Tuesday, November 29, 2011

The Endorphin Rush

You know that natural endorphin high most budding athletes claim to get while engaged in some adrenaline-charged physical activity? That particular moment when the excruciating aches and pains tapers away to a glorious sense of euphoria?

Seriously I am beginning to think the endorphin rush is an urban legend developed to fuel the sweat-soaked dreams of many. Just the infamous placebo effect working its wicked wiles on the exhausted, light-headed, oxygen-starved jocks.

Till now I have never reached that high. After a miserable half hour on the elliptical, all I'm feeling is tired, sweaty and bloody irritated. Any amount of enthusiastic encouragement given by the friendly neighbourhood trainer would probably be unfairly rewarded with a barbell bounced off his sculpted head.

But yes, much to everyone's surprise - including myself - I have been visiting the gym irregularly for the past few weeks. And not only to drool over the shirtless patrons.

Call!
Feel the burn?

No, I certainly have no intention of developing the much-envied six-pack or even the seductive Apollo's belt. All I want to do is avoid falling into the sad cliche of the sedentary workaholic dropping dead from a sudden heart attack in his mid-thirties.

Ouch.

Several months back while doing nothing much in particular, I suddenly suffered a disagreeable spasm somewhere in the region of my chest. Like all intensive care doctors, we immediately leap to the worst possible conclusion. Tension headaches turn into brain tumours, mild coughs turn into raging pneumonias. Nightmarish worst-case scenarios, that's me.

So rather than hope for something reasonably mild like a gastric reflux, I promptly clutched a handful of aspirin thinking I was dying from an acute myocardial infarction. Otherwise known as a massive heart attack. The more I thought about it, the more I started to feel an ominous tingle running down my left arm. Even thinking that it might be a heart attack was enough to make me nauseous. Not sure which part of it was really happening and which part was plain psychosomatic - an unfortunate by-product of my wildly imaginative brain.

Thought of inserting a branula to run some reperfusion therapy but thought better of it. Especially since once I reached my workplace, all the results turned out to be within normal range. Even my ECGs looked fine.

Yes, it was a wild panic. But of course it pushed me onto the treadmill for starters. Blergh.

Still no endorphin rush though.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

Pity about Pythagoras

Seriously we do learn a hell of a lot in school.

Unfortunately it's a whole load of crap we never actually put to practical use in real life! At least not in my daily working life. Till now I have never felt the need to apply advanced probability theories or complex calculus formulas ever. Nothing about the earth-shaking movements of tectonic plates either. Fear not though, aspiring young students, perhaps all the needless information stuffed ceaselessly into our young minds does serve as a solid foundation for later studies.

Or at least I hope. Otherwise a miserable decade of excruciating Gradgrind schooling would have gone to complete and utter waste!

A definite conclusion Pirating Patty and I have come to after making the fateful decision to tutor our protege Lil Orphan Annie, who has been steadily flunking out of school. It has been a long while since we've looked through our textbooks - much longer for me - and after wading through the entire encyclopaedic lot, we realized not only are we clearly unsuited to the thankless job, we are clearly downright imbecilic.

Call!
Unfortunately our protege isn't an Orphan Andy who looks like that.

Did we really study all that much back then? The sheer amount of inconsequential information crammed into our textbooks seems mind-boggling - and I find it hard to believe I actually managed to revise, recall and regurgitate all that seeming triviality for the final exams! Ten subjects at minimum? No doubt I must have been certifiably insane as a pock-marked teenager to even contemplate that!

Nothing astounded me as much as the inscrutable mathematics textbook of course. Never been a devotee of Mathematics but I swear I used to pass muster at least. But now even the basic Pythagoras Theorem left me stumped for a moment. Seemed utterly impossibly alien! Wasn't there something about a triangle? You can imagine how amazed I was when I looked through the incomprehensible mathematical process of finding a derivative.

Patty : OMG Did we become stupid overnight?
Paul : I have no idea! Did we actually know so much?
Patty : We must have!
Paul : You mean we knew about organic chemistry and the laws of physics as well?
Patty : And history. And geography. At least I think we knew all that... didn't we?
Paul : I've never actually thought about it but fucking hell, we must have been fucking brilliant!

Unlike the present when the elementary times table leaves me dumbfounded. How far the mighty have fallen.

