testosterone boy

stealing hearts and running off and never saying sorry.

Category: Enumerated Rants

Every lover known in comparison is a failure.

One night, not long after my ex who I thought I would someday marry (if it ever becomes legal in the Philippines), left me unexpectedly, after having dinner with a gorgeous but dull older guy, I booked an Uber car to my favorite gay bar in Ortigas. It was a rainy Saturday night, which made traffic worse in all of the major roads in the city.

Once there, I paid for my entrance fee and took my first bottle of flavored beer (yes, I’m ~that~ kind of gay). It was the usual crowd of gay guys in their best outfits—tank tops or tight-fitted shirts for the chiseled guys, sleeves or sweaters for the slimmer ones, plain tees for the “already attractive so it doesn’t matter what they wear” gentlemen, sparkly LBD for the transitioning or cross-dressers, and then there’s me, in a grey jacket over my bare scrawny body because I wanted to stay in between reserved and slutty—I am both, when needed.

I scanned the entire room, looking for familiar or gorgeous new faces to meet. That night I only saw few of both. (Sad.) But the former had me realized how small the gay community really is because all the familiar faces I saw there were my former dates and some I had casual sex with at least once (because I can be slutty too, as I’ve mentioned already).

I realized I date a lot. Maybe something is wrong with me. Or I’m just that slutty.

I went on a date with a guy I met on Hornet who left me on the hallways of Nectar (another gay bar in Manila) for most of the evening while he mingled and took shots from different tables and booths, which I took as rude so I went on a date with a fashion vlogger I met at an Italian restaurant who showed me where he edits his videos, but I was afraid to get involved with another social butterfly, and then I went on a Facebook date with a financial advisor who took me to a dinner so fancy it felt like a brag, and I imagined what it would be like to be with him every weekend, going to fancy restaurants where a plate of French fries costs my monthly Netflix subscription, but then I decided I was too young for all that. I also went on another Facebook date with a fresh grad who told me he couldn’t afford IMAX so we had our first date at his apartment and watched Kapuso Mo, Jessica Sojo, and for a moment I felt older than I had ever been before, though in fact I’m not even in my late 20’s yet. I went on dates with both older and younger guys.

When I went on dates with successful guys, I always knew what to say, but later I would complain to my friends about their privilege and the high likelihood that they have secret ecstasy or methamphetamine habits, because rich guys so often do. When I went on dates with guys who were less successful, I related to them too, that disturbing anxiety of never having enough in a city where everyone is struggling to have so much, but I would rule them out, telling my friends that I need someone more “accomplished.”

So, yeah. I date a lot.

I go on dates when I’m happy and when I am less happy. I go on dates to feel complete when I feel empty, and when I feel complete on my own, I go on dates, too. I go on dates even when I don’t want to, when I would have preferred to stay in and watch tv series on my phone or go out with my friends, because if I do not go on dates I might never find love, and I know that love is the highest calling if I want to be truly happy and contented with my life.

Maybe I date a lot because I don’t want to be alone in my new life as a single man, free from the shackles of a 5-year relationship. I know most people would say that after a break-up, the best thing to do is to focus on yourself and not date, which I find curious and interesting, because I don’t feel completely okay with not seeing anyone romantically or sexually.

Sometimes though, I must admit, that going on dates becomes exhausting and I feel tired and sick of it, especially after a bad one. But my internal monologue circles on the fact that I never like myself more than when I’m with a guy who likes me.

So if you ask me why I enjoy dating? I honestly don’t have a logical answer. I just do. I can only say though that a part of me knows that if I do it often and enough, then eventually I won’t have to do it anymore. But I can’t seem to get anyone to stick around, that is the problem. Or maybe I’m the one who never sticks around.

Sometimes it’s hard to tell.


And the sinking feeling starts.

You should have been here.

You should have shown up that weekend. I waited for you to message me and to pick up the phone when I called you up that Saturday afternoon, but hours passed and there was no response from you. I stayed in the entire evening, still waiting, as I comb back through my memory how you said you’d be here.

If you had showed up, it would have felt like all the stars in the sky had just aligned and I’m the luckiest guy in this world. But you never did.

On the next day, I spent most of the time in the shower in hopes that the cold water could at least numb me from the pain. There in the bathroom I let the water ran from the nozzle from my head down my body as tears streamed down my face, and I tried not to fall apart as I hopelessly cried, “He said he’d be here.”

Dad, you said you’d be here.
We were going to meet for the first time in forever. I was going to show you my favorite spots in Quezon City to hangout so you would get to know me more, and you were going to introduce me to my half siblings from your first family so I could feel to have a family again. And we would have spent the weekend as if it wasn’t going to end.

I honestly don’t know what happened. Everything seemed so perfect. What happened, dad?! Did I say something that put you off? Was I out of line? Was it because of the way I speak or the way I use punctuation marks in my text messages? Did I say something way too honest or too gay that made you run and hide? Because you said you’d be here. What changed your mind?!

