Cut or Uncut

A lot of significant events unfolded for me in early 2018.

I was preparing to uproot after accepting a new overseas job offer.

And my sex bunny friend Stanley was still out of job after being retrenched (read it here).

Up until December 2017, Stanley was so serious about chasing his dreams that he would sleep in to do just that.

But all this was about to change.

Stanley's new year resolution for 2018 was to buck up, stop moping around and nail a job.

It can't be that hard, Stanley would say.

If I can still get a blow job at this age, there's hope for getting a job.

I didn't know what to make of Stanley's logic but I was happy he pulled himself out of his rut. 

In February 2018, Stanley's months of job hunting finally paid off.

An MNC had officially hired Stanley and his life was, just like that, back on track.

"It feels 10 times better than a Tinder match, trust me," Stanley said excitedly to Carl and me that night, breaking the news.

It was such good news that there and then, we decided on our third serving of Soju.

We left that task to Stanley who found the American-accented Korean waiter irresistibly cute.

The three of us were at a crowded and smoky Korean restaurant at Tanjong Pagar (so that we can easily pop by E-bar, Carl's favourite gay bar in the whole wide world).

And as our third bottle of Soju arrived, Stanley beamed at the cute waiter and said "thank you for bringing us your Korean juice, which makes me very happy indeed."

The youthful waiter let out a loud, hearty laugh as if he had hoped it would drown out Stanley's lust.

"Thank you, thank you," I said to the waiter, taking over the soju bottle.

He looked at me with gratitude in his eyes, and left thankfully, happy that the hunger emitting from Stanley is temporarily confined to the table of Korean food (rice cake, ginseng soup, marinated pork belly, beef slices and a whole plethora of side dishes designed at helping people put on weight).

"A toast," Carl said, raising his tiny glass with his veiny arms, a by-product of heavy iron-pumping at Fitness First.

"May you have a good career," Carl ventured. "And you must tell me what you do for a living again," Carl told Stanley, his long-time friend of 20 years.

Stanley responded by smilingly patting Carl on the back, a gesture that said it's okay, let's just move on pal.

Carl our friend is indeed dense.

During a Christmas party game some years ago, Carl revealed to us that, up till he was 27, he had always thought that the Japanese had invaded Singapore for 20 years, during WWII.

As we continued feasting on our Korean dinner, Stanley supplied us with more info on his job.

He would get back to doing what he used to do - but the catch is, he'd taken a pay cut.

Carl slumped his shoulders instinctively at that detail.

"It's not that bad," I said, "considering that your last drawn was really quite high already."

"My last drawn. You'll have to be specific, Adam," Stanley said, raising one eyebrow. "Because that could refer to my activity last night - and if you were, then yes, you're right. It's quite substantive."

Carl choked on his piece of meat on hearing that.

Stanley nodded at him and said "yes, hunny. That was me last night. Me and that big chunk of meat."

Later that evening, as a tipsy Carl belted out a Mando ballad with feeling at E-bar, Stanley signalled me out to join him for a smoke break.

In all-serious mode, Stanley confessed that he was only half happy with his new job.

Sure, he's thankful for this opportunity but to earn S$800 less, that's something.

"It's a big blow to me," Stanley said, adding "and trust me, I can handle big blows. But this pay cut, I'm not so sure."

I told Stanley that I know how that must feel, but I need not add further.

I'm confident that Stanley had it all sorted out.

After all, money isn't his priority.

For him, it's more important that he can find a job which he can do well, and loves at the same time.

And to be one of the marketing team leads at a big MNC, that's an offer Stanley couldn't resist.

Carl's vocals - now working on a different Mando ballad - flowed out of E-bar as the door opened and closed.

"You know, Carl is really in his element at E-bar," Stanley said. "With that beautiful singing voice of his, he's certainly found some true fans here."

Then he adds seriously.

"And I now love E-bar too. Because for the last so many months of my joblessness, you and Carl have been spending so much time with me here to cheer me up. 'Cos I have my true friends here."



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Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people

Fabulous Forty

In just a few months' time, Stanley my sex bunny friend and I will turn a ripe old age of 40.

Believe it or not, our birthdays are just one day apart.

Stanley and I used to say that the two of us first met when we were newborns at KK Hospital.

Our mothers possibly nodded politely at each other as they waddled heavily along the hospital aisle, days before letting their respective babies squeeze through their tunnel - the only times that their precious sons would ever come in contact with such a body part.

