My story with an Arab man was reposted on this site.

Foreword:

This is a woman's personal experience, and she thought I could write it into a good story to share. After reading her first draft that day, I was deeply moved, so I wrote this piece, hoping not to disappoint her.

We may not agree with some of her actions and thoughts, but I believe she is a woman worthy of respect and understanding.

1. My First Encounter

Although several years have passed since then, thinking back on this event still feels incredibly moving, even somewhat unbelievable, but I have never regretted it.

That year, I was thirty-two years old and went to Algeria to reunite with my husband. My husband was then the assistant general manager of an aid project for a large state-owned enterprise in China. The project was located in Tamanrasset, southern Algeria, bordering the Sahara Desert.

One day in early July, I arrived in Algiers, the capital of Algeria. I was a middle school English teacher, on summer vacation, and hadn't seen my husband for over a year. He hadn't come home for Chinese New Year that year, and I missed him terribly.

Before this, I knew nothing about Algeria; it was only after my husband went there that I gained some understanding of this African country.

Algeria, located in North Africa, is bordered by the Mediterranean Sea to the north, the Sahara Desert to the south, Libya, Tunisia, and Niger to the east, and Morocco to the west. It is the largest country in Africa by area, with Arabic as its official language and French also widely spoken.

On the day I arrived in Algiers, Xiao Yang, a young man in his late twenties from the Chinese state-owned enterprise's Algiers office, picked me up at the airport. He was specifically responsible for reception duties.

Originally, my husband was supposed to take leave in early July and arrive in Algiers before me, so we could spend two weeks together. However, two days before my departure, he called to tell me that an accident had occurred at the project site, and he couldn't leave temporarily, asking me to wait for him in Algiers for a few days.

I asked him how serious the accident was. He said it was quite serious; several people had died, all of them locals except for one Chinese employee. This undoubtedly dampened my long-awaited anticipation. I was very worried about my husband's safety and asked him, "Are you alright? I heard things aren't peaceful there." He laughed and said, "Don't worry, there are no terrorists or anti-government forces here; it's just a production accident."

My husband's words reassured me a little. I gave him a few more words of advice, telling him to focus on his work and that I would be waiting for him in Algiers. After hanging up, although a wave of sadness washed over me at the thought of not seeing him immediately, I comforted myself that it would only be a few days, and it would pass quickly. Besides, wouldn't postponing our reunion add even more sweetness to our long-awaited reunion?

My husband is three years older than me. We've known each other, fallen in love, and married for almost ten years, and we have a seven-year-old son. I'm an only child; both my parents are state-owned enterprise employees. When my husband and I were dating, some relatives and friends were quite dismissive of his rural background, thinking he wasn't good enough for me. But I loved him unconditionally.

Later events proved my choice was right. My husband is very hardworking; he became a senior engineer at a young age and even became the assistant general manager of a poverty alleviation project. He's tall, handsome, and truly a man of great talent. Those relatives and friends who looked down on him back then now all praise my good taste.

The only thing that makes me feel melancholy is that my husband and I have spent so little time together over the years, which often makes me feel lonely and isolated. However, I don't regret or resent this, because I believe that a man should prioritize his career; what kind of man is he without a career? But this view of mine was shaken and even overturned not long after I arrived in Algeria by a man named Karim.

That day, as soon as Xiao Yang picked me up at the airport, he took me to my hotel. He was very welcoming and told me that Assistant General Manager Gao (my husband) would probably be back in Algiers in four or five days at most, and that I could contact him anytime if I needed anything. I asked him what interesting places there were to visit in Algiers, so I could explore on my own while my husband was away.

Xiao Yang recommended several attractions, such as the Bardo Museum, the National Art Gallery, Castle No. 23, and the Hama Botanical Garden. He also told me to be careful when traveling, as the security here is far worse than in China.

I was staying in a five-star hotel, and the entire cost was paid by this state-owned enterprise, which is part of the employee benefits. Although it was advertised as a five-star hotel, the facilities and services were subpar, barely equivalent to a three-star hotel in China.

The next day, intending to adjust to the time difference, I planned to do nothing but sleep all day. However, I was repeatedly woken up by the chanting of the imam from the nearby mosque. Unable to sleep any longer by noon, I got up and went to the hotel restaurant for lunch (all expenses were paid by my husband's company).

After lunch, I decided to go out for a stroll by myself. To be honest, I didn't particularly like this country before coming. Firstly, I disliked the arid, hot climate and desert-adjacent geography of North Africa. Secondly, I had heard many negative rumors about Islam, perceiving it as extreme, and a country where the entire population adhered to it was difficult for me to feel any affinity for it.

If it weren't for seeing my husband, whom I had been longing to see, I wouldn't have traveled here. However, staying in the hotel alone was too boring, so I decided to explore.

Although I don't speak Arabic or French, I have my secret weapon for traveling abroad—a smart translator—making me fearless anywhere. I decided to visit the National Gallery first, so I hailed a taxi and used a translator to communicate with the driver, telling him where I wanted to go.

The taxi drove through Algiers' old, somewhat chaotic streets, and the exotic atmosphere everywhere was breathtaking. Algiers, nestled against mountains and bordering the azure Mediterranean Sea to the north, is a very beautiful seaside city with a typical subtropical climate. So, even though it was July, the weather was quite pleasant, though much more humid and hot than northern China.

This country was long ruled by French colonists, and Algiers is filled with European-style architecture. Coupled with the abundance of white men and women with high noses and deep-set eyes, it felt like being in famous French cities like Paris or Marseille, a far cry from my previous impressions of Africa.

Some might ask at this point, since Algeria is an African country, why are there so many white people on the streets? In fact, most Algerians are Arabs, with a significant Berber population (approximately 20% of the total population). Ethnically, they all belong to the Caucasian race, specifically the Mediterranean type. Compared to the blond, blue-eyed, and fair-skinned Aryans, their skin is darker, and most have black hair and eyes.

Black people can also be seen in Algeria, but they are rare, mainly concentrated in the southern region near the Sahara Desert. This is true not only in Algeria but also in several other North African countries—Egypt, Morocco, Tunisia, and Libya—with the exception of Sudan. Therefore, our common perception of Black Africa actually refers to sub-Saharan Africa, while North Africa is considered White Africa.

The National Art Gallery is small but of high quality, housing many masterpieces by Picasso, Rodin, and Degas. Because it wasn't a holiday, it was quiet and not crowded.

I strolled around, and after visiting the gallery, I went to the Hama Botanical Garden across the street. The garden was lush with trees and verdant grass. Inside stood a massive memorial tower, the Three-Leaf Tower, a landmark of Algiers built to commemorate resistance against French colonial aggression, similar to a martyrs' monument in China.

Leaving the botanical garden, seeing that it wasn't too late, I decided not to rush back to the hotel and instead wander around. Little did I know then that this decision would be a mistake, not only placing me in a dangerous situation but also beginning an experience that would completely change my life.

Passing a market, I bought a shawl and skirt with an Arabian flair, then strolled aimlessly along the street. As I walked, I noticed many men staring at me, and those gazes contained not just curiosity about an Eastern woman, but also male desire for her.

My tall, slender figure, coupled with my beautiful face, made me a captivating young woman in the eyes of men. That day, I wore a black, tight-fitting lace T-shirt and dark blue skinny jeans, along with Adidas sneakers, which accentuated my ample figure, making my breasts appear even more prominent and my curves more alluring.

The men's gazes made me very uncomfortable, and I inwardly berated myself for dressing like that, forgetting Xiao Yang's warning.

Just then, a burly, bearded, and fierce-looking middle-aged man brushed past me, reaching out to touch my bare arm. I glared at him in fear and stepped aside. The fierce-looking man smiled at me and followed a few meters away.

Several more men followed me, their lecherous eyes brazenly scanning my body. They were speaking to each other in Arabic, their smiles malicious.

I was terrified. Clutching my shopping bag in one hand and gripping the shoulder strap of my handbag tightly with the other, I walked faster and faster, wanting only to escape this terrifying place of trouble.

Suddenly, a young man, looking like a college student with a backpack, approached me. His young, handsome face, with its hint of innocence, felt like a lifeline to me, and I looked at him pleadingly.

