First Time Exerpeiences

The other day, Stanley wanted to shake things up and meet to do things other than putting food and alcohol into our mouths.

 

And so, we stripped, got naked and sat around with a bunch of sweaty men of all shapes and sizes.

 

Stanley the sex bunny, Carl the dense one and I have been very close friends for nearly 30 years and during those three decades, we'd seen one another naked.

 

"We should do this more often," Stanley said as he sat himself on a stool getting ready to scrub his body for our onsen session. "Oh, 3 o'clock," Stanley leaned in and whispered. Carl the dense one instinctively craned his neck to look at the clock.

 

"That uncle's penis looks like a cigarette and trust me, nobody a'int wanna suck that," said Stanley who ought to wash his mouth with soap. 

"Have you been working out Adam?" Carl the dense one asked, puffing up his chest and flexing his python sized biceps to punctuate his question.

 

"Oh, thank you for noticing," I said, pleased with myself. "I've been cutting down on alcohol and apparently, just several weeks of doing so has borne fruit. I can fit into my skinny tailored pants!"

 

"Speaking of fruit," Stanley leaned in and whispered again. "That one," he nudged his head towards the entrance of the onsen. Carl and I turned and were greeted by an appendage that in Stanley's words, looks like a plump, curvy banana. 

 

"We can do this all day, watching penises -- but too bad, we won't engage them," Stanley said like a diabetic child in a candy store.

Carl was first to finish showering. "Let's go soak!" he said, sounding exactly like an excited kid in a candy store. 

 

Perhaps candy store isn't an appropriate analogy. 

"There are no eye candies around," Stanley stated the obvious. "Then again, I'm here with you boys, and we are all in normal bro-mode," he said without any of us entertaining him. 

 

"Oh this feels good," said Carl who has been loving onsens since the three of us discovered the joys of soaking in very hot water 20 years ago, during our trip to Taiwan. 

 

"We should be doing this more often," Stanley agreed, stretching his arms and legs, feeling every ounce of stress seep away from his exhausted body, feeling the 40-degree mineral-fortified water engulf his tired, physical form.

"What's everyone's update," I asked.

 

Carl, who has his white towel covering his face, lifted his arm to give me a weak thumbs up.

 

Stanley grunted.

40 minutes into alternating between one hot tub and another, and then to the steam room and sauna and an extremely cold tub, we decided to dry up, take our first break and have some beer.

"This kimono feels comfortable," Carl the dense one said.

"Darling, I believe that's called a yukata," Stanley replied.

"Tomayto Tomahto," said Carl who was too happy to bother with Stanley.

"I want to have an ice cold beer, something oily and crispy, and then take a snooze in the resting room," Carl went on, producing echoes with his applause as he planned his own future along theYumonori Onsen corridor that led us to its cafe. "It's like going to Disneyland in Japan!" he said excitedly, skipping and leading the way.

 

If Carl were a tour guide, he'd be cheerful but also the one fumbling with his map, not comprehending his GPS directions and not being to answer a single question from his clients.

 

If Stanley were a tour guide, he'd be the type who would exclusively work on sex tours -- from Hatyaii and massage packages targeted at Uncles to the seedy Silom Sois for hungry bois.

 

As we ordered our yuzu beers and crunchy tempuras, we finally got around to talking.

 

"I think at this age, we should do this more often," Stanley said.

 

"There is so much joy to be had, getting naked with other men," Stanley said, "and when it's with your closest boys where we can all be nude and be ourselves, it's refreshing."

 

Carl nodded at his half-chewed tempura approvingly. 

"We need to do more things that are a first," Stanley said. "At this age, we can't afford to be boring."

 

Stanley's recent revelation came because a few nights ago, he experienced a first. 

 

It was the sex bunny's first time riding pillion on a motorbike.

 

"It felt fun and liberating!" Stanley said.

 

"What were you doing behind the motorbike rider's bike that is so fun and liberating," I wanted to know. 

Stanley gave me an evil side eye. 

"How is it that you have, in your 45 years of life, not ridden pillion on a motorbike until recently?" I asked. 

But that ride led to a slippery slope for Stanley. 

I braced myself for an after-ride sex story but I was wrong.

"That first experience got me thinking. Life is too short. There are too many things I haven't tried," Stanley said taking a sip of his Yuzu beer. 

"And trust me. I have tried many things in my life."

True -- Stanley has been very adventurous but most of his activities are confined to the bedroom.

Threesomes, yes. Orgies, yes. Parties with questionable substances -- well, yes. Single penetration, yes. Double penetration, hell yes. Ok, you get the idea.

