Platinum & Gold

I manage to get to the Philippines quite often, for the boys of course, but with business as a cover and a tax deductible expense. My associates cannot understand my concern for our unprofitable Asian foothold, and sometimes I must concoct a crisis requiring my personal attention. This time the matter is so urgent that I have to leave a week before Christmas sacrificing the holiday festivities with my dear wife Christina and her family. Putting duty before pleasure I kiss her goodbye outside the terminal so as to not prolong her grief at my departure. My mind however has already departed for those verdant isles of affectionate golden limbed lads.

Ah, the smiling faces, the trusting eyes
the kissy lips and rice fed thighs
And oh! the little boneless boners
I love to share with their owners
A land where freedom lives discretely
and sinners, God forgives completely

Booking at the last minute costs a bit more and takes me via Canada for a JAL flight out of Vancouver, to Tokyo overnight, then direct to Manila. At Vancouver International I manage a good window seat and I'm prepared to gaze at the misty beauty of the Queen Charlotte and Aleutian islands - but not at that of the Canadian boy who sits down beside me, with his father I soon find out. He handles his father's exaggerated concerns in classic, laconic, adolescent style and is soon disinterestedly thumbing through the in-flight magazine.

I steal a sideways glance. He's a perfect little gentleman in his grey flannel trousers and crested blue blazer which I discern is from an exclusive private school for boys. And he's very, very blond, a misty, whispy vision, Pure Platinum. His light blue eyes seem to look at the world with astonished boredom, and the blue of his veins shows clearly beneath his pale translucent skin. I've completely forgotten my reverie of golden limbs by the time this paler but realer dream leans forward to look out the window, his pert face illuminated by the low sun which catches and sets ablaze the fine silvery down on his upper lip. By every sign I know he's in that final sprint to puberty, that most magic phase of youth where nature's alchemy transmutes the boy to fledgling man, and endows him with formidable, if transient charms. I'm instantly enchanted.

Casually, calculatingly, I initiate a conversation and the bored boy ceases to be his father's laconic lad. It's not his first flight or trip overseas, although it will be his first trip to Asia. His father's going to Manila on a business trip and he's joined him at the last minute, "....because it isn't convenient to spend Christmas at Mother's." A wave of empathy sweeps over me.

He doesn't seem at all excited by the prospect of the Philippines as I tell him about the beaches and rice terraces - what kid would? And later, when in reply to a question I explain that video games are banned there, he practically sulks and becomes silent. I return to my window vantage as the plane chases the setting sun across the North Pacific. Then seeing the boy lean forward to look out the window again, I make the move I've considered for a while, and offer him the window seat. In the process of switching we all introduce ourselves.

Charles, a pompous looking, nervous man says he's looking forward to spending some time with his son Murray, he's seen so little of him since his divorce. The Orient will be a new experience for both of them. "Travel is so broadening," and he's sure Murray being a "bright boy" will have no trouble making up for the week of school he'll miss. Charles tells me he has the biggest farm equipment dealership in his town in Saskatchewan despite the fact - he seems almost proud - he flunked out of college. "But nowadays," he goes on, "education is essential for young people if they are to make their way in the world." The slightest nod on my part is sufficient to keep him going. Everything it seems is laid bare, except the nature of his business in Manila.

Dinner is served, I would have preferred Japanese fare to their version of ours, or are we faced with a new international, culinary lingua franca? Given the low, duty free prices I 'm generous with the after dinner drinks. Charles launches into a dissertation on the price of commodities and farm purchasing power, but soon mumbles apologies and nods out, snoring perceptibly. When I fail to get any response after a few nudges I turn to Murray and smile, a bit smugly I must confess, and I get the nicest smile back. Poor Charles, I feel as if I've drugged him in order to pursue my designs on his son. And free now to probe and cater to the lad's ego more openly I apply my own practised charm.

