In the summer of 2009, one of my college classmates bought a house in the western suburbs of Xi'an and planned to renovate it for use as a wedding home. My classmate had started a company himself and was busy with business all day, with not much time to manage the renovation of the new house, so he asked me to help keep an eye on it. In my spare time from work, I would go check on it every few days.
One noon it started to rain lightly. I came to a classmate's new house. A little after four in the afternoon, just as I walked out of the residential complex gate, I saw her arrive, and I accompanied her back to take another look. At that moment her phone rang; a friend of hers was opening a company and invited her to dinner. After she repeatedly invited me, I went along too. After several rounds of drinks, the guests left one after another, leaving only eight of us men. Someone suggested arranging some activities, and in the end most of us agreed to go sing karaoke. We drove to a KTV outside the North Gate.
After everyone drank, their body temperatures rose. Someone started talking about how his wife was pregnant and he hadn't done it in a long time, and others chimed in. We called the mama-san. My friends were quite picky. After over a dozen rounds of changes, each of us had a girl sitting beside us.
The girl beside me was called Xiao Li, 22 years old, from Gansu. Her skin was very good, smooth to the touch, with delicate features, an oval face, small mouth, and large eyes, giving her a pure appearance. About 160cm tall, with a curvy figure—full chest and hips, no excess fat at the waist, well-developed. From chatting, I learned she had been doing this for a while, having chosen this path due to her family situation.
Friends were also connecting with the girls around them. Some had already sat on friends' laps, with friends groping all over. The girls wore revealing clothes, moaning softly. Others were drinking and singing.
About half an hour later, someone put on loud, energetic music, and strobe lights kept flashing. Everyone ran to the center to dance, their movements very suggestive. Xiaoli pulled me up to dance with her. She swayed in front of me, her breasts bouncing up and down. When we got tired, the music slowed down. Xiaoli took my hand and placed it on her waist, wrapped her arms around my shoulders, and rested her head on my shoulder. Her thin clothes couldn't block the friction of her breasts. I felt her nipples gradually harden, heard soft moans by my ear, and her waist kept writhing, pressing against me.
My courage grew. I caressed her body with both hands. Her moans quickened, and her body weight gradually hung onto me. I carried her to the sofa, my hand continuing to tease her lower body, which was already soaked. Her hand also stroked me.
Friends had all found spots to start. Due to limited sofa space, some were on the coffee table, in the aisle, or by the TV. The room was filled with the smell of alcohol and tobacco, and moans rose and fell.
Xiao Li was initially too shy to moan loudly, but the girl next to her was already completely naked, moaning loudly. She proactively unzipped my pants and whispered in my ear that she was really itchy down there, asking me to enter. Seeing that all our friends around us had already started, I let her get on top herself. She took off her panties and sat down, letting out a comfortable moan. It was very tight inside. I pulled down the straps of her camisole dress, kneading her perky breasts with both hands; her areolas were pink.
She moaned as she moved on top of me. The friend beside us was also working hard, and the girl beneath him was also crying out lustfully. On a sudden impulse, I reached over to squeeze the other girl's breast, and my friend also reached over to pinch Xiao Li's. They didn't object, so we grew bolder. I even gave the other girl's butt a slap, and she let out a loud cry.
After hearing this, Xiao Li moved with greater intensity, her moans rising wave after wave. She said she was tired and asked me to rest for a bit. I flipped her over onto the sofa, lifted her legs, and thrust hard, going deep each time. She moaned wildly, saying I was amazing and that she was going to be fucked to death. Because I had been drinking, I never felt the urge to ejaculate, just kept thrusting continuously.
We went to the bathroom, but it was already occupied by classmates. A classmate called out to me, and the four of us went onto the big bed inside together. My classmate and I took turns playing, and after half an hour, my classmate finished first. With the combined efforts of the two girls, I also came. After coming out, some of the others had already finished, while some were making their final sprint. We drank for a while longer, and a friend wanted to go again but was refused. When the ladies were about to get off work, we also prepared to leave.
It was already two in the morning. I was single at the time, renting a place in the southern suburbs, and couldn't get back in after returning. I smoked a cigarette by the roadside waiting for Xiao Li to come out and told her the situation. She suggested I go to a hotel or an internet cafe, but I had work the next day and didn't have much money on me. She had no choice but to agree to let me stay at her rented place for the night, but she insisted I behave and not try anything.
