Seducing Lucy

Well, rather to my surprise I find mention of this blog at Shanghaiist, which says:-

What better way to spend a windy, rainy day than reading about some guy's sexcapades on a blog? OK, there are many better ways, but maybe this site will be of interest to those of you still upset they took the soft-core porn channel off the Filipino satellite service. The site is called Sex and Shanghai / 欲望上海 (you'll need a proxy to access it in China) and we have a feeling you can guess what it's about. It's like Penthouse Letters, but localized. Here's an R-rated and, as a friend just said, "icky" taste…

Indeed there are numerous better ways. Can’t dispute that. And `icky’ is right enough too, since the bit quoted is:-

And she really was a remarkable lover, and when she came on top she so got into it, doing this thing with pelvic squeezes which just blasted me. It was a little difficult to get into her at first, causing her pain, but once she’d relaxed, once she had eased herself round my size, she let her feelings go. This night was not quite as fine as before, since her period was due, and this made her tender.

I did think about un-ickying it but, really, what is the point? Most of what I have written so far is just reworked from my diary (I will get to present tense in due course), and it is simply a record of what happened; she was tender that day, and told me why; and it did cause her some pain when I entered her.

This is an anonymous medium; you don’t know who I am, and I don’t know who you are – so why prettify it? And certainly one should not be squeamish about the blood of the matter. I feel that most strongly. When I slept with Gloria the first time, it so happened she had her period. But damned if I was going to make her feel unclean, dirty; the world is full enough of guys who make women feel apologetic for their bodies. Not me. From coffee and art to cock in the ass, I’ll just blather it out as it happened.


So, I was talking about Lucy, and propositioning her in the park. (Xujiahui Park. While mostly I have nothing but scorn and contempt for all government in China, I have to admit to some mild respect in this angle at least. A few years ago what is now park was occupied by a rubber factory. That was closed down as part of the wholly cosmetic environmental clean-up that Shanghai conducted (and achieved by simply moving the polluting factories elsewhere). The vacated plot was reworked in a rather nice park, spite of it being prime CBD land. It seems to me in London, say, a tower block would have gone up. That a park was built instead shows a rare instance of the government thinking about the people’s needs, rather than (as more often) viewing the people as a mass to be lectured and controlled.)

And in fact now I remember that this was not my first tryst in the park. A year or two back I loitered there with Teresa (one of the increasing numbers of christians in China, as foul a breed here as they are anywhere in the world) who, (obscured by a bush) nimbly masturbated me.

So, ‘Will you spend the whole night with me?' Lucy asked, which was rather a bother, since my plan had been to hit and run, but, hey; I wasn’t going to throw up a fuck for that.

First of all, we walked to the Tian Ping Hotel, where, as usual, they tried it on. Usually whenever a white person goes to any shop or service in China, the price goes up. To locals, white people do not really count as people at all; they are just there to be taken advantage of. In the Chinese mind, in general, it is ok to try to make more money from us; we, being supposed rich, are fair game. Sometimes, demanding equal treatment, a fair price, elicits an angry reaction -- as much to say we are at fault for not playing the game, not allowing ourselves to be ripped off. And so at this hotel they told me ‘We only have a suite,’ which was of course 900 yuan compared to the single room price of 400 (single rooms always have big beds here). But when I made to leave, they naturally found they did have a room, but with no windows, at 350. Who needs windows to fuck?

Now while I did have a copy of my passport ID page, I did not have a copy of my visa. Without it, I could not get a room, since this country is suspicious and watchful, trying to monitor every action and thought of every person here. I was somewhat abrupt in my reaction to this for, speed was important, else Lucy's ardor might cool and she might reconsider. I had to get her to bed before she changed her mind.


But also the fact I did not have a copy of my visa meant that I now had to get her to book the room, which would lay what she was about to do on the line even more clearly. I explained the situation to her, and she agreed to book a room. When she said ‘Let me see if I have my ID card’ I thought that she was going to excuse her way out. I was wrong; she was glad to find she had it with her and, when I showed her the next nearest hotel (for we could not try the Tian Ping again; it would be obvious this was a love rendezvous, and given that the hotel clearly stuck by the rules, and given how the rules here are all about prying into privacy, about control, doing so would clearly have ended in humiliation for her and anger from me), opposite Jiao Tong University, she went right in and got the room; and, as I had suggested, when she'd got it, texted me the number so as I could march straight in and up. Which she did, I did. 408, a number now to remember. But when I knocked on the room door, she said ‘Is that you? Just a minute..’ So I loitered, no doubt being watched by whoever was on the other end of the corridor security camera -- and sure they knew just what was going on.


She opened the door after a lengthy pause, showered, wrapped in a towel. That was good, since it meant she was still sure; and bad, because I wanted to undress her. And good again because it gave me a chance to shower, which I needed.

The room was right for the purpose; new, clean, quiet, that hotel smell, no tobacco fug, no stained walls or patched sheets -- and a big bed. By its side, a large armchair with a footstool, together something like a chaise longue. She was lying on this, still wrapped in a towel; nervous, timid, but positioned sexily, invitingly, expectantly, wanting what she feared, too. She was shy of her body, would not let me loosen the towel, so I began it by kissing, to stoke her; and so I did, kissing, caressing, going slow, seeing the whole night ahead of me, hours to caress, explore, fuck. And thus through the stages, the towel of itself as a result of our kissing slipping, loosening, half exposing her breasts, and then me kissing it the rest of the way down, to her belly and stopping there as she intakes breath in soft alarm ..’Don’t worry, I'm not going to... no hurry..’

‘Shall we move to the bed?’ she asked, making me not for the only time that night wonder if she was playing me far better than I was her – was she really a virgin?. But this was just a whisper of paranoia -- it was a safeguard of at least thinking I've been played so that, if it turned out I had been, I could say to myself ‘I thought I was being played’ and thus salvage some self-respect.

And so to the bed. Finally casting the towel aside, I took my first look at her pussy.. Now, the pussy; ninety percent, a pussy is a pussy. But there is that ten percent of difference, the special characteristic of each And that's what makes it so appealing, what stokes the drive to see another, and another, and another; and from the moment each is seen, its charm begins to dwindle.

Well, I have got this far and only glanced at the root of the night's fascination; her utter inexperience. That was one of the reasons we went round and round in the park. ‘I have no experience, I do not know what to do, I do not know how…’ she’d told me.

Yeah, that was part of the wow, she being a virgin. So cool, to be someone's first, to know you'll be keen, you'll live, colorful, real in their memory their whole life, with them until the last breath. And that her body had been seen by no man but me -- the gift of that!

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