I hooked up with the mistress downstairs.

page views:1 Publication date:2023-06-11 12:12:28

Chapter 1

The apartment downstairs was finally sold recently, and a young couple moved in. Judging from the man's frequency of coming home, I suspect he's having an affair.

The man is around 37 or 38 years old, drives a white SUV, and his comings and goings are always unpredictable. Based on experience, if the car is parked downstairs in the evening, there's

almost always a passionate encounter that night. The woman is very young, the flamboyant and unrestrained type, always wearing super short shorts, bare legs in the summer, and revealing outfits in the winter—her figure is absolutely stunning. We've met several times on the stairs, and her fiery gaze has aroused me. Especially her loud moans during their nighttime encounters have kept me awake countless times.

The woman is lonely.

When the man comes, sometimes it starts with the news broadcast playing in the background, sometimes it's late at night, just as I'm about to fall asleep.

When the man isn't there, the woman turns up the music on her computer and starts karaoke. Or she video chats with someone, sometimes laughing loudly, sometimes rambling on and on. The apartment has terrible soundproofing, disturbing my sleep every night.

Let's call that woman "Black Shorts" for now.

Actually, I'd been enduring and secretly fantasizing about the sounds at night, but a chance encounter one day led to the urge to give her my QQ number.

I'd only been at my new job for three months. The work environment was peculiar: four floors downstairs were a shopping mall, and the upper floors were all office buildings. Every day, I had to pass through the mall to go up and down. Every shop owner was quite aggressive; when there were no customers, the women would lean against the doorframes, saying to passersby, "Come and take a look," giving it a red-light district feel.

I'd gotten used to taking a route into the mall and then to the elevator, but that day a shop was under renovation, so I had to take a detour. That's when I bumped into Black Shorts, leaning against the doorframe painting her nails. The moment she looked up and our eyes met, we both froze for a second, but I quickly composed myself, maintaining my composure as a reserved guy, and slept past without a glance.

It turned out our workplaces were so close.

A stirring, a tiny seed, suddenly sprouted in my heart.

What finally gave me the courage to post this today was running into that woman in black shorts again on my way to work.

This morning, rushing to my lunch, I was eating a greasy fried dough stick when I turned around and saw her emerge from a side alley, her waist swaying more gracefully than the dough stick. I pretended not to see her and kept walking, her high heels clicking behind me. At that moment, I really wanted to stop and secretly slip her my business card.

Earlier, on my way to lunch, I deliberately passed by her shop, a clothing store. She was showing clothes to customers, her small t-shirt revealing her slim waist – it must be quite a sight from behind.

I'll make a little card with her QQ number on it; if that guy doesn't show up today, I plan to slip it under her door tonight.

As I left work, I carefully put the printed "seductive business card" in my wallet, and in the elevator, I struck my usual sly pose in front of the mirror, giving her the look of someone who didn't care about women, and passed by her shop again.

As closing time approached, everyone was packing up merchandise or cleaning the floor. This shopping mall, reliant on tourists, operated on roughly the same schedule as us. The woman in black shorts was no exception. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her quietly bending over, lightly sweeping the floor, her focus seemingly thoughtful. Unaware of her gaze, I boldly slowed my pace and turned to look directly at her.

You can easily imagine: a pair of long, straight, snow-white legs supporting her, her shapely buttocks clearly visible—it was undeniably a very alluring pose. Unfortunately, the round neck of her t-shirt clung tightly to her neck, concealing any cleavage.

I silently despised the pesky round neck and left disappointed. But that disappointment quickly passed. In the bus filled with the smell of sweat and feet, I secretly patted my wallet in my pocket.

I don't have the habit of cooking at home; for me, living alone, only freedom is something to boast about. After getting off the car, I bought a box of roast duck and three yuan worth of scallion pancakes at the supermarket, then quickly paid—I was eager to check if the white SUV was parked downstairs.

Turning the last corner, through the outer fence of the complex, I couldn't help but gasp. The white SUV was safely waiting in front of the building.

Damn, the plan had to be postponed!

I took out my keys and opened the building door. Seeing the electrical meter box in the basement, I suddenly remembered the idea suggested by an online friend: network cables!

Actually, I had already tried this method. My initial goal wasn't to cut off the downstairs network cable, but to secretly connect the cable TV line to my rented apartment. However, a bunch of orange, green, blue, and brown network cables, along with thick white and black wires, were tangled together like a bird's nest.

Carrying the roast duck and scallion pancakes, I stomped my foot, and the basement light suddenly turned on. I gently opened the small iron door, whose lock was broken, and encountered that tangled mess of cables again, hoping to see the prominent "303" on the switchboard. Unfortunately, besides a few small lights flashing, I had no idea where to start. Well, I'll wait until the white SUV is gone before making my move.

Back home, I ate and drank some roast duck, finishing a can of beer, but I couldn't eat any more of the pancake, so I threw it in the trash without hesitation. Don't say I'm bad at managing money; in this kind of weather, even love can quickly turn sour, let alone a pancake.

Before showering, I stood quietly in the bathroom for a minute. There was no sound downstairs, and I even used the principle of physics to press my ear tightly against the wall, faintly hearing the sound of running water.

Suddenly, I felt incredibly bored, so I quickly finished showering while chuckling to myself. Looking in the mirror, I realized my hair was

almost old enough for bangs. There's a hair salon downstairs, run by a local girl, quite pretty, but unfortunately, her boyfriend looks terrible. Every time I go to the hair salon, I see him hunched over the computer, humming and hawing at those monsters. I slipped in my slippers and shorts, exchanged a few pleasantries, and a ten-yuan haircut was done. After the transaction, I dragged my ten-yuan hair back home, instantly becoming a proper stroller.

Just then, the building door slammed shut, a man calmly strode down the steps to a white SUV, started it, and drove off.

Damn, getting a haircut can bring such incredible luck!

I quickly went upstairs, pulled out my wallet, and the card between my fingers trembled involuntarily.

My mind raced; after all, I'm an adult, and I have to consider the consequences and contingency plans.

What if she finds me there? What if she doesn't notice the card? What if the white SUV comes back? What if she finds the card but gives it to the SUV? What if the old lady in black shorts across the street notices me with the card in her hair…? All these things require a bit of shrewdness to devise a strategy.

But I'm confident I'm not just any kind of shrewd person, because in the blink of an eye, I stylishly and stealthily slipped out the door.

I closed the door slightly, not completely, and waited for the motion-activated lights in the hallway to turn off.

When the stairwell was as dark as dusk, illuminated by the outside lights, I quietly descended the stairs, one step at a time. Throughout the process, I could hear my heart pounding at 100. Only two words could describe my feeling—"excitement."

Finally, I reached the door of the man in black shorts. I gently pressed my ear against the doorframe and listened. I could hear the sound of a television, loud enough to drown out any other noises from inside.

Judging by the time of day, he was probably already finished showering and comfortably watching a soap opera on the sofa. I encouraged myself, "Dude, it's time."

Following the door frame, I carefully found the gap and slowly slipped the card inside.

