The Changes of a Married Woman 1

I was originally a very traditional, ladylike woman, very innocent, devoted to relationships, and conservative. But at the same time, I am also a very happy woman because I have a husband who loves me very much, a husband who always cares for me and warms my heart. I have a husband who shares my joy and happiness.
I met my husband when I first started working. After graduating from high school, we were both accepted into the same government office in a small town. Fresh out of high school and entering society, we both had high hopes for the future as we started our jobs.
The monotonous and dull life in the small town of the 1980s gradually drew our two young hearts closer. Fresh out of school, facing him—intelligent, lively, handsome, and strong—I often fantasized about the romance in love novels, often secretly watching him. When he glanced at me unintentionally, my heart would race and my face would blush. Gradually, he sensed something from my blushing and became increasingly affectionate towards me, often seeking opportunities to please me. I was often captivated by every tender glance he gave me, and filled with happiness at every moment of intimacy he conveyed.
The 1980s were a relatively closed era; early romantic relationships were considered morally reprehensible. Our unspoken, secret affection lasted for quite some time. During this period, we maintained a tacit understanding of mutual care, silently cherishing our unrequited love. I often suffered from insomnia during this time, finding happiness in my sleeplessness, writing diary entries to record every emotion, every joy and excitement he brought me.
One summer night, the town's sports field was showing the most romantic film of the time, "Romance on Lushan Mountain." We sat side-by-side on the grass at the edge of the field. When the male lead kissed his lover in the film, I blushed and lowered my head, unable to bear the sensation. At that moment, I felt him touch my fingertips; a jolt of electricity made me instinctively recoil, but I immediately regretted my movement. When his hand touched me again, I gave up trying to avoid it, bravely enduring the intense electric current from his touch. I felt a mix of tension and excitement, my heart pounding with each passing moment. He held my hand quietly, and from the sweat on his palm, I could feel his excitement and happiness. He held my hand silently, without saying a word, only the sound of him swallowing could be heard. He didn't release my hand until the movie ended.
This hand-holding made us afraid to look each other in the eye for several days afterward; the silence between us left my heart heavy and tense.
One weekend evening, he came to my room. I had a premonition that something was about to happen. As I sat down in front of him, blushing and looking down, he reached out and touched the hairline near my ear. I felt the warmth of his hand on my face, and a current sent a flush through me, making my face turn red to my neck. His hand slid from my hairline to my flushed face, the gentle caress making me weakly seek a place to lean on. I was intoxicated by the warmth of his palms. When he cupped my face in his hands, I felt his full lips approaching. Suddenly, he kissed my lips almost frantically, and a suffocating feeling made me faint. I collapsed into his arms, and he held me tightly. From his strong breath, I smelled a rich, masculine scent. I was intoxicated by his fragrance.
He carried me, completely limp, to the bed. In the summer night, our thin shirts were soaked with sweat. He caressed me through his damp shirt, and wave after wave of passionate kisses made my bones feel weak. In our embrace, he whispered in my ear, "I love you...you are my precious life...I will protect you with my life...I will make you happier than anyone else..."
From then on, "my precious life" became his name for me. In countless whispers and romantic letters, he repeated this unchanging term.
II.
Although our first intimate encounter didn't involve his hands penetrating my thin shirt, the excitement I felt was the strongest I had ever experienced, and one I will never forget.
In the days that followed, we repeated that intimacy countless times. Slowly, in that intimacy, we had our first sexual encounter, and in that intimacy, we entered the hall of marriage. For many years, I was immersed in this sweet intimacy. In this sweetness, we welcomed the arrival of our daughter, received promotions at work, and our family became prosperous. One happiness after another followed, and we were busy in happiness, yet in our busyness, we forgot about happiness.
As time passed, my husband continued to fulfill the promises he made during our first love. He always paid attention to me and always cherished me. Our feelings for each other grew stronger, and my husband continued that intimacy as always. But in that intimacy, I could no longer find the breathtaking thrill of his touch on my fingers during our first love. No matter how intense his lovemaking was, I could no longer find the suffocating feeling I had when he first kissed me.
My husband also tried to bring new sensations to our sex life, changing the style in different places. He was also keenly aware that marital sex needs to be refreshed and kept fresh. He often instilled in me a sense of modernity and romance during and after sex. Once, during sex, he asked me if I had ever fantasized about having sex with other men. At first, I was surprised and wondered why he would have such thoughts. For a long time, I wondered if my husband's love for me had changed. Did he think that as I matured and my sexual desires grew stronger, I was becoming somewhat promiscuous?
