As it Happens

Chapter Tags: OC Ageplay MF Minor2 Fingering WIP

After Song Fan left that morning, the emptiness returned, a black mood swabbed joy from the edges of my mind.
Two of us, in this together, but after last night’s wild sex, I doubted I’d even see her again. Did we not right as much wrong as possible in a single evening? But when Song Fan called me later, relating her amusing return home, everything was good again.

As she walked home from the bus stop, she saw her mother step from a car drawn up hurriedly on a side street, returning inside the rear door to retrieve something but—a kiss? Song Fan slowed, allowing mum to reach the elevator hall first and, before the doors closed, she stepped between them, to the shock of her mother. Impossible to avoid, and killing conversation, an overnight bag at her mother’s feet grew to fill the space by the fifth floor, crushing them with its significance. Her crimson face caused Song Fan’s own colour to rise and when they exchanged glances both women giggled.
“It’s OK, mum, I won’t tell.”
“Where’ve you been, Song Fan?”
Song Fan’s eyes fell to the bag. It said everything.
“Oh my god, have you… did you…” she gasped.
“Yes, mum.”
“Was he careful?”
“Yes, mum, of course.”
“But you’re only fifteen, Song Fan. Oh god, what sort of mother am I?”
“The best kind, the ones that don’t ask questions or press their kids. That’s why my grades are good.”
Several floors of silence passed before her mother spoke. “I don’t do this… I mean… he’s a friend from university. We go back a long way. I would never hurt your father.”
“You needn’t justify anything, mum. If you choose to talk, we can, but later. My friend’s gone, I’m upset and… well he’s helping me through.”
“But… I don’t understand… how old…”
“Mum, please, no questions for now, okay?”
“Come with me this afternoon, daughter, we’ll get you on the pill.”

By the end of her story, she had me chortling—Song Fan’s one of those people who can tell stories—a natural raconteur, but as we quietened, the big question loomed.
“Will we meet, Song Fan?”
“Are you still going to teach me? I mean, things changed yesterday. Maybe I went too crazy.”
“Of course!”
“Yes. Yes, Matt, I’d like to. I still miss her and, um…”
“I understand. Me, too,” I said, but my intended, “I’m missing you,” froze on my lips.

Four days passed before our next scheduled session. As I met her in the elevator lobby, her weight loss shocked but I avoided looking, knowing they watched us. This evening she wore a mid-thigh denim skirt with white sneakers and a cami top under a light jacket; no makeup. Could it be the sex, or her new shape and confidence? Whatever, Song Fan had flowered—transformed, and knew it, her eyes following mine as they roved, drinking her in as her bag dropped in a chair. The incident with her mother meant she was trusted as an adult at home and she required no coaching in sex with me.
She took a twirl, “Don’t get too excited, I stink, or so mum says.”
“What?”
“Ketosis—I’m burning fat. Please try to ignore it, I’ll take a shower later.”
“Why do you want to lose weight so fast? Can it be healthy?”
“Ting’s still in my mind, I keep telling myself it’s what she would want for me.”
Something suggested this was wrong, wanting to be like her friend. Up to now, we avoided touching my side of the relationship with Ting although they shared every detail, for certain.

Both friends were above average height for local Fujian Province, so I guessed their family originated somewhere north of Shanghai; Ting’s father was over six feet. At our first meeting, outside school, Song Fan did not turn my head. Now she was curvy, with a waist, losing any hint of the dumpy face of the Dongbei, north-eastern girls. Self-reliant and mature, Song Fan could pass for eighteen already and each week, she grew more lovely.

Once we sat to study, and I may never have noticed, I thought she exuded a sweet, fruity, background odour which fought for dominance with a cheap perfume. Not disgusting and, anyway, Song Fan’s jokey intelligence distracted me. After an hour, she dashed to the bathroom, and through the thin pressed-steel door, I heard her brush, gargle and shower whilst I watched the news. Yet more arrests around the city for unspecified offences. Someone high up was damn angry.
Song Fan flopped, wrapped in a towel, confusing with the smell of male shower gel. After a long mouthwashy kiss, she rested her head on my shoulder and a peace settled around us as a mind-worm burrowed. If she’d have me, could I take this girl and be happy forever? Intelligent, grown-up, thoughtful, amusing and sexy, she was the perfect soul mate. After university, we might marry and we’d go away. Scotland maybe, or France, or Panama, I would still be a year short of fifty. Sitting there, I let my imagination play.

