2-Week Break

Dear readers,

This post should have been put up earlier to say that I would be occupied for two weeks and that I wouldn’t have time to blog.

Next week, I’ll be back. 

See you guys again on my weekly updates with the boys!

Wet Blanket

It’s the time of the year when gay men all over the world would descend on Bangkok to get naked and wet (not necessarily in that order).  

And I, quite frankly, loathe it.

The entirety of it. 

And it's not because the poor country had just gone through earth-shattering tragedy (God bless all the crushed souls from the recent Myanmar quake).

Gone are the days when Songkran of Thailand are viewed as traditional festivities where people smeared powder on each others’s forehead or poured (not splash) water on the hands of loved ones to symbolise blessing and washing away of sins.

No.

Thanks to an out-of-control Thai Tourism Board narrative that painted Songkran as some G-circuit party to be at, the sanctity of that festival has been, well, severely watered down.

I don’t mean to pour cold water on Songkran for the gays but it irks me that all that pops up in my social media feeds from friends during this time are images of half-naked (and I can’t even say for sure it’s top half) beef cakes in shorts tinier and tighter than Tinkerbell’s wardrobe.  

“Adam. You’re growing old to be a mean, grumpy grand dad. What’s wrong with a little bit of fun?”said Stanley my sex bunny friend who has secured a ticket to exactly one of those circuit parties in Bangkok next week.

I rolled my eyes and helped myself to more Chardonnay.

Carl the dense one, who usually has no idea what’s going on around him or the world, pushed his empty wine glass to me for a refill, then announced “I’m also going to Bangkok for Songkran.”

Credit must be given when it’s due — I’m proud of Carl for knowing that it’s Songkran in Thailand. For someone who is unsure when Singapore marks national day, Carl deserves a medal.

Both of my closest gay friends have been long time fans of Bangkok — from the city’s cheap street food and weekend market buys to the best of what seedy silom can offer: Gogo boy shows, saucy massages and the yearly gay circuit party during Songkran.

The two of them are travelling separately: Stanley with his Out in Sg running friends (comprising mainly angmoh expats with both too much leave days and money to spare and a mission to use Singapore as a springboard to other regional holiday destinations) and Carl with his gym buddies (all of whom beefcakes with too much muscles to spare and therefore has to strip and splash).

“It’s gonna be wild and wet,” Stanley said, unwittingly writing the slogan for every pride event worldwide. “Come with us!” he added, unwittingly writing the script of every porn film worldwide.  

I chose to be a wet blanket, refusing to go with the flow, sprinkle or splash.

“What’s so wrong with it, Adam. What made you so bitter,” asked Stanley who’s in the mood for a deep dive into my thoughts.

I took my wine glass, swirled my Chardonnay around, watching the wine spin in one swift motion like it was in a top-load washing machine.

And then Stanley asked daringly.

“Are you still homophobic?”

Carl looked up from picking a morsel of cheese from his tooth, shocked by the latest development at Stanley’s dining table in his Queens Close home.

I took a sip of my wine, set the glass thoughtfully on the table and weighed carefully what I should say next.

Stanley looked at me accusingly demanding an answer.

Carl also looked at me desperately, demanding an answer - which is in keeping with his character.

Okay. I will admit this. I am homophobic.

Carl gasped audibly.

“The cheese just won’t come off!”

Stanley waited.

You see, Stanley knows me inside out and years ago, we had a deep discussion on this topic.

He made me realise that I’m homophobic.

It’s funny because, you know, because I’m as gay as can be.

I’m not in denial. I’m not one of those repressed, suppressed types who lash out at other gays just because I’m stuck and trapped by my own fears and insecurity.

No. I’m one of those who’ve acknowledged my being gay but dislike certain aspects of it.

It’s like how I can be, on the one hand, proud of my nationality but on the other, ashamed or loathe the ugly Singaporean aspect of it.

Such as when we’re overseas and at the airport counter, you get one of those Singaporean Karens who rudely makes demands in their Singlish at the poor airport worker, thinking they’re so damn superior because they hold the red passport of a first world country.

Carl was getting more confused and frustrated by the minute.

“Why is this cheese so sticky?!”

So, in that same spirit, I can embrace my being gay, and yet be homophobic about it.

Okay, maybe homophobia is too strong a word.

I loathe certain aspects of homosexuality but in general, I’m ok with it.

Stanley looked at me as if I were now one of those Singlish Karens.

Carl also looked at me with frustration.

“Stan, can I brush my teeth here?”

Stanley waved Carl off to the drawer where he keeps stolen hotel toothbrushes and continued his focus on me.

I just hate that these images — splashing beefcakes and sprinkling fairies at circuit parties— are going to define us. People are going to take one look and go “ah, these gays,” I said to Stanley.

Not wanting to let go, Stanley pressed on. “What is so wrong with that? It’s part of gay life.”

Also not wanting to get go was Carl’s stubborn cheese.“What is wrong with this cheese?!” he screamed from Stanley’s bathroom.

I find it frustrating that gay people are not doing themselves a favour, making it easy for the straight community to use these imperfections against us.

“Imperfections,” Stanley repeated after me. “Interesting. Do gays need to be perfect?” he asked sounding very much like an established shrink.

“YES!” FINALLY!” came Carl’s victorious cries from the bathroom, sounding like an accomplished dentist.

I’m not sure what to make of Stanley’s observations.

I didn’t want to be dismissive. So I thought deeper.

Do I hate gays? No.

Do I disagree with the things we sometimes do which gives the rest of us a bad name? Yes.

News headlines of child molesters, intentional HIV spreaders, and shallow party animals who get caught photographed in their white underwear in a drug and sex party raid. These frustrate me to no end.

And so when we have these Songkran party types around, it’s gonna add onto the list of things people can hate gays for.