But I was wrong. The security door has a rim that perfectly covers the gap between the door frame and the door. In other words, my card bent before it could even go five centimeters in and wouldn't go any further.

Damn it, this card is so useless! Why didn't it live up to my sharp edge?

But thankfully, this better showcases a reserved guy's logistical skills. Like Doraemon, I discreetly pulled out some transparent tape.

I carefully peeled off the tape, afraid of angering the motion-activated light, and then roughly measured the height. Although the woman in the black shorts looked about my height, it was her long legs that made her appear taller; she was probably only about 1.7 meters. So, I placed the card horizontally against the door at nose level. That way, when she opened the door, she would definitely see this card shining with unparalleled brilliance.

Everything was ready; all that was left was to knock. I took a deep breath, pressed the doorbell that seemed to be the detonator, and simultaneously pounded on the security door three times. Four seconds after the motion-activated light came on, I was already hiding behind my own door, my heart pounding, peeking through the slightly ajar crack. I'd actually practiced this.

Sure enough, everything went smoothly. I heard the sound of a door opening downstairs, followed by the sound of black shorts muttering "What the heck?" to himself, then the sound of duct tape being torn off, and then a chuckle.

As the door slammed shut, a weight lifted from my shoulders. Since they laughed, the game had begun.

I waited until the stairwell light went out again before quietly going downstairs, checking the door frame from top to bottom. The card was indeed gone. So, in the dim darkness, I slowly made my way upstairs.

Once upstairs, I hated myself for not having internet access at home.

There was a noticeable layer of dust on the computer screen. I still uphold my vow to "not be addicted to the internet and live a real life," and I hereby call upon all netizens: read books and magazines, and advocate for a low-carbon lifestyle!

Although I'm feeling incredibly anxious right now, I think it's okay to leave some suspense until tomorrow. So I picked up a book I'd only read a third of the way through, pretending nothing had happened.

But how could that be?

I could clearly hear the woman in black shorts downstairs starting her video chat, laughing and joking, which was quite alluring.

I slammed the book onto the bed and went to the drawer where my digital camera lay.

Chapter Two

After going upstairs, I realized I'd forgotten to buy food. A man who is obsessed with beauty is destined to be a tragic figure, and I couldn't help but feel immense contempt for my own behavior.

I borrowed a pack of instant noodles from my roommate, scalded it with last night's boiling water, and obviously created a different kind of instant noodles—tender on the outside and crispy on the inside, with a unique texture.

After deceiving my stomach, I couldn't resist picking up my phone. I knew the guy in black shorts was either cooking or eating and wouldn't bother with me, but I persisted with my business inquiry: "Hey, has that lace-trimmed sheer blouse arrived yet?"

A full five minutes passed without a sound. I peeked out the kitchen window, but couldn't see anything downstairs. So, I tightened my shorts' belt and started kangaroo hopping from the bedroom to the living room. Right, right, left, left, turn around, go! go! go!

After two hops, the door next door timidly opened halfway, and the guy asked suspiciously, "Is a pack of noodles enough?"

I told you, either we don't bother anyone, or we bother a lot. We may not have much else, but we're definitely a bit of a flirt, and we're still a bit stifled.

I went back to my room dejectedly, picked up my phone again, and it was still on standby. Then I called customer service, and a text message came in confirming my balance was still sufficient. I turned my phone off and on again, still no messages. What to do?

Wait? That's definitely not an option. Although that's more in line with the behavior of a reserved guy, I have to consider that my penis is always impatient. I peeked downstairs again; the white SUV was clearly not there. Okay, I'll just knock

on their window then. I found an iron rod, which I'd taken from the printer, and a piece of network cable. I cut off the sheath, connected the wires inside, tied it to the iron rod, and lowered it through the kitchen window. To avoid onlookers and bystanders, I pulled back, pulling one wire in and down several times, but suddenly it wouldn't budge. Damn, I'm done for, caught red-handed.

Before I could even stick my body out halfway to see what was going on, I felt my hand slip, and then I saw a green chili pepper swaying back and forth on the iron rod. I quickly pulled it up. Damn, those black shorts are really something, because this thing looks exactly like a charging penis, just a bit thinner.

That confirmed it: the white SUV wasn't home. A wave of unease washed over me. I swallowed the saliva welling up in my mouth and decided to go downstairs to investigate.

I pulled out a slick Durex from my back pocket, tore two off and stuffed them into my shorts pocket, tossing the rest into a drawer. Chewing gum, I crept downstairs.

I rang the doorbell; the sounds in the hallway were inversely proportional to my pounding heart. A click of the lock, and a stunning glimpse of a woman in black shorts and a yellow silk nightgown appeared. Ignoring her protests, I immediately pulled the door shut a crack and roughly squeezed in, slamming it shut behind me.

The woman in black shorts looked both anxious and frightened, trying to stop me while whispering urgently, "No, no, no."

When she opened the door, she was like the eagle in a game of tag, arms outstretched. After my reckless intrusion, I immediately nestled into her embrace. Amidst her flustered movements, I had already been actively exploring her waist, the outline of her black underwear becoming clear before my eyes.

What was I waiting for? I immediately swallowed my gum and began kissing her passionately, from her hair to her ears, then her neck, and so on... One hand slid down her back, following her curves, trying to lift the thin fabric of her underwear. She whispered "No, no," but was already panting. Her closed eyes emboldened me even more.

One hand moved up her smooth thigh, already grasping her firm, round buttocks, while the other hand, of course, released her underwear, revealing her breasts. This obvious relaxation suddenly snapped her out of her daze. She kept pausing and whispering, forcefully pushing my arm away. With that push, her underwear, which I had already untied, almost slipped down. She quickly covered her breasts with one hand and pressed the doorknob with the other, and I was pushed and shoved out the door.

With genuine anger on her face, she said, "Go back now, please! You can't do this. You really can't..." She then slammed the door shut, ignoring my embarrassed state as I stood there, my pants bulging.

I immediately bent over to hide the bulge, savoring her lingering scent as I reluctantly went upstairs, my saliva dripping in sync with my heartbeat—it had been so long since I'd felt this kind of excitement.

As I sat down at my computer waiting for my body to return to normal, my phone rang.

A text message from the woman in black shorts: "You're so bold! If my husband were here, you'd be dead. Don't do this again, or I'm ignoring you."

A seasoned, secretly horny guy like me understood the meaning of those words. In plain terms, it meant: "You're so naughty! Taking advantage of my husband's absence. Don't be so reckless next time; check the surroundings first, or I'll be scared."

Following her instructions, I immediately replied, "Will your husband be back tonight?"

The woman in black shorts came back a moment later and said that if she didn't come by 9 o'clock, she usually wouldn't come back.

Damn, that was pretty obvious; she meant she was free after 9 o'clock.

I checked the time; it wasn't even 7 o'clock yet. Such a long, empty feeling. I replied, "Oh, then you eat first, I won't reply."

She didn't reply again, as if we had already agreed to meet at 9.

Damn it, my computer restarted twice for no reason, and I didn't save anything.

