Youth can forgive everything

(I)

From the first moment I saw Teacher Zhu, I harbored a despicable and wicked thought.

It was in the early 1990s; I was seventeen, a sophomore in high school.

Seventeen is the age when every boy is full of vitality, at least half of his brain cells are filled with lust, the throbbing and desires of youth are impossible to suppress, always finding a way to surface.

Unfortunately, the surrounding environment was terrible.

I attended a top-tier high school, ranked among the best in the country. Everyone in the city knew that getting into this high school was like having one foot in university; you could hold your head high, be praised by your parents, be the pride of the whole family, and earn the unanimous praise of relatives and friends as a "good kid."

But everyone also knew that top-tier high schools had another resounding and glorious synonym: "ugly duckling concentration camp."

The higher the college entrance rate of a top-tier high school, the more ugly girls it had, and the ugliness of each girl was perfectly proportional to her academic ranking. It's said that when the esteemed head of student affairs inspects the classes, he doesn't even need to look at report cards to find out who the top students are; he just glances at the girls' faces, and sure enough, the one with the most striking and creative features is the top student.

—Pretty girls are always relatively less willing to endure hardship, and without enduring hardship, it's absolutely impossible to get into this high school that every child in the city is scrambling to get into. This is the direct reason why so many girls, who are considered　 an eyesore, are gathering here.

Of course, the situation isn't much better for the boys. While they aren't all exactly ugly, there are very few who are truly presentable. The vast majority are like me—neither handsome nor repulsive, with no outstanding features other than their regular facial features, and no flaws other than a lot of acne.

Growing up in such an environment of "truth, goodness, and ugliness" was truly painful for us, the successors of the communist cause. It could even be said that it severely damaged our love for a beautiful life and the proletarian aesthetic values that should have been correctly established from childhood. The only advantage was that the decadent bourgeois practice of "puppy love" was resolutely stifled—no, it should be said that it didn't even have a chance to sprout.

It was under these circumstances that Teacher Zhu appeared in my life, entering my life's trajectory.

I will never forget that day, April 14th.

During the last self-study period in the afternoon, I was frantically copying my deskmate's recently completed homework when the homeroom teacher suddenly walked in, followed by a beautiful woman in her early twenties.

"Class, please stop your work and look over here," the homeroom teacher shouted, signaling everyone to pay attention to him. But all the students' eyes, without prior agreement, bypassed his respectable pockmarked face and focused entirely on the pretty girl behind him. For a full five seconds, the entire class was silent.

—Wow! "Wow, this girl is gorgeous!"

I heard a voice inside me exclaim, almost blurting out a line from a Stephen Chow movie, my eyes widening in amazement.

"This is our new student teacher!" the homeroom teacher announced. "She teaches Chinese and will officially start teaching today, while also serving as our homeroom teacher. Let's all give her a warm welcome!" Thunderous applause erupted. I led the applause, clapping the hardest until my hands turned red with excitement.

Hooray! What a wonderful day! A stunning beauty has arrived in this "ugly duckling" camp! This is so exciting!

To this day, I still clearly remember the first time I saw this student teacher. She was wearing a purple sweater and jeans; her clear, captivating eyes, her perfectly rosy cheeks, and her flowing black ponytail made her look like a fresh-faced college student, radiating youthful energy.

Amid applause, the young female student teacher walked to the center of the podium, bowed, and began her self-introduction with grace and poise.

"My name is Zhu Shanxin, and I just graduated from teachers' college. I majored in Chinese Literature. It's a pleasure to meet you all. Please call me Teacher Zhu!" As she spoke, she turned and picked up the chalk, writing her name neatly on the blackboard.

That name was forever etched in my heart.

However, at the time, I didn't pay attention to what she was writing. My eyes were drawn to Teacher Zhu's graceful posture as she wrote with her back to the class; her jeans perfectly accentuated her long legs and rounded hips.

When she turned around, seeing her strikingly prominent, high-set breasts, I was stunned, my mouth agape as I let out an exaggerated gasp.

—My God, even wearing such a thick sweater, she could still have such a defined outline! How big must her breasts be!

This thought flashed through my mind like lightning, and my heart pounded like a deer's; a sudden surge of blood rushed to my groin.

