My friends have been asking me why I have a lot of Spanish songs in my phone. I’ve always told them that I listened to one song on YouTube and liked it so I downloaded the rest. Lie. This is the real reason.
The Spanish. They have all been looking for something to spice up their world. They traveled everywhere to find something that could tickle their senses. Why am I talking about them? I used to have a Spanish boyfriend.
I’ll use his real name, Rodrigo. We met at a restaurant in SM Megamall while waiting for my mom to have a family dinner. I saw this guy not far from our table constantly looking at me. I watched for a while and we went eye to eye. I looked away in surprise when it was taking so long. A few minutes later, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and saw the guy who was looking at me earlier.
“Cuanto me quieres? (How much do you want me?)” the guy said.
“Te deseo. (I want you.)” I teased him in my reply (I know how to speak Spanish, too!).
He gave me a tantalizing smile. Another guy called him and told them that they should go. After they went, mom finally came and we had dinner. I wondered why everything tasted better than before. As if something added spice to my tongue.
After we were done eating, I saw something lodged under my plate. It was a piece of paper with a cell phone number written on it. I assumed it was his, so I kept it in my pocket and went back to my unit in EDSA Shangri-La Hotel. I feel fidgety so I called the number on the paper.
“Es tu. (It’s you.)” the voice on the phone said. He knew it was me who called.
“Si. (Yes.)” I replied.
And we talked until late night. The following days were happy. We were already dating. We always go out and he buys me stuff. Blah blah, sweet stuff. Then I realized that we’re already in a relationship. He plays Spanish songs on his phone every time that we’re together, like a background music. How sweet of us.
The next few days were a blur. One late night, he dared me to go out at the park. I was surprised that he invited me to go stargazing. The sky was clear and the stars shined bright. I gasped my breath when you suddenly rolled over and went on top of me. The next thing I remembered, his lips were on mine. And up to now, all I can remember is fireworks. It wasn’t my first kiss, but I can tell that it was the best at that time. Well, what do you expect? A Latino with a libido as big as a whale. Of course, it was all innocent touching. Then things started heating up. But, mother of all gods, he was a gigantic tease. He actually left me hanging. I thought he was going to do it.
The days after that, he kept on kissing me and leaving me shortly every time he sees me. Let’s not prolong the agony and skip to the bitter part of the story because it’s too painful to remember.
One day, I borrowed his phone to browse a few Spanish songs on his phone. “New Message” a notice appeared on your phone. I opened it and was surprised on what I read. “¿Cuando? (When?) When can we meet again? I miss you, mi papi (my papa).” I mean, “Who’s this? Another girl?” I was thinking. I confronted him that evening. He said it was his sister teasing him. Then why did she say “mi papi”? She should have called him “chico” (boy).
Another day, I was in his unit and someone knocked on the door. It appears that someone sent him a package. I opened it and in it are leather handcuffs. “Why is there a sex toy here?” I asked myself. Your name and an unfamiliar one were labeled on the package. “Receiver: Sanchez; Buyer: Rodrigo” Who’s Sanchez? I went to ask.
I waited for Rodrigo to go out of your work to ask him about the package. I saw him go out of the building with a guy. I did not approach them yet, but I’m trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. I listened carefully until I heard Rodrigo say, “¡Sentarse, Sanchez, muy importante! (Sit down, Sanchez, very important!)” and told him to wait. They talked for a while and after they stood up, they kissed. Eww. I can’t believe he betrayed me like that. I avoided him since then.
The next day, he went to my unit, and he kissed me. I was so disgusted after the thought of him kissing a guy. He told me, “Eres mía. ¿Entiendes? Mía. (You are mine. Understand? Mine.)” I burst on my dam. I kicked him out of my unit and called him names. “¡Vete a la mierda! (Fuck off!)” was my last word. I threw his phone out of my unit so he would get it. When he got out, I locked the door. And that was the last I ever saw of him.
Until now, he’s still on my mind. I can consider him the best I ever had. I still listen to the Spanish songs that we used to sing together. But I’m not going back to a guy who loves gay shit.
November 5, 2013
This post originally appeared in Clover Lark’s first blogsite.