Divorced female teacher

Finally, I'm alone. Looking around this newly settled little apartment, I leaned wearily against the corner of the sofa, closed my eyes, and everything seemed to freeze at 2:37 PM yesterday—the moment Chenghui and I finished our divorce proceedings and walked out of the building.
The weather was beautiful; April in Beijing was a riot of peach blossoms and willows, the air thick with the scent of spring. The men and women walking the streets all had radiant faces, making me envious. What made them so happy? So enjoying the romance of spring? And I, in this spring, became alone, utterly alone.
Chenghui, the man who was my legal husband for three years, the man who snored beside me for three years, the man who once swore eternal love to me, who promised never to part, brushed past me at that very moment—we had even mustered all our courage to buy pornographic films on the pedestrian overpass in Zhongguancun and boldly, yet shyly, imitate them, while he used another woman as his model.
Everything is now a memory. Now, I am a divorced woman, possessing nothing but a respectable teacher's certificate. The house was left for Chenghui to continue paying off, while I received 100,000 yuan in savings.
Now, I am the owner of my own little apartment. It's located at the very back of an old-fashioned neighborhood, secluded yet alluring. I don't know why, but that was my first thought when describing it. Actually, it was quite dilapidated and dirty; it took three hours of cleaning to reveal its true state. Then I went to the flower market and bought a lot of flowers to decorate the room, all pure green and non-flowering.
For some reason, I suddenly started to like non-flowering flowers. It seems a failed marriage taught me that things that are too beautiful are always fleeting, destined to decay, while the quiet, unassuming green can be appreciated slowly and for a long time. At that time, I didn't know that those non-flowering green plants actually contained boundless vitality and an almost frantic desire for sex.
A month of peaceful days passed. I spent my days reading and grading student assignments while surrounded by that pile of greenery. Life was dull and uninteresting, and the desires that had been suppressed for so long gradually rose within me. I wanted to do something. But what could I do? What could a quiet, gentle teacher, in everyone's eyes, possibly do? I was starving and yearning in my depression. I thought of the internet.
Before, I only went online to look up information, but now it became my tool for killing time. Browsing around, intentionally or unintentionally, or following my physical desires, I started reading pornography. Those vulgar, shocking words stimulated my sexual interest, and I began to miss the feeling of orgasm.
How long had it been since I felt that way? A few months, I suppose. My little room had the aroma of food, the scent of essential oils, the fragrance of CHNEAL and DIOR, but never the scent of a man's body.
I'm not a promiscuous woman, and I don't want to become a vulnerable group for AIDS. I'd rather satisfy myself through visual stimulation. I don't remember who said, "People who can satisfy themselves are admirable." Now, I wholeheartedly agree with that view.
Not long after this "self-sufficiency" began, my window of desire opened wider and wider, and I started craving sensory stimulation. In chat rooms, there were many people requesting video sex, and I never imagined I would become one of them.
My online name was "A Divorced Female Teacher," which aroused the "sexual interest" of many men. I knew they immediately thought of Japanese porn, which coincided with my real-life identity. I had no intention of lying, but this real identity attracted a lot of men's attention.
I can't remember which boring night it started, but under a man's guidance, I set up a webcam and used text, sound, and images to achieve orgasm. The first time was cautious, a little scared, a little excited, afraid of being discovered and laughed at—that contradictory feeling is funny to think about now. Before, when I heard people talk about virtual sex, I laughed at their unfounded claims, but I never thought I would stoop to that level myself; it's a bit pathetic. But then I felt happy; at least I had completed a bold attempt, and life had gained another experience, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
During that period, I would go to chat rooms every two or three days to find people to play video games with. Actually, the internet connects empty and helpless people; everyone has a glamorous label in front of others, but behind the screen, they revert to their primal nature. I had a few regular partners, and we all followed the rules of the game, only talking about sex, nothing else. But one time was an exception, and that exception led me into another game.
The protagonist of this exception was a man named "MAN". He seemed to be in a bad mood that day; no matter how I tried to provoke him with words, it didn't work, and even later, physical intimacy didn't yield much effect. So I teased him
, saying he couldn't handle it. He was unconvinced and said, "Interested in something more exciting?" I asked, "What is it?" He said, "SM." I knew it was sadomasochistic sex. I had seen it in porn before and found it very exciting, but I had never shown any interest in it.
Back then, I was afraid Cheng Hui would call me abnormal, so I always kept my eyes wide open to see clearly, feeling an endless pleasure, but I had never tried it. Hearing "MAN" mention it today stirred a ripple in my heart again, and I cautiously asked, "How do we play online?" Seeing my interest, he became even more enthusiastic. He said we could try it with words, with voices, and with physical intimacy first.
