Qin | Part 5

He was so close to getting fooled by the bravado, a feint, of the nymphet. Not only was he desperate to walk the line, he also was pining for a chance to cross the Rubicon and claimed the right to his domain.

He invited her to have some fun in a KTV deluxe suite. Music and wine were supposed to be philtre to work wonders and unleash beast-lings.

Hilariously enough, all he could sing were some hardcore rap songs teeming with profanity and obscenity. He even picked an anti-war heavy metal track by a Death'n'Roll band. Perhaps his clumsiness exposed the nature of a wimpish loser who ridiculously believed dark rhythms, strong pulses, lewd lyrics, and violent themes would catch up his girl in a primal sense and blow the brain out so that she could be turned on and turned to be his smutty tart.

"Hey, macho, why is it that every song you've picked is about bickering, bitching, roaring, depriving, battling, discriminating, backstabbing, murdering? No wonder you always have to be such a misery guts. Stay happy and stay young, you old prick! But I suppose a psycho like you would rather drop dead than truly be happy. So you gotta let me sing a happy song! Just shut up and let me show you." She snatched the microphone from him.

Then it was he who got ravished and fertilized. He had never imagined that her tiny torso should churn such an overwhelming turbulence of vigorous power. Her voice was outrageously luxurious in modulations, the wide spectrum of which allowed for a virtuous command of an abundant variety of genres, peaking at mind-boggling whistle register of soprano, plummeting into penetrating pitch of contralto.

"See? I've told you I'm professional."

He plopped onto the davenport behind her, appreciating every nuance of her richly textured voice, staggeringly analogous to her character: A combination of impish naivete and shrewd sophistication, a mix of angelic charm and provocative vulgarity, a propensity to turn instantly beastly hot and blindingly cold upon him, Qin, when she chose, could be a most enrapturing siren and exasperating brat.

Qin didn't stop until sang 6 songs or so in a row.

She turned back towards him, sidled up to him, and sat down beside him. She paused a few seconds, and probed a question in a low voice:

"Will you lend me some money? I need to make an appointment for an abortion."

What?!

"I don't remember I banged you. So the thing you are carrying is not mine. Oh, wait a minute...is that thing from my super sexy voice just now?" His wry sense of humor spontaneously served as a sedative.

"Go fuck yourself. It's not for me. It's for my confidante. She got pregnant and she needed the money to get aborted. Her boyfriend dumped her at this news and she sent that fucker a bag of her blood."

"Crazy bitch."

"Hell yeah, but by whom, may I ask, she was driven crazy? She had shared with me her dirty trick to do oral sex. I thought she'd never let the filth come inside of her from...beneath. But now this...I don't know what else to do to help her. I want to take her to a proper, regular hospital to carry out the abortion. My mama saw me searching the web for info on hospitals and she really threw a fit. She said if I got big, she'd kill me. Even if I explain it to her, she'd give me the money not in a thousand years. I don't know who else to turn to. So please. Please, please, pretty please."

"Ask that fledgling whore to send me another bag of her tainted blood, and I'll lend you the money."

"Go fuck yourself. Twice. And what about YOU sending ME a bag of your useless sperm, huh?"

"So you can splash it all onto your face? You like it coming at your face, huh? All right, I'm just saying it for fun. Just remember to pay your debt, or..."

"Or?"

"Or the debt shall be repaid with your body. "

"Go fuck yourself. Thrice."

He just proved to himself his was a milksop with cloying sentimentality after all.