Female teacher's account

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-23

University life was monotonous and peaceful. The school didn't schedule many classes for me each day, and my days were leisurely and carefree, even devoid of passion. But when I faced my beautiful, voluptuous female students, I couldn't help but glance at them a few more times. In them, I could always find a reflection of my younger self, a glimpse of my past. I had also been through their age, with my own passionate first love and unforgettable sexual experiences. Yet, after years of relationships with various men, I am still single. There are many well-meaning people at school who always try to introduce me to a boyfriend I could start a family with, but I always politely decline with a noncommittal smile. Some male teachers at school also try to get close to me, but I find no passion in them. Some female students ask me: "Teacher, aren't you lonely?" I always answer them like this: "Isn't being alone quite nice?"
Honestly, how can someone not be lonely? Whenever the night is quiet, I always like to reminisce about the past, those men who have passed through my life like a revolving lantern. They once brought me passion and sexual pleasure; of course, they also broke my heart and left me utterly despondent. As a normal woman, I also have sexual needs, and I usually resolve these needs through masturbation. I "die" very quickly when I masturbate; in about two or three minutes, I'll pass out, and when I open my eyes, the window is already white, and a new day has begun.
In this long post, I want to talk about my
sexual encounters with one man after another. I'm the kind of girl who became aware of sex relatively early.
From a very young age, I found a way to make myself happy with my own hands. Later, after reading about it in a health book, I learned that this method is called "masturbation." Although I didn't know this very professional term at the time, it didn't stop me from bringing myself pleasure with my fingers. At night, after finishing my homework, lying in my warm and comfortable bed, I would always secretly stroke my clitoris behind my parents' backs. That electric-like feeling brought me extraordinary sensations, to the point that I later became very addicted to it, like an opium addiction.
My first love was a boy named Amao. We went to school together from elementary school through middle school and high school. He liked me a lot, and of course, I liked him a lot too. In our second year of high school, Amao took me to his house; his parents were at work. Amao wanted to kiss me, pressing his lips to mine. At that time, I didn't know what kissing was. Amao said, "Give me your tongue," and I obediently put my tongue in his mouth. My first kiss felt fresh and exciting; I felt hot all over, and I was also wet down there. When Amao reached out and touched my breasts, I felt a surge of excitement and involuntarily moaned. Next, Amao lifted my clothes and took my nipple into his mouth. I was both ashamed and anxious, but Amao wouldn't let go, like a dog with a bone in its mouth. I almost fainted from his sucking. After a while, Amao
tried to take off my pants, but I refused to let go, not because I didn't want to, but because I was afraid. Amao was adamant, and in no time at all, he stripped me naked like a plucked chicken. I glanced at Amao's genitals; his penis was so thick, completely unlike any I'd ever seen on a young boy's penis. Amao rubbed his penis against my genitals, trying to find an opening to insert it. He accidentally touched my clitoris, and I felt a jolt of electricity run through my body. A gush of fluid shot out from my vagina, spraying onto Amao's chest. Amao exclaimed, "You peed?!" I didn't understand then, and I was quite shy, not understanding why I peed at that particular moment. Amao used his penis to find my vagina, but I grabbed that hard, iron-like thing, refusing to let him in. He tricked me into letting it in just a little bit. Before this, I had no idea what sex was like, thinking that a little bit would do, and if it was uncomfortable, I could ask him to take it out. Amao inserted the head of his penis and asked if it hurt. I blushed and said it didn't. So he inserted it a little further, and instead of feeling pain, I felt a great sense of enjoyment, even involuntarily moaning. Encouraged by me, Ah Mao got more energetic, thrusting in and out forcefully, but after a few strokes, he let out a few howls like a pig being slaughtered, then collapsed on top of me, motionless. Later, I learned that this was called ejaculation.
Ah Mao hurriedly grabbed some toilet paper to clean up the mess. He looked at my genitals and said, "I've heard that you bleed the first time you have sex. Why didn't you bleed?" I knew nothing of this, and I barely heard a word he said. Suddenly, I burst into tears, crying uncontrollably. Ah Mao panicked, saying, "Why are you crying? I didn't say anything!"
