For a reason and season.......

Here it goes: People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.

When you figure out which it is, you know exactly what to do.

When someone is in your life for a REASON, it is usually to meet a need you have expressed outwardly or inwardly.

They have come to assist you through a difficulty, to provide you with guidance and support, to aid you physically, emotionally or spiritually.

They may seem like a godsend, and they are.

They are there for the reason you need them to be.

Then, without any wrong doing on your part or an inconvenienttime, this person will say or do something to bring the relationship to an end.

Sometimes they die.

Sometimes they walk away.

Sometimes they act up or out and force you to take a stand.

What we must realize is that our need has been met, our desire fulfilled; their work is done.

The prayer you sent up has been answered and it is now time to move on.

When people come into your life for a SEASON, it is because your turn has come to share, grow, or learn.

They may bring you an experience of peace or make you laugh.

They may teach you something you have never done.

They usually give you an unbelievable amount of joy.

Believe it!

It is real!

But...only for a season.

LIFETIME relationships teach you lifetime lessons; those things you must build upon in order to have a solid emotional foundation.

Your job is to accept the lesson, love the person/people (anyway); and put what you have learned to use in all other relationships and areas of your life.

It is said that love is blind but friendship is clairvoyant.

Thank you for being a part of my life.

May your God hold you in the palm of his hand and Angels watch over you.

Smile and be happy, be true, be you.

Till then, Have a lovely day

p/s to all my 'lifetime friends' you know who you are - thanks for being you-

The past memory, in the present visit...

‘Did you have a fun night?’ Daniel asked me as he picked up my arm and wrapped it round his shoulders. He rested his head on my chest, I leant my head against the warm taxi window and we both watched headlights and street lights whizz by. The very last whispers of the hot day had disappeared behind KL’s skyline as the raining season approaching. Daniel sighed contentedly: He loved balmy nights such as these.

Back then... in Melbourne

Daniel felt around for my hand. He found it and our fingers automatically entwined. I remember a period in my life, years ago, back in Melbourne, when getting into a taxi guaranteed that we would immediately pull at each other’s clothes eagerly and make urgent, ham-fisted grabs at one another’s flesh. Desperate for each other, we’re been unwilling to exercise any restraint. I didn’t actively miss that time, not as such. It had always been embarrassing paying the cabbie after he’d seen us all but fornicate on the back seat. Yet, being conscious of the fact that that time in my life was over (for ever) was at once a comfort and challenge for me. I saw that getting older offered all sorts of compensations but I also know that being young was undoubtedly glittering.

‘A great night, thank you.’ I said, with just a slight slur. I turned towards him and kissed him. It was a long, warm, tender kiss. I didn’t try to involve my tongue, considering my state of inebriation, was a definite act of chivalry. Yes, thought Daniel, getting older had all sorts of compensation and being settled with his boyfriend was the biggest one, for changed.

Before with me, and after me: Daniel had had a few long-term boyfriends and a number of flash-in-the-pan types of boyfriend. They provided an eclectic mix of amazingly passionate and rather more prosaic relationships for him to look back upon fondly.

In his time, he’d dated cute but thoughtless men, frighteningly intelligent but arrogant men, kind but dull men, fabulous but didn’t want his men, fun but going nowhere men, intense but too-much men, black men, asian men, white men. The assortment of liaisons had to things in common.

One, Daniel gave each guy his best shot. He was always fair, faithful, and he tried very hard to suppress or at least disguise any weirdness he undoubtedly harboured. Two, all these men had a but. A big flashing but that signaled they weren’t his ONE.

And then there I was, and not the ONE either…

Daniel and me, we met one another at mid-summer festival at Alexander Park in Melbourne, ten years ago. It all happened the old-fashioned way: our eyes collided across a smoky haze. It wasn’t his usual sort of place, he was not a corner pub sort of boy, in fact it was his first time visiting the mid-summer festival. He’d only ended up there because his friends drag him there.

It wasn’t my frequent visit too even I just live round the corner of the park, but that year, I’ve had to company my guest's from Auckland. I had to bring mates to the party at mid-summer, because they had been planning their trips for this.

Daniel thought it was that sort of thing that might make a person believe in fate and such, although I didn’t (I was resolute that fate, horoscope, tarot cards and karma were all bullocks. I was sure that life was even more random then those crutches would have you believe).

Yes, it was great time and great friend (I guest, we're not suitable as a partner but we were great as a friend). Daniel visit last week was just as great as always, and it always bring up the old memory: How happy we were being together -as a mate-

Till then, and have a lovely and safe flight back home, you'll always in my heart, Missing you already

Felt the LOVE

'Sorry boss, I can't come in today, I think I'm in love'. How much time should we devote to finding 'the one'?

There's sick leave, maternity leave and compassionate leave. Is 'I-just-met-someone-who-could-be-the-one' leave next?

Successful relationships require more attention than an unkempt public-hair and honey-moon in Bali, which is why more gay men that I know (and know of) are taking a leave of absence from work and play to stack the odds in love's favour.

But just how much time should you allocate to finding a partner and then working on that relationship to ensure it'll stand the test of time?

According to reports out of Hollywood, in order to shake the pity party after Mr Pitt left, Jennifer Aniston is now taking a year off and plans on becoming a full-time girlfriend, devoting her undivided attention to her latest squeeze and making sure their union blossoms away from the box office.

But where's the fine line between a little hiatus and full-blown hysteria? Call me single, but isn't this just a classic case of 'boy crazy' with a side of Botox?

Dedicating the majority of your time thinking about a significant other is cute at 17, but as the clock strikes 30 or 40, it's just creepy.

'I think about you all the time. What's he doing? What's he thinking? I think about us all the time!' Carrie screamed down the phone to Mr Big during one particularly hard to watch episode of Sex and The City almost a decade ago. And I still love to watch this part...

Fast-forward a few years and gay-life has been (Kuala Lumpur's gay life-style) has had so many waves we are practically wading knee deep in empowerment.

Not everyone is cut out for this all-encompassing approach though.

'I'm not single, I'm busy' and claimed I was torn between my personal desires and professional passions.

How much time should I invest into relationships these days? Will I take some leave from everyday life for love?

Let me think about it and made up my mind..

Till then, happy Sunday

Beginning of the end...........

As I undressed and carefully put my clothes in the basket. I wanted sex tonight and I thought that being tidy might increase my chances and so I was disappointed when I noticed that Lawrence had left his clothes in a heap on the floor. This was not a good sign: I only ever did that if I was extremely tired. If Lawrence was extremely tired there was little chance for me of having sex tonight, even if it was Saturday and I had cooked and washed up.

