With my logic teacher

I have no breasts, she has no penis, and I lay naked in her arms, lost in thought.

"Daydreaming? What are you thinking about again? Want to do it again?" she teased.

"If I had breasts and you had a penis, wouldn't we be the same?" I said.

"That's impossible. You are you, and I am me, because we are different," she said.

"So, if we were all the same, would there still be me? Would there still be you? What if people were all the same?" I asked.

"We wouldn't be the same, people wouldn't be the same," she said.

"But if I were the same as everyone else, would 'I' cease to exist?" I continued.

"Yes, yes, that's why I like you, you who are different from others," she said, stroking my hand. "Why are you thinking about these things?"

"I'm just suddenly a little scared. If everyone were the same, how would I recognize you, how would you find me?" I said.

I pressed my face against her breast, listening to her rhythmic heartbeat, feeling her hold me tighter.

Morning sunlight streamed into the room through the window, and pigeons cooed on the balcony.

“Don’t be bothered by things that don’t exist,” she said gently, as if afraid to startle the warm sunlight radiating from us.

“No, it exists. I can’t see it, I can’t touch it, but I can feel it. And it’s more real, closer than anything else, because that fear is in my heart. Even if I close my eyes and cover my ears, it’s still there. It appears as soon as I start thinking about it. When I stop thinking about it, it’s gone, but I’m gone too.” I turned to look at her.

“I’m afraid we’ll meet each other’s eyes like strangers and then look away, like in today’s logic lecture,” I continued.

“Oh, stop overthinking. Let’s do it again.” She leaned closer.

...

------------------------------------------------------------ She was my teacher, and I was her student.

I said I liked her long hair, but actually I liked her firm breasts even more.

She said she liked my skin, my skin against hers, so smooth. What did she like most about me?

She taught logic. I once asked her, does one person's loneliness plus another person's loneliness equal not being lonely, or double loneliness? She said that human relationships cannot be understood through rational deduction because there is no basic, self-evident truth as the basis for reasoning. With emotions, you can only experience them, understand them through feeling, not reason.

"Then let's experience it," I said.

"Oh, sorry, I'm not lonely," she refused.

"It doesn't matter. I also want to know what one person's not being lonely plus another person's loneliness equals," I smiled, closely following her drifting gaze.

This was the first time I had pursued a woman, after pursuing more than ten girls.

Night fell, and I leaned close to her, feeling her warmth. Close, afraid that if I left, I would freeze, become numb. And her? Why was she also leaning close to me? "Hey, Thinker, do you daydream after every time we're done?" she asked with a wry smile. "No, I was thinking about the first time I pursued you," I said. “Oh, the way you made your move on me, though it was treasonous, but using the pursuit of knowledge as a cover, so creative.” She laughed. “But aren’t you afraid I’ll reject you? Or do you simply not care about rejection, which is why you said it so easily?” She stopped laughing. “It’s because the pleasure of being accepted by you outweighs the pain of being rejected. Simple logic, my logic teacher.” I started laughing.

She leaned in and kissed my lips, then said with a smile, “Why is your mouth always so sweet?”

“Are you happy now?” she asked again.

“Of course.” I pressed my lips to hers.

Because I would be happy, that’s why I’m with her. I like her because she makes me happy, so actually I like myself, and I’m with her to make myself happy. Everyone uses love, no, uses other people’s bodies to make themselves happy, so in reality, we all only love ourselves. Do I love her? Does she love me? Or does love even exist between people? I pulled away from her lips and stared at the ceiling, thinking. Can I bring myself happiness? If I can’t make myself happy, then why do we all love ourselves? Right, there are people who hate themselves, aren't there? So what kind of person am I? The kind who loves themselves? No. The kind who hates themselves.

"Let's do it again," I said. Leaning against her chest, I didn't dare look into her eyes.

I sat up, spread my legs wide, took out some tissues to clean myself, wiped roughly, then turned to her, parted her beautiful legs, and carefully wiped her labia, mons pubis, and even her small anus. Seeing how gentle and considerate I was, she was moved to tears, her delicate body trembling slightly. I picked her up and carried her to the bathroom. She wrapped her arms around my neck, her small mouth constantly kissing my ears and cheeks, grateful for my care. After a quick shower, we went back to bed; there was no more comfortable place than the bed at times like this.

