The Health Scare

Three years ago at around this time, Stanley and I went through a health scare journey.

The source came from one of our former national service bunk mates, Russell, who was warded with symptoms of a heart attack.

Our NS group chat, titled Red Berets, stirred to life at 10.40pm Singapore-Hong Kong time.

Like a dormant volcano pushed to erupt, the messages in our usually-silent group chat came fast and furious.

Stanley my sex bunny friend, who is one of the group admins, also erupted fast and furious.

Apparently he was on a tryst when he got a message from Suzanne, Russell's wife, about the sudden rush to the hospital.

Stanley later told me that he too, experienced a sudden rush - of a totally different nature.

True to his swift, time management skills, Stanley had his beefcake and eat it, managing to satisfy both his ONS, and Obligations of NS.

I was alerted to the news at around 9pm, more than 3,000km north of Singapore.

I was having an oily Myanmar curry for late dinner when I got the shocking news.

Two decades ago, Russell was fit.

You would expect everyone of us in our NS unit to be so - nothing less.

Two decades later, at 40, Russell is still fit.

Which is why it's so shocking to all of us.

Among the 20-over participants in our group chat, only a handful of us remain lean and fit, and Russell the private investment banker was one of them.

This is what J my partner would always say: If you're fit, it doesn't necessarily mean you're healthy.

Russell was having one of his late nights in the office when he broke into a sweat, became breathless, and had a squeezing sensation under his left armpit.

Fortunately, he alerted his fellow workaholics who immediately called an ambulance.

Stanley was the only one who managed to visit Russell at the private hospital that night.

The rest of us was a case of the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak - at least three of us in the group including myself are based overseas, and the rest had little ones to put to bed or are already asleep themselves.

In Stanley's case, his spirit is willing but his flesh particularly weak considering his recent exothermic activity, but he made it purely because, well, he was up and about anyway, and was quite close to Mount E.

That night, our group chat was filled with chatter - those that expressed shock, get-well-soon messages, as well as raunchy gifs supplied by the resident cheekopeks of the group.

The next day, more of our Red Berets brothers dropped by to visit Russell during lunchtime and the group chat was filled with wefies and photos of a smiling but weak Russell.

Our friend had indeed experienced a health scare - the symptoms he felt were indeed those of a heart attack.

But Russell's CT scans showed his heart was perfectly okay, and the sharp pain under his left armpit - which Russell described as the pain of a gunshot wound - was an indication of a lung infection.

So it was a case of bad versus worse.

The group chat messages soon veered into topics like health checks and the importance of listening to your body.

One of our Red Berets friends - a lean, mean fighting machine - actually listens to his body almost every day.

He would check his resting pulse rate and would proudly announce that for a 40-year-old man, he is in excellent health given that his heart rate was 61 beats per minute.

Stanley later privately messaged me to say that he too, has been listening to his body.

My physical indicators are quite different, but when it sends me throbbing signals, I respond immediately, Stanley said.

So I will take good care of my health.

And the next time I break into a sweat, become breathless, and feel a squeezing sensation, hunny darling, it can only be a good thing, he said.

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

The New Age Gay People

Once upon a very long time, there were straight men. And then, there were transvestites. 

But soon, society began evolving further and our forefathers began to understand that if you're gay, you can change sex partners but you don't necessarily have to change sex. 

In my time, homosexuality continued to evolve. 

I grew up being familiar with the various sub-categories -- the Lesbians, Gays, Bisexuals and Transgenders.

And just when I thought I had seen them all in my life time, I was wrong.

Today, we have the LGBTQIA with the Q to mean queer or questioning, the I for intersex (people born with characteristics of the opposite sex), and finally the A which is short for asexual or allied. 

Carl the dense one is naturally confused with all these abbreviations. 

As at September 18, 2021, Carl still cannot breakdown properly what COVID-19 stands for. 

Also, he cannot tell us what ASEAN actually means (he once thought ASEAN was how Malaysians pronounced Asian). 

And once in a while, Carl still cannot even tell the difference between a real man and a beefy butch. 

Stanley on the other hand can come to terms with all these terms and had even made a mental note to touch base with representatives of all these groups (Stanley sometimes enjoys groups, but that's story for another day). 

