這是兩個女人在城市夜色裡相遇的故事。一個習慣了被定價，一個不按牌理出牌。類型嘛，就留給你去解讀了。

A story about two women, one night, and whatever comes after.

醒來時天還沒黑；這夜準沒好事。

躺平床上呆看天花板好一會兒，Momoka掀開被子，拱橋般撐起髖部，拉開內褲查看。經期沒來；白折騰了大半天，這鬼東西大概今晚就要來了。可以的話，她該請個假，呆在家裡跟它拼命；要麼好好保暖，要麼吃點冰的以毒攻毒，期望這回來得不那麼猛烈。

不可以。她沒錢了。

穿的是熱褲，有限空間裡只容得下c string；塞了棉條，嗑了不知道過期了沒的延經丸，腦袋在沒錢的彷徨裡分不開身來擔心經血側漏。豁出去了的她一心只想多賣幾瓶酒，硬銷幾盤天價水果，媚回來多點打賞；反正社會經濟下行，客人買醉不買春，被買鐘外出這種不太會發生的事，她根本沒在想。

所以，當男人強行要買她鐘時，她感到渾身不自在，嫌惡毫不遮掩地掛在臉上。

「她今晚我要了。」

嬌嗔下的奮力掙扎到底沒起到作用；這個夜晚的她還是被買下了。只不過，買下她的不是一臉不悅的男人，而是坐隔壁包廂，跟她沒有任何交集的女人。那句沉穩而有力的話，不過是她離開會館時在男人包廂門前拋下的莫名一句。

經理的形容詞裡沒有其他，只有錢；其口中的那個女人就是豪氣。只她一個客人的包廂裡坐了六個陪桌女孩，價格高昂的酒水點滿了一桌，給女孩們的零花錢不少，出手比同場任何男人都要闊綽。她要截糊買 Momoka 的鐘，經理笑不攏嘴地答應，也沒顧上Momoka情不情願。

女客，她可從來沒接過；想也沒想。

離開會館後，女人沒把人拽上什麼豪車，沒叫車，沒攔下的士，而是往她微笑，逕自往某個方向走。步行的那種走。Momoka 一臉懞，一邊懷疑經理嘴裡什麼很豪氣、很闊綽都是吹噓，一邊快步跟上。

「喂。」走了好一段路，還沒跟這位姚小姐打個招呼什麼的；可 Momoka 沒半點要討好她的模樣，話說出口，像是和冤家互嘴，「你喜歡女人？Les還是Bi的？」

「重要嗎？」

「不是重不重要的問題。我可沒接過女客，不知道這些。」頓了頓，有點沒好氣地說，「說真的，明晚不知道該怎麼回去面對一幫姐妹；都不知道她們會不會怕我變異了，會搞她們。」兩臂交在胸前，嘗試擋下生風。

「不回去不就行了。」女人側過臉來說，微笑，腳步沒停半秒。

「嘖。」她不禁斜眼瞥了她一下。「對了。你這是要帶我到哪裡呢？這附近沒有酒店也沒有賓館。講明啊，我可不玩野外的。」

「我沒有要跟你做愛。」

「那你買我的鐘是要幹嘛？」

「我也不知道。不過一時衝動。」

她覺得有點好笑。便笑了。

會館確實是買賣情色的地方，但也沒規定要買春，倒是很歡迎只來買醉或買一刻陪伴的人；只是，會館的消費再高，女孩們能分到的依然有限，怎也會拼盡勁買自己的夜晚賣出。

那些被賣出的夜晚裡，沒被睡的沒多少次；把那些性無能客人也算進去，亦是屈指可數。沒被賣出的夜晚，她大多在會館的各個廂房裡轉，努力地勾引；即便不被買鐘，也在金主爸爸身上摸多點零花錢。

會館女客本來便不多，好些是為了生意應酬才逼不得已陪男人們來訪；即便少數為喝酒而來，也不會跟女郎們有下一步，也就總被經理和女郎們忽略。

眼前的女人有點帥，颯爽，但也逃不掉被這麼假定的對待。

「一時衝動嘛！那錢可是白花了。」Momoka 想了想，不禁狡猾一笑，倒也不失嫵媚，「能讓經理幫你搶我過來，砸多少了？」

「他沒跟你說嗎？」女人看向她，有一絲訝異，然後微笑，「看來，那些依附你們的男人食水也挺深的。」

「誰依附誰，說不清的。」她嘆了一口氣，走了數步，才轉過身來看著停下腳步的女人，「所以，真沒要開房？在街上閒逛不冷嗎？我可是要冷死了。」

女人笑了。

輾轉來到地踎火鍋店，衣著光鮮的兩個女人沒有選擇坐進滿是麻甩佬的店內，而是挑了馬路邊的小桌，冒著寒風吃快沒落的碳爐火鍋。

女人點了大地魚湯底、牛頸脊和啤酒，便把菜牌塞給 Momoka，讓她隨便點。在麻甩佬的目光中，她脫下大衣，蓋在 Momoka 的大腿上；然後看了看她那毛衣藏不住的驕人上圍，笑著追加了一份胸口爽。

