Erotic Stories / Fictions : Contributors Heartlanders & FleaBiscuit, etc. (compiled)

[Guest Guest]

Any more storiy?

[Leon7]

any more?

[Guest Please]

Please don't stop.

[Guest Witness]

I don't understand why people keep asking the author to post more of this story. The writer has obviously lost interest and will never continue. After writing most of these chapters prior to 2014 June 12,  he has only posted two more times, on 2015 September 18 and 2016 April 10. He posted two additional chapters in 22 months and absolutely nothing in the last 15 months. This story is 100% dead!

[Leon7]

4 hours ago, Guest Witness said:

I don't understand why people keep asking the author to post more of this story. The writer has obviously lost interest and will never continue. After writing most of these chapters prior to 2014 June 12,  he has only posted two more times, on 2015 September 18 and 2016 April 10. He posted two additional chapters in 22 months and absolutely nothing in the last 15 months. This story is 100% dead!

we need to give him support if not why he need to post if he think no one is following...

[Guest Hello]

Hi writer. Any update?

[Guest Happy Guy]

Part 19

 

"It's your turn now." said Melvin.

 

"What do you mean?" I asked. 

 

"It's your turn to fuck me. I have told you, whatever I do to you, I will let you do the same to me. I have just fucked you, so now it's your turn to fuck me." Melvin replied.

 

I gave Melvin a big hug.

 

"Bro, you don't have to do that. I just want you to know, I want you to fuck me because I really love you. I willingly wanted you to fuck me regardless of whether I get to fuck you or not." I explained.

 

Melvin paused for a moment and then gave me a kiss on the lips. "That's also why I want you to fuck me. I don't think I have loved any man as much as I love you now. You just said you love me that's why you let me fuck you. I love you too Samuel." said Melvin.

 

"Knowing that you fuck me because you love me is already good enough. Do you know how long I have been waiting for this? I have wanted you to fuck me and tell me you love me. To me, what we just did wasn't only sex, it was love making. I want to do that with you again many many times." I told Melvin. 

 

“I admit when I first started massaging you it was more of horniness. I know I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you. But gradually, it became lust and love. Every time we meet I have the desire to be intimate with you. I am happy you enjoy what we did so far. I want to be fair to you as much as possible. I have just fucked you, so I will let you fuck me too. I believe it must be painful for you just now......because I know my dick is long and big.” Melvin replied and added the later remark proudly.

 

“I am not sure whether I will enjoy it. But we are buddies, you are willing to let me be the first guy to fuck you, I think I am willing to do that for you for the same reason.” Said Melvin.

 

“It was painful when you started fucking me, but it was more pleasure than pain after that. If you really want me to fuck you, I will do that, but only if you really want to try it. You don’t have to worry about being fair to me. You are my buddy, I am willing to do anything for you.” I told Melvin. 

 

“You sure you don’t want to fuck me?” Asked Melvin.

 

“I want, but maybe not today. Today’s happy memory of you fucking me can last me a long time. Maybe when you really what to try being fucked, or when I am really horny, then I let you have a taste of my “big” dick too.” I teased Melvin and at the same time grab my still hard dick to hit Melvin’s which is already soft yet still long after cumming.

 

“Anytime brother...... But your dick is still hard, what are you going to do with it now?” Said Melvin.

 

“I don’t want to fuck you now, but can you just let me do what I want to try with you.” I asked Melvin, hoping that he will not turn me down.

 

“Go ahead, do whatever you want to do, just make sure you and I enjoy it.” Melvin replied with a wink.

 

I got up from the bed, knelt just in front of Melvin’s dick and took his dick into my mouth again. I don’t think I will ever have enough of my buddy’s dick. It just feel so good to have his dick in my mouth and feel it slowly growing hard again. I have not tried with other guys, but I just like swallowing Melvin’s cum, it just taste good.

 

“I thought we are suppose to make you cum, not make me cum again.” Asked Melvin. 

 

I did not reply Melvin, but I changed position to do what I want to do next. I stopped sucking him and got on my knees again. My dick is hard by now. I got hard when I was sucking Melvin. Knowing that I am making him hard makes me hard too. I lifted both his legs as if I am going to fuck him, and then placed my dick at his ass crack. I did not enter it, but just place my dick at it and started the rubbing action as if I am really fucking him.

 

“I thought you said you don’t want to fuck me today? But this is feeling so good bro, don’t stop.” Moaned Melvin.

 

My purpose really wasn’t to fuck Melvin. But seeing him feel so good when I rub my dick at his ass I really had the urge to just push it in and see how he will take it. Before I lose control of myself and change my initial plan, I got up and straddle across Melvin’s chest. I brought my dick to his mouth and tried to push it in. Melvin got the hint and opened his mouth to take my dick. Without having to be told, Melvin started sucking my dick. The feeling was good, I just hold Melvin’s head and tried controlling his tempo of sucking on my dick. I can’t tell whether I was face fucking him or was it he sucking my dick, the feeling was just so good I knew I am going to shoot anytime.

 

I really hope I can let him suck me awhile more, but the urge to shoot just gets stronger. It did not take long, I believe Melvin got the cue too when he feels me all tense up and my breathing becomes shorter and quicker. I can’t control it anymore and the first load shot directly into Melvin’s mouth. But that wasn’t my plan. I tried to hold back and quickly pull out from Melvin’s mouth. I aim my dick at his ripped abs and shot the rest of my cum on his body. It was one of the biggest load I have shoot since having sex with Melvin. It took awhile before my dick stopped cumming. 

 

I just lie on top of Melvin and my cum became like glue that stick us together. I got up after catching my breathe and look at the big messy load on Melvin’s abs. I used my fingers to spread the cum on his abs and chest. I circled some on his nipples and then I lick and sucked it. It took awhile before I realize I am tasting my own cum. It wasn’t that bad afterall.

 

[Guest Finally]

Yasssssssss

[FleaBiscuit]

Chapter 1

 

Jonathan receives a text from his friend Jameson, who, surprise surprise, is recommending yet another tasty looking morsel to him. But Jonathan knew better than to trust the promiscuous social butterfly - half the guys he recommended were so voracious they could well have gone through half the whole Grindr community - or rather, half of the Grindr community that mattered. 

 

Jameson: Princeton Jethro Chan, ACSI, parsons school of design AND mba at harvard, rich + hot!!

 

Jonathan rolls his eyes, but opens the text to scroll through the images attached to the very objectifying advert anyway. 

 

Jonathan: I know I don’t say this very often

Jonathan: But don’t you think he could be out of my league?
Jameson: If you can fap to him, you can ride him! I’m sending you this right after i came to that face btw

Jonathan: so you have his contact?

Jameson: 9xxxxxxx. Have fun! Tell me if he gives good anal

Jonathan: do you live in a porno or something?

 

It would make sense if he did - Jameson was number 3 on the Grindr fuck list - an unofficial but sacred list amongst the slutty community. Only 2 guys could definitively say they’ve fucked more people. Number 2 was Timmy Koh the GP teacher - whose wealth of shags came from his domination of the JC community, while number 1 was the impalpable Prof. Adrian Hunt of NUS, whose unsurpassable reach extended its tendrils far into the straight community with his rampant sex for grades favours. If either one of them collected the harvest from their conquests, they probably would have enough cum to herald a second biblical flood, only this time one whose waters were far whiter and thicker.

 

Setting aside his criminal law textbook, which he had been slogging at for the past few hours, well past midnight no less, Jonathan sends a text to that number. 

 

Jonathan: Hey, I’m John. Jameson’s friend. 

 

The reply comes swiftly after the last swig of his Red Bull.

 

Princeton: Hey I’m Princeton, but people call me Jethro. DTF?

Jonathan: How about you tell me more about yourself first?

Princeton: Well… I’m the creative director of Meow Meow, so I’ve literally got a revolving door of male models ready to present their mouth for fucking. 

 

Jonathan’s jaw nearly plunges to the ground as he tries to recall how much good karma he's accumulated lately. Isn’t Meow Meow one of the most successful local fashion start-ups ever? A quick relook at Jameson’s photos seems to confirm his status. In just the first, Princeton is clothed in a Bape sweater and black pants with ‘Kenzo’ emblazoned down one leg. His golden sneakers are surely an overkill even in the era of hypebeast fashion. 

 

This calls for some revelation of his own worth. Surely the scales of ego cannot be tipped so much in Princeton’s favour so quickly. 

 

Jonathan: Well I’m a Dean’s Lister at NUS Law, so I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been taken on some desk at Allen & Gledhill.

Princeton: Sounds exciting. But not as much as fucking a French model behind a flimsy changing curtain. I remember trying out an Italian daddy in the H&M changing room in Orchard too. Kinda hot making someone with three kids come apart with so much passion. 

Jonathan: Holy shit you’re challenging Jameson’s escapades. 

Princeton: It feels great. I mean, there are too many fucktards dominating the attention right now. Normal looking guys with nice bodies, or the other way around. Either that or you’re rich. And do I even need to mention the inbreeding among these people? 

Jonathan: Sounds like you have a personal vendetta against them. 

Princeton: Yeah kinda wanna create my own bubble of influence that supersedes theirs. Like seriously? These aren’t butterflies. Just flies that butter up to followers with nice packaging

Jonathan: Chill man. You sound so hateful. 

Princeton: Well I dated Asher Tok back in uni. He didn’t know my background then. Pretty much rushed to seduce Isaac Tay the moment he got his pm on ig. So yeah 

Jonathan: HOE. LEE. FUCK. 

 

Asher Tok is the new kid on the block whose Instagram followers have just ballooned to number 10k. And everyone knows Isaac Tay. His 50k followers empire was built upon endless shirtless pictures (probably to compensate for an irrefutably average looking face). Not to mention he’s probably in his late thirties now (or looks like it). 

 

Jonathan: So do you know a lot about these people???

Princeton: Fuck yeah. But I’ll tell you more next time. Gotta check in now. Meeting Karl Legerfeld later for some business deal :•) 

Jonathan: WHAT THE FUCKKKKK

Princeton: Cya sweet cakes 

 

Princeton goes offline, leaving a sweet sensation of infatuation reverberating through Jonathan’s body. He giggles to himself as he rereads the last reply, then stops abruptly and clears his throat, as if caught by some invisible figure. How could someone so hot and successful be so nice? 

 

It must be the adrenaline seeping into his blood that is making him horny. Jonathan slips out of his clothes and begins his nightly deed. His eyes close as a fantasy plays in his mind. In it, the devilishly handsome Princeton pushes him against a bathroom wall, whispering in his ears, let me in first before getting this tight again. 

 

A sudden noise emits from Jonathan’s phone with the message ‘You’ve got a new match!’

 

His hand continues its job as he opens Tinder to appraise his latest snare. Not bad - a 3rd year student doing a double degree in NUS Math and Computer Science, previously from Hwachong. There’s always been something intriguing about guys from that rival school. Jonathan will never know if it stems from watching too many Edge of Glory videos about kidnapping the enemy soldier and…

 

Jonathan: Hey From your course I guess you know where the moolah is HAHA. 

Jonathan: And btw wow that’s a really nice bod 

 

The other catches are not as impressive. One is in SMU Business Management and looks just alright. Usually that university and course would make for a potently good looking guy. 

 

Jonathan: Heya!

 

The last one is studying psychology at University of Buffalo, a university that Jonathan had always thought was in Malaysia until a few months ago. This one is consigned the fate of staying at the top row of ‘new matches’. Most are guys Jonathan thinks should initiate if they wanted a chance at all. Some are simply mistakes that should have gotten a left swipe upon closer inspection. 

 

Now that Tinder has been administratively settled for the night, Jonathan moves on to Grindr. What catches his eye is ‘Pure Top’ who appears to be only 483m away. Not a hunk, but since he has needs to be settled right now, why not?

 

Jonathan: I have a place. Wanna fuck?

Pure Top: Hey cutie. What’s your address?

Jonathan: Pic

Pure Top: You want to be bang hard?

Jonathan: Pic

 

These people never fail to irritate Jonathan with their trying behaviour. Luckily for him he has his youth and relative good looks to depend on. They grant him power to be demanding, especially to an over-the-hill 35 year old. 

Finally, the guy sends his picture and Jonathan gives his address.

 

Princeton was right. Many gay guys need to be taught to be more aware of their market value and stay in line. This sudden thought brings Jonathan back to the photos Jameson had sent.

 

Coincidentally Jameson messages him.

 

Jameson: Ahh rewatching Goblin now and yknow I don’t really suck but I want Gong Yoo’s juice in my mouth real bad

 

The message is promptly ignored. Jonathan scrolls through the pictures and pauses on one depicting a shirtless Princeton on a tennis court with his teammates. 

 

An overwhelming lust courses through Jonathan’s veins and makes his face feel hot. He mutters Princeton’s name softly as if begging for a brutal fuck. God, the thought of that taut, lean body on his. Being a sportsman he must be so masculine and virile, with great stamina. 

 

With a sudden squeaky moan Jonathan squeezes his eyes shut as his head rings to the beat of a pounding sensation. He is barely aware of the hot spurts hitting his chin and chest and abs. It takes quite awhile for the sweet afterglow to subside, and when he is aware of this rare accomplishment, he whips out his iPhone and snaps a flattering shot. It will surely be useful as temptation bait in the future. 

 

Returning to Grindr, he sees that ‘Pure Top’ has arrived and is waiting below his block. His victim-to-be must’ve seen that Jonathan has read the message.

 

Pure Top: Hello??

 

Rolling his eyes, Jonathan goes to take a pee and prepares to sleep. 

[FleaBiscuit]

So, I’m back  Firstly, with regard to comments about a drop in quality of writing/being unsure of what’s happening, I’m simply writing this to entertain myself, which means I write whatever comes to mind. Toiling through the first chapter was scary because I felt like I had forgotten how to write, but my mojo is gradually returning. Thanks, to those who’ve found their way to my work again haha. 

 

An even bigger thanks to my best friend (a straight guy, no less) who contributed greatly to writing the first chapter, and inspired me enough to even begin this new story. 

 

 

 

[FleaBiscuit]

 

Chapter 2

 

PARIS

 

Princeton gives Mr Schmidt a strong handshake and drops onto the plush seat, propping one leg over the other. His ease in the lap of comfort and luxury is not faked; it is in his blood. The Chans have been part of the vanguard of luxury Singapore fashion since generations ago, when Stephanie and Co came into being. Princeton was the very definition of old money. The guys who have visited his good class bungalow at King Albert Park can testify to that. Even supposed ‘pure tops’ were suddenly bending over the kitchen sink, the dining table, even the aquarium. 

 

Michael Schmidt, the man before him, is an eager member of the nouveau riche. He swirls his Merlot in his glass while taking in the aroma the way Karl taught him. A former model aged just 21, he had been scouted by Karl before his star could shine too bright. The fashion mogul never liked his toyboys being in the spotlight.  

 

‘I apologise for Karl’s absence - the upcoming fashion show in Italy has kept him busy.  However he’s instructed me to discuss the acquisition of Seletar Oregano.’

 

Michael sips from his glass and gives a smug smile stained with wine. However, his smugness is instantly undermined by Princeton Jethro Chan, who returns him a disarming steely gaze. The moment Michael breaks eye contact, Princeton tosses a file onto the table. It slides across and drops at the German’s feet. 

 

The chilly atmosphere in the Hôtel de Crillon is kindly interrupted by the gentle chords of soothing classical music. 

 

‘I took a look at the contract sent to my room this evening,’ Princeton says lazily while fiddling with his fingers. ‘I believe the agreed figure was $150m, not $70m.’

 

‘After further financial analysis we decided that the potential of the company had been grossly overstated. The luxury market in Singapore is saturated, and it’s difficult to imagine your company breaking out overseas. Our consultants advised that $70m would be more reasonable. It is still above the net worth of your company’s assets.’

 

‘Where’s Karl?’

 

‘I’m his secretary, Princeton. I speak for him.’

 

Princeton purses his lips and sighs with a pokerface. Further discussion with this cheat is clearly not going to result in anything tangible. 

 

‘Tell him I’ll be calling in an hour.’

 

Princeton gets up to leave, but is halted by Michael’s firm grip on his arm. The ex-model suddenly regrets his poorly conceived plan. One phone call to Karl by Princeton would get him evicted from his high life. It is one thing to go from drinking lobster bisque to Campbell’s mushroom soup, but another to go from living in a mansion to a rented room. 

 

Michael loosens Princeton’s tie and unbuttons his top button. 

 

‘You know, I don’t really go for Asians but...you’re hot. Maybe we could...extend our discussion in your room?’

 

Princeton raises his brow incredulously at the German’s desperation. He has painfully handsome features, no doubt. In another situation he’d be having the shit fucked out of him in no fewer than 2 rounds. But business is business. The Chans’ legacy cannot be wreaked by an insignificant individual.

 

But...

 

‘Head to Singapore now and call this number. Serve him well.’

 

The German snatches the namecard and strides towards the exit without a word. Princeton smirks at his foolishness. He had done that simply to chase Michael away. Of course, his Caucasian-obsessed friend, Benjamin Loh, would be thoroughly appreciative. It will be German bratwurst for all 3 meals tomorrow, for sure.

 

Once back in his room, Princeton opens his favourite app. His target for the night has replied.

 

Darryl: Thanks >:) Being in canoeing helps a lot. Such a coincidence to meet another Singaporean! I’m here on holiday. Been slogging in Cambridge all year round.

Princeton: The sapiosexual in me is getting aroused. Wanna witness what you’ve done to me?

Darryl: Which room number?

Princeton: That’s a fast reply

Darryl: A full inspection might take all night. No time to waste

 

After giving the room number, Princeton strips out of his clothes and drapes on the bathrobe as loosely as possible. 

 

‘Shit,’ he curses under his breath as he recalls that he forgot to bring condoms for the trip. The only two Okamoto foils he had brought in his wallet were spent in passionate afternoon sessions with the bellboy and a tourist from China. 

 

The doorbell rings and he throws his MCM backpack onto the floor in frustration to answer it.

 

The sight that greets him when he opens the door leaves him rooted to the ground. An impossibly dashing hunk stands before him, awkwardly saying hi. Sharp facial features, muscled, bronzed arms with just the right amount of vein, and a chest puffing out from...an OCS singlet.

 

Fuck yeah, Princeton thinks. His bedazzled expression is of not much surprise to Darryl Lim, who puts up a profile picture of him taken at a bad angle, precisely to induce this effect. 

 

The psychology student at Cambridge knows how to lure his prey. The OCS singlet is a weapon he reserves for Singaporeans. 

 

‘So...’ he begins with the slyest of smiles. ‘During the inspection you shall not move. Understood?’

 

Princeton nods silently, still unable to believe his luck. Darryl frees his crotch from the bathrobe and corners him into a sitting position against the bed frame. And this is when the seduction begins.

 

Like a cat seeking attention, Darryl weaves himself around Princeton to sit on his crotch. He leans in, feeling the rapid heartbeat as he exhales hot air into Princeton’s ear. 

 

‘I want to exhaust you,’ he whispers, somehow injecting so much desperation into that one phrase.

 

To show it, he runs his tongue up and down Princeton’s ear, making a trail towards his neck. Then he licks in warm circles. His prey is obviously getting very horny, tilting his head invitingly. Darryl sucks gently on his neck, one hand now stimulating Princeton’s nipple. Just like that, something very hard is prodding at him from beneath his shorts.

