[Chapter Seven (Final Chapter)] [The End]

page views:1 Publication date:2023-06-11 15:14:01

A while ago, I compiled six of my scattered writings into a collection and posted it (if you want to read it, the link is here: "My Six Experiences"). Thanks to the administrator for featuring it, and thank you all for your attention. This piece, written on Valentine's Day and New Year's Eve, may take a long time for everyone to see, but in any case, this is my last piece. The reason is very simple: I'm tired, and even if I write again, I don't want to. I have a few points to clarify. First, if you are only interested in meat, you can skip directly to Part Three. Second, the Shangqiu girl I mentioned getting married in Part One is the one I mentioned in Parts Five and Six (if you don't want to find it in the collection, the individual articles are here: Parts Five and Six). Third, the protagonist of this piece is the eight-point Nanjing girl I mentioned in the preface of the collection whom I planned to woo (you can see the preface of the collection for details). I've put her photo below; I'm only showing half her face because she's just an ordinary person, and I don't need to go too far by posting it without blurring her face. But I still want everyone to enjoy it, haha. Finally, goodbye— I wanted to have a relationship, but ended up having a one-night stand instead. — Prologue (I) Foreword

On January 28th, I checked the almanac and it wasn't exactly an auspicious day, but she got married anyway. I went to Shangqiu alone to attend her wedding. To be honest, I had absolutely no feelings for her; we were just classmates and casual sex partners, yet I ended up paying 1000 yuan for it. Of course, if it weren't for our physical relationship, I think I would still have to give her a gift, but with that physical relationship, I don't feel like I lost out now. When the newlyweds were toasting, I raised my glass, wanting to tell the groom, "The bride is nice, I'll drink first." "But the double entendre of 'gan' is probably obvious to everyone, so why cause trouble?" I swallowed the rest of the sentence along with the wine. Looking at her, I suddenly felt a pang of sadness, like a daughter getting married—a subtle feeling. At the previous ceremony, she threw her bouquet to the audience, and those female classmates whose names I'd long forgotten mischievously passed it to me. In my memory, this was something girls were supposed to catch, but what did it mean to me? I wanted to refuse, but the emcee said that men and women were the same. Well, then, it's all the same. At that moment, at the dinner table, she stood in front of me, lecturing me, "I think your marriage is a long way off, unless God suddenly bestows a good match upon you. Otherwise, relying on yourself, you'll only encounter bad relationships." (She repeated what she had said to me when I posted about my breakup on social media). "Bad relationships"—she was referring to my previous relationship, which I had repeatedly complained about, lasting only a month. I think you all know about this relationship; I mentioned it in a compilation, in the fourth picture. That girl was easier to get than I imagined; I still can't tell who was manipulating whom. I'm not a player, so after having many physical experiences, I felt guilty. This guilt is like the toothache I still experience; I only feel the tooth when it hurts, and I only vaguely feel guilty when feelings arise. Regarding the seriousness mentioned in the preface, I don't know if I was lying to myself, but one thought I had at the time was that if I couldn't sleep with her by May, I would break up. Of course, the breakup didn't happen until May, and of course, even after I slept with her, May didn't come.

