Forty-five minutes later Lan Yu was naked in my bed, lying on his side and watching a couple of gay porn videos I had recently brought back from the United States. Two good-looking, muscular guys fucked riotously on the TV screen. I went into the kitchen to grab a beer, then returned to the bedroom and handed Lan Yu a glass of orange juice. He raised his eyes apologetically. “Are you mad at me for leaving the clothes here?”
“Of course not,” I replied, tousling his hair. “Come on, I’m a big boy. I’m not going to get upset over a little thing like that.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he continued. “I just didn’t want you to think I was after your money.”
“I would never think that.” He was so pure. I didn’t know what else to say.
Lan Yu’s eyes returned to the video, and I turned down the headboard light and got into bed to hold him from behind. I kissed the nape of his neck while running my hand firmly up his back, over his shoulder, and down his chest. Wrapping my right arm around his torso, I gently squeezed his left pec, wondering if he had actually grown bigger since the last time I had seen him. Perhaps I was only imagining it, but he seemed stronger now, sexier.
Hooking my chin over his shoulder, I riveted my gaze to his profile. I could only see the outline of his face, but it was enough to see that his eyes were closed. Whatever I was doing, he was apparently enjoying it more than the video. With my chin still pressed against his shoulder, I ran one hand down the front of his body—his chest, his stomach, the silky trail of hair leading down his belly—until his balls were in my hand. That’s when I decided to go for my target. I pulled my hand back, then stuck two fingers into my mouth to moisten them before returning them to where they had just been, this time from behind. Gasping quietly, he reached back to grip my forearm. His body stiffened. Slowly, I entered him with one finger, then two, then moved my lips to his ear. “Does it hurt?”
Lan Yu shook his head to say no, but I couldn’t see his face.
I pulled my fingers out and reached toward the other side of the bed where I’d put a tube of lubricant under the pillow before surprising Lan Yu at work. Wrapping my arms around him in a bear hug, I rolled our bodies downward until we were lying on our sides. I smeared a thick glob of lube on my cock. When the lube met his skin, he trembled.
“Is it cold?” I asked. He ignored the question and backed into me.
Slowly I entered him. I wanted him to raise his leg because we were lying on our sides, but at the same time I didn’t want to give him orders, so things were a little awkward until I got the head in. It popped out immediately. The guy getting fucked in the video moaned loudly.
At last Lan Yu turned to look at me. One look at his face, so overflowing with tension and excitement, was all it took for me to abandon the ridiculous spoon position, lift him up roughly, and put him down on his hands and knees. Taking hold of his waist with my left hand, I used my other hand to push his torso against the bed. This is the best angle for sex, especially if it’s their first time.
When I entered him, he gripped the pillow and moaned. It was explosive. The sexual pleasure was only part of it; the real high was his unswerving commitment to endure this for me. I tried to exercise self-control, to go slowly, to ease what I knew would be the searing pain of the first time. But I was in a daze at that point and gentle lovemaking rapidly turned into coarse and rough sex. Each time he took it, my desire for him grew a little more.
“I can’t stop thinking about you. I think about you every day. I just . . . it’s just so fucking . . .” I had no idea what I was saying or what was going on around me. He was very tight despite the amount of lube I had used. Without thinking, I reached under him to jerk him off.
“Oh . . .,” he moaned, and in an instant my hand was wet. I couldn’t believe it. He actually came before me!
We didn’t shower but lay in bed together, a sweaty, cum-drenched mess. I held Lan Yu close, caressing him as I had only done with girls in the past.
“Did it hurt?” I asked quietly.
“A little.” He turned his back to me as if to tell me he was ready for sleep.
“If you didn’t like it we don’t have to do it again.”
“No, I liked it. Let’s get some sleep.” He kissed me and I turned off the light.
I could tell that he liked it. With men the only problem is that getting fucked is damaging to their self-respect. Girls go through something similar when they lose their virginity, but it might be worse for a guy.
