(IJCH) The Games People Play - A Short Story (Life, Love, and Romance)

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IJCH - Inside JaiChai's Head (Meaning: My Warped, Personal Opinions and Musings)

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From the Author:

Salutations.

I am JaiChai.

And if I haven't had the pleasure of meeting you before, I'm delighted to make your acquaintance now.

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I invite you to interact with everyone, learn, and have as much fun as possible!

For my returning online friends, "It's always great to see you again!"

Evelyn and JaiChai

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No words were exchanged when Evelyn slipped onto the bar stool next to me. She just looked forward and placed her hand affectionately and territorially on my knee.

Unconsciously, I automatically reached down and laced my fingers into hers. This produced a furtive smile from her.

Watching and listening safely from our vantage point at the bar, Evelyn and I observed the show.

Leaning over towards Evelyn, I gave her a quick sniff-kiss on the cheek. Even after four bars and many drinks, she still smelled delicious. "After all these years, you still look great, Darling." I said. And with another sniff- kiss, this time on her neck, I added, "Oohm, uh-huh, and you still smell like a tasty Mocha Milkshake."

Evelyn blushed for just a moment, but quickly regained her composure. She returned the kisses; adding a naughty little lick with a quick flick of her tongue with each one.

Those Lips

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Then in true Filipina fashion, her eyebrows went up and down; and pointed to the two tables below with her pursed lips, lips that were unusually large on such a small, pixy face.

Many years ago, when we first met, it was those full lips that immediately caught my eye; and presently, continues to fascinate me. "Ah yes, I remember now. With those lips, she could easily put on a great show eating a popsicle or a banana!" I mused.

With much better English than I remember, she said, "Let the Games Begin," breathing her girlish, high-pitched voice that was now glazed with a feminine, sweet southern drawl frosting, into my ear.

All hands at both tables continued to drink and began talking about the inhabitants of their opposing tables.

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I felt sad for the vacationers.

They obviously did not know the local lingo, while the hookers understood the men's English. It seemed one-sided and unfair. But for the time being, I remained silent. Maybe this wouldn't be such a blood bath after all?

Not a chance!

The girls Were ruthless.

They flirted with the men while at the same time cursing them in Visayan. The men thought they were making headway, so a brave soul came over and asked if anyone wanted another beer on him. Of course, the women acquiesced shyly to his generosity on the outside, but complained that the man must be poor because he bought beer instead of tequila shots.

And with each covert insult the hookers would glance over at me and Evelyn; as if they wanted a sign of approval, or maybe a judge's waiving score placard?

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But all they got was Evelyn and I, hand in hand, sitting together, speaking English, and trying not to laugh too loudly.

Ah, the women thought.

That guy must be a foreigner. He looks Filipino, but maybe he is from Singapore or Thailand, etc. "Evelyn wants to show us she hasn't lost her skills. Good for her!" they all said in unison.

Another woman, with obvious admiration in her voice, blurted, "Even at her advanced age of twenty-seven, she can still easily hook and reel them in without breaking a sweat!"

Obviously Ouclassed

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For the next hour or so the freelancer table was winning hands down. They persuaded each man at the other table to buy a round of drinks; by this time, mixed drinks instead of beer. Each woman took pock shots at their respective targets for the night.

The fat men were sucking in their guts and the skinny ones were peacock chested; trying to be suave or look cool - and failing miserably. They also were totally oblivious to the stream of vulgarities thrown their way by the sweet smiling hookers.

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I surprised myself by feeling somewhat uncomfortable when the women started talking about how many rounds or size of penis each man could probably come up with (pun intended).

Evelyn couldn't let this opportunity go by without chiding me.

With a mischievous smile, she whispered, "Oh Honey, you're blushing. That's SO CUTE!" I put down my drink and shot her the middle finger of my free hand and gently squeezed her other hand; the hand that by now, felt like it was super-glued to my body.

She reached over with her free hand and gave my crotch a not-so-stealthy, but otherwise healthy, practiced grab.

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And thus, our extended foreplay began.

Evelyn and I would exchange knowing looks and half smiles whenever anyone scored a minor victory for their side.

Sadly, the only time the men did anything that could remotely be considered a winning volley was when one of them bet that he could guess exactly what all the freelancers were wearing under their skirts.

He said, "It's quite funny that a Filipina can dance almost naked on a pole, but will not wear a bikini to a public beach and always wear shorts under their skirts." And he was absolutely right.

