My first time with my classmate

We've known each other for four years. For the first three, we were classmates. Although we hung out together and often joked and talked,

neither of us explicitly expressed our feelings for each other. However, I felt a very strong "desire" for him—to be precise,

not a sexual desire, but a mysterious and beautiful longing that I couldn't express openly.
He was a handsome guy, and many girls pursued him in school, so I didn't bother joining in.
In the fourth year, he finally confessed his love to me, and I gladly accepted. But at that time, he was in

the United States , and I was in China, so we "confessed" via email. He said that he

hadn't dared to say anything when we were classmates, afraid that I would reject him—because I had indeed pretended to be very uninterested in him, which was why he

went to the United States.
He returned to China in mid-May this summer. Although we had been classmates for three years, we had never appeared as a "

couple ." For the past year, we had maintained our relationship through online love letters. When he finally appeared

in my life, I suddenly felt at a loss. Looking at his face, it felt so unreal.
But things were beyond my control. We were both very well-behaved children growing up, always attending

top . I had a strong aversion to the word "love," and never wanted

to admit I was in a relationship or had a boyfriend. But
after he came back, things developed unexpectedly fast. I had always thought that being able to say "I love you"

to each other face-to-face was a remarkable, blush-inducing feat, but we

actually…
In the first week after his return, we just went to the library, restaurants, and teahouses for dates and

conversations . A week later, he kissed me in a small park—our first kiss. Before that, I always

thought kissing was disgusting, and I hated saliva. But when he kissed me, I just thought: What's

going on ? How did we end up like this? He dared to put his tongue in my mouth, what should I do?
His tongue was so slippery, and his saliva didn't feel like saliva, but more like a sticky jelly, quite delicious.
And his hands were actively attacking my breasts, giving me a feeling of pleasure and liberation

, like I had finally done something shameful that everyone else was doing.
I thought our kiss would be the end of it, everyone happy. But he took advantage of that. For the next two days, the kissing

never stopped. Because I had classes during the day, we always met in the evenings. After the kiss, he

stopped going to bookstores and restaurants with me, always going to the park instead.
After getting used to the kiss, I didn't feel as excited as the first time. It's really just a matter of

lips touching, like eating pig's tongue, pretty ordinary, right? But

since loved kissing so much, I just went along with it. What I liked most was the atmosphere. After we parted and said goodbye, as we walked back, he

would suddenly grab me, turn my head, and kiss me passionately. That felt the best, like

a heart-wrenching farewell . At that moment, I would try my best to make the position perfect, leaning back, arms hanging naturally, and hair

loose.
That was it; the kiss was nothing special to me.
But on the third day after the kiss, he started to unbutton my shirt. I

firmly refused and pushed him away. He then kissed me and continued unbuttoning relentlessly. I figured he'd have to unbutton it sooner or later anyway

, so I let him. I was wearing a traditional Chinese dress that day, and the buttons were hard to undo

. I clearly remember us sitting on a rock in the bamboo grove of the park as he did it. The bamboo had just dripped water, shimmering in the moonlight

, and the grass had a faint fragrance. There were pedestrians walking by below! I could even see the tops of their heads;

if they looked up, they would see us. But I saw his hands

trembling —it was incredibly sexy.
He finally managed to unbutton them, kissing me while caressing my breasts outside my bra. I felt this

was very wrong, especially with pedestrians passing by who might see us. But I couldn't figure out where his hands

were—outside or inside the bra—because we were so close together.
Suddenly, he lowered his head and began sucking on my nipple with his tongue. I couldn't believe it; the lightning-fast pleasure left

me no time to think or refuse. But I kept realizing, what are we doing? What are we

doing? What's going on? Pedestrians are walking by below, and we're doing this in the woods.
I wasn't thinking straight, but I craved pleasure. The sensation of his tongue touching my nipple was unimaginable

, while the intense sense of impending being seen by passersby made me want to push him away desperately. Then,

sadly realized I only ended up holding him tighter.
Three days later, we somehow ended up at his house. His parents weren't home, and

without me even knowing what happened, he started kissing, coaxing, and licking me, taking off all my clothes. Later