Actually, the brevity of that scene was within my expectations. It was too early, there were too many bystanders, and the uncertainty of the white SUV meant that good shows could only be shown in the dark.

The night is the safest medium in the world; it can amplify ambiguity, catalyze desire, conceal evil, and deceive the loyal. The reason why repressed men are so sophisticated is because we constantly cultivate ourselves in the darkness.

I hummed a cheerful newspaper vendor's song as I showered, suddenly realizing that if the sounds downstairs could reach upstairs, then my voice could also reach downstairs. So I raised my voice and started singing a clothes-buying song, improvising the lyrics.

La la la, la la la, I'm a shrewd clothes seller. I go to work at 8 am, collect money for every item sold, and make a profit by the time I get off work. Then I go out for cookies... After showering, I sat in front of the computer, still no messages. Is my voice really that bad? Thinking about exciting things, I felt hot all over again, so I grabbed my phone and went downstairs to the other side of the street. Looking up, I could see the kitchen window of the woman in black shorts, and looking straight ahead, I could see if the white SUV had returned

. It was a perfect observation point. People were coming and going in the neighborhood, and the dogs were shamelessly mating. While swatting mosquitoes, I sent a text to the woman in black shorts: "Hey, shouldn't you clean the kitchen window?"

Although she didn't reply, I soon saw her standing at the window, shaking her head at me with a helpless look. Then she looked down and sent a message: "Silly boy, what are you doing downstairs?"

I smiled at the woman upstairs and replied, "Didn't buy anything to eat today, I'm hungry, just watching other people cook and smelling the food." The food upstairs was a bit salty.

She was symbolically wiping the window when she saw the text message. She smiled, her hand pausing as she focused on typing. She immediately replied, "You're kidding me, you brat! I won't fall for your kindness and invite you over for dinner. Go ahead and starve, serves you right."

Chapter 3

I looked up and smiled at her, replying, "Sigh, I'm that naive. Looks like I can't count on you. Oh well, I'll just have instant noodles." After

sending the message, I got up and headed to the neighborhood store. When I came out carrying a five-pack of instant noodles and a bottle of cola, the upstairs was deserted.

Just as I reached the building entrance, my phone rang again. The man in black shorts texted, "You brat, nobody pities you except me now. Here's some food for you, hurry home and eat. It's at the door."

I was secretly delighted and immediately ran to the third floor. Sure enough, there was a plastic bag at the door. I rummaged through it; there wasn't much—a slice of watermelon and a large ham. My face immediately lit up .

What did this mean? This means a genuinely reserved but secretly passionate guy has successfully become a recipient of the community's five-guarantee household allowance. How fortunate!

Thinking she's probably looking at me through the peephole right now, I made a face at the peephole, tapped the door three times to indicate "thank you," and then ran upstairs to reply, "Madam, you are indeed kind and benevolent. This humble monk is willing to abstain from sex and housework for three days for you, praying to Buddha to bless you with fair skin and eternal youth." The woman

in black shorts immediately replied, "Stop joking, hurry up and eat."

That packet of noodles wasn't enough to fill me up; with the kangaroo jump and all that excitement, my stomach was really empty. So I ate half a ham, and the watermelon, probably just taken from the refrigerator, was ice-cold and refreshing—a quarter of its size—and devoured it all in one go.

Touching my bulging belly, I followed the old adage, "When you're well-fed, you think about food." I patted the two rings in my pocket, thinking I had to use them tonight.

I checked the time—8:15. Feeling it was still early, not suitable for any sneaky pranks, I played a few more rounds with the robot and watched some adult films, finally making it to my date.

I texted directly, "I'll be down in a bit."

No reply for a while, I became wary and immediately ran to the window to check downstairs. Thankfully, the white SUV wasn't there. I mustered my courage and called, but they hung up immediately, followed by a text: "No, I need to sleep soon."

I figured this persistent pestering wouldn't work; the guy in black shorts wouldn't open the door, so it was just wishful thinking. Then an idea struck me. I immediately called a friend and told him, "Quickly, send me an email with the subject 'Important Document,' reply immediately. The document is attached; download and view it." The document itself doesn't matter, preferably in a format that most computers can't open.

After my buddy told me it was done, I texted Black Shorts, asking her to retrieve an important email. He said to just text me the contents, it was very important. I also sent her my email password.

About ten minutes later, Black Shorts finally texted back, saying, "There's nothing in there."

I said, "It's an attachment, just download it.

" Black Shorts' reply was exactly what I expected; she said, "I don't know how to do it."

Okay, now I have a reason to go downstairs, right?

No, no, no, don't rush.

I said unhurriedly, "Oh no, never mind then, I'll go to an internet cafe to get it. We'll talk when I get back."

After sending the text, I changed back into my stuffy clothes, deliberately slammed the door shut, and stomped around loudly. When I got downstairs, I casually strolled past, seemingly oblivious to everyone else, but my expression was more anxious than if I were collecting my paycheck. Once I was roughly in Black Shorts' sight, I started jogging, running while talking on the phone, which made the dog next to me, who was in heat, chuckle.

Just as I ran onto the street, my phone rang: "Come back, come and do it yourself."

The performance immediately ended,

and I was done. A smile crept across my face, revealing a smug expression that the darkness couldn't conceal. I looked up at her and smiled, replying, "Sigh, that's all I'm good for. Looks like I can't count on you. Oh well,

I'll just have instant noodles." After sending the text, I got up and headed to the neighborhood store. When I came out carrying a five-pack of instant noodles and a bottle of cola, there was no one left upstairs.

Just as I reached the building entrance, my phone rang again. It was a text from someone in black shorts: "You brat, now nobody pities you except me. Here's some food for you, hurry home and eat, it's at the door."

I was secretly delighted and immediately ran to the third floor. Sure enough, there was a plastic bag at the door. I rummaged through it; there wasn't much—a slice of watermelon and a large ham. My face immediately lit up.

What did this mean? It meant that a genuinely reserved, secretly horny guy had successfully become a recipient of the community's five-guarantee household allowance. How fortunate!

Knowing she was probably looking at me through the peephole, I made a face at it, tapped the door three times to indicate "thank you," and then ran upstairs to reply, "You are indeed kind and benevolent, sir. This humble monk is willing to abstain from sex and housework for three days for you, and prays to Buddha to bless you with fair skin and eternal youth." The woman in

black shorts immediately replied, "Stop joking, hurry up and eat. "

That packet of noodles wasn't enough to fill me up; with the kangaroo jump and all that excitement, my stomach was really empty. So I ate half a ham, and the watermelon, probably just taken from the fridge, was ice-cold and refreshing—a quarter of its size—and devoured it all in one go.

I patted my bulging belly, adhering to the old adage, "When you're well-fed and clothed, you think about sex." I touched the two rings in my pocket, thinking I'd have to spend them tonight.

I checked the time—8:15. Feeling it was still early, not suitable for any sneaky escapades, I spent a few more rounds battling the robot and watching some adult films, finally making it to my date.

I texted directly, "I'll be down in a bit."

