During one lunch time with friends on a weekday somewhere in Roosevelt Island in NYC, I heard with extreme curiosity for the first time the confessional sharing made by one of my friends who were around that time. I am not going to describe him more here so I can help protect his identity for now. Suffice it to say that those who were with me during that lunch are good friends of mine.
He narrated how at age 14 (or so), he was approached by a Chinese older guy who was probably in his 30s and married while they were walking on the sidewalk of Sta Cruz, Manila. The man invited him to watch a movie in one of those movie theatres found in Escolta. I have been to two of these theatres, namely 'Lyric' and 'Capitol' (there probably were other theatres found on that street but I have to verify this). Although built with good materials, these theatres look old and passe by the time I started watching movies there, and they're mainly used by patrons who'd like to have fun with similarly thinking other patrons from all walks of life in this part of Manila and its nearby environs. I'm not sure if I wrote about those encounters I've had in those theatres in my first book....if not, then I should find time to write about them one of these days.
Going back to my friend's story, he shared how he was led by the older guy into the bathroom in the loge section of the movie house, and he was soon being orally accosted by the man whom he just met on the street one time he was enjoying himself away from the concerns his family and his small world then had.
He shared how he was given PhP100 by the man, and they were soon having a meal in one of those restaurants in the area. I am sure I had been in that restaurant that my friend mentioned, but I can't recall its name now. That PhP100 given to my friend in the early 1960s is probably equivalent to PhP1000 as of this writing. That also started a brief relationship of my good friend with that man who turned out to be a textile dealer with a store located in Binondo, the important commercial section where numerous businesses of Chinese-Filipinos started, flourished, and went on to bring about more money into the Philippine economic system. My friend shared how the man started giving him textiles that he was also instructed to sell by the businessman when my friend goes back to his province during weekdays.
My friend did start having his selling business of textiles soon, but he was not right away paid by customers. They had to wait for cash from their agricultural products, e.g., rice, so they can get what they need and want, and in turn pay their bills, including those with my friend. My friend would soon find himself being teased endlessly by his 2 half brothers after they started wondering how he's able to buy really expensive stuff for himself. That probably got him to eventually decide to stop seeing the man with whom he probably had an ongoing relationship for at least a year.
Showing posts with label men seeking men. Show all posts
Showing posts with label men seeking men. Show all posts
What Do You Do When Someone You're Making Out With Tell You Later He's HIV+?
One of my regular fuck buddies has told me that it's confirmed he's HIV+. Latino, a US citizen born and raised in the USA, middle-aged, an enterprising fellow who seems to be tired from being taken advantaged of by the production system that makes use of skills and abilities to continue enriching the pockets of those who don't want to hear about such abusive systems especially because they're on top of the structure, my friend is a loving, bilingual, sensitive fellow. He did prepare me for the news as he would tell me at least 2 months before that he's been waiting for results of his health tests, which results came some time. I guess it's because he's got no health insurance so he has to wait for his turn at the publicly funded health system for him to get checked up, get results, and be shown his prognosis by license health practitioners. Was I scared about the results? Honestly, I wasn't, and I wasn't being stupid. But what do you expect me to do when a fuck buddy who's now become a good friend tells me he's HIV+? I think the least I can do for him is to be empathetic with his situation --- it's some kind of thing that could happen to any one of us or to our loved ones.
I continue to meet him, and we make it a point these days to follow safe sex practices. And I've been sharing him supplements I've been taking, which I believe helps me make my body systems working well and fighting all these viruses in and around us. You really never know how they are out there to quickly exterminate each one of us, even before we realize it. Look at the ebola virus scare, which is ongoing in certain places in Africa. In the meantime, I continue to use consistently my supplements. It's one part of the strategy to keep a healthy life. I have been using them for over a year now. They include: Daily Essentials , Bromelain Plus , Ultimate Aloe , ORAC. I also continue being physically active, even if I feel tired at the end of the day. So far, we are learning that my friend and my own body systems, specifically our respective immune systems are successfully fighting all these viruses. We're limiting the damage so far. And I'm thankful for that.
I continue to meet him, and we make it a point these days to follow safe sex practices. And I've been sharing him supplements I've been taking, which I believe helps me make my body systems working well and fighting all these viruses in and around us. You really never know how they are out there to quickly exterminate each one of us, even before we realize it. Look at the ebola virus scare, which is ongoing in certain places in Africa. In the meantime, I continue to use consistently my supplements. It's one part of the strategy to keep a healthy life. I have been using them for over a year now. They include: Daily Essentials , Bromelain Plus , Ultimate Aloe , ORAC. I also continue being physically active, even if I feel tired at the end of the day. So far, we are learning that my friend and my own body systems, specifically our respective immune systems are successfully fighting all these viruses. We're limiting the damage so far. And I'm thankful for that.
Almost Scared Shit of Getting HIV Infected
I found myself chatting with a roommate one afternoon at home about exciting encounters we've had recently. I immediately opened up about sharing what I did with someone who lives in a 100+-year old mansion on Richmond Road in Staten Island that was converted into several apartments, one of which is being rented out to a recently-found bed mate. His unit looks so lived in and with fascinating furnishings and glass windows that open to a view of tall trees. I added that I felt being in between being scared and being fascinated while I was in that apartment that late weekday evening.
As soon as he was hearing me describe more closely what I experienced during the scene with my new found friend, my roommate was immediately giving me almost accurate descriptions of the place. Looking worried, he was soon telling me that I should keep away from ever making it out again with that guy who he said is a criminal, as in someone who would go to expensive Manhattan restaurants to have dinner and not ever paying them. My friend added that this guy would have to hide himself among the thick foliage of mature trees that surround the said mansion one time the cops came trying to catch him. He also added that the place is known to have a few drug dealers living in some of the units. He soon followed it up by saying that the guy's HIV positive and that he gets financial assistance because of his health situation. I asked him how sure he was about his information, and he replied that he knew a personal friend who used to live with the said fellow.
Then I furtively stopped doing all the cleaning that I was engaged then while I was chatting with my roommate. I recall that I engaged in safe practices when I made it with that guy that particular night. I quickly had a barrage in mind of a long list of reminders so as to convince myself that it is not that bad as it seems to be from what I was just hearing from my well-intentioned roommate. Soon, my roommate had to chat on the phone with someone whose call came right there and then.
I was left to myself and was justifying what I've just done that particular night. I could not believe I was being so stupid. I was secretly shaking my head. And I proceeded to tell my landlord on what I just heard, thinking that it would help me get relieved somewhat. He was soon telling me about what happens to those who are promiscuous, indirectly describing me in the process. After a while, my other roommate showed up in the room and started sharing what he heard from me with our landlord. But he asked for my permission first, to which I agreed, to share it. The 3 of us were then having a heated discussion about the needs we have to fulfill to be happier in our lives, which desire does not mean endangering ourselves in the process. I convinced myself that I could barely detect a hint of hypocrisy from both of them, which I guess was due to the fact that I had been very open to them about things I do in bed whenever they ask me what I've been into lately. You know how most people are, they ask "How have you been doing these days?" There's a prime value on being honest with your roommates, being my personal policy when living with people I've not known before I came in this dwelling we all now share.
But it also occurred to me to ask my roommate to look into my new found friend's pictures online where I first saw him. My roommate agreed, and we were soon finding out that we were talking about the wrong person. My new found friend's a different one from the one my roommate had in mind. I felt instant relief. My roommate soon shared the information, too, to our landlord. My roommate proceeded to get to know more about the online site that I use for meet up purposes, among other, practical reasons why I get online to link up with people. I doubt if he'd use it as well; I know we've got different tastes when it comes to the type of people we prefer to meet up and have intimate relations with.
As soon as he was hearing me describe more closely what I experienced during the scene with my new found friend, my roommate was immediately giving me almost accurate descriptions of the place. Looking worried, he was soon telling me that I should keep away from ever making it out again with that guy who he said is a criminal, as in someone who would go to expensive Manhattan restaurants to have dinner and not ever paying them. My friend added that this guy would have to hide himself among the thick foliage of mature trees that surround the said mansion one time the cops came trying to catch him. He also added that the place is known to have a few drug dealers living in some of the units. He soon followed it up by saying that the guy's HIV positive and that he gets financial assistance because of his health situation. I asked him how sure he was about his information, and he replied that he knew a personal friend who used to live with the said fellow.
Then I furtively stopped doing all the cleaning that I was engaged then while I was chatting with my roommate. I recall that I engaged in safe practices when I made it with that guy that particular night. I quickly had a barrage in mind of a long list of reminders so as to convince myself that it is not that bad as it seems to be from what I was just hearing from my well-intentioned roommate. Soon, my roommate had to chat on the phone with someone whose call came right there and then.
I was left to myself and was justifying what I've just done that particular night. I could not believe I was being so stupid. I was secretly shaking my head. And I proceeded to tell my landlord on what I just heard, thinking that it would help me get relieved somewhat. He was soon telling me about what happens to those who are promiscuous, indirectly describing me in the process. After a while, my other roommate showed up in the room and started sharing what he heard from me with our landlord. But he asked for my permission first, to which I agreed, to share it. The 3 of us were then having a heated discussion about the needs we have to fulfill to be happier in our lives, which desire does not mean endangering ourselves in the process. I convinced myself that I could barely detect a hint of hypocrisy from both of them, which I guess was due to the fact that I had been very open to them about things I do in bed whenever they ask me what I've been into lately. You know how most people are, they ask "How have you been doing these days?" There's a prime value on being honest with your roommates, being my personal policy when living with people I've not known before I came in this dwelling we all now share.
But it also occurred to me to ask my roommate to look into my new found friend's pictures online where I first saw him. My roommate agreed, and we were soon finding out that we were talking about the wrong person. My new found friend's a different one from the one my roommate had in mind. I felt instant relief. My roommate soon shared the information, too, to our landlord. My roommate proceeded to get to know more about the online site that I use for meet up purposes, among other, practical reasons why I get online to link up with people. I doubt if he'd use it as well; I know we've got different tastes when it comes to the type of people we prefer to meet up and have intimate relations with.
Talking About A Male Rape Experience During Intimate Moments
It's very strange to start talking about the topic of rape when you are engaged with someone in very intimate acts. Recently, in a meet up with a Puerto Rican friend with whom I go to bed with after we've discovered a lot of similarities in our tastes for food and having fun, and with whom I agree to being 'friends with benefits, he was asking me if I was ready to come. We were doing it for some time then, and I could see that he's got other things in mind to do before finally ending his evening. He would still be having to get up early the next morning. And he wanted to finish making the cake that one of his clients ordered. He knew that he had to do something more so I could come, if I really wanted to come, which is not normal in my case (coming is not the end-goal of this activity for me).
I then asked him about his first fuck, as in "Who fucked you the first time?" Then his reply was totally unexpected.
"I was raped."
"By whom?," I took the chance to inquire, as if such details have to be known right away after getting myself shocked.
"Oh, there were 4 of them," he casually blurted out the number.
"When?," I asked as I grew more curious.
"I was 11 years old then. I didn't even know I would turn out to be gay," he added more details for my surprised ears to hear and analyze. And as far as I could recall now, he went on to provide me with some more details about these men who raped him. I would learn that he had to bring himself to the hospital after the scene was over. The event happened somewhere in Puerto Rico.
"Are they still alive? Do you still see them?"
"No. They're all dead now," he answered in a matter-of-fact style. I could imagine he's relieved about the fact but I could be mistaken. Who would ever forgot such horrible moments in one's life? Already distracted, I gave him a long loving look as I continued to work on myself so that both of us could be finished with our act. But I knew I got deeply distracted, and I had to keep a mental note that I should be writing about this information from my friend.
Now, I would recall similar stories from other men with whom I've been to bed with. I recall someone back in the Philippines, with whom I had sex with in a dingy movie theater, and who mentioned about how he was raped by an older guy when they found themselves alone in a beach during a family outing (I suppose he personally knew his assailant). I recall, too, what another dear friend who now passed on, told me how he was raped after being seduced by a much older, bigger man when he was still a young boy.
Are rape scenes ever sexy?
Yes, male rapes have been going on as far as we would bother to recall. These are horrifying acts of violence, which should be stopped right away. I just wonder why we're not talking more openly about these rapes, too. I guess, it's the desire to be respectable among many of us, which we think would help us to lead better lives collectively. And we're missing now the opportunity to correct these terrible misdeeds. Remember, those who have experienced unresolved ill emotions due to acts of violence inflicted on them will continue to inflict such acts as well to their children and those whom they think are inferior to them. That's how they have learned early on. And such lessons are very difficult to overcome.
I then asked him about his first fuck, as in "Who fucked you the first time?" Then his reply was totally unexpected.
"I was raped."
"By whom?," I took the chance to inquire, as if such details have to be known right away after getting myself shocked.
"Oh, there were 4 of them," he casually blurted out the number.
"When?," I asked as I grew more curious.
"I was 11 years old then. I didn't even know I would turn out to be gay," he added more details for my surprised ears to hear and analyze. And as far as I could recall now, he went on to provide me with some more details about these men who raped him. I would learn that he had to bring himself to the hospital after the scene was over. The event happened somewhere in Puerto Rico.
"Are they still alive? Do you still see them?"
"No. They're all dead now," he answered in a matter-of-fact style. I could imagine he's relieved about the fact but I could be mistaken. Who would ever forgot such horrible moments in one's life? Already distracted, I gave him a long loving look as I continued to work on myself so that both of us could be finished with our act. But I knew I got deeply distracted, and I had to keep a mental note that I should be writing about this information from my friend.
Now, I would recall similar stories from other men with whom I've been to bed with. I recall someone back in the Philippines, with whom I had sex with in a dingy movie theater, and who mentioned about how he was raped by an older guy when they found themselves alone in a beach during a family outing (I suppose he personally knew his assailant). I recall, too, what another dear friend who now passed on, told me how he was raped after being seduced by a much older, bigger man when he was still a young boy.
Are rape scenes ever sexy?
Yes, male rapes have been going on as far as we would bother to recall. These are horrifying acts of violence, which should be stopped right away. I just wonder why we're not talking more openly about these rapes, too. I guess, it's the desire to be respectable among many of us, which we think would help us to lead better lives collectively. And we're missing now the opportunity to correct these terrible misdeeds. Remember, those who have experienced unresolved ill emotions due to acts of violence inflicted on them will continue to inflict such acts as well to their children and those whom they think are inferior to them. That's how they have learned early on. And such lessons are very difficult to overcome.
On Making It With A Park Avenue Building Irish Doorman All These Years
I have just chatted briefly on the phone with this friend whom I've met through Craigslist.org over 6 years ago, and has since then grown into a fragile friendship that's always on the verge of being severed due to a complex host of reasons. Oh, well, first off, he's really a problematic character I have been fortunate to meet with here in New York City (NYC). He's both a Park Avenue building doorman and a superintendent for a walk-up apartment building in the Upper East Side.
I've learned a lot from him, particularly about racism and racial discrimination here in NYC, the subtleties of which could have continued to be lost to me if I didn't meet him. For example, he once told me that no Filipino tenant occupies the exclusive Park Avenue building he works for all these many years. I mean he can't imagine Filipinos being so wealthy --- there are so many wealthy people in the Philippines such that they are insecure in keeping their wealth and would not think of sharing any part of it to most people. Just observe the contrast of the haves and the have not's when you find yourself in the Philippines.
