[Hidden secrets]

At 11, love began to blossom in my heart; back then, my underwear wouldn't be stained red overnight. The man

had delicate features, with a star-like profile. To this day, I still love handsome men and enjoy touching and kissing

their clean faces.

At 13, I fell in love with a boy in my class. He was very good-looking, with a beautiful, almost feminine face.

I often looked at his lips, wanting to gently touch them. My young heart couldn't bear the weight of love; I just

hoped that next time we changed seats, I could sit next to him. I hoped to unintentionally follow him home after school.

At 14, I experienced my first real love. The boy had a carefree gaze and a smile. I remember

vividly the first time he held my hand. That night, I couldn't sleep. Sitting in my room, I

gently placed the hand he had held against my face, lost in the moment. He was already a seasoned lover. He tentatively explored my tightly closed

lips with his tongue. I was terrified, unsure whether I should kiss him. He taught me how to kiss, and we kissed endlessly in

the classroom until our mouths were dry. I hugged his body, my face pressed against his brown coat.

For a 14-year-old, this was already exciting; I could feel the wetness and engorgement below. He looked at me with a hint of

ambiguity , his hand gently stroking my face, slowly sliding down to my neck. A young girl's body

is very sensitive; a warm current surged through me. I breathed heavily through my nose, sitting on his lap, feeling his erection against

my buttocks . He seemed to enjoy the ambiguity in his eyes. Today, I know this is called

indecent advances, but at that time, I thought it was all love. His soft hand traced my collarbone,

inching closer to my breasts. My breasts were small but soft. He grabbed one through my clothes, and

I tensed up. His hand slowly slipped inside my open collar. I suddenly jolted, grabbing his hand tightly. I

whispered, "No."

One night, he took me to the school's sports field. It was drizzling that day. He spread his new jacket

on the grass and had me lie down on it. The grass was wet, and I was afraid of getting my clothes dirty and my mother would see it when I got home. He

pressed himself against me, kissing me passionately. I was excited, and my pants were soaked. His penis was very

hard , constantly thrusting upwards against mine. Even through the thin casual pants, I felt an endless stimulation. Through

the clothes, he kneaded my breasts, and I let out a soft moan.

We didn't have any physical contact, but my body was constantly aroused, while my mind was tormented by morality

. Every time I got home, I would carefully wash myself, but my genitals were always sticky and wet, the juices spreading to

my casual pants. I once saw my wet crotch in the classroom and embarrassedly squeezed my thighs together. I didn't want to

continue . I felt myself becoming more and more impure, more and more dirty, in thought and in action. I wanted to change things. One summer,

we didn't contact each other. The following year, we broke up without a word. That ended my first relationship. I kept

them all buried deep inside, and every time I thought of them, I felt ashamed. The second black hole in my heart, no one

knew .

Caught between desire and morality, I became a contradictory person. I forget which time it was, but I was lying in bed,

feeling suffocated. Somehow, my hand gently touched my breasts, and a wave of pleasurable stimulation washed over me. I

kneaded those two mounds, mimicking the snorting sounds of the female leads on TV, "Mmm…ah…" very softly, yet it seduced

my senses. I continued kneading, then my breasts trembled, like the excitement of an orgasm, a slightly painful sensation

spreading through my body, as if excitement mixed with something unknown was wandering within me. My lower body was wet,

the feeling of honey flowing out surged in waves. I felt my genitals become very sensitive, so I rubbed them with the blanket, imagining

scenes from movies I'd seen, my mouth dry as I swallowed, my breathing rapid. After a woman's nocturnal emission, her body becomes

very sensitive. I didn't dare touch myself; that unbearable stimulation had surpassed mere excitement. Then

I fell asleep, exhausted.

