A woman's story (repost)

That year, I was thirty-two years old and went to Algeria to reunite with my husband. He was then the assistant general manager of a Chinese state-owned enterprise's aid project in Tamanrasset, southern Algeria, bordering the Sahara Desert.

One day in early July, I arrived in Algiers, the capital of Algeria. I was a middle school English teacher, on summer vacation, and my husband and I hadn't seen each other for over a year. He hadn't come home for Chinese New Year that year, and I missed him terribly.

Before that, I knew nothing about Algeria; it was only after my husband went there that I gained some understanding of this African country.

Algeria is located in North Africa, bordered by the Mediterranean Sea to the north, the Sahara Desert to the south, Libya, Tunisia, and Niger to the east, and Morocco to the west. It is the largest country in Africa by area, with Arabic as its official language and French also widely spoken.

On the day I arrived in Algiers, Xiao Yang, a young man in his late twenties from the Chinese state-owned enterprise's Algiers office, picked me up at the airport. He was specifically responsible for reception duties.

Originally, my husband was supposed to take leave in early July and arrive in Algiers before me, where we would spend two weeks together. However, two days before his departure, he called to tell me that an accident had occurred at the project site, and he couldn't leave temporarily, asking me to wait for him in Algiers for a few days.

I asked him how serious the accident was. He said it was quite serious; several people had died, including one Chinese employee, the rest being locals. This news undoubtedly dampened my long-awaited anticipation. I was very worried about my husband's safety and asked him, "Are you alright? I heard things aren't peaceful there." He laughed and said, "Don't worry, there are no terrorists or anti-government forces here, just a production accident."

His words reassured me a little, and I gave him a few more words of encouragement, telling him to focus on his work and that I would wait for him in Algiers. After hanging up, although the melancholy of not being able to see my husband immediately overwhelmed me, I comforted myself, thinking that it would only be a few days, and it would pass quickly. Besides, wouldn't postponing our reunion add even more sweetness to our long-awaited reunion?

My husband is three years older than me, and we have been together for almost ten years, from meeting to falling in love to getting married, and we have a seven-year-old son. I'm an only child, and both my parents are state-owned enterprise employees. When I was dating my husband, some relatives and friends looked down on him because of his rural background, thinking he wasn't good enough for me. But I still loved him without hesitation.

Later events proved my choice was right. My husband is very hardworking; he became a senior engineer at a young age and even became the assistant general manager of an aid project. He's tall, handsome, and truly a man of great talent. Those relatives and friends who looked down on him back then now all praise my good taste.

The only thing that makes me feel melancholic is that my husband and I have spent little time together over the years, often leaving me feeling lonely and isolated. However, I don't regret or resent this, because I believe a man should prioritize his career; what kind of man is he without a career? But this view of mine was shaken and even overturned not long after I arrived in Algeria by a man named Karim.

That day, Xiao Yang picked me up at the airport and took me to my hotel. He was very enthusiastic and told me that my husband's assistant, Mr. Gao, would probably be back in Algiers in four or five days at most, and that I could contact him anytime if I needed anything. I asked him for recommendations on fun places to visit in Algiers, planning to explore on my own while waiting for my husband.

Mr. Yang recommended several attractions, such as the Bardo Museum, the National Gallery, Castle No. 23, and the Hama Botanical Garden. He also warned me to be careful while traveling, as the security here is far worse than in China.

I was staying in a five-star hotel, the entire cost of which was paid for by the state-owned enterprise, part of their employee benefits. Although it was a five-star hotel, the facilities and services were substandard, at best equivalent to a three-star hotel in China.

The next day, to adjust to the time difference, I planned to do nothing but sleep all day at the hotel. However, I was repeatedly woken up by the chanting of the imam from the nearby mosque. Around noon, I couldn't sleep anymore, so I got up and went to the hotel restaurant for lunch (all meals were also paid for by my husband's company).

After lunch, I decided to go out and explore on my own. To be honest, I didn't like this country much before coming here. Firstly, I dislike the arid, hot climate and desert-adjacent geography of North Africa. Secondly, I had heard many negative rumors about Islam and thought the religion was quite extreme; a country where the entire population practices Islam was hard for me to like.

If it weren't for seeing my husband, whom I'd been longing to see, I wouldn't have come here. But staying in the hotel alone was too boring, so I decided to go out and explore.

Although I don't speak Arabic or French, I have my secret weapon for traveling abroad—a smart translator—so I'm not afraid to go anywhere. I decided to visit the National Gallery first, so I hailed a taxi and used the translator to communicate with the driver, telling him where I wanted to go.

The taxi drove through Algiers' old, chaotic streets, and the exotic sights everywhere were breathtaking. Algiers, nestled against mountains and bordering the azure Mediterranean Sea to the north, is a very beautiful coastal city with a typical subtropical climate. So even though it was July, the weather was quite pleasant, though much more humid and hot than northern China.

This country was long ruled by French colonists, and Algiers is filled with European-style architecture. Coupled with the abundance of white men and women with high noses and deep-set eyes, it felt like being in famous French cities like Paris or Marseille, a far cry from my previous impressions of Africa.

Some might ask, since Algeria is an African country, why are there so many white people on the streets? Actually, most Algerians are Arabs, with a significant Berber population (about 20% of the total population). Ethnically, they belong to the Caucasian race, specifically the Mediterranean type. Compared to the blond, blue-eyed, and fair-skinned Aryans, their skin is darker, and most have black hair and eyes. Black people

can also be seen in Algeria, but they are rare, mainly concentrated in the southern region near the Sahara Desert. This is true not only in Algeria, but also in several other North African countries—Egypt, Morocco, Tunisia, and Libya—with the exception of Sudan. Therefore, our common understanding of Black Africa actually refers to the African continent south of the Sahara Desert, while North Africa is known as White Africa.

The National Gallery is not large, but it is of high quality, housing many works by masters such as Picasso, Rodin, and Degas. Because it wasn't a holiday, there were very few people, and the gallery was quite quiet.

I strolled around and looked around, and after finishing, I went to the Hama Botanical Garden opposite the gallery. The garden was lush with trees and green grass, and there was a huge memorial tower called the Three-Leaf Tower, a landmark of Algiers, built to commemorate resistance against French colonial aggression, similar to a martyrs' monument in China.

After leaving the botanical garden, seeing that it wasn't too late, I decided not to rush to take a taxi back to the hotel and instead wander around. At that time, I didn't realize that this decision would be a mistake, not only putting me in a dangerous situation but also beginning an experience that would completely change my life.

Passing through a market, I bought a shawl and skirt with an Arabian flair, and then wandered aimlessly along the streets. As I walked, I noticed many men staring at me. Those gazes contained more than just curiosity about an Asian woman; they were filled with male desire.

My tall, slender figure, coupled with my beautiful face, made me a captivating young woman in their eyes. That day, I wore a black, tight-fitting lace T-shirt, dark blue skinny jeans, and Adidas sneakers, which accentuated my ample bust and shapely figure.

Those men's gazes made me very uncomfortable, and I inwardly berated myself for dressing like that—had I forgotten Xiao Yang's warning?

Just then, a burly, bearded, and fierce-looking middle-aged man brushed past me, reaching out to touch my bare arm. I glared at him in fear and stepped aside. The fierce-looking man smiled at me and followed a few meters away.

Several more men followed me, their lecherous eyes brazenly scanning my body. They were speaking to each other in Arabic, their smiles malicious.

I was terrified. Clutching my shopping bag in one hand and gripping the shoulder strap of my handbag tightly with the other, I walked faster and faster, wanting only to escape this terrifying place.

Suddenly, a young man, looking like a college student with a backpack, approached me. His young, handsome face, with its touch of innocence, felt like a lifeline to me. I looked at him pleadingly.

The boy walked up to me, smiled brightly, and said in English, "Hey! Baby, you're beautiful and sexy. I want to sleep with you."

My hopes vanished instantly, and I screamed inwardly as I ran away. I kept glancing back as I ran, and saw the men following me. I didn't know where to go. In my panic, I saw a café nearby and, without thinking, pushed open the door and went inside.

