Fridae

Last weekend, droves after droves of gay men descended on the nation state of Singapore all decked out in their finest plumes for a weekend of back-to-back parties organised by Fridae.

As a firm believer that one must simply look one's best at any gay party, I spent most of the days leading up to the weekend pumping, plucking and preening myself - after all who wants to do a "hands-up-in-the-air" move and be mistaken for King Kong's cousin twice removed?

Since Squirt was held at Palawan Beach, Sentosa, I decided to dress the part and adopt an island tropics look. Despite cries of "Have you taken leave of your senses?" from my partner, I remained adamant about my exotic Island Princess getup comprising authentic wooden bangles up to my armpits, an orchid inserted behind my ear and a fetching see-through sarong wrap.

Upon arrival, I realised that my outfit and my spot on portrayal of an unspoiled island virgin ("Sex? What means this strange word Sex?") made me an instant hit - if the number of jaws dropping to the ground was any indication.

Making our way to the Squirt party grounds located at a cordoned-off section of the beach accessible only through a suspension bridge, my party posse and I had to fight back waves of motion-sickness induced by the swaying bridge. Once we reached the opposite shore, we had to track along pathways lit with blazing torches reminiscent of the tribal council scene in Survivor.

Our physical exertions were duly rewarded at the main dance arena where we were confronted with the pleasing sight of many a muscled men strutting around with their chests puffed out like pouter pigeons.

Driven by the hypnotic beats from DJ George (Singapore) and hunky DJ Kiokio (USA), many revelers started to shed their clothes and inhibitions while others danced atop safety-challenged makeshift podiums.

As the party progressed (or should I say degenerated?) into the night, wet jets of cool water were sprayed onto the heat-crazed crowd amidst grunts of pleasure from tops (all five of them) and shrieks of outrage from bottoms (all the rest) - many of whom were left looking like drowned chickens with hair plastered to their faces.

My only complaint - what do you expect? I'm a Singaporean! - was the utterly inconvenient location of the restrooms and the discomfort it caused yours truly as I had to "walk" cross-legged across the never-ending (and still swaying) bridge and then wait in line to get into a toilet cubicle after one too many drinks.

(Note to self: I will never degrade myself like some of the partygoers who apparently did not think twice about squatting amongst bushes to relieve themselves! How utterly d�class�!).

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Having said that, partying under the moon at Squirt while surrounded by lapping waves, palm fronds and sweaty hot bods proved to be a most enjoyable tropical sexperience! By 3am however, even one as fresh as myself had begun to wilt (just a little). So in preparation for Slurp the next night, my party posse and I decided to head back to Singapore for some youthenising sleep (not that I need it).

Held at club haven Zouk on Sunday night, the main draw for Slurp was undeniably DJ Antwone (Bangkok) and his to-die-for physique (oh, he spins rather well too I suppose). For the better part of two hours, I stood right next to the DJ console and sent off radiating waves of wild sexual abandon towards Antwone.

Unfortunately, Antwone proved to be too much of a dedicated professional - for not once did I catch him casting so much as a glance in my direction! Still his failure to acknowledge my luminous presence can be forgiven since my source at Fridae explained that Antwone was probably worried that I'll prove to be too much of a (sexual) distraction.

(Editor's Note: I was under duress when I said that - it was either I cook up that excuse or spend the entire night listening to Alvin whine incessantly).

The cool reception from DJ Antwone aside, Slurp proved to be just as enjoyable as Squirt. With pounding club grooves and drinks going at one-for-one till midnight, the cavernous club was packed! The only drawback was the bouts of momentary hearing loss induced by the ear-splitting hiss accompanying jets of smoke directed at the dance floor.

Recognising many a familiar faces from Squirt, I decided to appoint myself as "Ambassador of Singapore" and went around greeting everyone with screams of "Welcome to The Lion City!" The startled expressions that greeted me only proved that Asian gay men still have a long way to go with regards to the proper behavioural protocol when greeted by a Beauty Queen of my stature.

When the clock struck 2am, I decided to do a Cinderella and call it a night. As my party posse and I made our way to the club exit, I cast one last longing look at the rest of the homo-revelers hopping around and twittering like debauched canaries - and silently cursed the Singapore government for not making Easter Monday a public holiday.