Chapter Text
💥Episode 1- Mind-Eraser in a human form.💥
-Wu Jiao-
"Wanna fuck?"
The Mind-eraser I just downed jerked in my esophagus, closing up my throat. Mierda! (Shit!)
I cough a few times to regulate the activity of my drinking pipe back to normal. I am not going to play innocent and horrified by the obscenity of the question. I frequent this pub every single day after work for the past month, it is basically my second home now.
Last month my landlord told me he was going to raise my rent by two hundred dollars. Why? Because he can, and because he doesn't give a shit that I am living in a thirty-square meters studio and struggling to keep up with the ridiculously high rent as it is.
Then, I thought about my mom. Of course I thought about her. Every time I run into the tiniest hardship in my life I think about her, how she would have made it all better if she was here.
If there was one woman in my life I could honestly say that I loved unconditionally from the bottom of my heart, it was my mom. I used to spend most of my time after work at home with her and my dad. She taught me how to cook, bake, and clean while my dad taught me how to renovate houses and build them from scratch, just like he did for the entirety of his career.
Not gonna lie, when it came to my parents, I was truly blessed. That was until I lost my mom a year ago, a week after my eighteenth birthday. An asshole ran her over on her way back from grocery shopping, police never managed to catch him. Pinches cabrones! (Lousy motherfuckers.)
My dad fell apart after her death. He stopped working for a while and taking care of himself. When my brothers dropped by to visit him, they barely recognized him at times. He turned into a shell of himself within a matter of weeks. My mom was his everything. I had never seen a man so deep in love for a lifetime as my dad was. I could only imagine the terrifying thoughts that galloped through his grieving mind. I was afraid he would end up harming himself just so he could reunite with her.
I tried to talk to him, to persuade him to date, to give a chance to a new woman in his life. It was crazy early, about seven months after my mom's death, but I rathered watch him dating a new someone than lose him too. At first, he wasn't willing to hear a word I said, but as time went by and his condition only worsened, I begged him with tears and I could see him cogitating over the idea.
One day, as I looked out the window, I saw him near the house smiling for the first time since my mom passed, and he was not alone. His fingers were interlocked with the fingers of...well, apparently someone he met at the Golf course.
That was the day I moved out. I didn't want him to hold himself back and worry about how his new relationship will affect me. The same day I was catapulted into adulthood and the real world, and that was also when I was introduced to the middle-class struggle of finishing the month, spending half my salary on rent, and paying preposterous prices for vital and basic groceries.
I don't know what happened to me during the last month. The landlord raising the rent broke something within me. I thought I succeeded, I had it all calculated and figured out, I lived in a studio, worked in a bar, and was able to sustain myself. Not anymore, apparently.
I stopped spending time with my dad, brothers, or my neighbors who were basically my second family. I grew up with their hijos (Sons). We were as tight as neighbors can get. Their abuelas (Grandmothers) became mine too with the years.
Hell! I even stopped hanging out with my best friend, February. Don't you dare laugh at her name. She was born on February the second, and her parents weren't all that creative.
When people see us ambling together in the street, they immediately mistake us for a couple, which is ludicrous really since she is more lesbian than I am gay. At least I can appreciate the beauty of a woman. She can look at a picture of the sexiest man alive in his birthday suit, muscles and all, and she will have the same look and expression on her face as if she was looking at a garbage disposal.
But if a beautiful woman would walk past her? Fuck me! You would think she was spellbound.
"Gorgeous? Did you hear me?"
Yes, I fucking heard you! I grumble inside without even glancing at the man. Seriously, the number of unholy proposals I am bombarded with every time I set foot in this place can send this whole world to hell on the express train. Like what the actual fuck? Can't a guy get a fucking drink around here without being suffocated by ten depraved suggestions per hour?
With that said, I did choose to walk into a gay pub with drawings and art of men giving blow jobs and hand jobs to each other, and fucking in the most lewd positions I had ever seen. So...yeah...it's kind of on me.