In fact, Stanley was the one who gave me a low-down on these evolving terms, being an expert on all things low and down himself. 

People are starting to identify themselves as He / Him / His, or She / Her / Hers and even They / Them / Theirs as a show of support of gender inclusiveness. 

The He and She reference is quite obvious, while the They tag refers to those who may not necessarily identify with one specific sex.

Carl posted a gif of a brain exploding in our group chat.

It didn't take long for me to grasp what each group in the LGBTQIA stands for, and each representation makes sense to me.

Society has come a long way in understanding homosexuality -- from it being a curse and an illness, to it being a lifestyle choice, and finally, accepting it as a fact of life.

But as an over-thinker, what got me very puzzled is the evolution of homosexuality. 

It made me wonder: Have we always had the LGBTQIA groups all along?

Are they emerging because we now have the words, emotional capacity and platforms like social media, to unveil such evolution and make sense of it?

Or, are these new subgroups of homosexuality a product of evolving trends?

Could the western notion of allowing ourselves the freedom to be whom we want to be a result of these subgroups? 

As a pure gay man, I took a long time before I could fully accept that there can be bisexual people around.

Stanley would say that I am a gay man, full stop -- not a pure gay man because there's nothing pure about me. But let's not be distracted.

For the longest time, I have always concluded that bisexuals are simply gay people who are in denial because I apply my own gay mindset to these bisexuals.

I cannot imagine myself emotionally and physically loving a woman the way I would a man, and therefore, in my narrow mind, bisexual people are in denial.

But maturity and wisdom gained over time told me that this might be how the straight community looks at us.

They must have put themselves in our shoes and envisioned themselves bending over to reach for the forbidden fruit with our mouth or our backsides. 

Surely they must have shivered at that thought the way I did, when I thought about the bisexuals. 

And just like that, I told myself that the world is a wondrous place, full of mysteries waiting to be uncovered. 

And it will take a very long time for everyone to come to one common understanding of many things in life, be they sexuality, culture, mindsets, attributes of communities, what have you. 

And so, the first step is for me to acknowledge that there can be many subgroups of sexualities around, and it'd be a bonus if I can fully understand them. 

So whether you choose to sign off as a He / Him / His or a They, it's really up to You, You, You. 

I shared my overthinking with Stanley who shook his head with pity at me.

"Adam, I think your brain is too active -- you should jump start Carl's brain a bit and share the load."

"And just one more point -- I think I may sign off as They some day. That'd be the day when I have someone legitimately and physically attached to me from behind."

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

Career Change

Do you love what you do?

I ask because I recently had this discussion with my boys, Stanley the sex bunny and Carl the dense one.

As usual, Carl our clueless friend responded with a question mark

Also finding a need for clarity was Stanley.

"By loving what I do, do you mean my day job which is boring, or my night job, which is also boring -- but of the drilling and poking sort?" Stanley asked.

"Blow job! Hand job!" Carl replied excitedly like a child taking pride in giving correct answers to his kindergarten teacher.

The topic came about because some of my friends are rethinking their lives.

At age 42, most of my peers are doing very well in their respective careers.

And at this juncture, there are a few choices ahead of us.

Go straight, turn left, or make a U-turn.

"Don't go straight!!!!" warned Carl who is on an answering roll. "We are gay!!!"

Going straight, I explain, is to continue on one's career path and keep aiming higher and further.

Making a left turn is to take the road less travelled, but still on the forward-going path: Like, making a relatable career switch that is still within one's capabilities.

Naturally, making a U-turn is to make a radical move to turn one's life around -- like, totally quitting your job and doing something really random, such as shaving and be a nun or something.

"Firstly, when I shave, it's because I'm preparing for a date and possibly some action down under," Stanley says. "So I don't think your nun analogy is very correct, unless Mother Superior is getting ready for some holey action."

"Secondly, what rubbish theory is that, Adam? I don't recommend you make things up along the way."

But the question remains.

I ask the boys if they feel any sense of exhaustion from their work.

Ture enough, Stanley does.

In fact, he's been thinking that he's come to the point of no return.

"And trust me, in another context, my point of no return would lead to a very happy, orgasmic ending. But in my case, where work is concerned, it's going downhill," he wrote dully in the group chat.

