Match and Monogamy

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be :)

Seems like I've inadvertently stumbled into the dusty pages of a Regency novel where delightful soirees and civilized tea parties form the norm for the privileged few. In truth, it seems as if I've actually gotten myself trapped in the clutches of the notorious matchmaking mama ( or aunt as the case may be ). Not that I hold any expectations of ever possessing said good fortune but in these days of stubbornly unmarried ( and unmarriageable ) singles, perhaps there is a pressing need to lower the eligibility bar. A scarcity of landed lords and gentlemen wandering around these heathenish parts after all.


What have I gotten myself into again?
Being of a friendly sort, I easily welcomed a dear old colleague when she made an appearance at my workplace. Demanding, frustrating and prone to fretful crotchets, Schoolmarm Sally hasn't made herself all that popular at her previous workplace but I find her irresistibly endearing nonetheless.

Of course that's when the dictatorial Sally's venting one of her trenchant opinions on someone else. Like an irresistible force of nature, she pleases no one and finds nothing pleasing in return.

Except for her niece.

Yes, there is a catch here. Seems like her unprecedented visit to me wasn't without premeditated reason. Sally has in her possession - amongst other material objects she's collected with her rumoured vast wealth - a darling niece who has been left supposedly on the shelf whilst obediently tending to the altar of family duty.

At least that's what I gleaned from her facts.

The mention of her beloved niece's name left me immediately wary and as I checked out the closest exits, I could see exactly what Big Bicep Barry meant about being hounded by ambitious matchmaking mamas. Is it possible they assume I'm such a mutton-head that I can't find a mate on my own? As Sally started her loudly enthusiastic spiel on her paragon-like niece, I had a suspicious inkling that I could be the sole survivor on her rapidly shrinking eligible bachelor list - no doubt most of the other gentlemen have gotten themselves otherwise engaged, transferred to places unknown - or even worse expired from the shock of her audacious advances.

Obviously I'm made of sterner stuff. Or so I thought.

Paul : That's all very nice, Sally but I don't see what this all has to do with me.
Sally : The poor girl just needs to get about, see new people.
Paul : It's not the 1800s. Lots of ways to meet people nowadays. Speed-dating? I'm sure the internet is full of wonderful sites for people like her.
Sally : Internet? Perverts all of them! What about you? You could bring her around after all.
Paul : Bring her around?

That explosive interjection I made out of astonishment was obviously taken as ready assent - and I stared agog as she peremptorily pressed an embossed namecard into my hand. Took me only a second to note the name of the unfortunate ( and possibly oblivious ) career girl being peddled off by her pimp of an aunt.

Paul : Sally, I'm involved with someone.
Sally : Don't see no ring on your finger and you can certainly make new friends.
Paul : I'm dating a guy!
Sally : You just haven't met the right woman.
Paul : Yes, that may be so but I don't think...
Sally : Oh, look at the time! So sorry I have to rush and go. I've already given her your number by the way.
Paul : Hmmm.. I need to get an Engelbert Humperdinck ring.

Hmmm... what a clever, manipulative shrew - and the freak didn't even bat an eye over my attempts at coming out! - and yet I find myself quite in helpless awe of her Machiavellian machinations. Obviously my seeming decrepitude hasn't stopped the ambitions of the unholy matchmakers. My mother would certainly have liked her.

Nothing can work out obviously since I'm not in active search of a beard. :) But it's always good to meet new people.

Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love.

Perfumes, Pearls and Profiteroles

It's obvious from the various semi-reliable sources I have ( nurses, colleagues, galpals and the like ) that men are held to be hopeless at procuring gifts. Dull domestic crockery for a wife on her anniversary, inappropriate crotchless panties and leather whips for that third-date girlfriend and roses for every other occasion.


A glass of juice? I'm a freaking hot guy who gave you the fucking night of your life and all I get is citrus?
Hilarious gift-giving faux pas aside, the men find themselves dreading these events as well. Come that dreaded valentine or their much-feared anniversaries, half of them get mindlessly nerve-wracked wondering how not to incur the wrath and displeasure of their loved ones since hell hath no fury and all that.

