When I met Steve I knew I was not his first love. In fact I was his thirteenth boyfriends. Before we met he had managed to get through a dozen other fellows, all from one city, Kuala Lumpur.
Thus, as I walked daily through crowds on Bangsar and Hartamas area, I was intensely aware that any man among them might once have held his hand. Might have brought him a bunch of flowers and whispered sweet nothings in his ear. More disturbingly, any of these men might several times have had sex with my gorgeous new boyfriend.
A few days earlier I had seen, from a distance, one of these ex-boyfriends-not just once but twice. The rest were list of first names, occasional odd details - a job here, a hobby there - and little more. I did not know them but it was possible that some of them knew me.
A few days earlier I had seen, from a distance, one of these ex-boyfriends-not just once but twice. The rest were list of first names, occasional odd details - a job here, a hobby there - and little more. I did not know them but it was possible that some of them knew me.
Perhaps as I stood here in the taxi queue in-front of Bangsar Village his first ex was the man half smiling in my direction. Maybe he was looking over, thinking to himself, ’I have had sex with your boyfriend! Before you! Your entire sex life is now spent retracing my steps over skin I mapped fifteen years ago. There is nowhere that you can place your hand or your tongue that I haven’t already been.’
Plainly this notion was preposterous. My boyfriend, Steve, had better taste. The man was podgy, with sticky-out ears, and he was a bit too old. Nevertheless, and despite the first spatters of rain, I decided to walk home. Up along Bangsar Road, I glared at passing strangers.
This uneasiness had started a few days before. Steve and I were at the Theatre on the opening night of some Comedy thing. At the interval Steve went out to the gents while I remained in my seat. I turned around to survey the rows behind. A man sitting near the aisle winked at me. I look away. Then I wondered whether he had really been winking at someone else and looked at him again. He winked once more. This time there could be no doubt. Although a total stranger to me, he was smiling directly at me and had one eyebrow raised quizzically. Astonished, I turned away. An announcer told everyone to return to their seats, Steve sat down, and the play recommenced.
Later, when the lights were up and we were getting up to leave. I pointed out the guy to Steve and asked if he recognized him.
‘Oh, him,’ he said. That’s Eric. I knew him years ago when he was doing the Masters in Journalism at UM. He’s an old boyfriend of mine.’
It was quite a shock. I had figured that perhaps he was some kind of simpleton and winking a harmless foible. This news cast things in an altogether different light. Plainly he had recognized my boyfriend and guessed that I was now his new boyfriend.
‘And when you say boyfriend.’ I asked Steve, ‘You mean, don’t you, That he is someone you had sex with?’
‘Well.. yes,’ he said, wrinkling his forehead the way he does when he thinks I am being a plonker.
‘How many times?’
‘Oh, come now,’ he said. ‘I don’t know. A few, I suppose.’
‘A few?’ I said. ‘How many times is a few?’
‘You are being ridiculous,’ he said. ‘I don’t know! It was years ago. Maybe eight or nine times. Ten maximum.’
‘Fuck,’ I thought. You could fit a lot into ten times. You’d be way past the missionary position. This Eric guy had probably had my boyfriend every which way. And now, years later, he was winking at me. FUCK!
We shuffled along the row and made our way out onto the street. There was no further sign of Eric but still I was troubled. As we headed to the car park, Steve noticed. ‘So now you’ve gone into one of your sulks?’ he said.
‘I am not sulking!’
‘Well, what are you, then?’
‘I am just thinking, that’s all.’
‘Thinking? Right, so what are you thinking?’
‘I am thinking, to be honest, that I do not like the thought of that smirking idiot Eric ever having been intimate with my gorgeous boyfriend.’
‘Oh, come on, I can’t believe your immaturity,’ he said. ‘That was years ago. You’re being silly.’
Plainly this notion was preposterous. My boyfriend, Steve, had better taste. The man was podgy, with sticky-out ears, and he was a bit too old. Nevertheless, and despite the first spatters of rain, I decided to walk home. Up along Bangsar Road, I glared at passing strangers.
