”I’m going to karaoke and sauna with the bureau chief and the others; looks like tonight’s going to last until tomorrow morning. I’ll ride with them; you take the bureau chief’s wife home, and you can drive the car home tonight.”

　　 The lady was clearly already quite drunk; after standing up and taking a few steps, she began to stagger. I sensed something was wrong. Tonight we had been drinking imported liquor, and usually, when you drink too much imported liquor, you’re not so bad while sitting, but once you stand up, the effects start to kick in, and the aftereffects get stronger and stronger. Fortunately, the corridor we were walking through had a row of flowers and trees blocking the view, and it wouldn’t be good for the director’s wife to appear drunk in front of her husband and subordinates. I quickly called over a female employee to help the lady, but the employee wasn’t much better off; the two of them were supporting each other, but it was hard to tell who was supporting whom. Luckily, the effects of the alcohol hadn’t fully taken hold yet, and after getting off the elevator and into the car, things went smoothly for the rest of the journey.

　　 I had originally planned to have her sit in the back seat, but she said she gets carsick easily and prefers the front. In the car, I suggested that if she’d had too much to drink, perhaps her female employee could accompany her home, but she kept shaking her head, her tongue a little slurred, saying, “I’m fine, no need to trouble yourself.” Hearing this, I couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly: it seems women are the same; even when they’ve had too much to drink, they’ll say they’re fine. Perhaps worried about carsickness, she even rolled down the window. I felt bad telling her again that it’s not good to be out in the wind after drinking, so I asked for her address, thinking it best to get her home as soon as possible.

　　 She didn’t say another word the whole way. Twenty minutes later, the car arrived at her apartment building. It was a newly built residential complex; many houses were still under renovation, and very few had moved in. The car stopped, but she didn’t move. Was she asleep? So I opened my car door, intending to open hers so she could get out. Just as the door opened, the interior light came on, revealing a picture of a beautiful woman intoxicated on my right: she was wearing a white suit jacket, leaning back against the seat, her body tilted towards me, her head resting on the back of her seat next to me. Her short skirt had ridden up almost to her thighs as she leaned forward, revealing a large section of her left thigh covered by white sheer stockings, round, soft, and fair.

　　 Her eyes were closed, a few strands of hair clinging to her forehead, which was damp with a light sheen of sweat. Her chest rose and fell with her breath, and the top button of her silk blouse had somehow come undone, revealing the upper edge of her white bra on the right side and the upper part of her breast, which was not covered by a bra, through the slightly open neckline. I was stunned for a moment, and an involuntary surge of heat rose from my lower abdomen, causing my groin to bulge and my pants to stand erect.

　　 Just as I was at a loss, she suddenly opened her eyes, her right hand quickly fumbled for the car door switch, and she flung open the door, her body springing out like a bullet. Her sudden action startled me, and I rushed out of the car as well. I saw her squatting on the ground, her back heaving as she vomited with a loud “whoosh.” Her body swayed uncontrollably as she vomited, and I quickly supported her shoulders. The terrifying vomiting continued for several minutes, and slowly even bile came up. I reached into the car and took out some tissues and bottled water, handing them to her. She wiped her face haphazardly and rinsed her mouth with water.

　　 Seeing that she had almost finished vomiting, I closed the car door, helped her up, and headed towards the elevator in the lobby. She mumbled, “I’m sorry, I lost my composure.” Her legs were still weak, so I wrapped my right arm around her back, supporting her right armpit with my palm, letting her bear most of her weight. We entered the elevator, pressed the button, and the elevator slowly rose. Suddenly, I felt something strange in my right hand. It turned out that my right hand was under her armpit, my four fingers resting on the outside of her right breast, her warm, soft, and elastic breast pressing against my fingertips. She had her eyes slightly closed, her head resting on my right shoulder, and didn’t say a word.

　　 I took the keys from her handbag, fumbled to open the door, helped her into the bedroom, took off her suit jacket, laid her on the bed, and removed her white high heels. After vomiting, her face was pale. I called out, “Sister,” but there was no response; she was probably fast asleep. However, her vomit had soaked a large area of ​​the front of her shirt, and her skirt was also quite soiled. Changing her clothes was necessary, but judging from her condition, she wouldn’t wake up for the time being. Changing her clothes for her was out of the question; if she woke up and found out I had changed her, the consequences would be unimaginable.

　　 Suddenly, I wondered if there was a nanny in the house. So I went to look around the other rooms, but there was no one there. I went back to the bedroom and saw her pajamas draped over the chair by the bed. I looked at her wet shirt and didn’t know what to do. Suddenly, I remembered that when I was drunk, I often couldn’t remember what happened after I woke up. Seeing how soundly she was sleeping, I figured she would think she had changed her clothes herself when she woke up. That was the only way.

