Adultery

“Let’s go to my place.”
“She’s not here?”

“She went to her parents’ house, she won’t be back until tonight.”

“No. What if she comes back and…we catch her in the act…” The woman paused on the word, her brow furrowing slightly.

“You…” the man gave her a reproachful look,

then a hint of coquetry, “No…come on, okay?” His eyes were filled with tenderness tinged with eagerness, moist and sticky.

The woman fiddled with her phone, wondering whether to go.

Deep down, she hated this kind of affair under someone else’s nose; it was shady, like stealing someone’s food, and she was worried about being discovered. Besides, was this “food” worth taking such a big risk and enduring such psychological discomfort? In contrast, the woman preferred going to a hotel together, booking a room openly, making love openly, without any scruples or entanglements, at least without the pressure from the environment and specific objects—for example, the hostess's slippers, her toiletries in the bathroom, her meticulously arranged skincare products on the vanity, even the way the toilet paper was placed…

In someone else's home, there were traces of another woman everywhere, and countless eyes hidden beneath those traces. This was undoubtedly a form of contempt, a deterrent and a threat to the intruder.

"I'm not going," the woman said firmly.

"Go."

"No."

"I miss you."

"Hehe." The woman chuckled foolishly; the word "miss" probably needed to be followed by "want" to be more accurate.

"Shall we go?" The man pulled the woman's hand back and forth, like a child begging an adult for candy.

The woman's heart softened.

So she followed him to his house, keeping a distance of about 10 meters.

The woman thought: Just this once, just this once.

The man's house was so neat and clean that the woman felt awkward even stepping inside, afraid of disturbing or altering something, or leaving any trace. But she still put on the pink cartoon-patterned slippers worn by the woman of the house.

The gray-white tiles in the bathroom gleamed coldly under the light. The woman was careful not to lose a single hair while showering, and she didn't use anyone's towel; she dried her hair facing the bathroom heater. She didn't even comb her hair; thankfully, her permed hair could be casually tied up… and then—

she went straight to the bedroom.

The brightness of the other rooms and the living room was too dazzling, only making her feel darker.

The large bed in the bedroom was perfectly smooth, and the woman looked at the two standing bodies, unsure how to lie down comfortably.

It was early autumn, and the weather was slightly chilly.

"Shall we leave the covers on?" the man asked, probably also wanting to avoid completely ruining the bed's tidiness.

The woman smiled awkwardly and said, "Keep it simple."

A sense of desolation crept in after she said that, as if her limbs were an unstable rubber tool.

"Then don't take off your clothes… come on." The man pulled his pants down to his ankles, gesturing for the woman to take off her underwear and lift her skirt.

The woman looked around the bedroom, somewhat bewildered, as if sharp thorns sprouted from every corner, ready to pierce her delicate skin.

She pouted, pulled down her underwear, and said, "Hurry up."

There was no kiss.

The man's face was a certain distance from hers.

He didn't caress the breasts he had been admiring, but instead roughly rubbed them against her clothes before entering her.

...Quickly, it was over.

The man said as he pulled up his pants, "You're nervous at home."

The woman kept her eyes open, staring at the large wedding photo above her, the bride's face glowing with a rosy hue, then shifting her gaze to the man's instantly relaxed face, and smiled slightly.

The woman's cleanup was simple. She went to the bathroom to wash herself, without even taking off her clothes. Then she put on her underwear, and to her surprise, she found it perfectly clean and dry.

Then she hurriedly fled. The man said he needed to tidy up the house and would be picking up the woman later.

Ha! The woman thought: That woman will surely be thinking happily, "How considerate my husband is to pick me up!" Maybe she'll even be leaning on his left shoulder the whole way…

Having an affair, going to someone else's house, ha! The woman laughed at herself ironically.

The woman thought: To test whether you love a married man, just see if you go to his house to make love—if you love him, you can endure the humiliation and go; if you don't love him, you absolutely shouldn't go.

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Adultery

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