Jing went to sleep early while Ovit was no where to be found. And so just last night, the task of scouting the city's streets and narrow pathways of gorgeous boys were all in my feet and those of Brian's.
Just past 11 we took the familiar route around downtown. Me and Brian brawled the humid night and sifted the silent streets fresh from the holiday exodus. We easily glided our way around the blocks with the hope to tame a creature in this place we call, the jungle of men.
But like all the other walks we took, we realized that we are not alone. Our chums from a not-so-far-away land also took the yellow brick road.
Those who take the walk need not explain. As the gathering itself is the ultimate justification of lost souls, all weary and tired of their superiors' fancy.
Honestly, I enjoy the walk. Not the walk itself, which I tell you drains me sometimes, but I enjoy the experience that goes with it. Let's just call the streets our very own treadmill with a little sensual twist.
Well, aside from the thrill of meeting/molesting men who posed as willing victims to thirsty vampires of our kind, the walk itself is a way of replenishing one's parched existence. As we walk, we do not only move our limbs. We cease the fleeting moment to catch-up with each other's lives. We fill the gaps which set us apart. We try to be one. We tell each of our stories as if they are chants to attract luck.
But when it was time for me and Brian to rest as we were almost half-way in our journey, it came to me that Brian and Ovit were with me when I took my first walk. There I met this average looking guy who I had sex with in a public rest room.
That was three years ago and until now, I still find pleasure in this very addicting midnight hobby - the walk.
To end this entry let me share to you a poem (below) and a photo (above). A poem writtten by J. Neil C. Garcia, the editor of the Ladlad Series. The photo; a guy I met along this avenue about a month ago. He introduced himself as Leo.
I'm Tired of the Seduction of Boys
I'm tired of the seduction of boys
touching crotches with brown careless hands,
the smiles thrown too easily,
the moist and lip-licking tongues.
On jeepneys they sidle up close,
tap your side with an errant finger, or footsy
under rheumaticky expressions of women
dogged by too much dust to care.
By the basketball courts
on streets forced into blindness by joy,
they sling creamywhite tank-tops
over shoulders, croon and preen like
fabled magnificent birds.
The gamy smell of armpits,
the shrill uncurling hairs.
Boys laid out to sweat
and be odorous in the sun:
of their tight and sour skins I'm cloyed beyond
redemption. I've tired of the concupiscent moments
of hearing the rush of blood
into my body's cavernous pockets:
of squeezing shut the dull, exclusive pain
of a throbbing, pig-headed erection.
I'm unmoved by boys
and their penises that fill my mouth
with a promise of red sunsets
bursting like bubblegum dreams, tasteful
as sweetmeats gone stale.
Perhaps it's time
to stop being much to swift to spot
in a crowd shuffling downcast and lonely.
Perhaps, it's my turn to do them a good turn,
to throw a smile and meekly touch the crotch,
flick out the dark assuming tongue,
and do the seducing
for a little, spare change.
I'm tired of the seduction of boys
touching crotches with brown careless hands,
the smiles thrown too easily,
the moist and lip-licking tongues.
On jeepneys they sidle up close,
tap your side with an errant finger, or footsy
under rheumaticky expressions of women
dogged by too much dust to care.
By the basketball courts
on streets forced into blindness by joy,
they sling creamywhite tank-tops
over shoulders, croon and preen like
fabled magnificent birds.
The gamy smell of armpits,
the shrill uncurling hairs.
Boys laid out to sweat
and be odorous in the sun:
of their tight and sour skins I'm cloyed beyond
redemption. I've tired of the concupiscent moments
of hearing the rush of blood
into my body's cavernous pockets:
of squeezing shut the dull, exclusive pain
of a throbbing, pig-headed erection.
I'm unmoved by boys
and their penises that fill my mouth
with a promise of red sunsets
bursting like bubblegum dreams, tasteful
as sweetmeats gone stale.
Perhaps it's time
to stop being much to swift to spot
in a crowd shuffling downcast and lonely.
Perhaps, it's my turn to do them a good turn,
to throw a smile and meekly touch the crotch,
flick out the dark assuming tongue,
and do the seducing
for a little, spare change.
January 6, 2009 at 3:58 PM
hehehe! cruising ka yo ha...
di ba kapagod maglakad, more energy kasi midnight na, baka antukin kapag wala ma-spot-tan.
do you still do "the walk"?
January 6, 2009 at 7:25 PM
to meow: yes, nakakapagod maglakad but I can handle it... and yes again, i still do the walk...
August 28, 2011 at 7:29 AM
Sounds awesome!
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