Queer Poseur Climber # 1 Part 1

Let me allow my friend, the Europe-born and bred half-noble, half-novoecijano, Frank Ulrich Cudal von Krefeld (whom I lovingly refer to with his initials), to take over this post as he is dying to share this succint experience he just went through with our feature for today: Queer Poseur Climber #1.

Hello friends and readers of Boyd and Jake! First allow me to thank my bon ami Boyd, for allowing me to use his bedpan of a blog to vent out my frustrations about Haute Manille's rather shady characters. But before that let me introduce myself. You can call me Frankie but my whole name is Frank Ulrich von Krefeld, okay... Cudal von Krefeld. And please do NOT spell the initials out loud, OKAY? I'm from Düsseldorf (yes, umlaut required), Deutschland (that's Germany to you) and I'm half-Filipino and half-German (nobility please!). My father is the fourth son of the last Pfalzgraf von Krefeld until the Federal German republic stopped acknowledging noble titles.... sigh. My mother, well, she's a pretty native of Cuyapo, Nueva Ecija! I love her to death!!! And I love Cuyapo! Go Cuyapo! And her family, the Cudals... okay OUR family, have been there even before people had surnames! Imagine Biblical times when Moses was just Moses and Abraham can be any other guy!

Anyway, enough about me, let's start talking about why I need this page in the first place. I'm here to vent and I don't have the time to put up a blog about it since I'm too stupid to make one busy and besides I wouldn't have the time to maintain it. So I'm typing away on my laptop and I'll send this Word document to Boyd as soon as I finish it.

Okay, let's get down to business. As you know already, I officially live in Germany but I divide my time between our apartment in Düsseldorf, our ancestral estate in Krefeld and my mother's farm in Cuyapo, NE (not New York, New Jersey, New Hampshire nor Nevada). When I go to the Philippines, I usually go straight to Nueva Ecija but this year I decided to spend more time in Manila. Actually that's more because I met some delicious looking locals through Gayromeo (the German G4M) and also because I planned a vacation in Boracay Island, so I need to take my flight from Manila (in über-stylish Cebu Pac ATR turboprops). I stayed in some mid-range hotel along Makati Avenue. I figured I'd best position myself in Makati since it's in the middle of all the action (and it's right beside that Favourite bar of Manila PLU's!). I was planning to meet these delicious locals in that FAVT bar of Manila PLU's so that: 1) if they turn out to be misrepresenting themselves online, I'd have the convenient excuse of being drunk and passing out that I forgot about them completely; and, 2) if they turn out to be O-factories even before I lay my hands on them, my room's just around the corner and we can bang the headboards off the bed as soon as he says yes.

It was perfect timing since Boyd and the oh-so adorable Jake (I wish he were mine) were celebrating their birthday/anniversary in that FAVT bar of ours. And I had an invite of course! Free entrance, free booze! I was kinda hesistant to ask Boyd to include my boyz in the guestlist since I don't want him to think that I'm promiscuous or desperately-looking or both. But what the heck, it was a private party, and I need to be conveniently drunk for scenario number 1. So he gladly obliged. And we're all set.

By 12mn, I was conveniently at the point of passing out. Needless to says, there was online misinterpretation and I'm thinking of filing a case against these faggots for attempted homicide (you're so ugly i'm gonna die) perjury and lying under oath. Anyway, when they texted me that they're in the club and gave descripritions of what they were wearing, I looked around, looked back to the bartender, asked for two shots of scotch, and passed out.

Minutes... or hours later, I woke up, people were smoking beside and asked where I was. I was outside the bar turns out and Boyd, who was being annoyingly smoochy-coochy with Jake, grinned at me. I noticed something rubbing my leg. It had a voice and it asked, "Okay ka na ba?"

"Who the fuck are you and what is your hand doing on my leg?"

"I'm Carlo. You're Frank right?"

"Yeah. Excuse me, I think I need to throw up. No offense. Boyd? Andy (another friend)? Come with me? Inside?"

Inside the FAVT bar of ours, I half-pulled, half-dragged Boyd and Andy inside the toilets. "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT ABOUT?!?!"

"Don't look at me, it's Andy's idea!"

"Frank, don't you know who that was?" said a beaming Andy.

"NO!"

"That's what you get for holding up in Cuyapo. That's Carlo Robina, THE director."

"Director of what?"

"I mean, THE fashion director."

"Since when was fashion 'directed'?"

"Since the day Karl Lagerfeld was born."

"What, models need to be told to walk now?"

"That's not the point. He OBVIOUSLY likes you. Why don't you give him a shot? Or maybe even just getting him laid might get us free VIP seats at the next Fashion Week."

"YOU want to offer ME up to get free SEATS? YOU make me SICK. And since when did Manila have a fashion week?"

"Excuse me it's the PHILIPPINE Fashion Week, at a national level."

"Whatever. I don't need to see struggling models wearing stuff made by struggling designers anyway, thank you."

"Come on! And he's KINDA cute anyway."

"Plus I heard from Alvin (Boyd's friend) that he bangs like a drill," Boyd offers, as if to convince me. After three seconds, I was convinced. Hahaha.

"OKAY. I'll give him a shot," I said, to Andy's delight.

We went out and Carlo Robina was still there with his friend whose name escapes me. I had the feeling that he was specifically waiting for me from the way that he beamed at me when I walked out the door. He was being chummy and he seemed impressed when I told him that I was from Germany (Typical Filipino) and I was a student of European Literature. When he asked how old I was, I think he was kinda surprised and felt old when I told him that I just turned 22. But anyway, yeah, he was KINDA cute, with "kinda" being the operative word. He didn't feel abashed about asking for my number. Of course I gave him my number. I ruled out inviting him over for a nightcap since I smelled like vinaigrette - and that's being polite about it! I decided to just go back to my room (half of the time being propped up by Boyd and Andy). Besides I need to "research" on this Carlo Robina person. And what better place to start than my laptop up in my room. But that would be for tomorrow morning!