Filipino Guapos

Relieved to get out of America, fog delays held Warren up for several hours and changed his rout through Taipei. He had looked forward to flying into the old Hong Kong central city airport one time before the new one opened, but more importantly he'd be in Manila soon.

There was little he would miss about the States. The stress and oppression were a constant. Even friends and family unknowingly added to the stress because there was always doubt as to their tolerance. One day, perhaps he would be able to completely explain the situation certain minorities face.

Warren had been to the Philippines once before. He had only scratched the surface of the warmth and beauty of the country on his first visit two years ago. The majority of the people lived for life itself, not mere possession of material goods. He had gained some travel experience since then. This time he traveled lightly with only a six-pound backpack.

The plane landed at three o'clock in the morning. It felt terrific to be back in Manila. Warren spent his first day swimming, reading, and walking. After a dinner of dog meat in gravy over rice, he hit the club scene apparently intent on "getting it out of his system". How his values had changed. Paulo was a rather handsome nineteen year-old bar boy, but the acts back at the hotel gave him little pleasure. It was distant and obligatory. He reasoned that physical gratification would give him the peace of mind to patiently search for a younger boy whom he could spend higher quality time. With a three-month visa he was ready to search the seven thousand islands for him.

Seven young grimy boys played gambling games on the sidewalk with their few pesos. The oldest of them, perhaps nine, must have been the smartest. His hands were washed and his shirt was cleaner than the rags the others wore. Since it was checkout time at his hotel he went back to his room and hurriedly packed, planning to visit the boys on the sidewalk before departing for the ferry terminal. He wanted to buy them some crackers and fruit, but they had disappeared as a freak rain shower poured down cleansing the streets. Though the streetboys were gone, they had shown him his mission.

At the ferry terminal Warren discovered that all boats had already departed for that Sunday. The sky cleared and scores of boys entertained him by diving off of the barges in the harbor. Unfortunately, he couldn't stand there drooling all day. He took a tricycleta to the nearest hotel, which was more than a mile away from the swimming boys, but found that there was no shortage of beautiful people.

The room wasn't much. Sheets, towels, electrical outlets, hot water, towels, and toilet paper were not available. He could have returned to metropolitan Manila, but he wanted to live among the "real" people.

Six blocks into his initial exploration of the area he saw two fairly good-looking boys waiting for a passenger in their tricycleta. They called out to the young traveler and were elated to be his tour guides. Ite pedaled the bicycle with its sidecar through heavy traffic with his eleven-year-old legs. Rommell was a little taller, and later took over. The boys were delighted--incredulous even--that when the American stopped for a cold soda he bought one for each of them as well, and shared a restaurant table with them working on simple communication between their languages. An hour later they stopped at Jollibee (the McDonald's of the Philippines). The boys had never been allowed in previously--armed guards saw to that. They ate combo meals for less than one dollar apiece in front of a window where eight or ten men jealously watched. Ite and Rommell saved most of their fries and Cokes to give to the men ranging in age from twenty to sixty. The boys also gave them a package of crackers Warren had given them from a previous stop. The grown men played a game of keep away with the cheap crackers as if they were a rare delicacy. Eventually, they did share, and they thanked the foreigner profusely.

The boys dropped Warren off at his "hotel" hours later. He didn't know if he'd see them again before he left, but he invited them to return later that afternoon if they wanted to.

There was a boy of about thirteen at the hotel, the son of the owner. He was strikingly handsome, but oddly showed none of the Filipino warmth toward Warren. Earlier, he let the man into his room quickly and left, barely giving himself time to curtly answer the man's question with "my name is Raymond".

Raymond sat in a nearby chair studying mathematics in the lobby/living room at the hotel as Warren sat down with a soda. Characteristically perceptive of Filipinos, his mother could tell the man admired him, but she spoke no English either.

Following a restless night in the hot and noisy thin-walled room Warren came down the stairs and animatedly told Raymond he'd seen a big black rat outside his "window". There was no glass in the window, only wooden slats, several of which were missing. Raymond broke into a laugh with a beautiful smile. He was even more handsome in a wide-brimmed black hat.

After breakfast, Warren returned to the hotel to pack his things. Raymond gave him a friendly "Hi man" in the narrow hall. Warren acknowledged him and proceeded to his room. Immediately he wished he had invited him in for a picture--maybe shirtless. He'd seen the boy's gorgeous chest upon checking in. A one-inch scar under his left pec only added character, though Warren wondered how he'd gotten it. It appeared to be a knife stabbing. Raymond was five-foot-four--an ideal height, in Warren's opinion--tall enough to be very sexy and short enough to radiate his change-of-life beauty.

After packing, they shook hands goodbye. The boy's smile showed his warmth and possibilities of what might have been, but it was not the right place and time to form a close relationship. There was no privacy there. His grandma never seemed very accepting of the man, and--as much as Warren enjoyed living on the edge of a shantytown--he sought a shantytown next to a beach bungalow.

Tied to the pier was an old shrimp boat covered with boys diving and jumping from its side, stern, and bow. Warren was delighted to see that they didn't only swim on Sundays. Many of the ten to thirteen year-olds were naked, and their smiling faces were a sight to behold. The older teens, afflicted by societal standards, mostly wore swimming trunks. A few wore ragged briefs. Warren kept his distance at first, using his telephoto lens to capture the boys at play. It wasn't long before a few of the boys spotted the white man with the camera. He approached and they flocked around wanting their picture taken. He made sure that the boy he found most attractive was at the center of the camera's attention. Some of the other boys teased the most beautiful one when his dick became half-hard. Several gave mock bate shows, stroking their soft two-inch titis. Most of the younger boys were still uncircumcised, but a few had careless cuts. In a few years the others would visit the barbershop to have their foreskins removed as the tradition of passing into adulthood dictated. He shook a few hands and patted a few shoulders, managing to resist the urge to grab other parts. When his favorite boy stood beside him he discretely brushed the back of his hand against the boy's dick. No one else noticed.

Warren had three hours to kill before the ferry would leave. Dozens of the boys wanted to go somewhere with him--a hotel probably--but he decided against it. He'd had very little experience in checking into a hotel with a minor. He opted instead to go to the nearby small store and purchase three big boxes of cookies to share with them. They sat together on the pier for an hour eating and visiting until a security guard came and ordered all boys off of the boat and out of the area. Had the foreigner not been there they probably would have been allowed to continue diving and swimming. Warren suspected that the security guard saw him as a danger to the boys' well being. Then again, that may have merely been his tainted American mentality.

He boarded a newer "Super Ferry" for the 25-hour journey to Cebu City. The economy section was wall-to-wall bunks like older boats he had ridden on his first visit. For one dollar more he could have taken a reclining seat in the air-conditioned upper deck. The ferry had two dining rooms, snack and gift shops, a sun deck with a playground for children, and a small arcade. After dinner, the cafeteria would convert into a disco. He wondered if there would be same-sex dancing as he had frequently encountered on his previous visit. He also anticipated that the disco would be an all-ages affair.

It would be nice to have a traveling partner like Raymond, he thought. Raymond was everything he wanted in a friend. Then again, he hadn't known Raymond intimately, but those requirements were minimal.

Warren watched through the windows of the elegant dining room the first-class passengers being served five-course meals on china, wine in smart crystal, flowers in vases, and a candle at each table. The pretentious, stuffy atmosphere didn't appeal to him. The economy cafeteria featured a pre-dished aluminum tray of rice, creamed vegetables, and one curried chicken wing. The breasts and thighs likely went upstairs. Still, he didn't regret his choice. There was life among these people. One could join others at the long tables of friendly Filipinos. There were a few other white people on the ship, but they were all upstairs in first-class. He felt proud to be different; a sort of bridge between foreigners and common folk. These Filipinos were lower middle class and working class, though they'd all be lower class by American standards. The largest class of Filipinos "below" them would never be able to set foot on such a yacht even though it was a poor man's cruise. It was no Titanic in terms of class differential, but he had only begun to realize the importance societies place on status.

Warren had been to Cebu on his previous trip. This time, it was merely a stopping point where he would soon transfer to other boats to visit other islands. He'd had one teen friend there, a muscular boy who was well developed but still hairless. They'd spent parts of four afternoons at in the hotel room. Bong was the first boy to ever fuck Warren. Spent, he fell asleep on the man's chest, still inside him. It was no surprise that a boy would find the activity so pleasurable. Still, Warren had no cognitive desire to do likewise, though the boy may have allowed it. He could have fallen in love, but Bong was only interested in short visits. He didn't ask for money, yet Warren willingly gave because the boy obviously needed clothing. Though he had helped the man grow, he didn't expect to find him this trip.