Murray is good at hockey, first string left wing, captain of the junior rugby team, a lazy scholar, no talent in music but somehow in the choir - which rouses my curiousity, and no real interest in girls beyond maintaining his macho front. And I listen with rapt attention to half whispered tales of secret forts, rites where frogs were disembowelled and skinny dips in icy streams. And lately he complains, he's itchy "down there" a lot. I in turn titillate him with exotic details of Asian customs and amuse him much to his delight with simple card and magic tricks, talents I cultivate for the entertainment and seduction of youth. My repertoire exhausted we play rummy for a while before we both succumb to the in-flight film.

Upon arrival at Narita, Tokyo's main airport, we're promptly bussed to the airline hotel, The Nikko Narita and shown our high techtopia rooms where one feels more packaged than housed. I join the father and son team for dinner and both seem glad to not have to deal exclusively with each other. Murray shimmers in a casual eye matching silk sports shirt with dark slacks and I don't miss the chance to compliment him on the change. "Mother", he tells me, bought him a complete new wardrobe for the trip including a white tropical suit with shorts. I'm appropriately interested of course, and teasingly ask if he has a pith helmet to go with it. "No, but I'm going to get a sombrero." he replies. I don't disappoint him by saying they're practically unknown in the Philippines.

After dinner we graduate to their room, just across the hall from mine. I fetch a book of magic tricks I've promised to lend to Murray and settle down to chat with Charles. He tells me he's been brushing up on his Spanish which won't be much use to him in Manila. Murray examines the book but he's too fidgety to concentrate. Bored and ignored, he begins playing with the buttons of the control panel by the bed. Lights go off, on and dim, the bed jiggles to the VibraMassage, and channels are chased across speakers and screen until both his curiosity and his father's patience are exhausted.

To bring Murray back into our company I inquire about the wardrobe he's mentioned. He eagerly brings it out, I should compliment his mother on her taste, and when I comment on the cut of his tropical suit he insists on modelling it for us despite my token protests. I watch him step haughtily out of the bathroom and assume a series of stylish poses to his father's amusement and my delight. He places one foot on my chair, the almost ephemeral hairs on his lengthening legs inches from my eyes, and takes a drag from an imaginary cigarette, blowing the smoke in my eyes. And when he changes back in the open doored bathroom out of daddy's line of sight, he coyly poses once again in just his underwear as if he knows what I appreciate most.

Next morning I'm seated some distance from Charles and Murray on the connection to Manila but we meet up again in the terminal. While waiting in the various line ups I clue Charles in on some of the scams a tourist should be wary of. He's grateful, and at his suggestion we share a taxi into Ermita, Manila's tourist belt. On the way we vaguely discuss getting together for dinner sometime, but when I leave them at the posh Manila Midtown Hotel I doubt if I will see them again. Oh well, Bahala na as they say here, whatever. I go on to my modest accommodation a few blocks away.

My first evening is taken by small world meetings of old acquaintances and rather generous quantities of San Miquel beer. I retire early slightly jet lagged. Legitimate business takes up most of the following day, and I'm not free to prowl until late afternoon. The 'Corner' though noisy is quiet, so I go on to the mall in Robinson's Plaza where schoolboys in white shirts and dark pants are wont to seek remunerative adventures with tourists and local gays.

I'm about to enter the air conditioned mall when I see Charles coming out with two boys competing for his attention. "Only one boy!" he keeps insisting. I know the problem. Finally in exasperation he hands one, the better looking one I think, a folded bill and he leaves. The other, whose cocky manner suggests a street veteran rather than the schoolboy he's dressed as, praises Charles's wisdom just as the latter sees me a few feet away. "My tourist guide." he blusters, but no introduction follows and he quickly switches to social pleasantries. A taxi pulls up and as Charles and his young companion get in I hear the boy give the name of a better short time hotel. Charles makes the best of it and forces a smile as bids me goodbye. I hope he keeps an eye on his valuables.

