Masturbation

My husband loves to drink. At first, it was just a small amount, then two or three ounces, and later he became a glutton, daring to drink half a jin (250ml) or eight liang (400ml) of liquor, and he always got drunk. Especially on weekends, his coworkers at the factory often invited him out for heavy drinking. I've told him countless times that they're just using him for fun, but he won't listen, boasting about how popular he is and how much his coworkers respect him.
That evening, my middle school daughter went to a classmate's house to ask about homework, and I was leaning against the bed watching a boring TV show. Suddenly, I heard a loud knocking on the door, which startled me. Without even putting on my slippers properly, I rushed to the doorway. I asked several times who it was, but no one answered, just kept knocking. I got angry and yelled, "Who is it? If you keep knocking without answering, I'm calling the police!" Then there was no more noise.
I stood at the door, listening intently, but there was still no sound. Just as I was about to turn back to the bedroom, I suddenly heard my daughter frantically banging on the door and shouting, "Mom, come out quickly!" I quickly opened the door and saw my husband lying in the doorway, my daughter pulling him forcefully. I knew he must be drunk again. My daughter and I dragged him into the house, and I shoved him onto the bed. It was the same thing again; every weekend he would come home dead drunk. I would yell at him, "Why don't you just drink yourself to death?" My daughter, feeling sorry for her father, took a towel and wiped his face. I turned away and sat on the sofa in the living room, sulking.
I barely slept a wink that night, constantly watching over him. Thankfully, this time he didn't vomit. The next morning, he woke up and gave me a wry smile, apologizing, "The alcohol was too strong yesterday, I got a headache." I spat at him, "When have you ever not been drunk? It's better if you don't drink at all; you always drink too much, you're hopeless. You can't control yourself, why do you drink?"
He knew he was wrong, grinning and shamelessly, and didn't say anything more. Seeing him like that made me angry. I glared at him and said, "If you ever come home drunk again, I'll leave you in the stairwell and let everyone laugh at you." He still grinned and tried to pull me close to do *that*, but I pushed him away and said sullenly, "Stay away. Your breath stinks. I'm not interested." He turned over unhappily and went back to sleep.
Alcoholics are the most pathetic; no matter how much the Emperor scolds them, they'll still drink. It was the weekend again, and five minutes before I was supposed to leave work, he called me, saying he had something to do and wouldn't be home for dinner. I knew he was out drinking again, so I yelled at him on the phone, "You have no backbone! I'm telling you, don't come home drunk!" Then I angrily hung up. It
was past eleven that night, and he still hadn't come home. I looked from the balcony several times and waited downstairs for ages, but he still didn't show up. I was both angry and worried. I called his friend, who told me they had already left. After finding out which restaurant they had been drinking at, I followed the route my husband should have taken home. At the restaurant entrance, I ran into one of his friends. He was also very anxious and called several other people to help search. Around 1 a.m., one of his friends found him at a construction site far from home. He was fast asleep on a pile of sand next to a winch.
This time, I was furious. I yelled at those friends, telling them that if any of them let him drink again, I would take my drunken husband to their house. Later, I went to his mother and yelled at her too. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. What kind of life was this? In a fit of anger, I went back to my parents' house. Three days later, he came to me. First, he begged me, saying he would never drink again. When I ignored him, he promised that if he drank again, I could do whatever I wanted with him. I was hard-hearted and didn't say a word. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and knelt down before me.
Seeing his resolute assurances, my anger subsided considerably, and I seized the opportunity to berate him: "You're shameless! Alcohol is like cat pee, what's the point? You're just so shameless. I'm so unlucky to have met you, you do nothing but stare at alcohol all day." He was very honest and didn't dare to argue with me. After we got home, I made him write a guarantee, the most important clause of which was: to prevent him from going out drinking again, he would give all his salary to his wife for safekeeping, and he would only have a monthly allowance of thirty yuan. He wouldn't touch
a drop of alcohol at night, but he was craving it. During dinner, he would pace around the room, his eyes always on the liquor cabinet. In my heart, no matter what, I wouldn't let him drink. I had to call him several times before he finally sat down at the table. But this peaceful period only lasted two weeks.