But beyond those intimate chambers, Stanley has been rather virginal.

"I want to sky dive. I want to go diving. I want to try bungee jumping. I want to do white-water rafting! And I want to see the Northern Lights before I have to move around in a wheelchair," Stanley went on, reciting his wish list that can most likely be met if he had joined Chan Brothers Tour. 

 

Finally, Stanley's source of his desires was revealed.

"That night on the motorbike, I felt so much joy -- and trust me, I have ridden behind men so many times but I've never felt such joy."

 

I waited for Stanley to finish, suddenly unsure what genre of a movie plot was unfolding in front of me.  

"It took me this long to get over my fear of riding pillion 'cos I've never learnt to ride a bike. But when I finally did, I felt such thrill and regret at the same time. It's like, I've finally come to feel things that I would never have felt if I didn't allow myself to!"

 

I was still unsure what genre Stanley was in, given that whatever he said could be a correct script for an actual movie or an action movie of a seedier sort. 

 

"And with such a decent amount of money that we are all earning, cash isn't an issue when it comes to exploring new adventures," Stanley said suddenly roping Carl and me into his monologue and mono-adventurous plans. 

 

Carl looked up from his phone and asked, "what's happening?"

 

"What's happening is," Stanley said raising his beer glass, "that the three of us will from now on, do more than just the usual, tried-and-tested experiences.

 

"It's time to live a little and have more fun!"

 

"I'll toast to that," Carl said without exactly knowing why he's toasting or what Stanley is suggesting.

 

 

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

Wake Up Call

Gone are the days when, in our twenties and early thirties, we part ways with our money, stuff them into red packets just to celebrate straight people’s lifestyles choices.

At our age — dear god, 45! — we are done with our share of angpaos for weddings and baby showers.

These days, people around us readily drop dead like limp penises.

We’ve officially entered an era of wakes and right this moment, Stanley the sex bunny, Carl the dense one and I entered officially entered a wake venue at the Singapore Casket.

Carl looked nervous. He never liked going to wakes. Coffins filled with embalmed dead bodies give him the creeps.

Stanley reminded Carl that coffins that are supposed to have embalmed dead bodies but are empty gives him the creeps.

Carl’s eyes widened, betrayed by Stanley who not only did nothing to comfort his wake phobia but added on to it.

That evening, the three of us collectively came to give comfort to Chris Tan, one of our partying friends whom we met in our very early twenties.

Chris’ dad had passed due to nose cancer. The two of them had an early testy relationship with Chris as a closeted (and therefore) rebellious son who acted out at home. As Chris grew older and had wisdom and maturity, he bravely came out to his dad who, to his surprise, didn’t say anything offensive and hugged him.

For a traditional Chinese dad, Chris told us it meant the world to him.

Years later, both father and son’s relationship strengthened even more when cancer came into the older Tan’s life.

I remember seeing emotional posts on IG where Chris would chronicle his life as a son who cared for his dying dad.

That end came for the old Mr Tan two days ago.

Chris broke the news on IG and moments later, Stanley shared it with Carl and me in our group chat.

“Must we see the body” Carl asked us meekly as we rode the lift up to level three of the funeral parlor building.

“In another context, my answer would be yes to seeing bodies but in this case, I’ll say it’s ok not to view it,” Stanley said to Carl, who blew out deep breaths and nodded.

We soon found the room — no bigger than any typical secondary school classroom — and entered it solemnly.

Eight heads belonging to gay boys of various built, from bears to hunks, turned in our direction.

“Good thing I’m in my tailored black shirt,” Stanley whispered, and then puffed out his chest knowing every wake and crisis can be turned into an opportunity.

Carl on the other hand, shrank further from fear of wakes, his python size biceps lying low.

Chris saw us, stood up and walked towards us, his arms reaching for a hug.

I was unsure if we should air kiss him the way we would greet one another when Stanley answered my question with two audible kisses with Chris.

I hugged Chris tightly and said I was sorry for his loss.

Carl reached out for Chris’ hand and gave him a formal politician’s pump.

“What do you think you’re doing? You’re not an a UN convention,” Stanley scolded Carl. “Show that man some love!”

As Chris led us to the alter, Stanley walked the talk and showed the men some love. He made discreet eye contact with all 8 gay men, mentally assessing each of their eligibility and ranking them from partner and one night stand opportunities, to long-term friends with benefits and strictly friends only. Stanley decided that the skinny and balding gay friend of Chris — the one with slightly bulging front teeth — would fit into the category of strictly friends only.

Carl began feeling faint and held on to me for support as we stood in front of old Mr Tan’s portrait.

