I recalled my first love

Everyone's first love is different. Now I'm a wife, but I still often think about the days I spent with him. You could say the pain outweighed the happiness back then, but now the distinction between joy and sorrow is blurred; it's just that he's there in my memory.

I wasn't a pretty girl, especially in middle school. I was quite chubby, and although I often longed to experience love, no one noticed me. In my senior year of high school, I suddenly became slim and started dressing up, like a girl undergoing a dramatic transformation. But I didn't realize it myself. My long-standing inferiority complex, coupled with my focus on studies, meant I was unaware of the boys' affections for me. I only found out after I got married. Back in my senior year, many boys wanted to be friends with me, but I was too arrogant, and they didn't dare.

Finally, I went to university, feeling liberated. I really wanted a boyfriend. Speaking of which, I first met him on the way to school. The bus was crowded that day; I was on the bus, and he was off. It was the beginning of the semester, and we weren't very familiar with each other yet. I knew he was my classmate, but I didn't remember his name. Because the bus was so crowded, the doors wouldn't close properly. He stood casually outside, not intending to suffer the squeeze, and didn't even see me. So I had a chance to get a good look at him. Actually, I didn't have any feelings for him at that time, but he was tall, thin, and had a very charismatic air about him, which always attracted attention. The bus finally drove away, and I continued to recall his appearance, starting to feel a little flutter in my heart. This boy was quite nice.

It was time to change to a suburban bus. I waited and waited, but no bus came. Instead, he arrived. There were many people at the station, but everyone was preoccupied with their own vanity, so they pretended not to see each other. Finally, the bus arrived. The small bus couldn't hold so many people. I was carrying heavy reference books, and forget about pushing my way in; even getting on the bus required a slow and careful effort. I had to give up. The station was empty, except for the elderly, the weak, and the disabled.

It was getting dark, and I couldn't help but feel scared. The school was in the suburbs, and after getting off the bus, I had to walk a long, long way through vegetable fields. What would I do alone? Finally, a bus came along, and I boarded the last one, hoping to bump into a few classmates to bolster my courage. Otherwise, I'd just take the bus back to the city, find somewhere to stay, and go back to school the next day. When

I got off, the sky was full of stars. Apart from the station lights, it was pitch black just a few steps away; not a single classmate, not a soul in sight. Clutching my backpack, my skirt felt cool against my legs, and a chill ran through me. My heart pounded. "Oh well, back to the city," I thought.

Thinking of crossing the road, I glanced left and right. There seemed to be someone crouching on the roadside not far away. Terrified, I turned and ran. But my backpack betrayed me; the strap snapped under the weight of the books, hitting my foot like a hammer. Tears welled up in my eyes. Looking back, I saw that person running towards me again. I dropped my backpack and ran. Thankfully, I was wearing flat shoes; I exercise regularly, and most people can't catch me (I'm a national second-level middle-distance runner).

The man shouted, "Don't run, I'm coming for you!" I didn't care what he said, I just ran! But I was caught red-handed after only a couple of steps. Because I was running for my life, I couldn't hear anything. With a "ripping" sound, my silk shirt ripped open from the shoulder. I almost went hysterical, screaming, "Ah! Ah!" After breaking free, I ran forward, tears and snot streaming down my face (there had been gang rapes at our school before, and the school leaders had repeatedly warned against returning home late at night). My legs gave way, and I fell flat on my face.

Just then, a pair of large hands landed on my shoulders. "It's me," I heard someone shout repeatedly. I turned around and vaguely saw it was him! I didn't care about anything else anymore, I buried my face in his arms and cried loudly. It

was pitch black, and the wind had picked up somehow. My clothes were mostly torn off, and I was shivering. I don't know when, but he had sat down and pulled me completely into his arms. I stopped crying, only sobbing remained. I was covered in sweat, tears, and dirt, utterly exhausted. Even though I realized I was in the arms of a strange man, I didn't have the strength to stand up.

His large, warm hands embraced me, and I felt as if I had melted into his chest. Without a word, his other hand slowly lifted my head against his chest. I couldn't see anything clearly, only his bright eyes.

