I kissed my teacher for the first time

The train rumbled as I stood at the junction of two workshops, slowly lighting a cigarette. I inhaled deeply and exhaled, the white smoke dissipating slowly. Two more hours until I returned to my hometown. This was my first time home since starting work. I wondered how much my hometown had changed, and how the people there had become.
I remembered being in the second year of junior high school, when my friend took me to a dark video arcade for the first time. In that dimly lit room filled with the smell of smoke and some unknown stench, I psychologically transitioned from adolescence to adulthood. Even now, I vaguely remember the white, intertwined bodies on that low-resolution television. That day, I saw the magnificent erection of a mature man, and I saw the genitals hidden beneath a woman's wet, dark pubic hair—the place my friend called "pussy." That day, I learned that what I thought was just for urination would one day enter a woman's place, which was also considered just for peeing. Looking back now, it still makes me laugh, because before that day, I wholeheartedly believed the rumors circulating among my classmates that women's vaginas were full of urine and incredibly dirty. The truth is, years later, we kids all grew up and yearned for that so-called dirty place.
After that first time, I'd occasionally go to video arcades. I couldn't help it; I was at that age when boys are most sensitive and yearning about sex. And after being exposed to this, my gaze towards the girls around me changed. Sometimes I'd unconsciously glance at their budding breasts and the area between their legs. However, I quickly lost interest in them, for two reasons, I think. First, the school uniforms back then were really ugly, failing to accentuate a woman's figure at all, and besides, they were just girls, not particularly attractive. Second, this had a more profound impact, a conclusion I reached only later, when I was older and had nothing better to do, after reflecting on my years of experience with women. The first time I saw footage of European and American women having sex in a video arcade, those large-breasted, curvaceous, and tall foreign women left a deep impression on me, influencing my choice of women. So, after losing interest in my female classmates, my attention quickly turned to more mature women—our female teachers. In
modern schools, female teachers always make up a larger proportion because they are generally more patient and meticulous than male teachers, and their occasional displays of gentleness are very effective in soothing students' emotions. Among the female teachers I frequently encountered at the time, my math teacher, Fang Mei, was the most attractive to me. The reason was simple: although I later preferred more mature women, at that time, older women often dressed conservatively, which didn't arouse my interest. Fang Mei was different; she was in her twenties, married, and dressed quite fashionably. Her fondness for skirts and stockings was particularly attractive, especially among the older teachers who mostly wore women's suits and trousers—she stood out like a crane among chickens. Because of this, besides little ones like me having designs on her, quite a few young male teachers also liked to get close to her. However, Fang Mei was very good at avoiding suspicion, so she didn't pay much attention to them.
When I first entered the school in the first year of junior high, Teacher Fang was already pregnant. After teaching us for a few months, she started taking leave. When she came back after giving birth, she had changed a bit, but at that time I was only focused on my studies, so I didn't think much of it except that she seemed to have gained some weight. But when I shifted my gaze from the female classmates to Teacher Fang, I realized that this was the kind of woman I wanted. After giving birth, Teacher Fang's breasts were much larger, and her high, firm breasts represented both a woman's pride and a man's desire. Her hips were also wider than when she was in the first year of junior high, and she had more flesh on her buttocks, which was especially noticeable when she turned her back to write on the blackboard. What excited me most was when she would occasionally lean over to explain problems to other students near me. I would try to adjust my angle to get a fuller view of her pert buttocks. That wide, plump peach shape would always wake up my sleeping little brother, keeping him excited throughout the rest of the class.
Later, as I grew up, the internet made the world smaller, and I would occasionally see news about foreign female teachers enticing underage students to have sex. At that time, I would always marvel at the openness of foreign countries while reminiscing about my own age. Unfortunately, although Ms. Fang's clothing was relatively avant-garde for that time, she wouldn't seduce me like those foreigners in the news. So, I could only meet her in my dreams, and occasionally, when no one was in the dormitory, I would use my hand to imitate her gentleness. Thus, throughout the entire second year of junior high, my only progress was mastering the skill of masturbation.
In the third year of junior high, with the high school entrance exam approaching, the heavy workload somewhat distracted me. I originally thought that my beautiful fantasies about teacher-student relationships would just fade away, after all, I was still very serious about my studies. However, everyone has moments of discontent, and teenage boys are even more prone to impulsiveness. I remember it was a mock exam. During the Chinese exam, for some inexplicable reason, I didn't follow the conventional approach for the final essay question. Instead, I wrote a short story about a romantic relationship between a boy and a girl. Perhaps it was because I thought about how my ambiguous first love was actually my teacher, and that it was destined to have no future, so the ending was quite melancholic. Little did I know that this momentary impulse would change my life and my relationship with Teacher Fang.
At the time, I couldn't have foreseen what would happen, so after handing in the paper, I felt uneasy. After all, what I wrote was a bit outrageous, especially in that relatively conservative era. To make matters worse, we all called the Chinese teacher an old witch behind her back; she was incredibly rigid. So, I spoke very little for the rest of the time. The next morning, during the last math class, I unusually refrained from peeking at Teacher Fang's sexy figure, even though she was wearing my favorite pencil skirt and black stockings. Until the end of class, I was absentmindedly preparing to leave when Teacher Fang called me back and asked me to follow her to her office. I followed behind her, somewhat bewildered, but the swaying of her hips in front of me was undeniably arousing. Let me briefly describe the teachers' offices: a cluster of converted bungalows, many rooms, but none large. Each office housed two or three teachers, the largest being a meeting room. Besides Ms. Fang, there were two other teachers in her office, both older, middle-aged women. The office had only one window, overlooking a corner of a wall overgrown with weeds. I mention this because Ms. Fang and I later often "satisfied" there.