The café wasn't crowded. A middle-aged man was playing chess with an older man. The middle-aged man looked up at me, his gaze somewhat surprised.

I didn't know what to say to him, so I looked at him, then glanced out the window. Outside the café, the men were gathered, whispering among themselves, their faces still bearing malicious smiles.

The middle-aged man also noticed them. He stood up; he was over six feet tall, with a straight posture, and very handsome. His neatly trimmed beard added to his masculinity.

He smiled slightly at me and said in English, "Madam, do you need any help?" I thanked my God inwardly; finally, I'd met someone who spoke English. I said, "Please, a coffee, thank you!" "

Just a moment." He smiled slightly again and walked towards the door. For some reason, his smile made me feel at ease, instantly calming my nervousness. I saw him go outside and talk to those men, who soon left.

He went back into the café to make coffee behind the counter. I saw the old man looking at me; he nodded kindly, and I smiled back, choosing a seat by the window.

I discreetly observed the middle-aged man, noticing his sculpted, striking face, somewhat resembling Prince Hector from the Hollywood blockbuster *Troy*.

His tasteful attire suggested a comfortable lifestyle, and the muscular physique emanating from his fitted shirt indicated he exercised regularly and had an outstanding physique. I had also just seen him playing chess and speaking fluent English, suggesting a good education. In short, he was a materially wealthy and well-mannered man, a world apart from the men outside.

As I was secretly observing and analyzing him, he suddenly looked up at me, noticed my scrutiny, and gave me an elegant smile. I quickly looked away, my heart inexplicably racing. Even though it was only our first meeting, I had to admit to myself that, for a woman, he was indeed a charming man.

Soon, the middle-aged man brought me coffee and sat down opposite me. I thanked him profusely, took a small sip, and found it quite delicious, while simultaneously feeling a sense of relief and lingering fear. The middle-aged man

asked if this was my first time in Algeria. I said yes, and asked what he had said to those people earlier. He smiled and said, "I told them you are my friend and to tell them not to follow you." He then asked if I was East Asian. I said I was Chinese.

He asked if I was in Algeria for tourism. I said I came here to reunite with my husband, who is currently working in Tamanrasset. He exclaimed, "Oh!" and said it was terrible there, extremely hot, and very windy; my husband must be having a hard time. I wanted to tell him that this place was just as bad, not only chaotic, but I'd also encountered those kinds of men, and I wanted to go home after only one day. But I didn't say it.

We started talking. His name was Karim Mahlani, thirty-eight years old that year, the owner of the café. He had studied in England, so in addition to Arabic and French, he could speak English.

After finishing my coffee, I felt it was about time, so I thanked Karim and prepared to leave, saying that his coffee was very good. Karim asked me where I was going. I said back to the hotel. He said, "Shall I drive you? It'll be safer that way, so you won't be harassed by those men again."

I hesitated in my heart whether to accept his offer. Maybe he really meant well, but what if he had ulterior motives like those men? Just as I was hesitating, he laughed and said, "I'm not specifically offering to drive you. I'm going out to have dinner with some friends, and I just happen to be passing by your hotel."

What could I say? I got into a Mercedes SUV with him, and we drove towards the hotel.

Algiers is a very long and narrow city, the entire city built along the bay, nestled against the mountains and the sea. Evening had fallen, and the city lights were twinkling along the Mediterranean coast. Only then did my mood improve, thanks to the beautiful night view of Algiers and the sense of security the man beside me provided.

Karim, driving me, said that men in this country never hide their desires and don't respect women enough; dressed like this, I was bound to attract unwanted attention. I agreed, secretly blaming myself for being too careless, all the research I'd done before leaving the country was for nothing.

When we parted, we simply said goodbye, without exchanging contact information. Karim didn't mention it, and I felt it was unnecessary, even though I was grateful for his help that day. I thought I might never see this man who had warmed my heart again.

That evening, my husband called, telling me he might have to postpone his arrival in Algiers by more than twenty days. I burst into tears, not only because I missed him, but also because of the unpleasant experience that day.

I cried and told my husband that I didn't want to be alone here for even a day longer. I hated it here, hated the mess and the humid weather, hated the imam's chanting in the mosque. He asked what was wrong, but I didn't tell him about today's events, only that I missed him terribly.

My husband comforted me, saying he missed me too, but the situation at the project site was terrible, worse than expected, and even people from China had been sent over. He told me to wait patiently for another twenty-odd days.

I said, "Then I'll come find you there." My husband immediately said no, it's in the Sahara Desert, the natural environment is too harsh, and it's the hottest time of year now; the sun would be enough to give me sunburn, and there's sand in the water.

I didn't want to distract him too much, so I just said that I was emotionally unstable earlier, but I'm fine now. He then asked if I had gone out today, and I told him roughly, but not about meeting Karim, and that I had bought a shawl and a dress.

At this point, I suddenly remembered that the shawl and dress were still at Karim's café, and I had forgotten to take them when I left in the afternoon. I thought I'd pick it up tomorrow, but I didn't want to go out alone, afraid of running into those men again. I figured it was fine, it wasn't worth much anyway.

The next day, I was reading on my balcony when I received a call from the front desk saying a gentleman was looking for me. I was suspicious. Besides that employee of some state-owned enterprise named Xiao Yang, I didn't know anyone else here. If it were him, he would have called my room beforehand. Who could it be? Suddenly, I thought of Karim. Could it be him?

When I got to the lobby, sure enough, I saw Karim standing there, handsome and dashing, carrying my shopping bag. That's when I understood why he was looking for me. He gave me a warm smile, just like when I first met him yesterday.

In the hotel's Western restaurant, I said, "I was planning to pick it up from your shop today, but I didn't expect you to make the trip. I'm so sorry to have troubled you." Karim, while cutting his steak, smiled and said it was no problem. He said he wasn't busy in the morning anyway, and almost no one comes in for coffee in the morning.

Since it was almost noon, I treated him to lunch to express my gratitude for his help yesterday and for returning the item to me today.

We chatted over lunch, and I found that Karim was indeed different from most Algerian men I had met. He was very gentlemanly and respectful of women. When we sat down, he pulled out a chair for me first and only sat down himself after I did. After that, he served me drinks. Islamic culture does not allow alcohol, and although the hotel had drinks specifically for foreigners, I didn't order any because Karim was Muslim.

We had a pleasant conversation, and by then I had learned a little about him. He was married with two wives (polygamy is common in most Arab countries, and Algeria is no exception) and three children. His first wife was a year younger than him and had given him a son and a daughter; the son was fifteen and the daughter thirteen. His second wife was eight years younger than him and had a daughter who had just turned seven. The café was left to him by his deceased father.

I asked him, "Since you have a degree from a British university, haven't you thought about doing something else?" He looked at me, puzzled. I quickly explained that I didn't mean to look down on his current life at all; I just thought he was capable and could achieve great things.

Karim laughed and said that this was the life he wanted, and he even planned to pass the café on to his son in the future, if he wanted to.

His words made me feel that he lacked ambition as a man, at least compared to my husband. But I wasn't offended by this at all, because I knew that everyone has their own preferred way of life. At that time, I didn't know that he actually had other family businesses.

And I have to admit that after spending a brief time with him yesterday and today, I was attracted by his handsome appearance and elegant demeanor. Although I love my husband and have never considered being unfaithful, that doesn't prevent me, as a mature woman, from being attracted to another man's charm, developing feelings for him, and admiring him. I don't think this is a big deal, nor does it constitute infidelity to my husband and marriage.

Karim suggested that since my husband wouldn't be in Algiers for almost a month, he could be my free tour guide, showing me around the city; this famous Mediterranean city has some sights to see.

I had no reason to refuse; having a local accompany me, without worrying about safety, was infinitely better than staying cooped up in my hotel room all day. Karim was pleased to see me agree and said, "Why not start today?" I said I had some things to take care of today, and suggested another day.

Actually, I didn't have anything to do; it was just that, out of feminine modesty, I didn't want to accept a man's kindness too quickly, especially from a strange foreign man.

At that time, I couldn't foresee that this step I was about to take would later place me in a vortex of pain and entanglement.

