XXXIII. The Guy Who Kept Holding Back

“Simple and clean is the way that you’re making me feel tonight, it’s hard to let it go”

– Utada Hikaru –

As I was feasting on my chicken pomelo salad, my date asked me, “have you been in love before?” I was bewildered and I didn’t know how the correct answer to his question. I mean… don’t you have to understand what love is in order to know if you’re in love? For the longest time, I had always thought that I loved my ex (yes, we’re time traveling a bit as this happened pretty recently) but as time went by, we drifted apart and my feelings for him disintegrated. In the age of Grindr where there is plenty of fish in the ocean to choose from, how does one pick a lifetime partner to love? How do you know when you’re so inexplicably in love with someone that you subconsciously ignore all the beautiful fish swimming around you? Is that what love truly is?

There’s nothing that kills my boner faster than a guy who can’t hold a conversation or a guy who constantly replies with one word like a chatbot. So when I messaged this London guy and he managed to keep up with my obscenity without reporting my Instagram account, I was immediately intrigued by him. I mean… who can’t resist a tall, attractive guy who’s into using a snake as a double-headed dildo?! And the fact that he agreed to meet me after I circulated that ridiculous idea into the universe gave me an instant boner (in all seriousness, contrary to popular belief, I’m not into bestiality. I hope y’all appreciate my 2AM drunken thoughts as much as my London boy does).

Pro tip: Use a double-headed snake as a dildo when you crave for some DP actions. You get 2 dildos for the price of one!

Our first date is honestly one of the best first dates I have been on; one Sunday afternoon, he spontaneously asked me to go to a water park (more like I subtly brainwashed him into inviting me lol). Of course, I had some concerns before I decided to commit a couple of hours alone with a guy I had only known for two days. What if he’s catfishing me and I ended up with a serial killer like Ted Bundy? Or what if I really liked this guy but I ended up shitting my pants in the middle of riding the water slide? As a self-proclaimed pessimist, I wouldn’t recommend going to a water park for your first date with someone you see potential with. That said, I was vibing with him real hard, so I took a leap of faith and decided to meet him. It’s definitely one of the finer decisions I’ve made in life.

Unlike the water slides that we rode, he did not go full speed with his physical advances, which (I guess) is understandable for a first date. Sure, he touched me here and there, but more importantly, he spent most of his time trying to get inside of my brain and not my pants. And it’s not hard to fall for his charm. It’s also fascinating to observe how charming he was with the water park employees; it’s like he knew exactly how to get a giggle from everyone around him. And don’t get me started on how hot he looked in his swim trunks. Let’s just say I had a hard time concealing my “excitement” at times. Just like the water slides, I was constantly wet.

I’m surprised I was thirsty AF being in a place surrounded by water

So you can imagine how heartbroken I was on our second date when I learned that he’s leaving the country in three days. Ok… I was being overdramatic as I knew he was only visiting, but at that time, I didn’t know he’s leaving really soon. What a way to ruin a romantic beachfront seafood dinner! But I knew I had two choices: I could either burst into tears and ended things with him, or I could Marie Kondo the shit out of my emotions and enjoyed the few days I had with him. I decided to go with the latter option because his presence in my life sparked joy; I just hoped Marie could declutter my life after his departure because I had a good feeling that I would be a hot mess.

Knowing that our relationship lived on borrowed time, I tried my hardest to spend as much time as I could with my boy. However, I noticed that he kept holding back for some reasons; he’s never invited me to his hotel room even though I practically handed my bum to him on a silver platter and instead, he only offered me warm hugs. So on our last date, I mentally prepared myself to accept the fact that maybe, he’s not physically attracted to me. I mean… everyone has their own type and I need to stop thinking that the world revolved around me. With that said, the things that messed with my feeling were his sweet talks (he occasionally called me sweetie or angel). He also suggested that he potentially intended to date me, but at that time, I wasn’t sure if he’s being serious. I guess I just found the whole thing sweet but also demoralizing, especially after the countless hours I had spent at the gym recently. After all, that’s my sole purpose of working out; I want for everyone who has the honor of seeing my naked body to change their reaction from “aww” to “dayum!”