I followed Lawrence through to bathroom. He was wearing a pair of pyjamas. Definitely far too weary to have sex tonight then. That was the code. Pyjamas equaled ‘not a chance.’

It was true Lawrence was quite drunk and his stomach full, which was not compatible with shagging, but also his head was full too which made things worse.

‘How did you know I was the one for you?’ Lawrence asked as he brushed his teeth.

I found this question difficult to understand, not only because we both used noisy electric toothbrush but also because I had no idea why he would ask this question or where it might be going, although I had a terrible feeling it was definitely ‘going’ somewhere.

‘You told me.’ I replied.

‘Ha, ha,’ he said without mirth. ‘Was it timing? Did I just come along at the right time when you were in the settling down mood?’

‘No.’ I spat and rinsed then turned to Lawrence. ‘Totally honestly, when I first set eyes on you, settling down was the last thing on my mind.’ I did been thinking about getting it up, actually.

I went back into bedroom and dived under the covers, Brrrr... it was cold. I lay flat on my back spread out my limbs, I opened and closed my legs, moved my arms up and down, making the same action that created an angel print in fresh snow.

Slowly am fallen asleep...

Without sex

And I was so upset

Till then

Not ready or just don't want....

It was just after ten on the following Sunday morning, and I was standing at my kitchen making coffee for us, while Lawrence sat at the sofa facing the balcony and reading the Sunday Star newspaper.

‘Cancel?’ As I turned down the music, ‘Why would you want to do that?’

‘Because I am not ready!’ he said only half joking. ‘I need more time. You know you only get one opportunity to make a first impression.’

‘I don’t believe you! You’ve travelled all over the world, stood up to address meetings crammed full of ludicrously rich and powerful business people and run division that made a lot of money for your company and you’re scared of meeting my friends who shouldn’t say boo to a goose- who to be frank should be more concerned with impressing you than the other way round, what is wrong with you?’

‘I am nervous, that’s all.’

‘You’ll be just fine. All you need to know is that my friends likes fussing during drinking so there is no point in asking them to take a seat. Joseph is bound to be a bit off with because his life is falling apart and Peter... well Peter will more likely fall in love with you the second you say hello.’

‘You say all this like it’s some kind of a joke! Meeting your group of friends is kind of a big deal – it’s actually a lot bigger than meeting your family. I don’t want to freak you out but since you’re already halfway to BSC anyway I suppose it’s time I told you the truth: I have never, ever, ever in all my time here (I mean since am coming back to KL) brought a boyfriend...’ I stopped and raised a solitary ironic eyebrow. ‘I take it you are officially my boyfriend now, aren’t you?’ Lawrence rolled his eyes in a weary fashion. ‘Good.’ I said, and then continued – ‘to any Sunday brunch with my friends.’

‘Never?’

‘Not ever.’

‘And you’re telling me this now because?’

‘Because basically you could walk in to the restaurant, slap my friends in the face, put your feet on the table and fart and my friends would still think you’re the best thing since sliced bread.’ I paused and turned on the air-corn. ‘So are you ready?’

‘Yes,’

‘For the coffee or meeting my friends?’

Lawrence took moments that, when he first received my text about meeting my friends had gone into panic mode even though I tried my best to point out that group of my friends ‘weren’t the kind of people you have to worry about impressing’. No matter what I said to reassure him Lawrence refused to be reassured and instead demanded that with the little time we had left I should make sure he was up to date with every single last bit of my friends trivia...

As we drank our coffee together, Lawrence began to calm down enough to read out various snippets of news he thought worthy of discussion. Although I had little or no interest in the article about the investigation of a corrupt MP or the one about the playwright who had written a play that had a bunch of people he had never heard of up in arms, I liked the fact that Lawrence was interested in these things. As I sat watching his half mug of coffee while simultaneously getting irate over a comment in the newspaper that he read...

And, he is not readyto meet my friends and I have no choice to leave him alone while brunching with my group...

It's the beginning of the ends....

Till then

It's amazing.......

It was early evening on the following Saturday, roughly about three day into my ‘seeing’ Lawrence, and I was lying on my sofa like a lovelorn teenager rereading the last hour’s worth of text messages from my beloved who was away until the following Thursday evening on a training course in Putrajaya.

Lawrence: What are you doing? L xxx

Me: Am trying to read that book I picked up from your bookshelf last Wednesday: Love in the time of Cholera. Not exactly last paced is it? How’s the course going? G

Lawrence: Course is OK, peoples nice, am missing you though. What manner of madness has possessed you to read Love in the time of Cholera? You’ll hate it. L xxx

Me: Because it reminds me of you in that it’s boring, long-winded and is yellow at the edges!

Lawrence: Ha! That is so mean!

Me: I know! But seriously I am reading book because of you. Now that we are officially dating I feel ought to put some effort into making myself appear as clever as you are. The last thing you need is for all your mates to think you’re got so desperate that you’ve started down! Really wish you were here! G

Lawrence: Ahhhh...! How sweet! I wish I were there too! And what do you mean exactly by ‘dating down’? There’s only one of us dating down here mate and that’s you! Seriously, though, could not be prouder of you. Can’t wait to show you off to my friends!

As I finished rereading Lawrence final text a huge grin somehow bolted itself to my face and was refusing to budge. In a deliberate attempt to get rid of it, I thought about the piles of work that I need to complete.

Finally I pulled out all the stops and thought about the fact that I haven’t been to the pool because of all the evening time I had been spending my time with Lawrence and how my midriff was feeling a little bit ‘looser’ than normal undoubtedly because of all the food I had been eating with Lawrence and still the grin remained. There was no doubt about it. This grin was staying put.

Nothing had been the same since our kiss on the night of our first date. Walking up fully clothed in my arms underneath a duvet on his sofa the following morning I knew I had just experienced the single best night of my life: and the contrast between my night with Lawrence and the million one-night stands that I had shared with the-wrong-kind-of-boy could not have been more marked. We had talk. We had laughed. But above all we had connected on a more fundamental level than I had ever experienced.

