There are too many lonely souls on Orchard Road.
Some of them gathered with lighted cigarettes, spending the night with aimless laughters. Many of them dressed to kill but did not catch any prey; they have downed too much liquid courage earlier and have lost their will to head home.
Anyway, I just spent 30 minutes walking through the place where I've spent my childhood.
I've tried invoking flashbacks and the ghosts of the past by retracing my steps while a couple of stall owners in the wet market watched me curiously.
I spotted a couple making out in the old basketball court and a homeless old man sleeping in front of a coffeeshop, enduring the cold of the night. Other than that, nothing significant came to mind; little fragments of yesteryear flickered like yellowed photographs.
I went home empty-handed; too many facelifts were in the way.
Perhaps returning in the light of day might help. Otherwise, only hypnotherapy or a near-death experience can restore that lost decade.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Meek
I could not keep my hands to myself.
I was walking her back to her apartment and it has been 10 minutes since she subtly hinted that she is horny.
No, her hint did not come in the form of "I'm wet" or "I need you now".
She merely told me that licking a part of her body will turn her on, and when I guessed breasts, she smiled and looked away meekly.
Then I noticed that her bosoms looked seductively curvy.
She was wearing a pair of push-up bra.
I almost jumped her there and then, desperately wanting to rip her blouse off. But I kept my composure and gentlemanly hugged her closer.
"Let's see if anyone's at home," she whispered.
The flat was empty.
She went ahead to take a shower while I quietly (and excitedly) sat in her living room.
After awhile, I heard her turn the shower off.
I looked towards her bedroom with eager anticipation, hoping to catch a glimpse of her wrapped in a small towel. Then, as if in a horror movie, she appeared by her bedroom doorway, dressed in a T-shirt and a pair of shorts.
I was sure I jumped, but I kept my cool.
"You want to come into my bedroom? It's cooler in here."
Cooler? I doubt so. If it plays out like I presume it to be, it is going to get hot. Like Mount Vesuvius. Or any volcanoes. When erupting.
I calmly followed her into her room and sat beside her on her bed.
"Now, what do you want to do?" she asked.
I was about to reply something decent, when I happened to peer into her T-shirt and sighted her braless breasts.
I could not wait any longer.
I leaned in and kissed her, with one hand reaching into her top to cup her breast. We alternated between french kissing and necking, as we gasped with heightened joy.
When we pulled away for a breather, we were already topless.
She laid on her bed, looking back at me with a sheepish grin.
Then I dived into her bosoms like a schoolboy who has seen a pair of womanly breasts for the first time.
I kissed her breasts happily, leaving a couple of hickies along the way. She arched her back and moaned aloud as I slurped on her nipples.
I then led my tongue southwards across her tummy and removed her shorts, letting her thighs bounced open gently in front of me.
"Has anyone licked you here before?" I teased.
She blushed and shook her head lightly.
"Want me to?" I teased again.
Knowing our answer, she giggled and looked away shyly.
I snuggled close to her pussy and started to lap on it. She instinctively tried to close her legs but I held her thighs wide open. Seconds later, she began to experience new waves of thrill. She gasped and sighed as she bit into her pillow, as if trying to hide her satisfaction.
Her body told a different story.
She would squirm away for awhile and return to grind her pussy against my tongue and mouth with irregular rhythm. I held onto her waist tightly as I relished every bit of her nectar.
Suddenly, her waist gave a sharp upward push and she let out a cry.
She came.
Not resting for a bit, I climbed atop her and pushed myself inside.
I thrusted hard, wanting to go as deep as possible. She looked at me with her half-closed eyes, but would bite her lips and look away from time to time, as if unable to bear the scorching heat that our bodies are producing.
Soon enough, I could no longer hold back and spewed onto her tummy as we both heaved with pleasure.
I was walking her back to her apartment and it has been 10 minutes since she subtly hinted that she is horny.
No, her hint did not come in the form of "I'm wet" or "I need you now".
She merely told me that licking a part of her body will turn her on, and when I guessed breasts, she smiled and looked away meekly.
Then I noticed that her bosoms looked seductively curvy.
She was wearing a pair of push-up bra.
I almost jumped her there and then, desperately wanting to rip her blouse off. But I kept my composure and gentlemanly hugged her closer.
"Let's see if anyone's at home," she whispered.
The flat was empty.
She went ahead to take a shower while I quietly (and excitedly) sat in her living room.
After awhile, I heard her turn the shower off.
I looked towards her bedroom with eager anticipation, hoping to catch a glimpse of her wrapped in a small towel. Then, as if in a horror movie, she appeared by her bedroom doorway, dressed in a T-shirt and a pair of shorts.
