Why do cows eat grass?

page views:1 Publication date:2023-06-09 18:54:14

Three years ago, one afternoon, I was heading back from D University on the 718 bus. The bus was relatively empty, so I found a seat and took a book out of my bag to read.

Before I knew it, I had arrived at R University. It was rush hour, and the bus was packed with people. One of them sat next to me, but I was so engrossed in my book that I didn't notice who it was.

The bus passed Zhongguancun and was almost at B University. I put my book away and prepared to get off. That's when I noticed a young woman sitting next to me, wearing a black dress, with long, flowing hair and a delicate black leather handbag on her lap. Her hands rested softly on the handbag, their curves beautiful, white and slender.

I couldn't help but follow her arms and glance at her. My heart skipped a beat: "My God, stunning!"

Her skin was incredibly fair, her lips and nose well-defined, her eyes slightly lowered, her expression serene, and she was staring straight ahead, her posture elegant and reserved, exuding an indescribable charm.

My mind was in turmoil, but I maintained a calm facade, thinking, "How can I strike up a conversation with her?" I was only two stops away from where I was getting off at the west gate of B University, less than ten minutes away.

Just then, my phone rang. I opened the flip phone; the automatic antenna silently rose. I grunted a few times, quickly hung up my friend's call, closed the flip, and the antenna silently lowered again. It was a secondhand Korean phone I'd just bought, and what I liked most about it was the automatic antenna function.

The young woman next to me seemed to glance at it curiously. Seizing the opportunity, I smiled at her and waved my phone: "It's a secondhand Korean phone, with an automatic antenna." She smiled reservedly but didn't reply.

I said, "Do you live in Xiyuan?" The 718 bus terminates in that area; most people on the bus go there. She nodded with a smile.

I had briefly worked in direct sales, and I knew that when striking up a conversation with a stranger in public, you absolutely couldn't panic. You had to act as if no one else was around, and your tone had to be calm and natural; otherwise, the other person would definitely feel awkward, and then you'd have no chance.

So, while putting my phone in my pocket, I casually stared at her and asked, "White-collar worker? You look like one."

She smiled slightly, "No." Her voice was very pleasant, with a sweet, delicate quality.

I continued, "You're not a student, are you?" She clearly didn't look like one, but I said it on purpose.

Sure enough, she trembled slightly and laughed happily, "No! --- How could I? I'm a teacher." My heart skipped a beat. Hmm, a teacher is good; they're usually less shy.

So I said, "Oh, you got on the bus at R University. Are you a teacher there? I know R University well; I have many classmates there." I implied that I was a student; students are generally less wary of strangers. Actually, I had already graduated.

She seemed a little embarrassed, as if afraid of being misunderstood, "Ah, how could I teach at a university? I'm just a primary school teacher." Her tone and expression revealed a lack of confidence, quite incongruous with her beauty. I immediately judged that she was the kind of young woman who had been pampered by her husband for a long time and didn't have much social experience. So I nodded slightly: "Yes, we're in the same line of work." She frowned slightly, surprised, and asked, "You're a primary school teacher too?"

What a load of rubbish! I'm preparing for graduate school entrance exams; I'm unemployed. I didn't answer her, looking rather mysterious, and smiled. The car had already passed the South Gate; time was running out. I was anxious. Gaining favor through conversation was pointless; the most important thing was getting her contact information.

Seeing the phone hanging around her neck, I suddenly had a bright idea. I leaned closer to look: "Yes, Motorola 8081, the new one." She nodded.

"What's the number?" By this time, I had the phone in my hand, my fingers tapping on the keys, deliberately drawing out the words, muttering: "13――――――." Whether it worked or not depended on this. To be honest, I'm not unpleasant to look at; I wear glasses, have a refined and scholarly appearance, and give off a friendly vibe. I wondered if my brief conversation had made her feel some favor or curiosity towards me.

She giggled, "What are you doing? You're so funny!"

I said softly, "Just trying it out, see what your ringtone is." She hesitated for a moment, glancing to the side.

Actually, all I wanted was her phone number, which she knew perfectly well, but she seemed a little excited and curious about my approach. Her face flushed slightly, and she quickly read the number aloud. I focused intently, afraid of misremembering a single digit, and quickly entered the number, letting out a sigh of relief.

