Memories that are out of reach

A glass of liquor down, a few peanuts tossed into my mouth. My thoughts drifted.
In those bygone years lay my unattainable ideals, once ignited with passion. Fragments of memory began to
surface randomly in my mind. Let 　　's
start from my sophomore year; I don't remember the exact dates. Looking back now, my university
time was measured in years.
Xiao Jiao was a classmate I met in the student union's external relations department; she wasn't my girlfriend. Why did we get
together? I think it was mostly due to the disappointment of my sophomore year after my freshman year's ideals of university; we built trust and understanding in each other after working together in the student union
for a long time. Sometimes, when we had free time, we'd go out to eat at a restaurant or find a clean hotel to have some fun
.
She wasn't a promiscuous girl. She was pretty, with long hair and gold-rimmed glasses that gave her
an intellectual air. She wore warm-colored short-sleeved shirts, and in autumn and winter, she would wear a red floral scarf around her neck
. She often wore light-colored jeans, revealing a slightly protruding bust, a slim waist, and a pert bottom—a healthy and sunny girl.
My romantic encounters, on the other hand, were few and far between. Perhaps I was a cowardly coward; as Forrest Gump said, fools do foolish things, and
there are things that bold people do that I simply couldn't do.
The few memories I have are fragmented. I don't have the typical "first time complex" that most people have. Some scenes I recall afterward
, but it's always the same few moments. But they were real.
In my hazy, drunken eyes, I seem to see myself again at the end of my sophomore year, in a room outside the west gate of the school, resting my
right arm on my head, staring blankly at the ceiling. I remove my left hand from Xiao Jiao's body. I turn to look at her, naked
, her shapely body still glistening with the fragrant sweat of our encounter. Her long hair was scattered on the pillow, her delicate breasts rising and
falling with her breath.
I don't know what I've been doing these past two years. My good college entrance exam scores sent me to an enviable prestigious university,
but a huge sense of emptiness swept over me as I learned more about university life. If before, in my naivety, I wanted to be a great person
(whether it was an official, a businessman, or a scholar), now all I have left are games, books, and
bottles of alcohol.
Xiao Jiao straddled me again, her delicate oval face and B-cup breasts, though not very full,
were firm and plump, and felt quite nice to hold. I don't really like women with large, round buttocks; too much stuff becomes
a burden. She rubbed her private parts against my body repeatedly, and I admired her pert buttocks . My hands
grasped her lovely breasts again, and she leaned against me. She kissed me, her soft, wet tongue
moving like a snake in my mouth. Aroused, she began to rub her breasts hard against my face. I withdrew my right hand, gently
stroking her pubic hair, and continued to explore, parting her labia, my index finger probing her narrow passage.
With each in-and-out motion, she moaned with pleasure. My left hand kneaded her buttocks.
Suddenly aroused, I rolled over and pinned her down, thrusting in and out. Her narrow passage tightly enveloped
my member, and she was also aroused by my sudden action. A soft, coquettish cry escaped her lips: "Oh...
I can't take it... It feels so good... Oh, what are you doing... Oh..." The friction against my member made it feel even longer
, and I began to thrust vigorously.
Only panting filled the room. "Ah... Ah..."
Finally, I thrust a few more times, leaving my two hundred million offspring deep inside her.
"Hey, are you crazy? You came outside!" the little girl snapped angrily.
I ignored her, sat up, took a cigarette from the pack on the bedside table, lit it, and started smoking.
Amidst the billowing smoke, I found myself reminiscing about my high school days. Back then, I knew nothing, yet I
relentlessly studied for my parents' expectations and my own vanity, striving for high scores. I vowed then and there that after the college entrance exam, I would never
waste my life on exams again, choosing instead to live my own glorious years.
When I entered this university, the beautiful scenery, the energetic young people like myself, the free classrooms
—all filled me with hope.
But gradually, I discovered I wasn't learning anything here. Most teachers were only concerned with securing
projects and making money; those who cared about student development were few and far between. And I, who used to enjoy math problems, didn't like
studying engineering. From my freshman year, when I participated in club activities and ran for office, I became increasingly idle in my sophomore year.
