Oh no, not you again is what the doorman’s face seemed to say as I stepped into the lobby. As my visits here became more regular, so the lobby staff seemed more regularly repulsed. 

“Here for Heshan?” he said, facing his desk. I nodded. “Take the elevator down the hall and to the left.” 

I walked on towards the elevator and heard him calling up to Heshan’s room to announce me. Poor man, I thought to myself, he probably thinks he’ll never rid his building of people like me.  

Unfortunately, that doorman might get his wish very soon. This particular client, named Heshan, was a shy chemist who hardly ever wanted more than a cuddle and conversation. Lately, he seemed to be losing interest in me. Each week, I would show up to his house and leave with the sense that he was searching for something more in me. Heshan had another young boy, Al, who lived in his apartment with him. I was worried he either wanted to consolidate his companionships, or sensed my attraction to Al. Either possibility could ruin this stream of income for me. 

Today I wore my college T-shirt, basketball shorts, and a backwards cap, because Heshan likes a college boy. I typically ate before showing up to these encounters, but today was busy and this week was a bit lean on funds. My stomach rumbled. I stepped into the elevator, turned, and saw my own face revealed to me as the metal doors clapped together. When they collided, I saw a boy, cracked in half where the panes met, surrounded on all sides by walls of gold. 

 

Heshan’s apartment was small but manicured. I was afraid to touch any of its white surfaces, wondering if my coat of dingy dorm dust might leave a mark. Unfortunately, in this apartment, not touching anything white meant not touching much at all. Heshan welcomed me at the door, with a sweet, nuzzling hug. He pressed his round nose on my neck and breathed in deep.  

“Hi…” he sang. 

“Hi...” I echoed. 

“Leave your shoes.” 

“Right, of course,” I laughed. He stepped back and watched me disrobe. 

“Oh,” he said, “You can leave them on the table.” He wagged a finger towards my coat and scarf. 

“Thanks,” I said. Once I had stripped down to my sporty costume, I joined Heshan on the couch and nodded towards the TV across the room.  “What are we watching today?” 

“Game of Thrones.” 

“Sounds great. I like your hair today,” I said, and ran my fingers through it. I didn’t like his hair today.  

“Thanks,” he said with a shy smile. Heshan had beautiful hair, with an enviable, vinyl sheen, but a terribly corporate haircut. Still, it was cute that he put effort into styling it, and I knew he’d appreciate the compliment. 

“How was work this week?” I asked. 

“Very long. Difficult,” he said, searching for words. “My boss is a little mean to me.”  

“Tell me more,” I said. Heshan began talking, and I began drifting off. Still, I held my face in an attentive expression. I cared for Heshan. He was a sweet, and not entirely unattractive, but ill suited to the gay population of Hell’s Kitchen. The boys here were shallow, and though Heshan was brilliant and kind, he was also 35, and 5’5”. 

“Hey, Heshan,” a voice called from the bedroom. “I’m about to leave for the night.” Al swung around a corner into the living room, fixing a Rolex to his wrist, the long end of his peacoat fanning out to settle around his shins. 

“Wait,” Heshan said. “I ordered Mexican food. I got some for you.” 

“What did you get me?” Al’s tone was so flat, so unimpressed. I was always taken with his regality. I wondered if all Eastern Europeans had that flair, or if it was just Al. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he was the ostracized queer son of Vladimir Putin himself.  

Al was around my age and shared a bedroom (but curiously, not a bed) with Heshan. He didn’t go to college, and why would he? He had Heshan, a quarter million followers on Instagram, and stories of partying in Germany and waking up in Spain. College would be a waste of his best years. 

“Nachos,” Heshan said. “It will be here soon.” 

Al considered. “Okay,” he said, finally. He crossed the room and sat on a chair under a palladian window. Al was allowed to keep his shoes on in the house. Maybe because they were Tom Ford.  

“Hi, Vince.” He smiled at me as he sat. 

“Oh, hey,” I said, stupidly, as if I had just noticed he was there. As if I hadn’t been staring already. 

  

The three of us made uncomfortable small talk while I tried not to look at Al. He looked so expensive in his dark suit, sitting under the white lattice of the window. He was a spider in his web, and my eyes were caught. When I finally heard Heshan’s phone ring, I was relieved to have somewhere else to look. 

“Hello,” answered Heshan. “Okay … yes, I’ll be right down. Thank you.” Heshan stood up and walked to the door, slipping into some shoes by the welcome mat. “I’ll be back,” he said. 

I looked at Heshan leaving, then at Al in his chair, gulping down my social anxiety. As Heshan slipped out the door, I fixed my eyes on the tv. I stared hard at the blank screen, trying to look unaware of Al and his eyes, which were on me. I went over the small talk in my head, overthinking. Have I been boring Heshan? What can I do to make better conversation? I glanced over at Al, realizing that if I lose this gig with Heshan, I also lose my only route to Al. 

“So, Al, where are you going tonight?” 

“Clubbing. Lower East Side.”  

