My Journal, My Life

[Claire]

Sept 19 2020

Machiavellian Mamacita

The pen of my tongue should be dipped in the ink of my heart? Are you prancing around with a "play victim card" for more sympathy?

Mamacita, it's indubitable truth you are suffering from neuroticism, akin to a cat on a hot thin roof, post my systematic exposition of your machiavellian manoeuvres.

Instead of discombobulating others over my lifestyle, you ought to be worried for your daughter.

Every Christmas eve, I am certain that the song "Mamacita, Donde esta Santa Clause?" would be accompanying her for the rest of her life. The fault lies squarely on you and your doltishness.

It's the weekend. I want to keep it as a short read for you. I don't desire to take you away from your precious time with your daughter.

Let me just say this.

You are a bitter character whom nobody wants to hang out with, let alone date. You talk about a "banana thief" and morality to make yourself feel better. Obviously, you aren't desirable. Stop hiding it.

Pretending to be a prude, when you are no longer a virgin is hilarious, albeit a good attempt. I am sorry. I try to have empathy for everyone, including the infamous virgin, who more often than not, overcompensates with drivel.

On the other hand, you aren't a virgin.

You are a Machiavellian Mamacita.

Have a supercalifragilisticexpialidocious weekend!

 

[Claire]

Sept 22 2020

Toxic progeny

The single mother has gone morose. Her silence is noticeably deafening. To give her the benefit of doubt, her volitional reticence may not necessarily be an admission of guilt.

Nonetheless it isn't a denial either.

The choice of marrying a toxic man is often made by a woman who is as thick as two short planks. She is an accomplice in creating toxic progeny. It is trite that toxic children grow up either to be criminals or prostitutes. Statistics on probability don't lie.

A single mamacita who has the audacity to talk about dating (vegans) in a public forum can be bought for a song.

I can't imagine how her precious daughter would feel, when the mamacita's tempestuous online solicitation, whether here or (most likely) in Tinder goes into frenetic mode, in the years to come.

Well, as the saying goes, you can't shake whore tree and expect an angel to fall out.

Single mother, have a Happy Tuesday!

 

[Claire]

Sept 23 2020

Chitsu, Chijio & Chikan​

Singapore.

Early September 2020.

Finally!

I managed to get an appointment for my half yearly consultation wth Dr C, the prepossessing gynaecologist.

My last consultation was in December 2019. I had been yearning for this Covid-19 postponed consultation, post my chitsu and panty liner "ordeal" (which I previously wrote about, in this forum).

Absolutely nothing wrong with my chitsu this time around. It was my naughty self that desired for some physio and psychoanalysis.

If that single mother can "chijio" the minds of dumb forum plodders here, I am sure my "chijio-ing" of a HIGH SES Dr C, renders me more milage, at least for my carnal gratification.

Dr C and I were talking about my chitsu. Intentionally, I chronicled all my sexual partners from A Levels pre university days to present, and what we usually do during those private romantic trysts.

Dr C made no attempt to interrupt me, nor revert my narration back to the proper chitsu medical discussion. At that instant, I knew I had chijio-ed his mind, precipitating his carnal desires, triggering his tantric chakra imaginations.

I made eye contact with him. Dr C was clearly aroused. He had that innocent school boy's shy lust, painted all over his face. I didn’t want him to know, so I looked away toward the sink in his cozy consultation room. I could see his reflection in the mirror above the sink.

He had taken a quick glance at his groin. I acted like I didn’t see it, but when I looked back at him in his eyes, he was blushing.

Nervously he said, “I hope you don’t think I am getting any voyeuristic ideas about what you have just told me”.

I replied, “Of course not, Doc. You are a professional doctor, a well known specialist in Singapore. That's why I trust you enough to tell you everything about myself. I am sure everything is confidential, right, Doc?”

And he said with an unsmiling look on his red blushing face, “Yes.”

Credit to Dr C, he did sound earnest and genuine. A gentleman, nonetheless. However, given my experience with men, I knew for sure that he was aroused, and I have successfully chijio-ed his mind.

By the time we finished, it was already half past five in the evening. I was his last patient, so I suggested dinner. He made a call home (to his wife? girlfriend? oh heck! it doesn't matter!), while I waited oustide his consultation room. The rest is history.

Well, I know for sure that I will be getting free gynaecological consultations, post our stride of pride.

Two salient learnings:

1. Being a chijio and "chijio-ing" men's mind is fine, provided your target is a HIGH SES elite. It's absolutely a vacuous idea if your target comes from a pool of poor, dull-witted, "can eat, don't waste", LOW SES Sammyboy forum plodders, who are mostly poor retirees, and or jobless good for nothing men.

2. All men are intuitively chikans. Dr C, a medical doctor, who has taken his Hippocratic Oath, was no exception. Beneath that white gown, he is a veritable chikan.

“I will follow that system of regimen which, according to my ability and judgment, I consider for the benefit of my patients, and abstain from whatever is deleterious and mischievous.”

