Stories of Friends with Benefits

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

I've been wanting to write about another casual sex partner (let's call her H), but due to various factors (mainly laziness), I've kept putting it off. Until last week, after seeing Teacher Ma's assignment about his contrastingly sexually frustrated female boss, I felt the time was right. This H is my fifth casual sex partner, and currently my only one. It's strange, but my second through fifth casual sex partners are all connected to my first (a female college student, let's call her S).
Let me explain why they're all related to S. Before meeting me, S had hooked up with over twenty men. I don't know which penis it started with, but she suddenly had the idea to record every single one she'd had, writing about it on a separate Weibo account. Her posts detailed the meetings, conversations, and hotel stays, along with her evaluations of each penis. I was one of her loyal readers of this dating diary. You might think it's erotic and exciting, but actually, quite the opposite. 80% of the stories were horrible, filled with complaints about bizarre men. For example, one man's penis started vomiting after just one second of oral sex; another claimed he could give her an orgasm with his hand but had long fingernails; another drove over but took her to a cheap, 5-yuan crispy chicken strip stall near an elementary school before going to a hotel, and so on... It was practically a heartbreaking tale of blood and tears. She and several local porn bloggers created a WeChat group (supposedly only women), also to share their experiences with bizarre men and avoid bad ones. My second, third, and fourth hookups were all from this WeChat group.
But H wasn't like that. She, like me, was a reader of the "Hookup Diary" blog. After S and I got together, she wrote more about me. I remember one day in September, I was interacting with S online in the comments section of the blog, chatting happily, when suddenly H followed me and sent me a private message: "You're number xx (each penis in the blog has a number, starting from 01), right?" Then she added a laughing emoji.
I clicked to look at her Weibo. She was 37 years old, from Changsha, and her mutual following was S's blog, which was full of stories about a bourgeois woman eating, drinking, and having fun. There wasn't a single photo of her showing skin, let alone anything erotic. Every selfie was completely covered up, but she had a beautiful face and didn't look like a 30-year-old woman at all. Men tend to lower their guard when they see a beautiful woman, and a pervert like me wanted to strip naked immediately. I replied to her: "Yeah, want to hang out with me?" Thinking of S's positive comments about me in the blog, I confidently added a wicked smile emoji.
Not long after, she replied, "Not interested." I asked her, but she didn't answer. Then I realized I couldn't follow her anymore; she had unfollowed and blocked me.
That was the beginning of my relationship with H, a dismal end.
For a while afterward, H and I didn't communicate at all. Firstly, I had S around, and I was content, not thinking about finding other women; secondly, S had given me a lot of confidence, and this sudden setback made me unwilling to rub salt in the wound. Until last year's National Day holiday, S went back to her hometown, and I dutifully spent every day with my wife. One late night, I opened my Weibo private messages and found a message from H: "Are you really that amazing?"
This time I was much more honest, chatting slowly and discreetly. I learned that she had a young, handsome casual sex partner, I think he was only 23 or 25, I can't remember, and supposedly he was 1.8 meters tall. Then she sent me photos of her casual sex partner (in bed). I immediately understood and sent her selfies and videos of myself and S. I never show my face in any of my sex selfies, but she sent me photos of her casual sex partner's face from various angles. He was indeed very handsome, a bit like Wang Yibo, with sharp features and sword-like eyebrows. But when I asked her for selfies, she said she didn't have any. I thought maybe our relationship hadn't reached that point yet, so I decided to take it slow. We finally started chatting.
After the National Day holiday, I continued to see S for over a month, while H and I chatted via private messages on Weibo. Our topics ranged from south to north, from casual sex to work, from music to literature. Our relationship didn't heat up quickly. She wouldn't let me add her on WeChat, let alone meet up. After seeing my photos, she said directly: "I won't ask you out, I'm a looks-obsessed person." But we had so many shared interests: we both liked Pu Shu, Jay Chou, Leslie Cheung, Haruki Murakami, and Lu Yao; we even had similar tastes in American TV series. My comments on her Weibo posts always elicited a few witty remarks, and we made small improvements every day. Later, I gradually learned more: she had been divorced for almost two years; her husband had cheated on her with gambling, and she had custody of the child. After the divorce, she found a new boyfriend who swindled her out of over 200,000 yuan, causing her to suffer from depression and even contemplate suicide. (I don't want to go into too much detail about her experiences.) Anyway, she no longer trusted men and met her current young man on Weibo. She didn't like going to hotels and couldn't stay out overnight. So she asked him to come to her house at night and leave in the early morning, meaning he could only "do something" when her child was asleep. Knowing all this, I found it very amusing and would often tease her about her opening hours and urge her to hurry up and do her child's homework. At this point, we had become friends, and we both accepted this title. On quiet nights, we'd chat about our recent experiences with our casual sex partners. Then I finally understood why she wouldn't send me selfies—she hadn't taken any. That young guy was prone to premature ejaculation; she said he could only last two minutes with oral sex, and two or three minutes with penetration. I asked her, "Aren't you satisfied with that?" She said sleeping with a handsome guy was enough. I was naive enough to think she was serious.
During our chats, I felt hopeless about sleeping with her, yet we kept talking. Gradually, she started complaining about that young guy, becoming increasingly immature, secretly checking her phone, and even directly asking if she had other men. The conversations always ended badly. I teased her, saying she was showing off, that many girls wish their boyfriends were taking the college entrance exam, and she had one but was pushing him away. That probably upset her, and she ignored me for a few days.
After I broke up with S, I immediately told her. Actually, I don't know what I was thinking then. Was I trying to gain sympathy and have sex? Or was I just seeking comfort? Or did I genuinely consider her my only friend who knew the truth? We chatted for a few minutes, and she asked, "Want to have lunch?" I didn't quite catch her voice at first, but replied, "Of course! What about you? What are you having for lunch?" She teased me, implying we should have a meal together. Knowing we were about to meet in person, I was actually quite nervous, but I knew this was an opportunity, and if I didn't go, we might never see each other again, so

