Counting Cocks

Have you ever paid ridiculous sums of money just to be associated with numbers commonly regarded as auspicious for the Chinese? Of course, I would understand that you won’t feel secured driving around in a car with a license plat that reads ‘9413’ (literally: nine times die, one time survive), or feel blessed living in a house numbered ‘1458’ (literally: whole lifetime no prosper).

That still doesn’t mean we have to jostle with the rest of the entire straight world of oily-faced businessmen and diamond-ring adorning tai tai’s for that dream number.

No, we don’t. We simply need to redefine the word auspicious.

So here, is the list of BravingKL-approved gay-auspicious numbers for your consideration when the next car, house, hotel room or sauna visit (for the locker number) come around:

7373 (pronounced: chart sung chart sung, literally: cock thrive cock thrive)
You cannot go wrong with a thriving, throbbing cock that stands in undivided attention to the call of its master, ever ready and hungry for action.

7878 (pronounced: chart fart chart fart, literally: cock prosper cock prosper)
A prosperous cock is one that is in-demand, well-maintained and well-served. What more could you ask for?

9797 (pronounced: gau chart gau chart, literally: play cock play cock)
Yes, you’re gay and that’s what you should enjoy doing. No guarantee on the condition of the cocks, or of their respective owners though.

1197 (pronounced: yard yard gau chart, literally: day day play cock)
A cock a day keeps the PMS away.

1497 (pronounced: yard sai gau chart, literally: whole lifetime play cock)
A lifetime supply of cocks for your constant enjoyment. Now let’s hope it’s not just referring to playing your own cock.

4497 (pronounced: sai sai gau chart, literally: every lifetime play cock)
For firm believers in the concept of reincarnation, you would want to opt for this far more ambitious alternative. Technically, however, the statement still hold true even if you reborn as a straight girl.

1978 (pronounced: yard gau chart fart, literally: once play cock prosper)
It’s time to break the closet door! Come get your first taste of cock and you are on your way to earning big bucks.


Evil, evil numbers to avoid at ALL COST:

9714 (pronounced: gau chart sart sei, literally: play cock definitely die)
Go ahead and book this if you’re gay curious but decide to stay a virgin for the rest of your life.

1157 (pronounced: yard yard mm chart, literally: everyday no cock)
The curse many of us would rather die than to bear with. It’s various iterations like 57 and 75 are also a no-no.

1457 (pronounced: yard sei mm chart, literally: whole lifetime no cock)
The gay man’s ultimate curse, to be avoided at all cost.


And now, can you think of anymore to add to this list?

Kaku

Mataku kaku, dibiarkan lemas dalam lautan gambaran yang kini bagaikan anganan yang kian terluntur warnanya, detik demi detik, hingga yang tinggal cuma imbasan memori bersebaran dari episod lalu. Namun sejauh pandangan, mataku terus berjuang, menunggu sekelip sinaran harapan.

Tanganku kaku, dibiarkan berulang-alikan di tengah-tengah udara dalam kemalapan cahaya lilin, bagaikan dedaun kering yang kehilangan arah. Belasan tubuh berganti timbul dan hilang, tak satu yang mampu mencecah sentuhan kulitku. Namun selagi terasa kelembapan udara, tanganku terus berjuang, menunggu segenggam jejari yang tulus.

Kakiku kaku, dibiarkan berayauan di celah-celah tarian bebayang, di sudut-sudut terpencil, dari lorong sempit ke bilik gelap penuh aksi. Kepenatan terasa terlampau. Namun selagi terasa kedinginan lantai, kakiku terus berkeliaran mengejar destinasi yang maya, menunggu sesudut halangan manis yang dijanjikan.

Hatiku kaku, dibiarkan bogel dikelilingi harapan and janji kosong yang tajam, bersebaran dari setiap sudut and penjuru. Kepahitan datang membawa pilu, mencemari keghairahan yang hanya bersinggah singkat di setiap ruang sempit ini. Namun selagi terasa aliran emosi, jantungku terus berdengup menunggu seiris cerita dongeng yang kekal abadi.

Kaku. Dibiarkan kaku.

The Fisherman Story

Miss Mei Li’s expression was to die for. Contorted in a wicked blend of confusion, disbelief and concern, she clipped my workbook with just two fingers, lifted it slightly from her desk and then dropped it with a purposeful flick to send it sliding against the glass surface and finally coming to rest near the far edge of her table.

Rearranging her facial features in preparation for speech, she finally asked: “Why do you write this kind of story?”

The pressing inquisition was delivered with a tinge of anger and disgust in her voice, my fault it seemed, for having dragged her into the little twisted world of this eleven-year-old, of which after having a taste of, she could not possibly have gotten past her conscience to just ignore.

I could not recall what I said. Standing in front of the class braving the collective attention of forty pairs of eyes eager for some action on a boring extended afternoon session, my little mind could not comprehend this horrid consequence that seemed to have stemmed from a short composition submitted just the day before. What seemed more vivid while I continued to hang my head low during that awful fifteen minutes was a little spot of mud on my semi-retiring off-white shoes which I had missed concealing with white chalk that was stolen from the black board during recess.

Miss Mei Li quickly got bored of this fruitless inquest, the victim seemed redrawn in his own world, still, and could be brewing yet another shocker that may further taint the impressive record of this perfectly disciplined, well-mannered and well-dressed class of hers.

Perfect, except for this weird one whose shoes quickly became an eyesore the first day she caught sight of them since she took over from that no-good Mrs Tan.

And so I was dismissed to return to my seat. My workbook was never to be seen again. Perhaps she had set it on fire, forever banishing it from her memories in a self-denying bid to nurse her aching conscience, and I never quite write that kind of story anymore.

… In the evening, the fisherman pulled his boat to shore. He only caught three fishes today. He was sad. He took the three fishes back home. He found a rope at home. He didn’t find his wife. So, he left the three fishes on the table for his wife. After that, he used the robe and put it around his neck, and he hanged himself.

Kakiku: A Map of Indulgence (Updated)

(click on image for larger view)

In the fifth revision of the Kakiku floor plan, this friendly and unpretentious sauna has yet again upheld its pleasantly adaptive and progressive approach with the introduction of a misty jungle room, and a rearrangement of the locker area in a bid to improve its floor area usage, which sadly, continues to be its biggest shortcoming.

Just Another Caller

Anonymous Caller: Hi.

Braving: *notes unfamiliar mobile number* Hi?

Anonymous Caller: Erm.. May I know who’s on the line?

Braving: You’re calling my number and you don’t know who’s on the line?

