My Sexual Encounters with Li Shishi

My Lovemaking with Li Shishi

Author: Unknown

Now, a faint fragrance drifts in on the breeze, subtle and delicate, I can smell it clearly. Perhaps it was
left to me by a woman yesterday. Perhaps not. There are many possibilities. But it is definitely related to a woman, that's usually
the nature . At least, we hope so. I sit listlessly at my desk, the time outside the window still
far from dusk. I smell my own body, not yet paying attention to the entanglement and
clamor .

To be honest, I haven't touched a woman for almost a year. My wife and I officially
separated half a year ago, and in the six months before the separation, we had no sexual activity, merely sleeping in the
same . Man and woman were merely a formality.

You only need to look at my bed to know that this is entirely possible. It's a specially made carved
bed, exquisitely crafted, looking antique. In my imagination, the local tyrants or national
capitalists must have slept in this kind of bed.

The bed was designed by me personally. It's three meters long and three meters wide. In fact, it takes up my entire room, or rather,
my room is just big enough to fit it. The carpenter was taken aback by my grand vision, saying
he'd never heard of such a large bed in his entire life. He hesitated to start, feeling it was a bit too mysterious and uncanny. My fiancée,
Li Shishi—you've definitely met her on the street, with a freckle on each side of her nose, quite charming
at first glance —was also puzzled by this. She wanted me to
give a reason for building such an extraordinary bed; she thought I was building a racetrack.

I said, "It's mainly for convenient bed work, the vast grasslands are my oyster." She
hesitated curse under her breath, then tugged
at me, still thinking three meters was too exaggerated. She said, "It's unnecessary." "It's

absolutely necessary," I said. "Do you know what the most distinctive feature of wealthy families in the past was? It was their beds." The
wealthier a person , the more elaborate their bed, practically a masterpiece of design. We're not rich, but we're not poor either; can't we at least sleep in a big bed?
I think owning a unique, large bed would be a huge boost to my spirits, filling me
with confidence . Of course, I wouldn't say this to Li Shishi. I said it was our wedding bed,
a symbol of our ideal. She didn't say anything, perhaps embarrassed to have a carpenter and his apprentices caught in
the middle of our conversation about the bed; the metaphorical meaning of the bed had been stripped away.

Although we'd done *that* countless times before, we'd never actually been in a proper
bed
before. Each time, it was a hasty affair in some shady corner of the city—a typical, conceptual, illicit affair. This started because we both lived in dormitories;
it became a habit, perhaps even a kind of addiction. I don't know if this is
a common manifestation of modern urban relationships. I still remember the first time very clearly. It was at Martyrs' Park
at night . Under the cover of a waist-high shrub, we were on a double bench
, making love in a state of flustered yet brazen excitement. I could tell she was desperately trying not to scream; she seemed to have bitten
her lip bled, whether from restraint or pain, I couldn't tell. Anyway, while cleaning up, I kissed her
and she kissed me, and I smelled blood. Afterward, we went back to our dorms. As soon as I got back,
I remembered something: I couldn't confirm whether she was a virgin.

I had planned to secretly slip the tissues I used for wiping back into my pocket to study, but
somehow, I completely forgot about it.

The next morning, I took a taxi to Martyrs' Park and found the chair I'd worked so hard on all night,
only to find it completely spotless. I couldn't outrun the diligent sanitation workers; their dedication to
cleaning shattered my last effort. I had no way of knowing
which trash can those pristine white or crimson napkins were buried in. Or perhaps they'd been incinerated?

Now you understand why city women are willing or dare
to have sex . Because they're no longer virgins. When she decides to marry you, you'll never have any proof,
and you'll have no choice but to tell yourself you married a virgin. The green hat has already been placed on your head, but you can't
see it. Of course, I can't be sure Li Shishi was that kind of woman, but I can't be sure she wasn't either
. After all, there are very few virgins left in the world; there's no reason for you to bump into one in Martyrs' Park out of 1.2 billion people
. Besides, you're nearsighted; even if you stumble upon a gun, you might not get hit squarely.

I was truly distraught by this.