Ms. Zhu put down the chalk, smiled sweetly, and said, "Class, would you all like to introduce yourselves? I'd really like to get to know you all!" At her request, one by one, from the front row to the back, the students stood up and began to briefly introduce themselves. Their introductions were all the same: "My name is so-and-so, I'm so-and-so's age, my grades are so-and-so, what are my hobbies?"

How boring!

Finally, a pretty girl came along; I should at least make a good impression. Thinking this, I quickly racked my brains and soon had a prepared speech.

A little while later, it was my turn. I deliberately stood up slowly, cleared my throat, and began to recite it fluently, like a fast-paced storyteller.

"My name is Wen Yan; male; class background: member of the Communist Youth League; marital status: single; no criminal record so far; born after the Cultural Revolution, raised under the red flag; not beautiful, but not ugly; short hair, but not short-sighted; no major mistakes, but frequent minor ones; not low IQ, but not high grades; a thief's heart and guts, but no bad habits." The whole class burst into laughter, drowning out my voice.

I couldn't hide my smugness, gazing proudly at the beautiful female student teacher on the podium. Was I doing this because I wanted to show off, to leave a lasting impression on her, or because from the beginning, deep down I had a desire to provoke her? To be honest, I can't even remember.

I only remember that she also couldn't help but laugh, but her clear black and white eyes looked at me meaningfully, as if she had seen through my inner world, and then, amidst the laughter of the whole class, she gestured for the next student to begin their self-introduction.

Perhaps to others, this was just a childish trick by an immature teenager, but to this day I stubbornly believe that from that moment on, she remembered me as her student, just as I remembered her deeply.

In an environment where beautiful women are few and far between, the sudden arrival of such a stunning intern teacher caused an unimaginable sensation.

Within two days, Ms. Zhu became a well-known figure throughout the entire school. From the seemingly respectable dean of students to the gatekeeper, everyone knew her. Even her personal information circulated widely. According to reliable sources, she was only 22 years old, a recent graduate of a teachers' college majoring in Chinese literature, and would be interning at the school for six months, perhaps even staying on as a faculty member.

In other words, such a beautiful teacher would be in our class for at least six months. Students in other classes in the second year of high school were all incredibly jealous, and it's said that many had requested to transfer to our class to experience the better learning environment, even though our class consistently ranked last in the grade-level academic rankings.

Every day after Ms. Zhu finished her class, the corridor outside the classroom would become incredibly lively. It was filled entirely with boys, some coming to chat with classmates, some to borrow textbooks, and others just passing by on their way to the restroom. There were boys from junior high to senior high. So, we often saw the bizarre sight of people ignoring their own empty restrooms and making a special trip up four floors to queue.

Inside the school, wherever Ms. Zhu went, she was always surrounded by a large group of "star-struck fans."

She was not only beautiful but also incredibly approachable, always kind and friendly, with a gentle, sweet smile that was captivating. Plus, she wasn't much older than us, so we had a lot in common. Almost all the students wanted to be close to her, rushing to chat with her during breaks, even if it was just to catch a glimpse of her.

There was only one exception: me!

I always kept my distance, never joining the group, never even glancing at her directly, showing absolutely no interest.

"You bunch of guys who value women over friendship, stop acting like you haven't seen a woman in centuries!" I scoffed at my best friends. They used to fawn over me, always calling me "Brother Wen," and we'd all sworn to keep our distance from oppressive classes like teachers, lest we become their henchmen and accomplices like the "model students" and class leaders. But after a beautiful teacher arrived, all those ambitions crumbled before the "honey trap," and we were all successfully won over, becoming shameful traitors.

This shows just how charming Teacher Zhu was.

I have to admit, although I pretended to be indifferent, my inner desire to be close to her was far stronger than anyone else's. It's just that I couldn't bring myself to admit it, unwilling to abandon my reserve and show it like the other classmates.

I was like a clown hiding in a dark corner, only daring to secretly admire her from afar, capturing her every smile and gesture.

Occasionally, she seemed to notice my gaze, her eyes would look over the crowd surrounding her and meet mine with a friendly smile, but I would always immediately look away or coldly ignore her.

I used to hate those boring Chinese language classes, but now they've become my favorite, because only then can I openly and intently stare at Teacher Zhu for a full forty-five minutes.

Chatting, fidgeting, daydreaming, reading pornographic books—these habits I'd developed since elementary school have miraculously disappeared in Chinese class. I've become the most disciplined student, my eyes fixed intently on the teacher's figure on the platform, never letting up for a moment.

