We departed San Francisco in the afternoon and have arrived in Shanghai the night of the next day, after a surprisingly comfortable fourteen-hour flight.

John had texted me one hour before picking me up to alert me that it will be hot and humid in Shanghai, but that it’s important to wear layers because of the air conditioning. If I hadn’t already looked up all that information online I would have been annoyed that he left it until so late to share that with me. But I was looking forward to seeing him again.

When he got to my apartment to pick me up, I was wearing a thin camisole and loose cotton pants for the flight. I was going to layer clothes on top, but I wanted to remind him of what was underneath first. When I opened the door, he did a slow visual sweep of my body, cleared his throat and said: “I hope you’re planning on wearing more than that today. The car is air conditioned, and I don’t want you catching a cold.”

“Thanks. I’ll just go put my layers on now.”

He rubbed his index finger along his lower lip. “Olivia, I’ll remind you that while I did ask you to come as my date, this is a business trip.”

I clenched my teeth and forced a smile. “Got it, John. I’m all business. I’m not a nymphomaniac—I’ve been to a lot of gala benefits and cocktail parties so you don’t have to tell me how to behave around business people or explain how not to catch a cold while traveling. I just haven’t finished dressing yet.”

“Glad to hear it. And thank you for the reminder of what your pretty tits look like, as if I wasn’t already going to have a hard time keeping my mind and hands off of them while sitting next to you on a plane for fourteen hours.”

“Or keeping your mouth off of them,” I said offhandedly.

He inhaled sharply then held his breath before saying: “Behave yourself, young lady.” He took the handle of my suitcase, and told me to be down at the car in less than a minute.

I wondered if I may actually be a nymphomaniac, because I had to change my panties and considered if it would be possible to make myself come in less than a minute before going down to the car, because a fourteen hour flight next to him was going to be unbearable in so many ways.

While we were waiting in the first class departure lounge, I emailed my parents to tell them that I’d be in Cleveland with Johnny in a week and a half, opting to wait to tell them about the Shanghai/New York trip until I could do it in person. Judging by their reply, I’d guess that my brother already told them that Johnny and I are dating, but they felt it would be impolite to call and ask. They were thrilled. More so than I’d expected they would be. So much so that it saddened me. So much so that I regretted telling them. I don’t know how this will end with John, but I know that it will, and I know that my family could very well feel more let down than either of us will be.

But that’s later.

Now we’re in Shangfreakinghai!

Our married hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Chen have picked us up at the airport in their chauffeured Mercedes SUV. They are both exceedingly polite, and exceptionally wealthy. Their English is very good, and the small amount of Mandarin Chinese that John speaks impresses all of us. He is here to meet with a China business consultant and with Mr. Chen, who is an entrepreneur, to discuss partnering on investing in a food tech business. Separate from that, John is here to join forces with a number of Chinese businesswomen as part of his new foundation’s initiative to encourage more women to join the tech industry, by providing scholarships and mentors. I did an actual spit-take when he told me that on the plane, and he seemed genuinely insulted that I found it amusing that he’d be interested in such a thing. I asked him if it was because he wished there were more hot girls at MIT. I regretted it as soon as I’d said it (because I’m sure there were hot girls at MIT and also who cares if they were hot or not and also because it was demeaning to him). He sulked for about half an hour until I got him to laugh by sticking peanuts up my nostrils and shooting them out at him. It wasn’t sexy, but at least I got him to talk to me again.

The airport is in Pudong, directly across the river from Shanghai, and the view across to the cityscape is lovely and odd, despite or perhaps because of the thin haze of air pollution. The strip along the waterfront is called The Bund, as John has informed me, and it looks like a beautiful European city with massive grand old low-rise buildings up front, but behind it are lit-up modern high-rises. John watches me as I take it all in, pleased that I’m so awed by it. I immediately wish we were staying longer.

The air in Shanghai is heavy and very warm, sultry. There are more cars on the road than I have ever seen in my life, more people standing and wandering around outside than I ever dreamed of seeing all at once—much more than in New York City. It’s astounding, a little intimidating, but mostly thrilling.

After being escorted to the lobby of our ritzy luxurious hotel on the Bund, and agreeing to a shopping date with Mrs. Chen for tomorrow after lunch, John and I check into a suite and I fling myself on top of the king-size bed.

