Meimei Pt. 02

Living in a small two-bedroom apartment with a gorgeous Chinese woman did not help.

I looked forward to catching a glimpse of her body, wrapped in a towel from her chest to her upper thighs as she made the quick transit from our bathroom to her bedroom. I loved how her breasts seemed to strain against the little corner that she tucked into the wrap, as if at any moment the weighty surge might spring that corner free and reveal everything. I liked seeing her long jet hair, wet from the hot shower, brushed back from her forehead in perfect, clean lines.

In desperate moments, I wondered if I could drill two tiny holes through the walls of my bedroom, one that looked into the bathroom, the other into her bedroom. I knew, of course, I'd never do something like that. Still, I longed for her.

She may have dressed appropriately for classes, but not in the apartment. It was all tight yoga pants and tank tops. If asked she would have said, truthfully I think, that she was just dressing for comfort. Still, seeing her body was a constant reminder.

I had held those breasts and cupped that ass. My tongue had been between those thighs. Her lips had been on my cock. An Shan's sexuality was the stuff of wet dreams. Now, it was denied to me, but I had to spend every day close to her.

It was a strange, vexing thing.

During high school, I remember flying into San Diego on my way out to Russia with my Baba. As we approached the runway, I saw a military facility beneath us, right next to the airport. I asked Baba about it. He told me it was a Marine recruit training base, and I thought how cruel it was for those recruits to be going through their living hell of boot camp while every few minutes an airplane took off, carrying its passengers somewhere else. The roar of the jet engines or the sight of a plane speeding off into the horizon would make them long for home--for anywhere but there.

Living with An Shan was like that. I saw her every day. I listened to her soft voice on the phone through the walls of her room. The feminine scent of her body suffused our little place. There were constant reminders of what had been, but could never be again.

I wondered if she masturbated. She had been a horny little thing once we started fucking around, hadn't she? Those cravings wouldn't just turn off, would they?

Sometimes, I listened at the door of the bathroom while she showered, hoping to hear a faint sigh or moan. Some nights, I laid in bed in complete silence, straining to filter out the sounds of the city. I listened for her in her bedroom. Soft noises reached my ears and my mind conjured sexual images to go along with them. In the morning with a clearer head, I knew it had all been a fabrication of my mind--mere wish-fulfillment.

I tortured myself a bit at times thinking about An Shan. I wondered, given how I knew she enjoyed her sexuality, what she had been like during that wild first semester. Had she gotten careless not only with her practicing and studies, but with sex, too? Was she still a virgin like me or had she given herself away again and again to all of those talented guys that surrounded her every day in classes?

Did things like that happen? During intimate practice sessions--a piano duet maybe with some dude? The heat from their shoulders and hips intermingling on that narrow bench. Their hands crossing over one another's, grazing skin against skin. Maybe she wore a low-cut top. The boy's eyes would dart to her chest, sneaking glances at the two bulging and lustrous swaths of soft flesh and the thick, deep crevasse where her breasts squeezed together.

I did my utmost to cast aside these thoughts. Jiating Zeren. I had a duty to perform, I would remind myself. Fuck everything else.

In my more thoughtful alone moments, I reflected on what we'd done together. Remembering how she, and then I, never called it what it was--sexual touching between a brother and a sister--continued to perplex me.

Was it the incest thing that disturbed her? Did she call it "massages" and other things to avoid the truth? We weren't really blood relatives. Even so, what would people say if they knew? Was there a future in our relationship beyond siblings?

I supposed not. Baba and Mama, ever the traditionalist, conservative parents, would be shocked and ashamed.

Did I know in my guts that she ever really cared about me through those times? It seemed like it. It was never a sort of get-off-and-say-bye thing. There had been conversations and laughter, snuggling, and tenderness.

But I never kissed her lips, I realized. We never kissed, not once. Crazy as it seemed--to perform oral sex on one another, but never having kissed--it was true. Did it mean something? In some ways, kissing was the more intimate act, I admitted. It had less lust, more love.

Those stupid euphemisms--"massage" or "tasting"--why had she wanted to use them? Would she have flipped out if instead of asking to taste her, I had asked if I could lick her pussy?

I didn't think so. We were both too caught up in the momentum of lust. At worst, she might have recoiled a bit and then asked me to call it a massage or something.

