Tales from Old Shanghai 01

"Like this," I gasp, and my heart pounds as my hand moves from Hua's breast to touch her through the clinging wet cotton. My fingers move, stroking, exploring her, and I have touched myself there, but with Hua, it's so different.

"Oh," she gasps, and her left hand reaches over and touches me just as I am touching her and I can't help it, I go limp at her touch, moaning softly because her hand on me sends hot waves of excitement racing through.

"Oh," I gasp and we move closer to each other.

"Is this what it is like with him?" Hua gasps. "My jade gate... I'm so wet."

"So am I," I gasp, wondering if it would be like this with Martin. "Hua?"

"Yes, Chuntao?" she gasps, her fingers touching me through the thin cotton.

"Those positions in the books."

"Yes?"

"I want to see what they're like."

Hua giggles and moans at the same time. "You want to see what it's like with a man, don't you?"

"Yes," I gasp, and I'm easing myself over, onto my back and Hua's moving with me, looking down at me and her fingers move to unbutton my pajama top, brushing it open, exposing my breasts and hers are pushing at me through her pajama top. "Take yours off," I whisper, and as she does, sitting up, peeling her top off, I shrug mine off and her breasts are beautiful.

Large and firm and her nipples and swollen and reddish brown and we look at ourselves. At each other. Her breasts are bigger than mine, mine are small and firm but my nipples are larger and they hurt now. They ache and next second Hua has me on my back and she's kissing me the way I kissed her, the way Martin kisses me. She's taking control, her tongue gently possessing my mouth and I open wide for her, my tongue dancing with hers and both of us are moaning now as we kiss.

"It feels good," she gasps and her hand is on my breasts and when she squeeze my nipple I arch my back, shivering with pleasure.

"Lie on me," I gasp. "Lie on me like a man would."

She moves over me and we're both clumsy, we're not sure but when one of her knees moves between mine I ease my legs apart and then she's between my legs and lying on me and I remember the illustrations of this position. It is the Flying Dragon, where the woman is on her back and the man is over her with his knees placed on the bed and Hua is in the position a man would be in.

Her thighs push against mine and I draw my knees back and she rubs herself against me and we both gasp with that delicious friction and she is rubbing against me and I'm whimpering with the pleasure of it.

"It's good," I moan. "It's so good," and I wonder how this would be with Martin, because his jade stalk would be inside me and that must be better than this. It must me and Hua is moving faster, breathing hard and he breasts crush against me and her skin on mine, I love it and she's moving, she's pushing her pajama pants down and kicking them off and my face is pink with embarrassment.

Her hands tug at my pajama pants, I help her, we peel them off and we were both baked and she is rubbing her jade gate against me and I have read about this too, in one of those books and I'm not ashamed or embarrassed anymore, I'm carried away and her jade gate is slippery against mine and we're holding on to each other, not kissing, moving. Skin against skin and my legs are wide apart, my knees drawn back and her skin is like silk and we're both so wet and something is building inside me.

"Oh," I moan. "Oh... oh... oh," and my head is tossing from side to side and Hua is merciless. She moves, rubs, she's enjoying this and I'm close to something, I'm so close and Hua squeals and bucks and shudders and slows and I need it, I need what she was doing and as she slows I roll her onto my back and now I am on top, I am between her legs and I push her legs back and rub myself against her and that friction is everything I need as I move and move and move.

"Ohhhhhh," Hua sobs. "Ohhhhh," and she is bucking beneath me and I'm watching her face as she does that. Something is happening to her. Something intense and I'm close to something. So close and I can't stop and then it hits me and I shudder and buck down against her, my jade entrance spasms, dances, the pleasure is unbearable, waves of pleasure rolling through me and we collapse into each other's arms, shuddering in the aftermath.

"Oh," she says at last, after I have rolled off her and we are lying side by side holding hands and I am unbearably tired. "I think it must be even better with a man."

"Yes," I whisper, thinking of Martin. "I think it must be." I know that is a dangerous though and as we pull the quilt over us and lie together in Hua's bed, all I can think of is that I would like to lie like this with Martin, naked in his arms. I would like to give myself to him and have him possess me as a man possesses a woman and my body glows and tingles with renewed excitement. With desire.

With love.

