Man vs. Durian

by Jackie Lau

  “Vietnamese coffee and chocolate-raspberry,” I say.

  “Right, of course.”

  “It doesn’t matter what that idiot thinks. Even his girlfriend knows he’s an asshole. There’s nothing wrong with not using your degree. Like me.”

  “I know. I just...”

  “Unlike me, you want to use it.”

  She nods and hands over my ice cream. Our fingers brush, and I have to restrain myself from touching her further.

  “Why don’t you ask questions?” she says.

  “I ask plenty of questions. May I kiss you?”

  She chuckles. “You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t ask questions because you don’t seem ready to answer them, not because I don’t want to know everything about you.”

  “Thank you,” she says. “And yes, you may kiss me, as soon as I’m able to take a break.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  Later, after I’ve kissed her and returned home, I do a little Googling and find something that will definitely make her smile. Not long ago, I would have been highly disturbed that such a place existed, but now, I’m glad. I can’t wait to take her there.

  As I said, I love falling in love.

  It makes you see the world in a different way.

  Chapter 12

  Valerie

  My phone buzzes and I jump up from the kitchen table, where I’ve been drinking tea with my mother and helping sort her button collection, which she keeps in a blue cookie tin.

  “He’s here,” I say, unable to stop my heart from beating quickly.

  “You will be home for dinner?”

  “I don’t know, Mom. Probably not, but he didn’t tell me where we’re going. It’s a surprise.”

  She clucks her tongue. “He should have given you some idea so you know what to wear!” She frowns at my jeans and off-the-shoulder black shirt, which I have paired with a simple silver necklace.

  “I’m sure if I needed to dress up, he would have told me.”

  “You know men. They never think of these things. Your father would wear socks with sandals to the office if I’d let him. Anyway, I will probably be out when you get home. Going to Connie’s after dinner.”

  “Oh, so you think you’ll be out later than me on a Monday night?”

  “Yes, because Peter is a good boy, and he will bring you home before midnight.”

  “And you are not a good girl, so you will be out after midnight, gambling and gossiping with your friends?”

  My mom laughs. “I worked so hard, all my life. Now it’s my time to shine! I can do whatever I like. My only job now is to make sure my children marry good people, but that is not a full-time job, and I think you are doing well, yes? You don’t look so down in the dumps these days. He’s good for you.”

  “He’s a freaking pediatrician. That’s all you care about.”

  “Aiyah! Why do you say that? It’s not true.” She pats my hand. “Now go! Don’t keep him waiting.”

  “The reason I’m keeping him waiting is because you’re still talking.”

  “Ah, blame it all on your poor mother.”

  I give her a look, then wave before I dash to the door and put on a pair of black flats.

  Peter is parked in the driveway. When I slide into the passenger’s seat of his old Toyota, I can’t help touching him. I place my hand on his shoulder and grin.

  For so many months, it felt like I couldn’t truly enjoy myself or look forward to things. Sure, I hung out with my friends, but it wasn’t quite the same.

  The last few weeks, however, have been different.

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask as I buckle my seatbelt.

  He backs out of the driveway. “I’m not telling you. We’ll be there in twenty minutes. You can make it that long, can’t you?”

  “Fine, fine,” I mutter, making a show of being annoyed. “If I must.”

  “You look really good tonight. Too bad I have to keep my eyes on the road.”

  “Yeah, too bad I don’t want to be roadkill.”

  “You say the most romantic things.” He squeezes my thigh, then returns his hand to the steering wheel.

  Twenty minutes later, we pull up to a plaza in Richmond Hill. Most of the signs have Chinese in addition to English. There’s a congee restaurant, a small grocery store, and a smartphone repair place.

  My heart sinks. It’s your average Chinese plaza with your average businesses. Maybe he wants to take me to the congee restaurant—I don’t mind, I like congee—but I was expecting something more exciting, since he made a big deal about it being a surprise.

