My Journal, My Life

[Claire]

Mar 17 2016

My Iku-Iku

It has been a long day at work. Meetings after meetings. A throng of whatsapp messages from him, missed calls and sms-es which I snub all of them. It’s now 5.40pm on my laptop and I reckon I will pen a piece to ease my stress and frustrations at work before I knock off for the day, to meet Sue for the night. I want to talk about, something jolly now. I thought I will write about iku-iku.

My iku-iku is multifaceted and has various dimensional spheres.

From ∼ literary iku-iku (derive from reading fiction) ∼ iku-iku from exchange of communication (for instance, with elder brother Eat）∼ food iku-iku (from eating delicious food) ∼ handbags iku-iku ∼ to the more bodily-cum-emotional iku-iku.

To me, iku-iku can be a verb, a noun, an adjective, adverb or whatsoever, to describe my personal expression of enchantment and/or immense delight from “enslavement”.

Bodily-cum-emotional Iku-iku has never been a taboo subject for me, though I prefer a “quintessential” discussion rather than a raunchy one.

I am writing about iku-iku today because he had sent me lots of “suggestive” whatsapp messages about how he covets for my “moans”, “cries”, and “mewls” elevating me as a perfect angel of his pleasure, to the extent that I feel that I am His Light, His Salvation.

All these whatsapp messages were "popping up" fast and furiously on my mobile today, whilst I was in a meeting with senior management. I wasn't amused. But, oddly, I wasn't terribly upset either. In fact, I was amused, secretly happy at the power I wield over this useless swine.

Perhaps my iku-iku has become my staple armament, like a tangible scalpel that I can brandish at will (at him), replacing the Christ in him as the new axis of longing and fulfilment of his soul.

I am still angry since last night. He had called me a “bitch”. In fact, I had abandoned him at NEX, and (still) refusing to pick up his calls or responded to his whatsapp/sms messages.

Well, last night, after dinner, I needed to stock-up my “Dracula sheets”. Whilst browsing for my "Dracula's sheets" at NTUC, a motherly-looking, “pyjamas clad” young "aunty” with a toddler in a stroller traversed my path towards another “老aunty”. They seemed to know each other from their exchange of greetings.

Well, being Claire the “Bitch", I pretended to read the label on the packet of “Dracula sheets” that I was holding, meanwhile, eavesdropping their conversation.

老aunty : Wah, boy boy, grow so big already ah.
Mother Aunty: Yalor, he very intelligent now. He learn things veree well.
老aunty : So clepver hor. (She started tickling the toddler's cheek). Call aunty, come, come, call aunty.
Toddler (muttered) : Hannti, hae hae hae Hanndi …
老aunty : So clepver boy.
Aunty : Next time grow up whether can become scholar or not.
老aunty : Can lah, so young already so clever.
.... and the daffy conversation went on and on, with relentless inanity.

Forgive me for being direct, I think this form of mutual "stroking" of each other’s self-worth is repulsive. All toddlers are bound to mutter some words. And, by such measly mutterings, both of these aunties could tell that the toddler is intelligent (or, going to become intelligent) and will become a scholar? What utter rubbish!

If this is how the average Singaporean’s mind set is, I think this country is destined for an utter deterioration of genetic development. Well, I picked up my pack of “Dracula sheets”, left the area, nauseating with disgust.

I subsequently met up with him, and revealed what I had witnessed. He countered by saying I am being “bitchy” and I shouldn’t be so “haughty” and “snooty”. Well, that’s it. I blew. I walked away, paid for my Dracula sheets, went to the cab-stand and went home alone. And I have since refused to pick up his calls, whatsapp and sms.

I am sure he is remorseful for what he had said, and that’s why he has been sending me all these “moans”, “cries” and “mewls” whatsapp messages today. And I believe he can “discern” my iku-iku very well to the extent of using it to trigger forgiveness from me.

Well, I know that I will ultimately “give in” to him at his place and forgive him (tomorrow, not today, as I have arranged to meet Sue for dinner & drinks tonight).

Hopefully, I will not need those “Dracula sheets” tomorrow night, otherwise, my iku-iku will not be able to “jump-start” and it will certainly be a show-stopper.

Ciao. Have a great evening to all

 

[Claire]

Mar 20 2016

Condom

It has been a "barbarous" weekend this far

Its ten to 8 now and I am just back from my usual Sunday morning run. While my thoughts are still "virginal", “cleanse” by the run, I reckon it's a good time to pen this piece, while the swine is still in his long siesta of snores (which incidentally is audible, despite the fact that I am in the lounge now).

I woke up at half past 6 this morning, freshened up, changed, slipped out of his apartment and begin my usual "pilgrimage". I have always enjoyed a good gallop every weekend. It keeps me in a pristine and slender shape. More importantly, it amalgamates the array of my conflicting brain cells ~ synthesizing heaven and hell ~ bringing me down to planet earth, where I belong.

Why did I use the word "barbarous"? Well, I have forgiven him :( . My iku-iku couldn't resist his efficacious "ku-chi-ku-chi" kungfu moves.

But, I utterly did not expect his newly minted ku-chi-ku-chi kungfu moves, the last two nights. They had rendered me wholly helpless. It was akin to those Hong Kong martial art dramas, where the victim’s 全身穴道 became totally immobilised. There was nothing I could do, but succumbed to his oral and physical fantasies, though “pugnacious”, was unequivocally desirous for me.

During the run, I pondered∼ why is he such a "highly skilled" sage, in his delivery of pleasure?

His new ku-chi ku-chi moves had titillated and gratified my luscious body, remitting ecstatic signals of love to my heart and brain, and further synthesise the two organs and ourselves into one. In fact, it added a new dimension to the song, which I often listened to, during my teenage years ∼ Spice Girls ∼ "2 Become 1". Then, it was a teenage fantasy. Now, it has really become an authentic reality.

For those who has read till here, I say, thank you. I must also say sorry. I can't pen any further on those "barbarous" acts, which I was subjected to. Further, I am neither a salacious writer, nor do I aspire to be one. Suffice to say, it was “sinfully” pleasurable, to the extent that I fear the veracity behind Proverbs 21:17 ~ "Whoever loves pleasure will be a poor (wo)man; (s)he who loves wine and oil will not be rich".

I am not a Christian. Even if I were, I am sure the God would approve my sensual enjoyment. God is the one that "designed" my body and the associated sensorial features. I am sure pleasure, must be something that God wanted me, and all human beings, to have. If not, why make us carnal? He could have easily written a macro, batch file or a script into our brains, rendering us incapable of any sensual desires.

Well, I have digressed, as the title of this thread is, "Condom". Let's get back to this thread title before this piece becomes a mucky exposition, of which I abhor and never intended to write as such.

Condom.

First, I am not referring to that roll-able polyurethane that protects me from his potent “ammunition” of highly militant “ISIS” tadpoles.

What I meant is a "Brain Condom”, which I want to purchase (if it has been invented), to stop his sensually active and simmering" brain, which is capable of sweet talking and also physically soothe any woman into ecstatic fluid-like exudation. This Brain Condom must stop him imagining sensually, numbing any visualisation(s) he may have, whatsoever, when he gazes at any woman in real life or on the internet.

Preferably, it should be in a form of a drug, which I am more than happy to pay good money for. If it hasn’t been invented, I implore that the big pharmaceutical companies, like GSK, to invent one. I shall be the first to volunteer that swine, for consumer product laboratory testing.

Before I go off to make our usual Sunday pancakes cum strawberry breakfast, I am wondering ∼ where did he acquire his new ku-chi-ku-chi skills?

