Pleasure and Plantsadora

June 15, 2010. 3:06pm. I am horny.

I just woke up from a nap. Frustrated by the hogwash sentences and superficial discussions, I opted to take a break from thesis editing.

Signed in to Twitter. Everyone's talking about the world cup.

Signed in to Facebook. No one interesting to chat with.

Without a hint remorse, my playful hands wandered to a blog of even more playful sorts.

Asian? No.

American? No.

European? No.

Nerdy? Oh hell yes!

As I the download finished, I immersed in a tale of the nerdy secretary and the manipulative boss. As the lovers kiss, I slowly rub my hands up and down my chest. Shirts come off. So did mine. I caress my thighs. The afternoon sun did nothing but intensify the heat that swells and pulses through my skin. As they slowly go down, I fondled my throbbing manhood. I pulled down my boxers. The lovers' moan in ecstasy satiated our living room in its full joyous wonder. Breaths got heavier. Moans got louder. Everything got faster and faster and faster and wonderful and magnificent and sensational and and awesome and brilliant and ecstatic and and and and and and...

..and in perfect harmony the three of us exploded in all of its beauty.

I got up and washed myself. I put my clothes back on and proceeded with the editing.

The phone rings. My aunt reminds me to give Manang Plantsadora some merienda. I told her that she didn't come. Must have forgot, I guess.

I got up and started making a cheese panini. As I was reaching for the bread, I heard a voice from outside of the window. There she was, Manang Plantsadora, asking for a glass of cold water. She's thirsty from ironing all of our clothes - all FIVE PILES of them.

I fetched a glass of cold water. I gave it to her and she smiled. Manang Plantsadora NEVER smiles. This was the first time she smiled at me.