A firsthand account of "group sex": Huan Yan's story (2)

Character: Huan Yan

Tags: Post-80s, "Group Sex" Experiencer

Why Don't You Take Control of Your Body?

The selection and confirmation of a third party is, more accurately, a process of awakening self-awareness.

Some say, "Love is nothing more than a lie fabricated by humans for the purpose of procreation." While I don't completely agree, I certainly acknowledge the different physiological and emotional needs of men and women.

For men, love is love, and sexual desire is sexual desire—two very clear-cut matters.

But even if a woman is immediately attracted to a man, the first thing that probably comes to mind isn't a scenario of having sex with him, right? Usually, she'll have a pre-set scenario and plot, with the "main event" coming later.

So, when a man is passively "forced" onto a woman, it means the path to the "main event" is closed.

I think some people enjoy passive sexual relationships, but the vast majority prefer to develop a relationship with a man they know and like.

Z understands my personality well, so this time, despite his typically chauvinistic nature, he very democratically let me choose myself.

The search process lasted about a month, but it felt rather long for Z. He even began to wonder if my agreement was just a pretense, a way of avoiding the issue.

I often consider myself quite "lucky"; the forum was rife with undisguised desires, and amidst these waves of desire, I always managed to encounter truly exceptional people.

F was the first person I chose. He was around 40, of average height and build, but at first glance, he seemed sincere and trustworthy. He lived about an hour's drive from our city, perfectly fitting Z's and my principle of not looking locally, while also avoiding making his commute too inconvenient.

Because it was our first time and we lacked experience, our requirements were a bit "troublesome." We hoped to meet for a meal first, and if things went well, we wanted him to undergo a health check before proceeding.

We communicated with F beforehand, and with his consent, we had our first meeting. But I, who had originally planned to observe from the sidelines, was "pushed" to the "front lines" when F arrived.

On the day F arrived, Z had something urgent to attend to and asked me to pick F up first, so things didn't go as I expected...

F arrived in the late afternoon, almost sunset. Since I had sent photos beforehand, she was easy to recognize.

F stood in the evening glow, wearing a simple shirt and jeans, sleeves rolled up halfway. She was a bit thin, but very energetic.

I had pre-selected a restaurant with private booths, and F and I took a taxi.

A little shy at first, I didn't say much. He gentlemanly opened the back door for me and sat in the front passenger seat himself.

Then I received a text from him: "I'm very satisfied with you."

Unable to see his expression from behind, I secretly stuck out my tongue in my mind, feeling a little happy.

A well-placed and appropriate compliment is definitely a powerful tool for winning a woman's favor.

Later, Z arrived after finishing his work. Even though it was our first meeting, we chatted naturally like friends.

Men's social rules have always been a bit hard for me to understand.

After dinner, F didn't stay overnight, but accepted our initial request for a medical check-up and arranged to meet again later.

There were some minor hiccups, so the second meeting didn't actually happen for another month.

One day in May 2015, Z and I drove to F's city. Z seemed a bit uncomfortable the whole way. He, who always looked down on my driving, actually offered to let me drive, while complaining like a child about his dissatisfaction with F. Perhaps he felt F's "cooperation" wasn't efficient enough, or perhaps it was because I had chosen someone completely different from his expectations. Compared to

Z, who was 1.8 meters tall and weighed 180 pounds, F had a completely different "style"—a calm and rational demeanor that made you feel safe.

Perhaps everyone, besides what they have in reality, subconsciously constructs an opposite.

F had a last-minute commitment and couldn't leave, so after we had arranged our own dinner, around 8 pm, F came to pick us up and take us to the hotel we had booked in advance.

On the way there, I subconsciously tightened my grip on Z's arm. Z, surprisingly, seemed more at ease than I was, simply giving me a reassuring smile. I hesitated for a moment, then quietly asked if I could have some time alone with F to get to know him better. Z agreed.

Once in the room, we had a brief, awkward chat, then Z excused himself to get a change of clothes from the car.

I forget who suggested we have a drink, but F mentioned a supermarket nearby, so we decided to go together.

(Mainly because the atmosphere was so strange; we desperately needed a less awkward space.)

