Saturday, March 28, 2015
[Pixs of models for illustration purpose only]
“Jessica,” I ask, my gaze bathing her bare shoulders, “anything interesting from your uncle’s latest edition of Journal of Sexual Medicine?”
Jessica (pix above) leans forward, sticking out her chin. “Yes, last week, I visited him and managed to read the latest March 2015 edition,” she says. “A research article concluded that short sleep duration and poor quality sleep led to poor sexual response in women.” She is garbed in an itsy-bitsy tank top with straps that keep slipping off her shoulders.
“Nothing astonishing,” I say, catching a hint of her citrus fragrance. “Lack of sleep leads to irritability and bad mood. When a woman is irritable, obviously, she’s not in a mood for sex.”
Sitting beside Jessica, Chow Kah says, “Here’s something more interesting, Ewe.” He lifts a brow. “I read a psychologist’s website stating that an extramarital affair can help to improve a marriage.”
“What!” Hussein exclaims, his jaw dropping, his Sampoerna cigarette falling to his lap. “Who’s the crackpot?”
As quick as a swooping eagle, Wati (pix below) brushes the cigarette to the floor and stretches one black-stocking-clad leg to snuff it out with the sole of her stiletto.
Chow Kah continues, “Michael J. Formica, a psychologist.” He lifts his wine glass and takes a fast gulp. “To a certain extent I agree that an extramarital affair can improve a marriage.”
I scratch my head. “Like how?”
“First situation is when the man or woman is physically incapacitated, perhaps by a stroke or vehicle accident, but the spouse is still young. You cannot expect the spouse to live without sex for the rest of his or her life, isn’t it? So in such a case, the extramarital affair should be tolerated.”
“That’s fair,” Hussein says.
Wati (pix below) leers and her lips curl up. “Sex with no strings attached? Which man doesn’t want it?” She rises to her feet. "Tsk...my butt's tired from sitting too long."
“Chow Kah,” I ask, “have you been reading Lady Chatterley’s Lover by D.H. Lawrence?”
“Yes.” Chow Kah nods. “Lady Chatterley was sexually frustrated, so she had an affair. It made her alive physically again. She became a fulfilled, whole woman.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard,” Jessica says, sniggering. “You don’t need sex to live! Only food, water and air.” She glares at Chow Kah with a subtle grin on her lips. “You must’ve been sleeping with MILF divorcees and MILF widows, darling. Is that why you’re saying that? To make yourself feel less guilty sub-consciously?”
Chow Kah blinks, clenches his jaw and swallows hard.
“Hold it!" I stretch out an outward-facing palm. "I think some people are taking this topic too personally.”
“What’s MILF?” Wati asks (pix below), tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
“Words that're not allowed to see the light of day," I say.
Hussein whispers something into Wati’s ear and she giggles.
“I beg to disagree, Jessica,” Chow Kah says. “According to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, sex is a basic human need after the physiological needs and safety needs are satisfied.”
Hussein looks at Chow Kah. “Any other situation an extramarital affair is healthy?” He places an arm over Wati’s shoulder and gently runs his hand through her silky tresses.
Chow Kah says, “When the husband is abusive, an extramarital affair may be a lifeline for the long-suffering wife to stand up to him. Either change or she will leave him for her lover.”
I take a sip of my water melon juice. “Are you saying that two wrongs make a right?” I put the glass down and lick my lips.
“There’re a few types of extramarital affairs, according to Formica,” elaborates Chow Kah. “The first is object affair, where the cheater neglects the marriage and pursues other interests like a hobby. Second is the sexual affair where only lust is involved -– the desire to fulfill sexual needs. Third is the non-sexual affair that is emotional. The two parties may share a common interest -– cookery, writing poems, whatever -- that brings them together. As a result, they spend lots of time together in discussion or confiding in each other. Fourth is the body-and-soul affair. The last is where emotions and sex are involved. When a person is in a body-and-soul affair, the cheating party is in a clear position to examine what’s missing in his or her marriage. Then talk over it with the spouse so that they can work on the marriage to save it. I wish to stress that Michael Formica does not encourage people to start having an affair. He merely points out that a marriage can improve after an extramarital affair.”
Wati chips in, “For instance, a drunken wife-beater may be shaken out of his bullying if he discovers that his wife has sought solace in another man.”
Chow Kah snaps his fingers. “That’s right!” He pops a few nuts into his mouth and leans back on the settee. “I also read a book titled Men, Love and Fidelity.” He starts to crunch the nuts. “It’s written by French psychologist Maryse Vaillant. She says that it is okay for men to stray as long as it keeps the marriage intact.”
