A (frustrated) Wife's Monologue (part 2)

Almost a year to the day I wrote the first part, the same issue rears its ugly head again. This time, I confess I was the guilty party - I was too frustrated to edit my word blurted a rather harsh line - "I wish you were man enough."

It was a typical night of banter when I uttered that line to myself in response to his laughing remark of "What? You don't think I'm man enough to wear it?" A few minutes before dinner I just got rejected again when I suggested we could make a go at it because I was ovulating (I know. Hormones and tempers don't mix). I know it was harsh and his anger was understandable.

I gave him a few minutes to cool off and tried to apologize. He was still fuming and said I might as well post it on Facebook for everybody to see. First, I rarely post about him or us and second, it's always something I find endearing about him. Now tell me if that's undermining him. My private life is just that - private.

Giving up is not in my blood so I tried again. I just got an angry "go find yourself another guy" followed by the silent treatment. I know I hurt him with that thoughtless remark and I accept that. I just wish he saw past that and try to find out what was eating me. I don't need another guy. I want my husband.

One of our friends gave us this book "The Act of Marriage" that advises Christian couples on the importance of sexual love. He refuses to read it. It doesn't really help me much in terms of my drive because it assumes the man is more driven than the wife and not vice versa. It doesn't even advocate masturbation. Great, so we're stuck. But it does say that a thoughtful partner would think about his wife's pleasure. Good luck to me on that.

One of the ironies of married life is that you still can't tell your partner about every opinion and thought you have. You still have to walk on eggshells to avoid upsetting the balance and you have to appear like a Stepford wife. But I'm not. I'm me. What the heck do I do now?

Post-Script: After doing some retail therapy and another apology from me (aided by an apology coupon stuck to a cute bunny coin bank), we kissed and made up. Lessons learned - filter my thoughts and men have fragile egos.

The Boylet Chronicles - The Pitfalls of Falling

"Why can't it be more than friendship?"

I was sitting at the next table when the guy I had a crush on (and a recent boylet at the time) asked this to my friend that I set him up with just that night. The guy was smitten.

Already feeling miserable from some extra-strong antibiotics my doctor prescribed the day before and wearing 5-inch heels for the company year-end party we attended, my heart dropped to the floor when his attraction transferred to my pretty friend. They were a perfect match (at least I thought so at that time). He was attractive in an intelligent way accented by that DJ-like voice. He was smart and articulate to boot. She was petite and pretty with a mean understanding of philosophy and science (which I conveniently forgot as soon as I finished college.) The funny thing was, it was my idea to introduce them to each other because I just wasn't that interested in the guy (or so I thought). On hindsight, he was rather clingy - which I really didn't like - but that's a story for another day. Let's just say I was hoping against hope he found me worth pursuing too. Just my luck that when I pushed him to the other direction, he willingly went that way.

So I sat there in that 24-hour fastfood joint with a smile plastered to my face, trying so hard not to stare at the tender looks he kept giving to my friend. For once, one of my matchmaking schemes did work though I never knew I would feel hurt. I wanted to snatch one of those looks for myself. I just had them a few days before!

However, I knew it wasn't meant to be. Meantime girls don't get lucky in that part. And I volunteered the matchmaking in the first place. Inherent kindness and a weird code of ethics compelled me to follow through. I was the meantime girl. The one he had in between. He did say we were both adults and knew what we were getting into. In principle, I was sticking to that.

I saw the romance bloom in front of my eyes. I plastered that smile to hide the loss, pain and letting go of something I couldn't have. Okay, okay. I didn't quite hide the pain very well but I blamed them on my fab heels, which by the time he remembered to ask about my welfare, I was already holding in my hands while I hobbled behind them barefoot.

I know, I know. I wasn't as casual about the encounter as I wanted to be. Female that I was, I still needed to feel something to do it with the guy. But I knew we didn't have a future anyway (and call it intuition because I was right not to go that way). Still, I wanted to say "Hey, he was mine first!". No, I didn't. I know a hopeless case when I see it. (Do credit me for having a bit of self-preservation.)

If I learned anything about that long-ago episode, it was to never, ever fall for the guy. Even just a bit. Oscar best actress awardee I am not. Not unless you have a really good excuse to look miserable (like really strong side-effects from meds or a bad decision to wear really high heels because they made your legs look good), just stay clear of falling for the guy.

Wallflower Posts - The Other Side

"You? A wallflower? I don't believe it!"

A friend's shocked comments one coffee date ago had me explaining the weird phenomenon of Quiquay ending up as a wallflower. The poor guy couldn't believe loud, gregarious, passably cute me would ever end up as a wallflower. Oh, you better believe it, pal. I was a true-blue, certified bluestocking wallflower.

