End Of Anonymity

I have a confession.

No, I’m biologically male and I still play for the same team. I’m addressing something which would affect the future of this blog and that’s the end of anonymity.

Yes I know I’ve been paddling in pseudo anonymity, despite my avatar and poor photoshop editing, some of you actually know who I am. Not surprisingly so, since a good number of you are NUS students and you’ll probably recognize me if you saw me. Oh and of cos, I’ve been shamelessly flaunting my pictures on MSN. Silly me.

Rather than be unceremoniously exposed, I’d figured it’ll only be polite (yes if it’s possible coming from someone like me) to reward your loyalty and adoration with a pre emptive publicizing of my cameo in a local magazine. One we commonly view as Cleo’s annual hunt of bachelors.

Me? An Eligible Bachelor? Yes.

I’m prepared for the few who will vehemently protest against having me plastered in a bevy of ‘hunks’ (49 others to be exact). What is a pussy-cat like me doing in a selection comprising of well chiseled bodies and commercial high-fliers? Well, wits and being me are my only entry merits to this.

And of cos, faux-celebrity status under the Butterfly moniker, which gives me an edge of about 2 million imaginary daily addicts who refresh my site periodically. No, I have no idea what is my catchment readership and I have no interest unless I have a book publisher sediment under teenage school girls, arm chair moralist and beer loving men, that’s secretly reading.

Well one reason I’ve been so selective in uploading my pictures, other that the core reason of being lazy, is that there aren’t many pictures I look good in. Yes, as much as being blessed with sharp features, I’m seldom ever photo perfect. As for the Cleo spread, I can’t say I’m ecstatic with the product but they’ve managed to capture me with a good measure decency in that I actually look… wholesome.

Yes, the voting sites will be up and so will my page, as soon as procrastination decides to leave me and pro-activeness comes on as a worthy substitute. Firstly, this isn’t on a self volunteering basis and my decision to accept the invitation to be part of this has been greeted with a myriad of reactions, largely supportive ones.

I’m a slut. Undeniably so. I won’t deny that I like the occasional attention, which makes this a common confession of sorts. Yes, I indulge in the same guilty pleasures as you.. attention basking, cookies and cream, reading my blog, suicide bombing…and the big M naturally.

Yet even me, your narcissistic, alcohol gulping protagonist have reservations. If this were a Miss Tiffany contest, I’d have enough confidence to know I’ll be in the top 5 and celebrate my win minutes later with a good shuffle routine, in mini skirt of cos. But in a celebration of model physiques and masculinity, I have nothing much to offer, except an ailing liver, diminishing drinking prowess and of cos, my newly acquired scar. So, if you’ve wasted your money calling in for NKF donations, you’re better off rooting for me.

Things To Do After Sex

Bedroom etiquette is almost an inversion of societal norms. Ass licking, nose picking, endless spews of expletives and choke holds are mutual courtesy spankings we’re allowed to dispense under the guise of foreplay. And when all that erotica and carnal pruriency has been exhausted at the expense of a French cap, what are we suppose to do?

Do we cuddle? Take a shower? Fetch the papers? Are we even allowed to light up after sex? What really is the proper post-coital etiquette?

I’m equally guilty of being caught in abeyance in a crossfire between morally right and politically safe. 2 years on and countless of fuck ups later, I correct myself. I WAS ignorant to the Do’s and Don’ts.

Things You Should Do After Sex

1. Cuddle

Cuddling is almost mandatory, even if you picked her up from the bar 2 hours ago. That’s if they were any good with the hip thrust or seasoned users on the iGallop. If sex was good, a few minutes of pillow talk is a good way to ensure this one nighter blooms into regularity.

If she’s a bad conversationalist, you can stare at the cleavage. Nothing beats talking distracted.

Cuddle for 2-3 mins. If they demand for more, punch them. HARD. Preferably with your master hand. Cuddling is sweet for only the first 2 minutes, or 3minutes if the room is well air-conditioned. After that, reality sets in; it's called heat rash.

It’s important that you let your partner know that cuddling is not an entitlement. Cuddling is a reward for merits earned during the bedroom frolic, which includes odourless encounters, shaven armpits and enthusiasm. If they ever step out of line and believe it to be a given, a good ass whooping will set them straight. Brass knuckles thrown in if we need to.

2. Clean up

Even if sex was that wonderful and exhaustive, hygiene must never be neglected. Plus, it can be erotic to have some one clean you up. Remember, nothing beats having her shower you, unless it’s having her sister join in.

Additional, cleaning up ends whatever pillow talk vulgarities like “love”, “be with you” and other horrible sounding confessions that might follow after sex (depending on how well you’ve educated your partner). This is a good thing. Think of them standing up by the bathroom as a semaphore. It’s your one visual cue to know that this is the end and you might want to start planning the next hook up as soon as the shower tap comes on.

Rule of the thumb, the faster you clean up, the faster you get them out of your place.

3. Pay

It’s a customary practice for an insidious fraction of men. Well, it’s a mandatory token if you do not wish to have your ass whooped by the pimps. If you’re Caucasian, your D cup, 23 inch waist Thai companion can probably whoop your ass with ‘her’ heels off.

Unless you’re me, and have equal luck in dating idiots that take every word you say to be abided by religiously, then you can get them to pay you for sex. Yes, the world IS indeed unfair, thus exploiting idiots are commendable affairs.

4. Check the ID

Preferably to do this in stealth. Whether it is to ascertain the sex or the age, some things are best known. I know, this should be done before sex, but the last time someone took a quick sabbatical from ‘in the heat of passion’ to go lock car doors, he ended up having to watch midget porn. Alone.

