Spying on the journey

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The teachers from our school left one after another after using the restroom. Then some unfamiliar women came to use the restroom, mostly getting off their cars in groups. This excellent opportunity to observe them made me reluctant to leave, so much so that I missed the ferry. My colleagues, after getting on the ship and finding me missing, called my cell phone, and that's when I realized what had happened. I had to make up a lie, saying I was hungry and eating snacks at a small shop, and didn't want to miss the ferry. I told them we'd meet up at Shenjiamen in Zhoushan.

Since I'd already missed the ferry, I figured I might as well keep watching. I continued to hide there, observing the vulvas of dozens of women. Actually, women's vulvas are all pretty much the same; describing the differences in words is even more difficult, so I won't go into detail here.

You might say, since women's vulvas are all pretty much the same, you've only seen a few, why are you still so engrossed? There's a subtle point here. While the vulvas may look similar, they're actually found on different women. Looking at a vulva is looking at a woman, and looking at a woman requires looking at her vulva; they're interdependent.

I won't go into the general details, but I'll briefly describe what happened when I saw a group of foreign women.

Missing the ferry actually calmed me down, and I focused entirely on observing the women. I don't know how many women went in and out, occasionally standing up to look out the window at the parking lot. Once, I stood up and saw a group of foreigners walking towards the restrooms. Most were white, but there were a few blacks mixed in; they must have been tourists from some Western country. Foreigners are people too, they need to use the restroom, so they came too. For me, this was a golden opportunity! Before, I'd only ever seen a handful of foreign women's vulvas very occasionally in restrooms at tourist attractions. But today, there were at least a dozen foreign women in that group, mostly older, but there were still some young women among them. Aha, who would have thought that missing the ferry would lead to such a good thing?

Foreign women's toilet movements are similar to those of Chinese women, but the difference lies in the appearance of their vulvas. They are generally plump and fair-skinned, with large buttocks and prominent vulvas. From the window, I saw that most of them were middle-aged women, but now, squatting down, I see that every vulva is so alluring and seductive, with very few appearing shriveled and open. The labia majora are so thick, and the labia minora so long, mostly a light, tender pink. Black women's labia are also black, but the inner part, when turned inside out, is a tender pink like eyelids, creating a striking contrast.

Black women have a lot of pubic hair, often extending all the way to the anus, while white women's pubic hair is not as abundant or dense as one might imagine, just a few sparse strands on the mons pubis, perhaps fewer than Chinese women's. The hair varies in color, from golden yellow to brown to grayish-white. In my opinion, Western women's vulvas are fuller and more sensual than those of Chinese women, but their pubic hair is not as alluring as the dark, glossy pubic hair of Chinese women.

During this time, I observed several foreign women menstruating, all of whom used tampons. Their movements as they inserted the tampons into their vaginas were effortless and practiced, demonstrating that tampons are a common menstrual product there. They also seemed less concerned about hygiene than Chinese women; they never wrapped the tampons in toilet paper after removing them, simply throwing them into the drain, regardless of whether anyone saw them.

Another point I noticed was that Western women generally had more vaginal discharge when using the toilet, which would hang quite long and often drip into the drain. Furthermore, the discharge was often milky white, unlike the more colorless and transparent discharge of Chinese women. In comparison, the discharge from foreign women resembled semen that had overflowed from their vaginas after intercourse. When using toilet paper, they often had a specific action to wipe away the discharge—a gesture that's difficult to describe in words, but it involved sticking the discharge onto the toilet paper, which differed from regular wiping.

Here I want to describe a very peculiar situation, the only one I've ever witnessed in all these years of spying. A foreign woman squatted down, and I noticed a transparent plastic bag wrapped around her vulva, dangling between her legs. Inside was a pale yellow liquid, apparently urine. Was this woman ill, hence the urine bag? As you know, some women need to wear bags after surgery. Just as I was wondering, she pulled out a stopper from the plastic bag. Air entered, and the deflated bag expanded, detaching itself from her vulva. The woman removed the bag, and I saw that her vulva was slightly damp and appeared more reddish, but otherwise, nothing seemed unusual. Then, a stream of urine flowed from between her labia, just like any other woman. It turns out this woman was using a travel urine bag. These bags use a vacuum principle to adhere to the vulva. When it's inconvenient to use the restroom while traveling, she can urinate directly into the bag. To remove the bag, simply let air into it; the vacuum disappears, and the bag separates from the vulva. It's truly an ingenious invention! The shape of the bag's opening roughly resembles the shape of the vulva, with a relatively flexible edge, like the edge of a penile sheath, but much thicker. The vulva is relatively flat and doesn't adhere easily, and urine has a certain weight, so the urine bag needs to have a relatively strong suction.

