A Day Gone Wrong
Disclaimer: This is a story about a guy who incidentally, happens to be attracted to other guys. If all you're looking for is a quick thrill that you can jack off to, then sorry bud, this one's not for you. If that's not what you're after, well... sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.
Prelude: A Day Gone Wrong
8:15 A.M.
Damn! I looked down on my watch and panicked. I'm 10 minutes late for the next class! 'This is definitely the last time I spend the morning daydreaming,' I thought to myself as I hurriedly gathered my scattered notes and books and haphazardly shoved them into my bag while running down the lane. I had just spent another unproductive afternoon at my usual kiosk near the church grounds doing nothing but staring at the wall. Now all I've got to show for it was one irate teacher and a tardy slip. Damn! 'Things couldn't possibly go much wronger than this,' I told myself as I hurriedly scampered down the little lane leading out the church grounds.
I was wrong. Things COULD go much worse than this.
Like some bumbling fool, I forgot to watch where I was running as I hurriedly stuffed things into my bag, conveniently tripping on a lead pipe jutting out of the ground. Paper and books came flying out of everywhere as I slammed unto the muddy ground and splattered mud on my immediate surroundings.
"What the-- ??!!!!," came an irate cry above me. I groaned. Mud was all over my face, my bag, my notes, my clothes and worse of all.... worse of all! I got mud on someone else. This day was getting shittier by the minute.
Wiping the mud off my eyes, I looked ahead and saw what seemed to be a muddy pair of expensive looking shoes and a really muddy pair of expensively-tailored pants. I groaned again.
"Why don't you watch where the hell you're going???," said a gravelly voice as I struggled to get up despite a bruised and painful leg. I was really embarrassed and pathetically tried to offer my apologies. "Errr... I'm really really REALLY sorry, sir. I... I... errr... I was in a hurry and well... uh --," I tried to say and was surprised when the guy offered me his hand. "Yeah well so am I," he said. "Come on, get up."
I began to look up to see just who I was talking to. I was met with the most intense pair of eyes that I had ever seen in my life. I was momentarily speechless, but thankfully I remembered the hand being offered. "Uhm well thanks but my hands are kinda muddy so--," I tried to say but the guy just took my muddy hand and hoisted me up. He grimaced as he took note of just how dirty his hands got and took out a silk handkerchief and wiped it on his hands and on his suit. "Yeah, well be careful next time." And with that, he walked away without giving me a second look.
I was momentarily stunned. As the guy walked away, I was looking back at him as he strode hurriedly unto the church's parking grounds. I tried to remember what I could of the guy. He was broad-shouldered and had what seemed to be a well-built body underneath his suit. He was obviously rich, judging by the way he dressed and carried himself. One of the aristocratic families, I wagered. He looked like it, definitely, with his strong nose and rugged jawline... and those eyes! Those dark, hooded, deep-set... intense! dark-brown eyes. He must have been around 40 years old, judging from his close-cropped, neatly-trimmed salt-and-pepper hair.
I stood there, stupified by my experience. Eventually, reality took hold of me as I groaned again while I looked down on my mud-splattered body. Going to class was definitely out of the question. I was 30 minutes late and I looked like I had been through the worst parts of World War II. Shitty day or not, I deserved to go home and get a shower. So I did.
Chapter 1: Dale
This is the story of the most conflicting and most memorable period of a life led not too long ago. Welcome to my life.
My name is Dale de Leon. I was only 19 years old when that accident at the church grounds happened to me a few years ago. I remember that time well. It was also the time when I had finally come to the big city to study for college. I had already graduated from high school when I was only 16, but since I was an orphan being raised by a loving aunt and her poor family, I had to wait awhile until my aunt and I had scraped enough money to send me to college. Before this big sojourn to the city, I was farmer/laborer at a rural barrio in the provinces, doing whatever odd chores and tasks that I could to realize my dream of becoming a professional. Finally, all our hard work paid off.
Gathering my measly possessions, I clutched eagerly at the bus ticket that would take me out of this poor existence and unto my dreams. The money that I had saved was just enough to pay for my board and rent, with the rest of the funds for my tuition and books coming from a substantial scholarship grant that I had earned by graduating the salutatorian of my high school class. I was on my way to the top and I was willing to work my way up in order to earn it.