Were those words some way of giving herself deniability? Like if someone asked her about the time she spent with me, she needed to be able to call it something other than what it was?

I could see Mama taking note of the time An Shan spent in the basement with me. "Are you and your brother having sex down there?" Mama might ask An Shan.

My sister, with her deniability, could tell a version of the truth and say, "No, of course not, Mama. Gross! The only thing I ever do is massage his muscles after he works out. That's it. And, my piano teacher says I'm supposed to give massages to strengthen my fingers--you can ask him if you don't believe me."

It might just be convincing.

But, no. That explanation didn't quite fit the story. Why would An Shan have freaked out the moment I asked her for clarity on our relationship? Why would she hate me and cut off all communications with me?

Maybe, I thought, she saw me as trying to cling to her, trying to establish a truly intimate relationship with her when all she wanted was someone safe to learn upon. I was the friend she wanted to play with, but one she would never consider dating.

She did say it was all "whatever."

I had been her toy, I concluded. She couldn't come right up to me and ask to play with my cock, so she sidled up gradually. She talked to me. She made friends with me. She inched closer and closer until she could touch me, and then when she knew she had me, she took what she wanted.

And when I made it weird between us, she ended matters.

I was the shitty old upright piano. Now that she knew she could play the instrument perfectly, she wanted a grand. She wanted a Steinway.

It explained a lot.

It also showed a calculating, conniving coldness that I never expected from her. But, it did explain, to some degree, how she cut loose during the summer and her first semester here.

Hell, she had guys figured out! Why not live it up and enjoy all of the things she had previously denied to herself?

Damn.

So, what in the fuck was I doing cleaving to some hope that she might want me back? Why on my dinner nights was I sometimes preparing meals from Mama's recipes that I hoped An Shan might like?

Fuck her, I decided.

Thanks for letting me clutch them big fucking titties, Meimei. You've got a beautiful booty, too. Your pussy and ass are like caviar and vodka. Oh, and I'm sorry I came on your face that time, but hey, appreciate the blowjobs.

Whatever.

If it weren't for my promise to my parents, I would have ditched her right then. See if she goes to class and practices on her own. See if she fucks up again.

I was going to beat her ass and be the bigger success. I was going to fuckin' destroy my classes at school and embarrass her. I was going to make a shit ton of money and immerse myself in pussy.

I felt a thing I had not felt in years: confidence. It grew to delirium as I lay on that blue sofa.

Before that moment, there were tons of reasons for me to feel self-assured, but I was not yet ready to receive it. Like filling a teaspoon with a garden hose, the confidence splashed out of me, and I could never be filled. Now, my receptacle was a ten-gallon jug. Optimism, readiness, determination--all of these things brimmed within me.

I only tweaked one aspect of my newfound plan.

Jiating zeren dictated that I should support An Shan, not show her up or tear her down. I'm going to kick ass, I concluded, just not hers.

But I also knew that there would be no more tiptoeing around her, no more doleful lamentations about the loss of our relationship, no more hiding or pretending.

***

"Good morning, you dumb slut," I called with a smile as she shuffled into the kitchen the next morning.

She froze on the spot. She had been scratching her own back and yawning. For three seconds, she did not move. Then, her face curled into a scowl and she snapped, "Fuck you, asshole."

"That's the fighting spirit I like to see," I said. "Now, sit your beautiful ass down and get ready for my favorite breakfast."

She blinked a few times before moving toward the two-seater table and plopping down. "You made breakfast?" she asked. "Thought I smelled something."

"Yep. Bacon and eggs. And hash browns--."

"And biscuits?"

"Like I like them."

I felt her watching me assemble the sandwiches. Finally, she spoke, "Why did you call me a dumb slut?"

"To see if you could still talk. See if you had some fight left in you."

I took out the plates, mounted a bacon, egg, hash brown, and cheese biscuit sandwich on each, and brought them to the table. "Fend for yourself on drinks," I said.

She didn't. We ate in silence.

The sandwiches were so hearty and gut-filling, we both remained in our chairs afterward.

"Why do you care?" she asked, rather suddenly.

"Huh?"

"Why do you care if I want to fight?"