I readily agreed. We agreed on a meeting place, got my car, and drove very slowly—a 20-minute drive. While in the car, I imagined the meal scene in my head. That's my problem: I always imagine things before they even begin. But the drive was too short, so I parked and called her. She was already at Tanzong. I went upstairs and immediately spotted her, sitting in a corner wearing a hat. She looked even fairer than in her photos; I wondered if she was wearing makeup. We had a brief chat, and I forced myself to appear relaxed. The fish head dish was very elaborate, bright red, with a good meaning. After the meal, I paid the bill and left the restaurant. She suggested we get a coffee, and I agreed.
When we got to Starbucks, I told her I rarely come here and asked her to order while I paid. She smiled and told me to find a seat while she paid. Actually, I rarely go to coffee and dessert shops; I'm not used to their atmosphere. But that time, it felt alright. Maybe it was because I had some expectations, though we both knew what those expectations were. There weren't many people that afternoon, and we chatted over drinks for over an hour, mostly about S and family. Sometimes I talked to myself, like someone yearning to speak, having an inner monologue; sometimes she asked me questions, like a master testing a student about to graduate. After that, we parted ways and didn't do anything else. I thought it was fine; ending our first meeting like this was good enough.

After the meeting, our relationship warmed up very quickly. The day after dinner, I added her on WeChat. For the next few days, we used WeChat to communicate, chatting in the morning, at work, during meals, and before bed. That Friday, she said she was going on a business trip, and I offered to take her to the airport. On Sunday night, she asked if I was free to pick her up the next day, and I agreed. What surprised me when we met again was that she brought me candied hawthorns from Beijing. Although they were obviously a souvenir bought at the airport (you can buy them on Taobao too), I was still really happy. On the way back, "Love Before BC" was playing, and I hummed along, "You gaze at the words on the inscription in the shop window, while I quietly admire your face that I love so much." She said to stop singing, saying it made me sleepy. I was just wondering if we should find a place for a massage before going back, struggling with where to go—we'd never been to places like that before. Seeing that I had stopped singing, she lowered her voice and said, "I want to find a place to sleep." Still lost in my thoughts about finding a massage, I blurted out, "Sleep in the car first, you'll be home soon." Then I heard her softly say, "There are children at home."
Upon hearing this, I felt my blood rush to my head, my heart race, and I felt like I was about to enter a state of frenzy. But being the kind of person who likes to put on a show, I casually said, "Okay, I'll find a place." I immediately got off the overpass at an intersection, and after only a couple of turns, I saw a Vienna supermarket. I rushed into the parking lot, and as I got out of the car, she said, "Tell me your room number later, I need to find something." I gave her the car keys. After checking in at the front desk and getting my room key, I quickly ran outside to find a pharmacy or convenience store. Thank goodness for my prosperous country, everything went smoothly. Not long after I gave her the room number, I heard a knock at the door. She came in with her head down, carrying a small handbag, and handed me the car keys while saying, "Go take a shower first." I asked, "Aren't we going to shower together?" She avoided my gaze and said, "No, I'm about to get my period." Upon hearing this, I instantly felt like a bucket of cold water had been poured over me. A million curses ran through my mind. So she really was just going to take a nap. Full of desire, suddenly suppressed, I could only keep reassuring myself while showering: It's okay, there's always next time, next time definitely...
After she finished showering, I turned on the TV to watch a documentary channel, wanting to listen carefully to that deep male voice to suppress the restlessness in my heart. She wrapped herself in a bath towel and snuggled up next to me, then took the towel out and tossed it around for a while, and then fell silent. I said, "Let's go to sleep then," and turned off the TV and lights, plunging the room into darkness, with only a small bathroom light shining through the glass, casting a faint, ambiguous glow.