Anonymous Caller: Oh, actually I was looking through my phone book and noticed that I used to call your number quite often. So I was wondering ...

Braving: Whoever I am, obviously the answer is not important anymore right now.

Anonymous Caller: Yeah, but... *starts mumbling*

Braving: Ok. Bye!


Don't waste time chasing lost memories, goodbye episodes don't happen for no reason.

Two Monologues & A Conversation

Braving: Oh gosh! *drags luggage into room, throws open lid in one deafening thud & starts pulling dirty laundry out* It’s so nice to be back! But I forgot how hot KL is! You know it never get anywhere above 15 degrees in San Fran, even when it was all bright and sunny outside and I had to remember my sunscreen before leaving the hotel room.

Roy: *collapses on top of dirty laundry on the floor and starts wriggling about* I can’t shake this hottie from work off my mind. *stares dreamily at phone* Oh gosh he’s got such strong arms. Here, look at this SMS that I sent him the other day. *shoves phone into face of Braving* I know he’s married and all, but do you think he would by any chance guessed that I have feelings for him? I’m so worried that I would freak him out.

Braving: *ignores phone in face and frowns while flipping through photos on camera in blinding speed* I thought four days were enough time to cover all the attractions, yet with all the excellent planning and organizing far ahead of the trip, I don’t understand why I could only squeeze 30 minutes to explore the gay district. However, seeing hunky uncles holding hands whispering sweet nothings into each others’ ears, lesbian couples locking lips bidding farewell, and gay sisters buying flowers from the street vendors are absolutely fabugalistic!

Roy: *buries face in phone* I didn’t get to see him today. He’s on leave. *digs into Braving's luggage* Erm, so you got some extra chocolates here, do you mind if I give one pack to him?

Braving: *caught sight of a brochure in the wastepaper basket* Oh are we having Japanese tonight? Reminds me of that last meal I had in Houston, with the Asian guy I told you about. It’s painful finding someone I like so much who is half the world away from me. I wonder what he’s doing right now. *stares dreamily at ceiling*

Roy: The other day I caught sight of his cock while we were peeing next to each other. *cups hand to hold imaginery thick rod* It was all hairy and black, but I could die for the chance to blow him right there and then. He just keeps adjusting it like all the time! I bet it grows REALLY big when it’s hard.

Braving: Gosh, you know I spent 8 bucks for a little cup of seafood cocktail at the pier but absolutely enjoyed it while shivering myself silly in the late evening chilly breeze looking at hungry seagulls that didn’t seem to be afraid at us tourists at all. *shows blurry photos of seagulls in the midst of a foodfight*

Roy: *puts cupped hands with imaginery thick rod really close to face and peers through fingers* His wife must be the luckiest gal alive! He was asking me the other day if condoms come in extra large sizes, I told him how to look for them, but then he said he’s not using any lately coz they’re trying to have their first child.

Braving: I’m missing San Fran already. *spreads visitors brochures all over the bed and spills them onto the floor together with the dirty laundry, chocolates, shoes, electronic gadgets & toiletries* I wanna go find a job and live there for a few years.

Roy: *throws phone down after catching sight of the clock* Hey! Are we going to the sauna today?

Braving: *shoves visitors brochures, camera, dirty laundry, chocolates, shoes, electronic gadgets & toiletries back into the luggage and shuts lid in one deafening thud* Oh! Oh! Who’s driving?

When The Son Goes Down

When the Son goes down, the first snippet of hair had long fallen, and so, the solitary moments of choking boredom in the room, defined by frozen pizzas, senseless chatroom conversations and TV programs, ended its torturous course. Houston days suddenly became much more bearable with the promise of passionate reunions, enlightening conversations and interactive meals.

When the Son goes down, this two-month-long journey has already exhausted its wonders, and so, the tireless heart makes one last attempt to register the various blissful sensations that have tickled its senses, from 6pm stubbles rubbed against the eager neck, from the welcoming body wrapped around longing arms, from playful fingers combing soft black hair and from longing lips roaming the reassuring curves of the shoulders.

When the Son goes down, all that was left behind was a solitary figure standing on the pavement on a breezy Tuesday night. Let the warmth of the last hug dissipate into the wind, allow for the final kiss to surrender its moisture into the air, banish the painful last moments of farewell and the sight of a departing car into the most remote corner of the memory, lock away pangs of guilt of meticulously stolen pleasures, but forever cherish the misty memories.

Memories that were Houston skies on these 2006 summer nights.

BRAVEHEART ^[100]

Houston Highlights

Sweaty butt cracks
Busy trolley along overstocked racks

The BravingKL Relationship Grid

Confused by the mixed signals? Frusfrated with broken promises? Retreating from hot pursuits? Bogged down by unwelcomed commitments? Try out the BravingKL Relationship Grid to sort out your feelings and find your bearings.

First, go through the following four sets of statement. For each set, select the appropriate letter to describe your relationship.

SET 1: Physical Attraction
* Select H for High physical attraction
* Select L for Low physical attraction

SET 2: Emotional Attraction
* Select H for High emotional attraction
* Select L for Low emotional attraction

SET 3: Commitment
* Select C for Committing
* Select N for Non-commiting

SET 4: Arrangement
* Select M for Monogamous
* Select P for Polygamous

Now, fill in the boxes below with the letters that you have selected above. The four letters will now combine to form your Relationship Type.



Next, locate your Relationship Type from the BravingKL Relationship Grid below:



Couldn't make sense of it still? Well, apparently I'm struggling with a few of them as well. Suggestions will be warmly welcomed, otherwise try the analysis below, and let me know what you think:

Type HHCM: The Newly Weds
A physically and emotionally charged couple tied in a highly committing, monogamous relationship for what seemed like eternal bliss. This is the perfect arrangement made in heaven, the epitome of human dynamics fit for romance novels and childhood fantasies, which unfortunately is out of reach for most mortals. Cherish every passing moment but do accept the eventual shift to a more stable type LHCM.

Type HHCP: The Occasional Wanderer
A variation of type HHCM, except that it is not as strictly monogamous as one would idealizes. Embrace the virtues of occasional ignorance of the mostly secretive wandering of the heart and imagine you did not notice the strand of foreign hair, or the unfamiliar perfume scent on his undies, for you can rest assure that you still occupy a large chunk of the real estate in his heart, and claim the most airtime for his attention and love.

Type HHNM: The Insecure Prince
In a highly physical and emotional relationship, the combination of low commitment and monogamy makes as much sense as guys who visit gay saunas just to surf the web (unless they are undercover Utusan reporters, of course). Perhaps the only thing stopping you from upgrading this relationship to a type HHCM is a burning worry of an overly insecure heart bearing wounds still fresh from a recent failed episode, or the struggle to deny your emotions in the interest of various family obligations. You have clearly found your prince, yet giving your commitment is an ocean apart to happiness. Are you willing to part the Red Sea?