Of course he was. “Um,” I spoke, removing my hat and placing it on the glass table in front of me. “Do you have any hair gel I could borrow?” 

“I do.” He raised his brows, then rose to cross the living room towards the bathroom. “Come with me,” he said, not looking back. 

I followed him through a tight hallway into a tight bathroom. As I stepped in, I was painfully aware of his cologne, as I am sure he was painfully aware of the Old Spice deodorant I smear on my neck in lieu of cologne. He reached for a skinny, black bottle on a shelf and handed it to me.  

“Thanks,” I said. I turned it over in my hands and squeezed while Al leaned back against the wall. I looked up and saw the both of us in the mirror. I rolled the gel in my palms and began to work it into my hair, trying to mimic Al’s own loose coif.  

“Why are you staring at me?” Al teased. But he was right, I was staring. 

“Oh… sorry,” I laughed. 

He smiled. “It’s okay,” he said, and took a step forward. After that one step in this tiny bathroom, I could already feel his breath on the back of my neck. I turned away from the mirror, slowly, to face him. He held his position, but I wanted to challenge it with a touch. There were so many things I wanted to touch, but my hands were caught up in gel and my own hair. Very inopportune. I left them in bondage holding together tufts of my hair, and stared at Al’s lips, which were now parting. 

“You can stare if you want,” he breathed. I didn’t react, but stood dead still, hoping he might put his hands on me. I waited, and I waited, but he didn’t. He only looked. 

“But nothing else,” he whispered, teasing. “Heshan will be back with the food.” He pulled back to lean on the wall again, smiling. I turned back to the mirror and worked my hair, trying to look only at myself, trying to look good for him, trying not to blush as much as I was. 

The doorbell rang and Al slipped out of the bathroom to get it, leaving me to finish fixing myself. 

  

When I returned to the living room, the food was laid out in front of the couch. On the table next to my hat was a truly massive chimichanga in a Styrofoam to-go box. I sat in front of it while Heshan toyed with a hot sauce packet.  

“Thanks,” I said to Heshan, still recovering. 

“You’re welcome,” Heshan said, rubbing my back. “Enjoy.” 

I picked up the plastic utensils and began. My knife worked through half-melted cheese, then a crust that dribbled oil as I pressed into it. The oil ran over the black beans, ground beef, and avocado that was bulging out of the center. Good god, I realized. I’m starving. My bites became larger and my breaks between forkfuls became shorter. I felt a long piece of cheese hanging from my lip, so I jerked my chin to flip it into my mouth. I was dunking chunks into sour cream, truly terrorizing this chimichanga, when I started to feel eyes on me. 

Heshan had stopped eating and was staring at me, lips slightly parted. I stopped eating to meet his eyes, and he looked away, embarrassed. I looked over at Al, in his chair by the window, looking incredulous. I became extremely insecure. Was I really chewing that loud? I averted my attention back to my food and took a more careful bite. 

As I put it in my mouth, Heshan cleared his throat. His eyes were back on me, fixed. I chewed carefully and looked back at him, desperately seeking answers in his expression. His eyes were wide, but he didn’t exactly look grossed out or annoyed. 

I glanced at Al, who paused his nachos to put a scandalized hand over his mouth. I looked back at Heshan, eyes still locked on me, almost sweating, when I started to understand. 

I lowered my lids at Heshan, cut a huge bite off of the food, and stuffed it into my mouth. I closed my eyes and gave a soft, “Mmmh,” like I was enjoying myself. Heshan grabbed at his sweatpants, tightening his knuckles around a bit of cloth. Oh, wow, I thought. Got it. 

I took another huge bite, without even swallowing all of the first one, giving a decadent performance. Heshan’s breath quickened. Al, in the corner, stifled a laugh. I made eye contact with Al and he widened his eyes, hardly able to believe it.  

I picked up my pace, hacking away at and victimizing that Styrofoam box. Heshan sat, quietly, intensely. Al was shocked, and I was, too. Admittedly, the only thing stirring inside me at this point was gas, but I was thrilled at how into it Heshan was, and I was willing to play the part. I devoured my food, relishing in Heshan’s reactions. Every twitch and gasp from him was as delicious as the food. I was his fantasy come to life, a dream he could never speak, sitting in front of him, indulging, scratching an itch he never believed another’s hand could find. 

I took my final bite of food, leaned back on the couch, and slapped a hand on my distended belly. I looked at Heshan and let a burp pop out of my throat. He bit his lip, knowing that the performance had ended. After a bit of triumphant silence, Al stood up, cutting the energy in the room.  

“Well,” he said, brushing crumbs off his pants. “I think it’s time for me to go. I’ll see you both later.” As he walked towards the door he shot me a look that said Oh, my God, what just happened here? I returned his look, then looked at Heshan. 

“So,” I said, “ready for Game of Thrones?” 

“Yes,” he breathed, and went for the TV remote. 

That night, I think everyone learned something about Heshan, including Heshan. The next time I came to see Heshan, I made sure I was very, very hungry. To my delight, when I entered his apartment the following week, there was already a Styrofoam box waiting for me on the glass table.