Next, I watched the woman use the travel urine bag throughout the entire process. She removed the urine bag, revealing a faint, slightly reddish ring around her groin area outside her labia majora. After urinating, she took out a new urine bag and attached a cigarette box-sized device to a tube. With one hand, she positioned the bag according to the shape of her vulva, and with the other, she pressed a button on the device. After a slight click, the air in the urine bag was sucked out, and the two layers of plastic adhered tightly to the woman's vulva. The woman's vulva protruded slightly due to the suction, making it appear even larger. She unplugged the connector from the urine bag tube, and the bag did not fall down. Perhaps for safety, the urine bag also had a suspension device: a thin strap tied around her waist, with two thin straps hooked to the two small holes at the front and back of the urine bag. This way, if the vacuum suction failed, the urine bag could still hang around her waist and not fall down. But I think that might cause the urine to overflow. The women hung up their urine bags in two steps: the vacuum suction was done squatting, and the straps were hung standing up. Watching them stand there tying the thin straps reminded me of women wearing menstrual belts—it's quite similar.

It seems carrying travel urine bags is commonplace for them. I saw seven or eight women in this group carrying urine bags; some had urine in them, some didn't, but the bags were still tightly attached to their vulvas. Unused bags could be reattached after using the toilet. One woman, having already urinated, emptied the bag and still put it back on, just as neatly. This woman seemed quite frugal, or perhaps she had run out of bags.

I spent over an hour in that restroom, looking at countless women—I don't even bother to remember how many. Sometimes I'd squat down to peer into the drain and see their vulvas, other times I'd stand up and look through the window. Since you had to pass through the men's restroom to get to the women's, I saw both the faces and vulvas of many women. From their clothing, accents, and appearance, it was easy to match their faces with their vulvas.

I saw another ferry slowly docking. Looking at the time, it was getting late. Thinking that if I didn't cross soon, I might have to spend the night on the mainland, I reluctantly left the restroom.

I found a bus that had already passed the passenger check, and spoke to the tour guide standing at the door. I explained my situation and secretly slipped him a pack of cigarettes. The guide readily agreed to give me a ride to Shenjiamen. I got on their bus, saving on bus and ferry fares.

Once the car reached the ship, I got off and wandered around alone. My colleagues had already left, and I didn't know anyone on board. But looking around, I spotted several familiar faces—the women whose vulvas I had peeked at earlier. Now that I was on the ship, I was seeing them again. Looking at their faces and recalling their vulvas, I felt quite pleased with myself.

It was a summer evening, and the sea breeze was pleasant, but the cabins were rather stuffy, so most of the passengers were on deck. Only a few people remained in the cabins, scattered sparsely in various corners. As I came down from the deck, I inadvertently noticed two women sitting in a corner, the women whose vulvas I had peeked at earlier. The thought of embarrassing them resurfaced.

