Coffee. 8 out of 10 people have to have their daily fix to start the day. Whether it is a nutmeg latte, a double espresso or a simple morning brew, these are the ones whose eyes shine the moment the first sip is ingested.

Long queues. Synonymous with everywhere and (almost) everything. A national pastime, it seems. People either queue alone, with friends, a book, or their iPods. Whatever it is, queueing has become a somewhat necessity that we take times like these to be alone with our thoughts, or books, or music. In a society like ours, it is rare that anyone would start a conversation with the stranger in front of, or behind you just for the sake of it.

But who knew that when you put the two together, the unexpected happens.

And all it took was a morning latte.


Pick a person. Anyone.
Can you remember the first time you met that person?

I remember the first time we met. It was the usual. You were the friend of a friend, the one who shook my hand with a great smile and a twinkle in your eye while you repeated my name. I remember that night walking out of the club not knowing more of you that I was supposed to. Not like I made the effort. He’s danger, that one. Tough nut to crack, they warned.

And I believed them.

Then we met again, at a more intimate gathering of sorts. You engaged me in conversation and I listened, I spoke and I laughed. You had won me over.

But still I kept my distance, remembering the warnings.

But three dates and 2 joyrides later, selective amnesia struck.

Sitting by the waterfront you talked about your life. How you got to where you have gotten, the things you went through. You did much of the speaking, I did much of the listening, sipping on my beer and enjoying the breeze.

When the night ended, you kissed me.

But I had to walk away.

The one that got away

He took a sip of his coffee and sat back into his chair. He was staring at the face of someone who had dropped everything and visited him straightaway even though she had just barely touched down and hadn’t even said hi to her own parents. He was touched that she had rushed over when she heard he had injured himself, but he didn’t want her here.

The fact that she bothered to do something like that roused his emotions, and he wandered why. Ever since they broke up he had taken every opportunity to push her away, even though they remained good friends. Even though they had kept in contact all this time. He was especially pissed at his friends for lying to her about his injury, that he wasn’t even capable of walking when he could even drive himself, but he was pissed at himself.

1 failed marriage and 1 failed serious relationship was all it took. When she appeared after that, he knew he couldn’t handle another relationship. Besides, she was too free-spirited. She left before he could say anything else about him wanting to remain single.

These days, it was just him, his dog, and his business.

She stared out onto the pavement, beyond the people shuffling along with their shopping bags, beyond those attempting to cross the traffic junction, beyond the business of Orchard Rd on a weekend afternoon. She had just returned from a holiday and when she heard the news, she dropped everything at home, barely said hi to her parents, and rushed down to check on him.

But he was fine. His friends had decided it was a good reason to convince her to see him and lied that he couldn’t walk. He was, in fact, well and alive, and by the looks of it, walking wasn’t a problem.

She wondered why she did what she did. She remembered the panic that overcome her, the worry that struck her on the ride over to his place. He was an important person in her life, and even after they parted he had remained a good friend and a pillar of strength for her. Surely that was reason enough.

When she arrived, she was pissed. Not because their friends had lied, but because he greeted her in his usual curt and abrasive manner. It wasn’t until later that he told her in private he appreciated her coming, but he didn’t really need her around.

Perhaps she had wished that he was at a point in his life where he could change his mind about his decisions earlier, that perhaps he was willing to give it another try. We all want to be that person. But she knew that it was wishful thinking. He wouldn’t change his mind when he’s got it made up. Which was why she took the initiative and walked away from it first.

These days, when they both spoke or met with each other, it was in the capacity of good friends. They never spoke of getting back together because they both knew it was never possible. They were just good friends.

She smiled to herself, maybe I was the one that got away.

He smiled, she was the one that got away. 

Follow you into the dark.

Apparently my friends somehow think this is quite romantic.

The fact that you’ve been secretly carrying a torch for someone. Something you’ve dismissed as a crush. But then you realise its not exactly a crush when you grow much older and you realise you still feel something special for that person, or is it?

But having a crush on someone for that long surely cannot be romantic. No, the romanticism is not in the fact that you can harbour a secret crush for someone for so long, but in that it goes both ways.

Apparently, it does happen. That two people can be secretly liking each other but never found the reason to say anything until years later when the people around them convince them of the truth that is somehow blatantly laid before them but still rather invisible. That she thinks she’s too young for him, that he will never be interested in her type. That he thinks he’s a little too old for her, that she’s young and she should explore her options, date guys her own age and party the way early to mid twenty somethings do.

So while the rest of the world stops to stare and gawk at how two people can be so oblivious to each other, they go on with their lives, moving on with other people but never finding them good enough. Somehow, something was lacking.

Apparently all it took though, was a breakup and a harsh reminder from the now ex-girlfriend that perhaps he is waiting for something, or someone that had been standing there, a person he didn’t dare notice because he simply didn’t know what to do with her.

Little did he know, she had even less of an idea what to do with herself, much less with someone like him in the picture.

But the reminder was timely, and like a diver ready to take the plunge into the pool, hoping he’ll make the mark, he took a deep breath and did what he was supposed to do all along.

But all she could do was to stare in shock and smile, and laugh a nervous laugh, with tears forming in the corner of her eyes. Can you imagine, a 20 something year old with her 10 year crush suddenly saying the words that were so laden with meaning and emotion, the stuff she always dreamed of but quickly brushed aside as wishful thinking?

