Walk Of Ambivalence
Long-Awaited First Night in Angeles City
On the previous night, a certain "Danielle", of a place called Bottoms, had given me a most wonderful, private, personal welcome to the Philippines in my room in Makati. Now, here on my first evening in Angeles City, a mild sense of desperation was stalking me. I'd hit the streets several hours ago, and visited several clubs (or gogos, or a-gogos, or bars, or whatever the hell all these crazy places are called), but I still hadn't hit upon a satisfying mix of warmth, openness, happiness, and appearance that would be the woman with whom I would awaken on my first morning, here in my own El Dorado. Danielle, world-class GRO that she was, set the bar very high, and the girls I'd met so far in AC just weren't measuring up. But it was now past 11:00 PM, and my lack of sleep was catching up with me; by this time I'd had maybe four or five hours of sleep out of the past fifty-five. I resigned myself to stop seeking Nirvana. I even considered returning to Lollipop to take Jenny. (Yes, that Jenny!)
My experiences here in the Philippines were strengthening my emotional, feeling, reactionary side, but present circumstances called for my bread-and-butter analytical side: I needed a plan. Going from place to place, settling in a little at each to get a good look at the girls, is time consuming, and time and energy are what I'm running a little short on. I could conserve both by staying in one place. I'd lowered my standards a little, but I would never consider taking "just anyone": I still had to find a good balance of desirable appearance and warm personality. The more common choice of attire hastily despatches ambiguities concerning desirable appearance. So, I think to myself, use the first-hand knowledge I've gained so far to choose the best place to maximize opportunity within the appearance factor. Then, weed through the better-looking girls at that place, until I find a seemingly appropriate overnight companion. Seems like a good plan. Of the seven places I'd visited so far in AC, Genesis presented the highest number of girls of acceptably good appearance. Back there I go.
The Inverse Scarlet Letter
Genesis was still quite crowded when I returned. As I was being shown to a seat at the bar, I spotted one of the dancers I'd admired during my previous visit there. She was now sitting at the bar, and not with a customer, however, she was rather far away. I tried to get her attention, but she was getting up, and starting to walk away, toward the back. A lady near her saw me trying to get her attention, and asked me, with her eyes, if I wanted her assistance. With my eyes I answered "yes", and looked directly at my choice. The lady got the message, and very soon the young dancer comes out, and over to me. She takes the adjacent barstool, as I offer her a lady drink. She had very long, thick, coarse, black hair, and light skin. She is a little taller than average, with a decent face, and very thin. Not ideal, but sexy and cute enough to take out for long-time.
As we sat and talked, she was very nice, but there was no spark. The chemistry between us was only moderate; I was hoping for much more. I attributed this partly to her youth: she seemed a bit uncomfortable, I got the feeling that maybe she isn't too accustomed to entertaining. She's moderate but acceptable in both appearance and warmth. If she gives really good answers to difficult questions, she's still a possibility. I'm hopeful that she'll warm a little more.
I ask her her age, and she tells me she's eighteen (probably true).
Next question: "Are you a cherry girl?"
A shy and retiring "No" was her answer.
She wore her license prominently, as most of the girls do, clipped to her bikini. I thought I'd spotted, out of the corner of my eye, what I like to call the "inverse scarlet letter" on her license. (All "entertainers" in Angeles City must be licensed. To maintain that license they must undergo weekly clinical screening. If a girl's virtue is intact at the time her license is issued [ahem, sorry, meant "hymen" – these girls, by-and-large, are Roman Catholic, you know], the license is issued with a prominent red "V" in the upper left-hand corner.) I looked at her license, and it was there. She saw me look at the license, but with a distinctly sad smile, and turning away, she assured me she was "not cherry".
This young girl's false bravado could not mask the embarrassment and shame openly broadcast by her body and her voice. She had lost her virginity, and probably her innocence, while working as a prostitute in a bar. Now, I was beginning to lose my innocence: I shamefully felt, deeply, a hidden cost of this "paradise". In spite of her embarrassment and shame, she still wanted, probably rather needed, to be barfined. I set aside the spiritual poison I'd uncovered, burying it, ignoring it. It would have to come out later, but not now. I asked if she would stay with me long-time, and she said no, she'd have to leave by 4:00 AM (the distinct sign of having a boyfriend, I would later learn). Despite her beautiful hair and skin, this young, brave, still-partially-innocent girl was not the girl for me. May God bless her and protect her.
After a few minutes, she was on her way back to where she'd been going when I arrived. I went CR (that's "Comfort Room", for the uninitiated), and on the way out noticed a vacant couch seat, more comfortable than my barstool and with
a much better view of the whole stage. I asked a waitress if it was available, and she invited me to sit there. I watched the thirty to forty girls on stage, when I resumed interest in another one I'd seen and taken note of before, #510.
