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Dinner with Mona was as I was sure it would be.

We’d met, and first she’d shown me her dorm, which she had to keep on so that she could pretend to be living there – for if the university found she had rented her own apartment she would be expelled. The dorm was not quite so spartan as others I have seen, such as those at Shang Wai, though was still mostly a big poured concrete box, with correctional facility overtones.

And then to the wet market, where we made the film I had planned, a large crowd of onlookers staring as we did so. That done, it was still early, so we returned to her flat and watched a couple of episodes of some sexy American sitcom which she’d heard about but never seen. A good choice of viewing, given my plans for the evening.

I said she would soon have to pay what we’d agreed for me bringing her these DVDs – the pay being a kiss, which we had teased about on MSN. She was still a little nervous, not yet warmed, so she blushed and murmured, and I did not press for the kiss. There would be time for it later, and I knew that the sexy language of the show we were watching would help change the mood. Finding it for her was easy; the DVD pirates are one of the city’s many wonders. Just today, for example, I found a copy of ‘Le Comte Ory,’ one of my favorite operas. Rossini suits my essentially ephemeral character.

And so when we were cooking I took the kiss, holding her under the chin and tilting her lips towards me. Still a little shy, she did not meet me with her eyes, but the response of her lips was quite enough to show how the evening would end. This kiss was spiced by the loose, shapeless housecoat thing she’d put on while cooking, having modestly closed her door as she changed out of the showy dress she’d worn to meet me. Even though this garment would well become a 50 year old Shanghai housewife with big hair, on her slender body it fell forward enough to reveal that she was naked under but for panties.

And after eating and washing up (more romantic than you might think, with its chances for caresses, warm water, suds) we made love. Kissing first, gently nibbling and caressing her; and like Tulip, like Lucy, soft breath in her ear made her wilder.

Blowing in a woman’s ear, kissing and caressing her there, feels cheesy to me; feels like the kind of thing the guy who has read his ‘Guide to a Woman’s Erogenous Zones’ would do. It does not feel authentic – it is too clichéd, too obvious. But it works.

I eased my shirt over my head and then slipped the hem of her dress upward, first to see pink latticed and bowed panties, clearly chosen for their look; and then over her belly up to her breasts. Petite, and, thus, for me, most erotic. Big, broad aureoles, wide enough indeed to be out of proportion to the size of the breast. But cute, cute. So I played there a while before kissing back down; then she took off the dress and I the rest of my clothes – then her panties for the first glimpse of her pussy. Compact, tight, needed a trim on top. And so the oral, which I dearly love, as did she – but far more controlled, restrained than Lucy. Her passion was deeper, more locked, sighs and sips.

This country, this society being what it is, I had wondered if she too was a virgin, and while her control here, lack of nervousness, made me think not, that opinion was balanced by some seeming inexperience elsewhere as we cavorted. And while I was sure she enjoyed it, I was not sure I made her come.

It was a fine night with her, sexy and wholly satisfying, though not quite so wild as Lucy was the first time. Mona was not so unreservedly passionate and, a little to my irritation, told me, ‘It’s my special time of the month.’ I was prepared for this at least, clued into it in part by the lengthy amount of time she spent in the bathroom before we made love but more by the bloodied towel I saw hidden half around the u-bend. Later, when we were talking, I leveraged this into an accolade. When she’d said it was her ‘special time’ I’d said I knew; after we’d made love, passion spent, she now wanted to know how. So I told her she had seemed tired and a little pale yesterday, and even that she had walked a little wearily – which was true, indeed, though at the time I did not draw the conclusion that she had her period. But anyhow, the tale I now told her made me think me ‘很厉害.’

The next morning, she had to get up at 6 for the mandatory exercise her martinet university insists on, and then a lecture at 8.20. Her university day was over at 9.30 a.m, an hour when it should not even have begun.

It’s little wonder China is still a third-rate country. It will never be anything more than the world’s service shop until it stops treating its people as commodities.