Inborn? Or simply, a consequential experience from his association to the many Cocotte, Saseko or Amkae (which he has to date, not fully declared them to me) :(.

Hopefully, (if and when) I get my hands on this Brain Condom drug, I shall surreptitiously add to my signature Sweet and Sour Pork dish and feed him. This should effectively “anaesthetise” his sensual brain cells like a macro, batch file or a script, that God should have inputted into his brains in the first place (errr… not my brains, though ).

Hopefully, after his consumption of this “Brain Condom” drug ~ when he sees another Cocotte, Saseko or Amkae, ~ it will render him, sensually and sexually impotent. He will, of course, be faithful to me ~ the one and only Claire, in his life.

Then again, there must also be a 解药for me to administer on him, when I desire for his ku-chi ku-chi skills .

Enjoy your Sunday. Have a marvellous hot and sunny Sunday with your loved ones

 

[Claire]

Mar 21 2016

Ice cream

It has been a slow and boring Monday, at work.

I thought I should pen something to arrest this deterioration of my cerebral, otherwise, by the end of today, I may be brain-dead and needing resuscitation, to jumpstart those jaded brain cells that have custody over my creativity and my imagination.

Well, let’s talk about ice cream.

I have always relished a good ice cream.

I prefer the super-premium range ~ Häagen-Dazs. The flavours are generally more "bourgeois", well established, and “rooted” to evergreen flavours such as Butter Pecan, Salted Caramel and Belgian Chocolate.

I dislike the funky Ben & Jerry's “flippant” flavours. To me, it borders on promoting "infidelity" in consumer taste buds, and certainly, unworthy for me, to even spend a cent on them.

Tillamook is another of my favourite, together with Bulla's range of frozen yogurt ice cream, which I often partake, with my ever sweet tongue

On the other hand, the Popsicle ice cream range in Singapore is junk. With Walls at the top of the rubbish heap, followed by local brands like Kings, Meadow Gold, etc. Frankly, they taste absolutely atrocious, while, Magnum, though enjoyable, is far from acceptable, in terms of price and value for money.

Why am I penning about ice cream today?

Well I am neither Dr Chee nor Ms Cecelia Sue.

In GE2015, Dr Chee spoke on his challenges in the supermarket when he attempted to buy Häagen-Dazs or Ben & Jerry's ice cream for his children. I am convinced that he is absolutely right about cost of living in Singapore ∼ a consequential outcome of property owners' greed for highest rental returns ~ local and foreign manufacturers' greed for P&L objectives to justify the astronomical salaries of their CEOs and senior management ~ and, local big retailers' greed for the highest margins. All these are taking place right before our very eyes, every day, 24 7, across all food and utility categories.

Instead of challenging such profiteering business practices, the establishment provides the 70%, a pair of highly tinted sunglass, hoping that all these grievances will not be too glaring, before, during, and after elections, perpetuating a trinity of abuse, culminating in the systematic “rape” of Singaporeans ~ by the establishment, its related and associated businesses and the foreign companies who peddle their goods and services here in Singapore.

I guess I have said enough about politics, which I do not have much interest ~ given the absolute lack of respect to democracy, shown by the daft majority of Singaporeans every 4 to 5 years.

Ms Cecilia Sue, on the other hand, depicts a more interesting and mind blowing rendition of ice cream. Her iconic “ice cream” trysts at SGH carpark with Mr Ng Boon Gay, has certainly allowed me, (and probably many Singaporean women), to talk openly about our “mouthful” weapon of love, and also, the destruction, that we possess, over our men, who appear, unable to resist our delectable partake of this dessert, during intimacy.

Well, again, I have digressed, and some members here will take the opportunity to insinuate that I am writing porn.

Well, when I first wrote the thread's subject header, I intended to talk about this frozen creamy dessert and not about Dr Chee’s plight nor Cecelia’s trysts. In fact, the hot weather over the last few days had certainly triggered my taste buds for a good old Häagen-Dazs ice cream, or, icy slush which I love, when as a kid.

On Saturday, we went for a walk at Tangs Orchard. At the basement, there was a counter selling Popsicle and Slush makers. The brand is Zoku. After the typical product introduction by the sales promotor, we decided to buy a Popsicle maker and also a Slush maker.

Well, I tried the two products on Sunday, I was surprised how well they worked. The end-product had the taste-quality of a commercial made ice cream. It also allowed me to omit added sugar, just relying on natural sugar found in the fruits that I had used.

I guess a video speaks a thousand words. Rather than you reading my mind-numbing words, you are better off watching the You-tube clips on Zoku Popsicle maker and Slush maker (below).


[video=youtube;7Lllf8zNIF4]

[video=youtube;6XW_BdlRSbM]

For the Popsicle maker, I used a banana, meshed it up, mix with single cream. The result was a fun licking creamy Banana Popsicle

For the slush, I used two fresh round cara-cara oranges (as recommended by John), masticated into juice and poured into the Slush maker. A refreshing delightful icy slush on a hot and humid Sunday.

Well, I guess from now onwards, I can avoid those super-sweet commercially made ice cream retailing at “profiteering prices” in Singapore.

As I when I need to satisfy my dessert-induced iku-iku craving, I can always use One Banana, Two Oranges and my Zoku-s. Have a good evening on a slow and boring Monday

 

[Claire]

Mar 23 2016

My Chichis

Nope, it's not what you were thinking, when you decided to click on this thread.

It's neither a Hokkien vulgarity, nor a breed of small barky dogs, or some terrific moves, associated with the Chinese martial art, Qigong.

Chichis, in Spanish, means breasts. The Japanese, I believe, uses the same terminology, for my mammary. In local Singaporean dialect context, I supposed many called them "neh neh pok". I am not sure why the need to add a “pok” adjective to “neh neh”. Perhaps some Hokkien linguist can enlighten me here.

There are also Chichis slangs. Some are not so complimentary ∼ "airport", "sunny side up", etc. Others are not that bad, using fruits as description ~ papaya, melons or oranges. Some even use the slang “headlights” to obscure the reference to Chichis.

Well, I happen to adore and love my own pair of Chichis, and so does he, judging by how “aroused” he gets whenever he sees and caresses my Chichis, during intimacy. As a woman, I do not feel uneasy, talking about it. My Chichis are part of my body, my genetic makeup, an asset, though sometimes liability.

STOP HERE. NO PORN. Otherwise, I will be accused, yet again, of writing inappropriate stuff.

I am penning this piece because of an unpleasant encounter today. I was in a meeting with some external vendors, for the sole purpose of understanding their operating model, to enable the drafting of appropriate clauses into the contract. Their business lead was this man, probably in his late 40s or maybe early 50s. For simplicity, let's call him Byuntae.

Byuntae is a local Singaporean (he said so), but probably mixed, in racial parentage. He spoke with an “angmo” twang. He introduced himself succinctly, graciously presented his name card to me, with both hands. Well, right from that very moment, I could see his eyes fixated on my Chichis, even during handshake, which I felt, was a little too protracted for a simple introduction.

Gosh, what a way to start the meeting.

The meeting went smoothly. Byuntae was probably the most "well-behaved" man in contract negotiations that I have ever met. I could easily get what I wanted, to "shield" our organisation in the contract, including, but not limited to, full indemnity of consequential losses, should they be, in breach of contact. What a breeze, I thought.

After the meeting, while I was having sipping my coffee, he came over to my side. We chatted for a while. Again, I couldn't help but feel his “roving” eyes, taking occasional "dips" at my Chichis. For a split second, I did wonder if he was having an iku iku in his brains, using the crude power of his fanatical retina.

