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Taipei’s May rain always carries a sticky, heavy humidity. Even high up in the apartment, separated by thick floor-to-ceiling windows, I can still feel the intoxicating moisture reflected by the neon lights outside. I stand before the mirror, looking at the forty-something man staring back. A disciplined gym routine has kept my lines sharp and hard; I do my best to leave no traces of time.
At 8:00 PM, I navigate through the narrow alleys of Taipei, finally pulling up to a small Korean bistro on the edge of Minsheng Community. The place doesn’t have a flashy sign, but it radiates a warm, comforting golden glow. Pushing the door open, the familiar aroma of toasted sesame oil and tangy kimchi washes over me.
“Hey babe, you’re a bit late tonight,” a bright, energetic voice calls out. She’s the owner of the bistro, Xinyi, and she’s easily the most captivating sight on this entire street. Around forty, she possesses skin as smooth and flawless as someone half her age. Her jet-black hair frames her face with light, airy bangs, accentuating her ivory complexion.
She’s dressed particularly casually tonight—dangerously so. Up top, she wears nothing but a pure white, ruched tube top that tightly binds her voluptuous, overflowing curves. The folds across her chest rise and fall with every breath, carving a deep, tantalizing cleavage. Below, a pair of light-wash, frayed denim shorts exudes an effortless, wild edge. She slides into the seat opposite me, the table already filled with delicate Korean side dishes. Her long, porcelain legs shift under the warm light, making it impossible to look away.
“Let’s eat together, my treat tonight,” Xinyi says, her eyes crinkling into sweet crescents. “Ugh, I’ve seriously gained weight lately,” she mutters, unbuttoning the top of her shorts right there… As we dig into authentic Shin Ramyun and pickled bean sprouts, we chat about the trivial details of daily life. In her radiant, youthful smile, there’s a fleeting hint of the loneliness that hits at our age. As the conversation deepens, a thick current of tension begins to brew. The accompanying soju steadily bridges the gap between us until, before we know it, we’re close enough to breathe each other in.
At nine o’clock, the last remaining customers leave. The background music seems to drop into a low, suggestive pulse. She leads me toward the grocery warehouse in the back, claiming she wants me to check out some newly imported stock. “The shop isn’t technically closed yet,” I murmur. “Who cares?” she smirks. The warehouse is stacked with large bags of flour and various spices, the cramped space causing our body temperatures to spike instantly.
She turns to face me, her watery eyes now completely hooded with desire. Taking the initiative, she grabs my collar and pins me against the storage rack, her slender fingers sliding down my chest. Then, Xinyi slowly drops to her knees in front of me. From this angle, I have a perfect view down the plunging line of her tube top, staring into her bottomless cleavage. She tilts her head up, her tongue lightly darting out to lick her crimson lips with a look of pure, provocative passion.
The moment her warm, wet mouth wraps around me, a bolt of electricity shoots straight up my spine. Xinyi’s movements carry the exquisite rhythm and mastery that only a mature woman possesses. Her dark hair cascades over my thighs, the teasing brush of her strands contrasting beautifully with the searing heat of her mouth. As the pace quickens, Xinyi becomes completely consumed by the thrill of pleasuring me. One hand tightly grips the base of my shaft while the other fondles my balls, her strokes growing fast and deep, her throat swallowing hard around me. Finally, with a violent spasm, I completely unravel inside her mouth, unable to hold back. She takes it all beautifully, a satisfied, flushed glow gracing the corners of her eyes.
At ten sharp, the bistro officially closes. I drive us back to my high-rise apartment, the beautiful owner still wrapped in a gentle, intoxicated haze beside me.
“Let’s wash up first,” I whisper huskily against her ear. The bathroom is thick with rolling steam. Under the showerhead, cascading water washes over our bodies. Her porcelain skin gleams under the droplets, highlighting her breathtaking, feminine curves. My palms press against her wet back, tracing the unbelievable smoothness and elasticity of her skin. We lose ourselves in a wet, heavy kiss, our souls and flesh melting into one amidst the mist.
Back in the bedroom, the soft silk sheets cushion her body like a masterpiece of art. I meticulously explore every single inch of her sensitive skin. My hands glide over her rounded shoulders, gently kneading her full, heavy breasts, my fingertips teasing her erect, rosy nipples. Xinyi throws her head back in ecstasy, letting out a series of breathless, broken moans.
The moment I slide inside her, the incredibly wet, tight friction forces a low, primal groan from my throat. I steady my breathing, navigating the crashing waves of raw desire—sometimes teasing her with slow, agonizing thrusts, sometimes driving into her with wild, feral passion.
“Babe… ah… don’t stop…” she whimpers softly, her voice dripping with sheer desperation. I lean down to catch her lips in a kiss, immediately hooking her legs high over my shoulders to drive even deeper. I quicken the pace, precisely striking the ultra-sensitive spots along her inner walls. As the rhythm turns frantic, Xinyi’s body begins to shake violently. Her legs lock tightly around my waist, and with one final, deep, powerful thrust, we crest the peak together.
The quiet room is filled only with our heavy, ragged breathing. A beautifully exhausted Xinyi rests her head against my chest, her face radiating the luminous glow of a woman thoroughly satisfied. I wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly.
In the early hours of the morning, Xinyi slips on one of my button-down shirts from the closet and tidies her hair. I drive her back, pulling up right outside her Minsheng Community bistro. “What time do you have to go supply shopping?” I ask. “Five,” she answers, a trace of fatigue in her voice. Taipei at night is still humming, but the air feels a bit crisper now. Before stepping out of the car, she plants a soft kiss on my cheek—no unnecessary words, no messy strings attached. Just the unspoken understanding of two mature adults.
I watch her silhouette disappear through the shop door, thinking about how hard she works as a single mother. A sudden pang hits my chest. I step on the gas, vanishing into the empty streets. The Taipei rain has finally stopped, but the intoxicating scent of this night will linger in my memory for a long, long time.