Desafinado: Slightly Out of Tune - 17. Favorite Color

• Full
• 3/4
• 1/2

CHAPTER 17: FAVORITE COLOR

It was 6:38 PM when we got to the pier. We missed our ride. With no available cash left from paying the P5,000 fine, I only had enough for us to take the boat ride home. So I was mad. Really mad.

We were sitting on a concrete pavement on the side of the road with only the moonlight and some streetlamps in the corner to light the way. My arm was over his shoulder as he slept on my chest. He was plonked out and snoring. Sinking my eyelids shut, I waited for the effects of the drugs to wear off. Nearly an hour later, he woke up semi-lucid and partially still struggling from the MDMA—the ecstasy pills. He took three, so what did I expect?

His eyes were all twitchy, looking like someone had punched him. "Why am I so horny?" he said, wiping his face like there was a fly. "Er—should I be horny?"

"It’s because you took ecstasy—you circuit party freak." I got up, left him, and started walking. "Don’t tell me you want to go to a white party and snort cocaine for the thrills."

"What are you talking about?" He said as he tried to catch up. "I swear, Damien. There were people singing. There was karaoke." He tried walking faster as he tried catching up to me, while I walked faster so he wouldn't catch up. We were at the intersection when he stopped walking as he recalled the events that had happened. He sounded like he was telling himself what had happened. "We were literally at karaoke night. Someone was on stage singing Adele. I saw Tomas with a bag of mints and he asked me if I’d want one. He was shoving the mint to my face until I grabbed some. I didn’t realise what it was and so I ate three—oh shit. I’m a drug user. I’ve literally taken drugs. Oh my god! Am I going to prison?"

He started panicking and held his chest. I quickly turned around and grabbed him by his shoulders and said, "No. You’re not going to prison. Calm down."

"Ok. I’m trying to calm down. Breathe in. Breathe out. But I took some drugs. I’ve never taken drugs before."

"Just calm down, okay?" I said, soothing his back as I rubbed it up and down. The fact that you keep on saying drugs means you’ve never taken drugs before." The people at the pedestrian started looking at us as I waved at them and said, "He’s ok. Nothing to see here."

Minutes later, as he tried pacing his breaths, he muttered, "Ok. So I won’t go to prison then. That’s good."

A kind man asked me, "Is he ok?" looking concerned that he was panting.

"I don’t know. I think I’m a substance misuser. I’m not really sure."

"Substance misuser? What the hell's that word? Please don’t listen to him. He’s insane." I held his arm and kept walking. "We’re leaving now," I said, pushing him into crossing the pedestrian when the green light was green.

Once we reached the other side, I left him there until he followed me and asked, "Are you upset?" I bobbed my head and glared at him. "Ok. You’re clearly upset over this."

I was still pissed and mad at him. I should be upset with him. I deserved that anger. And I planned on making good use of it.

We turned left at the corner past Jollibee and 7/11 and then entered a narrow alley that led to a subdivision. There were dogs barking on the street. A jeepney was parked on the side. Tricycles were driving back and forth along the small road. A shirtless man was drinking with his friends, who were also shirtless, at a sari-sari store, commonly known as a small convenience store slated for a private residence. On my right was a group of kids playing hide-and-seek under the guidance of the singing moonlight. I smiled because they were running around like they owned the street and the entire block ahead.

There was silence behind me. I quickly swivelled my head to check if he was still there. Albert was bobbing to the music, trying to find the house where a group of people were singing in their front yard. Karaoke, the Filipinos favourite pastime, can be heard anywhere in the country. And he heard firsthand how most of them sounded like professional singers. There must be a birthday or a gathering for them to be singing this early.

"How much further? I feel dizzy."

"We’re close," I said. He didn’t even ask where we were headed. Should I assist him? NO. Be angry. You have a point, and you should stick with it.

We arrived at an old ancestral house with half the doors boarded up with green timber. Old planks leaned against the wall, covering the entrance with torn campaign posters and signs. Albert knitted his shapely, thick eyebrows out of concern.

"Is this even legal?" He gazed at the cracked walls and saw the sign, Nenita’s B&B, in big letters at the top of the house.

"We’re staying here. Do you have a problem with that?"

"No. Just asking," he said, his voice growing softer.

