Having an extramarital affair with a colleague—a heartfelt confession from the third party

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That happened in the winter of 1996. I was 21 years old that year, having just been transferred back to Beijing from another city.
One of my colleagues was a woman of breathtaking beauty. She was 23 that year, and without exaggeration, she was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen in real life. Her beauty was natural and pure, without any makeup or artificiality. She had beautiful, long, wavy hair, which made her even more alluring. Although she was only 153cm tall, she had a bust size of nearly 90cm, definitely considered very large by Chinese standards.
At the beginning of the year, when I first saw her, I was deeply attracted to her and stunned by her beauty. I often thought that if I could sleep with a woman like that, I would be willing to give up a few years of my life. Who would have thought that my wish would become a reality at the end of the year?
That October, she got married. Her husband was a graduate student, very busy with work, and rarely took care of her. Because their workplace didn't provide them with housing, they could only stay together on weekends, which was very inconvenient. So she didn't go home during the week, living alone in the single dormitory building at my workplace, only returning on weekends.
In December, with all the work completed and the year-end approaching, I was in a very relaxed mood. One evening, she called me and asked me to come play cards with her. Around 10 PM, we returned to the single dormitory together. On the way, she said to me, "Didn't you want to see my photos? Want to come to my place?" "Of course!" I was very happy. I really enjoy looking at other people's photos, especially photos of beautiful women; it's a real treat.
After we entered the room, she took out two photo albums and placed them in front of me, saying, "The photos aren't very good, don't laugh." I flipped through the albums, slowly admiring the beautiful pictures. She poured me a glass of water, sat down next to me, and craned her neck to explain the photos: "This is a photo from when I was in elementary school. You see the boy behind me? He really likes me, so he's standing behind me, so happy, his mouth is practically closed from smiling. This one is of me..."
Her head was very close to mine, her breath sweet as orchids, her beautiful curly hair gently brushing against my face, tickling me. I turned to look at her; she didn't seem to realize it. I leaned my body slightly to the side, moving my face a little further away from her. This close distance made my heart flutter a little too. In my mind, she was a very beautiful and traditional woman; I never imagined she was doing this intentionally.
At midnight, we had mostly finished looking at the photos. I suddenly noticed a paper package at the back of the album. When I tried to take it out, she pressed it down with both hands, saying, "These photos aren't very good, don't look at them." "You think I can just not look at them like that? How embarrassing would that be?" I joked, suddenly snatching the album and moving it away from her. Before I could even open the photo album, a pair of cold hands covered my eyes. She cried out, "I won't let you see! I won't let you see!" I was momentarily impulsive, wanting to turn around and hug her. But reason prevailed over impulse, and I didn't do that. I'm a very traditional man; I didn't intend to take advantage of her.
I put down the album and said, "It's late, I'm going home." She was perhaps disappointed, but had no reason to keep me, only saying, "Okay, go home and have sweet dreams." A double meaning in her words, which I only realized later. Back home, I lay in bed, carefully recalling what had happened that night. I vaguely felt that she seemed to like me, but it seemed impossible, since she had only been married for a little over a month!
The next day, she met me and said, "I have some more photos, are you interested?" "Of course," I replied. "Okay, come to my dorm tonight." With that, she smiled sweetly and drifted away.
Around 8 PM, I arrived at her dorm. The door opened, and she stood before me. I was pleasantly surprised to find that she looked even more beautiful than usual; she had applied light eyeshadow and lipstick.
"Oh, you're wearing makeup?" I asked.
"Does it look good?" She was pleased that I noticed her difference as soon as she walked in.
"It looks good, very pretty," I said truthfully.
"Really?" She smiled, very pleased. "I did this makeup especially for you."
"Come on, I'm not your lover," I teased.
"Ugh..." She smiled, quite alluringly, "Come in, don't just stand at the door talking." I went inside and closed the door.