Before I went off, he unbelievably asked if I was free for dinner tonight. Err…I said ∼ I wasn't free in the evening. Not wanting to scupper the deal for my organisation, I told him another time. Well, once the deal is inked, I will probably tell him to F.O.

Why are men so 色？I am sure he is married, as he did mention having a kid studying in Henry Park. In any event, I don't do dinner with business partners. At most, it's a business lunch. Isn't this a well-established norm in the corporate world? I am sure Cecilia, Wendy and Laura made the wrong decisions about going out at night, with Boon Gay, David and Palmer, respectively.

I am not sure what that Byuntae saw in my Chichis. To me, it's just another piece of flesh, and when you hold them, they just feel like a handful bag of sand, firm but soft.

Well, given that you men are gullible suckers and fond of Chichis, I shall describe mine in further detail.

It is fair, light creamy in colour, obviously less tan, given that it is well protected by my lingerie, hidden away from the sun. Gravity wise, it is heavier on the underside, if you swipe upwards with your palm. My areola is about the size of an old Singapore 50 cents coin, slightly pinkish in tone. There are light blue veins running across both my Chichis.

It can also “bo-ing” naturally, though I hide the bottom half of each Chichi, which, he always seems exhilarated to see, feel and mouth (the hidden half) during intimacy. Well, his carnal act does contribute to my ability to reach iku iku, though not always, if the pressure is excessively strong or feebly weak.

Normal isn't it? Every woman has a pair of Chichis. I am sure your wives and girlfriends have more or less the same Chichis, which I have described above.

Well, before I knock off for the day, I just want to reiterate that I absolutely do not understand men’s bizarre obsession for Chichis, and their incessant yearn to stare at them.

It's rude, discourteous, un-gentlemanly, uncouth, tactless and crass and categorically makes you a Byuntae.

Bye. I am leaving office now

 

[Claire]

Mar 25 2016

Ferachio

I am spending my long weekend with him (since last evening).

As usual, I woke up at six this morning, and went for my refreshing run. I am back resting in lounge. The run has again “cleansed my sins”, crystallised my point of view. While my thoughts are still untainted and unblemished by carnality on Good Friday, I think I should pen this post.

Nope, I am not talking about Ferragamo shoes (incidentally I love them ). And, no, it's not Ferrari cars or Ferrero Rocher chocolates. Neither am I referring to myself, as a "chio-bu", which I am sure, I am one .

Enough of 卖官子.

Ferachio, is the Japanese equivalent, for the Latin word, Fellatio. It is what he regularly begs for, in the midst of intimacy. I do “administer” Ferachio in “gregarious” manner. I do get a sense of egoistical satisfaction ~ when he moans, groans, becomes vulnerable, wholly within my control, pleading and urging me on ~ in an array of muscular spasms.

I do not that mind discussing about Ferachio, in this forum, given the anonymity it provides, hence my audaciousness to start a thread like this. Perhaps, I can learn more, about the likes and dislikes of men, about Ferachio, in a full and frank discussion.

In this modern age, I believe none of us should have any taboo subjects. I believe a clean and healthy discussion can help all of us ∼ whether you are male or female. As for me, I have often discussed Ferachio with Sue. I am appreciative to her, for coaching me what to do, and what not to do, when delivering an intense Ferachio for him.

Before I continue, I ask that your comments be restricted to "educational" rather than absurdity.

Also, if you comport yourself like a Byuntae (like Mr Leong) ~ or worse ~ a convulsive spastic who spew unintelligible crap or can’t even put a few words into proper readable sentences ~ I am sure I will ignore you, as I have often done, to the many paroxysmal "keyboard" nincompoops here in this forum.

Let me begin.

When I was with my ex, the Brit, he did not enjoy my delivery of Ferachio. Then, I sought Sue’s help. I realised the problem was me, not him. Sue said I did not administer my Ferachio with “passion” ~ ie., HE DID NOT enjoy it, because, I WASN’T enjoying it.

For example, I often closed my eyes, and he probably felt “bad”. It could have given him the wrong impression that I was being “forced” into Ferachio. Well, I couldn’t have practised on another man, as we broke off shortly.

With my current beau, I discarded all my fear and inhibitions. I am not shy to tease him about his moans and groans in whatsapp messages, during working hours ~ building his desire when it is nearing the weekend.

In fact, we had intimacy last night. He is still fast asleep now, snoring like a swine. He is probably dead exhausted, while I am still in pretty good shape, after a refreshing morning run. I am penning this piece with lots of zest, with fresh memories of the mutual pleasure we had last night.

During our intimacy, I will (more often than not) initiate a Ferachio, though I will make him “beg” for it, as I like to be “in control of proceedings”.

When administering this “addictive drug”, I will make the eye connexion with him, observing, listening to sounds he makes, and also his spasmodic reactions from his body and limbs. I will ask him what he likes, and also encourages him to “talk wildly” to me, while I am giving him an immaculate “head”.

Like a dictatorial “head mistress” fully in control of my “student”, I will first use my saliva to lubricate his Chinchin, followed by using my hand to stiffen it adequately, applying an “up and down” motion. When it is amply “toughened”, I will then “cup” it with my mouth.

While doing all these, I will always maintain a direct eye contact with him, showing my delight and pleasure. Sometimes, with one hand holding his Chinchin, gliding in and out of my mouth, I will squeeze one of my Chichi ~ not only to get myself aroused, but also to let him have the pleasure of a “lusty” vision ~ that I am relishing his Chinchin, adoring it like a divine rod, which I desperately need, for my subsequent iku iku.

Interspersing my oral glide, I will use my mouth to gently “cup” his twin jewels, one at a time, also grazing his inner thighs, and a luscious creaming of his sensitive perineum, with my saliva-drizzling tongue.

At times, when he couldn’t control, and start ejaculating, I will demand that he spurt on my Chichis, to “fire” his iku iku to greater heights. Once it a while, I will ask him to come in my mouth. I do not always ingest his army of tadpoles. I am not sure why. He doesn't demand for it either. At times, if they taste sweet and good, I will gladly swallow. At other times, if they smell and taste inedible, I will spit them out onto a tissue. Perhaps it has to do with what he eats during the day. I really don’t know. I am neither a dietician nor a food scientist.

I am certain what I have described above is what your girlfriend and wife does to you too. I do not believe that I have written porn. Neither am I ashamed in administering Ferachio on him, the man whom I love a lot, indulging with him, in mutual pleasure and excitement. Similarly, he does enjoy “dining at my Y” too (which, I don't feel comfortable in sharing at this moment). Perhaps some other time when I am in a mischievous mood .

Alas, it’s time to wake up that swine, shower and get out of his apartment, to look for some breakfast. I am hungry!

Have a blessed Good Friday and a fabulous long weekend .

 

[Claire]

Mar 27 2016

Solasfera

A quick and short post from me on Easter Sunday.

First, a very good morning to all

The word “Solasfera” has nothing to do with chichis, chinchin, ikuiku or ferachio.

To those Byuntaes out there (especially the Chief Byuntae, Mr Leong), I expect you to behave yourself, and stop your gibberish, sleazy and seedy comments about my chichis and whatever anatomy you are dreaming about. Buzz off!

Let me get on to the main subject today ~ Solasfera ~ and not digress, like I often do, in my pieces.

Solasfera is a well-known diamond that has caught my eye, ever since I chanced upon it in Hong Kong, some years ago with my ex-Brit boyfriend. Ever since then, it’s my most wanted and most desired diamond.

