I’m so crazy, stupid happy! I met the boy for the first time in two months.
Three weeks ago, I invited Walt to attend a corporate event with me, and to sleepover at a hotel after the same event. To my surprise, he said yes. My friends and I were skeptical about his unexpected RSVP. Why wouldn’t we be? Six weeks ago, he texted me, “date next week?” but never showed up. They even told me to use our date night as an opportunity to break up with him (that is, if he showed up) because we all knew that I deserved better. But I was never one to give up on someone whom I liked without giving him a chance.
The days approaching our date, one thing after another seemed to ruin our chances of meeting, as if the universe wanted to keep us apart, justifying my need to break up with him. A costume requirement popped out of nowhere; my grandfather suddenly wanted me to come with a chaperone. I didn’t want to let Walt know about those. I was playing the cool guy, the guy who didn’t need a hug after going through an emotionally exhausting day. Not that playing the cool guy wasn’t me, it wasn’t necessary to be the complicated guy; I didn’t even like the complicated guy. I thought that playing the complicated guy would test if he liked me back, but the complicated guy is just really annoying. Cool guy is easier to hang out with.
On the day of, things seemed to fall into place. My subordinates were no longer coming with me, and I came up with a smart alibi that would explain Walt’s attendance to the party. And then shit hit the fan. I had to drive back and forth to my house because I forgot some things. I ruined my shoes because a bag of food ripped apart, spilling spaghetti sauce all over my white trainers. I was an hour late for check-in because I forgot to grab a necktie and had to drive back to my condo to get one. The room I got was old and dirty, and worse, had two twin beds. After paying with two weeks’ allowance for an upgrade, I find out that Walt would be late, but he was coming, and that’s all that mattered to me.
My breath stopped when the elevator opened to reveal him wearing a shirt from a rival school. He looked like he just ran, and he apologized for his appearance because that’s what he did. He ran through traffic to come and see me. I was too happy to say anything, but when we got to our floor, I told him that I hadn’t seen him in forever. He then became apologetic. He explained how busy he had been with his internship and with school. It was the same reason I wanted to end whatever we had. He’s too busy for a relationship, and I had too much free time.
In the hotel room, I was talking him through the alibi I came up with and told him about his alias while he set down his belongings. When he turned around, he kissed me in the middle of my sentence. It was a real kiss, the kind that went full on the lips, and with a bit of tongue. It was our first kiss.
A moment later, I was fixing his tie and going over his fake identity. Deep inside, I wanted to blow off the event, strip his clothes off, and head straight to bed. Of course, that didn’t happen, but I’m glad we went because on the way to the party, he finally did what I had been waiting for him to do in the last three months that we’ve been talking… he dug deep down and opened up to me. He told me that he had lost his dad to suicide, so he understood my depression more than he tells or shows me. He told me about his dreams of moving and working abroad, but settling down with a business when he’s older. He told me that he wanted to promote local tourism through his business, as well as the things he needed to purchase to make that happen.
The party was the most awkward part of the night. I had to cover up for Walt’s tardiness by telling everyone I knew that I fell asleep while waiting for a beauty regimen to set. Luckily, everyone I knew wasn’t too many people. They were two of 900 other attendees. They also invited me to sit at a table with semi-strangers, business owners who had their offices set up in the same area where I work, but I insisted that Walt and I sit elsewhere, where we would be free to talk to each other and to stay away from intrigue.
Dinner with him was loud and quiet at the same time. I didn’t bother trying to engage a conversation with him because the live music washed out my thoughts. What I wanted, instead, was to kick back, hold his hand, and enjoy whatever we were watching. I wasn’t sure that I was allowed to, considering that there were 900 other people in the building, most of whom were millionaires who built their own empires from scratch, and who also greatly respected those among them. Gossip was one of their most powerful currencies, and exposing myself as the homosexual that I secretly was might terminate or wipe clean the opportunities for a partnership between them and the company that I represented.
So I waited. I was sure that Walt became aware of my boredom because I asked him if he wanted to go back to the hotel every ten minutes. I felt guilty about it the next day because he shared how he didn’t expect the event to have such big stars for entertainment. Anyway, I showed him my entire camera roll to make time pass (and to low-key impress him with how amazing my life can be beyond what I post on Instagram). He told me that I should share more of that on social media, but it just wasn’t my thing any more. He showed me his camera roll, in return, but it was disappointingly not that much. I’m still happy that he did, though, because every new detail I learned about him was important to me; it was important in structuring how I felt about him.
