Darn Them Bisexuals

Sure, you look like a nice man. A straight-acting normal looking dude. With anyluck, if you’re that cute, we’d be fighting with flocks of women to get your attention. Most of us had been there before. Some of us could and did pass as straights. And then we were straight-but-curious. Moving on as bisexuals. Then we were in denial. Some then went as the homo-newbies. Some continued to be undercover. As some got married, some were brave enough to acknowledge who they are to themselves. Some even went further to live their lives to the fullest and glorified themselves as homosexuals.

Thanks to the speedy-growth of the internet era, youngsters these days could bloom faster than ever. If they choose to that is. Back then in the pre-condom era, they were communal for men public toilets, movie theaters, and seedy parks at night. Then the chatrooms sprawled like fresh bean sprouts. Dating services, online profiles boomed. You’ve been there done that: GIM, gay.com, boyzforum, faceparty, gaydar, friendster, fridae, etc., etc., and finally the localized version of the later called gayasmara.

If language could ever be any barrier for some of us, since the other sites were made abroad, then gayasmara simply removed the obstacle. Suddenly every Indonesian men who were curious, bisexual, gay, transgendered and anything in between were caught up in the storm and established their own account in gayasmara. Easily accessible to create and roam around, gayasmara then became one of the most popular meat-market engines for the entire archipelago.

Half a year after the first launch, most of us then complained of how lame, uncool and unshophisticated gayasmara became lately (a.k.a engga banget!). And that’s not even accounting the no pics, fake pics, fake infos, the ever-too-hopeful, the wannabees, the afraid but curious, the judgementals, the psychopaths, the plain scary, and the list goes on and on. But even post the never-ending complaints, we still regularly check out our kisses, our message boxes, and our new-friend-requests. Everyday. Just for the sake of checking and the you’ll-never-know factor, they said. What happened to "Oh I am so going to close down my account in GA..."?

There they came in abundant: The hordes of bisexuals, formerly undercover or entirely new to the world of men-to-men engagements. I found it to be so beguiling that every single one of them (bisexuals) posed themselves as top people. Later I found out that this group of people then had overly abuse the word top itself.

Claiming one self to be bisexual doesn’t automatically make you a top person. Even if you think that you are a top person, there are of course: the bad, the good, and ultimately the oh-so mesmerizing top dudes. Not surprisingly though, usually these nuveau-bisexuals fell into the first category (bad, bad, bad, you are just the worst, sorry).

Okay let’s check it out yah: you don’t suck, you don’t rim (and even dared to doe-eyed-ly ask “what is dat?”), you don’t kiss, you don’t grope, you don’t lick and caress, and you don’t perform any attempt to arouse your partner. What is it do you actually do then? Oh, so you just wanna fuck? Even that, you don’t even do anything! You guys just laid there like a plank of wood and expected the rest of the world to do your job for you? Hello!

Well, the case could be different if you are an ultimate hottie. As we’d do anything just to be with them. You know, a Brad Pitt look-alike, Olivier Martinez look-alike, a Lenny Kravitz look-alike, an Arie Wibowo look-alike, or the new ever so-yummy Ricky Martin look-alike. Oh yes, we’d serve you so-attentively in your bed like Florence Nightingale would. Only in one case: If you were one of them. But if you’re not and you don’t belong in the A-List of the circuit-hotties? Please… Get a life or something (actually you could get a book: “Making Love to Another Man – for Dummies”).

Guys, tsk tsk tsk! Never again hide behind the mask of being a bisexual, or a top to justify yourselves. Cuz you know how I would justify your being there and do nothing-ness? Lazy boy! Plain ol’e Lazy boy.

If there’s a God above and if we can only make one request, please have Bonnie adjust some new settings in Gayasmara. Remember the menu box of roles in which you’d have to choose? Either you are: top, bottom and versatile? Have him add at least: Top-Lazy Boy and Bottom-Lazy Boy at the end. Oh wait, some of them might fall into this one: Totally Lame Ass-Lazy Boy.

Serve your man right, and he’ll be coming back for more.

Triumphant Return

This is the story of a certain duchess. We may call her Duchess of Yolk for she was married to the supreme ruler of Yolk county. Her happiness was suddenly interrupted by the death of her beloved husband from a simple case of chicken-pox. She cried and mourned with her people for days until she no longer had any tear to drop. On the hundredth day, she decided to stop mourning and planned to continue with her life.

