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?

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.

That scent…

I have an erotic weakness for men’s perfume.

One of the things that I love to do whenever I get intimate with a man is smelling his neck. I lean on his shoulder, turn my neck to his and inhale deeply on that area behind his ears. I’m fortunate that most of the men that I’ve gone out or slept with smelled exceptionally good. I’m VERY particular when it comes to a man’s scent. The best men’s perfume that I’ve smelled so far is Drakkar Noir. So old school of me, I know, but Drakkar is one of those classic perfumes that smell so masculine without being too strong.

But a man doesn’t have to wear an expensive designer perfume just to turn my olfactory senses into overdrive. He could be wearing drug-store variety cologne like Axe and still smell so darn good. Hell, he could be wearing only soap and aftershave and still turn me on. For me, the smell of a man who just came out of the shower is one of the most heavenly scents in the world. It all depends on the man and how well his skin blends with the smell. It also depends on the memory associated with it.

Scent alone has the ability to remind me of memories that I thought I’ve long forgotten. I’ve been deliciously reminded of one such memory when I was walking towards Greenbelt yesterday. As I was heading towards the mall’s entrance, I almost bumped into a guy who was rushing towards the parking lot. As he ran off to the opposite direction, I caught a clear whiff of his perfume.

Oh my God. That scent…

I felt such a rush that I had to stop in the middle of the street for several seconds while I regained my composure. I recovered just in time to avoid a Chevrolet Suburban from flattening me to the ground.

That scent. It brought me back to the time when I was still working at the tallest tower in the country. I had this gorgeous supervisor (whose name I won’t mention, of course) whom I have been salivating for ever since he interviewed me for the analyst job. I was ecstatic when I got accepted, even more when he became my immediate superior a couple of months after I got in. I’m telling you, that man had the uncanny ability to make me wet my panties everytime he looks at me directly whenever he was issuing some office-related task. This obsession with the boss didn’t make me lose my control however. Not until several months later.

We bumped into each other at a party. Let’s just say it wasn’t the kind of party that you would want your boss to see you in. And vice-versa. We just laughed it off and he said, “Don’t worry, what happens here stays here.”

Fast forward to one hour later. We had a few drinks too many and we were in the middle of the fucking dance floor doing something that would put Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey to shame. My nibbling and sniffing tendencies were at full play. I wrapped my arms around that neck and inhaled deeply.

Jesus Christ, but he smelled SO good.

That did me in. I kissed the boss furiously and he kissed me right back. Soon we were all over each other in full view of God and everybody, not giving a shit what they think. I unbuttoned his shirt and took in more of that masculine scent. It drove me nuts. I nibbled delicately on his chest and worked my way up his neck again. Like a gentle vampire, I bit his neck firmly but carefully, making sure not to leave any marks. His hands were massaging my breasts. I grabbed at his waist and pulled him closer to me. He was hard. He was ready.

I wish I could tell you that we ended up in some room with a red, round bed and that we fucked each other’s brains out, but no. After having my fill of his scent (and his neck) I somehow regained whatever marbles I had left and realized that I JUST MADE OUT WITH MY BOSS.

I told him, “I have to go, it’s getting late.” Bullshit. It’s only 2 am.

He looked at me carefully. Slowly, he replied. “Ok. Are you sure you can go home by yourself?”

“Yeah. I’m sure. Bye.” Without waiting for his answer, I spun on my stiletto heels and left him there.

We saw each other the following Monday and resumed normal flow of things. We didn’t discuss what happened or gave an inclination that we were thinking about it. We didn’t need to say it out loud, but in our invisible antennas, we were both in agreement that yes, whatever happened there will definitely stay there. No thinking of what-could-have-beens. No contemplating on what should or shouldn’t have happened. Damn it.

It was during one of those one-on-one meetings months later that I was able to work up the nerve to ask him what perfume he was wearing.

“It’s BLV Pour Homme. Bvlgari. You like it?”