Feeling as though I needed to mark my arrival into the world of fully functioning adult relationships, I had carefully extracted myself from Lawrence’s limbs, borrowed his front door key and sneaked out to the Starbuck at Plaza Damas where I picked up two hot chocolates and couple of muffins. Just as he was stirring from his sleep I presented my purchases to him and had been more than a little started when he gave me the oddest of looks. My imagination had gone into overdrive as I reasoned that perhaps a surprise breakfast of hot chocolate and muffin might have been ex-boyfriend John signature move and now he was thinking about him. Apologising profusely for stirring up memories from the past I had been about to get rid of the offending items when Lawrence had explained that he was looking at me oddly because I was being so nice to him. Perplexed at this complexity of thought processes I let out a sigh of relief and told him it was no big deal. I sat down on the sofa next to him, turned the TV over to one of the music channels and encouraged Lawrence to start eating and as we slurped hot chocolate, scoffed down muffin and took it in turns to perform a variety of comical reconstruction of R&B music videos, I felt sure that I was on to a good thing.

Back at my own place sometimes in the evening I had been about to go to bed when I had received a text from Lawrence that read: ‘Hey you! Am off to bed just wanted to say goodnight and a huge thank you for the most fun that I’ve had in a long while. You are amazing. Sleep tight. L xxx.’ I replied right away (sometimes along the lines that I too had enjoyed myself) and for the rest of the week that followed a constant stream of warm, funny and intimate messages bounced between his phone and mine without a single call taking place until, on the following Saturday morning when desperate to see him again, I had called him up directly and asked him out on a second date.

I had suggested all manner of restaurants and bars that they could go to but Lawrence politely rejected each of my suggestions and instead offered up one of his own: the cinema.

Now after couple of weeks of dates covering everything from art exhibition to folk artists in the city (plus a week-long separation) I was now well beyond ‘like’ with Lawrence and though I insisted on baulking at the word ‘love’ whenever my subconscious threw up the concept late at night, at the same time there were moments when I couldn’t help but conclude that if what I was feeling looked, smelled and tasted like ‘love’ then chances were that it probably was.

And now that he was away the clarity of thought that separation sometimes brings persuaded me that there was one last hurdle left before I could relax fully into this new are of my life. Flicking up my phone I typed out the following message: ‘I think it’s time you meet my group of friends.’ And pressed send.

Till then, G’nite

A month later after 3 bottles of wine.....

Once Lawrence had finished mocking at me and my attempts to find the right kind of boy the rest of the evening went by in a blur. Deliberately steering clear of the topic of relationships, we chatted about pretty much everything else and just at after midnight with coffees consumed and second bottles of red wine finished off our evening together had come to an end. I refused Lawrence’s offer to go halves, paid the bill and said I'll walk him home.

‘Tell me something about you that would surprise me,’ he said. Taking me by the arm.’ And when I say surprise me I mean really surprise me. I am not interested in any revelations of the third-nipple variety or anything that involves you once having been a man.’

I thought for a moments. ‘OK,’ I said, ‘I’ve got something which you’ll find surprising but it’s not so much about me as about my friend.’

‘What about your friend?’

‘You know I told you that my good friend Peter has got a boyfriend called Darren? But Peter is in love with James.’

‘Really? Did he tell you this?’

‘Of course not,’ I said. ‘Me and Peter haven’t got that kind of relationship. We talk about general stuff... fun stuff, not anything serious like love. If Peter wanted to unburden his soul he’d probably be more likely to go to another friend of mine rather to me and given the circumstances that is never going to happen.’

‘So how do you know then?’

‘It’s weird, but I’ve just picked up on it over time. Changes in Peter’s face whenever James speaks to him, the way he hangs onto him every word, snatched glances whenever he thinks no one is looking.’

‘And Darren knew about this?’

‘Not as far as I am aware.’

‘And you’re pretty chuffed about that, aren’t you?’

‘Well, wouldn’t you be if everyone in your group had you pegged as a jack-the-lad with all the sensitivity of a house brick? I like being able to spot an acute case of unrequited love when I see one. It makes me feel human.’

‘And that’s your surprising thing? That you spotted your friend’s longing for someone he can’t have?’

‘You sound disappointed.’

‘No,’ replied Lawrence with a grin.

At Lawrence's front door, I accepted his invitation to come in for a drinks. His living room was pretty much everything I expected it to be: ordered, and the absolute opposite of my own. There were a few touches that I liked: a big pot, art poster above the sofa.

Opening up a bottle of wine in the kitchen, we continued chatting as though there really was going to be no end to the evening and then began a conversation about travel adventure holiday to Australia that Lawrence has thinking of going with a friends. This had led to a conversation about holidays and travelling in general, and places we would and wouldn’t like to go to one day.

I wasn’t quite sure how but no doubt all the wine we had consumed had helped make a connection, no matter how tenuous, we did got around to talking about relationships: especially Lawrence’s last one a year with a barrister called John.

‘Maybe I shouldn’t be saying this,’ I said as Lawrence concluded the tale of the demise of his relationship, ’but John the barrister sounds like a right idiot. How long were you with him again?’

Lawrence shook his head in disbelief. ‘One year.’

‘It took you a year to work out what a jerk he was?’

Lawrence took a sip of his wine. ‘It’s very kind of you to gloss over the facts, George, but thing ended not because he was a jerk but because he went off with someone else.’

‘But you would have worked out though, eh?’

Lawrence shrugged. ‘Who knows? At the time I thought he was the most wonderful man that I’d ever met but now – excuse the image –I wouldn’t spit on him if he was on fire.’

‘Believe me it was his loss, not yours.’

Lawrence raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you think?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘I am not sure,’ he sighed.

Lawrence shrugged. ‘Let look at the facts: I am forty eight and single. Even if I met someone I wanted to be with tomorrow I couldn’t begin thinking where to find the right guy! I have been on three dates, only one of which managed to get a second date before he was whisked off to Hong Kong by the company he worked for, then I think you’ll appreciate why I feel more than a little fed up about men. he flopped his head into his hands in mock shame.

I instinctively put my arms around him and held him as tightly as I could. After a while because the holding and squeezing thing didn’t seem to be doing the trick I started stroking his hair and whispering that he shouldn’t worry and that everything was going to be all right. I pulled him closer not as a means to take things further as might have happened in the past but rather to protect him. How weird was that? I had somehow become the kind of guy who protected boys like Lawrence from the affections of guys like me. It made so sense and complete sense all at the same time. This was what it felt like putting someone else’s need before your own. I was wishing that this moment would last forever when something weird happened: Lawrence reached up and gently guided my lips towards his own and then we kissed for two, possibly three seconds before I pulled away.

‘Look, Lawrence,’ I said quickly. ’You really don’t want to be doing this.’

‘And why not?’

