Classroom Romance

Although it was a holiday, the heavy academic burden and intense competition meant we still had to
study . However, being a holiday, the classrooms were much emptier than usual; some small classrooms even had only one person.
I'm someone who naturally dislikes crowds, so I wanted to find an empty classroom to have all to myself,
but I couldn't find one. Finally, I entered a classroom with only one person. As
soon as I entered, a problem arose. There was one more person in the classroom—just a moment ago there was one,
now there were two. Anyone, anytime, could freely enter this classroom. I suddenly felt
this classroom was even less desirable than a prostitute's vagina—a place only those with both lust and money could enter. How could it be
so lowly? No, I had to do something.
The objective material world becomes connected to the subjective through human existence. Thinking of this, I
locked . This made the classroom feel somewhat dignified. I was even a little happy.
Then, something funny happened.
The person who had been there earlier—who seemed to be a girl, though I hadn't paid much attention—hearing the door close, actually
looked up at me warily.
What did she take me for, some robber, a scoundrel, a damn bastard!
Perhaps I was just imagining things. Thinking this, I felt a pang of guilt for my earlier rashness, and this guilt made me
glance back at her, my eyes filled with apology.
Materialism says, "All things are interconnected and change and develop." That's a good saying, absolutely true.
The door closing incident connected me to that girl, and my glance back at her changed our relationship, leading
to everything that followed.
She was beautiful, so I looked at her a few more times. She was very fair-skinned, at least her face, neck, and arms. Her
hair seemed to have negative ions, soft, straight hair framing her delicate features. Because of the desk, I
could only see part of her chest; her breasts seemed quite firm, and the low-cut t-shirt neckline was stretched taut.
I thought to myself, "Have you stared enough? What does her looks have to do with you? Go back to your book."
Consciousness has its own agency, so I started reading.
Sitting and reading isn't a pleasant experience. I don't like studying. In just one hour, I went for a walk
five times .
Each time, I passed by that girl; she exuded a faint fragrance. She
didn't seem to like studying much either; she only read for a short while before falling asleep at her desk. Suddenly, I felt an
urge to get closer to her.
Maybe she really thought I was a pervert.
Again, consciousness has its own agency.
I walked over to her and sat down in the seat to her left. She didn't seem to be sleeping soundly, because
she woke up the moment my right hand touched her shoulder. Of course, this was all expected, so
she was the one who panicked, not me. I could tell she wanted to scream, so I immediately pressed the tip of my pen against her right side. "Don't scream! Don't
move!" I growled sharply.
How could she know that the knife pressed against her was actually just a worn-out pen? She stopped screaming and
didn't move at all.
"Good girl, that's right. How could I bear to hurt such a beauty like you? Go back to sleep, just
pretend nothing happened." I was such a scoundrel.
She actually fell asleep again. I started to grope her.
The assault began at her waist, which was slender and soft.
From the lower edge of her t-shirt, my left hand plunged in, wantonly ravaging her upper body.
Wolves are always greedy; the two wolves in Pu Songling's "The Wolf" who wanted to eat the butcher are the best example.
I am also a wolf, a colorwolf, so I am greedy too.
Her beautiful waist tempted me to continue exploring upwards. Her t-shirt flipped upwards with my arm.
The girl's upper body was gradually exposed.
Breasts wearing a bra are beautiful, but beauty is a visual concept,
not a , so I removed the girl's bra.
I've seen people peel lychees; with a pinch and a peel, the tender white flesh is revealed. I think it's
a beautiful process, hence the word "peel" to describe the process of the bra being removed.
The girl's breasts gave me the same tactile and visual sensations—both were so firm. But there was
something extra to the tactile sensation—elasticity. Elasticity isn't visible. This shows the girl isn't vain and hasn't
tampered with her bra.
My left hand constantly changed methods of invading her breasts. At first, it was forceful kneading,
like the warm greeting of long-lost friends. Later, the kneading turned into caressing, my fingertips
gently gliding over her breasts, occasionally lightly pinching her nipples with two fingers, a rhythmic opening and closing. I imagine her sensations
must be like fine wine—long-lasting and profound.
Physics says that for every action, there is a reaction. As I caressed her, my little brother slowly
began to stir. I thought it was time to do something naughty. Judging from her own experience, I wondered if her flower garden was already overflowing with desire.
I had to test it.
But girls value chastity more than life itself. My ex-girlfriend let me touch
her except for her genitals. I wondered what she was like
; I had to try.
My hand slid down, inch by inch, towards her vulva. She seemed to offer no resistance.
Back then, the Northeast Army's lack of resistance led to the easy fall of the three northeastern provinces; today, I easily conquered her
forbidden territory .
Even the floods of 1000 years ago couldn't compare. I even chuckled,
a laugh escaping my lips.
At that moment, I really wanted to see the girl's face; it must be red.
I even thought that if her face really was red, I would tell her the whole truth, and then let her
hit me, scold me, if she wanted to.
I removed my "knife-wielding" right hand, discarded that deceitful pen, and lifted her face with both hands.
I saw a blush floating on her smooth, fair cheeks, as radiant as the morning glow. A slight
smile .
I told her everything, but her expression suggested she already knew. She didn't resist because she
didn't want to.
Finally, I'd found someone who understood me.
She said she wanted me, and I said I wanted her—to be my girlfriend. Our understanding was so perfect that rejection was out of the question.
Later, she became my girlfriend, and later, my wife.
Sigh... I "bullied" her for a while, but she locked me up for life.

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