The Unspoken

I met you last Friday, in your place, a faraway place from my own home. I took the risk of going to a stranger's domicile, thinking of all the harm possible enough to be inflicted by any know person. It took me some time to get to your place, because I didn't know where you lived, you're supposed to fetch me, which you did, and which I am grateful. The trip was long, contrary to what you told me that it is a 40 minute travel, it took me almost an hour.

When we had that rendezvous, my mind was racing..

"will you show up?"

"if you see me, will you still meet me, even if I don't look like a male supermodel, or even a cute celebrity?"

"will you ditch me, when you see me? leaving me all alone in front of that university?"

BUT YOU DIDN'T. FOR WHICH I AM THANKFUL, BUT I WILL BUTCHER YOU IF YOU DID

You took me to your home, a small, crowded place you call your second home. You told me it was a mess, it was, but it was cleaner compared to my room, which doubles as our house's utility room. I am not the kind of person who would complain whether there's aircon or whether the interior design was inspired by that of Armani, Versace or even Missoni. No, I appreciate that comes my way, whether it was something I'm "accustomed" to or not.

When you took me in, my eyes went towards you, how much I wanted to hug you, how I missed you, after those times you did not even respond to my messages. I asked you why you weren't replying to my messages, you said you were busy. I can see that, because I saw that you were working on your paper for you Law classes. I hope you become a lawyer someday, if that's what the program you enrolled promised, a chance to take the Bar Exams. Then you closed the file, saved it in a flash disk, then in a compact disk because you're flash disk is more reliable than a condom with holes as big as an ant's bite. And then you asked me to tell a story, anything I wanted to tell, you said.

I couldn't think of anything, but our glances always crossed, I know you want to tell me something, your body language tells it. I know you wanted to make love with me, but you couldn't tell me directly. You looked so cute subtly throwing cues like that, I'd have to say they were subtle, and I liked it. This is the first time I would make love, not have sex, there's a world of a difference, despite the similarity of execution. Before we did it, I wanted to tell you how much I love you, even if this is the first time I saw you, and despite the fact we've been chatting before Jeffrey came in the picture. I love you, my Italian-named friend.

I want to say sorry that I didn't take the cue, because to be honest, it croses my mind that meeting you means there's a possibility that we would have sex, or in this case we would make love, sweet love. I wanted to make love because I love you, I love everything about you, even if you don't look like Tyson Ballou, Andrew Cooper, Noah Mills, Will Chalker, Brad Kroenig, or even James Franco, Hayden Christensen, Michael Copon, nor Josh Hartnett. I love you, so much that it was hard for me to have sex with you, but I conditioned myself to make love, in lieu of having sex.

We made love, to be honest that was ok with me, as I'm always ready, but I couldn't bring myself to have sex with you, as you were too special for a one night stand. You're not a Dolce Gabbana fucker, you're more special than that. You were someone I would make love when the right time comes, but it happened last Friday, not to say you became less special than I originally perceived you. You will always be special to me, mroe special than Leon and that stupid Pasigueño prick. I love you remember?

After that we had a little talk, about how I beat you because I shot my juice higher than yours, I just said I'm excited to do it (make love to you). I mean that as a complement, not desperation for sexual satiation. A more pressing finding, I wanted to say I love you, but something holds me back. Do you love me? Much more, if not as much as I do? Maybe that's too much for you, but I couldn't say it, probably because I was missing you, thinking it was just me missing you rather than something as profound as love.

Around 9pm we left your place and you accompanied me to this place where vehicles taking me near to my home. While we were walking you told me how tired I was. I was not tired. Maybe I am, may because we made love? Of course, making love can be exhausting. While we were walking I wanted to hold your hand, while we're crossing the roads, sauntering street after street, I wanted so much to feel your hand hold my hand, because I miss you, because I love you, because I want to be with you, because in you I find solace, but you don't want that, at least in public because you'd get embarrased, that's OK, I'm a private person myself.

You stayed with me until I got to ride an FX, for that I thank you. I could've waited for the FX myself, I appreciate that, but maybe you're thinking I'm too weak to travel alone, too incapable of even waiting for an FX, I can. It's an excuse to see you for the time being, I know you're busy, and I don't want to take up much of your time, you have classes the next day. But thank you, I finally meet you, we made love, even if I couldn't tell you how much I loved you, how much I waited for this day to come. I hope you love me too, because I do.