In our miserably incompetent attempts to teach Orphan Annie, we realized that we couldn't remember a whit! Might as well be unlettered rustics scrabbling on dingy cave walls since obviously we have zero retention on everything we learnt in our classes back then.

Guess it's back to school for the both of us.

Thursday, November 24, 2011

Love that Dare not Speak

For once I don't mean the sort referenced by the infamous Oscar Wilde - but for all the secret lovers who hide their ardent feelings for reasons unbeknownst and dare not speak of their love. More fool they.

In this case the surprisingly reticent Lanky Larry. Normally shockingly outspoken with his booming earth-shaking baritone, our feral lion shrinks into a mewling kitten when it comes to sentimental matters of the heart. While we all initially thought he batted on our side of the pitch, it turns out Larry actually plays for both sides.

Which explains his crush on a certain someone we know.

Call!
Paul : Why are you telling me this? Shouldn't you tell the girl you love instead?

But rather than keep it private and confidential, it seems to have made the public rounds instead. In fact, as it turns out, everyone else in town already knows about his unrequited love ... except for the girl in question.

Girl : He told his best friend. He told his sister. He told his cousins. He told his aunts.
Paul : Surely not everyone!
Girl : I even heard it from the general storekeeper that Larry likes me.
Paul : So why hasn't he made a move?
Girl : I really have no idea why. I've certainly made my position very, very clear.
Paul : So you like him too?
Girl : Short of carving out a tattoo of his name on my gym-toned arse, yes.
Paul : Yet he dare not speak of it?
Girl : Well he screams of his love to everyone else in the world. Maybe even passing strangers.
Paul : You're single. He's single. Where's the hitch?
Girl : Maybe it's complicated. For him.
Paul : Oh God.

It's not exactly thatcomplicated. Aren't we all brought up with the notion that plain vanilla heterosexuality is just that much easier? You like a girl. She likes you. You get up and make a move to kiss the girl.


Which is obviously what Larry's afraid of.

Without ever making a risk in pursuing the relationship, nothing is ever going to happen. Other than overly sentimental Korean dramas, very few people actually wait forever - especially when there doesn't seem to be any hope of reciprocation. Only so much a good girl can do to show her interest before she finally gives up and moves on to the next.

Looks like Larry's gonna miss the girl.

Otherwise known as The You Snooze, You Lose Theory.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Outlandish Proposal

Poor fellows these days are under increasing pressure to dream up the perfect proposal to please their demanding ladies. Just a plain gold band offered on bended knee isn't going to impress the critical Miss Independents of today. Nothing seems to gratify them other than the most shockingly outlandish proposals from viral flash mob proposals to overpriced highway billboards screaming out marriage vows.

Let's be honest, most women just want bragging rights to say that their soon-to-be husband is wildly romantic and have her envious bosom buddies ( and most especially her frenemies ) squeal over it when she tells them how he proposed.

And then we have Virginal Vesper.

Call!
Vesper : I can't even look at you when I say it.
Paul : Couldn't have been that bad a proposal.
Vesper : Trust me, it was. What should I do?
Paul : Other than throw the ring at his face?
Vesper : There is no ring.
Paul : Now I know why you're at therapy.

After almost a decade of pining for the ring, her significant other finally gave in. But rather than opt for something wildly extravagant like a romantic carriage ride through the park, he proposed through instant messaging instead.

Till now we're not even sure if it's valid.

Vesper : He gave me a date, asked me I liked it.
Paul : A date for what?
Vesper : I have no idea. I think maybe a wedding?
Paul : Just like that! No whispers of sweet nothings? No vows and promises of love and commitment?
Vesper : No. Just a date and a message asking if it's alright.
Paul : I am a terribly unsentimental fellow with little need for grand gestures... but even I would have smashed the phone to little pieces.

Seriously what's wrong with some heterosexual men?

I fully understand that the wedding is only the beginning of a lifelong journey but surely even that deserves a bit of festive fanfare. Don't expect all that much but is it too much to ask for a candlelight dinner and some champagne? Sure it's a damned cliche but it's a far sight better than a 'hey why not we get married' proposal.

Might as well just head for the civil registry.

And most horrifyingly there's not even a ring. Even a cheap, tacky beer tab would have been better than nothing.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

The Schism of Seksualiti

Seksualiti Merdeka is an annual sexuality rights festival held in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia featuring a programme of talks, workshops, theatre and music performances organised by a coalition of Malaysian NGOs, artists and individuals. According to the organisers, the purpose of the festival, which has been organised annually since 2008, is not to change the minds of the public to embrace the values of the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender ( LGBT ) community, but to consolidate the LGBT community, and empower Malaysians to recognise their rights.

