Ghost Writing

One of Stanley, Carl and my favourite activities in this world is to pay money, sit quietly in a dark air-conditioned room for a few hours and stare at a big screen.

Though this can mean going to Green Apple at North Bridge Road for our occasional foot massage, I'm really talking about watching movies.

Our favourite genre? Horror films.

My partner J is useless - we once went on a date nearly 14 years ago to watch Shutter, a Thai horror flick and he told me afterwards that, true to the title, he kept his eyes shut during all critical parts of the movie.

Since then, I go to the boys when it comes to watching horror films.

The latest inspiration for this blog post is really by a doll named Annabelle.

"What's so interesting about this doll?" Carl the dense one asked over coffee last week.

For Carl, who cannot even recite the names of our current and past presidents, it comes as no surprise.

"It's a creepy movie," I supplied Carl with some context.

"I once watched a Youtube clip about a doll, and it's creepy," Stanley added. "It's about how Japanese men are falling in love with Silicone dolls and having sex with them."

"But back to Annabelle the doll," Stanley said. "It's something similar - it's also about something entering the doll," he said, raising one eyebrow suggestively.

With Stanley the high-octane sex bunny, everything is about sex.

Carl the dense one frowned, unable to catch up with such high-level conversation.

"Never mind. You just come along and watch the movie with us can already," Stanley said, tapping Carl gently on his shoulder.

Twenty minutes into the conversation - while Stanley and I were talking about when's a good time to gather to watch Annabelle - Carl brightened up.

"Oh, it's a horror movie!"Carl said looking up from his phone.

Stanley and I clapped at Carl's progress.

Carl clapped along with glee.

And for the next hour, the three of us did what was quite typical of Singaporeans who are bored: Sharing ghost stories.

And because I never had any encounters, here are the boys' stories...

In Stanley Ong's words:

My mum told me this story when I was a kid.

Grandma used to live in an old shop house in Tanjong Katong. 

And being Peranakan, she loves hosting and partying (and I must have inherited her genes. I love wearing tight clothes like the kebaya and girl, I love to host and party, but that's a story for another day).

One night, Grandma threw one of her parties - there was food, guests, music (though if I were in her era, I would suggest she introduce some party drugs too, but that would mean having sex with her friends who are all wrinkly now, so again, that's a story for another day).

Mum was about nine years old, and she remembered that Grandma was busy dishing out food while complaining that some of her friends were late.

Just then, we heard a knock on the door.

Mum was about to help Grandma open the door when Grandma shouted cheerily: "Whoever you are, just enter!"

Mum then ran off to help Grandma with the dishes, thinking that her door-opening duty was relieved.

Seconds later, the door didn't budge.

Grandma again shouted: "Come in lah, whoever you are!"

Again, the door didn't budge.

Mum said that she remembered a cold wind blow into the house, and all the adults went quiet.

Grandma then walked to the door and opened it slightly.

Nobody was at the door.

About half an hour later, all of Grandma's friends turned up and she thought nothing of it.

Later on in the night, when all of Grandma's friends went home, Mum said she recalled that the whole family was awakened by a loud noise in our kitchen.

Grandma was first to respond.

Mum and her older siblings stood outside their rooms.

Mum said she heard the adults talking in hushed, panicked tones.

This what what Mum saw:

The kitchen larder was opened. Plates were broken. Shards, big and small, were strewn all over the floor. Our fridge was closed, but all the contents of the fridge - milk, leftover food, fruits, sambal - were spilled all over the floor... forming a trail towards the back door.

Mum thought it was a burglar - her uncles woke up and held sticks to search all over the house.

But Mum said Grandma just sat on her chair and started saying the rosary aloud.

Mum was then ushered by her aunt to bed and the adults stayed awake the whole night.

Turns out, when Grandma shouted for whoever was at the door to enter, that somebody - whatever it was - really took the invitation. 

In old folk's tales, unnatural beings cannot enter someone's house unless they're being invited. 

And in this case, Grandma invited whatever was at her door, to enter. Twice. 

Mum couldn't remember other details, except that an old Malay man came by the house two days later to perform rituals and since then, some corners of  Grandma's house had lumpy pieces of lime placed. 