Really?

 

[Claire]

Sept 26 2020

A Damsel, an Ogre & the Dragon​

"... even if you are unhappy with me, you can curse and swear at me, but please leave my daughter alone..." .

The Damsel lets out an unsophisticated shriek, albeit an intentional virtual "virtuous" gesticulation, declaring herself as pure as driven snow.

"...I am self made stand on my own two feet woman - no such free time of beggar dogs thieves stealing time of taxpayer sponsored salaries - so I have no time to keep repeating replies to evil dirty lies. Asian Dogs sons of chickens you win ok..." .

The Ogre screeches with venom, at those incorrigible forum ruffians.

The result?

Men simply love the Damsel in distress. The Damsel gets the love and likes, while Ogre bore the brunt of repeated harassments, in multitudes of unedifying profanities.

When the Damsel puts up a thread for help to purchase a simple Logitech headset, (instead of googling herself), the boorish slob-of-a-man forummers become chivalrous knights-in-shining-armour, offering their best advice, showering her with tender loving care. Like knights in impregnable iron vests, they charge after fire-breathing dragons like myself, completely overwhelmed by their sense of "duty and satisfaction" to aid the Damsel.

Unfortunately, when the Orge complains of inconsiderate Chinese national neighbours above her condominium unit, and a flying pigeon brushing her arm at the hawker centre, she is ridiculed with "Bees to honey, flies to shit, pigeons to sluts".

The cunning Damsel has rehearsed into absolute perfection, her art of passive-aggressive shyness. Her fatherless daughter becomes her sword and shield. She crafts a demure virtual persona, the appearance of utter "helplessness".

The Orge, unfortunately, has not. A pure untouched virgin for years, her piousness translates into everlasting wrath against anyone, and everyone, who questions the chastity of her chitsu.

I am the competent Dragon. I find myself in many situations when ∼ male hawkers, male mechanics, male doctors and dentists, male wet market stallholders, male security guards, to my honourable fellow male members of the legal profession ∼ they love to play the chivalrous knight, providing me the assistance which I do not need. Their addiction to chivalry is unimaginably real.

And when it is further extrapolated into my intimacies with those I spend a night with, the damsel in me awakens. It rules my body and soul with ease, obliterating the dragon in me, in tandem with my desires for his bratwurst thrust.

Well, I hate to admit it. Success and likability are positively correlated for men. It is negatively correlated for women.

So be it.

The guileful and deceptive Damsel is loved. The loud Ogre is loathed as the Forum's philistine. The successful Dragon is a chameleon, hated for her gumption.

 

[Claire]

Sept 29 2020

Nunchi McSteamy Venerable​

Fornicating with a younger man, I am a cougar. And when I was in an amorous liaison with an older man, I am an opportunistic gold-digger.

I ain't bothered with these labels that strangers and acquaintances heap on me. What's more pertinent, personally, is which of these two provides me with a gratifying intimate indulgence.

Growing up in the K-Drama Winter Sonata era, I shall use my limited (and rusty) Korean vocabulary to describe these two types of geezers.

The older venerable man is a Nunchi, the younger laddie is a Nunchi Eoptta.

The Nunchi is laudable, whereas the Nunchi Eoptta is laughable.

[A caveat before I continue, just in case bumptious dotards in this forum revel presumptuously, hallucinating themselves as Simon Cowell.

The venerable man I refer to, (for all intent and purposes of this post), is a hunk in his mid 50s, at most. My sincere apologies to forummers who are older. Sorry!!! At this point in my life, I ain't interested, nor desperate enough, to settle for wrinkled droopy testicles, twisted and wiry hairs, coming out of your array of orifices.]

Moving on.

The venerable can either be a McDreamy or a McStreamy, though my preference is for the latter. A risqué McSteamy definitely boinks better than the boring, clean-cut, four by two hairstyle McDreamy. A McDreamy is for marriage. A McSteamy is for a wham-bam-thank-you-man.

IMHO, the Nunchi McSteamy Venerable surpasses the young laddie.

The Nunchi McSteamy Venerable has mastered the art of nunchi. He possesses the ineffable abilities of understanding, sensing my body and reflexes, providing me the right "atmosphere", when he slays my dragon, transforming me into an obedient and submissive damsel.

The Nunchi McSteamy Venerable is also a giver. He has an obsession with making me come first. When he does a gamahuche, he isn't aggressive nor overzealous. He is able to use his nunchi powers to observe, gauge my rhythm and thoughts. He is slow, but definitely steady. With his experienced tantric movements, he singlehandedly constructs my quintessential Big O squirt. The smile on his face, watching my final agonising climax, connects the trust and faith I have in him.

On the other hand, the young laddie is a disappointment. A previous occasion when I dated an almost 30 year old wealthy babe magnet, comes to my mind.

We had our two hours degustation menu at Waku Ghin, with an excessive amount of Juyondai sake. We followed up with post dinner drunk-grope-canoodling session at his pre-booked MBS suite.

