rub a dub dub, two goddesses in a pub (repost!)

saturday night. seven in the evening. i was for the nth time watching the young and gorgeous christopher de leon and the equally young and beautiful hilda koronel in the mike deleon classic kung mangarap ka't magising, a fabulously-photographed and wickedly delicious film about finding love at the wrong time, at the right place with the perfect person, shot entirely in baguio in the late seventys, when the eternally cold city still looked calm, serene, charming, even rustic; before traffic, pollution, overcrowding and a shopping mall spoiled its beauty.

while mimicking hilda koronel's elegant and intelligent interpretation of a distraught young woman aching to free herself from the clutches of her domineering, suffocating, unromantic husband, i was drinking a glass of red and munching on cheese flown overnight from paris.

in the film, hilda's character married young at seventeen, had a child at eighteen, and was contented playing a perfect wife to a rising businessman but from time to time found herself trapped in a dour marriage and suffocated by her tyrant of a husband.

in her effort to find her own place under the sun, pardon the cliche dearies, and so she could break free from the humdrum life of a young, rich wife, whose husband tells her everything that she needs to do -- how to dress up, what to wear, how to behave in parties, how to sit down -- she decided to go back to school. unable to concentrate and finish a paper, she went to baguio, where she also reconnected with a liberated cousin, the luminous laurice guillen, a professor at the university of the philippines.

her cousin introduced her to her bohemian life, free from the clutches of religion, tradition and morality. she even encouraged the young hilda to have an affair!

this is where hilda meets the directionless, free spirited christopher de leon, who at twenty three, is still clueless about life, still in school studying a course that he has no interest at all, let alone finish it. still mourning the death of his girlfriend, christopher spends most of his time hanging out with his friends, composing songs (he first studied music at the ust conservatory), smoking pot, doing everything that students should do other than attending classes.

&&&&&&&&

(anyway, watch the film, it's so good. you will feel like jumping on a bus to baguio after watching it. you will fall in love again with the young christopher de leon and the city of pines.)

*************

so there i was, about to shed a tear while hilda was crying the morning after she slept with christopher in a hotel room in sagada, when my phone, an old sony ericsson model, rang. it was my powerful and generous gay friend or pggf, the globe trotter georgette rothschild vda de oppenheimer.

"ola," i said joyfully. i haven't heard from the faggot for months now. the last time we were together was last new year's eve when we partied like horny kids at one of the top bars  at the bgc (in case you have been living in paris, it's called bonifacio global city. how original noh?!) and ended up at her luxurious apartment in forbes much, much later, drunk, intoxicated, and with us were five gorgeous young men whom we did not even know.

"where are you?" came her answer. very business like. direct to the point. georgette the pggf, by the way, is an internationally renowned artist who is flying in and out of the world almost every week. because she is too busy and very important, she has no time for small talks. so words like "hello!' "how are you?" "glad to see you." "it's been a long time, so lovely to bump into you." are not in her alien dictionary. or vocabulary. or whatever.

"home."

"on a saturday night? so unusual darlin!"

"i told you, i have become a monk since i went home last december."

"pity."

silence.

"fancy going out?"

"hmmmm..."

"i'll pick you up in an hour."

"ok."

"no, make it two. i need to get rid of someone who has been pestering me all day!"

before i could say "ciao!", she hung up. see?

no goodbye, see you.

typical georgette.

&&&&&&&&&&

four hours later, while i was almost finished watching kung mangarap ka't magising for the second time, georgette called. "i'm downstairs. get down quickly before the yucky flood reaches my car."

"why didn't you take the chopper?"

"long story."

then she hung up.

before i opened the door, i checked myself first in the mirror. i didn't want to be criticized again for my outfit. being a woman of the world, having attended the latest exclusive runway shows by the biggest designers in the world, georgette could wound your pride if you are not careful on what you are wearing. one time, i was wearing a pink long-sleeve paul smith shirt over white d&g jeans, and a ralph lauren navy blue jacket (this was summer and we were skiing in sweden), when she screamed like a mad woman: "you look so bourgeois! so nouveau riche! go and change. i don't want to go out with someone who is like a walking ad for those expensive, but ugly designer outfits. you're so devil wears prada fashion victim!!"

so tonight, i settled for an old hugo boss tight fitting dark jeans that has been in my closet for eight years now (i know right? i haven't gained a pound since then. hahahahaha), a black anonymous long sleeve shirt, and an unbranded sport jacket. a newsboy cap, a clutch and prada sneakers.

when she saw me, georgette was impressed. we made beso-beso, but of course.

"very understated. love it!"

i didn't say a word.

georgette was of course wearing the latest runway fashion from emilio pucci. quesehodang mukha syang coucour(tinahin). pero in fairview, carry naman ng dukessa. that's the thing about georgette, she doesn't mix. she wears one designer at a time. and she doesn't care what others think. "i dress for myself" is her style mantra. "i don't do fashion for the sake of fashion." that's her second one.

while i, the commoner friend, the best friend, is contented pleasing her discriminating taste.

"how are you?" i asked.

she dismissed me with a raised left eyebrow and puckered lips. read: i will tell you all about it later. 

mababaliw ka bakla!