Better late than never. Well, if she does turn out to be a minor, you can kill her while she’s sleeping. Look, you’re already going to prison for statutory rape so you might as well make bold your prison resume with murder. I’ve heard enough sodomy stories to know that rapists can shit faster than anyone after 3 months in detention. Nothing beats dying an anal virgin.

I’d also be very pissed if someone tells me her name’s Jamie and I see James on the identity card.

5. Ask for the name

If you haven’t already, now’s a good time.

It’s ok if they start screaming, I get that all the time.

6. Lie

You can make penance with God later, for now you need to engage all ensuing questions with a good dose of lies. It’s only natural since people consume bullshit as a daily staple and they love hearing only the good things.

While I do not naturally encourage lying, I’ve learnt through experiences, dramatic and traumatic that the best way to get out of a fix, is to lie.

Sex is bad, the girl is crazy. You do not EVER tell her sex was bad, not unless you want to wake up the next morning to find your testicles on sale on eBay. You say nothing, just smile.

She: “Was it good?”
You: *smile*

She gets to keep her pride and you get to keep you your organs.

Things You Should NOT Do

1. Sing

Once this girl sang church hymns right after sex and I couldn’t walk into church without giggling for a month. It’s not just the genre of song, but seriously, singing after sex is akin to begging to be punched in the lips.

2. Propose

Think about it. You just had a corporeal feast of human skin, sex was divine and you’ve not had anyone lick your feet with such venereal delight. Now, do you really want to ruin a moment like this and your future possibly, by proposing?

Proposing is not going to work either way unless you know you were absolutely mind blowing and she was actually calling out your name instead of God. I’ll put this in perspective. If you were mediocre at best and you barely lasted longer than The Hanson’s popularity, you are traumatizing a poor person with your offer of commitment.

Beer is ok for a lazy afternoon but you can’t always be doing beer, not when you can occasionally lick whiskey.

3. Cry

I don’t care if it’s tears of joy or pangs of guilt, or fellating a lamppost was better than the sex. You do not cry. Never.

You can cry because Brazil didn’t win the World Cup or missing the finale of Prison Break, but never after sex. If there was a singular action that can kill your desire to ever commit to a second foray under the sheets, it’s crying.

Cry, and you’ll have your ass unceremoniously dumped and if time permits, kicked.

4. Read books on Single Parenting

Won't this just be the greatest read... EVER.

Pics

INSERT: More Pics added

This poem courtesy of Huixx basically sums up EVERYTHING about the trip. This is why I love this girl so much..

Some got lucky, some got punched,
Some got clingy and some got drunk.
One got stained and one got some magic
One abstained and one looked tragic
All got some sun stroke, and a bronzed tone
All got broke and all got stoned...

Edited: Pics added


Ok I managed to get some pics up.. the rest will come slowly.



Tease me. You're even allowed to say no.

I'd upload the other pics to my myspace blog. Blogger is REALLY slow at pictures.

HERE.

I've just received all the School Uniform pics, so once I've photoshopped out some faces, I'll post them.

Pappy and me doing a lover's embrace.

The Martell Air-Stewardess. When I went to the Martell party, I couldn't tell her apart from this other girl. When Red saw this pic in orginality, she thought I was more interesting to look at than the girl.

***PICS REMOVED***

Ok.. These are going to be teaser pics. I got too lazy to photoshop my face and the guys, so I'd just post it. Yes, Star.. I know my photoshop sucks.

I'll be removing these when there are about 500 views.

EDIT: Ok, pics removed. I'll repost the edited ones again. Pappy and Pokemon (formally known as Poks) are not ready for this level of exposure just yet. So you'll have to just be content with pictures of me.

Yes, and to briefly address why I'm so coy about publishing my pictures if I claim to be pretty? Well, I've never intended my looks to be a reason for you to be reading this blog and it shouldn't change.

The School Uniform Party

There’s only truly one way to engage a school uniform party and that is with a dose of insanity and alot of eyeliner. While everyone else was dressed in reminiscence to that dreaded uniformed school outfits, attached with an extensive list of do’s and don’ts, I decided to take the night by the balls.

I was going in a RGS pinafore.

Yes, if you were at ButterFactory on Saturday night and you saw two guys in pinafore, I was the prettier one; the one in eyeliner, painted nails and shuffling in a skirt. The other one with the dreadfully short skirt and hair-band, is Pappy. You’d not have missed us if you were there for the event. The other one in my group with a skirt was Poks but at a glance, it’d have passed off fittingly as baggy berms.

For the entire night, I had guys squeezing my tits, trying to lift my skirt, wolf whistle at me and deservingly, offered free drinks. Random girls came up to ask for photos to be taken with us, some to offer tips on how to wear my uniform and others to comment on how good I looked.

Blame it on the intoxicating trance that was playing for the first 2 hrs, but I didn’t take compliments or small talk from girls anywhere further than a curtsy and the obligatory “thanks”.

I’d take the chance to make amends then. The one girl who told me I was cute, I thought you were cute too, but fatigue and smudge eyeliner does a lot to my reciprocation of compliments and my will to engage anyone in pillow talk.

You’d imagine how much attention Pappy and I commanded if you took us out of context. Most of the patrons outside had no idea what was brewing inside and they were casting me horrific glances each time I walked out.

Yes, I’m the prettiest thing that night to pee standing up.

Then I bumped into Nikki who went in her volleyball uniform and she thought I was absolutely nuts. So did everyone else, but that’s an integral part of being me, amidst all the cheeky misdemeanor, induced melancholy and whiskey bottles . I can’t say I dislike attention and I won’t say being in a dress gets you positive vibes, cos I had people shooting me castigating stare, but nothing beats standing out.