I was sure I jumped, but I kept my cool.
"You want to come into my bedroom? It's cooler in here."
Cooler? I doubt so. If it plays out like I presume it to be, it is going to get hot. Like Mount Vesuvius. Or any volcanoes. When erupting.
I calmly followed her into her room and sat beside her on her bed.
"Now, what do you want to do?" she asked.
I was about to reply something decent, when I happened to peer into her T-shirt and sighted her braless breasts.
I could not wait any longer.
I leaned in and kissed her, with one hand reaching into her top to cup her breast. We alternated between french kissing and necking, as we gasped with heightened joy.
When we pulled away for a breather, we were already topless.
She laid on her bed, looking back at me with a sheepish grin.
Then I dived into her bosoms like a schoolboy who has seen a pair of womanly breasts for the first time.
I kissed her breasts happily, leaving a couple of hickies along the way. She arched her back and moaned aloud as I slurped on her nipples.
I then led my tongue southwards across her tummy and removed her shorts, letting her thighs bounced open gently in front of me.
"Has anyone licked you here before?" I teased.
She blushed and shook her head lightly.
"Want me to?" I teased again.
Knowing our answer, she giggled and looked away shyly.
I snuggled close to her pussy and started to lap on it. She instinctively tried to close her legs but I held her thighs wide open. Seconds later, she began to experience new waves of thrill. She gasped and sighed as she bit into her pillow, as if trying to hide her satisfaction.
Her body told a different story.
She would squirm away for awhile and return to grind her pussy against my tongue and mouth with irregular rhythm. I held onto her waist tightly as I relished every bit of her nectar.
Suddenly, her waist gave a sharp upward push and she let out a cry.
She came.
Not resting for a bit, I climbed atop her and pushed myself inside.
I thrusted hard, wanting to go as deep as possible. She looked at me with her half-closed eyes, but would bite her lips and look away from time to time, as if unable to bear the scorching heat that our bodies are producing.
Soon enough, I could no longer hold back and spewed onto her tummy as we both heaved with pleasure.
Thursday, December 09, 2010
I Can Almost Taste It
I must admit girls these days really know how to dress up.
And I’m not only referring to nubile girls dressed in clothes (if that’s what we still call them) that are of no difference to a running singlet, a party-bra and a pair of FBT shorts.
Just a month back, I spotted this young lady in stiletto heels, wearing a tight-fitting toga. Not many ladies can look that good in a tight-fitting toga, and she’s definitely a sight for sore eyes.
Then, a man hugged her from behind and said, “Why did you dress up like a sex pot for a wedding dinner?” That man turned out to be her husband.
That was when I, together with the bulge in my pants, heaved a sigh of envy.
Then, just last night, I met up with a female ex-colleague.
She used to be a Plain Jane, but turns out that she has picked up some good fashion sense as well.
The tube dress and the push-up bra that she wore exuded the sensuality in her and the pervert in me.
Many times, our arms and thighs would touch, and she would lean in close enough for me to smell her hair and to visibly feast on her scarcely visible cleavage.
So close, I could almost taste her.
And I’m not only referring to nubile girls dressed in clothes (if that’s what we still call them) that are of no difference to a running singlet, a party-bra and a pair of FBT shorts.
Just a month back, I spotted this young lady in stiletto heels, wearing a tight-fitting toga. Not many ladies can look that good in a tight-fitting toga, and she’s definitely a sight for sore eyes.
Then, a man hugged her from behind and said, “Why did you dress up like a sex pot for a wedding dinner?” That man turned out to be her husband.
That was when I, together with the bulge in my pants, heaved a sigh of envy.
Then, just last night, I met up with a female ex-colleague.
She used to be a Plain Jane, but turns out that she has picked up some good fashion sense as well.
The tube dress and the push-up bra that she wore exuded the sensuality in her and the pervert in me.
Many times, our arms and thighs would touch, and she would lean in close enough for me to smell her hair and to visibly feast on her scarcely visible cleavage.
So close, I could almost taste her.
Friday, December 03, 2010
Smile
This is the third time I'm leaving a it's-been-a-privilege-working-with-you note on my boss's desk.
It's the same old story. She'll ask me why, and I'll say I'll take a break and am going to do something different.
Twice I've retracted and shredded that note.
This time, I left her office empty-handed, smiling.
Since that day, I've met with a number of pleasant surprises, which came in the form of girls, friends and proposals.
I am still smiling.
It's the same old story. She'll ask me why, and I'll say I'll take a break and am going to do something different.
Twice I've retracted and shredded that note.
This time, I left her office empty-handed, smiling.
