Love in a Fallen City

I arrived in Z city at night. Looking down from the plane, Z city didn't seem any different from other cities I'd lived in or traveled to. The same deep night, dotted with dim yellow lights. The plane came to a stop, and I turned on my phone.
"Honey, I've arrived."
"She's at the door."
My heart skipped a beat, as if it would jump out of my chest. Finally, I'd see her again. My darling.
People around me stood up, eagerly forming a queue in the narrow aisle. I craned my neck, waiting, and finally, the flow of people began to slowly move forward. I carried my luggage and got off the plane. But instead of the terminal, I found myself on a shuttle bus.
I boarded the shuttle bus; there were no seats left. A girl leaned against the railing. She had fair skin, a round, adorable face, and was looking down at her phone, busy sending WeChat messages. The bus was about to leave. She looked up as if waking from a dream, turned to me and asked, "Does this bus go to the train station?" I suppressed a laugh and answered seriously, "We haven't left the airport yet. This bus will take us out." She said "Oh," and continued looking down at her phone.
Perhaps it was her first time flying. I watched the scenery rushing past behind me and couldn't help but smile slightly. Unexpectedly, the girl suddenly looked up at me. Before I could recover, I could only continue smiling to show that my smile had nothing to do with the slightly awkward conversation we'd just had.
The shuttle bus arrived quickly. My heart was pounding. As soon as the bus stopped, I rushed off. I quickly reached the crowded exit. People were waiting there, their expectant eyes straining to see what was inside. I walked out, searching for her. This one, no; this one, no; this one, no… Even after I came out, there was still no sign of her. My heart pounded with disappointment, and I quickly pulled out my phone.
"I don't see you!"
Suddenly, I felt a warmth in my hand. I turned around and saw her. She smiled at me. She was wearing lipstick today, which made her complexion appear even fairer. Whenever she saw me, her eyes would crinkle with laughter, revealing a few wrinkles at the corners. She wore a light green coat and a black t-shirt, paired with black skinny jeans that accentuated her graceful figure. My heart fluttered again.
"Where are you?" I asked.
"At the exit! You didn't see me and came out on your own!" she said playfully.
"Oh..."
"Oh dear!" she suddenly exclaimed softly, "My car is still parked outside. If we don't leave soon, the traffic police will tow it away." With that, she took my hand and strode towards the airport entrance.
This was her habit, just like our first trip to New York. Braving the biting wind, we wandered the streets, rushing into every shop. We didn't seem like a couple newly in love, but rather like an old married couple on a shopping spree in New York.
Yes, an old married couple. That was my feeling when I first saw her.
Throughout my life, I've heard countless metaphors about time. One of the most familiar is comparing time to a river. I admire the brilliance of this metaphor, agree with its aptness, but before meeting her, I had never truly grasped its meaning. In my naive youth, time was an illusion to me, but she made me experience its weighty power.
We met for the first time. We traveled together. We couldn't wait to make love in a small New York hotel. After our passionate encounter, we intertwined our limbs and chatted.
She recounted her past. Her first love, which ended without a trace. Her hasty and painful first time. Her mundane marriage.
Her husband's infidelity. In her slow narration, I deeply felt the power of time. Time truly is a river; she stood upstream, and I stood downstream. I watched her pain helplessly.
I could only listen to her story, offering a comforting glance. I could hold her body, but I couldn't grasp her soul through time. Because that long river of time has separated us forever, desperately, and lonely. We are like an old married couple, helplessly separated by countless years.
Loneliness has accompanied me since birth; perhaps I was a rather sensitive child. Perhaps it was because of my stutter, perhaps because of my family upbringing, but I was never willing to share my feelings with others. I was used to hiding myself, even from my parents. So after I grew up and left home, I rarely called home. Because I never had the desire to confide in my parents.
But I was distressed. This was the distress of loneliness, the distress of having no one to confide in. I didn't even have a single friend. My worries slowly rotted in my heart. Instead of becoming fertilizer, they became poison.
I began to indulge myself. Indulging my emotions. Because I was lonely, I was insignificant, and I wanted someone who could be intimately close to me. That's all.
I may have asked myself many times, where did my problem lie? I have parents who love me very much, I have a promising career, and I am quite handsome. But I am so insignificant, so powerless in the face of life. So much so that I had to numb myself. Why? I don't know. And then, I met her.
When I came to my senses, we were already in her car. Her car wasn't big, but it was cozy. Two cute owls hung on the rearview mirror.
"Let's go," she said with a smile.
I smiled and nodded back, about to turn away. But she sneakily leaned closer, pouting her bright red lips like a teenage girl asking for candy. I smiled knowingly, and my lips met hers.
I remember our first kiss. It was on the plane to New York. I wanted to kiss her, but I didn't dare, so I brought my face close, feeling the softness of her lips. Yes, I'm such a cowardly person. Even knowing we liked each other, I still didn't dare to make the first move.
That flight to New York was very bumpy, but it was the happiest flight I've ever taken. I remember holding each other's hands, playing a guessing game. I wrote a word in her palm and she had to guess it; if she guessed wrong, I had to kiss her. And at this moment, I was alone in the dark cabin, the monotonous roar of the engine filling my ears, with no one around. People in the distance, what are you doing? Are you thinking of me at this very moment?
Her car quickly drove out of the airport. On the way to the hotel, she asked if I was hungry and wanted something to eat.
I said I wanted to eat my wife.
She laughed and said, "You can eat your fill." We bought some fruit and headed straight to the hotel.
That night, like any other night we'd spent together, was filled with passion and satisfaction.
