WARNING: This story contains vivid descriptions of sexual acts between men with men and is not meant for minors. If you are offended by touchy subjects such as homosexuality, witchcraft etc please do not read it. Do not distribute. A single copy has been sent to the Nifty Archives. Please do not post to newsgroups or websites. You may E-mail this story to anyone you choose, so long as you retain this warning and the author's E-mail.
This is a work of fiction and does not reflect the real life activities of the author. All characters are purely fictional, and any resemblance to any person or persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Any opinions/beliefs expressed in this article are included for enhancing the story-line and has no bearing on the author's personal belief and faith. This article is not intended to poke fun, insult, harm or damage anything, living or dead.
Any mentions of witchcraft or shapeshifting or any occult art is purely from imagination. They are not real. The author does not bear any responsibilities for any misinterpretation on the reader's part and subsequent misuse of any fictitious spell/incantations etc included in this article.
The author is not a witch, does not have a witch and a shape-shifter for parents. Buckland Enterprise does not exist anywhere on earth, heaven or hell.
Title: Witches, Shapeshifters and Sex --------------------------------------
Chapter Four =============
A. October 31st, Halloween, Samhain or Bu?
In Singapore, Halloween is not considered a major public holiday even though some people do celebrate this event. Halloween originates from the British Isles and has been celebrated since ancient times in Ireland, Scotland and Britain. It goes by several other names according to the local customs. Some of them include: All Hallows Eve, Hallowtide, The Day of the Dead and All Soul's Night. Being witches, this day is especially special to us.
We name the year as the Wheel, where a full cycle is marked by 8 Sabbats (or holy days). Historically, this calendar is created due to agricultural reasons, for each sabbat coincides with the Equinoxes or Solstices, indications of the movements of our God and Goddess (the Sun and the Moon). The early people use them as a guide to decide when to begin planting, when to harvest and when to expect long months of cold. This is a lot like the Chinese who follow the Lunar Year. However Dad and I do not adhere strictly to the Wheel. After all the sabbats are Celtic in nature, they are less applicable in warm climates like Singapore, but we still celebrate momentous sabbats like Samhain.
Halloween, or as we call it, Samhain (pronounced 'sow-in' which is Scottish for November) marks the first and the last Sabbat in the Wheel's cycle and it extends from October 31st to November 1st. It is a time where the Earth bids farewell to the God, knowing that he will once again be reborn of the Goddess and the cycle will continue. It is believed that on this day, which lies exactly between the Autumnal Equinox and Winter Solstice, the veils between the worlds are very thin and both the living and dead can commune by passing through to each other's realm. Contrary to what most think, witches do not use this day to summon the dead or generate chaos. For us, Samhain is a time we honor the dead and reflect upon our deeds for the past year. Some will perform forms of divination by reading tarots, others carry out rites to symbolize the end of summer, each observing this period as is befitting his or her traditions.
Preparations for Samhain start almost a week before the actual day. Dad and I will make trips together to Orchard road to shop for candles, dried flowers, wreaths of holy, new bed sheets and pillows. Then we will try our luck at Little India, searching for sandalwood incense, frankincense, colored powders that are used to draw runes and spices such as cinnamon and pepper seeds. Along the way, we pick up other items like lovely rugs that are embroidered with complex patterns, handcrafted cutlery and chinaware.
It is actually quite funny to see the expressions of the passer-bys and shopkeepers as they watch two grown men haggle like fishwives in the market and openly giggling with merriment when we find a good buy or some rare object; The puzzled looks of the salesgirls when we pay for the boxes of candles, the bewildered frowns when we beat seasoned housewives at a bargain, and the disdainful glares of men who cannot stomach seeing their own species arguing heatedly over whether white is a nicer color for a bed sheet or yellow is more appealing.
Sometimes we do attract unwanted attention even though our dress code is usually casual, a plain T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans will suffice as it is more comfortable to juggle the heavy shopping bags. Suggestive looks from ladies who are window-shopping or waiting for friends; Men, most of them we guess could be dormant gays or bisexual, winking lecherously at us. This occurs more frequently when Dad forces Papa to come along and I think it has to do with the flashy clothes that Papa always wears. He probably has two reasons for doing this, the obvious one being it annoys Dad extremely when people look appreciatively at Papa's scantily dressed attire of flimsy, semi-transparent top and snug pants that cling to the beautiful curve of his butt and slim waist. The other reason is it provides Papa with an excuse to be lazy because he can whine about how degrading it will be for a smartly dressed man like him to be seen burdened with loads of shopping bags tagging after the both of us like a panting dog, although Dad never falls for such a lame, exaggerated excuse each time Papa brings it up.
Incidentally, as I have found out after a few years of living under my parents roof, Samhain also happens to be an important day for shapeshifters as well. According to Papa, a shapeshifter's concept of a year is divided into 3 parts, Go (the Future), Bu (the Past) and Ra (the Present). Go lasts for a few hours from the setting of the sun on December 31st to the morning of January 1st. Bu begins on October 31st and Ra is the rest of the year from January the 2nd to October 30th. This is modeled after the Ta'etokar, translated meaning The Great Trinity, which is a triangle linking three circles, the center of each circle forming a point on the triangle. Each circle symbolizes a certain period using a specific color scheme and design. Go is enshrouded in black billowing clouds, Bu is a spiral interwoven in a kaleidoscope of rainbow colors and Ra is represented like a bursting sun using a mixture of yellow, red and orange.
On the day itself, I prefer to don a flowing robe of black sewn with a solitary shooting star that forms a glittering tail of silver and white from the front to the back. Most people think black is evil, for us it is not. Black is an absence of color and refers to the night and outer space, the ultimate universe and a lack of falsehood. The dash of white is for my belief in pure spirituality. Dad likes a cloak of purple that has two fiery phoenixes, intermingled together in luminous threads of yellow as they soar to the heavens. The purple is for focusing his spiritual awareness and magickal abilities, whereas the yellow helps him in his divination.
Our house will be filled mostly with black and white candles (the former for the Goddess and the latter for the God), some of them hanging from holders suspended from the ceiling while others burning and shedding their comforting glow upon candlesticks and cupboards. A candle altar is setup in the living room where guests are invited to lit the special colored candle that mirrors their wishes or hopes for family and friends on Samhain. Pink is for love and romance; Green signifies fertility, good luck and harmony; Red is to bless them with health, courage and strength and the list goes on. Fresh flowers like sunflower, tulips and lilies add splashes of colors to the house. Papa will take out his prized collections of animal deities - the great Bear spirit, the golden Antelope, and put them on display near the staircase that leads up to the second floor. All fans and air-conditioners are switched off as dusk falls and the windows are thrown open with the curtains drawn to allow Nature's cooling breeze to purify the house. The fare ranges from spicy herbal soup, roast chicken, deep fried fish soaked in lemon juice to sweet, soft almond tofu and apple pies.
Guests are normally close friends and extended families, some of them straight others lesbian or gay but all of them open-minded and discreet. However only very privileged people get to remain for our rituals at midnight because Dad feels these are sacred rites, not some public performance that everyone should see. Among the few who gets to stay are Antonio, Papa's nephew, Peter and Betty, my best friends, Tricia and Clarice, Dad's lesbian friends whom he met during a convention in Philippines. As my parents have a house in the Bukit Timah area, we do not have to care much about disturbing our neighbors if we celebrate well into the night, so long as we keep the noise down.
