Saturday, April 29, 2006

Why the Butterfly flutters

There was a time, I met this girl.

Something in her eyes subdued me. Something that tamed me, and at the same time, made me feel alive. I had been floating, drifting so carelessly in the strawberry fields, so disenchanted with love but for a moment, I saw good in it.

So we talked for the night. Under the blanket of cosmic mystery, I was for once blessed by the dating Moguls. She rested her head on me as I watched her sleep. Her gentle weight upon my lap and her hair weaved across my thighs.

We made magic that night and the morning after. The passion in me had lost its wings of lust, it was love for the first time. There was something in her that I was dying to hold on to, a cause that was fleeting from me. The defiance of time and boundaries in my attempt to keep this from being just a memory. I didn't want this to end.

Stay in my memory.

Then she kissed me, with the same sadness in her eyes. It touched me, almost like a reverberating silence in my hollow heart. The echo slowly filling the void of my desolate conscience. Perhaps it was time I returned from my sabbatical.

Stay in my memory, you'll always be in mine.

Living with a memory was the most painful thing for me. The burden of "what if's" weighed incessantly on me. The others came and went as fast as I drifted from one possiblity to the next casualty. I had to arrest this, I had to chase the dream.

So I did.

Two nights of magic was all we had. All I had done, was tasted impossibilty. And I was hooked. She was the magic mushroom that cured me, and the aftermath of my rudimental awakening was a dependency on her. She was all I wanted.

The kiss of impossibility was a tease, a stroke that devalued everything else around it. She was the yardstick to measure all else that came to challenge, that tried to pry me away.

The naiviety of me.

The open heart of a Butterfly, like all else, is a vulnerable one. I kept my world guarded for a reason, and perhaps it was a mistake to open it. She was the fleeting dream beneath my feet, and I watched as reality set in to take her away, again.

I want to stay in your memory, she said. You'll always be in mine.

"Someday, someone will make you happy. It wouldn't be me.."

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

The Butterfly Hospital Saga pt 1

As much as I'd like to give you fresh recounts of my hook up catastrophies, there isn't any of late that has managed to scar me further. If you truly love me and care for me, you'd want whats best for me, and that is to never collide with any fuck hook ups ever. Well, then where's the entertainment of that. Maybe 1 a month would be nice, and pray that I get some good sex along the way, because BOY HAS IT BEEN LONG! I'm almost forgetting that sex is fun. Seriously.

That out of the way. I have tons to write on. My past is still littered with stories. However, these stories actually reflect me in a bad light. Wait, most of my stories does, so humour me if I decide to garnish a few self-compliments randomly. There was a period I sent 3 days in the hospital on attachment. I call them the Hospital Saga, this was a dark time where I could have possibly caused the death of countless innocent patients. Really.

I confess, prior to this attachment, I have learnt practically nothing from the weeks of medical lecture. Deciding that random ranting with bombastic words like "Pneumothorax" and "Cystectomy" do not sound as interesting as "necrophilla" or "fellatio", I embrace sleep. This turns out to be a bad idea.

We have to experience every section of the A&E ward, from the triage to the observatory to the operating theatres. If you ask me, this is all a waste of time, I only have interest in the the very hot Agency nurse, Farah, and the very hot receptionist. The other perks include watching shrievelled penises of 60yr old men and saggy tits of 70yr old ladies, not forgetting clearing their faeces. Wow, this is a treat, senectitude porn. I don't think there's a greater motivation to be a nurse.

Farah is everything a hot bodied attachment personnel can ask for. You'll never see any nurse with a skirt higher up the knee than this. If there was a dress code rule book, she'd have violated one for

a) Wearing a uniform two sizes smaller than your actual size, and
b) Wearing bright pink G-Strings under translucent white skirts

This girl is the reason people in hospital often die from hyertension. The Devil left her there to expediate death rate. Other than that, she's pretty much an angel. Her, strutting across the room to tend to patients and bending over, is enough to bring flatliners back to life.

The only other one contesting for my attention is the receptionist. I had to stand around the counter for half a day looking pretty and doing nothing before she started talking to me. Well she asked me some irrelevant question about the patient. Fuck them, who gives a damn, it shouldn't always be about them anyway.

The Triage Story - ECG

This Fillipina nurse picks me to pair up with her, largely cos she needs me as a translator. She will soon regret ever choosing me.

My first task is to perform an ECG on this Indian man. This should not be too much of a hassle, I do remember learning this albeit vaguely. Hey Im an avid Care-Bear sticker collector when young, how hard is sticking lids going to be. I remind myself, two above the left nipple and the rest will fall in place. Simple..

I remove his shirt and..


This is bad, Im in serious trouble. I think I have Han Solo's Wookie lying down infront of me, and he might not have a nipple. This guy is a testimonial of too much testosterone. I don't think its actually legal to have that much chest hair growing on one spot. It just looks like one large pubic area, somewhere under the tress of hair might be the penis. I proceed with caution.

I comb his hair aside while feeling for the 2nd and 4th chest cavity. From the lump I make out to be the nipple, I paste the lids and hit the button for the print out.

beep...beep.. BEEP.. ERROR. What the fuck?!?!

I apologise and explain to him my botch on the ECG.

Me: "Ermm..Sir.. I'm sorry but I have to do it again.. sorry its my first day..."
Him: "Young man, it is ok. You just do vat you harve to do.."

The painful part ain't the sticking. Its the removing, much like a good wax. I remove the lids, the wookie twitch a couple times over and now his chest has sporadic bald patches which gives better visual on his exo-anatomy. This is good for me.

beep..beep.. BEEP.. ERROR.