"Moral of the story, don't let strangers enter without knowing who they are - always be safe," Stanley the sex bunny said, and laughed at the irony.

"And second moral of the story," Stanley continued, "is that Singaporeans should stop wishing for a revival of the kampong spirit - they have no idea what they're wishing for!"

In Carl Chang's words:

This happened when I was in National Service at the old Police Academy.  

In our first week, we were already told by our seniors that our bunks were haunted.

One night, one of the boys asked his buddy to accompany him to the toilet.

At this point, Stanley shifted nearer to Carl, obviously very keen to know further developments to Carl's story.

So A and B went to the toilet.

"Ah huh," Stanley brightened up, giving Carl his undivided attention, his eyes filled with hope.

Apparently, A said to B that he was afraid of going to the toilet alone.

Stanley turned to me and said "I love this story already - I'm going to try this during my reservist."

A then went into the cubicle while B waited outside.

After 10 minutes, B thought it was very strange that A took such a long time so he asked if A was ok.

A said yes.

Another ten minutes later, A was still not done.

So B peered under the stall.

"Been there, done that," Stanley cut in, completely destroying any sort of buildup.

B saw nothing. No movement, no shadow.

And so B told A: "Hey, you're taking such a long time, I'm gonna go back to the bunk first."

To which, A replied: "You're going back because you're tired... Or because you found out who I am..."

Stanley paused and stared at Carl. Accusingly.

"Carl Chang! This is a story I read before on the Internet!" he scolded.

Carl shifted in his seat uncomfortably. 

"I didn't know I had to share something I had been through," he said and bit his lips guiltily.

"But since the plot of your story involved two young men going to the toilet together, all is forgiven."

"I only wish they had toilet sex."

Micro Soft

Over supper at Swee Choon last Friday night, Carl our dense friend shared with us what he described as "a very private recent development".

"I hope it's not about your sex life," Stanley warned as he poured us one round of Chinese tea.

"Anything that's private has to do with sex," Stanley said with determination.  "And the last thing I want is visuals of you in my mind, having Muscle-Mary sex."

Carl shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"So," Carl began with his favourite clutch word.

"I started working out seriously two months ago," Carl began.

"Hunny, I've known you for almost 20 years - it's about bloody time you did so," Stanley said, referring to Carl's never-ending quest of eating to bulk up so that he can have enough mass to work on.

"Anyway," Carl continued with his other favourite clutch word.

"I am so serious that I'm eating steroids," he said.

Stanley froze for a split second.

"That's it? You worked up so much of my emotions just to tell me this?" Stanley the drama queen said.

"If I had known that your private recent development is you putting steroids - instead of other more exciting items - in your mouth, I would have cancelled today's supper," Stanley went on, nearing hysteria as he spoke.

"Come, your favourite deep-fried mee suah kueh," Stanley said lovingly to Carl as he set one morsel of Swee Choon's signature dish on his plate.

Carl shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"I'm not done yet, actually," Carl said and bit his lips.

Stanley the drama queen paused and turned slowly with deliberation towards Carl.

"Okay, go on," Stanley said slowly, enunciating his words like he was giving Carl a final warning.

"There are side effects," Carl said, mimicking Stanley's slow-paced tone.

This got Stanley very stirred.

Sensing potential drama, Stanley leaned forward and whispered urgently.

"Spill," he said with theatrical flare.

Carl was about to open his mouth when Stanley cut in.

"Wait! Boys," Stanley said with annoyance.

"This is serious stuff. Come on, lean forward with me. React along," Stanley waved at us enthusiastically.

I rolled my eyes and gave in.

"I...I think I have erectile dysfunction," Carl whispered.

Stanley's eyes widened like they were relaxed testicles in a tub of hot water.

Carl looked from me to Stanley for reaction.

Stanley's jaw parted like he was ready to receive not one, but two German sausages.

"Well," I ventured, not really sure what my next sentence would be.

"Can we cancel our tofu orders please," Stanley suggested timidly, not sure if it was appropriate to crack a joke about something so serious.

Carl burst out laughing.

Actually, we couldn't distinguish if it were laughter or tears - he sounded like a muffled hyena.

