Hold my beer, Carlos Santana

I recently found myself on a 6-day trip to the Dominican Republic. I was flying with a good friend of mine and it’s usually trouble when we get together. The last time we were on a long trip together, we got so drunk I had to be reminded of doing donuts in our rental car in the middle of an intersection in a driving blizzard… In Canada.

We checked into our all-inclusive resort near Santo Domingo and headed to the bar. After a little research, we discovered there was a casino down the street with shuttle service that would come pick us up. I asked the lady on the phone if they had live poker and they did. I immediately knew I wouldn’t be seeing much of my crew for the rest of the trip. 

We made our way to the casino and I bought in and found my seat at the poker table. For 2 years during flight training and the time following, poker was my only form of income. I ran a game in college and got really good at it. I never drink while playing poker. I used to and realized it often cost me a lot of money. Had it not been for this simple fact, the trip could have gone completely different.

I quickly established myself as someone not to fuck with at the poker table. I bought in for around $200US and cashed out just over $1000 4 hours later. This was repeated the next 2 nights. The level of play was just horrible. Tuesday night, the casino hosted a tournament. I finished 2^nd out of 42. I should have finished first. I was far better than anyone there. The final hand came down like this. The blinds were 10,000/20,000 and I was on the button, also the small blind. I was the small stack by about 50,000 and had about 300K in front of me. I looked down at KJ in the pocket and raised it to 80,000. My opponent called. The flop was King, Ace, Jack, giving me 2 pair. My opponent made a minimum bet of 20,000 and I moved all in. He immediately called and turned over A9. The turn was a blank, helping neither one of us, and the river was a 9, giving him a better 2 pair and winning him the tournament. I congratulated my opponent, collected my winnings, posed for a couple of pictures and was even asked for my autograph… Twice! Regardless of my second place finish, we needed to celebrate!

Panchito had been driving us back and forth from the hotel to the casino the last few nights. This trip would be different. We found Panchito at the casino bar drinking a Presidente, the national beer of the DR, and told him we needed a strip club, now, if not sooner. He downed his cerveza and we headed for the door. We jumped in the van and headed west, out of town. We soon rolled up to this joint and it had the appearance of a compound. It had a high wall around it with a small gate big enough for a single person. The wall had a huge pink heart on a black background. It was about 2:30 in the morning.

We walked through the gate into a large courtyard with an unoccupied pool. It reminded me of one of those places that MTV would film from at spring break. There was a bar by the pool and some sort of implements nearby, probably some sort of sexual device, which I was not yet privy to. Immediately to my left were 2 guys making out with a couple of hookers. I gave them a hello that went unreturned and made my way toward the door. We passed a set of steps that led upstairs to 3 “bedrooms.” The bar was small, hot and had a faint smell of mildew. We didn’t receive the warm welcome that I had grown accustomed to upon entering places of this sort. The walls were lined with about 8 girls that had obviously had a busy night. To the left was a stripper pole that wasn’t being used. That was about to change, if I had anything to do with it! We ordered Presidentes, Patron shots and a girl for each of us, even one for the flight attendant. 3 girls reluctantly made their way over and sat next to us. We took some shots and attempted small talk with the hookers. I was quickly getting bored. I dared our flight attendant to start dancing on the pole and she jumped up there like it was her fucking job. You should’ve seen the shit she was doing to that pole.

Our arrival had drawn the attention of the local constabulary and before I knew it, there were 8 cops, not one of them over 22, standing in the doorway, doing their best not to gawk at our flight attendant, who was now vigorously dry humping the pole. I started BS-ing with the cops and asked the “chief” if I could rent his handcuffs for a little while. He agreed after he assured me he had the key. I hid the handcuffs in the waistband of my shorts and sexily danced toward my flight attendant while slowly unbuttoning my shirt. She grabbed me and pulled me onstage. Before she knew what the fuck was going on, she had been handcuffed securely to the pole. In the meantime, I stepped outside for a smoke and low and behold, what did I find? A shiny red motorcycle with "POLICIA NACIONAL" written prominently on the gas tank!

