Build Me up


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Prologue: Sweet Is Not Always Your favorite Flavor


/he-nän/  /'sel-səs/

Describe the overused word: Love.

Love was an unpredictable bitch in real life. No one knew when it'll strike or when it'll leave a heart broken and bleeding. The irony was, when one told a story of love, they could easily predict what was about to happen next. Young doves have the appreciation to find cliché outcomes that triggered their lust.

It was ever the earth's endemic disease.

Love often hurt people. It made them delirious on happiness. It brought the torrential fountain of tears on tainted souls during blue moments. It made egotistical hearts brag. It can even drag them further down when they know they're falling. But what if there was no one to break the fall? That would totally hurt. Totally.

They can spew advices to heal a scorned heart, but when they were asked to do it, they couldn't. Easier said than done. It was always that way—yesterday, today, tomorrow, the days and spaces in between—it never really chose when. Time waited for no one. Those two hearts will always chase time.

For love was the intense beating of a lifetime.

He wasn't particularly gentle when he decided to deflower her this very instant either. She cried out when he pulled her delicate petals off atop the traditional mahogany drafting table. He loves me, he loves me not. Does he?

He pounded himself over and over inside her. Instantly at a fast pace. She moaned, whispered his name, and cried whenever he thrusted himself so damn deep and hard. Even the table made thudding sounds at their movement.

His dress shirt was unbuttoned. It lingered around his shoulders, and his pants pooled around his ankles. His necktie was somewhere on the floor. Her blouse was stripped open and bra was askew, exposing her taut breasts. And holy shit, those were the size he wanted rubbing in the palm of his hands. Pretty much like the amazons they illustrated in fantasy games. Her skirt was drawn up and panties were thrown somewhere in the office.

They felt each other's skin rubbing against each other's vulnerability while he thrusted. Her legs were wrapped tightly around his waist. Her hands supported their weight at the edge of the table to accomodate him. He continued to lead her into a blissful dance. She breathed his name over and over...and over.

Who knew fucking felt this good?

He told her not to be so loud. Knowing she was a virgin until the moment he took her, he couldn't fathom the pain it must have dealt on her part. She screamed anyway. A pleasurable cry that clouded her senses of everything else but him.

He cared less about her moans anyway. Her cries can't penetrate through the acoustic treatment installed throughout their firm. He made sure of that. Thank goodness the walls bounding his office weren't the typical frosted glass. That would definitely give them less privacy.

Slowly, she was filled with nothing but pleasure as the pain subsided. He wasn't exactly gentle with his pacing since they begun. If he wanted it that way, she couldn't find her voice to tell him to take it easy. She just wanted him to fill her with each stroke. Their breathing grew ragged. Her moans never seized. Yeah, hard was good. It felt so damn good moving in and out of her from down there.

"Oh, Genon. Oh my god." She moaned and arched her back when he kissed the side of her neck. "Fuck me harder."

Genon breathed a laugh against her lips at her request. Surely, it can't go harder than that already. He can only go faster, which he did. He took pleasure in hearing her plead while calling his name against the table's thudding.

For some reason, he couldn't comprehend how his lack of self-esteem was taken away by this woman. He wasn't really one to mingle around the opposite sex that much. Not unless it involved his friends. Of all people, he allowed her to penetrate through that barrier. It sounded so fucking cliché making him want to rip off this damn page right now. For fuck's sake, why was this happening to him?

Maybe this was what he needed. His friends gave him all the unreasonable thoughts that he couldn't do it. Couldn't be with a woman. Yet, here he was, deep inside of one. He was filling them both with pleasure.

He was using protection. It was an alternative one because he didn't have a stupid condom.

She said he could use anything as long as he had something on. Request granted, no questions asked. She didn't protest to the idea of it anyway. He guessed it was because she wanted to fill and feel him inside her desperately.

She never knew that their dance could be the most intense pleasure one could ever feel. Now she understood why. This was why AIDS was a prevalent disease among unconventional love birds who didn't really know the subjective definition of true love in the first place. They know sex, but they don't know how to make love.

She wanted to recall how they ended up the way they are now. She no longer lingered on that when he was filling her up to the brim when he moved faster. She was afraid she couldn't contain it any longer as she was nearing her climax.