"Actually, it's the same stuff as yesterday, the ones I didn't show you," she said. Her real intention wasn't what she meant
. I sat on her bed, no longer interested in looking at her photos.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asked.
"No. I used to, but we broke up over a year ago," I replied.
"You're 21 this year, right? Still young, no need to rush. A handsome young man like you, why worry about not finding a girlfriend?" she said.
"I really am worried. Why don't you introduce me to someone?" I said.
"Sure, I'll take care of it," she said.
From that night onward, for months afterward, my sexual needs were truly left to her.
That night, we talked more and more, about everything under the sun. From school to society, from romantic relationships to extramarital affairs. Before we knew it, it was already one in the morning.
Suddenly, she asked me, "Do you know why I've told you so much?"
Of course I knew, but I didn't dare to say it, so I tentatively said, "I'm afraid you'll be angry if I tell you."
She looked at me, looking very nervous: "Go ahead, say whatever comes to mind, I won't be angry."
I thought for a moment, then mustered my courage and said, "I think you like me a little."
I lowered my head, not daring to look at her. "Yes," she answered firmly, "I like you."
My heart skipped a beat. Although I was mentally prepared, her words still startled me.
She looked at me affectionately: "Do you like me?"
"Yes." Of course I liked her. From the first moment I saw her, I was already captivated by her. It's just that she had a boyfriend and was about to get married, and my conservative thinking prevented me from having any romantic feelings.
"Then why didn't you say so? Why did you make me, a girl, say it first?" She was a little agitated. Yes, why didn't I say it first? I felt a pang of regret; as a man, I was less courageous than a girl. I didn't have that kind of courage.
"I'm sorry, because you're already married, and it's only been a month, I didn't think of it..." Not that I didn't think of it, but that I dared not think of it.
"I just love you!" Her voice choked, her beautiful eyes brimming with tears.
"But I'll break up your family." This was my concern; although I loved her, I wanted her to be happy even more.
"No, I promise I won't." She was getting anxious.
I reached out my hand to her, took her small hand in mine, and pulled her into my arms. She let out a soft moan and sat down on my lap. Our lips met passionately in a kiss, our tongues intertwined, and my hand slipped inside her shirt, caressing her large breasts that I had longed for. She obediently raised her arm, making room for my hand. My penis was erect; I had the urge to make love. My tongue lightly licked her earlobe.
"Can I do it with you?" I asked timidly.
"But I'll get pregnant," she said, a little scared.
"You're already married," I said, meaning you can have an abortion.
She thought for a moment and then nodded. I was happy, yet a little nervous; my wish was about to come true. My hand slid down from her beautiful, large breasts, across her flat, smooth abdomen, unbuckled her belt, and reached for her mysterious little hole. It was already a vast expanse of moisture. My middle finger slipped into her vagina; the warm, wet, slippery feeling was something I hadn't experienced in a year and a half. She took off my clothes, and I was shirtless. "So strong," she said, gently stroking my well-developed pectoral muscles. I used to work out and enjoyed sports; I was confident in my physique. I gently removed her top and unhooked her bra, revealing a pair of large, firm, and white breasts before my eyes. I leaned down, my hands on her waist, my tongue circling her nipples, gently biting and sucking them forcefully. "Ah..." She couldn't resist my teasing any longer and let out a pleasurable moan. My hands moved down, caressing her buttocks, and then I removed all her underwear; she was now completely naked. I picked her up and placed her on the bed. Naked, she seemed a little embarrassed, covering her face with her hands. Admiring her perfect body, I quickly stripped off my clothes, climbed on top of her, and passionately kissed her lips, one hand caressing and kneading her breasts with fervor and excitement. She wrapped one arm around my waist, the other reaching under my crotch to grasp my erect penis, stroking it up and down.
