Dog Meat

So the footballer obsession I had was fed.

It was as though I had some dog meat. (Again, my penchant for irony and my knack for witty puns really impress me) Dog Meat – you know, somewhat unattainable, somewhat utterly available. Some sort of a need-to-try delicacy, yet also a feast befitting of a callous Neanderthal. Some of you may scowl in disgust, yet under that grimace, you wonder, is it like beef + chicken, or like pork + mutton? Of course, you may never care about it enough to entertain the thought, yet when presented with the odd chance to try it out… you would – just so you can say with a brush of your hair and half-closed eyes, while lighting a cigarette, in complete nonchalance, “dog meat? Sure I have tasted it. yes... it’s daring of me... but no, it’s no big deal, really.”

Question is: Would I try it again?

Rumours, urban legends and some taxi drivers claim, that once you’ve had some dog meat, when a dog so much as walks by you…… it knows. Some recoil in fear because they smell the barbaric air you breathe – while others find your rotten air of cold death slightly nauseating, slightly dominant, but unreservedly provocative. These dogs want a taste of you – whether it is for revenge sake, for self-gratification, or for a forbidden taste of power – we’d never know.

I just know they do because shortly after…

***In a work environment***

Sounds of typing keyboards, soft chatter, msn chat pop-ups, phone rings, facsimiles and coffee machine… My female colleague ShortSkirt says:

ShortSkirt: eh, what are you doing after work? Got 2 hours to spare? Need your presence at a meeting.

Me: is this official? Send me an email.

ShortSkirt: It is for work, but we can’t pay.

Me: do I look like a child prostitute or Mother Theresa to you…?

ShortSkirt: *ignoring my rudeness* You are so gonna thank me! I’m interviewing two guys who are sooo your type. Come and help me give them a hard time. PLEEEEASSSE… YOUR GORGEOUSNESSS.

Me: aiya. Hate it when you do that. Can never say no to you. What time and where?

***after work***

I enter the meeting room and I see ShortSkirt (with more make-up on than usual) and a BigGuy and a SmallGuy. BigGuy was big. Firm handshake. Nice smile. Sexy. Evil. Rough. SmallGuy was small. Handshake and a kiss. Cheeky grin. Cute. Harmless. Needy. Both are local football somebodies. With an air of indifference, I say

Me: hello celebrities…

ShortSkirt: *giggle*

SmallGuy: Please don’t call us that

BigGuy: Hello.

BigGuy 1 0 SmallGuy

Me: So, let’s proceed…!
ShortSkirt: blah blah blah
Me: blah blah blah
SmallGuy: blah blah blah
BigGuy: *silent. Looks intently at me*
ShortSkirt: blah blah blah
Me: blah blah blah
SmallGuy: blah blah blah
BigGuy: *silent. Looks intently at me*

*Finally…

BigGuy: *to me. Completely ignoring ShortSkirt* I’ve seen you somewhere before…. Now WHERE have I seen you?!?!

ShortSkirt: maybe…

BigGuy: *with a wave of the hand* shuddup, I’m trying to think. Think it’s some trashy, disgusting, men’s magazine.

*all laugh*

Me: very funny. I’ve never seen you before tho. And they say you’re a celebrity. What a con-man.

BigGuy: what can I say, the cab I took here, the taxi driver didn’t take my money! Sigh. It’s fame. I gotta try not to be so famous sometimes.

SmallGuy and ShortSkirt both try to say something

Me: *calmly* Maybe cos you were holding on to your money too tight.

BigGuy: Eh, Chinese woman, pls don’t make racist comments.

Me: What you gonna do? Get drunk and beat me up?

BigGuy: No… I’ll just rape your sister.

Me: OR Your own, by default.

SmallGuy and ShortSkirt look a little frightened.

BigGuy and I erupt into peals of laughter.

BigGuy 2 0 SmallGuy

***

BigGuy: Go for drinks?

Me: sure.

ShortSkirt: sure.

SmallGuy: ok. We both drove. So you (points to me) take my car and you (points to ShortSkirt) take BigGuy’s car?