John opens the drapes and says, “Look at this view! I always stay in this hotel, because of the view.”

I get up to join him. It is incredible, but I have to pee. I take my suitcase into the bathroom.

I look at myself in the mirror, lean in, and whisper: “I’m in Shanghai with Johnny B. Nerdballs! Whaaaat?!”

When I emerge from the shiny marble bathroom, after taking a damp hand towel to certain areas of my plane-perspired body, I’m wearing the antique silver silk chemise I bought with John’s cash and my discount from the lingerie store that I model for, no underwear, and probably a flashing neon “Horny Devil” sign over my head.

I find John at the desk that faces the window, typing furiously on his laptop, his phone charging nearby. His fingers stop jabbing at the keyboard for two seconds after he looks up and sees my reflection in the window. He makes a barely perceptible grunting sound, then turns his attention back to his document. “Well don’t you look seductive,” he says.

“Well I thought I did until you confirmed that I don’t.”

“I’ve done no such thing,” he says, still not looking at me. “I have every intention of confirming your sexy sexiness as soon as I’m done typing this…”

I sigh and collapse onto the sofa.

“Are you properly hydrated?”

“Yes, the Chens provided us with a bottle of water and I drank all of it, remember?”

“Of course I remember, I just doubt that it’s enough.”

“I drank plenty of water on the plane.”

“Proper hydration is fundamentally necessary to the enjoyment and proper physiological functions of sexual activity, but especially after a long flight and in this weather.”

I jump to my feet. “Stop fucking my ears with big words and start fucking my pussy with your big hard cock.”

“Olivia!” he snaps, reprimanding me like I’m a naughty schoolgirl and he’s my teacher.

Just one word and he makes me want him even more. I should have worn panties to stop the fluid from trickling down my inner thigh. Yup, definitely hydrated. What is wrong with me? “Well?”

“Is that what you’re like?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is that the way you usually behave with the men you have sex with?”

“I mean…Not usually, but sometimes.”

He shakes his head. “Olivia. You’re a beautiful ballerina who was raised by a loving family in middle America. You don’t have to talk like a crackhead whore to get a man to fuck you.”

“Don’t tell me how to talk. Some guys like it.”

“Is that how they talk to you? Do they refer to your vagina as a pussy?”

Sometimes. Usually.

“Granted, the landscape of the male mind when sexually aroused is dark, filthy and…slippery, but that doesn’t mean we have to verbally articulate our baser fantasies and urges. Does that kind of language turn you on?”

Apparently your kind of language turns me on. “Why are we talking about other guys? I’m here. With you. Wearing this. Do you want to have sex with me right now or not?”

He furrows his brow and adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose as he turns to face me, still sitting in the desk chair. “Olivia, are you familiar with the ancient Taoist techniques of thrusting?”

Gulp.

The way he’s asking, he may as well have said: “Olivia, are you familiar with science and math?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“No. Are you trying to be funny?”

“No. I’m genuinely confused.”

“Yes. I ask, because it occurs to me that, despite your physical appearance and athleticism and willingness, you probably haven’t been fucked to quite the degree of satisfaction that you think you have.”

What?!

“Excuse me?”

“This is in no way a reflection on you, to be clear, but rather, on the boys and men that you have chosen to have sex with. Until now.”

“Uh huh.” I shake my head. “You are…unbelievable.”

He saves the document he’s working on, shuts his laptop, and removes his glasses. “Olivia, I have approximately one hour of free time now, so if you’d like to remove that lovely piece of shimmery fabric and allow me to do things to your body, I think you’ll experience a level of pleasure that will change the way you think about sex. If we start now, I can devote that entire hour to you, although I doubt that your body will be able to handle so much physical pleasure for an entire hour the first time we do this. However, I’d like to do this for you. For as long as you can take it. Would you like that?”

I want to laugh. I want to ask him what the fuck is wrong with him. But I don’t. I say: “Yes.” Because I think he might be right. I also suspect that I have not been fucked to quite the degree of satisfaction that I thought I had. And I would very much like to be fucked to a higher degree and experience a level of physical pleasure that will change the way I think about sex. For as long as I can take it.

