Can I Have Your Retention Please

Friday evening.  

Just the boys and I.

Stanley the sex bunny and Carl the dense one are late but I’ve started working on a relatively cheap bottle of Pinot Grigio that’s supposed to have fresh fruity pineapple notes and hints of breadcrumbs.

I was given alfresco seating at Wine Connection, New Tech Park.

The heat these days is unforgiving, but I figured it's evening and the nearby water fountain could perhaps provide us some visual relief.

Stanley and Carl arrived together, both looking hot and bothered.

"The heat!" Stanley cursed and looked at me as if I were to be blamed for earth fever.

Carl the dense one began fanning himself with floppy hands like an American high school girl about to be named Prom Queen. 

The heat has turned our beef cake into a cupcake and sweaty dainty princess isn't very happy. 

"Adam, it's sooooooo hot," Carl the dense one complained, his python sized biceps swelling up to a level that's dangerously beyond all acceptable levels. 

"At this rate, I might as well just not wear clothes at all," said Stanley who, to be fair to him, does find all excuses to not wear clothes at all.

Soon, the three of us placed our orders (over-ordering as usual) and it was time for updates. 

Carl the dense one raised his hand excitedly, bouncing in his seat.

"Ok, Carl, updates, go!" Stanley commanded like a game show host. 

"I got promoted!" Carl said, his python sized biceps swelling up to a level that showed an intricate network of veins underneath.

"Jesus, Carl," Stanley stared at the dense one's pulsating biceps, using the name of God in vein. 

It was about time.

Carl had been slogging like a slave at his work place and for the last five years, due to a combination of change in various high-level bosses, always seemed to miss out on a promotion.  

"Are you happy with your pay rise?" asked Stanley, who is always interested in packages. 

"That's the thing... it's not as high as I wanted, but at least, I'm promoted!"

Empty glasses were immediately filled with Pinot Grigio and toasts and congratulations were made.

Our food arrived just in time and we tucked in, as we digested Carl's very happy news. 

Just then, a cute daddy and his son -- who looked to be about 4 -- ran towards the nearby water fountain.

"Oooo, look at that fountain of youth," Stanley said.

"Please tell me you're talking about the daddy," I begged.

Stanley turned to me and rolled eyes for me to see.

The four year old was happily weaving in and out of the spouting water, his little feet making kiddy splashy sounds.

Stanley continued studying this blissful picture, happy for the visual relief.

The daddy is hot! Stanley mouthed the words.

When the water died down, Stanley turned his attention back to us.

"I guess it's my turn to update now," Stanley said.

Carl nodded and put a large piece of cheese in his mouth.

"I'm experimenting with semen retention," Stanley said casually like it's the most normal topic to raise at dinner.

Carl paused in mid-feed, wondering whether to swallow or not.

"I read somewhere that this does wonders to the body. It's like, the longer you keep your semen," Stanley paused and gave Carl eye contact, "the healthier you feel."

Carl, who looked like a chipmunk preparing for hibernation, starting tearing up.

"It's been a week, and already I feel rejuvenated. It's like I have golden essence coursing through my veins and keeping me alive."

"You know you sound like a witch who just ate young children right, Stan," I said.

"Were you planning to eat that kid?" I asked.

"Well, laugh all you want. When we're 50, I'll look like 35."

Carl choked.

"You mean you are going to retain semen till you're 50?" asked Carl, spewing microbits of cheese.

I give this new trend of yours three more days, I told Stan who had once famously argued that men are supposed to be promiscuous because our appendage are hung outside of our body for frequent use.

We ate the rest of our dinner cautiously, hoping our stomach could retain our food given this strangely apt topic.

But Stanley wouldn't give up. 

He started sending the group chat link after link about the benefits of semen retention. 

Carl was shifting in his seat, getting uncomfortable by the minute.

Finally, he set his fork down and patted Stanley on his shoulder.

"Stan, I thought my update was news of the day. 

"I guess I'm wrong. 

"And I must say, you win. Your retention has stolen my attention," Carl said.

Stanley was impressed with Carl's wit.

"Well done, Carl. Great start. Now, imagine what more you can do if you too, retained semen."

 

 

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

The Bloody Askholes

A few weeks ago, I was reminded of a particular species of mankind which irks me to no end: The askholes.

Stanley my sex bunny friend who generally is interested in all species of men, was particularly keen on this category.

