7 REASONS TO SMILE

In celebration of my seventh year (and permanent residency – woohoo!) in Hong Kong, I’d like to share Hyperactive’s Top 7 Favourite Things About Hong Kong.

Let’s begin!

1. IFC 2. We’ve always known skyscrapers to be phallic, but this building is an outright penis. It reminded me of a giant dildo when I first saw it.  Bonus points for the public access mezzanine in the IFC Mall, which gets really cruisy from 6pm onwards. Dolly suited bankers and protein-wielding gym bunnies catwalk about in a choreographed mating ritual straight out of Gay Fashion Week.

2. Nightlife. Everything’s free! Free canapés in Psychic Jack (so what if we have to mention some silly password at the door?), free vodka in Volume BEAT (in case you’ve been living under a rock, it’s now from 9-10pm, Wednesdays), free bum fun wherever trashed cuties are hanging out. No drama. What more can you ask for? We’ve got it good, so stop moaning – unless it’s from pleasure.

3. Trails. We’ve got such beautiful trails – and even more beautiful trailwalkers! Who can resist the sight of sweaty hotties, panting to catch their breath (or your eyes…) as they make their way through the trail?

In his old age, my publisher Joe Lam transformed from party boy to fitness junkie. Just before Christmas, Joe hauled my lethargic ass through Pat Sin Leng (translates as “Eight Pretty Fairies” – if you’re asking a homosexual), a nature trail along a mountain ridge with eight challenging peaks. Scary shit.

“People have died in a bush fire here. It was a long time ago, I think…” Joe said as we started walking. Thanks for warning me in advance, Joe.

4. Beaches. Chris and I enjoyed a morning of pampering at Sense of Touch Repulse Bay a few weeks ago and decided to stroll along the beach afterwards.  We almost tripped over an overgreased twink, sunbathing with his bum exposed. Yes, the whole ass. Perhaps he wished to be photographed by throngs of mainland Chinese tourists. Perhaps he hates tan lines. Perhaps he just wants to express typical Hong Kong gay hospitality. “Welcome to try!”

5. Junk Trips. What’s better than boys in bathers? Drunk boys in bathers! On a junk! In the open sea! For hours and hours!

(You can figure out the rest…)

6. Disneyland. It was Disney that brought me here over seven years ago. I instantly fell in love with Hong Kong – a city that matched my Hyperactive energy. I played Captain Shang from Mulan for almost two years. I may have left Disneyland in 2007, but I still find my way back whenever I find myself in need of a respite from the manic pace of our lives. “Have a magical day,” they say. I’ve found a fucking awesome, magical life!

7. Dim Sum Magazine. HK’s first and only monthly LGBT magazine is 10 years old! That’s a huge achievement, by any standard. The Cockpit is proud to have been published in DS since June 2010. In four months, we’ll be celebrating our third year on this space. Much love to our dearest readers, who have made this such a fabulous journey.

Cheers to the next 10 years!

Oh, and Happy Year of the Snake, and Happy Valentine’s too!


Published in Dim Sum Magazine, February 2013 

GETTIN' NUDE & RUDE ON CHEUNG SHA BEACH

On the 12th of April, my dear friend, Ernesto Corpus, sent a private message on Facebook to a small group of LGBT activists. 

Read on.

***

Scene yesterday at Cheung Sha Beach, Lantau Island. Time – around 1.00pm. Cheung Sha Beach has long had a reputation for au naturel sunbathing, especially amongst gay men.

Yesterday, while topping up my tan, a 30-something woman rowed in on a kayak and started to berate the sunbathers, saying how ‘disgusting’ we were, that there was ‘nothing worth seeing,’ and if we didn’t cover up, she’d call the police immediately.

She rowed back and forth along the shoreline, making sure that the nine guys including myself did as she ordered. Seeing as I was the last to reluctantly follow she rowed into shore and confronted me directly, saying that what we were doing was ‘illegal.’ I argued back that she should also scold the dog owners who walk their dogs ‘illegally’ on the same beach.

