Tristan Tales

In The End, I Love Me

2012-05-30T00:46:00.001-04:00

"Can I have my spare keys back, please?", it was my gaybor.

I read his message and I felt cold. Why was he asking for his keys back? It only meant one thing. I had pissed him off and it was really over.

"I'd also like to return your stuff…", he continued.

For a few minutes, I kept quiet. I did not know what to say. Do I tell him that I'll just mail him his keys even if he only lived a block away? Do I ask him to drop my stuff off at my apartment with my name on it? Or do I meet him up probably for the last time and risk sliding back to where I was just a few days ago?

"Yes. Thanks. Maybe tonight.", I finally typed back.

I decided to take the grown up way out. One final meet up. To at least see him. To at least have the chance to explain myself. To say goodbye.

***

It was last night when I finally decided to end my connection with the gaybor. It has been at least eight months since we first met. Our story, or at least some of it, I had written on this site. The long and short of it was - I probably fell in love. Even without intending to, as is always the case. And I fell hard. So hard that I ugly cried in McDonalds in front of friends while holding a bag of chicken nuggets and half-eaten fillet-o-fish. It was THAT bad.

The gaybor wanted sex last night and for the first time, I said no. He had just wrapped up a weekend with another Asian "friend" from New York. A few hours after that guy (whom I fondly referred to as "Deformed Asian") left his house, he sent me a message. He wanted to have sex. With me. His gaybor. Under regular circumstances, I would have been flattered. Fuck, I am sure that I am way better in bed than that Deformed Asian… But, it was the gaybor. And I, I still cared.

And because I cared, I was disgusted by the mere idea of seeing him that night - much more having his dick, which was probably up some deformed Asian's ass in my mouth. I am no big fan of ass to mouth play in the first place! But beyond disgust, I felt sorry for myself. And it made me sad. It made me want to change things. As I looked at myself in front of the wall of mirrors by my bed (where we have performed and have checked ourselves out doing many a great sex positions, by the way), I realized one thing. I love myself more.

"Sorry. I think it's best that I don't see you for a while. This arrangement doesn't work for me anymore."

As soon as I sent the message, I felt better about myself. I had finally done it. I had finally stood up for myself.

"Better late than later…", I mumbled.

Based on his reaction, he was caught by surprise. But, knowing him the way that I do, I knew he was upset. He may never show it completely, but I knew he was.

***

I stood outside my apartment, waiting. He walked over to my place in the middle of a heavy downpour to return my stuff. He meant business. He wore his usual gray tank and shorts, with him, an oversized black umbrella. As soon as I saw him turn the corner, part of me wanted to take back everything I said. Ugh.

I noticed he avoided any eye contact. I, on the other hand, did not. At the back of my mind, I knew that I wanted to see him so badly. I wanted him to change my mind. But he didn't. Instead, he pulled out a package from his pocket and handed it over.

"I'm gonna go before this rain gets any harder", he mumbled without looking at me directly.

I handed him his keys which he put back in pocket. At that moment, I caught a glimpse of his eyes. I knew that I had gotten through to him. He was upset. As I watched him walk away, I felt a tiny pinch in my heart. I watched him walk away probably for the last time. It was then when I realized that in the process of loving myself, I ended up hurting the guy I must have really loved.

Hi, I'm Boring. Will You Date Me?

2012-05-13T00:50:00.002-04:00

"Hi, I'm Tristan and I'm boring."

I am so tempted to say that whenever I meet someone for the first time. But, I know that if I do, all chances of getting past the first date goes out the window. So, I pretend to be interesting. I tell them stories of my move to the US - like how different things were and how it's more fun to be gay in DC. It usually works for the first thirty minutes. Then I go on telling the tales of my glorious life in Manila - like how I had an ultra fab social life, that I was almost always the life of any party, that I had the city at my beck and call. That covers the next hour and then it goes downhill... If I'm lucky, both of us would be drunk enough to call it a night after we agree on a second date.

The second date is much trickier. The conversations are usually follow ups to stories told on the first. At this point, the other guy is expecting to hear about who I am now. I have noticed how people find it interesting, actually odd, that I don't know how to drive, swim or ride a bike. Then it ends there. It was after several first dates with several guys that I came to a conclusion that I now live a boring life. My life is as plain as a beige wall.

I don't play sports. I don't like talking about politics. I like showbiz news and trashy TV. I don't have a hobby or speak another language that is relevant to global survival. I haven't been to Europe, studied abroad, or traveled the world. Nobody seems to be interested in the fact that I have been around Asia and the Philippines. I am not interested in art, theater, indie films, museums and marathons. I don't like beer and can not tell the difference between stupid wines. I have no patience to engage in small talks. Oh and yes, I don't like reading books. I like magazines, the trashy ones. Oh and I like porn - and jerking off to porn. But, that's never appropriate dinner conversation.

I have nine-hour work days, two-hour gym days, and another few extra hours for TV. I do my laundry weekends. I derive happiness from finding my favorite greek yogurt on sale at the local supermarket. I relieve stress by cooking entrees, which I will be eating for breakfast, sometimes lunch, and dinner for the entire week. The highlight of my days would be getting my soy latte from Starbucks and seeing a cupcake in the dessert section at the office cafeteria. My phone barely rings. I have sex at least once a week - with someone, anyone.

So, you see, I'm in a bit of a mess and I'm fucking boring.

Friends with Benefits My Ass

2012-04-12T11:58:00.000-04:00

It took us one month but we finally did it. Again.

The neighbor and I have shared a decent amount of time in each other's lives - give or take half a year. And yes, we have had our ups and I have had my downs. It started with a harmless "appointment" that blossomed into regular breakfast sex and eventually turned into what my friends call "us dating". But, in the last month, it was made clear that we were not headed towards that general direction. We were, if he would have his way, "friends" and "neighbors" - his classier way of calling us forever "fuck buddies".

And this got me thinking. In the last ten years of me having sexual relations with guys, I have successfully managed to compartmentalize my boys into one of three major categories: "boys I love", "boys I am friends with", and "boys who fuck me". It's much easier that way. And, for the first time, some guy, i.e. my neighbor wants to blur the lines between my boxes. It has been quite confusing. Why blur the lines?

As I sucked his dick once again after a month of not doing so, I felt a bit sad. It did not feel right. It was not special anymore. I was still sucking the same dick. I was still licking the same body (which is really not too shabby by the way) but it was not the same. It felt like I was just doing some random guy I had just met on Grindr. At that moment, it felt like he was just a dick. A human dildo. It was cathartic.

After the deed, I found myself in bed. I was laying there alone. He had already gone by the time I started over thinking things. Again. Was I ever gonna be happy with a human dildo? Was I ever gonna be happy with another friend? Will it ever be possible for me to be friends with someone I fuck? So many questions during the prime of my life. I think it's such a waste.

So I figured, I'd go back to my boxes. I conveniently stuck my neighbor in the "boys I fuck" box. He can call it what he wants - friends with benefits, fuck buddies, neighbors - I am slowly not giving a damn. As for me, I will, for a very long time, think of him fondly as "someone that, at some point, I saw myself loving, but from hereinafter, will just be my human dildo who thinks I am his friend." Now if that is not an appropriate label, then I don't know what is.

Growing Pains

2012-03-27T15:27:00.001-04:00

The sun was up. It was one of those days, typical of spring - flowers were abloom; tulips in different shades of the rainbow; fresh leaves of trees and shrubs; it was bright and sunny.

But, I was in a very dark place. My heart, cold. I was anxious. My walls, shattered.

"My walls were down... it has been down for several months now...", I explained to the guy across from me over breakfast.

It was my neighbor and we were having breakfast. We have never talked about what had been said a few weeks ago - not even when we met up for brunch a couple of weeks back; not over texts - until now. We needed to talk about it. I wanted us to talk about it.

"And now I need to rebuild it...", I continued.

I knew he was staring at me - a guy pouring his heart out. I tried to be calm and less emotional. I tried to explain myself with as much restraint as I could possibly muster at that point. I tried my best not to take it personally. Even if it was personal. Even after he had told me that I can never be more than a friend.

"I'm sorry you had to sit through this...", I apologized.

I could tell that he could see sadness in my eyes. I looked away. I can fake the way I talk. I can choose my words. But, my eyes betray me in times like this.

"We would not be having this conversation if I did not want you around..."

It was true. I wanted him around. Maybe as a friend. Maybe with benefits. Maybe someone I could borrow a cup of sugar from. We were neighbors anyway.

"If you were a younger guy, I would have just called you an asshole and then moved on..."