Later, I read in a book that this was called masturbation. The excitement from my breasts didn't last long; it seemed my nipples

lost their sensation, so all my stimulation came from my lower body. I would masturbate, touching my

neck, feeling a jolt of electricity run through my skin, my whole body trembling. I'd slip my hand inside my protruding breasts, spread

my fingers and grab them, then pinch my nipples. Their

lack

of response made me lose interest. My hand would slide down to my waistband, and another jolt would run through my abdomen, making me moan. Usually, I'd half-pull down my pants, imagining myself being violated by a man. I was excited watching the act; I thought a rough, strong man

would give me endless excitement. (Writing this, I've already had several arousals; I feel it's engorged.)

My hand brushed against my pubic hair, feeling a bit sensitive. Then I'd reach into my slit, which was usually

wet by then. When my middle finger squeezed in, it touched my labia and the slightly hardened clitoris. I'd

first spread the fluid from my lower opening everywhere; this process was very pleasurable. The friction of my fingers against the flesh

brought waves of excitement. At this point, my thighs would naturally open. If I used both hands, I

would pull my vulva wide open, as if it were burning hot inside, waiting to be entered. Then I would continue rubbing it with my phone. The clitoris

brought the most excitement. The outermost part, pressing it and moving it left and right at the entrance would send waves of warmth through me. Moving

it would make me more and more excited, until I was close to orgasm. Then I would move up and down along the labia minora.

(I was already very excited. I almost stopped to go to the toilet.)

At 15, on Valentine's Day, I said, "Let's go eat together, those of us without lovers."

After everyone left, it was just me and that boy. We were quite close. He took me to his friend's place. He said

someone was going to beat him up that night, so he had to hide. I looked at him; he had thick eyebrows, and his round eyes shone brightly

. I said, "I want to go home." He said, "I'll take you home later." That night, we shared a quilt.

The quilt smelled of dust. We were both cold on the small bed, so we huddled together. He suddenly rolled over and pressed his lips to

mine, sucking on them relentlessly. I was overwhelmed. We kissed passionately, his hands quickly

groping my body. My breathing quickened, and I moaned, which excited him even more. He held me and kissed me for a long time.

The next day, our lips were both a little swollen. And so, I ended my unrequited love and

got together .

We started dating. At that time, I was quite busy with school, and after school, he would take me to the school's soccer

field. It was cold, and we would hug each other, chat, and talk about his past. Even now...

I know perfectly well that he doesn't love me, and I don't love him either. We just need someone, anyone will do. I

know about his life because we used to be very good friends, but I destroyed that friendship myself. I

regretted it for a long time. Our relationship progressed quickly; he went from kissing me every day to touching my breasts to playing with my

genitals. Being touched by a man is very pleasurable, better than doing it myself, but the problem is, I don't love him. In my

eyes 's just a man. He kneaded my breasts very hard, as if it excited him. He

lowered his head and sucked on them forcefully, kissing me incessantly. I would make soft moans on the open grass,

letting him know I was aroused. Every night, my genitals were very wet. I felt even dirtier,

washing myself constantly. Sometimes when he pressed me down onto the grass, my hands would get scratched and itch from the grass, and I would scrub with soap

again and again when I got home. I started to protest his impulses. He would half-hold me, insert his dirty, long fingers into my

genitals, play with my pubic hair, then tease my clitoris. I was excited, moaning incessantly,

my body writhing, kissing him frantically, grabbing his body. Later, our lips were both sore. My genitals

started to itch, and I became very depressed, ignoring his dates. He told me he wanted to break up. I wasn't

sad at all; I could still be friends with him, but soon I didn't want to talk to him anymore.

The following summer, I met a man who had fallen into depravity. I felt I could fall in love with him, but he only loved his

girlfriend. I didn't think about getting anything in return. When we went for a walk, I said I didn't want to go back. He said, "Then

come to my place." He took me home, and without his family knowing, we slept in the same bed.

I was wearing his basketball shorts, thin, loose, and short. He pressed down on me, kissing me, squeezing my breasts through my shirt,

while his penis became very large, thrusting against my genitals. He was very skilled. And I

responded slightly to his skillful touch. He reached inside to untie my bra strap. I suddenly snapped out of it; we were strangers. I pushed him away

and ran under the bed. He came over and tried to pull down my pants. I sat on the floor and pinched his back. He said if I pinched him again, he'd

definitely take off my pants. I smiled and pinched harder. He pushed me into a corner like a beast and yanked at my pants.

