【The Journey Home (Part 1)】

Chapter One: A Boy Unaware of Sexual Pleasures, Yet Still Remembering His Female Classmate.
Actually, I've been hesitant to write this down, because life isn't a novel;
even the most realistic fantasies are just illusions. However, compared to posting on the SIS forum, revealing a
memory buried deep within me is nothing.
I don't remember when I became infatuated with my mother. My mother is forty-seven years old this year. She's not
particularly attractive, and a bit overweight; at most, she's an ordinary housewife. If I had to find any redeeming qualities in her
, it would be that she's the type of woman I like—full-breasted and curvy. It's a chicken-and-
egg question: did I like my mother first, then women with full breasts and curvy hips, or did I like
women with full breasts and curvy hips first, then gradually fall for my mother, or perhaps both?
Before I describe my mother-fixation, let me introduce her. My mother is
about 1.55 meters tall and weighs 120 kilograms. She's not exactly stunningly beautiful; when she's at the market, she's just an ordinary
middle-aged woman. If I had to distinguish her from other middle-aged women, it would be that my mother also had a strong attachment to her son,
though I didn't know it at first. My parents were business people, traveling all over the country, practically living a nomadic life.
But perhaps because I was the youngest, I was inseparable from my parents from a young age. However, because I attended
kindergarten and primary school in another city, I learned Mandarin very early. So when my parents returned to their hometown
, I transferred to the local primary school.
As you can imagine, a clean-cut, fluent, and polite little boy attending a rural
primary school was very popular with the teachers, so I was the class monitor from first grade to first year of high school, for
ten consecutive years.
I remember when my parents returned to their hometown, it was in 1995. At that time, they built a
house with 80,000 yuan. After building the house, my parents wanted to relax and both became addicted to gambling. Of course,
they didn't gamble big, but they still lost 20,000 to 30,000 yuan a year. From that time on, my mother
developed a mahjong addiction. Whenever she had free time, she would play ten or twenty rounds, which was
something I resented about her when I was little.
When I was a child, I was a very righteous little rascal. Whenever my mother played mahjong, I
would try to disrupt her. Forced into a corner, she would give me a dollar or two of pocket money to buy snacks. Or,
to cheer me up, she would pull me onto her lap and watch her play.
At that time, my mother hadn't gained weight yet, and she was quite attractive,
even among the young women and wives in our village. Unfortunately, I was young and immature, and very playful. Although sitting
on my mother's lap was comfortable, I couldn't sit still for more than two minutes before quickly running away
.
However, my mother's attempts to bribe me obviously didn't work very well. When my grandparents called her for dinner,
if she hadn't finished her game after that round, I would simply push her tiles away. So, my mother would have to settle the score
and leave. Although my mother was quite angry at the time, and would always grab my ears, she
couldn't bring herself to pinch me too hard, so she could only let me misbehave. Later, when I went to university and came home to talk to my mother
about my childhood, she couldn't help but sigh that I was her little devil.
In 1998, to provide my brother and me with a better learning environment, my parents moved the whole family
to the city. We bought a small, 70-square-meter bungalow in the city, with only two rooms: a large living room and
two bedrooms, one large and one small. My parents lived in the master bedroom, and my brother and I lived in the second bedroom. This bungalow was actually only one and
a half stories high; the upper level was mainly used for storing various odds and ends.
Before high school, I wasn't very tall; when I graduated from elementary school, I was less than 1.4 meters tall, which made
me quite self-conscious around the girls in my class.
At that time, our family's financial situation wasn't good; at least, they didn't subscribe to milk for me then.
They would only buy one or two cases of Mengniu milk during the Lunar New Year, but my brother didn't like the taste,
so I usually drank it all myself. Although I drank some milk, my short stature and thin build
meant I was somewhat underdeveloped. Fortunately, I was always active and athletic, even
representing my school in city-level table tennis competitions during elementary school, which brought my parents great pride.
Shortly after my mother was born, the Cultural Revolution began. In that turbulent era, my mother, being my maternal
grandmother's third daughter, had virtually no opportunity for education. Therefore, for my mother, my mischievousness wasn't
a bad thing, but if my grades were poor, it was a huge problem. She would
tell my father without hesitation, and he would beat me with a belt.
However, as mentioned before, I always had good grades, consistently ranking among the top in my grade, so my parents didn't worry
too much. Moreover, when my parents and friends gathered, their relatives and friends would always praise
me, which was their proudest moment.