No reply for a while, I became wary and immediately ran to the window to look down. Thankfully, the white SUV wasn't there. I mustered my courage and called. They hung up immediately, and a text came back instantly: "No, I need to sleep soon."

I figured pestering her like this wouldn't get me anywhere; Black Shorts wouldn't open the door, so I could only fantasize from behind the wall. Then an idea struck me. I immediately called a friend and told him to hurry up and send me an email with the subject "Important Document." He said to reply quickly, the document was in the attachment, and to download it. Any document would do, preferably one in a format that most computers couldn't open.

After my friend told me it was done, I texted Black Shorts, asking her to retrieve an important email and tell me the contents via text message. I also sent her my email password.

About ten minutes later, Black Shorts finally texted back, saying, "There's nothing in there."

I said, "It's in the attachment; just download it."

Black Shorts' reply was exactly what I expected: she said, "I don't know how." "

Okay, now you have an excuse to go down, right?"

"No, no, no, don't rush,"

I said calmly. "Oh no, forget it then, I'll go to an internet cafe to get it." I'll talk to you when I get back.

After sending the text, I changed back into my stuffy clothes, deliberately slammed the door shut, and stomped around with a bang. When I got downstairs, I strolled past as if no one was there, but my expression was more anxious than if I were collecting my paycheck.

As soon as I came into the line of sight of the man in black shorts, I started jogging, talking on the phone as I ran, which made even the dog in heat nearby chuckle. Just as I reached the street, my phone rang: "Come back, come and do it yourself."

The performance immediately ended, and I was done. I smiled, revealing a smug expression that the night couldn't hide.

I ran back as fast as I could grab a wallet, and my freshly washed clothes were instantly sticky and uncomfortable again. Was there any possibility of sharing a bath with the man in black shorts? Let me indulge in some wishful thinking, as is customary.

The upstairs door was ajar, clearly opened for me. It seemed like this was just a game of witty banter between two repressed lovers, a game of mutual attraction, all about the power of repressed passion.

I pushed the door open, without changing my shoes, and the living room lights weren't all on. Black Shorts was still wearing that yellow silk nightgown, the outline of her panties faintly visible. She stood quietly in the center of the living room, a faint smile on her face.

What a lonely figure, yellow and white.

I fanned myself with my clothes and said, "I'll leave as soon as I finish the documents. I definitely won't do anything reckless."

Black Shorts gestured for me to enter, and I walked confidently towards the second bedroom. The white curtains were drawn, music was playing from the speakers, and the screen was on my inbox. I sat down, intending to play the computer expert, but my head suddenly throbbed—the email attachment was titled "A Passionate Encounter with a Mature Woman."

Damn it, I cursed that guy in my heart. This blunder had ruined everything.

I weakly looked up at Black Shorts. She was leaning against the door with her arms crossed, a flirtatious look on her face, chin raised, saying, "Keep pretending, keep pretending..." I was speechless in the face of Black Shorts' revelation, slammed my head on the table, and hummed Black Panther's "Ashamed of Myself."

Suddenly, the woman in black shorts said indignantly, "Kid, you just want to sleep with me, huh? Come on, I'll spend the night with you, but don't bother me again after tonight, or you'll be in big trouble."

I looked up in surprise, only to see her close the door, pull her tank top off her shoulders, and let her silk nightgown slip down, revealing her delicate, fair skin under the fluorescent light, her figure on full display. I was immediately aroused.

This was a scenario I never expected, even as a seasoned, secretly passionate man, her actions were utterly baffling. I couldn't help but ask, in a daze, "Really?" The woman

in black shorts adopted a look of grim determination and said, "Really, but remember what you're supposed to do next."

Okay, since she's so resolute, I'll make her suffer.

I got up, took off my shirt, and despite still feeling a bit sticky, immediately pressed myself against her.

No matter what kind of emotion it is, when it involves sex, it transforms into a kind of equality, a constant giving and receiving.

But given this complicated situation, I truly didn't know her intentions, yet her increasingly delicate moans compelled me to continue, to keep going. To give her this unexpected sweetness, or perhaps pain, in her life.

Everything went smoothly; we were unusually in sync, both of us naked from the waist up, entwined like snakes. She was soft and warm, just as I had imagined countless times. I took her soft, moist end into my mouth, and she held me tightly to her chest.

As the prelude slowly built into climax, we fell onto the bed in each other's arms, her last trace of shyness fading away. A rare beauty, no, she was my rare beauty, waiting for my tenderness.

We both longed for each other, even if only for a day, even if only for one night. Her slightly parted body was already wet, waiting to harden.

I got up and reached for my pants pocket—damn it! Damn it! Damn it! I forgot the condom was in my shorts pocket.

Disappointed, I whispered in her ear, "Do you have a condom?"

Chapter Four

Suddenly, the woman in black shorts snapped out of her daze. She stared at me clearly, her eyes becoming clear, then tears gushed out like a fountain.

She abruptly stood up and began slapping me repeatedly on the head, legs, and body. She took a deep breath and burst into tears, screaming like a madwoman, "He never needs it! He never needs it! He never thought of me! He only cares about himself! He doesn't care about anything! I let him have his way! I've had an abortion for him, I've been on birth control pills for years, I don't even know if I can still be a mother… I want a child of my own… a child…" This crying and screaming left me utterly exhausted, like a fried dough stick wrapped in a plastic bag. I let her slap me wildly, her breasts swaying with her movements, but it calmed my chaotic heart. I've always been unable to bear seeing a woman cry in front of me.

So, instinctively, I pulled her into my arms, and she hugged me tightly, as if she had found a wooden stake to rest on.

As her sobs subsided, I wiped away her tears and said timidly, "You...I...don't cry, I'm here. Others may not care about you, but I do..." She suddenly sat up, her tear-streaked face changing, and pointed at my nose, yelling, "Bullshit! Who do you think you are? You wanted to sleep with me too, didn't you? Looking at your serious college student act, you're just like him, you're all the same. After you're done sleeping with me, you're not even human anymore. It's just about making my dick feel good, right? Come on, let me do it..." She then lay down, spreading her legs wide.

Damn, I'm so limp, what's the point of doing anything?

What's going on here? My black shorts are probably lonely to the point of being sick. Oh well, she's already in that position, let's just pretend...let's pretend I'm done."

I said to her as I dressed, "If you don't even love yourself, how can you expect others to love you?"

This sentence, however, stirred up a hornet's nest in her heart. She lay on her back on the bed, motionless, with her eyes closed, and screamed a single word with all her might: Get out!

I was genuinely afraid she'd make a scene. This building isn't very airtight, and those shouts and cries must have been twice the decibels of sex. If I hadn't gone downstairs myself and caused the commotion, I would have assumed they were doing BDSM. But now it seems the white SUV was taking it a step further than BDSM. What a beast! Even

more perverted than me. I managed to put on my clothes and fled, looking like I'd been raped in black shorts. This whole night was just too damn messy.

Back home, I turned off the lights and sat on my bed, monitoring every window across the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was going on, but everyone's curtains were all upgraded to the latest version, with incredibly strong filtering. I could only hold my anger in and unleash a torrent of abuse on my buddy. He'd ruined everything tonight.

