“Hello?”

The greeting came from behind me and was so heavily accented in Mandarin Chinese as to nearly be incomprehensible. Still, I not only understood but appreciated their efforts to give English a try. I was standing in the living room of my apartment doing something I had always thoroughly detested- house cleaning.

Thankful for any excuse to not continue I stuck the dusting rag in the back pockets of my shorts, dropped the can of lemon-scented something or other on the sofa and turned, showing the closest thing I possessed to an honest smile.

“Ah, ni hao. Ni hao ma?” Hello. How are you. Probably as badly butchered as their ‘hello’.

I was looking at a middle aged woman, nicely dressed and standing in my front door. Normally Chinese people keep their front door closed and at least one lock engaged. Me, being perhaps the only American for many miles, hence the object of great fascination and some… distrust? No, too strong a word. I’ll check a thesaurus later for a choice that’s a bit more mild. Anyway, I keep my door open wide. It allows others in the building (There’s thirty four other apartments) to actually see for themselves that I’m not up to anything too nefarious. (I have overheard reports a few people believe I do this in hopes of luring bandits or robbers to come inside so I can machine-gun them, I would happily machine-gun a robber, if only I had a machine gun. Most guns are illegal here.)

“You name Vic?”

“Yes.”

Her face was contorting, eyes troubled. I asked how can I help you, and I think I got it mostly correct as her expression calmed and shoulders settled back down to a somewhat normal height. Rather than explain she simply used a hand motion to gesture me to follow. She stepped back into the hallway, then rather than wait for the elevator (Good Lord that thing is slow) went up the stairwell one level, looking back only once to see if I was showing any hesitancy. I wasn’t.

At the far end of the hall a door stood open and an elderly woman, I’d guess to be eighty or thereabouts, leaned out. Once we made eye contact she grinned, enough that I could see that while she might no longer have teeth, her eyes were large and bright and shone full of life- and quite possibly a bit of mischief.

“This my mother.”

I said hello, addressing her by the honorific, lao taitai, and in response she bobbed her head and grinned even bigger. She was of course, short, and just a bit on the plump side. She reminded me of the stereotypical grandmother that bakes sugar cookies and keeps a glass bowl of solidified lemon drops.

“How can I help?” I thought maybe she simply wanted something heavy lifted or moved, but instead she went into a side room, returned with a thick bundle which had obviously gone through both the U.S. and Chinese postal systems. It had so many stamps, marks and notifications on it it had become all but impossible to read either addresses.

“Not come in box.” The daughter said with an edge of anger, as she handed it to me. She meant the post office boxes at our building’s front entrance, I’m sure.

I took it, studied it, and felt a knot grow in my stomach. The first clue something was seriously fishy in Denmark was that while the origin address looked legit, the cancellation stamp over the postage had ‘Chicago’ misspelled. Deride the US Post Office all you like I won’t get offended, but I’m quite certain they’re not going to spell it ‘chickago’.

“Bushi laizi Meiguo.” I told her. “This did not come from America.” I picked an ink pen from a nearby countertop and began circling several other small errors. I began to cringe and become concern for my own safety as her eyes steeled into combat mode. She motioned to hand the package back over and I certainly complied- then gasped as she seized it, took a solid hold and ripped it in two- only to have dozens of hundred dollar bills flutter out. I caught one, then another and promptly knew they were bogus. Not only did the paper feel totally wrong, every single serial number was identical.

I looked the woman in the eye and solemnly shook my head. “Fake.” I don’t know the Chinese word for ‘fake’ and certainly not for counterfeit, but she understood. Then she balled up her fists and charged at her mother, swinging like a demonized windmill.

“Whoa, whoa whoa.” I have a strong personal rule about staying out of other family’s inner workings but I think daughter was pissed enough to do actual damage. I put daughter in a soft, yet firm hug from behind, guided her to a chair directly across the room from where ‘mom’ sat. Daughter stayed put but did unleash a tongue-lashing that was taking stripes off my hide.

