Darling, let's sleep together.

"Qin, will you marry me?"
On Valentine's Day night, A-Zhao, whom I'd been dating for five years, proposed to me.
I didn't need to think before answering. I'd been waiting for this question for two years, until I finished my doctoral studies. Only then did he dare buy me an expensive diamond ring, kneeling before me and saying he was willing to grow old with me and never abandon me.
"Even if I don't want to have a house full of little Zhao Zhaos, will you still marry me?" "Even if I don't want to cook dinner for you when you come home from class, will you still marry me?" "Even if I'm old and faded soon, will you still marry me?" "I do." I deliberately asked him several questions, even though I already knew the answers. I just wanted to see him kneeling innocently, his hands aching as he held the ring. I wanted to see his back aching from straining for me, to see his body trembling from lack of exercise, and to feel a warm current in my heart.
I snatched the ring from his hand, looked at its luster, and put it on. No one could take him away from me.
I wanted him to love me for a lifetime, and no one was allowed to take him away from me.
"How about we go to Yushan tomorrow?" Zhao asked, having just returned home from class. As an assistant professor at a university, he drives an hour to school every day, then takes a detour to pick me up from work, and then drives us, two hungry stomachs, through the crowded city center or night market, struggling to find parking for a meal.
"Are we two old folks?" We're both over 31, and this is the first time in over two years of marriage that he's taken me on an outdoor trip—quite unusual for a bookish guy who hates exercise.
"Yeah, I saw an art exhibition at school today, and the sea of clouds and sunlight at Yushan really captivated me. I wanted to take you there." "Won't my back break? Yushan, you know." I poked at the steak Zhao had cut for me with my fork, regretting ordering such a high-calorie meal. I was really blinded by my appetite.
"You can drive up, although it's a bit of a walk, um, it won't be long." Zhao rolled his eyes nervously. His endearing quality was that he never hesitated to show his unease or uncertainty, unable to hide his secrets.
"Then if my legs get tired, you'll have to carry me." Of course, it was a joke; my height and weight were about the same as his.
"I'll call 119 right away and ask the rescue team to come and carry you." He then playfully swallowed a large bite of meat, the mischievous smile in his eyes through his frameless, iron-gray glasses making me laugh.
"I think I'm more likely to carry you down the mountain." He picked up the cauliflower next to him, deciding to forgo the remaining half-plate of beef.
"Then it's a deal!" Zhao happily stretched out his hand to pinky swear with me. We were a couple in our twenties, yet we still acted like a young couple, which made me blush.
"I think you'll change your mind tomorrow morning." I deliberately ignored his outstretched hand.
"Hehehe." Zhao laughed happily, because I finally pinky swore with him.
"Sorry, if you're out of breath, take a break."
"No, phew, what if it flares up again?" He struggled to carry me, almost as tall as me, only 1710 cm, thin and frail, carrying me step by step down the mountain.
"If your legs give way, we'll just roll down together." I never expected my heart valve problem to suddenly flare up. Luckily, we had only walked a short distance and weren't too far from the parking spot. "If we roll
down, phew, we'll get to the car faster, haha, phew phew." He was clearly out of breath, yet he still liked to joke around. How could there be such a mischievous man?
"Idiot." I couldn't speak anymore; all I could see was a blur of white, and my head was spinning uncontrollably.
I quietly leaned on his shoulder. I never expected such a thin shoulder to be so strong; I leaned against it and fell asleep comfortably.
"How are you feeling now?" Zhao looked at me anxiously from the driver's seat, wondering if my face was still quite pale. He had just said that my blood-loss-affected face was paler than the thickest layer of powder I had ever applied.
"I've taken my medicine, so I should be fine." I lay weakly in the passenger seat, hating myself for being so inconsiderate, preventing him from seeing the sea of clouds.
"You should rest for a bit. We'll go down the mountain for lunch later." He pressed his hand against my forehead, as if checking for a fever—this was a heart condition, not a cold, was it? Would an economics PhD do something so adorable? I didn't have the energy to spare right now, otherwise I would definitely give him a good talking-to next time—though I say that, I always let him off the hook. My husband, anxiously touching my forehead, is really cute.
Leaning back in the reclined seat, I quietly gazed at his thin, pale face. His thin-rimmed metal glasses gave him a scholarly air, and his high, thin nose gave him a slightly grumpy look, but I swear that was just an impression; I almost dismissed him as a pretentious PhD student back then.
Touching his sunken right cheek, I thought, "You idiot with the unkempt beard, I really want to tell you..."
"Come closer," I said, beckoning him with my index finger.
"Mmm." I cupped his buzz-cut face and kissed him hard, a loud "smack," making me feel embarrassed, though only the two of us heard it.
"What? It wasn't a passionate French kiss," he complained deliberately, pouting.
"If it were a French kiss, you'd be messing around with me in the car later, and I'd kill you!" To punish his lechery, I flicked his thin, fleshless earlobe.
"I'll still mess around with you when we get home," he retorted, gently pinching my cheek. I gave him an expectant smile.