Back on the bed, I lay on my back with my legs spread wide, my limp penis lying powerlessly in the thick pubic hair, only the tender red glans showing. Seeing my once domineering, throbbing penis now so small and adorable, she mischievously grabbed my glans and gently pinched it a few times. I pretended to wince in pain, startling her into stopping abruptly, her beautiful eyes filled with concern and apology. "Honey, are you alright? I didn't mean to, I was just joking," I said, chuckling and jerking my penis forward. "It hurt so much, but it's okay now. Baby, I want it again!" Seeing my grin, she knew she'd been tricked, but she didn't press the matter. Her small hands gently began to stroke my penis, and with her efforts, it quickly regained its majestic erection.

After a while, I felt her small hands were no longer enough to satisfy my desire. I sat up straight, grabbed her breasts, and squeezed her not-so-full breasts together, creating a deep cleavage. She glanced at me shyly, then silently moved her body closer to my groin, taking her breasts from my hands and mimicking me by squeezing out cleavage. She then knelt between my legs, bending her slender waist. I cooperated, grasping my penis and placing it between her breasts. Her breasts weren't large, but they were soft and smooth, providing a different kind of stimulation than the wet, tightness of a vagina. She clumsily moved her body up and down, the friction making my penis harder and hotter. The inside of her snow-white breasts turned a deep red, making her look pitiful. I reached out and kneaded her two bright red nipples, flicking, pulling, and pinching them in various ways. She pleaded softly, "Husband, don't be so rough, you're hurting me..." I released her, withdrawing my penis from her cleavage, rubbing the head against her swollen nipples, and pushing hard. Her nipples were deeply indented, which excited me greatly. She let me do as I pleased, her already rosy face becoming even more flushed. Perhaps her breasts were too small, and breast sex didn't bring me much pleasure.

Looking at her flushed face, I couldn't bear it and slowly withdrew my penis. As it was pulled out, a thin, clear strand of saliva dripped from her mouth onto her breasts, alluring and seductive. "Baby, don't force yourself. I don't want to see you uncomfortable," she said, a bright smile spreading across her face as she nodded happily. She changed her oral sex technique, taking only the head and tip of my penis into her mouth, sucking hard and moving her head back and forth rapidly, her small hands occasionally kneading my testicles. I moaned in pleasure, "Oh, oh."

Seeing my blissful state, she felt a great sense of accomplishment; now, all she could think about was how to make me enjoy her services even more. She no longer cared about shame, passionately working between my legs. I stroked her smooth, bare back, breathing heavily. She spat out my penis, and her bright red tongue began to lick my testicles. Lubricating saliva flowed all over the folds of my testicles. Occasionally, she would put both of my testicles into her mouth and suck and spit them out gently.

"Hmm... why do people need sex so much?" she said.

"Because we are all incomplete. Only when we find our other half will we be complete and happy. That's what Plato said," I said.

"So does that mean we won't be happy until we find our other half? That we have to rely on others to find our happiness? That happiness is given to us by others, not something we receive ourselves?" she thought for a moment and said. "

I guess so. When others need you, when others praise you, when others are grateful to you, when others admire you... sometimes I think happiness is just a gift from others. Poor people," I said.

"I suddenly understand why God created humans," she seemed to have thought of something.

"Why?" I was also drawn in by her expression and pressed her for an answer.

"God created humans to be needed, to be praised, to be admired, to be appreciated... Oh. Poor God," she said, laughing out loud at the end.

I laughed too. The darkness of the night seemed to lessen considerably.

"And you... why do you need sex?" she asked again.

"You said these kinds of questions can't be analyzed rationally, only experienced physically. Don't ask me why, I just want to be a slave to my emotions." I silenced her with my lips.

Pleasure, the pleasure of friction, orgasm... Can people only find happiness through contact, through friction with another person? Are lonely people happy? What about a lonely God? I don't know, because if Plato was wrong, then the reasoning is meaningless, isn't it? So many questions, I think I understand, but when you ask me, I'm completely lost. So don't ask me.

[The End]

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