First love is hard to forget.

This post was last edited by hbnwuhbn on 2017-7-22 07:10.

It was a hot summer day. I received a call from my father saying that my mother had been hospitalized with atrophic gastritis.

I rushed to the hospital from out of town. Seeing my mother's painful and emaciated face, I felt terrible. After learning about the situation, I felt a little relieved. Then I looked around the ward. There were four beds in the small space. The distinctive smell of hospital disinfectant mixed with the smell of human sweat, giving it a very stale feel.

I had no choice but to leave the ward with my father and say, "Why didn't you find a less crowded room?" My father looked helpless and said, "This is already pretty good. Didn't you realize it's an extra bed? The other people in the room are unhappy. The hospital said they'd adjust the room as soon as a bed becomes available, saying someone will be discharged the day after tomorrow and will go directly to another ward after surgery." It seemed we had no other choice. My father went back to the ward, and I took out a cigarette, lit it, and after only a couple of puffs, a nurse came over and looked at me sternly, saying, "Smoking isn't allowed here. Didn't you see the sign on the wall?" I immediately apologized like a grandson, and as I walked out, she was still muttering to herself, but I had no mood to pay attention.

After finishing my cigarette outside and returning to the ward, the small space had been filled with two more nurses in white coats, performing my mother's daily routine check-up. I glanced at the two of them, and immediately one of them, standing at the back giving instructions, caught my attention.

After carefully checking, I still had some doubts, but also a bit of relief. With so many people around, I didn't want to be reckless. What if it wasn't her? Wouldn't the people in the ward laugh at me? So I went outside and waited at the door, my mind drifting back to our high school days together.

Her name was Liu Yunhua, and we were in the same sports class. Our class in high school brought together students from all the school's sports teams in the same grade, mainly because we often went out to compete. The school had one of these classes in each grade for easier management, and students from other classes called it the sports class, which we were proud of.

Another thing that made students from other classes jealous was the good relationships between the boys and girls in our class, but this only applied to those in the same sport.

We were both on the volleyball team, the difference being the gender.

Because of the frequent competitions, the boys did the heavy work like carrying luggage, and the girls washed our sweaty sports uniforms during competitions. Since high school competitions were usually held by both boys and girls, we would go out together.

I don't know if it came from above or was invented by some teacher, but to prevent early romantic relationships, teachers weren't allowed to selectively help each other; it was only allowed between players with the same number. That meant I was number 4, the setter on the team, so when we went out, I could only help the other female setter, number 4,

on the girls' team. She also washed my gym clothes. We were a pair who helped each other. Luckily, she was considered one of the prettiest girls on the team. Middle school was indeed a very memorable time. The budding attraction between boys and girls, the feelings from spending so much time together, and the growing curiosity and understanding of sex led to intimate behaviors that were both too risky and eagerly anticipated.

Just as I was thinking about that beautiful time I spent with her, the door opened, and two nurses came out. I tentatively called out, "Liu Yunhua!" Her turning around confirmed that I hadn't mistaken her for someone else.

She and the nurse both turned to look at me. She called my name in a somewhat disbelieving but certain tone. I nodded, and she became very excited, saying, "What are you doing here?" I said, "My mother is hospitalized here." "Which bed?" she asked eagerly.

"The one you just checked," I said, a hint of helplessness in my voice.

She replied, "Really?" I knew it was just an instinctive response. The nurse then said, "Head Nurse, I'll go now." She nodded at me, then walked away somewhat apologetically. Only then did I realize who the nurse was—the one who wouldn't let me smoke.

Liu Yunhua watched her leave and said, "You're not leaving, are you? I'll go do my rounds first, then I'll come find you later. Come to my place for dinner." She gave me a look that made my heart race before turning and leaving. I clearly saw two red clouds rise on her fair face.

I walked out of the ward building and, like many other smokers among the caregivers, lit a cigarette in the courtyard. I leaned against a tree, reminiscing about her from ten years ago in middle school.

Back then, she struck me as kind and thoughtful. Almost every day after a competition, she would take my sweaty sportswear to wash it, and especially after all the competitions, she would take my shoes to wash and dry them before giving them back to me.

