Me and my sex partner

(1)

Initially, I wanted to post this article on family, but it was bound to be criticized there, so

I'll post it here instead. Actually, it's not entirely pornographic or erotic; it's more about some

subtle .

My husband said I'm like a pollen grain in Brownian motion. I don't know what Brownian motion is, but

I vaguely feel that it's probably my personality. When I was with my husband, our love was intense, our sex was intense,

so much so that the sudden loneliness that followed when he graduated and went to do postdoctoral work left me breathless...

In the days that followed, slowly, our feelings were torn apart by space and distorted by time. My husband was thousands of miles away on

the west coast, while I was alone somewhere on a flat plain.

We'd argued, we'd fought, we'd loved and hated, hated and loved again, we'd been dissolute, we'd blamed ourselves. But when the initial

excitement like chewing gum for too long, slowly lost its flavor, everything returned to calm.

I settled down to study, work on reports, write papers, attend meetings…

just like that, a calm without any stories, until one time, I had to go to a center at school for presentations

. I think this was mentioned on this blog. Because of my simple data analysis,

I used the average value of a variable 'g'. When I read it as 'g bar' as usual,

many of the Chinese students listening to the talk grinned lewdly. Embarrassed, I looked around and saw him. He smiled too, but his

smile was different. He smiled through his eyes, a clear, warm smile, as if he wasn't laughing at me, but at

my classmates. My first impression of him wasn't bad.

After the presentation, as usual,

came the Q&A session. Many people were probably there for the free feedback offered by the presentation, and

few listened carefully to what I was saying. But he listened attentively, and not only that, he asked several

insightful questions and mentioned a few papers that might be helpful to me.

Out of politeness, after the presentation, I went up to him and shook his hand.

My first impression was that his hand was warm, because my hands were very cold. Although warm, his hand wasn't sweaty

at all ; it was a refreshing warmth, just like the feeling he gave off.

At that moment, we had no ulterior motives or wild thoughts. He wasn't the kind of man who

would attract women, but he was the kind of man who wouldn't annoy women. He wasn't tall or handsome; he wore glasses and was

slightly overweight. But his manner of speaking and tone always gave people a very reliable and down-to-earth feeling.

I asked him about the author of the paper he mentioned, and he wrote it down for me. I have to say, his

handwriting was terrible, so much so that I later joked with him, "With handwriting like that, you'd definitely be mistaken for a

construction worker!"

We chatted briefly and I learned that he was a student in another department, two years ahead of me. I asked him

why I had never seen him before, even though I had been at the school for several years. He said he wasn't very familiar with the freshmen—in his

eyes , was I still a freshman?

I asked him some more questions about the paper because it would soon be submitted to

a workshop at another university, one of the most prestigious in the field, with

several leading figures in the field. So I was inevitably a little nervous.

Although it wasn't my major, he seemed to know everything, so I only intended to have

a brief chat. Unexpectedly, we ended up talking non-stop until his eyes kept glancing at

the table with food in the distance, and I realized he was hungry. Haha, I chuckled to myself; I didn't realize he had such a charming side

.

I offered him something to eat, and he very politely asked if I wanted some too. I said no, I found

the food here too greasy, and I'd cook at home. He then muttered, somewhat embarrassed, "It's good to be able to cook." Then he turned

and grabbed a whole plate full of food.

If I had only seen him eating like this at first glance, I might not have been particularly impressed. But

watching him eat with a slightly restrained

air of politeness while continuing to discuss serious academic issues, I found him quite interesting. To be honest, I really liked his speaking style; every sentence had

a unique wit.

I noticed he was wearing a wedding ring, so I asked him why he didn't eat at home. He said his wife was

studying in another city.

Like me, it turned out that without realizing it, a sense of shared misfortune drew us closer.

Of course, all of this stemmed from the feelings we had now when we reminisced. Perhaps, if we

hadn't later become intimate, it would have been nothing more than some mundane ripple in life.

