Fetish

“Tale of the Undercover Thief who Steals Old Underwear for no Reason.”

-oOo-

T’was a hot April afternoon when I decided to drop by the plush RCBC Plaza gym, to work up a sweat before my shift at the office. As I changed in the lockers, I noticed that although I brought my workout clothes- spare t-shirt, shorts, and rubber shoes; I forgot an extra pair of underwear.

What I was wearing was a pair of ancient “granny pants” (sorry, it was laundry day) I had since I was a freshman in college, with the garter stretched and curled like a piece of pasta. Hiding behind the locker door, and afraid someone would see me, I decided to keep my granny pants and my office clothes in the locker while I go commando in my gym clothes.

So I locked the cabinet and “bounced” all the way to the workout area. I started with the weights and the machines, carefully keeping my legs together so the one-eyed monster won’t take a peek to the outside world.

It was a rather uneventful afternoon as I listened to music while “bouncing” on the treadmill that was facing GT Tower. When I finally finished with the weights, I went to the steam room and then the showers.

With my towel wrapped around my waist, I walked to the locker area where a gym bunny was rolling deodorant under his arm while completely naked. Omg! I averted my eyes (charot!) and opened my cabinet. I took out my stuff.

Undershirt, check! Long sleeves, check! Necktie, pants, check! Wait. I froze. Then I checked everything again- inside the locker, my bag. My granny pants were missing!!!

As I checked the pocket of my bag where I kept my valuables- cell phone and wallet- the money was complete.

“Was I sure I really wore underwear kanina?” I asked myself.

Yes!!! How could I forget wearing granny pants? After checking every inch of my bag and locker, an attendant noticed my distress and approached me.

“Sir, is there a problem?”

I hesitated. What am I supposed to do, tell him I was missing my granny pants? Even if they found those it would be too embarrassing to claim ownership of that thing.

I smiled. “None, everything’s fine.”

Damn. I had to go to work commando, I’d be late for office if I go home for a pair. As I exited the locker area, I looked around the guys inside the locker room in various stages of undress.

One of these people took my underwear. I found it hard to believe because it was an upscale place, and there was certainly no shortage of underwear in the Philippines. Oh well, those granny pants had to go anyway.

I headed out with both an amused and annoyed look on my face.

The Queen of our Hearts

Forget Gretchen Barretto. Forget Angel Locsin. Forget Bea Alonzo. Those commoners pale in comparison with the dazzling creature known as Madame Auring. A pity they left her out in Preview Magazine's Manila's Most Beautiful Campaign two years running- the crime of the century!! No, they should reduce Ruffa and the others to 1 x 1 ID pics by the margins and have our pristine goddess at the center holding a scepter, and by scepter I mean penis.

Here she is on the cover of FHM, giving Katrina Halili a run for her money. After this, the magazine should devote itself solely to worshiping our naturally beautiful idol. Put her on every calendar! I won't be surprised if you see men jizzing in public places at the sight of her natural endowments. Hell, I bet she would be the next target for every pervert in the country to star in their next sex video!!! The NBI and police MUST join forces to round up these criminals before they lay a finger on the most beautiful Filipina alive.

Madame devotes herself to public service, here she is on a radio show that suddenly came alive with her presence. As a modern day oracle, she gives accurate predictions such as who would win Miss Universe. Sure, she said "Miss Valenzuela", but those imbeciles who chuckled should know- the joke is on them! Obviously they were too half witted to realize our all-knowing goddess have seen Valenzuela's imminent destiny of becoming a separate country.

The goddess' generosity is simply unparalleled. Unlike you and me, Madame spends time with the needy- in this picture, she stands right next to a plebeian. Our golden haired diva is not one to make judgments, she won't utter a word that your cheeks are too fat or you have body odor. Instead, she keeps that beautiful smile that can make angels sing.

We should forget about Loren Legarda as our candidate for the next woman president of the Philippines. Vote for Madame Auring! Heck, vote for her as Queen of the Universe!!! For a campaign song, she can use her Grammy winning classic "May Asim pa". The selfish bastards at the Grammys were too jealous of her beauty and melodious voice that they kept the awards to themselves. Preposterous!

The Naked Chef Meets Fear Factor

Who said you need to spend thousands to experience a sumptuous meal fit for your epicurean taste? What I'm about to tell you is top secret- as in Maxim's in Paris have been begging me for this but I told them no, this is exclusively for my friends. If you are planning a lovely supper for a special someone, a friend, a nosy neighbor, or perhaps your most hated enemy, you're in luck.