I love him, and he's English and Hua's right, I know that. I shouldn't see him, he shouldn't see me, not like this. I'm not a sing-song girl. Englishmen don't marry Chinese girls. Perhaps in my dreams but I know Hua is right. This isn't a romance novel. This isn't make-believe. This is real life and on Saturday, I will tell him that we cannot go on like this. I will not give him what a sing-song girl gives men. For me, it can only be marriage and that will never happen, not between Martin and I.

Not between an Englishmen and a Chinese girl. It was foolish of me to even think there might be a chance and Hua is right, there isn't any chance. His parents, his employer, his friends, they will all oppose this, just as my family will when they find out about him. I will tell him this on Saturday. I will tell him to forget me and I will do my best to forget him. He will understand. I know he will.

It hurts so much to know I will not see him again.

Martin is waiting inside the foyer of the Cathay Cinema as he is every time we've come here for the last three Saturday's and my heart sinks. I'm going to tell him, but now now. One more afternoon with him and them I will tell him, as we are leaving. It'll be easier like that. Hua takes her ticket from his hand and smiles. "I'll meet you here after," she says, and she's gone.

As soon as she's out of sight, Martin takes my hand in his and he leads me, but not inside as I expected him too. He leads me through the doors and up the stairs to the balcony seats. The expensive seats. I've never sat up there before. It's where the Europeans and the wealthy Eurasians and Chinese with money all sit. My father's wealthy but my allowance isn't enough to encourage me to waste money and I haven't heard from my parents now since July, just before the fighting in Shanghai against the Japanese started.

I'm worried about the fighting that's going on, you can hear the guns even this afternoon, but as Martin leads me up the stairs to the balcony seats, I'm not worried. I'm elated because there's two whole hours ahead of us, just him and me, together, and my heart's pounding as we walk up the steps to the back row. The seats are different, double armchair seats, perfect for couples and there's no armrest in the middle and for the first time, I'm sitting next to him.

Right next to him, my thigh against his and he turns towards me, his arm around my shoulder and I look up at him and a second later we're kissing frantically, even before the lights have dimmed and his lips are sealed to mine, his tongue slides into my welcoming mouth, meeting my tongue, dancing with mine and I'm almost shaking in his arms with the intensity of my feelings for him as I suck his tongue into my mouth, tasting his saliva and this is so much better than any book can ever describe.

"I love you, Chuntao," he breathes, our lips separating for a moment. Only a moment, but I'd rather have his kisses than his words, however much I enjoy those words and now it's my lips that seal themselves to his, silencing him. My tongue is sucked into his mouth, my tongue runs over his, exploring as I turn towards him and I'm almost on my side, both arms clinging to him, my breasts pushed firmly against him as we kiss and this is even better.

That sensation as my breasts are crushed against his chest, that swollen aching of my nipples, assuaged momentarily by that crushing pressure as he holds me tight, as his arms encircle me, as his tongue takes possession of my mouth, forcing my tongue back, sliding into my mouth, on and one, each of us as frantic as the other and I want more. More of his kisses, more of his tongue, I want him deeper in my mouth, I want to give my mouth to him, I want his body against mine, I want his hands to hold me and crush me against him.

I want...

The lights dim, the movie starts and in the back row of the balcony seating we're not alone, but it's dark and there's nobody right next to me. I'm close to the aisle, the double seat next to me is empty. There's another couple beside Martin, a European man with a Eurasian girl, they're as engrossed in each other as we are and I ignore them, I can't even see them as Martin's lips brush across my face and I turned my face up to his lips as a flower turns to the sun.

Trailing brushes of his lips over my cheeks, my neck, returning to my lips and now when his tongue slips into my mouth I suck on him, suck his tongue in, meet it with my own and we're turned towards each other, my arms around his neck and one of his arms is behind my back, holding me as I turn to him, holding me tight and his other hand is brushing my arm, slowly, up and down, up and down and I'm shivering as his mouth devours me.

His mouth slides down, his lips taste my neck, he's breathing in, inhaling me and I'm stroking his hair, blindly looking over the top of his head and I realize I'm looking at the couple in the seat beside him and that Eurasian girl, she's my age and it's dark but in the flickering light from the film, I can see enough to see she's wearing a western style dress and her legs are wide apart and the man's hand is under her dress. His hand is moving, she's making little noises and Martin is kissing my neck, his lips brushing my skin, his breath hot on me and that girl shudders, her head arches back. She moans.