Perhaps because of my short stature, my sexual awareness developed relatively late. Even
when I was in sixth grade, my mother, worried that I wouldn't be able to clean myself properly after bathing, would come and help me bathe when my father wasn't home
. She was very thorough, scrubbing 　　my skin
vigorously with both hands from my back to my armpits to my thighs, leaving it bright red afterward. Of course, while there weren't 　　any particularly taboo things between mother and son, there were still things to be mindful of. After my mother finished washing me, 　　I still had to wash my penis myself. 　　However, I was quite lazy and would just quickly dry myself with a towel before getting ready to change 　　. So, my mother would occasionally scold me, then wet her hands and clean 　　around my penis, then pull back the foreskin to clean the glans. 　　I was a little embarrassed at the time, so I always tried to avoid it. When Mom saw my shy expression, she 　　threw the towel at me and said, "Never mind, never mind, do it yourself. Wash yourself properly, you brat, you're the one I gave birth to."

"Oh, I haven't seen that part of your body before, are you shy?" However, this treatment stopped when I graduated from elementary school
because my mother felt I was already a big boy and my penis could get erect,
so she stopped scrubbing me.
As mentioned before, my sexual awareness developed late, so I didn't find my mother's bathing of me
particularly erotic. When my mother said she wouldn't bathe me anymore, I didn't feel disappointed, but rather
relieved. In high school, after starting to pursue girls, when I gradually noticed their breasts and
developing hip curves, I remembered my mother's kindness again and wanted her to continue bathing me,
but I couldn't bring myself to say it.
In middle school, my parents became increasingly busy; they rented a shop not far from home and started
a business... With the purchase of some building materials, the family's financial situation gradually improved. My parents planned
to buy an apartment not far from home and move in.
In junior high, still in that carefree, youthful age, a clear
boundary had formed between boys and girls. Although some precocious boys started dating, perhaps secretly touching
breasts or pinching buttocks, the intimacy and playfulness between boys and girls at that time was something to be envied. However,
when I was in junior high, I experienced my first sexual awakening. My junior high homeroom teacher was
a middle-aged man in his forties, extremely strict, but with exceptional teaching ability; his math class consistently
ranked first in the entire grade. However, he had a man... The common problem is that he has a weakness for women. However, despite his lustful
nature, he didn't prey on the delicate girls in his class like those hypocrites.
Instead, he set his sights on our English teacher.
Our English teacher's surname was Cheng, and our homeroom teacher's surname was Wang. What surprised us most was that Teacher Cheng was actually
Teacher Wang's student. Well, when I discovered Teacher Cheng and Teacher Wang's affair, my immediate thought was, "Damn,
it's practically a teacher-student illicit relationship!" I hadn't seen the novel *The Young Woman Bai Jie* at the time, but our homeroom teacher
was a minor school leader, so when I looked back on this memory as an adult, I once thought
it was a 2001 version of *The Young Woman Bai Jie*.
Of course, to be honest, I didn't know when they started their affair, and besides, it was consensual.
What does it have to do with me? Actually , I've met our English teacher's husband. He's not very meticulous, and I've even seen him
urinate and defecate anywhere, so I've always felt he's not good enough for our teacher, Ms. Cheng. Although Ms. Cheng
is in her thirties, she looks very young. While her bust isn't particularly large, she has long legs and
a shapely bottom, making her very attractive from behind.
As the homeroom teacher, Ms. Cheng is required to be present during morning reading sessions, and as the English teacher, she
often checks on our progress. However, as the homeroom teacher, Ms. Wang likes to sit with Ms. Cheng
behind the podium and chat. I don't know what they talk about, since the reading noise during morning self-study is too loud
. However, I've observed that every time they chat... Teacher Wang would place his hand on Teacher Cheng's chair,
and then Teacher Cheng would sit on Teacher Wang's hand, allowing Teacher Wang to freely touch Teacher Cheng's buttocks.
I was the English class representative at the time, so I often went to Teacher Cheng's house with her. Teacher Cheng lived on the fifth floor, so
as she climbed the stairs, I would greedily stare at her swaying buttocks, wishing I could touch
them as much as possible. However, I was too timid to actually do it, only daring to fantasize in my mind.
But after I graduated from university, I visited Teacher Cheng and finally got my wish, but that's another
story.
Although I couldn't physically touch Teacher Cheng, I had another way to relieve my boredom. In the second
year of junior high, I got a new female deskmate, and that girl was more developed... She was quite young, and when she stood up, she was a head taller than me.