I stood outside the bar, smoking my cigarette and contemplating my next move. I nervously looked back at the door of the bar and all of the cops had made their way inside to watch the action. I could hear several of them hollering. It was now or never. Fuck it! You only live once. I straddled the bike, put my beer in the handlebars and flipped on the starter. I pulled out the kick-start and to my surprise it fired right up!! I slipped it into gear, let out the clutch and… Fuck! Stalled it. I pulled the clutch again, kicked it, let out the clutch, slowly this time, and I was off!! I sped down the road about a quarter mile, shifting gears, to the first break in the median. I turned around and sped back toward the bar. By this time, the whole squad and half the girls were outside flagging me down. Fuck ‘em! I flew passed them to the next break in the median and turned around again, back toward the bar. This was awesome! I hadn’t been on a bike in years! By this time, 4 of the cops were in the middle of the boulevard, forming a human roadblock. The gig was up. I was caught. I slowed the bike and pulled back into the parking lot; ready to receive whatever punishment they were going to deliver. The chief grabbed the handlebars and in Spanish, said, “What the hell are you doing? It’s almost out of gas!” Almost out of gas, I thought!? Holy shit! I thought I was going to jail for sure. “Here buddy, here’s $10, go buy some gas and let me take it for another spin.” He agreed. After a couple more laps, I came back and bullshitted with the guys for 15 minutes or so. I met the cops, one of which was named Carlos Santana. “Here, Carlos Santana. Hold my beer while I go for another spin.” I grabbed one of the girls, threw her on the back and we rode off.

Friends For Life

I was in Egypt in late 2010 for 2 weeks. This was prior to the Mubarak uprising and the country seemed fairly stable. I had the privilege of flying a woman and her granddaughter on their yearly trip. I took over the flight in Reykjavik, Iceland and landed in Cairo 5 and a half hours later. The passenger and crew were staying at the same hotel, something I’ve never been fond of. It’s always a little disconcerting for the passengers to see the flight crew out of the plane and in a more relaxed atmosphere. As it turned out, we never crossed paths so it wasn’t a big deal. With these passengers, I wouldn’t have cared anyway. They were really nice, having a great time together and easy to get along with. I was cleared for a low pass over the pyramids on our way into Cairo and they both came up to the cockpit for a better view. I felt it thoroughly impressed them and at that point, could probably do no wrong.

We bid farewell to the passengers, cleaned the plane and fixed the obligatory cocktail. This being a Muslim country, I knew our drinking options would be few and far between outside our Western hotel. Had to get ‘em while we could. After a lengthy time clearing customs, we were finally on our way to the hotel. None of us had ever been to Egypt and we were all excited, especially after having just flown over the pyramids, one of the 7 wonders of the world.

Flying over the Pyramids

We checked in and I immediately went to the concierge desk to arrange a tour guide. My flight attendant was very gung ho to see the sights as well and was willing to throw down some cash to have an unforgettable experience. I was in agreement.  The next morning, our own van and our tour guide, Sameh, met us bright and early. We called him, Sammy. This kid was about 30-years old and knew everything you’d want to know and more about Egypt. He also spoke fairly good English. He was the perfect guide. Gave us only as much info as we could handle and didn’t bore us with bullshit. He took us to the Egyptian Museum where we saw sarcophaguses, King Tut’s golden headdress and some amazing relics from antiquity. This place was amazing. I could have spent a week there. Unfortunately, we only had 4 days. We hustled through the constant Cairo gridlock and made our way to Giza and the pyramids.  What a joke this place was. I mean, they’re a must see, but the panhandlers and salesmen hocking their wares are relentless. They try their best to break you down, and it usually works. But I’m no sucker. A quick lesson. When negotiating, always settle on a price in your head that is AT LEAST half of what their offering price is. When they come down closer to your price, you go lower. They will quickly see how it is going and will be willing to immediately be at your original price. For instance, if you’re being offered a shitty souvenir for $10, offer $4. When he counters at $7, hem and haw and say, “you know what? After looking closer, it’s really only worth about $2 to me.” You’ll never pay more than $4. Thank me later.