The bus was almost at the west gate. I stood up, and in the instant I squeezed past her, I gave her a sly smile and whispered, "I'll call you." She leaned to the side, glanced at me, and her face suddenly flushed slightly. As

soon as I got off the bus, I dialed her number. The bus hadn't even left yet; I could see half of her body from outside. The phone rang twice, and I saw her put it to her ear: "Hello—" Her voice was indeed pleasant, softly ringing in my ear.

I said decisively, "It's me!"

She paused for a moment, then smiled, "I knew it was you."

I said, "Sister, I still don't know your name."

She turned her head to look out the window, and I waved to her. She seemed to smile, and I heard her say, "My surname is Tian." Then she spoke faster and threatened in a low voice, "Don't you dare call me."

I said, "Don't worry, Sister Tian, I'll only call you when I miss you."

She said, "You're so cheeky."

I immediately declared, "I'm not cheeky at all, I'm honest, and I've never been in a relationship." She laughed. I guessed there were many people around her, so I said, "Sister Tian, I'll call you again when you get home. I'll hang up now."

I muttered to myself, "Surname Tian, surname Tian." I quickly grabbed a notebook to write it down; I have a bad memory and often mispronounce people's names. I felt a little more at ease after writing it down, and a surge of excitement and joy welled up inside me: "My God, she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen! I never thought I'd get her contact information so easily."

Women love fantasy and romance, and perhaps that's why I was able to keep in touch with Sister Tian by phone? For the next month, Sister Tian and I talked on the phone about once a week on average. Each time, I didn't dare say too much, afraid that we'd run out of things to say and that would be the end of it. So each time, I pretended to be a diligent student, keeping the call to a mere three minutes, giving her the impression that I had a fulfilling life, was witty and humorous, often thought of her, but wasn't clingy.

Gradually, I learned some things about Sister Tian: her name was Tian Rongrong, she liked reading and listening to music, her husband was a high school classmate who worked in foreign trade and frequently traveled abroad or to various cities in China for work. I reckon she spent half her time alone in her room, and I felt a restless, itchy desire to go out with her. But Rongjie wouldn't easily agree to go out with someone. Besides, to be honest, even if she did, I was worried I couldn't handle her; after all, her beauty was far beyond anything I'd ever managed with before.

After my friends found out about my "stunning encounter" on the bus, they'd often blurt out, "So? Got her?"

At first, I'd say, "Damn, she's a beauty! It's not that easy to win her over!" Later, they got impatient, and I got anxious too, thinking, "She's just a woman, call her out, if I can't win her over, so be it!"

I started asking Rongjie out, and every time she said she couldn't come, I felt a sense of relief. After a few days, the longing intensified, and I hated myself for not being decisive enough. Finally, one evening, I called. Sister Rong's lazy voice said, "Who is it?"

I said, "Sister Rong, it's me."

She said, "Oh, it's you. What's up?"

I probed first, "What are you doing?"

She was silent for a while, then suddenly said mischievously, "Take a shower!"

I exclaimed, "Wow! I'll peek through the phone."

She chuckled, "Go ahead and look! You can look all you want!"

I felt myself getting hard, swallowed, and laughed, "Just kidding. I got a few concert tickets tonight, wanna go?" Actually, I did have a few tickets, but I'd already given them away.

She said, "Never mind, I'm too lazy."

I said, "No, I went through so much trouble to get them." I secretly planned that if she agreed to come out, I'd immediately ask my friend for the tickets back—a shameless act, perhaps.

She said, "Um—my husband won't let me go out!" There was a hint of coquettishness in her voice.

I was startled: "Your husband's home?!"

She said, "No!" Another burst of giggles.

I was laughing so hard I was practically drooling, my mouth dry and sweating profusely. I blurted out, "That's settled then! You shouldn't stay home all the time; you should live a healthier life. It's settled then, I'll be waiting for you at the west gate of B University in half an hour!"

She quickly replied, "Hey—! I'm still taking a shower, half an hour isn't enough!" She

'd finally fallen for my trick! I quickly agreed, "Okay, forty-five minutes then! I'll wait for you!"

