[Me and the mature woman - Room 408 of the Power Hotel on the third day of the Lunar New Year]

Ladies and gentlemen,

what is the concept of a "young married woman"? Literally, it means "married woman." Actually, "young married woman" and "mature woman"

are somewhat synonymous. Having experienced marriage and family life, and tasted the passion of sex, they gradually become more at

peace. A mature body and a mature mindset make "mature woman" the most charming age for a woman.

Perhaps they aren't very beautiful, but mature women understand men, understand life, and know the meaning of emotions. Why do

men, especially some boys with "mother complexes," like mature women? Because they bring a sense of security.

If a man's sense of security is embodied in unwavering loyalty and strength, theirs is embodied in "

inner comfort."

My topic is—Me and my mature woman sister—Room 408 of the Power Hotel on the third day of the Lunar New Year. Why

do I call her sister? Because I always call her "Big Sister." What's her name? I can't reveal it. She's thirty-five,

older than me. She's not bad looking; mature women, after all, generally don't have the flower-like beauty of young girls. The third day of the Lunar New Year

refers to last year's Spring Festival. In that warm winter, she and I crossed the line from "dance buddies" to "lovers."

There's a large dance hall near the train station in our city. Everyone's been to dance halls, but

young people usually go to discos. This kind of dance hall caters to middle-aged people;

they spend their afternoons listening to music and drinking cheap tea. This dance hall is filled with three types of people: those who genuinely come to dance,

those who are lonely and bored and want to kill time, and those who are looking for excitement. From my observation, the latter are the majority. There's dark dancing,

female dancers, and women who are equally bored and lonely.

As for which type I am, well... to be honest, I'm all of them. I started dancing in the 90s, and without being immodest

, I'm a pretty good dancer. I've met some dance buddies, and I've even had a few

secret .

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On New Year's Day 2006, I met her. At first, she always stood on the edge of the dance floor. I've watched her dance;

she's alright. My principle for inviting people to dance is—as long as they dance reasonably well, no stepping on my feet or going too slow.

Because if I were to choose a partner with high standards, I wouldn't find one all afternoon. So I invited her.

She also liked my skillful dance steps, so we exchanged contact numbers.

At that time, I had a "two-day weekend" work schedule, and we usually went on Sunday afternoons, very regularly. We generally

didn't go , it would only be once or twice (because she worked shifts, and sometimes she couldn't make it). So we went to

the dance hall about three times a week.

Dancing is a form of entertainment like this: dancing/exchanging dance techniques, and chatting. She was

a very enthusiastic woman, the kind with a very generous personality, and also a very talkative woman, talking about everything under the sun,

family matters, celebrities, TV shows, and so on. She was always talking throughout a dance party. She liked to tell jokes,

sometimes telling funny stories to make me laugh, and she had a lot of energy, dancing every dance without missing a beat, sweating profusely.

When we danced, she would always lean on me, as if she wanted to crawl into my body. I always felt there was a certain "energy" about her

. What kind of energy? I figured it was the vitality unique to mature women of that age.

We sometimes texted each other at night. At first, it was just casual chatter, like, "Hey sis, what are you doing?" or

"See you at the usual place tomorrow afternoon." As time went on, the texts started to change, carrying a certain meaning,

like, "It's getting cold, take care of yourself," or "You danced so well today, you were amazing, I love dancing with you."

Looking at these texts, I figured out what she meant. Once, I tentatively texted, "Honey, see you at the usual

place " and she replied, "Okay, honey, I love it when you call me that."

Between people, some things don't need words to be expressed to be understood, especially since we were both mature

men and women. I was starting to understand what she meant.

One Sunday afternoon, in the dance hall, the music started, the lights dimmed, and we moved to

a . I took her hand down and danced with her for the first time, and she danced with me, her arms around my

soft breasts. I kissed her in the darkness… and that’s how we became lovers.

I asked about her family situation, and she always brushed it off in a few words, but I gradually learned more. She and her

husband were separated—meaning their relationship had broken down, but they weren’t divorced, each living in their own place. Her situation was rather

unique: she and her child slept in the bedroom, while her husband slept in the living room. “You know what? Every time I come home from dancing, he (her husband

) asks me where I’ve been.”

“What do you say?”

“I can’t be bothered with him.”

“You usually just come out to dance, what about him?”

“He’s playing cards with some drinking buddies. He does his thing, I do mine.”

“And what about your child?”

“He stays at my mom’s. I pick him up on Sundays.”