Yesterday (Saturday), we managed to visit a local store in Singapore that carries the Solasfera collection. I apologise, I cannot reveal any further details. Otherwise, my privacy is compromised (as only a few jewellers carry this Solasfera collection, locally).

Some pictures of the Solasfera diamond (cut) from the internet.

You can see from the last picture ~ the innovative Solasfera cut creates the diamond “shine” when light passes through the stone (as compared to other ordinary cuts).

When I tried on yesterday (similarly to the one in the 2nd picture above), I was absolutely dazed, thrilled and “secretly” euphoric. The Solasfera diamond simply overwhelmed me ~ in mind, body and soul ~ though the price was equally spectacular.

I said to him, “Nope, let’s not waste money…”. He said, “It is ok. I love you and you deserve the diamond that you like best…”.

I was touched, moved by his sincerity, warmed by his gesture. My heart tells me he is my man, my love, someone whom I will marry, live with, and take care of him forever.

Instead of me garbling about how beautiful the Solasfera diamond is, you can read all about the perfect gift of love at their website : http://www.solasfera.com/.

Further, if you have any suggestions or recommendations about diamonds, I will be happy to hear them. It’s always good to open my mind to ideas and good advice, especially from some of you, who have walked through the joy, happiness, trials and tribulations of marriage life.

Last but not least, for you men out that who are contemplating buying a gift for your wife (as an anniversary gift) or your girlfriend, do take a look at Solasfera. I am sure your spouse or sweetheart will love it

Happy Easter

 

[Claire]

Mar 28 2016

Chicken Drumstick Rice

A short piece from me today.

I went out of office earlier today, to "tapow" lunch, and now back in the aircon-comfort office, munching on my lunch. This hot weather is real bad for my skin, so I reckon ∼ it is better that I "hide" from these harmful UV rays, instead of lunching out.

It has been at the back of my mind to pen about this, but somehow, it is always relegated to my back burner. Perhaps it's a good time to share this today, as I did an "unusual" act.

I tapowed my lunch at a nearby kopishop. On my way, I will always see an old man in a wheelchair, selling tissue paper. He looks genuine. Occasionally, I will buy from him, to help him out. Sometimes, I will gave him $2, without taking the tissue sachets.

Today, I did something different. I had no idea what has gotten into my brains, perhaps the hot sun has "fried" it.

I decided to "tapow" two boxes of chicken drumstick rice with braised egg, and gave a box to him. He was pleasantly surprised, and accepted my gesture of lunch, though it would be tough for him to enjoy his lunch in this hot weather :(

Anyway, I was initially not sure whether he was a genuine case of persons who needed help. Now I am absolutely sure. I guess I should do this more often. It does lift my mood too.

Have a nice Easter Monday .

 

[Claire]

Apr 5 2016

Onani

Why does he need an Onani when he has me?

I find it bizarre, and sometimes wonder ~ whether he is one of this forum’s neurotic Byuntaes, like Mr Leong, Long, Froggy, R2D2, C3P0, Blackie or Rape.

To date, I reckon, aside from Eat, Thick, and a handful of others ~ not many have persuaded me that there is hope in Men.

Anyway, I shouldn't digress, and I better get back to the subject of this piece ∼ Onani.

Well, if you do not know what Onani is, please google, you twit (just as Mr Leong would always aver).

He made a stunning revelation to me on Saturday night, in Westin Kuala Lumpur, while we were engaging in luscious deeds of love and intimacy.

He was urging me on “bodily” and orally, when, he unexpectedly revealed that he would always do an "Onani ritual", almost every weekday morning ~ fantasising about squeezing and licking my chichis, in order to release his energies and frustrations, with his firm and elongated chinchin.

After our intimacy, I decided to have a heart-to-heart dialogue with him ~ on why he needed to do an "Onani ritual" on weekday mornings ∼ when he has all of me every weekend. Aren’t our weekend undertakings more than enough???

After our enlightening dual soul-searching discussion, I concluded that he is suffering from a mild form of hypersexual disorder.

I am not sure if you guys in this infamous pseudo sex forum would agree ~ but below was what he revealed to me. He said he was "absolutely honest". Hopefully, and not otherwise.

He swore that while performing an "Onani ritual", thinking about me ~ helps him to generate a genuine emotive connection with me, whenever I am not around to satisfy his "needs". He further added he cannot get enough of me, and is always in need for the intoxicating euphoric iku-iku, that I deliver for him during our intimacy.

He avowed, that despite his almost daily "Onani ritual" ~ by the next day, his emotive connection with me would have worn off, and hence, he would do another "Onani ritual" to recharge ~ often fantasizing about my delivery of ferachio on him and my iku-iku groans and moans.

I decided to have a chat with Sue about his “ailment” last night (Monday) while we were having our weekly girl’s night out.

Sue said ALL men suffer from a mild form of hypersexual disorder. She said to "watch" him closely the next few weeks to ascertain the severity. For example (Sue said), if he frequents porn sites "too often" and does an Onani at the same time ~ then he probably has a slightly severe hypersexual disorder. I countered Sue ~ watching porn is normal and sometimes we do it together during intimacy as well. And, the million dollar question is ∼ how often is "too often"? Sue couldn't answer. Can you?

Well, Sue further said that I have to watch out for other tell-tale signs, as the collective signs and symptoms usually determine a severe hypersexual disorder in men.

She said to pay particular attention to him after his iku-iku ~ if he wants nothing more to do with me after his iku-iku and/or is repulsive towards my “feel and touch” of his erogenous zones, then, it is most likely (than not) that he is suffering from severe hypersexual disorder.

Sue reckoned that this sort of men who achieved iku-iku and then show no interest in his intimacy partner, have the same characteristic of those severe hypersexual disorder men who often visit prostitutes to satisfy their craving – “iku-iku, payment and byebye” (in her exact words).

I subsequently had a mental flashback of all my intimacy sessions with him. I concluded that he is not at all consistent. Again, Sue has muddied the waters for me.

At times, after our iku-ikus, he would still exhibit his lust and exquisiteness over my body. Occasionally, we would have another one or two iku-ikus again. However, at other times, he would smoke a cigarette after his iku-iku, while we have our Perignon bubblies together after the exhausting intimacy session. Otherwise, we would take a shower together and clean each other in the shower too.

I am now puzzled with this Onani-ritual man that I am with.

????????

 

[Claire]

Apr 7 2016

Bata

Everyone in all probability knows what BATA is.

Some of us wore the white canvas shoes when young, others ingeniously call it “Buy And Throw Away”.

Aside from our visit to a Bata boutique last evening, I guess the last time I ever stepped into one was when I was 16 or 18 year old.

We were walking in a mall last night when his shoes gave way.

Lo & behold! There was a BATA shoe boutique right in front of us. He said let's go in and grab a pair of new shoes. I was hesitant, but nonetheless went along, pondering what a scrooge I am with.

He selected his shoe, tried them on, paid, asked the salesgirl to throw away his broken pair of shoes, put on his new BATA shoes and we left. It costs him $49.90.

I never knew BATA shoes were that decent. Putting aside the infamous "Buy And Throw Away" reputation, I thought it was really a bargain for a nice fitting pair of leather working shoes.

I had always thought BATA was some brand of Indian origin. To my surprise, it isn't.

I did a search, and according to Wikipedia, it's a Swiss brand!

