My childhood experiences as a spy

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

As I've entered middle age, my desires have gradually diminished. The days when just looking at pictures would give me a hard-on are rare now. It's like the saying goes, as people age:
"Even my pee doesn't smell anymore!"
To get that same feeling again, I need at least a good erotic story or an adult film. In the erotic world, I've shifted from looking at pictures and watching movies to reading erotic stories. My focus has shifted from descriptions of organs and actions to savoring the emotional fluctuations in the plot—simply put, it's gone from masturbation to fantasizing.
When reading erotic stories, I only like those based on real events. Even if the writing isn't perfect, as long as it's real, that's better than anything else!
Having often read others' writings, I recently wanted to write about my own experiences. Below, I'll try to talk about my voyeuristic experiences from my younger days. Please forgive any shortcomings in my writing.
Recalling my youth, so reckless, bold, perhaps even a little "shameless," I suddenly feel quite ashamed… In those days, it was extremely difficult, if not impossible, for teenagers to acquire knowledge about sex. People's views were very conservative then, and the contrast with the openness of today is so stark that the generation gap is insufficient to describe it; it was a complete upheaval. Let alone the fact that teenagers today can visit prostitutes, date, and find virgins or young boys, back then there was simply no such thing as sex education. Even discussing "sex" in a proper way was forbidden. When I was nine, I witnessed firsthand how a seemingly honest man was arrested by the factory security department and interrogated and tortured for two days and two nights simply because a woman called him a "pervert." Only those who lived through that era can truly understand the shock and fear he experienced. Public pressure, coupled with authoritarian management, resulted in a severe shortage of legitimate sex education resources. The anxieties of entering puberty had nowhere to go; confusion and anticipation, fear and impulse intertwined and tormented me, forcing me to resort to some shameful acts—voyeurism. Looking back now, perhaps everyone experienced similar embarrassment. Enough of the digression; here are a few moments from my past voyeurism. See if any of these have happened to you?
That was where I first started spying. Our area was a semi-urban zone, lacking both the hustle and bustle of the city and the tranquility and freedom of the countryside. The large residential area had only two public toilets, one near a provincial highway. When the toilets were built, they cut corners, using very little cement, resulting in poor-quality cement between the bricks. In some places, you could loosen it with your fingers. This provided men with a great opportunity to spy. I don't know when it started, but a small hole appeared in the wall between the men's and women's toilets. It was quickly plugged up by the women's side, then reopened, then plugged up again… This went on and on. With the combined efforts of all the men, the number of holes in the wall increased, and they remained open for a long time (you could see through them). If our current transportation bureau had even a fraction of the enthusiasm those men had back then, traffic wouldn't be so congested now. Ah, I digress. Actually, the view wasn't very clear back then. No woman would intentionally point her private parts at the hole to relieve herself, unless she was infatuated. I only saw a silhouette, but for me back then, even a rough outline was enough to excite me for half a day.
The small holes were usually located low, near the cesspool, and were extremely filthy. Thinking about the stench back then, let's skip the details.
Back then, anyone standing in that squatting stall near the women's restroom and not coming out for a long time was definitely doing something. I often stayed there for over an hour, pretending to be something, but now I realize the adults all knew perfectly well. My face was burning with embarrassment…
That was the place I saw most often; it was the first time I clearly saw a woman naked right there.
In my childhood, people bathed in communal bathhouses in government offices and companies. Our bathhouse was on the side of the factory near the residential area. To the east was the workshop, and to the south, three or four meters away, was the wall of a warehouse. Between the bathhouse and the warehouse was a small open space enclosed by a wall. The bathhouse was a row of large buildings, with women's rooms on the east and men's rooms on the west. A row of windows lined the south side of each building, most of them open (except for the storeroom wall directly opposite the bathhouse, which had no windows). The partition walls between the men's and women's rooms had skylights at the top, connecting them.
Therefore, the sounds of running water, laughter, and playful chasing from one side of the bathhouse could be clearly heard on the other side. This was quite enticing, and often restless men would lean out of the windows and shout at the other side (their aim, of course, was to
yell at the women), frequently eliciting enthusiastic praise from the other side: "Disgusting!" "Pervert!" "Shameless!" "I'll go back and tell the boss!" (Of course, this never actually happened). The responses were quite intense and righteous.
Men who received praise from women were even more enthusiastic, and the back-and-forth became increasingly enjoyable, gradually becoming a pleasant part of bathing. But no one dared to jump into the open space outside the window.