By the time we got to where she lived, she changed clothes and came out after taking a shower, and I had already fallen asleep on the sofa. She insisted that I shower before sleeping. I quickly rinsed off and came out, and she was already lying on the bed. I got in and said I would just hold her while sleeping and wouldn't do anything she didn't want. We lay there in our underwear, but my hands were not honest and wandered over her body, making her start moaning softly again, and she also put her hands on me.
In the end, she took off her panties herself, took me in her mouth, and sat on my face. Under my fingering, her wetness flowed onto my face. This time she was active and uninhibited, igniting my desire. We went at it fiercely for forty minutes. After she climaxed twice, we came together.
Later she said I was amazing, that I could come find her when I had time, and left me her phone number. During that half-year, whenever I had time I would go find her. Before the New Year I returned to my hometown to work, and after that we lost contact. Even now, I still occasionally think of her.
During that period, I lived a couple-like life with a 22-year-old girl, and I still think of it occasionally even now. Life is like that, things come and go.
The day after coming out of the KTV, I went to work as usual. Sitting in the office, my mind kept flashing back to last night's scenes: Xiao Li's slightly furrowed expression as she rode up and down on me, the wet sensation when she took the initiative to sit on my face, and the way she softly leaned against my chest and panted after I ejaculated. At lunchtime I took out the number she left behind, hesitated for a long time, and still sent a text message: "Thank you for last night. Let's keep in touch when you have time."
She replied quickly, "Okay. Let me know when it's convenient for you."
That night, three days later, I took the initiative to invite her out. She told me to go straight to the house she rented. It was on the third floor of an old building in an urban village, with one bedroom and one living room. The area wasn’t large, but it was tidy. When she opened the door, she was wearing only a loose spaghetti-strap nightgown, and she clearly had no underwear underneath. Seeing me, she smiled, pulled me inside, and casually locked the door behind us.
“Shower first?” she asked.
I nodded. The bathroom was very small. When the two of us squeezed together under the shower, she actively helped me apply shower gel, her hand sliding from my chest to my lower abdomen, finally grasping the already half-hard part and gently stroking. I couldn't help but turn her around, pressing against her from behind, my hands reaching around to the front to knead her breasts. Her nipples soon hardened, and her body leaned back against me. Hot water poured over us. I slipped my fingers between her legs; it was already wet there.
She turned off the water, turned around, stood on tiptoe, and kissed me. We didn't even put on clothes, walking directly to the bed. She actively straddled me, aligned herself, and slowly sat down. When fully inside, she let out a long sigh, then began moving on her own. I lay beneath watching her; her twenty-two-year-old body was firm yet soft, her breasts swaying up and down with the motion, her waist so slender it could be grasped in one hand. I reached to rub her clitoris, and she immediately moaned more wantonly, her movements quickening. Soon she climaxed, her inner walls contracting in waves, gripping me tightly. I flipped her over, pinning her beneath, lifted her legs, and thrust vigorously. She gripped the bedsheet with both hands, moaning intermittently, calling my name, calling me brother, telling me to go harder. Before ejaculating, I asked if I could cum inside; she nodded, saying it was safe this month. After I ejaculated everything inside, she clenched her legs to prevent the semen from leaking out, then turned over and leaned against me.
That night we did it once more, not sleeping until midnight. The next morning she got up and cooked noodles for me, watching me finish before seeing me downstairs. When we parted, she kissed my cheek and said, 'Next time, tell me earlier, I'll wait for you.'
For the next half year, I went to see her one or two times almost every week. Sometimes it was at night, sometimes on weekend afternoons. She never asked me many private questions, and I rarely brought up work. What existed between us was more like a fixed transaction with a bit of warmth, yet it contained something more than a simple transaction.
Once I arrived early, and she was still showering. I sat on the bed waiting, heard the water stop, and she came out wrapped in a towel. Seeing me, she directly pulled off the towel, walked over, and straddled my lap. We kissed for a long time, her hair still dripping, wetting my shirt. I carried her to the bed and entered from behind. She knelt, her butt raised high, each thrust hitting deep. She looked back at me, her gaze seductive and soft, saying she liked being taken from behind, that it could reach the most comfortable spot. I reached around to the front and rubbed her clitoris; she quickly climaxed, her body trembling nonstop, her pussy continuously contracting. I didn't stop, kept thrusting until she begged me to cum. After cumming, I didn't pull out immediately, just held her lying on our sides in the inserted position, my hand still gently kneading her breast. She lazily leaned against me, saying she was especially tired today, asking me to hold her a while longer.