%%%%%%%%%%

we ended up at a chic bar along kalayaan. the one with the huge buddha. go figure. before we were even seated, celebrities, models, actors, actresses, starlets, socialites, wannabes, have all given their salutations to the queen, her royal highness georgette the pggf in an emilio pucci ensemble from head to toe. no accessories. the best accessory darlin is a raised eyebrow, puckered lips and a shiny, shimmering, sexy body. that's another one of her unbreakable fashion rules.

another thing about georgette: she doesn't have facebook, twitter or ig. a truly world class artist, she shuns publicity. in my book, that's a really class act that can only come from someone who was born with a diamond-encrusted pacifier on her velvety mouth.

after a young handsome waiter worthy of a movie star contract over at star cinema (read: mukhang badette) took our orders, georgette started talking. this is another thing about her. before you can even ask a question, she will regal you with her latest adventures.

ladies and pa-ladies, fairies, queens, princesses, witches, bitches and wannabes, without further ado...here she is....the one and only...

georgette rothschild vda de oppenheimer!

&&&&&&&&&&&

i was in paris a month ago. you know watching fashion week. getting drunk. boozed. sleeping with those gorgeous models. then i got bored. so off to venice hoping i would fall in love with a gondolier. but no. the scenery was the same. same old boring flooded city with lots of young men who only want to devour me and nothing else. no mental stimulation. nada! yawn!

so i decided to fly to athens you know. the original cradle of democracy. the motherland of archelaus, aristotle, arestophanes, etc, etc. i was having coffee at one of the seaside hotels near the ruins when i met this young greek god. his name's pythagoras, yes named after the great mathematician who discovered the pythagorean theorem. god, you should see him. he looked better than the young brad pitt in that sentimental robert redford movie a river runs through it. oh the body. very grecian. a god. it's like he was sculptured by no less than michelangelo. and those blue eyes. blonde hair.

did i mention the brain? oh. we talked about the credit crisis in greece, the country's tight fiscal policies, the european union's tepid response to the european crisis, the european union and how it should do more to help its less prosperous members. etc. the etc. here, darlin, is very important!

to make the long story short, he went with me to my hotel room that overlooked the parthenon. oh it was gorgeous at night. you could almost hear the goddess eos walked at dawn, doing whatever goddesses do at those ungodly hours. oh it was breathtaking. made even more beautiful by pythagoras in his birthday suit, drunk and kissing me all over.

so we were naked in bed. we were doing it. then i smelled something. down there. it was, to put it gently, the weirdest smell that i had ever encountered in my thirty slutty years.

&&&&&&&&&&

so what did you do? i asked. interrupting her thoughts.

she gave me the bella flores stare.

before she answered my question, she called the waiter. we ordered another round of poison, our sixth or seventh or eighth for the night. it was nearly two in the morning. the witching hour.

by this time, the bar was filled to the brim. the music was loud. manille's young, rich, fashionably dressed and gorgeous sets were rocking like it was the eightys on what looked like a dance floor.

&&&&&&&&&&

what happened? i asked again.

"do you want me to continue or shall we dance first? i see three pythagorean looking men on the dance floor."

"do you want me to go home?" (my bitchy twin sister replied. she was annoyed.)

"ok. ok. sit down. relax. drink. enjoy the view. i will go on your majesty mahatma gandah! god i miss you sweetheart and your foul, dark mood." then her evil laughter that almost drowned the disco music.

they're playing, this time, miley cyrus. the young crowd shrieked and convulsed. their generation's madonna. but if you ask me, nothing beats the original queen bitch!

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

so we were kissing in bed.

i was already down on him. devouring him as if i were a ravenous lioness pouncing on an innocent cub. i was almost there when i stopped. there was a foul smell. it wasn't coming from his crotch. it was somewhere else. then i went down further and ewww. it was his feet. it smelled worse than, what do you used to say, a bagful of dried fish.

that really turned me off. so i stopped. grabbed the luxurious hotel robe, lavender in case you were wondering, and stepped out into the terrace. outside, it was divine. there was a thinly sliced lemon of a moon and a light breeze that naughtily touched my skin. gently. lightly. i shivered. it was better than the
kisses of the young and brusk pythagoras.

then he followed me outside. naked.

"what's wrong? why did you stop?" he demanded.

"i am tired."

"what?!" i could tell that he was angry. and down there, it was even angrier.

"can we just stay here for a while. it's more romantic."

"but i did not go with you to enjoy this view. i've seen it a million times. i am from here."

"well, maybe with me it will look different."

he came towards me quietly. then he started kissing me again. ah those kisses. so wild. so hungry.
so......

%%%%%%%%%%%

she stopped. sipped her poison.

"and then?" i asked.

laughter. from her. wild.

i was getting irritated.

"what happened? did he throw you out of the terrace? did he try to rape you right there and then?

"it was not really rape. because i did not resent. i did not shout no. if it was rape, i let it happen."

"wow! i wish i were with you."

"remember, i asked you to go with me."

"that's the thing. my finances are absurd. my credit cards are all past due. i have overdrawn my savings.

i can't borrow from mother and grandmother because our funds have been frozen by the government."

"poor mahatma. why didn't you say so? i would gladly pay for the trip. what are friends for?"

"never mind. you know i hate traveling on someone else's expense account."

"so what did you do while i was away?"

%%%%%%%%%%%%%

good question. then i stood up and looked for the three pythagorean looking young men on the dance floor as miley continued her rants about wrecking balls. the night is young, i thought, and we are young. so let's set the world on fire.

(all photos were taken from different websites. no copyright infringements intended! pls inform the blogger if  you want your photos removed. thank you very much,)