My friend also once said that he'd seen maids who are from the Philippines, and one of them works for the household of a tenant's family who live in his building. I mean, I would normally be horrified listening to him about such culturally insensitive remarks, but I know I can make my own share of biased remarks, without myself being aware of what I've been making. For example: I would tell some of those guys I meet about the other black guys I've met these past years. I simply couldn't get away from this reprehensible focus on highlighting skin color as if matters really at the very core of what connects us as humans, even if we're together making love or something sort of like it.
I'm just annoyed from time to time whenever I meet up with my Irish friend. He's actually from Ireland, from Galway where one of my favorite writers, James Joyce, hails from. Imagine how he speaks, as he's got that particular accent. I guess he's simply amazed at how I go about speaking, reading, writing in English, which he claims, apparently, to being exclusively for people like himself. But that can't be practical as the English language for all these centuries has spread its usage worldwide, including those of us who come from the Philippines, originally. And I don't intend to apologize for my English; I'm very proud that I can speak, read, write most excellently in English. Whatever flaws you see are just 'flaws' and I can pinpoint to you purists SO MANY examples when the so-called "native English speakers" (btw, are there really such beings in a globalized environment, internet-crazy-linkages we have in our midst these days?) make terrible mistakes themselves so regularly (I don't even go out of my way to correct them --- a language like English is very dynamic, anyway, so what's the main point of being a language purist? Does it pay to be one, by the way?).
This Irish man looks like Richard Gere, even in his middle aged years, and stands tall like him. I appreciate him for who he is as a person. He loves nature and he's very nonchalant in his ways although I know he needs to show an image of formality when he does his work as a doorman. But I can imagine exactly what happens, especially when he tells me about his cruising activities, including one story I heard from him that dealt about his encounter with a Latino guy who gave him an awesome fucking experience.
Whatever we do whenever we meet depends really on the mood of the occasion. He loves to turn his fantasies into reality whenever we're together. But he also makes use of my help whenever it's convenient for him --- it's the hallmark of some people I've met here in NYC. And I'm just greatly amused by his behavior (no wonder he's decided to just stick to what he's conveniently been doing all these years of living in NYC). I guess he hates the image that he projects to me, so he can't help but to make very sarcastic, bordering-on-the-insulting remarks whenever we have a conversation. I just keep cool, remain quiet, and take my time for vengeance in small actions meant to make him see me as a person, and not someone like those typical characters he meets and who behave as if material wealth is only what matters in life and living.
We need each other, somewhat, and hence we continue to meet. I keep very upfront in my dealings with him. I'm happy as I am, gratefully. I've grown to know that I have to keep a very diverse set of friends and acquaintances in my network, especially in a city as big as NYC. Failure to do so will get me to wearing invinsible blinders that make me not see and appreciate what's inherently beautiful and great with human beings.
I've learned a lot from him, particularly about racism and racial discrimination here in NYC, the subtleties of which could have continued to be lost to me if I didn't meet him. For example, he once told me that no Filipino tenant occupies the exclusive Park Avenue building he works for all these many years. I mean he can't imagine Filipinos being so wealthy --- there are so many wealthy people in the Philippines such that they are insecure in keeping their wealth and would not think of sharing any part of it to most people. Just observe the contrast of the haves and the have not's when you find yourself in the Philippines.
My friend also once said that he'd seen maids who are from the Philippines, and one of them works for the household of a tenant's family who live in his building. I mean, I would normally be horrified listening to him about such culturally insensitive remarks, but I know I can make my own share of biased remarks, without myself being aware of what I've been making. For example: I would tell some of those guys I meet about the other black guys I've met these past years. I simply couldn't get away from this reprehensible focus on highlighting skin color as if matters really at the very core of what connects us as humans, even if we're together making love or something sort of like it.
I'm just annoyed from time to time whenever I meet up with my Irish friend. He's actually from Ireland, from Galway where one of my favorite writers, James Joyce, hails from. Imagine how he speaks, as he's got that particular accent. I guess he's simply amazed at how I go about speaking, reading, writing in English, which he claims, apparently, to being exclusively for people like himself. But that can't be practical as the English language for all these centuries has spread its usage worldwide, including those of us who come from the Philippines, originally. And I don't intend to apologize for my English; I'm very proud that I can speak, read, write most excellently in English. Whatever flaws you see are just 'flaws' and I can pinpoint to you purists SO MANY examples when the so-called "native English speakers" (btw, are there really such beings in a globalized environment, internet-crazy-linkages we have in our midst these days?) make terrible mistakes themselves so regularly (I don't even go out of my way to correct them --- a language like English is very dynamic, anyway, so what's the main point of being a language purist? Does it pay to be one, by the way?).
This Irish man looks like Richard Gere, even in his middle aged years, and stands tall like him. I appreciate him for who he is as a person. He loves nature and he's very nonchalant in his ways although I know he needs to show an image of formality when he does his work as a doorman. But I can imagine exactly what happens, especially when he tells me about his cruising activities, including one story I heard from him that dealt about his encounter with a Latino guy who gave him an awesome fucking experience.
Whatever we do whenever we meet depends really on the mood of the occasion. He loves to turn his fantasies into reality whenever we're together. But he also makes use of my help whenever it's convenient for him --- it's the hallmark of some people I've met here in NYC. And I'm just greatly amused by his behavior (no wonder he's decided to just stick to what he's conveniently been doing all these years of living in NYC). I guess he hates the image that he projects to me, so he can't help but to make very sarcastic, bordering-on-the-insulting remarks whenever we have a conversation. I just keep cool, remain quiet, and take my time for vengeance in small actions meant to make him see me as a person, and not someone like those typical characters he meets and who behave as if material wealth is only what matters in life and living.
We need each other, somewhat, and hence we continue to meet. I keep very upfront in my dealings with him. I'm happy as I am, gratefully. I've grown to know that I have to keep a very diverse set of friends and acquaintances in my network, especially in a city as big as NYC. Failure to do so will get me to wearing invinsible blinders that make me not see and appreciate what's inherently beautiful and great with human beings.
Some Growlr Exchange With A 'Bottom Indian'
Hi
Hello! How r u today? Thanks for checking out my profile here...
Fuck me
I cant today...wednesday next week will for me...where do u live? Can u host?
Can u host
It is complicated. I have to introduce u 1st to my landlord & roommates, then we can do it in my room d next few times u visit d house
The come pick me up
Sorry, i don't drive...
Wow u suck
Ha ha ha u r really an Indian, nothing matters to u except material wealth.....good riddance!
No.(I didn't edit the lines anymore even though you'd see errors there. Are Pakistani members of the LGBT community really like this one? I hope I'm just mistaken and it was just my fortune to meet someone like him that day online.)
Pakistan.
Two in a Day, and It Could Have Been Three in 2 Succeeding Days
The first time meeting with dude #1 took place in the morning in Jersey City in New Jersey, just across my borough in Staten Island. I would hear his remark that he thought Staten Island is actually New Jersey in his mind, which was OK with me and I could understand from where he is saying such an observation. This happened after we've been done with steamy sex that included a hot tub bath together, which we took right in the backyard facing someone else's house and a blooming magnolia tree. In the midst of our activities together, I did business prospecting with him, and he was aware of me being engaged in my building my business such that he made sure I would listen as well to details on how he's happily and quietly leading his life with his husband. And we did everything in bed that imaginable during those 4 hours or so in that 3-story single family house that he shares with his husband with whom he has been involved with for at least 11 years. I would notice that he prepared so well for this meeting, which I believe is a reflection of his mental strength as shown, among so many things I saw while I was in that house, by the fact that he's a college math professor and does editing of academic journal articles as well.
Subsequently, later that night, I met for the first time with a prospect, dude # 2 who is Puerto Rican divorced from his wife and who had 2 children who are now dead, in West Brighton in Staten Island. His place is a few steps from a peaceful view afforded by its location on top of a hill that includes scenes of parks, houses, the water, and the foliage in that part of Staten Island facing New Jersey. He lives with his 2 tiny dogs, and explains that a good friend, whom I suspect is one of his former lovers, would show up early in the morning and stay for some hours during the day. He bakes cakes for a living, mainly, and receives disability of some sort from the federal government.
I don't need to present more details and contrast their styles as they're 2 different individuals with very distinct life histories. I would emphasize that I totally enjoyed the pleasure of their company. Who knows if I'll meet with them again and again? I know I would still meet up with them sooner or later. The next day, I thought I would meet with a third one and engage again in intimate activities, even for brief moments. But this didn't happen. I was just too tired after doing all my activities that included a long meeting somewhere in Flushing, Queens.That prospective meeting would have been with a much younger guy who is black and does maintenance works for a living. I've written about him earlier in this blog site. He's sexy, desirable, and very versatile in his ways in bed with me. I thought that makes him very sexy, which has got me thinking of him even if I just did it twice in a row some hours past. But physical limits got me doing something else. I decided to go home, instead.
Subsequently, later that night, I met for the first time with a prospect, dude # 2 who is Puerto Rican divorced from his wife and who had 2 children who are now dead, in West Brighton in Staten Island. His place is a few steps from a peaceful view afforded by its location on top of a hill that includes scenes of parks, houses, the water, and the foliage in that part of Staten Island facing New Jersey. He lives with his 2 tiny dogs, and explains that a good friend, whom I suspect is one of his former lovers, would show up early in the morning and stay for some hours during the day. He bakes cakes for a living, mainly, and receives disability of some sort from the federal government.
I don't need to present more details and contrast their styles as they're 2 different individuals with very distinct life histories. I would emphasize that I totally enjoyed the pleasure of their company. Who knows if I'll meet with them again and again? I know I would still meet up with them sooner or later. The next day, I thought I would meet with a third one and engage again in intimate activities, even for brief moments. But this didn't happen. I was just too tired after doing all my activities that included a long meeting somewhere in Flushing, Queens.That prospective meeting would have been with a much younger guy who is black and does maintenance works for a living. I've written about him earlier in this blog site. He's sexy, desirable, and very versatile in his ways in bed with me. I thought that makes him very sexy, which has got me thinking of him even if I just did it twice in a row some hours past. But physical limits got me doing something else. I decided to go home, instead.
Making It With a Maintenance Fellow
In one those smartphone apps that allow you to connect and network with others, I got the chance to meet someone who looks far better in his pictures than in person. Well, that's unusual as it is. But what's more unusual was discovering that he lives with his friend, the details of which almost got me backing out of my first chance to meet with him. I was caught totally surprised by it. But my very strong sense of adventure would get the better of me so I took the chance that first time. He and I would soon be making it in bed even if I felt somewhat disappointed upon looking at his face. He's got really red pouting lips but he would give me that look like he's shy and his eyes would look starting from the bottom and directed to the top of his vision. It gives me the idea that he's really shy and ready to get whatever it is that the other person would give him in return. But it's a different experience altogether being in bed with him.
While in bed, I would see his friend give us snatches of his own curiosity as he would come into the door and look at us, as if he's having a preview of a porn movie being made on that bed in their 1 bedroom apartment on that street that's a few blocks away from the real Chinatown of New York City (NYC). This guy's white and the one in bed with me is black. Needless to say, a lot of things would come into mind while making it with this guy, but these distractions would be gone soon as he and I click very well in bed.
He's a maintenance guy, someone who's doing custodian works in a federal government building in Manhattan, which gives me the idea that he's got a relatively stable job that he could keep until he's retired or until he's disabled. And he's still in his 30s, so I have a feeling he'll just stick it up with this full time, manual job unless he's got other desires in his life that he wants to work on and pursue.
His friend, I would later come to know, works with another federal government office, and he's a psychologist. I would hear him complain about his co-workers who could probably be the most inept in his own view of the world, probably not realizing that such situation runs along similar lines in other organizations. I think I recognize the feeling he's got, including the frustration. I've been prospecting both of them for my franchise business, which I look forward to having good outcomes in due time.
In the meantime, I continue meeting with my friend. I've been told that I could come anytime I want (I guess I would have to coordinate the schedules, of course). We would still make it in the same bed that he shares with his friend. I'd ask them if they're lovers, but they both denied it. Upon more queries I took the chance to get answers from them, I would learn they had met in a bathhouse in that section of Flushing, Queens in NYC that had since then been closed. What a convoluted but rather intriguing story, I noted to myself.
While in bed, I would see his friend give us snatches of his own curiosity as he would come into the door and look at us, as if he's having a preview of a porn movie being made on that bed in their 1 bedroom apartment on that street that's a few blocks away from the real Chinatown of New York City (NYC). This guy's white and the one in bed with me is black. Needless to say, a lot of things would come into mind while making it with this guy, but these distractions would be gone soon as he and I click very well in bed.
He's a maintenance guy, someone who's doing custodian works in a federal government building in Manhattan, which gives me the idea that he's got a relatively stable job that he could keep until he's retired or until he's disabled. And he's still in his 30s, so I have a feeling he'll just stick it up with this full time, manual job unless he's got other desires in his life that he wants to work on and pursue.
His friend, I would later come to know, works with another federal government office, and he's a psychologist. I would hear him complain about his co-workers who could probably be the most inept in his own view of the world, probably not realizing that such situation runs along similar lines in other organizations. I think I recognize the feeling he's got, including the frustration. I've been prospecting both of them for my franchise business, which I look forward to having good outcomes in due time.
In the meantime, I continue meeting with my friend. I've been told that I could come anytime I want (I guess I would have to coordinate the schedules, of course). We would still make it in the same bed that he shares with his friend. I'd ask them if they're lovers, but they both denied it. Upon more queries I took the chance to get answers from them, I would learn they had met in a bathhouse in that section of Flushing, Queens in NYC that had since then been closed. What a convoluted but rather intriguing story, I noted to myself.
Recalling a Middle-East Pilot from Someone Else's Story A Long Time Ago
When I used to visit one of those early lgbt-friendly bathhouses back in Metro Manila many years ago (I know it was owned and operated by a couple whose connections with the then powerful Marcos clan were really that strong and dependable), I met one guy with whom I exchanged furtively-narrated brief stories in between our cruising activities in the bathhouse. Of course, I can't recall the complete details now, but I still recall how one of his stories would turn me on and make me imagine more details than what were originally provided to me by this fellow who took a particular liking to me that evening.
He's one of those cute guys who work in one of the major airlines, and you know right away that he's well compensated unlike most workers I'd see those days. He was behaving like he was getting disappointed over his waning prospects of ending up with someone he really likes to be with that night. I saw him walking all over the place, as he would cover the ground floor and the second floor, which was typical with most every one else during that night.
I would soon learn practically everything about his sexual preferences that time. Among his stories, he shared me his encounter with a commercial airline pilot from the Middle East. The fellow who was sharing me these details probably could have been an airline purser, or one of those who checks out airline personnel before a plane flies out or if there's something that has to be delivered personally (probably a reader out there can explain to me if this makes sense). One time, he had to approach the cockpit and had to brief the pilots for one critical reason or another. The pilot, whom he described as goodlooking, middle-aged but with well-preserved physique, gave him a look and asked him to pay him a visit at his hotel later that night. He understood very well the invite.
And he did show up. He was soon knocking on his hotel door, and he was let in, and he saw the pilot had already started having his cocktails. Oh, my storyteller would soon share me how this pilot would soon be penetrating him several times that night. They would share the whole evening together and parted ways the next day when the pilot had to be flying out of Manila.
I was fancying about this recollection of a story I heard many years ago mainly because I had been seeing numerous retired professional pilots on TV lately because they're being interviewed to share their thoughts out because of the missing Malaysian Airlines airplane. It's my fervent wish and hope that the plane would soon be found out somewhere out there in the waters that cover over 70% of this planet where we do all sorts of things that we can ever imagine during our respective lifetimes.
