This is the third chapter of the Into Asia collection of erotic stories. More chapters will be published soon. Full chapter for paid subscribers, or get the whole book now.
Guolin:
I am outside
Your apartment
When I woke up and saw Guolin’s messages, I wasn’t sure what to make of them. Outside? My apartment? She’d sent them just after six a.m. On a Thursday. It was seven-thirty now.
Lee:
Good morning
This seemed like a plausible way to start to unravel whatever this was. I mean, the words had a meaning, but that meaning didn’t make a lot of sense, and sometimes language got muddled up between us. I would figure it out.
Guolin:
Can I come in
OK, that was weird. Was she, like, here? Actually outside of my apartment in Dumbo, all the way down from Hamilton Heights? I texted Yes, still unsure this was the right answer, and instantly the buzzer buzzed.
I let her in and opened my front door, and a moment later, there she was, stumbling out of the elevator and sobbing. She fell into my arms, and I took her inside. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” She was not okay. I sat her down on the sofa. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
“I…” and she sobbed again. I held her, gave her some time.
“I have to move out,” she said into my shoulder, and then she began wailing again.
I was confused. “Okay,” I said. “From your apartment?”
“Ye-he-hes,” she wept. “Next wee-hee-heek.”
I still wasn’t sure what the problem was.
She snuffled. She wiped her face with her forearm. She looked at me. “I don’t have somewhere to stay. I thought I could stay there for the summer, but I can’t. So I thought maybe I can stay with you, but then I thought I can’t ask you, it’s not fair. But then maybe I have to go back to China now.” And she started to cry again.
“Okay,” I said. “First of all, I think you did just ask me. And second of all, yes.”
She sniffed again. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, you can stay here. Of course. I love you, Guolin. I know you’re going back in September, but I don’t want to lose this time.”
“Really?”
“Oh my god, yes, Guolin. I’d be happy to have you here.”
“Ah!” she squeaked. And she hugged me hard. “I will be very good, I promise. I will take care of everything. I can cook and clean for you, and—”
“Guolin, you don’t have to do all that! You’re totally welcome here. Make it your home.”
“I want,” she said. “I will make you so happy, sir!”
I kissed her after that, and was late for work.
That Saturday I helped her put her things in boxes and suitcases. It wasn’t much: some clothes, a few pairs of shoes, a carton of mystery noodles and bottles of uncertain purpose from the kitchen, which disappeared into my kitchen, a place I rarely visited beyond the fridge and the microwave. And then she was in. That was it. I had a live-in girlfriend for the summer.
And it didn’t feel like much on Saturday, or on Sunday either, except that she stayed the night instead of heading home in the evening. It wasn’t until Monday morning that I noticed the difference. I woke up, started getting out of bed, was on my weekday morning autopilot when I remembered she was there. She was snoring softly.
Should I make one cup of coffee or two? I made two. Should I wake her? I didn’t wake her. But she heard me bumping around, and she came out to give me a sleepy kiss goodbye. “I will see you tonight,” she said, with a smile, and I was glad she would.
And then she started sending me messages.
Guolin:
Thank you for the coffee, sir
I forgot. Sorry. I will make coffee from now
A while later:
Guolin:
I am having quite day
quite
quiet
This was then followed by a selfie with two fingers up and her ball gag in her mouth.