That Person, That Event—Dedicated to the memory of that departed woman

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

A girlfriend left me, and I've been feeling really down lately. So, I'm writing this to give myself some closure.

This isn't a work of fiction; it's based on my personal experience. However, if you prefer to read it as fiction, that's fine with me. I

'm posting it here because many friends have been urging me to update, and I wanted to explain. The moderator probably felt it didn't fit the forum's requirements, so I'm just moving it here.

Just last month, Beijing had two heavy snowfalls, a truly overwhelming blanket. I remember being quite excited those days, gazing at the white expanse, and even excitedly meeting up with some friends for hot pot and drinks.

After the snow, it got bitterly cold, and since I didn't have much work to do, I pretended to be sick and stayed home to hibernate. That day, with nothing to do, I thought of her and suddenly realized it had been a long time since we'd been in touch, and I felt a little uneasy.

Actually, I rarely call her first, because, for well-known reasons, I can't be sure if she'll be available to answer. Usually, she calls me, and we arrange a time, either at a restaurant or a hotel.

She used to contact me very frequently. Back then, her husband wasn't in the country, and she'd meet me almost every two days. Later, the intervals gradually lengthened because her husband had settled into a company in China, leaving her with less time. But she'd still contact me at least once a week, exchanging greetings even if we didn't meet in person. This habit has continued to this day.

However, that day I felt uneasy because I hadn't heard from her for almost two weeks, which was strange. Logically, given our current relationship or based on her understanding of me, even if she was tired of this clandestine contact, she would find a reason to explain, or perhaps she wouldn't need a reason at all; she could simply tell me, "Let's break up," and I would let go easily. She wouldn't just suddenly turn away; that's not her style.

So, I mustered my courage and dialed her number.

It rang several times the first time, but no one answered. After a while, I called again, still no answer.

I thought she was probably busy. Although I was a little discouraged, at least her phone was on, so it should be alright. So I felt a little relieved and planned to call again tomorrow, or maybe she would see it and call back.

Just then, the phone rang. Looking at the caller ID, it was her.

I happily answered, even playfully saying, "Hello!" Just as I was about to call her "Baby," the voice on the other end sent a chill down my spine.

It was a strange man speaking broken Chinese, his voice deep.

My immediate thought was, "Oh no, has he found out?" I guessed it must be her British husband.

Sure enough, just as my mind was racing, trying to come up with an excuse, he introduced himself, saying he was her husband, and asked, "Are you XX's friend?" I wanted to say it was a wrong number, but I blurted out that I had. Instinctively, I wanted to understand the situation. If he had really found out, I felt I shouldn't back down; at least, I couldn't let her bear it all alone.

But what he said next shocked me even more, plunging me into despair.

He said, "She's gone." I naively asked, "Where did she go?" He said, "She went to heaven." My first thought was that he was joking; I thought to myself, foreigners are really humorous, joking even when we're not that close. I remember jokingly saying that even in heaven, she should call her friends.

He seemed to sense my teasing and repeated himself, very seriously, "She's gone! She's passed away!" I finally reacted, mouth agape for a long time. After a long while, I asked, "Really?" He said, "Really! She was in a car accident a few days ago. It snowed heavily that day, and her car overturned into a ditch in the suburbs." I still couldn't believe it. How could a living person just be gone like that? I trembled as I pressed him for details, and he carefully explained the situation.

He said her sister came to Beijing, and they went out together. They weren't supposed to come back that day because of the snow, but they probably thought driving in the snow was romantic, so they set off without hesitation. As a result, due to slippery roads and poor visibility, the accident happened, and all four people in the car perished.

I'd seen her sister's picture; a pretty, sunny girl. It's such a pity.

After hanging up the phone, I sat there motionless for a long time, completely blank. I just felt cold, a bone-chilling cold.

Several days passed, and I was still in a daze. I still couldn't believe it—how could she be gone like that!

Even now, almost ten days after I learned the devastating news, I still can't believe it. I think, maybe it's a cruel joke? I really hope it's a joke, even if it hurts me deeply.

My acquaintance with her was rather old-fashioned; it happened online.

For a while, I ran a clothing store, selling export-quality garments. Because of my work, I met some friends who worked in export factories. Seeing that they had a lot of leftover stock—the styles and workmanship were quite good—I started selling them. They sold quite well, and I made some money. That's when I met her. Back then, I

often went to eBay for wholesale, and someone introduced me to her. When she added me on MSN, I initially thought she was just another one of those wholesalers, but after a few chats, she said she hoped I could help her.

She said she had just returned to China and wanted to open a shop in Beijing selling imported home goods. She even showed me some pictures of very novel and trendy designs. She asked if it would be feasible to sell these in Beijing. Since I didn't know much about it, I didn't dare to give a definitive answer, but intuitively, I thought it would be good because I really liked it. So, I irresponsibly offered her a few words of encouragement.

A few days later, she contacted me again. She said she had decided to open a shop, but because she wasn't familiar with Beijing, she asked if I could give her some advice. I said, of course.

So, we arranged a time, and she said she hoped I could accompany her to look around and see where would be suitable.

At the time, I was quite surprised: "This person is so simple-minded, offering help without even knowing me, and even wanting to meet. Isn't she afraid I'm a bad guy? But I agreed anyway." The day we met was sunny and breezy, and we met in a bustling downtown area.

When her call came in, I was still glancing around, my eyes scanning every girl who walked past me, hoping the prettiest one would suddenly jump up and say, "I'm so-and-so," like a dramatic scene. At the time, I just assumed she was young and innocent, because her voice was very soft, like a young girl's.

But after hanging up, seeing her standing right behind me, I was honestly a little disappointed.

She didn't look very old, but definitely not a girl. In my experience, she was probably over thirty. Her attire wasn't fashionable, just a very casual, conservative outfit. Fortunately, her calm and composed expression gave her a unique air, the kind of person who had lived abroad.

She wasn't particularly beautiful, just average, but her overall demeanor set her apart from the crowd. Also, this woman had very fair and delicate skin, and a small frame; I was certain she wasn't from the north. Oh, and she looked a lot like Zheng Peifang, the frequent guest on the talk show "Qiang Qiang San Ren Xing," though her eyes were a little smaller.

Actually, compared to women her age, she's above average and very well-maintained. My disappointment stems from preconceived notions. I'd always thought of her as a young girl, and the sudden appearance of a mature woman was quite a contrast.

That day, I drove her around to many places, and she treated me to lunch. We chatted and became friends.

Sure enough, she'd grown up in the Jiangsu-Zhejiang region and went abroad to study after graduating from university, where she met her current husband, a British man more than ten years her senior. Because of her husband's work, they both moved to Beijing.

Perhaps not wanting to live a boring life, she suddenly had the idea to open a shop, not to make money, but just to pass the time.

I jokingly said that day, there are many ways to pass the time, why open a shop? In Beijing, this kind of way of passing the time would be very expensive. She didn't seem to care, saying lightly that she didn't want to be supported by others while doing nothing.

Of course, since we were friends, I still advised her not to rush into opening a shop, suggesting that she start an online shop first, which would have little cost and give her something to do—a win-win situation.

She thought I made sense and agreed to think it over carefully.

After we broke up that day, we didn't contact each other for a long time. Gradually, I almost forgot about her. Sometimes I would think of her, but I only saw her as a passerby, someone who came and went quickly without causing any ripples.

About half a year later, one day, I suddenly received a call from her.

Her voice was still so tender and lazy. I felt it was familiar, but I couldn't remember who it was. She even asked me to guess. I was very busy that day, and after guessing several times without getting them right, I became a little impatient. She chuckled on the other end, and with that laugh, I suddenly remembered her. Her laughter was peculiar; it was just two quick "hehe"s, then abruptly stopped, leaving you feeling like something was always missing, neither going up nor down. To put it nicely, it was like leaving something unsatisfied; to put it bluntly, it was quite frustrating. It was a feeling hard to describe.

Anyway, that day I finally said her name, and she was pleased, saying I hadn't forgotten her. Then, we chatted briefly, and as we were about to hang up, she said, "Let's go out for a bit." I said, "Okay." This time, we met at Houhai, a quiet bar.

She said she loved the atmosphere of Houhai, especially on winter afternoons, when the warm sunlight streamed through the bright glass windows, illuminating the thick, soft sofas, and the surroundings were quiet, the old, weathered buildings peaceful and harmonious, making you feel inexplicably drawn in. As she said this, she looked completely absorbed, with a touch of bourgeois charm.