Since that day, I've met with a number of pleasant surprises, which came in the form of girls, friends and proposals.
I am still smiling.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Unfogged
It dawned upon me that I'm nearing my thirties and I still do not have full control of my career, and my social and sex life.
As I used to hate National Service, it was ironic that a recent in-camp training provided insights into my foggy future.
I've learnt and re-learnt a few things since then.
However, most interestingly, I found out that flings and fuck buddies don't always come in the form of party-goers, social network users and sex bloggers.
Just this afternoon, a female friend of mine revealed that she's into flings and she likes men going down on her.
She's a devout Christian, by the way.
I feel like a new man already.
As I used to hate National Service, it was ironic that a recent in-camp training provided insights into my foggy future.
I've learnt and re-learnt a few things since then.
However, most interestingly, I found out that flings and fuck buddies don't always come in the form of party-goers, social network users and sex bloggers.
Just this afternoon, a female friend of mine revealed that she's into flings and she likes men going down on her.
She's a devout Christian, by the way.
I feel like a new man already.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Sex (Time) Bomb
Last night marked the fourth time I've met Stephanie, who's the girlfriend of a long-time friend of mine.
Stephanie is a vibrant, smart and smart-looking girl in her mid 20s, and other than her elusive cleavage and long slender legs, there's nothing loud about her attire.
Ironically, we have always met to prepare for our friends' weddings. Last night was no different.
Now, she has been doing that since the second time we've met -- the cleavage and the long slender legs.
I can't help it but I have always undressed her mentally whenever I meet her.
I would imagine myself sliding her top off, stroking her oh-so delicate skin like how an antique valuer appreciates the works of Van Gogh.
I would imagine her gasping at my every teasing touch and speck.
Then my thoughts would come to a screeching halt whenever I imagine myself removing her panties. Some godly voice would boom inside my head, warning, "Ah! Ah! That's your buddy's girlfriend, Jack."
Anyway, I have also caught her stealing glances at me whenever the group's having a discussion or playing some boardgames. Occasionally, our eyes would meet and surprisingly, she would hold that level of contact for a couple of minutes. And mind you, it's not an angry glare or an empty stare. It's as if she's trying to read my mind or anticipating my next move.
"He has remained as close friends with these guys for, what, a decade? How does he do it? He did not even attend the same university as them."
"He's tanned. I wonder what kind of sports he does."
"Why is he still single? Is he gay?"
"Did he notice my cleavage? Is it obvious?"
Ok, that last thought was mine.
The point is, I did not make a move on her. I dare not.
Because it's not just a matter of is it the blue wire or the red wire. Because whichever wire I cut will blow me out of the waters.
Bedding an attached or married girl may be exhilarating and fun.
But making a suggestive move on a girl who's attached to your friend of 10 years is not going to be as simple as removing her panties in my mind.
Stephanie is a vibrant, smart and smart-looking girl in her mid 20s, and other than her elusive cleavage and long slender legs, there's nothing loud about her attire.
Ironically, we have always met to prepare for our friends' weddings. Last night was no different.
Now, she has been doing that since the second time we've met -- the cleavage and the long slender legs.
I can't help it but I have always undressed her mentally whenever I meet her.
I would imagine myself sliding her top off, stroking her oh-so delicate skin like how an antique valuer appreciates the works of Van Gogh.
I would imagine her gasping at my every teasing touch and speck.
Then my thoughts would come to a screeching halt whenever I imagine myself removing her panties. Some godly voice would boom inside my head, warning, "Ah! Ah! That's your buddy's girlfriend, Jack."
Anyway, I have also caught her stealing glances at me whenever the group's having a discussion or playing some boardgames. Occasionally, our eyes would meet and surprisingly, she would hold that level of contact for a couple of minutes. And mind you, it's not an angry glare or an empty stare. It's as if she's trying to read my mind or anticipating my next move.
"He has remained as close friends with these guys for, what, a decade? How does he do it? He did not even attend the same university as them."
"He's tanned. I wonder what kind of sports he does."
"Why is he still single? Is he gay?"
"Did he notice my cleavage? Is it obvious?"
Ok, that last thought was mine.
The point is, I did not make a move on her. I dare not.
Because it's not just a matter of is it the blue wire or the red wire. Because whichever wire I cut will blow me out of the waters.
Bedding an attached or married girl may be exhilarating and fun.
