Sunday, July 29, 2018

The Tale of Two Pairs of Eyeglasses

I’ve always wanted a pair of simple black frames for my reading glasses. But when I was choosing from the available styles, the frames that I really wanted were only in brown; their black version was out of stock. So I bought a slightly different shaped black pair, and planned to buy the style I really wanted next time. 

Yesterday I decided to check if the store had stocks of the pair I wanted. They did! But when I reached for my existing pair (so I can fill out the forms), GASP! It wasn’t in my bag. So as soon as I bought the new pair, I tried to retrace my steps. I also looked all over inside my car. Nada. I texted my siblings at home, hoping I had left it there (though I remember using it in the car before getting down). They replied that they can’t find it. I was crestfallen by the loss, but happy I had a new pair to replace it immediately.

Cut to this afternoon: As we prepared to go out to the mall, my brother sitting in the front passenger seat suddenly hit his foot on something on the floor. My missing pair! I must have overlooked it when I searched the car the night before. 

Or maybe a hitchhiking spirit is seated in the back, making his presence felt.

Thursday, July 12, 2018

Spirited NSA Fun

He’s 26 years old, fresh from the province of Bulacan where he grew up living with and working for his aunt. About two months ago he moved in with his married sister and her husband and kids in Katipunan so he can study for his civil service exams — he wants to apply for work in his hometown’s municipal hall afterwards.

He’s had a couple of girlfriends during his teens, had safe sex with them. But when he was in his pre-teens he also allowed a slightly older boy to fool around with him, culminating in the boy fucking him in the ass. After that, he’s always had this fascination with having sex with another guy.

So when he recently discovered by accident the world of hook up apps (while riding the FX, he saw his seat mate check out his Grindr app), he made an account and started meeting guys. He only met a few in Bulacan. I was the first one he met here in the metro.

On our first hook up, I brought him to the same motel with the cottages and the ghost in #44 (we stayed in a different cottage). Our stay there was uneventful in the supernatural realm, but pretty hot and heavy in the physical realm. Our post-sex chat was also interesting. He thinks he should identify as bisexual, but is also conscious that he not give off a vibe that screams, “I like men!” I assured him he’s straight-acting; he looks, sounds, and acts very masculine. Even his love for basketball (playing and watching the game) is an effective smokescreen, if ever he’s worried about tripping off gaydars everywhere.

Two days ago he messaged me on his new Grindr account — different name, different profile pic. He said he had deleted his account because he needed to go back to Bulacan for a couple of weeks. Upon returning to the metro, he tried to find me on the app but forgot my handle. So he decided to search using, sigh, the age filter.

We checked in at a different motel along Marcos highway. (I’m third-eye blind, and when I asked him, he said the most he’s experienced is occasionally feeling a presence just when he’s about to fall asleep. So he’s not sure if they’re real or just his imagination. But I decided not to take chances at being supernaturally cock-blocked.)

He’s like a clean slate; I can draw whatever I want, and it’s all new to him. I licked his nipples; he shuddered in excitement and ecstasy. I kissed him all over his neck; he couldn’t get enough of it. When I started licking and nibbling his ears, he fairly yelled out, “Ohmygod ohmygod shet ohmygod shet shet aaaaahhhh ohmygod!” My tongue eventually made its way down his spine and in between the cracks of his ass, eventually flicking at the entrance of his hot hole. By that time, he was panting and moaning non-stop. And when I plunged my tongue inside his hole, he buried his face in the pillow and screamed his pleasure, his whole body in a frenzy of shaking and twisting in delirious joy.

I turned him over, lifted his legs, and poised my condom-sheathed cock at the entrance of his hole. “Fuck me,” he pleaded. I pushed in. He moaned out loud. Then I began pumping.

I put some lube on my left hand and grabbed his thick, hardening cock. I pumped his throbbing shaft as I fucked his hole hard. I synched my pumping on both his cock and his ass. His breathing quickened, matching my movements. Suddenly he whispered, “I’m cumming, I’m cum—aaaahhh! AAAAHHH!” and then he was shouting as he shot off his load, his milky white cum landing on the pillow under his head.

Afterwards, when he came back to bed after showering off (and stepping outside for a quick smoke), I asked him, “Do you feel anything weird in this room?”