He's one of those cute guys who work in one of the major airlines, and you know right away that he's well compensated unlike most workers I'd see those days. He was behaving like he was getting disappointed over his waning prospects of ending up with someone he really likes to be with that night. I saw him walking all over the place, as he would cover the ground floor and the second floor, which was typical with most every one else during that night.
I would soon learn practically everything about his sexual preferences that time. Among his stories, he shared me his encounter with a commercial airline pilot from the Middle East. The fellow who was sharing me these details probably could have been an airline purser, or one of those who checks out airline personnel before a plane flies out or if there's something that has to be delivered personally (probably a reader out there can explain to me if this makes sense). One time, he had to approach the cockpit and had to brief the pilots for one critical reason or another. The pilot, whom he described as goodlooking, middle-aged but with well-preserved physique, gave him a look and asked him to pay him a visit at his hotel later that night. He understood very well the invite.
And he did show up. He was soon knocking on his hotel door, and he was let in, and he saw the pilot had already started having his cocktails. Oh, my storyteller would soon share me how this pilot would soon be penetrating him several times that night. They would share the whole evening together and parted ways the next day when the pilot had to be flying out of Manila.
I was fancying about this recollection of a story I heard many years ago mainly because I had been seeing numerous retired professional pilots on TV lately because they're being interviewed to share their thoughts out because of the missing Malaysian Airlines airplane. It's my fervent wish and hope that the plane would soon be found out somewhere out there in the waters that cover over 70% of this planet where we do all sorts of things that we can ever imagine during our respective lifetimes.
I Appreciate the Very Frank Discussion I Had With My Highschool Mates on the Gay Life
The setting had been Hooters somewhere in Manhattan, and the participants were the 3 of us friends who met each other back in highschool who gathered that hot summer afternoon. We were supposed to meet with 2 others more from the same school, but they had to attend to some emergencies at the last minute. And immediately right from the start, I was confronted in his usual masculine, almost bullying way (which didn't really put me off) on how I had been leading and enjoying my life in the New York City (NYC). He and our other schoolmate started bamboozling me with questions on how I manage with my life, specifically on questions related to my sexual activities.
Yes, they have been very curious to know more details. I know one of them bought my first book, which could have opened his eyes to what I had been doing back in the Philippines prior to moving here in NYC for good these past few years. I recall him telling me before that Intramuros, which is the setting of my first book, remains memorable to him because that's where he and his wife would date when they were still based in the Philippines. He, also, mentioned about his thought that I was having issues on lifestyle back in the Philippines. And I had to explain that I had a long term partner with whom I had lived in in the same house for 8 years (but who would not like to come here in the USA to work and stay, just similar to what I'm doing now). I had to add that the main reason why I moved to NYC was that I was experiencing the so-called glass ceiling phenomenon in the Philippines. I had to break free from the barriers that are being put in place by those in power and the influential in Philippine society so that I, together with others who are similar to myself and my kind, would stay in our place forever until we decide to quit and move on (which I did, and so I'm way happier today than when I was still in the Philippines, inexplicably, even if my loved ones, lots of relatives and friends are based in that country).
Among a number of questions, I was asked as to who does the passive and the active roles, respectively when I am engaged in sex. I told them I'm versatile, that I enjoy being the top as well as being the bottom, depending mainly who I partner myself with when in bed with someone or with others. I was somewhat surprised to learn as well to hear from one of the guys that he had been hearing about how one of his friends would make it in bed with black men, although he lives with his partner at home.
And they were curious as to my involvement with black guys. I had to explain that the preference (as of this writing) is basically similar to what one tastes when eating food that has been basted, fried, browned. Check that yourself, if you doubt it. Those possessing darker color of skin are more exciting, actually, but you have to be adventurous to know that first hand.
I was also asked about my decision to keep and maintain 2 spaces to live in in NYC's Queens and Staten Island boroughs. Of course, it's more money, no matter how you look at it. But I gain the benefits from choosing which place to stay in for the night after I've been up on my feet the whole day. Also, I gain pleasure from knowing that I can be with the person who I am dating currently (or involved with) as long as we both can find the time to be together. They would continue teasing me about the idea, though.
I'm happy that they look forward to seeing me with my regular date one of these days. I just wonder when that would happen; I basically work during weekends when most people who work during weekdays get together. But I'll keep waiting and being open to the idea of sharing with them the friendship I have with my regular date. For all I know, I'll get more of the benefits of getting to know my date better as he and I would be exposed to more regular people, especially those I've known way back in highschool.
I can imagine that there would be more questions to come my way. I have a feeling I have a lot more to explain and share to my friends. I didn't feel intimidated, hurt, nor bullied at all. If there's a better way of making others understand and appreciate this lifestyle, I wish I could use or do it. It will help in clarifying notions and making truths come nearer our lives, which we badly need in these days of confounding questions on differences and what-is-curiously-fascinating on lifestyles.
Yes, they have been very curious to know more details. I know one of them bought my first book, which could have opened his eyes to what I had been doing back in the Philippines prior to moving here in NYC for good these past few years. I recall him telling me before that Intramuros, which is the setting of my first book, remains memorable to him because that's where he and his wife would date when they were still based in the Philippines. He, also, mentioned about his thought that I was having issues on lifestyle back in the Philippines. And I had to explain that I had a long term partner with whom I had lived in in the same house for 8 years (but who would not like to come here in the USA to work and stay, just similar to what I'm doing now). I had to add that the main reason why I moved to NYC was that I was experiencing the so-called glass ceiling phenomenon in the Philippines. I had to break free from the barriers that are being put in place by those in power and the influential in Philippine society so that I, together with others who are similar to myself and my kind, would stay in our place forever until we decide to quit and move on (which I did, and so I'm way happier today than when I was still in the Philippines, inexplicably, even if my loved ones, lots of relatives and friends are based in that country).
Among a number of questions, I was asked as to who does the passive and the active roles, respectively when I am engaged in sex. I told them I'm versatile, that I enjoy being the top as well as being the bottom, depending mainly who I partner myself with when in bed with someone or with others. I was somewhat surprised to learn as well to hear from one of the guys that he had been hearing about how one of his friends would make it in bed with black men, although he lives with his partner at home.
And they were curious as to my involvement with black guys. I had to explain that the preference (as of this writing) is basically similar to what one tastes when eating food that has been basted, fried, browned. Check that yourself, if you doubt it. Those possessing darker color of skin are more exciting, actually, but you have to be adventurous to know that first hand.
I was also asked about my decision to keep and maintain 2 spaces to live in in NYC's Queens and Staten Island boroughs. Of course, it's more money, no matter how you look at it. But I gain the benefits from choosing which place to stay in for the night after I've been up on my feet the whole day. Also, I gain pleasure from knowing that I can be with the person who I am dating currently (or involved with) as long as we both can find the time to be together. They would continue teasing me about the idea, though.
I'm happy that they look forward to seeing me with my regular date one of these days. I just wonder when that would happen; I basically work during weekends when most people who work during weekdays get together. But I'll keep waiting and being open to the idea of sharing with them the friendship I have with my regular date. For all I know, I'll get more of the benefits of getting to know my date better as he and I would be exposed to more regular people, especially those I've known way back in highschool.
I can imagine that there would be more questions to come my way. I have a feeling I have a lot more to explain and share to my friends. I didn't feel intimidated, hurt, nor bullied at all. If there's a better way of making others understand and appreciate this lifestyle, I wish I could use or do it. It will help in clarifying notions and making truths come nearer our lives, which we badly need in these days of confounding questions on differences and what-is-curiously-fascinating on lifestyles.
That Pedestrian Bridge Connecting the Chinese General Hospital and the College of Nursing
My first book is now available in hardcover, paperback, e-book formats from my online store, Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, Xlibris.com, Powell's Books, and other online stores.
These encounters took place so many years ago that I am struggling to recall and share more vividly a lot of the details I still have in stock memory about them. I would continue to wonder why I recall the encounters once in a while, even if I'm already based in a faraway country from where they originally took place. And I still get snatches of the freshness of the encounters in my mind when I ponder on the best scenes from my intimate experiences, especially when I'm just by myself. The memory of making it with some fellows who happened to be around during those nights when I decided I'd like to cruise somewhere near the Manila North Cemetery still comes into shore as if they just happened yesterday. The memory would usually start with what I had observed from some distance. I had seen many times from my seat in a moving vehicle the street where we were passing by had men who would be running to and fro from the cemetery. They're moving as quickly as they could from something scary and what was similar to what happened to me many times when I used to cruise in the Intramuros Walls.
Just right in front of the main entrance of this well known cemetery in the Philippine capital, you'll see a nondescript single story building that you could easily guess to be a public restroom. I would assume that this public restroom (which in the USA is called a 'bathoom') was built only as an afterthought and without due regard to design, as it looked so incongruous as it stands between the wrought iron gates of the cemetery and the pedestrian bridge. I recall that a deep canal flows next to where this restroom stands. But nobody among the regular folks would venture to go there just to pee. And during those years when I used to pass by this area, this building stands almost under the pedestrian bridge and next to the Chinese General Hospital. I'm not sure if it's still there.
I noticed that pedestrian bridge was barely used, which was confounding to me. Or I must had been mistaken by my biases over seeing growing colonies of squatters who live full time within and among the tombs inside the cemetery. These residents could just be using these structures to relieve themselves when they happened to be nearby and had to go. But I would soon discover that it was used by generations of cruisers, including myself who was around for a few times in the late evenings many years ago. One time I walked up the concrete stairs of the pedestrian bridge, which was totally filthy and in a state of disrepair, I remember having made it out with a young man who was thin, goodlooking, with strong solid facial features and who showed up suddenly from nowhere that rainy night. I even brought with me an umbrella. Upon seeing me, he would right away bring down his pants to his knees and allow me to approach him and give him head until he came. And we didn't have the chance to talk, except for a few instructions from him on how I should work on him while we were together. We were both young, so restless and so full of sexual energy that we were then learning to manage (probably no one among our networks would be willing to instruct us on how to manage these energies oozing from our young bodies) to meet our needs and wants.
As I would soon discover, the public bathroom right under the pedestrian bridge was also known to have been a tryst used by a lot of men who just wanted to have some adventure, a little bit of privacy, and quickly come or just watch other men jerking themselves until they come. Inside, it was reeking with urine smell, dried and fresh feces and other unimaginable dirt. But you'd make up faces of men as your eyes have been exposed to the dark after a while when inside; you would soon figure out that these men had been doing something more. I recall having met another young man there, who was probably of the same age as mine then. We grappled at each other's bodies as soon as we found each other in the dark space. But the strong stench of the place probably got into him so that he decided to invite me to his place, which he said was nearby. We'd walked a few blocks, and I recall the place was close to the Dimasalang Bridge. It was past 3am then, and I noticed all the silent and dark houses whose residents were in deep slumber. The streets were all lighted, and I would quickly recall in mind some movie scenes showing such typical streets in Manila. We stopped before a single family house that has a passenger jeepney standing on its front.
Inside the jeepney, I saw a man sleeping and heard him softly snoring. My companion volunteered to tell me the guy's their driver; his family has a jeepney for business, apparently. We moved and walked along the side on an unlighted short alleyway that leads to the front door of the house. It was dark, and he stopped just in front of the door. In an instant, we started kissing and hugging each other as we continued with undressing each other. Our shirts were off, then followed by our pants, and our underpants. We just continued kissing, hugging, cuddling, and moaning.
I could see that the door might be opened by anyone from inside the house. But who would think somebody might do that at such an unholy hour? We silently proceeded to suck each other's cocks. We were soon coming on each other's laps. It was over in 15 minutes or so, the prelude of which was started in that very dirty public restroom. I was glad I did come. I recall that good looking guy wanted us to meet again some time; I might have been given his phone number so that I could get in touch with him. I paid more attention to his good looks; he's a skin tone lighter than myself, which quality in the Philippines is generally given more premium when it comes to physical looks. We were similar in height, built and weight, plus with similar middle class social background (we were both in college then). I felt like I was being attracted to another version of myself as I continued observing him. He was friendly, I recall. And just like typical properly reared adolescents, we said thanks to each other. But I don't think I went out of my way to contact him again. I recall he had then been studying at the nearby University of Santo Tomas (known as Asia's oldest university). I was still then not sure if I wanted to be in touch with someone I surreptitiously had quick sex with. But I knew I totally enjoyed the brief encounter.
I never went back again to that tiny cruising ground in front of the Manila North Cemetery. I would just go back there mainly because I knew one of my brothers, in his very young age as a baby of around 7 days old, was buried there. Unfortunately, we couldn't locate his tomb anymore during the last time we were there during the traditional annual day of visit to honor the memory of the dead. The authorities must have placed his body with those others whose families or relatives have failed to pay the annual dues to the city government, which happens as a way to control the dead population being buried in that cemetery that has among its permanent residents the rich and famous of the Philippine state, and that has a grand collection of very elaborate, unique and awesome tomb structures (a must-see destination of any curious, open minded tourist in Manila). To this day, I'm still sorry our family never got the chance to keep and maintain my brother's tomb.
These encounters took place so many years ago that I am struggling to recall and share more vividly a lot of the details I still have in stock memory about them. I would continue to wonder why I recall the encounters once in a while, even if I'm already based in a faraway country from where they originally took place. And I still get snatches of the freshness of the encounters in my mind when I ponder on the best scenes from my intimate experiences, especially when I'm just by myself. The memory of making it with some fellows who happened to be around during those nights when I decided I'd like to cruise somewhere near the Manila North Cemetery still comes into shore as if they just happened yesterday. The memory would usually start with what I had observed from some distance. I had seen many times from my seat in a moving vehicle the street where we were passing by had men who would be running to and fro from the cemetery. They're moving as quickly as they could from something scary and what was similar to what happened to me many times when I used to cruise in the Intramuros Walls.
Just right in front of the main entrance of this well known cemetery in the Philippine capital, you'll see a nondescript single story building that you could easily guess to be a public restroom. I would assume that this public restroom (which in the USA is called a 'bathoom') was built only as an afterthought and without due regard to design, as it looked so incongruous as it stands between the wrought iron gates of the cemetery and the pedestrian bridge. I recall that a deep canal flows next to where this restroom stands. But nobody among the regular folks would venture to go there just to pee. And during those years when I used to pass by this area, this building stands almost under the pedestrian bridge and next to the Chinese General Hospital. I'm not sure if it's still there.
I noticed that pedestrian bridge was barely used, which was confounding to me. Or I must had been mistaken by my biases over seeing growing colonies of squatters who live full time within and among the tombs inside the cemetery. These residents could just be using these structures to relieve themselves when they happened to be nearby and had to go. But I would soon discover that it was used by generations of cruisers, including myself who was around for a few times in the late evenings many years ago. One time I walked up the concrete stairs of the pedestrian bridge, which was totally filthy and in a state of disrepair, I remember having made it out with a young man who was thin, goodlooking, with strong solid facial features and who showed up suddenly from nowhere that rainy night. I even brought with me an umbrella. Upon seeing me, he would right away bring down his pants to his knees and allow me to approach him and give him head until he came. And we didn't have the chance to talk, except for a few instructions from him on how I should work on him while we were together. We were both young, so restless and so full of sexual energy that we were then learning to manage (probably no one among our networks would be willing to instruct us on how to manage these energies oozing from our young bodies) to meet our needs and wants.
