Sometimes Love Just Ain't Enough

Patti Smith & Don Henly

I don't wanna lose you,
but I don't wanna use you
just to have somebody by my side.

And I don't wanna hate you,
I don't wanna take you,
but I don't wanna be the one to cry.

And that don't really matter
to anyone anymore.
But like a fool I keep losing my place
and I keep seeing you walk through that door.

But there's a danger in loving somebody too much,
and it's sad when you know it's your heart you can't trust.
There's a reason why people don't stay where they are.
Baby, sometimes, love just ain't enough.

Now, I could never change you,
I don't wanna blame you.
Baby, you don't have to take the fall.
Yes, I may have hurt you,
but I did not desert you.

Maybe I just wanna have it all.
It makes a sound like thunder,
it makes me feel like rain.
And like a fool who will never see the truth,
I keep thinking something's gonna change.

And there's no way home,
when it's late at night and you're all alone.
Are there things that you wanted to say?
do you feel me beside you in your bed,
there beside you, where I used to lay?

And there's a danger in loving somebody too much,
and it's sad when you know it's your heart they can't touch.
There's a reason why people don't stay who they are.
Baby, sometimes, love just ain't enough.
Baby, sometimes, love...it just ain't enough.

A Hunk Who Likes To Take It From Behind

I was in the midst of watching the Amazing Race catch-up episodes at the TV lounge, when my back suddenly hit against what felt like a brick wall. I thought I had checked that the space behind me was clear just five seconds ago, somehow someone had managed to squeeze into the tiny gap.

This ‘brick wall’ turned out to be a well-built big sized muscular (couldn’t emphasize enough LOL) Chinese guy in his early 30s. My heart jumped a beat with this breathtaking sight, so much muscle in so close a distance. But I was more occupied with the internal debate of whether an apology was being expected out of me. Somehow I felt this was all intentional, so I kept quiet and turned my attention back to the show. I had missed too many episodes of the race, and one of the four remaining couples were enjoying catching the fancy of the whole world with one of their dramatic fights again.

The fighting couple had kissed and made up on TV, and yet he remained still behind me, not an inch to the left, not an inch to the right. Another commercial break, and I turned to the walkway to catch my breath. A combination of pleasant body perfume and heat generated from those overworked muscles so close behind me had caused a mad rush of blood to my ear lobes.

He suddenly lodged into a position that would be impossible for me to maneuver without establishing body contact. And so I had to sacrifice my butt as I squeezed through the walkway to leave the TV lounge. I was trying hard to avoid direct eye contact, but his face, which was now carrying a cute grin, was too hard to pass by. The complex maneuvering tired me out instantly, and I just stood by the walkway in front of the row of private cubicles, a few occupied, but mostly empty.

Sensing that I’m nearing surrender, he slowly entered an empty cubicle and just stood there with the door open. Overpowered, I walked in, turned around and quickly fold the door shut. I know a lot of patrons, including me, still feel embarrassed about being seen following someone into the cubicles, even though everyone knows that is exactly what people come here for.

With the door shut, I turned around and noticed the towel was already at one corner, and him stark naked and lying on the mattress, ready for some action. Not knowing what to expect (that is always the case when you have a private session in the cubicles), I just lie down on top of him, and gave him a good tight hug, savoring his warmth and scent.

I saw his hand reached behind, and returned with a condom, before putting it in my hand. For the longest of moment, I just stared at the packet, not knowing if he had intended that for himself or for me. Sensing my disorientation, he slowly spread his legs, gave my tool a tight grab and guided it to his hole. The message was now clear. I reached down with my finger to test the water; he pushed that away and insisted that he was ready, and so I proceeded.

I continue to experience the after effects of disbelief from a hunk who likes to take it from behind, nevertheless we had a great time.

BRAVEHEART ^[78]

Liquid On A Saturday Night

Central Market on a late Saturday night, 90% of the city’s party-going gay population had yet again gathered for another parade of designer labels, bodies and cosmetic products.

We reached just in time for the dance floor to open. My sister Gary once advised that those who reach before midnight are there to watch the crowd, where else those who reach after midnight are there to be watched.

