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Big_dick23 said he wants to eat banana. And not just a banana. He said he wants nothing else but my banana.

If it was a pick-up line, it was a lousy one that failed to dispel the soporific effect of Sarah Brightman’s Eden and the constant little lights blinking at the right side of my screen. The lights were private messages of interested chatters who were either too horny or too young or just both, and all perhaps wanted to have a share of my err…banana.

When Big_dick23 messaged me, I already ditched about six chatters who said they were lonely and that they have a place to “chill.” One of them, a 16-year old freshman nursing student, I urged to lock himself inside his place and to never come out again.

Perhaps it was my fault. I chose one (interesting) nick that spelled “sex” to many who perhaps wanted to read it like that—Banana. But, hey, Banana is just a fruit. What if I chose cucumber or eggplant or bitter melon, avocado or okra?

Most nicks used in the MIRC chatrooms, especially the ones designed for, well…sex, are screaming with double meanings, if not apparent invitations for, uhmm, sex. Even the main room’s discussion revolves around sleazy details of sexual encounters and dick sizes and everything about fucking and nothing else but fucking.

One needs to be really creative to think of better nick to be able to ensnare other chatters or he will be alone in his hardness. Out of touch or untouched.

But my banana is nothing compared to Big_dick23, Red_Hot_Juicy_Cock, or GameTrip23m.

And there was Hard_Alone_Tonight. He said he is 18, always alone in his apartment, top but a versatile top—means, he can be fucked too but mostly prefers to do the job. The kid’s private message popped up with the line “wanna have sex?”

Tirahinmoko sounds Jap but it’s no Jap in any way. Its English translation is “rim me” or simply “fuck me.” I sent him a short private message to ask what’s behind the nick and he said “Nothing…I just wanted to be fucked.” The exchange ended there.

Surf_Boy_Tripper, 17, said he is a tripper. That he is not gay but a straight guy who wanted to have sex with another guy for---trip. Ok. Trip my ass! He showed me some pictures and even turned his webcam on for me but I dropped him. He was just a boy. A very good looking boy.

A new message again flashed. It was Big_dick23 asking me to meet-up. I stopped to think.

But my phone trilled. It was Athan.

I logged off quickly.

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The meeting with Marla, my boss, was a two long hours of wasted time. I could not figure out whether she was trying to persuade us to believe in her new project or she was just acting stupid.

My officemates were convinced. I was not. I could not sympathize with her nor I could understand why she would want us to sell a dinner-for-a-cause ticket when I know for a fact that life is difficult for most of us.

I mean, the working class is struggling to live a decent life and eating P300-worth of dinner when you can pay for something like P55, plus overflowing rice, will no way boost little efforts to feel that one is actually living a decent life.

What she was asking was for us to do an act of insanity.

But I was almost two hours late so I had to pretend that I was so engrossed and interested with her presentation. But I swear I am not selling nor buying her tickets.

How can one decent person ever swallow an expensive dinner, guised as something to benefit homeless children, when he himself is basically homeless.

Besides, what will it make me if I will shell out P300 for that dinner? Feel a little more decent? And I guess it will never bring any sustainable good to the beneficiaries but instead it will only make them feel more miserable than thankful to me for, well yeah, helping them--feeding them for maybe two days. It will not make them feel better persons. It will just drain out their esteem, if there is anything more left to them.

I could not wait to get out of the conference room. Many things preoccupied my head while Marla was blabbering. Athan had asked me to do his religion reaction paper. I could not turn him down. It was like paying him back for the job well done last night. But, on the other hand, I still have some unfinished stories for Marla to check.

Well, the stories for Marla can wait so I decided to work on Athan’s paper but 30 minutes went by and I am still staring at this white screen. No single word written.

Perhaps it is because of the subject. Religion? It’s just so like math to me. Perhaps I can write if I will start with how sick priests and bishops abuse beautiful altar boys. Or, how bishops were gagged by the millions of pesos offered by the government. Perhaps I can write if I will start with nuns running expensive hospitals and how they allow their poor patients to rot and die for obvious reasons that they’re poor.

But Athan’s instruction was clear: the professor will suspect that it's not mine. No bashing, please.

He asked me that as if not aware that he was actually asking me stop breathing.