Banana Street rests at the belly of Pacific City, a centre known to be the haven of love and other drugs. Popularly considered as a skid row, it is home to things and activities considered as taboo and inviolable in other commercial districts, especially in areas where people live and breathe righteousness and rectitude.
Ever since, I have dreaded setting foot in that place. I might be adventurous of some sorts, but going there is out of bounds. It is a place to be steered clear of; otherwise, one might just find himself being baptised with names beyond imagination.
But sometimes, curiosity just kicks in, so potent it could overshadow the dogma you are holding on for years. When it does, you would just find yourself luxuriating in things/places/activities/people you never dream of encountering, even if it has taken you three hours to decide not to fall prey to any attempts that would put your belief to test.
And so, after days and nights of convincing and coaxing, I gave in to what my friends wished us to savour. I realised I have nothing to lose, but my hesitation. With my heart bursting into smithereens as the clock ticked, I took three cups of coffee to get tranquilised.
In the group, which soon would become known as "Undipitid", I was among the three who were still virgins. We hadn't experienced going into any area such as this. Up to the last minute, I was praying for something to happen so this plan would not materialise.
But my prayers weren't heard. Walking side by side with other virgins, we tailgated after the veterans who were already chin up traversing the place that somewhat similar to old school movie houses.
We squished into one side to stave off from the prying eyes of men who were checking us out one by one. We pretended we were talking, or were busying ourselves with something; but our curiosity won't leave us alone.
With familiar sounds as background, the songs we usually hum when we are inspired, or just bored, several men lined up and started doing the locomotion. At the first sight, I felt very uneasy and tense at the same time as it was hard for me to believe that such things still exist, even with the upsurge in the technological advancement.
Soon, I was able to pick up the pieces together to pacify my nerves. I suddenly felt I belong to the place, especially now that parading before my eyes were a bunch of men I haven't seen in the office I have been knuckling down for half a decade. I slowly detached myself from my friends who were still giggling at the sight of the men. Instead, I focused on them one by one, realising that these species are rare nowadays, and would soon face extinction.
Four hours of watching metaphors in motion amid the lights coming from disco balls and the noise and chants unconsciously emanating from other people, we decided to leave the place. For watching around forty gorgeous, not-so-gorgeous, and feeling-gorgeous men doing their stuff, I paid for drinks and food equivalent to budget meal. At least, my eyes were satisfied they burped.
We went out of the place with the air of confidence and the feeling of freedom. Freedom from what? I have no idea, but for me, it could probably be from ignorance.
We went back to where we planned everything, in a posh coffee shop in a business district, and talked about our experience over and over again. We know our lives would never be the same again, after our first taste (for virgins) of going into a place known as a gay bar.