Type HHNP: The Fleeting Butterfly
The world is a sea of sweet-scented flowers in full bloom for the fleeting butterfly. You easily engaged in both physically and emotionally empowering relationships, yet your commitment and loyalty is a mountain of unattainable and frustrating feats no human soul will claim success to. You, the heart-breaker, the tear-jerker, the soul-destroyer, enjoy your moments while your skin still spell youthfulness and your cock still smell fresh, for it may soon be time when you wither as all the flowers that you have fed on will wither the same.

Type HLCM: The Short-Term Couple
Commitment and monogamy is perfect, but they do not hold well under the thin string of a purely physical-attraction centric relationship. The unbelievably perfect proportions of his chest, waist and cock conjure an empowering, yet often short-lived sensation of love, but no true love is achieved without a courageous venture into the unfamiliar grounds of his heart. Face it, Sister, you adore his body, but cringe to touch his heart. But it’s good as long as it lasts, so enjoy the trip.

Type HLNP: The Perfect Sex Buddy
Give yourself a pat on the back, for you have succeeded in locating the perfect buddy for a purely sexual, hassle-free, no strings attached relationship. A highly physical yet low emotional and non-committing arrangement forbids the development of complications like jealousy, hatred and revenge. Just remember to vary your sleeping partner often enough so you won’t end up just sticking to one, in case you start to develop the dreaded emotions for him.

Type LHCM: The Long-Term Partners
These are the record-breakers of the gay world, the fit-for-exhibit rare gems that have emerged stronger and more dignified from years of painstaking endurance and stubborn fortitude. While many would trace back their roots to the explosive HHCM, the physical chemistry is now mostly exhausted, and in turn replaced with deep emotional bonds from years of trials and tribulations that have seen the licks of seduction, fire of lies, and onslaught of betrayals. So now as you tug away your hormone pills, walking sticks and account books for the night, give each other the tightest hugs your body would allow, and say “Happy Anniversary dearie, I just know that the hunky Latino will not last as long.”

Type LHCP: The Open Relationship Model
While their more conservative LHCM counterparts enjoy private moments of evening walks, furniture browsing and groceries shopping together, the ever-playful LHCP couples are storming the gay scene holding signs that flaunt ‘Attached but Available’ to anyone and everyone that catches their fancy. Brushing aside apparent risks of having their relationship destroyed, LHCP couples are quick to point out the strong emotional bonds and commitments between them. But do beware of the more sinister variation – the self-denying, self-justifying, compulsively-lying pseudo-LHCPs who hide under the cloak of type LHCM and are either too afraid to face their emotions or the spanking of their ignorant partners.

Type LLCM: The Odd Couple
The LLCM couples completely baffle us. While this odd arrangement bears no semblance of physical or emotional bonds, the evident commitment and monogamy is simply out of place. Many reasons could be theorized, be it financial, the lack of options or the lack of confidence and exposure to the gay world, but if this is all but a legacy of an ancient relationship turned stale, perhaps it is really time to let go now.

Type LLCP: The Expired Couple
Held on merely by a thin string of commitment between them, the LLCP couple has long past their expiry date. Self-denial will only serve to extend the pain and frustration plus intensify the inconvenience and hatred when both the physical and emotional chemistry have fizzled away. From among your other more worthy cock/hole worshippers, just pick one to announce your vow of commitments to if you so have to, and may you kiss saunas and chatrooms goodbye.

Type LLNM: The Sisters
In the eccentric, ever-exciting relationship-scape of the gay world, the LLNM couple certainly does not fail in dropping jaws as well as other foreign attached objects like dildos and butt plugs when the unbelievably true news of their relationship was made known. As far as the dynamics of physical and emotional chemistry is concerned, this couple’s experience is no different from the heart-warming tale of giggly, hands-holding gay sisters in action. Monogamy, in this case, most probably refers to the intense obsession of mutually shared properties like skincare secrets, fashion insights and hypermarket discount coupons. Lesbians, you are not! Go find a real man.

Type LLNP: The Pretenders
No emotions, no sex, no commitment, no class! This pseudo relationship should only exist in theory and is only included here for the sake of completeness. However, during occasions of Grammy-deserving drama queen in major action, they may still fool a few uninitiated newbies.

Type HLCP, HLNM, LHNM, LHNP:
OK, you guys are just WEIRD.



So what BravingKL Relationship Type are you?

15 Short Stories From Houston

1. My colleagues and I were confused tricked into going to Houston Downtown on a Sunday morning to discover the wonders of witnessing businesses in a period of synchronized inactivity (except for a pathetic little doughnut shop that closes at 12noon) AND the joys of establishing suicidal acquaintances with homeless beings bearing various unidentifiable bags of belongings in frantic search of loose change and the last few sips of alcoholic beverages from disposed cans in rubbish bins AND the pleasures of sharing stories of life-changing moments while seated in a circle in the middle of the road and marveling at street scenes that are COMPLETELY devoid of any sort of touristy events.

2. I bought an egg from the Contemporary Arts Museum that, when partially cracked on its top and watered, will grow from within its content, a selection of plants that could survive up to a period of five months.



3. I was booted from a cab once as a result of an extensive yet futile search for the Natural Science Museum, which is supposed to be one of the eight tourist attractions in Houston. Once again, the 30922 restaurants and their accompanying free car parks in town are NOT to be mistakenly regarded as tourist attractions.

4. My teammate and I, on numerous occasions soon after we arrived, exchanged a few rounds of contentious speech acts (aka Arguments), leading to a temporary working relationship and communication meltdown that lasted for 2 weeks (aka Except for some unintelligible grunts and sighs, there were absolutely NO verbal exchanges despite us sharing cubicles, meetings, meals, walking tours and the occasional cab rides together).

5. One evening, I embarked on a frenzied Instant Noodle cooking marathon in my room as a result of inconsistent value propositions on food packaging versus customer’s experience and failed microwave-related experiments. Casualties, which were reported within ten minutes of each other, involved five packs of instant noodles from assorted regions and flavours, seven teriyaki meatballs and two spicy chicken wings. Post-traumatic symptoms included an extensive period of appetite loss and MSG-packed breath that lasted for three days.



