The English Rogue - Part III

I was trying to get used to the darkness, my chinese eyes squinting to make out the shape of the bedside lamp. I clamped my eyes shut, rubbed it lightly and opened them to more pitch black. I closed my eyes again, steadied my breathing. The sheets felt so soft against my legs and I instinctively pulled the blanket closer. I felt soft and weak, like a cooked asparagus, in a giant cotton sandwich. I rubbed my neck gently, brushing against the neckline of the oversized t-shirt that I was in. “That’s right”, I thought, “I’m in Liam’s bed. I must have fallen asleep… I’ll try to fall asleep again.” I curled up and turned more to my right, facing the only stream of light that was coming from the crevice of the window, trying to guess what time it must be.


And he turned too.


I stopped myself mid-way and thought hard. Hazy recollections of the night floated into my cotton-wrapped head. The dinner, the way his face wrinkled when he laughed, the way he was watching me eat and drink, like he knew I was trying my best to not make a mistake, the way he spoke to the waiters and the chef… strobe lights, vodka shots, us leaving the club, us kissing on his couch. “Did we kiss?” I wondered. “No, he only pecked me on the cheek, oh no, on the lips…” My mind raced a little.


And I felt his hand on the side of my waist.


I froze. I even froze my thoughts.


Nothing happens.


And I remember to breathe. I don’t know why, but my heart was pounding. My throat was dry, and my head was in denial of the impending hangover. I was wide awake now, and all my senses were working overtime.

It felt like I had been lying there frozen for 3 days. No make up, hardly any clothes and not even remotely drunk anymore. I didn’t go back to sleep, I didn’t plan anything in my head, and I didn’t dare move. I felt somewhat naked, somewhat vulnerable, and a bit of a slut.


I liked the feeling.


Finally, he stirs.


I was aching for him to. I closed my eyes and quietly willed “touch me, pull me closer, kiss me, kiss my neck…”


And he does.


His hands ran up and down the sides of my body, as if gently checking to see if I was awake. I didn’t move. He ran it up the length of my side and traced my shoulder blade up to my neck. He leaned in closer, I could feel his entire weight next to me, his breath on my shoulders and I could hear his cleanly shaven chin rub on the soft cotton sheets. He swept the hair away from my neck. I breathed harder, my stomach tight, my body arced, aching for a harder touch. My willpower was a complete helpless mess. My hairs were standing on their ends and I needed his touch to ease my crazy senses. As if he read my mind, he lightly buried his face in my neck and the full front of his body pressed against my back. I let out a little gasp and leaned back on him, overtaken by an indescribable longing. Quite clearly, he wanted me just as jumbo badly as I wanted him. I was so very turned-on. He reached down, disregarding my weak resistance. Scoffing at my mini attempts at a struggle, he gingerly peeled at my underwear. He pulled it just halfway and as if distracted by something else, he stopped, and grabbed at my hip with his left hand and steadied my tense body. I was over the edge. Our legs entangled in a perfect spoon and I let him take over. With a surge of force, he found his way under my t-shirt grabbing me firm and hard, while his other hand tugged at my hair, he whispered in my ear,


“Do you want me inside of you?”


I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I gave the slightest nod and closed my eyes. If I wasn’t so turned on, I would’ve laughed at the fact that I just tried to give my consent by nodding in a dark room. So I opened my mouth again. But there was no need for words, my body had already said yes. I turned around, I was now nearly flat on my back, save for the mini back arch my writhing body was unable to contain. He climbed on me and a welcomed weight of warmness blanketed me. I could feel his desire in its full glory, nudging at my thigh.

“What do you want me to do” he said

“Please…” I replied, speaking for the first time. My hand curled into a tiny fist pounding at his chest.

“Please what…?” he teased.

I broke into a faint smile, took in a gasp of air and tugged at his underwear and pulled him towards me. Refusing to beg further.

“Please what?” he was more firm this time, not letting me drag him any further. “Tell me…” he asked again.

“you. are. driving. me. nuts.” i said, disguising nothing.

“ahh.... That’s good. that's good... its about time. Wha’ else do you feel?”


Oh my god. I was so turned on I could tear my hair out. And this guy wants to talk?! He had his one hand on my breast, kneading it like he was a terrier with a new plush toy. The other hand had me pinned to the bed as if I was trying to escape. His face was millimeters from mine.


“You like it when I do this?” he said, gently tweaking at my nipple, his big hard cock rubbing on my thigh.

“yes…”, I said. Sounding almost hungry.

“Would you like me to lick your pussy?” he said, his hand working its way down to complete the show and tell.

I shook in acknowledgement. my mouth dry, my breaths fast.

“yes, or no?” he commanded.

“Yes, yes, please.” I was breathless.

“av ew had anotha girl eating at yor pussy?” he asked.

“n... n no.” I shyly said. Not the least bit proud of it.

“What about your friend, Anjali, av eu eva seen her naked?”

“no.” I said, almost too quickly, wondering where this was all leading.

