Of Bombshells And Men

"I guess you have to be some kind of bombshell," her email reads, "because I would never have the guts to attempt that thing you did with Alex...you make it sound so easy lah, sigh!"

An excerpt from my very first reader email. Friendly compliment, but read between the lines. Does it take beauty to score? So instead of bitching about mid-life crisis with the ladies during Sunday lunch, I casually put it to the table. "You girls think I'm a bombshell?" Their eyes pooled in unspoken mirth, and one by one, we started recounting our 'youth'. A story here. A reason there. Many whys, and as many answers. And here is my unspecified reason:

It is easy and I am some kind of bombshell. Only, I'm not very pretty myself and 'bombshell' has never been the first impression I give people. Miss Tasha is not going to ever win any beauty pageants, not even as Sha (the mental bombshell) or after various surgical procedures. You would not pick me out of a sea of people, but spare me only a fleeting glance that holds no flicker of interest, if you were to look my way. I am an ordinary woman, like much of the populace. But one thing sets me apart: confidence.

So how does confidence transform an ordinary woman into a bombshell?

Knowledge is power, my dears. If you walk the walk like you were born to do it, people will assume that you are. The masses are followers, and all it takes to command their respect is to know what you are capable of. Bullshit if you have to, but always check your premises. A real man cannot resist a confident woman: he probably intimidates a lot of women and will definitely remember one who isn't bothered by his charms. So if he is intimidated instead, you wouldn't have wanted to keep him anyway.

In Man terms, success is easy...if you hold that power. Before you read on, keep in mind that I am generalizing men. Yes, the inevitable stereotyping!

Men, Intelligent Men, are all animals at heart. Feral. In the bedroom sense, of course. Whatever power they hold in the boardroom does not matter in the bedroom. Some want to conquer, and others want to be conquered. As long as you're ready to take on the task of doing either, you're set. An Intelligent Man adores a woman who is confident enough to take charge and lead him to his pleasures, and confident enough to get down on her knees and submit to his commands...knowing that she is only yielding because she knows that is what he really wants and she has the power to give it to him, and NOT because she does not dare to say no. Of course, you can also say no, take the reins and satisfy yourself before him...and pleasantly find that he actually enjoyed that a whole lot more than you saying yes all the time. The bottomline? You come first...in all senses of the word!

As for the rest of the men that do not fall into the Intelligent Men category, I never bothered. Not these days, anyway. Age makes you cynical.

And how do I know all this? Because self-confidence can never be a bad thing :) So never underestimate your powers as a woman, Bombshell!

A Malaysian Girl in Sydney

Where was I? Sydney, oh yes.

I spent my first evening with a two girls from Norway that I'd met at the commons in the backpackers' inn where I was staying. We exchanged stories from abroad, both transcontinentally and from the vast landscapes of our imaginations. A week, they said, was all they planned to spend in Sydney - and it has stretched to three already. Over budget beer, they shared with me their best Sydney moments and I diligently took notes. The Tank, best club in town ("Let's go get tanked!" the girls screamed in laughter, almost spilling the beers.) The Establishment, best place to meet 'poshies'. Kings Cross, red light district and all-rounder in Strip/Sleaze Stakes and sexy gay men. Oxford for shopping and sexy gay men, and Darlinghurst for dining and more sexy gay men. In this city, the homosexual ethos extends beyond the boundaries of the city itself, they tell me, almost whispering as if no one else should hear us.

(A quick note: I adore gay men.)

I went apartment hunting first thing the next morning after a quick jog 'round the block. The girls were hungover and I had a slight headache, but I needed to find a place to stay. A quick comb through two real estate agents in the city unearthed the perfect bachelorette pad - a studio reasonably close to the city where I'd planned to work.

'Ultra modern glass-front studio apartment in high security building with combined lounge and dining area, small kitchen with stainless steel appliances and gas cooking, bathroom, balcony, gym, sauna, lap pool, concierge, spectacular views of the city....'

