As I got off the jeepney, a lone motorcycle with two riders stopped in front of me. The driver looked at me with a knowing gaze and I nodded. He looked exactly like the picture he sent me, even with the helmet on. Riding behind him was a guy I didn't know. The driver noticed me eyeing the backrider and he said, “We also met online.” I couldn't see his face because he was wearing a blue surgical mask and a helmet. His eyes, however, were piercing. He nodded and I replied with a gesture.
“Sorry I couldn't pick you up,” the driver said softly. “I only have two helmets.”
“It's fine,” I said. “This is not that far from my place, anyway.”
“Okay. Hop on. The police are more lenient inside the village.”
I crammed myself behind the backrider, holding on the tail of the narrow motorcycle for dear life. It was uncomfortable, but we managed. Before the driver started the engine, I twisted my baseball cap so its tongue was behind my head so it wouldn't bang on the backrider's helmet.
It was a 20-minute ride before we reached the house of the driver's friend. It was a shabby bungalow which looked like the government's rejected housing project. The rusty green gate creaked loudly as we let ourselves in with the driver leading the way. It was almost nighttime and the private village road was crowded with scattered residents. Some kids were playing with each a stone and some chalk. The ladies were huddled together in front of a house, gossiping. The men were around a low, wooden table filled with clear bottles of gin, glasses, and a hodgepodge of pulutan—peanuts, chicharon, isaw. Several dogs barked like an orchestra. No one seemed to pay attention to us.
The door told us that not only Ice 4 Sale Here, but also SmartLoad Available Here. It was wide open, but the driver still knocked. A man went out from a room next to the front door. He was in his late 30s, early 40s, with a pudgy stomach that jutted from his neon violet basketball jersey. His face was pleasant, with a patchy mustache and clear, friendly eyes. His smile was kind. One could really tell he used to be gorgeous when he was younger. Remnants of that beautiful youth were still apparent, despite the wrinkles and the white hair that peppered his military-cut hair.
“Come in, come in,” the man of the house said, waving us in.
The driver walked inside with his espadrilles still on. I left my sandals outside, while the backrider struggled removing his basketball shoes standing up. I sat on the chair closest to the door. It had become a habit of mine every time I did this: always stay close to the exit. The man of the house took the farthest chair, opposite myself, while the driver, and eventually, the backrider sat on the wooden, cushion-less couch in between.
Another habit of mine was to check the surroundings. The inside was even shabbier. It was a small shoebox that looked much smaller because of the random junk inside. Behind me stood a karaoke machine. Next to the front door were two ajar, tinier ones with a curtain of colorful beads hanging from the upper thresholds. Behind the man of the house was the a small dining table with three mismatched chairs—one's wooden, the other two were plastic, brown Monobloc seats. Right in front of it, a good five or less meters was a huge gray refrigerator that looked brand new. Even farther, against the northern wall was the sink and the countertop. On the left was the two-burner stove and on the right, the dish cabinet. In between these essential, basic furniture was junk. There's a fading tarpaulin on the floor between the living room where we're sitting and the two rooms five meters away. Next to the dining table was a bookless shelf which stood up against the western wall. The whole block that comprised the living room, the dining room, and the kitchen were terribly dim. The only light was the setting sun from outside. I couldn't see the inside of the rooms, despite the ajar doors.
The sound of the flushing toilet was followed by a man who emerged from the darkness beside the huge refrigerator. Like the man of the house, this other guy looked like he’s in his late 30s, early 40s, but with darker skin and features. A sparse beard darkened the lower half of his face, with the other half glistening with sweat and an even sparser set of hair. His hairline had receded high enough, but, by the looks of it, would continue to do so in later years. His eyes were more skeptical than the first man we met inside the house, but his smile, with his perfectly white teeth, was courteous. His body was much better looking. He stood tall, almost six foot in height and his arms were muscled. These were exposed in his faded white tank top that hung loose just above his jersey shorts where a bulge was already present. I looked away when I saw that. He pulled a Monobloc from the dining table and placed it behind the man in the farthest seat. He sat down and fiddled something on his lap. Hopefully, it was his cellphone
“So,” the man of the house began. “Who the fuck are you two?” Despite the curse, his smile didn't waver. The driver laughed and he man laughed along.
