Penis Doodles On The Bathroom Walls Of Impermanence

Smut

Me as a smut writer:

Self-talk: Dapat deep, vro, dapat it explores other themes other than sex. It shouldn't be just plain fuck, dapat may desire, may danger, may nakakapasong init from a great love.

Okay sige. May naisip na ako:

Sinalat ni Henry ang suso ko sa ilalim ng suot kong damit, pero agad ko itong tinanggal bago niya pa man maabot ang cherry on top.

Hindi nga kasi pwede ngayon. Kiss lang yung sabi ko sa kanya. Peck nga lang usapan e, pero ba't naglalabas na siya ng dila? Ngayon naman kung saan-saan pumapasok yung kamay niya.

Hinila ko ito palabas. Nang marahas kasi galit ako.

"Bawal nga 'di ba?!" Sigaw ko, "May period ako ngayon!"

Isang pilyong ngiti ang gumihit sa muk'a niya.

"Well, we can try something new," Sabi niya, napataas ang balikat niya, pinatalim ang kanyang titig, "Something new, like period sex."

Nanlaki ang mata ko sa narinig. Nabasa niya malamang ang browser history ko. I Googled period sex yesterday. It's no coincidence. That smile, that smile that knows something but won't tell you what it is.

"Nakakadiri ka! Umuwi ka na nga!" Sabi ko sa kanya habang tinuturo ang pinto.

"There's something poetic about that, don't you think?" He whispered in a deep husky voice. "It's oxymoronic, ironic, but really, really poetic." He really knows my weak spots. Rhymes and poetries. It's amazing how he could easily press those buttons like a child on an arcade machine. I looked at him in the eyes, which was a mistake because now he knows I'm interested to what else he has to say. "There's something poetic and ironically oxymoronic about dead, red ovules meeting the coming of living, white sperm." Then he looked deep into me, "Red Death and White Life. Meeting in lust."

What the fuck? I say to myself.
It is oxymoronic, ironic but really, really poetic. It's a weird way to advertise period sex to your girlfriend, but for some reason it has power in it. The idea of poetry happening right inside my vagina while I'm on my cycle, became so enticing when it came out from his lips.

I feel the heat inside me, my body is almost convinced. Luckily, my head's all clear. I pointed again to the door.

"I will eat you," He said in a domineering voice, "And you will see red all over my mouth like I'm eating pizza."

Okay what the fuck?! This one was gross, and I'm happy because natatawa ako imbis na malibugan.

I then said, "Ulol mo, INC ka, bawal sa inyong kumain ng dugo!" I pointed again to the door, this time more furious, "Alis na!"

He took a quick forward step right at me, nearing the door. He towered over me, a few inches high, so he was looking down at me with an authoritative stare; as if telling me I'm powerless from his whims and charm.

Then he pushed his mouth near my ear, whispered in a masculine, indignant voice, "I'm willing to disappoint Felix Manalo and my entire religion just to eat you with sauce," my eyes widened in surprise, my heart was hammering out of my chest, and I could feel my underwear getting damp, "That's how much I love you."

I pushed him out of the door. He was flushed out.
And away goes his perfect figure, away goes the temptation, away goes the pressure to say Yes to the most convincing, most enticing offer I've ever heard.

Away it all went, with a click of a door knob, I locked it shut.

I took a step back. My heart was still hammering out of my chest. He's already left, but I'm still panicking. I look at the brown door.

I feel something.

His presence. He's still alive but his ghosts haunt me.

But no, It's not a ghost. I connect the dots. I heard the slamming, I heard the click, but I didn't hear his footsteps leaving.

There's no mistaking it, he's still behind that door.

What the fuck is he doing?

Probably smiling, with a smug of arrogant air because he knows I'll open the door again. He could predict me like a memorized movie. He could read me like his favorite book.

That's what I hate about him. How he knows my every move, because he love me so much.

Unfortunately for him, I've learned my lesson and have changed. I won't let anyone pull me like that ever again. His rhymes and poetry, his presence and scent, even that enticing period sex sales pitch, they're all powerless spells now from a Warlock I could beat in a fair game of tug-of-war.

I didn't open the door.

How I wish that's how it really ended that night.
But, I turned that knob. I turned that knob like it's a door to Wonderland.

Fair enough he was there. Smiling at me, in victory. He knew I'd open it. He knew. He always knew.

So that night, right between my thighs, using only his tongue, he disappointed an entire religion and ate blood.

Henry: 1
Felix: 0