He stood at the very edge of the precipice, staring down at the waves crashing against the rocky cliff wall. The salty breeze ran its fingers through his hair, giving him tousled and windswept appearance. Drops of sea spray trickled down his bare chest, which heaved as he took a deep breath. Above, the cloudless sky filled with the calls of seagulls, an incessant cawing, a cacophony of chorusing birds. Slowly, he spread his arms wide, and allowed himself to succumb to the pull of gravity.

*

An image slowly formed in his mind. An indistinct face, devoid of features, blurred by the dark clouds of his memories. He strained himself, forcing his brain to once again conjure up the image of the one he loved. Slowly, a pair of eyes began to form, bright cerulean irises that once shimmered beneath the moonlight of Paris. A nose, which had once inhaled the fragrance of companionship. And lastly, those lips, the ones that always lingered for a moment too long whenever they parted. He could still feel the warmth of them upon his own, and gently his fingers caressed them, as if trying to relieve those instants.

A sudden pang of loss hit him, and he collapsed to his knees, beads of moisture running down his cheeks. He felt as if his heart had been torn out, ripped from his very flesh, and the raw agony of it spread like liquid fire through his veins. He raised the well-worn shirt to his face, breathing in the scent of a long lost love. It hurt so badly. His heart ached with an increasing ferocity, and for the first time since the incident, he wished he was dead. Anything to stem the waves of pain crashing down upon his weakened shoulders, the weight too heavy for him to bear.

The pale moonlight streamed through the windows, bathing him in its dull glow. He raised his eyes towards the heavens and uttered a single word. “Why?”

*

It was late when he first heard the news. He had prepared a special dinner, to celebrate his beloved’s birthday. As he laid the tables, arranging the forks and spoons side by side, laying down the plates and finally lowering the casserole on the table. Beside it stood a vase of flowers, which he had carefully picked from the garden they both tended with such loving care. A silver candelabra occupied the centre of the mahogany table, and as he slowly placed candles into each holder, the phone rang.

He laid the candles down, wiped his hands on a piece of cloth, and headed for the living room. Humming a slight tune, he tapped his feet in time with the song. Endless Love. A true classic they had listened to when they first fell in love. The tender vocals awash as they shared their first kiss, upon a moonlit beach, basking in the comfort of finally realizing they were meant for each other.

Still tapping his feet, his right hand reached out and grabbed the receiver, holding it up to his ear. The first couple of words stunned him, and his face turned pale as a statue. Slowly, he knelt to the ground, the receiver slipping from between his weakened fingers. As the first tear rolled down his cheek, all he could think of was that moment, when they realized what their feelings really meant.

*

It was a group of neighborhood kids, he was told. They were drunk, and out looking for trouble. Few of the words registered in his mind, as only a single thought occupied his mind; the fact that his one and only love was no longer there. He was alone, alone in a crowded world, which refused to accept him for who he truly is, and for some, even despised him.

Meeting his beloved was the one time he felt he belonged somewhere, that he wasn’t a lost soul in the middle of a sea of people. It was then that he had finally found meaning in his life, instead of just being a joke, one who was constantly bullied and abused just for being born.

For how long he had resisted the taunts and accusations raining down upon him like hailstones from those around him, and when he met the one he loved, he had thought that it was all worth it. The feeling of never blending in, of being an outcast; it was all finally worth it, because he had found true happiness. With it, he realized that nothing could hurt him, for there was an invisible shield of love that protected him from the malevolence in his life.

But now, it was all gone, lost forever because of a group of teenagers who had been raised to think that people like him were monsters. That they didn’t deserve to live on this Earth with the rest of them. That they are scum, and should be treated so. He didn’t really blame them; he blamed society at large, for distorting the truth in the minds of the young, teaching them to hate instead of love, to deny instead of to accept. But most of all, he blamed himself, for thinking that it would all work out, for thinking that people could change and accept them for who they were. It was all his fault. He had tried to defy gravity, and in the process, had come crashing to the ground.

*

As he fell through the sky, a single thought filled his mind.

I’m sorry.

Then he crashed through the waves, and he saw the darkness close above him, swallowing him into its gaping maw.

*

The first thing he realized was that his whole body ached. There was a warm taste in his mouth, and he realized that it was blood. His blood.

Am I dead?

He was lying on a rough surface, which rubbed against his raw skin as he struggled to get up. Slowly, painfully, he opened his eyes.

A beach.