Whip out the lampara and set the table for a simply divine dining experience. First, of course you have to prepare the following things:
1. Tokeneneng and kwek kwek
2. Lucky Me Noodles and Payless Pancit Canton
3. 4 sticks Isaw and Helmet
4. 2 sticks Atay, 2 sticks Adidas (don't forget to ask for sauce- usually pronounced "sows" in the streets)
5. Achara
6. 1 indian mango na may bagoong
7. Monay and dirty ice cream
8. Sarsi
9. 2 extra rice

To begin with (assuming you are already wearing your gown, or perhaps your shower curtain cleverly draped on your body like a Vera Wang cocktail dress), serve the Hors d'oeuvres- I mean the tokeneneng. Share the sauce or "sows".

Compliment each others appearance, blah blah blah. Now it's time to bring out the soup- the delicately flavored Lucky Me Noodles. Try not to eat too much because the pasta is coming next- and you now that instant pancit canton is the new ravioli!

The main course is Foie gras and some fancy meat, with very fancy red wine. Ok its really Atay, Isaw, Adidas, and kwek kwek with rice- but who cares about petty details, right? Enjoy, try to look poised as you bite off the helmet. Try not to look at the poor chicken's half-opened left eye. Don't forget the sows.

Continue your magical conversation over achara. Then for fresh fruit, have a slice or two of Indian mango. Share the bagoong. Then top off the exquisite meal with dessert- but nothing too common such as tiramisu or creme brulee. Yuck! Peons are feasting on those plain things in 5 star hotels- you are simply too jaded to be satisfied. So you settle with Monay ala mode. Yummy!

After supper, if you still haven't thrown up, or experience the symptoms of Shigellosis, or even had severe diarrhea and consequently had hyponatremia, you can savor the feeling of being a true food connoisseur. Bravo!

Blood, Needles, and Vajayjays

I acted like a complete ass (or as the British would call it, “arse”) during my first time to assist a delivery.

There I was, looking so important in my grass-green scrubs, gazing intermittently at the glass partition between the delivery room and NICU, making sure my hair was in place. The clinical preceptor was giving an orientation and final instructions, and I just nodded my head and joined murmurs of “Yes, Ma’am!” We were finally out of the classroom and laboratory, away from plastic mannequins and simulated environment. We were finally let loose into the clinical area.

“Gravida 2, 5 cm, her bag of water ruptured already!!” An orderly was wheeling in a pregnant woman in labor, her face contorted in pain.

“Vital signs and FHT now!” Barked our preceptor.

I felt like I was in the middle of Grey’s Anatomy episode (or Scrubs, more like it) as we scrambled to assist the woman to her bed in the labor room. One student took her blood pressure while we get a blanket to cover her lower extremities so we could expose her swollen belly to do Leopold’s maneuver. I could finally hear the baby’s heartbeat through the stethoscope; I counted, then marked the spot for future monitoring.

“BP 130/80 mmHg, the FHT is 130 bpm, contractions regular.” I said, wiping my brow.

“Another patient for C Section! I need two of you to scrub now!” Another patient came in a stretcher, and two students from our group scrambled for their OR gowns and start preparing.

Just as we thought it couldn’t get any worse, our preceptor screamed again. “Multipara, 10 cm already, I need you (pointing at me) and you (pointing at a friend) with me at the delivery room NOW!” The rest, stay with the other patient and monitor the progress of her labor!

“B..bb...but, Ma’am she’s not my patient, my patient is the one at the labor room.” I stammered nervously.

She just glared at me and walked hurriedly to the delivery room. I followed.

“Where’s the whiteboard marker for recording the time of delivery at the whiteboard?” She asked loudly while the patient was being assisted into the Lithotomy position.

My classmate and I looked at each other. “You didn’t tell me about any marker!” I hissed.

“Where is the Methergine ampule? Where are the sutures for the Episioraphy? Where’s your BP ap?”

“Uhmm.. ah.” I looked around in panic.

“Prepare those things NOW!”

And off we went. “Where were you during orientation?” My classmate demanded. “Oh shut up let’s just find those things.”

“Crowning!” The midwife and our clinical preceptor were instructing the mother how to push. Then the midwife did something that would take weeks to disappear from my mind: she took a sharp Mayo scissor and cut the woman’s perineum to widen the birth canal. The woman screamed in pain. Blood oozed.

