I just got back from a 3 day trip to Singapore. Modern city and architecture aren’t really what I find interesting but still, it was another memory that I would like to visit from time to time.
I didn’t see the Merlion upclose, I didn’t go to Universal theme park nor Infinity Pool but I got to explore an underground gay scene in Singapore in a sauna called Keybox. Being new meat and having the foreign factor gains certain advantage. FJ must have known it well. Me, on the other hand, can mingle well within the locals but still, I didn’t say no to some midway blowjobs.
There were a total of 7 or 6 of them, sucking on my cock from time to time. 2 of them got my cock inside their skinny bodies. And none of them really turned me on. I didn’t even get hard. What turned me on was the fact that I was able to gain more points on my mental scoreboard. But again, what does it even mean? The lesson to be learnt is still there, with the uncertainty it won’t happen again, in the future. Cheapened, confused and aching, all of the feelings blended together well enough to drench the sickness in my bones, which was even accentuated by the twisting last minute bus ride home.
There was this one moment when a stranger approached me in the dark and tried to get my legs up. I said ‘No’ once or twice, while Fj is there somewhere being occupied by his own adventure. Verbal rejection proved ineffective, obviously, since he then reinforced his muscle power on me, pushing me down with his firm hand locks. “It’s time to strike back,” my mind sparked a single thought and I managed to push him down and chased him away. He finally got the message.
And then in this somehow disturbing solitary second, George sneaked his way, like he always does, to my mind. It was just like that night when I put myself, finally, in such vulnerability for the sake of something bigger that didn’t even exist. But at least, I felt protected for a while.
And Andrew’s was again echoing in my head. He said “You’re a fighter. A lonesome one.” There’s this tear rolling in discreet on the bus ride home.
And that’s not the only one time. There were some other ones, I’m not sure if they should be called ‘happy tears’ or not but I remember it very well. The whole room was in the dark. I was picturing a Sarah Siskin’s rendition of “Lovin’s For Fools” coming on but then it was his falsetto that tore up the layer of misty darkness.
“I’m in the woods, I’m down on my mind,” the man and the voice that had fueled some of my most poetic and vivid fantasies was in the same room with me. Justin Vernon.
Again, I don’t like the way he took all the credits and spotlight for the whole Bon Iver noosefest and his typical American jock talking, but it was such a beautiful moment I could feel my heart trembling. I swear, or it might be my heart fooling me, but there’s nothing like this time when he did “Skinny Love”. He just threw his guitar aside and growl instead of flirting with airy vocal. I swear, he was cracking. And he made me chest choked again in the silence, like the first time I heard “Song for A Lover of Long Ago”.
In another world, Singapore would feel less artificial and too far out of reach for a small being. In another world, George and I could have worked. In another world, Fj would be bigger, braver and protective. And also in that very same world, maybe Justin would be gay. Maybe he could touch me. And I could do the same. Or maybe I would disclose to him my halfway lyrics and melodies, awaiting to be delicately fully shaped by his touch. We would drown each other in our own sorrow and then only to be cured and to be found by it. In another world.