Between Boyfriends

Prologue.

I've been known to do some dumb shit. It's practically a meme at this point amongst my friends. Whenever I'm telling a story about my latest romantic entanglement, there will come a point where everyone will just look at me and say, in unison, "Oh, Laura, babe, why the hell would you even do that?"

Maybe it's because I love making things happen. Having things happening is way better, in my book, than having nothing happen. Maybe it's because I don't want to have any regrets when I'm old. I don't want to wonder if this or that would have been a terrible mistake. I want to actually know it was a complete disaster. Maybe, I can blame it all on this feeling I get in my gut that tells me to pounce -- a feeling that always overrides my basic common sense.

It's hard to say. When asked, I always just reply, "Because, I'm me."

And sometimes things work out and sometimes they don't. And sometimes...well, there's this old Chinese Communist joke about a politician being asked what he thought the effect of the French Revolution had been on the world's working class. After thinking for a second he simply replied, "It's too soon to tell."

That's kind of how I felt about this next story for the longest time. Was it glorious? Was it just a thing that happened? Or did I just completely fucked up someone's life? It's not a pleasant thing to be left thinking about.

All because I'm me and I can't resist doing some dumb shit.

The someone in question is Renee. Well, that's her English name. Her Chinese name you don't need to know. Renee is a quality control manager at a factory in China that makes mayonnaise. I am a food scientist whose job it is to design and improve condiments with a specialty in mayonnaise-like products. Don't worry, condiments aren't going to be a big part of the story. The point is that my company sent me out for a six-month stint in China. I was to monitor the production of our sauces and also to act as a consultant with Renee's company about new products they were trying to bring to the domestic market.

To put this story into context, you should know that I'm out and I'm proud. Always have been since I realized I had something to be proud about. In China, however, this required some care. Maybe it would have been different f I'd been posted to Shanghai, always a law unto itself. Our factory was located in some middle-tier Chinese city you've probably never heard off, but which still had five times the population of Manchester. I was adamant that I wasn't going to go all the way back in the closet again, but it probably wasn't something to flaunt, not at work at least. I'd brush off questions about boyfriends and marriage rather than head them off directly. I had fewer trinkets and postcards round my desk than I did back home. I repressed my urges to rave about whatever LGBT-friendly media had just been released, or indeed rant when other mainstream media fell short.

I was doing quite well until about a month in we had a work do and I drank and said a little more than I should have done. After that, it was an open secret. I stayed discreet but wasn't above making a queerish quip to my younger colleagues or talking about having enjoyed an obviously gay movie - without quite focusing on any of the actual gaiety. They were a lot cooler about it than I'd feared. One of them even recommended certain bars in the center of town that they thought I might, in vague and uncertain terms,like. Still, it was not something that was talked about on a day-to-day basis.

Those bar recommendations were a revelation. It was Alice in Wonderland all over again. I ended up having a lot of fun in China. It turn out you just needed to know the right apps and the right corners of those apps and suddenly meeting 'your kind of people' turned out to be way easier than I'd ever expected.

It was a godsend because I found that out in the street in China, my gaydar, hardly flawless at the best of times, just flat out didn't work. The cultural signifiers were too different and too muted and there was too much interference. The first day there I found myself heading to the supermarket behind two girls walking hand in hand. My heart leaped for joy and a smidgen of lust at the sight until I saw another couple walking the other way and then a third and realized this was just something that young, presumably straight, girls commonly did.

Renee was hard to read then. I'd always gotten the impression that there was something there. I'd find her looking at me during meetings. These looks seemed to double immediately after my drunken outing. She never laughed at any of my more risqué jokes. Maybe she didn't find them funny, but I got the distinct impression that she was very studiously refusing to acknowledging them. They made her uncomfortable. She had a boyfriend, but she never seemed very enthusiastic about spending any time with him. The signals were kind of all there. Mostly they read as 'yes but no.'

And that's how things stayed right up to my last night in China. I'd had a great time there, at least after the half-way point when I'd really found my groove, so it wasn't like I did what I did out of loneliness or sexual desperation or anything.