The boy walked up to me, smiled brightly, and said in English, "Hey! Baby, you're beautiful and sexy. I want to sleep with you."

My hope shattered instantly, and I screamed inwardly as I ran away. As I ran, I looked back and saw the men following me. I didn't know where to go. In my panic, I saw a café nearby and, without thinking, pushed open the door and went inside.

The café wasn't crowded. A middle-aged man was playing chess with an older man. The middle-aged man looked up at me, his gaze somewhat surprised.

I didn't know what to say to him, so I looked at him, then glanced out the window. Outside the café, the men were gathered, whispering among themselves, their faces still bearing menacing smiles.

The middle-aged man also noticed them. He stood up; over six feet tall, with a straight posture, and handsome features, his neatly trimmed beard adding to his masculinity.

He smiled slightly at me and said in English, "Madam, do you need any help?" I silently thanked my lucky stars; finally, I'd met someone who spoke English. I said, "A coffee, please, thank you!"

"Just a moment." He smiled again and walked towards the door. For some reason, his smile made me feel at ease, instantly calming my nerves. I saw him go out and talk to the men, who soon left.

He went back into the café to make coffee behind the counter. I saw the old man watching me; he nodded kindly at me. I smiled back and chose a seat by the window.

I discreetly observed the middle-aged man, noticing his sculpted, strikingly handsome face, somewhat resembling Prince Hector from the Hollywood blockbuster *Troy*.

His tasteful attire suggested a comfortable lifestyle, while the muscular physique emanating from his fitted shirt indicated regular exercise and an impressive build. I had also seen him playing chess and speaking fluent English, suggesting a good education. In short, he was a materially wealthy and well-mannered individual, a world apart from the people I had seen outside. As

I was silently analyzing him, he suddenly looked up at me, noticed my gaze, and gave me an elegant smile. I quickly looked away, my heart inexplicably racing. Even though it was our first meeting, I had to admit to myself that, for a woman, he was undeniably charming.

Soon, the middle-aged man brought me coffee and sat down opposite me. I thanked him, took a small sip, and found it quite delicious, feeling a mixture of relief and lingering fear.

The middle-aged man asked if this was my first time in Algeria. I said yes, and asked what I had been talking to those people earlier. He smiled and said I told them I was a friend of his and to tell them not to follow me. He then asked if I was East Asian. I said I was Chinese.

He asked if I was in Algeria for tourism. I said I was here to reunite with my husband, who was working in Tamanrasset. He exclaimed "Oh!" and said it was terrible there, extremely hot, and very windy; my husband must be having a hard time. I wanted to tell him that it was just as bad here, not only chaotic but also because I had encountered those kinds of men, and that I wanted to go back home after only one day. But I didn't say it.

We started talking. His name was Karim Mahlani, thirty-eight years old that year, the owner of the café. He had studied in England, so he spoke English in addition to Arabic and French.

After finishing my coffee, I felt it was about time, so I thanked Karim and prepared to leave, saying his coffee was very good. Karim asked where I was going. I said back to the hotel. He said, "Shall I drive you?" This way it would be safer, to avoid being harassed by those men again.

I hesitated, wondering if he should give me a ride. Maybe he genuinely meant well, but what if he had ulterior motives like those men? Just as I was hesitating, he smiled and said, "I'm not specifically offering to take you. I'm going out to dinner with friends and just happen to be passing by your hotel." What

could I say? I got into a Mercedes SUV with him, and we drove towards the hotel.

Algiers is a very long and narrow city, built along the bay, nestled against the mountains and the sea. It was already evening, and the lights were coming on, dotting the Mediterranean coast. Only then did my mood improve, thanks to the beautiful night view of Algiers and the sense of security the man beside me gave me.

Karim told me as he drove, "Men in this country never hide their desires and don't respect women enough. Dressed like this, it's inevitable that some men will cause trouble." I thought so too, secretly blaming myself for being too careless; all the research I did before going abroad was for nothing.

When we parted, we simply said goodbye and didn't exchange contact information. Karim didn't mention it, and I felt it was unnecessary, even though I was grateful for his help today. I thought I might never see this man who warmed my heart again.

That evening, my husband called and told me that he might have to wait more than twenty days longer than originally planned to come to Algiers to be with me. I burst into tears, not only because I missed him, but also because of the unpleasant experiences of the day.

I cried and told my husband that I didn't want to be alone here for even a day longer. I hated it here, hated the mess and the humid weather, hated the imam's chanting in the mosque. He asked me what had happened, but I didn't tell him about today's events, only that I missed him terribly.

My husband comforted me, saying that he missed me too, but the situation at the project site was terrible, worse than expected, and even people from China had been sent over. He told me to wait patiently for another twenty-odd days.

I said, "Then I'll come over there to see you." My husband immediately said no, it's in the Sahara Desert, the natural environment is too harsh, it's the hottest time of year now, the sun would be enough to burn my skin, and there's sand in the water.

Not wanting to distract him too much, I simply said that I had been emotionally unstable earlier but was fine now. He then asked if I had gone out today, and I gave him a general answer, omitting the incident with Karim, but mentioning that I had bought a shawl and a dress.

At this point, I suddenly remembered that the shawl and dress were still at Karim's café; I had forgotten to take them when I left that afternoon. I considered picking them up tomorrow, but I didn't want to go out alone, afraid of running into those men again. I thought, oh well, they weren't worth much anyway.

The next day, I was reading on my balcony when I received a call from the front desk saying a gentleman was looking for me. I was suspicious. Aside from that employee of a state-owned enterprise named Xiao Yang, I didn't know anyone else here. If it were him, he would have called my room beforehand. Who could it be? Suddenly, I thought of Karim. Could it be him?

Arriving at the lobby, I saw Karim standing there, handsome and dashing, carrying my shopping bag. I then understood why he had come. He gave me a warm smile, just like when I first met him the day before. In

the hotel's Western restaurant, I said, "I was planning to pick it up from your shop today, but I didn't expect you to make the trip. I'm so sorry to have troubled you." Karim, while cutting his steak, smiled and said it was no problem. He wasn't busy in the morning anyway; almost no one comes for coffee in the morning.

Since it was close to noon, I treated him to lunch to express my gratitude for his help yesterday and for returning my belongings today.

As we ate and chatted, I discovered that Karim was indeed different from most Algerian men I had met. He was very gentlemanly and respectful of women. When we sat down, he pulled out a chair for me first, waiting for me to sit before sitting down himself. After that, he served me drinks. Islamic culture forbids alcohol, and although the hotel had drinks specifically for foreigners, I didn't order any, considering Karim was Muslim.

We had a pleasant conversation, and by then I learned a bit about his situation. He was married with two wives (most Arab countries practice polygamy, and Algeria is no exception) and three children. His first wife was a year younger than him and had given him a son and a daughter; the son was fifteen and the daughter thirteen. His second wife was eight years younger than him and had a daughter who had just turned seven. The café was left to him by his deceased father.

I asked him, "Since you have a degree from a British university, haven't you considered doing something else?" He looked at me, puzzled. I quickly explained that I didn't mean to look down on his current life at all; I just thought he was capable and could achieve great things.

Karim chuckled, saying this was the life he wanted, and he even planned to pass the café on to his son someday, if he wished.

His words made me think he lacked ambition as a man, at least compared to my husband. But I wasn't offended at all, because I knew everyone had their own preferred way of life. At that time, I didn't know he actually had other family businesses.

And I have to admit, after spending a brief time with him yesterday and today, I was attracted to his handsome appearance and elegant demeanor. Although I love my husband and have never considered being unfaithful, that didn't stop me, as a mature woman, from being attracted to another man's charm, developing feelings for him, and appreciating him. I didn't think it was a big deal; it didn't constitute infidelity to my husband and marriage.

Karim suggested that since my husband wouldn't be able to come to Algiers for almost a month, he could be my free tour guide, showing me around the city. This famous Mediterranean city had some sights to see.

I had no reason to refuse; having a local accompany me, without worrying about safety, was infinitely better than staying cooped up in my hotel room all day. Karim was delighted that I readily agreed, and said, "Why not start today?" I replied that I had some things to take care of today, and suggested another day.

