Angeles, Saturday 8th June
It’s Sunday morning and I’m sitting here in Kokomo’s enjoying their “Classic Breakfast” while writing this. I should be here with my “Juliet” of last night, but it didn’t work out as planned…
I left the hotel at about 7:15 to find that it was raining. The Royal Amsterdam provides an umbrella in each room, but the rain was light, and I have a habit of forgetting umbrellas, so I didn’t use it. Anyway, it was only about 50 yards from the hotel to the bar where I had decided to start the evening, Masquerades. That is the advantage of the Royal Amsterdam – it is at the heart of the action.
I first visited this bar in 2006, when it was called Rhapsody, and it was still Rhapsody on my last visit in November last year. I stepped inside to see that the name was the only thing that had changed. The same, old, well-worn seating was there, fronted by the same, old, beer-stained tables. The paint was coming off the rail round the stage, and the decoration of coloured lights and tinsel was like something out of Christmas past (long past!). The only thing that was different from my last visit was that the old mirrors, covered with tributes to guys who rang the bell, had been replaced.
I asked the waitress if the new owner was Korean, and she confirmed it. There seems to be two types of Korean bars: those in which a serious investment has been made in terms of refurbishment and dancers, and those which are run on a shoestring, with minimal changes and any ladies they can get cheap. Masquerades was one of the latter. I also asked her about prices: my San Mig Pale Pilsen was 135 PHP, a lady drink is 220 PHP (well, you’d hardly want to pay the standard 350 to talk to one of these gargoyles!). The barfine is 4,000 PHP (so you’ll have to pay in full to bonk one!). That sorted, I settled down to study the form – ouch! I was looking at one of the worst line ups of ladies I have ever seen. This is what I saw, from right to left: 40-ish and showing her age, 30-ish and nothing to look at, 40-ish and tattooed, 30-ish and plump, 30-ish and badly stretch marked. They were dressed in a variety of black, two-piece costumes which (thankfully) didn’t reveal too much. It was as though I had stumbled by mistake into a retirement home for geriatric bargirls. Sadly, sights like this are all too common in Thailand and the Philippines these days, but usually the UFO’s (Ugly, Fat and Old) are leavened by a sprinkling of girls who, if not exactly beautiful, fall into the category of those you wouldn’t kick out of bed. To be fair, there was one in this category – just one – who came onto the stage later. She was probably in her mid-twenties, and though not quite petite enough to be called an LBFM, she had a pretty face and well-shaped body, though marred by tattoos. Come to think of it, this might be a good game plan for a pretty bar girl: work in a bar like Masquerades, full of UFO’s, and you’ll have no competition.
Despite the pensioners on stage, the bar was full – with real pensioners – a bunch OFB’s (Old, Fat and Bald) westerners, and they seemed to be enjoying themselves. Undoubtedly because, rough as the dancers were, they were a darned site better than anything they could pull in the Darby and Joan Club back in Blighty (or whatever the US and OZ equivalents are). It cheered me up, because, sexagenarian as I am, I didn’t feel out of place, my problem being that, inside, I feel 25 and my preferred pussy age is between 18 and 25.
I was enjoying myself like this, sipping the first beer of the evening, scanning the bar and philosophising about the folly of human nature (mine included), when, suddenly, the lights went out – brown out! The waitresses switched on their phone lights, and I asked the one next to me if the bar had a generator – most do. “Not working,” was the reply. Luckily, the lights came back on after about 10 minutes – but not the a/c. A waitress reached above me to switch on a ceiling fan, but that didn’t work either. It didn’t matter to me because I had other plans for the evening with Miss Killer Body, but it’s not a great business model. Masquerades is in a prime location in the centre of Walking Street next to Kokomo’s. With some serious investment and some premium pussy, it would be a goldmine!
I left Masquerades and crossed the road to Champagne, one of my old favourites, and disciplined myself to sit down and order a beer before assessing the talent (otherwise, I might have walked straight out). I ordered a Pale Pilsen and asked about prices. My drink was 85 (Happy Hour), a lady drink is 320 and the barfine is 4,000.
