1

—Doctor, sorry for calling you in so late.

—No problem, happy to oblige anytime.

—Can I sit down?

—Of course. This is your room, you can sit wherever you like.

—Okay. I…I’m not sure where to start. My head has been a mess, can’t focus on anything, and I have got no appetite. I haven’t been to school for almost a week.

—Does this have to do with what you want to tell me?

—Yes.

—And this is regarding what area?

—Sex.

—Can you please be a little more specific about it?

—Okay. Actually, a few days ago, I—to be specific, last Saturday night—was raped by my foster dad.

2

—Are you sure you want to use the word “rape”?

—Yes

—Okay. Then I need to ask you a few questions, if anything makes you uncomfortable, please tell me right away.

—Mn.

—Before my inquiry, I just need to confirm, the foster father who you speak of is the owner of this house, my client, Mr. Yu, correct?

—Yes.

—Last Saturday, on the evening of the sixth of June, he committed a sexual assault against you.

—Yes.

—The location?

—Right here. In this room, on this bed I’m sitting on.

—What kind of specific actions were there?

—Actions…exactly the ones you can think of. He held me down, took off my underwear, spread open my ass, and said he was really going to fuck up my slutty cunt. At first, he couldn’t get his way; I was too nervous, shaking all over, and crying the entire time. And he caught my jaw and forced open my mouth to blow him. He was too big; my mouth couldn’t take it, my drool kept falling. And he berated me, saying I can’t study and am bad at licking cock, and only know how to be a slut. I explained I wasn’t, and he stuffed his crotch up my throat, stopping me from talking. Then he got impatient and unplugged from my mouth and did this to my face…shoot out super thick jizz, spraying all over my face. He forced me to eat up all the jizz in my mouth, and then brushed away what was on my face, and put it in my ass with his finger. I was crying and pleading with him, saying, “Papa, don’t.” He was unmoved, and said on purpose, “Now you know to call papa?” I saw it was no use, so I struggled desperately and even scratched his face. He touched the claw mark on his face, said, “Good child,” and twisted my hand and tied it up above my head with a belt. Then he inserted his penis into my ass and started pumping. I told him I’m very uncomfortable, and he kissed me and told me, “It’ll be comfy soon.” And then, he said a bunch of other things, like “you’re so tight inside,” “Touch it yourself, aren’t you wet,” and like “Do you like papa fucking you?” My memory was a little fuzzy at the time, I can’t remember much. In the end, he cummed inside me; I was exhausted, and the sheets were all soaked with sweat.

—From your description, I noticed your foster father was acting very differently from his normal behavior.

—Yes, he’s not usually like that. That day…he was angry.

—What was the reason?

—I had a row with him. A couple of friends came over that afternoon, playing video games at first, then somebody discovered my foster dad’s wine cabinet—his family runs vineyards, he’s got a sharp eye—and asked me whether we can open these wines. My foster dad usually indulges me. Doctor, you know this too. So I said, in my uppity ignorance, “Sure, why not?” And that guy pointed to a bottle with an ancient label and asked, somewhat daringly, “Even that one?” I was riled up, and said deliberately, “As long as you can touch it, you can smash it all you like.” He is a little shorter than me, even though he says nothing about it, he actually cares about it very much…So he really called people to bring over the ladder and take down that bottle, and we opened it. The alcohol content was very high; no one dared to drink very much, and we all only tasted it a bit. We had beer in the end and drank a lot, and we were all kind of tipsy, and talking all over.

