testosterone boy

sad, beautiful, tragic.

Tag: gay

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.


No, nothing good starts in a getaway car.


Of all the guys I had dated since my breakup with Erl, he was the youngest and most interested in me than anyone I’d ever been with. He was completely out of my standards but I was okay with it—at the time.

After a couple of bad dates, I thought maybe I should try someone different for a change. Someone who’s not in my usual roster. Someone who I can be with that doesn’t oblige me to put the most effort in. Someone who’s as attractive but not as predictable. He was the perfect getaway car.

I thought that if I start dating someone opposite from my ex and the other guys I had dated I’d be happier. I led myself to believe he was going to save me and that he was the one I have been waiting and wanting and hoping for.

He was so sure about his feelings for me and I thought for sure I was willing to make it work with him. I was wrong. He turned out to be another mistake. Although this time, it wasn’t because he broke my heart but because I broke his.

To be honest, I had great moments with him. He made me smile every time he tells me how lucky he feels that we’re together. He treated me like a princess that needs to be served and pleased and protected at all cost. But for the most part, I felt uneasy and uncomfortable and annoyed around him.

I didn’t feel the sincerity in him. I felt like he was only putting a show. It seemed all too good to be true. I didn’t feel that he was being his true self. Or perhaps he was being completely himself but I misjudged him because a huge part of me knew he was not the one for me.

Perhaps I over-reacted when I told him that he needs to grow up because we had only been dating for a few weeks yet he was already stressing me out with his pettiness and issues. I was always annoyed at him for it. Also didn’t like that he was only always talking about himself: “My friends tell me I’m this…” “People at work tell me I’m that…” “I have so many suitors…” “What I want is…” and more I’m-this-I’m-that monologues. He was too full of himself that I never felt he wanted to get to know me.

I knew I had to end it even he wanted to reason with me and try to patch things up. I also knew I had to do it in a way that’s awful and disrespectful and insensitive to push him away. So I went out on date and posted it on Facebook for the world and him to see. It worked.

After that night, he gradually disappeared from my life. He stopped calling, texting, and sending me pictures of the LEGO display he’s been working on for the casino he is employed at.

One friend told me that maybe I wasn’t being fair to myself and to him. Maybe I could have at least tried to understand and get to know Melvin better, see where the relationship could have gone if I did. Maybe I threw a good thing away because I was too sensitive about someone who was only being himself. Maybe I got it all wrong, maybe I was being a total asshole.

Or maybe it didn’t work out like I had hoped ‘cause I rushed into it. Clearly, we weren’t ready. I know I wasn’t. And we know nothing good starts in a getaway car.

He was the best of times, the worst of crimes.

IT IS HONESTLY SAD AND CRUEL knowing that most people we meet and learn to adore eventually have to leave. It isn’t always the case, yes. But in my experience it always happens like clockwork.

When I met James, I was confident he was only going to be a hookup. One that I had psyched myself up to settle for since I become single. Again. I was also certain he saw me as an available sexual offer on his table as well.

I didn’t know it was going to be more than that because he made it oh-so-easy for me to like him.

I remember the first time he took me to his favorite breakfast place. It was a sunny Friday in June. We ordered our food to-go, and as we walked back to his place, we ended up eating our food in the nearby park ‘cause I told him I haven’t seen it in the daylight. It was my second breakfast at the park, which was very memorable because my first was with my mom when I was 10 or 11.

I appreciate people more when they do things for me and with me that reminds me of my childhood and of my mom. James gained multiple “pogi” points for it.

Although he and I never went out on a date or at least there was none that we considered as one, I still had great times with him when we were at his place just talking about our lives. He was always interested about my stories and I, to his.

For a little over two months, we were spending time together without having to fck, which says a lot because I was always horny around him and I was able to restrain myself. Haha. We were contented just to cuddle in his bed and chat until we fall asleep. It was nice and warm and sweet—

I fell for it.

My blind optimism romanticized what we were and I had hoped it would lead to something more. It was as if there were no red flags in front of me. It was as if he wasn’t seeing other guys, or as if my friends never warned me he was not a good idea.

