Memoirs of a Prostitute, Part 10: The Passerby

After graduation, I tried working for a while, but none of the jobs lasted long. Sometimes the company wouldn't keep me after the probation period, and sometimes I just didn't want to stay. At that time, I saved the money I earned from outdoor shoots. My dates were either having sex in the dorm or being gang-raped in the rehearsal room, so I didn't have many expenses and wasn't very proactive in finding a job. Sometimes I thought the most suitable job for me would probably be an AV actress. There are no films I can't act in, it's fun and I get paid, but such uncertain things are best left as fantasies during sex. After the fun, I still have to return to reality. When I first started working, I would go back to school after work to see my senior, have dinner, go on a date, and spend time together in his dorm before going home. After I stopped working, I would stay in my dorm all day waiting for him to finish class. Being alone in the dorm for a long time got boring, and I couldn't masturbate with a dildo and vibrator all day. Plus, my senior started getting busy with experiments and came back to the dorm later and later, so I started looking for other things to do. At first, I borrowed books from my senior's student ID, and later I started auditing interesting classes at school.
Once, while walking past a classroom, I heard a very warm voice. At first glance, I thought it was the guy I'd met during a photoshoot teaching a class. Unable to resist my curiosity, I slipped in through the back door to audit the lecture. It was a humorous, mature, and composed professor. I was deeply attracted by his voice and demeanor, and my interest in the course grew. After auditing for a few weeks, I mustered the courage to introduce myself to the professor and started submitting assignments and taking exams. I was probably the student who spent the most time on the course, performing even better than undergraduates, and I became increasingly familiar with the professor and teaching assistants. Seeing my interest in the field, the professor encouraged me to apply to their department's graduate program and promised to accept me as a graduate student if I passed. With his encouragement and promise, I had more confidence and a stronger goal to pass. I withdrew my savings and enrolled in a cram school. From then on, I was either attending cram school, auditing the professor's classes at school, or studying in the professor's lab. With a new goal in life, I almost never went to the senior's dorm anymore, and when we met, we argued more and more often, eventually breaking up.
Spending a lot of time in the lab, I became increasingly familiar with the professor's graduate students. Several senior students in the lab were very caring, frequently asking how my studies were going and often offering to tutor me or help me with key points. I've seen it all; I'm no longer the naive girl I used to be. Couldn't I see through these guys' ulterior motives? Before the breakup, I would always just smile and be polite, but after the breakup, there was no need to avoid them, and I would occasionally accept their invitations. One PhD student started driving me home, and later he would also drive me out. Other graduate students, seeing us together, would shy away. He was very kind to me, proactively collecting and organizing past exam questions, analyzing the professors and research areas, and patiently guiding me on questions I didn't understand. He was incredibly helpful, but I never agreed to be with him. Out of gratitude and guilt, I accepted all the PhD student's invitations, even spending the night with him on a trip. We ended up having sex on our first trip.
At that time, he had just passed his PhD qualifying exam and invited me on a celebratory trip. I knew perfectly well that my senior wanted to get intimate with me, but I still agreed. We chatted and laughed all the way there, and I didn't refuse when he held my hand. Sure enough, he kissed me as soon as we entered the hotel room. I didn't want to pretend to be innocent, but I also didn't want to appear lewd, so I let him take the lead. He was indeed prepared. He took off his clothes and made me lie on the bed. After touching me a couple of times and finding that I was wet, he took out a condom, put it on, and inserted it into me. I hadn't used a condom since the first year of high school, so it felt quite novel. However, the outer layer of the condom was lubricated, and it was too smooth when I thrust in and out, so I didn't feel much. My senior, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy it very much and ejaculated quickly. My senior is very nearsighted, and he didn't notice my pierced nipples when he was kneading them, but he noticed them later when he was licking my nipples. Knowing that I had a pierced nipple seemed to excite him a lot. He got hard several more times afterward, and the last time, because the condom ran out, he ejaculated inside me. He asked me several times why I had pierced my nipples and tried to pry into my past relationships. I dodged the questions, but it was incredibly annoying. Why ask so many questions when we're just having sex? I'd learned my lesson long ago: don't be so open with someone you love, especially since I had no intention of dating him.
After that, he invited me on several overnight trips, but the trips were just an excuse; the real purpose was to sleep with me. After a while, he probably thought traveling for sex was too expensive, so he started taking me to hotels directly. As a poor graduate student, he went to very cheap motels; the rooms were small and old, sometimes even the beds weren't very clean—a far cry from the hotels the photographer took me to. But as long as he got his way, it didn't matter too much. Most of the time he wore a condom, and if he wanted to ejaculate inside me, he'd ask for my consent first, which made him quite gentlemanly. However, I never felt anything during sex with him, but I was too embarrassed to appear indifferent, so I usually pretended to moan and act like I was enjoying it. He never asked for oral or anal sex, so I let it go. He asked me several times to wear nipple piercings during sex, but I always brushed him off. Later, he said he would buy me nipple piercings and wanted me to put them on for him to see. I casually agreed, but he never did. I secretly laughed at him, thinking he was too ashamed to go to an adult store to buy them. He never understood why I could continue having sex with him but wouldn't be with him. I can't explain why either; maybe I felt that gratitude and guilt couldn't turn into love. Later, I got into graduate school and joined a lab. My doctoral student turned his attention to another first-year master's student and gradually distanced himself from me.

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Memoirs of a Prostitute, Part 10: The Passerby

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