Caught in the Storm Pt. 03

I was shit on a stick, and I knew it.

I curled into a fetal position on my bed, wallowing in depression and guilt, the tears streaming down unto my stained sheets.

To be honest, I didn't know what came over me that stormy night.

Robby's not even my type. All three of my ex-boyfriends were slim, fit, and fair-skinned men, usually rich, and all of them either high-profile professionals or successful businessmen. I hate to be a bigoted bitch but that was what I was. I couldn't reconcile the fact that I was attracted to the dark-skinned, chubby messenger of the firm. Me, its rising star.

When Robby gave me that long-stemmed rose some days ago, I was elated. Robby's cute, but that was all it was, a crush. It was just the effect of titillation.

But when he appeared from out of nowhere and kept me company that stormy night? Who wouldn't be swept off her feet by a knight in shining armor?

I was vulnerable. The break-up with Jeffrey gave me a low sense of self-esteem. I hadn't had any sex after it, not even to masturbate. And frankly, I didn't have any libido after the breakup. Or so I thought.

There was something about Robby that night. The way the droplets of rain dripped down from his hair unto Robby's broad chest then to his belly. The smell of his cheap deodorant and shampoo; his own natural musky scent. The heat emanating from his body. I felt drawn to touch him, to wrap my arms around him, to kiss his skin and taste his seed. My loins were on fire and wanted to do more.

But the mental and physical fatigue of working late hours for the past weeks took over and I fell asleep in Robby's arms. I felt a warm comfort, cradled in his arms, a sense of peace and belongingness that I never experienced with my previous boyfriends.

Robby and I had an intense connection and it scared the hell out of me.

I was a bitch, I know. A cold, bigoted bitch who couldn't see past the color of Robby's skin, his station in life and the amount of money in his bank account. I knew he was in love with me, and I took advantage of it. I used him to feel better about myself, and to scratch the itch in my pussy.

He was right. I treated him like a dildo, a fuckboy.

I overlooked the fact that he was a warm, caring, responsible and loving person who came to my rescue at the height of a storm. I disregarded his best efforts to keep things light and friendly when I asked for time to process what I was feeling after that stormy night. I lied. I didn't do shit. I shoved my feelings aside, having a hard time dealing with the thought that I gave a blowjob to our errand boy. I was a fucking slut.

To my defense, I didn't know why I acted aggressively during the storm. I was always coy and demure with all my boyfriends. While not an innocent in bed, I never took the lead either. My boyfriends always had to seduce me into sex. Meanwhile, all Robby had to do was show up in the office, drenched like a baby duck, and I became the wanton whore of Babylon.

The thought made my stomach turn.

Despite all that, Robby was a complete gentleman. He never spread any stories about getting head from a senior associate to the other people in the office. He never gave me any lurid looks or treated me like a conquest. Robby tried to pretend that nothing happened, kept our working relationship light and easy, even though I knew he was madly in love with me. He treated me with more respect, concern and devotion than any of my exes.

And I used him like a fuckboy from Tinder.

The man wanted to give me his heart and all I saw was his cock. Robby was right to get angry with me. I don't blame him for throwing me to the floor. I deserved to be treated like a piece of trash.

Damn it, yes, I admit it

It took a colossal fuck-up to make me realize that I was in love with Robby. I treated him like filth because I didn't want to say it to myself. I, Penelope de los Santos, magna cum laude with a baccalaureate degree in accounting; a graduate of a prestigious Catholic university; topnotcher in the CPA board exams; fastest rising associate in the auditing firm of Pedron, Cheval and Tamante, rumored to become junior partner in 5 years; and only daughter of Governor Melandro de los Santos of the Province of Southern Merovan...

...was in love with a no-name errand boy from some far-flung barrio in Mindanao. My life had become the plot of some trashy Tagalog telenovela shown on weekday afternoons.

"I hope they get Anne Curtis to play my role," I profess between sobs, then giggle at my vanity. I blew into a tissue and sniffled, wiping my tears away with the side of my hand.

This was the third night in a row of ugly emotional breakdowns. I couldn't afford to do it at the office. I was cool and controlled when I reported for work. But I kept looking for Robby, to explain why I did what I did... to apologize and admit that I was wrong.

But he didn't show up.

