Sex as Rebellion

Keen though I am to see Ellen again, my relationship with her is sexual only, and she remains a minor part of my life. The same is true of Sweetie. But this is not a permanent pattern among my lovers. Mona, for example, has become a friend after being a lover.

I hardly need say that she was a student. I met her about a year back and right from the first class I could tell she was a little taken with me. Staying behind after class to talk to me the first session, wearing nicer clothes in the second and later sessions. But really, most of all, it is in the eyes; the way she looked at me is something I have seen many times in class. Just that moment of looking eyes, the bold, clear gaze, the suggestion.

And so I was sure Mona would hit me up for an online chat, and so she did, a few hours after that first class. It was a semi-suggestive conversation and though mostly couched in the terms of just a friendly chat, it was clearly an exploration, charting the territory, the lie of the land.

She told me she was rearranging stuff in her dorm to make way for a new room-mate, and told me she was thinking of moving to an external flat, since, she said, she liked her own company better – though a lot of universities will not let their undergraduates move into private accommodation, threatening them with expulsion if they try to do so.

This is just one of the many ways in which China’s universities show their contempt for students. Mona also told me all the students at her university had to get up at 6 a.m. for compulsory exercise. But what help was there for it? She knew perfectly well that if she refused, she’d be failed. The more obvious way would be en-masse refusal, for even the ignorant and arrogant swine who run the universities know they could not fail a whole year of students without becoming a global laughing-stock.

But of course en-mass protest will never happen. The authorities would simply come for the brave souls who tried to organize it, at which point the other students would jump ship. This society is too selfish for solidarity. And too apathetic; the students just accept their lot without ever asking if it is right, without ever seeking to change it. I guess so many years of being beaten down, of being crushed under the contempt and despite of the government, have long since erased even the hint of an echo of a thought of self-determination, independence, rebellion.

But maybe I oversimplify. There are ways of rebellion; primarily, religion and sex.

Sex is how those like Lucy rebel. Indeed, as I was chatting with Mona that night, Lucy popped up also, to tell me how that day she had been forced to sit through some wretched hagiography on Deng Xiaoping. This was around the time of his centenary, and the wretched media here was in a dutiful froth about the matter. China Daily, for example, expressed its wonder at his depth of insight and intelligence, his shrewd and decisive proclamations, such as ‘Peace and development are good for the world.’ Wow. Top-grade thinking there, Little Bottle. Lucy was then obliged to write an essay on this worthless bilge. In a society where such dead, sterile rubbish fills public discourse (as, for example, Jiang Zemin’s astonishing revelation that ‘Government must represent the interests of the people’), some outlet must be sought. That’s what brought Lucy to my bed, for fucking me, a foreigner, was one way she could safely defy these numbing conventions. For Mona, too, sex was a way of personal rebellion.

Religion is the other way, and I meet a growing number of this kind of rebel. In general, such people are, like 95% of Christians, utterly unprepossessing, utterly vapid, limp, bland. In the same class I met Mona I had one of these clowns, Helen, who believed in every word of the bible, believed that, yes, god really did make the world in seven days and so on. I tried to point out some of the more obvious asininities of Genesis to her, the usual tropes such as ‘If there was no death in Eden, all animals must have been vegetarians, so why is the lion designed to eat meat?’ and so on. But as with most of these idiots, she just replied with trite platitudes from other bits of the bible, as if she was such a rabid believer that she could not even process my questions. It was as though the fact that I was questioning her fairy tale attitude to the world was so impossible for her to conceive that my questions simply became invisible to her.

Yet while I scorn such attitudes, and have a deal of contempt for them (for, it seems to me, such beliefs are in such clear contradictions to the experience of every day life that to hold them is a willful abuse of intelligence) I also understand them and to some extent even respect them. For they are an antidote to the folly and sterility of all these decades of the most dispiriting and poisonous pap that the party machine turns out. Christianity’s claims are every bit as ludicrous as communism’s, but at least they are poetic, at least they come from life, from culture, not from death as all the party’s proclamations do. And thus folly as it is, being christian is at least the first step on the road to individuality, to selfhood. Baby steps, yes, and if this literal attitude to the bible is not left behind, no growth beyond babyhood is possible. But they are steps at least, a start -- though Lucy’s ways of rebellion, as Mona’s, are much purer, more wholesome, more truthful.

Of course in this our first conversation she kept that side of her nature a little camouflaged, as did I. Nonetheless, I was quite sure that, had I felt more in the mood to push it a little, she would have been glad for me to go over and help her ‘rearrange’ the heavier objects in her dorm – that being the excuse I would have offered and the excuse she would have accepted to get me over there. And then, no doubt, we would have become lovers.

