My past life as a toilet voyeur

I developed an interest in the opposite sex at a very young age. I knew that boys and girls were different and used different toilets. In
kindergarten, I noticed that the girls squatted to pee, while we stood because girls
don't have penises.

After starting first grade, everyone stopped wearing open-crotch pants, so you couldn't see bare bottoms anymore. But
I still envied the school's straw-mat toilets. There were clearly holes, and I didn't know who had dug them, but at
first I was too scared to look. Later, just hearing the urination sounds from next door during recess made me really itchy. I always waited patiently
because recess was at the same time, and by the time the boys finished, the girls were almost done too. I always wanted to see
the bottom of Xiaofan, the prettiest girl in my class, but fate was unkind, and I never saw it. Days passed
, and the opportunity never came.

In second grade, there were two families in our village with three children, who were relatives. One family had
a boy as the eldest, and the other family had a boy as the youngest. The two families' children often played together. One midday, I noticed
the four girls had gone to the toilet and hadn't come out for a long time. It was a hot midday, and most of them were taking
a nap. I mustered up my courage and sneaked to the front of the brick toilet. There were several small holes at the bottom. I crouched down as low as possible
, my face almost touching the ground, and peered inside. I happened to see a little girl's private parts. They were
probably eight or nine years old then. It was completely open, and all I could see was a pinkish mound. I've long
forgotten what I remember now. Seeing that, I only knew it was something bad, and I would be terribly embarrassed if caught. I watched
for less than a minute before sneaking away.

The days that followed passed quickly, but I never dared to look again, because the toilet was right
next to a straight strip of land in front of the village, and looking through the holes was too dangerous. Winters are cold, and we used coal stoves
for heating. I can't remember how old I was, but a big truck from out of town unloaded coal and turned around. The driver
was really bad; the back of the truck crashed into the toilet! Luckily, he stopped in time, and the toilet wasn't
demolished. But later, I noticed a crack in the partition wall between the men's and women's toilets. Could I chisel it through
? I really wanted to see how those pretty girls who dressed up every day relieved themselves. After much
effort, I finally chiseled a small hole in the brick wall through the crack. To me, it wasn't just a hole;
it was a thrill. I stood inside the toilet, looking out through the hole at the front to see who came. After waiting
for ages, someone finally came. I excitedly peered through the small hole I'd made, holding my breath,
afraid of disturbing them. But I was sorely disappointed. The hole was too small—strictly speaking, not a hole, just a crack.
I was afraid they'd find out, but… what should I do? I carefully observed the structure. There were
seven squatting positions for both men and women, with no partitions in between. If the hole were enlarged, it would directly target the woman's
buttocks when she takes off her pants, and it would be quite high, making it less noticeable. One dark night, I used a steel rod to
widen the hole, making it about the size of a gap between the bricks of a typical house. During the day, when no one was
around, I could only see one squatting position; the others were invisible. In other words, unless someone was squatting
furthest away from me, I could only see the whole thing. Otherwise, it was dangerous. This was much more satisfying than just looking at a wall.

With this idea in mind, I waited for my opportunity. It was almost Chinese New Year, and everyone went to see the performances. Of course, I
joined in the fun. As I watched, I heard a girl from my village, about four or five years older than me—
around seventeen or eighteen at the time—tell another girl she needed to use the toilet. My heart leaped with excitement; I hoped she
would go to the one I'd created (there were five toilets in the village). And wouldn't you know it, I saw her coming this way
! I quickly took a detour and ran towards her, thinking, "Please, please, no one's using the toilet there." Everything went smoothly
. I lowered my breath and saw her through the window. I peered into the opening and saw her lift her clothes
, unbuckle her belt. I couldn't see her face, only the back half of her body. She pulled down her pants, and I saw her buttocks.
My first impression was—such plump, such white buttocks! But when she squatted down, I couldn't see them anymore. I had
to wait until she stood up and pulled up her pants to get another glimpse. This experience was exhilarating; I'd finally seen it!

In the days that followed, I would rush home after school to use the toilet. If I met someone else
, I would stall them, saying I had a stomachache. The hardest part was when someone had to
squat there with me for twenty minutes straight, and when I got up, it felt like a million needles were pricking my feet. Over the years, I gained quite a bit.
I absolutely had to watch girls. I wasn't interested in girls over 30 or under 10. I'd
basically seen all the girls in my village. Some weren't even wary. I'd just observe their different
buttocks—some big, some small, some perky, some yellowish and thin, without any flesh.
The least wary girls were the ones over 20, the young women. They were always so carefree and leisurely
, doing whatever they needed to do, like changing their menstrual bags. I could watch them closely from the side, even
seeing their slightly upturned pubic hair. What was more uncomfortable was watching them defecate, seeing those
clumps of feces coming out of their snow-white buttocks. It was an unpleasant feeling, and sometimes I'd just give up watching. The most vigilant
were the young girls who had just started puberty; sometimes they would peek into the hole from a distance. I don't know where I read
it, but it says the first thing to move is the shoulder. I could spot them as soon as they moved and quickly move away.

