Let’s call her Jean. We’ve been friends for two years now but it’s only this year that we’ve gone real close. Real close as in we play kisses, do sexual convos, touch, the whole nine yards really except the real thing. She likes me. She told me that. Her friends told me that. Do I like her? Yes, to a certain extent I do. Do I want to be her boyfriend? Well, let’s just say I’m really not sure. When her “friend” told me about how she feels about me, I was even kind of drawn aback. Maybe because I found out about her expectations and how she thought things are gonna go and the way she looked at my friendship in a different light. I didn’t want things to get messy, I don’t want to hurt nobody. So I kind of laid down from the whole super close were buddy ’til death kind of thing.

Allow me to not include some details and angles about Jean’s relationship to me. In a nutshell she really is just a friend. Let’s not talk about other emotional details that are not necessary for this blog’s humor. =p I’m not being a jerk, I care for her but it’s complicated. Anyways, sembreak I was up north to do debate stuff (9th Natl Debate Championship – Baguio) and then stayed longer in Manila. While I was there. This other guy who was her sort of boyfriend back in high school went home to  Iligan for the break. So it’s like I went up and this other guy went down. I saw this guy once before while Jean and I were at a coffee shop back in Iligan. I don’t really know the whole story between Jean and him. She doesn’t really talk about him or maybe if she did then I guess I wasn’t listening. The thing is, Jean still likes this guy. She even told me recently that the reason she tried to drown herself into me is because she wanted to forget about the bastard. Did I believe her? I really don’t know. Sort of doesn’t matter to me. But if that was true then she used me, I didn’t mind.

The whole detail about her meeting up with they guy while I was away wasn’t really something I was concerned about. That was not the funny part. The fun comes in when they had sex.

The second semester starts and I was back home. We do the usual coffee hang out with friends and it was kind of late and Jean, Rain, and I were at one table. The conversation turned to sex, like it always does. And since she already told me about what happened with her during the break, I kind of asked series of quesitons about what happened and how it felt. Rain, the daughter of a psychologist who tries to play psychologist herself, and is an open bisexual, comfortable with her sexuality joined the interrogation. So Jean told us her story.

She first talked about how it was hard for her to take off her clothes. How she ran around the room trying to avoid the guy. How she screamed when the guy actually took off his clothes. If you know Jean by person, you’d laugh at her comic way of telling stories. By the way, it was her first time. =p

So then I asked, “how many rounds?”

She goes, “four.”

Rain said, “Whooa! Good thing for a sexually oppressed girl”. That’s how Rain  used to psychoe Jean – sexually repressed.

And I was like, “Finally you know how it feels to cum”.

Jeans say, “huh?”

Rain: Cum? Climax. 4 rounds you said.

Jean: What’s that?

Me: Hold on, describe how you felt in each “rounds”.

Jean: At first it was all painful. Then the second time I asked for the guy to push more. It felt good.

Rain: Well yeah but feeling less pain isn’t orgasm. You have to feel like something’s building up and it’s going to burst or something.

Jean: Huh? Wait let me think…

Me: Oh my God

Rain laughs. High fives. Real shocks. Loud laughs.

So there it was. The rest of the night was went with Rain and I laughing about the whole thing. I told Jean I didn’t think you’re even allowed to say you’ve had sex unless you came. All the guy did was fuck her and the rounds she was talking about was him cumming. Rain was laughing. I was laughing. Jean was confused. Haha. The rest of the conversation was Jean trying to recall any bursting bulding up moment, or something to that effect. She can’t though. We went home without her remembering any. Rain says, “you should masturbate”. I laughed. Jean was one of those girls who believed in true love waits, virgin ’til marriage kind of girl, so she only reacted with disgust. Rain says she should do this at least to know that there’s something she should be waiting when in a sack. Not just to serve as a hole a guy can keep poking on. I told her before we said our goodbyes, “now at least you can still claim that you’re a virgin.”

I was home and still was laughing in my head. Poor girl got fucked and got nothing out.

Last November 6, I just turned 20. When I was in high school, I had this fear of having my age start with 2 and not 1 anymore. All throughout college, i still pick on people I know that turn 20. I’d say “Haha, tigulang na ka!” In tagalog it’s “… ‘tanda mo na!” (Should i translate to French and Mandarin too? Hehe.. Nah.. =p) Well, what do you know, I’m here now. I’m twenty and there ain’t no turning back.

The fear basicaly is grounded on being called old and seen as someone who loses the right to play young. You know, you are expected to act a certain way, to give up irresponsible childish behaviors like forgetting to pick up the laundry, and what not. You basicaly become more liable and you cannot evoke your right to this and that which we as kids use all the time in reasoning out. Getting old was just unimaginable. Good thing we have media which portraits age as nothing but a number. We see 80 year olds marrying 19 year olds, anna nicole smith is another example, this girl from sex and the city (I only saw threee episodes of this series, I was 15 then) who practically have more sex than a teenager (by sex i mean the three forms and I argue there is a fourth which is thinking about it). Reality and entertainment show the idea that getting or staying on the game isn’t defined by your age at all. Except of course if you’re a teacher and you turn 60 (=p). Growing up with the rest of the world exposed to this idea, I guess I could say I was able to overcome the fear of hitting the big ole 20 just fine.

The way I see it, I cannot erase the fact that certain things are expected of me. If you have a mom like mine, you don’t have to turn twenty to be reminded to act your age. In my case, it’s really not about cartoons or anime either because I was never a fan (except finding nemo though or other pixar films which I argue isn’t for kids only! Okay, this belongs to another post, I’ll not elaborate.) to begin with. It’s not about trading cards or other toys too. It’s about the attitude and how you look at things differently. The things you expect from relationships you establish with people. The way you reorganize and redefine what’s essential and what’s not. The way you react on issues about you and others. The way you can just laugh at things that used to piss you off. The choices you make, the definition of compromise, and the new search for happiness.

In retrospect getting old introduces these changes but the basic are still there. I still appreciate a rainy afternoon as I did in 5th grade — not because I find an excuse not to go to class but because I feel the urge to text someone “I wish you’re here” (It’s different from booty call! I’m trying to be romantic.). I still argue with my parents every once in a while but this time I’m more sure that at the end of the day, they are or have become subjects of my love or something like that. I realize that silence exists! And silence demands response, whether you hate it ’cause it makes you remember things so you try to call a friend on the phone to brush it off or you enjoy it ’cause it makes you think.

All in all celebrating a birthday doesn’t remind you of how old you’ve become. Rather, it’s the things that you do and the things that you have done throughout the years that remind you whether your getting old is something worth celebrating or not.

HAPPY birthday to me!

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