‘Because you’ll regret it in the morning. I know it seems like a great idea now but wasn’t it you who said you wanted to be mates and nothing more?’

‘Yes.’

‘And haven’t I got the worst reputation of any man you’ve known?’

‘Possibly.’

‘So this,’ I gestured to the space between us, ‘right here right now is not a good idea.’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘George.’

‘If I say something will you promise not to take offence?’

‘Of course, just fire away.’

‘Good, because the last thing I want is to offend you. So would you please just shut up and kiss me before you permanently ruin this moment for both us!’

Was this really a meeting of equals as he was indicating or a situation where one party was exploiting an emotionally charged situation for their own gain? I wonder. After a few moments of looking into Lawrence’s eyes, I had my answer: there was no exploitation to speak of but this certainly wasn’t a meeting of equals. The balance of power was all in the hands of the men opposite me on his sofa and I was powerless to refuse his demands….

Let me tell you the rest later....

Till then

Badminton... I wish it can be 'bed-minton'

It was just after six on the following Wednesday evening and I was lying on the floor of the badminton court at Bangsar Community Centre struggling to breathe and feeling seconds away from passing out with exhaustion.

One and half hour earlier Lawrence had picked me up from the front of my condo and kept me in the dark about what we were going to be doing until we had pulled up at the community centre. I had pictures we possibly hill-walking or even mountaineering: I had been more than a little disappointed when Lawrence’s secret assignation had only involved a couple of games of badminton. I hadn’t played badminton since school and then only under duress because even at the age of forty eight I had been sure that badminton was strictly for the ladies.

‘What do you mean, new-found respect?' Lawrence picked up the shuttlecock lying next to my head.

‘I won every single game and now look at you! I wouldn’t have thought you’d break sweat playing a game that you considered to be ‘strictly for the ladies’!’

‘But that was before, anyway, there were a couple of moments back there when it could have so easily gone my way.’

‘In your dreams. George boy! That was just me going easy on you so you didn’t get dispirited. Even though I say so myself I am ace at badminton.’ He held out his right hand to help me to my feet and my gratefully reached out and grabbed it. It felt soft and slender in my grip and even once I was on my feet I didn’t want to let go.

‘Right then,’ he said, subtly extricating his hand.

‘I am heading off for a shower. I’ll see you at the front when I am done and then I’ll give you a lift back to your place if you like. Given the way you like right now you don’t stand much chance of making it home on foot.’

It was just after seven when we pulled up in front of my condo’s.

‘So this is you.’ He said pulling on the handbrake. He turned to look at me. ‘It was really nice of you to agree to playing with me today. Evan though you were beyond hopeless I had a lot of fun.’

‘So does that mean that I’ll be seeing you again?’

‘I dare say if you’re at a loose end and fancy another thrashing at badminton you will.’

‘And what about non-badminton-related events?’

‘How do you mean exactly?’

‘Let me take you out tonight. And before you say no, hand on heart I promise on pain of death that I won’t try it on or anything. What I am suggesting will be something along the lines of two old school mates who occasionally play the noble game of badminton having a meal together during which nothing other than eating and good conversation will occur. Come on Lawrence, what do you say?’

‘Well because you sent me that Rothko card, were a good spot about losing today and asked so nicely I will agree to meet you this once for dinner tonight. But that’s all. OK?’

‘Great.’ I said. ‘I’ll have a ring round and see where has got a table free and let you know where to meet.’

It was just after eight and I was sipping a glass of bottled water and about to help myself to a bread roll when I looked up to see Lawrence standing right in front of me.

He dressed for the occasion, all in black with tight T’shirt. He looked very handsome but I couldn’t help but smile at the thought that had Lawrence been given a brief to select an outfit that none of my previous conquests would have been seen dead in this was pretty much it.

Standing up to greet him, I shake his hand and giving him a buddy cuddle like those soccer player, in the middle of Alexis Restaurant @ BSC, had let confusion show briefly on his face.

Initially we were talked about badminton again (I had had to lie down for most of the evening because of a shooting pain in my thigh) but after a while the conversation moved on to work. Lawrence had spent the previous week helping the shelter he worked at put together a bid for a funding application to local government that, if successful, would enable them to double the number of people they helped by a third.

I, who had spent most of my week doing very little apart from trying to sort out a new batch of dates with the right-kind-of-boy, felt obliged to embellish my account with tales of high-level meetings, various bits of ’paperwork-chasing’ and a happy hour with clients. I had impressed myself with my action-filled working week.

‘So come on then,’ said Lawrence later as I used up my final current affairs fact that I had cribbed from the Guardian specifically to impress his and the waiter cleared away their plates and handed out dessert menus. ‘What is this really all about’?

‘This,’ he said. ‘You and me sitting here in this nice little restaurant like we’re on some kind of a date: is this a joke or a bet?’

‘No. Of course not.’

‘So explain to me why twenty-odd years down the line the best looking boy at school – and before you flatter yourself let’s not forget that there wasn’t a great deal of competition – has been making overtures towards a boy whom you regularly referred as a hopeless Lawrence?’

I considered his question and decided that now was the time to reveal all. ‘It’s like this,’ I confessed.

‘A little while it was pointed out to me by my close friends that it might be time for me to stop dating...’ I paused, wondering how a politically correct paper like the Guardian might describe the kinds of boys that I normally went out with. After a few moments of struggling I found the right phrase: ‘Inappropriate guy.’

‘Inappropriate?’ Lawrence seemed a little shocked. ‘In what way?’

I tutted under my breath. This was the problem with political correction: no one knew what anyone meant. ’What I am trying to say is that I used to go out with ... how shall I put it ... the wrong kind of guy.’

‘As in...’

‘Well you know,’ I shrugged. ‘The wrong kind like...’

‘Like what? Aliens? Farm animals? Boys called Jeff? Be more specific.’

‘OK,’I finally said. ‘I mean... model... actor... and glamour boys... and various former members of the cast of Academic Fantasia ... money boys and... numerous ex-boyfriends of frequent visitor of Frangipani, pretty much any kind of boy who considers underwear as suitable outwear in which to go clubbing.’ I winced as I look in Lawrence horrified face.

‘Did you leave anyone out?’

‘No, that is pretty much everything.’

Lawrence took a long sip from his wine glass. ‘So are you saying that you used to date quite a few boys like that?’

‘No,’ I replied. ’What I am saying is that I only ever dated boys like that.’

‘Am I right in thinking that you’re interested in me because it might be time to stop dating boys like that?’