 

Princeton can’t believe how well this ex-officer can please. His heart pounds even harder as he watches Darryl gently tracing an inevitable path of kisses down his chest, to his weak spot. A sound best described as yowling escapes his lips the moment his nipple is engulfed in a warm mouth. Rapid flicks by a skilful tongue send heavenly shivers down his spine, a blinding pleasure that causes him to flinch and arch his back.

 

Darryl wraps an arm around Princeton, gently but surely pushing his erected nipple towards his mouth. Even with him sitting on Princeton’s cock he can feel it twitching. This display of pleasure is rewarded with a riding action as Darryl rocks his hips back and forth. 

 

Princeton looks down with a look of disbelief, as if unsure how he could be this horny. 

 

‘Darryl,’ he tries to warn weakly, but is cut off by an animalistic moan that sounds greedy yet satisfied all at once. And suddenly the wave of utterly intense pleasure hits his nipple again, as his partner sucks deliciously at it, creating a vacuum and then teasing the nib with quick, light licks. 

 

Encouraged, Darryl quickens the pace of his rocking. 

 

‘Darryl, if you go on...’ 

 

It’s too late. Darryl simply looks up with such a devious smile that Princeton knows he’s finished. Unconsciously, he tries to ruffle Darryl’s hair, but finds his hands pushed back and held behind his head. 

 

‘Ohmygod ohmygod.’

 

Upon hearing this Darryl quickly switches positions and sits beside Princeton to finish him with a vicious handjob. 

 

‘Yeah? Gonna shoot hard?’ he whispers.

 

‘AH!’ Princeton suddenly grunts, and his first squirt is a hard one that lands above his shoulder. 

 

His body then contorts in extreme pleasure as his hips jerk forward involuntarily with each shot, with Darryl coaxing him with enthusiastic whispers. 

 

When the flooding finally comes to an end, Princeton looks up dazedly at a pleased Darryl. 

 

‘What. Just. Happened?’ he asks jokingly between sharp breaths.

 

As if on cue, his phone suddenly rings.

 

‘Fuck!’ he curses, grabbing it from the bedside table. A call from his Mum is never good. ‘Hello?’

 

‘Where are you now, Princeton Chan! Did you forget that you’re suppose to meet Jonah Tsai today? He’s already touched down at the airport with his family, and you’re not even here to receive them! How will they think of you!’

 

‘But Ma, you know I’m meeting Karl-‘

 

‘Enough talking, more walking. No - better run I don’t care if you’re meeting Narendra Modi or Ryan Gosling. Your grandma is fuming. Do you know she took to great lengths to arrange this?’

 

‘Ok, ok! I’ll book the next flight home!’

 

‘No, the family jet is already waiting for you. Your grandma wants you home now, and when she says now she means NOW. NOWNOWNOWNOWNOW.’

 

[FleaBiscuit]

Chapter 3

 

It is most unfortunate that Princeton has not found time to reply Jonathan, making the latter wonder if it’s karma from him catfishing last night. 

 

Jonathan: I was soo ready to just fuck it and ask him out today. 

Jameson: Calm down la it’s only been a few hours. But I wouldn’t rule out the possibility of him feeding on some Parisian hunk.

Jonathan: Nvm bye

Jameson: Oiii kidding la. Aren’t you meeting someone else anw

Jonathan: But my place is free. Could totally have invited him over to

 

‘Hi. Jonathan...right?’

 

Jonathan’s heart skips a beat as he wheels around with his phone screen tilted to face the ground, praying his conversation wasn’t read. 

 

‘Hey!’ he greets with an overspill of mock excitement. ‘Hayden? Right?’

 

‘Yeah haha. Just came over from school?’

 

‘Yup. You too?’

 

‘Yup. Thanks for coming by the way. I mean, like, traveling all the way here.’

 

‘It’s alright. Managed to get some studying done on the train anyway.’

 

The sheepishness felt by Jonathan doesn’t show in his tone at all. What he means by ‘studying’ is that he was busy taking a photo of himself poring over his criminal law textbook and posting it to Instagram. 

 

Just as the two move off from the MRT station to the shopping mall, his phone buzzes. 

 

One of his friend-of-friend gay friends has just complimented his ‘cute frown’ on his Instagram post, drawing a satisfied smile from him. He’ll be sure to check out if this guy is worth hitting on later.

 

‘So, where do you wanna eat?’ Jonathan asks, visibly cheery. 

 

‘Mmmm, there’s like Manhattan fish market here. You want?’

 

‘Yeah, whatever. Quite chill when it comes to food.’

 

When nearing the escalator Jonathan strides forward hastily so he is one step above Hayden. This is an absolutely crucial ruse he always couples with his outfit today - an OCS singlet with high cut army PT shorts, both of which he has long outgrown. First, he faces forward so that his butt is right smack before Hayden’s eyes. The point of doing squats comes purely from cheap thrills like this. One lesson etched in Jonathan’s mind, picked up from the Instasluts, is that if you’ve got it, flaunt it.

 

When he turns around, Hayden’s eyes widen in shock at his proximity to a very alluring sight. My, my, he was smitten. Not only is Jonathan smart, he also has a (rather good looking) boy next door look. But that was the exact description for his ex too, and they didn’t work out very well. 

 

‘How many siblings do you have?’ Jonathan asks, pulling Hayden back from some unhappy thoughts about the past.

 

‘Oh, I have 3 older sisters,’ he says while stealing one last glance at Jonathan’s crotch. Fuck, his thighs fill up those shorts very nicely. If only he could spread them apart -

 

No! Hayden stops his horns from erecting. What the fuck. Jonathan is an NUS law dean’s lister who’s already way out of his league. He can’t ruin this by being a horny bastard. 

 

When the two get seated at the seafood restaurant, Jonathan takes a good look at Hayden as he’s ordering. Not bad, actually. Decent looking and stocky fit, like a rugby player. 

 

‘Do you work out a lot?’ Jonathan asks. ‘You look quite fit.’

 

Hayden gives a bit of a laugh and scratches his head, suddenly feeling shy in the face of a direct compliment. 

 

‘No la, just gym a bit here and there lor. I was in rugby back in JC.’

 

‘Oh, which JC?’ Jonathan tries to sound as nonchalant as possible. 

 

‘Pioneer. You from RI all the way right?’

 

‘Yeah.’

 

‘Wah so smart.’

 

‘No lahhh, through train mah.’

 

This is one mandatory conversation checked on Jonathan’s list. He sips on his iced lemon tea to suppress a devious grin. 

 

‘Do you meet guys very often?’ Hayden asks in a restrained manner, hoping it isn’t offensive. He can’t help but wonder, given how attractive Jonathan is. 

 

‘Mmm depends la. If I’m free can be quite often. You?’

 

‘Not really la. Everyone on Tinder like only seek fun so I don’t use that much.’

 

‘Then how? You just jo arh?’

 

‘Yeah lor everyday self-service. But must do in the shower cos my sister got catch in the room before.’

 

‘Wait WHAT? HAHAHA!’ Jonathan bursts out laughing, prompting curious looks from the straight couple at the adjacent table. 

 

‘Luckily she never tell my mother la,’ says Jonathan, also laughing a little at the memory. After a pause, he adds, ‘You smile quite nice actually.’ 

 

‘Thanks.’

 

It is the most genuinely humbling moment Jonathan can remember from receiving a compliment. Most guys compliment to flirt, probably to get in his pants. But coming from Hayden it feels like a spontaneous and refreshing breath of candour.

 

The two chat over lunch mostly about exes and their current lives and plans for the future. Hayden’s dream was to join Pixar, but his mother had found out about his secret application to the DigiPen Institute of Technology and had put a stop to what she called an atrocity. 

 

‘But that’s abominable! She just dashed your dream!’ Jonathan rails as they wait to make payment.

 

‘Wahhh don’t use such cheem words leh. Eh wait - I pay.’

 

‘Split la.’

 

‘Just let me pay.’

 

‘Cannot leh.’

 

‘Just let me. I have income from tutoring.’

 

‘Ok, thanks then!’

 

Jonathan heaves an internal sigh, thankful that Hayden insisted on footing the bill. That’s $25 saved, alongside his image - he always makes sure to resist first. This is to prevent any perception of him being a cheapskate. 

 

‘Anyway, where were we? Oh yeah, you know right, everyone is so talented in Pixar that you gotta apply for two positions. I wanted to be an animator and storywriter. But...now I’m just gonna try to enter banking to give my family a more comfortable life.’

 

‘I can totally relate to that. I want to enter a Big 4 law firm because of that too.’

 

That really is only part of the reason. After more than 5 years in the gay community Jonathan knows that guys love a partner they can show off in one of those clique-y Line or Telegram group bitching/gossiping sessions. One really has to earn his epaulets. 

 

Hayden stops just outside Timezone as he notices a girl armed with coins before a claw machine. She seems to be in a trance, brows furrowed and eyes unblinking, staring at the adjustment of the claw. With much annoyance she slams her fist down on a button, and the claw closes around the head of a Squirtle. The claw barely ascends with the toy when it seems to be released rather willingly with a sloppy dangle. 

 

‘Shit la!’ the girl curses as her 20th dollar goes down the drain. 

 

Hayden’s eyes sparkle with an idea. 

 

‘Can we go in?’

 

Jonathan looks confused at the random request, but agrees anyway.

 

‘You’re not going to spend your money on the fucking machine right?’ he asks, taking large strides to catch up with the excited looking Hayden. 

 

‘No la. Suddenly want to play some games.’

 

Certainly not the kind I was hoping for, Jonathan thinks discreetly. 

 

After getting some credits, Hayden leads the pair to the basketball machine. 

 

The moment the clock ticks, he starts flinging ball after ball at the hoop. The miracle? 99% of them are hits. Even Jonathan is paying attention as he marvels at Hayden’s skills, who instantly seems much hotter. 

 

When the round ends, he surges forward and wraps his hand around Hayden’s arm like an opportunistic auntie grabbing at a free gift. 

 

‘Wahhh arms so strong!’ he remarks, and asks Hayden to flex. 

 

The clueless guy is simply happy to have scored points with Jonathan, unaware of the 101 ways he’s being sexually objectified right this moment.

 

‘Why your face so red. So cute.’

 

Jonathan fans himself with his hand and smiles awkwardly. Even he isn’t sure if it’s because he’s feeling merry or just severely horny.

 

‘Let’s play that?’ he asks, pointing at a random machine with two guns. 

 

‘Sure.’ Hayden tugs at his shirt repeatedly, teasing Jonathan. The latter had been caught staring at how his sweaty shirt was stuck to his broad chest.  

 

As the two shoot at alien monsters fanatically Hayden is once again triggering the boyfriend material warning in Jonathan’s mental radar. There is just something boyish and suave about Hayden; the way he tilts his head slightly, biting his bottom lip on the right and squinting his eye on the same side. Even his scent is like gaseous aphrodisiac. 

 

All things good and bad come to an end, only that time passes faster when you’re happy. It feels too soon when they’re both walking to the train station to part ways. 

 

‘Thanks for today,’ Jonathan says, hands shoved in his pockets.

 

This might just be the best first meet up he’s ever had. Who would’ve thought a simple ‘Hey!’ to some random SMU Business Management student could’ve led to this. The NUS Math and Computer Science double degree guy had been haughtily silent, but that’s a rant for another time. 

 

‘I don’t send you home today can? My finals are coming quite soon and I need to study.’

 

‘So you mean, you wanted to send me home?’

 

‘Yeah la,’ Hayden replies awkwardly, as if shy about wanting to do that. ‘You still want to meet again?’

 

‘Sure! Next time my treat arh!’

 

Hayden laughs, so smitten that even this line is like a funny joke. ‘My train come already. I text you when I’m home. Bye.’

 

He leaves Jonathan grinning on the platform like an idiot until. That is until Jonathan receives a message from Zhi Hao, one of those inexplicable gay friends he’s only chatted with but never met. 

 

Zhi Hao: Drama of the hour: Sweet Potato Crepes just created some poll and you’re leading!

Jonathan: Huh??

 

Sweet Potato Crepes, a Line group under the tenure of Shawn Pua, has drawn up a poll ‘Most fuck up slut,’ which Jonathan is leading. It’s a splinter group formed by dissidents from his own Line group in the past. They had found his elitist and arrogant comments a bit too delusional and disagreeable. Zhi Hao has been recruited to be in Sweet Potato Crepes in its early days, when they were desperate for new members to tell Jonathan’s stories to. Since then he had been existing as a spy.

 

Zhi Hao: Srsly can’t take it anymore. They r just too toxic. You want me to blast anything in the group? I’ll do it then kick the leaders out.’

Jonathan: Tell them that they’re probably not good looking enough to be sluts even if they wanted. And...please brush up on their grammar.’

 

Jonathan: James? I need a favour

Jameson: Lol just finished fucking some cute twink. What do you want

Jonathan: You’re so famous in the community right? I need some names up on bw. Can help me fuck them over?

Jameson: Uhh ok? Just give me some details.

 

It’s certainly a cause for gloating just thinking about teaching these nobodies a lesson. Seriously? A bunch of comparatively ugly, under-achieving fuckers stepping on his toes, Jonathan Tan?

 

However, Jonathan would rather focus on the cause for joy instead. Hayden’s shy side-glances, his arms that feel solid even without him flexing. There’s a vibe he gives that screams ‘decent guy’. Perhaps, just perhaps, Jonathan has stumbled upon treasure.

 

And with a wide, grateful grin, he opens Grindr to appraise his catch for the day. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Edited December 9, 2017 by FleaBiscuit

[FleaBiscuit]

Chapter 4

 

‘We’ll stay forever this way. You are safe in my heart and my heart will, go on and onnnn.’

 

Chan Mee Lian’s body literally trembles with her vibrato as she belts out the last note. She is so deeply immersed that her eyes are shut and her hand is pressed to her head, a bit like she’s having a headache.

 

The matriarch of the Chan family doesn’t like to be interrupted during her home karaoke sessions. All this while, her daughter-in-law, Michelle, has been waiting patiently to speak. She knows all too well that any utterance can only begin after the soundtrack has completely faded away. 

 

‘Ma,’ she quickly cuts in before the first notes of Hero by Mariah Carey. ‘Ronald Tsai has called to inform that they’ll be here in half an hour.’

 

Mee Lian turns off the stereo and gives Michelle a cutting glare. ‘You didn’t let our guests take the taxi here right?’

 

‘No Ma, I sent Kok Keong to the hotel,’ Michelle replies confidently, referring to the family chauffeur. 

 

‘Good. Which car?’

 

‘The Bentley.’

 

‘Excellent. Don’t gong-gong go fetch them in the Porsche you know.’

 

Though Mee Lian speaks harshly, in an almost vulgar fashion, she knows in her heart that Michelle is competent in running the household. 14 years married to her son and she has become like a daughter, sometimes understanding her even better than her biological ones. 

 

‘Yes Ma, don’t worry. I’m sure da-sao has it settled. Da-sao, hor?’

 

Mee Lian lets out some mirthless laughter. ‘I’m sure she knows what she is doing. What about you? Wings hard already la, post pictures of him all over Facebook until my friends can see.’

 

Pei Xuan rolls her eyes. ‘Ma, like it or not, Evan is my boyfriend. He’s a great guy!’

 

Michelle leaves the kitchen quietly. Things are about to get ugly and she has to warn her husband about the impending blow-up.

 

‘Told you a thousand times already. Lawyer can -‘

 

‘Ma, stop!’

 

‘- earn how much? You and Pei Ling all the same. Dunno how to find good husbands. Learn from your sister la, haiyo!’

 

Mee Lian is, of course, referring to her eldest daughter, Pei Fen. She still fondly remembers how her daughter had snagged the eldest son of the You family, winning the rat race that included so many other worthy competitors. The year Pei Fen and George You got married, they were also listed as Prestige magazine’s power couple of the year, drawing much envy from Mee Lian’s circle of elite friends. She’s not enjoyed such sweet victory ever since. 

 

And yet, her daughter stopped viewing it as a victory after the first few weeks. 

 

Pei Fen is upstairs with her sister Pei Ling, both feeling a little hot and bothered after watching Magic Mike.

 

‘Oh my god, that Channing Tatum,’ Pei Ling, better known as Gloria, cries out lustfully as the movie finally ends.

 

Her husband, Phillip Ng, seems unconcerned as he reads the newspaper. His marriage with Gloria has been going strong, and there’s never been any reason for him to believe she’s fooling around, despite her frequent gossip about hot guys with her sister.

 

Then again, who’d fool around when you have Philip Ng? Relatively successful owner of a small chain of tuition centres, extremely delicious, with ACSI credentials to boot. At 35, he still hits the gym everyday and remains a wet dream to most girls - and gay guys. 

 

The holy trinity of RGS girls is united as Pei Xuan storms up the stairs, throwing herself on the sofa with her sisters. 

 

‘Pei Ling, you know mother hor, going crazy again.’ 

 

‘Aiyo, what Pei Ling Pei Ling. You think I go church every Sunday and pay them 10% of my salary for fun issit? I got Christian name already, call me Gloria.’

 

Philip laughs helplessly. ‘I also don’t know why you want to spend money like water.’

 

Despite graduating from ACSI, Philip speaks with a strong Singaporean accent, one of the unique qualities Gloria found endearing. 

 

‘Don’t worry, I’ll unsubscribe from the church once we have a child.’ Gloria sidles up to her husband and gives him a playful slap on his chest. 

 

‘Eh Philip, you need Ma to cook you special soup issit?,’ teases Pei Xuan, shuddering at the disgusting concoction touched by the penises of many animals. 

 

Gloria rolls her eyes. ‘Come on, da-jie also don’t have yet. Why never arrow her?’

 

Pei Fen remains silent. George hasn’t even touched her since the launch of his new fashion brainchild, George You Are Money. She knows full well that it isn’t work, and that’s enough. The details can spare her.

 

Sure, George is money. He has so much of it his family secretly burns millions in real, hard cash to their ancestors. But what he has, so does Pei Fen. And all the money in the world has somehow given her so little happiness. 

 

A sharp shriek blasting from below sends Pei Xuan and Pei Fen scurrying downstairs. Trouble is brewing, and they can immediately guess the culprit.

 

Philip gets up, only to be dragged by Gloria up the stairs.

 

‘Wait, where are we going?’

 

‘To make a baby,’ Gloria says, violently pulling Philip’s hand up her skirt. He clips his finger on her panties and yanks it aside to find her wet.

 

Downstairs, the commotion has led the Chans to the door, where Duke Chan, youngest child of Mee Lian is waiting to enter. 

 

‘Duke, who’s this?’ Kingsley Chan, eldest son and child of the family, asks with a suspicious glance.

 

Duke turns to the voluptuous woman beside him, giving her the chance to introduce herself. Her breasts, huge and perfectly round like mini bowling balls, are almost spilling out of her dress, which is low-cut at the top and high-cut at the bottom. 

 

‘Sawadee krap!’ she greets sunnily, then turns aghast at her mistake. ‘Sawadee kha! Sorry, too used to it, haha!’

 

The Chans, who have only ever travelled to exotic destinations, are unsure of the implications of her mistake. 

 

The woman steps forward without warning and tries to shake Kingsley’s hand, but is stopped in her tracks when Mee Lian bursts forward and stretches her hand out to protect him from the woman’s filthiness. 

 

‘Don’t touch my son!’ she screeches. ‘He’s a doctor! What are you! You want to touch, touch that one!’ Mee Lian jerks her head in Duke’s direction.

 

‘How long,’ Kingsley asks his younger brother.