As I would soon discover, the public bathroom right under the pedestrian bridge was also known to have been a tryst used by a lot of men who just wanted to have some adventure, a little bit of privacy, and quickly come or just watch other men jerking themselves until they come. Inside, it was reeking with urine smell, dried and fresh feces and other unimaginable dirt. But you'd make up faces of men as your eyes have been exposed to the dark after a while when inside; you would soon figure out that these men had been doing something more. I recall having met another young man there, who was probably of the same age as mine then. We grappled at each other's bodies as soon as we found each other in the dark space. But the strong stench of the place probably got into him so that he decided to invite me to his place, which he said was nearby. We'd walked a few blocks, and I recall the place was close to the Dimasalang Bridge. It was past 3am then, and I noticed all the silent and dark houses whose residents were in deep slumber. The streets were all lighted, and I would quickly recall in mind some movie scenes showing such typical streets in Manila. We stopped before a single family house that has a passenger jeepney standing on its front.
Inside the jeepney, I saw a man sleeping and heard him softly snoring. My companion volunteered to tell me the guy's their driver; his family has a jeepney for business, apparently. We moved and walked along the side on an unlighted short alleyway that leads to the front door of the house. It was dark, and he stopped just in front of the door. In an instant, we started kissing and hugging each other as we continued with undressing each other. Our shirts were off, then followed by our pants, and our underpants. We just continued kissing, hugging, cuddling, and moaning.
I could see that the door might be opened by anyone from inside the house. But who would think somebody might do that at such an unholy hour? We silently proceeded to suck each other's cocks. We were soon coming on each other's laps. It was over in 15 minutes or so, the prelude of which was started in that very dirty public restroom. I was glad I did come. I recall that good looking guy wanted us to meet again some time; I might have been given his phone number so that I could get in touch with him. I paid more attention to his good looks; he's a skin tone lighter than myself, which quality in the Philippines is generally given more premium when it comes to physical looks. We were similar in height, built and weight, plus with similar middle class social background (we were both in college then). I felt like I was being attracted to another version of myself as I continued observing him. He was friendly, I recall. And just like typical properly reared adolescents, we said thanks to each other. But I don't think I went out of my way to contact him again. I recall he had then been studying at the nearby University of Santo Tomas (known as Asia's oldest university). I was still then not sure if I wanted to be in touch with someone I surreptitiously had quick sex with. But I knew I totally enjoyed the brief encounter.
I never went back again to that tiny cruising ground in front of the Manila North Cemetery. I would just go back there mainly because I knew one of my brothers, in his very young age as a baby of around 7 days old, was buried there. Unfortunately, we couldn't locate his tomb anymore during the last time we were there during the traditional annual day of visit to honor the memory of the dead. The authorities must have placed his body with those others whose families or relatives have failed to pay the annual dues to the city government, which happens as a way to control the dead population being buried in that cemetery that has among its permanent residents the rich and famous of the Philippine state, and that has a grand collection of very elaborate, unique and awesome tomb structures (a must-see destination of any curious, open minded tourist in Manila). To this day, I'm still sorry our family never got the chance to keep and maintain my brother's tomb.
Meeting Someone I Got Seriously Attached With In A Second Run Movie Theater in Sta Cruz, Manila
My first book is now available in hardcover, paperback, e-book formats from my online store, Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, Xlibris.com, Powell's Books, and other online stores.
Having been away from the Philippines for over 6 years now, I don't know if this particular movie theater still exists somewhere in Manila as of this writing. It's standing right in front of this well known old restaurant called 'Ambos Mundos' in Sta Cruz, Manila, which I believe is along an old street called Oroquieta that runs parallel to Rizal Avenue where the LRT passes by before it crosses over the Pasig Rvier. Based on the details I would notice inside, the movie theater must have been one of the best looking theatres on its heydays but it has been in its rundown state by the time I discovered it in one of my innumerable sojourns in Manila and had since then started watching so many Tagalog movies inside, which were billed as double so you get to watch 2 movies at a price of one. Not a bad deal for someone with so little spare money for entertainment, and the deal becomes better as you get the chance to cruise around and play with fellows who may get attracted to you or those you would find interesting and attractive. Couples would make it while seated, or even in the bathroom. In the darkness inside the theater that was just lighted by the shadows cast off by the huge and already dust-covered screen, I saw all imaginable positions being performed by those who willingly played before my eyes; I remember seeing straight couples as well every now and then. And I also knew some families, most probably those of the workers in the theatre, live in one or two of the small rooms built-in into the theater.
This is not the same theater many of us regular patrons would call 'Perlas' or the Tagalog translation of the word 'pearl,' which was grittier and easier to find as the building stands on the main road, Rizal Avenue. This is another of those run down theatres where I would see more flagrant and more shocking activities done among men who would get together to enjoy and have fun in each other's lovingly extended arms and playful hands.
Why I remember this theater, despite its physical ugliness, is mainly because of the many encounters I had here with different men who would seek out the company of other men to relieve whatever ails them sexually or probably emotionally. And one time, I met someone here who would become a lover for some time, and whom I would meet many years after in a different run-down movie theater in another part of Sta Cruz, Manila, but had since then been looking disheveled, older, and with one or two of his front teeth gone and not yet replaced. He would still recognize me but I would barely recognize him, which was unusual of me as I would always remember those who have been involved with me, one way or another. I heard his voice as he approached me while I was seated on the bench with faux leather in the dirty lobby of the balcony of that other theater.
We met in the first theater where I remember seeing him in his tucked-in shirt in denim pants and looking neat, cute and sexy. He's small in stature but you'd notice right away his bright, almond shaped eyes with long lashes and lips covered with light mustache. I never realized how hairy he was until we were together in a room that we hired for our first intimate encounter. We didn't stay much longer in the theater as soon as we met each other as the place was scalding hot and a lot of people were milling around us, probably hoping they could play with us, too.
I was soon penetrating him, which I continued as I stood over the bed and walked around the room, with him in his position where his legs were wrapped around my buttocks. I continued thrusting. And we continued kissing so longingly and warmly. Those were memorable kisses.
Afterwhich event, we hastily moved out of that rented space, which was around 3 blocks away from the theater. It's another very cheap looking motel, which the owners make money from, largely by renting the dirty looking rooms to people like us who need to keep what is left of our privacy while we're engaged in intimate acts we normally can't show to others. We would walk to Quezon Boulevard in Quiapo, the neighborhood next to Sta Cruz, where we took a jeep going to the Welcome Rotunda that stands along the border of Quezon City and Manila. I encouraged him to have a very tasty meat-based meal in a favorite foodstand where jeepney and taxi drivers would quickly have their meals. I totally enjoyed it, myself, as I had in the many previous times I was there.
The next time we were talking on the phone, he said he had a bad stomach from having that meal; I promised not to bring him there anymore. A few days after, he had to go back to the Middle East where he was then working. He would tell me of the many times that he almost got raped by Middle Eastern men who thought Filipino men are actually women in men's clothes. He came back again after a few months and we would meet and get to know each other better and become closer to each other's hearts. Soon, we became lovers and we would send each other snail mail for at least two or three years.
And he would proceed to marry a woman with whom during his honeymoon period, he would be calling me on the phone long distance. I wanted him to enjoy his honeymoon. And I couldn't believe it that he'd call me while being with his new bride. Another friend would tease me when I told him about it---it meant I was the one in mind of this fellow all along even if he was already married. I didn't really understand nor appreciate the meaning, for whatever reason it was that motivated him to call me while he's on his honeymoon.
His family, particularly his ageing mother, was happy to see him getting married. I know I heard from him one time that his mom knew about his previous long term relationship with someone who was a college teacher in one of the public universities along Taft Avenue, near the City Hall. But for some reason, they parted ways after some time. I would become his next long term lover, and we shared memories, mostly of the sexual variety to my recollection. I also knew that he contacted my Mom while they were both working in Saudi Arabia; my Mom was curious who he was in my life. I won't be able to explain myself to her, I would recall. How do you explain to your Mom that the one who called her from nowhere in a strange, middle eastern country, was actually her son's current lover (and who could have been her son-in-law if marriages among those of the same sex had been legal in the Philippines).
But he's a warm, loving in his own ways, thoughtful, sweet person who taught himself to love someone like me who's adventurous, bullheaded, arrogant, and temperamental. I was still in the process of discovering myself along these encounters. Those intimate encounters we had were tempestuous yet we complemented each other's bodies; he's among those few I met who I deeply really cared about and actually enjoyed having me inside of him. Being abroad and most probably lonely most times, he's the one who would often write me handwritten letters with his latest photos attached, some of which had been very revealing. I would imagine him making it up with a lot of lusty-looking Middle Eastern men, but I didn't have the gall to ask and confront him about the truth being previewed in my youthful and jealousy-wrought imagination. I just didn't know how to cope with the long distance relationship then in place between us, and we were then both young, goodlooking and proud, which probably gave us so many other opportunities to date and hang-out with other people in and out our respective networks.
Somehow, his marriage floundered. His wife would be the one to stay and work in the Middle East. He would soon be tasked to take care of their son, so he stayed in the Philippines. Domestic issues in their marriage crept in. I saw the toll on his face. But he then had a new lover and they even brought me to the place where they live. It's in the middle of a squatters community somewhere in Manila. A lot of the houses are in concrete, and they show the growing affluence of their owners who have relatives abroad who would send money back to the Philippines and gradually improve their respective economic standing in the local neighborhood. They've got very similar narratives with other families I know personally. But in contrast, my friend and his lover live in a very humble, pock-marked house where they would work together to build a cooked food retailing business, sold on cash basis. Somehow, the earnings had been sustaining them, it seemed to me as I continued observing their situation as we got drunk and shared merriment among ourselves.
Nowadays, I would see him on Facebook often. His memory has been etched in my mind now, most particularly the time when he showed up in the funeral of my late father, whom he knew personally. I was then already involved seriously with another partner. I think I managed to introduce them together. I just don't know what my partner then was thinking after the introduction I made. I guess, I could not guess that correctly anymore.
Having been away from the Philippines for over 6 years now, I don't know if this particular movie theater still exists somewhere in Manila as of this writing. It's standing right in front of this well known old restaurant called 'Ambos Mundos' in Sta Cruz, Manila, which I believe is along an old street called Oroquieta that runs parallel to Rizal Avenue where the LRT passes by before it crosses over the Pasig Rvier. Based on the details I would notice inside, the movie theater must have been one of the best looking theatres on its heydays but it has been in its rundown state by the time I discovered it in one of my innumerable sojourns in Manila and had since then started watching so many Tagalog movies inside, which were billed as double so you get to watch 2 movies at a price of one. Not a bad deal for someone with so little spare money for entertainment, and the deal becomes better as you get the chance to cruise around and play with fellows who may get attracted to you or those you would find interesting and attractive. Couples would make it while seated, or even in the bathroom. In the darkness inside the theater that was just lighted by the shadows cast off by the huge and already dust-covered screen, I saw all imaginable positions being performed by those who willingly played before my eyes; I remember seeing straight couples as well every now and then. And I also knew some families, most probably those of the workers in the theatre, live in one or two of the small rooms built-in into the theater.
This is not the same theater many of us regular patrons would call 'Perlas' or the Tagalog translation of the word 'pearl,' which was grittier and easier to find as the building stands on the main road, Rizal Avenue. This is another of those run down theatres where I would see more flagrant and more shocking activities done among men who would get together to enjoy and have fun in each other's lovingly extended arms and playful hands.
Why I remember this theater, despite its physical ugliness, is mainly because of the many encounters I had here with different men who would seek out the company of other men to relieve whatever ails them sexually or probably emotionally. And one time, I met someone here who would become a lover for some time, and whom I would meet many years after in a different run-down movie theater in another part of Sta Cruz, Manila, but had since then been looking disheveled, older, and with one or two of his front teeth gone and not yet replaced. He would still recognize me but I would barely recognize him, which was unusual of me as I would always remember those who have been involved with me, one way or another. I heard his voice as he approached me while I was seated on the bench with faux leather in the dirty lobby of the balcony of that other theater.
We met in the first theater where I remember seeing him in his tucked-in shirt in denim pants and looking neat, cute and sexy. He's small in stature but you'd notice right away his bright, almond shaped eyes with long lashes and lips covered with light mustache. I never realized how hairy he was until we were together in a room that we hired for our first intimate encounter. We didn't stay much longer in the theater as soon as we met each other as the place was scalding hot and a lot of people were milling around us, probably hoping they could play with us, too.
I was soon penetrating him, which I continued as I stood over the bed and walked around the room, with him in his position where his legs were wrapped around my buttocks. I continued thrusting. And we continued kissing so longingly and warmly. Those were memorable kisses.
Afterwhich event, we hastily moved out of that rented space, which was around 3 blocks away from the theater. It's another very cheap looking motel, which the owners make money from, largely by renting the dirty looking rooms to people like us who need to keep what is left of our privacy while we're engaged in intimate acts we normally can't show to others. We would walk to Quezon Boulevard in Quiapo, the neighborhood next to Sta Cruz, where we took a jeep going to the Welcome Rotunda that stands along the border of Quezon City and Manila. I encouraged him to have a very tasty meat-based meal in a favorite foodstand where jeepney and taxi drivers would quickly have their meals. I totally enjoyed it, myself, as I had in the many previous times I was there.
The next time we were talking on the phone, he said he had a bad stomach from having that meal; I promised not to bring him there anymore. A few days after, he had to go back to the Middle East where he was then working. He would tell me of the many times that he almost got raped by Middle Eastern men who thought Filipino men are actually women in men's clothes. He came back again after a few months and we would meet and get to know each other better and become closer to each other's hearts. Soon, we became lovers and we would send each other snail mail for at least two or three years.
And he would proceed to marry a woman with whom during his honeymoon period, he would be calling me on the phone long distance. I wanted him to enjoy his honeymoon. And I couldn't believe it that he'd call me while being with his new bride. Another friend would tease me when I told him about it---it meant I was the one in mind of this fellow all along even if he was already married. I didn't really understand nor appreciate the meaning, for whatever reason it was that motivated him to call me while he's on his honeymoon.
His family, particularly his ageing mother, was happy to see him getting married. I know I heard from him one time that his mom knew about his previous long term relationship with someone who was a college teacher in one of the public universities along Taft Avenue, near the City Hall. But for some reason, they parted ways after some time. I would become his next long term lover, and we shared memories, mostly of the sexual variety to my recollection. I also knew that he contacted my Mom while they were both working in Saudi Arabia; my Mom was curious who he was in my life. I won't be able to explain myself to her, I would recall. How do you explain to your Mom that the one who called her from nowhere in a strange, middle eastern country, was actually her son's current lover (and who could have been her son-in-law if marriages among those of the same sex had been legal in the Philippines).
But he's a warm, loving in his own ways, thoughtful, sweet person who taught himself to love someone like me who's adventurous, bullheaded, arrogant, and temperamental. I was still in the process of discovering myself along these encounters. Those intimate encounters we had were tempestuous yet we complemented each other's bodies; he's among those few I met who I deeply really cared about and actually enjoyed having me inside of him. Being abroad and most probably lonely most times, he's the one who would often write me handwritten letters with his latest photos attached, some of which had been very revealing. I would imagine him making it up with a lot of lusty-looking Middle Eastern men, but I didn't have the gall to ask and confront him about the truth being previewed in my youthful and jealousy-wrought imagination. I just didn't know how to cope with the long distance relationship then in place between us, and we were then both young, goodlooking and proud, which probably gave us so many other opportunities to date and hang-out with other people in and out our respective networks.
Somehow, his marriage floundered. His wife would be the one to stay and work in the Middle East. He would soon be tasked to take care of their son, so he stayed in the Philippines. Domestic issues in their marriage crept in. I saw the toll on his face. But he then had a new lover and they even brought me to the place where they live. It's in the middle of a squatters community somewhere in Manila. A lot of the houses are in concrete, and they show the growing affluence of their owners who have relatives abroad who would send money back to the Philippines and gradually improve their respective economic standing in the local neighborhood. They've got very similar narratives with other families I know personally. But in contrast, my friend and his lover live in a very humble, pock-marked house where they would work together to build a cooked food retailing business, sold on cash basis. Somehow, the earnings had been sustaining them, it seemed to me as I continued observing their situation as we got drunk and shared merriment among ourselves.
