Scrumptious McVet

We went to Frangipani the Friday night before last.

As I boarded the car, McVet handed two mooncakes to me.

I finished the mooncakes the following day.

I felt deeply touched while I was eating them. And I was truly happy.

I was on call during the Mid-Autumn Festival this year. And I hadn't had the time to go buy mooncakes as I was busy preparing for my viva exam.

And right after the festival, no one selling it anymore, apparently. Maybe, I don't know KL well enough to look for them. Was really disappointed and down. I've always been a fan of mooncakes. Ever since I was a kid. And I was thought it's extremely pathetic if one doesn't get to eat mooncakes during the festival.

The only mooncakes I'd eaten this year were from McVet.

How can you not fall for a guy, when he knows exactly what you want and desire?

Of course, I'm not falling for McVet. :) I mean I'm not supposed to. Because it ain't right, morally speaking.

It's my honour to meet you, McVet.

My type

I don't remember attaching pictures of anything humanoid in my previous blog entries. Maybe, this is a good start. 

They're just random guys on Facebook that I find toppish and sexually appealing. They're merely strangers whom I have mutual friends with. Sometimes, it amazes me how on earth my friends get to know these breathtakingly handsome and gorgeous men.

Gay men who look toppish are to die for. Sometimes ( I repeat, sometimes), I can have an erection just by ogling at them on the streets. If the situation allows, I'd even subconsciously walk in a direction that enables enable me to draw freaking near to the target that captivates me at that particular moment.

Whenever someone asks me what the criteria my ideal dating partner should have, I'd just say it's fine, as long as he's top, masculine, doesn't smoke, isn't fat and equipped with a modicum of intelligence. I know, I know. I'm such a hypocrite. Meanwhile, I'm just being realistic, knowing that certain things that I hanker for are just reveries that will never come to fruition. There's only so much you can expect when you aren't a looker yourself. In the love game, certain rules are unspoken and tacit. Love is blind, perhaps only in fairy tales.

In order to make myself sound less shallow and desperate, I have to emphasize here that physical appearance isn't all that matters. After all, beauty is only skin deep.  But, let's not go into that now.

Lastly, if any of the pictures above belong to you, sorry. The reason I published them here is because you look gorgeous (in my opinion). If you want it to be removed, please do let me know.

The guy at the pool

You emerged in front of me out of nowhere.

I must have been stunned for what felt like an eternity. Strangely, I could feel some sort of serenity within me. The deafening whistling of the lifeguard, the sloshing of the water and the boisterous chatter of the kids were suddenly diminished to an unintelligible distant whisper.

There you were, standing in front of me, drying your body in a sexually provocative manner with a piece of towel. My heart melted like the butter under the afternoon sun. You're smoldering hot. The water trickling down your hair and chest rendered you even more startlingly handsome. 

I was totally captivated by your charm and your manliness. As we made our way to the changing room, I stole numerous covert glances at you, especially your dimples of Venus. My friends were talking to me. But, I was merely mechanically responding to them. You'd stolen my soul the moment I saw you.

When I was about to leave, I noticed you're still in the changing room, half-naked. Hence, I chose to sit on the bench in the room with the ostensible purpose of waiting for my friends who're still having their shower. However, my real goal was to allow myself to admire your beauty for a few more minutes, after which we'd part with each other and probably never meet again.

Suddenly, I could feel my heart cease to beat. Literally.

That was when you turned to a corner and removed the towel around your waist without a tinge of disinhibition, generously revealing your gluteal region. To be honest, I totally didn't see this coming. 

You're completely nude. I wondered if you really had to do this to torture me just to drive home the point that you're hot. I could feel lust incinerating me from the inside. Without any hesitation, I stood up and waltzed nonchalantly to a strategic spot where I could satisfy the relentless urge to obtain a full-frontal view of you while thousands of dirty thoughts germinated in my hopelessly corrupted mind.

I thought the number of examinations of the male genitalia I'd performed would have numbed me to lewd sights such as that of your succulent ass. Obviously, I was wrong. I guess this is somewhat analogous to my persistent craving for porn despite the fact that the climax and the ending are invariably the same.

Disappointingly, I didn't succeed. You'd already put your pants on before I could achieve my goal. And my friends were already beckoning to me, signalling that it's time to leave.

I looked at you for one last time, and left. At that particular moment, I wondered if you'd noticed me. I wondered if we'd ever meet again. I wondered if I'd ever recall the trepidation and palpitation I experienced. I wondered if I would, many years from now, still remember you - the tall, lanky guy at the pool who reminded me that it's okay to be superficial once in a while.

