A Different Breed

The first and only time I saw him at the Times Theater in Quiapo was about three weeks ago. He was taking a leak at the urinal furthest from the door of the rest room. Several other moviegoers were inside the rest room. Some were taking a leak themselves and the others were just standing around.

He caught my attention. He had some charm in him. Dark-skinned, a little chubby with a drinker's tummy, just into the good-looking side and straight-acting enough. And he seemed to be interested in me, too.

As he voided, he would turn around from time to time checking everyone who came in as signalled by the loud noise created by the opening of the door. At other times, he'd turn around seeming to observe what the rest of the people inside the rest room were doing.

He stayed at his position for a long time, longer than a regular pee would have required him to stay there. I began to suspect that he was looking for some action. True enough, he began what looked like a stroking of his penis. I couldn't be sure since his dick was concealed from view by the concrete urinal divider. I didn't know if he was actually stroking his member or was just pretending to stroke it to seduce the people around him. But everyone seemed to mind his own business, casting him an innocent look from time to time but returning to what they were doing immediately afterwards. Nonetheless, he continued what he was doing.

Then, there was movement inside the rest room. One of the men standing around moved into another position which afforded him a better view of the man supposedly stroking his dong. The "mover" sat on his feet, seeming to invite the "stroker" to come near him for a blow job. Seeing the movement, the "stroker" suddenly turned around, exposing his now-erect penis to everyone. Everyone just watched as the "stroker" continued with what he he had been doing. Now, the "stroker's" attention seemed to be drawn by the "mover," as he kept glancing at the "mover."

A long while passed but everyone still kept to his position. A few minutes later, the people standing around, bored perhaps, started towards the door one by one until only the three of us, the "stroker," the "mover" and I, remained inside the rest room. After the last man had left, the "stroker" with his dick hanging out moved towards the "mover" and thrust his dick into the mouth of the "mover" who offered no resistance. Not a word was spoken between them as the long fellatio began.

I moved to another position for a better view so I could jerk off myself. Before I could come, people started coming inside the rest room and, not being an exhibitionist, I had to abandon my deed. But the "stroker" didn't seem to mind, never hiding his dick from everyone who came in, although he averted his eyes from the new entrants. It was the "mover" who got distracted by the opening of the door, stopping the blow job every time the door opened. But once the newcomer had already settled himself inside as a legitimate user of the rest room or another spectator of the action, the "stroker" would prod the "mover" to continue the deed and the "mover" would easily oblige.

At one point, there were about nine of us watching the action. But the "stroker" never seemed to mind, even positioning himself in such a way that the "watchers" had the best view of the action.

Several of the watchers got so aroused themselves that they paired up with each other and did their own gigs. No one, however, interfered with the action between the "stroker" and the "mover".

When someone "came," he'd wash himself at the lavatory and leave the rest room. More than 8 people had already done this and yet, the "stroker" and the "mover" were still at it. (The number of the watchers never went down, as new faces came inside the rest room.) I didn't know if the "stroker" was intentionally controlling his ejaculation or he really cummed long.

Almost an hour of fellatio had passed when the "stroker" finally came.

Just like everyone else, he washed himself after the deed and stepped outside of the rest room. I followed him. This was one character and it would be great to know him. But he was already making his way to the exit. He left without speaking to anyone and without looking back.

"Some tripper," I said to myself, as the main door closed behind him and he disappeared from view.

Last night, I saw him again at the rest room. He was occupying the same urinal, the one furthest from the door. But this time around, he was not taking a leak. He was stroking himself and he was showing it to everyone else inside the room. There was no taker for a long time until the masseur who was usually in white sleeveless shirt, faded denim short pants and rubber shoes came in. By this time, the "stroker" had already zipped up and occupied a position near the looking glass, just standing around.

The masseur told me (I joined the conversation he initiated with my old masseur-cum-fortune "teller-friend from Bulacan who had already gone out of the john at this time) that the stroker was a regular customer of his. "Serbis, not masahe," he clarified to me as he walked towards the "stroker." They spoke in a low voice, making me unable to understand what they were saying. A moment later, they walked towards the last cubicle and, once inside, locked themselves in.

