Return To The Dance Floor Second Part

"Grabe Joms, anlaki talaga ng titi niya!" 

And even though I was already tipsy from downing two bottles of Red Horse beer at the club, the very graphic description was simply too much. Kane was referring to Eugene, (not his real name) the 6-footer, semikal ex-varsity player who was also a runaway boy from Malate. 

Back in the old days, the crowd literally part - like the Red Sea - when he and his ex-boyfriend who had a resemblance with Tim Yap showed up. The couple had a reputation for being the creme de la creme inside the club. And we are, but hapless peons who could only watch as the royal couple and their entourage occupied the best spot on the dance floor. 

Of course, like all Malate shotgun marriages, they broke up long before they were able to celebrate their first anniversary. The next thing I knew, he was already hanging out with Kane and the Eastside girls.

"So na-botbot ka niya?" Kane smirked. Some questions are better left unanswered.  

"Well let's just say I saw him fuck someone in my kitchen!"  

"So this is the threesome you were telling us in your blog?" The resident clubber smiled without entertaining my inquiry and went on to make beso with some acquaintances.

"Welcome back to O-Bar, Joms" 

I said to myself as Jap and I got off the cab. While on our way, my biggest worry was how to tell Baabaa about it. Should I just keep it a secret, like what I did with my ex or simply tell everything and just swallow the consequence after.

"Sabagay, I'm with a friend." Not only will I be answerable to my partner, I'd be answerable to our common buddies should I do something really stupid.

You see, I shouldn't be there at all. Not after the reformation that comes with the quiet union. But as with all rules, there is always an exception, like when you tag a tropa at a night out and you feel responsible for his well-being.

I could have told Jap that I'm calling it a night after the videoke session at Top Grill. But between letting him get wasted in Malate (and waking up in someone else's bed) and going down together as brothers in Ortigas, (and going home at sunrise) I would always choose the latter. I am being reminded of that time I had to meet Bunso at Palawan 1 just to keep him sane after becoming his dad's punching bag. Following the same logic, my return to the dance floor this time was justified.

And so what I did was to leave a Twitter message to the Notthewimpykid telling him about my whereabouts. This was reinforced by Jap's tweet saying the same thing. Baabaa didn't reply immediately, but the openness should be enough reason for me not to be alarmed. For in this kind of life, it is easier to keep clandestine operations unsaid and to open yourself up for scrutiny and judgement shows how much you trust your partner's discernment.



Jap and I climbed the stairs to reach the entrance. But before paying the bar fine, we made a detour to the toilets to pee and fix ourselves. The narrow corridor leading to the restrooms was littered with men, making out in the dark. Some were having a small talk with friends, perhaps they haven't seen in a long time. I caught glimpse of the drag queens, half-naked and dressing up for their next act. The large hall at the bend already had chairs and tables. Probably the bar gets so crowded during weekends, the party spills even in once-abandoned places.

The 350 entrance fee was too pricey for my wallet. The last time I was there, a 200 peso ticket had a complement of three alcoholic beverage of your choice. The steep price had almost convinced me to back out. After all, I recall my companion first suggested Mugen Bar at Metrowalk as our destination. I could always cancel my plans at the last minute.

Just like I did when I used to go clubbing before.

"Parang ang mahal ata." I told Jap. "Gusto mo ba talaga dito?"

We let the other guests get their ticket as we decide our next move.

"Baka naman mas mura sa Mugen. Dun na lang kaya tayo." You could see in Jap's facial reaction his silent protest.

"Nandito na tayo eh. Bakit pa tayo lalayo?" Well, he had a point. Besides, I asked Kane to meet us. Even though, he goes there even without my presence, to walk-out just like what I had in mind would be terribly, terribly rude.

And so I pulled out my leather wallet from my back pocket, and without saying a word, I paid the exact fee. The exact money I had that night. With a deep breath (or a sigh, I really cannot recall.) we entered the door to join the guiltless revelry and be one, after a year of absence, with the hedonist crowd.



- tobecontinued-