I looked through the emails we exchanged, and we exchanged seventy-seven emails, and I looked back one by one, and in some places I was dumbfounded, and in some places I was endless. And every time she replies to mention one thing, that is, let me sign my real name and department. At that moment, when I thought that she had written this request at the end of the letter every time, it suddenly occurred to me that she probably already knew who was responsible for such a boring thing, and she probably didn't know the first few times, and would have thought that she was really an enthusiastic company employee. But the only explanation for this kind of boring thing that will continue for half a year is that these so-called suggestion letters and reader feedback are not aimed at the publication at all - but the people who make the publication. Ever since I came to the company, this has been going on, and how could she not notice – or doubt my head – with her delicate mind dreaming of being a painter. This made me nervous and weak, like a thief being caught and exposed in front of everyone. When I saw her in the company park in the next few days, I was always nervous, afraid that she would laugh at my carving skills in person. But everything is fine, she still does not squint as before, her steps are light, tepid, as if isolated from the world.

And before that September, I had sex with a total of six women, including the woman in the dark room and the piano teacher. When I got up from the body of the third woman, I still felt some shame and guilt, but when I got satisfaction from the fourth woman, I felt like I was immune to this shame and felt that everything was just a normal way of life.

On my night trip to the German course, I always meet a girl who gets off at the same stop as me. She always had a seat to sit in, so I guessed that she probably got on from the starting point of the bus, and she either watched TV on her phone or slept against the window. One day she overslept, and I stood next to her, and when I got out of the car, I poked her shoulder with my finger. She asked me what I was doing in a daze, and when I told her that I had arrived, she got up in a trance and got out of the car with me. After getting out of the car, I thanked me and walked away, I caught up and chatted with her, and she didn't mind. I knew where she got off when we didn't know each other, and I deliberately did this to let her know that I was following her.

After a few chats, we got to know each other. She lives in a house that her aunt bought — she's the only one, and she works near the bus terminal, which is so far away that she spends nearly four hours a day on the road, but a few TV episodes downloaded on her phone are enough to get her through the boredom. We added each other's chat tools, often chatted late into the night, occasionally hung out together, I gave her a pair of emerald green bracelets, and she felt and impressed me better and better. During a chat, she knew that I used to draw for a living, and as expected, she said, "Paint me a portrait." ”

I gladly agreed, I hadn't painted for a long time, my aversion to painting had lessened, and the desire for her body made me want to paint her. The work of painting the portrait took place in the house that her aunt had bought, a two-bedroom house with a simple décor, a living room with only a sofa, one bedroom empty, and the other bedroom with a bed and a wardrobe. I draw slowly, not because of how careful and serious I am, but because I want to create an opportunity for myself to have an excuse not to go back. It took me five hours to finish a painting that only took an hour, and by the time she saw the finished product, it was already 1 a.m. She was very satisfied with the painting, and took the painting to experiment back and forth on the walls of the living room and bedroom, and asked me where to hang it. I deliberately told her to hang it high to look good, but she said she couldn't reach it. I knew the opportunity had arrived, it was fleeting, and I had to take it. I stepped forward and said I would pick her up and let her try it. I didn't allow her time to say yes or no, and picked her up from behind, and I felt her body tremble visibly, but soon smiled and asked me to lift her up a little higher. I hugged her legs and lifted her up with her ass pressed against my face. She said yes and let her go, I carried her to the bed, pressed her underneath, and took the initiative to kiss her. She hid from me like hide-and-seek.

"It's late at night. She said, "You should go back." ”

"It's late at night. I replied, "How can I go back?" ”

Her weak resistance soon vanished, and she became obedient and obedient, slipped under me halfway, turned off all the lights in the living room and bedroom, and returned to my arms. The next day we didn't go to work, and I was woken up in the morning by her 6:40 alarm, and she took the initiative to climb on top of me, looking for the unforgettable feeling of last night. When I got up at noon and left, I saw that the portrait I had drawn of her was thrown on the ground, and we trampled on it beyond recognition.

We attract each other as quickly as we go. It took less than two weeks from the time I didn't let her miss the station to the time I had a skin-to-skin relationship. When it really happened, I thought it was incredible that the relationship between men and women could be sublimated so quickly. But when I met a woman in later life who could be affectionate that day, I was always surprised by my naivety at that time. For four weekends in a row, I spent the night with her, and then the next day I went to learn German, or went to the piano teacher behind my back to listen to lessons and practice. Sometimes, I slept with a girl I met on the bus on Friday nights, and I got carried away with the piano teacher on Saturday nights. The first time I was new to the feeling of being between two women, then it became a technique, and eventually I felt that it taught me more about how to deal with relationships. One Saturday night, I was hugging my piano teacher when she found out what I was doing.

"Oh my God. She broke free from my arms: "Why do you smell like other women?" ”

I was taken aback by her strong reaction, and I panicked, and I sniffed my clothes or sleeves, but I thought it would expose me more completely, so I quickly pretended to be relaxed and said that I didn't smell anything. I saw her look a little disgusted, and finally turned back to normal, sniffed at me again, and said that even if she didn't, she wasn't a scheming person. This incident has taught me more, and in the future, I will pay more attention to the details of my life, and understand more that women are always more sensitive to another woman who has the same thing as me than expected.

I spent five memorable weekends with a girl I met on the bus, and when I contacted her again on the sixth weekend, she texted me back: "That's it, there's nothing to be nostalgic about, you're so bad." "I remembered that a few days ago, I was facing her all over my body, tasting each other's intoxicating bodies, and in just a few days, we seemed to be back to the strangeness before I reminded her to arrive. I didn't know why, I didn't ask, I didn't feel any frustration, but I felt that this matter had a very good outcome. It's just that from that day on, I never saw her again, nor on the bus where she and I frequented. She may have changed places to live or worked. That week, I wrote the twenty-third and twenty-fourth letters to Hai Linlin under the signature "Long Away".