The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

"Is Christmas really the most wonderful time of the year?" Stanley my sex bunny friend asked on Christmas morning over a three-way WhatsApp video call with me and our dense friend Carl.

Stanley -- who loves his three ways -- has always loved Christmas by the way.

It's entrenched in him (among other things, considering).

Being Catholic and all, Stanley had since young enjoyed the festivities in a big way: From being an altar boy on Christmas Eve mass to playing one of the three Wise Men in church nativity scenes. 

Even as the innocent little Stanley grew up to be a sex bunny, Christmas was still meaningful to him. 

He recalls one Christmas-eve occasion when he played three wise men. Talk about celebrating in a big way.

Carl, who always thought Christmas was the birthday of Santa Claus up till he was 13, didn't have much to add to the conversation so he focused on stirring his morning oatmeal and continued building muscle through his breakfast.

"Carl, stop eating such nonsense on Christmas morning," Stanley said, and raised his plate of leftover red velvet log cake and apple pie breakfast. 

Despite the muted 2020, there is indeed much to be happy about this year end. 

COVID vaccines have arrived in Singapore, and all citizens will be given free vaccines by the end of 2021 if they choose to get them.

Stanley my sex bunny friend is naturally excited. 

Anything form of jabbing gets him quite hyped. 

"I am going to get vaccinated," Stanley said, licking frosted bits of cake off the tines of his fork .

"I'm going to flip through the catalogue and choose a handsome male nurse to do the job. I'll pull my pants down, raise my buttocks to him and say poke me please," said Stanley who is on a roll.

"And trust me -- for the first time in my life, I will actually want the handsome male nurse to poke me with an actual needle and syringe instead of other tools that I would opt for on a usual day."

Carl wisely chewed his oatmeal with fierce concentration trying to fend off visuals that would disrupt his protein consumption.

I sipped my morning coffee and shrugged.

But this recent news is indeed a cheer to some of us though I won't be one of those who would be rushing out for large gatherings. 

For one, I can't.

I'm currently back in Myanmar and the only interactions I can have with my loved ones are via video calls. 

That in itself can be a happy thing.

Leave it to Stanley to inject new perspectives for me. 

"Has anyone ever thought about how gay Christmases are?"

Sensing potential Q&A which Carl almost always has no answers to, the gym rabbit promptly scraped his bowl in the hope of producing enough morsels for him to continue chewing busily. 

There's just so much tinsel and sparklies at Christmas. Everything is so, bright and gay, Stanley said. 

Not only that, Stanley leaned in as if he were about to let us in on the world's best kept secrets, Christmas is actually a very sexual period, he says with a twinkle in his eyes.

Carl, who enjoys hearing sex stories but not during mealtimes or in the morning, moved on to licking his spoon clean so that there was something he could do to get away from the nightmare before Christmas. 

"There's always a lot of sausages on the plate. The tiny baby ones, the thick gnarly ones that cause you to choke, the smooth, fat ones that get you licking your lips," Stanley said, preparing us for the wurst. 

"There's also this underlying sexual act of unwrapping gifts... like how you would appreciatively untangle someone's lingerie."

Carl looked like he was almost in tears. He started licking his bowl to keep himself busy.

"Then there's the fisting," Stanley said. "Lots and lots of fisting."

Carl, who had by then returned with his second course of breakfast feast responded by dipping his biscuits in milo and gave Stanley a thumbs up.  

"Every year the poor turkey is subjected to the sexual fetish of celebrants, who would stuff objects into the poor bird's orifice," Stanley explained. 

"And don't even get me started on how wrong it is to place little children on the fat lap of Santa Claus. It's just... wrong."

"I'm really beginning to suspect the real reason Santa would break into people's house at night via chimneys -- and I want to question if it's really gifts his stuffing into socks."

Sensing how Stanley is not only ruining his Christmas but also his breakfast, Carl changed the subject. 

"What did you do for Christmas in Myanmar Adam?"

Well, for one, I made it a point to be in touch with my loved ones back home, including one with my partner J and his family (Christmas to us isn't just Christmas... it's also near our anniversary). 

Because of the time difference, I called them up just as I was about to start my Christmas Eve feast while J and his family were already in near-food coma in Singapore.

Though I miss celebrating our annual Christmas at J's, I had my Yangon gang -- friends whom I met in the last two years.

Most of them had not left Myanmar during the pandemic. They're all saving up their annual leave to unleash them when it's safe to travel back to Singapore, Malaysia and the Philippines respectively. 

One of them, a young corporate lawyer who is the cheerleader of the group, had insisted we all got together at one of our diplomat friends' place for a big bash. 

There was booze, there was wine. There was sinigang na baboy and chicken adobo (sour pork stew and marinated chicken, both Filipino favourites). There was also Caldereta, meat stew with innards.  Our Christmas table was also filled with nasi lemak and curry, bee hoon and chicken wing, and of course, stuffed turkey. 

Though I had truly missed celebrating Christmas with my loved ones back home, there was nothing I could complain about yesterday, when I was surrounded with some of my best friends in Yangon.

People whom I can depend on as my second family in this home away from home.

Perhaps, Christmas is indeed the most wonderful time of the year.

Merry Christmas, folks. 

 

 

 

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

Merry Xmas, Dear Readers!

Dear readers, 

Here's wishing you and your loved ones a merry Christmas and most importantly, a very safe, and healthy New year!

Love,

Adam

Drunk But Not Wasted

Facebook does not allow you to forget things.

Recently, it showed me various photos taken in 2014.

They are bittersweet memories.

Stanley my sex bunny friend, Carl the dense one and I were huddled really close to one another, our we-fie taken at an exaggerated high angle to ensure none of us showed our flabby double chins.

If you look at this blog's profile photo, well, it was one of those photos taken back then (introducing, from left to right, the hands of Adam, Stanley and Carl!).

In most of those photos, Stanley and I were grinning like goons but Carl was only smiling feebly.

The year was 2014, and Carl was still mourning the breakup with his beloved partner of nearly 10 years.

The three of us were at Carl's favourite gay pub in the whole wide world -- EBar.

It was barely a week after Carl's break up and our friend was in extreme fragile mode, so Stanley and I made sure we kept a close watch on him.

That night, Carl wanted to drown his sorrows, and so Stanley and I braced our livers and gamely went along.

"If there's one organ I can choose to sacrifice to make one of my best friends happy, I'll pick liver any day," Stanley said. "But if it's to please a man I love, darling, I'll gladly choose another organ."

That night, we got VIP treatment at Ebar.

Because Carl was a regular at the Karaoke pub, staff there were fully aware of his newly vulnerable state.

Fellow regulars, the bartender, some of the wait staff and even the boss himself came by to give Carl supportive hugs as he stepped in.

Stanley leaned in and whispered: "I have always wanted to walk into a pub and have everyone line up to hug me. I thought the secret was to keep hooking up -- Carl has just showed me that it's about breaking up."

I elbowed Stanley in his ribs.