Yes, in my daily life, there were indeed some desires hidden deep within my soul. When I saw a wild man, a thrill would flash through my heart; when a man looked at me with infatuated eyes, I would feel a sense of satisfaction and joy; when a man violated me, I would resist while feeling an indescribable fear, a fear mixed with an indescribable pleasure. Was this promiscuity? I often felt guilty about these desires.
When I told my husband about these desires in bed, he said it was normal, a natural instinct when people stray from social norms, an animalistic instinct, and nothing to feel guilty about. During sex, he would repeatedly ask me if I wanted to have sex with other men. When I answered "no," he would feel a little disappointed. When I answered "yes," he would find a kind of excitement. To excite him during sex, I learned to talk about lewd topics to entice him to go further and become more and more wild with me. Gradually, in this game, I really became more and more lewd. He said that this was exactly what he wanted; he wanted to see my lewdness in bed.
Third,
when H entered my life, I saw the lewdness in my very bones even more clearly.
H was my husband's secretary, handsome and elegant with a touch of refinement, his composure and thoughtfulness revealing his sincerity. Because of work, H often visited my home. In daily life, he affectionately called me "sister." My husband also sensed my affection for him and often asked me during sex if I wanted to experience the pleasure of sex with him. My husband's teasing only intensified my fantasies about H deep within my desires. But I always treated it merely as a fantasy, a spice in my sex life with my husband, never daring to connect this fantasy with reality.
With computers and the internet entering our work and lives, I, a civil servant over thirty, faced a new learning and challenge. H is a computer expert, providing me with a lot of help when I was learning. He taught me how to process documents, how to create spreadsheets, how to search online, how to chat on QQ, and often shared his knowledge with me online. We also exchanged insights about life and emotions during our chats.
Gradually, I developed a dependence on and longing for him, both in real life and online. A few days without seeing him or chatting with him would leave me feeling a sense of loss and sadness. During our chats, I could also sense his affection for me; he would often confide his troubles and sorrows to me. My kind nature allowed him, far from home, to find a sense of warmth and attachment. But the only thing he could show me was a familial affection, conveying only respect and care.
I've openly shared these feelings with H with my husband, even during our intimate conversations in bed. After he learned of these feelings, he often brought H home to visit after work.
One
Sunday, my husband was out socializing, and I was online at the computer. H sat behind me with a book, occasionally asking me computer questions. When he took the mouse from my hand, the brief touch of our hands gave me a feeling akin to the electric shock of first love. As he stared at the screen behind me, I could feel his breath on my ear. All of this made my heart race, my face flush, and my mind go blank. For a moment, I sat numbly in front of the computer, not knowing what I was thinking or looking at.
He noticed me staring blankly at the computer and asked, "Sis, are you thinking about something?"
Snapping out of my reverie, I blushed and turned to look at him. When he noticed my blush and smiled slightly, a sudden urge compelled me to reach out and hug him.
He hugged me gently, startled. "Sister, what happened?"
I pressed my face against his neck, hugging him even tighter. The fragrance emanating from his hair drew me in, making me kiss him passionately. He instinctively wanted to push me away, but a sense of reluctance lingered. Slowly, I felt his heartbeat quicken, his breath grow heavier. In my embrace, his initial calm gave way to instinctive excitement. When I kissed his lips, he returned my kiss forcefully. In his return kiss, I went limp in his arms, and he carried me to the sofa in the study. Passion and excitement drove him to pounce on me, caressing and kissing me wildly.
In his caresses and kisses, I slowly melted, while he hardened as I melted. Just as I felt his hardness trying to break free of his constraints, a sudden calmness extinguished his passion. He pulled away from me, sitting quietly at the other end of the sofa.
After a long silence, he said to me, "Sister, I'm sorry, we can't."
His calmness made me shyly press my face into the crack of the sofa.
"Sister, it's not that I don't like you, we can't do this. It's unfair to Brother and to you."
I reached out and gently shook his hand. "Don't say anything more, I know. It's my fault. Let me rest for a while."
"Okay! Then you rest for a while. I'm going back."
As he left, I felt increasingly ashamed of my rashness. I slumped weakly on the sofa, unsure how to face him.
After he left, he kept texting me. He was afraid that his rejection would hurt my self-esteem, and he came up with countless reasons to explain that his rejection wasn't because he didn't like me. I couldn't find any words to reply to his messages, so I just lay quietly on the sofa. When he saw that I hadn't replied, he called again, explaining why he had rejected my advances. He reiterated his love for me, saying that he had to calm down to avoid hurting my husband and my family. I didn't want him to continue, because everyone understood the reasons. Let's just pretend nothing happened.

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The Changes of a Married Woman 1

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