A Shot in Life

"I wonder who's going to lift up my clothes and poke me," Stanley the sex bunny said in excitement, unable to sit still in his plastic chair.

Carl the gym rabbit began flexing his python-sized biceps, breathing in and out forcefully as if getting ready for the Olympics 100kg Clean and Jerk category. 

Also looking like he's getting ready for the jerk category, Stanley began looking around lustfully at every male species entering Queenstown CC, where the three of us, of all things, had planned to take our booster shot together.

The three of us had once upon a very long time joked about how someday, instead of dressing up to explore gay bars or dine at the latest trendy and pretentious restaurants, would end up making medical appointments as part of our social gatherings. 

There we were, three Uncles advancing into our mid-forties, living out our future.

Meanwhile, Stanley was advancing towards an early-thirties, his eyes zeroing in on a well-groomed man wearing an army singlet.

"Attention all units, attention all units, 3-o'clock, 3-o'clock, over," Stanley said, no doubt trying to sound like a pilot on speaker, but ended up instead sounding like the NTUC Aunty paging for help at Counter 6.

I pretended I didn't hear Stanley and stared at my iPhone with intense focus.

Carl too didn't hear Stanley because, as usual, he was spacing out.

"3-o'clock, 3-o'clcok, over," Stanley said more urgently, no longer using an indoor voice. For effect, Stanley jerked his head and eyes in the direction of the well-groomed young man wearing the army singlet.

Carl got the signal and began fumbling, mapping out with, first his left finger and then his right finger the trajectory of an imaginary clock dial.

Carl didn't know where to look.

I didn't know where to look. It was getting embarrassing because a makcik sitting nearby began studying the three of us with keen interest. 

I won't be surprised if makcik were smiling beneath her mask. 

"Adam Lee, booth 2!"

Thank God. Saved by the belle -- a petite looking young volunteer with long, straight hair.

Inside booth 2, I met a very chirpy woman who looked about my age.

I know because she said "oh, 1979. We're same age!"

While her hands went about tearing needle packages and fixing vaccine doses smoothly like a well-seasoned factory worker, I learned that she was a nurse who retired in her early 30s after she got married.

"I quit to look after my two kids but when this pandemic happened, I told my kids 'mummy needs to go back and serve the country'," she said.

I could see it from her eyes that nursing and motherhood were both her calling because she really like  any matronly nurse, I didn't even see -- or feel -- the booster shot. 

"There!" she said again with her chirpy voice. 

"Stay safe," she said to me sincerely, her eyes scrunched up from a hidden smile. 

Indeed. "Stay safe" has become one of the most commonly heard phrases these days. 

Even with vaccinations or booster shots, danger still lurks out there.

"I always know that I no longer have gag reflex but I didn't expect that I also incapable of feeling any sensation when being poked," Stanley said to me back at the common waiting area, unwittingly helping me to prove my point about the lurking dangers out there.

I looked around to see if the makcik was still tracking our activity but instead found Carl flexing his python-sized biceps. 

"Did the needle break upon contact?" Stanley asked Carl sarcastically.

Unable to detect the tone in Stanley's voice, Carl flexed harder, happy that his friend appreciates his He-Man muscles. 

As mandated by the government, we had to wait for 30 minutes for any side effects to show up before we could leave.

Stanley made full use of the time and widened the scope of his radar eyes, ready to fantasize.

Carl was lost in his own thoughts and began nodding off, looking like he might topple over anytime and cause the young volunteers to panic.

I was soaking in the moment and reality of it.

When I first knew the boys more than 20 years ago, I would never have imagined that we would progress in life together.

Sure, I knew they would be my core group of friends but what I didn't factor in was that we would all one day grow old together.

We're on our way there.

In the last 20 years, we've gone through -- and been with one another -- so many milestones.

University graduation, our first job, Stanley's first car, our respective property buys, and everything else in between -- sharing the joys of new relationships, the tears of loved ones gone, the rare fights over the most petty of issues, and most of all, the love and assurance of people who'd be there for you.

That day, I tell myself that it won't be long that more of our social gatherings in future would involve Dettol-smelling hospital rooms... and, God forbid, that one final day, in a room filled with the cloying scents of flowers and weeping peers at one of our wakes.

As the three of us walked out of Queenstown CC that day, I put my arms around Carl and Stanley, so glad that the three of us are literally walking towards old age together.

"I never thought I'd say this," Stanley said breaking the silence.

"At this age and day in time, I would prioritise getting a booster shot over a Vodka shot or a cum shot."

 

 

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

You Gotta Move It Move It

In the Heterosexual Textbook for Couples, boy marries girl, boy and girl move in to Punggol (or Sengkang), boy and girl give birth, get highly strung, eventually grow old and fat and die.

In the Homosexual Textbook for Couples, boy meets boy, boy and boy move in to one of the old HDB estate flats (which would be renovated and decorated with style), boy and boy don't give birth, get high, eventually grow old and beefy and die. 

Carl the dense one is naturally confused with the analogy. 