I parted her legs, my penis thrusting against her vulva twice, both times missing its mark—I hadn't practiced in a long time, and I couldn't hit it right. "Silly boy," she chuckled, grabbing my penis and pressing it against the entrance. "Okay." I applied slight pressure, and my penis slowly entered her vagina. The feeling was incredibly pleasurable. My penis felt the warmth of her body, burning hot. "Uh..." she groaned as my penis penetrated.
"Are you a virgin?" she asked. "Yes," I lied. "I don't believe you," she said. "Why?" I asked. “Intuition, a woman’s intuition,” she added. “You’re quite special; I’m sure many girls like you.” I smiled, didn’t reply, and focused on my work. Her vagina was tight, gripping my penis firmly. I thrust quickly, and her vaginal fluid increased, gradually producing “splashing” sounds. “So much water,” I said. “Is it slippery?” she asked. “Slippery. Very comfortable,” I replied. The glans rubbed against the inner walls of her vagina, bringing me boundless pleasure.
“Why aren’t you moaning?” I had been thrusting for five or six minutes, but I hadn’t heard her moan. “Moan what?” she asked. “Moaning.” Good heavens, she couldn’t possibly not know that. “How do I moan? Teach me,” she said. I was exasperated. “When you and your husband do it, do you moan? You moan uncontrollably, like you’re enjoying it,” I asked. She thought for a moment: “No.” Thank goodness, I thought it was just that my skills weren’t up to par.
Personally, I think a woman moaning is actually a great encouragement for a man. The more pleasure a woman experiences, the louder her moans, and the more energetic the man becomes, because his efforts are rewarded, and he and the woman share the pleasure of sex.
After about ten minutes, I got a little tired and gradually slowed down my thrusting. "Actually, you don't necessarily have to thrust quickly to feel pleasure. Slow is good too," she said. "I feel that slow feels better than fast." Okay, then I'll slowly penetrate you. I thrust slowly, each time going all the way in, pulling out to expose the glans, my toes hitting her clitoris with each stroke. After only thirty or forty strokes, she suddenly let out a pleasurable moan, her body stiffening, her legs rigid, tightly clamping my body, her buttocks involuntarily thrusting upwards, pressing heavily against my toes, her fingers gripping my back tightly, pressing my body firmly against her breasts. I felt her vagina contracting, sucking my penis tightly with each thrust, accompanied by gushes of vaginal fluid gushing from inside her vagina. She had orgasmed.
“Darling, that was wonderful.” She hugged my head and kissed my cheek. Perhaps she was enjoying it so much that she only made a “tsk” sound after her lips left my face. I said, “Why did you only make a ‘tsk’ sound after your lips left my face?” “Really?” She obviously hadn’t noticed, then laughed, finding it amusing. “This is a special case for me. I only kiss you like this, not even my husband. And even if you have a girlfriend in the future, you’re not allowed to kiss me like this!” Women will be women; sometimes they seem particularly childish. I reached out to hug her bottom, trying to straighten her, but touched a slippery, sticky fluid—her vaginal lubrication.
“So much, you’ve soaked the sheets, haven’t you?” I said.
“You’re so annoying!” She was a little embarrassed. “I’m so tired, and you’re still teasing me.”
“What are you tired of?” I retorted. “I’ve been the one exercising the whole time, and you just lie there, doing nothing, just enjoying yourself.”
“What? I still have to work hard down there, otherwise why would it be so tight?” she said.
“Really? Then try relaxing.” I said. She relaxed her body, and suddenly, the force that had been gripping my penis disappeared. The difference was too great; I finally believed her. She had been exerting force all along; her vaginal muscles were very strong. I suddenly remembered something—a pornographic novel described a woman's vagina as movable, called a "living vagina." I said to her, "Can you move it? Like when you're giving birth, push down." "Is that so?" I felt a force really building up inside her vagina, pressing outwards. Little by little, starting from the glans and going down to the base of my penis, it was very noticeable and very pleasurable. I couldn't help but shout, "Great! Keep going! My penis is almost being squeezed out!" She was also very happy, thrusting even harder, saying, "Get out, get out!" Honestly, at that moment, I really wanted to stay on top of her forever, enjoying the pleasure she gave me.