「抽煙嗎？」女人問，摸出煙包。見她搖了搖頭，把煙包置在桌上，沒抽。

「你可以抽。我不介意。」

「晚點吧。」

「大衣給了我，不冷嗎？」

「我穿了保暖內衣。」

她笑了，幾乎把嘴裡的啤酒噴出來。

不住上下打量眼前的女人。妝容貼服，皮膚保養得宜，在任何一個男人眼裡頂多也是三十出頭，卻騙不過她的眼睛。彷彿身體的每一處都在透露，女人大抵四十出頭，已是被世界拋棄，人生真正屬於她自己。所以，穿個保暖內衣，甚至把保暖褲襪都穿了，也情有可原；只是不改滑稽。

「你要是欲求不滿的話，怎麼不去鴨店？聽說那邊還有男裝女模，專門服侍同性戀的。」把玻璃杯滿上，魚丸、蝦滑都放進鍋裡，她問，「來會館喝男人酒，還學著買我的鐘，是要體驗什麼嗎？」

「你有很多前設。」

「還是說，你本身就很厭惡女人，但是看到可愛性感的妹妹卻想要試試；什麼都玩玩看？一輩子那麼短，怎的也要試試和女人做愛，衝動之下就刷卡買鐘，出來才發現不知道該去哪裡開房，所以先打個邊爐緩一緩？下面是不是濕得內褲都貼著妹妹了？」

「我很好奇，你對其他客人也是這樣說話的嗎？」

她的確沒把眼前的人當客人看待。

當你的注視都得放在男人身上，視線範圍內的所有雌性都得被模糊掉；同樣是公關的雌性倒是容易對付，但處在客人位置、卻不被視為客人的，則得用強硬、接近無理的思維強行打格。

「我就說了，我沒接過女客。」

「若然不把我看作客人會容易一些，我也不介意。」笑著，喝了一口啤酒，涮了一塊牛肉，置到她的碗裡，「生理結構上，我們是一樣的；生活大環境裡要面對的，也總有相似的地方。無論是要討好我，還是要跟我好好相處，只要認真一點，應該不難。」

「又不是跟你做人世⋯⋯」她喝了一大口的啤酒，「別說這些了！後面過兩條街有一家賓館，還算乾淨，等會兒吃完……」

「你是害怕接觸到什麼你不想接觸到的嗎？」

「我看你也不過四十歲上下，怎麼就更年期了？說這些有的沒的，煩不煩？做還是不做，說一句不就好了？還是你要分上下，不好意思說？」

「我說了，我沒想要和你做愛。」

的確，女人說過了。只是沒想到，和女人做愛這件事，還不比這刻在這裡跟女人打邊爐聊天更令她不安。她終於體會到同事說過敞開兩腿比敞開心扉容易這回事；根本天地相隔那般無法對比。

「我不過是想安靜地喝上幾杯。」

「安靜？」會館裡的隔音並不真的那麼好；火鍋店的門也不見得能阻擋麻甩佬的粗言穢語。

「有時候，陌生人堆裡最為安靜。」女人笑著把涮好的胸口爽夾進她的碗裡，「而且，上前跟我說話的任何人都只是在圖我的錢。這樣簡單一些。」

「我們的確是明買明賣的，打開門做生意，跟上網那些不一樣。」

「然後，我看到你好像不太想跟那男的出去，便隨口說了。」而在會館裡說了要買鐘就得買，除非公關不同意。而她並沒有。「那經理說有點為難，要額外加點費用。」

她不禁笑了。有點無奈。有點無語。

「還真是水魚。」心底話直接說了出來，感覺前所未有的爽，「花的是你的錢還是他的錢？」

「我的錢，曾經都是其他人的錢；下一秒也可以是你的錢。」

「如果你現在掏出個羅庚，我會信你是看風水的。」

「我的確會看風水，也會看掌相。」

「那下一步是不是就要看我的掌？這什麼過氣麻甩仔的把妹技倆，你老人家直接拿錢砸我就好，不用學這些了，好嗎？」

「其實唇紋也是獨一無二的。」

「我是不是該說，我不親嘴的？」

「Julia Roberts 都快六十歲了。你小孩子別學人家阿嬷好不好？」

「Richard Gere 的兒子才四歲呢。」

然後，兩人不約而同大笑。笑到有點尷尬於自己說話的無厘頭時，拿起啤酒，碰杯，喝了。

上一回這般毫不謹慎的打鬧吃喝該是幾年前的事；那時候她還沒在會館工作，白天在便利店打工，夜裡在夜校補課。她不是讀書的料，再怎麼補課也考不上大學；只是看見那些大學生便不甘落後於他們，才無謂地多扛一筆學費。唸大一的閨密很是支持，帶她到自己的宿舍，把她介紹給室友和宿友，一堆人在 common room 裡喝酒打鬧。有一刻，她相信自己眨眼便會搬進來。

