#30DayWritingChallenge: A strange phone call.

Day Four: A strange phone call.

There is this guy, he calls himself Gabriel. Every time I see him calling me, it means one thing: the guy is horny.

Often, I ignore his call. I might be doing something, or I just don’t feel like it. If I was busy but would still want to have some fun, I’d SMS: Busy right now. Call me in X minutes.

For most guys I had phone sex with (and most guys I sleep with), I can still engage them in conversation other than sex. We’d talk about work, complain about traffic, do small talk. It’s cool, doing that. It humanizes the other person, and I get to know them beyond moans and grunts we share while we are intimate with each other.

But not Gabriel.

The guy is always down to business. After we both came, he will end the call. No perfunctory “thanks, man” or “I’m gonna wash up first”. There aren’t even good-byes. We both came, phone sex is over, end of call.

Which is so different from how he is while we are on the phone. He’s wild and passionate and noisy. He likes it when I say his name, when I tell him I “love” him, when I say I won’t fuck anyone other than him.

Phone sex, being purely aural (pun not intended), requires a lot of imagination so both people can get off. Both participants should also be game in hamming things up for each other. I would say things I wouldn’t day out loud during actual sex because it helps build up a fantasy both the other guy and I can take part in.

Unlike actual sex where sometimes I wonder if the other guy was acting too enthusiastic because of porn fantasies, there is no need to wonder about it in phone sex. I already know the answer: We are. And that is okay because, most of the time and with guys I’ve had several sessions(?) before, I know we are both into it.

Phone sex SMS.

Lately, Gabriel has taken a liking into doing phone sex threesomes. He would call and get another guy conference with us and the three of us would get it off. So far, it is a different guy every time. How many guys does this dude regularly talk to? It was awkward, at first, but I am surprised how easy it was for me to get comfortable with it. It does break the illusion when he asks if he is the only guy I would fuck.

I used to wonder if I’ll ever get to meet Gabriel, if we will ever have sex for real. I doubt we will and maybe it is better that we won’t. He is sexier and more attractive as that disembodied voice urging me to mount him and ram him harder.

Beer under moonlight.

The entire conversation was obviously a way of stalling before sex.

We only knew each other through a few online conversations: greetings, perfunctory small talk, and mild flirting. We really didn’t know each other until we met in person.

“Kwento ka naman,” he told me as we started our beer.

“What do you want to know?” I asked him. “Magtanong ka.”

“You’re the host. You should be the one entertaining your guest.”

We are trying to out-smartass the other, in between sharing where we’ve been within the country and outside. He is, not surprisingly, more well-travelled than me.

He disliked my hair when I removed my bun.

“Bakit ka nagpapahaba ng buhok; hindi naman sa’yo bagay.”

I laughed it off. I was in a good mood. Otherwise, I would’ve told him to go home after we finished our beer.

We carefully avoided identifying where we work. The first time I asked him what his job was, he answered that he’s a janitor.

Eventually we felt comfortable enough to share more personal information. Or he did. Despite his insistence that I tell him about myself, he let me ask him about himself.

He had a wife. He has two kids with different moms. He first tried sleeping with men after he and his wife separated. He never had a boyfriend. He’s not yet ready for another relationship, but he’s open to settling with a guy if the guy was compatible with him.

No, I won’t be dating this guy. He’s brash, a little arrogant, a little too macho. But he also’s a bit of a softy inside. Not my type for a boyfriend. Until the end, he waited that I make the first move.

He kissed well and was not self-conscious about it. Oh well. I’ll forget his snide remarks.

This morning, I dreamt of meeting a woman.

I knew her, in that way you just know of how things are in a dream, as a classmate from high school. She did not look like my classmate in real life and she probably saw my disbelief. She acknowledged how she grew more attractive since high school.

“Especially after I got married,” she explained.

She was on the slim side, with a little post-childbirth fat. Her hair nearly reached her waist and her skin was a pleasant olive. She was wearing tank top and cut-off shorts. She looked like how women appeared in Tagalog bold movies. In hindsight, she probably was.

We were walking along some narrow, tree-lined alley, talking about how things are since we graduated from high school. We crossed a footbridge and came out in a small wet market.

Suddenly the dream switched to a different scene and the of us were in bed, having sex. Whoa. At that point, I woke up. I’ll spare my readers from the details; I don’t think I want to remember them myself.

Science, sex, and anti-radiation stickers.

I love books on popular science. They make scientific ideas accessible and less esoteric for laymen. Plus, they make for interesting casual reading for visitors in the apartment.

Last night, I passed by the discounted section of National Bookstore and I saw a hardcover copy of Mary Roach’s Bonk: the Curious Coupling of Science and Sex. The white dust jacket was grubby (which is why it was placed in the discount bin), but the book is otherwise undamaged. Best of all, it was on sale for only a hundred pesos — down from probably more than seven-hundred pesos originally.

I have not yet read beyond the foreword (yeah, I read those, too) but the book is a collection of summarized studies on sexual physiology written in a light and slightly humorous tone. It reminded me of another book I have, Mitchell Symons’ Where Do Nudists Keep Their Hankies? (… and Other Naughty Questions You Always Wanted Answered), an informal and funny attempt of a British journalist to answer often cheeky questions about sex. If Bonk is just as entertaining, it’ll be staying with me in the toilet as the book-to-read-while-taking-a-dump for the next couple of weeks.

Anti-radiation sticker from Korea

While I was paying for the book, I saw a newish product by the cashier: supposedly Korean-made 24-karat gold-plated anti-radiation stickers for mobile phones. There had been concern for the radiation emitted by mobile phones increasing the risk of cancer, and the World Health Organization recently stated that mobile phone radiation could increase cancer risk.

Given how fear could make people more gullible, it’s not surprising that an “anti-radiation” product for mobile phone comes out. Those stickers actually remind me of PowerBalance and how it was proven to be a scam earlier this year.

For fifty pesos per thumbnail-sized sticker, I find it difficult to believe those stickers actually contained any amount of gold. And while I’m not well-read on the physical properties of gold and nickel when it comes to stopping radiation, I’m skeptical of the claims this product promises. It reeks of pseudo-scientific bull droppings.

Some of the anti-radiation stickers sold in the US looked rather cute, though.