6. That trusty microwave, in yet another faithful evening, bore witness to one more experiment, this time due to a sudden crave for chocolate-dipped strawberries. Casualties this round involved one bottle of Hershey’s syrup (promptly discarded after the discovery of better alternatives), one bar of Hershey’s chocolate (burnt and discarded due to a mixture of inexperience in handling microwave settings and over enthusiasm) and finally one full pack of Hershey’s kisses (melted progressively on intervals of 10 seconds in the microwave and finally SUCCESS!).

7. While wandering around Hermann Park during Japan Fest, I discovered that gastronomically gifted Western girls dressed in tight black spandex wear sweating it out on taiko (Japanese traditional drum) are supposedly the IN thing now in Houston, and so are lesbian couples in Japanese tea ceremony, saggy breasts or otherwise.

8. I had dinner one evening with a friendly gay manager from my company, who, through some twisted coincidental chains of events (otherwise known as fate) fished out this blog from among the 17,980 (and growing) gay KL blogs out there, then somehow theorized that the blogger works in the same company as him, and then concluded, with ample divine intervention, that I am the blogger AND THEN, with full confidence and utmost courage, confronted the author himself, via the company mail system, into the inevitable confession. I soon found myself in the company of three more queer colleagues and their partners whose company I absolutely enjoyed. Thanks for the warm err.. exposure, Eric!

9. Four weeks after my arrival, I have managed to collect an assortment of photos of cute Asian men (in a surprisingly high frequency of occurrences all over town) in my camera thanks to self-taught yet nevertheless professional skills in spy photography, but I had to DELETE THEM ALL when a wicked colleague decided that he absolutely have to see all the wonderful photos that I have captured on my camera without any delay. I hate straight people.

10. My bed buddies have been as diverse, if not more, as the err.. meals that I’ve had. Though I’d love to believe that this was brought about by the overzealous attempts to flee from my boredom, and that deep down I could only be totally fulfilled by an Asian guy.

11. I waited a full month and a half before visiting Midtowne Spa again, that dreadful bathhouse where guys with semi-erect cocks walk around naked, or lie wanking on the bed in their private cubicles with the door ajar, or pose invitingly with their legs open ‘kangkang’ waiting for eager suitors to dominate them. I find that rather crude. It’s really no fun minus all the playful eyeing, hunting, and escaping, which even though frusfrating at times, are totally necessary for the ultimate climax.

12. I spent two hours chatting online with a guy who confessed at the end that he absolutely enjoys fucking watermelon. I’m not sure why he’s telling me this, but the last time I checked myself in the mirror, I don’t look like a rounded cockmouth-watering juicy fruit.

13. Due to a strange but perfectly natural intolerance of my throat to plain water, I resorted to drinking flavoured green tea as the most preferred alternative after my arrival, and have since shockingly concluded that a steady diet of this beverage will cause your faeces to turn green (rather coated in a layer of green stuff) after the fourth week.

14. Just last week, in a faithful realization of Jay’s observation, a 73yo grandmother became the proud winner of a USD23mil casino jackpot and during an interview with a CNN reporter, announced that she had received two marriage proposals since the news broke. What has this got to do with me, you asked? Well nothing, except that I did spend a couple of minutes pondering the most enlightening contrast of gleaming new cash notes on weak, shriveled fingers.

15. I met a Thai guy one night (yeah, one of those rare ones here) who got so freaked out by how well I speak Thai that no explanations would settle his suspicion that I’m really one of his kind and just not admitting it. I had to show my identity card at the end before he would even touch me, that was after he did a quick check around the room for hidden cameras and potentially murderous objects like typewriters, high heel shoes and stunt guns.

Of Cobwebs And Hotel Rooms

Sitting in front of my laptop in the hotel room, frantically switching windows between chatroom sessions, yahoo messenger and blog sites, my life here in Houston seems to have shrunk to such a dreary existence that I sometimes feel utterly unmotivated to even breath. In a city where you could virtually hold a chinese 9-course dinner right in the middle of the road in downtown after office hours, and where folks whose sole idea of entertainment is eating out and growing fat, suddenly the whole notion of walking down Bukit Bintang, never mind its limited charms, becomes wildly exhilarating. Sure, you may have an entire gay neighborhood to yourself, but that also mean that hooking up is never more than a few doors away, leaving saunas pathetically deserted and discos few and far between. The good men are long gone I believe, grabbed by possessive, marriage-minded partners who sole purpose in life is to produce home-cooked meals to feed their husbands, while the weird and dysfunctional ones remain available to haunt whichever poor souls unlucky enough to cross their paths.

Now do allow me the luxury of busying myself with brushing off cobwebs that are starting to collect around my feet. And you’ll hear more about the weird men soon.

If You Are Thirsty In The Next Millenium...

Ramblings No. 98

I felt my body being tossed over. Took me a while to register where I was as I struggled to open my eyes and make sense of the dead quiet of the night. The unfamiliar setting, strangely more comfortable than the bed in my hotel room, had the presence of another company, who was just now positioned under the blanket below me, and busy savoring his find there. I could never have had the physical capacity to fight his enthusiasm, regardless of whether or not it was what seemed like four in the morning, not at that time, and again, not in the next morning, where at the same time, I had turned to the windows and caught sight, beyond the Venetian blinds, of pine trees swaying carelessly in the wind. I was then fixed a very relaxing Jacuzzi bubble bath to tickle my numb senses, looked on by two very eager Giant Schnauzers who hungrily licked up all the foam that I would carelessly flicked in their direction, and soon afterwards, came to me when I was at the pool with tattered tennis balls in the mouth begging to play fetch.

Three loads over the span of thirteen hours, I turned to look at him as he took the junction out from his sub-division, and wondered if it was just yesterday that we had said hi to each other in the chatroom.

I don’t know about you, but at times like this, I’m so fucking glad I’m gay.

The Stop Sign

“Stop sulking!” Glass Door rolled her eyes and snapped at Stop Sign. “Your emotions, seething red, or otherwise, mean nothing to no one besides yourself. You could lie there till your colours fade and your metal corrodes away, and all that’s left is a pile of metal dust that eventually disperses off into the wind, or you could just quit it and get back to work!”

Good Evening Houston

Signed off at 6:30pm from a deserted office on a Friday evening when even the cleaning lady was already done with her chores. Thought of my weekend plans as I took the 5-min walk back to the hotel but got too absorbed by the sight of lusty patches of greens on trees that I swore were perfectly bald just last week, and the random patterns of flowers dotting a perfectly manicured patch of lawn on both sides of the pavement, and how the setting sun seemed to have positioned itself to appear like a blinding lightbulb on the rooftop of a gated apartment.

Ok, I'm going to the chatroom for some inspirations.