Of all his good qualities, his being charming was a standout. That’s what made me want him more. And who passes up on that? I’ve always been a princess, and every classic Disney fan knows princesses are always paired up with a prince that is charming. That’s how their fairytale stories were written. But alas, we were not that kind of story.

Surely, I’ll miss James.

Now that he’s left my country, all there’s left is to watch his pictures on Facebook like I used to watch him sleep, and I’ll feel him forget me like I used to feel him breathe.

The moment I knew.

It was a Thursday afternoon. The room was wonderfully bright and warm. On the corner night stand was a Bluetooth speaker playing “Your Song” by Rita Ora from his iPhone.

He was packing work clothes in his gym bag and other items in another bag for his trip to the beach that weekend.

“Did you eat your food already?” he asked.

I didn’t reply so he went towards me as I was finishing the buttons of my shirt. He was wearing a black tank top that had Les Mills printed on it and black gym shorts, all fitted his tight chest and body. Standing in front me still waiting for my response, I reached for his right hand and stood up. 

There’s no way I am going to back out again. I was going to tell him how much I admire his sweet smiles, the goofy faces and pickup lines he makes, his poi dancing, and most of all, I love the way he makes me fall for him in many effortless ways, even I know he doesn’t feel the same towards me. I knew I wasn’t going to lose the moment this time.

He smirked at me and stared, fixed his eyes on mine, as if he already knew what exactly I am into. His dark green eyes told me to remain on guard and stick to what I had to say that very moment when he was only a breath away. 

It felt like melting along with the continuous sound of music filling the entire room. I didn’t know where to begin. I’m scared of what might happen next. I’m afraid that he might reject me. Again. For once, those negative thoughts backfired on my head.

But I was too weak and shy to speak for those words. I thought it was not the right time until he put his arms around my waist and pulled me towards him, without hesitation, without any words, he opened his mouth and reached for my lips. 

All of a sudden, it felt like I was floating in the air with my both hands around his neck. If I was in the middle of a beautiful dream that moment, I wished not to wake up at all. But it was for real, I’m not in a mindless dreaming. It was the best two and a half breathless minutes of my life.

When our lips parted, we remained standing locked in each other’s arms; that was the moment I knew it was going to be our last kiss.

It’s hard not to find it all a little bittersweet.

When you read this, I know you’re going to raise an eyebrow because I had written yet another blog entry about you. I know how much you hate it when I “drag” you into my ~sad, bitter~ posts. So before you start scrolling down to read anyway, let me warn you start by saying I am sorry. Really, I am.

I’m sorry for sharing a little too much of our relationship in my previous blog entries. You never truly listened to what I had to say and I didn’t want to constantly bother my closest friends about what was going on at the time so I had to turn to my blog for company. I’m sorry for putting my emotions and feelings out in the open ‘cause you were not always there to appreciate them.

I’m sorry if I didn’t commit to gaining weight and building muscles. To be “masculine” or “toned” is never my thing but yours. Maybe that’s one of the reasons you kept hooking up with other people. You were never completely attracted to me, physically.

For that, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I am very much happy and satisfied with the way I look.

I’m sorry if I had to write about all of your shortcomings. If in any way these blog entries made you feel like a bad boyfriend, know that it was never my intention. I never wanted for my readers to see that you were never contented.

I’m also sorry that you had to constantly lie about almost everything because you thought I could never handle the truth. I’m sorry for wearing my heart on my sleeves, that’s why you thought I’m too emotional to take the hard truth in.

I’m sorry if you were never satisfied with just me. I’m sorry that my not being enough made you the lying, cheating boyfriend that all my friends hate. I’m sorry.

I’m sorry if you think I’m crazy and psycho because I am way too smart and clever for you too fool. I’m sorry if I always knew when you’re lying. I’m Nancy fcking Drew, deal with it.