A fire

We were walking out of the mall after watching Bruce Lee, My Brother, only to notice that the town was shrouded in smoke.

It didn't take us much time to locate its source. A fire broke out in a nearby shophouse.

It's pretty terrifying to see the enormous plumes of smoke billowing from the windows, blurring the night sky partially. And the horrendous tongues of fire that looked as if they're going to greedily wipe out everything in their way.

I remember what I wrote in my essays when I was in secondary school. About the pandemonium and the victims who ran helter skelter, yelling for help. Nonetheless, last night, the scene was rather different. The fire had actually attracted a deluge of curious onlookers.

A few firemen walked past me. I realized they're all very tall and huge, emanating heroism and gallantry. They smelled nice, with a hint of sweat and perfume, and that underlying musk. Yeah right, I was just fantasizing.

My heart skipped a few beats as I watched the firefighters ascend the ladder to extinguish the fire. I held them in high esteem for their courage and selflessness in battling against the blaze. And how they skilfully contained the spread of the fire. It ached my heart to watch them risk their lives and dally with danger.

In my essays, I used to write about my commiseration to the victims. And how my heart sank when I saw the hopelessness in their eyes. I guess I should have elaborated more on the heroism of the firefighters. Even by looking at them, you feel a sense of security.

The tragedy has also humbled me a little. On earth, you may be a doctor. But, before God, you're no one but a human.

An accident

We were jerked forward by the inertia brought on by the sudden impact. I could hear a deafening thud simultaneously with the sound of shattering glass which completely dumbfounded me. The collision had already occurred before I could successfully bring my car to a halt.

Fear pervaded the air. Staying calm seemed to be an absolute impossibility. By the time I regained my composure, I realized that my heart was thumping erratically. I was perspiring profusely. The crippling hunger I felt during my lecture an hour ago had vanished. I didn't know how long my sympathetic nervous system had been activated. But, I did know we weren't catapulted out of the car nor injured.

The mishap took place at a roundabout in the heart of the city which immediately led to a traffic thrombosis. I'd always had the inclination to mercilessly curse people who got involved in an accident during peak hours which congested the already very stagnant traffic. The time for karmic payment had come, I thought.

A middle-aged man emerged unscathed from the Kembara I'd just rammed headlong into. The situation looked as if I was entirely at fault. But, thanks God, he didn't look barbaric.

My roommate, the only passenger, and I alighted the car. The driver of the Kembara alleged that I shouldn't have driven too fast. I shrugged my shoulders and didn't even bother to initiate an argument. I have to clarify here that although I can confidently defend a diagnosis I've made for a patient with justifications, generally speaking, I'm never good at arguing. I'm always the one who loses in an argument or quarrel.  Guess I just wasn't born with the fundamental qualities a criminal lawyer must possess.

His mechanic arrived while we're busy making phone calls to seek others' opinions as to how the situation should be dealt with. And his mechanic was hot, damn it. He unintentionally lifted his shirt in front of me. I could see his beautiful six-pack and treasure trail. Or did he do that intentionally? How does he know I'm gay? Is this some sort of strategy to dupe me into giving in to his baseless accusation and to pay the unjustifiable compensation he had demanded for?



To be continued.

Interracial?

Went to a Hari Raya open house today at the local stadium today with my juniors.

The food was awesome. There's a myriad variety of mouth-watering traditional Malay delicacies and food. There's a deluge of people from different racial backgrounds. I envied those who glowed with health despite the amount calories they were consuming. Isn't it ironical that when you go to places where the more fattening food is served, you tend to see more people who're radiant with health and with a body shape so perfect that they exude sex appeal? 

Of course, there were gluttons who were downing as much food as they could, disregarding the detrimental effect the kilocalories had had on their body mass indices. I saw a lot greedy people who tapau-ed when they were leaving. I saw the neurosurgeon queuing up for food. I saw my professor and quickly avoided him because I did a gross mistake in my gynaecology long case exam and I had no guts to face him.

I also saw a lot of Malay guys. 

I've never pictured myself in an interracial relationship. Although love has always been likened to something borderless that transcends race, creed and beliefs, it's a different story altogether when you're talking about intimacy or a long-term relationship. However, I can't deny the fact that I do find some of them hot. I mean, the hot ones, are hot. I realize that some of them actually have a striking resemblance to the Latinos I've seen in porn. I also find flirting in Malay kinky. But of course, I suck at it.

