The Tapestry of Pleasure

Sometimes, I wonder at the chances life takes with me. If it were to confront me with my deepest shames, would I embrace them as a gift, or would I crumble and lose myself? There is no way Life—or whatever force weaves the threads of my destiny—can know how I might react. It is a dangerous game it plays with me.

Life rolled the dice with my sanity when I received an offer to transfer from my mediocre university in a struggling country to a prestigious liberal arts college in Canada. I had always known I was a good student, and I believed I deserved better than the rote learning my professors had trained me to accept. I longed for the freedom to think, to research, to feel part of the modern world.

Yet, I was ashamed of those aspirations. So much so that I had told no one—not my parents, not my friends—about my application. I had received a few rejections, but somehow, this college had taken a liking to me and offered a scholarship that covered a portion of the costs.

After weeks of fervent discussions with my parents and meticulous calculations, I finally accepted their offer. I began planning for the September ahead.

That summer, I worked tirelessly—teaching English at a camp, taking on every tutoring session I could find, saving every bit I earned. I knew I would need it.

By the time September arrived, I was exhausted. I just hoped everything would be all right when I landed in Canada. I slept through most of the flight, gripped by the kind of fatigue that only comes after crossing the finish line of a marathon. But in truth, it was only the beginning of a year that would change my life

--

Life rolled the dice again when I finally made it to campus—forty hours of flights, buses, and taxis later. I had crossed half the world, yet somehow, the sun was still shining.

I was assigned a room in one of the campus residences. My first thought upon stepping inside was that it was not what I had hoped for. The building was old—not quite in disrepair, but certainly not well-maintained either. Just… dated. I feared this would be just like my previous university, only in a different language. The thought unsettled me. I knew I’d be sharing a room, which worried me even more. I hadn’t been able to choose my roommate. I’d be living with a stranger.

I met her soon after my arrival. She, too, had just crossed half the world. We were both exhausted, so we barely spoke. I learned her name was Jia, she had come from China, or London, or some other exotic place, her narrative was all very convoluted. I unpacked in silence. She did the same. Then we both collapsed into our beds.

The next morning, I woke to the floor shaking. For a brief, groggy moment, I thought there was an earthquake. That was when I truly met Jia.

A force of nature—though not an earthquake.

She stood by her bed, headphones on, a Zumba video playing on her laptop. And she was dancing. Or at least, I had to have faith that was what she was attempting. From where I lay, it looked more like a chaotic flailing of limbs, a battle between body and beat that she was decisively losing.

She wore a tiny pair of shorts and a simple sports top. Despite the way the floor trembled beneath her, she was surprisingly petite—no taller than 160 cm, with a lean, athletic build. Her toned arms and legs hinted at strength, but her movements suggested otherwise. The snug fit of her top made it clear she had little in the way of curves, but she carried herself with the confidence of someone who had never considered that to be an issue.

I groaned, rolling over to face the wall.

Jia must have noticed me stirring because she pulled off her headphones and grinned. "Oh, you’re awake! Good morning!" she said, breathless but beaming.

"What… are you doing?" I mumbled.

"Zumba!" she declared proudly, wiping sweat from her brow. "It’s my morning routine. Gets the blood flowing!"

I stared at her, still half-asleep. "It’s six in the morning."

"Exactly! Best time to start the day!"

I buried my face in my pillow. "We are going to have a problem."

Jia only laughed and hit play again. The music resumed, and so did her… dancing.

Life had rolled the dice. And apparently, I had landed on chaos.

—

The first few days felt like being caught in a tornado of emotions and discoveries. Everything was new, overwhelming, and just slightly out of reach. I had to navigate a complex environment—a maze of lecture halls, libraries, and hidden study spots. The cafeteria had its own unspoken rules, and the sheer number of student clubs made me dizzy. Between my first classes and the constant sense of being lost, I spent my days in a cycle of wonder and quiet panic.

I also got to know Jia better. She was a first-year student, originally from China but with a high school diploma from the UK. Her crisp British accent and boundless energy made her effortlessly magnetic—she pulled people in without trying. But in the privacy of our room, she was unfiltered, unconcerned with polished appearances. Jia was unapologetically herself.

Apart from her morning Zumba sessions, she cycled through hobbies at an alarming rate. One evening, she decided she would take up knitting. “I’m making a sweater,” she announced, holding up a ball of yarn with the conviction of someone about to start a lifelong passion. She worked on it for hours, and then—just as suddenly—it was abandoned, never to be mentioned again. A few days later, painting became her next grand pursuit. She gathered brushes, tubes of acrylics, and a proper easel, only to leave her lone canvas half-painted, leaning forgotten atop her shelves.

She was endlessly curious, asking questions with the kind of relentless energy you’d expect from a kid hyped up on sugar. She wanted to know everything—about my home country, my family, my childhood. I explained the political landscape of Kazakhstan, the family drama between my mom and my aunt, and the traditions I grew up with.

Jia listened with wide-eyed fascination, then grinned. “That’s so cool. You’re basically the protagonist of a serious novel.”

I snorted. “A very boring novel.”

“Not at all! It’s got political intrigue, family feuds—next, you’ll tell me there’s a secret heir.”

I rolled my eyes. “I wish. That would make me rich.”

Jia laughed, then wandered over to my side of the room, pulling one of my sweaters from the chair. She held it up against herself. “Can I wear this?”

