A sexual confession that transcends adolescence to adulthood

Yesterday's downpour washed away the dust and smoke. This morning, the sky was a clear blue, studded with wispy white clouds, like a naked woman wrapped in a silk scarf, pure and shy, making me involuntarily let my imagination run wild. The golden osmanthus and red osmanthus in the flowerbed downstairs are fragrant and in full bloom, thankful for my good mood. I
think I've had sexual fantasies since I was very young, and I realized I was capable of thinking and loving freely probably in my first year of high school. In 1998, my thoughts were surging. At that time, I was busy having a crush on T, indulging in silly dreams and making foolish wishes: to have a set of professional nude photos taken, either when I was 17 or 24. Those were the years I thought were the most beautiful for a woman!
Back then, cameras weren't common, and I wasn't sure if photo studios offered such services, so I was a giant in thought but a dwarf in action. I fantasize about lying on my own bed, covered only by a thin white veil, my curves barely concealed, a full bust, wide hips, and a slender waist (I vividly remember in my first year of high school I had an 80C bust, a 1.9-foot waist, 90+cm hips, a height of 1.63m, and a weight of 51kg), only my facial features and expression obscured by darkness. Many times, the women I see in my dreams are like this; their faces are indistinct, but I know they are my alter egos, wandering in the embrace of my fantasies. In
my second year of high school, I had a deeply etched dream: an elder pierced my vagina with a sharp metal instrument; I could feel the excruciating pain even in the dream! Was it a masochistic urge? For the first time, I wondered if I had incestuous or masochistic tendencies. Later, I always thought that these similar dreams and my wild thoughts became a long-term suggestion. As an adult, I gradually expanded my boundaries, from fear to indifference, to enjoyment, to indulgence…
These days in paradise, I'm writing these words to record my true self, my real experiences, and my emotions. Maybe 50 years from now, or maybe not so long, I can live to see the day when I can freely express my sexuality.
After a long and winding road, I lost my virginity through a one-night stand after graduating high school. Those who don't love you, indeed, feel nothing. I neither regretted it, nor felt comfortable, let alone enjoyed it. So, over the years, I've constantly changed partners, each story a piece of sincerity, simply in pursuit of love.
At 24, I still remembered my initial wish. I tried mentioning to my prospective husband that I wanted to book a home photography service to capture a beautiful set of youthful memories in my own home. At that time, I had seen Tang Jiali's photos online; the beauty of her figure, the beauty of art, didn't stir any impure thoughts in me (I'm a woman who enjoys appreciating nude photos, especially of such outstanding women; it's truly pleasing to the eye, and it's hard to explain why). My prospective husband's reply was quite revealing: "Just don't let me know."
To this day, I still don't know how to interpret his words. Was it a yes or a no? Or was he encouraging me to secretly do something taboo in other people's eyes, as long as I kept my secret? In any case, it ended there. But on the path of sex, I chose to hide my secrets. This emotion was complex, known only to myself; I deeply envied couples who had no secrets from each other.
Later, my life followed a predictable pattern: marriage, pregnancy. For two years, there was almost no sex life, no husband's company, let alone caresses or other intimacy. I could only give all my love to my son; it was a maternal instinct. After breastfeeding for over a year, as my son's appetite increased, I would experience slight dizziness after each feeding, truly feeling completely drained.
Babies suckle with great force, so some describe it as using the strength of a baby's breast. Having gone through this, I'm certain that there's no sexual pleasure during breastfeeding; my heart is filled with the satisfaction of being my son's "24-hour healthy canteen." Watching him eat and sleep, sleep and eat, I would secretly shed tears alone in the middle of the night—it was so painful!
I spent the most peaceful three years of my life, and like most marriages, I began to have 999 urges to strangle my partner. So, I chose to repeat what he had said to me—I wouldn't let him know. I accepted the care of my former male best friend, couldn't escape the rudeness of an old classmate, and even tried to seduce my first love… From then on, my emotions lingered in many places, but none of them became my home. Sex was still not enough. I controlled the frequency of my trysts, but I didn't know how to refuse, and some unexpected, yet logical, stories always happened.
I became like the person on "If You Are the One," who only had sex once a month. I laughed at the film back then, but I never expected that I would be laughing at myself soon after. The stories that followed were uninteresting, nothing more than having various sexual partners, older and younger, handsome and strong… I didn't have time to categorize them, because none of that mattered. I left my emotions to time to choose… long-lasting but not faithful.
Later, there were these articles in the forum, recording these real experiences and feelings, and some even more exciting ones (think about it, how about the next story, "The Coach's Absurd Abusive Love"?). Actually, they haven't fully blossomed in my heart yet, and some stories are only suitable for solitude. When the mood strikes, I'll tell them again, shall we?
I seek only one true confidant, a confidant worthy of a lover! I neither initiate nor reject, nor cling, but seek his affection and favor!

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A sexual confession that transcends adolescence to adulthood

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