The truth was, I was becoming attached to Lan Yu. I cared about him. Anal sex was just a way of expressing that, especially between men. I wondered if he could understand that.
He was so pure, so quiet, and, yes, introverted. I figured I would never know.
All of this transpired in February. My employees were restless for the New Year vacation, set to begin in a matter of days, and I, the boss, didn’t much feel like working either. It was six months since I had met Lan Yu, and we were together nearly every day at that point. I no longer took him to Country Brothers because it would have aroused too much suspicion to have a regular male companion, so he stayed with me almost every night at Ephemeros Village, where I had a large two-bedroom apartment. Lan Yu loved it, saying it was much more comfortable than the hotel.
There weren’t many entertainment spots in Beijing back then, but I still managed to take him out often. Most of the time we went to hotel nightclubs, but we also did karaoke, bowling, that sort of thing. Sometimes we would go for a swim or to the sauna.
What Lan Yu didn’t know was that I also had a second, slightly more nefarious agenda, albeit one that was largely unconscious at the time: to make him shake off the cultural and intellectual arrogance of the old world and learn to enjoy the material pleasures of the new one. Lifestyles of the wealthy were unimaginable to the vast majority of the population, who barely had the luxury of schlepping off to a public bath for a weekly shower, let alone lounging beside sun-drenched swimming pools. I wanted Lan Yu to enjoy this life and to appreciate that it was I who was giving it to him. Besides, he was an architecture student. I didn’t want his research on Ming dynasty quadrangles and other obscure themes making him think he was better than me.
I wasn’t wild about the idea of Lan Yu working, but he still had the two home-tutoring gigs. He said his pupils were the kids of Huada University professors, that the jobs were already in place, and that he couldn’t back out now. This, I thought, was reasonable, but I was adamant about his not taking on a third student. When I asked him about it, however, he became quiet, not wanting to answer the question. What was he so worried about? Next semester’s living expenses?
One night after a tutoring session with a high school student, Lan Yu got home late. All throughout Beijing you could hear the celebratory sound of fireworks exploding; New Year’s Eve was just two days away. He had gone to China Telecom to call his family after work, but the line was long and he had had to wait forty-five minutes. I told him to stop going there to make calls, that he could make as many long-distance phone calls as he wanted from Country Brothers or from Ephemeros.
Still, the call home made me curious about Lan Yu’s family, whom I knew nothing about.
“I was beginning to think you were raised by wolves,” I joked. “You’re like the Monkey King: born by jumping out of a stone!” I was referring to Sun Wukong, the popular character in Journey to the West.
Lan Yu gave a resigned laugh but quickly became serious. “My mom died a few years ago. I still have my dad but I don’t want to go back to visit. That woman—the one my dad married—doesn’t want me to either.”
“So your dad’s still alive?” I pressed to find out more.
“Yeah, alive and well. I have a three-year-old half sister too.” His eyes burned with the deep distress he had, not always, but often. It was as if he was lost in some memory, but he would never say what it was.
On New Year’s Eve I insisted that Lan Yu come with me to my parents’ house, where I a
lways spent the holiday. It was risky bringing home a lover, but I couldn’t bear the idea of him being on his own. As I had expected, my family treated “my friend’s little brother” very well. Especially my mother. She had always been the warm and loving one in the family—in this respect I liked to think that I took after her. My two younger sisters, Aidong and Jingdong—“Love Mao Zedong Thought” and “Respect Mao Zedong Thought”—were more like my father: cold, distant, fake. Later Lan Yu would tell me that he never knew a family of high-ranking cadres could be so kind. It was gratifying to hear, but I knew it was only because my aging father had long since lost his iron-fisted control over the family. When I told Lan Yu this, he told me I should be grateful for the family I had.
It was nearly midnight and the Beijing night sky was saturated with the sound of exploding fireworks. Standing on the sidelines of the action, I watched Lan Yu as he lit fuses with Jingdong, the younger of my two sisters, and Aidong’s husband. I watched my mother as she walked toward me, a big smile on her face, and thought: if they knew the truth about my relationship with Lan Yu, I’d be dead to them.
