I picked up a chair to smash on the dresser then heard a tapping on the door and the manager’s voice. “Mr. Lawrence if I hear one more sound coming from this room I am calling the police.”
I stopped in mid swing of the chair. I was shaking and tears were on my face. Blood ran down my arm from my damaged fist. I took a deep breath to still my trembling.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I slipped and fell. I’m ok now, everything ok. No more noise.” He stood outside the door and listened for a few moments, gave a satisfied snort and walked away. I carefully set down the chair and lay down on the bed. I placed my bleeding hand on my chest. I bit my lip as the broken glass dug into my back. I groaned involuntarily as some pieces went deep. I found what I sought. Then I smiled. I smiled at the thought of what I would do to Jesus if I ever got near Him again. .He was a crass, unfeeling brute and it was his fault that Jenny has to suffer. All she tries to do is help her family and is condemned to a life of poverty and misery.
~
Since I had had so much trouble losing my orientation, I had taken to writing out an explanation of who, where, what, etc. in my notebook that I kept by my bed. Problem was I would awaken in the morning and forget that I had written or where I had written it. So the day was ending on Siargao island. I was at the Pangasen resort in my room standing in front of the mirror. I had just finished writing the words, “Look in first page of your notebook” across my forehead. “There, that ought to do it’ I said with a satisfied smile. I had finally whipped a problem that had dogged me for years. I had considered some psycho work but had no faith in that profession. And now, I had come up with this low tech solution that should work ok. I can’t spend half the day not knowing anything about myself. I had been to the Subang (Cock Fights) that day and done well betting. I seemed to have a knack for picking the right chicken. I used the same method that I had been taught for picking horses at the races. Watch for the one that poops! If they can do that just before a race or fight, they are relaxed and confident. It wasn’t fool proof but came out around 70%.
Chapter 5
~
If you have any mongering skills at all in the Philippines you will end up with a maddening amount of phone numbers of young ladies eager to hang out with a foreigner. Not because you bear a striking resemblance to Justin Bieber, but you can afford dinner. For example you get a text from “Joan.” Joan? Where is Joan? Who is she? Etc. So I arrange my contacts by location. I put the name of the town they are from first in the contact info. Age is next. Then after their name, I put a rating number. The old 1 through 10 works. As soon as “Joan” texts me I know she is in a town 200 clicks away so I ignore it. I will text her back when I get there. I always join a dating site. Date in Asia or Filipinocupid. I begin writing the girls along my proposed route of travel, long before I get on the plane. By the time I arrive, we have completed all the small talk over the internet and ready to get down to some serious relationship shit.
I’ll give you some information now that will make buying this dumb book totally worth it. So far you can see I have already had a couple of close calls, troublewise. When you get your local phone and/or sim card. Don’t give your correct name. If you do something really naughty, which is tempting; and the police are told, they can keep an eye out for you at the airport of departure. The girl that fingers you will undoubtedly have your phone number. With that, the cops can check and find out who you are. If you have given a false name, dead end. You’re safe. Don’t tell anyone else about this little trick or it will be shut off quick. If the same 8 guys buy this book as did the first, we will remain a small elite group. When you get your sim card they ask for your name, but I have never had my ID checked. Viola! You don’t get to be old by being a fool.
The ride from Surigao city to Hinatuan was just beautiful. Reminded me of the west coast road from Washington state to California, before California dried up and blew away in the great drought of 2008-2015. I have some of this road trip on Youtube/potatohead.
One of the biggest problems I encountered was falling in love. It’s like I was back in high school. Why doesn’t she call? What’s she doing now? Does she love me too? The answer is she does not love you If you’re an old fool like me, it’s all about the wallet. Who can blame them? As an average American, I have never really known much about poverty. The girls you date will know poverty and hunger intimately. If they don’t, they won’t date you. If a girl had a job and made just 150-200 pesos per day, she often had the will power to resist my entreaties. The ones with no job were hungry and willing to listen to my ideas. Je je. The falling in love thing is tough to beat. The girls are so sweet and loveable. I guess everyone deals with that in their own way, but be advised, if you marry and take your 20 year old home with you, she likely won’t be with you long. Once she understands that her stock is worth a lot in the West. Not just her age and beauty but she is HWP a rarity where I come from in Washington State. Je je. Anyway, love? I execute plan “A.” Love is the same as any danger I face on my trips. Run!
When I’m on the road I wear fiberglass elbow and knee pads, leather gloves and of course a helmet. If you buy a new MC in the Philippines, it comes with a helmet. I have tried wearing heavy pants and stuff, it’s just too hot. So I just wear shorts, T-shirt and the protective gear above mentioned.
The big yellow, express buses are the kings of the road. They have a distinctive horn. When other drivers and pedestrians hear it, without even looking up, everyone heads for the side of the road. I was following a tri-cab near Tandag and a Big Yellow coming from the opposite direction came in our lane. The Tri-cab promptly drove him and his passengers into the ditch. I followed him. The Big Yellow flew on past us without so much as a “go to hell.” I had read in the local newspaper in Cebu how a Big Yellow had run over and killed a kid in the road and kept on going. The cops tracked him down at the end of his route and caught the driver. He is asked if he was aware he had run over a kid. He was. “I’ve got a schedule to keep.” The long and short of it, the company paid compensation to the family of the deceased and the driver was back to work the next day. If you hear the horn of the Big Yellow, get the hell out of the way!
