Prologue

I wake up to the sound of my ringing phone. Not wanting to begin the day with anything resembling social interaction, I decide to not answer it. As I lie in the couch I've slept on for god knows how long, I let the phone ring until it dies.

Today marks the fourth month of my unemployment. After spending three years — one in which I was treated like complete shit — as a Marketing Professional for one of the world's leading car brands, I decided to call it quits. What day of the week it is, I have no idea. I, without an iota of shame, admit that I have successfully transitioned into the life of a couch potato.

Don't get the wrong idea though. I'm not your run-of-the-mill jobless scum of society. I don't live off my parents' hard-earned cash or take advantage of someone else's kindness. You see, I managed to stash more than half a million pesos during my tenure as a glorified car salesman. Hell, I would have had more if I didn't get my own car and a fully-furnished 36-sqm condo unit in Manila's red light district because I just felt like it. The real problem, however, is I haven't completely paid off either one of them. It's only a matter of time before one of the two gets repossessed because, I swear, dying is actually much, much cheaper than the cost of living here in the city.

So how does a self-professed couch potato burn his time, you ask? To be honest, it has been a rather shitty couple of months for poor ol' unemployed me. I spend half of the day cooped up in my man-made sanctuary, either binge-watching a TV series or looking for the right material to beat my meat to. Being unemployed and single has given me the opportunity to consume presumably 2% of the world's extensive gallery of artistic, plot-driven videos of people making passionate love to each other. I have seen almost every category known to man: blonde, brunette, bondage, taboo, double penetration, asian, BBC, stockings, schoolgirl, daughter in law, milf —and the list goes on. I have seen enough vaginas that I could easily name the esteemed "actress" by seeing an extreme close-up of their clit even when it's blurred out. I watch these pieces of art and jerk off to them so much, my epididymis is probably used to being devoid of semen on a daily basis.

You are probably thinking: why not just go look for work to keep yourself from being bored and/or masturbating to death? Well, I don't really feel like it. Have I applied for a new job? No. Am I actively looking for one? Still a no. Will I ever find another job with a compensation package than can help me maintain the lifestyle I've grown accustomed to? That's probably a yes, but I'm done selling vehicles or any other shit people think they need but can barely afford.

As much as I hate to admit, I do miss making a lot of money though. For a country that has a poverty rate above 20 percent, closing a car sale was pretty easy —before the tax reform that is. Back then, I would be selling not less than 5 vehicles a month and would bag at least a hundred grand in commissions. You could say that I'm a key contributor to the worsening traffic conditions in Manila, the goddamn congested roads littered with illegally parked vehicles, and the increasing number of assholes behind the wheel (although the Land Transportation Office should take most of the blame on that one). I don't really care. What kind of jerk people choose to become on their free time is entirely up to them.

Without a clear plan in mind, I get up from my couch and drifted to the fridge. I open the silver counter-depth refrigerator and look for any sort of sustenance. There's a slice of pizza on a paper plate, a block of cheese, and three bottle of beers. I hate how my fridge is an actual representation of myself: fully functional on the outside but truly empty and occasionally stuffed with beer and fastfood on the inside. It's a painfully accurate depiction.

The wallclock tells me it's 11:17 AM. Thinking it's probably 11 PM somewhere, I mutter "fuck it" and grab the coldest bottle. Beer would normally hit the spot, but my stomach had other ideas this morning. I felt a familiar jolt of hunger —one that dates back to my college days, a time when I had to make do with eighty pesos for food, transportation, and more importantly, DOTA.

Now, if you're not familiar with the game, the only thing you need to know is it being a multiplayer online battle arena where teenagers claim —through ear-splitting yells —that they have been having illicit sexual relations with each other's mothers. Trashtalking is such a huge component of the game that it's not surprising if kids indulge in DOTA just to talk smack about their peers or point out their birth defects.

With hunger pangs repeatedly pounding the walls of my stomach, I decide to take the slice of pizza as well. I traipse to the microwave trying not to recall how long the pizza had been in the fridge. Three minutes of staring intently at the microwave later, I set up my meal —a cold bottle of beer and a reheated god-knows-how-old pizza —at the dining table. I check my phone for any messages asking me to hang out, get my shit together, or whatever.

The call earlier was from an unknown number. As I don't save the phone number of people I know I will not be contacting any time soon, I ignore it and proceed to my inbox. I got two text messages from my service provider and one from my Dad asking when I'll visit home. Having no specific date in mind, I leave him unanswered for now and proceed to check Facebook Messenger.