‘Look,’ I began. ’It’s complicated. All I know is that I am done with that world.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I just know.’ An image of the French boy flashing in my head.

‘Am I supposed to be impressed by this news?’ He said, fluttering his eyes in a comically coquettish fashion. ‘Oh, the gorgeous and mighty George is no longer interested in boys who wear underwear as outwear so now brainy boy with glasses stand a chance!’

‘No,’ I said curtly. ’I am just saying that I am done dating the wrong kind of boys. I am only interested in the right kind.’

‘And they would be what exactly?’

‘Boys you can have a conversations with and who will laugh at my jokes: boys who can walk past a mirror without looking into it and aren’t always worrying about their hairs: boys who your mates like and your mum will think make you a better person: in short the right kind of boy would be a lot like you... but obviously not you because as you’ve been at pains to points out ever since we met. ‘I am not your type.’

And yes, am still not his type of guy...

Till then, Good nite

Being rejected and rejecting.....

It was half past seven on Sunday night of the following day and I was standing in Twenty One Kitchen and Bar @ BSC looking around for a men in black polo T’shirt with short hair.

The name of short hair black polo T’shirt object of my investigations was Tan Kar Soon, a thirty six year-old lawyer who was originally from Penang but now apparently lived in Damansara Perdana. I (since my rejection from Lawrence had let my friends know that I was now very much back on my pursuit of the-right-kind-of-boy!) had been put in touch with Kar Soon via my friends Peter early yesterday and after much toing and froing via my intermediaries I had agreed upon a date.

At five minutes to eight, just as I was beginning to wonder whether Peter had been playing some kind of elaborate joke on me, the door to the bar opened and I looked up to see a young men in a black polo T’shirt enter the room, scan the bar with one quick look and rest his gaze on me. I let out an audible sigh.

Even from a distance I could see that this young man with his short hair and tight jeans was in no way, shape or form going to make it as a replacement Lawrence but I would have to give him a go.

‘You must be George.’ He said quickly. ‘You look just like the photo Peter’s emailed. Sorry I am late. I know Peter said half past seven and I always hate it when other people are late but I was just leaving my flat when the phone rang and I knew it would be my friend Jason phoning to wish me a good luck for my date with you tonight and if I didn’t take it he would spend the whole night calling to make sure thing were going ok!’

‘It’s fine,’ I said, slightly taken aback by this sudden gush of nervous chat. ‘It’s really fine. Can I get you a drink?’

‘A gin and tonic would be great.’

‘Boodies? Bombay? Beefester? Gordon? Or Tanqueray?

Kar Soon looked confused.

‘They’re gin.’ I explained.

Kar Soon looked embarrassed as though I had caught him out, which hadn’t been my intention at all.

‘Oh, I forgot, you in the F & B industry. Just gin gin will do for me is that ok?’

‘Of course,’ I smiled. ‘One just gin gin and tonic coming up.’

Returning to the table with our drinks, I proceeded to ask lots of leading questions in a bid to show Kar Soon that I was both interested in him and his responses and in between I tried my best to be as charming and as entertaining as I could manage. But no matter how hard I tried, I found it impossible to get into the right frame of mind. For all my efforts, once again there was just no spark. No magic. Not a single indicator to alter my initial response the moment I clapped eyes on him that he was ‘a nice guy but so not for me.’

As I headed up to the bar to get Kar Soon another gin gin and tonic and wondered how I was going to make it to the end of the night, given that it was only nine o’clock and they had already scraped the bottom of the barrel to such an extent that the current topic of conversation was rumours of the ‘bersih rally’ that will take place in the city in two week times, my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the numbers, I didn’t recognize because of the dual hazards of irate ex-boyfriends and cold callers, but such was the failure of this evening that I would gladly have welcomed the distractions of either.

‘George speaking.’

‘Hi, George, it’s me, Lawrence.’ I almost dropped the phone but quickly regained my composure. ‘How are you?’

‘I am good thanks.’ A bunch of lads in the bar cheered in the background. ‘Where are you? It’s very noisy.’

‘Nowhere exciting,’ I said, wishing that he’d called me a few hours earlier when I had been in a location that made it sound less like I was having the time of my life. ‘Just out for a drink with a mate,’

‘Well I’ve been thinking about our meeting yesterday and I feel bad and I was wondering if you mean what you said about us being friends?’

‘And you’re not just saying that as a ploy in the hope that something will happen between us later?’

I was about to respond but stopped myself at the last minutes. Maybe this was a trick question to see if I really had changed. The old me would have strenuously denied any ulterior motive just to get what I wanted. The new me therefore had to tell the truth even if it hurt.

‘Look,’ I began. ‘I can’t deny that I still like you but if you want us just be mates then I am sure I can learn to live with that.’

‘And it’s not like there aren’t literally thousands of better-looking boys to distract you in the meantime.’

‘I thought you said you’d forgiven me?’

‘I am just teasing you. George! And as weird as it is to be the current object of your affections – let’s not forget that at school you used to called me four eyes Lawrence – I am convinced the weirdness will wear off soon leaving behind what I hope will be a half-decent friendship.’

‘So you want to be friends?’

‘Yes, I do. And as our first act of friendship I think we should do something special.’

‘Great! Well, a mate of mine is throwing a party to celebrate the opening of his new bar in Changkat Bukit Bintang. We could go there if you like?’

‘No’ he said firmly. ‘No bars, no clubs and no fancy restaurants.’

‘So what do you want to do then?’

‘I was wondering if you were free on Wednesday evening?’

‘To do what?’

‘Can’t tell you. It’s a secret.’

‘What kind of secret?’

‘If I told you that it wouldn’t be a secret, would it?’

‘Fine’ I said, I was so thrilled at the prospect of seeing him again that I could have revealed they were going seal-clubbing and I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid. ‘You name the time and the place and I’ll be there.’

‘Great.’ He said. ‘Why don’t I pick you outside your condo at half past four?’

‘Sounds great to me,’

‘Good... oh, and George? You should dress as though you were going to be undertaking some kind of exercise.’

‘Exercise?’

‘Yes.’ He laughed. ‘Exercise.’

When I finally got back to the table with our drinks. Kar Soon had gone..

The table had turn the other way...

There's honestly no need for symbolic bread-based gestures...

It was quarter past eleven on sunny Saturday morning and I had been spending the best part of thirty minutes sitting at the parking space just next the lobby of my condo’s facing the newsagent’s like a detective. Suddenly, I felt that there is no option but to abandon my plan, going home and give serious consideration of my future and had a solid proof that Lawrence had ruined my life forever.