9th Inning Rally?

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It was at that point that I thought he might just be the champion that saves the day for the masculine side.

But my hopes were instantly dashed when he did the ultimate newbie misstep at this open air restaurant/bar; a place which was still catering to the family crowd until about 8pm.

He said, at exactly the wrong time during the momentary silence in between music videos - and with a voice loud enough for everyone in the place to hear, "So, how much does each one of you cost for Long-Time?"

I swear I could hear a dozen plates clanging with the sound of dislodged false teeth.

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One of the girls said with a look of utter disgust, "Buang Badjao Sya." ("[He is] a crazy street beggar.").

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Then she put on her sweet "Game Face" again.

A Cruel Pastime

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It's still a mystery to me how Filipinas can engage in one of their most favorite, but disrespectful and cruel, pastimes without a shred of guilt. What I am referring to is the common practice of gossiping about an unknowing foreigner right in front of his nose.

This is no exaggeration.

As soon as they believe that someone cannot speak their language, they will brazenly talk about him to others; complete with rude comments about his body, his body odor, his eating habits, and the most intimate details of the latest bedtime performance - with him sitting there just inches away!

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One time, about eleven years ago, I was in a bar where my date from the previous night was on duty. I'd concealed my language skills from her, so she thought I spoke only English.

Feeling safe to pass on hot cheez-miz - phonetic version of a Visayan word meaning: gossip - in my presence, she was having a heyday gossiping about me with her friend on the other side of the bar. Me? I just played dumb, mimicking just another foreigner basking in ignorant bliss.

Then another girl emerged from a dark corner of the bar. She was a girl I'd met at an eatery a week earlier and spent two nights with.

I never knew she worked in this same bar with the girl from last night until then.

The last week's girl proudly proclaimed, "Og, oy! Bilat, ka'on sya bilat, bilat ko! Og gusta sya kuang!" (Visayan: "And, hey! P@ssy, he eats p@ssy, my p@ssy! And he likes it!").

After the initial surprise of seeing her, I distinctly remember thinking, "Oh yeah, I remember her - awesome, slim body, pretty hair, beautiful eyes, nice smile, and a cute little 'shock absorber nose'..."

All the girls began yelling at each other and I was afraid that a cat fight was imminent. So, I decided to diffuse the situation as best as I could.

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Abandoning the ignorant foreigner charade, I said in perfect Visayan, "May I have another beer, please? And, by the way, yes, (pointing to the last week's girl) she is telling the truth. I like fish and anything that smells and tastes like fish!

After my remark (spoken in their own dialect), the girls were in a silent shock and looked like mannequins "frozen in time". To ease their anxieties, I went into this routine:

I waived my hand at the girls and licked a bead of condensation running down my beer mug.

I took a small sip, and made a huge "SLURRRRPING" sound.

Using my finger, I wiped some "imaginary beer drool" from my mouth.

Tasting my finger and smacking my lips, I pointed to the last week's girl and announced, "Oo, lami sya! Ikaw?" ("Yes, she is delicious! [Are] you?").

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After looking at each other for a millisecond, they instantly burst into a two and a half minutes long, screeching, snorting, and choke-filled laugh-fest!

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And later that night, I brought them back to my hotel room and "got to know" all three of them.

Imagine that?

I thought that the present situation could be an opportunity to play dumb and use the foreigner in ignorant bliss ploy again.

Abandoning the Charade

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Everyone from the two tables up to this point had only heard me speaking English; so maybe, just maybe no one else in the bar would spill the beans about my comprehension of the local dialect?

(Heavy sigh) That would not be the case today.

The new cute girl turned to Evelyn. Trying to score points with her veteran hero, she said in Visayan, "Why foreigners so stupid?"

Evelyn's face grew pale and tried to ignore the question. The new girl must've thought that Evelyn didn't hear her, so she repeated the question. "Hey big sister! Why foreigners so stupid?!" she loudly complained.

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Her voice was a drunken, whiny shrill. And her body language reminded me of an adolescent on the verge of throwing a temper tantrum. By this time Evelyn had turned half-way around on the stool and beckoned me to do the same and look at the big screen TV.

She acted like she was talking about the music video by pointing at different areas of the screen.

Outwardly, I looked calm, cool, and collected. But on the inside I was getting a bit pissed off. Only Evelyn could sense my growing uneasiness.

"I know that look, Honey. Sorry 'bout the newbies," she said. "The girls are just trying to show off. You know what I mean? Just let the kids play, ok?"