Back at the hotel, we found ourselves in bed, cuddling while watching How to Get Away with Murder. By cuddling, I meant we were just holding hands while his other arm was hugging a pillow. Secretly, I had already watched the same episodes when they originally aired, but I told him that I hadn’t seen them yet, so we would have cuddle time. 15 minutes into the second episode, I let out a loud yawn that prompted him to ask me if I was going to bed. Before I could answer, he pulled me in for another kiss, better than the one he gave me when he arrived.
Later, both of us ready for bed, he whispered, “I want to make out with you,” obviously code for something else. It was all I’ve been wanting all night. He started kissing me with intensity, flipping me over so I would be on top of him. We began to do that weird dance that gay boys do when one of them wants to get head. I actually didn’t mind blowing him, but I did want to do it in my own pace. Still, he was so aggressive, and I was so turned on that I deep-throated him as a thank you. We flipped over, made out some more, but then his mouth went straight to my penis and stayed there for a while. Taking me by surprise, he pushed my legs up and mounted me sans lube. I screamed in pain, and had to ask him to stop. He then grabs the bottle of lube on the bedside table, squirts the liquid on his dick and slides himself back in. Even with the lube, I didn’t like how it felt, so I asked him to pull out. I explained to him that I had never gotten used to bottoming, having only been a bottom once before he came along, but that I wanted to do it for him. So we take it slow, now using his finger to pleasure me. Towards the end of it, he’s jacking off on top of me, and when he comes, I ask him to choke me. I didn’t come as much as he did because I felt like I made the night weird. He brushes it off and invites me to shower, but at that point, I was too exhausted to get out of bed, and I didn’t want him to see my penis all soft and small. Besides, I wanted to bask in his smell because it could be two more months before that could happen again.
He gets me a towel, instead. After cleaning up, we both climb back into bed and cuddle for real. He thanks me for making the night special; I thank him for coming out to see me. We fall asleep holding hands.
When I wake up in the morning, I see that his hand is still in mine. I try to get out of bed to plug my phone in, but he pulls me back in and hugs me tight. As much as I loved the feeling, I couldn’t go back to sleep because he was snoring so loudly. Two more attempts later, I finally manage to sneak out and do whatever (read: to watch him sleep). It was everything I wanted, to see him there in his underwear, but it looked like something was missing. I was missing, so I went back into his arms.
We both stayed in that position until we were fully awake, and when we were, we found ourselves undressing each other, not unlike the night before. While kissing him, I suddenly tasted blood, and had to stop. I touched my nose to check if it was bleeding, as I’ve had a history of having nosebleeds at the wrong timing. I asked him if he tasted it, too, but he said no, so we proceeded with our morning playtime (we found out later that he bit a pimple above my lip). I proceeded to give him a very wet blowjob, the tips I read from BuzzFeed for giving head racing through my mind as it happened. My entire face was covered in his pre-cum and my saliva by the end of it, so I had to ask for a napkin to wipe my face before making out again. He briefly reciprocated the oral sex, and hoisted my legs up again. I took a deep breath and forced myself to relax.
I let him fuck me. I really couldn’t find pleasure in what he was doing. I felt my boner deflate, but I saw that he was enjoying it, evidenced by the way his eyes rolled to the back of his head. When I thought about how instrumental I was to his enjoyment, I got turned right back on…
While he was still inside me, he blurted out, “I really like you.” I didn’t know how to react to that. I was flattered that he said it. It felt validating, especially since we never talked about where our relationship was headed, if we even had a relationship. On the other hand, I knew that nothing we said counted during sex. It was the rush of adrenaline talking, and he shot me with a look that told me that he caught himself saying that, that he regretted saying that. Needless to say, we finished up not long after, and got ready to have breakfast.
Over breakfast, we continue to talk about nothing and everything. When he tells me about his future, he’s vague about whether I’d still be in it or not. When he tells me about moving abroad, I’m definitely out of the picture, but when he tells me about continuing his studies in the Philippines, in the university near my Manila residence, specifically, there are hints that he’s staying for me. But I needed to know where I stood in his life. Who was I to this boy? Was I another fling? Or would I be special enough to make him include the date of our yet-to-exist anniversary in his Instagram handle?
Our conversations continue on the couch back in the hotel room. He tells me about his childhood home, how his family used to be crazy, rich Asians before the incident that led to his father’s passing. In return, I talk about the complexities of my dysfunctional family. It was the kind of conversation that I wish we had everyday when we’re not together. I really couldn’t fathom how he was the same boy who replied with dismissive messages to the texts that I sent in an effort to be closer to him. I really don’t know why I didn’t talk about how I felt about him. I don’t know why at that moment, I didn’t ask him what we were doing.
I lied. I knew why. I was afraid that I wouldn’t hear what I wanted to hear in return.