I dozed until about 9 and then sat on her pink-covered bed in her pink-walled Pudong apartment typing what was the original of this entry until she came home. Having just been going over the night before in my mind, I was feeling ready and horny, and keen to see her lovely body again, those cute breasts. I put her in my lap, kissed and caressed, undressed and ate her… as before, I was not sure if she quite orgasmed; for tho’ she sure enjoyed it, there was no clear peak, no obvious climax, no pushing away of my head as with Gloria or other lovers; and so either my skill lacking or she is still an ingénue that way.

However, after that, she did not really want me to penetrate her, telling me she was tired. But I guessed that more likely she meant sore, for, physically, she was the slightest women I had been with. Maybe half the bulk of me, at most. And while this made her a great lover, easy to position, lithe and responsive, it also meant that now, the next morning, she somewhat ached.

And so I made no fuss over it, was polite and understanding. ‘You’re a very gentleman’ she said – and I did not correct her either on the sentiment or the grammar, though both were wrong.

We dozed an hour, 90 minutes, and then I got dressed and she walked me to the bus stop.

Now going to the bus stop might seem the action of a cheapskate. But that is a too-hasty interpretation. Taking the bus here is, in fact, a rather positive thing to do. In general, Chinese people are often surprised when a foreigner can talk Chinese, and even more surprised if he or she can read it. Locals thus expect foreigners to travel almost exclusively by cab, in part because of the language problems (overcome by the Chinese person telling the cabbie where to go) and in part because they believe money is no object to expats. Taking a bus, therefore, shows a certain familiarity and ease with Chinese society, and that goes down very well. For while the moneyed life of many expats is a matter of aspiration and envy to local society, it is also a slight sticking point, an angle of envy, contention. Showing respect for the culture, being willing to live like a local, and able to speak and read Chinese some – all this helps.

And so taking the bus by oneself is a good thing; it shows that one is willing to make oneself a part of society. Naturally, when with the woman in question, one takes a cab.

Once on the bus I turned on my mobile. I’d left it off the night after it rang when I was between her thighs. That time, we both ignored it, and I then turned it off when we were lying prone on the bed after making love.

And now, on the bus, as I turned it back on, an sms from Tulip arrived, saying she had called me but I was turned off or engaged, and asking was I busy this afternoon, how about lunch?

This was most convenient, as right then I was heading to Lujiazui, right near her office. And so I arranged to wait for her by the Orient Pearl Tower, a hideous monstrosity of a building, all communist boasting and ugliness, with the touts and tourists peering at me as at a strange fish.

I remember thinking as I sat waiting for her of what to tell her. Should I explain my switched-off phone by saying, ‘I was in a class?’ Or should I say, ‘I was seeing a friend’? Or should I say ‘I was seeing a ‘friend.’”? Now, sure, to let her know I was seeing her right after another woman could be taken as an insult. But also she is a little intrigued by this free and open sexuality of mine, and I think hearing about it gives her a charge, a thrill, and that’s something worth aiming for. And so some measure of honesty might have been fruitful.

But one must not plan these things too carefully. And so I simply decided to wait and see, play it by ear.

Right on time she rolled up, at our usual meeting spot, in her cute car; a sigh and catch in my heart as she did so, as I stood to walk toward her, open the door, take in the scent of the car’s perfumed interior, sight of her lovely profile…

And such chances there were. Mona showed herself quite a good player, giving me several opportunities to suggest seeing her, rather than asking directly (for that would make her seem too forward.)

Mona. hi, how r u?

Me. fine.and u? do anything exciting since i chatted to u? busy today, or i would have called u and come over to help u move

Mona. it is ok .some of my classmates came and helped me.ty all the same:).and i am wondering if u could visit my new apartment when u have time.(mp) ,in ur last class,u asked us to describe a film.what tense should i use to describe it.past simple or present tense?

Me. i would like to see ur apartment! maybe next week, when i have more free time. for the film, either tense is ok, and long as u use the same tense for the whole answer. but simple past is a little bit better

Mona ok and if u have more free time,i would like to meet u at the coffee. chatting to u ~

Mona. i see

Me. i'd like that... i think u'd be a lot of fun to spend time with

Me. u seem to be quite unusual in some ways

Mona. maybe i am.but why do u think so ?

