Paid Love

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Fiction



DISCLAIMER: Although some things were borne out of the writer's imagination, certain events may have transpired and resemblances to actual events, people, and places can exist.



Christian and I were lounging in his bed, talking about the trip we were planning next month to Cambodia. It was one of my favorite moments with him; watching him as his face become animated and his gestures get bigger and bigger.

That's what I have always loved about him, his fascination and eagerness for life. At 35, he at times seemed no more than a boy. Though life had dealt him its own fair share of joys and sorrows, it never seemed to have aged him. Unlike me. I always say the years are heavy on my back. The years are heavy on my back.

"You know what? They say there's a river near Siem Reap where we can see carvings made by monks in the riverbed more than a thousand years ago," he told me, his eyes widening as if he can't believe what he himself just said.

"Really? And they haven't faded away?" I asked.

"It seems they haven't completely. You can still see the faint outlines of Hindu gods and creatures. Isn't that amazing?" he replied, shaking his head.

"We should do that," I told him. "It sounds gorgeous. Plus we probably will be tired from all the temples. A river would be a nice distraction."

It was getting late and I needed to wake up early for work tomorrow.

"Hey love, I have to go," I said. I got up and started packing my things. "It's almost bed time."

"Noooooooooooooooooo," he said, pulling me back to bed. "Stay here with me." He started kissing my neck and pinned me to the bed.

"I can't. I left some papers at home and I need them for a presentation tomorrow," I told him. His lips felt so good and I loved the way his body felt next to mine. It was hard to resist.

"Pleaseeeeee?" he begged.

I looked at him and those big wide eyes. "I would love to but… I can't." He nodded but he was quiet, downcast. "How about if I leave you a present?"

"What kind?"

"The good kind," I said, smiling mischievously. "I want you to lie there and close your eyes. You don't have to do anything. I want you to pretend I'm a paid hooker you picked up for some nice blowjob. When you're done, I'll just slip quietly away."

"Well … you know … I always had a thing for hookers," he replied. The lights went out.



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Paris, France
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Mercy

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Previously:
Gossip Girl: The Gift That Keeps on Giving
When The Kingdom Falls


The bar was crowded when I got in. Europeans sporting their blonde hair, blue eyes and dark tans were laughing and dancing amid the usual Filipino tourists, a Brazilian guy who works in Hong Kong as a model, and the local boys and girls gyrating and trying to seduce the visitors. For a fee, of course.

It was hot and humid, and after a while I started to sweat so I went to the restroom to fix up when a guy suddenly started chatting with me.

"Hey, how come you weren't dancing?" he asked. He was looking at me with a crooked grin on his face. His face was red; from the heat or the alcohol I wasn't certain, but judging by the way he slurred his speech, it probably was the alcohol.

"Ahhh, I'm just a little tired I guess," I replied.

"Sa guapo mong yan, hindi bagay sa iyo ang nakaupo (With your good looks, it doesn't suit you to be just sitting in a corner)," he said. "Kanina pa kita nakita eh. Ang guapo. (I noticed you earlier. You're so cute.)"

"Ano ka ba, sus, lasing ka lang (You're just drunk)," I told him. I was getting embarrassed.

"By the way, I'm Nelson," he introduced himself. "Do you have a boyfriend?" he asked.

"Uhhhmmm… no," I replied.

"Puede mag apply?(Can I apply?)" he said.

"Uhhhh…" I stammered.

"Shit… ang corny ko."



Some guys were coming inside the restroom so I excused myself to go back to the party. After a while, we bumped into each other again just before I was about to leave.

"Ano? Mag-isa lang ako sa room ko ngayon (I have a room all by myself)," Nelson said. "Diyan lang, malapit lang (It's just near)."

"Ano ka ba (Come on)," I said. "Relax ka lang (Relax)."

"Sige na (Please?)," he pleaded. "Wala kang gagawin. Hihiga ka lang (You don't have to do anything. You just need lie down)."

And there it was, another offer for a mercy fuck. I suddenly remembered how the last time it happened, I became the most despised man in this side of the world.

I was getting stressed by the situation. I wanted to decline politely without embarrassing him.

"Ano ka ba, lasing ka lang at pagod na kasi ako (You're just drunk and I'm really tired man)," I said.

He slowly nodded, with a defeated look on his face.

"Ang hirap talaga pag pangit no? (It's really hard when you're ugly)" he suddenly blurted out. "Walang nagkakagusto sa iyo (Nobody likes you)."

I stared at him with my mouth slightly open, stunned by what he said. But Nelson was right. He was far from goodlooking, it would be a stretch to even call him plain or homely. And then I understood; he was used to this, to being rejected, undesired, unwanted. But what can I do?

"Come on, there are many other guys out there," I said, trying to lighten the mood and cheer him up.

He smiled. "Yeah, but they don't want me," he said, shaking his head. "Don't you see Kane? Everybody wants someone like you."

No, not everyone, I wanted to tell him. Everybody feel this way, sometimes.

He turned around, about  to leave when he suddenly turned back to face me. "Can I have a kiss on the cheek?" he asked.

I nodded. He gave me a tight hug and a quick peck. I hugged him back. I hoped it would be enough. I could still feel how sad and lonely he was and I wanted to say something, anything to comfort him. I felt helpless against his hopelessness. "Hey Nelson, you know..."

"It's okay Kane. Don't worry. Sanay na ako," he said. "I'm used to this."

Then he was gone.
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Meet the Cast

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Who are these people you write about in your stories Kane? someone asked me once, pointing out that several characters regularly appear in my stories. They are my friends, I replied.