"We need to chart the big day in great detail," Stanley enunciated crisply that night, sounding like he were an important official who just got appointed to plan the next Trump-Kim Summit.

Carl our dense friend was totally lost.

"Who's Trump Kim?" he demanded to know, eager to find out if he belonged to a new Korean pop band.

These days, Carl's latest obsession was googling Korean pop stars because he was once again researching cosmetic surgery.

Stanley couldn't be bothered to engage Carl, who once insisted that the capital of Malaysia was Penang.

After all, the three of us had limited time together - I was back in Singapore for a short holiday, and Stanley had expertly inserted himself (as usual) in between my intensive meet-ups with many of my Singaporean loved ones.

The three of us were at Rail Mall, one of the places Stanley and I loved hanging out (Stanley lived near my mum's place so we sometimes cast a majority vote and force Carl to comply, just for our convenience).

Carl, who was determined to find out how good looking this Trump Kim person was, set his wine glass down and began tapping furiously on his phone.

"It is with utmost importance that we marked our milestone year with oomph," explained Stanley, Birthday Planner. "And we must do it together. In style".

When Stanley and I were 21, we marked our coming of age separately.

He was visiting his sister Cindy Ong in the UK, where her sister, in Stanley's words, was busy but effectively squandering their family wealth by spending four fun years there without graduating.

I on the other hand, squandered my family wealth by booking a chalet and hosted three fun nights of parties, each session a different theme with different groups of friends.

It was only when we turned 22 that Stanley, Carl and I became closer, and we promised each other then, that we would celebrate all milestone birthdays for one another in future.

When Stanley and I turned 30, we had a combined grand birthday dinner at a rooftop restaurant at the then-Scarlet Hotel, attended by our closest friends.

When it was Carl's turn, we surprised him with a birthday party at Tea Garden MacDonald's.

There were balloons, lots and lots of French fries, birthday hats, loads of Macho Marys with micro singlets and absolutely no children.

Our dense friend was so happy that day.

At age 40, Stanley insists that the scale of the party must be increased with age.

"We're no longer sweet young things. We're not that old either. We're in between - which means we have the spending power," Stanley said.

"We must spend."

"EEW," Carl said in shock.

"This two-man Korean pop band looks hideous," he said. "I wonder who did their plastic surgery."

That night, we allowed Stanley to dominate the table - a role he seldom takes on, but when he does, he takes full control.

According to Stanley, the three of us must make a blood pact and swear that we would stick to the plans or suffer serious consequences.

There and then, at Rail Mall, amid other very happy customers who're tipsy with expensive red wine, Stanley presented to the board his grand proposal.

It would involve not one, not two, but three full days of celebrations - an indication that turning 40 is a bigger deal than how the government views CNY, which is assigned only two days of public holiday.

Stanley's grand plan would also involve not one, not two, but many stacks of cash.

A two-night stay at Marina Bay Sands.

Shopping spree at the malls. Brunch at one of the Italian restaurants on the 50-something-floor roof top. A massage somewhere. A decidedly expensive dinner at C'est La Vie. Dancing like we're in our 20s at the roof top bar later.

And showing lots and lots of skin at the Infinity Pool.

"And so the planning must start now," Stanley looks us in the eye with conviction.

"If we were to show that much skin, we have to work backwards and schedule gym plans so our bods are hot," Stanley said.

Carl the Gym Rabbit rubbed his hands in glee, excited by the proposal brought forth by Stanley the Sex Bunny.

I whined out loud.

Yes, it's important that we all celebrated big birthdays because, hey, it's a milestone.

When Old Mrs Lee turned 70, my siblings and I combined forces and threw her a grand party, each trying to cheekily outdo the other with gifts and wishes.

There was a lot of laughter and food and wine at Spring Court that evening.

But that night, back in my old bedroom in my mum's place, I thought seriously about birthdays.

Birthday parties... does size matter?

Well the short answer is yes.

But if we were to draw up a graph, it would look like several mountains put together side by side.

Birthday parties typically start at one month old. And between the ages one and, say 12, every year is marked by family parties. The graph hits a high at 21. And then the pace slows down until, say, 30. It lulls again and from then, it peaks once every decade - 40, 50, and so on. 

In the Lee family, we pay a lot of attention on birthday milestones.

I remember seeing numerous old, yellowed photos of birthday parties for my siblings and me.

