Married women are the best

Anyone with even limited experience in China has seen this: an old, fat white man with a young, slender Chinese woman. How is this possible? How do they end up together?

Why? You see it everywhere: Chinese women with white men are always very young, often decades older!

And I, neither old nor fat, tall, slender, a man born in the Year of the Dog. My looks? Damn, back in England, I'm not even worth mentioning, but here… I'm pretty good here, of course, being a true English gentleman has given me a lot of advantages.

So, back to the point…

the number of women I slept with before coming to China: 1. The number of women I slept with in China: 22. Let me clarify again, many fat older men do end up with young women, that's true, but many of these girls aren't good-looking; in fact, some are quite frightening.

How can this be?

Western men who come here know they're fat and old, no longer attracting attention, so they lack confidence. They don't target women who truly arouse lust, but rather those who aren't particularly attractive and are easier to get. Women who aren't attractive and don't have many suitors also know their own worth and make themselves easy targets. And when a white man sees a woman half his age, or even a third his age, paying attention to him, he's genuinely excited. So you often see a man walking down the street with a car like an old Ford; he could easily have gotten a Porsche.

He wanted a greyhound, but kept a local mastiff.

Now he could easily have one.

See, this is the mistake I made during my first year working in Shenzhen: setting my sights below what I wanted, lacking the courage to approach the beautiful women in the office, so I hooked up with a woman my age, with a similar background; choosing intelligence over beauty, which became a placebo, or perhaps a delusion. Luckily, she had a good temper.

Of course, we spent three years together, and overall it was a good time. She was kind, loving, intelligent, and devoted; if I wanted to get married, she would be a good wife choice.

After we broke up, she went abroad to study and work. We still chat online occasionally, but it's always cold and distant. In her heart, I'll always be the bad guy, and I think she wasn't wrong about that.

The things she said when we broke up were very harsh. Oh, and once she threw bottles and cans at me in our courtyard, which undoubtedly played right into the hands of our gossipy neighbors. They were all home but didn't show their faces; they must have been eavesdropping. And it was all my fault—you're right!

I'd had enough. That's when I decided to stop taking relationships seriously, to stop talking about love, marriage, and even to stop living together. But I couldn't keep it up because I'd talked about love with many women, though only as a means to an end—that end being sex. Do I think I've ever truly loved? Rarely.

Okay, let's see what I've been up to? This Saturday I was with Star; Sunday I was with Eve; in between, I kept in touch with Chery via MSN; I called Rina; I also texted Tulip teasingly; I sent a flirtatious email to Susan; and as for Wendy, I confessed my love to her through her blog. I'll talk about those later.

I want to start with Tingting, she's the most recent person in my romantic history I still think about, and also the lover I unfortunately couldn't continue the relationship with. Generally speaking, they came and went, and after they left, I rarely think of them. I need to stop and think for a second before I can call out their names, like Gloria, Lucy, and the others that have settled deep into my memory. Tingting

, a married woman and her annoying husband

, is a doctor, married, ah, a married woman…

I should digress a bit here. I seem to think that, generally speaking, Chinese men are kind and polite, but dull and taciturn, lacking emotion. They are not as greedy as Western men, possessing less of a wolfish nature, but they are truly utterly dull-witted.

I should say I'm a teacher in China. Teaching is a job any Westerner can do when they can't or won't do anything else. There are many good and dedicated teachers in China, and then there's a large group of people like me who do this job for money and women. Teaching English is the best way to infiltrate this social life, especially in the universities where I work, with a large number of students of all kinds.

My social circle is surprisingly wide; ninety-eight percent of my friends are women. Indeed, in my contact list of about five hundred people across various immigration services, there are probably only a handful of men. And among my married female friends with whom I'm relatively close and can have serious conversations, all of them are either in unhappy marriages or clearly unhappy. Honestly, in all my years of teaching, I've only seen one couple in my classes who were clearly in love.

Of course, part of the reason is due to cultural differences; people here, especially the slightly older married ones, never show their emotions in public. Even so, I'm sure quite a few… well, not necessarily unhappy, but at least not fulfilled. I met a woman named Linda recently. We became acquainted while I helped her write some kind of ACO (Optimal Adaptive Control) application. Because I put in a lot of effort, she invited me to dinner to thank me. She took me to a very nice place, a buffet restaurant in a shopping mall with a view of the Huangpu River, Shanghai's main river. When we talked about some more personal topics, she told me that her marriage was unhappy.

I had actually considered this possibility, but I still abruptly asked her, "So, if you had the chance to do it all over again, would you still marry him?" She said she wouldn't, but because she has a five-year-old child, she wouldn't choose divorce. A sad yet common story.

