how to escape the thai mafia
I could tell she didn’t enjoy our sexual encounters.no, that was not it - she did enjoy herself to a certain extent, she took pleasure from it, but never letthe pleasure overtake her. I don’t know if I’m making any sense here. it was not that she lacked thephysical ability to experience pleasure, more like she didn’t allow herself to. whenever the electriccurrent of fulfilled physical desire was about to bolt through her body she would halt it, hold it at baylike it were too much.this peculiarity of our relationship didn’t bother me in the least, I swear. her reluctance to let herselfgo completely was not apparent to just anyone; it wasn’t something she threw at your face. on thecontrary, she was amazingly pleasing in bed without seeming servile. she somehow managed theright balance. the first time I noticed this subtlety about her I put all my efforts into making her enjoysex as much as me, but it quickly became apparent she preferred it her way. I never raised theissue in conversation - after all it was not that sort of relationship. so from then on whenever wemade love I tried not to think about it, as if I’d never come to notice. this wasn’t very difficult since atthe time a mere look at her body would turn me on - I was young, you see.she had a long and graceful neck and a straight set of shoulders. her well-shaped breasts were bigenough that I couldn’t quite cup them in my hands. her stomach was flat and lean and her hip-bones stood out against the elastic of her panties, leaving a space through which you could catch aglimpse of her pubic hair. whenever we were lying down after making love I would rest my head just above her navel and stare into this secret place. once I told her about my fascination with theway her panties never adjusted right to her lower belly when she lied face-up. she laughed at myremark, but said I could stare as much as I wanted. I spent a lot of time doing this.it may sound odd but I’m not one to fall asleep automatically after sexual intercourse. sure I feel likesomeone had sucked the life out of me - in a good, nice sort of way -, but I cannot go to sleepstraight away. I normally light up a cigarette, not out of some obscure fancy for old cliches, butbecause it helps me think - or rather, be lost in thought. most people have some thing or other thattriggers a certain mood - you could call it a mood catalyst. my sister, for example, says whenevershe has a problem that bothers her she needs to sit on the ground, in the kitchen or the bathroom,in order to wave it away. she is convinced that it’s the sense of enclosure and the cold from the tilesthat does it. she’s a weird one, my sister. the girl I slept with also had her own thinking catalysts:the bus or the train. according to her these were the best to cleanse your mind because as youlooked at the rushing images through the window, the sheer amount of visual information at suchhigh speed overwhelmed your mind and soon you had to stop paying attention altogether. it sort ofmade sense to me, though I wouldn’t know for sure since I normally read in the public transports -she said she couldn’t, it gave her a headache.this is the sort of information I was able to gather throughout our encounters - mismatched piecesof her, small but important details that left the overall picture full of holes nonetheless. I sometimesfelt I knew more about her that most people she dealt with on less uncommon situations. this was
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なな さん 。、 あなたわ にひんご 人 です か ？