When I took off my Victoria Secret's bandeau, he gazed at my bosoms with such guilelessness, as if he was looking at me, sucking a thumb in his mouth, waiting for mama to feed him milk. And honestly, I hated his show off "acrobatics". That night, I ended up in ridiculously unnatural positions, like my head dangling off the bed! Absolutely an idiotic Nunchi Eoptta!

Suffice to say, a Nunchi McSteamy Venerable is a better intimacy partner. He sticks to "tried and tested positions". His nunchi skills definitely makes me relax and focused, and without fail, I achieve my ultimate euphoric rhapsody

 

[Claire]

Oct 1 2020

Slut

I don't know why other people's husbands or boyfriends "taste" better. Or perhaps I am born with Scarlet's primal chromosomes. With age, these chromosomes evolve and create palpable desires within me, to "own" what others possess.

Whether you are a woman or a man, we are all seekers. We seek for luxurious homes, cars, gadgets and handsome man/men (or beautiful woman/women). We want to achieve and fulfill our dreams in life. We want to be the very best for ourselves, and be better than the next woman or man amongst our social circle.

I am no different. I am a seeker too.

Those who do not know me would prefer to call me a SLUT.

I am perfectly fine. In fact, I am proud to be called a slut. A slut differs from a prostitute or whore. The latter involves a monetary transaction. A slut seeks and receives pleasure. There isn't any monetary income and expenses involved.

When I hear acquaintances or strangers' gossip about me being a slut, I am never upset. In fact, I am delighted because it manifests my desirability to their boyfriends and husbands. I feel omnipotent, invincible and unconquerable.

The unglam, oversized, overweight and morbid aunties will never understand, or have or even possess my wonderful Scarlet's chromosomes. It isn't my fault that I get to enjoy their husbands or boyfriends. They should be looking at themselves and ask why they lack my physical, intellectual and emotional X-factor attributes.

As for the single mother, who is probably in all likeness an over hydrated deformed Boba pearl, you shouldn't blame others for your own defective and deficient DNA. Ask (or rather blame) yourself why your husband dump you for a Scarlet. Obviously you are lacking.

The self professed near menopausal virgin isn't any better. You should stop your hallucinations. You can't be a Snow White just by being a virgin. You should stop asking the Magic Mirror the same old boring lines - "Magic Mirror in my hand, who is the fairest in the land?". Otherwise, your testicular feminization syndrome might transform you into a Sadako Yamamura, and you will end up crawling out of a TV set.

I guess I must be watching too many movies, TV dramas and Disney animations. The scenes just pop out of nowhere, in my hyper active brain when I write. But in reality, I read more than I watch.

Reading is what I do often. Reading is no different from having sexual intimacies. You have to develop a reading habit from young and achieve the ability to read a book from the first page to last, without feeling like it's a chore. Up to a certain point in time, this ability to read develops naturally, and you enjoy the pleasures of doing it over and over again.

And it's the same with sexual intimacies. The more I indulge in it with men I desire, the more instinctive I become. And I get to choose whoever I want, and whenever I want it. It's a powerful lifeskill tool that the single mother and the near menopausal virgin will never acquire in their lifetime, even if they sign up for a million and one Skills Futures upgrading courses.

To conclude, I live my life grabbing a penis with my hands. Anything under my control is never out of control.

Good night and I hope you had a happy Mid Autumn festival today.

 

[eatshitndie]

best collection of prose ever on sbf. will wake up tomorrow early to enjoy them.

 

[Claire]

Nov 20 2020

Covid-19 Vaccine∼Efficacy Vs Efficiency​

Pfizer and Moderna trumpeted 95% efficacy for their Covid-19 vaccines.

Both are like Tatler's suave hunks, proclaiming that they are S.N.A.G., only for me to discover their lack of prowess and dexterity in bed, after my night's out with them.

On first sight, they look and sound "efficacious". However, their bedroom performances are utterly "ineffective" and unsatisfactory. And more often than not, my expectations absolutely dashed. Their "meat" is simply not cut out to give effective pleasure.

Efficacy and Efficiency are two different concepts.

Efficacy is a measure of how the vaccine performs in a highly controlled and ideal environment. Efficiency measures how well the vaccine performs in a real world setting.

This can only mean one thing ∼Pfizer and Moderna's Covid-19 vaccine's effectiveness, when introduced to various parts of the world including Singapore, is bound to be lower in effectiveness, than their proudly acclaimed 95% efficacy.

For example, let's assume that @ginfreely is warded in the Institute of Mental Health (IMH) for schizophrenia. She is constantly under the watch of nurses. They do regular checks on her, always making sure she takes the prescribed clozapine tablets. In the ward, @ginfreely recovers and in a relatively short time, she ceases to have auditory hallucinations of firecrackers and disturbing nosies from her imaginary neighbours. She is able to recover and starts to feel better, in a secured environment, under good care. She is discharged. However, instead of taking medication regularly, she forgets and drinks herself silly on alcohol, or maybe she consumes illicit drugs. She starts to worry about her home in Johore, and in no time, the imaginary firecrackers and thumping neighbourly noises reappear in her decaying cerebrum. She falls into another relapse. She hallucinates men wolf whistling at her aunty looking self when she dines in a low SES food court joint.

