In Pursuit of Monogamy

A couple of months ago, I realized that the years of engaging in promiscuity have already worn me out. It doesn’t thrill me anymore. I have to try something new. I need to do something exciting.

I have to be monogamous.

Funny, isn’t? While other people are getting into all sorts of wild sexual encounters because they are bored with their sex lives, here I am restricting myself to fucking just one person because I’m bored with being promiscuous. Never thought I’d see the day.

It came as a regal shocker of the highest level to those who have known me for the longest time. These people have seen me collect and dispose lovers on a regular basis. Of course, those who really know me are aware that I’m the most faithful partner one can have in an honest-to-goodness relationship. They would not be surprised at all if I played the monogamy game in this situation. What made their eyebrows shoot all the way north is the fact that I’m trying to become monogamous when I’m not in a relationship at all, in a setup where romance is not even an active factor.

“Damn, he must be that good,” a friend said unbelievingly while we were downing several bottles of Red Horse in Malate. “I mean, so good that you willingly put a chastity belt to lock up that wonderfully active keps of yours. Wow. And to think he’s not your boyfriend or anything. Ayus. He must be hung like un taureau.”

We’ll leave it at that. But really, that’s not the point.

Let me explain. Promiscuity possesses an almost illegal thrill that one should experience at least once or twice in his lifetime. God knows I’ve had that definitely more than once or twice. Back then, it was too easy. Everytime I get hot and bothered, I can always call somebody who can screw me whenever, wherever. It was an erotic convenience that I have fully exploited. It probably didn’t help that these guys were hankering for my ass for the longest time and were pretty much willing to do anything I asked them to do. One of them was game enough to lie on the floor and have me step on his back, and I was wearing a deadly pair of black stilettos. You get the picture.

I’ve had so much desire on my hands, so much power. Not only was I indulging my dominatrix tendencies to the hilt, but I was gleefully acquiring body count as fast as I could say “Next!”

And then I got tired of it all. Just like that. Probably because whatever gratification I have felt was mostly mental, not physical. I was only satisfying my ego, not my body. Believe me, it does not go hand in hand. At the end of the day, it wasn’t so good after all. At first, I dismissed it as some kind of a prolonged boredom phase or some sort of an extended PMS episode. But it wasn’t. It got to a point that getting it on is as appealing as doing a thesis on quantum physics. I became utterly bored with sex, a concept that is downright laughable a year ago.

I know deep down that what my body craves for is that wonderful feeling of knowing where everything fits, which comes with familiarity. Knowing which buttons to push, which knobs to play with. Familiarity may equate to boredom for some people, but for me, it’s a huge turn-on. The more I’m accustomed to my partner’s body, the more intense I would be.

So I made some sort of vow that the next man who comes along, even if he is just a fuck buddy or an erotic friend, will have the luxury of having me all to himself. Whether this is right or wrong is something that I did not really dwell much on. Technically, if I’m single, I’m not obligated to be monogamous. It’s only fair. Exclusivity is for those who are in a relationship. But I decided to break that rule, knowing that I would break a lot more as I go on with my mission.

Of course, I considered the possible emotional implications of what I was about to do. I thought about it long and hard. There are risks, and the stakes are definitely high. I don’t have to spell out the complications. After mulling about it for several days, I made a decision.

Thus, I slammed my doors on promiscuity. In my case, the basic rule is “one at a time.”

As for that fortunate hombre who is probably enjoying the knowledge that I’m not screwing some other guy, well, let’s just say that his timing was impeccable. It helps that he’s got one of the most beautiful dicks I’ve ever seen, one that I could suck on hungrily all day. Staying monogamous is very easy because well, he’s really great in the sack. The man knows how to touch me. And since he’s the only one whom I’ve been sleeping with for quite some time, the pleasure is increased ten folds. Every touch is exquisite. His finger, tracing that erotic route from my neck down to the small of my back can already make me whimper helplessly. A light, teasing lick on my nipple can already make me gasp and grab at his hair. And everytime I mount him, I become so wet that my juices gush down continuously on him and soak his balls thoroughly. Yes, there are “valid” reasons for my “faithfulness.”

Needless to say, such overload of pleasure was quite impossible back when I was hopping from one bed to another. Yes, I am definitely reaping the rewards of putting on that “chastity belt” and giving him the key. Of course, no one can tell how long I’m gonna let him have it or for how long he’s willing to keep it. But it’s totally irrelevant. I’ve proven my point.

MY KUYA’S WEDDING

No, this is not a review of that Ryan Agoncillo movie. Ok?

My older brother was married just this Saturday, November 17, at the Chapel of Transfiguration in Calaruega. Despite my month-long irritation with the preparations for the event (which was brought about by my brother’s incessant bugging for my financial contribution to the expenses and his exaggerated worry about my punctuality on the wedding day itself) the ceremony turned out to be a beautiful and touching one, with just minor snags along the way.

