Mt. Serapi Matang on the northern side of Kuching is my favourite haunt. Every weekend I go hunting up the mountain trail for the perfect man. Indeed, I don't have a gun or a blowpipe, but I almost always get the man I want.
The sun in the early evening sky, drenched the jungle in a molten glow. A humid breeze stirred the dense canopy, carrying the scents of rain-soaked earth and blooming orchids. The air thrummed with life—chattering birds, the rhythmic hum of cicadas, and the distant roar of a waterfall hidden beyond the veil of green. And of course, the panting of men, walking or running up and down the mountain trail.
Twenty minutes up the trail, I spotted him. Yes, that young man sitting by the side of the rough jungle path, resting his sweaty body. He was wearing a white T-shirt that was already soaked in his musky sweat, his nipples protruding from inside the thin fabric. His red shorts, silky and equally soaked, was hiked up his wonderfully strong thighs.
He was very young and strong, with a full head of healthy black hair, deep brown eyes, and prominent cheek bones that outlined his Borneo heritage.
"What a beautiful tattoo!" I exclaimed, looking at his leg that was covered with a mass of tattoos in different shades.
He looked up at me, smiled a warm invitation for me to sit down next to him, so I did.
"It's really fascinating", I continued, "what does it mean, surely a tattoo like this must have some significant meaning."
He pointed at his big hard ankle, or at least I thought it looked big and hard. "This tattoo is the story of a native man who leaves his longhouse one morning, to go hunting in the Borneo forest."
My fingers caressed his ankle, feeling the strong bones and wonderful skin, tracing the contour of the tattoo. "Is this the start of our journey? Is this his longhouse?"
"Yes, he is carrying a long blow-pipe made of iron wood and a vial of poison from the fruit of the same tree, for he hopes to get at least a big hairy squirrel for his lunch."
My fingers were moving along with his story, touching, feeling the smooth skin, from his ankle and moving upwards to his shin.
"You see this swirling in the design in green? This means that he has entered the jungle that is covered with undergrowth."
My fingers moved, touching, feeling the skin and the moist fine hairs on his legs.
"He must look up into the trees with sharp eyes, if he is to get his lunch today. This part of the tattoo shows you how tall the trees are getting." My fingers moved, touching, feeling the skin that is now so warm from his jogging earlier, and thrilled at the brush of the hairs, fine like bamboo hairs.
"Walking through the jungle is no easy task, he must take steps cautiously like an animal, quietly so that they can't be heard, to get near enough to his prey to shoot it with his blow-pipe." He was now showing me the tattoo design that wrung around from the top of his shin to the muscular calf. My finger moved, touching, following the curve of the tattoo, round his shin and onto his muscular calf.
"See this diamond shape on the tattoo? He sees something in the trees, takes out a dart, made of light wood from the sago tree. He then dips it in the vial of dark poison, the round scrotum-shaped container made of a big ball seed pod that will paralyse the animal."
My fingers moved, touching his muscular calf, tracing the diamond shape of the tattoo and continued to feel his leg.
"Next, he puts his strong rough lips around the hard blow-pipe, ready to shoot the dart, careful not to suck but to blow. He must aim carefully, for he can't afford to miss."
My fingers moved, touching his skin, thinking yes, this must be what his lips feel like, lips starting to get a darker colour as it filled with blood, and followed the intricate yellow design of the tattoo towards the shoot.
The design had reached his knee now, and here a large flower the colour of burnt rose told the story of the large hairy squirrel hiding high up there among the thick leaves, its movement causing sweet and sticky rain drops that had collected there to dribble a few meters to the jungle floor.
My fingers moved, over his knee and onward to his thigh, where the skin was smooth, but rivulet of musky sweat was running down like raindrops.
"He blows hard, almost with a groan, the dart squirted upwards into the tree. Did it hit the target? "
My fingers moved a little quicker, urgently, and under his silky shorts, where it felt like the warm moist forest. Have I found my target? Warm moist hairs curled roughly round my fingers.
The young man heaves a sigh of relieve. I had no idea how he must have felt. Was he satisfied, done, or spent?
He got up quickly on to his feet, prematurely, his face red now.
"Sorry, have to go. We will continue my tattoo story when we have more time, don't like quickies." He sounded spent.
And he was gone.