Cebu lacks beaches, so Warren took a taxi across the bridge to the island of Lapu-Lapu. He sat alone in the beach resort's open-air restaurant built out over the clear blue water. A group of Japanese tourists chattered in the water below, but the resort was otherwise deserted. The room was nice. The beach was nice. "Nice" was about all he could say about the physical surroundings. "Nice" is a boring word, befitting the walled resort that wasn't worth the eighteen dollars a night he paid for it. There would be no life, no adventure, and no romance there. Already he longed for Raymond and the filthy accommodations of the family's hotel.

The evening was eerily quiet at the resort after security closed the gates to its impenetrable walls at five p.m. Being too far from anything, he decided to wait until morning to explore. He wondered what life was like on Lapu-Lapu before the resorts bought up all the beaches. It certainly couldn't have been fair to the locals. It took him all day to shake off the hangover from the previous night's disco in the ferry's cafeteria. Two twenty-year-olds had invited him to join them at their table. They were pleasant company, but they happened to be nearly the only straight boys in the room. A large group of young males sat together in a darker area on the other side of the dance floor. A few families and some small children danced together, otherwise only male and female couples danced during the early evening.

After Warren had purchased a second pint of bourbon, he'd become aware that the two young men were using him to lure pretty girls to their table. He made polite conversation, dodging suggestions of which lady he should marry. After a few more shared pints, Warren's dancing seemed to improve as he felt his inhibitions disappear. His attention turned more and more to the males across the way. They were very interested in the foreigner. Later, Warren sashayed his way over to their side. They applauded, high-fived, and took great pleasure in confirming their hunches that he belonged on their side all along.

Warren finished an early breakfast in the resort's restaurant anxious to escape the walls and walk the long road out to where real life existed. He found a basketball court and played for a while with some small boys, then continued walking. He walked all day, stopping only to look at crafts and drink cold sodas. The population seemed tired of tourists. He passed numerous attractive boys, but didn't think it possible to bring a guest out to the resort.

Hours after dark, Warren hailed a motor tricycleta to take him home. The driver, Danny, was a bubbly man in his forties. Danny suggested various diversions before returning to the hotel. He drove to a pink house where six young women in mini-skirts leaned against the front wall. Warren explained to the man that he was tired.

"They give good massage. Make you feel much better," he said with a knowing smile.

Warren managed to tactfully convey that he wasn't interested.

"Maybe tomorrow," Danny suggested.

"I doubt it. I really didn't come here looking for a wife or a girlfriend." Warren's head turned several times to appreciate beautiful boys they passed. Danny paid more attention to his passenger's actions than he did to his erratic driving.

"Maybe you like to find a boy."

Danny noticed the interest in his passenger's body language. He began pointing out young men they passed.

"You like him?"

"No."

"You like him?"

"Not really." The men were all in their twenties.

"How about him?"

"That's closer," Warren said of the eighteen-year-old Danny pointed to. Danny made an abrupt u-turn and slowed down behind the teen. "Let me talk to him for you."

"No thanks. He's not quite my type." Warren found this type of cruising interesting, but it really wasn't how he wanted to meet someone. The game continued for another half an hour until they passed two boys that turned Warren's head. Danny hadn't noticed the boys, probably still focused on older teens. "Fine boys," Warren said quietly to himself.

Danny heard him and slammed on the brakes. "Them?" Danny asked, looking in his rearview mirror.

"Well, it's kind of late, and the resort probably wouldn't..." Warren began.

"Wait here." Danny jumped of the motorbike and walked quickly toward the boys. They listened, and the next minute they were walking beside Danny toward the tricycleta.

Cyril was a slender thirteen-year-old with a very handsome face. Rodil was a year older, more muscular, and not as attractive. Danny chattered with them in Visayan. Warren gathered that they were talking about a private place they could go. The boys lived in the area and knew it well. Warren really didn't think he'd asked for any of this, but the boys were so willing that he saw no reason not to let them show him the adventure and pleasures of the island.

The boys directed Danny through numerous turns and down a dirt road, instructing him to stop at a patch of tropical overgrowth.

"Go have fun with them," Danny said. "I'll wait here for you."

The boys led Warren into the dark bushes where they had their way with him. It was two dark to see anything, but Warren hugged them and felt their bare bottoms. He was soon on his knees pleasuring both boys. Rodil was larger and hairy. Cyril was perfect. He tried to give equal attention, but Cyril was more succulent. Rodil begged for equal time, soon shooting a salty load. Warren then took his time with Cyril, eventually tasting sweetness. He had hoped for reciprocation, but the boys were ready to leave at that point. Of course, Warren had consented to the reversal of power; the boy was always in charge with him. It didn't seem likely that true love could begin with such an encounter, but he didn't want to discount the possibility of getting to know Cyril better. Invalid people are forced to find new ways if they are to survive.

Warren gave them a generous tip, and the boys agreed to meet him in front of a nearby store the following afternoon. Danny picked Warren up at the resort the next morning. His backpack was packed and ready to find a new hotel where boys would be welcome. Danny led him to just such a place and explained that two boys would be arriving soon. The driver complained of an empty stomach, so Warren (having already eaten breakfast) sat through and paid for the man's meal.

Cyril was even more attractive in the daylight. A cute face, the most beautiful body he'd ever touched, and a fine personality...but because they had gotten off on the wrong foot (though it was a pleasant adventure for all of them), Warren struggled with new emotions. He was a one-dude sort of guy. Milking two at once, though you love only one, but care about the other is difficult. Rodil put his legs in the air as the man slid his penis up and down the crack. Cyril watched with surprise. Rodil wanted it, but Warren was in a hurry to finish with the older boy so he could return to Cyril's magnificent cock. The boy pumped it into the eager mouth from various positions until he shot.

The boys swam in the swimming pool in their underwear as Warren took photos. An hour later, they were back in the room for round two. Danny returned to pick them up well before the designated time. Warren spent three more days with the boys, but Cyril turned down the offer to visit without Rodil.

We are in "like", Cyril and I,' Warren thought. Why him when there are so many boys that are attracted to me?' The time they'd spent together impressed upon Warren the difficulty in establishing bonds due to the language barrier. More than ever, he sought love--to share love was an ultimate truth. A quasi tourist city wasn't the place to find it. He decided that his search for love must go on.

The boys met Warren for a final lunch. Danny always invited himself. Just once, Warren would have liked the man to wait outside like a chauffeur. Several times Danny had even entered his hotel room and reclined on the bed.

They talked basketball. How he'd love to see Cyril play in his team's championship game Sunday. To watch his intimate friend move his sleek body around the court knowing that Warren was watching would be something special. Unfortunately, he would be dependent on Danny to take him there. There were no street names posted, so the traveler never mastered the layout of the city. Warren handed the man several bills.

"That's all?" Danny asked. "For four days?"

"I told you you weren't going to get rich off me." Roughly four dollars worth of pesos, the average working wage, was the price Warren deemed fair. After all, he'd only requested an hour or two of service per day. The meals and the extra friendly visits to the hotel had not been solicited. Warren reminded him of that. "And I loaned you the money for gasoline every time your tank was empty."

They shook hands, and Warren agreed to look him up if he came back to the town.

Warren returned to the big city of Cebu. On a long meandering walk through city streets and shantytowns he gained an entourage of young children. He stopped for a drink at a roadside shack and found himself surrounded by forty glowing, smiling faces. Some looked as if they had not bathed, or even washed their hands in several months. Others wore clean shirts and sported sharp haircuts with freshly washed hair. Why did they flock to him? He did nothing more than return their polite greetings. Other tourists didn't seem to have such a fan club. Here, he was in an area where he doubted they'd ever seen any tourists.

The older boys made their way to the front and led the conversations. They turned out to be some of the best English speakers he'd come across in the country. Perhaps they'd had some experience with foreigners, but Warren didn't consider that possibility. Cyril still occupied his fantasies. The little Tagalog that he had worked hard to learn did not do much for him in Cebu. Here, they spoke Cebuano or Visayan (synonymous), which has some similarities to Tagalog, but even many of the common words were different. The older boys interpreted for the younger ones.

After about twenty minutes, they invited him into what looked like a giant dumpster to watch them do flips. He was curious. He didn't think there could be a swimming hole in there. He was amazed to see a sea of scrap paper. Kids of all ages began doing back flips and combinations of flips. The older ones did thirty-yard routines that included mid-air twists and perfect landings. Any one of them would out-perform 99 percent of American kids. Warren promised to come back the following day with his camera. He thanked them for the show and said goodbye, but two dozen of them still followed him...three blocks...six blocks...continuing to chat along the way. They had not asked for anything until one little boy put his fingers to his mouth as if he were eating rice. He knew they were hungry. These kids always were. They were not hustlers looking for drug money. They were overjoyed when he asked them if they would like to get something at the store. A "store", to them, was a rickety wooden shack three feet by five feet, encased by chicken wire. He asked them what they wanted, expecting to hear "candy" or "chips" or "Coke", but these were more practical children. Several suggested bread and the others enthusiastically agreed, so he bought all the bread the little store had. The twenty-eight small dinner rolls cost thirty-two pesos (he may have been overcharged since the price was likely one peso per roll, but eighty-five cents U.S. fed the twenty-six children and there were two rolls left over that he gave to a hungry looking old man standing nearby.