Actually, I didn't have anything to do; it was just that, out of feminine modesty, I was unwilling to accept a man's kindness too quickly, especially from a strange foreign man.

At that time, I couldn't foresee that this step I was about to take would later place me in a vortex of pain and entanglement.

2. Infidelity

I ended up going out with him anyway. During those days, Karim took me to almost all the famous sights in Algiers—the Notre-Dame de Africa, which echoes Notre-Dame Cathedral across the Mediterranean Sea; the Grand Post Office with its French colonial influence; the Algiers Castle nestled on the hillside overlooking the sea; and the old town of Kasbah, a remnant of the Carthaginian era.

The Notre-Dame de Africa, perched atop a hill, was magnificent and imposing. Interestingly, the statue of the Virgin Mary in the cathedral was of a Black woman, which was truly eye-opening.

Standing on one side of the platform outside the cathedral, one could overlook the stunning scenery of the Mediterranean coastline. In the distance, a vast expanse of azure stretched out, the sea shimmering under the sunlight. A flock of seagulls circled endlessly between the sun and the sea, a breathtaking sight.

I couldn't help but tilt my head back, close my eyes, and immerse myself in the beauty. At that moment, I didn't notice Karim silently watching me beside me. Later, he told me that from that moment on, he fell hopelessly in love with me.

On the other side of the platform, one could enjoy a bird's-eye view of the city center of Algiers, its diverse buildings standing side by side, a truly stunning sight.

I especially loved the old town of Kasbah, with its crisscrossing streets and brightly colored houses, creating a striking visual impact and a sense of tranquility. Walking through those winding alleys felt like stepping into another world.

My impression of Algeria changed considerably after those few days of travel. I felt it was a country with a rich history and artistic flair, and its scenery was beautiful.

Moreover, after arriving in Algeria, I discovered that the average person was very good-looking; the men were mostly tall and handsome, and the women were mostly beautiful and graceful. Handsome men and beautiful women were everywhere on the streets.

I also discovered that the people of this country are passionate about football; you can often see young people and children playing football on the streets. According to Karim, Algeria's football level is quite good; their national team has participated in the World Cup multiple times and has even won the Africa Cup of Nations once. Their most glorious moment in history was defeating the powerful West Germany in the 1982 World Cup.

Recalling this history, Karim said that although he was very young at the time, he still remembers the scene of his father and uncles celebrating wildly in front of the television.

During my tour, I also learned more about Algerian customs and culture from Karim. I asked him, "In my previous impression, Arab women were always covered up when they went out. Why do so many women in Algeria wear fashionable clothes, at most wearing a headscarf, and some don't even wear a headscarf?"

Karim told me, "You're talking about those West Asian countries. North Africa is generally more open than West Asia, and Algeria is the most open and Europeanized country in the Arab world, so women's clothing is quite fashionable and avant-garde." Of course, many women do wear traditional robes and headscarves when they go out, but these are mostly married women, especially older women. Younger women prefer to wear fashionable clothes.

I joked with him, "Your Arab countries allow polygamy, up to four wives. Why don't you marry more?" He laughed, "Do you think all Arab men are polygamous? Without sufficient financial resources, it's impossible to marry multiple wives; it's simply unaffordable. So in Algeria, the vast majority of men only have one wife. I'm lucky to have two."

He then told me that a friend of his was very wealthy and had four wives, the third of whom was Chinese. He said he could introduce us if there was an opportunity.

I said, "Judging from your clothes, your manner of speaking, and the car you drive, you're definitely rich." He laughed, "I'm not exactly rich, but I'm not too poor either. My father hoped I would marry more, but I already have two wives. If I were to marry a third, she would have to be a woman who truly captivates me; otherwise, I'd rather not marry at all."

As he said this, his deep, piercing eyes were fixed on me, and my heart fluttered slightly.

At this point, I found myself captivated by this man. His handsome and sexy appearance, elegant demeanor, and eloquence gradually stirred my heart, making me want to get closer to him. In my many years of dating and marriage with my husband, I had never felt this way about any other man, which made me both anxious and inexplicably excited.

It was late at night when Karim drove me back to my hotel. I unbuckled my seatbelt, about to say goodbye, when he said, "Anyu." I hummed in response and looked up at him. He gazed at me and slowly moved closer.

My heart pounded, and I was torn between accepting and rejecting. Just as I hesitated, Karim kissed my lips. My mind went blank; I neither resisted nor yielded. Gradually, I began to reciprocate, my hands quietly encircling his neck, and we kissed passionately. I

don't know how long we kissed, but then his hands moved to my breasts, cupping them through my clothes. I snapped back to reality, pushed him away abruptly, and murmured, "No, we can't, we can't do this."

He sounded uneasy and said, "I'm sorry." I opened the car door, turned, and ran towards the hotel lobby.

On the way back to my room, my heart was still pounding. I admit I was tempted; my defenses had crumbled for a moment. Thankfully, I pulled back from the brink and didn't do anything to betray my husband.

Back in the room, I filled the bathtub and then stripped naked. In the mirror, I saw the naked body of a mature, alluring woman—tall, slender, almost without an ounce of fat, her breasts small yet round and firm, her abdomen flat, her pubic hair perfectly proportioned, and her legs long and straight. Such a beautiful body, yet desolate in the humid air of Algiers, untouched by her husband's caresses.

I lay in the bathtub, trying to erase what had just happened from my mind, but the memory of kissing Karim stubbornly resurfaced, making my face flush and my heart race.

Unable to control myself, I began to caress my body, starting with my breasts, gradually moving downwards, past my abdomen, to my genitals. At the same time, Karim's image flashed through my mind, filling me with fear, shame, and an irresistible urge. I inserted my fingers into my vagina, and my moans echoed in the bathroom.

After the climax, I felt even more ashamed and uneasy, my entire body, including my head, submerged in the water, as if sinking deeper and deeper into the Mediterranean Sea.

That night, despite it being late, I called my husband. I wanted to tell him that we couldn't be apart anymore, either he had to come to Algiers immediately, or I would go to Tamanrasset. I didn't say it aloud, only that I missed him terribly.

My husband, half-asleep, said, "Honey, just bear with it a little longer, we'll see each other soon." I knew I had to understand him. He hadn't come this far; with this successful aid project, his future was bright. He was working so hard for our family, and I couldn't hold him back at a time like this.

But who understood me? I was, after all, a woman, and I needed my husband by my side. After hanging up, I thought to myself, "You silly man, don't you know you're about to lose your wife?"

The next day, Karim called to apologize, saying he had acted impulsively the night before and offended me, asking for my forgiveness. I didn't blame him. He asked if we were still friends.

Although reason told me I couldn't see him again, I said that as long as nothing like last night happened again, we would still be friends. At the time, I thought that as long as I kept to myself, nothing would happen, and I also believed his apology was sincere.

I could feel him sigh with relief. "Thank you," he said.

Two days later, Karim took me to a place by the sea, about thirty kilometers from Algiers. He had a villa there, a family heirloom.

Karim assured me it was incredibly beautiful, and I would love it. When I arrived, I found he was absolutely right. The white sand beaches, the vast lawns, the azure sea, the rolling coconut groves, and the houses facing the ocean were indeed breathtaking.

Karim cooked me an Arabic-style lunch, and I was surprised that a wealthy Muslim heir could cook. He said he learned while studying in England. We ate and chatted, sharing our pasts.

Karim's family was considered wealthy in Algeria; his father had four wives, and he had ten siblings. He went to England to study management at the age of eighteen. He also had a great interest in painting and immersed himself in it while in England. He married his first wife immediately after graduating from university, and his second wife at the age of thirty. After his father's death, he and his brothers inherited his estate, receiving three cafes and a coffee processing factory. The cafe I had rushed into in my haste that day was his favorite; he often spent time there.

He also showed me photos of his two wives and children. His first wife, Aymara, was his childhood sweetheart, thirty-seven years old, and incredibly beautiful. His second wife, Anani, was thirty years old, a typical Arab beauty with black hair and black eyes, possessing a dreamy gaze, a blend of Eastern and Western beauty. Their fifteen-year-old son was also handsome, and their thirteen- and seven-year-old daughters were beautiful and adorable; the whole family was good-looking.