But what can I do really? I tried going to a lesbian pub; it didn't feel right. It felt more like I was invading their space. And I work in a straight bar, so going there just feels like I am at work.
"Gorgeous, can I touch you?"
Okay...that is new. I have been visiting this pub every single day for the past month and this is the first time someone asked for permission to touch me. Usually, when the guys see something they like, they instantly shoot their hands, touching, groping, like mannerless animals. I almost got into four or five fights because of it.
I shift my gaze and look at the man. Impressive height, muscles protruding from every organ I lay my eyes on, wrapped in a layer of delectable cinnamon, manly skin. Sharp jaw, defined cheekbones, and elongated earthy eyes; dark coffee with just a hint of honey in them, staring into my soul.
Fuck! Those eyes! Now I am the one spellbound.
"Nope," I say. I am spellbound but I am not that easy.
The corner of the guy's lips turns up into a subtle smirk, "At least you answered this time. I started thinking you were deaf or mute."
"Nope, just hate being constantly approached," I say, taking another sip from my drink.
"Okay, so, what do you say? Wanna fuck?"
I almost choked on my Mind-eraser again. Mother fucker! He managed to mislead me and actually make me think he is different from all the fucking horny men in this place. Do all gay guys just want to fuck nameless strangers all day long and move on to another the next day? Am I the only one who craves intimacy with just one person? Am I the only one who wants to find his person, get married, have a family, and stay together for a lifetime? Am I the abnormal one here or is this world just careered completely off the rails?
Fuck him! Fuck this! Now I regret exchanging a word with him. I shouldn't have given him a minute of my time. He is just like any other guy in here, cares about my crotch and ass, nothing else.
I size the guy up. Chinese, I can guarantee it. It is a miracle he speaks fluent English. He looks too good to speak three languages, so I change my strategy. "No hablo inglés, pendejo." (I don't speak English, asshole.)
We both know I am lying but who cares.
The guy leans closer to me, his lips twitching as if he knows something I don't. Fuck! This can't be good.
"De verdad? Vale...entonces dime hermoso, quieres follar?" (Is that so?Okay...so tell me handsome, do you wanna fuck?)
I flush and I can feel my cheeks combust, I underestimated him. His intelligence and determination. Mother fucker! This guy is a master in freaking chess, I am sure of it.
"Jesus fucking Christ!" I snap, "Can't a guy just drink his sorrow in peace without being treated like a fucking gigolo around here? No! I don't wanna fuck, especially not with you! I just got fired today and can barely afford my rent. I just want to roll in my sorrow, get wasted, and feel sorry for myself, okay?"
Alright, that should do it. Once you show any disinterest in sex in this place or reject someone so firmly, they usually leave you alone. If you are not good for sex, you are good for nothing, so it seems. You can climb the roof of this place and jump from it and I doubt anyone would care.
If I glance to my right, I bet a million dollars the guy evaporated into thin air; but when I do, I am immediately taken back. He is still there, the bastard, his eyes boring into me making me feel things I shouldn't be feeling. Fuck! These eyes!
"Why did you get fired?" He asks.
"What's in it to you?" I growl.
"You are gorgeous, you intrigue me. I want to know, why did you get fired? Tell me, worst case scenario, I am a stranger whom you will probably never meet again, so why keep it a secret?"
He raises a good point, el pendejo (The asshole), not gonna deny it.
"I work, well, worked night shifts in a straight bar downtown," I sigh, "There was this man there, a regular customer, a married one in his fifties, he kept on hitting on me when he was drunk, touching me and harassing me. When I complained to my boss about it, he told me to suck it up because that is the nightlife, the line of work I chose to work in. He told me I should be grateful because that asshole tipped me a hundred every night just because he had a crush on me. I told my boss I don't want his fucking money, I just want him to take his hands off me, but he just called me a prick who doesn't appreciate what he has."