"I have bills to pay, luxury items to buy, and expensive wines waiting to be appreciated. I can't do anything but carry on taking the, God forbid, straight path!"

"We're GAY! We're GAY!" Carl said merrily, and proudly posted a gif of a flailing pride flag.

"Sometimes I feel like my work has no meaning," Stanley said.

"And I really want to do something serious and meaningful like missionary work -- going around to meet as many men as possible to spread not the word of God but something else that's very specific," Stanley continued, steering our topic to dangerous waters.

Carl's position on this matter, however, is quite different from Stanley's.

He likes to take it lying down and not make any unnecessary effort.

"That's just coasting," I pointed out.

"No, that's being a lazy bottom," said Stanley. "Nobody likes a lazy bottom who doesn't invest."

By then I wasn't sure I had full control of my initial topic, seeing that this discussion had gone off track.

But Stanley was still interested to explore the topic. Since he was a child, he'd always been looking to explore and experiment.

"Sometimes, I can close my eyes and do my work blindly by way of habit and not feel challenged," Stanley said, adding "no offense to visually-impaired foot masseuse."

I totally see Stanley's point.

We're at a stage where we need to decide how we feel about our current careers.

And for most of us, a radical switch is not an option on the table.

So when the going gets tough, my basic principle is, take a peek at our bank account. When we see how full it is, we should be thankful.

"I agree," Stanley said. "But that's applicable only to my love life. Not my work life

I was nervous and scared to ask Stanley to elaborate further.

"When I feel like my love life is non-existent, I take a peek at my sperm bank and I see that there've been many transactions, mainly deposits made by many individuals. And I feel thankful."

 Feeling that Stanley is once again starting to spiral out of control, I decide to factor in Carl.

"What about you, Carl? What are your future career goals?"

"I guess I'm okay. The pay is good. I can handle the work. And I can knock off early to go to the gym."

Good for Carl.

The dense one, for once, knows what he wants and is doing a good job at getting it right.

I sometimes envy friends who are brave enough to make radical moves to change their work lives.

Most of them are lawyers who've earned enough cash, suffered enough stress, so they hang up their legal robes for the chef's apron, or build homes for the poor in other Asian states.

But, you know, these guys have amassed enough money so in a way, their so-called radical moves are actually quite calculated -- down to when their last dollar would be spent.

And for poor, middle class people like us... if we happen to love our job, that's good.

But if we don't, we'll have to suck it up.

"Why does the prospect of sucking it up in this case not excite me?" Stanley asks.

"We're GAY! We're GAY!" Carl said.

I talked to my partner J about his career move.

As usual, my career-driven and wise boyfriend has it all planned -- right down to when he's going to retire.

But he did tell me that if I or any of my peers feel the need to make "radical moves", we should "take a step back and don't do anything rash".

Stanley totally agrees.

"The last time I did something rash, I got something rash. And it's the sort that has to be dealt with by injecting antibiotics."

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

I Need Help

One of my biggest pet peeves is people whom you've not met for a while messaging you for help.

Offering help to them is not the problem.

I'm helpful, and will do so even without being asked.

What irks me is how acquaintances choose to approach me for help.

"Hey, how are you Adam?"
"How have you been Adam?"
"How's it going Adam?"

No matter the permutations, these people don't want to know how I'm coping.

It's just their typical opening line.

"Why are you so upset," Stanley my sex bunny friend asked, amused.

"Are opening lines that important?" asked Stanley, Expert of Pickup Lines.

Because shortly after you engage these long-time-no-sees, they launch into their true intentions.

Like I said, I don't mind helping you.

I simply mind that you don't go straight to the point and you don't respect me enough by patronising me.

"How about the next time someone does that to you to ask you how you are, you reply them that you have breast cancer?" Stanley typed.

No offence, but if I were to really do that, chances are some of my acquaintances would probably reply me with "oh dear, take care. By the way, Adam, I was hoping to ask you for a favour."

It's happened to me various times, and it's come to a point when I think I would like to set the record straight.

The next time you want to get help from people whom you've not met in years, cut the pretense.

A good starting line can be this.

"Hey, so-and-so. I'm sorry that the first message to you in a while is a call for help. Can you blablablah…"

Or even:

"Sorry so-and-so. I really need help".

