Man vs. Durian

by Jackie Lau

  I’m desperate to slide my fingers into her wetness, to lick her until she cries out and comes against my mouth. To feel her pussy gripping my cock.

  Maybe this week...

  Stop. Focus. Get in character.

  Yeah, I need my brain in full working order to play my part. Not that it requires all that much acting. Because I am crazy about Valerie, and being a little affectionate with her is second nature.

  I just have to remember not to be too affectionate.

  And I have to remember that I’m a doctor and they will ask me about doctor-ly things. Supposedly, I’m now two years into my four-year residency—I looked up how long residency is for pediatrics here—and will be finished the summer after next.

  I also have to remember not to make any comments about my actual job, or reveal the details of my mother’s art—which is something I’m used to hiding from my girlfriends’ parents.

  But pretending I’m a doctor...that’s a new one.

  My parents would laugh their asses off.

  I saw my family yesterday. They’d originally wanted to do Thanksgiving dinner on Monday, but I told them I was going to a family dinner with the woman I’m seeing. My sister, Mackenzie, laughed and started singing Britney Spears’s “Oops!...I Did It Again.” She likes to make fun of me for all the girlfriends I’ve had.

  Thirteen girlfriends in twelve years isn’t that many, is it?

  Anyway, I told my family about Valerie, but not about the fake relationship part and the fact that her family thinks I’m a pediatrician.

  I park on the street by her parents’ house, and before I climb out of the car, I pull out the card she gave me from the glove compartment.

  I looked at it during every lunch break last week. It always makes me smile.

  Alright, self. You are an intelligent doctor with an excellent bedside manner, and Valerie’s family will love you.

  With the pies in one hand, I ring the doorbell.

  A minute later, Valerie opens the door, looking breathless and beautiful. It’s a warm October day, and she’s wearing jeans and a short-sleeve blouse.

  “Hey,” she says.

  I haven’t seen her since Friday—we spent a couple hours together after she finished work—and I’ve missed her, even though it’s only been three days.

  I bend down and plant a chaste kiss on her cheek.

  “Hey,” I whisper, then straighten.

  “Peter!” Cynthia bursts into the front hall. “So good to see you again. You brought dessert, yes? Valerie said you were bringing two pies. You bake, as well as being a doctor?” She beams at me.

  “Mom!” Valerie says. “We went through this many times. I asked him to bring dessert from Sarah’s shop, Happy As Pie. He didn’t make them himself. He doesn’t bake.”

  “Actually, I do.”

  “You bake?” Valerie asks, as though this is truly unbelievable information.

  “A little. Cookies, muffins, a bunch of things.”

  All of this is true. I’m only lying about my career.

  “When do you have the time?” Cynthia turns to Valerie. “He is perfect.”

  I smile, but inside, I feel a twitch of unease.

  What would Cynthia think if she knew I wasn’t a doctor? Would she still be happy with me dating her daughter?

  A young woman, who bears a slight resemblance to Valerie, bounds into the hallway. She stops suddenly, her mouth open in a small circle.

  “Wow,” she whispers, and she seems to be struggling to find her voice. “You’re even better looking than in the picture.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Valerie says. “You practically rendered my sister speechless. Her name is Sabrina, by the way.”

  Sabrina glares at Valerie, who circles her arm possessively around my waist.

  I don’t mind. Not at all.

  I put my arm around her, too.

  “Alan isn’t here yet,” Valerie says. “Dad went out to buy potatoes, because someone”—she looks at Cynthia—“forgot to buy them. Hopefully he can find a store that’s open.”

  “How was I supposed to remember? There were so many things to buy.”

  “You know, Mom,” Valerie says, “a list would be helpful. I don’t know why you go grocery shopping without a list.”

  “What would be the fun in that?”

  “Grocery shopping isn’t fun.”

  “That’s what you think.” Cynthia takes my arm. “Come in and make yourself comfortable.”

