I read the feature in the Independent Post about the first and only gay bar in Cebu with nothing more than perverse fascination about the secret life of homosexuals here. The write-up featured interviews with the gay patrons, male dancers and prostitutes. The Birdcage, as the place is called, happens to be situated in my own neighborhood in Urgello St. Little did I know that in less than 12 hours I would find myself actually going to that place with some gay and straight friends. And that I would have a great time as well.
It all started I guess with my attempts to figure out the crossword puzzle in the opposite page to pass time in my small cubicle of an office one Friday morning. Bernard, our effeminate colleague suddenly walks in and I quickly switched my head to the right page while affecting a look of studied concentration on my reading. It was only seconds after he stepped out that I realized I was staring at a photo of male strippers. "Hoy Bernard!" I called after him, "have I got some good news for you." The others within earshot got their curiosity piqued and approached Bernard's desk while I explained what the article was all about. The entrance fee was P50, while a bottle of San Miguel Beer was P25.
Bernard was thrilled and couldn't help giggling. Grace, the most gutsy and adventurous member of our gang, suggested they check out the place together. Since this remained the main topic for the rest of the day at the department I suggested that we go there that night. We made calls to the other members of the gang but by 5:00 o' clock the only determined ladies were all married. One of the single ones said she's going to attend a mass first. We teased her that she might have better luck finding a husband at The Birdcage than praying for one at the Basilica. No surprise that none of the guys at the office were willing to escort us this time. Jerry, my former boss, warned me that in my sexy body-hugging shirt and tight Levis jeans, a dyke might try to pick me up. Not a problem, this is a gay bar for males, I told him.
Norma, a ballroom enthusiast, picked me up at my place at exactly 9:00 p.m. When we got there five minutes later, Grace and Bernard were already waiting at the entrance like bouncers. They dropped by Bernard's parlor on their way to invite two more friends, both gays. One had long hair and carried "herself" in a more demure and feminine manner than Grace and I ever could. The other one is cute as a teen heartthrob but also effeminate in her gestures and mannerisms. I never did catch their names because Grace, my macho companion kept calling them "Hoy, bayot!"
We were the only customers in this converted residence. The waiter told us the show does not start until 11:00 p.m. "So what do we do, just sit and wait for two hours?" I asked Grace, but she was already rising from her chair to join Bernard and friend in the dance floor. It turns out Bernard's friend (the cute one) is quite dancer-ous and have taken to me. Wouldn't let me quit. We tried to do some ballroom dancing but it was hard to glide and turn on the cemented floor. Plus, I felt awkward with my dancing partner. Now and then my breast would brush against his arm, or he would pull me hard against his body while I kept bumping against his gyrating pelvis. Tried hard as I could, I couldn't keep my eyes off his crotch. But nothing happened down there. So I relaxed, shed off my own inhibitions, let my hair down, and matched my partner's movement grind for grind. Picture dirty dancing. Except his/her movements were far looser and more graceful than mine as she swayed and sashayed around the dance floor. One wall had mirror panels and she kept dancing in front of it, sometimes oblivious of me and of the others.
Bernard's long-tressed friend and Norma got bored and left with a promise to come back at eleven but they never did. Norma preferred to go real ballroom dancing. Other customers started coming in. Mostly gays and call boys. They must have been taken aback to see us real girls in there. They were quiet shy or maybe just content to sit in the shadows, watching. But this was Friday and word must have spread around, partly perhaps by the IP article. A group of college boys and girls came in. Bernard developed a crush on one of the guys who looked like Jestoni Alarcon. They joined us at the floor and the other patrons soon followed, "boys" dancing with "boys." Put 20 people on the cramped dance floor and there would be little room to move around. The manager, fashion designer Alan Patring, also danced with her date who had the great looks, great body and all the right sexy moves. Bernard was already drooling beside me. Towards eleven the place was already packed with more straight people drawn by curiosity. Lots of male and female teenagers and 20-somethings. The real gays and call boys tried to remain as unobtrusive as possible which was hard because the disco lights didn't allow for much darkened nooks or crannies. Grace commented that the guy by the entrance looked like he put a sock or whatever inside his crotch. "I bet you Bernard he's for hire," she giggled.
The show started at exactly 11:00 p.m. This was the part I did not expect, live performances by gay divas. Boy, were they beautiful in their sequined gowns and hair extensions. The prettiest one looked like Melanie Marques with muscled arms and legs. Her name is Madonna. Another one, Garnet, looked like a male version of Agot Isidro. She was the most masculine looking of them but she had a powerful solid voice and how she sang. Crystal is the Filipino version of Diana Ross. Though not pretty in the conventional way I find her the sexiest of them all. She's a diva who could flutter her false eyelashes with great effect. A natural talent for emoting as she sang in her husky voice that got huskier and deeper as the night wore on. They alternated with the anthems of Gloria Gaynor, Celine Dion, Whitney Huston and Regine Velasquez to demonstrate they can belt like real singers. Grace did another running commentary and tried to guess if these ladies were wearing undies beneath their tight fitting gowns. One of them wore a flimsy outfit that couldn't hide the slight bulge in the crotch.
But the ones who brought the house down were the comic acts of Nancy and Jaya. Nancy, did a hilarious striptease that revealed a 24-inch penis which she twirled around like a baton. She purposely clubbed some of the audience sitting in front with it. Jaya is a midget who kept everyone in stitches as she did headstands and epileptic fits on the floor to the tune of an obscure Asian song as she purposely lip-synched out of synch with her big fat mouth. Bernard quoted the article that they are paid P100 per song.
The macho dancers? What a letdown. We were all disappointed. There were four of them and the three looked like shrimps with their ribs sticking out, sapyot pa gyud ug lubot (skinny-assed). The fourth guy naman had bilbil (lovehandles). And their outfits were so baduy (tacky) - diaphanous long-sleeved shirts embroidered with seashells and starfishes over white Bench briefs. Ugh! The skinniest of them was wearing black undies. They wore shades pa as if that would make them look more cool. It was funny how they sported two or three bulges because of whatever they put in their crotches to look better endowed. Again Bernard informed me that they are paid P150 per night. I reminded him that the bar fine is P200 to P250 if he wants to take any of them out.
The show lasted for an hour, then my partner and I danced again until it was time to leave at midnight. Grace had a ball observing the call boys in action. My tireless partner didn't want to go yet but the two bottles of beer I had were already making me tipsy. They drove me home first but teased me that they might go back or go elsewhere to pick up some guys. I wished them luck.
A final word: The Birdcage has a common toilet. It has three cubicles and the one for ladies was the farthest one with a door that had no lock (and we all know why). It was hard for me to keep my eyes and head straight on my way out with all these guys peeing to my right. I had a good reason to want to come home sooner, my bladder was killing me and no way am I going back to their CR.