And then after that person helps you, then you proceed to ask him how he is -- provided you really mean it.

These days, it's very hard to find someone who types messages like he means it.

Stanley is first to disagree.

"I mean what I type -- all the time," said Stanley my sex bunny friend.

"And I go straight to the point -- wanna hook up? Wanna fuck? Wanna suck? Wanna cuddle?"

True.

Stanley may be far from straight but he does go straight to the point, and more often than not, that point is usually located at certain parts of a man's body.

Case in point.

Earlier this year, before the madness of the COVID outbreak, someone from NS whom I'd not seen for 20 years messaged out of the blue, suddenly very concerned of my wellbeing, paying particular care to how I'm adapting to Myanmar when I was still posted there.

"Is the weather ok? Is the food ok? Are you homesick?"

But less than 2 minutes into the crap, this person proceeded to ask me to plan his itinerary in Myanmar because he and new girlfriend are planning a trip there, and he even had the cheek to hint if I could drive them around.

Look. I'm happy to help and play tour guide but if my friend had gone straight to the point and cut this pretense, I wouldn't have been so cheesed off.

"Maybe people are just trying to be polite," Stanley said dismissively.

That's exactly where the fault lies.

Trying to be.

Don't need to try -- you either mean to ask how a person is unconditionally, or you ask simply and plainly for a person's help without all this foreplay.

Stanley replied me with a gif of a pouting fat woman, obviously disappointed that I placed so little emphasis on foreplay.

In the end, I told that friend I wouldn't have time to drive him around -- my chauffeur has to report strictly to me.

But I took 20 minutes of my precious time to type out a lovely itinerary for him and his girlfriend.

Last I checked, he did stick to the recommendations -- his IG feeds showed up on mine.

But since I didn't offer to drive him around, he didn't even bother getting in touch with me while I was there to ask me how I was doing.

Stanley later told me I needed to calm the heck down.

This is basic One Night Stand principles, he said.

First, you message to get your favour fulfilled.

Then, like all nomadic One-Night-Stand individuals, you move on.

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

One Night Stanley

Not too long ago, Stanley my sex bunny friend moved in to his new place which is aptly called Queens Close. 

Actually, it was only half as befitting. 

Stanley the Queen is always wide open.

"Oh my god, I can't wait," Carl the dense said as he pressed Stanley's doorbell, then hopped excitedly on alternate feet on the spot.

Stanley opened the door, cautiously eyed the muscular goon and for comic effect, slammed the door in his face. 

"Gotcha!" Stanley shrieked as he reopened his door, to a Carl who didn't look relieved at all. 

"I always make it a point for people to make their grand entries," Stanley said, choosing his words meaningfully to reflect accuracy in his life. 

Carl, who still didn't look relieved, stepped in and hurriedly unloaded his grocery sling bag on Stanley's dining table and sprinted for his toilet.

"Welcome to my beautiful, humble abode," Stanley said. 

"If you're humble then you won't say your abode is beautiful," I pointed out.

"Hey. That's nasty. Negative energy, be gone!" Stanley the mistress of the house raised his slender arms in the air and commanded with dramatic flair.

Carl steps out of the toilet with a satisfying smile.

"Oh, gurl, I hear ya. I know that look," Stanley said knowingly. "I sometimes step out of public toilet cubicles with the same sense of gratification."

Carl blissfully let the comments slide, unable to grasp the full meaning of Stanley's wit. 

In this cruel world we live in today, to Carl, perhaps being dense is a blessing in disguise for him. 

"I love your home, Stan," Carl skipped merrily around Stanley's home shedding his disguise.

Free from all the urine he'd been containing since our Grab ride, Carl embraced his newfound liberalism, bending over to sniff every of Stanley's potted plants in his house.

Beneath Carl's bulky frame of oversized biceps is actually a carefree princess who giggles easily and appreciates all forms of simple joys. 

Meanwhile, beneath Stanley's athletic frame is almost always a random guy who giggles and moans. And Stanley too, appreciates all forms of joysticks. 

And these two interesting characters happen to be my best gay friends of over 20 years, despite their idiosyncrasies.

"Firstly, welcome my darlings, on your virgin sleepovers," Stanley said, again choosing his words carefully to reflect the way he prefers his random overnight guests.