I took it that they wanted privacy. I let them be and left the room for a stroll around the orchestra section. Minutes later, I went back to the loo to check on what's happening. On my way in, I bumped into the masseur who hooked up with the "stroker."

I asked him, "Were you able to finish?"

"Of course," he bragged, and left for an appointment outside the cinema.

I went inside the rest room and found the "stroker" still there. He had reclaimed his position near the mirror and was just standing around again. Since I knew that he had just come, I knew it would take some time before he got it up again. I left the room and lingered at the orchestra section. After 15 minutes or so, I went back again. I bumped into my masseur-cum-fortune-teller-friend on his way out.

"Hurry! You might miss the action," he warned me.

Without asking for the specifics, I darted inside. There, the "stroker" in the same position he occupied some three weeks ago was again receiving a fellatio from a habitue of Times. There was another captive audience. As in the last time around, he didn't mind the audience and seemed to enjoy it even. And as in the last time around, people came and went as they finished cumming. And as in the last time around, the "stroker" took a long time in cumming, practically allowing everyone else in the room to ejaculate before he did. And then he left. The same way he did last time: without speaking to anyone and without looking back.

He had long left the theater but I still couldn't shake him off my mind. Until now, I keep asking myself, "What drives him to do what he does?" I can understand the sex act. Everyone has a sex drive and most people act on it. But the exhibitionism is something else. It's beyond me.

Meanwhile, I'll keep going back to that moviehouse for the chance to see his performance again.

25 Things

In the past few days, I have been reading entries by my favorite bloggers similary titled 25 Things. I'm riding the bandwagon so I am writing my own version.

1. I have been depressed for a long time. About 20 years. At one point in my life, when it seemed I couldn't take it anymore, I saw a psychiatrist for counselling. We had about 6 sessions before I dropped out, first for a trip abroad and second because I decided I had to beat this thing, depression, on my own--without the aid of anti-depressants, tranquilizers and muscle relaxants and without the comforting words of the shrink during our sessions.

2. I stayed in the seminary for almost eight years (4 years high school and 3 and a half years college). I had wanted to become a priest, but the realization that with my sexuality I wouldn't become the kind of priest I had wanted myself to be, I had to abandon the idea. I knew that once I become a priest and assigned alone to a distant parish, I would become very lonely and would not be able to fight off the temptations of the flesh.

3. After nine years and three universities, I finally completed a four-year course, AB Philosophy and English.

4. I am into sports, very competitive at many events (basketball, tennis, pingpong, volleyball, badminton, etc.) not because of superior athleticism but more because of sports intelligence and wisdom. When I play, I turn the highly physical activity into one that is more of a mental endeavor. This is why I love coaching basketball because it becomes a puzzle to be solved.

5. I am a voyeur. I enjoy watching dicks of people urinating, of men having sex with their dongs exposed to me and without their knowing thay they are being observed. The level of arousal is so much lower when people intentionally show their dicks to me, or they perform sex knowing that someone was looking at them. I have been a voyeur since I was 5 or 6 years old. I remember one time at about this age running home, very scared that a neighbor, a respected high school teacher in his forties, found out that I was doing a peeping tom on him while he was taking a bath only in his briefs outdoors, by the jetmatic pump erected at the back of his house. He moved as if he sensed that someone was watching him, so I ran the hell out of my position towards home. Luckily, he didn't seem to have noticed me. Or perhaps, he just let it go. Either way, I was thankful.

6. I cummed first when I was in Grade 3. I had a peculiar way of stimulating myself which allowed me to come even without an erection and without doing a hand job on my member. I'd lie fully-clothed face down on a hard surface, gently rubbing my dick against the surface and letting my imagination do the rest. Even with people around, I could do this as long as they're not closely observing me. In three to five minutes, I'd be done.

