that will make me forget the pain…or feel the pain.

SG: I know. I’ve been there. You don’t have to worry about it.

Me: I want it long, hard and rough…

SG: Okay. But I can be gentle too, you know. (Chuckles)

Me: I know. But gentleness may be the last thing I need right now.

SG: Alright. But you can tell me all about it, if you want. That would be comforting for you.

Me: Thank you. You are aware that I will use you, aren’t you?

SG: Uh, yeah. But hey, I’d rather go easy on the terminology, you know. Use is a pretty harsh word…

Me: No, I WILL use you. I know it’s harsh, but I’m being as straight with this as I can. I have special needs right now. I can just lift a finger and let the other guys in my black book do my bidding for me, but I came to you instead. Because you have what I need.

SG: Okaaay. I get it. So…your place?

Me: No. Not my house. Not in that bed. At least, not yet.

SG: I understand perfectly. Of course, we have to spend the night…I’ll drive you to your office in the morning. I plan to give it to you all night, as long as you need it…

Me: And I know you can. That’s why I went to you. You do not disappoint. You’re the best there is.

And so it begins. The not-so-awful medicine I have to take. It’s like being deathly ill and you have to go to the best doctor there is. And no one has beaten Sex God in my book just yet. He’s my specialist. Frown on my methods if you must, but believe me, angry sex beats punching walls anytime.

It will be a long night…

*See entry “Where do I go from here?” in Sex.

To My Dearest Neighbor (Part 2)

Um, okay. I didn’t keep my promise. Sorry about that. If I buy you a decent set of earplugs, would it make things better between us?

Are you alright?

Okay. I admit it. I’m not fine. Far from it. Let’s dissect my wounds and pour alcohol on it. See, I have to go through this.

The first few days since the last time we talked to each other, I couldn’t bear to sleep in my own bed. That double-sized airbed held too many memories. That little piece of inflatable thing bore the sweat and stains of too many nights of carnal pleasure, those nights when I exercised all my sexual know-hows just to make him happy, those nights when I have outdone myself to give him the best pleasure that I could possibly give. For him, I gave the best performance of my life, as cliché as that shitty line may sound. That bed and the four walls of my bedroom served as eyes and ears to my ecstatic cries and deepest sighs, those times when I practically screamed out his name everytime I feel him deep inside me, dissolving my sanity with every thrust he makes.

I turned to sleeping in my living room, on that extra mattress that I’ve unceremoniously dragged from the dusty shelves to the bare floors. There, I would cry to the point of exhaustion, and sleep would finally come over me when I was already too tired to stay awake.

I eventually moved back into my bedroom. For another few days, I slept crosswise in my bed in order to avoid remembering the spot which he usually occupies. A couple more after that, I resumed to sleeping in my natural position.

Okay, I thought. With my sleeping issues solved, maybe I’m on the road to recovery, even though it was kinda fast. You know, like those times when you have a wound and you think it’s time to take the Band-Aid off. I thought that it was just a matter of time before I can say “Hey, I’m motherfucking fine, it’s just a scratch” without lying through my teeth.

So I tried to own up to it. I stopped listening to my playlist of agonizingly senti songs and tormented my ears with hip-hop and metal instead. I committed myself to several freelance projects, thinking that I am already emotionally fit to work myself to the bone.

I even tried to get intimate with another guy. Not to the point of having sex, but just plain kissing and stuff. It was going really well, or so I’ve thought. The damnedest thing happened when Mr. Hot and Smart Guy took me home and he was saying goodnight. He put his hand on my shoulder lightly. I felt myself automatically recoiling from his touch. Still, I let him kiss me.

Bad idea. It was the worst kiss I’ve ever had in my entire life and not because he was not a good kisser. It was just totally devoid of pleasure for my part, so bland, so horribly tasteless. It actually disgusted me, like I’ve just kissed my own brother. It was as erotic as wiping the dust off my laptop.

Needless to say, I did not invite him to stay for the night. If I can’t even kiss a man right, I surely could not fuck him properly. I may be heartbroken, but I still care about my reputation in bed.

I should have listened to the warning bells that sounded off inside my head after that awful moment, as I was chugging a bottle of Red Horse to calm my nerves. I should have realized how serious the situation was, given the fact that I couldn’t even bear to have sex, something that I truly love doing. I couldn’t bear to let another man touch me, period.

But I didn’t. I still carried on with my stupid charade and continued my Miss America bit, smiling so hard until my jaw practically dislocated. I traded dirty jokes with the boys even though I enjoyed it as much as I enjoy scrubbing my damn toilet.