I smiled. And I meant it. I knew I did. He was older - more mature than I was. He knew what to say. Beside him, I sometimes feel foolish. And he was good to me. He was not an asshole; he was just not that into me.

"I hope this talk was helpful for you...", he finally said.

I nodded. It was indeed a reflief to finally tell him what I really thought of the whole thing. It may have taken me a few weeks to sort things out by myself but I finally did. I asked him the things I could have never asked anybody else. I showed him another side of me - the one he probably did not expect to see.

"Thank you - things will only get better after this...", I replied.

It was then when I realized, I may have finally grown up.

Take Me For A Ride

2012-03-16T01:00:00.003-04:00

"Hey..."

It was Grindr guy - someone I have been with once not too long ago. I still remember how it was. He came over to my place one rainy night. I was in need of someone - I felt alone. He said he liked Asians. He especially liked what he had seen online. He asked if he could come over. I gladly said yes. I needed him that night - even for just a few hours. He seemed like a nice guy anyway.

"Hi, what's up?", I asked.

I remembered he arrived at my place in a few minutes. I asked him to come in. He smiled at me and told me how good looking I was. He was clearly crazy. He kissed me on the lips. I could taste a trace of smoke in his breath. It turned me on. He started undressing me - one piece of clothing after another. I was stripped down to my underwear. He started undressing himself too. He asked me to lay in bed. "I'll give you a massage…". I could not have been any happier.

"I was just wondering if you wanna hang out...", he asked.

I still recall how warm his hands were. With every single touch, I felt more and more relaxed. He laid on top of me. I could feel his member slowly getting hard. It was quite average for a white guy. His arms were muscular. His scruff, rubbing against the back of my neck, felt good. I was in the zone. I felt his hands feel my behind, slowly massaging it. Every now and then, it would hit the spot. He glided down, kissing my back all the way to that same spot. I felt his tongue making his way to my crack. It was wet and warm. I let out a subtle moan. He stuck it in.

"I just woke up.", I replied.

I remember staring at him at one point. He had really kind eyes. It made me feel comfortable. He seemed very gentle. He asked me to turn around. I felt his tongue when he started playing with my balls - licking it - then sucking on my cock. My erection got harder. I put up a show. Before me was a muscle guy - scruff and all - sucking me. It was a weird power structure. It turned me on. I reached for his member. It was hard. He was enjoying what was going on. I wondered if he'd ever top me. I wanted him to. I wanted him in me.

"Have you ever ridden a sling?"

I remember reaching for a condom. "Put this on", I told him. He gladly obliged. He asked me turn around. He started lubing me up - my ass up in the air. He once again licked my balls - then he started rubbing the head of his cock along my crack. "Please be gentle...", I asked him. I took a deep breath - waiting for what was about to come. "I will, don't worry.", he whispered. Inch by inch, he slowly made his way in me. I held on to the bed. "You okay?", he asked. He was good.

"No. Do you have one?", I asked.

I remember that it was a gentle ride - the gentlest of late. I only felt him push a bit harder as he was about to cum. I remember finishing almost at the same time. We laid in bed for a while. I was exhausted and so was he. I felt him plant a kiss on my forehead - his hands still feeling my body. His touch felt good - and for a brief moment, I did not feel alone.

"I'm sure you will love it.", he replied.

Yes, I can still recall our first time together - how could I ever forget? He was the gentlest of men. He treated me well and made sure I enjoyed every single bit of what we were up to. He had the softest touch and warmest hands. Little did I know that he had a different side to him. He had his inner alpha and I, as I would later find out, liked that one better.

"Sure, I'll ride your sling."

to be continued…

And So The Story Ends

2012-03-11T21:37:00.001-04:00

It could have gone either way.

***

Almost a week ago, I finally convinced myself that I was ready to ask the question. All I needed was the perfect time to ask. Would it be over dinner? Or how about drinks? Maybe while shopping? Or some other odd time. But, I knew I was gonna ask the status of whatever it was that we had. Were we dating? Were we even friends? With benefits? Or were we just really good neighbors?

It took me months of getting to know someone before I was finally ready to admit to myself that I actually liked the guy. If you have been following me for a while, you'd know the back story with the neighbor - at least some of it. If not, just browse back. You could just imagine how stressful it was to prepare for this - and it was just not about asking the question. It also involved a lot of preparation on how to deal with the possible response.

What if he said that we were actually dating? Was I ready for a relationship? What if we were just friends? Would I be happy with that? What if he thought I was crazy to assume that what has been going on for months was just us being really good neighbors? Was I really that crazy? It was clearly a struggle to sort through these questions. When I finally did, or I thought I did, I felt I was ready to ask.

Over drinks I tried to probe. One question after another with each new inquiry digging deeper and leading towards that one single question running in my head: "what are we?".

"Are you dating anyone?", I casually asked.

He looked at me in the eyes and said "yes." I caught myself looking away. I did not want him to see the truth in my eyes. I could be so transparent that way.

"Is it serious?", I followed up.

"I don't know. To him, maybe…", he explained.

"And to you?", I wanted to ask. But instead I focused my attention on the people crossing the road. I took a deep breath and hoped that he would not be able to read through me. He sort of did.

"He's from New York… and, I'm not dating anyone in DC.", he explained.

I was silent. He had answered my question indirectly. He was not dating anyone in city. Unfortunately, that included me.

"Ah okay…"

I took a sip of vodka. It was my third and I was already feeling a bit light headed. At that point, I could have asked my question. I could have said something more. But, I didn't. I couldn't force myself to probe. That night I had reached my limit. I was not quite sure of it but, looking back, I was already hurting.

***

"Hey, I wanted to ask you this the other night. But, I chickened out."

It was me - writing to him - on Facebook. I know it was lame. But, I really needed to know once and for all. Where do I stand? Who are we, really? Was this going anywhere? Should I stop wasting my time?

"I wanted to ask what you think about us dating. I've gotten to know you in the last several months and I figured it wouldn't really hurt to know if things could ever go that way."

I could feel my heart beat louder with each key stroke. I finished the message and with a silent prayer clicked send.

His reply several hours later:

"I really value you as a friend and neighbor, and probably want to keep the focus there."

I was definitely wrong. It did hurt.

A lot.

***

It could have gone either way.

Today, I could have been blogging about how I have moved one step closer to finding love; how after months of flirting and hanging out eventually led to something more than brunches, great sex and everything in between; or how after several years, Tristan finally fell in love.

But instead, I'm telling the world of yet another heart break...

And how life goes on, still...

How About Tuesday?

2012-03-04T23:05:00.000-05:00

"So are you excited for Monday?"

It was the neighbor. I had just brought him the Filipino sopas that I had cooked an hour earlier. You see, he's been down with flu for an entire week and he's been very stubborn about it. Every single time I asked if he needed anything, he'd hint of something that he craves for but he'd always take it back. He's a lot like me in that sense, he's not used to getting help.

"What's on Monday?", I casually asked.

I pretended not to remember that we had agreed to go out grocery shopping after work. But instead of being all giggly about it, I decided to act cool, calm and collected. I can't be the overzealous Asian. The nice thing really is that he seems to be very excited about the whole thing. He's already booked a car - since both of us live in the city, we don't need to own cars - and he's gonna be driving. He planned the trip and has been reminding me about the time and the itinerary for days now. It will be our first time to go on a trip of sorts outside the city. Deep inside, I could not wait. I am, in fact, a closet overzealous Asian.

"Let's go get the car at six thirty…", he proposed.

I nodded. I know we'd be going to at least two stores - a wholesale store and an Asian store both outside the city. It was gonna be at least a three-hour trip. I don't really know if dinner would be somewhere in the agenda. I'm scared to ask. Maybe it is. Or maybe we'd just grab a sandwich on the road. Either way, I think it's gonna be fun. Besides, I am sure we're gonna be hungry anyway. We still need to eat.

"Yeah, I'll be off work at five tomorrow. I'll drop by your apartment after I change.", I explained.

But my mind was elsewhere. While the Monday trip has been on my mind for weeks now - and my friends are already sick and tired of hearing me talk about it - I have not been able to tell the neighbor one minor detail: I was more concerned over Tuesday and how he'd fit in that day. Yes, Tuesday - and yes, I'd very much want him to fit in Tuesday. Tuesday happens to be my birthday.

Here's to hoping he checks Facebook.

It's Complicated

2012-02-25T01:47:00.000-05:00

"It's just a matter of semantics, Tristan…", my friend explained.

"Call it any which way you want, you know that you are dating…", she continued.

I was silent. Was she right?

"No, we're just seeing each other… we're just neighbors.", I tried to defend myself.

"Oh come on, you and I know that you consider him more than that…", she argued.

