II. Sexual Indecency in Juvenile Sexual Affairs

II. Sexual Indecency in Juvenile Sexual Affairs

When does a person's childhood end?

When does a person's childhood begin?

Is there a clear dividing line between childhood and adolescence? I don't know what the standard is in everyone's mind; it probably varies from person to person.

For me, childhood ended in the third grade. In third grade, I said goodbye to the innocence of childhood and entered adolescence ahead of time. I was a precocious child, "mature beyond my years," that's what my classmates said of me, with a hint of admiration.

They didn't know that I was actually prematurely matured. While my classmates continued to immerse themselves in the pure and beautiful paradise of childhood, my heart was shrouded in a heavy stain because of shameful events I couldn't bear to recall. The stain was so heavy that I could never escape it, and even now, it still causes me occasional heartache and resentment. Although, through my own efforts and with the help of others, I managed to open up some sunny and cloudy days in my heart, the shadow always remained, occasionally shrouding my entire soul.

In the beginning of third grade, a new male teacher became our homeroom teacher. He was young and full of vigor, and there are many memorable moments. Now, when I go back to my hometown and occasionally run into him, I still feel a sense of warmth. Perhaps it was his guidance that prevented my soul from plummeting from a beautiful paradise into a dark hell, and thus allowed me to maintain my longing and pursuit of beauty.

The male teacher didn't stay with us for long before the school assigned us a kind and gentle older teacher. He was from the village and had taught outside the village for many years. He returned to the village primary school before retiring and became our homeroom teacher. The older teacher was quite capable, and he also had beautiful handwriting. He taught us Chinese as well as calligraphy.

The old teacher was kind and gentle, and his teaching was effective. While teaching Chinese well, he also focused on cultivating our interests. He started by introducing calligraphy classes, and I learned a little bit myself. Although my handwriting wasn't very good, it was displayed in the school's showcase. He also encouraged us to start writing compositions, and many of my compositions received his praise, mostly receiving excellent marks. He even personally revised and polished one or two of my compositions, saying he would submit them to newspapers and magazines. This sudden elevation of my writing to such a prestigious level naturally excited and impressed me greatly, and I genuinely developed a strong interest in writing. I was eager to learn more from him, writing compositions and practicing calligraphy. When he took me to his dormitory, and I saw his collection of calligraphy and literature books, I felt even more admiration and envy, and I was happy to continue studying in his room after class or school.

As I write this, I get up and look out the window. Not far away is a primary school. I can see children running, playing, and frolicking in the April morning sunlight on the school playground.

I, too, once ran, played, and frolicked in the April morning sunshine, just like them!

Unfortunately, my world also turned skewed and darkened in the third grade.

My teacher's constant care and concern had long earned my trust and respect. "Children's hearts are defenseless," and in the eyes of elementary school students, teachers are inherently sacred and revered figures. I don't know when it started, what happened, or how it unfolded, but my teacher gradually began making me do things unrelated to my studies, and ultimately sexually assaulted me. The process and details of the sexual assault were utterly repulsive and disgusting; I can't bear to recall them, I dare not recall them, and so I refuse to remember. I am indeed gradually trying to forget, desperately trying to tell myself that it didn't happen. But the feeling I had then—the disgust, aversion, fear, and dread—has never disappeared. When I'm feeling down, similar feelings always well up inside me.

The old teacher was from the village and had his own home there, but like other teachers who didn't live in the village, he also had a dormitory at the school. To get to his dormitory, you first had to climb a narrow staircase, then walk through a dark corridor, and finally enter his cramped, also dark room. It was in this dark and cramped space that I, as a young child, was irresistibly lured, coerced, and threatened by the old teacher into doing some truly disgusting things. Throughout this process, he frequently threatened me, forbidding me from telling anyone, and saying that I had to be available whenever he called, etc. As a child, I couldn't understand the nature of his behavior, didn't understand what was happening, didn't know to tell anyone, and dared not tell anyone.