I apologise profusely again, wookie's patience seems to be waning but he nonetheless makes a very stupid move. He encourages me.

Him: "Its ok, one more time. You can do it."

beep...beep..BEEP.. ERROR.

The look on his face can only be described as priceless as the realisation of a yet botched attempt reaches him. A 80 yr old heroin addict prostitute would have had more life in her face than wookie, who went absolutely pale.

Me: "Ermm.. Sir.. I..."
Him: "Son.. get the nurse..get the nurse."

I'd have almost burst into a hearty laugh if it weren't for my incompetency that put me in this spot in the first place. The nurse comes to rectify the problem, turns out that it had nothing to do with the lids, but rather, a loose connection of one of the cuffs at the ankle. Oops.

The Triage Story - Blood Sample

"Taking blood sample is simple. You just twist and staple." Everyone says that. Sounds simple, even I can't screw this up. My victim is an old lady half paralyzed by stroke. My nurse had previously shown me the simplicity of it. It works like a stapler. I have stapled many stuff before, this ought to be 'criminally insulting my intelligence' easy.

I twist, staple, granny fidgits.. and NO BLOOD! What the hell? I fucked up stapling a finger? I should just stick to drinking and getting pissed drunk. Saving lives is not for me. I decide to try again. Twist, staple.. granny twitches again but no blood. Either she has no running blood in her veins or Im really stupid enough to strangle myself with a cordless phone. This is wonderful, I can add 'terrorising grannies' to my list of notoriety.

The nurse stares at me and decides to give it a go. Twist, staple.. press..

3 Blood Spots Emerge.... oops

That was the final straw. She relegates me to just taking temperature and blood pressure. Its sort of damage control. She figured that I can't possibly kill anyone sticking thermos into their ear, unless of cos I break their ear drums. Well, its me.. anything is possible. I have the tendency to spring a surprise fuck up on people just when they think they have it all covered.

The thing is, I'm not made for medical shit. Put me in a medical environment is like watching retards take a Spelling Bee on MSN. You'll think nothing can go wrong, but we always find a way to screw things up and leave you flabbergasted.

You think this is bad? This is just the beginning...

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Things you should know about me

Everything is about me and it should be if they know whats good for them. Though my keystrokes heralds in amusement for you as I divulge you in the intimacies of my lampoon dating life, there needs to an arrestment of humor pointed at me. Most of what I say is true, minus the analogies which are exaggerated to the brim of absurdity. I equivocate the explicitness sometimes to keep things lucid, but that doesn't mean I lie.

1. As much as I enjoy alluring you into my world, I'm actually growing tired of my social somnambulism, floating from one person to another. Firstly, the situations I get myself into aren't really funny to be in, it may be funny for you because I write it as such. I bring you hilarity at my expense. Some of you have written in telling me you think my stories are funny, and I appreciate the compliment. For those that like this enough to link me, I love you even more. Better so if you had bought me drinks.

word of thanks: Hey credit where credit is due. Jack, Mizu Bunny and D'Punk. I'm not sure if I missed out any, let me know if I missed you out. And to those who posted this url on forums. Thanks. When I first wrote, I had a catchment of 5 readers, all the original fishing crew and I kept this URL largely annoymous. This site leaked and Im beginning to think its a good thing.
Thats the problem with annoymous blogs, no one knows about it.

2. Why on earth did I choose to be called Butterfly?

No, for the anus happy closet princesses who grew up eyeing Ken over Barbie and never understood why He-Man toys did not come with detachable undies, I am not gay. Neither do I have the slightest tendencies to play for the other team. I'll stick to digging holes than climbing poles any day.

I used this because my Thai female friends call me that. Why? Well for starters, I float from one person to another, switch interest to the next hottie that comes along and decide no one is worth more than 2 weeks of my time. A good bra size generally gains bonus days, so does sharp noses and perky asses. If you fucking lie about your age, original sex at birth or have STDs, you will be hated by me and I will not friend you. My daddy has a bigger gun than your daddy.

3. I am shameless. When it comes to drinks, I have no clear conscience on who I rip off. Poor and stingy people should stay away from me. When I start drinking, I think everything is a good idea. The repercussions of this is usually a very heavy drink tab, in the hundreds.

4. I might not have a liver, or its in the process of filing a divorce. On good nights, I can take a good number of drinks, the most I remember without passing out is in Adelaide. Thats 22 drinks, you can go read my conquest of the bottles here. Those who've been drinking with me can attest to this. I'm not an excellent drinker, but if you see me drink you'll think I'm mad because I skull everything. Binge drinking is what I do best.

5. I believe that obesity is a crime. If you have thoughts on robbing KFC and you've not seen your dick for a while, its probably time to get one of those iGallop, tell them you want it upsized. I'm serious, fat people should pay double for cover charge to a club. I don't care, I doubt there's any fatties reading this because you'd have stopped after reading my past posts and I'd have recieved hate mail.

Speaking of hate mail. I have 1 to date. I love it. It's from a guy, I bet he's just jealous that I won't fuck him.

6. I'm a teaser, but I never chat ladies up when I'm sober. Neither am I good at picking them up. I fuck up conversational structures. Hence, I rather (usually) be picked up. The bad thing is that the QC in this instance might fall below the decency belt. But hey, if you give me a valid enough reason to fuck you, I might.

7. I'm very lazy. I cannot imagine life without a remote control. I'm however usually enthusiastic about sex. I usually want to do alot of stuff and I hate it when my partner lacks my drive.

Me: "Turn around.. I want to fuck you from behind."
She: "Can we not? I hate it.. it's so porn.."
Me: "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!?!?! Do we look like we are playing chess here?! TURN AROUND!"