Stanley took one glance at Carl the Disney princess who was still skipping in merriment, turned back to me and said "that one there is making her maiden visit".

Not one to waste time, Stanley proceeded to work on his bar counter, setting three classy glasses on his wooden countertop.

"Try this," Stanley said after pouring Marks and Spenser-bought infused gin and dropping a dried fig into the drink.

Our day at Stanley's began with a noon aperitif. 

I made myself useful and fished out an NTUC-bought mixed cocktail nuts for snacks.

"My favourite snack," Stanley exclaimed, pointing out that two of his favourite things in this world are in the name of the snack.

When Princess Carl was done hopping around, she plonked into Stanley's sofa and began to live her next 30 minutes as Sleeping Beauty. 

The day for the three of us was simple -- a weekend sleepover at Stanley's.

Since Stanley moved in, his place had been a natural gathering spot for us.

And with our government's on-again, off-again dining rules, we figured the best place would still be at one of our homes, and the flavour of the month is naturally Stanley's since it is indeed a beautiful abode.

When we were in our early twenties, when parts of our bodies haven't started sagging and everything about us was tight, we had wished we were rich enough to quickly buy our own place.

"I'm not sure at that age I was all that tight," Stanley admitted like a sage and popped an almond into his mouth. 

"But I sure remember the three of us wishing we could own a place each."

Over the decades, indeed, we slogged and worked our panties off, just to make sure at the end of the day, our bank accounts were fat enough to buy us our first property when the time came. 

Now that we're in our early forties, we have achieved that. 

Carl had bought his first condo and had insisted his parents moved in with him. 

Me and Stanley on the other hand moved out at first opportunity. 

In our twenties, it's about dressing up and going around to see and be seen on weekends.

But when some of us started buying our own places in our thirties, large-scale home weekend parties were the norm.

And when you're in your forties, gatherings are still held in homes, except, they're no longer wild.

And they're confined to smaller, more intimate parties among old friends who can do anything without being judged.

"Carl, I hope when you're done digging your nose and rolling the slimey goob with your fingers, you would get rid of it like a normal human being at the sink, not fling it all over my home," Stanley warned sternly with disgust. 

Carl froze. "Of course, Stan. I'm not a caveman," Carl said, moving his finger slowly away from his lips.

Dinner that night was a homecooked meal whipped up by Stanley the chef who discovered the joy of wearing an apron. 

Given his track record, it's a blessing Stanley wants to be wearing anything at all.

Over pipping hot Calderata (Filipino beef stew) served with warm, toasted French toast and an easy watermelon salad (which Stanley generously drizzled olive oil and lime juice over, topped with shredded cheese), the three of us laughed, over-ate, and filled Stanley's home with the warmth and love that can only be borne out of over 20 years of friendship.

After working through the entire table's food, Stanley finally said.

"Carl, I think you haven't washed your hands when I told you to."

 

 

 

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

Troublesome Threes

Carl our dense friend recently asked us in our group chat.

"Guys, are we in a throuple?"

Stanley was the first to respond -- via a voice recording.

"Who taught you that dirty word, ah boy?" he said, sounding like an uptight middle-class mother who needs her son to always score 10 upon 10 for Chinese Ting Xie.

"Who? Tell me! I need to grab a piece of soap and wash that mouth of yours!"

It is one of the rare times when Stanley the sex bunny grabs soap and actually wants to use it the way soap is meant to be used.

But I digress.

Carl, who recently discovered Netflix, felt obliged to answer Stanley via a voice recording.

"I learnt it on a show called The Politician," he said, sounding like a timid son about to get smacked by his mum who discovered him wearing girl panties and dancing in his bedroom.

"Oh, that's one show I will need to watch soon," Stanley replied, now sounding a little too sultry. "I hear there are gay characters in the series."

Nature of the show aside, Carl is bewildered by the concept of a throuple: A three-way relationship.

Carl the dense one, who still cannot grasp the concept of an open relationship, is understandably perturbed.

Leave it to Stanley the sex bunny, who can grasp all tangible and intangible sex elements to do the educating.

It's 2021, my dear, Stanley started.

And throuples are trendy.