“who waxed you, huh?” he asked. “did you have it waxed or did you shave it?” His finger gently stroking at my neatly waxed landing stripe, coaxing me to let him in. I was used to the dark now, and I could see his eyes burning into mine, waiting for my answer.

“It’s a girl. who waxed me.... A Chinese girl, in her early twenties.”

“yeah? You let her touch you?”, he said, and went quiet, cueing me to continue.

“sh... she asked me how I wah... wanted it done, told me I should have one like hers. And she pulled the front of her pants down, showing me... her pussy.”

“Oh yeah?” he was harder than ever, I could feel it. “Did you touch her, baby?”

“no, I didn’t” he was almost disappointed.

“yeah, I want you to go back next time, and invite her to my place. I want to sit on my couch and watch you two on my bed. Yeah? You’ll let her do what she wants...”

“But I don’t want you touching her” I pleaded like a jealous girlfriend.

“I won’t, i won't.” he said. “She’ll be here to make you cum. I want to watch as she makes you cum. yeah, tell me how you want her to make you cum.”


As quick as the urge came, it left.


My gawd. here i was, horny as a crack whore on e, my mind on an extended holiday; My body was in a foreign land and my brains were scattered like stardust all over a unicorn; i was light as a feather and fluid like mercury, my fingers prickled and tingled for all the blood had rushed to my groin. AND HE WANTS TO TALK DIRTY?!? As though were an old couple, the sex had gone out the window and we needed to bring friends, lube and creativity to the bedroom??



“this is bullshit”, i thought. My body is hotter than that. there should be no need to 'engage' my subject in conversation.


So I left.

The English Rogue II

“Do it.”

I begged. My eyes bored into his and while I said it with a tight little frown characteristic of a girl who’s slightly constipated, I found myself stifling a smile that was curling up the sides of my lips.

“No. Beg me to”

He coolly said, and I turned the smile into a girlish pout, my eyes darting sideways thinking of other strategies to get him to cave in.

“ok. pleeease.”

I clutched my fists, lifted them up to my throat in my typical dramatic flair.

“I beg you… Do it. Come on. Please… with a cherry on top…”

He threw his head back and laughed. A laugh that brought out the creases around his eyes and two long dimples that framed his kind face. He must be about 40, I figured.

“No. Can. Not.”

I frowned. And I studied him. My hands on my throat now, fingering my collar-bone. Then I reached over, sub-consciously, and playfully patted his hand before warmly and grabbing it.

“Come on.” I coaxed.

He put his hand on mine and for the first time that night, we touched.

It lasted a good 5 seconds before I pulled away, blushing.

I stood up, smoothed my skirt, adjusted my hair and said:

“I’m going to the bathroom. When I get back, you’re going to do that scene from Snatch. I don’t care.”

Note: when I say “I don’t care” to anyone, it means I have allowed myself to be reduced to a lump of whine and have chosen to take on a vulnerable stance that likens me to a puppy who’s seen the bone. I am a tad unreasonable, a little bit girlish and at my attract-the-40-year-old ’s best.

And I wiggled my way out of my seat. When I passed him, I stopped by his side, leaned over beside him, placed my hand on his arm and said:

“and don’t forget the accent”.

He looked blankly at me and smiled like a schoolboy, clearly enjoying the closeness we were sharing.

Within minutes, hours had gone by.

Through the night, our phones were ringing like a Chinese takeaway on Valentines’ Day. And both of us were too polite to each other to speak for too long, and too polite to our friends to shut it. His conversation with one friend went like this:

“Yeh? Umon ay dayte…. Tha’s righ. Eu erd me.”

He looked right at me and I blushed.

“She is stunning mate. An shes nort ma raght hand.”

I gave a chastising laugh and shook my head.

“Lis nn. We ah jus avin dinna at Seb’s restront… Oh, eu wanna check on me don you, you li-el nosey fat fock.”

And he looked at me and nodded, as if asking for my permission. And I just nodded in return quite blankly.

“righ. Come o-er if ya laike. I don think she’d wanta spind frighdaigh noight with an old English boy. She’s a partay animal musta made plans with friends * making air inverted commas*”

and he winked at me.

Minutes later, I returned my girlfriend Anjali’s missed call.

“babe! Sorry I missed your call. Am on a hot date”

and I smiled cheekily at him

“Oh, it’s almost over. He’s chosen to meet his friend over me! To think I was gonna let him get to first base or something tonight. *loud deliberate sigh* haha. Yes. We’re just by the river. Oh, are you? Come over if you like! We can all do drinks!”

He laughed.

And we kept on flirting. It was a perfect dinner date. At some point, actually, at the precise point he tried to explain about his job to me, I gave myself an invisible pat on the back for showing up to this date. He was just so easy to be with. He put me at ease, gave me ample air time, shared some stuff about himself when asked, and asked me questions about me. It was honest, sensual, and all very mature.

And then his mate arrived.

