Ten years of sex

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

I was 15 when I had my "first time." In these ten years, I've had harmonious sex, and also simple sex and simple love.
At 15, I was a freshman in high school. A girl who sat in front of me always had a small mirror on her desk. It was funny because several times our eyes met in that mirror. She was in front, looking at me through the mirror; I was behind, and could see her through the mirror.
We slowly, stealthily progressed to holding hands, hugging, and kissing. During winter break of my freshman year, I went to her house. Northern winters are cold, and when I entered, I was dressed like a clumsy bear. She was only wearing a thin dress that I found very alluring and revealing at the time. In an instant, my heart, like the heating in the room, began to heat up. She helped me take off my coat, and I turned around and hugged her tightly, my hands around her waist, and then slowly explored inside. Until I felt her skin, and those breasts whose size I've now forgotten.
I forced myself to hold back my pounding heart and labored breathing as I carried her to bed.
When I was little, I loved reading comics. I remember in those comics, nine times out of ten, the guy would get a nosebleed when he saw a scantily clad woman. At that moment, I had one arm around her waist and the other gently caressing her soft breasts when I suddenly felt my nose getting wet. I thought, "Oh no, I'm getting a nosebleed." I quickly took a deep breath and said to her, "Look, I'm getting a nosebleed." She looked up, smiled gently, and said, "I told you not to take your clothes off, you've caught a cold." Just as I was feeling embarrassed, she turned and pulled back the covers, covering me with them, then lay down beside me, resting her head on my chest. I rolled over, gently pressing her beneath me, kissing her deeply, then slowly removing her clothes, leaving kisses on her neck, breasts, lower abdomen, and the inside of her thighs.
We didn't do it that day because I couldn't find the right spot. She was very nervous, and so was I. I moved around outside her little hole for a long time before finally ejaculating. It was the first time I'd ejaculated on a girl. The feeling was wonderful. Watching the white stuff fall onto her underwear and lower abdomen was very exciting. She said it seemed like it had shot inside her a little because it smelled like "it". This made us very nervous.
We almost did it a few times. But we didn't make it happen until we broke up. I thought at the time that maybe I was still too young and that thing wasn't hard enough. More than half a year after the breakup, I finally felt relieved: thankfully, she wasn't pregnant.
Looking back now, I realize that I didn't have much desire when I was a teenager. Finding a girlfriend was more out of curiosity and because it was cool. On my 16th birthday, I had already broken up with my first "her", but I had a very happy and relaxed year.
(2)
The order of my unforgettable first love is very special: I almost had my "first time" when I was 15. But the time when I truly felt that I loved someone and was willing to do anything for them was when I was 17. Even after all these years, I still remember many scenes from that time clearly. I even liked looking at her during class. Once, our Chinese teacher was lecturing when she suddenly stopped and said, "Why do I notice some students have such dreamy eyes?"
One hundred days before the college entrance exam, I passed her a note in the morning, finally confessing my feelings.
That evening, I received her reply; I only remember one sentence: "Actually, I've accepted you from the bottom of my heart for a long time."
Even now, I still remember that happy moment.
I don't know if every boy, or many boys, has ever had a girl like a goddess in their lives. For her, you'd fall into an irrational frenzy. Every smile of hers could nourish your soul. You'd confess your love to her at a rate of n love letters a day. You'd look at her, hold her, and feel like you'd never be apart, never go hungry; even if the world ended, you wouldn't be afraid.
After the college entrance exam, we still parted ways.
At first, I still called her many times a day, but she gradually became cold towards me. Until one day, she told me on the phone: "Let's break up."
I cried and said, "Don't go, I just want to be with you, no matter what."
She chuckled, "You're such a grown-up, why are you acting like a child? I'm hanging up."
I continued to bother her every day, writing her letters. Of course, there was no reply, no response whatsoever.
I remember in middle school, magazines like *Reader's Digest* and *Youth Digest* were popular for their
cheesy , sentimental
articles, perfect for snacking on. So much so that everyone's essays were uniformly sour, enough to cure the graders' indigestion and insufficient stomach acid. But that's secondary; the most crucial thing is that it poisoned the minds of teenagers. I still remember one article: written from the daughter's perspective, the daughter asked her father, "Why are you so good to Mom?" The father smiled but didn't answer; then one day, the mother, like Doraemon, produced a box from nowhere, containing nearly a thousand love letters from years ago; the daughter secretly resolved, "I, too, will find a lover willing to wait three years and write me nearly a thousand love letters."
That's what I thought back then, diligently pursuing my ideal of three years and a thousand love letters every day.
We never had sex. Only once, we were completely naked, she hooked her arms around my neck, and said she didn't want to. I immediately got off her, put her pants back on, and lay back down. That's how it is; every word she says is my decree, with no room for negotiation.
It's really a strange thing. Why would someone be so infatuated with another person?