I shrugged. “It’s okay.” Baby, you have NO idea. I thought. If I can only have my way, we will be locking that goddamn door right now and I will hike my mini skirt up so you can see my white lace thong. I will push you back in one of those leather executive chairs and I will impale myself on your hard, throbbing dick and screw you till kingdom come. I swear, I will bite your neck again and again and I will make sure to leave marks this time. You hear me?

I left the room before I had the chance to blurt out what I was thinking.

So I went to one of those stalls in the mall that sell original perfume per ml. I bought a small vial of the damn perfume and rushed home. I went to my bedroom immediately and opened the vial. I sprinkled the scent liberally on my pillows and sheets. Soon the room was filled with his smell, and I got so turned on I had to do what I had to do. Wink, wink.

That vial has long been emptied and I have moved on to other offices, moved on to other men. Curiously, that scent didn’t haunt me again until yesterday. It’s been a long time, but the smell brought back the memory as if it happened just moments ago.

The Energizer Bunny

If your partner’s performance is the stuff of the Energizer Bunny factory quality control, you will have a pretty good idea of what will become of your thighs.

And so it was when he dropped me off my house after a 10-hour stay from some motel. My thighs were shaking and my knees were in such jelly-like state that I could hardly walk from his car to my gate, especially since I was burdened with my handbag and a monstrous shoulder bag containing the heaviest laptop in the world. Good thing I wasn’t wearing stilettos; I would have tripped and landed on my groggy ass.

After I stumbled to make it to the door of my room, disposed of my bags and gave myself a half-hearted shower, I dropped like a dead fly on my bed without a stitch of clothing on and was asleep within seconds. That was around 9:30 am; when I woke up and looked at the time on my mobile phone, it was already 6:00 pm.

I lay in a trance for sometime after I opened my crusty peepers. I moved several parts of my body carefully and assessed the damage. My thighs were motherfucking sore, my legs were in no better shape and when I looked down at my naked body I saw several faint, pinkish marks near my waist and breasts. My nipples were definitely swollen. Curiously, the area between my legs was okay; I expected it to be the most beat-up part of my anatomy considering how the Energizer Bunny went crazy in there for hours on end. But then I remembered how soaking wet I was and how my pussy just glided with almost no friction at all, up and down his perfectly-sized penis. So yeah, no surprise there. Chuckle.

You know what mind-blowing sex brings – you feel drained and refreshed at the same time. Drained because your whole body is still crying out for more rest even after a considerable amount of sleep. Refreshed because your disposition is so annoyingly cheery and sunny you’re coming off like Julie Andrews from the Sound of Music.

And now I’m thinking that Sex God’s* place in the top spot of my “the best of the best” list is in serious jeopardy, as far as longevity is concerned. Because damn, Energizer Bunny was awesome. And I want MORE. Sure, I hurt all over, but who’s complaining?

Not me. Chuckle.

*See “Where do I Go From Here?” in Sex

THE MORNING AFTER

As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing more sensual than waking up the next morning and feeling his body next to mine, all warm and flushed from deep, restful sleep.

I prolong the bliss further by lingering on the bed after he had already risen to take a shower. Moving to his side of the bed, I feel the warm imprint of his body. Then slowly, I smell the sheets and pillows, a moment of pure seduction. Deeply, I inhale the musky, masculine scent, a sensation which sends subtle shockwaves to my senses. I savor the heady rush of warmth all over my body, triggered by the scent that can only come from a powerful release of desires long suppressed.

But this is still incomparable to the pleasure of smelling him on my skin, the most erotic evidence of the pounding, maddening pleasure of the night before.

Heaven. Sheer heaven.

The soreness between my legs, the deep pink of my bruised lips. His smell on my hot, moist skin…

Oh yes… he’s still with me.

WHERE DO I GO FROM HERE?

I have never been in more serious deadlock when it comes to my love life (or lack of it.)

When a significant event happens to my hum-drum existence, it carries with it a set of pros and cons: it gives me the drive to write again about my angst with renewed passion, but it forces me to assess everything there is in my life at the present. The serious question about my intimate life will always rear its ugly head along with my reflecting about my career path.

Really, what do I have right now?

