testosterone boy

stealing hearts and running off and never saying sorry.

Tag: self

It’s a side show and a circus ain’t a love story.

VALENTINE’S DAY IS LESS THAN A MONTH AWAY and it’s my second favorite “holiday” next to New Year’s Eve.

Single on this day can be a total shot to the heart. On the one hand, my cheerful friends with their loving partners inform me “at least you can go with whoever you want.” On the other, I kind of want to punch them in the face.

When flying solo during this time of the year geared toward couples, I often feel the farthest thing from wonderful. The romantic movies that take over the cinemas, the “hearts and cherubs” decor at the mall and almost every point of sight, all that David Pomeranz music—it can make me feel pretty lonely.

I honestly want to ask Stephan Jenkins out on Valentine’s Day, maybe have dinner or watch “Call Me By Your Name,” hoping it’s still on after a week from its opening on January 31. I also plan to bring him flowers or chocolates or a teddy (I’m cheesy like that, don’t judge), or a bottle of Jack which I think he would prefer. But even the thought takes tons of courage to even say the damn invite. This scares me lot that he might give another “Let’s see” and I’ll end up giving a smile emoji and an “it’s cool” cop-out.

He has all the right to subtly reject my asking him out, I know. We’re NOT EVEN DATING, for crying out loud. He doesn’t need to please me, to make me feel special, or to pretend he enjoys my company. Though I like him a lot, I can’t expect him to feel the same about me. All we shared besides salivas and sweats were mere late night meetings, occasional exchange of messages, and the one Sunday morning we ate at McDonald’s. I’m the only one hoping we could do something else; perhaps more. Do I complain? Partly yes. Do I let him know? I wish I have it in my gut.

Part of being someone’s “bitch”—his word, not mine—is the stupid, upsetting stuff: getting attached, hoping it leads to something other than sex, putting your hope into it. Extra hits if the guy you’re having this kind of set-up with is doing all the things you wish he’d do with you and to you with other people and you have no say because it doesn’t work that way.


A month ago over text, Izzy—one of my girl friends—expressed her concern about my choices and decisions lately when I told her about him. She said maybe the reason I remain interested with him until now is because I enjoy the chase and it’s thrilling for me to “want what you can’t completely have.” Can’t say she’s right, but maybe it’s true. Maybe I confuse infatuation with ego.

I guess I should stop wanting him and go for someone else, which by the way I’ve already tried several times since our last meeting but failed. Men these days would almost always only want me for sex and nothing more—at least the guys that I like.

Another thing my friend said that had me revisit all the bad dates and exes I have had: “what you allow is what will continue.” That’s a cold, hard truth you guys. Cold. Hard. Truth.

Okay, now I feel stupid. But whatever.

All you lucky people have less than a month to keep your loving partners or dates in time for Valentine’s so please, pretty please, don’t fck it up. If he/she wants to see one of God’s gifts to humanity that is Jamie Dornan on the big screen a.k.a. “Fifty Shades Freed,” go watch it. Because love is about compromise, even it’s often stupid.


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.

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.

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.

Leave this blue neighborhood.

On Wednesday morning, I was finishing up on my graveyard shift when I started to feel itchiness in my throat. Shit! I knew it was not going to be a good day for sleeping.

True enough, the coughing and feverish feeling came forward later in the day when I got up to prepare for an evening commitment. My head was heavy and it felt as if gravity was ready to knock me down the bathroom floor.

I still fought the distress my body was all too susceptible to succumb into. I went to my Wednesday night thing.

That same day I was awoken by my ringing phone: it was my sister. To my joy, I straightened up and began asking about her and mom and our other siblings and her daughter! I was just ecstatic to have had to catch up with her! I didn’t let her speak in our first two minutes on the phone, until she stopped me with―

Kuya, kelangan ko ng pera. Padala ka naman.” Brother, I need money. Please send me.

Then the next couple of minutes I had her on the line circled to why/when/how much do you need? That was it. That was all. Of course.

You know, the thing about my sister is that she maintains her communication with me, which makes me happy. She never fails to reach out whenever they need something i.e. money, hand-me-down clothes or cellphones, money. She is very consistent at that. Even my mom. Which is also sad, because I don’t really feel they care about me. At all. Well maybe they’re confident that I can manage on my own.

But it sucks. Big time!

I always have to live with the fact that the very people I expect to express affection in me are the same people who show otherwise. Hence I had become hopeful-to-the-extent-of-clingy to the idea that other people outside my family tree should give me the care and love and attention and affection I try so hard to receive. This is very upsetting, tbh. And annoying, I should add.

Other people should not be obliged to show their interest or attention in me. But I tend to shove it down their throats often that it becomes sickeningly hard to swallow. I make them feel responsible to shower me with affection―


with understanding
with acceptance
with love

And I know it is not right. I am truly and utterly sorry for being this way. I just feel so alone and neglected and uncared for. I hate to be this person. I hate to have this behavior. I hate myself for acting this way. I just couldn’t help it sometimes.

I want to leave this blue neighborhood and never come back. I just couldn’t find it in my gut to know how.