In the same way that people try to speak when awestruck, when met with something they never anticipated, she could only start the sentence with “and I…”, never finding the words to finish it.

So she could only reciprocate with a hug, hoping he’ll find in it the same meaning she had tried to convey with him verbally but failed.

But when she felt his arms tight around her, she realised one thing.

She still didn’t know what to do with herself.


Petty Little Things

In front of her sat a boy and a girl. A couple, she presumed. They sat with their books and his laptop between them, discussing homework of some kind. Then they stopped. Then they started again. Their discussion seemed to get heated and the girl stood up.She observed the girl out of the corner of her eye. Long silky brown hair, not unlike any other. Dressed in a pink top and a denim skirt that was short and had frills at the end. Not very flattering. The frills were unruly, sort of like crumples that wouldn’t go away no matter how you ironed, and they ruined the look. She was fair, and her height combined with the ill-fitting top and skirt made her look like she had more than enough flesh to spare.

For the next minute, she observed the couple on the pretense of reading her book. These days being with herself were sometimes all she yearned for but they could be monotonous, and in between reading she’d take a short nap on the couch or just people watch, trying to be as inconspicuous as usual. On these days she was dressed to fade into the background, a normal jeans and tee, or sometimes even a pair of shorts or polo tee, but never in bright colours. Bright colours made her stand out, and it was unnecessary when it came to people watching.

In the background a male voice droned on, the only evidence of any other forms of activity on campus.

She isn’t a looker but she sure has a nice bag.

It was when they were leaving that she realised the guy was trying to explain to the girl how the photocopier worked.

She rolled her eyes instinctively, who the hell doesn’t know how to work a photocopier?

But perhaps it was more than explaining to her how a photocopier works, or maybe the girl in pink was really too dumb for the guy. When she stood up signs of frustration showed on her face, and it was evident between the two of them. It was a little like sitting next to a kitchen during meal times, the smells of whatever was cooking would simply waft over and heighten the senses. Surely, the same would be said when you could feel tension rising between people.

So as the girl stood up, the guy tried to get her to sit. But like all females who are used to seeking attention to get their way one way or another, she refused. Then for the next minute, frantic hand movements ensued, together with the restraint of having to keep with an argument going while having to keep your voices hushed.

She watched on with amusement and then realised that this wasn’t the first time she had seen lovers quarrel, but everytime it was the same. In a public place, hushed tones, frantic hand movements, both parties trying to keep their cool. Then she realised that on occasion she had been one of the parties involved in such arguments.

Maybe there is some form of unspoken behavioral standards that governed the way lovers acted in public, even when they argued.

But it didn’t really matter, the couple had walked away, presumably to make a copy of some documents. It’s funny how a simple thing like learning how to operate a photocopying machine could lead a couple into an argument, but that’s how arguments between couples often arise, doesn’t it?

From petty little things.

Bad Timing.

Wanna take a breather?

A moment ago, they were on the dance floor, his hands on her hips, their bodies so close anyone could’ve mistaken them for lovers.

But they were strangers who were barely acquainted, and within minutes she was grinding herself against him.

And now he was pressed up against the wall in a corner of the club, her hands on either side of his head. She leaned in close to his ears and flicked her tongue in and out of them. Slowly nibbling on them. Her hands found the zipper to his jeans and unzipped them. He let out a sigh, and that was her cue to start massaging the hard-on he’d been having since they started dancing.

He wasted no time himself, his hands deftly moved under her shirt, and were giving her breasts light squeezes, slowly moving under her bra to play with her nipples.

Then their lips found each other, and started a dance of their own, their tongues taking centre stage, teasing each other, playing a game with rules only they understood.

She leaned her head back and he kissed her neck gently, slowly moving down to her breasts.

She felt his hand unzip her jeans, and his fingers were on her clit, doing his own share of teasing and massaging.

She took his hands away from her, and once again their hips touched, grinding each other at their own pace, ignoring the music, or the people around them.

Amidst the strains of Beyonce’s voice streaming out of the speakers, he leaned into her ears and whispered.

Let me take you home. Let me fuck you all night long.

She smiled at him, her response interrupted by a light buzz in the pocket of her jeans felt by both of them.

Where the fuck have you disappeared to with that sucker?

She grinned at him and planted a kiss on his cheek, zipping up his jeans in the process.

Sorry hun, bad timing. I gotta go.

As he stood staring at her retreating figure into the crowds, she smiled to herself.

What a sucker indeed.

The rain made it wetter.

They stumbled into the hotel room, both soaked to the skin by the rain outside. While she tried to undress herself of her wet clothes, she fell onto the bed, giggling.

As she lay back on the bed, she stared at him, her fingers trailed across her chest, stopping only to encircle the area where her nipples would be if not covered by her bra.

He had already removed his clothes, and all that separated him from nakedness was his boxers.

And he walked towards her, bending down in between her legs to unbuckle her jeans and pulled them off her wet body. By then, it wasn’t just the rain that had made both of them wet, and as he lowered himself onto her he slowly removed her bra, their bodies separated only by their undergarments.

Kiss me, she whispered.

Their lips touched just when their hips did. Lightly. And their kisses were gentle with each other, and grew with intensity as their hips found each other and started to grind. The sensation of fabric against skin only made it more intense for the both of them, and his lips soon found her nipples, her hand found its way into his boxers.

Lick me.

Their positions switched, and she straddled his face, bracing herself against the headboard.