I shook my head and attempted to defend myself. For a brief moment, I felt stupid. I was lost for words. The truth was, she was right and I was just too damn scared to admit it. I have somehow allowed myself to see someone for more than what he actually was - a neighbor, some guy I would hook up every now and then. The romantic notion of having someone for extended periods of time thrilled me. I have gotten so tired of casual encounters - the ones, where often, I barely get to the point of getting the guy's first name let alone their last. Maybe it comes with age - and with age, a change of perspective, of priorities.

I looked at my phone again for the nth time. Still no message from the one person whose message I have been waiting for. A "what up?" would have brightened my day. A simple "home" would have completed the week. I then thought about what my friend asked me earlier: "are you gonna be alright knowing that there's a possibility that this may not turn out the way you want it to?"One deep breath and I was back to where I started - in a state of flux, checking my phone - still no message. I regretted sending the last message. I should have just not said hi.

"Maybe I've been expecting too much out of this guy", I tried to convince myself to ease the disappointment. But, really, what was wrong with that? How is expecting too much different from hoping for the best? Is hope a bad thing? I wondered how much more thinking I needed to do before I figured out what was happening. "Just go ask him and tell him how you feel.", I could hear my friends in my head. But, just the thought of even having that conversation terrified me. I have allowed myself to like someone - I have yet to figure out if I have already become strong enough to fall.

As the cab pulled over by my apartment building, the conversations I have had with friends as to the state of my affairs continued to haunt me. I have been overanalyzing things. Again. It's so like me to over think things. But, hey, a guy could only change so much. I opened the door to my apartment and found the place as empty as I had left it earlier in the day. I checked my reflection on the mirror from across the room. I have had a long day. I looked tired. I faked a smile. And, with all the charm I had left in me, tried to appease my sad reflection: "he's a fool to have not missed you…"

I just wished he knew that too.

Is This Really Happening?

2012-02-19T16:11:00.001-05:00

This is Dupont Circle - the "center" of gay DC. No, the center of gay DC is not my apartment, contrary to popular belief. I took this picture with my phone on the way to work almost a year ago. It was also winter back then. But, that winter has long been gone. It was cold and dreary. This year, winter has been kind and warmer much like everything else. This winter is love.

***

"You wanna do brunch?", my neighbor asked.

I had just finished yoga and was already starving. Eating was a brilliant idea. Eating with the neighbor whom I think I like sounded like a better plan. I quickly took a shower and, in my head, planned an outfit change before I meet him up at his apartment at noon. He was still in the gym too anyway. I had enough time.

"Sure.", I texted him back.

As I walked home after changing into my "back from the gym" clothes, I planned what I was gonna wear. I needed something brunch appropriate that looked good but also did not scream like I was even trying. It had to look effortless but still well put together. Somehow he had that effect on me. It felt good.

I decided to go for a striped shirt, skinnier jeans, sneakers and a light jacket. It was after all a mild winter's day and the sun was up. As I walked out of my apartment, I caught myself smiling. It has been a couple of days since I had last seen the neighbor - and a week since we last had brunch. It was the fourth weekend in a row that we would be meeting for a meal.

Two knocks and he opened the door, still half-naked - something I have seen so many times already. I smiled. He has that effect on me too. Seeing him makes me smile and feel all so tingly inside. I tried to hide my excitement. I cannot appear to be that Asian. I can't be all too excited over a white guy whose mere smile makes me melt inside. I am such a girl.

We later found ourselves at this new Asian rice bowl store near the circle. After we got our orders, we started walking towards the Circle.

"Oh-kaaay…", I said to myself.

I was not quite sure where we were really going but if he was thinking what I was thinking, we were gonna be having brunch at the Circle. O-M-G. Never in a million years did I think that I'd ever find myself in the Circle brunching. Not in the "dead of winter" and not with someone I sorta kinda liked. I was gonna be one of those couples. O-M-G. No, I did not think it was tacky. In fact, it was, dare I say it, quite romantic.

The sun was up, the sky was so clear, and it was not chilly. It was not winter as far as I was concerned. And everyone else seemed to agree. There were couples everywhere - gay or otherwise. There were kids running. There were guys with their dogs. Then there was us - my neighbor and I. We were seated by the fountain in the middle of the circle having brunch. It was as perfect as perfect could be - and we were not really even trying. At least I was not.

We found ourselves laughing over silly things - the kid whose jacket looked like a rug, the white girls, the deformed Asians. It was so easy, effortless even. I found myself staring at him - memorizing every curve of his face. I paid attention to his smile - pink lips, his perfectly aligned teeth glistening in the sun. His green eyes just gently showing through his sun glasses. When a gentle breeze blew through the park, I caught a whiff of him; he smelled really good.

At that moment, I felt something I haven't felt in a very long time. It was my heart telling me that this might be it - the life I've always wanted. My head kicked my heart. My heart brought out a samurai and diced my head into pieces. I was brain dead. This was it - the moment I have long dreamed of - a perfect day with someone I actually liked, a guy who could genuinely make me laugh, intimate moments and meaningful pauses, and a bowl of Asian fusion rice.

I am happy.

P.S. Okay, you can throw up now. Haha.

Dear Neighbor

2012-02-12T23:37:00.000-05:00

Thank you for today, I really had fun hanging out. I don't think it's really a date (because we never really called it that) but let's just leave it at that. It doesn't matter, I had fun. It has been a while since someone has made me feel the way I am feeling right now - giddy. I feel like I am sixteen again. I have been smiling like this for several months now. Whatever this is between us has been amazing and I am enjoying every bit of it.

Never mind if you don't really know how many wardrobe changes I need to go through every time I go out to see you. This morning alone, six! But, it's always been well worth it, me thinks… This morning, over brunch, I almost fell off my chair when you looked at me and said "that's a nice shirt…". You've already made my day within the first 30 minutes!

It doesn't really matter that I always feel uncomfortable when other guys look at us when we're together. I can't blame them, it's really hard not to notice me. I am so gorgeous. Ok fine, you too. Those beautiful green eyes just light up the room. Your smile is just so infectious. You look (smell and taste) really good too. Polished, every single time.

And then there are the other Asians. Skinny Asians with zero body fat. Ugh. Deformed Asians (and I am so glad you know what I am talking about). Slutty Asians that will do anything and everything to get your attention. I see the way they look at you - then they look at me, roll their eyes and go back to looking at you. I am so not used to dealing with these things, but you always make it easier for me. Thanks for always making me feel like I am the only (Asian) guy in the world.

Don't ever think that I don't notice the little things you do. I secretly love it but I'm just pretending to be cool. Thank you for opening doors; for always allowing me to choose seats first; for the interesting conversations. Thank you for listening to me while I rant about how Filipino I still am; for the early morning messages that I wake up to, which makes every waking morning something to look forward to; for "breakfast"; and for making me want to be a better person and supporting me all the way. Thank you for treating me right.

I am so frightened by what this is and what this might lead to (or not lead to). But, I am older now, less dramatic (err…), and I know myself better - and I know that I really like you (at the least) and I hope that maybe, just maybe, you like me too.

February, What Have You Done To Me?

2012-02-05T01:08:00.004-05:00

All the signs are there and I've been trying my best to ignore them. I know what's been going on the past few weeks. It has been a hell of a ride. Major ups. Things that make me smile. But, something's probably genetically wrong with me for I still refuse to acknowledge that everything's really happening. I know myself well enough by now. I am easy - and I sometimes do have this tendency to live in a fantasy world. Maybe it's me sabotaging my own happiness? Or perhaps, it's me, damaged.

The truth of the matter is, I am scared. It has been years since someone has hurt me so much that I actually felt it. I have healed since. But, I have never forgotten - in fact, I can still remember those sleepless nights where I found myself tossing and turning in bed thinking what I did wrong and what I could have done better. Should I have not asked the status? Should I have just kept mum about my feelings? Should I have just kept to myself and continued loving from afar. Healing has been a long process and I am not just gonna throw that away for some guy I sorta kinda like again. At least not yet.

I should probably ask what's been going on between us. I am sure he knows how I feel - I have been dropping hints as often as I drop on my knees for him. I just don't know how he feels. But because of fear, I can't bring myself to finding this out. I am scared that I won't be able to handle the truth - good or otherwise. Am I even as ready as I claim to be? What if there's really something to what's been going on. Am I really ready to be with just one guy for a long time? And what if there's nothing - that to him, what we have is actually nothing more than friendship, at best, am I ready to accept the fact that I may have just imagined everything yet again?