"It's alright. I've been waiting for you here for a long time. I was worried you weren't coming back!" A string of tears streamed down my swollen eyes. He lowered his head deeply and kissed me from the corner of my eye. My heart began to pound, for the first time, even though I was already 19. His hands slowly moved down my bare back, starting from my shoulders, slowly moving lower and lower. His lips landed on mine, his tongue parting my lips and teeth, exploring my tongue, then holding it tightly. My chill began to disappear, and my breathing became rapid. His hand reached around to my chest, forcibly slipping under my bra, his large hand cupping my breast.

My breathing quickened, mingling with his heavy heartbeat, and a strange heat rose within me, spreading to my inner thighs, a tingling, numbing sensation spreading through my entire triangle. His hardness pressed against my waist, his lips parting mine to allow me a breath, his lips brushing against my earlobe, gently biting it, his deep voice saying, "Your breasts are so big, so firm, your waist so slender." His hand began to pinch my nipples, and I couldn't help but moan, but his grip tightened.

"Your nipples are slowly emerging like thorns." I slowly leaned against his lap, letting his hands roam over my chest. My silk blouse was torn to shreds. He deftly unhooked my bra, and my breasts lay exposed before him. The moon climbed out from behind the clouds, and I saw his admiring gaze.

"You're so white!" His hand continued its journey, unbuttoning my skirt and reaching down. Ah! My genitals trembled as he rubbed against the outside of my tight panties, touching my loose pubic hair. Finally, he slipped his hand inside, caressing my thick pubic hair. I began to writhe restlessly, moaning.

He seemed to revel in my moans and writhing. Finally, his hand gently touched my vulva, which was already wet. He couldn't help but chuckle. At my vulva, his hand moved up and down, parting my lower lip from below, following the wetness upwards, stopping at my clitoris, then rubbing it in circles. The feeling of emptiness inside me intensified, and I began to unconsciously grab his face, his lips, his chest, writhing as well. He

guided my hand to his member. I was astonished; I hadn't known a man could be so magnificent. I held it carefully, unsure what to do.

"First time?" he asked, somewhat surprised. "Mmm," I replied.

He gently pushed me away, stopping all movement. A cold breeze blew by, and my senses inexplicably ceased.

"I can't take responsibility for you." He stood up, helped me up, and I stood helplessly in front of him. He was still so gentle, smoothing my hair and trying his best to cover my body with my clothes. It was still that big hand, warmly wiping away the dirt, sweat, and tears from my face, and pulling me back.

We seemed to have run a long way, walking for a long time before finally returning to the station. I was so tired inside and out that I was too weak to pull my hand away, too weak to think or say anything! The schoolbag was still there; he picked it up. For him, the weight of the schoolbag was nothing!

"Did you bring any other clothes?" He had regained his composure and asked me considerately. I took out an autumn outfit I had bought while buying reference books from my bag and changed into it in the shadows. I found a bottle of water (for drinking on the way, I hadn't thrown it away) and some tissues, washed my face, and smoothed my hair with my hands. My hair was long and thick, and after all that fuss, it was a mess. I quickly coiled it up and tied it up. My silk dress was completely ruined; I held it in my hand, ready to throw it away.

He remained silent, his back to the shadowy figure. After I finished getting ready, I felt much lighter. I stepped out of the shadowy area and stood beside him. It was already past midnight, and the fields were quiet. We didn't exchange a single word. After a long while, he turned and looked at me, surprised that I had gotten ready so quickly and neatly, and he actually smiled.

"You look so beautiful!" Then he began to introduce himself, saying his name, his age, his hobbies. In this small train station, he told me he couldn't be responsible for anyone, he didn't have the ability, he didn't want to ruin my future. Although he had a lot of sexual experience, he had never been with a virgin, and he was afraid. Besides, we didn't know each other very well; I just acted impulsively.

He was indeed waiting for me there, worried I'd come back too late alone, just fulfilling his responsibility as a senior, etc. He said a lot, but I just listened without any reaction. I didn't know what to say, or perhaps I didn't want to say anything... My university life afterwards was colorful. I participated in various activities, but I never felt interested in boys. I joined the school's modern dance class. Because of my good figure and previous ballet training, I became the leader, devoting all my free time to training. I rejected every date invitation; everyone called me cold. Watching other girls fall for different boys, I could only smile bitterly.