One evening, I had just put the food on the table when he said he was going out to buy a pack of cigarettes. He was gone for only about twenty minutes. He did this for several days in a row, and I became suspicious. One time, I secretly followed him and discovered that he had gone into a convenience store. I went closer and saw him drinking straight from the bottle. Seeing him like this, my anger flared up. However, I still gave him face and didn't go over to argue. I suppressed my anger and turned to go home.
About fifteen minutes later, he returned. I forced back my anger and asked him, "Did you buy cigarettes?" He said, "No, I forgot my money." Lying to me? My anger immediately exploded, and I shouted, "You went to buy cigarettes? You son of a bitch, who are you trying to fool? You went to buy your father, didn't you? Alcohol is your father. You're hopeless, you'll sneak around drinking no matter what. Let me tell you, I saw you like that at the shop earlier, I didn't throw the bottle out of respect for you." I said angrily.
Perhaps because he hadn't been able to drink for the past few days and was also pent up with anger, plus the alcohol, he started arguing with me: "What's wrong with drinking a little? Let me tell you, from now on I'm only drinking." His thuggish manner made me cry, and I scolded him between sobs, hurling insults at him. The more I yelled, the angrier I got; the more I cried, the more heartbroken I became. In a fit of rage, I grabbed my chopsticks and threw them at him. Seeing me hit him, his eyes widened, and he shouted, "That's enough! Let's break up!" With that, he abruptly stood up, overturned the table, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Dishes shattered on the floor, food spilled everywhere, and the dining room was a complete mess.
After that day, he never came home again. He moved into an abandoned apartment in his sister's house, and we began living separately.
Out of sight, out of mind. Two months passed quickly. He wasn't home, and I no longer got angry about his drunkenness; in fact, I felt relieved. Perhaps some would say I'm heartless, but no one can understand unless they've experienced it themselves. Living in constant fear of an alcoholic is unbearable.
My daughter is in high school now, living at school. Every day I'm home alone, loneliness and depression filling every corner of the room, enveloping me completely. I know my life is like living as a widow. I don't know when this suffering will end. Women tend to overthink when they have free time. I thought about the sweet feelings my husband and I had in the first few years of our marriage, and the peaceful days of those years. I really wished I could turn back time. Even without so much romance, even with a very ordinary life, just being together sincerely, seeing him every day, and him talking to me every day would be enough for me.
In the evenings, with nothing to do, I would go to my younger brother's house. My sister-in-law has a good temper and is very easygoing; we get along well. She often advises me to think positively, that things will eventually get better. I told her that I only hope my daughter will be successful; that alcoholic is hopeless. One evening, while we were talking, my sister-in-law mentioned a good magazine and recommended it to me. She looked for it in the living room, while I looked in my brother's study. I found my brother watching an American blockbuster. I also like American movies; I think their special effects are great and the plots are fast-paced, so I took a few DVDs home.
Back home, I turned on the TV and DVD player and started sitting on the floor picking out movies. Suddenly, I noticed a DVD with a very flashy cover, featuring a woman in that kind of pose. My face flushed instantly, and my heart pounded wildly. I had never seen a woman make such a seductive gesture. I tossed the DVD aside as if I'd suddenly touched a landmine, unable to bear looking at it again. Strangely, the more I told myself not to look, the more I found myself glancing at it, a strange, itchy, tingling sensation washing over me. I lost all interest in choosing a DVD, sitting on the floor, my mind in turmoil. I wanted to watch, but I was too afraid; if I didn't watch, curiosity and desire tormented me. Finally, I thought, "What's there to be afraid of? I'll just watch." So, I almost closed my eyes, turned on the DVD player, and hurriedly inserted the disc.
With a mixture of anticipation and shyness, I sat on the sofa, waiting for the image to appear on the television. Finally, the image appeared: a naked woman bathing in a shower room, leaning back on the sofa, her hands constantly caressing her body parts—all sensitive areas. I felt my mouth dry, my heart pounding, and my whole body unbearably itchy. Without thinking, I began to imitate the actions on television, touching myself. In just a short while, I felt a tingling sensation throughout my body, an unprecedented comfort that traveled from the soles of my feet to the top of my head.