7. I never had a wet dream.

8. I neither drink nor smoke. Even in social functions, I refuse to take a sip. When I was in the high school seminary and I had decided to become a priest, I said to myself that I would never give in to peer pressure. My friends and even some priests I respected (and respect until now) tried to coax me into trying these stuffs but I wouldn't waver on my resolve. However, I tried drinking at one point in my life, when I was already out of the seminary and well into my 20's. Out of curiousity. I drank with friends (who were just too happy to have me as a drinking buddy, finally) three-days-a-week for almost one month. One very bad case of vomitting after a drinking session and a terrible hangover afterwards would cut short my career as a drunkard.

9. I love eating. If I ever had a vice, this is it. I am a compulsive eater, however. The more stressed I am, the bigger my appetite becomes. When I am troubled, my body on a 5' 8" frame balloons and hovers between 95 and 99 kilograms. My breakfast, by the way, is not complete without a mug of non-fat milk.

10. I treasure these values--sincerity, honesty, generosity, fairness and kindness.

11. I find it very difficult to lie.

12. I won't do any household chore if I can help it. (In the province, we have a household help who'll do everything for me. And even if she's absent, my mother and my sister will be there for me to fill in for her. Here in Manila (I live with two of my sisters), we don't have any help so I am forced into doing it. Hu hu hu) I hate manual work and I'm afflicted with a syndrome which makes me believe that I'm far too important a person to be made to do manual work.

13. I don't wear any jewelry. I don't even have a wristwatch now (since my mobile phone has a clock and using it has rendered the wearing of wristwatch unnecessary).

14. I am good at written examinations:
NCEE= 99+
CSAT= 94
Civil Service Eligibiltiy Rating= 94.32

15. The sea and bodies of water have a very soothing effect on me when I'm in trouble. In my down moments, I love walking at the sea shore taking in the sound of waves breaking, the feel of the sea breeze blowing in my face and the sight of the sky meeting the sea at the horizon. The walk calms the spirit and reinvigorates the soul, making me ready to face life again.

16. My threshold for pain is low. Both for physical and emotional pain. I get hurt easily. But I am a forgiving person, always believing in the innate goodness of people.

17. I'm a procrastinator and, therefore, I'm always late for appointments. At one point in my life, I became convinced that I could not be happy in this life since I was gay. Because of this, I lost all the energy for meeting deadlines, keeping appointments on time. Why the rush when that wouldn't make me any happier? Why the rush when I would be disappointed anyway? (The pessimistic outlook, however, is changing now. For the better.)

18. I'm always sleep-deprived, getting an average of only 4 hours a night. I sleep very late (1-2 am) because all my troubles and worries descend upon me when I am already in bed. And I easily get roused from sleep. If awakened outside of my waking time, I'll find falling back asleep again a gargantuan task.
Sometimes, I take a tranquilizer to fall asleep. But not often enough to get addicted to it.

19. I love music. But don't ask me for lyrics of songs. What appeals to me is the melody of a song, not its lyrics. Even if I have listened to a song a hundred times, I wouldn't be able to piece together the lines if asked to. I really make no effort to memorize the lines of the songs I love.

20. I am not a fan of chatting via text. Text-chatting takes away my precious option of ignoring a sent item I don't like and don't feel like responding to.

21. I am a hypochondriac.

22. In my forty years of existence, I have never had a romantic relationship.

23. I was once a somnambulist. When I was in grade three, I used to walk in my sleep in the middle of the night. Good that all of us, the six members of my family (my parents and sisters), shared one big room. They would wake up before I could get out of the room (or crash into the wall, or jump off the window, or get a kitchen knife and harm someone, etc.).

24. I prefer a good conversation to a good sex.

25. I am very insecure. I always feel that I'm never good enough. Consider this: I am supposed to have an IQ of 147, classified as superior (higher than the above average category but only one notch immediately below the genius level), but I feel I always have to prove to people that I am intelligent.

A Discovery

When I enter a moviehouse, one of the very first things I do is to check the rest room for some action. Last night at the Times moviehouse, my visit to the rest room gave me a new insight on the games that people play.