This uneasiness had started a few days before. Steve and I were at the Theatre on the opening night of some Comedy thing. At the interval Steve went out to the gents while I remained in my seat. I turned around to survey the rows behind. A man sitting near the aisle winked at me. I look away. Then I wondered whether he had really been winking at someone else and looked at him again. He winked once more. This time there could be no doubt. Although a total stranger to me, he was smiling directly at me and had one eyebrow raised quizzically. Astonished, I turned away. An announcer told everyone to return to their seats, Steve sat down, and the play recommenced.
Later, when the lights were up and we were getting up to leave. I pointed out the guy to Steve and asked if he recognized him.
‘Oh, him,’ he said. That’s Eric. I knew him years ago when he was doing the Masters in Journalism at UM. He’s an old boyfriend of mine.’
It was quite a shock. I had figured that perhaps he was some kind of simpleton and winking a harmless foible. This news cast things in an altogether different light. Plainly he had recognized my boyfriend and guessed that I was now his new boyfriend.
‘And when you say boyfriend.’ I asked Steve, ‘You mean, don’t you, That he is someone you had sex with?’
‘Well.. yes,’ he said, wrinkling his forehead the way he does when he thinks I am being a plonker.
‘How many times?’
‘Oh, come now,’ he said. ‘I don’t know. A few, I suppose.’
‘A few?’ I said. ‘How many times is a few?’
‘You are being ridiculous,’ he said. ‘I don’t know! It was years ago. Maybe eight or nine times. Ten maximum.’
‘Fuck,’ I thought. You could fit a lot into ten times. You’d be way past the missionary position. This Eric guy had probably had my boyfriend every which way. And now, years later, he was winking at me. FUCK!
We shuffled along the row and made our way out onto the street. There was no further sign of Eric but still I was troubled. As we headed to the car park, Steve noticed. ‘So now you’ve gone into one of your sulks?’ he said.
‘I am not sulking!’
‘Well, what are you, then?’
‘I am just thinking, that’s all.’
‘Thinking? Right, so what are you thinking?’
‘I am thinking, to be honest, that I do not like the thought of that smirking idiot Eric ever having been intimate with my gorgeous boyfriend.’
‘Oh, come on, I can’t believe your immaturity,’ he said. ‘That was years ago. You’re being silly.’
I did not reply.
‘Look,’ he said as he hit the central locking.’ The last I heard he’d got a job with one of the newspapers doing reviews. Presumably that’s why he was here tonight. If you’re going to those a big sulk, though, over seeing aguy I dated briefly years ago, then maybe we shouldn’t just avoid to any further opening nights?’
He was being sarcastic.
‘I whole-heartedly agree.’ I replied, not sarcastically at all.
Precious little else was, though. As I lay awake at 2am, unwanted vision of Eric floated into my mind. Beside me, Steve was sleeping soundly.
Yes, I was being irrational. Eric was nothing new. He had long since existed and I had long since been told about him. He was one of a list of names that Steve had gradually reveled, years ago when we were courting. When we were in the ‘getting to know everything about each other’ phase. But..
But back then my boyfriend was not yet mine. Whom he had slept with before was of no relevance. What was relevant was that he was gorgeous. What was relevant was: would he sleep with ME? And then how often.
‘But now he is mine.’ I murmured,’ and the theoretical name gets a face.’
And this face had made love to my boyfriend on at least ten occasions. That was substantial number. It raised questions, terrible tormenting questions..
Did Steve enjoy sex with this Eric?
I suppose.. yes, obviously, she’d hardly just lay there or just bend over letting him do stuff to him.
Did he have huge, piercing orgasms? Which rolled and tumbled onwards and inwards for several minutes? Did the fabulously rhythmic Eric always hit the spot?
Ahmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
And, in the bucolic bliss of his sweaty aftershocks, did he, despite himself, let slip a tiny whisper of ‘I love you?’
Stop
And now, years later, while doing ‘conjugal duty’ with his boyfriend, when he’s bored, not particularly turned on, does his mind drift to thoughts of Eric?
I said stop!
Or, worse, when he IS turned on, IS about to orgasm, is it because he’s just visualized Eric’s massive throbbing…
Stop, stop, STOP!