Inside the mall I see a couple of boys I know but none I fancy so I make my way back to the Corner. It's still early, only a few customers at the sidewalk beer and fast food stands, and only a smattering of boys around. I sit down at a sidewalk counter and order a beer. At the other end two prepubescent urchins are cuddled against a giant of a man I take to be German by his accent. The boys sip soft drinks while he labours to entertain them in a mixture of Tagalog and English. After a while he leaves with one of them, they make a comic pair as they wander off hand in hand. I've almost finished my beer when two ragged waifs I know from previous trips come by and greet me enthusiastically by name. They tell me they're hungry and I buy them rice and adobo, with soft drinks to mark the special occasion of my return.

More people start to arrive including a few boys and I decide on another beer as I listen to some ancient oldies from the juke box. Then a second nearly equidistant jukebox begins to blare with a competing song that reduces all sound to noise in my mind. A couple of children begin to dance disco style, moving sinuously to the beat. Other youngsters join in, some for the sheer delight of moving with the music, others perhaps not so subtly advertising their lithe bodies. I watch a lumpia vendor about twelve put down her basket and join in, her long dark hair swirling about her as she loses herself in the music.

A tough looking wiry lad, about fourteen I guess, saunters up and rubs his crotch against my knee. A cross of five cigarette burns on his upper arm attest to some macho rite he's been through, but his spaced out eyes try to look cutely enticing. He puts his face up to mine, "I go wid you." The reek of solvent, I've tried it - it's bad news, confirms my first impression and I see a soaked rag in his other hand. I refuse with less respect than usual but he persists, "What you like? Blow job? Fuck me?"

"Hindi!" [No] But he hovers around me making lewd comments, a real nest shitter, until I have to retaliate. "Alis na!" [scram] He saunters off but turns around a few paces away and makes jacking motions in my direction.

Another beer. I sit back facing the street enjoying its throbbing beat, the congested procession of jeepneys farting black fumes and the raucous sounds of the growing crowd. Before me pass ugly sex tourists, bare legged vendor boys, plaintive faced beggars, hookers, hustlers, a scrawny filth caked crazy with his privates showing, and ordinary Filipinos going about their business. Once again I become entranced by this unique window on the exotic life of this monstrous metropolis.

I notice a dark, curly headed shoeshine boy, obviously a lad with Negrito blood by his almost ebony skin and chiselled features, He points at my loafers, gives me an inviting smile and makes the motions of his trade. "Five peso only." he says brightly for what I know is usually only two. He's not the first shineboy to approach me but I like his pert and cheerful manner, and husky build for a lad probably not twelve. When I nod he gleefully sets to work, rubbing the wax on with his finger, rather sensuously I think. And oh, the enthusiasm with which he buffs and polishes, a real performance that seems to hint at other things he might do. The sweet, perhaps hopeful smiles he casts up at me from his squatting position do nothing to dispel the idea. I give him ten pesos and buy him a Sprite, the name suits him. Jobo, I ask his name, drinks it slouching against me while his fingers tap the beat of the music on my thigh. "What hotel you stay?" I'm deliberately vague as he's a bit young for my tastes. "You like, I go wid you?" I politely decline but tell him he can shine my shoes again sometime.

Then I spy the boy I want, more strolling than walking, keeping to the edge of the crowd across the narrow street. Tall, bright eyed, very Malay, and despite his striking blue banded shirt he has about him a modest demeanour. And in the slanting rays of the setting sun his handsome face glows gold on Gold. I can't be sure if he's available or even aware. There's no knowing look in the second he sees me watching before a bus comes to stop between us. My eyes follow the projected course of his progress while my mind savours his imagined delights. I'd guess he's just turned fifteen when boys start to gain more proficiency with their maturing organs. He reappears still strolling and glances at me with what I hope is at least a hesitant smile. I get up and parallel his route towards a quieter section of the street. He glances my way again, an honest if inscrutable schoolboy face, and I cross over to his side of the street. He stops and turns.

"You German?" he asks flatly.

"No. Canadian." I lie to protect my country's reputation.

"Most foreigners are German." he comments without expression.

"Oh," I say, digesting this information, "You know some Germans?"

"I have a German friend, over a year," he hesitates, "but now no more letters."