 So we went to the pyramids and got a great tour from Sameh, often interrupted by shills trying to rent us a camel or take a picture with a turban on our head. Ok, so I fell for this one. I mean, how can you pass up an opportunity to get a picture taken on a camel in front of the Sphinx with a God damned towel on your head? You can’t! I mean real Lawrence of Arabia shit. We did the pyramid tours, saw the Sphinx and passed by the KFC and Pizza Hut just outside the gate on our way out. Ridiculous.

The next day, we hired Sameh and the van again to take us to Alexandria. Well worth the trip. This Mediterranean town in Northern Egypt is completely different than Cairo. We toured the catacombs and saw the Library of Alexandria, aka, Indiana Jones’ playground. Every book relating to Egypt or any other ancient civilization for that matter is contained in this ultra-modern library. We bought some souvenirs and split back to Cairo. On our way out of town, I snapped a random picture of a Christian Coptic church on the outskirts of town. 3 months later, it was fire bombed by Muslim extremists, killing 26.

2 days later, we flew our passengers to Luxor, in the middle of the country and where I had an experience that I will never forget for the rest of my life. Sameh had a friend who was a tour guide in Luxor so we hooked up with him to see all the sights that Luxor had to offer. We saw the Valley of the King’s and I stood in Ramses’ and Tutankhamen’s tombs. We visited the Temple of Hatshepsut, the only female Pharaoh of Egypt; we stood in front of The Luxor Temple, which is adorned on one side by a huge obolisque.  It seems that another one on the other side of the entry would make the Temple completely symmetrical, and in fact, there used to be a matching obolisque. When Napoleon visited Egypt, he admired it so much that is was given to him. It now stands in Concorde Square in Paris. We visited the Karnack Temple and admired its amazing carvings.

That night, I perused the gift shop at the hotel and quickly struck up a conversation with the shopkeeper. He was a late 20-something Christian man, one of only about 10% of the population of Egypt. We hit it off and he invited me to come meet his friends for tea after he got off work, around 9. I accepted.  I met Saren, the shopkeeper in the lobby at 9 and we walked outside to the parking lot where he had his motorcycle parked. He told me to jump on the back on hang on… Ehh… Okay. Off we went.

We rolled up to he and his friends’ teashop and we went in the back where a bunch of guys of about the same age were sitting on the grass in a circle of chairs, smoking Hookahs and drinking strong tea. I was introduced to them all, each of them Christians and they were proud for me to know it. They were overly friendly and accommodating. This place kind of seemed a Christian sanctuary in a sea of Muslims. It was for them, at least. Saren introduced me to his best friend Menah, whose father was the priest of the local monastery. One guy was real curious about US immigration. When I asked him about his curiosity, he said his wife was living in the US and was pregnant. He wanted to know what he had to do to be with his wife and child. He had been denied a visa several times. I didn’t have an answer for him. Menah asked me what my plans were for the following day. “I’ve got a great umbrella next to the Nile that I plan in sitting in all day”, I said. He laughed and asked if I’d like to come meet his father and see his monastery. I was a little leery, but accepted his invitation. He said he had to work and asked if we could go after he got off around 5:30. “Fine!” I said. I really didn’t want to go.

The next day, I sat on the banks of the Nile, admiring the beauty around me. It was a perfect day, sunny and almost cool. I drank pina coladas that the bartender kept putting increasingly less alcohol in. It was starting to become a Mexican standoff. If I’m paying 8 bucks a drink, there sure as hell better be some booze in it and don’t try to regulate my intake, asshole. As I sipped my drink, I contemplated an excuse to get out of going to see Menah’s Pops and his monastery. After a while, Joe, the guy I was flying with, came over and had a drink with me. I told him my dilemma and he said I should just stay in my room and not meet him. We were here for 2 more days. I didn’t want to have to evade him for that long. I ran into Saren around 3 and he told me Menah was really looking forward to me meeting his father and he’d be here straight from work. Well shit. I said I’d go… Better stick to my word. 