“That’s French culture, French rubbish,” Jessica says, with a wave of her hand.
“What about olden Chinese culture?” Chow Kah shoots back. “In the olden days, Chinese men kept concubines yet they remained married and remained faithful to their first wife.”
The door bursts open. In steps Mummy Lulu (right pix below). “Let me give my two cents worth,” she says. “Everybody who drifts into an affair has his or her personal reasons -– lack of emotional fulfillment, lure of financial stability or whatever,” she says. “Most important is that they must be prepared to face and deal with the realities and consequences.” She steps aside, turns to the doorway and says. “Alexander, come say hello to my friends.”
A handsome hunk (bottom pix), probably mid-twenties, steps in. “Hi, everybody,” he says. “I’m Mummy Lulu’s boyfriend.” Puffing an expensive cigar, he's wearing diamond rings on three fingers and a gold pendant.
I see that all eyes in the room are focused on Alexander. “How has it been,” I ask, “being Mummy Lulu’s boyfriend?
“Once I had to hide naked in the refrigerator when her hubby came home; another time, I clung to the end of the balcony the whole night; on a third occasion I stuck my head into the toilet bowl and thrust my arm into the S-bend, pretending to be a toilet repairman. That's the price one has to pay to be the third party.”
Sunday, March 22, 2015
May Pak Mie, Alor Setar’s guardian angel of stray cats and dogs, go to Heaven. Al-fatihah kepada rohnya.
[Pix above courtesy of Metro Online Broadcast]
“There’s no fairness in this world!” says Wati, her voice choked with emotion. “The corrupt and wicked live long lives. They cruise around in their big cars running over stray cats and dogs! And without batting an eyelid!” She takes out a spotless handkerchief and dabs at her eyes. “But Pak Mie –- a man with a heart of gold -- is snatched away from this earth so quickly. Maybe God has decided that Pak Mie has other duties in Paradise. Al-fatihah to his soul. I am certain he will be rewarded for his kindness and selflessness.”
[Pixs above courtesy of freemalaysiatoday.com]
“Pak Mie’s animal shelter has been criticized as 'living hell',” adds Jessica, “as conditions are purportedly terrible. His detractors highlighted that many of the animals have open sores. But does anyone know how much it costs every month to feed hundreds of cats and dogs? And I'm disappointed that no veterinarian has volunteered to treat the animals at nominal charges." Tears well in her eyes. “So, please help his animal shelter. Donate animal food, old newspapers and cash. Don’t just rant and rave!”
Saturday, March 21, 2015
[Pix of model for illustration purpose only]
Ding! The lift door opens. I step out of the shiny lift and tootle to Sifu Sabrina’s condo. Standing outside the door, I jab the bell button a few times, and several seconds later, my mobile buzzes.
I hold my mobile to my ear. “Come in, Ewe," Sifu Sabrina says, "the door’s not locked. I’m doing yoga in the patio. Go through the kitchen.”
I turn the brass door knob, enter the hall and head to the kitchen. Standing in the doorway, I see a glass sliding door at the far end of the kitchen. It leads to a patio converted from a spacious balcony. I cross the kitchen, push open the glass sliding door and enter the patio.
Sifu Sabrina, garbed in a bubblegum-pink bikini, is sitting on cushions in a yoga position, her eyes closed (pix above). “So, what feng shui tip do you want this time?” she asks, her voice drippng honey.
I sit down on the artificial grass. “Tips to feng shui the bathroom.”
“A typical terrace house," says Sifu Sabrina, remaining immobile, eyes still closed, "has an en-suite bathroom in the master bedroom and another bathroom near the kitchen. First principle is to keep the doors of both bathrooms closed all the times. Also keep the bathroom clean, uncluttered and free from smell.”
A slight breeze picks up, caressing my face. “Can use air freshener in feng shui?”
“Yes, but prefer natural fresheners such as bags of scented flowers to chemical-based fresheners. Once a week, it'd be good to burn essential oils like lavender in the bathroom.”
Changing her yoga pose, she sits with the left leg stretched backward, right leg bent in front at the knee. “Third principle is very important. Keep the toilet lid closed when not in use.” She reaches over her head and grabs her left foot. “This will prevent positive chi from the adjacent rooms to flow out through the toilet.”
“Isn’t a toilet a spot filled with negative chi?”
“Yes, but to counter the negative chi, one can put a small rock which has been painted red in one corner of the bathroom.” She releases her left foot and bends forward. “Finally, balance the five elements in the toilet: earth, water, fire, wood and metal. The water and metal elements are often in over-abundance in a bathroom. Add the earth element by hanging brown, orange or yellow towels. As for fire energy, one can use a red shower curtain. The wood element is always weak. So, put a small potted plant at one corner.” Sabrina bends upright again, stretching both legs out. “Ouch! That was painful!“
“What about music? Is it good for a bathroom?”