  Well, here we go

  * * *

  An hour and a half later, we’re sitting around the dining room table, which is loaded with roast turkey, dressing, gravy, mashed potatoes, squash, cranberries, and bok choy. I have a sip of my tea before I cut into my turkey.

  “So, Sabrina,” I say, “you’re at U of T, right? What are you studying?”

  “English and film studies,” she replies.

  I open my mouth to say that I studied English, too, then remember I’m supposed to have a degree in life sciences.

  “What do you hope to do after you graduate?” I ask instead.

  “Law school. I did really well on the LSAT.”

  “I guess a lawyer is okay,” Cynthia says. “But English! Such a useless thing to study.”

  “It teaches communication and critical thinking, doesn’t it?” I say. “Those are useful.”

  “You see?” Sabrina turns to her mother, then back to me.

  Cynthia sniffs. “I suppose it could be worse. Do you have any siblings, Peter?”

  “A younger sister. She’s an engineer.”

  “A doctor and an engineer. Your parents must be proud.”

  I nod. “They are.”

  I don’t mention that my parents would be proud of me no matter what. Or that they recently went to a nudist beach. Or that the last painting my mom sold was of a vagina with teeth.

  “Too bad you don’t have any brothers,” Sabrina says.

  Valerie looks at her sister and shakes her head. She shifts her leg so it’s pressed against mine, and I can feel her heat through my khakis.

  It’s hard to be appropriate in front of her family.

  Just think about your parents going to a nudist beach. That will kill your desire.

  Yep, it’s as effective as usual.

  “What year did you graduate from med school?” Alan asks.

  “2017,” I say.

  He turns to his mother. “That’s when Daphne’s niece finished, isn’t it? What’s her name—Justine? You know her, Peter?”

  “I don’t.”

  How big are med school classes? Maybe two hundred? So it wouldn’t be unreasonable for me not to know everyone in my class.

  I have a sip of tea, then a bite of turkey with cranberry sauce. “This is delicious.”

  “Thank you.” Cynthia smiles at me

  “I helped, too!” Sabrina says.

  Valerie rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on. All you did was peel the potatoes.”

  “And make the gravy.”

  “You stirred it for five seconds. It doesn’t count.”

  “Yes, it does!”

  I chuckle. It reminds me of my own family. Mackenzie and I don’t bicker as much anymore, but we still tease each other.

  The one person who’s hardly said a word during this family dinner is Valerie’s father. He seems content to eat his food in silence.

  “How did you two meet?” Alan asks. “I don’t think I’ve heard the story.”

  “At the ice cream shop!” Cynthia says. “You have not been paying attention.”

  “But how, exactly?”

  “He was a customer, obviously, and was blown away by her charm and good looks.”

  Sabrina suppresses a snicker.

  I turn to Alan. “I was heading into Ginger Scoops, and Valerie was exiting the patio with a double scoop of ice cream. Neither of us was paying attention. She ran into me and got durian ice cream all over me.”

  “So romantic!” Cynthia says.

  �
�And then he whipped off his shirt,” Valerie says, “since he was offended by the smell of durian.” Her eyes go wide and she covers her mouth. “Shit. I didn’t mean to say...you know...”

  I rather enjoy Valerie’s stammering, though I’m a touch embarrassed that she mentioned the whipping-off-my-shirt part. “I hate durian, you see.”

  “Ah, so you have a flaw after all!” Cynthia says.

  “No, durian is nasty.” Sabrina looks at me with adoring eyes. “You. Took off. Your shirt?”

  “Um,” I say.

  “Sabrina, will you go fill up the gravy boat?” Cynthia asks.

  Sabrina rolls her eyes but does as requested.

  Under the table, Valerie squeezes my leg, and I can’t help smiling at her touch.

  The rest of dinner goes okay, and the pies from Happy As Pie are better than anything I could have made, that’s for sure. Sabrina cuts me an extra-big piece of pumpkin pie.

  After dessert, I offer to do dishes.

  “No, you’re a guest,” Valerie says. “I will help my mom.”

  “I can help,” Alan says. “You can hang out with Peter.”