Nowadays, I would see him on Facebook often. His memory has been etched in my mind now, most particularly the time when he showed up in the funeral of my late father, whom he knew personally. I was then already involved seriously with another partner. I think I managed to introduce them together. I just don't know what my partner then was thinking after the introduction I made. I guess, I could not guess that correctly anymore.
Some Cruising Mini-Adventures in Central Park's The Rambles
My first book is now available in hardcover, paperback, e-book formats from my online store, Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, Xlibris.com, Powell's Books, and other online stores.
I don't know how I discovered this particular area in Manhattan's Central Park but I knew right away that something seriously sexual happens in the said location. Admittedly, I've had several encounters there but I haven't been in the area as often as I used to cruise most actively back in Intramuros, Manila in the Philippines. I think it's the age factor and the idea that it's not really new to me as it used to be when I was back in the Philippines. And I would proudly tell about this discovery to another good friend who's now also based in New York City (NYC) and has since then introduced the location to some of his choiced friends.
Actually, I'm also proud that my loads of experience in cruising back in the Philippines would help me make it with other men who are on the look out for other men mainly for sex in public spaces here in NYC. I've seen similar scenes in Los Angeles a few days after I arrived from the Philippines; a new found friend brought me to a park, which has a space turned into something like an elevated man-made lake surrounded with trees and designed to collect water for use during long dry summer months. I saw some really serious scenes there among men who would openly do everything they have in mind under the very bright glare of the sun. Some of them were, needless to say, really goodlooking and interesting. I could only watch in silence, loaded with envy and would get so physically hungry.
At the Rambles, I've had a few experiences, and I could even remember all of them. I've not been that back as often as I wanted to; Central Park's mainly designed for activities other than cruising. And I assume some would think I'm committing something sacrilegious by thinking and using Central Park for more earthly, passion-driven basic activities. But the park, on the overall, is basically designed as well to meet and have fun with people, even for a few, furtive, secretive moments, which I've learned would happen openly even with the efforts of the cops and other concerned citizens to control such activities. It can't be denied that there's a market for such activities to happen in Central Park, although I know nothing commercial of the sexual variety happens there.
I recall making it with a black guy whose father was a black German in Nazi Germany and who married another black woman from the US. Before our meeting, I never had an idea that there were Black Germans as I recall blond headed people from movies I saw about Nazi Germany. This black guy and myself would end up being together after kissing each other and in finishing our scene together in front of the Bethesda Fountain that very late evening. I even saw a wild raccoon stepping out for some time and standing beside us as we were working on our steamy poses. And I knew I was scared as any time the guards would be showing up. Not surprisingly, he's among the most endowed fellows I've met so far, which size I don't particularly remember because I focused much on the passion I felt from him while we were kissing for so long, such that we decided we had to finish the act by making sure both of us would come.
And I would still recall with some fondness over making it with a very blond medium height, goodlooking guy with a bit of a tummy and who works as an airline purser. It was summer and he was in his shorts, white undershirt and flip flops as he explained he walked all the way from his Upper West Side apartment to the Rambles. He happened to work with someone I knew and he would even share me some gossip about this guy, who happens to be another interesting blond fellow who's a Mormon and was happy about his life here in NYC. It was embarrassing learning about those things from him as we proceeded to do what we wanted from each other. I was happy making it out with him. I was wondering why he seemed not to be sweating at all, as if he's got no sweat glands, which observation is something that can not be said about me as I'm a huge sweat-er as a person as long as I could remember. I was sure I would be sweating profusely if I was in his position, especially with those actions we were doing to each other.
And I would recall making it the first time I ever did cruising at the Rambles with someone of big build, 70's-style mustachioed on his doe-eyed brown face, who's a Latino blue-collar-worker-type guy who spoke Spanish to me, as soon as he set his eyes on me. As I would soon discover, he was really fun to be with during that particular afternoon encounter while I could hear some water droplets dripping continuously somewhere. As I was working on him, I looked up at him to see his facial reactions. I was surprised to see he's been knitting something with both his hands. Upon being asked, he explained that he was making a sweater for the coming winter months. I could only smile to myself as I walked away after thanking him for that particularly unique encounter.
I don't know how I discovered this particular area in Manhattan's Central Park but I knew right away that something seriously sexual happens in the said location. Admittedly, I've had several encounters there but I haven't been in the area as often as I used to cruise most actively back in Intramuros, Manila in the Philippines. I think it's the age factor and the idea that it's not really new to me as it used to be when I was back in the Philippines. And I would proudly tell about this discovery to another good friend who's now also based in New York City (NYC) and has since then introduced the location to some of his choiced friends.
Actually, I'm also proud that my loads of experience in cruising back in the Philippines would help me make it with other men who are on the look out for other men mainly for sex in public spaces here in NYC. I've seen similar scenes in Los Angeles a few days after I arrived from the Philippines; a new found friend brought me to a park, which has a space turned into something like an elevated man-made lake surrounded with trees and designed to collect water for use during long dry summer months. I saw some really serious scenes there among men who would openly do everything they have in mind under the very bright glare of the sun. Some of them were, needless to say, really goodlooking and interesting. I could only watch in silence, loaded with envy and would get so physically hungry.
At the Rambles, I've had a few experiences, and I could even remember all of them. I've not been that back as often as I wanted to; Central Park's mainly designed for activities other than cruising. And I assume some would think I'm committing something sacrilegious by thinking and using Central Park for more earthly, passion-driven basic activities. But the park, on the overall, is basically designed as well to meet and have fun with people, even for a few, furtive, secretive moments, which I've learned would happen openly even with the efforts of the cops and other concerned citizens to control such activities. It can't be denied that there's a market for such activities to happen in Central Park, although I know nothing commercial of the sexual variety happens there.
I recall making it with a black guy whose father was a black German in Nazi Germany and who married another black woman from the US. Before our meeting, I never had an idea that there were Black Germans as I recall blond headed people from movies I saw about Nazi Germany. This black guy and myself would end up being together after kissing each other and in finishing our scene together in front of the Bethesda Fountain that very late evening. I even saw a wild raccoon stepping out for some time and standing beside us as we were working on our steamy poses. And I knew I was scared as any time the guards would be showing up. Not surprisingly, he's among the most endowed fellows I've met so far, which size I don't particularly remember because I focused much on the passion I felt from him while we were kissing for so long, such that we decided we had to finish the act by making sure both of us would come.
And I would still recall with some fondness over making it with a very blond medium height, goodlooking guy with a bit of a tummy and who works as an airline purser. It was summer and he was in his shorts, white undershirt and flip flops as he explained he walked all the way from his Upper West Side apartment to the Rambles. He happened to work with someone I knew and he would even share me some gossip about this guy, who happens to be another interesting blond fellow who's a Mormon and was happy about his life here in NYC. It was embarrassing learning about those things from him as we proceeded to do what we wanted from each other. I was happy making it out with him. I was wondering why he seemed not to be sweating at all, as if he's got no sweat glands, which observation is something that can not be said about me as I'm a huge sweat-er as a person as long as I could remember. I was sure I would be sweating profusely if I was in his position, especially with those actions we were doing to each other.
And I would recall making it the first time I ever did cruising at the Rambles with someone of big build, 70's-style mustachioed on his doe-eyed brown face, who's a Latino blue-collar-worker-type guy who spoke Spanish to me, as soon as he set his eyes on me. As I would soon discover, he was really fun to be with during that particular afternoon encounter while I could hear some water droplets dripping continuously somewhere. As I was working on him, I looked up at him to see his facial reactions. I was surprised to see he's been knitting something with both his hands. Upon being asked, he explained that he was making a sweater for the coming winter months. I could only smile to myself as I walked away after thanking him for that particularly unique encounter.
This Thing Called 'Falling For Older Men'
My first book is now available in hardcover, paperback, e-book formats from my online store, Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, Xlibris.com, Powell's Books, and other online stores.
Even before I would care to recall some of the more interesting of my encounters, I've always preferred the company of older men. And some of them have been involved with me in more intimate ways than the usual. This, being another confessional posting again, will focus on one particular older guy who has been more of a real, good friend to me since we met each other over a year ago in a dance. I think it's the sexiness of the idea of making it with a conservative Jewish guy that has made me seriously pursue this friendship. I knew it from start that he was attracted to me but I was sending him a lot of confusing signals, so the seduction couldn't proceed until we were together in his old apartment in SoHo one time. And I was mesmerized by the connection we had the first time. We would then make use of a lot of reasons to be together, most especially those involving my efforts to build an online business. He's been supporting my efforts mainly by providing for items that would be included in my inventory, and which I've been marketing and selling successfully as I continue growing my online retail business.
In the meantime, we have planned to meet and engage in activities that were decidedly erotic, activities that only two like minded individuals would understand. Readers and viewers can only get glimpses on what exactly happens when two individuals who like each other decide to meet. again and again. We still continue to meet up even if we are not in touch for weeks. I would refer to this particular guy as one of those other parties one time when I had a spat with another really nice fellow with whom I keep an ongoing open relationship, when I said: "I would have you in mind even if I'm having sex with other guys, because I've been missing you." Such a statement sounds irresponsible and stupid but I was being honest and truthful. It also says that I'm grateful that I'm able to continue liking and loving several individuals practically all at the same time. Note, too, that this particular guy has his own long term partner, whom I know he loves dearly; I've heard him say many times that he loves his partner and which I like to believe. And I understand really what he has and able to share with other individuals who truly love him as to who he really is as a unique person.
And I would recall one time in a dance event how he said he loved me, which I heard him say in between certain dance steps we were making during that night. I knew he meant it and I have loved recalling the memory every chance I have. I knew he was being generous and I've been happy receiving the kind of great love he has for me.
I know we will still meet one of these days. We've grown to know each other that well, I like to believe. His generation is really more similar to those who grew up as adults in the 70s in New York City. He's among the pioneers who did a lot of work making sure the generation of men today would lead relatively manageable lifestyles especially when it comes to facing bravely their respective personas as being gay or bisexual individuals. I see from him how those guys before me have led their sexual lives with themselves and their varied partners; I get a taste of that whenever I'm with him.
I asked him if it's OK if I write about our meetings; he said the idea didn't really bother him as he knows I'm a writer. He would even want to offer and share more, the sense of such an idea I get from him when we're together. He's really a wellspring of grace and kindness, just like all the other individuals I've met and have had the honor to deal with in the many areas of my life. And we would talk about a lot of other topics, including religion, philosophy, art, business, music, human relationships, dance. And that's why probably I continue to get attracted to older men, which can be shocking to some readers and viewers as the world's basically focused on highlighting youthfulness and those related to the young.
Even before I would care to recall some of the more interesting of my encounters, I've always preferred the company of older men. And some of them have been involved with me in more intimate ways than the usual. This, being another confessional posting again, will focus on one particular older guy who has been more of a real, good friend to me since we met each other over a year ago in a dance. I think it's the sexiness of the idea of making it with a conservative Jewish guy that has made me seriously pursue this friendship. I knew it from start that he was attracted to me but I was sending him a lot of confusing signals, so the seduction couldn't proceed until we were together in his old apartment in SoHo one time. And I was mesmerized by the connection we had the first time. We would then make use of a lot of reasons to be together, most especially those involving my efforts to build an online business. He's been supporting my efforts mainly by providing for items that would be included in my inventory, and which I've been marketing and selling successfully as I continue growing my online retail business.
In the meantime, we have planned to meet and engage in activities that were decidedly erotic, activities that only two like minded individuals would understand. Readers and viewers can only get glimpses on what exactly happens when two individuals who like each other decide to meet. again and again. We still continue to meet up even if we are not in touch for weeks. I would refer to this particular guy as one of those other parties one time when I had a spat with another really nice fellow with whom I keep an ongoing open relationship, when I said: "I would have you in mind even if I'm having sex with other guys, because I've been missing you." Such a statement sounds irresponsible and stupid but I was being honest and truthful. It also says that I'm grateful that I'm able to continue liking and loving several individuals practically all at the same time. Note, too, that this particular guy has his own long term partner, whom I know he loves dearly; I've heard him say many times that he loves his partner and which I like to believe. And I understand really what he has and able to share with other individuals who truly love him as to who he really is as a unique person.
And I would recall one time in a dance event how he said he loved me, which I heard him say in between certain dance steps we were making during that night. I knew he meant it and I have loved recalling the memory every chance I have. I knew he was being generous and I've been happy receiving the kind of great love he has for me.
I know we will still meet one of these days. We've grown to know each other that well, I like to believe. His generation is really more similar to those who grew up as adults in the 70s in New York City. He's among the pioneers who did a lot of work making sure the generation of men today would lead relatively manageable lifestyles especially when it comes to facing bravely their respective personas as being gay or bisexual individuals. I see from him how those guys before me have led their sexual lives with themselves and their varied partners; I get a taste of that whenever I'm with him.
I asked him if it's OK if I write about our meetings; he said the idea didn't really bother him as he knows I'm a writer. He would even want to offer and share more, the sense of such an idea I get from him when we're together. He's really a wellspring of grace and kindness, just like all the other individuals I've met and have had the honor to deal with in the many areas of my life. And we would talk about a lot of other topics, including religion, philosophy, art, business, music, human relationships, dance. And that's why probably I continue to get attracted to older men, which can be shocking to some readers and viewers as the world's basically focused on highlighting youthfulness and those related to the young.
In Memory of A Very Dear Friend Who Was Murdered in His Quezon City Apartment
My first book is now available in hardcover, paperback, e-book formats from my online store, Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, Xlibris.com, Powell's Books, and other online stores.
These days, whenever I recall the memory of a very dear friend who was murdered in his Quezon City apartment, I would say a brief prayer and proceed to utter some lines like I was talking to myself, but which are actually lines I imagine I would have told him if he was still around. I terribly miss this good man, and I think he knows that. He'd make his presence felt one way or another; I come into terms now that I won't be able to share him stories of my daily life here in New York City (NYC) where I've moved close to 7 years ago. I would have gone out of my way to persuade and convince him to take the leap by giving up his very comfortable lifestyle back in the Philippines but decided I won't do it. I did exactly what I would have dreamed of telling him on what to do with his life direction and I have been continuing with the moving on process. And this posting should have been in my 'Moving On' blogs but I would be sharing explicit details that may be too frank and offensive to certain readers. And I think some relatives of this very good friend of mine, if ever they get to read this, will also be offended, one way or another. I've no harm nor malice against them; I just like to get my good friend's murder mystery be solved now.
In the Philippines, we usually refrain from bringing up the memory of someone who's greatly beloved in less than hallowed terms whenever we recall them, as we believe they've become saints and have to be held in utmost respect (especially because they can't be able to defend themselves). But I'll be taking the risk of being damned for doing this. This is my way to take action over my prayers to have my good friend's murder be solved and those persons involved in his murder be hailed to court and meted the correct amount of justice in due time. My point really is continue creating and sustaining awareness about this murder, which I know will be repeated again and again unless the perpetrators or the actual murderers are hailed to court and be given justice.