In truth, there was nowhere to confide in. My parents had been living away from home for many years, and I had been raised in the village with my elderly grandparents since I was little. This might explain why the old teacher dared to be so uninhibited with me. He was our homeroom teacher, and there were no other teachers I was close to at school; they were all busy with their own affairs and wouldn't notice the unusual psychology and behavior of a third-grade student. The old teacher, taking full advantage of his position as both our language arts teacher and homeroom teacher, taught us every day, lectured us, and showed me special care, nurturing my writing and calligraphy skills—something my classmates envied. My classmates thought the teacher favored me because of my good grades, and perhaps they were even jealous of my special treatment. In the young minds of elementary school students, teachers are idols even more revered and sacred than parents; how could they imagine that such a kind and gentle old teacher could have a dark and evil side? Therefore, of course, I couldn't tell my classmates about this, especially since I didn't understand what was going on and didn't know how to explain it to others. Even if I did tell them, who among them would understand, who would offer me help?

The old teacher repeatedly molested and threatened me, and I had nowhere to turn for help, so I had to keep it all bottled up inside. Not only that, I also had to deal with him. Sometimes he would deliberately ask me things like, "When you grow up, will you still let your teacher kiss you?" "Will you stop listening to me?" "Will you hate me in the future?" and so on. I could only answer with great fear, "Yes, I'm willing, no."

Looking back, it was around that time that I gradually became introverted and silent, until I became extremely introverted and silent. I was often alone, going from home to school and back, or just wandering into the fields to daydream. My classmates continued their playful antics, while I alone grappled with my fears and aversions.

Gradually, I learned to avoid it, especially in the second half of third grade. Perhaps my compliant behavior lowered his guard. He stopped constantly watching me, and stopped waiting at the classroom door every day when the school bell rang as before. Sometimes, during class breaks, he would tell me to go to his room to "study" after school. Although I agreed, I would run home as soon as school was over. When he questioned me the next day, I would say that my grandfather had told me to go back and do chores. Sometimes, even when he asked me to go, I would directly say that my grandfather had told me to do chores after school, or I would be beaten and scolded. Through this method, I managed to escape a few disgusting experiences.

After I entered fourth grade, he was no longer my homeroom teacher, and he stopped teaching us, so he had even fewer opportunities to control me. Although I still sometimes got caught by him after school and could only brush him off, most of the time I would find various ways to escape his sight, such as studying or exercising with my classmates, so he couldn't always force me too much. Later, things seemed to get better; although there were still opportunities for direct contact, they were becoming less and less frequent. Although he still cared about me as always, aside from subtly threatening me, he could only openly show concern for me with kindness and gentleness. I continued to brush him off, pretending that nothing had happened, trying to let the feelings of disgust, revulsion, and fear settle deep in my heart.

虽然我的心灵一直很憋闷，虽然平常里的我非常得沉默寡言、郁郁寡欢，但是我的行动还是积极向上的。孩子的心灵总是容易被引导着向上向善发展。即使是在整个三年级里，我的学习成绩可能有一定的波动，但是还是一直在前列的。四年级后，我更是成为了新老师的宠儿，因为我除了学习十分优秀外，在运动上也表现良好，被选拔成为了学校重点培养的运动员，多次参加镇上和县里的比赛。课堂学习之余，我经常被学校安排和同学、老师一起进行体育训练，时间始终被排得满满的。老老师下手的机会自然是非常的少了。

在这样繁忙的学习和体育训练中，我曾经忧郁阴暗的心灵，因为学习和体育给我带来的成就和快乐感觉，居然也渐渐地愈合起来，至少不再每天生活中恶心和恐惧之中了。尤其是到五六年级，到我升初中之后，虽然我们还是经常在学校里或者村里马路上碰到和见面，但他再也不叫我去他黑暗的寝室了。我们就像普通的师生那样问候和关心，他还是对我非常“关心”的。

直到现在，他对我还是非常的关心。也许已经是真正的关心吧，毕竟我是他，也是我们村子，最早考大学出来的得意学生。偶尔回家在村里路上碰面的时候，我还是会礼貌得问好。但我尽量地避免与他的见面，能够装作不看见就故意视而不见，更不主动地去拜访他。让他自然地老去吧，我如此地冷淡、冷落他，他应该心底很明白而自责自咎吧。

