Ibang Labels Na ‘Toh!

The last time I was in the bathhouse was before I met Kent. While I surprisingly(!) do not miss the place, I do miss the sometimes unexpected conversations I get from strangers. Like the following one.

* * * * *

The sex was fast and furious. He wrapped his legs around me and matched me, thrust per thrust, moan per moan. Afterwards, we lay in bed panting and sweating. He engaged in small talk. Quickly I found out he’s a flight steward on an international airline and was here for two weeks to visit his parents and relatives.

“You work out often? I like your chest,” he told me.

“Thanks,” I replied. “You’re in better shape actually. You’re more muscular and ripped, and your belly is flat! Kainggit.”

“I noticed that the more muscular the guy, the more likely he’s a bottom,” he said.

Aba! Hasty generalizations ba ang gusto mo?

“Well, here’s what I noticed,” I said. “The shorter the guy is to me, the more likely he’s a bottom.”

“Oh really?” he asked, with genuine curiosity in the tone of his voice. Apparently the fact that he was a full inch shorter than me didn’t cross his mind at all. I decided to change the topic.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” I asked.

“Ay! I’m not gay,” he clarified. And I did a back flip. In my mind.

“Really?” I tried to keep my voice from rising two pitches higher.

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation. “I just do this for fun. Sex with men is, for me, like sports.”

The writer in me couldn’t help it. I added, “And we both scored tonight!” Unfortunately that joke flew over his head. (And considering his height, that was easy.)

So then I asked, “Are you married?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Filipina?”

He hesitated then answered, “No. She’s from Hawaii.” (Which I suppose makes her, uhm, Hawaiian?! LOL.)

“I suppose she doesn’t know about this,” and I gestured to the both of us, “your favorite sport.”

“Oh no!” he shook his head. “No way.”

I paused for a moment, wondering what to ask next. But then he piped in, “So are you gay?”

“Yup,” I answered.

“Cool.” A pause, then he asked, “Do you suck?”

“Yes.”

“Cool.” Another pause, another question: “Do you kiss?”

“You mean like this?” And I frenched him for a good two minutes or so.

“Cool,” he said after gasping for breath. “I like kissing.” And he leaned over and placed his lips on mine.

Ah, so this is what a non-gay guy is like, I thought to myself as he hungrily devoured me. May the tribe of non-gay guys increase.