We stand and talk for a while. He's a serious, sensitive youth who's only known a few foreigners and although poor I realize he isn't just looking for a quick hundred pesos. He's not someone I want to rush, even a facsimile of courting adds to my excitement, so I invite him to join me at a nearby air conditioned restaurant. The Mediterranean menu gives him no problem but his taste in wine is dubious. Paulino is a scholarship student at one of the university high schools and has an inquisitive mind. I have to invent more lies to cover my first one. And He's not as guileless as I first assumed and I realize that am being carefully assessed. As we finish our coffees I mention the name of my hotel and ask if he would like to come back with me.

Paulino looks me in the eye, "Maybe, but what we do?"

What? Maybe I'm wrong? Or is he just being cautious? I delicately broach the subject of sexual services.

Paulino is amused, "Ah, bakla! Me only little bit. Maybe better we meet tomorrow."

He must be teasing, it's not like Filipino boys to play hard to get, quite the opposite. However, I am impressed and want him more than ever. Reluctantly I agree to tomorrow, I like his style.

"Tomorrow, five o'clock, I can stay long time. Tonight I go home." But perhaps moved by my patience he adds, "Now maybe, short time only.... pero...." And I gathered that I would be permitted only minor liberties, "chupa lang". But phallic worship seems appropriate for this demigod. With still no mention of price Paulino hails a cab for the few blocks to my hotel.

What happens next catches me completely off guard. As we step out of the taxi Murray greets me excitedly but then stares at Paulino curiously. I almost blurt out, "My tourist guide". Murray is at loose ends, he explains that his father had called up saying he was tied up in a business meeting, and that really there are no video games in Manila. He's pissed off and bored, and somehow, I'm not sure, he's found my hotel.

Paulino stands by discretely. I realize I should cancel our arrangement for the evening and start to fumble for some money. Paulino signs that he doesn't want any. Murray apparently guessing the situation breaks in, "It's OK, I understand. I'll come back later maybe." I feel my first responsibility is to Murray, alone in a strange new city, and I turn to Paulino to explain, although from the grin on his face it may not be necessary. Again Murray interrupts, "It's OK. I know something about what it's all about." He also seems amused. "You see, I found these books about boys once...." His father's no doubt I assume. "And like I could just wait." Both boys are on the verge of laughter and I have to control myself too.

My original thought is to leave Murray in the hotel coffee shop, and be relatively quick, but somehow all three of us get in the elevator. I'm still scheming for some way around the situation as we enter my rooms. Murray sits down in the kitchenette and says, "You guys go ahead, I'll just read or something." Paulino and I undress in the bedroom and head to the bathroom to shower, a frequent need in Manila's sticky climate.

At last I behold my golden youth in his naked glory, a lanky boyish form still but equipped like a man. And gold, Pure Gold that flows the same warm tone from cheeks to chest to nether cheeks bluing slightly on his precocious glands. I kiss the lesser smudge above his lips, a salty place, and with my tongue and nose explore his sweat moist body savouring its scents and flavours ere they're washed away. Paulino pulls me to my feet. "We shower first." he says turning on the knob. He laughs when the cold water hits me with a jolt, and splashes more on me with a dipper. Soon we're playfully lathering each other and just when the action is getting erotic I notice Murray, Pepsi in hand in the half open doorway.

"Just thought you guys might be thirsty." he grins.

I look at Paulino who also has a big grin on his face, we both have a sip and checking with my golden boy I invite Murray to join us. He asks if he can just watch and I can tell he's pretty horny as we finish our shower. When we move onto the bed Murray leans back in a chair with a hand concealing his crotch. Paulino is passionate, we kiss and fondle, and then I leisurely caress his lanky length before I take his robust root into my mouth. Murray quietly slides off his chair and soon has his elbows on the bed and his eyes inches from the action, a silent cheerleader. Paulino writhes and moans enthralling our audience of one. It's "WOW" when I show him the product of my labour on my tongue, and "WOW" again when I spurt in Paulino's dextrous hand. Murray takes a drop between his fingers, rubbing and sniffing it, as Paulino and I lie back sated. "That was real neat!" he exclaims and then he gingerly plays with our members which are soon hard again. My golden boy and I shower again, he lets me explore his ass with two fingers, he likes it but does not encourage me to continue. Before he leaves I secret two hundred pesos in his pocket. Paulino promises to phone me at five tomorrow.