University life consisted only of studying, drinking with a few close friends, and women—or rather, girls, because
I had no contact with or interest in mature women.
Freud said that engaging in science and art is a manifestation of sexual repression; in Chinese terms, it's like having nothing
better to do. How true.
A person without ideals is no different from a salted fish. Life is about venting the remaining vitality. I'm waiting
for a period, these absurd periods.
Night after night.
Days repeat themselves like flowing water: reading, attending classes, playing Warcraft, drinking, sleeping, and occasionally going to a hotel.
Are we like the Matrix, merely virtual beings, all our feelings just
from a supercomputer stimulating our nerves?
Sometimes I wonder if I met a girl in bed who loves playing Warcraft, would I jump out of bed and
drag her to play 2v2 or call up three people to play Dota? The unchanging piston-like movements are not
as exciting as stealing resources, winning against opponents, or a troll's incredible Divine Rapier comeback.
It's really hard to find a girl with a good alcohol tolerance and high Warcraft skill. If anyone knows someone like that, please let me know.
Thanks in advance.
Sometimes I think, I'm someone who knows nothing and is still in graduate school. I haven't cheated or failed
a class since my freshman year, but apart from doing part-time jobs to earn some extra money, reading extracurricular books, including the "Complete Collection of Erotic Books," I haven't done anything serious.
China's education system is truly pathetic, but I'm even more pathetic than the system. I've ruined the system, and the system has ruined
me.
I wonder how many of you reading this are still in school, or have experienced the confusion and struggles of your later years in college
, and what your mindset is like. I used to think Trainspotting was awesome, but now I tell myself
I absolutely cannot live like this.
"At 23, in the bottom of the ninth inning, I wore my hat backwards, still hoping for a comeback. Youth is like a baseball game..."
"After nine innings, is there any overtime?"—the "Hot Dog Gang" sang energetically.
That day in my junior year, a few of my buddies and some girls from the Literature Department went on a karaoke party. What followed was the usual routine: drinking , then
going to a hotel. Everyone was used to it, tacitly understanding. In
my drunken haze, I couldn't even see the girl's face clearly, and afterwards I could
n't remember her name anymore. I didn't even think about the names of these people. They say alcohol leads to promiscuity, but after drinking, I was even calmer than when I wasn't drinking; the more I drank,
the stronger that emptiness became. Alcohol did indeed numb my defenses against emptiness and boredom.
The girl skillfully took off my clothes… She helped me to bed, perhaps thinking I was drunk. She gently
took my penis into her mouth, licking and teasing it, waiting for my reaction. Then she took it out and
rubbed it against her proud breasts. Normal physiological reactions pulled my blank mind back to my lower body. I drunkenly watched
her kiss my penis with her full, fragrant lips, and in that soft, warm environment, my penis gradually ignited with desire
. She began to remove her clothes; her short hair, reaching her ears, looked exceptionally energetic. She had a round face, a slightly full figure
, and proud, delicate breasts, especially those pink ones... The sight of her red bean made my heart race, and I pulled her close, taking one into my mouth and
sucking on it. She, too, was under the influence of alcohol, caressing her own private parts. I looked down at
her plump, full petals, and bent down to caress her engorged bud. The bud, protruding at least half a centimeter,
throbbed rhythmically. Her private parts were already covered in a mixture of love juice and my saliva; she passionately
dipped her fingers in it and sucked on it, as if it were the most exquisite nectar. I used both hands to part her tender, plump
petals, my tongue gently teasing the entrance to her flower path. Her flower path moved in rhythm with mine, opening and closing.
Suddenly, she pressed my head tightly against her private parts. She rubbed back and forth with her private parts. I lifted
her full, round buttocks and brought her to her peak.