The BravingKL Priceless List

Priceless are things drown in everyday commotions,
Resurrected in occasional reminiscence,
Yearned for in painful realisations,
And cried for in joyful reunions.
(unfortunately I'm still on the third line)


Magee Goreng Ayam: RM5:50
Milo Ais Kosong: RM1.50
Consuming the above combination at 3am in the company of 500 other patrons on dirt-and-leftovers-stained plastic tables and chairs spread out in a giant outdoor area used as a carpark during the day, complimented by Sungei-Wang-boutiques-wares-adorning Ah Bengs & Ah Lians fresh from pubbing, weekly sisters gatherings & night bird watching, insurance & direct sales mini seminar, limitless replays of chinese comedies from the 90s and live EPL matches: Priceless


Entrance to Mandi Manda: RM30
Exploring the darkened corridors dotted with creatures in various stages of evolution, DNA mutations and the aging process, and in a variety of copulation combinations and style improvisations, complimented by free on-floor and on-wall cum deposits, and on-air sound effects: Priceless


Parking at Low Yatt: RM3 for the first hour and RM1.50 for each subsequent hour
Brokeback Mountain DVD9, complete with special features: RM8
Golden Fried Rice from Causeway Bay: RM16.90
Being a part of the mass congregation of testosterone-charged college students and cash-packed fellow IT enthusiasts on a Saturday afternoon, amidst a staggering array of wares at cost-price grazing and breakneck competition, complimented by a healthy dose of gaydar triggers and startlingly ‘pecah’ cruising activities in the washrooms: Priceless


Petrol: RM1.92/litre
Toll charges: RM0.50 onwards
Being able to jump into my car and go wherever my heart desires at any time, never mind illusive potholes, hammer and chainsaw bearing road bullies, daredevil motorcyclists on suicide mode, queue-jumping drivers with imaginary wives in labour pain and creatively fashioned and administered fuck-you gestures: Priceless


Hotel Transfer to Bush International: USD70
Neck pillow to brave the 27-hour journey home: Complimentary
Gifts for family and friends: Undisclosed
To be back once again to experience all the above: Simply Priceless!

Off Season For Love

During times when I felt I was absolutely choking from the still cold air of my hotel room and from the tired smell of instant noodle cooking in the microwave, he seemed to have come to my rescue. Fluffy may be too busy doing rounds with his buddies to give much priority to a pathetic visitor from halfway around the globe, but he, this different bundle of kindness and joy, couldn’t seem to get enough.

“Thank you for liking me.”

I stayed very still in his arms on the heated air bed of his room, stark naked except for a warm towel carelessly thrown across my stomach. If anything, those five words only made me cringe in an overpowering pang of tortuous emotion as soon as it hit my ears. I felt betrayed, for letting myself trade my body in exchange of some random caring and attention that were sadly just within convenient reach and nothing more. I felt pity, for I saw in his eyes endless nights of yearning for someone who would finally make his emotional investments worth while, of which I could, on many occasions, relate painfully to as well.

And then I felt a sense of panic, for the slightest hint of ill-anticipated affection would now launch within me an irreversible reaction to wildly reject any further act of love with cruel weapons of confusion, pain, agony and finally disappointment and defeat, to rid memories of any remnants of joy and to deny anticipation of any remains of hope. This is the perfect solution to a complication-free ending, my heart is never wired to handle and accept this concoction of goodness anyway, just like how I would pinch myself or blink helplessly in doubt when hearing an unbelievably good piece of news. My childhood curse in full bloom, nurtured to perfection with years of practice. I wish I had the strength to face it.

The bag of clothes he got for me is still lying at one corner of my hotel room, and has remained untouched since it arrived. I lied that they all fitted me beautifully.

I'm happy. I was.

BRAVEHEART ^[99]

Fluffy Sticky Cotton Candy

He seemed perpetually trapped in an endless loop of the verse of this catchy hit, and with the accompanying percussion effects of his hands on the steering wheel, I couldn’t stop giggling. As we drove past Niko Niko’s, I thought it resembled that Greek song that was spinning there last night, but he said Mexican music is different, and so was he. We didn’t seem to be in a hurry to find food, nevertheless the queer-choked emissions emanating from Cafe Adobe on a Monday night was like a far-reaching searchlight on a darkened winter night, impossible to miss, and so we joined in the cacophony of clanking wine glasses in the middle of sisterhood gatherings, beauty and fashion parade and raunchy talk shows with generous compliments of glittering evening wear, gym show-offs and mobile phone conversations. I saw the same spot where I had sat at on my first visit here. Strangely, it didn’t seem so hard to let go now.

Our conversations would run on and on post dinner to a teahouse where I taught him how to play Big 2 (and got beaten at every round except the first) till we returned to my room, of which the highlight would only arrived, better late than never, during the farewell hug at 1am that went into overtime and took on a life of its own. He caught the lingering base note of my perfume, and using the pretext of wanting to identify the brand, continued to hold on to me to extend his investigation.

He wasn’t even trying anymore before long. The anticipation of an impending farewell had just the opposite effect, so we continued to stay very still, both standing in a dozy embrace, solidified at the brink of a bidding kiss, just behind the hotel door.

I thought that was bliss.

When our lips finally met, I was skimming the thin line of consciousness at 3am, found myself under the sheets, looking at him sweating silly struggling to pull down my shorts that were already half way down my butt. I reached for his fluffy hair and closed my eyes again, all the while thinking that I had never been happier since I arrived three weeks ago.

I am happy. I am.

BRAVEHEART ^[98]

Ramblings No.97

Eyes shut tight, Dorothy, fretful and all, clapped the heels of her shoes together three times and said,

There is no place like home.

There is no place like home.

There is no place like home.

And then she opened her eyes.

