Undressing Tingting

I was less deft with her skirt; but, having made her choice she was determined, guided my fingers to the buttons. And off it came, to reveal plain white standard uninspiring knickers. Another time I will write all about underwear and Chinese woman; it’s an interesting topic.

She flinched at first when I kissed her pussy through the fabric; but more kisses on her mouth, and breasts, erased those qualms, and down came the panties – her pussy neatly trimmed, elegant, her body beautiful, lithe, smooth. She flinched again when I went down on her and almost pushed my head away. But only almost; she stopped that when the feeling of it hit her. I guess her husband is a dull guy… in fact, I am sure of it, for, later, after demurring at going on top but then doing it anyway, and doing it with great verve and passion (moving her hips so that her pussy made tiny circles with my cock, and combining this with pelvic squeezes; or arching back to ride me, or falling forward to kiss me) she told me `I never do it like that.. I’ve only ever done it with the man on top..’

This is why China is pussy paradise; six years this guy has had this wife, and has never thought to try anything beyond the missionary, has never even (my ego prompts me to be sure) gone down on her. Thirty two years, and she has never been eaten out. And yet the passion with which she fucked me, and her general willingness to try anything I suggested, shows how open minded and keen to find out she is; and how she moved when she straddled me shows she has given it some thought, done some reading – for she did not at all behave like the novice she said she was.

It is women like her who make life so joyful here – and not just for the sheer easy sex of it, but also for the wonderfully ego-boosting kick of giving them a pleasure they have never felt before.

And so we made pretty good love, and she got into it, as I did. Doctor that she is, she was of course wary of pregnancy, and so I wore a condom, after some hassle in getting it on and her amused laughter at it being too small. This too is worth writing about at some point, for there is much to say about cock sizes and condoms.

When I came I began to pull it off so as to come on her, and she grabbed it too, sweeping it off and frenziedly milking my cock as I came on her. It was indeed most sexy. After cuddles, and a shower, and just some lazing, I was horny again, for she is most sexy, most lithe, and we went at it once more. But this time I could not come, with the small uncomfortable blob. `Don’t use….don’t 勉强..’ she whispered to me, `It’s ok, we just need time to get used to each other..’ so we talked and cuddled some more and I drifted into sleep. But she didn’t torn, I guess, by guilt. Indeed, each time I woke it was to see her awake, either looking at me or, at one point, standing by the window, looking over the city.. I wonder what she was thinking about? This morning, after we’d made love twice more, I told her I was worried at how little she’d slept in the night, that I had seen her staring out of the window. `You saw that?’ she asked.. `I thought you were asleep.’ I think she was also a little touched at this sign of care for her, that I had been watching, worried.

Making love in the morning light was new to her, too.. `I never do it in the morning’ she said. And again I was astonished at the paucity of imagination this suggests in her husband. I guess he’s a ten strokes and jackpot-goodnight kinda’ guy. But it was sexy, close, sweet, to be able to see her lithe trim body, watch her eyes, enjoy her hair falling around her face as she rode me. A fine woman.

As before, the second time it was hard to for me to come with the blob. We had begun to fuck without it, for it was pregnancy she worried about, not disease. It so happened a week before this I’d had to take a medical check, standard procedure for a foreigner seeking a work permit here. Part of this check involved a blood test, and so I was able to set her mind at rest as to AIDS, showing her the resultant print out – the many details of which, rather charmingly, she explained to me as we sat in bed.

But fucking her bare like this made me ready to come pretty soon, though in general I can control that fairly well. So I hauled on a new blob and this squeezed me back down to a semi, as well as making her a little dry. Instead I finished off by hand, and she had a go at helping me. She did not too badly either, even using her mouth on me, very briefly; it was pretty obvious this also was new to her, and perhaps a bit much to get into along with all the other new things. Once again I came all over her, and she enjoyed it, great thick gouts of come all up her body, pooling in the hollow of her neck. The excitement of a new woman always makes me come big, and I guess this, and the obvious excitement on my face, gratified her.

So it was a good night… though she put me to shame a little by – justly – commenting on the messiness of my room. And before she left she gave me one more pleasure – I’d made her toast, and she seemed never to have eaten it before, since she kept saying `很好吃’ as she ate it – and then asked me to show her how to use a toaster. It was really quite charming. The innocence of Chinese women can be divertingly cute. The first proper girlfriend I had out here for example, did not know how to open a bottle of beer, had never used a bottle opener. I smiled and smiled at that.

After we’d dressed I walked her to the tube and, a little later on, messaged her to thank her for a fantastic night; and it pleased me to get in return a little while later:-

`Thank y for giving me a wonderful night too.y are a gentleman.’