BigGuy: No. This chilli padi should take my car. Cos you don’t take spicy food.

BigGuy 3 0 SmallGuy

At this point, if any of you feel sorry for ShortSkirt, please don’t be. She attracts her own brand of men. It’s just that today, these two just drove up my alley and right into me. She totally understands. So you should too.

***drinks after drinks after drinks later***

For some reason, at this point, BigGuy already has his hands on my waist. The crowd in the room has changed three times over. ShortSkirt has left, more friends have arrived, SmallGuy is busy buying everyone drinks and getting everybody a glass of champagne, and BigGuy was busy talking to my chest. I was leaning into him on purpose whenever possible, laughing at his jokes, making fun of everything he said or did, and basically, teasing him endlessly, I even did the occasional eye contact and the mandatory touching of his arm and cheek – like how Cosmo teaches. And lo and behold, I run into an old friend. He’s a bit of a shit-stirrer and a mahjong kaki, but still very much loved by me.

Old Friend: Hey you! How’ve you been?

Me: Good good! And you?

Old Friend: Good la. Still getting some. So not complaining. You? *he looks at BigGuy then says*, into footballs now, no more regular balls?

Me: haha. No la.

Old Friend: Be careful ya? He’s married you know.

Like someone choking on tofu

- I sure didn’t expect there to be a bone.

What the fuck.

How dare he be so audacious? Or did I ask for it? Did I egg him on? Am I fat? Is that girl my secondary school friend? Was I acting easy? Did I turn off the gas at home? Am I the Home-Wrecker type of girl? Is it my mannerisms? Does my dress say “Come all ye married?” Am I only fling-worthy? Do I look like a Weekend Blockbuster special? Have I paid my credit card bill? OMG! Do I know his wife? Did the bartender just wink at me? Shit. Shit. Shit.

Then again. Men are dogs. He’s an arsehole. How should I dispose of his body? He’s the one coming on to me. He’s obviously desperate for some outside food. He obviously FORGOT to mention it. Should I torch him? Should I perm my eye lashes? He obviously also didn’t wear a wedding band. He obviously is trying to get into my pants. Can I just find out if he’s a good kisser at least? He’s a world class dick!

I will not let him have me. I will not let him win. I need to pee.

See! A woman, despite consuming copious amounts of vodka, still can be very rational.

Night’s over. He insists on sending me home. I say no need, he say need. So next thing I knew, we were back in his car on his way to mine. He pulled up and said he needed to pee. I made no comment. He asks “Can I come upstairs? Need to pee.” And I was thinking to myself this guy is lame. After that conversation with Old Friend, I saw nothing sexy in BigGuy anymore. I saw a DOG. An ugly, drooling, pathetic, Rottweiler of a dog. Upstairs, he take a leak, checks out my place and sits down at the sofa with me. I gave him a courtesy glass of water. He says thanks. He says nice place you have. And he tries to kiss me. I push him away, and he comes on to me again. – like a dog – I push him away and after 3 pushes, I say: Go home and kiss your wife.

BigGuy: Hey, don’t say that.

Me: Why not?

BigGuy: Anyway, how did you know?

Me: You swine.

BigGuy: No, really, SmallGuy told you?

Me: Look, it doesn’t matter, just finish your drink and go.

BigGuy: Hey, let’s keep this separate, please. You look like you want to have a great time, and so do i. so, no commitments, alright?

Me: Sorry, not my thing

BigGuy: Come on… *he kisses my neck and my body goes weak* I’ve been thinking about fucking you the whole night.

Me: unghh… please stop. It’s really not right.

BigGuy: hey, you know you want some.

Me: no I don’t. please stop…

BigGuy: See what you’ve done? Just let me fuck you.

Me: no.

BigGuy: You’re such a cocktease.