沒考上。閨密很忙。沒錢。靈魂和肉體都不值一提。

「所以說，會館裡哪個女人最對上你的眼了？」喝了不少後，她更為肆無忌憚，對看來沒半點醉意的女人更為逼切地盤問起來，「你喜歡怎樣的？大胸細腰的？誘惑挑逗的，還是嬌嗲撒嬌的？」

「我是去喝酒而已。」

「在會館喝酒就是為了找女人陪喝。」

「女人都漂亮，都很好。」

「那你還真是無所謂啊。但你這麼無所謂的，卻沒想過這樣會斷了我的米路嗎？」

「我付的錢應該不會比男人少。」

「可你不會再來。我卻沒了個回頭客。」

「我不可以再來嗎？」

「再來又怎樣？你不就是什麼女人都可以嗎？反正喝酒而已嘛。下次你再來的時候，我是不是得找個男人和我扯一下貓尾，讓你再衝動一回？」

「你喜歡的話，我可以點名要你。」

她看著女人的雙眼，久久未能自已。

人還沒長成，初潮還沒來，她已交過很多個男朋友；別人還在爭搶玩具時，她是被男孩爭搶的人。那個時候，她沒想過自己也不過是件玩具；她是公主，男生是讓她呼之則來、揮之則去的。她喜歡被愛護，喜歡被討好，喜歡被擁抱；但她不覺得自己喜歡這些男生，對戀愛這回事和相關的一切也說不上喜歡。她認為，愛情就是一場遊戲，男生是NPC，存在就是要推動遊戲發展；打爆機自然最好，但終究是個終結，情緒價值有限，遊戲過程才是最重要的體驗。打遊戲只有快活和憤怒；愛情也是。

直到新來的歷史科老師站在講台前。

她是剛畢業的歷史系碩士，有著和其他剛畢業的老師一樣的青澀；但她不同於他們，是個海外華僑，出生和成長在和這裡相隔萬里的地方。除了細看才能稍稍看出來的東方細膩，她基本上是個外國人；帶著濃重的洋人氣息，站在一堆見洋人依然像見鬼那般的學生前，以過於流利的英文說著某個失落了的皇國的歷史。同學們總埋怨，長著這麼高級的臉，為什麼要去讀那些死人的故事，嘮嘮叨叨像個老太婆？她卻覺得，說著她不怎麼聽得懂的話，這人就像天上派來的仙子，來哄久未能睡好的她入夢。

她喜歡這個老師。綺夢不斷讓她無法否認。

她不怕周遭對同性戀的非議，不怕社會對師生戀的打壓，不怕宗教對這種愛戀的嚴厲禁止。選擇暗地裡喜歡，是默默謀劃著，在某個浪漫的日子裡公開對她的愛戀，以換取對方同等的愛意。她能想像事情敗露後她要面對的一切流言蜚語、否定、排斥、阻礙，她從內到外理解這當中牽涉的情感，她確切相信自己能承受這段戀情帶出的任何結果。

但她最終沒有說出口。

她在這暗戀裡明白到，愛情並不是一場遊戲；對方不是NPC，也不是即時連線的玩家。沒有攻略，沒有關卡，沒有副本，沒有必要做的任務，那是自由得令人害怕的事；而她害怕，怕老師對她的愛意毫無情緒，怕她以老師的溫柔跟她說，「沒什麼好怕的。愛情是長大必經的過程。老師會幫你的。」連厭惡也沒有。

她不能承受這樣的結果。

沒有展露對老師的愛意，沒有觸碰與這份愛意有關的任何東西，沒有把這些等同於愛情。這樣，她的愛情依然是遊戲，男人依然是 NPC。而女人，除了自己，並不存在於這遊戲裡。

「我們做愛吧。」

彷彿不容拒絕。

火鍋沒吃完，路也不走，兩人坐上隨手攔下的的士，去往某家高級酒店。沿路，她們一言不發，各自盤踞後座的一邊，看著窗外看不清的光影。她期望快點到達，忍不住去想像；卻又壓下幻想，想其他無關痛癢的。彷彿害怕這一刻的激情會突然熄滅，也彷彿害怕誰會反悔；彷彿不斷幻想便能留住，又彷彿不去想便能永遠。

房門關上的一刻，她再按捺不住，要把人擠進牆壁裡般擁上，瘋的那般吻著。女人給她足夠的回應，讓她放下心裡某些重擔；人輕了，飄了，唇上的力度張狂得像是要阻止汽球往天空飄去。

「不是說不親嘴嗎？」女人在吻與吻之間的狹小隙縫中笑問。

「我反口了。」吸吮女人的唇瓣，像餓極的嬰兒吸吮母親的乳頭般，「反了。」

「喜歡女人？」

「重要嗎？」

在本能的獸性面前，自我渺小得看不見。

她把女人按在床上，恨不得把兩人身上的一切撕碎。她要親眼看見那件保暖內衣，親手把它撕扯開來，用自己的體溫燃燒這具肉體。熾熱的腦袋相信，她對這具身體再理解不過；她們會是龍捲風碰上活火山，互相點燃燃燒，直到肉體殆盡。