Few things could ever describe the sight of a city before the eyes of a boy from the barrio. Everywhere I looked, there was opportunities and riches to be had, if one was willing to work for it. Already I was taking note of the fancy places and the nice things that I saw in Kanluran City, the place where I was studying. Someday, I too will be living in a fancy house, driving a snazzy car and owning beautiful things just like these city-dwellers are having. But right now, all I had were a few worn-down books, a couple of old clothes, a cramped room in a musty old dorm and a bagful of high dreams.
I was enrolled in a prestigious college called the Universidad de Santo Domingo. It was this really old school having ancient buildings, spacious grounds with a lot of trees and little nooks where one could study peacefully in an academic atmosphere. It was also a school that only the rich and elite could afford, if one didn't have a scholarship like I had. It was a little beyond my means, but I was determined to get the best education that I could get my hands on and Sto. Domingo was the best. Naturally, I felt very overwhelmed by the people whom I went to school with. Everywhere I looked, yuppie kids with fancy cars and cellular phones were strolling down the campus. The girls were all pretty, wearing designer clothes and speaking in snobby-sounding accents. The guys all had memberships to snooty fraternities and walked around arm in arm with their trophy girlfriends. I began to doubt whatever delusion that had made me believe that I could fit in with this crowd.
For starters, I didn't even look well-fed. I had earned my muscles doing manual labor but because of undernourishment, I looked gaunt and scrawny as opposed to these kids who probably grew up eating at restaurants and exercising at health clubs and golf courses. I walked around in my uncle's t-shirt, my cousin's ragged pants and my grandfather's ancient but durable leather shoes while my classmates all dressed up in the latest trends and the hottest brands... Cargo pants bought at Guess, T-shirts and shoes endorsed by Kobe Bryant, Sunglasses courtesy of Police and designer underwear by Tommy. I was a very hygienic person, taking baths at least thrice a day and using deodorant and soap, as is necessary, but I was always self-conscious thinking that I must have smelled like a skunk standing near people practically bathing in Polo Sport and Davidoff Cool Waters. I felt like an outcast.
To drown out these feelings of insecurity and inadequacy I strove to drive myself harder and harder into my studies. If I couldn't match up with these kids in terms of appearance and influence, I could at least prove that I was just as smart and hardworking as they were. That helped a lot since Sto. Domingo was a very tough school to begin with. The kids going to school here may be affluent yuppies but nevertheless they too had to study hard in order to pass. I had to study harder considering that I came from a lesser high school than they did and I had a lot of catching up to do.
All my hard work was paying off as I was a model student and consistent Dean's Lister, but alas it came at the price of my not having many friends. My nose was buried too often in my books for me to have any time to mingle and socialize... not that I would fit in with the crowd to begin with. Still, I managed to make friends with a few people. Most of them were the lowly janitors and working scholars ekking out a living in the school while Some were my less snooty classmates who were willing to learn a thing or two from a poor but scholastically excellent classmate.
I was very lonely. My life here in the big city is nothing like the life I once led at the province. Back at the barrio, I had friends, classmates and relatives who came from the same station in life that I did. We may not have had much but at least we had each other. In all things --- the meager possessions and the abundant problems --- we at the barrio all shared in what we had. Here, it seemed like it was all a contest of who had more and who could top whom. I could not possibly compete with that.
My loneliness led me to hang out at lonely places too. If not at the library, I was often found at the church grounds where at least Christ would not look down on the lowliness of this child from the province.
That was where I had my little run-in with Mr. Miguel Javier, the unlucky man whom I splattered mud unto due to my carelessness. That was his name... Miguel Javier. I had come to know about him as I eventually began to familiarize myself with Kanluran City. Mr. Javier came from a prominent clan that was one of the founding families of Kanluran. They had their hand in a lot of the major businesses in this city... a bank at J. Ilagan St., a department store over at Nayong Timog and an insurance company that was found nationwide, to name a few. And here I am, a hick fresh from the barrio, already ruining his day. I was so mortified about it when I learned who he was after the incident.
to be continued...
=================== For any comments or suggestions, I could be written at dale@toughguy.net Please don't expect expect an immediate response though.