At $350 a week, rent was debatable but not blatantly unaffordable, so I went to see it. The place looked even better in person - the bedroom had a glass wall and at playing voyeur up 15 floors would be challenging for some. But the agent informed me that it was mirrored glass on the exterior, and that I could walk around naked if I wanted to... "Not a warry, swee-art, no one will see yah," she said, winking. I took it.

I moved in that afternoon, my lone luggage and handbag in tow and rang the girls from a payphone. I'd told them what I intended to do here the night before and we'd scoured the yellow pages together looking for real estate agents.

"Birget, it's Asha...yes, I'm fine...listen, I've found a place! Already, yes...Surry Hills, yah...you and Meg should come over and hang out tonight...at 8? cool! I'll get the beer...the address is...."

I found a convenience store around the corner that proved a worthy refuge for singles like myself, the shelves heavy with single portions of all that is tinned, dried and powdered. I bought papers, a loaf of bread and 12 cans of cold VB.

"Havin' a big noight in, are we?" the boy behind the counter grinned at me. He must've been about 20, at most, and in possession of the greenest eyes I'd ever seen.

"Just a few beers with the girls" I replied in my American-Malaysian accent, handing him a $50.
"You must be new. I ain't seen yah come in here before. I'd have remembered yah."

"I just moved in up the street," I offered.

"And drinkin' like an Ozzie already!" He handed me my change, still grinning.

I laughed, and went back to my new home. Dropping my purchases on the kitchen counter, I realized I had nothing to keep the beer cold in...so I cracked one open and started on the papers; an attempt to familiarize myself with the local going-ons. Even off-season, rugby is big in Australia.

And I sat alone on the carpet in my bare apartment, which no longer suffocated my senses with musty emptiness but lingered of Romance and cigarette smoke, and waited for my new friends to arrive.

(One of) The Five People You Meet In Transit, Part II

More often than not, the anticipation of a successful seduction elevates your expectations. They say Love makes you do crazy things. Well, so does Lust. Freshly waxed, encased in lacy Agent P and oozing with confident charm, I was sure that my plans to seduce Alex was going to be as successful as my shopping trip in Orchard Rd.

Alex picked me up from my hotel and took me to a loud Italian joint, where I wish I'd worn my jeans instead...but I felt at ease again when we slipped into familiar day-old candor almost immediately. I ordered pizza, because pasta was just too messy to deal with on a 'first date' and I was clad in unforgiving white.

When the food arrived, I started to get a little nervous. What did he really think of me? Why did I think it would be easy, again? I looked at him and visibly gulped. Alex looked even better today, in a crisp cream shirt that highlighted his tan. His intense dark eyes bored into mine across the table, as I watched him eat...oh wow, those lips...and let my thoughts wander....

"Penny."

"Wha..?" I sat up, startled.

"For your thoughts. You look like you're somewhere else. Am I boring you already?"

"Oh no, I was just thinking about my trip so far...and how nice it is meeting you!" I winked, hoping he didn't think I was checking him out.

"Flattery will get you anywhere with me. Another drink?" He grinned. Argh, those dimples!

We spoke about our experiences with Rob, work, play and everything in between. A Serie A Juventus game was on television, and every few minutes people would cheer and Alex would divert his attention to the screen. After an hour of pizza and soccer he pushed his plate forward and said, "Let me get the check and head back. I've had a really looooong day..."

"Sure. I should get an early night too."

In the cab, the conversation floated around Rob and soccer. I decided that the night was over and mentally prepared for an early night. Until, idly chatting while waiting for the elevators, Alex dropped his bomb:

"By the way Tash, I don't have a guest room so you're taking mine...hope you don't mind. I will sleep on the couch."

"I can't kick you out of your bed! I'll take the couch. I don't mind at all," I argued.

"Look, I can't let you sleep on the couch, you're my guest!"

"Then we're going to have a real problem. How about......mmmft!"

