heatstroke

Pinocchio Disclaimer: I’m possibly more or less not definitely rejecting the idea that in no way with any amount of uncertainty that I undeniably do or do not believe this post is a work of fiction, if that indeed is what it isn’t. In short, this was way before we became a couple, Z!!!


An all-expense-paid trip to Boracay. Why would anyone say no? For six whole days, I would have no deadlines to think about, no meetings to attend and most importantly, no love life or other emo thoughts to think over. I could stretch my legs, read a book by the shore, maybe get a tan or something. There was just one catch. It was a family trip which meant I had to butch it up for about a week.

I survived mainly by keeping a low profile, making sure I didn’t ogle too much on the passing shirtless hotnesses. I spoke only when needed and always at a lower key. My voice kept breaking every now and then. At night, I’d lock myself up in my hotel room and listen to gay music, puffing heavily on my e-cigarette. (That’s right. My parents don’t know I smoke either. Sometimes I wonder if they know anything about me. But that’s a completely different post altogether and believe it or not, I actually have a story to tell today.)

The story starts in the middle of day four. My sisters and I were walking along Station 2 when someone suggested we get coffee. The heat was ridiculous and the city girls in us needed a little taste of home. We all knew a couple of overpriced drinks on ice would breathe life into our very bones and so off to Starbucks we went.

The group assembled on the second floor while I was tasked to get the drinks. I took all opportunities to have me-time so even if I had to carry a gazillion drinks up a sandy staircase, I didn’t really mind. The queue was a little long and I was starting to get a little bored until *insert harp strumming here* I saw a man who would change my life forever.

He was standing just a few inches from me. It was his musk that first got my attention. I could smell vanilla with a slight wooden hint mixed with the sweet scent of sweat and sunblock. I looked up to find a tall, white man with curly chestnut hair. His face was full of stubble, like it had been days since he held a razor. His cheekbones looked like they’d been chiseled in and when he spoke, you could see a very light dimple on his left cheek. Now you should know I’m not really into white meat but there was something about this boy that I could not ignore. He wore dusty flip-flops, grey board shorts that dangled amply, and a long-sleeved plaid polo that he’d left unbuttoned. Thank God he left it unbuttoned. I could see his chest. Thought it was a little humble, it looked like it would be a perfect place to rest my head while watching a nice DVD. A mess of curly hair covered his belly and beneath it, you could see the sickest six-pack known to man. I watched as the careless strands dove deeper and deeper and deeeeeeeeper into his shorts.

Suddenly, the islands sounds started to blur away. From far away, a woman begins to sing her song.

Nowhere, yeah we’re going nowhere fast.

Maybe this time, I’ll be yours. You'll be mine.

C-c-crazy, get your ass in my bed.

Baby, you’ll be just my summer boyfriend.

I was still me. I was still in the middle of a crowded Starbucks but it felt like my whole life had just been proven true. It’s like everything that happened before I laid eyes on this Adonis were establishing shots in a silly romantic comedy. In my head, I pictured us running along the beach- line A and line B crossing at a blinding speed. And when we meet at point C, he’d lift me up and we’d turn and laugh like they do in those cheesy 80’s movies. I saw us cuddling, sharing mojitos on the seashore, all the while recounting our lucky stars that conspired and caused us to meet at an unsuspecting café.

Let’s get lost. You can take me home.

Somewhere nice we can be alone.

Bikini tops coming o-o-off.

We’d hold hands in the sunset and he’d kiss me under a coconut tree. I’d tell him how I loved him even before I knew how to love. He’d look me in the eye, a few tears glistening and he’d say…

“Sir? Sir? Sir?!” The barista woke me from my daydream and I was, in equal parts, annoyed and embarrassed. I fished out my mobile phone from my pocket and barked out my drink orders. At the very end, I asked for my usual: an Iced Venti Americano with two pumps of white mocha. Adonis was at the bar waiting for his drinks and I was stuck near the counter, staring, melting, imagining the life we would have together.

In hindsight, I’m guessing it was all the gayness I was repressing. Remember that I’d been butch for almost 100 straight hours (pun fully intended) and I badly needed an outlet. I told myself that if this had happened in Manila, my imagination would not be running that wild. But then I caught another glimpse of this sex on a stick and before I could catch myself, I fell headfirst into another daydream.

We were covered by the blanket of night. The stars were our roof and the sand was our bed. He tore my clothes off as I hurriedly stripped him of his. I ran my hands along his abs, the ridges firm and sharp. In between moans and loud slurping kissing sounds, I could hear the barista recapping my order. His voice sounded like he was underwater. I snapped back to reality momentarily to hand the barista a few crumpled bills from my pocket. I reminded myself that my family was just a few feet away. I could not blow my cover; not after twenty-five years of being safe and snug in their closet. I took one last look at the man who made my blood race as he walked away.

Don’t be sad when the sun goes down.

You’ll wake up and I'm not around.

I’ve got to go, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh.

We’ll still have the summer after all.

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“Hot ba yung amerikano?” the barista asked. I looked at him and noticed he was smiling a knowing smile. Only then did I realize he was part of the federación. I felt validated; like somehow, I wasn’t the only one appreciating such beauty. I smiled back at him, recalling the smoldering piece of man-candy who was just at the bar, and in the gayest voice I could find, I released all the tension building up in my chest.

“Hot ba yung amerikano? SOOOOBBBBRAAAAAAA!!!” I exclaimed. The beki barista chuckled as he scribbled on my cup.

Segue to fifteen minutes later and my sisters and I were sprawled like cats on the beach. The eldest was enjoying a generous serving of Passion Iced Tea. My second sister was cooling down with a decaf no-whip Caramel Frapuccino. My third sister just finished her sweet Iced Caramel Macchiato. And then there I was, stuck with a drink as hot as the blistering sun.

“What kind of crazy person orders a hot drink on such a hot day?” my third sister crudely asked. The barista and I obviously miscommunicated. While I thought he was remarking at my Adonis, he was actually confirming my drink order. And so in the middle of Boracay, on a day that bordered on 37°, I dug my feet into the sand as I sipped my extra hot Venti Americano with two pumps of white mocha.

“My throat’s acting funny,” I lied in the low voice I use when I speak to family. All the while, my eyes scouted the shoreline for my beautiful boy with the chestnut hair and the sick abs.

♫: Lady GaGa | Summerboy (2008)

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The Emo Blogger's Happy Blogging Challenge: Crazy-Happiness

• ןıuǝ oɟ ɟןıƃɥʇ: Crazy-Happiness, A Series
• The Orange Wit: Alligator Sky
• citybuoy: heatstroke