This above example goes to show the treatment is only efficacious in @ginfreely stay at IMH. It isn't effective in her real life. The same applies to Pfizer's and Moderna's supposed 95% efficacious vaccine.

Another example is @cloudy 's precious daughter, who perhaps may have a genetic comorbidity that has passed on to her from her lacklustre maternal and foreign paternal genes. I am sure Pfizer or Moderna did not perform clincal trials on such comorbid subjects when they claimed their vaccine has a 95% efficacy rating.

@cloudy 's daughter is injected with the vaccine. She ends up physically deformed, or perhaps, the vaccine retards her neurological growth, to a point that is far worse than her cockstained anti-Trump mother.

There you go, efficacy isn't effectiveness.

It's Friday today. Have a wonderful weekend ahead!

 

[Claire]

Mar 19 2021

Dad Bods & Pochakawaiis​

My Kodawari energy is my strength.

Claire shall never ever be a Pochakawaii.

My passion, persistence, commitment, and attention to detail is second to none. My corporate clients pay my hefty but reasonable legal bills without query.

My search for the perfect thoroughbred to match the perfect me is an eternal journey. It's akin to me working out at Orangetheory at least three times a week.

I hate every moment of it and I hate everything about it. But I know that HIITs are important for health reasons, just like finding the quintessential man to walk beside the flawless and impeccable me, down the aisle of commitment and conjugal bond.

99.9% of Singaporean codgers simply cannot make the cut. My search for the 0.01% continues.

Walking into Chanel at The Shoppes, Marina Bay Sands the other day, the sight of Singaporean Dad Bods with their Pochakawaii wives or girlfriends makes me as sick as a parrot. No matter how successful a Singaporean man is, their choice and taste in woman is more often than not, abysmal.

I simply cannot fathom out how their Pochakawaii partners can gladden their carnal needs. But it probably doesnt matter. Birds of the same feathers flock together.

A Dad Bod and a Pochakawaii are befitting of the other, just like many of those bragadocio species in this Forum and their Pochakawaii aunty looking wives and girlfriends.

Have an enjoyable weekend, but heaven's sake, Dad Bods and Pochakawaiis, please get out of my sight.

 

[Claire]

Jun 30 2021

A Robot With A Marshmallow Heart​

I have known Liam (his real name) for almost two decades. He was and still is the man I turn to when my relationships with men end up in decrepitude since junior college days.

[Liam, if you happen to read my post here, it's how I feel about you all these years and the other night.]

Liam isn't my type of McDreamy. The thought of hitting a home run with Liam has never crossed my mind.

Liam is a father of an awesome daughter. His wife left him after the birth, and she is probably happier now in the pristine Elysian fields.

Liam is a Singaporean, but of mixed parentage. His father is Irish, his mom, a Peranakan.

Liam is true to his Irish name. He is a strong-willed warrior and a protector.

Thank you for standing by my side, comforting me when I was disconsolate and felt wasted, by the men I have had relationships with.

However, Liam, to be absolutely honest, you have never been a Baldwin in my eyes.

As much as I cherish my long-term companionship with you, the thought of pounding the punanni pavement with you had never crossed my mind, (or maybe I did have that covetousness while on the way home from your place the other night).

How should I describe you?

As I pen this piece, perhaps the most apt depiction of you (at this moment), in a summary phrase is to call you ∼ A Robot With A Marshmallow Heart.

First, thanks for inviting me to your newly acquired Sentosa Cove penthouse for dinner the other night. The 270 degrees panoramic view of the sea, the Southern islands and the marina was indeed romantically awesome during sunset.

Unfortunately, I wasn't ready to be there till sunrise, at least not for now, or maybe till my brain, heart and soul have coagulated in unity.

Second, you caught me off guard when you hugged and held me tightly in your arms. Over the last two decades of our companionship, nothing like this had happened, despite sitting next to you with our legs touching. It's bizarre to hear your confession that you are in love with me after almost two decades.

While I did enjoy you smelling me and my neck, I was also befuddled. When you kissed me, I was indeed horrified and repulsed. Despite pushing you away, you continued to pull me towards you, falling into your strong arms and looking into your eyes.

Thank you for asking me to be your girlfriend and mother of your child. Thankfully, she was fast asleep, otherwise, it would have been awkward for all of us.

For almost two decades, you have been a robot. Often, you have the coolest head, unemotional and objective dishing out your advice on relationships. But when you fondled my double cherry pie with your honest declaration of love, I finally saw the marshmallow side of you.

I am sorry I couldn't allow you to proceed beyond my chichis. However, I must admit that I never expected you to be quintessentially sublime with your tongue. The gentleness was pleasurable (honest!).