"Tell me, who are these askholes and what exactly are their strengths? They sound like a very promising breed of men," Stanley said sultrily as he picked up a Uniqlo tee and measured against his chest.

"Nope, too big," decided Stanley. 

And since when has that been a problem I thought to myself inwardly.

Stanley shot me a look.

Oh, askholes. 

They're generally people who would keep asking others for advice and then they don't take it at the end of the day.

Stanley crunched up his nose and went Ew!

"But these askholes -- they can be cute no?" he added, not wanting to lose hope in humanity. 

Not too long ago, I met an ex-colleague who had many things in common with me.

"Is he cute?" Stanley asked hopefully, seizing every opportunity. 

Lianne is a junior from university who studied the same course as I did. 

Naturally, as political science graduates, we mentally constructed our career paths that would pave the way for jobs in the government or diplomatic service. 

"Oooh, I'm always very keen on foreign affairs," Stanley said, giving the word affairs unnecessary emphasis. 

And since I see Lianne as an eager junior, who shared an alumni with me as well as having worked for two ministries at the same time, I took it upon myself to be her mentor.

At first, Lianne was indeed very promising.

She would ask me out for coffee and seek my advice on work-related matters -- how to tackle a particular project. My assessment of her weakness and how she can improve. How to sharpen her reports. Whatever.

We met informally but on an average of at least once a month.

After six months, Lianne was not showing any improvements.

I know because my peers complained to me about her, and when asked for examples, I realise they were mistakes I had very specifically taught her to avoid.

Then it came to a point when I asked myself: Is she just stupid, or is she trying to create an illusion of how eager to learn she is? 

I mean, there's no other reason I could think of other than the fact that she's an askhole.

After deliberately distancing myself from her (I had the perfect excuse due to work commitments), we reconnected late last year.

And because she was getting married soon, she asked me for financial advice -- such as how to grow my money, my thoughts on property, my views on how to maximise both her and her husband's combined income.

Out of my kind heart, I shared with her all the financial life hacks, from saving and investment tips to ways to maximise SQ miles.

And it was a super tedious process because I made an effort to find her relevant links and catered the advice to her.

Lo and behold, I was to find out from another common friend afterwards that Lianne didn't act on anything I said.

In fact, that common friend's peeve with her was exactly that too: That she's an askhole.

"Next time, pick your battles," Stanley said as he set his purchases into the self-checkout box at Uniqlo.

"If it's worth your time to groom, you groom. Don't waste your time," he said.

"And you better not be an askhole yourself -- I've said my piece and you must not ignore it," said Stanley.

I don't know if I should heed his words.

For someone whose idea of grooming can land him first in the bedroom and then the courtroom, I'm not fully confident I can trust Stanley.

I guess sometimes, one has to be an askhole in life.

 

 

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

Prints Charming And The Wedding

The date was set, the agenda was sent and the dress code was specific. 

Batik.

Late last year, my partner of more than 20 years J casually informed me that I was to be his Plus-One for a wedding.

It was the wedding of our beloved Iggy whom we watched grow up.

Iggy -- short for Ignatius Soewarno -- is J's nephew.

He's always a special little boy to us because he was born the year J and I got together.

In 2002, after J and my first date in Holland Village, I fondly recall accompanying J to withdraw cash at an ATM. "I need to give angpao for my nephew's first month," he said.

Even though J and I weren't super close to Iggy (our contact with him was sort of broken because poor Iggy's home was broken -- a bitter divorce), we kept in touch for yearly family celebrations: Birthdays, Christmas, Chinese New Year.

Overall, I was over the moon when J shared the news. 

After all, we watched Iggy grow up and it is nice to know he will now embark on his own journey as a married man who has found his One True Love.

But I also had mixed feelings.

At 45, my era of attending weddings has officially come to an end. I've had my fair share of the noisy Yam Sengs and the endless groomsman parties of all my peers while I was in my twenties and thirties and the thought of doing that again is exhausting.

And then, there's this curveball of having to wear batik. 

I do not own any batik. 

You see, Iggy moved back to Indonesia -- J's home town -- following his parents' divorce.

Naturally, the entire clan would descend on Jakarta from all over the world for the wedding.

And of course, one has to wear batik for the occasion. 

"You can take one of mine," J said, not understanding the fashion fiasco I was facing. "It's just a wedding lah. Take mine and wear. We're same size."

I walked over to J, kissed him lovingly on his forehead and politely declined. 