To break the train of thought I went for a piss. I was too agitated to hit a target so I had to do it sitting down. Another irritating details from earlier come back to me.
‘Who broke up with whom?’ I had asked him in the car on the way home.
‘When are you going to cop on?’ he said with a sigh. ‘I don’t know, it was all a long time ago. I think he dumped me because he was taking a year out to work in England and wanted no ties.
So this idiot had sampled my boyfriend, taken him for a test drive and found him wanting. How dare he? The fucking fecker.
Jesus, I wanted to kill him. Or at the very lest find him tomorrow and punch his lights out.
- For his bloody nerve in winking at me
- For his bloody nerve in having shagged my boyfriend, even if it was in the distant past.
- For his bloody nerve in making me lose sleep thinking about possible dimensions of his penis.
‘Look,’ he said as he hit the central locking.’ The last I heard he’d got a job with one of the newspapers doing reviews. Presumably that’s why he was here tonight. If you’re going to those a big sulk, though, over seeing aguy I dated briefly years ago, then maybe we shouldn’t just avoid to any further opening nights?’
He was being sarcastic.
‘I whole-heartedly agree.’ I replied, not sarcastically at all.
Precious little else was, though. As I lay awake at 2am, unwanted vision of Eric floated into my mind. Beside me, Steve was sleeping soundly.
Yes, I was being irrational. Eric was nothing new. He had long since existed and I had long since been told about him. He was one of a list of names that Steve had gradually reveled, years ago when we were courting. When we were in the ‘getting to know everything about each other’ phase. But..
But back then my boyfriend was not yet mine. Whom he had slept with before was of no relevance. What was relevant was that he was gorgeous. What was relevant was: would he sleep with ME? And then how often.
‘But now he is mine.’ I murmured,’ and the theoretical name gets a face.’
And this face had made love to my boyfriend on at least ten occasions. That was substantial number. It raised questions, terrible tormenting questions..
Did Steve enjoy sex with this Eric?
I suppose.. yes, obviously, she’d hardly just lay there or just bend over letting him do stuff to him.
Did he have huge, piercing orgasms? Which rolled and tumbled onwards and inwards for several minutes? Did the fabulously rhythmic Eric always hit the spot?
Ahmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
And, in the bucolic bliss of his sweaty aftershocks, did he, despite himself, let slip a tiny whisper of ‘I love you?’
Stop
And now, years later, while doing ‘conjugal duty’ with his boyfriend, when he’s bored, not particularly turned on, does his mind drift to thoughts of Eric?
I said stop!
Or, worse, when he IS turned on, IS about to orgasm, is it because he’s just visualized Eric’s massive throbbing…
Stop, stop, STOP!
To break the train of thought I went for a piss. I was too agitated to hit a target so I had to do it sitting down. Another irritating details from earlier come back to me.
‘Who broke up with whom?’ I had asked him in the car on the way home.
‘When are you going to cop on?’ he said with a sigh. ‘I don’t know, it was all a long time ago. I think he dumped me because he was taking a year out to work in England and wanted no ties.
So this idiot had sampled my boyfriend, taken him for a test drive and found him wanting. How dare he? The fucking fecker.
Jesus, I wanted to kill him. Or at the very lest find him tomorrow and punch his lights out.
- For his bloody nerve in winking at me
- For his bloody nerve in having shagged my boyfriend, even if it was in the distant past.
- For his bloody nerve in making me lose sleep thinking about possible dimensions of his penis.
Yes tomorrow I must make it a priority, suft the internet, scour the telephone directory, ring every newspaper, whatever it took. Tomorrow, I would systematically search this city of four million souls until I found Eric.
But then what wil happened? I asked myself.
Maybe he’ll hit me back..Am I ready for this?
Yes, Fuck him! Let him have a go, I’ll repay every blow with interest.
Okey, so I win the fight, what then? Do I really think that’ll be the end of the story?
Huh!
No doubt with so many witness the cops will nap me. ‘A totally unprovoked attack, guard! I saw everything!’
So, I have to pay the fine, spend a day or two in custody. It’s be worth it.
Stop, am just being silly.