She told me: “I’ll just make do like this for the sake of the child. Sigh!” Many couples live a meaningless life

together for the sake of their children; this is the helplessness and reality of marriage. In reality, how much

attachment ? So, perhaps coming to the dance hall was a temporary escape for her.

Sometimes when we danced together in the dark, I would tease her, whispering in her ear,

"Aren't your breasts big?" "

Why are you asking that? Want to see?"

She took my hand and pressed it against her breast. "Big or not?" In the darkness, my hand on her full

breasts in my chest.

We've known each other for a while now, and I haven't touched her body yet. My strategy with "respectable women" is: don't touch

women whose marriages and families are still happy; just get to know their situation—hers is an exception. Which

woman isn't afraid of loneliness? Which mature woman doesn't have needs? Hehe.

The Spring Festival is almost here. In 2006, the Spring Festival was in January. On the afternoon of the 29th of the twelfth lunar month,

after the dance party ended, she said: "I can't go out for three days—New Year's Eve, New Year's Day, and the second day of the New Year—I have to visit relatives. Let's meet on the third day."

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As soon as the Spring Festival Gala bells rang, I received her New Year's greeting text message. She'd been cooped up at home for those three days.

I lay in bed thinking: I'll ask her out on the third day of the Lunar New Year... I might as well go to a hotel.

At noon on the third day, I texted her, "Honey, same place, see you at 2 pm." I went to the dance hall,

having bought condoms on the way. I waited for her in the arcade on the first floor. Soon she arrived. Wow,

she'd dressed up for the New Year, sporting a messy perm and new clothes—a red down jacket. She looked very festive.

When she saw me, she grabbed my hand and tried to take me upstairs. I pulled her to a nearby staircase (where no one was), and

we kissed.

"Happy New Year!"

"Happy New Year, what are we doing here? Aren't we going up?

" "I don't want to dance today."

"Then what?"

"Let's go rest there, okay?" I didn't dare say "let's go to a hotel"

because I felt that would be too direct, and besides, I thought she understood what "rest" meant. But my heart

was still pounding. Although I'd done this before, I was just worried she'd hesitate or refuse.

She looked at me, a fleeting hesitation crossing her eyes, which vanished quickly. A hint of shyness crossed her face,

and she whispered, "Where are we going to rest?" My heart immediately lit up; since she asked, she meant she agreed.

"Come with me," I said, taking her hand. She still hesitated slightly. I pulled her out of the dance hall, but we separated at

the door . I hailed a taxi and headed straight for the Electric Power Hotel near the overpass (I had stayed at this hotel before;

50 yuan for 3 hours was a cheap hourly rate, even for a standard room). When we arrived, we got out. She

glanced , and I didn't know what she was looking at, but it seemed like she was checking if anyone was following us. I knew: we

were, after all, having an affair. A respectable woman is a respectable woman; she wasn't as open as the girls who frequented brothels.

Entering the lobby, she stood at the top of the stairs. I went to the front desk to get my ticket. Luckily, the occupancy rate wasn't high during the Spring Festival (this

hotel claims to be a training guesthouse for the power system, and sometimes it's full of power system employees coming for training). I paid

the deposit, and with the red receipt, the front desk instructed the staff to check me into room 408. We went up to

the fourth floor hand in hand, but didn't see any staff. I went back down to ask the front desk: "What's going on? There's no staff." The front desk told me to call them

myself ; they might be in the hot water room. I went back up and called loudly for a staff member. At the end of the corridor, a staff member pushed

a hot water cart over, glanced at us, opened the room door, and helped us turn on the air conditioning.

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I drew the curtains. The weather was nice during the Spring Festival, with sunlight streaming into the room. I sat on the sofa, took out

a cigarette from my pocket, lit it, and tried to calm myself down. She sat on the bed, took off her red down jacket, threw it on the sofa, and

turned on the TV to watch a program. The air conditioner probably needs fixing; the heating is too slow. She sat there watching TV,

my eyes fixed on her chest. She was wearing a black sweater, truly a mature woman; her large breasts

stood proudly, encased in the sweater.

After finishing my cigarette and the air conditioner had warmed the room, I took off my coat and pants. She glanced at me and

chuckled . I asked her, "What are you laughing at?" She pointed at me and said, "Look there!" I looked down, and lo and behold, my

little brother was hard, making my long underwear bulge.

I sat down next to her and turned off the TV. I sat beside her, making her stand up, spread her legs

, and sit on my lap. Wow, so heavy! I tilted my head back and kissed her. "Do you like me?"

"Of course! If I didn't like you, why would I dance with you? Why would I come here with you?" She smiled and playfully pouted my ear.