Later that evening Warren was hungry for chicken, so he went to Kentucky Fried Chicken at the mall. 131 pesos! He felt guilty. Chicken, biscuit, rice, gravy, and mango juice...one fat meal. He could have fed one hundred people for that. It was no wonder to him that there were charity organizations whose goal is to feed the hungry. However, he'd never seen any of those organizations in this country, and he'd never liked giving money to them because a large percentage was often skimmed for administration costs.

Warren returned the following day as promised to see the shantytown acrobats. They were again glad to see him. He was disappointed to find that the dump--their playground--had been barricaded with barbed wire. Why? No one knew. It saddened him to think that there was not even a strip of grass within miles where the children could enjoy their tumbling. Nevertheless, they were happy that he took a group photo.

Warren found Omar, a young college student who spoke fluent English, standing alone on a dark street corner. He showed the visitor other parts of the city and shared meals for several days. He wasn't a particularly attractive heterosexual, but he begged to hear all of the young American's deepest philosophies. Meanwhile, Warren visited a young boy nightly who lived around the corner from his hotel. Shawn-Rock had shoulder length hair and earrings--pleasant, but rather shy. Another boy of interest worked with his family at their street side restaurant. He noticed Warren's attention, but his family was intent on setting the man up for marriage to their daughter.

Bubbles wore a skimpy top covering her small breasts, leaving her lean midsection bare. Wearing makeup, she was very flirtatious. When asked how old she was she replied, "ten". Perhaps the marriage would have been legal with parental consent, but Warren politely evaded the advances. Why couldn't he marry her older brother? The boy was fourteen.

Warren's heart longed for Cyril. On Sunday he taxied back to Lapu-Lapu Island to watch Cyril play his championship game. He didn't know where the court was, but he figured the driver could ask some of the locals. There weren't many courts near the town. Two hours later the taxi driver was ready to give up. They went to the terminal to look for Danny, his simple and bumbling motor tricycle driver whom he had relied on to navigate during his previous stay. He was nowhere to be found, so the mission had to be aborted and Cyril would only be a fond memory.

Managing to escape Omar's company one evening, Warren cruised the park and passed several potential mates. Before he could make an approach, queens surrounded him, all dying to be with the foreigner. Warren reluctantly decided to visit with them to learn more secrets of the city. After some time, he thanked them and tried to leave, but they followed.

Vanessa and Tata, two men in their mid-twenties offered to show him the Birdcage, a transvestite show bar. Warren cautiously agreed. Vanessa wore a bright blue dress and heavy makeup, though it did little to make him pretty. Tata wore ambiguous clothing without makeup and had very effeminate mannerisms. In the bar, several muscular strippers gave Warren special attention. He was compelled to put a few small bills in their G-strings. Vanessa was very pushy and demanded money when Warren was ready to leave. He gave none.

The American returned to the park the following night, wary of the voracious drag queens. He spoke to two boys briefly. Joel, fourteen, interested him. The boy introduced Warren to his sisters, thus he soon continued his walk thinking it a shame that Joel didn't share his interest. Lost in thought, Tata captured him by the arm, delighted to see the traveler again. It was late and Warren was thirsty for a beer, so he allowed Tata to lead him to a bar. He made it clear that he didn't want loud music or pushy people this time. He wanted to be with locals, somewhere cheap.

Downtown Cebu late at night was like walking onto the set of a post-nuclear war movie. Homeless people everywhere lit fires to burn garbage on the street, giving them light and heat to cook food (if they were fortunate enough to have any). But there was no script on this set. One never knew who would approach. It was not likely to be a tourist. They kept to their resorts, malls, and casinos. Though there were occasional old men adept at prowling the night in search of yet another whore to ease his lust.

Not far from the darkened center of the city, Warren's effeminate friend led him down a dark alley. Music and chatter piqued his interest. Soon, a few small blue and green lights could be seen. The narrow walkway suddenly broadened into a bustling mass of partiers. It was an open-air gathering place bordered by a twenty-foot high cement wall on one side and what appeared to be a three-story building that was never completed on the other side. It did provide two walls and something of a roof. There was no security guard and no one checked I.D. for proof of age. They wandered around a pile of cement rubble and spotted one unoccupied small wooden table. Taking seats on the plastic stools, they ordered two beers. He found it rather amazing that they had electricity, not to mention a refrigerator and flickering karaoke television.

It was midnight and the clientele was one hundred percent male, but there was nobody of particular interest to Warren. Tata showed no interest in the working-class men who likely preferred females, but he was always pleasant and amusing regardless of his surroundings or circumstances. He had that rare ability to deal with adversity as only the "third sex" can. Warren liked to think that he also possessed much of that ability. Baklas, effeminate queer males often seem to be the only variation of homosexuals in this country. Though most Filipino males have homosexual experience, even those who have been with other males for all or most of their lives do not consider themselves homosexual because Bakla is the only label available. It wouldn't be long before "gay" catches on and stereotypes begin to reduce, but for those determined to label various homosexuals they would need a large dictionary to find enough words to begin to describe the vast differences. Tata, though, was comfortable in his identity as Bakla. Warren realized that Tata wanted to be more than a friend to him, which made him very glad that the Filipino didn't apply pressure. He understood that he was not quite Warren's type. Still, Tata kept a flicker of hope alive.

As usual, Warren intended to sleep alone that night. Having spent many years alone, he was comfortable with that. He gave Cyril credit for his newfound wholeness and selectiveness. He felt satisfied like never before. Little did he know that he had only begun to realize the joy and healing power of a boy's love.

Hawkers continuously strolled in off the street carrying fruit, cigarettes, candy...most anything a person would want. One lady even offered condoms. Since this was the first time he'd come across this type of vendor, he stopped her to have a look. He picked up one of the Magnum XL's--the only size available--looked at Tata, and said, "Wow!" He put the condom back in the lady's basket and waved her on. "Do you think there is anyone in this place who could fill that?"

Tata laughed. They figured that the chances were slim. Filipinos were not only smaller in average height. Perhaps that generalization was premature. Warren's three-month trip had just begun.

After one beer was gone, Warren was in the mood for nuts...peanuts, that is. A lady soon approached with a tray of peanuts, but as he feared, they were those damned steamed peanuts that were so soggy and tasteless. No one seemed to know why the things were so popular. He guessed that the people thought they were getting more for their money with the swelled nuts.

"The nuts in America are much bigger," Warren said. He was merely stating a fact, but Tata's delighted facial expression turned it into a sexual innuendo, so Warren ran with it, "And we have only two nuts in each shell, not three or four. But there is nothing tastier than small nuts as you may know."

Warren had been honest with Tata from the first night that he preferred younger boys. It was necessary that he be aware of that in order to spare himself the rejection of coming on to the American. He seemed accepting.

The two continued drinking, smoking, and visiting until it was Tata's turn to sing karaoke. He performed with the vivacity and enthusiasm of a show queen making her first appearance in front of a packed house. Warren applauded him and then excused himself to the street to "have a jingle", as the Filipinos say. His bladder was ready to explode when he saw a narrow gap in the concrete wall with a cardboard sign reading "C.R." ("Comfort room" is Filipino for restroom"). He quickly stepped inside and was nearly knocked over by the stench of stale urine. There was a concrete trough badly in need of disinfectant. Why couldn't they at least empty the used dishwater into it once a week? Lizards, cockroaches, flies, and ants loved the place. Warren held his breath as he hurriedly drained his bladder.

"Would you care for a barbecued snack?" Warren asked.

Tata liked the idea, and reminded him that he didn't eat pork. This would make it a challenge to identify the mystery meats. Normally, Warren was not particular. Goat and dog were fine, but he drew the line at beef intestines after sampling a bowl of that strong shit (literally, the bowels had not been carefully washed) last week. Luckily, he scored some chicken livers and genuine beef from the kids cooking. Various young people worked around the place. It added a great deal to the atmosphere.

Savoring their barbecued food, a man called out "ba-looooot!"

Warren knew from his pre-trip study that balut was an egg with a well-developed chick inside that Filipinos considered a delicacy. He had not tasted one previously. "We'll take two," Warren said as the vendor approached their table. The American began to tap the egg on the table. Tata was alarmed. He grabbed the plastic bag that the peanuts had come in and spread it under his friend's balut. The first-timer took the warning seriously...this would not be a typical hard-boiled egg. There was a tough membrane inside the shell. He then pierced the membrane with his fingernail, allowing the amber-brown placenta to gush out into the plastic bag. He didn't care to examine it too closely because he didn't want to chicken out.

"You are a genuine Filipino if you like balut," Tata said in anticipation.

Warren held on to what was left of the egg white. The baby chick's form was clear. He raised it to his mouth expecting to crunch bone and popped the entire thing into his mouth.

