Page 27 of Taipei Story

I kept going with my hand. I felt a creep of panic; how much longer would this take? This had always been the conundrum. I was always getting into situations that I was supposed to enjoy but didn’t, and it felt like more of a disruption, even a violation, to force things to a halt instead of sticking it out; keeping a stiff upper lip through all that wet bumping and grinding. I realized this wasn’t very feminist of me, but the truth was that between the inconvenience of bearing it and the social horror of admitting I wanted to stop, I always chose the lesser agony. I felt a flare of resentment for JC then, something approaching hatred, but I couldn’t very well blame him for failing to read my mind.

JC’s eyes flickered open and closed. I couldn’t read his expression. Sometimes he seemed ecstatic, and I hoped I was nearly there, that I had flipped whatever switch made orgasm inevitable. But then his lips pulled back in a grimace, and I lightened the pressure in case he was chafing. I tried my best, but it was undeniable: JC was only getting softer, and my attempts to work him back up kept making him hiss between his teeth.

“Sorry,” he said at last. “I don’t think this is happening.”

We sat there a moment in the tub. JC turned off the taps. Then he glanced at me, eyebrows slightly raised, like he was asking whether he should return the favor.

“Oh, no,” I nearly said. But I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I pretended to think it over, and then I sighed. “Honestly, I’m kind of tired.”

“You’re sure?”

“Very.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t even try to hide his relief. We clambered out, a movement that I could not make dignified no matter how hard I tried. Toweling off was bliss. The cool air on my limbs. My vision dimmed, then pulsed back. I flopped stomach-down on the bed and just breathed for a while, relishing the soft, dry sheets beneath me.

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” said JC.

“Okay, sure.”

He locked the door and didn’t come out for a long time.

BREAKFAST WAS INCLUDED IN OUR BOOKING, SO WE STOPPED BY the hotel restaurant the next morning before we left.

The buffet spread was enormous, and somewhat baffling given I still hadn’t seen any evidence that JC and I were not the only guests. There were rows upon rows of silver buffet chafers bearing red bean buns, sesame buns, egg tarts, shrimp shumai, sautéed prawns in clamshells. No one stopped me, so I put one of everything on my plate. I had always wanted to do this: eat just one bite of everything, just because I could.

“Wow,” said JC. “You’re really hungry.”

“It’s free,” I said.

But somehow everything tasted the same. The red bean buns were just as generically sweet as the egg tarts. Even the prawns in clamshells tasted no different from the stir-fried egg noodles. I understood how hotel buffets worked now. It was all the same ingredients, presented in different shapes: Everything savory was just sesame oil and soy sauce, and everything sweet was flour, eggs, and sugar.

After breakfast we headed back to the station. It was Saturday, and we had no classes to get to, but neither of us suggested staying in Beitou through the day, even though the Geothermal Valley would now be open. We didn’t speak much on the train. I kept glancing sideways at JC, trying to read his mood. I was afraid he was angry with me, though I couldn’t imagine what he could be angry about. Perhaps my failure to make him come? But at least I had put in some effort. I had worked his penis for at least twenty minutes; did that not count for something? Anyhow, I had more right to be angry. He had been a most ungenerous lover. He hadn’t even gestured toward my clitoris. But I was just glad to be on my way home.

Was JC tired, or was he sulking? I wanted to break the silence, but I couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t seem anxious or desperate. I told myself not to overthink things. We had had a fun cultural experience and now we were relaxing on our journey back home. Nothing between us had changed. If anything, our friendship had clarified, and now we could go back to how we were without the lingering threat of sex. It could be that simple.

JC got off one stop before me; he had, he claimed, some errands to run in Ximen.

“Okay,” I said. “See you Monday.”

“Yeah,” he said, and slipped off the train.

ANNA WASN’T AT THE APARTMENT. I REREAD THE LAST TEXT SHE had sent me: okay—have fun?

The question mark was clearly passive-aggressive. I hadn’t texted her anything since, and now I felt guilty.

Hi, just got back.

She did not respond. A few hours later I tried again: I’m around if you want to get some lunch? Or dinner later?

Still she did not respond, and I began to worry something had happened to her. I checked her Instagram and saw that she had been online a few minutes ago. So she was alive; she just didn’t want to talk to me.

I didn’t know what to do with myself. I had bracketed this whole weekend for Beitou, and now I had no plans. I didn’t know what any of my classmates were up to, and I was too embarrassed to reach out and ask.

I decided I might as well get ahead on my coursework, so I packed up my textbooks and embarked on a circuit through all the cafés in the neighborhood, leaving every time I finished a drink. First Youmoutoohana. Then Sounds Good Café. I walked a full mile to a new cat-themed coffee bar in the next neighborhood over, but there were no cats that day as they were all getting their monthly grooming, and without the cats the coffee was not worth the expense. Time passed very slowly. I was jarred by the shift from the frantic activity of the week, when every hour was taken up with coursework or meals or commuting, to such a silent, creeping afternoon. I did not want to bother Anna again, and I certainly couldn’t text JC. I tried to focus on my flash cards, but my brain refused to register any of the characters before me. I found myself automatically hitting the green button over and over, regardless of whether I knew the word or not.

When I left the cat coffee bar it was five in the afternoon, and I felt a wave of vertigo when I stepped out onto the street. My vision went fuzzy. My heart was beating very quickly. I realized the problem—I had drunk gallons of caffeine all day without eating anything since breakfast. Sweating, I hurried home and lay facedown on the couch.