Lofty ideals aside, the week-long festival is basically a time for the minority group to gather, talk and share with the rest of the public.

Of course, any mention of sexuality - especially in regards to alternative sexuality - gets the belligerent religious zealots in our country extremely riled up. Picket signs and pitchforks get waved about as the scholarly exhibition is erroneously labeled as a hedonistic sex orgy. The surprisingly efficient cops come along and the festival is summarily banned.


Case closed, you would say - except this time, the boys in blue seem to have bitten off more than they can chew since the highly vocal organisers of Seksualiti Merdeka aren't giving up all that easily.

With the potentially explosive issue being bantered about daily on the media headlines, there is a growing schism amongst the members of the GLBT community on how to deal with the unprecedented limelight. Even as the furore slowly dies down to become yesterday's news, I think the issue has unearthed an unsettling rift in the community.

Despite our relatively small number, there is a clear separation of ideas amongst people like us: on one side we have the aggressive campaigners who advocate stridently marching for their civil rights while on the other, we have the more complacent gentlefolk who prefer things kept on the down-low without attracting much unwanted attention.

Call!
Time for war?

A situation ripe for battle. Akin to the beginnings of a civil war, repeated volleys of taunts and ripostes have already been launched from one group to the other with little chance of a ceasefire in the near future. Especially since it's already clear that the two sides on either sides of the rift have vastly differing opinions when it comes to their sexuality.

Speaking from the position I am in, it would be easy to just keep mum, hunker down and refrain from rocking the boat so to speak. Things are actually going good. Home life is doing fine, even after my recent coming out. Same for the workplace. Homosexuality isn't a dire mental disease to be cured anymore and despite their own reservations, even the most conservative would hesitate to speak against it since it would contravene accepted medical practice. So publicly open homophobia amongst my colleagues is rare.

Being in a more fortunate place in life, isn't it time to help our downtrodden brothers and sisters who are being discriminated against? I think there is a need to have someone literally out there and proud - and yes, shouting our slogans in public as well. Though I don't see the need for twinkly pink parade floats careering down Bukit Bintang anytime soon, I think homosexuals and transgenders need a credible voice out there to make a gentle push for tolerance and change. Perhaps even an identifiable model to show that things actually do get better so that teens struggling with their sexuality would know for sure that a bright future is eminently possible.

And yes, though it would be a long time coming, I would like someday to repeal the damned antiquated 377A penal code. Having that particular Sword of Damocles perpetually hanging over our heads for the rest of our lives is a chilling prospect.

So yes, I am glad there are folks like the ballsy outspoken organisers of Seksualiti Merdeka who are willing to risk the painful brickbats of the conservatives to speak up for the issues close to our heart. People like these are the ones who made Stonewall happen. Though we might not have chosen these champions to represent us, that doesn't make their sacrifices any less worthy of our respect.

There is more than enough hate in the world for people like us, we don't have to add to it.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Lil Orphan Annie

Sad little orphans made to leave their cherished pastoral home in search of a better life only to reside with surly, unappealing relatives. The usual story-telling trope we're used to in stories such as the Secret Garden and Heidi. Even the tale of my favourite red-headed orphan Anne Shirley.

Who knew we would have an actual real-life tale unfolding before us!

Turns out one of my colleagues at work has a young niece, literally fresh from the farm, come down to live with her. Let's call her Orphan Annie for the moment. Brought up on a farmstead deep in the hinterlands where dairy products come fresh from the cows, vegetable dinners are plucked from the ground that very morning and fresh water is carried in buckets from the village well. Electricity is powered by the generator for only six hours a day, the nearest bank is more than a day's walk away and the postman comes once a week to deliver mail to the local school.

And I'm not even exaggerating.

Call!
Aw shucks, ya gotta be kidding me. Ya mean I gotta move to the big bad city?!

Of course for a dedicated city dweller like me, I was horrified to learn of all this. Postal address directed to the Paul who lives three stones down from the waterfall behind the schoolyard? No doubt a single day in Annie's isolated farm would probably have me running crazy amuck with a bloody axe.

