My parents' philandering history

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My mother was only nineteen when she became pregnant with me. She was a city girl, yet she got together with my father, a countryman, which was not only perplexing at the time but also caused a huge uproar. However, no one told me how my parents eventually resolved the issue; I only know that they eventually got married.

By the time I was three, my mother's relationship with her family had improved, and she had found a good job teaching at the No. 2 High School in the city. However, my father stubbornly refused to go to the city with her, so my mother and I stayed in the city, while my father remained in the countryside, and they began a period of long-distance relationship. Every weekend, either my father would come over or my mother would go to the city. Although there were some disagreements, the two were still very loving.

Early childhood memories are always blurry, but I can be quite certain of a memory from when I was four years old.

That was the first time I witnessed sexual intercourse, and what remains most vivid in my memory is my mother's snow-white buttocks.

At that time, my mother lived in the school dormitory, and through her family's connections, she and I shared a separate room. Every time my dad came, he would come straight to the school and not visit my grandparents.

Looking back now, my mom was only in her early twenties then, and she and my dad were already inseparable. If it weren't for me, they probably wouldn't even leave their room on weekends. I'm pretty sure of it because I'm a womanizer. During the two most passionate years with my girlfriend, we would go all night long, which is definitely inherited from my parents.

One summer night, I secretly drank a bottle of Jianlibao before bed, and in the middle of the night, I dreamed that I was looking for a toilet everywhere. As I searched, I heard several strange noises: "creak, creak," "plop, plop," "humph, humph," accompanied by the shaking of an airplane in an amusement park. Somehow, the toilet appeared in front of me, and I peed.

Halfway through, I realized something was wrong, opened my eyes, and found that I was indeed wetting the bed. But what was even stranger was that I, who was originally sleeping in the middle, was now sleeping against the wall. I turned towards the bed and saw a dark shadow moving back and forth, with a white mass beneath it.

"Mommy..."

Hearing my voice, the white mass suddenly stiffened, while the shadow moved faster and faster. Finally, the white mass couldn't hold on any longer and clung tightly to the shadow. Then, both the black and white parts stiffened for a moment, and then, with a "snap," the light came on.

In that memory, my father's image was just a blurry black mass, but I remembered my mother's snow-white body vividly.

They probably thought I wasn't feeling well, because they came to check on me naked. Although I was only four years old at the time, I was already a habitual offender who secretly touched my mother's breasts every night. Now, seeing those breasts swaying like rabbits, I was completely stunned.

My parents were even more worried about me until my father discovered I had wet the bed. My mother then chuckled, picked me up, and helped me take off my pants. When my mother turned around and bent down to get me my new pants, her pert, round bottom became my second object of fantasy as a child.

That was also the first time I realized the vast differences between male and female bodies: one was dark-skinned, the other fair-skinned; one muscular, the other supple; one mammoth, the other completely bald. Yes, my young and beautiful mother was a bald woman. So, it's not an exaggeration to say this is my parents' history of promiscuity.

My father was too stubborn, and the long-distance relationship couldn't be resolved anytime soon. My mother was beautiful, and there were always suitors. In fact, my mother was never a chaste woman; while she wouldn't readily accept these men, she never explicitly rejected them either. When I was five or six, I already had a Mr. Liu and a young Mr. Zhang in my fantasies, which can't be said to be unrelated to the influence of my mother's social interactions.

Mr. Liu also taught at the Second High School, was in his thirties, lived in the city, and didn't live on campus. But I already felt he was strange when I was four. He always made a fuss whenever I saw him. I thought he must really have ulterior motives, which is why a little child would instinctively dislike him.

Xiao Zhang appeared when I was a little over five years old. He was the cousin of one of my mother's students. His intentions were even more obvious than Lao Liu's, but strangely, I didn't dislike him. In my fantasies, I always imagined him taking advantage of my mother.

Was there something between them? At that time, I was just a child and didn't know anything, so what I recall now are just childish sexual fantasies. As for the truth, only my mother probably knows!