She hesitated, then said, "Okay, then."

I hung up immediately. I called a friend, and damn it! The concert tickets had changed hands several times; I wonder which bastard had gotten them to scam girls. But then I thought, what's there to be afraid of? I'm single, I'll just scam them first!

When Sister Rong got out of the car, I was still startled; she was even prettier than I'd imagined. Last time, because I was in a rush and only focused on getting her contact information, I only saw her profile.

Today she wore a beige, side-buttoned, tight-fitting blouse that accentuated her ample bosom. Her long, flowing black hair cascaded down her shoulders, and a pleated floral skirt swayed gently beneath. Having just showered, she was radiant and breathtakingly beautiful. Her eyes held an invisible weight that seemed to press down on one, making it hard to breathe.

I stood there, trembling with fear, trying to bolster my courage: "Damn it, don't be afraid! Don't be afraid! She's just a woman!"

Unexpectedly, she seemed to remember me quite well, recognizing me at a glance. She smiled slightly: "What are you staring at?" Her smile was like a completely different person. Her beauty was no longer breathtaking, but rather gentle and inviting, like a spring breeze, warm and charming, with a touch of playful coquettishness.

I knew her voice very well. I let out a sigh and smiled at her, "Let's go." I crossed the road first and headed towards the west gate. After she crossed, she looked up hesitantly at the entrance of B University, her brows furrowing slightly, and asked, "Is it inside the campus?"

I deliberately gave her a slightly mocking, provocative look and said, "Yeah, let's talk inside." She glanced at me again, as if to say, "Who's afraid of who?" and followed me inside. I didn't say a word and kept walking forward. After crossing the small bridge, she stopped and said, "One, two, three—I'm not messing around with you anymore! If you don't tell me, I'm leaving."

I pretended to be wicked, "Haha, you got tricked today! Don't think you can get away." She glared at me contemptuously and snorted. I said shamelessly, "There's no concert, but if you want to hear it, I can give you a few shouts with my hoarse voice." She chuckled and nodded, "Okay! Okay! I'll try shouting now." Without hesitation, I opened my mouth wide, but before I could utter a sound, she grabbed my arm. "Are you crazy? Someone heard you!" I glanced nervously at the security guard behind me.

Unexpectedly, she had touched my innocent body first! The spot where I was pinched left a lingering, unforgettable sensation. I stared blankly at her bare, sleeveless white arm, unable to believe that hand had touched me.

She seemed used to being stared at; her face returned to that faint expression of pride and disdain. I'm dizzy! At this rate, I'm definitely going to be in trouble. I composed myself and said seriously, "Sister Rong, unfortunately, my friend stole the concert ticket I had in my pocket. I guess I'll have to compensate by reciting a few poems by the nameless lake."

Unexpectedly, she curled her lip and gave me a light push on the back, "Alright, let's go, let's listen to your poetry!" Then she added, "Don't just stand there like a statue, empty-headed." Smiling slightly, she herded me towards the nameless lake like an escorting prisoner.

When we arrived at the nameless lake, I breathed a sigh of relief. Hehe, at the nameless lake, I've won over countless girls. This is my lucky place! How could it not boost my confidence?

On a summer evening, the nameless lake was breezy and cool. The lights were dim and perfect. The lake surface shimmered, willows drooped low, and the reflection of the Bowang Pagoda was still in the water. Along the paths, couples strolled side by side. Being there made one's thoughts wander, and one's heart feel intoxicated.

Walking beside me was Sister Rong, who seemed both familiar and unfamiliar, emanating a faint, almost imperceptible fragrance. My heart, pounding with apprehension, trembled uncontrollably. Clutching my unpredictable penis, I walked forward, puzzled.

Lost in thought, I was suddenly nudged by a pair of soft hands behind my back. Sister Rong said, "Where are you going? Hurry up and recite some poetry!"

I looked around and saw that the lake was wide and open, directly opposite the Bowang Pagoda. So I said, "Okay, stand still, I'm going to start reciting poetry!" I struck a pose, facing forward, first taking a horse stance, then taking a deep breath, just as I was about to exhale and speak, when Sister Rong gave me a push on the back. She bent over, panting and laughing, "Don't be silly—you! Is that how you recite poetry?"