However, her grades were average, so when she sat next to me, she seemed quite pleased and patiently
asked me questions. When she turned her head, I would casually glance at her fair neck,
though I dared not look too closely, I still caught a glimpse of her white bra through her collar. Actually, in our
county, girls wore bras throughout junior and senior high school, only having the opportunity
to wear colorful bras after entering university or getting married.
Perhaps because I was naturally sociable, I quickly became acquainted with my female deskmate, surnamed Xie.
Because I had repeatedly helped her with her studies, her mother specially invited me to her home.
I really wanted to go, because Xie's mother... At the time, her clothes were actually quite fashionable—ink-
blue jeans and a colorful t-shirt. She looked quite young. Later, I learned that her mother had previously
owned a KTV in Qingdao. I didn't know the meaning of "KTV" in the years leading up to 2000; I always thought
her mother was worldly-wise from living in a big city, which explained her allure that ordinary middle-aged women lacked.
After seeing her mother, and comparing her to my own, due to my teenage rebellion, I began to dislike
my mother. Because at that time, my mother had started to gain weight, had wrinkles, and possessed
the petty airs of an ordinary city woman. She was also addicted to mahjong. How could I love a mother like that?
My mother, however, didn't understand my aloofness; she was still so welcoming every time I came home from school. Occasionally, she would pull me
close and give me a big kiss on the cheek. As a child, I thought this was a
natural mother-child gesture, so I would sometimes kiss her back.
But in middle school, her actions just seemed vulgar to me. So whenever she
came close, I would use my studies as an excuse to avoid her, which saddened her greatly. When she
complained to my father that we weren't close enough, he would comfort her, saying it was just a boy's rebellious phase and it would pass
. But my father didn't understand that I always hoped my mother would be well-educated,
gentle, and beautiful with a feminine charm. So how could they, as parents, possibly understand the inner turmoil I felt
?
During that time, I basically devoted all my attention to my female deskmate. Then,
one winter in junior high, our relationship finally took a turn for the better. Back then, in junior high, there was a one-
hour lunch break. Boarding students could go back to their dorms to sleep, while day students had to
nap in the classroom.
My classmate Xie and I were both day students, so we slept in the classroom during lunch break. We sat in
two rows against the wall, and our seats were quite far back. The rows behind were mostly occupied by boarding students, so
my deskmate and I were basically at the very back during nap time.
I sat in the row next to the aisle, and my deskmate sat in the row next to the window. Because our two rows
were five rows away from the aisle of the school building, even if the homeroom teacher came to check our nap time, he basically
couldn't see what was happening on our side. Plus, I was an excellent student with good grades, and Xie was
so well-behaved, so whenever he checked the nap time, he wouldn't come to my row.
So when I slept, I faced the window, and I don't remember the exact date. I was
facing the window, looking at my female deskmate, and couldn't sleep. Bored, I remembered
the scene of Teacher Wang touching Teacher Cheng's thigh, so I mustered my courage and secretly placed my left hand on my deskmate's thigh. Of course,
I just placed it there; I didn't intend to touch her. But as I left it there, seeing that my deskmate
wasn't awake yet, I started randomly tapping my five fingers on her thigh, like playing the piano. That way,
even if she woke up, I could tell her I was joking.
However, she was clearly a very sound sleeper, and no matter how I tapped, she didn't move. Later, I found out that
she was actually pretending to be asleep. She knew it was wrong to touch her thigh, but she was too embarrassed to
stop me directly and wanted to continue sitting next to me, so she pretended not to notice and let me do as I pleased. Because
my mother had told her that there were two places a woman should never let a boy touch: her vulva and her breasts.
Plus, when I touched her thigh, my classmate seemed to enjoy it. Boys and girls at that age, just
beginning to understand matters of the heart, naturally want to interact with the opposite sex and have some intimate moments.
Seeing that my classmate didn't react, I felt like I had a magic weapon. I then placed my left hand on her thigh
and began stroking it repeatedly. I was quite enthusiastic about it, but of course, I didn't intend to touch her
vulva, because I knew that if I touched there, I would most likely be considered a pervert.
Here, I must mention an experience from my elementary school days. That day, my father went out to play cards and didn't come back until very late.
I was watching TV in my parents' room. It was quite late, so I lay in the same bed as my mother. My mother
wanted to sleep, but I couldn't, so I tried to chat with her. She didn't want to, so I tickled her feet
and, to coax her, massaged her back from behind with both hands.