“Poor Ting, what’s she doing tonight?”
“Hmm. Oh, yeah. I wonder,” I said.
“You weren’t thinking about her at all were you?”
“Um, no.”
“Do you always have such a short memory of girls? Is that what we are to you, just another… thing? What in hell were you thinking about, then?”
“You. I was thinking about you.”
“Liar. What about me? A silly little fat Chinese that fucks?”
“Don’t, please, we were around a log fire in a cottage, I was forty-nine and you were twenty-two, just graduated. We were reading; we had a dog.”
Song Fan drew a shuddery breath as the verge of tears brushed past her, “I’m sorry, Matt. I… Oh, god.”
“Don’t be. I was just… I don’t know, baby. We get along so well. It’s too easy to imagine. ”
“Twenty-seven years, massive cultural gap, racial issues and god knows what else,” she said.
“So you’ve thought about it, too?”
“Please, let’s not talk about this now or I’ll cry. You don’t even fucking belong to me.”

Song Fan lay stretched out, her head in my lap.
“Always second best. Forever the pretty girl’s friend, the damn baggage. I arranged dates, and she blew them off. I’d have eaten her scraps. Yeah, I ate for comfort; I didn’t care. This time it was different, I saw the spark between you. Then, I understood, clear as glass. Song Fan, I said, you’ll die alone with an English Master’s degree on the wall and your fingers in your pants. I didn’t eat for two days after Gulangyu. I wanted someone for myself but first, I needed to be worth it. Tonight, you made me happy; you ate me with your eyes. We can’t help our hangups, we’re all fickle, I mean, I don’t want my old body. Now I hate fat people. Remember I asked for head space, yeah? You did, and thanks—unwrap this towel and make love before I talk myself stupid.”

Now light enough to carry with ease, I lay Song Fan on the bed. I craved her but more than that, I needed her to understand how much. I stepped out of my clothes, aware that she might chuckle if I stumbled, and lay next to her. Long languid kisses with nuzzles and licks to her neck brought sighs and nibbles with breaths across her ears made her moan. Song Fan was writhing inside the towel but I wanted her desperate before unwrapping.
I felt fingers close around my dick as I burrowed under the edge of the wrap to tease a nipple. She gripped the shaft just below the head, squeezing out pre-cum as I pulled at the towel-end tucked between her breasts.
“For god’s sake, Matt, stop teasing.”
The soft cloth fell open and my lips brushed a nipple whilst I caressed her other breast, erecting the teats, her breaths becoming shorter.
Song Fan made a gurgling noise in her throat—she was almost out of it. Sucking in her nipple, I trilled it before running a hand into her long, lush, silken pubic hair. Now I worked her between teeth and tongue seeking the hardening shaft of her clitoris between finger tips. With a guttural groan, she came, twitching and jerking. I removed pressure, having learned she didn’t appreciate contact during orgasm but still kissing and caressing her proud breasts.
“Oh, god. Fuck. So good. I want you, Matt.”
But when I reached for a condom, she took my wrist.
“Five days of pills and my period is due in two; I’m safe. I want to feel you come inside, to give me your seed.”
Laying behind her, I lifted a knee, she was wet and took my length. Both of us were high on lust and we changed position so many times it became a porno. How different she was now—confident, relaxed and full of reckless sexual energy. Edging, I held back, delaying the inevitable, enjoying this rare and special girl in her new firm body, so easy to love.
“I’m coming, baby.”
“With you,” she gasped, “fuck me good, Matt.”
The intensity shocked me, I might have had spurted my insides in her, the orgasm was so deep and long, then I felt her contractions, young muscles gripping my shaft, caressing my old dick.
I must move soon, or instal soundproofing.

We lay together until past the time to leave; I called a taxi and packed books whilst she dressed.
In a final silent hug and kiss inside the door, words became superfluous—we both knew.
At midnight, we said our goodnights. Happy, I drifted to sleep, a retired teacher and his young Chinese wife in County Wexford, Ireland.

To be continued (as long as it lasts)