  You shouldn’t hope too much. That way you won’t be disappointed.

  Yes, that’s a lesson I learned last year. I couldn’t deal with the crushing disappointment of having everything ripped away from me, and I didn’t dare hope that things would improve.

  But I’ve started to hope again, and that’s a dangerous thing.

  I think of the envelope in my purse. I wish I hadn’t brought it.

  “Let’s go,” Peter says, hopping out of the car. “It’s around the other side.” He takes my hand and we begin walking. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I swallow. “I’m fine.”

  We turn the corner. He points to the left, and I follow his gaze, not sure what to expect, but having sufficiently lowered my expectations so that I won’t be disappointed.

  But when I see the green sign, I burst into laughter.

  Why did I ever doubt Peter?

  “Doctor Durian,” I say, reading the sign.

  “That’s right. It’s a durian dessert shop. It opened last week.”

  I grab his hand and jog across the parking lot until we reach the shop. It’s not very fancy, and there are only a couple tables in the cramped interior. A faint pungent smell permeates the air, and my mouth starts watering.

  It’s like heaven.

  There’s a large menu with pictures. Durian pancakes, durian ice cream, durian buns, durian supreme sundae, durian cake, durian sago, durian smoothie, durian mochi, sticky rice with durian...

  “Durian cheesecake!” I point to it and laugh.

  Peter’s nose is wrinkled slightly—how does he look so damn cute with his nose wrinkled?—but he’s smiling.

  “Order whatever you like,” he says. “My treat.”

  Peter absolutely hates durian and can’t stand the smell, but he’s brought me here, and he looks happy.

  Because he likes making me happy.

  “Apparently the durian pancakes are really good,” he says. “So I’ve heard.”

  “Will you get anything?”

  “They have a few non-durian items.”

  “How shocking!”

  He laughs. “Mango pancakes, maybe.”

  In addition to all the food, there are a few greeting cards with cartoon durians, as well as postcards showing the fruit growing on trees. Another postcard depicts some kind of durian festival in Malaysia.

  “Can I help you?” asks the woman behind the counter.

  It takes me a solid five minutes to figure out what to get. It all looks so good. A little on the expensive side, though—durian isn’t cheap.

  Eventually, I decide on the durian pancakes, and Peter orders the mango ones.

  We take a seat at one of the rickety tables by the window, and the woman brings our food over a few minutes later. She sets a square white plate with two yellow pancakes, stuffed and folded into rectangles, in front of me. They look exactly like the ones I had in Hong Kong many years ago, an experience I haven’t forgotten because they were the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten.

  I bugged Peter about taking pictures at the Thai rolled ice cream shop, but this time, I’m the one snapping photos. I take several of my food after it arrives, then cut one of the pancakes in half and take some more. Peter insists on getting a photo of me and my food, too.

  Then, at long last, I have a bite of pancake filled with whipped cream and durian flesh, and the taste explo
des in my mouth.

  I don’t know how to describe the taste of durian. It’s a bit like a cross between creamy banana and mango with a hint of caramel, yet not too sweet? But really, there’s nothing else like it.

  I put down my fork after my first bite.

  “So good,” I say to Peter. “Do you want to try some?”

  “I’ve already tried durian ice cream and durian bun in your presence. I think I’ll pass.”

  “True. This would be wasted on you, and it doesn’t deserve to be wasted.” I lovingly pet my uneaten durian pancake, and he laughs.

  “Perhaps I’d like durian if I’d first been exposed to it when I was young,” he says. “Oh, well. It’s too late now.”

  “How are your mango pancakes?”

  “Very good, but not as orgasmic as yours. I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

  I slide my chair around the table so that I’m sitting closer to him, and with one hand on his thigh, I savor the rest of my durian pancakes.

  “Oh my God, that was delicious,” I say, setting down my fork.

  “Do you want anything else?”

  “I shouldn’t, but maybe I’ll get a durian smoothie to go.”