Unlike most of the other girls, she wore her number on her bikini top, clearly visible to anyone looking at her face. She was tall, with very long, coarse, black hair with highlights, and great posture. She looked like she was having fun dancing
on stage, displaying a maturity and composure that most of the girls lacked. I summoned a waitress, and soon #510 was sitting next to me, for a lady drink and evaluation. She had a nice rounded derriere, and very firm thighs and stomach. Her face
was a little plain, not especially pretty, but nice, with a slight but distinct scar over her right eye. Unlike most of the girls, she used very little makeup; she could have made herself look much more striking had she wanted to. This enticing
lady was notably taller, and a little older, than most of the Filipinas. The chemistry between us was good; I was very comfortable with her. I soon posed some difficult questions, and she gave all the right answers. Her AC-style, all-inclusive
barfine was P1,500; easy decision – this was my girl for my first night in AC.
Night with #510
She changed quickly, soon returning in a synthetic stretch-fabric, colorful, short dress. We exit Genesis, and I tell her we can call a car from the hotel. She says she doesn't mind walking, and she meant it: she was perfectly comfortable and at ease as we slowly walked toward my hotel, ABC. Suddenly, out on the street, I realized I hadn't paid attention, and I couldn't remember her name. Embarrassed, I asked, a second time, as we were walking. I guess it was my fatigue, but for some reason, I soon forgot, again. Unlike the Seinfeld episode (American TV), it wasn't funny, but it didn't really matter. As we were walking, I asked about her life, and she explained that she is away from her family, and away from her child. She hadn't known about this area, Fields Avenue. A friend of hers, knowing of her economic necessity (and apparently recognizing her potential for success in the venue) told her about it, and she came.
She moved with a distinct air of confidence and composure. What I'd recognized in her while I watched her onstage was genuine, and carried through everything she did. As we were walking into ABC, we passed the steps leading up to the street-side rooms. She was no stranger to the place: she led the way out through the courtyard and around the pool to the rear elevator. Shortly after arriving at my room, we showered together. The walk-in shower was easily large enough to comfortably accommodate a foreigner and two average-sized (or three moderately-sized) Filipinas. She washed me as if she were washing a child: mechanically, efficiently, with a firm touch, not sensually.
Now clean, she stood before me. We casually conversed as I kissed, caressed, and took immense pleasure from her sexy body. This 30-year-old Filipina stood about 5'8", was about 37B-26-35, weighing I'd guess around 128 lbs. She warmed and opened more and more as time went on. Her mix of a sexy body, confidence, and composure made her thoroughly sexy in both body and spirit. She calmly tells me she can speak Japanese, because she used to work in Japan as an entertainer. She describes how she cannot continue that work now, because they cancelled all of the contracts with Filipinas.
Soon brimming with desire, it was time for her, figuratively, to draw me to the precipice. I lay down on the bed, and she commenced to serve, as promised. Soon, she very methodically prepared to push me off that precipice, getting on for CG. She exuded confidence and power: she was big and strong, on the inside and on the outside. It was calm and slow, but very deep, both physically, and spiritually. This is what I was seeking, what I am always seeking: she knowingly, willingly, perhaps even joyfully, was branding my soul.
After this I knew I was, unfortunately, done for the night. By this time I was running on empty: I'd had no sound, restful sleep in about sixty hours. This woman was very sexy: tall, straight, broad shoulders, slim waist and hips, firm legs, wonderful hair, very shapely breasts (albeit small), and a firm torso. I was disappointed that I was so tired, because there was so much there to enjoy.
Now it was time for precious pillow talk, yielding the balance of intimacy: I have sought and felt spiritual intimacy with this beautiful stranger through sexual activity. Now I desire the matching intellectual intimacy – meaningful exchange that adds great, sweet depth to our brief time together. We lie together, strangers, strangely joined, in the now-darkened room. I invited her to share the circumstances of her life….
Paraphrase from Terminator 2 (in Linda Hamilton's voice):
"****** listened while #510 laid it all down. Poverty. Calamity…the reasons for Fields Avenue. It's not every day that you find out your desires are responsible for thousands of broken hearts. He took it pretty well, considering…."
#510 described betrayal, flood, and poverty. The betrayal was both money and love, and very severe. She recounted instances of infidelity, and secrecy, and their consequences. It hurt her very deeply, and was a factor forcing her into these circumstances. I had never seen the pain of betrayal, the result of calamity, and the grind of poverty so clearly. She cried, I cried. I am forever indebted to her for her open, effective sharing of pain, sadness, and bitterness immeasurably deeper than I have ever known. Her incredible strength allowed her to be so open, to share so deeply.