I asked him, "Your two wives love you very much, don't they?" He said, "Yes, they love me very much and never go against my will." I asked again, "And you? Do you love them too?" "

Of course!" he answered without hesitation. Then he bluntly told me that he had been with many women.

Although Algeria is an Islamic country, as a North African nation, its social atmosphere is relatively open, and people's attitudes towards sex are more open than in many Arab countries. Especially men, under the dual influence of male chauvinism and Westernization, consider sleeping with women commonplace. He lost his virginity at the age of fourteen to a neighbor girl in her twenties, and had slept with many women while studying in England.

I also told him about my family, that my husband only has me as his wife, and that he could not possibly have other women. Moreover, I am an only child; I have no siblings, and my husband and I only have one child. He asked me

why my parents didn't have more children; didn't they like children? I told him it was because the law didn't allow it. He found it unbelievable, so I had to explain to him that China's population had grown too rapidly in the past few decades, and the government had to implement the one-child policy to control this growth, although it has now been relaxed to allow a second child.

Although he understood, he still couldn't comprehend it. I understand that Arabs view procreation as a private and sacred right that should not be restricted or even deprived. I retorted somewhat sarcastically, saying that every country has its own national conditions, and the restrictions your country places on women's rights seem equally unbelievable to us.

He smiled and then inquired about my sexual history, which I truthfully recounted. Perhaps in this unfamiliar and distant country, I didn't have many boundaries in my mind. Compared to his colorful experiences, my sexual history was much simpler; so far, I've only had relationships with my ex-boyfriend from university and my current husband.

After lunch, we strolled along the beach. I naturally took Karim's arm, once again losing my sense of boundaries. Like in *The English Patient*, it's easy to lose boundaries in the desert, and here I was in this country on the edge of the desert, gradually losing my own boundaries.

We continued chatting, and Karim couldn't understand why my husband would disregard everything for his work, including leaving his wife, who had come from afar, thousands of miles away. I knew he wasn't intentionally belittling my husband in front of me, but simply judging things by his own values.

He believed that career and life were equally important, with the latter being more important; striving for a career was for a better life, and neglecting life for the sake of career was putting the cart before the horse. If forced to choose between career and life, he would choose life.

Therefore, he particularly doesn't understand why Chinese people in Algeria work until evening every day, even on weekends and Sundays, while he would never open his shop or work on those days, because God has granted him and his employees the right to rest.

That's when I understood why the Algerian employees at my husband's project site stopped working after 3 PM every day. My husband used to say they were lazy and not as hardworking as the Chinese, but now I realized it was a difference in values.

Actually, the Chinese also want to rest, but pressure forces them to work relentlessly, while the men here consider enjoying life the most important thing. Just like how the Chinese, though they desire sex, are always secretive, while North African men are completely open about it. So much so that the men I met on the street that day, the moment they saw me, they had the idea of having sex with me and were ready to act on it

. Back at the villa, Karim played a record on an old-fashioned gramophone. To the melodious, romantic music, we danced. "Dancing" isn't quite accurate; we simply embraced and moved slowly to the rhythm.

Gradually, my other hand rested on his shoulder, and my face pressed against his. I knew that my boundaries were becoming increasingly blurred in the desert, until they disappeared completely.

He began to kiss my face, and I didn't resist, letting his lips move to mine, and we kissed passionately.

At that moment, my defenses completely crumbled. I decided to temporarily cast aside everything—my husband, son, and family—in this place completely isolated from my life, in this man's arms. "

Take me inside," I whispered in his ear.

On the bed in the bedroom, Karim and I embraced naked. He kissed me, caressed my body, and murmured, "Your body is so beautiful, a masterpiece of God."

His body was beautiful too, strong and muscular, with chiseled, well-proportioned muscles that weren't overly developed. Thick chest and abdominal hair, like a lawn, stretched down to his pubic hair, exuding masculine charm.

And his erect penis was astonishingly large, thick and long, almost twice the size of my ex-boyfriend's and husband's. I was even a little worried about whether my vagina could withstand the thrusting of such a large penis.

He patiently sucked on my nipples, his fingers tracing my vulva, from the labia to the clitoris, and back again. His caresses were truly wonderful, quickly arousing me.

Then he inserted himself and slowly began, kissing my breasts and licking my nipples as he thrust. I felt the unusually large, hard, and full penis inside my vagina, and I clearly understood one fact—I had cheated on him.

This was something I had never imagined would happen before, and it arrived suddenly and unexpectedly during my time in a foreign country to reunite with my husband, leaving me unable to resist.

He said he loved me. I asked him when it started. He said he was captivated by my beauty and helplessness from the first time he saw me, and then he fell completely in love with me after taking me sightseeing for several days.

He asked me if I loved him. I thought of my husband and remained noncommittal. He smiled slightly, didn't press further, and increased the speed of his thrusts. He kept using the same position, the traditional missionary position, until he ejaculated. At that moment, I felt a spasm in my vaginal walls, and a warm current surged from deep within. I had reached orgasm.

After our lovemaking, he took me to the bathroom to shower and carefully cleaned every part of my body. Looking at his attentive manner, I wondered, would every Arab man serve a woman like this? Perhaps! They view sex, or rather, conquering a woman's body, as a kind of performance art.

Back in bed, we embraced and chatted. He gently stroked the jade pendant necklace around my neck, praising its beauty and how well it suited me. I told him it was a gift from my deceased grandmother, which I had worn for over a decade.

I told him about my childhood; my parents were busy with work, and I was basically raised by my grandmother, who passed away when I was in high school.

He gently picked up the jade pendant and asked, "Do you miss her?" I nodded. He said he often missed his father too.

Soon he became erect again, and I was amazed that he could regain his virility in such a short time—it was unimaginable for my husband. Once again, I thought of my husband at this moment, feeling a pang of guilt, but I quickly immersed myself in his foreplay.

He not only kissed and caressed my entire body but also gave me oral sex. He was truly a master of sex; my body seemed to be opened up layer by layer by him, and I almost reached orgasm before he even entered me.

This time, he lasted longer than last time, over forty minutes, and changed positions several times, bringing me to orgasm one after another. Only after I had fully enjoyed the pleasure of sex did he ejaculate inside me.

Compared to him, my husband seemed like a child in bed.

That night, we drove to a nearby town for dinner. Back at the villa, we couldn't wait to kiss and embrace, quickly undressing each other before taking a bath together.

I gave him oral sex, something I rarely did with my husband before because I was shy. But now, I shamelessly took an Arab man's penis into my mouth. His penis was really big; I could only take about three-fifths of it before the glans pressed against my throat, making it impossible to go any further. But I still tried my best to suck his penis because I wanted to do it, and pleasing him was my own pleasure.

Then he picked me up, placed me on the sink, and entered me standing up. We started off passionately in the bathroom, then moved the battlefield to the bed, continuing until I was completely exhausted.

We fell asleep in each other's arms. The next morning, I woke up to find him leaning over the headboard, watching me. I smiled sweetly and offered him my lips. After a passionate kiss, I complained that he had been too rough with me the night before, and that my back was still a little sore. He smiled slightly, picked me up, and carried me to the bathroom.

The bathtub was already filled with steaming hot water and had been sprinkled with shower gel. He carried me inside and we sat facing each other. I leaned against the tub wall, closing my eyes and enjoying the warm embrace. Suddenly, he lifted my legs and placed them on his shoulders, his lips and tongue exploring my genitals.

I held onto the edge of the tub with both hands, my body floating on the water, enjoying his oral sex. His tongue was incredibly skillful, sometimes parting my labia minora, sometimes teasing my clitoris. I reached orgasm from his oral sex, then leaned against him, letting him hold me and enjoy the afterglow and tranquility of my climax.

I asked Karim, "Why are you so good at sex?" He said, "Because I'm a strong man." He then told me that in the Arab world, wealthy men attend sex schools from a young age to learn techniques for making love with women, to understand women's bodies and needs, so that they can better enjoy their wives' bodies and make them love them wholeheartedly. "

So you started practicing when you were fourteen?" I laughed. He said it was an accident, not part of his study plan. I asked again, "Doesn't Islam oppose premarital and extramarital sex?" He said it mainly restricts women, while Arab men consider enjoying sex and releasing desires very important.

