From Jenny to Mei Ch. 28

Ai watched Mei arise out of the big bed from the corners of drowsy eyes. She lay with Philip's forearm on the outside of her thigh, his fingers dangling near her groin.

'Poor girl,' she thought, envisioning Mei kneeling in front of a white-haired, lab-coated doctor, his huge penis dangling at her chin. 'Poor confused girl.'

She pictured little bubbles with the word, 'Daddy!' in bold italics floating out of Mei's bobbing head, each festooned with little red and pink hearts to decorate her thoughts.

Ai knew with absolute certainty that thoughts of Philip would be absent when Mei's heart pitter-pattered with the thrill of feeling her doctor's semen throb into her mouth.

'Poor girl,' Ai thought with a not insincere mental shrug as she performed a slow gyration of her rump against her man's lower thorax, 'she's gonna have to learn the hard way.'

##########

On the ride into work Mei thought about losing the man who had so quickly dominated her life. The man who had made her smile, had forced her to consider things about herself she would not have, and who's caring concern for her was as evident as his handsomeness. The man who might have been fertilizing the womb of her bedmate and new best friend that very moment.

'Would it be so bad?' she mused. 'I could be different than I was, even without him. I've learned a lot. I don't think I'd ever be Jenny again.'

Quickly she pushed away the thought. Nothing Philip had said or done last night gave her any reasonable basis on which to doubt his feelings for her, yet it still felt that he was treating her as though she had some illness he was trying to diagnose. 'Slut can't be that hard to figure out,' she thought.

She dwelt on the money for a while as the driver, Cisco and not Cowboy, made the turn for the congested bridge crossing. His wealth was nearly as seductive as Philip himself. Though she hadn't used the card for much she was comforted by its presence. 'Might as well be dumped with a bang,' she grumbled as a fantasy of flying in a Gulfstream to meet Markéta in Paris and shopping herself sick popped into her head. It was a fabrication that quickly evaporated because she knew she would be doing just such a thing soon anyway. And in her marrow she really didn't feel Philip would dump her. He had Ai, and so why was impossible that she could have someone other than him with which to work out issues? A male someone? Anyway, he loved her and if it weren't for hating herself at the moment she could take comfort in the fact.

'Shit!' she chided herself, her mild despair accompanied by a sag of her soft shoulders, 'and I forgot to blow him this morning.'

The oversight didn't worry her too much. With Ai around Philip wouldn't go unsated. And as disheartened as she felt, she involuntary smiled thinking of Ai. She muttered, "Jì dàng fù," in the back seat. It roughly translates from Mandarin as 'cum slut'.

One might be tempted to think Mei Chun had a simple solution to her problem; telling Dr. K yesterday had been fun but she realized that it wasn't appropriate to continue. However, that only demonstrates the difficulty in fully empathizing with her. No one can feel the pull of someone else's need nor understand how the mind of another rewards or punishes itself.

Mei had felt she had found something more profound in her experience yesterday than just a big dick. She gained an insight into who she was and why she had been such an awful person. She needed to know exactly why, and she thought that Dr. K might be a kind of book that, were she to study it sufficiently, would explain this issue with her father that had formed her former personality.

It might seem odd, from a distance, that the excuse to indulge a new, strongly felt hankering to partake in sex from the submissive position, to do so by submitting to the largest organ in her experience, wielded by an elder member of the opposing sex, having not only age as a mark of seniority but being her employment supervisor as well, would require a self-deception so ludicrous as this. Such was the weight upon Mei's subconscious. It knew she was fucking things up - knew it just as Ai and indeed Philip knew it. And, in the silent way subconscious speaks to conscious, a negotiation was conducted, a mutually acceptable plan devised and an agreement reached. Mei would, without the inconvenience of engaging her moral faculties, reason to herself that betraying Philip would render herself a more fitting human being for him. Future clean her rotten soul, purge the remnant of bitch and perhaps allow the true woman, the original Mei Chun, to be born through her submission to her new, her just and proper - daddy.

And then, as women will do, she thought of the money again. Philip had enough of it to take away all of her material cares. Enough to make the most lavish lifestyle fantasies a reality. Homes in faraway places, maids, cooks, personal trainers, a new house for her mom.