But making a suggestive move on a girl who's attached to your friend of 10 years is not going to be as simple as removing her panties in my mind.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Before Sunrise
As the neon lights dimmed,
as the last music played its final notes,
as I left the final sips of Black Russian sitting at the bottom of my glass,
after I've had my share of short skirts, low cuts & see-throughs,
after the heated conquest between the bedsheets,
with the lingering smell of her hair & perfume,
I wait for that split second when the sun takes the moon's place,
that empty moment,
crushing
excruciating
as the last music played its final notes,
as I left the final sips of Black Russian sitting at the bottom of my glass,
after I've had my share of short skirts, low cuts & see-throughs,
after the heated conquest between the bedsheets,
with the lingering smell of her hair & perfume,
I wait for that split second when the sun takes the moon's place,
that empty moment,
crushing
excruciating
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Angels & Demons
I met Aphrodite and Succubus today.
Aphrodite came in the form of a docile yet confident young lady, somewhat like morning sunshine.
She has the right curves and she flaunts them, but she does so subtly in her flowing pinafore.
Her looks grows on you. She made sure that she melted my heart with her puppy-dog eyes, but I was reduced to dust whenever she smiles and chuckles.
She isn’t someone who I’d fuck; I wouldn’t even dare to mentally undress her. She’s so delicate that if I’d stick my dick inside her, she’ll break into million pieces of starlight.
Succubus was a different story.
She grins, playing with her silky hair, baiting you to eternal hell.
Forget Pamela-esque breasts and Shakirian hips; that’s old-school. Her body-fitting dress and her never-ending legs can condemn crusades, let alone me.
I froze as she bent forward to discard some waste paper into my bin, but I was relieved that I was able to maintain my composure and the rigidity of my dick. She stood up, beaming, and walked away from my desk.
Then she had to drop her pen.
That was when I almost burst into flames, with thoughts of me compelling her with the power of my dick.
Aphrodite came in the form of a docile yet confident young lady, somewhat like morning sunshine.
She has the right curves and she flaunts them, but she does so subtly in her flowing pinafore.
Her looks grows on you. She made sure that she melted my heart with her puppy-dog eyes, but I was reduced to dust whenever she smiles and chuckles.
She isn’t someone who I’d fuck; I wouldn’t even dare to mentally undress her. She’s so delicate that if I’d stick my dick inside her, she’ll break into million pieces of starlight.
Succubus was a different story.
She grins, playing with her silky hair, baiting you to eternal hell.
Forget Pamela-esque breasts and Shakirian hips; that’s old-school. Her body-fitting dress and her never-ending legs can condemn crusades, let alone me.
I froze as she bent forward to discard some waste paper into my bin, but I was relieved that I was able to maintain my composure and the rigidity of my dick. She stood up, beaming, and walked away from my desk.
Then she had to drop her pen.
That was when I almost burst into flames, with thoughts of me compelling her with the power of my dick.
Monday, July 05, 2010
Could Have, Should Have
I was reading Serena's post about a missed opportunity and I recalled a few blunders of my own.
On one occasion, during a good friend's wedding, I met up with a former classmate. I could have used a pseudonym, but let's call her Diana.
Diana is rather chubby who has come across as a cute girl. No one will think of her as sexy or sensual.
Anyway, back to the wedding. I was one of the groomsmen, by the way, and it's just so that Diana was seated beside me.
Now, as a groomsman, it was my job to leave the table from time to time to either attend to the wedding guests or to rescue the groom and his bride from any potential saboteurs. And Diana will always ensure that I'd never miss a dish.
Very sweet, that girl.
Then, I noticed that she would stroke my thighs everytime I was seated. She would slide her fingers along my inner thigh and appear nonchalant about it.
It was a huge turn-on for me. Had she touched my crotch, I would have jumped her there and then.
The problem was, I did not reciprocate; I was afraid she might take offense.
At the end of the night, I followed up with an sms, teasing her that I would love another thigh massage from her. She was amused and added that our former tutor, who was seated beside her, had his hands all over her the whole night.
Then it hit me.
If I had made a move on her, the night would have ended differently. I could be savoring every patch of her skin and her, every thrust of mine. And everytime I thought of this, I would sigh,
"Stupid, stupid Jack!"
On one occasion, during a good friend's wedding, I met up with a former classmate. I could have used a pseudonym, but let's call her Diana.
Diana is rather chubby who has come across as a cute girl. No one will think of her as sexy or sensual.
Anyway, back to the wedding. I was one of the groomsmen, by the way, and it's just so that Diana was seated beside me.
Now, as a groomsman, it was my job to leave the table from time to time to either attend to the wedding guests or to rescue the groom and his bride from any potential saboteurs. And Diana will always ensure that I'd never miss a dish.
Very sweet, that girl.
Then, I noticed that she would stroke my thighs everytime I was seated. She would slide her fingers along my inner thigh and appear nonchalant about it.