I struggled and stepped on an empty can. Everything stopped. He said, "Don't make a fuss." We went back to bed. He slept with his back to

me. I dozed off for a bit, then took off my shirt and approached him from behind. He was probably asleep and didn't react. Then

I put my clothes back on.

In the winter of my sixteenth year, my body was exposed to a man's genitals for the first time. I lived a lonely

life , constantly wandering online. When I met a netizen, he introduced me to his friends. After his group of

friends came out, I went out with them. We went to a stranger's birthday party. The birthday boy

happened be a boy from the class next to mine. That night, I had nowhere to sleep, so I leaned

on his lap and slept while they played cards. I felt a sense of security, like someone was there to lean on. Later, I asked him when he started liking me, and

he said it was when I was lying on his lap. His life was a bit chaotic; he had many close friends. At

school , he would come to my class and chat with the boys. His eyes would occasionally glance at me. We didn't talk much;

I knew nothing about his life. He took me home, and I slept in his room. His family had a good impression of me; I

seemed like a pure-looking girl. In his room, he took off my shirt, hugged my waist, and began

sucking and his hands started unbuckling my belt. I was terrified, afraid of ending up with an abortion like the girls in books

—it was too scary for me. He kept reassuring me, saying it was okay, as long as he didn't penetrate me, everything would be fine.

In the end he undressed me completely. He was very curious about female genitalia; he touched the pubic hair, searching for

places that aroused me, asking, "Is it here? Is it here?" I hummed in response, and he quickly began to vibrate his soft

penis against my naked body. We were having sex. I responded, my body twisting, saying, "It's here,

mmm, it feels good." Ah… He caressed and kissed my body, his erect penis pressed against mine.

He pulled my hand to touch it, and I felt it; it was really big, unlike a child's penis. Then he brushed his

penis against my vulva, the soft flesh of the glans against my vulva was very stimulating, I enjoyed it, but

my heart was also tense. I pulled his body down and licked his nipples, and he groaned… um…

He became bolder and bolder, pressing his penis against mine, his arms gripping my shoulders, and then thrusting upwards

. Lacking experience, his penis would sometimes tilt upwards and sometimes downwards, the pain piercing through my entire body. Later

I refused, almost crying. He said, "Okay, I'll handle it myself." He grabbed his penis and

started thrusting, and I hugged him from behind, naked. He thrust faster and faster, and suddenly he said, "I'm going to cum,"

and picked up a cap and pointed it at the outlet. I said, "What kind is it? How much is it?" I could feel his body

moving with each thrust; a lot was probably coming out. Soon after, I stopped going to his house. I went to the hospital

because the itching in my genitals was unbearable. He hadn't washed his hands during our encounter, and I hadn't washed them properly afterwards because I was feeling down

.

In the spring of my 17th year, I ran into some upperclassmen from school online. A few of them were secretly

flirting . I saw one of the boys; he had very dark, large eyes, a blurry yet clear outline.

Later, I started dating that boy. At Christmas, he had someone bring a basket of roses to my dorm.

The roses were left in the dorm, and the fragrance disappeared overnight; I hadn't even had a chance to smell them. They said

the roses smelled wonderful all night. That night, I was at his rented place. There were two beds. I remember it was very cold that night;

I was covered with a military blanket and couldn't sleep because of the cold. We talked until very late, and he got up and

covered . Only then did I fall asleep. He came down to see me every night. We walked around, rarely holding hands or kissing. During a seven-

day holiday, I told him I wanted to spend it with him. We squeezed into the same bed, he held me, and slept soundly all day.

He just held me, did nothing else, and I opened my eyes to look at his handsome face. That last night, he gently traced

his fingers across my chest, so lightly I barely felt it, and I pretended to go along with it. A moment later he

withdrew his hand. We slept quietly like that through the cold holiday. After the holiday, neither of us contacted

each other much, and the relationship ended.