The old dormitory at No. 2 High School didn't have a bathroom. We had to carry buckets of water to the individual public toilets to wash ourselves. Every time my mother went to take a shower, I would run to peek.

At first, the wooden door of the toilet only had a few small cracks, but later, I don't know how, the cracks got bigger, so much so that one time when I went to peek, my mother immediately called me out. I was so ashamed and scared that I ran back to my room in a panic. But no one fixed that crack. I figured anyone who wanted to peek wouldn't have to get very close to see my mother's body.

For example, once I bumped into Old Zhang standing in front of the toilet door. Even though he acted nonchalant, I still shouted, "Uncle Liu, what are you doing here? Are you peeping at my mother taking a shower?" Old Liu blushed immediately, his face turning red all the way to his neck.

Just then, the toilet door opened. It turned out my mother had finished showering, wearing a loose-fitting shirt that covered her hips, her long legs exposed, and a pair of plastic slippers with water droplets still on her feet. Even now, thinking back, I still find her incredibly sexy.

When Old Liu saw my mother come out, he didn't know what to say. His mouth opened for a long time, but he couldn't utter a single word. Mom laughed heartily, "Teacher Liu, it's just kids talking nonsense, don't mind them, children say the darndest things!" Old Liu calmed down, nodding repeatedly, "Yes, yes, children say the darndest things, indeed, indeed." But his eyes remained fixed on Mom's body, as if he could see right through her clothes.

The matter was over, but in my imagination, Mom would ask, "Teacher Liu, would you like to come to my house for a while, have some tea?" Then Old Liu would come into my house, take out ten yuan and give it to me to buy something to eat, and I would run away as fast as I could!

Then Mom would question Old Liu, "Teacher Liu, were you peeking at me?" Old Liu wouldn't deny it, saying,

"I just wanted to take a look."

Mom wouldn't get angry, but would laugh instead, "Then you can only look!" Saying this, she would lift one side of her jacket, then the other. After the whole jacket was off, it turned out Mom wasn't even wearing underwear, just the jacket!

Old Liu stared for a long time, then said in a pitiful tone, "Can I just touch it?" His mother didn't answer, but Old Liu instinctively reached out and began to knead her soft, large breasts, touching and touching and touching... Yes, just touching and touching, because this was just a child's fantasy! Even though I was precocious as a child, my fantasies only went as far as touching. I gradually abandoned this pattern of fantasy later on.

Old Liu was lustful, but timid and cowardly, a complete bookworm. He still teaches at the Second High School, and in my eyes, he's just an elder I neither dislike nor particularly like.

But Xiao Zhang was different. His fantasies about his mother and him accompanied me throughout my growth, becoming more and more profound as my knowledge increased, until I found a girlfriend and stopped fantasizing about his mother—instead, he started fantasizing about his girlfriend and him together. Although he

's called Xiao Zhang, he's actually about the same age as his mother. Ever since he came to school as his cousin's parent, he's been clinging to his mother. Compared to Lao Liu, Xiao Zhang is young, handsome, and eloquent, so his mother, who is not good at saying no, is even less resistant to him.

Xiao Zhang knew his mother was married and her child was old enough to run errands, but instead of backing down, he used me as a starting point to get closer to her—I really admired him. Thanks to him, I had many advanced toys. Every time he came over, he would bring a new and interesting gadget, and I would play with it for half a day, with no chance of interfering with his plan to get closer to his mother.

Until one day, he gave me ten yuan. My young, lustful intuition immediately went off when I received the ten yuan, but when I looked at my mother with questioning eyes, she just looked at me with her smiling almond-shaped eyes and told me to take the money and buy some food.

Ten yuan was a huge sum for a six-year-old in those days, but as innocent as I was, I only bought a bag of spicy strips and went home. But strangely, the door was locked. I called out twice from outside but received no response, so I had to sit outside the door.