女人的身上並沒有保暖內衣。

「你……真的只是來喝酒的？」

「不然呢？」

「你……不喜歡女人？」

「重要嗎？」

她在這三個字裡坐了一趟過山車。

在會館工作的這些日子裡，她看到慾望的真容；像餓極了的生滋狼，兇狠是為著襯托它的醜，處處惹人嫌棄，卻又不得不把注意力都放在這猛獸身上。它是那麼的敏感，那麼的易怒，只消身體一擺，或是眼神一晃，它便應那無聲撲來，噬咬至人無力抵抗。直到完全放棄掙扎，直到任其擺佈，才能在皮肉被撕扯的劇痛裡感受到快慰；才能享受那一刻的歡愉，忘記自己被虐。

女人卻無半點慾望。

「你是冷感？」她像洩了氣的氣球般依附在女人的身上，用自己也無法理解的語氣說，「還是我服侍得你不好？」

「服侍？」

「你告訴我……」她躺了下去，靠在她的胸前委屈地說，「怎樣才能讓你覺得舒服。」

「我的腦袋很舒服。」

她怒了。

慾望最原始的模樣，就該是源於身體裡產生的強烈需求；滿足這份需求的方法，自然也是讓感官得到充分的刺激，在快感和興奮裡殆盡精力。一切都是肉體的事，與腦袋無關。

女人稍微動了動。相靠的下身受到刺激，她的怒火便被慾望淹沒。

「我的慾望……」女人摸了摸她的臉，微笑著說，「……你承受不來。」

「胡說。」她冷笑一聲，「我身體好著呢。」

「不是身體。」

「那是什麼？」

「你想要挑起我的慾望？」

「那不是我的工作嗎？」

「好。」她稍微動了動身體，雙唇靠近她的耳廓，輕聲說，「坐起來。用手勒我的脖子。」

她害怕了。

不甘於就這麼打退堂鼓，她坐到其身上，下身緊靠她的，不住地廝磨，企圖在那以前挑起女人的肉慾。然而，那依舊沒起任何作用；在她的雙手摸到女人的脖子時，那裡依舊乾涸。

「怕了？怎麼不用力？」

女人說。

清冷的聲音是催化劑，她像被打開了一道屏障，拉著其雙手的什麼消失，力量注進十指。兩根拇指稍稍用力，女人輕咳了一聲，雙手無聲息地放到其臀上；在她指間突然無力的一瞬，女人雙手輕拉，讓她下身抖了抖。被刺激的肉體失卻了控制，十指再度充血般注滿力量，迅速將女人的粉頸勒緊。

她輕咳了兩聲。

她閉上了雙眼。

她伸長了脖子。

她皺起了眉頭。

她張開了嘴巴。

她加速了呼吸。

她重重咳了兩聲。

她眼角滲了眼淚。

她胸口起伏不定。

她狠吸了口氣。

她重重地咳。

她使力抓緊她的臀。

她的指甲掐進她的皮肉。

她瞇緊雙眼。

她痛苦地咳嗽。

她抖動了上身。

她痛苦地嘗試咳嗽。

她瞪大了雙眼。

光芒在女人的眼裡逐漸消退；她嚇得鬆開了手。呼吸急促，像哮喘發作那般扯氣，痛苦得扭曲的表情裡拉出幾乎看不見的一抹微笑。動了動下身，她看進她的眼裡，說……

「濕了。」

數十秒裡，女人往鬼門關跑了一趟，回來了。

像是分開了百年、相隔天涯後重逢的戀人，看著對方死於眼前而又復活，怕再次失去那般緊擁著。無法輕言分開的肉體互相撕磨，互相侵略，無時無刻都在攻佔，逃避著讓軀體閒下來的任何可能；不得讓靈魂清醒，不得讓自我掌控。瀕死的感覺，只能消磨於肉體的刺激當中；一切本該擺正的，這夜都被反了。

慾望被滿足，與舒服毫無關係。

她習慣比客人早起，在其醒來前梳洗乾淨，好讓那聲「記得再來找我」說得俐落，離開得也乾脆。離開房間以後，她和客人之間只該留有足夠把人帶回會館的歡愉，不足以沉淪的快樂；假意有情，然後無情地離去。

指尖輕撫那獨一無二的唇紋，她在女人醒來的一刻伏在她的胸前，指節搓弄她的乳尖。

「還會來喝酒嗎？」

「會的。」

「會找女人嗎？」

「不會。」

「哦。」心沉了一下，「我服侍得你不好。」

「別再說了。」女人閉上雙眼，把胸前的她抱著，「再睡一會。」

再醒來時天還沒黑，身邊沒人。這夜準沒好事。

She woke up and it wasn’t even dark yet. Nothing good ever came of a night like this.

Lying flat on her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling for a good while, Momoka threw off the covers, bridged her hips up, and pulled her panties aside to check. Her period had not come; after all that fuss earlier, the damn thing was probably going to hit tonight. If she could, she’d call in sick and stay home to fight it to the death—either bundle up warm or eat something cold to shock it into submission, praying it wouldn’t hit so brutally this time.

