MY FIRST DANCE

By Philip M. Lustre Jr.

I DIDN'T HAVE my first dance in a house party called "tipar" or in the high school junior-senior prom. I had it in the dimly-lit dancing hall of a sleazy joint, which was then called International Cabaret, in Caloocan City. That was sometime in October, 1969, which was the height of the Vietnam War.

I was 15 and in third year high school, when my 18 year-old cousin, who has always been a close friend and a confidante until now, urged me to go to the much ballyhooed dancing halls of Caloocan City. 

I filched P20, which was then a tidy sum during those days, from my mother's wallet and off we went to the Caloocan City's fabled Fifth Avenue for an adventure.

The bouncers refused my entry because of my age. But my cousin's persuasive powers prevailed, as he argued for me. 

We showed our cedulas, or residence certificates, with fake birthdays to claim we were 18. I was a skinny lad, wearing a white long-sleeve shirt and black pants, as if I was to receive my first communion.

We bought tickets, which cost twenty centavos each. Each ticket meant a single dance with any woman of our choice from the long queues of taxi dancers, who were called bailerinas (Spanish word for dancers). A taxi dancer was for hire to provide dancing services to anybody, who bought tickets.

After we bought our tickets, we drank a bottle of beer each to overcome our anxiety, shyness, and nervousness. 

But from the corner of my eyes, I saw a brown beauty with a slim body, who moved with the grace of a gazelle. I approached and gave her a ticket for a dance. The orchestra then played You'll Never Know, a popular song during the Liberation era. We had the "very sweet" dance.

The taxi dancer, who was in her mid-20s, was so surprised by my presence. "Why are you here?" she asked. I couldn't answer, but said I was with my cousin. 

"How old are you?" she asked. I told her I was 18, which she didn't believe anyway. Then, I gave her more tickets to show that she would be my partner for the next nine dances. Those tickets meant income for her.

The music was so short; it did not last a minute though. She was my partner again. This time, it was a different story. 

It was no longer a getting-to-know you type of meeting. As a pubescent guy, I had my initiation that woke up the manhood in me. 

She gave that wake-up call.

Without much ado, the taxi dancer held me tight and squeezed my body so hard. Then, she pushed my buttocks toward what was in between her thighs. 

I could smell her perfume. I could feel her warm breath. Then, she rubbed her body to my body, causing sensation and the greatest - and most memorable - erection in my entire life. 

I literally trembled at the sheer ecstasy of my experience.

She gave me the most thrilling - and enthralling - experience in the next eight dances, after which I bought ten more tickets. 

We didn't talk much but the dance we had was most sensual and erotic. I sweated profusely. After 20 dances, I gave her a one-peso tip.

Somehow, I managed to ask her name toward the end of the dance. 

She gave her name as Lolita. She told me she would like to dance with me again, if ever we would come back. 

We didn't return after that visit. It was enough to savor the spirit of a dancing hall we then called a cabaret. 

By the way, International Cabaret was demolished to give way for the construction of the LRT along Rizal Avenue and for the widening of Araneta Avenue.