A little flashback is necessary here. A year ago, I had an unbelievable set of erotic friends whom I can call whenever the urge for meantime intimacy strikes me. It came to a point that I can have a different “friend” for every week within a month, well, more than that actually. I always brag back then that I will never lack in sex, because, well, there is always somebody willing to warm up the other side of the bed. I had a wonderful smorgasbord of willing and able men who I can entice to give several hours worth of erotic pleasure, no strings attached of course.

And yeah, there was that a year and a half “relationship” that was more off than on, a time where I both hit rock bottom and reached unbelievable heights at the same time. It was an experience that I would not recommend to anyone except to those who have emotional masochistic tendencies like I do. It was a roller coaster ride that I am not willing to repeat again, but one that I did not regret having. It was a lesson well learned and lived through.

Going to back to the present. As much as I hate to admit it, I am not getting even half of the sex that I used to get back then. Compared to my string of smoldering encounters of the past year, I have been living like a Mormon right now. Not that I haven’t had any this year, hell no. In fact, the most exciting sex that I had happened about three months ago, with a certain gentleman that I would not name here. Let’s just call him “Number One,” because he was at the top of my “to-do” list, and because, well, he truly IS number one, if you get what I’m saying. But he was just a one-night extravaganza, a bright red blimp in a cloudless sky. I think I remember telling Number One after the deed, “Darling, I’ve never felt so fucked!” He is the embodiment of “caviar sex,” something that happens rarely.

Caviar sex – I define it as sex that you don’t get to have often, something that is truly memorable, and not because you did it out of love. It was memorable because IT WAS FUCKING FANTASTIC, no matter what the circumstance was. And you don’t get to eat caviar everyday, right?

But that’s just it. Mr. Caviar Sex and some bits here and there (including Mr. Office Lay, refer to entry number) Aside from that, nothing more. Bubkis.

You may ask, what was the reason for the sudden death (haha) of my sex life? I remember telling my sexy YM flirt mate that “I was fucking more and enjoying it less,” hence my decision to severe ties with most of my boytoys. Not that they were starting to lack in performance or enthusiasm. These select guys are designed to snap into attention at the merest command. It’s just that I have become morosely jaded about the whole thing. Something is missing.

Another favorite line of mine here, from Bono: I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.

What is it that I’m looking for anyway?

Here is a bombshell: I am dying to be in love.

Why? I don’t believe that love is the answer to everything, unlike what those sappy love songs tell you. But I do believe that being in love can make a person feel better. It can add color to your life, it can give you something to look forward to, even something to live for.

Hey, I want to feel giddy. I want to feel light. I want to wear a big, goofy smile on my face that will be positively glowing with love. I want to have someone whom I can always hold hands with. I want to have someone who does not mind that I can look smashing in the evening and look absolutely ghastly in the morning. I want to have someone who can kiss me and make everything better.

And most of all, maybe it’s because I now wanted to feel sex differently. What was before an urgent, primal whisper of “You feel so good…” I want to be replaced with a soft, tender sigh of “I love you.”

Wait, I can have both, right? Hehe.

The trouble is, a person as jaded as myself will find it difficult to fall head over feet in love. I am a battle-scarred veteran that has virtually no tendencies of disillusion left in my mind and my heart. I’ve seen it all – the glorious rise and the heartbreaking fall; only I have experienced it more brutally than most people. Plus, I will always have to deal with one excruciating truth: it’s hard for me to find men who will not judge me because of my liberal views and way of life. My future mate has to love me, checkered past and all.

THE TALE OF THE OFFICE LAY

Warning: This is a long one

“A fox should not bother to feed on ants” – Justine

I am not one to be modest about my capabilities and my appetites in bed. This is a trait that some treat with derision and some treat with respect. For the record, I NEVER claim to be perfect, but I never downplayed the fact that I give great head and that I can have the dirtiest mouth when I’m in extreme heat, during which the words that come out of my lush lips can wake Lazarus up from the dead. I can talk dirty in English with the same amount of sensuality I produce when I cuss in the vernacular. I do not claim to be a lady in bed, no, no, but a woman, a coiled snake, a restrained tigress ready to pounce and roar if my partner is male enough to elicit such a primal response from me. This is saying much, but nothing can be farther from the truth. My sexual know-hows is perfectly complemented by my capability to indulge in horizontal exercises just for the heck of it – sex for sex’s sake – and not feel the least bit guilty about it. I’d rather consider it as a form of great exercise, or a no-fail stress reliever.