Watching these women, aged eleven or twelve to their early twenties, do all sorts of things while relieving themselves, and hearing their
conversations, felt amazing, especially when several women relieved themselves together. It was a perfect opportunity; they were so
engrossed in their conversations that they wouldn't be on guard at all. Their behavior after urinating was also different; some wiggled their buttocks up and down,
while others wiped themselves with toilet paper. I really admired those who did the wiggling. I

had two particularly memorable moments. Once, a high school girl from my village came over with four or five of her
classmates. They all came to the toilet together, and my eyes were blurry from watching so much. Before I could even see one clearly, another
's silhouette blocked my view. Luckily, they didn't pull up their pants at the same time, so I could see each one.
Finally , the one furthest from me was defecating. After everyone else had left, I could
see her completely—her squatting posture, the toilet paper in her hand. She looked over and saw my eyes. I thought,
since she doesn't know me, I just stared at her. She glanced at me sideways, and I looked back at her, but only
at her exposed parts. She cleaned herself under my gaze, pulling up her pants quickly.
Then she disappeared very quickly. I guess when she got to her classmate's house, I ran away as fast as I could,
afraid someone would report me and arrest me. Thinking about it later, it's quite interesting. First, she was probably worried about her reputation and didn't dare to say anything,
since a stranger had seen her anyway. Second, there was an internal struggle at the time; she glanced at me sideways, and I didn't back down, but she
did. So, as people say, no matter how tough you are, if you fight someone naked, you'll always lose.

Another time, it was a girl I met at a friend's house. She was probably around twenty-three or twenty-four. She
was related to my friend's father, I think. She was very pretty. I saw her slowly completing
the process more than once. Because of her beauty, I wished time could stand still when I looked at her. Her bottom was also very beautiful
. The most beautiful thing was that she was so focused on doing her own thing that I could watch her change her sanitary pads.
Whether she was squatting or standing, the beautiful curve of her buttocks was all in my eyes. At that time, I always marveled
at why God made the curve of the buttocks so beautiful, especially with pants above the knee, highlighting her
snow-white bottom. The feeling was indescribable.

I spent several more years like this. During these years, my mindset underwent a huge change
. Girls who used to blush and be afraid when they saw me, now I like to watch the curve of their buttocks from the side when I see them
, reliving the exposed curves I once saw.

As I grew older, I peeked less and less, only to find that
someone had taken over. Someone had dug a new hole somewhere below, making it much more dangerous. And the newcomer
kept making the hole bigger and bigger, until it became so big that anyone who came could easily see if anyone was in the next room by simply
crouching down and turning their head slightly. I thought to myself, "Who's this fool
? So stupid!" I peeked less and less, usually only targeting
women who came to the village as guests. I stopped looking at the village elders, those I didn't find attractive, or those I'd seen too often, because it would be too easy
to be caught. I was always very careful, and eventually, I was never caught. Later, I went away to school and work.
When I returned to the village, this secret place that had once brought me so much joy
had been replaced, and I never had the chance to look again.

Looking back on that time, I remember joy, fear, excitement, ecstasy, and of course, disgust. In the past, when I did
this kind of thing, I always told myself, "I'll look this time, and I wo
n't look again." But it was hard to control my behavior. Sometimes, even though I'd seen that girl countless times and
felt almost numb, the temptation of that peek was too strong to resist. I think it was probably because this kind of
thing wasn't allowed, the thrill of doing it, my youthful ignorance and desires about the opposite sex, that
led to my actions. Fortunately, the girls from my village whom I saw still
don't know that I spied on some of their privacy; it's just hidden deep in my heart. I think
this is a kind of illusion that protects them from harm; that's the only way I can comfort myself.

Because of this experience, I used to think I was despicable, afraid that I would talk about it in my sleep
. This experience has been hidden in my heart for a long time, and I dared not tell anyone. I'm grateful to this forum for giving
me this opportunity, and I thank all my friends for their passion, which gave me the courage to speak out here.

[End of text]

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My past life as a toilet voyeur

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