She couldn’t. She was broke.

She was wearing hot pants, and in that limited space there was room for nothing but a c-string. She shoved in a tampon, knocked back a period-delay pill — no idea if it was still in date — and her brain was too busy panicking about being broke to spare a single thought for leaks. Going all out, her only thought was to push a few more bottles of booze, hard-sell some extortionately priced fruit platters, and flirt her way to a few extra tips. Economy was in the gutter anyway. Clients came to drink themselves stupid, not to get laid. Getting bought out for the night was so unlikely she wasn’t even thinking about it.

So when the man forcefully tried to buy her night, every inch of her went tense, and the disgust on her face didn’t bother hiding itself.

“I’m taking her tonight.”

All her pouting and wriggling had come to nothing; she was bought out for the night anyway. It wasn’t the pissed-off man who bought her, but a woman from the private room next door, someone with whom she’d never exchanged a single word. That calm, firm line was just something she’d casually dropped at the door of the guy’s room on her way out of the club, like it was nothing at all.

The manager had only one thing to say about the woman: rich. She’s loaded. Six hostesses in a private room meant for one client, expensive bottles stacked across the table, generous pocket money handed to the girls that outspent any man in the club. When she asked to cut in and buy Momoka’s time instead, the manager said yes with a grin stretching from ear to ear, before he’d thought to ask whether Momoka was willing.

A female client. She had never taken one; hadn’t even thought about it.

After they left the club, the woman did not drag Momoka into some luxury car, did not call a ride, did not hail a taxi. She just smiled at her and walked off in some direction. Like, literally walking. Momoka stood there, baffled, Momoka hurried after her, half-suspecting that all the manager’s blowing smoke about her being lavish was pure bullshit.

“Hey.” After walking a good distance without even a basic greeting for this Miss Yiu, Momoka spoke up, showing zero intention of sucking up to her. It sounded more like she was bickering with someone she loved to hate. “You into women? Are you a les, or bi, or what?”

“Does it matter?”

“It’s not about whether it matters. I’ve never taken a female client before. I don’t know the drill.” She paused, sounding a bit annoyed, “Seriously, I don’t know how I’m going to face the girls tomorrow. What if they think I mutated overnight and I’m after them now?” She crossed her arms against the wind coming off the road.

“Then just don’t go back,” the woman said, turning her face with a smile, not breaking her stride for a second.

“Tch.” She couldn’t help but shoot her a side-eye. “Right. So where exactly are you taking me? There aren’t any hotels or guesthouses around here. Let me make this clear first — I don’t do it outdoors.”

“I don’t intend to have sex with you.”

“Then what did you buy my time for?”

“I don’t know either. Just a moment of impulse.”

She found that funny, somehow. She laughed.

The club was, in the end, a place where sex appeal was bought and sold, but nobody said you had to buy the full thing. In fact, they welcomed those who just came for the drinking, or a moment of company. It’s just that no matter how high the tab ran at the club, the cut the girls actually saw was always limited, so they’d bust their asses trying to sell their nights out.

Of those sold-out nights, there were hardly any where she didn’t get slept with; even counting the impotent ones, there were only a handful. On the nights that were not sold, she drifted from room to room, working hard to seduce; even if her time wasn’t bought, she’d at least try to finesse a little extra pocket money off the sugar daddies.

Female clients at the club were rare to begin with. Most were dragged in for business entertainment; the occasional ones who came just to drink wouldn’t take things further with the hostesses, so they were generally ignored by the managers and the girls.

The woman in front of her was kind of handsome, dashing even, but she still couldn’t escape being treated under that same assumption.

“A moment of impulse, huh! Money down the drain, then.” Momoka thought for a second, a sly but still charming smile creeping up. “How much did you throw down to make the manager snatch me away for you?”

“He didn’t tell you?” The woman looked at her, a hint of surprise in her eyes, before smiling. “It seems the men leeching off you girls are skimming quite a lot off the top.”

“Who’s leeching off who, it’s hard to say.” Momoka sighed. After a few more steps, she turned to look at the woman, who had stopped. “So, we’re really not getting a room? Aren’t you freezing just wandering the streets? I’m bloody freezing here.”

The woman smiled.

They ended up at a pavement hotpot place. The two of them, overdressed for the occasion, opted out of sitting inside the shop full of greasy middle-aged dudes, choosing instead a small table by the street, having carbon-stove hotpot in the cold wind.

The woman ordered a flounder broth base, chuck eye roll, and beers, then shoved the menu at Momoka and told her to get whatever she wanted. Under the gaze of the greasy dudes, she took off her coat and draped it over Momoka’s thighs; then she glanced at the impressive cleavage Momoka’s sweater couldn’t hide, and with a laugh, added an order of beef brisket — the fatty cut — to the table..

“Do you smoke?” the woman asked, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. Seeing Momoka shake her head, she left the pack on the table without lighting one.

“You can, though. I don’t mind.”

“Later.”