2. Infidelity:

I ended up going out with him anyway. During those days, Karim took me to almost all of Algiers' famous attractions—the Notre-Dame de Africa, which echoes Notre-Dame Cathedral across the Mediterranean Sea; the Grand Post Office, steeped in French colonial style; the Algiers Castle, nestled between the mountains and the sea; and the old town of Kasbah, a remnant of the Carthaginian era.

The Notre-Dame de Africa, perched atop a hill, is grand and imposing. Interestingly, the statue of the Virgin Mary inside is of a Black woman, which was truly eye-opening for me.

Standing on one side of the platform outside the cathedral, one can overlook the breathtaking scenery of the Mediterranean coastline. In the distance, a vast expanse of blue stretches out, the sea shimmering under the sunlight, a flock of seagulls circling constantly between the sun and the sea—a scene of breathtaking beauty.

I couldn't help but tilt my head back, close my eyes, and immerse myself in the beauty. At that moment, I didn't notice Karim silently observing me beside me. Later, he told me that from that moment on, he fell hopelessly in love with me.

On the other side of the platform, one can enjoy a bird's-eye view of the buildings in downtown Algiers, a diverse array of houses arranged in a harmonious and picturesque manner, equally stunning.

I especially loved the old town of Kasbah. Its crisscrossing streets and brightly colored houses created a striking visual impact, and it was incredibly tranquil. Walking through those winding alleys felt like stepping into another world.

My visit over the next few days significantly changed my impression of the country. I felt it was a nation rich in history and artistic flair, with beautiful scenery.

Moreover, after arriving in Algeria, I discovered that the average person is very good-looking; the men are mostly tall and handsome, and the women are mostly beautiful and graceful. Handsome men and beautiful women are everywhere on the streets.

I also noticed that the people of Algeria love football; you can often see young people and children playing it in the streets and alleys. According to Karim, Algeria's football level is also quite good. Their national team has participated in the World Cup multiple times and has even won the Africa Cup of Nations once. Their most glorious moment in history was defeating the powerful West Germany in the 1982 World Cup.

Recalling this history, Karim said that although he was very young at the time, he still remembers his father and uncles celebrating wildly in front of the television.

During my tour, I learned more about Algerian customs and culture from Karim. I asked him why, in my previous impression, Arab women were always heavily covered up when they went out. Why do so many women in Algeria wear fashionable clothes, at most a headscarf, and some don't even wear a headscarf?

Karim told me that I was referring to West Asian countries. North Africa, compared to West Asia, is generally more open, and Algeria is the most open and Europeanized country in the Arab world, so women's clothing is quite fashionable and avant-garde. Of course, many women still wear traditional robes and headscarves when they go out, but these are mostly married women, especially older women; younger women prefer to wear fashionable clothes.

I joked with him, "Your Arab countries allow polygamy, up to four wives. Why don't you marry more?" He laughed and said, "Do you think all Arab men are polygamous? Without sufficient financial resources, it's impossible to marry multiple wives; it's simply unaffordable. So in Algeria, the vast majority of men have only one wife. I'm lucky to have two."

He then told me that a friend of his was very wealthy and had four wives, the third of whom was Chinese. He said he could introduce us if the opportunity arose.

I said, "Judging from your clothes, your manner of speaking, and the car you drive, you're definitely rich." He laughed and said, "I'm not exactly rich, but I'm not too poor either. My father hoped I would marry more, but I already have two wives. If I were to marry a third, she would have to be a woman who truly captivates me; otherwise, I'd rather not marry at all."

As he said this, his deep, piercing eyes were fixed on me, and my heart fluttered.

At that moment, I realized I was captivated by this man. His handsome and sexy appearance, elegant demeanor, and eloquence gradually stirred my heart, making me want to get closer to him. In my many years of dating and marriage with my husband, I had never felt this way about any other man. This made me both anxious and inexplicably excited.

That day, Karim drove me back to my hotel late at night. I unbuckled my seatbelt, about to say goodbye, when he said to me, "An Yu." I hummed in response and looked up at him. He gazed at me and slowly moved closer.

My heart pounded, a turmoil raging within me—should I accept or refuse? Just as I hesitated, Karim kissed my lips. My mind went blank; I neither resisted nor yielded. Gradually, I began to reciprocate, my hands quietly encircling his neck, and we kissed passionately.

I don't know how long we kissed, but then his hand moved to my chest, cupping my breast through my clothes. I instantly snapped back to reality, pushed him away, and murmured, "No, we can't, we can't do this."

He sounded uneasy and said, "I'm sorry." I opened the car door, turned, and ran towards the hotel lobby.

On the way back to my room, my heart was still pounding. I admit I was tempted by him; my defenses had crumbled for a moment. Thankfully, I pulled back from the brink and didn't do anything further to betray my husband.

Back in the room, I filled the bathtub and then stripped naked. In the mirror, I saw the naked body of a mature and alluring woman—tall, slender, almost without an ounce of fat, her breasts small but round and firm, her abdomen flat, her pubic hair perfectly proportioned, and her legs long and straight. Such a beautiful woman's body, yet she received no comfort from her husband, left to languish in the humid air of Algiers.

I lay in the bathtub, trying to erase what had just happened from my mind, but the feeling of kissing Karim stubbornly kept resurfacing, making me blush and my heart race uncontrollably.

Overwhelmed by desire, I began to caress my body, starting with my breasts and gradually moving downwards, past my abdomen to my genitals. At the same time, Karim's image flashed through my mind, filling me with fear, shame, and an irresistible urge. I inserted my fingers into my vagina, and my moans echoed in the bathroom.

After the climax, I felt even more ashamed and uneasy, my entire being, including my head, submerged in water, as if sinking deeper and deeper into the Mediterranean Sea.

That night, despite the late hour, I called my husband. I wanted to tell him that we couldn't be apart again, that either he came to Algiers immediately, or I would go to Tamanrasset. I didn't say it aloud, only that I missed him terribly.

My husband, half-asleep, said, "Honey, just bear with it a little longer, we'll see each other soon." I knew I had to understand him. He had worked hard to get to where he was now, and with this successful aid project, his future was bright. He was working so hard for our family, and I couldn't hold him back at a time like this.

But who understood me? I am, after all, a woman, and I need my husband by my side. After hanging up the phone, I thought to myself, "You foolish man, don't you know you're about to lose your wife?"

The next day, Karim called to apologize, saying he had acted impulsively the night before and offended me, asking for my forgiveness. I didn't blame him. He asked if we were still friends.

Although my reason told me I shouldn't see him again, I said that as long as nothing like last night happened again, we would still be friends. At the time, I felt that as long as I kept my distance, nothing would happen, and I also believed his apology was sincere.

I could feel him sigh with relief. "Thank you," he said.

Two days later, Karim took me to a place by the sea, about thirty kilometers from Algiers. He had a villa there, a family heirloom.

Karim assured me it was beautiful, and I would definitely fall in love with the place. When I arrived, I realized he was absolutely right. The white sand beaches, vast lawns, azure sea, rolling coconut groves, and houses facing the ocean were truly breathtaking.

Karim cooked me an Arabic-style lunch, and I was amazed that a wealthy Muslim heir could cook. He said he learned while studying in England. We ate and chatted, sharing our pasts.

Karim's family was considered wealthy in Algeria; his father had four wives, and he had ten siblings. At eighteen, he went to England to study management, and he also had a great interest in painting, which he explored while there. He married his first wife immediately after graduating from university, and his second wife at thirty. After his father's death, he and his brothers inherited the estate, and he received three cafes and a coffee processing factory. The cafe I had rushed into in my haste that day was his favorite; he often spent time there.

He also showed me photos of his two wives and children. His first wife, Aymila, was his childhood sweetheart, thirty-seven years old, and incredibly charming. His second wife, Anani, was thirty years old, a typical Arab beauty with black hair and dark eyes, possessing a dreamy gaze, a blend of Eastern and Western beauty. Their fifteen-year-old son was also handsome, and their thirteen- and seven-year-old daughters were beautiful and adorable; the whole family was good-looking.