And they broke into a never before heard, or should I say comprehendible language – cockney it was called (I later learned). In between the blah blah blahs and and the oh oh ohs and the ay ay ayes, I can hear faint traces of “Tha berd las nigh wus shite. Heels up to er shouldas. Beh-ah chick if shes’ stolen me wallet.”, and “Vince brough us some fine wine. We drank till now and um so tired um gonna go home and sleep till Tues fuggin day”… and “Wha’s her name? hasn’t she gort a proppa nayme like Twinkle or sumthin? She’s hot…. Oh, but so s this one…” his mate gets distracted by someone who waltzed in the restaurant.

Anjali is in da house.

In her full blown hotness - clad in a dangerously tight skirt and propped up by her suspiciously smooth legs – Anjali, looking like the figure of 8 was at her mating peak.

And there were 4.

In between the wicked banter, the sexual connotations, and the polite conversations, even Stevie Winder could see that we were 4 inebriated spirits in a restaurant, hiding our true intentions behind wine glasses. So the most decent thing to do was…

To head to The Living Room to party it off.

Vodka shots were like free - Or at least that’s how we were behaving.

We were rock stars and the dance floor was our stage. I was waving my hands in the air in the classic 1990s, I.am.intoxicated way. It’s all a happy blur.

Hours later, Liam takes my hand. I swept my hair out of the way and leaned in, allowing my cat-like listening powers that can differentiate house music from human voices to take over. He said,

“I’m goin tah gooh. Old men need rest. You staigh and partaigh”

“Hey, no!”

I said. Just realizing I was actually having fun because he was watching me all night and for him to leave now would mean one front row ticket stub holder gone from my audience of… ONE.

And he said, “or if yo’d laik, I cun ah, take u someplace else u’d like ta go, but I wan tah leav”.

“well, ok then. I’ll stay”

“No, come. Come with me. Drink at mah place”

I was silent.

“Come on then”

he said and forcefully took me by the hand. Leaving no goodbye kisses behind.

***

When all the necessary was done, we sat politely by his sofa. By necessary, I mean I had already done a scratch-the-surface mandatory check. Despite being ruled by a head of vodka, I remember seeing an Indie Arie CD, a Shawshank Redemption DVD, a decent collection of soap bars and passing him on the cd, dvd, hygiene test. We both had a drink in the hand – which was really a much-needed tool in modern-day pre-foreplay instances.

“Ah wonted eu tha whole nigh…”

he said to me and leaned in. I could feel his breath on my cheek and for the first time, I caught a whiff of his aftershave. I closed my eyes, and smiled, it was a compliment, and it made me, for some reason… feel relieved.

“When you walked passed me in tha ristront, and eu stopped and touched me on tha shoulda, eu remembah?”

I nodded, looking up at him.

“tha was ma favourite par of tha nigh.”

Subconsciously, I had turned to face him completely now, and with every word that he spoke, I felt more relaxed.

“and eu are such a bright one…”

He put his hand on my shoulder and reached up to hold my face. I looked down. This man had a strange calming effect on me, yet when I looked in his green eyes, all the calmness just gets blasted into a ball of nerves.

“tha eu are out on a dinna date… with me. It’s unbelievable.”

He pulled me closer and I was letting him completely run the show.

“I wan tah see eu again”

I opened my mouth and I had nothing to say. An epiphany hit me. I am never good with serious conversations. Turning this into a joke and a giggle fit would be my forte, but keeping it up was like asking me to kiss my elbow. I smiled like a dumb 3 year old, and said,

“Can’t believe we waited to do this.”

He laughed.

(I knew it. I always manage to be funny at serious moments. Argh.)

“yeah, eu are a tough one. Honestly, I neva try so hard, but I think old age has a way o makin skins thick. I’ll be honest with you, I’m a male slut, and I’ve doon things I’m nah pruud of, and a lort of it,”

he smiled and looked up, as if a recent sexcapade just floated into his mind. He shook it off.

“but callin a person up again and again is nort ma thing. don make me do tha again.”

Before I could answer, he kissed me squarely on the lips. My eyes flew open. And as quickly as it happened, it ended. He stood up and said.

“Come on then, you can sleep in the guest room. I’ve got towels, toothbrush, and a big t-shir for ya if eu need. Mi casa, Su casa.”

And maybe the look of disappointment was clear on my face, cos he quickly added.

“or you can pick tha bet-ah option, to sleep in mine… with me”.

To be continued

The English Rogue

I was looking hot as usual, minding my own business, taking stock of my life, one pre-christmas day in town –

By town, I mean Borders. By minding my own business, I mean I was fresh out of Borders arms laden with ‘Buy 3 for the price of 2’ novels, happy as a pigeon that just pooped on a canteen table.

By taking stock of my life, I mean I was in Marks & Spencers stocking up on dark chocolate digestives biscuits, sparkling grapefruit juice, and slinky nylon knickers.

And by looking hot, I mean I was in my usual 4.5-inched black patent heels, in a pencil skirt that was tight as a Chinese housewife at NTUC, and a thin white blouse, which humbly concealed my Marks & Spencers demi-cup laced push up bra. I had let me hair down and was playing with my waist-long tousled mop, sweeping it out of my face with pre-meditated panache -

which usually means I am sending out “approach me” signals.