Duke crosses his arms and looks away defiantly. He’s always been a little wary of his elder brother, who’s 19 years older. 

 

Mee Lian creeps away silently. Her hopes pinned on her youngest child had long been banished to a cold place in her heart. The pain he brought her in labour was achingly sweet. The pain in life he caused her...

 

‘I said how long!’ Kingsley’s sonorous voice booms around the house.

 

The mysterious Thai thinks the question is addressed to her. And coming from a doctor, she mistakes the nuance of his question. 

 

‘5 inches.’

 

Before anyone has any time to figure out what that means, a Rolls Royce pulls up into the garage, honking twice. 

 

Everyone suddenly feels reassured that all this mess is about to be sorted. The most competent Chan, the clear heir to all the assets of the Stefanie and Co group, has returned. 

Kingsley turns around, and even Duke’s face is now ashen, seeing his nephew striding up with all the swagger of a young CEO. 

 

Princeton Jethro Chan, Crown Prince of the Chan family, is about to restore order to the house.

[Guest Pewwww]

Any updates yet 

[FleaBiscuit]

Beauty and the Beast: a Tuesday blues story

 

There was something peaceful about the rain and how it pattered softly upon the earth. The light flurry of droplets assailed the light and yet caught it, turning the sky into a grey canvas against which they blinked. It was like a beautiful mood painting. Jonathan’s vision was a blur as he stared afar. He saw not the caps of the colourful, bobbing umbrellas or the huddled bodies beneath, but the whimsical flush of Bertrand’s cheeks and the twinkle in his eyes. The image was shiny and woolly, as daydreams would be - a sparkling silhouette oiled with gossamer.

 

Jonathan hoped Bertrand would be pleased with his gifts. The face masks felt tastefully apposite for someone with unmatched vanity. He sniggered at the thought of a flustered Bertrand preening before a mirror, dismayed by a pimple that would grind all Instagram activity to a halt.

 

More meaningful was the traditional Korean bamboo flute, painted exquisitely with herons in flight. To it, Jonathan had attached a paper crane with colourful string. It was a handwritten note. One that bubbled with gratefulness, sweet notes of romantic reverence and hope for the days to come. 

 

Bertrand continued his late coming streak, a habit that roused annoyance in Jonathan. But with equal measure of pride, Jonathan embraced the maternal role of waiting. It felt natural, even logical, to be the supporter for the looming figure that was Bertrand. 

 

The taxi stand was abuzz with the lazy whirring of waiting engines. Drivers sighed, betrayed by hopes of customers that never came.

 

Jonathan waited too, his patience still powered by giddy anticipation. Bertrand would arrive and go in minutes, maybe seconds. It was his reaction to the gifts that mattered. 

 

About fifteen minutes later, when the rain had ended to cast a rainbow in the sky, a white Toyota stopped behind the waiting taxis. Out hopped Bertrand, a stunning figure in a well-ironed shirt that boasted his physique. 

 

‘Hey,’ he greeted with a flicker of a smile. ‘I don’t have much time.’

 

‘Just wanted to pass you this la. I got you something in Korea.’ 

 

Jonathan holds out the bag but it receives only a brief glance. 

 

‘Actually I agreed to meet you now because I wanted to tell you that I don’t think we should meet again.’

 

‘But why?’ 

 

Jonathan’s arm goes slack, while Bertrand sighs, as if weighed down by the burden of having to cajole a kid into accepting that the day would inevitably fade into the night. 

 

The air around the two had grown frigid with solemnity and tension, all warmth from daydreams gone.

 

‘You told my boyfriend that you loved me right? You crossed the boundary so...it’s kinda your fault. He doesn’t want me to see you anymore.’

 

‘The fuck?’

 

‘What do you want?’

 

The replies came faster from Bertrand than they ever had, and it made Jonathan sick, how quickly he wanted out after he had his share of fun.

 

‘At least give me a fucking reason.’

 

‘Why do you even need one? It’s not like we were some serious thing. My boyfriend’s a top lawyer and I’m a top banker. You’re just a kid.’

 

‘Fuck you.’

 

Bertrand laughed. How nice of Jonathan to throw a tantrum. That was exactly the kind of thing he could draw moral authority from.

 

‘Ok, you seem very emotional. I’ll just leave you alone and let you calm down, alright? My boyfriend’s waiting anyway.’

 

Without a split second of hesitation Bertrand turned and left. Jonathan’s gaze bore into him from behind, following the white Toyota until it sped out of sight. That was it.

 

A hasty, abrupt ending.

 

Jonathan had been warned. Everyone told him and told him and told him - being a third party never ended well. But he hadn’t expected much from Bertrand, an over-successful banker with over 10k Instagram followers. He had tried to be contented as a passer-by; a young body that soothed and pleased when needed. He had downsized his hopes of what could happen. Was it not enough? Was he so insignificant after two dozen meet ups and his virginity he could be jettisoned in two minutes?

 

Disillusioned and defeated, Jonathan boarded the train home. It was empty just after lunch time, providing a convenient place for him to cry. 

 

He peered into his bag with tear-filled eyes, utterly embarrassed by the gifts that could not go out. The paper crane stared back, an effigy of hopes and dreams never to take flight. 

 

He wanted to be angry, but there were never any promises made that could be broken. That was the trap he completely failed to sidestep. It made him both victim and culprit of his unhappiness. 

 

I want to be a Mona Lisa painting.

 

It was like a random epiphany borne out of trauma. Jonathan suddenly wanted to do so well financially, in school, in looks - everything, that no one would dare abandon him again. And those who did would see him smiling from every angle. He wanted them to come crawling back like fallen angels harking back to the light.

Edited December 12, 2017 by FleaBiscuit

[FleaBiscuit]

To anyone who may have been waiting for an update, my sincerest apologies. Life and lethargy have kept me away these few days. 

 

Random note: this story is actually dotted with many real life experiences. 

 

Ps. I’ll try to get the next chapter up by 2am later.  

Ps2. HUGE thank you to those who’ve encouraged me on my writing 

Ps3. George You Are Money is a play on Giorgio Armani :•)

Edited December 12, 2017 by FleaBiscuit

[Guest Shogun]

1 hour ago, FleaBiscuit said:

 

 

Ps. I’ll try to get the next chapter up by 2am later.  

Ps2. HUGE thank you to those who’ve encouraged me on my writing 

 

Thank you for writing. Waiting patiently.

[FleaBiscuit]

Chapter 5

 

Hayden glances at his phone instinctively the moment it lights up, but no, it is not a message from Jonathan. It has become a bad habit of late, to be glued to his phone waiting for the cute guy’s reply. The last time he felt this way was eons ago when he had been together with Shawn. And even then he did not masturbate to his boyfriend’s photos. 

 

There is something about Jonathan’s demeanour that exudes sexiness. His lackadaisical behaviour reeks of quiet confidence, yet his penchant for facial emoting was endearing with spritely energy. 

 

It is hard for Hayden not to feel at least a little inferior. In fact this is his most toxic weakness of all. Not only does he have an inferiority complex - he feeds it willingly. He revels in his role as the compromiser, the one who takes care of rather than be cared for. Somehow, after Shawn, he still hasn’t shut himself out of his screwed up fairytale heading towards happily never after. Perhaps nice guys just have to exist to give hope to the jaded ones. Or perhaps they exist because in the rat race, some guys have to finish last. 

 

Even now, as he’s randomly thinking about Jonathan in bed, he is fantasizing himself as the pleasure-giver. Fuck exams. 

 

He slips out of anything restraining his growing erection and pulls his pillow under him, sliding his body against it the way he’d fuck another guy. For the next 20 minutes or so this pillow will be Jonathan, so well pounded that he autocums on himself. 

 

In the western part of Singapore, Jonathan has just extended his lead in the rat race. His new profile picture on Jack’d has drawn attention, even from nearby sluts who have never bothered replying him. It is the one he took with impressive cumshots reaching his chin. So far each guy has been successfully duped into thinking they were special enough to gain access to this locked picture. 

 

One such person is a pugnacious ‘Andy’. After all that talk on his profile about ‘fuck off if you’re just looking for fun’ he has clearly forsaken his moral high ground and has asked Jonathan for a blowjob. Mission accomplished.

 

Another one is an Indian who - ok that does it for Jonathan. Mission abandoned.

 

The next is a halfway decent looking NUS beefcake who has never, never bothered to reply after all these years of being in the vicinity. For the past 15 minutes Jonathan has been seducing him, pampering him with salacious photos and injecting him with lustful yearning. The guy is now on his way to Jonathan’s block, and he will wait the same way Jonathan had waited for him to reply. You’re just a prawn, he thinks. And if I remember correctly Civil Engineering has a pretty low cut-off. 

 

Mission well-accomplished.

 

Jonathan waits till the fool starts pestering him with panicky questions. He opens the chat as a sign of blatant indifference, his way of saying too bad, bitch. Revenge is sweet and satisfying. Sometimes even Jonathan is amused by his lack of guilt at his hopeless racism and elitism. But how could anyone blame him? He doesn’t believe anyone could be purely a victim; Everyone is as much of a culprit. 

 

NUSboi: Motherfucking jibai eat suck your mother smelly cock. Fucked up mother that why got idiotic son like u

Jonathan: Dear, dear. I’m not the one who has an IQ of 50 and got tricked. And calling me names is so antediluvian. 

 

As usual, Jonathan falls back on bombastic vocabulary to silence his opponent. It is always harder for them to reply when they don’t even understand what the heck he’s saying. Most of them are easy pickings who can barely engage in verbal sparring. 

 

Jameson: Babe Uncle Gerry just told me that he saw Bertrand at KB

 

Jonathan grows still, suddenly numb. This name has not appeared in his life for a long time, forgotten for good reason. It takes him awhile to form an emotional conclusion. In this case, revenge is bittersweet.

 

Jonathan: Well either he broke up or his rs got even more fucked up.

Jameson: I’d guess the latter. Btw Uncle Gerry prob knows the regulars who’re infected. Know what I’m thinking?

Jonathan: Ik I think you’re quite fcked up

Jonathan: TTYL HES BACK

 

The message from Princeton has just arrived, hot and sizzling, nearly enough to make Jonathan jump up in joy. 

 

Princeton: Heyyy I’m back! How’s my qt doing?

Jonathan: So have you been feeding on some Parisian hunk?

Princeton: I assure you not. Karl’s secretary wanted to eat me up though 

Jonathan: Wow what a slut

Princeton: Fill you in later? Got some meet the parents session now. Cya!

 

The chat, while brief, brings instantaneous invigoration to Jonathan’s mind and soul. Just to affirm Princeton’s words, he visits Heimeigui’s blog. He is the biggest blogger of all things big and small happening in the gay community. Resourceful and powerful, he keeps tabs on those renowned. Even a one night stand with a nobody does not escape his keen eye. His most famous work is the sacred fuck list that ranks guys according to ‘fame’, earned mostly by the number of guys you fuck. To even be on his radar is tough shit, with the minimum bar currently at 10 different guys a month.

 

Nope, nothing new on Princeton. But there is some exciting movement in the top 10. The latest rumour is that Wesley Toh, ranked number 6, has decided to go steady. Soon he’ll plunge in the rankings, though maybe not for long, seeing as commenters have supposedly seen him on Grindr still. Vincent Lee has finally tumbled out of the top 10 into 11th place. He used to top the list, but at 44 old age must’ve caught up and quelled his hormones somewhat. 

 

Jonathan finds himself changing his clothes unwittingly. The past demands resolution, and he is going to seek it.

 

Jonathan: Hey Arthur long time no talk. Are you still fucking with Timothy Low? If you are can you lure him out for me?

 

Meanwhile, in King Albert Park, Chan Mee Lian is going ballistic. The arrival of the Tsais is just around the corner and she is feeling the heat. Impressing Ronald and Linda Tsai is of utmost importance. If the matchmaking between Princeton and Jonah goes through, the combined power and wealth of both families will send shockwaves through Asia. Being of such fine calibre, Mee Lian has not a shred of doubt that Princeton will wow the parents and blow the pants off Jonah. Perhaps quite literally. 

 

‘Fuji and Joyfraine, go back to your rooms!’ she orders with a tut. 

 

It would be quite disastrous if the Tsais were to witness her maids strutting about in Giordano and Hang Ten. The thought alone sends shudders down her brittle bones. 

 

Her sharp eyes rove around the house. Everything seems to be in order. The most expensive of delicacies have been laid out, the furniture is spick and span, and everyone is impeccably dressed in their statement pieces. Mee Lian herself is donning a modern cheongsam from their own brand, The Ore, a customised piece that would’ve cost $31k. 

 

She and Princeton are seated at the head of their dining table. It is a most ornate showpiece that has a gold-plated top and legs obscenely coated with mother of pearl and encrusted with precious gems. 

 

In the background the head domestic helper of the house, Selina, is vacuuming the floor just for show, decked out in a Prada dress. 

 

The mood in the house is understandably tense. The wrath of Chan Mee Lian would be upon them should the meeting go awry. Anyone not her or Princeton is part of two rows standing by the door, ready to welcome the guests. 

 

An audible gasp escapes Michelle as she hears the Bentley arrive. Kingsley gives her hand a reassuring squeeze. Standing opposite them, Gloria purses her lips tightly as she feels liquid sliding down her thigh - she doesnt understand how Philip always squirts like a deprived man despite being ensured a daily release. 

 

Even Princeton himself inhales sharply as footsteps and chattering can be heard just outside the house. Then, the door swings open, and everyone breaks into rapturous applause. 

Edited December 13, 2017 by FleaBiscuit

[FleaBiscuit]

Chapter 6

 

‘Aye!’ Mee Lian starts forward to grasp Linda Tsai’s hands in hers. ‘Welcome to our humble abode!’

 

The two women laugh heartily while Ronald Tsai scans the house briefly with subconscious nods. Mee Lian herself is suitably impressed by Linda’s Hermes evening gown, an elegant, flattering piece that grants her a mermaid-esque figure. She smiles in a way that says, but of course. This is the wife of a property tycoon. 

 

‘Jonah! Wahhh!’ Mee Lian takes hurried little steps towards the rather dazzled MIT graduate. ‘So handsome! Nice to make your acquaintance!’

 

Kingsley and Michelle shake hands with their potential in laws. On one end of the room, Pei Fen is biting her lip. Jonah Tsai is indeed a fine young man. So much better than her slob of a husband George You. Her nephew is a lucky one. She’d rent such a fine specimen for 100k/night. 

 

Mee Lian ushers everyone over to the dining table, fully in her element as host and matriarch of the household. 

 

Jonah’s eyes rest comfortably on Princeton as they take their seats. One word: wow. Being good looking and rich and powerful means almost every guy you meet is an Adonis, but this is something else. Bright eyes with gorgeous, deep-set double eyelids; a strong jawline peppered with a well trimmed beard; a sharp nose with thick brows and high cheekbones. Princeton’s face is like a laundry list of handsome features that doesn’t feel that way, for all you see is the sum of its parts.  

 

As the guests begin to tuck in, Linda is the first to begin the inevitable questions. 

 

‘So, Princeton, which university did you study at?’

 

‘Oh, I attended the Parsons school of design before getting an MBA from Harvard.’

 

‘Mmm...Excellent,’ Linda purrs and hisses dramatically. ‘Though wouldn’t it be funny if you went to Princeton?’

 

Linda bursts out laughing at her joke, and everyone else more or less follows suit. Mee Lian smiles to herself, not because of the lame joke of course, but because the Tsais are proving to be just as shallow. This always makes things easier. 

 

‘So what do you like to do in your free time?’ 

 

For a moment, heads turn everywhere, wondering who the question came from. Only Jonah, who has been staring at Princeton, is immediately stunned by it. Then, nervous glances fall on the latter, because with Princeton you can never read his mind. Michelle tries to signal to her son, but he’s too busy with his soup. 

 

‘Umm...I like fishing. Currently trying to perfect a Beef Wellington. Am trying to pick up street dance. And, oh, randomly visiting Diagon Alley in Florida.’

 

All eyes turn to Princeton, whose soup spoon is stuck in his mouth. He pulls it out, smiles, and declares, ‘That’s awesome.’

 

Kingsley and Michelle grasp each other’s hands in relief while Mee Lian and Linda are beside themselves with such giddying excitement they have to suppress their giggles. Ronald Tsai crosses one leg over the other in a desperate attempt to hide an uncontrollable erection; he’d abandon all his secret toyboys to be committed to Philip. 

 

‘Can’t imagine you doing street dance though,’ Princeton continues.

 

‘Don’t worry,’ Mee Lian cuts in with a wave of her hand. ‘I’m sure Jonah will be very happy to show you his strip, I mean street dance.’

 

Jonah can feel his face burning with embarrassment and tries to deflect the attention at once. 

 

‘Wow Mdm Chan, your culinary skills are superb! The uni custard with seafood was heavenly. And the lamb chop with strawberry foam was just popping with flavour. May I have the recipes please?’ 

 

Mee Lian rests her hand on her chest with a shy smile. ‘Of course you may, Jonah. I feel so humbled.’ She tries to mentally calculate how much Chef Leon’s secret recipes will cost. 

 

‘Do you always talk so formally?’

 

Jonah is caught off guard and clenches his fist while staring blankly at Princeton. Oh my god, do you have to look this handsome? That Princeton is paying him so much attention is giving him the jitters.

 

‘I’m just nervous,’ he admits, and Linda purses her lips.

 

‘Don’t be. It’s just a matchmaking session,’ Princeton says with a heart-lacerating wink.

 

‘I know the best way to make him feel at home,’ Mee Lian announces with a clap of her hands. ‘Jonah, you’ll stay with us for the time being.’

 

Meanwhile, at Upper Circular Road, Jonathan steps tentatively into Keybox. Upon his arrival, Gerry sets down the carton of mango flavoured condoms and swoops in like a shadow.

 

‘He’s inside,’ the older man whispers even though there’s no one around. 

 

Gerry is one of Jonathan’s precious few friends from pre-breakup. The moment Heimeigui posted the article about what happened, his circle of gay friends had imploded. People left one by one, scandalised and adamant that he’s some slutty home wrecker. 

 

Those were dark days, but Jonathan survived them and found new supporters who believed Bertrand was the true villain. 

 

‘Are your men ready?’ Jonathan asks with a raspy voice. 

 

Gerry nods, himself desiring resolution with his inner demons - he should never have introduced Jonathan to Bertrand all those years ago in the sauna.

 

‘Now,’ Jonathan orders, and with lightning speed Gerry turns on the switch.

 

The two burst into the maze, where the lights have come on. Clueless but shocked people cover their genitals, some succeeding with just one hand. A few, past the point of no return, empty themselves into/on their sex partners for the evening. Among the confused patrons, Gerry’s men march forth to regroup. It isn’t difficult to spot Bertrand, being the centre of attention in an orgy on the floor. Pot-bellied uncles and twinky teenagers scatter to make way for the big burly men. 

 

‘What are you doing!’ he howls while being dragged into a room and pinned on the bed. Each limb is held down by one man. 

 

Enter Jonathan, his arms crossed, the slightest of smiles hanging on his lips. It actually takes Bertrand some time to identify him as a plaything from a distant past.

 

‘Hi Bertrand.’ The voice comes like a calm breeze.

 

‘Who are you?’ Bertrand asks, somewhat certain he doesn’t want to know. The fear is apparent in his shaking voice.

 

‘You don’t? I see you need some stimulation. Hope this helps.’