　　 Her silk blouse was thin, and a large section of the front was wet, clinging to her bra and the skin of her abdomen. The wet blouse became transparent, clearly revealing the outline of her bra and the skin tone of her abdomen. I gently unbuttoned her blouse, and as the buttons were undone one by one, her high breasts, clad in a bra, and her round, delicate navel…

　　 As soon as it appeared before me, I pulled the hem of her shirt out from under her skirt, then gently pushed her body into a side-lying position. I gently pulled her left arm out of the sleeve and unzipped the back of her skirt. Then I turned her back to a supine position, gently lifting her waist and hips with my right hand, slowly pulling the skirt up to her calves, then lifting her feet and removing the skirt. I turned her back to a side-lying position, completely pulled her shirt off her right arm, and finally gently pushed her back to a supine position.

　　 At this moment, before me, her upper body was covered only by a white strapless bra, revealing the lower two-thirds of her breasts. The upper parts of her breasts, exposed outside the bra, were like solidified cream or white jade, gleaming with a sacred light under the soft lamplight. A slender waist, a flat stomach. Her lower body was encased in waist-length white sheer stockings, and inside the stockings, a small pair of panties covered her slightly protruding pubic area. Through the stockings, a few curly hairs peeked out from the edge of the panties. Below that were her shapely legs, her small toes neatly pressed together within the stockings… Faced with such beauty, I knew I couldn’t possibly be a saint who could remain unmoved.

　　 My heart pounded, and my penis hardened again. I longed to unhook her bra, caress her breasts, kiss her lips, pull down her stockings and panties, and enter her body. But then I knew that there are many things in this world you can only admire, not touch. To be fortunate enough to see them is already a great blessing. She was still fast asleep. I took her nightgown from the bedside and carefully changed her into it again. Then I covered her with a blanket.

　　 I picked up her dirty clothes and draped them over the chair beside the bed. Just as I was about to leave, I suddenly heard her groan deep in her throat, turn around, curl up in a ball, and furrow her brow. The remaining alcohol was probably taking effect again. Being drunk and vomiting often leaves you feeling terrible, especially after drinking too much spirits. I remembered that whenever I got drunk, my mother would make me a bowl of pepper and egg soup, which would always make me feel better quickly. So, I went to the kitchen. Great! There was pepper! I found an empty bottle, crushed the pepper, took two eggs from the refrigerator, and turned on the gas stove. Soon, the kitchen was filled with the aroma of pepper and eggs.

　　 A fragrant bowl of pepper and egg soup was ready, and I carried it to the bedroom. With some difficulty, I finally woke her up. She sat up, still sleepy. She looked around and said, “Huh? I’m home?” I said, “Yes, the director and the others had work to do after dinner tonight, so I brought you home. I saw you weren’t feeling well, so I took you straight to the bedroom to lie down.” She hesitated for a moment, as if remembering something, and said, “I know you brought me home. I think I was drunk, and I even vomited.” I said, “You weren’t drunk, just probably drank a little too much, and you were a bit carsick on the way back, so vomiting is normal.”

　　 She seemed a little lost, lowering her head as if trying to remember something. Seeing her pajamas, she suddenly asked, “Did I change my clothes myself after I came back?” Luckily, I was prepared, so I casually replied, “Yes, after I helped you into the bedroom, I saw you had vomited everything you ate. Your stomach must have been very empty. I saw pepper in the kitchen and eggs in the refrigerator. I heard that a little pepper and egg soup is best after drinking alcohol, so I made you a bowl. When you came in, I noticed you had already changed your clothes.” She looked up at me. Perhaps seeing my sincere expression, or perhaps believing she couldn’t be too confused, her gaze gradually softened.

　　 I handed her the soup, which she took with gratitude in her eyes. “I can’t believe you’ve gone to all this trouble,” she said. She was truly hungry and began to eat slowly, explaining that she made this soup for her husband when he came home drunk, and it worked wonders. She’d only tasted it briefly, never actually tried it, and was surprised at how delicious it was. Watching her eat so heartily made me happy too. Before long, she finished the whole bowl of soup, and her complexion regained its rosy glow.

　　 Just then, the phone beside the bed rang, and she picked it up. The room was quiet, and I could hear the voice on the other end clearly. It was her husband calling back; he was quite drunk and said he had something to do that night and couldn’t come home. He told her to immediately turn on the computer and send some document to someone who urgently needed it. Hearing that her husband wouldn’t be coming home, a hint of displeasure flashed across her face, but she quickly regained her composure, perhaps used to this situation.

　　 She muttered to herself, “What’s the rush? Can’t I send it at work tomorrow?” as she turned on the computer in her bedroom. The computer was running very slowly, almost like a Pentium 100 running Windows 98, but the chassis looked quite new. I asked her what the computer’s specs were, and she said she didn’t know much about computers, only that it was a Pentium 4 and she’d only bought it six months ago. I said that didn’t make sense; how could a Pentium 4 be so slow? She said it wasn’t this slow at first, but it gradually got slower and slower, and she wondered if she’d bought a fake.

