My Story with a Young Woman

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It was December 6th. I told A-Lian to pack up and leave early. We hadn't eaten dinner, and we just snuggled together listening to music. She was typing on the keyboard on my lap, her eyes blankly staring at the screen. She knew nothing about computers, or anything in particular; she was like a primary school student to me—in fact, she hadn't even graduated from primary school yet. But when I held her, I didn't understand why I felt such a strong urge. Maybe she was the body I wanted. "Men absolutely don't care about a woman's background or education," I completely agreed with that statement. I must admit that at that moment, my lust for her outweighed my feelings, but for some reason, we were deliberately avoiding each other while simultaneously playing the roles of customer and prostitute.
I told her, "I want to do 'that' with you." She nodded. Then I turned off the light, unfolded the long folding recliner, arranged the pillows, and lay down with her. She obediently let me take off her clothes piece by piece until she was naked, but she insisted on taking off her pants herself. This time she didn't give me a condom. We were completely and utterly united. I don't know why, but I wasn't afraid—afraid of catching any diseases I might have. I didn't touch her lower abdomen again; I just pressed my own abdomen tightly against hers, our pubic hair intertwined, even our toes were entwined. She wrapped her arms around my neck, I wrapped my arms around her waist, I moved gently, she didn't respond, not even a professional moan, just a low murmur. This nearly one hour felt wonderful; my whole body trembled with excitement even more than with my previous girlfriends. The sounds of cars on the street seemed to fall silent, the reading from the neighboring school sounding like accompaniment. I don't know why I reacted so strongly to a body like her. I began to understand why arranged marriages could also produce feelings; most of my feelings for her began at this moment. As I neared climax, she gave me her lips, a long, wet kiss. I was overwhelmed with gratitude. I knew it was a gift from her; she would never have another orgasm, at least I couldn't give her one. But she knew what I needed. I can't describe how I felt then. I wasn't dying; I was just grateful because sex so desperately needs lips, but their lips are naturally repelled by men's. I felt a profound, unbridled pleasure, and at that moment, I felt selfish, guilty for not being able to give her that experience. Instead, she looked at me openly, slowly wiping away the fluid flowing from her body. Her eyes held neither joy nor pain, but a maternal love like that of someone looking at a child. She could see the genuine satisfaction on my face.

At that moment, my fingers finally touched her lower abdomen. She involuntarily flinched, but didn't pull away. She took my hand and gently stroked that mysterious place for her. What I felt was a slightly raised scar.
"It's from a C-section."
I was a little surprised. "Where's the baby?"
"At home. Can I bring him out?"
I lowered my head. "How old is he this year?"
"Five years old."
"You gave birth when you were eighteen?" She nodded.
"Where's the father?"
She didn't answer, and I was speechless too. I just gently hugged her tighter, and she gave me a rare hug, draping one leg over my waist. I breathed slowly, without much sympathy. I only knew that no matter what, everyone suffers, and everyone is born to do this kind of thing.
She rested her head on my shoulder and told me her story: how she suffered at home, how she couldn't resist running away, how she started working at a karaoke bar because the work was too tiring and the pay too low; how her father and stepmother argued, how her father got cancer; how her older brother was such a disappointment, having bought a wife for five thousand yuan only to have her run away, and how he chased her all the way here; how good her grandmother was to her, how she sent thousands of yuan home every month just for her grandmother, who raised her child and also shared some with her father; how the house she lived in was a gift from a Hong Kong man, and how he abandoned her. She laughed whenever she talked about her child, a laugh like a child's, and that was the only thing I believed about her—that she did have a child.

Around eleven o'clock, she got dressed to leave. She could still catch her next event, so I wasn't too reluctant to let her go. I gave her fifty yuan for the bus fare, nothing else, and she didn't ask for anything. She hugged me, smiled, got into the bus, and said she'd call me when she got home.
When I got home, my pager rang. It was the same music and her distorted voice on the other end. She loudly told me she was home, and that the taxi driver was trying to woo her. I gave her a loud kiss on the phone, then hung up, laughing like a child in the darkness. I knew I was about to fall in love with her. I didn't know if I could love a woman like the men in movies or novels. I think my feelings were relatively calm at that moment, even though it must have been the most dangerous time for many people.

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My Story with a Young Woman

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