As the two went at it (I couldn’t understand a word, and trust me, I was not trying) I picked up the package and spilled notes and began looking them over. Shit, whoever made these had been total morons, or kids, or had not even tried. Perhaps all three. Anyway, the bills had all been banded together using strips of newspaper. I held one up to the light, looked hard.

New Delhi Daily News.

Nice to see the rats in india try to scam more than just Americans. I still get calls and emails about people wanting to reach me about my car’s extended warranty. I was about to ask if I could go, when daughter stood, pointed at her mom and said “She thief, she whore—- and a bunch of other words I doubt I’d ever locate in a ‘polite’ dictionary. And with that she stomped off for her own apartment, slamming the door behind her.

For a moment the old lady and I stood and simply looked at each other. Then she plucked out one of the untorn notes, looked it over and asked “Not good?”

“Not good.”

In the corner of the living room was a little desk and a small laptop. And then I think I got it. I walked to the computer (which was open to Baidu, the main search engine in China) and hit ctrl-h. Instantly her history came up and I gotta say even I was shocked.

“You sly lady.” She didn’t understand, not exactly, but all the same she had guilt written all over her face. She’d been attempting to buy counterfeit American currency. As I turned to go I shook my finger at her, grinning. From what I’ve experienced that gesture is common to all cultures. Before I got to the door though she took my arm from behind, tugged.

Her face was downcast and she looked up with big, worried eyes. Clearly she had concerns of my reporting her to some authority or another. I smiled nicely, bent down and kissed her forehead, saying ‘no problem, no problem’ in Mandarin. And with that went back to my own place and mixed a whiskey sour using Jameson.

I hadn’t been paying much attention to the time, mostly because I had nothing planned for the day. Maybe, I thought, as soon as the sun started going down I’d step out on the patio (I’m on the ground floor, and have a pretty nice terrace) and would throw a steak on the grill. …And again I hear “Hello?” in my doorway.

It’s grandma, and she’s smiling as though she’d just been told a great joke and carrying a hotel ice bucket of ice and four bottles of Heineken. I was a bit more than surprised but motioned her to come in. My initial thought is she’s here to be very nice and charm me so I wouldn’t turn her in to anyone. I was right, but she planned on being way nicer than just getting me buzzed. She came in, placed the bucket on the coffee table, then went back and closed and locked the front door. It was her snicking the deadbolt in place that drew my attention. She also pulled shut the shades that cover the big patio door leading outside.

A minute later I’m naked from the waist down, kicked way back in my recliner with a cold beer in my hand and she’s wiggling her tongue up my asshole. I mean, I’ve had rimjobs before but my God, she’s going at it like she’s been poisoned, has minutes to live and the cure is up there. She did that until I was ready to unload on the top of her head, then she stopped and took a break, leisurely drinking one of the Heinekens until I went flaccid. My balls were next, played with and sucked and coddled and fondled nearly to the point bursting, then the other half of her beer. I’m not so cultured that I’m going to look a gift blowjob in the mouth. (Now there’s a weird pun) but the better part of an hour has passed by. Time for the main show. I’m not that well endowed (I’m secure enough to admit that) but she sucked me in so solidly I think the head of my dick poked one of her kidneys. And she was loud! I mean there was slobbering and gasping and spit and pre-cum flying in every direction. I doubt the neighboring apartments heard anything, not that I cared.

Finally, at the very end she slammed her face down onto my dick extra hard and held there unmoving as I gasped and completed the act of fertilizing her tonsils. She simply opened her throat, allowed it to all slide down, then licked me clean. Pulling a white towel out of the pocket of her dress she gingerly dried me. Once I was cleaned and ready to return to my own doings she stood, lifted her dress (no panties, shaved) then wiped off her snatch and a whole lot of evidence she’d enjoyed it that was slicking the insides of her thighs. I had a brief urge to turn her around, bend her over and do her from behind, but no way was I gonna get hard enough again that soon.

She smiled at me again, retrieved her ice bucket and walked out humming a bright little tune.

