Crushing on You

by Jen Trinh

  We had to wait in line for a minute because there were only a few single-stall bathrooms in the venue, but eventually, it was our turn. Ian ushered me in and locked the door behind him.

  Ah, the bathroom. It was definitely a live-music-show-after-midnight kind of bathroom, not a private apartment bathroom or a wedding venue bathroom. A public-ass bathroom, with empty toilet paper rolls and graffiti everywhere, and all the wet and nasty smells that you can imagine.

  But we didn’t care. As soon as he’d locked the door and turned around, I threw myself into his arms and kissed him as fiercely as I could. He leaned against the door and lifted me up by my ass until I could wrap my legs around his hips. Even after rushing through the crowd and waiting in line, he was still rock-hard for me. I squirmed against his chest and pushed my hips against his jeans, seeking friction, any friction.

  He broke off the kiss, breathing hard. “You’re not wearing panties again.”

  I giggled, then trailed my tongue down his warm, thick neck. “Make love to me, Ian.”

  He lowered me until my feet were on the floor again, then turned to lean me against the door. He sank to one knee and slid my dress up my to my waist, then lifted my left leg up over his shoulder.

  And then he went to work.

  I breathily whispered his name and held his head as he dipped his tongue inside me. His hands cupped my ass as he savored me, licking me up like the most delicious bowl of melted ice cream. He twirled his tongue on the cherry on top and pulled it into his mouth, nibbling and sucking gently. And his facial hair...oh god, how I’d missed his facial hair. It was almost too much.

  Still swirling and twirling his tongue, he trailed his fingers up my leg and tentatively slipped a finger inside, just to the first knuckle, making me clench against him and beg for more. He added a second finger, then slipped them in deeper this time, all the way in. “Fuck, Ian.” I almost came then and there.

  But I held back. I wanted him to come with me.

  I gently pushed his head away and lowered my leg, then took his hand and pulled him up so that he was standing in front of me. I lifted my leg and placed it on his arm, pulling him tight against me. “You know the drill.”

  He chuckled, putting one hand on my hip and one hand against the door. “Am I pulling out or buying you Plan B?”

  “Neither, you’re buying me dinner.”

  His breathy laugh tickled my cheek as he unzipped his pants and sank into me.

  I nearly came at the sensation of being filled by him again. My leg was shaking so badly, I could barely stand. I guess he could tell, because he lifted my other leg too and held me against the door, supporting me as he thrust in and out, in and out, slowly at first, then harder and more frantically as I felt myself coming more and more undone. I cupped both sides of his face with my hands, our foreheads nearly touching, our panted breaths mingled and shared. We stared into each other’s eyes, every thrust so deep and fulfilling, the intensity multiplied by the knowledge that our pleasure was fully mutual. I wanted him to see how he made me feel, to watch my face as he unraveled me. And I wanted the same from him.

  Never before had fucking in a bathroom felt so intimate.

  Just as The Llama People ended their song Drops of Thistle Milk, and right before the crowd erupted, I screamed with violent pleasure as Ian spilled himself inside of me. He kissed me then, swallowing my cries, our tongues joining like our bodies below.

  I came so hard that my ears rang and my head felt light. I’d never before felt so wholly sated, physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

  I fucking loved The Llama People that night.

  ◆◆◆

  I ended up going back to Ian’s place and not sleeping on Cassie’s couch. I texted her to let her know, and all she texted back was the sweat droplets emoji. Oh, Cassie.

  As per our MO, we made love at least twice more that night, until it was well into morning and not night anymore.

  I woke up wrapped in his arms, feeling happier and more relaxed than I had in a long time. Well...since we’d last done the same. He was already awake, leisurely running his fingers through my hair.

  “Good morning,” he said, brushing his lips against my forehead.

  “Good morning,” I replied, kissing his pecs. Mmm, pecs.

  We held each other for a moment, willing the haziness of sleep to remain...not wanting to deal with reality.

  Finally, Ian said, “I guess I’m not going to work today.”