That fixed iron chair, with its dull, lifeless appearance, felt as cold as a red-hot iron, utterly
devoid of the lingering, intoxicating scent of the previous night. No trace. It was as if nothing had ever happened; existence had ceased to exist.
In my melancholy, I began to doubt whether Martyrs' Park had truly existed last night, whether I had really made love with a woman there?!
And, a virgin?!

Historical experience tells us that the issue of virginity has always been crucial. The question of whether Ye Qun was a
virgin almost caused a political crisis; her husband, Lin Biao, had to issue a certificate to the Central Committee of the Communist Party, proving that
Comrade Ye Qun was a virgin when she married Comrade Lin Biao, a genuine and undeniable virgin. Comparatively
, my situation was much worse. Lin Biao could at least, or rather, dared to, confidently (?) write down
his wife Ye Qun's testimony, but I couldn't prove it to this woman named Li Shishi. She herself became the sole authority to determine
her virginity; she had the final say.

I struggled with this for a considerable period, finally deciding to set the issue aside—a typical
diplomatic practice in handling international disputes. So, Li Shishi and I entered the couple's box at the laser cinema. She
seemed impatient, lifting her skirt and plopping down on my lap. I suddenly realized she wasn't wearing anything
under ; she seemed to have come prepared. A vague sense of unease briefly crossed my mind, but
it was instantly wiped away by her delicate, nimble hands—hands that could unsettle the soul. The opening credits were still
slowly when a cacophony of gasps and moans washed over me,
like an old-fashioned carriage rumbling overhead as I passed under a bridge. We were both engrossed. However…
Afterwards, she cried silently, her tears flowing like a torrent after a sudden downpour. In the years that followed, this became a symbolic marker of
her climax; without tears, there was no joy.

I think the 30 yuan ticket wasn't a waste.

We were inspired by this joy, or the pursuit of joy, like a high-performance photocopier,
tirelessly replicating this joy at every possible time and place,
stamping each document with the laser-engraved mark of a mad bee and butterfly. Joy consumed our days, and days rejected
our existence; we all felt like we were going mad.

Strangely, apart from the first two times, which I remember relatively clearly, I
have no concrete memory of the subsequent experiences. The time, place, and circumstances are all indistinguishable;
the formulaic flirting actions, the dark environment consistent with behavioral psychology, the absence of any language… the formula
overlaps each act of intercourse into a vague, ambiguous impression, indistinguishable. The pleasure in retrospect therefore seems highly
questionable, like smoke drifting by. Yet we still desperately want and be wanted by each other, as if there's never enough,
never an end. Life goes on, so does the wanting.

I instinctively feel this is a big question: what are we chasing? Pleasure or illusion? I worry we
'll be hurt by this pleasure or this pursuit. But this is just a fleeting thought in moments of clarity or idleness, like the occasional pang of conscience in a
heinous criminal; it's quickly pierced and shattered by rising desire. Perhaps men are destined to
climb on women's bodies, and women are destined to scream beneath men's. This hasty
and chaotic life of wild sex makes us unusually eager to share a bed; we're willing to unite in bed
, tense yet civilized and orderly, towards the destiny of marriage and family.

I believe the bed will prove to me: sex isn't entirely without conscience.

I sit listlessly at my desk, troubled by a jumble of thoughts, the rising and falling ideas overwhelming the
tranquil and pleasant fragrance. Evening quietly arrives in the city, just like my mood, casting a wide net. The street outside the window gradually
dimmed and blurred, the ambiguous scene like a dream from the previous night, too painful to touch. The streetlights had not yet come on.
The rain that began last night still lingered outside the window, like a heartbroken and sorrowful woman in her boudoir, tears streaming down her face.
Plums ripened suddenly in the Jiangnan land, as if brewing a bittersweet feeling, hanging dripping from
the branches of the season.

I was still pacing on the edge of a dream when Li Shishi quickly spread the quilt on the bed; I knew she had been impatient
for a long time . I had been staying by the carpenter's side whenever I had free time, giving him on-the-spot guidance with the blueprints,
and hadn't moved an inch from my bed. Li Shishi gritted her teeth inwardly, but was helpless, so she threatened to give me
a hard time in bed. She had finally waited for this day, and she was sure I would get my comeuppance.