I asked him, "Your two wives love you very much, don't they?" He said, "Yes, they love me very much and never go against my will." I asked again, "And you? Do you love them too?"

"Of course!" he answered without hesitation. Then he frankly told me that he had been with many women.

Although Algeria is an Islamic country, as a North African nation, its social atmosphere is relatively open, and people's attitudes towards sex are more open than in many Arab countries. Especially men, under the dual influence of male chauvinism and Westernization, consider sleeping with women commonplace. He lost his virginity at fourteen to a girl next door in her twenties, and also slept with many women while studying in England.

I also introduced him to my family, telling him that my husband only has me as his wife and he could never have another woman. I'm also an only child; I have no siblings, and my husband and I only have one child.

He asked me why my parents didn't have more children; didn't they like children? I told him it was because the law didn't allow it. He found it unbelievable, so I explained that China's population had grown too rapidly in the past few decades, and the government had implemented the one-child policy to control this growth, although it has now been relaxed to allow a second child.

He understood, but still couldn't comprehend it. I understand that Arabs view procreation as a private and sacred right that shouldn't be restricted or even deprived. I retorted somewhat sarcastically, saying that every country has its own national conditions, and the restrictions your country places on women's rights seem equally unbelievable to us.

He smiled and then asked about my sexual history, which I told him truthfully. Perhaps in this strange and distant country, I don't have so many boundaries in my mind. Compared to his colorful experiences, my sexual history is much simpler; so far, I've only had my ex-boyfriend from university and my current husband.

After lunch, we went for a walk on the beach. I naturally took Karim's arm, once again losing my sense of boundaries. Like in *The English Patient*, it's easy to lose boundaries in the desert; here I was in this country on the edge of the desert, and I was gradually losing my own.

We continued chatting, and Karim couldn't understand why my husband would disregard everything for his work, including leaving his wife, who had traveled a long way, behind. I knew he wasn't intentionally belittling my husband in front of me, but simply judging things by his own values.

He believed career and life were equally important, with the latter being more important. He believed that building a career was for a better life, and neglecting life for the sake of career was putting the cart before the horse. If forced to choose between career and life, he would choose life.

Therefore, he particularly couldn't understand why Chinese people in Algeria worked until evening every day, even on weekends and Sundays, while he would never open his shop or work on those days, because God had granted him and his employees the right to rest.

I then understood why the Algerian employees at my husband's project site stopped working after 3 pm every day. My husband used to say they were lazy and not as hardworking as the Chinese, but now I realize it's a difference in values.

Actually, Chinese people also want to rest, but pressure forces them to work relentlessly, while men here see enjoying life as the most important thing. Just like how Chinese people, though they desire sex, are always secretive, while North African men are completely open about it. So much so that the men I met on the street that day, the moment they saw me, they had the idea of having sex with me and were ready to put it into practice.

Back at the villa, Karim played a record on an old-fashioned gramophone. To the melodious, romantic music, we danced. "Dancing" isn't quite accurate; we simply moved slowly, embracing each other, to the rhythm.

Gradually, my other hand rested on his shoulder, and my face pressed against his. I knew my boundaries were blurring in the desert, until they disappeared completely.

He began kissing my face, and I didn't resist, letting his lips move to mine, our lips locked in a passionate kiss.

At that moment, my defenses crumbled completely. I decided to temporarily cast aside everything—my husband, son, and family—in this place so far removed from my own life, in this man's arms. "

Take me inside," I whispered in his ear.

On the bed in the bedroom, Karim and I lay naked in each other's arms. He kissed me, caressed my body, and murmured, "Your body is so beautiful, a masterpiece of God."

His body was also beautiful—strong, muscular, with chiseled, well-proportioned muscles that weren't overly developed. Thick chest and abdominal hair, like a lawn, stretched down to his pubic area, exuding masculine charm.

And his erect penis was astonishingly large, thick and long, almost twice the size of my ex-boyfriend's and husband's. I was even a little worried about whether my vagina could withstand the thrusting of such a large penis.

He patiently sucked on my nipples, his fingers tracing patterns on my vulva, from the labia to the clitoris, and back again. His caresses were truly wonderful, quickly arousing me.

Then he penetrated me slowly, kissing my breasts and licking my nipples as he thrust. I felt the unusual size, hardness, and fullness inside my vagina, and I clearly understood one fact—I had cheated on him.

This thing, which I had never imagined would happen before, arrived unexpectedly and irresistibly during my time reuniting with my husband in a foreign country.

He said he loved me. I asked him when it started. He said he was captivated by my beauty and helplessness the first time he saw me, and then, after taking me sightseeing for several days, he fell completely in love with me.

He asked me if I loved him. I thought of my husband and remained noncommittal. He smiled slightly, didn't press further, and increased the speed of his thrusts. He kept using the same position, the traditional missionary position, until he ejaculated. At that moment, I felt a spasm in my vaginal walls, and a warm current surged from deep within. I had reached orgasm.

After our lovemaking, he took me to the bathroom to shower, carefully washing every part of my body. Looking at his attentive manner, I wondered, do all Arab men serve women like this? Perhaps! They view sex, or rather, conquering a woman's body, as a kind of performance art.

Back in bed, we cuddled and chatted. He gently stroked the jade pendant necklace around my neck, praising its beauty and how well it suited me. I told him it was a gift from my late grandmother, which I'd worn for over a decade.

I told him about my childhood; my parents were busy with work, and I was primarily raised by my grandmother, who passed away when I was in high school.

He gently picked up the jade pendant and asked, "Do you miss her?" I nodded. He said he often missed his father too.

Soon, he became erect again, and I was amazed at how quickly he could regain his virility—it was unimaginable for my husband. Once again, I thought of my husband at this moment, feeling a pang of guilt, but I quickly became engrossed in his foreplay.

He not only kissed and caressed my entire body but also gave me oral sex. He was truly a master of sex; my body seemed to unfold layer by layer under his touch, and I almost reached orgasm before he even entered me.

This time, he lasted longer than last time, over forty minutes, and changed positions several times, bringing me to orgasm one after another. Only after I had fully enjoyed the pleasure of sex did he ejaculate inside me.

Compared to him, my husband seemed like a child in bed.

That night, we drove to a nearby town for dinner. Back at the villa, we couldn't wait to kiss and embrace, quickly undressing each other before taking a bath together.

I gave him oral sex, something I rarely did with my husband before because I was shy. But now, I shamelessly took an Arab man's penis into my mouth. His penis was really big; I could only take about three-fifths of it before the glans pressed against my throat, making it impossible to go any further. But I still tried my best to suck his penis because I wanted to do it, and pleasing him was my own pleasure.

Then he picked me up, placed me on the sink, and entered me standing up. We started off passionately in the bathroom, then moved the battlefield to the bed, continuing until I was completely exhausted.

We fell asleep in each other's arms. The next morning, I woke up to find him leaning over the headboard, watching me. I smiled sweetly and offered him my lips. After a passionate kiss, I complained that he had been too rough with me the night before, and that my back was still a little sore. He smiled slightly, picked me up, and carried me to the bathroom.

The bathtub was already filled with steaming hot water and had been sprinkled with shower gel. He carried me inside and we sat facing each other. I leaned against the tub wall, closing my eyes and enjoying the warm embrace. Suddenly, he lifted my legs and placed them on his shoulders, his lips and tongue exploring my genitals.

I held onto the edge of the tub with both hands, my body floating on the water, enjoying his oral sex. His tongue was incredibly skillful, sometimes parting my labia minora, sometimes teasing my clitoris. I reached orgasm from his oral sex, then leaned against him, letting him hold me and enjoy the afterglow and tranquility of my climax.

I asked Karim, "Why are you so good at sex?" He said, "Because I'm a strong man." He then told me that in the Arab world, wealthy men attend sex schools from a young age to learn techniques for making love with women, to understand women's bodies and needs, so that they can better enjoy their wives' bodies and make them love them wholeheartedly. "

So you started practicing when you were fourteen?" I laughed. He said it was an accident, not part of his study plan. I asked again, "Doesn't Islam oppose premarital and extramarital sex?" He said it mainly restricts women, while Arab men consider enjoying sex and releasing desires very important.