I left Ah Mao's house when his father was about to get off work. My feelings at that moment were incredibly complex, and even today I can't describe my inner thoughts. I don't know if I was happy to become a woman or sad; I can't say! Leaving Ah Mao's house, my steps were light, and my heart was joyful. To my surprise, interacting with boys could be so enjoyable.
I stepped into my house humming a little tune. My parents work in the provincial song and dance troupe; my father is the principal violinist, and my mother is a solo singer. I inherited my mother's genes and have a naturally good voice, which is why they chose for me to apply to the arts department in college. My mother was cooking, and my father was sitting in the living room drinking tea and watching TV. When my father saw me, he said, "My daughter seems to be in a good mood today! Don't go running around like that; take some time to practice your violin and your voice to prepare for your exams." I agreed, put down my schoolbag, and went into the bathroom. In the mirror, I saw my face was flushed, as if the passion with Ah Mao hadn't faded yet. I absolutely couldn't let my parents know about sleeping with Ah Mao; they would beat me to death. Of course, they wouldn't know anything about it anyway.
After lights out that night, I recalled everything that had happened with Amao that afternoon, and my face flushed and my heart pounded. After all, it was my first time, and it was such a wonderful first time. No discomfort or pain, in my mind, was a thing of the past. I drifted off to sleep with sweet memories, and after falling asleep, I had many pleasant and comforting dreams.
The next day at school, when I saw Amao, I deliberately avoided looking him in the eye. Amao seemed a little guilty, thinking I was angry. During break, he slipped a note into my bag, meaning he was sorry and that he wouldn't do anything to upset me again if I disagreed. Little did he know, I not only enjoyed doing that, but I was also very willing to do it.
After school that afternoon, Amao followed me until we were outside the school gate. Only then did he walk up to me and invite me to his house. My face darkened: "Why would I go to your house? Haven't you hurt me once enough?" Amao was frightened, his mouth sticking shut, unable to speak. I chuckled inwardly; this silly boy, so easily scared. However, I went to Amao's house again. Amao took a DVD out of his drawer and asked if I had ever seen porn. I said no. He asked if I wanted to watch it, and I said if I wanted to, then I could. Amao played a DVD made by a private company. Later I learned that this company specialized in making porn, and their porn was indeed of high quality, having won numerous awards in this genre. The film was incredibly realistic; you could even see the fine hairs on the actors' bodies. The female lead was beautiful, the male lead was dashing, and especially their genitals, which were presented to me in exquisite detail. It was the first time I had ever watched such a film, and I was very excited. I felt my lower body twitching and I felt wet. As I watched further, I felt like I was going to faint. Amao was standing behind me at some point, and one of his hands slipped inside my collar, gently kneading my nipples, sometimes the left, sometimes the right. He carried me to the bed, undressed me, and I was almost completely unaware. He mounted me, and when he penetrated me, I immediately felt excited. I closed my eyes and moaned unrestrainedly, my beautiful voice playing its full potential on the bed. Amao, afraid I was moaning too loudly, kept trying to cover my mouth with his, but it wasn't enough.
That day, Amao and I made love twice, the second time lasting even longer. Afterwards, I was practically paralyzed on the bed. If Amao hadn't urged me, saying his mother would be back soon, I don't know how long I would have lay there.
Making love with Amao was like a child tasting the sweetness of honey; from then on, I couldn't stop. Every few days, we'd have a feast in bed, to the point that Amao's face became thinner and sallow. As a girl, many people often "have their eyes on" me; especially as a girl with some looks, the "eyes" are probably even more numerous. To this day, I still wouldn't dare say I'm a beautiful girl, but I can proudly say: my appearance is probably not bad.