B. firstly, u like to live alone. that shows maturity and independence, which most ppl ur age lack.

Me. then, u are very self confident... look how quickly we have become friends. that's also quite unusual

Me. say u are bold, strong willed, confident

Mona. thank you and u r a good man too.homurous and sexy.ur class is very interesting.and maybe u don't know how much we enjoy it. and by the way ,u have just given me some more words to describe a people(F)

Me. oh,ur too kind!

She's a modern woman, and she quite well knew what inviting me over to her apartment meant. Sure, it could have meant just friendship, or even that she wanted to test out her power; but by her demeanor in class and other actions I was confident it was more than that. And so this conversation was seduction mixed with schooling. I flattered her some, because everyone likes to hear they are unusual, unique, special (though even so there was much measure of truth in my words.) She is bolder than her peers. And her words to me, humorous and sexy? Of course she flattered me as much as I her – and, I guess with, the same goal in mind.

And so we set a date, a date I chose with some care, for though I had plenty of daytimes free, afternoons and mornings were not appropriate for my plans, which called for an overnight stay. Sure, we’d agreed I was going to see her flat; but really, I was going to see her bed, and her body. And also we agreed we would cook together, since at one point I mentioned how much I liked shopping at the city’s wet markets (one of the many pleasures of life here, being able to buy live fish, crabs and shrimp, chicken and duck, and being able to select from a vast array of vegetables.)

Sure, I could have taken her to a restaurant, but cooking together would, I knew, have its seductive qualities just as a restaurant has its. But also I had a wider goal here, which was to film our buying trip to the wet market, as part of the ‘this is my life’ film I was making for the folks back home.

Now at this point in my life I was still involved with Gloria, the woman I stole from her boyfriend, and she had been very keen to help me with this little project. But naturally I was not so keen on that, and did not want her too much on the tape, for just the same reason she wanted to be on it – that is, that it would show her a big part of my life.

I was getting rather bored of her, keen to end our relationship but not quite firm enough to do it, for doing so, I knew, would hurt her. So for example around this time she needed to go to hospital for some minor elective surgery, and I accompanied her there, arriving at around 9 a.m. Even though we’d arrived pretty early, the doctor had already gone to surgery, having begun his day (the one day a week he did operations) at half six. Chinese hospitals are not run efficiently enough to have an appointment system; the patient must just turn up and take pot luck.

Now Gloria had booked the day off from work, and her thought was that now we could spend it together, given that she was not going to get the operation. But I really did not want to spend a whole day with her, and so I got out of it by saying that while of course I did want to spend the day with her, she probably ought to go back to work. After all, I said, she would now need to book another day off to try to see the doctor the following week and her boss would wonder why, if she had not seen the doctor this day, she had not come back to work.

I remember this clearly because, later that day when I messaged her to say I felt bad about suggesting she go back to work, she replied that in fact she had been moved by the level of care this showed I had for her. And so what had been a ruse on my part to get out of spending the day with her appeared to her as a gesture of love. We see what we want to see.

This, at least, helped smooth the slightly ruffled mood I had caused in her when we’d met a few days before this. We had agreed to go swimming, and, as we walked to the tube, we met a German guy I knew. In general I prefer to move in the more local community, but this guy I met at the birthday party of another woman with whom I have developed a close relationship, Phoebe (Phoebe is a very Americanized woman, having spent many years in the country and having picked up many of its best qualities -- the confident, strong self-belief that can make Americans so admirable. She is one of my friends who gives me some minor confidence I do not purely see women as sex objects, for our relationship, though close (and though she is sexy) is platonic).

Anyhow, that night this German chap and I hit it off well, shared a good few beers and had a most enjoyable, relaxed evening with it. He was there with his longterm gf, also German (and, rarely for a white woman, I found her attractive).

But when I met him now, he was not with this gf, he was with a Chinese woman who was, of course, cuter, younger and sure more pliant than his German girlfriend. We talked a little while before going on our ways, and as I walked on I told Gloria a little about him, and that fact that his companion seemed to be an extra-curricular girlfriend. Gloria harrumphed, ‘I think that’s bad, I don’t like guys like that’ she said.

Of course I ought have ignored the hypocrisy, and was she a bit dearer to me I would have. But instead I said ‘Yeah, seeing two people at once, there’s no excuse for it.’ She got the point, it made her sulky, and she withdrew her hand.

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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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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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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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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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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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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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