“Don't scare the kids,” the driver said. He pointed to the backrider and added, “This is Joshua, andーI'm sorry, what’s your name, again?” he asked me.
“Keー,” I croaked. I cleared my throat. “Kevin,” I said. Both the men of the house were now looking at me. I looked down on the phone I was cradling on my lap.
The driverーArnelーgestured to the two men and introduced them to us. The cursing man was Brandon and the other one, who was hopefully fiddling with his cellphone on his lap, was Mike. “Je’s not around?” Arnel asked. Brandon looked at him and then shook his head. “He’s still in Quezon. He’ll probably be back on Tuesday.”
I looked at Brandon and saw that he could really be my type. He’s a little fatter than most guys I went out or hooked up with, but he seemed friendly and easy-going. Mike, on the other hand, had that mysterious aura. His face was almost inscrutable, despite the sheen of amiability. Arnel’s the least good-looking among the bunch. He looked so much older than the two men and he talked more than Brandon and Mike combined. He led the conversation, among other things. Joshua and I followed through with interest. He sometimes shared an answer and a laugh with the other men, while I simply smiled and nodded.
“He actually messaged me earlier, telling he wanted to join,” Arnel was saying. “But when I asked him to come, he didn’t reply.”
“Who’s this guy, again?” Brandon asked.
“The one who works with a huge pipe.”
“Who?”
“Tall guy, giant pipe, voice sounding like cockroach?”
With that last statement, we laughed. Poor guy. But on a later occasion when I actually met Mr. Huge Pipe, Arnel wasn’t exaggerating. He sounded as if he consumed a whole lot of helium.
“Okay, I remember,” Brandon said in between chuckles. “He lives just nearby, right?”
“Yup. He used to transfer money to Je, remember?”
Brandon looked much serious at the mention of Je’s name. “Really? I didn’t know that.”
“How is Je, anyway?” Arnel asked. At this, Mike, who was sitting behind Brandon, looked up.
“He’s fine,” Brandon answered almost coldly. To that, Arnel just nodded.
30 minutes later, we’re still in the living room, with the sky outside already getting murky. The menーmostly Arnel and Brandon; sometimes, Mike and Joshua, but never me, I only talked when they directed a question towards meーwere talking. From the looks of it, the driver and the men of the houses seemed really old friends. They had inside and dirty jokes that only the three of them understood. Joshua laughed along, even though I was quite sure he was not following through. They talked about men, mostly. Arnel told the two about this hot guy he talked with on Grindr. He showed the picture of a shirtless guy with his abs and pecs perfectly chiselled and his arm left arm flexed in front of the mirror. “He’s a bottom,” Arnel said wondrously. “That’s the best kind of bottom,” Brandon quipped. “Your cock would never go soft on him.” Arnel led the conversation, telling about the guys he talked with on Grindr and showing pictures, as if selling products to skeptical consumers.
“Mike was just telling me about this one guy who he brought home,” Brandon said. Arnel looked at Mike who was smiling. “Yeah? You must really like the guy, huh?”
“He’s okay,” he answered, still smiling. “He’s cute and gives amazing head. Fucked him good, too.” The men guffawed. I grew up with borderline misogynistic and sex-crazed uncles. In every family outing or some celebration, they’d often be around a table, drinking and talking about girls with big breasts and wet, tight vaginas. Most of their wives and children were just within earshot, but nobody batted an eye. We grew up with that in our compound. It was our normal. But seeing these men who looked just like my uncles, but instead were talking about other men in the same objectifying way, it was almost baffling. I wondered how they truly lived outside of these occasional trysts with people they met online.