When Mom went to sleep, she was wearing a white cotton vest, her bra already off—
a plain pink full-coverage bra with no design. Usually, when I helped her take the laundry upstairs,
I wouldn't even glance at it after taking it off. After fiddling with it for a while, Mom lost sleep, so she turned to
face me and started chatting.
Our conversation was uneventful, mostly about my childhood, and then we got to my birth
. Mom recalled the circumstances of my birth, and to illustrate the hardships of her ten months of pregnancy, she lifted her vest
a little to show me the stretch marks on her belly. Seeing the white stripes on Mom's body was quite
moving, and to reinforce the educational effect, she pointed to other areas of her body, such as her back and buttocks
, and the area below her breasts.
When Mom pointed to these stretch marks, I inevitably saw
the creases on her breasts and buttocks. However, as I mentioned before, I didn't have much sexual awareness in elementary school, so I didn't realize how impactful such
behavior could be for a young boy.
My memory of that time is vague. I only remember that my mother had very fair skin, her breasts were a little saggy but quite
large, and she had some extra fat on her stomach, but she didn't look fat. Perhaps because I didn't understand sex when I was little
, my mother wasn't very wary of me. After I started junior high school, she would
always go into the bedroom before changing her coat.
Seeing the stretch marks under my mother's breasts, I couldn't help but be curious, so I asked her how long I was breastfed.
My mother told me that I was weaned relatively late because I had lived with my parents since I was little. In addition, my mother had plenty of milk
, so I wasn't completely weaned until I was two and a half years old. Perhaps this is the root of my Oedipus complex? At that time,
I was still clueless, so I stupidly asked my mother, "Do you still have milk?"
My mother smiled, she moved her vest up a little, and she said to me, "Whether you have milk or not, you can tell by squeezing
." I was quite naive at the time, so I squeezed a few times with my hands, but when no milk came out, I gave up
. At that time, my mother's nipples were still dark red, smaller than peanuts, and her breasts were slightly sagging, though not
noticeably. I was a little resentful, so I leaned closer and bit my mother's right nipple,
gently sucking on it.
My mother was stunned for a moment, then slapped me, scolding me as a "little hooligan, going astray." I felt
very innocent; perhaps my actions didn't have any special meaning, but my mother
clearly thought this crossed the line of mother-son intimacy, so she interrupted me with unusual sensitivity.
That night, I received the most basic lesson: a girl's breasts and inner thighs are absolutely forbidden to be touched
; doing so is considered indecent assault. For a good student like me, indecent assault was a rather frightening
charge.
So, after that afternoon nap, I gradually got into the habit of touching my female deskmate's thighs. Of course, touching her thighs
wasn't enough. I also wanted to learn from Teacher Wang and touch my deskmate's buttocks. For a
fourteen or fifteen-year-old girl, my deskmate's development was quite appealing. Her chest was beginning to develop
a small mound, and her hips were gradually widening, no longer flat. While not exactly shapely and perky, they were clearly showing signs of development.
A woman's curves.
Touching a thigh and touching a buttocks are different, because if I wanted to touch my deskmate's buttocks, she had to cooperate
. If she didn't lift her buttocks, how could I put my hand on the chair? Forgive me, I always thought that if you
wanted to touch a buttocks, you first had to put your hand on the chair.
But things gradually changed. Once, when I was helping my deskmate with a problem, I had nowhere to put my left hand, so I intentionally or
unintentionally put it on the corner of her chair. When my deskmate moved her buttocks, she happened to press
down on my hand. Her face turned red immediately, and I was a little embarrassed. So I withdrew my hand,
but when I got excited while explaining the problem, I unintentionally put my hand on her chair again. This time it was even more straightforward,
and she sat down on my hand firmly.
When she moved her little buttocks, my left hand felt the pleasant touch of her buttocks, and I
forgot to pull it back for a moment. She glared at me, and I quickly realized what I had done and pulled my hand away from between her buttocks
. Then I held it to my nose and smelled it. "Hmm, it smells a bit bad. Did you just fart?
" For a girl, being told she farted is a huge insult. She knew I was joking, but
I still almost made her cry.
I quickly tried to comfort her, but seeing that it wasn't very effective, I thought I had to find the one who caused the problem. So I put my left hand
on her chair, tapped her buttocks, and gestured for her to lift up so I could put my hand in. She knew this
was inappropriate, but to save face, she still pressed my left hand down with her buttocks. Who knew that would
last for the entire class? She sat there firmly, as if afraid I would pull it away prematurely. When the first class ended, she got up to go to
the restroom. As she passed me, she whispered, "You little rascal, now smell me. Is it
smelly or sweet?"
