At the age of 27, I was a young Chinese man who was driven and ambitious, and I was working my way up the organization’s corporate ladder. A life that was dominated by long hours at work, meetings, and transactions was the norm. The first time I laid eyes on her, she was a stunningly beautiful hijabi woman in her early forties, and guess what? In addition to having three children, she was already married. She went by Sari, and she emanated a grace and confidence that was difficult to ignore. Her flawless white complexion, petite stature, and appealing 32B chest made it difficult for me to concentrate on anything else. Her appearance was so alluring that I found it difficult to avoid her.
It was a really professional first meeting. My introduction to Sari came through our shared business interests, and we got right to work on a number of initiatives. Our work connection was smooth since, despite our age difference, we had a mutual regard and understanding. Still, there was a simmering unsaid tension.
One late-night work session we had at her office descended into a personal one. We joked and related life tales, and I saw that her eyes gleamed when she looked at me. First, the flirtation was subdued—a hint here, a sly glance there. With time, our conversations became more audacious.
One evening as we were finishing up our conversation, Sari stepped closer, and our gazes connected. I could feel electricity charging the space. We were kissing passionately in French before I could really blink. She tasted delicious, her lips were warm and soft. It felt as though a dam had burst and our long-simmering passion was at last let go.
We had more frequent and passionate stolen moments in the days that followed. The want to learn more about her was too strong. She had gorgeous breasts, and one evening as we kissed passionately in her office, I carefully pulled down her top. Her nipples reacted enthusiastically to my touch and her skin was silky. She let out little sighs of pleasure as I licked and sucked them.
Our hot workouts made me want to go beyond. I reached down to her jeans and started to slowly drop them one night while we were lost in our hug. Her well groomed pubic hair, which reminded me of a far younger woman, was a pleasant surprise. She would draw back just as things started to get heated, reminding us both of the limits we still had to pass, as I softly licked her.
Years went by and our meetings grew fewer. We kept in touch, greeting one other and sometimes catching up. But life led us in various paths, and finally we lost all communication.
At forty-four years old, I can still clearly recall those forbidden moments. It is still a fantasy of mine to wear Sari and to be with a hijabi married woman. It makes me long for a period when restraint and passion danced a beautiful tango.
