A student at the university named Julie Yuan wanted to interview me for the school paper. She contacted me through my publisher as I otherwise made myself difficult to find. I didn’t grant interviews anymore having become bored with the repetitious questions. I also fancied the notion of becoming something of a mystery to my readers ala JD Salinger. After my first novel was published I’d happily spoken to every newspaper, magazine, podcaster, blogger and organization who requested an interview. But once I had three more critically-acclaimed, award-winning novels to my name I forswore book tours, festivals and press requests. It was suggested that I was becoming a crusty old hermit and I’d no intention of disabusing anyone of that notion. Yet I felt a certain loyalty to my alma mater and figured that this one interview, my first in ten years, would be the exception that made it a rule. I gave her my phone number.
When Julie Yuan showed up at my door I was immediately taken by how she managed to somehow be simultaneously cute and sexy. My wife had left me a few months prior so I’d been quite randy recently, but even so had no thoughts of seduction. She was approximately half my age and had the look of a virgin. Maybe it was her being Asia-American that convinced me of her innocence. I’d give the young lady an hour of my time — as promised — nothing more.
But the hour-long interview stretched into two. After patiently answering questions about my writing process, influences, inspirations, and my love of privacy, we drifted into personal topics. Julie was now doing a lion’s share of the talking. I learned that she was twenty-years-old, had emigrated with her family to the United States from Taiwan when she was six, was an English major who wrote a column for the campus paper, had two older brothers one of whom had died in a skydiving mishap, the other was an optometrist. Her parents ran a produce store in the city. She even revealed that she had only started dating as a senior in high school.
Julie further confessed to having had sex exactly once (ONCE!) then being “ghosted” by her seducer. “I’ve been leery of guys ever since.” I don’t recall what prompted her confession but I found it endearing.
I didn’t end the interview with Julie when we strayed off topic as I should have. There was something beguiling about this sweet, sincere kid. She was clearly intelligent, if a naif.
When the conversation finally stalled I had my opening to see Julie to the door and wish her well. I’d enjoyed our conversation having had so few since Myrna left me, but it was time to get back to my labors. Yet…
Instead of making my excuses I said: “I’m rather hungry and don’t feel like cooking. Would you care to share a pizza with me?”
“Awesome, I’m famished.”
What have I done? I wondered. Surely it was loneliness that prompted the invitation. After so many nights alone, the company of a young woman would be a welcome change.
We continued to chat after I ordered the pizza. Then I made an even bigger mistake by offering her something to drink. “I have beer, wine, mineral water — ”
“I’d love a glass of wine,” she said with far too much enthusiasm.
I poured the girl a glass then opened a bottle of beer for myself.
Julie made short work of her glass so — again, stupidly — I re-filled her glass. Yes, I was being a polite host but I was also getting the little darling drunk.
By the time the pizza arrived she’d had three glasses and I’d polished off two beers.
We ate companionably. My guest was now comfortable enough (or tipsy enough) to refill her own glass which she did repeatedly. In an evident effort not to be outdone, I had beer after beer, something I wasn’t used to. I was feeling the effects.
After eating, Julie rose, took me by the hand and led me back to the sofa where we’d conducted the earlier interview. Both of the following two sentences are true: There was something chaste about the way she held my hand. There was something erotic about the way she held my hand. But most of all I was struck by her boldness.
So used to being in control in my life, I was at a loss about how to feel and wondered what would happen next.
Rather than position herself at the far end of the sofa as she’d done earlier, Julie sat beside me. Our thighs were touching. I could smell her hair. I could smell her neck. I could smell her deodorant. I could — I swear — smell her sex.
Every fiber of my being was either telling me to stop whatever it was that seemed to be starting or urging me to sate my lust.
Fifteen minutes later, after fourteen minutes of passionate necking, we were in my bed, under my covers, not a stitch on between us, fucking like the world was on fire.
It’s impossible to compare orgasms, yet the first one I had with Julie Yuan unquestionably tops them all. Yes, I said the first one.
For her part Julie was totally satisfied by our coupling. This was expressed both by her cries of love and the unqualified praise she heaped on me in the aftermath. The flattery was most welcome.
I knew that I should have felt terrible guilt for what I’d done. It was indefensible. But I’d broken no laws and Julie had not only consented to the act, she’d instigated it. I had used a condom so an unwanted pregnancy was not a concern. But wasn’t it terribly wrong to fuck someone so much younger?
I should have felt guilt — but I didn’t. Indeed I felt fantastic. I hadn’t had a lover since Myrna left and had begun wondering if I ever would again. Plus I genuinely liked Julie, ingenue that she was.
At my suggestion, Julie spent the night. This allowed us an encore performance before I fell into a deep, contented slumber. My first good sleep in weeks. All seemed well in the morning when we showered together then had breakfast (Julie made an omelet). We said our goodbyes with Julie promising to call.
Yes, everything was fine. I had a lover, never mind her youth. Until such time as I met a more suitable companion I could satisfy my carnal desires with a supple and willing young woman who was beautiful and smart. Yes, there was the risk of her being hurt in the long run, but surely she was wise enough to know that what we had couldn’t last.
