Reprinted from experience of a black man

page views:3 Publication date:2012-01-06

Real-life marital intimacy is not just about excitement; it's a complex mix of emotions, a bittersweet experience. It involves longing, conflict, uncertainty, thrills, and regret. On the way home from that trip to Shanghai, I kept telling myself it was the first and last time. We didn't want our lives disturbed; a simple, peaceful life is the truest. Back home, my wife was still the same as before—gentle, obedient, and dignified. Even though her vulva had been used by someone else, it remained unchanged. As the saying goes, "Pull out the radish, and it's still the same." Life returned to normal: work, home, meals, bed. Only during intimacy did I sometimes recall the scene of him entering my wife's flower, feeling a slight thrill. Life was stagnant again. If we hadn't met an American black man, perhaps things would have continued like this. I never imagined a foreigner would enter our lives; it's something I'd never considered in real life. But it happened—a rare encounter that actually happened. Ripples appeared in our otherwise mundane life, disturbing my wife's tranquil state. For the sake of convenience, I'll call him the black man.
My encounter with the Black man stemmed from a trip to Beijing. Almost a month had passed since my trip to Shanghai. During those twenty-odd days, work had gone smoothly, and I had signed a good contract with a client. In my excitement, I suddenly had the idea to travel to Beijing with my wife. Knowing that the May Day holiday was approaching and that it would be incredibly crowded—we'd learned that the hard way every year—traveling then was always stressful: tickets were hard to get, hotels were expensive, and we didn't have a car yet. So, we decided to travel early, at the end of March or beginning of April. My wife had taken leave, agreeing to make up for it during the May Day holiday, which her company was more than happy to do. We packed our bags again and embarked on our Beijing trip. If it weren't for meeting the Black man, it would have been just an ordinary trip. But unexpectedly, a true racial encounter occurred.
The weather was great these past few days, and my wife seemed particularly happy. She always liked to wear pants that covered her chest tightly. Although she wasn't very tall, she had a very well-proportioned figure, with defined curves, giving her a petite, delicate, and robust appearance. My wife was a typical Jiangnan woman: healthy, gentle, and lively. My wife has joked with me many times, saying that small things are the best, and that small things are durable, easy to use, and satisfying. Of course, this is just a joke; in most people's eyes, she's definitely not the frivolous type. Walking on the streets of this unfamiliar city, I suddenly felt much more relaxed. No longer worried about familiar faces, my wife also became much more open. Although she's a rather reserved woman in front of others, I know she's very talkative with me, especially in this strange city. She became even more talkative, glancing around constantly. A stirring of springtime feelings. "He
who has not climbed the Great Wall is not a true hero," and while climbing the Great Wall, we met him, a young African American man. Unexpectedly, my wife's heart was slowly ravaged by a foreign man for the first time. Climbing the Great Wall, as the saying goes, "He who has not climbed the Great Wall is not a true hero." LP was already panting, her round little face flushed. Walking in front of us was a tall, imposing young black man who looked to be at least 1.85 meters tall. Although LP was over thirty, she was still playful and mischievous. Upon seeing him, she suddenly ran up to him and walked alongside him, frequently turning back to make faces at me. I knew she was deliberately comparing her height with him. Although there was some distance between them, the difference in height was so great that she looked like a little girl next to a giant. You don't know until you compare; it was quite a contrast. Normally, although she's only about 1.5 meters tall, she wouldn't be much shorter than the people around us. I used to joke with her, calling her a petite beauty. Now, compared to the foreigners, the visual contrast is quite striking, which is rather amusing. Two quick snaps captured their backs. Actually, I wanted to post those two photos now, but after thinking about it, I decided against it. Just in case, we don't want our lives to be disturbed by others. My wife majored in foreign languages in university. Although she hasn't been working in her field for the past few years, she still has a certain level of English and can have simple conversations with foreigners. Clearly, the black man had also noticed the Asian woman beside him. He and my wife were whispering something, and my wife was also conversing with her in not-so-fluent English.
LP turned to me, smiling, and asked me to take a picture of them. Only then did I get a good look at him. He was probably in his thirties, about two heads taller than me, weighing around 200 pounds, very robust, with a憨憨 (simple and honest) face, dark skin, exceptionally white teeth, and thick lips that seemed slightly everted. From LP, I learned he was American. His company did trade in China, so he frequently flew between the two countries. In his spare time, he enjoyed visiting Chinese tourist attractions. He thought China was very beautiful. This time, he was visiting Beijing. He had been here two years ago, but this year, he came again. LP also smiled and told me that she was very pretty and delicate, that Eastern women are truly beautiful. I suddenly had a premonition that something might happen between them, because I could see the longing in LP's expression. She spoke quickly, her face slightly flushed, and I could sense her excitement. I knew what she was thinking. As the saying goes… It's said that no one knows a wife better than her husband. At home, when we're watching American and European films, my wife has often joked with me, asking how black men's penises are so big and whether I can handle them, wondering what it feels like to make love with them. At the time, I never imagined I'd actually have that opportunity, so I'd usually laugh and reply, "Yours is too small; you can't handle it. Yours and mine are the perfect match." But my wife would still softly murmur, "I don't believe it. If I have the chance, I'd like to experience it." We'd just laugh it off, as if it was just talk, but I know her personality. She's the kind of woman who likes new experiences and wants to try anything special. When we live together, whatever we eat, use, or play with, if it's something special or novel, she has to try it, even if it's expensive. Perhaps that's just her personality. Although she looks so petite, it seems that appearances can be deceiving.
