My unreleased sexual desire

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-23

"Indeed, I was in pain, but I am no longer in pain. I am intoxicated by it, because this is the sunlight and shadow, the heat and the cold that I feel deep in the air, all the way to the heart of the house." I desperately miss the last night I spent with Chen Jia, the last time I didn't fulfill her body.
The winter in the southern coastal city wasn't cold. The layers of leaves outside the window gently brushed against the light of the streetlights and the moon, illuminating her flawless body, while my body sank into the dark bedroom. She was intoxicated, her hands on the wardrobe, her back to me, her hips swaying beneath me, making provocative, unintelligible sounds.
I was burning with unbearable heat, my penis throbbing between her buttocks, separated only by a thin fabric. I finally couldn't resist the urge to pull down her panties and thrust wildly into her wet, hot flesh. I wanted to hear her clumsy, pleading, unforgettable yet forgotten moans of confusion. But she said no. All the eroticism came to an abrupt halt. "No."
I took a deep breath, kissing her back in the moonlight, her breasts sliding in my hands, her nipples erect.
"No." After that winter day, for countless days and nights, I ignored this obvious rejection in my fantasies, roughly yet carefully tying a pink silk scarf around her slender wrists, turning her breasts, waist, and buttocks into toys for my lust.
It was already past midnight when I saw her off on the airport bus. I returned home, pulled out my ravenously hungry genitals, and ejaculated on the nude photos she had left on my phone.
We had known each other for five years then—and perhaps only ever for five. In the third year of our acquaintance, I became infatuated with her. At school, she rejected me, citing her heavy workload, but instead started a relationship with my roommate. Their relationship lasted until the summer after exams, though I wasn't entirely sure about the details. After graduation, I almost completely cut off contact with my classmates and left the country six months later, feeling incredibly lonely. I once went to an underground brothel dressed casually, groomed my pubic hair, wore a pink scarf, and even sprayed some A&F behind my ears. Fourteen said I was insecure, afraid the prostitutes would look down on me, but I didn't comment. A short Chinese man greeted me, smiling and calling out to the purple inner room, "A handsome Chinese guy!" I asked him timidly what to do, and he teased me, asking if it was my first time in such a place, adding, "Do whatever you want." He pointed me to a bedroom, where prostitutes took turns introducing themselves by their stage names. The initial nervousness of entering a brothel vanished instantly: these girls were undeniably ugly. I took the night bus home, took off my clothes, and breathed a sigh of relief.
Before all that, Chen Jia was pure. The English teacher would mockingly ask her questions the boys couldn't answer. She would answer, her lips and tongue greedily sucking and licking my penis those nights, her mouth swallowing and releasing my testicles with a erotic slur. She spoke with what was probably the only truly authentic accent in that small county school. It was also on our last night, when our bodies were entangled, that she asked me, "Do you like me being slutty?"
Perhaps no one at the time would have imagined that her first time having sex was with me. I don't know if that "everyone" included her and me. But back then, I had no sexual fantasies about her; no one would have sexual fantasies about the English class representative in her school uniform. But, for example, after evening self-study, occasionally a pair of black stockings would step past behind the school building. At that time, the school uniform on her upper body wasn't a school uniform anymore. The black stockings went into the garbage room, the stench and two men spreading over her body, tearing apart the blue school uniform that awaited being torn apart—the uniform that had danced during the flag-raising ceremony, sat upright on the award stage, and undulated on the penis of the homeroom teacher or math teacher. No one wanted to make a sound near the trash can, except for moans and the squelching sounds of water.
The girl in Class 5 wasn't a so-called "school prostitute." What she enjoyed was taking a few male classmates to the clock tower for group sex during evening self-study, because rumors circulated that several students had died there. But no one went to the clock tower because of those rumors; they went to share the fresh-faced beauty of their class with others. At first, she always wore a satisfied, lewd smile, lying on several pairs of smelly male school trousers and underwear, moaning wantonly, hoping to wake up the dean's penis downstairs so he could reprimand her.
But as five or six real penises took turns penetrating her young vagina, she sometimes wondered if she had underestimated the burgeoning sexual desires of male high school students. The only difference was that her affected moans at first were just to enjoy the boys' comical expressions, but now they were out of control, babbling incoherently:
"My waist, my waist can't take it anymore, I, I love you." Her slender body twisted in the sweaty male forehands, her slightly raised white breasts and tattered black stockings stained with so much semen, it was truly impossible to know who she loved.
But the English class representative's uniform was a uniform, and the English class representative's uniform could not be taken off. She maintained her chastity in front of all of us, and I maintained my chastity in front of her—except for my first girlfriend coming from the city to our school, climbing over the wall to let me play with her huge breasts, and then turning around and getting angry at me for just venting my anger; or later, when I was dating a girl in the same grade, we would French kiss in the middle of the playground, our sweet, soft lips then entering her other mouth, and the students jogging at night would faintly hear her moans and think she was crying, and the next day they would feel that the fair-skinned girl's singing voice on the campus singer's stage sounded so familiar.