I shrugged and spoke casually, as if everything I said were simple truths. "Because I want you to succeed. Because I guess I still like you, even though your dumb slut ass screwed up my life back home."

"I didn't ask for you! I didn't want you to come!"

I stared at her for a beat before rising and collecting the dishes. "But apparently you needed me. So here I am," I responded.

"I was fine," she said.

"You think? Honestly?" I said, placing the dishes in the sink.

She argued, "I was getting better." After a moment, she swallowed and less forcefully added, "Doing better. And don't call me a dumb slut."

I smiled. "I'm saying it with love, Meimei. Of all the dumb sluts in the world, you're my favorite."

"Fuck you."

I walked past her and stopped. "Almost," I said. "You almost did. You did everything but fuck me." I grinned at her.

She stormed past me into her bedroom. I went into mine, wondering why her fighting spirit vanished when she could easily have thrown all my words right back into my face.

Twenty minutes later, she shoved me away as she emerged from her door to walk to classes. I let her go by herself for once.

She didn't return to the apartment after school. I could not find her in the practice room. I called and texted--nothing.

Online, I checked, and she had attended all of her classes.

Shortly after nine that night--a Friday--I was on the couch wrapped in a towel, fresh out of the shower after a workout. I heard her key in the lock, and she trudged in.

I rose. "Meimei?"

Kicking the door closed behind her, she leaned again the wall, dropped her school shit on the floor, and muttered, "Fuck-you-I'm-home."

"What the fuck? I'm supposed to make sure you're safe, and you don't text or call me? The fuck is that?"

She popped one heel out of a shoe with the other foot and kicked the loosened sneaker across the room toward me. It bounced off the wall behind me and fell to the floor.

I turned to her, not saying a thing.

She stared back at me with what appeared to be a mixture of hatred and fear.

"Are you drunk or something?" I asked.

Without a word, she strode past me in that one shoe and slammed her bedroom door shut.

Fuck her, I thought to myself.

I laid down and continued watching the television, but I wasn't paying any attention. I started doubting my actions from the morning--calling her a dumb slut, prodding her about our relationship last spring.

Every time, I realized, I bring up what we did together, she fucking flips out. Did I break her mind or something? Is she going to slip right back into the shit-bird she was first semester? After all of this progress?

No. That would not be good.

About ten minutes after her sudden return home, I climbed off the couch and went to her door.

I knocked quietly.

No response.

I knocked again. "Hey, Meimei? Can we talk?"

Nothing.

A third time, I knocked.

When nothing came of it, I said, "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry for what I said."

Not a word from her.

I added, "Look, I just wanted to get past all of this silence between us. I was--am--I am sick and tired of this crazy shit that's been hanging over our heads for the past eight months. I wanted to cut through the crap, confront it, and put it behind us is all."

Nothing.

"I want to move on with my life."

Still--silence.

"Meimei?"

Thirty seconds or so elapsed as I wondered what in the fuck I could say. Then, I heard her. I heard the unmistakable sound of sobbing.

"Fuck it," I snapped, and I burst into the room. She was in bed, laying on the cover with her extra blanket pulled over her. Her one remaining shoe, socks, and pants were strewn about the room.

"Go away!" she yelled, eyes red and face shining with streaks of tears.

"No!" I hollered. The word shot from me like a crack of thunder.

An Shan flinched back in shock. She drew the blanket to her chin.

"We're going to figure this out," I stated more calmly.

An Shan cried out in a whimper of anguish. She rolled away, curling into a fetal position under the blanket.

I climbed onto the bed.

She shrieked, "No! Go away!"

"No."

I got behind her and threw my arm over her body.

"Get away! Get away!" she cried, flinging her elbow back into my stomach and twisting her body away from my grip.

I rode out her fury, holding her close.

She kicked. She cursed. She fought.

Finally, she relented in sullen silence.

Together like spoons on her bed, I listened to her breathing grow less forceful. Her sniffling diminished. Neither of us spoke.

I rubbed her arm.

She pulled away, but I shushed her and continued to rub her shoulder, gently petting and trying to soothe her.

At length she reluctantly allowed it, adjusting herself by pulling her arm free and tucking the blanket under her armpit.

Sliding my hand down her skin, I curled my fingers into her palm to hold her hand.

"Don't," she uttered, voice cracking. "My fingers are sore."