Arnel finally looked at his wristwatch and said, “Let’s go. I have to go home by 8PM. I have early work tomorrow.” He looked at Joshua and I felt almost revolted. In his eyes was fiery lust I hadn’t seen in anyone before. It seemed like he planned to do the worst things to him. “Let’s go.” He went inside the room next to the front door with the hanging colorful beads. Joshua followed and closed the door. For a minute, the three of us who were left in the living room were transfixed on the hanging beads against the brown, varnished door. No sound came from inside. Mike broke the silence by standing up and carrying the Monobloc he was sitting on in front of the door. He climbed and slowly took a peak on the space between the wall and the ceiling-less roof that wasn’t covered up. Brandon laughed at this. It was a funny, childish deed. Brandon stood up and knocked loudly. “Hey, share him!” The door suddenly opened. Arnel broke the colorful beads and asked us to come in.
The room inside was a smaller space, but seemed more spacious than the living room because of the lack of everything. It had a set of windows that covered almost the whole southern wall. But it was covered by a thick blanket, making the room darker and hotter. Against the windowed wall was a cot made for two with a thin bed cushion and quite a few pillows. And on the bed was Joshua, with his shirt still on, but his shorts and underwear already on his knees. The three men laughed at the sight of short-less Joshua, but I didn’t. I was incredibly uncomfortable. “Dig in!” Brandon told Arnel. The three of us watched as Arnel did Joshua. Brandon, after a few minutes, took off his jersey shirt and his natural complexion was exposed. His pudgy stomach and man-breasts were so much fairer than his arms and legs. He went towards the bed. I took a deep breath in and removed every article of clothing I was wearing and followed suit. It was a set of writhing bodies, all hot and sweaty because of the oven-like room. Mike remained standing in the corner, fully-clothed and smiling. I didn’t like it when a person just stood behind and watched. I was afraid that he’d sneakily take a video and post it all over the Internet. I didn’t want my friends or my relatives to find out I was gay through a video scandal with three other men. So I went over to Mike and urged him to join. It seemed like I wanted him to join, but I simply wanted to make sure that nobody was going to take videos.
Mike was reluctant at first, saying he just wanted to watch. But I still urged him on and slowly, he broke down his defenses. Wasn't this the reason we were invited in the first place? Mike’s body was much slimmer than Brandon’s and it boasted his beautifully dark complexion. Over his chest and down his stomach was a thin blanket of hair. At some point, while Joshua, Brandon, and Arnel were busy with each other, Mike asked me to go to the room next door. When the three noticed us leaving, they laughed loudly. “Too uncomfortable to be with us, eh, Mikey?” Brandon exclaimed, to which Mike just smiled. I collected my shed clothings from the floor and followed him to the next room.
When we finishedーit was actually I who finished and Mike didn’t even come closeーwe went outside of the room to be greeted by the three men already clothed. Mike and I were drenched in sweat. The room we were in was so much hotter because it didn’t have any windows. The three men laughed at us when we emerged from the dark, Mike smiling proudly and I, much shyer. I scurried towards the comfort room.
I went back to the living room and sat on the chair I was sitting on earlier when the gate creaked loudly and a guy went inside.
“Je,” Brandon called when he saw who was the visitor. “I thought you won’t be back until Tuesday?”
Je was a guy with much darker features and complexion than Mike. He was much shorter than Brandon, I noticed when he went towards Je and got the huge bag he was carrying. His eyes were smaller, almost perpetually closed, but the white set of teeth flashed against his dark brown face. Je went to the room next to the door. Upon his arrival, Arnel signalled us that we’re about to leave.
“Oh, right, right,” Brandon said when Arnel told him we’re leaving. “Okay. Take care.”
We bid goodbye to Mike as well who simply nodded. But when we’ve left home, I received a message from him, thanking me for the day. On our walk to the motorcycle, Arnel asked if we’d like to have coffee first. Joshua declined. And I, for the lack of something better to do, accepted the invitation. I did want to have coffee, anyway. I crammed myself again behind Joshua and off we went.
Arnel dropped Joshua to the jeepney terminal and we went to a small coffee shop near home.It was a cozy space with bad ventilation, but cute aesthetic. The shop was empty, aside from the cashier behind the counter and the cook moving about behind the kitchen door. Its menu was written on a chalkboard above the cashier. I ordered an Americano, while Arnel got himself green tea. We sat by a small circular table with high, uncomfortable chairs close to the door. There was soft music playing on the ceiling speakers. As usual, Arnel led the conversation. He asked me what I do, what course I graduated from, and from what school. I learned that he’s an electrical engineer working in Cavite. We talked about Joshua and I talked a little about Mike. I found out that Arnel just recently met Mike when he became Brandon’s boardmate, but he and Brandon knew each other since forever.
