My cousin in France and I (Part 2): Wasting Time

Even though some time had passed since the car sex incident, we two women were still gripped by fear. We'd wake up frequently at night from nightmares. In my dreams, I often saw a man climb into bed and touch my breasts, then slowly move his hand down to my lower body. I tried to turn away, but my body wouldn't obey. I let the man touch my pubic hair, gently rubbing my vulva, then lightly pressing and pinching my clitoris with his fingers. Amidst the fear, a faint heat spread from my clitoris throughout my body, a surge of heat that aroused waves of suffocating excitement. In my hazy state, the man gently rolled down my thin panties, revealing my vulva—hidden beneath the sparse, soft pubic hair, like tender spring grass—suddenly exposed before him. Pink, white, and plump. Helplessly, I felt the glistening fluid seeping from my slightly closed labia. Then the man pulled down his underwear, and with a whoosh, his thick, dark red penis, veins bulging and glistening, throbbed and swayed. He spread my thighs apart with one hand, and pressed the other against my breast, panting heavily. As his erect penis plunged into the tender crevice of my vulva, his body seemed to press down on me like a mountain; I woke up in terror. Opening my eyes, I saw my hand was still on my vulva, covered in the fluid from it. Helpless and sleepless, I dialed my cousin's number. She was brave enough to come to the single room I rented for my part-time job in the middle of the night to keep me company. We often talked and comforted each other in the middle of the night, eventually falling asleep in each other's arms. Our homes weren't in Guangzhou; the two sisters drifted like duckweed in this bustling city. In this city, where was our home? There were no answers; we could only comfort each other. Sometimes we laughed heartily, sometimes we looked at each other with tearful eyes. Sometimes we embraced each other with tenderness; in the quiet of the night, we would occasionally caress each other to relieve our longing. The image of the two sisters being embraced and touched by men in the car would flash before my eyes from time to time. Although I didn't like it, it was something I could never forget. So, many times, on my way home on stormy nights, I always longed for a kind of inexplicable warmth. My cousin, who was my dearest and closest relative, seemed unable to fill that longing. We made a pact to cherish ourselves and, if the opportunity arose, to find our own "farmers" as soon as possible, to let them cultivate and sow the seeds for our Dong people while it was still fertile ground. After the harvest, we would go hunting with our "farmers" to improve our "meals." If there was an opportunity, and conditions allowed, after the harvest, we would also learn from others and change our "farmers" to try farming and have a change of pace. Many times, we would laugh inexplicably, doubled over, and shed tears of laughter at our own "schemes." My cousin also had dreams, and often woke up startled. The processes differed, but the destination was the same. What surprised me most was that she once dreamed of two men making love to her, a double penetration, which ignited her passion. And so, we became unafraid of dreaming, even yearning to dream. Both sisters hoped that the man in their dreams might be their "farmer." No longer afraid, no longer hiding. If I dream again, I will undress, leaving only the smallest piece of cloth for the farmer to dissect, willing to throw myself into his arms; to embrace and absorb, laughing and licking, rubbing against him with full breasts, a phoenix swaying in his virility. I will make my farmer feel that he is the most enjoyable man in the world. Dreams flow like a long, winding stream, and the two sisters have walked through these wasted years, day by day. Two years later, in December, I was in my internship. One night, it was past midnight, freezing cold, and a cold rain was falling. The shuttle bus had stopped running, and luckily, my younger sister came to accompany me home from get off work. I looked at her helplessly. She said, "Sister, I know a guy. Maybe if I call him, he'll come help me. Why don't you give it a try, sis?" I looked at her doubtfully. She said she'd known the guy for a long time, but he never seemed to joke with girls; he was very serious, but she could tell he was a good person. I said, "He's so far from the city center, there's no other way, just try." Soon after, the guy actually drove up. This one try had a significant impact; three months later, he became my farmer. But that's another story. Soon after, my cousin found out. (To be continued)

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My cousin in France and I (Part 2): Wasting Time

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