I'm standing in a field. I see grass, lots of it, different kinds, different heights. I see flowers, some are in bunches, some just randomly blooms, but the lots of it are daffodils and dandelions.

It's bright, a late afternoon brightness; shades of light yellow to warm yellows. The rays of sun glint under my lashes. But everything is quite blurry.

Then a boy pops out from the side corner of my eyes. He is running to the middle of the field, then he bents down, I reckon, to pick up flowers. He turns around, I can't see him clearly but I can make him out smiling, then he blows the dandelion seed puffs into the air. I'm getting a better glimpse, he's smiling in awe, happy.

I hear the word 'Winter' then a man comes out from the side of my vision. He's wearing flannel long sleeves, dark jeans and brown boots. A woman in daffodils printed asymmetrical rayon dress sprints to catch the man, then they walk unhurriedly towards the little boy. The man picks up the boy, all their backs on me.

I can't see the little boy now, but his one arm drops on the back shoulder of the man. I narrow my eyes to get a better sight of them but only one spot clears - the boy's arm, on his wrist, he has the same birthmark in a shape of a christmas tree like mine. But mine is on my upper back. I wonder who is this kid.

I wake up. With few blinks, I'm able to look at the digital clock on my bedside table. It's 6:30 am, "Shit!"

It wasn't a serious shit, it's Saturday. But I am half an hour late than my usual wake-up time. If RJ wakes up without food prepared for him, he'd make it on his own. It's good, he's got some independence in him, but usually he would leave a massive mess in the kitchen.

And right, I am!

"RJ, you didn't have to take out all of our spices to make your vegetable stir fry! You don't need to use all of it. Did you?"

After brushing my teeth and freshening up, I find RJ in the kitchen making a mess.

He shakes his head no to answer my question. "I want everything prepared in front of me before I do something," he rebuts.

"And what is this mess?" I see on one part of the kitchen counter some broken eggs mess.

"I was gonna make an omelette. Then, I thought how cool it would be to learn how to crack eggs on the rim of the bowl, like how chefs do on the cooking shows you watch," his expression is matter-of-factly but unapologetic.

"Why are you cooking omelettes? You don't eat eggs." I start cleaning up some of the mess.

"I don't. But you do. You always cook for me, so I wanted to cook for you this time. Obviously, I failed." Now his face is sad. I mellow.

I walk towards him, he is standing on his kitchen stool, stirring his stir fry that looks rather over-cooked now. I turn off the fire, "You didn't fail. I just, haven't taught you how to cook omelettes yet. Ok. I'll, uh, fix this up and we'll cook together. I'll teach you how to cook omelettes for me, the way I want it, and then another one, the way mom wants it. But, I'll teach you first how to crack the eggs on the rim of the bowl. Good?"

"Cool!" he says excitedly. I pinch his nose.

Pretty much everything RJ knows that he doesn't necessarily learn from school, he learned from me. Aside from the fact that he's a very curious kid and asks a lot of questions, I try to teach him everything that our dad taught me, or at least those that I can teach him with our current life situation.

The promise I made to my dad about loving everything he loved and even more? RJ is the biggest part of it. I remember it vividly the day my mom and I did a surprise gender reveal to my dad. It was the happiest I have ever seen him. I thought he would finally cry, but I guess, it was too intense that he could only cry internally, no tears.

I wasn't jealous or anything that he was that happy for a new kid, or that it's a boy. I guess, we all wanted a baby boy so much that time. And I had a personal code or like a mantra before, not that I was consciously aware of it, but if my dad loves it, I love it too. And I knew he loved RJ so much before he was even born.

So it hurts me with every bone in my body the he didn't get to meet his 'little monster', as he hoped to call him someday. Hurts me even more that RJ never had the chance to experience the bestest, the coolest, the strongest and the bravest dad in the world.

So, on that one gloomy afternoon, I was holding the 6-month old RJ in my arms, I made a promise to him and dad that it is going to be my life's mission to have him experience dad through me. I'm not as daredevil as our dad, I suppose, but I always have hope that I am doing a good job for RJ. At times, he is a little monster indeed.

"Come on Steve Jobs! We're gonna play catch today. Ate bought us a new toy!"

I see RJ in his dragonball t-shirt and his favorite summer shorts running out from our side porch, our labrador follows him excitedly.