When we arrived at her office, the other two teachers came in, put down their teaching materials, greeted us, and left. Due to their age difference, they didn't seem to exchange many words beyond official business. Now it was just the two of us. Ms. Fang sat with her legs crossed, her beautiful legs in high heels and black stockings swaying back and forth, making my heart itch. I couldn't decipher the meaning in her eyes, but being stared at by her made my face involuntarily flush. Yet, I still didn't understand why she had suddenly called me here.
"Are you dating someone?" After looking at me for a while, Ms. Fang spoke, and she was very direct. I looked at her, puzzled, wondering where she got the idea that I was in a relationship.
"No," I answered quickly, because I wasn't, so I stared at her confidently. Ms. Fang observed me for a while longer, seeing that I didn't seem to be lying. Then she took out a test paper, the one from my Chinese exam yesterday. Then I learned why she had called me in. It turned out she had connected my poor math exam results with my essay, assuming I was heartbroken. In reality, I knew in my heart that it was because the math exam was after the Chinese one, and I was nervous, so I inevitably messed up the questions. Of course, I wouldn't be so stupid as to say it out loud, so I just said I wasn't feeling well during the exam. Because my math grades are usually quite good, Ms. Fang still trusted me. After I explained, she didn't say anything more, but instead smiled and looked at my essay, finally praising it as well-written, though a little childish. After she finished speaking, she seemed to remember something and laughed even more heartily, her whole body stretching out. I remember a ray of sunlight shining through the window onto her upper body. As she bent backward from laughing so hard, her already full breasts appeared even more prominent, especially her abdomen near her thighs, where a mysterious bulge was visible in the hazy sunlight. For a moment, my eyes widened, and I felt as if something there was beckoning me.
After Ms. Fang finished laughing, she winked mischievously and told me to be careful during Chinese class that afternoon. I immediately understood why she was so cheerful; she had overheard the old witch who taught Chinese talking about how she was going to punish me. What was bound to happen would happen eventually. Even if I had to endure a stormy afternoon, I would feel it was all worth it to spend a little time alone with Ms. Fang like this. At this point, the normal procedure would have been for us to leave the office and go to eat separately, and if that had been the case, I think none of this would have happened. But then, perhaps because Ms. Fang's laughter was too loud and she bumped into the table, or perhaps because of some kind of evil wind, my test paper fell down. I instinctively squatted down to pick it up, and Ms. Fang also put her legs down. I knew she probably had the same thought as me, but fate had other plans. I squatted down a little too quickly and didn't notice her movement, so my face came right up to her stockinged feet in high heels. In an instant, the faint, intoxicating scent of a mature woman's feet, lingering in stockings for so long, filled my nostrils. Though faint, it still made me feel hot all over. The warmth from her cheek seemed to penetrate my skin and reach my heart. In that instant, I almost didn't think. Driven by the countless times I'd been tormented by pornographic films in video arcades, my nerves spurred me to turn my head quickly, chasing after the warmth that had already slid across my cheek, and I opened my mouth to kiss her.
After finishing my cigarette and returning to my seat, I gazed out the window, my fingers lightly tracing my lips. That unprecedented excitement of that year, that day, came from it.
My first kiss with a woman wasn't on her red lips, but on feet that many would consider dirty. I don't know if that counts as my first kiss. Later, I asked Ms. Fang, and she always jokingly scolded me, saying I was like a little dog. I always responded enthusiastically, even if I were a dog, I'd be a Teddy (a dog that's both masculine and feminine, capable of anything), and then I'd bark and pounce on her.
This became a source of amusement between us later, though it was quite awkward at the time. The moment I kissed the female teacher's stockinged feet, I instantly snapped back to reality. Oh God, what had I done? Clutching the test paper, I stood up in a panic, covering my mouth, silently pleading that the teacher only thought it was an accident. For a moment, the small office was deathly silent. I didn't dare breathe, much less look at Ms. Fang's face, my eyes darting towards her. Her high, firm breasts heaved rapidly, and the skin on her neck seemed redder than before. Back then, I didn't understand women's psychology, so I didn't dare speculate. Seeing that she didn't speak, I panicked, slammed the test paper down on the table, and hurriedly said, "Teacher, it's okay, I'm leaving." Then I ran away without looking back. Looking back now, it's ridiculous; it was a classic case of protesting too much. But back then, I wasn't nearly as mature as I am now. After leaving the office, besides fear, I felt an indescribable excitement. I kissed a woman, and it was my beloved Ms. Fang. The warmth of her feet still seemed to linger on my lips, and I could almost smell the alluring scent of her mature feet that stirred my desires. This excitement made me completely unfazed even when the old witch gave me a severe scolding in front of the whole class that afternoon, wiping my test paper off my face. I even wanted to thank her for sharing my essay with other teachers; otherwise, how could I have had such a sensual encounter with my Ms. Fang?

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