"Ow! Adam, that hurts," Stanley says, rubbing one side of his body. "But thank you for reminding me. For a while, I thought I'd never feel pain when someone jabs me."

We both laugh.

Carl remain stoic.

Our dense friend remained unsmiling even as we were led to our usual seat -- Carl's favourite corner of the bar.

To cheer him up, Stanley made the first order: One bottle of Macallan.

"Want to sing a song, Carl?" I ask, hoping that his favourite activity would cheer him up a little.

Carl shook his head dully.

"Want to suck a dick, Carl?" Stanley ventured next, hoping that his own favourite activity would cheer Carl up a little.

Carl shook his head dully.

But no, we're not giving up.

Minutes later, our Macallan came, along with green tea and Coke mixers.

Carl immediately reached for the whisky bottle and filled up one-third of his glass. Neat.

"Wow," Stanley said. "You like it stiff too eh?"

Carl nodded stiffly.

We filled ours carefully -- making sure to mix our drinks with something. We're not here to get drunk with Carl. We're here to be his watchful eyes.

Stanley meanwhile, filled up one-third of his glass, taking Carl's cue.

"But I will have it on the rocks," he said, stressing on the word rocks, biting his lower lip.

"Why must everything you say have to be sexual," I ask, raising my glass for the first toast of the night.

Carl knocked his entire glass back in one gulp.

Stanley and I eyed each other cautiously.

While our dense friend Carl is usually non participative when we're out, partly because he's not always in the zone, he's worryingly quiet that night.

In fact, it's one of those moments when we hoped Carl would be in his dense element so that he won't feel the pain of a breakup.

But Stanley and I kept trying -- alternating between being supportively quiet with Carl, and trying to make him feel better with our usual antics.

Nothing quite worked.

Twenty minutes later, our Macallan was half empty.

"Or half full," Stanley said a tad too cheerfully, before proceeding to fill our glasses with yet another round of drinks.

It didn't take us one hour to order our second bottle.

By then, Stanley was unusually cheerful.

"Keep them coming! Don't stop, don't stop!" Stanley shouted with meaning at the cute bartender, who raised his glass in response.

"This is one thing my sister Adam won't be saying because he's boring in bed with his boring partner J," Stanley continued, looking in my direction.

I raised a finger at Stanley in response.

Carl laughed.

Not so much our doing -- he had been the sole contributor for making our Macallan disappear.

But we took the cue. Carl is showing emotion, and that's good.

Stanley urgently filled our glasses and proposed yet another toast.

"I think we should order something deep fried," I remember saying after what seemed like our 400th toast, feeling a little woozy.

"Adam... we're at a gay bar. We're high. And the only thing you want to put into your mouth is oily food?!" Stanley scolded.

Carl replied automatically: "Yes! Put a cock in your mouth!"

"Big cock, big cock!" Carl continued chanting and clapped his hands like a happy child.

Seeing that Carl was finally warmed up, Stanley took it upon himself to order Carl a song.

Our dense friend has one of the best singing voices we know.

Stanley dragged me to the bar counter because he has limited recognition of Chinese characters.

"This machine is very difficult to operate," Stanley said, slurring his words.

"Hey, future boyfriend, please come and help me," Stanley said to the cute bartender.

And because Carl was VIP that night, our table skipped the queue and immediately was able to sing the next song.

Stanley had very wisely chosen a Cantonese classic -- Hoy Futt Tin Hong (which is loosely translated to mean carefree without boundaries) by Beyond. 

It's not an emotional ballad and the song requires lots of cathartic screaming -- just what Carl needs right now.

And Carl did not disappoint, belting out the song with feeling, hitting the high notes with perfection, galvanising the entire pub to sing and sway along.

If only his love life were that perfect.

By the end of the song, Carl was no longer stoic.

He wasn't chirpy and joyful (that would be Stanley who had by then gone around at least four tables toasting random strangers) but he was at least responsive.

But we were at a point of no return so we promptly ordered our third bottle of Macallan to keep the night going.

"I hate men," Carl said sadly.

Stanley pouted along with Carl and urgently signalled me to do the same.

"I hate men!" I said weakly.

"Yes! Fuck them all!" Carl said angrily.

"Yes! Fuck all the men," Stanley said, sounding energised, and stood up and thrust his hips forcefully into the air several times.

And then, without warning, Stanley covered his mouth and ran towards the toilet.

Carl looked at me and giggled.

Minutes later, Stanley returned and said: "Guys... I just puked. And I am so relieved. I thought I'd lost my gag reflex!"

Carl giggled even harder.

And then, Carl pouted.

"I am so sad," Carl said, beginning to sound like himself for the first time that night.

Stanley went over and hugged Carl from behind.

"Adam, get your fat ass over and complete this group hug," Stanley commanded, waving his hand at me.

"Do you think I'll ever love again?" Carl asked.

"You will," Stanley said firmly, looking at Carl in the eye.

"Just like how I will never stop having sex, you will never stop loving. You'll find the right one soon," said Stanley in his most assuring voice.

"I love you boys," Carl said, his eyes looking like a homeless puppy.

"I love you both too," Stanley said, and whipped out his phone.

"This calls for a photo."

And those photos, posted on Stanlye's Facebook page, would go on to remind us of not only this night, but the fact that we'll always be there for one another.

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

A Rollercoast Ride

In 12 months, newborns can learn to sit up -- and wobble around -- on their own. 

An adult learner can earn an advanced diploma during that time frame too.

And, also, some 1.5 million people around the world can die from the wretched COVID-19 virus in the span of 365 days. 

It's been one year. 

And I know I'm not alone when I say this -- 2020 whisked by really, really, really quickly. 

I guess when things go downhill, gravity makes sure the slump is fast and furious. 

Also feeling very furious is Stanley my sex bunny friend.

"I feel very robbed," he said over a WhatsApp video call with me and Carl the other day. 

"In 2019, all the Fengshui masters and guruji astrologers predicted that 2020 would be a fantastic year for those born in the year of the goat. And just as we 1979-ers are about to step on stage and enjoy the divine spotlight, in floats this dark cloud of COVID that overshadows our glory. WHY?!!"

Carl the dense one, who up till today still has no idea exactly where COVID-19 originated from, nodded fiercely in agreement at his favourite and most commonly used word. 

Indeed, the year had sped us by, marked by grim milestones depending on where we are.

In Singapore, they include the moment first cases were detected. And then the spike in numbers in our workers' dorms. That's followed by the various stages of lock downs in the city. And subsequently the easing of those measures. And then, the pilot cruise to nowhere... followed by the whole ship being lock downed due to one COVID case.

In between those events, we saw changes we never thought we would see in our garden city. 

Lesser traffic, cleaner air.

More food panda cyclists, more joggers.

Stanley would often quip sourly at the increase in sportsmen in Singapore. 

"All these fatties, who have their entire lives to go for a run but chose not to, are suddenly fitness fanatics when Singapore is under lock down!" he would say.

Right on cue, Carl the gym rabbit flexed his python sized biceps, patting them lovingly like they were oversized melons that would win him a prize at the farmer's carnival. 