I'm not that highbrow; the only thing I think is better than Sanlitun is that it's not as chaotic here, allowing for a more relaxed and meaningful conversation. I

was a little reserved when I first met her; the slight acquaintance we'd built up after our initial chance encounter had been completely worn away by the past six months. She was alright, still as warm and composed as an old friend

she hadn't seen in years. I was infected by her enthusiasm and gradually relaxed as well. We had a very pleasant chat that day, both eagerly sharing our stories, from our student days to our married lives. She said she no longer wanted to open a shop; it was a spur-of-the-moment decision, which now seemed quite naive. She also said she was grateful for that impulsive idea, at least it led her to meet me. She said I wasn't the handsome type, but I made her feel comfortable around me.

I don't know if she was just being polite, but I genuinely appreciated it.

That day, her appearance and demeanor had a more sophisticated air, no longer the casual, unpretentious kind; a touch of refinement gave her a more sophisticated look. Sometimes, a small gesture or expression from her would make my heart flutter. At that time, I wasn't thinking about developing an inappropriate relationship with her, but having such a woman as a friend was truly a pleasure.

The only discomfort was that she made me feel subtly inferior. This woman possessed an abundance of knowledge, seemingly knowing everything, and her conversation would frequently feature terms that struck me as profound. Whenever this happened, I would feign listening attentively, nodding appropriately as if I understood.

This time, we talked until very late, and I still didn't take her home when we parted. She had driven there in a bright red Polo, which she said she had just bought. It seemed she was going to stay in Beijing permanently.

She didn't have many friends in Beijing, and in the days that followed, she would call me whenever she was bored, chatting casually for a few minutes or inviting me to dinner. Once, she specifically told me not to drive, saying she wanted to drink. That day, I learned about her drinking capacity; someone like me could easily outdrink three of me. It seems women who carry foreign guns are different; even their drinking is international-level.

This went on for another six months, our relationship like that of gentlemen, a light, casual exchange. Until the spring of 2005.

That spring, like many others, was fleeting, almost imperceptible before the sweltering heat returned every day. She was quite carefree during those days; her husband was constantly flying domestically and internationally, rarely spending more than a few days a month in Beijing. She often complained that her home was like a hotel, the advantage being that it was free and there were free girls provided. I laughed and said I dreamed of such a thing, even if the hotel charged a little, it wouldn't matter, the main thing was the free girls.

Looking at her fair face, I said, "Someone like you, I'd even pay you to have it." She glared at me fiercely, her lips twitching, and muttered a curse under her breath. I chuckled again, utterly shameless.

That day we drank a little more, not much, because I had to drive.

As I was leaving, I said the usual polite goodbyes and went to find my car. Before I could even take a step, she snapped angrily behind me, "How can you be so uncouth?" I turned around in surprise and asked her what was wrong. She said, "It's so late, why didn't you offer a ride to a single lady?" I then realized she hadn't driven and quickly apologized profusely.

That was the first time I'd been to her home, an apartment in eastern Beijing, catering to foreigners. The apartment was large and spacious, the furniture simple and practical. The only things that showed the hostess's taste were the small, spotless decorations scattered throughout.

The sofa was large and comfortable; after sitting for a while, I felt drowsy. I forced my eyes open, ready to leave. To be honest, being alone with a man and a woman in a room made me a little uncomfortable, especially in her unfamiliar home, which made me feel even more oppressed and uneasy.

But she wouldn't let me leave, saying the house was eerily quiet and I should stay a little longer to add some life to it. I joked that I really didn't want to leave, but if I got cornered in the house, I'd be speechless. She gave me another disapproving look with her small eyes and said, "You wish! Even a dog has never been here. Who are you going to argue with?"

Hearing this, I felt a little relieved and leaned back comfortably on the sofa.

She then took out a bottle of wine—I couldn't tell which country it was from—and handed it to me in a huge glass.

I hesitated, afraid of being arrested by the police along the way, and declined, watching her elegantly sip it.

A famous TV series was playing, and we watched and chatted, enjoying it immensely, occasionally offering our opinions, even arguing about the looks of the male and female leads.

I don't know when she changed into a skirt, the kind that's baggy and loose, but as she drank, she casually put her bare legs up on the coffee table in front of her, her small, white feet crossed, swinging them from side to side with great interest, making my heart flutter.

Gradually, my gaze lingered on her feet for a long time. They were fair and delicate, without a trace of age. Her nails were neatly trimmed; it was clear she was a woman who paid attention to detail. It felt like a girlfriend had left, and I'd been feeling quite down lately. So, I wrote this, as a way of giving myself closure.

This isn't a work of literature; it's my personal experience. However, if you prefer to read it as literature, I don't mind.

I'm posting it here because many friends have texted me urging me to update, and I wanted to explain. The moderator probably felt it didn't fit the forum's requirements, so I've moved it here.

Just last month, Beijing had two heavy snowfalls, blanketing everything. I remember being quite excited those days, gazing at the white expanse, and even excitedly inviting a few friends over for hot pot and drinks.

After the snow, it was bitterly cold, and since I didn't have much work to do, I feigned illness and stayed home to hibernate. That day, with nothing to do, I thought of her and suddenly realized it had been a long time since we'd been in contact, and a vague unease crept in.

Actually, I rarely call her first, because for well-known reasons, I can't be sure if she'll be available to answer. Usually

, she calls me, and we arrange a time, either at a restaurant or a hotel. She used to contact me very frequently; during those days when her husband was out of the country, she would contact me almost every two days. Later, the intervals gradually lengthened because her husband had settled into a company in China, leaving her with less time, but she would still contact me at least once a week, exchanging greetings even if we didn't meet in person. This habit has continued to this day.

However, that day I felt uneasy because I hadn't heard from her for almost two weeks, which was strange. Logically speaking, given our current relationship or based on her understanding of me, even if she was tired of this clandestine contact, she would find a reason to explain, or perhaps she wouldn't need a reason at all; she could simply say, "Let's break up," and I would let go easily. She wouldn't just suddenly turn away; that's not her style.

So, I mustered my courage and dialed her number.

It rang several times, but no one answered. After a while, I called again, but still no one answered.

I thought she was probably busy. Although I was a little discouraged, at least her phone was on, so it should be okay. I calmed myself down and decided to call again tomorrow, or maybe she would see it and call back.

Just then, the phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and it was her.

I happily answered and even said "hello!" in a playful tone. I was about to call her "baby" when the voice on the other end sent a chill down my spine.

It was a strange man speaking broken Chinese in a deep voice.

My immediate thought was, "Oh no, has my secret been exposed?" I guessed it must be her British husband.

Sure enough, just as I was frantically trying to come up with an excuse, he introduced himself as her husband and asked, "Are you XX's friend?" I wanted to say I had dialed the wrong number, but I blurted out that I had. Instinctively, I wanted to understand the situation. If he really found out, I felt I shouldn't back down; at the very least, I couldn't let her bear it all alone.

But what he said next shocked me even more, plunging me into despair.

He said, "She's gone." I stupidly asked, "Where did she go?" He said, "She went to heaven." My first reaction to his words was that he was joking. I thought to myself, foreigners are really humorous; they dare to joke even when they're not that close. I remember jokingly saying that even in heaven, she should call her friends.

He seemed to have caught my jest and repeated himself, very solemnly saying, "She's gone! She's passed away!" I finally reacted, my mouth agape for a long time without saying a word. After a long while, I asked, "Really?" He said, "Really! She was in a car accident a few days ago. It snowed heavily that day, and her car overturned into a ditch in the suburbs." I still couldn't believe it. How could a living person just be gone like that? I asked him tremblingly, and he carefully explained the situation.

He said her younger sister came to Beijing, and they went out together. They weren't supposed to come back on the day it snowed, but apparently they thought driving in the snow was romantic, so they set off without hesitation. Unfortunately, due to slippery roads and poor visibility, an accident happened, and all four people in the car perished.

I'd seen a picture of her sister; she was a pretty, sunny girl. It's such a pity.

After hanging up the phone, I sat there motionless for a long time. My mind was blank; I just felt cold, a bone-chilling cold.

Several days have passed, and I'm still in a daze. I still can't believe she's gone!

