almost seduced by seventeen

hong kong nyt lyf never ceases to surprise me. or amaze me.
(i know, i know, i sound lyk a hallmark card. cheesy.)
last nyt, for instance, i was seated in a bar with a group of friends when this hunky lad sat beside me. his friends said he was drunk and wanted to rest. i let him.
since it was a very small lounge chair (good for two, but i was fat, so it was more lyk a one-and-a-half seater), we were seated very very dangerously close. i could feel the heat emanating from his young body. his right arm was stretched on the back of the sofa, touching my beautiful shoulders (eto na lang maganda sa akin. chos).  in a few seconds, he was asleep.
my friends did not mind us. they were busy with their own business.
one of his friends introduced himself. he said his name was france (because he is from france), while his friend who was sleeping beside me was allen. (i first thought he said alien. we laughed at this).
i looked at allen - he looks lyk the young tom cruise, with prominent nose, gorgeous eyes and thick, curly hair. only taller, leaner. you could tell that he is young from the smooth skin on his face - sixteen?
how old are you? i asked france.
nineteen, he said. but i could tell he was lying. he doesn't even look fifteen to me. or maybe that's just me, i am at an age when everyone seemed young, gorgeous and adventurous. i am the exact opposite.
then france and his friends left to go to another bar. china bar. they said there were lots of girls there.
france asked me to please take care of allen, whose dreamy eyes were now closed. dreaming of flirty young blonde, leggy gurls or god knows what. i said yes. of course. i will be his guardian angel.
i ordered another beer. the waitress noticed the sleeping allen.
is he with you? she asked.
i didn't know what to say. so i said yes.
how old is he? twenty, i said.
can i see his id please?
why?
sir, we will be fined and forced to close if the police found out that he is a minor.
i understand. i shook allen. he opened his eyes. oh so gorgeous.
he looked at me, then at the waitress.
she wants to see your id, i told allen.
ah. ok, was all allen said. he took out his wallet, tried to find his id. he said he didn't have it.
the waitress then asked him politely to leave the bar.
lyk an obedient child, he stood up, shook my hand (nyc to meet you. what's your name again? i told him). he smiled and then left.
i wanted to run after him. after his friends. but that would be wrong.
the waitress later on told me that these boys often hang around the area on weekends. they are minors, she told me. i know, i said. i could tell from their looks, body and the way they behave. lyk unruly boys in high school (although all men always behave lyk boys when they are drunk) insyd the locker room after a game of basketball or rugby.
around three, my friends left. they were all married with kids.
i stayed in the area, drinking on the streets. looking at drunk men and women parading in their friday nyt's best. some were dancing to a cacophony of sound (madonna, adel, beatles, sweet caroline, poker face) emanating from various bars. others were kissing. chatting loudly. smoking. drinking some more. flirting. seducing. laughing. things we do when we are having fun. i felt so alone. i wanted to cry. chos.
then i bumped into france again. this time, he looked really, really drunk.
"hey man, where's your girl?" france asked, bottle of beer on his hand.
"she left," i said, laughing.
"i banged two girls already. two hot girls."
wow, i said. where's allen?
oh, he went home already. he has a curfew. twelve.
how old is he, by the way, i asked france.
seventeen, he said.
oh.
and you?
sixteen. (sweet. i thought, as i lingered on his thick, red lips.)
then he said he had to go. his friends were waiting in another bar.
see you, he said and hugged me.
don't go home alone, he said as he was walking away to join his equally drunk, oversexed friends.
ah, kids!

(foto not mine. no copyright infringement intended)