Carl was one of those who had adapted during the last 12 months. 

When gyms were shut, he turned to home videos to continue pumping his muscles. 

Stanley would later reveal that during the lock down, he too had resorted to various home videos for his fair share of pumping action.

As I look back at my own 12 months, I realise how the worst of COVID-19 had brought out the best in some of us.

My sis for instance, was one of those who lost her job during this period.

During her transition from one tech giant to another, the pandemic hit and although she had already signed a contract with the hiring company, she was told of the change in plans and was thus left jobless.

That didn't entirely break her nor her piggy bank.

Years of saving like a hamster had prepared her for this cold, biting downtime. 

She's got savings that can last her for 5 years and she doesn't depend on her monthly income to pay for some of her recurring expenses. 

But she immediately bit the bullet and cut back on her spending.

Though she was at a relatively high level in her previous job, she had no qualms taking on various part-time jobs while eagerly seeking her next big break. 

On some days, she worked as a data analyst that helped healthcare institutions sort out admin work brought by COVID-19. 

On other days, she was a mystery shopper, getting paid while buying groceries for her own use. 

After seven months, 32 job applications and three rejections from companies which initially promised to hire her, my sis finally secured a job, getting paid higher than her previous position. 

But it hadn't been easy, she confessed later.

She had broken down quietly during those difficult months, not so much because she was tired or couldn't get used to a frugal lifestyle, but more because she couldn't handle not one, not two, but three job offers only to be turned down later on. 

Yet, she put one foot in front of another, making small steps towards brighter days ahead for her. 

Of course, my sis' experience is but a fraction of what others have gone through. 

My partner J's aunt died during the COVID-19 period (from cancer, not COVID).

It was a particularly difficult time for them, given that visiting her during the pandemic was restrictive, and managing a wake amid tight safe-distancing measures wasn't easy. 

I can only imagine the grief Aunt Nora's children felt during that period. 

But they managed to pull through together during this tough time. 

And then, there's my NS friend.

My NS buddy Roger, whose main business is events planning, was nearly bankrupt by COVID-19.

With school-going children to feed and a fast-dwindling business, he was nearly at his wit's end. 

Eventually, he diversified and made sure he didn't put all his eggs in one basket. 

Not wanting to be left out, Stanley too, has learnt to diversify. 

Grindr, Tinder, Growler, Scruff, Gay Romeo -- any gay social app you can name, Stanley has. 

Not only that, he has taken to trawling IG and Facebook to make friends in the last 12 months. 

"Just because I can't meet people physically yet doesn't mean I can't do headhunting activities now," he said the other day, giving the word head extra emphasis.

Besides, I'm determined to put my eggs in many, many, many baskets when the time is ripe, he adds. 

 

 

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

Unpacking Emotions

Last Wednesday was a particularly difficult hump day for me. 

Fortunately, Stanley my sex bunny friend -- who specialises in hump days -- was there for me.

And so was Carl the dense one. 

The two of them had taken leave for a few days to help me pack up six months of my life into one medium-size luggage and one big (and fancy) hand-carry duffel bag.

I had been flown back from Myanmar in April on orders of my company and now that, the management has set a different direction for me, it is now putting me on a chartered flight back to the Enchanted Land.

The agenda of the day was simple.

Help me pack. 

It was a case of all hands on deck now, given that I didn't have much time left.

"Isn't it more fun to have all hands on dick instead?" Stanley asked, handing me and Carl a glass each.

For that afternoon task of packing, Stanley had brought a bottle of white wine. 

"There's work to do -- but first, we drink."

That day, the only activity that was happening was the drinking, not so much the packing. 

And catching up too -- it would be my last few days with the boys and although we had already said our goodbyes when I was first posted to Myanmar, it's not easy. 

Carl the dense one, who is always the last to get the memo, has also been doing some catching up on his own, with the world too.

"Oh my God, did you guys know that Chris Evan's dick pic went viral?" said Carl, sounding like his stagnant brain just got a recent iOS upgrade.

"Wow," Carl said, digesting and taking in the news like he had just awakened from a coma.

"Darling, Chris Evan's accidental leak is what happened many months ago," Stanley said.

Setting his wine glass down, Stanley added "move. with. the. times.," clapping each word in front of Carl's face in a bid to wake our dense friend up. 

"Besides," Stanley continued, "accidental leaks are so passe. The only time I would ever have an accidental leak would be when I'm 89, and trust me darling, that won't be a pretty picture."

Carl paused to think about what Stanley said and 40 seconds later, choked on his wine and promptly set his glass down to wipe his wet, dribbly chin, giving all of us a sneak peek of Stanley's accidental leak future. 

It was an afternoon filled mainly with laughter but deep inside, I was sad. 

By 4pm, the boys left me to do my own packing before I got ready to meet my partner J for dinner. 

"I'm sad," I told J later.

My wise boyfriend of nearly 20 years looked at me and smiled.

"It's okay to be sad. It's natural to be sad. Why don't you list out things you're sad about?"

Later that night, I got down to doing just that. 

I'm fortunate enough to be deemed important by Myanmar to take me back (though I'm riding on my company's clout). I'm flying back on business class. I'm gonna be quarantined in a suite. I'm returning to my second home where my close group of friends await, and where I am the boss of my team. 

So, really, what's there to be sad about?

My family and J are all in good health and are supportive too. 

And that's when it struck me.

It wasn't sadness I was feeling.

It was fear. 

I fear that in my absence, my loved ones would age, fade away, fall ill and there's nothing I can do about it. 

When I told J about it later that night, my sage-like lover says this is all part of life and such fear cannot hold me back.

I told Stanley all about it later on.

"J is right. Don't let fear hold you back. It's all very normal -- I feel the same way too," Stanley said in serious mode.

"It's okay to put your loved one behind. That doesn't mean you will lose connection with them," he said.

"That was exactly what I did after I left your place earlier... found someone on Grindr and I proceeded to put him behind me to feel that connection."

 

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

Up, Up And Away

Last week, I was virgin no more.

The probe was deep, intense and made me feel heady for the 10 seconds that the swap stick was tickling each of my nostrils.

Stanley my sex bunny friend was very proud of my recent COVID-test.

"I am so proud of you," Stanley said right after my test. 

"You've finally broken your last sexual frontier," he said beaming like a proud mamasan. 

I didn't dare ask Stanley to explain further -- God knows what details he would spill. 

Not asking any question too was Carl our dense friend though his inaction was stemmed from his constant state of catching up with the world. 

My COVID test had been spurred by new developments thanks to my company's influence in Myanmar. 

Though borders are still shut and commercial airlines banned from landing, Myanmar's investment ministry has opened its doors to foreigners who can bring in capital flow and let's just say that my firm pumps in a great amount into the country.

Stanley is naturally excited. 

"Firstly, you're entering a place that's currently restricted to entry-- there's the element of the forbidden fruit,"  he said taking a sip of white wine at Original Sin in Holland Village, near the clinic I had gone for my swap test.