Sitting in that bar, I could be back in 2006, because very little has changed since then. Champagne is a long, thin bar with one row of customer seating. A mirror behind the stage reflects in a mirror behind the customers, making the bar seem to go on into infinity. Coloured fairy lights and coloured spotlights are ranged above the stage. There is a mirror ball to one side and a flat screen TV near the bar. The mirrors on either side of the stage are covered with the names of guys who rang the bell going back to 2003. Here’s an example: “09-11-13. I ring the bell in Champagne for the second time. Kevin.” All these are features of the old-style Angeles gogo bar, of which there are many examples in Walking Street – not because of an appreciation of vintage chic, but because of under-investment. Nevertheless, I prefer them to the swish, chrome-pole palaces of Soi Cowboy for reasons of what I call “the poverty equation”, which I explained in my last submission.
As for the girls, I wish they were typical of the old-style gogo bar. On my first visit to Champagne, they were nearly all young, slim cuties, now they were older and heavier. Funny thing is, there seem to be plenty of slim Filipinas in the streets and shopping malls (and I’m not referring to freelancers, here), so how is it that the out-of-shape ones end up flaunting themselves on a stage? I counted 12 of these large ladies, dressed in red low-cut two-piece costumes (one thing about fat, it does give a girl a generous bosom, so there was plenty of cleavage on display). The only one who could be described as “cute” was heavily tatted. There was one other who was OK – just.
There was no set 2, only 4 “Spotlight Dancers” (a cheaper way of giving the dancers a break than employing a second set). They were probably the pick of the bunch, but still with that heavy look. Thing is, if you put a girl under a “spotlight”, she has to be worth looking at. They weren’t. I found it more interesting to read the writing on the mirrors, especially one which said, “06-12-08. Dek’s 40th. We close the bar!” I guess it meant that Dek and his mates offered to pay the equivalent of a night’s takings and the barfine of every girl so they could have the bar to themselves. Imagine it! – a barful of slim cuties to cater to your every whim. I’m told that, when a bar is closed in this way, it becomes “private” and there are goings-on that would otherwise be illegal – naked dancing, lesbian shows and full-on sex shows, no doubt with Dek and his mates as the star performers. I’m sure Dek had a very happy birthday (until he had to pay the tab!).
Seeing all those ponderous persons made me reflect how lucky I was to have Miss Killer Body in prospect with her trim waist, flat stomach and petite 4’11” figure, so I paid my bill and headed over to Lollipop.
I didn’t want to arrive too early for two reasons: first, I needed to warm up over a few beers to get myself into the right mood, and, secondly, I wanted to avoid having to entertain her for the earlier part of the evening. I had thought of taking her bar hopping and then for a meal. The trouble with taking a girl bar hopping is that all those sweeties you couldn’t find before suddenly seem to be all over the place – and you can’t do anything about it!
Lollipop was heaving again, and all the customer seating was full, even at the stage. The waitress had to find a spare stool and squeeze me in at the far end. I counted 25 girls on stage, which packed them like sardines. And what sardines! – They were dressed in white or black bras and thongs, and most were of the right sort: proper Asian size, slim, young and pretty. Of course, there was a spare tyre here and there and a few plain Janes – but the overall impression was that I had walked through a time warp back to the good old days. Lollipop is another of those vintage-style bars, with pink and purple neon tubes and flashing coloured lights over the stage, mirrors that make the bar seem to go on to infinity and well-worn seating and tables, but the girls were also vintage style; slim and cute. It was the complete package: in Lollipop you are back in the heyday of the gogo bar. If Lollipop can do it, why can’t others?
I scanned the stage for Aurora, but couldn’t see her. I know that she is very interactive with customers, and feared I might have left it too late and that she had already been barfined. I couldn’t see her sister either, or our waitress, Lily. I was just beginning to panic when Miss Olongapo appeared on the stage. I admired her for a while, thinking I might give her another try if Aurora didn’t show up. She, also, has a killer body; just as slim, but with somewhat larger breasts. Her face is prettier, but marred by a perpetually bored look.
Then I saw her – Aurora – on the other side of the stage again. She was wearing a stunning black bikini in a sort of spider web pattern which showed girl-flesh through the web. As there was nowhere for her to sit, she sat on the stage in front of me for a while. The first thing she said was, “Why are you late? I thought you weren’t coming!”
“It’s only half past 8,” I protested, pleased that she had been looking out for me.
She spotted an empty place in the corner near the door and moved us over there. Needless to say, we were joined by her sister in double quick time, so it was lady drinks for both of them. She was touchy-feely as before, more so even. Massaging me, kissing me, and even unzipping my fly. She put my hands on her breasts under her bra and moaned as I massaged her breasts. Then she pulled down her left bra cup and offered me her nipple to suck. Her sister said that she was drunk and “malibog” (horny). If she was drunk by 10, she would have been dead drunk by 12, and totally wasted by the time the bar closed at 3 am – and it would be the same every night. That’s because of the “double lady drink”, which is an alcoholic drink, usually a San Mig Light. Back in the day, a lady drink was a small watered coke, which cost the customer half as much and was much better for the girls’ health.