8. I hate being tickled. Avid readers and close friends should know about this. I react badly to tickling, I'm not kidding. The last girl who challenged this statement has a broken nose to show for. Hands up those who've single handed broken a girl's nose and still manage to get her interested in sex. Its here.

Tickling is a good way to initiate sex if you need to bridge that distance between you and your date. Just make sure to check that your date and you are not allergic to tickles. If I'm dating you, DO NOT even try that on me, unless you have a rhinoplasty appointment coming up.

9. I like boobs. The bigger the better unless they defy gravity through silicon aid. I've narrated my story about the fake boobs, but did I tell you the story about the mosquito bite sized tits?
Its a wonder what push up bra and thick padding does. Its like David Blaine mindfucking those innocent passerbys, except this time I know where the magic comes from. It reads"Triumph".

The thing about small tits is that, there's nothing much to do with it. You can try squeezing it but pinching it would pretty much be the same. The plus point is that you don't have to worry about it being fake. My silicon gel has more buldge than that.

10. I once coughed phlem onto this girl's hair at a club. I didn't do it on purpose neither did I realise the importance of covering ones mouth till then. I felt bad for a second, then decided that I would ease my guilt with an intemperate feast of alcholic hedonism. I've said wicked things, usually under the agency of alcohol and the perturbance of ugliness or obesity. I feel bad.. for the stuff I've said. The last mean thing I said to a girl..

Me: "I didn't know having small tits gives you priority in cutting queue these days."

11. I love tattoos. I have two nicely concealed tattoos, both of which are designed by me. I absolutely love girls with tattoos. HOWEVER, I don't remember bedding anyone with a tattoo. I might be mistaken, but I'm pretty sure I haven't. And most girls I date don't really appreciate tattoos, although they like the one I have on my hip cos they think its sexy, but they generally do not like me toggling with the idea of a third.

I have one on the pelvic which I'm beginning to think is a bad place. I've had two girls asking about my tattoo in the middle of giving head.

She: "Hey, this is nice... what's it suppose to mean?"

12. I'm not too good with bras. Well I'm alot better now. I used to fumble through it then start cursing when I can't find the hook.

She: "ermm, its at the front."
Me: "What the fuck is it doing there?! They need to keep it at the same place, its not good when I can't find the keys to my house."

I've spoilt about 2 bras because the hooks pissed me off so badly I pulled the damn thing off her like a T-shirt. Apparently some bras have wires which might warp and bras are really expensive. I found it out myself first hand. Not funny.

Now, I give the bras a try. If I find it too complicating or I have enough alcohol in me to fuck toadstools, I try to stay clear.

Me: "You need to take 'em off before I come in and destroy everything Victoria Secrets has built."

13. I believe in love and I believe in platonic friendship. My best friend Huixx is a girl, and she drives men crazy. However, most platonic friendship ends up in bed. Not mine. Not until we're 70. Guys are all sluts, no one is ever going to invest so much time and effort in a girl that they want only to be friends with. IF you are one, you are marching on self-denial or you are gay. Im serious, homosexuality can hit you out of nowhere, its an airborne disease much like necrophilia and tourettes. If suddenly you wake up erected to that David Beckham poster on your room wall, you know that I'm right. Hey, I warned you.

14. I'm writting this having come back from a wine tasting. I drank a bottle myself. My dad is the only one proud of me and my mum is nagging about my liver. I might write this later.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Butterfly goes for Tiesto

Firstly if you have no idea who Dj Tiesto is, its best you do a quick google. This guy is the trance equivalent of what Madonna is to Pop. He plays to sold out gigs infront of tens of thousands. Trance followers around the world re-vere him, shufflers go crazy on him and ravers get muscle cramps dancing to him.

The best part about the night is that LB and I are swearing off sex for now after Thurs abhorrent sex gone wrong debacle. The aftermath of it still lingers like a sickle wedged in me, I can't pull the thought out without causing grievance to my psyche. My life is steering into a course of vanilla polygamy, and I need to impede it. Had it not been for that Thurs calamity, we would likely be humping anything that moves and that is at least remotely fuckable. Bar stools and sub woofers included.

Needless to say that even a mega club like MoS will be sardine packed when he plays. We head there with a whole group of friends that are active members of trance fanatism. We are trying to overthrow Mambo nights and pass a sanction to have Mambo die-hards hanged. Holla if you agree. Despite the exobitant entry and predictable lack of space and lots of sweaty bodies, we see to it that we grace this event. Its a sin to miss Tiesto, especially since we couldn't catch his gig at KL. Ecstasy was supposed to meet me there, but he forgot to collect his tix and the queue put up too much of a deterance for him.

We get there at 10pm and the place is lined with the most beautiful people on the island. The whole bunch of models at the fashion show are there to midgitize everyone. Those damn offsprings of Hagrid are tall. Its like the NBA All Star weekend all over again. I suck on some sour grapes then complain about never standing next to anyone of them again. This male model from Phillipines, Rocky, is hot, I'll suggest that other than me, he will be a good choice to sleep with.

I can't say the same for the girls who standing together, blend right into a background ad for United Colours of Benetton. Tall, skinny with smaller tits than my fist clenched up, the best thing they have is the way they carry themselves. Poise and glamour.. until a few drinks later, they start dancing horribly, arms flapping wildly while trying to stay in sync with the beat and you start wondering why anyone would want to fuck them.

The dance floor is a battle ground with constant tussling for terriority. And in the midst of the sweltering heat built up by bodies pressed against one another, these two Caucasians find enough space and mood to make out. 5mins later and still kissing, they shatter all existing kissing records in a club. I'm piqued at the lack of action and their intrusion into my space.