The reason is, I believed this were simple: My night with the gorgeous French boy less than a week earlier had been an unmitigated disaster. Arriving in the early hours at the hotel he was staying in the city, I had allowed him to lead me to his bed utterly convinced that this amazing boy with his gorgeous look and body would blot out everything from my doomed pursuit of the-right-kind-of-boy through. But half an hour later, as the French boy quietly at my side, I knew two things for sure: I no longer had the will or the inclination to lead this type of life and I missed Lawrence more than ever.

I start to hatch a plan: on the following Saturday morning I would get up as early as humanly possible, stake out the newsagent’s where I had first met Lawrence and attempt to engineer an accidental meeting and then... I didn’t know what exactly would happen after that. But Lawrence made me want to be a better person and that meant more to me than anything else in the world.

Waiting until he had walked past and into the shop, I leaped out myself and avoiding being seen, I walked straight into the newsagent’s, picked up the Star newspaper and made my way to the cashier at which there was a four person-long queue. Lawrence’s in number two and a balding guy with grey hair was number three. I tried to work out what my next move should be: the most straight forward thing would be to say hello to him on the spot but that would have given the lie to the casual nature of everything I was trying to engineer. No he would have to discover me himself... or even better we would discover each other at the same time... and everything else would follow naturally. I took a deep breath, the queue was getting shorter. Lawrence was second from the front. The woman in front of him paid for her shopping. Lawrence was next. From behind the grey hair guy, I could just about to see him handling over the money for the paper. I prepared my face for our encounter: a casual smile and raised eyebrows of surprise (but not too raised).

Lawrence turned away from, his eyes fixed on the headlines of his newspaper. I wanted to yell: ‘Look up! Look up and see me!’ but remained in mute despair as he walked past me and out of the shop. I couldn’t believe it. All those hours spent in a lobby and my mission was about to be thwarted by an absorbing headline! This is wrong, so wrong that it hurt. I looked at the headline, something to do with the number of people estimated to have died in a war on the other side of the world. I shook my head in disbelief. Why give a toss about people dying in a war halfway across the globe when none of it was affecting him? It wasn’t as if there was anything he could do about it. Why couldn’t he just be like normal people who wanted to read stuff about celebrities. I watched him walk down the road.

My heart could not have felt any heavier. I handed the cashier a dollar and fifty for my Star newspaper, and turned to walk away. Only I couldn’t. Lawrence was blocking my exit holding his newspaper and brandishing a loaf of wholemeal bread that he had clearly forgotten the first time. He glanced up and saw me. He looked both shocked and surprised.

‘George! How are you? Were you here all the time? I didn’t even see you standing there!’

‘I was... er... just getting my newspaper.’ I waved the newspaper in the air. ‘So how have you been? Are you well?’

‘I am good actually.’ He replied. ‘Work had been a bit busy but that’s fine. How about yourself? Everything OK with work?’

‘Work is great’. I replied.

There was a long pause and I wondered whether this going to be the end of the conversation. Then, ‘I got your card.’ He said quietly. ‘It was really nice of you to send it. I am actually quite fond of Rothko.’

‘It was nothing.’ I said. I thought about saying something more in reference to the card’s message but then thought better of it and make a joke instead. ‘Truth is you came pretty close to getting a card with a cartoon of Garfield.’

He laughed. ‘Now that would have been really strange because the only thing I like more than Rothko is a nice Garfield cartoon!’

Once again the conversation seemed to be drawing to close. I looked at the bread in Lawrence’s hands. An idea popped into my head and I decided to let it run free. ‘Can I pay for that?’

Lawrence looked confused. ‘What? The bread? Why would you do that?’

‘Think of it as a small act of penance on my part. Think of this loaf of...’ I paused to read the label, ‘Gardenia chocolate raisin’ as our bread of peace. My way of apologizing for several years of teasing at school and for any other misdemeanours that might have taken place since.’

‘Really.’ Smiled Lawrence. ‘There’s no need for symbolic bread-based gesture. You can consider yourself absolved.’

‘Really?’

I decided it was time to seize the moments. ‘Well in that case I was sort of wondering if you’d like to go out sometime?’

The look on Lawrence’s face (acute embarrassment set off with a heavy frown) said it all but just to drive the point home he added. ‘I appreciated the thought, I really do, George, but if I am being truthful I don’t think that would be a great idea.’

‘I mean as friends.’ I said quickly as I recalled the fact that I remained officially ‘not his type’. You know, mates who hang out together and that sort of thing.’

‘Still not a great idea.’ Lawrence shook his head in a regretful manner that made me feel thoroughly dejected.

I wanted to be somewhere else as quickly as possible and yet couldn’t leave until a decent amount of time had passed in case he jumped to the conclusion that I had taken offence at being rebuffed.

I counted to ten as quickly as I could and said: ‘So I suppose I’ll see you around then?’
‘And more likely than not it’ll be in here.’ With a half nod and an awkward smile in my direction, he walked past me to the cashier to make his purchase...

What’s wrong with me here..?

'Sorry...'

It was the following morning and I had been lying in bed for a good half-hour before I gave up and accepted that despite of extreme tiredness I was unlikely to get back to sleep any time soon.

As I listened to the clanging sound of David's (my flat-mate from hell) searching around in the pan cupboard, no doubt looking for a frying pan for his regulation fried breakfast. I glanced over at the luminous red display of my digital alarm clock.

I decided to head into Bangsar and treat myself to something new and expensive that I didn’t need it. I picked up yesterday clothes that were lying on the floor at the foot of the bed and put them on, shoved my feet into my trainers and went to living room. Fausing to glance in the direction of the kitchen where my flat-mate continued his banging and clanking, I made my way out of the front door and closed it quietly behind me.

I haven’t speak a single word to my flat-mate since the previous evening. Passing each other in the hallway, in the kitchen or outside the bathroom 'our' preferred method of communication appeared to be what was known as ‘glower’ (brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, mouth set in a permanent scowl) which could variously be interpreted as ‘Just stay away from me.’ ‘You have let me down badly.’ Or ‘I am so annoyed that I can barely look at you,’ depending upon who was doing the scowling and the degree of facial manipulation that was occurring (I was damn piss off to see the living room was upside down while they had a 3sum at that late evening when I opened the door from work). This being the case I had opted simply to stay out from my flat-mate’s way (at least for today).

I headed to Bangsar Village II and spent a good hour or so wondering in and out of shops picking up anything that look that I fancy from new jeans and trainers to designer watch.