In fact, I hesitated to share a bed with her. I said let's wait until it's varnished.

No, no, she said, "When will that be?"

I said it would only take three to five days, maybe a week.

She said, "Why do you have to varnish it before using it?"

I said, "That would feel better."

She said, "Isn't it great? The fresh scent of new wood, it's...that...it's...it

's...that...it's...it's...it's...it's...sexy, right? The scent of new wood stimulates sexual desire?"

She laughed, "You're full of ulterior motives." She hit me with a pillow, I dodged, and she then pounced on me onto the bed,
covering me with a blanket.

When I freed myself, she was completely naked, her heavy breasts hanging prominently in front of me, like
an angry autumn. Her hands were gripping me from below, her eyes like two swimming fish, swaying and wriggling in my eyes,
looking very cunning. "

Come on," she said, "I'll help you undress." "Come

on," she said, "I'll help you undress." "

Wait a minute," I said, "There's one more problem."

"Problem?" She said, "I don't see any other problem." "

Don't you think the blanket is too narrow and too short?" I said, "We need to order a new blanket to match the large bed."

"That's for later," she said, "It's summer now."

While she was talking, she didn't stop working. I was inspired.

So, we rolled around on this vast new bed, struggling back and forth all night, trying to
reap the rewards of our dreams. We fell asleep in the morning. When we woke up, it was already afternoon, dusk. We
hastily to fill our stomachs, then, full of energy, we both went back to bed, continuing our familiar
story. The climax of the story was brief, quickly slipping into the end, but the sweat-soaked, sticky ending felt long.

Finally, it was over, and we lay sprawled on the bed, catching our breath, like two heaps of mud soaked by the rain. I rolled to the edge of the bed,
far away from her, and she tried to wrap her thigh around my waist, but we didn't connect.

She said this bed had its advantages and disadvantages.

I said, "Let's not talk about the advantages, let's talk about the disadvantages."

She said, "It's like drawing a Chu River in the middle, separating us into this side and that side, never to meet again."

I said, "That makes sense."

Something seemed to stir in my heart, but I didn't know if it was related to some hidden secret.

For a whole week, we stayed indoors, living a life of utter darkness in bed.
We looked like ghosts, almost unrecognizable. My eyes were sunken, and I grew thinner by the day; I worried
I was getting sick. The woman didn't look any better; her hair was disheveled, her eyes were dark, and her face was haggard, yet her enthusiasm grew ever
stronger, as if she were enjoying it immensely. She lay naked on the bed, like a large "
X" painted with a broom dipped in lime water. She exclaimed, "What a decadent bed!"

I curled up in the blanket, feeling cold. I didn't bother to reply, thinking, "I've grasped
the essence of the bed; is it universally true?" I suddenly found my initial confidence when designing this bed
utterly unbelievable.

Suddenly, she pulled back my blanket, pointed to the large mirror on the opposite wall, and said, "What is excessive indulgence?
Look at the specimens in there."

I saw myself in the mirror, and I never imagined my naked body could be so repulsive. It was the ugliest thing I had ever seen
in my life . Frustration and shame surged through me, my face turning bright red.
I frantically grabbed my pants, thinking, "Damn shameless! We're human!"

Li Shishi seized the opportunity, climbing onto me and hoisting my pants high over one of her bare legs,
like a drooping wine flag. The woman said, "Sir, would you like a drink?" Her alluring appearance was captivating.
I must admit, her body aroused me again. She felt my erection in her abdomen and exclaimed, "Hey,
hydraulic jack!"

I flipped her over and immediately entered her. At that moment, the cacophony of the city outside the window surged like a tidal wave, and
I felt deeply troubled. I didn't know how long this life of drifting along in bed would last. I only felt
that my initial expectations of the bed were ridiculous; it had neither brought me the joy of a bountiful harvest nor proven that sex was ethical
. I felt that this bed had no conscience at all.