Most of our guests are very amicable and easy-going with the exception of Antonio. To others he is Jeremy's 25 year old nephew but he is actually a 100 years old Noble shapeshifter (Sha'vikar) who is studying under Papa. He is a million times more arrogant than Papa, with eyes that are set so high which makes me wonder how he manages to walk in the first place. The most irritating thing about him is that he thinks he is irresistible and no woman or gay man can ignore him if works his charm on them. By a stroke of bad luck, he also happens to be the first man that I have intimate physical contact with.
We do not observe the traditions of giving out candies or make jack-o-lanterns unlike some of our counterparts in the States and Europe do. But still when children of our guests ask for trick-or-treat, Dad will hand out lots of goodies like skeleton head lollipops and delicious pumpkin cookies. After dinner, Dad and I will take turns to divine various things for our guests; Some will ask about love and romance, others about career and health. There are a few requests we don't accept though like whether a certain plot to harm someone in the office or anything to that effect and we make it a point to tell our guests that what is seen is only a projection of what was. They are the ones who hold the power to change what is and what will be. Dad uses tarot cards whereas I go for the coins and tortoise shells that the ancient Chinese use. Papa will sit next to me as I perform divination, tapping my shoulders as I rattle the shell and closing his eyes as if in deep concentration. He calls it 'Energy Shifting', directing the 'channels' into me as I harness the power of Spirit, because he worries that I will make a fool of myself with my inexperience in the craft.
By 11 PM only the few selected people are around while my parents and I go about clearing up the place. An ornate table of dancing fairies crafted from brass and silver is laid with offerings of wine and fruit, our Feast For The Dead. We then proceed to prepare the altar. A quarter before 11, the group of us will sit down and meditate, looking in retrospect of what has gone by for the past year, remembering our mistakes and resolving not to repeat them again. By 12 PM, or as some describes it as the Witching Hour, we begin the ritual to commemorate our ancestors. Only Dad and I participate in this and the guests are asked to view at a distance. Papa and Antonio do not take part because they have their own rituals to perform.
A circle is cast around us and evil is dispelled by spraying salt. The guardians of the four corners, Earth, Fire, Water and Air are called upon to help us. We invite our forebears to step through the veil and cross from the other world to join us for the day, as we chant,
And so it is, we gather again,
To give our humble offerings to those who come.
Whom do we invite, our Ancients, our Ancestors?
We call them by name, Iluvar Xenovich
Here they come, our Grandmothers, our Grandfathers
Where ever the country, where ever the land
They leave us not, to travel alone.
Flesh of our flesh, bone of our bone!
Welcome within to our humble abode
Our hearth is your hearth and welcome to thee;
Old tales to tell and new visions to see!
After which we then light a fat candle that has protection runes inscribed on it. The basic rune is a series of rings, each embedded in the other. The blessing chant goes like this,
We Invoke The Divine Three:
To Protect, To Purify, To Prosper
The Household, The Home, The Hearth
This Night, Each Night, Every Night!
When the rite is completed, we then include our guests in a final thank you to the deities for their kind patronage in the past year. This more or less concludes our celebrations for Samhain.
B. Antonio (Part I)
Antonio works as a free lance pianist, playing at different hotels on Sunday mornings and lounges on weekday nights. He gives lessons as a supplement but rarely because he only teaches gifted students who must be able to afford his exorbitant fees. I have seen many students cry under his tutelage yet the oddest thing is they keep coming back. He lives alone in a 5-room flat in Clementi but drops by our place once a week for dinner, sometimes sleeping over depending on how late his sessions with Papa end. Occasionally, he composes music for commercials and gets invited to perform overseas with names like the New Philharmonic Orchestra. He speaks a variety of languages proficiently, apart from Latin and English. French is one of them.
I have to admit Antonio is very handsome, with his Latin American boyish looks and tall muscular frame. He is about 1.8 meters with an unbalanced hour-glass figure: broad shoulders that fill out his shirt, strong arms that have long ellipses of biceps, a wide chest with pronounced pecs, a slender waist and a perfectly ridged abdomen. His brown, doe-like eyes, framed in a smooth face that has an ideal tan, can melt even the coldest heart. Soft, inviting lover's lips and arcs of fine eyebrows add to his attractiveness. Snow white teeth that show when he breaks into a faultless smile makes your heart skips a beat. His darkish brown hair, dyed a faint orange, sparkle like bronze under the light.
"Mrs. Tan, by the looks of this formation, you should be welcoming a new addition
to your family in 3 more months and expect your luck to change. Perhaps
a grand-daughter?" I predicted, reassuring the old lady sitting in the sofa that things are going to turn out smoothly.
Mrs. Tan lived with her son. Her husband had died two years ago and she had sold her house in Bukit Timah to move in with her son. Her Caucasian daughter-in-law had begun taking an interest in witchcraft a year ago and happened to know about Dad through a friend's coven. Covens in Singapore are chiefly low-keyed and secretive, not because they are some cult or crazy fanatics but just that witches do not make it a habit to seek out new followers as we believe a person must have true calling to walk the Witches path. Dad and I practice alone as we do not feel at ease with big groups. This divination was performed during Samhain last year when we invited them to join us.
"You sure it is a grand-daughter? Those white cloak boys also say the same
thing. Bad luck, how come not a son?" She grumbled, rubbing her wrinkled hands nervously. Her aged eyes were filled with disappointment and a wisp of silver white hair could be seen suspended just a few centimeters above the right eyebrow.
"It looks to be so. I think you really should trust the doctors and their
machines. A girl or a boy does not affect your luck." I offered, quietly marveling at her old-fashioned thinking that boys are better than girls.
She looked a little distraught and hesitant as to what to say. Next to me Papa rolled his eyes as if to motion me to hurry up before we have to perform another divination again.
"Playing goodie two shoe are we, cherie?" A lazy, sensuous voice said enunciating the last endearment in French with too much honey for my liking.
I glowered at Antonio who was sauntering in my direction, holding a glass of punch in his hand. He was wearing a clinging navy blue shirt, gray jeans and looking like a GQ model walking down an aisle. He had on that devastatingly comely smile that made me want to slap him and kiss him at the same time.
"Watch your tongue less I cut it off." I chided harshly, signaling a desperate look at Papa to get him to chase the pest away. Papa simply grinned at me.
"Now, now no need to get all defensive around moi, cherie. Husbands are
supposed to be caring. Scoot over here and give me some loving. My buddy
is yearning for you." Antonio suggested, his voice taking on a lusty quality that made me shiver in delight. Only a little, I scolded myself mentally.
Mrs. Tan was murmuring about what husbands and that men do not fall in love with men. She was only aware that my parents adopted me from the orphanage out of kindness and we practiced witchcraft. The sexual orientation part was left out of the picture.
"Don't push your luck." I warned. Papa chuckled.
"But love, we are made for each other. Don't you see we are wonderful
together?" He persevered, ignoring the scandalized look from Mrs. Tan.
"I am sexy, talented and a living Adonis, surely you cannot think less of moi.