We talked for a while, and then he made love to me again. I thought to myself, as he said, his two wives must love him very much. He's so handsome, so rich, and so good in bed; those two women must love him to death.

Perhaps, it was destined from that moment that I would later love him to death too.

3. Intoxicated

by the following days, Karim and I were together every day, and we made love every day, either at his residence in Algiers or in my hotel room.

He was like a patient and guiding mentor, opening up a whole new world of sex for me. I was like a naive little girl, led by him through the river of love between men and women.

Karim had many different techniques for sex, and his skills were exceptional, including G-sex, which I had never tried before. At first, I felt a little uncomfortable when he did it to my anus, but I quickly became engrossed.

He was very good at controlling the rhythm of sex and understood a woman's body and needs, bringing me to ecstasy with each orgasm. Every time we met, I would have multiple orgasms. Even when he held me before penetration, his thick pubic hair rubbing against my breasts, I felt incredibly good.

Under his tutelage, I could also skillfully perform oral sex on him and use deep throat techniques to swallow his entire penis. Sometimes, I would even orgasm while performing oral sex on him.

I had never imagined that sex could be so pleasurable; I felt like I had wasted so many years.

At the same time, I often felt guilty. The thought of my husband working tirelessly in the desert while I was in Algiers having sex with a man I had only recently met filled me with shame. But the pleasure of the affair was like poppy, drawing me in with fear and guilt, like a moth drawn to a flame, again and again into Karim's arms, letting his enormous penis thrust freely into my vagina.

Of course, we weren't always having sex when we were together; we often spent time in his café.

Every time, I would sit in the same window seat I'd always taken the first time, a coffee cup on the table. I would either read a book or gaze blankly at the street scene outside. He would watch me from behind the bar, making coffee for customers. Even when he wasn't busy, he liked to sit quietly behind the bar and watch me. Sometimes our eyes would meet, and we would exchange a knowing smile.

His two wives almost never came to this café, because Arab women generally didn't enter places frequented by men unless there were special circumstances.

When I wasn't at the café, he would put a reservation sign on the table where I sat, and that spot became my reserved seat.

Once, Karim even introduced me to his friends. That evening, he had dinner with some friends, and everyone brought their wives. He brought me along, presenting myself as his girlfriend. Polygamy is legal in Arab countries, so having girlfriends in addition to one's wife is normal, as long as it's not adultery with a married woman; there's nothing strange about it. His wealthy friend, who had three wives, also came.

That night, we were in a typical Arab-style restaurant, with the men at one table and the women at another. In Arab countries, women are not allowed to eat at the same table as men.

Karim's wealthy friend was named Hassan, a few years older than him, and Hassan's third wife sat next to me. Knowing beforehand that I was Chinese, Hassan brought his third wife, whom I'll refer to as Mrs. Hassan.

To be honest, I didn't particularly like Mrs. Hassan, even though she was Chinese, because her behavior and mannerisms suggested a flaunting of wealth. But since we were all compatriots, and Karim and Hassan were friends, I tried my best to talk to her.

Through our conversation, I learned that Hassan had met his third wife while on a business trip in China and brought her back to Algeria to marry her, even though he already had two wives at the time.

After we got to know each other, Mrs. Hassan started talking to me about everything. She asked me if my relationship with Karim was serious or just a fling. I couldn't tell her I was married, so I could only remain silent. Mrs. Hassan said it was best not to marry an Arab man.

I was a little surprised and asked her why. She said Arab men are generally scumbags; they're incredibly romantic and sweet-talking when they're pursuing you, but once they've won you over, they reveal their true male chauvinistic nature, lacking respect for women and being very lustful.

I glanced at Karim, who was chatting and laughing with his friends, wondering if he was like that too.

We were speaking in Chinese, so we weren't worried about being overheard by the others present. I asked Mrs. Hassan if she regretted marrying Hassan. She said she didn't regret it because she loved Hassan and had already given him two children; she was just complaining about the shortcomings of Arab men.

She also said that having sex with Arab men was quite nice because they were all very sexually capable, and sex with them was especially pleasurable—I suppose I've already experienced that. I blushed, hesitated for a moment, and asked her, "Before I went abroad, I was researching Algeria and I happened to see someone online say that Arab men have an unusually strong sex drive and sexual function, and that a typical young adult male has sex four or five times a day. Is that true?"

Mrs. Hassan chuckled, "It's not that exaggerated. Do you really think they're sex robots? Does your man have sex with you four or five times a day? But it's true that he has sex with you at least once or twice a day. For example, my husband—the four of us women take turns serving him, averaging three to four days, which is just right; otherwise, we really couldn't stand him."

At this point, I understood why these countries allow polygamy, with a maximum of four wives. Because Arab men have particularly strong sexual desires, it's difficult for one Arab woman to satisfy her husband, so she needs to share the service with other women. Those poor men who can only afford one wife naturally don't live as comfortably as the rich.

I then asked, "Won't conflicts arise when four women live in one household? Like jealousy and rivalry?"

Mrs. Hassan chuckled, "Generally not, because the Quran stipulates that wives should love one another, and husbands must treat all wives equally, without favoritism. For example, if you buy something for one wife, you must buy four copies, and the other three wives should also have a share. Otherwise, if one wife takes it to an Islamic marriage court, the husband will be in deep trouble. Similarly, wives can't sow discord, or the consequences will be severe. Of course, some favoritism is inevitable; for example, my husband Hassan loves me the most."

Amid Mrs. Hassan's smug chuckle, I understood why Karim had told me that day that poor men simply couldn't afford polygamy; besides the expensive dowry, the daily expenses were also enormous.

I glanced furtively at the women at our table, chatting and eating. They were all wives of wealthy men, serving their husbands alongside other women. I suppose they were all like Mrs. Hassan had described?

After meeting Mrs. Hassan, we exchanged contact information and agreed to meet for afternoon tea.

Karim and I savored the time before my husband's arrival. I even changed my previous expectations for him, secretly hoping he would come as late as possible, because otherwise, it would mean the day Karim and I would break up, and I felt I couldn't live without him.

I finally told Karim I loved him. Yes, I had fallen hopelessly in love with him. Just over two weeks ago, before I came to Algeria, I never dreamed I would fall in love with a foreign man here, so passionately.

But fate always likes to play tricks. When I longed for my husband, I could hardly see him; now, when I didn't want to see him anymore, he appeared before me without warning.

Before my husband arrived, Karim and I had a little argument. For three days straight, he didn't come to see me or to the coffee shop.

Later, I called him and learned he had taken his two wives and three children on a trip to Melilla, a Spanish autonomous province in Morocco. They take similar trips twice a year to strengthen family bonds.

I was very upset; the image of Karim surrounded by his two beautiful wives and three children flashed through my mind, as if I had been abandoned. Both of his wives were quite beautiful, especially his second wife, Anani, who was young and stunning. I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy.

Although I knew I had no right to be jealous—we were just friends with benefits, not even his girlfriend, and I was already married—I couldn't suppress the sadness and frustration.

That afternoon, after returning to Algiers, he came to my hotel. Before that, he had called me many times, but I had refused to answer. I was taking a bath at the time, wrapped in a towel, and left the door ajar, pretending not to let him in. Actually, I really wanted him to come in, craving his big, hard cock to thrust into my little hole that he had neglected for three days.

He begged me to let him in at the door, but I coldly told him to leave until he pulled out the gift he had bought for me in Melilla. Only then did I remove the door chain and let him in.

I didn't want his gift, saying I didn't care for things that came in triplicate. He said he hadn't bought it for his two wives, only for me.

What followed was naturally a quarrel in bed and a reconciliation in bed. I told him, against my will, not to touch me, but I still half-heartedly let him remove the towel from my body and insert his penis into my anus.

I asked him if he had slept with both of his wives while he was traveling. He said his first wife, Amyra, was menstruating, so he slept with his second wife, Anani. I burst into tears upon hearing this, enduring his ministrations while begging him to promise to stay with me every day until my husband arrived, and not to touch any other woman, including his two wives.

I knew my request was unreasonable, but I wanted to do it because I loved him so much. He agreed to my unreasonable request while still penetrating my anus, and then brought me to orgasm.