That large bed, the one that was finally completed—I've told you some fragmented stories about it before. I've also told you that it
cost me all my savings and I was planning to continue spending money on it, painting it into my ideal wedding bed. Yes
, a wedding bed. I poured almost all my energy into creating my wedding bed; the process of creating it was a
process . A wedding bed and a bed are not the same concept. But it didn't bring me the joy of a bountiful harvest;
it merely became a mere bed beneath Li Shishi and me. Li Shishi impatiently
conflated the wedding bed with the bed itself, referring to the large bed I had painstakingly built.

I realized, with a clear head, that a three-meter bed was still just a bed,
on the night Li Shishi and I received our marriage certificate and became legally recognized husband and wife. It had only been a week and two days since the bed was completed, but it was already
far from new. We were painting it daily with sticky bodily fluids, causing the new wood to age rapidly, becoming moldy and mottled.

That night, Li Shishi seemed to sense something was wrong, sniffing and saying, "There seems to be a foul smell."

I said, "It's the smell of this bed."

She said, "That's not right, it's a new bed, why does it smell so bad?" I said, "

The smell of a coffin or history."

That night, our lovemaking was unsuccessful.

In the days that followed, the quality of our sex life deteriorated rapidly, becoming inconsistent, like fishing one day and drying nets thirty days a week. I was like
a lazy bum from a people's commune, while we were newlyweds, and Li Shishi could only watch helplessly.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked.

"I'm tired," I said.

"I don't believe I can't even keep it up once or twice a week," she said. "

I'm tired of this," I said. "

How could that be?" she said. "

I don't know," I said. "

You're not cheating on me, are you?" she said. "They say a wife is not as good as a concubine, a concubine is not as good as a mistress, a mistress is not as good as a prostitute, a prostitute is not as good as...

masturbation," I interrupted her, "Go ahead and masturbate.

You're shameless." She cried.

I looked at her, powerless.

She began to try every possible way to stimulate me. As for the specific methods, for well-known
reasons, I can't describe them here. I can only say that every woman has this instinct, and when pushed to the limit, it will be fully
unleashed . They are geniuses in this area, they have plenty of methods. If you don't believe me, you can go home and direct your wife.
Conversely, whether men are the same, I dare not say, because I am a man myself, but I lack the ability to explore and develop this
aspect .

Li Shishi's methods gradually stopped working, and she also gradually lost interest. "

Do you have desire?" she said. "

My desire is bulging," I said. "

You don't really not want to do this anymore, do you?" she said. "

It's not that I don't want to, it's that I want to do it to death, I think about it all the time," I said.

"If you want to, why do you always back out at the last minute?" she asked.

"I'm sick," I told her.

"Should we paint this bed?" she asked.

"Oh no," I said, "it's unnecessary. It doesn't matter whether we paint it or not. A bed is just a place for men and women to have sex."

I should say that at this time, when faced with Li Shishi's provocations, I still felt aroused and
could still be interested in sexual activity from time to time. It's just that I couldn't last long and couldn't get an erection. At least, I always approached it with
a spirit of effort and didn't shy away from the passionate Li Shishi. Whenever Li Shishi couldn't reach the end and showed
a look of despair, I still couldn't bear to leave her alone and always tried to help her to the end. Sex has no conscience, but people
can't be without morality. But undoubtedly, my inner weariness grew day by day. Fortunately, before this feeling reached its final
breaking point, Li Shishi's belly grew big, and for the sake of the fetus, everyone had to put down their work in bed. I
breathed a huge sigh of relief.

To be honest, lately I've started to doubt God's motives for creating humans. I think God's intentions are sinister;
why would He make humans carry the cross of sex throughout the world? He's harming us, not loving us.
Of course , this assumes first and foremost that God's creation of us wasn't just empty talk.

I finally stopped having sex with Li Shishi after her miscarriage.

Three months into our marriage, she was already eight months pregnant, which I found strange. Even
counting the time on the bench in Martyrs' Park, it was only five months. I asked her how to solve this math problem. She said the doctor must have miscalculated
, it's common. I asked the doctor if the due date was wrong, and the doctor replied
curtly When she was eight months pregnant, Li Shishi suddenly said she was in terrible pain, and that she was about to
give birth. She said, "Isn't it nine months?" I said, "How come you miscalculated by a month again?" I took her to the hospital and
went home alone; the house was deathly silent.