It's 8:30am now. RJ just finished his 7:45am cartoon; my mom woke up half an hour ago and went about her own Saturday routines while I was watering our plants in our backyard. And now, I sit on our side porch listening to my playlist of american country music while I read a random novel I picked from a book sale. It's a worn down, discoloured, probably third or fourth, or 10th-hand already, and by an unknown author; I like this kind of books, the forgotten ones, left-overs, unwanted or overused.

I startle when I see RJ trips and fall to the ground while he run along with Steve Jobs, but he nudges it off like nothing happened. I shake my head. If he thinks he's being protective of me, well, I am even more of him. I can't help it, my eyes would instinctively follow him around, like dad used to do to me. Mom would sometimes say I am becoming more of a mother to RJ than she is. I don't agree tho, she's as excellent a mom to RJ as she is to me.

RJ is a very active kid. He would run, jump or climb up something, anything, fearlessly. It's my fault, I taught him to be adventurous and be fearless, and I told him he's got nothing to worry because I'm always watching him. I'd catch him if he fall, I promised intently, when he went up a tree two years back.

It's a good thing that mom bought a pretty big home when we moved here almost nine years ago. We are in a corner lot, and our house is bigger than the other houses of the same model design as ours. My mom also bought the three adjacent empty lots surrounding ours to give us more space, now, we have a garden lawn on the side of our house, a spacious front yard and a huge backyard. This made our house with the biggest lot area in our neighborhood. I bet she was thinking that it would make our move to a new home and a new country a bit less challenging.

We used to live in a 35,000 acres ranch home. We had two lakes in our land. Compared to that, now, we live in a match box. But it's a beautiful match box. The house design is almost similar to our ranch home, a fusion of contemporary and victorian design. We didn't change its original light yellow exterior paint, it used to look cheesy, but it grew on us - the yellow paint - now it looks pleasant, lively, and heartful. At first, I hated mom's decision to move, or more like, run away and leave our former lives. But seeing RJ grow up this happy, it was worth it.

"Ate! Are you going to Mang Kanor later?" RJ calls out, his tired ass is on the grass lawn. Steve Jobs got himself busy sniffing something on the other side of the road. The houses in our neighborhood are open, there are no private fences or gates, similar to those american suburban neighborhoods.

"Thinking about it. Kuya Denmark texted, it's a slow day today, just change oil and a tire change. Maybe," I answer.

"If you're going, I'm coming with you. Can we bring Steve Jobs?"

"We can't. You know we can't. It's too.. pesky. It's not a park. We can go to the park, the one outside the gate, later, say 4pm?"

"Sure. But, I'll go with you to Mang Kanor too," he insists. Then he stands up and runs to the road to catch Steve Jobs' attention again.

RJ grew fond of auto mechanics too. Well, I taught him everything dad taught me. Although, he's not so fond of cars like I do. He's more into the tools and the internal mechanisms of the cars. He loves Transformers movies, but not because of the cool cars; the transformation from car to robot was the coolest for him because he sees the engines and the tubes move and come out into the the robot's frame. He would rewind the scenes over and over again whenever we watch it on Netflix for the 100th time.

"RJ, watch out for the car, ok?" I warn my little brother as he advances on me while we bike towards the gate.

It's 2pm now. It is pleasantly cool today, I guess because of the impending typhoon, tomorrow, I think. The sky is blue and the sun is covered by big clouds. After lunch, I decide to head out to Mang Kanor's, most probably just hang-out, unless of course he asks me to work on something. Like at the pub, I can also just come and go there for work whenever I can. But I do have a time stamp like the other mechanics, it records my in and out and I'm paid by the hours too every end of the month. I also have a uniform and my own set of handy tools.

The security guard of our village conveniently let us pass through the vehicle exit before he drops the barricade and turns up the metal ramp from the ground. Our security is tight; likely because a senator and a couple of A-list celebrities live in our neighborhood. We normally have to go the proper walking entrance/exit so they get a better shot on CCTV for anyone coming in and out. I am thankful we got a pass this time because we would have to be off the bike and walk out the gate. Very inconvenient, especially for short little RJ.

"Ate, why do you still go out with Bench? I thought you broke up?" RJ randomly asks, irked, while he picks out dandelion seed puffs. We decided to take a stop at the 'Daffodil and Dandelion' park, as I now name it.

"Go out? Broke up? Where are you getting that?"

