Death and Sex are the two prime drives of life according to Freudians.

At my age death seemed closer than sex, although later next month I’ll be flying west to the East . My wife will meet me at Bangkok airport with my son Fenway. I’ll give him a big kiss and her a hug. Nothing more since my one year-old boy was very jealous son.

Same as his father.

“Do you dream of me?” Mem asked over the phone last night.

“Sometimes.” It was a lie. She had never appeared to me in a dream, although I wished she would, since she was the only woman in my life for almost a decade.

“Do you dream about other women?” This was a trick question.

Like Fenway Mem was a jealous woman. “You can tell me.”

“No, I don’t dream about other women. I only dream about you.”

“Ko-Hok.” She knew men well enough to hear a lie for what it was. “You make love to naked lady on computer. I know you.”

“That not same as a dream.”

“Not dream. Not not dream too. You butterfly same all men.”

I wanted to tell her that I was true, but my computer history would show that I’d been with thousands of women in her absence. Some of them even had names.

“I’m true to you. I haven’t touched another woman.”

“You touch yourself thinking your hand belong to someone else.”

“No, only think my hand is your hand.” And this was true. “I only wish I had films of you, then I not have to look at another lady.”

“Never. I not do this.” She was a good girl now. I was Doctor Doolittle. She was Eliza. Our story was MY FAIR LADY in Thai. I couldn’t remember if the movie had a happy ending and hung up the phone, then went to my favorite porno site. www.lolastube.com.

I clicked on skinny Asians. None of them looked like Mem. Not even close.

It didn’t matter, because Mem was right.

I am a butterfly.