What I didn't expect was that my homeroom teacher was "having his eye on" me and had designs on me. My homeroom
teacher's surname was Wang. After graduating from the Chinese Department of a teachers' college, he was assigned to teach Chinese at our high school, and had only been here for three years. He was tall, with a fair complexion, and very polite. In particular, he taught very well, speaking standard Mandarin, and every word he uttered was so pleasant to listen to, like a broadcaster. Later, after getting to know him better, I learned that he had been in the school's amateur drama troupe. He went to university from a rural high school, embodying the diligence, studiousness, and frugality typical of rural students. He said that before joining the school drama troupe, his Mandarin was extremely non-standard, even heavily accented with his local dialect. At the time, the school was putting on a play, and his appearance perfectly matched the male lead, except his Mandarin wasn't very good. The drama troupe leader came up with an idea: an A/B role system. Mr. Wang was designated as the B role, meaning he could only step in if the A role had an emergency. The A role was from the city, spoke excellent Mandarin, but was less attractive. His co-star was also from the city and had worked as an amateur radio host; naturally, her Mandarin was superb. For some reason, she fell for him, saying that acting with him was exciting, and wanted to "help" him. In her spare time, she tutored him in Mandarin, meticulously reviewing his lines word by word, demanding high standards from him. Our teacher, Mr. Wang, is an incredibly intelligent man. After much thought and effort, every line he uttered in the play was perfectly in tune. When the student council and the Youth League were reviewing the program and finalizing the cast, they immediately decided to cast Mr. Wang as the male lead. Mr. Wang rehearsed even more diligently and became an overnight sensation at the school's May Day arts performance, becoming a "star" in the eyes of many students. Some younger students even brought their notebooks to ask him for autographs.
Mr. Wang's popularity among students also stemmed from his meticulous lesson preparation and delivery. He could recite all the texts in our textbooks, whether in vernacular or classical Chinese, flawlessly. This was simply unbelievable to me and my classmates; how difficult it was for us to memorize a text! When Mr. Wang read aloud to us, it wasn't just reading, it was performing; the classroom became his stage. We were all proud to have such a wonderful teacher!
Mr. Wang first praised me because of one of my essays. Looking back now, my essay was nothing special, but after Mr. Wang's comments, it was on par with those of a contemporary famous writer. My interest in learning Chinese grew stronger from that moment on. I followed the teacher's instructions completely, memorizing what needed to be memorized and constantly practicing writing in my diary.
I had met Mr. Wang's girlfriend; she was a very beautiful girl with a graceful demeanor. She taught foreign languages at another middle school 15 kilometers away from our school. One afternoon, I saw Mr. Wang and his girlfriend walking on campus. The moment I saw her, I was stunned by her beauty and felt happy that Mr. Wang had found such a wonderful girlfriend.
It was after Chinese class one day that I handed Mr. Wang a manuscript I had just written for the school newspaper, asking him to give me some pointers and revisions. Mr. Wang smiled slightly, tucked the manuscript into his lesson plan, and took it away. That afternoon, Mr. Wang asked me to come to his dormitory/office. I knew he wanted to talk to me about the manuscript. Sure enough, that was what Mr. Wang was talking about. He praised me again and handed me the revised manuscript. I glanced at it; Mr. Wang had made many corrections in red ink, showing he cared about me as a student. As
I was about to leave with the manuscript, Mr. Wang said, "What's the rush? Let's chat for a bit." Much time has passed, and the specific details are now blurry, but I remember him being very excited, his facial expressions incredibly vivid. Then, he pulled me into his arms, kissed my face, and even fondled my breasts outside my clothes. I was incredibly shy; I had never imagined such close contact with the teacher I respected. While touching me, he said he liked me and uttered sweet nothings I only vaguely understood, making my heart race and my face burn. Then, he slipped his hand inside my clothes and touched my breasts. I don't know about other women, but my breasts were like a switch for desire; once that was controlled, I went limp. At that moment, I went limp in his arms, letting him do as he pleased. When he reached down to touch my private parts, I cried out "No, no!" but I had no strength to stop him.
I don't even know how Teacher Wang got my pants off. He placed me on the edge of the bed and brought his mouth—the same mouth he usually used to "preach," "instruct," and "resolve doubts"—to my vulva, gently kissing it. Then, he licked my clitoris. At that moment, something embarrassing happened: after a shudder, my vagina started squirting, spraying water all over Teacher Wang's body and face. Ignoring this, Teacher Wang pulled down his pants, took out his already hard penis, and gently entered me. Because of my previous sexual experiences with Amao, I felt incredibly good when he entered me, moaning and groaning. Teacher Wang's technique in bed was better than Amao's; sometimes light, sometimes heavy, sometimes deep, sometimes shallow, driving me wild. When Teacher Wang ejaculated, he pulled out and ejaculated onto my vulva, afraid I'd get pregnant.