I find it amazing how Facebook Messenger is slowly making text messaging and other communication platforms almost obsolete. Back in the day, you had to register to unlimited text promos or log in to Yahoo Messenger using a desktop computer if you wanted to chat with someone about anything under the sun or subtly make said someone know you're interested in them without ruining your friendship and making things awkward between the two of you. Kids these days have it good, for fuck's sake.

I browse through the inbox and find eight threads with new messages. I open each one but did not feel like reading what appears to be a week's worth of conversations and unresponded inquiries. Just as I was about to put my phone down and eat, a chat head suddenly pops up. It's from the group chat with my college buddies.

Popoy

"Guys. I have good news."

The message was from my good friend, Popoy. He doesn't type anything else for the next few seconds. From the looks of it, he's waiting for the notification that the others have seen his message before breaking whatever big news he's about to blab about.

I get a little curious. What information could he possibly be holding to demand everyone's undivided attention? Did he win the lottery? The presidency? Is he going to bequeath me a million pesos? Did he find the cure for all types of cancer?

Two minutes later, the thumbnails of everyone in the group come up all at once like the universe gave us a nudge that our good friend had something to announce and we had to be there to hear it.

Irvin

"What's up, lardass?"

Randy

"You coming out of the closet?"

"Have you realized your latent homosexual feelings for Joel? "

Joel

"We did pee together in the same toilet once."

Irvin

"Together, your penises could be mistaken for chopsticks."

Randy

"Or two kids doing a pinky swear. "

Popoy

"Whatever, motherfuckers. Let's videochat quick! "

Popoy starts the call. Everyone's faces appear on the screen. Randy, Irvin, and Joel seem to be in their respective workplaces judging from the lighting around them. Popoy, on the other hand, appears to be in his unkempt bedroom.

"Just spit it out already!"

I imagine the five of us sitting in a circle, eyes rolling in disbelief with all the suspense Popoy is trying to build up. Popoy clears his throat and tidies himself up like he was about to discuss something in front of a group of gossip-mongering housewives. I start imagining the sound of a drumroll like from one of those beauty pageants just before announcing the winner.

Popoy

"Well... I got myself a girlfriend. I've been seeing her for a couple of months now."

We all fake gasp.

I do not know how to feel about this revelation. Sure, I'm happy for the guy, but this means I'm the only one left in our circle who's single and likely to die alone. Plus, it's kind of hard to swallow that five-foot, 93-kilogram, average-looking, dull as ditchwater Popoy got a girlfriend before me.

Randy

"Seeing? As in meeting? Dating? Or hallucinating? "

Joel

"That's good news, buddy. Which hand is it?"

Irvin

"Send us her Facebook profile. I wanna see if she's the real thing."

I don't chip in to the conversation in the hopes that none of them would nag me about "settling for good" or start a discussion on the joys of being in a relationship and such.

Popoy

"I swear she's real, you fuckers. Check out her profile here."

I click the link he gives which led me to the profile of a certain April Prudencio. In her profile picture, she's wearing a Beige short sleeve blouse over a pair of maroon slacks which is oddly familiar. She appears to be petite, possibly between 4'11 and 5'1.

I take a good look at her face. No words can describe how beautiful she is, but numbers sure can. She's a 5 on a good day and a 6 at best. Probably a 6.5 if you're drunk enough. Plus, she looks oddly young for our age.

Randy

"How old is she? She looks about twelve."

Popoy

"To be honest..."

Then it hit me. I remember where that uniform is from. It's from a local college near my home —the one I grew up in, not this pricey condo that is sucking my finances dry. People call it the dumpster for students who failed in the universities that are part of the U-belt.

"Is she a college freshman ffs? That's a college uniform!"

Popoy

"Of course not!"

"A sophomore then?"

Popoy

"Well... Yeah."

Joel

"You're dating a 16 year old!?"

Popoy

"She's 18 for crying out loud!"

"Something tells me she turned 18 just recently."

Popoy

"Well... It was her birthday yesterday."

The four of us gasp in unison at Popoy's revelation. It was quite genuine unlike earlier.

Randy

"So let me get this straight... You didn't tell us that you have been seeing a girl for a couple of months because she was a minor back then?"

Irvin

"Probably got scared we're going to call the cops on him."

Popoy

"It's not like that!"

"Sure seems like it."

Joel

"Couldn't have said it better."

Popoy

"I just didn't think it was the right time."

"BECAUSE SHE WAS A MINOR!"