  Cynthia shakes her head. “Let Peter do it. He offered.”

  Soon, it’s just Cynthia and me in the kitchen, and it appears she wanted the two of us to do dishes together so she could have a private conversation with me.

  “You are being so proper with Valerie,” she says.

  I manage to keep a straight face, despite thinking of the blowjob I got in my car.

  “Proper,” I say. “Yes.”

  “Every time, you bring her back here for the night.”

  I didn’t bring her home until two in the morning one time, but we’ve never spent the whole night together, it’s true.

  “Valerie is an adult,” Cynthia says. “Yes, she lives at home, but if she stays over at your place, that is fine. I won’t say anything.”

  Is she giving me permission to sleep with her daughter?

  Damn, this is awkward.

  “I’m not stupid,” Cynthia continues. “I know you are probably doing it. She is grown-up, and she already lived with a man for three years. You know that, right?”

  I didn’t know how long it had lasted, but yes, I knew.

  I nod and focus on drying the plate in my hands.

  “I hope she keeps you around. You are a nice boy. I’m glad you were able to spend Thanksgiving with us. I know you must work hard, being at the hospital all the time.”

  I’m pleased with myself for having pulled off this fake/not-so-fake boyfriend thing well enough. I haven’t accidentally talked about my job in landscaping, and Cynthia still likes me.

  But if I’m going to be Valerie’s boyfriend for real...well, I can’t hide the truth of my job forever, can I?

  And I suspect that conversation will not go well.

  Chapter 14

  Valerie

  I’m going home with Peter. I’ve decided.

  I don’t care what my family thinks. I’m twenty-six years old, and as far as they know, he’s my boyfriend.

  We’re sitting side-by-side on the couch now, my arm around his shoulders. It’s torture not to be able to do more with him. Ever since last Monday, it’s been torture, in fact. I use my goddamn vibrator every night and think of him.

  A week ago, I couldn’t imagine letting him do everything to me, but that’s changed.

  I’m ready.

  I also have the urge to scandalize my family, and to send a message to my sister that yes, this man is mine. It’s annoying to watch her batting her eyelashes at Peter. She never even liked Asian guys before, and now she’s smitten by my boyfriend?

  Uh-uh. She doesn’t get to have him.

  I tell Peter that I’ll be back in a few minutes, then go upstairs to pack a small overnight bag. Just as I’m zipping it up, my mother knocks on the door and enters.

  “Ah, you’re going to spend the night with him. Good.”

  “Good?”

  “Yes, you must keep him happy, or he will go elsewhere.”

  Oh, God. Not this again.

  Fortunately, she doesn’t call me a very expensive, delicious piece of meat this time.

  At ten o’clock, Mom gives Peter a large bag of leftovers, and the two of us head out. Every time we come to a stoplight, he puts his hand on my leg.

  “Thank you for coming tonight,” I say.

  “It was no trouble,” he murmurs. “None at all.”

  “My mother loves you and no longer thinks I’m a complete failure of a daughter.”

  He glances at me. “Regardless of me, you are not a failure.”

  “She encouraged me to spend the night with you.”

  “Yeah, she told me when we were washing dishes that it would be fine.”

  I make a face. “God, this is awkward.”

  Once we’re alone in his apartment, though, my family disappears from my mind, and there is only Peter. Peter, who has always been so lovely to me and went along with my scheme to pretend he was a doctor in front of my family.

  He slides his arms around my waist. “Tell me what you want tonight.”

  “Everything.” I swallow. “I want everything.”

  He grins. “But feel free to stop me at any time, okay? We don’t need to have sex just because your mother is encouraging it.”

  I roll my eyes. “Can we forget about my mother now?”

  He picks me up, and I squeak in surprise. He carries me to the bedroom and sets me down on the bed, and then he climbs on top of me and kisses me.

  This is the first time we’ve kissed while lying down, and it feels pretty damn spectacular, his weight pressing me into the mattress. But I need to touch his skin, so I pull off his T-shirt. He’s built and solid, but not freaky-chiseled, and I think he’s perfect.