Now I’m not really a fan of hooking up with someone who works in the same office as I do. I can get my smorgasbord of men somewhere else, from those blasts in the pasts to my current flirt mates, but as much as possible, I try to keep my hands off my male colleagues. I really do not have to explain the million things that could go wrong once you decide to shag an officemate, much has been said and written on the subject that only an idiot will not have the slightest clue.

I did say, as much as possible.

I can still remember the time I made out shamelessly with my gorgeous supervisor back in my Makati days. Those are the instances that still send shivers down my spine, not because I was horrified by the incident, but because damn, I liked it too darn much. I had mental designs on that particular sup ever since he interviewed me years ago, and never in my wildest dreams have I imagined that we will cross that delicate line between a young, attractive male boss and an equally attractive female subordinate. Well, almost. I thanked my luck stars that nothing happened further than that sensual, down and dirty dancing that we did during a party, and those really hot kisses that made the people at the next table stare at the two of us with drool coming down their mouths. The best thing was, he was such a sport about the whole thing afterwards. We agreed, in the most silent of means, to laugh off the whole thing and revert back to being just office mates. Heck, I was grateful for that. As attractive as he was, I was not enticed by the idea of jeopardizing our business relations because of sex. If one of us resigned, then I might have reconsidered, harhar. If one is already out of the office, it is then considered fair game.

Now, I should insert another one of my favorite lines.

The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.

Past forward to 2007. Another work, another office. I was not exactly on the prowl for new prey, since I was terribly busy with work and my freelance projects, AND I was feeling some sort of disconnection from sex that I cannot find the energy to summon any one of my willing, discreet boys to give me a good one. Really. A few months ago, this statement would have been worth a steaming pile of horseshit, but certain physical and emotional elements have made me disinterested with sex for quite some time. Like, I’d rather roll over and sleep than shag someone. Really.

I wish I could say that I was able to keep up this state of sexual indifference up to this very minute that I am writing this entry. Boring existence, yes, but less problems that way. But my faithful knew me too well. Dr. Jekyll took a break and let Mr. Hyde wreak havoc.

After a li’l drunken spree, my seemingly wholesome officemate and I ended up in his pad, and I indulged in what I thought was unthinkable a few years ago. Let’s just say we shagged the living daylights out of each other. Or at least he did. Mr. Wholesome did a total 360 on me and turned out to be a nasty little devil, far from the boy-next-door aura that he has going on in the confines of the office. Well, he enjoyed it more than I did, primarily because there is too little foreplay involved. I have sensed that part of him hesitated because he told me he has a girlfriend, but his horniness and my irresistibility (haha) got the better of him and proceeded to shag me with all his might.

Rating: 4. And I’m already being generous.

The appropriate ending should be something like the first time I got physical with a colleague: forget about the damn thing and act like it’s nothing the moment we see each other in the office. Simple, right? I mean, we are both mature, consenting adults, never mind that those bottles of San Mig Lite and Red Horse made us throw caution to the wind and got all hot, heavy and obscene. I mean, I have no problems about keeping it cool. I am the mistress of keeping it cool. I will not make such a big fuss about a li’l one night wonder. I’d rather forget about it if he wants me to forget about it. We can go back to being buddies and that’s it. Simple, right?

Simple enough for me. But not for him, apparently. The minute I got to the office, it was total awkwardness, not from my part, but from him. I was totally fulfilling my keeping-it-cool part, but I did not expect such uneasiness from him, something I did not truly understand. He is the man, for chrissakes. You can expect ME to be uneasy, but him? He should be more cool about it than me, since, well, he is a man, dammit.

What was the problem? I have an inkling on what the problem is, but can’t quite put my finger on it. I have to lash out to one my trusted confidantes in order to know the answer to the question that has been nagging me ever since I got home from the romp in his house.

