A man's growth

Ten years of hard study finally paid off, but looking back, the heartache of a poor scholar returned. "Toot, toot," the train whistled and slowly started moving. I clearly saw tears welling up in my father's eyes. After he left, I would begin my life in this unfamiliar city, truly independent, and the heavy responsibility of bringing honor to the family would fall on my shoulders. I would live as a true city dweller, achieving what I had long held in my heart—things that seemed as simple as lifting a finger to a city person. In a few seconds, my father would disappear from my sight on the northbound train. Suddenly, I felt I had to say something, do something. I quickly pulled ten yuan from my pocket and bought four tubs of eight-treasure porridge from a cart on the platform, placing them in my father's large, calloused hands. "Dad, take care on your journey." Looking at my father's reddened eyes, I had no other words.

The train roared out of the station, leaving behind a lonely figure, looking very thin in the setting sun. I held back my tears and walked on the long platform. Everything around me was irrelevant; everything from the past clearly flashed before my eyes.

My grandparents both passed away when my father was 14 due to historical reasons during the Cultural Revolution. He was raised by his maternal grandmother, who was his only family, and started working at a young age. Because of discrimination within his own family and having only one brother, he often endured hardship and mistreatment. As the saying goes, poor children mature early, and my father developed excellent qualities of independent thinking and self-reliance from a young age. My mother is a typical rural woman. Growing up in a large family, she lacked the opportunity to attend school and still doesn't know her own name. When she married my father, she saw his hardworking, resilient, and unassuming nature. They worked day and night, supporting our education without hesitation so that we could have a better future. While other families built new houses and bought new furniture, our family remained poor. The only things they had were the various awards I received from school, which became their greatest comfort and source of pride, something they could boast about to their neighbors. As

my father was about to graduate from elementary school, he heard that children in our area could only take the entrance exam for the township junior high school. Could a rural junior high school really produce college students? His greatest achievement was having such a question. So he and his mother approached his aunt's family, who worked at a steel factory in the city, hoping to enroll him in fifth grade there for a year.

They would give him 30 yuan a month. Seeing his longing for school and his excellent grades, his aunt's family readily agreed. They contacted a school for children of employees, and the 7-kilometer journey lay before me every day, which I walked tirelessly for a year. During the Mid-Autumn Festival, his mother came to visit, waiting for him at the school gate early in the morning. On the way, they passed a stall selling glutinous rice balls and she quietly asked, "Dou Dou, want some glutinous rice balls?" "Yes," I answered without hesitation. His mother, holding the gifts she had brought for his aunt's family, quietly watched him finish the glutinous rice balls; she didn't eat any herself.

I don't know why, but this event is particularly vivid in my memory. His family was too poor; they calculated every penny, but they couldn't hurt their child's self-esteem.

Because my aunt's house was quite small, my older cousin slept in one room with my younger cousin, while I slept in my aunt's room, which also served as the living room and dining room. The whole family ate and watched TV there, just with two extra beds! I

was usually very tired after walking a long way during the day, but sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night and hear my aunt and uncle talking. I would pretend to be asleep.

"Tiancheng is so lucky to have married a wife like Shujun. She's beautiful, has a big butt, and is very comfortable in bed..."

my uncle was talking about my parents.

"You lecherous devil, always thinking about that... um... oh... keep it down, other kids might hear,"

my aunt replied.

I vaguely heard the "slap, slap" sound of skin hitting skin. I vaguely understood what they were doing.

Because the factory where my aunt worked had holidays that didn't coincide with national regulations, they were working when our school was closed.

On Sundays, I would search the house for all sorts of trendy picture books, especially my cousin's favorite, *Popular Cinema*. I'd see female stars in cheongsams, and wondered what was hidden beneath their flat stomachs. Youthful curiosity only fueled my curiosity, so I often collected pictures that showed women's lower abdomens, as if I could see right through them. My penis would feel hot. I vaguely understood that it was destined to be inserted into a certain hole; it needed stimulation. So I searched the house for anything useful and finally found a bottle of glue. I unscrewed the cap, and my penis went in and out, all the way in.

