Porn Idol

Why the hell are we going inside and spend £3, when we can get free entry flyers at Old Compton Street?

It was a night out that had gone wrong (well, not really) with Ray, I, and his friend Jen, when he explicitly told a lie as we were passing by Charing Cross station. He got ‘curious’ at this bar called Heaven, and it will be first time to venture in this club.

This gay club? Please. It was only last week that we’ve been here with Edric, so, why come back here and risk the fact that he brought a straight girl friend.

I was supposed to bring them to a simple English pub to experience the traditional Briton nightlife. However, it got the best of Ray when he explicitly dragged us to this, erm, revealing place. I got a bit miffed, primarily because it was really not right to lie, and second, it’s not really good to drag someone who clearly doesn’t have an idea who I really am. I can’t help but think if God is testing me or not.

Anyhow, since we both have to act like we’re naïve or something, we asked a lot of nonsensical questions on the bouncers and bartenders, like the entrance fee, where the toilets were located, and the minimum card payment value.

The three of us managed to take a spot while eyeing on the different hot guys dancing. It felt funny as I spotted Filipinos coming in herds.

“Baluarte ng mga Pinoy,” I whispered to Ray.

Seriously. The ages would range from about 20s to late 40s, and it was amusing to see that they looked as gay as ever.

After a few more songs, the lights went back on, and it meant only one thing.

It was time for Heaven’s special Thursday show…. Porn Idol!

Going back, we were asked by these effeminate party organisers outside the club if we would fancy registering for this contest. Hello? Me, stripping in front of hundreds of people, just for some money? No way, man. Maybe if I get a bit inebriated, then fine.

I was about to faint because I was trying my best to keep my excitement to a minimum whenever I feel that Jen would eye me from head to foot.

There were 9 contestants that night, and they have to strip on stage, and based from the audience and the judges’ scores, the winner will get a 100 quid.

I left Ray and Jen at the back and moved a bit closer to the stage to get alongside with all the cheers, boos, and the cramped spaces.

So, one after the other, contestants strutted, stripping off their piece of clothing, either showcasing something mouth-watering or something disgusting. And everyone just bit their lips when a Spanish couple kissed torridly on stage while stripping off their clothes, revealing their God-damn-it bodies.

Even after cheering loudly for the Spanish couple, they only won second place. I almost lost my voice for them! A chubby Cypriot guy won just because he shook his arse like Shakira. The British public sometimes have their share of insanity.

Instead of getting conscious of the possible repercussions, I just chugged my Jack Daniels, whilst dancing to the tune of The Time (Dirty Bit).

It felt so intoxicating. The boom boom sounds resonating on the dance floor, with the piercing white, blue, yellow, and pink dance lights that flicker every millisecond.

I never wanted it to end. It felt so good letting all my inhibitions go, every for just this night. Hell, I was working for 40 hours already since Sunday.

Now that I’ve thought about it, I actually don’t care anymore. The reason why life is getting frustrating is because I always think how people will perceive me.

That is wrong, painfully wrong. It’s like you’re digging your own grave if you keep on doing that. It’s your life, not theirs. Why think so much about what they will say? Yes, culture and society play a role here, which is why London is the place to be… for letting all your inhibitions out, just for this moment in your life.

That is why my friends, I can’t wait to go back to Manila, to meet my cyberfriends, and venture on the bars along Malate.