But when I thought Mom would appear from the other end of the hallway, she opened the door behind me instead. Her face was as red as an apple, her hair was sticky with sweat, and she was gripping the door with one hand and tugging at her clothes with the other. Then, I happily walked into the house, only to find Uncle Zhang in the room. He was smiling at me as usual, but he was only wearing his underwear and sitting on a chair. I didn't understand what had happened, but I had a feeling something was wrong.

That day was a magical day for me, as if the door to a new world had been opened. My heart started to itch, and I, a six-year-old, deeply understood the meaning of "itchy heart."

After Mom went to class in the afternoon, I couldn't wait to lie on the bed and rub my little penis like a frog, constantly wiggling my butt. My sexual fantasies about Mom had a new breakthrough for the first time, no longer limited to touching her breasts, but lingering on the image of a door closing.

After that day, Uncle Zhang no longer always brought toys to my mom, but every time he came, I knew there was money to be had, and something that made my heart itch would happen again.

I was eager to know what was happening behind the closed door, but the door to my room had no gaps, and the window facing the corridor was too high, so I set my sights on the balcony. In those old-style dormitory buildings, the balcony was a single, continuous space on each floor, like a corridor. To find out, I tore open two screen doors on another empty dormitory room. But when I crawled onto the balcony, I discovered that my balcony door was also closed. Luckily, there was a broken corner on the balcony window; my mother couldn't fix it, and my father always forgot to.

Now, this broken hole became my greatest hope. Unfortunately, even on tiptoe, I could only see a curtain—yes, how could my mother forget to draw the curtains? My itchy heart felt a sudden sense of disappointment.

Just as I was about to sneak back in, I suddenly heard a "bang," as if something had hit the balcony door. Then I heard Xiao Zhang's voice: "I still like it best like this..." The response was a suppressed groan, followed by rapid, muffled moans, and rhythmic banging against the wooden door. Interspersed throughout were Xiao Zhang's words, seemingly uttered through gritted teeth: "Is it comfortable? Is it comfortable?" I tried to hear more through the window by standing on tiptoe, and then pressed my ear against the door, but no matter what I did, the sounds only made my increasingly itchy, slightly disappointed heart itch more intensely, yet they were all vague and indistinct. And so, my little fantasy theater gained more sound effects, and I developed the bad habit of eavesdropping.

Xiao Zhang had run into Dad a few times, but only when he brought me toys. Even though I was just a child, I sensed that Xiao Zhang was somewhat arrogant towards Dad, and Dad must have sensed it too, so he was never very friendly when he saw Xiao Zhang.

Xiao Zhang was very cunning. Ever since he locked Mom's door that time, he came more often than before, but he always avoided weekends and Friday afternoons, because Dad would come on those two and a half days. During the two and a half days Dad was here, Mom felt very natural again, without any of the magical feeling she had on other days. But now Dad would close the door, or perhaps it wasn't actually Dad closing the door.

Having learned from Xiao Zhang, I would always consciously send myself away and wait at the corner of the stairs. When I heard the door close, I would skillfully pry open the broken screen door and rush to the balcony to eavesdrop.

Eavesdropping became something I looked forward to every day during that time. Looking back now, I realize that as a child, I subconsciously hoped Mom would get fucked more often.

I not only learned to eavesdrop, but I also learned to analyze through listening.

Xiao Zhang always liked to ask questions; I often heard him grit his teeth and ask, "How was that?" "Was that good?" And towards the end, he would start to groan, louder than Mom.

Dad, on the other hand, was silent; I could hardly hear him say anything, but there were very loud "slap slap" sounds.

And Mom would talk more, and her voice would be louder. I often heard her say things like "I love you so much" and "I like you so much" in that sweet, seductive voice. Whenever Mom said that, the "slap slap" sounds would become louder and more rapid, and then Mom would uncontrollably moan loudly.

As time went on, I felt like a secret agent on TV, and I even felt very happy. But people are prone to making mistakes when they feel happy. Just as my little sense of happiness grew stronger, someone moved into that empty room. From then on, the balcony was deserted.

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My parents' philandering history

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