Another 5 mins later, I realise that they ain't just kissing, but the guy actually has his hands under her top. I stop dancing and start appreciating live club porn. There are about 7 other happy viewers tuned in to this channel and oblivious to the music.

We head to the VIP room with GT4 and Reznor. GT4 goes crazy with drinks and have a $500 drink tab to show as evidence. When people tell me that they have too much drinks and they are afraid it'll be wasted, I always present the prefect solution. ME. People, you never have to worry about copious amounts of drinks when I'm there. I'm a guzzler.

Some main highlights of my night. I don't give a shit about how everyone else is doing.

Some girl comes up to me as I'm leaning against the pillar.

She: "Can I have the pillar please?"

I look at her, smile then walk off. She starts tapping me on the back.

She: "You are from NUS right?"

We start making conversation, largely engaged by her. Im a poor conversationalist, not that I'm not interested but I'm bad at chatting people up. She tells me she's a Tiesto fan and that she sees me around in school alot and knows that I usually study at the library. Stalker.. but this girl is quite cute. Her friends are all from NUS and all but one have seen me around. I'm very promiment if you know me. I won't lie to you, I'm not that gorgeous to be noticed, its my hair. Well other than her blind friend, I like all of them already.

This timely interruption comes just as I contemplate chatting up this other girl in white boots. She looks alot like this girl I used to date, only hotter. So do I take NUS girl's number and say something like, "we should study together"? Nope, I tell her, "See you in school" then realise that schools over and I'm graduating and I forgot her name. Well done, I screw up again.

edit: I actually see her again the next day at MoS, she comes up to say hi to me and in my amnesic relapse, I remember nothing about her. It is the perfect snapshot of awkwardness, me standing there staring blankly at her trying to figure out who she is. Well, the plus points is that she's actually half-Japanese.

Three other people come up to ask if I was at the Progressions event last Saturday for the remainder of the night. Its weird when they do that, cos I don't know what to say.

Me: "Ermm, ya.. you were there too?"

Its stupid to say that. In case you have a slow mind, its like calling someone at home and asking "are you at home?". The first girl comes up to me,

She: "Hey I saw you at BarBarBlackChic, you were there right?"
Me: "Erm.. ya."
She: "Cool..."[long awkward pause between us] "I'll see you around."

GT4 introduces me to Irene the PR manager (I think thats what she is), she too tells me she saw me at Progressions. I bake in my propensity to get recognised. Considering that I was well behaved for that event, I bury my past of random rude remarking. One day, that ghost will come back to haunt me. Someone's going to come up to me and say.

"Hey you are that asshole that called me a cabbage patch kid."

The second girl that recognised me is this lady in her late 20s. The give away was her 1990's ah lian butterfly tattoo on her back. She grabs me as I'm walking past. She is neither my kind, nor do I need her drinks tonight, so I smile, say "Yea" and scurry off. Which reminds me, I'm looking for another tattoo design for my lower back. I usually design my own tattoos but this time I plain lazy.

The last is a guy. I yawn and shall not even bother to describe. I do not handle fame well. Bless the invention of champagne. GT4's $400 bottle of Dom Perignom and my intemperate indulgence of all things alcoholic and sinful is a curse on my social life. Under the spell of twisted endorphins and raging adrenaline from the blaring stereos, I react poorly to people chatting me up and wish only to dance.

With a good dose of juice, I'm a bi-polar conversationalist. Wage me in boring talk without sufficient key engaging words and I'm a restless tempestous bore. On the right topic and I'll sprout enough bullocks to make the narcissitic shrivel. I say things like "Yea, I'll miss me too. I cant imagine not seeing me everyday", whenever people tell me they miss me.

Honestly, I didn't enjoy Tiesto as much as I'd imagine myself to. Perhaps its the over-crowding I'm-on-a-refugee-boat like conditions of the club, or perhaps I was expecting more of a rave. They should ban people who have absolutely no clue who Tiesto is from entering. On that note, the music was great, just that I don't do crowds well.

Saturday, April 15, 2006

Butterfly tries to angle a foursome.. bad idea.

There are thing you have to accomplish in life, and partaking in a foursome is one of those thats inscribed on my checklist. MissBangs is practically asking to be fucked with her teasing sms to LB, and being thrown into the fray of an impending debaucherous night, I'm merely milking the cow for all its worth.

MisBangs: "Hello Toy Boy, when are you going to pleasure me?"

It eventually turns into a sex tease exchange between them leading to a double date. I contemplate the idea then decide that fucking MissBangs has its weight in merits. All I need is just to convince the two girls that sharing me is a great idea. For the straight jacket moralist falling into a manic outburst on my actions, you don't have to read you know.

Ivory and MissBangs say they are heading to Momo, but it takes one SMS from me saying that I'm at Zouk to make them change their course and head straight into sexual infamy. I'm the reason why girls should never change their plans for guys. We ain't worth it.

The moment they join us at members, I appraise the situation and envisage that this might be a bad idea after all. Ivory starts hugging me, much to my chagrin. I hate to be monopolized. Unless I'm dating you, I don't want you hugging me within a 10 feet proximity of hot girls. I'll let you know when it's ok to hug me in public. Signs to give the go ahead includes grabbing your boobs or ass. Or if you are hotter than me, then its almost always ok.

I start to angle my proposal for a foursome to MissBangs.

Me: "Later it's you, LB and me in the sack. Ivory can join if she wants."
MissBangs: "No cannot. I don't share well."
LB: "You can fuck me first then fuck him later.."
MissBangs: "Cannot, I don't like sharing... Butterfly is taken anyway"

I stare at her C cup bosoms and decide "No" is not an option. I move in for my second endeavor.
Me: "You can fuck me, Im a virgin. Its a bargain for you to deflower me."
MissBangs: "Oh really? I'm a virgin too.."
Me: "Good all four of us can lose it together, saves us time and we can watch a DVD after that."

