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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Fucking Ellen #1

Getting home with her was in itself a struggle, squeezing our way through the massive crowds and trying to get onto the subway. The subway is perhaps the most visible sign of the yokel soul that lurks beneath Shanghai’s glib, slick exterior. No matter than the floors and walls are plastered with ‘先下后上’ (First off, then on) signs; no matter that the subway guards, brought in for just this kind of cattle control, blare the same message through loud hailers; subway time is pell-mell time, as the mob pushes and shoves its way on board, irrespective of those trying to get off first, irrespective of the occasional hapless commuter who, having got some learning, has tried to behave like a member of the human race and queue up. The feeding-time-at-the-zoo air of it all is magnified by the impatient drivers who generally try to close the door as people are still getting on and off the carriages.

But anyhow, we fought our way on and thence home, where I stepped out onto the balcony with her. This is something of a money-shot view since, 40 floors high, my balcony has a view over Shanghai’s spectacular panorama. If the air is not too full of poison and pollution, it’s possible to see all the landmark buildings, the elegant Jin Mao tower (China’s tallest skyscraper – or, as the locals call it, ‘Mainland China’s tallest tower’ – an absurd locution to acknowledge the fact that Tapei has a bigger tower and at the same time maintain the preposterous conceit Taiwan is part of China), the remarkably ugly Oriental Pearl Tower, a concrete and purple monstrosity that looks like some kind of elaborate Japanese sex toy, the multi-colored buildings along Nanjing and Huaihai Road and all the other superficially impressive glam.

It is looking over this view that I make the next move in my routine. Having brought the woman home and out to the balcony, I then stand behind her as I point out the various buildings before us, first holding my hand out in front of her to indicate this building or that… and then I wrap that hand round her midriff and lay my head on her shoulder, turn her face to mine and come closer for the first kiss.

And so as Ellen and I stood on the balcony, she murmured something about sending her father a message to tell him when she’d be home.

‘You can tell him you’ll be home soon… or you can tell him you’re going to stay in your dorm… or you can stay with me,’ I said.

She did not reply to this, either because she misunderstood, or because she was thinking it over. ‘So… Stay with me?’ I repeated.

‘Will you hurt me?’ she asked. ‘Of course not..’ I replied. ‘But I do want to kiss you… want to kiss you.’ She said nothing, so I moved closer; and she turned to me, and we kissed. And not a chaste, exploratory, bashful kiss on her part, no….but open-mouthed, intense, vocal.. and not just one, but dozens. I pulled her to me tighter, dropped a hand down between her legs, pressing against her, then slipping my hand up under her top, over her belly, up to the fabric of her bra. But after a few minutes of this, she said ‘I don’t like it out here…’

‘Then let’s go to the bedroom..’ I suggested; and so we did.

None of that false modesty, no fake shyness; I sat down by her on the bed, kissing and caressing, and then grasping the hem of her top. She smiled, signaling, yes, with her eyes, and so I began to undress her. She moved to undo her trousers, but I stopped her hand – ‘I want to do that.’ So she tackled my shirt instead, when that was off I unhooked her bra.

The first time is always the most exciting… the first time to see a new pair of breasts, a pussy. Each new time is truly new, fresh, salacious… and a mystery, for with the shaped padded bras that so many women here wear, what lies beneath is seldom certain. Thus Simone’s breasts were bigger than expected; Ellen’s a little smaller. But I like smaller, and while Ellen’s were not so well defined as Mona’s, they were cute and girlish. Tiny nipples, aureoles, firm under my tongue, nipped between my teeth. And so then to her trousers, the button of which she’d undone already.. I eased down the zip, folded them apart, to see the next delight, her panties. Not quite as sexy as I had hoped – cotton, mostly plain, the kind her parents no doubt approve of. Sexy panties remain a rarity in China; most women choose designs more suited to their grandparents.

So off with her trousers, and mine too, and I kiss her all over, from mouth to toes. And then through her panties, which makes her press against me… and then I allow myself the final treat, the first look at her pussy… my first thought? It needed trimming -- too much hair, untidy. But I did not tell her this just yet; instead, I went down on her, teasing at first, just blowing, then kissing her thighs, kissing above, below, to the side… and then moving in for my first taste. She was wet, excited, open. I found her clit with my tongue, licked, tasted.. she pressed against me, hard, enjoying it. But not for long; ‘I want.. want you, want you inside me..’ she breathed. And so I moved up to penetrate her.