“We’re almost lovers,” Arnel confided. “It didn’t work out, but we remained friends with occasional side funs. As long as Je’s not around, though.”
“Why? Is he straight or something?” I asked.
Arnel laughed and said, “No. Je is Brandon’s boyfriend.”
“Oh.”
I had no idea. I knew the likes of Brandon and Mike because when I was younger, my mom used to let people rent the half of our house. Most of our renters were young men from far-off provinces who tried to look for a job here in Laguna. Most of them didn’t know each other personally and just met at the job. I thought Brandon and Mike were like that, two workmates living together. But I didn’t know one of them was actually living with someone.
“It’s not obvious, right?” Arnel said. “They’ve been together for almost ten years now, I think.”
“Ten years? Wow. I honestly thought Je’s just their roommate.”
Arnel chuckled. “Actually, when Je started living with Brandon, he introduced him as his brother.”
“They don’t look alike.”
He shrugged. “Their neighbors believed it. They’re known as brothers there.”
It was my first time to meet two middle-aged men lovers. The concept I was more familiar with was an older man with a younger lover or a ladyboy with a masculine boyfriend. Brandon and Je didn’t look like lovers at all. I thought Brandon was just another straight tripper who liked occasional masculine company.
“How did you know they were boyfriends?” I asked.
“I found out one day that Brandon had been living with Je. He’d always lived alone in that boarding house. And then I joked that Je was his boyfriend, that's why they're living together. Brandon didn’t affirm what I said, but he didn’t deny it either.”
I was much younger than these men and I lived in a much freer society. The concept of men/men relationships were still not completely accepted, but lesser people were forcing these couples apart or calling them abominations. It was an older problem. I couldn’t imagine the lives Je and Brandon lived as younger men, still shadowed by notions of being an abomination. They obviously still carried that fear because they did introduce themselves as siblings. I couldn’t help but think about their dynamic. How did they interact with each other? How did they talk? Did their families know? I had so many questions, but I was sure Arnel only knew some of the details and I was afraid to ask him too much; he might tell Brandon about it.
If an outsider saw Arnel and I together in a coffee shop, no one would think about anything else. We looked like two guys hanging out. But some would probably thought that we’re something more but would then brush it off. If someone approached us and asked if we're boyfriends, I could just say no. I would feel no fear of being thought to be together with a guy I was hanging out with. But I was living with that privilege of tolerance. I imagined my life in Brandon’s shoes, however. Or Je’s. Two men from a far-off province finding home with each other.
“It’s cool that they’re open with being with other men, though,” I commented.
“Hmm, not so much,” Arnel said. “They’re open, sure, but Brandon usually invited men when Je’s not around.”
“Oh,” I replied. “Je doesn’t know about the Fuck Club?”
Arnel laughed. “The what now?”
“The Fuck Club. Just a name I thought. It’s Fight Club, but with men having sex, instead.”
He was still laughing when he said, “No. Of course Je knew. However, when Brandon invited men and Je was there, the two just watch.”
“They had quite a relationship, ‘no?” I said.
“They do. They’re lucky to have found each other, though. Imagine, they’ve been together for ten years.”
“I know.”
When I got home, I tried to find Brandon’s Facebook. It was quite difficult, but when I found out Mike’s, his account revealed itself. While most of his profile pictures were just himself, there was one photo with Je. They were doing nothing really, just sitting next to each other. I saw Je had heart-reacted the photo. I scrolled to his profile and saw his featured photos were mostly pictures of him and Je. It was actually blurry because of the nervous cameraman’s hand. Most of it were just the two of them standing next to each other, not even close and side by side. But I somehow got the feeling that those were important to Brandon. It didn’t matter that the quality of the photos was bad. It was a photo of him and Je and that’s the only thing that mattered.
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