She said that was ‘none of her business’ and she hated gays who were shameless and disgusting.
Thing is, I was the only one of all the guys (7 Chinese locals and 1 other gweilo) who dared answer her back. Was I wrong? Why didn’t nobody else stand up to her?

***

The story made me wonder what I’d do in the same situation.

The fact that the woman attacked from a kayak – an armada of one – made her too comical. I wouldn’t have answered her back, either, because I would have been too busy taking a video of her on my iPhone. She has all the makings of an instant internet celebrity, like the cantankerous Bus Uncle. I could see the blurb, now:

“Life is a beach. Drink beer, not hate-o-rade.”

Clearly, the woman is entitled to express an opinion (although the manner in which she did it verged on harassment). Contrary to popular belief, Cheung Sha Beach is neither officially gay nor nudist. Sure, it has had that reputation for years and has even earned cultish status amongst gay tourists. It could even be argued that gayness (not illegal) and nudity (indeed, illegal) have become part of the beach’s vernacular. The area is hardly ever policed; the cops have better things to do. And so it falls on each visitor’s individual sense of responsibility to be discreet and respectful toward other beach bums.

Sex and/or orgies on the beach in broad daylight – and they have been known to happen – definitely count as disrespectful behaviour. Get a room. Better yet, jump into The Cockpit.

THE NON-HYPERACTIVE CHRIS™

// CHEUNG SHA BEACH //



DIM SUM MAGAZINE

PERMANENT RESIDENT?

“Fourteen days,” I requested.

“You are only allowed a maximum of 14 days per month. You’ve used all up up,” she pointed out inconsequentially.

“Seven days?” I bargained.

“You have already been given an SCL stamp,” she said

“What does SCL mean?”

“Short Conditional Landing.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s like a departure order.”

I felt the blood drain off my face. After six and a half years in Hong Kong, it all comes down to this – a work visa that wasn’t renewed in time for me to be able to stay or go as I choose to. Visa runs were clearly not an option, as I had found out a few days prior, when I was told upon re-entering from Macau that I wasn’t any more allowed to “just hang out in Hong Kong with my friends while I try to figure out what to do next.”

I should have relished the experience of having been apprehended as though I were a common criminal. It was pimp. Border guards, the interrogation room, the works. You can’t buy an experience like that. Why the fuck would you want to?? The only consolation was, the border guard assigned to interrogate me was tall, dark and handsome. Downside was, he’s young and eager – I’d guess about 25 – and had an ironclad belief in the rulebook as though it were the Holy Bible.

“How much money do you have?”

“A lot,” I snapped. I then realized that it probably wasn’t wise to antagonize a border guard – duh! – who alone had the power to either let me through or not.

“I have money,” I said a little more meekly. “It’s mostly in the bank but I do have some on me now.”

“Show me,” he challenged.

Lucky I had about HKD5,000 in bills stuffed in my wallet. So I showed him.

“Five days, then,” he said, making a note on a piece of paper.

But five days weren’t nearly enough, especially with the upcoming Christmas and New Year holidays. That’s why I had to make a pilgrimage to the Immigration Tower in Wan Chai to beg for a further extension so Chris and I could be together during the festive season.

“Five more days,” I pleaded the female officer who had been assigned to my case. “Please. I really just… want to be here for Christmas and New Year…” It was all I could say or do to stop myself from openly weeping at her feet.

For a hot second, I thought I saw cracks in her stony countenance.

“Three days,” she acquiesced gruffly, “so you and your girlfriend can have a Merry Christmas.” She smiled thinly. “Okay?”

Girlfriend?! I must have looked really butch with my desperate appeals for a visa extension.

“Okay…” I whispered with a measure of relief. I do get to spend Christmas with Chris but not New Year’s Day. “Thank you,” I said, smiling weakly back at her.

“Counter 28, other side,” she directed. “Just pay the visa extension fee.”

I was a mixed bag of emotions. All things considering, I think I was treated with kindness. At the border a few days ago, some mainland Chinese guys were full-on handcuffed during interrogation, same time as myself. They had full security watching over them. Meanwhile, I was pretty much left alone, pretending to nonchalantly read my trashy thriller paperback whilst my interrogating officer consulted with his peers on how to best treat my case. I’ve been a long-term resident, I’ve always paid my taxes on time, and they could plainly see on my passport that I do travel a lot. I knew I didn’t have any reason to be scared, but in that situation – at that very moment – I was practically nowhere.

