【If it were a winter night】

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

If, on a winter night, your woman

reads this story (to a man), please close your eyes and let your friend read it to you, because this is actually

a story about you. A story about your first time, and the woman who may or may not be yours, who

may have been yours, or who may be yours in the future.

You remember losing your virginity on that night.

A gentle breeze, a pleasant night, your stomach craving fullness, you wander aimlessly through the streets, not just for

food, but to find a place to satisfy it. The words

"A feast for the eyes" catch your eye; you are drawn to the elegant handwriting, push open the door, and enter that

luxurious restaurant. Hungry, you don't notice the beauty of the lady in the pink suit; her

voice, like silver bells, leads you to a spacious room, to a long table, like a

banquet table in a medieval castle. At this moment, you feel like the restaurant's owner, ready to properly entertain this strange guest who keeps secreting acid

, corroding both himself and you.

The still-beautiful waitress hands you a menu. You notice she's changed into a light

green blouse, which you guess is simply a meticulously folded and tailored piece of fabric gently draped over her,

revealing her smooth right shoulder. You vaguely see her shapely figure, and perhaps you'll

ask her out after the meal, and undress her sometime in the sweet evening. But now, you have no such

thoughts . In fact, she's not the waitress who led you in earlier, nor the owner of the elegant handwriting on the signboard.

You later discover she's just a passerby in this story, a character serving readers.

You carefully search the menu, trying to find what you want by price, but there's no number.

Below "Today's Special," above "Serves Soup and Black Tea," in the center of the menu, the elegant

handwriting beautifully prints "She." You don't doubt whether "She" suits your taste; after all, you

're completely immune to taste preferences now. Ordering is simple, requiring no explanation, because you have no other

choice. The waitress in the purple dress (another beautiful, newly appeared passerby—though you might

wonder if she really was just a passerby) told you to wait a moment and slowly walked away with the menu.

Much time passed, but perhaps it was just your stomach making a mistake. You found the surroundings seemed

much darker, the only light coming from the candlesticks on the long table, the soft candlelight, and a white porcelain plate quietly placed between

you and the candle. It was a plate you'd never seen before, a beautiful oval shape; you'd never seen such a

large plate. The food had been served without your noticing, laid out horizontally on the plate. The food was "her," and you

were surprised to find that "she" was actually her—a body covered in food. Looking closely at her face, you

knew her so well; she was the one you saw, talked to, and said goodbye to every day.

(Please fill in "she" with someone you know well, perhaps your girlfriend, your classmate, your

friend, your girlfriend's classmate, your classmate's girlfriend, your friend's girlfriend's classmate, or

your dream girl, the one you know well.)

You don't believe she's here, but you don't doubt it either. She's just someone you know, only lacking

beautiful clothes, just as you hoped in your dream. So you deduce that she comes from your dream, and you do too. But your

stomach corrects your mistake, telling you it doesn't think so.

She lies on a white plate in the most alluring and serene posture you can imagine. You can clearly distinguish the difference between

the porcelain white and her snow-white body. Her high breasts rise and fall slightly with her breath,

and slices of your favorite food are arranged neatly along her curves. You can vaguely

see two small pink grapes trembling on the full mounds. The real grapes, skinned and

placed in the center of her fair belly, nestled in a soft, beautiful indentation, a touch of pale green contrasting against her soft

white skin, stirring your hunger and desire. Her shapely thighs are where you dream of reaching,

curving upwards to a vast ocean, your favorite food spreading out in smooth waves, teasing your

desire to uncover it.

Her pretty face faces you; you notice she wears no lipstick or makeup. Her lips have

a faint sheen, slightly parted, with what you perceive as a faint smile. Her cheeks are flushed,

and her eyes are slightly closed, hazy as if surrounded by mist, alluring in the soft candlelight. You can't help but

move closer, kissing her rosy cheek. A current seems to flow through her; she trembles slightly, and you

feel as if you can hear her sweet moans. You can no longer suppress yourself (in fact, you never intended to),

liberating yourself completely.