Even now, almost ten days after I heard the devastating news, I still can't believe it. I think maybe it's a cruel joke? I really hope it's a joke, even if it hurts me deeply.

I met her in a very old-fashioned way, online.

For a while, we ran a clothing store, selling export-quality clothes. Because of my work, I met some friends who ran export factories. I noticed they had a lot of overstock clothing, the styles and workmanship were quite good, so I bought some to sell. It sold quite well, and I made some money. That's when I met her. Back then, I

often went to eBay for wholesale, and someone introduced me to her. When she added me on MSN, I thought she was one of those wholesalers, but after a few chats, she said she hoped I could help her.

She said she had just returned to China and wanted to open a shop in Beijing selling imported home goods. She even showed me some pictures—all very novel and trendy designs. She asked if it would be feasible to sell these in Beijing. Since I didn't know much about it, I didn't dare to give a definitive answer, but intuitively, I thought it should be good because I really liked it. So, I gave her a few words of encouragement, though somewhat irresponsibly.

A few days later, she contacted me again. She said she had decided to open a shop, but because she wasn't familiar with Beijing, she asked if I could give her some advice. I said, of course.

So, we arranged a time, and she said she hoped I could accompany her to look around and see where would be suitable.

At the time, I was quite puzzled: "This person is so simple-minded, offering help without even knowing me, and now she wants to meet me. Isn't she afraid I'm a bad guy? Anyway, I agreed." The day we met was sunny and breezy, and we met in a bustling downtown area.

When her call came in, I was still looking around, my eyes scanning every girl who walked past me, hoping the prettiest one would suddenly jump up and say, "I'm so-and-so," like a dramatic scene. At the time, I just thought she was probably young, innocent and guileless, because her voice was very youthful, sounding like a young girl.

But after hanging up, seeing her standing right behind me, to be honest, I was a little disappointed.

She didn't look very old, but she definitely wasn't a girl. In my experience, she was probably over thirty. Her attire wasn't exactly fashionable, just a very casual and conventional outfit. Fortunately, her calm and serene expression gave her a unique air, clearly someone who had lived abroad.

She wasn't particularly beautiful, just average-looking, but her natural气质 (qi zhi, a combination of temperament, bearing, and presence) set her apart from the crowd. Also, this woman had very fair and delicate skin, and a small frame; I was certain she wasn't from the North. By the way, she looked a lot like Zheng Peifang, a frequent guest on the talk show "Qiang Qiang San Ren Xing," though her eyes were a bit smaller.

Actually, compared to women her age, she was probably above average, and very well-maintained. My slight disappointment, I guess, stemmed from preconceived notions. I had always imagined her as a young girl, and the sudden appearance of a mature woman was quite a contrast.

That day, I drove her around to many places, and she treated me to lunch. We chatted for a while and became friends.

Sure enough, she had grown up in the Jiangsu-Zhejiang region and went abroad to study after graduating from university, where she met her current husband, a British man more than ten years her senior. Because of her husband's work, they both moved to Beijing.

Perhaps not wanting to live a boring life, she suddenly had the idea to open a shop, not to make money, but just to pass the time.

I jokingly said that day, there are many ways to pass the time, why think of opening a shop? In Beijing, passing the time like this would be very costly. She didn't seem to care, saying lightly that she didn't want to be supported by others while doing nothing.

Of course, since we had become friends, I still advised her not to rush into opening a shop, suggesting that she start an online shop first, which would have little cost and give her something to do—a win-win situation.

She thought I made sense and agreed to think it over carefully.

After we parted that day, we didn't contact each other for a long time. Gradually, I almost forgot about her. Sometimes I would think of her, but I only regarded her as a passerby, someone who came and went quickly without causing any ripples.

About six months later, one day, I suddenly received a call from her.

Her voice was still so tender and languid. I felt it was familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. She even asked me to guess, but I was very busy that day and guessed several times without success, so I became a little impatient. She chuckled on the other end, and with that chuckle, I suddenly remembered her. Her laughter was peculiar; it was just two "hehe" sounds, then suddenly stopped, leaving you feeling like there was always something missing, something that couldn't quite go on or off. To put it nicely, it was like leaving something unsaid; to put it bluntly, it was quite frustrating. It was a feeling hard to describe.

Anyway, that day I finally said her name, and she was very satisfied, saying that I hadn't forgotten her. Then, we chatted briefly for a few minutes, and as we were about to hang up, she said, "Let's go out for a bit." I said, "Okay." This time, we met at Houhai, a quiet bar.

She said she loved the atmosphere of Houhai, especially on winter afternoons when the warm sunlight streamed through the bright glass windows, illuminating the thick, soft sofas. The surroundings were quiet, the old, weathered houses exuding a serene harmony that drew you in effortlessly. She spoke with a blissful, almost bourgeois air.

I, on the other hand, wasn't so sophisticated. The only thing I found better than Sanlitun was that it wasn't as chaotic, allowing for a more relaxed and meaningful conversation.

I was a little reserved when I first met her; the initial acquaintance we'd built up over the past six months had been completely worn away. She, however, remained warm and composed, like a long-lost friend. Her enthusiasm infected me, and I gradually relaxed as well. We had a

very pleasant chat that day, eagerly sharing our stories, from our student days to our married lives. She said she no longer wanted to open a shop; the impulsive decision she made back then now seemed naive. She also said she was grateful for that impulsive idea, because at least it led her to meet me. She said I wasn't the handsome type, but that I made her feel comfortable around me.

I don't know if she was just being polite, but I genuinely appreciated it.

That day, her appearance and demeanor were more sophisticated, no longer the casual, bland type; a touch of refinement gave her a certain charm. Sometimes, a small gesture or expression would make my heart flutter. I wasn't thinking about developing an inappropriate relationship with her then, but having such a woman as a friend was truly a pleasure.

The only discomfort was that she made me feel subtly inferior. This woman possessed a wealth of knowledge, seemingly knowing everything, and her conversation would frequently feature terms that struck me as profound. Whenever this happened, I would feign listening attentively, nodding appropriately as if I understood.

This time, we talked until very late, and I still didn't take her home when we parted. She had driven there in a bright red Polo, which she said she had just bought. Looks like she's going to be staying in Beijing permanently.

She didn't have many friends in Beijing, so whenever she was bored, she would call me for a casual chat or to meet up for a meal. Once, she specifically told me not to drive, saying she wanted to drink. That day I learned about her drinking capacity; someone like me could easily outdrink three of me. It seems women who drink like that are different; their drinking is at an international level.

This went on for another six months or so, our relationship like that of gentlemen, a light and casual exchange. Until the spring of 2005.

That spring, like many others, was fleeting, almost imperceptible before the sweltering heat arrived every day. She was quite carefree during those days; her husband was constantly flying domestically and internationally, rarely spending more than a few days a month in Beijing. She often complained that her home was like a hotel, the advantage being that it was free and there were free girls. I laughed and said I dreamed of such a thing, even if the hotel charged a little, it wouldn't matter; the main thing was the free girls.

Looking at her fair and clean face, I said, "Someone like you, I'd even pay you to have me." She glared at me fiercely, her lips twitching as she muttered a curse under her breath. I chuckled again, utterly shameless.

That day we drank a little more, not much because I had to drive.

As I was leaving, I said some polite goodbyes as usual, then went to find my car. Before I even took a step, she said angrily behind me, "How can you have no manners at all?" I turned around in surprise and asked her what was wrong. She said, "It's so late, why didn't you offer a ride to a single lady?" I then realized that she hadn't driven that day and quickly apologized profusely.

That was the first time I went to her home, an apartment in eastern Beijing, catering to foreigners. The apartment was large and spacious, the furniture simple and practical. The only thing that showed the hostess's tastes were the small, spotless decorations placed haphazardly throughout.

The sofa was large and comfortable; after sitting for a while, I felt drowsy. I forced my eyes open, ready to leave. To be honest, being alone with a man and a woman in the same room made me a little uncomfortable, especially in her unfamiliar home, which made me feel even more oppressed and uneasy.

But she wouldn't let me leave, saying the house was eerily quiet and I should stay a little longer to add some life to it. I joked that I really didn't want to leave, but if someone cornered me in the house, I'd have no way to explain myself. She gave me another disapproving look with her small eyes and said, "You wish! She said even a dog has never been here, so who are you going to argue with?"

Hearing this, I felt a little more at ease and leaned back comfortably on the sofa.