When she took off her clothes, leaving only her bra and panties, I couldn't help but hug her tightly, burying my head deeply in her chest, then lifting her up and throwing her hard onto the bed.
She gasped, writhing, laughing, "The beast is back." Yes, I pressed down on her buttocks, like a wild beast stripping away her last defenses. I turned my prey over. She cooperated by spreading her legs; her vulva was already soaking wet. My penis had only gone in a little bit when she let out a satisfied moan. And when my penis was fully inside, she began to moan passionately and writhe beneath me. Her
first orgasm came quickly. I felt her body tremble rhythmically; she clung to me tightly for a few seconds, then suddenly relaxed. She said I was the first man to give her an orgasm.
I still clearly remember our first time in New York. How she cried out as she reached her peak. Later I learned that that day was the first time in her life she had experienced a woman's orgasm.
Before her, I had two girlfriends, and without exception, both of them orgasmed with me. My second girlfriend was especially wild; she could orgasm more than ten times in a row during sex, until she couldn't ejaculate anymore.
I admit my sexual ability is indeed quite strong, but perhaps because I masturbate too much, I now need female stimulation to get an erection. But once I'm erect, it lasts for an hour without any problem. However,
I'm insecure when it comes to pursuing girls. Yes, I have an insecurity about everything. I even suspect that if it weren't for my sexual ability, they wouldn't like me. Is that so? The answer is something I don't know. But love and sex are the most effective ways for me to combat loneliness. She's like a drug, yet she allows me to escape the pain of wounds. So I can't lose her. Perhaps the vagina is the best path to a woman's heart. And now, I can't and don't have the time to look elsewhere. My
first night in Z city passed in a frenzy. The next day, she wanted to take me to meet her best friend. We arranged to eat hot pot, but I waited for two hours in front of this very popular hot pot restaurant. It was almost 3 PM when we finished eating. We went back to the hotel.
Feeling a bit sleepy after such a large meal, we slept until after 7 AM. After waking up, we ate something while watching a movie. As we watched, she snuggled into my bed.
"I want cucumber..." she said, her smile radiant.
Seeing the bulge under the covers, I felt a surge of desire and pulled back the covers. There she was, kneeling between my legs, her red lips working rhythmically on my "cucumber."
I was completely captivated by her body. Although her skin wasn't young anymore, slightly loose, her curves were still perfect. Especially when she knelt before me, she could drive any man crazy. I loved her, I loved her body, I loved her smile, I loved her half-joking words. I was completely infatuated with her. She was an ethereal spirit that would never grow old.
That night we made love until we were exhausted. The next morning, we did it again. Then we got up.
"Come on, I'll show you where I usually hang out," she said.
The weather in Z City was lovely. We emerged from the hotel like two little cave-dwelling animals that hadn't seen the sun in ages, and climbed into her car. We walked past her workplace, her home, her garage, and her daughter's school. It didn't take long. And then? Yes, we went shopping. She seemed a little embarrassed, as if she felt bad that she'd made me come all this way, only to have me go shopping with her. I felt a pang of sadness. If I could, I wish I could go shopping with you every day, like when we lived together in America.
Our cohabitation stemmed from a cry. That cry happened after we returned to M City from New York. M City was where we first met.
I remember that day I drove her home. Faye Wong's songs were playing in the car. Our car sped towards her place like a rewind. We chatted casually in the car, as if we were heading towards our next destination, not our final destination. Our car crossed bridge after bridge, each bridge a testament to our fleeting words, a buoy marking our inevitable end. When we finally crossed the last bridge, she suddenly leaned on my shoulder. I felt a dampness on my skin.
I quickly pulled over and cupped her face in my hands. Her hair, disheveled, covered her face, revealing an unusual mystery and beauty. Her eyes were slightly closed, her lips slightly parted; she was sobbing, tears streaming down her face until they disappeared.
I held her close, kissed her, and suddenly, I cried too. My hands pounded the steering wheel, as if it were the shackles of fate. In that moment, I deeply felt the presence of time. It was profoundly present between us. Its deep power relentlessly separated us, making us like the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl, forever separated by the Milky Way.
In the car, Faye Wong was still singing "Red Bean": "Sometimes, sometimes, I believe everything has an end..." Yes, everything eventually comes to an end, but at this moment, I had the courage of a moth drawn to a flame.
This courage gave us six months of sweet time. After returning from New York, she quickly went back to China. But we still kept in touch. So she soon returned to the United States. We soon moved in together. Those six months were like paradise. We cooked together, took walks together, made love together, slept together. We looked for a house together, decorated the new house together, went shopping together, and so on... Finally, she left.
"In a little over a month, I'll be able to see my husband again!"
"Honey, the plane will take me away tomorrow, let's not cry, okay?"
"Honey, I love you."
I love you too, my darling. So I came to Z city, without hesitation. And then I still had to leave. Just after tonight. This night, we made love again and again, imagining the scenes of us always being together. Finally, we reached climax. We drifted off to sleep.
Is this infatuation, or love? I don't know. I only know that because of her, I silently cherish her memory in the darkness. This is the greatest punishment for a coward like me. I am a timid and pragmatic person. Let me reminisce about this despised emotion within my own shell.
[The End]

URL 1:https://www.sexlove5.com/htmlBlog/118783.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=118783&aspx=1

Previous Page : Pretending to be a teacher and playing with virgins

Next Page : Listen to girls' troubles

增加

comment Open a new window to view comments

Contact Information

Love in a Fallen City

comment Open a new window to view comments