I have seen J's wardrobe and there is nothing in there I would want to wear. 

The following week, I called Stanley who, in his regional travels, has experience wearing not only batik but also a respectable fraction of the Indonesian male population. 

True to form, Stanley rose to the occasion.

"So, this nephew of J's. He must be cute huh?"

"But don't worry -- any men who's said I do, I won't do," he said.

Mothers, wives, keep your men away from Stanley Ong anyway, just to be safe.

But I needed my sex bunny friend's advice and true to form, he delivered.

"Batik is tricky," Stanley said to me as he turned into the parking lot.

"You buy the wrong type, or wear the wrong colour, and it can be a total disaster," said Stanley, Regional Director, Cultural and Contemporary Affairs (Affairs being Stanley's only expertise within that title).

Indeed.

J had very roughly explained to me the basics of batik -- its origin, and the taboos of certain prints like the Keris or colour.

"But that's ok -- you're Singaporean. Nobody's going to judge you," J assured me.

Oh, trust me. There will be judgement.

Especially when I'm attending this as J's Plus-One.

Over the years, I have been introduced to all of J's immediate and wider family in Singapore, Indonesia, New Zealand and Australia.

And I take this in-law duty very seriously.

I'm not going to buy just any batik and end up looking like a waiter in Tambuah Mas.

Stanley had driven me to, aptly, Holland Village for my batik shopping. 

His friend's family owns a relatively famous batik store at the shopping centre.

"Trust me. You'll find something there."

I was warming up to the idea as we rode the escalator up to the batik boutique. 

How nice - I had first learnt of Iggy's presence in this world in 2002 when J shared stories of his life during our first date in Holland Village.

Twenty-two years later, I were to get something from Holland Village to mark a milestone of Iggy's.

Provided I could find something, I thought to myself as I stepped into Stanley's friend's shop.

Oh dear, I'm going to end up looking like one of our Singapore ministers in batik I thought to myself as I surveyed the sombre batik pieces. 

"E, this is my dear friend Adam who is in dire need to get a fabulous batik for a wedding," Stanley said as he gave very subtle air kisses to E.

In the corner of the shop was a very elderly gentleman -- who Stanley said was E's father -- who was dozing off at the sewing machine. 

Stanley neither wanted to wake the old man up nor end his life prematurely with a heart attack so he was very careful with both his gay volume and gay antics. 

E, himself a very pleasant looking man who was clad in what else but batik, was given a brief and immediately assured me I will find something I liked.

But not from the display items.

E reached for his phone and called up visuals of various fabric to show me.

"These are all from Surabaya and they're one of a kind. I can show you a sample of how the silk feels from my shop, but once you decide which one you like, I'll have them tailored to your size and delivered to Singapore."

The choice selection was actually very straightforward.

One piece caught both mine and Stanley's eyes, to which E smiled with satisfaction saying "I thought you might like this one".

Over at the sewing machine, the elderly Mr Ang nodded sagely. 

E called up an image of how the fabric would look like in the form of a shirt.

The base colour was black. It featured a phoenix and the magnificent spread of its tail across one side of the chest. The detailing of the mystical creature was set in bright gold and blue. Over all, it was brilliant and dramatic.

"He should make heads turn when he wears this," Stanley instructed E. "And in the correct direction please," Stanley had to add. 

Lucky for me, I had more than enough time to get the batik on my hands.

The entire process would take about two months so by the time the dramatic batik piece was ready, it would be in early-September -- a good two months ahead of the November wedding.

I later texted J and showed him my choice.

He baulked at the image.

It wasn't so much that I had chosen a taboo print.

"$700 for a batik is just crazy," said J who himself is from a Crazy Rich Asian family.

That afternoon, I left the shop feeling every determination to look the part of his Plus One.

"Oh, don't you worry, Adam," Stanley assured me.

"You're almost there -- you're Asian, you're crazy. You'll be fine in Jakarta." 

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

Halfway Mark

It is extremely scary to note how time flies. 

As I stood in the tiny balcony of my tiny rented apartment this morning, I realise half of 2024 has officially gone by, leaving mankind with six more months to do what else needs to be done on this earth before we wrapped up the year.

Where had all the time gone by, I wonder to myself. 

Later that afternoon, as I stepped into my sex bunny friend Stanley's car, I repeated my horrific discovery.

Stanley took one quick glance at me and nodded affirmatively. "Yup, time is merciless," he said without compassion.

