Chapter 1

The 245^th Monday and 10 Ejaculations

I never thought I’d say this but I think I’m addicted to porn, and masturbating.

Just today, I masturbated for 10 times. 10 times. That’s like a record for me – on a Monday, nonetheless... I mean, who jerks off on a Monday? And ten times even. My last ejaculation barely ejaculated. I swore I could hear my dick letting out a silent cry to stop it already if I didn’t want him to fall off, in my last, almost dry orgasm.

I know I have a problem. So what? I mean everybody has problems and issues and all, mine is just more defined – excessive masturbatory practice.

Yep. My dick is chafed. It doesn’t hurt, but it stings a little.

It’s not like I’m a sex addict or anything. I just happen to like watching porn and jerking off. Free porn of course. I don’t have the money to subscribe to anything paid. I don’t even have a credit card for crying out loud. Not that I want one. I had this friend once who got buried in debt and was hounded by the credit card company for buying shitloads of, well, things. Yeah, I do the casual sex from time to time but I prefer beating the bishop. It’s less risky, I guess. But I guess it’s more of the act itself. I like masturbating. Truth be told, I like masturbating more that the act of sex itself. Why? Don’t ask me. I just like it, period.

It’s Monday again. Never liked Mondays, to be honest. Its just boring and long and well, very Monday-ish. Monday, actually kind of sounds like ‘mundane’, come to think of it. Maybe that’s why they called it Monday. This is actually my 245^th Monday here in China. Not that I am counting, but I realized it just now. I have already spent 245 Mondays of my life here in the Noodle Kingdom. Wow. That’s a lot, I think.

I had a long day. I was teaching kids this morning. I was teaching them this song about the parts of the body. They were 6 year olds and they were getting bored so I had to improvise. So I taught them the song. It’s a funny song come to think of it, with funny actions and dance moves and all. A total classroom hit for kindergarten teachers. And the kids were laughing and at each other and at me. We were kind of having fun. Then in the middle of the song, for a split second, I realized something. Something very important. So important it was that it showed on my face for that split second while I was doing the song and dance number with the kids. Some of the perceptive little buggers even noticed it. I noticed it.

You see, I had this epiphany, this overwhelming knowledge that I could no longer deny. I guess I have known it all along but I didn’t act upon it. And to seriously deny this fact would mean to seriously deny myself altogether. I realized something important while I was singing the song with the children, turning round and round with bended knees and flapping arms and head bent with my tongue out like some senile person waiting to die – I had to admit that it was a funny song. I realized that I didn’t belong there or anywhere within a 50,000 mile radius.

I don’t belong here. And it was time to leave.

And in the middle of the song while the kids were singing and turning round and round with their head and knees bent and tongues out, arms flapping and all – I stopped singing then took my bag and left without a word.

I heard the children saying “goodbye teacher.” The Chinese assistant teacher was shouting my name and telling me that I still had 15 minutes left and 3 more periods to finish. I didn’t bother answering. I just left the building and never looked back.

Mario has left the building.
Ho-hum.

I walked for hours. It’s October and it’s really cold in this part of China. I was wearing a t-shirt, a pair of worn out jeans and a letter jacket. I didn’t bother taking a taxi. I just walked and walked till my feet complained then I took the bus going back to my flat. I opened my door and looked at my flat for 5 seconds and I was debating if I should fix myself something to eat or just sleep.

I wanted to make some early dinner but then I was too lazy to make one. Besides, all my fridge had was one lousy rotten tomato. I wanted to order take outs but then again I realized I wasn’t that hungry.

But I was horny all of a sudden. Out from nowhere, my libido was telling me to turn on the computer and browse for free porn. I did. I went to the porn site, opened some videos, undid my belt, opened my zipper and took out my dick. Five videos and ten ejaculations and thirty Kleenex tissues later, here I am – talking to myself in this monologue voice that reeks of National Geographic.

It’s time to leave.

It’s time to leave.

It’s time to leave.

I kept saying that to myself. Even when I was watching porn online and doing the work of my human hands. It’s time to leave. Even when I was smoking my last stick of cigarette, I was saying that over and over, sometimes even in mid exhalation I was muttering the words.

It’s time to leave.

It’s time to leave.

It’s time to leave.

I went to my bedroom without brushing my teeth or changing my work clothes. I kept saying the words over and over and over again. And like a Buddhist mantra that releases a Buddhist person’s soul to some form of nirvana or something like it – those four words released my whole body, mind and spirit to the world of soft, quiet slumber.