And so I was tempted, tentatively explored, and put it into practice. That night, when I reached the trembling of orgasm, I felt a relaxation I had never experienced before. Suddenly, I became addicted to the thrill of this game. Two strangers, lost in sensory stimulation, unable to extricate themselves.
I had a moment of disorientation, feeling that I had lost all the reserve and shyness of a teacher, constantly demanding more from him. But "MAN" comforted me, saying that life is meant to be enjoyed, and I shouldn't waste God's gifts. And so, I entered the game again and again, becoming a tool in his hands. After each session, he was always satisfied, showing tenderness and consideration. Our conversations gradually broke through the rules of the internet, beginning to touch on personal matters such as profession, age, hobbies, and so on.
After several months of this game, one day, the balance was broken. That night, I had just returned from a Mid-Autumn Festival party when "MAN" came online. After the usual greetings and flirting, he suddenly changed the subject, asking, "Shall we play for real? It's not enough to just do this all the time." I was taken aback. Within seconds, a flood of thoughts rushed through my mind. Meet in person? That wouldn't be fun! A network connection, a webcam—I could disregard his age, profession, personality, and preferences, as long as our bodies could connect through the screen.
But when we met in person, for real, my primary concern wasn't just the symbolic gestures, but the most crucial and practical safety. Was he clean? Although we'd been sexually attracted for a long time, this question mark remained huge and glaring.
And the safety that followed wasn't physical, but my reputation. We both presented ourselves well in public, with respectable reputations. If this were exposed, oh my god! The consequences would be unimaginable. My divorce had already caused gossip among my colleagues, and I'd tolerated that. If this got back to them, wouldn't the sky fall? No way!
I'd made my decision, but his persuasion still made me waver. That real, face-to-face stimulation must be incredibly exciting, and he promised to wear a mask and use a condom. Oh… I started to hesitate. Maybe, I could try? "MAN" was excited; after agreeing on a time, place, and phone number, he went offline. That night, we didn't do it online.
I stared at the computer screen, feeling empty, a little scared, and a little longing. Time ticked by, and I drew closer to that line of defense. I ran to the bathroom to shower. I could hear my own heart pounding in the running water. To go? Or not to go? The scales swayed, the answer wavering. Almost instinctively, I turned off the screen, put on my coat, stuffed the Halloween mask into my bag, and set off.
It was a famous five-star hotel in the city. Before ringing the doorbell, I carefully put on the mask and checked it several times to make sure it wouldn't fall off. The door opened, and I saw that familiar body wrapped in a bathrobe, with a mask on its head as well.
Hehe. It felt like stepping back into a fairytale. I can't believe I could laugh at a time like that. Luckily, the mask hid my true expression; all he saw was a red-haired female demon. He pulled me inside and asked if I wanted to shower. I said I had showered before coming. "Then we can begin. Let's see my gear." He led me into the room, and I saw new SM toys on the bed. Clearly, he had prepared.
Half-heartedly, with his guidance, my body slowly relaxed, gradually entering the game. Looking back now, that night was truly exhilarating, far more comfortable than virtual sex online. At the time, I didn't realize I had become a prisoner of sex games, unable to extricate myself.
A few months later, one day, I went to the appointment again. Upon entering, I found another man in the room. "MAN" explained, "How about we play something even more exciting today, adding another partner?" So, one against two? I was a little scared, yet inexplicably, I had a strong desire. "MAN" noticed my hesitation and simply said, "Let's try it first, and we'll see if it works." The other man also came over and patted my shoulder, comforting me.
I changed back into my simple clothes and became the proper female teacher at school again. But behind that door, I was the crazy female protagonist of the game. Unbeknownst to me, our love triangle had been going on for months, the seasons changing from warm to cold.
Winter came, the plants in my room turned a dull green, and my passion gradually faded with time. I was bored, it was meaningless. A game is just a game, how long can passion last? I didn't want to play anymore. I don't
know when it started, but I stopped going online. I stayed home at night, reading, listening to music, even preparing my lecture notes for the next day. Sometimes, looking back on the first six months of my life, it felt like a dream. I always had this illusion that it was just a past life or a future life, unrelated to this one. Much later, I occasionally went back to that chat room I used to frequent, but I didn't see "MAN." He had disappeared too. Had he not found the right person? Or had he, like me, had an epiphany?
It was all over. I was still the quiet female teacher in everyone's eyes, and that game was just a game.

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Divorced female teacher

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