Sure enough, Menah was in the lobby right at 5:45. He said Saren really wanted to go as well so we waited for him to close the shop and headed out. The monastery was on the opposite side of the Nile from the city, which meant driving a good distance South to the only bridge to the other side. We passed the Karnack Temple, some new excavations right in the middle of town, the Luxor Temple and several Souks and Bazaar’s. We made our way out of town and by the time we reached the bridge, the sun was beginning to set. We crossed the bridge and I looked up the river to see several small fishing boats and a couple of Nile River cruise ships moored on the side. THIS was Egypt, an extremely fertile valley, bordered on each side by the vastness of the Sahara Desert. The Nile was definitely God’s gift to Egypt. Without it, Egypt and Sudan would be a wasteland. We turned north and paralleled the river on the west side. It was getting dark. We had been in the car for about 45 minutes and I was beginning to wonder where we were going.

The city soon gave way to a rural landscape interspersed by small settlements, farms and fields. It was pitch dark and Menah was driving. I suggested he turn his headlights on and they both turned and gave me a puzzled look. I quickly realized, when an oncoming car suddenly flashed us, that they don’t use their headlights at night in Egypt. Who knew? My wonder turned to slight worry as another 30 or 45 minutes passed. I was, after all, an American in a Muslim country. My only consolation was that these guys, whom I felt were my friends, were Christians. I’ve never held any ill will toward Muslims, even during 9/11, but given our current situation, had these guys been Muslims, I would have definitely wanted to get out of the car. I mean, we were in the middle of fucking nowhere.

After growing increasingly uncomfortable, I saw a light in the distance and Menah said we were almost there. Finally! We pulled off the highway and drove about a half mile on a dirt road up to the Monastery. It was surrounded by an 8-foot mud wall and resembled an adobe church one might see in Santa Fe. We pulled through the gate and were greeted by several mangy dogs and some men sitting outside the front door drinking tea. I was introduced to everyone and we made our way inside the church. Menah and Saren removed their shoes once inside and I followed suit. They both kneeled before the alter and said a prayer while I waited in the back. The church was empty, apart from the 3 of us. After paying their respects, I asked Saren if we would be meeting his father, as I was growing somewhat impatient after the long drive. He assured me we would and we made our way out of the church and walked through the gate into the backfields.

We walked along an irrigation ditch for several hundred yards in the dark. The moon was just starting to rise, providing just enough light to make out outlines, but nothing more than that. I could hear water flowing but couldn’t identify its source through the darkness and tall reeds on either side of the small levee we were walking on. Soon I could hear voices ahead. “We’re almost there,” Menah said. We reached an intersection of 2 levees and in the middle were 3 men. One of them, Menah’s father, was sitting in a homemade wicker chair under a store bought umbrella. The other 2 were sitting on the ground smoking and drinking tea. They were obviously tired from a long days work.

It was a scene reminiscent of Pharonic times. I felt like I was 2,000 years in the past. As we approached, the 3 men stood up. Menah’s father walked toward us with outstretched arms and a warm smile. He embraced his son and his best friend as a loving father would. He then turned to me and gave me the same embrace and told his son in Egyptian that he was blessed to have us there. Menah’s father was a very jovial little man, reminding me not entirely of Santa Clause. He had a big, full gray beard and a potbelly. He was wearing a traditional gown that men of this part of the world wear. He leaned back, put his fists on his hips and looked us over with a big smile on his face. He obviously hadn’t seen his son in some time.

We sat down on the levee and Menah’s father sat next to me. He seemed more interested in his foreign guest than he did his own son. Menah didn’t seem to care. For him, it was show and tell. His father asked me many questions about the US and myself, all of which was roughly translated by Menah. He asked me if I’d like to see some of his pictures. Of course I did! I was immediately snapped back to the reality of 2010, when his father produced an iphone from his pocket and began showing me pictures of his daughter’s recent wedding, which he had officiated. Even in translation, I don’t think he understood why I was laughing when he pulled his phone out of his pocket. We looked at some more pictures and then his father asked me if I was hungry. I was, but told him no thanked him as I was suspicious of the offerings. He said he’d just made some fresh goat cheese and insisted I try it. Fine… I do love goat cheese.

