[The first time I witnessed sex]

The First Time I Witnessed Sex

I just finished a passionate video chat with my girlfriend, and this reminded me of this. The first time I witnessed real sex was when I was in fourth

grade . My mom worked at a government hospital, and the local elementary school was next to the hospital. Every day

after school, I would go to her place to do my homework, wait for her to finish work, and then we would take the shuttle bus home together. I usually didn't go home for lunch;

I would take a lunchbox from home, bring some rice to the hospital's boiler room to steam, and then buy some vegetables at the inpatient canteen. So

I left in the morning and didn't get home until evening.

I remember it was a Wednesday afternoon when the teachers suddenly had to attend some kind of political study session, so

classes were canceled.

I went to find my mom, and she said she also had to attend a political study session (it seemed like something quite important, but I forgot what it was).

She told me to do my homework in her office. There was another auntie in the office, a newly transferred female doctor,

quite pretty, probably in her twenties, and newly married. Her husband was a junior staff member in our government office. She used to

work at a hospital in a nearby county, and it took her a lot of effort to transfer here. She was very kind and had a sweet appearance.

This auntie didn't attend the political study session, perhaps because she lacked awareness (she wasn't a Party member), or perhaps she was on

duty . My mom told her to watch me take a nap and then watch me do my homework—their

office was a suite; outside was the doctor's desk and the consultation area, then a door with a curtain,

inside was a hard bed for examining patients. My mom and her colleagues worked in internal medicine.

I didn't want to sleep, but the auntie insisted. I couldn't resist, so I went to the inner room and slept on that bed.

Unable sleep, I secretly got up and climbed out the window, planning to play for a while before climbing back in and pretending to sleep.

Behind the hospital was a very high wall, which, together with the hospital building wall, formed an alley. The alley was filled with miscellaneous

items , and at the end of the alley was a wooden door, usually ajar, but this time someone had locked it.

I tried to climb out several times but failed. Dejected, I walked back to the window I had climbed out of. I saw

my aunt in the inner room and thought, "This is it, I've been found out. If my mother finds out I climbed out the window,

she'll skin me alive." Just as I was mentally planning how to lie, someone came in from the outer room, and my aunt went to

the outer room. I was conflicted, wondering whether to climb back or try to find a way out of the alley and back through

the main gate . If I went back through the main gate, the punishment might be less severe. So I walked towards the alley entrance again. Passing

the door of the outer room, I peeked in to see what kind of patient it was. It turned out to be the vice president of the hospital, a fat old man in his fifties

. This old man was usually very nasty, so I was very curious about what illness he had, so I climbed under the window to eavesdrop.

When he asked the woman if she was used to the job and mentioned how difficult it was to transfer jobs, I lost

interest and wanted to leave. But then I noticed the woman's voice had changed, and I looked again. I saw the old man close the door and

tell the woman not to worry, there wouldn't be any patients this afternoon, as everyone in the office was doing training or something. Then he tried to kiss

her , and she lowered her head to avoid it. The old man got angry and yelled that he had to approve all job transfers,

and if she didn't agree, he would tell her husband that he had slept with her when she went to their house to deliver gifts. Then the woman

stopped avoiding him, and I heard her cry.

Then the old man pulled the aunt into the inner room. When I went over to look, he had already put her on the bed

. The aunt's head was turned inward, and the old man was kissing her anxiously. Then he took off her white coat and underwear, and

his chubby face rubbed against her fair breasts, sucking on her nipples like a goldfish blowing bubbles. The

aunt turned her head to the outside, stopped crying, but kept her eyes closed and her brows furrowed. The old

man muttered something under his breath, and there were also low laughs. He pinched the aunt's nipples with his fingers and

stroked her breasts with his beard. Later, the old man knelt between the aunt's legs and did something. The aunt's

two bare legs curled up, very white.

The old man seemed to be eating something, and the aunt's brow gradually relaxed, then furrowed again.

The old man continued to suckle the aunt's buttocks with both hands. The aunt slowly began to moan softly.

After a while, she started rubbing her nipples with her fingertips, still with her eyes closed, her expression complex.

The old man's movements quickened, and the aunt's moans grew louder. Suddenly, the old man straightened up, pressing down on the aunt and

thrusting in and out repeatedly. The aunt began to scream loudly, and the old man began to breathe heavily. Suddenly, the aunt

's screams stopped abruptly, frozen in the air. Her limbs clung to the old man like grasshoppers,

and she gasped for breath. The old man continued thrusting a few more times before collapsing onto the aunt.

After a while, they got up to get dressed. The old man asked the aunt in a low voice, "How does he compare to your husband?"

The aunt still kept her head down, but she stopped crying and said softly with a hint of a smile, "You're more patient than him." The old man smiled.

I finally crawled out of the alley and returned to the office through the main gate. The auntie's face was flushed, like a peach blossom.

She didn't tell my mother about my runaway; she just said I was very well-behaved.

I never understood what they had done until I had my first wet dream in the second year of junior high—damn it,

that's the .

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