Take Tulip for example, the same situation, but without children, and she doesn't divorce either. Then there's Cherry, I had lunch with her yesterday, she recently ended an unhappy marriage (this lunch was great, there were all sorts of signs, the next step is dinner and then bed); and then there's Clarissa (I've been wanting her dead to get her but haven't been able to... she's immigrating now, which is good, otherwise I would be head over heels for her).

But right now there's Tingting, she is... haha, aren't they all students in my class? A few months ago, around March, shortly after the start of the semester, she caught my attention.

She was a little shy, with a mischievous, playful look in her eyes. Her eyes were deep and sparkling, hiding laughter and secrets.

At the end of the course (like me, I was still a bit hesitant, trying not to make a move on the female students), I gave my email to the whole class, just like I do to every other class, but I made sure to tell her, very seriously, "Keep in touch." And she really did keep in touch, and then I asked her out for dinner.

Hello!

How have you been lately? Busy with your teaching, huh?

You might find it funny, but when I think about meeting her next Tuesday, I'm actually a little scared. This is the first time I'm meeting someone I don't know well on my own. I don't know your cultural background, way of thinking, or interests. Especially since I can't express myself well in your language, and you can't express yourself clearly in mine either. Please don't be angry or surprised. If I back out at the last minute (how embarrassing!), I've been very busy and tired these past few days, so I took a day off today and slept all day! (Many people describe me as a little pig because I love to sleep!) Hehe!

Looking forward to next Tuesday!

When we met, she was carefully dressed up, her makeup was very good, and I must say, she was very nervous.

In the taxi, as we talked, she mentioned that her husband was in Taizhou. This was something I hadn't expected at all (I had thought she might be 24 or 26; she was already 32...). My initial slight regret was quickly dispelled by my philosophical insight: her husband was in Taizhou.

As we chatted in the restaurant, her nervousness soon dissipated. The conversation was casual; I sat next to her, at a right angle rather than face-to-face, making it easier to whisper. I had brought her here on Clarksa's recommendation, and I had been there a few days earlier with others.

I had thought it best to drink less beer, so I decided, ha, no beer that night. However, she ordered beer; I was determined to seduce her, knowing this was the perfect way to get her to cheat on me.

So we drank, and she could really hold her liquor; at my pace, she downed four bottles (she's from the North, where people like to drink. Southerners drink less, and women hardly drink at all).

We talked as we drank, our body language growing closer and more intimate, starting to touch and caress.

Actually, I touched her more than she touched me; she neither hesitated nor blushed, as if it were expected, very natural. Most of our conversation was about getting to know each other; she also briefly mentioned her husband, saying that she used to visit him regularly in the city where he worked, but he had never come to see her, and that she had been married for six years. She hadn't wanted to get married so soon, but he insisted, so she agreed. When she spoke of him, her tone was completely neutral, devoid of any emotion, as if he were just someone she knew. What

I most wanted to know was whether he was like many men here, a lifeless, passionless fish.

Needless to say, he never visited her, and after they met, he wanted to hitch a ride too soon (which often indicates they married for various social reasons). He was traditional, gentle, and I was certain of that, yet I couldn't imagine it. I should easily imagine him like that, because in my mind, I was plotting how to seduce his wife.

So we left the restaurant and walked for a while. I put my arm around her shoulder, then her waist; she didn't want to hold my hand. I understood that some boundaries needed to be crossed.

As we walked across the bustling street and turned into a quiet, dimly lit alley, I stopped and turned her to face me. I knew what it meant

to seduce Tingting.

She kept saying those old clichés like "No, I'm married, I can't, I don't want to," but she didn't turn away.

I clearly sensed that her life was like a desert devoid of passion; she wanted this to happen, but was also a little afraid.

So I persisted in trying to kiss her. She wouldn't let me, but instead wrapped her arms around my waist, pulling me closer and holding me even tighter. She took a half step, as if she wanted to leave, but my arms were still around her, so she stopped.

She said no again and turned away. At that moment, the first kiss happened.

She had already turned around but hadn't moved away yet. I gently touched her shoulder, making her stop. She didn't try to break free; instead, she pressed her back tightly against my chest, her whole body against me, her fingers tracing my beard. I lowered my head towards her, and her lips met mine, moving slightly at the last moment. The kiss landed on her cheek, but I followed her lips. She let me, very briefly. This went on for a while: stopping, walking, chasing, refusing, each round ending with a more lingering kiss. Her resistance shifted from "no" to "this is on the street," then to "I'm very traditional."

She was giving in, she was softening, and I knew victory was in sight.

Then things seemed to turn around again. "I want to go home now," she said. "You go home, I'll go home."

Using a phrase from a gentleman's guide that even I didn't quite believe, I said, "I can't let you go home alone. I'll take you to your place and then we'll take a car to the subway station." She listened to me, and we kissed again in the taxi. She was passionate one moment and indifferent the next. I pulled her close, and she lay in my arms. We kissed passionately again, and then she said, "We're in a taxi," and pulled away from me. Her body language was more defensive. She gazed out the window, and I was somewhat prepared to let her go, to deal with it later.