We walked back along the levee to his barn and went inside through the 2 large barn doors. Inside was a menagerie of animals and I told him it reminded me of Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem. It absolutely did. I think it impressed him. There were 2 white ducks that greeted us as we walked up and once inside, there were several stalls, one containing an donkey, a calf, several goats a horse and a newborn foal. We went into a side room that had a couch and the floors were covered with very nice silk rugs. He lit a gas lamp and the 3 of us sat on the couch while Menah’s father disappeared into a back room. I assumed there was no electricity. He came back a few moments later with a plate of crumbly, white cheese and a fork. I was a little hesitant, which brought a nervous snicker from the guys. I lifted a bite to my mouth and it was cold and probably the best cheese I have ever tasted. It was fantastic! This simple offering meant so much to me. I finished the plate and graciously returned it to Menah’s father, who hadn’t quit smiling since we got there. After some small talk, we said our goodbyes and made our way back to the car to return to Luxor. On the return trip, I reflected on my trip and my apprehension on going in the first place. The sight of a checkpoint ahead and Saren and Menah’s obvious discomfort soon interrupted my thoughts.

Saren, the better English speaker told me not to worry. Well shit, why would I? This immediately made me worry. These guys, Christians, were the minority in their own country. We pulled up and were approached by 3 guards with Kalashnikovs. They asked us all to get out of the car. The senior officer asked me in English what I was doing with these men. I told him they were my friends and where we had been. He gave a huff and walked off. He had us stand behind the car while he searched it. The other 2 kept their eyes trained on us. After a very thorough search, he said some words to Menah and Saren, which they would never tell me what was said, and we were released. I will always wonder what that guard said to them. I could sense a sort of uneasiness that wasn’t there before the search. We arrived back at the hotel around 9:30. I bid farewell to the guys, lit a cigarette and watched them drive off into the night, hopeful we would cross paths again one day.

This was one of those experiences that few people will ever have in their lives. I was transported, for a few moments to a time that I will never know. Things move slowly in this part of the world. I’m thankful I was able to slow down with it and take it all in. And I knew I had made 2 new friends for life. 

South Pacific Shit Show

I was recently on a trip to the South Pacific. The trip started in Hawaii, included several stops in some VERY tropical, VERY desolate islands. Procedurally speaking, these were some very difficult places to fly to. But who cares about that? Let's get down to the good stuff.

We landed in Sai Pan on a Saturday morning and had 30 hours on the ground. Plenty of time to get into some good trouble. After unloading the baggage, seeing the passengers off and cleaning the plane, our flight attendant fixed us all a cocktail and we headed toward customs. The customs officer was an American, as Sai Pan is a US territory. Who knew? He was very helpful in recommending some fun places that shouldn't be missed during our short visit. He was obviously bored with living in this place. 

View from my room in Sai Pan

We arrived at the hotel and agreed to lobby in 10 minutes. I went upstairs, unpacked, put on some board shorts and a t-shirt and headed to the bar. The bartender made me a fantastic Mai-Tai and I had 2 more. Soon, the crew arrived... They're always late, and joined me for cocktails. We prodded the bartender for more info as our night began to take shape. I guess he took one look at us knew what we were looking for. He recommended a joint called Shenanigans, of all places. We had one more drink a piece and headed out. As our destination was only a few blocks away, we opted to walk. We passed by small souvenir shops selling the normal bullshit, a few decent-looking western-themed restaurants intertwined by "massage parlors" with the girls standing on the street soliciting passersby, in what could only be described as Sai Pan's pitiful offering of a red light district. We trekked onward.

