Miguel was a med student by day, but by night, he had a secret hustle that few knew about. On weekends, he met his “clients” on a rooftop in Lahug. The spot offered a stunning city view but was far enough from prying eyes.
One Friday night, his phone buzzed: a wealthy expat wanted a private party with two “escorts.” Miguel wasn’t in the escort business himself, but he knew people. With a well-timed text, he arranged everything.
The rooftop was dimly lit, the sound of faint music echoing from the street below. Miguel showed up with two stunning girls, casually dressed to avoid suspicion. The expat was there, sipping whiskey and leaning against the railing. He smiled, handed Miguel a thick envelope, and invited the girls over.
Miguel didn’t usually stay, but this time the expat asked him to join the party. Drinks flowed, laughter echoed, and as the night deepened, boundaries blurred. One of the girls, a dancer named Celine, leaned close to Miguel, her perfume intoxicating. “You never join your own setups, do you?” she whispered.
Miguel grinned but stayed professional. “Not my scene,” he replied.
The girls worked their charm effortlessly—laughing at the expat’s jokes, leaning in close during conversations, and pouring drinks with playful winks. Their role was more than just being there; they knew how to make the client feel like the center of the universe. Touches were subtle at first—a brush of the hand, a lingering glance—but as the night wore on, it became clear that whatever the client wanted, they’d find a way to deliver. If the client wants a nude show, they will gladly do it. If the client wants sex, the escorts will not deny them as well.
Hours later, as the city lights flickered, Miguel left the rooftop with more cash than he’d made all month. The expat sent him a text the next day: “Best threesome of my life. Let’s do this again.”
For Miguel, it was just another night in Cebu’s hidden underworld, where the line between the legal and illegal was as blurred as the city skyline.
Mike m. luster 