There was a senior vocal student, let’s call him S, who’s going abroad. He had me in his arms, saying he didn’t want to go to mold in London; he only wanted to wax verse and prose of love with Fangyi. There was another senior in the same class as him, H, who was mocking him from the side, “Enough, what place have you got to say this? You don’t know who he belongs to?” And he stole me over, telling me to elope with him, said he’s got the meat and drugs, and lots of sex, and will be sure to satisfy me more than S. And C, a friend from the same year but not the same class with me instantly jumped—He’s in the soccer team, lots of exercise—lifted his shirt and made me touch his abs, and said, “Don’t believe these artists, they’re all talk and instant release in bed; I’m the only man who can make you sexually happy.” And Q was on the side—the one with the vineyards—saying insidiously, “You guys want to fuck him, you all probably never even kissed his lips.” H frowned. “So you kissed him?” Q snickered and said, “So what about kissing? We’ve done much more. You don’t know we are in the same dorm? The one closest to the tower gets the moon, you know? He sounds so good when he moans.” Actually, I didn’t do much with Q; we only had a couple of wet kisses and he rubbed me off a few times. But C instantly lost it, said he held back for so long, and only let me mouth for a few mins in the school bath, licked my ass, but didn’t bear to go in. H stood up as well with a smile on his lips, but his words were cold: “You guys touched and licked, I only held him on the bus for dry humps, with the pants on.” Then they all looked at S. S smiled and said, “What’re you all looking at me for? I’m not like you guys. Me and Fangyi are pure love.” Actually, I kissed him the most, touched everywhere, and even tried 69, though I dared not say it out loud at the time. Then H and them all had their limbs on me, saying they’re about to graduate and still haven’t fucked me, and there won’t be any more opportunities in the future.

I’m not usually like this in front of them. But I was kind of high, so I played with them. But it wasn’t much, just stuff like passing ice cubes with my lips. There was a round of truth and dare. I was picked first, and Q asked me, “Have you done it with your papa?” I said I haven’t. They didn’t believe me, and wolfed in to peel my clothes, blindfolded me, and took photos of me. In the end, it was Uncle Ki who came to knock on the door to say my foster dad had called to be back for dinner, and we finally scattered. When they were leaving, H suddenly hugged me and said his school will be close to S, and I should go visit and comfort them often. C said he will be doing an exchange to Germany next year, and I should go see him practice ball when I’m free, and let his buddies see me. It was pretty sad, but they were still teasing me, saying they’re worried about leaving me alone for Q. But Q gave a pause, and said, somewhat awkwardly, “My dad is preparing me to take over the vineyards. The vineyards, you understand?” I was dumbfounded when I heard it. I didn’t realize this day would come so soon, and skipped my breath at the tears. When I came back to see my foster dad sitting on the sofa, I told him I didn’t want to go to the States for school anymore.

—I’m guessing Mr. Yu wouldn’t agree. I’ve heard he even relocated the head office of his company to the States in order to accompany you to school.

—That’s right. When he came in and saw the bottle open, he was already very unhappy. When he heard me say this, he lifted his head and asked me the reason. I was kind of petulant and said, “No particular reason, just don’t want to go anymore.” He regarded me for some time and asked me where I wanted to go. I said, “I’m not settled. Go around Europe first, part travel and part work, to look at the world and stuff.” He usually indulged me and always considered my wishes as a priority, and I’d assumed he would agree as well. But his brows twisted, his vision stopped on my neck for a few seconds, and he shook his head at me and said, “Ningning, I’m afraid it’s a no this time.”

—Was this the first time Mr. Yu has ever refused you?

—This was the second time. I was furious and shut myself inside the room, and didn’t even go down for dinner. In the past, he would always come to my room to coax me whenever I was fuming; he didn’t come that day. Around nine in the evening, I was terribly thirsty and snuck downstairs for a drink. As I got down, I saw him sitting alone in the dining room with that bottle in front of him, empty. He had some wine and seemed very different from how he usually was. His shirt was unbuttoned, his movements slower by a measure, and had no reaction at seeing me coming downstairs. Only until I was changing my shoes did he finally open his mouth to ask me, “Where are you going?” I was sulking with him, ignored him, and helped myself into the coat. He started slowly behind my back, “You said you’re going to Europe, is it because of this?” I turned around and saw him pushing over my phone across the dining table. The screen was right on the picture they took of me that afternoon—I was blindfolded, lips half-open, you could see a little tongue, looking very sexual. Their poses were also terrible: H cradled me on his lap. C was right against my arm pit. Q had tied my nipples red and swollen using the gaming controller cords. And S was lifting my jaw to point my face at the camera. I jumped at the image and instantly grabbed back my phone, and said he wasn’t respecting me. He looked me up and down and said, “I’ve always respected your thoughts and your intentions, look what you’ve become?” I was miffed and angry and said many awful things, saying he had always set me loose since I was a kid. My studies were trash, but he never cared, and let me go to school as I pleased; completely unlike treating his own kids, whom he governed with strict discipline and careful pruning. I said he only wanted to coddle me on the surface, but actually had no expectations for me in his heart. He then stood up from the chair and walked to my face. I was already out the door. His expression was really terrifying, and I was frightened in place, moving not a bit. His eyes were all red, and sprawling with alcohol, he hissed, “It’s true I have no expectations for you; I’ve only desires for you.” And he caught my arm and dragged me upstairs, dragging me all the way to this room, threw me on the bed, and got on me.