I felt faint, I thought I’d collapse into the big bucket where they dumped the placentas. I wanted to slide the woman to the side so I could lie down for a while. Kidding.

The baby came out faster than I expected. No observable “internal rotation”, “extension” and all that cardinal movements we memorized in the classroom. The birth itself took no more than a few seconds. Just like that a person was born into this world.

“BP?”

“130/80mmHg.”

“Inject Methergine 1amp.”

I prepared the medication and administered it via intramuscular route. The woman was almost delirious; she did not even notice I stuck a big needle on her arm. The neonate was brought to the NICU for cord care.

We assisted the woman into her clothes and did the after care. As we watched her being wheeled away in a stretcher, my clinical preceptor asked me:

“Ok, so did you learn anything new in this exposure?”

“Yes Ma’am,” I said as I fanned myself.

“…Listen to instructions.”

Stage Fright

The lights seemed to hurt my eyes. Despite the constant whirl of the electric fan beside me, beads of sweat started to trickle down my temples. I was aware of my breath, and every pounding of my heart.

“Dear Brothers and Sisters,” I began.

“The reason why Jesuth (my tongue seemed to stick to my upper teeth!), our Lord, wath (damn, not again!) both popular and unpopular during his time on earth was His teaching which was ah, uhmm, contrary to the values of the world…”

Each time I spoke, my chest seemed to tighten, even as I kept telling myself to calm down. Epinephrine must have been pouring inside me by the buckets. My vision seemed to sharpen, as I saw every single face, all two hundred and sixty plus, gazing at me.

Luckily, this was only during rehearsals. I was asked to read impromptu, and at that time I was feeling problematic over the status of one of the projects assigned to me. Maybe it was the stress, maybe it was because I was unprepared, but damn! This was an unfortunate time to make bloopers.

Four out of the six sections submitted the wrong format, and I spent what was supposed to be a day of rest correcting the errors. With the help of five people however, we were able to submit the 725 slide presentation just in time. With that out of the way, I assured myself the possibility of me screwing up my part in the ceremony was null.

I practiced with Sister Isabel till I sounded as credible as any lector. The problem was that I am used to speaking fast, and I was certainly not accustomed to sounding as perfect and as flawlessly modulated and well paced as an electronic teller.

During the ceremony, in front of close to a thousand people, I got up to the podium calm and collected. I opened my mouth and screwed up- well, I didn’t mispronounce anything or spoke too fast- I did worse by missing some of the lines. To people who heard without really listening, they couldn’t tell what I did wrong, but those who listened to the words I uttered- their brows were probably bunched together from trying to decipher what it all meant. My mates told me I did ok so I thought great, no one noticed.

One day, I happened to bump into Sister Isabel.

“Thad, was it the electric fan?”

“Excuse me?”

“You missed some of your lines!”

“Sister… (I lost my head for a minute there Sister, that’s what happened. Memory gap, stress induced amnesia, stage fright…)

…Yes , it was the fan.” And I gave her a dazzling apologetic smile.

Thus concludes my short career as a lector.

How Thadie Got His Groove Back

Part 2: Dorm

It was 30 minutes till my Statistics Finals in Diliman and I needed to take the edge off. Some people would drink, some would meditate, I on the other hand (excuse the pun), decided to do “the thing”. I tiptoed to my small room at the end of the hall.

It was still early in the morning, and I could hear the soft snores of my dorm mates. I glanced at the hallway one more time before gingerly closing the door.

Click! The sound of the lock as it slid into place. It was quiet enough to hear the neighbor’s TV from my closed window. Some sort of morning show on. Crap. With my movements as slick as a hot knife through butter, I unzipped myself and lay on the bed.

Ok. Think of the hunky Law student two rooms down the hall. Remember he always walks around in his underwear?

I started to touch myself.

Oh yeah, I remember that afternoon when he slept with his door open. That was some feast for the eyes… Wait till I get my hands on that-

Without me noticing, my pace was getting quicker and my elbows started banging on the wall.

“So close, so close…”

“Shit!” I noticed the time: 10 minutes till my exam begins. I fixed myself hurriedly and ran all the way to the venue which was in the Law building.

Surprisingly, I was able to answer most of the questions (yeah, considering this was take two shhh!) with ease, and I finished ahead of time. I submitted my paper to the proctor and left.

Maybe it was because I fantasized about my lucky charm- my Law student dorm mate’s crotch- that I was able to do well in the exam. Hello, the venue was in the Law building too! I giggled to myself.