After hanging up, taking a shower, and lying in bed reflecting on the situation, I heard singing coming from downstairs again.

That woman is fucking insane!

That woman is fucking insane!

I immediately texted her, "Stop singing, I'm going to sleep. You guys wouldn't let me sleep when you were having sex, and now you won't let me sleep either? What did I ever do to you?"

Less than a minute after sending the text, the music stopped. I chuckled to myself, but once it quieted down, I felt a guilty pang of shame.

A woman, sacrificing her youth, invests in a man, dreaming of becoming his wife, believing she's like God who can change his flawed marriage and bring him true happiness. But the result is often just a bubble, bursting quickly, leaving not even a trace.

Even if the man provides her with a place to live and a shop, it's unlikely any of it is truly hers. Speaking of which, I have to admire the cunning of the man in the white SUV. Not only does he keep her hidden away, but he also provides her with a job. This way, she's busy day and night, naturally preventing her from hooking up with a lecherous young man like me.

Fine, since she's become his mistress, she can tolerate the man not using condoms, she can tolerate being beaten and scolded. But what does a woman rely on when the instinct to be a mother is gradually eroded by the years, even stripped of that right?

A child, the only child a woman can hope for, is always used as leverage by men, regardless of the excuse. This bullet that will one day hit her, the man has made it a blank from the start.

Such a woman seems destined to be alone her whole life.

But now, I've stopped her from filling her anxiety and emptiness.

If she had a true lover, if she had two or three friends, no woman would willingly entertain herself in this way every night.

But her name is Momo.

I endured and endured, but finally couldn't resist, softening my heart to type a few words: It's late, go to sleep, goodnight.

After waiting for a long time without a reply, I set a new alarm and drifted off to sleep. A dreamless night.

I was woken up by my alarm this morning, and for the first time, I got dressed and washed up without lingering in bed. Then I ran downstairs and bought two breakfasts. You guessed it, one of them was for the woman in black shorts. Buying breakfast for someone is a necessary part of a reserved guy's growth, and of course, I'm already a pro at it.

I hung the breakfast on the doorknob and rang the doorbell. I made a graceful turn and discreetly went upstairs.

While eating breakfast, a text message with only "thank you" came in. But I didn't reply, and I didn't know what to say.

When I went to work, I secretly went downstairs to look at her. She was helping customers choose clothes with a warm smile, everything seemed normal. This woman, perhaps, prefers her daytime life. I was

always absent-minded at work, and I picked up my phone and sent a few more meaningless text messages, but I didn't receive a reply until I left work. I called the office landline to make sure my phone was working, then secretly went downstairs and watched from afar as the woman in black shorts sat at her desk, seemingly writing something. I dialed her number.

The woman in black shorts picked up her phone, looked at it repeatedly, hesitated for a long time, and finally hung up. Then she put the phone back on the table and continued with her business.

I just don't understand what this means. After years of being a repressed pervert, this is the first time I've encountered a client like this. Should I just let it go like this?

I originally wanted to personally create some passionate elements to make the woman in black shorts scream louder, to mentally battle with the man in white off-road vehicle to gain some balance, and at the same time satisfy the eager hearts of many **. But now, hey, it's all so unclear. Although we went to bed together, and we both knew each other's sizes, we were just short of a full-blown battle, but in the end, it was just a sham, and I even got a SM-style beating and verbal abuse.

Although I'm not a veteran, with this kind of record, I can't hold my head up in front of you customers. Damn it, if all else fails, I'll learn from the impatient netizens and force myself on her. Maybe the woman in black shorts won't strongly resist, or maybe she likes this kind of taste.

I finally made it to the end of the workday, went to the woman in black shorts' shop, and before she could say anything, I said "I'll wait for you to get off work" and immediately left. This tactic is called psychological compulsion in the "Master of Subtle Flirting" tutorial. I've used it many times without fail, but its drawback is that it can completely extinguish any hope that was initially promising. Its advantage is that it makes an unpredictable situation completely clear.

In other words, if the woman in black shorts agrees to come with me, there will be more opportunities for back-and-forth. If she stands me up without a word, and continues to harass me, I might suffer a brutal beating from the man in white SUV. Would a man who's ruthless to women still bother with other men?

I staked out under the shade of a tree in the park; this low angle is also good for spying on women. Before I could even spot a girl in a skirt, the woman in black shorts texted me, "You go first, I have things to do after work."

What does this mean? Is it a benefit or a drawback? Damn, I'm a bit confused too. Sister, can you play your card according to the rules and let me play it?

I texted back, "What could you possibly have to do? Let's go together, I'm waiting anyway. I promise, I won't touch you in the car."

The woman in black shorts didn't reply; that's probably tacit consent. So, how could this situation be considered "good"? On a crowded bus, wouldn't you expect me to take advantage? Hmph, the driver wouldn't allow it either.

After waiting for ages, all I saw were a few middle-aged women passing by, nothing attractive. But I didn't care; these were just fleeting moments in my otherwise sultry life. If they were there, I wouldn't let them go; if not, I wouldn't force it. I'm just going

with the flow. But after the crowd thinned out, I still couldn't see those signature long legs in the black shorts. I slapped my knee—oh no

, she must have left through another door. I immediately stood up and searched around, but to no avail. So I ran to the roadside and hailed a taxi, thinking, "I can wait for you at my doorstep, right?"

The taxi driver was clearly an expert, weaving through alleys and back alleys. At this time, the

main roads must be as congested as a constipation zone. Just as the taxi turned into the intersection leading to my neighborhood, I saw the woman in the black shorts getting out of another taxi. So she really was avoiding me. I became indignant. What, are you going to eat me?

I got out of the car and rushed over, sneaking a pat on her white shoulder from behind. She seemed startled, turned around, and when she saw it was me, her face immediately contorted with panic. I instantly realized a serious problem. I glanced downstairs, and sure enough, that damned white SUV was there, reflecting the afternoon sun, obnoxiously parked, with a man beside it, cigarette in hand, calmly watching us.

My heart sank. Damn it, I was careless, careless.

This time I'm definitely done for.

But the woman in black shorts quickly regained her composure, her eyes fixed on the white SUV, and whispered, "It's okay, it's okay, I'm here."

Actually, given my physique, although I'm not a muscle man, I still have a chance to fight that guy one-on-one. My only fear is his background. Even without a background, I could easily become a long-term client of the hospital by calling over one or two people. The way the man in black shorts is comforting me now must have seen my fear in the face of danger. Suddenly, I feel like a spineless man, letting a woman take the blame at this crucial moment.

I can endure a beating, but this incident can't be brought into the light. If I heroically fail, I won't have a legitimate reason to retaliate against everyone who cares about me. Besides, getting beaten up in the hospital because of chasing girls is shameful. My image as a sly man won't be seen as great in the nurse's eyes. To be honest, it was only then that I truly realized that those who play with fire will get burned.

Running away is impossible; running would only expose everything, not only dumping all the blame on the man in black shorts and revealing his despicable genes, but also, could I really escape this situation?

