The stuff posted by Mu Zili

After finishing the wild mushrooms and meat, and paying the bill, he was almost broke. I felt sorry for him for the 50 yuan he had to pay for the extra time. His reaction was, "Actually, after paying 50 yuan, we could have stayed in the room for another 50 minutes, and even made love!" He looked regretful.
Then, he went to Diewa to see Tongue's performance, while I was invited to Tang. Actually, I preferred Diewa because a famous band was performing, and there would inevitably be members of both established and potential partners there. I always enjoy that kind of grand spectacle; watching them brings back so many memories…
So, I couldn't stay at Tang for more than half an hour, and with the Halloween gift Tang gave me—a red feather mask, which is Sagittarius, my zodiac sign—I went to Diewa. Tickets were a given, crowds were a given, the music was a given, and even seeing the marijuana guy as soon as I went up the stairs was a given. I'll always remember how much I liked him this spring and summer. No matter when or where I see him again, the scent and traces of our time together will never fade, nor will the sight of us both having sex with other people, including that dizziness. But I can smile at him now, and so can he. Our past is truly over. I pressed my Centaur Mask on his forehead, then squeezed into the rock music, into the noise.
I won't deliberately look for that guy named "Boring" I'd just had sex with a few hours ago, even though we almost did something as terrible as "love." I squeezed around until I reached a table near the glass booth, then grabbed the braid of an acquaintance's boyfriend. He was sitting alone. My acquaintance had asked me more than once, "What if it wasn't Xiao Mi walking towards you that day, but him?" I'd answered more than once, "At most, it would have been a one-night stand." This hypothetical scenario no longer has a corresponding scenario to support it, because we're practically acquaintances now. But when I stood on the table, just centimeters away from him, I couldn't help feeling uneasy. This unease stemmed from two things: 1. I had said I would never date a friend's boyfriend; 2. He was undeniably a man with an alluring, almost sugary, body. A sense of danger lurked within me, like the lingering trauma of being attacked at a French music festival that extended to every band's performance. So I donned my centaur mask for safety, and simultaneously, to survey the men who were now frenzied with tongues.
The friend's boyfriend turned and saw my mask, smiled, and I explained, "Just in case I get attacked." So, a moment later, when he saw me remove the mask, he said, "You should still wear it, or you'll get attacked." Actually, no one would attack me; they were more likely to forget than I was. The danger within me came more from him, just centimeters away. He made me uneasy, embarrassed, leaving my attempts to fend for themselves. I needed something to break this tension. Tongues couldn't, because I couldn't understand what they were singing. Electronic or rock music at a live concert was just an atmosphere, or even a more irritating one. Then, the man named "Boring" appeared before me. I was incredibly moved. He said he saw me from across the street and came over. I didn't think he was cool; like he said, he was willing to be the one who gets dumped. So our two hours of passion continued into dinner, and then into "tongue." It felt like what was supposed to be a quickie had escalated into an all-nighter. Neither of us had ever considered becoming lovers. Too many ups and downs, too much fleeting pleasure, had robbed me of the desire for a lasting relationship. The truth is, when you're in my sight, I'm like a dazzling firework, only blooming until you disappear from my view.
So, his reappearance after our recent encounter was primarily to defuse my inner anxieties. I fanned him with a mask, stroked his hair and shoulders, occasionally acted like a little bird clinging to him, drank the beer he offered, and when he made different gestures or jumped around wildly in front of the crowd, I'd say, "You're cute." It was just another firework display.
When Tongue sang, "Mom, let's fly together, Mom, let's rock together," I finally felt a bit more like a concertgoer, even though the man I was leaning against suddenly froze, unaccustomed to the quiet. He was like a child who had just heard his mother come home after a wild game.
This feeling was quickly shattered by a man who flashed past me. He was my boyfriend from my junior year of college. It was indeed rare to run into someone called a boyfriend in Diewa. Thankfully, he didn't see me. But I remembered him. He was from Xinjiang, and Tongue was a band that came to Beijing from Xinjiang. During the Spring Festival of 2000, he took me to a village near Guangdong University of Foreign Studies, to visit Qiu Dali's house, and to drink with a musician who seemed to be connected to Tongue. In the middle of the night, I left his side and went to the living room to sleep with that musician, making him feel embarrassed and sad. He always knew I was a willful person, and everyone who had been my boyfriend had suffered from my willfulness and eventually couldn't love me anymore.
Everything was chaotic and blurry, blurry and then reappearing, a little scary. A concert always leads to another concert. This world can be as simple as you want it to be, or as incredibly complex as you want it to be.
Of course, "Meaningless" wouldn't know the intricate thoughts running through my mind, just as I don't try to understand what he's thinking. Or perhaps, we understand each other without needing to communicate; we have a natural talent for understanding. Our more intimate gesture was that I placed my leg across his, and he fanned me with his mask, then we started drinking the Coke we'd bought when we first met that afternoon. To strangers, we were definitely a couple.
The tongue-twisting performance seemed to end abruptly; when the crowd shouted "One more song," they didn't play another. Then, the crowd gradually dispersed. My acquaintance's boyfriend had left sometime earlier, and when my boyfriend from my junior year of college passed by again, he didn't even look at me—I could almost assume he hadn't missed me. Being with "Meaningless" felt like being two orphans. Yes, he was still "never worked, therefore possessing a very pure non-mainstream temperament." He was more neurotic than me; he suddenly covered my head with his loose t-shirt, and I licked his sweaty chest and nipples inside his clothes. He was a little ticklish and let me out. Then, curious about the white string on my sleeve, he untied it, letting the sleeve hang loose. I held up my wrist, making him focus on doing this, and then asked him to tie the string back up, which he did very well. We didn't talk much; we just sat there, seemingly lost in thought. I also made some movements, like putting my hand inside his pants and grasping his penis, which responded and became erect. We stared blankly at the empty bars after the night, listening to the music playing, seemingly unrelated to anything we were doing, including my hand, which was hidden under his t-shirt and crotch, unseen by anyone, and seemingly irrelevant to me.
When we finished our Cokes, we stood up and walked out of the bars. There were many people lingering at the entrance, many of whom I knew. Since we didn't greet each other, he didn't know who I knew, so we were still quite close. His girlfriend had urged him to go home half an hour earlier, and my little girl had invited me to play at Apartment 19 again, so it was time to break up, no doubt about it.
The marijuana guy's scent and traces remain indelible. He asked me who I'd been hanging out with lately. Well, seeing me walk onto the overpass with a strange-looking long-haired man, he probably knew. I'm glad I can still give a vivid answer.
At the heart of the well-developed limbs of the Ouzhuang overpass. My dear "Weak" pressed me against the railing, gave me one last hug, and did some "fuck"—just for show, of course. He said, "After two hours, it'll get boring." I said, "From now on, it's up to you." Experience tells me that the first time having sex with a man is the most exciting. And we greedily did it for two hours, with no regrets except for the regret of rear-entry.

[muzimei posted > 2003-11-3 1:02:05]

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The stuff posted by Mu Zili

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