Proudly Pink

From months and months of storage, I pulled out my jacket from the lowest depths of my closet last night. I was about to leave for Malate for the gay pride celebration when the sky opened in torrents. The rain somehow spoiled the street party they set up in the corner of Nakpil and Orosa, as long lines of soaking gay men in all shapes and sizes elbowed their way towards the shut street. For thirty minutes I waited for Jaf outside the gate that blocked the intersection. Ducking under a virtually leafless tree, I was drenched in no time.

After meeting Jaf (with a friend in tow) at almost 1 a.m., we quickly headed to Bed only to be greeted by a queue that spilled all over the courtyard in front of the bar. The rain clearly dissuaded us from joining the line. So we jostled our way into the thick crowd that moved in all directions. The crowd by the way was a mind-blowing array of gorgeous (albeit damp) men.

We opted to move to nearby O instead. The doorman however told us that they're not allowing anyone inside anymore because the place was fully packed. We had to beg him to let us in, which proved to be successful. O, being the tiny bar that it is, was filled to the rafters. Go-go boys and drag queens were perched on ledges, with the party crowd worshipping them from below. We inched our way towards the bar, stepping on shoes and being groped from all directions in the process. The place seemed to pulsate as one dazed being. It did not help however that the place was fucking hot (the temperature I mean), the mirrors all over the bar were steaming.

More of Jaf's friends joined us inside O, thus the frenzy started. Japheth, excited about the 23 pounds he lost after religiously going to the gym the past months, quickly took off his shirt, and started gyrating with every person around him. A friend grabbed him and they started kissing, to the delight of the onlookers. You can always count on Jaf to give a good show. As the night progressed more twosomes were entwined in passionate revelry.

Me, the manang, sulked in a corner, chain-smoked, and planned my clothes for next week. Of course I also played the role of the requisite voyeur. The men are gorgeous in general so I was more than delighted.

Having been lost in my thoughts, Jaf dashed to me to report that he had french-kissed six guys so far. And we were barely two hours in the place. I can't be more proud of him. He quickly turned away and grabbed a hot stranger, flossed him using his tongue, and asked his name when they both ran out of breath. They danced for about fifteen minutes, said goodbye to each other, and Jaf hopped on to the next arms that would welcome him at least momentarily.

At around four, I witnessed way too much french-kissing and crotch-rubbing that I decided to call it a night. I left the bar and discovered that the party outside had no signs of ever waning. I can safely say that gay pride weekend is the biggest night in Malate every year. My "tribe" came in full force, perhaps until the sun goes up. But sunrise was two hours away. Instead what I saw was a round moon that gave the city a charming iridescence.