After that, Teacher Wang helped me put on my clothes and changed his wet clothes as well. During this time, I never dared to look him in the eye. As he saw me off, he patted my head and said two words: "Love-seeker!"
Because of preparing for the college entrance exam, my sex life with Amao became sporadic; it wasn't that he didn't want to, but that I wouldn't. Amao, that little lecher, was young, but all he thought about as an adult was sex, and his academic performance was predictably poor. My first time having sex with Teacher Wang was also the last, because he got married soon after. Before marriage, his wife was gentle and loving towards him, but after marriage, she was very strict with him, and he no longer had the opportunity to cheat.
Looking back now, Teacher Wang's wife must have been a woman with a very strong sex drive, her demands on Teacher Wang were endless. Ever since his marriage, Teacher Wang hadn't been as energetic as before, often showing signs of listlessness and fatigue. Once, he let us study on our own, and while he was looking at a mock exam paper in class, he actually fell asleep and started snoring. The students in the class secretly laughed. Amao told me after class, "Marriage isn't a good thing for men; look how tired Teacher Wang is." I glared at him. "Mind your own business. She's a teacher now. Why are you meddling in her affairs?" Amao smiled sheepishly and made a face at me.
The day after the college entrance exam, Amao clung to me, refusing to leave. He said the exam was over and we should relax, so he wanted to go out to eat with me. I knew what he was thinking, and since I was also a little itchy, I went with him. After dinner, he told me that his aunt had just moved into a new house, and he had a key. He asked if I wanted to go see it. That rascal Amao, he wouldn't put any effort into studying, but when it came to plotting against me, his head was full of mischief. I didn't want to expose him, so I pretended to be happy and said, "Sure, I love seeing other people's new houses."
It was only two bus stops away from Amao's aunt's house. It was a newly built residential area with over a dozen buildings and unique landscaping—artificial hills, a lake, corridors, everything imaginable. His aunt's house was beautifully decorated; the living room, bathroom, and kitchen were all meticulously designed, a world of difference compared to our old house. Amao's aunt runs a clothing business, and his uncle runs a building materials business; they've made quite a bit of money in recent years, so living in such a nice house is perfectly reasonable. Amao showed me his cousin's bedroom; although it wasn't large, it was so beautiful, and just one look made you feel warm and cozy.
In his cousin's bedroom, Amao suddenly grabbed me and kissed me without a word. I pushed him away, saying, "Be careful your aunt's family comes back." Amao said they were all busy with business and wouldn't be back until evening. Summer clothes are thin, and Amao unbuttoned my shirt, opened his mouth wide, and took my nipple into his mouth. I felt dizzy and collapsed onto the bed. Amao, like a paparazzi, licked one nipple after another, his paws never idle, groping my body until I was panting and moaning. Amao's hand probed my genitals, mockingly saying, "You said you wouldn't, but look how wet you are down there," making me feel embarrassed. Because we had already been intimate, the pre-coital procedures were simplified. We stripped naked and embraced. Amao's penis pressed against my inner thigh, hard and hot, intensifying my sexual desire. Amao kissed my eyes, my face, gently biting my earlobe, kissing me from head to toe. His mouth lingered longest below me, his nimble tongue teasing my inner thighs, labia, and clitoris. I writhed like a snake, squeezing my legs together tightly. Amao persisted, his lips closing to take my clitoris into his mouth. I felt like I'd touched a high-voltage wire; my vagina tightened, and I started squirting again. This time, the duration, range, and volume of the squirting startled Amao. During the squirting, I experienced continuous pleasure. Amao, already impatient, climbed on top of me, thrusting forward, and his penis entered me, pumping vigorously.