I just wish he'd say something - something more than insinuating that I am fun to be with, talk to, chat with, text with, do some stuff with. It would definitely make both our lives easier. But, I guess this is the whole point of getting to know someone - and it's probably the reason why people enjoy dating. However, this does not really work for me - I am very efficient. It's either you like me or you don't. It's either you'd just like to fuck or you'd want more. It's either you're a boyfriend and a total stranger. And no, I don't need another friend. Just give it to me straight and hard.

As I go through the last few days in my head one more time before bed, I find myself thinking about what tomorrow brings for us. Would there be food involved? How would the conversations begin? Would it be him or me who'd send the first message? Will I smile again when I wake up and see a message from him to me sent the first thing he wakes up? Will I giggle at a one-liner comment on some random item? Will I still be wishing that he'd see me the way I've been wanting him to see me? Will tomorrow be the day when I finally stop being scared and finally admit to him and to myself that there's something here - that maybe, just maybe, I am that guy... and he could be that guy too?

Today was a good day. If every new day would just be a touch better than the day prior, I am thinking that maybe, just maybe happiness is indeed just around the corner - and that elusive change may not be all too far away...

The World, As You Know It, Is Coming To An End

2012-01-24T00:23:00.000-05:00

I want my own fairy tale. That one good story I could tell our adopted blue-eyed kids in the future on how their dad and I met one nice autumn day in DC - and both of us knew, at that moment, that somehow we'd end up being in each others lives for a very long time. There'd be endless "oohs" and "ahhs" at the stories that we'd share over tea in our very own cabin by the beach.

I want a good love story. Something that I could call my own; memories of endless days and nights together; winter mornings spent cuddling in bed; and warm summers by the beach. Where after several attempts at love, two people find themselves strangely into each other all along - both of them saying "I finally found you..."

And I am working on it. Somehow, I know that this year might be the year I'd finally fall in love. It has been brewing for years but I never really acknowledged it - until a few months ago when I started dating to find someone. I am ready - more ready than I've ever been. And that should tell you something. I have changed. For the better. For real.

I wish I could just wish love - and by tomorrow when I wake up, it's there. If only life and love were that easy... But, the truth is, it never is. Not for me, at least. I am hopeful though. I know he's out there - waiting, hoping, wishing that I am out there too.

Maybe I've already met him. Maybe I haven't. If only he reads my blog...

Oh, but on second thought, I wish he doesn't.

Oh f*ck, what the hell is happening to me?

How Much Sex Does Tristan Get?

2012-01-04T02:35:00.003-05:00

Hello, fans! *waves* Happy New Year!

I figure that I'd start this year on a positive note and post something that got all the early readers of this blog hooked on: sex. I know there are a lot of local sex blog sites now but please, indulge me. I am international anyway.

This post starts a series of mini sex blogs with the aim of counting down how many times I get laid in a year. Honestly, I have lost count a long time ago. As of June 16, 2010 and based on my conservative estimates, I've hit close to 1500. Read the post here. But, since then, I have lost count again (though I do have a vague idea of which nationalities I have slept with) I am starting again from zero in 2012.

Because I don't intend to make any of my readers fall in love with me anyway (at least not anymore or anytime soon), I could not care less about posting this on Tristan Tales. Blogger's Note: I used to care about what my boys would think (especially the ones I have been trying to woo) so the number (and stories) you've been reading on this site is a lot less than what it actually is (and the stories, edited).

So here goes:

January 1 AM. Nothing like a Filipino to start the year. He's from Singapore visiting NYC and was leaving in the afternoon. He invited me over to his hotel a couple of blocks away from where I was staying. Told him I needed to get off and he was happy to help me out. He had just jerked off a few minutes earlier so he said. I walked over. Took the lift. Dropped my pants, took off my shirt. He was not really good at blowjobs but he kissed fine. Would have fucked him but I was in a hurry. It was after all 7:30 AM and I needed to be back at the apartment before everybody woke up. I came back and they were all up, suspicious grins on their faces. I told them I had to get coffee.

Now, that's one.

January 1 PM. A New Yorker I met in a club. It was already late. I was there no more than 10 minutes when he approached me and started chatting me up. Turned out he lived a few blocks away and had been trying to run away from another guy (Hispanic) who has been trying to get it on with him. Since I was there to get laid anyway, I decided to leave the club with him and welcome the new year at his place. It was fun.

And two.

January 2. A New Yorker I met on Grindr a day earlier. He has been trying to get me to his apartment a few blocks away from where I was staying on the morning of the 1st. But, I was hanging out with my friends the whole day so it was impossible. I woke up at 10 AM. He sent me another message at 11AM while we were having breakfast. All of us were taking the 1PM bus back to DC. I had exactly 2 hours to spare before we left - and I still had to pack. I was in his apartment at 11:45AM. He took off his clothes. I took off mine. He knew what he was doing. I was back in the apartment at 12:30ish.

Three.

January 3. Some guy from Manhunt sent me an email. He's from the Midwest and visiting DC for a week. Nerdy American guy who's cute but doesn't know it. Typical of a small town boy, I guess. I met him up for drinks at a local bar. After a couple of drinks, I asked him if he wanted to come back to my apartment. He kissed well and I enjoyed him. Too bad he's not from DC else I'd probably date him. He went home with a smile on his face and a promise to see me again before he leaves.

Four.

January 4. A couple of hours ago, after the midwestern guy left, my Grindr went off. A couple who lived a couple of blocks away. Wanted to PNP (party and play = ecstasy) which I was not totally into. Blogger's Note: I don't do drugs BTW. Never have, probably never will. I told them I don't mind playing without partying. Was fine with them. A smaller framed Latino (probably Mexican) and a white guy. They said they were friends, I think they were a couple. The white guy was a top. The hispanic guy, versatile. Go figure. But, it was quick. I had a few things in my head that was bothering me.

Five and Six.

I am scheduled to meet up a couple more guys from Manhunt, one from Grindr, one from Adam. I am pretty sure, there are more to come. So stay tuned.

to be continued...

Another One

2011-12-25T19:24:00.006-05:00

He came all over my chest. I came everywhere. He pulled me closer, my head on top of his left arm. I was on the nook. I reached for the cum rag and wiped myself off. I attempted to get off the bed and head straight to the bathroom. But, he pulled me closer. "Don't go yet. Stay for a while...", he said. I was lost for words.

From the moment I saw him, I was already smitten. He wore a tight yellow polo shirt that showed off his contoured body. His lips were perfect and he kissed ever so tenderly. His eyes pierced through my soul. It was all about the connection with him - and it felt refreshing. His body was chiseled to perfection - his chest was built, his legs, strong. His back, firmed up. His tool, long and thick.

And there I was, lying naked post-sex beside the perfect man. I laid beside him listening to his breathing. I looked up - he had already closed his eyes. He pulled me closer. I then felt his hand take my hand. he squeezed it gently as if he was telling me that everything in world is gonna be alright. There was no escaping this one, I thought. I might as well enjoy the moment. He was my very own prince - at least for a while.

I must have dozed off for a few minutes. When I woke up, I did not know what time it was. I did not know how long I've been in bed with this guy. I looked out the window, it was bright and sunny but I knew it was colder than when I had arrived at his place. I tuned back in to his breathing. He was still asleep. The sound of him breathing was really familiar - it felt like I've known him longer than a couple of hours. He felt me move. Once again, he pulled me closer. Much closer. I wrapped my arm around his chest. I was going all out.

I then saw him open his eyes. He smiled before he kissed me on the lips again. There was something about this guy that made him special - maybe that was it. I'd be a hypocrite if I did not admit that I wanted to stay in that moment. I whispered a Christmas wish - I want him... well not him necessarily, but someone like him. It was, after all, Christmas eve and maybe Santa was listening. "What is it with you that relaxes me?", he whispered to my ear. I lightly shook my head and smiled. I had nothing to say.

"I have to go now.", I told him after a few more minutes. He nodded before he kissed me on the lips again. I knew it was gonna be a challenge to leave that moment. But, it was all I had - and all I could have. At least for now and with him. I quickly showered, got dressed and put on my shoes. I took my jacket from the hook it was hung from. We kissed again before he gave me a tight hug. "See me again... will you?", he asked. I smiled and nodded.

I am sure his husband wouldn't mind...

***

Happy holidays, my dear readers!

I hope everyone had a great Christmas. I know 2011 has been a very slow blog year for Tristan Tales (only because I've been very busy...) but hopefully, I'd post more again in 2012. Thank you all for reading.

In case I don't get to post a year-ender (I'll be in NYC for the rest of year...), I wish everyone a happier New Year! Here's to finding love (and single, non-crazy, big dicked, smart, and financially stable men) in 2012.