"You practiced?"

Her head nodded once. "At school."

Instead of holding her hand, I dragged my fingers lightly along hers.

She didn't protest.

I did it again.

An Shan sighed.

Rolling onto my back, I gently brought her hand to me.

"Don't," she protested, but with diminishing conviction.

"Would you fucking relax?" I responded somewhat forcefully.

She relented.

I wasn't exactly sure what I was doing, but I began a light massage of her hand and fingers. First, I rubbed her palm and the pads of each digit with my thumb. She didn't fight me.

Then, I clasped each of her long, slender digits at the base with all five of my fingertips. Slowly and with very little pressure, I kneaded and dragged my fingertips from the base to the tip several times before taking on a different finger.

The longer I went on this way, the more I noticed how much An Shan liked it. She didn't turn to face me, and she never said a word, but her breathing relaxed completely. Her body seemed to sink deeper into the mattress, as if the tension leaked from her like a punctured inflatable.

Nearly ten minutes must have passed when, to my surprise, An Shan rolled towards me, offering her other hand.

I took it and continued the massage.

She must have forgotten that I had on nothing but my towel cinched around my waist. She looked over my body without a word while I took her hand.

She took off her bra, I realized, before climbing into bed. The blanket was tucked under her armpits, but there were no straps over her shoulders.

My meimei had long, thin callouses on some of her fingers, mostly on the insides or outsides toward the tips. I stroked them softly.

Her eyes watched my fingers, but I felt them glance at my face every so often. Once, our eyes met, and the fear and anger seemed to have vanished.

I reached up and caressed her face.

She allowed it, closing her eyes.

I set her hands down and rolled toward her. Scooting up the bed, I wrapped An Shan in my arms and held her.

She sighed, snuggling into my bare chest with her arms wrapped tightly around her belly. Her hair felt like lush silk on my chest; the smooth skin of her cheek was warm cream.

***

I woke next to her without a clue as to the time, but it was very dark outside. Neither of us had bothered to turn off the lamp beside her bed before falling asleep. At some point, one of us had wrapped us both under her blanket. My towel, I noticed, had fallen free.

An Shan's breasts, uncovered and undulating with her every breath, rested upon my lower belly.

Instantly, I began to grow erect.

Before I could finish contemplating my options, the head of my cock had completed its upward surge and nestled into the tender flesh underneath one of her breasts. The feeling of this intimate touch combined with the mere possibility of sex stirred me. It had been so long for me. My cock flexed, and the brief friction there sent a pulse of pleasure whirling through me.

It was beyond anything I could have imagined, being naked in bed with An Shan again. I knew, of course, it was accidental. I knew there was not the remotest possibility of us somehow enjoying each other's bodies there, together. She despised me.

True, I had soothed her deeply hurt feelings enough to hold her in my arms, but the gulf between a hug and sex was a yawning expanse that made the moon seem an arm's length away by comparison.

Considering the foolishness of my hopes, a low snort escaped me.

An Shan hummed softly as if in response. Then, her body adjusted--a snuggling movement of her shoulders--and the knob of my erection slipped into the gap between her breasts.

A breath caught in my throat.

An Shan drew a long draught of air and sighed in her sleep. Her breasts, of course, moved along with her. With the tip of my erection there, it was a tiny, heavenly bit of sexual friction. Powerless to stop it, the faintest aching groan escaped me.

I had become accustomed to the feeling of testicles so overfull that they seemed like leaden pendulums. Thrumming, unused erections were as common to me anymore as eating and breathing.

The muscles of my core trembled not in fear, but in readiness--eagerness--to thrust. I was a massive engine, finally started and now idling, waiting for a touch on the gas that would send me hurtling recklessly forward.

I wanted to feel more. I wanted to push my cock further between those thick tits of hers, just a little. Maybe it wouldn't wake her.

I pinched my eyes shut at the absurdity of the idea. Not wake up? Of course she would, and she would be shocked and furious--violated.

The right thing to do now, I told myself, was to ease back from her--to use those quaking muscles in my core to withdraw.

But hell and damnation that was asking a lot. It was like stumbling upon a well after days in the hot desert only to wash one's face. It was willfully walking away from that lifesaving water without ever taking a heavenly gulp.