I Need to Stop Thinking

On the previous night before embarking on any trips, fright usually get the hold of me. Sometimes I picture what would happen if there’s any problem with the means of transportation that I’m going to use. Sometimes my mind wanders to a scenario in which I am robbed and then unable to find the way home, just like that girl I met in Thailand whose passport got stolen. This time, it’s entirely different.

My tickets were booked out of a sudden moment. “I want to see George,” that’s the thought that had been occupying my mind ever since that day at the beginning of Match. So, when he texted me saying he was going to be in Myanmar, I didn’t even hesitate, willing to leave all the work behind, especially while I really need to save up for another trip at the end of the same month.

“You’re coming! Yayyyy!” George said in his text response. It’s strange since whenever he texts me something, it’s like I could hear he says it in actuality, with that quirky childish voice, that somehow pervert-looking smile and that body language that could easily give his sexuality away if you examine closely. It’s like there’s an old cassette encoding with his sound and manners, always on standby mode, waiting for just a little trigger to be played loudly and clearly again.

Our conversation for the follow-up weeks until now mostly revolved around the itinerary, the accommodation and other travel-related matters. But then, one day, when he was waiting for his delayed plane at the airport, our subject was altered.

“Maybe you could use your charm to pick somebody up at the airport and have a little fun in the restroom while waiting?” Somehow I always find myself making jokes about situations that I don’t want to happen, maybe with the intention of getting a confirmation from the other person that it’s not going to happen.

“Nah, I’ve done it before. Not my field of action.”

“I’m also at the airport. We can play the game who gets the most guy in a limited time.”

“You go ahead, bitch. I will catch up with your number in a few minutes!”

The cassette was banging in my head.

The thing with George is that I don’t know what role to play. I want to be with him, yes. But my greediness doesn’t satisfy with only being his friend. But if I don’t, then there’s barely any connection with the playful George and things could get uncomfortable due to much one-sided feelings. This time, I decided to do the best buddy type.

“How many have you slept with since me?”

Alan had always warned me of investing too much in this whole thing, painting in my head the very likely scenarios of him touring people around with his guests, hooking up with regular buddies situated in any designated destination, of me being only one of his many and probably the one that stays true, but more importantly, stays fool. I am very well aware of that fact myself, considering the nature of his job, his lifestyle and of course, his appeals, but usually take a blindfold whenever any signs emerges. This time, I want confirmation, since we were entering the friend zone.

“4. One of them is a regular fuck buddy. I did meet up with some guy in Bangkok but he didn’t want to do it so I looked for new connections instead,” George typed.

There were no pause at all. All of the words just flooded out as if I had tackled his favorite achy spot, without the knowledge that every single one cut me like a knife.

“How about you?”

“4 as well. One is an ex-date. One is an one time hookup, one is a substitute teacher and the other one is Mexican,” I responded, trying to keep my cool and depict that my sex life was also very activated and diverse, just like his.

It was true. 4 is the exact number but also not the exact number. I had sex with Koen once after George left but it barely felt like anything since I remembered running to him looking for comfort to hidden feelings. I had sex with that one-time hookup because he had a wide collection of novels but then collapsed right on his body upon seeing my vain reflection in the mirror. That substitute teacher only used his hand and nothing more. And the Mexican ended up spilling the beans about his troubled love life before I even had a chance to do so. They are all efforts to fill the hole that George’d left behind.

Anyway, back to the night before the trip, tonight, the exact moment in which I’m writing this entry right now, no matter how well I know that the trip should all just be about fun and relaxation, I still feel the fear hovering around my space. Since now things between George and I have been made crystal clear, the trip we’re about to embark on will might just be another friend trip. There might be some intimate moments but it will be just that since once the gate has swung wide open, it’s difficult to be shut again. All of my efforts to possibly build something more than just a regular fuck marathon for 2 periods a year between us, accordingly, might as well go to waste.

Or things could get even worse. The last travel companion I had was Ben, in this exact months 2 years ago. I also crossed that threshold and tried to go back but ended up breaking down right in front of his face – an embarrassing moment that ended our mutual existence in this world for good. I just don’t want the same thing to happen with George, the Ben that I’ve finally found.

Ben always said “Why worry when you can wonder.” I guess he was true though. Many things might have gone so much better if I could stop my chains of thoughts for every once in a while, so that I could just enjoy the fun while it lasts, like anybody else would say.

This entry was published on March 31, 2015 at 5:58 pm. It’s filed under George, Travel and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: