You know this familiar itch. The one, the body could not resist. It betrays the higher functions of the mind and turns us back to our base human instincts. I too succumb to my carnal urges and in my younger days have gone to the extremes to satiate my desires. My wisdom is born out of experience and the lesson I will part today may spare you from humiliation should you walk the route I once took - flipping over - on my way to our not-so-secret wonderland.
Rejection comes easy to fat people. It was a lesson I bitterly learned. Kaya naman hanggang pangarap lang makatikim ng totoong karne noon. One must pay his way through for a piece of prime beef.
At a funeral home where a beloved awaited her journey to her final resting place was a massage clinic across the street. At past 4 in the morning, with sleeplessness setting in and boredom enhancing the senses, I decided to check the place out and taste the boys in the menu.
Yes, I remember. They were all in the inner room lying next to one another. The break of twilight was an assurance that no horny customer will interrupt their slumber. But there was I, barging into the door and asking the manager to rouse them from their sleep. I was too drunk with lust to even walk back and I knew - from online sources - that everything is possible with just the right amount of cash.
The scent of cheap lotion still clung on my skin the next day after being pulped and tenderized by the beefcake cock sucking masseur.
The idea came from a fellow blogger. He was once a patron of such places until fate called and told him to plant his roots elsewhere. It was a weekday night, I recall, and contingency measures (such as who to call in case of emergency) were also included when I was planning my expedition.
The place was somewhere along Harrison. It was already a legend even in ancient times and no history of police incursions have ever took place within its secluded premises. Conventional wisdom tells that for such a place to operate within a stone's throw distance from city hall means that its owners have friends in high places. Anonymity was my biggest concern and from the information I have gathered, I knew I was safe.
I picked an inconspicuous night for my first prowl. I cannot recall scoring big, but I fondly remember making out with a brutish gym coach before he left to chase a more delectable prey. It was my first attempt to suspend my faculties of attachment and focus on the pressing need for orgasm. The best part of the expedition was the thrill of choosing. Sex was readily available should I decide to pursue a predator.
I went home that early morning with a black hole in my chest.
These recollections emerged after reading Vince and his story about the police raid at the Queeriosity Palace. We share our sympathies for those who were unjustly treated and were traumatized by the incident. While the issue of human rights and extortion by the Pasay Police Force must be cast into the spotlight, we cannot help but ask: should patrons and hookers take responsibility as well for the risk knowing that sexual acts outside the comfort of one's personal quarters are merely tolerated and not completely accepted by people at large?
In those nights I prowled in the dark, I was completely aware of the stakes to my anonymity. There was no room for complacency nor space for finger pointing should a mistake be committed.
And so I spirited my warm frame just when nobody was looking. Whether it was at 4 in the morning at a massage clinic in San Juan or at 10 in the evening in a bathouse in Manila. I came only when there would be few patrons around and the police, knowing that it would be more of a burden than a profit to exercise their right to abuse the fearful will back away from such idea.
For it is a sad, sad tale that until one embraces selflessness and allow himself to be sacrificed - violently - will the society realizes one's plight. In a Dystopian world that is ours. Injustice only matter when the person who was wronged get feasted and drunk by the media,
and in most times, has performed acts worthy of national indignation and ends up becoming dead.