LB: "We are going to watch DVD's together, you are coming with us."
MissBangs: [nods] "I want to watch comedies."

The stage is set, now all I need to do is go back, grab my disc and condoms and we can (in the words of BEP), get the party started. My very very hot hairstylist shoots me funny looks from where she's standing. She comes over to to tease us.

She: "Wah everyday hug different people."
Me: "My arms are on the railings, she's leaning on it, I ain't touching her."

We leave Zouk. At the valet, Ivory starts hugging me tightly from the back.

Me: "Hey I'm perspiring lah, don't hug me."
Ivory: "Its ok.."
Me: "What do you mean 'its ok'? I'm asking you NOT to hug me. I'm drenched."
Ivory: "I know, I don't mind, its ok."
Me: "No, I'm telling you NOT to hug me. You're making me perspire more and you are tugging at my braids."

I get home, half breaking out into a sprint of anticipatory excitement, then rumage through my DVD selections. I have NO comedies, the latest show I have is American Pie: The Wedding, and I've seen it enough times to learn never to trim your pubes before a wedding. I need to re-stock on my stash of pirate discs. I take two condoms. The night is made.

Side note: I get a call from Blaque to tell me he is in hospital following a car accident. He has some facial cuts but everything else is fine. Afterall, its never the face that he's concerned with. If the package is in place, everything can fall apart and it still won't matter. I tell him my plans for the night, he laughs and tells me to send him pictures.

LB stops over at the petrol station and I move in discretely to slip him a French cap. He directs my attention to MissBang's purchases in the kiosk.

LB: "Look dude, she's buying condoms. I don't think I'll need this."

This is perfect because she's outrightly showing that she knows something is going to happen and that the comedy movie is to trivialize sex. Someone is going to get fucked tonight and I'm hoping its all of us, together. This is good, we can be adult about this and dive straight into damnation.

We put in the best show we find, Wallace and Gourmit.

10mins into the show and MissBangs is straddling LB. I pay absolutely no attention to the fucking talking plasticines on screen, while I steal glances at MissBangs placing LB's hands on her boobs.

12mins into the show and she is teasing him by pulling her top off centre to reveal more cleavage. Fuck the damn movie, I make no attempt to hide my blatant staring. Nothing beats live sex. I start cheering them on. Remember, I have a spit full of alcohol enough to start a barbeque, everything is a good idea at this point.

15mins into the joke of a movie, LB and MissBangs are choosing which rooms to fuck in. I tell them I'm going with them. Ivory shoots me disgusted looks, could be just her face, I don't know. I ignore her anyway. She tells me she's tired.

Me: "Go sleep, you are disturbing my show."

She hurtles off into one of the bedrooms, LB and MB(MissBangs) are stilling deciding on a room, and I'm lying of the couch, determined to get myself in the mood. The foursome is not going to materialize and I'm going to end up fucking familiar pussy. Its going to be ok, as long as she doesn't kill me.

Deciding to sleep with Ivory turns out to be a BAD decision.

As I lie there and her immediately stripping of her top and going on top of me, I realise that I don't really want to get fucked tonight. She starts straddling me and a couple of blood rushes later, I think maybe Im wrong, getting fucked might not be that bad an idea.

Then it all goes wrong...

She starts whispering sweet nothings into my ear. It starts out ok, with stuff like

Ivory: "You are so hot tonight."

Compliments I can appreciate. Then it escalates into pillow talk nightmare.

Ivory: "I really miss you and I really like you.."

I remain silent and start to think of everything else except her. I start counting sheeps, think of Brazil winning the World Cup and hum 'Jesus loves me'.

Ivory: "I want you every night.."

I start thinking of everyone else other than her. Starting from Japanese porn starlets. Not even she can fuck up sex for me this time! I'm determined to enjoy myself, even if I have to call her Kaede Matsushima. Then it gets worse..

As she lies over me, she constantly adjusts my rubbered prick. Thinking she's stimulating it, I let her be. Then 1 min later, I look down to see this crease, like a little torn off knot at the tip of the condom. I go hysterical and I start screaming at her.

Ivory: "Wha..what? I didn't"

I move my fingers over the tip and I feel what I think is a hole.

Ivory: "I didn't!"

The first couple of thoughts that pans out in my mind is that this is a girl interrupted. She's mentally unstable and obsessed with me to the point that,

a) She wants me to impregnate her
b) She has AIDS and wants me to catch it so that I'm stuck to be her AIDS fuck buddy.


In between my hysteric disposition and yelling, I pull out the condom and run my fingers through it again. Funny how it feels different this time, it feels almost.. complete. The hole is non-existent and the knot I saw is gone. I could have sworn.. but now I made things awkward. I wonder if I can just slip the condom back on.

Me: "Ohh, yea it's not torn."

She stares at me almost as if I'd wronged her. I don't give a shit, when paranoia fucks with you, you DO NOT take chances, yelling is always a good way to deter them from ever trying it. She sits up, visibly pissed even through the dim light. I deduce that largely from her tone of voice when she tells me to go grab another condom.

This is a bad idea. Considering that the condoms are with LB and at this time, and the two of them should be like mating lions on a queen sized bed. I'd be pissed if someone interrupts me while I'm humping away at my conquest. I scurry across the living room in my boxers and knock tactfully at the room door. LB comes out looking VERY displeased.