From the top of the transparent bottle, I could see the head of my penis, the urethral opening, squeezed into a flat slit. My penis grew harder and harder, and I worried I wouldn't be able to pull it out. The tight bottle opening was precisely what I needed at the base. Moving the bottle up and down in my hand intensified the stimulation; I felt an irresistible urge. Time slowly slipped away, the bottle in my hand constantly turning, not knowing where the final touch was. Suddenly, I felt like I was about to explode, and my subconscious urged me to increase the force of my hand. Finally, a feeling of release spread from my lower body to my entire body. I was unknowingly covered in sweat, and my consciousness suddenly cleared, giving me a feeling of guilt. My penis was also able to gradually withdraw. I quickly cleaned up the surroundings, making sure my aunt and uncle didn't find out. At the age of 12, I completed my first masturbation. After that, I often eavesdropped on my aunt having sex at night. I became increasingly eager for women, and my sense of mystery grew stronger. Sometimes I even felt that if I couldn't know these things, I wouldn't be able to continue. I even fantasized about my mother, spreading her legs so I could see what was going on, and letting me penetrate her to my heart's content. But after starting school, I remembered my father's teachings: in the countryside, this was the only way to get into university, to escape the fate of generations working the land, to escape the label of farmer, and to stop going back to farming. I spent the following year burdened by the pressure of needing to study hard to transfer my rural household registration through university entrance exams. The thought that studying and getting into university was the only path to success, with no other choice, coupled with the burgeoning desires and longings for sex in my youth, filled me with a profound sense of loss.

A year later, I was admitted to the best school in our city, Handan No. 1 Middle School. From then on, I boarded at the school.

The tuition fees became even more burdensome, forcing my father to leave our hometown to work on a construction site in Shijiazhuang. I took a significant step in my life, beginning to live independently, but I still returned home once a month. My mother would bring me prepared dry food—steamed buns made from flour and cornmeal, sliced and dried on the stove—to eat when I was hungry and couldn't sleep at night.

From junior high onwards, very few students boarded at our school; there were fewer than 20 students, divided into two dorm rooms.

Every month, my father would have someone bring back 30 jin (15 kg) of grain coupons from Shijiazhuang. In the countryside, we had virtually no grain coupons; he bought them at high prices on the black market. How could 30 jin (15 kg) a month possibly feed me? I was always envious watching my classmates ride their bicycles home in groups after school, heading home for dinner. I, on the other hand, had to rush back to the dormitory, grabbing my bowl (which might not have been washed properly due to lack of hot water) and sprinting towards the cafeteria. If I wasn't at the front of the line, I'd have to wait for the older students' leftovers. Winters in the north were bitterly cold. The dorms had no heating, relying on coal stoves for warmth. If the stove went out, the water I left under my bed to wash my face in the morning would freeze.

Hunger and cold weren't insurmountable, but the safety of the school and the wider community terrified me. I lived in constant fear. Delinquent youths were constantly laundering money on campus, targeting boarding students. They generally didn't dare mess with local students; everyone had relatives and friends. "

You bullied me today, I'll get someone to get revenge another day." But it was different for boarding students. Most of the students from other places came from the countryside, and their families told them before they left: "Don't cause trouble. If you can't afford to, then stay away. If you encounter bad people, surrender. Don't let anyone hurt you. It's not easy to study in the city."

When they saw someone peering into the window after self-study, they would get nervous, thinking, "They might be asking us for money."

This was especially true for boarding students. We couldn't run away, and we didn't have any friends or companions in the area. If we had money, we had no choice but to hand it over to avoid being beaten. We junior high school students were like meat on a chopping block, completely at their mercy.

One day at noon, I left my room 210 for class and was called into room 206. The first question was, "Do you have any money?" Before

I could even finish my reply, a heavy slap landed on my face. How could my frail body withstand such a blow? I stumbled, seeing stars. Barely managing to stand, I was forced to raise my hands to let them take me away.

Thankfully, they didn't take anything.

"Slap!" Another slap landed on the other side of my unsuspecting face. "Get lost!" It

was the first time I'd been robbed, in broad daylight, in the dormitory of a prestigious high school. Walking down the street, I could be robbed at any moment by someone asking, "Sell a pack of cigarettes?"—a typical robbery question. This time, being

robbed by street thugs outside the school, I even felt a sense of fate. After all, I was a boarding student! But being beaten up by thugs called in by my classmates made me feel that the world was unfair.

In the morning, during recess, the student in front of me was patted on the head by a classmate practicing PE, but the thug blamed it on me. A minor argument ensued. I thought it was over, but three days later, one afternoon, as I walked out of the stairwell with the crowd leaving class, the classmate I had argued with, along with several unfamiliar people who appeared out of nowhere, surrounded me. "Your name is Sun Dou, I heard you're quite a troublemaker." Suddenly, my head felt like it was being struck by electrodes—I later realized that was the feeling of being hit hard on the head without warning. I quickly collapsed to the ground. In a daze, I heard one of my classmates hysterically shouting, "Fatty, stop hitting me! Fatty, stop hitting me!"

