Wife or Something Like It

He kind of had me at “Hello”. Had my ire, that is.

We had to work together for a project. When he finally tracked me down after a series of phone calls which I hadn’t gotten around to returning, he pointedly asked me if I was avoiding him or just really busy.

I should have known that he would be the demanding type, or at the very least, the clingy kind.

But the fact remained that we had to work together. Although grudgingly at first, we got to know each other. After a series of laughs indicating that he geniunely found my antics amusing, I came to a conclusion. I decided that despite the haughty way he crinkled his nose to show dislike, he wasn’t so bad. We spent more and more time together, long after the project that brought us together was finished.

Fate intervened before it could lead to anything more. He got a scholarship and went off to live overseas. I got married and went off to have Kiddo. The time difference allowed us to keep in touch while I breastfed during the wee hours of the morning and he stayed up studying (or partying). I became his long distance textmate. He became one of Kiddo’s godfathers.

He moved back to Manila. I moved out of the condo that I shared with Kiddo’s Dad.

The first year after, when my wedding anniversary came along, he took me on a honeymoon to Boracay so that I wouldn’t have to be alone. We’ve been celebrating my now defunct anniversary every year since, and have become totally inseparable.

He met my sister and all of my “Fantastic 4” friends and instantly won their approval. All my officemates and other friends who don’t know him personally, know of him because of my constant chatter about him saying this or him doing that. We consult each other about our careers and the poshness potential of various articles of clothing. Not a weekday goes by that we don’t call each other – several times during the day! -- when we’re bored or upset at work and need to take a breather from the day’s stress. (Actually, most of the time, we don't even need to talk, we just listen to each other typing, and after awhile, hang up). We publicly declare that we despise the clingy and needy, but know that secretly, we look for it in each other. We abhor whining and griping, but only when it's coming from others. We take pride in each other’s successes as if they were our own.

He was my Babe. I was his Honey.

When Kiddo and I went to one of his family functions and met his parents, we knew that it was time to formalize our relationship.

He made me his official girlfriend. I made him my official gay boyfriend.

Now that he answers his phone with “Hola!” and has a serious relationship, I have been bumped up to “wife”. He says that the upgrade allows me to still enjoy a distinct place in his life as the other half of our “Buy 1, Take 1” package. (And I thought that Kiddo and I were the only ones that came bundled together!)

And what an ideal wife I am, if I do say so myself. I’m self-supporting, willing to take on all the childcare responsibilities, and perfectly amenable to letting him pursue other extra-curricular activities on the side. Adequately funded, I even do all his Christmas shopping for him -- gifts are delivered to him for distribution, properly labelled and wrapped, with a list of who got what. So what if I can’t cook? Neither can he perform the uh, expected marital duties.

Maybe it’s exactly these deficiencies that make this “marriage” work, and what makes me his wife, or something like it.

Like Water for Chocolate

“What do you do for sex?”

That’s probably the one question that the "Mean Girls" still haven’t gotten around to asking me. On the contrary, I get that question, or more appropriately, insinuation mostly from men.

Before images of a hot-blooded, deranged woman climbing up the walls start to come to play, let me tell you about a useful discovery. There is a generic unbranded substitute for almost everything in this world and it’s sometimes as good as, if not better than the brand name original – from medicine, to cooking ingredients, even sex.

All you need is a pinch of resourcefulness, a sprinkling of creativity, mix it in with a little imagination and viola! Instant “self-help” substitutes for sex. Plus, it’s been proven to be 100% effective at protecting you from pregnancy and STDs. Top that!

Ok, ok, so maybe they are feeble attempts to satisfy your hunger with water when what you really want is the luscious creaminess of chocolate, but hey, works for me. Besides I’m watching my weight and the vain aren’t allowed to complain.

If after reading this, you want to test these substitutes, by all means – “help yourself”.

When you want it white-hot, but with no strings attached
Generic substitute: Karaoke Bar

You know how it is when you hear a song and it transports you to another time, a distant memory? A song always has the power to put you in a certain mood. Now imagine singing that song. You won’t be able to keep from swinging your hips a little, holding out your hand, and closing your eyes as you mouth the lyrics. You savor each line. You relish singing the refrain again and again. And as the song reaches its crescendo, your toes start to curl and you give it all you’ve got. You belt out at the top of your lungs, and…and…it’s just orgasmic!