You’re wet.

His tongue found her clit through her sheer panties, and he began massaging it gently though the fabric.

Tear it off me and fuck me.

When his tongue met her naked clit, she shivered. As he teased and tantalized with his tongue and his fingers, she found herself pressing herself against his face, wanting more. Her nipples found the coldness of the wall in front of her, and pressing her breasts against it only made her hornier.

Let me suck you.

As she ventured down south, she made a show of letting her nipples trail along his body together with her tongue, she could feel his body tense up through the contact, and when she finally took his hard cock into her mouth, it didn’t take him long to surrender.

I need to fuck you.

Both let out a huge sigh as he climbed on top of her and entered her. As he fucked her, slowly, and gently, her hands wrapped around his neck and pulled him close to her. It drove him crazy to hear her moans and she knew it, placing her lips next to his ears and moaning softly into them.

Oh fuck, you’re so hot.

She drew her legs above his shoulders, and he went faster and harder, they no longer cared who could hear their moans and screams through the thin walls of the hotel room, or that the curtains weren’t drawn.

And as they both lay naked on the bed, skin glistening with a combination of perspiration and rain water, she slowly drew a trail along his body with her torn panties.

You tore my panties, I’m going to have to punish you.

Moving In.

Note: This IS fiction. 😉

It was your first move, you haven’t tasted such freedom since your hostel days and was excited at the great deal you managed to grab. A rental, but a value deal no less. Tucked away in a corner of Singapore, a high level apartment in a serene neighbourhood. What more could a single guy ask for?

Great sex, of course.

It was a humid day and we had spent the entire morning packing up your stuff at the parents’, moving to your new place, and finally starting to unpack.

With the heat and the sweat causing my t-shirt to stick to my body, I decide to just work around your new place in my running shorts and sports top.

You’re trying to act nonchalant about it, but out of the corner of my eye I see you checking me out from behind the bar counter while you’re taking a sip of water.

Sliding up in front of the bar counter I grab the glass from your hands and drink from it, “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

You smile, almost embarrassed. Nothing, just staring into space.

“Oh? Not distracted, are you?”

You grin and shake your head. I’m not going to cross the line today.

As we go about unpacking and putting things onto the shelfs, I take chances to brush myself against you. On occasion you unsure of what you should do, but recover quickly and move on.

But just as I was reaching into the freezer to grab some ice for another drink, you reach around from behind.

Need to cool down?

You grab some ice cubes from the tray and press it against my neck. “Mmmm..nice and cool.”

Maybe we should heat things up.

You lift up my sports top above my head and arms, and reach out for more ice cubes. I wonder what this would do. You rub the ice cubes over my nipples and I shudder. Your lips brush across my ears, flicking your tongue across my earlobes. I let out a moan of excitement. Your fingers, ice cold, reach into my shorts, I shudder at the sudden intrusion and grab your arms.

Pressing yourself against me I realise you’ve already taken off your shorts. So you were prepared to cross the line.

You grab me and sit me atop the bar counter. Let’s christen the house, my way.

I grin and pull you closer, kissing you hard on the lips, my hands reaching down, massaging your shaft. You moan. You reach down and wet the both of us, even though we don’t need anymore lubrication.

Bend over.

As you enter me, we both moan loudly, not caring if your neighbours are around or if anyone had heard us. As each thrust gets faster and harder, you’re grabbing my breasts, squeezing them, rolling my nipples between your fingers.

As we clean ourselves up to continue unpacking, you lean towards me and whisper in my ear.

There’s still the bathroom, the master bedroom, the guest room, the dining area and the living room.

Oh yes, and let’s not forget the balcony as well.

Stuck on You.

The first time you felt this way was years ago. You were but 15, and he was two years older, one batch your senior. Already notorious for his rumoured antics and the way he treated his ex-girlfriend, your classmate, you were obviously wary. But then you came to realise he’s not as bad as people make him out to be, and when he stuck up for you one day in school, you were grateful.

That gratefulness led to infatuation, a sense of liking you weren’t sure if it was really there, but something you knew would only be one-sided.

Days went on to months, and months eventually came to a year or two. You both never really hung out much in school, but were close outside of school, which not only cemented your good impression of him but also that you were still stuck, on him.

And then you both graduated, and never saw each other again, and never kept in contact. Until one day, he asked if you really liked him then, and disclosed that he knew all along.

You no longer saw the point in hiding anything, and admitted it.

That was your closure.

And now, years later, you fear the same thing happening. This time, smitten with someone so far away. The same kind of feeling, the same kind of experience.

You see his face everywhere you go, and never fail to try to keep up with his life even if it was almost impossible.

But you try anyway.

Then you silently wonder how long this would take to end. Where you could finally seek closure for your subconsciousness, to finally stop thinking of him, to finally get on with life.

How long does it take to be stuck this time?

Baby Oil

Want a massage?

He led her to his bedroom, gently removing her clothes, leaving her bare with only her lace panties on. Placing both hands on her shoulders he motioned for her to lie on her stomach, while he gently applied a generous dosage of baby oil all over her body.

His hands wandered around her shoulders, kneading them gently, and as his hands travelled down her spine she gradually relaxed and was soon turned on by his bare hands against her bare skin, aware of the fact that he was going over her butt, which was only covered by the sheer lace of her panties.

