Staying at the teacher's house

My first time was with my teacher
about eight years ago, it feels like so long ago, yet also like it happened just yesterday. Over the years, I've been with many women, many of whom I've forgotten, but that first experience is something I'll never forget.
Time stopped in the mid-1990s, I was in the second year of junior high, a time of youthful ignorance, a series of firsts, and my beautiful life slowly unfolded. The first time I held hands with the girl I liked and walked home, the feeling of happiness is unforgettable, yet I never thought of becoming her boyfriend; the first time I kissed my cousin, simply because we were bored, so we suggested playing a kissing game (it didn't feel good, probably because I didn't know how to French kiss back then, but if I had, it might have been incest); the first time I watched porn with a group of boys, because only one classmate's house was empty and they had a VCR; the first time I secretly masturbated in bed, imagining having sex with my crush, while my mother slept next to me. People born in the 80s probably all have similar absurd experiences.
A Gemini man is destined to have a dual personality. One moment I'm tormented by a crush on my deskmate, the next I'm confidently holding hands with another girl on our way home. I'm always full of thoughts, always wavering, always indecisive.
My father is a lawyer, always very busy with work. That autumn, my mother suddenly fell seriously ill and was hospitalized, so basically no one had time to take care of me. I often had to go to the small restaurant downstairs to eat alone, gradually losing my appetite, becoming anorexic, and growing thinner and thinner. Once, when I visited my mother in the hospital, she couldn't help but cry when she saw me. My father remained silent, but I clearly saw his eyes were also red.
Not long after, my father sent me to my teacher's house to live with him, where she would tutor me. At that time, she was the homeroom teacher of the class next door. Because I was usually a well-behaved child, and my grades weren't outstanding, I rarely went to the teacher's office, so I only saw her a few times.
She was probably in her thirties, had a five-year-old daughter, and her husband was also a lawyer, a colleague of my father's, and they were quite close, which is probably why I stayed at her house. Her husband was also very busy and often away from home. Lawyers earn a considerable income; with hard work, they can easily earn no less than 10,000 a month. Tutoring was also very popular at that time, and tutors often had dozens of students, divided into small groups, earning tens of thousands a month. Because of her high income, her house was large and tastefully decorated, and she hired a nanny to help take care of her daughter and do housework. The first time I visited her home, I felt quite uneasy and uncertain, wondering how I would manage to live with this usually stern tutor. But when I stood at her door, all my worries vanished. She simply smiled gently, beautiful like an angel.
She looked only 25 or 26 years old, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, both elegant and gentlely serene. She maintained a very good figure, quite well-proportioned and full-figured, and often wore low-cut clothes and a light perfume.
Every morning I went to work with her, and we'd go home at 4 pm. In the evenings, she'd tutor me. There was a small round table with four or five people around, and the teacher always sat next to me. Actually, I couldn't stand it because I was allergic to her perfume. But because I could often see her cleavage, I endured it and even enjoyed it. I often had fantasies, but she was, after all, a teacher; to me, she was more like a mother figure.
Until that day—I remember that day her husband didn't come home again. It was probably around 1 or 2 am when I was awakened by a nightmare (I often have nightmares, dreaming of being chased; I don't know why, maybe I owed too much in my past life). I got up to go to the bathroom. As I passed the teacher's room, I heard an unusual sound. At first, I couldn't make it out, but then I suddenly realized it was a woman's low moans.
The door was only slightly ajar. At that moment, my heart pounded, and intense curiosity drove me to peek through the crack. Through the dim moonlight, I saw her legs spread apart, her hands moving rhythmically between them, while she emitted low moans. I froze, completely at a loss for what to do, unable to move.
It was autumn, and a bit chilly, and I was only wearing my underwear. Perhaps from the cold, I sneezed. The moans stopped abruptly, followed by a "Who's there?" I was terrified, but too afraid to run, so I could only mumble a reply. She turned on the bedside lamp and called me in. Like a child who had done something wrong, I lowered my head, unable to look at her, because for some reason, my penis was stubbornly erect. She looked at me quietly for a while, then suddenly called me to her bed in a very gentle voice. I was at a loss, but could only obey.
She slowly dimmed the lamp, had me lie down, and gazed at me while stroking my face. Looking into her eyes, I felt my heart was about to leap out of my chest. Suddenly, she kissed me. I closed my eyes, letting our tongues intertwine. It felt so good, so incredibly good, like entering another world. I felt my whole body go limp. We kissed for about a minute. Just as our lips parted, I heard her heavy breathing, a heaviness I hadn't felt in a long time. She gazed at me again, her eyes filled with tenderness and sadness, but in an instant, that look vanished, replaced by a provocative gaze.