Stanley nudged me for support, his eyes signaling me to glance at a partner opportunity who’s seated two tables from the coffin.

We took joss sticks, bowed our heads respectfully and set them onto a classy urn.

Carl quietly faded away into the background in case he had to take part in the next step of the process: Viewing Mr Tan’s body.

Stanley, Chris and I made our way to the head of the coffin to complete the ritual.

Mr Tan looked skinnier than his wake portrait. He was sunken, his the suit he wore looked two sizes too big for him.

“Dad these are my very good gay friends from my clubbing days,” Chris said lovingly.

Stanley curtsied by the coffin and said “hello uncle”.

Carl, who watched the entire proceeding from a few tables away, turned pale.

We were soon introduced to Chris’ friends — the highlight of Stanley’s evening, no doubt.

The 8 friends of Chris came from three groups.

His childhood gay gang (not unlike the support group of me, Stanley and Carl), made up of two skinny men who looked like they needed more nutrition in life.

Stanley mentally shelved the two for future use. Not great but not ugly either. They’re my emergency stash, Stanley told me later.

Then there’s Chris’ NS gay friends: Ronson, Jay and Danish.

Stanley was particularly interested in Danish. A half Chinese, half Malay banker who, though slightly shorter than Stanley, has this pair of almond eyes which he absolutely loves.

“This one can,” Stanley said as if he were on a purchasing trip.

The remaining three were Chris’ work friends. One of them looked so pale and skinny that Stanley said he really looked like he belonged at Singapore Casket.

The other two were jolly old men. Both sporting beer bellies with varying degrees of hair loss.

After a round of pleasantries, Stanley held Chris’ hand and asked how he was.

“Like that lah. What to do,” was Chris’ answer. “He’s no longer in pain. And when he was alive, we both spent quality time and lived without regrets.”

Stanley then turned to Danish and held his hand. “And you’re ok?”

Danish smiled politely and looked around for help.

Time at a wake can pass either very quickly or painfully depending on who’s with you.

For Danish, I’m certain he felt every painful moment talking to Stanley who couldn’t keep it in his pants.

Meanwhile, the rest of us did what we came here to do: Comfort Chris.

It’s so sobering that at age 45, we’re closer to death more than ever before. And we’ll be even closer as we age.

Chris, who is famous for binge drinking and dancing on bars in his younger days, looked like he’s aged rapidly since his dad died.

“Partying, work, chasing all the material needs no longer matter,” he said with a sigh. “At our age, we all need good health.”

The two oldest gay men nodded enthusiastically.

I agreed with them.

I’ve never once imagined that death would be so close to me.

But as we grow older, it’s a fact we can’t escape.

Just like every wedding inspires some to find love quickly, wakes remind me that our longevity is limited and our time on this earth is not forever.

“So, Danish,” I heard Stanley say quietly. “I hope you’re ok? Do you need some company after this depressing wake?” asked Stanley, who is currently chasing all his material needs with zest.

 

 

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

Mother Of All Moves

 I was having a chat with a mother of a 3-year-old kid recently.

“They grow up so fast,” said Pamella and 600 billion other mothers around the world.

“Yeah they do, and we grow old so fast,” said my sex bunny friend Stanley Ong who always manages to steer any conversation either toward sex or himself.

And I hope to dear God, that, in this instance — when the subject revolves around 3-year-old Ethan — it revolves around Stanley rather than sex.

Pamella Chia is a friend of Stanley’s whom I got to know during one of those parties (I actually can’t remember — Stanley has many of those parties).

I like Pam.

Pam has been a career woman all her life even after marriage. A successful banker who loves her job.

But when childbirth came, Pam’s priorities switched 180 degrees.

Suddenly, it’s all about Ethan.

Oh, I can’t bear to travel because of Ethan. I can’t stay late because of Ethan. I don’t think I can come to your party because of Ethan.

Stanley never understood this.

While his life mainly revolves around men (who are neither his son nor family), there isn’t someone (son or partner) to tie him down to such commitments that Pam has.

“May he never grow up so fast and get married and move out,” Pam quipped, already gazing into her crystal ball and launching a future curse on Ethan’s wife whom she’s likely to pick on.

“I’m glad your Ethan wants you around. It’s always good to have a kid who wants mummy rather than pushes her away,” I said with no moral authority of a dad nor son.

My partner J would always say I’m an unfilial child who doesn’t spend enough time with his own mum.

Truth be told, that’s a good thing.

And here’s where I do a Stanley and turn this topic towards me.

The disclaimer should be put out right this moment before I go on.

I do love my mum. Very much.

But sometimes, my lovely mum is also very much.