Needless to say, I am very happy for my brother. See, we all thought that he will never get married. He was already 33 years old, with no serious girlfriend in sight. All these years of toiling hard in his work and making ends meet for us when my mom lost her job had taken its toll on his finances and his overall enthusiasm in finding the right woman. A lot of our relatives actually thought that I will be the first one to get hitched.

So my mom and I were shocked when he suddenly announced late last year that he was already getting married. He met Ira during a wedding (surprise, surprise) and they were actually both in the groomsmen-bridesmaid group. And just four months after they first met, they decided to be partners for life.

Of course, my overly cynical nature was at first, very skeptical about this much-awaited union. I suspected that my brother just wanted to put an end to all those expectations about his impending matandang binata-hood. All my malicious thoughts evaporated when I finally met my sister-in-law to be. The woman is definitely wifey and mother material, and she is soooo sweet, gentle and soft-spoken it is kinda sickening. She is the classic sugar, spice and everything nice. Let’s just say that next to her, I look like the devil incarnate.

My next reaction is totally expected from a baby sister who is used to be the only apple of her big brother’s eye. I got a little jealous of the intruder. See, I am a kuya’s girl, and I was more scared of him than my mother. But eventually, I learned to do away with my evil thoughts and considered her as my ate.

The most remarkable thing about the wedding, aside from the fact that it was pretty as a picture, given the scenic beauty of Calaruega, is that it made me more emotional that I normally am. I am not the type to cry at weddings, or any other touching ceremony. Yet, when I saw ate-to-be walking down the aisle in her Monique Lhuiller-inspired wedding dress, with tears streaming down her face (thank God her makeup was waterproof!) I felt my own tears well up, much more when I saw my brother almost about to burst to tears himself. I managed to keep mine from running down my heavily made-up mug in torrents because I remembered that MY makeup was NOT waterproof. I absolutely refused to ruin my perfectly cool and poised bridesmaid demeanour by boo-hooing my eyes out. But yes, I was that close to crying myself. I was really about to lose it especially during the end of the ceremony, when the priest told my brother that he can finally kiss his bride. He first gave her a light peck on the lips then with his eyes closed, enveloped her in a tight hug that, in my opinion, spoke more volumes than the kiss itself. They held each other in that emotional embrace before they kissed each other passionately, reminiscent of the way Richard Gomez and Lucy Torres kissed during THEIR Ormoc wedding.

It was definitely love pouring out in cosmic blasts throughout the church all the way down to the lower ends of the vast Calaruega gardens.

The only downside to the whole thing? It suddenly made think of re-evaluating my plans of being in singlehood bliss forever, or at least for a very long time.

Blame it on the ten people who kept asking me when MY wedding is going to be. After telling them over and over that I am enjoying singlehood way too much to get married soon, they retaliated by blabbing about the dificulties of having babies after 30, the importance of having a husband to take care of me etc etc ad infinitum.

Not that I have a choice at the moment. Getting married soon is not feasible since I don’t have a long-time, steady boyfriend whom I can wheedle a platinum and diamond engagement ring from. In fact, prospects (if there are any!) are downright dismal right now that any hopes of settling down are as comprehensible as Russian gibberish.

Aside from the obvious absence of a man, my own plans for career and financial security does not leave me much time and energy to actively check out the singles market for a decent boyfriend, much less a husband-to-be. Also, my standards are not easy to adhere to, for I require nothing less than intelligence and character from my prospective men. Lest we forget, men of that quality are hard to find.

And yes, I am still kinda enjoying the rush I get from my occasional bouts with promiscuity; although I have considerably toned down compared to my misadventures a couple of years ago. The thrill of sleeping with whomever I like, whenever I like is still too exciting to give up, something I have to do when a steady man comes along.

Sigh. Remind me not to go to weddings after this.

For the future man in my life

I am a wonderful woman. This I say with no trace of braggadocio. I am a woman with a big heart, the type who will love her man with no reservations, but I am no pushover either. I am very much secure with myself that I cannot or will not succumb to something that I think is wrong. I am not the most beautiful woman in the world, but I have my own set of deadly charms and smarts, which are enough to snag and reel you into my world – and make you stay there. I am the type of woman that you will not hesitate to introduce to your friends, but you may have to deal with the fact that some of them might make a play for my direction. See, I have my own way of making a man feel intrigued with me, and not a few of these hombres have told me that I am quite the mysterious character. Well, I am a Scorpio. Maybe that explains everything.

I am a woman of great passion. With me, you can experience the greatest love you will ever know in your life, for I am selfless when it comes to the man I love. I will give whatever it is that you need, as long as I can give it. There may be times that it will seem that there is nothing left to give, but I will always find more ways to give you more.

No, I am not talking about money.

Speaking of that, you will be glad to know that I am not the type who will needle cash out from her man, unless it is a matter of life and death. I value my pride so much that I will always want to pay for my personal stuff. But this does not mean you can go cheapskate on me. Let me warn you that most of your budget on me will not be spent on clothes, flowers and perfume, but on food. I am a woman of voracious appetites; don’t let my small frame fool you. I can share a box of pizza with you, and I can eat as many slices as you can. I absolutely adore it when a man tries to feed me as much food as he can afford.