We immediately struck up a conversation, a tacit understanding between us, a conversation that felt completely different from the casual banter often seen in spy movies. The woman

in black shorts smiled, but her words were hurried. She whispered, "Just tell them my gas leaked and you fixed it." I replied with a forced smile, "Yeah."

When we were about five meters away from the man, the woman in black shorts greeted him intimately, "Honey, where are we going tonight?"

The man didn't answer her, his eyes fixed on me, and said rather politely, "Isn't this our upstairs neighbor? Are you off work?"

I immediately responded with the enthusiasm of a supposed neighbor, "Yeah, yeah, just got off work." The woman

in black shorts chimed in, "Quickly thank this handsome guy. Yesterday our gas leaked, and you weren't home, so I called upstairs to fix it."

I immediately said, "Oh, it's nothing, it's nothing, we're neighbors."

The man forced a smile and said, "Really? Thanks then." Then he said to the woman in black shorts, "Get in the car quickly, they're waiting."

The man in black shorts smiled and said, "We have to go now, goodbye."

I nodded to them both and said goodbye.

I didn't care to see them off; after two bangs as the door slammed shut, I frantically pulled out my keys and opened the door. The SUV behind me hissed as it started, revving twice in neutral, seemingly unintentionally, but I felt in my heart that this was the man's first warning to me.

Back home, I was still shaken, letting out a long sigh of relief, but I couldn't shake off the weight in my heart.

The excuse the man in black shorts gave was obviously too lame. A gas leak could be fixed by simply turning off the valve, then contacting either the gas company or the building management; it wasn't their place to come upstairs to find a brooding man. Besides, if the gas stove was in a similar condition to mine, the hose clamps should have rust. If it had been repaired, from a forensic perspective, there would definitely be signs of damage from pliers or a screwdriver. So, if the man in black shorts didn't consider these things, his lie would be exposed immediately. Now it was just a matter of whether the man in white SUV was willing to expose it.

This house definitely needs to be moved; there's no time to lose.

I sat there for ages with no appetite, took a shower, drank a can of beer, but I was still uneasy. I looked out the window; the downstairs was empty. At that moment, I was afraid the white SUV would come back, but I was also afraid it wouldn't. If it really was a disaster, I'd rather it come sooner rather than give me more time to prepare. Let it end quickly, whatever happens, happen.

I walked from the kitchen to the bedroom, then stood in the living room for a long time. I came back, turned on the computer, and played five rounds of CS. I killed four, got headshot four times, quit, found an island, and played Red Alert against four different countries until halfway through. The victory was already decided, so I quit again, right-click, refresh, right-click, refresh, right-click, refresh… What's wrong with me? Am I afraid this will be exposed? It's pretty much exposed now! Am I afraid of getting beaten up? Well, not entirely! What is it then? Damn, I don't know either.

I feel like a primary school student who got threatened by the teacher to come to the office after class because a girl put a caterpillar in her pencil case. Now, I'm stuck in this unbearable class, and whatever the teacher says or writes is a complete mess, I'm practically dehydrated from fear.

I just shut down the computer and started calling my drinking buddies one by one, but at this hour they've either already downed two bottles of instant noodles or just finished something simple, and I'm all alone, no one's going to help me. Fine, I'll drink by myself!

I went downstairs to the store and bought some packaged meat and some junk food that primary school students love, grabbed a bag of beer, huffed and puffed upstairs, sat down at the computer, shirtless, and started drinking by myself.

After two bottles, my eyes started to blur. Damn, this is too stuffy, I need some noise. I still have a few classic movies saved on my hard drive, which one should I watch? American or Chinese?

Hey buddy, what are you thinking? I'm talking about a proper blockbuster. Even though I've hidden a few bigger ones on my system drive, I'm really not in the mood for watching them right now.

Gnawing on some chicken feet from a small, unknown workshop, watching a blockbuster, and sipping some beer, I slowly felt relieved. It was just a pat on the shoulder, that's all. Even if I didn't tell him about last night, he wouldn't know. Besides, this green hat (referring to the cuckold's horns) was never finished sewing up before the thread came loose; not going in means it was an attempted crime. As for the excuse of fixing the leak, the guy in the white SUV isn't the kind of stingy man who'd meticulously check everything when he gets home, right? A mix

of repressed masculinity and self-deception—unbeatable! Special thanks to XX beer.

I've downd half a pack of beer. The movie's scenes are making my eyes dizzy; maybe I should take a nap. I need to keep track of things when I get back downstairs so I can have a strategy. I let out a sigh of relief, empty a bottle of urea from the bathroom, and went back to my room to sleep. What white off-road vehicle? Come at me, let's fight one-on-one, I'm not afraid of you... Chapter Five

I woke up from a nap needing to pee, drenched in sweat. The movie had ended, but the computer screensaver was still bouncing in the window. I got out of bed, wiggled the mouse, and glanced at the time—it wasn't even eleven yet. I'd slept so soundly, it felt like half the night had passed.

The neighbors were still awake; light was seeping through the crack in their door. That guy was probably watching the World Cup again, so I didn't need to be careful not to make a sound. I splashed water on the toilet for a minute to extinguish the fire. Thank goodness humans have a subconscious; otherwise, if your pee bubble bursts while you sleep, that's a pretty shameful way to die.

I took off my shorts, a blast of cold water hit me, all my pores closed up, and my penis throbbed with pleasure—everything follows the law of thermal expansion and contraction.

While washing, I suddenly heard a groan. Had the person downstairs come back? I immediately turned off the valve, strained my ears to search for a signal, and listened for a minute, but all I could hear was the dripping of water from the showerhead.

I'm going crazy, I'm really going crazy. Maybe because my ears are constantly searching for this frequency of sound, my auditory nerve is particularly sensitive to it; even the crying of a child downstairs can be transformed into an alluring female voice, better than any magic sound effect on a cell phone.

I turned the valve back on, and with another jolt, I squeezed out some shower gel haphazardly, rinsed it off, and that was it. The biggest advantage of being a smelly man is that it's convenient, quick, time-saving, effortless, and a low-carbon, low-carbon pervert!

Leaving the bathroom, I went straight to the kitchen window and peered down. The white SUV was already parked there. I breathed a slight sigh of relief. Even at this hour, there hadn't been any movement; it seemed like everything was alright. I'd peed, and half my worries were gone; I felt much more relaxed.

Back in my room, I found a dry towel to dry my hair when suddenly a woman's moan clearly reached my ears. Listening more closely, yes, it was happening again downstairs.

In the summer, with the window open, the sounds from downstairs echoed across the building opposite. Now, countless men were probably listening intently in the darkness. The voice of the man in black shorts was the same as always, the classic Chinese moaning, quite stimulating. Even though I'd heard it dozens of times, my penis still involuntarily stretched. Even if I held a knife to its head, it certainly wouldn't bow down; it was a tough creature.