Six
Spring had arrived and everything was perfect. I had made an enormous sum of money from a recent deal and had a new associate—a major player in the industry—with whom I’d be collaborating. And I had met a new guy, a drummer in a band.
Things were in full swing for Lan Yu, too. The new semester had long since begun and his schedule left him only enough time to see me once every two weeks or so. A few days before his classes started, I sat him down on the living room couch and gave him a bankbook, an account with ¥20,000 in it. He opened it up and timidly peeked inside, then set it down on the rosewood tea table before us. “I still have two hundred left from that five hundred you gave me back in September,” he said, staring at me blankly. There was the faintest tone of protest in his voice.
“Quit worrying so much about saving money,” I insisted. “If you need to spend it, spend it.”
“Well, what I was thinking was . . .” He gave an uncomfortable smile. “I was thinking I would pay you back when I have the money.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” I said. “What kind of person do you think I am? Besides,” I joked, “if you were to pay me back, I’d have to charge you interest. That five hundred you took from me? I’m gonna need a thousand for that!” Lan Yu looked at me with a smile, but stopped short of laughing. I didn’t like to see him worry.
“Listen, really,” I said, looking at him gravely. “Don’t worry about it. One day when you graduate and start working, you can pay it back. But,” I continued to jest, “don’t say I didn’t warn you about my high interest rate!”
Lan Yu remained seated on the couch, the bankbook resting in his lap like a rejected lover. Somehow, inexplicably, he was reluctant to take it. My temples throbbed in irritation. What the fuck is wrong with this guy?
The drummer’s name was Huang Jian. He was only okay looking, but he was great in bed and we had fantastic sex. He was more than a little willing to cozy up to me—so willing, in fact, that he agreed to my altogether unreasonable demand that he get, not just an STD screening, but a complete physical before I slept with him.
The thing about Huang Jian was that he liked to put on a little makeup before sex. I don’t know why, it was just this thing he was into. He especially liked purple eye shadow, which he would apply with great care while gazing at his reflection in the mirror. I myself wasn’t so keen on the whole thing. After all, I liked men because of their masculinity and women because of their femininity. Somehow, though, Huang Jian managed to pull it off in a way that didn’t entirely disgust me, and besides, he liked having sex with the lights dimmed so I couldn’t really see it anyway.
Huang Jian had two personalities, and sex with him always proceeded in one of two directions. When he wanted to be my dirty little whore, he would sit at the foot of the bed and gaze at me with a teasing, slutty look. Then he would crawl toward me on his hands and knees until reaching his target—my cock—which he would tease with his tongue before moving downward to lick my balls. His tongue was so tender, like a thousand ripples of water gently massaging me. Meticulous and considerate, he would roll my nuts around in his mouth, taking great pains to ensure his teeth didn’t get in the way. Finally, he would dive back onto my cock, swallowing the entire thick length all at once. He was a very patient cocksucker, extremely focused on his work, and never tiring or, worse, complaining. I had to push him off of me periodically to keep from coming too soon.
When Huang Jian was in his other mood he was like a man possessed. Full of aggressive energy, he would rapidly change positions while sweating bullets and yelling out obscenities. I would kiss his body all over sometimes, but rarely gave him head and never let him fuck me. I had always refused to be penetrated; my stubborn nonreciprocity disappointed no small number of my lovers. Huang Jian didn’t mind, though: he was truly submissive and loved serving men. When I fucked him, it was always with him on his knees, ass perched up high, begging me to pound him harder and harder as he reached back to grab my forearm and pull me in deeper.
Huang Jian conjured up from within me a powerful urge to conquer. It was only after meeting him that I realized just how easy it is to dominate a woman. Dominating men is much harder, and only some of us can do it right. I can’t deny that when he climaxed, it left me with a strong feeling of triumph.