It was just those three magic little words.

"We broke up."

I mean, how could anyone ignore an opportunity like that?

1.

My final task in China had been a series of promotional events in Sichuan. We'd started in the provincial capital in Chengdu then done a circuit of medium-tier cities, one or sometimes two a day, advertising our products in hotel function halls to the local businesses and restaurants. There were three teams of three people plus an organizer. Each team had taken a different route. We spent a lot of time in hotel function rooms offering free samples. My job was to wear a white coat and look foreign. It added authenticity to their Western-branded product ranges. We'd completed the loop and were now back in Chengdu. My colleagues would take the bullet train home tomorrow morning and I'd take a flight through Amsterdam back to Heathrow.

The ten of us were sitting round a hot pot in one of the food streets in the center of town. I was trying to avoid the cow's stomach and pick out the more conventionally edible items from the bubbling pot of pure spice. The quails' eggs kept slipping between my chopsticks until Renee helped fish them out with a big spoon. Food is my business and I'm no stranger to heat, but this was blowing my head off and as a result, I was maybe drinking more than I should to cool my mouth.

And so the conversation came to Renee's break-up via the impending nuptials of one of the other group members.

"Yeah," Renee explained. "It just sort of wasn't working, you know? My parents introduced us and I thought he was okay, but somehow I never felt like this was it, and then when we started to talk about marriage and house prices and where we were going to settle down...He just came to me one day and said 'Are you happy with all this?' and I said 'Not really' and he said 'Yeah, I'd worked that out.' and that was that."

There was a lot of cooing and arms around shoulders and jokes about how there were a lot more fish slices in the hot pot. Renee seemed the least bothered of the lot.

"My parents want me to meet up with this friend of my brother's boss when we get back. Just about to finish a Ph.D. They showed me a picture. Okay, I guess -- a little fat."

She pulled up the photo and her phone went around the group and the general consensus from the ladies was 'better than okay' and 'not really that fat.'

I got to look, but the group as one didn't seem to expect me to comment until Renee asked pointedly, "What do you think of him, Laura?"

I considered my options carefully. They were a) don't rock the boat, and b) it's my last night in the country, what the hell?

"What do I think? Well, I wouldn't know, not my area of expertise [nervous laughter]. And the truth is, neither does anyone else at this table. Neither do your parents or your brother's boss. The only person who is an expert in what you want is you. And it seems like you've already wasted a lot of time trying to appreciate what other people see in your boyfriend. And even you are not going to know if this particular guy is or isn't the one for you just by looking at his picture. The only way you can know is by finding out the answer to one very specific question..."

The surrounding tables were still a din, but on our table, all eyes were firmly on me. For a moment, I considered backing down and saying something soppy about love. Instead I plunged in head first.

"And the question is this - can he make me cum?"

This got a mixed reception. At least three of my colleagues burst out laughing. A couple probably didn't understand the language needed to get the joke at all and another gave me a dirty look. Renee was struggling to maintain her usual aloof response to my provocation. Our team leader quickly changed the subject to our various flights back in the morning. There was talk of moving onto a karaoke bar afterwards.

I finished my beer and the last bit of rice left in my bowl and considered my next move. To make what I wanted to happen, happen, I decided to go with a classic -- 'the helpless foreigner.'

"I think I'll have to give the singing a miss. My flight is a bit earlier in the morning than yours and it's a good sixteen hours what with the transfer. Renee, I'm sorry, could I possibly trouble you to help me get a taxi back to the hotel? I can use the app, but I'm not sure how to type the name of the hotel in Chinese and there's probably more than a few of the same chain in this city."

Renee agreed. It still took a good fifteen minutes to say our goodbyes. I was leaving for good, after all, and everyone made a big show of emotion even if we'd probably do the same thing all over again tomorrow morning. Finally, I found myself next to Renee on the street waiting for the arranged ride.

"What do you think?" I asked her. "Are you up for karaoke with the others?"

"I could do without it, to be honest," she said. "It's been a long week and if I go, Wang is just going to try to hit on me in that strange 'not quite hitting on me' way he has."