But now, I felt a strong aversion to the sound, wishing it would stop immediately! Stop! Stop! Because it was a piercing sound, because it was a sound of exposed behavior, because it was an image-evoking sound, because… because it was Momo's sound… I felt hot and restless again. I jumped twice, the floorboards thumping, but it didn't seem to help. I kicked off my slippers, jumped onto the table, and through the window screen, my veins bulging, roared, "Can't a person sleep?!"—The roar echoed in the silent night, hitting the building opposite, and all the lights in the stairwell turned on.

The effect was fantastic; the downstairs immediately fell silent, and my shout even resonated with a woman across the street, who vaguely echoed in a high-pitched voice, "Don't make a fuss so late at night..." So satisfying, so damn satisfying! That shout released all the pent-up frustration within me. I fanned myself with a small palm-leaf fan, creating my own little breeze, feeling like a real man after all these years of being a repressed pervert.

Just as I was feeling smug, my phone suddenly rang loudly. Damn, a congratulatory message already? I picked up the phone and saw it was Black Shorts. I hesitated for a moment, then just as I pressed the answer button, I heard Black Shorts urgently say, "Don't open the door! Don't open the door..." Before I could even ask which door, I heard a pounding sound on the door. That's when I realized why Black Shorts wouldn't let me open it. Damn, I've really messed with this time.

My neighbor ran out, saw I hadn't opened the door, and weakly asked, "Who is it?"

I said, "This man has definitely been drinking, don't open the door." "It's nothing, go back and lock the door, don't come out."

My buddy still wanted to know the truth and asked, "Was it your shout just now?"

I said impatiently, "Never mind, I'm opening the door.

" Hearing that I was opening the door, my buddy rushed back into the house to protect his wife and slammed the lock shut. Damn, my popularity has dropped to this level.

The guy outside was still rhythmically banging on the door, but his voice was very low. He mumbled through the security door, "Buddy, open the door, open the door, come out and let's talk... talk..." Through the peephole, I saw that he actually had a friendly face.

I'm more afraid of these smiling tigers. They seem calm on the surface, or even smiling, but they can be really ruthless.

I went back into the house, pulled the iron rod with a few chili seeds still stuck to it off the internet cable, and held it tightly in my hand, thinking that if I couldn't get rid of it, I would go out and give him a good whack. I had just mustered my courage when I heard a commotion outside. Looking through the peephole, I saw the man in black shorts struggling with the man in white SUV. Even the neighbor across the hall came out, wagging his tail and trying to persuade him to go back. The hallway instantly became noisy.

At this point, it wouldn't be right for me, the person involved, to stay out, would it?

I pressed the doorknob, and with a click, I made my grand entrance through the crack in the door. Seeing that the man in white SUV was about to be persuaded to go downstairs, he became even more aggressive as soon as I appeared. He looked me up and down, noticing I was still clutching an iron bar, and immediately said, with a mocking tone, "Oh, so you're defending yourself now." The

man in black shorts glared at me, his face grim; he seemed quite angry.

The neighbor across the hall, seeing me come out, had probably heard my outburst. Not wanting to explain himself, he said something like, "Don't fight, let's talk this out," and went back inside to peek through the peephole.

The man in white SUV forcefully shook off the man in black shorts' hand and climbed the two steps he had just been pulled down. I then realized I was a head taller than him, which gave me more confidence. He looked up at me, his brow furrowed, and asked, "So, what do you mean?"

I didn't know if he wanted me to explain the meaning of that shout, or if he was using it as an excuse to pry into conversation after I'd slipped up. Feeling guilty, I hesitated to answer. I glanced at the woman in black shorts; she was staring at me as if I was about to reveal a shocking secret. Thinking that with the woman in black shorts there, at least a fight wouldn't break out, and even if one did, someone would break it up, I muttered pathetically, "It's the middle of the night, I'm trying to sleep..." The woman in white SUVs clearly wasn't going to let me off the hook. She grabbed my shoulder and said, "Brother, that shout almost killed me. Come on, let's talk downstairs." She then pushed me downstairs. The woman

in black shorts immediately blocked my way, saying, "What do you think you're doing? Stop messing around..." The woman in white SUVs roughly shoved her aside, still holding my arm and continuing on her way. Although I hurriedly threw on a t-shirt before opening the door, I hadn't worn underwear after showering. When I came downstairs, my penis was lounging loosely in my baggy shorts, which was quite unsightly. I glanced at the black shorts, trying to comfort her with my eyes, but she couldn't read my thoughts. She leaned helplessly against the radiator duct, looking utterly lost.

The two of us, like old friends, had a few drinks and strolled downstairs. There were few pedestrians at this time, and a few stray cats jumped up and down the trash cans, searching for food. The white SUV plopped down on the steps with a nonchalant air, shifted its position, looked up at me, and said, "Come on, sit down."

What? Not going to fight? I'm sweating from gripping that iron rod. I guess I've already gained the upper hand in terms of presence. Since that's the case, I'm usually quite conciliatory, so I immediately threw down the iron rod, sat down next to her, and remained silent.

The white SUV turned to the black shorts who had been following behind and said, "Go upstairs and get the cigarettes."

The guy in black shorts hesitated, afraid we'd start fighting if she left. So the guy in white SUV said casually, "It's okay, I won't beat him up, I'll just chat with him, okay?" "Really, it's okay, go on, go on..." Only then did the guy in black shorts hesitantly go upstairs, looking back every few steps.

Suddenly, the guy in white SUV

said bluntly, "Bro, you've got your eye on this girl?" I really didn't expect him to say that, but I couldn't just say no, so I pretended to be surprised and said, "What are you talking about? How could that be?"

The guy in white SUV laughed and said, "Don't play dumb with me, you're not ready yet. I saw through it this afternoon. I'm an experienced guy, I can see right through your little schemes."

Damn, when two repressed guys meet, what's the point of pretending? But I still maintained my bottom line: I could speak more frankly, after all, some things are better left unsaid. I said, "Brother, I was wrong earlier. I'm busy at work and haven't been getting enough sleep. You see, I just lay down tonight and you two were doing *that* again. It's really... Let's not talk about this now," the man in white interrupted, "Let's not talk about anything else tonight, just her."

Just then, the man in black shorts came clattering down from upstairs, handed a cigarette to the man in white, and then stood by the door, looking especially obedient. The man in white took the cigarette, handed one to me, and turned to the man in black shorts, saying, "That's all for you, you can go upstairs now." "I'll be up in a

bit," I said casually. "Yeah, go back, it's nothing, just chatting." The man

in black shorts pressed me several times to make sure the two of them weren't violent, then he went upstairs.

Then the conversation between the two repressed men continued.

The man in white lit his cigarette and continued, "To be honest, this woman is just one of my lovers, nothing else, I just like her figure. Is that what you like too?"

I replied hesitantly, "Her figure is indeed good, indeed very good."

White Off-Road sighed, "Alas, what a pity. I have a family, and some things are beyond my control. So, I'm planning to give her some money and let her fend for herself."

I chimed in, "Yeah, yeah, she definitely can't stay with you forever. Let her go."

White Off-Road asked with great interest, "So, do you look down on her?"

Damn, this guy's talking to me about this tonight, is he trying to sell me those black shorts? What kind of jerk is he?