After the first round, Amao hugged me tightly. He said, "Why do you always pee when we do it? It gets everywhere wet." I said, "I don't know, I try to hold it in, but I can't." Amao said, "Is this a disease?" I said I didn't know. Of the several boyfriends I dated later, they all said that my squirting during sex was a kind of illness. One boyfriend even called a radio station to ask how to cure his girlfriend urinating during sex. It wasn't until I met a "wise" boyfriend that he said it was normal. I lived in this "pathological" state for many years, without knowing if it was a disease or not.
That afternoon, Amao and I had sex six times, and each time I had an orgasm from beginning to end. Although sex was enjoyable, it was difficult to clean up the mess on Amao's cousin's bed. Amao hung the wet sheets on the balcony to dry, and I said I would go first and he could clean up the house. Amao agreed.
When I went downstairs, my legs suddenly felt weak, and I stumbled. Look at how much I did!
During the time I was waiting for my college admission notice, I was anxious and uneasy. The only way to relieve the anxiety was to find another activity that I was interested in to dilute or dispel it.
During this period, Amao was the person I was closest to. My parents went on a "heart-to-heart" trip with the dance troupe to factories, rural areas, and grassroots communities, which created an excellent opportunity for Ah Mao and me to spend time together. He came to my house every day, just like going to work, and each time he brought a pornographic film. Whether I liked it or not, he'd put it in the DVD player and play it. Maybe it was because I watched too much porn back then that I became wary; now I resolutely refuse to watch it. I find it too boring, a pure waste of time and energy. It's all the same old stuff, nothing interesting. But it would be a lie to say that porn didn't have any impact on me or arouse my desire. Ah Mao and I often ended up together while watching it. Our sofa, carpet, and bed became our battlegrounds for lovemaking. During my parents' week-long "heart-to-heart" trip, my home was filled with lust.
I had read books about sex in my first year of high school and still occasionally, and the possibility of pregnancy from sex had always been my biggest concern. At first, Ah Mao and I were quite cautious, but after several times without incident, the tension eased. What's worse is Amao. He always said it was nothing, that he knew how to control it, which put my mind at ease. But
then it happened. During that time, I felt extremely unwell. I, who used to have a good appetite, suddenly lost it. I love braised pork trotters, and when Amao bought them for me, I felt nauseous just looking at them. I told Amao, "Oh no, I might be pregnant." Amao's face turned pale with fright, and he kept saying, "How could this be? How could this be?" I glared at him. "Why not?!" Amao stammered, "What should we do?" Seeing Amao's panicked state, I actually laughed. "What should we do? We can't just have the baby now!"
My periods are usually regular, but this time they were irregular, and my symptoms were getting stronger. The unplanned pregnancy put me in an awkward situation. I had to suppress my discomfort while pretending to be happy in front of my parents. Amao also carried a heavy burden of worry, and the smile disappeared from his face. One day when he came to my house, he was so preoccupied with what to do on the way that he got sideswiped by a tricycle and scraped his knee. I told him to just talk things out, there's no use panicking, and if it really came down to it, we could just go to a small clinic and get it done. Amao, being a man in a pinch, said we couldn't go to a small clinic; if something went wrong, it would be even more troublesome.
Amao told his aunt about my pregnancy and asked her to help him figure something out. His aunt wasn't angry with him; she even joked, saying, "This proves my Amao is okay!" His aunt had a friend who was a doctor in the obstetrics and gynecology department of a hospital. She made a phone call, and Amao and I went to the hospital. We were itching to have sex, but we didn't dare to "make any rash moves." We'd heard that after an abortion, you have to wait until your next period before you can have sex. Amao was anxious too, but it was no use!
Not long after, my university acceptance letter arrived. The vocal music program at the art department of the university I'd longed for accepted me, and my parents were overjoyed. My family of four (my younger sister's name is Guan Xiaoyu) has already started planning my future. My dad says that if I study hard, I should go to Beijing, join a professional arts troupe, and become a singer. My mom disagrees, saying that it's better for a girl to have a stable job and not strive for too much. She says she's tired of working in a professional arts troupe and doesn't want her daughter to follow in her footsteps. If I want, becoming a teacher would be a safer option. My mom is the kind of parent who's very protective of her children; she mainly doesn't want me to be too far from home. In our family, my mom is the one who makes the final decision, and after hearing her words, my dad didn't say anything more. My mom told my sister, "Xiaoyu, you should learn from your sister. Look how successful she is; she even got into university. You have to work hard!" My sister is also quite talented; her voice is even better than mine, and she's one of the best in the children's palace choir.