A powdered nose, a wrist-ful of different St Michael’s deodorant scents and 20 minutes of shopping later, I was $256.90 poorer, and chirpier, and possibly more approachable than ever. Because a voice, no, more like, a noise, originated from the man who stood between me and the shelf of oh-so-yummy gummies.

Man: swight. Ay ay ay…

Me: Sorry?

Man: ay swante tah ssaye tha eu af gor nois shoooz.

Me: I what?… oh, nice shoes? I have nice shoes? Thanks! *blush*

Man: aydon aydon… aydon eu shu lee doi dis but but ma maits swaidin, ays wundarin, ca ay huf yo numbah? To to contac ya, yagitwhaaymean?

Me: You want my number? To contact me? But you don’t even know my name. Shouldn’t you at least introduce yourself first?

He was a white guy. Duh.

Not tall. Looked about late 30s, maybe early 40s. He had a friendly face and a perfectly crinkled nose. He had a deep frown and the most piercing green eyes which sat on top of an omnipotent smile. When he spoke to me he looked me directly in the eye. But when I spoke, he let his eyes drop to my feet and appreciatively let them wander up the length of my skirt, lingering just politely long enough at my chest before he returned to my eyes - Making me a subject of his scrutiny made me hot. And it made me wonder if anything I said was being taken in at all.

He could tell he was making me uncomfortable, and he was enjoying it.

Man: *with a smile and a glint in his eyes* oh, Par nn me. Leem’s mah nayme.

Me: Lee?

Man: Tha’s righ. Leeum

Me: Oh, Liam? As in Liam Gallagher?

Man: Tha’s wah ah sed.

Me: Oh, sorry, I’m not listening well today. Nice to meet you, Liam. Where’re you from?

Man: Where rum from?

Me: *nodding* That’s what I said.

Man: *giving me another once over as if to say: “know your place, little girl”* Arm frum England. You kno…

Me: Of course I know England

Man: Sorray, of cos eu doh.

*pregnant pause*

Standing before me was a man with confident eyes, and a put-on nervousness – something I could not get my head around. Just as quickly as he was lusting after me, he seemed to snap out of it and returned to manager mode.

Man: Lis-nn, ma maits swaitin, un ah huf ter goh, buh ah wus wunderin if ah cud contak yah

Me: But I, erm… it’s not really my…

Man: Cumon, ma maits swaitin *points to his friend* an ah wud lik tah sta’ n cha’, buh I kan. *gesturing to his mate to wait a little and looking helplessly at me*

Me: okok. Here’s my card. You can email me.

Man: noh noh noh. Ah m noh dum. Tud’s noh nice. Gimme ur numbah.

In my study of men thus far, I figured there were only 2 possibilities.

1. He’s picked up countless chicks like that before and has no more fortitude to baby yet another one despite her being outrageously above-average.

2. He’s newly back in the game after years of thinking it’s something strictly for people half his age. And I just happen to be the outrageously above-average test-bed that’s given him back a reason to shave and live.

I smiled. He was too old to play my silly games, and been around too much to fall for my weak coyness and had zero patience to coddle me. I liked that.

Man: Doh keep me hah in’ Ah ahreddy got ma fone out.

Me: ok. It’s XXX-XXXX

We parted ways. And I forgot to buy my damn deodorant.

Within 20 minutes he SMSed:

Him: Sorry couldnt stay and chat that was my boss

Me: It’s ok. that’s how you ought to treat girls with nice shoes

Him: u always this funny

Me: u always don’t use punctuation?

Him: Just picked myself up from the floor

Me: and picked u a new random helpless shopping chick, may I add.

Him: call u soon we have dinner

Like 4 days later he called

Him: Liss nn. Ore eu doin arnything tah noite?

Me: *took me 2 seconds to process it before I replied* Oh hello Marks and Spencers guy, Why? What’s up?

Him: Liss nn. Mah mate’s got tickets ta a concert.

Me: So he’s taking me?

Him: *laughs* yore funny, eu know tha? Lis nn. He not goin. Eu wanna come? Bunch of us, good fun.

Me: ahh… I can’t! I made plans!

Him: tha’s arright. Coll you again.

And 3 days later he emailed:

How u doin

I ignore him.

And then he emailed:

I be in samui for two weeks

I ignore it.

And 3 weeks later he texts:

Your not sure how to work emails

I ignore him.

And then he texts

Weird you ignorin me

And then he calls:

Him: Hey, Lis nn, you arr wight?

Me: Yeah.

Him: An you don think to reply would be nice, to saye tha least polaite?

Me: *surprised he was so fierce* Well, you lis nn, you never asked any questions, or put a question mark to say the least. What do you expect me to reply?

Him. *long pause* Unbelievable.

Me: what.

Him. Unbelievable, you are

Me: erm…

Him: You got to be won of de fohnniest girls ah hav eva met.

Me: *breathing a sigh of relief*

Him: now. Wha time u git off? I gort some work drins en will try ta git away, lis nn, u wanna have dinna?

Me: I… er…

Him: Ah see you 7.30pm at foh east squa?

Me: right… (he smooth or what?)

Him: righ then. See you later.