And yet...

She had told herself that she was too busy to take advantage of his money, that Philip had designed things so that she wouldn't have a moment to slide back into her old ways, but that wasn't it. Was it personal growth? Was it that she was still shell shocked by the way her life had been shaken? For whatever reason she found that the things she had imagined that wealth could do didn't appeal to her. Thoughts of living in vulgar indulgence actually wrinkled her nose. Prada was nice, Hermes was lovely and yes, a place nicer than his old hardware store might be a fine thing, but these weren't an issue for her. They were, she nearly gasped at the insight, unimportant. And, like air rushing to fill a vacuum, the realization of what was important filled the void. She needed, like Ai had said, to be sweet, to give love and feel love and fill her heart with it.

And it was like this, confused, hopeful, guilty and drawn toward temptation, that she exited the cab and starred skyward into the San Francisco morning.

##########

"Drink this," Ai ordered while she pushed a glass of foamy, pale green liquid into Philip's wet hand. An uncompromising expression and a towel over her shoulder demonstrated her earnestness.

"What is it?"

"Drink it."

"What is it?"

"You wanna do this all morning?"

"Just tell me what's in it."

She shifted her weight to her left foot and tapped her right. A perky, snarky, fun-loving expression played behind her eyes and at the corners of her mouth.

He sniffed. "Smells awful. Is this wheat grass or *sniff* sprouts?"

"Drink it." She turned and left with the towel.

Moments later, dripping into the kitchen without a stitch on, he found her zipping up a black container the size of two loaves of bread.

"Ok, what is it?" he asked, taking the towel off of her shoulder and rocking the half finished glass to demonstrate that he was complying with her order.

Ai lifted the fabric box and moved past him toward the pantry. "You look... hmmm, been doing push-ups? Now finish the drink."

"Tastes like horse bile," he said and held his nose to underscore the unsavory flavor.

The box rattled as she opened the pantry door with her elbow.

"What's in there?" he asked and grew even more curious when she took a small brass lock from her pocket.

"Not important. Finish it?" she asked as she locked the two zippers together.

"Ugh! Yuck! Tell me this isn't going to turn me into a werewolf, or a Republican."

"You're already a Republican," she said, smiling as she saw the last of the elixir creep down the glass.

"Right. Sure." He coughed displaying an excess of drama. "So what was in it?" he asked reaching for a coffee cup.

"Secret."

"Grandma's recipe?"

"Yep. Best as I can figure. Couldn't find all the ingredients but I figured a pigeon's wing would work in place of an owlet's. That blender, by the way, is awesome." She took his glass and inspected the sides. "Can't see any feathers."

He smiled and smacked her ass playfully, "And why, my neophyte witch? To what purpose?"

She smiled, rose to her tip toes and twisted in place a bit. "Why, your continued good health and happiness, my Lord."

"No, seriously."

"You gonna spoil it for me?" she asked adding a bit of a pout for effect.

"What's in it and what's it for?" His tone had changed just enough to let Ai know it was time to alter the angle of her deflection.

"Familiar with the placebo effect, Philip darling?" she asked, now sounding much older than she had a moment ago.

"Ai," he said looking at her.

"What?"

"Call me darling again."

Her smile increased by a thousand lumens. "You like that, huh, darling?"

"I do. Now what's in it?"

"Can you say tên sông ở úc châu?"

She saw the good will in his blank expression and thought better of trying to teach him.

"Yeah, oh well, you're mortal so Vietnamese is probably beyond your grasp."

He smirked. "You're evading. And anyway, your name means love in Chinese so your pet name thing comes with the package."

"Is romance dead, Philip? Never to be resurrected?"

He washed out the glass in the sink to help banish the smell from the kitchen. "You saw me drink that, right? My liver is going to sprout a head and start talking while I'm asleep. That's romance ain't it, Ching Ren?"

"It's qíng rén. Two rising tones."

"What's in the drink?"

"If I tell you and it's effective then we won't know if it's the placebo effect or if it's the ingredients."

"Then tell me what it's supposed to do?" His playful fondling of her elbow didn't distract Ai. The stern cast (mock stern to be sure) with which she skewered him pulled all focus from his fingers, forcing them to halt their autonomic massage, and made the totality of his mental acuity available so that his mind might undertake a reassessment of his words. "Or would that..." he paused to double think, "right, that's what you mean."