, he said he was incredibly excited while undressing me, his whole body trembling. But I didn't feel that way at the time; I just

thought he was incredibly clumsy, unable to even unhook his bra, failing several times before I finally helped him

. Of course, I regretted it as soon as I took it off, feeling it was wrong, but I was certain I didn't want to put it back

on .
Then, naturally, I was pushed onto the bed, and he repeatedly sucked on my breasts, then gently bit them. It felt

wonderful , so I moaned a few times. Now he's really into it, and he's started trying to take off my underwear. The more I struggle,

the more excited he gets. I figured he'd have to take it off sooner or later anyway, so I might as well not fight him! He took off his underwear and then

insisted I touch his penis. I thought, well, I'd have to touch it sooner or later anyway, so I did. It was really fun;

it was club-shaped, a little hot, and a deep pink. It looked quite clean and didn't have any strange smell.

When I pushed it, it would fall backward and then bounce back—it was so much fun!
I punched it a few times, and then he yelled that he couldn't take it anymore, accusing me of being rough and abusing his

genitals . I thought he was too weak, so I laughed at him. Then he went crazy again,

lifting my legs and trying to lick my vagina with his tongue. This time I resisted firmly because I thought it was a very perverted

act and had to be stopped. However, he ignored my attempts to stop him. After reflecting on it, I realized that my

attempts to stop him were not thorough enough, which undoubtedly fueled his subsequent actions. I guess I

probably said something like "no" or "don't..."
He had previously discussed with me how when a woman says "no," it means "I'll think about it," and when she says "think about it

," it means "yes," and once she says "yes," it's no longer her problem. I agreed with that then, so

saying "no" now is utterly self-destructive.
I imagine that if I had really said no then, I should have immediately sat up, given him a resounding slap

, and gritted my teeth, saying, "You pervert!" But obviously, I didn't go that far.
So, under my coy restraint, he succeeded. He pinned my hands firmly

to the bed, and my legs were draped over his shoulders. After observing for a while, he found my clitoris and sucked it into his mouth.
And so, I was finally finished. Before that, I was relatively clear-headed. I could always think clearly about

whether it was worth it, how far I could let him go, or what

the point

coquettish exclamations like "Unbelievable," "We actually did this," or "How could this happen?" But when he sucked on my clitoris, I was no longer under my own

control, I was out of control, it was terrifying!
The feeling at first was comfortable, incomparably comfortable. It felt like something was trying to burst out, but

it just wouldn't.
After that, I was completely out of control, wave after wave of pleasure, continuous, and heading towards a dangerous

edge, like you're on a roller coaster that's lost its balance, you know it's going to crash in the end,

but you still can't help but enjoy the pleasure on the verge of death.
While he was licking, he used his shoulder to lift my buttocks up, and later I realized that I had lifted myself up first,

quite high. Luckily, I had learned burpees in middle school, so my waist was quite flexible, and this way my clitoris was

completely under his tongue, and my legs were off the ground (no, off the bed). At that

moment, all the muscles in my body stiffened, and then I trembled from my neck to my heels, feeling like I was stretching very thoroughly and

violently for the first time. It was just a second, maybe shorter, maybe longer—I can't measure it in time—

but it was the most intense physical sensation I'd ever experienced in my life, except for the time I was hospitalized with diarrhea as a child. I finally

realized for the first time, my body existed independently as a spirit, not as an appendage of my soul. It was a terrifying

experience!
After my orgasm, he continued to lick me because I was moaning quite loudly. I knew it myself,

but even though I knew, I couldn't control it, nor did I want to. The moans certainly excited him, but he didn't know my exact

orgasm time, so he licked me most intensely when I moaned the loudest.
Once I reached orgasm, I couldn't tolerate his tongue for even a second longer; post-orgasm oral sex was pure

torture . My nails dug into the sheets, thankfully he finally stopped.
I felt like I'd just recovered from a serious illness—extremely comfortable, yet utterly exhausted, and unwilling to move.