I said seriously, "Don't bother me, you've pushed all my inspiration away! Hmm, I still have a little bit left, let's start with one." I stood up straight again, stretching my hands forward: "Ah! Bowang Tower!—Small at the top, big at the bottom!—One day it will be upside down—small at the bottom, big at the top!"

Sister Rong giggled, her soft hands gently patting my shoulders and back, like tender willow branches in early spring lightly brushing against me, making my heart itch and intoxicated. I immediately placed my hands on her two bare, bent arms, the cool, soft skin feeling incredibly comfortable. Just as I was about to seize the opportunity to put my arms around her shoulders, she suddenly stopped laughing and casually pulled her hand away. My body trembled, and my already erect penis stubbornly remained standing.

Sister Rong smiled, glanced at me, and seemed to see through my intentions, her body shifting away from me warily. I swallowed hard; it seemed I would have to find another opportunity.

I deliberately led her to a dimmer area, through a narrow path hidden by trees. In the dim light, Sister Rong's face was not clearly visible, but the blurred shadows of her eyes and nose were even more alluring. As she walked, her waist swayed gracefully, exuding a captivating charm of a young woman. When I got closer, she radiated a faint warmth, making me imagine her warm and soft body; if I were to embrace her, I would surely moan.

My God! The moon was dark, the wind was gentle, and a stunningly beautiful young woman accompanied me! My mouth was dry, and all I wanted was to find an opportunity to pin her down in a secluded place and ravage her—

the darkness deepened as we walked, and just as my blood was boiling with desire, I suddenly realized no one was following me. Turning around, I saw her standing a few steps away, looking rather strange. I asked, "What's wrong?"

She hesitated, gazing at the dark path ahead, and said, "I don't want to walk anymore, I'm tired."

I said, "Then—let's find a place to sit." I cursed inwardly: She's a married woman, what's with the pretense? Then I thought: Damn it, she's a married woman after all, not as easy to fool as those silly girls.

She said, "Okay."

Reluctantly, I had to turn back. My little brother, you'll have to wait a bit longer tonight. Without a word, my little brother angrily turned around and followed me towards the lake. There was a chair there; I'd kissed five girls on it before, hoping to add another one to the list tonight.

The spot I chose was excellent, close to the lake but a bit far from the path, neither too conspicuous nor too dark or secluded, with a breeze from all sides and few mosquitoes. Unfortunately, good spots are always taken. Tonight, it was a man, sitting alone, looking rather nervous. I guessed he was some talented but impotent fellow, restless and looking for a thrill.

Seeing someone there, Sister Rong whispered, "Let's find another spot." I whispered a few words in her ear, and she lightly slapped me, saying, "You're so naughty." I tugged at her hand, and together we went behind the man, our expressions serious, staring straight ahead, completely still.

The man noticed someone behind him and shifted uncomfortably, but remained seated. After a while, he finally couldn't resist glancing back at us, but my expression remained unmoved. He waited a moment, then got up and left, looking dejected. Once he was out of sight, Sister Rong finally couldn't hold back and burst out laughing.

I said, "Miss, please sit down! Don't be so polite."

Sister Rong tossed her slender hand into the air, laughing breathlessly, "You're so naughty!" She sat down, her face flushed after laughing, a faint smile lingering on her lips, her captivating appearance almost tempting.

I sat beside her, listening to her softly say, "It's been so long since I've been this happy." A surge of joy welled up inside me, which I tried to conceal.

Sister Rong gazed dreamily at the gentle ripples of the lake, lightly kicking her feet, and said, "Hmm—this place is so nice. Do you come here often?"

I said, "Yes, I always come here when I'm feeling down." My voice softened, taking on a slightly hypnotic huskiness, implying that she could come here more often when she felt down, and then I would be there to keep her company.

Sister Rong looked longingly at me: "Hmm, it's so good to be young."

I chuckled and said, "My God! You're not much older than me, you look like my little sister."