Anyone who loves sports knows what it smells like for a guy's shoes and socks after exercising, but she never mentioned it. For a while after graduation, I often thought of her, especially when I was in college and the school team was away competing. I would think of her when I was doing my laundry.

Now I know I loved her. When we broke up after graduation, we were both very attached to each other. Unfortunately, she was the daughter of a local military officer, and I lost contact with her after graduation.

I returned to the ward, and my father was looking for me. He said the head nurse had changed my room. I was wondering why there was suddenly a room available when a nurse said the room was ready and I should go over. I quickly grabbed my things and went over. She was in the room directing the caregivers to make the bed.

Later, she told me that military hospitals reserve a certain number of beds for military personnel, and they also reserve regular rooms. The room assigned to my mother was a room for officers who regularly recuperate, but it wasn't recuperation time now, so my mother was moved in first.

Only then did I realize that the head nurses of each department in the hospital had a lot of power, and that all bed arrangements were decided by them. Just as I was about to express my gratitude, she said, "You know, the room fees are quite high. You can stay here for now. You have surgery the day after tomorrow, right? This will be better, and your caregiver will have a place to rest." Looking at her flushed face from the heat and her busy work, I really wanted to hug and kiss her. She looked at me and said, "I get off work at six. I'll come and call you later." After saying that, she politely said goodbye to my parents and left.

My parents looked at me strangely, not expecting me to have such power. I told them it was entirely thanks to my classmate's help, and they stopped saying anything. But my mother said with a regretful tone, "This Xiao Liu is really good." I suddenly felt a strong sense of jealousy and an indescribable feeling, a little sour. I knew that seeing her had rekindled my love for her, and I was even more certain that I had loved her.

Since there was no surgery, my mother went home for dinner that evening. The new ward had a bathroom and didn't require anyone to accompany her, so I easily went to Liu Yunhua's house.

Her home was in the hospital's staff housing, not far from the wards, only about a hundred meters away. Looking at it, I couldn't help but marvel at the high status of the military in any country. Urban land is scarce these days, yet the military possesses considerable land.

There were two neat rows of single-story houses, each row with more than a dozen rows. From the outside, the houses didn't look particularly impressive, but upon closer inspection, I realized each household had a courtyard of over thirty square meters. Going inside, I was even more surprised by the size of the rooms. She told me they were all the same—one bedroom and one living room. I saw that the living room alone was over twenty square meters, which is rare for single-story houses, demonstrating the considerable size of the buildings.

She invited me inside while she cooked in the small kitchen in the yard. I said, "Don't bother cooking, let's eat out. You've helped me so much, let me treat you." She looked at me and said, "It's alright, I've already prepared lunch, it'll be ready in a bit." I remembered the photo of the two of us hanging on the wall in the room and couldn't help but ask, "What time does your husband get off work?" "He's been transferred, and I'll be leaving soon too. My parents went there last year, so it's like returning to our hometown. His father handled the arrangements." She spoke while skillfully working, it seemed she cooked often.

"What does he do?" I couldn't help but ask curiously.

"He used to work in the political department of the hospital, but after being transferred, he went to a government office." "Don't you have any children?" I couldn't see any signs of children in the room. " We

're thinking of having them after we move there, what about you?" she asked, turning back as she worked.

I didn't know what to say, so I said somewhat sadly, "I'm not married yet." For some reason, she dropped the spatula on the floor. I saw that she was a little flustered, and to cover it up, I said, "Go watch TV first. You're making me uncomfortable." Dinner was simple, but I ate it very happily, probably because she made it.

After dinner, I helped her tidy up and leave. She made me a cup of tea before sitting down. I couldn't help but look at her in her military uniform. To be honest, she looked very good in it. Because of the heat and the fact that the summer uniform wasn't thin, her forehead was covered in sweat. She turned on the air conditioner and sat down next to me, turning slightly to look at me. "Tell me about yourself," she said, "how have you been these past few years?" I took out a cigarette and gestured for it. She took out an ashtray from under the coffee table. I lit it and said, "There's not much to say. After graduating from university, I found a job at a company. It's been pretty uneventful." Suddenly, a thought popped into my head, and I jokingly said, "I just missed you a lot when I was in university." "Liar! If you missed me, why didn't you write to me?" she said, her expression firmly convinced that I was lying.