Last but not least, I am sorry. We were very good friends before the other night at your awesome Sentosa Cove penthouse. I hope we will still be BFFs forever.

At the moment, I am not ready to take things into a relationship. I certainly do not want to rush into a relationship with you (yet). I am also not ready, emotionally or psychologically to be a mother of yoir awesome daughter.

Mr Robot with a Marshmallow Heart, I hope you give me some time for your "abrupt" proposal to sink in.

I want to be absolutely confident that this will work if I ever say Yes" and without any regrets whatsoever.

I will certainly surrender my body and soul (including but not limited to my chichis and chitsu) to you exclusively and be a good wife to Mr Robot with a Marshmallow Heart.

 

[Claire]

Jul 5 2021

Scrumdidilyumptious DILFs​

I love men, especially well toned DILFs.

He doesn't have to be a knight. A scrumdidilyumptious esquire DILF will do.

I am no Dolly Parton.

However, I ain't flat like Paris Hilton or Cameron Diaz.

I am a C Cup, well equipped with a sweet but confident disposition, and most importantly, a fabulous brain.

In any board room or multi client legal meetings, I float across the room. I am well aware that my hips swayed like a runway model, while walking to take my seat. I may be a few years to forty, but I know the way my Ferragamo dress melts into my manicured gym and yoga curves caused even the other women in the room to bristle. I can definitely feel the demon inside them stiffening up, with their fingers scrapping the bottom of their wretched souls, green-eyed, disturbed and in mental agony.

Alas, I pen this piece not about myself. It's about scrumdidilyumptious DILFs whom I have slept with, and those I crave to sleep with.

Am I a slut? Well so be it.

At least I know I ain't a cheap one.

I am a schmick, unlike a headless chicken, running all over the place in this forum, anathematising in every other thread, worrying about her putrescent virginity.

I love scrumdidilyumptious DILFs. I love their well built curves that are visible through their strained fabric at their forearms, biceps and chest. When they don their slim fit pants or skiny jeans, I admire those bulky calves and their protuberance of passion.

When a DILF is sprawled, naked on the bed, I love his innocence, his vulnerability and his silent face plea, begging me to mount on him, with both the base of my palms resting just beneath awesome chest, tweaking his nipples as I ride on him.

I love seeing the scrumdidilyumptious DILF holding out for as long as he could.

Seeing and sensing him on the edge of one, and pulling himself back in order to go for the longer haul, often makes me imagine the scrumdidilyumptious DILF as the chivalrous pastor or priest, treating me like a fair and lovely porcelain doll, needing his protection, guidance and comfort.

When the scrumdidilyumptious DILF finally "arrives", it's like watching his beautiful death.

I love that few brief seconds when the scrumdidilyumptious DILF transcends away from his performance of a pure, cum physical copulating act, when he whispers "I love you baby" into my ear.

I love his helplessness, shaking thighs, heavy breathing, chest rising, mental vacancy and most importantly, his complete detachment from his current spouse in entirety and in reality.

As I pen this piece to distract me from a boring Monday of endless drafting of corporate legal agreements, sipping my afternoon coffee, savouring my phallic looking chocolate eclair that my client had kindly grab-delivered over to me, I reminded myself that scrumdidilyumptious DILFs are indeed intoxicating.

Nevertheless I yearn for a DILF to hold me from behind, resting his chin on my bare shoulder, feeling his scruff on my neck, with his calloused hands all over me.

Well, enough of daydreaming. Its past 4pm. Time to finish off the last of my drafting and call it a day, working from a empty and deserted office.

 

[Claire]

Jul 7 2021

Elderly putrescent virgin

Ok. I shall write in an unsophisticated style for your sake, w.r.t. my thoughts on the elderly putrescent virgin.

The difference between us is validation.

She seeks men's validation.

I don't.

The concept of virginity is conceived by men, who imagine their penises were so indispensable, that it can change a woman's life.

I am secure in who I am. I never once regretted losing my virginity.

I don't need the men to validate my virginity to be accepted.

Unfortunately for the putrescent virgin, her relentless quest for a virgin validation badge keeps her trapped. She needs men to approve her "worthiness".

That's lunacy.

 

[Claire]

Jul 7 2021

Dating

Looking back on my dating past, I am certainly discomfited.

In my early 20s, I was a young and immature girl.

Fresh out law school, like a lamb looking for the perfect 6 packs "beast" to devour me, though my preference of the "beast" was one with a boyish face, maybe in the sort like the current era's Song Joong-Ki.

From 26 to early 30s, I was searching for the most valuable career driven man∼a successful senior lawyer, a specialist doctor in medicine, a presentable President scholar or even an established politician amongst the ranks of PAP elites. That should make my parents happy, so I believed.

After 35 to present, with my stellar legal career on the right track, with increasing property and monetary asset base, I value emotional and sexual compatibility over all the other benchmarks in selecting my "prey", for my adventurous exploits to find love and "bodily" needs.