I’d have charged an audience for shuffling on stage at the request of owners and for the guys who kept feeling my tits. Had I known how iconic Pappy and I were for the night, I’d have demanded an obeisance for anyone even desiring to pour us a drink. For a free tequila shot, I’d have sold myself to be a mascot

What I didn’t appreciate were people taking random snapshots of us, from across the room or the table adjacent us. Almost all of these people were girls and I’d have obliged a photo even if they weren’t hot, just so that I can look prettier.

Random spots for that night.

1. Toilet incidents

Me: “Let me pull out my imaginary dick.”

I said this while standing next to a guy at the urinal. He laughed so hard he forgot to wash his hands. In addition, I peed on my skirt twice.

2. Pick ups

Guy: “Shit dude, we thought you were a girl.”
Me: “Skirt on or skirt off?”

Apparently some people actually thought I was a real girl from far. This group of girls started giggling when they came near me and one of them said,

Girl: “Hahaa.. you look like a girl.. hahaha.. from far.”

I laughed my ass off then told RoundEyes who was in some Canadian School uniform, about it.

3. Martell Air Stewardess

2 models came dressed as air stewardess to hand out exclusive invites to the Martell party. While I actually already have them, I never pass off a chance to hit on people with extremely sharp features.

Not knowing they were promoters, Pappy, Poks and I stood right in front of them and I pointed to my dress. They laughed then came over for an introduction.

I’m not sure if her name is Michelle, cos I was already slightly tipsy and ready to pee beer, but she was the hottest thing in the club. Long curling locks with a face immaculately sharp, she was a template for the kind of girls that make me go weak and turn me nice. I have a picture with her which I will post along with the others.

Me: “Can I go dress like that?”
Her: “Ermm preferably not.”

I couldn’t hear the other model’s name cos the music started to pick up and all I caught where the closing lines of,

Girl2: “So I’ll see you there?”
Me: “You’ll be there?”
Girl2: “For sure.”
Me: “For sure then.”

4. The legend

I thought one of the girls there was awfully cute till RoundEyes told me about her history. I won’t say it here but apparently she did something in school that made her wildly popular or notoriously famed depending on how myopic you are.

It wasn’t the best party I’ve been to and I’d say that our choice of dressing actually made this more fun for us than it would otherwise have been. Well anything is fun if you have me in a skirt.

The Phuket Escape - Pt 5

Day 5

The last night had been a fitting closure to this trip. No pink confetti or cherry on ice to bid farewell to the local we love so dear, but I did it the only way I knew how… break a heart and as of yesterday it seems, 2.

B left early as she said she would. No emotional speeches, no clinging shirts, just a 2 sec pause before she hailed the cab off.

3 hrs later, I’m chatting up a very cute sales girl and swooning her with my most romantic pickup line, “let’s go drink coffee”. Just as we’re to leave, she gets me to write down on her notebook my full contact details.

Me: “$10 says she’ll call me..”
LB: “Breaking another heart again huh?”

And yes, for the record, I would have won the bet had it been validated. She’s called me already and apparently, she had to buy an overseas prepaid call card just to do so.

The Departure Debacle..again

As it’s evident, our holiday was plagued by time issues. Late for departure, late for our coach pickup for Phi Phi, not enough time in Phuket and now, faced with a possibility of missing our flight back.

To begin with, Huixx and Nikki could not be back in time for the hotel pickup service to the airport. The story to which resulted in this is quite a comedy..

The girls had extended their Phi Phi stay and decided only to take the earliest ferry back to Phuket on Tuesday morning (our last day). This was well inside the screw up buffer zone as the boat leaves 9am and arrives Phuket 11.45am. This was until everything that could go wrong, went wrong.

Huixx called,

Huixx: “We’re going to be late, we took the wrong boat and it’s to Krabi..”

It was hilarious when she related to me how a guy had asked her up to the deck for smokes and their short lived banter ended with his,

Guy: “How long are you staying in Krabi.”
Huixx: “Oh I’m not going Krabi, I’m going Phuket.”
Guy: “This boat goes to Krabi..”

Like all true seasoned travellers, their initial panic eroded into laughing about how silly they had been and eventually anchoring it into a boasting right on having actually been to three places on a single trip.

What made things worse was that they only had 430bht with them and Nikki didn't have her credit card pin with her to withdraw cash. They eventually managed to secure a mini bus back to Phuket for 350bht each, which still left them with 300bht short. The plan was simple. They would reach our hotel at 3pm, we’ll pay the remainder to the driver and still be in time for the airport pick up at 3.30pm.

3.30pm: No sign of Huixx and Nikki. I call them only to learn that the bus had to make a detour because it was overloaded and it couldn't climb a treacherous hill road, thus it'd reach only an hour later. They ask if we can pick them from Phuket town instead.

3.40pm: Receptionist confirms with me that going to Phuket town takes 40mins and another 1hr to reach the airport. We are ALL going to miss our flight with this arrangement.

3.50pm: The final arrangement is to have them meet us at the airport.

By the time we finally got to the airport, it was 5pm. If you consider the flight being at 5.50pm, this was a marked improvement over how we left Singapore.

On the plane back, I got a little tipsy and was laughing loudly at everything the guys said.

Stewardess: “Chicken with pasta or Lamb with rice?”
Me: “BOTH.”

In honesty, this didn’t feel as much of a holiday as it was a getaway. The pace at which we engaged this trip was with almost the same frenzied anticipation and expectation I have when we party anywhere else.

Sure, there were the lazy days on the beach but half of that time, I was filled with the pre-occupation of sucking in those abs and counting my calories. There was also the arduous task of keeping one eye on the bevy topless people, hot Japanese asses and bulging beer guts, while another on falling parachutes and from tripping over sand castles.

In all, I was actually pretty upset we didn’t miss the flight back.

