NSFWcredits u/do3chii
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Before you read this last part, please do me one favor. Put yourself in the shoes of a 19-year-old girl who’d never been through anything like this before. I was young, inexperienced, and my brain was in full denial-and-survival mode.
Sunday afternoon. I got a text from an unknown number. “B, sorry nakatulugan kita agad.” No intro, but I knew exactly who it was. I texted back, “Okay lang. Pagod lang ako, need ko mag shower at matulog sa kama ko.” He replied almost instantly, “Sorry talaga. lasing na lasing ako hindi man lang kita nasamahan umuwi.”
I would be lying if I said his texts didn’t stir anything. Come to think of it, that was our first text conversation. Just him and me texting like normal people. My thumbs hovered over the keypad longer than they should have.
Then I asked the question that had been eating me alive since I woke up. The cursed mattress. “Uy, yung mattress nila Ate… hindi ba napansin?” He replied, “Hindi nya napansin. Pero sabi ko iuuwi ko na lang para linisan kasi puro pawis.” I didn’t want Ate to find that tragic piece of evidence. I typed back fast, “Buti naman inuwi mo. Nakakahiya.”
I was secretly hoping, deep down, in that stupid, hopeful corner of my brain, that he’d text something like, “Virgin ka pa pala. Sorry kung nasaktan kita. Hindi ko kasi alam.”
Anything that showed he’d registered what happened, that he cared enough to notice. But he didn’t bring it up.
We kept texting that afternoon. I can’t remember every word anymore, but at some point he said, “See you tomorrow sa work. Excited na ako makita ka ulit.” I stared at the message. Didn’t reply. But inside my head? One clear, traitorous thought: “Shet, makakantot na naman yata ako.”
I think my brain just… decided to compartmentalize. Locked the night away in a box labeled “do not open yet,” shoved it to the back of the mental shelf, and kept the rest of me functioning. Was it dissociation? A defense mechanism? Some quiet survival instinct that said, “Girl, if you feel the full weight of this right now, you won’t make it through the next two weeks.” You might be thinking I should’ve clocked right away that I was napag-planuhan. But no. Not that weekend.
But something else happened too…something I didn’t understand until much later. Sex isn’t just bodies colliding; it flips switches in your brain and floods your system with chemicals that were never meant to be casual. It creates instant feelings of trust, closeness, attachment… even when your rational mind is screaming that this person is wrong for you.
That week, R clung to me like we’d been together for years, and, I let him. The way he looked at me like I was his didn’t feel awkward anymore; it felt… almost comforting. We acted like mag-jowa in front of our teammates, especially with Ate. Ate treated me the same way. We were back to be this trio just that me and R held hands and looked at each other na parang naghuhubaran. I didn’t dare ask Ate if she knew that R and I fucked. To be honest, I was hoping she would bring it up.
Our teammates’ glances turned knowing… those sideways, smirking looks people give when they’re sure you’ve been fucking. I had no idea if nag kiss and tell si R. I just accepted that this was my fate now. I was his, we’d do this kantutan thing like lovers do. Like adults do, right?
During calls, even when he had his own queue, he’d slide his chair right behind mine. He’d bury his face in my hair and smell me like he was memorizing the scent, press soft kisses along my neck, slide his hand under my shirt to graze my waist, sometimes even tease my nipples until I had to bite my lip to stay quiet on the line. I hated how my body responded, that traitorous warmth between my legs, even as my brain whispered “this is too much, too public.”
On breaks, the three of us still tambay-ed at the yosihan. I’d breathe secondhand smoke like always, while R and I slipped into the darkest corner where the cameras didn’t reach. We’d make out like teenagers who’d just discovered tongues… his hands everywhere, laplapan until break was almost over. Ate acted like lookout and would call us back when time was up.
During one yosi break, toward the end of that week, R pulled me into the same dark corner. He crushed his cigarette, leaned in close, voice rough: “Kantutan tayo sa apartment ko next week?”