I opened the door and slowly entered the dark interior. We descended into a large, dusty room with a bucket on the floor and wooden chairs piled on the tables. Dim, slanting moonlight into dusty windows illuminated the abandoned worker’s scaffolds and scattered timber plans. We passed through old mattress springs leaning on the wall and entered a darker, dustier area. I groped around in the dark, and there was a light switch. Turning it on, I rang the buzzer beside the switch. No one answered.

"Where is he?"

"Are you sure there’s someone here?" he asked.

"There should be. It’s his day off today. I wonder where he is."

Moments later, a tall, lanky man with plywood hanging steadily on his shoulders entered the house. He carefully heaped the wood on top of a table and said, "Ser, what are you doing here?"

"We need a place to stay tonight. What better way than to stay at your place?"

Manny grinned and smacked his head in dismay. "But ser, the place is still a mess."

"It’s ok. We just need a place to stay for the night. Nothing more."

"Ok ser. The master bedroom is ready for you to sleep in," said Manny. He handed me the key to the master's room. "Enjoy ser."

"Thanks. Will do."

As we were heading upstairs, Albert asked, "I’ve seen him at the resort. He works there, right?"

"Yes. His wife passed away three years ago."

"How did she die?"

"Pancreatic cancer. She was far too gone for the doctors to have done anything."

"Oh," said Albert. I could sense his sadness for the stranger he barely knew. "She worked at the resort as a cook; she was a great cook. When she died, he converted their house into this bed-and-breakfast. This was their dream."

"So he’s been renovating since when? A month ago?"

"No. From when she died."

"What? He’s been doing this for three years?"

"Yeah. This was his means of coping with the loss of his wife. A one-man job of doing everything, no matter what it takes. Grief is a messy friend to have. It helps you stay focused but at the cost of losing yourself. We tried offering all kinds of help. But he refused. He says this house is a reminder of what they could’ve had and should’ve had, but never had." Glimpsing over my shoulder, I saw Albert closing his eyes with his hand on the wall, whispering words of prayers or condolence. He must’ve sensed that he and Manny were the same—two people trapped in their pasts, unable to move on.

We arrived in the master’s bedroom, and it impressed Albert. A master bedroom with white damask walls and all the amenities you’d normally find in a slinky bed-and-breakfast. The bathroom was still missing its floor tiles, but we managed. Besides, he had already put the porcelain tiles on the walls, which I’d gifted to him so his B&B would look swanky and more upscale. The entire house will look amazing once it's finished. When? Probably in a decade.

Albert was opening the empty drawers when he asked, "Should I shower first, or do you want to go ahead?"

"You go. I know you’re tired."

There was a half-wall in the shower that led to the bedroom. I angled my gaze so I could see what was happening on the other side of the room. He stepped inside the glass door and got naked. He tossed his shirt, underwear, and shorts on the floor with his entire backside in full view. I turned away to give him some privacy. But my curiosity, as I gulped to see him showering from my periphery, had won all sense of wanton pursuits. The way the light reflected on every muscle of his back and arms looked like it came from Lord Byron’s homoerotic poems. And that rotund, hairy backside with a pattern of hair that seemed to sway with every splash of water was the death of me; I wanted to slap it, pinch it, and bite it. I desperately needed him to sit on my face until I suffocated and was done with it. It would’ve been the highlight of my life—as the only choice to go.

The way he soaped himself, lathering the soap in every crevice imaginable—he looked like he was in a soap commercial, casually taking his time massaging and caressing himself. It was sensual. Too sensual. I wasn’t sure if he did it on purpose because he knew I was watching. There was a little voyeuristic action going on when I found myself behind the glass door about to enter while I was entranced and hypnotised.

"Can you pass me the towel?" he asked.

I panicked. "Er—uhm," were the stupid sounds that came out of my mouth as I looked left and right, trying to find one.

"Damien… the towel, please? I’m soaking wet here."

I ran to the bedroom to find two towels hanging near the door, and I gave one to him. "There you go."

"Thank you." As he stepped out of the shower to dry out his hair, he asked, "Why are you sweating?"

"Er—it’s hot," I said. "Can you turn on the A/C, please?"

I needed to shower and cool myself down. Jerking off was the best route. But since there was no privacy set between the shower room and the bedroom, I might as well do it another day. I haven’t touched myself in weeks. Usually, I’d jerk off in the shower or when Ryan was asleep. I’m sure I’ve heard him jerk off at one time. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, as they say.