The Phuket Escape - Pt 4

If there was a sure recipe to concoct disaster, it’s putting yourself smack middle of two ladies who have credence that I’m their acquired property for the night. Yes, I know I’m dangling myself thin with casual smiles and occasional teases, but these are ascribed traits of a Butterfly.

I’ve never felt more uncomfortable entering a club with a girl trailing behind me than then. I was dragging Jolie to meet Aniston. One way or another, tension was going to mount beyond my control.

As soon as I got in, I saw B still rooted to the spot I left her. I glanced to LB who quickly took cue and pushed Pai into the dance floor while I pretended to be pre-occupied with getting drinks. Without the slightest re-acknowledgement, B quickly wrapped her arms around my waist.

15 mins later, B’s friend ditches her and she’s left in my custody. For which I took to be inclusive of lodging, a good back rub and lucid bedtime stories. That was the calm before the storm..

5 mins on, someone tugged very hard at my hair. I turned to see Pai staring angrily at me.

Pai: “Many girls huh you..”

I feigned ignorance, then replied with a weary grin.

Pai sashayed down from where she stood before circling B, almost as if sizing her up. Her eyes scanned her viciously, then the mandatory ‘accidental’ brush before mumbling some gibberish Thai, which I shall assume to be hexes.

Pai: “I heart-broken!”
Me: “I know...”

Cold and heartless as ever but a quiet compunction that it had to come to this. LB was the sheath to my wild demeanor and the almost perfect wingman to keep this debacle from entirely collapsing.

I was the epicenter of what normal would be the envy of many. A buffet of girls at my picking, but only this time I had to digest only one. I had almost everything I desired. The only thing was a conflict between actual desire and which would I derive a higher marginal gratification.

To begin with, I’m only passably attracted to Pai, but if a way a person grooves is a yardstick to bedroom prowess, then my scale was tipped by a feather and a slice of Godiva chocolate in her favour.

B on the other hand, was much more attractive. Fair, sharp nose, and teeth built for Japanese porn-stars. The only thing that kept me from showing open affection was my disapproval of the way she danced, which at some point looked like she was doing the Hokie Pokie.

Me: “We’re leaving..”
LB: “I’ll go back at 4.30.. so do what you need to.”

Surely this had to be a turning point. Well, in any other story it is, but this is me. You’ve sat through enough graphic parodies of my hook ups to know that SELDOM does anything go on without a glitch.

The Bedroom Story

It’s almost an unspoken consensual that going back to a guy’s hotel means one thing. Play Scrabble and watch re-runs of Desperate House Wives. Well, for some of you it is, perhaps, but in my world, the clothes should come off just after the door. I love being me.

Then it goes bad.

Somewhere in between gasping for air and removing my socks, she kills the mood with an ass-whooping deserving question.

B: “You want sex of you want love?”

What the fuck is this? Jeopardy? What fuck of a question is this? I’ll take sex for $500.

Me: “Sex.”

The answer must have caught her off-guard cos she starred wide eyed at me in near disbelieve. My money is on that she’s probably never met anyone as directly honest as me before, and she’d probably never will.

B: “And what about love?!”
Me: “Are you coming over to Singapore?”
B: “No…”
Me: “Yup.. then it’s ‘Sex’ ”

She must have been very pleased with my answer cos she rewarded me with a slap to the chest and some hysterically nonsense that had the words, “are you joking…”.

B: “I think I like you a lot…”

I took this as cue to resume duties. I placed my hands gently on her shoulders, my fingers stroked and teased her collarbone.

B: “When you walk in you know.. I see you.. but I shy.”

I moved my face close to her, my breath warm against her face.

B: "Maybe you stay 3 more days? ok?"
Me: "We'll see.."
B: “I know you want sex… but I period.”

I tilted my head so that her ear lobes came within an inch. I nibbled. The cold flesh rolled between my tongue. Then I whispered,

Me: “Up to you..”

And that was it. The tease ended. I pushed myself up, my fingers running down her cleavage to the navel, then slithered off her thighs. My bait was cast, yet I expected nothing, for the voracity for the thrill had ended almost as abruptly as it started. Undeniably, my utopian forecast had been lying next to her panting, sweaty and well satisfied, but even the greatest fall from time to time.

To built Rome again, would be to run back to salvage the burnt bridges of Pai or alternatively, I could have ran down the street with a banner that read, “Picked the wrong chick, need rebound”.

I turned round to pick the socks up.

B: “You don’t want sex?”
Me: “Up to you..”

I continued clearing the bed of my used clothes. Then she exploded onto me. The closet wild child, tugging fiercely at my top and forcefully plastering her lips on mine. I peeled her clothes off. The top, the bra, the skirt, the panties..

Me: “WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!”

No, it’s not a dick, but if you view it at this perspective, I guess a sanitary pad inked with specks of blood isn’t such an awful greeting.

Me: “You’re REALLY having your period?”

She nodded. I guess being honest isn’t solely attributed to Singaporeans and all this while I thought of it as a ploy to chalk up excuses not to have sex.

Half an hour on, one missed call and 2 Travel Mates later, I’m living out my Utopian prediction.

I made a quick excuse to leave the room to return Jeang’s missed call. Immersed in trance music, a potential cat fight and one girl sitting on my bed, I had forgotten about my dormant desire to snag Jeang and now she’s telling me she’d wanted to spend my last night here with me.

This was going to be an almost impossible feat given that B was well prepared to spend the night with me and perhaps with the right visa, an eternity. I tried everything from,

“Are you sure you’d be ok if LB comes back here to sleep?” and,
“LB sleeps naked” to “I think your friend might be worried.”

And cos the room still had Huixx and Nikki’s stuff, even LB’s attempt of, “Those are his girlfriend’s stuff”, was greeted with a morale breaking. “I don’t care”.