I get back to the bed but having lost the moment, I decide that sleeping is a better option. Ivory objects to this because she believes that I'm not going to call her ever again. She's a bright one, not too good at sex but she's smart enough to know that she's only good enough to be a booty call.

Ivory: "You have to fuck me tonight, cos you are never going to call me again."
Me: "Cant I just call and fuck you some other day instead?"
Ivory: "No I know you're not going to call me again. Why did you have to call me today?"
Me: "I was asked to call you, so that LB can hook up with MB. Not that I wanted to call you."

Of cos, the way I said it made it seem like I was joking. It's meant to be a joke, but everything about it is true. I don't lie.. usually.

As soon as we resume sex, LB and MB starts blasting the television volume outside the living room. I come out to see them each drapped in a towel. LB makes a 'that was bad sex' sign at me. I start laughing, nothing can be worse than the 30sec trauma I had just survived. I was wrong.

Over breakfast, LB starts unloading his part of the story. Which starts off with,

LB: "Fuck you lah! You and your bright idea about fucking MB!"

Then this is the gist of what he had to endure.

- Apparently the foreplay lasted a tad too long for his liking and it was littered with her asking questions about me, generally about if I was a player and some stuff about Lee. He told her to shut up.

- He grumbled that she had no clit. Her vagina felt weird, there was a large ball in place of the clit and that he couldn't find her hole. It was wet though.

- Her breast were fake. How did he know? He felt two scars below the bust and silicon that has seen better softer times.

- She almost broke his dick trying to insert into her.


They took a cab home after breakfast while we continued complaining about the WORST HOOK UP EVER!

Friday, April 14, 2006

Butterfly Goes for Fashion Show

Added: Pics of the event and after.

When a chance to wine and dine for free while oogling at catwalk mannequins presents itself to me, I never pass off a chance to cash in on it. We had some invites to a fashion show by Female magazine at Ritz Carlton and since I've never been to a private event fashion show, I think going is a great idea. Like I said, the best part ain't the hot models sashaying endlessly on a runway built for narcissistic egos, but the brick-a-brats that accompany this parade of anorexia.

1. Free Food (its good stuff, think salmon, caviar, kish...)

Champagne is evil, I reiterate myself. But anything free deserves at least 6 glasses of my attention. All things alcoholic are wicked, but what fucks you up has to be good. Free flow of alcohol gets me all excited just like Steve Chia in a maid agency. Haa.

I get there with LB, and dressed to kill. Its a good thing I decided to stick with the shirt, cos everyone's dressed to be on the cover of GQ. Think a page out of Singapore Tatler, then throw in an under 40 age bracket, and what you get is a room of people blowing kisses at everyone else who is a Who's who.

I scan the place. Aside from the male models, I am the hottest straight guy in the place. I do a visual head count of non-homosexuals. Including the underaged waiters, we have just enough to form an Ice Hockey team without reserves. I cheer at being eyed by both sexes.

As soon as we get there, I grab 2 glasses of champagne and down both like a shot of Jolly Shandy. I have no time to lose, I have to have at least 6 glasses to make up for my time there. LB moves in for the food, I continue to cash in on the drinks. I grab another glass. Within half an hour, I'm already on my 6th glass and I'm starting to feel slightly tipsy.

7.45pm: I'm on the 8th glass and everyone is beginning to look better.

7.47pm: Sue thinks I should cut down, before I start spewing in the middle of the fashion show. LB thinks I should go crazy on the drinks and begin to cheer me on.

7.50pm: I've hit 9 glasses. Peed about 200 times and have yet to say anything remotely rude to anyone.

7.55pm: I desperately chase after waiters for my 10th glass of champagne. You think I'm kidding, I'm not. I ran after those secondary school part timers because they kept walking away from me. I had to be the only one made to work for a drink.

8pm: At 10 glasses, I think continuing on the fizz juice is a bad idea. I might pass out.

The fashion show starts as fast as it ends. Its a 30 min show with a 2 hour reception. If I didn't know better, I'd think it was an All-you-can-eat buffet with a catwalk side show. The only good thing about such shows is that everyone the people in these industries tend to be good looking and dress well. Thankfully so, cos if there were fat people there, the finger food would have been snapped up. We just cant compete with them.

On a side note. The models were pretty hot, especially the male. The female contingent is made up of frizzy haired caucasian with A cup boobs and 2 inch long nipples poking through the clothes fabric. There were couple of 'Stars' at the event. Michelle Goh if any of you remember her graced the event and was caught talking to Benedict Goh (Who? Think Pyramid game?).

I steal in one last glass to cap the night off at 11 glasses. My speech starts to slur and I begin spouting non-sensical stuff. They ignore me. If any of you were there that night and saw this guy in brown drinking all night, running after waiters and asking if they had whiskey instead, then that would be me.

With enough in me to start a campfire, I decide to keep up the momentum and party at Zouk. I start getting messages from friends asking me to head down to various places. Im half fucked and I cannot think of anything else except getting more sloosh with juice. We stick to Zouk and it pays off.

I meet Huixx at Phuture where she introduces this guy to me. He looks VERY familiar, I stare at him then tell LB.

LB: "He's an actor."
Me: "He is?"
LB: "Ya, he raped Fann Wong in Return of the Condor Heroes."

I turn to Huixx

Me: "Babe, he raped Fann Wong.."

This guy is a drop out actor. And he actually looks alot better in person, like most television personalities.

Then the part which makes this night memorable. Enter MissBangs and Ivory into the equation, with a half drunk me (I drank more at Zouk) and a very horny LB. Since I don't really give a fuck about them or what they think of me, I decide to angle this into a Foursome, just to push my luck and see how far I can get with this.