I bugged my already sleep-deprived office mate Ipe and whined that I need to puff on a cancer stick (I already cut down my smoking to almost zilch, except for a stick or two every three days) due to a matter of extreme importance that requires his immediate attention. So there, in front of Mercury Drug, I told him the sordid tale after making him swear on his balls that he will keep mum on the subject. I told him that I have to tell my dirty secret to someone male in order for him to empathize better with my situation.

It went on like this:

Ipe (after mulling over the story for a minute): You know what? I think it boils down to inexperience. HIS inexperience.

Me: Inexperience in what?

Ipe: His inexperience, technique-wise and attitude-wise. First, you said you did NOT have even a teensiest bit of orgasm. That’s bad. I mean, he’s not exactly a little boy, mare. Ideally, he should be on the same skills level as you are. He should know by now, hello, that women need foreplay to get off, unfortunately. Tapos the way he is acting right now? Methinks he was not prepared to take on a woman of your, ehem, experience. In short, he must be shell-shocked with your attitude. Ngayon, he does not know how to deal with the whole situation, could be that nahiya sya dahil ginalaw ka pa, or nahiya sya dahil di nakayanan ang powers mo. Hehe.

Me: Dude, di kaya dahil may girl sya? Isn’t guilt?

Ipe: Duh. For a guy like him presented with a naked body like yours? A lay is a lay, Justine, especially pag super tigang ka. Guilt? That’s horseshit. And the fact na nagkaroon pa ng second round? Hello lang. He wanted you, he just didn’t know how to handle it…or handle you.

So there lies the problem. I was too advanced for him. I picked on someone NOT my own size, and by size I don’t mean the literal built of a person. What I mean here is sexual skill. Or rather, the whole attitude towards sex, more specifically, on terribly liberal matters like one night stands. The master taking on the novice. Master Yoda fooling around with a padawan. Something like that.

Eww, scratch that. Horrible analogy.

So WHOSE problem is it? Is it his because as Ipe said, he was too inexperienced for the likes of me, or is it mine, because I was too experienced for the likes of him? Have I become abnormal? Have I become jaded? Have I become too liberal? Will I experience the same thing every time I sleep with someone close to my age? Will I scare or intimidate them because I am “too skillful” or “too sensual” for them?

What have I become?

Beer. I need beer, Please!

The deed with Mr. Feel-Good

She lusted after him for so many months already. Now she had him.She arrived there looking as hot as coals, on a stormy night. Now that she had already made peace with herself and has reverted back to her naughty, sexy self, there is nothing that can stop her from having a jolly good time.

She have not counted on having it THAT good, though.

Fifteen hours locked up in the room, uninterrupted, doing nothing but sex, sleep and some mischievious pillow talk. Ah, she REALLY missed this particular kind of sex, that raw, sweaty, effortlessly erotic kind of sex which involves twisting the limbs in the most seemingly impossible ways, giving and taking those little bites that felt more pleasurable than painful, and whispering those dirty talk that made her temperature-shattering hot and on her knees, taking it any way he likes.

Ah, what a luscious prize this is.

She was pleasantly surprised that he knew immediately where her pleasure points are. She wanted it hard and furious. He delivered more than was expected of him, that wicked thing. He pushed it in as far as it could go and thrusted wildly, making her feel that constant pain she had because of her tightness, which soon gave way to tides of pleasure flooding her whole body.

He had to cover her mouth with his hand once to keep the neighbors from hearing her wanton moans and screams.”You are a noisy one..” he said with a chuckle.

Goddamn it, but it felt so damn good…
Now she looked at herself in the mirror and was instantly pleased with what she saw…a different kind of glow lighting up her skin, a twinkle in her eye, her hair straight and flowing. She felt marvelous all the way to her toes.

It was about damn time.

She was so damn sore all over, delicately bruised in the most secret of places, but she loved it. She welcomed with utmost delight that soreness between her legs, and the quivering of her knees, that slight little mark on her right breast. She could still smell that masculine scent on her hot, moist skin.

Feeling THIS good should be illegal.