Me and the mature woman – Room 408 of the Power Hotel on the third day of the Lunar New Year

Ordinary life contains passion. I want to answer a brother's question: I once published seven
articles in the literature section, all of which were well-received; I'm not some amateur. Haha, just praising myself a little—everyone,
what is the concept of a "young married woman"? Literally, it means "married woman." Actually, "young married woman" and "mature woman"
are somewhat equivalent. They have experienced marriage and family life, tasted the passion of sex, and gradually become more
peaceful. A mature body and a mature mindset make "mature woman" the most charming age for a woman.
Perhaps they are not very beautiful, but mature women understand men, understand life, and know the meaning of emotions. Why do
men, especially some boys with "mother complexes," like mature women? Because they bring a sense of security.
If a man's sense of security is reflected in his "diamond-like" loyalty and strength, their sense of security is reflected in "
inner comfort."

My title is—Me and the Mature Woman Sister—Room 408 of the Power Hotel on the third day of the Lunar New Year. Why
do I call her sister? Because I always call her Big Sister. What's her name? I can't reveal it. She's thirty-five years old,
older than me. She was alright looking, but being a mature woman, she wasn't as strikingly beautiful as a young girl. The third day of the Lunar New Year
refers to last year's Spring Festival. In that warm winter, we transitioned from "dance buddies" to "lovers" (997wyt.com). She was incredibly energetic, dancing every single dance without missing a beat, sweating profusely.
When we danced, she would always lean on me, as if trying to burrow into my body. I always felt
there was a certain "strength" about her—what kind of "strength"? I analyzed it as the vitality unique to mature women of that age.

Sometimes we would text each other at night. At first, it was just casual chatter, like "Hey sis, what are you doing?" or
"See you at the usual place tomorrow afternoon." As time went on, the texts started to change, revealing a certain meaning,
like "It's getting cold, take care," or "Today's dance was really enjoyable, you were amazing, I love dancing with you."
Looking at these texts, I deciphered a certain meaning. Once, I tentatively texted her, "Honey, see you at the usual
place ," and she replied, "Okay, honey, I love it when you call me that."

Between people, some things don't need words to be expressed; besides, we were both mature
men and women. I was beginning to understand what she meant.

One Sunday afternoon, in the dance hall, the music started, the lights dimmed, and we moved to
a . I put her hands down and danced with her in my arms for the first time. She danced with me in her arms, pressed against her soft
breasts, and I kissed her in the darkness… That's how we became lovers.

I asked about her family situation, and she always brushed it off in a few words, but I gradually learned some things. She and her
partner were separated—meaning their relationship had broken down, but they weren't divorced; they lived separately. Her situation was rather
unusual: she and her child slept in the bedroom, while her husband slept in the living room.
"

You know what? Every time I come home from dancing, he (her husband) asks me where I've been." "What do you say?" "

I can't be bothered with him.

" "You usually just come out dancing, what about him

?" "He's playing cards with some drinking buddies. He does his thing, I do mine

." "And what about your child?" "

He stays at my mom's. I pick him up on Sundays."

She told me: "I'll just make do like this for the sake of the child, sigh!" Many couples live a meaningless life
together for the sake of their children; this is the helplessness and reality of marriage. How much
attachment ? So, perhaps she chose to come to the dance hall as a temporary escape.

Sometimes when we danced together, I would tease her in the dark, whispering in her ear,
"Aren't your breasts really big?" "

Why are you asking that? Want to see?"

She took my hand and pressed it against her breast. "Big or not?" In the darkness, my hand on her full
breasts felt like pressing on a soft cushion. And she giggled, burying her face in my arms.

We've known each other for a while now, and I haven't even touched her body yet. My strategy with "respectable women" is: don't touch
women whose marriages and families are still happy; just get to know their situation—her situation is fine. Which
woman isn't afraid of loneliness? Which mature woman doesn't have needs? Hehe.