Mrs Lee is a strong willed career woman who manages everything well: Finances, upbringing of her kids, social life and family life.

But her character is, how should I put it, very overbearing.

People other than her blood relatives and family find Mrs Lee extremely entertaining. She’s funny. And always sociable and ready for gossips of all sorts. And she always has something witty to say about everything.

And I mean everything.

And when there’s nothing witty to say, she will still make comments — and when it’s comments sans humour, it gets a bit much.

Sometimes, Mrs Lee’s innocent interactions with me can get annoying.

Just a very simple example.

Mrs Lee claims she doesn’t compare her kids to anyone.

Not to me.

She dotes on Barry the most and understandably so. And I’m perfectly fine with it.

The bright legal mind of the family is dependable and always around for her.

So sometimes, when I’m home and Mrs Lee needs help — for something as simple as opening a tight jar — she would lose patience with me.

The moment she hands me the jar — and not even 20 seconds into my trying — Mrs Lee would say “cannot ah? If cannot we wait for Barry to come back then let him open lah”.

Very often, I would intentionally say, yeah, cannot. Then walk out to the garden and watch IG reels in the hot sun.

Which is why from a very young age, I found value in moving out and distancing myself from Mrs Lee.

To date, Barry is the only Lee who hasn’t flown the coop.

Our oldest sis left the country after marrying an Aussie. That was in the mid 2000s.

Second sis moved out in her 30s, spending a fortune on a beautiful apartment in River Valley.

I on the other hand, first found freedom during National Service.

Staying away from home, even though I was stuck in an isolated camp, was such a joy.

Stanley at this point reminded me that being stuck in a camp filled with lean, fit, conscripts who’re the fittest of the fits — and who are mostly half naked (top half) when in the bunk — is pure joy for any gay man.

But let me take back control of the narrative here.

I realise time away from Mrs Lee was great.

My precious weekends in my NS days were spent with appreciation. Mrs Lee would come pick me up and go somewhere for a meal with me.

During those meals, conversations were always focused. We haven’t seen each other long enough for her to wanna ask (not comment) about my life and me, hers.

This trend extended itself when I was in uni — I was many miles away from home having studied overseas.

Again, the blissful three years away from home were wonderful. I would email home once a week and would make phone calls back home twice a month (reminder: I was in uni during a time when iPhones weren’t a thing and Skype nor Zoom weren’t the norm yet).

I went home once a year (where I’d spend two months or more) and those moments were again appreciated.

When I started work in my mid-20s, I moved in to one of Mrs Lee’s empty condo units because the rental market wasn’t fantastic and she was waiting to sell it.

During the 8 months of living there alone again did lots for my sanity.

Didn’t last long though, because Mrs Lee eventually sold off the unit and I had no choice but to move back to the family home.

It was a very testing time for me.

After having had my freedom for a long period of time, everything Mrs Lee did at home, under her roof, irked me.

From her constant questions and comments about society in general to her motherly ways of wanting to cook for me regardless how late I worked till. And on days when I’m exhausted from work, she would want to chat about all things in life.

Bear in mind that Mrs Lee retired in my mid-twenties, the time I moved back home with her. So she had all the time and questions and motherly missions in the world.

I know. I’m lucky. But still…

And so, I was determined to plot my way out: Start saving hungrily such that when I was 30, I was able to buy a place of my own and move out.

It was the best decision ever, in maintaining love between my mum and me.

The keys to my then-unit wasn’t just a roof over my head. It was a sanctuary for my peace of mind. And also a party venue for all my family gatherings. Everyone in the family — including my extended family — loved coming to my place for parties.

So having my own place was a great move.

I found that much needed away-time from Mrs Lee and appreciated the much appreciated together-time with her.

I loved that momentum.

Of me going back to my childhood home on weekends for dinner, packing extra food from Mrs Lee to take home to, and having patient conversations with her because I had the entire week of me time and time back home with Mrs Lee — all of 3 to 4 hours — were all hers.

As I reflect on my journey to independence, I am glad for a few things.

That I was fortunate enough to have alone time in my youth, well enough to own my place, and the honesty and maturity to admit that being away from my mum — a move which many may frown upon — is the best thing for our relationship.

Pam went pale listening to my story and I’m sure she made a mental note to hug Ethan once she got home from this heartless friend of hers.

 

 

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

Rent Boys

Three months ago, my sex bunny friend Stanley Ong made a few decisions.

They're rather adult decisions. 

I know, I know. 

I need to be very specific here because given Stanley's track record, adult decisions can offer a whole spectrum of scenarios that can play out from the bedroom and lead to consequences in the courtroom. 