But that came off soon after. She was vulnerable, and she subconsciously found herself spreading her legs slightly when his hand caressed her buttcheek and down to the back of her thighs. Giving it both a good rub, he slipped a finger between the folds of her pussy. The cool air from the air conditioning, together with the anticipation from the massage had left it wet, much to his delight.

She moaned slightly, lifting her hips off the bed to give him better access.

As his fingers massaged her clit, she felt him getting on top of her, and was pleasantly surprised to feel his bare skin on hers, and his already hard cock pressed against her butt. She reached behind and caressed it gently, the action causing him to quicken his fingers and illiciting a moan from them both.

You’re so wet.

He turned her over, coming face to face with her for the first time that night at such distance. He gently swept the hair away from her face and kissed her gently on her eyes, closed in ecstasy. His fingers had by then slipped into her pussy and was fingering her slowly.

He wanted to savour every inch of her.

His lips, caressing her skin, found her nipples and sucked on them gently, increasing the pace of each thrust of his fingers.

Let me blow you.

No, let me fuck you.

She didn’t resist, he got on top of her again, and without warning, thrusted his hard cock into her.

Fuck you’re so tight.

It was his first fuck in ages and he was hungry. She welcomed that with her hips matching his every thrusting motion.

Her arms and legs were now wrapped around him, her head tilted backwards in ecstasy, his face buried between her breasts.

And they fucked each other til both could cum no more.

As he lay beside her after, he propped himself up on one arm and looked at her peacefully sleeping face. With one finger he trailed her skin, laced with the scent of baby oil, silently wondering when he’d see her next.


It was a quiet night, the clock on the table beeped its hourly alert. The digital display read 5:00AM. Snow Patrol was playing quietly in the background while the room was filled with the clickety-clack of her fingers running over the keyboard.

It was exam season, and even though she had one week until her next paper, she decided it would best if she could get her revision out of the way as early as possible to prevent any possible last minute slip-ups. The world was asleep, and she wondered why she was still awake mugging.

Her biological clock was screwed up. Unlike everyone else, there was no longer a time which she would go to sleep everyday. She slept when she was too tired to function, and she woke when she could no longer sleep, or when she couldn’t afford to.

Her phone beeped with a text message waiting, breaking her from her reverie.

“This module is killing me!”

She chuckled softly. K was an old acquaintance. It was this habit of his to text her at 5am every morning since they started university together because it was when they would both head out to grab breakfast, even before MacDonald’s started their 24hour outlet service, and shared many nights together just sitting on the steps outside his room chatting. They were the best friends ever and earned the nickname “BFF” from their mutual friends. They were like the siblings they each never had.

Until that one night where K had his first fight with his new girlfriend, and went to her room to complain. And he said to her, “you know what’s really funny, that I was interested in you for the longest time but you never knew.”

“You bet your ass I knew, but I also knew that I was never the right kind of girl for you.”

“So you pushed me away. I was willing to be there for you, to be your best friend and maybe something more, but you pushed me away.”

I could never be the one for you.

And you could never be the one for me.


I press the doorbell and the door opens within seconds. You see me and grin.

You’re 15 minutes late.

I’ll make it up to you.

Before you say anything else I push you into the room, kissing you fiercely on the lips. Soon we’re on the bed, and our hands are all over each other, clothes all over the floor. I straddle you as you lean back against the headboard, panting slightly.

Missed me?

My lips found your ears, and I’m nibbling them, licking, my tongue flicking in and out of your earlobes, blowing gentle air onto them. You moan slightly as your hands find my breasts, caressing them gently, kneading them, rolling my nipples between your fingers.

The tension and anticipation is killing us both, we’re grinding our hips against each other hungrily, wanting more.

But we both know better.

You slip a finger in between my legs and I gasp. You always know when to hit the spot and with how much pressure. With each thrust of your fingers I’m pressing myself against you, my breasts up against your face and you take the chance to lick them and nibble on my nipples.

By this time, sheer lust has taken over. We ignore all previous agreements about taking things slow.

You tell me to lie on my stomach. I spread my knees wide, waiting.

You plunge into me and we both moan. My ass is rubbing against your balls each time you thrust, and while I’m rubbing my clit, occasionally reaching behind to stroke your balls, your hands are on my breasts, squeezing them gently.

Our moans get louder by the thrust, and as the thrusts get more furious, I’m grabbing the sheets, the pillows, your hands, anything I can find.

Within minutes we’re both lying side by side on the bed, your cum trickling down my breasts.

Let’s get you cleaned up, and ready for Round 2.


The bathroom door swung open without warning. With a grin, he placed his clothes on the countertop and hung his towel next to hers. In between him locking the door and taking off her clothes, she had no time to react. The only way out of this was acquiescence.

And acquiesce she did.

When he came to taking off her panties, he made a show of doing it slowly, his fingers lightly brushing against her skin, both bare and covered. By the time he led her into the shower, they were both panting with anticipation.

With deft, light strokes, he lathered the soap onto her body, his soaped fingers exploring every inch of her bare skin, enjoying the smoothness and softness of it all. He took his time, lingering around her breasts, stopping to give her nipples a light pinch and her breasts a soft squeeze, illiciting soft moans.

And as his fingers journeyed lower, she let out a slight gasp as his fingers found their way to her pussy, already wet with the excitement.

She took it as a cue to start lathering him up, paying special attention to his sensitive areas.