My entering university is a lot of pressure for A Mao. He knows there are many temptations in university, and whether I can stay by his side is still unknown to him. He tried his best to please me, his attitude as humble as a servant. Actually, deep down, I still loved A-Mao. Because we had already been intimate, I was his, and regardless of his status, I would follow him for life. That was my true thought at the time, but as time went on, I found my thinking changing. Ultimately, after years of arduous love, we still couldn't be together. But that's another story.
A-Mao's parents specifically "summoned" me once. His father said, "You two love each other very much, and his mother and I fully support you, but you're still young and should focus your main energy on your careers." He criticized A-Mao as a disappointment, saying he hadn't even gotten into university, and that these days, what high school graduate would want him, etc. Then, his father added that he had already found A-Mao a job at a company, to work for a while, but at the end of the year he wanted him to join the army to train. He said the family's environment was too privileged, spoiling the child and not good for his development, etc.
Not long after I enrolled, A-Mao got a job at a real estate company thanks to his father's connections. The company mainly gave him a job because of his father's influence; his job consisted of answering phones, reading newspapers, and then chatting, eating, and playing cards with his cronies. He didn't learn many real skills, but he mastered most of the shady ways of the world.
I, on the other hand, had just entered a new environment, and everything here was incredibly attractive to me. Campus life unfolded before me like a whole new world. The students in my class came from all over the country, and those who had made it this far were all quite capable. We had large lectures and small classes every day, learning music theory and practicing vocalization. Although life was monotonous, it was fulfilling.
Although the school and my home were in the same city, I rarely went home, maybe once a month. I saw A-Mao less often; generally, if I didn't go to him, he wouldn't come to me.
At the end of that year, with his father's "help," Amao joined the army again. A few days before his departure, we met. During dinner, he drank some wine, his eyes red as he stared at me. I knew what he was thinking. After dinner, we went to his aunt's house, where we became one again. Amao thrust hard inside me, and after he ejaculated, he lay beside me and cried. He said the army was different from a company; it was strict, and it would be difficult to see each other in the future. He told me to always think of him. His emotions affected me, and I sobbed, "Don't worry, you will always be the person I love most, and no one can take me away from you."
Amao's emotions gradually calmed down. He said, "Once I join the army, you are my fiancée, and you become military property. No one can touch you casually." I said, "Then when you come back from the army, I will become a civilian." Amao laughed, "You're a dual-use talent!"
We burst into laughter. Amao's penis got hard again, and he rolled over and pounced on me
... After the test results came back, even though I was somewhat prepared, I was still terrified by the result—I was really pregnant. The doctor said I'd have to wait about 10 days for the procedure and come back then. Before I even left the hospital, I started sobbing. Amao was at a loss, wanting to comfort me but unable to find the right words, and he was so anxious he kept stamping his feet. Afterwards, I thought that this wasn't entirely Amao's fault. If I had insisted he didn't touch me, this wouldn't have happened. But when desire arises, how can either of us control it? This is life, this is existence, this is the endless drama that men and women of the world are forever enacting.
Before the abortion, I made a promise to my parents that my classmates were going on a three-day trip. My mother packed my things, repeatedly reminding me to be careful, and then went about her business. After the procedure, I stayed at Amao's aunt's house for three days. The food she cooked for me was incredibly delicious, and I suddenly had a huge appetite, eating until I was completely stuffed. Isn't it strange? When I had that little thing in my belly, I couldn't eat anything. But once it was gone, everything tasted delicious.