(II) Yangzhou and Stockings

The phrase "In the third month of spring, amidst the fireworks, go to Yangzhou" evokes the romantic imagery of the ancients. However, the reality is that when you want to flaunt your charm, you can go anytime. "Playing" is the excuse; "being together" is the real purpose. Whether it's playing together or sleeping together, she already knew when she firmly answered "yes" even after being told it would be a two-day trip. A woman who knows she has to wear high heels on a long trip probably thought she'd spend more time in the hotel than on the road. The journey from Nanjing to Zhenjiang is very short; Jinshan Temple and Xijindu can be visited in half a day, and in the afternoon, a ferry is taken across the Yangtze River to Yangzhou. At night, Dongguan Street is like Xijindu with lanterns lit, no different from Nanjing's Laomendong. Nestled among the antique-style buildings are people enjoying the night. A middle-aged girl who favors pink always thinks she's cute, but she doesn't realize... Men see women eating cotton candy just as women see men eating cotton candy. High heels studded with rhinestones are unbearably tacky; it turns out the term "greasy middle-aged man" doesn't only refer to men. But I still held her hand as we walked on the cobblestone path, mentally planning how I would unlock the door and how she would moan. The "skin-wrapped water" three-ingredient bun was indeed delicious, so much so that I ate her portion under the pretense of dieting. The signboard reads from right to left, which she naturally didn't know, pointing and asking me what "water-wrapped skin" meant. I laughed, "The first character is yours, the last two are mine," and then started to walk away. She stared at the signboard, grabbed me, and said, "You're such a pervert." Her expression was indescribable. Besides being pretty, she was utterly useless (not an exaggeration; she had low emotional and intellectual intelligence and warped values, which was the reason for our breakup—I couldn't tolerate her). Dongguan Street, or Xijindu (which I visited this morning), or places like Laomendong in Nanjing, or Nanchansi Temple or Dangkou Ancient Town in Wuxi, are like modern salespeople dressed in ancient-style clothing. Beneath the monotonous imitation ancient buildings, a few local touches adorn the scene, and the rest is dominated by Yiwu small commodities. In front of a small shop, she picked out something, waved it in front of me, took it, and turned to leave. Helpless, I had to bite my steamed bun, take out my wallet, hand over a pink piece of paper that not only middle-aged girls but also greasy middle-aged men like me would like, and without even counting the change, I dashed after her. She, however, walked leisurely with her hands behind her back, as if nothing had happened. I snatched the item from her hand, and lo and behold, the words "Langsha" and "pantyhose" jumped out at me. "Wow, you're a pro," I laughed. "No, I just think the heart on the packaging is cute" (there's a cutout heart on the packaging to distinguish the sock colors), followed by a disdainful expression. On the way back, I was oblivious to time and somehow wandered back to the hotel. I plopped down on the bed, spreading out in a "big" shape. "You're so dirty, take a shower," I said, and she stood by the bed trying to pull me up. I got up, but she took my place, raised her hands above her head, and stretched. I turned around, straddled her, and pressed my face against hers, but she pushed me away. "No, go take a shower." Helpless, I decided to take off my clothes and shower. "Take them off in the bathroom," she said, covering her eyes. Haha, this kind of girl who knows she's going to be slept with before even leaving the house still tries to maintain a coquettish reserve at the last minute.