Come, I will show you sights of love in my boudoir that you have not experience
before in your pathetic life. I cannot promise I will share only your bed,
there will be others but you shall never regret having a stallion like me."
He stated, conceited and unabashed by his speech.
That was the last straw.
"You are not the only stud available, you dimwit. I am busy right now, go and
find your fun elsewhere, kiddo. We adults here have other urgent matters to
attend to" I replied, making a final attempt to get Papa to intervene.
A look of genuine anger momentarily marred Antonio's face and vanished. I knew his ego was offended at being labelled stupid and young but then I wasn't about to let him frighten the poor conservative lady with his lewd remarks. Moreover, I felt secured with Papa being around.
Of course, scheming, unreliable Papa chose that unlikely time to leave.
"Mrs. Tan, why not we ask Duvre what he thinks? He seems to be making idle
chat over there." Papa recommended, leaving his sofa and helping Mrs. Tan up.
I beseeched Papa to stay, blinking looks between him and Antonio but he merely grinned widely, pretending that he did not understand what I was saying.
"Good luck, Uncle Jeremy" Antonio called, settling onto the vacated seat that belonged to Papa and immediately grabbed my shoulders in a fierce grip with his free hand.
I was trapped.
"You bitch, never ever insult me like this or I will make you regret your
naming day." He bit out, his eyes blasting a frigid look of ice at me.
His face was taut with displeasure and I can see the strained muscles where his jaw held shut. He was keeping an outward expression of nonchalance by sipping his drink slowly. I could feel my stomach churn and a weakness begin in my knees. There was no telling what an enraged shapeshifter would do and I wasn't that much of a powerful witch. Besides his lips were barely inches away from my ears, sending my nerves into a frenzy with each feathering touch as they moved.
"Do..not taunt me with your...false threats" I fought back bravely, spoiling the effect with my stammering.
"Oh so you think that I am bluffing? I can read your mind and expose
your innermost secrets if I want to or plant subconscious thoughts and have
you strip and run around the neighbor naked. Of course, there is the most
satisfying punishment of invading your dreams every night and make wild love
to you. Now which one do you prefer?" He listed, impressing images onto my mind so that I can see each torture vividly even with my eyes shut.
I was speechless with terror and a little excited.
"But then I may not need to resort to shifting, judging from what you are
thinking right now. Dieu, you have an insatiable appetite I see, maybe we
can work on that. You still remember the last time I gave you pleasure?" He leered, and my treacherous body went rigid with desire.
I did not know whether the erotic scenes running through my brain like a movie were his doing or of my own volition but my cock was swelling and a tent was quickly forming, rising above the robe.
"Le bon Dieu, I see you are ready for me. But I am not. Its been more than
4 years hasn't it? I have lots more to discuss with you. Now, where shall I
begin? " He left the glass on the table and grabbed my crotch, stroking my manhood and fondling with the nuts.
I moaned as the images flashed to that balmy afternoon.
I had been having doubts as to if I like girls or guys more. I was 15 then and was beginning to find looking at guys a more interesting pastime than girls. The hard, sweaty flesh fascinated me. I had known that I never harbored wicked intentions of sex when I was around girls - the breasts did not turn me on as they did with other guys - but had thought nothing of it. I had cringed initially when I first saw my parents kissed and petted each other but got used to it eventually. It was roughly at the time I met Antonio and was blown away by his virile looks and physique. I believed he, being a competent flirt, knew that I was smitten with him and lured me into his trap. He was very good at it, giving me little gifts every time he came for dinner, a red rose, a silver ring, classical CDs, small brass earrings. It was like he knew exactly when I was feeling down, what I liked very much. I didn't speculate then that perhaps he had somehow read my thoughts and had naively accredited his considerate acts to his thoughtfulness.
Fortunately, he only gave me a blowjob that afternoon. I did badly in a test that morning, quarreled with my activity team over the color scheme to use for the banner and was quite upset. My parents were at work, Dad had a tutorial and Papa had to be at a meeting. Out of the blue, Antonio dropped by our house with a cake and half a dozen cans of beers. He had lied that they were supposed to be for a friend's birthday that night. After venting my frustrations, he had offered to share the cake and the beer with me. I was reluctant as I was not of legal age to consume alcoholic drinks but after some persuasion (There was no need for a lot of that because Antonio was very convincing), I had relented. I was a little tipsy when he took advantage of my condition and moved in for the kill. He had my pants and briefs off in a flash and was sucking on my uncut prong.
"Hmmm, do you remember how soft your dick was when I gently licked it alive
with my tongue? How you pleaded for me to stop when I pulled back your skin
and nibbled on the cockhead?" Antonio taunted, increasing the pressure on my loins.
I could hear myself panting. I could still see his skilful tongue teasing my flaccid shaft, slurping along its length swiftly until it was stiff as a stick. He then started with the balls, chewing on them lightly as if savoring a delicious meal, pulling the pubic hair with his teeth and sending shocks of pain electrifying through my body. The pain then was nothing compared to the treatment he later gave my cockhead with his teeth. I almost felt myself die with pleasure when he nipped at the sensitive head, screaming for him to halt, at the same time wanting him to go on. Precum flowed, only to be swallowed by his exacting mouth, as I was edged closer to fulfillment.
"Was this how it felt like?" He clawed at the pulsing rod, beginning to jerk at it. I clamped my mouth to stop from groaning out loud as I was still conscious of the presence of other guests even though I was fast getting entangled in the arousing web he was weaving.
"Do you want my mouth to take you right now as it did before?"
My voice was stuck in my throat. I could still feel the incredible tenderness of his lips and mouth as they surrounded my club, enveloping it in a hot, slippery membrane.
"Does it feel like heaven?"
My jaw ached with the exertion and I felt tears well up as I endured the primal growl threatening to break free. In my mind, I heard myself shouting for help.
"It is like nothing you have ever felt isn't it?"
"The friction, the burning sensation, don't you want it again?"
I was losing it. His hand was like a vise, imprisoning my penis. I could visualize his head bobbing up and down faster and faster, the abrasion between his sheath and my sword igniting scorching flames that race across every inch of my flesh like wild, bushfires.
"Ahh..." I cried softly, still struggling to retaliate against the rising heat.
"I see you want it, don't you"
"Ughh...AHhhh..." My cries getting louder, my body thrusting away from the seat.
All of a sudden, the pictures in my mind became a total blank screen, as if someone had hit the off button on the video recorder. Gradually, I lifted my eyes and saw Dad holding my shoulders, a concerned expression on his face. Papa was a few steps behind, casting furious scowls at Antonio. My punisher was looking very smug and full of himself. Thankfully, nobody else noticed what had transpired between Antonio and I.
I clumsily adjusted my robes, both Antonio's hands had withdrawn by now, climbed out of the seat dampened with my sweat and sped for my bedroom. Once I was inside the safe confines of my room, I disrobed and masturbated myself fervently. It didn't take long before I ejaculated, convulsing uncontrollably, moaning as the juice sputtered again and again from my life fountain. Minutes later as I laid spent and exhausted on the floor, there was a knock on the door.
"Stefan, you okay?" The worried voice was Dad.
"Boy, answer us." Papa added.