From there, I made my way to La Bodega but as I passed the bookshop, I found myself going inside. I couldn’t remember the last time I had bought so much as a birthday card so what I were doing in the shop was a mystery but eventually as I browsed the aisles I was drawn to the blank greeting card section. There were cards of every description from arty-looking black and white pictures through to ones adorned with the faces of celebrities but the only type that interested me were reproductions of various artistic pieces. I selected a Rothko print entitled ‘While over Red’, picked up a pack of biros and took them to the till to pay for my purchases.

I changed my mind about La Bodega and doubled back to myself until I reached to Starbuck's where I bought my normal double espresso (together with an impulse purchase of a blueberry muffin) and then sat down at a table towards the rear of the shop. I took out the card from its paper bag, ripped open the cellophane, opened my new pack of pens and contemplated the open page in front of me. I took a bite of blueberry muffin, chewed, then finally committed pen to paper:

‘Sorry’

I tried to imagine what Lawrence might feel when he read it. Would he like the card? Would he like the fact that it contained only a single word? Would he even know what I was sorry about? I wasn’t sure but I needed to do it. Not because I was going to try and win him back (I was pretty sure that Peter was right that it was unlikely he was going to change his mind) but because I felt, for reason I couldn’t quite pinpoint, that it was the right thing to do.

Ten minutes later, having drunk my coffee, consumed my muffin and sealed my card in an envelope, I checked my phone for Lawrence's address, scribbled it on the card and headed in the direction of the nearest post box.

With all that happened in recent weeks. I hadn’t given the ‘gay life’ (more to sex life) a great deal of thought. Now, however, that a young cutie boy was making it clear that he was interested, he decided now was the time to give it a great deal of thought. The main question on me is: my mind was testing whether Peter had been right in his suggestion that I should stick to what I was good at: being a single.

I was indeed good at being a single. Of all the single gay men I knew, I was one of the best. No one (at least no one had complaint about my performance in bed) could out me. I was the James Bond of ‘singledom’ and there were guys in the bar who would have lopped off a limb to be him for a single night. But was that enough? Enough to make a life that wasn’t completely devoid of all meaning? I decided to find out!

Making my way across the Frangipani bar, I engaged the boy, who turned to be French (or possibly Danish, I wasn’t quite sure because I had been too busy looking at his chest and tummy to pay attention to what he was saying) in conversation.

Refocusing my mind from his chest to his lips, I learned he had come to KL to see some of his university friends and this was his last night in town before heading back home, so he was desperate for the night to be as memorable as possible.

Clicking straight into ‘George-the-pull-autopilot’ within fifteen effortless minutes I had my arm round his solid waist, a beer in my hand and a big grin on my face that might as well have been a flashing neon sign announcing: ‘Here I am, a forty-eight-year-old single man with my arm round the kind of boy most mortals could only dream of.’ If there was a heaven for single men, this was it.

This was cool of the shaken but not stirred variety. This really was the best a man could get!

Did you get it my friend?

I've just got stuff on my mind that's all

It was twenty minutes past midday as I walked into the front bar of the La Bodega @ Bangsar’s Telawi, and spotted Peter. I waved in Peter’s direction to see if he was all right for a drink but he seemed to be lost in a world of his own so I ordered myself a pint of Heineken and made my way over to Peter’s table.

‘All right?’ I asked, taking a seat opposite him.

‘Yeah, fine.’ He replied, who patently wasn’t. ‘You?’

I laughed. ‘As good as I can be.’

I leaned in towards my friend in a conspiratorial fashion. ‘What I am going to tell you goes no further, agreed?’

Barely able to contain his mirth Peter nodded frantically.

‘OK, so I went out on a couple of dates with a number of, you know, ordinary boys and they were lovely and all that but there was no spark.’

‘No spark?’ chuckled Peter. ‘Oh, mate, this is pure comedy gold! My man-eater-killer friend on spark-free dates with a long line of librarians! What I would have given to have been a fly on the wall!’

‘Look, you can mock me all you like, but this is my love life we’re talking about which some of my followers would consider sacrosanct, so be more respectful before I slap you!’

‘Fine.’ Said Peter. ‘No more jokes.’

‘So as I was saying I had these dates and there was no spark and I was on the edge of giving up when I met this boy... well actually you might even remember him as he was in my year at school, Lawrence Teoh?’

Peter shrugged, ‘Name rings a bell.’

‘Anyway, he was lovely in a cute kind of way but definitely not my usual type and so I decided to give him a chance and took him out for a coffee and well... he pretty much blew me away. He was smart, funny, intelligent and really good to talk to.’

‘And what happened?’

I shrugged. ‘I called him up for a date and he turned me down because –get this-apparently I wasn’t his type! Now that’s weird, right? How could he not like me?’

‘Are you joking?’

‘What? Are you going to give me some line about men all being different and how they’re not all into good looks and charm?’

‘Can you even hear yourself? You’re like ego on legs!’

‘That would be the case if it wasn’t true but I am afraid it is. I am like a bloke version of Harry Connick Jr and what gay man would turn down Harry Connick Jr?’

‘Me for starters.’ Laughed Peter. ‘He’s definitely not my type, way too tall.’

‘You’re telling me that if you weren’t with Daniel, and you were single and you hadn’t had a date with a men in like... six months and then one day you open the front door and Harry Connick Jr is standing there with that face, and those eyes of him, and he says: ‘Peter, how about it?’ you’d turn him down on the grounds that he’s “not your type”?’

‘Well put like that...’

‘Exactly,’ I replied. ‘I am putting it like that because it’s an undisputed fact that Harry Connick Jr is every gay men type (especially me!). Now given that in the original scenario we were discussing I was a bloke version of Harry Connick Jr why would any gay men in his right mind turn me down?’

‘But gay men are different,’ sighed Peter. ‘It’s not always about looks with them. Some of them are a bit deeper. Some of them go for the stuff that you can’t see and might actually be put off by the stuff that you can.’

‘So what can I do about it?’

‘Nothing, he’s blown you out, mate. That ship has sailed.’

‘You think I ought to forget him?’

‘Mate, all this is weirding me out much it’s untrue. But if you really want my advice – and why you’d want it I have no idea – I’d say forget all this right kind of men stuff and go back to what you do best.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Being a single. Believe me, mate, nobody does it better than you.’

Do you believe this?

Should I just listen to myself?

Even though my eyes were on my big screen TV for Renee Fleming's Concert, but my mind were thinking about Lawrence.