For the first time, I understood that you could call in reinforcements to fight, and I understood my place in this small society. I was quickly taken to the hospital—not a public hospital, but the factory hospital where his father was the factory manager. My parents were notified to go to the school for mediation, but what could they do? They could only hope their son could continue his studies and not suffer further harm. So my parents were taken to the hospital to care for me. The nurses were quite attentive, bringing me meals from the staff canteen regularly. They could provide whatever I needed, and time passed day by day, but I still had to study. Every time I asked about their parents, they always said they were busy with work and meetings, avoiding seeing us. But they hadn't offended us and took very good care of us, but we still had a lot of farm work to do back home, and I didn't want to miss my schoolwork. Half a month passed. We couldn't stay any longer, so I left the hospital, and my parents went back to the countryside. When they left, they quietly and without reproach said to me, "Forget it, as long as you're okay, just focus on your studies, everything will be fine. Be careful in the future, don't mess with them." I could only agree. I returned to class with bandages on my head, and from then on, I had three scars on my head and a permanent wound deep in my young heart: I must make something of myself, and one day, I will live with my head held high, standing on the same social level as them. To do that, I must first get rid of my rural household registration and live openly and honestly in the city. When I have money, I will hire a large group of thugs and bodyguards to eliminate those scoundrels who bully students. Two things left a deep impression on me: "rural household registration" and

"money." I was thirteen years old that year, in the first year of junior high school. I spent my three years of junior high in this fear. Of course, I didn't forget my parents' words: study hard, get into university, and make something of yourself.

As I grew older, my curiosity about sex grew stronger and stronger. Sometimes it would inexplicably get hard, especially when I saw the tight, black leggings

and buttocks of older girls. The feeling became increasingly strange. Once, I was in so much pain that I secretly took it out in my dormitory. Without my aunt's glue bottle, I had to use my hand to manipulate my penis, forcefully pulling back the long foreskin and then covering the glans, repeating this repeatedly, finding it very comfortable. As the pleasure increased and intensified, suddenly a stream of white, viscous liquid spurted from the opening of my penis. I was immediately terrified. But I felt no discomfort in my body or penis, yet I was still very uneasy. As soon as the school bell rang, I hurried off to class. Three or four days passed, and everything was still normal, so I gradually forgot about it. But my curiosity didn't stop, especially about pretty girls.

Our dormitory was in a corner of the school playground, and my bed was right next to the window. Therefore, from our fourth-floor dormitory window, we could overlook the entire playground. I overslept again during my lunch break, just five minutes late, so I had to wait until the second period. I turned over and saw older students having PE. One class was not far from our dormitory, and they were doing warm-up exercises. Suddenly, all the students started doing push-ups, all with their backs to me. When they did the push-ups, their feet were pointing in my direction. Therefore, I could see every push-up very clearly, and suddenly I noticed a pair of buttocks tightly wrapped in black leggings, moving up and down. I felt my genitals begin to throb again. I stared intently at that area, two round mounds of flesh flanking a deep crevice. The mysterious part within that crevice stirred my imagination, especially the black, elastic leggings that tightly accentuated the curves. I involuntarily pressed myself against the bed, moving up and down, back and forth, with that black buttocks. The friction of the leggings causing the foreskin to retract and then forcefully push back up was incredibly stimulating to my penis. I couldn't control myself; subconsciously, I wanted to reach the other end, to keep moving like that. That black leggings-clad buttocks lying on the floor finally gave me the ultimate sensory stimulation. I felt an overwhelming surge of sensation again, an indescribable feeling spreading throughout my body, starting from my penis. I had to go to class, so I quickly got up. But as I prepared to get up, I was surprised to find my crotch wet. I pulled down my pants and saw a sticky liquid covering the area where my underwear and penis had touched. There was a chestnut flavor, exactly the same as last time. My doubts seemed to be resolved; it was probably something my penis expelled when I was feeling good. Anyway, it didn't matter, so I ignored it.

Thus, I developed an interest in women's buttocks. Whenever I saw a woman in black leggings, I couldn't help but look for my own round buttocks. I became extremely sensitive to everything about women. And when I saw a target, I would try every possible way to stimulate my penis. This thought and practice continued for many years.