Sister Rong said, "Get lost, I'm almost old enough to be your—" She mumbled at the end and turned away shyly. I guessed she originally wanted to say "almost old enough to be your mother," but realized it wasn't quite right, so she glossed over it.

Sister Rong was indeed much older than me, almost thirty, but she looked very young, especially her temperament, charming with a touch of innocence, and she loved to fantasize, in some ways even more immature than me. Her husband was her high school classmate, very outstanding since childhood, and had always protected her, probably because she was inexperienced in the ways of the world.

However, a good child who has been outstanding since childhood may have fewer ways to enjoy life in the bedroom, it seems I can try something new to satisfy her lust and make her unable to stop—thinking of this, I couldn't help but smile.

(II)

Sister Rong said, "What are you thinking about? You're acting crazy!"

My instinct was to say: I was thinking about you. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them back—too corny! So I revised them slightly, saying, "I was thinking about you—what kind of person are you?"

She looked thoughtful. "Oh? What kind of person am I?" Her eyes glanced at me, and the tone of her words changed slightly, clearly carrying a hint of wariness.

I thought to myself, then quickly masked it with praise: "You must be the kind of woman who would enthrall me, I think."

Seeing that she didn't react much, I guessed she'd heard this kind of thing too often, so I quickly added, "However—there are also things that disappoint me!"

She looked at me intently, and I continued, "How should I put it? Your life seems to lack warmth, that is to say, it lacks passion!" Hehe, if I could have a wild love affair with you, that would be considered passionate, right?

She pretended to be indifferent and said, "Go on."

I got excited, not replying at first, but instead straightening my posture in a pretentious manner, and suddenly grabbed that little hand I had been drooling over, saying, "Hmm, you can see more from palmistry."

My god, this hand was soft, white, and smooth, incredibly delicious.

She instinctively tried to pull her hand away, but I held it tightly until she gave up. Only then, feigning gentlemanly politeness and unwillingness to take advantage of a girl, did I release her, pinching her wrist with two fingers while the rest spread out like delicate orchids. I figured this gave women a more unusual tactile experience.

She looked at me with disdain and suspicion, her body tilting to one side, but she let me hold her hand. I knew I wouldn't get past this without some real skill. Luckily, I studied Chinese, so I first memorized a couple of profound classical Chinese phrases, then spoke a few lines based on my impressions of her, adding inspiration as I went, until I even believed my own words.

My other hand kept touching her, launching a skin attack from different angles, directions, and pressures. It's said that top masters can bring women to orgasm with just hand contact. Of course, I didn't have that ability; I only ended up with a dry mouth and hot breath. And she, though sitting closer, seemed to be a virtuous woman.

However, thanks to the "palm reading," we were close enough that our shoulders and arms were almost touching, and through the thin fabric of her shirt, our skin pressed together, allowing me to fully feel her softness. The conversation gradually drifted to more sensitive emotional matters.

After learning that her husband was her first love, I kept pleading on her behalf, spouting a bunch of philosophical arguments about "experiencing life" to dismantle her husband's policy of keeping her ignorant.

She asked me defiantly, "And what about you?"

I said, "Me? I know a lot of girls."

She frowned and asked, "Why do you do that?"

I pondered for a moment, then suddenly stared into her eyes and asked, "Why do cows eat grass?"

She was stunned by my question.

I said, "Cows are born with a rather hard life; their only love is eating grass. But grass, growing in the ground, will wither and turn yellow if not eaten by cows in time, looking unsightly, and eventually it will die. When the grass is tender, it offers itself to the cow that loves it most, and the cow eats the grass, produces dung, and nourishes the grass—that's love."

I continued, "Can a cow be full from eating just one blade of grass? No. So it has to keep eating, and the dung keeps nourishing more grass, and the beautiful grassland is born—that's a great life."

Sister Rong chuckled and smacked me twice: "What's wrong with your head?!"

My back felt tingly from her slaps. I turned around and saw her leaning back in her chair, her head tilted back softly, her eyes gazing at the starry sky, a slight smile on her lips, as if pondering what I had just said.

