Would You Mind? ✓

WYM? 01

"Uno, my son. Where are you? Are you on your way to the airport now? Dos would arrive any minute from now. Don't keep a woman waiting, just please."

"Mom, I'm on my way, okay?" he told his mother over the phone, sounding pretty pissed.

She has been calling him for ages even when she knew he was still at work, just to make sure he'd be true to his words of lodging a woman he barely knew. Other than the fact that Dos is the daughter of his mom's best friend, who came from the States, and who chose to study Psychology here in the Philippines, he knew nothing more.

All he knew was the responsibility of looking hand and foot at someone else's obligation was needed to be shouldered by him for four years. Four years. Just four years. He'd just pretend he doesn't have a life of his own.

"Okay, son. Drive safely, okay? Text me when you get there and when you have already picked her up, will you?"

"Will do."

When he arrived at the airport, a crowd at the arrival waiting area welcomed his sight. Some, were at last, reunited with their loved ones who've been gone for so long. Some were still waiting, tilting their heads from here to there.

He hates crowded places, so he decided to sit and wait for Dos at one of the available benches at the airport. He hates the touch of one's skin on his. Their sticky, unpleasant sweat. Their scent, which could cling into his flesh, and the tickling feeling of one's skin hair. The meticulous him hates those.

To avoid looking like a loner, he decided to take his phone from his pocket and went to Grindr to pass his time. Swipe here, swipe there. But to no avail. No one piqued his standards. No one had ever, well, except for one, Sylvester, his first love. No one knew the reason behind the picky him, including himself. To think all the men who tried to hit on him were dashing, towering, and lengthy, judging by the size of their shoes. He's a virgin, with a reasonable excuse why, so his only basis of a man's length has always been their pair of shoes.

"Care to hang out this weekend? I'll shoulder the expenses."

"Sorry, I'd be busy this coming weekend. Actually, I'll be busy for the whole year."

The truth was, he didn't do anything that weekend. He just plopped himself on his king-sized bed, ordered food to pamper himself from a tiring week at work since his father had been training him with the positions of the CEO he'd be taking over soon.

"Whiskey. Neat."

"Oh. That's sexy."

"Hope you are, too."

That guy was trying to hit on him, but there he was, shutting him off.

"The bill's on me. How much is everything?"

"Eight thousand five hundred thirty-two, Sir."

"Oh. I...I..."

"Nine thousand, cash. Give the change to my date. I'm heading off."

And he left his self-absorbed date there, at the bar, alone, sitting at a wide seater sofa.

"Your place or mine?"

"Are you HIV negative?"

That guy left him, unlaid. Who on earth would ever bed someone who asked them if they are clean? But truth be told, that was for safety and the reason why he's still a virgin. He doesn't want to die a virgin, but he wants not to die devirginized and HIV positive, too. Not that he was stigmatizing anyone, it was just him, keeping himself as clean as possible.