This Virgin Can't Drive

Recent med school graduate from the Manila, out to get a clue.

[thisvirgincantdrive-blog]

Constantine

It’s still you. I’m afraid it will forever be you.

[thisvirgincantdrive-blog]

Breaking developments, like you care

Okay, so it’s been a while.

What have I been up to? Basically – work, travel, and dating this beautiful boy, Constantine.

Well, I used to, anyway.

It’s over.

We had fun. He was amazing. Me? Well, I wasn’t ready. So we ended it. It was a great 9-month run. Yeah, we fought, but dammit, was it great when it was good.

Okay, so maybe we’re not totally over. You really don’t get over your first love that quickly, right?

I have a feeling Constantine and I are still in for something even more amazing.

I’ll be sitting tight.

[365daysofsexy]

[thisvirgincantdrive-blog]

No words. There are no words.

Joseph Marco, everybody, and his perky, lickable nipples.

[thisvirgincantdrive-blog]

Update, because I know you care.

I haven't written in a while. Fine, hang me. I guess the last time I've written, I was still lusting after David whatshisname whose only achievement in our "relationship" was boosting my ego for 3 milliseconds by saying I looked like Andrew Garfield. Oh, and there was that time he popped my cherry too.

In any case, we're done. We saw each other for some time, one awkward date after another. It was way less awkward in the bedroom, but we really had very little to talk about. He didn't feel like opening up to me, and I felt like he really wasn't all that interested whenever I started saying something. After about two or so months of doing the nasty, I got bored and realized I wanted something more. So I asked him where this thingy of ours was headed. (At that time, I had also met someone else really, really awesome and thought that deserved some more of my attention, which I was unfairly lavishing on David whatshisname. But more on that later.) I was waiting for some hint that hmmm, mayhaps he also wanted something more. He said flat out he wanted to marry a woman someday. Sorry, man, I will never grow a vagina. So I called it quits with him. Later on, he apologized and said he, too, maybe was developing feelings for me. I was touched at the sudden flash of honesty, but sorry, man, the train has left the station.

And in comes the wonderful, beautiful, incredibly awesome guy I was telling you about just a few sentences ago. His name is Constantine. I know. Such a majestic, beautiful name, right? We have been acquaintances for over seven years. We shared a few classes together back when I was in pre-med and he was still taking up OT for his undergraduate degree. He was a bit chubbier then, but I already had my closeted eye on him, because damn was he cute. Awesome smile, too. The years passed and he, too, enrolled at the College of Medicine. I would occasionally stalk him on FB and as I eventually accepted the fact that I am and will never stop being a flaming homo, my crush intensified. Until I finally got the courage to flirt shamelessly with him over FB.

It was beautiful how quickly we clicked. He was sensitive, smart, articulate and goddamit, he was a monster in bed. He is everything I've been looking for.

Oh. My dad just came in and told me to get ready for church. Ha. Yes, church. I'll continue the update another day. Ciao bella.

[thisvirgincantdrive-blog]

Frustrations of the Sexual Kind

You know that feeling where you sit through a fairly terrible movie with someone you really like, counting down the minutes till the end credits roll so you can go back to your date's place and get it on (is that what the kids still say these days?), only to be notified that, well, his brother's staying over, and, well, all that primping and preening in the bathroom was for naught because you're probably not getting laid?

Well, I do. It's there, written on the title. In bold typeface, appropriately so.

So, okay, David and I have been flirting like fucking crazy over text messages ever since our last date a gazillion years ago (actually, three weeks before), and I was really looking forward to this. I was set on losing this fucking tick on my dick called 'virginity' tonight, and he just seemed like the perfect guy to lose it to. And goddamit, that Andrew Garfield comment was still making me wet my panties even after all these weeks. Also, I've been doing nothing but study these past few days, and well, I just need some fucking action, okay?

So obviously that didn't happen. But we had a good enough time watching The Dictator. It was crass and tried hard to be offensive, but he liked it, and I laughed frequently enough. (Then again, I though White Chicks is comedic gold, so what do I really know?) We held hands, and my God, at first it felt like a bad sequence from MTV's awesome Awkward. but ultimately, I enjoyed it. It was nice. Pleasant. Maybe even normal? Well, never mind the fact that I kept fidgeting, scared that the people at the back would see us and be offended by the blatant display of gay-ness. David wasn't, though, and even if his stuff kept falling all around his seat, he ignored them just so he wouldn't have to let go of my sweaty hand. It was cute. He was cute.