—Then he raped you.

—Yes.

—Do you believe he was sober at the time?

—I believe he was. It’s not like I haven’t seen him drunk. There was once when I got out of tutoring very late. He arranged the car to pick me up; it was the driver who opened the door for me. I smelled the heavy alcohol as soon as I got in the car. He was sitting in the back, and didn’t say hi to me. The driver said, “Mr. Yu might be a little drunk.” I was curious, because ever since I was a kid, I had never seen him drunk. On the way, I kept asking him questions on purpose, and he answered them all, but his speech was very slow, and he needed to think for a long time before every sentence. In the end, he was tired and said, “Ningning, don’t keep talking to papa.” He then threw his head against the back cushion and closed his eyes. I was kind of sleepy too, and I flopped down, pillowing on his lap to sleep. His hand slowly caressed my hair, my ears, and nipped my earlobe. I was feeling very comfy and a little ticklish, and was shuffling here and there on him. Somehow, he seemed to have gotten hard. The suit he had was slim-fit, the material wasn’t thick, and I figured it out quickly. I was a little nervous and feeling funny, and deliberately rubbed my face on his protruding tip, lightly huffing hot air between his legs. His hand stopped over my ears and gently tapped my forehead, telling me not to be naughty. But his loins were incredibly swollen, and that scent was getting thicker and thicker, almost covering over the alcohol. I leaned in my lips and licked the metallic zipper on his trousers with my tongue. But at that moment, he suddenly shoved me aside and told the driver, “Stop the car.” And he opened the door and got out of the car and went to sit in the front. Even until we got home, he didn’t heed me. Before bed, I asked him for the goodnight kiss—he always gave me a goodnight kiss, that’s the moment I most looked forward to all day—and he didn’t give it to me. That was the first time he refused me. And after that, he no longer kissed me much, like he was intentionally trying to keep a distance from me. I thought he would always restrain himself, but I didn’t think…

—Does Mr. Yu often make other similar intimate moves to you?

—Him? No. But I often want to be intimate with him. I often kiss his face in secret. I like to sit on him and fawn, and I like to sniff his scent. I’m not sure what kind of scent he uses, it smells really good. Doctor, do you know the brand?

—I’m sorry, I don’t use perfume. Can we bring the conversation back to the rape case itself?

—Ah, I’m sorry. Where were we?

—You were saying Mr. Yu committed sexual assaults on you when he was sober. I have reasons to believe that this is a typical case sexual assault between homosexuals. What you need to do now is: First, call the police and keep your evidence….

—No, no, no. Why should I call the police?

—Because another has forced you into sexual activity with them, isn’t that right?

—But I’m of my free will, Doctor. Even since puberty…no, much earlier than that, I’ve always wanted him to rape me. Now my wish has finally come true.

3

—I am surprised. You’ve never mentioned this in our discussions.

—I’ve spoken before, Doctor, about “that man,” Y. I said Y always gave people the impression of the three-piece suit, with lines of muscles hidden beneath the shirt. When he rolls up his sleeves, his sinewy arms would come slightly erect, and when he takes off his watch, he gives off a vibe both ascetic and sexy. I said Y always speaks to others formally, and rarely has any physical contact with people, but is always gentle with me. There was once I met Y when having food with a couple of classmates, and Y came over to say hello, and the girls were all going crazy, saying how smooth and sexy Y is… You have no impression about that, Doctor?

—…I may have misunderstood you earlier, I apologize.