She then took out a bottle of wine from some unknown country and handed it to me in a huge glass.

I didn't dare drink it, afraid of being arrested by the police along the way, so I declined and watched her elegantly sip it.

A very famous TV series was playing on the television, and we watched it with great interest, chatting and commenting from time to time, even arguing about the looks of a certain female or male lead.

I don't know when she changed into a skirt, the kind that's loose and baggy. As she drank, she casually propped her bare legs up on the coffee table in front of her, her two small, white feet crossed, swinging them from side to side with amusement, making my heart flutter.

Gradually, my gaze lingered on those feet for a long time. They were fair and delicate, without a trace of age, her toenails neatly trimmed; it was clear she was a woman who paid attention to detail. After glancing at them several times, I finally couldn't resist and said, "Your feet are very beautiful." She

glanced at me with surprise, then looked at her own feet, playfully twitching her toes. She said, "They're alright. I used to take care of them in the summer, but now that I'm older, I'm too lazy." Then she put her feet on her knees, looked at her toes, and pointed to them, saying, "Look, there's dead skin everywhere."

The dead skin she mentioned was actually quite small; I had to get closer to see it clearly, but I still agreed with her, saying that summer was coming and it should be fixed so it would look better in sandals. After saying that, I inexplicably touched it. It was very smooth and slippery.

This topic suddenly made our relationship ambiguous; we started chatting about beauty and clothing like two best friends. Fortunately, I enjoy watching Taiwanese variety shows, like "Queen of Beauty," and the information I gained from them was truly helpful, even impressing her. She laughed and said she didn't expect me to know so much about these things. I felt smug and gave myself the title of "Friend of Women."

She chuckled uncontrollably, saying I really did have potential in this area. She laughed so hard she almost fell over, and before I knew it, she was leaning against me. I didn't hesitate and hugged her tightly.

What followed was like many relationships: initially awkward, but quickly relaxing, we ended up kissing and sprawling on the sofa. I slipped my hand under her skirt, tracing her smooth thighs, and then pulled down her panties. When I completely covered her legs with my hand, she stiffened for a moment, but quickly relaxed and even slightly parted her legs to make it easier for me to move. We were like a pair of adulterers who had been hooking up for a long time, and everything went smoothly until I trembled as I ejaculated on her body.

I almost couldn't hold back, but luckily she reacted quickly, murmuring a reminder not to ejaculate inside. I pulled out just in time, but still managed to soil her belly. I felt very embarrassed and quickly grabbed several tissues to wipe it clean. She lazily remained still, watching me carefully clean with a smile, then lifted her hips, gesturing for me to clean her private parts as well.

Only then did I have a chance to closely observe her private area. Her pubic hair wasn't very thick, curly like a blanket, gradually thinning and sparse towards her thighs. Her labia, like the full, rounded hem of a clam's skirt, parted from the cleft, like butterfly wings evenly spread on either side, trembling slightly, almost dripping with moisture. The color wasn't dark, a pale brown that deepened to a blush of pink, adding a touch of shyness and tenderness.

She was completely open and uninhibited, without a trace of coyness, which made me feel relaxed and at ease. I hate those women who put on airs, pretending to be virgins even after having done everything. It's so pretentious and annoying. Of course, if they were truly virgins, I could understand, but the problem is that they've seen it all and still act like innocent girls – that just makes me despise them. Everyone knows what kind of people they are; there's no need to pretend to be something

they're not. This woman wasn't like that. She was natural and unpretentious, a kind of effortless ease that made me feel like we could be equals. We're both adults; these things are consensual, and there's no need to burden the other person.

But there was still a burden. I think I went too fast that day; I ejaculated before we even really started. At first, I was a little impotent, probably psychologically, feeling insecure in an unfamiliar environment. Seeing her enjoying herself helped me get aroused, but even then, it only lasted a few seconds. I felt quite guilty.

Besides, a woman accustomed to foreign guns, struggling to even pull back the bolt of a Hanyang rifle, and even risking accidental discharge, truly made us Chinese men ashamed.

In short, I was incredibly anxious afterward, wishing I could disappear into the ground.

She, however, was alright; perhaps she showed me some decency? Anyway, while I was utterly mortified, she remained nonchalant, lazily nestled in my arms, occasionally rubbing her large, full breasts against my chest, her eyes full of affection. As if sensing my unease, she asked what was wrong. I stammered for a long time before finally mustering the courage to say "I'm sorry."

When she realized what I meant, she chuckled. She pinched my nose and said softly, "Silly you."

For days afterward, I was filled with unease. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became at my own incompetence, having needlessly humiliated myself.

I considered calling her several times, but hesitated, afraid to invite further humiliation. Actually, looking back, it wasn't necessary. Men always seem to take these things too seriously, while for women, they're often insignificant.

When a woman thinks you're good, it's often not just about your abilities. Some women even overlook your virility in bed and value other aspects, whether what you offer is worth her complete devotion. Women are emotional, while men often think with their lower bodies.

She contacted me first, her voice still languid. Even her accusations were full of charm.

"What's wrong with you? You disappeared after you got me?" She was blunt and to the point, leaving me speechless. But she was quick to change her tune, immediately laughing and inviting me to dinner.

Her husband wasn't home yet. After dinner, she naturally got up and got into my car, without even asking where we were going. I hesitated, slowly starting the car and shifting gears, driving for a kilometer before finally asking,

"To my place?" Her mouth was wide open, as if she knew the answer already.

I really didn't dare go to her house again; it gave me a real psychological barrier. Finally, she asked me where I wanted to go.

"A hotel?"

"Okay, whatever you say."

The first hotel we went to was a Home Inn, and I got used to it and went there often. I don't know why, but she really liked Home Inns; even with better options, she would still go to great lengths to find one. The day before yesterday, I was out running errands and passed by a Home Inn. My heart suddenly ached, tears welled up uncontrollably, and my vision blurred.

The second time we were together, this woman surprised me.

As soon as we entered, she cornered me against the wall and kissed me passionately and desperately. Her rough actions always gave me a disorienting feeling of role reversal. It was as if I was a weak woman, and she was a complete predator.

The last time wasn't like this; we finished our business politely, like familiar men and women holding hands, calm and unhurried. But this time, the change was too fast, and I was somewhat confused.

We kissed passionately for a while, and finally, we both caught our breath. She wiped her mouth, seemingly satisfied, while I remained leaning against the wall, still shaken. I watched her turn on the TV, slowly and deliberately undress, and wander around in only light-colored underwear, acting as if nothing had happened. Only then did I ask, "Did you take aphrodisiacs?" She glanced at me, got up, and walked towards the bathroom. As she passed me, she muttered softly, "Did you? So what?"

After a while, the sound of running water filled the air, and she emerged wrapped in a towel. Her hair was still wet, and she haphazardly rubbed it with the towel, tilting her head. Seeing me still sitting there, she asked in surprise, "Aren't you going to shower?" I got up, took off my clothes, and went into the bathroom.

When I came out, she was already lying on the bed, a thin blanket draped over her, revealing her rounded, white shoulders, half-closing her eyes as she watched TV. Seeing me come out, she smiled sweetly and invited me to bed. She acted like an old married couple, without a trace of affectation. To be honest, for a moment, I almost wondered if she was an expert in this. However, I wasn't opposed to it; if it's just for fun, isn't it better to have no responsibility?

That day, my performance was commendable; after one round, we both lay there, sweating and panting. After a while, she snuggled close to me, perhaps out of boredom, and breathed into my ear. I turned my head and asked her what she was doing. She didn't answer, but continued to blow, and I felt a tickle and scratched my ear. Suddenly, she climbed up to me and whispered in my ear, "Not bad today."

Receiving the praise greatly satisfied my vanity, and I hugged her tightly, telling her it would be good in the future. She chuckled and asked, "And now?" I said, "What?" "Do me," she said. Then, she slowly leaned down, opening her small mouth to take my member in.

The second time was even more exhilarating. Perhaps because it had just ended once, I wasn't in such a hurry anymore, and could seriously and freely treat this as a precious experience to savor. She seemed to enjoy the process, moaning loudly in her sensitive areas as encouragement. I carefully recalled my years of experience and knowledge, applying it earnestly to her. She almost went crazy, finally begging me to penetrate her, shouting loudly, "Fuck me! Fuck me!" That time, I actually lasted a long time without ejaculating.