He was libog na libog, practically begging. His hands slid into my jeans, gigil with my butt like he couldn’t wait for next week. And some twisted, fucked-up part of me loved it. Loved being wanted so badly after feeling so disposable the first time. It was like my brain was using the oxytocin high to paper over the cracks. If he wants me this much, maybe it wasn’t that bad. Maybe this is normal.
I told him straight: “Masakit pa din sya.” The soreness was real. A lingering reminder my body hadn’t signed up for round two yet.
He finally said it, “Sorry nasaktan kita, B. Sa una lang naman yan masakit. Next time puro sarap na.” His words were half-apology, half-landi, and he was so gigil I almost believed it. So I said yes. “Kantutan tayo after shift ng Monday.”
The words came out easy, almost automatic. He grinned like he’d won, pulled me in for another round of laplapan, and that was that.
That week I let the hormones do the talking because my mind wasn’t ready to speak. I was too flooded with feel-good chemicals to sort truth from illusion. I didn’t realize then that the bonding rush would fade, the soreness would heal, and what would be left was the slow, cold clarity that none of it had been real connection—just chemistry hijacking my system.
Monday arrived, my last week at the call center, the day we’d planned to go to his apartment after shift. He was absent. No text, no nothing. Just silence. The weekend before we’d been texting like teenagers; now he ghosted on the exact day we were supposed to fuck again. I worried Was he okay? Sick? Did something happen?
I couldn’t take it anymore, so I asked our TL at his station, “TL, nag-text po ba si R?”
He said casually, “Ay oo, nag-VL siya ngayon.”
Tuesday: still absent. I texted him. No reply. I asked Ate, “Ate, alam mo ba bakit absent si R?” She just said, “Baka family emergency lang. May ganun siya before, bigla nawawala tapos babalik. Wag ka mag-alala, B.”
Wednesday: still nothing. No text, no sighting, no explanation. The chair behind mine stayed empty all day. Every time I turned around expecting to see him with this malaswang look, there was just space. And that space started to feel huge.
I felt abandoned. The oxytocin crash hit hard… suddenly the clinginess felt pathetic, the yosihan makeouts felt cheap, and the “see you on Monday” promise felt like a lie. I overthought every text, every touch. Was it all just to get in my pants one more time? Or had I imagined the whole bonding thing?
Right when I was drowning in that spiral, feeling small and stupid, one person I never expected stepped in with the truth.
K. The girl I’d mentally torn apart in my head. We ended up at the yosihan together during break. She lit up, exhaled slow, and looked at me like she’d been waiting for this moment. “B, anong alam mo tungkol kay R?” I was confused about the question, so I didn’t answer. She laid it all out. She and R had been FUBU… that much I already knew.
She said R had gone absent before. Multiple times. And every single time? It was because his longtime girlfriend came home from Dubai. K said, “Minsan biglang umuuwi yung jowa nya kaya nawawala sya.” Turned out R was already engaged. To his high school girlfriend.
He joined the call center two years earlier while she worked abroad. Whenever she flew back for vacation, he’d go on leave, then reappear like nothing happened.
The whole team knew. Especially Ate. Ate and R had been wave mates since day one. She’d known about the fiancée the entire time.
K didn’t say it with malice, just matter-of-fact, like she was tired of watching the same cycle. “Alam yan ng lahat, B. Pero walang nagsasalita kasi… ganun talaga dito. Pero ikaw, mukhang hindi mo alam.”
I stood there feeling the ground shift under me. Suddenly everything clicked into sharp, ugly focus. The way R clung so hard on my last month at the call center, like he was squeezing in every drop before I leave. The way Ate had invited me over for a mini despedida.
I wasn’t just used. I was a convenient placeholder. A side chick he could fuck while the fiancée was away, then drop the second she landed. That was the moment the fog finally cracked open. Not all at once. But enough for the anger, the betrayal, and the slow realization to start seeping in.
If you made it this far, thank you. Truly.
Thanks for sitting with the 19-year-old me while she was still numb, still hopeful, still chasing validation in the wrong places.
I’m not blaming everyone else 100%. I own my part. My faults don’t cancel theirs, and theirs don’t cancel mine.
So salamat talaga for reading every messy line.
