Angeles City sprung up in support of the largest American military base in the Philippines at Clark Airfield. For decades, young fit American soldiers spent their tours there, and partied away their meager paychecks in the bars.
In the 90s, the Philippine government threw the Americans out, and within a few years, hastened by the eruption of Mt Pinatubo, there were no more soldiers and all the girls cried.
But they didn’t starve.
The word had spread about the street full of available young girls, who men could buy nights with for less than the cost of a dinner in their own countries. Though I’m sure the girls enjoyed the company of the fit soldiers more, they found the middle-aged men to be better customers, and willing to marry and support their families. More girls with an eye for older wealthy men came to Angeles City, and more men came for them.
As these men desired better accommodations and restaurants, so too came the business owners, and now in Angeles City, you can find hotels and restaurants suitable to every taste. They are strewn around old, uncared-for streets and shanty towns, but it’s far better infrastructure than our soldier predecessors enjoyed in the 1980s.
I’m betting the girls in the 80s didn’t have blonde hair. As I strolled down Fields Avenue, flirting with door girls, and poking my head in the various bars, trying not to get suckered in for drinks, I noticed a blonde hair fad. It’s for the Koreans. Koreans like blonde hair girls.
Several years ago, the Korean Airlines started offering flights directly to Clark from Seoul. Since then, you’ll see an abundance of Korean men, Korean restaurants, and even Korean convenience stores. A good portion of the shops and bars on Walking Street have Korean lettering alongside the English. Many Westerners blame them for the higher prices. I’m not so ready to lay the blame at their feet, I’ve seen Americans throw money around just as much. Give us a booming economy, we are all going to spend more money.
Fields Avenue, Angeles City
The area of bars on Fields Avenue near the intersection of Teodoro Street, I refer to as Perimeter Zone 1. Envy and the entrance to Walking Street is only one or two minutes away. In this area, at night, the road is jammed with scooters, trikes, and vans. The sidewalk is narrow, with obstacles ranging from potholes to homeless on cardboard, and the occasional door girl yelling at, and sometimes pulling on the arms of passing sex tourists.
The bars in this section are small and some, such as Camelot, have been sitting here for ages. The girls inside these bars are typically more business oriented than the bars on Walking Street but not quite so much as further down on Perimeter, in the section I refer to as Perimeter Zone 2, where my later in-bar blowjob would take place. In this zone, the barfines will be lower than most bars on Walking Street. Lately, they’ve all been going to 3,600 pesos minimum, but here, they’ve yet to break the 3,000 mark.
It was all business for me, between the jet lag and snot spigot, I was in no mood for drinks and dancing girls. I looked for a girl as young and cute as Daniella. That shouldn’t have been hard to find, but us men have a judgment center in our brain that can make it difficult. See, Daniella isn’t a whore, not even close. My brain saw her as pure and innocent. Under her massage uniform was a body no better than many of the girls in these bars, but when I see them in t-backs, shaking their ass for any man that wants them, they are boxed in a different class, and the attraction center in my brain short-circuits.
When on a mission to find a girl in Angeles City, I never sit down and buy a drink. I stroll down the stage inspecting the goods. This will often catch the ire of waitresses and door girls. In response, I smile and try to be respectful, but I stick to my mission.
Within 20 minutes, I exited my 5th and last bar before Walking Street without the least bit of interest toward any of the girls. There may not have been any 10s, but there were some 8s. My mind was hung on Daniella. Straight off the plane and already a crush? I felt like a rookie.
It’s not uncommon for that to happen, though. I’ve heard many stories of guys coming to Angeles City, or anywhere in the Philippines for that matter, and falling in love with the first girl they meet, ferrying her off to a Western country for marriage and babies. It’s understandable. In their countries, they struggle to find interest from a woman of any standard. Upon setting foot in the Philippines, women of all ages and beauty throw themselves at the man. His conditioning, that something like that rarely happens, causes an immediate attraction, which he’ll mistake for love. If he gave it a couple weeks and some rational thought, he’d understand that he was now an alpha, with his choice of the litter.
How to barfine in Angeles City
This is ridiculous, I thought. Hey, that blonde door girl back there was cute, nice body, and seemed fun. I don’t need to be head over heels in love with one. I turned back.