While the water spout rinsed and cooled off my body, I glanced down and saw my cock as stiff as a rock. I touched the angry guy and whispered, "Now is not the time, boy." And then, everything came back. The anger I felt when I punched the fucker’s stupid face came back. The way Albert was nuzzling his face against Tomas’s shoulder gave me the motivation to be pissed. I held onto that. It was either angry or horny. I chose mad.

After showering, Albert was in bed while I was putting my wallet and phone on top of the bedside table. I turned off the lights and was comfortably under the sheets with both arms pulled over to my forehead. As another day ended, my eyes were about to close when movement oscillated beside me.

"I’m sorry." I pretended to sleep and said nothing. I sensed another movement. "I’m sorry, Damien." He turned to my side, moving closer as he laid an arm around my chest, seeing if I would react or not. "Say something?" I grunted. "Don’t be like this. Please. Talk to me."

"I’m still mad at you."

"Don’t say that. Please. It feels wrong that you’re mad. I don’t like it when you’re mad."

"But I am."

His legs latched around my thighs as he held my chest tighter. "Believe me. I didn’t know he’d have those drugs with him."

"But you should’ve known!" My voice bellowed throughout the room. He shuddered at the loudness of my voice, and my hand immediately reached out to pull him closer. I didn’t mean to scare him like that. Rubbing his shoulders to calm him down, my voice softened, and I said, "You should’ve known he’d have those drugs." Then, I laid out everything for him. My opinions reflected the voice of reason he was dying to push down. "Albert. You’re not well. You have to always remember that. You are not well. Hanging out with shady people might bring more problems. What if something happened to you and I weren’t there? He could’ve raped you, and no one would be the wiser to know. Don’t scare me like that, please."

"I know. And I’m sorry," he said.

"A few days ago, you were having a full-blown panic attack. And now..." I kissed his forehead to get a sneak preview of what he smelled like. And goddamn. He smelled good. I snorted that air to get a whiff of his scent. He must have thought I was in deep consternation or something. "I want you to always be by my side. No wandering anywhere, ok? Wherever I go, you go. Are we clear?

"Ok."

"Do we have a deal?"

"Yes," he said, nuzzling his head around my armpit. I closed my eyes, hoping to get some shut-eye, when the unexpected happened.

He climbed on top of me, knees around my hips and his ass on my crotch. He grabbed my hands with both arms and pinned them to the headboard. The silhouette of his face and form as he was on top of me... I was under his spell. Dry-humping my cock with his backside, he dove his mouth around my neck and licked a portion of my skin, giving new meaning to the word boner. Burying his face under my armpits, he began sniffing it.

"Why do you always smell ripe?" he said, whispering close to my ear, where I felt the bristles of his beard. "You smell nothing but manly."

I gasped at the sensation of his tongue licking my ear. "I sweat a lot. Does it bother you?"

"No," he said, ruffling the thick hairs of my armpit with his fingers as he took a long whiff of its scent. "I like it. It’s like an aphrodisiac for the sick and twisted, like me." He swerved his tongue on the base of my pit… as he dragged the wet appendage all the way to my neck. "I want you to fuck me," he said, "hard. Can you do that?"

I closed my eyes and listened to the voice shouting inside my head: Don’t do this! Don’t even think about it. You will regret this. Trust me.

But the other brain between my thighs was saying something else. He sat on my crotch as he felt the girth of my cock poking through the fabric that separated my dick and his asshole. "This feels huge. Is your cock huge? I may have to rethink this."

As I opened my eyes, I had to gather all the strength I could to deal with this—to deal with him. "What are you doing?"

"Making amends," he said, as he kept moving his hips around my cock with only the fabric of our shorts to stop our union. He tried to take out my dick from inside my shorts, but I suddenly held his arm before he could touch it.

"You don’t have to do this. Sex isn’t a part of the contract, remember?"

"I don’t care about the contract. I have to do this. You and I know I’ve been a very bad boy."

"This is ecstasy talking." I could feel myself precumming, and the lining inside my shorts felt wet. He was trying to take my shirt off when I said, "Stop this."

"What? You don’t want to do it with me? I’ve seen the way you look at me, and we both know you want to fuck me. Come on. I’m ready to take you all in and breed me like your little bitch."