You pick up the food piece by piece with your lips, your tongue swiftly rolling it deep inside, soothing your rumbling stomach.

The food slides cleanly down your esophagus, leaving no trace in your mouth. Her fair shoulders and breasts (not

large , but perfectly suited to her) are laid bare before you. Your tongue slowly circles her areolas,

making her rosy nipples stand even more erect. Her delicate arms embrace your head, as if wanting you to stop, yet

reluctant to let go . You gently nibble on her nipples, and her body tenses suddenly, her skin appearing even smoother. You shift your focus,

biting off the nipple on her lower abdomen (you discover it's seedless), swallowing it whole. Your tongue scratches at

the center of her navel, and she arches her back in stimulation. Your tongue, like a speedboat with sails unfurled, glides over her abdomen, upwards, across

her cleavage, and finally bites hard on her smooth, tender neck, like a vampire devouring his beautiful

prey. Your hands roam over her soft armpits, sliding along them, and a moan escapes her lips (this time you're sure you

hear it), mingling with your senses.

The commotion has already caused the delta's food to fall, and the dark jungle emerges before your eyes, glistening dewdrops clinging

to the branches, indistinguishable as if from the juices of food or the splash of a sweet spring. You lower your head to observe, and her

moist labia undulate in a way that excites you, secreting tiny, transparent beads of nectar, half-

open like her real lips. You lick the sweet spring, gently caressing her source of life with your fingers, finding it

wetter than you imagined. Your middle finger dips into the nectar, gently sliding along the cleft, teasing her back and forth

, gradually penetrating deeper, stopping at a prominent spot, accelerating its ravaging, her clitoris and her vulva. She involuntarily...

Her body swayed in rhythm with yours. Her lips met yours, their tongues entwined in passionate lovemaking, while her other

small mouth slowly opened and closed, like a hungry fish yearning. You quietly counted the beats, and on the third

measure you delivered your long-awaited sword. The smooth crescent-shaped petals embraced the tip, and an overwhelming

feeling of pleasure surged up (something that only ever appeared in your most wicked dreams), flowing freely. After the release, you recalled the descriptions of first nights in erotic

literature and laughed knowingly.

But your still-erect little banana reminded you that this symphony wasn't just about that. Her snow-white thighs clamped tightly

around you, rubbing back and forth, and you could clearly feel her pubic hair rustling against your body,

the erotic wetness stirring your greedy desire. Your fingers slid in again, searching for everything about her.

Within the pink flesh, you discovered an unknown protrusion. Curious, you traced circles on it with your fingers, playing with it

wantonly . Her moans rose and fell with your rhythm, pushing you to

the brink of madness and collapse. You sat up abruptly, pulled her up, and had her straddle you. Adjusting to the perfect angle, you held her tightly

, uniting you completely. Her moans stimulated you, her warm opening completely

enveloping , almost making you ejaculate again. She moved her hips up and down impatiently, allowing you to penetrate

deeper and deeper effortlessly. It wasn't just her softness and wetness, but the stimulation of the friction that brought you and her into indescribable

pleasure.

On the verge of losing consciousness, you pushed her down, thrusting even more forcefully with your impulse. She cried out with all her might,

lost in your soul. The pleasure kept rising, pushing your limits and continuing to rise. Suddenly, you felt

a strong contraction, contraction after contraction, that irresistible suction. Her orgasm pulled your consciousness

to its highest point. Unable to bear it any longer, you released forcefully, dispersing all your energy into her body, dispersing it

all, dispersing it to the last drop in your reservoir.

Exhausted, you lay quietly beside her thighs, panting. Her deep breaths were still so beautiful. You

looked at her, her body, her vulva, her vulva breathing rhythmically, just like you, contracting and expanding,

so intense, yet so gentle. You counted its beats, and peacefully fell asleep beside her. In your dreams,

you reminisced about your sweet first experience.

You woke up outside that fantastical restaurant, your wallet empty, replaced by a receipt. You

carefully folded it, put it back in your wallet, and in your recollection, you looked forward to the next dinner, and another beauty you

didn't know , yet already knew.

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