I had experience with this kind of thing; I knew how to do it naturally, how to hook them, and how to dispel their doubts. I sat not far from them, glancing at them every now and then, gradually attracting their attention. They also glanced at me and whispered among themselves. I knew the time had come, so I moved over to greet them, telling them that I had something on my mind and, after much consideration, wanted to talk to them. They didn't seem to mind, smiling and asking what I wanted to say. I pretended to stammer and told them that someone had spied on their private parts when they went to the toilet at the ferry crossing. Like most people, they weren't very skeptical. I originally intended to stop short of it, seeing their blushing faces and then giving up. After all, we were on a ship at sea; if something happened, there would be nowhere to hide. But I could tell they also wanted to know the truth, and they didn't seem disgusted with me, so I became bolder. On a whim, I took out paper and pen and drew them a diagram of how to peep through a flush toilet. I had this diagram memorized, so drawing it was easy for me. But I still pretended to be memorizing, thinking, and drawing at the same time, otherwise they might become suspicious. As I drew, I explained to them, clearly marking specific areas like the eyes and genitals. I also indicated the line of sight and blind spots for both men and women, drawing the woman's postures when squatting and standing, making it hard for them not to believe me. I asked them for small makeup mirrors and used the nearby tables and chairs as props. I placed the mirrors under the tables in appropriate positions, discovering that they could see their underwear under their skirts. Then I had them look at me from under the tables in the mirrors, letting them know how clearly men could see their genitals. Of course, I didn't say it directly, but used it as a way to convince them. However, I achieved my desired goal. When they put the mirrors under the tables, I clearly saw their faces turn bright red. Under the tables, they saw my calves, but what they felt was the scene of their genitals being watched by men, and a feeling of shame welled up inside them.

To make them even more convinced, I told them that I saw the people peeping at them board the boat, and if they were interested, I could lead them to find and catch them. There was a certain risk in saying this; if they actually went looking for me, it would be troublesome. But I had a plan. At worst, I'd pretend to lead them around, and if they couldn't find me, that was unavoidable, and they wouldn't blame me. I was 90% sure they wouldn't look for the man who was peeping. Women in this situation are too busy minimizing the impact to worry about someone wanting to amplify it—this was one of my years of experience as a spy. Sure enough, the two women just blushed and said, "Never mind, never mind." The woman in the second stall was congratulating herself on her luck while comforting the woman in the first stall.

I casually remarked, "You can see from behind too."

They were puzzled again: "How could that be?"

I held my breath and remained silent for a moment, as if making a decision, then gently told them, "I saw it."

As soon as I said that, they were shocked: "You…." They instinctively suspected I was the man who had been peeping at them. This was exactly what I wanted—to make them suspicious, then dispel their suspicions, thus completing a new round of shame for them.

I knew they would react this way, so I confidently and slowly delivered the prepared, memorized script.

"Just before boarding the ship, I went to the outer stall of the men's restroom to urinate. I noticed three men crammed into the last stall in the inner section. I thought they had dropped something into the drain, and out of kindness, I went to help. One of them turned around, saw me, and patted my shoulder, telling me to squat down. I saw one of them crawling under the drain, holding a large reflective mirror. Another man was looking into the mirror with him. I figured their things had probably been washed into the women's restroom next door, so I squatted down and looked in the mirror too. What I saw shocked me to death! At first, I didn't react..." I was confused because I was with my wife. When I came to my senses, I realized what was going on. ...It was so clear! Thinking about it now, I've never seen my own wife that clearly. ...Please don't mind, I'm just saying whatever comes to mind. ...Think about it, when you comb your hair in the morning, how clear are your eyes and nose in the mirror? Even reflected from a ditch, it's only this close. And your...I'll be frank...your vulva is bigger than your mouth! You tell me how clear it is. ...Really, even each individual pubic hair is crystal clear. ...You think you can't see it in the second stall? Huh? ...You can see that too...The partition between the two squatting stalls doesn't go all the way down; there's a large gap between them and the ground, probably for easier cleaning...If you don't believe me, go check it out when you get home...If you take off your pants and squat down, your lower body is already below the partition...Come on, let me draw it for you (I drew a diagram as I spoke), I've drawn it, now you believe me, right?...What, you still don't believe me? Let me ask you, were you wearing pink underwear today, the really high-end kind (actually, I meant the very sexy kind)?...I didn't want to be so explicit, but you don't believe me... I had no choice but to tell you. ...Think about it, I wouldn't know what kind of underwear you were wearing, but now I've revealed it...When did you see it? Only in the toilet. ...When you squatted down, your underwear was at your ankles. Looking through the ditch, it should have been underwear on top and the other end on the bottom. Think about it, if we saw your underwear, didn't we also see your...thing? (Here I deliberately used "we," partly to emphasize that others were watching and I was passively and unintentionally, and partly to imply that I was indeed included in "we." Also, I tried to avoid using explicit terms like "vagina," the meaning was conveyed.)

[The End]

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Spying on the journey

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