His face dulls as he blows the dandelion seed puffs, "Don't treat me like a kid, ate. Nine year olds hear everything. I heard him last night when he dropped you off. He asked you if you'll go hang-out again sometime. And by the way, I told you I don't like you taking a ride in his motorcycle, it's dangerous! You broke up already! I heard you -- cry."

I am just amused at the seriousness of his manners, "Eavesdropping much?" I tease.

"It's not eavesdropping if I can hear you."

"Well, for your information, we're friends. Bench and I, are really good friends. So, we can hang-out and there is nothing romantic about him asking me that. And again, like I said before, we didn't break up. He was never my boyfriend. And if I did cry, it's not always because I was hurt."

He scrunches up his face, confused. Then his face dulls again, "Oh well, girls," he shrugs. He picks his fourth or fifth dandelion seed puffs.

I am surprised in wonderment, "What - oh well, girls? - What do you mean by that?"

His expression is matter-of-factly. "Girls, women, always in denial. First to assume, last to admit. You are the most complicated species."

I am appalled in bewilderment, "That! -- is completely untrue! It's quite sexist too, you know. Men are just as complicated. You always say things you don't really mean. You make promises you can't keep up. And you ---" I sigh, "Who told you that RJ? Surely it didn't come from San Goku or Squidward, hmm?"

"Bench Panelo."

"He told you that?!"

"He didn't. And for the sake of clarification, I didn't eavesdrop. I was video recording you on my phone while you were working at the bar. Turned out, Bench and his boys was somewhere close and my video catched their voices and their conversation. I had my earphones on, so, again, I couldn't have eavesdropped. But when I watched it, I heard their conversation."

I am intrigued, but I shrug the fact he was video recording me. I wonder, tho, if that is what Bench thinks of me, "So.. what else were in the conversation?" I ask carefully.

The little eavesdropper raises his brows and looks at me with intent, "You call me an eavesdropper when you're a shameless gossiper?"

Ok, he got me. I'm not enquiring further. We walk along side our bikes towards the fountain in the park, RJ likes to tease and disrupt the coi fishes in it.

Bench was the first guy, or I better should say, man that piqued my interest with a curious attraction. His tempting sex appeal is given, but there is so much more to him. He's smart - life smart - he's optimistic, he has a can-do attitude, he's selfless, thoughtful, and generous. His dangerous appeal with his messy black hair, his black leather jacket, his motorcycle and his air of dark mystery is just a façade, because he's gentle, affectionate, and insufferably hopeless romantic. The truth of the matter is that, he's a kind of guy that don't exist in today's world. But I did fell in love with him.

The night I surrendered my heart to his mystery - I mean my purity to his immensity - started because of a drunk at the pub who tried to hit on me. He was lewd and offensive. I knew, Bench was hearing it from his station, hell, everyone was hearing it, I supposed. But I was never one needed of a rescue. While my dad was always being attentive of me, he never once needed to rescue me from an impending danger. I guess, I was born smart that way, I know when to be careful, or that maybe because I always listened to dad when he say don't and no.

I was sixteen, I just had my student's driving permit. I was quite an adult already. The drunk man was not acting on anything at the beginning. He was just talking, making lewd comments about my body. Some male waiters wanted to intervene but I signed them not. He's just drunk after all, I've seen worse in this pub. But then he started making filthy facial expressions, and his words became more vulgar and offensive. I would glance at Bench and his expression was hard and unfriendly as he watches the drunk man. A major mistake that the drunk man did; he tried to reach me at the bar while I was making a long island iced tea. I swiftly grabbed the knife I used for cutting lemons and pointed it at the drunk man. I bet, everyone was stupefied, horrified even.

"Do you want me to get you a taxi, sir? Because if you drive, you're gonna die. I bet it's going to be a very ugly death," I said casually but with a fierce tone while pointing the knife at the drunk's face. He was obviously frightened.

Everyone started coming to the rescue, including Bench. But I dropped the knife back to my counter, but the drunk man went stiff.

"It's ok," I told everyone, "I think Mr. Curved Dick here would want me to escort him now into a cab safely. Right, sir? I think you had enough for the night."

He just nodded. He did say he has a thick, curved dick that I would enjoy to feel.

And it was done. The drunk man seemed to have returned to his decent self, at least a portion of it when I called him a cab; he didn't apologised tho. When I came back in, everyone gave me a slow clap. I saw Bench standing on my bar station with an impressed grin on his face. That drunk however, was forever banned in our establishment. I saw him once, again, in the next pub, drunk, again.