"Of course I wrote! After graduation, I wrote to the address you gave me, but it was your sister who replied, saying you went to some kind of technical school affiliated with the military, and she gave me an address, so I wrote there. Then I heard nothing. I thought you didn't want to reply, or that you didn't want me intruding into your life." I felt a pang of sadness as I recalled waiting for a reply.

"Really, it must have been a misunderstanding. I was in the technical school at first, but then a nursing school opened, basically for children of military personnel, so I switched schools. I only attended the technical school for a week." She said, somewhat sympathetic, but also a little embarrassed.

Seeing her guilty expression, I said, "It seems like fate has arranged it; it means we're destined to be apart." I said lightly, but inside I felt a deep sadness.

She turned to me again and asked, "Why aren't you married? Are you trying to be trendy and stay single?" I don't know why I said that. Maybe I was shifting the blame for losing contact to her, or maybe there was more regret involved. I said, "I've been waiting for you, hoping for an unexpected reunion." She was visibly startled, and a complex emotion welled up in her eyes. I couldn't fully understand it at once, but I knew she was moved; she completely believed me.

For a moment, we gazed at each other, and her eyes began to fill with tears. A surge of tenderness rose within her, instantly transforming into a turbulent tide of emotion. I couldn't help but move and grasp her hand.

She just looked at me so sincerely, without the slightest resistance. I couldn't resist pulling her into my arms. Unexpectedly, she burst into tears, clinging tightly to me, sobbing on my shoulder, trying hard to control her voice, her body trembling involuntarily.

I held her mature, voluptuous body in my arms. Her unique feminine scent filled my sensitive olfactory organs, and I couldn't help but soothingly stroke her back, feeling her body temperature and her constant twitching.

My body was changing; a strong impulse began to surge within me. I grabbed her shoulders and pushed her away, looking closely at her beautiful face, which was streaked with tears. Slowly, I pressed my burning lips to her moving lips.

She trembled as if electrocuted, but made no attempt to refuse or show any reluctance. Instead, just like in high school, she slightly parted her moist lips, and that familiar scent completely overwhelmed my sense of smell and taste.

After the kiss, I gently wiped away the tears on her face with my fingers. She shyly avoided my gaze, lowered her head, and said, "Do you hate me?" "No! It's not your fault." I placed her head on my shoulder, my nose inhaling the scent that fueled my rising desire. One hand involuntarily moved to the skin exposed by the slit in her shirt below her neck.

She nervously gripped my hand, and I pulled her closer. She whispered, "Do you still love me?" A woman's vanity in expecting the man she loves to love her is unmistakable.

I kissed her forehead and said, "Yes!" She immediately released my hand, placing it on my waist and wrapping her arms around it. I understood what she meant, but I suddenly regained my senses, thinking not to ruin what should have been her happy family. My hand, however, reached inside, stopping at the place I had visited ten years ago, a place that seemed so small then.

My hand touched her smooth, soft yet firm breasts, cupping the nipples and areolas, using the warmth of my palm to stimulate her, feeling the softness of her breasts and comparing them to the breasts I remembered.

She was, after all, a mature woman; the fullness and smoothness no longer held the firmness and youthful charm of her younger self. Her sensitive nipples were already resisting the embrace of my hand.
Watch alone www online HD //alliedfinancialgroupinc.net">High-quality uncensored Japanese and Korean domestic unblocked avf="http://kateelliottstyle.com">High-quality domestic stolen self-produced online moviesbr/> She suddenly hugged me tightly, saying something, but my rationality stopped me from going any further. I stopped at the hardening protrusion and flicked it with my fingers. She raised her closed eyes, her slightly parted lips moving expectantly.

I began to feel ashamed of myself. I couldn't continue. This would ruin her family. It was too late, and the neighbors would gossip. My sense of morality and a vanity that made her feel more perfect as a man made me back down.

Facing her slightly confused and disappointed eyes, I said, "I don't want you to be talked about by the neighbors. Besides, your nervousness shows you're not ready yet. I love you and I want you to accept me in a completely relaxed state." Tears welled up in her eyes again. I wiped them away for her while saying, "Calm down. In a few days, we'll find an opportunity to reminisce about our high school days." She nodded gently and said, "Are you leaving?" I didn't answer her directly, but said casually, "Your work is too tiring. You should rest early. It'll be inconvenient for you if it gets too late." Stepping into the cool moonlight, I let out the inexplicable feeling that had been weighing on my heart. I started to wonder if I should give up. The impulsive physical changes I still felt showed that I loved her. Why should I give up? If I persisted, she wouldn't refuse.