I’m like a parking ticket because I constantly need validation

Other than the mosquito bites, the sudden downpour, and his snide comment about my indecisiveness, our last date was spectacular. We happened to share an affinity for the literal definition of Netflix and chill, and when we were faced with the mash-up of energy depletion and lack of creative idea, we decided to spend the rest of our last night in his room (or more like I unassertively invited myself to his hotel room). Now here’s the thing… I didn’t make penetrative sex my goal for the night, but let’s just say I wouldn’t be opposed to it (with a week of hardcore teasing, can you blame me?) As we were cuddling in bed, there’s something about our interactions in bed that I truly enjoyed; I genuinely felt loved in his arms and I wouldn’t have it any other way. He made me felt so safe that I got through the end of “Get Out” without an urgent need to poke my own eyeballs. I mean, if I somehow agree on watching a horror movie with you and have a salad on our lunch date, that’s how you know that I really like you.

As the night progressed, I was getting friskier (don’t blame me, blame the Merlot). In my defense, I had a hot guy with his right arm around me who was extremely knowledgeable about various subjects and did not treat me like shit. So I let my hands did the talking as I slowly caressed his bare chest, and my strokes were, surprisingly, received positively by him. Because I felt validated to continue with my attacks, I reached down to his anaconda only for him to abruptly halt my advances as he grabbed my hand, trying to stop my adventure to the southern part of his body. He whispered to me:

“You’re making it very hard for me to hold back”

Stunned by the sudden dismissal of my hand actions, I immediately pulled back because I didn’t want him to assume I was a serial rapist. Lo and behold, he turned me around to lay me on my stomach, which was immediately followed by what I could only describe as a viciously passionate dry humping session. I mean… don’t get me wrong, I loved every minute of it, but I was totally expecting our “intense cuddling” session to progress (gosh, I really sound like a predatory sex-addict). As things were getting hotter and heavier, he, out of nowhere, took a deep breath and stopped whatever he was doing. It’s like some cock block crusaders were controlling him remotely and suddenly decided to turn off his sexy mode. I thought, “what’s holding you back, my love?!”

They were working extra hard that night apparently

We went back to cuddling and chatted a little bit more. Unexpectedly, he offered me an opportunity to have an exclusive viewing of his penis that only lasted for fifteen seconds. For the record, his dick is beautiful; you can trust my judgment in penis aesthetics since I have seen a plethora of penises.

I’m not gonna write the intricate turn of events that transpired after the penis exhibition. This guy is special to me and I don’t feel like sharing our intimate moments because they are sacred to me. Let’s just say we didn’t go for the home run and I’m totally fine with it. In the end, we gave each other one last hug before saying our goodbye. I apologize for the lack of details in this chapter but instead, I’ll give you an emotional rollercoaster that is my existential crisis. Cheers!

I don’t think I was frustrated; if anything, I was more confused and anxious. I was confused because I wasn’t sure what his intentions were with me. I was anxious because I wasn’t sure if we would have another chance of being intimate with each other. I’m guessing these feelings stemmed from my past toxic relationships and for once, there’s a guy who didn’t treat me like a random piece of meat in a dodgy sex dungeon. And I didn’t want to let go of that feeling. Had I been so pathetically lonely for months that I misread his intentions in the hopes of filling the void in my heart? Had I been mistreated by my previous lovers so badly that I ended up hopelessly falling head over heels for an archetypal romantic guy? Was I really that broken?! Was I making all of these up in my head? I know how loquacious I sound right now but I just need to vent.

I hate feeling like this. I hate that I’m constantly having to worry about him being online on Grindr to check if he’s looking for other guys. I hate that I’m overthinking about my responses to the pictures he sent me and worrying if they’re not witty enough for him. I hate that I’m constantly stressing about the embarrassing things I told him and worrying if one day a thing that comes out of my mouth is his ultimate dealbreaker. I hate that I’m even thinking about all of these. I mean… who the fuck am I? We’re not even dating, and even if we were, I would hate to be a psycho bitch who’s overly controlling about their partner’s life. And what did I expect would happen anyway?! We don’t even live in the same city, for fuck’s sake.

I felt the need to resurface this GIF as it brilliantly captures my essence

Is this what falling in love feels like? If that’s the case, maybe I’ve been unconsciously evading it because I despise this feeling. Maybe I’ve been using sex and self-deprecation as my coping mechanisms to write my own narrative and avoid feeling like a rejected loser. I guess I really am the guy who’s been holding back.

In retrospect, I knew I shouldn’t have downed that third glass of whiskey like a champ. But in my defense, I was at a family dinner and my uncle made me drink way too much (more like I was being overly passive-aggressive with my desire to drink and my uncle got the code). I really need to stop drunk blogging, don’t I?

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