I stood up. My top was nearly thrown over my shoulders and my skirt was halfway down my hips. To be honest, I really really wanted some. Every time he said the word fuck, I wanted to sit on him. I wanted to have him in my hands and I wanted to live for the moment a little. Halfway through thinking how horny I was, I figured I looked a little silly with my half peeled clothes. So, I took my top off. At that, he sat back and smiled. So I leaned forward, and slipped the skirt down to my ankles, and kicked it off. He sat up and smiled even more, chuckling to himself a little, not believing his luck. I put my hands to the back, and paused a long pause… I smiled at him, and he smiled back…. And ‘pop’ the bra went. We were both quiet for what felt like 5 aching minutes… and I did what was necessary to be fully undressed. And there I was, standing, full monty, in front of a man, clearly driven to the brink of madness. And I wanted it so so bad!

And then I did it.

I chased him out.

With a raging hard-on.

Yes! I think his last words were, “you fucking bitch, you can’t make me leave looking like that?!” And mine were “yes.i.can”.

Haha.

I had dog meat. I even ate the bones. Why would I do something so cruel again? Besides, this dog had an owner. Bitch’s Honour, though non-existent, must start somewhere.

The Football Diaries

There was a time... a time
when man played mahjong, and the woman watched,
when man asked for a hand-job, and a blow-job he got.
when man played Sunday sports, and the woman thought he was god,
when man wielded the remote control and the woman's slot.

I was a woman of that time.

Dating a male-chauvinist, football-betting, car-loving, wrestling-watching, mahjong-playing, Hokkien-speaking, family-doting man for 4 years didn’t turn out to be an unbelievable waste of my time, as you would presume this blog entry will be about. Instead, these four years, unbeknownst to me, was life’s way of putting me through the University of Patriarchal Repression, of which I graduated with a double degree in Asian Submission and Women’s Assets Capitalisation – with flying colours. In retrospect, I even did a cross faculty module and earned a minor credit in Male-Banter-Ology.

To think I spent months crying my heart out when it ended.
To think I thought life was over when it’s only lust (I mean just) started.

Today, I live to tell the tale of my life after male domination.

When it hit me, it hit me like the tsunami hit Phuket. With some warning signs, but still totally unexpected. For many, engaging in conversation with random guys after getting out of a long relationship must be like Chewbucca trying to string a sentence. But for me, it was as easy as getting tits on your pc screen.

I was not interested in men anymore. All of them looked to me like Sloth in The Goonies – eager and pathetic. Nothing more than bumbling fools, hungry for love, acceptance, and someone to stroke their dick. I had developed a serious condescension for them, one that was downed with a bitter shot of vodka and pity.

And that seriously drove the men nuts.

One especially. I know so, because he told it to my face. We just met in the pub after a quick introduction by a friend and I didn’t even bother catching his name. (although I did catch a longer than needed view of his face). Minutes later, he walks up to me, in all grown-man casualness and offers me his beer. I declined with a disapproving headshake, the kind my primary 2 form teacher used to give me. And he said:

He: You look angry. Do all men annoy you?
Me: *managing a weak smile* No.
He: Only me then?
Me: *smile getting politely impatient* No. *looks across the bar to display bore*

*awkward silence*

He: *Using his chin to point his attention to a couple at the end of the bar* aren’t they having the most electrifying date?
Me: *laughs appreciatively, then gesturing to a ladyboy who was pulling her moves on a man next to the couple* Watch Out. Man ON!
He: *throws his head back and laughs out loudly* that’s so funny! *shouts across the bar* Balls! Do you see what I see?
Me: oh, looks like it’s going to be a stalemate.
He: Nah… She’s going to score.
Me: A hatrick perhaps? *all laugh*

He: My name’s _______. We met earlier.
Me: Ya, I kn…. OH MY GOD…. Are you who I think you are?
He: *looks skywards cheekily* I am NOT David Beckam.
Me: OH MY GAWD! It’s you!