When I left, I asked for his phone number, mainly to ask him if I had any questions, but he gave

me his office number instead. I don't know why now.

Fortunately, he was almost always in his office, so I was able to reach him several times when I called. He

gave me advice; he was very knowledgeable, although he could be slightly boastful at times, but he

was always very kind and friendly. So, deep down, I really enjoyed talking to him. Perhaps he understood

the power of language, or maybe it was just unintentional.

I felt bad for bothering him so many times, so I invited him to dinner, but he hesitated and declined

a few times . I actually know why he's acting this way. A married man alone is bound to have some awkward moments.

I can sense he loves his wife very much. I overheard him talking to her on the phone. I called his office

phone, and when his cell phone rang, he apologized, put down the office phone, and answered his cell phone. From his

tone, I knew it was his wife calling. He sounded like a kind older brother, asking if her cold was better

, if she had eaten lunch, and what she ate. He also sounded like a devoted lover, telling her how worried he was about her

cold . Finally, he suddenly lowered his voice, but there was a hint

of joy in his muffled tone—probably talking about their marital relationship. Sigh, why am I so bothered by their conversation

? Is it jealousy? Or envy? How I wish my husband could be so calm and collected.

His excuses only fueled my curiosity, and I can't explain why. So I went to his office.

I found him and invited him to lunch. His surprise and awkwardness made me quite smug for a moment.

He seemed uneasy while eating, probably worried about running into acquaintances near the school and having trouble explaining things,

being alone with someone. I, however, was quite relaxed; it was just lunch.

After chatting for a while, he gradually regained his usual composure and became quite talkative. During the meal, his

cutlery fell to the ground. He bent down to pick it up, and I looked down at the ground too, only to see him staring at my legs.

Perhaps it was a compliment, or perhaps it was because we were more familiar, but I joked with him, calling him "Master Ximen." He had long since lost

his initial awkwardness, straightened up, and said slowly and deliberately, "It's not like only Master Ximen drops his chopsticks." I asked, "

Who else?" He said, "Liu Bei."

The school at Workshop is about a 4-5 hour drive from our school. I

don't have a car, but I know he does, so I asked him if he could give me a ride, and I'd treat him to dinner. He hesitated,

suggesting we take a bus instead (because flying is inconvenient). I asked if he wanted to come along; he hesitated again

, then said he was going too, wanting to meet those big shots.

Megabus is really cheap.

Workshop is nice; we took the last Megabus back in the evening.

Shortly after , he called his wife, saying he was going to a meeting at a certain school and would be home late,

so she should rest and remember to soak her feet in hot water before bed for a better sleep.

He didn't mention who he was with.

I was thinking how impressive it would be if my husband called at that moment; unfortunately, he didn't

. I told him yesterday I was coming to a meeting, and he said he knew, then said he wouldn't call today.

The highway was dark, with no streetlights.

We sat side by side, me by the window, him by the aisle. There were very few people on the bus; no one was around us.

Perhaps because of a day of workshops, waves of drowsiness washed over me. The car

was warm, and I dozed off, clutching my coat.

My head drooped heavily, and he helped me up, letting my head rest on his shoulder.

The bus was bumping, and he put his arm around my shoulder, and I nestled in his embrace, feeling his breath.

I opened my eyes and looked at him; he was looking at me, still smiling warmly with his eyes.

