I went on a date with him on a whim. He was cute in a quiet wayโ€”the kind of man who doesnโ€™t realize how easily he can be bent.

By the time we sat down at the restaurant, the tone was already set. I didnโ€™t ask what he wanted to eat. I told him. I didnโ€™t reach for my wallet eitherโ€”I simply looked at him, slow and expectant, and he understood. There was something intoxicating about the way he nodded, like he was discovering a part of himself he hadnโ€™t met before.

After dinner, we moved to a whiskey barโ€”dark wood, low lights, the air heavy with smoke and confidence. He admitted heโ€™d never touched a cigar before. That made it better. I guided his hands, had him cut it properly, light it carefully, and hold it for me like an offering. He poured my drink when I tilted my glass toward him, watching closely, learning my rhythm. He stood just close enough to feel useful, just far enough to feel owned.

Then came the louder barโ€”the kind filled with heat, bodies, and men who knew exactly how to move. Music pulsed through the room. I told him to invite a few dancers over, to secure us a private couch. He hesitated for half a second, then obeyed. When they joined us, the energy shiftedโ€”eyes, smiles, tension in the air.

He stayed at my side the entire time. Refilling glasses. Lighting cigarettes. Kneeling briefly to wipe the dust from my shoes with a focus that made people stare. I could feel his presence before I saw himโ€”attentive, steady, quietly undone by the fact that he was exactly where I wanted him.

By the end of the night, he wasnโ€™t just following instructions anymore. He was anticipating them.

And that was the most delicious part.

Kinky Date โ— 22 to 80 years โ— 500km around Philippines Cubao