She took off her nightgown, revealing a near-perfect body, full breasts, smooth skin. She began to kiss me, my cheeks, my jaw, my neck, every part of my body. Suddenly, I felt as if my body was burning, a feeling I had never experienced before. I thought I should do something, but I didn't know what to do. Just instinctively, instinctively, I reached out to caress her body, to kiss her smooth skin, to knead her full breasts. And so we caressed each other, kissed each other. I don't know how much time passed, but she parted her legs and straddled me, her panties seemingly already removed. I looked at her, grasped my penis, and rubbed it against her vulva a few times—it was so wet and hot, incredibly pleasurable.
Suddenly, she sat down, and almost instantly, I felt warmth spread throughout my body from that spot, a warmth that seemed to melt me. She placed her hands on my chest, moving her body up and down, slowly at first, then faster and faster. I saw her eyes closed, her lips tightly pressed together, moaning softly. Waves of pleasure washed over me; I felt like I was about to die. Gradually, just when I could barely breathe, I felt an indescribable pleasure. It was like a volcanic eruption, intense, a fleeting wave of ecstasy, as if all the blood in my body rushed to my head, leaving my mind blank. After that moment of release, she lay on top of me, our breaths a beautiful symphony, the world becoming so wonderful. I closed my eyes, feeling the contractions deep within her vagina, and instantly, my body regained its vitality. I wanted to move, but she seemed to be falling asleep. I held her, bent my legs, and began my first thrust...
Perhaps it was because of that time that I've always had a special fascination with the woman-on-top position, enjoying seeing that dazed expression, the blush on her cheeks, the swaying long hair, the heaving breasts, the slender waist, and the hands pressing against her chest. I felt that best embodied a woman's beauty, especially that arched body.
I could barely control myself; it felt as if stopping would cause the whole world to collapse. I had never felt anything like this before, so intense it could almost destroy one's mind. Madness—that's the only word to describe it. The room echoed with the moans of two people. There were no words, only the sounds of panting and pleasure.
And so, again and again, we repeated this simple movement. I don't know how many times it happened, I only know that by dawn, I was too exhausted to move. She lay on top of me, still gazing at me, gently stroking my cheek and letting out a soft sigh. Her eyes, as always, were filled with that tenderness—a look I will remember for the rest of my life, gentle yet tinged with sadness, her expression full of affection. I think I will remember it forever, forever.
Exhaustion made it hard to keep my eyes open, and I quickly fell asleep. When I woke up, it was already afternoon, and I was a little scared; it was the first time I'd overslept and missed class. The note I found on the table reassured me; she had asked for leave for me.
That day, she came home early. She smiled at me as soon as she entered, a bright, radiant smile. She was carrying many things and had brought her daughter home as well. It was rare to see her so happy. She had cooked a lot of dishes that day, and although her husband, as usual, wasn't home, everyone seemed cheerful. Around 8 pm, I went to bed on time. In bed, I tossed and turned, the scene from the previous night flashing before my eyes, making it difficult to fall asleep. A voice inside urged me to go to her room. I was at a loss, unsure if I was doing the right thing. But I couldn't control myself, couldn't stop myself from going to her room.
She wasn't asleep, leaning against the headboard reading a book. I didn't dare go in, just stood outside the door, staring at her. She noticed me, looked at me, and smiled—a gentle, innocent smile. She told me to lock the door and dim the lamp. I quickly slipped into her bed, very quickly. Once again, we were face to face, looking at each other. She was wearing a pink silk nightgown. Suddenly, I felt an urge. I reached out and touched her breasts. Through the nightgown, I could feel their softness and elasticity. She closed her eyes, enjoying it, letting me caress her. I could almost hear my heart pounding, as if it were about to burst. I tried to kiss her lips, her cheeks, her jaw, just as she had.
She loved French kisses, tongues entwining, spiraling, sucking each other's saliva, like two people dancing a Spanish dance—the feeling was indescribable. She sat up, took off her nightgown, and in the dim light, I could vaguely see her body: smooth skin, rounded breasts, and a patch of black between her legs—a beautiful black, and beneath that black was a beautiful angel.
