The Pretend Girlfriend

V stood in the doorway, hesitating. The club’s padded carpet was no stranger to the bottom of his Oxfords, but this night felt different. Hanging from his arm was a woman with hair as straight as it was dark, cat-like eyes accentuated by carefully drawn lines of black, and a scarlet dress that hugged her thighs. Together, they slipped into a world of chatter, wine, and men in expensive black suits.

Actually, the woman at V’s side was no woman at all, and this would be the only time V would ever willingly link arms with him.

Poor V–he had youth and wealth, but no lover because he pinned for gentlemen he could not have. But this was not the kind of event where he could come alone, and certainly not the kind where he could bring another man. Luckily, Jun was just the type who would have no qualms about masquerading as V’s beautiful female companion for the night. In fact, Jun was the type who would enjoy it.

“Stay seated and behave,” V warned as they walked arm-in-arm to a table.

Jun flashed him a coy smile. “And if I don’t?”

“Do you cherish your hand and want to keep it?” V then felt a painful squeeze on his forearm.

“Do you cherish yours?”

After getting seated they began to chat with the other lounge patrons about the music, about the weather, about vacation plans. Then about business. The schmoozing continued through the evening, only halting momentarily for small bites of garden salad and crab cake.

There were three single men sitting with them at the booth and, oh, they loved Jun. He melted into their touches, reveled in their compliments, and giggled as he played along with their banter. The secret made this game all the sweeter; how fun it was to think that these gentlemen had no clue that the hair they twirled around their finger was fake, that the lips spilling sweet nothings were not a woman’s, or that the breasts their eyes would drift down to were not breasts at all.

V kept his eyes on the wineglass between his fingers as the men coaxed Jun into saying risqué things in Russian, which Jun claimed was his mother tongue. They chuckled at how foreign it sounded, but Jun didn’t mind; He knew it was quite possible to seduce a man with Russian. He’d done it before.

Then something tore V from his daydreams–a hand sweeping across his thigh.

“Mister, you’re so handsome,” Jun slurred as he brushed his knuckles down his companion’s cheek.

“Darling,” V said with a tight jaw and a tighter smile, “what’s the matter?”

Undeterred, Jun puckered his lips and leaned in. As inappropriately aggressive thoughts ran through V’s mind, he gave his date a soft peck on the cheek.

“There,” he said. “Happy?”

The answer came in the way of Jun grabbing the back of V’s head and crashing their lips together. When the kiss broke, they both stopped to catch their breath. Some concerned onlookers averted their eyes when Jun climbed into V’s lap. Others didn’t dare look away.

Lipstick smeared V’s ear as Jun spoke in hot whispers against his skin. “You kissed back. You want it, right? Let’s leave, V. Go back to our place. I’ll fuck you.”

Long ago V had decided to deny Jun, but it never worked out that way. All of their quarrels and contempt melted away when they were in bed. And now when V had every reason to push Jun away and hate him this embarrassing, shambolic shitshow, he wanted nothing more than to grind him into a mattress.

But instead, V pushed Jun away and once again smiled as if that would make any of this seem normal. “You are free to leave and fuck yourself.”

That should have been it. But it wasn’t, because then V felt a daring hand squeeze between his thighs.

It happened so quickly:

V grabbed a glass from the table and splashed the rest of its contents right into Jun’s face. The wig, the dress, that skin–stained. Jun gasped, and he was far from the only one surprised. Now feeling confrontational, the men around them wanted to know why V thought he could throw wine at a woman.

Jumping up, V thanked the gentlemen for their time and hastily offered goodbyes. He grabbed Jun’s wrist and the couple made their escape right as the saxophone player burst into a zealous solo.

That night, lying in bed with the windows open would be able to hear the ecstatic cries of the man who only hours ago had walked into Aquarius wearing a little red dress.


Photo by Sérgio Alves Santos on Unsplash

Start a discussion

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s