She starts to lie down. “Fantastic, if you’ve a Jacuzzi bath to relax in.” A pause. "I guess those tips cover almost everything for bathroom feng shui." She lets her feet fall to either side but brings her arms close to her body, palms facing up. "A person only spends a short time in the bathroom each day, so there's no need to outfit it with unnecessary feng shui objects."
I gaze at her fluid movements with fascination. “How long have you been practising yoga?”
“Six months.” She inhales and exhales deeply. “This is the Savasana pose.”
“Any benefit from yoga?”
“Of course.” She sits up slowly, turns to face me and hugs both her knees. “My yoga teacher says that a person’s body can become more supple for challenging sex positions.” She cocks her head, her lips curled in a mischievous grin. “Also, an advanced yoga student can look at his own asshole to check for hemorrhoids.” She releases a little-girl giggle. “A – a” -- she doubles up with laughter -– “gay should be encouraged to take up yoga, according to my yoga teacher.”
My eyebrows crease in puzzlement. “Oh? Why?”
“Then he can give himself a blowjob.”
I laugh so loudly it sounds like thunder, my eyes rolling, my hands holding my sides. “What’s your favourite position?” I ask.
“Of course, the doggy. Oops!” Her hand flies to her open mouth; a laugh bubbles out of her chest like a burp; her cheeks turn a vibrant pink from embarrassment. “I mean the Downward Facing Dog pose.”
Bunn Choon in Bukit Bintang Wet Market (aka Imbi Market) ranks as one of the top three egg tarts in Kuala Lumpur. (The other two being Tong Kee at Jalan Brunei Utara and Mon Kee at Jalan Pudu). I didn’t manage to buy the charcoal sesame egg tart as it was sold out but the traditional egg tart had all the hallmarks of excellence: buttery-soft custard and flaky crust that crumbles in your mouth. A banner proclaims that it has been in business since 1893. If it’s true, it’s a shame its business has not grown to a bigger scale like that of, for example, Mon Kee.
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
[Pixs of models for illustration purpose only]
(Opposite Berjaya Times Square)
(Opposite Berjaya Times Square)
Club De Vegas
(Behind Berjaya Times Square)
Club de Macau
Jalan Ampang/Jalan Sultan Ismail
Jalan Raja Chulan
Menara Pan Global
Lorong P. Ramlee
(Walking distance from Thai Club)
(Often referred to as HSBC Building)
Jalan Sultan Ismail
Saturday, March 14, 2015
[Pix of model for illustration purpose only]
Hussein brings the bottle of Bir Bintang to his lips, tilts his head backward and guzzles the content in several swallows. He puts the empty bottle on the coffee table with a thud and leans back on the settee, his face flushed.
“What’s the matter with you, Hussein?” Wati asks, wiping froth from his upper lip with a piece of Kleenex. “Why are you in funk?” Legs crossed at the knees, she has on an apricot spaghetti strap top and a red miniskirt so short it barely conceals her undergarment.
Hussein runs a hand through his greasy hair. “My fourth wife cheated on me.”
Wati crumples the Kleenex into a ball and drops it in the ash tray. “Oh? How did you find out?”
“One morning, I came home from office to get a file. When I got into my condo, I heard my fourth wife doing the dishes in the kitchen. When I went in and hugged her from behind, she said, ‘Darling, what’s the hurry? My husband doesn’t come back until 7pm.’ ”
“Is she pretty?” Jessica asks, seated across the coffee table with Chow Kah. Her sheath dress is figure-hugging and what its sweetheart neckline reveals can quicken a man's pulse.
Hussein fumbles his hand in his pocket, pulls out his wallet and takes out a few photographs (pixs above and below). “You tell me -– is she pretty?” He fans the photos in one hand for us to see.
“You lucky man!” exclaims Chow Kah. “No wonder other men are after her.”
“A man with a sexy wife must be alert to signs of infidelity, Hussein,” Wati says.
Hussein slaps the photographs on the coffee table. “Signs like what?” He rests his left elbow on the arm of the settee and puts his chin on his hand. “I’m at a loss what to do. I hope it’s not too late to salvage my marriage.”