"BATA (also known as Bata Shoe Organisation) is a family-owned global footwear and fashion accessory manufacturer and retailer with acting headquarters located in Lausanne, Switzerland. Organised into three business units: Bata Europe, based in Italy; Bata Emerging Market (Asia, Pacific, Africa and Latin America), based in Singapore, and Bata Protective (worldwide B2B operations), based in the Netherlands, the organisation has a retail presence of over 5200 retail stores in more than 70 countries and production facilities in 18 countries."

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bata_Shoes

In fact, while he was trying on his new leather shoes, I had a walk around to see some of the other stuff they sell. I must say that BATA has re-invented themselves, innovated well, with worthy design of shoes, bags and accessories.

Well, I admit I am little snooty, but that's probably due to my teenage perception of BATA, no more, no less.

I did ask him after he donned his new pair of shoes ∼ whether it would create “adverse reactions” with his business partners, clients or colleagues ~ given that it is not a Cole Hann, Berluti or Armani.

He boldly said - "I will tell them to FXXK OFF!”

Well, I learnt an important lesson. Never judge a product by its brand name. It's what it is that is key. I am proud of him. He is not like the snooty me.

Have a fabulous Thursday evening!

 

[Claire]

Oct 2 2017

Ambitchous

It's been a while since I wrote anything here. Occasionally, I would take a peek at this forum when I want a chuckle, especially at @eatshitndie posts as I like his slapstick humour. Somehow, his 69 humour doesn't sound a weebit scatological to me［@eatshitndie, if you are reading this post, a big hello to you ］

Lets not digress further. I decided to write today becauseI learnt a new word : Ambitchous. No thanks to Sue, my BFF. I was bitching about someone to her on WhatsApp and she instantaneously called me Ambitchous. She said I am striving to be more of a bitch than an average bitch. Oh well, so be it. I admit I am AMBITCHOUS.

This world depends on woman like me, who dares to open my mouth, express my views and not the usual dumb Singaporean men and women who would sit passively in a meeting, keeping quiet and contributing nothing to the discussion whatsoever. Just like those ruling party's voters, don't they know that those who follow the crowd are the ones who are most likely to get lost in the new world order. Sometimes, I wish they would just disintegrate into a pile of smoke and let the other equally passive Singaporeans in the meeting die of smoke inhalation through a combination of carbon monoxide and hydrogen cyanide poisoning.

Well, aside being Ambitchous, I am (at the moment) happy and satisfied with Love, Sex & Money.

Love

Well, when I say "I Love You" to him now, it's different from our courtship days, when it was more of "Like" than "Love". Those "Like" days were akin to plucking the flower from a plant, whereas when I say I Love him now, it's like me wanting to water this plant daily, taking care of him, his needs, whether it be physical, mental, emotional or sexual. The power of Love is strange. Sometimes, I can't wait to get out of office (just like now!) and desiring to be in his arms, cuddling together and flirting with his Ferachio desires, wanting him to liberate me in convulsing delectation.

Sex

It has been spellbinding ever since I took the plunge to be his mate, though a little demanding for my relatively tall petite frame. He's pretty ingenious about creating the right mood. Aside from my Iku-Iku and Chi-chis, (which I am sure he enjoys nibbling away exhilaratingly each time), he has been pleasantly cunning and smutty in a pleasurable way, from sailer school uniform to raunchy lingerie (which he seems to have no hesitation to buy for me. I wonder why he doesn't feel embarrassed walking into La Senza alone and asking the sales staff for my sizes!). Anyway, his imagination has been unbridled, always trasnforming me into a feral cat, unleashing my innate powers of desire, reconstructing and deconstructing my prurience.

Well, I ain't surprised. In one of my previous post some time ago, I did say that my iku-iku (and probably my Chi-chis as well) have become my staple armaments, like a tangible scalpel which I can brandish at will (at him), replacing the Christ in him as the new axis of longing and fulfilment of his soul.

Money

Money? Oh well, we are no short of it, neither do we have a lot like those local "chaebol" politically connected families. But we are comfortable, each having our own set of wheels, cohabiting in his apartment, enjoying our private lives. The downside is that I don't get chauffeured by him, as much as I get during our courtship days.

Epilogue

Buddha, Jesus, Mohammad, Jade Emperor, 大伯公, Ganesh, and a host of paganistic gods are images created in the likeness of men or male animals. These are reflections of days where the concentration of economic power are in the hands of men.

Meanwhile, women’s earning power relative to the average male has been increasing and will increase further. It's great news for me, not so great for MAN kind. It somehow struck a chord with me that most of you in this silly forum are still living in dark ages, where some are still trying to figure out how this new forum format works, absolutely lacking the instinctive ability to decipher new technology, and morbidly asking daft FAQ questions, which leaves no choice but for the moderator @zhihau to make it a Sticky.

In my parents and grandparents' generations, I believe one of the reasons why my great grandma, my grandma and my mother decided to get married was the "economic" incentive. Getting married to a man, in particular, a good and economically stable man, was a guarantee of better life as a woman. However, woman like me can now take care of ourselves. I am economically independent and can easily leverage on my own sexuality to get what I want. I can create my own rules about how a relationship should be, and unlike my great grandma, my grandma and mother, I can benefit from the enjoyment of intimacies, reaching the zenith and scaling the crescendo of pleasure without having to commit to marriage or some form of economic control over my views and actions.

Thank God the world has changed for the better. I see hope and opportunities for women like me. Guys, have a great day ahead.

Miss Ambitchous

 

[Claire]

Oct 9 2017

Besotted

To me, getting besotted with someone is a form of addiction..... just like burusera or partialism as categorised in DSM-5 of American Psychiatric Association's manual. I will talk about the latter two topics on another day when I have time to write.

I wrote this diary entry in my personal laptop a few nights ago when my brain was ruminating with thoughts of an event that happened in the past. This event is stll evocatively edged in a certain part (or parts) of my brain.

I was told by a dishy brain surgeon at Mount Elizabeth which I met the other day, that my memories are not stored in my brain like books on library shelves. Memories when recalled, are actively reconstructed from various locales of my brain by some encoding processes.

I reckon this means that if some of these processes malfunction with age, my memories would be inaccurate, as the reconstruction processes would have been tampered. The solution I reckon, is put my memories to "pen and paper". It would probably be easier to recall such tumultuous events in future from the sanity of my E-diary.

When I was a teenager in a well known local junior college, I developed a serious crush on my English Literature tutor. He was tall and spunky, from the United Kingdom, and I would constantly fantasize that he was my boyfriend. At times, after a conversation with him, I would rush to the restroom's cubicle, stupefied, and flushed in blotchiness.

Often, to get such an ecstatic euphoria, I would pretend I had a query, and seek "opportunities" to have a tête-a-tête with him. I learnt for the first time, as an 18 year old, that I could efficaciously make a sheep's eye at a specie, capable of producing spermatozoa, mesmerising him with my maturing chi-chis. During our tête-a-tête session, I could feel his bright blue eyes sneaking a peek through my white blouse, and consequentially sensed a gush of "heat rays" from his "Superman's vision" on my cherished assets.

From then, I realise that guys are visual animals. The pervert oggles and salivates, while the good one takes a furtive look and appreciate my assets without being gross. It become a yardstick for me to titillate the men whom I am interested in (even up to this day), observing how they use their innate "Superman's vision" to determine whether he ia a ladies' man or a lecher.

I did become increasingly proprietorial, often green-eyed, whenever he was solicitous about the welfare of other girls in the class. I was fast transforming into a Bertha Mason, though I wasn't locked up on the third storey of Thornfield Hall.

