I had been asked to be paid for sex only once in my entire life. I don't know if this is a good batting average, but it's nonetheless a good conversation piece when nothing else seems to be interesting to accompany bottles of light beer or cruiser vodka.
I was probably 23 or 24 that time and has been single only for a a few weeks after a ten-month serious relationship. My friends brought me to this swanky bar at around midnight one weekend to check on what I have been missing since my recluse. They practically dragged me to this place saying it's where I'm supposed to be, to see and be seen. Giraffe Bar, my friends said, was the hangout to be on weekend nights if you enjoy hobnobbing with the beautiful and perfumed Manila crowd or at least not be in a place where both people and music are lousy. I trusted my friends since they are permanent fixtures on Manila's trendiest nightspots.
Two burly men greeted us as we entered. We went passed the main door and stationed ourselves in an area close to the bar near the ledge. From our spot, we can see those who are coming in and people from as far as the other end of the bar. From midnight until early in the morning when it closes, Giraffe is transformed into an interesting kaleidoscope of different people whose sexual preferences are as diverse as the drinks they order. Some are naturally preppy, others try hard to fit in; some are obviously still in school, others have had their share of class reunions; some come is stylish hairstyles, others in bizarre-looking toupees. However, there seemed to be an unwritten placement rule in the house even when people are squeezed in the place, the right side as you enter is mostly occupied by straight people while the left area is predominantly gay.
I headed to the bar for Kurant. As I was standing there waiting for my drink, this guy in black ensemble came right beside me. It was sudden, it was quick, it was smooth.
"Hi! My name is X. and I've been looking at you since you came in," he said while extending his right hand.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yes, and I wanted to ask if you want to come with me."
"Ha? Go with you where?"
"My place. I'll give you 1,000 bucks for it."
"Is that all I'm worth?" I quipped trying to find out how adamant he can get.
"I'll double it then. Let's go to the comfort room now. I'll give you the first 1,000. And give you the rest afterwards."
I froze. I had mixed feelings. I didn't know if there was something wrong with how I looked or combed my hair or my perfume that made the guy think I was a hustler. I swear I'll never ever wear RL again if that makes one look a hooker. Or Eternity.
Very calmly, I pointed to him where my friends were. I said, I was with them for the night after my sensational escape from the seminary. Then I said thanks and left.
Looking back now, there's nothing flattering about having someone offer to take out a wad of money just to have you on their bed and moisten their sheets. How can one's being be measured by a few paper bills? Maybe I'm just old-fashioned or worse, I should have been a religion teacher that's why I think so oddly about Mr. X's offer.
I wanted to know, how do the experts do it? How do they manage to do quickies, on one hand, and, on the other hand, still triumph to build a strong sense of self? I wanted to know, if I took on the challenge, what would that have brought me?
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