Monday, September 06, 2004

Optional Reading: Another Sex Entry

I may be 33, but my impression about sex still lies in the romanticist Dark Ages. While there are those in their late-teens and twenties who have their wild predatory romps, I’m akin to the old maid knitting sweaters on the front porch. I’m not queasy about sex per se, I’m just naïve about the casual circumstances that lead to it.

Take last Saturday, for instance. I was in the steam room of the gym when someone hit on me. And during the whole process, my mental mode was characterized by childlike naiveté. Even when the probing hand was heading south, I did not feel alarmed. More like, “Oh, so that’s what this is all about.”

Nothing happened; I gently brushed the hand aside and politely said, “That’s not what I’m here for.” And he was cordial enough not to push the issue. It was only when he left the steam room that the reality trickled in. “Oh my God! He wanted to have sex with me!” I had to make sure that he didn’t see me when I went to the showers.

“Ang tanga-tanga mo!” my housemates shrieked when I told the story. The guy wasn’t ugly, and he spoke in a nice manner, so that wasn’t the real issue. I explained, “If we had coffee and conversation first, then he might have gotten what he wanted!”

Now I understand that in many casual encounters, coffee and conversation aren’t top-tier prerequisites. You just make eye contact, talk about the boring weather then get down and dirty. Deep personal interaction can only possibly taint the sex act with something more than physical which, in many cases, isn’t what it’s all about. (I may be wrong, of course, which gives you an idea of how little I know of these things.)

So someone had tried to pick me up in a dark corner of Ortigas Center, and someone hit on me in the steam room, both occurring without my active involvement over the past two months or so, more times than I’ve ever had in the past decade or so. If this frequency keeps up, I’m going to have to undergo another personal renovation. Whatever that renovation is, well…

(Don't be fooled by the above pic. It's via the magic of cropping.)

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