As I approached her bar, she averted her eyes, no doubt upset about my pass through without buying anything. She was a skinny thing, in a one piece blue dress and black high heels which brought her to about my chin. I’d guess 25 years-old with many years of experience working in a bar.
“Can I buy you a drink?” I asked her.
I could have avoided the charade of buying her a drink as well, but that’s a step I take, just in case getting one-on-one with her reveals a deal breaker for me.
“Really? Ok! Come on!” she said.
Her bar was nearly empty, she must not have been a very good door girl. A row of unhappy dancers stood, some swaying to the thumping hip-hop, on the stage spanning the opposite wall. We sat in the first booth, causing a few eye rolls once the girls realized I’d came in for the door girl.
“Where are you from?” she asked.
There’s a standard set of questions. “What’s your name?” “Where are you from?” “How long are you here?” I doubt she truly heard the answer to any of them. Similar to any job that requires small talk with a constant stream of people, it all gets dulled down. Even for me, they are a distraction.
“How much is the barfine here?” I asked.
“3,000. But for me, it’s 2,500, because I’m door girl,” she said.
“That doesn’t make any sense! Why would you have a cheaper barfine?” I asked.
“Because I get more salary,” she said.
“How much?” I asked.
“300. The dancers get 180,” she said.
So, 120 extra pesos to work the door, but then a reduction on the barfine. Likely, it was a loss of 250 pesos any time she was barfined and as a door girl, she’s way more likely to get barfined. She gets seen by 10x as many men. Either she liked the extra guarantee for not going with customers or…
“Do you like to barfine?” I asked.
“Yes, I love it.”
It may seem like a strange question, but I try to determine if a girl wants to barfine before I offer. Many girls will, but they don’t really like it, or they don’t really like me. Some may say no, and some will do it, but not be into it. This girl gave the best answer, an enthusiastic ‘yes.’ Don’t pass up these if you are already interested.
“Let’s go!” I said.
“Ok, short-time right?” she asked.
In Angeles City, there are not two types of barfines like Thailand. There is one barfine price and how long the girl stays, and any service she performs (intercourse is implied unless otherwise specified), should be hashed out before she leaves with you.
“You don’t like long-time?” I asked.
“No, I need to go home tonight.”
That’s bargirl speak for, I have a boyfriend and can’t stay the night. In my experience, long-time is only enjoyable if the girl wants to stay. Requiring it for the barfine may produce an overnight stay, but at the next bar, you might find a girl happy to do it. That night, with that girl, short-time, was perfect.
“Fine with me, I want you out in 20 minutes!” I joked.
She smiled, I paid the 2,500 plus the 250 for her ladies’ drink, and she disappeared to the back.
Ten seconds later, she reappeared with a small black purse.
“Ok,” she said.
Usually, they change clothes.
“You’re not going home!” I said. “You are coming back to the bar to get another one.” I chuckled. Not that I cared.
“No, really! I’m going home after.”
I pegged the girl for a “pump out as many barfines as possible” girl once she left with me wearing her door girl clothes. I told her where I lived and asked if we could skip the trike, and despite her high heels, she was happy to walk.
Earlier, Lyn was dressed like a normal girl. Now, for the first time this trip, I was walking side by side with an obvious bargirl. It’s an awkward feeling at first, before the brain gets accustomed to the Angeles City culture. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind what had just happened. I had paid about $50 US dollars to bone a girl 25 years my junior. Yep, I was that guy. It’s a bullshit thought, developed by an up-tight Western culture that wants to see guys like me sitting at home in front of the TV every night until I die an awful death from cancer caused by chemical-loaded packaged foods.
As we passed the trike stand, a driver smiled and spoke to my date, who conversed back, laughing as if a joke had been lobbed in my direction. That’s the first thought that comes in my mind in those situations, I’m an insecure beast. That’s a bullshit thought as well. Maybe they were talking about me, but it’s likely they weren’t. While walking home with a bargirl is a somewhat unique event for me, to them, I’m just one of a hundred foreign tourists that night. He was more likely commenting on the fact that she had scored some money that night. “Drinks on you tonight!”
“Your boyfriend?” I asked.
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