‘What about that guy Angus you live with for eleven years? Don’t you think that’s a bit intimidating for me?' Steve asked me the next morning.
‘He was just a mistake. I’ve always made that clear.’ I said.
‘Oh, come on! How did you stay together for eleven years if the relationship was so bad? You must have loved him. You must have had quite a bit of sex with him too. Well?’
I did not answer. I grabbed a towel because the bathwater suddenly seemed quite cold. But yes. While Steve spend his twenties flitting from short term relationships to one-night stands. I used up ten and half years with just one man. And admittedly, yes, I had loved him, and we’d had a lot of sex, for the first five years at least. As Steve stood up and dripped across the titles towards his towel. I closed my eyes and pondered Angus for the first time in four years...
We had probably had sex about a more than thousand times.
Jesus!
It sound massive, doesn’t it? But eleven years is 4,015 days. At the start we did it at least daily (once we managed four times in twenty-four-hours!). Then by year three it was down to every second day, then twice a weekly, then weekly and then for the last sad period almost never. By then we were living together, hoping that would fix our problem. By then we were good flatmates, no longer really lover.
Another thing about Angus, Like me, he was a virgin when we began going out. And he was never unfaithful to me, as far as I could tel. The last I’d heard of his was last month, when he was still single according to some of our friends, four years after our split.
Surely, yes. Yet, if he’d not met another man, then.. I would be the only man he’d ever slept with…….
It has been two months now without a single sighting of Eric. My reward has been a gradual reduction in sulking with my boyfriend and scowling at strangers. In short, a less distracted mental state. I am optimistic that I can keep a lid on my jealousy but there’s a threat hovering on my horizon. Eleven more of Steve’s Ex-boyfriends are still out there, each with his own workplace, his own favourite bar, his own daily pathway through this city.
Okey, so I win the fight, what then? Do I really think that’ll be the end of the story?
Huh!
No doubt with so many witness the cops will nap me. ‘A totally unprovoked attack, guard! I saw everything!’
So, I have to pay the fine, spend a day or two in custody. It’s be worth it.
Stop, am just being silly.
‘What about that guy Angus you live with for eleven years? Don’t you think that’s a bit intimidating for me?' Steve asked me the next morning.
‘He was just a mistake. I’ve always made that clear.’ I said.
‘Oh, come on! How did you stay together for eleven years if the relationship was so bad? You must have loved him. You must have had quite a bit of sex with him too. Well?’
I did not answer. I grabbed a towel because the bathwater suddenly seemed quite cold. But yes. While Steve spend his twenties flitting from short term relationships to one-night stands. I used up ten and half years with just one man. And admittedly, yes, I had loved him, and we’d had a lot of sex, for the first five years at least. As Steve stood up and dripped across the titles towards his towel. I closed my eyes and pondered Angus for the first time in four years...
We had probably had sex about a more than thousand times.
Jesus!
It sound massive, doesn’t it? But eleven years is 4,015 days. At the start we did it at least daily (once we managed four times in twenty-four-hours!). Then by year three it was down to every second day, then twice a weekly, then weekly and then for the last sad period almost never. By then we were living together, hoping that would fix our problem. By then we were good flatmates, no longer really lover.
Another thing about Angus, Like me, he was a virgin when we began going out. And he was never unfaithful to me, as far as I could tel. The last I’d heard of his was last month, when he was still single according to some of our friends, four years after our split.
Surely, yes. Yet, if he’d not met another man, then.. I would be the only man he’d ever slept with…….
It has been two months now without a single sighting of Eric. My reward has been a gradual reduction in sulking with my boyfriend and scowling at strangers. In short, a less distracted mental state. I am optimistic that I can keep a lid on my jealousy but there’s a threat hovering on my horizon. Eleven more of Steve’s Ex-boyfriends are still out there, each with his own workplace, his own favourite bar, his own daily pathway through this city.
To the men I know only as David, Michael, Brian, Frank, Sean, Geeeer I.., Anthony, James, Oliver, Jack and Ger O. – my silent prayer, indeed my violent prayer, is this: ‘That You. All, Stay Out. Of My. Life
Till then, so how you feel if you were in my shoes..... G'nite
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