I wouldn't know how my tastebuds will change when I hit the big FOUR ZERO. That thought sucks as much as the numerals when spoken in Cantonese!

Imagine gravity wrecking havoc on me, and stepping into the winter of facial and body deterioration?!?! SUCKS!!!

While S$550 for a mere 60ml tub of Estee Lauder's LA MER is peanuts to me, the thought of having to apply this "keep young" moisturizer certainly makes my blood runs cold.

Nevertheless, calming my thoughts, I reckon I wouldn't be far from looking for a cerebral soulmate to dance with me, physically and spiritually into the night.

I want a Patrick Swayze, with me as Jennifer Grey, dancing to the tune of “(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life.”

I want to be like Jennifer, taking my leap of faith, with a few small steps, blast off, launching myself with an awesome flying jump, right into my Patrick's waiting hands, hoisting me aloft in the air, not giving a fxxk of what my parents or others in society think of us and our relationship.

Hope the above gives you an indication of my cup of tea.

Have a good afternoon, Mr Sage!

For me, back to work!

 

[Claire]

Jul 8 2021

HIIT & Brazilian​

I hate HIIT. The thought of it makes me nauseous the night before.

In the morning, lugging myself from home to gym, i feel indisposed. Midway through, I want to surrender.

Strangely, moments into completing, I declare I love HIIT!!!

"Best workout regime".
"Good for my heart".
"Awesome toned arms, stomach and legs.".

Like an eager beaver, I proclaim to anyone and everyone who compliment my toned, yet curvylicious physique.

Now, I feel exactly the same for my regular Brazilian session this evening.

For Jesus sake, who invented the damn word "Brazilian" for removal of unsightly chitsu hair!

Definitely a thick headed man!

If anyone look at a satellite image of Brazil, it's a thick jungle, inundated by untamed virgin rainforests!

The whole damn Brazil is synonymous with gorilla salad!

Definitely not a bald chitsu!!!

Enough of protest and grumbling.

If I go on like this, I would end up like a shrewish aunty.

Start thinking of the reward.

Compliments from the men whom I had previous intimacies.

Think of DIY pleasures with a bald chitsu.

Ok. Feels better.

Worth the intimidating ordeal at the esthetic clinic this evening.

Bare it all to the talkative esthetician who will without fail, exclaim "Wow! It's so smooth!" after the ordeal.

Maybe I should muddle jumble her brains later.

I shall ask her to leave a tiny strip or a small triangle at the front!

 

[zhihau]

best collection of prose ever on sbf. will wake up tomorrow early to enjoy them.

It made me make it sticky

 

[Claire]

Jul 9 2021

Cerebellar degeneration​

@nayr69sg

I remember you are a doctor in this forum from my occasional browsing of this forum. I also recall Charlie did mention the same to me in my early days when I participated in this forum.

I have also asked a couple of friends who are doctors, but I am told the prognosis isn't great. Nevertheless I would like to hear your views.

Some pertinent facts:

1. Person X is in his mid fifties.

2. A couple of weeks ago, he crashed his car into my condominium carpark wall while parking his car. When I found out, I had thought (then) it's probably a normal accident. Sometimes when we are mentally exhausted or extremely tired from work, accidents do happened.

3. We went for a dinner together a couple of days ago. We only had a glass of red each. Surprising, he felt giddy after dinner and while walking to my car, he lost his balance and fell. No serious injuries were sustained. Just some bruising and scratches on his arm.

4. This morning, I received a call from Person X. He told me he had gone to see a neuro specialist and did some sort of brain scan.

5. The diagnosis, as he said over the phone is Cerebellar Degeneration.

6. I was too busy with back to back zoom and conference calls. I could only speak to him for no more than a couple of minutes.

7. I have tried calling him since 7pm tonight and his mobile is not responding, which is the first time this has happened since I got to know him for a couple of years now.

8. Curious, I searched the internet since 8pm and realised now that Cerebellar degeneration is a serious illness.

9. If I am not wrong from what I read on the internet, it's the loss of the ability to control one's movements, muscles, etc due to some part or parts of the brain which are degenerating. Consequently with time, the patient cannot even eat, as food will not be able to be pushed into the stomach by the failing muscles. And the chances of life threatening pneumonia is high because food gets stuck and decays in the respiratory system. Eventually, the patient will need life support and a decision will have to be made.

10.. There doesn't seem to be a cure to this disease.

My questions:

1. From the point of a Cerebellar degeneration diagnosis to the point of not being able to perform basic tasks eg. eating, walking, bathing, changing clothes, etc, how fast is the deterioration process? 1 year or 5 years or 10years? Doctor friends whom I have managed to contact tonight said it depends (as usual, the non committal type of answers of professionals).I am told that It could be months or years. Is this true? Or rather what's the probability of a fast degeneration vs a slow degeneration?

2. From the psychological angle, how do I as good friend engage with a Cerebellar degeneration sufferer?

3. Any other useful and practical advice would be most welcomed.

Thanks in advance.