 

Jonathan beckons someone from outside, a cue for Russell Wong to enter. Bertrand stares at his naked figure with glassy eyes, praying this is all just a horrible joke. Russell Wong, 15th on the Fuck List, is a personal weakness. As he draws near, Bertrand begins screaming and struggling against his captors. But they’re too strong, so strong that his body can barely wriggle around. 

 

‘He’s not going to hurt you, so stop behaving like a baby.’ Jonathan‘s brows arch in amusement. 

 

He’s right. Russell Wong bends over Bertrand and instantly goes for his dick. 

 

‘What the fuck! What the fuck! Let me go now!’ 

 

Bertrand screams, but pauses to hear what Jonathan has to say. 

 

‘This was how I felt: trapped. You didn’t know how it felt, did you? Being baited but never reeled in.’ 

 

‘This is ridiculous. I can barely remember who you are!’ Even Bertrand can hear the anger sapping out of his scathing tone as he looks down at the eager, slurping mouth.

 

 ‘Blame yourself for being a slut! You’re the worst kind. You’re just all about the big dicks and asses!’

 

Jonathan screeches childishly, and it feels good, liberating even. To not give a fuck and blame Bertrand, blame everything he hates about this community. 

 

Bertrand tenses his muscles, trying to delay the orgasm he can already feel in his gut. 

 

‘That’s what we all are! I don’t know your name but I recognise your face. You think people don’t know what you’ve done? There’s a reason why you have so few friends.’

 

Jonathan laughs like a crazed man, eyes casting a dark glint. ‘You think I care?! Most of them are worthless people who will never make as much as I will.’

 

Jonathan steps forward threateningly, but holds upon the sound of a voice outside. He’s here.

 

‘Finish him.’

 

Russell Wong’s head bobs even faster. Beads of perspiration form all over Bertrand as he feels the familiar rush of adrenaline.

 

‘No!’ he protests, but it’s too late.

 

His boyfriend appears at the door, so shocked he’s speechless. You cannot hide an orgasm; Bertrand grunts softly as his body jerks, spilling salty liquid into Russell’s waiting mouth. 

 

That’s when the burly men release him and form up behind Jonathan with Gerry. Before they leave, Jonathan has some last words for the panting Bertrand.

 

‘Remember my name. I’m Jonathan Tan, NUS Law deans lister. And you will never be as happy as me.’

[kimlo777]

Excellent writing skills ... hats off to you!

[Grey]

My first attempt at erotica on BW. Please be merciful!  

Enjoy.

 

Part 1

 

A guy I had over recently, told me frankly, that my underwear collection is looking pretty sad with those dull colours and worn out aesthetic they possess. He told me, “these underwear do no justice to the work of art I see before me” Fuck! It was then, that I decided I need to up my underwear game. It's time for underwear hunting!! Cues dramatic music…

 

The very next day I made my way to Singapore’s shopping heaven, (and also hotties heaven) - Orchard Road. On my way to the department store, my eyes were working harder than my legs, they were darting about, from face to face, chest to chest, arm to arm, butt to butt, bulge to bulge. Running on everlasting batteries, my eyes went on a feast!

 

I arrived at the underwear section and I always get a little tingly down there when I’m there. But, I guess I think more with my dick at that section...

 

Fux, those 6 pack models clad in those sleek underwear on the underwear boxes always have a way of turning me on. No, I can’t be walking around with a boner. But, what I encounter next only made it harder…

 

Of all the different faces, chests, arms, butts and bulges I saw just now, this is a fine one. Swinging his bubble butt of an ass around the store, this luscious piece of meat went around arranging those now seemingly mild underwear boxes.

 

Hiding behind the wall of neatly stacked underwear boxes, I scan him down.

 

His hair, kept neat and short for work reasons. His arms, toned but not big. His chest, perky and you can kind of see those nipples standing underneath the white polo tee he was wearing. His shirt was a little small, revealing that six-pack hidden underneath when he stretches to place those underwear boxes on the highest shelf.

 

It was then, that I noticed the underwear he was wearing underneath his tight denim. High raised kind, with little red reindeers against a neon blue background. Fux, that is what I call a sexy underwear! Imagining it hugging his firm ass… ah! the eye rape has began...  

 

A stream of fantasies kept me staring at him as he works his body around the store… Santa baby was playing at the background of the store, oh damnnn, his my santa baby!

 

To be continued…

 

[G_M]

1 hour ago, sk_2016 said:

Hihi..Merry Xmas....How r u 

U driving ?...Would like to know more abt you...

Mind intro ,?

Line : xxxxxxx

Hugs

Please do not post any ad in the main forum meant for discussion.

This is friendly warning by the mod.

The next ad posted in the main forum will get you a warning point.

If you are not sure why you are getting this message go read the rules http://www.blowingwind.org/forum/index.php?showtopic=67&p=814014

GM 

 

[FleaBiscuit]

Chapter 7

 

If the gay community were to be known for one thing, it’s that news spreads like wildfire. Just a couple hours after the assault on Bertrand, messages from his fans have been pouring in on WhatsApp on Jonathan’s phone. How they even got his number, he’ll never know.

 

Vengeful slut. Sour grapes. Worthless trash. These are some of the nicer slurs rained on him. 

He rolls his eyes as the next message comes in: You think you very smart…

 

Of course he won’t bother reading the rest of the text. To him these are just worthless, delusional aunties, always on the lookout for the next person in the community to bitch about. They are the ones truly indulging in sour grapes, ever ready to heap opprobrium on those who’re successful - probably a way of finding solace in the doldrums. And yet all of them are as fucked up as he is. 

 

However, Jonathan can’t help but be grazed by a tinge of self-doubt and sadness. Did he go overboard? Does he really have so few friends because of how he is? 

 

His phone buzzes again, and he swallows guiltily. 

 

Hayden: Did you really do that?

 

Jonathan groans and flings his pillow. It smacks his lava lamp off the table top and it crashes onto the floor. In that split second fear courses through his blood like liquid lead.

 

‘Fuck!’ He jumps off his bed to find it still intact. While not terribly expensive, it is something of an emotional artifact, a birthday present from when he turned 11. 

 

Jonathan stands it back on his table. It is one of his last reminders of a more innocent and simple time. Like diamonds, the purity in such items make them more valuable. 

 

His phone buzzes again, and he makes a grab at it because it’s the law students group. 

 

Emerald: Omg the deans list is out!
Angie: I heard there were a lot of surprises who didn’t get in
Xenon: Lester didn’t, Faye didn’t, what happened sia?? That Regina Wong didn’t also haha damn shiok
Tracie: Here’s the list: 1. Payton Lee 2. Karen Goh 3. Wesson Tan 4. Jonathan Lim 5. Jonathan Tan…

 

Jonathan slams his fist on his bed triumphantly. Yes! He’s retained his position on the coveted list yet again. As usual, no one can knock Karen Goh off her pedestal. But Lester and Faye have been shut out of heaven, angels falling from the sky. It is the welcome breath of good news he needs right now.

 

What was that message? You think you’re so smart...Well he is. Those mere mortals would never have gotten into NUS, much less be on track to becoming the top 1% of income earners in Singapore. 

 

Jameson: Congratz
Jonathan: Heard abt it so fast?? But thanks <3
Jameson: Also I’ll do everything in my power to push back at those bijes.
Jonathan: Sometimes I feel like I love you. Just a bit. 

 

All regret and sense of being downtrodden vanish, replaced by gratefulness. Indeed, his friends don’t number in the thousands, but they love him. And they form a better army than people who love your pictures behind a screen.

Buzz. 

Xxx: Hey you’re Jonathan right?
Jonathan: And you are….?
Xxx: I’m Dorian. I heard from Jameson you’re looking to pick up some extra cash?
Jonathan: Omg Dorian Grey??
Dorian: Yes.

 

It seems like the day’s wonders will never cease.

 

 

 

One of the great wonders of being crazy rich is that mere mortals will never decipher your lifestyle. They will judge and whine about your excess but suddenly splurge on posh hotels at the end of the year, all dying to soak in a fraction of the luxury you already have at home. And yet.

 

They feel unabashed about sharing their paltry indulgence on Instagram. 

 

This, of course, doesn’t apply to Jonah. He steps into the tub of rich, frothy goat’s milk like a kid stepping into the jacuzzi. The warm liquid appears to unclog his pores and seep right into his skin. 

 

Ultimate lavishness, of course, is ultimately reserved for the shamelessly wealthy. 

 

The ceiling of the makeshift sauna casts an aura of tranquility in the heated room. Inked a midnight blue with a constellation of glow-in-the-dark stars, staring up could make one feel lost within these four walls. Except, they aren’t walls, but green screens projecting images of the woods. Somewhere - no, everywhere - a Dolby Atmos surround sound system susurrates, making it almost possible for one to believe water is drip dropping from leaf to leaf and that insects around are chirping. 

 

‘I think this is beautiful,’ Jonah mutters.

 

‘You mean the sight of me, naked, taking a bath in the woods? I know.’

 

It feels obligatory to roll your eyes at such a comment, but this is Princeton Jethro Chan we’re talking about. Some men can blow their trumpet all they want because all you want is to blow them too. 

 

‘So how many men have you dated before?’

 

The question tumbles out awkwardly like a P1 question, and a smile creeps up Princeton’s face like a crescent in the dim light. He opens one eye, but once it finds his younger counterpart, the other one snaps open too.

 

‘Okayyyy so, I was expecting something like, do you think the success of most tech firms in Silicon Valley is fortuitous, or is Aung San Suu Kyi really the disgraced Mother Teresa the western world makes her out to be.’

 

‘Wh-what, no! That’s not how I talk.’

 

‘So how many guys have you dated before?’ 

 

‘Zero.’

 

‘Oh right, you’re 21, I forgot. How many guys have you slept with before.’

 

‘I’m a virgin.’

 

Princeton’s smile morphs into a dangerous curve, as dangerous a curve as his solid organ dirtying the goats milk bath. Perverse fetish or not, he’s always been taken with virgins. Especially one as tantalising as Jonah. There’s a famous rumour on Heimeigui that he’s paid up to 250k to prise open tight rosebuds. 

 

‘You’re so damn rich and good looking and you’re a virgin?’ Princeton wades towards Jonah, who digs his nails into his thighs.

 

‘Yeah.’ Even the single word fades into a sigh. 

 

His eyes mentally slurp up Princeton’s rounded pecs and when he swallows, it is bitter, a sign of his anxiety. 

 

‘Turn around,’ Princeton says, twiddling his finger in a circling motion.

 

And Jonah obeys, silently disgusted by his acquiescence. In this second, he doesn’t feel like the pure unicorn his friends make him out to be. Of course he isn’t.

 

He’s always been a feline, temperamental and picky. One touch of his ass by Princeton makes him feel like a cat in heat. 

 

‘It’s small,’ Jonah‘s mouth comments. His face turns away slightly as a light blush colours his cheeks.

 

Slut, he thinks. He knows full well what the devil in his body is trying to do. 

 

And he succeeds. ‘It’s not about the size, Jonah. It’s firm and tight and...honestly, it’s what any top would wanna park their meat in.’

 

‘Are you speaking for yourself?’ 

 

SLUT, he screams internally this time, as his inner whore’s intentions become too clear. 

 

Finally, their eyes meet. And Princeton is seriously considering just taking this twunk right here, right now. He squeezes the taut ass cheeks, almost hearing them beg for a good fuck.

 

‘So why are you a virgin?’ he asks breathily, right into Jonah’s ear. 

 

The younger man grips the side of the tub, thinking this is it. 

 

‘It’s just self-reinforcing. The longer I held it off, the more I didn’t wanna just lose it to some random guy who’s horny. Does that...make sense?’

 

This is unbelievable. After all those intellectual debates at MIT Jonah has actually been reduced to a quivering, self-questioning mess. 

 

He feels Princeton’s body slide away, and his almost slumps in disappointment. He must’ve sounded too kiddy. 

 

That is in fact quite the opposite. His words rang like a cleansing bell. Princeton doesn’t want to be just some ‘random guy who’s horny’. Perhaps Jonah isn’t as pure as he’s letting on. But in this day and age, remaining a virgin at 21 should mean something, right? 

 

‘Ok so honestly, I was thinking about giving you a good, deep fuck - because seriously, that ass deserves it. Buttt, our parents want us to actually be dating, right?’

 

‘Uhuh…?’

 

‘So I think we should go out tomorrow after work? Yes? No?’

 

Jonah raises a brow at this unfamiliar lack of total control and confidence in Princeton’s tone. 

 

‘Sure?’

 

‘Great.’ Princeton gives two thumbs up. 

 

His phone saves him just at the right moment, when’s there’s nothing more to say. 

 

But it brings bad news. 

 

Leon: Did you hear about what happened to Bertrand? He was attacked at kb by his ex. 

 

Mirthless laughter echoes around the room.

 

‘Someone’s about to pay.’

[FleaBiscuit]

On 19/12/2017 at 1:30 PM, kimlo777 said:

Excellent writing skills ... hats off to you!

Thanks a million <3 Even such a trashy story isn’t easy to write, so any fuel from readers is greatly, greatly appreciated.

[Guest whiteshark]

This is so cool!!! Thanks so much for your time writing all of this. Look forward to reading the next chapter

[FleaBiscuit]

Chapter 8

 

‘Come, come, help yourself to the cakes and tea!’

 

Ang Mee Lan leads her brood off to pick at the snacks. Her sons and daughter in law rise awkwardly, totally out of their element in this magnificent house. 

 

When they get out of earshot, Mee Lian clicks her tongue with disdain. Some people are born unlucky, meant to be guppies in a drain. They get so lost the moment you put them in the turquoise waters of a lagoon. 

 

Too bad her sister didn’t have the rounded boobs and ass to seduce a rich husband. And like with all sins, the children pay the price. Mee Lian sighs and shakes her head with an upturned nose; before today, brands like G2000 and factorie had been distant myths, their existences only established by her maids. It pains her to see her own nephews donning clothes meant for a charity organisation in Africa. And Mee Lan - her Kate Spade dress is a dreadful faux pas, commoner’s garb posing as haute couture, but missing the mark embarrassingly. Now, now, it doesn’t always have to be Hermes. But, goodness, can’t she even afford a simple Givenchy tee? That Mee Lian’s own family members are lurking in the murky waters of poverty is an unwelcome and burdensome truth. The thought of her friends finding out - ooh! She’d probably have to cleanse herself of the shame in a spa from ME! Bath. With prices starting from 50k, it is a quintessential reminder that she’s filthy rich.

 

Princeton’s eyes are half-closed while his mind is completely shuttered. It is not often he gets a day without meetings, and his grandmother just has to drag him out like an amulet to fend against her own sister. 

 

‘Isn’t it scary to live like them?’ Mee Lian muses dramatically but discreetly. ‘My goodness, Uniqlo and G2000. So low class! Eeyer! Tsk tsk!’

Her grandson turns away and curls into a ball on the sofa, willing himself into hibernation. But it is not meant to be.

 

‘Eh, Princeton, why don’t you give Douglas a job? He’s Mee Lan’s grandson, just came back from Australia. Already told her that time, Australia so desolate where got good schools! Come back from some no name uni of course can’t find job la. Send resume also paiseh already. Joy!’

 

No response.

 

Five seconds later: ‘JOY!’

 

Princeton awakes with a start while Joyfraine rushes over to a rather unsatisfied Mee Lian. ‘Yes Ma’am?’

 

‘Can you please explain your name to me? Why your name Joy but never bring me joy har? Pack my old Manolo Blahnik and Louboutin shoes give to my sister.’

 

‘Yes Ma’am.’

 

‘Ok gogogo.’ Mee Lian shoos her away with a wave, unsettled by the two-feet logo on her maid’s favourite Hang Ten shirt. 

 

The matriarch feels so polluted. How could someone sharing her blood be of the same league as her maid?! This is preposterous blasphemy that she can’t begin to fathom.

 

Oblivious to all this internal drama, Princeton drags himself to the bathroom to pee. He almost taps on Grindr in a moment of post-nap absent-mindedness, but stops just in time. Now that he’s supposed to be ‘trying out’ with Jonah, he can’t really prey on others in good conscience. This is no longer one of a million we’re talking about, but quite possibly one in a million. There’s a difference.

 

Instead, he decides to ready his best look for tonight. This means two hours minimum in the bathroom, and he’d better start now. The meeting, at Cathay Cineleisure, will be right after Jonah’s tennis game.

 

 

 

Also preparing his best look is Jonathan. Tucked away backstage in a Fullerton hall, he is having the time of his life. Personal stylists swoosh around him like a whirlwind. The unhappiness in the room is apparent, though understandably so. 

 

Most of the guys in the room have been doing this for years, some even treating it as permanent jobs. This greenhorn has just arrived and is already tended to by Dorian Grey’s personal stylists. Of course, this is to the credit of his best friend, Jameson. Clearly, the other showmen understand strings have been pulled, for no one dares stare Jonathan in the eye. 

 

His ‘outfit’ is without question one of the sluttier ones around. It has no more than a cowboy hat, a bowtie and spandex briefs. Even Jonathan’s inner whore is struggling to own this. 

 

‘Let me tell you, Coban is also doing stripper theme today. Don’t fight head on!’ Octavia sounds with a frown while cropping armpit hair.

 

With his arm raised, Jonathan appraises the equally clothless person causing his stylists much distress. Coban Lieu looks about 30, square-jawed, rather pretty features, a bit like a second-rate model past his prime. Meh. This, Jonathan can probably take on. 

 

‘It is too late to change!’ Hector screeches, already struggling with Jonathan’s eyeliner. 

‘No originality! So sia suey!’ Janice quips while tugging at her pink wig, looking extremely distraught.

 

Other stylists are beginning to sense disarray within the team, leaning against the wall and pretending not to enjoy the show. Dorian’s stylists may have had a golden era, but like almost all the showmen here, theirs is over. Uninspired and gaunt, their hands have obviously lost touch with fresh meat. 

 

‘Wow, looking more and more jaded arh, your designs.’ Medusa, one of the up and coming junior stylists, stalks forward like a gazelle, yet somehow feels like the predator. This has to do with her red bangs and green curls, coiled elaborately to look like snakes. She gives the team a smirk and leaves.

 

Godfrey, the unelected leader of the team, can’t take it lying down. An entourage of Instawhores used to worship him. He was a maestro, a somebody. No one’s legacy should end like this. His team - they aren’t falling stars burning out their shine. Rage, rage against the dying of the light, he recalls from Interstellar, and a zenness envelops him.

 

‘We are Cassiopeia!’ he says rousingly, hammering fist on palm. ‘And we go out with a supernova!’

 

The rest of the team halt all action, pierced by the familiar glare in Godfrey’s eyes. A moment of understanding strikes them. For one last time they will push back against the waves; they decide when the curtains draw to a close. 

 

Jonathan finds himself dragged up by Godfrey, who directs his friends frantically; Octavia tosses away his cowboy hat and replaces it with a baseball cap. Hector removes the unfinished eyeliner and proceeds to shade his body with bronze rouge, contouring carefully to form abs. Janice helps Jonathan slip on a plain white shirt. An all too familiar green and black tie is hung loosely around his neck. 

 

‘Gogogo!’ Octavia encourages shrilly as the host pops in to announce that there are ten minutes left to the auction.

 

Jonathan finds himself amazed by their dedication. They prance around him, taking every strand of hair, every patch of skin seriously. 

 

With just 2 minutes left Janice rubs some pomade into his hair while the rest stand back to admire their work. 