Afterwards, we went out for dinner and watched an American movie. Back at the hotel, it was late at night. We walked hand-in-hand to the lobby. Karim would be spending the night in my room, continuing to fuck me with his huge, intoxicating cock. Suddenly,

I remembered I had left my bag in Karim's car, so I asked him to retrieve it. I walked into the lobby alone and was startled to see my husband approaching. A chill ran down my spine; had he seen what Karim and I had just been doing?

My husband walked up to me with a beaming smile and said, "Honey, you're back?" I snapped out of my

daze and stammered, "You…why are you here?" He laughed, "What are you saying? Weren't you looking forward to my arrival? It's like you didn't want to see me." I thought to myself, judging from the situation, he hadn't seen Karim and me holding hands. I said, "No, I thought you wouldn't be here for another seven or eight days! You really are something, not even calling me before you came.

I wanted to surprise you!" My husband chuckled, "How was it? Were you surprised?"

He was happy, but little did he know, while he was away, his beloved wife was being thoroughly enjoyed by an Arab man.

I forced a smile, "Yes, yes!" I thought, "No surprise, but definitely a shock."

Just then, Karim walked into the lobby with my bag. He froze when he saw my husband. I involuntarily looked at him, and my husband looked at him too. He had nowhere to hide.

Karim came over and handed me my bag, saying, "Ma'am, you forgot your bag." My husband looked at him in surprise and asked in English, "Who are you?"

Karim said he was a taxi driver who had just driven me back to the hotel and realized I had forgotten my bag when I got out, so he quickly brought it back. My husband didn't suspect anything and thanked Karim repeatedly, even taking out some money to give him a tip. Karim tried to refuse, but my husband insisted, so he had to accept it.

Watching Karim's departing figure, my husband said to me, "Honey, you're so careless! How could you forget your bag in the taxi? Luckily, that driver was kind; that's rare in Algeria."

I hid my annoyance and took my husband's arm, saying, "Honey, let's go upstairs?" My husband said as we walked, "That taxi driver is so handsome! He's dressed so well; he doesn't look like a taxi driver at all." I felt a pang of guilt again and said, "What's it to you?"

On the way back to the room, my husband asked me where I had gone tonight. I said I had gone to see a movie. My husband said he'd try to go out alone less often, as the security here isn't great. I snapped back, "What am I supposed to do all alone here? Then don't go out."

He said, a little embarrassed, "I'm sorry, honey, it's all my fault."

On the bed, he was on top of me, panting heavily. He had no idea that just that afternoon, Karim had anal sex

with me right there on this bed. I pretended to be ecstatic, hoping he'd finish quickly. In just over two weeks, my attitude towards him had completely changed. When I first arrived in Algiers, I longed for him every day, but now I felt nothing for him. He didn't disappoint

; he ejaculated in less than five minutes. We hadn't been apart for over a year, and perhaps because he hadn't been with a woman in so long, his performance was much weaker than before.

He rolled over, let out a long sigh, and savored the afterglow of ejaculation. I got up and wiped away the semen that had spilled from my vagina with a tissue.

Then he hugged me and poured out his longing for me. I absentmindedly responded, but thankfully he was in a good mood and didn't notice my distress.

Later, he told me that his trip was actually very rushed, and he had to rush back the day after tomorrow because he hadn't finished dealing with things there. Hearing this, I was secretly happy, but muttered complaints that he was leaving me behind again.

My husband apologized, saying that he really couldn't stay with me this time and that I should enjoy myself for a few days before returning home. I pretended to be angry, sat up, and said, "I came all this way to visit my family, and this is it? Lin Yuanxin, have you ever let me have a few good days all these years? Is this how you treat me? I was blind to marry you."

My husband quickly apologized again and again, trying to coax and appease me. I deliberately let him say all the nice things before pretending my anger was subsiding. He then said that he could ask Xiao Yang from the office to accompany me sightseeing. I said no thanks, I don't know him well, and I'd be more comfortable alone.

My husband reminded me to be careful when I went out, and I said it was fine, the security in Algeria wasn't as bad as he said. After resting for a while, my husband made love to me again. This time he was much better, but I still didn't reach orgasm. Maybe it's because I've been eating too many fancy meals lately, and my tastes have become more sophisticated; I don't have much of an appetite for ordinary food.

After my husband fell asleep, I quietly went to the balcony to call Karim. I was afraid he'd be jealous about what happened tonight, especially since my husband mistook him for a taxi driver and gave him a tip.

Karim told me on the phone that he was fine and asked me to spend some time with my husband these next few days, since it wasn't easy for him to come all the way from the Sahara Desert. I told him I missed him, and he laughed, "Honey, I miss you too. We'll be together again soon."

Sure enough, my husband only stayed in Algiers for three days before returning to Tamanrasset. No sooner had he left than I went to meet Karim. We agreed to go to Tibasa today, where there are famous Algerian World Heritage sites.

When we met, Karim gave me a bouquet of flowers. I asked him why he gave me flowers. He laughed, "They're not from me, they're from your husband." I looked at him, puzzled. He laughed again, "You forgot? He tipped me that night; these flowers were bought with his money."

I chuckled, playfully hit him, and said coquettishly, "You're so naughty!" He laughed too, opening the passenger door for me.

That very day, on the way to Tibasa, Karim had gotten into a fight for me.

Tibasa is about 60 kilometers from Algiers, the entire route winding along the Mediterranean coast. On one side was the boundless blue sea, on the other, vast fields of mulberry and wheat—the scenery was breathtaking.

Driving through such intoxicating beauty, Karim and I were in high spirits, chatting and laughing all the way. I felt I had fallen in love with this country, not only because of its beauty, but also because of the man beside me.

I rolled down the window and shouted towards the Mediterranean, "I love Algeria!" Karim smiled and asked, "And do you love me?" I gazed at him tenderly, then turned to the car window and shouted again, "I love Karim! I love Karim Mahrani!"

We smiled at each other, and he took my hand and kissed it. Because of this gesture, the Mercedes SUV veered slightly to the left, followed by a rapid honking of its horn.

Karim quickly corrected the steering wheel, and a Volkswagen sedan overtook us from the left. The window rolled down, and a burly, bald, middle-aged man with a fierce appearance drove by, shouting at Karim and pointing aggressively with his right hand. I couldn't understand what he was saying, but it was definitely swearing.

Karim had no choice but to hold the steering wheel with his left hand, raise his right hand to his head, and gesture and speak to apologize. But the bald man persisted, continuing to hurl insults. Karim finally gestured for him to go first.

The bald man cursed a few more times, then stepped on the gas and overtook us. I thought that was the end of it, but then something else happened.

When we passed a service area, Karim pulled in to use the restroom. I sat in the car for a while, planning to get out and buy some fruit.

As soon as I got out, I heard a shouting voice. I turned around and saw the same bald, burly man approaching me aggressively, shouting something. I couldn't understand a word, so I said to him in English, "I don't understand. Do you speak English?"

He clearly didn't understand English either and continued his swearing. He was very strong and looked quite menacing, and I was terrified. I moved to the side, hoping Karim would come out of the restroom soon. The bald, burly man became increasingly agitated and started shoving me.

Just then, Karim appeared. He pulled the bald, burly man away and punched him, knocking him to the ground. Then he put his hands on my shoulders and asked if I was alright. I smiled and shook my head, feeling relieved that he had stood up for me in that crucial moment.

Suddenly, I saw the bald, burly man lunge at Karim and couldn't help but scream. Karim turned and parried the bald, muscular man's punches, engaging him in combat. To be honest, I was initially worried for Karim, as the man was incredibly strong, and I feared Karim wouldn't be a match for him.

However, I quickly realized my worries were unfounded. While the bald, muscular man was strong, his fighting style was chaotic, wildly swinging his fists, while Karim's offense and defense were disciplined, his punches powerful and relentless, forcing his opponent back step by step. Finally, he cornered the man in front of a car, pinning him to the hood and giving him a thorough beating.