He picks me up from Far East Square in a beee-hu-ti-full car.

Hiding behind anonymity means I can tell you how this was a big fucking turn-on.

Without even asking me if I was hungry or if I have a restaurant preference, he takes me to this ah-mai-zingzingzing restaurant.

Hiding behind anonymity means I can also tell you that I have already, at this point, decided he can kiss me tonight.

And then, when we get to the restaurant, he is friends with everyone! And by everyone, I meant the waiter, bartender, damn, even the chef came out to greet him. Not only that, the chef, in his thick Italian accent said:

Chef: Ahhh… Lee-am, my friend! Finallee, you is bringinger a girler to my restronter. How are you, my friends’ preeedeee girlfriender? Why deeden u teller me that you were a-coming der?

Him: *jokingly* as if yoh full house ta-nigh. Yea, you twat, Let go rofher hand.

This was all too hot for me. This guy was some cool shit. And I’m not even the impressionable sort. We even had a private table!!! Wheeee…

He sits, the waiter walks me to my seat and pulls my chair out. As I lowered myself on to the chair he does it again. The long lingering once over – one with a good mixture of lust and hunger and the right dose of appreciation. From holding the gaze in my eyes – which at this point was programmed to reflect 30% coy and 70% shy, he let his eyes drop from my eyes, to my bare shoulders, to the little crease in my top right down to my thighs and said coolly,

“Dah-ling, you forgoh tha rist of ya skirt”

Damn. He was funny. And somewhere in between the wine and the banter and picking at my main course, I decided I may let him get a bit more than a kiss tonight.

To be continued.

The 20 year old

Once upon a time, I sold my soul for $13 bucks a pop.

I was blonde. I was legit. I was mildly attractive. and a cigarette company, eager to inject life into their corporate social responsibility program decided to embark on a smoker’s-only survey to better understand their market standing (read: corporate bullshit to cover up the leakage of e-coli into the tobacco).

They were paying $13 per complete survey.

So I, a “social smoker” (as one calls herself when she is 21) took on a socially responsible call of duty to find smokers. (social, political and emotional ones alike) and take up 45 minutes of their endangered time on earth to raise me funds to aid my world domination.

I took the job so seriously, I took it to MAMBO night at Zouk.

I’m going to write the rest of my story in prose.

Because I can.

So there I was in Phuture, another hunter to a prey,

hanging around, doing my thing, planning my play.

When from the corner of my eye a b-boy made my day,

But from the other corner, my ear heard someone say…

He said “I think… you look great”

I said “Thanks!” *gyrate gyrate*

He said “I don’t mean nothing, I just wanted to say

That you look great. No sweat, hey.”

I turned around to smile at him, and look at him sashay

He kept still and smiled back, I decided he’s barely twen-tay

I said “How old are you?”

He said “Are you judging me too?”

I said “I’m too old for you”

He said “Not if you’re still in school”

I said “okok. My bad. you’re cool”

He said “what’s your name? gimme a clue.”

I said “Do you smoke? Tell me you do!!!”

He laughed and said “weird criteria have you”

Why am I writing in prose you ask?

Because the poet in me just must

And also because a girl of class

Like me, can’t let her talents rust.

This guy I speak of, was a interesting mix alas.

He was young, and messed up, and a body full of lust.

And to him, I was older and cooler, and “sikit atas”.

We laughed and spoke, and I refilled his glass.

For $13 bucks, I figured, I can be nicer to the lower class.

We exchanged numbers and parted ways.

He promised he’d do my cigarette survey

I told him it’s not an option, it’s a must, okay,

I did not try to play it cool, I just called him the next day.

Having dated guys of father-age,

this young boy was a refreshing change.

For starters, all the things he said young and dumb,

and so laced with pre-cum.

Most of it was pre-meditated and carefully calculated

to impress an older woman as the guidebook has indicated.

Some incriminating statements he made about getting wasted,

About life and crime and getting de-flowered,

It got me thinking this boy needs to be cancelled,

But anything that makes me $13 bucks should be worth the effort.

“My dream is to live on the beach” he said, “just by the shore”

When a guy says this, he is under 24.

“Age is just a number” he offered for free,

When a guy says this, he is under 23.

“I don’t hang out with people my age” he mentioned too

When a guy says this, he is under 22.

“I book out this Saturday;

shall we do your cigarette survey?”

When a guy says this, he is under 21.

Oh My God, what have I done?

Even then, the words just flowed. I was stoked.

For once, there was no talk of “what are you wearing”,

“Have you got a lesbian friend”, or “Fancy some cuming?”

Instead, we had one of the best tele-conversations of my life

About teenage pangs, football fallacies, and campus strife.

We spoke about him being young, and about a song oasis had sung

about how material girls and some houses are made of dung.

About Friendster friends, visible bra straps, and common grammatical errors.

Just like that, hours flew by like beer on tap, it was something to remember.

No one said any word about a having fling…

or two

But we both knew we had a thing,

going on, which reminded us of high school.

The next day, in my inbox I got a mail from him that read: in verbatim

So that night, i was at zouk,

it was becos, my friends called in the afternoon and asked me to.