"Oh, this is nice, long and hard," Stanley said, running his hands through the object. "I love the grainy details of this."

Stanley was referring to a dining table -- just being specific here.

The two of us had taken an unofficial day off from work to shop at Tan Boon Liat. 

Unofficial meaning, we're on leave but only we know it. Our bosses and HR don't know. 

Back to Stanley's decisions.

He had finally decided to do something to manage his mid-life crisis and decided to put his extra bedroom on the rental market.

"There goes my free bedroom whenever I stay over," was my first response. 

"Be happy I'm not charging you rent whenever you stay over," came the retort. 

Stanley had been toying with the idea of slowing down at work for the longest time.

Money is important to him, which is why he can't bear to take a huge pay cut and do something more relaxing.

So, being the strategic overthinker and planner he is, Stanley decided to increase sideline money first so that he can kickstart his safety net funds.

The easiest way is to forgo privacy and allow a man into his life for the long term. And getting paid for it. 

"Think about this as a reverse money-boy situation where my hot, hunky tenant is paying me to live in my home," Stanley said.

"And if we have sex, it's a bonus," he added.

I shook my head vigorously. 

"Don't shit where you eat," I said.

Stanley considered this piece of advice carefully. 

Stanley had literally shat where he ate -- or nearish. He once went for a toilet break during dinner only to successfully cruise someone there -- story for another time.

"But you're right. It would complicate matters," Stanley said. "I wouldn't know how much to charge him for, on top of the rent, if that hunk tenant sleeps with me."

Firstly, I like that Stanley has already built his perfect tenant profile right from the start.

According to my sex bunny friend, his tenant will be a hot hunk who finds all sorts of excuses to get naked, blaming Singapore's weather, and would walk around trying to seduce Stanley. 

"Are you listing that as a criterion on Property Guru?" 

"Who said anything about property guru?" Stanley said. "I'm listing my room on Grindr."

This is Stanley hitting two birds with one stone though if you force me to be specific, the bird won't be a bird per se, and the stone that hits the bird won't be a stone per se either.

"It's called widening your net," Stanley said. If you force Stanley to be specific, it's not just the net he wants to widen.

As we strolled into a Bohemian furniture shop selling all things rattan, Stanley thought out loud.

"I like the idea that I'll have rental income. But I am not so sure I'm ready to have a stranger in my home."

Agreed. It's not easy.

I would know 'cos even though I had been a landlord once and am currently a tenant, neither of those situations were live-in. 

I've heard of horrible rental stories involving crazy landlords or crazy tenants living under one roof.

"I've heard of rental stories involving crazy landlords and crazy tenants but darling, they weren't horrible. Saucy, yes," Stanley had to be specific. 

So here's the thing. Stanley needs to know whether he's desperate enough to commit to a year's rent.

Surely, he'll have to get used to a stranger in his home. The types that don't go back to their own homes the morning after. 

But, Stanley reasoned, that this isn't a marriage. It's at most a one-year contract. And I can back out after that. 

"That's the worst that can happen -- that things don't work out, but I'll still have a year's worth of rental income and peace of mind thereafter," he said.

"The best case scenario is, we all get along, I get used to having a tenant and, you know, there are bonuses along the way," he added without needing to be specific. 

And so, there and then at the Bohemian store, Stanley decided he'd do it.

"I'll put up a listing on Grindr and screen people from there and we'll see if they are worth staying in my place for one year, or one night," he said with a very specific action plan in mind. 

 

 

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

Sex And The Scam City

Our wholesome dim sum brunch last Sunday was dominated by a hot topic.

"The food here had better be good," Stanley said, his eyes doing rapid surveillance around Yan Palace, Chinatown. "Since there are no hot waiters around."

Carl the dense one, his partner Adrian, my partner J and I took our seats.

Stanley the sex bunny continued standing and scanning the restaurant and then he looked at me and smiled.

"At least there's one eye candy at the next table," he said, signalling at a fair, bespectacled boy who looked no older than 20, who was serving tea to his grandma. 

"I hope that's not his grandma," Stanley said. "If she isn't, it means he's a sugar boy. And sugar boys can be bought with money, and I can buy him to my side," Stanley reasoned.

If we cracked open Stanley's skull, we might see a network of complicated threads in his head space that links all nodes of various locations to one central spot that spells Sex.

"What's going on there?" Carl the dense one asked, looking up from his menu.

If we cracked open Carl's skull, we might not find anything there. Crystallised protein powder, perhaps. But nothing else.

The important task of ordering was soon under way. 

