Tales from Old Shanghai 01

We are in her bed, I am holding her, her back is to me and I am breathing in the scent of her hair as I hold her. One of her hands holds mine.

"It wasn't that bad," she says out of nowhere, her hand squeezing mine and it takes me a second before I understand what she's talking about. "It wasn't what I thought it would be like and it hurt the first time, but he was gentle most of the time."

I don't know what to say so I hug her.

"He's paying my school fees now," she whispers. "He says he will pay for University for me." She turns over in bed, facing me, her eyes looking into mine in the darkness. "I'm so scared for my family, Chuntao. There's been nothing. Nothing for over a year now."

I swallow because she's reminded me of my family and I hope they're safe. I haven't heard from them for so long now either.

"Do you really love Martin, Chuntao?" she asks me after a long silence.

"Yes," I say. She's going to ask me not to see him and I can't agree to that. I won't.

"Before I left home, my father told me this was the New China," she says softly. "That in the New China women should make their own choices and decisions on marriage. He said he would not arrange a marriage for me, only if I asked him to and I should only marry someone I cared for and who cared for me."

"I know," I said, for we have both talked of this in the past. My parents said similar words to me.

"I always though the first time I made love, it would be with my husband," Hua says. "Not with a man who has paid for me. Not with a foreigner. I never thought I would have to sell myself." Her body shakes and I know she is crying in the darkness and I hold her tight and I hurt for her. Her pain is mine, for she is my sister. "I am so ashamed of myself, Chuntao."

"There's no shame, Hua," I say. "There's no shame in staying alive." For that is what she has done, and I think of my family and swallow sickly, for without Martin, I would have to make the same choice as Hua and how I hope Martin loves me enough to save me from that.

"Chuntao?" she whispers.

"Yes," I say.

"If you really love Martin, don't be afraid, Chuntao. Take his love while you have it. Promise me you will, Chuntao. Promise me." She sobs. "Do not let what has happened to me happen to you, Chuntao. It should be with someone you love. Afterwards..."

"I promise, Hua," I say. "I promise."

This weekend, this Saturday, Martin and I are meeting at the cinema again and I remember his hand on my breast last Saturday. I want that again and I wear my uniform skirt, my white blouse. I do not wear a bra or a camisole, only a light coat and a hat for it is autumn now, and colder. I ask Hua to come with me.

"I can't, Chuntao," Hua says, her face a little pale. "I'm going out this afternoon. Mrs. Innes has arranged it for me. Mr. Cunningham wants to see me again."

"Oh," I say. I've heard Mrs. Innes say something quietly to her. I've written to father again, I haven't heard from him or my mother for weeks now and I know there's fighting very near Nanking. The Japanese are advancing inland further and further and in the news, it sounds bad.

"Yes," Hua says. "Everything's fine. There's nothing you can do by waiting at school for me. Mr. Cunningham is bringing me back in the morning. Why don't you leave with Geraldine and Elaine, they're going out." She's pale. "I'll be alright now. I know what Mr. Cunningham wants."

"Alright," I say, hugging her. I leave with Geraldine and Elaine. Once we're outside the school I abandon them and flag down a rickshaw. Martin is waiting for me in the cinema foyer, smiling as soon as he sees me and he already has the tickets.

"Chuntao," he says, reaching for my hand. "Where's Hua?"

"She couldn't come," I say, and his eyes light up.

"Can I take you somewhere else," he says. "I was going to ask you for next weekend but if Hua's not here, I can ask you now."

"Where?" I say.

"Somewhere we can be alone together," he says. Then, "not like that. I mean, I hate having to kiss you where everyone can see us."

"Me too," I say, suddenly shy. Blushing. In a cinema, we can kiss but little more. Alone? I will bring shame on my family. But my family isn't here and Martin is and he loves me and my mind is made up, just like that. "Do you have somewhere?"

"Yes," he says. "Would you like to look? If you don't like it, we can leave."

"Alright," I say, not quite sure what he means.

He waves down a cab, gives the driver a card with an address. I sit close to him, beside him, holding his hand tightly as the cab takes us into the French Concession. The streets are lined with trees, less crowded, green, but I'm nervous as the cab turns into a narrow lane and stops. I'm going somewhere with him and we'll be alone. He and I, alone, and my heart pounds.

"In here," Martin says, after he's paid off the driver. He takes my hand, leads me into an apartment building. "There's no elevator," he says, apologetically.