Carl refused to believe Stanley, refused to believe how fast this world has evolved.

"It's cruel," Carl said. "Gay love has to be between man and man."

"Amen, sister," Stanley said. "Amen, men, men men..."

But to honest, the concept of throuples is indeed hard to swallow.

Even for Stanley, who never has trouble swallowing.

But right now, Stanley is busy spiting -- the brutal truth.

He posted a series of photos of three hot boys.

"These boys are in a throuple," Stanley explains. "And I know because I am Singapore's finest stalker and all cute guys cannot go under my radar. They can go under my table, but not under my radar."

Indeed, the three boys in the photos are cute and hot in their own way.

Stanley says these boys are not only openly gay, but also only proud to be in a throuple.

"That's an open relationship right?" Carl asked.

"No. An open relationship means, for example, Adam and I are long-time lovers and we have you over for sex once in a while," Stanley said.

Carl posted a gif of a muscular Latina woman vomiting.

"The concept of the throuple is that the three parties are in a committed and loving relationship with one another."

"It can be either combination: Man-man-man; woman-man,man; woman-woman-man; woman-woman-woman... you the idea. The basic principle is, it's an equal three-way love. You do the math," Stanley said.

Carl the studious student took it literally and posted a photo of an equilateral triangle.

"Well done," Stanley said, impressed by Carl's progress.

"But this still doesn't make sense to me," Carl said.

"How can one person love two other people equally, and have the two other people love the other two equally and so on?"

"Let's take this analogy out of maths, and put it in the category of liberal arts," Stanley said.

"It's a free society. It's liberal. Because should be allowed to do what they want if they believe in it -- plus, it's not illegal."

"Well, Section 377A would beg to differ," I pointed out.

"This concept doesn't belong to maths or liberal arts. It belongs to the rubbish bin," Carl said sulkily.

Actually, Carl isn't the only one who's still struggling with this concept.

I later thought about it and while I understand the concept of a throuple, I cannot appreciate the meaning of it.

There's no way one person can love two others equally.

A mother can love two kids equally... but surely she has her secret favourite?

For the next few days, Carl kept thinking about the issue.

He brought up the topic again about a week after he first messaged us about it.

"I still don't understand this," Carl said.

"Darling, neither do we," Stanley said.

"I can't decide if I prefer my left or right testicle better. What more, if I were to be in a throuple relationship."

"But there are so many things that are unexplainable, like, you know, the mysterious Bermuda triangle," he said aptly.

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

Sacred Mission

They say death can be a beautiful thing.

It teaches the living to live to the fullest.

"OMG, who died?" Carl the dense one asked.

Stanley though, had other questions.

"Who the heck are they?" he wanted to know. "Who are these people you're hanging out with, spouting such guruji nonsense? Have you been talking to Oprah Winfrey?"

Realising he's on the wrong track, Carl immediately switched gears.

"Yah, Adam. We demand answers. Who are they?!"

"You guys are spoiling my moment," I said.

"How do I put this across... it's so hard," I said.

"That's what she said," Stanley the sex bunny said without missing a beat.

"Who is SHE?" Carl replied, genuinely curious. "And who are they?!"

Stanley replied with an eye-rolling icon.

"Life is short. It's important to listen to your heart. And right now, the rhythm is telling me to dance and follow my own beat," I wrote.

"Adam, you have wasted my time to read those 25 words that you strung together but which tell me absolutely nothing," Stanley said, issuing his first stern warning.

"Who died and made you the Dailai Lama?" Stanley asked, before answering the question himself: "Well, logically, in this case, it would have to be the Dailai Lama himself to have died."

Carl was rightfully confused.

"Didn't that fella die many years back? The black guy with the big afro, always in an orange robe, always smiling and making a sign to tell people to wait?" Carl asked.

"No, Carl. That's Oprah Winfrey, and she's still alive," Stanley replied coldly. "And I don't blame you for mixing her up with Saibaba 'cos if you google the most spiritual celebrity in the world, she's top of the list. And yes, they do look alike."

Carl didn't like what he was reading, and posted a series of question marks in response.

I too didn't like where this was going.

It veered off way too much and I needed to reassess my opening remarks.

So I decided to speak plainly and simply.

"Guys, I want to get a tattoo."