Did you forget everything we had talked about? Did you forget how much I missed you? Did you miss the part when I said how immensely happy I am that we found each other? Didn’t you mean when you said you wanted to see me too? Didn’t you mean when you said you wanted to make up for the 24 years that you been gone? I thought you meant all those words. Now I’m not so sure.

I know people disappear and these things happen, but I remember how excited I was when you said we’re finally going to meet on the last weekend of April. Ten weeks now and I’m still reaching even though I know you’re not going to respond because I believed you when you said you’d be here.

You should have been here and I would have been so happy.

We are never ever getting back together.

In the beginning I was only curious to know you. There was that sense of urgency to try to give in to your hype and popularity. I knew I had to get my hands, my head, and my body on you. I was intrigued and fascinated and overwhelmed by how many people are so into you. You’re everyone’s cup of tea.

At first I thought it would be so cool to try something totally out of my comfort zone. Something different and wild and free.

I remember our first time like it was just yesterday. I was at a friend’s party, I had downed multiple shots of tequila, my head started to feel heavy and my vision blurry—that’s when we had gotten to start chatting. True enough, one thing led to another. It was fun! It was more than what I had expected it to be like.

We had several encounters since.

You have helped me in so many ways. I have learned to come into terms with my sexual desires because you introduced me to a lot of guys who wanted completely different things, whether it was in bed or in hanging out. You have allowed me to show the side of me that isn’t reserved or alienated to the kind of sex I only know how to do. I got to meet cool people through you, and those not-so cool ones too! You have helped me battle my fear of rejection because each time we had done it, it was effortlessly easy to get someone to like me without having to share my stories and without having to be vulnerable and open and careful. I was fearless. I was brave. I had everyone at the palm of my hands.

We have shared numerous exciting times! Like when you had me meet a gorgeous guy at Glorietta 3, only to have found out that he was neither gorgeous nor a guy lol. That was real shitty but funny at the same time!

I have known you for 4 years now and although you have greatly influenced my life on so many levels, parting time is here. We have to bid farewell to everything that we had shared in those years. Know that I will forever and always grateful to have found you, because life would have been more scary and dramatic had I not met you.

During those times when I didn’t have anyone to help me get through some shitty stuff, you were there to comfort me. When my room was getting too warm due to my excess body heat, you were always there to make it less stifling. You made me happy so effortlessly. I have always been alone; but with you by my side, I didn’t have to be lonely. You were the orange light at the end of my dark tunnel.

You have introduced me to different types of people I would have never met on this level in real life—


GRINDR, thank you.

As much as it is entertaining to keep you on my phone, the experiences we have shared veered me away from the reality I should have faced a long time ago—online dating is almost always never going to work or suffice to genuine happiness. At least not for me.

Today I am going to delete you from my device. I’m sure you will continue to service other gay guys throughout the globe, but it has gotten exhausting to me now. We are never ever getting back together.

Like ever.

Long handwritten note deep in my pocket.

People would almost always going to ask how my day went at work, or how am doing in general to start a conversation. My answer is always I am good/fine. Or at least I think I am because it’s what normal and sane people would say.

Work was fine. I had a client sat in my class to watch me play an irrelevant video using a terrible speaker. I knew I had to change it but 1. it was already playing and 2. I got too ashamed to stop and replace the video, so 3. I sucked it up and went on with it. It was awful. I. Was. Awful.

Also, I think all the shit everybody’s going through at the office will soon be just yesterday’s news. Eventually, things will pan out okay and people will be just fine, whether it be with the problems they face or practically the decisions they’ve made and battles they keep fighting for.

But you know, it is true that no matter how much you tell yourself ‘everything is gonna be okay’ and you tell everyone you are fine, the moment you lay on your bed is the time it’s gonna tell you otherwise. It all settles in. The disappointment that your father you had hope to see for the first time went AWOL, the sadness over people saying that you’re a bitch and they can’t live with that, the fake smiles you put to mask the pain, the reality of it all. All these cruel things you keep at bay suddenly crashes on the surface. You couldn’t control it.

However you try to pretend every day there is something to be happy about, deep inside you know something is not right. Nothing has ever been. Even the sincerest of laughs simply could not hide the fact that although you are okay outside, you are not fine at all inside.

When good things happen, you try so hard to hold on to it. And you do that, too, when certain people make you feel happy. You don’t want to lose that moment. You become determined not to let them go. Everything becomes like an amazing Christmas vacation that passes fleetingly. It makes you less sad and a little more alive than you ever were. You need it.

I need it.

Now if you ask me how am I doing? Ask me again tomorrow.

Looking for bottom. 

Earlier this week while scrolling (and bitching, per usual) through my Grindr feed, I stumbled upon I_F_U. It’s his Display Name. Of course his Profile Picture showed his abs and perfect v-line. You may have also figured he’s a Top. He is. 