As he guided her hands lower downwards, both of them engaged into a tiny rhythmn only lovers could enjoy and understand, and the tiny, constricted space in the shower was filled with the sound of rushing water and of two people enjoying each other’s touches.

He led her out of the shower and made her bend over the counter, his lips found the skin on her shoulders, worshipping her like his fingers had done before, entering her from behind, just the way they both liked it.

And for that minute or two, the steam that had clouded the mirror before them surrended, and the image of the couple having sharing their unbridled, wanton lust for each other surfaced.

Just before he was about to cum, she took her cue and got on her knees in front of him, wrapping her lips around his cock, glistening with her juices.

Within minutes he came, dripping onto her bare chest.

As she cleaned up the mess she had smeared all over herself, she grinned and winked mischieviously.

“Just the way you like it.”

One Thousand

Disclaimer: This did not happen to me in its entirety, although its conception was based on a real incident. In short, this is all fiction.

She stepped out of the house and noticed that the vehicle was already waiting for her, exactly as he said it would. She got in, not saying anything to the person in the driver’s seat. Afterall, he should know where they were going.

The car pulled up in front of a private estate with sprawling grounds. He was already waiting for her. As the car which brought her here drove away as silently as it first arrived at her home, they made their introductions and he led her up to where he lived.

He poured her a glass of wine, and they made conversation. He asked her where she lived, what she did for fun, the type of books she read and the music she listens to. He talked about his own likes and dislikes. When the alcohol started to take effect, she found herself kissing him on the lips, gently. Then this tongue started to probe into her own and explored the sweetness of her mouth. His hands started to trail up her thighs and disappeared under the folds of her skirt.

He was gentle and took his time with her, teasing her behind her ears, on her neck, between her breasts. His fingers took on a path of their own, trailing up and down her thighs, her inner thighs, and up in between her legs. Piece by piece their clothes came off, and their kisses with each other became fiercer, more needy. When they finally broke apart from it, he said nothing, but grinned and planted more kisses on her body, from her breasts, down to her stomach, and eventually down in between her legs. When he did, she let out a slight gasp, her body, tense from the contact earlier, began to relax and melted into his arms.

Slowly, his tongue explored parts of her she didn’t know could feel pleasure, and sent her into waves of ecstasy. When the last finally exploded through her, they both laid back onto the couch. He took her hand and led her into the room, your turn, he grinned.

Before the door could even close, she was already on to him, kneeling in front of him between his legs. She started slow, with short strokes, alternating between her tongue and her lips, slowly increasing her speed.

Then he stopped her. He grabbed her by her arms and pushed her onto the bed, with his own weight coming onto her. In that split second his hands were everywhere, squeezing her breasts, and then disappearing between her legs again. She reciprocated by spreading her legs, lifting her hips off the bed, fuck me, she whispered.

But he didn’t respond, and instead continued to tease her with his tongue, biting her lightly on her breasts and on her neck. Her whispers soon turned to screams, and then became helpless begging.

Fuck me.

It seemed to be exactly the way he wanted to hear it.

Two bodies, in a room only lit by the light coming through the windows rocked each other with the kind of pleasure only sheer abandon could bring, the excitement of two strangers fucking each other for the first time.

As she climbed onto him, her bouncing breasts illuminated by the light, she couldn’t help but wonder what drove a man to do what he has offered.

But she didn’t need to know the answer.

When it was over, they both lay on his bed, panting, skin glistening with the excesses of sin and pleasure.

“I’ve got a conference call in 15 mins, so you’ve got to go. The money is on the table.”

One Thousand Dollars, all hers, for two hours’ work.

Thursday (Her Story).

Thursdays. She would head over to his place for a drink or two, and then they’d fucked. It wasn’t some arrangement which was agreed upon. It just so happened that every single time she was there, it was a Thursday. Eventually, it just became a habit.

She didn’t really like hin, but it wasn’t that she disliked him either. She was attracted, but he never really showed any active interest in her life that made her think he was actually interested in her as a person and not just a fuck buddy. So she didn’t bother to give him anymore attention that was warranted. To her, it was almost always an act driven by sheer pleasure, by the need to feel physically wanted. She knew that she reigned in the bedroom, that there was nowhere else or nothing else that could make her feel as powerful, and as powerless.

He would always ask for her to stay the night, and she would always agree, even though she was suffering from insomnia and didn’t tell him. So every Thursday night, after he had fallen asleep, she would get up and go to the kitchen to get herself a drink, followed by a smoke at the balcony.

She was always careful when moving around his house at night, afraid of waking him, but today she was preoccupied. She supposed that the clatter of dishes would wake him, but he didn’t seem to make any attempt at waking up to find out what’s happened. So in her usual ritual, she grabbed the ashtray on the dining table and sat by the balcony.

As she sat, puffing away, she knew that somehow, in the middle of the night, he would get up and watch her from the shadows, unsure whether or not to break her reverie. She often ignored him, pretended that she didn’t notice him, and he would often go back to bed on his own after awhile.

She wondered if he wondered why she did this so often. She wondered if he knew that while she would often imagine him as someone else, someone she had often wished was the one asleep in that bed, who was the one she was fucking, who would be waiting for her with open arms to go back to bed once she was done.

But he wasn’t.

And he’ll never be.


It was just like old days, you and me, sitting at the void deck under the block of flats where I live, nursing cigarettes, alcohol and our healing wounds.

It had been years since I last saw you, and when I walked down to find you sitting at the usual spot, I was surprised to find that nothing much had changed physically about you.