But I did not push that option. I did not want to seem too keen and, besides, was just in the mood to sit at home and loaf. And in any case, I was sure there would be plenty more chances to see her – to add nothing of the fact that anticipation just makes realization more sweet.

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Fucking Ellen #3

And now that I know this woman, this keystone of my life, is reading I find myself suddenly constrained; I begin more to see this blog perhaps as others see it, crude, blundering.

But no matter. Here’s one I prepared earlier…

Anyhow, back to Ellen, who I had just come all over; she rubbed my come into her as we lay there recovering awhile before showering. Then we watched a film some, but could not keep our hands off each other, and so soon we were fucking again, an equally long bout, her on top, from the side, behind, standing, missionary; she was just as wet and hot as before -- intoxicating.

As again we lay cuddling and talking after this, I returned to what she’d said over dinner, about a lesbian thing at school. I wanted details. She gave them; they were tame. ‘It was just a kiss on the lips like this’ and she kissed me; a chaste peck.

But, she said, two friends of hers had a more active relationship. This was back at high school, in the somethingth grade. Ellen had gone to the house of one of these friends, and while she was playing a video game they went to the bedroom to make love. She told me she did not realize what the cries of passion coming from their room were – ‘I thought they were playing a video game, like me,’ she said. But she told me, ‘I went to their room and a saw one lying on the bed and the other..’ and here she got between my legs to show me what she meant. ‘She was under a blanket, but I knew then what was happening.’ Ellen told me that the one girl really loved the other, but that in due course the other found a guy, and that this broke the first’s heart. ‘She was walking along the street crying… it was so sad.’

Ellen also told me that later, at university, she had had some more light experience this way. ‘It was cold and we had no heating so we shared a bed… and she had a really beautiful body… I touched her, we touched each other. Just touched, that’s all, but I do think a woman’s body is beautiful.’ I asked the obvious question; would she like to do it again, how would she feel with me and another woman? She told me she thought she would like it, that it would be fun. She said she was not a lesbian, did not want to have sex with the other girl... but that it would be fun. Wild that she is, if I can arrange it I imagine that restraint would be forgotten. And so I have been thinking of getting Mona involved, for she also has expressed some interest that way.

We carried on kissing, cuddling, for which she said ‘Thank you…most guys just go to sleep afterwards’ which again makes me think she is no beginner. I did ask her how she got to be so good at fuck. She told me that she had learned a lot from her long-term boyfriend. ‘At first he was shy and I had to teach him.. but later he taught me. I guess maybe he had experience with other women…’ She also said she had read up on the topic.

And I guess that may be true, for she said to me she’d read that Western guys like large breasts, and was reluctant to believe I liked her rather more petite ones. She then asked, as we lay there cuddling, ‘Do you want me to go?’ for she had also read that the Western causal lover likes it that way. And indeed a few weeks ago I overheard some expat talking about a one-night stand he’d had recently, and how she had stayed overnight. ‘Man, I hate it when they stay,’ he’d said, ‘sure, it means you get another lay in the morning… but I really hate it.’

But I like it, and wanted Ellen to stay, and was glad she did, and touched by her pleasure in it too. So we put the lights out… but our goodnight kisses lingered, and then she went for my ear, and me for her pussy, and I said, ‘You’re going to get me going again’ and she said ‘Me too’; and so we fucked again.

As we went at it I said, `What would your parents say if they could see us now?’ and she laughed the same horrified and amused laughter that other lovers have laughed when I’ve asked them the same question. Chinese parents frequently cannot conceive the fact their daughters are sexually active. This is why so many younger women do live a double life; and that’s one of the reasons guys like me find it easy. Used, already, to hiding their lives from their parents, the additional taboo of casual sex, of fucking a foreigner becomes all the easier to break.

Naturally I was gratified when Ellen said ‘I’ve never done it three times in a row before!’ Indeed, when I offered to come on command the first time she had said ‘Will you be able to do it a second time?’ So obviously she’s had some low quality lovers. Among them, a brief boyfriend after the long term guy. ‘But every time his cock touched my pussy, he came’ she told me. ‘So it only lasted a couple of months.’ I could not keep from laughing to hear of this useless guy, at which she gave me a playful punch.

As we talked after this bout, she told me, ‘I knew when I said I’d come home with you that we’d have sex.’ I knew when she sent me her picture a few days before this that we’d have sex – but of course was not so crude as to tell her.