Our agenda of the day was very clear: Accompany Stanley to make a few suits, then meet Carl for steak. 

Stanley was in one of his cabinet reshuffle phases where every once in a while, he would decide it was time to freshen up his wardrobe pieces. 

Out with the old, in with the new was the sex bunny's mantra when it comes to clothes, which also applies to his sex and dating life. 

We were headed for Peninsula Plaza to meet his all-time favourite tailor, Daniel. 

"Wah bro, still in shape bro," was one of the first things the impeccably dressed tailor said to Stanley. 

Now I know why Stanley keeps going back.

I had gotten to know Stanley's tailor more than 20 years ago. In fact, we all went to him when we started our first jobs, customising office wear and suits for all occasions.

Daniel must be in his sixties but he is one person who must have made a pact with the Devil for him to look the way he looks now: Trim, fit, youthful.

As Daniel got down to showing Stanley fabric choices for suits and shirts, I again brought up the topic of time.

"Yes bro. You are right. It felt like yesterday when we all started 2024 and soon, it'll be National Day then school holiday, then Christmas, then new year!"

"I know right!" I exclaim excitedly, finally happy that someone other than Stanley knew exactly what I was talking about.

"You know that all Daniel did was recite key milestones of the Singapore calendar right? There was no meaningful exchange to be had there," Stanley whispered cruelly in my ear as the tailor stepped away to attend to a Korean family. 

For the next 20 minutes, while Stanley stood still for measurements, I opened my phone calendar, unable to grasp how speedily time flew.

Just what have I done in the last six months? There is not much time left!

To be fair, my obsession with time is the result of ageing.

I remember distinctly, circa the late 80s, that I wished I could quickly grow up so that I could be a teenager myself. 

Watching my sister as a teen made the idea of being a teen cool. 

She was yapping over the house telephone all day, and was always going out with her friends -- something I too wanted to do.

Then when I was in National Service, I kept willing time to speed up so that I could conclude my service to the nation and embark on my exciting next phase of life -- starting a whole new chapter in a university overseas.

Stanley the sex bunny -- whom I met during NS -- was the exact opposite.

"Why want to grow up so fast? This is the best time of my life," he insisted, as he counted his blessings in the bunk over this conversation decades ago. "Where else can you get to see so many fit, naked men and embrace camaraderie amidst the nation's finest and most elite of young men?"

And then came my mid-twenties. 

As a fresh, young exec who got his first taste of what his monthly pay check could do, I had wished to climb up the corporate ladder fast, so that I too can be the one calling the shots and earning a fat pay check.

Fast forward to my mid-forties.

I have it all.

Or almost had it all. 

Apart from my current state of homelessness after selling my first apartment, I do count my blessings.

A well-paying job, a loving partner of more than 20 years, a close group of friends who include both my gay and non-gay friends. And no worries at all about living it up.

Suddenly, all I want is for time to stand still.

To let me enjoy these fruits of labour a little longer.

Wanting to enjoy his fruits a little longer too was Stanley.

At this moment, tailor Daniel was entertaining two members of the Korean family and they turn out to be extremely distracting.

As Daniel was taking measurements of his clients, Stanley too, did his own sizing up.

The cute Oppa daddy was testing Stanley's limits and the cute Oppa daddy's teenage son was testing Stanley's morals -- and legal -- limits. 

"This is one of the mysteries of how Time works -- it has created this perfect equilibrium where the daddy is yummy,  the son is also yummy," he whispered to me, all the while, his eyes not leaving the unsuspecting Koreans.

I ignored Stanley who was, no doubt, busy writing the plot of a sultry Korean drama in his head.

I was racing against time. 

At 45 this year, I am at the halfway mark of my lifetime.

And at the very moment, I am past the halfway mark of my 2024.

I frantically tried to recall what I had done in my last six months and what I would do in the next six when Stanley, who recognised I was on the verge of a mental breakdown, casually sat beside me, placed one hand on my thigh and said, "breathe."

It's moments like that, that I remember why I truly appreciate Stanley by my side.

And then, "Oooo, oh my god, that ass is so tight!" he whispered urgently, gazing at cute Oppa daddy. 

After a day of shopping -- which was filled with intermittent distraction -- and a very filling steak dinner with Carl, Stanley dropped me off at my rented apartment.

Instead of heading upstairs, I lingered around the pool and sat on one of the deck chairs.

The view was therapeutic. 