I closed my eyes and pressed closer to him; he gently caressed my shoulder through my shirt;

I grasped his warm, large hand;

he rubbed his cheek against my forehead;

I tilted my head back, and his cheek pressed against mine…

He kissed me, like raindrops on my face;

I kissed him, like a light drizzle;

in an instant, the drizzle turned into a storm,

his kisses falling heavily and intensely on my face and neck, and I responded even more intensely;

he held me tighter with one arm, and the other hand naturally slid down to the buttons of my shirt, one, two…

His kisses followed his fingers, resting on my chest, which heaved rapidly with each breath;

his hand gently… He gently caressed my white bra, burying his head in my cleavage;

he turned me ninety degrees, so I was facing him, and unhooked my bra. A cool sensation made my nipples stand erect

. He bent down and took one of my nipples into his mouth, sucking intensely, the tingling stimulation causing me to involuntarily

moan softly; he wrapped one arm around my waist to prevent me from retreating, while his other hand pressed firmly against my delicate white

breast, his thumb tip roughly teasing my other nipple; I held his head to my chest,

closed my eyes, and felt his warm, soft tongue and hard fingers, waves of excitement spreading from my nipples

throughout my body , warm currents flowing... Flowing from below…

He made me sit facing him on his lap so he could continue caressing my breasts. I unbuckled his

belt , and he obediently pulled his pants down a little, reaching into his underwear. My god, I hadn't expected him to be so

hot and large. He also loosened my belt, slipping a hand into my already soaked underwear…

I gripped his burning member tightly, stroking it up and down, trying desperately to get closer to

him, but to no avail. He seemed at a loss too. I could only gasp and tell him that this wouldn't work, I had to

turn around.

Moving with difficulty, thankfully no one was around. I pulled my pants down to my knees, turned around, my backside facing… He tentatively

sat back until his buttocks touched his burning hot penis. One hand was around my chest, the other

supporting my buttocks, as he awkwardly searched for the entrance.

My hand guided him, and soon he found the spot. He tried to penetrate, but although I was very wet,

perhaps due to a long period of abstinence, penetration wasn't easy. Even with force, only

the tip of his penis could get in. We patiently rubbed back and forth, anxious but

forced to try little by little.

But then, suddenly, the ringing of a cell phone shattered the monotonous noise of the bus speeding along the highway.

His cell phone, his wife's!

The ringing of the phone was like a waterfall cascading onto boiling lava. The waterfall was so powerful that the lava solidified into rock before even steam

could rise. I could feel the cooling.

He went limp, as limp as a caterpillar.

He pressed one hand against me, signaling me not to give birth, while answering the phone. His wife, worried, asked if he was

home yet. He replied affectionately, as always, "On the road." I angrily shook off his hand,

straightened my clothes, and sat down in an empty seat on the other side of the aisle, staring blankly out the window.

Three minutes later, I regained my composure, returned to his side, and waited for him to finish his call.

After saying goodnight to his wife, he looked at me apologetically. I asked, "Is that all?" He said, "Yes."

I bent down and unbuckled his belt again. He was surprised, but still let me take out the caterpillar.

I held the caterpillar and gently kissed it with my lips, licking it with the tip of my tongue. I felt it harden rapidly in my

hand . I opened my mouth and took it in, swallowing it deeply and spitting it out shallowly. My tongue

circled around the edge of the caterpillar's head. I released it and kissed my way down, breathing on the pair of shrunken testicles. He hugged

me again, his hands caressing my lower abdomen.

I quickened my swallowing and spitting, rapidly stroking the caterpillar, which felt like it had been tempered into steel, feeling his breathing

quicken and his muscles gradually tense up.

At this moment, I stopped, broke free from him, and sat back down in the seat across the aisle. He looked at me in

surprise , then at his crotch.

I took out my phone, dialed my husband's number, and asked in a charming voice, "Honey, have

you missed me?"

(2)

My husband and I chatted on the phone as if nothing had happened. He looked at me helplessly across the aisle until I

finished the call.

"I'm sorry," he said to me.

"Sorry for what? Let's call it even." I sat back down in front of him and joked, "I saw you have a good figure,

so I touched you"—a line from a bandit in "A Chinese Odyssey."

He said, "Me too." Then we both laughed.

On the rest of the journey, we both calmed down a lot. He told his story, and I told mine.

It was as if we were kindred spirits who had fallen on hard times.

"I love my wife very much. I would die for her," he said to me solemnly.

