Our first foray into a hosto bar was around this time last year, when my friends and I got somewhat tired of the macho dancing bars and decided to explore other types of bars.
When we entered the bar, we knew the bar didn't feature naked strippers. But that fact didn't stop us from staying and even returning again and again. What got us hooked were how decent-looking the men were -- properly gelled/waxed hair, their version of porma clothing, and entertaining one-on-one conversations. The lack of something to watch (ie. male strippers on stage) forced these men to entertain us with stories and jokes, unlike in the macho dancing bars where a customer can be content with just watching a naked guy dance onstage.
And of course, what we liked the most was how cheap the MD drinks were in that bar. Our bill was way below our average in the macho dancing gay bar. Even just half, I think. Not bad for a paid one-on-one "date" with a guy of your choice.
|Some hostos during their modeling|
What I remembered most about hostos was how easily hatak-able they were, or at least those we met in a certain bar. With just an SMS, they're there to accompany us for dinner (dapat before their work hours though). It might be free dinner for them, but we got company in return. They'd join us for KTV singing in Malate a few times. They were quick to respond, and didn't mind too much if they'd be late for work or if they'd leave the bar for a few minutes.
Maybe because they were already fully clothed, and can escape the bar's premises whenever they wanted to, and unlike macho dancers who were in skimpy attire and still have to dress up when they leave the bar.
Or maybe it was the so-called dohan system that bars employ -- agreed dates with the customer outside the bar, then the guy ensures to bring the customer to the bar afterwards. Where our hosto friends worked allowed this rule, which wasn't that expensive, unlike some macho dancing bars where the bar fine was hefty and expensive.
Yeah, we even dragged them for an out of town getaway. There was once when my friends and our hosto partners (sans mine) decided to rent a private pool in Laguna for some R&R. It took two weeks to plan, to make sure everyone were available on those dates. It also took two weeks for me to persuade my hosto partner, but he kept saying his strict live-in partner wouldn't allow him (ayaw lang niya sigurong aminin na takot siya makasama ang bading sa isang outing. eh wala namang mangyayari sa amin. ehe!)
What happened there were typical as in any outings -- lots of swimming, mixed-vodka-fruit juice drinks, barbecues, un-tag-able photos, and lots and lots of conversations about their bar. With the drinking and gossiping, it was like an extended day spent with a guy in the bar, but included sleeping privately inside a room. And just like spending time in a bar, the customers paid for everything.
(No, outings with these men are not limited to hostos only. I know of lots of macho dancers who'd also go out with their regular customers. So it's nothing new for gay bar goers who'd like to spend more time with their fancied men. The group can consist of one customer with a group of MDs, or a group of Koreans with an MD, or just the two of them like a honeymoon. They can go to somewhere as private as Batangas or as public as Boracay or Cebu).
For me, the most memorable experience with hostos though was not this outing or our frequent gimiks in the Manila area. It was the brawl that happened outside their bar one early morning, around this time last year. I already wrote about it in a previous post (see middle part of the post), and I remember having it as a status message on my Facebook wall.
Never in my gay life would I have thought of being involved in a street rambulan. It would've been fine if I were just in the periphery, looking at the guys punching each other from the sidewalk. However, I had to be in the center of the fight, in the middle of this little street in Maynila, making awat between drunk macho dancers and drunk hostos, amidst some punches flown, blood flowing from beer bottles crashed on the heads, and gunshots from a police passerby.
My presence in the middle of the crazy fight would've been worth it if these men were fighting for me. But no, they were fighting for some chick customer. Urg.
And that was one major underlying reason why I got tired of hostos.
(to be concluded...)
Learn more: Lessons from Gay Bars in Manila