Rain Part Deux
I eventually got used to the Frenchkissing.
But the thing about kissing that way is, once you started doing that, eventually it has to lead to something more. Your partner looks forward to covering the rest of the bases and wants to accomplish that soon. A day before I was about to fly home for semestral break, Rain and I went to watch a movie. As we kissed in the dark, he started putting his hands around my face. Eventually, he started kissing my earlobe and neck region and when his hand started going lower, aiming for my breasts, I finally panicked and grabbed his hand to stop him.
Repeatedly. As one failed attempt just made him want to do another.
And another.
And still another.
While I continually refused to let him.
It got to a point that I didn’t want him to even kiss me anymore, because it will only give him an opportunity to try to attempt to put his hand inside my shirt again. But I never got mad at him, just kept stopping him whenever he tried to cop a feel. When we left the moviehouse, it was as if nothing out of the ordinary happened and we did not even discuss the incident except for his passing comment that he was sleepy and that next time, we should sleep together in a place somewhere in Sta. Mesa. I mumbled yes, not really thinking much about it, assuming that sleeping together meant relaxing and simply talking with each other while resting our weary backs in a bed until we actually literally fall asleep, and I was completely unaware then that Sta. Mesa was filled with a lot of cheap motels that offered plenty of short-time bargains.
As I went through my vacation, I pondered how I was going to approach my situation with Rain. I was curious, yes, but I wasn’t ready for all that touching the breasts kind of thing. He was just going too fast for me, who hasn’t had much experience in this field. I was hoping we wouldn’t get to the touching of erogenous zones until after two to three months of us dating but clearly, this wasn’t going to be the case with Rain. Plus, I didn’t really love him enough for me to actually want to do these things with him. I needed a certain level of comfort to be able to even consider doing these things with a guy and I certainly wasn’t feeling it with him. Until finally, I realized that the best way for me to get out of this situation was to break up with him.
When I got back to the big city, I started being cold and I refused to take his calls. When he finally cornered me at home one Sunday evening, I didn’t even want to prolong the agony with useless chit-chat.
“Hey, I’ve been calling you up again and again. Why didn’t you return my calls?”
“I’ve been busy, Rain.”
“So, how have you been? I missed you, you know. Are we still on for mass tonight?”
“Listen, Rain, we need to break up.”
“What?”
“I’ve realized that I never really loved you in the first place.”
I think his jaw must have done some major dropping. His eyes looked slightly red. I don’t know if it was from holding back tears or from smoking pot (my cousins suspected that he probably smoked pot considering that his eyes looked partially shot most of the time and he lived in the next street from ours, where a lot of drug addicts apparently took residence).
He finally stood up from his seat. “So this is it then?”
“Yes.”
I really didn’t know of any comforting words to say to him. Plus I didn’t want to. I just wanted to get out of the relationship and get a clean break from him. The truth is, that was one of the most difficult things I had to do – to be heartless and a complete bitch to a guy who thought I was inlove with him. I’ve always been a nice girl, peace-loving, non-confrontational. Much as I might have toyed with Rain’s feelings a bit, making him think that I was inlove with him this whole time, I could have been nicer to him during the break-up. But I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea that there could still be any chance if he actually begged me. I seriously just wanted him to get out of my life so I can finally move on.
“Okay, goodbye then.”
“Goodbye.”
I called for him as he was about to walk out of the door. “Rain, I’m really sorry.”
He shrugged. “If that’s what you want, I respect that.”
I could only heave a huge sigh of relief as I watched the distance between us grow bigger and bigger.
Until I couldn’t see him anymore at all.
First Frog I Kissed (Who Didn’t Transform Into Prince Charming)
I wasn’t one of those pretty mature girls in highschool.
I didn’t get the proper catcalling curves until my mid-college years. Despite the fact that I did have suitors, I decided to make it less awkward for me and my parents to not have a boyfriend until I hit college. When I started freshman year, I hung out with a group of girls who had the same plight as I was – single and boyfriendless. I was initially okay with it.
Until THEY started having boyfriends.
I was, of course, annoyed and incredibly jealous. I kept thinking, What the hell is wrong with me? I’m so much prettier than those girls! Why am I the one without a boyfriend? It didn’t matter that their boyfriends weren’t exactly that hot nor good-looking. They, at least, had one, compared to me. Me!
