Chapter 4 - Perfection

So Wan discovered a little known secret about the world. Sex brings in more sex. It's the great irony of life. It works this way. If you are having sex – and especially with a sexy strapping lawyer such as V – naturally you feel sexy. Feeling sexy gives one confidence. Confidence makes your brain releases chemicals and hormones that makes you physically sexy. And being physically sexy brings it more sex (or at least curious stares).

If you own your sex life, you own the world. Well at least that's how Wan felt. Ever since his secret affair (is it an affair even though it's just mainly sex?) with the thirty year old lawyer from uptown, Wan's steps was stronger, his posture sharper and his muscles toner. It's as if sex have breathed in renewed life into his overworked body. People noticed, and Wan liked it.

'You are so dressed for work today!' Wan's colleagues commented.

'Oh really? I didn't even plan this outfit.' Wan lied, laughing fakely down the stairs. Of course he planned his baby blue stripped shirt, solid denims, leather belt, beige loafers, purple socks and his sexy clean white briefs. He was going to meet V for lunch, and Wan used the word lunch here quite liberally. There wasn't going to be any kind of eating – at least by the standard conservative definition of the word eating. Wan walked down the blocks smiling wildly. The day was perfect. His life was perfect. What more could he ask for.

---

'LOVE!'

Hahn almost chocked on his mushroom stroganoff. Zat was as usual going about his bouts of self pity. Unlike most emo gay kids, who wallow in self pity quietly in their rooms, slitting their wrist and dying alone, Zat was quite intent on sharing his feelings with the whole world, well the restaurant, at least.

'That's what I need,' Zat continued, then munching on his chicken Pot Pie.

'And why do you need Love?' Hahn asked, almost condescendingly. In truth he knows everyone needs love. He is the ever champion for love, and the rights to be loved. Love, to him, is the fundamental truth of all things. Unfortunately, love was not enough to shake off the feeling that his relationship with Benjamin was not going all too well.

To outside eyes, Hahn and Benjamin was the most perfect of couples any couples could be. Hahn was caring and loving, almost to a fault. Benjamin; young and sporty. Always a smile on his face, and by the way he touched Hahn, truly do love him so. It was the kind of relationship straight couples aspire to have, teenage girls coo to, and gay men dreamt all their lives to be in. But beneath the shimmer and gloss, comes the undefinable problem. Hahn refused to let Benjamin obvious short comings in bed to be the sole reason of the strain in the relationship. Not everything is about sex, was the mantra Hahn lives by. Sex will not solve problems, Zat will occasionally chime in.

Because of this denial, Hahn created imaginary problems in his mind so that there is a cause should the relationship fail. Was I not caring? Was I getting boring? Was I not funny enough. The truth is, Hahn is probably the best fucking boyfriend anyone could have. And strangely, its his strong belief in pure love – the kind of love that could exist even with the devoid of sex – that is getting in the way of Hahn's pursuit of that great relationship.

---

'You look lost,' Zat suddenly said, disrupting Hahn's deep thought. 'What's wrong?' he asked, being the ever concerned friend.

'Oh nothing ...'

Zat continued, eating his pot pie in silence. He knew something was wrong. But what was the point of poking further. Hahn was contend in keeping his problems to himself, and poking further will only prove to irritate him. He had enough problems of his own to deal with. Work was proving to be a constant pain. He could not even afford to have a meal in peace. Constant beeping of the phone with texts from his students asking mundane questions. But he still answers them anyway. It gives him some sort of reassurances that someone out there still values his opinions. Still values him.

'No phones at the table,' Hahn demanded.

'This is my work. I don't knock off you know.'

And that was his problem. He never knocked off. His full dedication to his job became a separate agenda. If he was at the top of his game, perhaps someone out there would like him. Would love him. And his pursuit of perfection was not for the sake of perfection, but to prove to himself that he did have redeeming qualities of worth. His job became his life. And if he was doing great at his job, he must be doing great in life as well.

But he wasn't doing too great in life, nor his job. All his so called friends he made during the course of his work, were not friends he could count on. He was making barely enough money to feel fulfilled and compensated for all the shit he had to go through. And career wise there were no progression. He's stuck. Sure he's at the top of the food chain, but instead of the great ocean, he's at the top in a mere small little pond. To progress, he had to leave. But to leave would mean to risk throwing all the comforts he had. And at a perilous time of his life, he needs all the comfort he could get.

Oh. Also, he's single.

--

Wan flung his shirt over his back, and buttoned up with haste. Lunch time was over hours ago. If one were to follow meal times strictly, it would already be tea as about now. With his hands busy buttoning up, he was scanning the floor for his briefs.

'Where's my underwear?'

