negative and positive

"Indeed, I felt pain, but I no longer do. I am intoxicated by it, because this is the sunlight and shadow, the heat and cold I feel deep within the
air , far away."

I desperately reminisced about the last night I spent with Chen Jia, the last time I didn't fulfill her
desires .

The winter in the southern coastal city wasn't cold; the layers of leaves outside the window gently brushed against the streetlights and moonlight,
illuminating her flawless body, while my body sank into the dark bedroom. She was in ecstasy, her hands resting on
the wardrobe , her back to me, her hips swaying beneath me, making provocative, ambiguous sounds.

I was burning with desire, my penis throbbing between her buttocks, separated only by a thin fabric. I finally
couldn't resist pulling down her panties, wanting to stir wantonly in her wet, hot vagina, wanting to hear her clumsy, pleading,
unforgettable, yet forgotten, confused moans. But she said no. All the lewdness came to an abrupt halt.

"No."

I took a deep breath, kissing her back repeatedly in the moonlight, her breasts sliding in my hands, her nipples erect.

"No." For countless days and nights after that winter, I ignored this obvious
rejection , roughly yet carefully tying a pink silk scarf around her slender wrists, turning her breasts, waist
, and buttocks into toys for my lust.

It was already dawn when I saw her off on the airport bus. Back home, I pulled out my throbbing member
and ejaculated onto the nude photos she had left on my phone.

We had known each other for five years then—perhaps only ever five. In the third year of our acquaintance, I became infatuated
with her. At school, she rejected me, citing her heavy workload, but instead started a relationship with my roommate. Their
relationship lasted until the summer after exams, though I wasn't entirely sure. After graduation, I almost completely cut off
contact with my classmates, and six months later, I left the country, feeling incredibly lonely. I once went to an underground
brothel , groomed my hair, wore a pink silk scarf, and even sprayed some A&F behind my ears. Fourteen said I was insecure,
afraid the prostitutes would look down on me; I didn't comment. A short Chinese man greeted me,
smiling as he called out to the purple inner room, "A handsome Chinese guy!" I asked him timidly what to do, and he teased me, asking
if it was my first time in such a place, adding, "Do whatever you want." He pointed me to a bedroom, where
prostitutes took turns introducing themselves by their stage names. The initial nervousness of entering a brothel vanished instantly: these girls
were undeniably ugly. I took the night bus home, took off my clothes, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Before all that, Chen Jia was pure. The English teacher would mockingly ask her
questions . She would answer, her lips and tongue greedily sucking and licking my penis those nights,
her mouth swallowing and releasing my testicles with erotic sounds. She spoke with what was probably the only truly authentic accent in that small county school. It was also
the sound she used when, on our last night, our bodies were entangled, that she asked me, "Do you like me being slutty?"

Perhaps no one at the time would have imagined that her first time having sex was with me. I don't know if that "everyone
" included her and me. But back then, I had no sexual fantasies about her; no one would have
sexual fantasies about the English class representative in her school uniform. But, for example, after evening self-study, occasionally a pair of black stockings would step past behind the school building
. At that time, the school uniform on her upper body wasn't a school uniform anymore. The black stockings went into the garbage room, the stench and two men
spreading over her body, tearing apart the blue school uniform that awaited being torn apart—the uniform that had danced during the flag-raising ceremony, sat
upright , and undulated on the penis of the homeroom teacher or math teacher. No one wanted to make a sound near the trash can
, except for moans and the squelching sounds of water.

The girl in Class 5 wasn't a so-called "school prostitute." What she enjoyed was taking a few male
classmates , because rumors circulated that several students had died there. But no one went to
the clock tower because of those rumors; they went to share the fresh-faced beauty of their class with others. At first, she always wore a satisfied, lewd
smile, lying on several pairs of smelly male school trousers and underwear, moaning wantonly, hoping to wake up the
dean so he could reprimand her.

But as five or six real penises took turns penetrating her young vagina, she sometimes wondered if she had underestimated the
burgeoning sexual desires of male high school students. The only difference was that her affected moans at first were just to enjoy
the boys ' comical expressions, but now they were out of control, babbling incoherently:

"My waist, my waist can't take it anymore, I, I love you." Her slender body twisted in the sweaty male forehands
, her slightly raised white breasts and tattered black stockings covered in the semen of so many men, it was truly impossible
to know who she loved.

But the English class representative's uniform was a uniform, and the English class representative's uniform could not be taken off. She
maintained her chastity in front of all of us, and I maintained my chastity in front of her—except for my first love coming to our
school , climbing over the wall to let me play with her huge breasts, and then turning around and getting angry at me for just venting my anger; or later, when I
was dating a girl in the same grade, we would French kiss in the middle of the playground, our sweet, soft lips then entering her other
mouth, and the students jogging at night would faintly hear her moans and think she was crying, and the next day they would feel
that the voice of the clean-cut girl on the campus singer's stage sounded so familiar.