"And girl, trust me -- I can bring in lots and lots of flow and I can pump in a great amount too, if Myanmar allows me in," Stanley added. 

Carl is naturally excited too.

"So, what's going on guys, what's the latest with you both?"

Stanley sighed, shook his head and proceeded to put food on the table promptly ordering some grilled cheese dish, some hummus dips, some salad and some vegetarian pasta. 

The latest is, I'm flying back to Myanmar to also continue to put food on the table.

I'm one of the very lucky ones who hadn't been sacked or received a pay cut during this horrible COVID period.

In fact, I'm thankful my firm flew me back for half a year during the start of the pandemic so that I can be fully taken care of in Singapore and not on foreign land should I fall sick.

But the senior analysts in my firm are now plotting my return to the country with news of a vaccine being developed. 

I can only imagine the strings my management had to pull and the red tapes it had to untangle but the long and short of it is that I managed to get on a chartered flight and a special permit to return.

Carl looked deflated when full realisation hit him. 

"Why are we having vegetarian for dinner?" he asked when all the dishes arrived at our table. 

Stanley didn't even bother to sigh and shake his head and proceeded to put food into his mouth, for once using that organ the way it was meant to be used. 

By the time we were 80 per cent full, Carl began scratching the surface of the entire situation. 

"So... you'll have to leave Singapore soon?"

"And you have to leave within a week?"

"And then... you're not going to come back until it's safe to travel?" Carl asked, his tone sounding increasingly more depressed, like a child whose favourite toy had been taken away. 

Stanley set down his fork and looked at Carl with pity in his eyes. 

Yes, Carl... I'll have to pack up and fly within a week. It's gonna be a whirlwind week -- I have to pack up, tie up all the admin loose ends, wrap up all the hugs and goodbyes with my loved ones, I said. 

"Okay," Carl said with disappointment in his voice. 

"I guess we will try to spend as much time with you before you return to Cambodia," he said sincerely. 

Stanley looked at me, rolled his eyes, sighed and gave up.

 

 

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

Gone Girl

Stanley recently dug up some old photos and couldn't help but share it in our group chat.

Carl immediately posted a gif of Snow White retreating into the woods in fear.

I believe it was also Carl's actual reaction in real life: Tossing his phone onto the couch and fleeing into his bedroom, his python-size arms flailing wildly during the hasty escape.

I legit choked on my morning coffee, splattering the hot liquid all over my morning newspaper.

"Stanley, those photos are to be burnt and never to see the light of day again!"

It was a very happy group photo of me, Stanley my sex bunny friend, Carl the dense one along with four other gay friends in our youthful, halcyon days.

The photo was taken at a chalet, marking one of our gay friends' birthday and there was a big birthday cake, stacks of presents, loads of alcohol, and we were all in drag.

Yes.

We wore dresses, wigs, and drew our faces with colourful cosmetics which we thought back then, were beautiful.

Seeing those very photos now made me want to cry, the way kids burst out in tears when a clown enters their periphery.

We looked hideous.

"Why did we think we were gorgeous then, when in retrospect we looked like characters from The Exorcist?" I wrote in our group chat.

"I love The Exorcist," Stanley says. "I have always been fascinated by films that involve people being entered and fully taken over by that entity."

"Why do you still have those photos, Stan?!" Carl typed later.

"Guys, do you think I looked fat in that dress?" Stanley asked.

"I believe you asked us this 20 years ago," I said.

Turns out, Stanley was doing some random spring cleaning in his attic (which serves as his room in his three-storey house) when he came across a box under his bed.

As with all horror movies, anything you find stashed under the bed in the attic or some basement would spell creepy trouble.

"BURN THEM!" I said.

"But... when I held these photos and closed my eyes, these photos spark joy," said Stanley, channelling his inner Marie Kondo.

"These ought not to spark joy. They ought to spark fear and send chills down your spine."

"I don't think so," Stanley said. "My drag photo will send chills not down a man's spine, but to happier regions down south."

"And, don't be so harsh on yourself, Adam. I mean, yes, you looked hideous in drag but I still love you," Stanley said.

Carl remained quiet throughout the exchanges.

"But Carl... you do look ridiculous. You look like a rugby player with large shoulder pads."

That stirred Carl to life, who started typing, and posted a gif of a yellow sun bouncing from cloud to cloud.

"Really? I look like a rugby player? Yeah.. I think so too. I had started gymming seriously at that age," Carl said, choosing only to focus on the good in life.

The year was in early 2000, and the location was at a chalet in Changi.

The plan was a birthday drag show.

The birthday boy was Shawn, one of our closest friends who has since migrated to the UK, and who, for his birthday wish, was for all of us to put on a drag performance for him.

And so we gamely did.

Stanley was very serious and got right down to researching bra sizes and how to make tits.

He even roped in an external expert: Steff his best girl friend from JC who was promptly named cosmetic consultant for the production.

The sporting and fun loving lawyer-to-be had even loaned us her dresses so that we could be as real as possible.

Carl, whose manly shoulders could not fit any girly dresses, came up with a brilliant idea of wrapping his body with bedsheets, paired with a women's belt to give his figure some accent.

Next was the hairpiece.

I was the only one among the group who kept long hair, thinking it was a good idea to have a cool Jap-surfer dude look.

But the rest of the boys needed wigs.

Thankfully, one of us in the group had access to wigs because he had friends who did drag shows for a small fee in gay pubs.

Carl opted for a long black wig to complete the Pontianak look.

Stanley, according to Steff, can go for a clean girl's look given that he was the fairest of us all.

So his was a wig that came with two pony tails.

For days, we chose songs and rehearsed group choreographies at Stanley's home.

On performance night, we gave it our all.

I remember Shawn having such a good time, clapping, wolf-whistling, and cheering us on.

The booze made it even more fun.

By the end of the night, all of us were dancing to gay anthems: I Will Survive, It's Not Right But It's Okay (Thunderpuss version) and classics like It's Raining Men.

At one point, Stanley looked at his lopsided wig in the mirror and loudly proclaimed he looked like he was raped at the chalet entrance, before quipping, "and I should be so lucky someone wants to even do that to me in this state. I look full drag -- like what the cat dragged into the chalet".

It was a fun night indeed.

Having our faces painted, disguised in women costumes was strangely liberating.

"I think I'll keep these photos. It's one of my happiest memories growing up," Stanley said.

"But full disclosure -- I still love my ding dong. In fact, I love it so much I make it a point to always engage it in activities, so I will remain a man for as long as I live," Stanley said, giving us full exposure.

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

Core of my Universe

I recently came across a post on a local gay forum which got me all teary and emotional.

Someone had shared a clip of a same-sex wedding ceremony in Taiwan.

While the clip was indeed moving and the couple's love worth embracing, it was the wedding speeches that touched me.

Two of the groom's friends talked about how life-changing their friendship was back in university.

The fact that they were speaking in tear-holding, trembling voices made it all the more so precious.

And that got me thinking.

If and only if I were to get married (J, if you're reading this, I still want to get married you know), which two uni friends would I pick to make speeches?

