My first real introduction to sex was in Graduate school at Virginia Tech. I was working on my Master’s in Mathematics and lived in the Hillcrest graduate student dorm, an old and bulky four-story building with creaky stairs and small rooms. My room was on the fourth floor, at the end of the hall. I shared the floor with three other women, a large, friendly black woman from Kenya and two other Chinese women from Beijing. The Kenyan woman, Mala, was studying urban planning while both Chinese girls majored in microbiology. Mala must have been in her mid to late thirties, while we the Chinese girls were in our late twenties.
From what she had told us and could gather from her friends, the Kenyan woman was a widower who had a teenage boy back home. She spoke with a loud, strong voice and had a frank face with a small, round nose. Her waist was larger than our three waists put together, and her breasts were enormous, but surprisingly firm and erect. By all indications, she never slept. Her door was always open, even when she was undressing or sleeping. Since all the tenants on our floor were female, she often walked around with a bare chest, and many times outright in the nude.
I remember I was shocked the first time I saw Mala walking about naked. Her enormous dark breasts were so heavy that she walked around slightly stooped, which emphasized her jutting large ass. I distinctly remember being astonished at her pure black nipples, which were as long as my index finger and wider than a quarter.
Mala often invited us to her room to chat and treated us like her little sisters. But it was always uncomfortable for us to be there, especially when she was naked. I remember how Li laughed out loud the first time she saw Mala’s white bra: she couldn’t even tell what it was until Mala told her.
“I hope you girls don’t mind my walking around naked,” she asked. “I love having nothing on; it is the natural way to be.” Then she laughed a pleasant, friendly laugh and tried to make us feel comfortable by telling us stories about her life back home.
We took all this strange behavior from Mala as an education in the ways of the real world. And Mala quickly grasped how naive we were and how little we really knew about the world outside of China. So, when she decided to start masturbating openly in front of us, she explained it to us in cultural terms. “Back in Kenya,” she said, “women masturbate very frequently and openly.” When we told her that in China, no one ever discussed masturbation, she pretended to be astonished.
“But it is natural,” she declared with her clear voice. “It helps you regulate your period and is the easiest way to maintain your hormonal balance.”
And so, a week after she moved in, Mala started masturbating openly and frequently, and we got used to it. In the weekends it seemed she would finger herself for hours at a time, watching TV and munching on vinegar flavored potato chips. I still remember distinctly the sight of large Mala on her small bed, her heavy breasts leaning sideways, her African hair disheveled and sweaty, her large legs parted all the way and resting comfortably on the bed, with a wide patch of kinky pubic hair that went almost all the way up to her navel, while her small right hand swiftly rubbed her pussy again and again, once in a while slapping it with a loud crisp smack. And then, every half an hour or so, we would hear a series of deep heaves and grunts coming out of her: the sound of Mala having an orgasm.
The only time when Mala’s door was closed was when a man was in her room. And she had many, many men visit her room.
At such times, not long after the door was closed, we would hear strange noises coming from within the room.
At first, innocent as we were, we didn’t understand the nature of those noises. The first night we heard them, Li, the oldest among us, was concerned and knocked on Mala’s door to ask if everything was fine. Upon knocking, the grunting and muffled screaming stopped, but no one answered. Li knocked again, but no response. We then retreated to my room to chat, and as soon as we closed the door, the noises commenced again. At which point Chun started giggling and said in Chinese, “they are marrying each other.”
Hearing Mala with her men in their room, night after night, laughing, giggling, whispering, moaning, and deep in the night outright screaming in her native language without any care, at first annoyed us because it kept us up and affected our studying. (Little good did the superintendent’s threats do to evict her if she didn’t quiet down.) But after a few weeks, we started to secretly feel jealous, not fully understanding why we envied her.
I am certain that all three of us were virgins at the time – certainly I was. We had never in our lives seen an adult penis – at least not an erect one – and had only a vague conception of what happened between men and women. No one at school had taught us anything; certainly our parents never dared to broach the topic of sex, let alone explain what it was all about. In high school, we knew that certain girls were to be avoided because they were “too friendly with boys,” and so we avoided them, not asking why.
So it was a shock when one day, Li and I bumped into a boy in Chun’s Room.
“This is Akram,” Chun nervously introduced him to us, “he is from Kuwait.”
We smiled at him and he smiled back at us. He was tall and had sparkling black eyes and curly dark hair. His face was smooth and he smelled sweet.
We talked about what students talk about: our major, our year, how long we had been at school. It so happened that he was a biology PhD student, had been in Virginia Tech for 4 years, had finished a Master’s there two years earlier and was now working on his dissertation proposal.
A few days later, Chun’s room was locked all night and muffled noises were coming from her room too.
Li and I were shocked that night. We were confused and felt as if our friend had died.
The next morning, Chun greeted us with a sunny smile. She looked clean and crisp, her voice confident and steady. She looked healthy and energetic, not at all the Chun we knew.
“Mala was right all along,” Chun said, sitting down beside us in the student lounge.
“What do you mean?” Li asked.
“We are fools,” she whispered. “Sex: do you understand what that means?”
We blushed and lowered our eyes.
“Sex. Between a man and a woman. It is healthy. It is natural. It is as essential as food and drink. How awful our crazy culture and its lunatic conceptions….”
She looked around, checking if anyone Chinese was within earshot.
“I feel alive! Alive! I thought growing up meant growing out of such a feeling! That happiness is reserved only for childhood. But it is not true.”
She described to us in detail, as if trying to catch up with lost time, what she did with Akram. She described his hairy thighs and his large balls, his thick penis and how he fondled her and kissed her breasts and sucked her nipples. She described how she felt joy as she kissed his round ass and smelled his testicles. She described how he inserted his long middle finger and then his whole hand in her vagina, and how she loved it and was not scared in the least. He was gentle, polite, considerate and sweet. When it was time to put his penis in her vagina, he asked her permission and entered her gently but only after saying, “May God bless this vagina, may God bless this penis, may God bless this penetration.”
“And then the world of heaven opened up,” she said.
“So as he went in and out of me,” she continued, “I was wondering to myself, ‘How could anyone feel so good! Is it possible?’ But what I really couldn’t believe is that anyone could live as long as I had and not know that one could feel this good!”
We sat and listened to Chun as she repeated the story, her eyes shining, laughing and giggling. Then she stopped suddenly and said with a serious voice: “You must try it.”
We looked at her and frowned.
“You must try it,” she repeated, lowering her voice and looking over her shoulder.
“I must have you try sex. I can’t let you live in the dim world you are living in now.”
“What do you mean?” asked Li, a little frightened.
“I mean I will ask Akram to visit you and you will see what I mean.”
This is Patricia’s second sexy story to appear here on Every Night Erotica, read The Horny Chinese Wife.
Patricia Wong is an erotic fiction writer. She is the author or several eroctic short stories and a novel, “The Pat Wong Diaries,” Published by “Brave World Publications,” and available via Amazon at: http://www.amazon.com/Pat-Wong-Diaries-Chronicles-Middle-Aged/dp/1441455388/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1278178311&sr=8-1