A Rendezvous with a Whore: The Beginning

A cliche-driven love affair is nothing but uncommon in this age of TV overload. Contrary to proponents of reality bitten experiences, it is common for people to have this deep longing for a fairytale story. A less vocalized wish to be in constant euphoria while Nat King Cole(fine....is Michael Buble alright?) is singing his love tune. Nevetheless, like the ecstatic effects of any form of vice, such foray into the sometimes carnal world of attraction do wear out. And like the after effects of any addiction, the aftermath is worse than the state before the jump.

Such is the fate of Angel. Her story is almost generic as a soap opera or a B-movie. In fact, if one is intoxicated by the atmosphere of her place of work, one can just dismiss the whole conversation as a ploy to add more value to what she offers to her clients. I met her one night in a club outside of Manila. On my way home from that bastion of ancient faith in Espana street, after many years, I decided to pass an old watering hole. Alone. For reasons that dont matter. And for purposes better left unuttered. Tempting the fates' accusation of hypocrisy, the reasons and purpose were not sexual but rather sensual. A psychotic inclination to short circuit my sensibilities and senses.

The place is one of those dingy venues often patronized by the less priviledged. Working men whose salaries, if one is abnormal enough not to cave in to the sins of flesh, is better reserved for food and shelter. Its only similarity to the ones that cater to the elite is its dark atmosphere wherein the psychedelic lights provide the neccessary illumination for fantastical purpose first and for practicality being secondary. The pricing point of such venues caters to those who are either one day millionaires or their subtleterns. Such economics appeals to college students who saved up their allowances, hardearned by their parents, after a long semester. (The more affluent are more inclined to venture to nests wherein money should flow like water and that money is hardly hardearned.) Or by High School seniors, mustering the nerves to get themselves baptized so as to gain right of passage to full manhood. Not that they need to go through the unholy process to become the man that they want to be or they ought to be. They just need to. Foolishness notwithstanding. Sin they say is the scourge of man. The ritual seems to be immuned to that. I was both the under-priviledge college student and the high school senior waiting to be initiated.

But this time around, I am no longer both.

(To be continued....)