"You could come back to the hotel with me. We'll grab something drink and sit up in my room. I can help you work through your sadness about your boyfriend."

"I don't really drink," she said. I had noticed that she had been on the green tea all evening.

"Fine, lend me your sorrows and I'll drown them for you."

"Oh, no I couldn't," she said. "It's a work thing. I'd be missed."

"It's okay," I said. "Just say you're not feeling well. Or you can say I needed help with something else."

Just then the car pulled up. Renee confirmed the number plate on the app and I opened the door.

"Getting in?" I asked.

She got in.

2. 

The journey was only fifteen minutes and most of that was spent with Renee typing messages to her colleagues on her phone. We eventually went with the idea that I was the one who was ill and she'd see me back to my room and find some medicine for me. This was probably more believable as I had been drinking and was more likely to react badly to the extreme food. We did stop off along the way, but at a convenience store rather than a pharmacy. I picked up a bottle of Coke and some rum. It was a waste of money as we wouldn't drink the whole thing in one night and I wouldn't want to take a half-empty bottle on the plane, but a plan was already half-baking in my mind.

We went up to my hotel room. Most of the staff were sharing a room, but the company had mysteriously given me my own. Perhaps as a foreigner, I got special treatment. Perhaps they wanted to avoid any of the ladies feeling 'uncomfortable' sharing with me. In any case, I wasn't complaining.

For seating, the room had a sofa, a bed, and two rather stiff-looking chairs. I wasn't sure what my move was yet, but I needed to be in a position to make that move when I'd worked it out. We obviously weren't going to both go on the bed straight away and I wasn't sure she was ready for both of us thigh-to-thigh on the sofa yet. Me on the bed and her on the sofa wasn't going to fly intimacy-wise. I indicated the hard-backed chairs to her and while she sat down, I set to making drinks.

I could have plonked the bottles down on the circular table right next to the chairs. Instead, I put them next to the kettle and the little packets of tea and coffee off in the side area. I grabbed the two mugs, gave them a quick wash in the bathroom, and then returned to make our drinks.

If I've got any defence about what happened that night, it is simply this:

I didn't put any alcohol in her drink.

I'm not that irresponsible. All I was giving her, to my mind, was an excuse. It was up to her if she decided to take me up on it or not at a later date.

I did put plenty of alcohol in my own and, with my back to her, made a show of putting some in hers. I put both cups on the table.

"This is mainly coke. The rum is mainly for flavour. It's not real drinking."

She took the drink and took the tiniest little sips.

"Can you taste the alcohol?" I asked.

"I think so," she replied.

"I didn't put much in. But go slowly because it will creep up on you," I cautioned. I moved my chair a little closer to hers. "Okay, so let's sort out your love life."

"There's nothing to sort out. One guy didn't work out. I'll try the next. I'm not upset."

"Don't you think you should be? You two were talking marriage," I said. "Let me guess, you were relieved?"

"A little. I don't want to talk about it," she said.

"Did you sleep with him?" I asked.

Her blush said 'yes'. She took a swig of her drink.

"Regularly?" I asked.

"We went to a hotel a couple of times," she said.

"And?" I prompted.

"It was okay. I don't really see what the fuss is about," she replied.

"Did it made him happy?"

"The first time. The second time he got mad. I don't really know why. It was just before we broke up," Renee said. With another sip, she reached the end of her cup.

"I'll get you another one," I said, getting up again. "Was that okay? You want it weaker or stronger?"

"Maybe a little bit stronger is okay."

"Right you are," I said, again serving up nothing but soft drink.

She took a sip. "Thatis stronger,"  she said.

"I'll top it up with a bit more coke," I said.

"No, don't. It's alright," she answered.

I sat back down and gently reached out to touch her hand. "Renee, let me ask you something. Don't feel uncomfortable about it."

She put her other hand on top of mine. "What?" she asked.