But before I could reply, the new girl, now angered by seeing that she was talking to our backs, stood up and put her hands on her hips. "Why foreigners so stupid!" the very pretty, very drunk Bar Girl yelled.

"Mag Tampo"

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In spite of making generous allowances for cultural differences (i.e., the common disparity between a Filipina's chronological age vs. her emotional maturity), I was thoroughly fed up with the new girl's petulant, childlike behavior.

More often than not, there can be a huge disparity between chronological age and the emotional maturity of Filipinas.

Most foreigners learn quickly that no matter what age a Filipina may be, she can act like a spoiled pre-teen at the drop of a hat; and for reasons that only the Creator of the universe can understand.

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Additionally, Filipinas have their own brand of the "Silent Treatment".

It's a kind of a "Mega-Immature Silent Treatment on Steroids" and can occur at anytime, anyplace, and for any reason - and I mean ANY REASON at all!

They are experts at passive aggressive behavior and unfair power plays; purposefully hiding the reason from the one person (usually the Filipina's partner) that she deems responsible for her inner grief.

How fair is that?

Then for added effect, the silence is accompanied by the exaggeration or omission of normal daily duties and responsibilities (e.g., burnt or no dinner, growing piles of dirty laundry, changing the normal location of the offender's personal items, etc.).

Sex is normally withheld.

But if it does happen, the foreign partner can expect "Operation Starfish", a sexual experience devoid of any feelings, responses, or reactions from the Filipina. "Spread Eagle" and motionless, she looks and acts like a dead, dessicated starfish.

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For days, the silent Filipina's actions, facial expressions, and body language convey hatred and/or disgust. Taken to the extreme, the Filipina can make the offending partner go nuts in no time! In Tagalog this is called Mag Tampo or simply Tampo.

It's quite an amusing and confusing spectacle to see - as long as you're not on the receiving end of the Tampo Filipina.

What does a Tampo Filipina act and look like?

Well, the closest thing I can come up with is this: Picture a sweet little brown, sexy woman who has suddenly morphed into a silent, head-spinning, green-goo-drooling anti-Christ that makes you truly believe that she wouldn't love anything better than to eat your sautéed liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.

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That's a Tampo Filipina!

Damn the etiquette, full speed ahead...

In spite of Evelyn's death grip on my thigh, I turned around slowly to make sure the girl would both see and hear me clearly. I looked directly at her face. In Spock-like fashion, I raised my left eyebrow and commenced to teach this youngin' a little bit about life.

In rapid fire and not so polite Visayan, I said, "Enough child! Not all foreigners are so fu€kin' stupid! If you don't start fu€kin' playing nice, I will tell you and your friends' targets for the night EXACTLY what you've been fu€kin' saying about them.

What?

You thought just because I was speaking English to your exalted victorious returning warrior that I cannot understand your fu€kin' banal bar blabber?

I'll bet you any amount of fu€kin' money that those fish you and your friends are trying to hook will instantly vanish if they knew EXACTLY what rude and cruel things all of you have been fu€kin' saying, no?!"

If I had more working brain cells and residual air in my lungs at the time, I probably could have spouted off far crasser run-on sentences.

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Totally focused on getting my point across to the new girl, I didn't notice the rest of the people's reactions around me. In fact, my eyes were still burning a hole into the space between the girl's eyebrows when Evelyn brought me back to reality with a not-so-dainty poke in the ribs.

WTF?

"Unsama Na Oy!" (Visayan: an expression that loosely translates into "WTF!") I yelled.

Evelyn just waived her index finger from side to side in front of my face (the universal "no-no" gesture) and then put her vertical index finger in front of her lips (the ubiquitous "shoosh, be quiet" sign). Still fuming, but now also embarrassed, I finally shut up and looked around the restaurant/bar.

All the customers had a freeze-framed, wide-eyed, silent gaping mouth expression on their faces.

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When I put my empty beer glass down on the bar and slid it toward the bartender for a refill, a big "Boom" and "Screech" bellowed in HD clarity from the numerous wall-mounted loudspeakers that were strategically placed around the restaurant/bar by our bartender.

He was a weekend DJ, cum sound engineer, cum amateur physicist, etc. The reason for the people's expressions of "Shock and Awe" were now obvious to me.

Unbeknownst to me, at the beginning of my paternal monologue, the bartender had muted the TV monitors and placed a live karaoke microphone beside my ash tray, approximately 18 inches away from my profanity-ridden lips.