I walked behind them, watching their conversation. Sometimes they spoke English, sometimes Mandarin. It was obvious the Black man's Mandarin was only so-so, but he could understand the simpler Chinese phrases. I suddenly had a strange feeling, hoping something would happen between them. I unconsciously slowed my pace, maintaining a certain distance. I knew that if I got too close, they wouldn't be able to continue their conversation, their minds wandering to the tourists passing by. Sometimes they would glance back at the foreign couple chatting happily in front of me, probably out of curiosity. Because of the significant height difference between the Black man and his partner, I could guess... When LP whispered, he had to bend down to listen, a scene that looked quite comical. Sometimes I even imagined the stimulation LP felt beneath him. Sometimes, the black man would glance back at me; I knew LP was definitely talking about me. Before I knew it, it was noon. LP finally approached me. I knew she had something to tell me, but my feelings were incredibly complex—a mixture of hope and fear that she would reveal my true thoughts. As expected, LP said, somewhat excitedly, that the black man wanted to make love to her and was asking for my opinion, to see if I would agree. I knew that the black man had only revealed his true feelings under LP's gradual influence; without LP... P's ambiguous language, even his seductive advances, made it impossible for him to make such a request. I know my wife; although she appears so dignified, deep down she harbors profound desires, especially in this unfamiliar city with a strange foreigner. She suddenly seemed to break free from constraints, which is why she's so uninhibited now. To be honest, I hesitated for a moment, but I know that sometimes reason can't overcome desire. I only instructed her that she must use a condom, and that I must be present. If there was any discomfort or she couldn't handle it, it had to stop immediately, and there couldn't be any abnormal behavior. My wife ran towards him. I know, as a... Foreigners would readily agree; after all, they're much more open-minded than we are. Perhaps they think that while such things aren't very common, they're definitely understandable and acceptable.
Beijing at night, with its flickering lights, was permeated with an air of ambiguity. My wife and I booked a room—a five-star hotel. Actually, I hesitated a bit before booking, not wanting something too luxurious, but for safety reasons, I went for it. The black man had initially offered to book our room too, but fearing it would attract attention, I suggested we not go in at the same time. He could only enter the hotel after we had booked ours. After my wife and I finished showering, the black man came in; his hair wasn't dry, so he must have just showered as well.
I suddenly hesitated. After all, nothing like that had ever happened before. Deep down, I felt uneasy, worried she couldn't handle it, and concerned about his hygiene. I glanced at my wife, her face flushed.
The black man approached, wearing only underwear. His bulge was clearly defined, like a rabbit wriggling inside. My throat felt dry. I looked at her curled up on the sofa, my emotions a complex mix of hesitation, worry, and a hidden impulse.
I walked towards her and whispered in her ear, "Maybe we should just forget it. Do you want to?"
Her voice trembled slightly, "I don't know—"
My hand involuntarily slipped into her dark forest, the muddy ground after a downpour.
I could feel her desire. I gave a gentle reminder, "Do what you think is best. Let him kiss you, but if you want to penetrate, he has to wear a condom—"
I went to the adjacent bedroom, closed the door, lay down on the bed, and listened intently. Unable to calm down, I quietly walked towards their bedroom. The door wasn't fully closed.
----------------------
The vast height difference meant she could only be on top, a mountain rising abruptly from the black plain, her white cap only reaching halfway up. The mountaintop slowly filled the canyon in the black forest of LP.--------------
Perhaps the canyon was too shallow, or perhaps the mountaintop was too high, the valley stuck halfway up.---
I found it hard to believe; I had once been so confident, I was definitely the man of men.---
Tired, weary---
After her bath, she had a faint fragrance, returning to my embrace, her body shy after a downpour. A curiosity compelled me to ask: Why are you on top?
A slightly tired, shy voice replied, "He's too heavy, too tall, my head only reaches his chest---"
Can you bear it?
He was gentle, advancing slowly. I felt full and satisfied, like a giant rod slowly embedding itself—without any gaps. It was a little sore, a little numb, even a slightly pleasurable pain. I felt like I was in the air, trying to grab onto the clouds beside me, but they drifted away. I tried to catch the falling rain, but it slipped away. I couldn't hold onto anything. It was as if white clouds were floating above, and a gushing spring was flowing below—
uncontrollable, a relentless assault, a complete annihilation. A warm feeling, even a little hot—
the morning sun, so warm, a strong feeling of coming home.
In the long journey of life, only after experiencing it do you realize that what you truly long for is still not as pure as before. Wave goodbye, forever—
In the long journey of life, only after experiencing it do you realize that what you truly long for is still not as pure as before. Wave goodbye, forever—

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Reprinted from experience of a black man

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