That got the group's attention.

"Wow," Stanley said.

"Errr… so, Adam, who died actually?" Carl asked.

The idea of getting a tattoo has always been on my mind and I had been toying with it on and off for the last 10 years.

Just that I didn't feel such a strong urge until now.

"Adam darling, when I feel a strong urge, I don't go running to the tattoo parlour. There are many ways I can teach you to manage your strong urge," Stanley the sex bunny replied.

"Although if I were to go to the tattoo parlour, the idea of lying on my belly with a heavily tattooed man behind me, prickling and poking at me and making me yelp in pain can sound quite exciting too."

The tattoo I have in mind is no ordinary tattoo.

It has its roots in ancient spiritual animism.

"Are you tattooing animals?" Carl asked naturally.

"Are you into beastility?" Stanley asked naturally.

No, and no.

For the past five years, I had been attracted to the art of Sak Yant -- Thai for tattooing ancient scriptures.

"Is that why you were possessed by Oprah Winfrey and spouting all those guruji shit?" Stanley asked.

I should never have chosen an abstract and meaningless way of quoting rubbish to start any opening statements.

But I stand by the fact that I want to have these ancient scriptures tattooed on me.

Carl, the fairest and dumbest of them all, was very perplexed (as usual).

"Why do you want to taint your body with tattoo? And what more with magical spells?"

But this time, Carl does have a point.

It's also something my partner J had been very perplexed about -- and that's the main reason I haven't put ink to, well, skin.

My partner J, who's deeply Catholic, does not oppose to me having that tattoo just because it has spiritual and religious links.

He wants me to think very carefully because the tattoo is permanent.

"And why do the ancient scriptures speak to you?" he asked me. "Do you need protection?"

Stanley, who is deeply sexual, said protection is always important.

"But do you see me tattooing a condom on my back? No right? I think J is absolutely correct about this thing. You need to think carefully," he said.

I have been, and for the past five years, my on-again, off-again research has taught me so many things about these ancient tattoos: Their origins, their meanings, the types of tattoos, where to get them, and what not to do after getting the tattoos.

Stanley was appalled.

"What do you mean there are rules post-tattoo?!"

Well, because these tattoos are sacred in nature, there are things the wearer should avoid doing.

Among which, is to practise the five precepts of Buddhism. And in some Sak Yant forums, I've read that the rules include avoiding touching the clothes of a woman who is menstruating.

Stanley went bonkers.

"Are you effing kidding me, Adam? Are you in a cult?!"

Carl's mental faculties were also stretched to the max and by now has no words.

So he responded by posting a gif of a group of hooded men walking in circles while hitting themselves on the head with a plank of wood.

"What did J say about the tattoo?" Stanley asked.

Well, I had a really long talk with J and I finally gave him the ultimatum.

"YOU gave him the ultimatum. YOU who want to join a cult and tattoo sacred shit on your body have the CHEEK to give your boyfriend an ultimatum?! No offence," Stanley wrote, and pasted a smiley icon.

None taken.

The consensus is, J is okay with me getting the tattoo "if that's what you really want".

But he's asked me to take an extra step.

"What? Kill yourself first? Sorry, no offence," Stanley said.

"They say death can be a beautiful thing. It teaches the living to live to the fullest," Carl wrote, hoping to clear some tension.

J's idea is for me to replicate the tattoos with henna first, I explain.

And if I am used to the idea of the temporary tattoo on my back, then I will know for sure. If I don't like the Sak Yant on my back, I can at least get rid of the temporary tattoo and get the idea out of my head once and for all. So it's really a trial run and win-win, I say.

"You are so lucky to have J who's so wise," Stanley said.

"And why am I hearing this only for the first time," Stanley asked.

"Yeah, why?" Carl chimed in bravely, taking the cue from Stanley, for once feeling safe that he's not the only one who doesn't know things.

But it didn't take my boys long for them to be supportive.

Stanley later said that if that's really what I want to do to my skin, then who's to say no?

"Tattoos are forever on skin. And true beauty is skin deep," wrote Stanley the converted guruji who's mastered the art of stringing words together without actual meaning.

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

 

This post is written AFTER I got my tattoo (too many people have asked about my decision-making process. Read about my tattooing process here)