One Step Too Far

During this past week, work routine felt heavy. My main job in the office was actually now dreading every morning, with that co-worker guy doing nothing but checking Facebook all day. I wonder if people really felt for this type of comfort & financial stability, risking their creativity to grow dull. Seeing the kids at night time was the only saving thought to get it through the day.

I’ve started my application for some scholarships I’d been eyeing for. Partly I chose to go for them was due to peer pressure. My bosses kept pushing me for that even though there were more lower-hanging fruit, propagandizing “He is very potential” and “Your level matches this one”. It’s one thing to get flattered, but it’s another to be dwelled deeper and deeper in the lies. Now I’m even scared to fail them.

But anyway, what I wanted was to get out of here, as soon as possible, and then pursuing something else. That’s what I told myself 3 years ago when I decided to go down that road, to just enjoy the little fancy title and make my background a bit more attracting, and then to get access to the way out. Beurre did that, successfully. Sometimes I wonder if we’re still so much alike and if such resemblance was what connected us on that summer night 6 years back.


During this past week, I said goodbye to Alyona. She wasn’t too close nor distant. She was the girl I met while dancing at the bar, who didn’t mind giving out number and hanged out with friendly strangers again. She was free of judgement and prejudice. She was a good friend.

She once asked me why it was that I didn’t have a close friend. I just told her my good gay friends all lived in different places, and in here I had none. Sex & romance cut down the scope of the ground for friendship to bloom. She told me it was my choice, not having anybody, since people were always there, willing to offer. She did. And I never took it to develop it into something more significant.

On our last moment, I told her I would bring the next man I dated to her, so that I could hear what she thought about him. That was something I always did. I trusted the way she saw people. And more importantly, I trusted the kindness she always saw in people. And it was also very typical of me, even in the very end, to be very selfish. I had never listened to her and cared for her inner life the way she did to mine.


During this past week, I also said goodbye to Greg, a frequent fuck buddy. I didn’t find him attractive, but still came over everytime he was in town just to get a bj. He had grown less enthusiastic of it at some point, since I didn’t want to fuck him and it usually took me very long to make me cum. I could feel it, so not prolonging it would be a preference.

But he gave me 2 packs of cigarettes, with very eye-catching covers, saying he had fetched them from Iraq, which was where he was going to reside next. He remembered that I collected the covers. I didn’t know what to say. I’d thought we had nothing more than just shag attachment.


Speaking of sex, this past week saw barely any worth mentioning activity, except for this one guy. Federico was his name. Italian, living here for so long, he knew the tone of the language and the bad slangs. Tall and a big belly, young and wavy hair, he looked quite hot in those implementing jeans.

He made me Italian coffee and put me through a trial visa interview, which was my idea since he used to work for the consular post. “Do you have at least $5,000 in your account?” he asked, challenging look on his face since the previous questions had been eased. And that was the gateway for me to insert my inviting line, which he was waiting for as well.

There was one thing about him: he kept on sucking. And he was really working it. Sometimes I had to ask him to stop since the force was too strong. “Nobody orders me around,” he glared at me and kept on going. The uncomfortable surge grew stronger when he started saying “You’re my bitch!”. I then decided it’s time to stop being polite and put the boy in place.

To my surprise, I was strong enough to pin his large body down to the bed, made it clear to him if there was going to be a “bitch” (even though I detest the use of such choice of word), it was going to be him. He was hard-headed but gradually, with the carrot-and-stick approach, he finally say “please”, even with discontent in his eyes.

What made the encounter memorable wasn’t the power play, the piss that he drank in the shower, the satisfaction of winning or the fact that he drank every single drop of my cum. The bj, though overally successful, was partly painful. But he just asked me to stay a little bit longer upon seeing me putting my clothes on. I hadn’t overstayed since Joey. And just like Joey, there was something about this Italian guy that was so child-like, so innocent, when he was dozing with eyes half open.


In this past week, I met the girl whom existence brought into my life 2 months ago. She was the one with a crush on me, while having an on-off boyfriend, both of which I pretended to not know of. She was sunny, sarcastic, sacrificing but a bit “typically female” scary. She baked me a big cheese cake with brownie layer underneath, which tasted like ectasy to me (besides sex, I do enjoy sweet treats) and then got upset upon finding out that I shared a bit with my friends. She gave me a warning of not getting too close to a lady that she hated who happened to be my colleage. That type of passive aggressiveness.

But she was also smart. She chose to wait till the right moment to throw the proposal out there. She asked me to marry her. I had told her I was gay. “We could both bring men home.”

It might have come off as a joke for some people but I could sense it was well thought out. Her reason: work & family pressure. She’s turning 30 next year and in that business, having no family at 30 for a female who wants to climb higher screams out problems. Her boyfriend of many years couldn’t do it due to personal restraints. He had always been a mama boy. She had gone through numerous ones where the man either cheated on her or hit her. I was the perfect choice. I was, to her, somewhat in between on her boyfriend and her desired object of affection: someone not too neat, someone who knows how to play around, someone with dark humor that could make her smile.

We could stage a marrige. It will look good for my resume as well, if this business was what I wanted pursue longer. My bet was my parents would be as joyous as hers. The 2 families matched well, background wise. We matched well. She had point out the convincing story on how to fool people. We could get divorced right after. And I could have a child of my own (She actually laid out some options for child bearing).

I told her I would think about it and then played truant. I didn’t tell her perfect plan might as well work for both of us but it was my dream to have a child but to have it with somebody I actually loved. I didn’t tell her that the Highschool Sweetheart & AM were the only 2 girls that I saw myself living with back then, and even that wasn’t strong enough to trade their own happiness for my own benefits. And I had been fighting with my family, with people everyday for an equal perception on gay relationship and this plan might basically hinder all such efforts.

 

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This entry was published on February 20, 2017 at 12:14 am. It’s filed under AM, Beurre, Federico, Friends, Greg and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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