Micro Soft

Over supper at Swee Choon last Friday night, Carl our dense friend shared with us what he described as "a very private recent development".

"I hope it's not about your sex life," Stanley warned as he poured us one round of Chinese tea.

"Anything that's private has to do with sex," Stanley said with determination.  "And the last thing I want is visuals of you in my mind, having Muscle-Mary sex."

Carl shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"So," Carl began with his favourite clutch word.

"I started working out seriously two months ago," Carl began.

"Hunny, I've known you for almost 20 years - it's about bloody time you did so," Stanley said, referring to Carl's never-ending quest of eating to bulk up so that he can have enough mass to work on.

"Anyway," Carl continued with his other favourite clutch word.

"I am so serious that I'm eating steroids," he said.

Stanley froze for a split second.

"That's it? You worked up so much of my emotions just to tell me this?" Stanley the drama queen said.

"If I had known that your private recent development is you putting steroids - instead of other more exciting items - in your mouth, I would have cancelled today's supper," Stanley went on, nearing hysteria as he spoke.

"Come, your favourite deep-fried mee suah kueh," Stanley said lovingly to Carl as he set one morsel of Swee Choon's signature dish on his plate.

Carl shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"I'm not done yet, actually," Carl said and bit his lips.

Stanley the drama queen paused and turned slowly with deliberation towards Carl.

"Okay, go on," Stanley said slowly, enunciating his words like he was giving Carl a final warning.

"There are side effects," Carl said, mimicking Stanley's slow-paced tone.

This got Stanley very stirred.

Sensing potential drama, Stanley leaned forward and whispered urgently.

"Spill," he said with theatrical flare.

Carl was about to open his mouth when Stanley cut in.

"Wait! Boys," Stanley said with annoyance.

"This is serious stuff. Come on, lean forward with me. React along," Stanley waved at us enthusiastically.

I rolled my eyes and gave in.

"I...I think I have erectile dysfunction," Carl whispered.

Stanley's eyes widened like they were relaxed testicles in a tub of hot water.

Carl looked from me to Stanley for reaction.

Stanley's jaw parted like he was ready to receive not one, but two German sausages.

"Well," I ventured, not really sure what my next sentence would be.

"Can we cancel our tofu orders please," Stanley suggested timidly, not sure if it was appropriate to crack a joke about something so serious.

Carl burst out laughing.

Actually, we couldn't distinguish if it were laughter or tears - he sounded like a muffled hyena.

"How long has it been?" I ask with genuine concern.

Stanley cut in.

"Seriously? You are concerned about the length now, Adam?" Stanley chimed in with perfect timing.

Carl burst out laughing - for real.

Turns out, Carl had been feeling out of sorts for at least a week before he felt that he couldn't keep it to himself any more.

"You shouldn't take that long to spill the beans just because you take that long to spill your seeds," Stanley said, Queen of Puns.

"It must be hard on you," said Stanley, pushing his luck.

Carl frowned at him.

I slapped Stanley's wrist on Carl's behalf.

Okay, back to Carl.

Carl first started noticing something amiss almost two weeks after he starting using steroids.

At first, he sort of lost interest in having sex (although in comparison, Carl doesn't really venture out to look for men the way our sex-bunny friend Stanley does).

Carl initially mistook his dwindling libido to be the cause of having overworked himself in the gym.

But as days passed, Carl eventually felt that something was wrong because, in his words, "the other day, I was doing the deed when my member failed me".

This got Stanley very worried.

"Define member," he said cheekily.

Before Carl started to shift uncomfortably in his seat, Stanley continued, "okay, I was kidding. Define failed".

According to Carl, "failed" means that he had managed to get his member up - but while Carl was distracted with a phone call, his member quietly deflated.

"I want to know why you had to pick up that phone call while you were, you know, indulging in self-happy time," Stanley demanded.

Erm, that's not quite the point, Stanley dear, I said, trying to stay focussed.

Ok, point is, Carl's erection couldn't be maintained. And that got him very worried.

For the next few nights, Carl tested his goods.

Again and again.

And he was finally determined that he had a problem.

Back at our Swee Choon supper table, Carl stirred his pork congee listlessly.

"How?" he asked into his bowl of hot porridge.

"Well, for a start, you need to nail the problem on the head," Stanley said.

Nobody took the bait, so Stanley carried on.

"You know a few things. One, you have an issue. Two, this could very likely be caused by steroids," Stanley said seriously.

"So you know the root cause of this problem - and it's still in its early stage, so you decide, Carl. You want hard muscles and soft pee-pee, or you want soft muscles and hard pee-pee?"

Carl shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Or," I suggest helpfully, "you go see a doctor and see what your options are".

Ah, doctor.

The scenario Carl was trying to avoid.

To know you have ED is one thing. To officially seek a doctor's advice is another - because that act seals the deal.

For many men, especially men nearing their forties, and especially gay men nearing their forties, having ED is like a death sentence.

Even if one does not always make full use of his tool, knowing that one's tool is faulty is very worrying.

A functioning penis is what probably defines a man.

Well, that, and many other things too. But you get the idea.

It's like how women might feel when they go through menopause because a natural part of their womanly system no longer functions.

Stanley thinks that ED is a natural retribution to gay men who overuse their members - although Stanley insists that his member is still a hard worker.

But Stanley the versatile is resilient.

"Go with the flow, my dear Carl," Stanley said in serious consolation mode

"If you can't get hard, then just be a bottom for the rest of your life lah," he said.

It's a very natural progression, Stanley insists.

You go with the flow, he said.

If you can't get hard, be bottom. If you can't be bottom, be top.

According to Stanley the homo expert, some gay men - who have been bottom all their lives - suddenly find that nobody wants to top an uncle.

So what do the bottom uncles do?

They switch roles and be tops, so that they brand themselves as sugar daddies.

Carl continued stirring his congee, not buying any of Stanley's arguments.

"Why me," Carl asked his bowl of porridge.

"Think about it - if you don't appreciate a staff, of course he will quit right?" Stanley said, referring to Carl's respectably un-promiscuous lifestyle.

"Yes, and one day your overworked staff will quit 'cos you're such an overbearing boss," I scolded.

"My member won't quit. I may overwork it, but I'm a nice boss," Stanley said, smiling.

"Because I leave it to do what it wants, and I'm not a micro manager," he continued, pleased with himself.

"Sorry Carl dear, I don't mean to keep targetting at you but seriously right now, you are indeed a soft target," said Stanley the bitch, who's on a roll.