Pink Bohol, Part One

“The boys are on vacation right now, so the action is in the barrios.”

Onai’s friend told me this. He was a statuesque dude-looks-like-a-lady’s man, whose deep timbre voice was the dead giveaway.

I knew I was going to be in Bohol for a total of 17 days, but it never occurred to me that I’d be spending 2 weeks and 3 days without having sex with someone. Even in the self-help department, I’ve dramatically cut down on beating myself up. Not that I was consciously abstaining; for some strange reason, my being with the family has cut down my libido in some way. Call it the Wholesomeness Gene.

So when I hooked up with Onai and his friends a couple of days before the New Year, I was curious where they get their action here in the island. After all, they grew up in Bohol. I’ve been here more than ten times already, and only once did I have an encounter. I was eager to learn more.

Apparently, the boys who would sometimes play with the members of the other team are mostly students (especially from the maritime school) and the drivers of the habal-habal (those big provincial tricycles). The best time to be a “fisher of men” is when the boys are in their classes. Since they’re on vacation in their barrios, they could be found playing basketball in the town plaza. Or you could take a late night ride on a habal-habal, instruct the driver to proceed to some quiet road, and there the passenger gets to ride the driver.

But here’s the rub: what sells here in the provinces are the girlie boys. Straight-acting or even straight-looking gays rarely get noticed. Which for me makes sense: a girlie boy approximates a female, and having sex with one is a less threatening thought for a mind of a provincial nature.

However, there is a time-honored tradition to hooking the guys, and it involves a lot of alcohol and a fellow girlie boy. First, invite the boys (especially if they’ve just finished playing a sweaty game of hoops) to a drinking session—you pick the tab, or offer at least several rounds. Next, make sure that a fellow girlie boy who knows these boys are with you—he serves as the mamma-san who can advise you who among the boys will take the bait and who to avoid. Going there alone is not advisable if you don’t know the boys; they could just take you for a ride and drain you of your resources without draining you of your, eherm, you know.

After hearing all that, I thought: “Ay, haggardness!”

There must be a better way to boost the gay scene here in the land of Chocolate Hills and tarsiers.

(to be continued)