We talked about our lives, what had been happening throughout the past years we haven’t seen other, and you had questions of your own to ask about my life. As we talked, I realised that everything seemed like the days before, where the both of us, still young and naive (more often me than you), would talk about our lives, our heartaches, our pains. We would talk about the people we knew, what had become of them, and joked about the times when we were both still in school.

But things have changed. Not between us, not of what we talked about, but how we spoke of them. Our lives revolved around pretty much the same things, the same issues, the same problems. But the things that made us happy have changed. When you spoke, the light that caused your eyes to dance were no longer there. In its place was a shadow, that reflected maturity and a person who has gone through too much. Someone who has had too much on his shoulders, someone who stumbled, and was now getting his life back on track.

And when you spoke to me about that issue, you didn’t judge, and you didn’t reprimand. Instead, you did what I would have expected you to do, except now you did it wearily.

The night was short, and you had to go. While I would have wanted us to chat for longer, it was enough for the day. Enough to put a smile in my heart, enough to give me the peace I craved for so long.

It was great talking to you, old friend.


“Why do you think she behaves the way she does?”

Sipping on my drink in self-contentment, I looked up to realise all eyes were on me. Ben was obviously expecting an answer, from me, no less.

“That she fucks around without a care in the world?”

I realised, this time, I was treading on dangerous ground. We were talking about Ben’s latest interest, some girl who didn’t seem to care for commitment, only going for the short-term enjoyment without concern for what happens in the long term.

“Because it helps her hide behind who she really is? That deep down inside she is also human. That she needs genuine care and concern from others, she needs love. The kind of unconditional love that everyone experiences. She loves but chooses to keep those she does close to her heart and not show it unless it the occasion calls for it. She’ll never show her real emotions in front of you because it shows you who she really is and she doesn’t want that to happen because she doesn’t want to form attachments, and she doesn’t want you to form an attachment to her. Because she knows that people do leave. One day either you or her is gonna just pack up and go and she doesn’t want to hurt herself, or hurt you. So while she seems like a cold-hearted bitch she really isn’t, she is just doing what it takes to protect herself, and you. Of course she treats every other person the same, so you don’t really know if she truly cares for you or she really doesn’t give a flying fuck.

So my suggestion to you, Ben, is to just give her what she wants. If she really wants to establish a real connection with you, she’ll take the initiative and you will take the hint, even though you never seem to get any.”

I sat back into my chair and chewed on my straw.

“How the hell do you know so much about her, if you haven’t even met her?”

I smiled and took a sip from my drink.



He were awokened by the clatter of dishes in the kitchen, followed by the sound of running water. She had gotten up, in the middle of the night to get a drink. Just as she always did after fucking him. She would go to his place after dinner every Thursday night. For dessert, she’d joke.

Tonight, they did it on the sofa, she was straddled on top of him, grinding herself against him, with his head buried in between her breasts, licking and sucking on her nipples, his fingers reaching down to tease her. Then he had her lean against the sofa, her firm butt in front of him, and he plunged into her from behind. Her gasps and sighs turned into moans, and before long both were slumped onto the sofa, breathless.

Ready for Round Two, she smiled and teased. Laughing, she took his hand and led him into the bedroom, where she took charge and pushed him onto the bed.

She used her tongue in the most expert means possible, starting with his ears, his neck, to his torso. There, she playfully skipped his crotch and went down his thighs, and then his inner thighs. It drove him crazy all the time, and she knew it.

Soon she was on top of him, grinding him, with him kneading her breasts gently. Leaning down, she curled her legs around him and they switched places, sending waves of ecstasy over each other.

When they were done fucking each other to the brink of exhaustion, she would always tread out to the balcony, naked, cigarettes in hand. She’d sit by the metal grilles of the balcony, hugging her legs to her chest, and puffed away absent-mindedly.

He always stood in the shadows watching her while she puffed away, and never asked what was on her mind.


In the darkened room lit only by a reading lamp in a corner, he sat on a chair. A metres away was a solitary figure lying on the bed, beginning a performance of sorts, with him as the only audience.

Her shirt came off slowly, the fabric itself putting on a dance, teasing him. The edges slowly rolled over her thighs, then her torso, and over her breasts. Her fingers, like dancers across the stage, dance playfully across her skin, the inside of her thighs, over her crotch, up across her belly, around her nipples.

And as she stared intently at him sitting across the room staring back at her, she massaged herself through her panties, the thin fabric quickly becoming soaked with her juices. As she peeled it off, she saw him licking his lips in the dim light, and she knew she’s got him.

Spreading her legs wide, in full show in front of him, she slowly rubbed herself into ecstasy, the sighs turned into moans, her hips lifted off the bed at the height of it all, an eruption of pleasure from both her act of self-love and knowing that she had driven him to the brink of insanity from her little performance.

When she was done, her skin glistening, she sauntered over to where he was sitting. Leaning forward, she stared into his eyes, grinning.

“Your turn.”

Here’s something new.

Everyone has had the fantasy of fucking a hot woman. By everyone I mean both men and women. Let’s face it, everyone has had the fantasy of making out with a hot woman.

So you can imagine when you’re in a dream when you’re half conscious, and in the dream there is a woman, petite, slim, firm breasts, long jet black hair, fully naked and she’s leaning towards you. Before you know it, both of you are locked in a firm embrace, kissing wildly, fingers dancing on each others’ skin, lips moving into the right places to send each other into ecstasy.