"Masarap!" Warren said using the Visayan word for delicious. Tata insisted that he have his as well. The traveler happily obliged.

Warren's hands were dripping with placenta and yolk and were in desperate need of a bath. Paper, being in short supply in the country, was not available. Tata offered the rag from his pocket that he kept on hand to wipe the perspiration from his face. Warren thanked him, but excused himself to go find water. Luckily, there was a spigot around the corner.

The signs of a long night became more glaring. The singers lost their rhythm and pitch. A drunken young man puked on the floor between his legs, and the go-go girls from other bars (the ones who had had not been taken home for the night) resorted to this crowd in a last-ditch effort to make a peso. They might well find better men here than in the tourist bars, but money drives them to seek the white man, always assuming that his is rich. Relatively speaking, they are usually right. Their only hope of traveling to another country is to marry into money, or board one of the slave ships that will put them to work in Brunei, Korea, Japan, or India. Throughout the evening full of new sensations, the most interesting and delightful aspect of this hideaway--and, indeed, of all Filipinos--was the friendly atmosphere. Kindness, warmth, and acceptance flowed naturally. Never an angry tone heard. Never a hateful eye felt. And never a physical altercation witnessed. Though it seemed logical that if one were to spend enough time in the country he would see it all, if rarely.

Those who prefer their elegant pretentious clubs on the hill can have them. Let them sweat over their profits, their social circles of power and influence, their wardrobes, and their hedonistic collection of possessions. Who was happier? The answer was obvious to Warren.

The American moved to a new hotel the following day to be close to the park and waterfront old part of downtown Cebu. His room had a shower, flushing toilet, double bed, and cable TV--fifty channels, yet nothing to watch. Though MTV and CNN helped bring him back to the first-world.

Warren was delighted to see Joel again at the park that evening. He invited the boy to dinner. It wasn't long before several of Joel's friends saw him walking with the foreigner and approached. Warren invited them all to come along. A rickety wooden shack with various pots full of meats and vegetables out front excited the boys. Warren liberally ordered a feast and fed all nine of them for less than three dollars.

When it was time to leave, Joel unexpectedly asked Warren if he could sleep with him.

"Shouldn't you ask your parents first?"

"It's okay. The others will tell my mom."

Warren gave them the name of the hotel. Smaller boys begged to come along. Joel discouraged them. Warren couldn't have accepted more than one guest anyway. He was concerned that the hotel wouldn't allow young guests. Besides, Joel was the best looking of the group, and he had a very pleasant personality.

It was a personally historic night for Warren--to be with a beautiful friend without strings or coercion (as he had always tried to avoid), but with mutual affection and acceptance tasting the sweetness of his slender pole and then having pleasurable help. As they held each other afterward and were about to fall asleep, there was a knock on the door. Warren jumped out of bed and put his shorts on. Reluctantly, he opened the door. A muscular young man and a large lady pushed his way past him. Joel's naked butt was visible for an instant as he put on his underwear.

The man looked angry. Joel maintained his poise as he introduced the man as his older brother and the lady as his mother. Warren shook their hands, easing the tension. It seemed like the Filipino thing to do. Avoiding conflict was very important in their culture. The older brother chastised Joel for not telling them where he was going, though the other boys had obviously delivered the message. They didn't seem particularly concerned about what might have occurred in bed.

Warren apologized to the family for not checking with them first. When Joel was dressed, he told Warren that he'd come back in the morning. His relatives didn't object.

As promised, Joel returned early. A different brother accompanied him. At sixteen, Michael was a decade younger than the muscular brother who had taken Joel from the hotel the night before. Since many males were named Michael, Joel informed Warren that he went by Kuya, which meant older brother.

Joel liked Warren's suggestion that they go shopping for a shirt for him. The boy had been wearing the same dirty and torn orange sleeveless shirt since Warren first met him in the park days earlier.

In the grocery store, Warren selected a pie to give to the boys to take home to their mother.

"Is there anything else you need? Shampoo? Toothpaste?"

The boys loaded those items into the shopping cart along with laundry soap, dish detergent, and a half dozen other household cleaning items. Warren also noticed that they had selected three different brands of skin whitening lotion. He discretely put those back on the shelf. The boys should be proud of their beautiful brown skin.

After delivering the goods to his house, Joel returned to the hotel. Warren wondered why he was not wearing his new shirt. Joel explained that he was saving it for special occasions.

A sensual shower and a night in each other's arms made up for the interruption of the night before.

The next day, Joel insisted that Warren visit their home. He followed him through a narrow maze of wooden shanties. The path was mostly dirt with some rock. In addition to ducking under the five-foot eves and hitting his head on one, there were streams of wastewater to dodge. Most shanties did not have doors, so he couldn't help but look in on the lives of every family he passed.

Finally reaching his family's "house", Kuya cheerfully invited Warren in. The floor was coarse gravel. A rooster was tethered in one corner. The bird was the sole decoration. Kuya laid an old two by six across a couple of wooden blocks to sit on. The room quickly flooded with young children who had fallen in behind as if joining a parade. Joel called upstairs to tell his mother that they had company. Moments later the large lady in a faded red floral print dress ambled down the creaky makeshift ladder. After shooing a number of little children out, she was quiet but friendly.

Warren assumed the upstairs living quarters would have been a bit homier, but a place so small must have been very difficult for at least six people to share. There was one fluorescent light, but no running water. Joel's three sisters soon came to gawk at the white man.

Due to language difficulties, the visit was short. Warren invited handsome young Mikel, along with Joel and Kuya, to join him for dinner. Mikel ran to his shanty to get a shirt. Joel went upstairs to put on his new shirt. When they departed, nine other boys followed.

They stopped at the park where Warren treated them to sodas and chips. Since there were too many people to take to dinner it seemed most convenient to take the four tallest, which included Joel, Mikel, Kuya, and an unattractive boy named Sonny.

Days ago, on Warren's initial walk through the area, Mikel was the boy who first befriended him in Palmera, the section of shanties near the freight docks. He was also the most beautiful. The twelve year-old's medium length straight hair brushed back, light and fluffy, his sleek horizontal lips and perfect white teeth, his boyish chest--and he had an attitude just as wonderful.

Walking past the hotel after dinner, the boys begged to come in and watch television. Warren was leery of bringing them in, but reception might be inclined to think that there was safety in numbers. Again, his apprehension was for nothing. Neither the security guard nor the ladies behind the reception counter were concerned.

The new visitors were impressed by the size and luxury of the room. Most Westerners would find the mildewy shower, cracked cement walls, torn sheets, and cigarette-burned linoleum-topped desk unacceptable.

Sonny soon asked if he could use the shower. Warren certainly wouldn't deny a boy that. Joel and Kuya then showered together. Warren and the other two boys all wandered in to check on the brothers' progress. Since there was no curtain it was no challenge to spy on them. There was no tension. Nakedness was not a big deal to them. Warren was less at ease. He joked that Mikel and he would shower next, never really dreaming that it would happen.

When Warren walked into the bathroom a few minutes later, young Mikel was sitting cross-legged on the shower floor. Though Warren teasingly questioned him about why he was sitting, it dawned on him that the boy was accustomed to sitting in one of the large metal pots in front of his home and dumping used water on his head. He had passed many people bathing that way. What pleasure it was to get Mikel on his feet and soap him all over, including his luscious young buns. Warren did his best to control and conceal his erection staying behind the boy. Mikel must have noticed, yet it was no cause for alarm, just part of life. Unfortunately, Mikel was not compelled to wrap his lips around it.

Jok-Jok, a good friend of Joel's and the rest of the gang, loved to hold Warren's hand as they walked down the street. At nine years of age, the cute boy made Warren wonder why the little boy was so popular with the older boys. When he came to the hotel for the first time, the first thing he did was take off his clothes. He didn't wear breeps under his ragged cut-off jeans. Warren soon learned that Jok-Jok was always naked indoors and often ran around the shantytown nude as well.

When Jok-Jok showered, Warren asked him if he wanted company and he enthusiastically agreed. As they washed each other, the sexy little boy stimulated him. Warren turned his back and relieved himself as soon as Jok-Jok stepped out of the shower. He was afraid of scaring him if he had done that in his presence. He would later learn that the boy wouldn't have minded in the least. He knew a lot more about some things than Warren did.

When it became late, the boys decided that it was Kuya's turn to spend the night. He volunteered to sleep on the floor. Warren wanted to spend the night alone with Joel, but since that didn't seem likely, he invited Joel and Jok-Jok to share the bed with him while Kuya slept on the floor. Though there was no sex, Jok-Jok was a very sexy sleeper with his cute buns in the air part of the time, and on his back with his legs splayed the rest of the time. Warren didn't know how he was able to resist touching him. He supposed conditioning had taught him that it would be wrong. Furthermore, he had never explored his attractions to such a young boy.