"Let me serve you." She rolled over and straddled me, guiding my penis with her hand, and sat down with a thud. Her warm, slippery vagina moved up and down on my penis, even more pleasurable than when I was the one initiating the movement. Her hands were on either side of my ears, her beautiful breasts swaying right above my face. I could look at such a sight for a lifetime. I could freely caress her breasts, or slightly lift my head so they would brush against my face. After five or six minutes, she suddenly leaned over me and said, "I'm tired. Why haven't you ejaculated yet?" I said, "It's only been a few minutes, not even half an hour." "My husband only lasts five or six minutes each time, but after we did it more often, it only took ten minutes or so," she said. "Do you have an orgasm?" I asked. "Yes, medically speaking, about fifteen minutes of sex is the healthiest for both men and women," she said. "Fifteen minutes is enough."
Women are truly different; some like it fast, some like it slow, some love to moan, some are completely silent. Someone once said that having sex with a hundred women will give you a hundred different feelings.
"Have you ever had an orgasm? It's truly an ecstatic feeling," she said. “Of course I can ejaculate.” I had her lie face down on the bed, spread her legs, and entered her from behind. She cooperated by sticking her buttocks up, giving me the best angle to enter. The folds at the tip of her vagina directly rubbed against the coronal sulcus of my glans, which was incredibly stimulating. Every thrust of my body created waves on her buttocks, soft yet very elastic. After more than ten minutes, I felt my orgasm coming, my penis swelling as if it was about to burst. “I’m coming!” I shouted loudly. “Come on, let’s do it together!” She could obviously feel it. My penis contracted violently, and a gush of semen spurted out. “Ah…” Stimulated by the semen, she also reached orgasm. After a wave of pleasure, I suddenly felt very tired and lay on her back. She turned her head and said to me, “Darling, you’re amazing!” I smiled but didn't say anything. The pleasure from my orgasm hadn't completely subsided. My penis, throbbing inside her vagina, slowly softened. Suddenly, her vagina moved, and I felt my penis about to be squeezed out. I quickly pushed it back in, saying, "No, it's about to fall out!" She giggled and said, "I'm being naughty." She tore off some toilet paper and placed it on her vulva. I pulled my penis out, and she quickly plugged it up, sitting on the bed, saying, "I have to squeeze out all the semen." After a while, she looked at the paper in her hand and said, "Wow, so much!" She smelled it, "It smells fishy, like fresh semen."
After we cleaned up, we lay together in each other's arms. I asked her, "Why did you fall for me?" "Because you're a really nice guy from Beijing. Very handsome!" she said. You can't trust what a woman in love says. Later I learned that she didn't actually love her husband that much; it was just his persistent pursuit that moved her. She felt it didn't matter whether she loved her husband or not; the most important thing was that her lover would always love her. After marriage, her husband was busy with work and lacked affection for her, making her feel lonely. Besides, she thought I was a very nice person—good-tempered, loving, very considerate, and humorous—which she liked very much.
After that, we made love passionately, once for four nights in a row, to the point that I fell asleep in the movie theater. We also talked a lot. From her, I learned that women's bra cup sizes are A, B, and C, and that a scoundrel once tried to rape her while she was drunk, but ejaculated before even touching her body.
For a considerable period, we lived happily, like a couple deeply in love. We'd been to amusement parks, riding thrilling roller coasters; we'd been to a restaurant in Xidan, drinking expensive red wine. We'd been to Wangfujing Snack Street, enjoying Chinese cuisine. Seeing the envious glances from passersby, I felt incredibly content.
One day, she said to me, "Yesterday, my husband and I went to karaoke. There was a song called 'Parting at the River,' and I cried. The lyrics are so beautiful; I copied them for you. I hope that, like the song says, no matter how things end, I hope you'll always remember me."