It had been nearly a week since Lawrence had allowed me to take him for a coffee after our encounter in our local newsagent’s and yet he’s still very much in my mind. I frequently found myself thinking generally about what he might be doing or saying at any particular moments: occasionally these thoughts were tempered by cogitations on what he might be wearing when he was saying or doing the various things that I imagined. This evening however I had excelled myself and was debating what he might be thinking about when he was wearing what he imagined he was wearing when he was saying or doing the various things that I imagined he might be doing or saying. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt this way about a boy. Admittedly I had been keen on boy before but in a more acquisitive way, not in this precise manner where I felt breathless and giddy about them, willingly allowing them to occupy various corners of my mind when they weren’t actually there standing in front of me.

How good had our ‘coffee date’ been? Amazing. Initially we talked about our various jobs but then the conversation had fitted ‘this way’ and that from school days to current affairs and from current affairs through to the current plight of our city (which was a surprise) but for me, the real thing, is the real moments, the tipping points at which this ceased to be a battle to make a theoretical change of heart and when I actually thought seriously about kissing Lawrence in the way that I might have kissed a hot-looking boy in a very tight t’shirt, was when he told me he really had to go and I realized we had been talking for an hour and that Lawrence possessed something I had never encountered before in a date prior to this moment: a personality. From that moment forward I was officially smitten.

Groaning at the thought that I was suffering from an overdose of oestrogen. I decided to take action. Reasoning that even the right-kind-of-boys observed the ‘wait three days before re-establishing contact’ rule. I had opted to add an extra couple of days into the mix just to make it clear that I was a busy man with busy life, and now there was nothing stopping me from making the call.

I dialed Lawrence’s number and waited. Lawrence’s phone rang out for half minute or so before clicking on to voicemail. I didn’t really do voicemail on the grounds that it was seriously uncool but it would be far less cool for Lawrence to see my number as a missed call and draw the conclusion that I was the sort of person who worried about leaving voicemail messages because they were uncool.

‘Hi Lawrence, it’s me George... you know.. from school days.. you know just in case you know any other George and you’re finding this message confusing. Anyway I just wanted to say that I really enjoyed that coffee the other day and would love to catch up with you again when you’re free sometime. Hope all is good with you. Let’s speak soon. Oh.. do you like tapas? I am pretty sure everyone does. Anyway if you do there’s a new menu at La Bodega in Bangsar Shopping Complex (BSC) that had a great review in the Star newspaper if you fancy that.. and no offence if you’re not a tapas friend.. after all each to their own, right? Anyway .. this is turning into a bit of an epic message... I am worried that this thing is going to run out of space.. Anyway.. whatever.. hopefully I’ll see you soon.. Oh, by the way this is ... was... George... as in George from school. Bye.’

As I pressed the end call button on my phone and placed it carefully on the table I pushed my chair back to make space for myself to get down on my knees, curl up into a ball and with fists clenched let out a loud groan that was sixty per cent pure anguish. How could a universe exist in which a man as impossibly cool as I was could leave an answerphone message of such buttock-clenching awfulness?

Had I entered a parallel universe where the laws or normal human interaction didn’t apply? Didn’t the people of this parallel world know who I was? That I had a plaque on my mantelpiece the inscriptions ‘the second best-looking bloke in Hartamas’? Didn’t they know that I was definitely not kind of bloke who left rambling voicemail messages? What was wrong with this world? And more importantly, what was wrong with me?

I got to be my feel and stared at my phone as thought it might ring at any second. When it didn’t I went to the loo but in the process of washing my hands I imagined that I heard my mobile and rushed to my room with wet hands only to discover that it was just my imagination. As I was about to leave the room for something to eat my mobile actually did ring but it turned out to be a cold caller trying to sell me a new insurance policy.

Annoyed and more than a little agitated I went in search of food and once again found myself thinking about Lawrence and what he might be doing/thinking/saying. I created a scenario where Lawrence (little realizing that his life was about to change) was microwaving his evening meal while looking forward to an hour or so of work to fill his empty evenings before setting down for glass of wine or two while he watched repeats of ‘sex and the city’. I imagined the look of delight on his face when he retrieved my message, heard my voice and realized (probably for the first time) that his life was about to change forever.

The phone rang.

Dashing back into the living room I grabbed the phone and looked at the screen. There it was: Lawrence’s name.

‘Lawrence! How are you? I am glad you’ve called back.’

A short pause. ‘Really? Er... thanks.’

So how have you been?’ I asked him, trying to temper my earlier enthusiasm.

‘Good, thanks. How about yourself?’

‘Great.’ I said breezily.

There was a silence.

‘Listen, George... ‘ began Lawrence. ‘It really was lovely to bump into you the other day-‘

‘I know.’ I interrupted. ‘It was really good, wasn’t it?’

‘Still, I think what I am trying to say is that even though it’s always nice to bump into people that you went to school with there’s not always a need to take things further. If you know what I mean.’

‘Further?’

‘Yes, further.’

‘I don’t understand.’ I said. ‘Are you saying that you don’t want to meet up?’

‘That’s exactly what I am saying.’ He replied. ‘I just don’t think it would be a good idea.’

‘Because... you’ve got a boyfriend?’

‘Erm... well no, actually. As it happens I am single but...’

I was incredulous. ‘I don’t get it. You’re saying that you’re single but you don’t want to go out for a drink with me? How does that even make sense?’

‘It wasn’t just me, was it? The two of us did have a moments the other day when we went for coffee, didn’t we?’

There was a long silence. I knew I ought to let this go but I couldn’t. ‘Look, just so that we’re both clean: you do realize that I am asking you out on a date?’

‘Oh, George,’ he sighed. ‘Do we really have to do this?’

‘Yes.’ I replied. ‘Yes we do. Because I’ve got a terrible feeling that you’ve not fully grasped the fact that I am asking you out.’

‘Will you listen to yourself? Anyone would think that you’ve never been turned down for a date the way you’re acting. But as clarity seems to be something of as issue for you: one, no we did not have a moment the other day: two, I only agreed to have a coffee with you because I thought it was the easiest way to get rid of you: three, you seem to have forgotten the small fact that you made my life hell when we were at school: and four, even if points one, two and three weren’t true I still wouldn’t go out with you because one thing that was abundantly clear in the short time that I spent with you in the newsagent’s and talking over badly made, overpriced coffee, is this: you, George, are completely and utterly thee wrong-kind-of-guy for me.

Ouch.............!

That make me had sleepless nite....

Till then