I have the candidates, of course.

But first, allow me to reminisce some happy memories.

Back then, I decided to study overseas and so had been studiously looking through the prospectuses of universities - Australia, US, UK - and finally decided on Down Under because the family wealth cannot be spread too thin (younger brother Barry would also like to go on an all-sponsored overseas study trip, so if I took too big a bite of the pie, all that Barry would be left with is the crust).

I very clearly remember the morning of my departure.

Barry wasn't home (he was serving NS and was in camp).

My sis and I struggled to fit two large pieces of my luggage in the car, while Mrs Lee stood in one corner giving us running commentaries (that nobody asked for) and instructions (which added nothing to our effort), and then having the cheek to be pleased with herself after all the moving and shaking.

"Now you know what I had to go through?" our mum said to us.

My sis and I looked at each other, scared to ask what that really meant.

"If it's not easy squeezing two large items into the spacious car boot - imagine how tough it was for me to have you two squeezing out of my tiny pat-pat?"

Yes, the exact term was pat-pat, and Mrs Lee had to impress that on me on my last day in Singapore and the start of my exciting university life.

Thank you, mummy.

Later, at my request, we drove to a nearby hawker centre for breakfast.  

My last local meal for the day, I said at the table.

Mrs Lee started tearing.

My sis started tearing too.

The pork congee was burning her tongue.

At the airport were Stanley and Carl my dense friend, both of whom looking rather timid in the presence of Mrs Lee.

Hugs were exchanged, and before long, I very cheerfully strolled on board the SQ plane.

Seven hours later, I landed in a wintry Australia and was driven to my lodging by a university representative.

My first room in Queensland is the size of two public toilet cubicles, I kid you not.

I was to be holed up in the all-boys hostel where I would spend my first year because it's on campus, and food is provided (back then I still couldn't cook proper meals).

Stanley my sex bunny friend often laments that I didn't make full use of my experience there.

There are boys, and you're Down Under. Do you know how rare those two combinations are?!

That said, I hadn't missed out any opportunities.

In between sleeping at 11pm and waking up at 6am every day to carry out my filial Asian son duties by studying and acing almost all my subjects, I found the time to, among other things, spend many happy moments with friends I made there.

Most of my friends are Singaporean.

And I'm very proud of that.

I'm not about to be stereotyped by anyone who would scoff and say things like why should I be hanging out with Singaporeans when I'm in Australia? You're one of those? Don't you have Australian friends?

Well, first things first, just because I'm not speaking with a bloody overnight Aussie twang and not making an effort to laugh damn hard at Aussie humour doesn't make me any less sociable.

Yes, I'm talking about you, Glen Tan Wei Meng of Lorong Chuan and Amanda See of Hougang Avenue 2.

You bloody pretentious and judgemental Singaporean swines of Pol Science class of 2001.

Thankfully, I had the wisdom to choose my friends.

My years in Queensland were great because of my Singaporean support.

There is, of course, Eric Lim, my room mate in year two (when I moved out with a group of close friends).

My sex bunny friend Stanley finds Eric irresistible - smart and nerdy, athletic and talented.

Eric and I were so close that when he got married, I was his best man and later, became the godfather of his children.

Stanley often tells me that if he and Eric were that close, when Eric got married, he wanted to be the groom and later, be the father of Eric's children.

Eric had been a great support to me - I came out to him in university and he embraced me fully for whom I am.

Moving on from bedroom buddies to classroom buddies is my darling friend Sasha Natasha, whom we all call Sasa for short.

Without Sasa, my life would have been so boring.

We were both enrolled in the same course and had hit it off right from the start.

I remember immediately grabbing Sasa by her girly shoulders once, after we were tasked to do examinable paired work.

We had the most wonderful time in uni - from after-class lunches at the trendy uni library (where peacocks would sometimes strut by) and group house parties to exciting after-exam trips around Australia.

Today, Sasa - who married our fellow uni mate and leads the life of a career-woman-by-day-and-tai-tai-by-weekends lifestyle - remains one of my strongest pillars in my life.

As I reflect on my very happy years in uni, I'm also thankful for the choices I made back then.

The course of my study, which is a great help to my career - Sasa would say the same for herself.

The people I chose to hang out with.

The parties I chose to attend (I met many other great friends for keeps back then, and trust me, those long years away from home were kept colourful and warm because of the group).

Of course, I have other international friends who are now respectable professionals back home - a doctor in Czech Republic, a journalist in the US, a solicitor in China, a singer in India, IT whizz kids in Malaysia, hotelier in Vietnam, and so many others let's not make it a laundry list.

Later, Stanley the sex bunny told me that he keeps a long list too - a dirty laundry list.

And he's been bugging me to air it for him soon.

---------------------------

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

Analysing the Anal

Stanley recently rang me up, bursting with news.

When my sex bunny friend calls, it's almost certain that his news involves sex.

True enough, it is about sex.

Specifically, anal sex.

But surprisingly, the main character of his update isn't himself.

It involved Stanley's fag hag Steff, Stanley's best girlfriend from JC.

Steff is a highly successful corporate lawyer -- but not your typical bookish type of lawyer.

While she is studious and serious when she needs to be, this girl also knows how to have fun; fun being the operative word here.

Steff is the type who has no qualms about dating men, or engaging in one-night-stands. She loves her body and isn't afraid to embrace what she likes.

I believe you can see the pattern here, and begin to appreciate this bond of sisterhood between Stanley and Steff.

Steff, who's recently dating an American, had rung Stanley up, bursting with news.

And yes, when Steff calls Stanley, it's about sex.

You get the idea.

"So Steff was telling me that her angmoh partner recently asked her for anal sex," said Stanley, who must have breached some form of Official Secrets Act deal he blood-swore with Steff.

I had to sit down and take this call.

"Go on," I said, channelling calm in my voice.

Apparently, Steff and Pierre, another corporate lawyer based in KL, had been seeing each other for the last few years.

Recently, Pierre brought up the subject of anal sex with Steff.

That shocked Steff.

We're talking about a girl who, at age 18, managed to achieve certain sexual feats no other good RJC girl (or boy) managed to achieve.

"I mean, we're talking about the Steff," Stanley said. "The Steff who has rimmed, blown, swallowed, and even, on one occasion, ventured so far as to lick another woman's messy bits!"

"Does Steff know you're telling me all these things, Stan?" I ask.

"She doesn't read your rubbish blog, if that's what you're concerned about...."

"Okay, then please carry on," I said, reaching out for pen and paper.

So it happened the other night, and when Pierre suggested it, Steff appranetly said 'no'.

And then she rang me up straight away and told me all about it.

Steff asked me when I first discovered I was gay, was I open to anal sex.

"What did you say?"

"I said I was of course open -- wide open, like 7-11, 24/7!"

"No, I meant, what did you advise her, you idiot!"

"To be frank, I was shocked beyond words," said Stanley who never had trouble spewing all sorts of subjects out of his mouth, nor had any trouble stuffing any sort of objects in his mouth.

In fact, Stanley felt angry and a little insulted.