Then there was that girl from Class 5, who claimed she only allowed her own classmates to penetrate her vagina, yet she was still
blindfolded by several teachers, her body bound with ropes, and her vaginal fluids gushing out, soaking the school magazine.
A boy who said that the grade leader led the way, ejaculating into that slut's anus, and afterwards every hole was filled with
semen, only the blindfolded ones escaped. I've always despised this childish tribalism, yet secretly fawns over
superiors —it's the most shameless politics.

In the men's restroom stall, I convinced myself to punish her by strangling her with weapons and violence,
but she sucked me dry, leaving her delicate face covered in two or three days' worth of semen, like a stall set up.
She later said she quickly washed her face and went to class, but I didn't see her come out.

All of this was far from the deserted beach. We arrived in the town at dusk, and Chen Jia took off her shoes and waded in
the sea like a child. I told her not to go too far, but she complained that I was being nosy. Then I worried she might catch a cold in
the winter . When she came back, she was holding a nearly perfect seashell. When I saw it, all I could think of were her
breasts—the breasts from the night before, the breasts from tonight. I immediately pulled her into my arms and gently caressed them. Later, I...
Looking at Botticelli, I only felt the seashells in his paintings were barren.

If it weren't for the late hour and the chilly air, I would have loved to make love with her on the beach; even a
passing dog might have joined in. But we just went into a seafood restaurant we passed by. I reached across the table to touch
her hand, and overheard the black waitress at the next table speaking French, so I exchanged a few words. Chen Jia asked me if the waitress
thought we were a couple. I don't know how she understood, but I said yes anyway.

She was a little drunk that day. When we got home, I put her on the bed, smelled her scent, and slowly pulled off her
clothes. She didn't seem to react much. I retaliated by French kissing her—but there was nothing to retaliate against. I
just bit her lips, forcing her to make sounds that aroused my lust, sucking on her tongue, and forcefully
drawing a part of her body into mine. Then I was satisfied. I took off her skirt and stockings, and finally
, as if a ritual, unhooked her bra. Suddenly, she asked me to blindfold her.

As darkness enveloped us, Chen Jia suddenly responded passionately. We fiddled with her body, fondling her perfect
—perfect—breasts. The first night, she asked me to massage them gently, to massage them tenderly. She said others could feel something when massaged
gently , so why couldn't I? Later, after returning to central Taiwan, she
shared a bed with a middle-aged German man. She asked me why she was willing to embrace me but not with that German.

Later, I stopped massaging them gently. It wasn't to release my pent-up desires; they were simply too perfect—full, firm, and
upright, yet soft, as if they existed solely to summon my humiliation. The hard, small
nipples teased my palms, further arousing the lust surging within me. She groped her way up, wanting to sit on
top of me. I'd told her my earlobes were sensitive, and she obediently teased me. My penis pressed against her soaked
panties , while she slowly kissed my upper body, finally burying her flushed cheeks in my messy pubic
hair. My penis felt like it was about to explode.

I got up and threw her onto the bed, intertwining my fingers with hers and kissing her. I used one hand
to fumble and inserted it into her desire.

"Mmm—" Chen Jia moaned wantonly, her voice cracking, biting her lip again, sticking out her
tongue to seduce me, wanting me to fuck her, to fuck her mouth, to fuck her body. I almost lost consciousness,
getting up putting one of her feet in my mouth. She moaned even louder; my Irish roommate's father couldn't possibly have
missed it.

Perhaps because it was her first time having sex, I never fucked her from behind. That might be a regret. Later,
we went to the bathroom together to shower and bumped into my roommate's father. Chen Jia was taking a hot shower, and I hugged her from behind.
She felt my penis harden again, and her voice trembled as she said she had bled a little and was a little scared. I
stopped.

After returning to the bedroom, I wrote to my friend. She realized the other person was a girl, and became unhappy, muttering
that my French accent was unpleasant, which annoyed me. Later, we went back to bed, and she asked me to tell her what book I
had read . I briefly recounted the professor's introduction to Silas. She looked pleased, thinking I
was nothing special, and her admiration for me diminished somewhat. She kept muttering to herself, seemingly intentionally so I could hear, "
We just friends with benefits."

I don't quite remember what songs we played in bed those days, but she seemed to have written them down in her
notes.

I couldn't possibly know what songs we played then, because she didn't want to see me again, and even harbored resentment towards me,
but I didn't know why. She returned to China before me. After I returned, I went to a school near her and asked someone
to contact her. She told me to get as far away as possible. I couldn't help being oblivious, yet I felt willing to endure
her insults again and again. I always fantasized about penetrating her on that final, damp night, the huge construction site next to the middle school
deserted , where not the souls of the deceased drifted, but shattered fantasies. My last memory, my earliest memory:
in the classroom, I wanted to lean against her wet hair, but she moved away; I spread her legs and saw her dark
pubic hair ; I bent down to tie her shoelaces; I praised her breasts, and she scoffed at my praise, thinking I must
say that to every girl; I drew her clumsy sketches; I photographed her naked body like a plaster still life. I
didn't send her the promised postcard.

After Chen Jia left, I couldn't release that sexual desire. Turbid, thin semen kept spurting out,
kept flowing out. I guess that's just sexual desire.

[The End]

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