I answered seriously, "Look, we've gone off-topic. What kind of talk is this?" The white SUV leaned closer to me and said, "Then I'll give you ten thousand yuan, and I'll make sure you two get together." "How about it?

" This guy is getting more and more outrageous. Is this what rich people are like? I couldn't help but feel sorry for the woman in black shorts. By now, all the youth and body she had given was gone in the SUV's eyes. She was about to become a hot potato that he was eager to get rid of, and to get rid of this scum, the holder would stop at nothing. This is pretty much how most mistresses end up.

I said seriously, "Brother, that's not right. She's been with you for so long, and you just want to get rid of her like this? Don't you have any feelings for her at all? To be honest, I think Blackie... she still relies on you quite a bit. Even if you can't give her an explanation, or a title, you can't just kick her while she's down." What you're doing is really not good... Fifty thousand? How about fifty thousand?" The white SUV continued to tempt me.

When money is involved, my despicable self suddenly felt a little tempted. Fifty thousand yuan, that's more than my annual salary! It's like a windfall. But the whole thing sounds awkward, let alone doing it. The more I think about it, the more I feel like two filthy men are making a dirty deal. Is this something a human being would do? Seeing that I didn't answer, the man in white, like a stall owner, said, "Here's the deal, you name your price. How much do you think is appropriate? But think carefully before you say it. If I give you the money, you have to guarantee that she will have nothing to do with me afterward. If she comes to me with even the slightest problem, I'll make you pay back double what I gave you."

Okay, now the man in white is very clear: give me the money, give me the person, and then I have to take responsibility for her. This is pure bullshit! How could he even come up with something like this?

I immediately stood up and said, "I'm not doing this. You two can settle your own issues." "No matter how much money you offer, I won't do it. This isn't something a human being would do..." White Off-Road suddenly stood up, then quietly sat down again, saying, "Fine, since that's the case, there's nothing more to say. I expected you wouldn't agree, but seeing that you seem to have some interest in her, I'll just say it like this. If you don't want to, that's fine too; I'll find someone else. Don't regret it."

After saying that, White Off-Road patted his butt and was about to go upstairs.

I suddenly realized, yeah, how many people would be happy to have money and girls like this? If I don't agree, someone else will. But Black Shorts isn't a commodity; he can't just give it to whomever he wants. Black Shorts still has personal freedom. Maybe that's why White Off-Road considers me a top choice.

I suddenly realized, damn it, White Off-Road is so cunning! He wants to get rid of her smoothly without paying compensation, so he's taking a small cut, letting me hook up with Black Shorts, and then he'll discover the "affair," giving him an excuse to kick Black Shorts out of the house with nothing. Yes! That must be it. What a treacherous man.

But there are people more reserved than me, more shameless than me, and better at picking up girls than me. So, if I don't agree, Black Shorts' fate will definitely be as White Off-Road hopes. If I agree, there might be some turning point, but I don't know what that turning point will be. But I always feel that this way, Black Shorts will suffer a little less.

I immediately followed White Off-Road, looked up and said, "Brother, I'll do it."

Back home, lying in bed, I couldn't sleep at all. Thinking about it, I regretted my impulsiveness. How could I be so stupid? For a woman, and a second-hand one at that, I actually agreed to such a despicable thing. Putting aside the 50,000 yuan, just reaching this agreement with White Off-Road would make me lose all face in the industry. Being with him is undoubtedly putting myself next to a rich but despicable person. Even if I'm not an employee, I'm still an accomplice. Not only do I have to wipe his butt, but I also have to secretly clutch this dirty toilet paper in my hand, hidden in my pocket. Once it sees the light of day, I can't be seen in the light of day anymore. Logically speaking, from today onwards, I'm starting to move from a pure, repressed pervert to a filthy, vulgar, and shameless man

, just like this piece of toilet paper. From Black Shorts' perspective, no matter what, she will face retirement. Even if she loves this man to death, White Off-Road won't give her the happiness she expects. This is inevitable. But a woman's innate sensitivity means she won't be unaware of a man's scheming. Perhaps her long-standing role as a mistress has made her accustomed to men's perfunctory and irresponsible behavior. As long as there isn't enough instability, she'll turn a blind eye and willingly become that man's tool for venting his desires. If this argument holds true, then Black Shorts, like me, will let the person in charge of the money manipulate everything for the sake of money. So, what can I, a nobody, give Black Off-Road after stupidly agreeing to his conditions?

Love? No, no, no, that's impossible. Deep down, I can't accept falling in love with her. Even now, it's just a feeling of liking, or rather, pity, stemming from lustful thoughts. Tonight, out of pity for someone else's lover, I actually sold myself off completely for a discounted price of 50,000 yuan. Absurd, utterly absurd. This summer night, one I'll remember for the rest of my life, is destined to be a tragedy.

Okay, from the initial simple flirting to being slowly led astray by the white SUV, I admit I'm trapped—a destructive, zero-return, all-out investment. I must warn you guys: if you're only thinking about sex, great, but stop when you've tasted it. Don't get emotional involved, otherwise, even a tiny bit will get you addicted and lead to your demise. And I myself, I happen to be a legendary, secretly passionate man. So how can I, barely able to protect myself, save someone else's mistress?

After work, I received my first proactive text from the man in black shorts—just some apologies, something like, "Sorry," or "I scared you." She's so naive and ignorant. How could she possibly be a clever and perceptive mistress? It seems like it won't be easy. I couldn't help but feel sorry for her. This kind of life and this kind of man—is it just money that keeps her going?

I don't know. I replied, "It's okay, let bygones be bygones."

I had originally planned to tease her a bit, as usual, but now I had absolutely no interest. It's all because of this mess.

Maybe I should just secretly move. Perhaps that's the best way to get rid of this.

I went into my new boss's office and said, "Boss, I need to take a day off to move."

But the boss's face hardened. "Move? Moving today and moving tomorrow is the same thing. I have a task today, I'm going out with you, I might not be back until tomorrow. Go and prepare."

Damn it, they say a new broom sweeps clean, and this first broom has already burned me half to death. Oh well, going against the boss is going against money. Anyway, I'm not going home tonight, it's the same as moving.

The boss was driving, and I was in the passenger seat. We chatted about work for a bit, then ran out of things to say. We'd just started working together, and there was no real connection. After a stop-and-go drive, we finally got out of the city and onto the highway when my phone rang. It was an unknown number. The text message said, "Ten thousand yuan has been deposited. You need to hurry."

When it comes to women, a man's money is like it's been picked up off the street—he's willing to give it up.

I saved the number and replied with a single word: "Okay."

It seems moving or not moving is pointless now.

Fine, since a verbal agreement has been reached and the advance payment has been made, I'll start. Even though I'm being forced into it, I've brought this on myself; if I don't suffer, who will?

Selected free adult novels

URL 1:https://www.sexlove5.com/htmlBlog/27992.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=27992&aspx=1

Last access time:

Previous Page : My wife's first affair: a sacrifice (a true story)

Next Page : Randomly swapped compilation - Ah bro, pull it out gently!