She was on my mind most of that day; I was very pleased with this conquest. Her lithe body and in particular that flat, smooth belly, and neatly trimmed pussy (pubic topiary, there’s another topic to add to the to-do list).

And, of course, married women, once bedded, are easier than single; there can be closeness and affection, love, even – but no chasing; excitement, not pressure. In this country the married woman will want to stay married; the lover remains her special secret. A snatched evening here, there, is the way it goes – but never the hassle of `You don’t spend enough time with me’ and `You’re always busy.’

Married women also make good lovers because, if they stray, it is since they are bored in their marriage; if they are bored they want to fuck up a storm in bed (even if some of them do not know it at first) and they want to be wooed, loved, charmed; and I do that shtick damn well. If they are bored it is due to their useless, unimaginative, dull hubby at home – and that means all things I like to do in bed are new to them.

Tingting had only ever done missionary with the lights off; all the rest of it, her on top (facing and reverse), spooning, doggy, missionary with legs over my shoulders, all of it was new and all of it exciting to her; and my party piece, settling her on my cock as she sits in my lap, hooking my arms under her knees and standing, walking her round the room while I thrust – well, at that her eyes widened to a whole new level of feelings she’d never had before, a whole vista of fresh pleasures, undreamt of experiences. Now, to be able to make a woman feel like that – there are few greater boosts to the ego.

Yeah, married women are the best….

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Seducing Tingting

She knew what this was, made the usual remarks of No, I’m married, I can’t and Don’t; yet did not turn away from me. I felt sure her life was a desert dry of passion, and that she wanted this to happen, but feared it too. So I pressed on, more and more sure. She would not let me kiss her, yet held me to her tight, her arm around my waist, pulling me close to her. She half-stepped ahead, as if she wanted to walk on, yet since my arm was still around I stopped again.

It was when she had said No again, and turned from me, that the first kiss happened. She had turned, but not walked away. Gently, I took her by the shoulder, just stopped her. Instead of pulling way, she pressed back against me, her back to my chest, pressing her body into mine, a finger in my beard. .. and as I moved my head down to her, she turned her lips up…then, at the last moment, moved so that the kiss landed on her cheek. But I chased it to her lips and she let me – briefly, briefly. And that’s how it was for a while, stop, start, chase, refuse, each play ending with a more lingering kiss after it. And her protests changed, from ‘No’ to ‘It’s in the street’ to ‘I am a traditional woman.’

She was yielding, melting…. I saw success ahead.

But then it seemed to swing the other way – ‘I want to go home now’ she said, and ‘You go to your home, and I’ll go to mine.’

But citing a code of gentlemanliness which I do not really believe, I said ‘I can’t let you go home alone, I’ll just see you to your place and then take the cab on to the subway.’ She allowed that, and we kissed more in the taxi. She was again hot, cold; I’d pull her towards me, she’d lie in my arms, we’d kiss, and passionately too, and then she’d say ‘We’re in a taxi’ and pull away from me, her body language more defensive, her gaze firmly out of the window. And so I was more or less going to leave it there, let her go, and hope to the future.

But when the cab arrived she paid the fare, meaning the cabbie put his flag up and wanted to be on his way, giving me the perfect excuse to get out. And so I did, and so we walked, and kissed more.

‘No.. it’s too near my hospital’ she said; but I moved us into a shadowy spot and we kissed more. Passionate again, and she clung to me, murmured into my mouth.

‘Take me home with you’ I asked – cajoled, wheedled. But she would not. So we kissed more, and through her clothes I quested a hand over her breasts, pussy… which she’d accepted for a few seconds before moving my hand away with a ‘Not in the street.’ We went around like this for some time, and it seemed settled she would not take me home. More than that, she did not want me to know where she lived, for she said several times, ‘Go home, you go home then when you’re in the taxi I’ll go home.’

I didn’t want to force her too hard, so eventually I acquiesced. ‘I hope I’ll see you again?’ I said.

‘I’ll never see you again’ she replied, but lightly, with a laugh in her voice, to show I had not alienated her.

And so I left, but only to the end of the street, where I stepped into a recessed doorway, to see what she’d do. She sat on the pavement, just sat.. I watched for five minutes or so as she sat there unmoving, becoming a little worried about her safety. And, thus worried, slowly walked back to her. She had her head in her hands, so, quiet, I just sat on a low piece of wall behind her, watching, waiting.

Her body language showed her turbulence, her fingers quick and busy, active, beating her head with her hands, in what I assume was an attempt to clear and calm her mind, settle her tempest – though it looked more like extreme distraction. After doing this a couple of times, she rose, turned – shrieked -- `你吓死我了’—and came over to me, mock anger that was in fact excitement, gladness, on her face; and indeed we were straight away in each other’s arms. This time I tried what ought have been the obvious strategy from the start – ‘Come to my place.’ Because of course not only was I asking her to betray her husband, I was asking her to do it in her own flat. And that was obviously too much for one leap.