The other half of course make a desperate run for the distant hills - hiding from their irate, cleaver-wielding spouses after conveniently forgetting the momentous event.

For me, I love shopping - hence I love shopping for gifts as well. Ah, if only if my severely constrained budget were enough to cover half the things I'd love to buy. Honestly I'd probably make a great personal shopper - if only one of the major departmental stores such as Metrojaya would hire me :)

Of course there are the stubborn few who are simply impossible to shop for - such as my parents. Let's leave my couch potato dad ( who doesn't seem to have any particular hobby apart from watching reruns of Mandarin serials ) till another day since Father's Day lies a month away thankfully while Mother's Day already hovers dangerously just around the corner.

Seriously. Searching for a Mother's Day Gift isn't as simple as it sounds. The average heterosexual guy would find it easy enough to pick up the phone and order the usual chocolates and roses shtick that they give every year but I usually try my best to make my gifts extra special. And hopefully meaningful. And the bows and the ribbons must hold just so.

God. I am such a gay son.

Pansies and profiteroles are alright for my mum but I'd prefer something that lasts more than a couple of days. As my mother's quite the dedicated bibliophile herself, getting a book sounds like an excellent idea till you notice the stack of unread novels piling up in her bedroom like the proverbial Twin Towers. I could have sworn her last birthday gift still lies somewhere in that sadly forgotten dusty pile.

Since I've started work though, I've given her enough fragrances to flood Provence - or even start her own perfumery come to think of it - from the generic Lancome / Estee Lauder to the exquisite Fragonard bottles I discovered last Christmas. What can I say? I can't resist those pretty shiny bottles!

Although macho macho men would balk at such feminine pursuits, I find myself enjoying walks through the jewellery stores as well ( ala Holly Golightly's morning excursions ) but therein lies a problem too. Get a gift far too expensive and there'll be a half hour lecture on my exorbitant spending habits. I know she has my best intentions at heart but hell, just take the damned pearl necklace and shut up :P Tasteful and elegant is what she wants but getting that along with an affordable ( and discounted! ) price tag is asking for a bit too much. :)

What about handbags, you say? Well, my mom is notorious for hanging onto her precious handbag for dear life - at least till the strap breaks, the zip tears apart and the seams unravel. Even then, plaster and glue can hold together what Braun Buffel couldn't :P

Running out of ideas fast, people, so got any recommendations?

Just a Little Recap

Remember that motivational course I mentioned? Although it was Big Bicep Barry who attended the entire series of experiential lectures ( amazingly he managed to stay awake through all that monotonous jargon! ), I managed to glean quite a bit of information from my last day there.

First thing I learned about myself if I'm not a naturally physically affectionate person. Have quite a stiff upper lip actually. Sure I can offer a hug if the occasion calls for it but getting cheek to cheek with a relative stranger every five seconds seems to be a bit much - though I certainly don't object to having muscular arms around me :P


Given me time to think...
Second is when it comes to sales pitches, I'm a pretty hard nut to crack - certainly not plain kuaci as Barry put it. Although their enthusiastic sales spiel ( seemed like they were all on a sugar high ) didn't manage to secure my application for their next batch of students, it still make me think.

Third thing is normally average guys can transform into gorgeous men with the right suits - while guys like Barry turn near irresistible. But that's something I already knew before this.

As usual ( don't you guys watch Oprah and the like? ) the motivational people started digging into the past trying to discover exactly what goals have been buried in the past whether due to crimes of circumstance or follies of fate. Shockingly it actually took me a minute or two to think of even a single goal that I've left behind. Seems like I'm actually on the right track, doesn't it? Sure I do have some dreams that I haven't fulfilled but I certainly haven't put them aside, perhaps a better name would be shelved till future notice - but I still take them out to dust them off every once in a while.

1) Financial freedom
Does anyone not dream of this? :) Would be great to just be free from the constraints of work, just to live free from day to day ( like some loitering broadcasting students I could name ). Some would call it dull as drying paint but hell, I'd find it absolutely liberating. Imagine all that free time - with money to spend. Whoever said money doesn't buy happiness can send a few bucks my way.