"You know I'm a lesbian, right? I'm romantically interested in other women." Renee knew the L word -- everyone did. Maybe I defined it simply because I wanted to stress what it meant, to hold it up to the light so it could be examined as an abstract idea. Maybe I wanted to stressromantic rather thansexual.

Renee nodded. "Sure, you haven't tried to hide it."

I kind of felt I had and that she was making a mockery of my extreme cultural forbearance these past six months, but never mind. She took her upper hand away from mine to take a drink and didn't return it.

"How does that make you feel?" I continued.

"How should it make me feel? It's...fine. I mean, you know, good for you."

I was about to start another line of questioning when suddenly she continued. "I mean I sometimes look at you and think it must be nice to have everything so figured out. You always seem comfortable being who you are now rather than looking towards a perfect marriage or advancing your career or whatever. I don't know if that's a Western thing or if its just because...you are who you are."

"Okay," I said cautiously. "Thank you, I guess."

"Of course, that doesn't work here," she said.

Maybe I was back to square one, but at least the topic had now been broached.

"So, there's a lot of pressure on you to get married?" I asked. The answer was obviously going to be yes, but it was the phrasing that was important.

"I'm twenty-seven. Most of my old school-friends are married and have children. More than a couple have a second on the way. You can believe I hear about one or other of them from my mother every single day."

"Okay, but how do you feel about marriage? You dream of finding the right man?"

"I don't know, it would be nice to have it sorted. Mostly I just feel forced. Like I'm expected to marry someone, anyone just for the sake of having it done. You're not allowed to wait around for the perfect man."

"So, who is the perfect man?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'll know when I find him."

"And you're actively looking, are you? See, six months ago when you first told me about your Wei, I got the distinct impression he wasn't perfect. Not for you."

"Well, that's just politeness, isn't it? You don't boast about how great your own boyfriend is."

"So, when you said those mean things, you were saving your own face but privately you really thought there was a good chance he really was perfect there and then and it took you another six months to find out he wasn't?"

Renee took a long sip of her drink, finishing it. "I'll have another one," she said.

As I poured again, I continued. "So, all your friends are married. You must have been to a lot of weddings. How do you feel when you go to one? Jealous?"

"Not really. I feel like it's a pity that we're getting older. You know? Like the most fun part of our lives is ending."

"So, what? The best bit is university life?" I said. "I guess a lot of people feel that way. Let me ask you this then: At university, did you have mostly female friends, mostly male friends or was it mixed?"

"Mostly female. I mean, we had six girls in our dormitory, we tended to hang out together. You know, a real 'friends for life' feeling."

"And you prefer that, do you? If you're going out for an evening meal, a birthday party, or something, do you prefer it to be mostly men, mostly women, or about half-and-half?"

"If I'm honest, probably mostly women."

"And, you lived with six girls for, what,  three, four years in the dormitory?"

"Well, it changed around each year, but basically yes."

"Did you have a best friend, someone you were especially close to?"

"Sure."

"What was her name?"

"Yimei."

"I presume she's married now?"

"Yes," Renee said.

"How did you feel on her wedding day?"

Renee looked intensely at her mug. When I reached out to touch her hand, she turned away.

"Like they were taking her away from me. That day she was the most beautiful I'd ever seen her and they were taking her away. When she came over to toast with our table, I cried and I told her the reason I was crying was because I was so happy for her."

"Okay, so you've got five roommates, all married. Imagine you had to marry one of their husbands. Who would you choose?"

"It's difficult to say."

"Okay and now imagine you're a man and you had to marry one of your roommates. Easier?"

Renee was silent again.

You'll have noticed that I was following the good oldUnderstanding Compulsory Heteronormativity 101 script pretty much to the letter. There's a reason why these questions are in the textbook.

"Renee, don't be offended by this, I'm saying it out of genuine concern for you. But have you considered the possibility that you might not be interested in men? Not really, deep down."

Still silence.

"Have you considered that you're never going to be what your mother wants you to be? At least, not and be happy at the same time?"

"You think I'm like you, don't you?"

"It doesn't matter what I think. What do you think?"

"I'm not. I can't be."

"Those are two different things:Am not andcannot."