While I wasn't as maniac or violent as what Bertha Mason did to Jane Eyre, I did become the epitome of microaggression, often bitching to the other junior college boys about so and so being slutty and so forth. In classes where my views were sought, I would premeditatedly adopt disagreeing positions to those girls that I want to "punish", for being too close to him.

After my A Levels results were out, we went for a couple of dates, clubbing, and eventually an enthralling dalliance that lasted a couple of months. He was a married man, hence, I guess you guys should know what's the epilogue of this illicit fling.

Coming back to the present (and with age as wisdom), my brain would somehow ruminate over what had happened more than a decade ago. Should I have let him off so easily? Why didn't I fought heart and soul for him? Why didn't I make him "pay" for his "enjoyment"? Why was I so besotted with an Englishman? Well I guess I wasn't a "kiss and tell" sort of girl. Neither were I a prostitute seeking remuneration for services rendered.

This event is probably one of those defining moments which I wish (sometimes) I could roll back the clock and take all the disconsolation away... But, I have the feeling that if I do so, some empirical joys which I had experienced with him would be gone as well. For the moment, let's keep memory in my E-dairy till I am ready to discard it.

Meanwhile, time for a late lunch on a slow Monday.

 

[Claire]

Dec 6 2019

Alone but Happier

I am not accomplished. I just another soul looking forward and living my life now.

I must admit that I ain't perfect, but at least I am happier now.

I am happier with the severance of marital responsibilities.

A couple of years into marriage, the Solasfera doesn't glitter as much.

Perhaps it's psychological, or maybe I just had an enigmatic personality which men found me mysterious and were attracted to, perhaps only in the beginning.

The beginning of marital life was like a TV Commercial.

We have a perfect symphony, always laughing, smiling and sharing fun jokes. We were always on the right "frequency" in our naked or kinky intimacies. Our penthouse home was perfect. The kitchen immaculate, with a stunning island feature. Our decor was stunning, earning praises and delight from our parents and friends. We have a luxurious white benz, and our vacations were always instalgramable. We purchased presents for each other, dwelled in expensive spas and their products. We felt it was worth our monies spent. Our love was often enhanced by spending money. We ate the best food. Our careers proceeded well, paying us huge bonuses.

Alas, as many have said, all good things have to come to an end. And so it did. One thing leads to another, with him eventually straying. On divorce papers, I naturally put the blame on him entirely, to maximise my share of asset division. In my heart, I knew I was equally responsible for the decay. If there was a novamine potion in protecting my marriage from decay, I would have definitely purchased it, and scrubbed our bodies and souls.

My life is beautiful now, albeit lonesome at times. Nonetheless, it's always refreshing to start again when the opportunity arises. Meanwhile, though not perfect, I am happier now. And I have more time penning my words here.

 

[Claire]

Dec 7 2019

Fleeting Pleasures

Ménage à moi is my solo form of fleeting pleasure. So is physical intimacy. I often indulge in these acts to get a short term cerebral cum emotional boost. While he appreciated my curves, I felt transiently pleasured and happier.

But are these real, sustainable and long term happiness? Or are these lustful acts nothing more than fleeting pleasures?

It is only human for me to seek validation. The validation metamorphosizes into fleeting pleasure, or perhaps, sometimes, happiness.

When I was little girl, I craved for my parents' praises. When I was in primary and secondary schools, I felt validated when I was appointed a prefect or achieved perfect (or almost perfect) grades. In junior college, validations came in the form of getting the most student votes and appointed a student councillor. Acing all my O, plus A level subjects and special papers felt immaculately gratifying too. It gave me the desired pleasure and happiness.

In university, a simple response from an alluring and charming law professor, that I had asked a good or intelligent question titillated my sense of achievement as a rising legal eagle. As a young maturing woman, knowing that guys found me sexually attractive and desirable, indulged my happiness index to a carnal level. In bed, seeing their euphoric orgasms made me awesomesauce, reminding me that I wielded supreme power over men's carnal weaknesses.

Seeking validation has taken a new format with technology and social media for many of us (or at least for majority of us under 40 or maybe 45). The agglomeration of mainstream Facebook and Instagram "likes" is another form of fleeting pleasure.

Some call these happiness, but I would rather call it a fleeting pleasure. Just like instant food, social media "likes" can quickly increase our ephemeral happiness index, evaporating just as fast after "consumption". It's akin to men who had ejaculated inside me, they quickly lost interest and fell asleep. And when they started snoring, whatever form of fleeting pleasure or happiness vanished into the loneliness and darkness of the night.

I reckon, we need both fleeting pleasures and real happiness to survive emotionally, in this technologically laced modern society, championed by a simple and small device, known as the mobile phone.

Pursuing happiness via quick fixes of fleeting pleasures may not be exclusively ideal, but real happiness doesn't just drop down from the blue skies either.

Consistent goal setting seems to be my only answer to find real happiness. Coupled with slowing my work pace, taking nature walks, appreciating what's around me, and those who matter most, I hope I can find real, sustainable, and long term happiness.

Any thoughts?

 

[Claire]

Dec 8 2019

Faking

Yes I do indulge in Faking. Whenever I do, it often jog my memory about what Elaine said to Jerry, leaving him aghast.



In Seinfield, George was confiding with Jerry about his problems below the "equator" with his girlfriend Karen. George was concerned about Karen faking it.

Elaine then entered the scene, confessed that she used to fake it too, when she was making out with Jerry. Jerry was thunderstruck by her revelation, hoping that Elaine would give him a second chance in bed.

From my personal experience, I would unequivocally attest that many men I had met are synonymous with Jerry. They often have a hubristic belief in their self proclaimed "prowess". My belief is validated by what I read in this forum too. I reckon alpha males are most susceptible to my Trojan Horse strategic pretense, given their overweening character. Their egoistical haughtiness are usually their innate congenital weakness.

Each time, after my "fake" routine, I would ask myself why the heck did I do it? Was it because I didn't want to hurt his feelings? Did I sincerely want him to have a thoroughly euphoric orgasm? Was making out taking too long? Was it not enjoyable for me at that particular moment and hence the need to fake? Or I even wondered, was it because I really love him a lot, so faking was an act of showing my love and "proximity" to him. Or may be I was insecured, and by faking it, he felt supreme and wouldn't stray and would forever be mine.

Now, looking back, none of my above ratiocination makes sense. It's trash! I have come to realise that my orgasm is an almighty weapon. It's my means to the end, to get what I want from him, be it, attention, love, shoulder to cry on, or most importantly, a marriage certificate, that I can nail half of his assets in my control, when things aren't working out.

Faking? I don't think I have any regrets. Neither will I have any contrition, whatsoever.

 

[Claire]

Dec 11 2019

HTHT

He WhatsApped me for a HTHT on Sunday. I have yet to reply. It's Shark week and I have simply no mood for anything involving any sort of HTHTs. The prostaglandins in my body are still in active possession of my soul. Until my uterine lining is throughly expelled, nothing matters except myself.

When we separated, he left behind his collection of two Vacheron Constantin, two Hublot, an Audemars Piguet and two or three Rolexes and or Cartier. Only God knows how many are there in his watchbox, which he has forgotten to bring along. Anyway, I dumped it in the corner section of the humid storeroom.

On second thoughts, post his cryptic WhatsApp messages, he probably wants to have a HTHT on the pretext of getting back that box of junk. Not that it matters to me to return it, but I hope the humidity and dampness have impaired these soulless timepieces to an irreparable condition.