“Aren’t you cold after giving me your coat?”

“I’ve got thermals on.”

Momoka laughed so hard she almost spat out her beer.

She couldn’t help but look the woman up and down. Her makeup was flawless, her skin impeccably maintained. Most men would clock her as early thirties, maybe — but Momoka wasn’t most men. As if every part of her body was giving her away: she was somewhere north of forty, give or take. Cast aside by the world, her life finally belonging entirely to herself. So — thermals, fine. Thermal tights underneath as well, probably. Still funny, though.

“If you’re that desperate, why not go to a gigolo club? I heard some of them have women in men’s suits now, specifically for lesbian clients.” Topping up her glass and loading the fishballs and shrimp paste into the pot, she asked, “Coming to a hostess club to drink a man’s booze, even copying men by buying my time — what are you trying to experience?”

“You’ve got a lot of assumptions.”

“Or — you actually can’t stand women, but then you see a cute girl, sexy little thing, and you think, go on then, why not, life’s short, might as well try sleeping with a woman? So you got impulsive, swiped your card, bought me out — and only after we came out did you realise you had no idea where to take me. So you hit up a hotpot spot first to cool off? Is it wet yet? Down there?”

“I’m curious. Do you talk to your other clients like this too?”

The truth was, Momoka genuinely wasn’t thinking of her as a client.

When your focus was pinned exclusively on the men, every other woman in the room got blurred out of the frame. Fellow hostesses were simple enough to manage, but dealing with a female client who could not truly be viewed as one required a forceful, almost unreasonable effort of mind to blot her out.

“I told you. I’ve never taken a female client.”

“If it makes things easier for you not to view me as a client, I don’t mind.” She smiled, taking a sip of her beer before swishing a piece of beef through the broth and placing it in Momoka’s bowl. “Physically, we’re built the same; in the grander scheme of life, the things we face always hold some resemblance. Whether you wish to please me or simply get along with me, it shouldn’t be difficult—so long as you are sincere.”

“It’s not like we’re settling down together ...” She took a long swig of her beer. “ Forget it. Listen, there’s a guesthouse two streets back, decent enough. Once we’re done here...”

“Are you scared of what you might run into if you dare to look too closely?”

“You’re only about forty, aren’t you? How are you hitting menopause already? Nagging about all this nonsense—don’t you get sick of it? Can’t you just give me a straight answer — are we doing this or not? Or are you trying to figure out who’s top and who’s bottom, and you’re too embarrassed to ask?”

“I already told you, I don’t intend to have sex with you.”

Indeed, the woman had said so. It was just that Momoka hadn’t expected the thought of having sex with a woman to pale in comparison to the sheer unease of sitting here, sharing a boiling pot and bare conversation with one. She finally understood what a fellow hostess had meant about how opening your legs was far easier than opening your heart. The two experiences were not even comparable; they were worlds apart.

“I only wanted to have a few drinks in peace.”

“Peace?” The walls of the club were never truly good enough to keep out the noise; and the thin door of the hotpot shop did little to drown out the crude swearing of the vulgar men inside.

“Sometimes, losing oneself in a crowd of strangers is the quietest choice.” The woman smiled as she placed a piece of brisket cartilage she had just cooked into Momoka’s bowl. “Besides, anyone who approaches me is only after my money. That keeps things simple.”

“At least we’re upfront about what we’re selling. Straight trade, straight prices. Not like the swindlers you run into online.”

“Then, I noticed you didn’t seem to want to leave with that man, so I just threw it out there.” In a club like this, once you declare you’re buying a hostess’s hours, the rule stands—unless she refuses. But she hadn’t. “The manager claimed it put him in a difficult position, so it required a premium fee.

Momoka couldn’t help but laugh. A little helpless. A little lost for words.

“What an easy target.” She blurted out her innermost thought, feeling a rare surge of pure satisfaction. “Are you spending your own money or his?”

“My money used to belong to someone else; in the next heartbeat, it might just be yours.”

“If you pull out a feng shui compass right now, I’ll believe you’re a fortune teller.”

“I actually do know a thing or two about Feng Shui, and I read palms, too.”

“So what’s next, you gonna read my palm? What kind of sleazy, old-timer’s pick-up line is this? Lady, just throw your cash at me directly. You don’t need to waste your time learning all this, okay?”

“Actually, lip prints are unique, too.”

“Is that my cue to say I don’t kiss on the mouth?”

“Julia Roberts is pushing sixty. Kiddo, don’t go mimicking a grandma, alright?”

“Richard Gere’s son is only four, you know.”

Then they both burst out laughing. When the laughter grew a little foolish and embarrassing, they picked up their beers, clinked glasses, and drank up.

The last time she’d been this unguarded, this loose with someone, had been years back. Back then, she wasn’t working at the club; she was working at a convenience store by day and taking night school classes. She wasn’t built for exams; no amount of studying was getting her into university. She just couldn’t stomach falling behind those college students when she saw them, so she pointlessly took on another tuition bill. Her best friend, a college freshman, was incredibly supportive, bringing her over to the dorm to introduce her to roommates and dorm-mates, a bunch of them drinking and fooling around in the common room. For a moment she’d genuinely believed she could blink and be living there.