A few days ago, I even dreamed of being with her. Six years ago, such a dream would make me wake up with tears streaming down my face. But that day, 0.1 seconds after waking up, I quickly turned on my computer to see if my group stage match for the Italian European Cup had been completed.
(3) The boundary between love and friendship
makes her stand out here. Because I've never even seriously held her hand.
During my university years, there was a period when I thought I liked her. I even showed my parents her picture, and my mom said: This girl is not bad looking; she looks a lot like the chubby Han Hong who sang "Come Home Often." I was speechless. But I think my mom meant Chen Hong; she can never remember the names of those stars who only reign supreme for a few days. Han Hong was actually quite chubby, and her lung capacity was the kind of girl who could sing "The Qinghai-Tibet Plateau." In high school, we called them "cow-suffocating," meaning that a kiss without panting could suffocate a cow.
We often studied together and chose courses together. Once, a group of us were playing Truth or Dare, and she said she had never had a boyfriend before. Afterwards, on QQ, I said, "I have." She didn't say anything. In the following days, I felt that our relationship was strange. It was this strange feeling that made me think that she actually liked me a little and cared about me.
At that time, I watched those Hong Kong Category III films, especially Wong Jing's "Jade Girl Heart Sutra" series, and I thought they were practically philosophical films about sex.
What is invincible skill? It's when you make the other person completely confused, and you remain unmoved; but if the other person is in the heat of battle, and you ejaculate first, then your soul has been captured by the other person.
So, in this sense, what is a Casanova? It's someone who makes the other person love you to the point of madness, yet you can still control yourself; someone who moves before the other person does, that's called a Casanova.
I think relatively speaking, there are more Casanovas than women, and more Casanovas than women. Based on this guiding principle, I handled our relationship very carefully. After countless tests and delays, the fleeting possibility between us finally disappeared. I met my girlfriend, and she met her boyfriend.
Now we often chat, talking about our lives, feelings, and work.
I slowly realized that there are many people of the opposite sex in the world worth admiring, but not in the name of love.
(4) Love and Sex
That summer when I was 20, it was my first real time, a week after I met her. We met at the swimming pool. A friend who came with me was an old acquaintance of hers. We quickly started dating. Around that time, some friends visited my city, and I booked hotels for them. After they left, I kept the hotel for a few more days because I had a premonition that something might happen between us.
That day, her period had just ended. We cuddled on the bed watching TV. I called her name, started kissing her, and took off her clothes. Her breasts felt wonderful; I pressed my face and lips against them and started taking off her skirt and panties. I didn't know if I was ready; I just went with my instincts, placing my already hard and burning penis between her legs. She hugged my shoulders, cooperating with me. She
tried to hold back, but still cried out, tears unconsciously overflowing from the corners of her eyes and sliding down her cheeks.
That moment felt like a lifetime ago.
I almost forgot to enjoy my first time; it felt like just going through the motions of a rite of passage on the road to adulthood. I held her, not with a passionate embrace, only muffled, almost imperceptible moans.
My mind was filled with all sorts of thoughts. Is this it? Is this really it? The sex I'd fantasized about for so long...
For the first dozen or so times, I was quick, but we started to enjoy it. One time at my house, some friends were watching TV and playing computer games in the living room. I got up to go to the bathroom, and she followed. I sat on the toilet seat and helped her onto me. She was still moving excitedly, and I innocently told her, "Honey, I'm coming." She stopped, wrapped her arms around my neck, and gently bit my ear, her breasts rubbing against my chest. That position was incredibly arousing. Soon, my penis, which had just softened, was hard again before it had even fully slipped out, and it continued to penetrate me while we were still embracing. We made love passionately, and that time, she said she felt a tingling sensation all the way to her neck.
The guy said, "Winter is here, but can spring be far behind?" He was actually implying that if it was tingling all the way to her neck, then the orgasm wasn't far off; comrades, keep trying!
A few weeks later, we checked into a hotel near her school. That night, she orgasmed. There were no signs beforehand. If there were any, it was that our time was getting longer and longer. From less than a minute the first time, to ten minutes, to several times in a row within a few hours, twice a day, morning and evening.
I was held tightly by her with all her might, and that feeling was wonderful.
In the year and a half we were together, we made love in countless places and in countless positions, bringing each other to orgasm countless times.
We didn't use contraception at first, only waiting until the safe period to have sex. Until later, one of her friends seemed to get pregnant during the safe period. We were so scared that we broke out in a cold sweat, and then we started using condoms. But I still like intimacy without any barriers, and after making love, I see her lying naked next to me, saying sweet words, and carefully wiping away the semen that had been poured in and then flowed out. During repeated sex, I can still see the semen from the last time being slowly squeezed out.
Nothing is more beautiful than that blush on her chest and the intimacy of sleeping in each other's arms after making love.
(5) One-night stand abc
After breaking up with "her", I found myself becoming a sex addict. Even without love.