Murray obviously enjoyed the scene on the bed but is reluctant when I suggest we do the same. But then maybe his juvenile horniness is too much for him because he says, "Like maybe if you suck a little bit, sort of, so I can see what it feels like, but no more." Sitting on the bed he undoes his fly to liberate one of the prettiest little erections I've seen, so pale and delicate looking, purses his lips and folds his arms across his chest. I ask if he wouldn't prefer to shower first and after a moment's hesitation he starts to undress. Nakedness seems to inspire him and he gallantly says I can watch, if I want to. Of course, and I'm sure he wants me to for he's a perfect little exhibitionist. Poses, perhaps long practised in front of mirrors, follow one another. Some are demurely innocent, some coyly teasing and others blatantly raunchy, but all are performed with a twinkle in his eyes and joy in his face. And then he lovingly lathers his ass and barely fuzzy pubes rolling his eyes back and panting as if in passion. I applaud enthusiastically, it's such wholesome boyjoy for me.

I help him towel off after, the muscles of his athletic body becoming as hard as his impatient prick. He bounces himself on the bed and I, keeping my clothes on as promised, proceed gently and slowly. But all too soon he shudders and sighs, pushing me away.

We walk the six odd blocks to his father's hotel. Charles thanks me profusely for looking after his son and graciously treats me to cocktails at the hotel's pricey lounge before thanking me again.

Legitimate business once again intrudes on my schedule next morning but I' finished by two. Not wanting to lose touch with my pubescent platinum performer I decide to phone Charles. The father and son team are just back from a tour of the city apparently exhausted. I suggest, "merinda, my treat" but Charles says he has a business appointment. Murray however can go if he wants.

The boy seems in a reflective mood when I meet him, and perhaps a little uncertain. I ask him how he feels about yesterday. "Well.... I guess it was OK.... But I don't think I want to do it again.... Like I mean, excuse me but.... older guys...." I'm disappointed of course but understand.

"You'd like it with another boy?" I knowingly inquire.

Murray grins sheepishly. I have an idea. The plaza? The Corner is closer and we can always go on to the plaza anyway. I won't let Murray have just any boy, certainly not one of those solvent sniffing space cases who'd likely rip him off.

Murray sees Jobo before I do and asks me if he's the right kind of boy. I say I'll check. While Murray waits at the stand next door I buy Jobo a Sprite and ask him how his tourist business is doing. He looks at me dejectedly, "Not good. Not enough foreigners and most I don't like." I point out Murray who keeps glancing our way. "Him? That really white boy?" I nod. "Oh I like that. I go wid him for free, no money."

Back in my hotel rooms the boys fidget nervously while I open some soft drinks and put ice in the glasses. Murray takes the initiative, "I'll race you to the shower." Jobo understands and is out of his simpler attire first and yanks down the blonde's tented underwear while he still struggles with his shirt buttons. But Murray grabs the dark boy, upending him on the bed where they wrestle briefly before crashing into the big tiled bathroom together. The cool water brings forth squeals and screams which subside into laughter and taunts. I arrive with the tray of drinks and watch. Their young muscles strain beneath glistening wet skin of contrasting shades as they fight for the only dipper to douse each other with. Soap slows their splashful, exuberant horseplay to a slithery contest which teasingly at first becomes more sensuous. Finally, taking turns, they lather each other down lingering on the more responsive parts. The rinsing shower brings fresh, but muted squeals. I leave the tray by the bed and retire to the kitchenette to "read something".... and listen. Giggles flare briefly after they bounce onto the bed but these are soon replaced by the softer sounds of sexual pleasure. I find them later intertwined, Platinum and Ebony, lovingly embraced.

Gold phones at five and arrives soon after the others leave. We enjoy our privacy, go out to eat and come back to indulge again. Alas, Paulino may spoil my plans for a promiscuous holiday.