She didn’t get in. Her best friend grew busy. No money. Both her soul and her body felt entirely cheap.

“So, tell me. Which girl in the club actually caught your eye?” Having drunk quite a bit, she grew bolder, pressing the woman—who seemed completely sober—for an answer. “What’s your type? Big boobs and a tiny waist? Seductive and teasing, or cute and clingy?”

“I went there to drink, that’s all.”

“The whole point of drinking at a club is having women keep you company.”

“They are all beautiful. You can’t go wrong with any of them.”

“So you really don’t care either way. But for someone so indifferent, did you never stop to think you might have ruined my business?”

“The money I paid shouldn’t be any less than what a man pays.”

“But you won’t be back. And I’ve lost a regular because of it.”

“Can’t I come back?”

“And what if you do? Aren’t you fine with just any woman? You’re only here to drink, after all. Next time you come, am I supposed to get some guy to put on a show with me, just so you can get impulsive again?”

“If you’ll like, I can request you specifically.”

She looked into the woman’s eyes, lost in them for a long, long time.

She hadn’t even grown up—her period hadn’t even come—yet she had already had so many boyfriends. While other kids were still fighting over toys, she was the one the boys were fighting over. She hadn’t thought of herself as merely a toy back then; she was the princess, and the boys were hers to summon and dismiss. She liked being cared for, liked being fawned over, liked being held. But she didn’t feel like she actually liked any of them, nor could she say she liked romance or anything that came with it. To her, love was just a game. Boys were NPCs, existing solely to advance the plot. Beating the game was naturally the best outcome, but completion was ultimately an end; the emotional payoff of a conclusion was limited, and the true experience was the playing itself. A game brought only pleasure and fury; love was the same.

Until the new history teacher took her place at the front of the class.

She was a fresh master’s graduate in history, possessing the same greenness as other newly graduated teachers; yet, she was different from the rest. She was born and raised thousands of miles away, an expatriate who, aside from the delicate oriental features you’d only spot if you looked closely, was basically a foreigner. Exuding a distinct Western air, she stood in front of a bunch of students who still gawked at foreigners as if they’d ghosts, speaking of the history of some lost empire in overly fluent English. The students always complained: with such striking features, why go study the stories of dead people, nagging away like an old woman? But to Momoka, listening to words she barely understood, this person felt like a fairy sent from heaven, coaxing her—someone who hadn’t slept well in ages—into dreams.

She liked this teacher. The endless erotic dreams left her no way to deny it.

She wasn’t afraid of what people said about homosexuality, wasn’t afraid of society’s suppression of teacher-student relationships, wasn’t afraid of religion’s strict prohibition of such love. She chose to harbor this love in secret, quietly planning that on some romantic occasion, she would confess it openly and win and equal love in return. She could imagine all the rumors, denial, rejection, and obstacles she’d face once the truth came to; she understood the emotions involved from the inside out, and she firmly believed she could handle any outcome this romance might bring.

But in the end, she never said it.

In that secret love, she came to understand that love was not a game. The other person was not an NPC, nor another real-time player. There were no strategy guides, no levels, no dungeons, no mandatory missions. It was terrifyingly free; and she was terrified. Terrified that the teacher remain entirely unmoved by her affection. Terrified of the teacher saying, gently, in that professional, soothing voice meant for guiding students: “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Falling in love is part of growing up. I’ll help you through it.” Not even with a hint of disgust.

She could not bear such an outcome.

So she never showed her affection. Never touched anything connected to it. Never called it love. That way, her love remained a game. Boys remained NPCs. And women — except for herself — did not exist in the game at all.

“Let’s have sex.”

As if refusal were not allowed.

With the hotpot left half-eaten and their walk abandoned, they hailed a taxi at random and headed for a high-end hotel. The whole way there, they said nothing, each retreating to her own corner of the back seat, watching the blurred lights outside. Momoka hoped they would arrive soon and could not help but imagine it; yet she pressed the fantasies down, forcing herself to think of irrelevant things. As if she feared the passion of this moment might suddenly go out, and as if she feared either of them might change her mind. As if imagining it over and over could keep it alive, and as if not thinking about it could make it last forever.

The moment the hotel room door closed, she could no longer hold herself back. She threw herself at the woman, as if to pin her against the wall, kissing her wildly. The woman gave her enough response to let her shed some of the weight in her heart; she felt light, floating, the force on her lips so feral it was like trying to stop a balloon from drifting away into the sky.

“Didn’t you say you don’t kiss on the mouth?” The woman teased, in the fleeting gap between their kisses.

“I went back on my word.” Sucking on the woman’s lips like a starving infant at its mother’s breast. “I broke it.”

“You into women?”

“Does it matter?”

In the face of instinctual bestiality, the ego was dwarfed into invisibility.