Comment for more stories.
Before you read this last part, please do me one favor. Put yourself in the shoes of a 19-year-old girl who’d never been through anything like this before. I was young, inexperienced, and my brain was in full denial-and-survival mode.
Sunday afternoon. I got a text from an unknown number. “B, sorry nakatulugan kita agad.” No intro, but I knew exactly who it was. I texted back, “Okay lang. Pagod lang ako, need ko mag shower at matulog sa kama ko.” He replied almost instantly, “Sorry talaga. lasing na lasing ako hindi man lang kita nasamahan umuwi.”
I would be lying if I said his texts didn’t stir anything. Come to think of it, that was our first text conversation. Just him and me texting like normal people. My thumbs hovered over the keypad longer than they should have.
Then I asked the question that had been eating me alive since I woke up. The cursed mattress. “Uy, yung mattress nila Ate… hindi ba napansin?” He replied, “Hindi nya napansin. Pero sabi ko iuuwi ko na lang para linisan kasi puro pawis.” I didn’t want Ate to find that tragic piece of evidence. I typed back fast, “Buti naman inuwi mo. Nakakahiya.”
I was secretly hoping, deep down, in that stupid, hopeful corner of my brain, that he’d text something like, “Virgin ka pa pala. Sorry kung nasaktan kita. Hindi ko kasi alam.”
Anything that showed he’d registered what happened, that he cared enough to notice. But he didn’t bring it up.
We kept texting that afternoon. I can’t remember every word anymore, but at some point he said, “See you tomorrow sa work. Excited na ako makita ka ulit.” I stared at the message. Didn’t reply. But inside my head? One clear, traitorous thought: “Shet, makakantot na naman yata ako.”
I think my brain just… decided to compartmentalize. Locked the night away in a box labeled “do not open yet,” shoved it to the back of the mental shelf, and kept the rest of me functioning. Was it dissociation? A defense mechanism? Some quiet survival instinct that said, “Girl, if you feel the full weight of this right now, you won’t make it through the next two weeks.” You might be thinking I should’ve clocked right away that I was napag-planuhan. But no. Not that weekend.
But something else happened too…something I didn’t understand until much later. Sex isn’t just bodies colliding; it flips switches in your brain and floods your system with chemicals that were never meant to be casual. It creates instant feelings of trust, closeness, attachment… even when your rational mind is screaming that this person is wrong for you.
That week, R clung to me like we’d been together for years, and, I let him. The way he looked at me like I was his didn’t feel awkward anymore; it felt… almost comforting. We acted like mag-jowa in front of our teammates, especially with Ate. Ate treated me the same way. We were back to be this trio just that me and R held hands and looked at each other na parang naghuhubaran. I didn’t dare ask Ate if she knew that R and I fucked. To be honest, I was hoping she would bring it up.
Our teammates’ glances turned knowing… those sideways, smirking looks people give when they’re sure you’ve been fucking. I had no idea if nag kiss and tell si R. I just accepted that this was my fate now. I was his, we’d do this kantutan thing like lovers do. Like adults do, right?
During calls, even when he had his own queue, he’d slide his chair right behind mine. He’d bury his face in my hair and smell me like he was memorizing the scent, press soft kisses along my neck, slide his hand under my shirt to graze my waist, sometimes even tease my nipples until I had to bite my lip to stay quiet on the line. I hated how my body responded, that traitorous warmth between my legs, even as my brain whispered “this is too much, too public.”
On breaks, the three of us still tambay-ed at the yosihan. I’d breathe secondhand smoke like always, while R and I slipped into the darkest corner where the cameras didn’t reach. We’d make out like teenagers who’d just discovered tongues… his hands everywhere, laplapan until break was almost over. Ate acted like lookout and would call us back when time was up.
During one yosi break, toward the end of that week, R pulled me into the same dark corner. He crushed his cigarette, leaned in close, voice rough: “Kantutan tayo sa apartment ko next week?”