I told her she was fantasy material, what every man dreams of, right there in my arms, at my disposal. But it was for all the wrong reasons. She said she knows, men tell her that. She wasn't being arrogant.
I asked what it was like, what other men were like. She said "you are like most men, nice." Her choice of phrasing was telling. A well-seasoned professional would make her host de jour her basis for comparison, saying "most men are like you". She went on, describing how men treat the girls. With that Filipina trademark of clear, forceful enunciation, she angrily said how “some men are nasty, and just fuck them". Her passionate pronunciation got me a little excited again. She continued, saying that some tie them up, some threaten to kill them. She repeatedly used "the girls" or "them", consistently and distinctly differentiating herself from others.
I asked if there is any status, or "pecking order", among the girls, since there are different barfines in some of the bars. She said no, everyone is equal, if you see one of the feature or spotlight dancers (i.e., higher barfines) without her makeup you may not recognize her ("is that you?!?").
#510 is full of deep pain, anger, and bitterness, but did not reveal it until I'd asked. None was directed at me – the feeling, the mood between us, remained open, calm, and deep. She continued on about how all calamities hit the Philippines: earthquakes, floods, typhoons, volcanoes, tsunami, corrupt politicians, using the "f-word" several times, whereas she hadn't before. She spoke from her heart.
The confidence and composure permeating this woman's frame and persona were genuine, originating from her powerful spirit. This, her strength, allowed her to reveal to me this pearl of great price: the break in her heart. HERE. Here it is. This is the basis, the reason, the justification, for choosing right over wrong, good instead of evil: this woman's broken heart.
She slept with her phone, periodically checking and texting.
Miles Dyson, in Terminator 2:
"I feel like I'm gonna throw up."
Morning with #510
We got up, early for paradise, maybe 8:30 AM or so. Finally, I'd gotten about five or six hours of some desperately-needed sound sleep. We made out a little, then I wanted DS, since she had such a beautiful back, shoulders, and hair. She was "perfectly participatory", but the immense depth of her pain came creeping back into my mind and heart. In spite of the enticement of this beautiful woman's body before me, at that moment, I had no heart to take anything from it, or from her, and I could not proceed.
I came to see the pain in this woman's heart as representing that of many, many of the girls, including the young "not cherry" girl at Genesis. We resumed our discussion of last night: the circumstances making this "paradise" a reality. I was again deeply touched, and near tears.
She said, "Be strong, there is nothing you can do to help them, you came to enjoy your holiday."
I replied, "That is a false strength."
She quietly said, "I know."
I again tasted the pain and sadness she'd shared, and was, again, overcome. In perverse irony, I briefly wept, in her calming arms.
We showered again. As she was preparing to leave, she looked at the painting in the room (a parody of Rembrandt's "Rembrandt and Saskia"), and said it was her. It was: the overall figure bore an uncanny resemblance to #510. I tipped her P1,000, as she left, around 10:00 AM.
This endearing, powerful, strong woman was not a true GFE, but she was honest, professional, and exotic: she really was fantasy material. She cared, because she is a respectful, caring person, but not about me, personally. She was very, very good, in
a mechanical sense, because she is a professional, and, let's face it, has that natural Asian way about her. But her heart hurts, and she is ashamed. She probably prefers that I not remember her name: the fulfillment of fantasies, for all
the wrong reasons.
Walk of Ambivalence
I dress, and leave the hotel to have breakfast, and record my thoughts. As I walk through the lobby, I wonder if any of the staff saw #510 walk out, and somehow surmised that the occupant of room 235 had been her host. Her stature, pride, and body make her a thoroughly and distinctly sexy woman. I was hoping everyone knew she'd been with me.
But her internal pain was immense. Every man she was with was just a necessity, and an embarrassment. Every man she was with built upon her shame. I was hoping that no one knew that, this time, that man was me. Walking out of the hotel lobby that morning,
my feelings were very strong, and inextricably mixed.
Launching a New Day
I walked down to Margarita Station, where I enjoyed the beef tapa, along with several other delicious breakfast items. While eating, facing the street, numerous vendors came by, vying for attention. One of them was a young girl offering a massage. I'm sure she was offering more than I wanted, but I was later sorry I had dismissed her so suddenly. Thinking it through, it would have been nice to have my back and shoulders massaged, while facing the street, breakfasting and writing, there at Margarita Station.
After my leisurely breakfast, I returned to my room to freshen up a little, and plan a new adventure. I wanted to see the Perimeter Avenue side of this area, so I decided to walk down to Lost In Asia….
If all naughty boy reports were like this, I'd be happy to publish them!
Very nicely put together!