I can't forget him, I can't forget his rapid breathing, the tingling sensation, his warm hands. Whenever I think of these things, I rush to the training hall, put on my tight-fitting training clothes, and dance like a madman in front of the mirror.

Sometimes I would run into him at school, surrounded by different pretty girls. He was a notorious playboy at school, but he was a good student and made money (he owned his own company). When we brushed past each other, I could feel his breath, like his hand cupping my breast. We only nodded to each other.

A year passed in the blink of an eye, and he was graduating. I always managed to get news about him through different channels. I had indescribable feelings. Maybe if he left, I could get better. I made a wish in my heart.

The school was going to hold a graduation ceremony for them, and the dance team had to put on a performance—that extremely modern stuff. The choreographer was from some weird place, and anyway, that awful choreographer made us a complete mess. On the day of the performance, he sat in the front row (as an outstanding student representative). I wore a flesh-colored dance costume, stretching and swaying wildly in front of him, as if there were no music, no lights, only his bright eyes in the darkness, like that night. We stared at each other, biting and grappling, and I knew tonight would be another sleepless night.

The dance received unprecedented applause, which startled me, and I hurriedly retreated backstage. The choreographer said that my performance tonight was the best, and he wanted to treat me to dinner alone, which I declined with a smile. I put on my coat and slowly walked to the dance studio. In front of the large mirrors, I looked at my high breasts and long legs, seemingly naked in the flesh-colored dance costume. I was suddenly terrified. I turned off all the lights, lay down quietly, and let the tears stream down my face. I had actually stared at him for a full 10 minutes today, without being disturbed.

The celebration in the auditorium in the distance was in full swing, and after extreme physical and mental tension, I actually fell asleep in the hall. In my daze, a pair of warm hands ran across my forehead and chest, my abdomen, my legs, and then back to my chest, encircling it. I knew I was dreaming again. Tears streamed down my face again.

He was calling my name, still in a low voice. I didn't move, afraid of waking up. He gently pulled me into his arms, just like that night, when he kissed my tears, kissed the tip of my nose, and finally landed on my lips, very lightly. He stayed like that for a long time, without moving. I told myself this wasn't a dream, it wasn't. I opened my eyes and saw his thick hair. I reached out and touched his prickly face, made of long beard.

He confirmed my wakefulness. His movements became so rough, his hands so strong. He kneaded my breasts with his entire palm, as if trying to crush them. His tongue invaded my mouth, endlessly exploring downwards. He pressed me tightly against his chest like a doll, and I was almost scared. He didn't say a word, pulled me to my feet, put my clothes on me, and ran outside like his life depended on it. There was a Mercedes at the school gate; he probably wanted to use it tonight. I already knew he was incredibly wealthy now.

Still, not a word was spoken. He was so fierce that I dared not utter a single syllable. He carried me in his arms and left the dance hall. Five minutes later, he stopped at the entrance of a small, secluded courtyard in the teachers' dormitory area next to the school. It was pitch black inside. He was like a madman, not allowing me to ask any questions. We entered the main room, and he closed the door. I couldn't see what was inside; it was completely dark, except for my dance costume, which shone brightly.

This time, he was even more audacious. He swept me up in his arms, and I froze, unable to react. He threw me onto the bed, ignoring my resistance and my biting him hard when he kissed me. His hands roamed freely over my body through my smooth dance costume. His lips lingered around my ears and neck. He began to bite and pinch me, like a volcano that had been holding back for a long time finally erupting.

I was too weak to struggle with him anymore, and instead began to cooperate with his madness. He finally found the zipper of my dance costume, pulled it off, and I was completely naked in front of him. He pressed his entire body against me, and I was even more powerless to resist. My breathing became rapid, I began to moan inexplicably, I began to writhe, and I began to feel wet. His hand lingered on my lower body, feeling my wetness, and began to rub my clitoris. My legs were spread apart by him, and he was between me. I felt a tingling, numb, and indescribable emptiness down there.

He tightened his grip on my clitoris, and I began to moan loudly, involuntarily pinching my own nipples very hard to relieve the itch and emptiness down there. He stopped. But I was still writhing and pinching myself. Now he had his weapon on my outside, moving up and down. As I arched my back, he pressed down.