Waking with her in my arms the next morning was a delight, and her body next to mine, imbued as it now was with the memories of the previous night’s passion, I began to stroke and caress her, kiss her awake, stoke her body towards last night’s pitch, her wild passion, her sheer joy to fuck. She responded with equal ardor, going down on me, taking me in her mouth with an eagerness that is rather rare here. And after we had made love this time she showered and went home, leaving me a dreamy morning of reveries.

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Guilt

So a week or ten days back while I’m in bed with Jingjing, I get a barrage of messages and then calls on my mobile, all of which I perforce must ignore, as one cannot answer a call mid making-love.

But also I knew who was on the other end of those messages, those calls. A woman I’ve been seeing for many months, a woman I’ve spent more time with than any other; a woman who loves me more than I love her.

Angered by these interruptions, after I had finished with Jingjing I replied to tell her I had been with a woman. A testy exchange followed. In the following days our online conversations, which had been close, became cool, strained.

I met her for lunch yesterday.

She told me how hurt she was.

She told me she’d read this blog. Unwisely, some months back I’d mentioned I’d begun writing it but had not given her the address, due to its frank content. Honorable woman that she is, she’d not sought it out, leaving me my anonymity. But, after that night, angry, she tracked it down (which she had a perfect right to do all along) and read it, start to end.

Before this she had no idea of this part of my life. Yes, she had some suspicions, and indeed once told me ‘I am sure there have been many other women at the same time as me.’ But I deflected the question and she, fearing the answer, did not look any more closely.

But now she has read this. How much it must have lacerated her!

I want to write about her more. But that is not really possible. Firstly, she asked me not to write about her, and so beyond this, I will not write.

Secondly, knowing she will read this, I cannot be objective. Whatever I write would be an appeal to her, an attempt to exculpate myself, even though such exculpation is not really possible. I would like to try to explain my feelings for her, to write about how truly unique she is among all the thousands of people I have met here. To say how with her I was more my real self than with anyone else. To talk of my admiration and respect for her.

But how can I do that without coming off, to her, as insincere, trite? How could she believe it, knowing I wrote it knowing she would read it? How could she believe it after reading all the crude, basic pages below?

So I feel pretty rotten. Guilty, to have hurt her so badly. Ashamed, even.

And is even that true, after all? If I really felt guilty surely I would begin to behave in a more socially acceptable way?

Unlikely.

Partly, the chase is just too much fun. Partly, I do not, deep down, really view it as betrayal at all. Most of the women I’m involved with are willing partners and, really, compared to the depth of my relationship with this woman, all the philandering is just surface trivia. And partly (and perhaps the biggest part) I am just a selfish scumbag.

Hah, these matters with myself which I too much discuss.

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Fucking Ellen #2

Still marveling at how easy it had been to get inside her, how smoothly she took me, after a few minutes’ missionary I wanted variety. ‘Come on top’ I told her, and she did, no murmur, no mock-shock; she climbed right on and, wow, just let go, moving up and down on me fast and hard, riding me.

But she wanted more that just to work me herself; she put my hands to her hips and said, ‘Move me on you, move me.’ And so I did, moving her back and forth, thrusting into her hard, fast, deep; and she loved it, it made her moan, made her moans grow to gasps, her gasps to cries, her cries to yells.... much to my vanity’s pleasure. After a bout of that, I sat up, still in her, and she, getting the idea straight away, moved her legs so she could sit in my lap at a better angle. We fucked like that awhile, then, still in her, I moved to the edge of the bed and stood, my arms crooked under her knees. That really lit her up, taking her gasps a notch higher still.

Ego, of course, prompted me to ask, ‘Have you ever done it this way before?’

‘Yes..’ she said, adding ‘but not so good, not for so long… am I heavy?’ – a sop, I guess, to the male pride she saw so clearly on show. But her pleasure was genuine, unmediated, from the core, and she was good, good… fucking me with abandon, truly getting into it - indeed she nearly brought me off in that position. Normally I like woman on top, or standing, because those positions are not so intense for me, and allow me to plow away hard as I like with little danger of coming. But she was just so good, so lithe, so lively, so wholly into it that she was taking me to the edge.

As I have mentioned below, the average Chinese guy does not, from what lovers and friends tell me, have much staying power. And thus it is a matter of pride for me to make my lovemaking last. And so I called a pause to Ellen’s wild responsiveness, laying her back on the bed and kissing, caressing, eating her for a few moments.

Then, control restored, I suggested from behind – and she rolled over easy and fluid, her butt up in the air, waiting for me. That position is the most intense for me, so I could not keep at it long. So I got her on top again, and this time I worked a finger into her ass. She only half-liked that -- ‘It feels strange.’