"What are you studying now Adam? Why is your textbook so strange?" our slow friend asks, displaying textbook dimwittedness. 

If Carl were a textbook, his font size would as large as his python sized biceps, the pages filled with colourful illustrations meant for kids. 

Stanley my sex bunny friend is, however, quick to get the memo.

"Whichever textbook you're talking about, I suggest we go to the contents page, scroll down to look for the sex part, and dive straight into that chapter," my slut friend says, displaying textbook quick wittedness. 

If Stanley were a textbook, his font size will be as per prescribed by the publisher but one has to keep reading between the lines for constant innuendoes. And yes, Stanley's pages will be filled with way too colourful illustrations not meant for kids. 

I was having one of my brain fart moments, pondering about life in general when I messaged the boys in our WhatsApp group. 

In particular, I was thinking about J and my future. 

If the two of us were to follow the Homosexual Textbook for couples, we would by now have moved in together and done the things most gay couples do. 

When J and I first got together in 2002, moving in was part of our eventual plan. 

But we made those plans in our early 20s and we each had big dreams to fulfill first, and we agreed to work on them.

J's dream is to play real life monopoly, collecting properties to rent them out and then retire at 50. 

At 43, he's almost there -- he now has two and is planning for his third purchase. Already, he's started talking about quitting his job -- and learning a new skill just for fun -- once he is receiving two sets of rental income.

My dream was simple. To continue to be a slave to my work, and devote 100 per cent of my time to it while I'm at it. And unlike J, I don't want retire any time soon for I truly love what I do by day. 

And while I also do love what I do by night (with J), I eventually got used to living apart from J.

Which got me thinking. 

What if, in our 20-year relationship, we have grown too comfortable with our current arrangements?

What if we were too old to adapt to a life under one roof and started rocking the boat?

Stanley my sex bunny friend says I'm thinking too much, and that any rocking at our age -- whether under one roof or sheets -- can only be a good thing.

Carl the dense one says I'm studying into this situation too much and shouldn't read confusing textbooks.

But I can't help it. 

I don't think I make a good candidate to live with.

From a relatively young age, I had gotten a taste of independence and loved it greatly.

During national service, I moved from the West to the far-flung borders of Singapore because my camp was so damn remote, and for almost 2 years, I had the best time living like a happy bachelor. 

When I studied overseas, I had stayed in a good Catholic hostel just for boys, something which I enjoyed too.

I recall Stanley's numerous attempts to fly over and explore the Down Under in my good Catholic boy hostel. 

Back then, I had my own tiny, tiny, tiny room (the size of two toilet cubicles), and I truly enjoyed that living arrangement. When I was done feeling cramped up in that tiny lot, I can easily hang out with friends in the living or studying or dining areas. 

I grew to like that sort of independence where I know I have friends when I need them, and feel assured enough that I can retreat back to my private space whenever I pleased. 

In my second year, I did the unthinkable -- I moved into a huge house just slightly off campus, with a few other Singaporeans.

It was mostly enjoyable for the first few months but soon, I starting plotting various ways to poison my housemates over the tiniest things: So and so didn't do the dishes. That person didn't lift the toilet seat. There's no more bread and milk!

Perhaps the best thing out of that year was that I became closer to my roommate Eric Lum whom I later had a child with (read about my godson here).

In my final year, I moved out partly because I missed staying alone and mainly 'cos I didn't want to commit genocide on my housemates who're thankfully still alive for me to keep in touch with today. 

When I got back to Singapore, I worked towards buying my own place and soon, life living alone was good again. 

I know I love J very much and want to make a life with him together. 

But now that I'm so old and used to my own habits, I really wonder if moving in together could shake up a two-decade relationship. 

On paper, I know that there's no happily ever after in our daily lives as a couple. 

The thing about sleeping with your loved one after a night of intimacy and waking up the next day smiling at each other and sharing a kiss? That's rubbish. 

Early into my relationship with J, I have learnt that sleeping with him can be deadly: His head threatening to cut off blood supply to my arm in the middle of the night. 

J would often complain that "you no longer want to cuddle with me when we sleep" because spooning him means having to curl my spine up like a prawn and it's not exactly comfortable.

And when we wake up in the morning, we don't magically open our eyes at the same time.

J wakes up a lot earlier and would tickle me till I could wriggle and giggle no more. Okay, that part is sweet -- though I may not say the same 20 years down the road when I have arthritis or something. 

In fact, there are many things that are sweet about me and J living together. 

Though I said we lived apart, I do stay over regularly at his place for long stretches. 

During those times, we eventually established a routine. 

On weekends, J would make coffee for me in the morning, and make breakfast while I brushed my teeth. 

Or if J tickled me early enough, we'd walk to the nearby Chomp Chomp food centre for chwee kueh.

On weekdays, I would be the one who would come home later than J. 

And when I'm back, J would heat up food for me while I showered, and would sit with me at the dining table while he continued killing zombies on his phone. 

We have grown to feel comforted with each other's presence even when no words are exchanged. 