  “Uh-uh. No way are you bringing that into my car.”

  “Aw, come on!” I punch him lightly on the shoulder.

  But I won’t press. He hates the smell of durian, and although a durian smoothie wouldn’t be as bad as taking a fresh durian into his car, I understand.

  “I’ll get a small one,” I say, “and I’ll finish it before we get in your car, don’t worry.”

  Once I have my durian smoothie in hand, we wander around the exterior of the plaza, my other hand in his.

  “You know,” I say, shaking my plastic cup, “I’m tempted to pour some on you.”

  “Why on earth would you do that?”

  “Because when you got durian ice cream on your shirt, you couldn’t whip it off fast enough.”

  He barks out a laugh that reverberates all through my body.

  “Darling,” he says, “if you want me to take off my shirt, you just have to ask. You don’t need to resort to spilling a durian smoothie on me.”

  “Hmm.” I let go of him and slide my hand under the hem of his shirt so I can feel his warm skin.

  We have noodles for dinner at a nearby restaurant, and then I tell Peter to take us to a deserted parking lot, which he does. It’s not entirely empty, but there are only a couple other cars, and it’s dark out now.

  Good enough for me.

  “What do you want to do in a parking lot?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

  “First...” I dig into my purse and produce the envelope I’ve been carrying around all evening. “For you.”

  “For me?” His lips curve upward.

  When I nod, he opens the envelope and slides out the card.

  On the front is a photo of two golden retriever puppies cuddling. I went to Moonbeam Messages yesterday to look for the perfect card to give Peter, but now, I feel uncertain. I only gave Stephen cards for Valentine’s Day and our anniversary. Never a “just because” card with puppies.

  Peter opens it.

  You make me feel comfy is the printed message inside. I haven’t written anything else, aside from the salutation and signature.

  But it’s a goddamn puppy card. This isn’t the kind of thing I do.

  I’m about to grab it back, but then Peter says, “I love it.”

  A part of me still wants to say, It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just part of our act. But I don’t. Because that’s not true.

  Instead, I let the words hang between us.

  “Let’s go to the backseat,” he says. “I think I know what you want to do in a parking lot. I feel like I’m in high school again.”

  “Yeah? I never did anything like this when I was in high school.”

  “There’s a first time for everything.”

  “You’ll be happy to know that I had a breath mint, so I shouldn’t smell like durian.”

  “I would kiss you even if you’d just eaten a whole durian.”

  “That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.” I put a hand to my chest, then hop out of the car and climb into the backseat.

  Peter pulls me into his lap so I’m straddling him. I press myself against his chest and wind my arms around him. He feels so good against me. So right.

  “How about this,” he murmurs. “I’ll pretend I just got durian ice cream on my shirt. Sound like a plan?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he pulls his shirt over his head. I can’t see him as well as I’d like in the dim light, but I still gasp.

  “Good gasp or bad gasp?” he chuckles, his mouth close to my ear, his voice confident.

  “Good gasp,” I say.

  I run my hands over his abs, up to his shoulders, then down his arms. I’m in the backseat of a car with a very fine specimen of man, that’s for sure, and he radiates a sizzling heat. Just touching him like this is enough to quicken my breath.

  I remove my own shirt, then my bra.

  “Valerie.” He takes my breast in his hand, stroking my nipple to a tight peak.

  And then he takes it in his mouth, and I gasp once more. He licks a circle around the tip, and yes, that’s so good.

  When he lifts his head from my breast, I press my chest against his, my bare skin against his. It feels divine.

  “Fuck,” I say. “Fuck.”

  “I like when you swear. You know, I read an article the other day that said swearing is linked to intelligence.” He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft. “What do you want to do tonight? As much or as little as you wish, it’s all good.”

  I rub myself against his erection, and he growls low in his throat.