It was a huge turn-on for me. Had she touched my crotch, I would have jumped her there and then.
The problem was, I did not reciprocate; I was afraid she might take offense.
At the end of the night, I followed up with an sms, teasing her that I would love another thigh massage from her. She was amused and added that our former tutor, who was seated beside her, had his hands all over her the whole night.
Then it hit me.
If I had made a move on her, the night would have ended differently. I could be savoring every patch of her skin and her, every thrust of mine. And everytime I thought of this, I would sigh,
"Stupid, stupid Jack!"
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
The Animal In Me
We were already kissing at the top of the stairs.
I had wanted to be the gentleman, sending her home after the movies and all, but her being in her tiny shorts has roused the animal in me.
Her supple lips and playful tongue did not succeed in taming me, as I was soon attracted to her slender neck. I chewed gently, feeling for her pulse with my lips, constantly reminding myself that tearing at her jugular vein simply do not work.
She had one palm on my shoulders and the other on my hips, not knowing whether she should stop me in my tracks or lure me to the feasting site.
We heaved against the still air and knew what was going to happen next.
She grabbed my wrists as I tore through her top like how a leopard would tear through the African plains with dinner in its sight. I was sure I was careful with her bra though.
Within seconds, she was topless. The sight of her breasts further incited the primitive passions within me. She pushed her palm against my forehead as I wrapped one arm around her waist, preventing her escape. She reluctantly grabbed my other arm as it tugged at her shorts. Bite marks, wet trails, swollen nipples and a lone pair of tiny shorts laid in the wake of this frenzy, the result of my hard sucking and soft gnawing.
I viciously pulled at her panties while she put up a futile struggle. Predictably, she quickly gave in and I peeled her panties away like a savage.
I gorged on her pussy, indulging in that raw, sweet scent of hers. Then, I stood up, lifted her left leg as she limped on her other foot, still yet to recover from my oral rampage.
And I pushed my length into her.
She gasped and shuddered, surprised by how willing her pussy was. She hung onto me and unleashed a vocal mix of hisses, purrs and growls into my ear as I grinded and pumped.
Within minutes, a tinge in my gut quickly evolved into a lust for release. I grabbed her butt closer to me and gave a final thrust, sealing her fate with a stinging gush of crème de la crème.
I had wanted to be the gentleman, sending her home after the movies and all, but her being in her tiny shorts has roused the animal in me.
Her supple lips and playful tongue did not succeed in taming me, as I was soon attracted to her slender neck. I chewed gently, feeling for her pulse with my lips, constantly reminding myself that tearing at her jugular vein simply do not work.
She had one palm on my shoulders and the other on my hips, not knowing whether she should stop me in my tracks or lure me to the feasting site.
We heaved against the still air and knew what was going to happen next.
She grabbed my wrists as I tore through her top like how a leopard would tear through the African plains with dinner in its sight. I was sure I was careful with her bra though.
Within seconds, she was topless. The sight of her breasts further incited the primitive passions within me. She pushed her palm against my forehead as I wrapped one arm around her waist, preventing her escape. She reluctantly grabbed my other arm as it tugged at her shorts. Bite marks, wet trails, swollen nipples and a lone pair of tiny shorts laid in the wake of this frenzy, the result of my hard sucking and soft gnawing.
I viciously pulled at her panties while she put up a futile struggle. Predictably, she quickly gave in and I peeled her panties away like a savage.
I gorged on her pussy, indulging in that raw, sweet scent of hers. Then, I stood up, lifted her left leg as she limped on her other foot, still yet to recover from my oral rampage.
And I pushed my length into her.
She gasped and shuddered, surprised by how willing her pussy was. She hung onto me and unleashed a vocal mix of hisses, purrs and growls into my ear as I grinded and pumped.
Within minutes, a tinge in my gut quickly evolved into a lust for release. I grabbed her butt closer to me and gave a final thrust, sealing her fate with a stinging gush of crème de la crème.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Think Different
Working in a company where 95% of its workforce is made up of women is not fun and not funny. It’s like getting into a relationship with each and everyone of them when most of them are already attached or married.
(Don’t tell me that there are attached girls who fuck around. What are the chances of that? The odds of hitting on a Victoria Secret fan out of the Orchard crowd are even higher.)
But amidst all the low cuts and short skirts, I’ve made a couple of good friends. So, we’ll see how it goes.
Anyway, last year, after being inspired by The Bucket List, Yes Man and the Apple Computer slogan, I decided that I should engage in a new activity once in a while.
I’ve taken up diving, gone on a solo trip to Vietnam, quitted my 4-year job (not the current one), got drunk in one of the Fullerton Suites, became a groomsman, participated in marathons, jogged in the vicinity of the Institute of Mental Health, ambushed a Peeping Tom.