The morning shower was even better than the previous night's. Jok-Jok was hard when he beckoned Warren to join him. He took the man's hand and placed it on his crotch. In turn, the small boy jerked him off. Why had he been so afraid of doing that with him? It was such a simple act of pleasure to the boy.

It was a new experience for Warren to have too many young friends. They knocked on his door in increasing numbers, often bringing a new friend, brother, cousin, nephew, niece, aunt, or some distant relation. A short visit would not be a problem, but many of them stayed for long hours, even days and nights. When it was time to eat, he felt obligated to invite the crowd so as not to be rude or risk the camaraderie of principle friends. He supposed he would have to learn how to say no. He saw other backpackers with their bedrolls on their backs. Some slept in the outdoors, others in guesthouses and dormitories. Certainly they did not have the dilemma of too many friends, but perhaps they did not get to know the locals as Warren knew them. A private room was necessary to his way of life.

The cable TV, hot shower, and air-conditioning were big draws, not to mention the supply of snacks. Additionally, some asked for clothing or money. It would be easier to be more selective by being less generous. In Joel, Jok-Jok, and Mikel he had special friends. Joel was the leader, and while they had become very good friends, Joel wasn't interested in anything more than simple pleasure and basic friendship. Mikel was aloof, and Jok-Jok was too young to relate to in the way Warren could with an older boy. If one of them wanted to develop a more personal relationship he would find that the man had the love to give, and would make time for him somehow.

Anxious to see more of the islands and needing a break from the crowds in his hotel room, Warren ferried south to Dumaguete on a nearby island. He would return to Cebu soon. Arriving late, he explored the town after dark. The nightlife was good for the hetero male tourist, otherwise dull. The city was very clean and orderly--the best maintained he'd seen in the Philippines--but it also seemed to drain the spirit and friendliness of the people. So many of them served the white men who vacationed there with their Filipina girlfriends from other cities. He sipped Cokes with two young boys on the malecon that night, but people seemed very suspicious.

He left the following morning on a dusty northbound jeepney. The countryside looked like a prosperous, tropical Oregon. Bais was his next stop. It was also well groomed. He cruised the tennis courts without luck, so he swam alone in the hotel's pool. That afternoon he played a vigorous basketball game in the street with some cute boys, flattered to be playing with an American. He bought sodas afterward, and hinted to two boys that they were welcome to cool down in his swimming pool, but they declined. The town was too small. They were afraid of what people would think if they visited the hotel.

Warren continued north, planning to turn east to visit large Bacolod City. Because it was late afternoon, he decided to pass the intersection and continue north to San Carlos. It was a big enough speck on the map that he expected he could find lodging. He loved the place the minute he arrived. There were almost no cars. People moved about on bicycles, motorbikes, and pedaled tricycles that served as taxis and moved cargo. There was only one small six-room motel. Since Americans ran it, he decided to stay at the pension house more central to the town. For two dollars per night he had a small room with a decent bed, a table and chairs, and a fan. The bathroom and balcony overlooking the busy street were shared among the few guests.

Scarcely a tourist ever visited this town. Warren saw none. It was a simple working town with a small fishing fleet. There were no malls or big businesses, no executives in suits, and no slaves wearing uniforms--no uniformed security officers, no McDonald's employees with their pointed little hats, no uniformed waitresses, janitors, or bus drivers. On his first walk he came upon a ping-pong game in progress on the street. A thirteen-year-old boy's eyes locked on the traveler's. Warren drifted to his side and watched the ping-pong action. He learned his name was Emil. There wasn't a more beautiful boy on the planet. Conscious of much of the crowd watching him, he still managed to invite him to dinner. Unfortunately, Emil was too shy to accept.

That evening in the park he met Mark, also thirteen, and taller than Emil. Emil had sent his hormones into orbit. Mark was more than a mere substitute. He spoke nearly fluent English and was very personable. When Warren asked him if there was anything to do in San Carlos after dark, the boy suggested a karaoke bar. Like many Filipino towns, this one was filled with them. The waiter questioned Mark's age in a friendly way as they entered. Mark simply pointed to his tall friend and the waiter delivered two beers. They drank, talked, and sang for four hours.

Mark followed Warren back to the pension house. Warren didn't expect anything to happen, but the boy was willing and perceptive. He didn't need any help taking his shorts off. It was the largest cock Warren had ever seen, and still completely hairless! It was a challenge to take more than a few inches of the beautifully circumcised member into his mouth, but he eventually managed to open his throat and swallow most of it. Mark came wildly. Though he couldn't spend the night, he offered to take Warren to nearby Sipaway Island the following day.

The fish were gorgeous, but the boys at the island were far prettier. Mark swam in his red briefs, turning a lot of heads with the size of his package. After swimming, they walked across the small peaceful island and enjoyed a pitcher of iced gin and limejuice, watermelon, and snacks at a table outside a quaint store. Four older teens joined without invitation. Again, Warren found it hard to shake tag-a-longs without being rude.

Mark went home to change clothes for their dinner date. With two hours to kill, Warren went for a walk. Valentino, a young boy queen with a very boyish body, hung out with relatives across the street from the pension house and had previously exchanged knowing glances with the American. They spoke a few words in Visayan. The boy didn't speak a word of English. This time he asked Warren for money. He gave him a twenty-peso bill. It was a large handout for a small Filipino town, but he thought the money (U.S. fifty cents) might be a worthwhile investment for the future. Valentino wanted more. Warren suggested that maybe he'd like to visit his room sometime. Little did he know that the future was less than one minute away.

As soon as they stepped inside the room Valentino hungrily ground his ass into the man's crotch. Moments later they were naked and the boy queen's legs were in the air as Warren licked and sucked. Valentino seemed to be in an extreme hurry, several times pushing the man's face aside to allow himself to furiously jack off. He moaned loudly as his balls were licked. A knock on the door told Warren that Mark had arrived early for dinner.

"I'll be out in ten minutes," Warren called. He was so occupied with Valentino that he didn't think to invite Mark to join in the fun. Besides, if the boys were incompatible the action would have come to an abrupt halt. Valentino came on his stomach as Warren was still wondering if the boy queen wanted to be fucked. If he had, that moment had passed. He was ready to dress and leave. Warren convinced him to lie there another minute until he had added his juice to the boy's.

They quickly dressed. Warren didn't want to be naked when Mark came in. He already felt like a two-timer. As soon as Valentino was dressed, he left. Warren thought it strange that he hadn't asked for money. He felt in his pockets. The money was gone. Fortunately, he made a habit of carrying only a few dollars. The rest of his money was safe inside his backpack. Though the five dollars was more than the going rate, Warren would have given him more than he had stolen if only he had waited.

Warren looked around for Mark, but he was already gone.

Valentino sat peacefully beside Warren on top of the mountain. The traveler had enlisted his help as a guide to take him to the waterfalls. Since it was February, the falls were dry. However, the long motorbike taxi ride and the grueling hike up the hill had not been a waste of time. It was pleasant building a bond with the obnoxious boy.

They parted upon returning to San Carlos. Warren gave him a few pesos, deducting some for the prior day's theft. Valentino was surprised that he'd receive anything at all.

Warren's plan was to relax on the balcony with a bottle of gin and a novel that evening. He thought he was sated, but after the sun set, the men pedaling their tricycle taxis retired to their houses and the bars. Their sons took their places. The sight of so many twelve to fifteen year-old boys cruising the street on their bikes made him forget about a quiet evening of reading.

After Mark and Valentino, and the boys of Cebu, Warren felt he could diddle any boy he desired. That was a fairly accurate supposition. He met quiet Albert in the town square. He was willing to go with the man, but Warren decided to hold out for better. Albert's friend Mauricio soon joined them. This thirteen-year-old's character, cute face and slender body was enticing. He quickly accepted the offer to go somewhere together. Warren looked around for the most handsome boy pedaling a taxi and asked him to show him the town. Mauricio sat beside Warren in the sidecar. Young Vinnie, their driver, wore a black and red striped one-piece spandex, affording a magnificent view of his young legs and ass as he often stood up to pedal. Warren's right hand wandered over to Mauricio's soft thigh. He was agreeable.

At one point, Warren noticed Albert following on a bicycle. He had reservations about inviting another boy to the pension house, and he wasn't interested in having Albert join. Seeing no real passion in Mauricio, Warren opted to drop him off back at the town square. He wanted to spend some quality time with Vinnie.

Vinnie had been rather quiet, and he must have been getting tired, but he agreed to pedal out to the pier. His spandex was wet with sweat. The tricycleta veered off at the waterfront. Warren told him that he needed to find a place to take a leak. Vinnie stopped in a dark area where Warren was able to climb down to the water's edge behind several large boulders. This degree of privacy was not necessary to urinate. He had thought that Vinnie might want to join him for a romantic moment under the moonlit sky. Disappointingly, he did not. Warren returned to the trike and asked him if he had any ideas. The man kissed him on the cheek. Still, the boy didn't seem interested. Perhaps he didn't like the smell of gin.