"Of course I love my husband too, but I don't love him enough to die for him. That's really true. Maybe

I don't love him enough, but it's not that I don't love him," I said.

Then we talked about sex. He said that since his wife got into university and left him to study in the south,

he had become an ascetic. Because she was paying for her own studies, their family's finances were tight, and

they couldn't see each other often. When they did see each other, he had to pray that she wasn't on her period. Sometimes,

the pressure of her studies would make her mood bad, and sex would become dull and uninteresting. So he asked me to forgive his

beastly behavior earlier.

"You're worse than a beast," I joked.

I told him that I was pretty much the same. My husband was doing postdoctoral research on the West Coast. Although our family wasn't struggling financially, we

didn't see each other often because of the distance. So we had to satisfy ourselves or go on BBS to make

some risqué jokes to amuse ourselves.

"Is this what you call 'dry wood meeting fire'?" he asked.

"Get lost! We're just good friends, good friends who can satisfy each other's needs. A friend

in need is a friend already." I suddenly blurted out a

proverb from my high school English class, and in that context, we both laughed. I certainly couldn't say

the word "sex partner."

"Okay, platonic sex. Plato was a philosopher." Although he was more

straightforward than me, he still had to use Plato as a pretext.

"You mean Ai Iijima's films?" I asked deliberately.

"You're very knowledgeable!" he said, feigning surprise.

"Of course." I smiled with a hint of pride. "I want to take a nap, can I borrow your shoulder for a pillow?"

He pulled me into his arms and whispered again, "We're good friends."

(3)

I leaned against him, took off my shoes, and nestled against him on my side, my eyes half-closed. He held

me with one arm and gently stroked my body with the other.

"You smell so good," he said.

"Liar, my morning perfume should have worn off by now," I said. I really like Issey Miyake's perfume, a light

oriental scent, but perhaps because it's light, it dissipates easily.

"You smell good, warmly," he said.

"You're so old, still acting like Bao Yu, all sweet and cheesy," I teased him, turning around.

"Who's Bao Yu?" He took the opportunity to reach up and grab my chest, his fingers slipping inside my shirt, then

expertly into my bra, grasping my breast. "Being Xue Pan is more practical," he said

, tracing circles on my areola with his fingers, making me shudder; my nipples quickly reacted.

"Is your wife very open?" I asked.

"Huh?" He seemed surprised that I suddenly mentioned his wife, paused, and said, "Not really,

she's a little petty."

"I was asking if she's flat-chested, otherwise, why are you always grabbing my breasts?" I pointed to his

hands diligently working on my breasts. In the dark carriage, he had brazenly ripped open my shirt,

my light-colored bra and smooth skin exposed to the air; thankfully, there was no one else on the train.

"You…" he retaliated by pinching me hard twice. I could clearly feel his hard erection.

"Want to?" I asked.

"Yeah," he replied.

"Me too, hee hee," I said.

He started to unzip my pants, but I stopped him, saying, "Where won't do? It's too small."

Although there were no people in the rows in front and behind, the space between the seats was too cramped.

"To the last row?" he asked.

"Didn't you see there's a black guy sleeping in the last row?" I said,

looking around again, hiding myself in the seat.

"Let him sleep, we'll do our thing," he said.

"Get lost!" I punched him.

I thought for a moment, then made him pull down his pants and spread his legs. I stood up, hunched over (because

my upper body was almost naked), and carefully squeezed between his legs. He immediately reached out to pull down

my pants, pulling them down so fast that my pants and underwear were pulled down to my knees. I suddenly felt a chill down my lower body.

"So much water," he said, stroking my bare thighs.

"It's all your fault, hurry up," I said. My position was very uncomfortable at that moment. I was already

unsteady on my feet, and now I had to hunch over, my forehead resting against the empty seat back in front of me. His

pants , and I couldn't move.

