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Wednesday, June 29, 2005

WHITE: Ice cream 

Sometimes all a girl wants to do is walk around town at twilight, eat gelato and go dancing in soft shoes.

Thursday, June 23, 2005


Dolly has been invited to cowrite a lifestyle column over at one of the national papers with an adorable favourite friend so she's quite pleased with herself and is already envisaging book deals, book parties, big boxes of presents and a nice hefty royalty that will provide for manicures and lunch until at least her mid-thirties (maybe she'll have a proper job by then).

Keep your eyes peeled dear readers. Dolly's on to big things.

Monday, June 20, 2005

GREEN: East Malaysians 

All East Malaysians should get a medal just for being East Malaysian. They're all so adorable and, think about it, you've never met a horrible East Malaysian have you? They're so nice it almost makes you sick!

Saturday, June 18, 2005

Oh for chrissakes! Won't you all say something? Even if it's to say how fabulous this blog is or how much you'd rather Blogger to ban it forever from their webspace

It's getting far too quiet in here for a noisy Dolly.

RED: The simplicity of sex 

Sex does not have to be complicated. Forget the kamasutra and being suspended midair. Sometimes, the most pleasurable of feelings can be got just from fingers on an inner thigh.

Sometimes, wet lips wrapped over the tip of a hardened nipple.

Sometimes, a sly tongue round your earlobe.

Sometimes, after brief moments of teasing around a shaven triangle, the tip of a moistened index finger landing suddenly firm but slow on an impatient clit. And often, that explosion of nerves from an initial touch can feel more ecstactic than any orgasm. You can have multiple orgasms, but there can only be one momentary shock of bliss in the beginning when you are most desperate, most ready for anything.

Keep it simple. It can be most exquisite.

Friday, June 17, 2005

BLACK: Before you die... 

Great conversations come out of sitting at the mamak. Far from being grubby dark little places, mamaks have become hugely commercialised, almost cosy (got MTV samor) and are fantastic places for cultivating fabulous theories, the insights to our insane thoughts and grand ideas for the future.

The other night, the Queen threw up an age-old question about what the one thing was that everyone would want to do before they died. Cliched, but fun anyway. It's not as stupid as it seems and a lot can be told about the state of someone's head from how they answer this.

The Queen, being adventurous as he is, said he'd want to travel to at least 100 countries in the world; SniperGirl said she'd want to sleep with 1000 people (at least); Dolly said she wanted to write a book that would change readers' lives profoundly and transcend time ("Like the Bible" piped the Queen).

The last one, Jack-in-the-box (for he is full of surprises) hadn't been paying attention so the Queen had to pose the question again. He didn't think twice. In the bat of an eyelash and with great resolve he declared, "I want to clean up the whole world. It's so dirty everywhere!!" before scrunching his face in disdain at the dirt around the mamak.

He didn't mean "clean" politically, socially or anything deep like that; he meant "clean" with a mop and brush. "I just want to scrub out everything. And then Febreeze all of it!" This is a boy who goes insane at the sight of dust and spends much of his time polishing bathrooms so he can see his own face in the taps. His was the most definitely the most physically, humanely, utterly impossible dream.

Sunday, June 12, 2005

WHITE: Girls have wet dreams too 

Some things are best said in first person:

There's this dream that keeps floating around my head. It fills out the spaces of dream time and rocks each pore to a delirious sort of frenzy. Always, always, it starts in the middle where there is suddenly a guy - often someone I know, sometimes odd celebrities, sometimes just-anyone - pushed against me, his breath heavy against my neck in a way that makes me feel totally desirous and desiring. Everything feels raw, dry, wet, hot all at once, the closed circle between my thighs screaming to be touched.

I always feel it, half asleep, half awake, in between dreaming, as he touches me exactly where the throbbing gets stronger, and as he enters me, as I sit astride him, as his weight fills out the dips within my body, I feel almost-always close to coming. I am always almost awake, half wanting to get out of slumber and touch myself where it feels so desperately good. Never that easy. It's like sleep paralysis where you're caught in one of those sex games that people play on you. To touch, not to touch, come, not come, moan for more, try to wake up, fall back to sleep to finish the dream.