He caught me by surprise, he really did. Before I could finish my sentence I felt his tongue in my mouth and his hands in my hair. This is a rare occasion when a Chase backfires and you realize you're being Chased instead. With that realization, I kissed him back with two days' worth of pent-up lust and he reciprocated. We only pulled apart when the elevator doors opened.

He carried me into the living room and plonked me on the couch and went to get a drink. I looked around, breathless from his kisses, drinking the white walls and the black furniture in. His apartment was a typical Well-Intellectual pad. Masculine, but accessible. I got up to examine his bookshelf, and got as far as Ayn Rand's The Virtue of Selfishness before he reappeared with two glasses of red wine. He put a DVD on, a classic Bond, and took my shoes off.

"Chilean, not bad at all." I commented.

"Wow, most people can't tell with Chileans - they're quite good but underrated."

"My dad is a wine aficionado," I told him and mentally sent a thank you to dad.

"Is that so..." He took my dress off. "Tash,"

"Yes?" says the Bond girl, teasingly.

"Yes?" I echoed in the same tone, wiggling my eyebrows.

"I like what you're wearing."

I giggled and took his shirt off. Alex has, that lucky thing, a very beautiful body...almost straight out of a da Vinci study. I admired him openly in the soft light and he pulled me closer.

"Alex, you are so beautiful." I whispered.

"I may be beautiful but you are the sexiest thing..." he replied, running his hands down the small of my back before pulling me on top of him.

I didn't sleep a wink that night. Alex was very, very passionate in bed. We just couldn't get enough of each other. After the Bond flick had finished and the wine was long gone, we lay in each others arms and continued our banter in the dark. He nibbled my neck, persuading me to shut up and when that failed, kissed me into submission. And we started all over again.

Getting ourselves out of bed when dawn broke was hard, especially when Alex offered to buy me a seat on the next available flight just so we could have another day together. I declined, but he almost convinced me when I came out of the shower, pulling me into bed again. He almost made me late for my flight.

(The thought of that night, so long ago, still puts a grin on my face.)

The goodbye at the airport was clean and swift:

"I hope I'll see you again, Tash."

"I know we will, Alex." (And we did, but that's a story for later...)

Rushing to check-in, I found 2 minutes to stop at duty-free to pick up a bottle of Alex's after shave - Romance for Men and hastily texted Rob from the departure lounge, saying: 'I KEPT MY PROMISE, BUT HV A FEELIN ALEX WILL B CALLING IN LATE TODAY...KISSES!'

And I slept all the way to Sydney, smelling of him.

(One of) The Five People You Meet In Transit, Part I

Alex was a man I met in transit, at a layover between relationships and en route to Sydney.

I'd stopped over in Singapore about 3 years ago and arranged to meet my old friend Rob for dinner. We used to be neighbours before his family moved away. As kids, Rob and I were very close. After he moved, we still kept in touch and would occasionally meet up if one of us is in town.

So I texted him: 'DINNER @ THE USUAL TONITE?'

'YES! U HV 2 STOP DROPPING IN UNANNOUNCED, AM BRINGING SUM1 OK?'

'8PM, CAN'T WAIT, KISSES!'

I was on time for once. 'The Usual' was a kitsch French joint that Rob took me to the first time I met up with him in Singapore and it has become a ritual since. It has been a while since I last saw Rob and couldn't wait to catch up. I prayed that his 'friend' would be on the same wavelength. Five minutes later, I spotted Rob talking to the maître d' and waved them over.

Rob's friend turned out to be Alex - a tall, charming Italian - who told me that they'd made plans to meet before I dropped in, although I was a nice surprise. I apologized for distrupting their boys' night out and Alex grinned at me, showing off his dimples. Rob and Alex are my favourite type of men...The Well-Intellectuals. Well-dressed, well-groomed, well-mannered and well-spoken, and sometimes, well-known. The term 'metrosexual' was invented for the duo. Glancing at the menu, I wondered what to order and what Alex thought of me. I knew Rob too well and too long to cradle any notion of a sexual relationship with him, but Alex was unchartered territory.