Then there was that girl from Class 5, who claimed she only allowed her own classmates to penetrate her vagina, yet she was still blindfolded by several teachers, her body bound with ropes, and her vaginal fluids gushing out, soaking the school magazine. A boy who mistakenly entered the mailroom said that the grade leader led the way, ejaculating into that slut's anus, and afterwards every hole was filled with semen, only the blindfolded ones escaped. I've always despised this childish tribalism, yet secretly fawns over superiors—it's the most shameless politics.
In the men's restroom stall, I convinced myself to punish her by strangling her with weapons and violence, but she sucked me dry, leaving her delicate face covered in two or three days' worth of semen, like a stall set up.
She later said she quickly washed her face and went to class, but I didn't see her come out.
All of this was far from the deserted beach. We arrived in the town at dusk, and Chen Jia took off her shoes and waded in the sea like a child. I told her not to go too far, but she complained that I was being nosy. Then I worried she'd catch a cold in the winter. When she came back, she was holding a nearly perfect seashell. When I saw it, all I could think of were her breasts—the breasts from the night before, the breasts from tonight. I immediately pulled her into my arms and gently caressed them.
If it weren't for the late hour and the chilly air, I would have loved to make love with her on the beach; even a passing dog might have joined in. But we just went into a seafood restaurant we passed. I reached across the table to touch her hand, and overheard the black waitress at the next table speaking French, so I exchanged a few words. Chen Jia asked me if the waitress thought we were a couple. I don't know how she understood, but I said yes anyway.
She was a little drunk that day. When we got home, I put her on the bed, smelled her scent, and slowly pulled off her clothes. She didn't seem to react much. I retaliated by French kissing her—but there was nothing to retaliate against. I just bit her lips, forcing her to make sounds that aroused my desire, sucking on her tongue, and forcefully drawing a part of her body into mine. Satisfied, I removed her skirt and stockings, and finally, as if in a ritual, unhooked her bra. Suddenly, she asked me to blindfold her.
In the darkness, Chen Jia responded passionately, and we rummaged through her body, fondling her perfect—perfect—breasts. The first night, she asked me to massage them gently, softly, saying that others could feel something when massaged gently, so why couldn't I? Later, after returning to central China, she slept with a middle-aged German man, asking me why she preferred to embrace me to that German.
Later, I stopped gently kneading her. It wasn't to release my pent-up desires; she was simply too perfect—full, firm, and upright, yet soft, as if she existed solely to summon my humiliation. Her hard, small nipples teased my palms, further arousing the lust surging within me. She groped to get up, wanting to sit on top of me. I had told her my earlobes were sensitive, and she obediently teased me. My penis pressed against her soaked panties, while she slowly kissed my upper body, finally burying her flushed cheeks in my messy pubic hair. My penis felt like it was about to explode.
I got up and threw her onto the bed, interlocking my fingers and holding her down, kissing her. I used one hand to fumble for a condom in the drawer and inserted it into her desire.
"Mmm—" Chen Jia cried out wantonly, her voice cracking, biting her lip again, sticking out her tongue to seduce me, to let me fuck her, to let me fuck her mouth, to let me fuck her body. I almost lost consciousness. I got up and put one of her feet in my mouth. She screamed even louder; my Irish roommate's father couldn't possibly have missed it.
Perhaps because it was her first time having sex, I never did it from behind. That might be a regret. Later, we went to the bathroom together to shower and bumped into my roommate's father. Chen Jia was showering with hot water, and I hugged her from behind. She felt my penis harden again and said in a trembling voice that she had bled a little and was a little scared. So I stopped.
After returning to the bedroom, I wrote a letter to my friend. She realized the letter was from a girl and was unhappy, muttering that my French accent was unpleasant. I was a little annoyed. Later, we went back to bed, and she asked me to tell her what book I had read. I briefly recounted the professor's introduction to Silas. She looked pleased, thinking I was nothing special, and her admiration for me diminished a bit. She kept muttering to herself, seemingly intentionally so I could hear: "We're just friends with benefits."
I don't quite remember what songs we played in bed those days, but she seemed to have written them down in her notes.
I couldn't possibly know what song was playing then, because she didn't want to see me again, and even harbored resentment towards me, but I didn't know why. She returned to China before me. After I returned, I went to a school near her once, and asked someone to contact her. She told me to get as far away as possible. I couldn't be tactless, yet I felt willing to endure her insults again and again. I always fantasized about penetrating her on that wet, final night, the huge construction site next to the middle school deserted, where not the souls of the deceased drifted but shattered fantasies. My last memory, my earliest memory: I wanted to lean against her wet hair in the classroom, but she moved away; I spread her legs and saw her dark pubic hair; I bent down to tie her shoelaces; I praised her breasts, and she scoffed at my praise, thinking I must say that to all girls; I drew a clumsy sketch of her; I photographed her naked body like a plaster still life. I didn't send her the postcard we agreed on.
After Chen Jia left, I couldn't release that sexual desire. The turbid, thin semen kept spurting out and flowing out. I think it's just sexual desire.
[The End]

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