Oh, and we have come to a point where I can fart and shit in front of him while he showered without taking out the romance in our relationship.

Stanley was naturally horrified. When you're with your lover and insert things into your orifice, it can be romantic, but the moment you expel things out of your orifice when your partner is around, there is nothing romantic about it, he once said to me. 

"If he didn't break up with you when you break wind, he's a keeper," Stanley said that day, ending my brain fart moment. 

Perhaps, I think too much. 

Even though J and I aren't following the typical Homosexual Textbook For Couples, it doesn't mean we won't ace the subject. 

If we can make our own rules in our early twenties and stick to them, then surely, 20 years later, we can continue to shape our rules and stick to them?

After all, textbooks are just a guide for beginners and when it comes to real-life situations, it's how we apply knowledge and react accordingly that truly matters. 

Plus, in J's words, "We both know you don't make a good housemate. But who's to say you won't do well as my lover in our future home?"

 

 

 

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

Meeting the Family

This Chinese New Year, the most dreaded question of When Are You Getting Married shall be fielded by my sister, 46-year-old Ms Lee.

She had brought it upon herself.

And right now, it is being brought closer and closer.

The Eagle has landed, my cheeky brother Barry spoke into his wrist. 

The younger Lee is a huge fan of Hong Kong cop movies and right now, he's playing out a scene that is known only in his mind. 

"All units, standby. The Eagle has landed."

On cue, the matron of the house Mrs Lee stands up, straightens her yellow cheongsam and casually strides over to me and whispers, "how long you think this time?"

"Happy New Year mummy," my sister says as cheerfully as she can humanly manage at our doorstep, her eyes crinkling into slits above her mask. 

"This is Eric. Dear, this is my family."

Mrs Lee immediately heaves a big sigh of relieve and before Eric could remove his shoes and take out the Mandarin oranges from his mini red paper bag, our mum took Eric by his wrist and dragged him into the house.

Younger brother is equally, if not, more relieved. He started clapping, patted Eric on his shoulder, and skipped to the kitchen, before returning with a tray of Tiger Beer and Bak Kwa. 

You see, my sis has always been very secretive about her love life and even though we both are super close, she had only recently revealed she'd been dating.

She told me about her "partner" only four months prior to Chinese New Year.

To be fair, my sis has always been dating around and her relationships had never been long enough to last for two back-to-back Chinese New Years.

Over the years, she's become more careful and selective with revealing information about her boyfriends.

So about a week before Day One of Chinese New Year, my sis dropped the bombshell during a pre-CNY lunch at Asia Grand that she's bringing someone over.

My mum kicked me under the table urgently while remaining as calm as a seasoned mahjong player dealt with a good hand. 

She picked up a dim sum morsel, gently dipped it into the chilli sauce while her sandal continuously poked violently at my shin under the red table cloth.

I felt like I had to do something.

"Ouch," I enunciated so that the word came out as a warning

Mrs Lee turned very slowly at my direction and looked at me with extreme serenity. "Yes, son?" 

I backed down and shoved a Siew Mai in my mouth. 

During lunch, my sis shared only that much her partner and the key pieces of info were that he's an elite fire fighter, he has good built and rides a bike.

Mrs Lee later said to me "habis lah, your sister dating Melyau."

But right now, Eric is far from Melayu -- after he paid CNY greetings to my mum (in perfect Mandarin, mind you), younger brother Barry thrust a can of beer in his hand, to which Eric obliged and the two found companionship and bonded over two tin cans. 

My sister found me in the kitchen and asked me "how? What do you think?"

To be honest, Eric looks like a great catch.

Polite, simple, honest, and most importantly passionately altruistic. 

And of course, Eric is younger.

My sis has never dated anyone her age firstly because anyone her age would either be married, divorced or gay -- or weird. Secondly, my sis, though all of 46 years old, can pass off as a 30 year old spinster.

"Bachelorette," she corrects me on the spot. 

And so when she puts herself out there in the dating market, younger guys like Eric would naturally swipe right on her.

"I love that guy," Barry says as he bends down to fetch two more cans of beer. "He's telling me a lot of exciting stories about fire fighting work!"

My sis smiles, knowing that whomever she brings home to meet the family during CNY would be warmly embraced.

We had always been supportive of one another and had each other's back.

When I first brought my partner J to meet the Lees some 20 years ago, my sis and brother had been pillars to me.

They made sure J felt accepted and they kept engaging J so that he would feel welcomed in the family.

Now, it's our turn.

Though Sis always brings different guys back for CNY over the years, she can always count on Barry and me to make her partner feel welcomed and loved.

Just then, my mum came into to scoop Longan dessert from the stove.

She stared in my direction and when Sis wasn't looking, Mrs Lee mouthed the words "how long?"

To quell Mrs Lee's innate kaypoh aunty personna, I did what my sex bunny friend Stanley would do.

"I think he's a good 7 inches, if you ask me."

Mrs Lee choked on her saliva and kicked me in the shin.

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