Sex Excursionist

Resource for the well-traveled gentleman.

Resource for the well-traveled gentleman.

60 days in Angeles City, chapter 7: Envy the Beggars, Papa-sans, and ladyboys

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Note: Due to certain intellectual property thieves, this online novel will not be completed for free. This will be the last chapter. It will be released for 99 cents on Amazon in 2019.

Envy Sports Bar
Envy Sports Bar and Restaurant, Angeles City Philippines

Envy, Angeles City

“This guy fucking punched me in the jaw, what the fuck! You believe that?”

Jet lagged, drinking alone at Envy, I’d picked up some friends at 4 am.

The muscular, Middle-eastern descent man, with an American accent, grabbed the shoulders of a skinny Korean and shook him violently. Both were in their 30s and so drunk, they were barely able to contain themselves on the broad, street-facing booths we had appropriated.

“I mean, what the fuck! You believe that shit!”

Another man, a white 40-year-old from an eastern-bloc country giggled away, not saying much, and I’d assume not understanding much, but had joined us to people watch.

“Oh shit! Look at these!”

Three skinny Filipinas in one-piece evening dresses and high-heels exiting Walking Street walked past, the perfect distance from us to thoroughly judge their assets.

“Are those ladyboys, too?” asked the Korean.

“God damn, you’re a fucking moron!” the Middle-eastern said. “I really should punch you in the fucking nose.”

“Hot,” mumbled the Russian.

“Yoo hoo! Come here!”

The Filipina on the end turned to us and put her nose in the air, being cat-called not a unique experience for her. The one in the middle, who I identified as the ugliest of the three, turned to face us.

“Come on, you want a drink?” the Middle-eastern said.

The ugly girl scampered over and stood over the table, grinning.

“There’s no place to sit,” she said.

“Oh, right here baby,” the Middle-eastern said, motioning to his knee.

Without hesitation the girl plopped down on his knee while he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Oh, not me,” he said. “I’ve had plenty of action for the night, but this man right here needs some.” He motioned again to the Korean.

The Russian leaned toward her and began fondling her bare knees. She returned the gaze, catching sight of the customer.

“Mmm,” the Russian moaned with drunk, starry, and lewd eyes.

The two girls standing over us spoke impatiently with their friend.

“Ah, fucking sit down, we got more laps,” the Middle-eastern said.

The two were having none of it. After an exchange with their friend, they continued down Fields Avenue.

“Bitches. Here, bro, take her,” he said, and threw her into the arms of the Russian.

The Middle-eastern man rubbed his jaw. “God dammit! I can’t believe you fucking punched me in the goddamn jaw! What the fuck!

“This fucker… We are in High Society, and a ladyboy comes up to me and hugs me. Fuck that, I push her away. He’s fucking lucky he didn’t get slapped. Then out of nowhere, this fucker unloads on me.”

“I didn’t know,” the Korean said.

“Yea, right, you didn’t know. Outside, I’m going to beat his ass, and he’s almost on his knees.”

“I didn’t know she was ladyboy,” the Korean said. “Sorry, so sorry.”

“You shouldn’t have punched me any goddamn way. You’re fucking lucky you’re a good customer.”

“Customer?” I asked.

“I’m a manager at a bar,” the middle-eastern said.

“A manager? So, you’re like a Papa-san?” I asked.

“Yea, whatever.”

“How did you end up in that gig?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m here on disability, but need some job or else I get bored as shit.”

“Sounds like a good job, getting beat up by Koreans,” I said.

“God damn! I should punch this fool. I can’t believe he punched me over some ladyboy. He thinks I’m going to manhandle some girl, so he punches me, what the fuck!”

The Korean giggled.

Such gallantry in the skinny guy, disadvantaged by 20 or so pounds, I couldn’t help but wonder why he was messing with prostitutes when he was likely quite the catch back home in Korea. He seemed handsome and charming to boot. The middle-eastern on the other hand was the stereotypical sex tourist, disrespectful to women, self-centered, and run by his ego, though would make a great wingman for a fun night in a sex capitol.

The Russian struck me as the shy reserved type back home, but who wanted nothing but to stick his dick in any hole where it was allowed.

“Ok, we go,” he said.

“Eww, you really want her, man? She stinks,” the middle-eastern said.

She did stink a bit, which is uncommon for Filipinos in general. Despite the country being poor, they bathe religiously, and it may even shock the Westerner how clean someone can get with only a water bucket and bar of soap. This girl had been out drinking and dancing all night, whether in a bar or at High Society, and was likely a nice discount to the normal barfine.

We watched the two love-birds stroll down Fields Avenue, past the ladyboy corner. In front of Envy, if you are in the mood for a change of taste, is the sure spot in town to pick up a ladyboy, or Bakla, as the Filipinos call them. They often stand in groups and never seem to get picked up, even though they seem to flirt with every passing single man.

As I was thinking that, a trike pulled up to the corner, and a skinny older white man in brown shorts, white tank top, and white hat popped out. He scanned the groups of ladyboys, who turned to him.

“Oh, look at this, he’s gonna pick up one of those ladyboys,” said the middle-eastern.

“Yes, he get some,” the Korean said.

The ladyboys didn’t approach him, but they seemed to know. The man stood next to the trike, scanning. After a minute or so, he pointed to a skinny ladyboy with long dark hair, who strode toward him without a change in expression. The two exchanged a few words and they disappeared into the trike cab and away they went.

“Damn, man, that’s how to do it. He didn’t want a fucking soul to see him, I bet. Probably married,” said the middle-eastern.

“You want ladyboy?” said the Korean.

“Man, I’m seriously gonna knock you out, just keep it up.”