The fetus was pulled out halfway and then stopped breathing. To deliver the baby, the doctor made
extensive cuts to Li Shishi's genitals and stitched her up with dozens of stitches—a procedure called a surgical delivery. This was recorded in her delivery report, which I accidentally read a week
later when I picked her up from the hospital.

Li Shishi recovered quickly; before her postpartum confinement was even over, she was traveling the world.

Two months later, seeing that I still wouldn't touch her, she reverted to her old ways. She tried to initiate contact, and I sternly stopped her. "

What's wrong?" she asked.

"I feel like you're a bloody mess down there," I said. "How can I have any desire left?"

Later, Li Shishi finally realized that what I said was the truth, my true feeling, and asked me to see a doctor.
She said a psychologist who had studied in the United States had come to the Second Affiliated Hospital of Huacheng Medical University. I flew into a rage and
smashed a color TV—the most valuable item in our house.

Li Shishi then cried, crying uncontrollably.

Seeing that she had cried enough, I said, "Let's get a divorce."

Hearing this, she trembled, unable to hold back her tears, and even forgot to cry. I steeled myself, slammed the door, and stormed
out. I wandered aimlessly through the streets of Huacheng for most of the night, discovering that everywhere was filled with singing and dancing, and people were roaming the streets.
The atmosphere was comical. I didn't understand why I couldn't live well, why life was so difficult.

When I got home, Li Shishi was curled up asleep on the sofa, her face streaked with tired tears, her hair disheveled,
and she was occasionally sobbing in her sleep. I felt dizzy, but I told myself to hold on, there was no turning back.
I hardened my heart and went to bed alone, fully clothed, and didn't fall asleep until very late. The nightmare was like an endless
TV series, haunting me all night.

When I opened my eyes the next morning, I saw Li Shishi standing quietly on the edge of the bed, silently watching me,
her eyes dull and lifeless, like two black holes through which the wind howled. Her expression was one of utter despair. I opened my mouth,
but couldn't say a word. I avoided her direct gaze and reached for a cigarette from the bedside table.

She brought me an ashtray and then calmly said, "Don't talk about divorce yet, let's separate for a while and see." I said, "It's good that you're here, so you can calmly

find a good one to marry."

She bit her lip, remaining silent, a flicker of fire in her eyes that quickly died down. "

The divorce is inevitable," I said, "it's only a matter of time."

"I will," she said.

She sighed softly, got up, and picked up a travel bag from the corner; she had already packed everything.

Reaching the door, she turned back to look at me. I felt like I was going to cry. I couldn't let myself fall into this state of mind, so
I quickly shook my head and said, "One last question."

"Go ahead," she looked at me calmly, her expression clear. "

Was the one you gave me a virgin?" I said. "

Do you really care that much about that?" she said.

"Tell me," I said.

"Theoretically," she said.

"What do you mean by that?" I said. "

I tore it myself," she said. "I was holding a secretly circulated handwritten copy, that infamous
'Heart of a Young Girl,' and I tore it. It was in the second year of junior high." "

I understand," I said. "I've read 'Heart of a Young Girl' too, it doesn't seem that impressive." "Okay, I'm asking you,
whose child is it?"

"Child," she said. "What child?"

She pretended to be serious and said, "The child you gave birth to, the child you had three months ago at the Second Affiliated Hospital."

"Wasn't that when I was hospitalized for my appendix removal?" she said. "You've been by my bedside the whole time."

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Damn it," she said, "didn't you say you didn't want children? When did I have children? I think you've gone mad
."

The consensus to separate was reached in the early morning. Li Shishi calmly picked up her travel bag, her face showing reluctance or
indifference. When she reached the door, she suddenly turned around and met my
gaze relationship. She then threw down her bag, called my name, and like a tearful little hen,
flapped her wings and threw herself into my arms. We hugged each other like an egg, and then kissed goodbye.