Typically,  one of us would be on the table with a huge cake in front of us. And then there''d be a separate table where kids aren't allowed to crawl on, 'cos they're laid out with huge plates of food.

For some reason, there's always bee hoon in those old family photos of ours.

And while it is important to mark our birthdays with some form of celebration, my question to myself is, so what happens after that?

I ask this because in Myanmar, the country I'm now residing, birthdays are viewed very differently.

For them, birthdays are not about the birthday boy or girl.

It's about giving back to society.

It's common practice that the birthday boy or girl wakes up very early in the morning to make donations and merits at the temple.

The birthday boy or girl would then buy friends and family a meal.

And thereafter, it's a day of reflection and being especially compassionate that day.

I shared my thoughts with Stanley and Carl in our group chat.

"I think I'm excited about the birthday bash, but let's set aside some time during those three extravagant days to reflect on our lives... and what we want to achieve in the next forty years?"

Carl the dense one replied with an OK icon.

Stanley, who was way too busy with the Fabulous Forty birthday planning, recorded an audio reply.

"Are you Adam Lee or the Dalai Lama," he said.

"Whoever you are, get out of my friend, you Demon!"

And in the next message: "Oh, wait... if anyone is ever inside Adam, it's J. And J is no Demon".

And in his final audio recording, Stanley says: "But yes. I agree - we should spend a lot of money on the party, but we should also spend a lot of time reflecting.

"But Adam Dear, we have a whole lot of time to think about our next 40 after we celebrate it in style.

"And all I want to do is to mark my birthday with a bang. Or maybe two or three, depending on my Tinder matches.

"And when I turn 40, I want to give my candles on my cake the biggest, the best blow I've ever given.

"And then I'll have my cake and eat it."



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Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people

Scary Spies

I was flipping a copy of the Straits Times the other day when I came across a very interesting story.

That our mobile phones are spying on us.

I snapped a photo of the headline and posted in the "Just the Boys" WhatsApp group chat.

"!!!!!!!" came Stanley's reply instantly.

"?????" was Carl the dense one's response, some 13 minutes later.

"I HAVE NO IDEA THIS CAN HAPPEN!" Stanley typed with emotion.

"What's happening?!?!? Someone tell me please?" begged Carl, who had recently confessed to us that he genuinely thought Batam was part of Malaysia.

The writer of the story had compiled anecdotes of people who swear that their mobile phones are spying on them.

Like, they'd be having a conversation about, say, pets.

And the very next instance, ads of dog food, pet grooming appear in their social media feeds.

The writer also quoted tech experts who say that it's highly plausible that the microphone function of our phones can decode language and interpret that into advertising dollars for firms.

The big tech boys though, categorically deny that.

That night, our big gay boy set out to do his own probing.

"I kept saying big cocks, big cocks, big cocks at random times of the day," Stanley wrote in our group chat.

"I even whispered big cocks into my phone at the office pantry, just as Betty the clerk walked in, stopped in her tracks and then made a rapid U-turn back to her desk.

"But nothing turned up on my phone," he continued, his text message oozing disappointment.

Carl too was determined to get to the bottom of this.

"Can someone finally tell me what's going on here please?"

The thought of our phones spying on us is a very creepy yet creative concept.

"Imagine the possibilities.... it can be so exciting," Stanley quipped.

According to my sex bunny friend, this opens up a whole new world of fun while solving social problems.

He imagined exhibitionists to start placing their phones at a certain angle while they went about doing their daily stuff at home in full nudity.

This could actually curb sex crimes, reasoned Stanley, Human Behavioural Specialist.

The next few days, I thought about how technology is creeping into our lives and whether it really is as creepy as activists make it out to be.

And in today's day and age, what does privacy really mean to us?

In our early years, technology was a friend to young gay boys like us, because it gave us platforms like IRC and later, gay forums where we could socialise behind our desks, in the comfort of our bedroom.

For Stanley who prefers socialising in another part of his bedroom, tech was constantly at his fingertips.

He was at the forefront of it all.

From first tapping profiles of hot bods on Grindr circa 2000s to swiping right on Tinder more recently, Stanley had for once made more decent use of his right hand than ever before.

For some of us, stalking cuties on social media has become a part of life.

Stanley used to do just that to all his potential dates (not sex partners - he doesn't even bother getting to know their full names most times).

I once asked if that would spoil any surprises during their date, to which, Stanley said it's stupid to go in cold.