The stark, blue pool reflected the hazy bright lights of the low-level condo building.

I took a deep breath and began counting my blessings.

In January this year, I reached the halfway mark of my current rental contract. And so far, so good. No problems with the unit, no problems with the landlord.

In February, I was privileged to be given another generous pay rise (along with more work which I loved) so that was definitely something worth celebrating.

In March, I threw myself into work, travelling around the region for work-related meetings. It was exhausting but it was immensely satisfying, especially when I loved my job. 

In April, I took a nice, romantic short holiday with J my partner of than 20 years -- and that, too, is an event worth being thankful for.

In May, we celebrated a very dear aunt's birthday and held a combined Mother's Day dinner with my mum.

And finally in June, we met the new boyfriend of Carl the dense one.

As I counted my blessings that night, I realise I shouldn't fear Time.

For as long as I live, I am very sure I will have many more good months and counting, provided I made that extra effort to make every living day of mine count.

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

Welcome To Our Whirl Part II

At exactly 8.35pm, Stanley the sex bunny, Carl the dense one and his new beau Adrian and I strutted into the rooftop bar at St Giles, JB.

The four of us were on a two-day-one-night staycation at the insistence of Stanley who rode on the occasion of meeting Carl's new boyfriend. 

In fact, leave it to Stanley to find any opportunity to ride on anything that has legs and an appendage.

"Oh I love the view," Stanley said sultrily, his eyes fixed on a lean body of an Italian-looking man who's sipping beer on the pool deck. "I know what I'll be having, boys," he said a little too loudly for the benefit of the Italian.

Carl was extremely nervous. His python sized biceps were trembling from anxiety of various levels: That his Adrian would find Stanley a tad too vulgar, and that we might not like his new partner.

As the four of us settled on a high stool overlooking the pool and the gorgeous night skyline of Malaysia's southern state, Carl finally said "well, we are finally here!"

A bottle of Prosecco was promptly ordered, along with a variety of bar bites (nachos, wedges, calamari, chicken wings).

Carl's young partner Adrian is himself a young partner at reputable law firm well known in the region. 

At 34, Adrain is wildly successful.

Stanley had done all the necessary background checks and privately posted in our group chat Just the Boys (made up of Stanley, Carl and me) informing us that Adrian probably earns S$15,000 a month. 

"What is he doing with Carl?!" he texted me privately. 

Adrian is an unassuming, pleasant and extremely humble boy. 

Boy being key word because Adrain has this chubby, cherubic quality about him that makes you want to continuously scoop food for him at a family dinner.

We learn that Adrian and my partner J have many things in common -- both went to the same boys' school and ended up in the same university course later on.  

"I would love to meet J soon," Adrian said.

"You will meet J and all of us for such a long time, you'll be sick of us soon," Stanley said, setting one red, gooey fried chicken wing on Adrian's plate. 

Adrian's also currently viewing properties, torn between waiting for one more year to buy a resale flat, or a private apartment. 

He's also musically inclined -- just like Carl, who sings like an angel and plays the piano relatively well.

Adrian sings in the church choir and plays the organ just like my partner J.

"Oh now I'm intrigued," Stanley cut in, swirling his wine glass. "I've always loved the organ."

Carl laughed nervously.

For the next day, the plan was to get together only for meals, so that we allow Carl and Adrian their personal time, and so that I could get some work done and enjoy my mandatory me time.

Stanley too, plans to enjoy his man time. 

As the night progressed, and as our systems processed one full bottle of Prosecco followed by a Penfolds, everyone -- especially Carl -- was visibly relaxed. 

"Thank you for being so spontaneous and coming on this trip," Stanley said. "Any boyfriend to this group gets fast-tracked to being a full blown member of this tight knit circle."

I looked in the direction of Stanley's line of vision and understood his choice of vocabulary, and the stresses made to words blown, member, tight.

Adrian noticed the distraction, stole a glance then looked at me and Stanley and giggled heartily, by now fully appreciating how Stanley functions. 

Carl the dense one looked at us and frowned, unable to understand what he had just missed. 

And just like that, we knew Adrian was here to stay.

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

Welcome To Our Whirl Part I

Sometimes, in our group which comprises Stanley the sex bunny and Carl the dense one, we take meet ups very seriously.

And today was one of those serious occasions.

After we learned Carl was attached, Stanley insisted we all got together and met Adrian, his new beau.

And it was Stanley's way or the highway.

Or in this case, the causeway. 

