 |
       |
|
|
In a truly queer manner, let me just say that I am convinced that the way I shop relates to the way I handle my sex life.
My mother talking: having a busy lifestyle means having to adjust your life a lot.
Not that it’s something new. It’s probably known among certain schools of psychological thought that man’s internal energies, however good the person is, has to be channeled somewhere, somehow.
Anyhow, I’ve found myself, a guy, these past few days, to spend a lot of time going to places, visiting websites, acquiring information that will lead me to buy something, even if I don’t.
And these are the times wherein I also find myself increasingly looking at and being very observant of cleavages, asses, arms, necks, legs, chins, blouse holes….
Women probably shop a lot because they’re repressed a lot. Sexually, that is.
I meant probably. Meaning, I don’t know, really. That settles the sexism debate. “Probably”.
*****
(Insert romantic beach music here)
A 20-something lady was with her friends in post-Holy Week Boracay, walking along the beach, trying to absorb the cool sunset glare. It’s relatively peaceful without the usually irritating party music, prompting them to walk slowly and bask in the tranquility of it all. She wraps her hands around her arms and giggled coyly—almost inattentively—to her friends’ jokes; for because she was only with her friends, the feeling was only bordering on romantic.
Like scenes would flow, a smile formed on her face when, as would be sometimes desired in such conducive places, a man approaches and seems to take interest in her, the man giving her all the appropriate gestures that befit her--probably the (un)usual approach-talk type of routine, with all the introductions and all the appropriate getting-to-know civilities. It was going as quick as the girl’s heartbeat but felt like it would last as long as a man’s last minute to live. Her friends felt the “tension” and trailed off, aware that they needn’t mind if she thought they were leaving her alone, for she was with him. They felt happy for her: he was smiling all the while and she’s apparently interested. It was going quite well until the girl (like any other sigurista) casually asked to the effect, “baka naman may magalit…” The guy, seemingly confident, smiled and said as-a-matter-of-factly, “Yeah, meron, actually. Pero don’t worry, stable naman kami eh.”
(Insert tape wobble here)
*****
Is it just me, or by some stroke of intelligent design, that in PUJs, the last couple of people before the thing fills up, those that make number 9 of “siyaman” (or number 10 in “sampuan,” or whatever) in each bench, will end up facing each other, knees clashing, both thinking why the hell they ended up that way while at the same time finding ways wherein each of their knees can harmoniously take up aisle space before at least one passenger gets off?
Long question, I know.
*****
They say our instinct is that thing in us that makes us similar to animals, in that it doesn’t have that “human” control. Assuming, of course, that to “control” is the essence of being human.
Everyone has probably heard (and been involved in) numerous debates about infidelity, monogamy, the nature of man to do so, that women also do it, that it’s men’s fault, that women make men do it, fuck shit shut up bitch, et cetera. Some say that it’s part of man’s cosmic role in ensuring the propagation of the species. Some people say it’s some role both men and women mutually agreed to assign men so they could make a thing called a “community” work, wherein each one didn’t really have to think about everything all the time--that one could concentrate on hunting, or gathering, or making fire, or taking care of children, or cleaning the house, or paying the bills, or getting loans, or settling divorce papers, or whathaveyou. The way I look at it, it was probably invented in the spirit of cooperation more than domination.
Just look at male lions, their harems, and their 8-seconds-till-ejaculations.
In the same “spirit,” some people describe any peaceful, universally-inclusive, and self-uncentered movement “feminist.”
No, it’s not just anything pointing to a vagina.
Whatever.
*****
One time I learned that a friend was having an affair, effectively isolating his 5-year-old relationship during isolated moments wherein he lost himself to the arms of an older, more ego-satisfying woman.
We talked about it, and the more we did, the more I did not understand. The more I did not understand, the more I became fascinated with it. Because it was happening
It was real. It was staring at me through a lardful of a man.
Months later, a (married) friend told me once that if money wasn’t an object--in that if he had lots of it to throw out--he’d probably have an affair.
The second he said that, it was as if I had earned Satori and the world’s pieces suddenly fit together like they’re lovers and green digits began to trickle down from the ceiling. Yes, I understand.
Sometimes, a man just has to be with another woman. Period.
As far as energies are concerned (it’s just so convenient to use energies), it’s letting of some through things that can’t be released the same way in things we’re used to.
I mean, we can’t really treat our wives / girlfriends as “other women,” can we?
Men who have been there know how it is to crave for another. And there are those who know how it is to think that it’s alright.
Why do they think it’s alright?
Call it discontent. Call it a craving for flesh. Lust, even. Hell, call it gluttony for all its craving qualities, for all I care.
I’m starting to like it. I have, actually. It has been an itch ever since I’ve pledged to be faithful. Rubbing my hands and letting out a smile only Beelzebub can emulate.
But I haven’t done it. I haven’t been unfaithful. Call it luck, destiny, or some sort of intelligent design, chances of me being unfaithful have passed and only passed, never seeming to want to stop and take me for a ride.
The same way, perhaps, that I haven’t died no matter I take late-night ordinary buses that travel at light speed; or walk through streets reputed to be infested with the pests of society.
Or, probably, some people are meant to die at such young ages, in such unexpected times.
I am destined to live long and live a good boy.
It’s in minds of people like me that the Devil gets invented. Do I want to be unfaithful because I haven’t done it? Do I want to do it because I don’t know what it feels like? Do I want to do it because it gives me a cheap thrill?
Do I want to do it because I just want to, that I want not just variety (because one can certainly do something about that) but that I simply want to fuck other girls?
If I was ancient Greek, I’d blame it on some god.
But if it calms my aura, satisfies my hunger, and sets my mind anew, and I can afford to effectively not let anyone get affected in any gross manner, how much could a night’s pleasure cost my soul?
Eyes Wide Shut by Stanley Kubrick. The couple had a shaky relationship and the guy thought he’d try his luck out in a very exclusive men’s club, where it’s so exclusive that only the most important people in town are involved in it. The guy, not being very important was cornered by the others and was, in a rather interrogating gesture, asked him for the “password.” He said the password correctly: “Fidelio.”
Now, the story had more turns, but this is where I end. If you haven’t felt the impact of that one scene, you mustn’t have realized that for a men’s club (a “harem” if you will), “Fidelio” would have been the last thing in all the members’ minds.
I guess it would take a man to understand another.
If it’s part of instinct, what’s so bad about that?
I’m not so sure how it will go about, but I’m imagining that it would have consequences on how one would look at things and how one would relate to people. Like, how one (if you may) innocent attempt at paid love will probably make a man look at women, sex, life, and manhood in a totally different way than if he hadn’t.
They say experience is the only key to true learning. Hearing it from others isn’t the same. It’s like learning about the joys of sex by jacking off.
I choose to not to learn.
It’s about probability, I guess. I’ve known myself to doubt things (in a truly Descartes-ish fashion), so I’m just guessing, feeling stuff that’s probably there or not there.
I’m not certain about anything that might happen as a consequence of being with another woman--whether or not I’d be caught doing it, or I’d behaviorally change, or that I’d be a better man, or whatever--it’s still all muddy to me. I can only think about how monogamy has become part of some sort of cultural wisdom, take a shortcut, and choose to learn from what others had already made out of their messed up lives.
What I’m saying is that, in my mind, if that’s what’s going to cost me the love of my life, then it’s worth every penny of my soul saving.
I know. It doesn’t sound so cheap now.
*****
-
Article by Iñigo Mortel
Posted on January 20, 2006, under Uncategorized