For a girl, even mentioning her buttocks was considered a vulgar and extremely offensive. To be honest
, I actually miss those days. Although I know some female students born in the 90s now,
they may look innocent, but they swear a lot. You can take them out to eat for several days in a row, celebrate their
birthdays, borrow a nice car to pick them up from school, and once their vanity is satisfied, you can openly
take them to a hotel.
These 90s girls are also very straightforward in bed, never coy or hesitant, and they simply take off their coats,
some even leaving their bras untouched. They don't understand that for men, unbuttoning a woman's bra
brings an indescribable sense of satisfaction. Of course
, I wouldn't back down from this argument. "You can't be sure this time. You need to have more contact
to know if it's good or bad. The sample size is too small to be statistically accurate." In junior high, I often looked at
high school math textbooks in advance, which gave me a different perspective on solving math problems. So I
basically got full marks in junior high math; sometimes, when the whole class couldn't solve a problem, I was the only one who could.
When I went up to the podium to explain things to everyone, my deskmate would always look at me with admiration, which made
me feel extremely pleased.
Some doors, once opened, can't be closed. After a few times, my deskmate got used to my
harassment. As long as I didn't tease her during class, she wouldn't
say anything even if I put my hand under her butt all day. During some boring classes, I would occasionally reach over and touch her thigh, and she wouldn't object.
Of course, I did a very good job of concealing it; my classmates and teachers never noticed. And when the teacher came over
, my deskmate would naturally move my hand away. However, these days, you can't always walk by the river without getting
your shoes wet. When I slid my hand on her thigh, I would occasionally accidentally touch
the inside of her calf.
Whenever this happened, she would resolutely move my hand under her butt and press it down,
telling me not to cause trouble.
In the third year of junior high, our studies gradually became heavier, and we faced the pressure of the high school entrance exam. At the time, the teacher planned to
group the top students in the class together to improve each other's skills and fill in any gaps in their
knowledge, thus increasing their chances of getting into top high schools. For a junior high school, building a reputation boils down to
the number of students admitted to the county's top high school and the city's top high school. Our county's top high school was a provincial key high school, and the city's top high school was a national key high school. If five
or six students in our class got into the city's top high school, our homeroom teacher would probably be laughing in his sleep.
However, I was captivated by my female deskmate's gentleness and didn't want to switch. My deskmate, though not daring to object to
the teacher's opinion, just kept her head down and didn't say anything. The homeroom teacher looked at us, her face becoming serious.
At that moment, a rather mischievous boy in the class shouted, "Teacher, I know they're dating.
They often hold hands under the desk during class." Upon hearing this, my deskmate turned pale instantly,
burst into tears, and ran out of the classroom.
I didn't dare chase after him, but I was filled with hatred. I stared intently at the classmate who had snitched, cursing in my mind, "
Fuck your mother! I hate those gossipy people behind my back. If you're so capable
, talk to me to my face. What kind of skill is snitching?" The classmate looked a little guilty under my gaze and lowered his head. But coincidentally
, when I was in high school, I almost slept with his mother and became his adoptive father.
Teacher Wang couldn't save face and pointed at me, "You, you can't even tolerate classmates having opinions about you? You
're quite something in the class, practically a little tyrant!" Teacher Wang's words made the class burst into laughter
. I was too embarrassed to say anything. "You and Jie XX, you both need to have your parents come in tomorrow!"
The next day, my mother came to the school. In Teacher Wang's office, the five of us—me, Jie XX, Jie's
mother, my mother, and Teacher Wang—squeezed around the desk. Teacher Wang briefly explained my situation,
downplaying the details of Jie XX's actions. He basically said I was deceived, young and ignorant, and in short,
shifted the blame onto me.
Actually, after I grew up, I understood why Teacher Wang punished me so severely. Think about it, even as a lecherous
homeroom teacher, he wouldn't dare to lay a hand on the girls in his class, yet I, such a little kid, actually got...
The girls were his prize. How could he possibly be kind to me when he treated all the girls in the class like his own?
Mrs. Jie's face was grim. She rushed over, trying to hit me. "You little brat! I asked you to tutor my
daughter, and you're tutoring her in erotic education? Jie XX, tell me, have you suffered any
loss?"
Parents can punish their children, but it's not for outsiders to interfere. Mrs. Jie spread her arms, shielding me behind her
. "It takes two to tango. Even if they're dating, what serious
mistakes could these fourteen or fifteen-year-olds make? Don't think I don't know your background. What exactly did you do in Qingdao? Like mother, like
daughter!"