I was completely captivated by Karim's impressive fighting skills, but fearing he might seriously injure the man, I quickly went to intervene. Karim then stopped, uttered a few harsh words to the bald, muscular man, left him, and we got into the car and drove away. In the rearview mirror, I saw the bald, muscular man wiping the blood from his face, staring blankly as we drove off.

After we got back on the road, I asked Karim how he could fight so well. He said he had been practicing boxing since middle school and continued until now. I asked him again what he had said to that person. He hesitated for a moment and said, "I told him, 'If you ever touch my wife again, I'll kill you.'"

My heart fluttered, and I gave him a flirtatious look, saying, "I'm not your wife." Then I asked him how his driving was. He looked a little confused and said, "Very good!" So I bent down and unzipped his pants.

He asked me what I was doing. I said, "To reward you for protecting me earlier." As I spoke, I took out his penis and started stroking it. He laughed and said, "Isn't this inappropriate?" I chuckled and said, "Just focus on driving." Then I bent down and took his gradually erect penis into my mouth, sucking and swallowing until he ejaculated into my mouth, which I then swallowed.

We had a great time that day, exploring the ancient Roman ruins of Tibasa and visiting the Tomb of the Princess, the tomb of Cleopatra's daughter. We didn't return to Algiers until evening.

At that time, so deeply in love, we wished time would stand still, or that our departure would be delayed.

4.

Karim and I were deeply in love, but as the days passed and my return home drew nearer, we were both shrouded in the melancholy of our impending separation.

Once, during sex, a sudden wave of sadness washed over me, and I immediately took off the jade pendant necklace I wore and placed it around his neck as a token.

As he thrust into me, he asked why I was giving him something so precious to me. I said I was afraid he would forget me, and that seeing this necklace would be like seeing me. "

I won't forget you, never," he said, driving his penis even faster, bringing me to a poignant climax.

Another time, after sex, we were soaking in the bathtub. I leaned against Karim's chest, and he held me from behind, savoring the afterglow of our climax. At that moment, I truly wanted to abandon everything and elope with this man I loved so deeply.

I whispered, "Karim, take me away, to a place where it's just the two of us."

Karim stroked my breasts and kissed my neck. After a long silence, he made a bold suggestion. He said he loved me very much and wanted me to be his wife; he was financially capable of marrying a third wife.

His words moved me because I could see he truly loved me. But I couldn't do it. On one hand, I didn't want to share a husband with another woman. On the other hand, my family was in China—my parents, my son. How could I abandon them thousands of miles away to be with Karim on the other side of the world?

Also, although I no longer loved my husband, we still had so many years of kinship, which wasn't something I could easily sever.

I turned and hugged Karim's neck, crying as I kissed his lips, saying, "Baby, I love you, I really love you, but I can't do that." He kissed me and wiped away my tears. I guided his now-erect penis into my vagina…

The day of parting finally arrived mercilessly, amidst our reluctance, our unwillingness, and our prayers for God to slow down time.

The night before I returned home, Karim and I made love almost all night long. I cried again and again as I sucked his penis until it was hard, and he ejaculated into my vagina, anus, and mouth again and again. During my orgasms, I cried and told him, "I love you, do you love me?"

I swore to God that I would never forget him, that I would cherish him in my heart, and that he would never forget me either. With each orgasm, my tears and semen soaked a large patch of the sheets.

The next day, Karim took me to the airport. Before checking in, I couldn't find my passport. I turned my handbag inside out, but it was gone. I was immediately terrified.

Karim asked me what was wrong. I said in a panic, "My passport is gone." He seemed relatively calm and said, "Could it be in your suitcase?" So I opened my suitcase and searched, berating myself for being so careless.

Suddenly, I realized something, looked up at Karim, and he was looking at me too. I stood up and held out my hand to him. Karim glanced away helplessly, then reached into his inner jacket pocket and slowly pulled out my passport.

"Anyu, please stay?" He held the passport in his hand, seemingly unwilling to give it to me.

In that instant, I really wanted to say yes, even if it meant sharing a husband with his two wives. I threw myself into his arms.

"Forgive me, I can't, I can't..." I murmured, sobbing uncontrollably. He held me tightly, and we kissed deeply, letting our tears flow into each other's mouths.

The announcement of boarding separated us. At that moment, I thought of Liu Yong's poem—"Where there is reluctance, the orchid boat urges departure, holding hands, gazing at each other with tearful eyes, speechless with emotion. Parting has always been painful..."

After exchanging our boarding passes, we embraced again for a long time. I pushed him away forcefully, grabbed my luggage, and hurried towards the security gate. As I was about to go inside, I couldn't help but look at him one last time. He raised his fist, clutching the necklace I'd given him, then gently tapped it against his chest, a gesture to show he would never forget me.

Tears streamed down my face. I pointed to my temple with my right hand and patted my chest lightly, telling him I wouldn't forget him either, that I would cherish him forever.

I turned away, letting the tears flow down my face. I knew deeply that this turn was forever. This man who had suddenly entered my life was now leaving me, gone forever.

The plane slowly ascended. Below the window, the beautiful Mediterranean city grew smaller and smaller in my eyes. Just over a month ago, I was a wife who had traveled thousands of miles to find her husband, alone in this distant and unfamiliar country. Now, I left alone, carrying with me a love as deep as the Mediterranean for another man and an overwhelming sense of reluctance.

As the city of Algiers disappeared beneath the clouds, I burst into tears once again.

Back home in China, while unpacking, I found a homemade sketchbook at the bottom of the drawer. On the title page, written in Arabic, was an inscription: "Dedicated to my beloved woman—An Yu."

Having spent over a month with Karim in Algeria, I had learned some Arabic. Tears welled in my eyes instantly. I slowly opened the sketchbook; the first picture was of me sitting in a café, gazing out the window. My tears fell onto the drawing.

I flipped through the pages one by one; all the drawings were sketches of me, in various poses, including a nude image of me sleeping in bed. Karim had drawn me so beautifully; every stroke was imbued with his love for me.

As I looked at the sketchbook, I closed it, hugged it tightly, and let the tears that had flowed repeatedly over the past few days stream down my face again, sobbing uncontrollably.

Not long after returning home, I discovered I was pregnant; judging from the timeline, it was Karim's. I secretly had an abortion.

Time flies; a year and a half passed quickly.

For a year and a half, Karim and I kept our promise to each other: to cherish the memory forever and never contact each other again. I tried to bury him deep in my heart, worked hard, and devoted myself to being a good wife and mother. But sometimes I would still wonder how he was doing? Had he married someone new? That period, though painful, was also a happy memory for me, though of course, I couldn't help but wake up in the middle of the night and secretly shed tears.

My husband also completed his aid work and returned to China, and was promoted at his workplace. In his thirties, he had reached the level of a department head, with a bright future ahead. Many people around me—friends, colleagues, and classmates—envied me for marrying such a good husband, but who knew my sorrow and heartache?

I secretly converted to Islam, enrolled in Arabic language classes, and stopped eating pork. Sometimes I think it's quite strange; I used to be indifferent to Arab culture, even somewhat averse to Islam, but now, because of a man, I love everything about him.

I did this not because I hoped to reunite with Karim someday; I didn't even allow myself to contact him. I simply wanted to feel, in my heart, that we were still together.

Shortly after the Spring Festival that year, Mrs. Hassan suddenly came to see me. She had an aunt living here and had come to visit her during a trip back to Algeria, and also to meet me.

We met at a café. Although I wasn't familiar with her before and had only met her once, I felt a sense of closeness to her because she was from Algeria and the wife of one of Karim's friends.

We chatted about our recent lives, and naturally, the topic turned to Karim. Mrs. Hassan told me that since I left, Karim hadn't married a third wife and had never forgotten me.

He had sealed off the seat I usually sat in at the café, not allowing any other customers to sit there. Mrs. Hassan said, "Anyu, he really loves you!"

Hearing her words, my eyes instantly welled up with tears, but I pretended to be nonchalant and said, "He didn't need to do that. Let bygones be bygones."

Mrs. Hassan asked again, "Anyu, are you... doing well with your husband now?" She already knew I was actually a married woman. "

I'm fine!" I smiled. She said, "Anyu, don't lie to your own heart. I know you still love him."