Like all good stories, a severe lack of schooling opportunity in the country forced lil Orphan Annie to pack up for the nearest city. Or perhaps more like her aunt, my formidable nursing colleague, had her dragged kicking and screaming to the better schools in the inner city.

Paul : OMG It's just like the story Heidi.
Nurse : Who? My niece?
Paul : I have this image of your niece Annie coming down from the mountains with a travelling bag in hand coming to seek her fortune in the city.
Nurse : I wouldn't call it a fortune yet since her school results aren't the best. Annie was always a promising student back in the village but over here I think she is having some trouble adjusting to the new system.
Paul : Small Fish Big Pond syndrome?
Nurse : Something like that.
Paul : Takes a while to get used to something new, I guess.
Nurse : She's flunking biology and chemistry.
Paul : Ouch. Well there's always private tuition.
Nurse : True, but I don't think we can spare that much for extra tuition.

Really how could anyone say no to the heart-rending tale of Lil Orphan Annie? I've always had a soft spot for those wanting to better themselves. And isn't it just about time for a little giving and sharing?

So Pirating Patty and I, foolish dim-witted philanthrophists that we are, offered to give the girl private lessons.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Fraternal Support

After months of dithering over telling my parents, my sudden coming-out over tea caught everyone a little unprepared.

You just might be wondering what the rest of the family were up to while such earth-shattering domestic disturbances were happening in the grounds of Netherfield. In every other noted family drama, you'd expect the nosy siblings to be furtively crouching behind closed doors trying to listen in on every fragment of the crucial conversation.

Call!
Paul : I need to tell you something.
Brother : Yes?
Paul : I'm gay.
Brother : Like duh.

Of course my stolid elder brother would not lower himself to participate in such puerile shenanigans.

Certainly doesn't mean the man wasn't desperately curious about the irregular goings-on here - since I sent him a brief notification informing him of the events transpiring. Rather than admit to a smidgen of inquisitiveness, he quickly dispatched his wife Sassy Sue as an emissary to ascertain the situation.

Sue : You came out?
Paul : I messaged you guys about it.
Sue : We couldn't believe our eyes.
Paul : But there was no reply for days.
Sue : We were out on a desert safari. Your brother thought the message had to be a desert mirage.
Paul : Oh, no wonder.
Sue : And you only sent us five words. 'I came out to mom'. Practically drove us insane wondering what happened.
Paul : Well that's all that happened. Mom seemed oddly calm.
Sue : Probably already knows for a while.
Paul : Or still shell-shocked by it all. I can't actually tell.
Sue : What fun we will have this Christmas. Your brother's already thinking of coming back early just to see what happens.
Paul : Glad to know my coming-out is a source of entertainment.
Sue : Better than television, I swear. Are you going to officially come out to your brother as well?
Paul : Officially? My brother already knows.
Sue : Well you never actually told him. Coming out over the Game of Life doesn't count.
Paul : So now he wants verbal and written confirmation?
Sue : You know how the man likes his facts.

Maybe a singing telegram?

Wednesday, November 09, 2011

The Mother-in-Law

Those words are quite enough to strike the fear of God in many a newly married couple. Or even those who have yet to join hands in state of matrimony. All it needs is the sheer mention of the words to have wide-eyed panic written in their faces followed by an insane impulse to spring-clean the entire house before the monstrous harridan descends.

Let's face it, hell hath no fury like a mother-in-law scorned.

Fortunately mine - the aforementioned Madame Borgia - weaves her deviant machinations in the family country estate several miles south of Netherfield and rarely, if ever, makes any attempt to interfere in the everyday workings of my life. Every time Madame Borgia does actually insert herself into my orbit, I tend to prostrate myself as the sweet, obedient supplicant son-in-law willing to bend over backwards to gratify her. Butter definitely wouldn't melt in my mouth. Even as I write this, I already have the beginnings of a Christmas hamper waiting to be deposited at her front door in a month's time.

Call!
Paul : Watch your step.
Calvin : What step?

Unfortunately for Charming Calvin, my mother is a tad more exacting. Though she might not seem quite as unaccommodating, her charming looks can deceive since her critical eyes miss very little. Woe betide the unfortunate son or daughter-in-law who doesn't meet her intimidatingly high expectations.

So ever since I came out to her, I think my managing mother has been looking askance at Calvin, possibly anticipating the inevitable clumsy misstep for her to pounce on. No doubt to prove I'm heading down that dangerous path towards an appalling m├ęsalliance.

