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Navigating this situation is like working Pollywood parties. I put on a bored mask. “Since you’re so good at this, you should guess my type.”
They size me up, not knowing I’ve been forged by the fire of Punjabi aunties and uncles. Many of them vocally judge others based on status, wealth, skin colour, how you talk, how you dress, your profession, the kind of car you drive, what age you get married, who you get married to, and how “Indian” you or any of your potential kids are.
Aunties and uncles also wonder why people have no respect these days after talking about everyone behind their back. It’s an obtuse kind of confidence I only can aspire to.
“She’s a travelling girl,” the tall one decides.
“You look smart”—the Australian strokes his chin—“so my bet is you’re travelling to change your life. To have epiphanies. To go back home with supposed new self-knowledge.” He pauses. “And a shoulder tattoo.”
The guitar swings forward, ready to play. “Naw, she wants to fall in love with a handsome stranger. If so, we volunteer ourselves as candidates. Lady’s choice, of course.”
As they laugh at their own cleverness, Huan comes to stand beside the people on couches. Even from this distance, I read surprise flip to something like distrust and then—when he meets my eyes—there is hesitation. He leans against a wall, waiting with his hands in his pockets. My heart bumps. He’s wondering whatIwant, and whether Ineed him to come over.
I look back at the men. “You’re wrong. I’m here for group-sex and hard drugs.”
Their mouths drop open.
As I walk past them, I say, “Sadly, none of you are my type.”
I don’t have a plan. It’s more of a surge carrying me forward. Maybe standing next to Huan is enough, but I’ve got unresolved energy coursing through me. I run up to him.
Huan's eyebrow arches. “You look vengeful today.” His casual comment masks an undertone of curiosity.
“I am. Now quick, pretend you want to ravish me, otherwise this won’t work. We need to enact a fake boyfriend plan.”
Immediately, I wonder if he’ll leave me hanging; we left last night on such an unsure note. The tight-rope underneath my feet is about to collapse as I wait to see if I’ll be rejected. I won’t sayPleaseeven if I am thinkingPlease.
Huan’s mouth flattens.
He glances over my shoulder at the group of men.
Then he looks back at me.
I’m about to step away when he tugs me forward. I’m hoisted up, and my legs wrap around his waist and my arms go around his neck. The way a groan slips out of his mouth, it feels like it’s been locked in there for a while. It especially feels that way when his hands grab my ass.
Holy shit. I was expecting a little mouth peck. Not this. And now I realize I’ve made a catastrophic calculation of errors. I am not supposed to know what straddling him feels like. My brain and body should not comprehend what it means when Huanparticipates.
He is disturbingly good at pretending. Big, broad palms roam up my and down my back. I can’t help but grind closer to his body. My movements make his muscles tighten immediately, and my dress is so thin that I feel him against me. He’s gone hard again.
Must be the adrenaline.
When I rock forward to check, his nose buries against my collarbone.
“Careful,” is Huan’s hissed warning.
“Sure,” I say, as if I’m not searching for his cock with my body.
When I find it again, I demand, “Isthisone because of me?”
Huan does not answer.
As a man of action, he holds me against the wall, hauling my body higher on his body. As if he’s buying himself time, yet still imprisoning my body with his.
For me, there is no concept of time or place. The hostel disintegrates into white fuzz. People might be staring or giving us dirty looks, but I can’t seem to care. All that matters is Huan. I explore the breadth of his back and shoulders, and our cheeks press against each other. His scruff feels especially delicious.
Irrationally, I want to kiss him but we are not aligned. He keeps holding me in place with strength that is insanely erotic. I can’t get away unless he releases me.
Broken Mandarin reaches my ear. I can’t understand a word, but that only encourages me to keep making this mistake. A real demon has possessed me for I whisper, “Are you going to spank me?”
