An older man dating a younger woman on a bus (Part 2)

? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?Today she wore a beige, side-buttoned, tight-fitting blouse that accentuated her ample bosom. Her long, flowing black hair cascaded down her shoulders, and a pleated floral skirt swayed gently beneath. Having just showered, she was radiant and breathtakingly beautiful. Her eyes held an invisible weight that seemed to press down on you, making it hard to breathe. I stood there, trembling with fear, trying to bolster my courage: "Damn it, don't be afraid, don't be afraid! She's just a woman!" Unexpectedly, she seemed to remember me quite well, recognizing me at a glance. She smiled slightly: "What are you staring at?" Her smile was like a completely different person. Her beauty was no longer breathtaking, but rather gentle and inviting, like a spring breeze, warm and charming, with a touch of playful coquettishness. I knew her voice very well. I let out a sigh and smiled at her, "Let's go." I crossed the road first and headed towards the west gate. She crossed the road, looked up hesitantly at the entrance of B University, frowned slightly, and asked, "Is it inside the campus?" I deliberately gave her a slightly mocking, provocative look and said, "Yeah, let's talk inside." She glanced at me again, as if to say, "Who's afraid of who?" and followed me inside. I didn't say a word and kept walking forward. After crossing the small bridge, she stopped and said, "One, two, three—I'm not messing around with you anymore! If you don't tell me, I'm leaving." I pretended to be wicked, "Haha, you got tricked today! Don't think you can get away." She glared at me contemptuously and snorted. I said shamelessly, "There's no concert, but if you want to hear it, I can give you a few shouts with my hoarse voice." She chuckled and nodded, "Okay! Okay! I'll try shouting now." Without hesitation, I opened my mouth wide, but before I could utter a sound, she grabbed my arm. "Are you crazy? Someone heard you!" I glanced nervously at the security guard behind me. Unexpectedly, she had touched my innocent body first! The spot where I was pinched left a lingering, unforgettable sensation. I stared blankly at her bare, sleeveless white arm, unable to believe that hand had touched me. She seemed used to being stared at; her face returned to that faint expression of pride and disdain. I'm dizzy! At this rate, I'm definitely going to be in trouble. I composed myself and said seriously, "Sister Rong, unfortunately, my friend stole the concert ticket I had in my pocket. I guess I'll have to compensate by reciting a few poems by the lake." Unexpectedly, she curled her lip and gave me a light push on the back, "Okay, let's go, let's listen to your poetry!" Then she added, "Don't just stand there like a statue, staring blankly at the lake." Smiling slightly, she herded me towards the lake like an escorting prisoner. When we arrived, I breathed a sigh of relief. Hehe, at the lake, I've won over countless girls. This is my lucky place! How could it not boost my confidence? On a summer evening, the lake was cool and breezy. The lights were dim and perfect. The lake surface shimmered, willows drooped low, and the reflection of the Bowang Pagoda was still in the water. Along the paths, couples strolled side by side. Being there made one's thoughts wander, and one's heart felt intoxicated. Walking beside me was Sister Rong, who seemed both familiar and unfamiliar, emanating a faint, almost imperceptible fragrance. My heart, pounding with premeditated intent, trembled uncontrollably. Clutching my unpredictable penis, I walked forward with a puzzled air. My mind was racing when suddenly a pair of soft hands pushed me from behind. Sister Rong said, "Where are you going? Hurry up and recite some poetry!" I looked around and saw that the lake was wide and open, directly opposite the Bowang Pagoda. So I said, "Okay, stand still, I'm going to start reciting poetry!" I struck a pose, facing forward, first taking a horse stance, then taking a deep breath, just as I was about to exhale and recite, when Sister Rong gave me a push on the back. She bent over, panting and laughing, "Don't be silly—you! Is that how you recite poetry?" I said seriously, "Don't bother me, you've pushed all my inspiration away! Hmm, I still have a little bit left, let's start with one." I stood up straight again, stretching my hands forward: "Ah! Bowang Tower!—Small at the top, big at the bottom!