What’s next?
Skydiving? Gate-crash a party?
Bed a MILF?
(Don’t tell me that there are attached girls who fuck around. What are the chances of that? The odds of hitting on a Victoria Secret fan out of the Orchard crowd are even higher.)
But amidst all the low cuts and short skirts, I’ve made a couple of good friends. So, we’ll see how it goes.
Anyway, last year, after being inspired by The Bucket List, Yes Man and the Apple Computer slogan, I decided that I should engage in a new activity once in a while.
I’ve taken up diving, gone on a solo trip to Vietnam, quitted my 4-year job (not the current one), got drunk in one of the Fullerton Suites, became a groomsman, participated in marathons, jogged in the vicinity of the Institute of Mental Health, ambushed a Peeping Tom.
What’s next?
Skydiving? Gate-crash a party?
Bed a MILF?
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
Bon Voyage
I'd set out here,
but the hair is a forest of ambush and snares.
But the brow becalms us, when it's smooth and plain.
The dark pools of the eyes are dangerous to our ship,
for to be drawn into them would be shipwreck.
The nose like the first meridian,
directs us down to the Islands Fortunate,
the swelling lips.
I would anchor here and hear the sirens' songs.
Then sailing on, past the glorious promontory of chin,
we may encounter some islands,
as we travel down towards your India.
And we pause at the Atlantic navel,
where the current carries our pilot on,
to another forest, where many are shipwrecked.
And no further ever get.
but the hair is a forest of ambush and snares.
But the brow becalms us, when it's smooth and plain.
The dark pools of the eyes are dangerous to our ship,
for to be drawn into them would be shipwreck.
The nose like the first meridian,
directs us down to the Islands Fortunate,
the swelling lips.
I would anchor here and hear the sirens' songs.
Then sailing on, past the glorious promontory of chin,
we may encounter some islands,
as we travel down towards your India.
And we pause at the Atlantic navel,
where the current carries our pilot on,
to another forest, where many are shipwrecked.
And no further ever get.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
From Dusk Till Dawn
Blistering, the day has been,
ovenlike, the room we were in.
Passionately we kissed,
lustfully we frisked.
We were hopelessly naked.
I nibbled your earlobe,
savored the length of your neck,
as you heaved, trying to cope.
I relished every inch of your skin
and held your tenderness.
You were impatient, humbled, pinned,
as I wetted around your nipples.
You gripped onto my shoulders,
as my lips wrapped around your senses.
Soon, your anticipation heightened.
You gasped and your grasps tightened.
Nectar trickled out of where your thighs met,
onto my lips, all over your hips.
Watery beads formed on your head.
Trying not to cave in, you bit your lips.
I dug deeper,
in search of your best kept secret.
You begged louder,
yearning that I'd be less wicked.
But I reached across your knees
and pushed into your sweetest spot.
I brutally pleased
as you mindlessly hissed.
The clapping rang and bounced,
as we sped and jounced.
Soon, our pleasures were eager to bolt.
We were coming to a breathless halt.
Finally we plunged into a scalding epicenter,
while erotic heatwaves rippled.
Our music piece has reached its volcanic pinnacle.
We panted with joy, and blissfully cuddled.
ovenlike, the room we were in.
Passionately we kissed,
lustfully we frisked.
We were hopelessly naked.
I nibbled your earlobe,
savored the length of your neck,
as you heaved, trying to cope.
I relished every inch of your skin
and held your tenderness.
You were impatient, humbled, pinned,
as I wetted around your nipples.
You gripped onto my shoulders,
as my lips wrapped around your senses.
Soon, your anticipation heightened.
You gasped and your grasps tightened.
Nectar trickled out of where your thighs met,
onto my lips, all over your hips.
Watery beads formed on your head.
Trying not to cave in, you bit your lips.
I dug deeper,
in search of your best kept secret.
You begged louder,
yearning that I'd be less wicked.
But I reached across your knees
and pushed into your sweetest spot.
I brutally pleased
as you mindlessly hissed.
The clapping rang and bounced,
as we sped and jounced.
Soon, our pleasures were eager to bolt.
We were coming to a breathless halt.
Finally we plunged into a scalding epicenter,
while erotic heatwaves rippled.
Our music piece has reached its volcanic pinnacle.
We panted with joy, and blissfully cuddled.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Littlest Things
It’s amazing how small acts of kindness and friendship can boost your morale.