Warren returned to his balcony alone, incredulous that he had stuck out. He sipped another gin and limejuice, watching the boys on the street below and getting quite drunk. Soon, he noticed two boys waving at him from a tricycle on the corner some ways away. He figured they were just friendly waves from strangers, but it inspired him to go for one last walk.

He recognized Mauricio and Albert as he approached. They had returned with a tricycle. This one was motorized and had a large sidecar. They asked Warren if he wanted to go somewhere. It was getting late and there wasn't much to do. They didn't seem to have any ideas either, so Warren summoned the courage to ask if they wanted chupa. The boys were enthusiastic about getting their dicks sucked. First, they wanted to settle on a price. Warren pulled a hundred-peso bill from his pocket, informing them that that was all he had. They accepted. Where else could one get such an adventure for two and a half dollars?

Mauricio drove out to a small dark bridge, parked, and insisted that Albert have first pleasure. Albert's face was rather plain. At fourteen, and sturdily built, Warren's interest had been mainly in the other boy, but when Albert took off his shirt and dropped his pants he was surprised to see such a fine body and six inches of hairless beauty. Warren devoured it with zeal. It was nearly twenty minutes before he came, but it was time well spent.

Mauricio had been watching. He lowered his pants and exposed his hard-on for his turn. It was smaller than Albert's and he had some hair. He was unusual in that he was not circumcised. Warren groped his lean buttocks as he sucked him. His finger edged closer to the hole and he parted his legs slightly.

The advantage of the bridge was that in case anyone approached there would be time to react. Just as Mauricio was getting into it, a headlight appeared at one end of the bridge. Mauricio instructed the man sit with him on a ledge inside the rail of the bridge. He pulled his pants up to his thighs and waddled over to the side. Warren's finger never left the boy's ass as he sat down on it. He lowered his shirt to cover his unzipped fly. They pretended to be stargazing as the other motorcycle passed. Warren turned his face toward the river, hoping that they wouldn't see that he was white.

Danger passed. Mauricio again lowered his pants and stood up in front of the man, thrusting in and out of his mouth and taking a finger deep in his butt.

Another motorcycle approached--this one without lights--but stopped at the end of the bridge.

"Barangay!" Albert whispered urgently.

Warren knew what that meant. The barangay captains were the elected law officers of sections of each town. Neither of them wanted to quit. Seconds later Mauricio shot his load into the man's mouth, pulled up his pants, and rushed to the driver's seat. Warren climbed into the sidecar next to Albert, aware that his finger was very dirty. He had no paper with him. He didn't want to wipe his finger on his shirt and enter the pension house smelling like shit. Had he been more experienced with ass-play and legal dangers, he would have put the dirty finger in my mouth.

They sped away as the headlight came on behind us. Reaching the outskirts of the town, Mauricio turned several corners and abruptly came to a stop. He told the man to get out to avoid danger. Warren knew they were more concerned about their reputation than his safety, but it seemed like a sensible thing to do.

Warren found himself on a dark street more than a mile from the city center, and there were no landmarks or bright lights to guide him. He found a piece of trash paper on the street, which was useful in cleaning his finger. The joys of being a boy-lover--the majority would never get to experience such excitement. Two hours of stealthy walking later, he finally found the pension house.

In many ways San Carlos was that paradise he'd been searching for. Who needed malls, movie theaters, big restaurants, and all of the big-city entertainment when you have a town full of clever boys, beaches, and a nearby island where swimming with tropical fish and tropical boys dazzles one's eye? Warren had lacked a constant companion; one to spend nights with, but that could happen in San Carlos with time. He marked the map with a star, and ferried back to Cebu the following morning, just in case the barangay were looking for him. Years later it would seem odd to him that he would ever leave such places.

Warren checked back into the same hotel in Cebu. This time he had a larger room with two beds and a living room. As soon as he put his things away and showered off the dust from the two-hour bus ride from the west side of the island where the ferry had delivered him he proceeded to the park. In a matter of minutes, word had spread that the American was back. Joel and Jok-Jok were most glad to see him. Tata had gotten the word, too. After chatting with a crowd of boys for a while, he asked Tata to join him for a beer at a small outdoor restaurant in one corner of the park. Joel came along for a soda. Over drinks, Warren told them of his wild time in San Carlos. Tata laughed hysterically. Joel didn't understand much, as the foreigner often spoke in English euphemisms.

The talk turned to an excursion to the beach. In all of the weeks that Warren had spent in Cebu, he had not been to a beach there. Tata informed him that it would be a forty-minute jeepney ride to Talisay. Consulting Joel, they made out a guest list. Jok-Jok and Mikel were definitely in. Joel wanted his brother Kuya and Sonny to come. Warren wasn't excited about that, but agreed out of loyalty to the boy. Tata asked to invite his cousin, a twenty-six year old. Two new boys were also added to the list. Their fine bodies would add a great deal to the beauty of the beach. Seven boys and three adults would practically fill a jeepney. Warren sent Joel off to discretely inform the others.

A boy of about eleven approached Warren and asked for a coin, pleading hunger. The boy was not underweight. Since he had a fresh haircut and wore a bright soccer shirt and colorful floral shorts, Warren's first impression was that the boy didn't really need a handout. He attempted to ignore him and continue his conversation with Tata.

The boy put a hand on Warren's arm. Warren looked at him again. He hadn't noticed the depth of his brown eyes. The rest of the boy's face was equally handsome.

"Do you live near here?" Warren asked.

"No mama, no papa. Sleep here," the boy said pointing to the concrete. "My papa he American."

Warren felt a sudden attachment to the boy as Tata explained that young Merlin hadn't seen his father since he was very small and his mother lived in Manila. Merlin, at thirteen, was the oldest of fourteen brothers and sisters, though not all by the same father. It was hard to believe, but Tata knew many of his brothers and sisters. All were homeless except for his two older sisters who lived with an aunt. Relatives could not provide for them. Their mother traveled from Manila to Cebu every year or so to leave another toddler with relatives. She had often said that she was going to live in Cebu and take care of the family, but she always disappeared after a few days. Merlin had given up on her.

After some consideration, Warren asked, "Would you like to go to the beach with us tomorrow?"

The boy's big brown eyes beamed and his eyebrows flicked up and down.

"Great. Meet me here at ten o'clock tomorrow morning."

Warren spent a restful night alone and arrived at the park a half hour early. Merlin was the only one waiting for him. They took two mangoes from the bags of snacks destined for the beach and ate them. Since the others had still not arrived, they played catch with a Nerf football while they waited. Tata and his cousin showed up at ten, but the other boys were nowhere to be seen. Eventually, Warren asked Merlin to go with him to Joel's house. It was a bonding experience to walk the streets and shantytowns together for the first time. Both felt proud to be seen together.

Joel's mother said that the boys had gone to Warren's hotel, so Warren and Merlin boarded a jeepney to save time. In the lobby sat seven boys in rags. They had misunderstood that they were supposed to meet at the park.

Taxis were more expensive, but since they were convenient, Warren negotiated a deal with two of them. Merlin wanted to share the front seat of the taxi with Warren. Four boys crowded into the back seat. It was a delightfully cozy ride, snuggling and caressing as Merlin sat between his legs. Warren was sure that the boy could feel his hard-on against his backside. It didn't scare the boy. Merlin pressed closer to allow the bumps of the road to give them maximum pleasure. The boy adjusted his own crotch from time to time to keep his shorts from tenting upward.

At the brown-sand beach of Talisay, Warren rented a thatched-roof cabana to sit under, snack, and play games when they weren't swimming. The boys all took off their shorts and plunged into the water in their briefs. Warren rented three inner tubes for the boys to play on. Tata sat with his cousin under the shade of the cabana and smoked cigarettes. Warren only smoked when he drank beer, and never around boys. The inner tubes proved a worthwhile investment as the boys paddled them around with their butts in the air. Merlin had the nicest butt of all. His light brown briefs became nearly see-through when wet. Warren didn't waste any time getting into the water. He swam out to Merlin and clung to the inner tube. At one point when they were both in the water, Merlin latched onto the man, his legs around his waist and his arms around his neck. Warren stroked the muscular young legs and buttocks. Intriguing desire and wonderment filled Merlin's eyes.

It was a terrific trip to be surrounded by so many friendly, beautiful boys. All eight boys came back to Warren's hotel to shower after their excursion.

Merlin's warm advances, sweet smile, and passionate desire to be near the American--not to mention his captivating face and body--made him irresistible. His brown eyes accented by long eyelashes and perfect eyebrows sparkled. His adorable nose, longer than most Filipinos, was perhaps attributable to his father whom he said was an American, though he had never been a part of his life. His skin was not lighter than average, but the sun does tend to darken an active, outdoor boy. His lips were tantalizing. His upper lip formed a well-defined "M", rising to constantly show his large white teeth always ready to display a thoughtful grin. His hair, almost shaved on the sides and sticking straight up in front, show off his cute ears.