Aurora, drunk and horny, was all over me, and even made blowjob gestures to show me what I could expect later. This was followed by the same dry humping routine as last night, and it didn’t take much imagination to visualise her doing the same, naked in my bed. It was quite a turn on!
Then her sister joined in and I had a girl on each thigh. Unfortunately, I don’t fancy her sister, as she wouldn’t have looked out of place cavorting with the “heavy brigade” in Champagne (Tennyson wrote a poem entitled, The Charge of the Gallant Heavy Brigade, but it was about British cavalry in the Crimea, not overweight bargirls). She even admitted at one point, “I’ve got a large tummy.” If I were being frank, I would have said, “Get rid of it then!”, but the whole point of having her there was to please her sister.
Our waitress friend, Lily, saw us and came over, and what could I do but buy her a drink? There are two ways to play it: be generous and buy drinks for friends and hangers on, or play it close, buy just one drink for your girl, then barfine her and leave. I did the former because I was hoping to please Aurora, but found out later that I needn’t have bothered. I don’t mind being generous because I don’t come very often, but if you were retired here and on a budget, you’d have to be careful!
Then it was Tequila shots. The girls pulled up my shirt, put lemon on my nipples, sucked it off and necked the Tequila. It felt good. Not long after, they called for a second round of Tequila shots and the same thing happened again. I decided that enough was enough. It’s easy to get carried away and break the bank without realising it, as happened to me in 2019 in a bar just across the road called Shipwrecked (now Korean owned and completely refurbished as Club 123). Somehow, I spent 9,000 PHP – and that didn’t include a barfine! (You can read about it here). So I said, “OK, but that’s it.”
After the shots, I said. “OK, time to go. I’ll pay the barfine,” and reminded her of her promise to stay all night.
She went quiet, then said, “I want to go at 1 o’ clock.”
“You said you’d stay all night.”
“But my sister will be all alone.”
“She’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.”
She thought about it for a bit. “OK. When can I go?”
“7.” I said.
“What about 4?”
“What, and wake me up in the middle of the night! No way! Look, if you don’t want to stay all night, there’s plenty of girls that will.” I tried to explain to her that, for me, an important part of the experience is sleeping with a girl, feeling her presence throughout the night and waking up with her in the morning (I didn’t mention repeat performances – I didn’t want to frighten her off!). I think she got it, but all-nighters are not something these girls care to do with elderly gentleman – now, if I were one of those gwapo (handsome) Pinoy trike drivers, that would be different – she’d stay for nothing.
Having said my piece, I got up to leave. But she thought better of it, pulled me back and said, “OK. 7.”
I sat down again, but the mood had gone. I had feared that it wouldn’t work out, and I was right. My only consolation was that I have seen it all before, so I wasn’t too disappointed, and felt somewhat cheered by the fact that I had won the negotiation about time. I considered my options, remembered the oldies in Masquerades and the heavies in Champagne, looked at that killer body, and decided to go for it.
“OK,” I said, and handed 4,000 PHP to the waitress. The total bill came to a whopping 7,800 PHP, but at least it included the barfine, so I wasn’t “shipwrecked” like last time.
When we got into the hotel room, Aurora stripped down to her underwear and laid on the bed (what happened to the shower and white towel routine? She didn’t bother, and neither did last night’s little number). I started to stroke that killer body – probably one of the best bods in AC at that moment – and my mood (among other things) began to rise, and for the next few hours, everything went well – only to be ruined when, after sleeping for a while, I became aware of her sitting up in bed. It was 2 o’ clock and she wanted to go.
“OK,” I said, “but no tip.” (A tip of 500 to 1,000 is expected). She was doing what we used to call, back in the day, “a runner”. Back then, the girl was expected to stay all night, and if she didn’t, you could get your barfine refunded and the girl would be in big trouble.
So I spent my second night (most of it) alone, and probably a good thing, too. There was a point when I had been getting carried away with this girl, and if she had given me the full GFE, I would have seen her again and probably ended up with a steady girlfriend on my hands – which is the last thing I could do with at the moment – I’ve got troubles enough!
Before she left, I remembered to ask for a photograph. She agreed, as long as she could hide her face, so I copied the pose I had used for Joy. Here she is:
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