I could only squeak a feeble reply. A numbness was spreading and my arms and legs were as heavy as lead. The door swung open and within seconds, Dad was lifting my head onto his bent knee, scrutinizing my face. I could barely keep my eyes open.
"It's all your fault, Jeremy. That Antonio is a monster, you should not have
abandoned Stefan. Had I not felt that palpable, desperate pulse from Stefan,
your favorite student would have enslaved his mind. Our child does not have
the strength yet to defend himself." I heard Dad admonished, there was a note of rage in his voice that was petrifying.
"I...uhm..erm.." Papa stuttered, at a loss for words.
"You knew about the shifting didn't you? And you kept it from me? How could you? Antonio was not definitely not fooling around with something of such magnitude. Don't you dare deny it."
I could vaguely see Papa bowed his head, as if in shame. I was starting to lapse into unconsciousness as fatigue overwhelmed my senses.
"Stefan could have been in real danger...."
I blanked out, only managing to catch disparate fragments of the conversation. Papa saying he was sorry, Dad mentioning something about bonded or bounded, Papa and Dad bickering about Antonio being the best thing that can happen to me. The rest was a blur to me.
I had to rest in bed for a few days as I was down with fever and for once it was Papa who took care of me. I could tell Dad was still fuming and my parents were not making out at all but Papa was not complaining which I found peculiar. Antonio did not visit us for weeks. Now when he comes by, both of us are not allowed to be in the same room without either of our parents there, not that I like seeing him anyway. I think Antonio finds this rule irksome but he does not make a big issue of it. Nobody talks about that night again. I have been meaning to ask my parents about their fight that night as I have the weirdest feeling that it is closely related to me, but keeps passing it over as other real life commitments such as looking for employment crowded into my thoughts.
C. Peter (Part I)
Peter is the second friend that I have come out to, apart from Betty who I have befriended since young. I have decided to tell him the truth, aware of the devastating backlash should Peter be repulsed by my deception and spread the news of my sexuality around the varsity, because of that crazy Christmas night spent at his home. The feeling of guilt has been like a boulder weighing me down ever since, growing with each day, so much so that I cannot even look Selena and Peter in the eye without seeing myself as the worst kind of bastard. It was during my last year in the varsity and Peter being one year my senior was preparing for his and Selena's convocation. I have asked him out to East Coast on the pretext of wanting company to cycle. It was a Sunday morning and Peter did not have any plans to take Selena on a date.
"Yo, Good morning oh mighty Witch." Peter greeted. He had known about my faith as a witch and was very cool about it being a free thinker himself.
"Idiot! I asked you here to cycle not tell the world that I am a witch. You
know I can jolly well turn you into a frog or make pimples break out
everywhere on your face." I responded, a tinge of smile in my voice.
We have been baiting each other like this since that fateful afternoon when I brought him home after our Orientation camp and he accidentally chanced upon my books on witchcraft. That was 3 to 4 years ago. We had progressed from total strangers in a new institution to becoming fast friends after being doused with mud and soapy water, made to squawk like ducks and singing about safe sex in front of a condom shop before a sea of people. I had no choice but to explain to him about how witches are not what most people think we are. Thankfully, he did not freak out on me and our friendship had blossomed.
"Man, frog I can handle but Selena is going to kill me if she sees those
red spots on my face." He grinned.
"That's the whole idea! Uhm, did you wake up on the wrong side of bed this
morning? You look like crap." I commented, noticing his slightly unkempt hair and ugly combination of a pair of tights and a worn shirt with the words "Back off" scribbled in red at the front.
Peter wasn't good-looking by a long shot. It was true he had a fantastic built and was quite tall, being a volleyball player. His body was well developed, just the right amount of meat in the right places. No bulging chests and grossly disproportional limbs like those of a weight-lifter. A toned abdomen that had the shape of 8 cells of hard flesh but not too defined. The muscles that he had were sleek and continuous, like those of dancer's. But that was about all that was intriguing about him. There were pimple scars, not too many, on the forehead and his eyes are slightly sunken because of the hours of staying up late to catch up with his studies. He had more or less a normal Asian face, black hair and tanned skin.
"Duh, I haven't got time to look in the mirror this morning. But what
difference does it make? We are here to cycle not model. Besides you don't
look fabulously dressed Mr. Fashion Critic." He made a face to emphasize his point.
"Hello? You don't have to dress like a beggar to go cycling do you? The key
is to be neat." I retorted.
"Yeah, yeah whatever you say. You sound like my mum who nags at me when I
go to bed without changing into my pyjamas."
"I'm not your mother. She is a sweet lady but I don't look THAT old, no
offense." I said, wrinkling my nose in a mock show of disgust.
Peter laughed.
"Okay, I get the idea. Now seriously, are we going to cycle or sit here and
chat the whole day? We better move our butts if we want to skip the crowd."
"Erm, okay." I complied, making a mental note to force myself to tell him everything after the cycling trip.
East Coast is one of the favorite holiday haunts to hang out at during weekends or long breaks because of the great number of chalets and extensive space for recreational activities. One can cycle, roller-blade or picnic on the undulating green lawns. There is a variety of restaurants and food outlets for those who do not wish to cook or are particular about their meals. Arcade centres for the kids who tire of outdoor play. Its close proximity to the sea with a sandy beach makes it popular for people who want to get away from the barren city life of high rise buildings. As a result, it was quite packed that day and we had to wait our turn before we could rent two mountain bikes.
On foot, travelling the whole of East Coast may take several hours but on bike, it depends on how fast one cycles, probably an hour or more for the average person. Since Peter and I were there to relax ourselves, we decided to ride leisurely. The day was cool with generous breezes of salty sea air and we had a great time, although I noticed there was something amiss in Peter's attitude that I couldn't quite put a finger to. He was talkative and witty as usual but his attention was seriously lacking.
"Yo buddy, what's wrong?" I asked, slowing down to search for a place to rest.
Peter kept on riding. I called again. On the third time, he turned around and saw that I had parked my bike next to a tree and was sitting on a bench not far away. He reversed his bike and cycled back.
"I had to call three times before you responded. Are you sure you are okay?" I inquired with concern.
"Nah, I'm fine just that something is bugging me." He replied, flopping onto the seat next to me.
"Selena problem?" I questioned, stretching my arms into the air and letting the wind blow across them.
He made a face.
"Job problem then?" I continued, thinking he was having trouble getting employed. Fresh graduates are getting too common nowadays.
He shook his head.
"Nope. Selena and I had both found work. She is a financial controller at an accountancy firm whereas I am being hired by my attachment company as a mechanical engineer."
"Then what's bothering you? Oh I get it, not enough funds to go backpacking
huh?"
"Don't be dumb. My parents have promised to pay for the expenses, besides
I have some savings. Its more than sufficient."
"Uhm then? I am not Sherlock Holmes so cut the mystery and come clean." I feigned a serious look.
"Yes Sir. Don't want to get turned into a frog." He saluted and we both grinned.
"Well, it is something that I have been wanting to ask you for a long time" He paused a while.
"And?" I prodded, my interest piqued.
"I have been thinking about this and is in a dilemma as to how to broach
this subject with you." He provided.
"Yeah, dilemma is spelt with a double M. Don't beat around the bush, mister."
"Okay.... Do you remember the Christmas night when I invited the gang and you
to my house?" He queried.
