Bed Partners

Wedding Day

Tape 6, Side A

"That's a sweet thing he did for you," my psychologist commented after listening to the fifth tape.

"Sweet? How?"

"He helped you," she pointed out.

"I paid for that," I argued. "It was not for free."

"Really?" She sighed and look at me. Until I feel uncomfortable. "Fine! He helped me," I surrendered. "I thanked him for it." I pouted.

"At least that's a progress. So what happened next?" She is really curious as she handed the fifth tape to me.

"It will be on the next tape," I said as I slip the tape in my bag and I stood up. "I have to go."

So here I am. Once again, recording. It's really therapeutic, if I could say so.

Anyways. This sixth tape will start at the day of my mother and Mr.Wang's wedding day.

Our parents' wedding was on a Sunday. It was raining. I woke up in Qing's bed because I slept there last night. Duh!

But just to sleep, get your minds out of the gutter. We got together with Mr.Wang and some of his old friends, when I say old it's a bit literal, for a drinking bachelor party. It's like a gentlemen's club or something. Very dignified, very refine. You don't utter words like strippers, boobs and lap dance.

No, they talk about golf.

Fuck my life.

I know zilch about golf. What the hell? I look at Qing sitting relaxed inspite of the reality that we are probably the only two person below the age of 45 in that room full of scotch, whisky, rum and bourbon. Plus the smell of tobacco and newspaper.

It's like I am back in the 1950's where men wore suits all the time with suspenders and talk about stocks all day long.

Seriously, they talk about stocks and dividends and gross profits. They were right...this bachelor party is gross.

I can even say that it's disgustingly boring.

I leaned closer to Qing, "If I will have my own bachelor party, there will be at least fifteen stippers on a room with only sixteen people inside."

He frowned, "So that would mean it will be just you and fifteen strippers,"

I snapped my fingers, he is smart. "Exactly. Why are we here again?"

"So Baba can introduce you to his friends and colleagues. You are his son now,"

"Aw...that's sweet. He shouldn't have,"

"He wants to..."

"No, really. He shouldn't have." I gave Qing a warning glare. He chuckled and sip his scotch. I want a tall glass of ice cold beer. But I think beer is too common for this group of posh men.

Ugh! I don't belong here. They are dignified, refined and has nine figures in their bank accounts. Plus they are all probably straight.

While here I am, definitely gay, who had a depleted expense account and wanting to chug down beer and munch on pork rind cracklings.

I don't belong here.

Mr.Wang treated me like a son though. He is like a proud father introducing me to his friends and colleagues while calling me his son. So I gave it to him. Points for being nice to me.

After the overly exciting bachelor party (that is sarcasm by the way), Qing told his father that he and I will come to the wedding together. "We will get ready in my condo. His stuffs are already there."