Afterwards, we both lay in the bathtub, dozing off. In my hazy state, I heard her stroking my genitals and saying, "I never thought this would feel so good."

I looked at her in surprise and asked, "Are you unmarried?"

She lazily replied that they didn't do it often.

My curiosity was piqued, and I asked her why, having heard that foreigners were very capable. She said maybe, but her partner didn't seem very enthusiastic about it. I asked again, "Are foreigners' penises more comfortable to use than Chinese ones? They're so big."

She said they were about the same, used the same way, and had the same effect inside. I didn't believe her, saying, "The guys in porn all have erect penises." She said that was just a selection, not actually that exaggerated.

She added that maybe there are, but she had never seen one. She said her experience was limited, and the only foreigner she'd ever slept with was her husband. I didn't believe her, saying that she didn't seem that simple.

She panicked, sprang up from the water, and asked, "Are you saying I'm a promiscuous woman?" I was startled and quickly explained, "I didn't mean *that*, I just think you must be very experienced, after all, you've been married for so many years." Perhaps my gaze was sincere, because she stopped being angry, but still lay back down, a little resentful. She said that when she first married the British man, they would have sex several times a week, but it gradually decreased, and now it's only a few times a year. I asked her, "Don't you want to?"

She said it didn't really matter, that it was something she could do without. I laughed and teased, saying that she didn't seem indifferent just now. She pinched me shyly and pressed herself tightly against me, saying she liked being with me and felt comfortable. She added that she had come to terms with it; since she was cheating, she might as well go all out.

What happened afterward was exactly as she said; she thoroughly enjoyed herself. I also found it exciting.

At first, because we had just gotten together, we were a little reserved, like many couples, we used foreplay and gradually progressed. As the frequency increased, we completely dropped our pretenses. Initially, it was me who started swearing, using vulgar language like "fuck you," "cunt," and "dick." At first, I thought she would be offended, as it seemed disrespectful.

I'd encountered women like that before, and they'd become very unhappy when I said similar things, accusing me of looking down on them and treating them like playthings, which was why I insulted them. I had to explain for ages, but she still didn't understand. She even questioned me, "Do you say that to your wife too?" To be honest, I wouldn't dare say that to my wife, I don't know why, I just can't bring myself to do it. But I have no such inhibitions with other women, which is strange.

That day, I tentatively said a few words, mainly because I wasn't really in the mood and it took a long time to finish. I saw she was also tired and wanted to end it quickly, so I said a few things to spice things up.

Unexpectedly, she was incredibly cooperative and reacted strongly, moaning louder and writhing more violently. Sometimes, if I paused for a moment, she would urge me on, asking me to curse her. I cursed at her, calling her things like "slut," "whore," and "slut," and she got incredibly excited, responding enthusiastically and agreeing to whatever I asked. That day was great, and she said it was quite fun.

From then on, we did this every time we had sex. She became increasingly vulgar in bed, saying whatever came to mind, things I sometimes found hard to say, but she said them fluently.

Later, she wanted to watch those kinds of movies again and asked me if I had any.

I asked her if she'd seen them before, and she said she had, that she and a classmate had secretly watched one at home when she was in school, and she hadn't thought much of it then, just found it disgusting. Later, during a hometown gathering while she was studying abroad, the guys were all gathered around watching, and the girls glanced at it with giggles, but she didn't remember much.

So I downloaded some from the internet and played them for her on my laptop during our next date. At first, she didn't react much, and even joined me in commenting. Later, as we were doing it, she asked me to play more, staring intently at the screen while moaning loudly, and I imitated the positions from the movies when I had sex with her.

This woman is interesting. Many women like Western films, finding the handsome men and beautiful women evocative, but she prefers Japanese films, especially the more perverse ones. She particularly enjoys those that drag on for ages without penetration. She says she likes watching a woman go from sitting upright to being ravaged to hysterical frenzy. After watching that, she demanded I do the same to her, flipping her over and over in all sorts of positions.

Once, she even brought cucumbers and eggplants, giving me oral sex while I held up my legs and inserted them into her vagina. That time, she leaked a lot, I don't know if it was urine or discharge, soaking a large patch of the sheets, and she was almost exhausted afterward. I was also quite tired, my wrists aching, but seeing her screaming and yelling from me gave me a sense of accomplishment.

However, she doesn't like SM. She says she doesn't understand those people, what pleasure is there in hitting and whipping? I said everyone has their own preferences, some people are very enthusiastic about it. She said she couldn't accept it. She said she still preferred me pinning her down on the bed and fucking her like an animal.

She liked kneeling on the bed, her ass sticking out, letting me enter her from behind. She said that way, it penetrated deeper, and she felt that position excited her. She said that every time she did that, she felt less than human, like an animal waiting to mate, a humiliating kind of stimulation. Also, not being able to see my face that way made her more uninhibited; she wasn't embarrassed. Indeed, every time she did that, she would scream hoarsely, saying things that were already vulgar, without a trace of shame, only pleasure remained.

Once, I learned a position from an AV, having her face me, her arms around my neck, her legs wrapped around my waist, and then carrying her while walking around the room, penetrating her. But it didn't work; I was too exhausted, and I didn't experience any pleasure, only panting. She said she couldn't do that position either, always worried that I would throw her to the ground at any moment. To be honest, she was a bit heavy.

She was the kind of woman who was easily satisfied; no matter what state I was in, she could orgasm quickly.

At first, I was puzzled, thinking she was just pretending to please me. Later, I realized she wasn't; she genuinely got it. I asked her, puzzled, and she said she didn't know why, it just came so easily. She'd asked others, and someone told her it might be because her vagina was shallow.

I don't know if that's the reason either; I tried inserting my finger, and it was indeed shallow. However, women like that can really satisfy a man's ego and boost his confidence; he never feels disappointed with her. I was like that too; for a while, I felt like the best man in the world.

Women like that seem to be made for men.

She would often call suddenly while I was at work, telling me she missed me. She'd speak breathlessly, her voice full of allure, and I'd immediately get aroused. Luckily, she was very understanding, tacitly following the rules of the game, and never called when I wasn't available. Otherwise, I probably would have been in big trouble.

One time, I vividly remember, I was in a meeting when my phone vibrated. I saw it was her call and quickly hung up. The meeting didn't end until noon, and I nervously dialed back. She responded listlessly. Afraid of upsetting her, I quickly explained, and she said I wanted to make it up to her. I asked her how I could make it up to her. Going there now was definitely not an option; let's wait until the weekend. She said no, she couldn't wait any longer, she wanted it now. I asked what to do then. She said, "Tell me, and I'll do it." It was my first time having sex with a woman this way, and

I was a little flustered, not knowing how to start. She asked if anyone was in my office. I said no, and she said, "Then just tell me." I asked her what she wanted to say. She said, "Whatever you want, just say whatever you want, as long as you arouse her." So, I clumsily began to describe, trying my best to make the process of an adulterous couple's affair as perfect as possible. She listened very carefully and was completely immersed in the scene, quickly going from soft breathing to loud moaning.

I was sure her fingers were very busy; I could even feel the rhythm of her fingers moving in her breathing. So, I added a lot of embellishments, and finally, she started shouting wildly, yelling, "Fuck me, fuck me quickly!" and urging me to continue, saying dirty words, very dirty words. I racked my brains to think of the dirtiest, dirtiest things to say, and then I'd say them to her. She'd respond loudly, cursing back and even throwing in a couple of English phrases I couldn't understand.

I noticed this habit of hers several times; in the heat of the moment, she'd blurt out a few English words, like "Oh my god," just like the foreign women in porn. I guess it was a habit, and it became natural. I actually found it quite enjoyable; it added a touch of exoticism.

After that, we often played this game. When the mood struck, she'd call to ask if I was free, and if I was, she'd insist on doing it. Later, I firmly stopped her, because it was too uncomfortable for me. Even though it was a private office, I couldn't very well pull out my penis and masturbate.

Most of the time, we'd go to hotels. Whoever had time would book a room and wait quietly for the other.

After a while, we both got a little bored, so we discussed how to make it more exciting.

One time, I was thrusting into her from behind, and I noticed her anus tightening and loosening between her buttocks. I found it amusing, so I put my finger there and rubbed it. As I rubbed, my thumb went in, just a little bit. I thought she would stop me, but after a while, she didn't seem tired at all; on the contrary, she became even more excited, so I pushed it in deeper. She cried out loudly, and I thought it would hurt, so I tried to pull out, but she grabbed my hand and put me back in.