I can see his arm moving, moving in circles and her legs edge wider apart and it's obvious he's doing something to her and that whatever it is, she's enjoying it and she's biting her bottom lip and whimpering. Martin's hand cups my breast, very slowly, very gently, as if he's afraid I will push his hand away. Last time, last weekend when he kissed me, his hand cupped my breast and it was good. This time, I almost know what to expect and it's even better because I'm not scared. I arch against his hand, wanting his touch, whimpering myself as my nipple reacts to that new pressure, that touch, ripples of pleasure and excitement pooling at my center and my jade gate isn't moist, it's hot and wet and sensitive and the Eurasian girl on the other side arches back, her head arches back and she moans, loudly, shuddering and something has happened to her.

"I love you, Chuntao," he breathes, his breath hot against my neck and I shiver.

Does he? Does he really love me? Is it just words? I don't think so. I've seen the way he looked at me as I walked into the cinema, as I walked towards were he waited for me. I've see those glances as we walked up the stairs together. I saw how his eyes followed me as Hua and I walked away from him last weekend. I've experienced the heaven of his kisses, of his mouth on mine and I know there is more.

Something's happening to me. Martin is kissing me, his lips sealed to my lips again, kissing me slowly, his tongue slipping into my mouth and his fingers fumble at one of the pankou's, the knotted and embroidered buttons that angle diagonally down from the base of the collar of my qipao to my right side and I know what he wants. I know and my heart flutters and I lie back into his arm, feeling his fingers and he doesn't know how to undo those toggles.

Should I? I'm not sure what I want, I'm not sure what I'm feeling, I'm not even sure what I'm thinking but he loves me. He said he loves me and don't want him to stop what he's doing. I want to. I want his hand on me. I want to experience his touch on my skin. Not just on my arms, my cheeks, my neck. I want his hand on my breast and I abandon myself to his kisses as his hand finally unfastens that first pankow and he's working on the next.

His mouth lifts from mine, his lips suck on my bottom lip, tug lightly and he understands how those pankou's unfasten now and he's worked the next one open, and the next and the next and the next, almost down to my side and his fingers brush along the gap where my qipao is loose and I know what his hand wants and my hearts not fluttering now, it's pounding and I'm limp and tingling and scared and excited.

"I love you, Chuntao," he breathes, his lips brushing mine again and again.

"I love you, Martin," I breathe, waiting and I know if he does this, I will let him.

His nose brushes mine, his fingers edge in under my qipao and I know what he will find. I'm wearing a camisole, that's all. No bra. My breasts are small and firm and I don't need a bra and they're uncomfortable and my qipao is figure hugging. Except now, it's not. The front is unfastened and he hesitates, he kisses me. I open my mouth wide to him, suck on his tongue, find my tongue sucked into his mouth and we are kissing passionately.

His hand slides inside, under my qipao, his fingers sliding over my camisole, discovering I am not wearing a bra, cupping my breast, covered only by that thin layer of silk and lace and it is he that moans into my mouth as we kiss. It is he that first shudders with pleasure as his hand cups my breast, as his thumb discovers the swollen excitement of my nipple. Brushes, explores, and now his kisses are slower, more gentle as his hand moves on me, curving over my breast, fingers sliding, ripples of pleasure shivering through my body at his touch.

"Chuntao," he whispers, his lips brushing mine, breathing my name into my mouth and I inhale, breathing his exhalations, sharing my breath with him, sharing my pleasure with little gasps now as his hand moves on me, as his thumb plays across my rubbery-hard nipple and it aches. It aches so much, it is so firm and swollen that it hurts as it did with Hua, but his hand on me is far more exciting tham Hua's hands. "Chuntao," he breathes again. "Chuntao."

He says my name as if it is some rare and wondrous thing and in that moment, in that way he breathes my name, I know he loves me and I love him. I know I love him.

"I love you," I whisper, all thought of telling him this must end vanishing with those whispered words. My back arches, pushing my breast into his hand and I wish my camisole wasn't in the way. I want his hand on my skin. I want him to touch my body, to caress my breast.

