(i)
He turned his head and pressed into me, his other hand already caressing my breast, and I lifted my face, giving her a sweet smile before taking his kiss. He sucks on his tongue passionately, as if he’s trying to soak up all the juices, and I respond to his rough taste buds, letting him brush against the delicate mucous membranes.
There were few pedestrians in the park at night, so he sat me on his lap and kissed me all the way down from my lips to my jaw to my cleavage. I looked past his ear, and the stringed moon, like a hook, hung white in the middle of the sky, as if it were tantalizing him with desire. I let him fumble in my arms, letting myself light the fire.
After you have your first man, you won’t have any longing for future men, or you can say that you don’t have to expect too much from them. I remember the first kiss, my heart was a beating rabbit, as if it was about to break out of the chest, I had to hold it to suppress it, sweet kiss, although only a little bit, in the countless dreams in the future, but as a branded wound, woke me up.
He pulls me up and squeezes my hips against him, his passion burning in a zigzag across my abdomen, and I push my head against his chest, lovingly pushing him away. He obediently grabs my hand and probes it towards his lower abdomen, still feeling his warmth and magnificence through the fabric, and I pat it, wrapping my arms around his waist again, keeping my chest pressed against him. Men, don’t they all love that?
I crouched on his chest, listening to the ‘plop, plop, plop’ of his heartbeat vibrating irregularly like an electric drill. The first man was beating faster, was it because of his age at the time, or that one mini-skirt? His hands, pressed on his hips, took advantage of the gap to tease at the hem of the skirt, and then, when I was shy and did not comply, went through the bottoms and pressed on the plump buttocks, caressing and re-squeezing, and at that moment, I could not tell if it was him, or he, who ruffled it into a great fire in my heart, was it the stringed moon, and hooked the leaps underneath the clothes too?
In the hotel, he removed my clothing and swung on it, and I followed his rhythm, lifting my belly accordingly. Strong as it was, it put out the fire in the flooded disaster area, ‘plop, plop, plop’ ensemble with the ‘plop’ of my heartbeat, my heartbeat added to it, in that one tiny room by the park.
(ii)
I like to go to pornographic websites and read articles that I know are baseless, and Mei, my roommate, laughs at me for being a pervert. Is it really so strange for a woman to read pornographic articles? Is it just for men? While reading the articles, I like the feeling of making myself wet, no one knows it is passionate, I won’t even curb it by twisting my body, I just sit quietly, letting the tide slowly seep into every piece of cotton bottoms.
I also like to post some selfies on the net, some big close-ups, or backside pictures, and I’ve found that men don’t care who it is, as long as it’s a close-up, they call it good. Sometimes I’ll put a big mole at the base of my leg, and no one ever questions whether it’s you or not. Yeah, it’s not that important who’s who. It’s the picture that counts, isn’t it!
Once a netizen also sent me a picture of him, huge and rosy rising through the thick forest, rushing to the top of the picture like a godswood, with a triumphant smell of the woman’s bodily fluids that still seemed to linger on his torso. I thought of my brother’s manhood, which was white and skinny, as if it would shatter at the touch.
As described in some incest articles, my little brother had tried it on me too. He always gently tested it with the back of his hand, then stroked it even more gently, seemingly touching it in such a way that the pores of my skin opened all the way, and I had to repress the itch with deeper breaths, until that day when I opened my eyes. He stopped moving immediately, as if he was sound asleep and was lying soundly behind me.
I rolled over and pressed my legs against him, his eyes showed some horizontal lines at the corners because they were tightly closed, his breathing was short from the strain, and I didn’t guess through him, I just wrapped him in my arms. His manhood swelled under my leg, unable to stop elongating, and I pulled it out, reflecting the moonlight, it was skinny, like a piece of chalk.
(iii)
Holly hung a poster on the wall of Silvis Stallone straddling a Harley with heavy weapons hanging from his body, and underneath his ragged clothes were oily, glistening, rippling muscles. Holly loved these kinds of fantasies, and she always fulfilled her cravings in the virtual world. She could linger online for hours at a time, waiting for just a few erotic words, which were usually crude and empty phrases like ‘I’ll take off your panties’ and ‘I’ll put my cock in your pussy’.