I'm going to take my time with this entry, its going to be good. The worst hook up...

This is the Invite.

She's the one responsible for making me look good. Trust me she's ALOT better looking in person.

Watching a catwalk half drunk is fun, that way I lie to myself that being addicted to juice is a reason my I'm not modelling.

The poor soul next to me, I pity her for falling for me. Haha.

Friday, April 07, 2006

Mambo is for the deaf

I needed someone to get me out for drinks and Blaque answered that call of distress. This is a rarity, almost like fucking a Siamese twin, cos he NEVER comes out late on a week day. Blaque unlike me, has work priorities and working in a Forex company kills social life.

We head to Zouk which on a Wed night plays 'I can't fucking believe people are still doing the hand patterns' retro. I hear people shrieking in disgust already. Don't roll your eyes at me, you've been there before. Putting me in a retro arena is like watching retards trying to fuck a doorknob, I'm absolutely out of place.

I always think Mambo is a disco for the deaf. You get social workers on the platforms doing sign language dances for the deaf. You don't even need to know the lyrics, you can litterally see it. If you still dance to retro songs, religiously moving your hands to the lyrics, its ok. Its a dysfunctional ascribed trait, much like ugliness, obesity, necrophillia and pedophilia. You might want to get that checked soon.

Its bad enough when people start a sing-s-long session, but is sign language legitimately considered a dance? I guess its cool for a time but people need to move on. Do you really what to be zooified for the rest of ya disco dancing life? Then I realise something, the only reason why I'm appalled by them is that they aren't good looking. If a cute girl was up there, I'd have been way more forgiving. Which brings my argument to this.. Looks is EVERYTHING. I cant imagine me having an ugly kid, I might kill them. Its a wonder why my parents didn't kill me, I was an ugly kid growing up.

Blaque was hilariously entertaining for me. Some chick goes up to hug him from behind and he turns to her and shouts.

Blaque: "ARE YOU FROM CHINA?!!?!"
Girl: "No, I'm from Malaysia. Why? Are you from China?"

In case you don't get this, let me try to explain without killing the hilarity of this. You see, Blaque's perception of all morally decadent women stamps alot from their country of origin. So random women coming up to hug him is a sign that they are mainlanders. Hint, you might like to link the societal perception of China women. If you are a girl, don't read much news and have no idea what I'm driving at, you might like to take a walk with me out on a night of vice.

Blaque is completely throwing the structure of chatting women up at clubs out the window. He starts spouting rubbish at her and her friends try dragging her away from him. Classic sight. He wraps his arm round her waist while he proceeds with his conversational roadkill. Then he turns to me.

Blaque: "She thinks she can eat my 'ba', but I eat her 'ba' back."

Another female friend of mine, Cherry, comes to join us and we head back to join Jane and her air-stewardess friends at the table. There's only one hot enough to grab my attention, and alot of it is due to the plunging neckline and the ample cleavage. If you saw it, you'll stare at it. We did, for a good remainder of the night.

We're like old men oogling at meat, and a large part of our conversation revolved around second guessing if she's wearing any bra. You have to understand how bored I was (4 shots tequila only and bad music), I'm usually way more decent like telling her outrightly that her boobs are distracting me. Today, I'm mellow.

Blaque: "She's not wearing.. I can see right down and I don't see a bra.."
Me: "Wha...what? Sorry I'm still at the right boob, I'll tell you my verdict when I get that far."
Blaque tells Cherry about his amazing sex feats, she'll testify to it that I'm not lying. He starts laughing at everyone's dick being small. This is his response to the "Tammy Video"

Blaque: "That guy is a joke! His dickhead is damn small."

It turns out that cleavage chick's boyfriend knows Cherry, and well he kinda lied to her about him being single a week back. That jerk, Blaque decides to embark on a moral crusade and have Cherry hook up with the guy while he attempts to pry the girlfriend from under his nose. Fails.

I have no clear idea why I actually agreed to meet Jane there, this is the same girl who told me she likes me and as much as an asshole I can be, I try not to lead people on. Tonight she's going with a different attitude, she's trying to be my best friend instead, by calling me "Hey Bro." Do not do that EVER. It makes me feel like I'm fucking guys.

The crowd is great, I just hate the music and the damn smirk on the damn retro dancers faces when they execute the synchronise lyric dancing. If I was going hard on the juices, I'd have puked couple times over just so that everyone would look at me instead. Some Ladyboys start dancing around the table. One has a top that is hanging on solely because of her silicon twin peaks. I say, "Wahhhh." She ignores me. That bitch, he/she is ugly anyway.

Everytime Blaque tells me his feats, I wonder why no porn production company has approached him. IF you run a porn production, get in touch with me, I'll introduce you to quite possibly the next Ron Jeremy.

Edit: To hell with retro. Meet Tiesto. This is me briefly shuffling outside The Cathay. Video

Saturday, April 01, 2006

The Ladyboy Discourse

Edit: Answers to the ladyboy test here.

Yesterday was the first time since I got back from OZ that I stepped into a club and I realised what lack of sleep and alcohol can do to me. It makes me yawn, alot. Maybe its the crowd, maybe its the music or maybe I've come to like rave spots so much that mellow RnB and house just don't cut it.

I got hit on by a ladyboy yesterday. In heels and standing close to 1.80, she's Kareem Abdul- Jaber on a ladies night out. The thing about these Ladyboys is that they are hot, would-fuck-them-in-an-instance hot. They out strut, out pout and out suck (so I've heard) any female. This ladyboy was hot, long wavy hair, Gisele molded body and a face you'd use to illustrate the perfect face on. While some men aren't able differentiate fact from fiction, especially Caucasians, I'm way to familiar in this to be fooled. I did a term paper on them, I'm an encylcopedia in this field.