My good friend was murdered by someone he knew personally. It's obvious that he won't have let him into his apartment if he didn't know him personally; they're not mere acquaintances and they had met many times before. I hope I'm wrong with this but he could have been one of my good friend's regular lovers, some of whom I never got to meet because I moved here in NYC. Just like myself, my good friend loved variety. And as for someone who would show up to my friend's apartment, he'd have to figure out how to get into that semi-fortress-like apartment as my good friend made sure he would have to follow a particular process to unlock his apartment's doors just to let someone in. Unwittingly, he decided to let his murderer in.
I like to believe there was just a single murderer. And the murderer was also a thief; he took my friend's celfone, a number of clothes and other stuff. As a sign that he's more smarter than the usual murderer, he didn't take my friend's car, which was parked in front of the apartment. After much thinking I did over possible scenarios, I would venture into some hits and misses here to pinpoint possible murderers still in the lurk out there and are preparing to make the next kill. I like to believe that the murderer's a manly kind of a man, most probably with brown skin and well proportioned physique.
As to figuring out the motivations, I like to believe the murderer is someone who is very angry, which emotions he couldn't voice out loudly often enough, at goodlooking gay people who have been leading very successful lives in the context of being in Philippine society where poverty remains to be a common factor being experienced by many. It seems like it's a huge jarring contradiction that such goodlooking, well-off men would have so much in life in a sea of people who may have been leading miserable, poverty stricken (which we can only observe on the surface) but not necessarily sad lives. And these men would still prefer to have sex with other men, whenever they want it and they have the means to pay just to make it with other men. It's almost an insult for someone who has grown up in the Philippines to see that some people would behave like they're just taking so many things for granted. And someone like him would be simple minded enough to be encouraged to murder men who have sex with other men. He may have grown to be guilt ridden for some time for allowing himself to be seduced, to have enjoyed the pleasure and to have sex with such types of men and be paid for it (one way or another). Given his value system, he has to take revenge in an opportune time, which soon came to my good friend. I like to believe what happened to my friend has been the outcome of getting someone so envious and be so enraged that he had to step out and eventually kill, and in this case, my good friend.
My good friend would fit those descriptions to a 'T.' We had known each other way back in high school years and he's one of the best looking guys I've met and known. We would always be thought as lovers by strangers and other acquaintances who would meet us the first time. We behaved like we're that intimate with each other, and I like to believe we really cared for each other. I don't wonder really as to why people think of us in that manner; even one of my former girlfriends thought we were lovers but she would find out that she was mistaken. And I know why we couldn't be lovers because we have very similar tastes when it comes to the type of men we would love to meet up, seek after and get intimate with. And I supposed we were doing very similar activities when in bed with these men; we were never in bed together. I think my friend's too goodlooking for my taste, honestly.
And the murderer made sure he would not leave until he killed my friend. My friend most probably died a slow painful death. His face was lacerated on many sides and mangled, and even his eyes were plucked out (based on what I heard from another friend who saw him the next day lying dead on the kitchen floor close to the bathroom). It was a good decision during the funeral to accede to my friend's wishes (mentioned many times while he was still alive) to have the casket remain closed so his corpse won't be gawked at by people.
A number of reports on similar deaths have been made in the Philippines, and I could relate to you the stories of other people I know who have died in similar circumstances like those surrounding the grim death of my good friend. As we loved to drink and get crazy together, my good friend and I would be at many bars where we would learn from other sources about certain men who were known to us and had been murdered by unknown people. Gossip about these stories are very common. What's more common among these deaths is that these men, when they were still around, were known to be men who had sex with other men. You may label such a lifestyle the way you want. And there seems to be a disturbing silence cast over these deaths by certain members of Philippine society. Some of them are among the elite families of Philippine society, who I like to believe, prefer not to be exposed to shame and unnecessary spin of intrigues that some may think about when they learn about such stories. Most continue with their usual lives being in denial on what happened to some of their loved ones, rather than bravely facing truths that would help them lead more significant lives.
Let's see how this murder would be solved, sooner or later.
These days, whenever I recall the memory of a very dear friend who was murdered in his Quezon City apartment, I would say a brief prayer and proceed to utter some lines like I was talking to myself, but which are actually lines I imagine I would have told him if he was still around. I terribly miss this good man, and I think he knows that. He'd make his presence felt one way or another; I come into terms now that I won't be able to share him stories of my daily life here in New York City (NYC) where I've moved close to 7 years ago. I would have gone out of my way to persuade and convince him to take the leap by giving up his very comfortable lifestyle back in the Philippines but decided I won't do it. I did exactly what I would have dreamed of telling him on what to do with his life direction and I have been continuing with the moving on process. And this posting should have been in my 'Moving On' blogs but I would be sharing explicit details that may be too frank and offensive to certain readers. And I think some relatives of this very good friend of mine, if ever they get to read this, will also be offended, one way or another. I've no harm nor malice against them; I just like to get my good friend's murder mystery be solved now.
In the Philippines, we usually refrain from bringing up the memory of someone who's greatly beloved in less than hallowed terms whenever we recall them, as we believe they've become saints and have to be held in utmost respect (especially because they can't be able to defend themselves). But I'll be taking the risk of being damned for doing this. This is my way to take action over my prayers to have my good friend's murder be solved and those persons involved in his murder be hailed to court and meted the correct amount of justice in due time. My point really is continue creating and sustaining awareness about this murder, which I know will be repeated again and again unless the perpetrators or the actual murderers are hailed to court and be given justice.
My good friend was murdered by someone he knew personally. It's obvious that he won't have let him into his apartment if he didn't know him personally; they're not mere acquaintances and they had met many times before. I hope I'm wrong with this but he could have been one of my good friend's regular lovers, some of whom I never got to meet because I moved here in NYC. Just like myself, my good friend loved variety. And as for someone who would show up to my friend's apartment, he'd have to figure out how to get into that semi-fortress-like apartment as my good friend made sure he would have to follow a particular process to unlock his apartment's doors just to let someone in. Unwittingly, he decided to let his murderer in.
I like to believe there was just a single murderer. And the murderer was also a thief; he took my friend's celfone, a number of clothes and other stuff. As a sign that he's more smarter than the usual murderer, he didn't take my friend's car, which was parked in front of the apartment. After much thinking I did over possible scenarios, I would venture into some hits and misses here to pinpoint possible murderers still in the lurk out there and are preparing to make the next kill. I like to believe that the murderer's a manly kind of a man, most probably with brown skin and well proportioned physique.
As to figuring out the motivations, I like to believe the murderer is someone who is very angry, which emotions he couldn't voice out loudly often enough, at goodlooking gay people who have been leading very successful lives in the context of being in Philippine society where poverty remains to be a common factor being experienced by many. It seems like it's a huge jarring contradiction that such goodlooking, well-off men would have so much in life in a sea of people who may have been leading miserable, poverty stricken (which we can only observe on the surface) but not necessarily sad lives. And these men would still prefer to have sex with other men, whenever they want it and they have the means to pay just to make it with other men. It's almost an insult for someone who has grown up in the Philippines to see that some people would behave like they're just taking so many things for granted. And someone like him would be simple minded enough to be encouraged to murder men who have sex with other men. He may have grown to be guilt ridden for some time for allowing himself to be seduced, to have enjoyed the pleasure and to have sex with such types of men and be paid for it (one way or another). Given his value system, he has to take revenge in an opportune time, which soon came to my good friend. I like to believe what happened to my friend has been the outcome of getting someone so envious and be so enraged that he had to step out and eventually kill, and in this case, my good friend.
My good friend would fit those descriptions to a 'T.' We had known each other way back in high school years and he's one of the best looking guys I've met and known. We would always be thought as lovers by strangers and other acquaintances who would meet us the first time. We behaved like we're that intimate with each other, and I like to believe we really cared for each other. I don't wonder really as to why people think of us in that manner; even one of my former girlfriends thought we were lovers but she would find out that she was mistaken. And I know why we couldn't be lovers because we have very similar tastes when it comes to the type of men we would love to meet up, seek after and get intimate with. And I supposed we were doing very similar activities when in bed with these men; we were never in bed together. I think my friend's too goodlooking for my taste, honestly.
And the murderer made sure he would not leave until he killed my friend. My friend most probably died a slow painful death. His face was lacerated on many sides and mangled, and even his eyes were plucked out (based on what I heard from another friend who saw him the next day lying dead on the kitchen floor close to the bathroom). It was a good decision during the funeral to accede to my friend's wishes (mentioned many times while he was still alive) to have the casket remain closed so his corpse won't be gawked at by people.
A number of reports on similar deaths have been made in the Philippines, and I could relate to you the stories of other people I know who have died in similar circumstances like those surrounding the grim death of my good friend. As we loved to drink and get crazy together, my good friend and I would be at many bars where we would learn from other sources about certain men who were known to us and had been murdered by unknown people. Gossip about these stories are very common. What's more common among these deaths is that these men, when they were still around, were known to be men who had sex with other men. You may label such a lifestyle the way you want. And there seems to be a disturbing silence cast over these deaths by certain members of Philippine society. Some of them are among the elite families of Philippine society, who I like to believe, prefer not to be exposed to shame and unnecessary spin of intrigues that some may think about when they learn about such stories. Most continue with their usual lives being in denial on what happened to some of their loved ones, rather than bravely facing truths that would help them lead more significant lives.
Let's see how this murder would be solved, sooner or later.
A Few Remarkable Nagoya, Japan Memories
My first book is now available in hardcover, paperback, e-book formats from my online store, Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, Xlibris.com, Powell's Books, and other online stores.
During a personal trip to Japan, I experienced the kind and generous hosting of other Filipinos whom I've never met before. I happened to have told another Philippine-based friend that I was planning a personal trip to Japan and was wondering who could host me as I wanted to save some of my money, which I expected to spend much in Japan---you know, Japan is among the most expensive places to visit on earth. And this friend volunteered to ask some of his good friends in Nagoya, Japan. These friends immediately agreed to host me, and would even go out of their way to pick me up from the airport. It was during this trip that I also took the chance to visit Tokyo and other locations where I was also graciously hosted in the houses of other set of friends whom I personally know back in the Philippines.
Among many wonderful memories, I will always secretly smile over those memories my friends made sure I experienced while having adult fun activities while in Japan, including those in Nagoya, a city that's not Tokyo nor Osaka in size but a respectable metropolis that's as interesting as any other major city in Japan. One set of memories involves having me visit a bathhouse, the other variety where men would show up in certain hours to make it with other men. Japan, apparently, has nothing much in terms of similarities when it comes to its approach in handling issues related to men having sex with other men. Its people are very frank and open about these matters, including those related to more usual lifestyles, although you'd still see the hush-hush attitude toward certain kinds of lifestyles. They are not surprised; it's just that most of them believe men and women have distinctive set of roles to play as responsible members of their relatively homogeneous society. Don't be surprised, but you'd be able to watch porn channels on TV anytime. But you won't be able to see the performers' genitals as they're usually blotched out for viewers not to see them (and you'll be able to see everything else). You'll blush if you're not used to such TV scenes available and easily accessible to anyone. They're just one of those normal things when you find yourself in Japan, which things include graphically shocking manga (comics) available everywhere.
And in Nagoya, I found myself during that trip being toured inside one of those bathhouses. I've been to several sento locations in Japan many times, which are very memorable places as well, but in this kind of bathhouse where I was given a tour by one of my hosts, men would go to meet their cravings for specific sexual needs. After walking on the ground and upper floors for some time, I would yield to what I would acknowledge as being part of the erotic image in my mind and I would remember making it with someone young, tall, thin and sexy, the type of whom some white men I've met would drool over. It was below freezing degrees outside but the degrees that crept in between that guy's body and my own would have been enough to hardboil an egg, so to speak (and just to give you an idea of how and what events go about in that particular bathhouse). And there were long moments of kissing and hugging, the details of which I'd love to recall vividly once in a while.
My friend, who was then already done with his own cruising, was already waiting for me in the lobby after I finished with my own and would have still wanted to venture for more but I recalled I had company waiting for me. I would just smile upon seeing him and was grateful that he waited for me. Men in that particular spot, just like in most bathhouses, like their men to be younger, and that seemed to be the rule. Thankfully, I was still younger then, and was rather confident with my looks. The whole scenario's a vanity exercise to learn from on how to engage in cruising and be accomplished in the end, and it's a strong reminder that we have to take good care of ourselves, most particularly our physical selves, in order to survive long in this kind of lifestyle. We would never know when the next chance will come, and so, we better be prepared.
During a personal trip to Japan, I experienced the kind and generous hosting of other Filipinos whom I've never met before. I happened to have told another Philippine-based friend that I was planning a personal trip to Japan and was wondering who could host me as I wanted to save some of my money, which I expected to spend much in Japan---you know, Japan is among the most expensive places to visit on earth. And this friend volunteered to ask some of his good friends in Nagoya, Japan. These friends immediately agreed to host me, and would even go out of their way to pick me up from the airport. It was during this trip that I also took the chance to visit Tokyo and other locations where I was also graciously hosted in the houses of other set of friends whom I personally know back in the Philippines.
Among many wonderful memories, I will always secretly smile over those memories my friends made sure I experienced while having adult fun activities while in Japan, including those in Nagoya, a city that's not Tokyo nor Osaka in size but a respectable metropolis that's as interesting as any other major city in Japan. One set of memories involves having me visit a bathhouse, the other variety where men would show up in certain hours to make it with other men. Japan, apparently, has nothing much in terms of similarities when it comes to its approach in handling issues related to men having sex with other men. Its people are very frank and open about these matters, including those related to more usual lifestyles, although you'd still see the hush-hush attitude toward certain kinds of lifestyles. They are not surprised; it's just that most of them believe men and women have distinctive set of roles to play as responsible members of their relatively homogeneous society. Don't be surprised, but you'd be able to watch porn channels on TV anytime. But you won't be able to see the performers' genitals as they're usually blotched out for viewers not to see them (and you'll be able to see everything else). You'll blush if you're not used to such TV scenes available and easily accessible to anyone. They're just one of those normal things when you find yourself in Japan, which things include graphically shocking manga (comics) available everywhere.
And in Nagoya, I found myself during that trip being toured inside one of those bathhouses. I've been to several sento locations in Japan many times, which are very memorable places as well, but in this kind of bathhouse where I was given a tour by one of my hosts, men would go to meet their cravings for specific sexual needs. After walking on the ground and upper floors for some time, I would yield to what I would acknowledge as being part of the erotic image in my mind and I would remember making it with someone young, tall, thin and sexy, the type of whom some white men I've met would drool over. It was below freezing degrees outside but the degrees that crept in between that guy's body and my own would have been enough to hardboil an egg, so to speak (and just to give you an idea of how and what events go about in that particular bathhouse). And there were long moments of kissing and hugging, the details of which I'd love to recall vividly once in a while.
My friend, who was then already done with his own cruising, was already waiting for me in the lobby after I finished with my own and would have still wanted to venture for more but I recalled I had company waiting for me. I would just smile upon seeing him and was grateful that he waited for me. Men in that particular spot, just like in most bathhouses, like their men to be younger, and that seemed to be the rule. Thankfully, I was still younger then, and was rather confident with my looks. The whole scenario's a vanity exercise to learn from on how to engage in cruising and be accomplished in the end, and it's a strong reminder that we have to take good care of ourselves, most particularly our physical selves, in order to survive long in this kind of lifestyle. We would never know when the next chance will come, and so, we better be prepared.
I'm Wondering If Cruising Still Takes Place in those Baguio City Cinemas
My first book is now available, in hardcover, paperback, e-book formats from my online store, Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, Xlibris.com, Powell's Books, and other online stores.