Later, the bartender confessed to the dirty deed, pleading, "Sir, it was my duty to ensure that the unmolested sound of your voice reached every customer in the restaurant/bar." (with HD quality, Dammit!).

"Surely, I could not deprive anyone from the benefits of your seasoned 'Pearls of Wisdom’, could I, Sir? And I humbly submit that I believe I'd surely burn in Hell if I left this life knowing that I was responsible for that supreme injustice to all mankind, Sir!"

How could I argue with that insightful, rock-solid logic from this fine young man?

Sheepishly, I picked up the microphone and said "Pasensya Na" (Tagalog: a very formal apology) and bowed respectfully several times to all corners of the establishment - including the tables where the silent hookers and foreigners were seated.

The Crowd Weighs In

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Someone, a local, from the back of the bar began an ultra-slow applause.

Within seconds, what began as a lone faint clapping sound turned into an uproarious, three minutes long, standing ovation!

It was surreal.

I thought I would incite an angry customer riot with the loss of my composure. But from the reaction of the customer crowd and bar staff, I guess they were as disgusted with the antics of the freelancers as I was.

Imagine that?

Evelyn's Philosophy

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In contrast, Evelyn looked glum. She had not joined in the applause.

Later, during a painfully silent dinner, I asked her what was wrong. A flash of anger shot across her face and she gave me that “you foreigners really are stupid!” look. But, as usual, Evelyn kept her control and did not go banshee on me.

Instead, she scooted closer to me, grabbed both my hands over the table, and looked directly into my eyes.

She said something that night that I’ll never forget.

And every time I witness the clash between opposing cultures, lifestyles, and personal morals, I remember Evelyn’s wisdom.

Here is what Evelyn, also known as “The Goddess Athena to all Freelance Hookers”, wistfully said:

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“Darling, you were too hard on those girls. They’re young, scared, and just trying to look brave. That freelance life is really tough; dog-eat-dog, day in and day out. And a girl’s got'ta eat, right?” I tried to protest, but she held up her hand, adding, “You’ve always been a nice guy. But you grew up in the states.

You never had to scrounge for a meal or sleep on a public bench.

And although I liked you more, maybe even loved you in my own naïve way, this is why I ran off with that other foreigner many years ago.

Like most of my friends, I wanted to go abroad – at any cost. I wanted a standard of living that allowed me to help my family.

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But I knew you were staying here.

You never told me you were already retired and receiving a full pension from the military. Everyone thought you were just another young, handsome, but poor guy on vacation; or maybe just another two-week millionaire. You know, a foreigner who comes here, blow a year’s savings in two weeks, and then disappears.

Of course, no matter what he says, the truth is that he has to go back to work; then rinse and repeat next year.

That foreigner whom I left you for, wasn’t pogy (good-looking) or as crazy fun as you. But he was stable and sincere. He arranged for me to go back to the states with him and get married. He had a steady job at the university as an English professor.

In spite of the deep feelings I had for you, I made the only choice I could at the time.

And I know you will probably never understand this: Yes, romance is wonderful, sinfully delicious at times, but darling, YOU CAN’T EAT LOVE.”

Awestruck, I looked away from Evelyn and those beautiful brown eyes.

Seeing what appeared to be a falling star streaking downward across the night sky, I heaved a melancholy sigh and truly wished I could just "do over" so many, many things...

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By JaiChai

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(This is a revised version of: https://steemit.com/life/@jaichai/ijch-the-games-people-play-a-short-story)

Mighty Kind of You for stopping by.

Truly hope to see you again!

About the Author

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Believing that school was too boring, he dropped out of High School early; only to earn an AA, BS and MBA in less than 4 years much later in life – while working full-time as a Navy/Marine Corps Medic.

In spite of a fear of heights and deep water, he performed high altitude, free-fall parachute jumps and hazardous diving ops in deep, open ocean water.

After 24 years of active duty, he retired in Asia.

Since then, he's been a full-time, single papa and actively pursuing his varied passions (Writing, Disruptive Technology, Computer Science and Cryptocurrency - plus more hobbies too boring or bizarre for most folk).

He lives on an island paradise with his teenage daughter, longtime girlfriend and three dogs.

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(More articles by JaiChai can be found on the Busy.org website. Use this link to visit Busy.org. Better yet, come join the Busy.org community!)

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"My mind was a terrible thing to waste..." - JaiChai