I promised to paint a portrait of the woman, and she bought the tools she needed. We were in her bedroom like a few years ago, in the same environment, in the same position, the only difference was that I was no longer an ignorant boy, and I valued the male neodymium thing too much, and this value was more because I felt that they were sacred. At that time, I was fully engaged in painting, strictly following the work ethic, and I didn't find it at all confusing about that kind of scene. And this time, I was baptized by another world, reborn, and when I saw the mystery between her occasionally separated because of her turning, I didn't feel like the past was reappearing, but discovering something new. I felt that I had lost the basic qualities I should have as a painter, and I had developed an irresistible sense of closeness to her body. I couldn't control myself from observing her body with the attitude of painting and observing, but I observed her with the instinctive attitude of a man to a woman, but this observation made me feel more carefully, as if the most real and clever painting technique was integrated into my brain. Her flattering eyes seem to be able to drip a breathtaking poison, which is even more irresistible than it was a few years ago. And she said that she needed more frequent rest, and every time she turned around and draped in the blanket, the loss was bigger and she kept it longer. As a kind of protection for my inner impulses, I pretended not to care, but I couldn't help but want to take a few more looks.

"The movement of your Adam's apple when you swallow saliva has long betrayed you. She said, "Don't be so tired." ”

She said to give me a break and to see if we were in the same environment as we were a few years ago.

"Yes. I said, "It would be more like it if someone rushed out and shouted to strangle me." ”

She said no one was going to rush out, it was the two of us all night. My mouth was dry, and I felt that I had never been so desperate to release the energy in my body, and the stories and experiences of those women before me made me think that I knew this well, and that I could always take the initiative in the face of great attraction, and direct the whole process of the whole thing by myself, so that both parties could unconsciously complete the rebirth of life. But this time I was nervous, cramped, like a fledgling kid, at a loss for what to do next.

"The last time you painted my portrait, you were still a lady," she said in my ear.

"Yes. I said.

"And now?" she touched my chest.

"Not anymore. I said.

She paused visibly, but quickly resumed her self-explanatory charm, whispering that it didn't matter, people always have to change. We fell together on her bed, and the moment we fell, the scene of her lover pressing me to the bed to strangle me a few years ago is vivid, I don't want to think about it, but I can't help but think about it. A few years ago, I was in this room with the purpose of my work to give a portrait of a person, without any distractions, I was misunderstood, and I thought it was all over. A few years later, I was still painting the same portrait in this room, not for the purpose of work, but to smooth out the traces left in the city, and I didn't have any distractions. But I didn't know that the difference between a boy and a man would make a difference, and I had a new understanding of life, facing people and circumstances that had not changed, and things went to a completely different result than a few years ago.

I seemed to have returned to the ignorant boyhood, led by her to re-explore a new direction in life, she told me what to do, where to put my hands and legs, and how to exert force on my waist, which made me feel a little bit of cultivation, and I forgot all about the experience I had experienced before. She was fully engaged, undistracted, and occasionally uttered a few inexplicable words, like a classic passage from a philosophy book. She was lying on my, panting as she moved.

"I didn't expect that. She said, "You're not a virgin anymore." ”

I asked her if she had any regrets, and she said yes, but it didn't affect her feelings. Until we were all exhausted, we snuggled up to each other, feeling the luck of the rest of our lives. She turned off the headlights in the bedroom, leaving only the dim red bedside lamp, which made the feeling of the process of going on even stronger, and made the aftertaste more endless. She touched my frightened body and said in a somewhat regretful tone, "I didn't expect this thing to have its own story." "I told her that there were a lot of stories, but none of them were with her. I am not polite, but the truth, before her, I had always thought that the feeling that the young mother gave me was the insurmountable peak of the matter, and that she made me feel closer to death than the young mother. I watched my half-painted body paintings sit quietly on their easels, and I took three paintings from the half of the room that had been dug up and leaned against the corner, feeling a little lucky to be able to inadvertently enjoy such a charming landscape.

She seemed to miss me more than I did, and when she talked about the first time she saw me at a painting company, she was especially impressed by my hairstyle. After that incident, she also knew the rumors about me - I was still a virgin, and when I saw her body, I squirted out. She was taken aback by this rumor, and believed it, for she had never imagined that I was a young and pitiful flower, and that when she first saw me, my artistic air made her think that I was often among the flowers. She felt the need to get acquainted with me further and began to contact me and send me frequent messages through social media. She did not hide the slightest, she showed herself in front of me in a transparent state, and she told me about the past and her thoughts, which sincerely touched me. She had a strange need for me at that time, and she thought I was full of charm and made her think about it day and night. And she attributed that state completely to my identity as a virgin made her curious, and curiosity evolved into conjecture and research, and finally evolved into irrepressible longing.

"A person full of artistic temperament is still a virgin at that age. She said, "It's just wonderful." ”

She spoke with an aftertaste like a sip of blooming flowers in the spring sun. She confessed that she wanted to hug me at that time, wrap me in her body, and she must grasp such a beautiful thing, rather than let others take the lead. That's why she asked me to paint her again, believing that if I stepped into her house again, I would be at her mercy and a slave to her. She didn't care about my initial rejection, believing that there would come a time when I would say yes, and she didn't feel lost until she knew I had left the city. She often dreams that I am being taken away by a faceless woman, and every time this happens, she wakes up crying from her dreams. And when she really knew at the moment that I had given what belonged to her to others, and that there were many women who had passed it, she felt that the beautiful things in her heart were always fleeting. But I'm still glad to be like this.

"After all, you're back here. She said.