Not anti-nationalism propoganda, but...

What is it about Singaporeans, that we're so bloody obsessed with politically correct? We must be civil, we must be decent, we mustn't stray from the cleanly-sanitised safe track. And heaven forbid we ever get found out, otherwise... what would people think!

I do believe Chris has never unveiled this side of himself to anyone before. That's the privilege I get from being his dirty litle secret, and I take pleasure in claiming credit for leading him to come undone (slightly at least) from the carefully constructed persona he's built as the reigning goldenboy of the court whom everyone commends as an affable, super decent chap. Good family, flawless credentials and those looks to boot..
The quintessential local dreamboat whom the girls-next-door clamour over to bring home to mummy and daddy, who in turn take one look at him and start planning wedding preperations.

I however, simply challenge him in how he looks at himself. For every time he walks out of my place, his pristine reputation has suffered yet another stain. And my, how he does enjoy being stained...

His requests can be tangibly urgent, at times almost as if he's ashamed of the very words he's saying but can't just control himself from uttering them. And the explicit things he texts late at night are far raunchier than my subtle daytime sms teasings.

I indulged him by tying him up last night. I had already intended to do it at a slightly later date, but he wanted it there and then.

"Put it on me" he urged after I'd brought him to the brink and back, jumping the gun.

"No.", I smiled sweetly.

"See, the thing about tying you up is that I get to do whatever I want to, and I'm not done with you yet." I informed him, smacking his ass and returning to my administration. "Your cock and I are still getting to know each other, so don't interrupt."

I don't even think he's the type who enjoys licking, but no matter. He did a fairly good job of it, straining up to lap at me as his hands remained bound to the bedpost above his head. I even regretted their immobility as I slipped my own finger into myself while he did it.

Halfway through riding him, he managed to free himself and sat up, pounding me with a vengeance. He didn't come even after I did, and I was suitably impressed. I think that as he and I get slightly more accustomed to each other's presence and physical reactions, we also tend to move more in sync, which is great.

Another of life's great pleasures is witnessing a man's pure, uninhibited moment of orgasm. With Chris, he starts moaning with more and more urgency, and cries out just before his release. "Oh god, oh god!", to be specific.

It's charming. I love a man who's vocal.

I wonder if he made it out of bed in time this morning to see the wholesome family friends of his he's supposed to visit. The ones who aren't aware that he goes out drinking, let alone home with someone he's not even anywhere close to dating.

And I wonder too, whether he's grinning to himself in the knowledge of why he looks so tired, or just caught up in making sure no-one sniffs the smell of guilty pleasure still seeping from his pores.

I know that all men are capable of neatly compartmentalising the different facets of their personality... but once you've tasted the exquisite sweetness of the forbidden fruit, you might grow tired of plain vanilla after that right?

So having planted the seeds of deviance off from his straight and narrow path, will they ever blossom into a nice sinful apple tree in the middle of the perfect garden of his soul in the future? I'd hate to think that after we're through, he'll renounce this bad behaviour and simply return to a sedate, government-approved existence of marrying a nice sweet girl and having 2.4 president's scholar children.

One can only hope.