Apologies for the long post.

 

[Claire]

Jul 11 2021

Till death do us part

A phrase that has been ringing in my thoughts the whole of yesterday.

Today is Sunday. I woke up and I told myself I need to verbalise these thoughts into ink. Oherwise, with time passing, these thoughts will be lost forever, in depth and intensity.

I am not sure what will happen to "us" in the days to come.

My predication is to be with you and be standing next to you. I want hold your hands firmly, and be with you, for as long as you are in this world.

Sounds preposterous, isn't it?

For years, we have kept our trust and faith in each other. I respect you are a husband and father. You had never questioned my independent and colourful private life. We give each other space to an exclusive life outside of "us", which is sacred and respected by the other.

Those who cannot fathom out our unique relationship status will insinuate that we are fxxkbuddies, seekers of pleasures, sinful, disgusting, dirty, mistress, bastard, slut and whore, et cetera.

Notwithstanding, we had bravely stuck to our stance and our desire to be together against established societal norms and values.

Now, I am apprehensive. Fear is slowly creeping into my heart. Soon, and as time passes, our unique relationship will become increasingly languid.

I am beginning to see the interstices of distancing in the coming months and years.

I am wondering if our tête-à-tête meetings can and will continue as before, with your current condition, which will deteriorate with time.

Your innocent and faithful wife will soon become your sole and towering reliance of strength, in the coming months and years, as you wither in transition.

She will be the one, who will be right beside you, at Mount Elizabeth neurological clinic, up to the point when the dreaded words "We have done our best and there isn't anything else we can do" is spoken to her (and sadly, not me).

I feel a sense of irony. Why?

Because I am immensely jealous of her. While I can only imagine, she is privileged to see and feel the complete helplessness and she gets to watch you go physically.

I know you will say sorry to me, like you always do, when you aren't able to be with me on nights that I were terribly down.

I have accepted that as norm. Though I threw my unjustified and unreasonable tantrums at you, I always knew that there's always the next meeting, the next date, the next cuddling together and the next physical intimacy.

However, the reality of fewer and fewer of such tête-à-tête meetings is sinking in.

Helplessness, uselessness, jealousies, tears (and I guess) anger and hatred for her being the legal and morally recognised caregiver, will overwhelm me in the days to come.

The saying "Till death do us part" wouldn't happen to us.

Nevertheless, I assure you that you will always reside in every fragment of my living. If there's an afterlife, I do still want to meet you, be there for your spiritual and "physiological" needs, even if I am still not the society's moral and legally recognised person.

No regrets whatsoever.

 

[Claire]

Jul 16 2021

Sour, Surly, Bitter and Cynical

Collating my flotsam and jetsom pieces, since 2015 to date, scattered throughout this notorious forum, merging them into in a single thread - has made me realised that I have slipped into the path of becoming sour, surly, bitter and cynical.

I felt like a slab of Bibigo soft tofu, turning bad, at risk of microbial degradation.

Aging is intimidating. Seven years ago, my thoughts and writings were virginal. Now, it has become unbridled.

Blame my falling estrogen levels!

My falling estrogen will mean my chichis will become less full and elastic with time. They will eventually sag.

Horrid!

I need to regain that morning afterglow.

Gravity is my new enemy!

My latest purchase, the SKII R.N.A. Power cream, touts their product claim - "Within 2 weeks, skin will be firmer, moisturized and more glowing. Your face will develop a youthful glow".

So, every night, without fail, after cleansing and toning, I would religiously use my index finger to dot pearl sized amounts on my forehead, cheeks and chin.

I have yet to see any concrete results after a month.

Disappointing!

But I must persevere!

Just like incorrigible 4D and Toto punters, I shouldn't give up this chance.

"Got buy Got hope. No buy No hope!".

The friendly hokkien mee punter hawker, whom I often patronised, would repeat this to me when we chit chat while waiting his noodles to stew.

My chance is to be desirable and loved. If money can be exchanged for miracle creams and lotions to become Cinderella, I will pay!

(Seriously, writing my next paragraph makes me sound like a bloody slut. But truth has to be spoken eventually...)

In all honesty, I admit that having a good intimacy the night before gives me a peerless morning afterglow. It's failsafe, tried and tested. No amount of SKII R.N.A. Power cream or La Mer (which I should be using once I hit 40) will be able to displace the power of intimacy.

I need love.

It's going to my antidote in preventing my disastrous slip, into the harrowing "Sour, Surly, Bitter and Cynical" emotive and physical state.

 

[ginfreely]

For example, let's assume that @ginfreely is warded in the Institute of Mental Health (IMH) for schizophrenia. She is constantly under the watch of nurses. They do regular checks on her, always making sure she takes the prescribed clozapine tablets. In the ward, @ginfreely recovers and in a relatively short time, she ceases to have auditory hallucinations of firecrackers and disturbing nosies from her imaginary neighbours. She is able to recover and starts to feel better, in a secured environment, under good care. She is discharged. However, instead of taking medication regularly, she forgets and drinks herself silly on alcohol, or maybe she consumes illicit drugs. She starts to worry about her home in Johore, and in no time, the imaginary firecrackers and thumping neighbourly noises reappear in her decaying cerebrum. She falls into another relapse. She hallucinates men wolf whistling at her aunty looking self when she dines in a low SES food court joint.

