A 10 Year Old Boy’s Secrets

Now that you’ve seen bits and pieces of my sexual exploits from my Little Black Book, it’s time for me to share what’s inside one of my many, many journals back in the dark ages — wayyyy before I started blogging. It’s always nice to reminisce old memories and it’s been quite awhile since I last made a Bryanboy Life Archives entry. It truly is amazing how colourful my life is. A Hollywood producer should seriously make a movie out of my life AND (*not* and/or) AND a NYC publisher should fucking give me a book deal so we can all make bajillions out of my mishaps and misadventures.

Let’s move on to the juicy stuff shall we?

Inside this 1999 Louis Vuitton diary lies some of the deepest, darkest secrets of a 10 year old boy.

Ten, because I was born in 1989.

In approximately three weeks, 1989 will change to 1990.

You do the math.

One can tell I’m gonna be one heck of a fucking label whore from such young age. It’s CRAZEEEEEE! FASHION VICTIM 2 D CAPITAL VEE!

Going back to the story… the year was 1999.

It was a great year alright.

At that time, most of the people I know are probably just finishing high school and/or starting university but there I was, living my youth to the fullest.

Every month I went somewhere new around the world.

I went to raves.

I clubbed my ass off pretty much every single day, popping pills and smoking every FLORA, FAUNA and FARMACEUTICALS available.

I even had a boyfriend who was a few months younger than me.

Oh yes.

I was in a long-term relationship.

Something I haven’t had in what — a few years?

Anyway.

I really was living IT.

Perhaps one of the reasons why my life is soo dull now is because of the fact that I grew up a little too fast. I spent most of my childhood wasting away left and right, no wonder I barely have a sense of direction these days.

I really have no regrets though.

I mean, how can you have regrets when you’ve had this?

I had to put this big song and dance on how I desperate wanted this big blue Gucci bag and I got it. The powers of persuasion eh? I’m not sure whether this is the bag though. I had to go through all the junk in this house just to find this old ancient relic. LOL. Wasn’t it back in 1999 when Tom Ford came out with this sensational psychedelic hippie chic collection for Gucci? I’m sure I’m wrong. Bah. My memory sucks.

Don’t you just looooove all these cute Japanese stickers I used to decorate my entries?

HOW FUCKING GAY IS THAT?

So yeah… as far as I’m concerned, I’ve got no regrets whatsoever about my childhood. LOL.

(May) Thursday: "Remember Clifford? Nice "asian-style" apartment. After the apartment thingie, went to Japanese restaurant to eat food. Had sushi, sushi and more sushi!"

Duh. What was I thinking? Of course it’s Asian-style. He lives in HK for god’s sake! It’s chinka chinka doodle doo land!

Yeah, I remember now. Clifford was this Australian guy in his late 20s… he was like 10 years older than me, he’s an investment analyst, used to live in Singapore then he got transferred to HK. He had this whole japanese zen zen thingie majigie going on, enormous apartment and he had all these bonsai plants in his living room.

But yeah… sushi is great after sex. LOL. Hahahaha!

(May) Friday: "Had snacks and lunch at the Cathay Lounge at Chep Lap Kok. Chicken barbeque was really good. Chep lap Kok was really BIG. Just got home from HK. Flew first class. Indian stewardess served me."

(May) Saturday: Wore Prada today. Went to Starbucks at 11:30PM, Met Sharika and Annie at around 1:30AM made a quick pass at Mars then ABG’s (nightclubs)

I’m sorry but I’m having goosebumps while typing all this shit. It’s fun though. HAHAHAHAH!

Most journals are boring without drama so allow me to indulge you with drama.

Gay drama that is.

(June) Saturday:  Me and __ had a huge fight. I pretended to be __ at IRC. I talked to __ and he mentioned that __ sent pictures of his dick and __ had an incident in a bathroom like a "blowjob" incident. Made up but I have suspicions.

My boyfriend and I had a this huge fight because I suspected he was cheating on me.