With the Jeang dream fast fleeting and LB snoring away two body lengths from me, I decided to cap my night by accomplishing a task on my checklist. The contents of which might not be too appropriate but it’s now a joke amongst those that know.

Yes, I’ve been very naughty..

The Phuket Escape - Pt 3

Day 4

“Not coming back today.”

Four words that lit my eyes instantaneously from a groggy wake that still had my vision lined with tears from yawning. This was the grace of fate, the second wind and I was Jordan back in the game again.

Huixx’s SMS was singularly more inspiring than watching Terry Fox limp to stardom. I had a shot at redemption and to throttle towards my goal which till now, had looked like it had been dealt a blow of complexity, was finally possible.

I immediately lined myself up with a date with Jeang and in the process, blow off Pai who had called to ask me if I could shop with her. I sat through a brief evaluation by LB on what was to be the best plan.

LB: “You should go meet Pai, shop, then take her back to the room. I’ll go to the beach and we can meet later for dinner.”

Had I heard this while my attention was rooted to a single entity, this would have be perfectly ideal. Yet, bukaked with stupidity and an addiction for tattooed dancers, I instead opted to meet Jeang for a body massage.

The Massage Story

I started the date in the best way I could, by walking past her.

It’s like how you take a girl back from the club and she’s the hottest thing you’ve ever laid eyes on. You have great sex under dim light and the morning after when the foundation has thinned, the mascara smudged and the eye-liner no longer accentuates, you find yourself pinned by an arm of a total stranger.

Exact same story.

Jeang was a complete stranger. No more dolled eyes or endless lashes but in place was the once porcelain face now slightly weathered with age. I immediately glanced to the boobs. Yes, the unmistakable peaks, which would sustain my attention till we passed the next traffic light.

The date was only starting to exacerbate into regret and a huge joke at my expense. Pai was teasingly becoming my education on regret. But oh wait, fate would never let me off the hook this generously..

The massage was going to be the spear of destiny.

To begin with, I’m never much of a Thai massage advocate. As if being inflexible isn’t enough, I have a disdain for deep pressure massages. I’m a pussy and I need my muscles to be coaxed, not battered.

My masseuse might have secretly been the protégé of Ric Flair. She had quite an array of grapples that would have passed of as submission moves had we both been in tights. Half the time she had my calves and thighs stretched or my back arched uncompromisingly, and I was biting the pillow to stop me from yelling.

Then it went from sheer pain to immortalized embarrassment…

Just as she locked me in what I believed to be the Sharpshooter ( legs folded behind and pulled towards the back), the pain immediately triggered a reflex action I’d never have imagined.

Farting.

It’s one thing if it was a silent whistle, but this was a thunderous clap. I almost had to tap my ass to check if any accompanying shit nuggets flew out from the jukebox. So, it all went downhill, accompanied with a wave of giggles and only half an hour ago, they were commenting on how pretty I was, but for now, I was going to be remembered in the annals as, ‘Thunder Ass’.

Embarrassed, I spent the next 5 mins or so trying to devise a way to emulate the ‘thunder fart’ by fractioning myself against the mattress and other futile devises. The immediate cure for my blushing was an injection of flushness; the groin press, which caught me at mid breath and sat me partially up from the pain.

Me: “FUUUUU……CC…KK!!!!”

Then she released and I instantly felt the warm blood rush like ants running through the veins again.

Jeang: “Are you ok?”

Me: “Yea, I do this all the time.”

3 seconds later, I was back to grunting in pain.


By the time night came, LB and I had been well satiated with pizza and we got back to chasing skirts, or in Thailand we frame it as giving girls a chance to hit on us. I realized that the one huge advantage I had was my ability to infer half-fucked English sentences and communicate in abecedarian Thai.

The addition to our otherwise now routine itinerary of Erotica and alley bars, was Banana. Two words to surmise the place. FUCKING.AWESOME.

From the moment we stepped in, we got hit by a barrage of smiles and pleasant introduction from the local girls. And I’m talking about girls who are actually hot and not the run of the mill village monkey out in the club cos she lost her bus fare home to the padi fields.

LB and I make a quick scan and after agreeing that one particular girl was pretty, I proceeded to an exchange of glances and waved for her to come over. LB left and I headed up with my new catch to top bar.

Things that happen when you shuffle.

1. You become a side-show.

For the tune of Tiesto, I unwittingly became the object of observation for at least 15 Caucasians.

2. Get Picked Up

I got flanked by a group of gays who were cheering me on like I was running for Presidency. All was cool until they shouted, "Go Baby!"

3. You are by default, from Melbourne.

Some Aussie came up to me,

Aussie: “HEY!! YOU’RE FROM MELBOURNE!! YEAAA!!!!”
Me: “Nope.. YouTube.”

Even with one girl who was periodically staking her claim and holding me, I still allowed myself to get hit on by a couple others at the dance floor. It was the fountain of ego. Never have we spent so little effort to get hit on by such a gamut of girls.

Once the party ended and the suggestion from the girls to continue to another club came, I remembered agreeing to meet Pai at 2.30am. This was going to be another dreaded decision of leaving one for the other.

I weighed my options.

1. Meet Pai and I’d end my last night finally utilizing my Travel Mate.
2. Meet Jeang, probable pussy but highly desirable.
3. Stick with B, very pretty but a chance that I might not seal the deal.

Hands up if you picked option 3, cos you are no longer on complimentary wave lengths with me. I go for options 1 & 3.

The execution was simple but it lacked one important element; Foresight. I had left B and her friend at Tiger Disco while I sneaked out on pretext that I needed to find LB. Once out, I ran back to Erotica to meet up with Pai, who in the worst clubbing suggestion EVER, wanted to head to Tiger Disco as well.

Me: “Fucking shit.. this is great…”
LB: “Relax la.. just go back and pretend you don’t know B.”