A week later, I fully recovered. Then, my heart started itching again, and I began to crave intimacy! At basic training camp, Amao sent me his first letter since arriving at the army. The letter was thick; in it, he poured out his longing for me, reminiscing about our meeting, getting to know each other, and falling in love. Although his handwriting wasn't beautiful, to my feverish self, it was a beautiful picture. I read it over and over again until I almost memorized it. During that time, waiting for Amao's letters became the main part of my university life. After the class monitor brought the newspapers back from the mailroom, I would always look through the pile of letters for Amao's. Seeing that familiar handwriting filled me with joy; if I didn't receive a letter from him, I would feel down for a day. Back then, telephone communication wasn't as convenient as it is now; letters were the best way.
When Amao was with me, although I loved him and enjoyed making love with him, I didn't really care. It wasn't until the geographical distance between us made me realize that he was definitely not someone dispensable in my life. I missed him, wanted to be with him all the time, wanted him to kiss me, to enter me. In the dormitory, late at night, I would again use my fingers to relieve myself.
After basic training, Amao was assigned to a military camp 300 kilometers away from where I was. Military discipline was strict, and he was a greenhorn, so there was no chance for him to ask for leave to come back and reunite with me. That year, during the May Day holiday, I went to his unit to see him.
The road from the provincial capital to where Amao was was difficult to travel; the long-distance bus traversed mountains and valleys, stopping frequently, and it took a whole day to reach Amao's unit. Before going to see Amao, I had already told him in a letter, so he was very much looking forward to it. It was exciting for the soldiers to have someone visit their family, and a beautiful girl visiting her boyfriend made them even more excited. A soldier, hearing I was looking for Amao, rushed towards a barracks, shouting, "Amao, someone's looking for you!"
I almost didn't recognize Amao; he was darker, thinner, and the arrogance of a city youth had subsided considerably. He grinned, revealing a mouthful of white teeth, and said somewhat embarrassedly, "You're here!" Was this the Amao I'd been thinking about day and night? Suddenly, he felt like a stranger; a distance had grown between us. But this distance quickly diminished as we reminisced about the past, until it vanished completely.
The army arranged a guest room for me. That night, Amao secretly slipped into my room and indulged his longing for me in my body. Strangely, despite expecting our reunion to be wonderful, I felt no pleasure, even a bit uncomfortable. Amao, like a greedy child, took me again and again, saying he was going crazy missing me, and if I didn't come, he'd be punished by the army just to go back and find me. I understood his feelings. Although I didn't derive pleasure from sex, knowing his needs, I gave in to him again and again. I don't remember how many times we did it that night, only that he wanted more every now and then, and I barely slept a wink.
Amao's platoon leader, hearing that I studied music in university, told me that there were few recreational activities in the army, and everyone felt bored. He suggested a party that evening to welcome me and showcase the talent of contemporary university students to the soldiers. I agreed without hesitation.
In those days, there were no accompaniment tapes, so several art enthusiasts in the army found simple instruments like the erhu, flute, and violin, practiced the five songs I was to sing, and performed for the soldiers that evening. I must say, during my nearly one year of university study, my singing skills improved rapidly. I was one of the top students in my department, so singing for these soldiers was no problem at all. After I finished singing the five songs I had prepared, nearly a hundred soldiers cheered and asked me to sing again. Unable to resist everyone's enthusiasm, I sang several more songs. While I was singing, I noticed the soldiers were staring at me with wide eyes. According to Amao afterward, it was the liveliest night in their barracks. After the performance, several soldiers came with notebooks asking for my autograph. I smiled shyly and said I wasn't a singer, why should I sign anything? They said, "In our hearts, you're more of a star than any singer! You're like a lark that flew into our barracks! You have to come again!"
That night of the party, I was quite excited and couldn't sleep at all. I made love with Amao repeatedly, and perhaps because I was in a good mood, I even experienced a slight pleasure.
After staying at Amao's unit for two days, it was time for me to return to school. Amao's comrades saw me off with reluctance. Amao asked his squad leader for leave, saying he would take me to town to catch the long-distance bus. In town, Amao booked a 15-yuan room at a small inn, saying it was to say goodbye. Upon entering the room, Amao, as if the world were ending, eagerly entered me, tears streaming down his face as he made love, his tears falling onto my chest. My memories of university life are warm and beautiful.