"Genon! Shit!" She screamed and jerked her back off the table until her breasts were flat against his chest. A whole new world? Can you feel the love tonight? Love will find a way? You'll be in my heart? Help December let a New Year begin?

That was it for her first launch of a Broadway concerto conducted inside her. If there was an encore, she'd definitely request one more. Somehow, she was happy that he was her first. So happy that tears welled in her eyes.

He continued to move because when was a time when men came first? Unless he couldn't really contain it or the woman wasn't really willing and was forced into.

He thrusted deeper still. He looked at her features while he did so. She had short purple gradient hair as a color. A beautiful pixie cut almost resembling how Storm from X-Men looked like. Or maybe it was just another Halle Berry look from Die Another Day. Either way, he knew she looked luscious. Her eyes reminded him of orange marmalade.

She wanted to register his features just the same when their eyes met. She didn't know how to describe him, but she knew he was a gem. A rare one. If he were a birthstone, she'd label him a Topaz.

He had big and alluring yellow eyes, almost resembling a cat. He wasn't buff but was medium built. His hair was long and flaxen. She untied it moments ago and felt silk in her hands. She thought his features were almost akin to the Woodland Elves in The Lord of The Rings and The Hobbit. Heck, he might even be Lee Pace's or Orlando Bloom's long lost relative.

Take me and the hobbits to Isengard with you.

She knew most men had beautiful long hair. She found it unfair for her part. She kept hers short because her hair was natural and frizzy. It annoyed her to fix it everytime.

Genon could almost feel it. He could feel himself. How disgusting did that sound? With one last thrust, he found his release. But it felt weird as he was missing something somehow.

He wanted to say something. He propped both arms to her sides. He blinked several times while looking at her. What was it he wanted to say again?

Their breathes were unstable at the moment. She smiled and cupped his cheek with a hand. She saw the slightest color on his cheeks. She found it adorable somehow. Something caught her when she reached his face. He stiffened slightly at her touch, and she wondered why.

"What is it?" She asked in a concerned and soft voice.

He stared at her for a full minute. She knew he was still inside her and decided to stay still. Would it hurt her if he asked? What would she feel about it? He wasn't really around women that much to know how they'd feel. He couldn't comprehend how feelings often get to stand between progress and life.

Well, nothing was going to happen if he continued to stifle his mouth. So his best option was to ask and get it over with.

"Umm...what was your name again?

Jessica Fiona

You use descriptive language in a very individual and refreshing way.

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Thank you!

1. Clichés Are Overrated

In a perfect world where perfect people lived, every human being was handsome and beautiful, sexy and ripped. Where vampires sparkle under clear daylight that should have melted them to ashes. And where people had an insatiable amount of libido to make love everywhere and everyday.

Where Ms. Poor Lady married Mr. Rich Guy. Where typical Damsel in Distress was always saved by the marvelous Prince Charming. And where life was all cupcakes and rainbows even if words tried to bring about bad situations.

A perfect world where romantic scenes play in every page of a theater of thought, where eyes shine in a splendid shimmer, and where roses are red and violets are blue, sugar was sweet and so was he for you.

If a girl wanted to be a billionaire so freaking bad, she’d marry a billionaire, playboy, philanthropist who was so freaking bad. Of course, Tony Stark was no longer in the picture. But usually, Ms. Poor was a—and I quote—“tough” damsel who doesn’t want Mr. Rich just because of his damn money that couldn’t fit in the most prestigious bank in the whole of Southeast Asia. She doesn’t want to be labeled a gold digger. In reality, that was what people really saw and what hot botox-induced chicks, whores, harlots, etc. are doing to escape an excruciating, poverty-stricken life. Duh?

Men don’t often read romance. They make romance happen. Ladies read them a lot. They stand waiting for Mr. Right. But what if in this perfect world, one you’ve never known, things were not so parallel? Because let’s face it, clichés are overrated.

Castellone looked up from the manuscript he was reading from the lounge of The Concrete World Designs firm. He saw the familiarity in the design of the interior with the way his condo was renovated. The office brought the ambiance of a comfortable and sophisticated workplace.