Being the possessive psychopath that I am, I went online,used his nickname on IRC (gotta love old school internet hahahahaha if you don’t know IRC, you’re still a fetus!) and chatted to this other guy I knew he was talking to. According to the homewrecking bitch, my boyfriend sent him a picture of his cock and they had a little oral incident in some toilet.

I really thought it was true at that time so I gave my ex a good tongue lashing…

We made up though.

Fast forward a few days later…

It was our anniversary! HAHAHAHA!

(June) Saturday: "___ called me 12:00 – 12:24AM. *Happy Anniversary* He called me from a payphone. I jkoffed jerked he kept silent."

(June) Sunday: "did shabu with Annie & Sharika at Annie’s House………. snip snip"

(June) Sunday: "___ sang ‘mayonnaise’ by smashing pumpkins. he played the guitar for me and he sang the song. We also jacked off. He would call me soon though. <3"

*CRINGE* Smashing Pumpkins. Enough said.

Annie was this filthy rich skank lesbian who lives in a massive house. She’s the only child and she pretty much got everything she want. She was such a bad influence. I remember her having these braces with coloured bits on em and she had this huge kinky hair. Think Vanessa Williams at the Golden Globes.

Shabu is another term for crystal meth. God. I did so much of that shit, along with others, back then. I just laugh how it’s sooooo big amongst the faggot communities in USA and Europe now whereas I did that crap like almost a decade ago. Thank god I’m 140% sober now. Gone are those days. *grins*

ON A DIFFERENT NOTE…

GOOD GAWD GRACIOUS. I AM SUCH A FUCKING PERVERT!

PHONE SEX? Hahahaha!

Y’all have heard my voice. Can you imagine me having phone sex?

Ugh. Gross.

Blah blah blah yaddi yaddi yadda…

A few days after our anniversary, I found myself on sleepovers with other people, bumming around, doing nothing. Annie introduced me to this guy who’s gay but in the closet. He was totally straight acting. At first glance you prolly won’t be able to tell he was gay but upon closer inspection, he’s got a few habits here and there that are faggotry-worthy.

He wasn’t my type though.

He’s like half german, half third world.

(my god… I can’t believe i’m remembering all this shit now)

So one day I went to his house to chill out. He told me to spend the night over. I thought, sure, why not.

We smoked here and there yaddi yaddi yadda and spent the entire night watching tv or chatting.

Out of nowhere, he was rubbing his leg against mine.

Aha. He wants to fuck.

And then I was all like "what are you doing"? blah blah blah

and he was like all smiles and "nothing"

blah blah blah yaddi yaddi yadda.

After a few minutes, he was all like "do you want to do it?"

and I was like "do what?"

and he was like "you know"

and I was like "no i don’t"

and he was like "never mind".

I know EXACTLY what he meant but I like to play clean, pure, virgin and innocent.

In other words, I WANT to hear a man say "I WANNA FUCK YOU HARD."

something he didn’t deliver.

Snap snap I have a boyfriend.

We just slept right then and there.

And I spent the following night again at his place.

Nothing happened.

Just lost weight from all the crack I’ve been smoking. LOL.

Take note of what I wrote — "should’ve had sex with ___" followed by "YUCK!".

WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING?

LOL.

Come August, my ex and I went on holiday to a private island/resort/whatever you call it. We spent like a week and a half there. Most of the people who go to the island are fucking families — people our age (or worse, fetuses) PLUS the parentals. Our villa was right beside this villa occupied by a Canadian family of four a day before we go there (hence newcomers). We really bonded with the 2 kids — a lesbian named Mel (who is about our age) and her older brother named Danny. He’s the quintessential American corn-fed blond Abecrombie & Bitch jock.

Except he’s Canadian. He was soo hot.

Too bad he’s straight.

Too bad I had a boyfriend.

The four of us were soo bored in the island all we did was smoke pot and play monopoly.

Go figure.

—-

And there you have it.

For the record, I haven’t cheated on my ex.

We broke up in October the same year a day or two after I went to Reykjavik, Iceland where I spent 3 weeks…

and had sex with 27 Icelandic guys.

Email me and tell me you love me! My email address is bryanboy@gmail.com or SMS +63.915.785.1492.

I love you all! Pictionary coming up!