*** he is a famous local footballer. A bit of a celebrity.

He: Yes. Yes. I see you are friendlier now.
Me: Oh, sorry about earlier, I was a bit out of it. All good now.
He: So, you know your football! Good girl!
Me: Just enough to impress you.
He: You must have a boyfriend. That’s why.
Me: yeah, I did. He taught me lots. For instance, the offside rule.
He: you did? So, that means he’s not here today?
Me: I saw you, so I told him to go home and have a wank.
He: haha. which is his favourite team?
Me: Spurs.
He: That’s a good team. Your favourite team?
Me: Leeds.
He: WHAT?!?! I take it back, you don’t know your football.
Me: Hey, that’s why we broke up. So don’t go there. Ha. Actually, it’s Liverpool. I say Leeds, because Harry Kewell is sooooooo cute lah. Oh, maybe Blackburn then, cos David James is so.goddamn.yummy.
He: *wipes the imaginary drool from my chin, and gives me a first bolt of eye contact stimulation* David James can suck my dick. ha. Kewell, I know him. Do you know he’s Aussie?
Me: Do U know George Michaels is GAY?... *more laughs* He was a KING, until he became QUEEN
He: smart cookie. Come’on, let’s go to my place. *and he took my drink from my hands, put it on the counter, scooped me at the waist and led me out of the bar* watch some football.
Me: *followed him like a lamb following a blade of grass to the slaughterhouse*

Every now and then, women who are witty and acerbic, headstrong and full of scorn need - like lambs - a goddamn skinning.

He got in. didn’t turn on the lights. Neither did he offer me a drink. He just sat on the coffee table, pulled me closer to him by the hips and said, “So, where’s that witty girl gone?” and he lifted up my dress. “Tough cookie, not so tough now, huh?” and he undid his own pants. I pushed at his chest and he took my wrist, and put it behind my back. Every move I had, he countered it with a sexy animalistic aggression. He did as he pleased, ignoring my mini protests and working me at his own pace. When he wanted me to kiss him, he guided me to him by pulling at my neck. When he wanted to stop kissing, he pulled me away and smiled. When he wanted more, he got it. And when I wanted anything, he made me beg for it. I was totally dominated and it felt fucking good. I let that submissive girl in me take over and it was bizarrely arousing. I allowed him to dictate the flow and it felt strangely empowering. It was mind-blowing and I was the one on my hands and knees causing it. “Sit here… Show me… keep going… good girl” was all he needed to say, and I’d shoot him a defiant look, only to be contradicted by my actions that complied with his instructions. He was the alpha-male and I was riding him. The irony amused me. And my lack of power stimulated me. He wouldn’t let me say no. Well, even though I did, he paid no attention. He was an animal and I was his prey. Like a lamb to a wolf, I was food and he was exacting his right. I could run, but he would win. We were just letting nature take over.

One by the master, one for the slave, and one for the road, by the errant knave.
I enjoyed myself 3 bags full.

And alas, after what must be 3 hours, we were lying down on our backs with a pant of finality – smiling from ear to ear.

He: You know what I like about you?
Me: My flat nose.
He: ha. That too.

He: You’re the kinda girl who thinks you got it all, all men are wrapped around your finger… every guy wants to get into your pants….
Me: Hey, that’s not…
He: And you are. You are.
Me: Wow. Thanks.
He: you’re not from Singapore.
Me: I am!
He: I mean, you’re not like a typical one.
Me: Oh, I see, you have slept with enough to make a random sampling of the population?
He: ha. I like you. You talk like a man. but you kiss like a girl.
Me: that’s cos I AM a girl.
He: I saw you tonight, and I knew I had to fuck you.
Me: what?!
He: So glad I did. *laughs to himself*
Me: hang on, let me check footballer off my list.
He: aw… that’s mean.
Me: you should really stop relying on your stardom to get laid. Over-rated
He: *tickles me*
Me: why do guys do that when they don’t have a comeback?
He: *tickles me again*
Me: it’s ok. Brute strength got you this far.
He: your nasty mouth should eat this…

It went on for another 2 hours… these footballers have so much stamina, and I have so much to give.

***This entry would like to thank my ex-boyfriend for his contribution. For without that 4 years of football trivia training, the author might have never had such a crazy night with a football star.