The best friends one can possibly have. These are the people who I allow into the most intimate corner of my life, who I allow myself to love unconditionally. I decided it would be helpful to give people an idea of who they are and the roles we play in each others' lives.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the boys and a girl of the the Upper East Side.

Arlan is the quintessential it-boy whose smile can melt every lady's or in this case, every gay gentleman's heart.

Vackie is the boy who had the one thing we all wanted: a long-term relationship. But when everything crumbles, you are forced to rebuild and in rebuilding redefine yourself. From relationship boy to party boy, only time will tell how far the changes will go.

Fran, la querida, prefers foreigners with exquisite tastes in food and sex. Currently dating a 6'2" tall British guy with blue eyes and blond hair and brown pubes.

Edward, almost always the quiet one, prefers older gentlemen. But he's had a few encounters that taught him that older does not necessarily mean nicer.

Carlo. Single far longer than we all have been, this rebel isn't searching for love. But that doesn't mean he can't have fun and play the game.

BFFs who are sometimes enemies and often rivals for the attentions of men, these boys and a girl live colorful exciting lives full of intrigue and drama. Love them, hate them, one thing is for certain: it never gets boring around them.





XOXO

Storytelling

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When writers write, they think they're just telling a story. How my lover cheated on me. How much I love my grandmother. How boring work is. But what we don't realize is that the stories we tell about who we are may define who we become.

Life stories, by their very nature, are a retrospective reconstruction. We all have different versions of the same story. My friends and I attended a party once and the next day, when I asked them to tell me what happened, it turns out we all remembered things differently.

Or, I'd ask people to discuss a film and they'd say they like it or dislike it for different things. It was the same film but what was significant for one was trivial to another.

In a New York Times article titled "This Is Your Life (and How You Tell It)" published in 2007, researchers discovered there was a strong correlation between the content of a person's life and the stories he/she tells.

Those with mood problems have many good memories, but these scenes are usually tainted by some dark detail. The pride of college graduation is spoiled when a friend makes a cutting remark. The wedding party was wonderful until the best man collapsed from drink. A note of disappointment seems to close each narrative phrase.


By contrast, so-called generative adults — those who score highly on tests measuring civic-mindedness, and who are likely to be energetic and involved — tend to see many of the events in their life in the reverse order, as linked by themes of redemption. They flunked sixth grade but met a wonderful counselor and made honor roll in seventh. They were laid low by divorce, only to meet a wonderful new partner. Often, too, they say they felt singled out from very early in life — protected, even as others nearby suffered.

The research argues that "narrative themes are, as any other trait, driving factors in people's behavior."

“We find that when it comes to the big choices people make — Should I marry this person? Should I take this job? Should I move across the country? — they draw on these stories implicitly, whether they know they are working from them or not,” Dr. McAdams said.



When I read personal blogs or stories, I tend to create an image in my mind of who the writer is. Oftentimes, it is how the writer perceived himself as an actor in the story.

The writer could be talking of a heartache; which is quite common in personal blogs. Does he portray himself as kawawa (the underdog)? Does he regret falling in love? Or did he use that experience to learn? It is how we choose to narrate the story that matters.

Storytelling can also be important in battling personal demons. Another study showed patients who sought treatment for depression, marital problems and who won told very similar tales about the experience.

They described their problem, whether depression or an eating disorder, as coming on suddenly, as if out of nowhere. They characterized their difficulty as if it were an outside enemy, often giving it a name (the black dog, the walk of shame). And eventually they conquered it.

While these people saw their problems (drinking, cheating) as a villain to be defeated, the others felt these were part of their own character.

 
 
Another trick I've learned is to learn to shift perspective from a first-person point of view to a third-person. Remembering events in the third-person point of view allows us to be a little distant from the story and to be more critical and objective.

In a 2005 study reported in the journal Psychological Science, researchers at Columbia University analyzed how people reacted to a painful memory when it was recalled in the third person.

“What our experiment showed is that this shift in perspective, having this distance from yourself, allows you to relive the experience and focus on why you’re feeling upset,” instead of being immersed in it, said Ethan Kross, the study’s lead author. The emotional content of the memory is still felt, he said, but its sting is blunted as the brain frames its meaning, as it builds the story.



What is interesting in all these studies is the implication that the power to change our lives may fundamentally be related to how we tell our stories. We write, apparently not just to express but also to create ourselves. So be careful how you write your stories, you may be revealing  more than you want to.



Postscript:
Thank you to those who took the time to read, understand and share their thoughts about what I wrote. I fear I may have failed in making myself clear on certain things and because I strongly believe that this artice can be very helpful, I will labor to answer some of your comments.

It would help if you also read the original article as it appeared in the New York Times. I included a link above.

I noticed most of you focused on the implication of how other people would view you based on how you write. But that is not the point of this research. It is not how others perceive you, it is how you perceive yourself.

What others may conclude about you is irrelevant. It is not what kind of a writer you are, it is what kind of a person you think you are as revealed by how you tell or write your life stories.

The research also focuses only on life stories, the story of your life so it does not apply to fabricated tales, or fiction. We can surmise and discuss how we reveal ourselves in our fictional works but this is clearly beyond the limits of the research.

Again, it was a pleasure reading your comments and I look forward to hearing your ideas. Cheers =)







I would like to thank my friend Niel for sharing with me the article. He has been a wonderful friend, confidant and my de-facto shrink whenever I feel that life has dealt me another blow. But see Niel, look at where we are now? =)



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