I didn't step in as I opened the door of the rest room. I just peeked inside, checking if there were people around and if there was some action going on or if something was brewing. Instead I caught this:

"Sige! Itinatago mo na sa akin yan," the tall (about 6' 2") straight-acting and mestizo-looking guy (whom I shall call Tisoy in this entry) said in a pained tone as he descended the steps. Tisoy was talking to an old man (who will be known as Oldie in this entry) taking a pee at the urinal nearest the door. Oldie looked over 60 years old, was in flip flops and seemed to be wearing yesterday's clothes--a printed t-shirt and walking shorts, both a little soiled.

Before Tisoy blurted out those words, I saw Oldie make an effort to hide his dick when Tisoy tried to take a peek at his member. I missed the other parts of the conversation as I closed the door behind me since I didn't want to intrude. But I stayed where I was, just turning around and choosing to survey my playing field for the night. I had wanted to know where to go before I began walking around again. But my eyes had not adjusted to the darkness so I could not find people making out in their seats.

The door behind me suddenly opened and voices rang out, voices I recognized as coming from the two persons I chanced into at the rest room.

"Basta pakainin mo ako," Oldie said.

"Oo," Tisoy replied in a reassuring tone.

"Sa Greenwich ha!" Oldie pleaded.

"Oo sabi," Tisoy answered, a little peeved. "Kasama mo ba asawa mo?"

"Hindi," Oldie answered. "Ok. Labas tayo mamaya," Tisoy said as he ended the conversation.

Once outside the rest room, they began looking for a place to make out. They didn't go far, choosing to take the second and third seats of the second row from the restroom. Upon sitting, Tisoy gave his mobile phone to the older guy who began viewing something on it. Unable to see what Oldie was watching, I walked around and stood around behind them. I saw that Oldie was viewing a porn clip showing a very well-hung Negro receiving a blow job from a white woman. Later on, the porn artists settled in a missionary position.

Meanwhile, Tisoy had begun doing a hand job on Oldie. While at this, they were conversing. Later on, Tisoy gave him a fellatio. Oldie at this time had stopped viewing the clip. He had rested his head on the back rest and closed his eyes. He moved his head from side to side and moaned, enjoying every moment of the blow job. Before long, Oldie came. A few moments later, they left their seats as I left my own position to look for another pair to watch.

The "Basta,-pakainin-mo-ako part" was very revealing to me. I had thought that people in their advanced years who still go for same-sex release inside moviehouses are there for the simple pleasure of the orgasm. They are old, and they must have gotten over whatever sense of self-deprivation they must have suffered in their younger years. But this old man was different. He felt deprived. He was willing to engage in man-to-man sex in exchange for Greenwich food. Is he unique or are there people around who are very much like him in the moviehouses?

Bored

My forays into dilapidated moviehouses have become boring. I have realized that I meet the same group of people every time I go there and it seems that I don't find anyone of them live-in material. Yes, I am not really out there for a quickie (although I do this many times), but to find a soulmate, someone who's willing to co-habitate with me.

I am a unique soul in these gay havens. I don't suck, I don't allow anyone to do fellatio on me (although I used to do this before), and I don't engage in anal sex. So it's tough for me to find a mate inside the moviehouse.

So, what do I do inside moviehouses? Truth to tell, I am a voyeur. I enjoy watching people do it, even those whom I don't consider sexually appealing individually. When these sexually unappealing denizens of the theater pair up and make out, my testosterone level shoots up. This level shoots even higher when I see the hot ones do it. Especially when they do it inside the rest room where I have a chance to jack off without exposing my dick to anyone interested.

But my recent visits have not given me positive results. I am growing tired of the same people, the regulars, I bump into at the theater. They no longer affect my libido in a favorable way. Is it time to look for another gay haven?

An Encounter to Remember?

Tonight, I went to Times in Quiapo by force of habit. Lately, my forays into this type of gay haven, old moviehouses, have become strained and my gut seems to be telling me to look for a new type of gay adventure for my ever-expanding gay universe. But for lack of something better to do, I found myself boarding a PUJ bound for Quiapo Ilalim and picking my way to the theater.