Years ago, I made a trip to Baguio City from where I used to live in Quezon City. Alone, I found myself checking out and researching on the cruising scene inside Baguio City's moviehouses. I started my cruise in a theatre on Session Road, where I went one time in a previous trip on my birthday to watch and weep over 'Good Will Hunting.' Finding nothing was happening there, I decided to check out and move to some other place. Actually, these movie houses are really cheap places offering 2 movies at the ticket price of one and where you can while your time away before going to your real, official destination in this city known as the 'Summer Capital of the Philippines.' Inside the theater, I noticed people would actually watch the movies being shown on screen. I was actively cruising inside one of those theaters whose name eludes me now; I heard about it from another good friend who already passed away at least 2 years ago as of this writing.
This movie theatre wasn't along Burnham Park, and if my memory serves me right, it's located somewhere near the Baguio Public Market. Getting a ticket for a seat in the balcony section, I would notice that the seats were all made of wood. The floor was also wooden and I realized that the whole place is made up of wood, except for its roof. I would soon find myself inside one of the bathroom stalls in the male bathroom (called 'CR,' as in 'comfort room' in Philippine local parlance). I would notice other guys staying longer than necessary in the urinals where they happened to be waiting for something more to happen. I positioned myself and would soon be exchanging meaningful glances with a light skinned, chink-y eyed youthful looking fellow with rosy cheeks. His medium built has made me think that he could be descended from among the local tribes. And he behaved like he knew what he wanted. After paying attention to each other, we would soon move inside one of the stalls and were talking to each other.
We agreed to move out of the smelly bathroom as soon as he agreed to join me in my rented room in a pre-war hotel, reputably haunted by ghosts as claimed by its customers, and built along the highway that I believe leads to the SM Baguio Shopping Mall. In my room, we were soon kissing, hugging, exploring each other's bodies. My good friend, who also told me about that theater where I met my companion right that moment, reminded me also of how he dislikes guys from the Mountain Provinces. Now, I would understand why. This guy's legs were speckled with scars from then healed small wounds; I suspect it's from certain unhygienic practices. They look clean from the outside as they're noticeably light-skinned (at least those whom I've dealt with). But I just kept my eyes closed and used my imagination more extensively to enjoy his company.
We would both come and would learn more about each other. As this experience happened so many years ago, I barely remember anything about the fellow, except that I was certain he was goodlooking and with a nice, bright smile. I was elated to have made it with him but I was troubled by the scars he had on his legs, which I didn't really have the heart to mention to him. Of course, he knew about them. I made sure I got into the shower as soon as we were done. I allowed the heat of the water to wash away whatever dirt I felt I got from him.
And I would remember we had a nice dinner together in one of those restaurants along Session Road. What happened between him and myself was not considered a commercial transaction, of which I was grateful. I won't still be able to remember more about him. I would say I enjoyed his company, and I think we exchanged contact numbers. I would never know if we actually contacted each other again. But I've grown more aware of the sexuality of men who are from Baguio City and the nearby communities.
I know from experience that men from the region are generally aware and open to the concept of men having sex with other men. They're among the sexiest fellows I've seen, especially when they're outfitted in their traditional garb that covers only their groin but has their butt cheeks exposed. I don't really care about their moral opinions about these behaviors. I would recall a news report about a man who filed a case against another man who sodomized him while both of them were drunk; I would never know whatever happened to that case. And I'm just aware, much more than I would even dare to share here, that men up there engage in intimate acts with other men. It's not only those who are considered natives; I recall having made it in a bathroom stall in a famous restaurant in Baguio City with a scion of a well-to-do family who have large swaths of real estate properties in the city. The last time I heard about him was that he got married and moved to Canada. But I would soon learn he's been divorced and has since been living in with a man.
Years ago, I made a trip to Baguio City from where I used to live in Quezon City. Alone, I found myself checking out and researching on the cruising scene inside Baguio City's moviehouses. I started my cruise in a theatre on Session Road, where I went one time in a previous trip on my birthday to watch and weep over 'Good Will Hunting.' Finding nothing was happening there, I decided to check out and move to some other place. Actually, these movie houses are really cheap places offering 2 movies at the ticket price of one and where you can while your time away before going to your real, official destination in this city known as the 'Summer Capital of the Philippines.' Inside the theater, I noticed people would actually watch the movies being shown on screen. I was actively cruising inside one of those theaters whose name eludes me now; I heard about it from another good friend who already passed away at least 2 years ago as of this writing.
This movie theatre wasn't along Burnham Park, and if my memory serves me right, it's located somewhere near the Baguio Public Market. Getting a ticket for a seat in the balcony section, I would notice that the seats were all made of wood. The floor was also wooden and I realized that the whole place is made up of wood, except for its roof. I would soon find myself inside one of the bathroom stalls in the male bathroom (called 'CR,' as in 'comfort room' in Philippine local parlance). I would notice other guys staying longer than necessary in the urinals where they happened to be waiting for something more to happen. I positioned myself and would soon be exchanging meaningful glances with a light skinned, chink-y eyed youthful looking fellow with rosy cheeks. His medium built has made me think that he could be descended from among the local tribes. And he behaved like he knew what he wanted. After paying attention to each other, we would soon move inside one of the stalls and were talking to each other.
We agreed to move out of the smelly bathroom as soon as he agreed to join me in my rented room in a pre-war hotel, reputably haunted by ghosts as claimed by its customers, and built along the highway that I believe leads to the SM Baguio Shopping Mall. In my room, we were soon kissing, hugging, exploring each other's bodies. My good friend, who also told me about that theater where I met my companion right that moment, reminded me also of how he dislikes guys from the Mountain Provinces. Now, I would understand why. This guy's legs were speckled with scars from then healed small wounds; I suspect it's from certain unhygienic practices. They look clean from the outside as they're noticeably light-skinned (at least those whom I've dealt with). But I just kept my eyes closed and used my imagination more extensively to enjoy his company.
We would both come and would learn more about each other. As this experience happened so many years ago, I barely remember anything about the fellow, except that I was certain he was goodlooking and with a nice, bright smile. I was elated to have made it with him but I was troubled by the scars he had on his legs, which I didn't really have the heart to mention to him. Of course, he knew about them. I made sure I got into the shower as soon as we were done. I allowed the heat of the water to wash away whatever dirt I felt I got from him.
And I would remember we had a nice dinner together in one of those restaurants along Session Road. What happened between him and myself was not considered a commercial transaction, of which I was grateful. I won't still be able to remember more about him. I would say I enjoyed his company, and I think we exchanged contact numbers. I would never know if we actually contacted each other again. But I've grown more aware of the sexuality of men who are from Baguio City and the nearby communities.
I know from experience that men from the region are generally aware and open to the concept of men having sex with other men. They're among the sexiest fellows I've seen, especially when they're outfitted in their traditional garb that covers only their groin but has their butt cheeks exposed. I don't really care about their moral opinions about these behaviors. I would recall a news report about a man who filed a case against another man who sodomized him while both of them were drunk; I would never know whatever happened to that case. And I'm just aware, much more than I would even dare to share here, that men up there engage in intimate acts with other men. It's not only those who are considered natives; I recall having made it in a bathroom stall in a famous restaurant in Baguio City with a scion of a well-to-do family who have large swaths of real estate properties in the city. The last time I heard about him was that he got married and moved to Canada. But I would soon learn he's been divorced and has since been living in with a man.
In Loving Memory of a Very Good Friend Who Regretfully Committed Suicide
My first book is now available, in hardcover, paperback, e-book formats from my online store, Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, Xlibris.com, Powell's Books, and other online stores.
We actually met in a nude massage session that used to happen for so many years in an old building almost along the corner of 6th Avenue and 23rd Street in Manhattan. As you would go up the building, you would pass by a gym that had events offering the Brazilian Capoeira to those enthusiastic participants. I would wonder if these fellows had an idea on what had been ongoing in the confines of the walls standing just next to their door. That massage event would usually be posted on Craigslist and I just followed my instincts as I sought out ways to meet up with interesting, unafraid people as soon as I came to stay for good here in New York City (NYC). A number of men showed up that particular night and some of whom created strong impressions on me as each of them, including myself, went about following the voiced out instructions from the organizer, who would demonstrate the various steps, on how to go about giving massages to the one on the massage table up to a certain period and the others would then get onto the table to be massaged. The process is repeated until every one gets massaged. I recall having massaged and gained more confidence in doing massages from at least 15 men that night; I knew I saw a lot of nakedness from among many men, including my own naked self, that night. I would soon find out that that night's session would be more memorable for some other reason. We were not allowed to do beyond massaging and explicitly told not to give happy endings. Everything was supposed to be sensual.
And with that night's massage session being over, I put on my clothes and went out of the building and quickly got into the subway to go home in Jackson Heights, Queens as the weather was cold that night. Inside the system, I saw one of those guys with whom I exchanged massages standing and waiting on the platform; it's not difficult not to miss him as he was lean and tall at 6'4" and was wearing his rimless eyeglasses on. I was soon chatting with him as I decided I would like to get to know him better. Thankfully, he recognized me and we were soon taking the same train going to Queens, which was the 'F,' and we soon surprised ourselves as we were headed to the same directions as we found out we lived one block away from each other. Thinking quickly, I invited him to my building, and suddenly we recognized the need to take action on the attraction that we had for each other. I explained that I live (then) with roommates and I let him in to my tiny bedroom. Nothing happened yet between us at that point. On our way out of my apartment, as it was already becoming late as both of us had to work the next day, we were soon kissing each other on the lips and kept on doing so warmly and intensely. We promised to keep in touch as we exchanged contact numbers. We also kept on kissing each other on the lips as we also groped each other's bodies while waiting for the elevator to come to our floor. It was quick but indeed memorable.
That meeting led to more meetings between us and we would go out to watch Broadway shows together. I would call him the next day and would leave a message, which he returned as soon as he was able to do so. In due time, I was happy being introduced to Broadway culture by someone who moved to NYC precisely to live well and be in the very center of American culture. He would tell me that when he was still a young boy, he pointed out most clearly to his parents that he wanted to move and live in NYC. A Juilliard graduate, he's a musical composer and was then working with a non-profit organization. I would never know why but I would recall having revealed a lot about myself to him, including other stuff that I would now hesitate to share to my closest friends.
With guilt feelings over what I still have in my heart for someone I had lived with for at least 8 years back in the Philippines, I stepped out of my scared feelings and sought out warm company from someone I definitely liked receiving it from. It wasn't difficult to become so involved with him as he's a willing and tireless listener and possessed such a kind hearted personality that I couldn't believe I would meet in NYC. I would just wonder, though, that it was difficult to reach him every now and then. And I had the pleasure of learning that he's from the MidWest and he would go out of his way to interpret and explain the quirks of US culture to someone like me who transplanted himself in the US East Coast. He didn't really explain much, but went out of his way to show me examples so I would better undertand and appreciate better the ins and outs of US culture. For example, we were watching a movie on 'All About Eve' and he would let me watch and note how one of the actors would laugh on screen over hearing that someone's from Wisconsin. I didn't really the get idea at once, but I would later understand the implication, especially because he's from that state.
We went as well to nude yoga sessions, which he introduced to me by way of his invites to me to the nude yoga studio so he would have a ready partner to do certain yoga asanas together. We were in the studio for some sessions, and I would soon be entralled by the benefits of yoga, which I continue to engage into up to the time of this writing. Actually, I would stop for some time in engaging in yoga after he passed on. For awhile, I could not help but recall that he was the one who introduced me to yoga.
Probably, he quickly had an idea that I was then really a tyro in the city. And that he had a Filipino lover before, with whom he was involved with for some time until this guy moved to another state to get married. He would describe the guy to be a young fellow, someone reared up by his grandmother, an attractive Asian man, doing work in the medical field, with problems on pimples on his face, and one who introduced him to Filipino sentimental music and language. Through this boyfriend, he would also be introduced to samples of Filipino food, including pancit and lumpia. He didn't really relish, though, those sweets made from rice flour, I would remember him telling me about what he thought of those food stuff. I knew that he had loved this guy, which knowledge I learned from several conversations with him. I don't think they had been in touch during the last few years of my good friend's life.
He's the first person whom I've known up close and personal who admitted to me that he happened to be a bipolar, and that had to undergo weekly sessions with his therapist. I was taken aback somewhat upon learning this. But I heard early on from my other friends that NYC's full of people who have raging, emotional troubles. I learned about this on him only after over a year of going out with him. Learning that fact about him, I would be able to explain to myself why he would be unreachable from time to time (as in he would not even take my calls, although we had an understanding that we're more than friends).
I think I would still see him in one of those last nude massage meetings in Manhattan before these meetings ended because the long time organizer could not find a reasonably priced location where he could move the event. I didn't really think much about us unexpectedly seeing each other in one of these sessions, although we had been dating each other more often by then. But looking back, I would get surprised by the thought that I should have learned early on and would come handy when it comes to dating with men who were born and raised here in the US. It's important to see this kind of situation from the eyes of an Asian guy like myself who was born and raised back in the Philippines. It would have been a major source of a fight and an exchange of hastily hurled accusations if such a scene happened back in the Philippines between friends who behaved like they've been together and had been intimate with each other. Were we not sufficient for each other's particular needs such that we would still need to go out and find other means to meet them somewhere? I would continue to learn and keep on seeking more learning many other explanations on the dynamics, among other things, of my relationship with him.
He had the chance to sleep one time in my apartment up in Inwood when he had to meet up with his young wards from his job at a nearby school to a weekend culture event, and where he would bring some of them to some places in and out of NYC. I don't recall if we went to bed and had sex that night but we definitely kissed each other before going to sleep as I had to catch my sleep for an early work the next day. I left the apartment before him and left him still in bed that weekend. He would profusely thank me for that as it saved him a lot of travel time from his place in Jackson Heights. Also, I would remember him bringing a busload of his noisy, young and undisciplined wards to Hersheys, Pennsylvania, as well as to Toronto, Canada. He worked hard so that his wards would have the best exposure to works and events on culture and the arts. I once attended an annual musical event that he organized in one of those auditoriums close to the Central Park, where I saw him first hand doing his work for those children who needed to be exposed to the kind of culture that members of the upper elite society of NYC would normally have.
We were together that last night when his much-beloved Mom would breathe her last after a debilitating illness. I recall we watched a Broadway show, and it was a winter night. I would receive a text message from him the next day that he had to rush and get into a flight back to Wisconsin to be with the remains of his Mom who died of cancer. For some months over a period of time, we would meet in his apartment where I would share him my thoughts and the accounts of my own experience from having a Father who died due to lung cancer, which was the same disease that his Mom had.
He would encourage me to move again to Jackson Heights to the same apartment where I used to live, after I told him that I was invited again by my old landlord to consider moving again to the said apartment. He expressed a certain kind of happiness over the possibility that we would be neighbors again, and that we didn't really have to deal about distance (even if most places here in NYC can be reached by public transportation). I would study seriously and would consider to agree to his request but eventually, I would decide to move to another part of the NYC, which was in Chinatown, mainly because I wanted to explore the opportunity that would come with it. I would never know now if he took it personally that I decided against his request.
Looking back, I would have wanted to be more closer to him but he must have deliberately kept distance, mainly because of his sickness, his daily job demands, and his other personal concerns. There would be periods when we won't get in touch with each other, but we would always find ways to catch up with each other whenever certain critical events would happen in our respective lives. I would definitely learn that he would also meet other guys thru online means; I even saw his profile from time to time whenever I would check what had been happening in those sites. We would go out to bars together, drinking and dancing. And I would kiss him on the lips tenderly, and I would recall now that he must have been wondering why I was behaving like I was telling him that we should be more exclusive to each other. I now know that I was being mistaken. We just simply understood each other, and had recognized each other's roles in our respective lives. I know he would tell his therapist about me, too. And I never had the chance to ask him what his therapist had thought about me. Every time I would visit him in his apartment (or every time he would invite me over), we would end up being in bed together, which was almost always wonderful to me. I do hope he had occasions when enjoyed himself as well being with me, which I like to believe he did, as he would come most of the time he and I went to bed together. His queen size bed had satiny-like and very dark-colored, it must have been deep rose in color, sheets, and we must had been in that bed a minimum of at least 30 times. I would particularly remember him on his bed while sleeping in that darkened room, where the form of his body would glisten mainly because of his really pale, white skin.