And so i realised my lovely ex gf was gonna be there.

She had asked her friends and gang,

becos her 19th birthday was just the next day, and guess she wanted to celebrate it with a bang.

And so i went, not withoit hestitaions,

after all she said "Hey, just go. It's a public place."

Warmed up with mutual friends and it help the situation.

Not long after, on the dance floor, things happened before my face.

It would take me more than words to describe how i felt,

but hey, i was there to enjoy myself, didnt i?

So i decided to join my other group of friends elsewhere in the crowd.

I was dancing and that's when this girl caught my eye.

She was wearing this stunning blue, oops white dress, which i guess helped her stood out.

My eyes enjoyed every sight of her, i must confess.

My gaze was fixed. I couldnt stop checking her out.

She stopped dancing and went to the bar which was pretty near.

That moment, i thought, that was it. So i stepped up, and told her in her ears,

"I thought you look great" A compliement i swear, which had never been more sincere.

She flashed her pearly whites,

and there was a promise of tanned flawless skin

under the scheming and deceiving lights.

Oh i love her pink rosy cheeks,

which probably hinted a

bubbly giggly personality.

Her soft subtle cheeks are so meant to be kissed,

ohh, how i wished.

Not to mention her braces. How exotic.

I was beginning to believe the furtherest i could go

was to give my answers to a smoking survey.

Then she called me late last night,

boy, words laughter connections flowed and flowed.

We talked about virgins, Roy Keane, bra-sizes and our ex-es.

And we even made an indecent proposal about Marks and Spencers.

This girl has certainly got my attention,

for now i seek the day i get to see her in person

And enjoy her charm, company and beauty.

Oh, and without having to break into my wallet for that hundred and twenty.

=)

john

221003 12.16am.

Not one to back down from a challenge

I replied, in 2 minute nonchalance:

So that night i was at phuture,

dragged by friends, or should i say foes?

what i saw was quite a nice picture,

grinding asses, grooving figures, gone were my woes.

Pick-up lines I've heard aplenty,

comments on clothes and bodies had become tacky.

This guy stood out, albeit blessed with a "muggler's" name.

All "John's" till this night, i thought, had always looked the same.

For the sake of money i betrayed my self-imposed rules.

Gave away my number, risking heavy ridicule.

An apprehensive gesture turns into a pleasant surprise,

we talked and laughed amidst the dawn of sunrise.

A survey will mark the end i thought,

but the very idea makes me distraught.

One rule has been broken.

another will be equally forgiven.

X

ahh... I miss being young, dumb, and full of cum.

The Party Ecosystem - Part II

So there we were at the taxi stand. No one standing still and no one talking straight, There was MsHeineken, MsBehaving, Roberto, Mark, me and O (henceforth known as the Big O.) Mark already put 2 other unimportant guys and 2 more drunk girls in a cab to his place and Roberto got into the next cab. I gestured to MsHeineken and MsBehaving to go ahead into the cab. They climbed in, fully exposing MsHeineken’s left boob and right buttcheek. O smiled, nodding towards MsHeineken and said

O: Nice.

Me: (realizing he’s talking about MsHeineken) Well, get into the cab then.

O: (turns and looks at me) awww… you’re mad at me. *jabs a finger in my ribs*

Me: No, I’m not. Why would I be?

O: (looking innocent and baring his palms up skywards, shrugging dramatically) I can’t look at something that’s nice?!

Me: you can’t, you dirty dog! You just won’t give up until I have the fake tits you’ve always wanted, would you?! *people in the queue turned around*

We both laughed.

Mark: You guys coming?

O: Yeah, just give the cab driver the address, I’ll take her there.

Mark: It’s ok. I’ll come with you guys.

O: If you like mate.

Mark: Yeah, seems I like what you like.

*rawr* Now, work your imagination and imagine we’re now in the dry grasslands of the savannah dessert. I was the piece of fresh, red meat of a wildebeest hanging from the trees where I have just been flung onto. The vultures are eyeing the raw piece of dinner, but the eye-contact duel between the hungry young lion and the veteran leopard kept them at bay.

***

We got to a swanky apartment, a cat swing away from town. It was dimly lit and badly furnished in the way most apartments were when in a hurry to be rented out to expats who think anything oriental denotes an exotic appreciation of taste. The 3 minute cab ride had caused all traces of alcohol in me to magically vanish and by this time, Mark was majorly losing points. It was like I was coming down after a wild, trippy ride on the joyluckbus and everything that was dream-like, neon-shadowed and full of stardust a nano-second ago was now a stark, bright, revolting greenish-yellow. Mainly because I heard MsBeHaving utter the words that would cause even Bob Marley to sober up.

MsBeHaving: Babe… I need to … to…. throw uuuuuuuup

Swift as a Suzuki, I guided her to the toilet, pulled her hair back and gave her a nice long rub on the back, my face in a crumpled grimace, afraid of what is to come.

She: orrrrrr weeennnggghhhh

Me: *holds my breath*

She: orrggghhhhhhhHHHH orGH… ORGHHHhhh

Me: *still holding my breath, wondering “whythefuckme? Whythefuckme?”