The way he was humping my cock, the way he was talking to me was like, he’s my little bitch, or so he says. The way he was grinning at me like I wanted to rip his throat out with my tongue. Er—yeah. I didn’t last long. I had to stand up and shout, "Stop it!" to get away from him. But in reality, I grunted and was already cumming my shorts in buckets as I ran to the shower. I had to go to the bathroom and turn the faucet on because I was grunting and cumming inside of my shorts at the same time. 10 seconds was all I needed for him to make me cum. And it was one hell of an orgasm.

It was so intense that my knees buckled when he said, "I did it again, did I? I seem to ruin things."

I was running to get another pair of shorts as I answered, "Yes. You’ve been a bad boy—er, I mean, this is bad. You still have the drugs in your system."

A couple of seconds later, my mind was flashing images of him on top of me, grinding me. The tent in my legs came back and was alive and kicking. Thank God the light in the room was dim, for there was no way for him and me to sleep on the same bed. My horniness for him was getting the better of me. Attraction’s a funny way to say, I want to bone you. So am I attracted to Albert? It goes way beyond that. I think he’s the fire in my loins that I can’t seem to put out.

"I’m not your type. Are you not attracted to me?" I could sense he was about to tear up from this straight-up rejection on my part. But I wasn’t rejecting him; I was rejecting his state of mind, his synapse flooded with serotonin and dopamine, which makes the attraction he feels for me purely artificial. "So you don’t like me? Just tell me…"

"I, er, am." I didn’t know if I should admit it or not. "I’m very, very attracted to you. That’s a fact. It’s just that—if we sleep together while you have it in your system, you’re going to regret this the next morning."

"But how do you know that what you’re saying is what I’m going through right now?"

"I’ve taken ecstasy. I’ve snorted coke. I’ve dosed myself with PCP, Fentanyl, heroin, you name it. I’ve taken it. So I know what these things do to you." He looked surprised. I guess telling him I’ve taken drugs like they were M&Ms didn’t seem to cut it until he experienced it himself.

"I thought you were joking about it."

"I’m not. I wasn’t joking about my past. I was sharing with you the truth. But that’s not the point. The point is, I know how you feel. And I know what you’re going to feel if we have sex. You’ll feel awkward the next morning because you’ll think that it wasn’t you who slept with me, but another person. A more uninhibited person who’s very much into sex. You just got off your medications, so you shouldn’t feel this loose," I said, explaining to him the consequence I’ve been fearing. "And then you might decide to leave me—"

"—sleep on the floor then."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I’m certain. I don’t want to be forced to leave you."

"You won’t be mad at me if I don’t have sex with you?"

"I’m absolutely sure."

"But what if tomorrow you feel upset or something?"

"Damien, we’re bound together, you and I. We’re in this relationship regardless of how the other one feels. This was a terrible idea. I’m sorry."

For a second, my heart skipped a beat. It did. As corny as it sounds. Hearing him say we were attached to the hip made my heart flutter and gush for a moment. I wanted to hug him, but he might start hugging something else. I said, "Point taken. Thank you. And goodnight."

The next morning, I woke up with my back hurting from having slept on the floor. I had to use Albert’s sling bag as my pillow, and my neck was getting the best stiff neck possible. Albert stared at me as he opened his mouth to take a bite of a banana.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he said, smiling.

"Good morning," I answered grumpily as I felt the aching parts of my body.

He approached me and said, "You know what? You were absolutely right. I would’ve regretted it if I'd slept with you last night."

Staring at my boner, he began tapping the fabric. "Geezus Christ, not again," I mumbled.

"See! I’m touching your huge penis, and I feel nothing." He started rubbing the area around my crotch while I held on to something. "This is amazing. I feel absolutely nothing," he said, "even if I do this..." He was rubbing it vigorously, and I wanted to scream that he should stop. But it felt so good. "See what I mean? I think I’m back to my old self. Isn’t that fantastic?" He said it with the enthusiasm of a boy’s scout and the spatial awareness of a five-year-old. "No more horny Albert." Giggling like a sadistic monster, he took a bite of the banana and said, "See you downstairs. We’ll be leaving in an hour."

Great. Just great. He went on feeling frigid while I had to suffer like this. I muttered, "Blue-balls. We met again, my friend," as I groped my crotch and prayed that the morning boner would go away.