S & M, anyone?

DATELINE: Saturday Weekend.



IN my desperate attempt to recoup from being Ms. Amity (that turned to Amityville horrors!) the night before, I’ve conspired with my friends O1 and O2 to go back to Malate and regain my lost brownie points.

I was so sorry for being nasty at people’s lousy fashion sense (or lack of it), tasteless taste (I always pontificate: Never argue about taste especially with people who doesn’t have it.), and free loaders doubling as social butterflies. I concede, WTF, I was bad.

The cosmos was right on the dot. I got my comeuppance right smack center where I was the night before.

I can be attention-whorey at times, but not like this. In a sea of pink men rustling around O Bar, Top & Bottom and the nearby Chelu, an intoxicated burly blonde affam (foreigner) dressed in black came up to me. He was wearing a black leather jacket and tight cigarette pants with leather bands crisscrossed on his chest (a lone cock ring was holding the leather X together). The letters S & M painted on my mind, I was suddenly gripped with a sense of clear and present danger.

He barged straight at me with a strange naughty grin on his face, his hands zero’ed in to my skinhead and caressed it like Manang Bola’s crystal ball.

“UTTERLY SEXXXY!!” he exclaimed. He then planted a peck on my cheek, his breath befouled with alcohol and whatnot.

“Are you a master or a servant?” he asked. And before I could say anything, he was grabbing my arms and petting my head.

My words of wisdom: Uh-oh.

I froze.

He was making a scene. O Bar’s trusty waiters and door bitches were just watching for any eventuality and I was sure they would come to my rescue, but my good friends O1 and O2 were on Power Puff Girls mode. O1 hugged me in faux lover mode, while O2 was ready for anything.

When O Bar's muscled bouncer started to make his way to our table, S & M guy hoisted himself back and disappeared in the crowd. Whew.

One word: karma.

Ugh.