My breath froze and my heart stopped in my breast.
"Ehhh...yeah" I supplied weakly, fully cognizant of where this was going.
"My Dad lost his gold Rolex watch at that time and had suspected it was you
because you were the earliest to leave that night. I defended you to him
but somehow I was skeptical about you too since nobody knew exactly when
you went home. In the end, it was all a misunderstanding because Dad had
misplaced his watch before he and Mum departed for the trip." He uttered in a continuous flow.
I expelled a sigh of relief. He did not remember!
"I mean you are such a good friend and I did not trust you. I feel so ashamed of my behavior" Peter stated in a low voice, his ears blushing with embarrassment. It was an endearing trait of his when he had done something wrong, I realized.
Sincerity and honesty were what drew me to Peter. I was more of an introvert and required some time to warm up to a relationship. During the short interval of a week or so of freshman orientation, I knew it was a difficult task for me to make lasting friendships. But Peter's open and selfless outlook on friendship broke the ice between us. He seldom minced his words if I had done something wrong and was willing to give a helping hand whenever I needed one, no matter how busy he was. We gave each other support as we went through the trials and tribulations of university life. Peter, being the senior, was forever providing me with tips and frequently softcopies of reports as references. He did not expect any form of reciprocation on my part, except that I had to treat him as an equal and a confidant.
It were times like this when he cared enough about our friendship that he mustered the courage to bring things out to the open and cleared the cobwebs of distrust, which made me felt inferior standing beside him.
"You are not angry, are you Stef?" Peter looked at me.
I remained quiet, fighting the war waging internally.
"Come on, make acne sprout on my face or turn me into a rat or a mouse. It
will make you feel better." He joked, hoping to disperse the cloud of unease that was forming.
"I...erm..." My mind was frantically looking for the words to tell him I was gay.
"I am serious about the frog and acne thing if that would make you happy.
I don't want our friendship to end just like that."
I nodded, gulping down some saliva and wetting my lips. How silly it was of me to crack my brain for the appropriate phrases when I had long known them by hear.
"Peter, thank you for sharing that bit of secret with me. I know how hard it
is for you. I too have not been completely honest with you either."
Peter's face beamed an angelic smile that was shortly replaced by a disconcerted look.
"I was sorta forced to escape home that Christmas night. Remember how
everyone who was there had a blurred memory of the party?"
He cocked his head.
"I had been meddling with potions for sometime and well, somewhere along the
way, my naughty side decided to play a joke on the gang. I had mixed an
aphrodisiac and brought it to the party."
His eyes squinted while a confounded frown appeared on his forehead. He was about to interrupt when I motioned him to let me continue.
"You must be wondering why bring a potion that enhances sex drive to an
all-guys night out? Think again about how you pestered me about why I
didn't bring my girlfriend to our outings? Not once did I answer your
questions directly, did I?"
He considered that notion for awhile, as those intelligent eyes of his rolled around in circles. His eyes shot wide open the instant what I was hinting at hit home.
"Jesus, don't tell me..erm....you are like...effeminate?" He held his hand in a female like gesture.
I had no idea if I should weep or laugh.
"The politically correct term is 'gay'. I am gay. No I am not feminine
like, have you ever seen me act girlish before? No, right? I just happen
to like guys more than gals. To be more exact, people of the same sex."
"Oh my god, so you are one of those......" He stopped, on the verge of using the unfair stereotypes commonly used.
"No, I am not one of those whatever they are. I am just like you and
everybody out there. I am born of a woman. I fall sick, get hurt and yearn
for love. The difference is I like men instead of women." I said, a bit offended.
"Chill man, this is way too much for me to handle. You like men. Whoa, that
explains why you seem to ogle so much at those male athletes in school and
knows practically all their names by heart. I can't believe it." He reasoned, a dazed look in his eyes.
"Holy shit, then there were those times when you pretended you had a
girlfriend but was evasive whenever we asked to see her, making up excuses
that she was out of the country or she was too shy to meet us. I knew there
was something wrong, I mean it was preposterous a girl would be frightened
to see her boyfriend's friends if she truly meant to go steady with him. She
was a red herring wasn't she? To throw us off guard?"
"Peter, I..." I tried to pat him on the shoulders but he reflexively jumped out of my reach.
"I know this looks bad but I can explain" I tried to appeal to his logic but to no avail. Peter was hopping onto his bike in seconds and was peddling away. He did not even wave goodbye.
For days, Peter did not contact me and neither did I bother to call him. I buried myself in books and worked out my vexations through sweeping and scrubbing the house, from the floors to the walls, anything that could occupy my mind. Dad was unhappy and attempted to counsel me. That didn't work. Papa used another approach, he ordered me to run errands, often for several hours non-stop, hoping that it would lower my defenses and I would cry out my sorrows when I felt tired. That didn't work either. Papa was considering to use the last resort, to walk into my mind, when an unexpected visitor came on a Saturday afternoon.
I was in the kitchen, slicing some carrots when I heard the doorbell rang. Finding it strange that we should be anticipating any guest since Antonio had flown to Japan in the morning after staying over for the night, I cleaned my hands and strolled out to the living room. Dad had answered the door.
"Hi Mr. Mcloughlin" the man rasped.
"Thank the Gods, Peter, its you!" Dad exclaimed.
"Is Stefan in?" Peter asked.
I was stunned, unable to move or think.
"Of course, come on in." Dad let Peter in and half pushed me to meet our guest.
"I believe the two of you have a lot of unfinished business to discuss. I
will make myself scarce." Dad commented and made his way to the study that was round the corner, some distance away from the kitchen.
Somehow, my senses managed to kick into action and I gestured to Peter to make himself comfortable. But it seemed he would much rather stand.
"Uhmm..." Peter stuttered, apparently fetching for words.
I merely stared blankly at him.
"This...is...not going to be easy, buddy." Peter stumbled on.
Anger flared from nowhere at his audacity to call me on such friendly terms when he actually ran away and hid himself in his safe haven. I had believed our friendship to be over then.
"I..know you are..furious and I blame myself." Peter rushed on, accurately reading my mood.
"You can bet your arse I am" I ejaculated, frost covering my voice. I could not trust myself to speak anymore, less I got violent and did something I would regret later.
"I can..explain.."
"That sounds familiar." I sneered.
"You have got to hear my side of the story, man. Please?" He persisted.
Perhaps it was the desperation in the message or the sudden thought of how I would react if I were in his shoes that made me held back the caustic remarks. I crossed my arms and tapped my fingers impatiently, waiting for the ball to drop.
"Errmm..." He delayed and I shot daggers at him with my eyes.
"Okay...no need to look like you are going to chop off my head. Well, here
goes. I have been contemplating for days, weighing our friendship and my
beliefs and deliberating which to select. You have to realize all my life I
have never known guys who like other guys and I have grown up believing a man
must love a woman. Without warning you drop this nuclear bomb in my happy,
peaceful world. How am I supposed to cope with all that?" He explained.
I uncrossed my arms, relinquishing the pose of defense.
"I appreciate how you must have cared for our friendship to tell me that you
are what you are. But you cannot expect me to suddenly say, Hey I'm cool,
do you? It doesn't work that way. Witchcraft I can accept because its just
another faith of course knowing that it is not worshipping demons helps a
lot. You scared the living daylights out of me that day. I was thinking,
god help me, here was a guy who actually wanted to kiss my arse. Physically
and not metaphorically, mind you."