Dirty white and gray washed the walls. The ceiling treatment appeared rustic with the wooden beams interweaved into an elegantly deformed polygon. The flooring was polished dark cherry wood that matched the ceiling. Interns and other design professionals busied themselves, presenting large papers and scrapping rejected plans while working on their digital versions for revisions.

A slender woman just stormed out of Genon’s office. Her face was painted red and brows in a crimp. Her face had the illustration of embarrassment, maybe even anger was added to the canvas. Castellone wasn’t sure which, but he knew something unpleasant must have happened.

His eyes followed her and saw the crinkles on her skirt and blouse. Her short hair was slightly tousled but appeared stationary. She trotted her way out of the office and bumped into one of the interns, scattering the files all over. She didn’t stop walking until she disappeared in the elevator.

“Mr. Signo, you can go in now.”

One of Genon’s apprentices motioned him to enter his friend’s office, which he did after unfolding his legs and fixed the manuscript back to the envelope. The minute he entered the office, he had to raise a brow because he felt an awkward aura of something suspicious. No, he didn’t felt it, he smelled it. That gave him the answers to his suspicion.

It was the aftertaste of vigor between the positive and negative sides of a magnet after contenting themselves with the cotillion of ecstasy that attracted them together.

He found Genon facing the opposite glass wall who was tying his long hair. His back was facing him. “You really need to get a hair cut.”

“If I did that, all my stored knowledge would disappear too.” Genon said. He always had that kind of weird belief about his hair. It was because they ‘stored’ the lectures he experienced in life that gave him intelligence. He turned to face Castellone.

Castellone saw a slight pink hue on Genon’s right cheek. If his eyes didn’t fail him, he almost saw a hand mark that formed the pink on his friend’s face. As much as he didn’t want to pry, “What happened?”

If Castellone were to describe Genon’s reaction and slap it on the novel he held, he would go between the lines of—from a morbid nonchalance transcending into a stupid smug grin. It was something he never saw before.

Castellone’s face was stoic and had a non-enthusiastic voice. “Okay, don’t tell me, I think I already know.”

Genon made a begging puppy-face when he attempted to pout. “You haven’t heard it yet.”

“I’ve heard enough by the look on your face.” Castellone paused before narrowing his gaze. “The others would freak out if they knew you’ve been pussy slapped.”

Genon was the only bachelor in the group left. To be accurate, not the only one. Yet. Castellone wasn’t married, but he was currently dating someone. Sooner or later he was going to propose.

If anyone knew what Genon was during his undergrad days, he and Castellone were side to side when it came to moistening a few female underwears. Especially Castellone. They knew enough steps of mainstream decency to even attempt becoming total man-whores. Genon had too much respect for his mother to jump from one hole to another.

Okay that was a lie. Castellone attempted it sometimes, but he found it insipid because it wasn’t really the girl he was pinning on. The only person Castellone had ever really wanted was his girlfriend.

Genon straightened his collar. “What are you here for exactly?”

Castellone raised the envelope he was holding and placed it on Genon’s large desk. It was lined with blueprints and rolled out plates, in layman’s term—drawings. He merely wanted Genon’s opinion on the manuscript of one of their authors from the publishing company he worked at. So he made the architect read it in his place instead. Lazy bastard.

“No. I won’t do that, Llone. I got a lot to finish, the client is demanding these plans by the weekend.”

“And yet you got spare time to mess around this afternoon.” Castellone crossed his arms and raised a brow.

Yep. So worth the time wasted. “That wasn’t messing around, I like to call it the three o’clock break. Everyone needs it.”

Castellone scoffed and nudged for Genon to read it. Genon grabbed the envelope and read the first page before placing it down. “You know, the only thing that’s true here is the last paragraph of this page. I’m not interested so you can have one of our apprentices read it instead.”

Castellone didn’t respond for a few seconds. He narrowed his gaze. “You still haven’t forgotten that dare Blaze and Sirius pulled you in, right?”

Genon crinkled his brows, almost cringing at the reminder too. “Oh fuck, is that still in effect? Come on, you guys just love torturing me, don’t you? I won’t even get anything from that.”