　　 After some effort, the file was finally sent. I said to her, “This computer problem is probably a software issue, not a machine problem. Can I take a look?” She said, “Sure, I’m really annoyed by how slow it is. I even discussed with my husband about having the computer repair shop take it back for repairs, but he keeps putting it off.” I took the mouse and checked the C drive. Good heavens! 10GB of space only had 30MB left. No wonder it’s so slow. I explained the situation to her, saying that moving some files to another drive would solve the problem.

　　 She asked me if it was easy to fix. I said it was fine, it would only take about half an hour. She looked at her watch and said, “Thank you so much, please fix it for me.” So I started selecting the contents from the C drive that could be moved to other drives. She watched for a while and then said to me, “No rush, take your time fixing it. I’m going to take a shower first, I feel really dirty and uncomfortable.”

　　 After selecting everything, the files started moving. I didn’t have much to do for the time being. Looking at the little QQ penguin on the screen, I suddenly remembered that I’d been busy setting up the banquet all day and hadn’t contacted “Xiaoyu” at all. I wondered if she’d thought of me. So I went online, opened QQ, and immediately heard a “beep beep beep beep” sound from my speaker. “Xiaoyu” had indeed contacted me and left a message: “Where have you been today? I haven’t seen you all day. I hope nothing’s happened to you! I’m going to a cocktail party after get off work today, and I probably won’t be home until after 8 pm. I hope to see you online then.”

　　 Reading the message warmed my heart. It was all my fault; I should have just sneaked a moment online this afternoon. I checked the time; it was already past nine, but “Xiaoyu” wasn’t online. She probably logged off after going home and finding me gone. Feeling a little guilty, I casually typed a reply to “Xiaoyu.”

　　 Just then, the lady came in after her bath. She had changed into a peach-colored silk nightgown with a subtle floral pattern, a belt cinching her slender waist, making her breasts appear high and full, further accentuating her graceful figure. Her long, flowing hair cascaded down like a waterfall, and she exuded a captivating post-bath fragrance. As she combed her hair, she asked me, “Is the computer alright?” I replied that the computer was automatically moving files and would be done soon; I had nothing to do, so I went online to reply to a message from a friend. She laughed and said, “The friend is a woman, right? Have you met her? Is she pretty?” As she spoke, she curiously approached and leaned closer to look at the computer screen.

　　 As I typed, I replied, “I haven’t met her yet, but I think she seems pretty nice.” Suddenly, I sensed something was off and looked up at her. Her eyes widened, her mouth agape, a look of utter astonishment on her face. She even stopped combing her hair. A chill ran through me. Had something gone wrong? She looked at me, then at the screen, then back at me, before pointing excitedly at “Xiaoyu’s” avatar on the screen and exclaiming, “You’re ‘Netfish’?! I’m ‘Xiaoyu’!”

　　 Suddenly, my mind went completely blank. I stood up, looked at her, and she looked at me. The person I had longed for day and night was suddenly right in front of me! For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. When I came to my senses and realized it was real, my heart surged like a raging sea, like a stampede of horses. I couldn’t help but reach out and pull her tightly into my arms…

　　 The whole world seemed to have ceased to exist; it was as if only the two of us remained. Her arms were wrapped around my waist, her chin resting on my shoulder. Our faces, our bodies, were pressed tightly together, and our hearts pounded rapidly, almost intertwined…

　　 After a long while, we calmed down a bit. I pulled her to sit on the bed next to me. She nestled in my arms, her head resting on my arm, her face still flushed with excitement, yet also filled with shyness. We both recalled how we first met online and the funny things that happened in our QQ chats. When she talked about her husband, her eyes dimmed. She said that in the first few years of their marriage, her husband treated her quite well, but after he moved to another place, he gradually changed. He often didn’t come home for meals, and when he did come home, they rarely had a proper conversation.

　　 At first, she thought her husband was just too busy with work after being transferred to a new location. But later, he often didn’t come home all night, and sometimes when he did, he smelled of an unfamiliar perfume. They argued about it several times, but each time, he had many excuses. She asked me, “Are all men like this? Once they’re doing better, they start acting recklessly.” This was an awkward question for me; it really does happen in today’s society, but I couldn’t exactly say “yes” to her! I said, “Perhaps the director really is very busy. If you try to understand him more, things might get better.”

　　 To escape the awkwardness, I changed the subject: “Hey, didn’t you say you have a son? Where’s he?” Mentioning her son, her brow relaxed. She said he was over seven years old, almost in second grade, but because the place had just been renovated, they hadn’t had time to transfer him to a nearby school yet, so he was temporarily staying at their old house with her recently retired mother-in-law. She said her son was very mischievous; he’d slashed the sofa in their old house with a knife; he’d covered the walls with colored pencils of airplanes and cannons; and so on.