We climb the stairs, my hand in his. It's three floors and we're in a small hallway on what must be the top floor. He leads me down to the end, opens the wooden door and I follow as he steps inside. I look around as he closes the door behind me. It's a room, a small room with wooden floors and it's dark. The windows are shuttered, there's a faint scent of incense and sandalwood. He turns the lights on, takes my hat and coat and hangs them on the stand by the door, his coat joins mine.

There's a bathroom with a bathtub, a small kitchen, the room that we are in and a veranda, with bamboo blinds shading it. There's a bed against the wall, a large one in the European style and now my heart sinks. He's bought me to the sort of room you take a sing-song girl too and I'm not one of those. There's a couch and a wooden coffee table, and outside, on the enclosed and roofed veranda, there's a large wooden daybed and some large clay pots with green plants. I have no idea what they are.

"Do you like it?" he asks, and now I'm a little afraid. Does he really think I'm one of those Chinese girls, the ones that do this for money? "I leased it. I thought we could be alone here." He smiles, he takes my hand, leads me outside onto the veranda. "It's beautiful out here."

It is, and I walk to the edge, to the brick balustrade and I stand there, looking out over the rooftops before my eyes, not sure what to think. What does he mean? What does he intend? He moves up behind me, his arms encircles me, he buries his face in my hair and inhales, his body warm behind me.

"It's not..." he says hesitantly. "I don't mean to offend you, Chuntao. I know you're not like those other girls. It's just... it's just I want somewhere where we can be alone, just you and me. I hate kissing you where everyone can see us, it's so... it's so... I love you, Chuntao." He blurts that last out. "I love you so much and kissing you, that's for you and me, not for anyone else."

My eyes water, my heart soars, my fears evaporate instantly. "I love you, Martin," I whisper, saying it out loud for the very first time, saying it myself, tasting those words on my lips. "I love you... I love you."

"I love you, Chuntao," he says, kissing my ear, nuzzling me. "I love the scent of your hair. I love everything about you. I love you, I love you, I love you." He speaks as if he is reciting a magical incantation and it is, his words are magic to my ears.

He hugs me tight and my hands move up to rest on his and suddenly I'm aware of this hardness pressing firmly against my butt. My heart jolts, I gasp, my knees are suddenly weak and I remember the dinner party. Dancing. Held in his arms, his movements, shuddering against me and that exquisite excitement as his jade stalk pressed against me.

In the English words, I know he has an erection. He's excited. It's pressing against me and the feel of him sends sudden heat washing through me in a slow wave of rising anticipation.

"I love you, Martin," I say, resting the back of my head against his shoulder as his arms hold me. He's told me he loves me many times now. For me, here in this enclosed veranda, this is the first time I've actually said it. The first time I've allowed myself to admit my love for him and I half close my eyes, bursting with joy. With happiness. And yes, with excitement and my heart beats faster. "I love you."

"Chuntao," he breathes, and just his voice saying my name fills me with new emotions. "The first moment I saw you, I knew it was love."

I swallow, half close my eyes, luxuriating in his arms around me, his body against mine, his erection hard against me and I want to feel him pressing against me the way he pressed against me at that dinner party and I'm so conscious of his arousal against my butt.

"Yes," I sigh, giving in to those emotions that fill me. "I knew too. I saw you and I loved you."

I know now and I turn in his arms. Turn to face him, looking up at him, my arms vining around his neck, drawing him closer, pressing myself against him and today I wear no bra. Today I wear a western-style dress and top and my coat and hat that hang by the door and my breasts are crushed against his chest, our skin separated only by his linen shirt and my thin cotton top.

"Martin." I look up at him and there's a black hole inside me. A black hole of fear and suspense and terror, for I need to be honest with him.

"Yes, Chuntao?" he says, kissing my nose.

"I'm not a sing-song girl," I say. "I will not bring shame on my family. I love you, Martin, but I'm Chinese. You're English. Is there a future for us together?" It hurts me so much to say this, but I must, even if I risk losing him. I owe this at least to my family and I persevere, the words struggling out as I struggle to think. To make him understand. "We've only known each other for a few weeks, Martin."

And I want to know you for a lifetime of you and I together. That is what I think but I do not say that. I dare not. It is too soon, and he is English.

"One look was enough to know I love you, Chuntao," he says, and he kisses my nose again and his hands stroke my back. "I know you're not a sing-song girl," he adds, and his lips on my ear send delicious shivers down my spine. "I love you and I want you to be mine."