Castellone shrugged and rotated the chair so that he was glancing around the office. It was a typical office of an architect. Scale models and rolled up plates were placed on the left, book shelves containing design books were in front of them, and a traditional drafting table was placed along the window wall on their right. His friend started the design firm after getting his license three years ago. “If Blaze were here, he’d be laughing.”

“Good thing you’re not Farendye. I’m thinking I should give those idiots evidence then.” Genon said and rubbed his chin as if he was deep in thoughts.

Castellone glanced at him. There was a kind of childish smile lingering on Genon’s lips after saying that. Knowing him, he can only count it as something unaccountable. “I should go.”

After taking the manuscript and leaving Genon’s office, some eyes of the draftsmen and other professionals lingered on him as if he just got reprimanded. He nodded at some who greeted him before disappearing in the elevator.

Strawberries are red, the ocean is blue.  Don’t like clichés? This one’s for dear you.

Genon’s friends knew he wasn’t capable of producing affection. Even he doesn’t know that. He was too preoccupied with anything in life that kept him from thinking of those. To him, there was no progress in dealing with it, so why bother?

Results of the word they praised as Love brought forth dire consequences. It increased the population and gave birth to starving families, not unless they can afford to live the comfort in life. It would add up to the decaying society of the urban sprawl. It would worsen the conditions regarding pollution on all aspects of its field. It might cause an uproar between demand and supply if the economy won’t handle itself well enough.

More babies are being born each day than people dying. Over population will outrun the natural environment, degrading it slowly because of the number of families demanding to own a property. It was to own land, and they will exploit more than that to satisfy their wants and needs.

Humans gave birth to abominations. Everyone, including him, was no exception to that. They conceived the complications in everyone’s routine ever since pre-historical times. Math, Science, Economics, Liberal Arts, Legislation, Jurisdiction and Execution and everything else missing to the long list that made up life. Now this sounded more like a sci-fi drivel than some women’s guilty pleasure.

In short, where humans were involved, bad things always happen. No arguments there or McDonald Trump will label those opposed as a shithole and give everyone fried chickens. The juicy thigh part.

After saving the file to the plans he was currently working on, he finally left the firm. He was an exception to logging out on the biometrics. Everyone else was lined up along the lobby, greeting him for the night. It was a small three-year-old firm, but everything had to start small anyway.

The Concrete World Designs housed a few architecture apprentices and engineering interns. The others were already licensed having varied engineering specialties, but most professionals who worked there were architects.

He found his way outside and took in the night’s chilly breeze. The city’s taillights dangled on his face as automobiles passed through. The security guard just said his goodbye at him when he took the sidewalk path and walked the distance towards the penthouse.

Along the way, something delectable caught his eyes and turned to glance. It happened for a split-second, but he was certain he saw the pretty lady who was by his office earlier. She disappeared into a taxi that drove off immediately. He didn’t take his eyes off the cab until it was gone before he continued to tread the path back home.

Damn. I still don’t know her name.

He didn’t possess a car. He didn’t find having one as something that was sustainable. In fact, all automobiles are not sustainable. They worsen the condition of the environment. He had gone to many seminars regarding Green Designs and Sustainable Development and even had enough bullshit in designing a parking building once because he can only imagine the carbon footprint it might build up.

Architects spoke of the degrading environment and the measures every designer needed to attain sustainability. Sure, they needed such luxury to travel lengths from one site to the other, or sometimes to impress their clients. To tell them they mean business, and to show them they have credit stashed away somewhere.

Because if you had professional titles such as Attorney, Doctor or Engineer, etc. attached to one’s name, it gave people the notion of wealth and reputation…right? You’d be lying if you didn’t agree. That’s what he always thought.

He saw something once from a social media post. It stated, "Can we teach our generation that a car is not a symbol of success and walking doesn't mean poverty."

Because what if those people just wanted the extra exercise? What if they wanted to be sustainable? So why would he need a car?

He can simply walk the distance a few blocks from the firm anyway, or sleep in the office. That, for him, was sustainable. He wanted to encourage walking. He could use the extra exercise anyway since he was always settled.

But that’s enough for cars and the issue of sustainability when he finally reached his flat after seventeen minutes of walking. He had his biometrics scanned then the doors slid open with a hiss. Before stepping inside, he felt a presence behind him.