"So what?" I smiled bitterly, "Love alone isn't enough. My family, his family, and the huge differences between us in culture, customs, and values—these can't be bridged by love alone." "

His family isn't the problem," Mrs. Hassan said. I interrupted her, "Even so, what about the others? Besides, I can't accept being someone's concubine, sharing a husband with another woman."

Realizing I might have hurt Mrs. Hassan, I said, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean anything by it."

Mrs. Hassan smiled magnanimously, "It's alright. This kind of thing is only reasonable in that world; in our world, it's truly absurd."

I asked curiously, "What did your parents and relatives think about this back then?"

Mrs. Hassan took a sip of coffee and said, "Of course I don't understand. If this had happened to someone else instead of me, I wouldn't understand either. But time makes everything make sense. My parents saw that Hassan was very good to me and was very wealthy, so they stopped saying anything."

After talking with Mrs. Hassan that day, I fell into deep thought. I thought about it for a month, and one night I asked my husband for a divorce.

My husband was very abrupt and surprised. He was in the prime of his life and doing so well. He couldn't understand why I would have the idea of divorcing him.

I could only tell him that I had cheated on him. My husband was incredulous. "Don't joke around, An Yu. I know I've been busy with work and neglected you and the children, but even if you're dissatisfied, you can't say things like that to provoke me! This kind of joke is really not funny."

Looking at his confident look, I really felt sorry for him. "I'm serious. Do you remember two years ago in Algeria?" I said calmly and seriously.

The smile on my husband's face froze. He stared at me blankly. I continued, "You weren't here with me then, and I got together with a local man...

You...slept with him?" my husband asked. I nodded and said, "Yes, many times."

He still couldn't believe it, and laughed again, but it was a guilty laugh. "No, this can't be, An Yu, you must be joking."

I looked at him seriously and said, "Every word I said is true. Your wife did sleep with other men." I hesitated for a moment, then added, "I also got pregnant with his child, but I had an abortion." My

husband stared at me intently, as if I were a stranger, not the wife he had shared a bed with for ten years. Then he lowered his head helplessly, and after a long while, he said, "Why? Why did you do this?" His voice was filled with grief and indignation.

I said, "Does it matter now why you ask?"

He suddenly raised his head and roared at me, "Why? An Yu, why did you do this? Why did you cheat on me? Wasn't I good to you? Wasn't I good to this family?"

I shouted back, "I know you were good to me, good to this family!" "Everything you did was for this family, but do you know that?" I am a woman, a woman of flesh and blood. What I need is not a successful husband whom everyone envies but who is rarely by my side, but a man who can stay by my side. I would rather he be less successful. My

husband sneered repeatedly, "Women! They're so damn hard to please." He paused for a moment, then said, "No wonder I felt something was off about you during those days in Algiers. I thought you were resentful that I left you there alone, and that you didn't like the place... I never imagined it was like this."

Another silence followed, as if he was thinking about something. After a long while, he said, "But you've already gone back to your country, and you have nothing to do with him anymore, right?"

I looked at him, "So?" "

So, I've decided to forgive you, to forgive your infidelity." My husband said, "I can pretend nothing happened, and you can do the same. We can still be like before...

even if I had an abortion for someone else, is that okay?" At that moment, I felt a little sorry for him. He nodded. "

Why? Why are you doing this to yourself?" I couldn't help but ask. "

Why?" he said, "For our son, for our family. And, given my current situation, divorce wouldn't be a good thing for me."

I sneered. "Lin Yuanxin, don't you understand? I stopped loving you a long time ago, back in Algeria.

So why are you only bringing it up now?" My husband roared again.

I sighed and said, "I thought I could keep this buried in my heart forever and continue living with you, but I find I can't."

He said, "So what do you plan to do in the future? Go to Algeria and be with him?" I said, "Impossible, he has a wife."

My husband sneered, "They allow polygamy there. You could serve him with his wife, or even have a threesome with that Arab woman, sucking his cock together, letting him take turns fucking both of your cunts."

What he didn't know was that Karim actually had two wives.

"Disgusting and shameless!" I said. He sneered repeatedly, "Disgusting and shameless? Weren't the filthy things you did disgusting and shameless?"

I was speechless and tears streamed down my face. He calmed down and said, "Back then, you were itching for a man's cock, and I wasn't there for you. I understand and forgive that. Now we're together, we don't have to be apart anymore. Let's forget about those things and start over, okay?"

I wiped away my tears and said, "I really can't do it, don't force me."

His face contorted with rage. Pointing to his chest, he roared, "An Yu, don't fucking go too far! I've already swallowed all my pride and begged you, and you still won't agree?"

I firmly replied, "I'm sorry! I can't."

"An Yu, you're a fucking slut, a lowly bitch!" My husband slammed the door and stormed out.

A few days after that night, my husband and I officially divorced. He got most of the assets, custody of our son, and I only asked for a house to live in. My only request was to be able to see my son anytime. He agreed.

My parents were shocked and furious when they found out. They asked if my ex-husband had been having an affair. In their eyes, this was the only and most likely reason for our divorce. I said it wasn't his fault; I had cheated on him. They scolded me for being spineless, for being insane, for not being content with such a good husband, and for doing something so shameless.

People around me didn't understand either, and I was too lazy to explain. In fact, it was too embarrassing to even talk about it. Whatever! I just need to follow my heart and do what I want to do.

Six months after my divorce, I joined a tour group to four North African countries with three close friends.

My reason for agreeing to go with them wasn't to see Karim, but to set foot on that land again, breathe the same air he breathed, and walk the same streets he walked. Then, to secretly glance at him, to say goodbye to that experience in this way, and let the past fade away. The

first stop on that trip was Egypt, followed by Tunisia, Algeria, and Morocco.

The day after arriving in Algiers, instead of joining the tour, I went to Karim's café again, two years later.

I hid across the street, looking into the café, silently praying to God that his tall, handsome figure would appear in the glass window. I just wanted to see what he looked like now; just one glance would be enough for me, and then I would leave. After a while

, a Mercedes SUV pulled up on the street in front of the café—it was Karim's car. My heart was pounding, as if it would burst out of my chest.

The car door opened, and a woman stepped out of the driver's seat. She was a beautiful Arab woman in her thirties, with a lovely face, wearing a headscarf, a tight T-shirt, and jeans, and a very graceful figure.

I recognized her immediately—Karim's second wife, Anani; I had seen her picture before. She walked across the front of the car, took the hand of a pretty little girl, not even ten years old, who got out of the passenger seat, and led her into the café.

After the mother and daughter went inside, the little girl ran straight into the back room. Anani went behind the counter, seemingly tidying something. My tears immediately welled up.

I wiped away my tears and turned to leave. After taking a few steps, I found myself, almost unconsciously, walking into the café.

Because it was morning, the café wasn't crowded. The first thing I saw when I entered was the seat by the window. It was surrounded by potted plants, and a metal plaque was fixed to the table at a 45-degree angle, with the words written in Arabic: "She used to sit here, Anani."

Instantly, tears welled up in my eyes. Just then, Anani came out from behind the bar and greeted me in English, "Hello, ma'am."

"Hello!" I replied, glancing again at the window seat. "Can't I sit there?"

"I'm sorry, no," Anani smiled. "Why?" I asked. "

Because two years ago, my husband used this seat to wait for someone." Anani looked at me. "You're An Yu, right?"

I hesitated, then nodded. Anani smiled and looked at me for a moment, then said, "So beautiful. No wonder Karim loves you so much." She turned and called to the back of the café, "Darling, come out quickly."

My heart pounded again. Soon, the man I had been dreaming of—Karim Mahrani—appeared in my sight, with the little girl beside him. He was forty years old, still so handsome, so sexy, and so warm, just like when I first met him two years ago.

He froze, our eyes meeting, speechless for a moment. Anani, standing beside him, smiled and looked at Karim, then at me. The little girl also stared at me curiously.

"Ma'am, do you need help?" He finally spoke, smiling slightly.

"Please, a cup of coffee, thank you!" I said, and tears, which I could no longer hold back, streamed down my face.

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