Butterflies And March Skies

Sub 15 chilly wind
Warm sunlight that tickles my skin

Blue cloudless sky
Strangers who greet you in the eye

Drizzling morning
I dream of Magee Mee Goreng

Broken CD tracks
Dandy flowers from pavement cracks

Deserted streets
Frozen overnight pizza from the fridge

Muted sigh
Stumbling and shivering down my spine

Sexy cowboys
Gleaming Rolls Royce

Collossal guts
Second to none except gigantic butts

Mindless comedies on TV
Restless mind searching for the exit key

Threesome in my room
Loneliness subsided but came back too soon

Two weeks down
Eight more to complete the round

Broken-Hearted Mountain

Ennis Del Mar lifted Jack's shirt. It seemed heavy until he saw there was another shirt inside it, the sleeves carefully worked down inside the outer sleeves. It was his own plaid shirt, lost, he'd thought, long ago in some damn laundry, his dirty shirt, the pocket ripped, buttons missing, stolen by Jack and hidden here inside Jack's own shirt, the pair like two skins, one inside the other, two in one. He pressed his face into the fabric and breathed in slowly through his mouth and nose, hoping for the faintest smoke and mountain sage and salty sweet stink of Jack but there was no real scent, only the memory of it, the imagined power of Brokeback Mountain of which nothing was left but what he held in his hands.

asuddengustofwind

asuddengustofcoldwindcameupandcaughtmebeforeImanaged
topullmyloosejacketclosertomybody/ibitmylipssohardithought
itastedblood/feltgoosebumpsraisedandrubbedagainstthethinm
aterialofmylongsleeveshirtasthinastheexcitementofthistriphas
worn/mummessagedtoremindmethatihavenotphonedhomefort
hreedays/strangelyiseemtohavegottenusedtothedailyroutineo
fwakinguptoahotelroomthatfeltasfamiliarasthefacesofstranger
swhowouldgreetmegoodmorningintheelevatorslateronandthen
thecabridestotheofficewhereiwouldwatchstreetscenesflippast
inafrenziedblurwithanoccasionalbuildingortwowherepleasantm
emoriesofthenotsodistantpastwerestaged/andthenformealsve
nturedaroundtownarmedwithacompanyexpensecardofaseemin
glybottomlesscreditlimitandthentheaccompanyingstarkrealizat
ionofhowcruellyblandthetastereallyiswhentheheartisnotsettos
avouritsvariousculinarywonders/andthenasenselessmonologue
ofquietexistencebackinthehotelroomdottedwithcountlessdesp
erateattemptstoconnectwithanythinghomethesuddengustofc
oldwindleftmeasswiftlyasithadappearedidonotknowwhenitwillc
omemywayagainbutihopeillbereadywhenitdoes

Once Upon A Time In Sugarland

Walking down Westheimer holding two bags of groceries in my hand, my eyes strained to brave the blinding mid afternoon sun. It seemed I would be the only one crazy enough to actually not commute in a car, which may explain why the pedestrian traffic light stayed green long enough only to jolt me from my pithy reverie at the junction, causing me to break into a jog crossing to the other side of the road while the waiting vehicles got ready to be on their way.

I seemed to have done such a great job convincing myself I will never return to this city that the entire episode of experiencing the same settings again had such a surreal quality to it that I sometimes found myself short of air in disbelief. I wanted to reject this reality, yet I knew right from the first day I had arrived, that things didn’t seem like they were the first time around at all.

There were no rushing off for dinners after work, no coffee in Montrose, no kisses in the car, no holding hands in the cinema, no rushing to get ice-cream past midnight, no waking up to Kata, no Sugarland. No hurricanes. No nothing.

Was this still the same city that I had looked down, from the window of the departing plane, with such painful longing for all the things that went right?

The blinding sun kept pounding as I continued my walk back to the hotel, I thought I would never figure out the answer.



讓快樂　為我展開
和你共敘　原是可愛
為我盡力鍍上光彩
無奈惡運難以因你改

逝去舊夢　願你拋開
懷愐舊事　徒令感慨
求求你　讓我躲開
明知跟我沒將來

當飛花要片片飛別離時刻真的不會改
盼艷陽常為你照就如挽回全部愛
多少淚　多少歡樂　化做無盡愛
默默回味過去情意
一一收起關進心坎內

今天美景不能再
不要為我添愁哀
似夕陽在散餘暉
將消失在可見未來

梅艳芳 〈赤的疑惑〉

小人物大人国

洛杉矶机场有种难以形容的味道。帅气的移民警察再次地把我引去做额外登陆手续时，嗅多几次后才突然察觉真的又回来了。应付了一大堆问题，差点连阴茎长短也要检查，终于都还是有点不甘愿地盖了几个印让我离去。

酒店厨房送来的Pizza太多了一口气吃不完，又要分两餐为公司省钱了。用比在云顶户外颤抖得还要厉害的手拉上厚厚的被，对着酒店里的三面墙配上一面六点半就黑漆漆的天空，有种被自己的期待所欺骗的感觉。

前几天好像才在Midvalley乱逛，一觉醒来连身边最熟悉的床都不见了。从前做对的、做错的、多做的、少做的似乎失去价值。生命在这之前真的存在过？

小人物到大人国漫游，谁得空在乎他在想什么。

The Alzheimer's Patient

I watched a play yesterday.

The play itself was not particularly heart wrenching, though the teary-eyed sister in front of me would let out the loudest sniff again to remind me that we all have very different emotional thresholds. Yet somehow, the various implications of the story cast me into another bout of helpless reminiscent.

Sitting in the passenger seat watching a drenched KL street scene passed by in a blur, it was like witnessing my own play being staged right on the windscreen, yet again, like the long shadows of a sunset that stubbornly clings on to you no matter where you turn, except that perhaps a sunset does not last as long. I blinked helplessly wishing that I would snap out of it, yet how do you escape the sun.

The play told of a young man suffering from Alzheimer’s who would forget his way home every time it rained. During a similar episode one afternoon, a passer-by came to his rescue with an umbrella and they fell in love. The story ended tragically with the rescuer killed in a horrid accident, and the Alzheimer’s patient would go on with his life unable to recall even his name. Memories, it seemed, were mere waves on a vast ocean that would sink without a trace as quickly as they had risen. It didn’t matter if it had reached a record-breaking height, or if it rose in a peculiar way no other waves had risen before it. It was just destined to follow the law of the gravity and return to where it belongs.

In a cruel analogy in the play, the Alzheimer’s patient’s painstaking effort to document his memories in a laptop became fruitless when a malfunction wiped out all data. And he could only watch and wait helplessly as the disease ripped him slowly, piece by piece, of all his most precious moments in life. They may be heart-warming recounts, painful recollections, or life changing and defining instances, yet they deserved only the shortest of existence.

We all too, I realised in the end, suffer from Alzheimer’s. Just like the lead character in the play who would go on to forget the most profound love in his life, we shut down our mental facilities selectively and decide to forget many things, like the guy whom we have confessed our love to, or the one we have promised not to forget, or the one whose life we had gone all way out to destroy. Perhaps you forgot how much it meant at that point in time, but the disease has no cure, and you are just a helpless wave destined to return to the ocean.

I remember I have loved a man.

I remember I have loved..

I remember I have..

I remember..

I..

..

When I Dream Again

It seemed to me like I’m back in the strange cold city all by myself again. Dragging my luggage from the airport exit, I remember taking a deep breath of air on that quiet mid summer morning, as deep as you would take if I were to ask you to hold your breath for 30 seconds, and then suddenly realized that I could never just jump into any vehicle to reach home even if I had the strongest and most desperate urge to be at the place I rightfully belong.