My childhood friend and I discovered a secret at the same time (I wonder if anyone else has found it since). About three or four meters up the gable wall of the warehouse, on a layer of bricks, there were four empty bricks side by side. These were used to support timbers during the scaffolding erected for construction. Each brick was left unfilled during construction, and after the scaffolding was removed, the brick was replaced. Perhaps because it was a warehouse, or perhaps because it was out of reach after the scaffolding was removed, no one bothered to replace it, leaving a hollow square hole. Two of these holes faced directly towards the women's bathhouse. If you could see it from inside the warehouse, hey! Hey!… We immediately took action. It was a weekend afternoon (the communal bathhouse was only open on weekends). My friend and I scurried away from the other kids and sneaked into the warehouse (it was a scrap yard, and the door wasn't locked very securely). Great, no one was there. We climbed over the scrap pile to the base of the gable wall and cobbled together a platform more than a meter high using various bricks, planks, cardboard boxes, iron buckets, foam boards, and so on. I carefully stepped onto the platform and cautiously peeked my head over the small hole.
Wow! The excitement, the wonder, the thrill… my eyes widened! There were naked women everywhere, their plump buttocks and perky breasts clearly visible several meters away. Hey! I saw ** (a girl's name).
Huh?! Why do women have pubic hair between their legs?
What does a vagina look like? Is that fleshy slit the same? I can't see it clearly at all!
Oh! So women have hair too. I always thought only men had hair, like beards. So women do too… Haha! Wow
! Sitting by the pool, right opposite the window, isn't that the beautiful woman who lives in the house behind mine? She's a very pretty woman, the standard heartthrob of our neighborhood, and she was only eighteen or nineteen at the time. Her skin was snow-white and tender, with a pair of round, full breasts that stood erect and trembled with each bath, making my heart race and my blood flow erratically. I felt dizzy and breathless… In the center of a dark areola (which I didn't know was called a nipple at the time), no bigger than a coin, stood a pale, grape-like nipple. Her waist and abdomen were smoothly contoured, with no excess fat on her lower abdomen, which flowed down gently. Between her legs was a patch of black, inverted triangle-shaped downy hair, glossy and black, clinging to the water in clumps, making the black and white stand out even more against her thighs and lower abdomen… Wow! Wow! Wow! I can't take it! I can't take it anymore! I was so excited that I didn't know what to do next, and my childhood friend was also wildly pounding in front of another hole. I don't know why, but I grabbed a small object and threw it through the small hole into the women's bathhouse. One, two, I was no longer afraid of being discovered by her inside; I even somewhat hoped to be discovered. I thought, what if it had been nighttime, if she were the only one there, if the hole hadn't been so small that I couldn't fly over it? Maybe rapists don't always plan ahead… Suddenly, a loud crash, the platform collapsed, and I was pulled back to reality, dazed and confused. In the chaos, we both scrambled towards the door… Later, after calming down, we went back and, after looking around, dismantled the platform, trying to make it look like no one had been there, so as not to be discovered by others. When we came back, we rebuilt it, sparing no effort, but we were getting impatient. Later, we simply made two simple ladders and hid them in some secluded spot.
We used that place for a long time, until the warehouse was converted into a workshop.
After it became a workshop, I discovered a new method, my own patented technique. It's technically challenging, costly, and difficult to implement, but the profits are quite good, though hard to replicate. It's in the changing room of the bathhouse, at the very top corner of the wall separating the men's and women's sections, about four meters high. During winter heating system renovations, a hole of about ten centimeters was drilled to accommodate the main pipe. It wasn't sealed at the time, and a thin pipe ran straight down from the main pipe, carrying a set of radiators mounted on the wall about a meter off the ground.
Imagine: standing on the radiator, you could just reach the hole and look through it. But it was winter, and the heating back then was steam heating, hotter than boiling water. What to do?
Don't give up, don't lose heart. I stacked two slippers on top of the radiator assembly, wrapped the direct heating pipe with a dry towel or clothes (emphasis added: it must be dry, wet things won't last long), gripped it tightly with both hands, stepped one leg onto the radiator assembly, stood on it, and leaned the other leg against the opposite wall. Using all my strength to maintain balance, I tilted my head towards the opening, making sure to avoid the main pipe. I also placed dry clothes or other protective materials on the main pipe beforehand. Now I could feast my eyes!
Important Notes: First, timing is crucial. Go to the bathhouse in the afternoon or evening when it's less crowded. Too early and it'll be too crowded; too late and no one will be bathing.
Second, be prepared and attentive. Observe the situation inside the bathhouse. Even if someone is bathing, you can still take your turn, but be prepared for them to come out at any moment. Also, be vigilant about the bathhouse door to prevent others from entering and bumping into you.
The longest I ever did this was for about ten minutes. Afterwards, my legs were trembling and my hands were shaking, and I had to rest for a long time.
Later, because I was frightened several times, and because it was too dangerous—I couldn't bear the slightest mistake! In the spring, after the heating was turned off and the vent was plugged, I completely stopped doing this.

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My childhood experiences as a spy

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