“For a start, observe her social life,” Wati answers, pulling the hem of her miniskirt down to prevent a modesty flap as she uncrosses her legs. “Is she spending more time than usual with her female friends? An infrequent night out is okay but not every weekend. Also, watch her telephone behaviour. Does she try to walk away from you when her mobile rings? Does she hang up abruptly? The cheating wife may drop a female name to put her husband off. For instance, she may say, ‘Nancy, I’ll call you back.’ Note the tone of her voice and facial expression when she talks on her mobile. Another indicator of infidelity is sex. If she has lost interest in sex with her husband, it means another man is fulfilling her lust and desire. A sudden high demand for sex is also bad. It can mean she is emotionally involved with another man but is using her husband to satisfy her sexual desire which she can’t get from the other man as yet.”
Jessica kicks off her heels and rests her feet on the coffee table. “Also, watch her shopping and grooming habits,” she says, her cherry-red lips like a rose in bloom. “Is she buying new clothes? Buying new sexy lingerie but not wearing them at home spells trouble. Suddenly taking an interest in using beauty products or trying to slim down may indicate a hidden motive.”
“Once in a while play detective,” Wati adds, spitting out a water-melon shell. “Check her phone bill discreetly. Is there a particular number she frequently calls? The car mileage meter can also give clues to how far she has driven away from home. Check the mileage meter before and after her purported trip to the supermarket or bank.” She cracks another water-melon seed between her pearl-white teeth. “A lot of time spent on the Internet can mean she’s using email to communicate with her lover. Once in a while, pretend to sleep and when she’s online, sneak up behind her!”
Hussein nods in agreement. “True, true, but I’ve four wives. I only see her once every three days. So, it’s hard to monitor her activities.”
“In that case," I say, "the most effective way to catch her cheating is to go home unexpectedly.”
Lips pursed, Hussein sits up straight. “I was thinking along that line.” He replaces the photographs in his wallet. “Ewe, why don’t you send me home now?” He brings his hand to his mouth as he burps. “My fourth wife knows that every Saturday, I’m at Hot Legs shooting pool and drinking until 3 am. But tonight, I’m going to go home early.” He leans sideways and pecks Wati on the cheek. “Good night, dear.”
Wati puts both hands under Hussein’s arms and helps him to stand up, his knees wobbly.
I rise from the settee and smooth the wrinkles in my pants. “Come, let’s go.”
I pull my car outside the entrance of Hussein’s condo in Ampang Jaya.
“Are you sure you can walk?”
“Yup, I'll manage,” he slurs out. Bleary-eyed, he opens the car door and starts to stagger past the guard house. I lean over to the passenger seat and yank the passenger door shut.
I reverse my car, drive away and come to a traffic light. While waiting for the red light to change, my mobile rings. The caller ID shows Hussein.
“Everything okay, brudder?”
“Yes, my fourth wife’s sleeping. I’ve just taken off my clothes and am in the shower now. But I just vomited. Very bad hangover. Can you come back and send me to Guardian Pharmacy down the road? I want to buy a bottle of 21st Century Hang Over Shake.”
“Sorry for the trouble. I’ll get dressed and come out immediately.”
I tootle back to the condominium and stop at the kerb. A minute later, Hussein teeters to my car, opens the door and plunks down beside me. My jaw drops. “Why are you wearing a postman’s uniform?” I ask.
From the corner of my eye, I see a man -- stark naked -- zipping away on a motorcycle.
Monday, March 2, 2015
[Pixs of models for illustration purpose only]
“Mr. Ang, you should stop your binge,” I say to Mor Sai (left pix), sitting on a bar stool next to me in Hot Legs. “Your face’s lobster-red and you smell like a jar of vinegar.”
“One more before we hit the road, okay?” says Mor Sai, staring vacantly in the air. “My China girlfriend left me for a younger man and I’m depressed. I need to drown my sorrows." He raises his glass of whisky. "Cheers! Afterwards, can you drive me home?”
A fat woman (right pix), garbed in a spaghetti strap dress, walks up to the short end of the L-shaped bar and climbs atop a four-legged stool. She raises a stout arm, revealing armpit hair, and asks loudly, “Which gentleman will buy me a Bloody Mary?”
Mor Sai casts a glance at her and says to the bartender, “Bartender, get the gymnast a Bloody Mary –- put it on my tab.”
I ask Mor Sai about his ex-GF and we start to talk.
The fat woman raises her arm again, displaying bushy airmpit hair, and hollers, “Now, which generous gentleman will buy me a Singapore Sling?”
Mor Sai signals to the bartender with a flap of his hand. “I’ll buy that gymnast a Singapore Sling.”
“Mr. Ang, how do you know she’s a gymnast?” I ask.
Mor Sai burps, exhaling the smell of stale hops. “Only a gymnast can raise her leg so high.”