But then again, welcome to the 21st century. Goodbye to the neat lines that contained the black-and-white traits of the animo and the anima, and a big hello to the rise of the homosexual, the transvestite and the "all and nothing" bisexual. Of course, this is all well and good as the globe makes its way to true pluralism. Here, here to the birth of a gender-less and non-sexist world (unisex locker rooms for everyone!). Unless, of course, you’re E-Male.
For the past few months, E-Male had been puzzled by a conundrum he came across  or most likely heard about a heart-broken guy who lost in a Crying Game. Thus, E-Male must now wax philosophical about gender integrity, pontificate against the "corruption of sexual orientation" and about surviving through it all with all the machismo that a man could muster. Let’s call the hapless dude Billy and the object of his sexual fantasies Andrea.
Andrea is a woman with long enough legs to raise a flag and with enough sex-appeal to turn the lights on in any Luzon-wide blackout. Well, this guy Billy supposedly fired off his favorite pick-up line ("Excuse me, saan ang banyo?") in a local gym south of anywhere sometime a few months ago. Although his true intentions were to confirm an anonymous tip that Maui Taylor did some stationary running there, Billy ended up doing some stationary running on his own.
Andrea, according to rumors, was fantastic, bordering on the ravishing. She was sexy, charming, sexy, intelligent (to a remarkable degree considering that she was female), sexy, single, sexy, sexy and sexy. Although "sexy" was more than enough for any dude to fall for, she knew a surprising lot about cars, sports, politics and cars. And that was it. Billy was actually enjoying a conversation with a human being capable of giving him a mental orgasm.
The days that followed bordered on the stuff of dreams and the Twilight Zone. Andrea and Billy went out without the awkward silences and polite curtsies that riddle first dates. They made sexist jokes and talked about the PBA standings, the latest John Woo flick and America’s added political pressure on Iraq. She never whined about the night being too late, or about being too tired. She was always game. She was always ready to go. And she was never one to bring up the "relationship talk." They went out to billiards and to bowling, and Andrea meshed astonishingly well with Billy’s clique of jologs friends. It was like she was one of the guys. And that was the problem.
Andrea had a body to sell your soul for  and most of it largely in part to her hours at the gym, her hours on the court (both tennis and basketball) and her fine genetic material. Of course, Billy found out about that a little too late. And after their first (and final) "friendly" game of one-on-one basketball, the game ended with Billy struggling for breath on the cold floor of the court, with Andrea pulling him to his feet. Don’t ask about the score  Andrea won.
And after a night out with the guys, Andrea ended up driving poor Billy home, seeing that he wound up utterly wasted by the 12th shot of tequila  though Andrea was clocking somewhere around her 20th. And although Andrea was raring to go out for a second round the next night, Billy was keener on just staying home and cuddling on the couch  still nursing off that 24-hour hangover.
By the end of the first month, the supposedly perfect relationship (if one could call it that since the "relationship talk" was never brought up) was on a first-class trip to nowhere. Andrea pushed all the buttons on this flight, and Billy was just in it for the ride. Soon enough, Billy felt like popping the "relationship talk" himself, though Andrea seemed happy enough to carry on without any formality whatsoever.
His manhood was under siege. A completely uncalled for assault on his essence as a human being. Andrea was the man in the relationship, and Billy the subservient woman. He felt violated. Disrespected. Ignored. Worthless. All those funny woman feelings. Was Billy any less of man? Surely he couldn’t have been, he thought, as he looked down on the bulge in his pants. But as the days inched on by, it dawned on Billy that his little winky said little in testifying about who was the man in the relationship. And as it started to turn out, it surely wasn’t him.
If this were a few centuries early, Andrea would’ve been burned at the stake and E-Male consoled for being bewitched by her devilish charms. But things are different in a multi-flavored popcorn world, and the witches are considered sexy and the bewitched boyfriends hardly consoled for anything less than their own suicide. The art of manliness has undeniably changed through the years, tarnished by sexual freedom, unisex fashion and plastic surgery. Soon enough, the concept of man will be nothing more than a mere ideology of old society, quashed by feminism and sporty females who watch ESPN and gulp  break world weightlifting records as did a North Korean lass in Busan.
By the second month, however, things had gone very sour in the ever-evolving Andrea and Billy love story. And as the E-Male, half-drunk and all, waded through the smoking crowds of some bar, hoping to con Andrea into going home before 4 a.m  he eventually found her, sexy body and all, in an interesting but compromising situation with her female friend  Anna.
Although this would’ve been invitingly kinky under any other occasion, some nagging feeling in any guy’s stomach told him that it wasn’t. A big chunk of it could’ve been attributed to the idea that Anna had over 150 pounds over Andrea, and had muscles the size of watermelons. And that isn’t even to mention her sweat glands. So much for the "corruption of sexual orientation." But the sight of Andrea finally coming clean in front of his eyes comforted Billy in a sadly happy sort of way.
E-Male, of course, was incensed. He offered to give resbak to Billy. Heck, he even considered issuing a fatwa and nearly unleashed every macho mujaheedin against Andrea and Anna. After all, on behalf of Billy and the rest of the male species, getting one-upped by a lesbian is too much for one man’s machismo to take or even tolerate.
But then again, Andrea wasn’t truly a man, nor was she truly a woman. And as Billy probably vomited his dinner on the gutter after witnessing Andrea’s kissing bout, he ought to be thankful still for the little bulge in-between his pants and for the reason to finally stop going to the gym. Soon he’d find the strength to recover his ego, and find renewed interest in sports, cars and politics.
It’s just too bad that Billy didn’t get to sleep with her. Touché.