—One day, if it were turned upside down—small at the bottom, big at the top!" Sister Rong giggled incessantly, her soft hands gently patting my shoulders and back, like tender willow branches in early spring lightly brushing against me, making my heart itch and intoxicated. I immediately placed my hands on her two bare, bent arms, the cool, soft skin feeling incredibly comfortable. Just as I was about to seize the opportunity to put my arms around her shoulders, she suddenly stopped laughing and casually pulled her hand away. My body trembled, and my already erect penis stubbornly remained standing. Sister Rong smiled, glanced at me, and seemed to see through my intentions, her body shifting away from me warily. I swallowed hard; it seemed I would have to find another opportunity. I deliberately led her to a dimmer area, through a narrow path hidden by trees. In the dim light, Sister Rong's face was not clearly visible, but the blurred shadows of her eyes and nose were even more alluring. As she walked, her waist swayed gracefully, exuding a captivating charm of a young woman. When I got closer, she radiated a faint warmth, making me imagine her warm and soft body; if I were to embrace her, I would surely moan. My God! The moon was dark, the wind was gentle, and a stunningly beautiful young woman accompanied me! My mouth was dry, and all I wanted was to find an opportunity to pin her down in a secluded place and ravage her—the darkness deepened as we walked, and just as my blood was boiling with desire, I suddenly realized no one was following me. Turning around, I saw her standing a few steps away, looking rather strange. I asked, "What's wrong?" She hesitated, gazing at the dark path ahead, and said, "I don't want to walk anymore, I'm tired." I said, "Then—let's find a place to sit." I cursed inwardly: She's a married woman, what's with the pretense? Then I thought: Damn it, she's a married woman after all, not as easy to fool as those silly girls. She said, "Okay." Reluctantly, I had to turn back. My little brother, you'll have to wait a bit longer tonight. Without a word, my little brother angrily turned around and followed me towards the lake. There was a chair there; I'd kissed five girls on it before, hoping to add another one to the list tonight. The spot I chose was excellent, close to the lake but a bit far from the path, neither too conspicuous nor too dark or secluded, with a breeze from all sides and few mosquitoes. Unfortunately, good spots are always taken. Tonight, it was a man, sitting alone, looking rather nervous. I guessed he was some talented but impotent fellow, restless and looking for a thrill. Seeing someone there, Sister Rong whispered, "Let's find another spot." I whispered a few words in her ear, and she lightly slapped me, saying, "You're so naughty." I tugged at her hand, and together we went behind the man, our expressions serious, staring straight ahead, completely still. The man noticed someone behind him and shifted uncomfortably, but remained seated. After a while, he finally couldn't resist glancing back at us, but my expression remained unmoved. He waited a moment, then got up and left, looking dejected. Once he was out of sight, Sister Rong finally couldn't hold back and burst out laughing. I said, "Miss, please sit down! Don't be so polite." Sister Rong tossed her slender hand into the air, laughing breathlessly, "You're so naughty!" She sat down in the chair, her face flushed after laughing, a faint smile lingering on her lips, her captivating appearance making one want to pounce on her like a tiger. I sat beside her, listening to her softly say, "It's been so long since I've been this happy." A surge of joy welled up inside me, which I tried my best to conceal. Sister Rong gazed dreamily at the gentle ripples of the lake before her, lightly kicking her feet, and said, "Hmm—this place is so nice. Do you come here often?" I said, "Yes, I always come here for a walk when I'm feeling down." My voice softened, taking on a slightly hypnotic huskiness, implying that she could come here more often when she felt down, and then I would naturally be there to keep her company. Sister Rong looked longingly at me: "Hmm, youth is wonderful." I chuckled and said, "My God! You're not much older than me, you look like my little sister." Sister Rong said, "Get lost, I'm almost old enough to be your—." At the end, her voice was muffled, and she turned her head away shyly. I guessed she originally wanted to say "almost old enough to be your mother," but realized it wasn't quite right, so she glossed over it. Sister Rong was indeed quite a bit older than me, almost thirty, but she looked very young, especially her temperament, charming with a touch of innocence, and she loved to fantasize; in some ways, she was even less mature than me. Her husband was her high school classmate, an outstanding child who had always protected her, probably because she was inexperienced in the ways of the world. However, a good child who has been outstanding since childhood might have fewer ways to enjoy themselves in the bedroom, which seemed like something I could try to do to satisfy her lust and make her unable to stop—thinking of this, I couldn't help but smile. (II) Sister Rong said, "What are you thinking about? You're acting crazy!" My instinct was to say: I was thinking about you. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them back—too corny! So I revised them slightly, saying, "I was thinking about you—what kind of person are you?" She looked thoughtful. "Oh? What kind of person am I?" Her eyes glanced at me, and the tone of her voice changed towards the end, clearly carrying a hint of wariness. I thought to myself, then quickly masked it with praise: "You'd be the kind of woman who could make me swoon, I think." Seeing no reaction from her, I figured I'd heard that kind of thing too often, so I quickly added, "But—there are also things that disappoint me!" She looked at me intently, and I continued, "How should I put it? Your life seems to lack warmth, that is to say, it lacks passion!" Hehe, if I could have a wild, passionate love affair with you, that would be considered passionate, right? She pretended to be nonchalant and said, "Go on." I got excited, and decided to...I struck up a conversation, straightening my posture with an air of importance, and suddenly grabbed her lingering hand, saying, "Hmm, you can see more from her palm." Good heavens, that hand was soft, white, and incredibly delicate. She instinctively tried to pull her hand away, but I held it tightly until she gave up. Only then, feigning gentlemanly restraint and unwilling to take advantage of a girl, did I release her, pinching her wrist with two fingers while the rest spread out like delicate orchids. I figured this gave women a more unusual tactile experience. Her face was full of disdain and suspicion, her body tilting to one side, but she let me hold her hand. I knew I wouldn't get past this without some real skill. Luckily, I studied Chinese, so I first memorized a couple of profound classical Chinese phrases, then spoke a few lines based on my impressions of her, constantly adding to them with inspiration, until even I believed it myself. My other hand continued to touch her, launching a skin attack from different angles, directions, and pressures. It's said that top-tier practitioners can bring women to orgasm with just hand contact. I certainly don't have that ability; all I ended up with was a dry mouth and burning breath. She, though sitting closer, seemed to be a virtuous woman. However, thanks to the "palm reading," we were close enough that our shoulders and arms were close enough that my body was pressed against hers, our skin pressed together through her thin shirt, allowing me to fully feel her softness. And the conversation gradually drifted to more sensitive emotional matters. Her husband was her first love! I kept pleading for her, spouting a bunch of philosophical arguments about "experiencing life" to break down her husband's policy of keeping her ignorant. She asked me defiantly, "And what about you?" I said, "Me? I know a lot of girls." She frowned and asked, "Why do you do that?" I pondered for a moment, then suddenly stared into her eyes and asked, "Why do cows eat grass?" She was bewildered by my question. I said, "Cows are born with a rather hard life; their only love is eating grass. But grass, growing in the ground, will wither and turn yellow if not eaten by cows in time, looking unsightly and eventually dying. When the grass is tender, it offers itself to the cow that loves it most, and the cow eats the grass, produces dung, and nourishes the grass—that's love." I continued, "Can a cow be full from eating just one blade of grass? No. So it has to keep eating, and the dung keeps nourishing more grass, and the beautiful grassland is born—that's a great life." Sister Rong chuckled and smacked me twice: "What's wrong with your head?!" My back felt tingly from her slaps. I turned around and saw her leaning back in her chair, her head tilted back softly, her eyes gazing at the starry sky, a slight smile on her lips, as if pondering my words.

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An older man dating a younger woman on a bus (Part 2)

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