"Last night I decided I have had enough. After I asked the man to stop groping me for the tenth time and he didn't listen, I grabbed him by his collar, dragged him outside, and beat his ass up until he lost consciousness. He spent the night in the hospital and I spent it in jail."
I lift my gaze from the shot-glass, half expecting the guy to judge me for officially turning into a delinquent overnight, but his eyes just lock on me, on my eyes, on my lips, and then on my Adam's apple. I can feel something in my crotch twitch and I never hated myself more.
"You are fun," he grins.
"Fun?" My eyebrows spring up. "Did you hear the part where I beat up a man and spent the night in jail?"
"I did. I also heard the part where you did a favor to this world and helped educate someone about what happens when he puts his hands on someone against his will."
"I just hate when people think I am their property and grope me as if they are entitled to it, you know? It just sparks something within me and I explode."
"I know, that's why you are fun."
Okay, maybe this guy isn't that bad after all. I turn my head to him and give him a small smile.
"What can I do to convince you to spend the night with me?" He asks.
"Nothing," I say and fight my voice to stride out as steadily, confidently, and coldly as possible. He can do nothing because he already flipped my will the moment he showed any real interest in me, in me as a person. My heart keeled over the moment he sat down, gazing into me with those coffee eyes of his while listening to my grievances.
"Puedo tocarte?" He asks. (Can I touch you?) Turning my insides into a mush with this simple question.
"I won't beat you up if you do, if that's what you ask," I say, looking away from him.
He chuckles. Fuck! Even his laugh is enticing me to ditch all morals and do reckless things. He uses his index finger to chuck me under my chin, shifting my gaze to look directly at him. He observes me for a moment, taking in every undercurrent of emotion that lay beneath my phlegmatic and frosty façade. His thumb wickedly teases my bottom lip as his other hand lifts up his gray T-shirt, exposing his abdomen.
He studies every pore and muscle on my face as my eyes can't resist but scan his body. His abs are meticulously and absurdly squared like they were chiseled by a perfectionist. I reach and brush my fingers against them, his muscles tense a little under the sudden touch, hard as a fucking metal washboard.
Jesus fucking hell! Did this guy start working out when he was three years old?
"I can tell you are attracted to me," he says once he is done observing me.
"Do you think I let every guy I am attracted to fuck me?" I snort.
My blunt derision doesn't seem to discourage him from his goal though. "Are you a virgin?"
"What if I am?"
"I am too."
"No, you are not." I let out another snort, and raise my hand to indicate to the bartender I am in need of a refill. I am slightly lightheaded and giddy. Finally, the alcohol started kicking in and the Mind-eraser actually started effacing my brain.
The guy's expression changed at once. His gaze darkens, he doesn't seem amused by my comment at all.
"Why?" He filters, "Because I talk straight to the point without bullshitting or manipulating you into what I want? Or maybe because I know one thing or two about sex, then, I must be a slut, right?"
I anxiously swallow and shake my head as if my life depends on it. "No, I didn't say that."
His expression is still harsh, unforgiving. The hand that fondled my thigh up till a second ago retracts backward, shooting a shiver up my spine. Why did I have to say it? How did I manage to capsize this incredibly tense, sexual atmosphere into an untoward and unbearable one?
Out of desperation, I dart up from my seat, pressing my lips on his cheek, fastening my teeth on the flesh of it; giving him a rough kiss. When I adjust myself back on my seat, I can see his expression soften and his roaming hand returning to my thigh, picking up where it left off; and I heave out a deep sigh of relief, inwardly, of course.
"Over eighteen?" He asks.
"Nineteen, you?"
"Same."
"I want to fuck you too," I say, struggling to keep my breath even. When I see his gaze toughen again, I plead, "Please."
His eyes narrow as he gazes at me, "Do you even know how?"
"I trust you to teach me."
"What's your name?"
"Jay."
"Your Chinese name."
"Wu Jiao, yours?"
"Gu Yang."