"How long has it been?" I ask with genuine concern.

Stanley cut in.

"Seriously? You are concerned about the length now, Adam?" Stanley chimed in with perfect timing.

Carl burst out laughing - for real.

Turns out, Carl had been feeling out of sorts for at least a week before he felt that he couldn't keep it to himself any more.

"You shouldn't take that long to spill the beans just because you take that long to spill your seeds," Stanley said, Queen of Puns.

"It must be hard on you," said Stanley, pushing his luck.

Carl frowned at him.

I slapped Stanley's wrist on Carl's behalf.

Okay, back to Carl.

Carl first started noticing something amiss almost two weeks after he starting using steroids.

At first, he sort of lost interest in having sex (although in comparison, Carl doesn't really venture out to look for men the way our sex-bunny friend Stanley does).

Carl initially mistook his dwindling libido to be the cause of having overworked himself in the gym.

But as days passed, Carl eventually felt that something was wrong because, in his words, "the other day, I was doing the deed when my member failed me".

This got Stanley very worried.

"Define member," he said cheekily.

Before Carl started to shift uncomfortably in his seat, Stanley continued, "okay, I was kidding. Define failed".

According to Carl, "failed" means that he had managed to get his member up - but while Carl was distracted with a phone call, his member quietly deflated.

"I want to know why you had to pick up that phone call while you were, you know, indulging in self-happy time," Stanley demanded.

Erm, that's not quite the point, Stanley dear, I said, trying to stay focussed.

Ok, point is, Carl's erection couldn't be maintained. And that got him very worried.

For the next few nights, Carl tested his goods.

Again and again.

And he was finally determined that he had a problem.

Back at our Swee Choon supper table, Carl stirred his pork congee listlessly.

"How?" he asked into his bowl of hot porridge.

"Well, for a start, you need to nail the problem on the head," Stanley said.

Nobody took the bait, so Stanley carried on.

"You know a few things. One, you have an issue. Two, this could very likely be caused by steroids," Stanley said seriously.

"So you know the root cause of this problem - and it's still in its early stage, so you decide, Carl. You want hard muscles and soft pee-pee, or you want soft muscles and hard pee-pee?"

Carl shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Or," I suggest helpfully, "you go see a doctor and see what your options are".

Ah, doctor.

The scenario Carl was trying to avoid.

To know you have ED is one thing. To officially seek a doctor's advice is another - because that act seals the deal.

For many men, especially men nearing their forties, and especially gay men nearing their forties, having ED is like a death sentence.

Even if one does not always make full use of his tool, knowing that one's tool is faulty is very worrying.

A functioning penis is what probably defines a man.

Well, that, and many other things too. But you get the idea.

It's like how women might feel when they go through menopause because a natural part of their womanly system no longer functions.

Stanley thinks that ED is a natural retribution to gay men who overuse their members - although Stanley insists that his member is still a hard worker.

But Stanley the versatile is resilient.

"Go with the flow, my dear Carl," Stanley said in serious consolation mode

"If you can't get hard, then just be a bottom for the rest of your life lah," he said.

It's a very natural progression, Stanley insists.

You go with the flow, he said.

If you can't get hard, be bottom. If you can't be bottom, be top.

According to Stanley the homo expert, some gay men - who have been bottom all their lives - suddenly find that nobody wants to top an uncle.

So what do the bottom uncles do?

They switch roles and be tops, so that they brand themselves as sugar daddies.

Carl continued stirring his congee, not buying any of Stanley's arguments.

"Why me," Carl asked his bowl of porridge.

"Think about it - if you don't appreciate a staff, of course he will quit right?" Stanley said, referring to Carl's respectably un-promiscuous lifestyle.

"Yes, and one day your overworked staff will quit 'cos you're such an overbearing boss," I scolded.

"My member won't quit. I may overwork it, but I'm a nice boss," Stanley said, smiling.

"Because I leave it to do what it wants, and I'm not a micro manager," he continued, pleased with himself.

"Sorry Carl dear, I don't mean to keep targetting at you but seriously right now, you are indeed a soft target," said Stanley the bitch, who's on a roll.