‘No.. no, I’m a married woman, I’m traditional, I cannot come home with you.’

Yet breaking from kisses, she seemed inclined to come home with me, and this just as a taxi drove by…but the driver did not see my wave, drove on, leaving the streets again empty. I cursed at this, for I knew I needed to keep her hot, get her into a cab soon before she cooled, changed her mind. As time was important, we walked to a larger road just nearby, but there were no taxis there and, it being better lit, she was too shy to kiss. Again I cursed, for I could feel her passion ebbing. But perhaps she was more determined than I thought, for when a taxi came she did get in with me. In this taxi it was as before, now hot now cold; and at my flat, the reality of what she was contemplating hit her. She stood on the balcony, looking across the city, thinking it over, as I partly held her from behind and partly, hurriedly, tidied up my room – and replied to SMSs from another woman, messages of love which I batted back brief and cynical with a ‘Me too’ and ‘About to run out of credit’ (a lie to stop more messages or, worse, a call)

But it all turned out smooth; she made her decision, came into the bedroom.. had a minor qualm – ‘I won’t lie down, I’ll only sit’ – but lie down she did, pushed gently to it by me; and from there it was just a matter of keeping her stoked, growing her passion with kisses and caresses so she’d let me undress her. It took a few minutes, and at first she did not want me to take off her top; but kisses and still more kisses yielded her, and slowly I eased up her top, and, before she had time quite to stop me, slipped down her bra and kissed her nipple. She arched her back up against me in pleasure at that… then insisted ‘Put out the light put out the light, I am shy, I am traditional’; and so I did; and so she yielded fully, allowing me to slip off her top, deftly unhook her bra, to see in the moonlight her petite, firm breasts, exactly as I like them, sexy, sweet; and, of course, a bother to her, ‘They are too small’; which I have found many Chinese women feel.

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Married Women and Boring Husbands

Tingting was a doctor, and married. Ah, now, married women…

This is worth a digression. It seems to me that, taken on the whole, Chinese men are nice, kind, decent…. And dull, passionless. They’re often less voracious than Western guys, have fewer of their -- our -- wolvish ways. But they are dull, dull, dull.

I should say that I am a teacher here in China. Teaching is the one job any Westerner can do when he is either incapable or unwilling to do any other job. There are in China a handful of good, concerned teachers, and then a vast pool of guys like me, doing it for the buck and the bang. And teaching is the one surest way to dive into life here, especially at the universities I work for, with their large numbers of students from all across the board.

Relentlessly social, I have a wide circle of friends, 98% of them women. Indeed, of the 500 or so contacts on my various IM lists there are but a handful of guys. And of the married women friends I have become close enough to really talk, all are either unsatisfied or outright unhappy with their marriages – indeed, in all the years I have been teaching I have seen only one married couple in class who were obviously, clearly, truly in love.

Sure, and part of this is just because of the cultural difference, for people here, especially the slightly older, married ones, do not show affection in public. But even so… I do believe there’s a great deal of .. well, not actual unhappiness, but just dissatisfaction. I got to know one woman, Linda, quite well recently since I was helping her with her application for some aco stuff, and since I worked hard at it for her she invited me to dinner to thank me. She took me to a great place, too, a buffet in the Jin Mao, up high, with great views across the Huangpu, Shanghai's central river. And as we talked a bit more personally and she told me she was unhappy with her marriage.

Right, I had already worked out that this was the case, but I was indiscreet enough to ask her, ‘So, if you had the chance to do it again, would you still marry him?’ She said she would not.. but since she has a 7 year old girl divorce isn’t really an option. It’s so sad.. and a common story.

Tulip, for example – she’s in a sterile marriage – so much so that it is unconsummated. And Belinda, with whom I had lunch yesterday, recently ended her unhappy marriage (it was a good lunch; the right signs were there; the next step is dinner then bed); and then there’s Clarissa (a woman I wanted bad and never got… she’s emigrated now – and maybe just as well else I’d have fallen for her too hard) – and Carolyn (about to divorce when last I spoke with her); and so on.

But for now just Tingting will do. She was – ha, aren’t they all? – a student in one of my classes. This was some months back, March or so, and she caught my eye pretty soon off the start. She was a little shy, but there was mischief in her eye, mischief and amusement. And, and her eyes, deep, liquid, loquacious…Hidden laughter there, secrets.

At the end of the course (for even I have some basic scruples, and try not to hit on a woman while she’s still a student) I gave my email to the whole class – as I do with every class – but made sure to say to her, firmly, ‘Stay in touch.’ She did, and anon I arranged dinner with her.

Hi,

How are you these days?busy ?