If he continues to WhatsApp me for a HTHT and pisses me off at the wrong timing, I might just bring the box to Marina Barrage, dump them into the sea,. He and his pernicious woman from China can scuba for it at their own leisure. A perfect HTHT vacation for themselves.

Wonderful isn't it for a Alpha male and his chinky gold-digger slut?

 

[Claire]

Dec 18 2019

My Chitsu & Panty Liner​

I made an unscheduled visit to my gynaecologist last Friday at Mount Elizabeth.

My chitsu was itching and red, and there was a fair bit of chitsu discharge like "cottage cheese". I was worried, and hence, the panicky chitsu "emergency" gynae visit.

My gynaecologist is a tall and handsome hunk. He's my ideal charming man. I shall call him "Dr C", (C for Captivating!!!) , for purposes of protecting his anonymity.

Dr C is probably in his early 50s, but he exuberates a good amount of boyishness that made me reposeful, when discussing my chitsu "health" with him.

After swapping our pleasantries, we dived straight into my chitsu nightmare. I went on to disclose to Dr C that my chitsu had been giving me a fair bit of problem of late, causing me, amongst others, severe discomfort and sharp abdominal pain.

As professional and "boychick" Dr C was, he asked if this was my first time having such "cottage cheese" discharge, to which I said no. I told him that I had never had it so severe, with sharp abdominal pain and substantial amount of discomfort in between my chitsu and pelvis.

Dr C continued, asked me when was the last occasion I had sex, seemingly focused on his computer monitor and keyboard, furiously typing away. I replied I haven't had sex for at least a year, as I was in the midst of divorce, with my ex husband, to which he studiously nodded his head, and continued typing away.

All this while, Dr C was avoiding my eye contact. I was "armchio-ing" at his marvellous ability to remain po-faced, despite my "dramatic" exclamations throughout, about how I had craved for sexual intimacies. I even inquired whether my "solo acts" could have landed myself, in this uncongenial state of affairs for my chitsu, to which he sternly replied that it could be a possibility, if my fingers or "objects" weren't "properly sanitized".

I was like "Huh?!? You mean must dettol my fingers or objects first ah?!?", thinking aloud at his dunderheaded "properly sanitized" remark.

The devilish side of me involuntarily exclaimed : "Maybe I need a good sex from a charming doctor like you to solve this!".

He froze for a moment, and let off an embarrassing laughter, to which I remedied my own forthright thoughtlessness and surmised : "I'm only kidding, doc".

The young pleasant looking lady nurse ("Nurse J") who was with us throughout, and probably his "witness" to the whole consultation, let out a laughter, to which Dr C, obviously didn't look very impressed, sternly ordered Nurse J to prepare me for a pelvic examination and pap smear.

Changed into a hospital looking gown and lying on my back on the examination table, Nurse J instructed me to raise and bend my knees, opening myself up (akin to the missionary position during sexual intimacy, with both my feet firmly planted on the respective corners of the table, that had some sort of "device" to "lock", and prevent me from "struggling" (like in a rape scene). So I wondered.

Once ready, Dr C was eyeballing my chitsu, probably checking my outer chitsu condition and feeling for lumps. Telling me it was probably some sort of yeast infection, he calmly said me he would be inserting a speculum, to open up my chitsu for a thorough examination. Though "shy", I was imagining how enjoyable it was going to be. I haven't had a man "feeling" for my G-spot for a long long while, and now a hunky gynae was about to insert his magical fingers into me!

"I'm going to be wet!", I fantasized for that split second before the "ordeal".

Well, the speculum was cold (!!!!) as it pried my chitsu, while Dr C, pressing his left hand on my lower abdomen, asked that I breathed normally and stayed relax.

I could feel his two lubricated fingers "searching" in there, despite the gloves he was donning, probing and exploring... Well, to be absolutely honest, it was rather "pleasurable" as he was "meticulously" gentle, unlike some of my damn ex-bfs!

Concluding his examination and informing me he would do a pap smear, Dr C inserted some magic wand into my chitsu, and the next thing I knew, he told me it was done.

After cleaning up, getting dressed, and back to his consultation table, he told me he would let me know the results of the pap smear test in a week's time.

Before ending my consultation, I asked Dr C why was I getting all these "cottage cheese" as I had been celibate for more than a year!

Dr C replied. "It is probably the panty liner."

"Huh?!? I exclaimed! Isn't sticking an absorbent panty liner more hygienic than not having one?!?"

He revealed he had many patients, who had the same problem like me. He said unknowing to many of them, panty liners trapped "bad" bacteria in my moist chitsu discharge, and could inevitably lead to yeast infection, to which I exclaimed "Huh!!!". And there he went on and on, until I bought his dumb explanation.

Well he is a handsome gynaecologist after all, and I had no reason to fault or doubt him. Though feeling strange without a panty liner now, as I pen this post, I have since recovered from this damn "yeasty" episode.

Unfortunately, Dr C had refused to give me his mobile number, despite me pleading for it, on the pretext of a future painful chitsu emergency.

Indeed an absolute professional doctor, or rather professional gynaecologist, whom I respect and trust.

 

[Claire]

Mar 14 2020

Depressed

I absolutely hate dating nowadays. Life has been busy ever since I broke off with M. Well, it's not that I hate dating, but my energy levels are zilch at the end of each day, after pouring my heart and soul into my career. Even my weekends are not spared from teleconference calls.

Further, I rarely find someone I like nowadays, and when I have, it hasn't worked out. I don't really even consider myself picky. There are certain "men" qualities which I find indispensable, like the man being extremely funny and outgoing. I've always dated extremely loud, funny, outgoing, confident, driven, successful, masculine men. My personality is more chill, feminine and submissive to the right man, so I tend to mesh very well with these men.

I am "technically" single, but I have been on and off for almost a year with this chap. Let's call him G.

G is more than 20 years older than me, a couple of tens of millions in net worth. He's extremely funny and often makes me laugh whenever we were together. The sexual chemistry between us was fantastic. He's sort of what I would call "necromantic" (not sure whether I should be using this word, but what the heck!). When we make out, he's able to "lift" and "talk" me from my dull, uninterested body and soul to salient heights of instantaneous carnal gratification.

G said "I love you" a month into relationship, during and after our first make out. However, apart from these intimacy talks of love, he seemed to be afraid of commitment and often brushed off topics of getting into an exclusive relationship with me. I reckon that I have fallen for him, but at the back of my mind, I harboured thoughts that it's probably not going to work out, except for carnal transactions.

G is sort of a selfish man. He's non committal and a Marlboro red chain smoker. Sometimes, I think that his excessive smoking is killing his brain to the point that he doesn't care about or want a relationship. A couple of weeks ago before CNY 2020, we had a sort of a bad argument and did not speak for a while. Strangely, he sent me a CNY greeting via Whatsapp and we ended up having our "romantic getaway".

However post that, he had gone cold again and we haven't met or chatted on WhatsApp. It felt to me like he's striken with Covid-19, and permanently locked up in a quarantine facility, which also barred any form of telecommunicating messaging! What an assholic scumbag!

Well, I met a new man ("E") a week ago. E is good looking (I wouldn't say he's hunky or handsome), successful, and running his own profitable manufacturing business from Singapore and Taipei. E feels like everything I wanted.

Well, we went for 2 dates, and this morning, E tells me that he wasn't looking for anything permanent or serious. I am sort of depressed today, and hence, writing this piece of shitty garbage in this god forsaken forum! E is what I always envisioned as husband material. Fxxking depressing to the max!