I kissed her breasts, suckling them like a newborn baby, greedily wanting to drink every drop of milk. She suddenly cried out; it seemed this was too stimulating for her…
For the first time, I felt in control of everything; scenes from porn movies flashed before my eyes. My fantasy had finally become reality. I kissed her while trying to explore that mysterious triangle with my hands. It was already a warm, moist world there; further down, beyond the rainforest, I found that small protrusion. Just a light touch, and she trembled as if electrocuted. I began to slowly rub it, and in an instant, she hugged me, telling me how good it felt. I tried to speed up the pace, changing the direction of my rubbing, trying different fingers. With each movement, I could hear her breathing beside me, becoming increasingly erratic and heavy. Sometimes, when I applied a little more pressure, I could hear her uncontrollable moans. I began to control the rhythm of my finger movements, sensing her changes from the variations in my fingers—sometimes moaning, sometimes panting, completely out of control.
Everything seemed to be getting interesting, at least that's how I felt at the time. Controlling a woman, especially one who is superior to you, that feeling is quite wonderful.
Just when I felt I had everything under control, she began to command me, or perhaps plead. "Faster, faster,"
she commanded. I obeyed her. The moans grew more intense, louder, and I began to worry if anyone could hear. Suddenly, she screamed loudly, her body stiffening instantly. I felt a sharp pain in my neck and shoulders. I tried to struggle, but she held me tightly, and I couldn't move. After about a minute or two, she slowly released me. I felt how wet she was; after those few minutes, she was practically a vast ocean.
With just a gentle touch, my penis slid in. It felt so warm, and I couldn't help but start thrusting. And so, face to face, we slowly thrust in and out. Her eyes narrowed with pleasure, and she moaned softly with each movement. I lifted her legs—long, smooth thighs. She looked so beautiful. It was unbelievable that I could make love to my teacher in this way. I was going crazy, completely out of control. I started thrusting and pumping with all my might. After a dizzying wave of pleasure, I lay limply on the bed, countless sperm entering my teacher's body.
I lay there, powerless. She looked at me, still with that same expression, gentle and affectionate. She stroked my face, murmuring, "He looks like him, so much like him..."
I just lay there quietly, a little sleepy, very tired. She told me a lot, a lot about her university days. I listened drowsily, and soon fell asleep.
During my second and third years of junior high, because I lived at her house, whenever her husband wasn't home, I would sleep in her room. We didn't always have sex; sometimes we just talked, about my studies, her family, her life experiences, her insights.
In university, she had a boyfriend, a classmate, they were very much in love, and she told me about their happy times. Every day they would walk hand in hand along the river at the university, watching the sunset. They studied together in the library, reciting Pushkin's poems. They secretly met in the woods, kissing and making love, each time terrified of being discovered. Those days were romantic and beautiful, fulfilling and happy. She said they were the happiest time of her life. Until graduation, in that era of forced job assignments, her boyfriend had no choice but to return to his hometown, while she stayed in Shanghai. The painful separation, the wounds of the times, left them both weeping uncontrollably. There was nothing to cherish, only exchanging a book of poetry they had read. From then on, the memory was sealed within that book.
Later, through an introduction, she met her current husband. They felt a connection and married. They lived a peaceful life. Her husband wasn't particularly interested in or skilled in sex; he was more concerned with his career. He was a traditional, kind man, though he didn't understand love very well.
She said I looked a lot like that person: single eyelids, a high nose, gentle eyes, a calm demeanor, and a very cute smile. She thought I must be a deeply affectionate person. Being with him felt like the world stopped turning, time stood still, and there was a special sense of security, a feeling of profound peace. More than ten years later, she still deeply loved him, though they had lost contact. Even when she first saw me, she was so excited she almost cried. She kept inquiring about who my father was, clinging to a sliver of hope. But hope often brings disappointment.
In the years that followed, we kept in touch. Sometimes, after class, I would go to her house for dinner and conversation. Sex wasn't the main topic; she always treated me like her child, her lover, cherishing and guiding me. I would always go home around 9 pm, because I couldn't arouse my parents' suspicion; she had a normal family.
In 1999, the year I entered university, her family immigrated to Canada. From then on, we lost contact.
I miss her dearly. Being far from home myself, she must have felt similarly. How many times in a lifetime can one experience such beautiful love? Although she and her boyfriend didn't end up together, their love was pure and natural, tender without a trace of artifice, devoid of material considerations, simply a mutual attraction of two souls. Thinking of the love I have now, of my life experiences, of everything she taught me, fills me with gratitude. I love her like I love my mother—with respect, admiration, attachment, and reluctance to part. (Unexpected things
always happen when staying at a teacher's house!
A wonderful article
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★The moon of Qin and the pass of Han, the long march of ten thousand miles, the men have not returned. ★
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