But he was still incredibly active, coming over to bite my breasts again. This time, I felt no pleasure at all, because

after such intense stimulation, the subtle stimulation was relatively weakened, just like how eating an orange after a lemon doesn't taste sour anymore.
He seemed a little annoyed that I didn't react, but I didn't want to provoke him further and cause

him more trouble. However, I was also very grateful to him; the feeling after my orgasm was incredibly blissful.
He asked me to do some handjobs, so I just casually moved it up and down a couple of times. It was really fun, really fun!
Then he said I was clumsy, that I'd made his penis go soft. And it was true; it had been hard and big the whole time, and

this was the first time it had gone soft since we got home!
I laughed so hard I almost fell over. How could I be so clumsy while he was so clever? But then he kissed me again, a

really intense , and his fingers started digging towards my vagina. Soon he said, "Oh! You're so wet! Your

thighs are all wet!"
Needless to say, he immediately became rock hard, so I had to use my hand to stimulate him again—it was such a hassle! While I was

doing that, he said I'd touched his pubic hair, and it hurt, so he went soft again.
I just gave up; he was so difficult to please. If I'm not good at it, then don't make me do it! I got angry and refused to continue

, intending to go to sleep. He got impatient, lifted my leg, and started licking again. I'd just

recovered from my orgasm thirty minutes ago, and while I wanted to refuse, I couldn't bear to. He seized the opportunity and started licking again. The moment he
sucked on my clitoris, I started moaning, like a dog drooling at the sound of a bell—a conditioned reflex.
He kept swallowing and releasing my clitoris, and my moans grew louder and louder. Then suddenly he stopped, holding it in his mouth. By then, my

hips were already arched high, and I was about to reach orgasm, but he stopped again. Was he
deliberately trying to annoy me?! I was in agony, but I was too embarrassed to ask him to continue. Before, I'd always been forced

to lick me even after saying no, and while it felt good, he never showed any satisfaction. Now, begging him was out of the question. But

he just kept holding it there, unmoving. I started to writhe in protest, and he'd occasionally sweep his tongue across my clitoris.
I couldn't take it anymore! I was furious! I swore I'd strangle him, chop him

into pieces, and feed him to the fish!
Moaning didn't work, so I grabbed his penis and started stroking it up and down. This time, surprisingly, it was very coordinated. I

quickly found a special rhythm by instinct, and it became more and more skillful. His breathing quickened, and

he seemed to be enjoying it. I felt a great sense of accomplishment for my first success. He urged me to hurry up while panting.
I said, "Then you continue!" So he continued to lick me and bite my clitoris, which felt incredibly good.
After I reached orgasm, he still had some time left, and my hands were numb. I thought to myself: if he doesn't finish soon, I'm not going to

do it anymore. Finally, he ejaculated between my breasts.
I immediately ran to take a shower. I felt disgusted; my hands were covered in semen. I asked him to wipe it clean, but he didn't do it

properly , leaving it all over my breasts. How disgusting! This big pervert! I angrily ran to the bathroom to wash myself

clean.
He praised me for doing a good job, so I made a face at him and turned my back to him. He turned over and kissed me again, but I

still ignored him and wouldn't open my mouth. So he had to bite my breasts instead. That annoying guy, so energetic,

he must eat well in America. I decided to ignore him, so I did.
Seeing my unwavering resolve, he gave up, went to take a shower, and then tried to pull me up, saying he was hungry and wanted

to eat . I didn't want to get up, so he kept bothering me. Ugh, so annoying! Finally, I got up, got dressed, and went to eat. I was with them...

I found some leftovers in the fridge and quickly cooked something. It tasted alright, and since we were both starving, we ate it fast .