2) Opening a bookstore / curio store of my own
That's easy enough since I've mentioned it before but I certainly don't plan to do that now - unless providential manna falls from the sky sufficient enough for a starting capital. Perhaps later in the misty future when I've established myself sufficiently in my career to branch out - or perhaps to even indulge a little. Maybe hire a hunky ( and perpetually shirtless ) bookstore assistant in my stodgy old age to ogle at :)

3) Dreams of travel
Ah, travel. That's easy enough and I do that every year as much as I can so I can't exactly place it in the realms of the impossible. Planes, trains or automobiles but next stop Morocco or Spain for sure.

Not sure whether my budget ( shocking deficit I assure you! ) can cover my next destination though - and who exactly's gonna be my faithful Passerpartout ( yes, I know think that travelling alone can be quite a drag ). With his ever-pressing financial constraints, Charming Calvin is probably grounded for some time here while for my ISO - although he's certainly flush with ready cash damn him - I think it's a bit inappropriate to go for jaunts longer than a chaperoned weekend with an ex-boyfriend.

4) A family of my own
Well this one is a little hard to achieve. Settling down with bling bling ring and downpayment for that house in the suburbs might seem easy for some ( marry at haste, repent at leisure anyone? ) but I could never make that impulsive leap without weighing the risks and benefits first. And judging from the number of troubled relationships I'm seeing floundering on the shoals, I think taking it slow has some merit. Guess I am more of an actuarist than I imagined.

And even after the committed partnership ( for want of a better word since homosexual relationships are still taboo in these parts ), the trials and tribulations of adoption in this country still bears thinking about. Doubt it's that easy to do a Jolie over here - especially for two men wanting a baby. Can already imagine the militant conservatives raising a ruckus with pitchforks and torches outside the orphanage.

Not sure what I can do about the last goal ( anyone with the least inkling? ) but to achieve the rest, I think I'd better tighten my belt a bit since money seems to be the stumbling block. Sounds like it's gonna be economy rice paired with generic black tea in the near future :)

Scratch That Itch

Shhh... don't tell anyone but for the past few weeks I've had the surreal pleasure of having a couple of half-naked sweaty men in my bed - neither of them are at all related to me or my boyfriend.

And both pretty scrumptious specimens of masculinity, I'll have to admit.

Alas I had to drool silently on my side of the bed since I don't think my prudish, morally-upright fella, Charming Calvin would look too kindly on any adulterous behaviour. :) The first was my irreverent ISO who stayed over the night before our fun-filled jaunt abroad arrogantly strutting about in his skimpy CKs while I blissfully wondered whether sleeping with an ex would be considered a cardinal sin.

And then last night I practically forced Big Bicep Barry at gunpoint into bed with me. Really, the poor guy already looked dead tired after making a hurried work expedition through several smaller towns on the west coast - via a shockingly circuitous route - before returning to the city for a motivational course. To add to his already packed schedule, he had to drag me along ( unwillingly, I assure you! ) as a guest to the final evening of that course.

What can I say? Not only was he yawning away in various dull intervals but during that time, he also had developed an odd habit of undulating on his chair. Wondered if he'd actually taken up my offer of pole dancing as Big Boy Barry of the Kayu Jatis.

Barry : Could I ask for a favour from you?
Paul : Lick the back of your throat with my tongue?
Barry : No! I have an itch on my back.
Paul : Cheh.
Barry : Scratch my back. Please.
Paul : Not a problem. Here?

( Pause )

Barry : That's my ass. The itch is on my back.
Paul : Oopsie.

What can I say? I have problems following directions.


You mind scratching my itch, laddie?
The funny part was my well-built friend had an itch ( developed sunburn from all those afternoon breast-strokes natch ) on his back that he simply couldn't reach. Although the varied benefits of hitting the gym are obvious enough from better cardiovascular fitness to intimidating far more puny opponents, it has never occurred to me that getting gym-bulked up could lead to some pretty hilarious circumstances as well. Seriously, Barry has biceps and triceps so large ( hence the name ) that even with arm-breaking yoga maneuvering, he couldn't reach that particular spot between his shoulder blades. Add that to the enviable width of his shoulders and it was practically destination unknown for him - The Unvisited Valley of the Spine.