And so that’s how it came to be that I am in The Cockpit. In many cockpits, in fact, as I lose myself all around Asia in order to (hopefully) find myself and, perhaps, find some sense of purpose and balance and renewed vigour for life, somewhere along the way.

First Published in Dim Sum Magazine, February 2012 Issue

Bernice, Singapore's Queen of Queens

Zirca, Singaore

Hello, Friends!

Singapore rocks, honestly.

OK, so same-sex sexual activity is illegal between men only – why, I don’t know. In 2007, oral and anal sex were legalised for heterosexuals and female homosexuals. But homosexual men who engage in shocking behaviour, such as blowjobs or bumfun, may be punished with imprisonment for a term which may extend to 2 years, for “acts of gross indecency.” I mean, who in the world is silly enough to complain to the cops that they got their cock sucked? In my books, you say “Thank you,” instead, for such a lovely gesture. It’s only good manners.

Thank goodness the law doesn’t generally seem to be enforced. I mean – duh! The city is crawling with homosexuals! And I highly doubt that Singapore’s over-exercised gay male populace, all attired in what seems to be the de rigueur Singapore gay uniform of super-tight Topman tee and super-short shorts in a bold colour (electric blue, fire-engine red, or plain pink), are celibate! I mean, these boys obviously work on their muscles just as hard as they do on their careers. And why not. We live in a Grindr world, after all. There’s the stock market, and then there’s the meat market. And Grindr has become the most valid tool through which we measure our worth in the meat market. No abs, no glory.

I was lucky enough to have been introduced to gay Singapore’s Drag Queen Bee, Bernice. Bernice is as big a celebrity as one gets in the local LGBT scene. As long as we were with Bernice, we were chauffeured in Mercedes-Benz limousines, we zoomed to the front of every queue, and we graciously accepted waivers of every club’s door charge. “I take care of my guests,” she said. Her generosity is astounding. That’s just the way she rolls – all the while doing a fab job of working the crowd whilst balanced on stratospheric Louboutins, with a perpetually filled flute of Moet.

Bernice on the right and a loyal subject with Sinagpore's ubiquitous vodka cranberry jug

“Do you swallow?” is Bernice’s way of introducing herself to people. Clearly, just “Top or Bottom?” doesn’t do it for the Queen Bee, because her follow-up question is: “Do you trim?” And that’s fair, honestly, because if you want to have visitors “down there,” the house needs to be clean. When I grow up, I wanna be like Bernice.

So Superstar Sunday was spent at mega-club Zirca, where there’s an escalator leading up to the upper level. Since we were with Bernice, we were given the equivalent of a small kingdom in the VIP area. We were plied with champagne, and honestly, we were super grateful. But soon enough it became obvious that we were not meant for such fineries; it didn’t take long before we were swigging champagne straight from the bottle. Hey, it was either champagne or ginormous jugs of vodka cranberry, with only four drops of vodka in it! This is Singapore, after all, and alcohol serves are tightly calibrated. So we stuck with champagne, natch.

The main draw of Superstar Sunday is DJ George Leong, who is a dish. Talented, check. Amazing handling of the crowd, check. Good looks and abs, check, check. In fact, he took his top off at around 2am to give the addled masses even more reason to worship. He did the rest of his set in topless glory. He is a hybrid DJ-slash-gigolo. What more can you ask for?

Superstar Sunday at Zirca, Singapore

Oh, and Zirca brought the house down with confetti showers AND with featured Grindr profile-of-the-minute on the huge LED screen. Sweet. It was feel-good all around.

For a place where blowjobs and bumfun between consenting men are illegal, Singapore’s pretty happening for homos. It looks like Singapore is Singa-bore No More.

With Affection,
James



First published in Dim Sum Magazine, August 2011


Photos by Johan Karsoho

Set Dinner

Hello, Friends!