When winter came, the house she rented had no heating, only air conditioning. Once when I went over, she had already warmed the quilt. We crawled inside and first talked, talking about the winters in her hometown, and about trivial things from my work. As we talked, her hand slipped into my pants and wrapped around me, stroking me. I pulled down her sleep pants and found she wasn't wearing underwear. Smiling, she said she knew I would come and had prepared specially for it. I told her to turn around and entered her from the side. This position went very deep, and one of her legs rested on my waist, making it easier for me to thrust. While being fucked, she rubbed her own clit with her hand and came quickly. After her orgasm, she was still clamped tightly around me, so I deliberately slowed down, grinding deeper with each stroke. She couldn't take it and twisted her waist, begging me to go faster. In the end I came inside her, and she buried her face in the pillow, making a satisfied moan.
In those six months we tried almost every position she liked. She liked being on top the most, saying she could control the depth and speed herself; she also liked being held up by me and fucked, with her back against the wall and her legs wrapped around my waist. Once she got her period, we only used our hands and mouths. She knelt by the bed and gave me a blowjob; her technique was very good, and she could swirl her tongue around the glans and even deep-throat. When I came in her mouth she swallowed it all, then looked up at me and smiled, saying the taste wasn’t too bad. I pulled her up and made her climax twice with my fingers and tongue. When she came, she would clamp tightly around my head, her thighs trembling, and her pussy juice would splash all over my face.
We also occasionally go out to eat. She doesn't like overly crowded places, usually choosing quiet little restaurants. During the meal, she sits close to me, sometimes deliberately stretching her leg over to rub her foot against my pants leg. Once, after finishing a meal and walking on the street, she suddenly pulled me into an alley, stood on her tiptoes to kiss me, and even grabbed me through my pants. I pressed her against the wall, my hand going under her skirt. She wasn't wearing panties and was already wet. I fingered her, and she bit my shoulder to keep from crying out. Later, we didn't go all the way, just used our hands on each other. When she came on my hand, her body went so weak she almost couldn't stand, so I had to hold her until she recovered.
In the blink of an eye, it was just before the Chinese New Year. I told her in advance about my plan to return to my hometown for work. That night, we made love slowly, as if trying to make up for all the previous times. She actively requested internal ejaculation, saying she wanted to leave something inside. After I came, she clamped down, not letting me pull out, and held me for a long time. Later, she got up to shower and came out with slightly red eyes. She didn't mention the separation, just handed me a note with a new phone number, saying if I ever returned to Xi'an, I could call that number.
After returning to my hometown, I occasionally sent text messages for the first few months. Her replies became slower and slower, and eventually, we gradually lost contact. I changed jobs, moved cities, and life became filled. Those nights in Xi'an gradually turned into scenes I would occasionally recall.
Sometimes when working overtime late, walking on empty streets, I would suddenly remember the sight of her twenty-two-year-old body under the light, the expression on her face when she took the initiative to sit on top, the tight grip when she climaxed. Those memories have blurred but still carry warmth.
Life is like that. Some people appear at a certain stage, accompany you for a while, then each goes their separate way. No promises, no endings, only some sensations the body still remembers.
Many years later, I remarried and had a stable life. Occasionally, in the quiet of the night, I still think of that girl named Xiao Li, of Xi'an in the summer of 2009, of the chaos in the KTV and the brief warmth of the following half year.
That was a period of indulgence yet authenticity in my life. Looking back now, I neither regret it nor cling to it anymore. Just occasionally, I let out a soft sigh.
In the first month after returning to my hometown, I would open my phone almost every day to take a look. Xiaoli's text messages were still there. The last one she sent was: 'Let me know when you get home.' I replied, and she quickly sent back an emoji. In the following days, I found excuses to send messages, asking if Xi'an was cold, asking if she was eating properly. Her replies were brief, but always carried a soft tone.
Once I worked overtime very late at night, sitting on the steps outside the company building smoking, and suddenly really wanted to hear her voice. I dialed her number. The phone rang for a long time before it was answered, the background a bit noisy.
“What’s wrong?” Her voice was a little hoarse.
“I’m fine, I just... want to hear you talk.”
There was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds, followed by a soft laugh: "Thinking of me so late at night."