"Okay, I promise. No matter what the future holds, you'll always be the most beautiful scenery on my life's journey. Whenever I look back, it will be filled with warm memories." We hugged each other, speechless for a long time. She was beautiful, gentle, and considerate; I knew I had fallen deeply in love with her.
Two months passed quickly, and Chinese New Year was fast approaching. She said she and her husband were going home to visit her parents, and she might not see me for quite some time. I didn't want this departure to be the beginning of the end for our relationship.
One day after Chinese New Year, she called me and asked what my blood type was. My parents are both blood type AB, so naturally I am too. She asked if I had been tested. I said no, and she insisted I get tested. She also said she had something important to tell me and asked me to meet her in Xizhimen three days later. I was filled with anxiety; what could it be?
Three days later, I arrived at Xizhimen as agreed and we sat down at a restaurant. We chatted about this and that, but never got to the point. I was getting impatient and asked her what was wrong. Her smile vanished, and she said seriously, "I'm pregnant."
This news was like a bolt from the blue; my heart clenched. Dear readers, have you ever felt this way—like suddenly seeing your long-lost, most beloved lover? But instead of surprise, it's shock.
Seeing my surprised expression, she sighed, "Is it that sudden? I thought you would be prepared. Now I don't even know who the father is. Are you really blood type AB?" I nodded. Seeing my affirmative answer, she was disappointed: "If you were blood type A, I would have kept the baby, no matter whose it was, I would love it." She and her husband are both blood type A; if the child were blood type AB, our affair would be exposed.
In the end, she decided to have an abortion. After the miscarriage, she took leave. For over a month, I had no news of her.
A month later, she contacted me and said, "Let's break up!"
I was surprised and didn't understand why she did this.
“I don’t want to go on like this anymore, I don’t want to keep doing this secretly. Our colleagues are already gossiping about us. You know what? My husband has been so good to me lately. The day after my surgery, when I couldn’t walk, he carried me home. Those days when I was especially weak, he cooked chicken for me every day and fed me bite by bite. He still loves me very much, and I can’t let my husband down again.”
“Is it really impossible for us to continue?” I was in great pain. “If you’re willing, I can be good to you too, even… even I’m willing to marry you!”
She was shocked: “Don’t scare me. That’s impossible. You know how much pressure divorce puts on a woman. We have no future.”
“I finally understand, I was just a substitute. You only thought of me when your husband didn’t love you; now that he loves you again, you’re abandoning me? You’re going back to him!” I choked up, shedding tears for the first time since I became an adult.
She cried too, but hardened her heart and said, "I'm sorry, it's my fault, I hurt you. But believe me, you're not a substitute, I love you. But we won't have a future together. It's better to end it now than to drag it out. Let's end it before our feelings deepen. I promise you, you're the last person I'll ever love, and this will never happen again."
She was silent for a moment, then said, "Also, her workplace allocated us an apartment to help with my miscarriage, so I'll be going home every day from now on." I knew her personality; I knew it was futile to stop her. I just wanted to see her again.
"Can you leave me two days a week?" I asked.
She shook her head.
"One day?"
Still a shake of the head.
"Two weeks, one day?" I pleaded.
"Don't be childish anymore. We can't continue like this. Lingering attachments won't benefit either of us. I must fully commit to my family. With a house, I'll have my own home, even if it's small!"
I argued with her for a long time, but ultimately couldn't persuade her otherwise. Fine, let her be. I didn't want to break up her family; after all, she was the woman I once deeply loved. Her being able to live a good life was a comfort to me.
Six months later, she transferred jobs. From then on, I never saw her again. She only called me once during the 1998 World Cup, saying that watching the World Cup reminded her of my love for football.
That's how my relationship ended, but I know I won't regret it. She will always be the one I deeply love, and whenever I think of this past, my heart is filled with sweetness and warmth.

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Having an extramarital affair with a colleague—a heartfelt confession from the third party

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