In class, I would look out the window at my target, adjusting the distance between my chair and the desk to rub my penis. I

would squeeze my legs together to rub my penis, and so on. As I grew older, I learned about orgasms, ejaculation, and flirting from more sources. My knowledge of women's genitals remained limited to textbook knowledge. Magazine covers, postcards of female celebrities in stockings, and models in advertisements all became objects of my fantasies and "release" methods. My penis also underwent a noticeable change; it seemed to grow a lot of hair. It also became very large when erect. My fantasies about the sexes were no longer passive fantasies.

Instead, I would actively "solve" the problem whenever I had the desire. I also treasured many items that aroused me: a set of foreign swimsuit postcards, and several pictures of female celebrities from magazines that were rather revealing—basically, just pictures of women wearing short skirts or whose bras or panties were vaguely visible.

Once, I found several books on nude art in a corner of a bookstore and opened them as if they were treasures.

But I was also worried about being discovered, so I became very careful. Pretending to be nonchalant, I rubbed my crotch against the bookstore shelf, flipping through the pictures that aroused me the most, and I actually ejaculated there, my crotch covered in semen. Luckily, I was wearing more clothes in the fall. I once calculated that I wanted to "get with" 100 women, which was actually just masturbating to 100 different objects. My three years of junior high school were spent in this fear, repression, indulgence, initial understanding of sex, and gradually developing the habit of using masturbation to solve my physiological needs.

For me, the nightmare was far from over. I thought things would get better once I got to high school, but sometimes I wonder:

I really don't know what the Chinese police were doing back then.

One winter night in 1987, we were all asleep, and the door was unlocked. The stove fire was blazing, the flames illuminating the entire room. A student, having washed his hair, was about to dry it by the stove when three young men in Zhongshan suits entered. Without a word, they punched him from one end of the room to the other, blood streaming from his nose to his mouth.

"Wake them all up," one of the shorter men ordered.

The student was too terrified to speak. The shorter man kicked him in the face, sending his head crashing into the bunk bed. Blood flowed down his face.

Another, taller man, inserted an iron rod used for cleaning the stove into the fire. In less than a minute, the rod turned red-hot, hissing and sparking. The student crouched on the floor, trembling, his hands covering his head.

They began to check each sleeping student one by one. The red-hot rod pierced through a student's blanket with a "thud." It startled him awake. A scream of "Oh my god!" woke up some classmates, leaving permanent scars between their legs. At that moment, including me, who was sleeping in the lower bunk by the window, we were all unaware of what had happened. My instinct was to get up and see what was going on, but before I could even sit up, I felt a heavy object strike my left arm with a "crack." For the next month, my left arm was in a cast and sling for 35 days.

One of the three men was wielding a red-hot iron rod, swinging it at the students in the upper bunks. The other two were hitting the students in the lower bunks with stools from the floor. Unfortunately, I was the first target. Fortunately, I was the only one who didn't suffer any aftereffects from being hit so hard. One of the students cried out "Ouch!" after his shoulder blade was struck by the red-hot iron rod, and was then asked, "Does it hurt?" "

Yes!"

"Does it hurt?!" The heartless villain actually asked again, "It went in another inch." I only let them go after one of my classmates gritted his teeth and said "It doesn't hurt."

After this ordeal, of the six injured students, three from my dormitory went home to recuperate, and I haven't seen them since. Two dropped out in the second semester, and now I'm the only one who's persevered.

Because no matter what, I can't go home. I've been studying away from home for six years, and many villagers greet me warmly, saying, "The college student from the city is back!" How could I possibly go back to farming? What would that mean? Where would my parents' reputation be? No matter what, I have to persevere. What are these little injuries and insults compared to the cruelty of a lifetime of working against the earth and competing with the sun? Even if I encounter unavoidable thugs, or even if my own classmates bully me, I won't back down or drop out of school.

One day during self-study, "Sun Dou passed this to Li Gao." I saw him spit saliva into a piece of paper, wrap it up, and give it to me to give to Li Gao.

“Go ahead, he’ll tell on me,” I said with a laugh, indicating my unwillingness to play such a prank. They were both city folks; I couldn’t afford to offend either of them.

“Okay, then buy me a pack of cigarettes! Give them to me in three days,” he told me.

Of course, I took it as a joke, but a few days later, one morning, we met in the hallway. He called me into his dorm room, stood on the floor, and asked me, sitting on my bed, “Where are the cigarettes?”

“I don’t have any money. Why don’t you beat me up?” I thought we were classmates, he wouldn’t hit me.

But I was wrong!