I raised an eyebrow. “It’s going to be huge on you.”

“That’s the point.” She pulled it over her head, the sleeves hanging past her hands. She grinned, striking a dramatic pose. “Fashion.”

I shook my head but couldn’t help smiling.

Maybe life hadn’t dealt me such a bad card this time.

—

As the first week flew by, I grew more comfortable with the campus. The buildings felt less intimidating, and my dorm room started to feel like home.

Jia and I decorated a little—some fairy lights over our desks, a string of Polaroids forming a memory board. Most of the pictures were hers, but since she often included me in her plans, I was in quite a few of them.

We also became more at ease with each other. At first, we changed in the bathroom and stuck to an unspoken sense of modesty, but soon, that faded. It wasn’t long before one of us would walk out of the shower in just a towel, and neither of us thought much of it. I had never been particularly shy around other girls, and it seemed she wasn’t either.

Our conversations grew deeper too. She was intrigued by my uneventful love life, while I listened, fascinated, by her stories of romance and fleeting attractions.

One night, she came back late and collapsed onto her bed with a dramatic sigh.

"So?" I asked, glancing up from my phone. "How was the date?"

She groaned. "A disaster. He was hot, don’t get me wrong. But my God, his jokes? Painful."

I laughed. "That bad?"

"Worse. Imagine someone trying to flirt with knock-knock jokes. In 2024.”

I cringed. "Oh no."

"But…" she grinned mischievously. "I still went back to his place."

I hesitated. "Oh."

Jia sat up, running a hand through her hair. "You wanna hear details?"

"Uh—" I hesitated, but she was already launching into it.

Apparently, things had escalated quickly. The guy had undressed, and she painted a vivid picture, from his toned abs to his tragically mismatched socks… And his large appendage, which he enjoyed whirling around. 

"And then?" I asked, bracing myself.

She was quiet for a moment. Then, to my surprise, her voice wavered. "I left."

I frowned. "Why?"

She bit her lip, looking away. "I don’t know. I always do. It’s like… the moment things get real, I just panic."

I sat up. "Panic how?"

She took a shaky breath. "I act confident, right? Like I know what I’m doing. But I don’t. And when it gets to that point, when a guy actually wants something from me, I just… freeze. And I leave."

For the first time, Jia looked vulnerable. The girl who had always seemed so self-assured was now wiping away a stray tear.

"I guess I’m not as strong as I make people think I am," she whispered.

I reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. "You don’t have to be," I said. "Not all the time."

She gave me a small, grateful smile before turning onto her side, facing the wall. I guess I was relieved she was safe and sound in or cozy nook. As I slowly drifted to sleep, my mind went to this guy and his perfect abs, perhaps even a bit lower. I guess a part of me also wished I had been in her place. I too, however, would probably have been too scared to go further. 

—

I woke up in the middle of the night, startled by a feeling I hadn’t experienced in a while. I suppose the whirlwind of the semester’s start—the stress, the newness of everything—had kept certain urges at bay. But now, at 3 a.m., with nothing to distract me, they came rushing back all at once.

Even now, as I try to put this into words, I struggle to name the feeling precisely. It wasn’t just arousal—though that was certainly part of it. It was a restless, insistent hunger, a feverish awareness coursing through my body, electrifying my senses. My skin felt hypersensitive, the weight of the blankets, the soft brush of fabric, all sending tiny sparks through me. My thoughts, too, had taken a turn, filled with images of nameless, faceless men, their touch, their lips, their weight…their dicks…pressing into me.

I turned my head slightly, my gaze drifting toward Jia’s bed. She was curled up, motionless, her breathing deep and steady. Watching her, I was suddenly reminded of all the nights I had lain awake like this as a teenager, glancing at my sister’s bed in the dark, silently willing her to stay asleep while I indulged in secret relief.

Did Jia ever feel this way? Did she ever lie awake in the dark, gripped by the same unbearable need? A part of me believed that most people did, that this was just human nature. But another part—one shaped by years of feeling out of sync with the "cool" girls, the effortless ones like Jia—whispered that maybe this was something only awkward people like me wrestled with.

I hesitated, considering waiting until tomorrow, until I was alone. But the ache was too strong, the urge too insistent. Years of sharing a room had made me an expert in discretion. Carefully, I let my hand wander beneath the sheets, fingertips ghosting over my skin, teasing at the edges of pleasure. The tension in my body tightened, coiled. Every sensation felt heightened after so much time without release.

My breathing was slow, measured—controlled. I couldn't risk making a sound. Still, I knew I couldn't draw this out for long. My body was already trembling, and the thought of dragging it out only made the tension more unbearable.

Turning onto my stomach, I buried my face into the pillow, stealing another glance at Jia before pressing my hand into just the right spot. Four or five precise strokes, and I would be there.

One. A shudder rolled through me.
Two. My toes curled.
Three. My breath hitched—so close.
Four. The wave crested.
Five.

I froze, my entire body clenched tight, my breath caught in my throat. Then, the release. A silent, shuddering gasp, followed by a sharp intake of air—too loud.

Jia stirred.

My heart pounded as I went utterly still, watching for any sign of wakefulness. But after a moment, she settled again, her breathing even.

Thank God.

The need still hummed faintly in my body, a lingering echo, but I had given in just enough to ease the ache. Slowly, my heartbeat steadied, my limbs relaxed, and before I knew it, I was drifting back to sleep.

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