TEE HEE

My lunch mate realized that I was interested not in the gym teacher she was thinking of but, in fact, the hottie we all know and love as Alpha Hottie. Even Ms. Formerly Of The He’s-not-my-cup-of-tea said, “Oh, him. I think he’s handsome. I thought you meant another teacher.” The man is universally hot. That’s all I’m saying.

Consequently, she took it upon herself to convince him to give me a ride on the back of his motor scooter in lieu of our (lunch mate and I) regular stroll from the primary to the middle school after lunch today (11/13).

Normally, I wait at the front of the school while my lunch mate fetches her bike but today, Alpha Hottie happened to be leaving at the same time we were. My lunch mate and Alpha Hottie disappeared behind the school to where they keep the bikes and scooters and then she reappeared, giddy about something. My “Oh. Fuck.” meter went off instantly.

“Just wait a moment,” she said, giggling in her conspiracy.

“Oh god. Oh no. Really, it’s fine.” I beg, knowing the approximate route this situation is about to take. The last thing I need is my dating life to be sorted out for me in a language I don’t understand. Rejection sucks. Rejection via translator who also works with me (read: public stage) is horrifying. The Chinese have no problem telling you exactly what’s wrong with you, as far as they’re concerned, in a public setting and the last thing I need is to hear about my shortcomings as a reason to romantically reject me while everyone listening nods knowingly. I’m insecure enough and the regular monologues several teachers have at me about how fat I was and how slim I am and how “all the teachers” talk about how much better I look and that I should keep losing weight does nothing to quell my insecurity. They all want me to be a model if I’m not “very fat, like when you first here.” Yes, it’s all meant with the best of intention but it doesn’t upset me any less. I certainly don’t want to have to deal the critical monologues that will result when the hot man rejects me. I can hear them now, “Well, of course. We all thought…” as nerve after nerve is pounded. Suddenly, I’m back in middle (or primary, as it were) school, where everyone is watching as someone else sorts out my love life. The only difference this time around is that we fit in our clothes better, have larger paychecks and have some vague notion of the things we’re “supposed” to be doing in proper society.

Alpha Hottie reappears with his motor scooter and the control freak goddess that is me is left to watch helpless, as the chain of events I set off takes on a life of its own. My lunch mate talked with Alpha Hottie and they argued about something. “Great, he’s already not happy and she’s going to bludgeon him into dating me. Please god, kill me now. Just please, let me stroke out and die right here. Please,” was the sum total of my inner dialogue. The arguing died down and my lunch mate said something else.

Alpha Hottie walked his scooter out the front gate and my lunch mate said something else. Instantly, Alpha Hottie sat up straight, slid forward on the scooter seat and turned to look right at me, expectantly. I now have proof that god does not exist because had their been a god, it would have struck me dead to shut up the mental shriek I unleashed as I realized I was supposed to be getting on the scooter with him. All I have asked for is sitting there awaiting me but it comes with a fucking live, studio audience. I have suddenly realized there is no way I’m going to survive this without making a complete ass of myself and I for the first time in a long time, really care about that.

My lunch mate explained that she was going to ride her bike along side the two of us on his motor scooter. Fortunately, I have NO experience with motor scooters and so my “motor scooter etiquette” is nonexistent. Thank god I was extra unprepared for today’s mortifying experience because pure blindsiding and utter usurping of control isn’t enough; I must be fully ignorant as well. I decided, as I was not comfortable with the whole “sidesaddle” thing they seem to prefer here, I’d just go for the whole “spread eagle” enchilada. If you’re going to cross a line, really fucking cross it, right?

As I tossed one leg over the scooter and slid down to the seat, I was slapped in the face with his amazing smell. I realized that it’s not the poppies that emit opium in China; it’s the boys. My mind went clear and I took a deep breath. I could stay in that smell forever.

Once my ass was on the scooter and my mind became my own again, I decided to let my legs dangle and not put my feet up on the foot part as I really wasn’t able to deal with the notion of actively squeezing him between my thighs. Frankly, I wasn’t sure I could do it and not make an inappropriate noise.

So, there I am, dangling a bit off the back and he half turns to me and then speaks to my lunch mate.

“Put your feet up on the platform.” My lunch mate tells me.

To recap, I’m living in a country where I’m not allowed to touch men, much less hug my guy friends, but suddenly it’s totally okay, nay, I’m being URGED to wrap my thighs around a relative stranger in public while other people negotiate our dating potential. Yeah, my ability to comprehend has rather vanished.

I lean back a little to see the platform. “When in Rome,” right? I pop my feet up on the platform and there I am, with my legs wrapped fully around him and face the color and temperature of freshly steamed lobster.

I then mentally debate putting my arms around his waist. I figure the only thing more mortifying than offending him with my forward contact is eating pavement. Fully expecting him to at least flinch or, more likely, turn around in that “What the fuck are you doing” sort of way, I wrapped one arm about his waist. Nothing. He was totally blasÈ.

“Okay, if he’s fine with that, I’m putting my other hand on his waist to counterbalance myself because I will be damned if I’m going to crack my skull on the pavement to get a date” I thought.

And then I did it.

And he remained blasÈ.

And realized just how solid he is.

And we were off.

He made a little “Oof,” teasing sound at first realizing my weight. I immediately thought, “Enough. I’m walking. Bye-bye. I’m out. I’m done,” as I discovered that my flight reflex is firmly intact. As I pulled back, took my arm from his waist and started to lift my legs, he said something to my lunch mate.