A friend insisted writing postcards to me despite living in this digital era. Another friend asked me to be one of his brothers for his wedding. Friends (read: former colleagues) asked me out, reason being they missed my smile. Colleagues subtly acknowledged my (relatively new) presence by teasing how cute my tie is. A girl, who is currently temping in my company, came up to me, smiled, chatted and left smiling. My no-nonsense father (read: austere) laughed with me while watching a variety show. My unassuming mother cleaned my room, knowing that I will be drunk for the night.
A boy celebrated his sixth birthday with 15 friends in McDonald’s – the first since he was diagnosed with leukemia three years back.
A friend insisted writing postcards to me despite living in this digital era. Another friend asked me to be one of his brothers for his wedding. Friends (read: former colleagues) asked me out, reason being they missed my smile. Colleagues subtly acknowledged my (relatively new) presence by teasing how cute my tie is. A girl, who is currently temping in my company, came up to me, smiled, chatted and left smiling. My no-nonsense father (read: austere) laughed with me while watching a variety show. My unassuming mother cleaned my room, knowing that I will be drunk for the night.
A boy celebrated his sixth birthday with 15 friends in McDonald’s – the first since he was diagnosed with leukemia three years back.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Thorn Amongst Roses
It’s been close to a month since I moved on to greener pastures.
Life is better now. No more Hitler-like bosses. No more red tapes. But I do miss my friends back at my former workplace.
Anyway, for those who are not in the know, what’s so special about this pasture is that it’s full of roses. And by roses, I mean, ladies.
And yes, I am that thorn among the roses. Unfortunately, some of the ladies here see me as a thorn in the flesh. Ok, I may have exaggerated but these ladies were and still are taking some time to warm up to me.
My colleagues (current ones) told me that’s because the turnover here is so high that people do not dare to get chummy with newbies within their first month of employment. They will think, “What if he leaves within the month? Then what’s the point of befriending him?”
Sigh. Looks like socializing just got harder. But still -
No more Hitler-like bosses. No more red tapes.
Life is better now. No more Hitler-like bosses. No more red tapes. But I do miss my friends back at my former workplace.
Anyway, for those who are not in the know, what’s so special about this pasture is that it’s full of roses. And by roses, I mean, ladies.
And yes, I am that thorn among the roses. Unfortunately, some of the ladies here see me as a thorn in the flesh. Ok, I may have exaggerated but these ladies were and still are taking some time to warm up to me.
My colleagues (current ones) told me that’s because the turnover here is so high that people do not dare to get chummy with newbies within their first month of employment. They will think, “What if he leaves within the month? Then what’s the point of befriending him?”
Sigh. Looks like socializing just got harder. But still -
No more Hitler-like bosses. No more red tapes.
Sunday, August 02, 2009
Pump It
Last night, at Pump Room (Clarke Quay), if you spotted a tall guy dancing like an ostrich, yeah, that's me.
Truth be told, I was dancing for the first time in my life.
"What made me dance?", you ask. It was the live band (They are called Jive Talkin'). The numbers they did were fantastic! From Viva La Vida to All The Small Things, even It's Raining Men sounded Bon Jovi-esque.
Of course, there were the girls. Lots of glances and smiles were exchanged. Lots of grinding (Yes, even Mr Emu got grinded).
I am definitely going to head back there!
Truth be told, I was dancing for the first time in my life.
"What made me dance?", you ask. It was the live band (They are called Jive Talkin'). The numbers they did were fantastic! From Viva La Vida to All The Small Things, even It's Raining Men sounded Bon Jovi-esque.
Of course, there were the girls. Lots of glances and smiles were exchanged. Lots of grinding (Yes, even Mr Emu got grinded).
I am definitely going to head back there!
Friday, July 24, 2009
Making Headway
I made a decision on Wednesday morning - I had a word with my boss and then turned in my resignation letter.
Then I realised that in a month's time, my life is going to be surrounded by women. I'm moving to a greener pasture which is created for and by the ladies. 90% of my new company is female. The fringe benefits which I get to enjoy have already got the attention of some of my lady friends.
During the interview, when I mentioned that one of my hobbies is diving, my future boss, a girl (surprise, surprise), has subtly hinted that she enjoys diving too.
I, too, enjoyed how her dress subtly hinted the outline of her body. Grins.
Oh man. So much temptations, so little resistance.
Then I realised that in a month's time, my life is going to be surrounded by women. I'm moving to a greener pasture which is created for and by the ladies. 90% of my new company is female. The fringe benefits which I get to enjoy have already got the attention of some of my lady friends.
During the interview, when I mentioned that one of my hobbies is diving, my future boss, a girl (surprise, surprise), has subtly hinted that she enjoys diving too.
I, too, enjoyed how her dress subtly hinted the outline of her body. Grins.