We had Shenanigans in sight and human Froggered the busy street to the other side. We dealt with the door guy and stepped inside the Devil's playground. We were quickly approached by several local whores and escorted to a table. The best in the house. We passed several tables of locals who sneered at our elite status. We were seated, guy-girl-guy-girl and I quickly had a rough hand in my pants, grabbing my unimpressed cock. The drinks started to flow. After an hour or so, an aggressive little Asian slut came over and grabbed my hand and pulled me onstage. She was helped by a large stripper and my hands were tightly tied around the pole as the smaller one undid my shorts and pulled them down around my ankles. I was sans underwear. There was a roaring applause as a blindfold was secured around my head. The next thing I know, my ass was being slapped so fucking hard that I had a bruise for 4 days. I wanted to kill that bitch, but nonetheless, my friends got good pictures and I mustered a smile and a pretty good tip!

We continued to get shitfaced and were given our choice as to what lady we would like to take home. I couldn't agree on a price and went home empty handed. Can't say the same for my other crew members. My flight attendant and I were left to make it back to the hotel on our own. We stopped in an ice cream shop were she was accosted by a group of drunken Japanese guys. They thought she was Liv Tyler. She's a shoe in for her. Her complete Doppleganger. We took some pictures with the guys, got our ice cream and split to the hotel. 

The next morning, I hit the beach early and soon found myself talking to 2 Austrian girls. They invited me out with them that night but since we were leaving that afternoon, we settled on being Facebook friends. I'll catch up with them in Europe. I love my life!! 

We lobbied that afternoon to go to the airport. Our next stop... The Philippines. Get ready for this!

We landed at Subic Bay, Philippines, after dropping the passengers off in Manila. The plane was clean so all we had to do was fix a drink for the road and head to the hotel. The place we showed up at was a complete shit hole. We refused to stay there and drove around to find better accommodations, which was really pissing me off. We had serious partying to do on a truncated time schedule. We were only here for 3 days. We found a slightly better shit hole and tossed our shit in the room and headed out. We went to a couple bars and then some guy told us we needed to go to a place called Olongopo. After a small warning as to what we were getting ourselves into by our cab driver, we were soon on our way to Olongopo. After about 20 minutes we rolled into what can only be described as Vegas' evil little brother, without all the gambling. There were "bars" called The Wet Spot, Rascals and AngelWitch. All from a bygone era when Clark Air Force Base at Subic Bay was full of U.S. servicemen looking to get their dicks wet with a nice little 16-year old Philippino. The base has been closed for a while, but no one told the working girls. We decided to eat and have a few drinks before really getting into it. 

We stepped into a recommended restaurant. It was busy and in the back they were having a kid's dance competition and the place was packed with families. This seemed strange, considering the "neighborhood." Nevertheless, we enjoyed the show. Something strange that we all started to notice was the alarmingly high number of middle aged and older men with young, YOUNG women on their arms. It was just accepted. Even in this family setting. These gross fuckers were everywhere. Sadly, I was about to join their ranks. 

We had been SCUBA diving all over the South Pacific and at this point in the trip, I was addicted. I had gotten my certification in college and had never dove since. Before we got into any trouble, I wanted to find out when and where I needed to be for the next day's dive. We found a dive shop next door to a really cool beachside hotel. I secured a spot on the boat for the next day and we collectively agreed that we needed to leave the roach motel we were currently in and relocate to this chic, Australian-owned beachside spot. They wanted $80US for their nicest room with a view of the bay... Sold!

