[Sharing the passion and pleasure]

page views:1 Publication date:2022-04-06

It was a rainy season. She held a bright green umbrella. The vibrant colors in my vision merged with the drifting raindrops, settling into transparent, luminous crystals. Swaying and shimmering, they touched every nerve, stimulating a sensitivity I had once thought dulled.
I felt my soul adrift, a chilling surge of lust. Though bewildered and fearful, I wanted her; though strangers, I longed to make love to her.
Often, I struggled to understand, and could hardly suppress, the unbearable, intense swelling of desire within me. It was a lurking beast, easily breaching the dam of reason, easily bringing soul and body into sync, like the shadow of a companion, intoxicated in the realm of lust.
There was no sense of filth, only intoxication.
Qian was a married woman in her thirties. She was pretty, elegant, and well-proportioned. While not possessing breathtaking beauty, her unique charm captivated my senses compared to other women.
In that rainy season, I began to be captivated by her, a stranger, my mind wandering day and night. A couple of times, I imagined her face, her body…
I felt ashamed and pained by my fantasies.
Though I tasted the wetness of climax, it was only an empty loneliness.
To get to know her, I racked my brains, meticulously planning every possible
way. My ideas were absurd and laughable, yet I couldn't resist the infatuation and longing. I've lost count of how many times I've tried to control my timidity, waiting for her at the crossroads she always passed, offering her a plausible smile, or deliberately touching her to get her attention. Then I'd say sorry.
I don't know why, but she always passed by so hastily. Like summer rain, fleeting and swift. She had no time to notice my existence. Even a casual glance from her seemed so stingy.
Human things are indeed strange sometimes; what seems complex is actually quite simple, and what seems unattainable is sometimes readily available.
By chance, I met her at a friend's celebratory dinner. She was a friend of my friend's wife. During introductions, I told her I'd seen her before. She just smiled brightly.
That evening, everyone was having fun. I invited her to dance. Suddenly, she asked me when I'd seen her before, saying she didn't remember me. My cheeks burned: "I'll tell you later."
Before leaving, I gave her my business card. I wanted to ask for her phone number, but I couldn't bring myself to ask. However, I was secretly pleased; at least I'd met her.
Later, she called me to ask for a small favor for her brother. I helped him out. Afterward, she invited me to dinner to thank me. From then on, we contacted each other more often.
My intuition told me she might like me. Although she was very tactful in her speech and behavior, or tried hard to hide her shyness, I could still glimpse a restless longing in her fleeting eyes.
Sometimes I found it hard to understand what my purpose was in liking her. My first reaction might have been admiring her beauty and a surge of sexual desire; my second reaction might have been a loss of faith in my marriage, a multitude of worries and anxieties leaving me feeling bored and depressed. I longed for happiness, yet it remained vague and elusive. In this painful helplessness, I craved a different kind of passion and affection.
As time passed, I gradually realized that I had fallen in love with Qian. My longing for her was no longer simply "sexual interest." My heart had been captured by her. My emotions gradually moved from vague to clear.
I didn't feel any harm from this dangerous thought of mine, nor from my family, or hers. I knew this thought or action was a betrayal, immoral, or despicable act. But I was powerless to stop the intense, surging demon within my heart. I could only console myself, letting the throbbing of my heart fade away with nature.
The summer night was cool and refreshing. Dry dust swirled in the city air. Streetlights shone brightly, shadows flickered, and the lights shimmered, like a scene from an Impressionist painting—fascinating yet incomprehensible.
In a coffee shop, Qian and I sat facing each other. Before I left work, she called. She said she was feeling down and wanted to talk.
She glanced at me, her eyes red-rimmed.
She: Are you happy?
Me: I wouldn't say I'm happy, but I wouldn't say
I'm unhappy either. She: I don't think I'm happy.
Me: Why?
She: I can't explain it … I feel terrible.
Me: Can you tell me?
She: I know he betrayed me, but I'm powerless to make him change his mind. I love him very much, but this love causes me pain. Me: …Have you talked to him about it? She: No. I don't want to bring it up. Me: So, does he love her? She: I don't know… She cried. She took out a tissue and wiped her tears. She gave a bitter smile: I'm so sorry. Okay, let's not talk about it anymore. Let's talk about something pleasant. I really wanted to comfort her, or explain this complex marital problem to her using my own way of thinking. But it seemed inappropriate. This kind of issue is extremely sensitive; if I didn't speak well, it would likely hurt her deeply. I smiled at her: Okay. Do you like to hear stories? She smiled at me noncommittally, seemingly absentminded: "I want to hear your story... Do you have a lover?" I laughed: "No, no." She suddenly said: "I want to drink, I want to drink baijiu (Chinese liquor)." Then, I ordered brandy. She seemed a little unhappy. After clinking glasses with me several times, her face flushed: "Could I have a cigarette?" Four hours later, we walked out of the coffee shop. The streets seemed much quieter, and scattered raindrops fell from the sky. I felt she was slightly drunk, but her mood had calmed down considerably. I said, "Let me take you home." She didn't speak for a long time, just looking at the damp, flickering lights in the distance. She said softly: "Today is my birthday." I was at a loss, speechless for a long time: "Wait for me." I ran to the flower shop across the street and bought a bunch of red roses. I turned around and ran back, and she kept smiling at me. I handed her the flowers and said apologetically: "I'm so sorry, happy birthday." She was very excited, her eyes glistening with tears: "Thank you." I hailed a taxi and took her home. We were silent the whole way. We got off the bus not far from her house. I said, "You go back, I'm leaving too." She didn't answer for a long time, her back to me. She seemed flustered: "Come sit at my place for a while! He's not here..." I was anxious and hesitant. It was indeed very late, and I deliberately glanced at my watch. Actually, I really wanted to spend more time with her. Of course, the "beast" deep inside me also suddenly awakened, its claws beginning to take over my blood, tearing and tormenting my spirit and flesh's resistance. I followed her into her house. The rain had stopped. The night wind blew through the cool air, accompanied by the dim moonlight, gradually flowing into moving musical notes, weaving and echoing among the green leaves of the sycamore trees.

