Grinding Tofu

Rarely indeed do you hear me speak of my sapphic sisters.

Mostly because I believe they are far better at blending into the heteronormative background than us blindingly flamboyant fags. Flaming pack of fags strutting down the street certainly draw far more unwanted attention than a group of butch looking females lighting up smokes in a corner. Even then you never can tell - gay-dar doesn't work in this case obviously. Seriously, lesbian ninja much?

Till now, the lesbians that I do know personally number less than five - and even then I wouldn't call these girls extremely bosom buddies. Perhaps from a serious lack of commonality - such as an uncommon interest in dicks :)

Be that as it may, one term has always made me curious. 磨豆腐. Basically it means grinding tofu in Cantonese - and actually refers to the act of being a lesbian. Obscure enough term that even our good boy Charming Calvin hasn't heard of it.

Never could fathom the maddeningly cryptic description. Either it crudely suggests two women grinding it up against each other, referencing the grinding stones used to make tofu. Or perhaps the lesser known legend about wrapping a tofu slab in a silk sleeve as a makeshift dildo.

Man #1 : How about we grind some tofu?
Man #2 : WTF Are you speaking Chinese?
Man #1 : Doesn't it mean something like frottage?
Man #2 : When it refers to lesbians, maybe!

Obviously that term scares even the orthodox Hasidic Jews since they've banned students from eating soya in a senseless bid to reduce homosexuality. Just like our ill-advised authorities and their homophobic practices, they also allow mindless prejudice to blind them to simple logic. Supposedly the students in a yeshiva have been forbidden from trying soya products due to the unwanted hormones. Making them feminine, turning them gay... hopefully in that order.

Or perhaps they have heard about grinding tofu?

Confession is Good for the Soul

Rare indeed to catch me with a wide, sincere smile, especially on photographs. Unlike my more ingenuous friends who grin shamelessly from ear to ear the moment a camera shutter clicks, I'm usually uncharacteristically sullen in pictures, perhaps a hint of a knowing smirk at the most.

Which is why Charming Calvin decided to give me that gift for my birthday last weekend.

I don't think I've stopped smiling since then. You see, it's been a long while that we're together. And we tend to takes things for granted after a while, even relationships. Sometimes we even lose sight of what we loved about each other right in the beginning. Some of his more exasperating idiosyncrasies start grating, gradually driving me certifiably insane; no doubt the same happens to him as well with me and my endlessly provoking ways.

Nobody's looking! Maybe I can smile in here!

And then every once in a while he does something wonderful.

Like a disconcerting public confession. Just imagine what I felt when I found myself tagged on a post online.

It all started during a time when blogging was all the hype, before people started spilling all their thoughts on Facebook or Twitter, or finding each other using social apps on smartphones. I used to be a blogger and I followed his blog religiously. He writes very well - funny, opinionated, sarcastic - it's like music to my ears reading his entries everyday. And my, the number of fans he has, would be awesome if I had just a quarter of his.

I thought to myself, such a person must already have a boyfriend (our sexuality wasn't a secret in our blogs), and even if he didn't, he wouldn't want a nobody like me. I had just started exploring the gay community around me and I didn't have confidence then. He was so popular in the gay blogosphere, surely a lot of people were lining up at his doorstep.

Still, after contemplating it for a few months (due to the fear of trying to make friends with someone out of my league), I decided to write to him. I sent him a fan mail which I thought was really embarrassing. I wasn't expecting a reply but to my surprise, I did. He was very friendly and funny. We exchanged emails and subsequently decided to meet up.

As we were in different cities then, he drove to mine and picked me up at a train station. Eager to please, I prepared a present for him, even though it was our first time meeting each other. Yes, I'll admit I was a bit desperate, but it was a sincere gesture really, and one that sealed the deal, according to him.

We became a couple, and it's been 7 years now, even though he would tell people that it is 8. We don't know when is the anniversary, just vaguely around April to July. This comes in handy as there wouldn't be any reason to argue about forgetting the anniversary now.

They say opposites attract, it couldn't be any truer on us. I'm introverted and he's outgoing. He loves to read while I hardly do so. I'm a bit OCD while he's a bit messy. He prefers walking about to shop and I like sitting down for tea. He's strong and healthy while I'm an incubus of viral plagues. Who knew we could be together for this long? Perhaps that's why they say find a person who makes you feel complete, because that's what I feel when I'm with him.