After our last fight, Robby submitted the boss' package at the tax office, then immediately filed for a vacation. I found out that he had about 2 months worth of leave credits accrued. He hadn't taken a single leave for five years ever since... well, ever since I joined the firm.

I hugged my pillow tightly, and pondered for the nth time at how much of a shit I was.

Robby wasn't taking any calls, either from me or the office. Maybe he threw his SIM card away. We didn't even know where he was. I suspected that Robby went home to Surigao to be with his family. The firm didn't have any records of any landline that I could call in his hometown. But at this point, I suspect he'd drop the phone if I attempted to call.

The head of Personnel was curious why I was asking for all this information. My alibi was that Robby had pending work that I needed updates on. But his friends from among the staff became cold and indifferent. I suspected that they knew. If they breathed word of it to the senior partners, I would be in trouble.

And I felt shitty knowing that I let that matter; that I would overlook Robby's feelings just to get ahead in this firm. I was shit on a stick, I kept repeating to myself. Shit on a stick, coated in vomit, and reheated from a filthy pan.

Sigh.

Well, there was only one way to make this right.

I picked up my phone and dialed a number.

-oOo-

It was a cold and gloomy afternoon when I approached the little bungalow. An old woman dressed in a well-worn t-shirt and faded skirt was arranging a bundle of wood at its yard. I looked around and thought that it couldn't get more provincial than this.

The nearest neighbor was some distance away. We were surrounded by various trees: coconut, mango, mabolo, caimito and bamboo. Goats, dogs, chickens and other rural livestock were moving free-range through the vicinity. The terrain was uneven, grassy and full of craggy rocks. Behind the house, I saw an upturned brown patch of soil, with corn, eggplant, malunggay and other crops. Further from afar, there was a glimpse of the sea, and a briny tang filled the winds coming from the coast.

It was a long, hard travel to get here. I had to book a flight to Surigao at the last minute, then when I arrived, there was a 3-hour trip by bus, a 45-minute ride at the back of a provincial motorcycle, and then an uphill climb on a beaten but rocky dirt path to this remote barrio. It was a miracle that I could find out where Robby's house was. After asking from a lot of people, I found somebody related to the Dimaculangan's, who gave me directions to their home. When I finally got there, I had to ask a few more people for confirmation, who were more than willing to help this aristocratic-looking city girl find her way. There were a lot of questions behind those curious stares, but the people were too polite to ask why I was there. Neither did I volunteer any answers.

The old woman looked up from her chore as I made my way closer to her house.

I tried to downplay my appearance and dressed simply. A plain white t-shirt, black sports jacket, baseball cap and running shoes were all I wore, carrying the rest of my clothes inside a backpack. But I knew I stuck out, an oddity in this remote seaside barrio. The woman stared, wondering what this city girl was doing so far from home. But she gave me a warm smile.

"Good afternoon, Manang," I asked. "Is this the home of Robby Dimaculangan?"

-oOo-

"So... you're here," was all he could say.

I looked at his eyes briefly then looked down at the floor. There was curiosity in them, confusion, and... anger?

"Is it alright? I hope I'm not intruding..." I mumble.

"Boboy, where are your manners??," Nang Erlinda scolded. Boboy is Robby's nickname in the hometown. "Your guest travelled a long way to see you. You should make her feel welcome!" Then turning to me, Robby's mom smiled and said, "Hija, please, I hope you stay for dinner. I'm going to cook a nice chicken soup for you, and some fish and shrimps," she clucked while wiping her hands on a face towel and headed to the kitchen.

"Boboy, you entertain our guest, okay?" she says. "I'm going to look for your father and have him prepare one of the chickens."

"Oh Ma'am please don't make any fuss over me, I'm not picky. I'll eat whatever you would've prepared," I say in embarrassment.

"Ay hija, you are our visitor. Now you talk to my son and dinner will be ready soon."

There was an awkward silence as Robby took his seat across me. I was seated at their couch. A hot cup of coffee was on the table with a plate full of crackers.

Well, if this is where it's going to happen...

"I came here to apologize," I say haltingly, after a few seconds. "You were right, I treated you badly and made you feel like a fool."

He just looked at me, silent but with a pensive air in his posture.

"I was wrong and I feel badly about what I did. I'm sorry Robby. I was a mean bitch. I don't know how I can make it up to you. Please come back to the office," I pleaded.

