Green Life 12 ~ The Taste of a Dance Teacher

Sunday was a national workday, so I went home early, took a shower, and went to bed. My wife, after dinner, put on a long dress, saying she was going to see her "girls." "Girls" is usually just a pretext; she probably really wanted to see Lao Zhou later. Lao Zhou has been back in mainland China for almost twenty days now. She hasn't seen him for the past two weeks since her last visit, so she's probably itching again. She's forgotten the pain after the wound healed, and she'll probably get another round of his ministrations until dawn, her swollen vulva filled with his semen, dragging her satisfied yet exhausted body home. She still has lingering fears from seeing Lao Zhou suffocate and ejaculate at the bottom of the bathtub last time.

While I'm in bed, I'll write about Qing (see album). That's how the world is; sometimes people cheat on me, sometimes I cheat on them.
That was two or three years ago. Qing was a beautiful woman I picked up. Once, I went out drinking with a friend in the city. It was past 9 PM when we were returning, and it was raining heavily. As we passed through a tunnel, we saw a tricycle broken down inside. Out of concern, I asked the driver to pull over and check on it. The driver said the vehicle had broken down, so I told the passenger to get in.
She got in without much suspicion. We started chatting. She said she had tutored that evening and couldn't get a taxi because of the heavy rain. Luckily, there was a tricycle there (the kind driven by someone with a disability certificate), and she thought the distance wasn't far, so she got in. But it broke down in the tunnel, and she was so lucky to have found us.
I sat in the front passenger seat, and from the moment she got in, we chatted the whole way, and I didn't dare look back at her. After exiting the tunnel, we arrived at the address she gave us in just a few minutes. It was just a small matter of sharing a ride. When she got out, she insisted on copying my phone number, saying she would call back to thank me. I looked up and saw a rather attractive young woman, pretty and well-dressed, though her hair was slightly disheveled. Actually, I didn't think much of it at first. When I told her, I felt a little embarrassed, but I still gave her my number.
The next day, someone added me on WeChat. Seeing it was her, I accepted and we started chatting. Within a few days, we became quite familiar. Her surname is Yan. She works as a teacher at an art training institution. Her ex-husband is from Zhanjiang; he's lazy and good-for-nothing. They divorced, and she's raising her five-year-old daughter alone. She bought a two-bedroom apartment in Fuyuan Community, using one room as a dance studio and the other for her and her daughter to sleep in. Raising a child alone is really tough.
Later, I often bought seafood and went over to her house to cook for her and her daughter. Gradually, she told me about her life, and I told her about my family situation. We became friends, but we didn't think about anything romantic, and of course, it wasn't convenient with her daughter at home.
Until summer vacation, her daughter went to stay with her grandmother, and she invited me over for dinner.
I bought some fish, shrimp, and crab and cooked at her house. Once we were familiar with each other, the atmosphere was right. We cooked some snacks to go with the drinks. No need for many words, just the unspoken understanding between us, the scent of hormones, the intoxicating aroma of red wine, and our increasingly rapid heartbeats. It was
natural for us to draw closer and kiss. There was no need for words like "I like you" or "I love you," no plans or promises. We just wanted to do what we wanted to do. Our mutual attraction and acceptance had already been confirmed in our earlier interactions.
I won't go into the details of the passion, technique, and process. She said she hadn't been with a new man in over a year since her divorce, and with her daughter still around, it was impossible for her to bring one home. It
was a predictable encounter. I'm writing about her because she has two special qualities.
First, she's incredibly wet—the wettest I've ever met. After a brief kiss, we moved to the bed, and her panties were soaked. Penetration was effortless; it felt like every time I pulled out, she was wet and slippery, as if her vagina had been coated with baby oil. I couldn't feel the pleasure of my penis, and she moaned repeatedly. There was too much fluid, and every few minutes she would ask me to pull out so she could wipe her vaginal opening with a tissue. Only after drying it did I feel a tightness when I entered her again, but it would become slippery again soon, so I had to wipe her again. Eventually, I felt embarrassed and took a bath towel, using half to pad her and

the other half to wipe myself. When I finished ejaculating, the entire towel was soaked with my sweat, her fluids, and the smell of semen. This continued until we had sex seven or eight times and her vaginal lubrication gradually returned to normal. We read online novels about women having multiple partners, and it seems like women are indiscriminate. But actually, most women experience a refractory period after two or three orgasms.
Usually, when my wife and a single man are in a threesome, it's basically one man ejaculating once, and my wife has already had three or four orgasms before she gets tired and wants to stop, and her vagina becomes dry. She needs to rest or sleep before starting the second round.
Qing teaches dance and knows many different styles; she has great stamina. I enjoy sex and have good stamina; we can usually last two or three hours each time. On several weekends, I practically explored every corner of her house.
Secondly, when her libido is aroused, her entire being exudes hormones, especially when we're both drenched in sweat during sex—the smell of sweat, body odor, perfume, and secretions is palpable. In the dance studio, we tried various dance positions, like the ones she usually practices, only with me teasing her. For example, using a yoga strap to suspend her body, she could do a split, a meter off the ground. I sat on the floor, tilting my head back, and licked her vulva. She had to use her arms to support herself on the strap while feeling the stimulation of her clitoris with my tongue. When I thrust upwards, I felt her whole body tense and tremble.
The dance studio had mirrors on all four sides; when the door was closed, we could admire our naked bodies writhing and entwined together as we did various movements, not just focusing on the thrusting motion. I recalled two videos I'd seen of mollusks mating. That's what we did. I think this kind of sex is something I've only ever had with her in my life. It felt like doing it for art, or a passionate performance without an audience, until the music ended and we both collapsed on the floor, dazed and not wanting to get up for a long time.
This kind of feeling, this kind of pleasure, can perhaps only be found in girls whose bodies and souls have been nurtured and rigorously trained by art. It's something you can only encounter by chance.

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Green Life 12 ~ The Taste of a Dance Teacher

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