Fortunately I was a kind ( and not at all lustful ) Samaritan who offered to scratch that itch. With his shirt off of course. How else would I have gotten straight to the good spot?

Guess the man's getting an ancient backscratcher from me ( he claims it's God's gift to itchy men! ) for his birthday :)

The Martians have Landed

Bet you Adam and Eve had the very same argument right after they got tossed out of Paradise Motel on their naked arses. Darling Eve might have been created from his vaunted rib but that certainly didn't mean they shared the same wavelength most times :) Half the time they couldn't even decide on what to wear ( or not to wear as it may ).

And I bet Eve got more than a little pissed off sometimes watching Adam get all hot and bothered over naughty stick drawings on the sand as well ( possibly dreamt up by that deliciously wily apple sales-snake in the garden ).

These days of course we've evolved far beyond crudely drawn stick figures on the cave walls but the boys haven't gone far past the Neanderthal stage. Teary Teri, my newly married colleague at work, certainly got more than a little het up when she discovered the depth of her husband's deception.

Teri : I can't believe my husband did such a thing!
Paul : What? He cheated on you? That scumbag.
Teri : No! Nothing like that! Well... he sort of...
Paul : How do you sort of cheat on someone? Grand foreplay but no finish?
Teri : I was going through my emails and I...
Paul : Like every curious woman since Pandora, you snooped.
Teri : He has porn.
Paul : Colour me surprised.
Teri : But how could he?
Paul : How could he not? Every man has porn of some sort. You think he's an ascetic monk?

Fortunately for Teary Teri, her husband didn't lean towards leather man-on-man action but veered more towards the more vanilla all-American porn that horny straight men usually favour. Tits. Snatches. The whole heterosexual shebang. Nothing particularly wild about it, no dripping candles, metal straps or horse whips involved even.

Of course for poor Teri, she immediately leapt to the unsavoury conclusion that her errant husband was cheating on her with a yet undefined dreamy, luminous pornstar with hefty bazongas - Lulu, Tallulah or Mabelle. No doubt she imagines him cheating her by Doing Debbie in Dallas. Or would that be Damansara?

Cheating on her? I can easily imagine the astonished expressions on the straight guys reading this ( no doubt dropping everything to rush back to hide their porn stash from their suspicious partners ).


Porn? I ain't got no porn! I'm a good guy really!
Let's not jump on a moral high horse. Face it, cheesy porn mags with curiously sticky pages are almost a santicfied growing up ritual in every adolescent boy's life - hell, even a freaking saint would have sneaked a hasty peek at some raunchy publication once in his life. Seriously, go ask any guy around. Honestly it would never have occurred to her oblivious husband that watching porn constitutes adultery for Teri - nor would he ever consider even dating the aforementioned Delicious Debbie from Dallas. It's only pretty pictures, a brief romp in a sweat-soaked fantasy - something no doubt for him to get his rocks off when she's preferably not around.

Women don't look at it that way of course. Certainly not the first time I've faced such a livid reaction from women when it comes to porn ( as my pal Amazing Annie can attest to :) ). No doubt the militant feminists out there are already raising their fists to heckle us wicked voyeurs - but I find arguing over such a matter simply making mountains out of molehills.

Then again porn does make mountains out of molehills. Tee hee.
*Ahem* But I digress.

Let me repeat here, men aren't women ( thank God for that! ). Men like football. Men like beer. Men are simple, basic creatures who think of sex more times than they'd willingly admit and find naughty porn mags utterly titillating reading material. Admit it though, we call them shameful stereotypes because most of the time it's true. Sure every once in a while you find that rare emasculated specimen who eschews football, beer and sex - but they're quite as rare as the dodo bird. And quite possibly gay as well.

Which is why I sometimes thank God I only date men. Years back when I found my ISO's shockingly extensive stash of porn ( *ahem* in decadent foreign countries where it's thankfully legal of course ), all I wanted to do was help offload some for my own consumption. Horrified and betrayed? Please. Share and share alike between then boyfriends - hell, he was more than willing to help me review some of the more popular merchandise with a real-life replay afterward.

Yeah, men are from Mars and women are from Venus.

Unfortunately there's a porn channel in Mars. Live with it.