A few minutes of silence followed. All I heard was the wind blowing on the wall ornament made of tiny hanging shells. The weather was cool and comfortable. But the atmosphere in the Dimaculangan living room was tense and awkward.

Robby looked away to his side, to a copse of trees visible from the open door.

"You travelled all the way here just to give me an apology?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, biting my lip. "I didn't know if you were coming back and I couldn't live with myself knowing that I hurt you badly."

Robby grunted. Then he looked down at the ground, at my hands and softly said, "You didn't have to you know. I would have been okay. I am okay. You're needed at the office."

I replied, just as softly, "There are some things more important than work."

There was a brief and almost imperceptible smile on Robby's face, but it flickered away as quickly as it came. It was followed by a few more minutes of silence, one less uncomfortable than the previous.

I took a long sip from the cup of instant coffee on the table. Robby kept looking out at the distance, lost in his thoughts. I rubbed the knuckles of my hand softly, mindful of the sound of a chicken being slaughtered nearby, and the bubbling of a pot boiling in the kitchen, the smell of vegetables, soy sauce and vinegar wafting into the small living room.

"You wanna walk with me?", Robby asks, glancing outside. "I'll show you around?," he inquires, then finally looks at me, smiling shyly.

I give him a bashful grin and say, "I'd love that." We walked out and Robby gave me a tour of their little patch of land.

Walking en route to the house, I had noticed that most of his neighbors lived in shanties made of coco lumber, various bric-a-bracs, and nipa leaf roofing. His parent's home however, small as it was, was made of cement blocks, and had G.I. sheets for its roofing. I knew they couldn't have afforded to spend for all that with their meager earnings as subsistence farmers. Smiling, I realized that unless he had brothers and sisters that helped out, Robby was likely responsible for their nice home, spending for it from out of his own humble salary as the firm's messenger. Which meant that Robby himself had to forego a lot of luxuries in order to have the house built.

Humble as it was, I felt Robby's pride in pointing out their corn fields, their fruit trees and their various livestock. Their home. It wasn't much but it was theirs, and he spent for its upgrades as well as helped out in the farm work. What a guy Robby was.

Not long after, Mrs. Dimaculangan called us back for supper.

It was still early, around 5:30pm. But I guessed that this was normal for the barrio, to have dinner early so they could go to sleep by 8pm, to wake up when the sun rose.

Our meal was simple but hearty and delicious. There was grilled fish and shrimps, a soup made of malunggay leaves, squash, and fresh chicken, corn grits from off their own backyard, and various fruits harvested from their trees. I felt guilty that they had to prepare one of their chickens for me, but it seemed like Robby's family was happy to have a visitor from the big city as guest.

Robby's mother doted on me while his father kept telling stories about the land, and asking me questions about my life. I tried to downplay my family's prestige, hoping that they haven't heard of our famous clan. Robby kept quiet most throughout the meal, seemingly lost in thought.

The family asked me to stay the night but I respectfully declined, telling them I didn't want to impose. It meant that Robby had to be evicted out of his room, to sleep in the couch at the living room. But unfortunately, the nearest hostel I could stay in was back in town, and with dusk imminent in the sky, there were no motorcycle drivers available to drive me back. I didn't want to impose on Robby either.

So I stayed in Robby's room for the night. After changing into more comfortable clothes, I looked at the sparse furnishings in the room. There was a twin bed, simple cloth window shades, a bamboo table and stool, with a small vanity mirror mounted on the wall. On the door, was a promotional calendar showing a voluptuous mestiza woman in a red bikini, posing seductively, holding a bottle of rhum.

Robby had no bathroom of his own as everybody shared in one bathroom and one toilet, near the kitchen. On his room's other wall, there was a worn down wooden cabinet. Curious, I opened one drawer and saw his underwear, seeing a familiar pair. I grinned and held it to my nose, smelling the laundry soap used.

Memories of the stormy night played in my mind. I remembered the smell of Robby's musky crotch and his erection's girth protruding from his underwear. My loins were tingling with the memory. Feeling guilty with the intrusion, I placed it back in his drawer. There was a hamper nearby and I saw one of Robby's shirts, soiled from use. I picked it up and smelled Robby's scent on it. Sniffing it affectionately, I draped the shirt over my torso, covering me in its embrace. Then I remembered how good it felt to be in Robby's arms, cradling my head on his shoulder and feeling at home in his embrace.