 

‘Fuckable,’ Godfrey declares proudly. 

 

Octavia wraps Janice in a tight embrace. Hector’s eyes brim with tears as he places a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder, his gratefulness palpable. 

 

‘Thank you,’ he whispers, lips quivering.

 

‘Uhh...thanks for dressing me up.’ Jonathan’s hands slip into phantom pockets. Being so naked really does take some getting used to. 

 

That said, he does look delectable. Cool sunglasses with hair parted in beautiful waves, reminiscent of his favourite Korean actor, Gong Yoo. Shirt unbuttoned and slightly parted, revealing the stuffed spandex underwear and abs that look amazingly real due to Hector’s work. But...

 

‘Why the Raffles tie?’

 

‘Godfrey studied there,’ Hector replies with a dreamy smile. ‘Dropped out after that. No regrets, of course, after becoming a successful stylist.’

 

‘He dropped out?’ Jonathan questions with widening eyes. 

 

‘His dream was always to become a stylist or designer. He said he understands the pain of being ugly, so he wants to help others feel beautiful.’

 

Jonathan checks Godfrey out from the corner of his eye. He’s certainly not a disaster: perhaps a 4/10. It’s not like he’s much better himself. These guys have probably transformed him into a 6+2.

 

Hector gives Jonathan a hug. The latter stands there, shocked, but unmoving. 

 

‘Thank you,’ the stylist whispers again and cups Jonathan’s hands in his. ‘You are our final masterpiece.’

 

His words leave a cut. The NUS Law deans lister feels something in him flicker, a memory of old coming to life.  He shares in the moment of understanding with the stylists. It is both warm and weird. Who would’ve thought these random people - mere passers-by in his life - could remind him so much of himself. Or maybe it’s something beyond that. It is as if his ego, the Raffles name, the deans list pride have been stripped away. Not permanently, for sure. But at least, right now, his soul is as naked as his person. Warmed by the hopes and dreams of another, significant and worthwhile as his own, precious and pure as starlight. 

[FleaBiscuit]

On 26/12/2017 at 11:00 PM, Guest whiteshark said:

This is so cool!!! Thanks so much for your time writing all of this. Look forward to reading the next chapter

Thank you for taking the time to read! Cool is a really nice word. Honestly I just yield to the most random, fucked up idea I have in the moment and try to tie it with a bow. I laugh at my own absurd scenes, peppered with a dash of romance and the occasional moment of introspection. It’s almost everything I like writing in a story and I really enjoy it. 

[FleaBiscuit]

Chapter 9

 

The small tv screen in the room blinks to life, igniting an eruption of chatter among the showmen and stylists. Bets are placed as to who will win the highest bid of the night. As usual, Jeremy Ong is expected to win hands down. He’s not only an ex model, but one that makes his rounds at Neil Road often. In this community, networking is vital. Demand is self-reinforcing, since everyone wants who everybody else wants.

 

Jonathan watches with a frightful look at the rather sizeable audience on-screen. Most are middle-aged men in business suits, coming in all shapes and sizes. To even get a client remotely acceptable, the odds need to be in his favour. Then, the camera pans to Dorian Grey strutting out onto the stage languidly. He wears a red, glittery suit, looking excited to begin rolling in the money. A wide smile is flashed to reveal a set of pearly white teeth. 

 

‘Welcome, welcome!’ he says in a booming voice. ‘Happy auctioning! And may the odds be ever in your favour.’

 

The showiness of it all makes the situation feel surreal. Jonathan blows into his hands and rubs them for heat. If only his mother knew about his stint as a glammed-up prostitute. Maybe this is a big mistake and he should just make a run for it. But how? He can’t just tear through Fullerton in spandex briefs. That would warrant an appearance on Channel NewsAsia or something. 

 

‘I need my phone,’ he mumbles to himself and reaches into his bag.

 

A stack of messages are awaiting his reply, mostly from unimportant people. And then - 

 

Princeton: Do you wanna meet up? I’m free this weekend
Jonathan: Ofc! A bit busy now, just text me the time and place xoxo

 

OH. MY. GOD. Is his phone kidding?! Did Princeton Jethro Chan just ask him out? 

Jonathan could scream. In fact, he could scream at everyone here to fuck themselves, because they haven’t been asked out by Princeton but he has. 

 

But nevermind. Happiness should certainly be passed forward, and this is a good chance to do it.

 

He focuses on the screen with newfound confidence just as the first showman of the night takes to the stage. He’s dressed in an extremely tight Superman spandex suit, complete with the famous curl of hair on his forehead. Obviously he has the physique, and the size below. The camera captures interested and horny smiles in the audience, but swerves away from an obese man beating off. 

 

‘Oily bitch!’ Janice hisses like an angry cat.

 

‘Oh dear.’ Hector placed his hands on Jonathan’s shoulders. ‘I hope your bidder isn’t a blob of fat.’

 

He’d better. Having to stimulate his organ through rolls of fat would be an absolute nightmare. Jonathan tries to calm himself down, thinking back to the time with that extremely fat white guy. In that particular experience he stroked using just his middle finger and thumb. Orgasm was achieved.

 

‘Let’s start low for the first exhibit, shall we?’ Dorian teases. ‘What about 5k?’

 

The camera pans to a board on the stage, where the number starts rising instantly.

 

‘Ooh, 20! 23! 30!’

 

All eyes are glued to the screen in the waiting room as the figures jump. Dorian always starts with one of the stronger ones. 

 

‘45 now! AND 60! Is that it? For a night with Superman, who will take you out of this world and let you have a taste of a heroic blast-off! 60, aaand sold!’

 

The audience claps, and a member rises, presumably to collect his prize. Just like that, a piece of meat has been sold. No introduction, just a guy in a Superman costume: purely an object to be ogled. Even Miss Universe allows contestants a chance to talk. 

 

‘Jonathan Tan!’ A head pops in at the door, shouting into the room.

 

Wait, what the fuck. Is he next? This feels way too fast. The stylists wish him good luck and send him out the door. The assistant leads Jonathan through a corridor, where he’s almost hyperventilating, until the stage is visible. 

 

‘Sunglasses on!’ the assistant squeals, and Jonathan complies.

 

He is spotted by Dorian, who waves him over with a pretentious laugh. Step by step his legs take him onto the stage, where his bronze body shines under the bright lights.

 

‘Next up we have a very special boy,’ Dorian exclaims with a mysterious and cheeky grin. ‘This is the freshest meat I’ve seen in a long, long time.’ 

 

From behind, his hands creep onto Jonathan’s chest and start flicking his nipples. Dorian is extremely professional, ignoring his thumping heart.

 

‘If my sources are right, he hailed from the institution of green, black and white. Yeah? Know what I’m talking about?’

 

Feeling hopelessly violated, Jonathan freezes on stage. He doesn’t hear the interested chatter in the audience. All his thoughts concentrate on the windfall he will be making tonight, though there’s no need for a mental distraction. His nerves do not come. Instead, they react, and he feels himself getting aroused onstage in front of hundreds. 

 

‘But he’s tired of all that studying, and today he just wants to play.’ Dorian’s hand slips down to squeeze at his crotch gently. ‘Ooh, look, so big already!’

 

The auction begins, and nothing registers in Jonathan’s mind. He just wants to get off the fucking stage. Whatever confidence he found has melted away, and it’s all he can do not to be a shaking wreck. His turn seems to be taking forever. 

 

He flinches when Dorian taps his shoulder and mumbles something, something he doesn’t even notice, and it takes him awhile to realise the auction is over. The charming host leads him over to the pissed off assistant. A guy dressed in a fireman suit passes him for his turn. 

 

‘Is it over?’ he asks the assistant after regaining his composure. 

 

‘Yes. Straight, first door on the right, out,’ she replies tersely, not at all pleased.

 

Jonathan walks, then wheels around suddenly. ‘How much was it?’

 

The assistant gives an exasperated growl. ‘How much what? How much of my time you want to waste!’

 

‘My bid.’

 

‘Don’t know la!’

 

Jonathan turns the cold knob to the waiting room and enters apprehensively. His stylists, who have been waiting at the door, swarm him with shrieks and laughter.

 

‘Young and handsome!’ Hector blasts right into his ear.

 

‘Nah nah! Your bag!’ Octavia fishes it over. 

 

‘Make him happy, my dear!’ Janice coos with a lick of her lips.

 

From afar, Godfrey gives Jonathan a nod of acknowledgement, silent well-wishing from senior to junior. 

 

‘I’ll miss you guys,’ Jonathan tells them, and Janice bursts into tears, smudging her electric blue eyeshadow. It’s definitely been an interesting encounter, one of those where you feel unexpected closeness with unexpected people. It’s a shame their paths will never cross again.

 

‘Remember to miss us!’ Octavia shouts at the door as Jonathan walks out. 

 

With one last wave, he moves on, feeling a lump in his chest. It feels like a joke, how he’s never been very successful at making friends with guys, even when he tried. And now, when he wasn’t giving a shit, he’s being separated from people he likes with hurried goodbyes.

 

First door on the right, he remembers, and enters. This feels like another joke. His client rises from the sofa and opens a door at the other end of the room, waving him over. Jonathan follows, unsure what to think. 

 

Surely this has to be a mistake. 

 

‘Are you my client?’

 

‘Is there anything wrong?’ The reply comes with a playful glance at Jonathan’s groin, expression full of lust.

 

He’s led to a lift, where he can survey his client more closely. ‘But you’re so young.’

 

‘Don’t worry,’ his client reassures, running a finger down his chest. ‘I’m young, but I’m fucking rich.’

 

In a moment of confusion and lust, Jonathan traps his rather good looking client against the wall, leaning in for a sloppy makeout. He sucks on the young man’s bottom lip and unbuttons his pants with careless but eager hands. It dawns on him that there’s absolutely no need to be paid for this. He’d ride this man any day. 

 

Mmm...someone’s hardening, and fast.

 

‘Am I offending you?’ Jonathan asks breathlessly, reaching in to fondle his client through his last defence.

 

‘I love being offended by schoolboys,’ comes the seductive whisper. ‘And I love offending them too.’

 

The next 15 minutes is a blur. Jonathan finds himself whisked into a room and thrown on the bed, moaning in delight as an expert tongue works his greedy hole. There’s something erotic about his tie hanging from his neck like a dog tag. It doesn’t take too long for him to lose all control. Fuck dignity. And also, -

 

‘Fuck me!’ he begs. 

 

His client positions himself above, giving an order for him to turn around. When he does, all he sees is youthful lust sparkling in his eyes, glistening in the sweat on his forehead. 

 

Jonathan’s heart skips a beat when he feels it enter him. He stifles a cry when the pain registers a second later. 

 

‘Am I offending you?’ his client dares to ask. 

 

Who the fuck cares?! ‘Offend me NOW!’

 

He wraps his legs around his client and pins him down. Never before has he felt this slutty, wanting so bad to please and be pleased at the same time. The banging comes gently at first, and Jonathan moans through their passionate kiss, flexing his hips to the rhythm.

 

His client picks up the pace to his utmost thrill. ‘Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!...’ he shrieks to the sound of flesh slapping on flesh as his sweet spot is plowed again and again and again, building up to the inevitable.

 

‘I’m shooting I’m shooting!’ he warns, and growls with finality. Each spurt lands on his fake abs with a jerk of his hips and a tightening of his sweet channel.

 

This sends his client overboard. ‘ARGHH!’ He stills, spilling a week’s worth into his deserving prize. 

 

Jonathan huffs and puffs, gasping for breath. Something feels oddly amiss when his client doesn’t collapse on the bed beside him. 

 

Instead, he showers quickly, and then slips into a set of sporty clothes. 

 

‘Sorry, gotta rush off. I’ll send the money to your bank account.’

 

‘Huh?’ is all Jonathan can manage.

 

‘Yeah. To a tennis game.’

 

His client leaves the room. After much delay in mental processing, he wraps his loins with the blanket and trudges to the door. 

 

‘Wait what’s your name!’

 

‘Jonah Tsai! From Hong Kong!’ comes the reply.

[FleaBiscuit]

Chapter 10

 

It goes without saying that the CEO of the Stefanie and Co. conglomerate will be punctual for all meetings, even one as arguably unimportant as a date. Princeton had arrived an hour earlier to book the entire IMAX theatre for Wonder Woman. The arrangement came easily with a phone call to the Cathay Cineleisure branch manager, who didn’t want to lose his job. Today has to be special, it being his first date in a long time. Besides, Jonah isn’t just anyone. 

 

Just as he glances at his Patek Philippe, Jonah announces his arrival with loud footsteps up the escalator. The pair smile at the sight of each other. Princeton gorges on his sweaty counterpart mentally, uncertain whether it’s heat permeating from his hot date, or his own hormones getting enlivened. 

 

‘Hi,’ he tries to greet coolly, unwilling to be the guy who shows more interest. ‘You’re late.’

 

Red-faced and out of breath, Jonah lets out a little laugh. ‘Does that entail any punishment?’ 

 

In the toilet is the answer that comes to mind instinctively. And one can’t blame him, for Jonah is sizzling even in simple Nike sportswear. But that’s too wonton to fit the image he’s trying to portray. Perhaps it’d do him good to set his roots into something honest and genuine again.

 

‘You’ll be punished enough being sweaty in the aircon,’ he offers snarkily. 

 

Jonah patronises with a laugh and they walk down the corridor of theaters. He sighs discreetly to the side, disappointed that he can’t even put up a facade of formality. It’s as if his manipulative nature has concretised. It scares him how much he’s changed since coming out just a year ago. Little did he expect to be so desired, and the ease of hooking up has made him addicted to it. That first walk into that stranger’s room was the point of no return. 

 

As they settle into their seats and the movie begins, it becomes obvious neither can concentrate on the screen. But then, it seems unfair to expect much more from horny individuals sitting side by side, alone in a dark place. 

 

The initiations come surprisingly slow from two people so well-versed in the game. When at last Princeton feels the light touch of his arm, he can’t help but feel a sense of relief. For a moment it seemed Jonah wasn’t interested In him after all. This at least debunks that. He takes his time to reciprocate, inching his arm closer on the armrest they share, until their arms meet.

 

Although their faces remain unturned, each has his eyes straining to look at the other. Princeton decides to make the next move, rapidly ceding control to his smaller ‘head’ below. It feels like such a make it or break it moment, the split second he lifts his hand to caress Jonah’s arm. With slow, long strokes, he trails his finger on the smooth skin. 

 

Jonah succumbs instantly. He cages all the guilt from his rendezvous just an hour ago and kicks it aside. Once, just once, he thinks, knowing too well he’s said it before, and will probably say it again. 

 

Falling back on his second nature, his feline within strikes. As Princeton’s finger trails down his wrist, he reaches out, and they lock fingers. No longer hesitating, he guides the hand up his thigh, helping it wrap around the considerable length that has tented from his shorts. In return the hand gives a light squeeze, not only stroking his erection, but also the sexual tension that is becoming too much to bear. With a grateful sigh he looks to his left.

 

What’re you doing to me? he asks wordlessly. Guys - they’re a dime a dozen. But never has he met someone who kindles his sexual energy so easily.

 

‘You wanna go somewhere else?’ Princeton finally blurts out, a little more shyly than he expects from himself.

 

‘Okay.’ It is the most neutral answer Jonah can come up with.

 

Even in the dark, their awkwardness is palpable as they head towards the exit. This meeting wasn’t meant to be a fuck session. Already, both guys are beginning to realise their mistake, but it is too late. How could either of them want out now?

 

They get into Princeton’s car as he drives to the Ritz Carlton, an absolutely random hotel of choice. The journey is wordless, with Havana playing to dilute the silence. Both men stare blankly at the road ahead, fully aware of the web of thoughts that are waiting to ensnare them. Neither wants to face the guilt, the self-reproach, the questions or jadedness. 

 

When they arrive, the silent march to the counter continues. 

 

‘Can we get a room?’ Princeton asks, and immediately realises how wrong it sounds. And he didn’t even bother to say please.

 

The customer service officer pauses in her typing and glances at the sheepish looking men. She pushes her glasses up as if inspecting with her beady eyes, before heaving a sigh. She’s pissed off, not because she knows exactly what they’re up to, but because she’s not been invited. It seems unfair that all these attractive men seem to be born gay. 

 

After retrieving their keys, the two prepare to head up to their room. 

 

They enter the lift, and a sense of déjà vu pummels Jonah in the face, weighing his heart down a pit. 

 

Then, laughter and rowdy voices. The lift door opens again, and a group of guys enter, all wearing a pink shirt. And among them, him. 

 

Him. Ashton.

 

And, albeit a far more distant one, Princeton is suddenly ghosted by his past too. He turns pale as the lift door shuts, trapping him with the weapon that had lacerated his heart so mercilessly. 

 

‘Oh my god, so excited for your party, Ashton. Did you invite Logan har? I came today specially for him you know?’ one of the guys says, cupping his mouth as he giggles away. 

 

‘Hey, so, are you like mixed or something?’ another one asks a newcomer in the clique, whose features have triggered his Caucasian-loving radar. 

 

 ‘Mmm yeah, I think my great-grandmother was Slovakian and my grandfather is Belgium,’ he lies shamelessly, cooking up a few random European countries. 

 

‘So Ashton, did you like Ray’s gift? Heard he gave you a Rolex wor!’ yet another chirps.

 

And that is when Ashton turns. His eyes rest on Princeton and widen, giving quicker recognition than his mind. The rest trace his line of sight and turn slowly, some going aghast while others look to their feet awkwardly. 

 

‘Isn’t this...isn’t this the one who cheated on you har, Ashton? Oh my god, hope his new boy doesn’t get his heart broken too.’ The voice starts off unsure, then grows increasingly bold and bitchy. Its owner scans Jonah from head to toe, secretly wanting him for himself. 

 

How dare he.

 

That shameless, hypocritical, audacious fucker! How dare that bastard go around spreading stories of him cheating, when he was the one who engaged in the deed! Look at me! Princeton screams in his mind, eyes searing through Ashton as he glances away evasively.

 

Princeton is about to open his mouth to say something nasty, but the lift opens first, and the little crowd parades out haughtily.

 

The door shuts, and he can’t believe it. After all this time, after all the missing and yearning, he had just wanted to say hi, ask how Ashton was doing. And this 8 year wait has earned him nothing but yet another betrayal. It hurts, even after his shields have hardened and Ashton had long ceased to be part of his life.

 

The knife has cut him with its other edge, leaving a dull ache.

 

Feeling indignant and fucked up and tired, Princeton stumbles into his hotel room, barely making it in when he breaks down uncontrollably, pushing away the figure that tries to comfort him. He cries into his hands, feeling the final notes of pain removing their barbs that had held his heart in a vise-like grip. 

 

When his pain has ebbed away with the tears lining his face, Princeton looks up to see a worried Jonah. 

 

‘I’m fine,’ he says, when his phone rings.

 

Steeling his voice as much as possible, he answers the call. It is his mother, who sounds frantic as she shouts into the phone.

 

‘Princeton come back now!’ Michelle hollers.

 

Loud screams from the background invade the call, and Princeton pushes himself up weakly, sensing a bad omen. 

 

‘No, don’t! Please!’ he hears his grandmother give a blood curdling scream, followed by an even louder one, full of hatred: ‘I HATE YOU!’

 

‘PLEASE! Come! COME NOW!’ his mother wails incoherently, followed by a loud shattering sound.