We formed a line trying to squeeze through a small gap that had formed between the dancing crowd (on our right) that was already frantically shaking their hands, legs, bodies and all on, and the drinking crowd (on our left) that had gathered at the bar, some seated quietly watching the action on the dance floor, while the most of others were gathered in groups, talking and laughing enthusiastically.

Halfway through, this Gucci uncle caught sight of me, and all of a sudden, raised his arm to part his friends in one grand sweep, revealing a tiny miserable empty spot on the cushioned seat by the bar. (Moses incarnated? Perhaps.) Then he started gesturing that I go sit there. Sensing his rather comical and half-hearted intentions, I just gave him a blank stare and continued to brave the crowd.

“So young!” He exclaimed animatedly at the top of his voice, making one last effort to catch my attention. He was facing his group of seemingly fashionable uncles, but his eyes were permanently fixed on me instead.

I turned around, waited for a brief gap between the deafening bass of the disco beat, and then proclaimed in a similarly animated manner, “Not really laaaa…”

I could have said “THAT is gross misjudgement of my maturity”, but that would have lengthened our interaction by 200%, something I could not afford as the human traffic built up behind me.

We eventually managed to find a spot on the dance floor. Didn’t take me long to realise why I had waited four months before visiting again. As I was yawning to another monotonous number, my back hit against what felt like a brick wall. I turned around, and was graced by a ‘muscle wall’ indeed. A bunch of hunky and topless musclemen had gathered next to us. They believe that after spending countless hours in the gym, the queer crowd deserves to feast their eyes on their anatomy, and had thus proceeded to occupy 50% of the dance floor for their social outing that were peppered with incessant hugging and kissing. Never mind if they were not dancing.

Kent eventually led us to another area of the dance floor; we were suffocating from the growing mass of muscle that gradually engulfed us. Another monotonous number started playing, and we’re done for the day.

Think we will go Frangipani next Friday.

Hey Dad, Why Are You Not Dead Yet?

Hey Dad, you ought to die, because the only time you’re back was when you’re broke, and needed money from Mum for all your fucking indulgences, and I only had one karipap for lunch at school for six straight years.

Hey Dad, you ought to die, because I will always remember the embarrassing moment of Mum, pleading to the school teacher, in front of the whole of primary 4T, to allow us an additional 2 weeks to pay up the RM100 tuition fee, which we had promised 2 weeks back. I did not eat for two weeks, and had to be sent to the hospital after fainting on the basketball court during assembly.

Hey Dad, you ought to die, because you told Mum all your fucking stories, and turned her into a insecure lady who spends countless hours staring into blank air, and freaks out every time she detects the slightest association with me and Malay ladies.

Hey Dad, you ought to die, because no thanks to you, Mum had to work two shifts a day at the office, and came home to do sewing jobs for a neighbourhood tailor till the wee hours of the morning, and my only recollection of childhood is playing paper boats alone at the drain behind our makeshift hut in Chow Kit.

Hey Dad, you ought to die, because after disappearing for eight years, you came home one day just to get a photocopy of my SPM results and my IC. I saw my name on the scholarship recipient list in the newspaper one month later, but I never saw the money. How many girls did you fuck with RM20,000?

But Dad, if God were to ask me, I’ll let you live, because if not for you, I would not have turned gay, and I surely would not have come to know this great bunch of gay friends, of which we have built fulfilling relationships that I will bring to my grave with.

Danny, if you are reading this, this is for you. I know life was not as smooth sailing for you, it was never, for a great number of us too. But one day, when you realise you’re ready to forget the past, and forgive whoever has wronged you, you know for sure , that after all these years, you are finally freed.

It's Just A Game

I promise myself not to expect anything more from you.
I promise myself not to expect anything more from you.
I promise myself not to expect anything more from you.
I promise myself not to expect anything more from you.
I promise myself not to expect anything more from you.
I promise myself not to expect anything more from you.
I promise myself not to expect anything more from you.
I promise myself not to expect anything more from you.
I promise myself not to expect anything more from you.
I promise myself not to expect anything more from you.
I promise myself not to expect anything more from you.
I promise myself not to expect anything more from you.
I promise myself not to expect anything more from you.
I promise myself not to expect anything more from you.
I promise myself not to expect anything more from you.
I promise myself not to expect anything more from you.
I promise myself not to expect anything more from you.
I promise myself not to expect anything more from you.
I promise myself not to expect anything more from you.
I promise myself not to expect anything more from you.