Anyway, after the movie, we had no idea what to do next. Obviously, I thought we'd already be tearing each other's clothes off by that point, and I didn't have a contingency plan. Him? Well, I guess he was just to shy to ask me to go with him to the nearest gay bar. (I would've said no. I'm a fucking lady, thank you very much.) So we started walking towards Baywalk, and well, before we know it, we were in the middle of the CCP complex, holding hands in the darkness, talking about nothing and everything, but mostly about nothing. He said he was getting tired, so we stopped and sat on the steps of one of the buildings and talked some more. He put his hands around me and started to make his moves, and as much as I wanted to make out with him, I simply didn't want to be one of those gays. Making out in dark alleyways? A little too cliched, a little too soon. So we hopped on over to an ice cream shop and had rootbeers and talked some more.

And here's the deal. I like David. He's sweet and cute in a dorky way, and persistent, and knows how to push my buttons ifyaknowwhatimean. But now that we've gotten to talk more, it's clear that he and I really have very little in common. Our conversations are starting to become drawn-out small talk. I'm thinking that maybe this is just because we're both quite inarticulate, and perhaps, we're still choosing and censoring what we say to each other. Maybe? I guess I'm also to blame since I place such high expectations for boyfriends. Great conversationalist? Understands the genius of The Office? Someone with a cute accent like Dev Patel?

Yeah, maybe I really was aiming too high. But that's how things are if you've been alone for a long time. You become delusional.

Well, whatever it is, I do hope that soon enough, David and I do find ourselves in a truly engaging, for-the-books conversation, because that, I think, is the only missing link in this little thing of ours. I already like him, but I want to want to be with him. I want to seek him out and have him come over because there's this thing I want to tell him about. Like, we are gonna have to enjoy each other's company while our tongues are not in each other's throats, right?

Anyway, we headed back home after. I thought the whole 'hooking up at his place' plan was scrapped, so I said I was gonna go back to our unit. Then I received a text message from him saying that his brother was leaving at midnight, and he was gonna be alone, and he wanted to invite me back. So I said, "why didn't you just ask me before I left? You know I'm terrible at signals." Then I said I was already beat and asked him if we could just do it another time. I was no longer in the mood because I smelled like fucking Baywalk, basically Manila's primary sewage disposal site. Then he sent me a cute text, and I replied with a cuter one. And oh my God, this boy is really mastering the art of text-flirting. I just wish he'd hurry up and translate it to actual spoken conversation.

Anyway, that's it. God, I sound like a retarded Twi-hard.

[thisvirgincantdrive-blog]

Like, today he texted me and told me he watched Spider-Man and Andrew Garfield's smile reminded him of my own...

Like, I know that's like stupidly untrue because my teeth are awful and I would've believed it if he said I had a smile like Ricky Gervais' or Hatchet Face from Crybaby, and I'm extremely insecure about it, but the fact that he thought of me while watching the ridiculously good-looking Andrew Garfield is, like...

No words can even express how many times my ovaries exploded with that little comment.

For one, he didn't even know what his name was and I had to explain to him it was, duh, Andrew Garfield, the sex god from The Social Network and Boy A and Never Let Me Go, and of course, he hasn't watched any of those fine films, but he still thought he was cute and his smile was cute and it reminded him of my own smile. He was being a dork and it was a dorky, flirty comment, and oh my god, I can, like, just really feel my heart dropping to my scrotum. I like it when he's being a dork because it's a personality trait! He has personality! I'm not just making out with Archie's friend Mason, but an actual person with an actual personality! And he was flirting! Oh my god, let it rain manna, because he actually just delivered a coyly flirtatious line, and I feel as if he just took one whole step up the evolutionary ladder right there.

And the fact that he dropped that line while I was busily cramming for my exam, and stressed out, and wanting to commit suicide. Oh my god, a gazillion pogi points for timing, Sir!

And Andrew Garfield! I mean, the guy is like one of my ultimate current crushes and someone who I want to be like and sleep with at the same time, and this lug, makes an actual real-life comment that implies I have some sort of actual similarity with this specimen of perfection, and oh my God.

Someone's getting laid.

Okay, I sound like a slut right there, but at least I'm a slut who someone thinks has a smile like Andrew Garfield's.

So there.

Ughghghg. Just look at him:

[thisvirgincantdrive-blog]

Oh, the things fanfiction make you do.

I saw a gif of Harry and Liam (or was it Louis?) being all cuddly and adorable, so I twiddled around the interwebs looking for some choice One Direction fanfics.