Goddamit. Eighteen. You know, the number before nineteen. Like the total number of holes in a golf course. Or the number of times the Virgin Mary showed herself to Bernadette Soubirous. Eighteen as in the age you are finally allowed to vote, drive, or hold a fancy debut where you can feel like the princess you are for one day because not a lot of men will make you feel that way when you grow up.

Irvin

"Whatever, child molester. When are we meeting her?"

Popoy

"When will you guys be free?"

"We would've been the one asking you that if the cops knew you were messing with a minor."

Popoy

"For fuck's sake, just give me a day already!"

Randy

"This Saturday. "

Irvin

"Saturday."

Joel

"I can't if it's this Saturday. I'm taking care of the kids."

"I'm a bum, so just hit me up. I'm real happy for you, fatass."

Popoy

"Saturday it is."

Joel

"Sorry, guys."

Popoy

"I wasn't planning to invite you anyway, Joel."

Randy

"Why are you even in this group chat?"

Joel

"Ok..."

"Y'all are hurting Joel' s feelings. Kick him out already."

Joel

"Fuck all of you. Fuck all your ancestors too."

Popoy

"Kidding aside, the ball is now in your court, Ace. You're the only bachelor in this circle. If I can get myself a woman, so should you. "

I roll my eyes at his misplaced confidence. Pretty sure he got himself a daughter, not a girlfriend.

Irvin

"I could introduce you to one of Nica's friends. The only problem is, unlike us, they were born with a shitload of money so their lifestyle may be a bit not suited for your taste."

Goddammit. I knew I shouldn't have said anything. Now the spotlight is on me. Popoy, however, was somehow right. No offense to him, but I am more of a catch than he is. I'm 5'11 with an athethic build, occasionally witty, and does not mind going shopping with a woman until she's visited every store and tried every piece of clothing in it. My only flaws are the fact that my face is plagued with acne scars since high school and that I am currently unemployed and not actively looking for employment opportunities.

" You callin' me low class, you bastard? "

Irvin

"All I'm saying is if you thought Nica had this majestic vibe around her when you first met, her friend has, for lack of a better term, a "stronger" kind of air. They didn't grow up in or around the bowels of Manila like us, so you know what I mean. "

I think about what Irvin said for a moment. If I can somehow marry to a filthy rich family I'll never have to work for the rest of my life. He was right though. His wife, Nica, is insanely rich. Not Crazy Rich Asians rich, but rich enough to own eight houses and five cars. That doesn't even include their businesses and other properties.

Randy

"Who was the last one you were with again, Ace? Was it Zoey? Which you only mentioned in passing, by the way. And wasn't that, like, 2 years ago? "

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This is why I didn't want to participate in this conversation. I hate it when my past relationships are being brought up from the dead. For one, I never really had a relationship that lasted longer than 5 months. It's like every woman I've ever been with didn't make it past the probationary period. If Duterte keeps his word about ending contractualization, I bet my next relationship can reach the sixth month and have the woman be a regular.

Irvin

"Yeah, Ace. Come to think of it, we haven't even met any of your exes. In fact, you don't even tell us you're seeing someone until you're on the verge of a breakup or you're already broken into a million pieces that we have to pick up across town and glue together."

Joel

"Plus we're at the age where you should start thinking about getting married. Stop hooking up with strangers."

In my defense, I never hooked up with strangers —it's usually with co-workers. It's like your typical romcom where two people start up as friends with benefits but somehow, in the midst of exchanging body fluids and performing raunchy office sex, they realize that they could be something more. Only they weren't. And one was almost always committing adultery. Hint: it's not me.

"Well, I was busy with work."

Randy

"It has been four months since you left your job. Surely you had the time to go on Tinder or something."

That sentence had me cringing all over. The chances of finding true love on Tinder is lower than catching an STD from masturbation. Everyone — including teenagers —use the thing to get laid on some shady motel using money they could have used to feed themselves.

"It's not on my mind right now."

Popoy

"It should be. We're in our late twenties now. Just do what I did. Be charming. "

I click my tongue repeatedly at Popoy's vainglory. I can't believe I got that from a guy who's dating a barely legal college sophomore who probably is into him because of his financial capabilities. I bet he's giving her allowance, considering that university she's attending is only semi-private and most students there are from the bottom of the food chain. And what does he mean by "be charming"? A half-eaten kwek-kwek that fell on the ground is more charming than he could ever aspire to be.

Deciding not to get into an argument about my singlehood, I put my phone down and focused on finishing my probably stale pizza. I then repair to my bedroom and throw myself into the bed. I could hear the others calling my name, probably baffled why I left inadvertently.