When he turned to look, he was suddenly tackled by his neighbor. Arthuro embraced him tightly and felt himself unable to breathe. Arthuro loosened his grip, but his arms were still around Genon. “Hey, pretty boy.”

Oh god, here we go. Genon had to force a lopsided smile on this guy because if he didn’t, the price for his rent would triple. Arthuro was a person he didn’t want to bash opposingly. Especially because he was one of the many people in society waving the colorful banner of the eccentric.

“Hey…ugh…Arty, look, I’m really tired and I have these plans due on the weekend. Client needs it for presentation soon.” He said.

Arthuro’s smile dropped and narrowed his gaze. “You mean you can’t tonight?”

“Yep. Some other time maybe. Definitely not tonight.”

Arthuro let go of him and walked back to his quarters which was across from him. They were the only ones in the penthouse. He waved Genon a good night in a sassy fashion. “Fine, you’ll regret this, Xelsus. I know you will.”

“Of course.” Genon said before triple locking his door. He didn’t really like having dinner over at Arthuro’s.

The first time he did, they got him drunk and every person from the gay bar Arthuro worked at lap danced him. They stripped him off his clothes until the only thing left was his underwear.

The next morning was the throbbing aftermath of a hangover and he lay in Arthuro’s room, completely naked. He didn’t want to think what they did to him, making him scurry back to his flat with nothing but demented thoughts. He was panicking at that time and literally emptied his stomach for half the day over the thought.

Arthuro explained to him nicely that nothing happened and everything was just for the fun of a Friday night. That at least helped in making the throbbing subside, but not entirely.

After changing from his work clothes, he opened his home computer and clicked the cloud where he often saved the files from work. His eyes scanned the documents once. Then twice. He scrolled over the entire folder again but it seemed like something was amiss.

“Holy shit.” He said with furrowed brows because the plans he worked on for weeks weren’t there. The multi-million credits recreational and hotel project that would supply him eternal chocolates of a lifetime.


2. Vigorous Three O'clock Break

This must be some sort of demented bad romance the gods want me to experience.

Ravilein was fuming with embarrassment. She was pacing around the living room that appeared modern with touches of baroque in the typical style. Their modest two-storey house in the suburbs can be called a cozy retreat after a day’s long of work. She hasn’t changed from her work clothes either. She lived with her two brothers.

“Okay, who’s this guy?” Zyg, the older brother, basically observed her movements ever since she stormed in the house. At thirty-three, he was still an unmarried psychiatrist. Unlike Ravilein’s gradient purple colored hair, he was a natural brunet. They had the same orange marmalade eyes which appeared to be the dominant trait they shared. He was flipping through the channels.

“Cool, so Ravy’s finally lost it?” Carlin, their youngest brother who was in his second year of college, just happened to hear what Zyg said before disappearing into the kitchen. He was a carbon copy of Zyg but was younger looking.

There’s always a special bond between having two brothers when it came to the accounts of their sister’s unprecedented love. She couldn’t comprehend how they knew when something was up with her. She wanted to keep it to herself, but it seemed like Zyg often got the better out of her. If she knew better, he was probably using hypnosis right now.

She flopped down the couch beside him. Something felt odd when she did, and it felt weird somehow. She scrunched her brows.

Zyg looked intently at her after leaning forward in his seat. “What is it?”

“Ugh…” She blushed before heading to her room, “I’ll tell you later.”

She quickly headed for the bathroom and touched her belly. There was a weird sensation from inside her when she tried twisting her position on both sides. She heard something when she lifted a leg on the tub. Her eyes widened.

She reached down to the part that her thighs sandwiched together. Now, she doesn’t always do that except when it was her time of the stupid month, and she bled like all hell broke loose. When she reached her fingers out, she felt something was definitely stuck inside her. Yes, that part inside her.

She pulled it off and raised it to the angle of her face. She couldn’t be more mortified to see the alternative protection Genon used when he deflowered her. She can clearly see his man-fluids dancing side to side inside of the zip-lock bag. It was still fresh just like that three o’clock break. She wriggled it off her grasp in disgust that thumped on the tub.

“That jerk!” She exclaimed, and her face painted red all over. She headed for the lavatory and washed her hands. Like that wasn’t enough, she sanitized it twice and rubbed ethyl and isopropyl alcohol all over her arms.