She: ORGHhhhh… babe, (she said in tears. I reckon it was the gagging) Phil and I… arrrrr arrrrrgghhhhh over rrrrrrrghhhhhh!!!!

Me: Ok ok… there there… try not to talk. Shall I get u a glass of water?

She: I’mmm oookay. No, not Phil, I mean Rookie… hai (she let out a sigh)

Me: (I deflected, but I still caught a whiff of her breath. Argh! gross! Kill me! I imagine my blackened lungs pointing a middle finger at me)

She: (more sighing) I think Rookie’s just not proactive…

Me: okay… erm, can we get out? I don’t think this is the best place to be pouring your soul out. (laughing at my own pun)

She: He’s just… hai… it’s been so long already (them sleeping with each other), and he’s never made a move (to take it to the next level), you know?

Me: Babe, it’s all at Borders in the self-help section. I quote: “He’s just not that into you”

damn, I’m mean when I’m drunk.

She: oooorgghhh my god. I’m drunk. Orrrgh…. Can we go???

Me: What? It was your idea to come! And I got 2 cute guys out there! And we just got here! And you want to go! What the fuck?!?!

She: okok. we stay…. Orrrgghhh…

Minutes later, we emerged from the puke infested toilet – looking fabulous, no less. By now, the party had taken on a life of its own. A couple was snogging on one side of the living room while another girl sprawled on the sofa – snoring like a pig. Ms.BeHaving looked set to join her. The rest were at the dining table having a rather intellectual conversation about the “pressure of every 30 yr old Singaporean to get married” and the guys were busy winding Ms, Heineken up.

FYI, Ms.Heineken is not the sharpest crayon in the box, nor the brightest bulb in IKEA, nor the hottest girl in Attica. She can be highly defensive and deadly boring to talk to.

Mark: I bet it’s because he knows that you will stop giving him sex after he proposes. – and steal all his money

Ms Heineken: no.

Mark: of course it is. Singaporean girls – u just want to get married to a rich man

Ms Heineken: no, that’s not true. I DOWAN to get married!

Mark: oh please! You’re dying to. He just never asked

Ms Heineken: He HAS okay. I said no.

O: Oh really.

Ms Heineken: In fact he asked twice, (she muttered) you assholes.

O: ohhh, you. (he squinted his eyes and pointed at her) are a very angry girl. YOU however, (he pointed at me) are a happy girl. are u always so happy?

Me: haha. Stop pissing my friend off you two.

It was all very clear to me now – after 30 minutes of no alcohol and vomit air – my head was clear as the Tuscan sky. O was the more charming of the two. We have a winner.

(Overheard: The fastest ONS negotiation in the history of Xin City.)

O: Shall we leave this party?

Me: Yes.

O: Let’s go.

***

We get to his place. And THIS is what I call taste. Putting up a random vase or painting and calling it art is bullshit. O had proper oak chests and cabinets, exquisitely carved by the hands of virgin Mumbai female slaves, and some ornaments carried by the warriors of the late Roman empire. Coasters carved from crocodile skin and mats weaved by the blind shepherds of the Saharan oasis – or so, I like to think. He had at least 50 visible pairs of shoes all neatly lined up. He had the latest gadgets a man could possible surround himself with and he even had wholewheat bread and green tea in the kitchen.

Basically, I like him and he can do no wrong.

So even though he served me water from a 1.5l mineral water bottle (not evian) and even though I saw a pirated DVD peeking out from his collection, and even though he didn’t rinse the kettle before putting it to boil, it was all very “rugged” to me. Yes, I am so very biased.

You are a sexybeast until proven flaccid.

He made me green tea and we spoke more. He told me about his love for football and I totally impressed him with my knowledge. (Read Football Diaries) I told him about my yoga classes and he made me promise him I’d give him a private viewing. He told me about his semi-retirement plan to quit the job and I promised to keep it a secret. I told him about Roberto saying “Keezzz mee” and he leaned over and kissed me.

Me: NO…! I’m saying RO-BER-TO said… “Keeezzz meee”

He: *kisses me again*

Me: *pushing him away* nooooo…

He: But you just said to kiss you?!?! *he shrugged in innocence again*

Me: I said. ROBERTO. Your Italian friend. said “Keezz mee”

He: *kisses me* you said it again *kisses me more*

Me: stop kissing me, or I’ll write an email to your company and rat on your plan to quit

He: but you promised not to

Me: No I didn’t.

He: How about I do something for you and you promise not to tell?

Me: ok. How about you dance for me?

He: How about you shut the fuck up, you chatterbox? *he presses my lips together*

Me: *struggled free* How about you show me a football trick, little puppy?

He: ok! *suddenly excited* I’ll show you a card trick. *like he stumbled on a great idea, and he sped off to get a deck of cards*

He proceeds to show me the coolest.fucking.card.trick in the world! Somewhere, 5 apartments away, a tortured maid could hear me scream

Me: FUCK OFF!!! OH MY GAWD! U FUCKING DEVIL! HOW DID U FUCKING DO THAT? UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE! You’re Satan. Hang on hang on… you couldn’t have… I was watching you… but then again… but no… HOW HOW HOW? SHOW ME AGAIN!! Please! you.have.to you.have.to!!!