Mostly, I finish the dream, grinding up against his thighs in a way that presses most closely, tightly, exquisite against a swollen clit until I come and the rush of blood feels real enough to wake me. I find my thighs pressed tight against each other and the tips of my fingers held taut against the fabric of knickers, over a clit that's still almost throbbing.

Tuesday, June 07, 2005

RED: Mohamad and marriage 

Dolly's father has a driver called Mohamad who has taken it upon himself to be rather like the guardian of the family. He has said that he panics when, upon driving her father home late, he sees that her car is out and realises she's out all alone without his bodyguard assistance.

Mohamad has also taken a keen interest in the betterment of Dolly's life. Now he speaks to her only in Malay as a chance for her to practise speaking; gives her career advice by telling her to quit her writing shennanigans and do accountancy (!); and, most recently, how to make a man really love you.

"Next time, when you're married, you must wake up half hour before your husband and make coffee for him. If you do, he will love you very much. If not ah, he will go away with someone else."

Dolly, feminist and great advocate of long late lie-ins in the morning, roared in laughter and said in between her chuckling, "No lah, cannot! I cannot wake up early wan. And I make coffee very teruk wan... he make himself lah!"

Mohamad was aghast at her indifference. "No lah! You must. Must make him coffee, sit with him when he is eating breakfast and then say bye bye when he go to work. Then he will love you very much."

This was much too much of a 1950's picket-fence ideology for a progressive bra-burning Dolly but she just couldn't get upset at him. Ordinarily, sexist comments would get Dolly up in flames, red hot under the collar and pissed off at the injustices of the great inequalities. But Mohamad, she figured after some thought, believed in in all that entirely, a hundred and ten per cent. It was difficult to be angry for it was so much a part of his life, so simplistic and ordinary that it made Dolly's feminist view on the matter completely inexplicable and out of place.

It's had no effect on Dolly of course. She still slumbers til noon, while the boy gets up and potters about to make his own breakfast.

Friday, June 03, 2005

RED: Lipstick 

You know you're out of the loop when you're all dolled up on a Friday night with your favourite Stila lipgloss ready to go in your Furla handbag, and you don't know where to go. Thus ensues long discussions with friends, cousins, boy about what to do now.

Dolly must get out more often.

Thursday, June 02, 2005

BLUE: Beautiful men 

Shame really, that the the word "beautiful" is use largely for women as beautiful men can be just as stunning, if not more than their female counterparts. Beautiful men are a league all of their own. They're not just merely good looking, attractive, fit, or men who have become beautiful women; in fact, it's an entirely different sort of 'beautiful' from what women are. Sometimes they don't even fit what is considered attractive for a men - they could be short, too thin, a bit stupid. It's difficult to envisage what a beautiful man looks until until you see one, but when you do, all you can think of is the word, "Beautiful."

You may be attracted to a beautiful man. Most of them time you are, but it's not necessarily the case. Often, he's just so beautiful you want to stand around him; the same sort of feeling as standing next to the colours of one of those giant soothing Rothkos. And people will ask you what that means, what a beautiful man could possibly look like that makes him different from any other hot guy? "For god's sake, what do you mean, beautiful?! Does he have pink lips?" And you search your entire trove of vocabulary to find ways to describe him but eventually all you can really think of is, "beautiful." The more endearing fact is, beautiful men do not know they are beautiful.

Take note that this sort of beauty is not subjective. It's the sort of beauty that everyone, men, women, child alike recognises as beautiful: the Elizabeth Taylor sort of undisputed beauty. In this day and age, the closest you can get to a beautiful man would probably be something along the lines of Jude Law, or that Thai boy who used to lived in the flat below Dolly (she stalked him for a year and only got to talk to him on the last ever day at uni). But even then, they aren't fully beautiful contain only elements of being beautiful. They're rare, mind, and hard to come by, like Vintage Diors. Keep your eyes peeled and blow him an extra kiss from Dolly when you do see one.

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