"I mean, we gay men specialise in anal sex. It's the one thing we are capable of doing well. And now these girls want to take it away from us?!"

"Anyway, I told Steff that she should never do it unless she wanted to explore it willingly."

Apparently, Steff was seriously considering it, and had asked Stanley for his opinion.

"You're a smart girl, Steff, so let's talk logic here," Stanley said to her.

"Men have prostates -- so when we have anal sex, it excites us," said Stanley, Power Bottom.

"You women already have vajayjays. So obviously, it's God's way of telling you straight people that this is what you guys should be doing."

"But because God is so great, he made backup plans for men's buttholes, linking it to our prostate so that gays can enjoy ourselves," said Stanley the good Catholic boy.

"So, this means God has segregated the duties very clearly -- you women stick to your disgusting frontal, hetro sex, and we gays stick to our disgusting homo anal sex. And you do not cross the line."

While Steff knows what Stanley is driving at, she couldn't help but ask: "But what if -- just, what if -- I wanted to give it a try? What should I do?"

Out of Stanley's love for Steff, he patiently taught her the art of douching.

"You spray the bidet with full force up your butthole, and then flush out all the dirt... so that when anal sex happens, that area is as pure as can be."

I was told Steff later couldn't wash that image off her mind.

"But, because I love you very much Steff, I must tell you that you shouldn't do it if you're not ready or willing to. I mean, don't take that one job away from gay men. And if Pierre really wants anal sex, then outsource to all the Sarong Party Gay Boys out there," Stanley said.

I thought about this later, and couldn't help but wonder: Why do straight men want to have anal sex at all?

And how do straight men in general view anal sex?

Is it an American thing?

Does this happen when a man has so much sex he can no longer feel pleasure with women parts?

Or is it because deep inside, he's, you know, curious about gay sex?

What is it?

And women.

Which woman would willingly do anal sex if even Steff herself has qualms about doing it?

Stanley later asked if I felt disgusted by the thought of it.

And in all honesty, my answer is yes.

And then it struck me.

While this anal sex between a man and woman is disgusting to me because it's unnatural, this must also be the same way straight men feel about gay anal sex.

There and then, it dawned on me that I am thus, in no position to judge how other couples want to have sex, or where men -- straight or gay -- choose to insert their donks.

For closure, I shared my thoughts with Stanley, who didn't disagree.

"Maybe anal sex is the ultimate form of intimacy and commitment for couples," Stanley concluded, before correcting himself: "Then again, whom am I kidding -- for me, anal sex has nothing to do with commitment."

Eager to contribute something equally intellectual, I gave it a shot.

"Is it because straight men think that assholes are tighter?" I ask Stanley, who, perhaps, in retrospect, isn't exactly the best person to answer this, considering his track record.

---------------------------

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

Mr And Mrs Write

"I have a love story to share," Stanley randomly told me the other day.

"And I want to read this in your blog," he demanded.

I was very scared to ask my sex bunny friend Stanley what type of love story he's about to make me hear -- and write about, given his track record.

"It's a love story about my mum and dad," he told me excitedly over a WhatsApp video call.

"My mum being the protagonist in this love story."

I was even more scared to ask for details.

If Stanley's type of love stories is anything to go by, I might well be forced to picture the respectable and formidable Mrs Monica Ong doing things no children should ever be subject to seeing in their lifetime.

"Oie… this is a PG story ok," Stanley warned, clapping his hands in front of  his phone camera to make his point. "My mum was just retelling her story about how she met my dad the other day, and I thought it was too romantic not to share."

So, ladies and gentlemen, this is a story about my sex bunny friend Stanley's parents.

Told to you by Stanley, through my hand.

To start the ball rolling, Stanley added Carl to the WhatsApp video call.

It's that important.

Our dense friend Carl lit up the moment he joined us.

"I am so bored! I miss you guys!" Carl said.

"What the heck are you doing. Are you planking?" Stanley asked.

"Yes... on some days, I like to lie very still and engage my abs," Carl replied, not sounding breathless at all.

"I totally know what you mean. On some days, I also like to lie very still and engage abs --  that belong to a hot guy hovering above me," Stanley said without missing a beat.

I am really beginning to worry about the love story of Stanley's mum that is about to unfold.

Once upon a time, when there were no communicative devices, two people from across the island met by way of fate and fell in love.

Carl looked up from planking and was about to question the purpose of the video call when Stanley held up a hand in front of his phone camera, telling him to shush.

My dad had responded to an ad in some magazine for pen pals.

It was an ad that my mum's classmates had placed for her.

Thing is, my mum didn't even know her friends did that behind her back... which is so different from me. I always know what activities go on behind my back.

But back to my mum.

Imagine her surprise when she started receiving letters from what I imagine is a mountain of letters from potential suitors!

Carl, who loves all sorts of love stories, immediately stopped planking and sat up, his attention undivided on Stanley.

At first, my mum thought it was really silly -- who has time to read and write letters, she said.

"Carl... what the heck are you doing?! It's obscene, stop it!" Stanley squealed.

Carl, who was arching his right leg all the way up to the back of his neck, said: "Don't mind me -- I am doing yoga, but I love your story. Don't stop!!!!"

Anyway, my mum told herself she had no time for such nonsense, but decided to play along and just pick one letter and write back, just to see what sort of loser guys write to her.

Carl, who by now had both his legs arched upwards behind his neck, was beaming with excitement.

My mum's first thoughts about my dad's letter were oh my, this Robert Ong guy is the world's most dull person. But let's write back and see how else he can bore me.

And then, Stanley paused and added, "I would do the same too if I were my mum -- I always like to know how men can bore, drill and poke me."

And so the exchange of the letters began.

It started with one intentionally short letter my mum wrote. Very brief. Just enough to get my dad's attention.

This time, my dad wrote an even longer letter, which my mum later felt was "not too bad".

"Carl, if you continue to do this I will have to cut you off this video call," Stanley warned sternly, recoiling with disgust by the sight of Carl pushing his awkwardly pretzeled body up from the ground using his palm.

Carl the dense one grinned back like a goon and began to move his body like a human swing.

Anyway, my mum and dad began writing back and forth and the exchanges lasted for four months.

"Wow, that's quite romantic," I said.

"Yes, Adam. I was actually quite moved by my parents' innocent beginnings of love. Are you taking notes? You ought to. I want to read this in your blog," Stanley said.

I think this is all fated.

I mean, my mum is really beautiful -- she has so many suitors back in school.

She's effectively the village belle, something that I inherited from her.

"I thought they called you the village bicycle, Stan? A bicycle 'cos everyone in the village has each taken a ride?" Carl asked innocently.

"Who the heck said that about me?!"

Carl eyed me suspiciously.

"Shush, Yogi Carl. Stan is telling us a love story," I said.

So, after four months of being pen pals, my dad popped the question and soon they were on their first date.

"Wait -- they know each other for four months but don't know how each other looked like?" Carl asked, incredulous.