A good amount of fresh air would do, she thought before stepping out. Into a maze of formal gardens she went at the back of her lavish mansion. Before long, she was lost in a labyrinth of manicured trails of boxwoods. She was afraid for the first time in her loneliness. She then panicked and screamed her lungs out. Running frantically she drained her energy and her hopes until someone came to her rescue.

“Milady, are you all right?”

“I suppose I was lost…” she replied.

“Let me help you get out of here Maam…”

The gardener was strong and handsome. His hair was dark-colored, with added sideburns to enhance his masculinity. And on the faithful day, he had to wear nothing but an old suede working pants which was wrapped tightly onto his hardened legs and back muscles. Soft lines of furs blazed along his well-formed chest. Her eyes flipped incessantly with awe and lust.

She was a lady, she reminded herself. There was no way she should entertain garish ideas and infatuations with this gardener.

All of the sudden, the rain fell from the heavens above. His body was drawn to her in order to protect her with little that he could offer. His masculine musk entered her in very seductive way. She couldn’t hold it any longer. She remembered her old days, when she was just no more than a prostitute working in a hunger-stricken district of filthy London. Then one particular duke saved her from her wretched destiny. She sometimes missed the anonymities, she missed all the wild passionate encounters. There she was in heat again. And there she was with this person, only a commoner, a gardener, a very handsome one nevertheless.

Her seduction was still at work. It didn’t take much time for her to invoke the young gardener. And when she succeeded, he withdrew.

“Why, young man? Why?”

“I can’t Milady… you let go a sigh of pain when I strived to enter your heavenly gate. I am afraid I might hurt Milady…”

“No, trust me I am fine…”

“I can’t Milady, I am sorry…” Then he went flaccid on her.

For he who failed to plant any peck on her cheeks, on her full-lips, on her voluptuous flesh. For he who failed to seduce her in her own heat. For he who did nothing to prepare her for the voyage beyond, sorry was a good choice of word indeed. How could he half-expected she would open her pleasure garden if one forgot to knock gently on the gate?

That same night she couldn’t sleep and she could not stop thinking. How could a person who used to enjoy men in insatiable lust in her past life could not cope with the gardener’s ordinary tool of work? Was she getting old? Did she need to be in love to enjoy intimacy? Couldn’t she take pleasure of nameless faces like the old days? What was wrong with her? Had she loose it? Had she loose her sense of pleasure?

And then she remembered her past companion whenever she was struck by loneliness. There she searched for a special leather crafted box, in which she called her magic-box. Within laid a certain wooden-apparatus in the shape of a male genitalia. Her trusted friend, and her always available companion in need, in which she christened as Dill.

A warning appeared in her head for her friends always discourage her to never exercise Dill other than in any emergency situation. Today she was disappointed by herself of her incapability to satisfy a man of her choice. Then emergency it was, she decided.

She was so enraged by the uneventful encounter with the gardener that she seduced herself while laying in position for the preparation for another lovely night with the long-time-forgotten Dill.

Ever so gently she pushed and she pulled. Her heartbeats were rising high. With every pull she inserted Dill into herself with a more powerful thrust. She flipped and she twisted. She yelled and she screamed. She then came with vengeance.

She was surprised how an un-seemingly important Dill could ever change her life when she needed a moral-boost.

At her wake the next day, she felt like she was born as a new person, as a new lady.

A lady who was still passionate about her sensual being.
A lady who was ensured that her charm hadn’t fade away
A lady who was no longer afraid of anything
A lady who could still take over the world

A lady who was still in charge and in control.

As she put on her luxurious gown and strolled along the courts, she steadied her head and walked in triumphant return:
“Tomorrow is another day, another mountain to climb and conquer”.

Old Shoes

A couple of weeks ago, a friend of mine pronounced a very disturbing revelation.

In his own term, he still had issues with a pair of old shoes said he. For he who seemed to be content with most things in his life would have such issues with old shoes? For he who has everything and could buy out a closet of new shoes with ease would have such issues with old shoes?




He couldn’t get rid of someone.

Someone from his past. Not that he is still in love with the person mind you. But it wasn’t easy to get rid of the person for what they had together in the past. All those little kindness and memorable moments, unfortunately also the mega-roller-coaster ride that he had to bear within and post the relationship. It was hard enough for him to try to forgive the person. It became more intense since the person was never away or gone to begin with. They hang out within the same circle.

