"Uno, my son. Where are you? Are you on your way to the airport now? Dos would arrive any minute from now. Don't keep a woman waiting, just please."
"Mom, I'm on my way, okay?" he told his mother over the phone, sounding pretty pissed.
She has been calling him for ages even when she knew he was still at work, just to make sure he'd be true to his words of lodging a woman he barely knew. Other than the fact that Dos is the daughter of his mom's best friend, who came from the States, and who chose to study Psychology here in the Philippines, he knew nothing more.
All he knew was the responsibility of looking hand and foot at someone else's obligation was needed to be shouldered by him for four years. Four years. Just four years. He'd just pretend he doesn't have a life of his own.
"Okay, son. Drive safely, okay? Text me when you get there and when you have already picked her up, will you?"
"Will do."
When he arrived at the airport, a crowd at the arrival waiting area welcomed his sight. Some, were at last, reunited with their loved ones who've been gone for so long. Some were still waiting, tilting their heads from here to there.
He hates crowded places, so he decided to sit and wait for Dos at one of the available benches at the airport. He hates the touch of one's skin on his. Their sticky, unpleasant sweat. Their scent, which could cling into his flesh, and the tickling feeling of one's skin hair. The meticulous him hates those.
To avoid looking like a loner, he decided to take his phone from his pocket and went to Grindr to pass his time. Swipe here, swipe there. But to no avail. No one piqued his standards. No one had ever, well, except for one, Sylvester, his first love. No one knew the reason behind the picky him, including himself. To think all the men who tried to hit on him were dashing, towering, and lengthy, judging by the size of their shoes. He's a virgin, with a reasonable excuse why, so his only basis of a man's length has always been their pair of shoes.
"Care to hang out this weekend? I'll shoulder the expenses."
"Sorry, I'd be busy this coming weekend. Actually, I'll be busy for the whole year."
The truth was, he didn't do anything that weekend. He just plopped himself on his king-sized bed, ordered food to pamper himself from a tiring week at work since his father had been training him with the positions of the CEO he'd be taking over soon.
"Whiskey. Neat."
"Oh. That's sexy."
"Hope you are, too."
That guy was trying to hit on him, but there he was, shutting him off.
"The bill's on me. How much is everything?"
"Eight thousand five hundred thirty-two, Sir."
"Oh. I...I..."
"Nine thousand, cash. Give the change to my date. I'm heading off."
And he left his self-absorbed date there, at the bar, alone, sitting at a wide seater sofa.
"Your place or mine?"
"Are you HIV negative?"
That guy left him, unlaid. Who on earth would ever bed someone who asked them if they are clean? But truth be told, that was for safety and the reason why he's still a virgin. He doesn't want to die a virgin, but he wants not to die devirginized and HIV positive, too. Not that he was stigmatizing anyone, it was just him, keeping himself as clean as possible.
He was too busy with his phone when he felt someone sit beside him. His temper cursorily shot as he turned his head to eye on whoever it was who dared to occupy the vacant seat beside him. There he saw a woman with icy blonde hair, thick ebony brows and lashes, charcoal-colored pair of eyes, meticulously formed nose, and perfectly-shaped reddish lips. To cut it all short, she was a goddess fitting her feet in a human's shoes.
He couldn't stop himself from rubbernecking the woman's mien. She's easy on the eyes, even on the eyes of the gay man seated next to her, Uno himself.
She looks familiar, he thought to himself as he took another clandestine peek at the woman's visage. I think I already saw this poreless bitch somewhere.
"Hi," the woman quipped, flashing her perfect set of pearl white teeth at Uno as she tied her hair into a bun. "You're Uno, right? Tita Nicole and Tito Marco's unico hijo?"
Oh. Now I know where I saw her, he thought, remembering the picture his mom sent to familiarize him with Dos' face.
"Hi? Mind speaking?" she said again.
What's her skincare tho?
"Hoy!" the woman shouted against his ears.
His shoulders jerked upward in surprise. He gulped as he straightened his posture and slid his sweating palms on his pants.
"Pardon?" he asked in a soft voice, which sounded too feminine to him, so he cleared his throat to repeat himself. In a low manly voice, he reiterated, "Pardon?"
The woman laughed, her dimples showing.
Ghad. I wish I had those.
"I asked if you're Uno, the unico hijo of Tita Nicole and Tito Marco."
"Y-yes...You're Dos, r-right?" he stammered. Beads of sweat broke on his forehead. His eyes kept on glancing at the woman's cleavage, which was visible through her decollete dress.
What the fuck am I looking at? Walls?
"I'm Dos," she said, extending her arms for a handshake.
He took her hand in his. "Shall we go?" he asked, and she nodded her head in response.
Not more than an hour later, they arrived at his pad. Both of them slumped on the soft black cushions by the living room. He noticed how Dos roamed her eyes around, looking at the four-corner pad she'd be sheltering herself for four years.
He didn't bother to worry since his place was clean as that of a woman's. From the living room with a set of black velvet couches placed on a furry black carpet. To an empty all-glass center table between the sofa and the fifty-six inches television. To the cabinet under the TV, which looked bedazzling with its glowing surface. The kitchen area where all the cooking utensils and table dishes were hanging or placed inside the drawer to avoid an eyesore. And the bar area, overlooking the pool area, which consists of only three black stools. Behind the bar counter were dirtless bottles of expensive liquors, Tequila Ley, 925, to name one.
"Nice place," Dos mumbled, still lurking her eyes around. "I'd honestly mistaken this as a woman's space."
He suddenly felt uneasy upon hearing what Dos said. Other than his closest friends, flings, and parents, no one else knew his gender identity. Not that he isn't proud, nor something or someone's stopping him from disclosing his homosexuality to the world. It is just that he sees the world as a cruel place, where the people aren't ready to accept someone like him, no matter how prepared he is to come out.
"Thanks..." he replied, his eyes on his feet dragging on and off the marble floor, feeling uncomfortable still.
Then he heard her laugh, quite debasing on his part.
Does she have a problem with gays? he thought.
"Excessive cleanliness, meticulousness, attitude, accent and fussy pronunciation of words...Are you gay?"
she queried innocently.
He was caught off guard by his company's nonchalance. What a candid way to ask something that must come with wariness, he thought.
"Do you have a problem with gays?" He arched his brow. His attitude showed up.
"Are you gay?" Her tone was challenging.
"Do--"
"Yes or no, are you gay?"
"N-no..."
"Why stammer if you're not?"
That hit a nerve in him.
"I'm not gay, okay? If you want proof, then come here, sit astride me then I'll prove your assumptions wrong."
Please say no, in the name of mighty meaty gays.
"Sure."
Fuck this woman.