Monday, May 16, 2005

I Know What Your Lover Did Last Sunday

We were sitting on the bench at the outdoor garden catching our breath and getting ready to leave when my wandering eyes caught hold of a familiar face. The dwindling blood supply to my brain failed to help me execute a quick recall to this face with a name, allowing the owner to dive straight for the gym hoping that somehow my tired eyes would have failed to register the short encounter.

Out of sight, was indeed not out of mind. I searched hard towards the most remote wildnerness of memory-scape, and came up with a name 5 seconds later. Then, the next 3 minutes was spent overcoming the excitement of bumping into my gay sister’s lover in a gay sauna. As I sat there contemplating my next move, Roy who had better luck locating him came back to confirm the breaking news of the year.

Over a period of 20 minutes, we kept a close watch on him from a distance, carefully balancing between not being far enough to loose sight of him, and not being too near, so as not to be too overwhelming that it would be awkward for him to cruise or be cruised upon.

But I saw tension and anxiety building up on his face, as he struggled to face the unimaginable consequences of having his secret Sunday evening agenda exposed to you. Yes, you, the big sister among our little queer circle, the one whom we need to thank for the nevertheless vivid, fun memories of our initial closet days. Higher on your lover's priority list now was most probably how to manage his exposure to us, rather than to catch the gorgeous boy who was just stripping into his birthday suit at the locker next to him.

Roy and I finally took a break from the spying job, and to our surprise, he somehow summoned enough courage to approach us and said hi. He certainly had strategised, for from the third sentence onwards, he started to subtly implant the virtues of friendships into our conversation. Good friends, according to him, are those that would hold back facts from their beloved buddies that would prove too hurtful to bear. If there were anything too hurtful to bear, it would be his facial expression, distorted with fear and red with intense anxiety. And so, not wanting to incur further pain to this poor soul who was ready to kneel and beg in front of me, I told him I had deleted your contact number, thus there is no way of you ever finding out about this encounter from us.

And I thought I heard a big sigh of relief.

Loy and I left shortly after, leaving him to roam the darkened and almost deserted rooms and walkways on a late Sunday night.

So the most perfect gay marriage of the century is not a bed of roses after all. The fairy tale story that you had so tirelessly and painstakingly weaved for our envy is all but a fairy tale? The one man you have sacrificed your money, time, energy and friends for was just begging us not to reveal the truth to you, and most probably was now fucking other boys in Mirage while you continue to live your life in perfect and blissful oblivion.

I wanted to taste the sweetness of victory relating this story to you, and watch you shrivel away as your perfect world come crashing down, but darn, I thought presenting this with an impressive line-up of evidences, including grainy photos from camera phones with him in action would be more convincing.

No?

1 comment:

Pamela said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.