You know, a woman is a woman; in front of her lover, she's like a girl again, alluring and charming.

We kissed. My hands rested on her black sweater, touching her full breasts. She glanced down at

me.

"Want to take a look?" Wow, such a provocative question suddenly popped out of the quiet room, so exciting!!

Although we're always dressed intimately when we dance, I've never seen her breasts

before

. She took off her black sweater, which made a "snap" sound (static electricity), then took off her bra, revealing a silver-gray bra underneath, and a deep cleavage appeared before me. She unhooked the bra from behind. The bra slipped off and fell onto the bed.

My eyes lit up—such ripe breasts! Perfectly ripe! Round, high breasts were right in

front of me, with clearly visible blue veins, brown areolas, and a few fine hairs! Two nipples like

a child pencil eraser (hehe, to exaggerate, the nipples were quite large), and because of

the temperature difference in the room after she took off her clothes, her breasts had goosebumps, making them appear even firmer. I saw her face flush, she shifted

slightly, thrusting her chest forward, her breasts right in front of me.

"Touch them," she said, placing her hands on my shoulders. I thought: How lewd!

I covered her breasts with both hands, cupping them and heaving them. Her breasts jiggled like waves,

a visually stimulating sight! Full and firm breasts! I brought my mouth to her nipple, licking and even biting

it . She slapped my shoulder. "

Don't bite!"

I licked her nipple, saliva dripping from my mouth. My body began to heat up. Her breasts had a very

pleasant, tangible scent. Every woman has a different body odor. This was the unique

scent . How to describe it? Hehe.

I stuck out my tongue, licking her breasts up and down, left and right. She started to wriggle, leaning back, trying to

thrust her chest out. She breathed heavily, "Mmm... ah..." My mouth was licking her breasts, my hands moving down. Her plump belly, because she was sitting on my lap, created a soft, fleshy

"little mound." 　　I pulled my mouth away from her breast, and she stood up, taking off her pants in front of me. Her pants/padded trousers came off, revealing her thick, full thighs, and her panties bulging over her large buttocks. Her buttocks weren't perky; they sagged a bit. I pulled her close around the waist, pressing my face against her stomach—it was truly a "land of tenderness." So soft and yielding. I kissed her belly. I helped her take off her underwear. Ouch! There was a scar on her lower abdomen, probably from a C-section. There were also noticeable stretch marks on the sides of her lower abdomen. "You had a C-section?" 　　"Yes!" 　　"Did it hurt?" " 　　General anesthesia, so it didn't hurt. But the incision will hurt after a few days."

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We should go to bed now. The room temperature is about right, so I'm half-covered and half-naked. I'm on

top of , spreading her legs (M position). We kiss, I kiss her large breasts, my fingers teasing her genitals,

my fingers moving up and down at the vaginal opening. By touch, I find the little spot above her urethra—her clitoris. I

press it gently with my fingers, and she starts to writhe, her face a picture of ecstasy, moaning, "Sss

...oh..." I continue kissing her breasts while teasing her clitoris, and she gets wet. I get up, spreading her

legs again. She covers her vulva with her hands, saying, "Don't look, it's ugly." Her face is flushed, perhaps from the air conditioning

, perhaps from excitement, or perhaps she's just a woman with a strong sex drive.

I chuckle and push her hands away. What a full vulva! Plump, dark vulva. Pubic hair

covers the "hill," and it's all wet. Her dark brown labia majora were parted, revealing her labia minora

like pale, egg-white-like substance, accumulated below the vaginal opening. I parted her vagina;

the deep red vaginal walls, like a small mouth, seemed to beckon desire, beckoning my entry. I initially wanted to kiss her

genitals, but then I thought better of it.

I lay down, and she straddled me, her loose hair tickling my face. We embraced and kissed.

"How long has it been since you and your husband had sex?"

"I don't let him touch me; I always lock the door when I sleep."

"Is it itchy down there?" I pinched her buttocks, and she giggled. I pressed her head down,

and she kissed my nipples. Men's nipples aren't as pointed as women's. She opened her mouth wide, licking

and biting with her tongue. Her body writhed, her soft breasts pressing against my lower abdomen like meat patties. I spread

her legs, pressed her head down, and she stopped at my penis, tossing her hair to one side. I took it into my

mouth .

Wow! That felt amazing! No teeth colliding. Her lips and tongue teased my penis,

it felt so good, like my penis was soaking in a thermos. So pleasurable. She stuck out her tongue

and licked the head of my penis in circles. It felt so good I arched my back, my excitement heightened.

After a round of oral sex, I was afraid I'd ejaculate, so I pulled her up.

