I was having a haircut yesterday at Bruno’s. The one thing I like about Bruno’s is their wide selection of men’s magazines—FHM, Men’s Health, and T3 for example. I picked up the October 2007 issue of FHM (which featured Riza Santos), flipped through the pages, and landed on the Ladies’ Confessions portion.

As I read through the Confessions, I came across a tale of a couple who met at a bus stop and fortuitously ended up with some lesbian action. The thought that continuously flashed in my mind was: Do these things really happen? I chuckled at the tale of the female protagonist, who saw another woman hit on her boyfriend, who discovered herself moist between her legs, seduced her flirtatious counterpart with a deep kiss, and ended up copulating with her boyfriend in a nearby restroom. I wouldn’t discount the possibility of these events happening, but I guess such occurrences are rare. I, for one, have engaged in risky sex—specifically on a hotel balcony overlooking Ayala Avenue—but it was with a girl I knew. I am sure that people are lucky enough to get a wild sex-starved woman on their first try, some even without even exerting much effort, but I am not one of those “lucky” people. For me, sex with a non-pro happens after some days of courtship and smooth talking, and it is a matter of slow progression—kissing, petting, then copulating.

The next tale was about a couple who met through Friendster. The woman was from the Philippines; the man from the Middle East. Their social-networking chats turned from friendly to torrid—sex chats graduating to phone sex—until one day the man appeared at her apartment and they engaged in some heavy sex. The writer said that she came thrice. Of course, we’d have to take her word for it.

I have my own social-networking story to tell, but it never ended the way it has been told in FHM. There was a girl I met at one of the adult forums. Her avatar was cute. She just turned 18 and I was quite surprised that she was very open about sex. She just broke up with her boyfriend and was very emotional to the point of being a drama queen. Then she began divulging her lusts. Occasionally I would get texts from her saying that she was horny, that she was wet, that she wanted a stiff rod inside her. She admitted that she masturbated and that she enjoyed wild, animalistic sex. Phone texts moved to phone sex. Her voice was very seductive and she would have been a good bed partner if her moans and groans were translated to reality.

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One of the most common urban legends is the two-way mirror inside motels. I have never come across a motel that has a two-way mirror, but if you prefer to be cautious about it, here’s one way to tell if it is indeed one (taken from Wikihow):

1. Observe how the mirror is installed. A normal mirror is hung against the wall, but an observation mirror is set into the wall. If the wall is behind the mirror, it’s probably a normal mirror.
2. Turn off the lights and hold a flashlight or even a small pen light to the mirror. If it is a two-way mirror, the room on the other side will be illuminated.
3. Press your eyes against the mirror and cup them with your hands, creating a dark “tunnel” to block out the light. When you do so, the light in the observation room will be brighter than the light on your side of the mirror, and you should be able to see something beyond the glass.
4. Tap on the surface of the mirror with your knuckle. A normal mirror will produce a dull sound because it is placed in front of a wall. A two-way mirror, however, will produce an open, hollow, and reverberating sound, because there is an open space on the other side.

I came across an interesting article from The Sydney Morning Herald. The author, a single male in his 30s, writes:

Having used prostitutes in my 20s, it occurred to me recently that the simplicity of a cash exchange would be a more honest, and I dare say, moral alternative to bullshitting women into bed.

Political correctness tells me I should be ashamed of visiting a sex-worker but I’m not.

My foray into the world of adult entertainment began in my teens. It was an almost uncontrollable urge. Sex would enter into my mind constantly. I did it secretly. I was ashamed. During my free time I would hop into a jeep and sneak inside Maalikaya. I would blow what was at that time about a week’s allowance, and then make up the amount later by tutoring some students who were struggling at Math. Nowadays that feeling of shame is gone. Don’t get me wrong. I may not be ashamed—but neither am I proud of it. I am just indifferent about it. Now it’s no big thing for me.

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Of all the avenues for paid companionship, the escort route is probably the riskiest. You wouldn’t take a huge 6-foot male stranger with you inside your car, would you? So, why should a female escort be any different? It’s for that reason I wouldn’t recommend escorts to a newbie. There are so many tales of scams involving escorts. Some are subtle. Some are life-altering. I have heard stories ranging from lost wallets to extortion.

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Last night I stumbled upon a TV talk show called “Moms.” I was not familiar with the format nor recognized two of the three female hosts (I only recognized Lani Mercado). They had four female guests—three relatively young actresses (I think one of them was Andrea del Rosario) and an elderly doctor. The topic was about sex among teenagers. The hosts and the guests were mouthing the usual pontificating babble—treasure your virginity, don’t rush into sex, one should only love the person you have sex with, yadda yadda yadda, blah blah blah. I felt like throwing up.

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Right now, I curse anything alcoholic. Last night with the boys left me bed-ridden with a splitting headache. I was able to rouse myself to check the Internet for a hangover cure, tried it out, and right now am at least able to bang a few paragraphs without throwing up.

The cure was quite simple and straightforward. No, I didn’t drink aspirin or Tylenol. No, I didn’t take a cold shower. I didn’t drink coffee (which apparently would have made it worse) nor did I sweat it out in a sauna. The cure was—plain and simple—water.

According to Mahalo, alcohol is a diuretic, which makes one excrete more water than it absorbs. In fact, as the article explains, “if you’re ever stranded in the Sahara between oases, you may find the experience is similar to a hangover.”

So, it makes sense to drink water. Lots of it. That I did, plus some soup to calm the stomach.

And if you want to avoid the hangover, then drink lots of water while consuming alcohol. Multivitamins may help as well, especially Vitamin B6, according to this article.

Now I can’t wait to try out these tips…