Moving my cock to the position I was about to say ‘It might hurt..’ but feeling the slickness of her pussy against my cock I thought again.. Pushed forward.. And eased in, smooth, gliding.. and though she gasped as I filled her, it was from pleasure not pain; and this is the first time it has happened so easily. Each other woman has found it to a greater or lesser extent painful; but not Ellen. Which, I confess, did make me doubt her later claim that I was only her third guy.

And so, indeed, did her unbridled passion as we fucked. Was she really that inexperienced? She was good… so good that we fucked three times that night and again the morning after, and just thinking of how good she was now makes me stir.

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Seducing Ellen

Now Ellen was maybe one of the most passionate women I’ve had in all my years here. Ebullient, eager, uninhibited. She’s one of my favorite memories, perhaps my finest fuck.

I taught her some time back, last August or so, a university vacation course at Tongji. There were maybe 50 students in that class, so when she popped up online after the class had wrapped up, I did not really know who she was. But then she sent a few photos of herself, and I remembered her just fine – remembered, indeed, that she had seemed rather bored in class. And since, in those photos, she looked appealing I took the opportunity to steer our conversation into more flirty waters when she mentioned an ex-boyfriend:-

Ellen: um.....seems it happened so long long agooooooooooo

Me: but these memories from when we were young should not be forgotten

Me: and u should never regret the love u felt in the past

Ellen: although we broke up this January (that is, January 2005)

Me: well, it is a good thing to have a few different boyfriends, u know

Ellen: Four years’ relationship.....wow...unbelievable

Ellen: I’m 22years old... still young

Me: gosh, yes... well, so u must have got together when u were 18... that’s quite young in this culture. i admire that

Ellen: no ,i hv my first bf at 16 haha, but when i was 16 i had no idea about that kind of this

Me: of course. no one has any idea the first time

Ellen: but i still had no idea even when we broke up haha (She meant ‘no idea about sex’)

Me: oh... it sounds like he was not a very.... manly... bf!

Ellen: yes. chinese are not as mature as Westerners at that age

Me: mm, i see... how long were u together with this guy?

Ellen: the whole 9^th grade, we broke up when we left school

Me: i see..well... did he at least kiss u nicely?

Ellen: haha, we never kissed! (Chinese dating!)

Me: oh, that's so sweet! chinese culture can be so innocent

Me: well... i hope ur last bf was more... satisfying?

Ellen: haha yes, of course

Ellen: but it wasn’t a good relationship, first we broke up, then back together, then broke up, then together! It made me mad

Me: ah, guys can be like that... they are not good at knowing what they want

Ellen: Right, they should know what "no way” means

Me: guys never know where the `no way' mark is

Me: Ellen, this is what men are like

Me: for them, sex is at the center of everything

Ellen: But why did he keep coming back to me when he had another girl? He should make it clear if he still loved me

Me: ah, again, for guys, love and sex are totally different

Me: he might abandon u to chase other women... but if he thinks u will still sleep with him, he will still chase u

Ellen: ummmm...maybe. but we’ve moved on now, so we’re still friends now. in some ways he is still good friend

Me: that is good too. i always feel it is a shame if a couple never keep in touch after they have split up

Ellen: hehe why?

Me: well... u see, if u do not keep in touch, it suggests that ALL the time u spend together was a mistake, that there were no good times at all. that's sad.

Ellen: but it is more easy to hv sex again because you feel so suitable with it, and it’s not easy to find another one in china

Me: yes, that's part of it, too.... but it is also good to find new partners for sex... i know that sounds crude, but i do think it is true. experience is important.

Ellen: experience is important? But i heard that guys always like girl with less experience

Me: i think a lot of traditional guys like that, yes

Me: but there are 2 things to consider here

Me: first of all, the woman has a right to explore her own sexuality. it should not be limited by what guys want her to be, and, two, more modern guys are more cool about this. in my case, for example, i would never marry a virgin. i would want a woman with experience. Guys like me feel a woman with experience is a lot more fun in bed.

Ellen: but in china the traditional guys are the majority

This conversation went on for a couple of hours, and at the end we had arranged to meet for dinner a day or two later.

I was certain she was a sure thing; the flirty responsiveness in her conversation, her openness and inquisitiveness about sexuality convinced me of it. Indeed, so sure was I about it that, the morning before we met, while I was checking out the night’s emule porn download, I had a stroke while looking at her picture too, saying half out loud, ‘Tonight I am going to fuck you.’