"Yes... and that's very exciting right?" Stanley said, adding "it's like when we were younger and went on IRC, and then meeting our hookups without exchanging pics. Come to think of it, my parents were the pioneer generation of IRC, Tinder and Grindr."

"No wonder you turned out like that," I pointed out.

"Hey, that's mean, Adam. You ought to show more respect to the direct descendant of the Tinder pioneers," Stanley said.

"And Carl, what on earth are you doing. Are you possessed?" Stanley said, exasperated with our restless, flexible friend.

Our gym rabbit pal is now on yet another yoga pose, his python sized biceps supporting his body that's arched upwards in an upside down V.

"This is called the downward dog," Carl explained.

"Oh, no, no darling, that's not how I would do a downward dog -- I know, I studied the kamastura," Stanley cut in.

"Story, story, back to your parents' story please."

Oh, so anyway, my mum and dad dated for the next six months... the best part is, they continued writing to each other even after they met!

Carl and I let out a collective awww. 

"See?"

Stanley held up a photo album, flipping it open to show us yellowed pages of letters.

They kept each other's letters!

Stanley's mum's handwriting was classic cursive. Very ladylike, very posh, whereas Uncle Robert's handwriting was, for the lack of a better word, rather basic.

After about two years, they fell in love, Stanley said.

And it's really true love because back then, my dad was a pauper while my mum came from an upper-middle class Peranakan family.

But they both by then were madly in love.

They went through thick and thin, said Stanley who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth after his dad's construction business took off a few years after his parents got married.

"I want to be like my parents too," Stanley said.

I want to go through thick and thin, long and short, curved and straight, until I find the one that's just nice," said Stanley the Goldicocks.

"The letters are so old school and so romantic," Carl said with envy, leaning towards his phone for a closer look.

"Did your parents send letters to each other using pigeons?" Carl asked with genuine curiosity.

"Not anymore. They decommissioned pigeons by the late 60s because they needed to create jobs for postmen," Stanley said dryly.

Carl nodded, happy to have gained knowledge.

"Besides, I think birds can be trained to do a lot more other exciting jobs," Stanley said, patting his arm suggestively.

"But if I were to have pigeons carry my letters, I highly suspect my bird would be carrying the letters S, T and D."

---------------------------

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

Bad Romance

My best girlfriend Nisa recently mentioned that her all-time favourite movie, Young And Dangerous, is on Netflix.

It's a Hong Kong movie about handsome gangsters.

And this stirred up memories.

I have a story that I haven't told many people about.

Stanley my sex bunny friend, whom I've known longer than my partner J, knows this story very well.

"Why the heck are you bringing it up again?" Stanley wanted to know.

"Are you running out of topics for your blog? Just tell me -- I'll do overtime and sleep around more to inspire you," said Stanley who later added that he knew when he was young that being promiscuous would some day help mankind.

The story I'm about to share with you is something very personal. A memory that's been buried deep in my heart.

Stanley later told me that if I wanted to really bury a memory, the heart isn't where it should be kept.

"I know many other parts of the body which are so deep, it can keep a lot of things," he said.

The year was -- okay, I can't remember exactly which year it was. Let's just put the timeline as the late 90s.

It was just months before I did national service, so I was around 19 years old.

And it was also before I met Stanley and Carl.

Whom I did meet back then, was Mike.

And he's central to the story.

Mike is just a year younger than I.

We met in a gay chatroom and since I was single, we decided to meet.

But we were very innocent -- we didn't meet for any hanky panky.

In fact, our first meeting was at a café near Mike's house.

Mike and I are as different as night and day.

In a nutshell, we were from totally different worlds.

I was about to start NS, all geared up for what's to come: Uni life, great friends, lots of partying at bars. And then, maybe a good career and lots and lots of money.

For Mike, he was probably looking at just spending time behind bars -- the caged kind.

Mike, unlike any other gay boy I knew back then, was very different.

He was totally butch. You can't tell he's gay.

If you met Mike back then, you might avoid him.

He was a motorcycle riding gang member (his gang is linked to several temples, he told me) and his family background is complex: His dad is a secret society member and his mum dabbles in illegal gambling businesses.

Stanley, whom I shared the story with years later, was very excited because he always thought that a gangster who knew how to ride was very sexy.

Well, yes, Mike is sexy. And very cute too.

He had thick eyebrows, large puppy eyes, nice floppy hair like Aaron Kowk's, and although he had some belly fat, he was tall and big built and looked like he was willing to slash his parang at anyone who would bully me.

In short, Mike is a fearsome gangster to his friends, but deep in his closet, he's a wholesome gay boy.

I met Mike in that capacity -- the gay boy exploring his sexuality.

So I have never seen or feared him the way his ex-secondary school mates did.

He had scars on his body, and Mike has police records that started when he was 14.

Point is, Mike and I are totally different. Yes, I think I said that already.

Yet, I felt strangely attracted to Mike.

Our first date at the café near his house was rather fun.

We talked about ourselves, and learnt about each other.

He referred to me as the good boy and of course, admitted that he was a really bad boy.

When we ended our first date, I told myself that I did like Mike, but the logical side of me kept pushing back those nice feelings I felt for Mister Bad Boy.

But when Mike asked me for a second date days later, I readily said yes.

This time, we went to drink bubble tea.

And then came the third and fourth dates.

On our fifth date, Mike brought me to his home.

Nobody was home.

I took a quick glance around his flat and noticed there were three altars with ferocious-looking deities in the living room. Mike didn't take me on a tour of his home, because our destination was his bedroom.

On date number five, we finally got intimate. And let's just say that he was indeed young and dangerous.

After the deed, I thought maybe that would mark the end of our, hmm, would I say it's a relationship?

Because if Mike were to be treated as the gangster whom he is, and the player whom he looks to be, then after having sex with me, he would stop calling right?

Was I wrong.

After date number five, Mike seemed to be even softer and more caring.

He told me he liked me, and although we would both likely have very different paths ahead of us, he said he wanted us to give it a try.

"What's the problem. You like me, I like you. That's most important right?"

To be honest, I did like Mike very much.

I liked not just how cute and dashing he is, but also how gentle and caring he is to me.

On date number six, Mike told me to be prepared to spend an entire day with him.

That Saturday morning, he waited for me near my home.

He didn't ride his bike.

I thought, like some of our past dates, we'd hang out at some nearby café or mall.

But five minutes into our meeting, Mike smiled and then raised his hand to flag down a cab.

"Where are we going?"

No answer.

"Just come along -- you promised me your entire day," was the answer.

Of course, I found my answer as soon as we got into the cab: Changi Jetty.

Oh, that's new. I've never been there, I thought to myself.

On the one hand, I was very excited because this is a new adventure.

But damn it, on the other hand, a nagging voice in my head told me to STOP FEELING THIS WAY YOU FOOL... because if you enjoy this too much, you're gonna fall for him. What future do you have with this gangster? Sure, you and him can speak Chinese all day long. But when it's time for you to introduce Mike to your circle of friends, he will never fit in.

And so I went through the entire day with Mike with such a mindset, such a struggle.