  I glanced at the clock. It was noon. “You can still make it.”

  He rolled onto his back and pulled me onto him. “I don’t think so. I already texted my mom and aunt and told them that I wasn’t going to open the truck today.”

  “What a lazy guy.” I kissed the tip of his nose, then pushed myself up and off of his chest. “When do you have off?”

  “Mondays. Though I usually only work until 5 PM on Sundays.”

  I slipped my feet off the bed and stood. “Then let’s go.”

  “Where to? You don’t want to just stay in bed all day?” He sat up to watch me, pouting a little.

  I rolled my eyes and pulled on his hand. “No, come on, let’s go. You’re taking me to work today.”

  He raised an eyebrow at me, but finally started to get out of bed. “Do you know how to make jiandui?”

  “My dad’s was better than yours, that’s for sure.”

  “Oh ho ho...now we’ll have to see,” he said, catching me and kissing me tenderly on the lips. I beamed up at him, then let him go to bend down and pick up my clothes.

  We hurriedly got dressed and drove the truck to his Sunday parking spot, not far from Dolores Park. A crowd had already gathered there, and people cheered as the truck pulled up.

  “Sorry about that, everyone!” he said out the window. “I’m a bit short-staffed today, so I had to pick up some help. Everyone, this is Anna.”

  I stuck my head out the window and waved. “Hello!”

  Several people said, “Hi, Anna!” and waved back.

  Then Ian actually got to work, and so did I.

  ◆◆◆

  “Wow, you can make a killing on desserts.”

  Ian nodded while slurping up his ramen. “Yup. I did the math. If sales keep going like this, I’ll be making close to what I was making as a tech lead.”

  “That’s...that’s crazy! Why can’t music journalism be like that?” I bit into my hard-boiled egg, then followed it up with a spoonful of miso broth. Ian had driven the van back home and we’d walked over to a nearby ramen food truck.

  “Well, the pay is great, but I have to stand in that hot truck for hours each day, soaking up oil and chatting up customers. And I spend my free time trying new recipes, working on marketing, replying to online reviews. It’s a lot, but it’s worth it.” As he spoke, his last slice of chashu pork slipped out of his chopsticks and fell onto the pavement. His sad little frown tugged on my heartstrings, and on the corners of my lips.

  “How’d you get the idea?” I asked, placing a slice of my chashu in his bowl.

  Ian’s eyebrows shot up at me, giving me a Really? look before he broke into a huge grin and devoured the pork. “Cassie and Michael gave me some shrooms.”

  I nearly choked on my ramen. I drank some water to try to wash it down, then coughed even more as Ian patted my back. “Seriously?”

  He nodded, contemplating my face. “Yeah. It gave me some perspective about the things in life that have really brought me joy. Definitely wasn’t building apps.” His eyes bore into mine before lowering back to his bowl. “I thought a lot about my past, my family...my dad. Boston cream donuts were my his favorite, so they’re really nostalgic for me. But I wanted to make desserts that were uniquely mine. Thus, the balls were born.”

  “Definitely sounds like you’ve done some shrooms,” I replied, smiling at the passion in his words.

  He shoveled the last of his ramen noodles into his mouth, then placed his bowl and chopsticks down. We sat in silence for a moment, bu
t it was sweet and companionable. Like old times.

  Until Ian blurted,“You’re only here for the weekend...right?”

  “Yeah,” I answered softly. “I was just here to see the show.”

  “I see.” He took my hands in both of his, brought them to his lips, and planted a soft kiss on each. “I’m really glad I got to see you.” His smile was bittersweet.

  “Me too.” I blinked away my tears and smiled back, then slowly withdrew my hands and stood up. “I should probably go. My flight is really early tomorrow morning, and I want to start working on my writeup while the show is still fresh in my mind.”

  He nodded and stood up. “Okay.”

