Call Me Marie

Let me introduce myself. Call me Marie, which is my second, not quite so well known name. I’m 17 years old, I live in a subdivision in the Paranaque area, and I am currently enrolled in a high school in Quezon City. Among other talents, I am an honor student, and also a member of the cheerdance squad in my school. Furthermore, I am an accomplished model affiliated with a premier modeling agency here in the Philippines, and although I am not what you would call a household name, I’ve done a number of commercials, print ads, fashion shows, and appearances in magazines such as Preview, Meg, Candy, etc. Most notably, I am an endorser for a prominent, popular Filipino apparel brand, billboards of which you can see littered around the metro. So I’m sure pretty much everyone here has seen me at some point or another. You just don’t know it yet.

Yabang ko, noh?

I apologize for the inescapable air of arrogance, but the extolling of my personal virtues and the establishment of myself as a desirable, physically attractive, mentally capable, and accomplished individual is the central point of this story.

The point being: bilog ang mundo.

The world is round. Anything can happen.

Regardless of your social class, material wealth, and even regardless of looks and charm, anything can happen.

Anything.

Love and lust and need and want take you by surprise, you never know when and how its going to hit. We spend our lives with a preconceived notion of how it is supposed to play out, and then something happens that sets us off on a completely tangent course culminating in our ultimate happiness and sweet satisfaction.

And then, when you wake up in the morning bathing in the afterglow of love and lust and need and want, you don’t know what hit you.

But I digress. Let’s go to the story now. Allow me one last moment of deviation, if you please, to give the dear readers a promise: While the overbearing themes of this story will be themes of love and companionship and altogether sappy stuff, expect a lot of hot sex along the way, which I will describe to the most minute detail my poor talent will allow me. And also, let’s not forget. This story actually has a lesson. A point, aside from the release of pent-up sexual tensions and artful noypipages. Don’t forget, this story is out to tell you something.
So without further ado…

I met him when I was 10. Childhood friends? Maybe of a fashion. He was three years older than I was, short, fat, pimply, and dark-skinned, with a flat nose and hair that would make Ricky Reyes hang his scissors up for good in disgust. In short, he wouldn’t win any beauty pageants. Not exactly a fitting partner for a tall, beautiful, wealthy, intelligent, well-bred lady such as myself. Especially as he was our family driver’s son, and the boy of our household. His name was Jun.

He was nice enough, I suppose, but it ended up, as these things usually do, that he was considered more a piece of furniture than anything else. A fixture in the house, sort of life a light bulb or a sofa. One that talked, joked, ate, and slept, but a sofa nonetheless. I, on the other hand, seemed to have been blessed by the Greek muses themselves. I was beautiful. I first appeared in a magazine when I was 14. From then on, I was signed by an agency which I used as a springboard to land commercials, print ads, fashion shows, etc. I was at the top of my class, I ran with the popular kids, boys wanted to be with me, and girls wanted to be me. I was a golden child, in every sense of the world.

It was obvious early on that he had a huge crush on me. He’d give me flowers picked from our own garden. He’d always carry my things, make sure I was well cared for and all that. He was a sweet boy.

A sweet… sofa.

I’m ashamed to say that for most of the time I never even looked at him as a human being. Sure I was nice to him, I was never naturally rude, but I was nice to him in a condescending, patronizing kind of way. Sort of like a loyal, well-loved dog. But never, not in the least bit, at my level or even that of my friends. He crushed on me, and crushed on me hard, that much was obvious. But I dated the sons of politicians, the sons of celebrities, celebrities themselves, fellow models, all big names, all rich and fabulous, good-looking, talented, and intelligent. I was never superficial. I always dated the nice, smart guys. But they were the nice, smart, HOT guys.