Of course utterly unaware of the arduous tasks that lie before him, Calvin lives in charming ignorance. Such sly domestic intrigues would probably slip by him unnoticed!

Calvin : Your mother called to ask me for directions to the hospital. She's visiting a friend there.
Paul : And you just gave her the directions?
Calvin : Yes, I told her how to get there.
Paul : And she seemed lost?
Calvin : Well she didn't really know how to get there.
Paul : And she's going on a Sunday and you're at home?
Calvin : Probably at home yeah.
Paul : And the hospital's just next door?
Calvin : Well, maybe two blocks away.
Paul : Oh dammit.
Calvin : Why?
Paul : You're supposed to make an offer to drive her!
Calvin : I am?
Paul : Dammit! You missed the opportunity.
Calvin : What opportunity?
Paul : Hmm. Now how do I salvage this... What you have to do is call and ask her out for lunch after. Excuse yourself for earlier by saying you had pressing work.
Calvin : I must?
Paul : Just do it. Dammit, I think she's calling me now.

So the queen has made her move. Doesn't mean I don't have some tricks up my sleeve yet.

Monday, November 07, 2011

Aftermath of the Tea

Perhaps I heaved that sigh of relief a bit too soon.

In hindsight I should have been on my guard when my mother just coolly received the news of my homosexuality with shocking sangfroid. Not even the slightest tremor on the hand holding the teacup. In fact I was so relieved - since I'd expected a mild uproar to say the least - that I easily took it at face value her apparent acquiescence.

Or perhaps I saw the warning signs but found it easier to ignore them.

Keeping it cool, I guess. Should have known that I inherited that trait from my mother since we both like to keep our cards uncomfortably close to the chest. Unlike me though, it didn't take all that long for her to reveal some of hers. Crazed hysterics with an appeal to sentiment wouldn't work as well on me - in fact it would irritate the fucking hell out of me - but cold, hard logic might do the trick.

So the messages started coming.

Mom : Have you thought it over?
Paul : I have had almost thirty years to think it over.
Mom : Perhaps you have acted a bit impulsively.
Paul : When have I ever been a creature of impulse, if ever?
Mom : Have you tried? What would it be like not to know the love of a good woman?
Paul : Tried? It's not a choice and you know that. Do I have to explain it all over again?

Yes, you can sense the growing irritation in my voice.

Call!
Smile on my face but damn, I felt like kicking the wall.

And that was just the beginning of the interrogation. Gritted my teeth through while she delivered her speech. Tried my best to understand that what took years of painful soul-searching for me to finally accept my poor mother probably had to assimilate in the short space of a few days.

Grr. Didn't make me any less disgruntled when faced with the same cliched arguments made in every shoddy coming-out movie there ever was. Obviously she had plenty more to add - though nothing extremely novel since I've heard almost every justification against homosexuality there ever was with the poignant rebuttal to match. Won't bore you guys by rehashing some of the more salient points of her argument since it would induce a mindless urge to punch walls for me.

Unfortunately trying to psyche myself back into the closet didn't work back when I was an acne-scarred teenager - and it failed to succeed this time.

If anything it made me even more a staunch advocate of waving the rainbow flag. At that moment I probably would have leapt on top of a passing float if a pride parade went by!

Friday, November 04, 2011

Coming Out Tea at Downton

INT. DRAWING ROOM. NETHERFIELD. DAY.

Mother : Perhaps it is time to settle down with a nice girl.
Paul : Dear God, not again. Surely you have another dead horse to beat somewhere?
Mother : I don't believe the subject is as dead as you think, my son.
Paul : What more do I have to add? I do believe we have discussed this at length, mother.
Mother : But surely one of the pretty young ladies that you have met?
Paul : I beg of you, banish any such misguided thoughts on matchmaking since I clearly do not feel the urge to seek any such opportunity. Any such well-meaning attempts in the past, I have obviously had little interest and have entirely repudiated them.
Mother : But have you even tried?
Paul : Mother, much as you would have it, I shall never engage in a romantic liaison with any woman. It is simply not in my nature.
Mother : Surely a phase of some sort?
Paul : Quite a peculiar phase to last through several decades and two boyfriends.
Mother : But what about a family? Don't you want children?
Paul : It would make it a little trickier but I haven't given up on that just yet.
Mother : Well it looks as if the pot is nearly empty. Perhaps more tea?