I didn't intend to stay long. When I left the house, I knew that if there was no traffic buildup on the intersection of Lacson and Dapitan Streets and at the traffic light in front of the Central Market, I would arrive at my destination around 7:30 pm. My elder sister, who has been pushing me to find a job by submitting my resume online, urged me as I closed the gate behind me to go and visit an internet cafe instead of going somewhere else. With her wish on my mind, I planned to stay at the moviehouse for only about two hours and head back home for my internet visit.

But inside the moviehouse, I saw this hot old man (whom I shall call Hottie in this entry) who ruined my plan for the night. Hottie was seated beside another man who I recognized to be a habitue of the place and who was initiating the action between them. I stayed around their seats, constantly walking about to check on the action. But I was too careful not to get their attention. In fact, I didn't choose to get a seat near them and observe the action closely for I might turn them off and, consequently, they might stop what they were doing. Hottie was visibly affected by the people who walked closely by them, constantly checking them whenever they got near. But I observed that whenever I walked by them, his eyes would follow me even though I had walked a little way too past them. He didn't do this when some other guy walked by them.

He seemed to be not very much into the action, constantly moving his head as his attention got drawn by people passing by. Discouraged by this for I knew that he wouldn't come, I decided to look for another pair or group making out to satisfy the voyeur in me. I lingered at the entrance before I decided to go to the rest room to check if there was some action there. On my way there, I bumped into the partner of Hottie and he seemed to be making his way to the exit. I proceeded to my destination and inside it, occupying the farthest urinal from the door was Hottie taking a leak. He was looking at me and a smile seemed to form in his lips. I fixed my gaze in the direction of his member, but he made no move to show it to me. He just smiled, a long and knowing smile, which made me wonder if we had met before or if I knew him. I smiled back, but averted my eyes from him, searching my memory if we'd met before. I could not find anything. I looked at him again. He was still looking at me, but he had already zipped up and was walking towards the door. He didn't go out, just stood at the entrance, puffing a cigarette.

I didn't make a move but lingered around the rest room, sensing that I could find myself in some action with him. There were two other people hanging out inside the rest room so I made no move. When it looked like the other two people had no intention of leaving the two of us all alone, I went out and walked around the orchestra section.

"I will have my time alone with you before long, " I muttered to myself as I made my first step out.

I must confess that when I saw him under the brigh light of the rest room, I got a little discouraged. He seemed to be older than what I thought him to be. I wondered, "Would he be able to get it to rise for me?"

And as I closed the door of the rest room behind me, I wondered, "Would his old body emit the foul odor (amoy lupa) associated with very old persons?" "Does he have bad breath?" I had low tolerance for halitosis so I lowered my expectations. Perhaps, he's not a catch, after all. And I continued walking around again, looking for another hottie.

Twice, we saw each other again, at the main entrance of the orchestra section where he had taken a position along with other older men. I would pass by him to open the door and look outside. Both times, he moved his head to catch my attention and smiled at me. I just smiled back but made no move to start a conversation with him. And I would begin walking around again.

But our paths crossed again. I was on my way out from the rest room and when I opened the door, he was there in front of me, about to come in. But he didn't step inside. He just stood there, waiting for me to make a move. I decided to walk past him. But when some part of my body brushed against his as I walked by him, some kind of electricity surged through me. The ice was broken. And I found myself speaking to him.

Our talk led us to the first two seats on the second row from the rest room. Here we conversed long and deep, trying to accelerate the getting-to-know-you phase that every relationship must go through. While at this, I explored his body and suceeded in having him come once(despite my apprehension, he, being 70 years old, after all).

I liked everything about him. The way he talked, the way he carried himself (he's a neat dresser), the manliness about him, the story of his life (married with three children). He seemed to be a perfect candidate for the partner I'd been looking for all these years. The idea of him and me being lovers thrilled me.

He promised to be back next week from Naga.

And now, I'm beginning to count the days...

Blogging and Rebirth

to hone my writing skills

to chronicle my explorations of the gay universe

to have an outlet for my pent-up emotions

to develop an identity

to find my voice

to make peace with myself

That's why I am blogging now.

And I am reborn.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!