We had another drink at the hotel bar and made our way in a tricycle (a motorized 3-wheeler with a bench seat on the back). We decided on a place called Rascal's, the newest of the seemingly endless selection of whore houses. We walked into a scene of about 12 girls dancing on stage that was reminiscent of a boat hull. All the girls had bikinis on, some were in costumes and all were attractive. I noticed a large net above the stage filled with ping pong balls but was immediately distracted by our waitress, a young Philippino that we soon nicknamed, "Yum Yum." There was a jug of ping pong balls on our table, rekindling my curiosity. The madam came over and introduced herself, a hottie in her early 40's named, Rose. I've always been attracted to older women. Rose explained to us the "rules" of the house while Yum Yum fixed us up with drinks. I queried her about the God damned ping pong balls and she explained that for every ball you throw up on stage, the girls get the equivalent of a quarter. I had to try. I watched 4 girls scramble for the ball I threw until one small girl finally fought it away from a taller girl. This was going to be fun. What about the net over the stage, I asked? Ohhh!! That one has a hundred balls and it costs $35US to pull the cord. I ran over and pulled it and a hundred ping pong balls fell onto the stage and every working girl in the joint went absolutely fucking nuts. They were chasing balls all over the damned place, under the bar, behind tables, behind the DJ booth. Fucking everywhere! It was the funniest sight you've ever seen in your life. That cord got pulled about 10 more times that night. We couldn't get enough of it. Before we knew it, every girl in the place was at our table. It got to the point that men would come in the place and leave because they couldn't get any attention. It was fucking awesome. We owned that place. And by the time we got our bill, we should have just bought it. It came out to the equivalent of $1200US. Those sons of bitches didn't tell us that the drinks for the girls were 3 times the price of our drinks. We were buying drinks for everyone, pulling the cord, throwing ping pong balls and paying bar fines, which I will soon explain. It was getting late and we were all horny. The way it works in this part of the world is that you have to pay what is called the "bar fine" in order to take the girls out of the bar. Then you negotiate whatever you want with the girl on your own. The bar fine is $35US per girl and a guy I met told me that the girls will never ask for anything. I didn't believe him. Nevertheless, I grabbed Rose, the mamasan, who assured me she wasn't on the "menu" and a crazy little slut named Angel. My crew each grabbed the girls of their liking and my flight attendant ended up with the bartender, a young man named Jeff, who had been taking great care of us all night. It was about 2 in the morning and the crew wanted to go to the club next door. I passed and got into a cab for the hotel with Rose and Angel. After all, I had a dive boat to catch in the morning. Within about 30 seconds, my shorts were around my ankles and Angel was giving me a blowjob while my hand was far down Rose's pants, playing with her clit. This continued for the 20-minute ride back to the hotel.

I sheepishly hustled through the lobby of the hotel with the girls in tow and up to my room. Our cloths were quickly off and we all decided to take a shower together. It was great! Hands were all over each other, dicks were in mouths, fingers in pussies, you name it. We got out, toweled off, I grabbed a rubber and we fucked for the next hour or so. These girls were great. They "fought" over me and we did just about every position known to man, my favorite being fucking Angel from behind while Rose licked my balls.

                                                                                 Angel


8:00 AM rolled around pretty quickly and I called the front desk for a cab. I sent the girls down ahead of me to save myself some embarrassment while I quickly packed in order to change hotels. I jumped into the cab the girls were waiting in and headed back toward Olongopo. My plan was to drop them back off at Rascal's, drop my bags off at our new hotel and then head to the dive shop. We arrived at Rascal's and I said goodbye to the girls and they got out. It was true! They didn't ask for a dime. I rolled down the window and called them back to the cab. I gave them each $40US and they seemed very pleased. Not bad, I thought. $150US for 2 girls for the night. I hardly felt like I'd paid for sex at all. It was great!!

I quickly dropped my bags at the hotel and made my way to the dive shop and checked in. I met another American and a goofy Canadian with more camera gear than you can imagine. I mean this guy had more shit hanging off of him than Superman. It was just ridiculous. I was hungover/still drunk and James, the American, quickly spotted it and asked how I felt. I felt so so but told him I felt great. He was cool, about my same age and we both made fun of the Canadian. We gathered our gear and made our way to the boat for the 15 minute journey to the dive site.