I would learn much later after he passed on that I was one of the very few people he knew and whom he invited over to his place. One of his sisters knew that I was her brother's boyfriend, which she asked me upon meeting me at the funeral. Except for his relatives or probably those he met online and he had gone to bed with, he never invited people or his other closest friends to visit him in his apartment.
I was the one who convinced him to create a Facebook profile, which he did one evening I was in his place. I gave him instructions on how to go about it; I noticed how surprised and annoyed he was over seeing very familiar faces on Facebook, some of whom he'd rather would not even even deal with in the first place. I didn't really want to ask why as it's not my business. This Facebook profile is the only link I have of him in my social network that still reminds me strongly of a lot of experiences we shared together; I would notice that his profile pic has been removed by someone (most probably upon learning of his death).
Now, I can relate some probable reasons that prompted him to commit suicide. What precipitated the event was the prospect of losing a job that he loved at his last employer. He probably couldn't stand being unemployed again, given the situation of the economy then. He was being asked to teach children, but he definitely would not want to do that, even if he was doing coaching gigs for certain students of music. His direct boss, who talked too much that annoyed him endlessly, threw him into the lions' den, so to speak. During budgeting time, his position was sacrificed so that a more efficient structure in their group would come about following ideas from top ranking officers of the non-profit organization where he worked when I met him. It was a few days after his birthday, which period I would recall brought about heavy rains in NYC, when I would learn he committed suicide from a member of his family who called me at home earlier that grim day to inquire of the last time when got to talk to each other. My friend, during the last few days of his life, was unreachable by me, except for a single text message he sent me in reply to my calls and text messages (which was really nothing new, as he would do that to me, every now and then) -- he promised to be in touch (and I'd known he had been in touch with me, in his own special way, even if I knew from him that he didn't really believe in the afterlife). But I would always appreciate he made sure we'd go out together last time prior to his death; we watched a nice film somewhere in Chelsea; we went to a dinner and ended up having some bottles of beer together in a leather bar somewhere in the same district. Strangely, I would recall now during that last night that we were together that he wore the mien of death on his face, which I inadvertently ignored (who would have thought he'd take his own life? and who would like that to happen to him?).
One of the last few times we went to bed together, he would give me a good rimming, which I only allowed after I had to excuse myself so I could clean that part of me below my stomach and so I won't get embarrassed, just in case. He asked, "Is it that bad?" as we had to break after we had indulged in drinks and food that he prepared himself. I wondered why I had to answer and decided not to respond as I stepped out from his huge lounge chair to excuse myself to the bathroom set next to the wall upon which the chair was placed. After going back, what followed and happened between us was certainly so memorable as I recall having to ask him to fuck me, which he did and he used his fingers to penetrate me.
We actually met in a nude massage session that used to happen for so many years in an old building almost along the corner of 6th Avenue and 23rd Street in Manhattan. As you would go up the building, you would pass by a gym that had events offering the Brazilian Capoeira to those enthusiastic participants. I would wonder if these fellows had an idea on what had been ongoing in the confines of the walls standing just next to their door. That massage event would usually be posted on Craigslist and I just followed my instincts as I sought out ways to meet up with interesting, unafraid people as soon as I came to stay for good here in New York City (NYC). A number of men showed up that particular night and some of whom created strong impressions on me as each of them, including myself, went about following the voiced out instructions from the organizer, who would demonstrate the various steps, on how to go about giving massages to the one on the massage table up to a certain period and the others would then get onto the table to be massaged. The process is repeated until every one gets massaged. I recall having massaged and gained more confidence in doing massages from at least 15 men that night; I knew I saw a lot of nakedness from among many men, including my own naked self, that night. I would soon find out that that night's session would be more memorable for some other reason. We were not allowed to do beyond massaging and explicitly told not to give happy endings. Everything was supposed to be sensual.
And with that night's massage session being over, I put on my clothes and went out of the building and quickly got into the subway to go home in Jackson Heights, Queens as the weather was cold that night. Inside the system, I saw one of those guys with whom I exchanged massages standing and waiting on the platform; it's not difficult not to miss him as he was lean and tall at 6'4" and was wearing his rimless eyeglasses on. I was soon chatting with him as I decided I would like to get to know him better. Thankfully, he recognized me and we were soon taking the same train going to Queens, which was the 'F,' and we soon surprised ourselves as we were headed to the same directions as we found out we lived one block away from each other. Thinking quickly, I invited him to my building, and suddenly we recognized the need to take action on the attraction that we had for each other. I explained that I live (then) with roommates and I let him in to my tiny bedroom. Nothing happened yet between us at that point. On our way out of my apartment, as it was already becoming late as both of us had to work the next day, we were soon kissing each other on the lips and kept on doing so warmly and intensely. We promised to keep in touch as we exchanged contact numbers. We also kept on kissing each other on the lips as we also groped each other's bodies while waiting for the elevator to come to our floor. It was quick but indeed memorable.
That meeting led to more meetings between us and we would go out to watch Broadway shows together. I would call him the next day and would leave a message, which he returned as soon as he was able to do so. In due time, I was happy being introduced to Broadway culture by someone who moved to NYC precisely to live well and be in the very center of American culture. He would tell me that when he was still a young boy, he pointed out most clearly to his parents that he wanted to move and live in NYC. A Juilliard graduate, he's a musical composer and was then working with a non-profit organization. I would never know why but I would recall having revealed a lot about myself to him, including other stuff that I would now hesitate to share to my closest friends.
With guilt feelings over what I still have in my heart for someone I had lived with for at least 8 years back in the Philippines, I stepped out of my scared feelings and sought out warm company from someone I definitely liked receiving it from. It wasn't difficult to become so involved with him as he's a willing and tireless listener and possessed such a kind hearted personality that I couldn't believe I would meet in NYC. I would just wonder, though, that it was difficult to reach him every now and then. And I had the pleasure of learning that he's from the MidWest and he would go out of his way to interpret and explain the quirks of US culture to someone like me who transplanted himself in the US East Coast. He didn't really explain much, but went out of his way to show me examples so I would better undertand and appreciate better the ins and outs of US culture. For example, we were watching a movie on 'All About Eve' and he would let me watch and note how one of the actors would laugh on screen over hearing that someone's from Wisconsin. I didn't really the get idea at once, but I would later understand the implication, especially because he's from that state.
We went as well to nude yoga sessions, which he introduced to me by way of his invites to me to the nude yoga studio so he would have a ready partner to do certain yoga asanas together. We were in the studio for some sessions, and I would soon be entralled by the benefits of yoga, which I continue to engage into up to the time of this writing. Actually, I would stop for some time in engaging in yoga after he passed on. For awhile, I could not help but recall that he was the one who introduced me to yoga.
Probably, he quickly had an idea that I was then really a tyro in the city. And that he had a Filipino lover before, with whom he was involved with for some time until this guy moved to another state to get married. He would describe the guy to be a young fellow, someone reared up by his grandmother, an attractive Asian man, doing work in the medical field, with problems on pimples on his face, and one who introduced him to Filipino sentimental music and language. Through this boyfriend, he would also be introduced to samples of Filipino food, including pancit and lumpia. He didn't really relish, though, those sweets made from rice flour, I would remember him telling me about what he thought of those food stuff. I knew that he had loved this guy, which knowledge I learned from several conversations with him. I don't think they had been in touch during the last few years of my good friend's life.
He's the first person whom I've known up close and personal who admitted to me that he happened to be a bipolar, and that had to undergo weekly sessions with his therapist. I was taken aback somewhat upon learning this. But I heard early on from my other friends that NYC's full of people who have raging, emotional troubles. I learned about this on him only after over a year of going out with him. Learning that fact about him, I would be able to explain to myself why he would be unreachable from time to time (as in he would not even take my calls, although we had an understanding that we're more than friends).
I think I would still see him in one of those last nude massage meetings in Manhattan before these meetings ended because the long time organizer could not find a reasonably priced location where he could move the event. I didn't really think much about us unexpectedly seeing each other in one of these sessions, although we had been dating each other more often by then. But looking back, I would get surprised by the thought that I should have learned early on and would come handy when it comes to dating with men who were born and raised here in the US. It's important to see this kind of situation from the eyes of an Asian guy like myself who was born and raised back in the Philippines. It would have been a major source of a fight and an exchange of hastily hurled accusations if such a scene happened back in the Philippines between friends who behaved like they've been together and had been intimate with each other. Were we not sufficient for each other's particular needs such that we would still need to go out and find other means to meet them somewhere? I would continue to learn and keep on seeking more learning many other explanations on the dynamics, among other things, of my relationship with him.
He had the chance to sleep one time in my apartment up in Inwood when he had to meet up with his young wards from his job at a nearby school to a weekend culture event, and where he would bring some of them to some places in and out of NYC. I don't recall if we went to bed and had sex that night but we definitely kissed each other before going to sleep as I had to catch my sleep for an early work the next day. I left the apartment before him and left him still in bed that weekend. He would profusely thank me for that as it saved him a lot of travel time from his place in Jackson Heights. Also, I would remember him bringing a busload of his noisy, young and undisciplined wards to Hersheys, Pennsylvania, as well as to Toronto, Canada. He worked hard so that his wards would have the best exposure to works and events on culture and the arts. I once attended an annual musical event that he organized in one of those auditoriums close to the Central Park, where I saw him first hand doing his work for those children who needed to be exposed to the kind of culture that members of the upper elite society of NYC would normally have.
We were together that last night when his much-beloved Mom would breathe her last after a debilitating illness. I recall we watched a Broadway show, and it was a winter night. I would receive a text message from him the next day that he had to rush and get into a flight back to Wisconsin to be with the remains of his Mom who died of cancer. For some months over a period of time, we would meet in his apartment where I would share him my thoughts and the accounts of my own experience from having a Father who died due to lung cancer, which was the same disease that his Mom had.
He would encourage me to move again to Jackson Heights to the same apartment where I used to live, after I told him that I was invited again by my old landlord to consider moving again to the said apartment. He expressed a certain kind of happiness over the possibility that we would be neighbors again, and that we didn't really have to deal about distance (even if most places here in NYC can be reached by public transportation). I would study seriously and would consider to agree to his request but eventually, I would decide to move to another part of the NYC, which was in Chinatown, mainly because I wanted to explore the opportunity that would come with it. I would never know now if he took it personally that I decided against his request.
Looking back, I would have wanted to be more closer to him but he must have deliberately kept distance, mainly because of his sickness, his daily job demands, and his other personal concerns. There would be periods when we won't get in touch with each other, but we would always find ways to catch up with each other whenever certain critical events would happen in our respective lives. I would definitely learn that he would also meet other guys thru online means; I even saw his profile from time to time whenever I would check what had been happening in those sites. We would go out to bars together, drinking and dancing. And I would kiss him on the lips tenderly, and I would recall now that he must have been wondering why I was behaving like I was telling him that we should be more exclusive to each other. I now know that I was being mistaken. We just simply understood each other, and had recognized each other's roles in our respective lives. I know he would tell his therapist about me, too. And I never had the chance to ask him what his therapist had thought about me. Every time I would visit him in his apartment (or every time he would invite me over), we would end up being in bed together, which was almost always wonderful to me. I do hope he had occasions when enjoyed himself as well being with me, which I like to believe he did, as he would come most of the time he and I went to bed together. His queen size bed had satiny-like and very dark-colored, it must have been deep rose in color, sheets, and we must had been in that bed a minimum of at least 30 times. I would particularly remember him on his bed while sleeping in that darkened room, where the form of his body would glisten mainly because of his really pale, white skin.
I would learn much later after he passed on that I was one of the very few people he knew and whom he invited over to his place. One of his sisters knew that I was her brother's boyfriend, which she asked me upon meeting me at the funeral. Except for his relatives or probably those he met online and he had gone to bed with, he never invited people or his other closest friends to visit him in his apartment.
I was the one who convinced him to create a Facebook profile, which he did one evening I was in his place. I gave him instructions on how to go about it; I noticed how surprised and annoyed he was over seeing very familiar faces on Facebook, some of whom he'd rather would not even even deal with in the first place. I didn't really want to ask why as it's not my business. This Facebook profile is the only link I have of him in my social network that still reminds me strongly of a lot of experiences we shared together; I would notice that his profile pic has been removed by someone (most probably upon learning of his death).
Now, I can relate some probable reasons that prompted him to commit suicide. What precipitated the event was the prospect of losing a job that he loved at his last employer. He probably couldn't stand being unemployed again, given the situation of the economy then. He was being asked to teach children, but he definitely would not want to do that, even if he was doing coaching gigs for certain students of music. His direct boss, who talked too much that annoyed him endlessly, threw him into the lions' den, so to speak. During budgeting time, his position was sacrificed so that a more efficient structure in their group would come about following ideas from top ranking officers of the non-profit organization where he worked when I met him. It was a few days after his birthday, which period I would recall brought about heavy rains in NYC, when I would learn he committed suicide from a member of his family who called me at home earlier that grim day to inquire of the last time when got to talk to each other. My friend, during the last few days of his life, was unreachable by me, except for a single text message he sent me in reply to my calls and text messages (which was really nothing new, as he would do that to me, every now and then) -- he promised to be in touch (and I'd known he had been in touch with me, in his own special way, even if I knew from him that he didn't really believe in the afterlife). But I would always appreciate he made sure we'd go out together last time prior to his death; we watched a nice film somewhere in Chelsea; we went to a dinner and ended up having some bottles of beer together in a leather bar somewhere in the same district. Strangely, I would recall now during that last night that we were together that he wore the mien of death on his face, which I inadvertently ignored (who would have thought he'd take his own life? and who would like that to happen to him?).
One of the last few times we went to bed together, he would give me a good rimming, which I only allowed after I had to excuse myself so I could clean that part of me below my stomach and so I won't get embarrassed, just in case. He asked, "Is it that bad?" as we had to break after we had indulged in drinks and food that he prepared himself. I wondered why I had to answer and decided not to respond as I stepped out from his huge lounge chair to excuse myself to the bathroom set next to the wall upon which the chair was placed. After going back, what followed and happened between us was certainly so memorable as I recall having to ask him to fuck me, which he did and he used his fingers to penetrate me.
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The Garden of Two Dragons Fucking by Jerusalino V. AraosMy review
rating: 5 of 5 starsremarkably illustrated, concise, and irreverent (not a porno book, whatsoever)!!! an old friend lent me a copy years ago, and have found it very fascinating. of course, part of the excitement of reading this book is it's "curious" title. it's actually a children's book, (would you believe?), by araos, a respected artist in the philippines. the title may be offensive to most adults who have concerns about "fucking," but i'd believe parents would become more authentic as "persons" (who get hurt, need to be loved, need to love as well, etc.) to their children, if they get to have them read this book. you may not need to explain the title, as there's really no need for it. its being "irreverent" is mainly because of the use of the word 'fucking' & nothing else. it's all about discovering your being you as a person, pursuing your dreams, and not that one person others may have in mind when they see you. i could not get hard copies of this book myself, so i kept a xeroxed copy of it in my library back in the philippines.
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