#30DayWritingChallenge: Something that happened in a car.

Day Twenty-Two: Something that happened in a car.

The world started spinning the moment I stood from my seat.

“Can I stay over at your place?” I asked the guy I just met. He was friends with my friends and I thought he was trustworthy. Cute and trustworthy.

It didn’t help, the short walk to the roadway. Every step felt like a tumble and I begun feeling like my stomach was starting to protest.

It wasn’t the only one. I vaguely remembered one of our companions complaining. He wanted to be with the guy. How did I ever get so lucky?

The cab driver might have had misgivings if he should let us in. His instincts were right, of course, but he still agreed to bring us to Pasig.

I can’t remember what the ride was like, now. It was probably awkward and quiet. I wouldn’t trust myself talking while trying to hold my beer down. The world was hazy and my eyes couldn’t focus.

It happened when the cab was about a hundred meters from the guy’s place, like a bad sitcom sequence. That point where I could have waited just another minute and things would not have been as embarrassing. I threw up.

No one throws up with dignity. One can hope that he can at least open the cab window and let puke fall out to the street. I didn’t do that.

Damn manual car windows. I barfed while the window was still halfway open with some vomit falling on the cab floor. The driver should have listened to his instincts.

At least I didn’t puke on the guy. He wouldn’t have slept with me if I did.

#30DayWritingChallenge: A kiss.

Day Six: A kiss.

We both knew it was doomed from the beginning.

She knew I was gay. She went to the gym with my ex. I knew a part of her hoped that I would return her affection. In hindsight, I was toying with her affection, knowing she enjoyed having me around like a boyfriend.

It was one night after her job in Makati. We went drinking and she had more than her usual. As drunk as a payday weekend. She was, by far, not a frail woman; but very drunk women traveling alone are still vulnerable. There was no question that I would accompany her home. I had accompanied her home before.

She knew I haven’t slept with a woman before. We teased each other often of the idea of sleeping together. “Soon,” we told each other in jest. We never had sex.

In that bus ride to Muntinlupa, she sobering up a little. By the time we reached the gate of the village where she lived, she could already walk well enough on her own.

As we often did, we held each other’s hands while walking. Occasionally, I rubbed the tips of my fingers against her trimmed nails. Sometimes she leaned on me and I placed one arm around her waist. We walked slowly and in silence.

A few hundred steps before we reached her house, she asked me to kiss her. I leaned down to her face in the dark street and kissed her for the first time. She kissed deeply and with passion, as fierce as I know how she is as a woman. We kissed until we had to catch our breaths. We started walking a few more steps and then, without prompting, we kissed each other again. We tried to compose ourselves by the time we reached the door of her family’s house.

It was a relief when that pseudo-affair ended, to be honest, when she met her then-future-husband some time after. Soon after they started dating, she would giddily tell me how good he was in bed.

Here’s the thing about kissing a girl: I missed feeling the gentle scratch from growing facial stubble.

A day described through unpublished tweets.

Several posts I sent to Tweetitow were not published yesterday and today. I guess their server is swamped again, so it can happen that tweets I sent yesterday will suddenly be published a week from now.

It surprises me, too, how I don’t feel bitter towards couples I see celebrating Valentines.

Must be because of growing older. I’m no longer bothered by some things I used to be bothered with. Seeing people openly displaying their love, not caring who can see, was heartwarming.

I had a late lunch with a friend in Eastwood and we were looking at them happy couples. One in particular were two guys whose elbows kept bumping as they walked close to each other. At one point, one guy was stroking the other’s nape. It was so cute.

Fuck! I accidentally dropped a steel liquor flask on several shot glasses. One glass very nearly fell on the floor! #klutz

I was inside a shop selling collectible memorabilia, waiting for another friend to arrive. I picked a flask covered with cling wrap to see how much it cost. It was somewhat sticking to another cling wrapped flask which I tried to unstick.

One of the flasks fell on the shot glasses displayed below.

“Fuck!” I shouted with horror when I saw that happen. The flask didn’t break anything, but one shot glass was shoved past the edge of the display rack. Good thing I was able to stop it from falling to the floor. Once everything was back in place, I very carefully moved away from that rack.

The liquor flask cost 1500 pesos.

That may have resolved several years of sexual tension. Or it may have not.

This requires a separate post.

My supposed follow-up tweet was: Just because you have the hots for each other doesn’t mean you have to end up as boyfriends. And that’s a good thing.

It’s been ages since I came home this drunk.

I even missed my bus stop and got off at Pasay Road. There were moments during the bus ride when I blacked out a little, I think.

And I woke up with a hangover. That hasn’t happened in a long time.