"Good thing I brought snacks and water," Carl the dense one said merrily. 

"Why didn't you bring diapers," Stanley said with a hiss, grabbing his steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. 

"Never mind him, Adrian," I said, turning to the back seat. "Stanley's down south is always buzzing with activity."

Adrian let out a huge guffaw, entertained by this group of uncle's antics.

Prior to today's meeting, Carl -- to his credit -- had prepared his new love interest to face Stanley, warning him our sex bunny friend might appear too much on the surface but is really a wonderful friend deep down. 

Stanley would later say he was a lot more things than just wonderful deep down.

"Sorry, Adrian. I didn't mean to scare you," Stanley said into his rear view mirror. "But if I don't pee in the next 10 minutes, everyone will have to sit with their feet off my car carpet because I guarantee you I WILL wet my pants," he said with a menacing threat.

"Oh, trust him. At his age, he will do anything to get wet," Carl the dense one said, to his credit.

Everyone laughed except Stanley. 

Friday evening traffic jam was no joke.

While hundreds of Singapore-regjstered cars were making a beeline for the customs, all Stanley wanted to do was to make a peeline for the toilet. And to actually pee and nothing else, given Stanley’s history  

It was Stanley's bright idea to go on a weekend JB trip and to get to know Adrain better.

It was the perfect getaway: Two nights at a hotel at St Giles with cheap foot massages, drinks, shopping all at value-for-money prices, thanks to Malaysia's weak ringgit. 

Except, right now, it wasn't so perfect and all that was weak was Stanley's bladder and willpower.

Finally, after three-and-a-half hours of this unbearable wait, Stanley parked his car right after the Singapore customs to get some release. 

"I've always thought of urinals as a place of comfort and relief as a younger man," Stanley said. "I suspect this thought is going to stay with me as an older man." 

With less distraction down there, Stanley was back to his pre-pandemic state of mind and could finally steer us in the right direction, where drinks and dinner were in order.

It was slightly past-8pm when we checked into the hotel near mid-Valley but tour guide Stanley gave us strict instructions.

"Cocktails, rooftop bar, 15 minutes' time!" he barked along the corridor of our hotel floor at Carl and Adrian. 

"Anything with the words cock and top excite me to no end," Stanley concluded. 

To Be Continued...

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

Carl's Junior

The date was circa November 2023.

The location -- a new, trendy gay pub in Tanjong Pagar.

The occasion: Celebration.

Carl the dense one had good news.

And because Stanley the sex bunny was bad news, he had suggested we gathered at Sausage Market, then-Singapore's newest gay club to mark Carl's happy milestone.

Our beefcake friend, who had been single for the last 10 years since breaking up with his long-time partner whom we all endearingly call Ah Boy, is finally attached. 

And right this very moment, Stanley too, was feeling very attached. His eyes had never once left the bulky package of a tanned beefcake who was exaggerating every of his dance moves which comprise mainly hip thrusts and trunk rotations.  

"You think his bulge is real?" Stanley screamed over the resounding music that has only one beat: Boom, boom, boom.

Carl shifted uncomfortably in his tiny bar stool.

Meanwhile, Stanley's love interest was also shifting uncomfortably on stage. The beefcake starting twisting and thrusting his crotch towards Stanley's waving 10-dollar bill. 

Carl's eyes widened with shock.

Stanley's mouth widened with instinct. 

The crowd roared as Stanley pulled the opening of dancing beefcake's trunks and stuffed his $10 note with slow, deliberate moves as if to match the sultry prancing pace.

"I love sausage market!" Stanley shouted into the beefcake's crotch, who is now $10 richer. 

Carl was mortified.

I looked around the dark, noisy room that has beaming laser lights and prayed that my no-longer-young body could handle the disco stress and not collapse into epilepsy. 

Stanley, on the other hand, was also praying -- that he could handle that young body and collapse together in bed, hopefully in a bedroom and not a hospital ward, at that rate Stanley was going.

"Stan, stop shouting into his crotch. I can see that the veins in your neck. Any more shouting and they might just pop!" I shouted into Stanley's ears.

Without missing a beat, Stanley reciprocated: "Adam hunny. At this rate that mister beefcake is going, it's not my veins the might be popping."

Hanging out with the boys post-pandemic is no longer fun.

It was refreshing to get out and dress up for a proper brunch, tea, drinks, dinner just right off COVID.

