Sunday, August 21, 2011


Remember that bit of short story I tried writing two years ago? Well for some reason, I got the urge to try continuing it yesterday. I'm not sure why. Maybe I'm just horny and I needed release (LOL). Anyway, I spent a part of my afternoon, in between breaks of watching Suits (a new must-see TV show) and Pretty Little Liars, doing this.

Coincidentally, Macky just tagged me in a 30-day writing challenge. I'm counting this as an entry. ;)

* * *

"So," I said, still feeling the last of the tremors I had shuddered off a few minutes earlier. I exhaled my attempt of a whistle loudly. "Wow."

He snickered. "Yeah," he whispered to my right ear. "Wow."

I laid quitely for a moment, one leg splayed and crossed over one of his, as I tried counting the little brown diamonds in the ceiling wallpaper. Is it wallpaper in the first place? Maybe they're painted on. The rotating fan and my spectacle-less eyes were making it difficult for me to tell.

I suddenly realized: The ceiling fan was on? Along with the air-conditioning? No wonder I was still shuddering.

He rolled to his side to face me, sandwiching my right leg with both of his in the process. He started playing with the small hairs at the back of my head.

"So," I began again, giving up on the counting. "Um, you're staying until when again?"

"Until the fifth of next month," he replied, his hand moving from my nape to my clavicle. "But next Monday I'll be flying to Bangkok for a week, then I'll come back here."

"Wow," I repeated the word for a second time in the last five minutes.

"Yeah well, I really don't have a choice. Did you know that your visas only grant us three weeks to stay?"

He launched into a tirade, sounding incredulous at the apparent uselessness and inefficiency of the government's processes that hinder our local tourism. I let my mind drift for a bit, mindlessly nodding in semi-agreement at some of his statements while caressing his thigh. I started thinking of ways to go home after this rendezvous. Malate to Ortigas. Clearly the LRT-MRT routes are no longer an option. And that's if I know how to ride LRT 1, which I don't.

I felt a pinch in my right nipple.

"Hm?" I asked, finally rolling to my side and crossing my other leg to his. "Sorry, what was that again?"

"I was asking if we can see each other again, after I return from Bangkok," he asked. He was looking straight into my eyes.

"Yeah. Sure. Just text me. You know I always inform you if I can make it or not." That's a lie. I always make time for him whenever he calls.

I pinched his nipple in retalation before rolling to my back once again. "Anyway, it's getting late. Can I use your shower?" I asked. I started to get up. "Whoops," I suddenly exclaimed, feeling something sticky in my left hand.

"What is it?"

"Looks like your protection didn't work," I replied, sheepishly pointing to the wet stain on bedspread, just outside the edge of the towels he placed on top of it earlier before we got started. "Sorry 'bout that."

He took one look at the spot. "Oh. That's okay," he said in a nonchalant tone of someone who won't be able to do anything about the situation anyway. He took one of the towels and put it on top of the stain, pressing as if trying to absorb whatever wetness was left.

I got up and out of bed completely to let him do the cleanup. I felt helpless and slightly embarassed, until it dawned on me that I--we--never made that much of a mess in the last five years we've known each other. Well, four if I don't count that time two years when two other people were involved. A sense of pride crept up to my face, forming a grin. I quickly turned my back and went to bathroom to hide it.

The first blast of the shower was surprisingly lukewarm, not the usual cold-hot-warm transition showers often make. I let myself soak for several minutes, as if letting what transpired during the last forty-five minutes--those mixed feelings of pleasure and shame--go down the drain. I shook my head. To think this arrangement has been agreed upon five years ago when we first met. It is our annual thing, I thought. Damn Catholic guilt. 

The water was neither too hot nor too cold; it was just right. Enough to numb myself and let my mind wander again for a few minutes.

"Hey," he called from the other room a few minutes later.


"I just need to go down to the ATM a couple of blocks down. No need to wait for me, you can show yourself out after you're done there."

"What about the receptionists in the hotel lobby?"

"That's okay. I'll talk to them. Just lock the door on your way out, okay?"

"Got it."

I reached for the body wash--imported--the same time I heard the door close. As I lathered myself, I started thinking how am I supposed to get home again. Looks like I'll just have to take a cab.

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