She lay on her back, her chest high, forming a prominent curve, her soft, slender belly trembling with each breath, while her lower body, full and fleshy, sat steadily on the chair, her posture graceful and alluring, as if she were receiving rain and dew. A gentle breeze blew, and my face felt as if touched by a ghost, a stinging unease rising within me.

I slowly leaned closer to her, when suddenly, she gasped, turning and sitting up abruptly, her face flushed, giving me a startled and reproachful look. I stiffened my neck and turned to the lake, watching a piece of flesh float away in the wind.

We were both silent for a long while. I picked up a stone and tossed it into the lake; with a "splash," a wave splashed. I walked to the lakeside, staring blankly at the water, without turning back, and called out, "Come here!"

She said, "What?" and quietly walked over.

I squatted down, my fingers tracing the surface of the water, and said, "Wash your feet with the water from the Mysterious Lake." My voice was full of temptation. Hmm, the lake water at least looked clear.

She was wearing high heels and no stockings, sitting on a rock by the lake, her feet dangling down, almost touching the water, her toes barely touching the surface, as if she too had an urge to wash them.

"Come," I said softly, extending my hand, "we're destined to meet, let me wash your feet for you."

In the moment of her hesitation, I grabbed one of her feet, pinched her ankle, took off her shoe, and immersed it in the water, kneading her toes with my hands. The movements were fluid and seamless; even I felt like a professional foot masseur.

I lifted her foot out of the water, water droplets dripping continuously from her feet into the lake. In the dim light, I finally began to appreciate her beautiful feet.

Her toes were white and soft, not slender, yet plump to the touch. Not plump, yet delicate and well-proportioned. They were as tender as a child's, with a graceful curve from the ankle up to the calf. Holding them in my hands was like holding a work of art; yet, they felt alive.

Feet are a woman's genitals, something I had never really understood before, but now I felt it deeply. With varying degrees of pressure, I kneaded, massaged, pulled, and twisted her feet, occasionally scooping up a handful of water to wet her insteps. After washing one foot, I moved on to the other.

A gentle breeze rippled across the lake, the water gurgling clear. I was reminded of washing cabbage hearts by the stream as a child. As I washed, I savored the intoxicating tenderness and thrill, afraid to look up at her, lest she blush and pull her foot back.

Only when I was almost finished did I turn around. She was leaning against a rock, her face flushed, biting her lip, her expression a mixture of emotion and shyness.

I couldn't resist picking up her foot and kissing it. My hand moved, and she quickly pulled her foot back.

She moved, and I moved too. I stood up and leaned towards her. She took two steps back, supporting herself with her hands, before turning around and embracing me from behind. This series of movements, as if in perfect sync, silent and seamless, was like a dance.

I buried my face behind her ear, my heart pounding. She was panting softly, and began to struggle, whispering, "No—don't do this—you can't!" I held her tightly, preventing her from moving, panting, "Stop it! It'll be bad if someone sees us." The words that should have been spoken by her were spoken by me first.

Just then, two people walked by on the path. She paused, women often slow to react in crucial moments. I seized the opportunity, turning my head away from her face and capturing her lips. She made a half-uttered "mmm," but I turned her head and sealed her lips with mine.

Like someone suddenly blindfolded, she struggled in panic. I held her lips tightly, sucking hard, my lips enveloping her entire mouth, my tongue pushing against her tightly closed teeth. I breathed heavily, slightly easing the pressure on my lips, finally tasting the softness and fragrance of her lips.

I gradually loosened my grip on her body, and her body softened accordingly. Her lips trembled slightly, but she didn't try to pull away much. I pulled away from her lips, gently rubbing my face against her cheek, and pulled her into my arms. My heart pounded in my chest, and I whispered, "Sister Rong, you're so good to me."

Her voice murmured in my ear, "Oh God, it was terrifying—I'll never dare to go out with just anyone again."

I chuckled softly, gently turning her face towards me. Her eyes, as if in a dream, avoided my gaze. However, when I cupped her face and kissed her, she didn't struggle as much. Occasionally, her lips would respond. I took her lower lip in my mouth, gently biting it, then moved up, my tongue invading her mouth.