He was libog na libog, practically begging. His hands slid into my jeans, gigil with my butt like he couldn’t wait for next week. And some twisted, fucked-up part of me loved it. Loved being wanted so badly after feeling so disposable the first time. It was like my brain was using the oxytocin high to paper over the cracks. If he wants me this much, maybe it wasn’t that bad. Maybe this is normal.
I told him straight: “Masakit pa din sya.” The soreness was real. A lingering reminder my body hadn’t signed up for round two yet.
He finally said it, “Sorry nasaktan kita, B. Sa una lang naman yan masakit. Next time puro sarap na.” His words were half-apology, half-landi, and he was so gigil I almost believed it. So I said yes. “Kantutan tayo after shift ng Monday.”
The words came out easy, almost automatic. He grinned like he’d won, pulled me in for another round of laplapan, and that was that.
That week I let the hormones do the talking because my mind wasn’t ready to speak. I was too flooded with feel-good chemicals to sort truth from illusion. I didn’t realize then that the bonding rush would fade, the soreness would heal, and what would be left was the slow, cold clarity that none of it had been real connection—just chemistry hijacking my system.
Monday arrived, my last week at the call center, the day we’d planned to go to his apartment after shift. He was absent. No text, no nothing. Just silence. The weekend before we’d been texting like teenagers; now he ghosted on the exact day we were supposed to fuck again. I worried Was he okay? Sick? Did something happen?
I couldn’t take it anymore, so I asked our TL at his station, “TL, nag-text po ba si R?”
He said casually, “Ay oo, nag-VL siya ngayon.”
Tuesday: still absent. I texted him. No reply. I asked Ate, “Ate, alam mo ba bakit absent si R?” She just said, “Baka family emergency lang. May ganun siya before, bigla nawawala tapos babalik. Wag ka mag-alala, B.”
Wednesday: still nothing. No text, no sighting, no explanation. The chair behind mine stayed empty all day. Every time I turned around expecting to see him with this malaswang look, there was just space. And that space started to feel huge.
I felt abandoned. The oxytocin crash hit hard… suddenly the clinginess felt pathetic, the yosihan makeouts felt cheap, and the “see you on Monday” promise felt like a lie. I overthought every text, every touch. Was it all just to get in my pants one more time? Or had I imagined the whole bonding thing?
Right when I was drowning in that spiral, feeling small and stupid, one person I never expected stepped in with the truth.
K. The girl I’d mentally torn apart in my head. We ended up at the yosihan together during break. She lit up, exhaled slow, and looked at me like she’d been waiting for this moment. “B, anong alam mo tungkol kay R?” I was confused about the question, so I didn’t answer. She laid it all out. She and R had been FUBU… that much I already knew.
She said R had gone absent before. Multiple times. And every single time? It was because his longtime girlfriend came home from Dubai. K said, “Minsan biglang umuuwi yung jowa nya kaya nawawala sya.” Turned out R was already engaged. To his high school girlfriend.
He joined the call center two years earlier while she worked abroad. Whenever she flew back for vacation, he’d go on leave, then reappear like nothing happened.
The whole team knew. Especially Ate. Ate and R had been wave mates since day one. She’d known about the fiancée the entire time.
K didn’t say it with malice, just matter-of-fact, like she was tired of watching the same cycle. “Alam yan ng lahat, B. Pero walang nagsasalita kasi… ganun talaga dito. Pero ikaw, mukhang hindi mo alam.”
I stood there feeling the ground shift under me. Suddenly everything clicked into sharp, ugly focus. The way R clung so hard on my last month at the call center, like he was squeezing in every drop before I leave. The way Ate had invited me over for a mini despedida.
I wasn’t just used. I was a convenient placeholder. A side chick he could fuck while the fiancée was away, then drop the second she landed. That was the moment the fog finally cracked open. Not all at once. But enough for the anger, the betrayal, and the slow realization to start seeping in.
If you made it this far, thank you. Truly.
Thanks for sitting with the 19-year-old me while she was still numb, still hopeful, still chasing validation in the wrong places.
I’m not blaming everyone else 100%. I own my part. My faults don’t cancel theirs, and theirs don’t cancel mine.
So salamat talaga for reading every messy line.