I didn't know how to respond, so I just said work has been busy lately. She listened, occasionally acknowledging. Later, she said she had just finished with a client, was a bit tired, and wanted to sleep early. I quickly apologized and told her to rest. Before hanging up, she suddenly said, 'If you come back, let me know in advance.'
That sentence kept turning over in my mind for several days.
In the second month, contact clearly decreased. I changed jobs, began adapting to the rhythm of the new city—overtime, social engagements, meeting clients—days filled to the brim. Sometimes, after a whole week of busyness, I'd realize it had been a long time since I last messaged her. Opening the chat records again, I found the last conversation was already over ten days ago.
Once when I couldn't sleep in the middle of the night, I dug out a few old photos I had saved. They were all ones she had sent herself—some were selfies in a camisole nightgown leaning against the headboard, some were blurry photos only showing her collarbone and shoulders. I stared at them for a long time, my hand unconsciously slipping into my pants. My mind was filled with images of her straddling me, her breasts swaying with the motion, her pussy hot and tight, suddenly clenching during orgasm, pulling me deeper. When I came, I was still holding onto that image, cum all over my hand.
After cleaning up, I lay on the bed, suddenly feeling a bit empty. That emptiness wasn't regret; it was more like a gap left after something had been slowly drained away by time.
In the third month, I almost stopped initiating contact. She didn't send messages either. Once, I got drunk and called her in the middle of the night. It rang for a long time with no answer. Waking up the next day and seeing the missed call reminder, I realized I had done something unnecessary. I deleted the call record but didn't delete her number along with it.
Later, once when I was on a business trip to Xi’an, I stayed there for three days. In the hotel I repeatedly opened our chat window, typed and deleted, and in the end still didn’t send anything. On the third night I passed the urban village where she used to live, and stood at the intersection for a while. The building was still there, with only sparse lights. I didn’t go upstairs; I just stood for a moment and then left.
After returning to the new city, life moved forward. I started dating steadily, later got married, and had my own family. My wife is gentle and considerate, and we have a good relationship. I never mentioned those days in Xi'an and felt no need to. They belonged to another phase of myself and a brief, transactional yet not entirely transactional relationship with a twenty-two-year-old girl.
But some memories will just suddenly surface in a careless moment.
For example, once when my wife was on a business trip and I was home alone, I watched an old movie at night. There was a girl in the film whose smile somewhat resembled Xiao Li's. I suddenly remembered how she would slightly bite her lower lip when she climaxed, her eyes half-closed, with faint moans escaping her throat. I remembered how she liked to look back at me when entered from behind, her gaze seductive and soft. I remembered the sensation when she actively sat on my face, her thighs gently gripping my head, and her juices flowing down the corner of my mouth.
I masturbated for a long time that night, came twice, my mind completely filled with her. After finishing, I lay in bed smoking. As the smoke dispersed, I suddenly realized with perfect clarity—some bodily memories are more stubborn than emotions.
Many years later, I still occasionally have related dreams. In the dreams, we are still in that small rented room, the air conditioner humming, her naked and straddling me, moving slowly on her own, yet reaching the deepest point every time. She looks down at me, her hair brushing my chest, and says softly, 'A little deeper...' I reach out, grip her waist, and thrust upward. She immediately cries out, her inner walls contracting in waves. The dream always wakes me at the moment of ejaculation, and a small patch of the sheets in reality is already wet.
I never mention these things to anyone. Not even my closest friends know. That half-year feels like a private video sealed away by time, one that only I occasionally rewind and replay.
Sometimes I would wonder how she was doing later on. Whether she left that line of work, whether she got married, whether she had children. I never called that number again, nor did I look it up. Maintaining this state of not knowing instead kept the memory of her forever at twenty-two, frozen in that slightly cold rented room in winter, frozen in those few minutes when she actively kept the semen inside her body, not letting it flow out.
Life pushes us in different directions. I became a middle-aged man with a family, she became a forever young, forever slightly wanton yet gentle shadow in my memory.
Sometimes late at night, when everything is quiet, I let out a soft sigh. Not regret, nor longing so painful it hurts, just admitting—some things my body taught me have already been carved into instinct. The warmth, taste, and sounds of those nights can still be fully awakened in some moment even now.
And I, had already learned to coexist peacefully with these awakenings.
No longer contact, no longer search, only occasionally allowing oneself to think back in the dark. Then the next day getting up as usual, living as usual, as usual being a normal, needed person.
That period of real time was thus neatly placed in the deepest drawer of memory. Open it for a look when needed, then gently close it again.