She wanted to drain the memory of it away when she stripped off her clothes to take a bath. She remembered the zip-lock was still in it. She covered the site of it with one of her clothes before throwing it off somewhere she couldn’t see. She then let the warmth of the water soothe her.

When she headed for dinner, Zyg and Carlin were waiting for her over the dining table that was adjacent to the kitchen. Whoever prepared dinner, she knew it won’t disappoint because her brothers were good at what they do. Men were often the good cooks if they’re really onto it, and that was a fact.

Through the course of dinner, Zyg asked a few academic questions on the younger Narister brother before finally facing Ravilein. Her name sounded like a French pastry. “You gonna tell us what happened?”

Ravilein placed her utensils down the side of her plate. She paused for a moment and remembered what happened. “Someone from a design firm called me in to discuss a few structural details for a proposed project. When I met with the chief architect, he offered me a position in their office after the meeting. He said they could use one more engineer for their other projects since they don’t have that many in their firm. Then everything went woozy after talking to him, and—“

“He banged you.” Carlin interrupted after shoving a huge size of steak into his mouth.

“I’m not finished, Carl.” Ravilein snarled.

Silence followed between the siblings. Zyg just listened because it was his job to do so before saying anything. He was a good listener on good days. On bad times, he’d jump to conclusions and brush the topic aside.

Ravilein sighed. Genon was the type of guy who placed her in a dreamy state just looking at his yellow cat eyes. Architects like those shouldn’t be in a design firm. They should be locked in a fail-safe somewhere the world would never see because he was categorically unlawful to look at. She’d be a sinner just looking at that kind of ethereal-looking being.

Especially that damnable long blond hair. She cursed under her breath and remembered how he missed saying her name during that vigorous three o’clock break.

“After that, I just walked out on him.” She finished.

“So did you actually do it? In the office? His office?” Carlin asked, persistent in knowing like a prepubescent boy.

Zyg shushed his brother. He downed his glass before crossing his arms over his chest. “Did you accept the offer?”

If it was the offer of sex, she did. If it was the job offer, she didn’t really have that much time to think about it because of the distraction. “Not yet. I told you, I walked out on him after that. So yes, Carl, we did it.”

Who the fuck does sex during working hours? That’s so unethical. Carlin had to stop himself from saying that. He shrugged after finally knowing then took his plate over the sink and disappeared to the living room to play the latest installment of Naughty Dog.

Ravilein saw the slightest twitch on Zyg’s lips after her declaration that she was no longer a virgin. “I know I kept telling you guys that I won’t give up my v-card until my wedding day, but…”

“Did he hurt you?” Zyg asked.

It all depended on his definition of hurt. “At first, yeah. But not really…I kinda gave in.”

Zyg raised a brow and leaned back in his seat then sighed. “Huh, well he must be something then. I’ve never known anyone to crack that hard shell of yours. Not even your past ‘relationships.’ To be honest, it surprised me that a total stranger outdid it.”

She knew he was right because she was a veteran in playing hard-to-get and all the bullshit that came with it. In the blink of an eye and the alluring discussion of a single soul, that shell cracked open. For a moment, it made her feel womanly and beautiful.

“What do you plan to do about the offer?” Zyg asked.

Ravilein knew she can’t play freelance forever and eventually had to find a stable job in a firm somewhere. As good timing would allow it, it was laying right there. She just had to grab the opportunity before it was gone forever.

One of the good things about being in that firm was the fact that seeing the chief architect everyday would drive her off a lazy schedule. If he was onto her, she’d take a chance with him and push the limits further. Instead of hating him, she was determined to claim him instead.

She can’t wait for tomorrow to start. She knew she had to apologize for leaving a tainted mark behind. “I’ll take it, and I’ll take him with it.”


3. If You Love Her


4. A Lion's Den of Eccentric Lionesses


5. One Afternoon Stand


6. Love, Hate and Heartbreaks


7. Bite Her Honey


8. I’m His Boyfriend


9. Love Fucking Bites


10. He’s Not My Boyfriend


11. Work First, Romance Later


12. Drawing Her Like One of His French Girls


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