“Okay. To be clear, it’s not just the thrusting technique that I’ll be employing, there are a number of ancient Chinese secrets to sexual arousal that I think you’ll enjoy as foreplay.” He begins to remove his shirt.

“Are you going to talk about it, or are you going to do it?”

“I’m going to do it until your sassy mouth is too ecstatic to form words, and then we’re both going to sleep very well for a long time, because tomorrow will be a long day.”

“When and why did you learn these techniques?” I ask, as I remove the shimmery fabric from my body and let it fall to the floor.

It takes him a moment to find his speaking voice as I approach him, fully naked, to assist him with undressing. “When I first came to China, I was, as I know you were, startled by the large population. I thought about how much sex the Chinese people have had—you know they’re the only ancient civilization still around today—and I wondered if they had a different approach. There are numerous texts available, some illustrated, some not—”

“Okay I don’t need a Ted Talk, just do it.”

He holds up his hand as he says, “I just want to go on record as saying that I have misgivings about doing it this way the first time we have intercourse and also after such a long flight.”

“Duly noted, if it would please the court please put your money where your big talking mouth is, or more specifically please put your big throbbing —”

“Alright now what did we say about that kind of talk young lady. Get up on that bed and get comfortable on top of the covers, on your back.”

“Yes massah,” I put my hands together in the prayer position and bow.

He reaches out to spank my butt, sending me squealing onto the bed. I get all nice and comfortable, laid out straight in the middle of the bed with my head upon a pillow and watch as he strips down to his black boxer briefs, which are bulging to a degree that is very flattering and a bit intimidating.

“Are you always shaved down there?” he asks, eyeing my naked lower lady parts, as he climbs up onto the bed.

“Since I was a teenager. To prevent unsightly hairs from poking out of my leotards.”

“I’m glad I didn’t know that until now. I doubt I would have passed any classes at MIT or founded any startups. I would have just thought about you and your beautiful bare…”

“Pussy?”

He sits next to me, to the right of my torso. “You are exquisite,” he breathes. He winces when he looks at my battered feet—never the most aesthetically-pleasing part of a ballet dancer’s body—fortunately he doesn’t dwell on them. “This body. You. Should be worshipped.” He lowers himself down to kiss me on the lips, just once, though I lift myself up for more.

He rubs his hands together to warm them up. “Have you ever had acupuncture?”

“I have, actually, in Pittsburgh. It helped to heal my ankle when I twisted it, quite quickly.”

“So you know about the theory of meridians?”

I stare at his hands, my body aching for their touch. “Energy channels?”

“Essentially, yes. And in ancient Chinese erotica, there’s a system of points along the body’s meridians that when stimulated can cause immediate sexual arousal, as well as boost sexual stamina and tune up the autonomic nervous system that—”

“You’re killing me, professor.”

He grins and licks his lips. “They’re called love points.” He touches my belly button with the tip of his index finger and slowly drags it down to my clit, then back up again. “From the naval down to the pubic bone there are seven love points.”

My back arches and I point my toes.

“This area is called the cinnabar field. These love points are to be lightly pressed with the finger pad.” He places his middle fingertip inside my belly button and presses down for about three seconds, then releases and presses again. “This is acupressure. Does it feel good?”

“I guess, but it also feels like torture.”

He smiles and continues to move an inch down at a time, from my naval to my pubic bone, using the palm of his hand to rub the points. I let out a sigh and start to relax. His mastery of control is no longer annoying to me, it’s hot.

“Now we move on to the love points on and around the breasts.”

Fuck yeah.

He straddles my thighs, his erection rubbing against my clit. I reach down to touch it, but I get a verbal slap on the wrist. “Keep your hands at your sides.” He adjusts his boxer briefs, then gets focused on my breasts and their hard, hard nipples.

He places the fingers of his right hand on the breastbone, directly in between my nipples, and rubs in a small circular motion. “This is called the middle cinnabar field.”

“Mmmhmm.”

He draws in a deep breath as his hands reach up to cup my breasts, pressing down with his fingertips on an area at the top of the breasts, below the shoulder. I feel him grow even harder against me and close my eyes. His hands are warm, and his touch is somewhere between clinical and erotic. “These points can also be stimulated with a firmed-up tongue tip, would you like that?”