I don’t know how much fulfillment she can get from a virtual situation, perhaps the shock of the text is safer and more reliable than the perils of reality. But I still like to be there, in the game of love, you can take control, you want to embrace him, you can get your wish right away, not through the keyboard, not waiting for the delayed strings of the screen.
Perhaps, the game Holly mastered the virtual, by me to master the real world, we each cut the part of their own needs, and let the boundless imagination, fill the heart of the lack of.
(iv)
On the screen intermittently appeared ‘Sister, I take off your white bra.’ “Sister, your skin is so white. That’s a little boy, isn’t it? What a sweet mouth.
‘Oh… gently!’ I said back to him.
‘Sis, Sis’ he called softly, I ignored him and continued to pretend to be asleep. My brother put his hands on my waist again, following the curve upwards, stopping near my breasts, gently crossing his arms and pressing them, he didn’t dare to move my arms out of the way, so he struggled forward to advance, he fumbled with the buttons, trembling, undoing one of them, letting his palm press against it, a cold touch that gave me goosebumps, and I trembled as he shuddered, nipples looming up with longing, as he rubbing it, gently, like feathers darting over it.
I straightened my spine, oozing bodily fluids spread between my legs, Mei leaned over and stared at the screen: ‘Oi, he thinks he’s in a whorehouse! I gave her a blank look: ‘Boys are inexperienced.’
‘I thrust you hard…’, ‘The head of my turtle is in the center of your flower…’ There was another string of words on the screen, and I turned back to Mei and asked, ‘What was that like?’
Ah Mei laughed with a giggle: ‘Haven’t you ever tried it?’
(v)
‘What does that taste like?’ Holly asked stupidly.
It was like a force, a force that can make you leap. I remember the moment he came in, and after the pain of the tearing, another wave of greater power, pushing me up to the peak, and I was on a roller coaster, screaming as the waves of power pushed me up and down, and I couldn’t stop gasping for air until he pulled out.
In the days of his absence I had to beg the spirit of others, but they did not have that power, and the power had to be fulfilled by him. Between each of them I sought out what they had in common with Him, and they could not satisfy the hunger of the heart, except to fill part of the emptiness.
Maybe Holly is right, whether it’s virtual or real, we’re all lonely women who are all human, and in both worlds, there’s really no difference.
(vi)
‘Is it convenient to call you? …’ A long question mark appeared in the string on the screen, I ignored him and left the line, why bother? It’s just a game. Haven’t we both had a boring night? Isn’t fast and economical sex in a virtual space and time just what lonely men and women do in modern times? Why complicate things with reality?
Turning back to look at Ah Mei, she has already fallen into a deep sleep, her plump and round buttocks show a rounded glow under the halo yellow light, men will be fascinated by it, right? Once there were also netizens who praised the curves of my buttocks after seeing the photos, it was also beautiful, I pressed my buttocks with satisfaction and couldn’t help but float into a smile.
My brother moves his hands to my hips, stroking over them through the thin pants, I clench my thighs so he can’t get to the slit, it’s the last vestige of reserve, I think my brother knows I’m awake at this point, but he still pretends not to know, and continues his usual lightness of touch, he slips his hands into his pants, and touches his end fingers to my freshly budding body hair, tweaking it at the top of the thin slit, if at all. I continued my slumber; it was a game, a game dominated by the awake ones.
Then my brother began to snore, that too was a message, I thought about the Romance plot and kissed his face, there was a tug at the corners of his mouth, that was a game breaker, an unfriendly gesture. I kissed him harder and my brother swiftly reverted to his slumbering form, I stroked his chest with satisfaction and then stroked at his cock.
(vii)
When he woke up in the middle of the night, Holly was sleeping beside him. Long hair with a face suitable for ancient and modern, is every man’s dream of a special thing. She was sleeping with her legs bent, her hands between her legs, and her breasts were moving steadily with her breathing in her nightgown, and I touched them lightly, fantasizing about what it would be like to have a man fondle my breasts. It was warm and tender, and then Holly’s nipples rose like mountains, and she snorted and wrapped her arms back around me.
Two lonely women, two worlds. Maybe, that’s our real world, I guess.
(concluded)