Women are just different; her tongue was soft and sweet, melting as it entered my mouth, secreting a sweet saliva that I swallowed. At that moment, I adored this delicate woman before me; I cherished everything about her. Her lips, her nose, her smooth, clear forehead, her mesmerizing eyes, her creamy, soft cheeks, her flowing black hair—all captivated me.

She said, "Are you like this with many girls?"

We were now seated back in our chairs. I gently put my arm around her shoulder, her head resting on my chin, a dark head hidden by soft hair beneath my eyelids.

I didn't know what to say, still pondering.

She looked up at me and said, "What's wrong? Is it inconvenient to say?"

I sighed; actually, I hadn't figured out how to say it.

She poked me with her hand, a hint of coquettishness in her voice: "Tell me."

I said, "The girl I truly loved left me."

Her dark eyes focused intently: "Why?"

I said, "Um—" A long silence followed.

She nudged me: "Stop stammering, just say it!"

I said helplessly, "Because she can't stand me."

She said, "She found out—you have other girls?"

I said, "No! It's because—my thing is too big, she can't handle it."

She blushed instantly, turning her head away shyly. As if pondering something. She muttered, "Bragging."

I grabbed one of her hands: "If you don't believe me, feel it." She tried to pull her hand back, but I grabbed it tightly and guided it downwards. In the end, her palm opened slightly, and the force of her pull back lessened. Hehe, give me an excuse, what woman doesn't want to touch a man's thing?

Her hand reached down deeper, her body seemingly unwilling to maintain a certain distance. It looked like she was reaching into the water to touch a fish, but afraid of getting her clothes wet.

I was wearing knee-length shorts, the kind without a zipper in the front, and my thing was half-erect, a bulging lump. I took her hand and, through the thin fabric, rubbed it against it. I pried her fingers apart into a palm shape, and her hand pressed against my penis. My hand rested on the back of her hand, and I gently massaged it.

Then I tightened her hand, and my penis, now in a rod-like shape, fell into her grasp. I swallowed hard and said, "I wasn't lying, was I?"

She bit her lip and murmured, "So-so." But her hand couldn't help but secretly continue massaging. I pulled her closer, and we nestled together quietly, gazing at the lake. To me, we were nothing special, just like any other couple by the lake, sitting properly on the chairs. But in reality, she was masturbating me.

I breathed into her ear, "Sister Rong, you're such a pervert." After a while, her hand was getting tired, and she suddenly gave up, giving me a hard squeeze before pulling her hand away. I cried out in pain, and she giggled, moving away defensively, her hands protecting her body, preventing me from getting any closer.

As if I were angry, I got up and left, suddenly going around to the back of the chair. I tugged at her long hair, pulling her face up to the sky. From behind, her features were perfectly proportioned, possessing an indescribable elegance. I punished her with a heavy kiss, my chin touching the tip of her nose, my neck covering her eyes.

She only managed a half-uttered cry: "Ah—!" before my lips were fiercely captured. A moment later, her willow-like hands climbed up and encircled my neck, this kissing position incredibly stimulating. Her lower body turned over, untouched, writhing slightly in unbearable itchiness.

My desire surged, and I suddenly broke free, moving back to the front, kneeling before her, looking up at her, my hands on her soft, yielding legs, panting heavily: "Sister Rong." My hands on her legs trembled, my eyes burning.

Sister Rong breathed heavily, her breasts heaving, her eyes glazed, looking at me with a sense of utter weakness. In that instant, we both knew what the other wanted.

I couldn't help but bury my face between her legs, intoxicated and frantic, desperately inhaling the heat and fragrance of her breath. My arms encircled her lower back. I felt like a child nestled in my mother's arms. Her hands rested on my head, gently stroking it.

Suddenly, an even more insane thought entered my mind. I lifted her skirt, buried my head inside, revealing her bare, smooth thighs. The skirt covered my head and back, and in a daze, I kissed her passionately.

Sister Rong let out a soft cry: "God—!" Her hands pressed against my head through the skirt, her legs trembling uncontrollably.

I spread her legs apart, bringing my head close to her genitals. My cheek brushed against the smooth, burning skin of her inner thighs. My nose touched her panties, and I tried licking them with my tongue; her thin lace panties were already soaked.