After we finished, I made him wash the dishes, which he did in a flash.
After dinner, I said, "Let's go shopping." He agreed, and we shoved each other to the door. Suddenly, he turned around

and kissed me. That was it; all my efforts were wasted. After a quick turn, I was back on the bed.
He undressed me incredibly fast, as if we'd gotten used to it. We started by kissing, and then

he asked me to give him oral sex. I firmly refused, telling him that I'd hated

it ever since I first learned about it, and that I thought it was the most disgusting thing in the world.
Seeing how angry I was, he said, "Okay, okay, then I'll lick you, alright?" I desperately wanted to refuse

his suggestion, but before I could, he started. After reflecting on it, I realized I was just playing hard to get;

the real problem was that I hadn't refused thoroughly enough. After that, I stopped thinking about my own

behavior and let him tease me so much I didn't even know who I was anymore.
He held my clitoris in his mouth four or five times, tormenting me until I was completely defeated, screaming loudly. Finally, I begged

him to "go harder" before he finally gave me a full orgasm. After he finished licking me,

he looked at me pitifully, seemingly unsatisfied.
Oh, my germaphobia! I usually wash my hands three times after handling money, what am I supposed to do now? If I don't give him

oral sex , I'll feel bad. Since he's so understanding and even let me remain a virgin, I should reward him.
I decided to give his penis a good wash. Hearing this, he started screaming, saying he wouldn't lick it anymore. I said, "Okay,

but you're not supposed to lick this." He immediately said, "Then you should wash it anyway." So I got some Summer Lotus shower

gel and a hot towel, squeezed out a huge amount of shower gel, and rubbed vigorously. Soon, lots and lots of

soap bubbles appeared, white and beautiful, and it felt slippery, like sculpting a dough figurine.
He was really messed up by me, panting heavily. Every time I rubbed him, he'd yell, "Be

gentle !" I chuckled to myself, saying, "Almost done." I suspect the soap actually acted as a great lubricant in the end, and

he was really enjoying it.
After the shower gel, I went to the fridge and got some peach-flavored jelly. I cut it open and applied it to his penis

, rubbing it back and forth. He yelled, "What are you doing! What are you doing!" I said, "This can replace

your tongue. You see, your tongue is like this too, but it's not as cool and stimulating as the jelly!"
He was furious and collapsed onto the pillow. I smiled victoriously, finally getting my revenge.
Now that I'd gotten my revenge, I had no choice but to get to work. I took a bite, and I almost choked on my food. It was like Summer

Lotus shower gel mixed with peach, a little sweet, and incredibly fragrant. It wasn't delicious, but it wasn't bad either.
I slowly licked it, left and right, up and down, and he didn't make a sound at all? He didn't even praise me, so

I decided not to eat anymore and went back to eating jelly!
Just as I was about to leave, he snorted and pressed my head down. This guy, take him down! He kept thrusting, his penis head

pressing against my throat. It felt like when the doctor pressed down on my scrotum as a child, making me say "Ah..." Actually, it wasn't anything,

just some gurgling sounds, not uncomfortable at all!
His thrusting was quite annoying. I felt my tongue go numb, so I spat it out and used my hand instead. This time he ejaculated very

smoothly , covering himself completely. When I went to wipe, I deliberately smeared some on his stomach. This is called "an

eye for an eye!"
In the end, we hugged naked for a long time before finally parting ways.
This was the second week, around Wednesday. After this, apart from meeting for meals, we

could only take off our clothes after meals.
Before, I had stayed obediently for three years, a full three years, not even touching my little fingernail once, but now I was in bed every

two and a half weeks.
I kept reminding myself that this was very wrong, very dangerous, very contrary to traditional

morality , and could get me expelled from school.
Before, when we met, we'd push our bikes side-by-side, discussing how difficult the day's homework was, what jokes the teacher had made, and then