But instead of helping me sit on his hard, hot penis as I expected,

he suddenly lowered his head and began kissing my waist and buttocks passionately, while one hand reached over and tightly grasped

my breast.

"Ah~," I couldn't help but cry out, quickly covering my mouth with the back of my hand and muttering under my breath,

"You're so bad. "

Only then did he adjust his position with a wicked grin, letting me sit between his legs.

"Not there," I whispered urgently, trying to guide him. "Yes, yes, it's here, lift it up a little."

"Ah, slower, um~" I gasped, like a thirsty traveler finding

a spring .

"Um~ slower, ah, you're so big." I panted. Behind me, he was like a young bull in its

early stages, eagerly thrusting forward.

The long-distance bus suddenly lurched, and I completely lost my balance, lurching backward. He then

plunged in , a slightly painful pleasure striking my entire body like lightning, my breath mingling with involuntary moans.

My body was numb with pleasure, unable to move, and he seemed powerless to do anything either. But the bus

kept jolting. It was a long, dark night, and the driver was clearly speeding. This stretch of highway bordering the state was

in such poor condition for some reason, yet this jolt and vibration... It brought us endless pleasure, and I couldn't

help but want to scream. My hand could no longer cover my voice, and in the heat of the moment, I had no choice but to bite his palm.

The back-and-forth shaking, the tight friction, the environment, the thrill of the affair—it only took a short while before I felt

the signs of an orgasm. My mind went blank, my body convulsed uncontrollably, the low moans in my throat turned into

pleasurable whimpers, and warm currents surged from my lower body. I couldn't help but bite him hard, reveling in

the torrential pleasure...

I collapsed onto his lap, and only then did I hear him whisper, "Hurry up, I can't hold back anymore." Before I

could understand what he was saying, he forcefully pushed me up. The moment my buttocks left him, several thick, slightly

fishy-smelling liquids gushed out, splashing onto my disheveled hair, bare back, and

tattered clothes…

He was exhausted too; his hands, which had been supporting me, relaxed. I slumped like a piece of cloth in

the seat

we both caught our breath, he said to me, “You’re not planning to have my baby, are you?”

I smiled weakly and slapped him lightly, a strange sense of gratitude welling up inside me: this guy is actually quite nice

.

The long-distance bus reached the edge of the city, and the highway was now dimly lit by streetlights. Although the light was weak

, we quickly straightened our clothes.

Then, by the light of the streetlights, I saw

someone ! Oh my god! I nervously asked him, “Did they hear us?”

“That’s your question. Did you shout?” "He said.

"No, not really..." I then thought to look at his hand, and there was a deep, bruised

tooth mark on the side of his palm.

(4)

The feeling after making love was very strange, like being in the depths of the clouds. He was laughing foolishly, as if he

was savoring the memory.

Although he was not a naive young man, I did not think he had any special skills. It was probably

just that was surprised and climaxed because of the rain after a long drought.

After the sweat dried, it was a little cool. I curled up and leaned against him. I couldn't help but curiously touch his penis.

He had just ejaculated, and his penis was still hot and hard. He was embarrassed and tried to avoid my hand.

"Why are you hiding? Just touch it. We've already done it." I said domineeringly.

He still stopped my hand with his hand, but I still stared at him until his penis

slowly softened.

"It softened because I looked at it? You're not a virgin, are you?" "I joked.

He slapped my head and said, 'My wife and I are always very proper when we make love.'

'Huh? What do you mean by 'very proper'?' I asked.

'It's like turning off the lights, kissing, her on top, me on top, we move around for a while, I ejaculate, and she falls asleep. That's it, unlike

with you, you female hooligan…' he said.

'Hey, you're the hooligan, okay? Who was it that tried to take off my pants just now?' I punched him angrily

.

'Well… I am a bit of a hooligan, I never thought something like this would happen.' His tone

suddenly became serious.

'You don't feel like I've taken your innocence, and you're going to commit suicide in resentment when you get off the bus, do you?' I continued

to joke .