I reached inside, pulling at her panties. Her buttocks lifted slightly, and with a tear, the panties were pulled up to her thighs, then quickly pulled down and stuffed into my pocket.

I pulled her buttocks to the edge of the chair, where she lay diagonally, her skirt spread out, her legs wide open, and I licked and nuzzled between them. Her pubic hair was sparse, and where it was, the skin was warm and wriggling. Her labia were soft and irregular, like countless tiny, tender pieces of flesh, wet and utterly lewd.

I could feel her legs trembling slightly, her moans intermittent, like someone injured and unable to bear the pain. Suddenly, she pressed her hands tightly against my head, preventing me from moving, and whispered, "Someone's here!" She pulled up the hem of her skirt to cover herself.

I heard light footsteps, and a few people passed by the path behind the chairs. Some chuckled, I couldn't tell if they were mocking us. However, the light was dim at night, and the chair backs blocked our view; they probably couldn't see us from the aisle.

After a long pause, feeling uncomfortably stuffy inside, I suddenly emerged from under the chair with a "whoosh." The fresh air rushed in, feeling like I was returning from another world, and I gasped for breath.

Sister Rong was slumped in the chair, her breasts heaving, looking at me sideways like a thirsty fish on the beach, her mouth slightly open, looking extremely alluring.

I pulled her onto my lap, quietly pulling down my shorts while taking her hand down and handing her something, whispering in her ear, "Sister Rong, this is for you." My penis was throbbing hot in her small hand.

Sister Rong bit her lip lightly, saying, "I don't care," but her face nestled into my chest. I gently pushed her up, lifted her skirt, and let it fall back down, covering both our thighs. My penis and her vagina were naked, her smooth, delicate buttocks pressed against my hairy lower abdomen. We sat like that for a while, my penis, still erect, pressed against her tender labia, soaked with sweat. We sat embracing, gazing at the lake, seemingly watching to see who would succumb first.

A large group of people walked past us, like a class of students, all quite old, their voices loud and their footsteps chaotic. My penis involuntarily twitched at that moment, and my hand instinctively reached down, lifting her buttocks, using a finger to guide my penis to the entrance, and warmly inserted it. The crowd, like a gust of wind, disappeared into the distance.

Her vagina wasn't very tight, but incredibly tender. The moment it entered, it felt like an ice pop melting in a cave, an indescribable pleasure. Rongjie's body sank down, the thing reached its end, then floated up again. The pressure on my lower body eased, a cool, empty feeling spread out below. As I fell, my legs grew heavier, then the thing swayed and rose straight up, riding the waves. Finally, her buttocks pressed against my lower abdomen, the soft flesh spreading heavily to both sides. This cycle repeated itself, the movements not intense, yet incredibly ecstatic.

Rongjie wasn't like some inexperienced girls, sitting heavily in one's lap, so holding her was effortless. She was lighter and more petite than I had imagined. Though not much shorter than me, she moved gracefully in my arms, like a child, a unique and delightful experience.

That night, by the nameless lake, Rongjie and I stayed quiet until two in the morning before I took her home. After that, we spoke on and off on the phone. But she refused to come out again. Until one day a month later, I suddenly received a call from her.

I said, "Sister Rong, how are you?"

She said, "Not good."

I asked with concern, "What's wrong?"

She said, "He came back today, and without regard for my wishes, he took it three times."

She added, "He doesn't care about me at all."

I said, "Oh, how could he do this?"

She said, "It's over, he packed his things and left for Nanjing."

Her voice trembled with tears, "I feel like a sex toy."

I comforted her, "Men sometimes act like this after holding back for a long time. Don't be sad, it just means he hasn't been unfaithful outside."

She cried and said, "No, he doesn't love me anymore. He wasn't like this before, I could feel it."

I said, "Don't overthink it."

She was silent for a while, then suddenly said, "I miss you."

My heart skipped a beat, warm and tender, "Baby, I miss you too. I was afraid of affecting your life, so I didn't dare to contact you."

She said, "Will you love me?"

I was filled with tenderness, not at all bothered by the sentimentality, "You are the most precious treasure in my life. I have always been grateful that God allowed me to meet you."

She said, "—I want to see you."

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