[living in] sin city

If fornication, polygamy, adultery, concupiscence, bigamy and orgies are crimes obliging civil and criminal repercussions, consider me one in the thousand-long lists of felons lined up for lethal injection or gas chamber or [even] firing squad.

On episodes in HBO’s Sex and the City ™, Samantha and Miranda were once asked by their respective doctors to list down all the individuals they slept with or those they have sexual relationships with, and as expected, their lists were long, if not longer. In all honesty, I truthfully share the same sentiment though I believe that my list is much much much shorter and manageable than theirs. So far, in my list, there are less than 20. Whew!

I find it harder to think of everyone I had slept or had sexual relations with. At the end of every sexual relationship I had, I totally erase them in my mind as if I’ve undergone lobotomy under Dr. Phil or underwent a thorough psychiatric de-hallucination under Oprah Winfrey. In Samantha’s wordspeak, “When I’m done with them, I’m done with them.”

For instance, I met this married man once in a posh club in Makati. Imagine, he is sitting on the bar alone, making glances with me while I’m having a fabulous dinner with my friends. I signaled the guy to meet me in the men’s room to which he agreed thereof. He is cute all right, extremely gorgeous, and in his early 20s. He smelled of freshly-cut forest wood musk and citron zest with a hint of vanilla blossoms and evergreen pines. His cleanly-shaven face radiates a certain manhood, and his gorgeous charm will remind every woman of the Boy-Next Door look that every Delilah fantasizes of before going to slumber. Simply put, no hint of gayness, no tinge of homosexuality in every aspect of his identity.

We met at the men’s room and we french kissed instantly. The attraction was mutual I suppose. We let go of each other’s boundaries. We were extremely comfortable with each other’s bodies sans the inhibitions, reservations, and fears. We had passionate moments. We shared the instinctual intimacy. We made love as if there’s no tomorrow. It felt good. It was like a whimsical fantasy-turned-reality packed up in short stolen moments of extreme lovemaking.

We exchanged numbers and returned to our respective tables. The desserts have been served but in all honesty, I’ve tasted better. Human flesh in all its quintessence is better than some uncanny concoctions of confectioneries and sweets.

It is on latter introspection that I learned that my Boy-Next Door guy already have his own family. He told the facts the week after our first meeting cum sensual lovemaking on a fabulous but truthful dinner. His family doesn’t know the facts. He had a daughter age 4, and a son age 1. Every word he spoke struck me like daggers wounding my delicate but resilient heart.

I was shocked instantly, angry even, but at least I knew that we’re breathing in a more honest place now. I didn’t mind if I was just used for the fulfillment of his carnal desires, but I know for a fact that what we felt is good, just not right. Hell who cares? Why can it be wrong, when it feels just so right?


P.S. I haven’t heard from him since. Until yesterday.