I know I need to get myself out there and date again but it is hard for me. I've dated men who are hilarious, good-looking, and rich. Subsequently, when I go on dates with other lackluster men, I get depressed again.

I'm just sad that things couldn't work out with the men ~ M, G and E ~ that I met and had carnal gratification with.

It's just making me sad and feel like I'm not good enough.

Let's be honest. The dating pool is not that great. I'm amazed when men like M, G and E acting distant, like they are able to go out and find someone better than me so easily?

I'm feeling so dejected. I really want to get married and have a family. I'm afraid that I'm not going to find someone, where the feeling is mutual and loving in an exclusive relationship.

I am crying as I write this now. I just want everything to work out with a man I want.

Depressed.

 

[Claire]

Mar 26 2020

Is Lucy "In The Train" or "On The Train"?​

I chanced upon this video today. I am absolutely disappointed by this production made by the local Speak Good English Movement.

Lucy can be on the train or in the train.

It seems that the producer of this video has taken an extremely opinionated usage of proposition, by (erroneously) insisting that Lucy can only be "on" the train and not "in" the train.

It all on depends on the context of use.

1. The Chinese grandma is correct. She is referring to how Lucy is getting to her destination. Hence, she correctly says "Lucy is on the train".

2. The Malay grandma is also correct. She is referring to Lucy's location. It is also correct for her to say "Lucy is in the train."

Absolutely flabbergasted!

Craptacular video content!

 

[Claire]

Apr 10 2020

Circuit Breaker

My singlehood was abruptly interrupted last Friday, the day our government announced the unprecedented Covid-19 Circuit Breaker in Singapore.

Having been single for some time, a man (or rather, ahem, maybe two) has finally come into my life.

Hopefully, keeping my finger crossed, either one of this would be my singlehood Circuit Breaker, when normalcy returns in a month's time.

The day when PM Lee announced the Circuit Breaker, I met Gregory (not his real name) for a dinner date. Greg is Sue's partner in their co-owned medium sized law firm. I had engaged Greg previously, to sort out some litigious disputes with an ex-tenant in court.

Personality wise, Greg is everything I want – fun, though he's straight as a die. We clicked from the start. However, intimacy was a little stilted. Nonetheless, I am attracted to him, enjoy kissing him, but somehow, the chemistry wasn't really there during our first "workout" last Friday.

I simply hate it when a man prematurely asks me - "Have you come?". It goes to show he isn't able to read my bodily movements, vocals, gasps, and contractions. From my personal experience, such men are the most likely to be insensitive, when the relationship progresses into maturity.

I was wondering if it was his nerves, and hopefully, it would get better with time. He mentioned his going to be ex-wife didn’t have a high sex drive, and that they were in a sexless relationship. Maybe, just maybe, he could be a little “out of practice”.

The next day, Saturday, I decided to give it another try. We met again in his "other" apartment. He said he liked it there because it's quieter, and there was a lesser chance of us being spotted.

Greg lit some candles and put on some soft music before I arrived. We had dinner (which he prepared) and then enjoyed each other in bed. As we cuddled, Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton started playing. Out of the blue, Greg got up and took my hand. We danced nude in candlelight. It was sort of beautiful and romantic, though I felt I was a little "over-age" for this sort of romance. Well, our bodies did generate the warmth of passion. I would rate our second "workout" 6.5 out of 10.

On Sunday, Greg had to attend to his son's issues (probably in preparation of primary school closure, that's what he said to me). Well, I met an ex university school mate Robert (not his real name) for dinner.

Rob epitomises what most of us refer to as "Ah Sia Kia". He doesn't need to work, spends most his time entertaining his family clients, casino hopping, fine dining and indulging in the exquisiteness of his sports car, parked inside his Reignwood Hamilton Scotts apartment.

We were grumbling profusely about the impending and depressing Circuit Breaker. Rob suggested that we do something crazy that night, otherwise, we will all be "lockup" until early May or maybe beyond. Well, a crazy bar hopping expedition led to another, and I was "emancipated" three times in three days - this time in his fabulously luxurious apartment along Scotts Road.

Well, Rob was definitely excellent in bed. There’s an intense sexual chemistry between us, very primal and instinctive. Excellent tantric dynamics, though we hardly spoke while doing it. Our eyes literally connected, our bodies reacted. Despite being ex schoolmates, I felt like I didn't know Rob at all, I mean his prowess and positional stamina. I

If I may add, Rob did make me the diamond of the first water that night.

Today is Good Friday. No work teleconferencing, no Google Duo, and no Zoom.

I just locked myself up, alone at home, sipping coffee, staring at Marina Bay all day, overworking my Breville Oracle Touch. Strangely, there isn't a queue of planes, usually descending in the distant skies, hovering over Batam's airspace, waiting for their turn to land at Changi Airport.

I’m trying to go with my head and focus on Gregory , because this could be a relationship with legs.

At the same time, when he wasn't there last Sunday , I couldn't help reaching for my new Samsung ZFlip, whatsapping and meeting Rob the "Ah Sia Kia" .

I don’t want a relationship with Robert – at least I believe, I don’t. But the revelry at his luxurious Scotts Road apartment was quintessential. Will Gregory improve? Is Robert just another player?

I reckon I know how to resolve this – forget Robert, it's pure carnality. But it’s easier said than done.

I am confused.

The caffeine is giving me insomnia.

Thankfully, we are in the midst of a Circuit Breaker. Dating is prohibited. I still have some time to sort out who should be my "prey".

 

[Claire]

Sept 17 2020

Single Mother

I seldom mince my words. I say what I believe. I reckon that's what makes me nonpareil. The truth hurts, so be it.

Burger King thrives on convincing you that their menu is healthier. The same is for a single mother, attempting to legitimise that single mothers are par for the course, in our modern times.

Any men who are cajoled and convinced by such "propaganda" are absolute fools. They are gaslighted by a stream of persistent social conditioning posts, by a certain person in this forum, whom I shall not named, for the sake of civility.

Instead of looking for "sympathy" here (or maybe she is desperately looking for a gullible male loser forummer, which I am sure is aplenty), she should just look for the word "sympathy" in the dictionary. Well, "sympathy" is a word between shit and syphilis. Suffice to say, her threads and posts are a muddy flow of gabble and balderdash.

I have a couple of intimate partners in the course of my life. I am definitely not a slut, but surely, even if I am one, I am in a much better position than a single mother. I have slept with a couple of men before, but at least I am smart enough not to have a kid, given how much time I spend around prostatic fluid.

The single mother has announced that she is divorced, possibly due to abuse or otherwise. Well, it proves my point that single mothers are bad judges of a man's character. A single mother is prone to making bad decisions, not that I don't make bad decisions, but at the very least, I know when to "jump ship", instead of getting myself saddled with a daughter.

And to date, amongst my long list of single mother acquaintances, I haven't met a single mother who isn't manipulative. Once a single mother has a child, she realises the immense difficulties of raising her child alone. From there, she evolves into a hypersonic manipulative bitch.

If a man (whom she reckons is "a good fit" comes along, even a vegan) gives her an opportunity, her armoury of tricks will come into play. For instance, she would suggest a "double date" with her and her daughter for an outing. She will stage "accidents" like getting her daughter to call you "daddy" by "accident".

Though I am manipulative with the men I crave and desire for a relationship, but at least, I don't get an innocent child involved, in my (sometimes immoderate) consumption of passion.

Putting up randomly copied posters in a thread, consisting of so-called words of "wisdom", seeking sympathy from dull-witted forum male plodders, is surely an unequivocal sign, of a "serial gaslighter" single mother.