Until now, I still find Valentine’s day to be a strange holiday. From my childhood I remember that it coincides with Teacher’s day at school, a time when we give flowers and little gifts to our mentors after mass or a short program on the nobility of teachers and teaching as a profession. In high school Valentine’s day is usually when the Junior and Senior Prom is held–a time of serious adolescent anguish for me. In our home, Valentine’s day is usually observed by a somewhat special dinner cooked by my mother, with the night ending with me being tucked in bed a little earlier than usual. My parents are not the romantic, touchy-feely type of couple. Their affection for each other, I’m afraid, is for the most part, Edwardian. They are very decorous, and cautious of revealing too much of themselves. This is probably why I’m such a cold-hearted bitch myself. Of course, I joke. In recent years dinner is still being served, but with the physical improbability of them being able to tuck me in bed early, I now take it upon myself to “conveniently” vanish at the appointed time.
Here in Buddhist Cambodia, where I have seen Valentine’s day for at least 5 years, I’m still surprised at the increasing fervor in which this holiday is being celebrated. I would venture an opinion that it rivals–if not exceeds the celebration of Christmas, in terms of the commercial aspects of this particular holiday. From almost every street corner of Phnom Penh, vendors with flowers, balloons, plush toys and other gifts sprout like mushrooms after a rainy day. Blame this on the increasing purchasing power of the so-called middle class Cambodians, or on the fact that more than half of Cambodia’s population is under the age of 24, even on the youth’s love of anything barang (foreign).
Now, there has never been a Valentine’s day when I had someone to celebrate it with. It always come at at time when I had no lover, or if I had one, we always seemed to fight a week or a few days before that day, to reconcile a few days after, or never. Some of my friends think it’s a deliberate effort on my part, but it’s not. Really. I don’t mind spending for some gifts, silly as some of them might be. Though I’m clearly not the world’s biggest romantic (refer to my Edwardian parents above), I still long for that day when someone who’s not my friend will greet me a happy Valentine’s day with a kiss, or God forbid, a gift of sweets or of fragrance. But there are times when life seems to play a practical joke on me, forcing me to laugh at myself rather than risk being laughed at by others.
I’ve had daddy fantasies for as long as I can remember. As a boy, though I wasn’t aware yet that any of my feelings had a sexual undertone, I’ve always admired how handsome my father was. I mean, my family is quick to point out that except for my nose (round) and my hair (straight, unlike me), my father and I share the rest of our physical characteristics. I never saw that, though. To me his aquiline nose and curled hair (what’s left of it, anyway) are marks of beauty that confused me a lot during puberty.
Up to now, I get attracted–without fail, to men with sharp, longish noses and curled hair.
I was also what one would call a sexually precocious child. I was circumcised in the summer that I turned ten years old and I had sex with a 16 year-old son of a family friend about 3 weeks after my wounds have healed. In the years that followed I would manage to have sex with men who were much older than I. These ranged from the schoolbus driver, the security guard in my high school, even to laborers in a construction site across our house. Their ages ranged from 25 to 35. And of course, that son of a family friend.
This persisted until I was in my 20s, about the time when I began having relationships with guys (who were around my age). I had sex with many older (sometimes married) guys. I began wondering how it would feel like to be in a relationship with them. I didn’t pursue them deliberately; things kind of just happened that way. However, no matter how many mature men I slept with, I never got into a relationship with any of them. My lovers (5 of them) shared the physical traits of having a sharp nose and curled hair, but their age never veered far from my own.
I thought about it and decided that probably I wasn’t the type who would be an older guy’s boyfriend. Simply because I was never boy-ish in thoughts, words, and deeds. In fact, I loathe the cutesy-patootsy stuff done by boys and young men. I have no patience for that. Whether it’s sex or relationship, I had always wanted my partners to be–pardon the pun, straight-to-the-point.
And now that I am approaching the second half of my thirties, I am slightly disconcerted by the type of guys that I seem to attract. A couple of months ago I met a guy through a gay networking site for coffee (and a possible hook-up). His profile stated that he was 28 years old. His photo, a bit blurred, showed a lanky guy with curled hair. But in person, lanky was lithe and his 28 looked like he was 18. He admitted that he is in fact, 22 years old. Naturally I lost any appetite for anything and the cup of coffee witnessed a protracted afternoon talk-fest.