I wallowed in loneliness and the internet. I said to one of my brother's classmates, "How about I be your girlfriend?" He said

yes. I didn't know he could be so indifferent to love at that time. I went to his house by myself, and slept in his bed that night.

He slept in the guest room. When I fell asleep, I heard the door open, very softly, as if he didn't want to disturb his family.

He slipped into my bed, took off my clothes, and we embraced naked. He was

a very gentle man; his soft fingertips touched my skin gently. He

started from my neck, gently massaging my breasts. My body warmed up, and I writhed slightly. He gently bit my

nipple, very lightly, but it stimulated me, and I let out a soft moan. He continued, and when his mouth approached my

genitals, I was already completely wet. Without hesitation, he sucked on my genitals It was the first time a man had

used his mouth on my genitals; it felt so gentle. Compared to his trembling fingers, my genitals were constantly flowing with fluid, trickling down

. He bit my clitoris, and I let out another soft moan. Gentleness truly brings so much pleasure. He sucked for a moment and then

began to penetrate me with his erect penis. I tried to avoid it, not wanting to make a big mistake. Finally, he gave up and went to the bathroom to

wash up . I think the only thing I loved was his gentleness. I saw our naked bodies in the bathroom mirror.

I was hugging him from behind, my bulge pressed against his. But he didn't react. He said he was

going back to sleep. Before leaving, he kissed my forehead so gently.

At my place, I masturbated many times. By then, masturbation had become systematic; I knew the foreplay

, the process, and the orgasm. I read some books about genital masturbation, so I could fantasize and then start touching myself,

from head to toe, over and over again. I reached down to my genitals; they felt wet. I didn't even need to put my fingers inside anymore

because if I didn't wash them afterward, the lingering smell would last a long time. But after masturbating, I

usually wanted to sleep. I would use two fingers to squeeze the outside of my labia majora, feeling the clitoris, and then push

the labia majora against the clitoris, which also felt good. If there wasn't much lubrication, I would wash my hands and

insert . As my fingers touched the opening, I would shake them a couple of times, and the lubrication would come out. I would then slide my fingers down to the clitoris, repeating

this a few times until the clitoris was very wet. Then I would rub the engorged clitoris, constantly circling the opening to collect the lubrication. Once

it's completely wet down there, quickly tease the tip, causing the stimulation to erupt in waves from below.

I'll moan to myself; the excitement comes quickly, but the climax is agonizing, like a virus exploding inside my body,

every nerve twitching, and my hands tremble even more. It's a mix of intense stimulation, pleasure, and pain.

My legs will spread, and my groin will lift upwards, as if waiting for penetration. My face contorts with pleasure.

I met another online friend, a working man. Our first meeting was on the grass outside the government building;

there were many people. He rented a mat, and we sat there chatting. He lay on the mat, looking very comfortable,

and I wanted to lie down too, if he weren't there. He said, "I'll get a room; don't go back." I said no,

I wanted to go back. During our playful interaction, his hand touched my genitals; I clearly felt it, but I didn't say anything.

Later on the phone, he said, "Your genitals are very thick; I felt it. Your sex drive must be very strong." I said, "Yes."

I was trying to avoid him. During summer vacation, he kept calling my house. I talked to him on

the phone for a long time while my mom was sleeping. Every time, he was the one talking, and I was just saying "uh-huh." He said he had slept with many women, and that his ex-girlfriend

had gotten married, but would occasionally come back and ask him to have sex. He said he was touching his genitals while talking on the phone, and asked if I was touching

mine . I said yes, but I wasn't. I despised his lust, but I was also intentionally or unintentionally teasing him. He asked

if I felt wet down there. I said it was very wet, and I made a little groaning sound, a bit of a pungent smell. He said he was

masturbating , and then he put the phone down there, and asked me a moment later if I could hear it. I said I could hear it,

the sound of water squeezing around, and I was also very excited, and I was getting wet more and more. Then he started moaning, and said, "You should moan too, it will

make good." I moaned softly. "Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh."