{ untitled } - The Beginning

He stares at the semen on his hand. In his mind it looks like an abstract painting hung on some swanky metropolitan museum for modern art. It could actually pass for an artwork. With the right frame and canvass, one unsuspecting art connoisseur with loads of dosh would actually buy the mess he made and it would set him for life. Well, at least for a good number of years.

Trying not to spill a drop on the floor, he quickly reaches for the Kleenex to wipe off the cum. He throws the used Kleenex in the trash bin beside his computer desk – workstation he calls it. The trash bin is brimming with used Kleenex tissues with dried up and some freshly manufactured cum – 30 in all. He has masturbated 10 times today. Truth be told, he hates ejaculation in any form. He likes the sensation but he detests the mess.

He closes the porn site and turns off the computer then lights his last cigarette and looks at the window. A quiet song is singing in his head. Some classical music he heard two days ago in an elevator. It had violins and piano and a cello. It was sad, and he was kind of puzzled why they would use a sad song as elevator music. Nobody actually bothered to pay attention to elevator music – muzak as some brainy toads would call it, but one out of ten people who ride elevators actually do. Mario Peccado is one is one of them – 29 years old… an advocate of free online porn… a chain smoker… a teacher… gay, but not proud... and a guy who pays attention to elevator music.

Hey HO! Let's Go.

Yes I am alive. I know I haven't blogged in months and I have no excuse except I that I couldn't write. Yes, I have what you would call a Blogger's Block. I shall attempt to write something tonight, substantial or otherwise.

Here we go.

I am based in Beijing now. I've been here for almost a week. I finally was able to get out of THAT city. But don't tell anyone to what I am about to tel

l you, okay. I miss THAT city. Well, how can I not? I lived there for 7 years for crying out loud. Now, Beijing. The Big Smoke. The Big B. The Olympic City. Beijing is so hyped up right now that it could run for a democratic/republican/independent whatever nomination. It's polluted as f*ck. No wonder they call it the Big Smoke. The day I arrived in the Big B, I could not see a single edifice farther than 100 meters. And to top that, the weather was humid. And I was carrying 8 pieces of luggage (see picture below).

Anyways, I decided to move to Beijing NOT BECAUSE OF THE OLYMPICS, but because my clients are based here {yes I still whore my ass despite the fact that I am turning thirty this November} and its closer to almost {well, almost} any place in China, flights and trains and all.

I already have my flat set up. It's way smaller than the flat that I shared with Wendy – two bedroom, a tiny vestibule that can pass as a bathroom, a kitchen in which I cannot use the gas stove {building policy, but there is a friggen gas stove – they should've just removed the friggen gas stove if I am not allowed to use it}, AC{thank gawd}, cable {like actual cable with foreign channels} and the whole shebang. It's small, yeah, but I like it. Why you ask? I don't have neighbors in me building. All the other rooms are offices during the day and are empty as a Ben Affleck movie at night. You know what that means eh? ORGIES, PARTIES and SACRIFICIAL RITUALS! WOOOHOOO! I can't wait to run nekkid and drunk. My flat is fairly new as I can still smell the paint. I like the place. It's so obscure and I get some sort of privacy and autonomy. Opposite my building is a huge college dorm building for foreign students. There's a coffee shop at the ground floor called “College Perk” with the same logo as “Friends'” “Central Perk”, only that there's no Jennifer Aniston {Thank Gawd}and the coffee's just ok-ish but real expensivo.

I miss Changchun {me old city}. I miss the visibility and the way the locals speak Chinese. Beijingers have “R”'s in every word they say {well not every word but you can notice the r's every time they say something}. I miss my friends in Changchun. But I needed to leave, move on, explore new horizons and shit.

Anyways, I have almost finished unpacking and shit and my clothes smell like sawdust. Good thing they already delivered the washing machine when I got back from my run so I spent half of the day washing my clothes.

*!*!*

I miss this one guy. I ain't telling you his name. But yeah. I miss him. I miss taking showers with him. {Well he gives a good scrubbing, yo}.

^%^%^%

I've been watching a whole lotta TV lately {cable}. For the first time in years, I was able to sit in front of the tube for two whole hours. I couldn't believe CNN could be so riveting.

@$@$@$

My internet connection is super duper fast. Well, I paid for it. You know whut that means....... PORN.