Alex was wonderful. We got on like a house on fire. He turned out to be a male version of myself...and this is a very rare thing indeed. Here was finally someone I felt like I could be myself with! Before entrée was served, we'd made plans for dinner the next night...without Rob. He took it nicely, knowing me only too well, and even arranged for Alex to send me to the airport for my 8am flight the next morning. Dessert couldn't come soon enough.

Rob offered to send me back to my hotel after dinner. As he was driving, I made him head to a bar for some real catching up instead. He took me to a quiet lakeside lounge that he frequents. Sitting by the lake on a clear July sky, we nursed our Gin Tonics and caught up.

"Things have been real good huh, Tash? You've never looked this happy."

"Nasty, but I'm happy...you know that guy I was seeing before? Gone. I'm clean, too. Things have been really good."

"When and why? You never reply my e-mails!"

"Well..."

An hour later, I tried to pry some information about Alex out of Rob.

"Where'dya meet Alex?"

"At work. Tash, look, you and Alex are two of my closest friends. Please don't break his heart."

"I won't! What did you think I was going to do?" I giggled.

"He obviously likes you..."

"Well, I like him too. I probably will never see him again anyway."

"And I have to see him every day. Just be nice, Tash. Promise me."

"All right...but only if he is!" I giggled again. The alcohol was getting to me.

Three GTs later, it was time to go back. Rob sent me back to my hotel and promised to visit me in Sydney. I undressed, got ready for bed and thought about my pre-Alex plans for tomorrow. I definitely needed a wax and proper lingerie...if I was going to be naughty on transit, I might as well go all out!

...to be continued.

What's in a name?

Australia was a new beginning for me. I knew no one, and no one knew me. I even dropped the T and introduced myself as Asha. Eventually the A dropped as well, and I was shortened to Ash. I thought it was cleverly symbolic - a new me, rising from the Ashes but J thought it was corny.

I didn't mind being called Ash. Tasha, Tash, Tashy, Sha, Asha, Ash, Ashy, my many names were an indication of familiarity.

Tasha I saved for formal introductions, usually business-related, and new people. The better you know me, it seems, the shorter my name becomes.

The other names I use according to moods. Asha would find me on a good day whilst Sha would be used for men whom I've just met. Those whose names I end up gasping in the heat of passion call me Bunny. Funny: bunny. I never figured that one out.

But in Australia I am mostly called Ash, because I still thought it was cleverly symbolic.

Derek: Part Deux

I continued seeing Derek for the next 8 months or so.

Eventually and unfortunately, like all men, he tried to change me. He wanted me to clean up my act but I stubbornly refused to change for anyone. Our relationship was dramatic - we would argue a lot as best friends and have great sex to make up as lovers. But getting me off coke was one argument that went on and on. Eventually, we both got fed up but never spoke about it.

I did fall in Love. It was just the little things he did that made me decide one morning after being brought breakfast in bed that he was a Keeper. Falling asleep with his arms around me and waking up to his dirty blond hair was something that made my days a little more bearable.

But when the time came for me to leave for summer, we decided that it would be OK if we did see other people. I didn't see The Vital Signs then because I was young and stupid and thought that maybe Derek was a Keeper, and he'd come right back to me. Even if, you know, I did fuck around a bit. And I did need a break.

After the break, I didn't expect Derek to be any different but he was. More reclusive and less enthusiastic about public sex. Another sign I missed. I was full of myself, and the coke might have something to do with it. One drunken night, he confessed that he had met someone else and had feelings for her that he has never felt for anyone else before. And she wasn't a junkie.

"I'm sorry. I wish things didn't have to be like this, Tash."

Derek's last words.

I took the blow, packed my things and moved out. It was around then that I decided that no man would ever be Different.

In retrospect, Derek was right and I really was young and stupid. I kicked the coke habit and managed to get through my finals with a string of almost-fails.

A year later, I left for Down Under and started a new chapter with blank pages and no money. But I kept my journals.