If you go in cold, it will hurt. Better to be adequately lubed and prepared, he would say.

Besides, when you buy a book, or watch a movie, don't you check out the synopsis and reviews before you commit?

And in today's context, there is so much fake news, Stanley said later.

If I can't totally believe what I read on what seems to be posted by fake news agencies, how can I believe what I see on a normal person's social media feed?

If he says he has a big cock, then onus is on me to scroll through all his photos, enlarge and study them with caution, Stanley argued.

Technically, Stanley is not wrong.

We are simply moving with time and making use of technology.

Gone are the days of matchmaking and blind dates.

These days, the norm is to pre-stalk all potential dates just because technology allows us to do that.

This is perhaps why we subconsciously post, edit, re-edit what we write on social media, apply filters studiously on photos before we publish anything online.

Because one part of us knows that we will be stalked, read, viewed and talked about in good or bad ways.

And while technology empowers us with unprecedented convenience among other things, it's only fair that it takes something away from us in return.

Like, you know, Rumplestiltskin makes your wish come true and then takes away your first born.

Or, as Stanley added, how the evil lesbian paedophile of a witch lets you eat her garden lettuce and then asks for your baby girl in return so that she can isolate that sweet young thing in a castle and slowly groom her for her own use.

"So I don't see why we should be so upset or shocked that we're being stalked," Stanley concluded in the group chat.

Carl was seen typing... but then he went silent in the end.

The poor boy has a lot to deal with and intellectual discussion is really beyond his reach no matter how big his biceps are.

"I say, go with the tech flow," Stanley wrote.

At last check, Stanley said he had been walking around fully nude in his attic room and was still shouting "big cock, big cock, big cock" into his iPhone.



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Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people

Wed Blanket

The talk of the town of late, is the gay marriage of a high profile Lee boy to his vet boyfriend.

The talk of Cape Town, to be precise.

The two had apparently married in South Africa and thrown a wedding party that involved family members.

"It's so romantic," Stanley wrote in our group chat, supplying us photo after photo of the two boys.

"I wanna get married too," our sex bunny friend wrote.

"Who are these? What's happening?" Carl wanted to know.

Carl the dense one wants to know everything - including, recently, why all his Muslim colleagues are skipping lunch and not drinking water for the last couple of weeks.

Expertly ignoring Carl, Stanley went on to describe his ideal gay wedding.

"It will be a three-day affair. It has to be grand. It has to be big," Stanley the size queen said.

Left to his imagination, Stanley would go all out.

This time, he took it out to sea.

"My wedding will be on a yacht. All 20 of my closest gay friends on board."

"There'll be a string quartet, wine buffet and also a massage room - all gay hands on deck."

"It will be the wedding of the century," Stanley said, obviously coming across more as crazy Asian than Crazy Rich Asian.

"Wow, congrats Stan!!!" Carl typed sincerely in the group chat. "When did you meet the guy?! Why didn't you tell us?"

Again ignoring Carl, Stanley went out in full force, describing that his wedding will involve different themes: From a yacht party that allowed us to show off our ribbed bods to a grand dinner at St Regis where we would show off expensive labels.

"I have thought of everything for that special night - from the ballroom to the bedroom," said Stanley, who was suddenly a 16-year-old CHIJ girl who is planning to marry the man of her dreams.

Later in the day, I got round to seriously thinking about gay marriages.

I have long given up on getting married, even though I'm in a very long and stable relationship with J.

Stanley would always say that anything that's long and stable would give him great satisfaction.

I mean, I would love to marry J, but J the pragmatist can sometimes be a realistic wet blanket for me.

Ten years ago, I asked J to buy me a ring.

He looked puzzled and when explained that I want it to be a symbol of our love, he held my hand and said "Our love needs no physical reminder. And if it does, then let this be it", and planted a kiss on my lips.

Okay, he isn't that unromantic but he is indeed very practical.

The next day, J bought me 1,000 file rings - the type where you stick on hole-punched documents and cheekily told me I have more than enough rings in my lifetime.

Five years ago, I asked J for a ring again.

This time, he unwillingly bought me one and said grumpily "I don't know why this is so important to you."

But the man did buy me one, and I happily wear it because every time I look down at the ring, I think of J.

Stanley would later tell me that he also wears a ring - but each time he looks down there, he thinks of many other different men.

But back to reality.