But, like with Simone, like with Eve, like with Tingting, I think this feeling of ‘strange’ was more in the mind than the body. For each of these women rather liked it at first – until the good feeling of it was overwhelmed by the traditional voice, the voice of Chinese sexual prudery, which insists that such things are bad.

And so when I came at Ellen from behind again, she did not want the finger in the ass; but just looking at her there, that most intimate place, was sexy enough; coming at a woman from behind is as much visually appealing as it is physical.

So we went at it for maybe half an hour, which was enough for her – ‘I am tired’ she said. I’d got into that state of mind where I could have fucked on for an hour yet. But, ‘Then shall I come?’ I said.

‘You can control it?’ she asked. (I always like it when they ask that.)

‘I can.’

And so I let it go, working myself up to the brink in her pussy then pulling out to come all over her. And as I came, she motioned me up towards her.. wanting me in her mouth, I think, which was erotic indeed. But by the time I was certain she wanted me to come in her mouth I only had dribbles left. This happened each time we fucked, so if we have a rematch maybe I’ll have the pleasure of letting it all go in there.

Oral sex is an interesting subject when it comes to Chinese women. Many of my lovers have had very little experience of it. And so when I go down on a woman for the first time, often she is reluctant, having been culturally conditioned to think this is ‘dirty.’ But of course the feelings generated are so pleasurable that she soon forgets this attitude. When it comes to giving oral sex, however, it is harder to make her forget that prejudice, since there is less direct pleasure in it for her, and since she cannot escape the reality of what is happening. If I go down on her she can close her eyes, press her head into the pillow and drift away in pleasure, forgetting all that absurdity society lays on her. But with a cock in her mouth she has no such chance.

And thus to find a woman as wild and liberated as Ellen is special indeed. Once I was sure she wanted me in her mouth (for it would have been awkward to bang my cock in there had she not wanted it) I moved there, and she keenly swallowed what I had left. And so, I think, when we have a rematch – later next week, I hope – I can let the whole load go like that. Though I have had a fair number of women in my time in Shanghai, few of them have shown much interest in giving oral sex. Ellen was one; and Mona was another, and Sweetie too. (Indeed I had a particularly memorable rematch with Sweetie which I will recount in due course.)

And in fact I really must get round to writing about Mona, too, since she was such a hot fuck. We were lovers for a while, then casual fuck buddies, and are now just close friends. But while we were in that middle stage I remember with delectation one time we met for lunch in the Super Brand Mall, a huge Thai-owned mall in the city’s Pudong area, and we got into a kind of horny mood; and so she and I snuck into the men’s toilet (the one just near Zoe’s Bistro, a place that does a rather good bacon and blue cheese sandwich) wherein I ate her to orgasm and she sucked me off. She didn’t swallow, which would have made it even sexier for me, but it was still rather fun.

I suggested this since I knew, to Mona, it would be a little outré, and that would excite her. Behavior like this makes one appear like a sexual Bohemian, and that is highly appealing to many Chinese women. This is such a wretchedly conformist society that the hint of something nonconformist can be a powerful aphrodisiac. Women here are browbeaten, compelled, coerced and forced into ‘modest’ and ‘traditional’ behavior by the dull, unimaginative and censorious male majority. The chance to break out of this is powerfully attractive; a man who enjoys and respects a woman’s sexual desires, and who is open, frank and free towards sex can have a lot of fun here.

Especially if he is white.

While the bulk of Chinese men are stolid and phlegmatic, there are of course plenty of young, hip guys who are every bit the sexual dog I am. But it’s not as easy for them as it is for me, for they are still a part of their society, even if they are unusual within it. And because they are part of their society, it is too risky for the Chinese woman to dally with them. If she wants to play, she needs to play outside her own culture; and this is one more of the many reasons that guys like me have such a ball here. Sex in a public place is not much of a big deal back home; here it is outrageous and effective. Mona’s eyes widened as I suggested it, and the daringness of it (to her) palpably excited her. She got a real kick out of scurrying into the men’s toilet after I’d checked the coast was clear and, hot already, it only took a minute or two to bring her to orgasm. And I confess I was excited too, more out of the knowledge that I was giving her an experience she would never forget rather than the venue itself, and thus also only took a minute or two to come in her mouth. After she'd spat out and cleaned up I again checked the coast was clear, and out we scurried. She was walking on air after this dirty erotic adventure, and I was feeling pretty satisfied with myself too.

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