Followed by a shockingly smooth segue to an entirely unrelated topic.

Not a play, nor a farce but my very own drawing room experience in Netherfield. Since I found myself already at a loss for words with my mother's seemingly blase acceptance, I found it easy to just disengage myself with a mindless ramble of inconsequential nothings.

Call!
I have a deep sense of foreboding.

Some time back I made fun of a friend's coming out tea party - never knowing that I'd be the one inadvertently coming out over earl grey and scones. It had certainly never occurred to me that my mother's surprise visit to Netherfield would inexplicably alter my life thereafter.

After the exhausting mental and emotional suspense in the months leading up to this pivotal tea for two, I half expected - and admittedly dreaded - a wild, hysterical scene replete with wailing and weeping that wouldn't seem entirely out of place in a melodramatic Korean daytime drama. Or at the very least a broken tea cup flung squarely against the pink chintz wall.

What actually happened was seriously underwhelming to say the least. Though I hadn't set out to make my intentions known, I realized that it was my one opportunity to speak my mind. The love that dare not speak its name and all that. Made a bit of a push to get the discussion going but apart from a few brief sniffs and sighs from my mother, I could have been talking about the inclement weather in these parts. And as the final coup de grâce, my mother even offered to fetch me more scones.

I didn't know whether to feel relieved - or worried.

Of course my fortunate mother has had years and years of steady preparation for this unsettling revelation since I hardly kept my wayward sexuality secret from her. Or anyone else for that matter. Just a glance at my living room table with the shockingly wanton display of magazines geared towards homosexual men would be enough as proof.

Not to mention the always-present boyfriend in my bed.

No, it's not exactly a Sherlockian mystery to solve. Well at least I hope she is no longer in denial.

Wednesday, November 02, 2011

Excuse Me, Sir, Would You Like To Be A Porn Star?

We've all seen porn.

Boys, let's not deny it. Hell, even the most rabidly conservative religious zealot standing on his soapbox ranting wildly about the imminent destruction of society has probably gotten his hands on a dirty mag or two. In fact I believe the more repressed, rigidly moralistic fanatics probably stock an entire Smithsonian's worth of wildly illicit pornography.

Always the ones you least expect.

Call!
All right, Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up.

So it came as a surprise when I came back from my holidays to find that one of my friends had actually taken a star turn. A while ago I mentioned his plight as one of the pretty boys. Well it seems as if the Blue Boy has found another pitfall to being stunningly photogenic.

Obviously the cameras just can't get enough of his good looks. While we're content to just pay voyeur when it comes to porn, our Blue Boy has opted for a more active role so to speak.

Boy : I've been EdisonChenned!
Paul : Edison Chen called you? Isn't he straight? Well, he's cute so I don't see why the glum face.
Boy : I don't mean that! I mean I've been videotaped! In flagrante delicto!
Paul : Holy Bel Ami.
Boy : Oh yes.
Paul : Do you know who took the movie?
Boy : Sad part is I don't actually recall!
Paul : Well you look good from most angles at least. So what were you doing in the movie? Solo? Duo? Group?
Boy : I have no idea! I haven't seen the video clip myself but I have it on good authority that it has been featured on a porn site.
Paul : Hope you're getting paid at least!
Boy : Is that glee on your face?
Paul : Well I always knew you'd look good on porn.

Turns out one of his anonymous fuck buddies decided that a budding career as an amateur porn director would suit him. Any hopeful dreams Blue Boy might have had to run for public office one day obviously dashed to the ground.

Seriously. Talk about a good reason not to simply fuck around.

Of course the moment our boy left, I sprinted for the laptop and googled his name barely twenty seconds after. With his tacit permission of course. By some fortunate circumstance that I can't recall, I actually have seen his penis in the altogether - but I expect there's nothing quite like watching it in slow-mo voyeuristic action.

At least I presume.

Gotta admit it would be a bit weird to watch my handsome friend starring in a fuck flick but hey, I've always been a curious sort. And clearly my morals are fast slipping down the drain! Perhaps I might even pick up a few techniques!

Oh yes the links are there to find but much to my consternation however, the video has been removed from public consumption. Either a guilty conscience or a lack of publicity had the unscrupulous director taking it down. Dammit. And here we were thinking of charging pay-per-view.

Maybe I could ask the notorious Blue Boy for a blow-by-blow replay instead?