“Nah,” he replied. “As I said, when I’m wide awake, I don’t sense anything. Only when I’m half-asleep do I feel something weird. Sometimes.” Then he looked at me. “Well, you made sure I was pretty much wide awake the whole night!”

I should change my profile description: Seeking NSA safe fun — No Spirits Attached.

Saturday, July 7, 2018

An Unexpected Boo-king

I met my semi-regular fubu, and we checked-in our usual spot. It’s a motel which has individual cottages instead of rooms. We were given cottage #44, which the guard said was at the end of the row of cottages.

This place is discreet. Not only are the cottages at a proper distance from each other, there are lots of plants and trees beside and around the cottages.

When we got there, we saw that beside it was another cottage that was closed down; trash and other old stuff were stacked on the balcony, blocking the door. You knew no one goes inside that cottage.

When we went inside #44, we immediately noticed how older it was compared to the other cottages (yes, we’ve been there several times before, in different cottages). The floor even creaked, and we joked that we shouldn’t do it standing over that spot on the floor, otherwise we’d crash through.

Afterwards (sorry, this isn’t about the sex, although it was great) we were resting in bed, with him lying down by the side table of the bed. Suddenly he jumped up, and I knew he had freaked out because he saw something but was trying to hide that fact from me.

“Ano yun?” I asked. “What did you see? What is it?”

“No, nothing, nothing,” he replied.

“You saw something. I’m sure of it.”

He kept denying. I kept insisting.

After a pause, he asked, “Are you easily spooked?”

“No,” I replied. “What did you see? Tell me.”

“Nah, later. I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, sounding more sure of himself. “I’m okay.”

I tried a couple of times, but he insisted he’s okay. So I decided to stop asking.

While we were talking about another topic, we heard a sudden sound, like the crumpling of a candy wrapper. Or a very dry leaf falling and hitting the ground. Except it was inside, in the middle of the cottage.

He raised his head and turned to me, “You heard that?”

“Yes I did.”

He lay down again. “Okay.”

“Do you want to check out now?” I asked.

“No, no, I’m okay,” he assured me. Then he looked at me, “Do you want to check out now?”

Honestly I did, but only because I really wanted to know what he saw, and he’d only tell me if we’re already in the car driving away.

“No, I’m fine,” I lied. “We can rest a bit.”

After a few minutes of discussing where we wanted to eat afterwards, we decided to check out. I noticed he sat on a chair away from the bed.

In the car as we drove off from the place, I asked, “So what did you see?”

“I saw his reflection on the TV screen,” he said. Each cottage has a small, old 12-inch TV hanging at the foot of the bed. The TV was off the whole time. When you look up, you can see your reflection on the dark TV screen. It’s blurred and ill-proportioned, but you know it’s your reflection.

He continued, “I saw his reflection. He looked like a masculine guy, well-built but not, like, muscular. Just ordinary. I could only see the upper half of his body. He was shirtless.”

“Did you recognise him?”

“No. The reflection isn’t that clear to distinguish his features,” he said. “But for a second, when I saw his reflection, he looked straight at me and nodded. That’s when I reacted.”

“Where was he? You said you saw his reflection—”

“He was seated on the side table beside me,” he said.

“He was beside you? Why didn’t you say so?” I asked. “And why did you agree to stay on? I offered to check out.”

“I have always been sensitive, even when I was a kid,” he said. “I was told to not mind them. They won’t bother you if you ignore them. So I just ignored him. Even when he made that sound. You also heard the sound, right?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“That was him.”

“And then what happened afterwards? I mean, we stayed for a bit more.”

“I was ignoring him the whole time,” he said. “So I think he was just there. I didn’t look towards him anymore. And when you called front desk to check out, he wasn’t there anymore.”

“I see,” I said. But I noticed he kept looking towards the back seat of my car. By this time, we were several kilometers away from the venue.

“Why are you looking at the back?” I asked. “Is there someone seated at the back? Did he follow us into the car?”

He looked at me, startled, but didn’t answer immediately.

I forced myself not to freak out. “Can you see someone in the back?!”

“No!” he replied.

I was not going to take chances. After I dropped him off, I parked to the side, took off my t-shirt, and wore it backwards.