I got my shit on... slowly, and made my way to edge of the boat to listen to a brief, which I barely paid attention to. Soon, I found myself in the water, which was surprisingly cool and made me feel a little better. As we descended, my head began to ache. Soon we were diving around a wreck from WWII seeing some pretty cool fish and sites when I suddenly started feeling nauseas. We were at 30 meters. In my very limited diving experience, I'd never been told what to do if I needed to throw up. Do I take out my regulator? My first thought was what happened last time I threw up. I remembered immediately gasping for air after each heave. I would have to time it perfectly to keep from ingesting water. Should I throw up in my regulator? Would it get clogged if I did? I felt like I was fucked. I could feel myself starting to sweat. I kept swallowing my saliva to try and hold it back. My eyes began to water. As the group continued to explorer the wreck, I maintained my buoyancy and kept as still as I could... This didn't help. I started moving around a little and this did help... Slightly. I was freaking the fuck out. I was on the verge of swimming straight to the surface. I knew this was a bad idea, especially from 30 meters. As I was contemplating my limited options, our guide came back and motioned if everything was ok. I grabbed my stomach, which sure as fuck didn't help. He motioned for me to head up and I complied. We ascended slowly and made a 3-minute safety stop at around 15 feet. The whole time my stomach was wrenching. I made it about a minute and half before I filled my BC up with air and shot to the surface. The second I felt the air, I immediately projectile vomited. It was awesome! I looked like the fountains of the Bellagio. We got back on the boat, I drank some water and immediately felt like a million bucks. We did one more dive that morning that went great and headed back to shore to "debrief" (have a beer). I caught a lot of shit from the other guys but I didn't give a shit. I was proud of myself for maintaining my composure in a completely unfamiliar situation. Oh yeah. I learned that you can throw up right into your regulator with no repercussions. The chunks will just purge out the sides. Wish I had known.

I walked over to our new hotel and met the crew at the lobby bar to swap stories of the previous night. They were very impressed that I had made the dive boat. When I put my mind to something, there's very little that will stop me from accomplishment. They were less impressed when I told them about throwing up. I went up to my room and enjoyed the view for a while before taking a nap for a few hours. We did, after all, have to do it all over again that night.

View from my room in Olongopo

We made friends with this cute little 22-year old Philippino who was our waitress at the bar. She was getting off and we invited her to dinner with us, which she obliged. We went to a restaurant within walking distance of the hotel and had an unremarkable meal. The whole time, I was hitting on Rhea, our new friend, and she was eating it up. After dinner was over, about 11, Rhea said she had to get home. We held hands as I walked her back to the hotel and I told the crew that I'd meet up with them at Rascal's. We got back to the hotel and I invited Rhea up to the room. We climbed the 3 flights to my room and were having sex within about 15 minutes. She was a real sport! Very sweet and adventurous. Afterwards, she got dressed and said she REALLY had to get home. I asked what her hurry was and she said she had a 2-year old to get home to. Jesus, I thought. She left and I went and met the crew. They were back at it, pulling that God damned cord every 30 minutes and having those bitches run wild for those fucking ping pong balls. I was exhausted. Rose wouldn't have any of it and was all over me. Angel had the night off. I pushed Rose away and ordered a drink. After my drink, I decided to head back to the hotel. Rose asked me if I wanted her to come over and I did. I told her I'd leave a key for her at the front desk. She showed up about 2:30 and we had sex again. She left around 3:30. I didn't tip her.

One thing I can say about the Philippinos is that they are unequivocally the nicest people on Earth. This is saying a lot for me. I'm from Texas and thought we for sure had the nicest people in the world. Everyone in The Philippines addresses you as sir or ma'am and always have a smile on their faces. They never ask for anything and as much as I felt like I exploited them, I still have a lot of respect for them. We lobbied the next day around noon and nearly everyone that we had met during that leg of the trip met us in the lobby to say goodbye. Almost all of them had some sort of gift to give us. Rhea gave me a keychain and Rose had baked me some pandesal bread, the greatest, sweetest bread you have ever tasted. The other girls that the crew had hooked up with gave them each gifts as well. Jeff gave my flight attendant some roses. It was a really great and touching way to end an awesome trip. We made our way to the airport, prepped the plane and waited for our passengers. We stopped at Guam on the way back to Hawaii for fuel and were in Honolulu 10 hours later.