All that talk about dating, however, had made me wistfully horny. How long has it been since I shared a bed with another living being? I haven't had sex in so long that I want to visit the Statue Of Liberty just to feel what it's like to be inside a woman again.

I feel my conscupiscence grow by the minute. It feela like jacking off to porn won't do this time. Realizing I'm basically living in pussyland, I try to calm myself down with breathing exercises.

"You got this. Below you is a long stretch of places with women willing to get plowed for bits of cash", I tell myself as I take a deep breath.

"You are going to get laid tonight."

I take another deep breath.

The bars don't open until evening so I think of ways to kill time and keep myself from throwing a libido-fueled fit.

Intrigued by the idea of banging a naive 18-year old, l reach for my laptop, which was sitting on the floor, to go on Facebook and search for 'Manila home massage'. In case you're not aware, a number of trollops have started offering massage services on top of their carnal gratification. Some are legit, while some are just randomly pressing whatever part of your body they can touch and pray it will turn out to be a massage. I click the top suggested page named 'Manila Hotel Massage Service'.

The page seemed innocuous at first. Just a bunch of earnest massage therapists looking for a gig. Some posts are just plain text while others include a borderline NSFW photo to, presumably, entice customers.

"Available for massage today. Text me at 0927XXXXXXX"

"AVAIL ME NOW. ASAP. PM ME."

"HOME/HOTEL SERVICE AVAILABLE TODAY!"

"Sure taker. PM me."

Being wary of scams and unwanted copulation with someone far from my sexual template, I check every profile of the deviants that are offering their services. It's rather difficult to weed out the fake accounts from the real ones in this business, so it's always safer to go with those who aren't ashamed of people knowing they sell their body for sex. Twelve profiles and a shitload of posts later, I come across one that piqued my interest:

"Need someone. I'm 18 y/o. PM me."

I immediately check her profile. In her display photo, she's standing on pristine white sand with the ocean just right behind. She's wearing a pink high-neck two-piece swimsuit, showing her nubile figure and fair skin. I couldn't quite get a good picture of her face as it was covered with oversized sunglasses, but the tiny turned up nose guarantees she's at least an 8 for her age.

"You intrigue me, KC Mastela", I whisper to myself.

Her profile is set to private so I couldn't unravel more about this mystery teen.

My phone suddenly rings. I scramble around my bed to look for it, throwing one pillow after the other to the floor. Five seconds later, I find it under a crease on the bedsheet. The call is from an unknown number.

I answer the phone reluctantly and wait for the person on the other line to speak.

"Hello? Ace?" says the honeyed voice. It sounded familiar —nostalgic even.

"Yes?"

"It's me. It's Zoey."

I pull the phone away from my ear and just stare at it. I do not know what to say. What could my pseudo ex possibly want to say after ghosting me two years ago? Had she realized I've mended myself already so it's time to break my heart into microscopic pieces?

I put my phone on loud speaker. Whatever she has to say, I want to hear it clearly. I don't want to miss a single word.

"Why are you calling?" I ask tautly.

I hear Zoey let out a long sigh. If that was due to disbelief is beyond me. I shrug it off as I'm anticipating the first word that comes out of her mouth. Go on. Say what you have to say, you heartless bitch.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have disappeared from your life like that."

As much as I'd like to quip, I find myself at a loss for words. I cover my mouth with the back of my clenched hand to keep myself from letting out any inaudible sound.

"I love you. Still. Okay?"

I am taken aback. My whole body is frozen stiff. While my heart isn't pounding any faster than before, I feel like it's about to explode and jump right out of my chest. I can imagine it flapping like a fish out of water —and it's probably going to die in a matter of seconds.

"Ace?", she asks in a timorous tone, followed by "You still there?"

My lips slowly part from each other but I am unable to produce a sound.

"Ace?"

"I love you, okay?" she says sternly.

The nerve of this woman. Does she expect me to forgive her and forget the shit I did and had to go through just because I heard those words from her mouth? Hell, it's not even enough to act as a band-aid that can cover up the proverbial wound she inflicted on my heart.

Knowing full well that taking her bait would lead to a series of terrible decisions, I muster up all the courage from every fiber of my being. Kind of like Son Goku asking the world's help to lend him their energy and create an energy bomb powerful enough to beat Frieza.

"Thanks. Good to know."

I hang up immediately and bury my face into the pillow, desperately trying to keep myself from calling her back.

To be continued

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