By then, Pai was occasionally screaming at me on something about her friend spotting me at Banana. I’d have corrected her on the details, but I don’t need to explain myself for being an asshole.

Two girls at the same club. This was going to blow up in my face. Yet still, I took the plunge…

The Phuket Escape - Pt 2

Day 2 – Phi Phi Island

Note: This is a mild digression from the main story line.

Perhaps the only temptation that lured me away from my Thai Doll in Phuket to Phi Phi Island, was my warped geographical imagination of crystal clear waters washing up on white sandy beaches. And of cos, instigated largely on being informed by Huixx that it is a junkie’s arcadia.

I fell asleep on the 1.45 hr ferry ride, only to wake up to some punk kid pulling my hair. I’d have turned round and given that 5 yr old a flying elbow of the window ledge, had the father been 80 pounds smaller.

Everything was turning out to be a disaster. The room could have doubled as Changi’s detention barracks historical preservation project. Brandish me spoilt, but it was missing that one jewel box. An air-con.

Huixx made the smart break and went off with her German banker, while the remaining three of us decided to salvage this collapse with a mandatory trip to the one place that made Phi Phi famous. Maya Bay, film location of The Beach.

Other than our boatman who was initially pissed with us for bargaining on absurdity and looked like he was ready to flip the boat in the open sea, everything was going well. The sun periodically made intense appearances, before retreating back which allowed me to bask carelessly without sunblock lotion.

By the time we anchored slightly off shore, I was baiting an invite. I inched myself closer to the boatman as he prepped the bong, flippantly regurgitating out loud thoughts like, “I wonder if it’s good.”. Once smartened up and offered the obligatory round, I took several aggressive go at the bong and before I knew it, I was no longer in a state clear enough to be snorkeling or diving off boats.

And the remainder of the night was forgettable, save for the seafood pizza over dinner and drooling on the massage pillow. I was severely incapacitated with fatigue and I fell to bed palsied, even against the invite of smoking a joint.

Day 3

Leaving Phi Phi was the one thing I was looking forward to all morning. The best farewell memory was the trademark pancake. Forgivable even for blatantly ripping of prata. Mayonnaise and ham may fool some, but I know prata when I see one.

Even standing on the deck in a mild drizzle and strong winds was more enjoyable than the time spent in abeyance at Phi Phi. It also helped that women’s skirts were constantly being blown up.

Back to Phuket. The Story continues...

It’s awfully sad how a day’s absence can siphon my interest in a person. I fulfilled my promise to call Jeang, though I blew off the chance to meet for dinner. It was back to re-tracing the winning formula for a fun night, which to this point would primarily consist of plastering my ass to the bar at Erotica.

Whilst the novelty died a little, my little beating heart was still wooed each time Jeang got on stage and her every little wink cajoled me into outstaying my intention. And then I begun doing what I do best, shooting myself in the foot.

Jeang’s tedious dance routines opened up intermittent interludes where I relived myself from the feverish pitch of wolf whistling and applause to tease a possibility with Pai (the door bitch), which would always start with her stealing smiles from the door and ending with her feign collapse into my arms.

The only thing that took the thrill out of the chase was her obvious interest in me. It climaxed to her bending over to whisper to me, whilst she balanced her weight on her right arm strategically placed between my inner tighs.

Pai: “I’m going anywhere you’re going tonight.”

I feign nonchalance then tell her I’d be heading to Seduction.

It never crossed my mind that I was actually treading dangerous grounds and running a gauntlet of double edged swords. I was seeing two girls working at the same place and the possible implosion of this would amount to a wasted erection.

Just as I’m ready to meet Pai at Seduction, Jeang springs an unexpected call to have supper together. Images of her in the power suit and kimono drown all sensibility and logic in me. Even despite LB warning me that I’m giving up on definite pussy for an improbable one, I allow my fetish for sharp noses and frantic costume changes to affect my better judgement.

Supper soon concerted into accompanying drinks at a pub. LB who had briefly left me over supper returned to regal me with tales of how Pai was actually waiting for me at Seduction.

Yet, Jeang remained that intoxicating brew of attention. The consequence of which I was certain to be regret the morning after or when I'm lying in bed alone, given that Huixx and Nikki were still frolicking with Caucasian hunks at Phi Phi and we had full allotment of the room. This was the only night I could legitimately take someone home with me without having to piss of all three tenants.

And then almost amazingly, I gave up one hook up to sit at a bar with the dancers and Jeang, listening to the horrible live band who continuously changed the lyrics of English songs and drunk Caucasians hopping around arhythmatically.

Then I got back to the room and ended my night with three murmurs.

Me: “Worst.decision.ever.”

And so I had to sacrifice one…

The Phuket Escape - Pt 1

If there’s one way to kick start your holiday, it’s to be fashionably late for your departure. At 1 hr from departure, while everyone else should be cashing in on duty free cigarettes and perfumes, we’re caught in a traffic mayhem and laughing our asses off about missing our flight.

Huixx: “They might not let us in, so we have to think of something. LB, you are going to act as a spastic and if they refuse us entry, shout words like, ‘discrimination’.”

Me: “And also periodically throw in ‘New Paper’.”

By the time we got there, we’re 30mins from SilkAir leaving our procrastinating asses behind and I had to unglamourously run with my Ferragamo shades threatening to fall off to the check in counter.

Me: “What is the latest time we have to check in?”
CounterGuy: “Usually at least 45 mins before take-off.”

We looked to LB as if almost to cue him to salivate and wail in protest.

Me: “So can we still check in?”

CounterGuy takes a look at his watch and realize he’s contradicted himself and had us checked-in despite us being 20mins past eligibility.