We talked for a while, and then he made love to me again. I thought to myself, as he said, his two wives must love him very much. He's so handsome, so rich, and so good in bed; those two women must love him to death.

Perhaps, it was destined from that moment that I would later love him to death too.

3. Intoxicated

by the following days, Karim and I were together every day, and we made love every day, either at his residence in Algiers or in my hotel room.

He was like a patient and guiding mentor, opening up a whole new world of sex for me. I was like a naive little girl, led by him as we wandered in the river of love between the sexes.

Karim had many different ways of making love, and his skills were exceptional, including G-sex, which I had never tried before. But when he did it to my anus, I was initially a little uncomfortable, but I quickly started to enjoy it.

He was incredibly skilled at controlling the rhythm of sex, and he also knew a woman's body and needs intimately, bringing me to ecstasy with each passing orgasm. Every time we met, I experienced multiple orgasms. Even when he held me before penetration, the thick layer of his pubic hair rubbing against my breasts sent me into a frenzy of pleasure.

Under his tutelage, I could also skillfully perform oral sex on him, and even use deep throat techniques to swallow his large penis completely. Sometimes, I could even orgasm while performing oral sex on him.

I had never imagined that sex could be so pleasurable; I felt like I had wasted so many years.

At the same time, I often felt guilty. Whenever I thought about my husband working tirelessly in the desert while I was having passionate sex with a newly acquainted Arab man in Algiers, I felt ashamed of my husband. But the pleasure of the affair was like poppy, drawing me in with fear and guilt, like a moth drawn to a flame, again and again into Karim's arms, letting his enormous penis thrust freely into my vagina.

Of course, we weren't always making love when we were together; we often spent time in his café.

Every time, I'd sit in the same window seat I'd always taken the first time, a coffee cup on the table. I'd either read or gaze blankly at the street scene outside. He'd watch me from behind the bar, making coffee for customers. Even when he wasn't busy, he liked to sit quietly behind the bar and watch me. Sometimes our eyes would meet, and we'd exchange a knowing smile.

His two wives almost never came to this café, because Arab women generally don't enter places frequented by men unless there are special circumstances.

When I wasn't at the café, he'd put a reservation sign on my table, and that spot became my reserved seat.

Once, Karim even introduced me to his friends. That evening, he had dinner with some friends, and everyone brought their wives. He brought me along, presenting myself as his girlfriend. Polygamy is legal in Arab countries, so having girlfriends in addition to one's wife is normal, as long as it's not adultery with a married woman; there's nothing strange about it. His wealthy friend, who had three wives, also came.

That evening, we were in a typical Arab-style restaurant. The men sat at one table, and the women at another. In Arab countries, women are not allowed to dine at the same table as men.

Karim's wealthy friend, Hassan, was a few years older than him, and Hassan's third wife sat next to me. Knowing beforehand that I was Chinese, Hassan brought his third wife, whom I will refer to as Mrs. Hassan.

To be honest, I didn't particularly like Mrs. Hassan, even though she was Chinese, because her demeanor and mannerisms suggested a flaunting of wealth. However, since we were all compatriots, and Karim and Hassan were friends, I tried my best to talk to her.

Through our conversation, I learned that Hassan had met his third wife while on a business trip in China and brought her back to Algeria to marry her, even though he already had two wives at the time.

After we became acquainted, Mrs. Hassan began to talk to me about everything. She asked if I was seriously dating Karim or just having fun. I couldn't tell her I was married, so I remained silent. Mrs. Hassan said that it's best not to marry an Arab man.

I was somewhat surprised and asked her why. She said Arab men are all pretty scumbags. They're incredibly romantic and sweet-talking when they're pursuing you, but once they've got you, their true male chauvinistic nature comes out. They lack respect for women and are very lecherous.

I glanced at Karim, who was chatting and laughing with his friends, wondering if he was like that too.

We were speaking in Chinese, so we weren't worried about being overheard by the others. I asked Mrs. Hassan if she regretted marrying Hassan. She said she didn't because she loved Hassan and had already given him two children; she was just complaining about these shortcomings of Arab men.

She added that having fun with Arab men is quite nice because they have exceptionally strong sexual abilities, and sex with them is particularly pleasurable—I suppose I've already experienced that. I blushed and hesitated before asking her, "Before I went abroad, I was researching Algeria and I happened to see someone online say that Arab men have an unusually strong sex drive and sexual function, with the average young adult male having sex four or five times a day. Is that true?"

Mrs. Hassan chuckled, "It's not that exaggerated. Do you really think they're sex robots?" Does your husband do it four or five times a day? It's true, though, at least once or twice a day. For example, my husband and I, the four of us women, take turns serving him, about every three or four days, which is just right. Otherwise, we really couldn't stand him.

At this point, I understood why these countries allow polygamy, up to four wives. It's because Arab men have particularly strong sexual desires, and one Arab woman can hardly satisfy her husband, so she needs to share the service with other women. Those poor men who can only afford one wife naturally don't live as comfortably as the rich.

I then asked, "Won't there be conflicts when four women live in one family? Like jealousy or something?"

Mrs. Hassan chuckled, "Generally not, because the Quran stipulates that wives should love one another, and husbands should treat all wives equally, without favoritism. For example, if you buy something for one wife, you buy four copies, and the other three wives also get a share. Otherwise, if one wife takes it to an Islamic marriage court, the husband will be in deep trouble." Correspondingly, wives shouldn't sow discord, or the consequences will be severe. Of course, favoritism is inevitable; for example, my husband Hassan loves me the most.

Amidst Hassan's smug chuckles, I understood why Karim had told me that day that poor people simply couldn't afford polygamy—besides the exorbitant dowries, the daily expenses were enormous.

I glanced at the women at our table, eating and chatting. They were all wives of wealthy men, serving their husbands alongside other women; presumably, they were all as Hassan's wife described.

After meeting Hassan's wife, we exchanged contact information and agreed to meet for afternoon tea.

Karim and I thoroughly enjoyed the time before my husband's arrival. I even changed my previous expectations for him, secretly hoping he would arrive as late as possible, because otherwise, it would mean the day Karim and I would break up, and I now felt I couldn't live without him.

I finally told Karim, "I love you." Yes, I had fallen hopelessly in love with him. About two weeks ago, before I came to Algeria, I never dreamed I would fall in love with a foreign man here, so passionately.

But fate always likes to play tricks. When I was longing to see my husband, it was impossible; now, when I didn't want to see him anymore, he appeared before me without warning.

Before my husband arrived, Karim and I had a little argument. For three days straight, he didn't come to see me or to the café.

Later, I called him and learned that he had taken his two wives and three children on a trip to Melilla, a Spanish autonomous province in Morocco. They take similar trips twice a year to strengthen family bonds.

I was very upset. The image of Karim surrounded by his two beautiful wives and three children flashed through my mind, as if I had been abandoned. And both of his wives were quite beautiful, especially his second wife, Anani, who was young and stunning. I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy.

Although I knew I had no right to be jealous—we were just friends with benefits, not even his girlfriend, and besides, I was already married—I couldn't shake the sadness and frustration in my heart.

That afternoon, after he returned to Algiers, he came to my hotel. Before that, he had called me many times, but I had rejected all his calls. I was taking a bath at the time, wrapped in a towel, and left the door a crack, pretending not to let him in. Actually, I really wanted him to come in, craving his big penis to thrust hard into my little hole that he had neglected for three days.

He begged me to let him in at the door, but I coldly told him to leave until he pulled out the gift he'd bought for me in Melilla. Only then did I remove the door chain and let him in.

I refused the gift, saying I didn't care for something that came in triplicate. He said he hadn't bought it for either of his wives, only for me.

What followed was naturally a quarrel that ended quickly. I reluctantly told him not to touch me, but half-heartedly let him remove my towel and insert his penis into my anus.

I asked him if he'd slept with either of his wives while on vacation. He said his first wife, Aimeila, was menstruating, and he'd slept with his second wife, Anani. Hearing this, I burst into tears, enduring his ministrations while crying and begging him to promise to stay with me every day until my husband arrived, and not to touch any other woman, including his two wives.