And then the meetup on that same night that would cast a spell so strong I could only be helplessly swept along its torrents of emotional ecstasy.

Looking out the airplane window towards the vast expanse of land below me on the day of my departure a month later, my eyes strained as they greedily captured every last detail of all things Houstonian that flooded my vision.

I thought I would never be back again, until a few days ago.

But yet, just like how cruelly different life will turn out even if you were to relive it and make exactly the same choices all over again, I know I would never relive my first trip anymore. Yet, as I step out of Bush International Airport for the second time next month, I would remember to put on a broad smile, as I hold on to the fond memories of this city, and then hail a cab and brave whatever dreams that may now come my way.

Oh gosh, no more hurricanes please.

Elephant Bites

The still air choked of his perspiration as we continued to hold on to each other in the stuffy private cubicle. I ran my fingers down his spine and into his drenched hair, and quivered as I felt his tongue touched my ears. Then I knew immediately that I had again slipped into a dream. For only in dreamland would the heightened emotions seemed so surreal, yet as much profound as it would be short-lived; for only in dreamland would I be able to terminate my passion as quickly as the folding door had slipped open again, and then looked back and congratulate myself for having remembered it all. Fantasies it seemed could be warped to form this shape and that in a dream, yet they would seem every bit irrelevant and laughable in reality. I let it ran its full course, never once thought of reliving the tiniest fraction of what I was feeling when the show drew close, and yet, I realized, with a mix of disbelief and glee that some of these passion had indeed crossed over into the real world in the form of tiny love bites.

In the attempt to return the favour, I was told to wait for elephant-sized bites. Perhaps dreams do not terminate brutally, but traverse the day to play again when night falls. How could you tell?

BRAVEHEART ^[97]

To Leo, With Horror

Just into my third round checking out the facilities and my little brother had suffered its eighth pinch, sneakily and professionally administered at the right moment and angle, to maximize on the element of surprise, rendering the victim shocked and helpless, thus ensuring that a swift escape was possible. The culprits, as high in volume as they were persistent, matched the standard stereotypical descriptions of thinning hair, greasy face, triple chin and colossal gut, with room to spare for foul-smelling breath and rotten teeth. Revenge by mean of reciprocation, of course, would be God-sent for them. I had to suffer the inconvenience of walking around with completely cupped private parts.

Over at the little lounge, the owner, dressed in chequered skimpy hotpants (and nothing more), was dashing around silly putting up the finishing touches of some decorations for the Chap Goh Meh event on a tiny stage. Joining her on stage was one of her fellow sisters, just now in the middle of a karaoke performance. It was a song from the 70s era I believe. The establishment’s very effective in-house sound system ensured full, uninterrupted coverage (complete with the haunting falsettos, out-of-tempo and off-key effects) to every crook and corner of the sauna, dirty cracks of the toilets and cum-stained ply-wood partitioned walls of the dark rooms not excluding.

The hunks, all gathered at the darkened lounge at the entrance of the maze, seemed too disinterested to show any form of reaction. Their shadows were the only thing that were moving, thrown onto the walls by candle lights from aromatherapy burners. These crème de la crème, top of the crop, objects of desire didn’t have to lift an eyebrow to have their egos blown out of proportion here. Any remotest hint of interest would go against their principles and throw their holy images to dirt. So here they sat, since time immemorial, to glorious eternity.

I stood, for the longest of time too, in front of a cement structure carelessly pieced together to hold a pool of muddy water that was being piped in from a few hoses running over the edges. I think it resembled a Jacuzzi.

Roy said we should leave. I thought I would love to stay for the party, but that was before I stepped on something mushy in the showers. It felt like a soaked lump of tissue paper, but of course the unmistakable stinting smell was no mistake at all.

Time to head home.

This Weekend ...

... I will be bravingPenang for a change.

解脱(不了）的翅膀

离开了在48分钟内亲了无数次的颈项，浴室里猛察身上遗留下的精液，抹干后就只剩下发间淡淡的香水味。
除去了身上乱抓的手指，逃离了泡沫派对里纠缠的身躯，兜完19哩短短的走廊到了大厅，心跳早就恢复了真常。
脱离黑房让人憩息的黑暗来到电视间，看了32分钟无聊的综艺节目，嚼得无味的口香糖让人作呕。
删除了手机银幕上显示的9个未接电话，提醒自己必须一一回复，然后收好手机，拉紧毛巾再重新出发。
踏出备有电子装备控制开关的大门，顺手拿了一粒糖，向老板招招手，说：

"下星期见"

And The Owner Says: Let There Be Private Rooms

The Year of Dog seems to signal more hornydays to come as Kakiku sped up its improvement frenzy with the recent addition of private rooms to its line-up of facilities.

Oh, Come, All Ye Lusful.

The Ritual

I thought it was not too long ago that I had stood here, in this same spot in front of the gleaming monochrome iron gates of Aunt Susie’s house, yet it was time again for the Ritual. One last check to confirm I had meticulously disassociated my attire with any remnants of the much dreaded colour Black (sometimes even shades of gray), and then I twisted the lock that duly let out a deafening squeal, signaling my arrival to the occupants inside.

A glorious glare of Gold and Red blinded my vision as soon as the living room came into sight, but I already knew what to come. Like a clockwork toy that had just been freshly wound, my hands immediately curled together in an auspicious embrace, and age-old proverbs that conveyed wishes of longevity, prosperity, beauty, health and wealth starting flowing out of my mouth. My expressions had cooperated well in a harmonious act, I believe, for I was rewarded with red packets and the satisfied looks of both Mum and Aunt Susie, who were just now gleaming from ear to ear, wrist to wrist, ring and chain. Senseless pleasantries soon erupted. In this auspicious day, one had to be generous in dispensing compliments and greetings of the sweetest form that seemed fit only for the Gods.

Amidst piles of brightly-coloured toys, half empty drinking glasses and packet drinks, stray ang pow packets, pineapple tarts and peanut cookie crumbs and different crumbled sections of the New Straits Times, I embarked on a laborious act to create a space to land my butt on. Cousin Elaine was totally occupied with the task at hand - ensuring that a little bowl of porridge would disappear down the throat of two-year-old Neng Neng, and thus looked like the least harmful place for me to spend these long hours in, hopefully too far a distance for prying questions about my singlehood to traverse.