I had just sat down on the sofa when my phone rang. It was my wife. She asked why I wasn't home yet. I made up an excuse. She asked if I should wait for her. I said no, you should go to sleep.
Qian made me a cup of black tea and turned on the TV. Then she sat on the sofa opposite me. She said she felt a little dizzy. I told her I shouldn't drink so much, but she insisted. Drink more water.
At that moment, I really wanted to go over and sit next to her, to tell her how much I liked her, just like when I first met her. Although the thought was burning and I longed for it, I couldn't move my feet. I blamed myself for not having any courage. I remembered that bold and reckless idea at the beginning, but now it had completely vanished. I didn't know where it had gone. My mind was a mess, I felt embarrassed and nervous.
She seemed to sense my nervousness and smiled mysteriously: "Didn't you want to tell me something?"
I knew what she was going to ask, and I felt my face burning: "What is it? I've forgotten."
She sipped her water, glanced at me, and giggled: "Do I need to say it... Okay, I won't make it difficult for you. I'll tell you the truth. I've seen you before we met."
I was surprised: "Where did we meet?"
She put down her water glass and smiled naturally: "At that intersection where you often wander around..."
I suddenly felt utterly ashamed, as if she had ripped off my mask of pretense; like a thief caught red-handed in front of everyone.
An indescribable shame made my heart pound wildly.
She suddenly walked over and half-squatted in front of me. She took my hand and looked at me with deep affection: "Do you like me?"
I couldn't suppress the panic and excitement in my heart. A surging, unrestrained undercurrent suddenly filled my veins, making me dizzy and almost faint.
I pulled her into my arms, kissing her sweet lips, panting: "I like you..."
Her passionate lips and tongue, like flower buds, exuded a fragrant aroma. Intense and mellow. My body trembled uncontrollably.
She naturally pushed me down, and I lay sprawled on the sofa. She took off my shirt and unbuckled my belt…
She knelt, prostrating herself between my legs. A powerful surge of heat, like volcanic lava, gradually spread and emanated from my groin, eroding and teasing every nerve in my body. The blissful sensation was something I had never experienced before.
I felt as if I were in a dream, or perhaps half-drunk. My body and mind were burning, light and airy, as if I were flying.
I opened my blurry eyes and stroked her hair, feeling her passion and tenderness. I could no longer control myself. My throbbing blood seemed to tear at the muscles in my chest, an uncontrollable surge and swelling intertwining, moaning, and surging…
She sat on me, taking off her clothes. She took my hand and placed it on her full breasts. Full and round. I couldn't help but caress, knead, and suckle. She closed her eyes, arched her neck, and her long hair flowed with her moans.
Her skin was smooth and moist, with a faint fragrance. My face was pressed tightly against her beautiful skin, in a dazed, intoxicated state.
I thrust into her body violently, immediately feeling her tremble. I could hardly breathe, I couldn't wake up. Accompanied by frenzied thrusts and friction, indescribable pleasure, and her moans and murmurs, swirled and floated in my mind's eye.
Her warm body pressed against mine, the post-orgasmic wetness, silent in the pauses.
I gently caressed her beautiful body, kissing her passionately…
Around one in the morning. She said, "Go home." Her expression was natural and indifferent.
I said, "I love you." She smiled slightly.
The next morning, I called her. From her conversation, I suddenly felt that she had become a stranger. Startled, I couldn't understand.
She said I should forget her. Let last night's events be as if they never happened. From now on, we will still be ordinary friends. She didn't want me to misunderstand her. She said her purpose in doing this was to retaliate against her husband's infidelity. She felt they were even now. She loved him deeply. She said she would never love another man. Then she apologized to me.
After she hung up, I suddenly felt a sharp, aching pain in my heart, as if pricked by needles. I knew she had used me, used me to achieve her psychological balance. She wouldn't like me, let alone love me. That night's climax was empty and sordid. I wanted to hate her, but I couldn't.
To her, I was insignificant and worthless. Just a sexual encounter, just a climax.
I felt my own pettiness and patheticness, and the terrible hypocrisy and childishness deep within my desires.
Standing on the vast and desolate riverbank, I suddenly thought of my wife. Guilt and remorse overwhelmed my soul, causing me immense pain. I couldn't help but sigh, letting the rain wash away the remaining mistakes and errors.

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