For a loud girl who loved to dance to end up as a wallflower seems impossible but I was. During prom, I remember watching in desperation as my crush danced with other girls and I had to dance with every other drooling minion my nemesis could command. It was also sweet torture to talk and smile at him in an after-prom party and pretend everything was fine. And like some weird plot that could only happen in TV-landia or my life, I also had to frustratingly wait in the sidelines and watch him court other girls while simultaneously acting as a gatekeeper between me and some suitors. In their world of bro-code, he couldn't even express interest in me - if he was ever interested.

College saw me with a little more guts to flirt but under the guise of friendship. I figured, as much as I was for the feminist movement (to an extent), guys still had to make the first move. So there was I, a bit aloof, sometimes friendly, still pining away for the crushes that never went beyond a smile and small talk.

Valentine's Day was especially torturous in the dorm as the resident assistants paged the pretty girls one by one to claim their flowers, cards, chocolates and dates at the lobby. After a freshman year of enduring that painful occasion, I resolved to stay out of my room every February 14. Unfortunately, in the following year, the images of balloons, roses, chocolates and hearts nearly had me snapping at everybody so I wished I was back in my room. Thankfully, some rather sadistic (?) professors scheduled their mid-term exams during the auspicious day so I was spared the maudlin effects of feeling sorry for myself and worried about my grades instead.

I was also supposed to be more able to interpret behavior because I was studying human behavior, right? Not. I was actually clueless about men. I figured, if he was interested, he'll find a way to be with me. But as I found out, the guys I met wanted easy and prettier pickings - girls they didn't have to court for a year and those who looked like models and dolls. Loud, opinionated, obstinate and just passably attractive little old me was just to prickly to be considered.

Incidentally, I just wanted a guy who could tell right in front of me how he felt and what he wanted. Weird enough, the boylets I eventually met did ask and told me exactly how they felt. Yeah, yeah, I know it's just that, but it was progress. Eventually, one did go beyond the prickly thorns and found his rose. It was the others' loss and his gain.

The Boylet Chonicles - Boylets and "The Rules" Book

"The Rules" is a self-help book that basically tells females to let the man do the asking. Does that mean we have to wait in vain while they make up their minds whether they like us or not? Waiting - that we have to do. In vain? I don't think so. "The Rules" also advises women that they should just stay as fabulous and unique as they are and let the confidence attract the men like flowers to the bees. If they don't come - well, at least you went on with your life.

A friend also referred a book called "He's Just Not That Into You" which basically says the same - wait for the man to do the calling and asking. If the man really likes you, he'll do whatever is possible to be with you. If he doesn't call, he's not interested.

So how do "The Rules" relate to the boylets? If it's a booty call, it's a booty call, right?

Not all booty calls are created equal. Just as not all meantime girls are created equal. There are meantime girls that just settle for the scraps their boylets give them and then there are meantime girls who take their power on their own and explore the world for all its worth. These girls are not the sort to mope the guy's lack of commitment. They know they're fabulous just the way they are. Just because you agreed to a no-commitment physical relationship doesn't mean you ignore all common sense and let the guy have his way with you. You have to lay down the rules lest the guy think you're a doormat he can just walk over. Hey, he still has to respect you even after the fact (or sleepover. or act- whatever you call you-know-what).

Not that I claim to be the latter kind. I just figured it was useless wringing my hands and dissecting every single gesture as a declaration of their affection when I knew it was what it was. The strongest emotion they might have had would be a friendly fondness anyway. And I was in a safe place (but with a very whacked-out neurosis I don't even want to dive into) so that was that.

Anyway, long before I knew what "The Rules" were and what it contained, I let the guys do the asking. If I was free, then maybe we could go out. If I wasn't in the mood (or down with a really bad cold), I said no. One time a guy sent a text messages asking me out (you know what that means) and I was exchanging sexts (sexy, full of innuendos text messages) with him, little did he know I was in my ratty clothes, all red-nosed, bleary eyed and gargling warm salty water to ease my sore throat. I finally had to say, "No, I really can't" and tell him as much as his invitation appealed to me (hey, he was a major cutie!), I really didn't want him seeing me at my worst and catching my cold. Thankfully, he took no offense and asked me out again later. As much as we really didn't leave anything to imagination (pun intended), I wanted to retain a little bit of mystery. On how much mystery was left when he's probably seen all my hidden moles remains unknown. =)

I also had a unwritten rule then (not so unwritten now that I'm telling what it was) that I never leave the house once I've literally checked in for the day. Since I lived inside a village where public transport has a rather early curfew, I hated going out late in the evening. I am not about to stick my neck out for a guy who gives no consideration for my safety. If the guy wanted to see me, he'd have to really go out of his way and drive or take a cab to my place. It's a convenient way of knowing if the guy really wants you. If he does, he'll come and get you, come hell or high water.

