The realtor moves from room to room in silence. Charlotte and I follow, anxiously awaiting his verdict. Through the kitchen, the living room, the study. Upstairs, in and out of bedrooms. He ... [+]
"Oh, come on, Mary, you were always a good girl," you tease.
"No way," I shake my head and chuckle. I feel a flicker of irritation, but I relax my shoulders. You and I sit in a fancy but mediocre bar. "Let's stop talking about the past. We're in college."
You scoff and sip your drink. You know I never meant my lie in the first place.
༺ ♰ ༻
I always did what my Ima and Tatang asked of me. Become a reader at six a.m. Sunday mass? Sure, Ma. Never receive a grade below B plus? Sige, Tang. Move to Manila for college? Okay. Never have a boyfriend? Wa, no problem.
I've always been a good girl—no, a very good girl. Back in Pampanga, my parents loved to flaunt me around. I was well-behaved and modest.
‘Anak, I wish my daughter was more like you,' Titas would praise. I know you hated those the most. Your mother was one of them, after all. I know you hated it even more, knowing who I'd become by college, for you've been judging me since the day I told you about my quest for pleasure instead of marriage. You think my youthful innocence was a facade. From the Virgin Mary to the colonizer-loving Filipinas, we'd laugh at around Angeles.
༺ ♰ ༻
"Whatever you say, Mama Mary." Your eyes roll. As much as I want to tell you off, I don't.
༺ ♰ ༻
I never had friends growing up. People feared Tang. He was some big politician who controlled Pampanga. You and your mom didn't, though. My parents loved you both. So, you became the Atchi I've never had.
By the time we graduated high school, we both got accepted to the same private college in Metro Manila. It was a taste of freedom.
༺ ♰ ༻
During Freshman year, I met someone in theology. His name was Alon. He had dark curly hair and skin that hid the wave tattoos on his arm.
One day, I brought Alon back to our place to "study." Until he tossed the Bible aside, of course. If Ma had seen that, she would've screamed, knelt, and prayed endless sorries. Good thing, though, I'm not my mother. I'd still end up on my knees, however. Not for Papa Jesus, but for Alon.
That day, I had my first kiss and did oral sex for the first time.
Eventually, I lost it all to Alon—first kiss, virginity... You get it. I didn't tell him that, obviously. Instead, I researched through porn and practiced sucking on ice candy.
༺ ♰ ༻
A few months later, I asked Alon: "So, what exactly are we?"
He hesitated. "Well... we're just friends having fun, right?"
"But I don't want to be just friends."
"Sorry, Mary. I'm just not looking for anything serious."
I let those be the last words he'd say to me as I nod and walk away.
༺ ♰ ༻
You were terrible at comforting, blaming me for my grief. "‘Yan kasi, you gave sex too early!" "Hay nako, next time, don't even kiss without label..." You talked about what to do and what not to do. I don't listen. You've never been successful in the love department anyway.
I did try to take your advice, but it all led to the same failed results. After a month of trying, I was done. I began to crave sex like chocolate to someone on a diet. On another sexless night, stuck watching porn, meanwhile, I was pathetically masturbating, I realized how miserably horny I was. At that moment, I decided I was going to start having sex like a wild man.
༺ ♰ ༻
"Nanu?! So what? You're just going to let men order you like a bucket of chicken joy?" You scrunched your brows at me after I had just told you my plan to have meaningless sex for pleasure.
"At least that means I'm juicylicous, crispylicous." I laughed, but you paused as though I'd just told you I was off to prostitution.
You tried to convince me otherwise. You said, as a woman, I couldn't change my brain, not to have sex without meaning. I told you that not all deepest pleasures need romance, that I was hungry and didn't want to date.
"Are you stupid?!" you shouted.
We don't talk much after that.
༺ ♰ ༻
My first fuck a month after Alon was this fair-skinned, Spanish guy named Miguel. When I got to his house, it had a large altar filled with Jesus and Mama Mary statues. Up the stairs, I saw high school graduation photos of his siblings.
"Where's yours?" I asked.
"My grad isn't done."
"Oh..." I replied. If my mental calculations were correct, that would mean he was most likely eighteen. I reasoned that I turned that age about two years ago, so I should be fine.
Once in his room, he threw me onto his bed and pounded into me hard and fast. Is this what it was like to fuck a high schooler? Their energy seemed never-ending. My vision began to blur in ecstasy, and the bed creaks caused a slight earthquake.
After finishing two times, I turned to face him. "Amen," he whispered.
"Um, do you... always pray after sex?"
"Yup. My mom always taught me to do that. Sex is a sacred act." He pecked my cheek.
"Look... I'm not looking for a relationship."
"Oh, me neither. But I was hoping we'd only fuck each other."
"So you want the exclusive relationship experience with all the sex but no commitment?"
"Yup, I can only fuck one person at a time. The Bible says so, no?"
I got up and left him naked with cum-stained sheets.
༺ ♰ ༻
It's been three months since, and you've started talking to me again, but you always found a way to comment on how much sex I was having.
You called me ‘the United Nations.' Yet, I didn't mind. I got to taste men like I was in a food court. I was definitely not a picky eater. I fucked local and international. Sex was like trying out a new restaurant.
It felt magnificent to please myself and not worry about disappointment. You had no idea what you were talking about. While you prioritized romance and sex with undeserving men, I prioritized orgasms.
༺ ♰ ༻
I met a Douglas MacArthur-looking man named Robert. We dined in a Chinese restaurant. He ordered dishes he couldn't pronounce so that I'd feel more ‘homey.' Never have I thought that when I'd say I'm Kapampangan, he'd think of Kung Pao Chicken, not Kare-Kare.
After dinner, we fucked in his townhouse. I straddled him on top. As I fucked him, he moaned, thanking God for my ‘Chinese pussy.' I kept riding because white men's penises were bigger than locals'.
Once we finished, he tried to reach for my stomach, but I slapped him off.
"Well, someone's been eating a lot of dumplings," he chuckled.
"Kabolangan mo," I whispered, cursing his stupidity.
"Well, ni hao to you too," Robert smirked.
I leave with a fuzzy stomach and in giggles. I definitely shall not return.
༺ ♰ ༻
Walking back from the bar, you keep bringing up my past, handcrafted by others. I tell you, how a future of loveless marriage and church sessions with Ma sounds like a nightmare.
We make it back, and it smells like the garlicked fish your mother sent over for us. My stomach churns from the smell, and I run to the bathroom to puke.
"How long have you been sick?!" you demand.
I shake my head and look down at my stomach in response. I already knew that I was expecting, but I ignored it. Now, my bump was starting to show. There was no turning back. Without thinking, I grab a metal hanger off the floor. You rush as I snap and ram it into me.
"Why are you doing this to yourself?!"
"He won't live a good life..."
"Then, abort!"
I cry so hard, shaking my head. You already knew my answer. For a second, I was afraid you'd say an ‘I told you so.' Instead, you hug me and tell me how your mother raised you—how I'll be fine.
"Will you keep it?" you ask.
"I'll keep him."
"Will you tell the father?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I want to be free."
"What will you tell the people at home?"
"Home is where I'm accepted wholly."
"That means it'll just be the two of us... Aren't you scared?"
I hear the word ‘us' and worries of the future ease off me. "No."