Cheers, T

It's A Date

2011-12-03T18:51:00.002-05:00

I guess if you've been reading me long enough or if you know me well enough, you probably know that I rarely go on dates. It's usually just sex meet ups, a quick hook up, a f*ckbud arrangement, or something ultra casual. Besides, I've always been the type of "dater" who actually knows that I'd want a relationship with the guy before I go on a date with him. In that sense, dating becomes a just a formality instead of the initial step in the process called, dare I say it, love. Sadly, for years, my twisted belief of how dating works has been the bane of my existence. Apparently, everyone in the world got the memo except for me.

In the last thirty days, I have gone on at least eight dates. It's usually a drink followed by dinner (and possibly dessert) kind of thing. It was sex optional, of course. Needless to say, I have been drunk most weekends and some weeknights. I have also given up my precious virginity to a few - just to try them out. In fact, I have gone out on more dates this past month compared to say... uhmm, ever. I have never gone out on so many dates in a short amount of time at all. I can even be called a dating virgin to some extent. Yes, virgin and Tristan can still be used in the same sentence.

As I wrapped up another drink date the other night, I actually caught myself zoning out while sitting across a guy in a nondescript DC bar and listening to his stories. Don't get me wrong - that guy was cute, hot even (with a seven inch dick too which should probably tell you that it still went well nonetheless...), his eyes were a nice shade of blue, and he's probably a catch in spite of the fact that he talked about himself endlessly for hours and constantly showed me pictures of strangers on his phone doing stupid things. But, I needed something more. I needed that connection, which unfortunately, the at least eight guys this month did not deliver on. Maybe that or I have just been too damn picky.

To some extent, dating became repetitive so soon. It felt like I was telling my life story over and over again. I used the same lines. I had mostly similar jokes. I asked the same questions. They also had theirs. It had become so repetitive that I felt that I would be doing both of us a favor if I just gave all of the boys a link to my blog with a note that said: "here, read my life first then get back to me in three days". But, I can't. I had to smile. I had to nod. I had to laugh and pretend that something funny was actually said every time the guy across me laughed at his own stories. Thank God for vodka.

Usually, after the whole charade, I'd find myself in a man hug with a total stranger on the street just before we'd part ways. It would almost always end with a "We should do this again sometime" or the classic "I had fun tonight" which would always leave both parties wondering if both of them really felt the same way. Dating is puzzling really and it has become even more confusing because we often find ourselves being polite. I guess I better start telling the story as it is. If it was a sucky date, I should probably end with a "It was bad, really bad...". Maybe I'd end up helping the poor guy - much like how I tell it as it is in bed.

But in spite of several mildly successful attempts at first dating, I still feel that it is a necessary evil that I need to unwillingly undergo in order to find my happily ever after. And so I try harder. And I muster all my remaining strength and determination to say yes to some of the invites that had gone through in the last few days. To be perfectly honest, I still can't believe what has been happening - from the moment I started acknowledging that I can also be the dating type (the type that actually goes out on dates to get to know people as opposed to sleeping with them right away) - I found out that there are really so many guys out there who actually think that I am either:

A. Hot,

B. Cute,

C. Sexy, or

D. All of the above.

Either that or they were just extremely horny and think I am a cheap date (get drunk easily) and an easy lay. Damn it. Remind me to change my online profiles soon to read: Conservative Filipino boy who needs to be wined and dined first. Sex only after dessert.

So as I embark on another first date tonight, tomorrow over lunch and hopefully dinner, and Monday's lunch (different boys, mind you...), I resolve to be cautiously optimistic of the future that awaits me with the lucky guy who can win my heart and my manpek (man pekpek). I also promise to be a less cheap date (though I can't promise that I won't be easy... blue eyes, big dick... come on!). Finally, I also think that it's time for me to stop believing that true love comes to those who wait - because really, true love comes to those who date.

Thankfully Yours

2011-11-24T10:17:00.000-05:00

A few days ago, I almost died.

At least that was how it felt like. I could not breathe. My chest was tight. Blood was rushing to my head. I panicked. No, I freaked out. For a moment, it felt like I was out of control. It was then when it hit me, everything could all be gone in an instant. As I struggled to breathe, I thought about how dying was so inconvenient. When I prayed, I suggested that everyone should be given a dying plan - so that we could all prepare for it. I still needed to get rid of my porn collection, clean up my hard drive and delete this site, among others. I could not breathe and I still was thinking of what other people will be thinking if I go. It was sad. Damn need for affirmation.

I quickly got dressed and hailed a cab. I could not 911. It was embarrassing. Besides, I knew I could still make it to the nicer hospital. What if the ambulance takes me to a dingy one, how can I ever survive that? When the emergency room nurses first saw me, I was pale and confused. I was definitely having a panic attack. They escorted me to a holding room where at least three doctors saw me. Blood was drawn, an IV line was attached (I was an IV virgin until that day), EKG, and an Xray test was done. It was first world medicine at its finest. But, I still could not breathe well. It was, to say the least, scary.

After a couple hours of testing, they told me I was fine and it was just a serious case of heartburn - actually they have a technical term for it but it doesn't really matter. It was heartburn and I was being overly dramatic. Let me repeat, I am fine now. Haters, stop celebrating. One of the nurses then came up to me and asked me to fill up a form - something that had medical privacy stuff written on it. I was too light-headed to understand what I was signing. Then she asked me one question that made that night a wee bit tougher - "so who is your emergency contact person?"

It was the question every single gay guy who lived by himself in a foreign city dreaded. Who to put in case of emergency. Easily, it was one's family. But, my family was eight thousand miles away. It was pointless. Friends, you might say? I have several friends - yes they should be my in case of emergency. But, which one? As I scanned my phone for names, I found a few. I chose based on practicality - I answered the basic question, "who can come and coordinate stuff just in case?" I filled out the form and handed it back to the lady nurse.

The moment she turned around, it hit me. I was alone and was being overly dramatic about it. That night, I was the classic Asian drama queen. Sue me, I was sick. I needed a boyfriend - or a husband - or anyone that can come close to being an "in case of emergency contact", I thought. While I continued to ponder on my single status, texts messages and calls started pouring in. It was from other friends who had learned what had happened. My eyes became misty. I was having a moment. It was a classic Thanksgiving moment.

I spent a total of three and a half hours in the emergency room. I was given some medicines and I actually felt better before I left. While on the cab home, I once again thanked everyone who sent me messages. I felt really loved.

Man indeed cannot live (on bread) alone. We all need an "in case of emergency" too.

***

I never really understood Thanksgiving even after three years of living in the US. Now, I do.

While I continue to wait for that elusive rich-jock-bigdicked-smart-top boyfriend (hey, a boy can dream!) who will take me to my happily ever after, I am confident that I can still count on great friends to help me fill that void. I am really blessed to have people who are always there to help - those who, in spite of their busy lives would still check on me once in a while, and those who even from miles away have and I know will always be there to make me feel like I am not alone.

Happy Thanksgiving!

***

By the way, the doctor was so hot. He made me feel better - and gave me a hard on at the same time. LOL

Sweet November (Part 3)

2011-11-07T10:56:00.011-05:00

Sweet November (Part 1)
Sweet November (Part 2)

I wondered why he wanted to have frozen yogurt when it's thirty fuckin' degrees (about zero Celsius) outside! But hey, I was not choosy. However, I told him that there was a nice cake and waffle shop a block away from where we were. He said he's never been there - so we decided to just go there instead. They served great coffee anyway and he loved coffee.

We were ushered to our table the moment we got there. It was a quaint little cafe in the gay district. There were very few people in the cafe, maybe two other couples. I figured that since it was already dessert, I might as well go "date mode" on this one. I became a bit more relaxed talking about stuff - how Filipinos ship boxes back to the Philippines around October, how my mom loves Splenda which she refers to as the "unequal Equal", and how I was such a FOB (fresh of the boat) when I got to the US. He laughed at all of my stories - probably also wondering how he got stuck with me that night.

He, in turn, told me stories about how got into gourmet coffee, how one sales clerk thought that he could not afford a pricier coffee pod, and how he never hangs out with his family as much as I would have wanted to hang out with mine. He asked me about Thanksgiving plans and Christmas vacation schedule. He told me stuff that he has probably told a million and one boys before me but still, I thought, were very personal. He was a revelation over dessert.

While he sipped his espresso, I daydreamed about life with this guy. I imagined myself being invited to Thanksgiving and hanging out with his friends and family. I envisioned myself finally going to Whole Foods (an overpriced organic supermarket in the US) with him one Friday night and asking "honey, what do you want for dinner?" - our dog waiting oustide. I imagined a whole lot of things - all while listening to him tell his stories.