Oh man. So much temptations, so little resistance.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Smoke On The Water
She stood at the edge with the sun in her face, as if she's in the limelight. For a moment, I thought God has answered my prayers. All eyes were on her, including mine.
As she got in, it wasn't hard to notice that the fabric has hugged her tighter than before. It pushed her bosoms up, highlighting her proud curves.
I didn't ignore her butt either (I'm a butt man, just so you know). The sexual tension heightened as I watched the water swerve down her lower back, bend over her butt and drift down her thighs.
Despite this smoky entry, I told myself to remain nonchalant, even though it felt like pushing a knife through my veins.
I continued wading when out of a sudden, she glided alongside me. We exchanged glances for a second. Then she overtook me, as if trying to show off her liquid dance. Indeed, it was enticing to watch the water softly caress her body. I can only wish it was me who's drawing circles on her inner thighs.
In the next hour, she would occasionally skim from behind and rub her thighs against mine. Or she would playfully brush her fingers against my arm. I tried to appear indifferent but I was already all juiced up.
Then, much to my disappointment, she got out and, again, stood at the edge, as if it's the end of a gig.
She threw me a cheeky grin and headed for the showers.
Swimming will never be the same again.
As she got in, it wasn't hard to notice that the fabric has hugged her tighter than before. It pushed her bosoms up, highlighting her proud curves.
I didn't ignore her butt either (I'm a butt man, just so you know). The sexual tension heightened as I watched the water swerve down her lower back, bend over her butt and drift down her thighs.
Despite this smoky entry, I told myself to remain nonchalant, even though it felt like pushing a knife through my veins.
I continued wading when out of a sudden, she glided alongside me. We exchanged glances for a second. Then she overtook me, as if trying to show off her liquid dance. Indeed, it was enticing to watch the water softly caress her body. I can only wish it was me who's drawing circles on her inner thighs.
In the next hour, she would occasionally skim from behind and rub her thighs against mine. Or she would playfully brush her fingers against my arm. I tried to appear indifferent but I was already all juiced up.
Then, much to my disappointment, she got out and, again, stood at the edge, as if it's the end of a gig.
She threw me a cheeky grin and headed for the showers.
Swimming will never be the same again.
Friday, July 03, 2009
Fallen
This is going to be a short post. Will write more by the end of next week.
On 26 June 2009, while the world mourned for the King of Pop, I was disheartened to see a fellow colleague leave. She is a young, petite, doe-eyed lady. The first time I met her two years ago, I believed in angels.
But she's an angel who smoked.
Anyway, on that fateful day, I paid her a visit at her work station to bid farewell. We were reminiscing in a cheery mood when she suddenly blurted, "I can still remember how you interviewed me two years ago."
"You would never say no to me whenever I needed help. You have been a part of my life & this part will never be forgotten."
I was pulverized. It was really sad to see an angel leave.
On a lighter note, I noticed that a number of girls have started to come into my life, accepting my invitations to movie dates, lunch dates, dinner dates & drinking dates.
I was thrilled by this phenomenon and regard this as a case of pure coincidence.
But I can't help & think. Was it because I've started to smile more? Have I become less reclusive? Is it because of my new tan? Friends have commented that I've lost weight. Was it because of that?
I have no idea.
I guess it was my goal to be as charming as George Clooney or Robert Downey Jr. when I reach 30. Then I'd surround myself with friends like Brad Pitt & Matt Damon & the like to complete the picture.
*Day dreams*
On 26 June 2009, while the world mourned for the King of Pop, I was disheartened to see a fellow colleague leave. She is a young, petite, doe-eyed lady. The first time I met her two years ago, I believed in angels.
But she's an angel who smoked.
Anyway, on that fateful day, I paid her a visit at her work station to bid farewell. We were reminiscing in a cheery mood when she suddenly blurted, "I can still remember how you interviewed me two years ago."
"You would never say no to me whenever I needed help. You have been a part of my life & this part will never be forgotten."
I was pulverized. It was really sad to see an angel leave.
On a lighter note, I noticed that a number of girls have started to come into my life, accepting my invitations to movie dates, lunch dates, dinner dates & drinking dates.
I was thrilled by this phenomenon and regard this as a case of pure coincidence.
But I can't help & think. Was it because I've started to smile more? Have I become less reclusive? Is it because of my new tan? Friends have commented that I've lost weight. Was it because of that?
I have no idea.
I guess it was my goal to be as charming as George Clooney or Robert Downey Jr. when I reach 30. Then I'd surround myself with friends like Brad Pitt & Matt Damon & the like to complete the picture.
*Day dreams*
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