And so, that's enough.
But the words “enough” are sometimes just comfort said to oneself.
Once the drawer is truly closed, the things inside don't immediately disappear. They will open on their own at some unexpected moment.
One winter, my wife went back to her parents' home for a few days. I was alone at home. At night, after taking a shower, I casually opened the backup folder on my old phone and found a few photos saved from back then. The photos were somewhat blurry, the colors off, but Xiao Li leaning against the headboard was still clearly visible. The strap of her camisole nightgown had slipped to her elbow, and the small patch of skin below her collarbone shone under the lamplight. I stared at it for a long time, my breathing gradually growing heavier.
I zoomed in on the photo, imagining how she took it at the time. Probably just after finishing, still sweaty, hair a bit messy, a lazy look in her eyes after the act. I reached into my pajama pants and grasped myself. My mind automatically continued the scene: she pulled her nightgown off over her head, naked, straddled me, aligned herself, and slowly sat down. When fully inserted, she would tremble slightly, then begin to rock her hips back and forth, her breasts swaying gently with the movement. I would use my hands to knead her nipples; she would bite her lower lip and look at me, her eyes soft and seductive.
I came very thickly that night, semen splattering onto my lower abdomen. While cleaning up, I suddenly realized with perfect clarity that after all these years, my body's memory of her had hardly faded. That tightness, heat, wetness, and the force of the inner walls sucking rhythmically at climax could still be summoned completely even now.
Later, I deliberately deleted those photos. Before deleting them, I looked through them once more, as if saying a formal goodbye. After deleting them, I actually felt a little calmer.
But memory does not disappear just because a file is deleted.
Once, my wife and I went traveling out of town and stayed in an old hotel. The room was small, the air conditioner was loud, and the bed was hard. When we made love at night, my wife took the initiative to sit on top, her movements somewhat clumsy. For some reason, Xiao Li’s image suddenly flashed through my mind. When she sat on top, she never hesitated; she would use her own hand to position my thing properly, slowly lower herself down, and after sitting all the way down she would deliberately tighten, looking into my eyes and asking, “Deep?”
For a moment I felt dazed, my movements faltering. My wife thought I was tired and looked down to ask what was wrong. I snapped back to reality, pulled her down for a kiss, and used more forceful thrusts to push back the images that had suddenly flooded my mind. Afterwards, my wife fell asleep against my chest, but I stared at the ceiling for a long time, unable to close my eyes.
I never felt sorry for my wife. That half-year with Xiaoli, from the very beginning, had no promises and no future. It was more like a permitted, transaction-tinged physical relationship, but in the repeated embraces and ejaculations, something indescribable slowly grew. That something, after parting, neither fermented into love nor completely dissipated; it just settled into an instinctive reaction within the body.
Some nights I deliberately reminisce.
I would think of those days when she was on her period, and we used only our mouths and hands. She knelt by the bed, taking me into her mouth, her tongue skillfully circling my glans, occasionally lifting her eyes to look at me. When I ejaculated in her mouth, she swallowed it all, then extended her tongue for me to see, smiling and saying 'I've eaten it all.' I carried her onto the bed, using my fingers and tongue to make her climax twice. When she reached orgasm, she would clamp down tightly on my head, her inner thigh muscles twitching, her lubrication covering my chin.
I also think of that winter time. The house was cold, and we burrowed under the covers. She lay with her back to me, letting me enter her from behind. It went in very deep, and each thrust could reach the deepest part. She buried her face in the pillow, her voice muffled, yet she was intensely wanton. Before ejaculating I asked her if she wanted me to pull out. She shook her head and said she wanted me to finish inside. After I came, she clamped down to keep it from flowing out, turned onto her side and kissed me, her tongue soft and languid with post-coital laziness.
These images no longer have a chronological order in memory; they suddenly jump out, complete, vivid, carrying the temperature and scent of that time.
I've already learned not to resist.
When they appear, I let them appear. Sometimes I masturbate once, sometimes I just quietly watch them pass through my mind and then continue with what I was doing. No more guilt, no more trying to analyze what it all means.
It is a period of time that has happened, is real, and the body still remembers to this day.
Just leaving it like this is already enough.
Sometimes, in the deep silence of some late night, I still let out a soft sigh.
That tone held no regret, no obsession, just acknowledgment—some people teach you not only how to climax, but also how to neatly tuck a relationship without an ending into the deepest part of memory after climax. Then continue moving forward.
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