Ai nodded. "Trust me?"

"Is it going to make my dick bigger?"

Ai laughed. "God, you are such a boy Boys are stupid in the most adorable way sometimes." She looked back at him, "I don't think so but I can rub it with turmeric if you want."

"What'll that do?"

"Might make it yellow or something. Want a yellow dick? Might be cute?"

He declined the offer and wondered if the taste lingering behind his tongue had an avian flavor to it.

##########

The moment Mei entered the employee door she recognized her fate.

He stood outside his door, clipboard at his hip, talking with the clinic director. His momentary glance at Mei Chun wasn't one of greed or lust, Dr. K simply displayed his feelings of interested concern in his facial expression. 'Just like a father,' she thought, seeing him see her. And as she smiled back, recalling why she had wanted to blow him in the first place, she knew that she'd be sliding his semen toward her lips with the side of a finger before the day was out. It was a pleasant thought, one that filled her chest with helium. And just like that her concern about betraying Philip was gone like wisps in the wind.

At the moment she surrendered to her fate she felt her phone buzz and heard the FaceTime chime. She turned to take the call from Markéta and made her way to the storage room.

##########

Markéta was every European somebody's first fashion choice this season. She had to turn away clients for which others would kill. The Italian actress who was getting sensational headlines and the Finish mistress of the Russian gas magnate were but two examples. Her current list was exclusively top tier, well-established personalities, some of which were household names on the continent. She dressed actresses, singers, TV hostesses and the wives and mistresses of the politically powerful or ridiculously wealthy. She was at the apex of her profession and turning down clients was the final proof of that status.

She was also the President of the Republic's dominatrix, confidant and therapist. And while she didn't consider him a lover in the traditional sense she did love Pierre as one would the familiar friend of one's father.

He needed her; she was helping him and it usually brought her great satisfaction.

She didn't use her new position as other women might have. She attended no parties held by the president other than the occasional soirée as the guest of Sophie, his now 'official' mistress, and she received no gifts of jewelry or flowers. His tears and heartrending sobs were enough to let her know of his appreciation.

She kept her relationship with him a secret. The notoriety a public affair would bring was unnecessary and she didn't want to be known as the president's mistress. If the world ever did find out she would much rather be thought of, as she thought of herself, as a friend who helped him work out personal issues in an intimate and private way.

Markéta's life was good, very good. The one thing that troubled her was her growing fascination with the young woman in San Francisco.

She had never considered herself bisexual but what her friend Gisella Valente had said the day she visited to commission a gift for Mei had convinced her otherwise.

She had had encounters before; what European woman in the fashion industry in their thirties had not? However, the two or three times were always in the context of a temporary

ménage à trois.

There was the lover she had a decade ago who had let his former girlfriend stay for three days with them in his flat in Berlin. It seemed the most natural thing in the world that the young Scottish girl slid into their bed after her shower and Markéta had not objected when she began to fellate her lover. One thing led to another, as these things do, and soon Markéta was enjoying the red head's luscious mouth on her pussy.

The rest of her stay was as enjoyable as any long weekend she could remember and when it concluded Markéta returned to life with him as though nothing had happened.

Now, however, she felt something had changed within her. By noon each day she felt an impatience, like an itch in the crevasse between the lobes of her brain, begin to develop. She longed for a call or email from her 'petite Asiatique'. She found herself wondering what Mei was doing and thinking, and wearing.

She tried to keep her self-control and limited herself to infrequent FaceTime calls or emails because she feared that if she were to let her eagerness show it would stifle any desire Mei Chun might have for her.

"Allô, Mei Chun," she said, in the light playful tone she used with her very best friends as the image of Mei came alive on her phone's screen. And while she received Mei's answering, "Hey, Markéta!" she tried to quell the silly fluttering of her heart. 'This girl is nothing special,' she had tried to tell herself again and again, yet another indication that she was wrong and that she didn't understand her innermost feelings. 'Why am I thinking of her so often? Was it the quick tryst in the car?' The memory of that encounter became the seed for many masturbatory fantasies but she sensed that her interest in Mei Chun was not primarily sexual.