&*&*&*&

I had a meeting yesterday with one of my clients. Let's just say that this particular client is not in my favorites list. I'll give you the cliffnotes version. Let's call this client Charlton Heston. Charlton Heston acquired my services for some yadi yadi. Since it was money, I took the job. You know me, I never say no to money {*Omar genuflects in front of Chairman Mao's smiling 100 Yuan face and makes the sign of the cross}. Wrong move. The client is bordering insufferable. Insufferable I tell ya. I tried almost every tactic in book short of blowing the dude. He's just not sure about what he wants and whenever he gets all rattled up he blames the help (moi). Sucks being a whore, but hey, its a living. A friend and colleague actually advised me to go slow and sorta lead him to a firm decision or some sort of commitment. I followed this friend's advice and guess whut? Didn't work.

Okay, So I was in a meeting with Charlton Heston. I haven't even sat down the chair and he starts barraging me with all these yadi yadi yadas that I am not doing what I am paid to do and shit and that he and his committee is not satisfied about the outcome and shit like that.

{Backgrounder, Charlton and his committee asked me to do a project and I agreed, provided they provided me the actual material for the project. Before I agreed, I briefed Charlton at what I actually do and the method and the means that I will employ should I accept this project. Charlton said he was ok with it. To clarify, I repeated to him him that this is what I do and these are were the means that I employ and shit. He said he was ok with it. So, I said yes. What went wrong then? The material came in trickles. The committee didn't like the means that I employ to do the project – It led me to the conclusion that Charlton didn't consult his committee or he didn't consult them that well since he was always flying from one city or country. Then he blames me. Of course, blame the help when the shit hits the fan}.

So he goes on and on about me not being prepared for the meeting and not even bothering to answer the issues he and his committee pointed out in his last email. I wanted to say something real bad ass at that moment but I held my tongue. Because if I did, it wouldn't have accomplished anything. I came meeting to do business and clearly, he wasn't. He was livid. But I was having a good day so I let him go on and on and on. Yap yap yap yap yap. I even acted contrite just to feed his ego. You see, Charlton was angry because I was incompetent and his justification was that I didn't came prepared for the meeting and that I don't even have a hard copy of his last email, which was the topic of the meeting that day. The clincher is, this whore did not receive any email from Charlton Heston. Old Charlie forgot to send me that one important email that would have justified his frustrations for the project by projecting the whole failure to the hired help because he was flying from one city to another. I knew there was no email from the start of the meeting. I wanted to point out that to old Charlie but he wouldn't let me. So, there I was channelling the beautitudes and trying to be meek and humble of heart.

Finally. I dropped the bomb. I asked Charlton, “What email are you talking about?” {with matching, meek and humble facial expressions plus eyelashes}. He says “What do you mean what email, THIS EMAIL {points to the paper his holding}.

MY MOMENT!

I looked at the paper. Looked at him and said, “I didn't receive this email. Your last email was dated XXXXX. I can check it now in my inbox if you wish. If I'm wrong, then I will apologize, my mistake.” He flinches. He runs to his laptop and checks his files. No email. Couldn't find anything. NADA.

Then he looks at me. I look at him {still with the meek and humble of heart expression and eyelashes and shit} and I said, “May I?”.

He steps aside. I open my Gmail account. I typed his name {I tag all my emails. THANK GOD FOR GMAIL}. All the emails he sent me appeared. All dated. But the one email that he was holding in his hand was no where to be found.

He is silent.

I look at him {still humble but with a slight smile forming, but hardly noticeable}

I cough a little.

I excused myself to the bathroom. Once I closed the bathroom door. I did my best Robert de Niro impersonation from Taxi Driver and I did my victory dance. I texted a friend and told him I'd buy him to have his 7 o'clock free because I was gonna buy him a drink that night.

I went out of the bathroom, and there is Charlton Heston, still checking for the lost email that was never sent.

I sat down beside him and I asked him if he could hand me the hard copy. He did. He's subdued now. More meek. More humble. Mind you, I could've shat on his face and repeat every insult he told me. But I didn't. I didn't come there for a pissing contest. I went to that meeting to do business and to actually salvage something of the project that he and his committee were royally fucking up. It was tempting to actually say a word or two, but the dude was already wounded. And besides, it's inhumane to kick a wounded dog.

He was trying to compose himself. He was rather red. I kept coughing small coughs because I was trying not to laugh. We continued the meeting. He wasn't being Moses now. We were doing business.

I learned a lot after that meeting. A lot.

But the most important lesson that I learned that day was about being quiet in a tumultuous situation. Silence is not a weakness. It's a sharp sword that cuts deep. Shallow waters make a lot of noise, but you don't find the treasure chests under shallow waters. You find the pirate booty in the quiet depths.

THAT AND USE GMAIL MOTHERFUCKERS!

GMAIL FUCKING ROCKS!

{By the way, I hope whoever is reading this shit that I am writing actually doesn't think that I am talking about sex! It's not. I actually do have a job}