“I don’t want set dinner,” my friend, J, huffed.

I looked at him quizzically, wondering if extreme hunger was perhaps making him grumpy.

“That doesn’t really narrow our choices down,” I furrowed my brow, wondering where to take my team for some late-night grub. It was 11pm, Wednesday night. We had just finished filming Mr. Gay Hong Kong Heihei Yau’s promotional video for IDAHO (International Day Against Homophobia). We were a tired, ragtag bunch of hungry gay boys. Much as Volume’s vodka-addled throng beckoned, I truly needed to feed my team.

Or so I thought.

J was referring to sex. Intercourse. Fornication.

As the clock ticked closer to midnight, so was J’s “appointment” with one of his regular fuck buddies. I assumed that the appointment would further whet Joe’s appetite, instead, it was making him grumpy.

Apparently, a “set dinner” is the same old stuff which you experience with the same (old) person, in the same old place. It’s routine. Predictable. Boring.

“First a kiss. And then a blow job. And then fucking. I can always tell where his hands will wander to next, or where his lips will land,” J sniffed. “I don’t want set dinner.”

Jeez.

Boredom is my greatest fear, I admit. But when it comes to sex, I’m pretty vanilla. I like to know what I’m gonna get, no unpleasant surprises. If I get into the mood for a sexual surprise, I’d want to be with nobody else but my boyfriend. That way, if we try something that ends up not working for us, like, say, playing with a double headed dildo, we can simply laugh it off and fall back on what we know feels good for sure. After all, I’m not gonna get rid of my boyfriend after a botched sexperiment. On the other hand, if I happened to be with a stranger who tried, for example, the kind of dirty talk that I’m not into, it’s Game Over.

“Say my name, bitch!”

“Eew, no. Kthankxbye.”

So midnight rolled around and J’s fuck buddy, S, ended up joining us for dinner at a dai pai dong along Peel Street. With food, as with sex, I’m a creature of habit. I ordered beef brisket in noodles. S and I had a jolly discussion about the merits of “set dinner,” to J’s chagrin. To illustrate that our preference for “set dinner” is not such a bad thing, S and I jazzed up our dishes with chilli oil and crispy fish skin. Voila. Something familiar and predictable has turned into something just a wee bit different, but still the same.

Set dinners are comforting. You know what’s coming, and you know that it’s coming for sure. You may not always satisfy your craving for adventure, but at the very least you can count on satisfying your hunger.

Besides, when you’re in The Cockpit, how many surprises do you think you’d wanna take?

With Affection,
James

Set Dinner Menu

Amuse

Starter

Main

Dessert

Indigestion

Cute, Sissy or Boylish?

Hello, Friends!

“We broke up,” Ryan shared.

“What?!” I exclaimed.

“We went to Bali for our 6th anniversary. All I could ever think of was – can I handle six more years of this? I realized I enjoyed being with my friends more than being with him.”

“Oh, Ryan…” was all I could say. Ryan, an independent film maker, is one of my best friends. We proceeded to eat our meal in silence.

Moments later, Ryan’s iPhone buzzed. A smile slowly spread over his face as he scanned the incoming message. Then he leaned over  and whispered into my ear, “I’m a slut.”

“What?! Show me,” I demanded.

Ryan was on Grindr.

“What kind of boy you like?” a twink messaged him. “Cute, sissy or boylish?”

We burst out laughing. I shamelessly looked over Ryan's shoulder as he progressed through the entire Grindr conversation. Meanwhile, our dessert melted.

Twink: wa. Hao (very) man
Ryan: Fat not man haha
Twink: u top or btm ar. I like little fat
Ryan: I’m top. U?
Twink: btm. so I can c u are manly

Ryan: Anyway my name is Ryan and I’m from Singapore.
Twink: oh nice. what btm u like? Where do u live ar?
Ryan: I’m staying at Paterson Street.
Twink: oic. hotel or… what btm u like?
Ryan: I’m ok with anything, as long as the other person doesn’t smoke.
Twink: ok. u like cute sissy boylish or…
Ryan: I actually like guys who are a little bit soft.
Twink: I am.
Ryan: Nice

Twink: u have strong or hairy legs?
Ryan: I have thick calves and hairy legs.
Twink: what’s is calves?
Ryan: The part between the ankle and the knee.
Twink: I’m no need handsome. I like strong legs or hairy legs. do u have hairy legs pic?