I've had three one-night stands, or rather, three one-night stands
with different people: one was an online friend (A) who studied at the same university in the same city;
another was an American girl (B) who shared an apartment with me;
and the third was a nursing student (C) from Southeast Asia.
During my junior year winter break, I was preparing for my exams to study abroad at school and met A online one night. Since almost everyone on my dorm floor had left, and I was worried about police raids on hotels before the Lunar New Year, I took her back to my dorm. We sat together online, and I told her, "Come sleep on my bed, it's late." She got on the bed, turned off the dorm light, and started undressing. My heart was pounding, but I remained seated at my desk.
There was no movement on the bed; she lay quietly. I stood up, moved closer, and took her exposed hand.
She said softly, "Come on up."
I lay down with her and took off her clothes. I lay on top of her and stupidly asked, "Is this your first time?"
I guess she was almost going crazy, but she still politely replied, "I've had boyfriends before." I suppressed the urge to penetrate her, pulled a condom from under the bed, and put it on to avoid any problems.
Her little hole was unique, or rather, different from my ex-girlfriend's, which dampened my enthusiasm, and I didn't want to do it a second time.
Later, I realized that, just as Leonardo da Vinci's teacher once told him, there are no two penises and testicles (or "eggs") in the world. Similarly, there shouldn't be two little holes.
B was my roommate when I was studying in the US, a graduate student majoring in acting. She was extremely hyperactive, jumping around on campus all day, and coming home at night to learn Tai Chi with me, saying it was to relax her muscles. One day at 3 a.m., I had just finished my homework and opened the door to go to the bathroom to wash up when I suddenly saw a figure flailing about in the dark, which almost made me faint. When I turned on the light, I saw her practicing Tai Chi with a face mask on. She said she had a mental problem and only needed three hours of sleep a day, but the doctor told her to sleep more, otherwise she would die young.
After that, we started chatting.
She said her friend told her that sex helps with sleep. I said, "Uh, um..."
She said, "Why don't we try it?" I didn't dare say a word. When I came to my senses, she was already gently hugging me.
We made love. Actually, I think I was the one who got fucked that time. I remember that day I did my homework from 6 pm to 3 am, only eating two boiled eggs in between. I ejaculated very quickly. She wanted more, and I couldn't bring myself to refuse, so I used my fingers—my poor fingers that were almost cramping from typing—to help her reach orgasm.
At that moment, I almost burst into tears. I finally understood how much torture it is to beg your girlfriend or partner to have sex when they don't want to.
After trying it a few more times, I became completely ashamed. Her speed and frequency were very fast, and later she gave me the nickname "Mr. Three Minutes." I really should have told her that I'm actually Japanese, so as not to embarrass Chinese people.
C is a kid I met when I was on a business trip, six years younger than me. Because there were no condoms around, I forced myself to let her bend down, stroked her breasts, and ejaculated into her mouth. It was originally a last resort, but later I found that I liked this method, so I simply stopped buying condoms and just put it into her mouth several times.
She initially frowned and said that the taste was extremely unpleasant. I remembered that eating more vegetables and fruits would be good, so I didn't eat meat for those days, drank buckets of juice, and even my sneezes smelled of oranges mixed with coconut.
According to her, the taste seemed to have improved. So if you want your partner to do this for you, it is better to "cleanse" for two or three days first, and it is also good for your body.
In fact, after any one-night stand, I want to "invite" the other person out of my room and then sleep with a pillow.
(6) Afterword
My current girlfriend is actually somewhat sexually frigid. One of her wishes is to only have sex when she wants to have a child, and the other time we just hold each other. Very soulful, very beautiful.
We play a "game" when we go to sleep at night.
I say: Darling, do you want to make love?
She says: No.
Me: Can't you just say "I love you"? Then I said, "Honey, you're tired. Let's not love each other anymore, let's go to sleep.
That way, it'll seem like we understand each other better."
She chuckled and said, "Okay..."
and then I jumped up. She exclaimed innocently, "You still have lines to say!"
After doing this two or three times, she stopped saying "okay" :)
But I still wanted to be with her. Because in love, sex is just a supporting role. Nothing compares to the connection, understanding, and cherishing of souls. And the passage of time will eventually wear down that youthful restlessness.
I suddenly realized that my writing is very thematic. Even when I write about sex, it seems to be praising love and belittling sex. It's like writing a whole piece about being a prostitute and then erecting a memorial arch.
Actually, to put it another way, there's a big difference in the satisfaction and pleasure of sex between loving and not loving.
Making love with someone you love feels like hitting your heart every time, a gentle touch that feels incredibly powerful. After making love, you can chat for a bit, kiss a little, and take a nap. Making love
with someone you don't love feels like hitting your bones every time, much less effective. After making love, you rub your sore bones and aching thighs, hug your pillow, and snort quietly, dreaming different dreams in the same bed. But even so, it's still barely better than making love with yourself.
That's it.

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Ten years of sex

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