Have You Ever Seen The Rain?

He was 49, Danish, but he looked 39. His body wasn’t perfect but he’d got round white clean hypnotizing butts. It was intended to be just a blow and go since I hadn’t really had a good blowjob here in town, although there was almost 5 Grindr users every 20 meters or so. But it lasted quite long, with all the talks in cut in between. “No small talks,” he said. I told him not to order me around. He was tired, but he was sensual. He gave me really painful yet pleasant head massage. He told me to keep breathing whenever I let out a sigh.

After my first ejaculation, which he took all in one sip, we went to check out the red light street in the neighborhood. He put a bandage on my broken toe nail. I told him I want to check out a place called Moulin Rouge but he didn’t since it was a place for straight men, usually foreigners, to find a Filipina. I took a pic, seeing some girls in bikini dancing to Shakira. I walked out and found him waiting on the opposite side of the street. “You are better.”

He ordered caipirinha after seeing I did one. That was the only thing I did if I had to get something, other than a beer. He got the next round of beers as well and I got the ice cream and an all-black vanilla scented cigarette pack. He told me how we both have hatred for white men who got too much privilege living in Asia and felt protective of women who were taken advantage. We talked about political science which we both, at one point, studied. He said he was an introvert but I found it not convincing enough. He said he usually filtered what people said, which was why what he said was usually carefully thought out. I told him I didn’t know which tribe of gay I belonged to and that made me feel out of place in gay clubs.

The band was playing the Eagles. I didn’t remember if it was Lying Eyes or something else. But I wrote a song on the tissue which Peter tore up by accident later. “This idiot did this,” I said to the waitress, pointing to him. A group of women, possibly prostitutes, and lady boys, with a white man of course, just sat down at the next table. I asked for the light and talked to one called Mina when he went to the restroom. Then my song came on. I forgot about Mina & Peter and went inside to dance. I made a mental note that he had more Bon Iver songs in his phone than I did. I did explain that it was my limited memory card and it didn’t matter since Justin (from Bon) & I had a connection. It was funny that he had all of the music but didn’t know the name of the lead singer.

When I got out he was sitting by himself, alone, dead tired. There was redness in his eyes. I bet it was in mine too. But I still talked to Mina. She said that she could sense that I was a good kind of craziness. Peter wasn’t happy about it, at least he didn’t look like so. So I dragged him in the conversation saying we were workmate. He touched me hands in public, twice, even when I retreated all the time. I didn’t know what it felt like, being proud and out with a man in public. I wanted to, but at the same time I didn’t. This guy Mike tried to kiss me goodbye once, oh and that Jonathan too. I did regret not doing it.

“What were you trying to prove?” Peter asked, seeing my card thoroughly. I tried to talk to this girl in a bar called O last Friday night but it didn’t work so I wanted to see how far I could go this time. But Peter said I didn’t have to try to be a man by being able to attract ladies. He also said that I was wasting her time since probably she was working and I wasn’t a rich foreign man. He’d got his points. I didn’t even have enough to pay my Filipino friends earlier, but still I managed. But yeah, he was right.

We planned to eat but then realized it was 2 am with morning work hovering around. He was singing the song I requested earlier on the street. At one point he tried to touch my butts. I looked at the women on the road watching us (probably cruising for customers). Their eyes were filled with disappointment after seeing he did that too me. I was embarrassed, looking at them trying to prove the otherwise. At another point, he was singing the song that I requested earlier. I told him him the back story behind that song, which was somewhat similar to an omen. He shut my mouth. “I’ll be your Mina”, he said. I spent the night, with no invitation nor proposal. It was automatic. He made me cum the 2nd time that night.

I woke up in the morning with Peter’s head in my arms. He pulled me back while I was trying to get up for work. He knew the best way to convince me and gave me another blow job. I was scratching his biceps while trying to enjoy the 3rd and final orgasm within less than 10 hours. He swallowed it all, like he did the last time, and also like what he successfully managed at his first attempt ever at taking piss. I told him I appreciated what he did for me.


It has been officially a week since I moved to Manila, and it has been raining a lot. It wasn’t the heavy type of rain that disappeared in the swift manner as it came. It wasn’t enough to prevent the locals from pacing down the streets day and night. But it was enough to dam my head, my clothes and the newspapers I fetched in front of the hotel room to cover myself on the way rushing back to work in the morning, as well as leave my body with a cold that might stay for a while.

 

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This entry was published on July 20, 2017 at 11:32 pm. It’s filed under Peter, work and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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