Watching her undulating body during her orgasm, I noticed my swollen and hard penis, and without thinking, I pulled
her close. Her already wet vagina was ready for this round of battle. She wrapped her legs around my waist, and I pressed
my full weight down on her crotch, thrusting hard into her. With my vigorous thrusting, she gradually became breathless
, her vagina swelling... Urine was flowing freely, clearly from drinking too much beer. I didn't care; in my drunken stupor, I
recklessly buried my face in her urethra, sucking it all in as if it were fine wine.
I spread her thighs wide, grasped my erect penis, and aimed it at her wet vagina
, launching another attack like a warrior awaiting orders. Under the influence of alcohol, I thrust and pounded relentlessly, ignoring rhythm and anything else. She seemed to enjoy this direct approach; her body 　　went limp on the bed,
as if under anesthesia, moaning softly .
Half-drunk and half-awake, I savored the pleasure within her tight, slippery flower path. In
a fierce thrust, I left my spoils inside her. We were both breathing heavily.
I was exhausted from release, she was blissful.
Watching her fall into a deep sleep, I suddenly felt an unprecedented loneliness.
I wonder if any of you have ever felt this way: when you wake up one night from a drunken stupor and look at
a strange woman beside you, do you feel bored? That emptiness after your energy is drained begins to corrode your mind, and you
must seek the next pleasure. Can you feel that physical... The temperature chills you to the bone. Because tomorrow you'll
be strangers, and you even find yourself becoming a stranger to yourself.
When you want to talk to someone, you find only the sound of breathing and the occasional whizzing of cars on the street
. That silence is like death.
I want to become a bird, to fly away from all this. Even if it's
the bird without feet that Leslie Cheung spoke of in *Days of Being Wild*.
Lust is pleasurable, but the release of energy doesn't bring me satisfaction or the pleasure of possession; instead, it gives me
a strong urge to leave.
That night, dawn broke late; that night, there was no wine. That night, without cigarettes, I suddenly realized I had nothing
.
Those fleeting pleasures weren't true happiness. The fear that began to spread in that simple room as memories became worthless
began to creep in, occupying my dull, numb mind. Before, the light from a lit cigarette always gave me a point of view in the darkness
, but tonight the night seemed endless.
My loathing for my sophomore and junior years of college began to erupt that night. Perhaps many people think that being at a prestigious university,
being a dashing student, and finding a good job in the future is a good thing. But I would never live a life where I could see the end from the beginning
.
The protagonists in *Golden Scales*, like Hou Longtao or Ximen Da Guanren, possessed some skills—one
ran a company, the other sold medicinal herbs. And me? Just an ordinary citizen, aimless, with no ancestral support or brothers to rely on.
I want to get rich, to not have to live under someone else's roof, at the mercy of a boss.
The most terrifying thing is a man living without ability or ideals.
I thought of Hitler, who rose from humble beginnings to the stage of history with his silver tongue
.
My lust remains, but the pleasure of sex with strangers is gone. I want to find a family-oriented girl
to date, or perhaps not date at all, to study hard, learn some skills, and after graduation earn money to travel
and enjoy life. These are much more realistic than my once naive "grand" ideals.
Beauty fades, youth grows old. The
fleeting years of youth, squandered, have made me see myself clearly: I have nothing; all we have in our youth is youth itself to
squander. As I enter adulthood and society, I hope I can take responsibility for myself and my loved ones. Sometimes
I imagine how much harm such a reckless lifestyle would cause my future family.
Before the flowers fade, at the tail end of my youth, I should do something meaningful for myself, and not
get someone pregnant when I'm young, only to get myself pregnant after I start working. Children are playful; we no longer have
the luxury of being children.
In two years, I'll graduate with my doctorate. Saying goodbye to university, I'll return to my former, well-behaved self.
Playing games and drinking with my brothers, saying goodbye to girls. Occasionally, I'll watch some of Hara Saori's or my treasured Matsushima Kaede films
to solve my problems.
I'm not a prodigal son, and I've never looked back. I'm just doing what I want to do. Perhaps that's what
happiness is.
A bold life needs no explanation.

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Memories that are out of reach

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