"I can't believe it. The other bars around here? They got hot and sexy girls waiting and bartending. But they ain't got a girl like you. You burned your hand in the kitchen, and you still continued cooking. You carry tanks of draft beers, cases of bottled beers. You fix lightbulbs, motorcycles and a broken sink! Hell, you even clean vomit-covered toilets. And then a drunk hit on you and you pointed a knife at him, telling him he'd die an ugly death if he doesn't let you get him a cab to go home safely?" Bench expressed.

I didn't realise he'd been impressed at me like that, "So, what, I'm not hot and sexy?" I jest teasingly.

I was wearing a soft, a bit loose light green t-shirt, and a fit cut-off denim jeans with my favorite overused sneakers. My wavy highlighted chestnut-brown-salon-colored hair was up in a messy ponytail. My mom forced me once, in her typical kind manner, to pamper myself in a salon. She regretted it when I chose to get my hair colored, she loved my natural black hair. I've been coloring my hair since.

Bench took a provacative eye sweep of my body, from head to toe and back, "You're.. you are more. They got hot and sexy alright, but ain't none a girl like you. You got that beautiful, born with a kind of thing that comes so natural. I don't know, I'm falling in love."

We both were. Did. Almost.

Now, RJ and I arrive at Mang Kanor's Auto Repair shop, and yes, it's a slow day today.

"Hey, RJ! How's it goin'?" kuya Norway asks as my little brother and I enters the Client Lounge.

"Anything cool today kuya Norway?" RJ excitedly asks. I see Mang Kanor in his office buried in files and in his computer.

Kuya Norway, since there are no clients waiting around the shop, is topless. His lean toned body is covered in some grease. He has a smooth ruddy complexion that highlights the tones of his muscles. He is wearing a faded, old-looking cargo shorts that hangs very low below his defined pelvis. His front is hairless, definitely all the way inside it. I know, because I've seen him naked before.

"Not much kid. Go check Bay 7, I think Denmark is about to start doing a Cooper." The topless greased man takes a white towel on one of the couches to wipe himself some.

"Oooh! A mini cooper! Ate?" RJ asks for my permission to head out first.

I am waiting for Mang Kanor to glance at me and let me know if I should time-in today. He usually let me just time-in even there is not much to do. But I would always politely wait for his go signal.

"Ok, go. Just! -- be careful, RJ, Ok?"

"Yup, yup!" He sprints onto the garages' entryway and almost bumps with kuya France.

"Hey, kid!"

"Hello po, kuya France!"

RJ gives a quick smile after his response greeting and is gone into the garage bays. Kuya France smiles and shakes his head fondly of RJ, and he walks in to the Client Lounge, "Cool shirt, Mecky!" he jests.

I am wearing a loose white t-shirt, front-tucked on my denim shorts, with a statement word on its front saying 'Cool Shirt'.

I smile and laugh under my nose, "And you're -- No shirt, kuya." We both giggle.

Like kuya Norway, the next man who just came in is also half-naked. His skin is lighter than cinnamon, sweating, but about the same muscle built as his brother who's now sitting on the couch, busy on his phone but still greasy. Kuya France is wearing our blue zip-up jumper uniform, but the top is dressed down, the sleeves are knot-tied on his backside, its pants hang very low below his pelvis and the end of the fully-opened zipper is just shy above the thing that should be covered. His very thin pubes are completely visible, as well as the hints of his bulge's shape - and he never likes wearing underwears. I know, because, for countless of times, I've seen him taking off all his clothes and changing into fresh new ones, he's always on commando.

Kuya France sits beside kuya Norway. Then, finally, Mang Kanor glances at me, "Oh, hey -- Yes! Time-in, Mecky. I've got a job for you, if you're ok with it?"

I was already holding my time card while waiting for him to glance. I time-in, "Sure, po! What is it?"

"It's not a car, Mecky. It's a sink! My boys can fix a broken car engine, but none can fix a broken sink. Do you mind? You're great at anything broken."

I laugh dryly, "Sure, po. Which sink?"

"The staff shower," he says.

The staff shower is located at the far end of Bay 7. I've never showered there, ever. I can't. I am the only female person working in this place, and their shower has no cubicles, or doors, so it is impossible for me to take a shower there. It's a bit rectangular room; half of it contains several locker cabinets upon entering the doorless entrance, several benches set in the middle, there's a wide wall mirror with a long sink counter on one side, and further inside is the open shower area with twelve showers mounted on the walls.