His eyes look down into mine. Those eyes of sparkling blue, so alien, his skin so pale, his hair is that strange white blonde and I love him. I love him so much and I want to be his and I remember Hua's words. I promised Hua and he loves me and I love him.

"Is there a future for us, Martin?" I whisper, looking up into his eyes. "Together?" I swallow, terrified that he will say there isn't, that it cannot be and within myself, I know it cannot. "Not just for a few weeks, a few months. A future for us together, forever? You and me, forever? Your family..."

"Chuntao," he says, holding me so tight. "I love you, Chuntao. It will be difficult." Now it is he that swallows and I sense his nervousness. "My family will not approve... my hong..."

"Your hong will not approve," I say, but how I hope he will brave their disapproval. I hope, but I do not expect him to. He works for Jardine Matheson, and they are strict. An Englishman seeking to marry a White Russian would be sent somewhere remote and distant immediately. A Chinese girl? Someone like me? They would never approve. Never, and I know that and I hope but my heart sinks.

"No," he says. "But there are other hongs, other companies. There are Englishmen, Americans, others with Chinese wives."

He's said it. He's said wives. He's said that word and my heart leaps with joy and I smile now, relief filling me and he smiles back and I sense his courage building now. His love. He loves me. He does. He loves me enough to think about that.

"It will take time, Chuntao," he says. "What about your family?"

"My father will not approve, but he will agree," I say. "It will be hard for him, but for Chinese families, sons are more important. Girls don't matter." Even to my father, and he is a modern father. Progressive in his views, but still, I am a girl. I smile. "It is your family who must agree."

I swallow, and my voice is small now, nervous. "You do mean what you say, Martin? That there is a future together for us? I cannot shame my family. I must not shame my family."

"I mean it, Chuntao," he breathes. "I love you with all my heart and soul and there is a future for us together." His lips brush mine. "As man and wife." He smiles now. "Chuntao, will you be my wife?"

"Yes," I say, and my heart threatens to burst with love and with happiness and with joy. "Oh yes, Martin. Yes."

"It will take some time with my family," he says. "And Jardine, well, they forbid their griffins to marry, and never to marry a Chinese woman. That's forbidden. I will have to find another position somewhere." He swallows. "That will disappoint my father, he called in a lot of favours to get me into Jardine. And my friends." Now he smiles. "But to have you in my life forever, Chuntao, that would be worth everything to me."

"Oh, Martin." My smile is tremulous, I am on the edge of tears as I bury my face in his shirt and I remember anew Hua's words. My promise to her that I would not follow her path. That my first time with a man should be an act of love, with someone I love and now I know that it will be. I know now that Martin is my future. I am to be his wife and I lift my face, I ease away from him, I take his hand in mine.

"Come." Heart pounding, I lead him back into the room. There's the bed, or there's the couch and I don't hesitate. I lead him those half a dozen steps across the floor towards the bed.

"I didn't..." He hesitates and I turn towards him. Turn into his arms.

"Kiss me," I say, arms around his neck. "Kiss me, Martin, kiss me like you did last night." I press myself against him shamelessly and he's hard. He's so hard and his hardness presses against me and I shiver, remembering what happened in that alcove at Miranda's family's house where he moved against me, where he shuddered and groaned and I knew what was happening to him and I want that pleasure for him now.

I want to give him that pleasure.

"Chuntao," he groans. "I love you, Chuntao." His mouth finds mine, his lips brush mine, seal themselves to mine, his tongue floats into my mouth, deep inside my mouth, gentle, not pushing or probing, gentle and tender and I suck on him, suck his tongue deep, offering my mouth up to him as his hands stroke my back, my shoulders, my sides and I'm catching fire. I'm on fire and I want his hands everywhere on me as I press myself against him and his hardness presses against me.

The bed is behind me and my heat pounds, beating like a Thunder Drum and my body is shaking as I draw him with me.

"Chuntao?" he gasps as I draw away from him and sit on the bed, breathing hard, panting, almost moaning with my excitement.

"Come," I gasp, tugging at his hands as I slide to the centre of the bed and lie on my back. "Come."

He says nothing, his face flushing as he slides onto the bed and he's lying next to me, propped up on one elbow and I look up at him and I want him closer. I want him pressing against me. I want him kissing me and I want his hands on me and I want to feel his weight one me.