(Oh, I know one guy who drove 30 or so kilometers to the girl's apartment late one evening. And since he didn't bring his cell, he had to stop at an internet shop to get her home phone number and find a payphone to call her before he went to her place. He wasn't even sure if she was awake. Now that's a lot of effort for an unsure thing.)

I've made one or two mistakes of being too available and true enough, they eventually went nowhere (translation - the guy lost interest). But those that I valued myself enough to make them do the effort of asking and impressing me - they came back for more. I actually had an argument with a friend about who was responsible for what until I told him he always initiated things and I wasn't even trying to seduce him at all. He shut up (and had to make up for that mini-fight. *wink*).

A cautionary tale for not following "The Rules". A friend made the first move by calling the guy who barely remembered her (he remembered me though) and practically initiated their first few dates together. Now the guy takes her for granted and hardly makes an effort to see her. She tried the rules on him but it was too late - he never saw her as someone worth pursuing.

Boyfriend or boylet material, always let them do the "active" pursuing. They love the challenge. You just have to cast the challenge first - but make it clear they have to work for it. If they're into you - they'll make every effort possible to be with you.

Not that I'm deluding myself and declaring me a femme fatale. I was more bemused and curious than flattered by the situation and wondered why they wanted a rather eccentric, opinionated, loud and curvy (read: chubby) female. I don't know how their mind works so I can't give you an answer for that.

But heed "The Rules" - even for such a casual thing. If the guy knows you're worth it he'll put on the effort to make you feel as good as he can. And come back for more. =p

The Boylet Chronicles - Do's and Don'ts Part 2 - The Kissing Game

Any self-respecting, dating girl will tell you, it's all about the kiss. Relationships - permanent or otherwise, have been made or broken by kisses. Literally. Despite all the crap women have been served, we still subscribe to the fairy tale that there's this magical kiss that tells us he's the one.

Clueless men will ask - what's all the big fuss about kissing? If the objective is sex, does one need to bother with the preliminaries? If a man thinks that way, it's a wonder how he manages to hook up in the first place - unless he looks like hunky Papa P that he could get away on looks alone.

Evolutionary psychologists suggest that kissing as a mating behavior started as a way to test potential partners' immune system. In short, our salivas are supposed to contain neurochemicals that are tested if we're compatible with each other, not to mention if we're healthy and fertile. If that's the case, won't saliva exchange be enough? Why go through all the myth that kissing is magic if it's just a neurochemical reaction?

Well, if kissing's going to be SOP (standard operating procedure) in preliminary mating rituals, we might as well wring all the pleasure we could from the act. Besides, nature also added a lot of nerve endings in our lips so might as well enjoy it.

=)

The Boylet Chronicles - Do's and Don't's

I generally like most of the guys I dated before I met the eventual H and he all but laid his claim on me. This one boylet, who we can call Safari Guy, was cooky and sweet but managed to be awkward and so full of himself in one go. What happened between us could be a lesson on boylet do's and don'ts. Just because a girl is willing doesn't mean you have to take advantage of her. For goodness' sake, think about her pleasure as well.

I met SG during a trip a long, long time ago. He was the perfect summer fling. He was kinda cute and sweet so our group decided he was safe and we teased him mercilessly.

We hit off and became friends soon after. There was an underlying attraction but we ignored it. He decided I wasn't his type (I was too loud, kikay and Pinay for his taste) and I sensed that reluctance in him so I focused my energies on healing from a trauma which happened a few months before he met me and crushing on more unattainable, crush-ng-bayan type guys.

We soon became each other's sounding board on all teenage angsts under the sun. And because for some weird reason guys tell me almost everything - those bordering to too much information territory - we had some serious discussions about attraction and the opposite sex.

One day, while taking a walk around the campus after watching a movie, we sat down and just thought - what the heck - and kissed. It was everything awkward teenagers thought it would be - downright uncomfortable, wet and sloppy. Well, we both didn't know what to do but I sort of expected him to have a bit more finesse. For a sensitive guy he claimed to be, he sure couldn't read any of the cues I sent him.

So there's a do - do make sure you at least like the friend you're hooking up with. We did like each other. But that episode convinced me trying to explore our relationship was going to lead nowhere. And there's your don't - for goodness sake, at least know what you're doing first. Especially the basics. And kissing is basic. You still have to woo the girl with your skills. He thought it was in the bag. He thought wrong.

I had a friend who once told me (after a less than stellar performance from him) he thought he knew all there was to know about making love to a woman but he was wrong. I simply told him I hated doing all the work - so be a man, know how to make the woman happy and reap the rewards later. That's always a do.

