For those who are reading my Tikbalang stories for the first time, this is the first chapter of the sequel to the 14-chapter How to Tame Your Tikbalang series I've already upped here on Literotica. I do recommend reading that series first so you don't get too lost at sea with this one.
For those who are waiting for the sequel to HTTYT, here is its first chapter. :)
I do appreciate feedback and it actually helps me see if I am able to execute my intents in the manner I've planned, so, yes, please do tell me what you think of this chapter if you are so inclined.
Thank you so much.
*****
The beat bit down to the bone, the full, thumping bass insistent and evocative of the pounding he wanted to give, to get, to meld to a melody of groaning need and wailing climax.
Kidlat stalked through the crowd of bodies inside Pepe's Pole on a Saturday night, his reddish-brown hair dark and still dripping from the sudden downpour that sent him into the kinky little bar in Malate, Manila in the first place.
It was when Kidlat skirted the dance floor and its gyrating bodies that he saw him: A tall human in a sea of
Diwata, Tikbalang, Engkanto
and
Aswang
, lounging with an ease that said "yes, I know I'm a sexy beast. Come and get me." One large, well-shaped hand was on a black denim-encased thigh, tapping out a sensuous syncopation on tight quadriceps muscle that echoed the pickup in Kidlat's heartbeat.
The man was seated on one of the barstools, leaning back with a fuck-me-stupid smile highlighting a face made for the immortality of sculpture. His white linen shirt offset a tanned chest and arms and, when he took a long pull off his Cerveza Negra, the shirt's mandarin collar and three undone buttons framed a luscious throat Kidlat could imagine licking over and over again. His wavy black hair was cut in a carelessly tousled just-rolled-outta-bed shag that went well with his strong, angled brows and dark eyes ringed with almost girlishly thick and long lashes. His red lips glistened, their fullness sealed against the brown lip of the beer bottle and Kidlat just had to stare, teeth on lower lip as the man took another long pull and swallow.
Onstage, dancers took to pole and cage with artful abandon, their hips and thighs making bold statements of sexual desire as they looked out on the audience below with bright, feral eyes, their clothes coming off slowly and seductively to expose flawless skin neon-painted with tribal designs that drew the eyes to breasts, built chests, gorgeously cut abs and other parts down south worth second and third looks.
Not that Kidlat noticed. All he saw was the man at the bar, swigging his beer and scanning the room. Obviously that gorgeous hunk of man was waiting for someone, what with his eyes going between entrance and stage.
Now, Pepe's Pole was a place where the beautful took center stage without shame, shook their booty and seduced the audience without hesitation. It was also a place where the Other World's denizens could let their hair down and find themselves someone to roll in the hay for an hour, a day, maybe even eternity.
It was just another monsoon evening in Malate, once the most notorious of red-light districts. Former Manila Mayor Alfredo Lim may have cleaned up the district, but that was mainly just for show. In this part of the City by the Bay, sex still happened in dark alleys and even duskier nooks. You could get your pounds of flesh any way you wanted if you knew where to look.
This Tikbalang was hunting and his prey was within sight.
***
Ulap Delubyo Batumbakal was sitting under an umbrella at the little outdoor café as the rain fell. Clad in his impeccable banker's bespoke tropical suit in charcoal gray over a pristine white shirt and red Versace tie and shod in the best black designer wingtips the Florsheim store had to offer, he looked every inch the chairman of the board that he was. His black hair was streaked with white wings at the temples, which only added a dignified air to his rakishly dark good looks and the natural tan of his skin. Not bad for someone with four children who were full-grown and living their own lives. Actually, not too bad, indeed, for someone who was about to become a grandfather at long last.
Ulap sipped his
barako
espresso and leaned against the wicker back of his chair, his coffee eyes taking in the slick asphalt of the designated space where he expected his wife to park her car. It was, after all, her turn to pick him up from work, but she'd gotten stuck in the monster traffic jams that make up Manileños' everyday calvary. Instead of waiting in his Manila office, Ulap decided to go out for a bit of a walk and a coffee.
The café was part of a small compound enclosed by a low brick wall that also housed a bar, full-service spa and what looked like a small gift shop and he'd come here for sentimental reasons.
When he'd been wooing his wife, this patch of pavement was once a little restaurant run by a self-made Chinese businessman who'd married a full-blooded Spanish
insulares
lass. This was where he'd finally won a happy "yes" from Bulan's sweet, lovely lips.
Now it was owned by different people who had preserved the Spanish colonial architecture of the main structure and the art deco designs of the outbuildings that were added years later. They'd put these to multiple purposes, but the lot itself was still a space he'd some sentimental affection for—even after all these years.
It doesn't matter how long you've been married, Ulap thought to himself as he checked his wafer-thin Breuget watch for the third time in the last quarter hour. You make sure your woman knows you're taking good care of yourself for her sake.
"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"
A masculine voice interrupted Ulap's reveries and he turned to look at the stranger who'd approached him.
"Actually, I'm just waiting for someone," Ulap said, his voice polite but carefully neutral. He was not happy with the assessing look the stranger had given him, like he was the café's dinner special.
"Are you taken?" This from the mortal in tight, white skinny jeans and black, torso-hugging t-shirt.
"Yes, son, I most definitely am." Ulap tried to keep the irritation out of his tone.
"Too bad," the wiry young human twentysomething said with a cutesy smile. "I'd happily have taken you."
With that, the young man disappeared through a set of heavy mahogany double doors under a blue and purple neon sign proclaiming the bar's name: Pepe's Pole.
At which point Ulap's mobile phone sang out Bulan's ringtone, the sexy guitar riff of the Inxs'
Need You Tonight.
"Oh, babe, I'm so sorry to be so late." Bulan's apology was shot through with an undertone of anger, the slight echo indicating that she was speaking over the hands-free feature. "Manila's so full of idiots behind steering wheels. They should be shot. That's the solution to our traffic woes: Get the stupid ones and the assholes off the road permanently and reduce their vehicles to cubes of crushed metal."
"Easy, Baylan mine, don't get mad," Ulap said with a small chuckle. "You might actually call lightning on the poor fool who offends you like you did last week. I'll just keep busy here, okay? There's a bar just past the café, Pepe's Pole. Let me go see what they have there and I'll meet you inside, okay? You can pretend to pick me up. It will be kinky, for sure. Should I play hard to get or
haliparot
?"
"You're such a bad boy, Ulap mine," Bulan was shaking her head at her husband's audacity as she maneuvered around yet another idiot and stifled a very, very bad word about that fool's ancestry. "Just make sure you're out of the rain and not too bored. If I do like the bar, I will definitely make a slut of you when I see you. I need to de-stress."
"All right, dear, I'll be inside, waiting to be propositioned by a goddess, then. After that, I'll be inside you. All night long. Love you."
Ulap rang off to Bulan's amused little huffs and smiled. Getting older did not mean losing the excitement that had brought him and his wife together, after all. With that thought top of mind, he pushed his way into Pepe's Pole, anticipating a good, hard shot of
lambanog
to get him ready for the advances of that buxom armful of goddess he called wife. The Old Gods knew he'd need fortifying first, because, as insatiable as he could get, his wife could definitely do him one better.