  We brought our bowls back to the ramen guy and thanked him for the meal, then walked back to Ian’s place and got into his car. He drove me to Cassie’s house, silently holding my hand for the entire ride, gently kneading it with his thumb. When we arrived in front of Cassie’s, he parked the car and got out, then came around to open the door for me. I stepped out and leaned into his arms, and we held each other for an all-too-brief moment, just long enough for me to breathe in his scent, the old familiar smell of him mixed with the aroma of oil and pastries, and imprint this new Ian’s scent in my memories. Then he stepped back and kissed me again, oh so sweetly, one last time.

  “Goodbye, Anna,” he whispered.

  “Goodbye, Ian.”

  He let me go, his sad little smile mirroring my own. I reluctantly took a step back.

  The front door to the house opened and Cassie stepped out.

  “Hey, guys! What’s going on?”

  “Hey, Cass. I’m leaving,” Ian said, walking back around to the driver’s side.

  She stepped further down the stairs. “Hey, wha—I MADE MARGARITAS—”

  Ian waved at us both as he drove away.

  I looked up at Cassie and smiled, tears rolling down my nose. “Thanks, Cassie.”

  She flew down the stairs and engulfed me in her arms.

  Chapter 26

  -Ian-

  Monday was my day off, so I went to visit my mom and aunt. As soon as I walked through the door, though, I could tell that something was wrong.

  My mom was smiling too much. Much too much.

  “Ian, how was yesterday?” she asked. She took my arm and led me to the backyard, where she and my aunt were cracking sunflower seeds and eating the kernels of meat.

  “It was fine.” I decided not to say more than that, just sat and reached for a seed from my aunt’s pile. She slapped my hand away.

  “Your Ayi and I walked past the park yesterday and saw the truck there.” She studied my face, smiling coyly. “Why were you working?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Ma. Were you spying on me?”

  “Me? Nooooo.” She adamantly waved her hand back and forth.

  “Ma. Did you see her?”

  My mom leveled a look at me, then turned her attention back at her pile of seeds. “Is she your girlfriend?”

  My aunt playfully elbowed me in the ribs. “She was very pretty.”

  “No, she’s an old friend from New York.” I reached for a seed from my mom’s pile, but she slapped my hand away, too. “Ow. She was just visiting for the weekend.”

  “Just for the weekend?” my mom asked. She paused in her eating to study my face. I took the opportunity to snatch a seed.

  “Yeah. She’s probably back in New York by now.” I cracked my seed open, only to find that it was empty. I sighed and threw it in the pile of husks.

  My mom was silent for a moment. “Was she the one that you told your Ba about? You had coffee together, you lived together...that one?”

  I nodded wryly, unsurprised that my mom’s memory issues weren’t an issue at all when it came to potential brides.

  My mom simpered. “I knew she’d be good for you.” At my puzzled expression, she unhelpfully clarified, “Her face. I told you she had a good face. You two are good together.”

  I shook my head. I’d never understand my mom’s mysterious ways. “But it’s over now. We’re just friends.”

  My aunt snorted and cracked another sunflower seed between her teeth. “Liar.”

  “What? It’s true.”

  My mom and aunt both tittered and shook their heads before my mom continued, “We saw how you two looked at each other. How you made jokes together even as you worked side by side. She couldn’t stop looking at you and burned herself with hot oil, twice.”

  My aunt added, “It didn’t look like it was over to me.”

  Such romantics. I sighed again and rubbed my face. “Ma, Ayi, she’s back in New York now, and I’m here.”

  They exchanged a look, then turned their eyes back to me. “So?” they asked in unison.

  “There’s something called a phone, Ian,” said my mom. “You can call people with it.”

  Well no wonder I hadn’t wanted to date Lina.

  ◆◆◆

  I paced back and forth in my room, smacking my phone against my hand with each step.

  Should I call her?

  Would she even want to talk to me?

  What would I say?

  More importantly, what was the point? We were living on two different coasts. And she was different now...stronger, more intimidating. Independent. Would she even want to hear from me?

  It felt a little like I was psyching up for a big move on the bouldering wall. Don’t overthink it. Just do it.