I made sure I had my pan fried carrot cake (my dim sum staple) and char siew pao requests secured, before agreeing to all other proposals. 

When finally the order chit was submitted to an elderly waitress who looked like a grumpy grandma, Carl kicked started that morning's discussion.

"My credit card is blocked because there are suspicious activities," he said.

"Oh, that's bad. Suspicious activities with a banker is good. With banking, that's bad," Stanley said, his eyes still studying the grandson-who-could-be-a-sugar-boy a few tables away.

"There were three transactions made in the UK. Some Uber trip," Carl said in horror. 

Long story short, Carl called up the bank to resolve it. 

Credit has to be given to Carl who is generally useless and clueless in life but I also suspect his intellectual partner Adrian had a part to play in helping him settle the issue.  

"This is so frustrating," Stanley said. "Scammers are thriving -- good thing they're all being shipped out of their crime hubs in Myanmar," he said.

"Oh? What's happening there?" asked Carl who has no idea what's happening around the world since he's always in his own world.

"You know, I used to be very bitchy to these scam callers," Stanley said.

"Used to be?" I asked.

Stanley rolled his eyes, ignored my backhanded comment, and continued. 

"In the past, I would spend time either scolding them, gaslighting them, or simply waste their time by being annoying. Then I realise some of them may be victims too."

Carl looked very confused. "So are they scammers or victims?" 

News of the authorities in the region getting rid of scam centres had made headlines of late, and this topic found its way to our table which is by now, laid with stacks of bamboo containers of steaming dim sum snacks. 

"These days, when I get scam calls, I simply hang up," Stanley said. 

My partner J added that in recent months, he's been getting less of such calls.

Everyone -- except Carl -- agreed. 

From the corner of my eye, I saw -- and heard -- Carl whisper to Adrian "what's going on?"

While Carl is ignorant about worldly affairs, Stanley is very plugged in -- especially where affairs are concerned. 

"You know, if I were scammed to work in Myanmar, I will thrive.

"I'll be one of their top performers," he paused and looked at us to see if we responded to his sexual connotation and when all of us continued chewing our food, Stanley continued.

"I'll be the one who would march up to the boss to demand to set up a new scam branch and I'll head the unit personally. It'll be a sexual branch where I focus on scamming people by making random calls and indulging in phone sex straight away."

Carl, who loves stories, put his chopsticks down and listened intently. 

"I think I'll thrive there also because I'm living with so many other cute China men.

"Think about it -- we are all herded in communities, we live together, work together, eat together, shower together and sleep together. There's so much bonding that can happen," Stanley said. 

Again, all of us continued chewing except Carl.

"I'm pretty sure I can be top scammer by day and top scammer by night too."

Carl, who realised the direction of the story, joined us in partaking food and stopped paying attention to Stanley.

"All I'm saying is, I'm someone who takes crises and turns them into opportunities," Stanley said.

“The way I see it, scam centres need to evolve. Think out of the box, come out of their crime rings,” said Stanley, assuming the role of chief consultant, head of organised crime  

“At a time when brick and mortar shops are no longer the norm and that everything has gone online, it’s time to buck the trend. Be the first to venture back into the offline. Focus on the physical touch,” said Stanley, giving the phrase physical touch unnecessary emphasis. 

“Like him,” Stanley said, pointing to sugar baby as if everyone else in the restaurant were blind and deaf. “Recruit such types and make them do the old fashioned door to door sale instead of online marketing. There’s a growing market for it,” he said, this time giving the word growing unnecessary emphasis. 

Stanley, pleased with his pitch of a lifetime, picked up his tea cup, sipped, and sighed blissfully at his future door-to-door scam salesman.  

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

Mid Life Crisis

It was an extremely rainy evening.

But reservations were made, stomachs had to be filled and livers had to be doused with lethal drinks.

 

So rain or shine, the three of us -- my sex bunny friend Stanley, Carl the dense one and me -- made our way to an Izakaya at the heart of Singapore's business district.

 

At 6.20pm, all three of us gathered. Nearly half an hour past our reservation time.

 

"My socks are soaking wet," Carl complained. "I feel all squishy inside my shoes."

 

Stanley, who was dry 'cos he was in the area the entire day, said: "Darling, at your age, you should be thankful you're wet at all. And feeling all squishy inside doesn't always need to be such a bad thing."

Carl's bulky shoulders -- framed by his python-size biceps -- drooped.

Our resident gym rabbit can talk about sex any time except during dinner time.

Stanley our resident slut can talk about sex -- and perform acts of sex -- any time even during dinner time.

Remind me to tell you a story about how, once, during a toilet break at dinner, Stanley stole away for a quite snack in a nearby lavatory. 