The Spring Festival is almost here. In 2006, the Spring Festival was in January. On the afternoon of the 29th of the twelfth lunar month,
after the dance party ended, she said: "I can't go out for three days—New Year's Eve, New Year's Day, and the second day of the New Year—because I have to visit relatives. Let's meet on the third day."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as the Spring Festival Gala bells rang, I received her New Year's greeting text message. I was so bored staying at home for those three days.
I lay in bed thinking: "Let's meet on the third day…maybe

we'll just go to a hotel." On the third day at noon, I texted her, "Honey, same place, see you at 2 pm." I went to the dance hall,
having bought condoms on the way. I waited for her in the arcade on the first floor. Soon she arrived. Wow,
she'd dressed up for the New Year, sporting a messy perm and new clothes.
Even though I'd been through this before, I was worried she'd hesitate or refuse.

She looked at me, a fleeting hesitation in her eyes that quickly vanished, a hint of shyness on her face.
She whispered, "Where should we rest?" My heart leaped; her asking meant she agreed.

"Come with me," I said, taking her hand. She still hesitated. I pulled her out of the dance hall, but we separated at
the door . I hailed a taxi and headed straight for the Electric Power Hotel near the overpass (I'd stayed there before;
50 yuan for 3 hours was cheap, even a standard room). When we arrived, we got out. She
looked I didn't know what she was looking at, but it seemed like she was checking if anyone was following us. I knew: we were,
after all, having an affair. A respectable woman is a respectable woman, unlike the girls you play around with in society who are so open.

Walking into the lobby, she was standing at the top of the stairs. I went to the front desk to get a receipt. Luckily, the occupancy rate wasn't high during the Spring Festival (this
hotel claims to be a training guesthouse for the power system, and sometimes it's full of power system employees coming for training). I paid
the deposit, holding the 997wyt.com, thinking: Oh my god!!

I covered her breasts with both hands, cupping them and heaving them. Her breasts jiggled like waves,
so visually stimulating!! Full and firm breasts! I brought my mouth to hers, sucking on her nipple, licking/and even biting
it . She patted my shoulder.

"Don't bite!"

I licked her nipple, saliva dripping from my mouth. My body began to heat up. Her breasts had a wonderful,
pleasant scent; every woman has a unique body odor. This was the distinctive
scent . How to describe it? Hehe.

I stuck out my tongue, licking her breasts up and down, left and right. She started to wriggle, leaning back, trying to
push her chest up. She breathed heavily, "Mmm... ah..." My mouth was still licking her breasts, my hands
moving down. Her plump belly, because she was sitting on my lap, had created a soft, fleshy "little mound."
I

took my mouth off her breasts, and she stood up, taking off her pants in front of me. Her pants/padded trousers came off, revealing her thick,
full thighs, her panties bulging over her large buttocks. Her buttocks weren't perky, they sagged a bit. I pulled her waist
close, pressing my face against her stomach—it was truly a "land of gentleness." So soft. I kissed her stomach.
I helped her take off her underwear. Ouch! She had a scar on her lower abdomen, probably from a C-section.
There were also noticeable stretch marks on both sides of her lower abdomen. "You had a C-section?"

"Yes!"

"Did it hurt?"

"General anesthesia, so it didn't hurt. But the incision will hurt in a few days."

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We should go to bed now. The room temperature is about right, so I'm half-covered and half-naked. I'm on
top of , spreading her legs (M position). We kiss. I kiss her large breasts, teasing her genitals with my fingers,
moving them up and down at the vaginal opening. By touch, I found the small spot above her urethra—her clitoris. I
pressed it gently with my finger. She started to writhe, her face showing a dazed expression, moaning, "Sss
...oh..." I continued kissing her breasts while teasing her clitoris, and she became wet. I got up, parted her
legs, and she covered her vulva with her hands. "Don't look, it's ugly," she said, her face seemingly saying, "Mission accomplished."

It was a passionate Chinese New Year afternoon. Walking home, I wondered: Were we crossing
a swamp of desire? It might be passionate, we might get trapped.

Whatever, the best was yet to come!

Three months later, we broke up. The reason was simple: we weren't lovers, just partners. A decent woman eventually
returns to her family; I was just a passerby in her

life .

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