I’m sorry if I had become a different person. I’m sorry if I was no longer the person you loved. I’m sorry if I had become more bitchy and shady and mean. I didn’t intend to become one. But after years of keeping it all in and sweeping things under the rug, you soon realize that in your attempt to not lose someone, you end up losing yourself in the process. I didn’t want that to happen any further. So I’m truly sorry.

Most of all, I’m very sorry if I honestly believed in everything that we had. I had imagined we were going to last.

Now that you have reached the last two paragraphs of this long and boring blog entry, I want you to remember the next one.

In spite of the secrets and lies, I am more than happy that somehow I was able to make you feel genuinely loved in a way nobody else can and probably nobody else could. And I am happy for the fact that it was my only part in your life.

Because I love the players and you love the game.

Every day I wake up hoping there’s a message from you in my inbox. I always wish for a “good morning” message or “how was your sleep?” Even just a “Hi” would excite me. But no, I always welcome the day feeling defeated and disappointed that there’s nothing from you.

I still message you. I always do, to show you that I honestly care even it is clear that you don’t. I send you clever gifs so you would see the effort I put in my attempt to get noticed by you. I text you when my Facebook messages remain unread even you have been online all day to let you know that I can reach out to you in all methods and platforms available.

Just like clockwork, I spend most of my day thinking about you: how you’re doing, have you slept well, have you eaten yet, is work stressful again etc. And just like clockwork, you almost always never respond. When you do, it is always one-liners of “Thanks,” “Haha,” or a set of emojis and stickers; yet these one-liners still make me happy in the most pathetic, cliché way.

You know, I think a part of me knew the second I saw you that this would happen.

I knew you’re just another guy that showed interest in me because either you were bored or drunk or lonely or horny or a mix of all these at the time. I knew the moment you flashed that sweet smile that you’re trouble, and I’m willing to walk right into you anyway; knowing that I’m just one of the many other guys in your roster, waiting for your next sweet move to lure one or all of us in.

“You always make yourself available. Even you know he’s only going to want you when there’s no better offer on his table,” one of my best friends said to me when I told him about you.

Now I won’t demand for an answer why you make me feel like a dog always chasing after a piece of bone. But please tell me if it’s true that you only keep me around because I always make myself available to you.

Say that it is true so I can stop sending you messages. Say that it is true so I can rid myself off the wishful thinking that you like me too. Say that it is true so I can stop wanting you, before I get myself in too deep that I can no longer climb back up. Say that you only want me because I make myself readily available. Say it so I can give up; because my mind forgets to remind me you’re a bad idea.

See me again, even if it’s just pretend.

His hands griped my neck tightly and the pressure of his fingers set me to hardening as our lips made fine acquaintance. He let me disrobe him and we both pulled our pants down.

At the same moment, we went for each other’s lips again and kissed even more passionately. Stephan Jenkins was kissing and biting my lips like a pro. Next thing I knew, my hands left his sides and slipped them between his legs. My fingers curled around his crotch, then I went down on him. My lips drove down his dick and he pushed down on my shoulders as his whole body bolted in pleasure.

He pulled me up, took the lead on top of me, then came my turn.
We continued to pleasure each other for hours—






It was witching hour and I was under a spell. Everything about him had thrown me off balance in the best possible way. Sure, my nervousness had made me let him try to fvck me bare, told him he can cum anywhere he pleases (even inside of me), and shared with him my ~weakness~ in the sex department.

Yes, I had filibustered about the differences between the things we had talked about prior to our meeting. And yet, I could tell that he was having a nice time. He was flirting back at my lame pickup lines and dirty talks.

In the outer reaches of my mind, before I kissed him goodbye when he dropped me at my place, I began to wonder what had really happened. Maybe he had overwhelmed me. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he was only drunk or horny or both that’s why he reached out. Maybe the sparks had distracted me from the signs. I'm not entirely sure.
All I know was he had me at “Hi Justin,” then found myself riding shotgun in the front seat of his car, he’s got one hand feel on the steering wheel and the other on my heart.

So I am praying to all the Gods to make him want to see me again. Even if it’s just pretend.