My mother's surgery went very smoothly. That night, she stayed with me in the ward, carefully helping me with things I didn't know how to do. Every now and then, she would wipe my mother's dry lips with a damp gauze, telling me that patients could only eat after passing gas.

As dawn approached, seeing that my mother was breathing again, she said she would leave for a while. I thanked her and saw her off, and she said a little annoyed, "If you keep doing this, I won't talk to you anymore." Looking at her slightly red eyes, I felt a pang of indescribable emotion as I watched her care for my mother all night like a daughter-in-law.

She came again just before the hospital closed, carrying freshly cooked porridge, telling me how to feed my mother, not to give her too much at once, etc., saying she would come back after her rounds.

My mother is recovering very well, and my parents keep praising her. I know she is a very good woman, but the regret in my heart grows stronger, as if I have lost something extremely precious.

A week after my mother's surgery, she no longer needed a caregiver. That evening, I asked my father to stay with her, saying I had other commitments. My parents also told me I'd worked hard these past few days and should relax. So, I booked a table that afternoon.

When I saw her, I expected her to dress up, but I was still a little surprised. I hadn't expected her to be so beautiful in casual clothes. How could I have never noticed her beauty before? I truly regretted it.

She seemed very relaxed during the meal, which relieved me a lot. During dinner, I told her I'd booked a room so we could chat undisturbed.

She didn't say anything about my arrangements, but looked at me earnestly, her shyness tinged with expectation, and said, "Are you sure I'm ready?" I looked at her, reached out and took her hand on the table, looking at her with affection and asking, "Aren't you ready?" She smiled and said, "I know that day was your own fault. Your mother's surgery was imminent, you weren't in the mood at all, and you didn't need to hide it. I understand. Don't forget I have a course called psychology." "You treated me like a patient? But you're right, but that day I was really more concerned about the trouble it would cause you if I stayed at your house." I said seriously.

She lowered her head, then raised it again, blushing and a little shy, and said, "I know you're a gentleman. That night, just like that night ten years ago, you used your self-control to protect me." Her words reminded me of the night ten years ago when we were about to part ways after graduating from middle school. We sat on the small hill opposite the school, looking at the campus with only a few scattered lights after the holidays. I held her, and she quietly leaned against me, enduring my hands exploring her youthful body.

After I repeatedly aroused her desire, each new and exciting sensation would cause her to involuntarily tilt her head back and kiss my face. Each time after her kiss, I would explore places I hadn't touched before, until my hand reached her most intimate spot. Only then would she snap out of her daze and grasp my hand, letting it linger on that warm, moist place.

She looked at me and said, "Do you love me?" "I've never loved you more than now," I told her sincerely, and kissed her passionately.

As she released my hand, she said nervously, "I'm a little scared." Then she hugged me tightly, no longer trying to stop me. Filled with curiosity and intense love, I let my fingers roam over her increasingly warm and virgin territory.

Just as she grasped my already aching member with her trembling, slender hand, guiding it closer to her untouched slit, I suddenly stopped as if summoned, and gently said to her, "No, I can't do this. I want to save it for the best moment." She instantly forgot her nervousness, hugged me tightly, and pressed her slightly immature breasts against my chest. I could feel her heartbeat. She pressed her lips to mine, sending her warm, slippery tongue, carrying her complete scent, into my mouth. I sucked hard, even biting.

Only when I felt the metallic taste of blood in my mouth did I release her tongue. She hummed and said, "You're too cruel." It was a voice full of utter willingness, without a trace of blame or dissatisfaction.

I gently cupped her face in my hands and said, "I'm sorry." She shook her head and said, "I'm fine. Hold me tight. Do you know how much I love you?" "What are you thinking about?" She squeezed my hand, drawing me back to the table. "Are you thinking about that night you didn't hurt me? Do you regret it?" I gripped her delicate hand even tighter, looking at her and saying, "I really regret it now, but not then. I want to go back to that night." She released my hand, tears welling in her bright eyes. Wiping them away with a tissue, she said, "Let's go. I want to cry in your arms." I didn't say anything, paid the bill, and left the restaurant.

