the political virgin

in the swirl of humid afternoon and on separate beds (the sight of a straight woman and a gay on the same bed will likely bring on a rain of locust), my friend jangeum and i tackled the sensitive issue of virginity--this despite myself, definitely not the last gay virgin on the face of the earth. she pondered why men keep on lurking in the darkness of anachronism by resolving to bed virgin women only as much as possible. i told her what i gathered somewhere that the concept of virginity is tied up to that of a territory to be conquered. virgin conquest fuels men's macho pride, which suggests that devirginized women become less their worth once they have their cherry popped. i argue that women or men for that matter, be they straight or gay, do not cease to become persons should they get it on the first time. they must not be reduced to being objects or terrains to be had, since no one can ever own anyone. besides, these unenlightened men cannot even preserve their own virginity, so why institute a double social standard? of course men, even as they're already as laspag as well-worn slippers, can always effect as if they're getting their sexual baptism of fire.
so this is one reason why lately, i'm breaking my promise to receive clothes only and not to purchase them, and i refreshed my activism by picking in the mall a bodyhugging shirt with a provocative imprint that reads "virgin." actually, it's the trademark of a brand of cola that's yet again imported from the land of multinational capitalism, but a suggestive shirt with such an imprint is an excellent public relations agent about the kind (what kind?) of politicized person that i am. i bought it along with the brokeback mountain-stirred cowboy hat that i gave to my gym instructor as birthday gift. what i received in return, i have to leave you guessing, but i already donned the shirt on his birthday in order to torment him about the better item that the "virgin" shirt was.
after my gym instructor's party, i proceeded to see gorgeous because i could not bear to miss him for more than a week, my romantic chances be damned because of the erotically suggestive shirt i wore. at the gym, i sat like a snail in repose until i saw hunk, who said his pakner in crime was upstairs, "nakasalang." visions of gorgeous getting his rocks off boiled me in heart-wrenching jealousy, but what the hey, you have no right, whispered phil collins in my ears crimsoned by envy. my heart leaped when hunk made a mistake, for i saw gorgeous descend from the videoke room, a dragon impressed in his own bodyhugging shirt. i did not come up to him to ask what's dragon-like in him, but i did call him as if i were juliet seeing romeo at the benighted veranda. after an eternity of planet-stopping talk with the charming guy, i bade him goodbye for that was all i wanted: to be with gorgeous even just for a while to complete my week.
at the exit counter, i was trafficked by the grinning gym owners to comment on the "virgin" shirt. "you haven't lost your virginity yet?" they queried, to which i replied feeling like a miriam defensor in miriam quiambao's body: "the imprint's a political statement." yeah, it goes in the same double-entendre league as my bodyhugging clothes with innuendoes that say "mean people suck; nice people swallow" or "sin city" but not with other people's downright nasty "certified sex instructor" or "puta" shirts. i wonder where i could find shirts that scream "pornstar," "eat meat" or "100% pure milk." the ideology-infused answer seemed to rattle the owners, but i did not launch into a political dissertation for fear of rippling an ibong adarna syndrome wherein the listeners will metamorphose into lifeless marbles after listening to my soporific song.
while i and the owners conversed about other topics, hunk and gorgeous were walking toward our direction to leave the place. i ogled at gorgeous, who murmured a very sexy "goodbye." i returned his goodbye, and noticed his shirt's potent dragon, which ultimately caused me to lose my virginal brain faculties anew.