If things had been a little more romantic, I might have carried her bags and seen her out. Walking down the street, we both coincidentally
discovered a restaurant that caters to divorced couples. So we went in like first lovers and had
a final dinner together, each spoonful tenderly tasting the other's fork, reliving the love that had once vanished, and
putting on a show of what is called love. Afterwards, perhaps you'll realize that you're still the best. At this point, saying
goodbye again would be illogical and absurd; going home together is the only logical thing to do.

This would leave the rest of the novel without any development, which the author naturally wouldn't allow. The author
didn't flirting; the painstaking effort was simply to leave a seed of warmth,
laying the groundwork for the remarriage after the blank period in the following chapter. The climax isn't the remarriage; the climax is filling that blank period. During this phase, the woman
or man will pay a heavy price to find love again, ultimately finding "you" and "me" again, thus bending down to pick up the old marriage
once more . There's a trash can nearby; the reader spits a thick wad of phlegm in it—
damn, that's satisfying. The novel thus pleases everyone involved.

But Li Shishi doesn't do it that way. "Let's continue living," she says.

After agreeing on the separation, Li Shishi says, "Let's do it one last time."

"I'm afraid I can't," she says. "

You can," Li Shishi says.

Wearing her pajamas, Li Shishi didn't undress and get into bed as usual. She simply turned over, bracing
herself against the edge of the bed, without removing her pajamas. The pajamas were made of silk, imitating antique Hunan embroidery, with ancient
patterns that were indistinguishable from human or animal figures. I had seen the same one on the Han Dynasty female corpse unearthed at Mawangdui. The staff forbade me to
touch it; the corpse and its pajamas were now soaking in a preservative solution, giving
the impression of life adrift through eternity.

Li Shishi knew me well, knowing that this fabric easily aroused my desire. I'm not really interested in naked
women , but of all the fabrics, only the one on the Han Dynasty female corpse could excite me so much. The silk pajamas
made the flesh more exposed, making the exposure more conspicuous. Once I touched it, a
soft, slippery sensation that could make the soul slip through my fingertips and palms, flowing along my limbs into my veins, coursing through my body, permeating every
pore. It allowed me to touch a certain burning essence of the woman's flesh. Whenever I
was with Li Shishi, who was wearing this kind of fabric, I would start to reminisce about the Han Dynasty female corpse. Once her image and voice appeared
before my eyes, I would reach climax.

So, the clever Li Shishi, as always, didn't take off her nightgown this time, but merely ripped off her corset.
(At this moment, some breeze must have been blowing in from somewhere, billowing the nightgown.) The nightgown
was in a flowing, two-in-one state, naturally, there were no more obstructions underneath.
The second met, her skirt was completely empty underneath. I even asked her if she wasn't cold without underwear. She said
no. I said, "Be careful not to catch a cold!" She wasn't afraid, saying that beauty comes at a price.

For her, letting the wind billow her bare buttocks and thighs without underwear was a kind of beauty. I used to like
women wearing those scarlet panties (whether that's really true, I can't say for sure, after all, no woman
has ever shown me that), but now I can only tolerate Li Shishi's aesthetic taste, even though
I used to feel so uneasy about women not wearing panties under their skirts, often feeling like a shameful rat. Anyway, as far as I can remember,
whenever Li Shishi decided to blackmail me (she controlled the timing, place, and atmosphere perfectly), her
skirt or pajamas were always empty underneath; she always said it made it easier for me to get straight to the point.

I've never understood what her so-called topic has to do with me, and I've been trying to figure it out.
No results.

Now, Li Shishi is lying on the edge of the bed, her buttocks sticking out. The wind lifts her nightgown, her ample buttocks appearing and disappearing,
like a plump, white full moon walking on the edge of thin clouds. I should be excited, but I'm not. I ca
n't muster any desire; my heart is as calm as still water.

This is the last time, let's do it. I mentally urge myself with an extreme voice, but nothing happens.
I stand behind her, looking suspicious.

Still haven't made up your mind? She says impatiently, "Stop hesitating. While she's still your wife, let's do it."

I'm not Genghis Khan, I sigh and say, "I don't know how to bend a bow and shoot an eagle." "

Stop dawdling," she says, "My hands are numb from lying here."