On the way to the hotel, she said somewhat plaintively, "Why didn't you write to me sooner?" I didn't know how to answer. I had been with some classmates for the past few days, and by the time I wrote, it was too late.

Now, thinking back, I don't know if I truly loved her to the point of wanting to marry no one but her. But from seeing her again and the suffocating heartbeat I felt, and considering the other girlfriends I've had over the years, I know that deep down, I still can't let go of my feelings for her.

Upon entering the room, I couldn't resist embracing her, caressing her through her thin clothing. She looked up at me, her gaze making my heart clench. I kissed her fiercely, unbuttoning her dress as I did so.

She let me suckle forcefully, her arms wrapped around my neck, pushing her tongue into my mouth as far as she could. My hands caressed her bare, smooth, white skin as her dress fell down, and the kisses from my lips moved away, tracing paths along her cheeks, ears, neck, and shoulders.

Unhooking her bra, her two firm, round breasts were exposed. I grabbed one in each hand and took the nipple, no longer the small, pink one of ten years ago, into my mouth. She held my head tightly against her chest, letting out moans of unbearable pleasure.

As I kneaded her soft, smooth breasts in my hands, I used my other hand to pull down her panties. She grabbed my hand and said, "Can I wash up?" I looked up at her; her face was flushed with shame at being naked, but she didn't try to cover herself. I nodded, and she took a toiletries bag from her purse and went into the bathroom.

I sat on the bed, lit a cigarette, and felt my crotch shrink. I stood up and quietly walked to the bathroom door, a voyeuristic desire surging within me. I saw her through the crack in the door, and she saw me too. We smiled at each other in the mirror.

I simply pushed open the door. She was rinsing herself with the showerhead, saying, "I'm fine now, don't look anymore. You saw that ten years ago." Without thinking, I blurted out, "That's different." She visibly trembled, her movements slowing. Looking at me, she said, "You're disgusted?" I'd forgotten a woman's sensitivity in this regard; my casual remark made her feel guilty. Seeing the glistening tears welling in her eyes, I couldn't control my tenderness any longer and pulled her water-drenched body into my arms.

She hadn't expected this and quickly moved the showerhead away, but my clothes were still wet. Holding her, I said, "That's not what I meant. I meant your mature beauty is even more attractive to me. I won't be disgusted by you." Only when I held her on the bed, caressing her naked skin, did she stop crying in my arms. I kept wiping away her tears. She hugged me, pulling me to lie on top of her. She looked at me, and I looked at her. My hand slowly reached down. She showed no embarrassment, as if a wife was offering herself to her husband.

I began to explore and slide my fingers through the thick pubic hair covering her vulva. The soft, warm crevice slowly opened, and slippery fluid began to overflow from it. My fingers entered her now hot and wet body, and she began to moan. I whispered in her ear, "Can I go in?" She reached out and found my hard penis, gently guiding it. My throbbing glans touched the warm, wet crevice. I could no longer resist. The crevice that should have been opened ten years ago was finally being opened today.

I thrust into her already fully wet vagina with eagerness and a little roughness. As I entered, she moaned and hugged me tightly, as if trying to pull me into her body. She tried her best to spread her legs, gently twisting her body to adjust the angle of entry to the best. She held my head with one hand, her panting mouth facing me, and put her tongue into my mouth. She placed one hand on my lower back.

I began to thrust rapidly, and she immediately let out a shy, satisfied moan. I poured all the emotions I had accumulated for her over the past ten years into my penis, making it as hard as steel. The powerful thrusts made her moan and cry out incessantly.

She was starting to feel overwhelmed; every impact of our bodies made her cry out. She began to grip me tightly, telling me in a broken, trembling voice that she couldn't take it anymore and asked me to slow down.

I couldn't help but whisper in her ear, "Tell me, are you happy?" She nodded vigorously, telling me her feelings with passionate kisses. I slowed down, allowing her to savor the tingling, exhilarating pleasure of orgasm for a longer time.

After she calmed down for a while, I began to thrust again, sending her soaring higher. She cried out again. I wanted to give her even more unforgettable sensations, so I knelt up, spread and folded her legs, placed my hands under her knees, and brought her thighs as close to her body as possible.