"I love you," I whisper and my other hand strokes the short blonde hair at the back of his neck and he shudders under my touch as I am shuddering under his. His hand continues to explore my breast, to tease my nipple, to cup me and hold me as his mouth seals itself to mine and in these double seats I can twist and press myself against him and I do, one leg over his, pressed against him almost as I was with Hua, my Jade Gate pressed against his thigh and I shudder with that exquisite friction.

I remember his jade stalk, how hard he was when we danced and I want to feel it again but in this seat, it's impossible and I'm too shy to touch him. What would he think of me and so we kiss, on and on and on. Nobody can see us together, not in the darkness of the Cathay Cinema's balcony and the first half is over far too quickly for me and I hastily fasten the front of my qipao.

It's only intermission. There's another hour to go and I'm panting for breath as the lights brighten and around us other couples are separating, sitting upright, straightening their clothes and I'm one of those girls, although my qipao doesn't need adjusting because I've already done that.

"Icecream?" Martin asks me.

I nod and he disappears, returning soon enough with two icecreams and I sit there eating it gratefully with him, my mind wash with images of that Eurasian girl next to me and when the lights dim and the film resumes, I'm eager to return to Martin's arms. So eager that as soon as the lights dim, I unfasten my qipao for him, welcoming his hand as it returns to my breast. Welcoming his mouth as it returns to mine and I'm almost shaking with my excitement and my need by the end of the movie. All thought of telling Martin we must end this has vanished from my mind.

"Next Saturday?" This time it is Martin that asks, reluctant to release my hand as we walk slowly down the stairs to find Hua.

"Yes," I say. "I wish it could be sooner."

"Me too," he says, and he stands there watching me as I walk to meet Hua and we leave.

"Hua," I say, late on Saturday evening, and we're both reading our Chinese books, the ones on the act of love and the art of the bedchamber.

"Yes?" she says.

"What do you think it's really like? When you do this with a man?" I'm remembering that man next to me, his erection, his jade stalk, so large and hard and white in the darkness and his enjoyment as that Eurasian girl used her mouth on him, and I show Hua the illustration. The one where the girl has the man's jade stalk in her mouth and the text is describing what to do with your mouth. It's so hard to understand the meaning.

"Well," Hua says. "It is certainly bigger than our fingers." She examines one finger and I burst out laughing. She looks at me and she giggles.

"I saw a girl in the cinema," I explain. "She was doing that to a man. He enjoyed it."

Hua's cheeks are pink, she's not smiling now. "I have seen that too," she said. "A foreigner asked me to do that today. He wanted to pay me. It was very embarrassing."

"I think you better sit with Martin and me," I say after a moment. I smile. "He only kisses me, so as long as you don't look." I'd feel better if she was with me. Girls don't sit by themselves, not in the Cathay. That's an invitation to men.

"I won't look," she says.

I nod. "It is alright if you do look," I say. "We are sisters. Sisters should help each other."

She says nothing, but she nods. I know she will look. Really, I don't mind if she does. All she will see is Martin and I kissing and his hand on my breast.

"Chuntao," Mrs. Innes says, on Sunday after the morning Church service. "I have a request from a gentleman I know," she says. "About playing some kind of Chinese musical instrument. He says you played it at the Cunningham's and it was delightful."

"Yes, Mrs. Innes," I smile, a little shy. "It was the guqin."

"The gentleman asked if you would be willing to give a small recital for him, Chuntao," Mrs Innes says. "He suggested perhaps at the School. He's very interested in Chinese music." She coughs. "He suggested perhaps he could compensate you for your time in some way and I know you can use the money."

"Oh?" I say, and of course I'm interested. "Yes, I remember him. I think that was Mr. Standiford," I say, smiling. "He did seem to enjoy that music."

"Oh no, not Mr. Standiford," Mrs. Innes says, and she's smiling. "It was Mr. Maynard. He's rather a gentlemen, very interested in China. He's coming to the school to have lunch with me this afternoon. Why don't you join us and perhaps you can play for us after lunch. I must confess to never having listened to any Chinese music. Mr. Maynard has me intrigued. I had no idea you played anything other than the piano, Chuntao."

We learn the piano here at school. I play the piano badly.