I'd chase after him yelling, "Hey! You owe me five dollars again today, I'll make you pay tomorrow!"
Now it's like this: when we meet, we quickly eat. During the meal, he always takes the opportunity to grope me, saying
things like "Wow, that's huge," and then we'll discuss whose house is empty. We ride our bikes, go inside, get sexually aroused, and he

starts kissing me. We take off our clothes, get on the bed… and that's the end of the story.
It's worth noting that during this time, the only academic issue we discussed was

the issue . We two considered ourselves very pure, very traditional, very well-behaved good kids, and even

our first love was pure, a four-year relationship—actually, the first three were wasted, the last year was a waste, and we only truly dated for two weeks.
He said he had a virginity complex, and to spite him, I said I didn't care if the man I

slept or not; experience was better. He was furious, but there was nothing he could do, because

he really did have a virginity complex. To avoid ruining my beautiful, innocent image and making me an illegal

slut before marriage, he resolutely refused to have sex with me. He said he wouldn't even do it if I begged him, acting all high and mighty.
But who wants to be with him? Getting pregnant would be so much worse, so painful, and so bloody…

Even though the legendary, unattainable vaginal orgasm is so alluring, I'll play the saint for now

.
Our conclusion was: we both have a virginity complex. Hilarious!
I don't know if other guys can do that, but sometimes I'm moved when I think about it. We

spent several nights together, and he had many opportunities, each time hard and big, but I always managed to handle it with my hand.
I'm not conservative, but is he? I never believed men could restrain themselves in such situations, but

I admire his willpower in protecting a girl's supposed purity. I wonder, if he asked, would I

give in ? The answer is no, but I'm only thinking of myself; I don't want to lose my virginity.
Sometimes I feel selfish and pointless. What's the point of being a virgin like this? Being fucked or not

is just a matter of a single thought. If it weren't for the fear of pain and pregnancy, I don't know what could prevent this kind

of relationship from happening.
In my daze, I also quickly realize that I'm a good student, a good child, attending a prestigious university,

receiving a traditional education. In the cruel reality, I can only shake my head: it's all the internet's fault.
A month later, he flew away. Before he left, he said he loved me. I knew he loved me; when I hugged him,

I found my face wet—his tears. He was going back to America, but I wanted to stay in China, continue

my studies, and cherish my homeland. I knew it was all too late. I didn't know what to say to him.

I wanted to tell him I loved him, but could I?
He was studying STEM, a popular major with good job prospects. I was studying humanities; going abroad would mean nothing,

just being a dependent. I didn't want to go to America; it was a decision I'd made long ago. When he left, we were nothing

, we didn't say anything. Even when I saw him off at the airport, all I said was, "Don't forget you still owe me five dollars!" Now that

he's leaving like this, how can I be unburdened?
I can't persuade him to come back, I can't go to America and follow his path. I think what I still possess is a

virgin body, but a tainted soul. A woman's body, but an untamed spirit.
Before he left, I didn't say anything. He moved his lips a few times; I knew he hoped I would marry him after graduation.
But America has never been a part of my life, and a job in China has already been found for me. My network, my family, my

talents —only in this land can they be fully utilized. I can't spend my whole life with him, but I truly

can't bear to part with him.
He cried one last time, sobbing, "This time I've really messed up. I never cry in front of women, but damn it, I

just can't stop the tears."
In the end, he left, went to America. Coming back wasn't easy; who knows when we'll meet again?
I walked slowly along the road, the weather so warm. I thought, his coming and going was like a fleeting dream,

those memories from four years ago so clear and vivid, like a fairyland. We were pure in the past,

almost closed off, but purity is like the most precious part of a photo album, that distant yet close affection,

fleetingly piercing through lust. I wondered, in this past month or so, the kiss that started in just one week,

the relationship that began in two weeks, and the bed where we slept together after three weeks of our bodies maturing from infancy—was it the beginning of a

romance , or the end of lust?
I think, thankfully, I'm still a virgin. I wonder, but is an orgasm real? Can I find greater pleasure in someone else's

arms ? Is being fucked more important to me than not being fucked? Do I cherish chastity

or vanity?
On summer nights, my body often thinks of him, while my mind is a blur. That body is on the other

side , a land I cannot and do not want to set foot on. And when the physical longing intensifies, I want to ask this

question: Is this too fast for us?
[The End
]

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My first time with my classmate

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