I saw that the area where we were joined was wet as if washed, and her labia were a little red and swollen. I slowly went in and out, each time penetrating deeply. I watched her with her eyes closed in a daze, her face constantly shifting between pain and pleasure.

I took one of her hands and let her hug her leg. With my free hand, I parted her thick pubic hair and found her swollen clitoris under the cover of the hair. I pressed it with my thumb and rubbed it.

She cried out, "No, I can't take it anymore, please!" I ignored her and provoked her even more, saying, "Look at me." She opened her eyes briefly, then closed them again in shame when she met my gaze. I then rubbed her clitoris more vigorously and quickly, and she began to writhe uncontrollably.

Knowing I wanted her to open her eyes, she had no choice but to open them and look at me with eyes full of desire, which intensified her pleasure. I asked her, "Tell me you want me to have you like this forever." She looked at me with eyes full of intense love and said, "I am yours, I am willing, I am willing." After we both climaxed, we both felt exhausted. I held her and lay quietly. A man's lust is such that even if his fingers can still move, he will not let go of the woman's body so close to him. My fingers touched her hard nipples.

I don't know when, but I felt a stimulation from my penis. I opened my eyes and saw her gently wiping it with a towel, cleaning away the bodily fluids from both of us. Seeing that I was awake, she said a little embarrassedly,

"I woke you up." I knew that her profession made her a bit of a germaphobe, so I couldn't help but say, "Did you wake me up because you wanted to do something again?" She playfully slapped my leg and said, "No, you were acting like a madwoman just now, and it still hurts." "Let me see." I noticed that she was wearing a different color of underwear than before, and I knew she had prepared for this.

She immediately said nervously, "No, I just cleaned up." I knew she was washing towels when she went into the bathroom. I waited for her to come out and hugged her, saying, "You should take them off, otherwise you won't be able to wear them again later. You didn't bring a lot, did you?" She hit me shyly and said, "You're so annoying." Then she continued very gently, "Do you still want them? If you do, take them off." I stroked her under the covers. She closed her eyes, and I saw her frown every time I touched her vulva. I knew she was in pain.

I suddenly pulled back the covers and knelt between her legs. She said shyly and nervously, "No, don't look." I pressed her legs down and looked between her thighs and breasts, saying, "Ten years ago when I looked, you weren't ashamed. Now you feel ashamed." She looked helpless and said, "Look, everything I have is yours." After saying that, she closed her eyes and gently placed her hand on mine. I looked at her swollen labia and couldn't help but kiss them.

"No!" She sat up abruptly, startling me. I thought I had hurt her. She looked at me and said,

"Isn't it dirty? Don't do this." "You don't like this?" I thought her profession might be causing her to reject this kind of sex.

"No, don't you mind that it's dirty there?" She showed a guilty expression. I understood what she meant; she thought I might mind that she was no longer the innocent girl she was ten years ago.

I didn't want to explain too much. I showed her with my actions that I didn't care. I looked at her and slowly extended my tongue towards her vulva. She clearly felt my feelings, and her eyes revealed an irreparable guilt. She reached out and stroked my head, saying, "I'll do whatever you want, as long as you like it. I still love you the same way." I began to answer her with my actions. I parted her swollen labia. She trembled slightly, enduring the pain. I touched her red labia with the tip of my tongue, which were beginning to secrete glistening fluid. She arched her lower abdomen and cried out sensitively. I licked as gently as possible, giving her an unforgettable stimulation.

A few minutes later, she couldn't help but pull me up, saying, "Come on." I did as she asked, inserting my now-erect penis into her, and pulled her up so she was straddling my lap. I caressed her smooth back and buttocks, alternately licking and sucking her swollen nipples.

She wrapped her arms around my neck, her body rising and falling with my guidance, showering my forehead with kisses. I saw her frown occasionally, and I asked with pity, "What's wrong? Does it hurt?" She shook her head and said, "No, if I had known we would meet again, I would never have married. I would have saved myself for you." Tears streamed down her face.

After the breakup, I knew we were truly destined to be apart. I no longer considered worldly morals; I knew my heart loved her, and that was enough. (

18758 words)

[The End]

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First love is hard to forget.

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