'Not really.' He was still serious. 'I just don't understand why I did that just now.'

'I'm charming,' I didn't understand his seriousness and continued to joke with him.

'Yeah, that's true, I felt aroused the first time I saw your picture.' he replied.

'When did you see the picture? How come I don't know?' " "I'm curious.

" "A long time ago, when you were freshmen, at

the International Students' Culture Night organized by the International Office

, the one where you wore that silk cheongsam, an upperclassman took

a lot of photos, mostly of Chinese girls, and then they circulated among the many unmarried old ws (

a derogatory term for men who are

not married). Everyone agreed that you were the hottest," he said. "So what if the cheongsam had a high slit? You guys are

so naive." I felt a little smug.

"And you sat like that, didn't you think about the possibility of flashing?" he asked.

"Did I really flash?" I asked blankly.

"Red thong." He said with a hint of reminiscence.

"Ah? Oh, I don't remember what underwear I was wearing that day either, but the photographer was really bored." "

I was a little angry.

'How many losers have your pale thighs and red panties ruined...' he said.

'Including you?' I asked.

'Yeah.' He admitted. I then noticed that his unruly thing between his legs had gotten hard again. When he noticed

me looking at him there, he slapped my head again and said, 'That's not what I meant to say.'

'Then what did you mean to say?' I asked.

'I meant to say that I hadn't thought things through just now, but I don't know how I ended up like this with you.' He

became .

'I'm charming,' I repeated, 'and I'm back to square one.'

'That's not what I meant, it's... um... I suddenly feel a little guilty.' he said. He suddenly fell silent, but

we all understood his unspoken meaning.

'Post-ejaculation syndrome.' I paused and continued his sentence."

"What?" he asked, somewhat puzzled.

"It means that before a man ejaculates, his mind is filled with lust; after he ejaculates, he begins to calmly,

rationally , deeply, and dialectically contemplate," I said dismissively. "Until the next time he wants to ejaculate, it

repeats itself," I added.

Seemingly stung by my harsh words, he fell silent again. The atmosphere suddenly turned icy.

"It's nothing. If you suddenly realize you've been led astray by a female hooligan, then we can part ways.

I won't tell anyone about this, and I guarantee you'll still be a clean and upright gentleman," I said

dismissively .

"No. That's not what I meant." He hugged me again. "I just thought of my wife,

and betraying her like this is wrong. But I don't regret it, and I really like having you as a friend." He emphasized

the word

"Friend? You mean intercours?" I actually understood his feelings, so I

joked with him again, trying to change the awkward atmosphere. “How did you betray her? Didn’t I tell you?

We’re just good friends. In ancient times, when people shared the same ideals, they would even share a bed. We’re just following in the footsteps of the ancients,

hehe.”

He laughed.

The dim streetlights outside the car intermittently shone through the window, illuminating his face. I wondered what he was thinking.

“We still have a while before we arrive. Do you want to take a nap?” I asked him. He didn’t answer. I reached out and

pulled him up. He obediently rested his head on my lap, and I held him in my arms. There was

some white dust on his coat, which I gently brushed off.

“Do you know why I like being with you?” I asked him.

“Because I’m knowledgeable and dashing?” he answered confidently.

“Knowledgeable, that’s true. And dashing… well, let’s be realistic.” I teased him deliberately.

“Then why is my penis bigger?” he deliberately avoided being “dashing.”

“You’re killing me, saying such vulgar things, aren’t you afraid of being overheard?” I felt

a little embarrassed hearing him use that word so bluntly, even though no one around us could possibly understand Chinese.

“I don’t think my skills are that great either,” he said, quite honestly this time.

“That’s true, after being married for so long, she’s still like a newbie, she’s so incompetent,” I

said. He understood that “she” I was referring to his wife.

“Then why did you undress for me without hesitation?” he asked.