After a few songs, it’s all over, and you’re absolutely spent. You leave the Karaoke Bar a little hoarse, but ecstatic. You don’t know when there’ll be an occasion to go there again, and there are no promises of a return visit, but you know that you can always do the Karaoke bar the next time you have the urge to…sing.

(Some sureball song titles: “Red Light Special” by TLC, “Fallin’” by Alicia Keys, “Bitch”, “I Will Survive”, “Hit Me Baby One More Time” by Brittney Spears, “Come to my Window” by Melissa Etheridge and the all-time classic, “Say My Name, Say My Name” by Destiny’s Child, which is my own demented translation of “Who’s your mama?”)


When you want it wild and passionate combined with a slow, lazy 2nd round
Generic substitute: Body Combat

As is typical of most love affairs, mine with Body Combat started by accident. I just wanted to check it out. I had no idea that I would be so...smitten.

It all started innocently enough with a warm up. After which, the punches immediately started to build up to a feverish pitch and I became possessed. I lost myself in the zone, punching as hard as I could in time with the music. To keep up the momentum in the class, the instructor egged us on with commands like, “Power!”, Sigaw!” . You betcha I let out a shout! With the surround mirrors, the music, the energy, it was so intense that I swear, I nearly forgot my name!

Still panting, a recovery track was then put on to help me catch my breath. These slower, more choreographed punches were like a re-cap to the earlier, tear-your-clothes-off-frenzy. It all ended with a cool down, stretching track reminiscent of post coital cuddling.

I came out of the class with a warm fuzzy feeling and a happy after glow. Nothing could wipe the smile off my face.

Since that first time, I couldn't get enough. The mounting anticipation and longing were difficult to bear, and I would literally count the days till the next class. It is such a relief that there are a number of classes offered and I can get it 2-3x a week!

I’ve actually been contemplating telling people the truth when they ask me what the best sex I ever had was, but I’m not sure if they’ll be able to handle it.

When you want it quick
Generic substitute: Sexy, knock-out shoes

On the Oprah Show, I once heard Diane Keaton say that a nice pair of shoes is like a penis substitute. That was like a light bulb moment for me. No wonder, women are fixated on them and that they just have to have more than one of each kind and color.

Haven’t you ever been seduced by a pair of killer shoes? The kind of shoes that say to you: “C’mon! You just have to have me, and you know it!”. Surely, any hot – blooded woman knows what I am talking about. Try as hard as you can, you can’t fight the attraction between the two of you. You keep passing by the store to take a peek at them, to see if someone else has bought them. Each time, these shoes call out your name from the display window. Until finally, you relent.

Unable to resist, you pick them up, try them on and instantly imagine them exuding a “Come do me” message. You consummate the transaction (or attraction!) with a swipe of your credit card and the mounting flirtation is over, just like that. You go back to work or whatever it is that you were doing earlier as if nothing happened. Only your lopsided grin is an indication of the gratifying instant release that you just got from your new pair of knock - out shoes.

When you want it meaningful
Generic Substitute: Dinner date with your best Gay Boyfriends

Have you ever gone out on a great date with an even greater guy? You know, where the laughs just keep on coming, and you can’t seem to run out of things to talk about? The chemistry, the sincerity, and the lack of pretense make you so secure that you don’t need to worry about baring too much of yourself on a date.

It’s like the best kind of foreplay. You just know that the sex is going to be nothing short of mind-blowing, because you’re able to connect on a deeper level, and the sex just becomes a physical expression of your connection.

That’s how I feel when I’m with my two best gay boyfriends. Their company is the personification of open arms acceptance; their affection is a staunch affirmation of unwavering loyalty. It is, to date, the most meaningful substitute for other common forms of male companionship.

With them I have not one, but two! extremely successful, gorgeous hunks with nothing but the honorable intention of sincerely wanting to be with me and listening what I have to say… and after all that, will still love me just the way I am.