Soon, your hips are locked in am embrace, legs are tangled around each other, and your bodies are rocking each other into sheer euphoria. Your moans, screams, sighs combine into one, and somewhere, along your semi-consciousness, back into reality, you feel a tingling sensation, a spasm surging throughout your body and culminating in your hips.

And in that second, your dream dissolves and you’re thrusted back into reality.

He makes 11.


A hot, humid night. A couple, strangers yet not quite, chatting in his car to avoid the heat and the crowds on a lazy weekday night. It was almost the end of the week, and everyone was out at East Coast Park to unwind for the weekend.

Parked by the road, at a stretch less visited by cars, they enjoyed the cool blast of the air-conditioning, in the silence only permeated by the tunes playing on the radio in the background, getting over the initial awkwardness with small talk. As the night wore on, the awkwardness wore off. And the first touch came.

The atmosphere in the car had been so tense, so sexually charged that when he reached out to caress her bare shoulders, he released an unspeakable urge between them. Gentle kisses and soft touches soon turned hungry and urgent, and before long the strangers had became acquainted, skin on skin, limbs entwined.

Hands desperately grabbing, kneading, lips teasing, they became oblivious to the possibility that each passing car could slow down and their act of lust was in full view for whoever was interested to see. But they didn’t care, consumed by pure lust, they didn’t care who would want to be spectators in their little act of exhibitionism.

When they both finally broke apart, skin glistening with sweat, their lips stained with the scent of each other, they both fell back into their seats.

“Not too bad for a first time, I’d have to return the favour though.”

“Oh you betcha you do.”

They grinned at each other.

Shortly after he dropped her home, she received a text message from him, wishing her a good night.

To which she replied, “You have a good rest too.”

And she received, “I’m sure I will, and you made it so =).”

Inwardly she sighed, wishing that the same thing was said to her, in another time, another place, by another man, in a totally different context.



It’s something almost of a second nature to most people. An innate ability, if you will. From the time we learnt to walk, our curiousity teaches us to run, run as fast as we can to explore the world in front of us before the parents catches up with us and brings us back to where we’re safe.

As we grow older we learn that running has its own benefits, courtesy of physical education of course. Running then evolved into a bane for some who could never seem to catch up with the rest. It becomes a sport of sort, where the fastest, the first to break away from the pack is king. Eventually some people take up running as a hobby, as nothing more than a way to spend weekend mornings, and a way of relaxation.  Some people like to run in pairs, others in groups. Some like to run alone.

But no matter, eventually we all realise that the faster you run, the freer you feel. It is the wind in your face, through your hair, that once you pick up the pace and lose all control of your limbs, and your body succumbs to the adrenaline coursing through every single vein in your body.

It is at that moment I know I had to run away from you. To feel the wind in my hair again, to lose control to sheer adrenaline, to forget who I am.

I’d run as fast as I can, as long as I can run away from you.


The clock beeped its hourly signal and the display read 5:00AM. She took a sip of her coffee, lighted up another cigarette and sighed. She should be studying for her exam two days away, but instead she was sitting outside the steps leading up to her room, sipping a coffee and thought about what happened.It was 1am and she had just woken from her nap, planning to get some studying done where it was quietest at night, with the least distractions. How wrong she was. Just as she settled into her revision her phone beeped.

It was a text message from K.

“Same old place in 1 hour?”

K was a long-time fuck buddy. They started out perfectly well, only contacting each other whenever they both needed to, but lately he had been demanding much more from her. He needed her as a sort of emotional life-buoy, a void-filler because he felt lonely, he expected her to be there all the time and he was increasingly becoming an irritant that was hard to get rid of. Like a red wine stain on a brand new white blouse, the love handles which refuse to go away even with exercise.

Oh what the heck, she thought. She gathered her keys and purse and took a cab to his place.

As soon as she got there he was all over here, and it was done as soon as it started.

She looked at her watch. 3am. It had taken her a little longer to get to his place, and he had launched into a tirade about how his job was unfulfilling and intellectually unchallenging. She had heard this all too often and knew by heart what he was about to say next.

“You’ve been wearing that watch for so long now, its old and falling apart, why don’t you let me get you a new one?”

She rolled her eyes as she put on her clothes, and gave the exact same answer everytime he asked.

“Because I am not your kept woman.”

He would always volunteer to send her home, but she would always refuse. As she gathered her things off the table by the door, she decided that this was the time.

“Don’t call me K, don’t ever call me again.”

Good riddance.


Sometimes, it just takes one little thing to open the floodgates of your memory. Then, everything starts flashing before your eyes. This time, it was chancing upon the blog of a friend, N, whom you used to be close with. You look at her previous posts, and you remember the little bits of life you both shared together, you remember helping her with her blog template, you remember the late nights when both of you would stay up and sit in front of the desktop watching clips on YouTube, slurping up your favourite brand of instant noodles.

You flashback to even earlier, you remember being so stressed out, how you would stay up late to make sure everything was perfect, and only sleeping when your eyelids threatened to mutiny. How you’d wake up the next day, hours later, to find that she had done everything for you while you were asleep. How it was just a simple gesture on her part but you were so touched, how, because of that one simple gesture, the two of you became close friends, confiding in each other, sharing smoking sessions, talking about life after school, love, and your other friends.