She pinned the woman onto the bed, wishing she could shred every last bit of clothing from their bodies. She wanted to see that thermal underwear with her own eyes, rip it away with her own hands, and use her own body heat to burn this flesh. Her feverish brain was convinced she understood this body perfectly; they would be a tornado colliding with an active volcano, igniting each other until their flesh burned to ash.

But the woman wore no thermal underwear.

“You... really did only come to drink?”

“What else?”

“You... are not into women?”

“Does it matter?”

Those three words sent her heart on a roller coaster ride.

Working the club had shown her what desire actually looked like — like a starving, mangy wolf, its ferocity served only to highlight its ugliness; it was repulsive everywhere, yet you had no choice but to focus all your attention on this beast. It was so sensitive, so irritable; a single shift of the body, a flicker of the eyes, and it would answer the silence by pouncing, biting until resistance was impossible. Only when you stopped resisting, only when you gave yourself over to it completely, could you feel anything through the pain of being torn into — bringing a sudden release, and the pleasure of forgetting what was being done to you.

The woman, however, showed no desire whatsoever.

“Are you frigid?” Momoka collapsed against the woman like a deflated balloon, speaking in a tone she herself could barely recognize. “Or am I not serving you well?”

“Serving?”

“Tell me...” She lay down, pressing her face into the woman’s chest as she spoke in a small, nearly genuine voice. “What can I do to make you feel good?.”

“ My mind feels good.”

Momoka went cold with irritation.

The most primal form of desire was supposed to stem from an intense physical need; the way to satisfy this need, naturally, was to let the senses receive heightened stimulation, consuming all energy in pleasure and excitement. It was all a matter of the flesh, having nothing to do with the mind.

The woman shifted slightly. The friction of their touching lower bodies ignited a spark, and Momoka’s anger was drowned by desire.

“My desire...” the woman touched her face, smiling as she spoke. “...is not something you can handle.”

“Bullshit.” She sneered. “ I’m in excellent shape.”

“It’s not about the body.”

“Then what?”

“You want to stir up my desire?”

“Isn’t that my job?”

“Fine.” She shifted a little, brought her lips close to Momoka’s ear, and said softly, “Sit up. Put your hands around my throat. Choke me.”

Fear gripped her.

Unwilling to just back down, she straddled her, pressing her lower body tightly against hers, grinding continuously in an attempt to arouse the woman’s carnal desire beforehand. However, it still had zero effect; when her hands touched the woman’s neck, the other woman remained completely dry.

“Frightened? Why aren’t you squeezing?”

The woman said.

That cold, clear voice was a catalyst. It was like a barrier had been opened within her; whatever had been holding her hands back vanished, and power flooded into her fingers. As her thumbs pressed down slightly, the woman gave a soft cough, her hands silently falling onto Momoka’s hips. In the split second her grip faltered, the woman pulled gently, making her lower body tremble. Her stimulated flesh lost control, her ten fingers instantly filled with power again as if surging with blood, rapidly tightening around the woman’s pale neck.

She coughed softly twice.

She closed her eyes.

She arched her neck.

She furrowed her brows.

Her mouth parted.

Her breathing quickened.

She coughed heavily twice.

Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes.

Her chest heaved erratically.

She gasped hard for air.

She coughed hard.

She gripped Momoka’s hips with a sudden force.

Her nails dug into her flesh.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

She coughed in pain.

Her upper body trembled.

She strained violently, trying to cough.

Her eyes flew wide open.

The light in the woman’s eyes gradually faded; terrified, Momoka let go. Breathing heavily, gasping for air in desperate, ragged wheezes, the woman pulled an almost imperceptible smile through her painfully twisted expression. Shifting her lower body, she looked into Momoka’s eyes and said...

“I’m wet.”

In the span of dozens of seconds, the woman had journeyed to the gates of death and back.

Like lovers reunited after a hundred years apart, after worlds of distance, who had watched each other die before their eyes and come back to life, they clung tightly together, afraid of losing each other again. Their bodies, impossible to tear apart, ground against each other and invaded each other, every moment an occupation, fleeing any possibility that the flesh might fall still. They could not let the soul wake, could not let the self take control. The feeling of near death could only be drowned out through the stimulation of the body.

Everything that should have been set upright was overturned that night.

The satisfaction of desire had nothing to do with comfort.

She was used to waking earlier than clients and washing herself clean before they woke, so that her “Remember to come find me again” could be said crisply and her departure could be just as clean. Once she left the room, the only thing that should remain between her and a client was enough pleasure to bring them back to the club, not enough tenderness to drown in. Feigned affection, followed by a heartless exit.

Fingertips gently caressing the unique texture of those lips, she lay against the woman’s chest the moment she woke, lazily brushing her knuckles against her nipples.

“Will you come drink again?”

“I will.”

“Will you ask for women?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Her heart sank a little. “I didn’t serve you well.”

“Stop talking.” The woman closed her eyes and held Momoka against her chest. “Just sleep a little longer.”

When Momoka woke again, it was not dark yet, and there was no one beside her. Nothing good ever came of a night like this.

短篇小說｜束縛（上篇）Short Story | Bound: Part 1