I love this day, no I can't love this day. I like Mike, no I can't fall for him.

At Changi Jetty, it turns out that Mike had further plans for us.

And so to Pulau Ubin we went, laughing at every bump of the sea journey there.

We were to spend half the day at the island cycling and laughing and looking at strange insects, watching out for wild boars. Resting under a tree. And then cycling some more.

Nobody in my circle of friends would have come up with such a spontaneous, adventurous date.

Don't enjoy this day, Adam. Don't fall for him, Adam. He's a good date, he's a good fuck, he's not going to be a good boyfriend or husband. Don't look at him in his eyes. Don't melt when he smiles at you. 

By late afternoon, after we returned our bikes, Mike and I took a stroll along Pulau Ubin.

He held my hand as we walked along the island.

I swear if he had proposed to me there and then, I might not have the logical mind to say no.

We then left for hawker food back on the mainland, where Mike ordered cockles among other things.

I remember because Mike lit up the whole time, his eyes sparking with joy as he sucked noisily on cockles while edging me on to try them 'cos they were his favourite food.

It was a most romantic day: Spontaneous, enjoyable, innocent and very puppy love-like.

That night, Mike sent me home and we rode the bus together.

He held my hand at the back of the bus.

He asked if I had a good time.

Of course I had.

To this date, it is one of the most romantic dates I had been on.

Then Mike popped the question.

"Will you be my boyfriend?" my handsome gangster asked.

To this day, I cannot imagine that as a hot-blooded 19 year old, I would allow my head to rule over my heart.

Though my heart had melted and that I really did like Mike, at the end of the day, the true boss was my head.

And my head told me to get real. To not be fooled by this exciting wave of romance.

He's not good for you. Not good enough. You're not going to be happy. You're from two totally different worlds. 

I was telling myself all these thing which should rightfully have come out of the mouth of a concerned, uptight mother chiding her daughter.

That night, though it broke my heart, and most of all, Mike's, I let go of his hand on the bus, and told him: "Mike, let's just be friends."

Of course, I'm in a very happy, long-term relationship with my partner J now.

But I sometimes ask myself. If I could turn back time, would I have said yes to Mike? And what would become of us?

I don't know.

I don't have any regrets.

Perhaps, the only regret I have is that I did not allow myself to fully let go, and fully enjoy that entire day of Date Number Six with Mike. Our final date.



---------------------------

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

Old Is Gold

When you're over 40, there'll come a point when you will cling on to anything that makes you believe you're still young.

"What do you hear, quick!" Stanley demanded in our group chat.

"Is it safe for work?" I ask, given the track record of Stanley my sex bunny friend.

"Very safe -- in fact, click on the link, put it on loud speaker and tell me what people around you are hearing!"

Carl our dense friend was first to reply.

"Yenni".

"Fuck," Stanley said.

"What about you, Adam?"

"Yenni."

"Fuck," Stanley said again.

The audio activity, which is finding its rounds again online, is apparently a test to see how young a person is.

There's this voice recording that would produce different sounds to the young and old

If you're young, you'd hear Yenni. And if you're older, you'd pick up a different frequency of sound wave, making you hear "Laurel" instead.

"What about you Stan?"

"I heard Yenni too," he said, sounding less happy than he should.

"But now that both you old bitches are also hearing Yenni, I'm beginning to doubt the authenticity of this test," Stanley said.

For the sake of experiment, I posted the clip in my other group chats.

Nisa my best girl friend heard "Laurel".

Terry my best straight friend, interestingly, hears both.

"Describe to me what you hear," I ask Terry.

"I hear a mix of both Yenni and Laurel," Terry said simply.

I shared the results of the social experiment with Stanley who is fascinated.

"Firstly, Nisa, who can pass off as a chubby primary six boy if she wears a cap and binds her enormous boobs, cannot be that old," Stanley said.

"And Terry! He hears both! You know what that means?"

To our surprise, Carl volunteered to answer.

"It means that if he were in the world of Netflix, he would be a hero," said our dense friend Carl who recently discovered Netflix.

"In Netflix, Sabrina is half-human, half-witch," Carl explained. "And in Castlevania the cartoon, Alucard is half-human, half vampire. And in RuPaul's drag race, they're all half man, half woman. This means that Terry, who is half-half can also be a hero!"

Stanley later told me that if only Carl applied himself well in real life, he could have turned out less dense.

But Carl is doing his level best.

He's applying himself well alright. From SKII and night and day creams, to all sorts of facial masques and serums, he's been applying them all on himself.

To Carl, fighting ageing is as important a battle as fighting diabetes or cancer.

Most of Carl's adult life had been dedicated to prolonging his youth.

Stanley used to say that if Carl were born in another era and had power, he'd be the one who's always prowling for the elixir of youth.

"And if I were born in a different era and had power, I too would be on the prowl for youths," Stanley said, unable to help himself.

The discussion of ageing, the concern about ageing never gets old in my group.

And the topic stirred to life recently when Stanley went to buy alcohol at a nearby shop.

Our friend had worn a face mask, and given that Stanley is lean and has short cropped hair, he did come across as a young boy.

He was most delighted when the aunty asked him "hey, you look like poly student. You sure you can buy wine ah?"

Stanley let out a hearty laughter and if not for the fear of spreading COVID, Stanley would have hugged the aunty tightly there and then.

My sex bunny friend later posted  a photo of himself and demanded that we agreed he looked underage.

It got me thinking.

The only way to get someone to mistake me as a youth would be for me to don a face mask -- the type superheroes would wear to cover up all their facial features.

Already, as a youth, my face is riddled with pock marks.

As I aged, Time had mercilessly sketched out crow's feet from the corner of my eyes.

My eyelids are also starting to sag, the way my man boobs, buttocks and every part of my once-firm body is heading.

On some days when I do examine photos of myself, I see just how much I've aged.

And to my utter surprise, I feel numb.

"I know how that feels," Stanley said comfortingly.

"On some nights, I feel numb too -- and I start to worry. Where's my gag reflex?"

But unlike Carl, Stanley and I are able to embrace ageing.

I used to tell Carl and Stanley about this very old man in my estate.

He's a very flamboyant old man. Around 70, has a head full of black hair, very well spoken, very wealthy and his staple wardrobe pieces are super tight singlets with ultra short shorts. And mind you, this lao gay is in shape -- lean and fit.

And because we live in the same estate, we've become friends, although to be frank, I'm kinda creeped out by him because he does come across as being on the prowl.

But this old man is a prime example of how we can all age well, no matter how creepy he is, I say to the boys.

Leave it to Stanley to spoil it for me.

"Adam, don't you think that this old man sounds like your future self?"

"I mean, think about it -- this old man does sound like your current self... what if he were indeed your future self who's come back to warn you about something and you keep avoiding him 'cos you're creeped out by how scary you are!"

"It makes sense you know," says Stanley who continues to join the dots for me.

"Because he is you, he would know where to find you... which explains why you keep bumping into the old you!"

"If only you weren't creeped out by yourself.... you'd know a lot of things from your future..."

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