“He said, ‘Don’t worry, he’s had two women on the back of his bike. You’re fine.’” My lunch mate explained quickly.

“What’s he doing with two women on the back of his bike?” I joked, trying to be silly and relax a bit.

My lunch mate’s eyes went wide with horror, “No, no, they were just friends, I’m sure.” She nodded nervously. “Only friends.” Horrified silence hung in the air as she glanced nervously at me and then at him.

Right. Well. That misfire cleared two things up for me; one, this is definitely about dating and two, my mouth is only going to get me in trouble. I clarified, “I was just teasing.”

My lunch mate nodded with relief.

I did my best to settle back down again but all I could do was cringe. Normally, I’m a pretty good sport but I don’t do well when stripped of all control, knowledge and resourcefulness. While I had a general idea of what we were doing, I wasn’t really clear on why I needed to be there as it was clearly a negotiation between the two of them, I had NO idea what they were saying and I was even less sure of how the hell it was fully acceptable to for me to be pressing my breasts against his back considering the fact that I was about to be riding with him between my thighs.

Oh. My. God. My breasts are against his back. Fuck. I hadn’t noticed, much less planned that. FUCK.

I freaked out, unsure if that much forwardness is rude or uncouth or what. I hadn’t meant it to be forward, it just happened. Granted, there’s absolutely no way I could have held on to him and not have leaned the cousins against him but I hadn’t realized what holding him meant. Frankly, the cousins, while not huge, are most certainly present and so they often require a little strategic planning. To top it off, by the time I realized exactly what I was doing, it was too late to casually readjust away.

I have to admit that it was beyond surreal to have the fact that we’re both interested in spending time together negotiated by a third party while my thighs are wrapped around his hips, my arms are around his waist, my breasts are pressed against his solid frame and we’re in broad daylight, in public, in China with a friend looking on approvingly. Frankly, the last man to be that close to me is (and was) happily married… to a man. It’s been a loooong time since said contact has meant anything and even longer since it wasn’t contact I’ve since come to regret. I’ve gone months without (post-pubescent) male contact and suddenly, I’m straddling the hottest man (who’s infinitely casual between my thighs) on the planet while a number of us are casually discussing his and my mutual interest in one another, the wonderful and practical fact that he excelled in English in high school, that he would very much like to “work on his English” with me and all I can think is how good he smells.

I’m fairly good with crash courses. In fact, if I have a forte, I’m pretty sure “crash course” is it. However, this was a bit much. I had to recalibrate my “China” sensitivity gauge while the fact that he smells like warm, fresh laundry that needs to be nuzzled kept wrenching me away from lucid thought. We rode down the street and I couldn’t stop thinking about how lovely it felt to be wrapped around him and how I desperately wanted to curl up into him and go to sleep. Suddenly, and for the first time in China, I genuinely didn’t want to cross a line that would make me lose face. Hello vanity!

As we made it to our destination, I thanked him for the ride, he shook his head indicating it was nothing and then was off. Then my lunch mate turned to me and said, “Good, now you’ve been introduced, you can sit with him at his table at lunch.” Um, I can’t even begin to unpack the notion that hanging out with a dude riding between your thighs is merely, “Introduction” in a country where I’m not really allowed to shake a dude’s hand. To say nothing of the fact that, at almost 30, I’m literally discussing school lunchroom table politics as highly relevant to my dating life. What?

Because I’m a lucky bitch beyond compare, I bumped into my Brazilian Angel right after said ride and I immediately told her what happened. I escorted her to lunch across from the compound while we talked.

She leveled her gaze at me and spoke. “Did you push your breasts against him?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess. I was holding onto him and so yeah. No stomach or anything, because it wasn’t tight, just boobs. Wait, what?”

“Good. The women here have none so he’s going to be thinking about that.”

“I don’t know. He seemed very comfortable. Nothing really fazed him.”

“Excellent. That means he liked it.” Or it meant nothing to him. I’m just sayin’.

“What? I was dying.”

“Chris, you really must lighten up.”

As my Catholic friend is reprimanding me for being too hard on myself and not blasÈ enough with my sexual finesse, Alpha Hottie happens to ride by us on the street. He turns around to look at us as he drives by and I holler, “Hello” after him.

I look at my Brazilian Angel and point to him.

“Was that him?”

“Yeah.”

“Chris, he’s really handsome” was blurted out in surprise from the woman who, until that moment, thought there were no good looking Asian men.

“I know,” I say, truly comprehending I am most certainly flirting with a hottie way out of my league.

“Perfect. You’ve got a boyfriend.”

“What?”

“Well, actually, the only problem is if he doesn’t want you.”

“Duh. Hello. He’s way out of my league in the looks department and the virtues of my intellect aren’t exactly going to make it through the language barrier.”

“Chris, don’t be so hard on yourself. Look at yourself. You’re lovely. You have beautiful eyes.”

“But…”

“I won’t hear anymore of this shit. Enough.”

“But…”

“No, really. No more. I don’t where you get these ideas that you’re not pretty. You are. Enough. Do you really think these things about yourself? It’s shit.” And my Brazilian Angel continued to reprimand me for my lack of self-confidence for the better part of a half hour.

Later today, after classes, I returned to my apartment to drop off some books before I went out to buy some water. (I have a water heater but, frankly, if I had to wait for the school to replace the bottles of water I’d have died of dehydration long ago.) As I’m replaying Mr. Not-So-Much-A-Toad’s Wild Ride, I walk out of my apartment sans keys. 50 Yuan and some unexpected visitations later, a locksmith came and wrenched my door open.

Fucking boys.