 

The line cuts, and Princeton snaps out of his suffering completely, bursting out the hotel room with Jonah in tow.

Edited January 3, 2018 by FleaBiscuit

[FleaBiscuit]

Chapter 11 

 

Everyone knows the occupants of the house at this corner in King Albert Park. The Chans of Stefanie and Co. have presided over this piece of prime land for generations. Their wealth and strength have always come from within, forged by the sheer tenacity and shrewdness of its descendants. Business partners, they have plenty, but friends, they do not. Their seeming needlessness of allies has always sowed jealousy among rivals (and neighbours) who’re losing market share to them year after year. 

 

When an hour ago screams pierced the air, the disturbance of the quiet neighbourhood had lured out the nosy and bitchy. The snakes’s tongues traced the scent of drama all the way to the Chans, kept out only by the majestic stone wall fencing the estate. There, the tongues wagged, pausing only for the occasional sly grin.

 

It is gossip galore among the housewives in Chanel aprons, and the maids walking their Samoyeds and English Bulldogs. They keep their ears peeled and pressed to the wall. All await with bated breath for signs of the demolishment of the Chan empire. Everyone has had enough of the castle atop the hill.

 

Their sharp ears pick up the sounds of an oncoming vehicle just in time, sparking a disappearing act. The maids stroll away with their various luxury dogs. Housewives pretend to be ambling home, wiping their oily hands on leather aprons. Not even the bravest of gossips dare incur the wrath of Princeton Jethro Chan. Everyone who’s anyone knows that his power and ruthlessness extend far beyond the fashion industry.

 

Princeton’s Maclaren zooms into sight and screeches to an abrupt halt right outside the house. He and Jonah hop out of the car. Without further ado the pair invade the scene of chaos. The living room is a battle square showing signs of a tussle; the Ming vase rests on the floor in several pieces, shattered. The little coffee table by the sofa is toppled.

 

Talking - no, shouting comes from the kitchen, drawing Princeton there in seconds. He has to push through the sea of family members. 

 

‘You don’t want to leave her right, huh? You want to be with this slut!’

 

It is his aunt, Pei Fen, and she looks hysterical. Holding a butter knife to her neck, she shivers as if wrecked by dry sobs. Her hair curtains her face, sticking to her tears. 

 

‘Da Jie, please, please don’t!’ Gloria attempts, creeping ahead ever so slightly.

 

And the knife is swiftly pointed in her direction, stabbing at the air shakily.

 

‘Stay there!’ Pei Fen screams, backing away. She fumbles for the cleaver on the table and tosses the butter knife onto the floor, replacing the weapon at her neck. 

 

Mee Lian jumps up and down in frenzy as she screams her lungs out. ‘Don’t want laaa! Don’t do this laaa Pei Fen!’

 

Every teardrop that spills from her eyes sinks with guilt as she crumbles in Kingsley’s arms. She should not have made her daughter marry George for the money. What’s the point of growing from strength to strength from the union of two elite families? They have long passed the point where extra billions mean nothing. 

 

She knew all along this was going to happen. The signs were there but she chose to ignore them. She lusted after the power and fame. And she has failed as a mother.

 

George You looks at his wife but doesn’t see her. He only sees red and a violent image of him hacking her into pieces. This woman can kill herself for he cares, but she can’t. Tons of investors loyal to the Chans will never support him again without her as a trump card. She must know it, that insolent bitch. This isn’t an emotional blackmail; it’s one that decides his life.

 

‘Eh, eh! What do you want me to do!’ he yells in frustration.

 

Queenie Pang, one of the biggest names in the social escort scene, crosses her arms in disapproval. The seasoned homewrecker twirls her hair lazily and rolls her eyes. Every time this happens she wonders if she’s some secret guest actress on a Taiwan drama. 

 

‘What do you want me to do. Come, tell me. TELL ME!’ 

 

Pei Fen suddenly explodes so loudly the veins on her neck are visible. Seething anger floods her at the sight of her husband’s unrepentance. Hot tears redraw the streaks on her face, but this time they also draw battle lines. A switch is flipped. If she’s going down then he will too. George You will fucking regret this. He will hurt.

 

Philip Ng notices the dark intensity in Pei Fen’s eyes, radiating vengeful resolve. ‘Tell Pei Fen you’ll leave her! She’s your wife, George!’

 

It is too late. 

 

The kettle starts whistling, and Pei Fen shifts the knife down. Her eyes don’t leave George, because she wants him to know that she’s won. She will deal him the final blow of outrageous pain.

 

‘Pei Fen! What’re you doing!’ Gloria screams, but it’s a question she doesn’t have to ask.

 

With the knife pointed at the her belly it can only mean one thing.

 

‘I gave you so many chances...’

 

‘No, no...’ George breaks out in cold sweat as the revelation dawns on him.

 

‘I never expected you to...to buy me flowers or take me to expensive restaurants. I just wanted you to be there, to be a husband. But you were always too busy whoring around! I can’t believe you brought her home! Did you think I was that dumb?’

 

‘Wait, ok! Listen to me first!’

 

‘NO! I want to show you it’s you who’s dumb for doing that to me.’

 

‘Stop! Stop!’ Mee Lian screams as Pei Fen raises her knife.

 

The matriarch snatches the whistling kettle over and raises it over her head. ‘Hurt yourself and I’ll do it too!’ She is genuinely crying for once. ‘You know how tough it was for me to manage the businesses while I was raising you and your didi meimei? You want to invalidate my efforts like this is it? Mummy tell you: When Mummy had you I also knew your Pa was doing funny things outside. But it’s not the end of the world! George doesn’t love you but we do! And the baby will! You have to be fair to us, Fen!’

 

Pei Fen is by now crying so hard she is shaking uncontrollably. In a moment’s carelessness she lets slip of the cleaver, and it clangs onto the floor loudly. She flinches at the sound, before crouching down, dazed and confused, trying to pick up the knife. 

 

Not a chance.

 

Joyfraine finally has a chance to showcase the the speed she trained from her teenage soccer days and she is not about to let it go. Sprinting forth, she kicks the knife out of Pei Fen’s reach and orders Fuji, ‘Quick! Don’t let Ma’am take!’ It feels despicable to even think of exploiting the situation, but she desperately wants a raise to finally hit the 2k mark. Her sister back home has just given birth to her ninth child.

 

Pei Fen’s sisters surge forward like a shelter and hug her, but Mee Lian has other plans. The ever-alert Philip senses this and tries to block her advance, but she swats his hand aside. Princeton forms up behind Philip but is pushed away too. 

 

‘Bitch!’ she half hisses, half screams as she removes the kettle’s cap and, in one swift motion, hurls boiling water squarely at Queenie. Ignoring her screams and George’s defence, she grabs the high-class prostitute by her hair and swings her against a wall. 

 

Bang. Bang. 

 

Queenie is released. She crumbles onto the floor, raising her hands blindly as if to touch something in the air. Her face is pink and bloodied, and it seems her career path has been snipped prematurely. Angela Lin will be the talk of Orchard Tower now. 

 

‘Go have plastic surgery,’ Mee Lian says coldly, flinging several thousand dollar notes that fall around Queenie.

 

Then, she rushes towards her daughter. Oh, poor Pei Fen. God knows how long she’s suffered in silence.

 

‘I’m sorry!’ Mee Lian says in a gargling voice.

 

Pei Fen pulls her in for a hug, and Princeton stands aside, watching in shock and speechlessness. He doesn’t understand how all this time he didn’t know. It just never occurred to him someone else in the family could be suffering more than he was. But perhaps such is the nature of humans; to put our pain and happiness before that of others, to look only at the story of our lives where almost everyone else is simply a side character.

 

‘I tried my best but he did this to me,’ Pei Fen sobs weakly into Mee Lian’s bossom, which, for the first time in decades, is again filled with the maternal instinct to protect and comfort. 

 

‘It’s ok...it’s ok...’ Mee Lian soothes her arm down Pei Fen’s back the way she did when her daughter was still a child.

 

But to Pei Fen, she’s lost the battle for her marriage by all accounts. ‘It’ll never be the same again,’ she says with a trembling voice. Those words hang in the air with all the sadness and regret bottled up over so many years.

 

It comes as a surprise to Princeton when he feels tears in his eyes, and he wants to tell his aunt that she isn’t alone. Not literally, but that he has felt her pain before, and that as with all good things, the hurt will pass too.  

 

‘Are you ok?’ Jonah asks quietly, taking his arm. Suddenly Princeton feels like one of those handsome, happy-on-the-surface men with a dark, dark past. A bit like Christian Grey.

 

‘I...I never knew.’ Princeton’s eyes look soft and doleful for once, not sharp and bright.

 

Jonah gasps when he is suddenly embraced. His heart races at first, then steadies its beat to Princeton’s deep breaths. And without warning he is trapped in one of those magical moments, the kind that makes us feel our time for good things has come, that Aphrodite has, at long last, picked our lot to be blessed.

 

So Jonah follows his heart, wrapping his arms around Princeton Jethro Chan.

 

Edited January 10, 2018 by FleaBiscuit

[Guest Isabel Allende]

Very gripping and juicy and funny. So much Drama! Please keep it up! Very Good indeed! That woman MeeLian very power! Empowered woman bully other women first. No sympathy for other downtrodden women. Queenie will of course make a comeback after a dramatic revamp to exact revenge.

[Guest Isabel Allende]

The Pei Fen no need so to be pathetic lar and needy. So rich : should also have own affairs or secretly nurse an ex flame she meets on the occasion, but very chaste nonconsummation. The men all very wimpy. 

[FleaBiscuit]

11 hours ago, Guest Isabel Allende said:

Very gripping and juicy and funny. So much Drama! Please keep it up! Very Good indeed! That woman MeeLian very power! Empowered woman bully other women first. No sympathy for other downtrodden women. Queenie will of course make a comeback after a dramatic revamp to exact revenge.

 

11 hours ago, Guest Isabel Allende said:

The Pei Fen no need so to be pathetic lar and needy. So rich : should also have own affairs or secretly nurse an ex flame she meets on the occasion, but very chaste nonconsummation. The men all very wimpy. 

Thank you guest for your very hilarious comments xd. Will definitely keep it up and give this story an ending! Just been slightly busy juggling NS with my other pursuits and family commitments. Plus, writers block. I’ll definitely keep take the Queenie revenge twist into consideration

[Guest Isabel Allende]

It will turn up Queenie aka Angela Lin was Mee Lian’s child out of wedlock she had as a teenager with the chaffeur.  The baby was delivered hush hush in a convent in Macau and given up for adoption but nobody wanted to adopt the baby who had an ominous birthmark. Mee Lian’s Husband felt justified with his many affairs with women (and some men) because he found out about this.  Theirs was a match made wedding. Angela grew up in the convent and nearly took up the habit, until she discovered pleasure through one of the priests who came to hear confessions. She also came to learn of her origins from a book kept in a secret crypt only the Mother superior and priest had access to. Angela (or Angel as was her baptism name) seduced the priest to get access to this secret Crypt which hid evidence of  Mee Lian’s sin. Angel escaped the convent stealing the golden chalice and 2 solid silver candlebras and made her way to Hong Kong. Money from these sacred vessels funded here first transformation into Queenie at the age of 16. She had her birthmark removed. But the most important transformation was to remove whatever vestige of her Mother. For Angela at 16, was a splitting of Mee Lian.

[Guest Isabel Allende]

Splitting image of Chan Mee Lian, Angel was. From the tiny pink feet to the undulating curves, generous bosom, cruel full lips, arching moth feeler eyebrows and the high forehead. The hair, covered now with a novice’s hood, the Mother Superior Prioress knew was inky black and dark. Numerous attempts to tame the hair, making it more nun like, had failed. Just as starvation, tight body binding and the terrible rough habit had done nothing to the generous curves and soft undulations of her body. She sighed again looking at this vision of the girl, barefoot, kneeling praying the rosary fervently. ‘Too sexy, untameable, unbreakable horse.  God why me? Why did I have to be responsible for this?”

 

Mother Superior Prioress, Imagada Maria Flores Chan - distant relative of the Chan’s, had been privy to the family’s secrets and sins for the past 60 years. The convent set far in the hills of Macau was sort of a confessional, a shower room for the Chan’s to cleanse themselves for hundreds of years of the family’s sins and misdemenour. 

 

Imagada was praying and while praying she  was plotting, planning and thinking.” Lord help me overcome this. Help me tame her. Help me be rid of this weight. This shackle. Lord why me?”  

 

Imagada considered Angel beyond redemption. How do you make holy somebody who would not be holy, no matter what. Is like covering a bonfire with a bushel. “Lord! take away this cup. If I must drink this, at least give me the grace to bear .... 

[FleaBiscuit]

Chapter 12

 

By typical gay standards, which of course are lower than the heterosexual parallel, Jonathan Tan, NUS Law deans lister, is a great catch. Any time that impression is marred by the slightest bit of self-doubt, it is restored with a visit to the quintessential ‘dating’ app, Grindr. His hook up stories of olden days could fill enough pages for a novel; the semen discharged in his name might just flood a village. In short, he is what many in the community would conventionally consider a dream guy. 

 

But what happens when the conventional guy-of-your-dreams meets something superior? Something like, the hunk of your wet dreams?

 

That is the tale of today’s chapter in Jonathan’s life, and the narrative isn’t off to a promising start.

 

It turns out fate has decided to twist him around its pinkie cruelly. In about an hour at 12.30pm, he will come face to face with Princeton, the man his dick has been lusting after the past few weeks, even whilst getting activated by others. The meeting, held at the Mushroom Head Cafe, will be mediated by Jameson. Not in his wildest nightmares did he expect this first sacred meeting to be a confrontation. 
 
And all because of Bertrand, that son of a bitch.

 

Jonathan stands before his self-funded, full length mirror. The Gucci shirt, tight and fitting, makes him look svelte like a cute twink. But attempting to wear luxury feels like child’s play before someone who routinely dons Hermes underwear. Nope, he simply can’t wear high fashion, literally and metaphorically. In the end the red G2000 polo shirt is chosen.

 

‘I’ll be just myself,’ Jonathan says out loud, but the words sound hollow. As if he still knows what that means, after the never ending facades before gay guys.

 

The trip to Mushroom Head cafe is a long one. Located at Tanjong Pagar, it is a popular haunt for gay guys of all ages and sizes, as it should be. That was Jameson’s intention when he took the reins over from Uncle Edison, who died of AIDS two years ago. Back then, the cafe was called Suck and Blow. While the furnishings have become more modern and the crowd has grown younger, its spirit of inclusiveness remains upheld.

 

Living in Yew Tee, also known as the middle of nowhere, makes getting anywhere so damn inconvenient. While on the train Jonathan promises himself no fewer than 3 times, while surfing Grindr, to claw his way up the hierarchy of society. It’s always been on the cards for him: RI, NUS Law and then, perhaps, Oxford? He can’t wait to shed his youth, even as others are fervently pushing back against the tide of time with SK-II. The light at the end of tunnel calls out to him. Already, his wealthy relatives have stopped questioning him about his academic achievements every Chinese New Year. They found out the hard way their children were simply inferior in that area. 

 

The one great thing about being on a crowded train is people watching.

 

As the doors open at Redhill station, Jonathan’s sharp eyes fix on a guy in green uniform. The soldier squeezes through the crowd all the way to the back of the cabin, right where he is. Zooming in on his target gets him aroused instantly. The jawline, the full lips, the gorgeous tan and the strong arms...He usually prefers someone older, but this is one NSF he doesn’t mind soiling his sheets.

 

Jonathan notices how the NSF appears irritated at the crowd while on his phone, as if dying to shrink into himself. He steals a glance to the side, and then another. Mmm that chest! It’s bulging from the front and screaming at him at do hopeless things to it. This is another one of those moments gayness should be a curse to be wished upon others.

 

He sighs with yearning and deep desire, mustering the courage to look full on to his right. And -

 

OH. MY. GOD.

 

The columns of little squares fail to zip out of his sight in time, and the NSF frowns knowingly, exhaling loudly through his nose. Whether in anger or embarrassment - it doesn’t matter. Jonathan feels his heartbeat quickening rapidly. The blood rush inflates his organ down there: it doesn’t escape him that those lips could be around his dick, those nipples could be his to tease, and that joystick could be his to ride. Dirty thoughts gather in his mind quickly, piecing together mental footage of the soldier in his unbuttoned uniform, pistoning in and out of him mercilessly.

 

It’s a Saturday, which probably means...duty? No. Jonathan decides the protectors of our nation can’t return to camp all heated up. It doesn’t feel morally right. 

 

In a daring move, he fakes a wobble and pretends to lose his balance. His hand darts out like a viper going for its prey, only to find a python.

 

‘Whoops! Sorry!’ he apologises, making sure their eyes meet while he wears his sluttiest smile. Behind that smile is mostly blankness and confusion as he questions, could it be that big? 

 

This move isn’t lost on the NSF. Being so attractive it goes without saying guys have cruised him in 101 ways. Now it’s him stealing a glance at Jonathan, and he questions how he failed to notice a cute guy right next to him. The train is crowded, but surely these civilians can’t fault him for a little release. Everyone’s going shopping while he’s watching their backs.  

 

Besides, it’s been 2 days since he last unloaded. Personally, for him, that’s 1.5 days too many. 

 

LTA Chandler shifts closer to Jonathan. His mind is unsure, but his body isn’t. He strokes Jonathan’s hand using a finger as he stares ahead with a pokerface. All his life in NJC he’s been a good boy, and this bad thrill feels so good, so right.

 

The horniness is getting too obvious, so he turns around to face the cabin wall. 

 

Jonathan follows suit, and sees the perfect chance before him. He sighs, eyes almost rolling to the back of his head. What a deliciously obscene view - that of a soldier trapped against the wall, pants protruding in a salacious curve, very telling of an unfulfilled virility.

 

Let me solve your problem, he thinks, this time unreservedly pawing the officer’s crotch. The adrenaline is punctuated by a piercing sense of danger, one he can barely ignore. But Jonathan knows too well that in such situations the safest thing to do is not look suspicious. 

 

With that reasoning he throws all caution to the wind, unbuttoning Chandler’s pants with clumsy fingers. The officer’s eyes widen as he feels his head pound and whirl with delirious horror or excitement, he can’t tell.

 

But he knows it’s too late when his monster is awoken from its lair. The train is packed, but somehow that’s working to their advantage. Everyone’s standing shoulder to shoulder with others too busy with their phones. The only ones with a decent chance of catching them are the two right beside either person, and even they are facing the opposite direction.

 

‘Next station, Outram Park.’

 

Jonathan knows he doesn’t have much time. He gives himself 7 seconds to marvel at the thick schlong right before his very eyes, pointing up with the slightest curve and the most tempting flared mushroom head he’s seen. Oh, the coincidence. 

 

Might as well get his cream of mushroom now.

 

He wraps his hand around the thing of beauty and doesn’t start slow. Milking the officer for all it’s worth feels like the only respectful way to salute his contributions to the country.

 

Chandler’s gratefulness and horniness hits a level he’s never felt before. It feels more like a need than a want to breed Jonathan and cream him with luscious seed. 

 

The tension and urge can be clearly felt in Jonathan’s hand as the bratwurst grows harder than it already is, like steel wrapped in velvet. He steals a look at Chandler, whose eyes are now closed beneath furrowed brows. 

 

The release is probably one both guys will remember for the rest of their lives. 

