Touching: Women who don't wear condoms

I had my first love when I was 15, which is considered late compared to those who had early romances. He was my classmate, very handsome, and a good student. Almost everyone thought he had a bright future, and many girls pursued him, but he seemed aloof and unmoved by any of them.

Our houses were very close, so we often went out together. Gradually, we developed feelings for each other, a feeling that seemed to go beyond ordinary friendship.

I realized I was in love with him, and my intuition told me he felt the same way about me.

One summer day, he came to my house. The adults weren't home, so it was just the two of us. It was very hot, and we were both down to our shorts. At first, he stared at me blankly, his face flushing. I knew his heart was trembling, because mine was too. Finally, that summer afternoon, we both confessed our feelings and love to each other. When he told me he loved me, I felt a complete sense of satisfaction; my confidence and vanity were greatly satisfied.

It was really hot, so we went outside and found a cold drink shop to sit down. He took out all the change he had and scraped together enough to buy me a tub of ice cream.

Just one tub, the most expensive kind; if we had bought a slightly cheaper one, we could have bought two.

I love his character—he'd rather have a good peach than a basket of rotten pears.

I asked him if he wanted some. He said he'd watch me eat.

I opened the ice cream tub and used the delicate little spoon to scoop up a spoonful and feed it to him.

My hand holding the spoon was trembling violently; it was the first time I'd ever fed him. He initially looked at me nervously, and I saw his inner turmoil, then I saw his eyes fill with tenderness.

He leaned over, shyly looking at me, and slowly opened his mouth, biting the spoon I'd offered him…

I'd only ever seen this kind of scene in romantic movies, never imagining it would happen between us. Even now, when I recall that moment, my heart aches.

I think it's probably the most romantic detail of my life.

He swallowed the ice cream and then kept his head down, lost in thought, without saying a word. I asked him what was wrong, and he looked up at me for a long time before finally saying, "I never thought I'd be this happy. I feel so happy..."

He was a little emotional, and I understood what he meant. What I didn't expect was that such an outstanding boy would take such a small gesture from me so seriously. To be honest, my heart was also overwhelmed by this sudden happiness.

When he went home, he told me, "From now on, I'll treat you to ice cream every day!"

After that, in order to have money to treat me to ice cream every day, he secretly started selling things, carrying a large bag full of shampoo, cosmetics, and other items, running around selling them. I wanted to go with him, but he resolutely refused.

We would meet at that ice cream shop every night. He would always come running, covered in sweat and dust, throw his bag on a chair, and then excitedly pull out the money he had earned so I could buy ice cream.

Sometimes, while I was eating, tears would well up in my eyes. I didn't know why I was so happy. I felt like the happiest person in the world. Even though I have a sensitive stomach and feel unwell after eating cold food, I still waited for him every day to come home with his earnings and buy me ice cream.

One day, I waited for him at the ice cream shop until midnight. I sat at the door, believing he would definitely come.

There was no moon, but many stars. I sat there watching the stars, and around 1 a.m., he finally appeared before me, limping and looking disheveled.

The ice cream shop owner knew about our relationship, but when he learned that he had walked so late to pay, he was still very touched and made an exception by not charging him.

He was exhausted, his face covered in dust and sweat. I fed him ice cream bite by bite, and he listened obediently like a child.

The whole city was quiet, very quiet. I felt as if the entire city consisted only of him and me, and we could do whatever we wanted.

For a while, he was sick. Coincidentally, my parents went on a company trip during that time, so I let him stay at my house. I took care of him and made him chicken soup.

Those days we played tirelessly; that empty house was our paradise. We played video games, watched TV, cooked together when we were hungry, and after eating and drinking our fill, we lay in bed listening to music, Celine Dion's "My Hear Will Go On."

We kissed deeply, holding each other tightly, until we could hardly breathe.

Every kiss made me feel like I was flying.

Our kisses were gifts to our souls.

We were like a loving couple; we simply loved each other.

We also had intimate contact beyond sex; we didn't know much about sex.

One night, I was half asleep when his hand boldly caressed me. I opened my eyes and saw his body trembling slightly with excitement. He asked me if I loved him.

I nodded without hesitation. He said he wanted to have sex with me, he wanted to penetrate me.

I hesitated because I had heard that doing so could lead to AIDS and death, and that only by using a condom could I avoid AIDS.

I don't know if having sex without a condom will really get me AIDS, but I'd rather believe it's true because I really don't want to die.

I said to him, somewhat frantically, "Tomorrow, let's buy condoms, okay?"

To be honest, I was almost losing control myself. If he asked me to go any further, I would have agreed.

But he obediently rolled away, and I felt a deep sense of loss.

The next day, we decided to buy condoms.

There were already quite a few sex shops on the street, but when we passed by them, we were too embarrassed to even look inside. We knew they had what we wanted, but neither of us dared to go in. We knew pharmacies also sold them, so we went into one and pretended to buy medicine, looking around. We saw the condoms on the counter, but we just couldn't bring ourselves to ask the clerk to get them.

That day, we were exhausted from walking, but we returned home dejectedly, sitting in the living room.

That night, we did nothing, lying in bed fully clothed, tossing and turning. We both knew what the other wanted, but we were both afraid of the terrifying outcome.

We lay there until dawn, when he suddenly said,

"Tomorrow, I'll be able to get condoms."

I asked if he wanted to buy them with money. He said no. He told me that once, while staying at his cousin's house, he had accidentally seen many of these on the bedside table, and he could steal a few.

He was happy with his discovery, and I was happy too. We kissed again in the dark, wishing each other good luck for tomorrow, and then fell asleep in hope.

We hoped tomorrow would come quickly.

The next day, he left early in the morning to go to his cousin's house to get condoms. I was excited all day. I made the bed spotless, waiting for his return.

The more I waited, the more anxious I became.

In anxious waiting, I finally received a call in the evening. It was from the hospital, saying a patient wanted to see me.

I rushed to the hospital; he lay dying on the operating table, about to be taken into the operating room. His face was pale, and he was soaked in blood. His family was weeping on both sides of the room.

When he saw me, he smiled slightly, his lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but he didn't say anything. He extended his hand to me, and when I shook it, he placed several condoms in my palm.

It turned out he had gone to get condoms. His cousin's husband lived on the fourth floor, and no one was home, so he climbed in through the window. Going up was easy, but coming down, he was discovered. People thought he was a thief, and after a lot of shouting, he lost his grip and fell.

His liver ruptured, and he died despite resuscitation efforts.

When his cold body was wheeled out of the operating room, I collapsed in tears.

I was filled with regret. Why did I insist on using those damn condoms?

He's dead, and I'm almost completely devastated. I want to do something more for him to atone for my remorse.

I wore a black armband as I took him to the crematorium and then carried his ashes back.

While I was doing all this, the condom he had given me was in my pocket, pressed against my skin.

His family, including mine, didn't understand why I was so heartbroken.

He's been gone for a long time, and the only things I kept about him were three things: the small spoon we used on our first trip to the ice cream shop, a photograph of him, and these condoms.

They were a testament to our love.

After he died, I decided to live my life alone, never loving a man or a woman. Because there couldn't possibly be another person in this world who would work as a salesperson to earn money to buy me ice cream.

But in the end, I couldn't keep my promise.

Later, I returned to the industry and met my boyfriend again.

Because this is everyone's only way out.

From then on, I never ate ice cream again, never for the rest of my life!

When my boyfriend and I had sex, I resolutely refused to use condoms.

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Touching: Women who don't wear condoms

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