So we met and headed for dinner. My first choice, a Hunan style restaurant called Di Shui Dong (滴水洞), had a queue waiting, so I doubled back to another nearby place, Shanghai Moon, just round the corner on Maoming Lu. I’d not chosen it at first primarily because I had planned to take Jojo there the next night and, good as it is, twice in a row is a bit much. Plus it seemed to me Di Shui Dong was more the style for Ellen with its bright, noisy cheerful and down to earth style. Shanghai Moon is more suitable to a slightly older, more sophisticated woman.

She was dressed cute, Shanghainese, a vest-type top, simple enough, but bare on the shoulders and arms, showing the shape of her body. We ate, chatted, flirted with eyes and then words.

She told me some about herself, such as that last night she stayed up all night long singing karaoke with her friends, and about her various part time jobs at a restaurant and a Japanese run firm. She did not much like the latter and, here, I expected the usual ignorant anti-Japan tirade which marks so much of Chinese attitudes to Japan.

But not so – she gave the far more cogent reason that Japanese guys are just weird about women. And this, combined with my acquaintance of Japanese porn, and the crazy and a fascinating story another friend to me about her run in with her Japanese guy, I can believe.

She told me her boss told her she was too fat – a comment which would get him sacked in a better-run country (and a comment wholly untrue) and that they made her dance for them every lunchtime. That was just weird… this, she explained, was because her father accompanied her to the initial job interview, and at that time told her to dance for them; so now she has to do it every lunchtime. That’s just fucked-up, these lecherous Japanese guys making her dance!

And as for her father… Well, in some ways, from what she said about him, he seems quite a reasonable one. Sure, he wants to tell her what to do with her life – in this case, since he is a government official, he thinks she should be one too.

Ellen was not interested in such a job. ‘It’s so boring…’ she said, then reflected a little and added, ‘but it might not be so bad. He has lots of free time.. he goes to lots of places, too.. and often comes home early. In fact he has so much free time he does all the cooking at home – although he doesn’t let his colleagues know that. Whenever I meet them, or they come home, he’s sure to point out how my mum and I do all the housework..’

But even so, he does not try to corral her life, unlike so many Chinese parents. That’s why she had been able to stay out all night singing the night before; and I was glad to hear it, for over-restrictive parents are a key stumbling-point when it comes to taking a girl home for the night.

But, like so many young Chinese women, she is wise many years beyond the men of this society. He gives her this freedom because she handles him so well. ‘When I am with my Dad I pretend to be very shy, I don’t talk much, and I agree with everything he says. So he thinks I am still a little girl…’ she told me. ‘He simply could not imagine my real life, so that’s why he gives me freedom.’

In the restaurant I did not make all the running; she felt me out too, asking when I had first started chasing girls. `Sixteen,’ I lied. `That’s rather late..’ she said, rather to my pleasure. I agreed it was, but explained that I had been to a boys’ school, so girls were hard to come by. And a little later on, perhaps in reference to this, or maybe just out of the blue, she asked, ‘Have you ever done anything gay?’ To show her I was cool with this, I said, ‘Well.. I went to a boys’ school.. and you know what guys are like.. so, yes, a little…’ My next question was crushingly obvious.. ‘And you?’

`Yes, a little..’ she said. ‘I’m not a les – lesbian? -- but I do think women’s bodies are beautiful, sexy.’ Naturally, I wanted to hear more details about this. But right then it was too early to ask. I bided my time.

The meal done, both of us were thinking the same thing. What next? I suggested coffee, or maybe a walk in the grounds of the Garden Hotel, for the usual purpose. She accepted. But when we got to the main road, it was virtually impassable with people. This was because of the tourism festival parade, floats, dancers, bands and the like; and she wanted to watch this instead. This put me out a little, for I wanted to get her in the garden, since, as I mentioned below, it is the ideal spot to bring the seduction to the next level.

But we watched the parade some, and then she decided it was too crowded. She looked over at the cinema hoarding nearby.. ‘A film..?’ I suggested. But this was not what I at all wanted, and in any case the crowds were too thick to cross over and check out the listings. ‘We could go for a coffee…’ I said, ‘…or go back to my place and watch a film.’

‘Have you got films with subtitles?’ she asked. But she was not really saying that; she was saying, ‘Yes, I’ll come home with you.’ She knew it. I knew it.

And so we went back to my place together….

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