“Oh fuck yes.”

I keep my eyes shut and my body begins to tremble when I feel his warm hard tongue tip on my left nipple. His whole mouth covers it for a second and then his tongue applies pressure as it slowly circles around and around. He simultaneously rubs the area beneath my breast with his thumbs. My tits feel huge. They’ve grown for him. He moves onto the other nipple. I am squirming and whimpering beneath him in delicious agony.

His tongue lifts from my breast and he says in a very husky voice: “This is called the game of Three Fountains. I’m going to stimulate each of the three fountains and drink your sexual elixirs.”

“Yes! Do it!”

His body hovers over mine as he deep kisses me, caressing my tongue with his, sweeping it around the inside of my mouth. It stimulates a flow of saliva, which he sucks out of me, moaning. I realize that my body has begun to move rhythmically, but he holds his completely still just above me, which requires impressive arm and core strength.

I don’t want him to stop kissing me, but when he moves down to my breasts again I do not mind. His approach is different, this time he sucks the nipples lightly and rhythmically, tickling them with the tip of his tongue, while using his hand to squeeze and pump the breast while sucking. My body starts to undulate because I have so much built up energy, it needs to move. I gasp and groan, my head twisting from side-to-side. With all the pain and joy my body has experienced while dancing, it has never experienced this kind of exquisite torture during sex. This is a marathon, and I have been sprinting since I was a teenager.

I am on the brink of orgasm and I really don’t know how much more of this I can take, but I am going to find out.

His sucking and squeezing reaches a crescendo and suddenly my saliva-dampened breasts feel cold when he disappears down between my legs.

“Oh my God,” he groans, as he discovers what I’ve known for what feels like an hour—I am absolutely drenched down there. He pushes my legs out wide and then up so that they are bent, feet flat on the bed. He kisses around my pubic bone and inner thighs, then opens my outer lips with his fingers and kisses the inner lips, his tongue caressing them. I am so engorged, my pelvis arches up, desperate for penetration. His tongue sweeps around, up and down, before thrusting inside of me, in and out, in and out.

Soon it’s like I’m in a trance. I am breath and light and electricity and exploding melting colors. I keep saying his name, over and over. At least I think I’m saying it out loud. I may have already lost the ability to speak, I can’t tell anymore. I clutch hold of the pillow under my head to keep still, because I honestly feel like I could fly around the room. When his tongue gradually goes to my clit, he kisses it and then sucks on it gently, tickling its tip, and I scream out. He is squeezing my ass trying to hold me still. I feel like the girl in The Exorcist. “FUCK ME NOW!” I scream, “I can’t wait anymore!”

One last suck on my clit, and he puts his hands on mine and moves them to the tops of my thighs. “Keep your eyes closed and massage there. I just need a second.”

I do as he says and hear him tear open a condom package. “You sure you can handle the next part?”

“Try me,” I say. Now that he’s not on top of me, I’m getting a second wind. It’s not frustration at all, I feel amazing. I feel powered-up. “You’re amazing,” I say.

“You’re making it really hard for me to concentrate because you’re so fucking hot.”

I feel him get back on the bed.

“You ready?”

I nod and make a squeaky mouse sound that is not at all sexy but it’s all I can muster.

He takes my hands and places them on each side of his waist. He kisses my forehead and holds himself over me again, slowly pushing himself inside of me with absolutely no resistance, despite his size, I am so slippery wet he glides in and I stretch to allow him in, but he doesn’t go all the way yet. He begins to thrust in a shallow manner, multiple times, before thrusting deeply once, and then shallow again. Multiple shallow thrusts and then two deep thrusts. Short and slow thrusts. Deep thrusts that then push upwards, like he’s digging to China with his penis—oh wait we’re here!

I hear his controlled breathing like he’s concentrating on a workout, and in a way he is, but holy fuck this is the best workout I’ve ever had. It’s not mechanical. He’s not a fuck robot. It’s like a performance art dance piece, but not annoying. There’s no rhythm for me to get into because I don’t know what he’s going to do next, so I just relax and let myself get fucked. He keeps alternating shallow thrusts, deep thrusts, more shallow, a few deep, a few shallow, multiple deep, different angles. So many nerve endings are being stimulated, I didn’t even realize that I’ve already been orgasmic for ages. It just keeps building and ebbing and flowing.

