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Although I like to call her "Auntie," we're actually only nine years apart in age and have no blood relation.
I simply like calling her that, even though she always pouts and pretends to be angry.
I've forgotten why we got together, and it's not that important anymore.
To be honest, I must say I was quite surprised by her appearance when I first saw her. Perhaps she wasn't stunningly beautiful or breathtakingly
gorgeous, but her aura captivated me. You'd think she was like an elegant princess, yet without any sense of aversion
or affectation. On the contrary, her every move exuded a certain grace, as if she were born with nobility.
She easily blended in with us, without any airs.
We chatted casually, joked, drank beer, and ate snacks from the night market.
She looked like she was in her twenties or thirties, sometimes mischievous like a little girl, sometimes with a woman's charm. And when I later found out
she was nine years older than me, I was utterly astonished—a completely unexpected surprise.
As expected, I got her contact information.
Strictly speaking, I didn't ask her the question; she picked up my phone and entered the number herself. I jokingly told her that
young people these days don't use cell phones anymore. She smiled at me with a slightly tipsy face, then picked up her beer glass and chilled my
forehead.
"You brat," she whispered in my ear.
—
I have to admit I was a little reluctant to sit in the passenger seat and watch a woman drive. The last time I did this was when my mom took me to
school . I always felt like a little woman.
"You brat, it's a rare date, so be happy," she said, turning on the turn signal.
"Auntie, I've already given you face by letting you ride, please." I was originally going to give her a ride on my motorcycle, but she felt that riding a motorcycle with someone
was too young and not suitable for her.
"Don't call me auntie!" She pinched my cheek and pouted.
"Tell me how old you are this year." I turned to her and smiled.
"A woman's secret, okay!" She stopped the motorcycle and pinched my nose again.
We interacted naturally, as if there was no age gap or generation gap.
But for me, age isn't really a concern.
We strolled hand-in-hand, then watched a movie of dubious significance, after which I took her home.
I must say, my taking her home was pre-arranged, since I wasn't driving.
So, naturally, we lingered outside the door, reluctant to part, and then, naturally, I was asked if we wanted to come up for tea.
Then, naturally, we watched a DVD whose title I didn't know,
naturally embraced,
and naturally shared a passionate kiss.
Undressing, caressing, sex, orgasm, ejaculation.
Her body hadn't aged with time; I must say this was one of the most perfect sexual experiences I've ever had.
I felt her soft moans, then her almost hysterical cries.
She was now panting in my arms, enjoying the afterglow of her orgasm.
"You know, women's libido increases as they get closer to thirty?" she asked, looking at me and stroking my cheek.
"That's why they need young, vigorous men," I smiled at her.
"Maybe yes, maybe no." She pouted playfully, gesturing for me to kiss her again.
"One more time," I asked, blinking, after a deep kiss.
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If we walked down the street, I'm sure no one would question our age difference.
She possessed the appearance of a young girl and the aura of a woman—a masterpiece of nature.
She enjoyed the stares on the street, and I was happy not to explain my age.
I was once terrified of being seen as a gigolo, so I always tried to hide it when I got out of the passenger seat.
"I want to learn to drive," I said.
"Okay," she smiled.
I spent the entire following holiday in her Lexus, cruising around Taipei.
She watched my profile as I drove, grinning foolishly.
"It's so cool for a kid who can drive." "
I'm a man, thank you."
"Who told you to call me 'Auntie'?"
"You tell me how long you've been out of school, haha."
After class, aside from occasionally going out to eat with friends, I spent most of my time with her working overtime or watching TV at home.
She spoils me, like I have a big, beloved pet.
She once asked if this kind of life would interfere with my classes, and I always patted my head and told her not to be silly.
I love this kind of life—the companionship, the dependence.
Even though our social circles are different, our thoughts are different, and even our finances are completely different, we can still live together.
Although I was shocked when I found out her annual salary—it was about three times my starting salary after graduation—
I felt a little pale at that moment.
She always comforted me, saying that I would support her when I earned money.
Although I don't know when I'll be able to support her on this ghost island of Taiwan.
She loves taking me shopping at IKEA and buying things to decorate our home.
Even though it's her house, I'm practically living with her.
She has her own unique taste, which sometimes makes me feel like a country bumpkin.
Lying on the decorated bed, I start imagining the future. It seems I'll be a father who takes care of the family and children.
She always laughs and says I'm thinking too far ahead, then a happy smile spreads across her face.
Sometimes I think about how not all women like men who can support them financially, yet she chooses to support a man for companionship.
Every time I ask her this, she always says, "It's good to have someone support you, but it's even better to have someone suitable for you." Then she
hugs me and smiles brightly.
It's a feeling of happiness that's almost overwhelming.
So
I try my best to give her everything I can.
I try to live my life well and strive to become a better person.
Even though I know she has social engagements,
and even though I know she'll be recommended by a friend to a manager at some company.
Indeed, I'm a little panicked.
I have nothing, strictly speaking, that's true.
No car, no money, no house, only a brain that's still somewhat useful.
She always comforts me, and then after she finishes her work, she'll lie on top of me and tease me.
These are my only moments of peace.
We made love, feeling each other's breath, and then possessing each other's bodies.
She would tell me that ejaculating inside her might even be nice, perhaps with a child.
Faced with such provocative words, I ejaculated inside her without reservation.