A splat of hot porridge erupted and landed on my jeans. Neng Neng, just over thirty seconds since my arrival, had decided that it was time to declare war on her Mum, denying any further consumption of the (tasteless) nutritious porridge that she was being forced down with. A scene of disbelief, anger, struggle and panic, packed with enough dramatic effects the likes of Chinese Opera, immediately ensued, as Cousin Elaine evaluated the damage of the overturned porridge bowl, its content hitting the farthest end of the living room. Cousin Hwa passed the phone from his brother who had called from the States over to Uncle Frankie and rushed over for damage control, only to increase the volume of screams from Neng Neng. Joining the scene were praises from Aunt Susie, pleasantly amazed by the strength of her adorable grand daughter, followed by lectures by Cousin Julie about the importance of early childhood disciplining.

Obviously unimpressed by the act of his little sister, Jern Jern grabbed the remote and decided to share a Chinese New Year variety show with everyone in the room. With tunes played to death since time immemorial blasting in the background, the hostesses were dispensing feng shui tips and the new year’s insights with folks who were either too naïve or lazy to decide fate on their own. Uncle Frankie struggled to hear his beloved son on the phone, and launched a tug of war with this grandson for the remote. Of course, he forgot entirely about a similar set of buttons on the TV unit itself.

Grand-cousin Yang Li lay motionless on the single seater sofa, slumped on top of a pile of teddy bears and other soft toys, seemingly unamused or disinterested by the happenings around her. Her eyelids slowly drew close, then suddenly jerked ajar, conscious of the resulting displeasures from her Mum who had warned her about the effects of staying up late to finish her long overdue home assignment, and of course, the dreaded comparison she would make with younger sister Yang Min, who seemed more organized and academically gifted.

I couldn’t seem to piece together the events that followed, yet somehow amidst the chaos were laughter and sharing, and admist the senseless pleasantries were a stronger force of family ties and undeniable emotional connections that had persistently brought us back here together, on this first day of the first month of the Chinese lunar year.

The Ritual, age-old and disconnected from modern times as it may be, had yet again served its purpose.

A Little Pre-CNY Dream

Our eyes met again. Against the muted hum of the lift lobby air conditioning on a quiet late pre Chinese New Year afternoon, we continued to lock on to each other, quietly, as you continued your walk from the washroom back to your desk at the left wing, and me, in my stationary state waiting for the elevator to arrive.

Each second seemed to last the longest of time, every blink of the eye, every breath, every anxious tap of fingertips against the side of my pants, every slight quiver on the lips were frozen and broken down into frames before being played back in sequence, like a painfully long-winded yet vibrantly stunning Wong Kar-Wai movie. Greedily, we fed our brains with images of each other, praying that they would last another long weekend before and extend their survival beyond the festive season.

As you advanced to within an arm’s length from me, our lips curled upwards, almost breaking into a smile, and our throats cleared, almost breaking into a ‘Hi’. But then my olfactory sensors drowned in your perfume, and I lost my bearings. Our eyes struggled to lock on as you continued on your path. Any extended contact would mean an unnatural twist to the neck, and so reluctantly, we let go of each other, and retreated back into our little worlds.

Yet another futile contact, so close yet helplessly far. While I would normally celebrate a quiet personal victory of having demanded your attention for even just a few seconds, this time there was a new surge of panic. The days of our delirious encounters are numbered. Just another month and I’ll be moving on to another location. Will fate take a twist if you were to know this?

The elevator door held open briefly, before closing shut again in front of me. I adjusted the strap of my laptop, took in one final breath of the remains of your lingering perfume, and imagined that I had wished you:

“Happy Chinese New Year, Uncle.”

BRAVEHEART ^[96]

Perhaps Not

He sat on the bench in the Safari Room, quiet, redrawn and oblivious to the busy Saturday traffic, which was just now reaching another peak as they made their way to the foam shower. The floor, a sea of carelessly placed pebbles, seemed to swim in and out of focus under the subtle hum of candle lights. For a very long time, his head continued to hang low, hands interlocked in a tight embrace with each other, as if in the deepest of thoughts.

Perhaps our session just now was too intense he needed time to quietly savour every moment and track every piece of action and emotion that had transpired, right from the anxious shiver of our first contact to the pleasant shudder of the climax at the end. Perhaps not.

Perhaps he knew I was watching him from the bench on the other side of this tiny room that stood between the hangout area and the action area of Kakiku, and was busy contemplating if it would break the standard arrangement if he were to maintain contact after the session was over. He could be fighting an internal war, one between pride and pleasure, and was rendered helplessly motionless as it ran its entire course. Perhaps not.

Perhaps then, the lingering smell of our cum on the towel wrapped around his body was too disarming. Intertwined in a giant mess of cotton fibers were the sinful, potent deposits evident of breathtaking moments on the bed in the common dark room moments ago. And he could not overcome the pity of having all these washed off his body just yet, for he was the one who had so diligently collected them, every last drop of it, with his towel. Perhaps not.

Perhaps he was afraid that the mere raising of an eyebrow, or the slight curl of his lips, or the most subtle twitch of his finger tips would send enough courage and motivation on me to immediately rush over to him and be once again, drown in a sea of lustful desires afforded by a very accomplished physique. And so, he killed all actions and shut off all reactions, to everyone in general, and to the one single guy he had given his undivided attention for, in particular, so that he would not have to face the fear of defeat. Perhaps not.

Skirting the edges between yes’s and no’s, could’s and could not’s, maybe yes’s and maybe not’s are perhaps what made life so worth living. I could never have the answers, but I would be perpetually happy knowing that it could be a YES.

Perhaps love? Perhaps not.

BRAVEHEART ^[95]

Brand New Name, Same Old Place

The friendly Indian carpark operator misses your parking fee.
The hungry stray dog misses you tidbits.
The ignorant housewives living a few doors away misses your laughter.
The seven sins of Mirage misses your indulgences.
The lonely private rooms misses your moans.
The 198 flights of stairs miss your adrenalin.
The tiny steam room and sauna miss your sweat glands.
The plywood cubicle walls miss your cum.

The new owner welcomes you.
The new coat of paint welcomes you.
The new collection of plastic plants welcome you.

Mirage is history,
M Club welcomes you.

Mandi Manda: A Map of Indulgence

(Click on images for larger view)

A Map of Indulgence: Kakiku (Updated)

Click on image for larger view

In nervous anticipation of an increasingly heated competition with the new player in the sauna scene and the impending reopening of Mirage, Kakiku recently speeded up its improvement frenzy to savage customers’ loyalty, with a few pleasant changes to its offerings, including free dinner and double sessions of its famed foam parties during special nights, a third dark room, and the extension of its steam room area.

More grounds to cover, but momentum is picking up. Bravo! *clap* *clap*