The fact is that J and I have talked about marriage before - and the sad conclusion for me is that we will never get married legally or go into a civil union.

While Stanley and I share the same notions of romance, J is not only practical, but he is also religious.

The good Catholic boy in J has always been struggling with his sexuality and religion.

Stanley once told me that the good Catholic boy in him had also struggled - but with Stanley's guidance, the two later had a very steamy time.

But back to J.

After years of being with him, I know he loves me, and that's the extent of what he can do.

He won't legally marry me because it would make J feel like he'd taken another step of betrayal from his faith.

And I have come to terms with it.

It's not easy, given that I do have friends who're legally married, and they'd ask me when my turn is.

Yes, I get it even from gay friends.

Like my loud, draining friend Sul and his angmoh husband.

The two got married in the UK some two years ago for very practical reasons.

Sul had told me that his angmoh partner once had to be warded, and the homophobic nurse glared at him when Sul said he was his boyfriend.

"That's not next of kin, the fat uptight nurse in that fat uptight dress told me coldly," Sul said to me.

And so, after Sul's angmoh boyfriend was discharged, the two registered their marriage in the UK so that Sul is legally his next of kin.

Then I have friends who would just throw wedding parties with their partners just for the heck of it.

Six years ago, we learnt from our friends' Facebook page that two of our common coupled friends held a small "wedding party" in Bali, where they simply exchanged rings in the presence of many skimpily-dressed gay men.

Today, men can marry legally in Taiwan, South Africa or anywhere in the world that legalises same-sex marriage.

It would be fun to see it happening in Singapore, just so that the gays can for once earn back all their angpaos from their straight friends.

Stanley the calculative immediately said we would then have to give angpaos to both the straight and gay community.

It's not looking good, he said.

I shared my thoughts with J over our weekly Facetime - one of the ways we keep our long-distance relationship alive.

J said that at the end of the day, gay marriage is just a formality.

It's just using legal tender to get legal paper but that means little else compared to the larger scheme of things.

What's more important is that people must learn to not discriminate against the LGBT community first.

If you don't address that very fundamental step, it's no use.

Right now, there is just too little domestic momentum to move us forward to that gay-marriage goal.

Even a simple gathering of Pink Dot can stir up so much controversy.

We will have to work on that first and convince more people to be more accepting before we shove it down their throats.

Stanley was highly impressed with J whom he thought wouldn't think of shoving it down other peoples' throats.

"J should run for office and be a gay MP," Stanley told me.

And just as quickly, "I think I should run for MP."

"I have all it takes - I can multitask (trust me, I have pleased many men at one go), I am capable of raising sensitive stuff, even in Parliament, and if I contact all my One Night Stands since 1996, I will win by a landslide."



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Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people

Home Alone

One thing that I will no doubt miss when I move overseas to take up my posting would be, most ironically, living alone.

It makes no sense to my besties Stanley the sex bunny and Carl the dense one.

With Carl, of course, that's to be expected.

The poor chap is already grappling to comprehend everyday affairs in his life, and for someone who cannot list all 10 countries in ASEAN and has trouble with his nine times table, I don't have the heart to make my nearly 40-year-old macho friend mull over such abstract topics.

Stanley though, is a different ball game - ball being the operative word when it comes to him.

Stanley is quick thinking and can fully grasp every concept (and every body part when there's a chance) so for someone who can process information rapidly and recycle everything into sex jokes, I had very high expectations of him.

"You live alone here, you'll live alone there, status quo, full stop. End of discussion," Stanley said dismissively, his eyes speedily darting around like they were lasers of a point-38 pistol held by a shooter with advanced Parkinsons. 

The three of us were at Jalan Batu Hawker Centre, one of the oldest and cheapest hawker centres in Singapore nestled in central-east, right smack in an elderly HDB estate.

On Saturday mornings though, the hawker centre is populated with sweaty men in lycra, mainly recreational cyclists making pit stops en route to East Coast Park.

But once in a while, among those hobbyists, you spot one or two really hot young men among the average-looking crowd.

"There, there, there," Stanley said urgently, his laser eyes having found one such man, and locking in the poor target.

"He and I have many things in common," Stanley said to me while visually trailing the man balancing a tray of hot drinks. "We both don lycra, love hanging out with other men, and obviously love to ride."

While Stanley was slipping into a sex world, Carl was in his own whirl.

He pouted his lips in an upward angle and blew at himself furiously.