He kicked me in the face, and I was stunned. He was much smaller than me; I could easily knock him down. But I didn’t dare to fight back, not even considering it, unless I didn’t want to study anymore, or my family had the money to transfer me to another school. Otherwise, if I fought back today, let alone hit him, tomorrow he would bring a bunch of people to beat me up, and I would suffer even more. I would have to obediently obey him. I understood my situation perfectly, and I had no choice but to give in. I gave him two days' worth of food money as a token of my respect, plus the kick he gave me. I really don't know how I survived. What can I do? I'm from the countryside. What can I do? My family is poor.

As a normal young man, my development was normal. Except for being thin due to malnutrition, my body structure was completely that of a man. I started growing a beard, my Adam's apple became prominent, my voice deepened, my pubic hair grew thicker, and my penis completely transformed into a man's penis. Female stimulation became easier, and I could easily obtain all kinds of obscene and pornographic materials from society. The stimulation of my penis was no longer just the superficial things I used to experience; I needed a more direct and realistic visual experience.

One direct method was to ride my bicycle around town in the summer, find a target, and then rub my penis up and down with my legs to achieve ejaculation. I first discovered this sensory stimulation by chance when I was riding my bicycle back to school.

Suddenly, a whiff of perfume wafted into my nose, instantly stirring a surge of emotion within me. Looking ahead, a woman on a red bicycle overtook me. She wore a semi-transparent, off-the-shoulder dress; the silhouette of her bra straps and white panties, along with the soft armpit hair fluttering in the wind, all intensely aroused me. I quickened my pace to catch up, inhaling her perfume again. Watching her legs swing up and down as she rode, her buttocks undulating, the cleft between her buttocks becoming even more clearly visible, it was as if she were gripping my penis. It was the first time I'd been so close to a woman's body, yet all I could see was armpit hair, but it felt as if I were seeing her pubic hair! I adjusted my seat slightly so the front of the bicycle seat could touch the base of my penis, squeezing it tighter with each leg movement to maximize the stimulation. I rode behind her in an "S" shape, inhaling more of her perfume, as pleasurable as being pressed against her skin. My hips would move back and forth rhythmically, imagining myself penetrating her buttocks. Although I had never seen what that mysterious place looked like, her rhythmically swaying hips were enough to give me room for imagination. I inserted myself into her buttocks, thrusting in and out, and she rhythmically cooperated with me. For the first time, I was directly stimulated, both actively and passively. I finally exploded, my body thrusting forward like a cat yawning, the desire to penetrate her completely. My whole body relaxed, a feeling of relaxation I had never experienced before.

From then on, any woman riding a bicycle on the street could be my object of release. Sometimes, to increase the stimulation, before I discovered condoms, I bought hair ties and put them around the base of my penis, including my testicles. In my mind, I imagined all sorts of women being ravaged and enjoyed. In this fantasy space, I got everything, I got satisfaction. A woman whose child was sleeping next to her, several women together being taken turns with by me, a woman being taken when her husband wasn't home, a woman wearing black stockings, an old woman with a loose vagina, and so on. On my bicycle, I tried "inserting" all sorts of women.

Another method was watching adult films; the more a film was labeled "not suitable for children," the more I would watch it.

Of course, some of these places were recommended by classmates. I even had a regular spot. Sometimes I would get scammed, only to find out there was nothing there. There used to be a street called Jiefang Road. Within a short distance of 1000 meters, there were 15 video arcades. The dimly lit, smoky screening rooms, sometimes emitting a strange smell, were packed with people waiting to watch "not suitable for children" films.

50% were migrant workers, 40% were students. This ratio hasn't changed much in pornographic video arcades across the country. Every time I saw the vaguely visible female lead's breasts, I would become incredibly excited, my hand in my pocket constantly stimulating my penis, moving it up and down or back and forth. Combined with the moans the female lead made, the visual and auditory stimulation intensified the arousal. Back then, movies didn't show any explicit depictions of sexual organs. However, I learned many sexual positions: the female lead riding on the male lead, her hair constantly swinging back; or the woman lying on the bed with her legs spread, the man standing below, supporting her raised legs and moving them back and forth. From these simple actions, I overturned my previous assumption that the female vagina wasn't located in the same position as the male penis, but rather directly below the legs. Sometimes I would buy a box of condoms beforehand for one yuan, ten in a pack. In the toilet, I would put the condom on my penis and continuously masturbate it while watching the videos until I ejaculated.

Ever since I discovered that masturbating with a condom on my penis feels incredibly pleasurable, I usually wear one during masturbation. It feels more restrictive and closer to the sensation of vaginal penetration. This applies whether in bed, while watching videos, or even when I'm cycling around looking for partners. Pornography has had a profound impact on my sexual attitudes, and I still remember it vividly.

[End]

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