I bit back a smile. Much of my anger had dissipated. Peter saw my lips twitched with mirth and grinned a little. I immediately put on the mask of coldness again. I wasn't about to let him get away so easily.
"Frankly, I had spent these past days doing some serious thinking. There were times I really felt like giving up. I mean, that would be the fastest way out of the mess. My beliefs would remain intact but the catch would be I would lose a valuable friend. The thing that helped me made up my mind was this photograph."
Peter held up a picture of the two of us, half naked in a man-sized drain, our feet soaked in reddish-brown, clay filled water. It was taken during our orientation camp.
"Here was a guy who I had only known for less than two days and he was
willing to join me in my humiliation. I knew then that we were meant to be
friends, regardless of our backgrounds, likes or dislikes. Some may think
what is the big deal with two men having a bath in mud, especially those who
have been through the army. But to a foreign student who has been born with
a silver spoon, borrowing that cliche, getting drenched with mud and cheering
loudly about how I love it, no matter how false it sounds, is the worst form
of punishment."
Peter held out his hand in a handshake. I hesitated.
"Friends?" He inquired.
"I think frogs and pimples are too good for you. Maybe a toad or a rat."
I shook his hand and nodded. Both of us smiled. No more words were needed.
We became even closer after this incident. I attended his convocation and he was at mine a year later. Even though both of us are now busy with our jobs and life, we still hang out on Friday nights once a fortnight. I have found a well-paid job at a leading company and Peter is hunting for another more challenging one. Selena is quite satisfied with her work, although Peter hasn't told her that I am gay without having my consent. I am still looking for a chance to tell Peter the rest of what happened on that Christmas night.
D. Wolfe (Part I)
"God we are never going to meet the deadline." I mutter.
It is just another typical day at work, my colleagues and I struggling to finish a project that is already running late while my inconsiderate boss decides to drop another time bomb in our laps - a new proposal for a tender he happen to come across from the papers. As if we are not pushed as hard as it is. But nobody complains, at least not directly in front of the boss, because it is a norm in Singapore to expect a team to run several projects at one time, multi-tasking some coined it. I am the hardware engineer in the group, overlooking interfacing of microprocessors, logic circuits design and other hardware-related issues from the component level to the circuit-board level. This is my first job after graduation with Buckland Enterprise, a multi-national corporation.
Buckland Enterprise is founded in the 1950s in the Emirates and thrived on exporting petrol and diesel to other parts of the world. It has evolved over the years and is now competing in a wide selection of businesses other than oil-refining such as medical products, the hotel service industry and electronics. The corporation has only recently moved its market focus from Western countries, mainly America and Europe, to the East because of the uprising Asian economies and the recent advancements in technology that has ushered in the need for globalization even more rapidly. Unfortunately due to the onslaught of crises and the relative vulnerable economic foundations of some Asian countries, there are efforts to reorganize the company to suit the Asian environment.
After heavy restructuring, the company currently functions using two separate structures, a project-based approach and the traditional hierarchical tree. The former is used internally while the latter is for identification to the public. The need for two systems is two-fold. Using project groups allow the company to be more flexible to changes and be adaptive to the dynamic market conditions. However, being a well-established organization it is going to be confusing to the suppliers and buyers because they are used to doing business using the old format. They will not be able to adjust quickly with the new system where they have to liaison with project groups. Moreover, in terms of administrative costs, the formal and rigid tree allows easy tracking. Thus, officially I hold the post of Junior Engineer but within my project group my title is Hardware Engineer. The interesting aspect of such a system is it gives management a choice to be involved in the actual processes rather than planning and monitoring through progress reports and charts, but whether to participate or not is still up to individual managers.
"Yeah, Slavedriver Wolfe must be undergoing another period again." Eddie, the software engineer on my team, smilingly remarks.
'Slavedriver' is the nickname we give our group leader, Wolfe Addams, because he drives all of us to our limits with an ever-increasing workload regardless of our seniority or experience; He can be very ruthless if anyone fails to deliver, the harshest being fired without notice and a reference. The 'period' is a joke in the company to describe Wolfe when he starts to force everyone to work at breakneck pace. Wolfe is an acclaimed workaholic, arriving in his office at 6 am and leaving at 11 PM daily, often he works on weekends as well. But he does not expect others to follow his example. At least that was in the past. Lately, his moods have been quite unpredictable and it is common to see him bark orders or bite anyone who is procrastinating in their duties.
Officially, Wolfe is the Managing Director of the Asia-Pacific region. There are about over 2000 project groups reporting to him. These come from South-East Asia such as Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia and countries that are further north like China and Japan. Singapore is the regional home-base and there are roughly 50 project teams here. Despite his many commitments, he makes it a point to join a massive project annually. Usually, the particular project requires collaborative efforts from various departments, spans several countries and must be broken into smaller, manageable modules to be implemented. This time he happens to lead the multi-processor interface controller section which I am attached to.
"Oh man, this thing refuses to work! Looks like another long night to debug
it..." Jason, another hardware engineer, grumbles.
"Heh, don't complain. Wait till we start on the new proposal then the real
fun begins" I reply, walking over to look at the CAD drawing on Jason's computer screen.
"Oh shut up Stefan, you should have told Wolfe to back off last week when he
hinted on that new tender" Eddie joins in, without taking his eyes off the monitor while his hands type furiously away on the keyboard, filling in the segments of missing assembly code.
"Ed, don't even bother to start that line of discussion. Besides I got my
punishment this morning when Wolfe slapped that stack of files onto my
desk." I point to the pile of black folders cluttering my table.
Both Eddie and Jason have grins on their faces that say, 'Well you deserve it'
"Of course, he expects me to finish reading them and to discuss any issues
such as project cost estimates and possible delays by tonight."
Eddie laughs and Jason has a smirk on his face that makes me want to slam his head against the wall.
"I know the tender is purely hardware-based but I have just joined the company,
how can he expect me to forecast the hardware costs and turn-around times?
There are other more capable people in the company."
"Maybe he is holding a torch for you." Jason snickers.
"Very funny." I whack Jason on the head and I can hear Eddie laughing even harder.
I have joined the company for almost a year and has been with the team for the whole duration but I am still uncertain as to how my colleagues will react to my preferred sexuality. Singapore being a patriarchal community tends to be generally conservative. Most people are less receptive to gay people and frown on us, thinking we are some kind of odd creatures with convoluted minds. The better informed ones show understanding but will still unconsciously try to maintain a distance. My safest bet I feel is to be cautious about who I reveal my secret to. I do not want to strain the working relations with my colleagues unnecessary.
"Ouch! Okay, okay I apologize. My guess is Slavedriver is quite impressed
with your work so far and wants to give you a chance to perform." Jason
reasons, rubbing the spot on his head where I just hit.
Eddie nods his head in agreement, attempting to control his laughter with much difficulty.
"Yeah Stefan, I have never seen anyone as hardworking as you and I swear
I'm serious." Eddie continues.
"Sheesh, aside from Slavedriver, you are the second nut-head who spends an
average of 18 hours a day in the office."