客观地回忆和反省，儿童时代这样的糟糕经历，对我的心理和生理的成长，自然是造成了非常恶劣的影响。在这以前，我也和窗外的那群阳光下嬉戏的孩子一样的纯洁无邪，一样的阳光明媚，一样的生机勃勃。然而就是这段黑暗给我的心灵蒙上了灰尘，使得我始终痛苦徘徊、无力自救。如果我要把其后的一系列看起来十分荒诞但却又是很真实的经历，都归咎于这段黑暗的历史，我想也不无道理。如果我因为我此后的一系列过错行为而遭受惩罚了，我肯定会在忏悔的同时，也公开曾经横加于我的这种邪恶。很长的时期里，甚至直到现在，我虽然努力地在心底开释我自己，也努力地开释老老师，但是我仍然无法彻底地开释这种罪恶。当黑暗心理在我心中愈积愈多，令我自己无法排遣、无法承受的时候，我也只好寻找替罪羊似的努力迁怒迁恨于这段罪恶。心情抑郁的夜晚的梦里，我都能梦见老老师化身为邪恶，梦中的我虽然努力抗争，但却始终无法逃脱阴森森的恐怖。

也许我应该就这事情和他再开诚公布地谈谈，不是为了清算他对我的罪恶，也不是为了清算他的罪恶，而是为了可能存在的其他的被他的罪恶所侵袭过的，曾经与我一样幼小无助，也和我一样一直痛苦徘徊着的“我们”。

我不知道除了我，谁还曾经遭受过他的罪恶？

我不知道这个世界上，还有没有其他象我这样?的学生，曾经无端得遭受老老师之流的人的罪恶？我不知道他们其后的人生又是怎样？他们是如何努力着使得自己的心灵重新沐浴这四月的阳光？抑或就象我一样，始终挣扎在白天和黑夜之间？抑或就是从此坠入黑暗的地狱？

Ps：教师猥亵学生、性骚扰学生，甚至强奸学生的例子，现在是越来越多得听到了。几乎件件令人发指！在学生的心目中，老师的地位不亚于神圣。当那么幼小、纯洁无邪的孩子，遭受着这样神圣的老师的猥亵、骚扰甚至强奸的恶行，我真不知道他们是如何承受、消化这段罪恶的。我更不知这些“老师”，怎么会蜕变成如此的禽兽，面对这些幼小无知、纯洁无邪的孩子，居然也能够下手行恶。也许他们自己都不知道自二、少年性事之性猥亵
发布日期 : 2015-11-21 作者 : 独瞰西湖人气 : 1
二、少年性事之性猥亵

一个人的儿童时代，在什么时候结束？

一个人的少年时代，从什么时候开始？

儿童时代和少年时代的区分，究竟有没有明确的界线？我不知道大家心中有怎样的标准，可能是因人而异的吧。

对于我来说，儿童时代是在三年级结束的。三年级的时候，我就告别了纯真的儿童时代，而提前进入了少年时代。我是一个早熟的孩子，“少年老成”，我的同学们都是这样说我的，带着一丝的钦佩的意味。

他们并不知道，我其实是被催熟的。当同学们还继续着沉浸在儿童时代纯洁和美好的天堂生活时，我的心灵，却因为不堪回首的丑事而蒙上了沉重的污垢，沉重得让我始终无法摆脱，一直到现在依然时不时痛心而怨恨。虽然中间，也基于自身的努力，以及外力的帮助，心底也曾经撑开过一些晴天、多云天，但是阴影却是始终留存在心底，时不时的笼罩住我整个的心灵。

三年级最初的时候，是那个新来的男老师做我们的班主任，倒也是青春和意气勃发，也有值得回忆和纪念之处。现在回乡，偶尔碰到的时候，我还是感到亲切。也许正是他的过度，不至于我的心灵一下子从美好天堂坠落入黑暗地狱，也因此能够始终维持我对美好的憧憬和追求吧。

那个男老师带了我们没有多久，学校给我们换了一个和蔼慈祥的老老师带我们班级。他是本村的，年轻的时候一直在外面教书，快退休前回到村里小学，做了我们的班主任。老老师教学水平还是有的，而且还写得一手好字，在教我们语文主课的同时还兼着书法课。