Our relationship isn't all easy breezy. We are apart from each other most of the time in the past 7 years, and I'm talking oceans apart. The dreaded long distance relationship that ruins countless couples, be it gay or straight. But we managed, we trust each other. Maybe I am just naive, but you either trust or give up the relationship. Because staying in a relationship without trust is self-torturing and emotionally taxing. It does no good to anyone.

His birthday is coming up and all I want to say is, thank you for loving me, just the way I am. Happy birthday my dear, I love you.

Of course I was terribly embarassed. Conservative old-fashioned fuddy-duddy that I am, public displays of affection are endlessly shocking to me. Would probably have hastily hidden behind a pillar if anyone was watching. Appalled that everyone was out there reading and possibly commenting unfavourably on our relationship.

But was I secretly preening to hear the man I love proclaim that fact out in the open?

If you could only see the smile on my face.

Look on my face? Priceless I tell ya. 

Brief Inspection

They always say that real life is never quite as glamorous as reel life.

Like me frequently insisting that unlike the much idealized medical dramas on the telly, dashing doctors aren't all that common in the hospital corridors. Few overstudious nerds resemble the impossibly delicious McSteamy - and after a hectic 12 hour shift, most look like unkempt dishevelled zombies just waiting to tear the heads off whoever blurts out the next banal statement. And trust me, you'll hardly ever find flattering medical scrubs that actually fit that well.

But my sad prejudice only extends to my own career milieu.

Mention lawyer and I immediately melt into a steamy puddle of unbridled lust. For despite what my lawyer buddies keep telling me, I still find it hard to believe that the legal firms aren't teeming with sharp, sexy solicitors steaming up the boardrooms with their innate sex appeal and rapier-sharp wit.

And the suits. Seriously. Almost every man turns out well in a suit.

For instance our incredibly dapper Mr Agos here. So many indescribably perverted things I would do to him.

Which unfortunately isn't what happens in real life.

Paul : Here I am hoping for a Cary Agos.
Beagle : Reel life and real life lawyers are worlds apart!
Paul : No sleek suits? Surely the male interns wear deliciously slim fitting trousers as well!
Beagle : I've never seen a male intern squeeze into anything smaller than a size 38. Not in this firm at least.
Paul : Good God but interns are practically children! Waist of 38?
Beagle : Law firms have notoriously well stocked pantries. Steady stream of Oreos, peanut butter sandwich cookies, tea fingers and breakfast buffet of nasi lemak, mee goreng or beehoon.
Paul : Dammit, we only had cream crackers and endless coffee in our hospital pantries! Luxury would be instant noodles!

And the Legal Beagle tells me most of the boys don't wear suits. At least not regularly.

Birthday Blues

Decidedly not mine though.

Ever since I was a child, my overly conscientious mother has taken particular care to organize our neighbourhood birthday parties with specially dishes, delicacies and desserts. Way before fabulous party planners had made their presence felt here, my micromanaging mother already had entire soirees planned right down to the most trivial decorations. As we grew up - and sadly away from such seemingly childish pursuits, we could always depend on that annual cake with a candle on it. Not to mention the indispensable red wine mee sua for the occasion. Invariably a reason to celebrate when it comes to my mother.  

Obviously something I inherited from her. Always liked my parties. 

Brought up in an entirely dissimilar environment, Charming Calvin has a different approach to parties. For instance the coming birthday party for his little nephew this weekend, rather than take my simple suggestion of getting balloons, soap bubble blowers and popcorn, Calvin eschewed the lot and went for a small consolation gift instead. If I had my wherewithal, there would have been a circus elephant, stage magician and several dancing pandas. 

Grrr. Stupid Paul. Going to such lengths for a kiddie party. 

Then again I like to overdo things. He prefers it a little more understated. 

Hard to blame Calvin though since incidental birthdays didn't figure large in his family timetable. Such insignificant events to mark the passage of time might as well be forgotten. Always the pragmatic lot, the Borgias have much better things to do rather than quarrel over party pennants and gift ribbons. 

Well ilustrated by this shocking exchange a few weeks ago at the Borgia Family compound. 

Calvin : I'm heading out for a dinner. 

Madame Borgia :  Again? Why? Another of Paul's parties? 

Calvin : It's for a birthday. 

Madame Borgia : Oh. How festive. Who's birthday is it? 

Calvin : Mine.

Madame Borgia : Oh. Are you sure? 

Calvin : Yes, it's my birthday.

Madame Borgia : Nice. Enjoy yourself.

No, they don't appreciate birthdays as much as we do. 

Which is odd. Life gives us so much crap some times so why not take the time to enjoy the small joys we have! 