Maybe it was just me but I did feel, at that moment, that I may be ready to embark on another attempt at love. But, I needed to play my cards closer to my chest. The gay manual says so - it was, afterall, just the first undefined dinner and dessert night. Hopefully, there would be many more to come. I took a quick glimpse of the clock - we had been together for two and half hours - not bad for a first thing, I said to myself. It was getting late and the next steps would be critical - to fuck or not to fuck. That was the inevitable question.

We paid for dessert and made our way out of the cafe. We took a few steps and crossed the road - the road leading to another road that leads to my house. We were in the right direction. My heart was pounding. Are we or aren't we? And if we are, how do I even begin the conversation? Should I even be the one to start that conversation? I imagined myself as Carrie of Sex and the City - remember those scenes when she and her guy would walk up to her apartment building? Then she would say "well, this is me..." before she would casually twirl her hair and wait for a goodnight kiss. I wanted that to be me. I wanted it that to be me...

"So where is your apartment?", he finally asked when we reached the road that leads to my road. I smiled and prepared myself for the hair twirl. "I live a block away...", I casually replied. My voice may have croaked. I was nervous. Are we really going there? Oh my God - I was gonna be Carrie. He looked nervous too. There we were two guys waiting for each other's invitation. I surely wasn't giving it. I was Carrie that night. He had to be Mr. Big. He had to take charge. "Well, I have to take the bus on 14th....", he finally said.

My world of make-believe collapsed in front of me. It was the end of my fantasy. It was the end of whatever it was that I was on. I had to save myself. I just had to. "Well, take care...", I said casually trying to hide my disappointment. Right there, on the corner of gay and gay, two gay guys hugged and said their goodbyes. He planted a kiss on my cheek. On the fuckin' cheek!

I was the first one to pull away - so the gay dating manual advised. As I walked home alone - one entire block - I turned around and saw him walking. As if on cue, he turned around and looked my way. He smiled.

"Thank for you for meeting me up tonight. It was fun.I hope you get home safely", I texted him - the gay dating manual said to do that too.

A few minutes later, he texted me back.

"Just got home. I had a fun time too. I probably talked too much tonight. I hope I did not talk your ears off. Let's meet up again soon."

And that made me smile - and wonder... deep inside, I wondered if I should even bother asking:

"When?"

Sweet November (Part 2)

2011-11-03T14:33:00.001-04:00

Sweet November (Part 1)

They say love is a risk. Well, it is. That night, at that fateful restaurant, I took a risk and it scared the shit out of me. Well no shit, but still it scared me. I feared the possibility of rejection. But, I'm pretty sure I could handle that. I've had enough practice. Fuck my life. LOL. I guess what I am trying to say is that I fear acceptance more. Was I even ready for what was coming my way? Have I enjoyed myself enough to say that I am so done with other men? What if this one was indeed for real? I took a deep breath, smiled and accepted my fate.

"How are you?", I asked him after the hug. I could feel that my hands were cold. My voice was trembly. I was not my usual self. He said something back. I forgot what it was. Most likely, he said he was doing okay. It was a bad start - at least that's how the gay dating manual would rate it. After a few more exchanges, we were ushered to our table. It was a corner table at the farthest end of the restaurant - for two. Wow, it actually feels good to dine for two - for a change.

I took off my jacket when I got to my seat. He did the same. In my head, I was already planning what to say - and what to say after that. Fuck my life (again). I was too tense - he looked awfully relaxed. That sort of calmed me down. I tried to be zen. Zen. Zen. Zen. Why the hell do I have the nerves? What is so wrong with me?

He is a beautiful guy - dark blonde hair, bluish green eyes, chiselled nose. I looked at his teeth - they were really white. I wondered if he had bleached them before that night. It looked good. He was wearing a pair of medium wash jeans and a plaid long-sleeved shirt that had a bird logo - maybe an eagle, and old people shoes. LOL. I dunno.

There was a whole lot of small talk - food, hang out places, things we do weekends, friends, family, why we both love running on the treadmill instead of outside, our shared appreciation of lying on the couch Saturday mornings while surfing through HGTV and the Food Network and everything in between. No mentions of past and present dates, failed relationships, sexual activities, preferences, perversions and the likes.

The food arrived and we continued to chat - why veal is politically incorrect, the must see places in DC, and how we both cook weekends. Interesting conversations, really. But, I don't think that the night was entirely effortless - as is typical of first dates. I'm pretty sure he was working hard to make conversation - and I was too. Since it's pretty uncommon for me though to try so hard with conversations, I was beginning to think that I may have bombed that first date. Dinner. Whatever.

Pretty soon, our lady server came back and offered dessert. He looked at me for answers. At that point, I had my doubts - I was not quite sure how the date was progressing. I looked at him - he looked very tentative. I decided to skip dessert. He did too. The server left and came back with our check. I figured that whatever it was that we were on was over. Typical me, I guess - trying too hard...

"Do you know of a frozen yogurt place we can go to after this?"

I swear my eyes lit up. It was him - after dinner - asking for dessert.

to be continued...

Sweet November

2011-11-02T15:13:00.000-04:00

You know that awkward feeling one gets after going on a first date? I have me one of those - and it's well uhmm awkward.

***

I don't usually date. When I do, it's usually a date in disguise. It's actually sex. And when that is over, so is the date. Which brings me back to my first point, I don't usually date. But, recently, I finally did. I think it was a date - and yes, there was no sex on the first date. It was definitely a date. I think. Whatever.

I met him a few weeks ago. Well, he sort of found me in my more wholesome gay social network. He said he was attracted to the profile - no different from who I am except for better lighting, I guess. I thought he was kinda pale - but then again he's white so go figure. He was kinda cute - and somehow, a strange thing drew me closer to him. No, I was not horny. It was just something strange.

So we started chatting. Every so often, he'd send me a message. I'd then reply with something standard but flirtatiously cute. He'd laugh and that's it. I have my way with words, I guess. He was doomed. Little did I know that he was somewhat interested enough in me to actually ask me out. "We should meet for a drink.", so he said. Even his line was pretty commonplace. Coffee is tentative. A drink is playing it safe. Dinner is all about commitment. Dinner and dessert, well that's something. I had a drink.

We play with the cards we are given, right? So I said yes. Yes to a drink. Yes to meeting up. And yes to whatever comes my way. I never really thought it would happen. Our first attempt was a dud. He stood me up. One night, I was waiting for a message - and nothing. Needless to say, I brushed him off. He was probably just one of those guys. I moved on and fucked around. And that was it. No harm done.

The following day, he apologized for whatever it was that needed an apology. I could not care less. He said he'd make it up. After chatting and finally texting for another week or so, drinks became dinner. I picked the place. He wanted me to. I picked the time. He wanted me to. Then that was it. I barely messaged the guy before we met except to confirm the day before that we were indeed on for the following night. "Absolutely", was his simple response. There, it was a date - or dinner. Whatever it was, it was something more than a drink.

Since I have been stuck in the dating black hole, I decided to brush up on my skills. Google. I did as I read. I showered, shaved, put on something decent, brushed my teeth, practiced my smile, planned to arrive on time. I relearned the art of conversations, the topics I should avoid, the things I should encourage him to talk about, my table manners and stuff. Should I kiss on the first date? Or have sex? How to pay the bill? Where to go? What to do? These questions, I pondered on. After a couple of days of stressing, I was ready. In the process, I felt like a fool.

Armed with my perfect smile, I walked to the restaurant. I was exactly six minutes early. He arrived a full minute later. I saw him the moment he went through the door. He instantly recognized me. It was the restaurant's perfect lighting, I guess. I was prepared to shake his hand. Instead, I got a hug. Ooh a hugger! I was thrilled. My heart was beating through my chest. I could not believe I was actually nervous. This guy was giving me the nerves.

I think I like him.

to be continued...

My Southern Gentleman

2011-10-08T01:55:00.002-04:00

He started touching my leg. We were now on the freeway. I was still buckled up. He was too. It was the law. His right hand slowly moved up my crotch, feeling it. I suddenly became hard. All I could do was enjoy how it felt. It was electrifying.

"Hey, you better focus on the road...", I reminded him.

"It's okay, I can multitask.", he replied.

I laughed. He sure can. He already was - one hand on the steering wheel and the other on my crotch.

***

His name is Will. He was not the first boy I met in Nashville - where I was last week - but he was definitely one of the more persistent ones. He offered my ass a tour of the city. Yeah, it was my ass that he wanted to meet - I came in a close second. He had seen my be-hind picture in one of the gay sites I use. It was what I'd like to call, hardcore marketing.