老老师和蔼慈祥、待人亲切，教学也得力，在教好语文课的同时，也着力培养我们的兴趣。先是开辟了书法课，我也跟着学了些皮毛，写的字虽然不是很好，倒也给陈列在学校的橱窗里。他还鼓励我们开始写作文，我的一些作文也多次的得到了他的好评，基本上都在优秀的分数。有一两篇作文，他还专门给我修改，润色，说要去投稿到报刊杂志。一下子把我的作文提高到如此神圣的高度，我自然是非常地兴奋和服帖，也确实对写作产生了很大的兴趣，非常乐意跟着他多学点，写作文、练书法。当他带我去他的宿舍，我看到他收藏着的很多书法书和文艺书时，我更是非常地崇拜和羡慕，很是乐于在下课或者放学后到他的房间里继续学习了。

写到这里的时候，我起身在窗口眺望。窗外不远处恰好是一所小学。我能看到在小学的操场上，孩子们在四月早晨的阳光里奔跑、游戏、嬉戏。

我也曾经如他们一般，在四月早晨的阳光里奔跑、游戏、嬉戏！

可惜的是，我的天空也是在三年级倾斜而黑暗了。

老老师经常的关心和爱护，是早已经充分地赢得了我的信任和尊敬。“孩子的心灵是不设防的”，况且在小学生的心目中，老师原本就是神圣和崇高的化身。也不知道是从什么时候始，也不知道是怎么回事，也不知道具体过程是怎么发展的，老老师逐渐地开始让我做一些和学习无关的事情，并最终对我实施了性猥亵行为。性猥亵行为的过程和细节，实在是非常的令我厌恶和恶心，不忍回忆，不敢回忆，也就不予回忆了。我也确实是在渐渐的淡忘，努力得淡忘，竭尽全力得对自己说，没有这回事。但是当时的那种感觉，那种恶心、厌恶、恐惧、害怕的心理感受却一直没有消失。当我情绪没落的时候，心口总会泛滥起类似的感觉。

老老师是本村人，在村里有自己的家，但是他仍像其他不在本村的老师一样，在学校有一个宿舍。到他的宿舍首先要爬上一段狭窄的阶梯，再穿过一段阴暗的走廊，然后进入他狭窄的房间，也是阴暗的。就是在这么一个阴暗狭窄的空间里，幼小的我无法抗拒的被老老师诱骗着、逼迫着、恐吓着做一些十分恶心的事情。整个过程中，?他还是经常地威吓我，不许跟别人说，以后要随叫随到等等。幼小的我根本无法理解他的行为的性质，根本不明白是怎么回事，不知道跟别人讲，也不敢跟别人讲。

In truth, there was nowhere to confide in. My parents had been living away from home for many years, and I had been raised in the village with my elderly grandparents since I was little. This might be why the old teacher dared to be so uninhibited with me. He was our homeroom teacher, and there were no other teachers I was close to at school; they were all busy with their own affairs and wouldn't notice the unusual psychology and behavior of a third-grade student. The old teacher, taking full advantage of his position as both our Chinese teacher and homeroom teacher, taught us every day, lectured us, and showed me special care, nurturing my writing and calligraphy skills—something my classmates envied. My classmates thought the teacher favored me because of my good grades, and perhaps they were even jealous of my special treatment. In the young minds of elementary school students, teachers are idols even more revered and sacred than parents; how could they imagine that such a kind and gentle old teacher could have a dark and evil side? Therefore, of course, I couldn't tell my classmates about this, especially since I didn't understand what was going on and didn't know how to explain it to others. Even if I did tell them, who among them would understand, who would offer me help?

The old teacher repeatedly molested and threatened me, and I had nowhere to turn for help, so I had to keep it all bottled up inside. Not only that, I also had to deal with him. Sometimes he would deliberately ask me things like, "When you grow up, will you still let your teacher kiss you?" "Will you stop listening to me?" "Will you hate me in the future?" and so on. I could only answer with great fear, "Yes, I'm willing, no."

Looking back, it was around that time that I gradually became introverted and silent, until I became extremely introverted and silent. I was often alone, going from home to school and back, or just wandering into the fields to daydream. My classmates continued their playful antics, while I alone grappled with my fears and aversions.