"Don't lie there! Who told you to lie there?" I say, "Do you know what you look like?"

"A dog," she says, "a bitch."

That's it—dog, bitch. I'm suddenly aroused.

I am a dog. She turns her head and says triumphantly to me, "Your bitch, let's do it..."

So I pounced on the dog like a dog.

For the rest of the story, you can read *Jin Ping Mei* or other vernacular novels. Don't rush to open the book;
first, brush off the dust that reeks of decay and mold—that's better for your mental and physical health.
Okay, just a short passage is enough; any more repetition will make you nauseous.

^Niu Kuang We make love with the frenzy of animals.

Dogs don't make love at night, she said, we make love in the morning.

From Li Shishi's panting and shouting, we clearly see her train struggling to rumble towards
its final destination .

Up to this point, the novel seems to be continuing smoothly. But I have to tell you,
the novel stops here. I imagine you'll be very dissatisfied, complaining that I've ruined your reading pleasure. I
know you were expecting to reach a climax with Li Shishi in a chaotic and hasty manner, but I'm telling you,
the novel just ends here.

I understand your anger, because as a reader myself, I've also been
greatly annoyed by those damningly obvious censorship or other forms of shoddy workmanship and deception. I know
that declaring it over here is unwise, even intolerable. But I also ask you to understand me. I'm not
omitting anything; it's simply that Huacheng doesn't have novels, only life, even though life in Huacheng is itself a novel.
Because the people of Huacheng always live in fiction and imagination, and fiction and imagination are, in fact, one of the essences of novels.
Novels are fake, but life is real. The people of Huacheng live their lives within the novels of their own lives. Naturally,
Li Shishi also live a novel-like life within life in Huacheng.

To reiterate, life isn't in novels, but novels can exist in life. Life in novels is fake, but
novels in life are real. The people of Huacheng live specifically within the novels of their own lives, not the life within the novels
. Therefore, the people of Huacheng live a real novel-like life, not a fake novel-like life. As non-Huacheng
residents, you must now accept reading about the lives of the people of Huacheng. Who says I'm from Huacheng? I'll only
show you the life of Huacheng people, not your novels.

Right now, the train is struggling towards its destination.

I think the delirious Li Shishi is about to make a mistake. It's always like this. "I want you, I want you," she gasped,
groaning, and confusedly said, "Come on, come on, this is your home..." She repeatedly told me that
my home was down there, and then she would desperately discover that the train was stuck and wouldn't move. She was so anxious she couldn't even
cry , so she could only desperately pound the bed or dig her nails into me. It's always like this, without exception.

"This is your home, go home!" The moment she blurted out, the mechanical movement on my side stopped; the crank-connecting rod mechanism malfunctioned
, and it stopped moving. The train stopped. She had no choice but to seize the time and desperately try to move herself. She knew that
in two more seconds, I would completely collapse, and she was only 10 meters from the finish line. So, she used
the momentum to make a final sprint, with a death-defying expression.

I couldn't help but laugh; the tide receded before it even rose. She was only five meters away, but she couldn't reach it any further,
hanging there like a lost lamb in the wind. She finally cried, tears welling silently. This was the only time she
cried when it wasn't during an climax. Now, I saw she was truly heartbroken. "

The last time you won't give me any," she sobbed, asking, "Why?

Why?"

Whenever she was obsessed with playing house, my attention would drift away from work, drawn to home. Where is home?
Where is the home I'm searching for? I wandered further and further, but I still couldn't see home. I didn't know what
home was. So I was engulfed by the darkness of confusion, powerless to break free. I stood there, lost in deep thought, naturally
forgetting to see Li Shishi off.

At such special moments, talking about playing house was Li Shishi's habit, and so was my habit; the habitual
intercourse always ended in failure.

Li Shishi was furious, and I felt deeply ashamed. Li Shishi didn't know where the problem lay, and I didn't know
how it could be like this.

I think, at this moment, you can smell that familiar, lingering fragrance again. Okay, let's address
the issue of the lingering fragrance now; I consider it a legacy problem.

[The End]

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My Sexual Encounters with Li Shishi

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