I've got only one gay friend who's Malay, that's AZ. He's one of the nicest people I've met. Thanks to him, I got to know several hot Malay gay air-stewards, albeit superficially. There's once we had supper with his friends at a mamak stall in Kelana Jaya. I totally failed to blend in. My spoken Malay sounds weird. I don't have the accent. I felt autistic, as though there's a shroud of mist between us that hampered our communication despite my one-sided urge to socialize. I wish I could imitate their accent. They looked so lively and adorable when they spoke their beautifully accented version of Malay. I think I must have looked very ridiculous and constipated.

Flirting online in Malay isn't easy too. I even made an effort to learn the commonly used abbreviations, which, frankly speaking, could be pretty mind-boggling.

Rest assured, they'll only remain an object of desire I'll always be curious and fantasize about.

Olfaction

I drove to a supermarket where's a McD restaurant within walking distance. I had to withdraw some money from the ATM machine there. And that's how I ended up having a set Chicken McDeluxe for lunch.

It was only until Jamie mercilessly commented how much weight I'd gained when I was asking Mat for a piece of biscuit during class that I was ridden with guilt. A constructive criticism that prodded me into going for a jog this evening.

I haven't been exercising much since I inadvertently injured my finger the other day. Just a lame excuse. 

My stamina had reduced and lungs seemed to have lost their compliance. You can consume thousands of kilocalories in a few minutes. Yet, it takes a considerable amount of effort to burn it.

As usual, the sports complex was teeming with sweaty athletic guys generously flaunting their biceps and quadriceps. They looked so vibrant and full of vigour. The evening sun made them even more radiant with health and manliness.

As they sprinted past me, I'd subconsciously stick my nose closer to smell their musky body scent, allowing myself to maximally enjoy the intoxicating olfactory stimulus for a few microseconds. And I did it rather surreptitiously and pretended as if I was merely inhaling a breath of fresh air. Hehe. This is one my many fetishes and hopefully it doesn't make you nauseous nor turn you off. However, I'm very selective, k? I don't do this to everyone, especially those who're morbidly obese whose repulsive body odour assaults my nostrils even from metres away.

Smell is one of the 5 special senses human beings are blessed with. Sometimes, I find myself drawn to someone partly because of his scent. Or perhaps, he just wears the right cologne. It also reflects your level hygiene, which is something I'm very scrupulous about.

I did visit the derelict gymnasium as well which doesn't even have a treadmill. Did a bit of weight-lifting and push-ups. I saw a few muscular hunks. I lowered my head to look at my mildly distended abdomen with no traces of six packs. And that's when feelings of inferiority began to seep into my soul. Not cool!

I know I should stop building castle in the air and put in more hard work.

Have a wonderful week, guys!

Patience

The traffic jam really drives me crazy. I hate the fact that there are so many people and vehicles wherever I go. I wish the main roads could be widened and more flyovers built to ameliorate the traffic condition during peak hours. And I so wish that we had a teaching hospital within walking distance. I can't help but silently curse in frustration when I'm stranded in a deluge of cars moving at a snail's pace. Oh damn ... so annoying.

But, whenever my temper hovers near its boiling point, I can hear an inner voice telling me to calm down and be patient. I do comply, though it's really hard. Of course, this isn't only about the heavy traffic which tires me out. I'm exasperated by someone's poor sense of punctuality which ruined my plans today. I'm irritated by the fact that someone who blatantly ignores my feelings and expects me to be a gentleman all the time just because I'm a guy. And I keep telling myself to be patient every day when things don't pan out quite as expected.

As far as my studies are concerned, I'm doing fine. I've learnt how to perform an intubation (on a mannequin) and I have to say that anaesthesiology, which revolves around the art of knocking someone out, is quite interesting and extremely challenging. And I've decided to do my elective posting next year in Taiwan. The Taiwanese guys had better be as cute and twinky as those I see in the dramas and my porn. And who knows I'll bump into Willy? =)

Oh ya. I chanced upon someone who looked familiar in the hospital the other day. My mind registered the near-perfect physique of a man, searched my memory for a match and found one. He's one of the guys whose profile I came across on Planetromeo. Actually, that's not the first time I saw him. I'd always covertly checked out his ass. So, now I know a hot gay medical officer who works in the obstetrics and gynaecology department. =p

So, he's gay

It's my first day in obstetrics and gynaecology posting.

I was in a labour room where there's a woman lying on the couch with her legs spread wide open, groaning in agony and immense pain. She's in the active phase of the second stage of labour, I reckoned. I looked at her carefully, trying to fathom what my mom underwent when she's giving birth to me, which was something I hardly thought of previously... something I knew I'd never be able to decipher.