He said he had been transferred to a place where he didn't know anyone, and asked me to come and keep him company. I said okay. I took

a long car ride to his place, and I said I wanted to take a shower and wash my hair. He said I didn't need to wash my hair. He knocked on the door while I was showering

and asked if I could come in. I said no. I had been holding back while he showered. He came out naked

; his face was tanned dark, looked dirty and ugly, and his breath reeked of smoke.

I refused to kiss him, and then he curled his lip and began to peel off the only clothes I was wearing. I

stared at him naked; I needed excitement. He licked my breasts with his tongue, and I naturally writhed and moaned.

My breasts had long since lost all feeling, except from his tongue. He pinched and played with my nipples with one hand, sometimes bouncing them, sometimes kneading

them. His tongue slid down my stomach. Sometimes he would stop to lick, while his other hand spread my thighs wide,

wide enough to expose my vulva. He would watch me as he licked, his tongue very agile. When

the tip of his tongue touched my vulva, he would push it in, causing my body to arch upwards and then

back down , letting out a soft "ah..." He chuckled and continued licking. His lips

touched my vulva; it was soft, like cotton wool, so comfortable. He looked up and asked, "Does it feel good?" I hummed in response,

my mouth dry. My lower body became very sensitive, a ticklish yet pleasurable sensation spreading throughout my body. I writhed

in response to the stimulation. He began to lean on me, and I felt his large, hard penis rubbing against my thighs

. He positioned his already thick penis against my vulva. I said, "It hurts, don't be so rough." He said, "Okay, I

'll go slowly." I remembered him telling me that experienced virgins don't experience pain when deflowering. He placed a pillow against my

buttocks, grabbed my shoulders, and pushed me upwards. I cried out, a sharp pain shooting through my genitals, so intense I pushed him away. I

said, "No, it hurts!" He glanced at me and said, "Then use your mouth." He taught me a position: I licked his

genitals, and he licked mine. His tongue teased my genitals, and I took his penis in my mouth. The arousal was

intense because he was on top, allowing for free movement. My lower body moved closer to him and then away. Afterwards, I

masturbated him, pumping quickly with my hand, knowing it would excite him. I opened my mouth

and took his penis in, and he groaned, saying, "Lick it, from top to bottom." I started licking, and his penis reacted strongly

when . I sucked on the glans, and he said, "Suck the scrotum." He was very excited, and my mouth kept

pumping. Just when I was about to collapse from exhaustion, he said, "I'm coming." A moment later, all that semen was

in my mouth. My mouth bulged, and I rushed to the toilet to vomit.

In the evening, he said he had to go out to run some errands, and I noticed a smear of blood on my underwear. I knew...

He told me my hymen was broken. I didn't know my hymen would be broken by someone like him, but it

didn't matter to me. I had no right to erect a monument to him. I was very depressed at the time. I didn't even look up and

told him I wanted to go home. After his insistence, I finally caught the last bus. At the midpoint,

there were no more buses to my house. I sat there waiting for a bus to come. I didn't cry, I just sat there alone

. A man going in the same direction as me told me that his friend was coming to pick him up and asked me to get on the bus with him.

I thought, since I'm not a virgin anymore, and I've lost my chastity, there's nothing else that can be taken away from me

. Soon a car came, and I got in with the man. They took me directly to my doorstep. (

Writing this makes me a little emotional, and I feel like crying. Maybe I'm too hungry.)

At 18, I cried a lot. I fell in love with him at first sight. I didn't think much, I just knew I loved him. I

loved him. He exuded the scent of a mature man, wore a long coat, and had long, slender legs. I

knew he was just playing around. I was merely his dessert, not the main course. We sat on the cool beach, enjoying the sea breeze.

His breathing was subtle; when we were close, I could feel his breath. We kissed and embraced. His

kisses were clear, neither intense nor timid.

