The condom broke while I was inside that guy who claimed to had had bareback sex a month before, in Bangkok. At the same time, unusual marks were spotted down there, similar to those I had had before the Myanmar trip (which healed by themselves). All of them, along with the pile of scholarships I was trying to apply and deadlines, formed a huge cloud revolving over my head.
My cousin who is currently under medical training said I worried too much. The doctor said it was just excessive teeth mark after the STDs check all came out negative. But I took both pills anyway, including the PEP ones. After the first week, I started to feel with clarity that they were wearing me down. I couldn’t sleep or wake up properly. There were days where I skipped work from time to time since I couldn’t bring myself out of bed. All I wanted to do was just to grieve, but had no idea what it was to grieve for.
Maybe, once again, I was just worried too much.
The doctor also suggested no intimacy. It was easy when its existence was still a myth. It was certainly still easy when I first broke up with Beurre since other dimensions of attraction and the extent of what self-confidence could bring were still unknown to me. But at present, self-restraint successfully achieved, the epitome of power, was no simple task, even more so with the help of technology and the already established personal network.
There were days I beat myself off at least 3 times instead of heading out for sex. But after 2 weeks of celibacy, the guard was off in one careless moment while I was cycling past Fed’s place. Just like the last time, he was all sweet and silently thoughtful, giving me a pair of Batman boxers and an artsily-painted Chinese cigarette pack. He called me too ideal, too Marxist, before giving in to lust. I did ask him to be gentle with his teeth.
I came in his mouth again. Then he dragged me into the bathroom where we could relive that golden shower moment. I used to think that it was not really the most graceful act during sex, but seeing him down there, asking for more of the fluid coming from me, even the trashy one, turned me on. When he was clean, he sneaked into my armpit, begging non-stop for having my cock inside him (which is what I haven’t done), hands trying to evoke my manhood again by aggressively molesting it. Upon my refusal, he kept on cracking up in upper pitch “Why?” He was a kid whose candies request got denied.
In the bedroom, in his words, he was my bitch, one who took off in declaring his supremacy over me just to let himself be denied so. DJ Man used to talk about me with this word one, proceptive something, which basically means the tendency to fight back just to be suppressed physically. But in other areas, he came back to his thoughtful being. He offered to drive me home that night since he wouldn’t let me cycle all the way back.
Those scholarships. I applied for two. One was 30 minutes over the deadline, one was 1 minute. Both were noted “successfully submitted” and confirmation emails were delivered. Confusing. In both times, I never ceased to amaze my own self of the price of procrastination.
But I do hope that at least one of them turned out OK. Pursuing this academic field further wasn’t my best interest, but it was the best for this job and the most convenient “get out” ticket. Plus, people around, from bosses to relatives, they always seemed to have high expectations regarding my studying, so much to the point that I was scared of letting them down.
Also, seeing my sister and nephew again could triumph working at this place for another few years.
I woke up the other day, only to find a missed phone call on Whatssap from Joe. “Who was that?” I wondered at first, before realizing it was him, since we never really exchanged anything on Whatssap. I clicked on his profile again, to see a new photo of him. Time had left its trace on his face. No longer was youthful, all-American softball boy spirit present but a disheartened, senescent smile instead.
He looked nothing like the one I met just last September. Was it what aging did to him? Was he going through a difficult time? Did he feel lonely after all this time, just as I did? Did he also suffer from the physical effects of drugs?
I guessed those were never answered anyway since I never clicked “dial back”.