However, talking to this boy made me realize how mature he is. He seemed to know what he was talking about all the time (he’s in his last term in the College of Architecture) and I never saw any of that cutesy-patootsy stuff I mentioned a while back. When we were about to part he asked if he can see me again.
Moi, ever so impatient and easily annoyed by the younger set, said yes.
So now we have been going out intermittently for the last 2 months. We would go to the different art galleries of Phnom Penh because we share a passion for art. Did I mention that he is a trained dancer? On occasion he dances for a modern dance troupe in Phnom Penh. I haven’t seen him perform but I can see his natural grace so I can only imagine how he is on stage. I haven’t introduced him to any of my friends because I am a bit ‘ashamed’ for dating a much younger guy. I’m not ashamed of him, only of the fact that I’m dating him. He is beginning to feel like some sort of a guilty pleasure.
And I am just stumped at where this is going to. Fortunately, I have not heard him say the ‘L’ word to me. I wouldn’t know how to respond to it. I have to admit that I’m growing fond of him. I like the fact that he seems to be very independent and self-reliant. I am somewhat baffled at why he seems to like me.
Have I finally become the object of my younger-day fantasies? And, could it be that, the reason why I was never offered a relationship by any of my daddy fuck-buddies was because, deep-inside, they probably sensed and knew that I was also a daddy all along?
Last Sunday, I went to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia to participate in a training organized by TSF–an institution that has been both my client and my provider of PDA (professional development activities, not that PDA!) This was not my first workshop with them, as this was certainly not the first time I have been to Malaysia. The last time I was in KL was February 2008, at the tail-end of my relationship and at the start of my sickening affair with my gall bladder.
Many things have changed since then–the loss of my lover and gall bladder being the most apparent. I have recovered from these maladies, as my professional career regained its former footing. And only recently, my personal life seems to be on a kind of roll as well.
I have begun dating people and I have to admit that I like them equally. They couldn’t be more different from each other: one is my age, manages his own business, and is so relaxed in his life station that I am a bit perplexed with him. Me the frantic rabbit. The other is as old as my cousins in Manila–which means he’s very young by my (former?) standards. He is almost done studying to be an architect, but he also dances as a hobby. He is very fastidious in everything that he does, and he gives off this almost frenetic energy that I kinda miss. Me the pederast. Gawd!
I was one of the first to arrive at the workshop venue, this was probably why I was given an excellent room at the top floor of the hotel. I had a nice view of the pool from a somewhat vertiginous angle.
I will not write about the workshop, mainly because I think it is very difficult to do so in a few words. It is about consulting work. It is something about a shift in perspective. A way of looking differently at things. If you ask me about whether I was satisfied in the workshop, I would admit that I’m kinda on the fence on that. I learned new things, that’s for sure.
What I’m more happy about the workshop is being able to see old friends again. Ted, who took a break from his busy school schedule in Manila. Joseph and Agus from our 2007 workshop and Soe, our TSF all-around guy. I also saw Brian, whom I just met in India a couple of months ago. Ray and his partner were also in KL so we saw them one night and had a few drinks with them at Frangipani.
I was surprised to receive a lot of messages from other men when I left a message in one of my social networking sites that I will be in KL for a week. At least 6 people left messages on my profile. I talked to 4 of them and ended up seeing two people: a German guy based in Kuala Lumpur, and a Malay guy who was also visiting KL (he was based in Malacca).
Travel is indeed conducive to promiscuity.
Just before midnight on Friday, I travelled by bus to Singapore to spend the weekend there. I am staying now at Danny’s house near Little India. I will write about my trip here tomorrow. Meanwhile, let me leave you with an image of this strange bread that Ted and I encountered in KL. It was called charcoal bread or something and rightfully so. The roll was black as a moonless night. But it was sweet and chewy so I liked it nonetheless.
The other weekend I traveled to Siem Reap to be with two men.
The first man took the bus with me. I’ve known him for about 8 months. We’ve been seeing each other intermittently over this period of time. Having coffee. Having sex. This was our first trip together. I was going to spend the weekend with him. Although a tour of Angkor Wat was not in our agenda, although there was a possibility that I would be his kept-boy in his hotel room, I still considered the trip a holiday.