(Ryan sends a pic of his leg)

Twink: wa. too close la. make far is better. hard to see.
Ryan: (R sends another pic of leg) Can see better?
Twink: can’t c wor… why. u like btm sissy or boylish?
Ryan: I’m ok with both cos I like guys who are bit soft.
Twink: what’s mean soft?
Ryan: Soft means a bit sissy.
Twink: oic. soft like a girl?
Ryan: Yes I like
Twink: so how soft u want?
Ryan: Actually I get very turned on if the btm sounds like he’s in pain haha.
Twink: really. loud is ok?
Ryan: Yes, want to give me your number?

The next day, Ryan messaged me: “Good morning, bud. I had wild, passionate sex. But not with the boylish one. He never showed up.”

Love is a drug that gives you control of the cockpit – the same drug that just as easily sets you airborne in a cycle of sex, drugs and rock n’ roll. Love takes many forms, chief among which is self-love. Pestilence be unto the love-fascists who demand that the only form love must take is a martyr-like self-sacrifice.

Ryan knows best: “Guys always ask me if they’re ever going to see me again. I answer No – I never help myself to seconds. There’s just too many guys, too little time.”

With Affection,
James

He's an Ugly Gwai Tsai

Hello, Friends!

There’s this asshole who keeps raping my Facebook Wall. I don’t remember any more how he became my “friend,” but I suppose that’s what happens when, like me, you’re an eager-to-please homo who doesn’t want to offend anyone. So, you just keep approving all friend requests - never mind if they’ve got a bug-eyed goldfish as their profile pic.

So, back to this guy. I’d like to say I hate him, I detest him, I abhor him to death. But truth is – and I know I’m gonna sound like a pussy – I’m hurt. I’m one of the nicest people I know. Having enemies suck. Fuck, I work too hard to become everybody’s friend. So when this ugly gwai tsai (ugly white boy or UGT for short) with awful bleached blonde hair attacks me on my own Facebook Wall, I just let it happen…? Sometimes I wonder whether I should just block him and delete him from the face of my virtual life.

I wake up one morning and, as I do daily, I immediately check my blog stats. I’m ecstatic to find out that I’ve suddenly got a reader in Bhutan, so I share my excitement on Facebook.

James: I’ve got a reader in Bhutan? Wonders never cease :)
UGT: They must have Googled “gay twat” and your name came up.

OK, I was seriously disturbed. So I Googled “gay twat” and was relieved that Justin Bieber came up, not me.

I don’t have any problem being a gay twat. I think gays are fabulous, and twats, even more so. Taken together, now, that’s a juicy proposition. But the idea that someone would openly attack me is beyond my comprehension.

The other day, I was feeling especially stressed that I couldn’t seem to finish any single task (one among which was writing this month’s column). I found respite in doing the dishes because, at least, something can happen straight away.

James: I like doing the pots n’ pans coz I get immediate results. I don’t need to wait forever for something to be “finished.”
UGT: In the kitchen… that’s where you belong.

WTF?

It’s not that I’ve got a victim mentality and I enjoy feeling sorry for myself- No. I haven’t deleted UGT from my Facebook because he makes me ask one important question, daily: Have I become so humourless that I can’t take potshots directed at me?

So, no. UGT will never become a real friend of mine. But in his own way, he has initiated with me some sort of a twisted friendship. The day I take myself too seriously is the day I should just call it quits.

Of course that doesn’t mean that I don’t feel a compelling urge to cast him away in a solitary cockpit, on the way to a crash landing, whenever he takes a jab at me. He is an asshole. Proper. And he’s very ugly, too.

But he’s an asshole who keeps me in touch with my inner asshole. He makes me feel anger, confusion, hatred and frustration – but only in the first two hours of his potshot. And then, he just makes me laugh.

What a sorry-ass loser.

With Affection,
James