Jim spends his free time at the Chinatown MRT toilet. There, he makes lots of friends that he barely exchanges intelligible words with. In a place so full of taboo and detritus, it is the heated exchanges of eye contact and stolen glances at the mirror which substitutes conversation.
His hobby is sodomy.
Within those cubicles, pinned against semen-stained walls and urine-tainted tiles, he lets men sometimes old enough to be his grand-daddy fuck him. He moans in between the crackling announcements of “please stand behind the yellow lines”. His favourite moan is “baby wants to fuck”. There are somedays when they hurt him. But there is a point where pain and pleasure consummates and one is then lost to a momentary session of self-exculpatory sensation.
Jim likes to think he’s a happy person. Happy however is not a word most would use to describe a writhing creature that cries pathetically in the midst of atrociously sober orgasms.
Jim needs some love.