Afterwards, I asked her if it felt good. She said it was okay, very stimulating. I seized the opportunity and suggested we try anal sex. She was a little scared and asked if it was okay, worried about tearing. I said no, it's not just the two of us doing this; many people do it. She said, "Let's try it then."

After making this decision, she was very excited, like a child who had discovered a new toy, busily preparing. There wasn't much preparation involved; neither of us had any experience in this area. Our intuition told us we should at least use lubricant, so we intensified foreplay to increase vaginal lubrication. Then she let me apply it to her anus.

I was very careful when I tried to penetrate her, afraid of tearing her vagina, so I even coated my glans with the lubricant before cautiously inserting it. Unfortunately, things didn't go as planned. She screamed and collapsed onto the bed just a little bit in. It wasn't a scream of excitement; it was genuine pain.

Later, she still wouldn't give up and let me try again, but it still didn't work. She said it hurt too much, excruciating pain. Then, regretfully, she said, "Forget it, we're not compatible." Even now, she still feels resentful. A month before she left, we went on SIS and saw photos of anal sex. She muttered somewhat resentfully, "How do people do it?" Speaking of SIS, she suddenly felt regretful. She had been planning to take some pictures. She had worked on it for a long time, but perhaps because of the Edison Chen photo scandal, she absolutely refused. After much persuasion and my earnest promises, she finally relented, but before we could even begin, this happened. I believe this will be the biggest regret of my life.

She loved it when I gave her oral sex. After showering, she was always the first to jump onto the bed and lie there comfortably. When I got on, she would first help me get settled, and then she would do it to me. At first, she wasn't very good at it, and her teeth would often bump into me, making me very uncomfortable. Later, she gradually got better and became more skilled, even imitating the movements in AVs, licking and sucking back and forth, which made me extremely ecstatic.

When she was almost done, she would roll over, raise her legs high, and wait for me to do it to her. She couldn't stand me sliding my tongue up and down on her labia. Every time I did that, she would moan excitedly, and several times I had to cover her mouth in fright. Sometimes she would be on top of me, kneeling on the bed, using her hands to spread her vulva out to my mouth, and I would stick out my tongue to lick it. After a few licks, she couldn't take it anymore, becoming softer and softer until she was almost sitting on my head, twisting back and forth and rubbing against my face, often leaving my head and face covered in slickness.

What's most annoying is that the occasional shave of pubic hair always makes me sneeze a few times, which is really unsightly.

Later, I suggested shaving her pubic hair, and she agreed. She used the hotel's razor to shave it clean, smooth and shiny. Coincidentally, her husband came back the day after she got home. I guess absence makes the heart grow fonder, and the couple did it once, and they found out. She hurriedly made up an excuse and managed to get away with it. That incident frightened her, and she vowed never to do anything that could leave evidence again, otherwise, she would never be able to explain herself.

It seems that her whole body is a sensitive area. Whether it's her fingers, toes, or anus, as long as I touch it, she will scream. She said she really can't stand me doing that. As soon as my tongue touches her, her whole body goes numb and she just wants to scream out loud. She also liked to drink my semen. Many times, when she felt I was about to climax, she would tell me to come, open her mouth wide, and let me ejaculate into her mouth. Sometimes I missed, and it would get all over her face and head, and she would stick out her tongue to lick it. Even if she couldn't lick anything, she would still make a dreamy look, truly alluring.

We also tried wearing stockings. She would wear high heels and black stockings, and then perform a striptease for me completely naked. Often, I would throw her onto the bed while she was dancing with great interest. To be honest, I wasn't really interested in her dancing. After all, time waits for no one. A woman in her thirties doesn't have such a slender figure anymore. Although she hadn't given birth, she had some extra fat around her waist, and her movements always looked a bit comical.

Later, she stopped dancing and bought some random sexy lingerie online, which she often wore to show me. People have different preferences. I'm indifferent to this kind of thing; I've never felt that clothing with a strong sense of vulgarity could enhance my sexual interest, so I didn't show any enthusiasm. She was a little unhappy and asked if I disliked her figure. Of course, I didn't dare to tell the truth and made up an excuse to appease her.

Sometimes we would do it on the floor without taking off our clothes, just lifting our skirts or pulling our pants down halfway.

That time she arrived early, but when I came in, she wasn't waiting in bed as usual. Instead, she was fully dressed and half-lying there watching TV. I asked her if she had showered, and she said no. I thought she was waiting for me, so I hurriedly prepared to take off my clothes.

But she said wait, then got off the bed, pushed me against the wall, and started kissing me. I kissed her back, still fumbling to unbutton my clothes, when she grabbed my hand. "I'm not taking them off," she said. Then she turned her back, pulled down a pair of tight jeans to her thighs, and then pulled down her underwear, revealing her white, tender buttocks.

The whole thing was rushed, as if she was in a hurry. Since that was the case, I went along with it, pulled out my thing and thrust it in. She screamed, bracing herself against the wall with one hand, arching her buttocks, and grabbing me with the other, placing it on her breast, indicating I should rub it. She came quickly that day; I remember she went limp and collapsed almost immediately.

We showered together and did it again in the bathroom, in the same position, but this time in front of the mirror. She stared at us in the mirror with glazed eyes, shouting, "Fuck me harder, fuck me harder, faster, faster!" Afterwards, I was curious and asked her what was wrong that day. She didn't say.

Later, she often did this, rushing around yet seeming impatient. Several times I thought she would really leave as soon as she was done, but afterwards I found she was perfectly fine. However, each time she did this, she was very excited, and her orgasm came even faster.

Later, I finally couldn't help but ask her, "What's wrong? Why are you in such a hurry?" She said, "Nothing, I just wanted to do this." I said, "Why?" She said, "It feels more like having an affair." I was speechless. I said that no matter what we did, we were having an affair. She said it was different, this was more like it, rushing around, not even having time to calmly take off her clothes. Like a promiscuous woman who takes advantage of her husband's inattention and hastily runs out to let a stranger have her way with her.

"I don't know why, but it excites me a lot," she said.

Her reason made me both laugh and cry, it really echoed that song: "Don't try to guess a woman's thoughts, you'll never understand no matter how much you try." One day, she suddenly asked me, "What's it like when men masturbate?" I asked her in return, "And what's it like when you women do it?" Like this. She rolled over and lay down, spread her legs and put her hand on that spot, rubbing her fingers there. After a while, her body stiffened, and she started breathing more heavily. I lay down next to her and watched, watching her fingers caress the swollen little mound above her vagina. I asked her, "Don't you need to put your fingers inside?" She gasped and said no, this was fine. Then she asked me to help her.

I put my hands on her breasts and slowly massaged them. She told me to be rougher, so I was. She told me to pinch her nipples, so I pinched them and twisted them hard. Her breathing became more and more rapid, and she slowly cried out, then asked me to say something. I was about to say something swear, but then I remembered a little game I used to play with Sister Zhao from my old workplace, so I started talking about it.

I first asked her, "Who are you?" She hesitated noticeably and asked me back, "What do you think?" I said, "I don't know you, I just followed you because you're pretty." She was smart and immediately understood, panting, "You pervert, you think you can touch someone just because they're pretty?" I said, "Yes, not only can I touch you, I also want to fuck you."

She said, "Are you sure you can do it? Can you fuck me well?"

I said, "Why don't you try it and you'll see? My dick is huge, it can go right through you." She said, "You're lying, I don't want to, I'm a proper woman." I said, "Why are you so wet if you're proper?" She said, "I'm itchy."

I said, "Then I'll help you relieve the itch, okay?"

She said, "No, I have a husband."

I said, "It's okay, your husband won't know. Just once, try it, it'll definitely be better than your husband." She said, "Really? Then you'd better hurry, my husband will be back soon." I said, "So what if he's back? Let him see, his wife is cheating on him." At this point, she couldn't take it anymore and shouted loudly, "Yes, let him see, let him see, his wife is being fucked, his wife's pussy is being played with..." Then her body convulsed.

I don't understand what kind of psychology this is. Maybe women are born with a desire to cheat? When we first got together, I never dared to bring up her husband, afraid it would make her feel guilty and affect our relationship. Later, she brought it up herself, and each time she did, she seemed a little excited. After that, she brought it up often, especially when things got heated. She would constantly mention her husband, like an aphrodisiac, making me feel infatuated.