'Why are you in such a hurry?' V asked, completely ignoring Wan's questions. 'Stay. We haven't had lunch,' he continued as he flipped over onto his stomach and stretched like a cat.

'Lunch!' Wan exclaimed. 'Lunch was two hours ago. Now is the time I get fired, my career ruined and everything I ever worked for destroyed!'

'But it's all worth it isn't it,' V replied with that charming smile and dreamy eyes. He flipped over the pillows to reach for his pants.

'Now is not the time for jokes. Help me look for my underwear goddamned it!'

'Oh forget about your underwear. Just go commando.'

'My briefs are expensive!'

'I will get you are a new pair if we cuddle for fifteen more minutes.'

Wan looked down on V who was still on the bed naked curled up like a puma. It was all so tempting and he knew fifteen minutes of cuddling was really going to be thirty more minutes of not so much cuddling and and just sex.

'I'm really late.'

'Oh come on.' V insisted.

'Its three thirty,' Wan replied sternly. 'We can always meet again tonight.'

'I will still get you that new pair of underwear anyway,' V smilled.

'Why?'

'Because I like you.' V replied with a straight face, his piercing eyes now staring deep into Wan's. Wan was stunned. His lips quivering. After the information had sinked in – which took Wan appropriately 30 nano seconds to process – it daunted to him that he had to say something back. But what should he say. What did the 'I like you' mean? If he said 'I like you' back would it mean they are now in an official relationship. Or is the 'I like you' really one of those charming things V says all the time.

'I like you–r cock.'

That odd phrase was all Wan could muster after what seem like three equally odd seconds. Wan immediately rolled on his jeans, and left the visibly stunned lawyer.

Things I hate about myself

When something funny happens (while watching a movie or listening to a comedian, for example), I look at other people while I laugh to make sure they thought it was funny too. This also applies to whether or not they’re moved by a song.

I could spent hours just munching on snacks, watching youtube movies and sketching fun things if I have a looming deadline. When there is nothing to do, I would me moaning about the boredom.

When I read text on the Internet, I highlight and unhighlight the text repeatedly. It drives other people nuts, so I guess there is something of merit there.

I hold anger in for so long that sometimes it builds up enough to require a nap (but one day…it’s all coming out!).

I’ve been trying to learn to play the guitar…for 11 years.

I like looking at other people's computer screen, secretly.

I pre-judge PC users (non Mac users). When I meet other designers or creatives, who work on a PC, I will deem them to be of the lower echelons of the creative class. This also applies to those who use their non mac laptops in public.

I cannot read something for a stretch of 30 minutes.

I mumble when I get nervous.

Craziness

I was cleaning my work space this morning, and I found so many crazy sketches, that I don't even realize I did.
If one's sanity is directly represented by one's sketches, that you would probably know which end of the sanity scale I am at.

Top or Bottom

So what do I do now
I don't know how I'm supposed to be
Do I get on top
Do I sit or squat
What happens if I have to pee

I've seen what he's got down there
And I'm worried just a little bit
Though I know I'm strong
He's oh so long
And I'm afraid it might not fit

So what am I worth now
Does the prize justify the deed
Will he hold me tight
Will it last all night
How much will I have to bleed

Ok, so here I am now
Dressed as he asked me to be
Will he taste real bad
Will he tell my dad
And will my dad take my money from me

I've been paying all my life
For this body, this hair..objectised
And now it's time to make this body pay for me

Cigarettes

I once, in my proud egoistical days (which wasn't too long ago), proclaimed that I would never date a smoker. Smoking reeks of pretense. No one needs to smoke, and the only reason people smoke is to be part of the smoky social crowd. Smoking becomes a social glue. A dangerous social glue. Of course, like a cosmic joke, I dated, fell for, had the sex of my life, and fell out with a rather sexy smoker. He would light a cigarette after every session, the smoke clouding the darken room. The ashy smell of tobacco mixed with musky sweat became a typical sex after scent. It was scene right out of a sleazy movie. Typically, no one smokes around me, but I was not about to nit pick with a guy who gave one hell of a blow job.

Recently I had to deal with another smoker. A sexy little foreigner who fell for the Singapore dream – came here with the hopes of money and a good life. While I wouldn't barrette someone who chooses to smoke (hey its their life), I would stop short at actually buying someone a pack of smokes. I asked this foreigner why he smokes, even though he is broke, still looking for a job and the cost of cigarettes in Singapore cause ten times as much as they do back home. He looked at me with sad eyes, puffing his last stick.

'Oh they remind me of home,' he said. 'I miss home. Singapore can be harsh sometimes.'

I didn't know if it were his words, the eyes or the sex we were going to have soon after that, but I excused myself, rushed to the nearest 7-11 and bought him a pack.

'Here. So you don't miss home,' I said.

Never say never I suppose.