I’ve no idea about her but my next few days were normal. I woke, I slept, I went to work, went to a movie I walked out of, grabbed groceries at a local street market. What I hadn’t done, not entirely, was forget Grandma. (That’s how I’d come to think of her in my own mind, which if I did too long began to prompt an erection)

“Hello?” This time I wasn’t inside my apartment but was coming up the walkway after hopping off a city bus.

It was ‘daughter’, and by the looks of it was just getting home herself. (She owns an Audi. I just rent a car occasionally) In my most polite face and tone i asked her name. Liang Mei Hua, Liang being of course her family name. I introduced myself simply as ‘Vic’. I’ve got a family name too but can’t remember the last time I cared to use it. Rather than fumble between two languages she withdrew her phone from a Hermes bag (of course it was a knock off) and brought up a pre-translated message. She apologized for the behavior of her mother, and that the woman was very crazy, always had been and was unlikely to ever change. She would also thank me for my discretion in not repeating or passing on what I’d witnessed.

I got out my phone, and trusted Google translator to do a decent job of replying. I said I thought her mother was sweet and lively, and would never show the disrespect of repeating anything. And I hadn’t. And if her she or her mom ever needed my help, I am very ready to give assistance.

We did chat a little more, using our phones. We exchanged numbers, she mentioned her husband had passed away five years ago and that her son lived and worked in Beijing; I mentioned I was single, a wildlife photographer and part-time English coach. In other words I get paid to sit and shoot the shit with important people so they can practice their English.

Finally I held the door for her, said “Zai jian, Mei Hua.” And went in to my own apartment. My day’s appointments had been a District Attorney and his secretary, a bank big wig and I think the daughter of a Chinese Triad leader. (There’s times it’s just best not to ask) So I was wearing some of my nicer clothing and anxious to shed them. I closed the front door then stripped naked right there, leaving my shoes neatly beside the door (China is rubbing off on me) but flinging the clothing in a heap. It was hot and humid and my plans stood as; go to kitchen, get big glass of ice water, get in shower.

I had gotten the ice water, downed half, refilled and was about to turn on the shower when knuckles rapped on the sliding glass door.

“Shit.”

I sat the water down, threw a towel around my waist and prayed this would be something quick and simple. Emphasis on quick. I wasn’t smelling pleasant, not even to myself.

I pulled the curtain aside, peeked out.

It was Dave, my boss. “Dude, can you give me five minutes? Was just about to jump in the shower.”

“Yeah, sure.” And he walked over to a patio chair, took a seat. Dave isn’t his real name, it Chou something or other. Born in Shanghai he lived in Winnipeg from ages ten until he graduated from college with a degree in business. His English is perfect, but his ethics… not so much. I like him, but I know him well enough to not let him wander around in my house totally unwatched.

I finished showering quicker than I would have liked, threw on my house shorts and a wife beater and met him on the patio. Handed him a Xue beer. Yes, it’s cheap but it’s my favorite.

“Happen to have any Heineken?”

Dude, you wouldn’t believe the last Heineken I had. “Sorry, fresh out. What’s up?”

I’d been advised by several other employees that if Dave visits you at home, he’s either got a deal that’ll stuff your pockets with cash- or get you deported.

“Got a deal for ya. One I think that’s right up your alley.”

Oh if that didn’t send up every red flag I had.

“Go on.”

“You ever notice that big, blue glass building on the east side of town?”

“Sure who hasn’t? Pretty damn hard to miss.”

“Ever been inside?”

“Nope.”

“Well, it’s called the GHR Corporation and they develop medications.”

If he’d arranged for me to go there and tutor English, or proofread English translations of a publication it simply would have appeared on my schedule. It wouldn’t require him making a personal visit.

“And…?” He’s the kind that likes to be strung along. If I don’t humor him at least a little I’m going to find myself tutoring a group of fifty kindergartners. - My personal vision of Hell.

“They are looking for male subjects, non-Chinese.”