"Kiss me," I whisper and now he moves closer, he slides closer, pressed against me, one arm beneath my shoulders and he's hard against my thigh and I'm limp with excitement. Limp and burning, my skin on fire, tingling and my jade gate is wet and slippery and pulsing with excitement and I remember him rubbing himself against me and I want that again, I want to see that look in his eyes and on his face as he shudders and groans against me.

"Chuntao, I love you," he breathes, his nose brushing mine, and his hand, his free hand, moves to cup my breast and there's no bra, no camisole, nothing but the thin cotton of my top between his hand and my breast and my nipples are swollen, rubbery-hard, aching. Oh god, his hand. His hand on my breast and my back arches a little, I gasp, his thumb brushes across my nipple and I moan softly. Helplessly. He does it again. And again.

"Martin," I gasp. "Martin, do you really love me? Do you really mean it?"

"Chuntao," he whispers, and his lips brush mine fleetingly. My lips part, they beg for his. "Chuntao, I meant everything I said. I love you, Chuntao. I want you to be my wife. I want you to marry me."

"I love you," I whisper, and my hand moves to rest on his where he cups my breast. "I love you, Martin."

His lips brush mine again, my mouth opens wide, we kiss again and his kiss is magical, exhilarating, the touch of his lips against mine an elixir of love and I give myself completely to that love. Give myself completely to that kiss, to his mouth, to his hand on my breast and my nipples are tight and hard and they hurt now. They ache, they want more, more than just his thumb brushing me there and I twist and my hand presses his hand down on my breast, hard. I hear myself moan, moan into his mouth, a faint helpless sound and he swallows my moans, his mouth devours me.

"Chuntao," he groans, his mouth lifting from mine for barely long enough to breathe my name. "Chuntao." His mouth seizes on mine again and now his kiss is harsher, less gentle, more urgent, more demanding and my mouth is his, all his. His fingers move under my hand, find the buttons of my top, fumble blindly with them and my heart is beating wildly as he unfastens that first button.

"I have to see you," he breathed, his fingers working the next button undone. "I have to."

"Martin," I gasp, my hand falling away from his as his fingers work.

The next button, and the next, and the next and then the last and my heart jolts as he brushes my top open, exposing both my breasts to his eyes, and he looks, the heat of his gaze burning my skin and I tingle everywhere as I lie there, exposed to him, waiting. Wanting.

"You're beautiful, Chuntao. Beautiful," he breathes, looking and my skin burns under his gaze. I'm on fire, my nipples swell, ache, they want to be touched as he touched me last Saturday and now I move. My hand finds his where it rests on my hip, I take it, I lift it, I place it on my breast and now I shudder, eyes half closed. His hand is on my breast, his male hand and it rests there for a long moment, shaping itself to me, cupping me and I savor that touch.

He says nothing, his blue eyes look down into mine, his hand cups my breast, my heart beats like a birds, fluttering wildly as that pool of hot excitement within me grows and now I am conscious of his hardness against my thigh as he presses himself closer to me and I welcome that closeness. I want that closeness. His face draws closer, his nose brushes mine, his lips brush against my skin and blindly my mouth opens, seeking his kisses as a flower seeks the sun.

As the sun's bright light causes the flower to open its petals, his lips brushing mine cause my lips to part and that kiss, that kiss is one of passion, of excitement, of desire, morphing from a brushing of lips to a desperate merging of our souls in a bare second. His lips crush down on mine, my mouth opens wide, his tongue invades and I surrender, I am his, my mouth is his and his hand moves now on my breast and my back arches. I push my nipple against his palm, I welcome his fingers running over me, seizing my nipple.

"Ohhhhhhhhh." I moan into his mouth and I want more. I want him as I did last night, moving himself against me and I half turn towards him, my hands urging him to move over me, to lie on me and he does. He does and I moan again as I tug at him and I know he is not sure what I want.

"Lie on me," I gasp, my mouth separating form his for just long enough.

"Chuntao." His weight is on me, his legs straddling mine, his hardness presses against me and he kisses me yet again, gently and possessively and my mouth is his and his weight on me, lying on me, the skin of his chest hot against my naked breasts, it's exquisite and when his mouth moves on mine, when his chest moves against my breasts, against my aching swollen nipples, I moan into his kiss, my breathe shared with him as I taste his tongue. As I swallow our shared saliva.