Chapter 5: The Anticlimax

CHAPTER 5
THE ANTICLIMAX

We were spent. Both of us.
If you actually made it all the way through Chapter 4, then you know why I’m smiling as I type these words. Spent, yes, but neither Spinner nor I wanted to leave Miniloc Island. When I expressed that thought out loud, our departing outrigger captain offered up a very sincere scheme to call both the Philippine airline and my American business with a story of a sudden serious injury that would require a “couple more weeks” of hospital stay. (Dude has done this before!)
Long after reluctantly passing up this offer, the ITI turboprop glided gently into Manila, the fading orange sunset barely illuminating the singular profile of the Spinner and I. Our bodies clung together inside the airplane with the same natural, familiar bond of returning honeymooners. Spinner had just conquered her fear of flying on this fourth and final flight of our adventure. My assurances of air-travel safety finally paid off. She felt calm and sleepy in my arms. I smiled with my face quietly buried in her wonderfully wild hair as the plane drifted downward within a few feet of touchdown.
I sighed.

I flinched.
I fucking jerked!
My head snapped up just as both engines unexpectedly spooled up to full power just before any tires safely screeched onto the runway.
TOGA!
Take Off and Go Around. Emergency style.
The little craft struggled, shuddering at the flat altitude of 15 or 20 feet above the runway for a few seconds before finally pulling up into the sunset.
I madly goosenecked at the window, searching for the cause of our emergency ascent. Another plane on the runway? Couldn’t tell. Just then, during our crazy climb, I heard the unmistakable mechanical thunk of the landing gear, followed by the unmistakable rumble of the WIND through the landing gear.
Fuck.
I never heard any such wind-rumble on our approach.
Fuck.
We were just a few feet from making a truly spectacular BELLY landing on the Manila runway. Spinner smiled unknowingly, as most of my very pale face was hidden in her hair. I could hear all the echoes of my “flying is safe” speeches bouncing in my head as I hung onto the armrest with knuckles as white as those that Spinner displayed on Lt Kilgore’s speedboat. Earlier in this report, wrote that SEAIR sucketh. ITI might just be worse.

“Why the emergency TOGA?!” I drilled the pinay copilot who was maybe 19, after we were all safely walking together on the tarmac away from the plane. I already knew the answer. She hesitated. The pilot interrupted her.
“A warning light, sir. Don’t worry, we will get it serviced.”
“Bulla Bulla.”
“Sir?”
“BullSHIT! You FORGOT to deploy the landing gear.” He started walking away. “Warning light, my ass! Three wheels DOWN, three green lights ON. You almost did a belly-flop! Thank God there was still a little daylight- the tower probably spotted no gear, right?”
Captain Careful smiled back over his shoulder as he walked away. I knew that stupid smile. That was the stupid smile of a happy guy after an airborne airstart. I used that smile too. Fucker. Too far away for my heat/humidity speech.

Our ride through the darkness to Angeles in the back seat of the hotel car was quiet, intimate. I felt her lips in the dark before I felt her tears. I dropped Spinner off at her house with the happy exhaustion of a teenage boy on the morning after the high school prom. (minus the grass-stained dress) I was sad to part with her, yet I was happy to part with her. Hell, I was in Angeles City. I had one more night. (Whoo hoooo.)

Spinner and I slowly kissed goodbye, barely swaying in the silent darkness of her neighborhood to a soundtrack of sad music in my head. (My life seems to happen this way) It was “Love Hurts”, by Incubus. (sappy fucker, here) For an entire week, we shared emotions. We shared intimacy. We shared love. Yes, we shared love that was no phonier than the convenient “love” volunteered by most Western girls confronted by a man of means. No less significant. Funny how that works…

“Louie? Your girls are getting skinny,” I grinned with the surprise delivery.
Louie’s eyes held the contempt of Lt. Kilgore’s boat passengers forced to hear my singing. The Hawaiian pizzas arrived in Tender Touch as Louie rolled his eyes. It seems there was one previous UPI (Ugly Pizza Incident) involving a few Tender Touch girls hoarding several pieces while a few other girls went without. How was I to know when I ordered? (I think I identified two of the plump pizza pirates!) We all ate Hawaiian pizza because that’s the topping begged by Louie’s harem as I conducted my informal survey, while he was distracted with other customers.

Louie eventually introduced me to another AE member.
Docjaidee.
WHAT?? Holy shit! Doc??!!
Small world. How cool is Asian Escapades?
Yep, this particular Doc was the very same experienced AE member who answered a stranger’s PM regarding El Nido just a month earlier. I altered my island travel plans just a bit based upon Docjaidee’s wisdom. I now have to give him much credit for my amazing memories from Chapter 4. (Thanks, Buddy!)
Our AE house doctor, here, was back in Angeles just a bit early from his own Chapter 4- style visit to an island just south of my own Boom Boom Beach. Lagen Island, I think. I was still glowing so much from my trip to paradise with Spinner that Doc first eyed me with the careful distance that he might save for Mjibbo dressed in a skirt with full makeup. My colorful stories were all born from his recommendations. I was the student who finally met the master who steered me to paradise.
(did I mention that AE is truly cool?)