  “I have to tell you something first.” I swallow. I don’t have to tell him this, but I want him to know how sexy I find him. “The night we made out in Graffiti Alley? I tried to get myself off when I got home.”

  “Tried but didn’t succeed?”

  “My mom interrupted me,” I say morosely. “And in my shock, I threw the vibrator across the room. Luckily, it didn’t break anything.”

  He chuckles, but his gaze is intense on mine. He places his fingers at the top of my jeans. “I can take care of that for you tonight.”

  “Peter, I...”

  God, I feel messed up. He’s wonderful, and I want him, and yet the idea of him sliding his fingers inside me... No. Not yet. I’m comfortable with him, enough to admit that I masturbated, but not quite that comfortable.

  “We don’t have to,” he says.

  “I’d rather do you instead. Is that okay?”

  “It is.”

  “It’s easier for me to give than receive. For now. I need to be in control.”

  I unbutton his jeans, reach into his boxers, and grasp his cock—and that’s enough to make me shudder. He’s so hard, but his skin is soft and velvety, and God, I can feel how much he wants me. He’s already fisting his hands at his sides. When I move my hand up and down a few times, his jaw tightens.

  I kiss his mouth, exploring with my lips and tongue, and squirm in his lap, wanting to feel him between my legs. It would be so easy to take off my jeans and panties and tell him to do whatever he wants to me, but I’m not ready for that, not yet.

  I continue to kiss him as I stroke him, reveling in every little sound he makes. I try to tell him, with my body, everything I cannot say.

  I didn’t think I could trust a man again, but I’m starting to trust you.

  With you, I’m learning to have fun again.

  I slide off his lap and kneel on the seat beside him. “I’m going to suck you off,” I say matter-of-factly. “Is that okay?”

  He grabs a handful of my hair and nods.

  There’s a bead of pre-cum at the tip; I lick it then take as much of him in my mouth as I can. He tastes slightly salty, and I relish the taste. It’s good to do this simply because I want to.

  This is f
or me.

  And him, of course. Because I want to bring him pleasure. So much pleasure. I hadn’t let myself want or hope, but then I barreled into him at Ginger Scoops.

  My hand is wrapped around the base of his dick. I move it up as I move my mouth down.

  “Valerie.”

  There’s a bite of pain as he tightens his grip on my hair, but I like it, and I like that it will go away at the snap of my fingers if that’s what I want.

  And he’s so hard for me.

  “Valerie,” he says, “I’m going to...”

  I’m suddenly unsure about swallowing, so I release his cock with a pop and work him quickly with my hand. It’s not long before he comes and my palm is wet and sticky.

  He passes me some tissues, and I clean us up and tuck him back into his pants, feeling rather proud of myself.

  “What do you want?” he asks, sounding a bit dazed.

  “Just hold me.” I climb back onto his lap.

  We kiss in the backseat of his car, until we hear another car pull into the parking lot. Then he drives me home.

  And this time, my mother is still out playing mahjong, and she doesn’t interrupt me when I pull out my green vibrator and use it furtively under the covers.

  Chapter 13

  Peter

  It’s the holiday Monday. Canadian Thanksgiving.

  I’m driving to Valerie’s parents’ house in Scarborough, with a pear ginger crumble pie and a pumpkin pie from Happy As Pie on the passenger’s seat.

  Now, I’m usually a pretty easygoing guy who doesn’t get too stressed, but right now, I’m freaking the fuck out. Sure, I’ve already met Valerie’s mother and brother, but this is the real test. The family Thanksgiving.

  The inconvenient thing about this car? I keep remembering what happened last week. Valerie’s mouth on my cock, her hair forming a dark curtain over her face, her hand cupping my balls, her bare breasts bouncing...

  Apparently, you take a girl out for durian pancakes and she gives you a blowjob in the backseat of your car. Funny I never figured that out before. I should remember for next time.

  Not, of course, that I’m able to think of any other woman while Valerie is gradually letting me further and further into her life.