When he finally managed to drag himself into a sitting position, he realized that he had been washed ashore, dumped on the beach like the bits of driftwood around him.

The sun was setting, filling the waters with a scarlet brilliance, too beautiful to comprehend.  For a moment his raging heart was calmed, like the waves lapping at his feet. With all the darkness surrounding it, there was still beauty in the world.

Then it hit him. He was alive. He had defied gravity, and lived. Maybe he did belong, after all.

Image taken from here.

Disclaimer: Just know that I do not make any money endorsing the books that I review.  If I find a good book or author, I just want to share them with people because you and I both know how many bad ones there are out there.

If you are looking for an intellectually stimulating story or big epic romance, this isn’t the book for you.  Instead, go read Jeanette Winterson’s Gut Symmetries  or Radclyffe Hall’s  1928 Well of Loneliness. If you are looking for good ole American instant gratification,  simple and no-at all-straight sexy lesbian eroticism, revel in the sexiness that id Thirteen Hours.

Unless you are a hopeless dried up well, I guarantee you will be reaching for your partner, your favorite toy or your right hand within the first few chapters of the book.

There is no plot to give away other than its a prude meets stripper-who-is-actually-a-high-libidoed-veterinarian and they had sex happily ever after.

I have bought and read other OBrien fiction since and I must say this is the sexiest book of them all.

Having to read up on gender-bending in adopted online identities lately, I stumbled upon this interesting manga called 1/2 Ouji manga. This manga is written by Yu Wo, and illustrated by Choi Hong Chong.

It’s 2100 AD — Feng Lan is a 19 year old college girl, living in T City. Her twin brother introduces her to the game Second Life. Rather like our own Second Life, users can construct their own identities in this game. The difference lies in this: the game is immersive, one enters the virtual reality, and injuries  received from the game translate into real pain.

Those familiar with Hunter X Hunter may compare this with Greed Island.

OH, SNAP! Hehe.

Feng Lan is furious at her brother for declaring that being female gives her an unfair advantage in the game. I presume this may mean in 2100AD, Second Life is catered for, and dominated by, straight, hormonal males. At the very least, it is certain that the game allows females to level up easier.

Feng Lan decides to play the game as a man. This makes her the first transgendered character in the game.

I have only begun reading the manga, I cannot say if Feng Lan is actually transgendered — though based on the circumstantial beginnings, I am inclined to think not. She also seems much  more interested in getting into her own pants.

I’m not that far along in the manga yet — from what I understand, Feng Lan’s supposed to evolve into a blood-thirsty warrior. I’m still at the part where in Second Life, he’s a lust-inducing man, getting favours thrown his way because of how beautiful he looks.

Yeap. That’s a picture of Feng Lan as “Prince”. Certainly a more interesting character than Legolas, for me. I like my fictional elves to be evil.

If you’re sold on the idea of giving it a try, Manga Fox has scanlations of 1/2 Ouji manga. The link to yonder first chapter is here. If you like what you see, head on over to your favourite manga shop and pick up a copy.

As for me; my two favourite gender-bending manga comics growing up were Ranma 1/2, and F. Compo. What’s yours?

I have to say that my exposure to lesbian fiction is limited to a little over a dozen lesbian authors. But two shinning stars that pop up in my all time favorite list are – Jeanette Winterson and Sarah Waters (maybe it is something about the dreary British weather that brings the best out of lesbian fiction?).  Where reading Winterson’s works is like thumbing through a shopping mall’s plastic poster portfolio of cheap Disney knockoffs prints and finding Picasso’s original artwork, reading Sarah Waters’ works is like finding a full-blown oasis complete with lesbian egrets while stumbling through a dry hot desert. To that effect, this review is on her first published book – Tipping the Velvet. To date, Sarah Waters has written four books: Affinity(Affinity is the first book I re-read immediately after finishing because the twist in the book was that jarring and unexpected), NightWatch, Fingersmith. I believe three of them having been made to feature films – Affinity(2008), Fingersmith(2005), Tipping the Velvet (2002).  I have to admit with Tipping the Velvet, I watched the movie first before reading the novel.  The movies was so good I felt like I didn’t need to read the novel. But, I finally caved in and purchased the novel after reading all her other novels. I have to say I was not disappointed with my meager investment.  