The morning drama was all I needed to known how eventful this trip was going to turn out. Everything till this point had been arranged desultorily, from the sponsored tickets to the last minute lodging and yet everything had been charmed that I almost believed I was back in favour with fate.

The plan was simple. Misbehave.

I’ve never had an easier goal. It’s almost like a magnification of my lifestyle. It’s the same routine. Party hard, eat heartily, laze in the sun and get laid. This was going to be easier than winning paraplegic penguins at table-tennis.

Everything was going well. One sufficiently pretty stewardess, good exchange rates at the airport and a hotel pickup in a rice-boy mobile with hanging gauges and a manual gear knob fitted on an automatic transmission. Amazing.

I’d recommend you the place I stayed, but only if you promise not to whisper it on the same breath as Banyan Tree. It’s called Little Buddha, a cozy ‘back packer’s’ inn, fitted with relatively good room amenities, and that means air-con and cable TV to waste the afternoon away, sinfully indulging myself with reality crap that’s called, the Jerry Springer show.

Going to Phuket beach has only one perk, topless sunbathing. Two, if you consider an ego boost from the endless sea of beer bellies and saggy tits with nipples closer to the belly button. I took a glance and thought hundreds of albino whales got washed up on shore. I don’t know if I should shout for joy or for the sushi chef.

It’s almost an assembly of masses. You have hot Japanese chicks, Italian stallions, German beer guts, horrible gays in knitted G-strings and two dogs humping each other by the deck chair. All we needed was some paper bullets and we can have ourselves a re-enactment of World War II.

Nikki arrived in time for dinner and I was fiercely promoting A Go Go bars to her. Finally her eagerness to end her virginity at it with a Thai Girl Show allowed me audience to one of the most miraculous stunts since Copperfield vanished the Statue of Liberty.

She spits out live FISHES from her pussy into a fish bowl.

Not one. Not two, but seventeen fishes! Nah, just checking if you’re paying attention. She had 3 of them swimming inside her while she danced. My bet is on her for ‘Longest Pee Controlling’.

The Erotica Story

Then enter the one club that had us glued with their performances, Erotica. Forget topless dancing and live fuck shows. NOTHING is sexier than dancers in choreographed dances with themes that will nail testosterones right where it’s supposed to be, the mind.

Think French maids, Japanese kimono’s ending off at mid thigh, dominatrix and cowgirl hats. The repertoire of MTV gimmicks just run up an endless cycle. Every act just refreshed our interest like cold lemonade in summer. By the fifth act, LB and I were lounged by the stage, cheering wildly at everything that was moving seductively.

Then she appeared…my Thai Doll

Her half back tattooed with flowers and vines that stretched from her shoulder to the waist. Her nose immaculately sharp, her eyes dolled with infinitely long lashes and her hair pony-tailed like a Japanese. Then we gawked. All four of us, smitten by her swaying hips, her seductive gaze and her precision body arches.

I was lost. LB and I intoxicated like school girls at a neo print discount, emphatically congratulating ourselves for finding paradise in Patong, while the rest of the pub erupted into raucous whistles.

I made one smile to her and that one reciprocated grin was all I needed to validate my 5 metre walk over to chat her up. I threw everything I had, cheeky grins, buttering Thai phrases and fleeting touches. She was the one prize I had now fixated my attention to. The sole resolute cause to give motive of exisitence.

Me: “I am going to fuck her.”

LB: “Wah.. going to be quite an uphill task my friend.”

Two dance routines and many flirting smiles from her later,

LB: “Got chance, got chance. I think you seriously may have a chance.”

Then my attention mildly flickered to the door bitch who had comparatively good grooves and relatively cute. I headed out to make conversation with her and before I know it, she starts throwing herself at me, literally.

It was a dramatic play act of fallaciously falling over just to hug me and seizing chances to grab my arm.

Me: “Are you flirting with me?”
Pai: “No, but I think you must be very tired talking to me.”
Me: “Huh? Why?”
Pai: “Cos’ U’ve been running around my heart all day.”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

As chessy as it sounds, I actually laughed my ass off and told her this was the sweetest thing anyone had said to me all day.

What followed later that night would plunge me deeper into resolution; my Thai doll calling out to me from a pub just as I was about to head back to the room. We chatted and she scribbled her number for me on a piece of paper and told me to call her as soon as I get back from Phi Phi Island on Sunday.

Perhaps, I would finally out do myself and throw all away all cautions to leagues and physical compatibility. On normal cases, I’d have earmarked her as ‘way too hot for me’, but in Thailand, the great denominator is being ME.

In the hordes of the other fleeting girls who came up to me thinking I'm Japanese and LB's all time favourite joke, one girl who said I looked like F4, I lost interest in the fields of mediocracy. The one other highlight was actually bumping into Fiona. This girl actually deserves on whole entry dedicated to her for punching me in the face at Zouk. Yes PUNCH. Out of jealousy. What an asshole.

And so there were two….

How to Propose

One day you’ll take the plunge and leave bachelorhood a thank you note, then ride into the sunset with your bride in your dream mobile, a Nissan Sunny.

Yes, reality is hardly ever as picture card pretty as you imagine. It’s dreadful enough to have to be in a relationship, but planning a proposal and making sure she/he accepts it is a whole new ball game. Thankfully, I have it all covered…

Picking the right place

You’ve heard it, Hollywood has depicted it and failures excuse themselves by it. The ambience, the mood, the concocting chemistry. Call it what you may, but just as how retro music makes you retarded, picking the right place effectively boosts your success rate.

Here are some suggestions,

1. Rock concerts.

Nothing beats having to out scream everyone to get your paraphrased proposal recited. The plus point is that if you get rejected, you can hurl vulgarities at him/her like it’s going out of fashion and still get away with it.

