2nd Chance!

The beau is going to send me off to the airport tomorrow. He's going to carry my luggage for me. And wait for me to check in at the counter. And sit with me at Starbucks until my boarding time is 15 minutes to closing. Then we'll hug each other in front of the customs guards at the departure hall. And I'll wave him goodbye after the immigration clearance. And I'll walk to my plane. Behind my boss.

I'm off to Manila this time. 2 weeks.

And he'll get my text message when I arrive at the airport. When I checked into the hotel. When I shower. When I jerk off thinking of him before I go to sleep that night. And he'll send me a text message the next morning, "Good luck my dear. I'm sure you'll nail it this time."

Big Beau

People say it's not a good for a relationship if discussions on the past relationships were being carried out on. Not that I have any serious relationships, maybe a couple of flings. But the beau told me about his past relationships, but that's about it all, nothing more.

One night, he leaned across the bed and asked me about my past fling.

"So tell me... how did your ex-sexmate started their foreplay?"

"Huh? Why are you asking that?"

"It's the past dear, tell me, I just wanna know. I promised I won't be jealous."

"Okay... usual way. Kissing, then the ear and neck vampire sucking blood whatever shits, then the nipples and tummy and well like what you would do... though I did experience getting rimmed and fingered before."

"Whoa... so you got rimmed..."

"My first sex was with this guy who came back from overseas. I was 20. He rimmed me. And he fingered me. Then he ended it with him rubbing his cock in between my thighs."

"Did he fuck you?"

"Nope. I was never fucked before. But even if I was a bottom guy all along, I don't think his cock would be a wise first cock to have. It's humungous I tell you."

"Really?"

And I rolled my palms into a tunnel, then slightly widened it a little. "It wasn't long, but it was..."

"THAT THICK?! My goodness, thank God you didn't let him ripped your ass off... Or else I wouldn't be your biggest cock so far."

Ugh... indeed. You can only imagine. And no, I'm not a bottom.

Oh My God Hottie!

Admittedly I would go gaga all over a man who's over 6 ft tall, broad shoulder with big chest and big arms and solid tummy, not necessarily 6-packed although it would be a bonus.

When I opened my mail this morning, this guy popped up.

Owh.

My.

Gaaaaaawwwdddd......

I drool like a silly little bottom boy waiting to be picked up and banged on the wall and got my brains fucked out. Like hello, is there anything else you can describe that picture?

But I know shit about this guy, honestly. Only by chance I came across this website to some clubs and subscription to God knows what sort of e-mails, and upon further clicking, I came to learn he's a DJ. Big Kid. Hailed from Singapore apparently.

10 minutes later, he's just another hot guy. Lust perhaps. But nothing more than that.

Because I know back home I've got another hot guy whom I call mine, whom I know, whom I could touch, and kiss, and have intimate love-making with. Lust? Definitely. But this lust have got something more too... Something more to life. Something more to passion. Something more to something we call ourselves.

CB Driver

One thing Clayden learns about the beau, he is ever so patient except for the times when he drives. Thou shall not drive recklessly and all the laws of traffic must be obeyed, otherwise there'd be lotsa cursings from the beau.

He had been showing how unsatisfied he is with drivers in KL, who cuts into your lane without signal, who drive up so close by your side just inches before both car scratches, who doesn't slow down to let you pass, or purposely speed up when they see you wanted to cross the exit. You know, stuff like that...

So one day while we were on the road, the beau started to curse at the slow-moving traffic again. Like that's not enough, you get numerous cars who didn't keep to their lane or gone into the wrong lane and cut in in front of you even though it's a double-lines divider. Out of spontaneouity, I blurted "Cibai car!"

I mean, well, I was shocked because this overly-made-up ugly doll in a Kenari cut in from the left and nearly cause the beau's car his front lamp should he failed to do an emergency brake. Like that's not enough, the driver at the back honked because we stopped suddenly. Luckily no accident occured.

The beau was shocked. I never cursed.

I looked at him and said, "What? That cibai driver don't even know how to drive properly and could nearly cause some accident!" He couldn't agree more.

Throughout the journey inching towards The Curve, there were so many cibai drivers on the road. Cibai kia. Cibai aunty. Cibai uncle. Cibai Ah Beng. Cibai Ah Lian. So much so that if our mouth were to be foul smelling from those foul words, mine would be enough to cause all the customers in the entire mall to faint.

So, the next day while I drove towards Tropicana City Mall, I had to cut through some of the traffic to avoid this cibai bus who stopped at the bus stop and didn't even buldge. I was so near to the divider of the entrance to the mall when I suddenly swerved in, WITH a signal on, and safely enter the junction into the mall carpark.

The beau looked at me, "You... how could you only come in when you're so near already?"

"It wasn't double-line. There was no car at the back. I put on my signal."

"But still, we're already so near to the junction."

"I know I know... fine I'm also one of the cibai driver lah."

The beau just giggled away.

Bald Beau

Being young and pretty, I have so many hairs that sometimes I find it very annoying. Especially when it gets longer. I mean on my head in this case.

My gene doesn't give me some straight smooth sissy hairs like some of those self-proclaimed leng-zhai. But rather, I get this stupid blardy lousy wavy hairs that curls up when I forgot to go to the barber after a month.

So the other day when we were out at his personal barber, I asked him whether or not he'd dare to go bald.

"Like bald shiny bald?" He asked.

"Yeaps. Don't you think it's macho and manly and... grrr..." I controlled my actions, so no, I didn't have any actions of a clawed hand and grimaced face baring those teeth as if I was some horny whore wanting those biker daddies to fuck my pussy.