I’ve been trying to focus on my body all this time, because I know that if I think about how this is Johnny Brandt inside of me, giving something to me that no other man ever has in this way, I will lose myself to him. That will be it. I will be his. I can’t let that happen, not so soon. Or is it not soon? Has this been my whole life?

I can’t think about it. He thrusts so deep this time, I scream out and another wave of orgasm hits, and then I feel a jolt and a shudder when he rubs the tip of his cock against my clit. I grab his face and kiss him so deeply because I am so grateful and I don’t know if there’s anything I could ever do to him that would feel as good.

I bend my legs and wrap them around his waist, squeezing my thighs together.

He groans and starts to slow down. “It’s better if I don’t come.”

“Why? No, you have to.”

“If I hold onto the energy —”

“No, come with me, Johnny. I want you to come inside me.”

He holds his breath, then says: “Fuck it.” He grabs one of my legs, lifts it up and around so that his shoulder is pushing against the back of my thigh, and grinds heavily. I’m so tight. We’re so close to each other. One final thrust and then he tenses up hard and releases as he comes, loud and gruff, more lumberjack than tech nerd or ancient Chinese sex guru. Finally, he collapses on top of me and I hold him and kiss his ear and neck, any part of him that my lips can reach. I feel expansive and elated, like I’m made of stars. It isn’t over yet for me, it just might be endless.

If I could stand, I’d give him a standing ovation.

If I could lift my hand I’d give him a sexy high-five.

I think John is passed out. I lie beneath him and think about absolutely nothing. After a few minutes, he jerks awake like a little boy startled from a nap. His eyes are bleary. He smiles and kisses my cheek. “Hi,” he says, then gets up and disappears into the bathroom.

I guess I fell asleep while he was in the bathroom, because I wake up in the middle of the night, the room is dark, and John is lying like a corpse beside me, we are both under the covers. There is a big bottle of water and a glass on my bedside table. I lift myself up and twist around to look at him. So innocent, so still. “What did you do to me?” I whisper. He doesn’t stir. He probably took a melatonin. Or he’s exhausted from doing the equivalent of an Iron Man triathlon on my body. Bless his sexy nerd heart. I kiss his back and turn to face the other way, otherwise I’d probably just grab his cock and beg him to do it all again. Probably not in the ancient Taoist book of sex tips.

When I wake up again there is sunlight creeping in around the edges of the blackout curtains, and Johnny is gone. I don’t know how self-confident or self-reliant you have to be in order to not feel abandoned when you wake up alone in bed after having sex with a man, but I guess I’m not there yet. No matter how incredible he was last night, it still feels wrong that he didn’t wake me up to say goodbye, even though he probably believed he was being thoughtful.

There are now two big bottles of water by the bed, a bottle of Vitamin C supplements, and a note that says: Morning, beautiful sleepyhead. Drink both bottles of water, take Vit C and order as much room service as you want. Or if you’re up early enough you should try the breakfast in the restaurant downstairs it’s great. Mrs. Chen will call you on your cell phone about shopping later—don’t worry about roaming charges I’ll pay your phone bill. I’ll see you before dinner. Thank you for last night —JB

His handwriting is just as messy as it always was. He writes so quickly. I always gave him a hard time about it. From now on, I may have a hard time giving him a hard time about anything. Unless he doesn’t go to town on me again. I know this is a business trip, but I would probably threaten to throw him out this hotel window if he doesn’t give me the business.

We didn’t just have sex with each other for the first time last night, we split the atom. The world has changed. It is more dangerous but also filled with possibilities that we don’t understand yet.  

Or maybe I’ve just never been fucked properly before. 

I imagine this is what it would have been like to see Martha Graham dance in her time. You think you know what it means to move the body to music, and then blammo, a revolution, and the body can show the world what it means to be human.

I find an email from him when I check on my iPad. He has sent me an attachment with a PDF of a scanned book about ancient Taoist sexology. If you’re interested in learning more… is all he wrote.

I am.

I do.