If they happen to lip read and get offended, you can jab them in the throat and blame it on adrenaline. People aren’t suppose to lip read anyway, it’s rude.

2. Mount Faber

What better place with a kaleidoscope of factors. Ambience, light breeze, Ades mosquitoes and strewn condoms gift wrapped in tissue by the bushes. All they need is a chapel next to Jewel Box and Elvis waiting for you by the door.

If you do manage to fuck it up, you can always drive off and leave them behind. You’ll suffer a bruised pride and tarnished chivalry, but they’ll be at least $3 poorer from having to call a cab.

I say it’s worth it.

3. Sentosa

You’ll be at least $2 poorer before your proposal even kicks in. Which is the perfect last line of measure to remind you what marriage will be like; An inevitable waste of money.

4. Crowded diners

Teamwork can be applied effectively to increase your chances of successfully ending the best thing to ever happen to you, bachelorhood.

Proposing in a crowded restaurant on Valentines day when hordes of couples are present will benefit everyone, one way or the other.

If she/he rejects your proposal, there is only one thing they should expect. A good ass whooping, right infront of everyone. This is a paramount reaction to arrest rejection. By beating them senseless, with the barstool if necessary, you actually send out a warning to everyone else who is about to be proposed to.

Sure, you'll be hated by your date, but you'll be revered and worshipped by everyone else planning to propose. Nothing beats self sacrificing.


Picking the right time

1. Over Steak.

Any dinner setting with a steak knife is sufficient. Forget candles and romantic mise-en-scenes. Too much of that ambience lulls them into believing you’re a pussy. Just to ensure that they know you mean business and that you won’t take no for an answer, wail incessantly about your disdain for setbacks and periodically comment on how sharp your steak knife is.

I’ll also help if you are a trained ninja like me in throwing butter knives and forks.

2. During a blowjob.

Nothing beats sexual blackmail. People are most vulnerable during foreplay, especially since guys only have one head during then. You’ll have the battle won if you keep it under wraps. (pun intended).

Guys only have a one tracked mind during oral, and it involves that climatic explosion. The attainment of such nirvana-like trance, clouds our judgement on decision making since everything is a good idea. Even marriage.

Short term gratification and a lifetime of regret. If I was Mother Goose, the continuing fairytale to Cinderalla and all other Disney whores will be inked with promiscuity and thorough regret.

3. Post PMS

If you propose when she’s having a heavy flow, you are asking for an ass whooping. Hormone imbalance results in absolute irrationality and the caprice of a chronic schizo. I’ve been lashed out at for asking for tissue, just imagine what will happen if you ask them for their hand.

Doing it right

1. Bended knees

It's almost mandatory to be on bended knees. Not because it's romantic, but it cos it gives you good leverage to deliver a jaw breaking uppercut if she should turn you down.

2. Size does matter

As long as the rock is bigger than your ego, you’re pretty safe. I had this friend who proposed with a straw ring courtesy of MacDonalds because some movie made it look romantic. What an idiot. The girl accepted it. What a bigger idiot.

Taking rejections

1. Whoop ass

They should expect a bedlam of flying kicks and bodyslams if they choose to turn you down. Nothing beats showing displeasure than through violence. There really isn’t anything else you can do. Except leave them with something to remember u by. I’d suggest a punctured kidney.

Well, you can disagree, but you’re wrong.

Year In Review

Just a year ago I was coming out of court and trapped in a cyclical regression of melancholy and forced acceptance of reality, which I will casually refer to as. ‘Public Transport’.

It’s been a tiring wait to regain my driving eligibility and laced with several down points that have impacted my life dramatically. Thankfully, kisses and great sex are perfect antidotes for mild depression.

I’ll remember 2006 by..

1. The OZ Trip.

This was easily the best holiday I’ve ever had. Going by the tourism manifesto that holidays are meant to be a catharsis, my trip down there alone fully embodied this.

I had traveled over 1000km to a foreign country not knowing anyone, to meet a girl I fell for (yes, it’s still debatable) in 24hrs. It would have been a befitting sequel to ‘Before Sunrise’ had the mutual passion still existed.

I ended up consuming copious amounts of alcohol, banging in cubicles and enlightened to what a bottle beer and a joint can do. And that is exactly how life should be.

What did I learn?

Besides independence and organising my own holiday, I also realised that it's a stupid idea to follow your heart if you need to travel further than across the living room for the remote control. No one is truly worth the effort, even if they're Japanese and they give great head.

2. Taiwan

I don’t remember much about the details of the trip and a recall only flashes up pleasant pouches of hot girls and pretty faces. Had I a bunsen burner, I’d have sat around all day at Xi Men Ding toasting mash mallows and finding ways to switch citizenship.

3. Deviant sexual explorations gone wrong.

There was the ass rimming, the snuff and porn video (coming soon) which needs a lot more practicing. I’d say that porn truly glorifies deviancy, to a point where it blindsides to you to the awkwardness of actual participation.

Perhaps I’m not made to suffocate while screwing nor do I possess the required dexterity to hold a camera whilst playing out the Kamasutra. Its been adventurous whilst the novelty lasted, but once is enough.

4. Raves

My quick introduction to raving has gotten me hooked. I came, I saw, I made a fool of myself. Finally, I've found haven in the company of shufflers, and these people are some of the most fun people to party with that I've met.

5. Dating

I’ve been on several dates this year. Yes, actual dating which do not require undressing. The girl gets to keep her top on and I get to plaster her with courtesy and niceties of my life, save for my crude past existence.

I’ll say things like,

Me: “What shall we have for dinner?”

And I’ll punctuate all my sentences with furtive yawning and obligatory smiles for what I imagine to be their jokes.

The one date I vividly remembered was the girl who was so boring, she could have killed my shrimp salad and put 20yr old rave addicts on Speed to sleep.