Will is a white boy - a true blue bible southern gentleman in his early thirties. Green eyes, blonde hair, regular built - lean not muscular. He was for all intents and purposes a country boy - and I, I was a sucker for country boys as I would later find out. I felt a certain vibe when I read his message - he was right.

"Can I give you a tour of the city?', he asked.

I was hesitant. No local in their right mind would offer a tour of the city to a complete stranger without anything in exchange. I knew how it worked and I wanted to prepay for the service.

"Do you wanna hook up first before you give me a grand tour?", I asked.

He laughed.

"We can do that afterwards..."

In spite of the image he wanted to portray, I can sense his nerves. He was still very much a southern gentleman behind his bold moves - and yes, he did not know what he was in for when he invited me for a drink that night. It was going to be a wild ride.

***

He had been flirting with me the whole night. I flirted back. Somehow, I liked the boy I was with - even if I was never really fond of good boys.

"I really like you.", he whispered to my ear after an hour or so of picking me up from the hotel.

I brushed it off. It was either he was horny or he was buzzed. I guess it was both. After several cocktails, I had unleashed something in the southern gentleman that somehow felt familiar. There was a bad boy beneath his perfectly ironed shirt.

"If you only lived here, I would date you.", he said.

I almost choked on my vodka. Now, where have I heard that one before? I planted a kiss on his lips in the middle of a crowded bar.

"Date my ass...", I mumbled to myself.

But, Will turned out to be an interesting character. He and I conversed as if we had known each other for years - it was turning out to be a wonderful "date". I checked my watch and we were running a bit behind his bedtime - they sleep early down south. So I asked him to take me back to my hotel. We said our goodbyes to the bartender and we walked hand in hand back to the car. Much to my surprise, Will opened the car door for me. I almost fainted.

"Oh no, you did not just do that?!?", I exclaimed in disbelief.

He laughed.

"That's how we do it in the South...", so he explained.

Man, I felt like a woman.

***

"I bet you're hard...", I told Will.

He giggled. I can see the bulge on his tight pants getting bigger. I had managed to feel it earlier when we were in the bar. I had to check the goods - and man, this guy had it packing. He was not quite sure how to react when I pulled down his zipper. Yup, definitely there was a boner.

"You are turning me on...", he said as he continued to drive on the freeway.

"So have you ever...", I started asking the inevitable question.

I noticed he was getting really excited.

"Once, when I was really young...", he explained.

"Do you want to?", I wanted to tease him a little.

He was dying in anticipation of what was about to happen. I took his cock out of his pants. His was at least a seven and a half - white, cut, thick. Each stroke I did made him gasp.

"Oh man, you are driving me crazy...", Will exclaimed.

I smiled as I loosened my seat belt.

"Honey, THIS is crazy..."

***

From the outside, one would think that Will was just driving alone that night.

But, in fact, he was multitasking...

...and I, I was driving a stick.

SPAM

2011-09-29T00:43:00.003-04:00

Just when I thought I had already run out of things to write about (which by the way explains the long break from posting), I teared up.

***

It's bunso's birthday today - yeah, the same kid that I used to carry in my arms is now seventeen. One more year and he's legal. If you think about it, it's kinda disgusting that I still sleep with boys just a couple of years older than my youngest brother, no? But anyway, this is not about my boys. Trust me, it's not!

You see, there are very few things that can make me all melodramatic about living in the US by myself - and bunso's birthday is one of them. I have never missed a birthday since he was born - not until I moved here. I'm such a dad that way. This year, it would be the third year I would be away. I guess one never really gets used to being away from the family. Every year, it pinches just as much - and when it does, I would need a reminder as to why I am here. What is my purpose-driven life? Char.

But seriously, there are days when I would find myself wondering what my life would have been if I did not really move to the US. I had a really stable job in the Philippines, a vast network of friends, lovers and fuck buddies. I had family a couple of hours away whom I see every few weeks. Life was good to me. So why the hell did I move? I needed my flags? Char again.

Good thing there's SPAM. Yeah, the meat in the can - the quintessential Filipino balikbayan canned good. Every single time I see it in my pantry, it reminds me why I am here. When I moved here, I was able to do stuff for people back home - well, not really do stuff but more like buy. Yeah, proximity was replaced with currency. It's a sucky exchange but somehow, for families like us, it's a trade that needed to be done. In times of great depression, I think of SPAM.

***

Anyway, back to birthdays - I called home the other day to check if our roof was still intact after the storm. The plan was really to call the Philippines today, greet the brother and maybe do a little catch up. Stupid storm ruined my plans. After I spoke with Nanay and Tatay who told me that they actually saw me on the evening news - hint hint - I chatted briefly with bunso. I greeted bunso and told him to enjoy his birthday. He then thanked me for his gift.

Before we hung up, I asked him one more question.

"Gusto mo ng SPAM?"
(Would you like some SPAM?)

He laughed - and it felt like all of this (imagine me pointing at all the bullshit I have to deal with) is indeed worth it.

My Fabricated Fairy Tale

2011-09-06T00:36:00.004-04:00

I looked outside my window and I could tell the hurricane was almost in the city. I checked my watch and confirmed that it was just about the right time the weatherman had predicted. From where I was lying, I could see leaves and branches shaking. I could hear the wind howling. Rain was just starting to fall hard. It had already become dark outside. There was indeed a hurricane approaching.

As I continued to wonder why people in the city were so scared of a hurricanes, I found myself looking around my small studio apartment. I had the basics with me and sufficient food and drinks to get me through the storm. I had just eaten a late lunch and had taken a warm shower. I was half-covered by soft comforters and was watching anything and everything on TV. I had it all figured out. I could get through the hurricane.

I then heard my phone beep. A guy whom I had been with a few times wanted to come over and hang out. It was a booty call right smack in the middle of hurricane. I figured that it would be much more fun to go through the storm with someone else in the house. Besides, a guy on my bed would make for a very nice addition to my picture perfect hurricane setup. I asked him to come over. Sex, storm and maybe soup later in the night. It was perfect.

***

He smiled at me as he got out of his car. I met him up front. He had a few things with him - a bag and some more stuff. I wondered if he was gonna spend the night. I was not quite sure how I felt about that but later on I'd find out that he had wanted to take a shower at my place before anything else. It was really good planning on his part. The perfect storm was just about to start.

He stepped outside the shower with the white towel I had handed him earlier. He smelled good. He looked at me and smiled. We tried to break the ice - the few times he had been at my place, we barely talked anyway. It was what it was. After drying himself up, he laid on the bed with me. He had his boxers on. There was a movie on - James Bond, I think.

It took a while before anything happened. We just laid in bed, barely talking - waiting for someone to make the first move. Nobody did. I could not really care less - all I knew that a guy on my bed made for a nicer picture of how I would like to spend a stormy afternoon in the city. I was not really interested in sex that time - probably because that time, I just wanted company.

I looked at the boy beside me. He's very cocky - in more ways than one - but, he was really quite vulnerable. I noticed he started to move a little closer. I took a deep breath. He looked at me and with his broken Tagalog, he asked me how I was. That made me smile. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to drop my defenses. He smiled back, took my hand and wrapped it around his body.

The warmth of another human body was both familiar and strange for me. I realized that it has been such a long time since I had been that intimate with someone. I felt scared. I did not want to lose control. But, at the same time, a part of me wanted to experience it again - how it feels like to be locked in someone's embrace; to wake up with someone else on my bed - someone whose real name I know; how it feels to be vulnerable; how it feels to be safe in someone's arms; how it feels like to be loved.

I eventually gave in. For a few precious hours, I allowed myself to live in a fairy tale. I tried to forget how fabricated the whole experience was. There was a hurricane outside my window - the winds were howling, the rain was falling, and it was dark - and I, I was locked in a tight embrace with the boy on my bed. It could have been love. It was definitely a fairy tale.

And, it had a very happy ending.

***

I got off the bed and went straight to the bathroom to clean up. I dried myself up and wrapped myself with a towel. My boy had just finished wiping himself off too. I looked at him and smiled. He laid in bed exhausted - like he always did. I took a seat at the edge of the bed.

There was no more hugging or all that intimacy shit. I just wanted to make soup to enjoy on a cold stormy night and then curl up underneath my sheets. I wanted to watch TV until I fall asleep. I wanted to wake up in the morning not wanting to worry how my breath smells like; how puffy my face looks or what I should serve for breakfast. I just wanted to be left alone in bed and enjoy the rest of the night. Alone.

