surviving something quickie.

I am not claustrophobic. There is a certain kind of pleasure that one can exhaust from anything that’s tight. Spare me your own interpretations. But, sometimes I enjoy places that force you to be intimate. Well, except for the men’s CR.

Rather than waiting in the open streets of Cubao, QC, me and my friends decided to wait inside a fastfood chain (codename: Bida ang Saya!). Frankly, we have no plans in ordering food. The Treehouse made us poor. The afternoon rain made the breeze cool ‘til night so urinary bladders tend to get a little busy filling up and emptying fluid. Ergo, we just needed pee bowls.

First shot at comfort failed because when I tried to get into the fastfood chain’s CR, a man was like holding the door against me. Did I mention there were three men inside? I wasn’t welcome so I waited. Minutes later, one man went out and I tried to force myself in. And guess what? Masikip pa rin sa loob. The CR was like connected to the Floo Network. There was an addition inside. Where did he came from, I do not know. I had to sit again.

For a CR with a size of four decent cubicles combined and a threat of a soon to drip pee, this time, I know I have to assert my right. Two men were left and I was successful. The new problem: a middle aged man was standing immediately behind me. The other one was standing in front of the mirror for … 30 minutes (this man never went out from the moment I tried getting in). You can feel the greenness in their bloods. It’s so strong you can’t miss it.

Fuck. I was so afraid to be butt-grabbed while letting the pain flow. I had to rush things, washed my hands with soft water, and I was out.

The man who stood behind me went out after 30 minutes or so (or am I exaggerating?). The other man followed shortly after with his shirt a little messed up, shoulder tensed, and pants … not that well fixed. Carlos knew what I was thinking. Things happened fast. What do they call that? Ah! A quickie, I suppose.

And so I was right. He was waiting for voluntary preys. They were waiting for voluntary preys. Or better yet, they were both predators consuming on each other – own goods to be consumed for their own tastes.

Disgusting, I know. For such practice that’s too associated with their kind, they should have been more discreet. Let’s avoid terms but quote Carlos in the end, “ang masama at pangit d’yan, ganon na nga sila, ganon pa ginagawa nila.”

Feed on you whims, feed for as long as you like. But never go over the bounds of respect – for self, for others, for the belief, for the world. We are forms of discourse. We are reflections of what we do. Do things a little more respectful – even not in quickies – but on things as a whole.

Yes Marko. I saw you yester night. Too abashed to say hi. Next time, promise.

Rachel this was the night of your birthday.

I survived the predators because I avoided the eyes. Don’t look, if you want to be spared.