The guys were having the usual Friday boozefest when I got home later that day. I was about to refuse (as I normally did) when the landlord’s son invited me to join, but he suddenly pulled me to the center of the group.

He put his arm around my shoulder.

“Pare, narinig ka daw nila kanina nagja-jakol.”

Me, looking incredulous: “Excuse me?”

I put on my purest I’m-a-lamb-and-I-am-wholesome look to profess my innocence. Good thing I was saved from further inquisition and embarrassment when another dorm mate chimed in. He said his maid once caught him jerking off at home, and told his folks.

“Wala yan!” Another ones relates his own story.

The embarrassment was now gone. I picked up my first gin-pomelo drink and raised the glass.

Cheers, guys.

Struggles of a Schemer

I was fixing my tie, going over the things I had to do for the day. Meeting with MAD (our director) and the managers, call monitoring for five CSRs, submission of QA analysis, and coaching with a really cute new CSR I had, whom we will call Jon (after my hubby Jon Mullaly haha!). My heart skipped a beat. The first time I laid eyes on him was when the new batch of CSRs were introduced by the Trainers to their respective Team Managers, and damn, he was fine. He was taller than me (which I like), with a boyish face, and chinito eyes. He had a great accent and was a Thomasian student at that time. There was only one problem: he had a girlfriend, also a CSR who was going to be assigned to another team.

“Bakla!”, a female friend (who was also managing a team) tells me, “Ang swerte mo, sa’yo napunta yung guy!.”

“Korek, Mother! Kanino napunta yung girlalu?” I asked.

“Kay Mavic ata.”

“Kausapin, ko kaya si bakla, dapat maging harsh sya para mag-disappear si girl.” I added wickedly.

“Kaw ha, for more conspiracy theory kayo. Ma-HR ka pa nyan. Be good ha, Thad.”

I welcomed the three new additions to my team: Jon and two other girls I barely noticed. I put on my most charming smile. “Hi guys, so you passed training! Congratulations! You can call me Thad; I’ve been handling this team for a year now.” I went on with my spiel, explaining how it works on the floor, my expectations, rules, and answered their queries.

That was about two months ago, and as I made my way to the silver elevators of RCBC Tower 2, I smile to myself- it was going to be an interesting day. I proceeded with my usual tasks with automation, but at the back of my mind was the anticipation of my coaching session with Jon.

My watch read 1:25. I call the Queue Desk. “Hi, this is Thad. Can you arrange for time off for my CSR Jon, probably 20 minutes for coaching? I’ll be using the conference room at the 11th floor, call me there if you need me.”

“Done Thad.” Said the metallic voice on the other end of the line. I run to the male restroom to fix my hair and put on cologne (hehe!). I take a deep breath, and with a smile fixed on my face, I approach his station. “Jon, log out at 1:30, for coaching. Meet me at the 11th floor.” He smiles and nods his head, and then proceeded to close his call.

To be continued..

Hilarious Things I Did In The Name of Beauty

Except for those people who have very advanced Gaydars, a layman would not know I’m gay (heck, years of practice made me quite good at hiding it). I’m not effeminate, I don’t wear any powder or gloss, no accessory that would suggest Tinkerbell and myself were related.

Truth of the matter is, I’m worry about my looks like any self-respecting queer. Here’s a testimonial from one of my friends, Mitchiko Dizon:

Thaddeus Hinunangan! Well what can I say about this person? Let me say 2 words that would describe him the best.. SHOPAHOLIC and VAIN!! But in fairness to you my friend you have good taste! If you want to know the best beauty secrets ask him, he’s the master! This guys has a lot of dreams, I mean a lot! But once he wants something really bad he would plan (as in plan!) everything just to achieve it! Just look at where he is right now!

By the way, this was written just around the time I got promoted, not when I resigned lol! Ok, so before becoming quite the beauty guru, I had a lot of disastrous experiences experimenting and learning along the way. Here are a few of them:

Getting a Tattoo to Look Sexy
Perhaps I’m regretting it now that I’m preparing to be in the medical profession, but before, it was urgent for me to get a tattoo. I thought I needed a little oomph because I was too safe and goody-goody. Plus I had this move (in my heyday) where I casually mention that I have a tattoo, then instead of lifting my sleeve (it was on my tricep) I would unbutton the front to my shirt so that my date gets to peek at my boobs LOL! And then he gets the message ; )

Double eyelids!
I saw this infomercial of Japanese people who put this glue on their lids to create a crease that makes the eyes look bigger. I improvised mine by using masking tape, which was fine until I hurried to my first period in Diliman, and the Taho vendor saying, “Sir, ano po yung nasa mga mata ninyo?” Even I couldn’t stop giggling. Guilty!