I was in the middle of my thoughts when I saw our reflections on the window. I smiled as I gently shook my head. The boy had somehow fallen asleep. I was still on the edge of the bed looking annoyed. I just wanted to kick him out of my bed. Haha. It was, at that point, that I was able to confirm one thing: my fabricated fairy tale was so over.

Rock My World

2011-08-23T21:53:00.004-04:00

My world was shaken this afternoon. The US East Coast - and, of course, Washington, DC - was rocked by a magnitude 5.9 earthquake - right smack in the middle of a work day. It was, to some people, impeccable timing. For me, I was busy and I had to stop working. Really bad timing.

So there I was typing away stuff. I was making sure that my performance evaluation this year would glow. In fact, it had to be blinding - so much so that the bosses that are meant to read it will be so blinded by my greatness and finally give me a major major promotion. Yes, that was me channeling Venus Raj.

It started as a loud thump on the ceiling. Or so I thought. Then the thumping became louder. I stopped for a moment and wondered if people were having sex on the higher floor - then I remembered it was an office floor. Then it sounded like a big girl was running above my office. Yeah, a really big girl. She was black. At least that was how I imagined it to be. But that was just me being crazy. Of course, it was not a big girl.

I looked at my computer and clicked on save. I knew it was an earthquake. I'm Filipino - and I know earthquakes but I need that promotion and no ground shaking can stop me from getting that. I logged off. I heard people get out of their offices. They were all confused and did not know what was happening. How could they, earthquakes are a rare occurrence in DC. Almost never.

I saw the office sway. It felt like I was drunk - really drunk. I remembered my drills. I looked at my desk. I ducked under my desk. It looked sturdy enough. I then reached for my bag where my lunch was - uneaten at almost two in the afternoon. Yes, I was that busy. If I were to get trapped underneath my desk, I'd at least have lunch - and yes, a fabulous performance evaluation. I was so proud of myself.

The world stopped shaking. People in the office were obviously, uhmm... shaken? I found myself making my way down several flights of stairs with a few panicky women - most of whom have not experienced an earthquake in their entire lives. Compared to all of them, I was a pro at hiding underneath office desks. Pacific Ring of Fire Training - or so I'd tell all of them eventually. In the meantime, I had to calm them down.

I told everyone it was probably a six-er. They all looked at me funny. Official news came and confirmed it was 5.9. I missed it by a hair. Darn it. I looked around. People were on their phones - calling, texting. I reached for my phone and sent my first post-earthquake tweet which read: "Oh shit, an earthquake...". I did not know what to say. I then sent a message home to my Nanay (mom) who was definitely asleep. I told her I was fine - just in case she was worried while she slept.

As I look more closely at the people around me, it finally hit me. Everyone had someone to call. Everyone but me. Such is my life - it can be sad sometimes. Just when I was about to wallow in self-pity, amidst the crazy that was happening around me, while on the streets of Washington DC, my phone beeped. My first message.

"Are you ok there?", the message read.

I could not help but smile. It was from a boy I once, uhmm... loved.

"Thanks, I'm fine.", I casually replied.

But, what I really wanted to say was:

"I'm happy you remembered."

Birds of Paradise (Part 2)

2011-08-13T13:28:00.003-04:00

Birds of Paradise (Part 1)

Something had taken over me. I was really horny and I could not care less about the world around me. All I know was before me was a tattooed Latino whose dick was in my hand. It was warm to the touch. I found myself seated in a cube next to the two white guys making out. The Latino took a step closer to make sure his cock was in front of my face. I decided to let go completely.

I felt his cock slowly slide into my mouth. He filled me up and I was just barely halfway. I can feel his balls hitting my chin. I sucked on his dick gently at first while making sure my tongue felt every single inch of his flesh. I heard him let out a faint moan. I sucked on it harder as it made its way in and out of my mouth. I felt powerful.

I felt him push harder. My gag reflex started to kick in - but I knew how to control it. He liked hearing me squirm with every push. The smell of his crotch on my face only made me feel more horny. I felt his hand on going down my crotch. I let out a faint moan when he started playing with my cock. I sucked him harder.

The steam became totally unbearable. I stopped what I was doing and stood up. I shook my head to tell him that I can't do it anymore - not in the steam room. I took my towel and wrapped it again on my waist. He understood. The Latino planted a kiss on my lips - his tongue was in my mouth and it felt good. He then whispered ever so softly in my ear.

"Let's go to my room..."

I had made it to the first cut. The audition was a success. I knew that being asked to go back to the room was something every guy in the steam room was aiming for - only because it meant that it would be uninhibited sex. I watched him wrap himself up with his towel. You can actually see how big his cock was underneath the towel. I knew I did a good job.

He opened the door to his room. I stepped in first. He followed me in. It was a small room - just enough for half-a-bed and a space for someone else. In front of the bed was a wall of mirror. I must admit, I have enjoyed checking myself out on the mirror while getting fucked. I'm perverted that way. He did not fully close the door. The lights were on.

I found myself on my knees sucking him off. I took my time admiring his big tool -how it curved slightly upward; how it's uncut yet it still looks cut; how his balls were perfectly imbalanced; how his pubes were trimmed so close to the skin; how he smelled. I felt so horny, I started touching myself. I felt his hand make its way to my hole. I gasped as he pushed a finger in.

I knew he could not control himself when he asked me to stop sucking. I stood up. His face was now directly on my crotch. He looked at me before he slowly took me in. This guy had a mouth so warm that I let out a moan as soon as he started working on me. Maybe it was his tongue on my balls or maybe it was his fingers in my ass but somehow I felt that I could no longer control my desires.

"Fuck me.", I finally said.

He looked at me, my cock on his mouth, and winked.

to be continued...

Birds of Paradise

2011-07-29T16:44:00.000-04:00

The small window opened. The guy behind it asked for my ID. I smiled and handed it over. I heard the usual buzz. The door was unlocked. I stepped inside. The guy looked at me, smiled and asked if I wanted a a day pass or a one-month membership. I had my response ready. I know how things worked now.

"One month please... plus a locker and flipflops."

Then I smiled.

"That's thirty seven dollars... check out at 2:00 AM"

I handed him my card. I had six hours to do whatever I please. Six hours of raunchy uber casual stranger sex. The guy buzzed me in again - this time through the second door. He then handed me my keys, a towel, flipflops and a couple of packs of condoms. I helped myself to the lube packs.

"Enjoy...", he said after I thanked him.

I was not quite sure about that. But, I will try.

***

I did not want to get a room because I was not quite sure if I wanted to stay long. I was just hoping to get off and then go - and yes, I had to pay thirty seven dollars for that. Such is life when you're single and do not want the complications. I find that even Grindr gets complicated -and websites too. A lot of back and forth and then I'd have to do stuff before a hook up - like clean my house. It's just too much work plus, of course, I'd have to entertain then and make them feel wanted. What if it turns out that I did not want them? See? My brain complicates casual sex these days - and so I sought refuge with the familiar. I went back to THE bathhouse.

I found my locker and quickly undressed. I saw a couple of guys checking me out as soon as I came in. They watched me undress. I felt objectified. I did not really care. Since I had just taken a shower before coming over, I decided to check out the steam room as soon as I wrapped the white towel around my waist. The place still looked the same - the people were different. I walked around and saw at least eight people hanging around. There were guys tucked in between cubes, seated, obviously waiting for a guy to dangle his cock on their faces. A few of them were walking around - looking for that hungry mouth. Yes, it was one or the other.

As I did not know what I was into that day, I decided to walk around and check the guys. There was an older white guy seated by the corner. There was a tattoed Latino standing near the door. I could tell he was hung. I saw a black guy quietly jerking himself off in another spot. A few white guys were walking around. There was another Asian guy. After I had checked the whole place out, I decided to stop and stand by the door - near the tattoed Latino who was watching a couple of white guys do each other. He looked at me and smiled.

I smiled back. I decided to approach the guy. He was hard. He unwrapped himself and it was then when I saw what was hiding behind his white towel - a seven inch dick, I was not able to control myself. I looked at the guy and he was ready to be played with. I grabbed his thing and played with it. It felt good to the touch. It was warm and firm enough. I jerked it for a while. I saw him close his eyes. I felt his left hand feel my ass up. He was getting horny watching the two white guys make out. One was sucking the other.

Maybe it was the steam or maybe it was the the sound of the white guy moaning that got to me. Perhaps it was the feel of some other guy's cock on my hand. I felt a sudden rush of heat through my body. For a moment, I felt that I could just let go. I looked at the Latino's face, he was enjoying every second of what was happening. He signalled me to take a seat and service him. He was really hard.

And I, I was so horny.

to be continued...