I can be such a darling, but remember: I love with great intensity and hate with enormous ferocity. I am not a woman to mess with. If you do, you will regret it. My tongue can do wonders for you if you treat me right, but it can also be your downfall if you shit on me. By the time I am through with you, you will wish I had sliced your penis instead.

I can make you feel the most powerful and most desirable man that ever walked the Earth, but I can also make you wish you stayed in your mother’s womb for a bit longer instead.

Now, if ever we reached the holy stage of matrimony (I do shudder at the mere mention of the word) things can get quite tricky. You see, I am very different from the average woman.

You must understand that I do not equate the word wife with maid. In the same letter, do not expect me to stay at home and be the loving housewife. Unlike some women, I do not consider housework as therapy after a long day’s work. Sure, I can do the dishes and clean the house a bit, but that’s as much wifely duties I am willing to do. There are other things I’d rather do for you, and that includes making you very happy in bed any night you wish. I am very much willing to make this a full time job. I am willing to explore every nook and cranny of your body and will not hesitate to find out what makes you scream with pleasure. Of course, I will expect you to have the same level of sexual appetites and expertise as mine, more if possible. I predict that our bed will not last as long as it should, poor thing.

Before you marry me, you must come equipped with a sturdy washing machine because I HATE doing laundry by hand. My hands are very sensitive and cannot stand ANY kind of detergent. I can wash your boxers for you but I refuse to wash your shirts. I don’t wash MY clothes, and I will not scrub your shirts, which are probably thrice bigger than mine.

They say a great wife is someone who is a great hostess in the living room, a gourmet chef in the kitchen, and a whore in the bedroom. I say I’d hire the other two and take care of the bedroom bit.

Kids? I don’t intend to be a baby factory. I’m scared shitless of getting pregnant and the thought of squeezing a watermelon out of a hole the size of a calamansi. Of course, I will give you kids, granted that there is nothing wrong with my reproductive system, but I can only stand to have two. Life is hard nowadays, and I don’t like to bring children into this world and not provide them with what they want and need. I detest those couples that keep making babies without a thought to the financial repercussions. Every time I see a child knocking on motorists’ cars and asking for some change, I want to scream and ask him where the hell his parents are. Sending your kids out to beg for his food money is unforgivable.

Now if you look like Brad Pitt, I might reconsider and move the number up to three. If I mate with someone who looks that good, I figured my baby will look devastatingly handsome or beautiful I can cash in on that and make him or her into a cash cow. Joooke.

You will have to deal with the fact that I am insanely in love with John Legend. If he ever asks me to run away with him to some island in the Caribbean, brace yourself because I will leave you, no questions asked.

Am I asking too much? Probably. But I really don’t care. As far as I am concerned, I am worth every cent and every effort that you will spend. I am the most complex and exciting woman you will ever know, and I can make your life super or miserable, depends on how you handle things.

Those men who were foolish enough to let me go? They miss me like the sonofabitch. Go ask them if you must.

Here’s something for the men

I hate to repeat myself over and over again, but you men are all the same. That is why I always tell anyone who would listen that it is SO hard to trust men nowadays. You are hearing it from someone who has been beaten black and blue all over by a man, emotionally, that is. I understand that men are biologically inclined to look at other women, but when it comes to a relationship, why can’t you men just stay put where you are? Especially if you have a wonderful woman who loves you. I hate to say this, but men nowadays just do not know how to appreciate a good thing. Don’t you guys know that APPRECIATION is the key to everything, the same as giving flowers never go out of style? There is nothing that will make a woman feel so loved and secure than the feeling of being appreciated for all that she is and the love that she bestows? Unfortunately, yeah, old habits die hard. Again, quality men are so hard to find.

There are some men who love to leave things to chance, on the premise that what’s bound to happen will happen, and that there are some things that our beyond our control. Because of this line of reasoning, these men refuse to make the necessary effort to make things right.

For this, I must cite a situational example to prove my point, that of the occurence of coincidences. Most of the time, they are just that…coincidences. Nothing more, nothing less. But remember that you are talking to Miss Cynical here. Our views may differ greatly.

I myself have been victim to many situations where you will be forced to contemplate whether things DO happen for a reason. I understand what you were getting at, it IS a tricky coincidence. Like, of all the people in the world, fate has somehow managed create a most unlikely connection among the most unlikely people. It IS the damnedest thing. I experienced practically the same thing, only mine is truly a lot more complicated than others, for it involves five of us having a “how-the-hell-did-that-happen” connection. I saw it as some sort of a sign, only to discover it is just nothing. It just happened. No significance whatsoever. What a fucking let down.

Guys, it is YOU who can make things significant. I believe fate has nothing to do with it.

Love takes effort. But it is an effort well worth in the end.