Lounging around the room in his new yellow breeps, his dark skin contrasted magnificently. He liked to cuddle, be stroked, and occasionally give Warren a big, "hard" hug chest to chest.

When the gang was ready to leave, Merlin remained in his underwear, previously making it clear that he wanted to sleep in the hotel room. Warren had agreed. He seemed to be hiding out in the C.R. as the others left. When he emerged, he asked where Jok-Jok was. Warren had sent him with the other boys. Again the language barrier created a misunderstanding. Merlin rushed out to catch his friend, promising a swift return. Warren was quite disappointed. He didn't think he'd be able to catch Jok-Jok, and he thought the boy might have difficulty getting back into the hotel even if he did. Moreover, he was bothered by the idea that Merlin might be a bit afraid of him.

The next hour passed very slowly. He finally gave up hope and mixed himself a drink, the first he'd had in days, read a novel for some time, and then fell asleep consoled by the knowledge that he would see the boy the following day. Unexpectedly, Merlin knocked on the door at 1:15 a.m. and entered with two older boys behind him. He introduced them as brothers, but Warren recalled that Merlin had said he was the eldest. Merlin then explained that they were not brothers by blood, just brothers of the street. They sat up watching TV for an hour. The movie was "Jack", starring Robin Williams.

"He's like the perfect grownup because he's just like a kid," the Mexican boy on the television said. "He wants to learn and experience new things. He knows how to be a great friend, unlike most adults."

The quote stuck Warren profoundly.

Warren wondered why Merlin had brought the other two boys. They ended up sleeping on the second bed.

It was very sensual sleeping with Merlin. Their heads together, Warren could feel the warm breath on his chest. As Merlin hugged him close he could feel the young heart beating. When the boy twitched in his sleep Warren soothed his spasms with light hands over his soft skin. Often with legs apart, he was comfortable to be held in any way. The man spent many restless hours just looking at him. Why waste the night sleeping? This was the most beautiful boy he had ever slept with. Nothing else happened that night, or the next. Life was so good together that Warren wasn't going to risk changing things. It would be up to the boy to make further moves.

Rowel, a twelve-year-old buddy of Merlin's spent the third night with them. Soon after the lights had been turned out, Merlin pecked at the man's lips, then extended a curious little tongue, not caring if the other boy noticed. He giggled as he lightly held onto Warren's tongue with his teeth. He rolled onto his back, grasped Warren's hand, and placed it on his breeps. Warren kissed his chest for a few moments, hesitating to go any lower. Then, with his right hand, Merlin lowered his underwear to expose his excited boyhood. His other hand on the man's back, he gently urged him lower. He raised his hips to allow his underwear to be removed. A wave of pleasure engulfed them as Warren tasted him, if only for a brief second before a thunderous knock struck the door.

"Open up! Police!"

Warren woke, still stimulated by the dream, to find his love beaming cheerful eyes and a big smile at him. The nightmarish ending to the wonderful dream didn't fool him. He knew that he held the one of his dreams safely in his arms. More importantly, the dream had been an exact replay of what had occurred between them an hour earlier, except that no one had interrupted them with a knock on the door. Had Warren gone back for seconds in his sleep? He'd been a sleepwalker in the past. Regardless, Merlin wanted more. He got out of bed and motioned for Warren to follow him into the bathroom. It would be the first time they had made love in the light.

Warren wasn't a writer, nor a poet, but Merlin inspired him to write. Leery of putting the true joy in print, he alluded to it:

In the company of friends already,

I ignored his initial kindness.

I ignored his pleas for food.

He was better dressed than some.

By the light of the moon and glitter of amusement,

I noticed the sparkle in his eyes.

I saw compassion, desire, and warmth.

Then I noticed his entire, beautiful face.

We spent days together playing.

We spent nights together in each others' arms.

Tonight he pulled me even closer,

Urging me lower, raising his hips.

Face to face we kissed lightly.

I told him I loved him.

His eyes beamed.

He was wide awake.

After the pleasure, he looked at me again.

He wanted more.

He led me away from the crowd.

He entered the bathroom to await me.

We kissed, pressing our bodies together.

He took charge ever so tenderly.

He became longer, hands on my shoulder.

His buttocks clenched in rapture.

His eyes always soft, kind, and curious,

He held me as he watched.

We have few words in common,

But we were one in a language few understand.

Perhaps I am only beginning to understand.

We were free to love tonight.

I became me.

Complications were evident in Merlin's eyes the following morning. It had been a learning experience for us both. How was it different from what I had done with Joel and Jok-Jok? I knew the answer--it was love. With others it had just been simple play. I suppose Merlin's head is spinning like mine. For him, loving a man comes with a myriad of societal attitudes.

Merlin became conscientious of our cuddling, yet he wanted to be with me and visited often. He wanted to be my special friend. He wanted someone to look up to. He wanted love. Now that he had it all, he was unsure how to deal with it. Our faces reflected our oppression. Filipinos typically do not discuss concern, but I decided to enlist Tata's help to give Merlin a chance to sort his thoughts and feelings out with me.

We took the overnight ferry to Bohol Island. The newer high-speed ferry could have taken us there in four hours, but the old ship saved a few pesos. I thought about chipping in the extra few pesos, but I wanted to travel as they normally would. We were a party of twelve--aunts, nieces, Eva's twelve-year-old son Amiguel, Amiguel's nanny, Merlin, Rowel, and I. As the only man in the group, I was flattered by the attention and was expected to help with the heaviest luggage and be a sort of father figure to the younger children.

It was my idea to invite Rowel. I thought Merlin would appreciate it. I've found Rowel to be very cool, though quiet, the last two days. He is a handsome little dude with bleached two-level hair, right earring, and as short as Merlin. Though I planned to stay in a hotel, I had already been very close to the family.

Dinner with them before leaving was an experience in realizing the family's hierarchy. The table was set for four, though there was room for seven or eight. I ate with Eva, Amiguel, and the eldest niece while nine or ten small cousins, a few aunts, Merlin, Rowel, and even Grandmother had to wait until we had finished. Before eating, Eva stated that we would say grace. The three crossed their hearts as she began to speak. I put my hands in my lap and looked down uncomfortably. The rest of the room was watching me. Questions were bound to arise, and they did as soon as they crossed their hearts to conclude the tradition that seemed as common as breathing in this country. Grandma began the interrogation in Visayan. Eva, bilingual, replied in Visayan, but I did hear the words "born again". Days earlier I had mentioned that some of my family are Methodist, a term she was not familiar with, nor was I for that matter. I did tell her that I believe in all things that are good, dodging a label.

I was very self-conscious while eating. Every family gathering I ever attended in the States had a large enough eating area, sufficient chairs for everyone to sit at a table, and plenty of food. I ate modestly--not so little as to give the impression that I didn't care for the food (a fine vegetable dish and rice, in addition to the rare treat of roasted chicken I brought), and certainly not so much as to be a pig. Chicken was the boys' favorite. I hoped there would be some left for them by the time it came their turn to dine at the table. They had to wait until after Grandma, the aunts, and other higher-ranking children had eaten. Eventually, they did get one wing apiece.

Joel was waiting outside to say goodbye to me. Four men sat in the narrow walk between the shanties sticking needles in their arms. One apologized. Another, obviously feeling no pain, tried to strike up a friendly conversation.

"So you like the young boys, huh?" he said.

I smiled and promptly asked Joel to walk out to the main street with me. It was the first time I had actually seen drugs used in Asia. In fact, I had never seen anyone inject drugs. It was a startling realization. I then knew why Eva was so concerned about the boys using.

I hugged Joel and assured him I'd be back in a couple of weeks.

We boarded the boat after dinner. At midnight we were nearly half way to Bohol. The boys were sleeping. I had spent hours playing cards with the family and chess with Amiguel. I didn't like leaving Merlin and Rowel out. I called Rowel over and asked him to take over my hand of cards. The aunts found this extremely offensive, as if the card game was only for the elite. I played one game of checkers with Merlin, but he refused to play any other games. He sensed I wasn't very pleased with his stubbornness. It had been difficult for him to hear me constantly introduced as "Merlin's friend" every time someone asked about me. Perhaps we moved too quickly. I think he will be glad to have my hotel to get away from things--to be special to someone. I also hope Rowel will become comfortable being my dependent, since I am the one who invited him. It was a chance worth taking.

A lazy morning of lounging around Lolo's ("Lolo" is Visayan for grandfather) house in the remote countryside was, in some ways, restful after a grueling three-hour ride on a packed old bus without shock absorbers and a two-mile hike through the jungle and over rice fields.