But now that socialising is no longer a taboo, I'm starting to dread crowds, even though the crowd we're currently in, is one that's young, fit, and extremely winsome looking.

Sausage Market is a place Stanley's friends had highly recommended. 

Any self-respecting meat lover of the human male body would appreciate the concept -- there'll be boy dancing shows, there'll be dancing, there'll be drinking.

This concept apparently worked.

It had attracted the finest of Singapore's gay crowd and beyond. 

A few steps from our table was what looked like a group of young angmoh tourists who are getting quite a bit of attention from two budding skinny SPGs. 

In fact, everyone in that club looked like they were below 30.

My boys and I had singlehandedly pulled down the average age of the crowd.

"WOOOOHOOOO!" interrupted the unstoppable Stanley who looks like he wants to single-handedly pull down something else of the young crowd.

"I LOVE SAUSAGE MARKET!" he yelled into the air, matching the decibel and energy levels of the club.

After sitting through 40 minutes of pain, Carl begged us to leave.

Stanley said yes finally because he was satisfied.

We had reached the club just 15 minutes before the slated Boy Dancing show and because we were the oldest and possibly the richest of the crowd, Stanley told the boss that if he gave us a table near the stage, we would open the most expensive cognac that night. 

As we walked out, exhausted from watching the crowd and dancers expend their energy, Carl heaved a sigh of relief as if he had just been released from prison.

Stanley heaved a sigh of relief as if he had just released.

"I am too old for this shit," said Carl, who -- thanks to his constant doses of botox -- looked the youngest of us all.

Stanley agreed with Carl readily. 

From one meat market, to another meat market. 

We soon found ourselves a booth seat at a nearby Korean BBQ restaurant.

"Can I just say, I love meat?" Stanley said to the group, his eyes now trained on the package of a young server. 

Stanley was about to reach for a $10 bill when Carl begged him to stop.

Because right now, it was time to hear all about it. The story of how Carl got attached.

And just like that, Stanley easily detached himself from all worldly lust and paid full attention to Carl the dense one.

The story of how they met was not exactly a fairytale set up.

The two had met in a gay sauna.

Stanley was quick to join the dots -- no matter how small or big.

"Please tell me he wasn't the one who gave you STD."

Carl was mortified.

And so was the cute server who stumbled and dropped the menu from his hands.

"Sorry," he said and quickly left as if his hair were on fire.

"Please keep it down, Stan," Carl begged. "And please, Stan," Carl continued sincerely. "Don't judge us ok?"

Stanley put his hand on Carl's and said in all seriousness. "I will never judge my loved ones".

Apparently, Carl -- who had an itch to scratch -- had visited a gay sauna some two years ago.

And itch he did get.

But the STD was soon subdued even though Carl couldn't stop thinking about the source of the sexually transmitted disease. 

Soon, Carl frequented the sauna just so he could come face to face with patient zero. 

After three visits, Carl tapped him on the shoulder. 

The boy's name is Adrian. He was thirty two years old and held an extremely respectable job. A lawyer. 

That night, Carl plucked up the courage and asked Adrian out.

Their first date was a late night session of oily French fries and Coke Zero. 

Adrian had offered to pay for the meal, to atone for spreading his STD which he didn't even know he had.

One date led to another, but Carl wasn't ready to admit to being in a relationship.

Though he didn't need a fairytale beginning, Carl wasn't ready for a relationship.

Not when Adrian was too similar to Ah Boy who broke his heart 10 years ago.

Adrian and Ah Boy were too similar for comfort.

Both were around the same age, both were of the same built and both equally eloquent. 

And so Carl kept guiltily going out with Adrian -- and soon, both stopped going to gay saunas because they finally found what they were truly looking for.

I eyed Stanley, praying he wouldn't say it was STD and to his credit, he didn't. 

It took Carl some five months of dating for him to finally realise -- and admit -- that he truly liked Adrian.

And so, a month-plus before Christmas, Carl asked Adrian to officially be his boyfriend.

Which led to this rendezvous of announcing this wonderful news to us.

"Well, I think that's wonderful," Stanley said. 

"We all don't need fairytale beginnings -- no matter where or how we meet our partners, it doesn't mater."

"What really matters is the journey," said Stanley, dating guru. 

"And we all know from my experience that all relationships can have a fairytale ending. A very happy ending, in my case.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the cute server make a U-turn back into the kitchen upon hearing the words "happy ending" coming out of Stanley's mouth.

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