This was what he mentioned earlier,
“Remember 1999? There was this hot black paten-leather Prada loafer that everybody longed for? Now, he was like that sumptuous loafer to me. Even now, when the shoes are old, musty, cracked, and un-wearable… I still keep them for the mementos sake. The same case with him, I couldn’t let go of him because he was expensive and hard to get. Especially when I finally got him despite numerous competitors that I had to eliminate from the contest. Back then though, I finally gave up because so many people want to and actually used those shoes. They were like everywhere! For those who longed to be different, that was just so unfashionable. And besides, I love my shoes too much to share mine with other people.

But come to think of it, dontcha think everyone has his own old shoes issue? Then, for me he is my old shoes that I can’t get rid of”.

Someone was stuck, damned and condemned.

Another friend of mine finally gave his 2 cents,

“Look at your past relationships after him? Anything good came afloat? From what I see, you will never, I repeat, NEVER enjoy anyone new to the fullest because you still let him roam and you do not give enough space for the new person to even start dwelling in your heart. Throw away old shoes and mementos, heck you can burn them for all I care”

Some one was slapped on his face.

Fantasia

FALSE BELIEF

Once I believed in angels, and fairy tales, and Disney characters, and the existence of Santa Claus. Then I grew more logical. After what happened in the past with this very person, I believed that I got over him. I moved on with my life, even on to another person. We were never together anyway. No more emails, phone calls and text messages. I practically forgot about him. I should. It was more than half a year ago. And then suddenly both of us are available again.

Yes he changed in the last six months. We then became the so-called friends. Just friends. We made a deal. It wasn’t very hard. We didn’t exactly click in ideas, conversations and thoughts to begin with.
I thought that I’d never need him in my life ever again.

Friends and foes alike were convinced that I want nothing more than friendship with that person. But sometimes… the hardest thing to convince is not your friends, not even yourself.
It’s your heart.

Fantasia (Part 2)

VISION

He had a vision. One fine day, unless God forbids, he could be together again with the love of his life. Distance separated them oceans and nations apart. His wish was partially granted. They met again recently for a vacation. Somewhere along the Andaman Sea, said he.
Romance blossomed for a full week. Butterflies were flying in the sweet scent of the cilantro and lemongrass-laden air. And then once more, they were abruptly separated.

DELUSION

We agreed to go out that night with some other friends. Went dinner. Then the party continued. After the second cocktail and his fifth bottle of beer, I noticed changes in him. He began to look… somewhat delusional.
Instantly I knew, he was thinking of another person. In another far faraway land. I felt like I am morphing slowly in his mind with every sip from his bottle. I began to be perceived as if I was another person. In his delusion, I became the personification of the love of his life, the grounded physical and tangible being.
We danced the night away.
Sweet things started to flow in soft whispers to my ears.
Of course I knew I was mistaken.
His tongue traveled in another language.
The caresses, the dirty dancing, the pecks, the bites, the terms of endearments, were not meant for me.

Someone was delusional.
And it wasn’t me.
Or was I?

Fantasia (Part 3)

MIRAGE

I was lonely and in a bad state of needing somebody.
In my own fata morgana, a small part of me wanted those to happen.
A small part of me wanted to be desirable, needed, longed for.
Even if I knew that it wasn’t true.
Queasy feeling hit me. I knew I wasn’t suppose to enjoy the mirage.
But enjoyed them all, I did.
Stupidly too much maybe.

HALLUCINATION

When fantasies and delusions were mixed together, they created this entire new level of hallucination in my mind.
The way we moved on the floor.
The way we shared the beers.
The way we shared the cigs.
The way he looked at me.
The way he smiled at me.
I hallucinated that I would one day find my own someone-special to reenact those moments again.

WISHFUL

Oh how I wish we were in a secluded room.
Behind him I gently placed my head on his shoulder.
Looking into a mirror reflection of ourselves with loving gazes.
Even if I knew that he’s not even my type
Even if I knew that I no longer care for him
I still wish that then, Dave Matthew would sing.
“Tonight Let’s be Lovers”.
Delivered him safe and sound at his doorstep.
On the way out there was a peck on my cheek.
Apparently, someone was still in his delusion.
And apparently, someone else was also still in his fantasy.
But then again in a figment of my imagination,
I already asked some boyband to perform
“Quit Playing Games with my Heart”.
And quit I did. Wisely. Even if it was a little too late.
Silently however, I thanked him for the experience.
It was nice to be able to feel again.
It was nice to be able to fall again.
Here I am,
On the road again.
At least now I know.