But in reality, the true meaning of this "attentiveness" is sordid—I still haven't absorbed a single word of the lesson content; what attracts all my attention is the teacher's youthful and sexy body. Her breasts, her waist, her hips, her legs.

It's fair to say that Ms. Zhu's arrival not only allowed me to witness female beauty in real life for the first time, but also to experience firsthand the allure of a fully developed female body. The latter far surpassed the former.

Compared to her, the female classmates in my class were like children who hadn't even begun to develop!

The most obvious difference was that their breasts were just sprouting mushrooms, barely out of shape, while Ms. Zhu's chest was a pair of extremely conspicuous, full, and prominent breasts, their curves bulging and prominent, making it difficult not to attract attention.

During class, I spent at least 90% of my time staring at her chest, imagining the full and alluring shape beneath her blouse, my gaze lewd and greedy.

Actually, in today's environment where "busty" women are everywhere, and Japanese films and television are filled with images of enormous breasts, this female student teacher's bust size, while larger than average, wouldn't necessarily cause such a stir. But in the early 1990s, most girls had flat chests, like washboards, or only a slight curve. In comparison, Ms. Zhu's breasts seemed particularly large and fleshy, easily arousing wicked thoughts.

Especially when she walked quickly, her full breasts would bounce noticeably with each step, jiggling like two large, plump jelly balls. Every time I saw them, I was stunned and my nose almost bled.

Of course, I wasn't the only one; the other boys in the class felt the same way. For us boys in our adolescence, such obvious feminine features were an irresistible and undeniable temptation.

"Ms. Zhu's breasts are so big, tsk tsk." "Yeah. I'm practically drooling." "I really want to grab a handful; they must feel amazing." These were the words my best friends would utter whenever they got together to talk about Ms. Zhu, their mouths watering with desire.

“Just grabbing a handful isn’t enough, I’m going to grab her ass and thrust into her from behind, making her climax repeatedly.” My friend A-Jian said with great enthusiasm, making lewd “hey hey hey” gestures, looking quite comical.

“Hey, wake up! Stop daydreaming in broad daylight, do you think you’re writing a pornographic novel?” I scoffed at him. This guy is a fantasist; supposedly, he’s been secretly writing “obscene” things since elementary school, fantasizing about every girl around him with a bit of looks, until he came to this prestigious high school where it’s impossible to find any pretty girls.

“So what if I have a lewd dream? Don’t you have them too?” A-Jian said matter-of-factly, “Sexual fantasies are a man’s right!” I said irritably, “Besides fantasizing, can’t you do something useful?” “What can I do? Can I, like in ‘The Schoolboy’s Tale,’ peek at the teacher’s underwear?” My buddies all grinned lewdly, but obviously, they were just joking and didn’t take it seriously.

“Why not?” A-Jian retorted. “We dared to peek at girls’ underwear back in junior high, why can’t we look at hers now?” The group paused, silent for a moment, then their faces lit up with excitement.

“Great idea! You’re right.” “Yeah, yeah, I think we can consider it.” “Isn’t that a bit too risky? After all, she’s a teacher.” “Silly, the riskier it is, the more exciting it is.” “But, I’d rather peek at her big boobs.” The stirrings of youth were boiling in their blood, and these best friends quickly reached a consensus.

They solemnly swore an oath to the sacred national flag: from today onwards, they would do their utmost to spy on Teacher Zhu, striving to record the style of her bra and the color of her underwear every day, so as to better fuel their sexual fantasies.

I, however, remained noncommittal, pretending to be indifferent. In truth, I longed to peek into Teacher Zhu’s private secrets more than anyone else, but subconsciously I had a “possessive” thought. Even if it was spying, I would rather act alone than join these guys in the fun.

They really did put their plan into action, starting the very next day. Their methods were all old-fashioned. For example, when Ms. Zhu passed by during class, one of them would pretend to accidentally knock a book to the ground. The kind-hearted Ms. Zhu would usually bend down to pick it up, and the person would take the opportunity to peek under her neckline. Another example was when Ms. Zhu was wearing a skirt and going up the stairs; one person would deliberately stop her, make small talk, and distract her, while another person on the lower stairs would look up and peek under her skirt. And so on, the list goes on.

Whether these methods were actually effective, or how many times they succeeded, is unknown. In short, the friends would talk about their "achievements" almost every day with great enthusiasm, describing them in great detail, and then they would all grin lewdly with lewd expressions.