Marrying a woman like that is truly a man's misfortune.

Later, she encouraged me to visit her home.

I hesitated for a long time, still haunted by the thought. I'm always hesitant and cautious about things I'm unsure about, afraid of falling into someone's trap or being caught in bed with someone else by a sudden turn of events. Many movies and novels depict such scenarios, and those scenarios always send chills down my spine.

She sensed my hesitation and repeatedly emphasized that her husband wasn't in the country, even calling me to show me his number. After going back and forth like this several times, I finally agreed.

She was very happy and spent several days preparing, specially buying me a bathrobe, slippers, towels, toothbrushes, and other things. Listening to her animated explanation in Cantonese, I was quite puzzled. I told her, "I'm not going to stay at your house, why are you preparing all this? That's not how a mistress acts." She argued back, "She said other places can't compensate me, and she'll never let me suffer in this kind of situation, it's better than him." I was both amused and exasperated, and asked her, "Aren't you afraid it will be used as evidence in court?" She said she wasn't afraid, that she had everything planned out, and that she would just say her cousin was coming, telling me to rest assured, everything was arranged, and that he wouldn't be back for a long time anyway. This woman is always meticulous, so I wasn't worried. I just felt sorry for that British man, and also vaguely worried that I might have done something wrong. I thought, "If only she married a Japanese man, or even a Korean from another country, then I wouldn't feel guilty at all." This was my second time visiting her house. It

was still the same, with more furniture, making it more cozy than the empty space before.

I felt a little awkward when I first came in, like a cuckoo taking over someone else's nest. But I gradually felt better, sitting on the sofa watching her running around busily. I made a salad, pan-fried a steak, and opened a bottle of red wine. I jokingly asked, "Should we light a candle?" She slapped her forehead, "Oh dear, I forgot!"

I pulled her into my arms, and it really felt like holding my wife. She immediately gave in, went limp, then broke free and ran to draw the curtains, before snuggling back into my arms.

During dinner, she remained seated on my lap, refusing to leave, taking a sip of wine and feeding me before drinking some herself. Gradually, she blushed, reaching down to touch my penis, rubbing it against her genitals until I was completely aroused. I reached into her pants and started fiddling between her legs, quickly feeling her wetness.

She then stripped naked and started pulling at my clothes. I wasn't used to it, so I just let her take off her pants, revealing my already hard penis. She immediately grabbed it, squeezed it a couple of times, and put it in her mouth. A moment later, she even sucked on it with wine in her mouth, enveloping my penis in the hot and cold sensation, a novel and exciting experience.

Sometimes, while sucking, she would look up at me and mumble, "What do you want to do? Want to be penetrated?" I would nod, but she would ignore me and continue playing with me until I couldn't resist anymore and lifted her up. Only then would she wriggle her hips and put her inside. As soon as I put her in, she cried out, not loudly, just moaning softly, and then pulled my hand to make me rub her breasts.

We did it once while sitting on the chair, rested for a while, finished our meal, and then she dragged me into the bedroom.

There were photos everywhere in the bedroom, some of her, some of his, posing provocatively in front of various unknown scenic spots, but mostly of the two of them, all with their arms around each other, looking affectionate, their smiles bright and satisfied. Her demeanor was dignified, ladylike, gentle, and quiet; no one could imagine that such a woman had a wanton and wanton heart.

She was an enigmatic woman; I still haven't figured her out.

The woman in the photos was now naked, dragging another man into a bedroom that didn't belong to him. I was still a little reserved, more of an uneasy feeling, as if I had suddenly entered a place riddled with cameras.

She, however, was very natural, lifting the covers and crawling inside, then pulling back a corner to call me to get on top.

I hesitated as I got into bed, still looking around, when she pinned me down. "What's wrong? Not used to it?" she asked.

I said a little. She chuckled, calling me a coward, saying I was still cowering even after stealing something. I was a little annoyed by her words, so I rolled over and pinned her down again, opening my hands to fondle her breasts. "See how cowardly I am!" I said, then buried my face in her, kissing and licking her. She immediately became aroused, urging me to enter.

That day she was wild, dragging me to every corner of her house until we were both completely exhausted.

Once she asked me to go to her house. Later I asked her why she always wanted to do it at home. She said she didn't know why, but she just felt different at home, especially excited and stimulating.

Especially in her and her husband's bed, surrounded by photos of the two of them, it felt like being watched by her husband. Every time she thought about these things, she couldn't stand it. She said she had actually wanted to do this for a long time, and sometimes when she was at home, just thinking about such a scene would make her wet down there, and she often had to change her underwear several times a day.

Once, I went to her house, and after I changed into slippers and was

hanging up my coat, she called me to look at her from the living room. I turned around and saw her leaning on the armrest of the sofa, her pajamas pants pulled down to her knees, revealing her white and tender buttocks, which were swaying back and forth. I chuckled, and she told me to come over and touch her. I went over and slapped her buttocks, and she urged, "Not there, touch the cleft." I touched her cleft, and it was wet inside.

I slapped her buttocks again and said, "How can you be so horny?" She pouted and pretended to be shy, saying, "My little sister wanted it." I asked her what she wanted. She said I knew the answer. Then she knelt in front of me, took out my penis, and licked it with her tongue. I said, "Do you do this when your husband comes home?" She said, "Yes, but once I've gotten him hard, I don't care anymore, it drives him crazy." I said, "You're really bad." She clung to me and said, "I'm not bad, I'm just horny." I said, "You horny girl!

I specialize in fucking horny cunts!" After saying that, I pushed her down onto the sofa and thrust into her without thinking.

She screamed, yelling, "You're an animal! A horny animal!" I said, "Yeah, I'm an animal, and so are you, you're a bitch!" She shouted, "So what if I'm a bitch? So what if I'm a bitch who likes to mate! Come on, do it! If you're so capable, fuck a little dog!" That's how she is. Outside the home, she's always a virtuous and dignified woman, but when it comes to this kind of thing, she becomes unrecognizable. Her crazy energy is like a reincarnated lustful demon. This is especially pronounced at home.

Once, we watched a Japanese film together, about a housewife having an affair while talking on the phone with her husband. She seemed to have discovered something new, excitedly saying, "How come I didn't think of that? How come I didn't think of that?" Then, just like in the movies, she made me have sex with her while she called her husband.

Her husband knew she was home and seemed to ask what she was doing. She said she was mopping the floor, saying she was exhausted, and asked her husband if he could hear her panting. That was roughly the gist of it; I didn't understand a word, and she repeated it to me after hanging up. I was both amused and exasperated, unsure whether it was a blessing or a curse. If I married a woman like that, I'd be ready to hang myself.

She even told me, "I'm so excited! I've never been this excited before." I said, "Then we'll come back often to do it." I even suggested that she try her husband out, since foreigners are generally more open-minded, maybe he's good at this. She said that wouldn't do; her husband was very traditional, even more traditional than many Chinese. Sometimes when she tried something a little different in bed, that British man would find an opportunity to talk to her about it, it was so annoying.

Oh, speaking of which, I suddenly remembered something. Once, we almost had a threesome. It was one of her classmates, they were inseparable. It

was probably last year's Spring Festival; she came to Beijing from Shanghai. Her British husband was away for about a month. She was supposed to go back to her hometown for the Spring Festival, but for some reason, she didn't. Feeling bored, she invited her classmate to spend the holiday with her. That classmate had wanted to come to Beijing for a while, but was too busy with work during the week, so she readily agreed during the Spring Festival holiday.

We picked her up from the airport together, and when we met, she introduced me to her classmate as her friend. But I could tell that the woman definitely knew about our relationship; there was a hint of ambiguity in her smile.

This woman wasn't young either, around thirty-four or thirty-five, and I wondered why she wasn't married. She was quite pretty, fair-skinned and charming, with large eyes and taut, porcelain-like skin. Probably the result of frequent beauty treatments.

However, I didn't like the way they spoke. They were supposed to speak with a soft, gentle Wu dialect, but I couldn't understand it at all. Their voices were very high-pitched, chattering away until I was dizzy. I hadn't noticed before, but now I finally understood the true meaning of "three women make a drama." Anyway, the whole journey was agonizing. Luckily, that female classmate was sensible. After speaking a little of her hometown dialect, she suddenly realized I couldn't understand her, and then consciously switched to Mandarin to chat with her. This made me feel much more comfortable, and I could even join in every now and then.