A friend told me once that taking a trip together will help you get to know a person you’re dating (or just having sex with) better. I mean, a trip constitutes more time spent together compared to coffee or dinner dates. A trip means staying after sex, sleeping on the same bed (or in the same room), and seeing each other in the morning.
So while I had no real hopes that my current involvement with N will go beyond what it is now, I still accepted his invitation. I mean, it is always nice to visit Siem Reap. I’ve grown to love it partly because of K. Siem Reap was almost our second home–our love nest, if we ever had one. Besides, I had other plans. I had no intentions of becoming that boy (okay, man!) inside a hotel room, waiting to service the guy he’s with after his day’s work.
The bus trip was okay, I guess. N wasn’t pleased to see one of his colleagues in the bus with us. He expected this guy to have taken the morning trip. At the stop-over, the three of us sat together at the table. They ate noodles while I drank iced coffee. N sort of ignored me. I didn’t get upset at all. After all, I’d been with many closet cases not to be surprised by this behavior. Back in the bus, however, I was touched when N apologized for his actions in the restaurant. He said he wanted to hold me but didn’t want his colleague to see him that way. I told you, I’d been with many closet cases to be flattered with this platitude.
The evening was uneventful. We had a great dinner in his favorite restaurant on Pub Street where he ate Beef Stroganoff while I had Spaghetti Puttanesca. Got a great foot massage. By the time we got back to the hotel, I was mellow from the massage. But he remained frisky. In the morning we didn’t take our breakfast in the hotel. After he had gone to the training that he was conducting, I dawdled around the room. I went out to have brunch at Blue Pumpkin at 10AM, checked my emails, and browsed around shops that I always went to.
At 1PM, I met someone for lunch at AHA. This is the second man that I went to Siem Reap. I’ve known him since last year because we were both bloggers. But this was to be our first meeting. I was excited and terrified. Most probably because I am aware that I cut a more interesting figure on-line. I’m aware of the fact that face-to-face, I can be very boring. This is why I’m always hesitant to meet people I know through the internet. Sure, I’m good enough for a witty chat time and again but in person I can be very un-interesting.
However, I’ve been really wanting to meet him so I braved through my insecurity and made an appointment with him. After sitting for a few minutes in the restaurant and taking pictures of its delish interiors, I soon spotted Fuchsiaboy’s towering figure step into the restaurant. There’s a strong sense of the familiar–like deja vu, like I’ve met him before. After ordering the sumptuously-described food, we launched into such a pleasant conversation that my worries of not being impressive vanished altogether. It didn’t matter.
After an excellent dessert, we parted ways, with promises of seeing each other when one of us in each other’s town. I walked under sun and dust on Sivatha Boulevard to buy my favorite Khmer sausage in a shop a few meters from the road. Then went back to the hotel at around 4PM. I napped and woke up minutes before N went in the room. We talked about the things we did in the day, letting the TV run with its darkly comic film starring William H. Macy.
As N planned our dinner, I was thinking of routines. Contrary to this routine, however, we had sex before going out to dinner. I think N did so we can exchange knowing smiles as we sat in the restaurant waiting for our food. He pointed out that the waiter was flirting with me. As always, I was clueless about this. The waiter was cute, though, if not too boyish for my taste.
On my last night in Siem Reap with him, N and I spent a quiet night. At about 5AM I crawled into bed with him and we had one of my best morning-sex ever. At breakfast he was exceptionally cheerful. When I told him before that I liked sex best in the morning, he thought I was joking. Now he knew for sure. He asked me if I would be all right going to the bus station by myself for the noon trip back to dear old Phnom Penh. I said it was no problem. He gave me a somewhat long kiss before heading to his training.
I had some salad at the Blue Pumpkin before going to the bus station. As the bus traveled out of Siem Reap, it started to rain heavily. Strange weather. I went home thinking of N. My trip with him wasn’t spectacular, but it wasn’t a disaster at all. I wasn’t prepared to see him being a closet case (because he had told me before he was comfortable with himself) but it didn’t upset me because as a Cambodian, he will never be comfortable to let a subordinate at work know he is gay. I understood perfectly. I hope N learned something new about me also.
I feel somewhat the same about Fuchsiaboy. I can totally imagine us being friends. I just hope I didn’t bore him. As he wrote about in his blog, I am posting our photo here.
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