"What on earth are you doing," I asked with concern as Carl, who was sweating like a large bloc of melting candle, looked bothered.

"Hunny," Stanley said, at last paying some attention to our dense friend.

"This is the only time that I can look you in the eye and not tell a lie. You look really hot."

Carl frowned deeply, unable to process both Singapore's heat and Stanley's shade at the same time.

"Here, take this and fan yourself," I offered Carl a limp copy of Nikkei Asian Review - the only time I suspect he would touch such a magazine.

"No, I can't," our dense friend said with his teeth clenched.

"I have a macho image to upkeep," he said decisively.

Stanley later said privately to me that if only Carl would put in more thought into his everyday life instead of wasting brain cells on being obsessed with his physique and image. Perhaps, then he could get ahead in life.

"Like me," he added. "I'm smart, and I am not obsessed with my physique and image and yet I manage get head in life all the time."

Back home in my cosy apartment and away from the heat and crowd, the boys collectively heaved a sigh of relief just as they placed our ta-pao breakfast on my 2-metre long wooden table that could host the Last Supper, God willing.

Indoors, Carl let himself go and allowed his 70-kg of turgid muscles to relax and let his inner princess come out for a tea party.

He fanned himself with his hand as he animatedly pranced over to my coffee table and turned on every single air con unit in my home, thanking out loud the person who invented the machine.

Stanley is more practical and wasted no time in setting up the table for our local breakfast of wanton mee, char bee hoon, kway chap and a box of Tanjong Rhu char siew bao, the size of pre-puberty breasts, according to Stanley.

The Saturday-morning breakfast gathering at my place was my idea.

We wanted to spend as much time as possible together, and I want to eat local food as much as possible, before I took up my posting.

The one thing, like I said that I would miss very much, is living alone: I had come to love the apartment that I had created.

I had designed my apartment according to my lifestyle - I reconfigured the space so that I can host large parties of 15 on some weekends and not have friends feel like they're in a crowded MRT cabin.

And every corner of my home reminds me of my loved ones.

Before I moved in, the boys were heavily involved in my home set up.

They had each taken a day off to help me clean up my apartment post-renovation.

Stanley and I sat down and fitted together my Ikea TV console, with Stanley the trained engineer being the Project Lead.

We let Carl and his muscles do some work, but gave him a digestible task of assembling one of my small coffee tables which, to his credit, he completed with the help of the manual under three hours.

Two of my most beautiful and most expensive furniture pieces were bought with Stanley around: My wooden dinning table and my leather couch, custom made from a shop in a remote part of Singapore.

My sis contributed to my balcony bar table and chairs, which would later become Stanley and Carl's smoking corner.

And I always loved hosting at my place (one of the best things you can fill a home with, is laughter from fun gatherings).

Stanley only partially agrees, as he has his own interpretation of fun gatherings and what to fill up a home with.

Over time, I have grown to love the comfort of unlocking my front door and stepping into a home that I created.

A home that reminds me of so many things: Furniture that's tagged to loved ones, and most importantly, a place that reminds me that I am fortunate enough to have this beautiful home.

And so I would sometimes choose home over homeies.

Friday nights would sometimes be without my partner J and any form of company, apart from a bottle of Shiraz and cheese platter and Netflix.

All this, knowing at the back of my mind that if I choose to step out of my own home, I'd be walking out into the larger home where I have friends and family all over Singapore.

So in a way, I was alone but never lonely.

When I'm eventually overseas, I don't know if I would feel the same.

Later that afternoon, as the three of us lounged lazily like drowsy felines, Stanley whipped out a photo frame (from his bag) and passed it to me with a smile.

It was a photo of the three of us taken on one of those nights when we went to E-bar, Carl's favourite drinking place along Tanjong Pagar.

It was a good photo. The angle was top down making us look slimmer than we were.

And we were all caught in a mid-laugh: Me baring my teeth, Carl scrunching up his face in a boyish toothsome grin and Stanley with his eyes squinted so small they looked like ruler-drawn lines.

We looked happy that night.

And now, the mood and happiness would forever be remembered in this grainy photo, set nicely in a black frame.

Home is where the heart is were the words written at the bottom in Stanley's famously dramatic cursive.

"We will always be in your home, hunny," Stanley said as he pulled Carl in to join me in admiring our younger selves in the photo.

"We look gay," Carl pointed out.

"Yes, darling. We do. And we are queer to stay," Stanley replied.



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Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people