I couldn’t tell if he was truly agitated or having fun with the Korean. But then, I could never understand the mind of a pimp. Many of the bars employ Westerners, as Filipinos don’t do a good job of dealing with them. It’s nothing more than a cultural thing, stemming from the idea that in Western countries, the customer is always right, but in the Philippines, the customer can take it or leave it. That is the general attitude you receive in most business establishments that don’t cater exclusively to Westerners.

Angeles City beggars

A beggar approached our table, an old lady, who looked miserable, groveling for a few pesos. Envy is built above the street, with most of its tables removed from an approachable position. We had chosen the row of tables below its towering walls to be closer to the action. There are tradeoffs, of course.

“God, go away!” yelled the middle-eastern.

She didn’t.

“Oh my God!”

There’s no best way to deal with beggars but the more time spent in the Philippines, and especially Angeles City, the easier they become to ignore. It’s a daily occurrence to deny a handout, with the alternative being to give one, which would entail being chased everywhere you go by every beggar that knew you were a giver.

I ignore beggars. No matter how much they persist, which they only do so hoping you’ll give them money to go away, I don’t engage them. I don’t alter my day because one is following, nor do I walk faster.

As for sitting down where they can hound you forever, they usually don’t, as the restaurant will run them off, which in this case a buff Filipino man came scurrying down to shew her away. She scampered off as if bullied by a dog.

A legless beggar pulled himself down the street in front of us on a skateboard, his head coming to the thighs of most passers. He’s a middle-aged man with bald head and wearing a loose white tank over a chubby belly. He looks as though he isn’t lacking for junk food at least. He holds his cup to most beggars, some of which drop some coins.

The obviously crippled ones fare better, even I’m more likely to give to the legless or armless man, myself being more comforted that they truly need it. Perhaps that’s the exact opposite the reality. I’ve been told that the chubby, legless beggar is chauffeured to Walking Street by his wife in their SUV, and at the end of the day can carry so much money that he has a .45 tucked in his shorts. After he started carrying, he ceased to be robbed, which was a common occurrence for him. Of course, I’ve never asked him to show me the .45, could be a rumor.

“Hey man, your girl coming,” the middle-eastern man said after receiving a text.

“About time.”

I shot a look of confusion at the papa-san.

“Oh, he likes this girl in my bar, but she was off work tonight.”

“She’s not ladyboy,” the Korean chuckled.

“Yea, this dumb fuck, all crazy about this one girl. She’s nothing special, I don’t get it. Lots of better girls. And he only barfines her, never gets another girl. He’ll buy drinks for the whole bar, but then only takes her out. He’s in love with her or something.”

“She’s amazing,” said the Korean.

All of us have been in the Korean’s shoes, in love with a bargirl. You can’t come to Angeles City without meeting a beautiful girl that tugs on the heart. It’s happened to me many times in my journeys, usually once per trip. I’ve so far avoided marrying one and supporting her or bringing her to the states. It’s a rule I give myself, when I’m in the Philippines, I’ll give them money and play the rich boyfriend role, but when I go home, that’s it, there’s no more money. Sending them money won’t stop them from meeting other men, nor is it likely to stop them from seeing you on your next trip if you don’t, if that’s truly what you desire. Why bother seeing the same girl though? You can find a new one even better.

I downed a few more beers, enjoying the characters I’d met so early on my stay. When the Korean’s girl showed up, driven to Envy by a Filipino man, I couldn’t share his excitement. She struck me as a career bargirl, with no more personality than a beggar.

He jumped up and hugged like his long lost girlfriend. She wrapped his neck and gazed at the papa-san, as if to say, “You’re an asshole.”

“That’s her husband,” he whispered.

“Who? The Filipino on the scooter?” I asked.

On the scooter was a middle-aged Filipino man, maybe 40 years-old whereas she was 20 if that. He smiled at the papa-san, and even at the Korean holding his wife. I detected no conflict in him, as if he were happy his wife was doing such a good job.

“Does he know she’s married?” I asked referring to the Korean.

“Oh, nah. He’s never asked, but none of the dumb fucks ever ask.”

“Is he paying extra for you to bring her down here? Why wasn’t she working?”

“Fuck if I know,” the papa-san said. “Maybe she had a customer outside the bar, maybe her husband wanted to fuck her, maybe she just fucked off working. She’s a flaky bitch.”

“How do you know if she has a customer outside the bar?” I asked.

“I don’t. She still pays the barfine.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you didn’t make these bitches pay the barfine when they skipped work, they’d never come to work. Six days a week, they pay a barfine for any day they don’t show. I don’t give a fuck if they on their period, their kid is sick, or they are taking 10 dicks in a hotel room.”

“I see.”

“This girl… I never know if she’ll show, but any time she does, she gets barfined. If she wasn’t married, she’d be heading to America any day.”

“So, why did she marry an old Filipino?” I asked.

“Oh man, he knocked her up when she was 16.”

“She had a baby at 16?”

“Yes sir, with that guy right there. He had to fucking marry her, they would have killed him. Now he pimps her and everyone is fucking happy. Even me.”

Not me, I was sick to my stomach. I’ve always tried to delude myself that sex doesn’t harm anyone, and the bargirls, and even the country, are better off that hordes of sex tourists bring their money every year. Seeing her show a delighted face to the Korean as she flirted and giggled, while scowling and communicating her disgust at being forced to spread her legs at 4am for these two intolerable men was enough for me.

I drank my last beer and returned to my apartment, reassuring myself I was different, but wondering if that were true.

Note: Due to certain intellectual property thieves, this online novel will not be completed for free. This will be the last chapter. It will be released for 99 cents on Amazon in 2019.

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