I knew my request was unreasonable, but I wanted to do it because I loved him so much. He agreed to my unreasonable request while still penetrating my anus, and then brought me to orgasm.

Afterwards, we went out for dinner and watched an American movie. When we returned to the hotel, it was late at night. We walked hand-in-hand into the lobby. Karim would be spending the night in my room, continuing to fuck me with his huge, intoxicating cock.

Suddenly, I remembered I'd left my bag in Karim's car, so I asked him to get it. I walked into the lobby alone and was startled to see my husband approaching. I was secretly alarmed; had he seen what happened between Karim and me?

My husband smiled and walked up to me, saying, "Honey, you're back?" I snapped out of my daze and said guiltily, "You…why are you here?" My husband laughed, "Look at you, weren't you looking forward to my arrival? It's like you didn't want to see me."

I thought to myself, it seemed he hadn't seen Karim and me holding hands, and said, "No, I thought you wouldn't be here for another seven or eight days! You really are something, not even calling me before you came.

I wanted to surprise you!" My husband chuckled, "How was it? Were you surprised?"

He was overjoyed, but little did he know? While he was away, his beloved wife was being thoroughly enjoyed by an Arab man.

I forced a smile, flustered, "Yes, yes!" I thought, "No surprise, but definitely a shock."

Just then, Karim walked into the lobby with my bag. He froze when he saw my husband. I involuntarily looked at him, and my husband looked at him too; he had nowhere to hide.

Karim came over and handed me the bag, saying, "Madam, you forgot your bag." My husband looked at him in surprise and asked in English, "Who are you?"

Karim said he was a taxi driver who had just driven me back to the hotel and realized I had forgotten my bag when I got out, so he quickly brought it to me. My husband didn't suspect a thing, thanking Karim repeatedly and even taking out some money to give him a tip. Karim tried to refuse, but my husband insisted, so he had to accept it.

Watching Karim's departing figure, my husband said to me, "Honey, you're so careless! How could you forget your bag in a taxi?" Luckily, the driver was kind; such kindness is rare in Algeria.

I masked my annoyance and took my husband's arm, saying, "Honey, shall we go upstairs?" As we walked, he remarked, "That taxi driver is so handsome! He's dressed so well, he doesn't look like a taxi driver at all." I felt a pang of guilt and said, "What's it to you?"

On the way back to the room, my husband asked where I'd gone tonight. I said I'd gone to see a movie. He said to try to go out alone less often, as the security here isn't great. I snapped back, "What am I supposed to do all alone here? Then don't go out."

My husband said, feeling sorry for me, "I'm sorry, honey, it's all my fault."

On the bed in the room, my husband was on top of me, panting heavily. He had no idea that just this afternoon, Karim had fucked my ass in this very bed.

I feigned ecstasy, responding to him, secretly hoping he'd finish quickly. In just over two weeks, my attitude towards my husband underwent a complete 180-degree turn. When I first arrived in Algiers, I eagerly awaited his return, but now I felt nothing for him.

My husband, as expected, didn't disappoint; he ejaculated in less than five minutes. We hadn't been apart for over a year, and perhaps because he hadn't been with a woman in so long, his performance was much less impressive than before.

He rolled over, let out a long sigh, and savored the afterglow of ejaculation. I got up and wiped away the semen that had spilled from my vagina with a tissue.

Then he held me close and poured out his longing for me. I answered him absentmindedly, but thankfully, he was in a good mood and didn't notice anything amiss.

Later, he told me that his trip had been very rushed, and he had to rush back the day after tomorrow because he hadn't finished dealing with things there. Hearing this, I was secretly pleased, but muttered a complaint that he was leaving me behind again. My

husband apologized, saying that he really couldn't stay with me this time and told me to enjoy myself for a few days before returning home. I pretended to be angry, sat up, and said, "I came all this way to visit relatives, and this is it? Lin Yuanxin, have you ever let me have a few good days all these years? Is this how you treat me? I was blind to marry you."

My husband quickly apologized repeatedly, trying to coax and appease me. I deliberately let him say all the nice things before pretending my anger was subsiding. He then said he could ask Xiao Yang from the office to accompany me around. I said no thanks, I don't know him well, I'm more comfortable alone.

My husband told me to be careful when I go out, and I said it's okay, the security in Algeria isn't as bad as you say. After resting for a while, my husband made love to me again. This time he was much better, but he still didn't bring me to orgasm. Maybe it's because I've been eating too many delicacies lately, and my taste has become more refined, so I don't have much of an appetite for ordinary food.

After my husband fell asleep, I quietly went to the balcony to call Karim. I was afraid he would be jealous because of what happened tonight, especially since my husband mistook him for a taxi driver and gave him a tip.

Karim told me on the phone that he was fine and asked me to spend the next couple of days with my husband, since he had come all the way from the Sahara Desert. I told him I missed him, and he laughed, "Honey, I miss you too. We'll be together again soon."

Sure enough, my husband only stayed in Algiers for three days before returning to Tamanrasset. No sooner had he left than I went to meet Karim. We had arranged to go to Tibasa that day, where there are famous Algerian World Heritage sites.

When we met, Karim gave me a bouquet of flowers. I asked him why he gave me flowers. He laughed, "Not from me, but from your husband." I looked at him, puzzled. He laughed again, "Have you forgotten? He gave me a tip that night; these flowers were bought with his money."

I chuckled, playfully hit him, and said coquettishly, "You're so naughty!" He laughed too, opened the passenger door, and let me in.

That very day, on the way to Tibasa, Karim even got into a fight for me.

Tibasa is about 60 kilometers from Algiers, and the entire route winds along the Mediterranean coast. On one side lies the boundless azure sea, and on the other, vast fields of mulberry and wheat—the scenery is breathtaking.

Driving through such intoxicating beauty, Karim and I were in high spirits, chatting and laughing all the way. I felt I had fallen in love with this country, not only for its beauty but also for the man beside me.

I rolled down the car window and shouted towards the Mediterranean, "I love Algeria!" Karim smiled and asked, "And do you love me?" I looked at him tenderly, then turned back to the window and shouted again, "I love Karim, I love Karim Mahrani!"

We smiled at each other, and he took my hand and kissed it. Because of this gesture, the Mercedes SUV veered slightly to the left, followed by a rapid honking of its horn.

Karim quickly swerved the steering wheel back a little, and a Volkswagen sedan overtook us from the left, driving alongside. The window rolled down, and a burly, bald, middle-aged man with a fierce appearance drove by, shouting and pointing aggressively at Karim. I couldn't understand what he was saying, but it was definitely swearing.

Karim had to keep his left hand on the steering wheel, raise his right hand to his head, and gesture and speak to apologize. But the bald man persisted, continuing to hurl insults. Karim had to gesture for him to go first.

The bald man cursed a few more times, then accelerated and overtook us. I thought that was the end of it, but then something else happened.

When we passed a service area, Karim pulled in to use the restroom. I sat in the car for a while, intending to get out and buy some fruit.

As soon as I got out, I heard a reprimanding voice beside me. I turned around and saw the same bald man aggressively walking towards me, saying something incessantly. I couldn't understand a word, so I spoke to him in English, "I don't understand. Do you speak English?"

The other man clearly didn't understand English either and continued swearing. He was very strong and looked quite fierce. I was terrified, moving to the side while hoping Karim would come out of the toilet soon. The bald, strong man became increasingly agitated and started shoving me.

Just then, Karim appeared. He pulled the bald, strong man away and punched him, knocking him to the ground. Then he put his hands on my shoulders and asked if I was alright. I smiled and shook my head, feeling relieved that he had stepped forward to protect me at this crucial moment.

Suddenly, I saw the bald, strong man lunge at Karim and couldn't help but scream. Karim turned and parried the bald, strong man's punches, and began to fight him. To be honest, at first I was worried for Karim because the man was so strong, and I was afraid Karim wouldn't be a match for him.

But I quickly realized my worries were unnecessary. The bald, burly man was strong, but his fighting style was chaotic, a jumble of wild punches. Karim, on the other hand, was disciplined in his offense and defense, his punches sharp and powerful, forcing the man back step by step until he was pinned against a car hood and brutally beaten.