Mrs. Jie's face was very unpleasant, and the office became a battlefield as the two women argued. Teacher Wang was speechless.
These two middle-aged women were arguing, and as a male teacher, he couldn't easily pull them apart. He could only
keep trying to calm them down. I looked at my female classmate standing in the corner and winked at her. She thought I was going to
say something to her, so I pouted and made a kissing gesture. She blushed immediately and turned her face away. Adults arguing, kids suffer. The homeroom teacher decided 　　to rearrange
the seating for the whole class this Saturday morning after school . 　　Why Saturday? Because we have a break every Saturday noon and classes on Sunday evening. 　　It's convenient to move the chairs during the break. Otherwise, how can the classrooms downstairs have classes if the chairs upstairs are making a racket? 　　That day was Friday, meaning my classmate and I could only be deskmates for one day. 　　Back in our seats, neither of us spoke. Holding hands was out of the question, so we pretended 　　not to know each other and deliberately kept quiet. A girl named He, sitting behind my deskmate, was quite gossipy. She 　　nudged me from behind: "You two broke up? Oh, what a pity!" Clearly, she saw us as 　　warriors of "life is precious, but love is more precious." This kind of love triangle where lovers can't be together is 　　just too much for girls' tastes. 　　That evening, my deskmate still didn't speak to me, which made me a little disappointed, because I felt 　　she actually liked me a bit. At least we had mutual feelings for each other, otherwise she wouldn't have been 　　so indulgent towards me. There were no classes that evening, and everyone was diligently working on their tests. I held a pen, twirling it in my hand 　　, bored out of my mind. 　　Just then, she handed me a black-covered notebook, gesturing for me to open it, and then 　　gently placed my left hand on her thigh. 　　I opened the notebook. There was nothing written on it; the first page was blank. On the back of the first page, however, was a 　　diary entry: "I got criticized by the homeroom teacher today, and my parents were called in. So embarrassing! Are we 　　dating? Probably not, at least I can't tell if he likes me. But I 　　often think of him when I have free time, his smile, his jokes. I admire his vast knowledge; he 　　knows almost everything. He's also very good at math, almost always getting first place in weekly tests. Could this be love 　　?" 　　Looking at this simple line, I was deeply moved. I was a little confused. Clearly, she was using the diary 　　to confess her feelings to me. The first page was left for me to fill in. It was a shared diary; you write on one page, I write on one 　　page, and then we hand it to each other. 　　But then I realized something was wrong, because my left hand had already entered her forbidden zone, 　　caressing the inside of her thigh. But judging from her expression, she didn't seem to resist. She had already had her first period, so 　　there was a sanitary napkin in her pants, and I couldn't feel anything. However, I misjudged the situation that day; 　　it wasn't her period, so when I touched her a few times, her genitals were actually wet. 　　This shocked me greatly; even through her jeans, I could feel a dampness, though it wasn't 　　very noticeable. I didn't dare look at her pants, but I was afraid that girls familiar with my classmate would see, 　　and if word got out, she really wouldn't be able to stand in the class anymore. The gossip alone could drown a poor, vulnerable girl. 　　Fortunately, she pretended to be doing her homework and didn't get up to go to the bathroom, 　　leaving the classroom last, one after the other. 　　The next day, I mentally prepared myself for a seat change, and then wrote the first page of my diary, intending to 　　return it to my deskmate. But to my surprise, my deskmate didn't come over until the end of the school day. After school, 　　unable to bear the torment any longer, I mustered up the courage to ask Teacher Cheng. Teacher Cheng looked at me sympathetically. "I didn't expect you, a 　　young boy, to be so loyal. Jie XX, she transferred to another school!" 　　I was momentarily bewildered. Did my deskmate know she was transferring, which is why she 　　tolerated me crossing her final psychological barrier? For a girl around ten years old, even touching 　　her private parts through her clothes was tantamount to entrusting her entire being to me, right? Or was it because her mother saw 　　the wet stains on her daughter's jeans that night and feared we'd go too far, so she hurriedly transferred her daughter to another school so 　　she could focus on her studies? 　　I don't know for sure. For me, my deskmate Jie left an indelible mark on my teenage memories 　　. "A young boy, unaware of the pleasures of sex, still remembers his schoolgirl deskmate." End. To find out what happens next, stay tuned for the next installment.

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【The Journey Home (Part 1)】

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