My husband and I haven't had sex for over four months. In the quiet of the night, I often think of his tenderness and desire for me. Many times, I crave penetration, but my body aches, and I can only control and suppress myself. This night, tempted by the television, I rediscovered long-lost pleasure. Later, I increased the frequency of my caresses, my body tensed, trembled, and a warm gush forth. I almost fainted. After the pleasure, I felt intense guilt, feeling like I had committed a sin—how could I have done that? Yet, this night was the sweetest, most restful, and most relaxing night's sleep I'd had in months.
The next day at work, thinking about what I had done the night before, my face burned. I felt both guilt and shame, and a desire for self-comfort. These two thoughts battled within me, leaving me exhausted. I didn't know what was wrong with me, why I had become such a wanton woman. I forced myself not to think about it. But people are strange; the more I tried to stop myself from thinking about it, the more my mind was filled with that woman's posture and movements, and the pleasurable sensations I felt. I had a constant urge to rush home from work, watch the DVD again, and do it to myself once more.
When I got home, I stood in front of the TV, hesitating for a long time, struggling internally: to watch or not to watch? Finally, reason prevailed over desire, and I didn't turn on the DVD. I ate something quickly and went to the supermarket. I deliberately wandered around for a long time, hoping to tire myself out so I could fall asleep quickly after a shower.
But then something unexpected happened. As I lay in the bathtub, that woman's alluring image suddenly flashed through my mind again. As I rubbed my breasts, my hands unconsciously touched them, then my lower body… This time, the pleasure was more intense and more intense than yesterday. Afterwards, I quickly dried myself off, running into the bedroom like I was escaping a plague or a police chase, jumping onto the bed, and burying myself deep under the covers.
For several days afterward, every night I would sneak into the bathroom like I was on drugs, fill the bathtub with water, and then sink my naked body in, my back pressed against the bottom, and begin to move and release my desires. I hated and loathed myself, cursing myself for being immoral and unchaste. But I really couldn't suppress those wicked thoughts, couldn't control my "dirty hands."
Later, colleagues and some acquaintances praised me for looking younger. They said my skin was radiant, my eyes were bright, and my spirits were high. I didn't know if my changes were due to "rewarding" myself. Actually, from the first day I did that, I felt a real change in my body and mind; I felt life was beautiful and days were fulfilling. This is a woman's secret. I thought I would keep this secret hidden forever.
However, I soon began to worry, afraid that doing it too often would cause gynecological problems, and even more afraid of other harm to my body. Therefore, I searched online for relevant information. The result of my research was that appropriate masturbation is beneficial to a woman's physical and mental health. I felt relieved, but the word "appropriate" reminded me that I couldn't indulge myself. Masturbation is about self-care, finding genuine joy and satisfaction, not self-destruction.
So I started trying to limit the frequency, aiming for once a week, or three times every two weeks. Masturbation made me fully understand that we only have one life, and the meaning of cherishing life is broad and profound. It didn't infringe on anyone else's interests or harm their families; I was simply using the bathtub to enhance my womanly experience and enrich my inner feelings. This shouldn't conflict with either morality or law, right? That's the only way I could understand it, and it was also a way to comfort myself.
After being separated from my husband for over seven months, his sister suddenly called me one day, saying that her brother had been in a car accident. My first thought was that it was due to drinking. Sure enough, in the hospital morgue, his sister told me that he had been drunk the previous night, lying on a small road, when a speeding car ran over his torso, crushing almost all his internal organs. He died instantly.
My husband's passing broke my heart. Although our relationship had been torn apart by drinking, we had been married for over ten years, and he was still the father of our daughter. Later, my grief turned into self-blame and remorse. I felt extremely guilty for treating him so harshly, and even more so for my despicable actions. Perhaps this was God's punishment for us, that we were destined not to be lovers who would stay together forever; or perhaps it was my punishment, that I, at just forty years old, had become a widow.

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