My attention was distracted by a man who sauntered leisurely into the room. He rolled up his sleeves elegantly, put on a plastic apron and subsequently a pair of sterile gloves. Without further ado, he conducted the delivery with a form of assurance and confidence that impressed me.

He's a houseman then. Dr. Id. A young doctor in the O&G department (apart from Dr. Teh) who never failed to charm me with his suavity and pleasant disposition. He's manly. Immaculately dressed. Smart. Humble. Hilarious. Handsome. All in all, he's attractive. And I thought to myself, "Could he be gay?"

Well, admittedly, there're a couple of times I fantasized about him when I was jerking off. And there's once I felt like banging him in the washroom during one of those nights I voluntarily stayed till very late in the ward. He happened to be on call. I was simmering with lust. Yet, having always held on to conservative Asian values, it's not surprising that I was able suppress the burning lust and temptation lying underneath my façade of innocence.


AND something very astonishing took place a few days ago. Guess what? Dr. Id approached me on Planetromeo. He took very long before he could recognize me. That's understandable, as I guess I look kind of geeky whenever I'm in the ward. I'm dressed in my lab coat, don't wax my hair and put on a pair of glasses which makes me even nerdier.

He claimed that he's bisexual but added that he loved guys more. Ridiculous and ironic. He's pretty approachable until he popped up the question "Have we met before? You look sort of familiar." That's when he had an idea of who I was and tried to cover up his identity.

I was overjoyed. My gaydar worked. It's him. I couldn't be wrong. Not after I managed to identify the nerves of the brachial plexus in the cadaver's arm.

Notwithstanding the possibility that I may be blackmailed, I'd be glad if we can be friends. =)

p/s: I think I've become a little too sociable lately.

Another fisherman

“ Encik, you kerja apa huh?”

“ Nelayan.”

Another fisherman. I was delighted upon hearing that. Very automatically, I started to picture the prominent exotic rectus abdominis muscles that’d be awaiting me the moment I exposed his chest and abdomen.

“ Boleh saya periksa sekejap?”

He gave me a tentative nod. And I proceeded to inspect his chest, palpate his apex beat and so on. I didn’t examine his abdomen (though I wanted to..hehe) as nothing in his history signified anything pathological in his gastrointestinal system. See, I don’t always lose my sanity and ethics when I encounter muscular patients. =)

---

I got an upper respiratory tract infection (URTI) but am recovering well from the sore throat, mild fever and temporary hoarseness of voice it gave me. It could be hospital-acquired. Not a punishment of being too hamsap, I hope. We usually go all out to examine patients with good and obvious signs, disregarding their disease status. They might be having unconfirmed pulmonary tuberculosis (TB), Hepatitis B infection or pneumonia. And personally, I rarely bother about taking the necessary safety precautions for they’re troublesome and time-consuming. Should have been more cautious.

---

Aaron has gone back to India. My cell phone has again sunk into an irritating silence. Aih.

I’m now alone in my room. Guess my roommates have gone out with their girlfriends. A bit lonely. How I wish there’s someone with whom I can share my joy, laughter and tears. Someone who cheers me up when I’m down. Someone who’s neither a fantasy, nor a figment of my imagination.

But…

Aih…

Muscled

I'm fatigued and drained.

I carpool to the hospital with a friend. But still, it's tiring. And I wish the astronomical petrol price would go down a bit for it's placed a rather huge financial burden on me.

Otherwise, I’m having a great time in my medicine posting. Everyone in the ward seems to have a different and unique story to relate to you. Very interesting. Sufferers of acute pancreatitis will describe to you a very characteristic pain which radiates to the back from the epigastrium. Whereas, those afflicted with acute cholecystitis (inflammation of gallbladder) will give you a somewhat different account of pain.

Obtaining the history of illness from patients is something I find very fun and enjoyable. It’s more an art than a textbook sort of thing. It feels more like socializing. Nonetheless, presenting it to a specialist, during which I sometimes stammer and fluctuate between intense anticipation and fear, is a very different thing altogether.

I happened to examine a male patient with 6 packs yesterday. A fisherman. The marble contours of his perfectly muscled chest and abdomen were so dazzling that they sent my heart thudding erratically against my chest wall. His nipples, which I had a burning desire to lick, sent flickers of electricity through my body. But of course, I was self-disciplined enough to resist the temptation. I examined his abdomen twice on the pretext of confirming my clinical findings, indulging in every second of it. In actual fact, it was unnecessary. I was just being hamsap. Very unethical of me, right?