Then there I was reading about Zayn playing with Harry's hair (oh his hair) while thrusting deep into him. Senses a-tingling, I thought of you.

And then there I was leaving you a cutesy message on Facebook, thinking you'd be offline. You'd be asleep, for sure. It was 2 am, after all, and you had classes in the morning.

But you weren't. You replied immediately. Hey, wassup, the message read.

So original. You always know how to make an engaging opening.

Then followed a conversation that went exactly the same way all our previous conversations go. I try to make like an Amy Sherman-Palladino character and attempt to be quirky-cute as I describe how stressed I am with studying for the upcoming Boards. You straight-up say you're fine. No, nothing's new with you. Yes, classes are going the way classes go. I try to keep up my act, hoping against the odds that you have some little poet tucked inside of you who would just jump out and give me some semblance of an interesting flirtation. Tell me a funny anecdote about your naive med student classmates! Link me to an interesting article about those boson thingies! Damn, I'd even take a moronic tweet from Anne Curtis. Just make this conversation interesting!

I don't know why I even try. I've known for a long time you weren't the most intellectually beguiling of boys. You're cute, sure, but honey, this is the internet. My Tumblr draft folders is full of pretty boys. I need smart. Witty. Neil Patrick Harris.

I don't know why I even try.

Oh, of course I do. That damn fanfic.

Come over, you suddenly say.

Wow. This is new. But it's late, I countered.

You persist. You say it's safe. That you would pick me up. That you would gladly give me a massage. After all, I've been incredibly stressed, you say.

I don't know what's happening. All I wanted was a flirty convo into which I could throw all my sexual frustrations and now you're inviting me to come over. At 2 am. What is happening?

I immediately text Carms and Nico. (Thank God everyone's up studying! Med school, you weird freak show.) That's a booty call, they unanimously announce.

Oh.

Again, I don't know what's happening. I've never had a booty call before. I admit I'm a little flattered. Maybe intrigued? I kinda feel a bit cheap. But overall, I feel totally confused, bewildered and out of it. I always had a witty retort at the ready, but now - zilch. I had no fucking idea what to do.

In the end, the little pussy that I am said no.

I guess as brazen (and okay, maybe a little slutty) as I am on my little private message pop-up, I don't think I can ever translate that to real life.

I'm a dweeb. I can never say the things I want without the benefit of going through it then clicking send. And what if we ever do come to that, and I find myself inadequate. What if you find me inadequate? A goddamn virgin who can't drive.

You persist with the invite. Damn, you're a man on a mission.

I reply with even more coy brush-offs. The sisters at my old Benedictine grade school would be proud.

Before long, you tire of finagling me into coming over. We end the conversation with a pleasant 'maybe next time.'

What if there won't be a next time?

And why am I even stressing about this? It was a booty call.

I want a relationship, I tell myself. Not a goddamn one-night stand with a guy who can't even make me laugh, even with the power of Google at his disposal.

What you're offering is not enough. If you never talk to me again, it wouldn't matter. You're not who I'm looking for.

I go back to my fanfic. Zayn and Harry are now cuddling. Zayn is now talking about how much Harry makes him smile. I read three more fanfiction that night. Harry with Louis. Louis with Zayn. And then everyone one little Niall.

Before I turn off my laptop to go to sleep, I leave you with a private message. Ask me again tomorrow, I say.

[thisvirgincantdrive-blog]

Joseph Marco, do humanity a solid and never ever wear a shirt again.

[thisvirgincantdrive-blog]

I’m curious. Why tell me now?

I’m not sure. Probably because you’ve been teasing me a lot about it these past few days. I might as well come clean, right? Oh… And also because I feel like you think it’s some big, sad, scary emotional burden for me? It’s not. I guess I’m telling you just to clean up that little misconception that’s probably brewing in your head. It’s all right. I’m all right. I’m dealing with it.

Okay. Yeah. Actually, you do seem okay. As blase as ever. To be perfectly honest, though, I didn’t expect it.

Right. A total shocker.

Until something was different.

Of course.

So you were sure a long time ago and only just decided to tell people? Or you just accepted it recently? I’m confused.

I decided I was okay with it a couple of years ago.

Yeah, that makes more sense… Because it just didn’t match your vibe those first few years I knew you. Now you tell me you’re relatively well-adjusted and comfortable.

Relatively.

And all that soul-searching you did by yourself?

I guess so.

You’re even more introverted than I thought.