 

Chandler gives a sudden, very audible gasp and contorts his face in pleasure, revealing gritted teeth. For a second Jonathan feels the ridges of the veins on his dick flare. He notices Chandler stilling, right before the first plump ribbon of cum bursts out and splatters across the wall. Yes, yes! he thinks as the officer’s spray comes in a large eruption. Out come five, six, seven thick ropes before the ejaculation tapers off.

 

Jonathan licks his fingers. The white liquid tastes sweet, a bit like a cross between apples and lychees.

 

They’ve finished just in time. 

 

Tanjong Pagar is the next station. As Chandler basks in the afterglow of release while buttoning his pants, he finds himself growing curious about Jonathan. Deep down there’s an urge to ask for his number, to start anew with someone intriguing and jettison his failing relationship with Rolland. But the secret elitism in him sounds a fair warning: Would someone well-educated engage in such a hopeless act? What if this guy is from...

 

Before the thought can finish, Chandler interjects, feeling ashamed of how judgemental he is. He studies Jonathan more carefully, feeling a little hurt that the twink is staring ahead determinedly. Maybe he’s nothing more than a train-ride fling. 

 

Well, fuck it. Ok. Ok. Ok. Here it- 

 

But then Jonathan is squeezing his way into the crowd and out the train. Chandler feels all the wind getting pummelled out of him, and it doesn’t even occur to him to chase after Jonathan. So all he can do is watch with horrifying regret as the law student disappears down the escalator, out of sight. 

 

Another minute, another entry into the book of Could Have’s and What If’s.

 

Once tapping out the gantry, Jonathan finds his way to the Mushroom Head cafe easily. He’s seldom here, even though Jameson frequently is. 

The reason lies right behind the doors. His entrance brings a few heads turning, some twitching. Those disinterested in twinks pretend their focus never left their partners at the table. Those who are...well, they pretend the same, but have a harder time at it. About two dates and one boyfriend are highly unsatisfied with Jonathan right now. 

 

‘Heyyyy!’ Jameson calls out. He sets the food down for the customers and rollerblades over to Jonathan.

 

‘Wah your friend arh!’ a feminine voice sounds from somewhere. ‘Quite cute leh!’

 

‘Yes, Ruby. One of my best.’

 

Jonathan is secretly repulsed at the sight of a guy in drag. Maybe he’s homophobic to some extent but he doesn’t care. And no one else would too, because he knows to say the nicest, most inclusive things around a community so ready to give knee-jerk reactions to anything that sounds remotely LGBT-unfriendly. Down with 377A! Only Love No Hate!

 

‘Omg did you hear about the gay adoption case?’ a loud, obnoxious voice sails from some corner, as if desperate to display knowledge and worldliness. ‘I can’t believe the judge made that unprogressive ruling! This is such a blow to our cause! When will we ever get gay rights!’

 

For the most part, Jonathan has been contented having his sexuality be just one element of his identity. Which is why he’s never taken part in any of Jameson’s pride events. He doesn’t see the point in a congregation of people pretentiously screaming for free love. At some point along the way of venturing into the gay universe, he grew jaded. He didn’t think he was fighting the good fight. Grindr, Jack’d and the post Pink Dot orgies have made him cynical. It’s made him think, these people really just want sex and they’re getting it, and that’s enough for them.

 

‘Come here la, sit,’ Jameson says in a chirpy voice. He chooses a table right next to a group of rowdy boys.

 

‘Urgh whatever.’ Jonathan casts a wary look at their broken wrists. ‘So what the fuck does he want?’

 

‘Calm down and chill, babe,’ Jameson says while texting and sipping some iced peach tea, accentuating each syllable with a Jameson brand of lackadaisical jokiness. He waves at the boys, who giggle among themselves. Jameson is definitely a somewhat legendary icon in these realms. 

 

Jonathan snatches the drink over as he waits for his friend to take a selfie with his ‘biggest fan in Singapore’. ‘Does he even know what Bertrand did to me? Do you think he’ll dig it as some sort of extenuating circumstance? Actually wait what the fuck that’s more like a justification. And what can he do to me anyway?’

 

Jameson purses his lips in mock annoyance. ‘Stop getting heated up or I’ll have to put out your fire in the toilet. Prince is a nice guy la. Just play nice. You should be good with fluffy bullshit right? If he digs it, he’ll wanna dig you too.’ 

 

‘What the fuck are you talking about? He actually asked me here to trash things out ok? Are you fucking sure he’s nice?’

 

’Ummm...maybe he just wants to check you out.’

 

Jonathan shuts off, knowing how unhelpful Jameson is in such critical situations. Before long the iced peach tea is gone.

 

‘Ok la, seriously, Bertrand was his senior back in AC. They’re not even close from what I know but Prince is quite protective of his friends. And so am I! If he tries to be funny I’ll speak up for you ok? Ke yi mah?’

 

Jameson’s infectious bubbliness pulls Jonathan out of the depths of seriousness as usual. ‘Fine. Can get me more peach tea? And that blueberry drumlets thingy.’

 

The cafe owner on blades takes the cup for a refill, but instead of going to the kitchen, he wheels to the door. That is when the welcoming cling-clang of the windchime sounds.

 

Jonathan feels it. He knows. He turns. There he is, a tall figure in blue by the door.

 

It is like a scene out of a romance movie. Eyes of two people locked in visual embrace, blinding the leads to all else around them.

Edited January 17, 2018 by FleaBiscuit

[FleaBiscuit]

My sincerest apologies for the extremely long delay. The writer’s block was TERRIBLE. But here it is: the end of Part I. 

[Guest Hahalol]

Much better than stickees. Sorry not sorry

 

[FleaBiscuit]

Haha what’s a stickee?

[Mastiff]

On 17/01/2018 at 1:56 AM, FleaBiscuit said:

‘Ok la, seriously, Bertrand was his senior back in AC. They’re not even close from what I know but Prince is quite protective of his friends. And so am I! If he tries to be funny I’ll speak up for you ok? Ke yi mah?’

 

This is true to a certain extent. It's not blind loyalty, but you need to understand the AC mindset. These are boys who were recruited into relatively small intakes, and spent a huge part of their formative years together. All the way from primary (J or P makes a difference) right through to JC. Now don't get me started on the IB boys that never left Independant. So, you may not even like your schoolmate on a personal level - he may even be a bastard. But, he's YOUR bastard to take care of. So the right thing to do woud be to close ranks and help a brother out. Then deal with him in private. It's not a get out of jail free card. Some form of discipline is meted out. But it's not for outsiders to see.

 

I'd assume something similar happens with the "Saints" and the uhhh... "Cool Joes" *smirk* 

[FleaBiscuit]

 

Part II

Chapter 13

 

And I’m falling for you

 Falling with broken wings again

  - Hush, Lasse Lindh

 

 

The tension in the air instantly becomes less palpable the moment Jameson wheels over in his ridiculous rollerblades, plates of piping hot food balancing on his arm precariously. 

 

‘Hot! Hot! Hot’’ he exclaims, setting down the plates on the table with the fluency of a waiter rather than the boss. ‘Prince, since Jon’s your junior you’ll have to be a gentleman and pick up the tab later ok?’

 

Princeton blocks him out, fully aware of his friend’s antics. This is but a little trick to distract him from his anger. 

 

Jonathan catches a whiff of the blueberry-glaze barbecued drumlets and feels his throat itch to wolf them down. He would, yet food feels like it shouldn’t be a concern right now. Wouldn’t it be a little himbotic to put his gluttony on full display even before a serious discussion has started? So he limits himself to the glass of iced peach tea, watching the water droplets trickle down the side of the cold glass in meandering rivulets.

 

‘I don’t like drama.’ The line from Princeton comes with delicate assertiveness, soft yet dangerous.

 

‘Funny,’ Jonathan retorts immediately with a smirk on his face. He is still staring at his glass. ‘So many guys like to say that but it really is a mainstay of our community, isn’t it? Or you mean you asking me out for a trivial matter isn’t dramatic?’

 

Princeton feels the anger stirring in his mind, but he’s determined not to lose his cool. He will handle this matter professionally.

 

‘Trivial? You humiliated him - no, bullied him in front of everyone and caused a rift in his relationship. I think there ought to be consequences for that.’

 

Jonathan grabs a drumlet and sinks his teeth into the juicy, flavourful meat. Gosh he’s missed this.

 

‘Is it still lovely?’ Jameson cuts in randomly. ‘I did them myself you know?’

 

‘What I did to him - that was his consequence,’ Jonathan answers flatly with chicken in his mouth.

 

He feels the anger build and build in him. One thing he detests is ignorant self-righteousness. This man before him doesn’t have a clue about their history but acts like he’s a judge. 

 

‘You sullied his name, dude. You should right this wrong instead of sounding so self righteous.’

 

Jonathan slams his hand on the table with a laugh. ‘Then let’s right all wrongs. Do you even know a damn about what he did to me?’

 

‘Spill it.’

 

The words form on Jonathan’s tongue but he holds them captive. It had been so easy to bitch to his friends day and night about Bertrand, but this is the first time he’s had to relay the incident to a stranger. He realises with a fright that he’s struggling to mould the facts nicely; he was the third leg in a relationship for two, no matter how dysfunctional it was. What exactly is he so angry about? It’s a moment of impromptu introspection that’s been suppressed by supportive bitching by his friends.

 

Princeton nudges Jonathan. ‘Don’t stop, just shoot.’

 

‘He played Jon out la,’ Jameson cuts in, sucking his oily fingers and then wiping them on his fox-print tee. Jonathan glares at the act, reminded of the incident with the NSF. 

 

‘Bertrand was already attached back then mah but he was fooling around with Jon. Play finish then suddenly throw aside. You think what, cum rag arh? Some more Jon was new. Bertrand was just taking advantage of him.’

 

Princeton absorbs the new information with great unease. His WhatsApp group of AC friends had conveniently left this out. 

 

His silence prompts Jonathan to look up, who is stunned momentarily. Oh my god, the legends were true, he thinks. Princeton is astonishingly handsome. His eyes are something to get lost in. Long, thick lashes line his eyelids, like butterfly wings. A bat of Princeton’s eyes sends his heart aflutter.

 

‘So you were a victim too,’ Princeton mouths matter-of-factly.

 

His eyes meet Jonathan’s, igniting a weird feeling, something he can’t put a word to. 

 

The meeting seems to have hit a dead end, with neither getting the resolution he was anticipating. The awkward silence lingers in the air with both parties regretting there wasn’t some sort of replay button. It doesn’t help that someone at the next table is obviously ogling Princeton and making lewd gestures to his friend. 

 

Jameson tries to rescue the situation with randomness. His friends throw him puzzled looks as he poses in front of them. Before they know it, he snaps a selfie. It’s not very Instagram-worthy in terms of aesthetics, but ‘I’m posting this on IG! Two of my closest friends at my cafe today. I need to share this with all my fans.’

 

‘How about we go for a walk at the zoo to cool off?’ Jameson suggests randomly.

 

‘I’m game,’ Princeton says with a blank look.

 

Jonathan is about to say the same but pauses. It seems Princeton might be guilty...or interested. So what do you do in such situations? You go back to basics of course. 

 

‘It’s too hot to be cooling off outside isn’t it? I’m leaving.’

 

‘Where do you live? I’ll send you back.’

 

Jameson jumps into action, pulling Jonathan’s hand violently and then pushing him with no small amount of force, causing him to fall onto Princeton’s lap.

 

‘Take him!’ he yells at Princeton, as jealous screeches emit from a nearby table.

 

‘What the fuck!’ Jonathan curses loudly, and eases himself off, storming out of the cafe. 

 

Princeton just looks dazed and a little confused as to what the hell is going on. He gives Jameson a questioning look, and is returned a proud grin.

 

‘The great Princeton Jethro Chan, offering to give a ride home,’ Jameson says dramatically, gesticulating as if reading a signboard. ‘He’s obviously your type, Prince, it’s just so so obvious. Slightly above average looking boy next door. Still the same favourite dish right?’

 

‘No,’ Princeton says curtly. ‘He’s so unreasonable.’

 

And yet he can’t help but look at the guy who was so very sarcastic towards him, who was angry with him. It almost stings him with guilt, when Jonah comes to mind. But...all he’s thinking is being friends with Jonathan, right? Right. That’s the kind of friend he needs around him. 

 

But Jameson is watching him as he watches Jonathan go out of sight, and is certain something good is about to blossom.

 

Outside the cafe, Jonathan strides down the street in a huff. He slams shoulders with an office lady but he doesn’t care, leaving her staring murderously at him. 

 

The meeting was not a qualified disaster after all. Maybe, just maybe, he can live out a piece of Korean drama. Don’t enemies always become lovers in them? The setting had seemed so perfect! A stormy meeting in a dainty, quaint cafe, the clownish friend, the hunk and the relative ‘plain Jon’. It’s a sweet thought that makes Jonathan blush and roll his eyes at himself. 

 

He is about to enter the train station when he receives a text. It’s a contact he’s made from those sex auctions.

 

Ian: Horny now. Got time, cutie? 30k for an hour.

 

Jonathan baulks at the outrageous figure. Do these crazy rich Singaporeans really have no other way to spend their money? Not that he’s concerned for them. In fact, the stupider they are with splashing their money, the better. This 30k will go towards his Patek Philippe fund. 

 

Hmm, it is now 1.15pm. He could spare 2 hours and then get back to hitting the books, before rushing to Wallace’s birthday party in the evening. 

 

Knowing full well at least 1k extra will be given for travel expenses, it is a no brainer to just book a GrabCar than slug it out for a Grabshare. 

 

The driver arrives quickly. 

 

‘So Sentosa Cove arh?’

 

Jonathan musters all the classiness he can arouse. ‘Yes.’

 

As the car drives off he looks in wonder out the window as Jameson and Princeton exit the cafe, laughing heartily. 

Edited January 18, 2018 by FleaBiscuit

[FleaBiscuit]

I think I captured the K drama feel better than I had hoped in this chapter  From here on it should be more this and less family drama hehe

 

PS This is so random but spot the little bit of sexual innuendo in the dialogue!

[FleaBiscuit]

1 hour ago, Mastiff said:

 

This is true to a certain extent. It's not blind loyalty, but you need to understand the AC mindset. These are boys who were recruited into relatively small intakes, and spent a huge part of their formative years together. All the way from primary (J or P makes a difference) right through to JC. Now don't get me started on the IB boys that never left Independant. So, you may not even like your schoolmate on a personal level - he may even be a bastard. But, he's YOUR bastard to take care of. So the right thing to do woud be to close ranks and help a brother out. Then deal with him in private. It's not a get out of jail free card. Some form of discipline is meted out. But it's not for outsiders to see.

 

I'd assume something similar happens with the "Saints" and the uhhh... "Cool Joes" *smirk* 

A million thanks to you Mastiff for continuing to read  My appreciation cannot be overstated, because writing is hard work.

[Mastiff]

On 18/01/2018 at 3:49 PM, FleaBiscuit said:

A million thanks to you Mastiff for continuing to read  My appreciation cannot be overstated, because writing is hard work.

 

I like your work. It's reading Kevin Kwan for the gay crowd. And yeah, clearly a lot of effort goes into the process. As you admit yourself, shallow characters don't mean they're shallowly written characters.

 

I'm particularly intrigued by Jonathan. I admire how you don't go all out to make the protagonist likeable like so many authors are wont to do. Having him manipulate the older man in the opening sequence, using lust to twist him around and then abandoning him humiliated and sexually frustrated once he'd had his own needs satiated was classic. I don't codone the disrespect, but hey - that's gritty reality. Worse things than not getting your rocks off and having your ego dented happen every day.

 

It also brought a smile to my face to learn from your writing the little tricks that guys use in the fine art of gay seduction. If I'd realised the devastating power of a faded OCS singlet, the Salvation Army would have been a few donations poorer. Speaking of that, do you have any idea the crazy prices a genuine ACSI rugby jersey goes for on Carousell?!! Canterbury would weep.

 

Don't get me wrong. There are ocassional logic errors, inconsistencies and continuity issues of course. But these are first drafts and to be expected. They're nothing a good editor wouldn't be able to fix.

Edited January 20, 2018 by Mastiff

[FleaBiscuit]

Apologies in advance to any readers waiting. I’ve a parade tmr-Friday and Sunday duty. Doubt I’ll be able to come up with a chapter this week. Ik how a long wait btw chapters could disrupt the reading experience so I’m sorry!

[FleaBiscuit]

On 20/01/2018 at 6:49 AM, Mastiff said:

 

I like your work. It's reading Kevin Kwan for the gay crowd. And yeah, clearly a lot of effort goes into the process. As you admit yourself, shallow characters don't mean they're shallowly written characters.

 

I'm particularly intrigued by Jonathan. I admire how you don't go all out to make the protagonist likeable like so many authors are wont to do. Having him manipulate the older man in the opening sequence, using lust to twist him around and then abandoning him humiliated and sexually frustrated once he'd had his own needs satiated was classic. I don't codone the disrespect, but hey - that's gritty reality. Worse things than not getting your rocks off and having your ego dented happen every day.

 

It also brought a smile to my face to learn from your writing the little tricks that guys use in the fine art of gay seduction. If I'd realised the devastating power of a faded OCS singlet, the Salvation Army would have been a few donations poorer. Speaking of that, do you have any idea the crazy prices a genuine ACSI rugby jersey goes for on Carousell?!! Canterbury would weep.

 

Don't get me wrong. There are ocassional logic errors, inconsistencies and continuity issues of course. But these are first drafts and to be expected. They're nothing a good editor wouldn't be able to fix.

Thanks for the lovely comments Mastiff <3 I started this story as a bit of a passion project but without a clear idea or intention in mind. I think it’s now unequal parts comedy, satire and drama. Maybe I was just being greedy and wanted a bit of everything. But what I was sure of, was that I didn’t wanna write something already out there. Being gay anywhere is difficult, and it is more so in Singapore than many other places. I wanted characters who’re inexplicably angry with their lives at times, yet have moments of exuberant happiness; characters who have hypocrisy but still have a conscience; characters who are devious to some but utterly genuine to others. I wanted people who are fucked up in many ways but still have readers rooting for them. I hope up till now, I’ve done that. 

 

Next I wanted to bring in the idea that everyone has stories. We (or maybe just I) tend to think ourselves the ‘nucleus’ of an issue, focusing too much on how we feel because in our story, we are always the lead characters. Sometimes a chapter of conflict could be written so differently in the minds of others. Resolution and healing so often only starts when we start feeling for others too.

 

Lastly, being an over-thinker I’ve always wondered about the numerous gay people I’ve met on my foray into my sexuality. I’ve made so many enemies, and seen so many acquaintances in and out of my life. I keep questioning what could’ve been if I were less hardmouthed, or taken people around me more seriously. Maybe our lives could’ve ran parallel instead of just having one point of intersection. For better or worse I’m glad we met, because life and growth are about the collective experience, and every character counts.

 

Wow, I tried to ascribe so much meaning to a trashy sounding story. Even I’m laughing a little.

 

Ok, didn’t mean to rant. Treat it as a mid-story author’s note.

[FleaBiscuit]

Chapter 14

 

As per the previous 4 sessions, Ian did not fuck. He fucked vigorously. This time he reminded Jonathan of a horny, humping dog. Work at Mount E. had really piled up, forcing him to go 3 full days without sleeping. The absence of a sex life for two whole weeks, coupled with the stress at work, made him go almost berserk in bed. But a bottom’s appetite couldn’t really get much more voracious than Jonathan’s. While getting rammed he had screamed dirty things, things not even Jameson will ever hear about. The surgeon reciprocated nicely, squirting thickly all over his face. 