A Lush Garden Wedding

Well it's about time someone tied the knot :)

In a surprisingly sweet turn of events, turns out Fabulous Fiona is the first one down the aisle. After receiving the all important proposal from her longtime beau, she set out efficiently organizing her own violet-and-olive themed wedding, planning everything from the lunchtime menu to the dinner dresses.

All I had to do was get my suit ready - along with a suitably matching batik bow with both those colours.

For the rest of the Lushes, we were just too pleased with her choice in men. Sweet, easygoing, unassuming prince of a fellow. Always makes me smile thinking of the first time Fiona brought him over for the introduction.

Paul : Wow, amazing name!
Fiona : Yeah, he's great as well. British Thai mix. 
Paul : OMG He must be incredibly hawt!
Fiona : Umm...
Paul : With the winning combination of Thai and British genes, he must be tall, fair and undeniably gorgeous!
Fiona : Not really ... though from my point of view, he is handsome. 
Paul : That's really all that matters. 

Then again I'm a half-Thai troll myself.

What I initially expected! Ashita Xu Chaemchamrat, far from a troll.

More importantly though, the planned wedding gave us all a chance to get together after so many years apart. Shameless Shalom finally back home in Malacca in our old stomping grounds, Statuesque Sarah creating a fearsome legend for herself in Singapore while Lissome Lorelei does her usual swimming to-and-fro between Penang and Kuala Lumpur.

And me languishing on the other side of the Big Puddle.

So we made the most of it by renting an apartment together for two nights of dinner and drinking. Not to mention dozens of embarassing selfies hours before the wedding. I had to make my new bespoke suit worth it, didn't I? 

Pink Blood Test

Each time an inane politician in our country comes up with something insanely homophobic just to garner popular attention, I just shake my head with a sigh thanking God that I'm at least working with some relatively mature, tolerant individuals in the medical field. Very few reputable medical schools around the world still offer archaic arguments that homosexuality is a disease, even fewer would attempt to cure it.

Sure there would be a handful of close-minded zealots prejudiced against homosexuals but I still have faith that they would treat them as well as any of their other patients regardless of any ill feeling. Hippocratic Oath and all that. 

Then something like this controversial article comes up from the Gulf States and I have to wonder. 

As a brief summary, a medical test is being developed by Kuwait which will be used to 'detect' homosexuals therefore preventing them from entering any of the Gulf States. Yes, basically a medically sanctified gaydar. No mention on trying out those experimental investigations on the unfortunate local gay fellows already within their increasingly homophobic borders.

Oh no it's the religious police again - and I think they are carrying syringes this time around. Man, is that a new fetish like the whip? 

Let me be the first to say that any sane, rational physician who would claim such a monumental scientific discovery should have an immediate CT brain since something incredibly vital seems to have gone missing. 

Basically get his head checked.  

What exactly are they implying? That homosexuality is a detectable virus that can infect the susceptible common man? Or that perhaps something irrevocably changes in a gay man's DNA that is easily verifiable on a simple medical test? Either way if it can be proven by basic science, that would confirm that homosexuality is inherently biological, proving the 'born that way' hypothesis. Nature rather than nurture. 

Guess Gaga was quite prophetic. 

Shirts Off Now

Over in Bali where it's shirtless men galore.

And we're talking about really buff, tanned surfer dudes with excellent sculpted physiques, not the potbellied ah peks airing their rounded tummies here. Or the ancient super-tanned bules escorting the fawning local Balinese boy toys.

Welcome to the islands!

So I'll admit the island is really good for eye candy browsing. At least for me. Pretty boys as far as the eye can see, stripping off their batik shirts at the very leanest excuse to bare their chiselled torsos. Mostly Caucasian sorts who noticeably chafe at the sweltering tropical heat since the hardened locals tend to keep their shirts on.

Certainly not an unwarranted striptease on a main street right outside a cafe. Like this handsome fellow did right by our table, though he didn't have all that much on apart from his ratty shorts and well-worn Bintang tanktop. Not that I minded the impromptu burlesque show.

Unfortunately it turns out the harmless sexperience was a little different for Charming Calvin.

Paul : Man, that guy has a rockin bod.
Calvin : And such nice skin.
Paul : Super smooth and tanned yeah.
Calvin : Sigh. Wish I had such a body. I am growing so fat.
Paul : You see a cute fella and you think that?
Calvin : Yes, I need to diet. Lose 'em love handles!
Paul : Focus on the cute guy. I see a tight fuckable ass like that and I want to spank it hard repeatedly. Period.

No envy. No jealousy. Like appreciating a beautiful work of art, it stops there. Just sheer admiration. And maybe a quick spank.