That my heart isn’t made of stone.

Smoking and the City

Hey, why did they forget to give me any invite to the ceremony when the City was given the prestigious award of being number three on the list of most polluted cities in the world (after Mexico City and Bangkok)?

What?

No party-time? Not getting any closer to any clean air policy. No government bill to push on any cleaner content of the gas we are using everyday. No underway technical-detail on private vehicle emission and roadworthy checkpoints. Nothing adequate was done on those hazardous “oplosan” smokes coming out of the thousands of uncared-of public transports, especially the metro minis, angkots and bajajs, in which I think are some of the major contributors of our air problems. No new greenway and park are being built to help combat the carcinogens.

Of course those big issues to tackle were just indeed too big to handle eh? Instead of spending some time to think and do research on all of the above, the City commenced from somewhere easier to confront: It is us, the smokers.

Was it even true that two-thirds of lung patients are even the second-hand-smokers? Or was it just another conspiracy to kill us the smokers? I do care about the thousands of people who work for the industry. But I could care less about the overly flamboyant cigarette companies. Those who can afford a downtown lot of a very important historical landmark and its surroundings in the heart of the City. Those who had a line-up of Bentleys, Rolls, Hummers, and Mercs in their HQ’s garage. I don’t even give a damn.

Gone are the days when smoking was cool and enjoyable or even a social cult to perform in the City.

While Bangkok was already a health-freak LA to begin with (the smoking bans), the City was like New York or Paris where everybody smoked in joyful communions.

After two hours of riding in the usual macet street, you’d expect to rest, drink a cuppa coffee, enjoy your pastry and smoke a cig at a local coffee shop. Try that in Blok M Plaza. You’d be confined to a little “foggy” smoking-room, one on the third floor and and the other at the food court level. The chamber was so frustratingly clouded that I personally refused to enter in fear of getting any immediate “lung-cancer” by all those puffs.

After a really boring day, especially when you are single and “hunting”, you’d expect to browse those cutie-pies or beefcakes (depending on your taste) while sitting and chatting with good friends at the patios of the café promenades. Try that in Citos. Even cute high-school girls with their “Bawang Putih-Bawang Merah wanna-be look” squatted with mall employees, security guards, strange-looking men, and even their own chauffeurs on the floor inside a small little box called the smooking-room.

In what little dignity that we smokers have today, some of the powerful even dared to try to push a new bill to make all smoking crevices in the City to use a single brand of air-purifying system. Restaurateurs already spent a gazillion amount of money to create their own little smoking rooms, to glass-wall smoking sections, to install new exhausts and air-purifiers. And guess what guys? Anything installed previously must go in order to be replaced with that still hush-hush brand in the making.

Another money scheme to make.
Another very scary consequences.
Yet it is… the cost of living in the City.

Oh yes, it got even worse.

Again when you are single and hunting, by today’s standards it is considered non-attractive if you also smoke. (And here I thought only dick sizes that mattered before). New people that I met lately are mostly non-smokers. Those who don’t smoke but didn’t mind that I smoke. Those who don’t smoke and detested my smoking. Those who pretend to smoke socially while they were not a smoker to begin with.

Still the award went to those: Who don’t smoke and don’t care about my craving for midnite nicotine injection yet still dare to invoke with the phrase: “Well you can smoke my dick instead!”.

Ew, even the ugly phrase was so nineteen eighty-something. Hellooo…

But before we end this for today boys, do you know what I miss the most from everything?

The freedom to enjoy killing ourselves slowly. The sound of the smoldering mix of paper and tobacco when the amber hit. Those wonderful feelings after the insidious inhalation of nicotine and tar right through our lung and blood system. The buzz. The contentment. The satisfaction.

We had a choice, then we had none.
Death by smoking should be our own risk to take.

PS. A vehicle problem occured the other night and a non-smoker had to stay overnight in my own personal smoking rumpuss bedroom. Another guess what? You were so right when I had to "respect" the non-smoker la. Heheh...