I can still remember the number of souls I pulled from the ground.
One was a skinhead guy. Short and manly. He has a mole smacked just above his upper lip. He was an energizer bunny at the fringes of the dance floor. He began swaying his hips long before I busted a move. I reached for his hand when the party gods picked me to share their podium. Being sober, he turned down the invitation and disappeared in the sea of crowd. When he emerged a few hours later, intoxication had already wiped his inhibition. Once again, I reached for his hand to join me. Accepting my offer, he went up the ledge, danced in front of me, before I left my spot as cramps were beginning to squeeze my leg muscles.
Another was a kid, whose slim, smooth body became the playground of my clammy hands. He was an energizer bunny too. And being the only guy who paraded his nakedness for all to see, his presence sparked my fancy. So I climbed the ledge once more and took the spot adjacent to his sphere
He was aware that I was resonating his groove - even complementing his hand and body gestures with my own movement. The music turned a faster pace, and soon he was inching closer for a close-contact showdown. His body heat steamed off his sweaty chest. I felt it when I wrapped my arm around his torso. But when he refused to look at me in the eye, somehow I knew the reason why.
On the ground, choked by noise and smoke, his companion was watching. I didn't see him standing there. But when my dance partner pulled him up to join us, I had to reach his hand, lest I would be seen as hostile. If there was such a thing as a Ménage à trois on the dance floor, I played my part, and I played well. Replete with selfless intentions, the naked kid was sandwiched between me and his companion, as the three of us hugged one another. But when I felt that my presence was no longer needed. When the romantic tension had already built up between my other companions, I happily disengaged and danced from a distance. When I looked at them again to see how they're doing, the kids were making out in the corner.
Smiling, I remembered the reason I came back.
 |
| Lightbringer |
There were others that night. Happy ladies I had to pull up so they would feel at home among the gay crowd. Drunk, wasted boys who deserved a slice of the spotlight. Old, familiar faces who might need a friendly tug. "I'm back in the puddle!!" I would have shouted, gleefully. "Pardon me if I carry a glass shard... under my skin." I would say in a soft voice.
That night, I returned to Malate with a proud smile and even prouder spirit. No longer slave to the needs of flesh - even when my subconscious-dripped-libido channeled those energies into raw body movements, I saw myself as one of those who enthused the exhausted to party on until our bodies quit.
Because when we all return to our old selves, with some nursing a hangover or blue balls until late in the afternoon, a hearty reflection would tell that it was all, but just an illusion. For those of us who seek shelter there, and get pulled by gogo boys up on the ledge, and dance until daybreaks turn into mornings, a detour is all that we need to carry on the journey.
And move on.