Hey you @glockman clone liar son of whore stop twisting and spinning my factual material to your lowlife hallucination stories. The fact is I got more than one thousand videos recorded of myself sleeping with neighbours’ knocks storing in Apple iCloud maximum subscription plan. Who will pay maximum subscription plan for nothing? Not me ok.

 

[Claire]

Jul 17 2021

Moaning

The word "Moaning" has two meanings.

In my honest intimate sessions with Person X, it means me, making a soft, long, but low pitch sound, expressing my physical and emotional gratification, which is the subject matter of my pen tonight.

There's of course another definition of moaning a.k.a. GRUMBLING. This is aptly demonstrated by a certain individual, in this newly minted thread of mine.

I have migrated here (the Forum's Serious Section) collating all my literary pieces since 2015, with the intention to avoid unsavoury forum participants. The collation also serves as a reminder on how I have evolved with age, and certainly, the brutal reality that the damm gravity is fxxking unforgiving.

And lo and behold, the unsavoury stalker strikes. She barged in with her drivel.

This individual incessantly defecates, everywhere and anywhere, in this Forum, depositing her obscenity-laden grumbles, about the most trivial of all matters, like her virginity.

For heaven's sake, we now live in a modern world. Losing one's mobile phone is far more disastrous than losing one's virginity!!!

An occasional grumble or two, in small doses is healthy for one's sanity. It alleviates personal stress. I do it all the time. It can provoke different thought perspectives amongst my audience, online and offline, generating constructive opinions and solutions on a particular issue.

However, constant and excessive grumblings, packed with buffoonery and profanities, are highly destructive. It simply drains the forum's communal energies.

I certainly hope that the forum owner @Leongsam and the super moderators @zhihau @nayr69sg can do something (or anything). Otherwise, such negative forum behavioral traits will become endemic, right here, in the (supposed) Forum's Serious Section.

E'nuf said about that two o'clock beauty queen.

Let's move on to the main course. Hell! I mean the crux of my piece tonight.

I will dive straight to the point.

My first intimacy.

Besides having to urgently read the small print instructions on the small Durex box, when he was already in "full salute", I fumbled in the process of unfolding and attaching the sheath onto his wood.

God knows which direction I was supposed to unfold that slimy rod sock in the dimly candlelit room. It was my first time afterall!

I was most apologetic when I noticed his wood had become as flaccid as a youtiao left overnight on my kitchen top.

Being embarrassed by my own shortcomings, I had to reignite his wood with further foreplay. Thankfully, I was absolutely competent in that area of expertise.

Recalling this embarrassment without fail makes me snigger at my own stupidity (even as I write now).

Well, he finally embedded his wood into me.

I felt puzzled, as much as I derived immense pleasure from his physical force of love. The sensation definitely felt different, from what I had experienced using my own youthful fingers.

However, as much as I tried, I just couldn't produced those high pitch erotic moany sounds, which I had associated with good sex in the Mills & Boon novels, that I had religiously read since I was 10 to my late youth.

Maybe it was my first time, I reckoned. I probably needed more practice sessions before I achieved my coitus championship medal.

Two or three years gone by. Despite having intimacies with a couple more "skillful" dudes, my decibel levels didn't seem to improve.

I began to seriously suspect I was way far behind in the Coitus Championship League, waiting to be relegated to Division 2. My sonic landscape remained (at best) equal to a fine dining restaurant in Marina Bay Sands instead of a busy and bustling Pasar Pagi.

Subsequently, I learned how to fake. I previously wrote a piece on Faking. Here the link : https://www.sammyboy.com/threads/my-journal-my-life.306888/page-4#post-3428082.

Then Person X came along and overturned every misconception I had about decibels.

It was Person X who liberated me from my skewed idea that erotic moany sex means good sex.

Person X is the man whom I wrote about in the Cerebellar Degeneration piece. He was the only few (amongst my many partners over the years) who had assured me that it's absolutely fine to remain a silent sexer which is probably why I have the inspiration to pen this piece tonight, while worrying over his current medical condition.

Sadly, he has begun to avoid my text messages. It is hurting me a bloody hell lot.

Person X has always been smooth and gentle, reminding me to concentrate on my own sensations, focusing on my inside rather than the decibels.

His assurance has definitely resonated in me over the many years we have (had?) been together, always enjoying our intimate moments.

I will always be grateful that I never have had to fabricate erotic moany sounds, in order that that he felt Alpha or maybe, like some of my previous hopeless partners, having a real life reenactment of porn movie scenes.

Well, what will be will be.

Hoping for a great Sunday tomorrow.

Good night.