Her writing vividly brings out characters, their emotions and their environment. Tipping the Velvet follows Nan King, a young protagonist through her journey of self-discover. Her relationships with Kitty, Diana and Florie is written in such lush detail, I feel like writing a letter of complaint to the producers of the movie for not depicting Nan for the drool-inducing butch that she was in the book.  While there are many memorable moments in the book, my favorite is when Diana related a story of the beggar and djinn to Nan the morning after their first liason. The djinn/Diana gave the beggar/Nan the choice of living in ordinary comfort for 70 years or live in pleasure for 500 days. Guess which the beggar and Nan picked? I have to admit even now, I run the same question through my head sometimes when making life decisions.  

I don’t want to give a way too much of the storyline as I strongly recommend you run to the store right now to buy all of Sarah Waters’ books. If you can only buy one book because you are such a cheapskate, get Tipping the Velvet if you like some eroticism in your lesbian fiction or Affinity if you want to get a good twist in your reading. 

One Whispering Night

“Where do you stay? I want to meet you and see what you look like…”

We met in my car under the shadow of the midnight moon.
His face looking at mine for the first time. And I loved it
how his smile was shining brighter than the moon’s light.
The moon was watching us, but I was watching him more closely.

His gentle gestures of planned lust were obvious.
We chatted in the car, the winds suddenly made their way home,
and we were left all alone
to mingle and bond and share our first moments together in peace.

He shared his milestones in life; I shared mine.
His face kept looking straight but his eyes focused on me
and I knew cupid was working hard that night,
because my heart felt that arrow shoot right through my flesh.
I knew it was love.

It was on this Whispering Night
that magic became reality and reality felt like magic,

Two guys in a car, in an enclosed space
that would have been perfect to turn his gentle gestures to lustful ones.
But we both acted cool and curious about each other,
as smiles and glances were exchanged for the next few hours,
no touch, nothing physical – not yet.
Maybe never.

Until finally it came, the moment to say goodbye,
because it was already 4a.m. and the sun was fighting to come out.

It wasn’t just the sun fighting to come out, but our hearts
were bursting into flames and we knew
that if we wanted to touch, it should happen soon.
But gentle it must be.

“It’s late”, we said. Hinting either to end our meet,
or get on with the kissing.
And touching.

Neither wanted to leave, but both of us knew it was just the beginning
and little did we know that the best was yet to come.
It was lust at first, but it turned into love,
and the night ended with a kiss, a long one, a gentle one.
And of course some touching.

Maybe a bit more than just ‘some’.

And that’s how two boys fell in love -
one dark sky and one bright moon
one kiss
all in one Whispering Night.

In Sputnik Sweetheart, following Sumire’s journey of realizing, agonizing and suffering with her love for Miu, a much older women with a past, rewards the reader with a lesbian-themed twists and paradoxical plots unique to Murakami.  Throw-in an incidental a gay male couple along the Jack Kerouac obsessions and skinny-dipping in the clear waters of a secluded Greek island, the LGBT reader finds an almost irresistible book.

First of all, let’s set the expectations, the lesbian relationship is not the primary focus of the book nor does the book have a satisfyingly tangible ending for any of the potential couples (or for the book for that matter).

However, unlike the typical tease of Banana Yoshimoto’s books where the reader is left wondering if the protaganist and her close female friend are ever going to be lovers, Murakami’s Sumire declares from the onset of her encounter with Miu that she “must be in love with this woman.. no mistake about it. Ice is cold, roses are red. I am in love”.

Through humor, what  Sputnik Sweeheart reader will not want to think of “cucumbers in a fridge on  a summer afternoon” next time he/she feels sexual desire for another person?, and through utter relevant irreverence “Miu’s mind went blank. I’m right here [stuck in a Ferris wheel gondola], looking at my room with binoculars. And in that room is me..”, Sputnik Sweetheart makes the reader realize that the journey the reader undertakes following the plot that brought K, Sumire and Miu together is more important than bringing a K and Sumire or Sumire and Miu relationship into fruition.  Through Murakami’s skilled navigation, the reader cannot help but winch in pity for both Sumire and K in turns.

With the brief preface on Laika, the first dog and living being launched into space by the Russian satellite Sputnik II, Miu’s explanation of the term ‘Sputnik’ to mean ‘Traveling Companion’, the line uttered by Miu, “that we were wonderful traveling companions but in the end no more than lonely lumps of metal in their own orbits”, the reader becomes the a companion detective alongside K in putting the pieces of plot together to determine the moral of the story. Just as Sumire reached to a conclusion at the end, the reader too will realize that relationships are journeys best taken together.

‘Confessions of the Mask’ by Yukio Mishima is a must read for the discriminate LGBT reader as well.