The faint music of men moaning and bodies thumping fills the room, and the light coming from the window dances to the song’s silent yet rousing rhythm. Each grunt and thrust is electrifying that it sends shivers down my groin; I happily drown in it.

I sit in a corner, sweating and short of breath, while two naked lads share the bed. I slowly fondle myself as I watch them indulge in each other’s bodies, and I don’t want to be anywhere else. I timed my strokes to match their thrusts, and after a good beating, I feel myself about to burst. Their bodies grind faster and their moans grow louder, and I whimper in pleasure as we all come.

I let out heavy pants as I try to recover, while in the bed their passionate kisses continue even after a steamy encounter. I feel my heart sink. No longer in the mood, I get up and walk past the bed. I close the window, shut the screen, and turn around to be greeted by emptiness – the bed untouched, the air stale, the music gone, and the room pitch black.

The world is dead still, and the heavy rain fills the deafening silence.


I climb onto the bed, lie on my back, and look at my phone. It’s way past midnight, and though tired, I still feel alive. I know I won’t fall into slumber anytime soon, so I let my mind wander.

This is the kind of night I dread the most – when there’s no work to do and no deadlines to beat. On nights like this, there is only time to spare and a shivering body to nurse. And as if by the universe’s grand, wicked design, nights like this are the times when my body aches to be touched. Suppressed sexual desires haunt me, urging me to play. And what’s a horny gay to do other than to succumb to his carnal desires?

So tonight, just like all the nights that came before, I embrace my pent-up lust, hoping that the strong urge linger no more in the morning to come. But while most gay men in town play with one another to satisfy their needs, I content myself with self-gratification. Rather than searching through the city to spend the next hour or two with, I happily lock myself up in my room with a box of tissue in hand, ready for an all-night porn marathon.


I remember a friend telling me once that I should start exploring. Gay men of younger ages are way more experienced than me, and it is high time that I step up my game. “Get out of your goddamn shell and make the most of your sad gay life,” he said. “You’re not getting any younger.” But exploring is easier said than done, most especially in my shoes.


I’m still a gay virgin at age 23. While I’m just as horny as everybody is, I am not one to casually meet up with strangers for casual fun just so I can satiate my urges. I place so much value on sex that I dare not deduce it to a quick, momentary pleasure I can enjoy with just anyone and everyone.

I always try to keep an open mind about sex. But being old-fashioned, I still see it as something special – something I will only do to express passion and affection for a special someone. Coming from a conservative family, I grew up hearing lectures on sex and how the act must be exclusive for couples deeply in love. I try my best to live by this principle for until the right time comes – until the right guy comes along. And until then, I don’t mind being a sexually deprived gay virgin who finds satisfaction in caressing himself.


I unwillingly spend the remains of the night contemplating about my rather uninteresting gay sex life when I jolt to a sudden buzz. I look to my right and see my phone alight. I reach out and unlock the screen, wondering why someone’s messaging me in the wee hours of the morning.

“Yo, Kiko! You awake?”

I’m typing my reply when another message comes in.

“Let’s meet? My place. Got booze. Let’s play hehe…”


I’m growing weary of dealing with men looking for quick pleasures. Yes, it’s thrilling to explore and meet other men within the local online gay community. Social networking sites and online dating apps definitely make socializing with people within my spectrum even more convenient for busy gays like me. But why does it seem like everybody just wants to hook up? What happened to meeting people to make new friends? What’s the point of connecting if people only build bridges so they can get laid?


I notice that most of the men I talk to or flirt with tend to stick around only until they realize that I’m not looking to get laid. There’ll be radio silence for quite some time – they probably move on to the next guy who would welcome them with legs wide open – and then come back around, asking me how I’ve been and inviting me for a meet-up. It’s all the same with every man that I come across with, and things get worse once they learn that I’m a gay virgin.

The 19-year-old me would blush after receiving such a message; I assume a young, naïve gay guy would feel the same when he learns someone wants to have sex with him. But I’m not young and naïve. Not anymore.

Moreover, I am no stranger to such messages, too. I have received almost all sorts of sex invites from various men on different virtual dating platforms, some with nude photos attached, one too many times that my fingers no longer search for keys as I type in my reply. And just like all previous occasions, I key in a respectful yet dignified decline.


I turn off my phone and throw it away. Feeling chilly, I hug my pillow tightly as I would my boyfriend. And as if by default, my mind drifts back to the first guy I dated. I hate the universe for the mockery, making me remember him at an evening like this.

Our story is anything but special. He is my first boyfriend, but nothing in our relationship really stands out. However, as the mind is programmed to remember our every first, I remember our story just clearly.

It started when I just turned 21. We went out for almost a year – if a year of me trying my best to win him over and him constantly seeing other men for casual hookups can be considered as dating, that is. I genuinely liked him. But the feeling wasn’t mutual.

After we broke up, he admitted to pursuing me simply to learn what virgin tastes like, and that explained why he was so persistent in inviting me over to his pad when his folks were out of town. He even gave me a pair of brand-new undies, which I thought at the time was sweet. Only now do I realize that that was his way of telling me that he wanted me on his bed. Of all the time he tried to get into my pants, I was conflicted; I was so close to finally giving my virginity up. Praise good heavens I was wise enough to always keep my jeans tight and zipped up.


That one year of a mess we called a relationship definitely isn’t one of my favorite experiences, but it sure changed my life and perspective as a gay virgin. As I nursed a broken heart, I learned to be wary of other people’s intentions. I don’t want the same thing to happen to me twice, so I try to be more cautious moving forward.

If there is one thing I regret the most in our relationship, it would be the kisses we shared. I can still remember that afternoon in the park as if it was just yesterday.


The weather wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t particularly nice either – I think it’s just right for a walk. It was our first date. He was holding my hand, and I was laughing at something that he said. I can’t remember it now, but I know it’s something funny. I liked him for being funny.

And just when I least expected it, he kissed me.

That was my first kiss.

I have imagined a hundred and one scenarios of how I want my first kiss to be. But while a first kiss in the park is on the list, I have never thought it would go the way it did.

A stolen first kiss under a gray sky.

A stolen first kiss from a desperate guy.


I sincerely hoped for my first kiss to be magical. Ever since I was a teen, I have longed to know what it feels like to kiss someone. I imagined it would be enchanting, that it would make my world stop and leave me breathless. But it didn’t. What I had instead was a pretty lousy first kiss. I’m no expert in kissing, but that kiss was sloppy – sloppy and insincere, just as the rest of the kisses we shared soon after.

I try to push the memory out of my mind. But as I do so, a frightening thought quickly takes up space.


What if my first sex turns out to be just as terrible as my first kiss? I think I wouldn’t mind plain vanilla for my first sex, as long as there’re passion and romance. I think I wouldn’t mind a disastrous first sex either, as long as I do it with the right person.

But to experience sex the first time with someone who only plans to stay for the night? That I cannot fathom. The thought of losing my virginity to the wrong guy alone is unbearable that I feel my heart sink every time it crosses my mind. And as much as I hope that it doesn’t happen to me, I understand that there’s a great possibility that it may. Living in a city where sex is casual, the only thing a gay virgin like me can do is pray.


I feel a lump form in the back of my throat as I ponder on such thoughts. The room is now filled with fear and worry it’s suffocating. Craving some air, I leave the bed, lift the screen, and opened the window. Not long after, the room is alive once again. I turn around and find the bed occupied, only this time, there is only one man. He revels in pleasure as the sheets caress his skin.

I cross the room to sit in the corner and watch.





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