We drank some wine, and I lay down on his bed while he sat on the edge. Suddenly, I wanted to hug him; winter

was so cold, I wanted to hide underground. He slowly slid down, hesitant. That night

, we took off our clothes. I played with his genitals for a long time, but he showed no urge to penetrate; he had never tried.

It turns out being touched by someone you love is pleasurable. Even just touching and kissing. He rubbed his genitals against me, and I moaned

, hoping he would give me more pleasure and excitement.

We didn't succeed. I maintained my last line of defense. We wandered aimlessly through the alleyways, and when we came to a dilapidated

house, he said, "This is where I used to rent." I followed him upstairs, and on the top floor

, we kissed passionately. He suddenly reached inside my shirt, pushed up my bra, and squeezed my breasts.

His hands were icy cold in the winter, sliding across my skin with a clear, penetrating sensation. I shivered, enjoying it. He unzipped

my pants and slipped one hand inside. We were both standing, and I was pressed against him, my buttocks rubbing against his groin

. His hand went all the way in, his cold fingers disappearing into the warm fluid flowing out. He trembled his fingers,

arousing each of my nerves, and I began to moan. I knew he could hear me. He became increasingly excited, his hand

kneading my breasts roughly, and his other hand moving quickly. I reached back and touched his groin, unbuckling his belt.

But he didn't reciprocate; he just kept trembling. When he stopped, he

wiped his wet fingers on my underwear. I looked at him with disappointment. He didn't love me. I cried many times, until

I was tired of crying myself. He came to my place, we took off our clothes, he kissed me, and tried to penetrate me,

but he couldn't. I asked him to give me oral sex, and he called me an idiot. I knew he didn't love me. He said, "

Let me see your genitals." I showed them to him, spread my legs, and covered my face with the blanket.

After we broke up, I got together with another man. We were friends, but I

felt a little disgusted when he put his arm around my shoulder. The first time we went out, I went to his place to sleep, thinking he would respect me and let me

sleep alone. We squeezed into one bed. He asked if I would be his girlfriend, and I said no. I gave some

reasons . He pushed me onto the bed and kissed me passionately. I resisted, my heart churning with waves of desire. He

asked again if I wanted to be his girlfriend.

His penis was small, even when he was aroused. He roughly tore open my clothes, and

when his penis came hard close, I didn't feel anything. He tried many times, but I missed it if I just dodged slightly. In the end, he didn't succeed when

he gave up He was frustrated and knew I didn't want it, so he just played with my genitals. The water still flowed

a lot, and I groaned. He said, "Feels good, doesn't it?" I said, "Very good." We caressed each other. When we got tired, we put on our clothes

and went to sleep.

The next day, he asked me how to stop the pain. People told him to thrust hard. Later, I

didn't get aroused by him; I just kept getting excited by his play. Every time I went into the bathroom, I felt

restless, wondering why I was with this man I hated. He was good to me in daily life, but it was just a fleeting affair.

I needed a man I loved.

At 19, I fell in love with another man; he was very handsome. Today I despise him, but back then

I truly loved him. I struggled, enduring his indifference. Finally, I was exhausted, and when I wanted to retreat

, he asked me out. We walked in a dark corner, and he held my hand. I knew it wasn't love,

but a trace remained in my heart. When he hugged me, I knew he was a very sexually active man. His

penis was very hard, and I could feel him wiggling his hips through his pants. His breathing was a little rapid; he seemed

a little nervous. I wasn't nervous at all, nor was I excited at all. I liked him, but it

ended that day. He would still ask me out, touching my breasts through my clothes. When he tried to reach over my clothes, I

dodged feigning modesty and saying no. He didn't have the ability or the courage to force me. Even today, I

still go on dates with him. He'll pull me to a secluded corner and, like before, hug me and rub his genitals against me. I think, how can someone be

so cowardly?

Today, I'm writing down these past experiences, but they were all unknown to anyone before. What you

see is only a part of it!

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