~
I awoke with a cry. My eyes flew open. Heart racing. I was sweating in spite of the spinning ceiling fan above my head. I think I was trying to kill Jesus in my dream. No luck. My head was suffering from a pounding headache. Mouth so dry. Need water. I felt movement. There was someone in bed next to me. I turned to look. It was a young man.
“Oh no”, I groaned. “I’m a homo”
While I absorbed this unpleasantry, I turned the other way to get out of bed and there was a beautiful, naked girl on that side.
“Yayyyy…I’m not a homo.” I exulted quietly.
I carefully crawled over her and went to the door. The sun was up and there were several empty beer and rum bottles on the porch. Ashtrays full of butts.
“No wonder my head hurts.” I mumbled. Must have been a party. I found a crumpled pack of Marlboro’s with one left in it. I assumed I smoked because I felt like having one. I lit it and inhaled deeply. I reached for a half-full bottle of Tanduay. “Half full, I’m slipping” I said with a laugh. I got the impression that I had said this many times. Je je.
I looked out over a coco plantation. Through the trees, I could see the ocean and a nice white beach. “Hummm…I’m not home. Where ever that might be.”
The two people in the bed were brown not black. Rules out Africa. “Is this my place or theirs?” I turned and looked the other direction. Pagasen Resort sign leaned precariously next to a sandy road. In front of the porch was a small motorcycle. “Must belong to the boy inside?” I took another sip of the Tanduay and grimaced. The cigarette tasted good. The rum, not so much, but it was easing the pain in my head. I re-entered the room and went to find the bathroom to brush my teeth. As I gazed at a haggard old face in the mirror, I could see there was writing on my forehead. It was blurry like my face. “Humm…I must use glasses judgi
ng by the age of this old guy.” I laughed and went to find some. There was a pair on the nightstand. I put them on and returned to the bathroom. “Read first page in notebook by the bed.” The message on my forehead said. I retrieved the notebook, sat on the edge of the bed and began to read.
Your name is Lawrence Scott an American. You arrived on this island Siargao yesterday and staying at Pagasen resort. You came from the island of Camiguin where you got into trouble. Don’t return to Camiguin, You are on a motorcycle tour of Mindanao, Philippines. “Oh, that must be my motorcycle out front” I mused, “How cool is that?” I read on. BTW you are not a homo. The girl was afraid to stay with a big foreigner alone. She insisted that the gay boy stay too. So, are you a homo now? The notebook asked. Ha ha. If you are a homo you need to pay them both, if not, just give the girl a thousand. I looked up and saw my helmet cam aimed at the bed. “I guess I can figure that out soon as I plug that into a computer.”
“Yikes! My mom is going to scream!” the girl exclaimed and ran naked to the bathroom. I heard the shower start. I couldn’t resist. I ran to join her. She had beautiful smooth skin, free of any blemish. Smallish boobs and tight little butt. We soaped each other and rinsed. Mr. happy was emerging to see what all the fuss was. I indicated to her that I had an urge to merge. She gave Mr. Happy a sharp slap, toweled off and went looking for her clothes.
I turned to finish brushing my teeth and the gay boy came in the bathroom unannounced. He spotted Mr. Happy’s apparent excitement at seeing him and reached for him. I pushed him away and said. “My mom is calling, you have to go baby.” He frowned and stepped into the shower. By the time I exited the bathroom the girl was dressed and brushing her long black hair. Damn! I reached for my wallet and gave her a thousand.
“Can I see you again baby?” I asked expectantly.
“Yes of course honey. Just text me later,” she said and walked to the door.
“Hey don’t forget to take your friend with you.” I said and pointed to the bathroom where we could hear the shower running.
“Let’s go Gabe” she hollered. She lowered her voice and said that I should give him some money too.
“But why?” I asked. She gave me a playful slap on the face.
“Oh Lawrence you are a sly devil.” She said and giggled.
Gabe emerged from the bathroom naked looking for the only towel available. He toweled off standing on the bed. Everyone was waiting for him to finish. He had attention so he jumped on the bed and danced around swinging his penis to and fro.
“Come on you ass.” Shouted the girl.
He jumped off the bed and pulled on his jeans. I pulled another thousand from my wallet and handed to him. He shrieked with joy and reached his face up to kiss me on the lips. I turned at the last second and his feverish kiss landed on my cheek. But his hand reached and firmly clasped Mr. Happy. “Ok Gabe, the party is over, time to go home.” I said firmly with more conviction than I felt. He relinquished his hold and admonished me to text him later.
Now they were gone. I pulled the memory chip from my helmet cam and resolved to find an internet café and figure out my true orientation. I went to get on my bike and the young British guy with the room across the yard from me waved to me. I waved back and he gave me a wink and chuckled loudly. That tended to answer the orientation question I had had.
“Shit!” I said aloud. Going to be too embarrassing to hang around here anymore. “Boots and saddles boys, it’s plan “A” again.”
~
Even the fear of death is nothing compared to the fear of not having lived authentically and fully.
—Frances Moore Lappe
If you enjoyed Lawrence Scott’s adventures as a sex tourist, check out:
Confessions of a Sex Tourist--Motorcycling in Ghana, Africa
Confessions of a Sex Tourist--Motorcycling in Mindanao Page 4