"Nice to meet you, Yangyang," I grin at him. He blinks, clearly he didn't expect me to nickname him so fast. Well, life is short and I don't have time to waste, so why the hell wouldn't I nickname him?
I mindlessly fan myself, all this touching is making me fucking simmer. My dick hardened long ago. It betrayed me and threw me into an eternal pit of shame, the disloyal puto! (Fucker.)
I wore a black T-shirt today, smart move. If I drag it down just a bit, I might be able to cover the towering shame. I start inching my way toward the hem of my shirt, but by the time my fingers reach it, another hand already seized my hard dick and fondles it.
My eyes leap up to his. His gaze locked on me, bolted, daring, shameless. He keeps massaging my dick and balls in his palm skillfully as if he had done it about a thousand times before. He knows exactly where to place his fingers and how to move them. Where to apply pressure and when to stop, just enough to put me on edge.
He ignores my rapid breath which now sounds more like desperate panting. He disregards my face which turned into a bright sheet of crimson. He just keeps on eyeing me closely, studying me, and the way I react to him.
I feel cursed and blessed at the same time.
"Hard already?" He whispers, "If I kiss you, you will come, right? And if I fuck you hard? Will you scream my name and double orgasm like a chick? Because if you will, I swear on my life, I will never leave your ass."
"Fuck off," I say, but I don't push him away. I just let him toy with me as if I were his plaything.
"You know, you can moan if you want to," he teases and I swear to God, one day I will kill him.
"Moan my ass," I protest, but even those three words come out breathless and half a whimper. I was never more abashed in my life!
What I see as a weakness, he considers to be a strength, evidently. The more he watches me squirm and wiggle under his touch, the more his dark coffee eyes brighten into the hue of honey, adoring me, taking me in, eating me up whole. And I would be a psychotic liar if I won't admit I freaking like it, love it, getting off on it.
This guy surpasses any alcoholic cocktail I had ever downed in his ability to obliterate my thoughts and convictions and erase my freaking mind to the ground.
"Jiao Zi, can I kiss you gorgeous?" He chucks my chin again and nudges it up toward his lips, making my heart thwack violently and my lungs to verge on the edge of collapse.
I nod my head frantically, and for once, I get what I want.
He takes my lips between his teeth, establishing his dominance by setting pressure on them. Just enough to make me moan and whimper, but never enough to make me feel used, taken advantage of, or sink into pain.
I can feel him sliding his tongue in, smoothly, yet, firmly, conquering my whole mouth with his addictive touch. I fight back and invade his mouth too. He tastes like coffee, honey, and sin, in the most delicious way possible.
"I will let you fuck me," he says between kisses, "But not tonight. Tonight, I will be the one fucking you. But there is something you should know, baby Jiao Zi, I fuck hard or I don't fuck at all. Whether you come to spend the night with me or not is your decision and your decision only."
"Stop talking, just fucking kiss me."
He grants me my wish, but remains adhered to his goal. Trapping me in, tethering me to him, turning me into an unbounded wanton who knows nothing but godless life.
"Be my slut for the night, dime que si, bebe." (Say yes, baby.) He exhales against my lips.
He tastes overwhelmingly sweet like a forbidden apple and I savor it. His voice is tempting, luring, seducing, like a devilish entity that spurs me to sin, transgress, break all laws, cross every limit, and upset the Gods without mulling over the consequences. Urging me to wallow in lust, to revel in sinful delight, to unchain myself, and for once since my mom died, forget and forsake all my adversities and tribulations, and take pleasure in this temporary, yet, sensational night of liberation and freedom.
My chest, crotch, and cheeks are burning, and I can feel the shame swathing me. Willpower? What is it? It evaporated into dust, melted into liquid. There is only him calling the shots, and me defrosting into water under his touch.
I find myself unexpectedly cupping his neck between my palms, sucking on his lips, murmuring a faint, "Si." (Yes.) against them.
Only the devil knows what the night will cast upon us, but I know one thing for sure.
This night, whether I want it or not, will forever be etched into my memory.