I was completely captivated by Karim's prowess, but worried he might seriously injure the man, so I quickly went to intervene. Karim then stopped, said a few fierce words to the bald man, left him, and got into the car with me, driving away. In the rearview mirror, I saw the bald man wiping the blood from his face, staring blankly as we drove off.

Once we were back on the road, I asked Karim how he could fight so well. He said he'd been practicing boxing since middle school. I then asked him what he'd said to that man. He hesitated for a moment and said, "I told him, 'If you ever touch my wife again, I'll kill you.'"

My heart fluttered, and I gave him a flirtatious look, saying, "I'm not your wife." Then I asked him how his driving was. He seemed a little confused and said, "Great!" So I bent down and unzipped his pants.

He asked me what I was doing. I said, "To reward you for protecting me earlier." As I spoke, I took out his penis and started stroking it. He laughed and said, "Isn't this inappropriate?" I chuckled and said, "Just focus on driving." As I spoke, I bent down and took his gradually erect penis into my mouth, swallowing and releasing it until he ejaculated into my mouth, and then I swallowed the semen.

We had a great time that day, exploring the ancient Roman ruins of Tibasa and visiting the Tomb of the Princess, the tomb of Cleopatra's daughter. We didn't return to Algiers until evening.

At that time, we were so immersed in love that we wished time would stand still, or that our departure would be delayed.

4. Departure

Karim and I were still deeply in love, and the days passed by. As my return date drew closer, we were both shrouded in the melancholy of our impending separation.

Once, during sex with him, a sudden wave of sadness washed over me, and I immediately took off the jade pendant necklace I wore and placed it around his neck as a token.

As he thrust into me, he asked why I was giving him something so precious to me. I said I was afraid he would forget me, and that seeing this necklace would be like seeing me. "

I won't forget you, never," he said, driving his penis even faster, bringing me to a poignant climax.

Another time, after sex, we were soaking in the bathtub. I leaned against Karim's chest, and he held me from behind, savoring the afterglow of our climax. At that moment, I truly wanted to abandon everything and elope with this man I loved so deeply.

I whispered, "Karim, take me away, to a place where it's just the two of us."

Karim, while caressing my breasts and kissing my neck, pondered for a long time before making a bold suggestion. He said he loved me very much and wanted me to be his wife; he had the financial means to marry a third wife.

His words moved me, because I could see he truly loved me. But I couldn't do it. On one hand, I didn't want to share a husband with another woman. On the other hand, my family was all in China—my parents, my son—how could I abandon them thousands of miles away to be with Karim on the other side of the world forever?

Also, although I no longer loved my husband, we still had so many years of familial bond, which wasn't something I could just sever.

I turned and hugged Karim's neck, crying as I kissed his lips, saying, "Baby, I love you, I really love you, but I can't do that." He kissed me, wiping away my tears. I guided his now-erect penis into my vagina…

The day of parting finally arrived mercilessly, amidst our reluctance, our unwillingness, and our prayers for God to slow down time.

The night before I returned home, Karim and I made love almost all night long. I cried again and again as I sucked his penis until it was hard, and he ejaculated into my vagina, anus, and mouth again and again. During my orgasms, I cried and told him, "I love you, do you love me?"

I swore to God that I would never forget him, that I would cherish him in my heart, and that he would never forget me either. With each orgasm, my tears and semen soaked a large patch of the sheets.

The next day, Karim took me to the airport. Before checking in, I couldn't find my passport. I turned my handbag inside out, but it was gone. I was immediately terrified.

Karim asked me what was wrong. I said in a panic, "My passport is gone." He seemed relatively calm and said, "Could it be in your suitcase?" So I opened my suitcase and searched, berating myself for being so careless.

Suddenly, I realized something, looked up at Karim, and he was looking at me too. I stood up and held out my hand to him. Karim glanced away helplessly, then reached into his inner jacket pocket and slowly pulled out my passport.

"Anyu, please stay?" He held the passport in his hand, seemingly unwilling to give it to me.

In that instant, I really wanted to say yes, even if it meant sharing a husband with his two wives. I threw myself into his arms.

"Forgive me, I can't, I can't..." I murmured, sobbing uncontrollably. He held me tightly, and we kissed deeply, letting our tears flow into each other's mouths.

The announcement of boarding separated us. At that moment, I thought of Liu Yong's poem—"Where there is reluctance, the orchid boat urges departure, holding hands, gazing at each other with tearful eyes, speechless with emotion. Parting has always been painful..."

After exchanging our boarding passes, we embraced again for a long time. I pushed him away forcefully, grabbed my luggage, and hurried towards the security gate. As I was about to go inside, I couldn't help but look at him one last time. I saw him raise his fist, holding the necklace I had given him, then place it on his chest and gently tap it, as if to show that he would never forget me.

Tears immediately streamed down my face. I raised my right hand to my temple and then gently patted my chest with my right palm, telling him that I would never forget him either, and that I would cherish him forever in my heart.

I turned away, letting tears stream down my face. I knew deeply that this turn was forever; this man who had suddenly entered my life was now leaving me, gone forever.

The plane slowly took off. Below the window, the beautiful Mediterranean city grew smaller and smaller in my eyes. Just over a month ago, I was a wife who had traveled thousands of miles to find her husband, coming alone to this distant and unfamiliar country to reunite with him. Now, however, I was leaving alone, carrying with me a love as deep as the Mediterranean for another man and an overwhelming sense of reluctance.

As the city of Algiers disappeared beneath the clouds, I wept again.

Back home, while packing my luggage, I found a homemade sketchbook at the bottom. On the title page, written in Arabic, was an inscription: "Dedicated to my beloved woman—An Yu."

Having spent over a month with Karim in Algeria, I had learned some Arabic. My eyes instantly welled up with tears. I slowly flipped through the sketchbook. The first picture was of me sitting in a café, gazing out the window. My tears fell onto the drawing.

I flipped through the pages one by one. All the drawings were sketches of me, in various poses, including a nude image of me sleeping in bed. Karim had drawn me so beautifully; you could see his love for me in every stroke.

As I looked at the sketchbook, I closed it and hugged it tightly, letting the tears that had flowed over the past few days stream down my face again. I sobbed uncontrollably.

Not long after returning home, I discovered I was pregnant. Judging from the timeline, it was Karim's. I secretly had an abortion.

Time flew by, and a year and a half passed quickly.

During that year and a half, Karim and I kept our promises to each other: to cherish the memory forever and never contact each other again. I tried to bury him deep in my heart, worked hard, and tried to be a good wife and mother. But sometimes I still wondered, how was he doing? Had he married a new wife? That experience, though painful, was also a happy memory for me, though I inevitably woke up in the middle of the night to secretly shed tears.

My husband also completed his aid work and returned to China, and was promoted at his workplace, reaching the level of a department head in his thirties, with a bright future ahead. Many people around me—friends, colleagues, and classmates—envied me for marrying a good husband, but who knew my sorrow and heartache?

I secretly converted to Islam, enrolled in Arabic language classes, and stopped eating pork. Sometimes I think it's quite strange; I used to be indifferent to Arab culture, even somewhat averse to Islam, but now I love everything about him because of this man.

I did this not because I wanted to reunite with Karim someday; I didn't even allow myself to contact him. I just wanted to feel, in my heart, that we were still together.

Shortly after the Spring Festival that year, Mrs. Hassan suddenly came to see me. She had an aunt here and came to visit her aunt during her trip back to China, and also to meet me.

We arranged to meet at a coffee shop. Although I wasn't familiar with her before and had only met her once, I felt a sense of closeness to her because she was from Algeria and the wife of Karim's friend.

We chatted for a while about our recent lives, and naturally the topic turned to Karim. Mrs. Hassan told me that since I left, Karim hadn't married a third wife and had never forgotten me.

He'd sealed off the spot in the café where I usually sat, not letting any other customers sit there. Mrs. Hassan said, "An Yu, he really loves you!"

Hearing her words, my eyes instantly welled up with tears, but I pretended to be nonchalant and said, "Actually, he didn't need to do that. Let bygones be bygones."

Mrs. Hassan then asked, "An Yu, are you... doing well with your husband now?" She already knew I was a married woman. "

I'm fine!" I smiled. She said, "An Yu, never deceive your own heart. I know you still love him."