The Boylet Chronicles - The Beginning

Disclosures:

I am not a femme fatale. If you asked me what made me appealing to men you would probably get a blank stare. I honestly have no idea. And no, I am not one of those pretty girls who are unaware of their looks. Oh, I know the way I look. Every self-respecting kikay girl knows how to make the best of her features. Still, it boggles my mind why guys would be interested in a chubby, cheeky, button-nosed girl like me (past and present). Maybe they liked my wit and personality? Who knows? I never asked.

Anyway, this entry isn't about my body issues (which I don't care much for anyway) but the boylets out there (not always my story though) who, in one way or the other, have helped me cope with the various issues of my life - directly and indirectly. Yes, not all men are jerks and if they were jerks, their bulls**t certainly never got past me.

Well, these events are from another lifetime (as in really long ago) but in a fit of pique (or boredom), I just thought it might be fun to write a semi-fictionalized version of that life. Here goes...

*********************

The beginning....

As a no-boyfriend-since-birth singleton working in the big city, I grew up envying all my friends who were lucky enough to land boyfriends in school or at work. I wanted the tweetums and the drama and the idea of having someone to take care of me. I hardly dated because my workhours rarely gave me the opportunity to mingle and all the guys that were left in my workplace were lecherous old men and unappealing guys. Most of my friends went off to law, med or grad school so I was usually left on my own trying to make a living, climbing up the career ladder and chaperoning two college-aged siblings.

From time to time I would meet with my school buddies and go out with them. Unfortunately, these only happened once in a blue moon so in the end, it still wasn't much of a social life. After a year or two of this scenario, I simply gave up looking and just met my friends for the sheer fun of it.

One of them was a friend I'll call E, a guy I met in one of the organizations I belonged to in college and who loved to dance. E is a tall American with a cute accent when he speaks in Filipino. He was a scholar taking post-graduate Philippine Studies courses. How that related to Physics (his undergrad), I had no idea.

Since he loved to dance and he needed a partner to practice with, I got roped along his weekly dancing sessions. We started meeting every weekend for an hour or so to practice his moves. I mainly did it for the sheer joy of dancing. (No matter how sexily you shake those hips, if you just love to dance, it's just moving to the music - nothing sexual in it, I swear.)

One Saturday night, after making arrangements with our other friends to get together, each and every one bailed out on him. In the end, we were the only ones left to go out. We had a blast - dancing the salsa in one Mexican restaurant and swinging in a disco place. Finally, after a few hours of dancing and drinking (mostly dancing), we decided to call it a night and go home.

Just our luck. The cab we got ran out of gas a few minutes from the house and the driver had to park at the nearby station and get out to get gas. I was chatting away when he suddenly became quiet. As soon as the cabbie left to get gas and water, he turned to me and said, "I like you."

Okay. I just shrugged this off as typical American bluntness and took it with a grain of salt. I replied, "Thanks." I knew he had a crush on me in college but it was nothing like a really strong physical attraction to me. I guess he just found me cute and that was that.

But then he leaned over and kissed me. Lightly. On the lips. Uh-oh. Warning bells rang in my head - he's a friend! Why is he kissing me? A good kisser against an ignoramus like me? No chance at all. I sat there stunned and speechless after that.

The cabbie just took a minute to put water in his carburator and gas in his tank and then we were on our way. I guess I was too stunned because I forgot to ask him to drop me off the house, which was a few blocks before his place. Since he was giving me a tape of all the dances we've been practicing (see, that old - we still used cassette tapes!), I just figured I'll breeze in and out with his tape and take another cab home.

No such luck. As soon as he closed the door to his apartment, he pulled me towards him and kissed me full on the lips - no light starters for this one. It was an assault I had no defenses for. Nor did I want to fight the onslaught. I was feeling lightheaded and all sorts of gooey inside.

His lips were surprisingly soft but firmly persuasive. I had expected it to be all sloppy and wet but it wasn't. Sloppy, that is. He let his tongue slide between my lips, which made me gasp in surprise. He immediately took advantage and deepened the kiss.

My knees were all wobbly at this point and being a good partner, he gently guided me to a chair and settled me in his lap. He seemed content in kissing this novice and he laughed softly when I mewled in contentment.

It seemed that the kiss would go on and on when we heard shuffling and the doorknob turning. We hurriedly pulled apart but there was no time to get off his lap. It was his flatmate. The guy was discreet enough to go straight to his room with hardly a glance at us but the damage had been done. It broke the moment.

I took his tape and took a new cab home a few moments after that. We still met the next weekend to practice our moves but things never went as far as it did the last time. I shrugged off the incident at the back of my mind until my friend asked me years later if it was okay they went out on a date. Huh? Oh, I was the excuse she gave her parents just in case anyone asked her where she was. =) cheeky girl. Laughing at the situation, I shooed her away and gave her my blessings. A kiss does not a couple make.