Then you are reminded of all the late nights staying up to work on projects, on subsequent publications, helping friends with their projects, watching the sun rise the next morning while drinking beer, and feasting on breakfast ordered from McDonald’s, letting off steam by trashing the entire world, talking about life.

What about the first night you all spent together, after a late night of work and meeting. Where we all slowly got accustomed to each other’s sleeping habits, both the annoying and quirky? And all the times, all the silly things everyone unwittingly, whether it was due to a lack of sleep or just the sheer lapse of concentration, if only for that split second?

You stop and remember too, the times where, you stayed up late with her, V, someone else you have grown to hold close to your heart. You remember both of you, working late into the night, the room dark except for the glow coming from the screens of both your laptops. Discussing where this ought to go, what color that ought to be. All in a day’s work to organising an event you had asked her to help you with. You remember also, all the bitching, and those nights you both decide not to do any work and stayed up the entire night instead to play some silly game on your computers.

You also remember how, after everything had been done and over with, the two of you remained even closer friends because of the experience, you remember the late night/early morning chats the both of you have, the chats that were senseless and silly because of the sleeplessness.
You remember, all those times, the ones that made you smile, and the ones that made you laugh til you cried. You remember all the words exchanged, all the heartfelt conversations, that revealed so much about each other in such a short time.

You wonder why it all flew past so quickly, and despite its impossibility, you yearn to relive those memories. But all you can say to each other is “I miss those days”. Four simple words which carried so much meaning, of which implied the experiences and memories of one years worth of friendship and living together that nothing else could ever replace, all torn apart by somebody’s foolish anger and jealousy, and you played the fool by playing along, almost destroying a wonderful friendship with one, yet strengthening another. You tell yourself that you will make it right with N, whom you had decided to distance from because of someone’s foolish mistake. You will, someday.

Midnight Reverie.

It was 3am in the morning, you were on your way back from supper with the “peeps”, as you’d often call them. You hung out with so much you all knew each other’s favourite food, weakness, strengths, and quirks. This was one of the weekly supper affairs, of getting out of the rut you all feared being stuck in. As you sat in the backseat of the car, cruising along the highway, you’re watching the trees along the road pass you by like flashes of light.

Flashes of light. You’re instantly reminded of that day, as you sat in the back of the cab, with him beside you, with the ocassional witty banter breaking the silence. You were staring at the bright lights that adorned the streets as the cab was stalled in a jam created by the holiday rush, and you sat there just enjoying the moment.

Now, weeks later, as you sat in the car, watching the trees pass by like the scene set out in your head, you silently wonder why that memory crossed your mind. Again.

You know the answer only too well. You’re wondering why you’re still left thinking when it seems that it is nothing more than a distant memory in his head, if it was any at all. You’re wondering why you’re always left so sullen and broody everytime you find out that his life is going well for him, that he has his friends and his loved ones by his side.

Most importantly, you’re wondering why you’re not one of the people who can make his day brighter just by your sheer prescence by his side. You’re left to wonder if he even thinks of you, if he has forgotten.

Suddenly you’re broken from your reverie. The vehicle lurches to a stop and you realise it’s your turn to get off. You always get off first.

As you watch your best guy buddy’s Mini disappear into the night, you’re aware that the night is silent and you’re the only one standing the carpark, with the cool wind that threatens of an impending thunderstorm. You smile at the mental image. You sigh and pull the collar of the windbreaker closer to your neck. You know the answer too well because its the same advice that escapes from your lips everytime a friend comes to you with a similar problem.

But somehow, in defiance, you refuse to follow your own advice.

I am not emo.

You know how when you are young, and you listen to certain songs on the radio, and you like it so much because it sounds nice?

And then you get a little older and start to realise what its like to develop crushes, how it feels to like someone and not have him like you back. You listen to sappy love songs on radio and you feel like you could be the protagonists in the songs?

Fast forward 10 years. Or more for you older ones.

The songs that remind you of your teenage years come on radio. You flashback to those days of crushes and unrequited puppy love. Then it also reminds of you the lovers who have passed you by. Not the ones of your silly schoolgirl crushes, but those made when you got older. The ones who wanted to stay around long enough to talk about forever, and mean it. The ones whom you dreamed of going on that getaway with, and you know your parents would never object. The ones who stayed over at your place once too often. The ones whom you talked about your dream wedding with, the honeymoon, and the perfect life after.

You would take long walks with him, by the river after your dinner dates. He would wrap his arms around when you you felt cold in the cinema, who would give you his jacket because you left yours at home in a hurry. He would hold your hand while you crossed the road because you were too afraid to jaywalk, and he promised to hold your hand forever. He would dance with you in the rain even though he thought it was silly. He would make the trip from Jurong West to Pasir Ris to hand you flowers and apologise for making you angry, even though he had to make the trip in a cab with the last $50 in his pocket.

He was like every other. The ones who seemed so right at that point in time, but whom you realised were so wrong after the fireworks faded.

When the songs come on radio on a Sunday afternoon spent lazing around, you remember the ones.

They were not quite like your puppy love crushes when you were a teenaged schoolgirl. You know because when the songs that remind me of them come on radio, you feel a sense of nostalgia and laugh inwardly at how silly you were. But if the same song plays and you think of the ones, you feel a small stab somewhere in the deepest regions of your soul, you feel a sense of longing for what you once had and lost.

Then, feeling alone again, you wonder when the next one will come by.