See, sometimes I find it quite a turn on really. I mean, it has to come from someone who has the aura of a man definitely. Give me a bald queen who squeels in high pitched soprano voice, I'd trade that for the Miss Universe, as in a true lady with titties and pussies. And when I mean the aura of a man, this shallow peanut-sized brain of mine would've clearly screamed out that I mean it's like those muscular bikers in the desert in Arizona or Texas.

Perhaps I've watched too much of Matthew Rush. Or there was this guy who goes by the nick name of Gauge. Big buldging muscles with 8' tool. Ripped my asscrack when they're the top for sure. I mean, oh well, if they were ever going to be out of all the odd chances my boyfriend, there'd be no chance of me to have my tool in some warm holes unless we get another pig bottom in for 3some.

Blissful fantasy! Gave me multiple orgasm alright.

But then again, considering I've already find my lovely beau, even my first fuck who was bald with a beefy body and a curved-up beer-can-thick 6' tool didn't entice me anymore. And with that lust aside, I find I love my beau more and more.

So, back to the story. The beau didn't answer. His hair was somewhat thinning, and I definitely gotta learn to be more sensitive.

But here's to you my dear, if you're reading this, I love you no matter what. Even though you're not those big rough macho bald daddies from Texas with 8' cock, I'm so ever satisfied and happy that you're mine and I'm yours.

Love you gazillions. *smooches*

Barrista Beau

The beau is a fan of Starbucks. He had his shot of Statbucks coffee every other days and he'd spend the weekend afternoon or evening online at Starbucks if not at the gym. Seldom would you find us dancing away in Marketplace or Frangipani though I very much would love to go sometimes.

So there was this other day when we were talking about switching jobs. I mean, well things aren't really going that all well for us now other than our relationships. I was pretty depressed with work still, and he's getting bored at what he's doing now too.

I told him I would love to do something that wouldn't require me to think so much, maybe waiter or air hostess or massage boy or I don't know, maybe travel guide?

But I must've triggered some annoying button when he snapped at me, "Why not those toll boy at the toll plaza? Everyday you just need to sit there and collect money."

As easy as it sound, I still want to do something more... erm, classy perhaps?

Okay, call me vain. I'm a vain queer.

Considering the path I'm taking now would probably land me on some realllllllyyyy green posture once I got promoted (like how everyone would do subsequently), I have this habit of differentiating a proffesional job and a not-so proffesionaly job. So when the thoughts of switching job comes in mind where I'd really love to quit white-collar career, I crushed my brain juice to think of something that still allows me to wear nice clothes and work in an air-conditioned place. I know I know, it's shallow of me to think like that. But lazy arses like myself, there's always day-dreaming where I wished to work easy and live my life easy.

Rather than the highly-stressed office that I have to go to everyday now, I fantasized of something more relaxing. That was when I saw the cute barrista at the counter and "What about barrista?" was blurted out spontaneously.

The beau looked at me in disbelieve and gave me a long lecture of how long and how hard I've strived before to get to where I am now and that I shouldn't even think about giving up and what nots shits. Yet, he turned the table around and told me, maybe I should apply to be one. "Yeah! I shall send in my application tomorrow."

To my horror!

Now back to the vain part. I dreamt of becoming a successful working queer and I of course hope that whoever my boyfriend is would be too. And in this case, the beau has some qualification that landed him some career with comfortable income as well. So when his thoughts started to drift towards the laziness of mine (speaking about duplicating the beau), he's gotten all this thoughts of wanting to do some easy job that doesn't require much innovation too!

I straight away snapped at him, "You're overqualified."

"Not if I'm a manager."

"But you don't have the money to start your own branch."

"You could always chip in."

And that was when our frequency of thoughts somehow falls into the same level!

"Our own Starbucks!" I smiled widely.

But he slapped me, literally. "Stop dreaming boy. Work on your coming exam and make sure you pass that one so that I could take you to some secluded paradise for all-day-long fucking."

Boo-hoo!

Don't Cheat, Clayden

The beau is a gym bunny. Although his gym schedule sort of went haywired for the past half a year because of me. Maybe. I don't know. But it seemed as if there's more of "Nevermind, we'll go tomorrow" nowadays compared to the past, where he'd still be at the gym despite me not going.

I mean, okay, having been in a relationship somehow just makes you want to be with your other half most of the time. I admit I'm pretty much addicted to wanting to be with the beau all the time. But there is just one class that he would seldom miss, whether or not I'm going.

Anyway. He has this favourite bodybalance class where he seldom miss, and considering he's been a follower for more than a year by now, he's pretty close with the instructor.

So... there was this day when we went to the class as usual.

To my shocking, the pilate instructor started calling my name!

"Don't cheat, Clayden, now that I know your name, I'm going to check on you."

And before long, the instructor would come over to check on my posture again.

"Extend the hips, more, more, more, yess.... that's it!"

And just as I was trying to take a rest from back pain, instructor was coming over again.

"Clayden, do more. Again."

So throughout the class, there were Clayden this Clayden that. There was so much Clayden that the instructor started calling this other member in the class Clayden as well, and kept on Clayden-ing for a while before she realized she was Clayden-ing the wrong person! The whole class cracked up.

While we were coming towards the end, there was this posture where we had to be in this horizontal posture with our legs on the supporting ball and our hands supporting our body, whereby our body should be in a plank pose without any tummy sinking down.

"Now everybody else continue in this position while I check on Clayden. Yes, lift up the butt, no not the ribs, keep the ribs low, butt up butt up... yess, that's it..."

When it was "Okay everyone, thanks for coming!" you have no idea how relieved I was. We came out from the class with me staring at the beau. And he just laughed away. Bugger he must've told the instructor my name and asked that I was checked from time to time so that I won't injure myself. I know it's of a good intention. I sorta enjoy the attention myself...

But now 12 hours later, my forearms are hurting, my triceps are screaming, my upper back are sore...

Blissful