I wasn’t going to string him along here. I only gave him my ‘yeah, so what stare’.

“It is for male birth-control.”

“Okay, so why non-Chinese?”

“They must try every genetic group. Chinese, Japanese, Filipino, those tests- done. Not many Americans in this area. They called me, ask me to be a recruiter.”

And so that’s how I ended up on the fifteenth floor in a little room being handed a paper cup, a can of Pepsi and three hundred dollars American.

“What do I do?”

The nurse -an actual nurse in a traditional uniform and a stethoscope slung around her neck- barely spoke English.

“Take pill.” She mimed that, complete with washing it down with a swig of Pepsi.

“And then?”

“Wait ten minutes.” She stopped explaining and simply gave me a pained, yet blank look.

“And then?”

That’s when she blushed and I mean blushed bright scarlet red. But, finally, after twice making certain no one else was capable of seeing, motioned unzipping her pants, pulling out a dick and jacking off, though with the level of enthusiasm at which she stroked, may have meant starting a lawn mower. Geez, hasn’t she ever watched a guy jack off? Didn’t she have a boyfriend or walk in a brother while growing up?

At my questioning stare she indicated I needed to aim at the cup that contained a big white, mothball-looking pill. Then open the little door in the wall and set the cup inside. After that I was free to go.

“Okay, thank you.”

Pornography is illegal in China so I was left to the whims of my own imagination to get the job done, and no, I didn’t opt for a mental replay of Grandma.

***

“Yeah, hello.” It was raining which meant I was passenger one hundred and four on a sixty passenger bus.

“It’s Dave. I think you failed the test. They want you back tomorrow, to try again I guess.”

“Yeah, I’m good. Tomorrow’s my only full day off for quite some time.”

“They’ll pay you double.”

Turned out I hadn’t failed.

So, next morning an older dude in an expensive gray suit is handing me six hundred bucks in fifties, and his English was really quite good. I found him to be relaxed, efficient and quite personable. His name was Wei Chen and he was in his early forties.

“First time, did you wait for ten minutes?” Chen asked.

I tapped the face of my watch, (am I the only person who wears one anymore?) “Yes, sir. exactly ten minutes before I started.” Well, it had felt like ten minutes. I had spent the time scrolling through memes on iFunny. Actually it could have been fifteen.

“Okay, good. This is same test, but we bring in specialist.” With that a lady of about twenty five and a slightly flirty but nervous look on her face stood, stepped over. “She not speak English.”

I got the picture immediately and assured him the lack of English will not be an issue.

Once the gentleman escorted us to a small conference room and closed the door behind himself, the ‘assistant’ pulled out a stopwatch, and the instant I swallowed the pill, she punched the start button.

I wasn’t sure exactly how this was going to go, but since I didn’t see an empty cup anywhere I took it to mean this would be a more ‘real world’ test. As the clock hit minute nine, she stood, turned her back to me and dropped her pants. She began fingering herself, slowly spreading her feet wider and wider apart. At twelve minutes she said “Okay” and leaned face down on the table, butt held high.

Should I go slow and savor this? Or keep it clinical and just ‘do my part’ and wrap it up.

I like sex too much for that. I took a firm hold of her ass, used the tips of my thumbs to spread her lips and inserted just the head. She leaned back, sliding me in deeper. She felt tight, and I wondered if she was ‘assisting’ more men than me today. Somehow I doubted it. If you’re going to have an accurate test… oh screw trying to figure this out now- I withdrew, turned her around lifted her onto the shiny clean conference table. I gripped both her ankles, spreading them high and wide and began thrusting into her- and I’m pretty sure anyone passing by in the hallway heard her moans as well as my final ‘oh god, yes’.

After, she stood, wiped a little but not much and pulled on her panties, inserting a panty liner. I wiped myself off and we walked out together, leaving a wet spot on the table the size of a dinner plate and the air perfumed with sex. I got to go home but I suspect her portion of the test included hanging around the office a day, maybe two and frequently peeing on a stick.