He: *shakes his head satisfyingly and kissed me again* now u promised to promise.

I was totally charmed. Truth be told, I have seen fucking cool card tricks before and I know, I know, that it can all be explained and only Houdini and Jim Morrison, and some say my Crazy Auntie Lucy really possessed magical powers. But he was just sooooo fucking charming in the way he dealt the cards; the way he held each one up; the way he took my hand to hold the card while he shuffled; the way his eyes burrowed deep into mine to catch me trying to peek… I could replay his icy magician stare in my head all day. THAT, boys and boys – is foreplay.

One motherfuggin sexy helluva foreplay.

It was 6.50am

The sun was threatening to creep up and expose all the tension we have spent the last 5 hours building up. In an instant, all the things kept sexy by the night sky would soon be blasted by the brightness of the day and made silly by the clarity of it all.

The bewitching hour was over.

It was time.

His kisses became a harder, and mine just got hungrier. The cheeky little ones planted a minute ago, that was meant to tease, taunt and torment, were now becoming seriously hot and bothered. Each grip felt tighter, each brush more deliberate, and each kiss lasted longer, than the last… the heat was on. I tugged fiercely at his shirt, drawing myself close… but only close enough to him to keep him at bay – the ritual of pulling his lust close only to push his eagerness away was something that always drove me over the edge. “Put your hands away and take your dress off” he said, ever so rash to be in control… and with my eyes fixed on him and a smile tugging the corner of my lips, like his ten other requests, I shook my head from left to right in the most excruciating pace I could muster. “Come on…” he gently coaxed. And still I wouldn’t budge.

And if there’s something that beats watching someone be reduced to a desperate state of yearning by you, it is when you witness them snap right out from it - like an injured leopard, cheating death, by making a final attack. O knew the game exactly. He didn’t want to take any more of my nonsense like a horny schoolboy.

In all Calvin Klein perfume ad seriousness, he took me by my wrists as if to say enough is enough, and strappingly peeled them off his shirt and hoisted them above me – pinning me down, rendering me powerless, and said gruffly,

“Let's quit fucking around, shall we?”

Underneath it all, I could tell he was a tender, passionate lover. But the idea of if was too gay for him to admit. With his one free arm, he held me down by my ribs, easing his weight on me. He kissed me on the neck and kissed me on the ears… All my words of protests he knew were meant to be music to his ears, and all that struggling to break free merely served to remind him that he was in control. He definitely appreciated me returning his gestures, but he was sure to let me know that he knew just how to work a girl. So even though my two hands pinned above me were struggling to break free, only mock pressure was needed, because he and I both knew

That I wasn’t going to go anywhere…

at least nowhere he didn’t intend for me to.

That’s what nature has always been about. That some must die in order for others to live; that losing a sheep could mean perpetuating another species. – The sustaining ecosystem. Now I know why wildlife photographers don’t burn in hell even though they sit there in their digital SLRS and snap at the process of death. Because really, they are capturing life. And it’s all part of nature.

Why am I cryptic all of a sudden, you ask?

Because, for the analogy-challenged, the veteran leopard sinking his teeth into my neck and going for the kill, equates to when I was begging O to stop playing and start humping. When that happened, nature had it that a loud bang was to be administered by a nearby hunter. i.e. Our about-to-happen love making was cut short when I knocked over his namecard holder on to the floor, with a plastic-sounding “clack”. I caught a glimpse of his name, but more importantly, his company.

My life was sucked out of me, the same way a leopard drains his victim of blood.

O’s company works with mine. We're work associates!

All rationality came charging into me like Robinson Sales transactions to my credit card. For months, we have been on emails!!! and someday we will more than virtually meet. I was incredible horny, but not horny enough to let my professional reputation be jeopardized by one.maybe.orgasm. Plus, I could already imagine the enjoyment of mentally undressing each other for the first time if we ever met in the boardroom someday.

Sleeping with him now would ruin it. And I’m all about the moments.

So again, the cock teaser of Xin City strikes.

“I’m hungry”

He looks at me, studies me for a while, making a mental bet if he should carry on making out with me; whether by ‘hungry’, I meant “hungry for food”, or “hungry for meat”… if I was testing him, and if I was just being a big tease, and most importantly, if I was worth it.

O: “Let’s get you something to eat then”

Me: “I’ll have a vodka tonic and a poached salmon”

O: “Done.”

And he did it! No questions asked. I had a full spread. Poached salmon, lemon butter herb sauce, baby spinach salad dressed in balsamic vinaigrette, and a juice, instead of the vodka. I attacked the food like a Neanderthal while he sat there. He took one long drag on his cigarette and said,

“You must have a boyfriend. Or you’d be in my pants by now.”

I stopped eating, wiped my mouth and said

“I like to eat slowly – at my own pace.”

And he repeated.

“You must have a boyfriend.”