(III) The Temptation of Black Stockings

Wearing only underwear and wiping the water dripping from my hair, I walked barefoot into the room. The yellowish light from the headboard made me feel hazy. The rhinestone-studded high heels were no longer a symbol of a greasy middle-aged girl; along with her long legs encased in black stockings, they were irresistible. For a moment, I felt that the rhinestones seemed far away from the shoes, floating and unsteady, and I felt dizzy among them. Looking up further, I saw her constantly swaying hips. The black stockings displayed a fantastical sheen in the light, and with her movements, the mysterious cave seemed to appear and disappear in the shadows. The almost transparent black stockings made it impossible for me to tell whether they were black or flesh-colored. A man's instinct here is to open his hands and grab those two buttocks firmly. Women are truly magical creatures, keeping men entertained even when they can't fully grasp them with one hand. I pressed my crotch against her buttocks, the friction through the two layers of fabric stimulating my desire with her movements. I reached out and unhooked her black bra, pressed my face against her back, and cupped my hands on her breasts—warm and smooth. I think a man's attachment to a woman's body is probably a memory of the womb, leading them to delve deeper, to explore, and to experience the most primal tenderness with their own flesh. I rubbed my face against her back, kissed her, even licked her. This wasn't service; quite the opposite, I felt she was my prey. Only, the blood boiling wasn't in the murderous eyes of a primitive man facing prey, but in the hard, iron-like symbol of masculinity. I licked down her swaying waist, to her swaying hips. My gaze was drawn to the items on the bedside table—the standard hotel fare: instant noodles, drinks, condoms, aphrodisiac oil, and… Curiosity made me get off the bed, because subconsciously, I felt that anything placed next to the condoms was probably related to eroticism, and I wanted to investigate. By the time I picked it up to examine it closely, she had already pulled down her underwear. I could feel the hot breath coming from her nose. "How about it, compared to the ones you've been with?" 17cm, I had enough confidence to tease. "Pfft, it's not bad. There's one bigger than yours." She was honest, not hiding her experiences. I was about to speak when my penis was enveloped in a warm embrace. I didn't say anything more, enjoying the smooth, warm sensation in my genitals. Besides the sound of the air conditioner, there were only the sounds of her swallowing and the occasional moan from deep within her throat. I'd seen this kind of thing many times before, so I ignored her and looked at the small box in my hand—lubricant. Heh, this hotel is quite interesting; my understanding of lubricant is that it's a male enhancement product. I made her turn over, and she understood, lying on the bed with her head hanging off the edge. I straddled her face and put my testicles in her mouth. But that didn't give me much pleasure, so I changed my mind, pressing down on my rock-hard penis and pouring it into her mouth. The congestion in her throat and the mucus secretion and stress contractions upon the entry of the foreign object gave me a different kind of pleasure. I turned around, looking down at her, watching my penis being swallowed and spit out of her mouth, saliva at the corners of her mouth, tears in her eyes, even liquid flowing from her nose. I reached out and touched her face, looking incredibly lewd. I gestured for her to turn over, and she understood, resuming her doggy-style position. It seemed this little bitch had been fucked countless times to be so adept, like a trained dolphin in an aquarium, knowing the next move with just a gesture. The difference was, dolphins do it for food, while she did it for a penis. I opened the lubricant and poured it onto her writhing hips. The feeling was different from touching stockings with my hands; it was slippery. Her labia weren't pressed tightly against the stockings like her buttocks, but there was a gap, and the lubricant made the stockings almost invisible. I wanted to stroke it gently, but I knew she wouldn't feel anything, so I just used my thumb to press it, and she let out a soft moan. This gave me a sadistic pleasure, so my movements became rougher, and her moans became more seductive—women, so shameless. I poured the lubricant onto her back; perhaps because it was too cold, her waist instinctively arched downwards, which undoubtedly raised her hips. Her buttocks, coated with lubricant, rubbed against my penis, which was almost touching my abdomen, causing me to instinctively shudder and gasp. She seemed to be enjoying it, pressing her buttocks tightly against mine. I thrust my hips forward, and with each twist of her hips, the friction between her stockings and the lubricant turned my penis a deep purplish-red—a color I'd never seen before (not from the stockings fading). I dared not continue, lest I ejaculate. Impatiently, I tore open the stockings, stroking her labia; they were wet, I couldn't tell if it was vaginal fluid or lubricant. She turned and pushed me down, and I fell with her, now straddling me, her parted labia rubbing against my penis, while her hands lasciviously caressed her breasts. My penis instinctively swayed up and down, touching her labia. She was trying to drain me dry. She sat on me, her hands on my shoulders, my penis still pressed against my abdomen. Her parted labia were like a slide, the two fleshy lips enveloping my penis, stroking it back and forth, the tip of the glans especially sensitive. Lying on the pillow, I glimpsed through her breasts; the glans was bright red, and between the flesh and hair, perhaps it was lubricant, perhaps it was hers, perhaps it was mine, perhaps all three.

(IV) Unconventional Approach and Direct Penetration

When I saw her pull out one hand, holding my penis, wanting to penetrate that already wet cave, I knew a fierce battle was about to begin. But facing such a familiar girl, I really didn't dare to do it without any protection. I'm not an irrational person. Although I'm not a veteran, I felt she was more experienced than me, and it's always better to be safe. On the other hand, after less than a month of getting to know each other, we were talking about marriage and settling in Nanjing. I was afraid she might have something in her belly or that I might have gotten her pregnant and she'd be tricked. I didn't say it directly to avoid embarrassment. At this moment, I reached out and wrapped my arm around her neck, pressing her body down and kissing her. She had been holding my penis with one hand, only the other supporting her on the bed. Now, hooked around me, she lost her balance and pressed herself against me, unable to move her hips up or down, making it impossible to sit on me. My other hand slipped between our legs, caressing her genitals, then inserted a finger, preventing her from guiding my penis in. Women will be women, after all. I pulled my hand away from her neck, propped myself up, and pinned her beneath me. I pulled out my wallet and took out the condoms lying there (I always carry three condoms in my wallet, not for romantic encounters, but purely to hold onto my money). Since she was so wet, I just needed to go straight in. The process of making love seemed unremarkable, just like yours. Man on top on the bed, embracing her on the chair, thrusting straight in on the table, but worth mentioning is the standing doggy style with black stockings and high heels, combined with the mirror in the room—utterly lewd. Finally, it landed on her tattered black stockings.

(V) And so it ended.

Naturally, she didn't go anywhere the next day; she could barely stand, let alone wear high heels. Later, they broke up, for the reasons I mentioned before: "extremely low EQ and IQ, and warped values." We were just playing each other's tricks.

The End. 4283 words

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[Chapter Seven (Final Chapter)] [The End]

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