So what was I doing while Emma was wasting her life in a
long-distance relationship with Davidè? Sitting around waiting to die? Jerking
it to porn on the toilet? With my height (6’) and my hair and my very own
Mercedes? I knew I was eventually going to
settle down to heal and be happy with Emma forever, but I was sure going to
fuck everything that moved in the interim.
‘Everything that moved’ turned out to be more like one
chance encounter with a Chinese-Australian named Fei, but that’s more than most
men like me get. And by ‘men like me’ I mean successful, educated, cultured,
men of style and substance who prefer the theatre to the gymnasium. Most women
are too thick to see past my lack of bulk, which is my natural defence against
shallow, moronic, prostitutes.
I found Fei during a late-night Tinder session. She was 24
and a tiny 5’3”. Born in Shanghai but having lived in Melbourne for several
years would make her a perfectly submissive Asian fucktoy, but with enough
shared life experience to give us something to converse about. I swiped right, we
matched the next day, and met for drinks later that week.
We met. She was cute enough, dressed in a little skirt and
blouse, but I could tell instantly that her Tinder photos had been taken in
soft lighting behind several filters. Makeup covered a spattering of pimples on
her forehead, and dry skin flaked her ears and neck. I fixated on it. How would
I nuzzle her neck after sex later with all that eczema? Maybe it was just
dermatitis. Could I catch it from her?
Anyway. We chatted. Well I
chatted about myself, because I was the star of the show here. She was in
love with me, laughing at my stories and fawning over my photos. Me in Greece.
Me in Cuba. Me several years ago at the perfect angle flanked by sexy ladies
(“oh you weren’t supposed to see that one…”). She sat speechless, enthralled at
my story about how I worked out the exact bitters to bourbon ration in an Old
Fashioned. I had this in the bag.
Eventually, feigning reluctance, and on the promise that I’d
pay for her cab home, Fei ascended the steps to my apartment. The hallway
echoed as I turned the key in the latch. The door creaked as it swung open and
I, hand on her back, guided her inside.
As soon as the door clicked closed I scooted with tiny steps
in front of her, placed my hands on her narrow hips, and mashed my lips against
hers. She tasted of the single rosé she’d been sipping the entire night, and
smelled like linen and perfume. She tore herself from me and took a step back,
eyes wide. I pushed her against the door and reached under her blouse while she
squirmed and struggled, softly repeating “no, no, please stop”. A button tore
and she gasped. I gave up on the blouse and yanked her skirt down before
burying my hand in her panties. She screamed and slapped me hard across the
face. I saw red. I pushed her back into the door and flinched at the sharp cracking sound as her skull bounced off the wood. She looked at me, mouth agape. I was
shocked at my own violence. As she pulled up her skirt I dragged her tottering
form away from the door, opened it, and shoved her roughly outside.
"Just fuck off”
I hissed, baring my fangs.
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