"So what?" I smiled wryly. "Love alone isn't enough. My family, his family, and the huge differences between us in culture, customs, and values—these can't be bridged by love alone.

" "His family isn't the problem," Mrs. Hassan said. I interrupted her. "Even so, what about the others? Besides, I can't accept being someone's concubine, sharing a husband with another woman."

Realizing I might have hurt Mrs. Hassan, I said, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean anything by it."

Mrs. Hassan smiled magnanimously. "It's alright. This kind of thing is only reasonable in that world. In our world, it's truly absurd."

I asked curiously, "Back then… what did your parents and relatives think about this?"

Mrs. Hassan sipped her coffee and said, "Of course I couldn't understand. If it had happened to someone else instead of me, I still wouldn't understand. But time makes everything reasonable. My parents saw that Hassan was very good to me and very wealthy, so they stopped saying anything."

After talking with Mrs. Hassan that day, I fell into deep thought. After a month of contemplation, one evening I brought up divorce to my husband.

He was incredibly abrupt and surprised. He was in the prime of his life, doing so well, and couldn't understand why I would consider divorce.

I could only tell him, "I've been having an affair." He was incredulous. "Don't joke around, An Yu." "I know I've neglected you and the children because of work, but even if you're unhappy, you can't say things like that to provoke me! This kind of joke isn't funny at all."

Looking at his confident expression, I felt truly sorry for him. "I'm telling the truth. Do you remember two years ago in Algeria?" I said calmly but seriously.

His smile froze, and he stared at me blankly. I continued, "You weren't around then, and I got together with a local man…"

"You… slept with him?" my husband asked. I nodded and said, "Yes, many times."

He was still incredulous, then laughed again, but it was a guilty laugh. "No, this can't be, An Yu, you must be joking."

I looked at him seriously and said, "Every word I said is true. Your wife did sleep with another man." I hesitated for a moment, then added, "I was also pregnant with his child, but I had an abortion." My

husband stared at me intently, as if I were a stranger, not the wife he had shared a bed with for ten years. Then he lowered his head helplessly, and after a long silence, he said, "Why? Why did you do this?" His voice was filled with grief and indignation.

I said, "Does it matter now why?"

He suddenly raised his head and roared at me, "Why? An Yu, why did you do this? Why did you cheat on me? Wasn't I good to you? Wasn't I good to this family?" "

I know you were good to me, good to this family," I shouted back, "Everything you did was for this family, but do you know? I am a woman, a woman of flesh and blood. What I need is not a successful husband that everyone envies but who is never by my side, but a man who can stay by my side. I would rather he wasn't very successful." My husband

sneered repeatedly, "Women!" "You're so damn hard to please." He paused for a moment, then said, "No wonder I felt something was off about you during those days in Algiers. I thought you were upset that I left you there alone, and that you didn't like the place... I never imagined it was like this."

Another silence followed, as if he was thinking about something. After a long pause, he said, "But you're back home now, you have nothing to do with him anymore, right?"

I looked at him. "So?"

"So, I've decided to forgive you, to forgive your infidelity." My husband said, "I can pretend nothing happened, and you can do the same. We can go back to how things were before..."

Even if I've had an abortion for someone else, is that okay? For a moment, I felt a pang of pity for him. He nodded. "

Why? Why are you doing this to yourself?" I couldn't help but ask. "

Why?" he said, "For our son, for our family. And besides, given my current situation, divorce isn't a good thing for me."

I sneered, "Lin Yuanxin, don't you understand? I stopped loving you a long time ago, not even back in Algeria." "

Then why are you only bringing it up now?" my husband roared again.

I sighed and said, "I thought I could keep this hidden forever and continue living with you, but I found I couldn't."

He said, "So what do you plan to do in the future? Go to Algeria and be with him?" I said, "Impossible, he has a wife."

My husband sneered, "They allow polygamy there. You could serve him with his wife, or even have a threesome with that Arab woman, sucking his cock together, letting him take turns fucking your cunts."

What he didn't know was that Karim actually had two wives.

"Disgusting and shameless!" I said. He sneered repeatedly, "Disgusting and shameless?" "Weren't the things you did despicable and shameless?"

I was speechless, tears streaming down my face. He calmed himself down and said, "Back then, you were itching for a man's cock, and I wasn't there for you. I understand and forgive that. Now we're together, we don't have to be apart anymore. Let's forget about those things and start over, okay?"

I wiped away my tears and said, "I really can't do it, don't force me."

His face contorted with anger, and he pointed to his chest, saying, "An Yu, don't go too far! I've already humbled myself and begged you, and you still won't agree?"

I firmly said, "I'm sorry! I can't."

"An Yu, you're a fucking slut, a lowly bitch." My husband finished speaking and slammed the door shut.

A few days after that night, my husband and I officially divorced. Most of the property went to him, as did custody and guardianship of our son. I only asked for a house as a place to live. My only request was to be able to see my son anytime. He agreed.

My parents were shocked and angry when they found out, asking if my ex-husband had been having an affair. In their eyes, this was the only and most likely reason for my divorce. I said it wasn't his fault; I had cheated on him myself. They scolded me for being spineless, for being insane, for not being content with such a good husband, and for doing something so shameless.

People around me also didn't understand, and I was too lazy to explain to them; in fact, it was too embarrassing to even talk about it. Anyway, whatever! I just needed to follow my heart and do what I wanted to do.

Six months after my divorce, I joined a tour group to four North African countries with three close friends.

The reason I agreed to go with them wasn't to meet Karim, but to set foot on that land again, breathe the same air he breathed, and walk the same streets he walked. Then, to secretly glance at him, to say goodbye to that experience in this way, and let the past fade away with the wind.

The first stop on that trip was Egypt, followed by Tunisia, Algeria, and Morocco.

On my second day in Algiers, instead of joining a tour group, I returned to Karim's café after two years.

I hid across the street, peering into the café, silently praying to God that his tall, handsome figure would appear through the glass windows. I just wanted to see him now; one glance would be enough for me, and I would leave.

After a while, a Mercedes SUV pulled up in front of the café—Karim's car. My heart pounded, as if it would burst from my chest.

The door opened, and a woman stepped out of the driver's seat—a beautiful Arab woman in her thirties. She had a lovely face, wore a headscarf, a tight T-shirt, and jeans, and possessed a remarkably graceful figure.

I recognized her immediately—Karim's second wife, Anani; I had seen her picture before. She reached across the front of the car, took the hand of a pretty little girl, not even ten years old, who had gotten out of the passenger seat, and led her into the café.

After the mother and daughter entered, the little girl ran straight into the back room. Anani went behind the counter, seemingly tidying something. My tears welled up instantly.

I wiped them away and turned to leave. After only a few steps, I found myself drawn back into the café, almost as

if by some strange impulse. It was morning, so the café wasn't crowded. The first thing I saw was the window seat, surrounded by potted plants. A metal plaque, fixed at a 45-degree angle to the table, read in Arabic: "She used to sit here, Anyu."

Instantly, tears welled in my eyes. Just then, Anani came out from behind the counter and greeted me in English, "Hello, ma'am." "

Hello!" I replied, looking again at the window. "Can't I sit here?"

"I'm sorry, no," Anani smiled. "Why?" I asked. "

Because two years ago, my husband used this seat to wait for someone." Anani looked at me. "You're Anyu, right?"

I hesitated, then nodded. Anani smiled and looked at me for a moment, then said, "So beautiful. No wonder Karim loves you so much." She turned and called to the back of the café, "Darling, come out quickly."

My heart pounded again. Soon, the man I had been dreaming of—Karim Mahlani—appeared in my sight, accompanied by the little girl from before. He was forty years old, still so handsome, so sexy, and so warm, just as I had felt when I first met him two years ago.

He froze, our eyes meeting, speechless for a moment. Anani, standing beside me, smiled and glanced at Karim, then at me. The little girl also stared at me curiously.

"Madam, do you need help?" he finally spoke, smiling. "

A cup of coffee, please, thank you!" I said, tears streaming down my face, unable to hold back any longer.

A little over a year later, at thirty-five, I, as Karim's third wife, gave birth to his mixed-race son.

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My story with an Arab man was reposted on this site.

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