What Malaysian Drivers Do Not Know

Malaysian drivers know:

• That they can make full use of road shoulders to cut down traveling time considerably.
• That it is possible to engage in SMS conversations on their mobile with one hand, while the other navigate their cars at break neck speed.
• All the 318 speed trap locations along the North-South highway like the buttons on their TV remote control.
• All the 27 free parking spots in Bukit Bintang area.

But they DO NOT know:

• That Touch’N Go cards are accepted at cash lanes at the PLUS toll plazas as well.

You Gave Me Your Heart In Datai And Andaman

I remember staring intensely at the flight information board for the longest of time. Gary had gladly sat down with me over mamak the day before to run through the do’s and don’ts of flying, and she had mentioned the information board would be the first thing I’ll have to check once I arrive at KLIA. I reached to feel my passport in my right pocket for the 33th time, it’s still there.

I remember being very quiet in the taxi. 5 minutes into the ride, the driver started making wild guesses of why a young boy like me was traveling all by himself. I think I just told him Mum was rushing for her China trip and had left her luggage at home.

I remember stepping into the plane for the first time, being pinned to my seat by the force during take-off, and gazing out the tiny windows for a sight of the clouds so up close, and of course, the taste of the orange juice the stewardess had served. (Gary had stressed that she ALWAYS decline the offer, as those are not REAL fruit juices.)

I remember seeing your anxious face turned into delight as I walked out into the arrival hall. You had broken away from the waiting crowd to stand much more in front because you know I won’t know what to do if I don’t see you there. I quickened my pace towards you, and your out-stretched hands embraced me in one powerful but warm sweep. And then you put the hotel keys in my palm, and said “Keep this, it’s the key to my heart.”

And I remember the stares and the astonishment on everyone’s faces. Surely a hotel chauffeur has witnessed things more terrifying than a Caucasian man embracing an Asian boy.

I remember being the only local in the resort amongst the many Caucasians, Japanese and Middle-Easterners that were holidaying there. And the stares of the two Japanese ladies at the table on our right during the poolside candlelight dinner. We took a stroll along the beach after that, the touch of the soft fine sand, and your warm body as you hug me in your arms. You had too much red wine during dinner.

I remember waking up in the mornings to be greeted by your sweet face. You would say I slept like a baby. Thank God you do not snore!

So it's been almost three years. What do you remember, Ted?

BRAVEHEART ^[77]

Kissing A Tattoo On The Back

Fate had it that I would meet him even before I entered Mirage. While we found parking spaces at opposite ends of the carpark, we walked towards the same direction, arriving at the stairways leading up to the ‘sports club’ at exactly the same time. Of the possible 18,000 seconds during which one could arrive within the peak hours, we were fated to arrive not one second earlier, and not one second later.

We paused at the stairways. Sparks were set off, nearly incinerating the Indian lady who was putting her clothes out to dry three blocks away. I waited to see if he would just grab me and go off somewhere together, saving each other the RM20 entrance fee. After what seemed like eternity, he reluctantly terminated the eye contact, and headed upstairs.

We met again at the lockers. Of the six different locker areas available, we just had to prefer to same location. I started stripping just three columns away from him, conscious not to re-establish eye contact, as another sight of him might cause a mad rush of blood between my legs. But I just had to steal a glance or two of him, though I was careful not to time it in accordance to his glance of me. And I lived to tell the account of a figure emerging to its full glory.

He made an attempt to improvise on his strategy of just overdue eye contact, by first standing really close to me while we were both in front of the lower common dark rooms, and then discreetly inching his left hand for the kill. (I had promptly positioned my right hand for easy assess.)

It was the most passionate sessions I have had for a long time, though I must admit I don’t have a good memory though (so you most probably will read the same comments again in the not so future entries). I must have emerged with much poutier lips from the long-winded kissing sessions, both before and after the climax.

He told me it’s the first time he does it twice with the same guy on the same day and that I should give him an ang pow for achieving this feat. I wanted to tell him it’s a first time for me too, but I didn’t. I did tell him though, that contrary to what others say, the tattoo on his back looks nice.

I didn’t use soap to shower that day, his perfume, as breathtaking as the entire episode, still lingers on.

BRAVEHEART ^[83]