And so the other night, I subjected myself to another test. I decided to do the one thing that I’ve been dreading to do ever since the day the shit hit the fan.

With all the emotional strength that I could muster, I opened my front door around 12 am, the time that he would usually come to my apartment. With a cigarette in hand and my music player on, I stood within the door and stayed there for as long as I could. Suddenly the pain came raining down on me in heavy and relentless torrents as I remembered those times when he would be standing on this exact spot, waiting for me to let him in. The pain increased tenfold when I remembered those times that we would part right there, when I would turn my face to his so that he can kiss me goodnight, or good morning, since it was already dawn.

After several minutes, a heavy lump started forming in my throat. My eyes started to well up and my breath was coming in short gasps. I tried to stifle the cry that was threatening to explode any minute then. Fuck, I told myself. I have to learn how to stand outside the door of my own house without having to battle the urge to sob my poor battered heart out. Shit, I HAVE TO.

But it was too, too much for me to take. After a few more minutes, I broke down in heart-wrenching sobs, right in front of my door, not giving a fuck about my sleeping neighbors. I dissolved into a sorry mess of endless tears and utter hopelessness. Those days of trying and pretending to be okay did me in.

Inside the house, my laptop speakers came on cue:

I guess it’s just no use

When every part of me is still a part of you…

And I still got your face

Painted on my heart

Scrawled upon my soul

Etched upon my memory, baby

I’ve got your kiss still burning on my lips

The touch of your fingertips

This love so deep inside of me, baby

No, I am definitely not alright. I’m tired of being the most pathetic liar in the universe.

To My Dearest Neighbor…

You will be ecstatic to know that I will be pretty much in solitary confinement for the next few weeks or months. First of all, you will not be disturbed by my animal screaming and moaning in the midst of your restful slumber for quite a long time. See, the man whose name you kept hearing over and over again in the middle of the night will be not be coming to my domicile anymore. I am gonna spare you the painful details but all I can tell you is that it’s not pretty. Let me get over it first. Mentioning it is painful enough already. The thing is, I’m not in the mood for any kind of intimacy right now and I certainly don’t feel like inviting men over to my house. At least, not for the next few months. Friends are allowed to visit, but only if they come bearing useful gifts, like a humongous bottle of Red Horse. You will be seeing more of me because I intend to ask my boss for a few days or a week off. In this agitated state, I don’t trust my writing capabilities. I am mentally and emotionally unfit to work.

The second one, well, you won’t be so glad to hear about this, but you will be hearing lots of heartbreak songs coming from my apartment within this period of time. I know, I know. I’ve already terrorized you with nonstop George Michael and Jeff Buckley ever since I moved in here, but this is the least you can do for a neighbor with a shattered heart. To get you more prepared for the oncoming auditory onslaught, here are some of the songs that you would be having a mighty LSS with. In no particular order:

• I Can’t Make You Love Me by George Michael
• Forget Her by Jeff Buckley
• Kissing a Fool by George Michael
• Making Love (Out of Nothing at All) by Air Supply
• Reason for Breathing by Babyface
• You Oughta Know by Alanis Morisette
• Foolish Games by Jewel

Yes, I know some of the songs in here are uh, quite questionable, especially item number four. Let me clarify that I do not listen to Air Supply under normal circumstances but see, when someone just made mincemeat out of your heart and poured acid on your remains without any sign of remorse, you tend to do things without the supervision of your brain and personal tastes. Go ahead, cringe. Throw a few tomatoes at my front door if you must. I promise you this will only last for a few months. Pray that I get over it easily, or it will be eternal damnation for your eardrums. Last time I checked, listening to Air Supply is not a valid excuse for eviction. Yet.

Third, ignore the sounds of crying and sobbing that will surely pierce through your walls for the first few weeks. Understand that every corner of my house reminds me of him and that I dread going home to this unit every night. Understand how I must feel everytime I go to my room and lay in the same bed that he and I used to have sex. Understand that everytime I open my door reminds me of his late night visits. Understand that every motherfucking square inch of my house brings memories so painful I feel like dying many times over each time I remember them. Understand that the person responsible does not give a fuck about my feelings, not one goddamn bit. Why would he? He’s with somebody else already. I am of no use to him anymore.

That’s it for now, neighbor. I have to go out and buy some more tissues. We will have a little chat, you and I, when I’m feeling a lot better. Oh, and please return the broom that is usually hanging by the side of my door. I’m not so devastated enough to forget that it’s MY broom and I do have to clean, heartbroken or not.