What caught my though attention was his profile bio. It says: Uncut top. Blow job only. No kissing. Wow! That struck me as cold. As much as the inner bottom in me wanted to drop him a message or send him some of my Instagram-ready photos, I backed myself up because:

1. I’m also a Top. And judging by his short, narcissistic bio, he won’t be willing to go bottom. If you should know, I like a guy who’s not very tall but bigger than I am. I like the idea of him being able to toss me and pick me up easily and aggressively at the same time. But more importantly, I like someone who’s top-looking and beefy enough that I can top.

Topping a muscular guy is just hot. 

Imagine having Channing Tatum opening his legs for your entry. That’s heaven! I can never really put much interest in topping a femine dude much more versing with them or for them. I mean, it just doesn’t seem right to me. I’m slim and standing 5’8″ tall. I may as well carry a “Bottom here” cardboard with me in public. That is how society has typecasted gay men. I want to counter that. 

My kind of hookup or boyfriend is your typical gym rat. I enjoy topping them as much as bottoming for them. But I’m also picky, fyi. 

Which leads me to 2. If you wanna fvck me, make sure you’re up for kissing unless I specifically said otherwise. For hygiene and hypocrisy reasons, I understand kissing isn’t necessary. However if you show off, please have the decency to get the show going; and that includes kissing. 

3. When there is no mouth to mouth action, how can you expect someone to suck your uncut dick?! That’s BS. No offense to uncut dudes, but sucking you can be really surprising. My taste test is the kissing part. That’s when I can tell it is safe to get down on you. Also, that saves us time. 


If you could see me now. 

Whenever I see kids playing with their dads or friends talk about how much they love their fathers, that is when the hurting and longing strike me. I miss dad.

Although I never got to be with him or at least recall the times I had the chance, I still feel lonely when I think about him. I remember growing up how I tried so hard to make myself believe he’s going to come back, especially when my stepfather beats me up and my mother couldn’t do anything about it but cry.

He was supposed to be there. He should have picked me up and tucked me in during those crying moments. He should be embracing me tight. He should have been there telling me, “everything’s gonna be alright.” He wasn’t.

I grew up creating my idea of a father in my head, building this family in my imagination. The family where my mother didn’t have to be so scared of the beating and father who didn’t always have to be so cruel. It’s all I ever wanted and wished and hoped for.

I’m 22 now and it’s been about 4 years since I was forced to be on my own. I miss my momma’s cooking and the laughs I shared with my siblings. But most of all, I miss my dad. I never met him, yet in my gut I feel his love. I never for a second think that he stopped loving and caring about me. Though he was never present, in my heart I feel him. I keep holding on to when he is going to see me and finally be with me.

Perhaps from a distance.

Perhaps in my sleep.

Perhaps soon.

Dad, if he could see me now, you would be so proud of how I have become. I’m no longer just the 2-year-old kid you left in pursuit of some saloon meat or greener pasture. I am not a kid anymore, dad. I no longer cry. I no longer feel scared to get beaten up. I stopped allowing people to hurt me without fighting back. I’ve managed to learn the things you could have taught me growing up. I’ve grown to be tough and better and hopeful of many things.

Everything is alright, if you could see me now.

A car ride home with you.

As a kid I’ve always regarded that riding a car is this sort of emotional experience. It is just comfortable that you could feel anything you want to feel and nobody can stop you from experiencing it. 

I’ve never met my father growing up, and my stepfather and I never got along, so whenever he would pick me up from somewhere to take me home, I always think he’s taking me away from places I’d rather be. It’s as if somehow I’ve been forced to leave something behind. A part of myself maybe. 

I would spend the entire ride home kept turning around, watching my happiness disappear to the distance. It was all I could do to keep myself from jumping out of the backseat because at least I could turn my back to where I was supposed to be. 

It was like that for as long as I can remember, until one day when my mother and my stepdad had a huge fight because of me. After that March 17th of 2011, I gradually disappeared from our house. 

I have been on my own ever since. 

The hardships I had gone through being alone was terribly unimaginable for my age, but it was nothing like being with my stepfather. When I’d accepted that my mother needed to choose my other four siblings over me, I knew then it was going to be tough but I can’t let it get to me. I knew I had to be as strong as I could possibly be. Even it was very sad. Even I had to be cut off from my mother and little brothers and sisters. Even it was probably the most stupid and cruel thing you could ever do to a 17-year-old kid. 

The minute I’d finally gathered the strength to get out of the house, I took a good look at what I am about to miss. But I didn’t feel very lonely right there and then, because for the first time in my life I’m finally looking at the right direction. 

A lot has changed in me ever since. I guess the beating and scolding and unfair treatments my stepfather did to me only gave me the strength to carry on with life and to just keep going. 

So growing up, I’ve found that moving forward doesn’t always mean leaving something behind. It probably sounds very profound and it may take you a lot while before you could understand it, but one thing is clear: I can’t turn around anymore.