“Because you’re a good person, have a great personality, it’s fun being with you, we have common interests, and

although lacks experience, he’s definitely promising—but all of this might make me deliberately avoid you,

because I also don’t want to damage my current marriage, so most importantly… I think I can only

like you, not love you, because you’re not handsome enough, and your body isn’t fit enough,” I said.

He lay in my arms, and although he was initially unwilling to accept this, he quickly

felt relieved , which was exactly what I wanted.

(5)

When the megabus arrived at the station, and we got off to say thank you to the driver, he smiled at us strangely.

"There aren't any surveillance cameras on the bus, are there?" he asked me somewhat anxiously.

"How should I know? So what if they do? What can they do?" I didn't think much of it. But I could tell

he was still a little worried.

It was still quite a distance from the school, and we needed to transfer to the light rail. I had been worried about missing the last train because

the light rail line to the school didn't run 24 hours a day. I joked with him, "If we really miss

the last light rail, we'll have to stay in a motel. You don't want to walk back to school in the dark,

do you?"

His eyes flashed with longing, then with fear, and finally he murmured, "I don't think so."

I smiled and said to him, "You're really getting old."

He asked in surprise, "Why?"

"Because your post-ejaculation syndrome lasts a long time," I said, "which means your

refractory is relatively long, a sign of aging."

"Who said I can't do it?" he eagerly defended himself.

"Really?" I asked, grabbing his arm and nuzzling against him, gently

kissing his ear.

"Be careful someone sees us!" he tried to pull away.

"Who knows you here, hehe." I casually touched his crotch; it was hard.

"Not too old yet, still quite responsive," I reported the result.

"You really ran into a female hooligan," he slapped my head. "Looks like heaven really does work; I often

pray for a female hooligan."

"What if the female hooligan is like this?" I pointed to a plump, middle-aged

Black .

"Then I'll bite my tongue and kill myself," he said resolutely.

Reaching the light rail station, we found we hadn't missed the last train, but there were already some people waiting on the platform. If I remembered correctly, at this time, there should only be one train per hour. We were a little tired, but there were no empty seats

on the platform .

I leaned against him and complained, "It's so late, why are there still so many people?"

"You're not thinking of...doing that on the light rail, are you?" he asked.

"Why not?" I looked at him with a smile.

"You almost made me nervous to death on the bus," he said.

"Don't you think it's fun?" I said.

"Hmm...it's pretty exciting...but it takes time to get used to it, I've never tried it before,"

he said seriously.

"There are some things you can't do with your wife, hehe, do you like it?" I asked.

"Hmm...hmm...I like it," he replied.

"So how are you going to thank me?" I asked.

"Didn't I already thank you? Look at how anxious you are, you've been thirsty for rain for ages, haven't you?" he

said smugly.

"Tch, you're just being smug, I despise guys like you the most." I lightly punched him on the back.

When the light rail arrived at the school, he insisted on taking me home. Of course, I understood his intentions, so I said to him:

“I have a roommate, you’ll just be wasting your time. How about I go to your place?”

“Oh…oh, no, I have a roommate too,” he said.

“Then forget it, brother, farewell, until we meet again.” I gave him an exaggerated bow.

“I should see you off, what if you run into a pervert, it’s so late,” he said.

“You’re not talking about yourself, are you?” Although I was teasing him, I was still quite happy inside.

When we got to my apartment building, I thought my roommate might already be asleep, so I went to the back door so

I wouldn’t disturb her when I entered from the kitchen. Her bedroom was next to the front door. Like all old-fashioned red brick apartments, the back door

opened into a small alley with a wooden staircase.

I said goodbye to him at the top of the stairs, but he didn’t leave.

He stared at me blankly with bloodshot eyes. I reached out to pat him, and then I noticed his body was trembling slightly, as if he was

very excited. When I tried to push him again, he suddenly grabbed me and dragged me into

the narrow, .

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Me and my sex partner

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