"You look stunning!"

Perhaps it was her simplicity? Or the way her compliments were so obviously genuine and her enthusiasm for their talk time so real? Markéta had long been inured to compliments from those who wanted something from her but she had nothing Mei Chun wanted, other than herself. Mei Chun wasn't in the fashion world and her man Philip could fill any material desire. And this gave Markéta a great feeling of freedom.

"You as well, přítelkyně (girlfriend (or girl friend))."

It was friendship, Markéta decided, it must be a new kind of friendship. 'She lets me guide her and her honest admiration makes me feel important. Maybe that's it?'

They spent five minutes chatting about nothing as Markéta drank some tea. She asked her preferences regarding art and fashion in preparation for Mei's upcoming visit and she found Mei incapable of pretension. Impressionist paintings and the big four fashion houses were what she expected from an American. And had Mei expressed a passion for Arte Povera and a likewise obscure Yugoslav design house she might have been impressed but also disappointed. She wanted to educate Mei; it was part of the charm she was so keenly anticipating.

~~~~~

Mei let Markéta's first few sentences emerge without much thought because her mind kept flitting back and forth between memories of her being so roughly taken from behind by the big old man in this very room and the face of the pretty Czech woman on her phone's screen.

'So this is my life? Moving from bitch from hell to sex toy for my friends?' She ran a finger along the heart monitor noticing where the dust had been wiped off yesterday by her abdomen. 'Could be worse. Jenny was worse. I'm happier now. I'm getting more sex, better sex with better people.' She thought about the doctor she used upstairs and tried to recall his face. 'Why fuck losers when I can fuck people I like, people I love? Should I tell Markéta I love her? Not that I do, most likely. I mean I know I will - it's just she hasn't made me come yet and I don't want to get ahead of myself.'

She listened and answered while she studied the face of her European friend. 'God, she is one awesomely pretty woman. Those blue eyes! And I remember those tits and the sound of that husky chick voice when she came with my fingers sloshing around inside her.

'And Markéta is really so... so? What's the word? So sophisticated, so refined and European. She'd know how to spend Philip's fortune.'

"So, le Musée du Louvre and la Tour Eiffel, wonderful. And oh, Mei Chun, the parties and clubs..."

Mei liked her enthusiasm. She seemed genuinely excited to see her and not for what she had feared. She felt at the bottom of her lungs a fear that the older woman only wanted to toy with her. To play a bit and cast her aside when her fun was finished.

"... I'll need a bodyguard to keep the wolves away from you."

Mei's first question was to gauge Markéta's motivations. "And when Philip comes? Will we plan out some day trips for everyone, together?"

"Ah! Yes, I have already got some ideas. I have asked a friend about a boat trip... a, what is that damn little word...? small boat, for dunnage, for transport? Do you...?"

"A barge?" Mei offered.

Markéta's eyes widened subtly but noticeably, betraying a pleased surprise. It was a reaction that Mei had no difficulty interpreting. 'I'm not stupid, Markéta. If knowing 'barge' impresses you then what must you think of me?' The revelation amused Mei rather than hurt her. It caused her to anticipate other surprises she might have in store for the sophisticated Czech woman.

"Yes, a barge. He took a river barge on the Loire last summer. He's going to let me know if it's available. Is that the kind of thing your Philip would enjoy? Lazy days sunning on deck as the countryside glides by?"

"Sounds fantastic. And don't worry about it getting strange, ok?" Mei noticed Markéta sit a bit straighter in her chair and twist the chain at her neck. "Philip and I have an understanding and Ai is coming too so if everyone keeps their heads it should be a marvelous time."

The call came to a close with air kisses and a promise to let Markéta know "the instant the fight reservations are made," she ended the call with new complacency.

As she closed her phone case with a magnetic click, Markéta felt the same sense of satisfaction she experienced after a session of intense kissing. She was happy, relaxed and contented.

"I love this girl," she whispered while swishing her mug clean at the sink in her hotel room. She heard herself say the words and wondered again. When the phrase was formed and uttered she expected it to mean, 'I'm so very fond of her,' but now that she heard it in retrospect she realized its deeper meaning.