"Don't be ridiculous Jason, I don't clock that many hours." I retort, feeling a little exasperated.
"I do spend an awful lot time at work but I still have to sleep and travel"
"Blah, maybe not 18 hours, but I'm dead sure it is more than 12 hours.
I wonder how much you are going to be paid if we are given overtime pay?
What do you think Eddie?"
That earns Jason another smack on the head from me.
Just then Betty, our division secretary walks in, balancing a bundle of documents on her left hand and some black folders on the other.
"Wow, aren't you guys chatty? I wish I can idle." Betty says, her expression a cross between extremely harassed and envious.
"Hey sweetie, come here and I will give you a hug" Eddie coos, smiling mischievously at Betty.
I turn my attention and look up at the athletic woman striding purposefully towards my desk. Betty is wearing a pair of brown pants and a tight-fitting white blouse. Her mane of black hair is tied into a short pony-tail at the nape. Her actions are quick and efficient and one can see the toned limbs move with decisive power, an indication of long hours spent slogging at the gym.
"Hey you." I call.
"Really can't make small talk. Slavedriver has an overseas tele-conference
meeting this evening and he is breathing fire down my neck to make sure
everything goes smoothly." Betty pause in mid-motion as she turns around to respond to my greeting, all the time without looking at Eddie.
"And Stefan dear, Slavey wants that proposal forecast by tonight and
judging from his looks, you either get it done or be prepared to be served
with dismissal letters tomorrow. Here are some more files." Betty says, dropping approximately 6 to 8 more folders onto my untidy table.
"Hmmph, why does Stefan gets to be called Dear and I don't. This is so
unfair." Eddie pretends to pout.
But before Eddie finishes his sentence, Betty has already whisk out of the room like a gush of wind. Jason shoots a look of feigned pity at Eddie while Eddie glares at the entrance with a touch of annoyance, ceasing to continue coding his program completely.
I smile at the game that Eddie has been playing for the past 4 months. He always tries to engage Betty in flirtatious banter as she makes her rounds, passing important notices or files, but every time Betty will either ignore him or if she feels up to the challenge, parts with a poorly concealed insult which always seems to make Eddie angry.
"Stef, why the hell does she treats me like I'm invisible for one moment and
a scumbag the next?" Eddie grated through clenched teeth.
Eddie never forgets to ask me this question. This is mostly a result of my associations with Betty. Betty is my best friend since childhood, from the time we spend at the orphanage to when I get adopted by Duvre and Jeremy she has been there to lend a sympathetic ear. She is the only person in the office who knows that I am gay and is very supportive and comfortable about it. She is also the one who landed me the job as with my grades and lack of experience, I probably cannot get such a high salaried job in the first place.
I have not met her until two years back during my varsity vacation stint as a delivery man. I remember I was supposed to deliver a parcel from the wafer fabrication factory to Buckland Enterprise when I saw her taking the same lift with me. At that time, I only found her vaguely familiar but just could not quite pinpoint who she was. She felt the same way, as I later found out, for she kept staring at me. It was after seeing my name tag that she recalled who I was.
There is not a lot I know about Betty except that she is currently staying with a room-mate in a rented flat near Jurong. Her adopted parents are dead and the only family she has is her grandmother who lives in Sarawak, East Malaysia. She has been with the company for 3 years and has been promoted quickly from the ranks of administrative assistant to secretary. She enjoys sports and is an ardent soccer fan. Her favorite foreign player is Ryan Giggs from Manchester United and as for local talent she prefers Fandi Ahmad. Betty is 3 years my senior, that puts her at 25 but she looks more like a 20 year old with her smooth, slightly tanned face and astute brown eyes that sparkle with wit.
"Seriously Ed, maybe you should try being contrite and shy, you know, suck up
to her and get into her good books. Perhaps, she will take note of ol' poor,
little lovesick you." I reply, unable to resist the temptation to tease Eddie.
Jason's shoulders shake suspiciously as he makes an effort to stop laughing while Eddie serves me with a mutinous look.
"Ahhh! There it is. Jason you have reversed the address bits for the
memory mapped I/O devices. Now by shifting the lines on this priority
encoder..."
I clicked a few times on the mouse and moved some of the information blocks around.
"Done. I think there may still be bugs here and there, especially with the
shared cache and bus snooping because the interconnecting lines look a bit
fuzzy. Try running through the functional simulator again"
"Wow that's fast. Those long hours at work studying the design of the older
generation of processor systems sure pay off huh? Thanks man." Jason exclaims before resuming with his testing.
I nod.
Eddie is staring pensively into empty space, as if pondering something important.
"Ed, stop thinking and get back to your work. Meanwhile I need to get some reading done."
The hours fly by quickly and very soon it is 6 PM, time to knock off. Both Eddie and Jason bid me goodbye with Eddie mumbling inaudibly about finding the cheapest florist in town before he leaves. After that brief interruption, I resume studying the system requirements document in front of me. The rest of the files have already been arranged neatly on the shelf next to my desk.
To...To....To......
The phone rings once more before I hastily pick up the receiver. I look at my digital wristwatch, the time reads 9 PM. I have no idea it is so late.
"Hi handsome" It is Betty.
"Hey you" I reply, stifling a yawn.
"Slavey is ready to see you. There is a packet of fried rice on my table in case you are hungry. I have to go now. Take care okay?"
"Yeah, you too. See you tomorrow morning."
"Yep. Tata then"
The line goes dead and I hang up the phone.
Picking up the sheaf of notes that I have made and some files from the shelf, I proceed gingerly to Wolfe's office which is 7 floors above mine, on the 15th level. I have jotted down some calculations and have come up with some plausible estimations of the number of man-hours and raw material costs but most of these numbers are obtained through combining theory with lots of intuition. What if they are wrong? What if I misinterpreted the requirements? Where am I going to find another job that pays well if Slavedriver gives me the sack? A fresh graduate getting fired in less than 2 years is not going to have much chances of finding employment in large companies locally.
The panel of flashing lights above the lift blink monotonously, stopping at the number 15 as the lift comes to a halt. The doors slide open and I make my way across the wide expanse of red carpet spotted with pots of green ferns and standing bouquets of flowers. There are four rooms on this level, to the north is the largest office which belongs to the Managing Director. To the east are two medium-sized rooms and to the west is a similar room. The occupants of these offices are the Product Divisional Managers. Wolfe's office is fronted by a continuous piece of tinted glass that only allows one to see through from within the room. Betty's table is just outside the Electronics Divisional Manager's office to the west. The place is silent and quite deserted since it is now after office hours.
I knock twice on the darkish brown oak door and wait patiently for Slavedriver to acknowledge. After awhile, nothing happens. I knock once more, this time increasing the pressure so that it sounds a little louder than the previous ones. Moments later, still nothing. Curious, I turn the bronze knob and peer inside the room. The lights are on but Wolfe is no where to be seen.