Maybe it was a feeling of possession.
—The
reason we argued that time was because she went out to dinner with a man introduced by a friend.
I was indeed furious when I watched her get out of her BMW i8 at home.
It was her freedom, I knew, of course I knew.
For someone like me who couldn't even bring myself to buy a model car, it was a devastating blow.
When she came in, I silently packed my things.
And only then did I realize that my life had become inseparable from hers.
The wine glass set I bought at Sogo,
the cushion I bought at Shin Kong Mitsukoshi for 20,000 or 50,000 NTD,
the iMac I bought at the Apple store—
I realized that none of these things were actually mine.
She watched me pack in silence.
I stopped halfway through packing and then sat facing her.
"Have you had dinner?" she asked.
"Is the sports car comfortable?"
"Should I cook something?" "Are you
worth hundreds of millions?" "Kid, don't be like this." "Enough, I'm just a kid!" I put down all my things and walked out the door without taking anything. "And you, maybe you're just after this kind of life too," she said coldly. I turned around and looked at her, then froze. "After my looks, after my money, after this kind of life, admit it, it's just a mutually beneficial arrangement," she said. I smiled, opened the door, and slammed it shut. I didn't know where I was going; I just started my motorcycle, which I hadn't ridden in ages. Engine roar, garage door opens, start, escape. —Maybe I was wrong, having a meal is nothing. Maybe I was right, I should have left this life that wasn't mine long ago. I turned on the light and walked into the suite I hadn't been to in ages. So this is what I'm supposed to be: a small single bed, a 2500-dollar pillow even without a discount. A simple mug, the kind that a few drops would fly away if a kid broke it. I looked out the window, even though the sky was pitch black. In the distance lies Taipei 101, the same scenic suite the landlord so enthusiastically recommended back then. Now it seems incredibly ironic. Illusion, extravagance, reality. I turn off the lights, draw the curtains, and lie on the bed. I count what I've gained these past days. I'm calm, so calm that I realize I've lost everything. —The verb "no contact" is just self-deception. Your status updates are visible, your Facebook posts are visible, your Instagram is being tracked. I must say I miss her, everything. I start thinking about what she said when I left that day. Did I love her looks? Did I love her money? Did I love that kind of life ? Perhaps her glamorous appearance and fulfilling life weren't the reasons I loved her. What I loved was her focused expression in the driver's seat. What I loved was her dependence on me after her exhaustion from overtime. What I loved was the shared memories we had. What I loved was that even being labeled a gigolo, I was willing to give everything for her. What I loved was the motivation to strive for improvement because of her. But it took me a whole year to figure these things out. Time has passed, and who knows where she is now, or who should swallow their pride and ask how the other is doing. That year she was 30, and I was 21. I received the wedding invitation in my suite with a view. I recognized the bride's name; it was the name I had longed for for so long. I looked at the date, then glanced at the calendar. "Auntie, do you have to believe me?" — She looked a little haggard when she appeared at the coffee shop; she must have been busy with wedding preparations. She saw me and said, "Long time no see. " I smiled. "How's the wedding going?" "Very tiring." "Didn't you say you weren't getting married? Haha." "I'm so old; I should be grateful someone wants me." I could hear the bitterness in her voice. "Just out of spite." I stirred my coffee. "Don't be silly, you think you're so great." She shrugged, smiling. "Happy wedding." I stood up, put down something that had once held great significance for us, and turned to leave. It was a pull tab from a Coke can. —A year ago. "Honestly, I don't want to get married." "Why?" I asked, puzzled. "Because if you marry me, it'll be hard to explain my age to our future children, haha." "Don't you think marriage is romantic?" I asked. "Romantic, of course." "Like proposing with a diamond ring on one knee." I said. "Just imagining it makes me want to marry you, haha." "But I don't have a diamond ring, I guess I only have a Coke tab." I joked. "The point is the one kneeling, okay? If it were you, I'd marry you even if it was just a Coke tab." She laughed and hugged me tightly. —I didn't care if she saw the three English words I engraved on the tab, but I turned away nonchalantly, pretending to be strong. If I was overthinking it, then so be it. As the wedding date approached, I had no heart to think about anything. I watched the days on the calendar on the wall being crossed off one by one, while my phone remained silent. On the wedding day, I sent her a message: "Happy wedding, congratulations." Then I turned off my phone. Looking at the wedding invitation, I had no intention of going. I casually tossed it into the trash can; I didn't want to look at that unlucky thing again. I figured I should go out and buy something.

I stepped out the door and saw a woman in a white dress sitting on the steps.
It looked a bit out of place, and I didn't know how to explain it.
She held a can of Coke, the tab pulled off.
"I'm all dressed up in my wedding gown, ready to exchange rings, and you're still wearing flip-flops and capri pants?" she pouted, smiling at me.
"So, is the sports car comfortable?
" "It's awful, you drive so many cars.
" "I don't have
any." "It'll be fine tonight."
I smiled and kissed her.
She tried to slip the tab onto my finger, but it got stuck at my fingernail.
"What about the wedding?"
"Who cares?" She picked up two plane tickets from the floor; the destination was Bali, the place we'd always talked about going.
"Really?"
"Yes." She hugged me, preventing me from speaking further.
"Thank you for loving everything about me," she said, the tab on her right ring finger gleaming in the sunlight—
"
all of you."

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