 

And that was just round 1. 

 

Jonathan spreads his limbs like a starfish on the king-sized bed naked, something even the master bedroom in his house lacks. He reaches for the used condom full of Ian’s juice, pleased with his partner’s virility. This came from round 2. Noting that the knot is loose, he undoes it and, wait for it, sucks the lukewarm liquid out.

 

It is gratifying. A dirty little secret. 

 

After the drink he tosses the used rubber into the bedside bin. Even that looks wastefully expensive. The material is shiny - don’t be surprised if it’s silver - and raised imprints of Star Wars characters have been carved exquisitely onto its sides. Jonathan recognises only Princess Leia and Yoda. And the thing that looks like a cross between a bear and a sloth. Why a rubbish receptacle needs to be so fetching, he doesn’t know.

 

Ian exits the bathroom towelling his wet hair and smiles shyly at Jonathan, the kind where you spread the sides of your lips just a little and then look away. His gait is masculine and confident without being dismissive or intimidating. 

 

‘Cold? Not cold?’ he asks while raising his brows, aircon remote control in hand. 

 

His voice carries the same gentleness that matches the dim light and his genuine gaze, leaving Jonathan mesmerised. 

 

‘I’m ok,’ Jonathan replies, and stalks over, smoothing his hands up Ian’s chest like a cat. 

 

With sturdy arms Ian hugs Jonathan and collapses onto the bed. Jonathan falls onto his hard, stocky body. In such moments the calculative client-escort relationship between them seems to corrode and reveal something genuine. It feels comforting, just squeezing Ian’s chest and lying on it. His pecs are muscled, with a fair amount of distributed fat. Warm and fuzzy just like its owner.

 

‘Do you meet a lot of different escorts?’ The silence is broken by a boyish voice. 

 

‘Mmm no. You’re only the third.’

 

‘Why so few?’

 

‘I’ve been in this circle a long time. Most guys...they either have looks but no brains or brains but no looks.’

 

A buzz of energy jolts Jonathan into alertness as his tendrils of manipulation awake. 

 

‘So do you think I’m different?’

 

Being 38, with a certain pedigree, Ian doesn’t get hooked. Yet it would be inaccurate to say he ‘saw through’ Jonathan. Secure in his own brilliant mind, this doesn’t qualify as manipulation or even a trick. Impish flirtatiousness is all it is.

 

He smiles to himself. ‘Of course you are la. Why go for something average when I can have something special? You’re the differential I need integrated into my life,’ Ian says silkily, sounding like melted chocolate.

 

Jonathan groans and buries his hand in his face. ‘That joke is so wrong on so many levels.’

 

But it is a badness that is so good, that merely provokes his interest even further. He’s always thought inexplicably that such lame jokes can only be crafted and appreciated by intelligent people. Ian doesn’t get twisted around his  finger or get frightened of his manipulation. He is that rare equal you encounter only so often in a lifetime. 

 

And Jonathan is drawn, willingly, like a moth to a flame. He raises himself to lean over Ian, closing the extraneous distance between their lips. For someone who views making out to be a slimy exchange of saliva, this is undeniably special. It is slow yet urgent, passionate yet controlled, a make out not just about the lips but the hand behind his head and the dreamy figure before his half-opened eyes.

 

But like all actions done in the heat of the moment, the sting bites later. The two break apart and sit entangled in the crumpled blanket, hesitant and unsure what that kiss meant. Jonathan lets out an unwitting sigh, thinking goddammit. The numbers just don’t match. He’s 23 and Ian’s 38. It is a distance so arbitrary but compelling, a fucking abyss. He goes around pretending to be a liberal, but this gap is greater than his openness.

 

In an unguarded moment of pure instinct, Ian confesses, or rather, concedes, ‘I like you.’ 

 

He tilts his head down and glances up shyly as if seeking permission. The shock in Jonathan’s eyes do not come as a surprise; romance isn’t unconditional. Terms and conditions apply. He, at his age and because of his age, should know that the odds were stacked against him right from the start. 

 

15 years, at ages 23 and 38, become the difference between a lifetime and the half of one. 

 

‘I don’t know what to say.’

 

You just said no, Ian thinks with a heavy heart. ‘It’s alright. I just wanted to say what I wanted to say. So can I still send you home?’

 

Jonathan lets out a heavy sigh at the visibly forced but still honeyed smile. His malicious actions in the community should’ve barred him from such tenderness from any guy. Yet here he is, frolicking in the sheets of an upper class society member. 

 

This must be elitism at its finest: feeling bad for not reciprocating the affection of a surgeon, but so uncaring when dealing with mere mortals.

 

Even without a reply Ian is already pulling on a shirt. Abercrombie and Fitch. 

 

‘Oi hurry up leh, still sit there in a daze.’

 

As Jonathan begins the sinful act of wearing his clothes, Ian receives a message from Perry. Perry Kheng is an aspiring comic book artist he’s sponsored and fucked before. All that financial aid was wasted though, because his book, The Six Witches of Woodlands, got shifted to storerooms within a matter of weeks. 

 

Perry: How did my muse fare today? Not barreling through the ICU or philandering with coquettish nurses, I hope.

Ian: Was fine

Perry: Oh dear you sound enervated. Need me to revivify your soul?

 

For once, Ian blueticks him. Perry does have his way with words, but he also has a penchant for bombarding others with what he terms ‘linguistic artillery’. While smitten at first, Ian quickly tired of him. The fool was so argumentative, so dazzled by his own brilliance that it became draining being around him. His carefully crafted sentences felt so pretentious and pedantic, like a glass facade of intelligence waiting to be shattered. Maybe it’s his way of reconciling with his failure to enter law school.

 

Ian: More matter with less art

 

Wow, seems like Shakespeare can be useful after all. Ian revels in an evil glee as Perry blueticks him, surely out of speechlessness. Time to bid sayonara. 

 

Ian exits the room where Jonathan is waiting, and they head down to the carpark to hop on his Maserati. 

 

The journey back to Yew Tee is dotted with conversations about life, kinship and Jonathan’s favourite topic, the toxicity endemic in the gay community. He lets loose, railing and railing while his complaints are laughed off by Ian, who calms him down with measured jokes and insights. It is a blur when it starts, but their hands find each other, the grip a metaphor for their relationship. Carefully tight.

 

They reach the void deck of Jonathan’s Yew Tee flat a little late - Ian had driven slower than usual. The parting is sluggish and progresses unwillingly. Ian rubs Jonathan’s thigh and says goodbye, getting a peck on the cheek in return. 

 

Jonathan leaves the car and ambles towards the lift with a misty smile. 

 

‘Boy.’

 

The clarion call to halt honks loud and clear. And Jonathan already knows who it is, because only one person still addresses him this way. He turns, and lo and behold, it’s his mother.

 

‘Did you just come out of that car?’ The question comes with notes of suspicion.

 

‘Yeah why?’

 

‘How you get to know this kind of people arh? Don’t anyhow mix around you know!’

 

Jonathan gnashes his teeth with an eye-roll. His mother’s frog-in-the-well worldview shades all characters grey unless they’re little people who live ordinary lives in HDB flats. At least Ian has a car, unlike his family.

 

‘Walao. Smoker and ITE friends cannot, now rich people also cannot. I don’t want to be like you ok? Don’t even have one friend to go out with.’

 

Usually he’d help wheel her marketing trolley , but right now his pride disallows it. They enter the lift together, a little stuffy place that can barely contain the tension.

 

‘You think I don’t want arh? I where got so good life can go out everyday. Eh I work part time and do everything for you guys ok? Then now kong kong got cancer, still got to help your popo take care of him. You go see la, which mummy got so good.’

 

It’s the same recording all over again. 

 

Once home, Jonathan barges into his room and shuts the door. He finds his expensive hardback notebook on his neat table and turns to the dog-eared page. Spotify is launched and Lost Stars by Adam Levine plays.

 

WHAT IS LOVE??? is written prominently at the top. It’s a thought development he started a year ago, except it’s been followed up mainly by more questions rather than notions. The last entry reads: Does old love really ever go away?

 

Jonathan cancels a previous thought with a crude line. Back then he had been so certain that love is unconditional, but not anymore. So it is replaced with a question, can love really be unconditional? 

 

He then jumps onto his single-sized bed and hugs his pillow. The collar, pressed onto his face, is a reminder of Ian’s sweet, musky scent. 

 

This is so unfair, he thinks. Why must the few guys he is willing to fall for be incompatible with him in the silliest of ways? 

 

And God, tell us the reason, youth is wasted on the young...

 

The chorus of Lost Stars gives his internal whining a flavour. Jonathan rests on his bed, indulging in feeling like an introspective young adult.

 

Edited February 1, 2018 by FleaBiscuit

[FleaBiscuit]

Chapter 15

 

The CEO of Stefanie and Co ambles to the end of his room, pivots around on his foot, and continues his solemn march. He pauses. 

 

‘No, dude, you solve this problem by the next fucking quarter,’ he barks, jabbing a finger into the air. 

 

The voice at the end of the line cracks into laughter. ‘Don’t be laughable, Princeton. This is normal.’

 

‘I think it’s more fucking laughable if some kids from NYP eat into 20% of our market share. Listen up, Jasper. You solve this...or you can kiss Stefanie goodbye and begin working for them for 900 dollars a month.’ 

 

Princeton ends the call on the swift protestations that follow and sinks back into his armchair. ‘Bitch,’ he curses, of course referring to Louisa Tan. 

 

It is a cursory practice for Stefanie and Co to hire a few interns annually. Louisa was one of the blessed few last year, slipping right into Stefanie’s design department itself. She was someone everyone thought wouldn’t pose a danger at all. This proved to be a grave misperception, as it seems she might’ve had a covert agenda. Soon after her engagement by the company she launched her own fashion brand, Lou See Fur. The joint effort with four other friends from NYP was a wild success. Singaporeans, fad hoppers they are, were beguiled with the novelty of five teenagers taking on the big names. They clung onto the headlines day after day, free advertising that boosted their sales by a mile. 

 

Everyone in Sales and Business Development thought nothing of it. To them it is a business that squeezes some revenue from the incumbents and leaves the market. Yet the perfectionist in Princeton can’t take it lying down. Stefanie and Co’s profits have been rising every year under his tenure, and that trend mustn’t go off course. How undeserving! To lose profits to a bunch of wannabes who speak of ‘dreams’, surely lit by a teenage passion that won’t last two years in. 

 

He should know: Ashton spoke of so many dreams. 

 

The morning light streaks through the window and glazes a fragrant purple card with a shimmer. It is an invitation from people high up in the gay society, namely, Lucas Neo and Warren Lee. Tonight, at Shangri-La, they will be celebrating their one year anniversary as a couple in grand fashion. And well...that is sort of an achievement - let’s give that to them. Nonetheless Princeton may have to give this a miss, since his priorities have changed with Jonah around. He will decline respectfully over Whatsapp if he can find either of their numbers. 

 

A knock raps on the door. Deep in sombre thought, Princeton waves an imaginary figure in. He rolls his eyes at himself. ‘Shit,’ the curse is muttered. ‘Come in!’

 

Instead of the expected Joyfraine or Fuji, it is Jonah who enters, holding a tray. 

 

‘Birds nest. Your mother made it,’ he says with a dainty smile, setting down a bowl on the table made of purple heart wood.  

 

‘She must’ve sent you here to spy on me.’ Princeton makes a mental note to keep his volume down in future. Mee Lian must’ve heard him railing at Jasper and gotten worried.

 

It catches his eye how dressed-down Jonah is. Yet even in a plain blue tee and white shorts, he manages to grace the room with the warmth of youthful boyishness. 

 

‘Actually I wanted to see your room. So I...Ooh, what’s this?’ 

 

Jonah peers through a cabinet filled with trophies. He bends over ever so slightly, hands rested on his knees. The act perks up his butt, and Princeton believes it is a pair of red briefs hugging his crotch beneath those translucent white shorts. Coincidence? Or a calculated move? 

 

‘AC basketball was pretty good. So we won some stuff.’

 

‘So you were a basketball player. That explains it.’ Jonah’s eyes shine.

 

‘Explains what?’

 

‘Why your physique is so...easy on the eyes.’

 

Princeton laughs and stretches in a way that makes his tight executive shirt press against the ridges of his body. 

 

Two can play at this game.

 

‘Anyway how’s your stay here?’

 

‘I like your mum. She lets me enter the kitchen and help her.’

 

Jonah melts when Princeton flashes him a devilishly handsome smile with those captivating eyes.

 

‘You’re fucked. She probably thinks you applied to be her sous chef.’

 

The glittery card on the desk gets Jonah’s attention and he picks it up. 

 

‘It’s a gay party,’ he notes with an interested gleam in his eyes. ‘And it’s happening tonight.’ 

 

Princeton doesn’t even as much as look up from his stack of documents. Most are reports containing analyses on this quarter’s earnings.  There are overwhelmingly more green than red figures, another testament to the shrewdness of the man at Stefanie and Co’s helm. 

 

Jonah stretches forward and waves the card before Princeton’s eyes. 

 

‘Come on. We should probably go for this.’

 

Still, Princeton’s eyes remain glued on the numbers. But he laughs. ‘On what basis? I was thinking of taking you out after reading this by the way.’

 

‘Really?’ 

 

The reply comes a little too enthusiastically, noticeably higher pitched than Jonah’s usual voice. He bites his lip, feeling ashamed of his lucid eagerness, and pretends to look at the framed basketball tee signed by Kobe Bryant. Oh, what an ugly sound! Like a frog’s croak.

 

‘We could still go if you want. But I haven’t bought those two a gift.’

 

‘That’s ok!’ Jonah immediately turns back to Princeton. ‘I’ll grab something expensive from this house and wrap it.’

 

Princeton finally looks up from his paperwork with a mock resigned look.

 

‘Trying to fall out of favour with my mum already?’

 

Jonah searches for the words haplessly. ‘Not fall out...Fall in.’

 

‘Uh what?’ 

 

‘Nothing.’ I just want you to fall in love with me.

 

Even a Literature student wouldn’t be able to read between the lines. Or within the word. 

 

 

 

Warren watches the performance artistes practise their stunts across the room. Shirtless hunks swallow knives and fire, one makes her dogs do one last rehearsal. A few, just in briefs, do their hair, oil their bodies, hump the chairs, and take Viagra pills. 

 

Then Warren looks to Lucas. He slaps his hand on his hip in true auntie style. 

 

‘Please la Lucas, can you check if things are in place or not! Even the performers care more than you!’ he spits with a stomp. 

 

Lucas is indifferent, eyes still attached to his phone. This is wonderful. All the high profile guys are sending their greetings one by one, with many promising to turn up tonight. The networking potential of this event cannot be overstated. Who knows what the future holds? One of them hunks might just talk to him tonight, by some chance fall for his charm, and end up with him 2 years later. 

 

He bites his bottom lip and tenses to restrain a smile. Urgh, a little unbecoming. He should rein in those thoughts for now. The show is starting soon and the guests will expect to see plenty of love between him and Warren. 

 

The patience has worn thin and Warren pulls at Lucas’s arm hard. His eyes dart around cautiously as he addresses the insolent uni boy with a hushed warning. 

 

‘You don’t give me this kind of attitude ok? You asked for this and I already spent my money. Don’t just stay on your phone.’

 

One massive ego meets another, and Lucas deploys his ferocious glare with the upturned lips.

 

‘Let go of my arm now.’ His voice is measured, just muffled by Christina Perri’s A Thousand Years crooning softly over the speakers. 

 

The death stare begins, with either animal willing the other to back off. The tension mounts as each measures his stakes against the other’s. Ultimately it is Warren who retreats, slinking away with much indignation. Lucas, who picks his fights carefully, knew it would come to this. Being the poor leech on a white horse, he has more to lose: the wealth, the connections, living at Sentosa Cove. But he is also the one with choices. The field is filled with white horses. 

 

Having appeared on Warren’s Insta has only done his profile good. Now that he has his own self-reinforcing wave of fandom, Warren’s connections don’t matter anymore.  

 

Lucas waves the makeup artist over and she tends to his face fastidiously. His eyeliner is pronounced, toner touched on, and lips glossed with a more natural sheen of pink. 

 

‘You sure I look good right?’ he asks the stylist with a questioning look. 

 

‘Umm...yeah?’

 

‘Good.’ Without thanks Lucas goes off to find two of the half naked hunks. ‘Yes, yes. So two of you carry me like Cleopatra. Then you help me take pic.’

 

The request raises some brows, but is obeyed on account of Warren’s fat pay cheque. Lucas places his arms on the necks of the men hoisting him up and mimics a far-off gaze.

 

‘One, two, three!’ A blink of light goes off.

 

As Lucas is put on the ground he sees an unforgiving pair of eyes staring him daggers. He breaks contact and begins retouching the picture for Instagram. 

 

Soon. Soon he won’t have to bear with Warren’s jealousy and childish tempers. On the horizon is the next stepping stone, maybe even the destination. Time is what he needs and what he has. Poor Warren. At 41 he has little of it. Recklessness has seen him anchor his ship at the wrong harbour. This 1 year romance is wastage he can afford. But he doesn’t have many chances left in the tank. 

 

Does Lucas feel guilty? No, of course not. They say all’s fair in love and war. What more in a laissez faire meat market. Where sex and civil union is locked up behind outdated laws, this community has made up amply by loving without rules. Throuples, secret raunches and open relationships rule the day. 

 

The emcee, a certain Ignatius You, claps his hands thunderously and warns everyone of the first wave of guests. 

 

There is a flurry of movement as everyone gets into position. Warren takes his place beside Lucas, hands tucked together at his crotch. The cameraman gets ready before them.

 

This can’t do. They’re not going live on Instagram and Facebook looking so stiff like a couple of yesteryear! 

 

Lucas wraps an arm around Warren’s and tells him in the most angelic voice he can muster, ‘Happy one year anniversary, babe.’ The words come naturally.

 

Warren visibly softens, and he stares into Lucas’ eyes. ‘I love you, ok? Please know that.’

 

He reaches in for a kiss, and, shit, Lucas isn’t ready. 

 

‘Camera, ready, action!’ No!

 

Lucas smiles and leans in for the embrace of their lips. Did Warren brush his teeth!? Hold your smile, he warns himself. 

 

‘Hey guys!’ Warren waves at the camera. ‘Thanks everyone for tuning in to Lucas and I one year anniversary party! The guests haven’t come yet but they will be arriving shortly. So...serious note first arh, I’m very thankful to God la. It’s very...I will say rare la, to meet someone you like. Eh so why do you like me arh?’

 

Warren nudges Lucas playfully, giving him the cue to open his smart talking mouth. 

 

‘Mmm...like nothing leh, HAHA. No la, what I like most about Warren is that he’s very genuine. My babe doesn’t act, he just shows how he feels and I think it’s a very precious trait? I think as you guys all know, it’s amazingly difficult to find someone true to you, right?’

 

‘Aww...’ Warren gives Lucas a dreamy look that feels so apt after those words.

 

‘Save your tears la. Huh? Have they arrived? Ivan says someone’s here.’

 

The two walk towards the door hand in hand. 

 

Back to the camera, Lucas heaves a sigh of relief: guilt averted. He can’t be said to have lied. He merely explained what he likes about Warren, not why he likes him. 

 

[Elvishbabe]

Remarkable writing. Longing for more. Pls continue 

[dokimon]

wna watch this movie