I was getting horny. Maybe coming here was a bad idea.

There was a knock on the door and I hurriedly tossed the soiled shirt back to the hamper. Robby's mom was outside and handed me a towel, saying if there was anything else I needed because she was turning in for the night. God bless her heart.

I was heading to the bathroom, when I came across Robby in the living room, strumming a guitar.

"I didn't know you could play," I told him. He just grinned.

"Are you tired?" he asks. "I usually go to my cousin's house after supper to hang out with my friends. Maybe you'd like to join us. But I know you had a long day, it's alright if you want to sleep."

"I'm not that sleepy yet. Will there be drinks at your cousin's place?"

"Yeah, but it's the cheap barrio stuff. You know, Añejo Rhum, Kulafu, Gold Eagle Beer..."

"I've had Añejo and Gold Eagle. I'd love to try Kulafu."

Robby laughed, "Miss Penny, be careful what you ask for. Kulafu is nasty!"

I looked at him quizically. "Robby, are we at the office?", I asked.

"Well... no..." he replies. "Why?"

"Please just call me Penny. And please don't introduce me as your boss when we meet your cousins."

"Alright. How do I introduce you then?" he asks, smiling.

I touch his knee. "Are you comfortable calling me your friend?"

His grin was ear to ear. "Okay."

I went to the bathroom, humming a happy tune while I poured water from a pail.

-oOo-

Robby's cousins and friends seemed to be excited when we got there. Word had obviously spread about Robby's city-girl visitor. Judging from their grins, the crowd was presuming that there was some romantic connection between Robby and I.

Robby was all smiles. He took the ribbing and jokes good-naturedly. I played along and got introduced to everyone gathered. In their neighborhood, having a big city girlfriend was some sort of cause for bragging, it seemed, although Robby was quick to correct to the others that he and I were just friends. Of course, nobody bought it.

There were about 8 or 9 people, in a wide, circular gazebo made of bamboo, wood and thatch, with roughly an equal proportion of girls and boys, aged 16 to 30-plus years old. A table was at the center, with various drinks, glass tumblers, and a plate of raw fish steeped in vinegar and coconut milk. Hung in the center was a large Petromax lamp that ran on kerosene, which cast a yellow glow in the dark gazebo, smelling of gas.

The atmosphere was lively and festive. A bound loose-leaf booklet was passed around, which had well-worn pages of lyrics and chords either cut out from song-hits magazines, handwritten on yellow paper, or printed out from the internet. Robby and two other boys took turn playing the guitars, while various people read from the lyrics or sang from memory.

There were repeated requests for me to sing but I claimed to be unfamiliar with the songs. The truth is, I am very tone deaf and was embarrassed to sing in front of Robby's friends. It didn't help that they had good voices.

The night went on.

We all had a good time, and took turns drinking from a glass being passed around, one person to another. Robby wasn't joking. Vino Kulafu was nasty, and tasted like glorified rubber cement. But I gamely drank with the best of them, and they applauded every time I finished the glass in one swig.

Soon, the crowd was egging Robby to sing his favorite song. Robby's face flushed red but I wasn't sure if it was from blushing or because he's had quite a number of drinks.

Robby finally consented, tuning his guitar. He played a few bars of the chord then sang, his voice clear as a bell. "Standing by my window... Listening for your call. Seems I really miss you, after all..."

I recognized it. It was an old song by Michael Johnson, "I'll Always Love You."

"Wish you'd never left me but love's a mystery

You can break a heart so easily

The days and nights reveal how much I feel for you

Time has come for me to see how much your love has meant to me

And I'll always love you

And if you ever change your mind

I'll still, I will love you.."

Robby's voice was amazing. He had a clean baritone with a high register and resonant timbre. Robby also plucked and strummed the guitar like he's been playing all his life. If I wasn't already in love with him, I would have fallen more and more at that moment.

Robby's cousins and friends were both singing along at the chorus and cheering at the romantic parts. He avoided looking at me but Robby blushed deeply when he sang, and his smile was beatific.

I was glad I easily turned red with alcohol, otherwise there was no hiding my own blush. It took a lot of control to avoid swooning. Nobody has ever sung for me before. Not even my ex-boyfriends.