I was only wearing underwear, and my thigh touched the smooth skin of the beauty next to me, which made me feel itchy, but then I remembered her saying she was on her period. Suddenly, I had a jolt. She said "coming soon," not "coming," there's definitely a difference! Then I hugged her tightly. At first, she struggled and said, "What are you doing!" But my tone wasn't forceful. I didn't answer, but reached into her bra. It was so soft, I couldn't even hold it all in one hand. I gently pinched her nipple, and she seemed to come right up to me. I kissed her as I pinched her, and all that was left was our heavy breathing. It felt like a flood of passion was being released all at once. In the dim light, we were intertwined like two snakes. I moved from her breasts to her stomach, which was soft, then to her buttocks and gave them a couple of squeezes. Then I slipped my fingers between her legs, and my fingers reached her vaginal opening. It was already wet in no time. I don't know when, but she grabbed my penis. I felt her initiative and kissed her even more passionately. Our tongues intertwined, and I inserted my fingers into her body. Her breathing became heavier and heavier, and she kept making "mmm" sounds. I felt her getting wet more and more. I wanted to mount her and get it over with, but as soon as we parted our lips, she looked into my eyes and said, "I want to eat your cock, eat your cock." I was aroused by this scene again. If I hadn't heard and seen it with my own ears, I would never have imagined that someone as proper and dignified as her would say such things. As soon as I lay down, she eagerly sucked on my penis, making soft, tingling sounds. Saliva dripped down my penis and onto my pubic hair. My penis instantly swelled even more intensely. The feeling was like every cell in my body was singing, a feeling of my whole body opening up—it was so incredibly pleasurable. Her oral skills were the best I'd ever encountered; the charm of a mature woman was truly delightful. While she was passionately giving me oral sex, she kept twisting her hips. I reached down and pulled her panties down to her knees, trying to insert two fingers. It was a little tight, but very slippery. In this mutual stimulation, I felt it was time to move to the next stage. I patted her buttocks and said I wanted to enter. I was about to get up and roll her over to pin her down, but as soon as I stood up, she pressed down on my chest, then, holding my penis, sat on top of me. I was startled and said, "I haven't put on a condom yet!" But my penis was already inside her slippery vagina, warm and squeezing inside, it couldn't feel more comfortable. I felt my whole body locked in by the pleasure in my lower body, letting her move my penis up and down, faster and faster, her buttocks slapping loudly. After a while, she got tired and gestured for me to penetrate her from behind, and then there was another round of intense fucking. She liked rapid and fierce thrusting, the faster she went, the more excited she was. I won't go into the details of what happened next, because my penis is hard now that I'm writing this, which is quite embarrassing. Like most assignments, in a dimly lit room, two thirsty people satisfy their needs through physical union. The repetitive movements bring a constant surge of passion, the rise and fall of their bodies accompanied by each other's shouts and cries. But one thing is certain: H and I were not just having physical intercourse. I remember Trevor Noah's autobiography, "Born to Be a Sin," mentioning a line: "If you want to have sex with a woman, you have to have sex with her in your mind first." If I were to have sex with a complete stranger right away, I might not be able to get an erection; it's better to have some emotional connection first.

That's how my first date with H went. After we finished, I took her home, and from then on, I would often drive to her place around 11 PM and leave at 6 AM. We were mutually satisfied during sex. She liked to hold me while we slept afterward, saying she was afraid of the cold. So every time, she would message me: "Want to come warm the bed tonight?" Although mature women don't have the vibrant youthful energy of young girls, I think their charm in bed is far superior. I've lost count of how many times I've dated H; last year, it was mostly at her place. This year, my wife's job was transferred back to Changsha, and she has a new boyfriend (I was a witness to him pursuing her). Currently, this new boyfriend has moved into her house, so we can only meet at hotels. Although we meet less often now, we still chat.

One time this year, I asked her: "What about that young guy? I haven't heard you mention him.
" She said: "We broke up a long time ago."
I then asked: "So what's our relationship?" Friends with benefits? Friend?
She said, "No relationship whatsoever" (in their local dialect, meaning there's no relationship).
I've never understood why she said that. Can anyone explain? Please comment.

[End]

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