Think you can tell fact from fiction? Here's a test. Which do you think are ladyboys and which are real ladies?

Some people (*cough* Blaque *cough*) are offended by Ladyboys because they see them as freaks of nature. If you are one of them, then you sadly have a myopic view on society and I hope your child grows up normal or you'll probably gas them. Think you got my test right? Or have you slept with any of them?

For the guys who've been in a situation where they are mind fucked over the true sexuality of their dates. I've been there before and I've friends who have treaded this path of paranoia. Thankfully you have me to clear your doubts. Bow down and say a word of thanks.

Firstly, physiogamy traits. Its hard to tell. You know how they say to look out for Adam's apple and stuff, its bullshit. They can be removed. The closest thing you can tell is from the hands and feet. Generally they have larger hands/feet that women their size are allowed to have. Whatever the case, if you have ignored all this and dived straight into the sheets, then take a deep breath and stick ya fingers down under.

Do not worry if it feels weird, if you've fucked enough women, you'll know that everyone is built differently so sometimes they feel different. If after 15mins of foreplay, you discover her to be as dry as Asahi, 3 things are possible.

A) You absolutely suck at foreplay. You might want to invest ALOT in lube in future. Either you are getting ALL the erroneous spots wrong like licking eyeballs and fingernails, or you are just not cut out for it. Leave the ladys to us, and go back to playing Warcraft.

B) Some girls have genetic defects which makes them unable to lubricate naturally. You might want to check her IC on this. People lie alot when they are naked.

C) You hit the jackpot! You have yourself a Ladyboy and can now fuck both a man and woman at the same time. This is basement bargain for a threesome.

Some people think sex with ladyboys are ok, since they are biologically non-male. Whatever rocks your boat. The notion of non-male is not always female. I will not cast judgement upon you for I have friends who have dated ladyboys.

According to my friend, they are able to naturally lubricate but I've checked medical resources and the state that natural lubrication is not possible. I take it that when medical sciences say lub, they mean 'i-am-a-human-super-soaker' wet. Either that or my friend is taking perspiration as natural lubrication. They do secrete some juices, but it's not sufficient unless abrasions are your cup of tea.

While I will never sleep with one, I love talking to them because they are VERY interesting. They engage you in witty banter and they know exactly how to keep you interested. When I did my paper on them, I got to know some of them personally and learnt of their struggles. They are like everyone else, looking for love. And in their case, its even harder because as hot as they are, how many of you wouldn't mind a ladyboy as ya wife. Mum will beam in delight, I can tell.

you: "Hi mum, this is your new daughter in law. We'll be adopting from now on. She's fake."

One of them (in the above pic) told me about how her failed relationship with her bf eventually drove her into prostitution. She also told me some very interesting sex stories of perverted old men who get them to play out wild fantasies and a young man who came within seconds of her going down on him. She also told me that she'd never do Blacks again, cos the last one had such a huge dick she gagged when he shot into her mouth. The bottomline is, they usually prefer Chinese men, not because we are better in bed, but because we are less demanding, more docile and we treat them better than the others.

The most hilarious one was about her working in a massage parlour years ago and this was pre-op. She already looked liked a female, had a C cup (she told me hormones got her up to a small B and silicon did the rest) and was already as pretty as she is now. The only thing was that she still had a dick which was already close to usless and she taped it. She was serving this Japanese customer when he slipped his hand under her skirt while she was massaging his back. He felt the buldge and started screaming and she thought it was because she had broken something in his back. This story wasn't meant to be funny because it was used to highlight some of the 'down' times in her life.


Are you kidding me. If you tell me something like that, I don't care what context its in, I'm going to laugh my ass off.

Back to the story. The thing about yesterday is that I deliberately got myself picked up, cos I knew she'll be interested. I'm such a slut and I do really dumb things sometimes when I'm bored. I smiled at her then walked off to stand alone by the side of the dance floor. Her friend who towers over me comes over to stand beside me and immediately gets hit on by this group of guys. They are not goodlooking, so she ignores them. Thats exactly why I love them because while they scream for attention and they also have the aptitude to reject inferior goods.

Her friend looks at me, smiles and I smile back. She makes a funny face to tell me about the guys that tried to pick her up. This was a time when I was still awake and didn't think befriending another ladyboy was going to be more enticing that awaiting the next good dance track. I make bad social decisions sometimes. I've had quite a bit in me because I emptied 1/8 bottle of Absolut Vanilla into a large coke from MacDonalds and I stole some drinks off LB and this other girl.

The night trickles on boringly, I decide that I'll need to entertain myself. LB is being wrapped by his chick and I'm beginning to space out. What do I do? I'm determined to get myself noticed by the hottest chick in the main dance area, even if she wasn't a real girl. I literally sashayed around her and found myself a spot where I could stand and look pretty. I smiled at her again and pretended to be interested in the half-fucked of a trance track they were playing.

10 secs after I had given her my most impish grin, I feel someone tap me on the butt. I turn to see her standing next to me. She sticks out her tongue jokingly, I return the courtesy facial gesture and she pinches me on the cheek.

She: "Lor Mak.." (Thai for good-looking)
Me: "Yes, I think so too"

Then she struts off. Yes, I'm a slut, I have to construct avenues for people to compliment me. HAHA the great degradation of me as we speak. Pre-mix drinks before party, getting LB to pay for my drinks (this is a first) and making ladyboys hit on me. I pat myself on the back for a job well done. Other than that I yawn incessantly, cut toilet queues, jump re-entry queues and constantly step on people while shuffling. I think I'm not made for clubs anymore.