When the car arrived, she paid the fare, the driver flipped up the vacant sign and was about to leave, which gave me the perfect excuse to get out. I got out, and we kissed as we walked.

"No, this is too close to my hospital," she said; I led her to a secluded spot to continue kissing, our passion rekindled, and she hugged me, whispering in my ear.

"Take me to your house," I pleaded, begging her gently, but she refused. We kissed again, my hands groping her breasts and genitals through her clothes. She accepted it for a few seconds, then said, "Not in the street," and pushed my hands away. We went on like this for a while, and it seemed like it was settled that she wouldn't take me home. She didn't want me to know where she lived because she had said several times, "Go on, I'll only go home when you're in a taxi."

I didn't want to force her too much, so I finally gave in, "I hope I can see you again, okay?" "I never want to see you again," she replied softly, with a hint of a smile in her voice, to show that she hadn't broken off all ties.

So I left, only walking to the end of the street

. I stepped into the recessed doorway of a house and looked back to see what she was doing. She was sitting on the sidewalk, just sitting there. I watched her for about five minutes, and she remained seated. I started to worry about her safety, so I slowly walked back to her. She was holding her head in her hands, quietly. I sat down behind her against a low wall, watching her, waiting for her.

Her body language revealed her inner turmoil; her fingers were rapidly tapping her head, and I guessed she was trying to clear her thoughts and calm the storm, though it only seemed to distract her more. After this happened twice, she stood up, turned around, and suddenly screamed, "You scared me to death!" Then she pounced on me, feigning anger but unable to hide the excitement and joy on her face. We immediately hugged each other. This time, I used the strategy I should have used long ago, "Come to my place." Because I originally wanted her not only to betray her husband, but also to do it in her own room, which was clearly a step too far.

"No, no, I'm married, I'm a traditional woman, I can't go home with you."

Although the kissing stopped, she still wanted to go home with me. Just then, a taxi drove by, but the driver didn't see me waving and kept driving away, leaving us on the empty street. I started yelling because I knew I needed to keep her aroused and get her into the car before she calmed down and changed her mind. Because time was of the essence, we walked to a side street, where there were no cars and the streetlights were very bright. She was too shy to kiss me anymore.

I yelled again because I could feel the excitement. The passion was fading. Perhaps I hadn't realized she'd already made up her mind. When the taxi arrived, she got in with me.

In that car, just like before, the temperature fluctuated; when we arrived at my apartment, her concerns became a reality, affecting her. She stood on the balcony, looking at the city view, rethinking everything. I half-embraced her from behind, while simultaneously tidying the room and replying to a text message from another woman, using a brief "Me too" to deflect her sweet talk, and adding, "I'm almost out of credit," to trick her into texting again, or worse, calling.

Everything was settled, and she made up her mind. She came into the bedroom, slightly hesitant, "I won't lie down, I'll just sit," but with a gentle push, she lay down. From then on, it was just a matter of keeping her aroused, using kisses to rekindle her passion, and caresses to make her let me undress her. It took a few minutes. At first, she didn't want me to take off her top. Kisses, and more kisses, made her give in. I slowly loosened her top, and before she could stop me, I pushed down her bra and kissed her nipple. She arched her back comfortably to meet me, then insisted, "Turn off the light, turn off the light, I'll be shy, I'm very traditional." I did as she said, and she completely complied, letting me take off her top. I skillfully unhooked her bra, and in the moonlight, I saw her small but firm breasts—exquisitely what I liked, sexy, sweet. Of course, it annoyed her a little; "Too small." I've found that many Chinese women feel the same way. (Undressing Tingting)

I wasn't very familiar with her skirt, but since I'd made up my mind, she led my hand to the buttons, pulled off the skirt, revealing plain white panties that weren't particularly suggestive. I'll write about panties and Chinese women separately next time; it's an interesting topic.

When I kissed her breasts through her panties, she recoiled; a few more kisses on her lips and breasts eased her unease. Her shorts came off, revealing neatly shaved pubic hair, an elegant figure, and a beautiful, soft, and smooth body. When I moved towards her nipples, she recoiled again, almost pushing my head away. But once she experienced the sensation, she stopped resisting. I guessed her husband was a simpleton; in fact, I soon realized it. I hesitated for a moment about whether to let her be on top, but in the end, I did. She did it with great enthusiasm and energy, swaying her hips so that her ** could tightly surround my **, and with the contraction of her pelvis, she would sometimes arch her body to ride me, and sometimes lean forward to kiss me. She told me, "I've never done this before, I've only ever done it with the man on top." So, China is a

paradise for sex. That man had been married for six years and had never thought of trying any position other than the "missionary position," never (I firmly believe) bent down to her. In thirty-two years, she had never been "eaten" until she was aroused. The energy she had when she was with me, and her willingness to try any of my suggestions, showed how open-minded and studious she was. Also, the way she straddled me showed that she had thought things through, that she had read some books, because she didn't seem like a novice at all, as she claimed.

