Chapter 11.
Sexually Transmitted Diseases, Blow-Job Lips and Elastic Arses.
At ten, Trevor was at the reception of Sunset Garden.
"If you will wait a while, Sir, when there is a checkout, then the room will be serviced," the receptionist told him.
"And, what time is checkout?"
"Twelve o'clock, Sir."
"Can I leave my bag and come back at one-o'clock?"
She took his bag and Trevor took a trike back to Field's, and was dropped at Margarita Station.
Through the door to the right, there was a large, round-cornered bar bubbling out from the wall, and a couple of pool tables to the left. Along the frontage, were stools where customers could sit and watch the dusty street life through the mosquito screen. Waitresses buzzed busily, and a shout from the pool tables occasionally irrupted over the subdued chatter of idle conversation. As he walked further in, there was, down a few steps, a restaurant area and, behind it on the right, an open-to-view kitchen. To the rear of the building was a small, open-space with, on the other side, what appeared to be offices. The patrons consisted of the now familiar mix of dressed-down, middle-aged, worn males and much younger, prettier, petite, Filipina girls.
On the bar, he spotted a beer pump, and ordered a draft beer, which turned out to be deeply chilled San Miguel. From a rack of newspapers he took The Philippine Star. Inside the front page a feature on HIV and AIDS caught his attention and a small dark cloud appeared in his blue sky.
An hour before midday and I'm drinking beer, reflected Trevor, sinking the heady, refreshingly cold beer as he turned to the depressing analysis in the newspaper.
He had been aware of the Aids epidemic spreading out of Africa, afflicting gay communities, notably in the USA, and intravenous-drug-users. Being celibate, he had followed developments with passing interest. It was a distant concern, unlikely to affect him personally. This newspaper article reported one-thousand-seven-hundred confirmed cases of HIV in the Philippines, mostly transmitted male to male, or by use of needles. However, there was a residue of female sex workers who had contracted the disease. The article went on to suggest that the official figures showed only the tip of the iceberg, and by comparison with Africa and Thailand, calculated that there was an undocumented pandemic facilitated by government complacency. Filipino overseas workers returning from work in high-risk areas, seamen, and sex-tourists who travelled to the Philippines from other sex-tourism destinations in South America, the Caribbean and South East Asia, were fingered as potential sources of infection.
For a moment, a frisson, more chilling than his beer, passed through Trevor. In the last week, he had had unprotected intercourse with two of these sex workers. Both were a picture of health and vitality, this the reason he had chosen them, but he now remembered the dissuasive message of safe-sex campaigners:
'When you have sex with a partner, you have sex with every partner your partner ever had sex with.'
He recalled that Jake and Allyza had known one another; he called her "a bundle of fun," and Trevor did not need to ask what that fun was. He recalled that he lusted after Jolina, and would have had unprotected sex with her, just hours after Jake had enjoyed her. And, he remembered that, one day after his happy tryst with Allyza she was in the company of the long haired blond. Except that they travelled for sex, he knew nothing about either Jake or the blond.
Looking around the bar, he took a more than casual, interest in his fellows. Unlike the girls, they did not look fresh in from the field, a picture of health and vitality. They had been around. Many were loud and coarse. Many had the manner of chaotic ne'er-do-wells, reckless and unkempt, the sort of people who would travel to have sex, would resort to prostitutes at home, and would not consider safe-sex a priority. He wondered how many of this sort Allyza and Honey had had sex with, and how many, and what sort of partners these people would have had sex with. Crack-whores in California, and intravenous-drug-users in Hamburg, he guessed. Two fucks away from high-risk AIDS groups was not a comfortable degree of separation.
AIDS was his most feared Sexually-Transmitted-Disease (STD), but also the least common. The National Health Service would, for free, at a discreet clinic, without informing his doctor, trample to death any other infection with antibiotics. The article went on to point out that the prevalence of these other, centuries-old diseases, was much higher, evidencing a much higher rate of transmission. Trevor decided that on his return home he must pay a visit to the STD clinic. He resolved for the rest of his trip, to engage only in safe-sex.
Ordering another draft beer, he continued to read through the Philippine Star.
Without looking up, the guy on the next stool spoke loudly enough to carry to him,"Lunch over. Soon be time to head up Perimeter Road."
His English was good, with a German lack of inflection. He was a portly gentleman of about Trevor's age, with thinning, grey hair and metal-rimmed spectacles, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt over long trousers. Trevor glanced around to see if there could be any other intended recipient of this communication, and concluding there was not, responded sociably, "What's happening up Perimeter Road?"
"Well, that's where the action is in the afternoon; Is this your first time here?"
"Yes. This is my first trip to the Philippines; I've only spent a couple of days in Angeles."
"The bars in Fields are larger and more expensive. The best action is in the evening. On Perimeter, the action is in the afternoon, most open from about midday to ten or twelve. They are smaller and cheaper. The girls can be a bit riper, but also more likely to have those blow-job lips and elastic arses. That's the sort of girl I go for now. I'm sick of being burnt by all those cherry-girls in the Fields bars."
"So the girls are different on Perimeter?"
"More fun. Better value for money. And the bars are cosier."
"Like A Santos Street?" suggested Trevor.
"No. More a bargain-basement version of Fields Avenue. You can get your blow-job, but it is also a great place to fool around with the girls, they get a little bit more wild."
The mention of blow-job lips, elastic arses, and wildness pressed the same buttons as the newspaper article.
"I've just been reading this article about STD's, AIDS and all that," said Trevor, "How safe is it here?"
"I have had no problem. The girls have a check up every week, and I always use a condom, though the girls do not insist."
"Do they check for AIDS?"
"No, only for ordinary STDs, that is why it is best to use a condom, but, No risk ... No fun," the guy looked across at Trevor and grinned, "and, if you are not having fun ... what is the point of being alive?"
Another beer, and it was time to check-in. Trevor found himself upstairs at Sunset Garden, in a room off the balcony, overlooking the pool. He quickly changed, went for a swim and lay on a sun lounger. As he basked in the sunshine, feeling the afterglow of his lunchtime alcohol, that teasing expression, "blow-job lips and elastic arses," echoed seductively in his head.
'Why should this guy, much the same age as myself, feel entitled to the casual companionship of a girl with blow-job lips and an elastic arse, while for me, such things are forbidden, even in my dreams? That's what I should have written on my wish-list, 'blow-job lips and elastic arse.'
And, why were they forbidden to him? He was here in Angeles, and the only person who could forbid him these indulgences was himself. He consciously removed the prohibition, and set to imagining himself enjoying these taboo pleasures. His penis stiffened, and strained against his swimming trunks.
By half-past-three he had changed and on his way out.
Chapter 12.
Niftys, Analyn and Trevor's First Blow-Job Ever.
At the hotel exit, he turned right and walked up to the junction with Perimeter Road, where he bore left and continued upwards. Past the next junction, a smattering of bars were scattered up the road. Looking down the next side street, he could see three small bars clustered close together. Walking down, he chose the central one, Niftys, and entered.
Through the curtain, and down a couple of steps to his right, he entered a long thin bar. To the right was the stage, on which danced eight or ten girls in hanger blouses and tube dresses running from the bottom of their belly to the top of their thighs. At the stage, were bar stools and opposite the stage were stools either side of flying tables butting out from the wall. He took a seat at a table against the wall.