  If I hadn’t made up a fake boyfriend named Peter—thank you, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before—the day before we ran into each other, would we have started anything?

  I doubt it.

  The world works in interesting ways.

  Okay, now I’m getting philosophical when I’m supposed to be getting freaky.

  The problem is, as much as I love touching him, as much as I love his lips on me, I really struggle to quiet my mind when I’m in bed with a man.

  Even Peter.

  He pulls me up, just long enough to remove my shirt and bra, and now we’re half-clothed together.

  “You’re beautiful,” he breathes, his gaze raking over my brownish nipples and smallish breasts and acne scars.

  Stop thinking about those things, Valerie. You’re beautiful. He said it, so it must be true.

  He presses a kiss to my neck, then one to my collarbone, then one to the slope of my breast...and finally one to my nipple.

  I gasp.

  Everything he does is wonderful. He has a way with my body. Or maybe he’s just really good with women in general, having had all those girlfriends?

  Stop thinking about other women, Valerie!

  To distract myself, I reach for the zipper on his pants. I pull them off and toss them on the floor, and now he’s only wearing his boxers.

  Yeah, Peter seems like a boxers kind of guy.

  He lies on his side next to me, a crooked smile on his face, and trails his fingers over my breasts.

  My breath comes faster.

  I’m in bed with a guy. The first guy I’ve been with since all that bad shit happened. I want Peter, but I’m still freaking out, and oh my God, why am I so bad at intimacy?

  Well, I’ll just have to get through it. I tug off my jeans and underwear and throw them on the floor. I’m entirely naked now.

  “Mm.” He climbs on top of me again and rubs himself against me as he kisses his way down my neck. “You good?”

  “Yes. I’m good.”

  He runs his hands all over me, my breasts, my ass, my hips, my stomach. His touch is firm, but somehow reverent. He’s so fucking sweet, and he...

  He slips his hand between my legs.

>   He’s probably expecting me to be wet for him. But...

  “Why don’t I give you another blowjob?” I say, removing his hand from my body. I glance at the tent his cock is making in his boxers and reach toward him, but he stills me.

  “If you’re not interested, you don’t have to do anything today. We can just sleep beside each other, or I can sleep on the couch, if you prefer.”

  “Can’t let you have blue balls.”

  “Yes, you can. It’s not a problem, or I can take care of myself. Don’t worry about me.”

  When we made out in the alley and in the backseat of the car, I wasn’t such a basket case. Perhaps because I knew we weren’t going to go any further, I could just let go. But now, it’s different.

  “I want to have sex, but I’m very bad at it,” I blurt out.

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “It’s difficult for me to just let go and be intimate with someone. Also, I’m not good at getting off. Or getting wet, as you may have noticed. There’s nothing wrong with me—I’ve been to the doctor—and it’s not like I don’t get wet at all, just not as much as other women, from what I understand. So, like, you might think it’s because I’m not in the mood or I’m not sufficiently attracted to you, but I am. My body just doesn’t cooperate, and it’ll probably make you frustrated. And it’s extra bad now because I’m stressing out about it.”

  “Well, there’s a very easy solution.” He reaches into his bedside table and pulls out a bottle of lube. “Now, is there a way for me to get you off?”

  “Only using a vibrator. Please don’t take it as a personal challenge and spend half an hour going down on me, convinced you’re different. Don’t hold off during sex, waiting for me to come.” I reach into my bag and pull out my lime-green vibrator and slap it on the night table, my cheeks heating in mortification.

  I can’t help thinking about what happened with Stephen. He told me he had to go elsewhere because I was too difficult in bed. He said I wasn’t meeting his needs, couldn’t meet his needs. I know he’s a piece of shit, but he gets in my head sometimes.

  I’ve always been a bit neurotic when it comes to sex, and now it’s worse.

  This is the first time I’ve tried to have such a conversation before sex. I figure it’s better than Peter fucking me until it hurts, determined to get me off, and me faking an orgasm in desperation.