It is women like her who make life here full of joy, not just the readily available sex, but also the wonderful sense of self-inflation that gives them unprecedented pleasure.

We had just made love, and it went really well; we were both very into it. She's a doctor, so of course she was worried about pregnancy, so I used a condom. It took a little effort to put it on, and she laughed. Because the condom was so small—that's something worth writing about sometime, about condoms and penis size.

When I ejaculated, I took the condom off so I could ejaculate on her. She, in turn, grasped my penis and swung it back and forth, squeezing it wildly—it was definitely the sexiest thing ever. We cuddled for a while, took a shower, and then, a little while later, I got hard again because she was so sexy and soft. We made love again, but this time I couldn't ejaculate; the condom was too small and uncomfortable.

"Don't force it," she whispered in my ear, "It's okay, we need some time to adjust to each other." So we cuddled and talked, and I gradually drifted off to sleep, but she showed no signs of fatigue; I guessed it was because of guilt.

Indeed, every time I woke up, I saw she wasn't asleep, either looking at me, staring at a certain point, or standing by the window, looking at the city. I didn't know what she was thinking. In the morning, after we made love twice more, I told her I was a little worried that she hadn't slept well the night before, and I saw her gazing out the window. "Did you see that?" she asked. "I fell asleep because of you." I think she was touched that I cared about her.

Making love in the morning light was also a new experience for her. "I never do it in the morning," she said. This made me wonder about her husband again; I guessed he was the kind of man who "finishes in ten strokes."

But it was so sexy, intimate, wonderful. Being able to look at her petite, slender body, observe her eyes, and admire the way her hair was all messed up as she rode me—a good woman. In the past,

it was difficult to ejaculate the second time with a condom on. So we started having sex without a condom because she was worried about pregnancy, not disease. Coincidentally, a week earlier, I needed to have a medical check-up, a necessary procedure for foreigners to obtain a work permit. The check-up included a blood test, so I showed her the results to reassure her about AIDS and other related issues. We sat on the bed, and she explained the details to me charmingly. Being naked with her like that made me ejaculate quickly again. Usually, I control myself well, but I was wearing a condom, which became too tight to go in halfway through, and it also made her a little too dry. So she helped me, so I didn't have to masturbate. She did a good job, even briefly using her mouth. Obviously, this was new to her, and along with all the other new things, it was a bit more. I ejaculated all over her again. She was very happy, her body covered in pus-like semen, with a small puddle on the hollow of her neck. New women always excite me, making me ejaculate more, and I guess this time was no exception. The obvious excitement on my face satisfied her. It was a good night, although her comment about my messy room made me a little ashamed. Before leaving, she gave me another kind of joy. I made toast, which she seemed to have never eaten before, as she kept saying "it's delicious" while eating it. Then she asked me to demonstrate how to use the mini oven, which was quite charming. Chinese women are surprisingly innocent and adorable. For example, my first girlfriend here didn't know how to open a bottle of beer and had never used a bottle opener before. Thinking about it always makes me laugh. After getting dressed, I took her to the subway. Later, I texted her to thank her for the wonderful night, and soon received a reply: "Thank you for the wonderful night too. You're such a gentleman." I thought about her almost constantly that day. I was very happy with this conquest. Her soft body, especially her flat and smooth belly, her neatly shaved pubic hair (trimming pubic hair, to be added to the "things to do" list). Married women are certainly easier to sleep with than single women. They can be very intimate, affectionate, even loving, but there's no need to chase, excitement rather than pressure. In this country, married women don't want divorces. A lover is a secret, a night here, a night there—that's it. There's never the kind of trouble like "You don't spend enough time with me" or "You're always busy." Married women can be good lovers. If they cheat, it's because their marriage is too boring. In that case, they'll be even more passionate in bed (even if they weren't originally enlightened). They want to be loved, pampered, and spoiled—I'm very good at that. If their boredom stems from a useless, unimaginative, dull husband, it means everything I do in bed is new and exciting for them. Tingting had only ever done the "missionary position" with the lights off. Everything else—she was on top (face forward and backward), side-lying, doggy style, missionary position with her legs on my shoulders—was new to her, and incredibly stimulating. And then there was my playfulness; when she sat on my lap, my penis was inside her; I hooked my arms around her knees, walking around the room while still inside her; watching her eyes widen, enjoying a completely new feeling, a novel pleasure, an experience she'd never had before, an experience she'd never even dreamed of. To make a woman feel this way was a tremendous boost to my ego. [The End]

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