In university, I witnessed countless men and women chasing each other—chasing love, chasing the satisfaction of desire, chasing tangible and intangible things; male students chasing female students, female students chasing male students, students chasing teachers, teachers chasing students, and so on. In these games of pursuit played out in university, I was merely an observer. It wasn't that I wasn't interested in such games, but rather that I was too busy to join in. Because Amao was my everything, my love and sex. To see me
more often, Amao, through his father's connections, changed military camps three times. This last one was the closest to me; it only took me an hour to travel from the university to see him. After Amao became familiar with military life, he gradually became more shrewd. He would either ask for leave to visit his family or take sick leave, always finding a way to come back and be with me. After he came back, he often came to the school to see me in his military uniform. After he came so many times, my classmates all knew that I was taken and that my owner was a soldier in the army. So no one dared to touch me, this "military item".
Ah Mao's father, who held some power, was already considering our future marriage. He had prepared an apartment in the city center, done some simple renovations, and Ah Mao would stay there when he came back. Of course, I was always there to keep Ah Mao company through the long nights. It turned out that Ah Mao and I often made love in the apartment he shared with his parents. Once, due to carelessness, Ah Mao's mother discovered semen stains on the bed. Being an experienced woman, she knew what it was and gave Ah Mao a good scolding. Ah Mao's parents knew that Ah Mao and I were inseparable, so they turned a blind eye and let us be. Besides, Ah Mao's parents were very satisfied and even proud that a soldier could find a college student girlfriend like me. In that apartment that belonged to us, Ah Mao and I often made love until we were completely exhausted and ecstatic. I would "die" in the throes of orgasm and then wake up after a brief respite; it was truly a life-and-death experience. Our revolutionary soldier, Amao, embodying the spirit of our army—fearing neither hardship nor death—tirelessly toiled on my plump body, sometimes panting, sometimes drenched in sweat, yet he never complained of "bitterness" or "tiredness." He would often lean against me, like a child pleading, saying, "I love your body, I can't live without you." He had reached the point of infatuation with me; my life couldn't be without him.
Amao, the revolutionary soldier, became increasingly audacious. He told his father he was returning to the army, and his father packed a bag of expensive cigarettes and liquor—gifts others had given him—into his service to smooth things over in the army, hoping to "get" into the Party sooner or have more positive things written in his file when he left. Amao, however, sold all these things cheaply to small shops, using the "funds" for our pleasure-seeking. He and I dared not live in our own house anymore; if his father came to check on us, we'd be in big trouble. He rented a room in a remote little hotel and would have me come over at night to continue our blissful sex life. Revolutionary soldier A-Mao always managed to get sick leave slips through various channels, then apply for leave from the army repeatedly. A-Mao's superiors had all received favors from him or asked his father for favors, so they were lenient with him. While this was very detrimental to A-Mao's development, it provided him with convenient access to sexual pleasure. The most outrageous time A-Mao extended his sick leave for over 100 days, and during those 100 days, I was always there for him. A-Mao didn't come home for several months, and his parents thought he was doing well in the army, secretly praising their son. Little did they know, A-Mao spent his days among a group of idle old men, listening to their conversations, playing cards, chess, and mahjong, completely immersing himself in the lives of ordinary people. A-Mao, from a privileged family and never lacking money, was like Song Jiang, the righteous hero, generously giving away his cigarettes to everyone he engaged in entertainment with, earning him a warm welcome and support. If he didn't come one day, they would still miss him. When A-Mao told me this, I teased him, "You're truly a soldier of the people!" A-Mao replied, "Yes, a soldier of the people must serve the people." After the day ended and night fell, the only thing the revolutionary soldier A-Mao did was await my arrival, and then we would consummate
our relationship. Through A-Mao's constant stimulation, my sexual desire naturally grew stronger and stronger, until finally, like an opium addict, one time wasn't enough, I needed another. Even A-Mao, though seemingly made of iron, couldn't resist the modern female college student's eagerness to find me. Back when pagers were popular and expensive, the revolutionary soldier A-Mao generously provided me with one. My pager is exclusively for A-Mao's use. Whenever it beeps, it means A-Mao is thinking about the close bond between the military and the people.

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