On the way home from National Highway 3, I asked him,
"Honey, if I suddenly collapse and become too sick to get up, will you still love me and take care of me?" "Don't talk nonsense. You have to be able to make love with me healthily when we're 70 or 80 years old." "Pfft." My mischievous Ah Dan always likes to joke. "So, will you take care of me or not?" "Of course! If you're 70 or 80 and can't resist anymore, I can do whatever I want with you. How can I give up halfway?" He answered me seriously while looking at which exit to take to National Highway 1.
"You'll want a 70 or 80-year-old wife too? You won't find a mistress." "I'll want a 70 or 80-year-old wife too, because you'll be my wife." "I love you, honey."
"I love you too, but I'm busy driving right now, so I probably won't be able to take out the diamond ring." As he spoke, he was sweating profusely as he turned the steering wheel, quickly changing direction because he had entered the wrong lane.
"You really love to joke around."
I leaned against the small ward in the hospital, just waking up from a night of exhaustion.
I'd been in a car accident last week, on my way to class.
The blood clot in my head was pressing on my brain, rendering me immobile and speechless, leaving only his bright eyes silently watching me.
"Good morning, honey." Seeing him open his eyes and looking at me, I forced a smile and greeted him.
"Good morning, wife," he blinked hard, and I knew he wanted to answer.
Touching his even thinner cheeks, trying to ignore the layers of white cloth wrapped around his head, I gave him a good morning kiss. In the past week, I'd kissed him almost more times than in a month, though it didn't actually get him to sit up and hug me tighter.
"The doctor said we could have another surgery next week at the earliest to see if the blood clot can be cleared, which should rule out the main cause of the paralysis." Touching his nose, he blinked happily. I wondered what he was thinking? Would he hug me tightly once he could move again? Do you still want to take me to four more places?
"I'm going to the bathroom, wait a minute, honey." This private hospital room has a rather luxurious bathroom. I took leave from work this week and haven't left the room much except to buy my own meals.
Sitting on the toilet, I thought about the future while using it.
What if he never regains his mobility?
Maybe I could hire a caregiver to look after him. With my supervisor's salary, I probably couldn't afford the mortgage at the same time. I'd have to sell the house and move to Taoyuan, driving an hour to work every day. Anyway, for the day he wakes up, I have to be strong. I
stood up, grabbed a piece of toilet paper to dry myself, flushed, and went back to the bedside. I quickly scanned the entire bed, but there was still no sign that he could move his limbs.
"Oh dear, honey, you're so horny." I saw under the blue blanket, where his crotch should be, his erect penis was bulging.
"Could it be because I went to the bathroom? You little pervert." I remembered how he used to do his research in the study, and when he heard me using the bathroom in the next room, he would excitedly drop his books and run over to grab me onto the bed.
This time, he lay quietly on the bed, not grabbing my waist, not taking off my underwear despite my willing resistance.
He lay there helplessly, only able to answer me with his eyes.
"Do you want me to help you?"
He blinked twice, letting me know "yes.
" "Oh, how embarrassing." Although I said that, I secretly reached under the blanket and took off his frivolous, patient-wearing blue trousers. His bare penis, hidden under the blanket, was revealed.
I gently grasped it; the size and hardness were the same as before. Despite his severe head injury and significant weight loss, it still possessed the same vibrant life force. Did he miss me that much?
"It's so hard." I began to slowly stroke him, gently playing with him, my left hand also reaching in to scratch his abdomen and thighs.
"It would be embarrassing if the nurse ran in now." Deliberately saying these provocative things, his breathing became increasingly labored, his eyes widening as he stared at me with an excitement as if he wanted to pounce and tear my clothes off. I buried my head under the blanket, opened my warm mouth to hold him, licking him, and finally he let out a soft "humph," his body stiffening from an instinctive reaction.
He frowned, holding the thick, bitter liquid in his mouth, hesitated for a moment, and then swallowed.
He left yesterday.
Yesterday morning, before the surgery, he suddenly spoke, opening his dry lips and calling my name in a parched, hoarse voice.
"Hold me," he exhaled, trying to open his mouth wide to make a sound, but the feeding tube prevented him from speaking; only the slightly parted shape of his lips could express his thought.
"I want..."
"What do you want?" I didn't understand this unanswerable question and asked him, puzzled.
"Making love." Oh, I see. How could he still want to do this kind of thing when his body is like this?
"Do you want me to help you come with my mouth?" He closed his eyes and shook his head. I can't say he really shook his head, but I knew that if he closed his eyes like that, he should shake his head next, but he didn't.
"Sit on me."
"Sit on me."
I looked at him quietly, thinking about what the consequences and what state would occur if we did this. In the end, my love overcame my reason and my shame.
I lifted my dress, sat on him, hugged him, and cried on his body just as he ejaculated.
"You have to get better, okay? I'm so lonely. I want you to hold my hand, okay?" "Take me out to play. We don't have to go to Jade Mountain to see the sea of clouds. Let's take the tram to Alishan to see the sunrise. You have to get up, okay?" I subconsciously reached out and made a pinky promise.
My right hand hung suspended in mid-air for a long time before I reluctantly lowered it.
After the surgery, Zhao was gone.
Taken away, taken away, never to return to my side.
I stared at the medicine jar on the table, my vision blurring, and finally took a large gulp of water.
Zhao, I want to sleep with you, let's not be apart, okay?

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