The Male Companion.

At some point in time, God decided to give man the blueprint for the PC and along with that, computer games. Then the internet. Then MMORPGS. And I can assure you, women are no competition when it comes to those things. Alright, given that both Sean and I are nothing more the buddies, I can hardly complain that I spent last night alone in bed, and I’m not (especially since he only had one bolster).

I met up with a certain photographer for dinner last night, a model had cancelled out on him and he’d had shitty luck with girls in Jakarta apparently (so wild, but so private). I was quite surprised, being relatively acquainted with the scene there through a few forever single, forever looking white CADs, but apparently sex is alright, getting themselves photographed naked isn’t. I’ve been having all these weird conversations about Polynesian women and their take on sex. It’s different from the second generation Chinese Immigrant girl take on sex. I will probably be making a whole lot of assertions here, but Polynesia wasn’t ever a sexually inhibited place until Christianity and Islam came along. That leaves us with a whole lot of naturally beautiful, wild women who’re unfairly being repressed by silly code for social behaviour.

Women from the Philippines are the most fun. For starters, my maid doesn’t give a damn over me walking around stark naked, and she’s not the only one that simply doesn’t care her employer’s kid walks about all the time without any clothes on. At CHIJMES this year’s New Year’s Eve, there was this girl teasing a whole bunch of drunk blokes spreading herself on a bar stool and pulling her panties aside. She kept on stripping the whole night, and when it was time to go home (whatever time to go home on NYE is) she was all ‘Whoopee, Thanks for the drinks and the attention, bye guys! Going back to my girlfriend’s!’

The reporter I met a couple of nights ago was talking about how this was strangest in Malaysia, where the bulk of Muslims are Polynesian. So just a few decades ago, they were walking around topless (and some of the indigenous people still are, in Sabah and Sarawak) and now a sizable amount of them are wearing Tudungs. At least it’s optional in most of the bigger states, and at least it’s not the Burkha.

Sean and I caught Mystic River, a movie about a kid that got ass raped as at the crux of adolescence. I didn’t really think the story was completely credible. Sexual abuse at a very young age by people who are much older can be very traumatizing, and I’ve had my share, but we all forget or grow out of those memories. Those particular incidents never really bothered me much, I was shitting scared out of my pants (suppose that was in the guy’s agenda) there and then, but laughed it off as a weird experience thereafter. I had the good luck of being able to stab him in the balls with my heel at one point in time before it got out of hand, so it wasn’t all that bad. The worse sort is stuff like that being done to you by someone you really trust. But there’s nothing time can’t bury. Then again, I’ not a guy, and I’ve not been ass raped. But anyway, the movie was completely unbelievable.

Sean went on to check his emails while I made myself at home in his bedroom, specifically not closing the door, recalling the tragedy it’d resulted in the last time (I had been locked in when the door faulted on me and absolutely refused to open itself up). Fell asleep reading some stuff about Quantum Theory and the illusion of Free Will (put me out most promptly). When I woke up this morning, I had the strangest feeling, even before I opened my eyes, that I was still alone in bed. And I had all these weird thoughts running through my head. Bullshit like, was he sleeping in the guest room because I’d rejected him the last time? Or maybe he didn’t want to cuddle because he thought I’d gotten serious with someone else.

But sometimes, really, girls fuss too much over nothing. Most times, guys do things like not going to bed with you for the dumbest (yet oh so noble… to them of course) of reasons. Like being keeled over by a game like Anarchy Online all friggin’ night.

I got up because the sun was shining brilliantly and his bedroom was built like a glasshouse, and it was just far too hot to go back to bed. Took a cold shower and went past his study, where he was still sitting by a range of computer screens (plural) and fighting off aliens in some Dune looking planet called Rubi-Ka. As if that matters.

So there I was in nothing but a pair of panties, and all we did was talk about the amusement factor of Mosh-Girl and how forums were a good way to developed hyper PR skills when it came to bashing people and getting your colleagues to side with you through various mediums, like e-mail wars and snide one-liners by the coffee machine. (I actually think there’s a great deal of truth in it). I told him about the fantastic bashing that went on here while I still had comments on, you don’t get any cruder then stuff like, ‘I can make your cock stand. By stuffing a broomstick up you’re arse.’

I’m bored out of my wits. The last wacky thing I did was strip in an urban space, which wasn’t really that big of a deal. The best part was when the guard locked in on the other side of a barbed wired fence started yelling at me to put my dress back on, while never tearing his eyes away from the whole fiasco, and not being able to do anything about it either.

The Cock Monsieur called me up to-day. You know there’s not much to do when people start thinking they're super heroes, without the help of any hallucinogenic substances. Speaking of which, the weirdest sexual encounter I’ve ever heard from anyone while being stuck on LSD was Panda-bear and Rattle-snake asking Simba how inter-species intercourse was supposed to work. Makes Lady D bland. Anyway, yet another photo shoot. I’ve long past the stage where I strip for the camera for money. I never really did it for the money in the first place anyway. There’s nothing so cool as a photograph of a naked girl that just looks like she’s having fun in it.

Beats all the glossy-glam, feign modesty, feign wildness and eroticism in all those men’s mags and ‘art’ photography books. I want women to look like real women. And real women are mostly having fun. (As opposed to untying the side of a string bikini and trying her best to look like she really wants to fuck the camera guy. Fake! Next Please!)

xoxox