That day, I treated them to Jiumen Snacks. Faced with a pile of delicious old Beijing food, the two women were extremely excited. They tried this and that, and soon the table was piled high with bowls and plates.

After dinner, I took them home. At first, she didn't want me to go back, but I felt it wasn't appropriate for me to stay, so I insisted on leaving. I didn't contact them for the next few days. The two women, having just reunited, seemed to have forgotten about me, wandering the streets and alleys every day. That day, she probably felt it was too much to ignore me, so she called and asked me to have dinner with her. We

went to Kong Yiji in Houhai, a restaurant serving their hometown cuisine.

The light and simple food was quite palatable, and we even had a few sips of wine while chatting happily. It was that kind of yellow wine, warmed with preserved plums and ginger, served in a large pot. It was sticky in the mouth and warming in the stomach, perfect for winter. We

started with half a jin (250ml), and after enjoying it, we ordered another half jin. Since I was driving, I didn't dare drink anymore. I chatted enthusiastically with them, and before we knew it, it was quite late.

When we left the restaurant, my female classmate went to the restroom, and we waited there. Then she said,

"Don't go home today." I said, "Is it okay? She's still here." She said, "It's fine, we're not kids anymore, we know each other." I hesitated for a moment, looking at her rosy face, and agreed. I quickly ran to the side to call home and ask for leave, saying that my clients were going out all night and I had to accompany them.

I guessed the two of them had already talked it out beforehand. The girl who came upstairs with me wasn't surprised at all. Once inside, she tossed her bag aside and started yelling that she needed to take a shower, saying she'd drunk too much and needed to sober up. Before going into the bathroom, she slyly asked us, "Why don't you two shower first?" I thought to myself, "Or should we shower together?"

Despite the banter, we ended up showering separately. After showering, everyone was refreshed and sprawled on the sofa, continuing their conversation. During this time, I used my best skills, showcasing my Beijing-style quick wit, making the two women laugh so hard they were doubled over, and neither of them seemed sleepy. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore and suggested we go to sleep.

They said, "No way." I said, "We have to go to work tomorrow, it's the end of the year, we're busy." She said, "What does it matter? It's your own company, you're the boss." I said, "I'm really sleepy." Finally, she suggested, "How about this, we go inside together, you can listen to us talk, and if you get sleepy, you can go to sleep first." I said okay.

The apartment for international students had plenty of heating; it was as warm as spring. I casually covered myself with a thin air-conditioning blanket, while the two of them, laden with snacks, sat on the bed watching a horror movie. They didn't look like women in their thirties at all; it was as if they'd suddenly rewound and were back in their teenage years.

At first, I forced myself to stay awake with them, dozing off every now and then. I don't know when I fell asleep, but I vaguely felt someone kicking my bottom a few times, and then nothing more.

I woke up when I felt someone touching me, rustling and touching my inner thighs inside my long underwear. I opened my eyes; it was dark all around, with only slivers of streetlight filtering through the thick curtains. In that dim light, I turned around and saw her staring at me, her body pressed tightly against mine. Behind her was the other girl, her back to us, also covered with a thin blanket.

I whispered, "Why aren't you asleep yet?"

She said she couldn't sleep.

I said, "You have to sleep even if you can't. Do you think bothering me will make you sleep? I'm not a sleeping pill.

" She said, "I'm more effective than sleeping pills." Then she leaned close to my ear and whispered breathlessly, "I want to." She pulled my hand and put it down her warm, wet area. Sure enough, it was soaking wet. I said, "What should we do?

How about we go to the living room?" She said she didn't want to move, she wanted to stay here. I was startled. How could we do it with her there?

She said it was okay, she was asleep and wouldn't wake up even if the roof collapsed.

I was still a little hesitant, but she didn't care and climbed down, pulled down my long underwear, and put my penis in her mouth, sucking it. I was getting a little carried away by her, and no longer cared that there was someone sleeping next to me, so I pulled her up. She had already taken off her pajama bottoms down there, and was only wearing a nightgown on top. She straddled me and penetrated me, then started moving back and forth.

At first, she tried to restrain herself, but then she let loose, moaning and groaning. I couldn't reach her from below, so I just looked up and put my finger to my lips to be quiet. She ignored me and continued to moan happily. Eventually, I gave up. If she wasn't afraid, why should I, a grown man, be afraid

? Let's go crazy together! So I yanked her off, made her kneel, and entered her from behind. I pulled her upper body up, unbuttoned her nightgown, leaving it open, and kneaded and squeezed her exposed breasts with both hands. She couldn't take it anymore and screamed. I quickly covered her mouth. She still couldn't stand it, shaking her head and whimpering as she struggled. I thrust into her from behind, making her heave.

When her moans finally subsided a little, I let go. She said weakly, "I can't take it anymore, you pervert, you've made me lose my breath." I was startled and tried to stop her, "Keep your voice down, someone might hear." "So what if they hear?" she said, and then she actually started touching the girl's body.

I opened my mouth in astonishment, but inexplicably didn't stop her. The scene was quite novel to me, and a strange kind of stimulation excited me immensely. Watching her touching the girl's body, I was no longer worried, but I hoped she would go further.

This woman never disappoints me. She actually flipped my classmate over and brazenly began fondling her breasts. Whether the classmate was faking it or genuinely sound asleep, the woman didn't react at all to her vigorous movements. Later, she became even more audacious, not content with just touching her through her clothes, she reached inside. The woman was wearing

one of those tight-fitting thermal underwear sets, and perhaps because it was so constricting, her hands moved awkwardly inside, so she withdrew after a while. I thought she'd stop there, but then she started to undress her. First, she lifted her shirt, revealing a patch of white belly, and then she began to pull down her thermal underwear.

I was incredibly excited, staring wide-eyed, both nervous and thrilled. I wanted to see my classmate's naked body, but I was also afraid she would wake up and berate us for being shameless. My emotions were like a rollercoaster, surging up and down.

Just then, she finally woke up. In that instant, I almost went limp.

Later I realized that the girl had probably been awake for a while, just pretending to be asleep. Because when she spoke, she unusually didn't open her eyes, keeping them tightly shut, only pushing away the hand pulling at her pants, muttering, "Annoying, stop it." She wouldn't give up, persistently pulling at the girl. The girl then struggled with her, cursing at us, "Are you all crazy? Why are you dragging me into this?" To be honest, my mental fortitude wasn't up to par. I shouldn't have, at the crucial moment, actually failed. I felt my penis slowly shrinking; the excitement and stimulation from before had vanished without a trace.

Actually, I knew that if we had persisted a little longer that day, there definitely wouldn't have been a problem. The woman's refusal wasn't very firm; she was just a little shy. With a little more effort, I could have made her give in half-heartedly. It was just that I felt it wasn't right; some traditional things were still at play. I had fantasized about it, but when it actually happened, I still felt vaguely uncomfortable.

I left early the next day, and the female classmate was still asleep when I left. We met again the following day, and it was a bit awkward.

Later, after she left, I asked her what she was thinking that night. She said she didn't know, she just really wanted to wake her up and make her watch us.

I said, "You're a pervert."

She rolled her eyes at me.

Suddenly, my curiosity was piqued, and I guessed that since she and my classmate were so close, they must have had something going on. So I asked her.

She said, "Nothing much. We often slept together back then, sometimes touching and messing around, just out of curiosity, thinking it was fun. I didn't feel anything at the time." She said, "Actually, many girls are like that, it's not lesbians, it just feels more intimate." I never saw that female classmate again. I heard she got married.

Time flies; it's been four or five years since I met this woman. She's the one I've had the longest relationship with all my lovers. If this hadn't happened, I think it would have been even longer. Because even now, we haven't grown tired of each other, and a kind of familial affection has slowly developed. Although we still maintained our relationship in the bedroom,

this female lover fulfilled all my fantasies about women. As a lover, she was devoted; as a friend, she was incredibly loyal. Her departure felt like a piece of my flesh had been ripped out, leaving me in constant pain.

There's so much more to our story, but I don't want to recall it now. Perhaps later, when my emotions have calmed down, I can recount our story in detail.

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That Person, That Event—Dedicated to the memory of that departed woman

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