Gradually, I learned to avoid it, especially in the second half of third grade. Perhaps my compliant behavior lowered his guard. He stopped constantly watching me, and stopped waiting at the classroom door every day when the school bell rang as before. Sometimes, during class breaks, he would tell me to go to his room to "study" after school. Although I agreed, I would run home as soon as school was over. When he questioned me the next day, I would say that my grandfather had told me to go back and do chores. Sometimes, even when he asked me to go, I would directly say that my grandfather had told me to do chores after school, or I would be beaten and scolded. Through this method, I managed to escape a few disgusting experiences.

After I entered fourth grade, he was no longer my homeroom teacher, and he stopped teaching us, so he had even fewer opportunities to control me. Although I still sometimes got caught by him after school and could only brush him off, most of the time I would find various ways to escape his sight, such as studying or exercising with my classmates, so he couldn't always force me too much. Later, things seemed to get better; although there were still opportunities for direct contact, they were becoming less and less frequent. Although he still cared about me as always, aside from subtly threatening me, he could only openly show concern for me with kindness and gentleness. I continued to brush him off, pretending that nothing had happened, trying to let the feelings of disgust, revulsion, and fear settle deep in my heart.

Although I felt very stifled, and although I was usually very quiet and melancholic, my actions remained positive and optimistic. Children's minds are easily guided towards positive development. Even though my grades fluctuated somewhat throughout third grade, they remained among the top. In fourth grade, I became a favorite of the new teachers because, in addition to my excellent academic performance, I also excelled in sports and was selected as a key athlete for the school, participating in numerous town and county competitions. Outside of class, I was frequently assigned to sports training with classmates and teachers, my schedule always packed. Naturally, the older teachers had very few opportunities to mentor me.

Amidst such a busy schedule of studies and sports training, my once melancholic and gloomy heart gradually healed because of the sense of accomplishment and joy that learning and sports brought me. At least I was no longer filled with nausea and fear in my daily life. Especially in fifth and sixth grade, after I entered junior high school, although we still often bumped into each other at school or on the village roads, he no longer asked me to come to his dark dormitory. We greeted and cared for each other like ordinary teachers and students, and he was still very "caring" of me.

Even now, he still cares about me a lot. Perhaps it's genuine concern now, after all, I was the first student from our village to go to university, a truly outstanding student. Occasionally, when we bump into each other on the village road on my way home, I still greet him politely. But I try my best to avoid seeing him, pretending not to see him, and never taking the initiative to visit him. Let him grow old naturally. He must understand and feel guilty about my coldness and neglect.

Objectively recalling and reflecting, such terrible experiences in my childhood naturally had a very negative impact on my psychological and physiological development. Before that, I was as pure and innocent as the children playing in the sunlight outside my window, just as bright and full of life. However, it was this darkness that tarnished my soul, leaving me constantly tormented and powerless to save myself. If I were to attribute all the subsequent series of seemingly absurd yet very real experiences to this dark history, I think it wouldn't be unreasonable. If I were to be punished for my subsequent wrongdoings, I would certainly confess and also publicly acknowledge the evil that had been inflicted upon me. For a long time, and even now, although I have tried to exonerate myself and my former teacher, I still cannot completely exonerate this sin. When the darkness in my heart accumulates to an unbearable degree, I can only resort to scapegoating and venting my anger and hatred on this sin. On nights when I'm feeling depressed, I dream that my old teacher has transformed into evil. In my dreams, although I try to fight back, I can never escape the eerie terror.

Perhaps I should have another open and honest talk with him about this matter, not to settle accounts for his sins against me, nor to settle accounts for his sins, but for the sake of other "us" who may have been afflicted by his sins, who were once as young and helpless as I was, and who have been struggling in pain just like me.

I don't know who else besides me has suffered his sins?

I wonder if there are other students in this world like me who have suffered unjustly at the hands of teachers like my old teacher? I wonder what their lives were like afterward? How did they manage to let their souls be bathed in the April sunshine again? Or did they, like me, struggle between day and night? Or did they simply fall into a dark hell?

P.S.: We are hearing more and more about cases of teachers molesting, sexually harassing, and even raping students. Almost every case is outrageous! In the eyes of students, teachers hold a position of near-divine importance. When such young, innocent children suffer the humiliation, harassment, and even rape of these supposedly sacred teachers, I truly don't know how they can bear or process this evil. I also don't understand how these "teachers" could degenerate into such beasts, capable of committing such atrocities against these young, ignorant, and innocent children. Perhaps they themselves don't even realize that...

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