"Sure, po. Will do."

I decide not to get into my uniform and instead, head out to Bay 7. I am always ready to get dirty, despite my white t-shirt today.

I see RJ dropped onto the floor curiously watching kuya Denmark underneath the hood of the mini cooper. I bet he's asked a thousand questions already, but thankfully, kuya Denmark is always fond of answering each of his questions.

I come closer, wanting to say hi to kuya Denmark. Amongst his brothers, the two of us are closest to the same wavelength. He loves american country music too, and green is his color.

Half of kuya Denmark's upper body is underneath the car, obviously shirtless, but I am very much aware that he has the best defined muscles, bulkier than his brothers, his chest is firmer, and his big round pink nipples have a succulent allure to it. And I am not surprised, he also likes to go commando. While his upper body is now hidden under engine compartment, his lower one is out in the open. His knees are folded up and stretched wide. He is wearing his favorite green army shorts with a thick, stiff, wide rims.

From my point of view, I can see, with very clear distinctions, everything that should be hidden inside his shorts. It is very smooth too.

The clouds must have opened up a bit, a ray of sun hits into kuya Denmarks lower body and his copper colored skin illuminates tastefully from his neatly hairy legs up to the hairless parts inside his shorts. It's not an unfamiliar sight tho, I've seen it the most - erect, hard and pulsing.

I decide not to bother these two boys anymore. They are very much engaged in a conversation. I head out to the staff shower and I make my myself known, "Hello there. Mecky coming in. Anyone naked?" I call-in jestingly.

Kuya Finland pops out into the open entrance, drops of water are dripping along the lines of his chest down to his thirsty toned abs. His left hand is holding fistfully onto the lock of his towel in his front. I see hints of his dangling silhouette. "Hey, Mecks," he gives me a curious and confused expression.

Unlike his three brothers, kuya Finland has a light, milky skin. They are all pure-blooded brothers, but he said, he's got most of his mother's genes. He's relatively tall, but he's shorter than his brothers who are all about the same height. He has a neatly trimmed beard, neat hairs in his forearms and legs, and now, wet hairs in his chest and down his navel. I would wonder often if their mother is hairy too.

"Err, the sink is broken? Mang Kanor asked me to fix it," I answer his quizzical knitted forehead.

"Ah. Yes," he laughed, "We are all way too stupid, we can't fix a sink. Come, it's just me and uncle Roger."

"Uncle your ass!" I hear kuya Roger who throws a face towel to kuya Finland coyly.

Kuya Roger is, truthfully, their uncle, he is their mother's youngest brother. But kuya Denmark and kuya France are older than him. He's sort of, in a way, became their fifth brother. He also looks a lot like them, muscled and erotic.

I enter the shower room, it's moisty. Mang Kanor had the hot shower recently installed, hence, the moist now. I see kuya Roger standing in front of his locker, spraying deodorant on his underarm. Unlike kuya Finland, he is half-clothed. While kuya Finland has a more defined muscle tones, almost as kuya Denmark, kuya Roger has softer tones of lean muscles. He's lean fit alright, and it suits his boy next door appeal.

"What's wrong with it?" I ask as I open the cupboard under the sink.

"Water is weak. My pee is better than the water coming out of it. All of it," kuya Finland jests.

"Denmark and France tried to fix it. I think sinks don't exist in Denmark and France. They broke it even more," kuya Rogers adds. We all laugh at the humor.

I decide to check the main pipe at the back, outside of the shower room. It is obvious to me that there is something wrong, probably something stuck in one of the pipes. I come back inside to investigate further. Kuya Roger has already left.

I see kuya Finland sitting in one of the benches, his one foot is up on the edge of the bench. He is cutting his foot nails very, very, very carefully. Not of being vain, I suppose, but his three brothers once teased him of having a phobia about nail cutters. Since his focus is fixed on his foot nails, I reckon, he became oblivious that he's only wearing a towel. I have a full view of everything from the mirror, all of it - soft, thick, long, light-pinkish and hanging low. Like in the other parts of his body, he's also hairy down there. But I know, for a fact, that he regular trims his soft pubes, about once a week - ok, fine - he trims every Saturday.

These five, regularly naked, exotically handsome men awaken the dragon in me more than four years ago. At thirteen, I was innocent little ranch girl no more. They are the very reason why now, I have a dirty little secret.