Homemade facials
I would start by putting Ponds Cond Cream, tissue it off then reapply (with matching music from my walkman, I was alone in my dorm room). Then I would use a damp Good Morning LOL! towel to methodically massage my face in circular motion. And, with Material Girl playing in the background I used a water heater to boil water in a small basin so I could steam my face. This was fine till the basin became soft and nearly melted! I had to stop and choose a simpler routine before I burn the whole boarding house in the name of beauty.

Using an exfoliant.. on my ass
I imagined my ass looking as flawless and pink as Kristine Hermosa’s face (sorry Tin!), so I bought Extraderm exfoliant number 3 and applied it “there”. After a few days I felt a bit itchy, and then I barely grazed the area when 3 cubic centimeters of skin fell off!! My heart beat so erratically, “Lord, I love my ass skin too much, please bring it back to normal!”. Lotion did the trick. Got it, never use chemical exfoliants “down there”.

Overtweezing to the point that I looked like a creature from StarTrek:Deep Space Nine
I once saw in a beauty book that one’s eyebrows should start where the nose ends (click here to see an illustration) unfortunately, that only applied to Caucasians whose noses were generally thinner. For us Pinoys, we are on the wider side. So anyway, I went ahead, and the results were my eyebrows were sooo wide apart I always looked surprised. Good thing I learned the trick with Vitamin E so it grew back quickly.

Tip: don’t try these at home ; )

Wanna Be On Top? PNTM Cycle 2

Nanananana, nananana, nanana!

It’s the new season of Philippines Next Top Model, watch out as the most gorgeous Filipinas battle it out for the 1,000 peso cash prize (“big cash prize”) a contract with Kawasaki Models, the newest top modeling agency in the Philippines, and the chance to be the new face of “Placenta ni Mystica”, a fabulous skincare line.

Since Rufina has quit the show to try desperately to repair what is left of her marriage, the producers chose the vivacious Mystica to host the show. (Mystica appears on the screen, dressed in head-to-toe lavender fishnet body stocking, red talons, and silver thigh high spike boots. “Wanna be on towp?” She croaks.

Top model wannabes: Selena Sevilla, Madame Auring, Mahal, and a host of forgettable former-bold-stars who are determined to bag the prize.

At the Top Model Flat, a.k.a. a dilapidated structure somewhere in Quiapo
“Isa sa ating tatlo ang mananalo.” Predicts Madame Auring. “Basta ako confident ako.” Says Selena, the singer of the immortal “Nilunok Kong Lahat”. After servicing the entire crew, starting from the director down to the security guards, the Lunok Diva was sure she would win. She has several stretch marks now on her throat as a result. The diminutive Mahal prays, “Sana ako manalo, para kay Jimboy ito.”
Riiiiing! The payphone on the street corner rings (they couldn’t pay PLDT so the phone in the flat was disconnected). The girls huddle together. Mystica screeches, “Giiirls! Get ready for your challenge: gagawa kayo ng inyong sariling skincare product. Bukas na ang judging kaya gawin nyo na! Pupunta ako dyan mamaya para i-guide kayo. Meron din tayong mga Japanese investors kaya dapat maghugas kayo ng mga pekpek nyo!”

Mystica and the girls
The party starts to get rowdy and Mystica is shown dancing on the tables. After the gropefest, the group huddles as Mystica gives them pointers on how to squeeze more money out of men. “Girls, dito rin ako matutulog para mag bonding tayo!” Shrieks of delight were heard as they hugged each other excitedly.

Massacre
Mahal, still tipsy, was still worried about the challenge. She still has no clue what to bring the next day. She looked over at Mystica who was sleeping spread-eagled. “Aha! Alam ko na!” She exclaims, in her high-pitched creepy voice. She crawls over to Mystica and suddenly thrusts her chubby hands between the hostess’s legs, intending to take out the “placenta”. “AAAAeeeeeee!” The whole room awakens. Mystica, outraged, whipped out her talons and dismembers poor Mahal.

Selena tries to save her friend but Mystica’s claws were already on her throat. Madame Auring throws her body at Mystica and Selena but the sheer impact brought shockwaves that damaged the flat’s roof. The whole building caves in and with this Cycle 2 ends.

Nanananana, nanananana, Boooom!