I laid her down, picked up my pants from the sofa, and took out a condom. Durex, a three-pack;

it even smelled.

Just as I was about to put it on, she said, "Why are you wearing this?"

"What, not using it?"

"No, silly, I have an IUD." She smiled at me, a smile of mature woman's

confidence and alluring lewdness. 　　I placed a pillow under her big buttocks, spread her thighs wide (W position), pounced on her, and didn't rush to penetrate her, kissing her. She reached

out and pulled my penis, slowly finding the entrance to her vagina. My unprotected penis felt like it was in water; she was so wet! 　　Ah! It's in! I groaned softly! She groaned loudly! We chuckled to ourselves. 　　I thrust in with three shallow thrusts followed by one deep one. The three shallow thrusts were rubbing at the entrance, and the deep thrust was a forceful push , hitting the deepest part of her vagina. I started slowly, gradually increasing the speed, my buttocks arching, her legs dangling, her hands stroking my back. This movement was a bit like a piston; she started twisting her buttocks, her hips responding to my thrusts. She said, "Husband... ah... so good." Hearing her call me "husband" got me going. I thrust faster and faster, and I felt her vagina was so slippery, so wet! 　　Afraid of ejaculating too quickly, I changed positions. I had her lie face down and sit on me (like in a lotus position), her legs spread apart, head down, one hand parting her vulva, the other gripping my penis. This position was incredibly stimulating. Just like in porn, haha . She plopped down, "Ah…" she moaned. She placed her hands on my protruding belly, adjusted her position, and began to twist and thrust, her breasts swaying like . I reached out and played with them. Although her buttocks were large and full, and her lower abdomen had some fat, it didn't affect the range and force of her movements at all. The "slap slap" sound of her buttocks rising and falling, the "squeak" sound of her vagina and penis thrusting in and out while soaked in her vaginal fluids—just like in porn, but this was real life. 　　I inserted it once, and she lay on my chest, saying, "Honey, I'm so tired." 　　"So tired?" 　　I told her to get up, roll up the blanket, and lie face down on it with her buttocks raised high. From behind, her vaginal opening was wet. I held her buttocks, aimed carefully, and thrust in. This "anal " position is the most stimulating and enjoyable, giving a sense of conquest. Watching my penis go in and , pushing against her slightly freckled buttocks, her breasts swayed like bells during the thrusting. The scene was incredibly stimulating and pleasurable; it was truly a beautiful sight. 　　She moaned, "Ah...ah...oh...honey...come on..." Hearing these words, I couldn't hold back any longer. I felt her vagina like a child's mouth, desperately sucking on my nipple, tightening and loosening around my penis. I knew this woman was about to climax. I thrust in hard… She lay there, one hand free, and actually reached over to touch my testicles. Perhaps my position aroused her, because she even gripped my testicles with a bit of force. My penis was inside her, and this woman was playing with my testicles— it was so stimulating!!! She groaned loudly, muffled by the pillow, “Ah…ah…oh…husband.” I thrust quickly, then stood up, half-squatting, half-standing, my hands touching her large, drooping breasts—they were sweaty! I really wanted to squeeze her breasts until they burst, but I probably used too much force. She said in a voice that sounded like she was crying (actually, it was the woman's intense excitement that changed her voice ), “Husband…it hurts…fuck me…”

As I thrust into her quickly and forcefully, I felt a strain in my spine. With a sudden impact, she groaned loudly

, muffled by the pillow. I ejaculated.

My body went limp immediately, and I lay on the bed in an "X" shape. She got up and lay down beside me.

She took a small handkerchief and tucked it between her thighs. She lay in my arms, my chest rising and falling. I checked

the time; there was still a little while. We spread out the covers, lay down for a while, and enjoyed the quiet after our climax.

"Was it good?" I played with her hair.

"Yes, it was great, you're amazing."

"Did you have an orgasm?"

"Yes, I'm so wet, it's been so long." Her face was flushed; the pleasure of the orgasm made

her complexion beautiful. We kissed, and I touched her breasts as we rested. It

was 5 pm. We paid the bill, held hands, and went downstairs. Once on the first floor, we separated. I called a taxi, and she went home.

Watching the taxi disappear into the distance, I thought, "Mission accomplished."

It was a passionate Chinese New Year afternoon. Walking home, I wondered: Was she and I crossing

a swamp of desire? It might be passionate, we might get trapped.

Whatever, the real show was yet to come!

Three months later, we broke up. The reason was simple: we weren't lovers, just partners. A decent woman eventually

returns to her family; I was just a passerby in her life.

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