Dead Stones [manxman] [boyxboy]

Empyrean Physique

Today was the day, the day to leave the labyrinthine segues of pity, the day to claim the wanton festive future, day one of the new Hao. He resolved to reclaim the lost raves, the lost bathroom fucks, the lost relationships where he should have been the Mandarin Asshole. Ricardo had done this to him, Ricky and his numerous dalliances in the guesthouse, his freezer full of stinky goat meat, his cds of bass-numbing reggaeton tracks; and his rotten message on the voicemail wishing sweet farewells, asking for sweet understanding, suggesting sweetly that it was inevitable, even boasting, “We did well together while it lasted. We raised Yuu to be a fine young man. We don’t need each other anymore.”

The electronic voice could still judder its wrathful wake through Hao. Suddenly he was the man who had given everything and gained nothing. Everything felt false, his pleasures, his values, his dislikes. Even the fact that he prided himself a serious man intent on being a serious father was not an achievement but a crown of rust. But today would be different … not another day of regret over his lifetime total of two lovers, the day for the new Hao.

The night felt crisply cold in his bedroom patio overlooking the fluorescent blue of the pool below. The distant rustling from squirrels or perhaps coyotes could interest one to promenade along the dark haggard trees surrounding the mansion. Hao, however, a laptop warm on his lap, was bolted to his lawn chair with the exciting, forbidden task of posting a dating profile.

The particulars were easy to fill: Forty, lawyer, salary—declined to say. Favorite books: The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by William Gibbons. Favorite movies: Tous les Matins du Monde. Favorite music: L'Incoronazione di Poppea. About me …

The section knotted Hao into a sticky gumball. He put aside his laptop abruptly and shot up for a deep dash of breath. The potted bamboo at the far corner of the balcony beckoned with its pasty-yellow leaves and its crinkly brown sheathing the stems. Ricardo had warned him jeeringly about his lack of affinity for green things, and this was the result: an imminent death.

Hao squashed himself into the chair and opened his laptop again. His cheeks glowed with its bluish light, the cursor blinking in the About Me box. This should be simple, he thought.

Just looking to share my home and heart with the right man.

Those words bled with vulnerability and sentimentality, unfitting of a Mandarin Asshole. His mind segmenting into the deep dark night, he cracked himself for the precise and respectable way to say, “Hello, I’m Hao. Let’s fuck make love.”

But he was a lawyer. His skill was of exhaustive excruciating analysis. Studying other profiles should lead to something. But within five minutes of perusal, an axe of ire hacked up his resolve. The handle names were risible: CallMeDaddy, DaddyFucker, among the unoriginal BornToFU, or the incomprehensible BoyButter. His username HaoLi suddenly looked inadequate.

He moaned to the stars gritty ghosts above the dark tree crowns. Falling back against his chair, he clicked furiously through more ludicrous names and avatars of shooting dicks reticulated with pink. The lone abstract-looking avatar, a knife daggering a peach, piqued him despite the overtones of atavistic bravado in the username TheAssManCometh666.

His phone rang. Clicking through the profile mindlessly, he answered, “Hao Chen-Li speaking …”

“Hello. I hope you don’t mind, sir, that Brett gave me your number. I don’t believe we have met formally. I’m Luke Collier from the go club.”

Luke’s words died on Hao, for he was faced with a photo of a big, blunt, black flag hanging at half-mast and the man’s face tight with a sneer of marine warrior ferocity. 

“Would you be making it to the club today,” Luke asked.

Hao smarted his lips and repositioned his hot laptop for more comfort. “I won’t be coming until further notice.”