Suspension of Disbelief


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“10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5…” The Curator counted back as I slowly walked around his living room trying to catch my breath after rushing to Makati from work. “4, 3…” I walked towards him, now standing very close to him. “…2, 1” We’re both standing in front of each other, face to face, butterflies running wild in my stomach, he smiled, “I’m going to kiss you now Patrick.”




It was around ten in the evening, when I arrived at the Curator’s apartment. I was a bit exhausted, after spending minutes and minutes trying to find his place.


I spotted the Curator waiting at the corner of his street, wearing an Abercrombie-style short, a polo shirt and a baseball cap. As memory serves me, it was the first time I saw him wearing something so casual and yet he looks so cute, I just want to grab him and squeeze him.




When you want something so bad and do everything so hard just to get it and you finally did, what will you do next?




“Patrick, Patrick, Patrick, Patrick.” He repeated my name over and over while holding me. “The whole day, your name keeps flashing in my head…, was thinking of you.”


He was lying on one of the two sofas in his apartment, the one sitting next to the window, the whole place were humbly lit coming from the half-open door of his room. Everything is so quiet, puffing and blowing of our cigarettes ruled the atmosphere.


I sat beside him on the sofa and placed my arms on his chest. I looked at him; he smiled while playing with my arms. It’s that smile of his I couldn’t get out of my head. A naughty and yet sweet, like a child trapped in a 34-year old body.


We talked and we talked, and we kissed and we kissed. There was nothing sexual about the whole conversation and the kissing, it was all good actually.


“We don’t really need to have sex or feel obligated to perform just to please each other. Intimacy. Intimacy, Patrick, that’s what we’re here for.” He pulled me closer to him and hugged and kissed me.


I must admit, I was drowning in euphoria that night, most of the things that have had happened were still floating up until now. The way I held his hand, the way he guided mo to sit on top of me, the way we kissed; so gentle, so soft, so wanting and yet not sexually, but intimate.


Hours passed. We transferred to his room.




How will you know if the person lying next to you or the person you are kissing at the moment, the person you really like is “the one”? There’s not one single reference materials you can borrow in the library and verify your answer just like what we used to do back in college to answer the question, “Is he the one?”, just our heart.




I didn’t get to sleep that night; I was half awake the whole time. And just before the sun, just before the alarm in his phone beep, he slowly pulled me closer to him, placed his right arm around my neck, while his left arm around me, and laid his head on my shoulder.


We cuddled, and cuddled.




“Intimacy is (always) better than anything (and everything).”








Written by Patrick King Pascual

March 1, 2009 at 11:08 am

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