Every time I heard them talk about this, I felt conflicted. On one hand, I enjoyed it, as if my curiosity was being satisfied, and I felt a wicked pleasure. On the other hand, I felt a hidden jealousy and resentment, as if my things had been invaded, which made me quite unhappy.

Of course, I didn't show either of these emotions. On the surface, I still pretended to be carefree and detached. No matter how much my best friends raved about it, I just smiled faintly.

One afternoon, they used the same trick again. During self-study, the guy sitting to my left raised his hand to ask a question about a difficult problem. Teacher Zhu came over, stood by the desk, and explained it to him seriously. A-Jian, who was sitting in the front row, immediately took out a small mirror, turned around and winked at me a couple of times, then stood up and secretly stuck the mirror under Teacher Zhu's skirt from behind.

It was a blue denim skirt, just past the knees, and the style was actually quite conservative. The mirror only reflected two round knees. A-Jian adjusted the angle several times, but still couldn't see the hidden secret. Undeterred, he nervously watched Ms. Zhu's movements while boldly pushing the mirror closer to her skirt. Finally, a section of fair thigh appeared in the mirror, then moved upwards.

My heart pounded, and I held my breath, filled with anticipation at the prospect of seeing Ms. Zhu's underwear. But when I casually turned my head, I was shocked to find several boys around me staring lecherously at the mirror, all waiting to feast their eyes. Their eyes gleamed with lust, bulging like goldfish.

For some reason, I suddenly felt annoyed, wanting to gouge out those lustful eyes.

"Stop explaining, teacher! Finish it quickly. Otherwise, you'll be seen naked!"

I muttered anxiously to myself, hoping she would finish quickly and leave, lest these perverts "stalk" her. But that jerk Lao Tie deliberately bombarded me with a ton of questions, asking endlessly. Teacher Zhu was incredibly patient, answering them all in detail. It seemed impossible for him to leave anytime soon. What was I to do?

In desperation, I plucked a hair and scratched my nose. "Ah—pfft—" I sneezed loudly.

A-Jian jumped in fright, instinctively shrinking back into his seat faster than a rabbit. At least half the class turned to look, thinking I was playing a prank, and many rolled their eyes at me.

But Teacher Zhu didn't turn around; she continued explaining the problem diligently, as if once she started, nothing could affect her.

Seeing there was no danger, A-Jian, still shaken, patted his chest, glared at me, and then quietly got up and stretched out his arm. It seemed this kid was determined to get what he wanted today.

I was furious, but I couldn't show it. I secretly reached under the desk and hooked his chair aside.

For the next few minutes, A-Jian brazenly peeked under Ms. Zhu's skirt. Fortunately, because the denim skirt was quite tight, the light got dimmer as he went up, and he ultimately didn't get what he wanted, only catching a glimpse of more of her thigh.

Just as Ms. Zhu's explanation was about to end, A-Jian reluctantly put away the mirror and sat back down. Suddenly, there was a "thump," and he missed his seat, falling awkwardly to the ground.

This time, the whole class turned around at the sound and burst into laughter.

Ms. Zhu finally noticed and quickly turned to help A-Jian up, asking him repeatedly if he was hurt.

A-Jian looked incredibly embarrassed and could only shake his head vigorously, unable to say anything.

"How did you fall like that?" Ms. Zhu asked curiously.

A-Jian stammered, not daring to confess to me under my cold gaze. But Ms. Zhu was incredibly perceptive. Seeing the chair that had been moved aside, she immediately understood what had happened.

"Wenyan, did you move his chair?" I nodded. "Yes." Ms. Zhu frowned slightly. "It's class time now. How could you play such a prank? What if you hurt him?" Her tone was still quite gentle, but I instantly became angry. Please, I was getting revenge for you! No good deed goes unpunished.

"I didn't play a prank, teacher!" I retorted, my tone harsh and clearly hostile.

"Then what are you doing?" I lowered my head, remaining silent, displaying a defiant and uncooperative attitude.

Ms. Zhu didn't react. She looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, then left the classroom, saying, "Come to the office after school!"

URL 1:https://www.sexlove5.com/htmlBlog/41373.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=41373&aspx=1

Previous Page : My University (First Section Complete + Second Section 1-22)

Next Page : Teacher, squeeze tighter

增加

comment Open a new window to view comments

Contact Information

Youth can forgive everything

comment Open a new window to view comments