ok, so maybe i'm exaggerating the whole situation a tad bit. but i have always wanted to use the word 'outraged'. it makes me feel like a virgin all over again, like i still have some form of modesty left to be 'outraged' about. well, let's just say that i lost something in a shopping centre toilet when i was in in my teens, and up till today the security guards at the lost and found still have no idea who that piece of modesty belongs to. in fact, the lost and found departments keep forwarding it to the lost and found at the NEXT available shopping mall, all in the hopes of restoring the modesty of the outraged. 8 years down the road, my virginity is like pluto: still in orbit/circulation and pretty wet for a mistake.

so you might be wondering, since the person typing this post has not much value left on the virginity market, then what the fuck is he outraged about? it all began one fine sunday night/monday morning after clubbing at clarke quay. i shared a cab home with two gay people, one an acquaintance while the other a total stranger whom we picked up outside the club by shouting our own addresses to the general public. and this is actually one of the great perks of being gay. sharing a cab with a total stranger without fearing petty things like sexual harrassment or assault or unwanted advances from the opposite sex. and if you're lucky, you could end up sleeping in somebody else's bed that night. but i digress.

making conversation in the cab was pretty easy because the alcohol really greased all the topics. the acquaintance was someone whom i had sex with about 6 years ago. it was a real surprise to see him actually because back then, he was as straight and boring as a 15cm wooden ruler. now, he's had a massive overhaul and turned into this flamboyantly pink ruler complete with sequins, feather boas, a rainbow flag and very glamorous entrance music. it was really drastic, but i liked his company, so i'm not complaining. the other stranger whom we shared a cab with, was a fashion design student. he showed us a few of his pieces, and being drunk, his pretty ordinary evening gown looked like a Prada masterpiece. thinking back, it actually looked more like something looted from a natural disaster site.

we ended our cab ride with an exchange of contact numbers and MSN addresses, which i kinda think is the best way to end a conversation with someone you're not familiar with. exchanging mobile phone numbers with one another is basically trying to say that 'we ought to keep this conversation open even though the next time i'll prolly see you is when your passport-sized photo appears in the orbituary pages'. my gut feeling told me that we would prolly only meet each other when we went clubbing on another sunday again. but for protocol's sake, we promised to have dinner with each other the following week since all of us live in the same vincinity.

2 weeks later, i realized my gut was pretty much clairvoyant by nature. we haven't had that dinner and to make things worse, i rejected going clubbing with them for 2 weeks in a row. i kept in contact with the fashion designer because he seemed to be online most of the time (when compared to the acquaintance). so we chatted about life in general and he's seriously a really nice guy, albeit very cheena-piang. however, things took a really awkward turn last friday. apparently, Mr. Fashion Designer was in a very horny mood. and for 30 whole minutes, he was trying to get me to send him a picture of my dick over MSN.

and i'm not joking about this. he seriously wanted me to send him a photographed .jpg file of my penis. i have this theory about gay men seeing other people's schlongs. the typical gay guy can remember nothing else about your face the next time he sees you. in fact, he replaces it with visuals of your dick.



so you may look like a cross between Brad and Tom, have the most defined abs in the world and be the next hier to the Holiday Inn empire. but if you have a dick that's comparable to the largest ant that ever lived, then i suggest you get an extension.

the whole way i was just rejecting the fashion designer and basically the MSN conversation went something like this:

FD: show mi lah

Me: i am not going to show you my penis

FD: y? scared ah?

Me: why would i be afraid of anything? i just don't want to show you.

FD: y?

Me: because it's my penis and i don't go around showing my penis to everyone.

FD: show lah....

for 30 whole minutes he had only two awfully irritating words to tell me, which were SHOW and LAH. it's not so much about the fact that he was so persistent about visuals of my penis. and neither is it about him being gay. i simply didn't feel like showing my penis to him because when we go clubbing again, he would no longer remember me as Jonathan, but rather, as "Jonathan, the guy with the very big wanker". and as true as that is, i want people to know me for me (i sound like a Singapore Idol contestant). and not because of whatever material or physical attributes that i have.

and you want to know the icing on the cake which really irked me the most? he had the nerve to ask me not to tell anyone that he had asked for a picture of my penis. he was like 'sorry leh, don't tell anyone ok?'. i didn't give him an answer for that, in the hope that he would feel horrid about himself.

and actually, that is what i'm actually trying to do now. telling you. in the hope that he will never ask for a dick pic from me again. but of course, if you want to send me yours, i would never say no.

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