My third time

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After our last gathering, we all got along even better. I often went to her house to play and do homework. Of course, that's when I first spied on her.
We often wandered around after school without saying hello. We wouldn't knock on anyone's door; if someone was home, we'd play. If no one was home, we'd leave.
My classmate's parents were both tax bureau officials, and they were often away. So I spent most of my time at her house. She had an aunt who took care of her meals and laundry. Later I learned she was her mother's younger sister, an unemployed young woman of about 20. We all called her "Auntie."
Summer days are tough. Her house had an electric fan. We often enjoyed the breeze together.
One day, her father came home and brought us bananas, rare fruits, and a big watermelon. We busied ourselves eating.
There was an attic in her house, accessible only by ladder, where her father kept his files.
Everyone was eating, all smiles.
I wasn't paying attention when I noticed her father and aunt climbing the ladder and going into the attic.
Curious, I speculated endlessly, but didn't think much of it.
Only the older student, the most cunning, quietly climbed the wooden ladder. Near the top, he silently waved to me, urging me to come up too. Reluctantly, I put down the watermelon and went up.
The attic was made of wood, a combination of logs and planks. It was dark and dusty everywhere. I saw the older student; through the gaps in the planks, I could see a light on in a small room—a single cot covered by a mosquito net. I could only see the female student's father, his buttocks facing our line of sight, thrusting back and forth, his body obscuring the aunt's buttocks. Her pants were dangling over her father's shoes; we could only see the aunt's hands, tightly gripping the pillow, looking uncomfortable and aggrieved. The older student chuckled and whispered, "They're having sex." "Don't make a sound," I said. "Let's go down, don't make a noise."

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My third time

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