Leaving the hotel with F, the air suddenly felt more comfortable.

After asking F's permission, I took his arm, but unexpectedly bumped into Z, who was walking back. I immediately blushed and instinctively pulled away, but Z didn't say anything, just smiled and said he'd go back to his room first.

Hmm... it felt like being caught doing something wrong.

It was an underground shopping mall, requiring us to go up a long escalator; people on the left were going up, we were going down.

The air in the public area masked the awkwardness, while I secretly wondered, who would guess the relationship between us, walking so naturally together, or what was about to happen?

This led me to subconsciously speculate about the people I saw on the street—what their professions were, what experiences they had, what kind of lives they faced—for a long time, in many situations. It was quite an interesting thing.

F and I chatted casually in the underground supermarket, wandering around for a while before finally choosing a bottle of red wine. I waited at the checkout.

F put the rather large corkscrew in his inner pocket; he seemed a little nervous, which reminded me of a child with sensory integration dysfunction. I found F somewhat endearing, and I relaxed a bit.

Back at the hotel, Z was surprisingly not in the room.

F skillfully opened the red wine and poured me a glass, and the air became strange again.

So, to F's surprise, I drank most of the bottle…

As my vision blurred, I heard F ask if I could kiss him. I don't remember if I responded, but he had me pinned down, his nimble tongue, carrying the same taste of alcohol, easily breaching my lips and forcefully invading.

Thinking that Z hadn't returned yet, and still feeling a little anxious, I pushed F away and ran to the bathroom to shower.

F didn't make any further moves, only occasionally opening the bathroom door to look at me until Z returned.

When I came out of the shower, Z also returned; he had gone out to buy some snacks. I was initially puzzled, but later realized how wise his move was.

What follows is a scenario that many have seen similar in the forums, so I won't elaborate.

It's like inviting a friend, but the relationship isn't quite there yet, so I say, "Please go first," a strangely polite formality.

It was like the humility during a round of drinks: "I can't go on anymore, please drink more."

When Z excitedly hurt me again, he would awkwardly and apologetically invite F to take over.

F was the perfect size, leaving Z, who was watching from the sidelines, with an unspeakable feeling of "a hero with no place to use his skills."

During the break, Z, who hadn't smoked in a long time, half-reclined on the sofa to recover his strength.

F sat opposite him and took a work call.

I lay on the bed, looking through the smoke at the two such different bodies, and provocatively turned and sat in F's lap, raising my chin and squinting at Z. Z didn't speak, but gave me a complicated smile. Then I was thrown back onto the bed. They showed me what kind of "punishment" I should accept.

Because F had to catch an early flight for a business trip and couldn't stay overnight, he got up to get dressed around 12 o'clock. By this time, Z had also rested for a while.

I watched as F put on his pants and clothes. Then he leaned down and kissed me, and I wrapped my arms around his waist.

So, the clothes and pants I had just put on were tossed aside again...

This unfamiliar city, this unfamiliar air, still carried a faint, absurd, and inexplicably ambiguous atmosphere even after F finally left.

When I woke up in the morning, Z was still asleep. Snack bags were scattered on the table, all empty from needing to replenish their energy.

A pile of condoms lay on the floor—probably enough for Z and me for a year.

I got up and walked to the large full-length mirror, scrutinizing my naked self, replaying the events of the night...

The sun rose, returning my soul to my body. It was just like the wind blowing across the fields in my childhood memories, taking away something unseen, yet the flowers were still there...

You might not understand what I'm saying, so please accept my advice: in situations like that, prepare plenty of condoms.

Postscript:

Life returned to normal. My relationship with Z wasn't better or worse than this experience. The existing problems weren't erased, and the concerns I hadn't arisen either.
As for Mr. F, when I had some emotional outbursts due to personal reasons, I was grateful that he left a message saying I could contact him anytime if needed. However, I regretfully saw his experience of compiling a table of contents, and feeling shocked, I decided it was best to avoid further contact.
Time flies, so cherish every moment.

Some male friends, after reading my story, often say, "I'll let my wife see this too." Ladies reading this, please treat it as a little bit of erotica; you must take control of your own body!

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A firsthand account of "group sex": Huan Yan's story (2)

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