  Before I could chicken out, I tapped on the phone icon under her name.

  And then I chickened out and promptly hung up. Shit.

  I texted Anna an excuse. Hey, sorry about that. I just accidentally called you. I was trying to call my Ayi and your name is above hers.

  A few minutes later, she texted back, No worries.

  I waited...but there was nothing else.

  Sighing, I put my phone down and went to make dinner.

  ◆◆◆

  A few days later, I was surprised to find an email from Anna.

  Hey Ian,

  I’m sending you a draft of my writeup. I can’t post it to my own blog yet because it’s for Moonslick Mirror, but I wanted to share it with you before it’s published (if it’s ever published).

  Thanks so much for reaching out to them on my behalf. And thanks again for the weekend—it was wonderful to see you.

  Cheers,

  Anna

  I opened the draft and read the following:

  The Llama People: Not Your Mama’s Alpacas Tour is their most spiritual and dominant yet

  By: Anna Tang

  The Llama People (TLP) have been around for years. They’ve been lurking in your fields, munching on your grass, and spitting on your children since 2006.

  I, hipster that I was, first discovered TLP that very year in high school. Of course, it was love at first listen. I was a DJ for the school radio station, and I nearly got fired for playing two of their earliest and raunchiest hits,Your Ass is Grass and Shear Me Out. It was gratifying to hear the principal tell me that I wasn’t allowed to play music with such sexually gratuitous lyrics, then ask me for the artist’s name to “make sure that no one else played their music.” I caught her humming the tune to Camelid Toe a week later.

  Back then, their sound was raw and outrageous, brutally erotic, and perfect for those early years of adulthood.

  Their sound has since gone through epochs of evolution.

  In 2009’s Llama Kush, they introduced stronger elements of Latin American polyrhythms and syncopation into their sound, and their songs soon invaded salsa clubs around the city. One could not escape Bachata Night without hearing Como Se Llama at least once. But their most popular track off of this album, the slow and haunting Dam and Her Cria, truly allowed singer Maria Lopez to shine, with her soothing vocals and poignant humming. The song inspired any number of mugs, t-shirts, and Mother’s Day cards, and no doubt induced millions of people to call their mothers that Sunday.

  With Nuzzle My Fuzzle (2011), TLP reassured fans everywhere that sex w
as still on the menu. But unlike the wanton, provocative lyrics and sounds from their early years, the music was sensual and intimate, and Lopez’s voice caressed deep into our ears and left us yearning for more, especially with their track, 30 Minutes on Top.

  Then in 2014, TLP devastated fans everywhere with the Pack it Up tour. Fans were dually disappointed with the uninspired pop lyrics and catchy, but basic, melodies and beats. TLP announced that it would be their last album, and fans were both glad and disappointed that Lopez and TLP’s keyboard guru, John Matthews, were headed into early retirement so that they could start a family together.

  They spent five years in relative privacy, only occasionally spotted holding hands with their adorable daughter, Mia, and their son, Milo, as well as on date nights at romantic nooks around New York City.

  But after five quiet years...they’re back. And they’ve brought Drops of Thistle Milk.

  Not Your Mama’s Alpacas is more playful and energized than any of their previous albums, bringing in more synths, percussion instruments, and strings than ever before. Matthews introduces us to a unique orgling sound, which mingles with Lopez’ otherworldly vocals to transport us to the terraformed hills of Mars, where the grass is plentiful and the llamas are looking to fuck.

  This album is the magnum opus that fans have been waiting for.

  Bottle-fed hearkens back to Dam and her Cria, but the Cria is all grown up with a cria of her own, and the lyrics are even more maternal and heartrending than before. No doubt there was another major spike in their merch sales in May.

  Fiber of My Being tackles existential dread and loneliness, but the exquisite harmony between Lopez and Matthews belies the desolation of the lyrics. The essence of the song is perfectly captured in Lopez’ last line: In your hands, my fleece is spun to lustrous threads, and though I lie bare, I smile at your warmth.