 

But at present, Stanley and I are busy looking at the menu while Carl shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

 

"Hmmm... everything looks so good," Stanley said, struggling to order something.

 

Carl too was struggling to keep things in order and finally gave up.

 

He bent down to remove his shoes and socks, and smiled widely at us.

 

"Carl dear, there's nothing to smile about. You know people can see you're acting like an uncle with your wet feet right? The next thing you know, you'll be rubbing the in-betweens of your toes and sniffing your fingers."

 

Carl tilted his head thoughtfully, as if considering that possibility, since he had once upon a time tasted his booger out of curiosity.

But Carl was too blissful to care and just smiled in satisfaction, rubbing his wet feet on the sleeves of his jeans.

"Let's do the grill set and then top up," I said.

"There's nothing you said which I do not like -- grilling and topping are some of my favourite things in life," Stanley said.

 

"Carl, apart from smelly wet feet, what are you having?"

 

Food was soon served and warm sake was appropriately poured.

 

"How are you coping with your alcohol addiction, Adam," Stanley asked, the sake bottle hovering my glass as if he didn't want to waste a single drop on me.

 

"I'm not an addict and I'm drinking tonight, I said." 

 

Stanley raised the sake flask at me. "Amen and I'll drink to that."

 

"So, what's new?" Stanley asked.

 

"I'm just tired at work. I think it's taking a toll on my health. I was ill last week and still powering through," I said sulkily.

 

"I won't even with you," Stanley chided. "You're killing yourself with work. You'll need to think about your future. You're no longer young."

Carl chimed in at this moment. "I'm just thinking, if my feet are dry now, when I wear my shoes later on, they'll be wet again," he said with a pout, obviously thinking about his future too. 

"You know, I've been thinking about this a lot too," Stanley said. 

Carl brightened up, happy that Stanley was concerned about his not-so-happy feet situation. 

"We're slightly way past our mid life at 45, and I have been toying with the idea of slowing down too."

 

Carl's bulky shoulders sagged for the second time that evening, and he began distracting himself by studying his drying feet, paying cautious attention to the in-betweens of his toes. 

 

While I've always complained that my workload is burdensome and that I'm constantly tired by it, I have never once thought of quitting. Slowing down... maybe but it's not something I had entertained 'cos truth be told, I love it.

 

Stanley on the other hand, had been saying he wants to slow down for the longest time. Work wise, I mean. He's actually still quite active with men. 

 

But since I'm a supportive friend, I prodded Stanley further.

 

"You see, in less than half a year, I would have finished paying off the mortgage of my Queens Close flat. What's more, I now have a constant stream of rental income from the other room (again, remind me to share that story for another day)," Stanley said, as he skillfully extricated meat from a skewer, talent he honed from years of practice. 

"And with my savings, I think I can lead a simple lifestyle."

 

"Define simple."

 

"You know, spending less, living a simple life," Stanley said.

 

"Define simple," I pressed on.

 

"Stop it with the fake-lawyering. Just because you sleep with one doesn't make you a prosecutor," Stanley barked back, adding "and you're more pros- than cuter."

 

Carl burst out laughing. Then he looked up from his iPhone and asked "sorry, what?"

 

Truth be told, Stanley can't -- and likely won't -- settle for a simple life.

 

It's been a topic we talked about before.

 

My partner J living a simple life, that's possible. He's near-austere.

 

Stanley, no. 

 

"I mean, I will splurge occasionally and not deny myself luxuries of life," Stanley said.

 

"Define luxury," I said, not wanting to let him off the hook.

 

"I give up," Stanley confessed. "Whom am I kidding. I can only retire if I have a trust fund and the closest thing I have now is a thrust fund."

 

"Define that," Carl suddenly asked. "You mean you set aside money for sex?"

 

"Oh now you join the conversation," Stanley rolled his eyes.

 

Over the years, some of Stanley's slower pace of life includes opening a cafe. Then he decided that there's just way too much work and being a cafe boss doesn't really mean he gets to stay behind the counter and have staff making all decisions for him. 

 

Then he thought about quitting and joining an NGO 'cos it's always so meaningful to work for a good cause, Stanley would argue. 

 

Sometimes, he entertains the idea of being a home baker since he enjoyed baking his grand total of one orange cake.

 

Other half-baked ideas included learning to do lingram massage that would marry money-making skills with merry-making interests. That was actually a viable option for Stanley, given that he has extra room and space in his flat.

 

But at the end of the day, what Stanley truly wants, is his venting of what he can do to slow down his life.

 

"Venting is always a very good means of stress relief," Stanley decided.