Stanley leaned forward, thoughtful and serious.

“I hear you,” he said, as if reciting shrink textbook lines when talking to psychopaths.

“But how about focusing on the positive of the gays?” he suggested.

“There are so many successful gays around — just look at who’s in my place right now: You, me. Your lovely partner J too. And the famous ones like Boo Junfeng who’s not ashamed of gays and is a successful film maker.

“Adam, you must not be so harsh on your own kind.

“If you focus on the bad, it’s just going to eat you up,” Stanley said lovingly.

“You have to let go.”

Carl the dense one entered the living room right this moment and chimed in.

“Yes. Letting go can be the most satisfying thing ever.”

 

 

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

Attachment Issues

In keeping with Stanley's recent push for the three of us meet and do things other than eating and drinking, Carl the dense one and I found ourselves with sweating alongside Stanley the sex bunny and various men in all shapes and sizes.

Carl was in his element, feeling confident and right at home at Fitness First. With his python sized biceps and a puffed up chest that looks like an amour made out of flesh, Carl struts around the gym with an easy air of superiority.

Stanley's air wasn't so superior. It was very breathy. Our sex bunny friend was huffing and puffing, struggling to steady his hands with a 12kg dumb bell.

I have never been one to enjoy gymming. 

Even in my NS days when I was at my fitness peak, I've never been able to bulk up.

Yet, the three of us, in our mid-40s, are still in great shape.

"I had an epiphany the other day," said Stanley, the king of epiphanies. 

"What now," I said. 

"Adam, you lift like a girl," Carl said without judgement. "5kg is too light for you."

"I like lifting like a girl," I said. "Anything heavier than 5kg and I'll end up having swollen muscles like yours."

Carl gasped and covered his biceps protectively from my harsh comments. 

"As I was saying," Stanley said after his last set on the bench, "I think I want to dedicate my time to finding a man."

A plump girl who was stretching on a yoga mat a few metres away looked in our direction and secretly turned down her AirPod volume. 

"Do you mean a man for sex?" Carl asked.

The plump girl stretched towards us for better listening. 

"Well, yes and no. I am on a prowl and I want to find a proper boyfriend but I won't turn down any delicious side dishes along the way," Stanley said.

The plump girl, whose core could no longer defy her own weight nor gravity, could hold it no longer and lost her balance. 

Stanley didn't bat an eyelid even as Carl went over to help her. Carl really feels at home in a gym. He knows exactly where the dumbells are, what each machine is for, has friends around the gym and doesn't look out of place with his bulky frame.

"And haven't you already been doing that, Stan? Looking for men?" I asked.

 "Well, yes, but I think I need to widen my search. I'm not looking hard enough," Stanley said.

"This looks hard enough or not," Carl asked, flexing his arms as he returned to the conversation after his heroic duty.

"Wow you are witty in the gym, Carl," Stanley noted. 

Carl took a self-invented bow, curtsying while flexing his biceps. 

Stanley and I moved away from Carl and took our conversation to the water cooler. 

According to Stanley, his time is now or never. 

 

At 45, he's no longer at his prime but he's lucky enough to still look good. 

 

His body is still passable for a swipe-right because he does maintain his figure well. 

 

"But I can't guarantee I'll look like this forever," Stanley said.

 

"It's not easy for gay people to get attached the older they get. Sometimes, I'd rather be a straight man cos they have it so easy. Women don't judge men the way gay men judge men."

 

"But Stan, finding a partner isn't as easy as going to the fish market to select whatever you want you know."

 

"True, but there's an art and a science to it all," Stanley said, sounding slightly crazy. 

 

Our conversation was interrupted by Carl who was grunting away with a particularly heavy set.

 

"First, there must commitment. For me, it's a case of the spirit is willing and the flesh is not weak. Oh no. The flesh is not at all weak. It's very hungry," Stanley said. 

From the corner of my eye, the plump girl crept up towards us and listened in. 

"Once I have that mindset that I'm ready for a man, my physical body and mindset will adjust themselves and get ready for a manhunt," Stanley reasoned, sounding crazier by the minute. 

Also adjusting her physical body was the plump girl who found these two chatty gay men more interesting than her yoga stretching. She continued standing near us but launched into some yoga pose just to prove she was there to workout, not eavesdrop. 

"So what are your action plans, Stan?"

 

"Trust me, my action plans involve a lot of hip thrusts."

 

Plump girl lost her balance momentarily. 

 

"First, it's the mindset. If you open up your mind to receive the men in your life, the men will come," said Stanley who has reached levels of craziness that's beyond help.

 

Plump girl instinctively switched to a happy baby pose as if she too wants to open up and receive men. 

 

"What did I miss," said Carl whose veins on his temples, neck and biceps were about to burst but hadn't broken a sweat.

 

"Stanley wants to strategise and find a man," I summed it up.

 

"Good for you bro!" Carl said, and gave Stanley a friendly Mike-Tyson punch.

 

"Who even is he," Stanley asked me in disbelief, seeing how a gym-Carl is so different from the outside-of-gym Carl.

 

"I'm just afraid that I'll no longer be physically attractive and no men will want me," Stanley said.

 

"But if men want you only for your physical looks, they don't deserve you at all, Stan."

 

Plump girl nods in agreement. 

But Stanley is clear. 

He wants to -- needs to -- find a man ASAP. One who could potentially be his lifetime partner because he wants to be attached. 

Knowing Stanley, he's the type who would go all out to achieve his goal. 

"I'm rooting for you, if that's what you want," I said.

 

Plump girl wiped a tear from her eyes.

 

"Yes. I want a man. But for now, I think I need a woman. A supportive woman who has been in my life and not left me since."

 

And then Stanley went over to plump girl, introduced himself and shook her hand. 

 

 

 

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

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