"Ahhh!" I cried out in pain, a heart-wrenching pain coming from below, my entire lower body was filled to the brim by him. He didn't stop because of my cries; he began his conquest, thrusting in and out bravely, and with each thrust, I released more fluid.

After the pain, I felt an unprecedented fullness. My legs were raised high, spread apart, unsure how to respond to him; his sweat poured down.

Suddenly, he flipped me over completely and thrust into me again. My heart pounded with each impact. One hand grasped and squeezed my breast, the other kneaded my clitoris. I was completely out of control; I felt my clitoris contracting, secreting, gurgling, as if it were the only thing in my body, all sensations originating from it. Finally

, I felt his weapon vibrate even more powerfully, and a stream of hot fluid shot into my clitoris like a bullet.

We collapsed together, he still pressed against me from behind, his heavy breathing in my ear. His weapon slid weakly out, but I could still feel the wet heat below. However, we were both too exhausted to continue, and we remained there for a long time until our sweat dried completely and our breathing became even. He then weakly rolled over and lay down beside me.

His shirt was still on. I looked at him sideways; even in the darkness, I could see his bright eyes. One of his hands began to gather my disheveled hair, brushing past my ear and shoulder, stopping at my waist. He buried his head in my chest, and I noticed he was trembling, so I hugged him tightly.

The sunlight shone into my eyes, and I felt pain all over my body, unable to lift anything, especially down there, which felt like it was on fire, and my mouth was incredibly dry. I forced my eyes open and met his bright eyes, reminding me of everything that had happened the night before. I could only smile at him.

He handed me a glass of water, smiling, and said, "You were so amazing the first time. No one but me could handle you." I sat up, drank the water, and got out of bed, only to realize I was still naked. I hurriedly grabbed the sheet to cover myself; the sheet was stained with bright red blood. He smiled gently at me, then lightly took the sheet in his hand, pulled away from me, and stood in the sunlight, looking me carefully from head to toe. We had never looked at each other in daylight before, and I felt a little awkward.

"You're so beautiful!" he praised sincerely. "No, no, give me your clothes quickly." I was a little embarrassed. He pulled me close, his hands moving over my body again, stopping at my breasts, caressing them carefully, lifting them up with his hands. "So heavy, aren't you tired carrying her?" he said, almost lewdly. "How big is she?" "I won't tell you!" "38B, I can tell." "It's 38C, you silly thing!" His hands started to tighten, moving over my body, he pulled me into a strong embrace, his hands stopping at my hips, and he began to kiss me carefully, very gently, as if afraid of hurting me. His tongue gently teased my nipples, and I responded submissively. In his tenderness, our breathing quickened.

We retreated to the edge of the bed and lay down on our sides. I began to unbutton his shirt, revealing his muscular chest. Despite his slender appearance, he possessed such solid muscles. The touch of his hand, the real contact with a man's body, ignited a surge of excitement within me. He guided my hand towards his genitals, showing me how to grasp and manipulate them. "Last time, it was because your reaction was off when you touched it that I assumed it was your first time," he gently told me. I pinched him hard.

Our naked skin rubbed against each other, our four hands exploring every part of each other's bodies. He taught me how to touch, where to touch, and caressed every sensitive spot on my body.

I couldn't resist his allure any longer, and I began to sway my body. This time he was gentle. He placed me on his lap, showing me how to slowly sit on him. I felt a sense of fullness. His hands supported me on my breasts, and I recklessly sat down completely, spinning in place, feeling the pressure on my clitoris. Then I started flowing, I started spasming, I started moving my hips up and down, I started moaning, I started losing control, I started thrusting wildly, pressing down with all my might. He started to match my movements, touching my clitoris.

I don't know how much time passed, but I heard his moans, felt the fluid flowing down, felt the jet of water surging up. I knew we had met again at our peak.

"You're amazing!" he praised me. And how could he not be amazing too!

I was so tired. We lay there, and I listened to him ramble on about how he felt seeing me this past year, how much he regretted it, how he hurt me that day, how many times he'd secretly watched me dance alone outside the dance hall. He

said he dared not have any more hopes for me, until last night when I looked at him so dazedly.

I smiled happily.

[The End]

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