 

Knowing his seedy history, I had to ask.

 

"Define that." 

 

 

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

Celebrating Our Next 22 Years

It is cheesy. 

It's a gimmick. 

And it's cliche. 

But still, I managed to convince J, my partner of 22 years, to go on a romantic V-day dinner with me.

So he begrudgingly put on a decent shirt (which is his de facto office wear anyway) and went with me to Skai, a restaurant where people ate and drank 70 storeys above ground level.

For someone who has a fear of heights, J had literally gone above and beyond for me. 

We were brought to our table which boasts of a floor-to-ceiling view of Singapore's skyline. 

I got that view.

J wanted to sit facing the interior of the restaurant.

That evening, we were both surrounded by couples of sorts. 

Encouragingly, there were at least three other same-sex couples -- a pair who look to be in their 30s, a duo of older men (I'm guessing mid-50s?) and two lesbian lovers. 

As we took our seats, a waiter who wore too much perfume for his own good came to pass us our V-day menus. 

J shook his head at the menu and quipped matter of factly that the prices match the sky-high altitude. 

J has never been one of those who'd splurge. 

I mean, he does spend money (on properties and investments) but on little things like V-day gifts or surprise presents, that's just not his love language. 

Mine though, is wanting to spend time together with him whenever I could.

And right now, I'm very contented with my time with J.

It's amazing that I can love someone for more than two decades. 

I'd always been rather self-centred, truth be told.

While I love J to bits, I also love my own space (which explains why I want to have my me-time all these years).

I also put work ahead of everyone -- including J.

On days when I'm overly burdened with work, I push everyone away and J puts up with me 'cos he knows what work means to me.

I'm also sometimes quite too much for J.

Skai is case in point. Left to his own devices, J would suggest having not a V-day dinner but just a normal everyday dinner. At a foodcourt or some bak chor mee stall or something.

But over the years, we've learned to accept -- and perhaps even love -- our flaws.

I used to loathe J's commitments.

Like, I would suggest a holiday and his answer would be "let's see".

Years later, I came to appreciate that his "let's see" is his way of doing his best while protecting me from disappointment. Something I wouldn't have thought of doing for him (let's not list the number of times I pushed him away for the sake of work). 

I don't like (present tense) his dressing style. Wait, the word style shouldn't even be used. Let's try that again.

I don't like (still present tense) his dressing. 

On many occasions, I would have to dress J (which is easy 'cos we're exactly same built) so all he needs to do is to wear my shirt or suit. J hates it, but he does it for me anyway. 

Eventually though, and I can't even pinpoint when that was, I learnt to accept J's shabby ways (except on important events like V-day, our anniversary and friends' and relatives' weddings).

That evening, as we handled sets of heavy cutlery and clinked stemware, I looked at J and thought of how lucky I am. Or we are, perhaps. 

In the last 20-plus years, we've been through many milestones.

To say those milestones are thick and thin would be a stretch since we are both fortunate enough to have smooth lives together (and as individuals). 

Stanley my sex bunny friend's life is thick and thin but that's a story for another day.

In our early 20s, J and I focused on building our respective careers. We also talked about our future.

Back then, our key milestone was to each own a property by age 30. We did that, and J owned two by the time he turned 35. 

In our 30s, we spoke very seriously about financial planning. J took the lead by introducing to me his risk manager and getting her to plan our retirement. Today, we both have a healthy investment portfolio.

Now that we're in our 40s, we're planning for old age. 

Romantic to some, but depressing to me to be honest.

J, always the level-headed one, wanted the two of us to be healthy even when we're old.

Even for my upcoming flat's renovation, J had a hand in making the flat elderly friendly. 

We're also each other's lasting power of attorney.

As I reflect on our relationship for the past 20 over years, I realise just how much we've both matured separately and together. 

Many things have changed for us since we got together in 2002 but many things still remain the same. 

One thing that's different is that J and I no longer care about being gay.

In the past, we would both be hesitant about looking like a couple in public.

Heck that.

And I don't care how others see us too.

That evening, I'm quite sure we were noticed by the other gay couples (and some straight ones).

They may not be judging us. Just acknowledging us in the midst of the V-day crowd.

To them, they would see two guys in their mid-40s celebrating love.

Both of whom with salt and pepper hair.

But that night, all I saw of J was him in his 20s.

His sexy tan, lean bod and his mop of curly hair. 

And when he smiles, his thick lips reveal this crooked canine of his that drives me crazy.

Present tense. 

And as I stare into J's eyes that evening, I know for sure I want to spend the next 22 years with him (and more).

Future tense. 

 

 

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