Inspired, I wrote prodigiously and brilliantly that day. I went for a late afternoon run, showered, opened a beer and waited for Julie to call.
She didn’t.
This was strange because she’d left me with the very definite impression that she’d phone in the evening. At 8:00 I called her.
No answer.
I tried again, this time leaving a message: “Julie, hi, looking forward to seeing you again. Call when you can. Hope you had a good day.”
Surely that would do the trick.
I was growing drowsy while reading when I noted that it was nearly eleven and my new-found love hadn’t called. I worried that something may have happened to her but thought I should wait another twenty-fours before acting on my concerns. Anyway, she'd call tomorrow.
She didn’t
Instead of calling again, I texted.
There was no response.
By mid-afternoon the next day I was desperate to see Julie again. I decided to pay a visit to the school newspaper office in hopes that they could help me locate her.
They’d never heard of the girl.
She’d lied about working for a college newspaper in order to interview me?
Oh God! You don’t suppose she really wrote for the high school newspaper and had lied about her age. I was in a panic. Back home I called the office of the high school newspaper. No Julie Yuan there. Thank God.
I looked up local produce stores finding one owned by a Victor Yuan. I called and asked about Julie.
Who? Victor asked.
You don’t have a daughter named, Julie?
You’re all mixed up fella, he told me.
What in the fuck?
Julie had told me a series of lies.
Julie? Maybe that wasn’t even her name. Her outgoing message merely said, “hi, leave a message.” No name. Were I to launch an investigation into who and where she was I’d not have anything to go on.
I sat in my house as darkness fell. I was bereft. Victimized. A little bit angry, a lot sad. The odd thing was that whoever this imposter was, I desperately wanted to see her again. If she walked though my front door right then I’d have taken her in my arms then made love to her.
That conviction was soon tested when my phone rang.
“Hi,” she said cheerily. “It’s Julie!”
Such enthusiasm.
What to do? Confront her? Beg her to come over? Act the innocent. I couldn’t decide so simply said, “hello.”
“Sorry I didn’t call you back sooner. Been busy with classes and at the paper. Plus my folks needed me to help out at the store.”
The brazenness!
At least two of her excuses were bald-faced lies. It was too much, I couldn’t let this stand.
“Julie you don’t work at the school paper and you don’t have parents who own a produce store.”
There was a pause during which if it were actually possible to, I would have died of curiosity. Would she fess up and explain herself? Or compound the lies? Maybe she’d realize the jig was up and end the call.
But no. Julie Yuan (or whoever) was full of surprises.
“Can I come over so we can fool around?”
“I assume we’ll talk first.”
“For sure!”
“Okay,” I said meekly, realizing that despite it all I was weak at the knees at the thought of making love to this angel again.
“I’m right outside.”
The next sound I heard was her knocking at my front door.
This is weird and interesting, I thought.
Julie Yuan walked into my house and without a word started kissing me. I was powerless to resist.
She maneuvered me to the sofa, sat me down then pulled off her clothes, prompting me to do the same. The sweet innocent girl who’d interviewed me a few days prior had transformed into a seductress. I loved it.
We fucked on the floor, knocking over my coffee table in the process.
After, we wordlessly went to bed.
Finally she spoke. “Let me know when you’re ready for round two.”
“Who ARE you?”
“My name is Julie Yuan.”
“Is it really?”
“I promise.”
“Why all the lies?”
“I didn’t lie about you being my favorite writer.”
“Did you lie about having had only one previous sexual encounter.’
“Oh most definitely,” she answered with a laugh.
“That doesn’t surprise me given how…”
“Given what?”
“Just the way you are.” (I meant in bed.)
“Thanks — I guess.”
“Why the other lies and what is your real story?”
“Hush,” Julie said while placing a hand gently over my mouth.
Julie Yuan never told anything more about herself. Not whether she had a job or went to school or where she was from or her actual age or where she lived. She visited several nights a week for three months. We always made love, we always showered together and she always made breakfast. But I learned nothing about her nor why she’d lied. I thought about going through her purse while she was in the bathroom but couldn’t bring myself to it. Why? Was I afraid of what I’d find? I accepted the mystery realizing that it added to my passion for Julie. My constant desire for her was all encompassing.
I had no idea where she went or what she did when she was not with me. She never answered her calls or texts. I thought of following her but it seemed too strange.
Finally one morning she announced: “I have to move on.”
“What?”
“I’ve had a lot of fun with you but it’s time.”
“No! Why?”
“Because it’s time, silly. You’ve been great. This has been great but it’s time.”
“I’ll marry you!” I was desperate but meant it just the same.
“You would, really?”
My hopes up, I said, “yes as soon as possible. Today, even.”
“That’s so sweet.”
“So what do you say?” I wasn’t in love so much as I was addicted.
“Let me go for a walk and think about it.”
I never saw her again.
A private investigator I hired couldn’t find a clue as to who Julie Yuan was or where she’d gone.
It was two years ago today that I last saw her. I received a postcard from Hawaii in the mail this morning. “Hi! Been thinking of you. We had great times. If you’re ever in Honolulu look me up. I’m still single and my name really is Julie Yuan.”
I’ll be on flight to Hawaii first thing tomorrow morning.