In came Rain.
I met Rain one wet and gloomy day in August. I was waiting for a Balic-Balic jeepney heading to Quiapo, when it started to drizzle. So, I opened my umbrella and stood under its shade. A short guy in a standard University of the East uniform was standing nearby, waiting for a Quiapo jeepney as well. He kept looking at me and my umbrella.
“Can I share your umbrella?” he asked me.
I took pity on him. “Yeah, sure.”
Rain was a very charismatic guy. As we stood under my umbrella, he struck a conversation with me, asking me where I was heading, what school am I from, where did I live, that sort of thing. When we finally caught ourselves a jeepney to ride, he continued chatting with me, oblivious that the other passengers were probably listening in on our conversation.
“I’m Rain, by the way.”
“I’m [Mistress].”
“Hey, is it okay if I get your number?”
“Ha? I don’t know, Rain.”
“Why? Your boyfriend won’t allow you to?”
“It’s not that. I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“So, it’s okay then. Come on, I just want to call you up and maybe hang out so we can get to know each other more.”
I was slightly embarrassed, as we were, after all, not alone and everybody who has been listening to our conversation knew by now that I just met this guy but I was flattered by his blatant display of interest and I admit, impressed that he had the chutzpah to ask for my number when I know I am certainly not the most approachable person. And okay, he has been the first guy to flirt with me for quite some time, except for YoungerGuy (who was heading nowhere), so it didn’t really take much for him to get my number.
He started calling me up and three days after we met, during one of his nightly visits to our home, he asked me if he had a chance with me. Naïve little ‘ol me, I, of course, said yes.
I wasn’t inlove with him. I was rather more inlove with the idea of him.
A boyfriend, finally.
I was now a part of the circle of girls in our class who had boyfriends.
In my defense, I did try to make myself believe that I was inlove with him. And frankly, it was easy since he was incredibly sweet and affectionate. We went out a lot, for a movie or dinner. Most of the time though, when he was broke, he’d just pick me up at school or just drop me off before my class. He was very much into public displays of affection and he’d make me kiss him frequently on the cheek or with a quick smack on the lips. I wasn’t really that ready for anything else.
Until one day, we went to watch a movie. As soon as we sat down and the lights went off, he moved his head closer to mine for a kiss. I assumed it was going to be one of those quick smacks so I puckered up.
And boy, was I wrong.
As soon as my lips touched his, he forcefully stuck his tongue into my mouth and gave me a taste of my first French kiss.
A first kiss can be incredibly shocking for someone who has had no experience at all in the open-mouthed art of tongue-wrestling. It becomes even more shocking when you did not expect it at all from someone you were only semi inlove with. I remembered feeling so shocked that I actually opened my eyes in surprise and found myself looking at him as he kissed me with my eyes closed.
As I felt the papillae and bristles in his tongue brushing against my own, I remembered thinking, Hmmm… My first French kiss…. This isn’t exactly as earth-shattering as I expected. Why the hell are people making such a big deal about kissing being sweet and delicious? It’s not. This feels weird… Ugh! I can feel those papilla again!…
Needless to say, it was not romantic at all.
But as with everything else, I know how to fake enthusiasm. So, I closed my eyes and proceeded to rolling my tongue around and around his mouth as if I actually knew what I was doing, all the while pretending that I too was enjoying kissing him.
I was more likely a bad kisser then. Trust me, I am sooo much better now. LOL. Kidding.
The next day, I was just so awed by what we did that I told my friends about it… So I used to kiss-and-tell. Sue me… They laughed as I narrated my opinion regarding the experience.
“You know, kissing IS supposed to be like that. You should just get used to it and eventually, you’ll start liking it,” said YoungMama, who has had a boyfriend since highschool.
“Really? But it all just felt so icky! I could feel all the ridges in his tongue.”
Lee Lee giggled. “Seriously girl, it’s your first time. Trust me, you’ll like it eventually.”
“But it felt strange! And so wet! I don’t know how you can stand it!”
“That’s supposed to be what a French kiss feels like, you idiot!,” YoungMama explained to me, laughing at me.
“Oh! Okay…”
It turns out Rain had ideas of his own as before I could even start getting used to it, he started moving on to another more dangerous maneuver: copping a feel.
But that’s another story.