Treading carefully into the office on legs that are shaking weakly, I cannot help but feel my fear tripled by the oppressive setting. Dull, red curtains drape the entire stretch of glass panes that overlook the streets beneath. Grand, somber mahogany furniture that absorb life from the surroundings seem to convey not only the owner's power but also to warn of dire consequences should he or she be offended. The only decorations on the walls are oil paintings of ancient battles, some I recognize to be of the Roman wars with the distinctive chariots. But even these legendary vehicles lack the brilliant metallic shine that is usually seen in glossy magazine photographs or depicted in books. The paintings scream of bloodshed and massacre in grotesque tones of gray and striking red. Fortunately, there is a corner to the far right that is pleasing to the eye: a small bar that is lit by warm orange spotlights and boasting a fairly sizable collection of liquor, meticulously placed in a cabinet built into the wall.
I grab a chair with a low back rest and sink into it, nervously flipping through the notes and files in my hands. The minutes go by slowly but still no sign of Slavedriver. I glimpse at my watch and read the display, 9:45pm. Where can he be? I guess I will have to call home to inform Dad that I will not be back before midnight. Recovering the hand-phone in my suit pocket, I deftly press the numbers and is awaiting for the line to connect when a loud belch catches my attention. It seems to come from under the bar counter.
"Is anyone there?"
Silence. Follow by a series of muffled and confusing speech, that sounds like ramblings from a mad man. I approach the bar as quietly as possible, not wanting to frighten whoever it is, hoping it is a greedy, harmless cleaner out to steal the expensive wine yet wary at the same time that it can be a dangerous burglar armed with deadly weapons.
Luckily it turns out to be a man slumped on the floor, obviously very drunk and I suspect out cold after taking some drugs. He looks very well-dressed, tucked out in a blue Armani suit and matching pants, the suit unbuttoned and hanging from his shoulders in a lopsided fashion. Clutched in his hand is an empty Hennessy bottle and scattered on the carpet next to him are some white oval-shaped tablets. Nearby is a crumpled gray silk tie and a forsaken black leather shoe trimmed in golden linings along with a polished trademark that resembles a symbol G enclosed in a circle. I push the man around and gasp in astonishment. It is my strict commanding boss, Wolfe Addams! He appears to be oblivious of my presence as he persists in his inebriated talk. I look in disgust at the liquid stains that blotch his black shirt, the remnants of the liquor drooling from his lips and the horrible stench of vomit.
Having no other alternatives, I decide to clean him up. There is a special washroom accessible only through this office. It is some distance away from the row of glass panes that open onto the desolate night view of Shenton Way, hidden behind a coat hangar. I help Wolfe up, draping his hand over my shoulders, my nose twitching at the reeling mix of Calvin Klein cologne, vomit and manly sweat. Suddenly I feel my crotch tighten and panic well up inside me. This cannot be happening! He is my boss, moreover he is drunk and quite helpless. Then there is the problem of him being dirty and unsightly. How can I feel attracted to him? Besides he has a wife and a son. This is totally immoral. I firmly push away the unbidden thought of having this man naked in my arms, reminding myself that I am here to work.
Turning on the tap, I leave it running and attend to the dictatorial boss now slouching against the wall of the washroom, spouting nonsense. It is impossible to decipher exactly what he is saying except broken pieces of information about some woman named Sandy taking the boy away, heartless bitch sleeping with his boss and how he hurts but has to hide his feelings from everyone. In between all these are snatches of obscenities, directed at nobody in particular. Swiftly, I remove his suit and strip him of his shirt only to stop and stare. He has a remarkably beautiful body! A mat of fine, tawny hair covers his muscular chest and disappears into his brown leather belt and pants. 6 solid pounds of meat reside where the abdomen should have been and sleek but hard flesh ripples from his shoulders all the way to the arms. His nipples look like succulent grapes waiting to be plucked. My mind instantly conjures up images of a nice tight butt and long stiff penis waiting to be suck. Again I snubbed these thoughts as soon as they surface.
I return to the basin, soak my cotton handkerchief with water - noting the purple floral design deepen in color as the water dampens the material, and squat next to my boss preparing to wipe his mouth. I cannot help but notice how luscious and full his lips are, it is as if they are beckoning you to kiss and taste them. I check the ridiculous impulse to cover his mouth with mine. He has a square and hard chin, an attribute of a man grilled by the harsh realities of life to be tough, and a beard is starting to grow suspiciously; The eyelashes are deceptively long with a natural curve to them that is both exotic and alluring; The chiseled nose reminds one of a piece of newly molded plaster, perfect and flawless; High cheekbones accentuate a hard face that has uncompromising and demanding written all over it. With a ruggedly masculine face like this, it is difficult for any woman or gay male to resist him. Added to this is also the fact that at the age of 29 Wolfe is rich and has a successful career. It is no wonder there are stories of female colleagues who are willing to throw themselves at his feet, bending themselves over to please his tiniest whim and fancy, despite his being married and that he is very faithful to his wife.
Gently I clean his face, my hands quivering and the pulse at my throat quickening with each touch. I swallow the sudden lump of desire, choking on it as my hands lower to his semi-naked body. Soft seductive moans escape from his mouth as I stroke his nipples to remove drops of booze that may still be there. I can feel his warm breath floating onto my face as those delicious lips move wordlessly, the smell of alcohol wafting past my nose. Shuddering as sparks of ecstasy spread uncontrollably through my system, I lightly brush the handkerchief near the navel and stand up abruptly, scared of what will happen if I continue. While washing the handkerchief at the basin, I check my reflection in the mirror - my mouth is wide open, my eyes have that lusty, dreamy look and my face is flushed, clearly I look like someone who has been indulging in an hour of foreplay - I splash generous amounts of water on my face to keep my mind clear. For the last time I tell myself that my purpose here is to work.
Gathering up everything, I drag Wolfe from the cold mosaic floor and stagger along with him back to the office. Hurriedly, I place him in a sitting position back where I first found him under the bar counter, leaving his suit and shirt on his lap. Next, I run to the huge rectangular table where my notes and files are, sweep them up in one fluid motion, dash out of the office and head straight for home. I cannot trust myself to not do anything foolish if I stay any longer.
In my haste, I have completely forgotten about the fried rice on Betty's table and the handkerchief that I have mistakenly discard in Wolfe's pile of clothes.
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This is my first time writing erotic fiction. Any comments, please send to sky_tanek@yahoo.com
Contents Note:
I hope this piece isn't too confusing with the different subjects I am dealing with at once. Being adventurous, I have tried to open up multiple threads (eg. Antonio (Part I) etc) which detail the interaction between the main character and other people. The timeline where these characters appear is quite packed, so it may seem fuzzy to some. All feedback on how this works out are welcomed.
Background Note:
In this article I have tried to reduce the use of technical terms in computers and management. In the process, it is inevitable that I may have substituted scholastic words with something that is more comprehensible (in my opinion) but less definitive. I apologize should anyone find the replacement/s offensive.
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The pronunciation for some of the foreign terms used in the story are enclosed in {}. There is no need to pronounce exactly, a little slurring would be great as they should originally sound a bit like rough barbaric noises.
These terms are purely figments of my imagination, please do not take them to be part of some well-known spoken language.
Ta'etokar {Tah-eh-toh-car} Go {Goh} Bu {Buh} Ra {Raah}
E is a linking term. KAR refers to that which is internal or close to the heart. TO means absolute or supreme. Ta meaning the Universe or everything. Go refers to that which is unknown or not yet seen. Bu refers to that which has gone or is over. Ra refers to that which is now.