I helped the boys harvest mangoes, climbed a coconut tree for the first time, and took pictures of the boys riding water buffalo. We ate mangoes and bread for breakfast. There were also a few sardines, but I took only one tail so that those eating our leftovers would have more. Lunch consisted of rice, dried fish, and fish soup. The family wondered amongst themselves if I had brought anything to contribute to the table. Eva informed them that I had given her money to help purchase the things she had brought. Merlin took a package of cookies out of my bag and placed it on the table. I don't know why I hadn't thought of that except that I was going to give the cookies to Merlin and Rowel later. Merlin passed the cookies to the family. The higher-ranking children took handfuls. It was obvious that there would be none left for him, so I grabbed several and handed them to Merlin and Rowel. The stares of Amiguel and the girls informed me that this was not appropriate.

By the first afternoon I had already tired of receiving special treatment. I felt it was discriminatory to my boys. I was learning that the two mothers leading our party are conceited, and spoil the one child they each have. Eva's sister also brought a nanny for her child. Everywhere the ten-year-old girl goes the nanny is there to carry the umbrella for her to keep her skin as pale as possible and wipe the perspiration from her back and face.

Fatherless Amiguel, who has been wonderful to me, uses his class status regularly to his benefit. Merlin and Rowel are not permitted to play with their toys, eat off the plate of "good" biscuits, or even play with the Legos that I bought for all of them to share.

After dark, Grandfather insisted that I sleep in his cot. I politely refused, and slept on a blanket on the wooden floor of the living room with the boys and two of the little nieces. There would be no cuddling or sleeping naked with Merlin. I had hoped he might be interested in a little fun in the jungle earlier in the day, but that seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind. Merlin loved playing with the animals--goats, dogs, chickens, and especially the water buffalo. I could see how much he wanted to have a pet of his own in the city.

"Maybe you could take a chicken home with you and start a farm," I said.

His eyes lit up. I handed him fifty pesos and suggested that he negotiate with Lolo. Lolo was actually Amiguel's grandfather, but Lolo was related to Merlin and the closest thing he had ever had to a grandfather. Moments later Merlin was proudly holding his young cock in his lap. Eva wasn't terribly pleased. I hadn't considered that it would be difficult to transport the bird home.

"Where is he going to keep it?" she asked.

Merlin said he knew a neighbor that had some spare space. I offered to help him with the arrangement when we got back. Lolo was delighted by the deal. I realized that I had overpaid. Two dollars was the going rate for a grown chicken plucked and roasted.

At sunrise I was ready to hike out to the town and look for a hotel. Country living didn't bother me--I had books to keep me occupied, but being around so many people in someone else's house was difficult. After breakfast, the entire group that had traveled from Cebu accompanied me, knowing that the hotel had a swimming pool. The small girls and the nanny with the umbrella slowed the hike back up the hill. Finally reaching a paved road, the only transportation was motorcycles that served as taxis. I sat behind the driver. Merlin clung to my back, and Rowel and Amiguel sat on the gas tank in front of the driver. Five people on one small motorbike must have been close to some sort of record, in addition to being dangerous. The driver dropped us off at the bottom of a hill, and returned twice to pick up two loads of women and girls.

There was only one hotel in Chocolate Hills, and it was at the top of one of the mounds where the motorcycle taxi could take more than one passenger. The boys and I took a rocky shortcut over the winding road, leaving the females far behind. At the top I took pictures of the boys. The view of the Hills as far as the eye could see was breathtaking. We were on top of the world.

As soon as I could check into a room, the boys hit the pool. As is often the case, the girls did not partake in the physical activity. With a little encouragement from me, and the heat of the sun, they finally did join us. Everyone enjoyed a vigorous swim, tossing balls, diving, and chicken fighting.

Eva mentioned the lack of snacks and the expense, so I bought cookies and ice cream for nine people for less than three dollars. Amiguel cried in the pool for thirty minutes. His mother told me it was because he didn't have his snack right when he wanted it and that they hadn't brought any. I knew as well as Amiguel that the other mother, the very snooty one, and the two nannies had taken the snacks up to the viewpoint. That wasn't the whole problem. I realized that Amiguel was upset because I fed all the kids at the same time. He expected to be served first, having first choice of the flavors of ice cream bars. Perhaps he thought it also his right to eat as much as he wanted before the others got any.

Two hours later, the group was ready to head down the hill. The only matter left was to decide who was going to sleep with me in my queen-sized bed. Amiguel had wanted to, but his mother quickly vetoed that idea. Rowel wanted to stay, but Merlin was suddenly fighting back tears. I was quite embarrassed as the entire group was watching. I didn't understand what was wrong. Had Merlin become afraid of me? I put a hand on his back and tried to console him. I didn't understand what he was saying, so Eva relayed his concerns.

"He wants to ride the water buffalo and be with his rooster and Lolo," she said.

I had a feeling she wasn't telling me everything, and she seemed anxious to be rid of Merlin and Rowel. Perhaps that had caused the boy more distress than anything. "Well, the mosquitoes are eating me alive," I said. "I can't stand here like a fool all night. It's up to you."

Moments later Merlin and Rowel entered the hotel room. I gathered that he was indeed bothered by what his relatives thought of him. So many people had speculated about our relationship. Pressure brought out the best in me. I was able to explain in mixed Visayan and English that he always had the right to choose what we do, that we care about each other, and that he is safe with me. We shook hands.

I brought a big dinner to the room from the hotel restaurant. The boys were exhausted and fell asleep in their clothes after the meal, but not before Merlin insisted that Rowel sleep in the middle.

I was confused and worried. I left the boys sleeping and went to the restaurant for two beers. I returned and settled into bed. Rowel, in the middle, was tossing and turning for a long time. It was pitch black. He got up and stumbled his way into the bathroom. He took so long in there that I wondered if he was waiting for me to join him. There were no toilet noises or running water. I had never seen Rowel naked, but fantasies of his fine round butt surfaced. When he finally came back to bed he was again restless. I stroked his arm through his shirt. He calmed. He had sweatpants on and I found him to be anxiously waiting. He was still except for one limb. "I shouldn't be touching him," I said to myself. Merlin, my love, was asleep next to him. Was I out of control?

"Yes?" I asked, still feeling his small member.

There was no response. I slid my hand under the waistband of his pants and paused. He didn't object so I reached in and fondled him. His hips moved up and down slightly, enjoying the secret pleasure of the total darkness. I decided not to go any further. He made no move for twenty minutes, so I removed my hand, touched his cheek lightly and said goodnight. I was shocked when he moved to the other side of Merlin. What had I done? Had I confirmed some horrible fear that I was a monster?

Merlin was surprised to wake up beside me, but happy. They both said they slept well and wanted to spend the next night with me. Merlin walked by my side with renewed affection down to the farm that day. His smile and touches returned. Rowel seemed to be his usual aloof self.

Relaxing days passed at the pool, at the farm, and at an uncle's house in a nearby town. The boys slept with me, but there was no nudity and no fondling. Once we were back in Cebu where Merlin felt more comfortable he again slept and showered with me. We had a new hotel where he could get the attention he needed. His kisses were passionate and the touches simple. Occasionally, he liked me to give his young cock a warm bath.

For a few pesos, I helped Merlin obtain a six-month lease on a small chicken coop and bought a large sack of chicken feed. The boy soon added a hen and a few chicks to his little farm. He had purpose in his life. He was going to sell eggs. He would be able to provide for himself and help his homeless brothers and sisters.

I was not excited to be on a plane back to the western world. I would return with a one-year visa as soon as possible. Just for fun, I made a list of the many boys I had known intimately. Quantity had not been my goal. Fortunately, I felt I had also managed to find real love in Merlin. It amazed me how much I had learned during my three-month stay in the islands. Reading Walt Whitman's Songs of Myself, I decided to write my own, entitled Paradoxes of Myself:

I say that I am of One Love, a love for all, yet it is still the energetic, vibrant, lithe, and intelligent youth for whom I search.

I say that race, age, gender, and appearance should not matter, yet I search for a perfect love that is consistent with my orientation, my natural attractions, which are no more or no less worth than a man desirous of a beautiful young bride.

I desire complete individual freedom for all (with respect for others), yet I still occasionally expect things of others. Expectations can cause suffering, yet it is this hope and anticipation that provides inspiration. Properly balanced, desire is beneficial.

I love all children, though it perturbs me to see pampered children bouncing gaily through life, then crying if they don't get their Big Mac promptly when they want it. These are the future rulers of the Islands and of all nations, yet they possess only a small fraction of the experience a street-wise child knows.

I work toward a world without prejudice, yet I mutter "damned German" (regardless of the fact that I am of German heritage) at a man who now scolded me for accidentally touching his luggage. And if I hear conflict in these islands, I think, "They must be Chinese or Japanese."

I complain of excessive ownership of land and advocate countries without borders, yet I do not always allow a friend to sleep on my hotel room floor even if he is homeless. And it perturbs me when someone sits in one of my three seats on the airplane. Why couldn't he have sat with someone else? I wanted to lie down and stretch out. I am travel-weary. Is it any wonder?

Standard disclaimers apply. mi69chico@hotmail.com.