—No worries, at first I couldn’t believe it myself either. I’ve always felt he saved me from the slum street flea market’s cargo cage, gave me room and board and a quality life, gave me family, friends, brother and sister, and I really shouldn’t expect for more. But it’s no use, I can’t control my heart. When I first came, I would furtively observe their family conversations with much envy, wishing he could treat me like his biological children—wouldn’t that be swell. But now he is really good to me, and instead I don’t just want to be his kid anymore. Actually, he does treat me a little differently. Last time my brother took me out clubbing, we didn’t do anything out of line, just had some drinks in our private room and called in a couple of fresh models for escort. And when we went back the next day, he froze my brother’s credit card. My brother was bewildered, said he often went to that place before, and had spent many times more than that night, and dad never bothered with him. He really didn’t know which nerve he stepped on this time. My sister too. Whenever she went out with a dress too short, he would scold her. One time she took me out dancing, and dressed me in a set of clothes with lots of sequins. She designed it herself. The bottoms were only this short, with lots of holes on the buttocks. He saw it as we were leaving. His gaze fell on me for a good while, and his brows creased. But he wouldn’t tell me: “Ningning, the shorts are too short, go change it.” He only spoke to my sister, “Don’t make him wear this crap.” My sister then and there talked back to him, saying he never dresses me nice, only let me wear some baggy school uniform like a ragbag, and how pretty is that? He returned his eyes to the newspaper and his lips only said, “Pretty.” I wonder if he knew, when he wasn’t at home, I would often sneak into his room and masturbate with his underwear on his bed, how would he feel?

—According to Mr.Yu’s actions later, I think he wouldn’t feel repulsed by it. Since he admitted having desires for you.

—Many people have desires for me. H told me before, I carry an air that “makes people want to commit crimes.” But this proves nothing. He didn’t even use soft and gentle words with me, didn’t love and comfort me to a puddle of water, he didn’t even lubricate himself! He straight-up forced himself on me. At first, he was very rough. After he ejaculated, he seemed to have sobered up somewhat. He sat up and had a smoke, looking quite frustrated. He saw me still crying and unconsciously protended his hand over. I immediately shrunk into a ball, evading him, and used my tied-up hands to hide my face. He then finally pulled away the belt. I hurried to hide on the other side of the bed, with my back to him, crying so much my tears couldn’t stop. He was silent for a long time behind my back before starting gently and nicely, “Don’t cry now, it’s papa’s fault. You want to go to Europe, right? I’ll call someone to book you tickets.” I heard it and sobbed even harder. Then I heard the phone ring. I lowered to look. He really booked me two tickets. And I almost went mad and straight up smashed my phone to the ground, the back plate shattered. And he asked behind me, “Ningning, are you never going to forgive papa?” I was so angry, and I turned around and screamed at him, “That’s right! You’ve fucked me and you don’t want to take responsibility and want to throw me away. I ain’t so cheap! I ain’t going! Ain’t going! I’m staying with you! Not going anywhere!”

—Mr. Yu must’ve been very happy.

—Yeah. His look at that moment… how should I say it, was like somebody who had been stuck on a desert island for years and finally found a rescue ship. He caught my arm, the corners of his eyes all red, and his voice very hoarse, he said, “How do you want me to take responsibility?” I didn’t know why I felt so aggrieved, and I said, crying, “I don’t know… I’m hurting everywhere.” He hurried to wrap me in his arms and sit down, examined my wounds, and rubbed the bruises on my wrists. When I first came, I was really frail, and easily hurt myself at school. My body was often green and purple here and there, and he would always rub it out like that for me. He rubbed for a while and asked me, “Are you still hurting?” He always asked me like that before, but the tone and the voice which he used, I could feel distinctly, were no longer like a father; it was the diction to a lover. I felt my face burning, and used a nasty tone on purpose. “I’m not hurting. I only know how to be slut, I don’t feel hurt.” His hand paused and said quietly, “I shouldn’t have said that. I apologize to you.” I was also very sad, my nose prickled, and whispered my question to him, “Why did you treat me this way? I shouldn’t have touched your wine without your permission?” He looked at my hand. “No such thing. You suddenly told me you’re not going to the States, I’m afraid…” He paused, and said, “afraid you’ll run off with them.”