Eventually, we all embarked upon the ritual AE barhop including Louie, running into Shagger and Lewis the Hotelier along the way. (Lewis draws the women!) We stumbled through Lolipop, Vortex, Carousel, Cambodia, Neros, and Blue Nile Exec. Finally, after two trips to AC, I was on a REAL barhop… tasting tequila from titties, feeling feminine behinds in my lap, gazing in awe at Ronalie’s tricks with her friends. (me likey Ronalie, diba?) The sounds were shouts, squeals, giggles, and thumping music. The smells were beer, sweat, and the unmistakable pungent pleasure of transudated skin oil. Yep, smegma. Female variety. Maybe a little lime juice mixed in, found much higher on the body than expected. Smegma nipples?? Yummy! (who put that stuff THERE baby??!!)
As Louie and I stumbled into Carousel, I witnessed a shocking event. At the mere SIGHT of AC’s youngest pimp, I saw four or five bargirls faint. Fucking FAINT, I tell you. Just like a heard of those stupid fainting goats that fall over sideways when they are startled. Shit. MVPIMP truly has powers of some evil variety. Just when I was bowing down to the God of the Fainting Bargirls, we entered another bar where three other gyrating pinays suddenly started screaming and pointing at us like we were rock stars. Louie beamed. I shook my head with simultaneous respect and disgust. Louie proudly stepped in front of me to fully acknowledge his fan club, arms raised like Bono in a large stadium. One of the girls urgently waived him to the side and then they all pointed to me. ME? Louie looked back at me, arms comically frozen in false benediction. What?? HAAA. It seems that just being THE one white guy in Rock Star Louie’s entourage makes some of them wet. Good times. It was Louie’s turn to shake his head. It was my turn to be Bono. Haaa.

“SHAGGER!! I just barfined three lesbians!!” I shouted over the chaos surrounding Louie’s bodyshots with a pretty girl who looked to be about 18. (Barely.)
I received a wise yet reserved grin after my declaration. Let’s be clear: Dude knows stuff. I was on HIS turf, yet too Patron-fueled to grasp the subtlety in his smile that was fading into a smirk.
My three new lesbian friends were very happy to participate in my multiple bastos body shots. The tequila was flowing in… BNE? Maybe. I think so. It was a bit of a sticky blur. The music caused all three semi-nude bodies to sway while the tequila dripped into hidden places that increasingly occupied my lick-that-later mental notes list.

Two out of three limp-lesbians landed in my bed and one limp-lesbian landed in the (empty) Jacuzzi. I was truly infatuated with one of the carpet-munchers, but there was very little carpet-munching that occurred that night. I woke naked, next to two of my fully-clothed companions, and contemplated the Spinner/tequila mathematics that I ignored in Chapter 3. Seems like I suck at math in South East Asia. My little cutie woke earlier than her hungover cohorts, though, and salvaged her tip as I submerged MY tip.

I was NOT yet ready to let go.
One more Sunday afternoon in AC found me at the white-washed Lewis Grand Hotel for the first time. The previous night, I had shared the man-in-paradise-grin with Lewis, and was determined to see his hotel. I instantly understood his disgust at my response to his previous “where are you staying” question. Wow. I found my obvious accommodations for my next trip. Who knew? (okay, YOU guys knew!)
The mellow Sunday Lewis Grand pool party included amazing food (seriously-spicy wings!), cold SML, and many AE regulars. While I was again making goo-goo eyes at Ronalie, Shagger spoke up.
“Mate, you were very excited about your lesbians last night!(?)”
“Well, yep, I had all KINDS of plans, based upon mr_bastos pictures,” I replied.
“And?” came the now-familiar sideways Shagger smirk.
“And they all passed out from too much tequila,” I shrugged sheepishly.
”Ohh, I NEVER give the girls tequila,” Master Shagger declared.
I squinted at Ronalie the Tequila Girl like Phoenix might squint at dad’s naked girls in the rain in his backyard. My very hungover brain sensed an oxymoron, yet was not even prepared to spell “oxymoron” at that moment.

The afternoon pool party was fun, but at first lacked the proper quantity of submerged labia. I had just asked Louie which nearby bars could cure balls that were a bit lonely and blue when the other famous Lewis Grand hotelier, Pateng, walked right up.
“ I hear you want to barfine a few girls?”
“YES!” I exclaimed to Bobby, who shared my crazy-eyed vision.
It turned out that Mr. Bobby Pateng, here, was tight with the Geckos manager and merely a phone call produced the requisite wet labia. We both barfined a few, and the party cranked up a notch.
I spent the early afternoon of my final day truly in awe of Lewis, Bobby, and Mr. DJ Dude.
I spent the late afternoon of my final day perfecting underwater tickling of the cherry girl among the Geckos girls.
I spent the evening of my final day reluctantly flying back home.
The Post Philippine Depression kicked in while I was still on the plane.
My PPD won’t fucking let up.
Look out.
I’m coming back!
(ooh hey, and look out, the sky is fucking blue!)

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