I guess you’ll find it out, but I feel nervous when I think about our meeting next Tuesday. This will be the first time I’ve met a person I am unfamiliar with alone. I don’t know your cultural background, how you think, or what your habits and interests are. And I can’t express myself well in your language, and you cannot express yourself well with mine. So please don’t be angry if I seem a bit nervous.

Still, I’m looking forward to next Tuesday!

When we met – she carefully dressed, nicely made-up – said again that she was nervous. In the cab, as we talked, however, she mentioned a husband in Taizhou - something I had not expected at all (I'd thought she was maybe 24 or 26; she's 32...). But my initial chagrin at this soon gave way to a more philosophical reading – her husband was in Taizhou

Such nerves as she had soon disappeared as we chatted at the restaurant, the conversation flowing easily, and me sitting next to her, at right angles, not opposite, the better to whisper close and quite to her. Place I took her to was a small local chain Clarissa had introduced me to, and I’d been there a few days before with someone else.

Now at this time I had thought it would be a good idea to cut back on beer, so I had decided—ha – not to drink that night. But she wanted a beer. And, since I wanted to seduce her, I knew this was the way to get her to overstep her married scruples. So we drank – and she drank really rather well, matching me pace for pace over four bottles (she is from the north of China, where people like to drink. In the south, they drink much less, and women drink almost never). As we drank and talked our body language grew closer, more intimate, caresses and touches. Well.. that is, I touched her more than me she, but she did not demur, nor blush, but rather took it as natural, expected… our conversation mostly just getting to know you chat, but she did talk of her husband a little; saying she went to the city where he worked regularly to see him, but he never came to see her. And that she had been married about six years. She had not wanted to get married so soon, but he did; so she agreed. She spoke of him wholly neutrally, no hint of feeling, emotion; as if he was someone she knew, no more nor less.

What I most wanted to know was if he was the passionless fish that so many guys here are. But I did not really need to ask – he doesn’t come to see her, wanted to get hitched too soon after getting to know her (that's often a sign of a marriage made for social reasons.) Yeah, he’s the trad type, decent I’m sure but no imagination. And certainly it was easier to think of him that way considering what I had in mind, snatching his wife away from him.

And so as we left the restaurant to walk a while I put my hand round her shoulder, and her waist; but she did not want to hold hands. So there were limits to be pushed past, I saw. Walking her away from the busy streets down one quieter, dark-pooled road, I stopped walking, turned her to me.

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White guys in China

Anyone with even limited China experience has seen it – old white guy, young, trim Chinese girl. What’s that like? How do they do it? Why? Everywhere you see it – white guys and Chinese girls, always younger, often by decades.

This is how it goes.

Western guy comes out here, aware he is old, tired, used, nothing to turn heads. And thus his self-confidence is not too high. He ain’t gonna aim at the stuff that really turns him on. He’s gonna aim for something a bit plainer, a bit easier. And the plainer, less sought after chick – well, perhaps she knows her worth and makes herself more approachable. Whitey, he’s just thrilled that a woman half his age – even a third – seems to pay attention to him, thrill to him.

See, this is the mistake I made when I first came out here, working in Shenzhen for a year. Set my sights lower than I wanted – didn’t approach the office stunners. So I hook up with a woman closer to my age, and of similar aco background – picking for brains rather than beauty. Ah, that’s the placebo, the delusion – nice personality!

And, sure, we had three years together and it was mostly good. She was kind, loving, dedicated, intelligent. An excellent choice of wife – if I wanted to get married.

We broke up, off she goes to study then work abroad. And sure, we still chat online from time to time, whereat she waxes between ice, thaw and chill – but I am forever in her mind now a bastard. I expect her judgment is right on that.

The break up was acrimonious. Yeah, one point she was throwing crockery at me across the courtyard where we lived, no doubt to the gossipy delectation of our neighbours who, remaining out of sight in their house as they were, were no doubt listening keenly. And pinning the blame on me. Fair shout.

But that was enough for me. I took the decision then – no more serious relationships; let us not talk of love, or marriage, or even a house together. I have not kept to this, for I have talked of love to many women. But only as a means to an end, that end being bed. Felt love? Scarcely!

So, let’s see, this Saturday I was with Star, this Sunday with Sara. Amid this, I kept Cherry in play via MSN, put in a call to Rina, and teased Tulip by SMS. Susan I sent a flirty email, and Wanda I wooed via her blog. I’ll get back to these later, maybe.

But I will begin with Tingting, a figure from my recent past who I still think of, a lover I am sad to see no longer. In general they come, they go and when they are gone I scarcely think of them; those lovers who I have to pause and think for a second to get the name. Lovers like Gloria, like Lucy, like the others I am sure there are but who have sunk beneath the surface of my memory.

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