— …

—It was my turn. The person who was lost on a desert island for many ten years, and finally found a rescue ship, became me. I was sitting there, but that feeling of going dead and alive was gone; my body was light and buoyant, like somebody had cast magic over me. I said, “I thought you didn’t care about anything I did.” Though my voice was forced low, it was really cheery. He probably noticed it and took my hand and held it in his. “How could that be,” he said, his tone was also more easy. I went to scratch the heart of his palm on purpose, romping with him. As we played, he put me onto the bed again. But this time he didn’t touch me, he even propped on the two sides to avoid squashing me. I laid on my back and mouthed at him, “Rapist—” He laughed, and touched my forehead with his forehead, and said, “Sorry.” I wrapped around his neck, asking him, “I can’t study and am bad at licking cock, what am I to do?” His eyes darkened. “Papa’ll teach you,” he said, went down, and took me in his mouth.

Oh my god, that sensation was nothing like any of my previous sexual experiences, it wasn’t in the same dimension. I was blown to the inside of my body all wet, moaning uncontrollably, sounding extremely slutty. I couldn’t resist blowing him as well, licking him hard, deep throating him, and having wet kisses with him, comforting each other, and letting him plunge into my wet hole. We didn’t sleep much that night; we were making love the whole time. We did it late into the night and I got hungry, and he went downstairs to get things for me to eat, and opened some wine. I then asked him what was the secret about that bottle of wine. He just looked at me and told me with a smile, there wasn’t much secret. Just that people told him their slum street market had two most expensive items: one was reclaimed from a sunken ship, a bottle of red wine with a name irresistible to any man in the world, “The Honey of the Maiden”; the other was the twelve-year-old boy in a cage in #616, district D. He took both items home that day, and didn’t expect to open and ravish “The Honey of the Maiden” and me on the same day.

I was so embarrassed when I heard it, and went to scratch and claw him, stopping him from talking. And then he cuddled me to sleep. I was too tired, so much so that I couldn’t sleep, and started playing with my cracked phone, browsed to the photo C took of me, and shoved before his eyes on purpose. He opened his eyes, saw it, and ignored it. I climbed on him, asking, “Aren’t you scared I’ll run away?” He answered with his eyes closed, “Not scared now.” And he touched my ass, saying, “I’ve fucked you open here, now these little friends of yours won’t ever satisfy you.” I was unconvinced, and said deliberately, “Don’t be so sure, they are young.” And he started to laugh, pinched my jaw, and said, “Ningning, you think I don’t know all that stuff you did? On the bus, on the subway, in the back seat of the cinema, at the backdoor of the classroom, in the public bath, your dorm bed, I’m not wrong about these places, yeah? And moreover, all those racy calls you were having at night. I know everything.” I was dying of inescapable shame and almost jumped. “You don’t mind at all?” I questioned him. He just smiled and kissed me. “Mind about what? You are mine now.”

That look of his, how should I describe it? It was like a while back, when I went to his office to wait for him to get off work. There was a beautiful woman in a peacock blue qipao—rumor said that she was papa’s latest bedmate—she saw me, and asked papa to introduce me. At the time, papa only said, “There’s no need.” The beauty wasn’t offended, and spoke to me rather cordially. Then the lady drove us herself and arranged for us to have dinner. On the way, she asked papa in the passenger seat whether he had heard of the story of the fox and the crow. Papa said he had never heard it, and let her regale it. The pretty woman said, “This story is very simple. There was a crow with a morsel of meat in its mouth and was perching on a tree. The fox saw it, came before the tree, and wanted to get the meat. This story tells us a simple idea: one should eat something that’s already in the mouth soon, so you can guarantee no one else will think about it.” As she said to the end, she looked at me through the rearview mirror with a profound smile. I didn’t really understand why she was looking at me like that at the time; now I think about it, I finally understand.

—It looks like the story has a happy ending, and my counseling will not be needed.

—No, Doctor. Thank you very much for listening to me saying all this. After all, I can’t really share this kind of experience with my friends. Doctor, you are the only person I can find to confide.

—Thank you for your trust. I shall take my leave.

—Let me walk you out.

—No need. Before I go, there are some words I want you to pass to Mr.Yu.

—What is it?

—Don’t be so assured. To know, the fox will never give up.

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