Early one morning, I woke up feeling unusually groggy. There was Huang Jian, hovering over me and giggling at the red streaks he’d left all over my body the night before. That was one of his favorite things to do: put on heavy red lipstick, then kiss me from head to toe.
“You’re fuckin’ twisted,” I said with a yawn.
He nuzzled into my chest like a spoiled child.
“You fuck me so great!” he said. “I’m not kidding—the more you fuck me, the better my drumming gets. Sometimes I think sex is the only thing that helps musicians get better.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” I mumbled, still half-asleep.
Huang Jian and I joked around for a while, then he took a shower and headed home.
It was the end of April and I had wanted to call Lan Yu for some time. With Huang Jian out of the apartment I couldn’t resist the temptation any longer. I picked up the phone and called Lan Yu’s dorm building. I had been encouraging him to let me get him a cell phone or at least a pager, but he said there was no way he could be that flashy at school; it would just be too awkward.
The phone rang for a full five minutes before someone picked up. When I finally got Lan Yu on the phone, he said he had midterms that week but would be able to see me on Saturday after he was finished. I said okay and hung up, disappointed. I wanted instant gratification. And I wasn’t used to being rejected.
When Saturday came around, Huang Jian gave me a call saying he wanted to come over in the evening. That makeup-wearing drummer must have put some kind of spell on me because I had completely forgotten that I had plans with Lan Yu.
When Huang Jian arrived, I went into the kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of underwear and poured a glass of wine. He sat on the couch and popped a porn video into the VCR.
“Look at that position!” he yelled, pointing at the screen as I returned to the living room. “We’re definitely trying that later.” I looked at the TV. One guy was lying on his back while the other guy sat on his dick and rode him. But instead of facing each other, the guy on top turned around so they were facing the same direction. As Huang Jian had suggested, it was an impressive stunt.
“Hey, by the way,” he said excitedly. “I went and saw that drum set today. It’s awesome! It’s from West Germany.” In addition to everything else I had bought him, Huang Jian now wanted a $4,000 drum set. He had also made it more than clear he wanted a car, but I hadn’t agreed to that one yet.
Out of nowhere the doorbell rang. I figured it was probably the delivery that Huang Jian had ordered: some kind of American food,
unclear to me exactly what. All I knew was that Huang Jian absolutely worshipped the West and ate nothing but Western food, sometimes Japanese. Japanese I liked, but the other stuff? I had no idea what he saw in it.
“I’ll get it!” Huang Jian shouted. Wearing the bathrobe he had changed into, he got up from the couch and swaggered toward the door in his typically pompous way.
“Chen Handong, please.” It was Lan Yu’s voice.
“Fuck!” I muttered under my breath as I jumped to my feet. I darted into the bedroom to throw on some clothes, then rushed toward the door.
The look on Lan Yu’s face when he saw me wasn’t so much anger as bewilderment. This reaction wasn’t the least bit lost on Huang Jian, who threw his competitor a bitchy look before sneering at me and walking into the bedroom.
I considered pushing Lan Yu back into the hallway so we could talk, but I didn’t want to lose face by seeming too eager to placate him, so we continued standing there, facing each other in the doorway.
“What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call first?” I sounded like I was lecturing a child.
“I told you I was coming over today after I finished my midterm examinations,” he replied, enunciating each syllable as if to make sure I understood what he was saying.
“Okay, but you should still call first.” I had completely forgotten about our rendezvous, but was determined to make it sound like it was his fault.
“I didn’t know you—anyway, you’re busy. I’ll just go back to campus.” Lan Yu hesitated for a moment, then turned around and left.
I wanted to stop him, but didn’t. That night, I didn’t feel like having sex and wouldn’t have been able to get hard anyway. Huang Jian, for his part, took the opportunity to deride me for being so inept at planning my affairs. He didn’t care that I was fucking someone else; he just wanted me to do a better job juggling all the pieces.
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