1
When I was in middle school, I fell in love with my math teacher, a woman in her twenties. She has a good face and a slightly chubby figure, especially those trembling breasts, which always make me have an impulse to lean over.
In order to have too much contact with the math teacher, I study math hard. When she is in class, I always ask her all kinds of questions. Every time she is half prone on my desk to explain exercises to me, I will stare at her chest intentionally or unintentionally. I imagined this picture in my mind: she held me in her arms and bathed me with her maternal brilliance, which made me feel a kind of warmth from my mother, which made me yearn for it.
Youth, infinitely beautiful youth! At this time, the lust has not yet sprouted, and only the rapid heartbeat vaguely shows its existence; At this time, her eyes aimed at her chest intentionally or unintentionally, and her heart began to accelerate and her blood was boiling; Her hand accidentally touched the soft back of her hand, and she trembled in panic and quickly moved away.
I even handed in my math homework together with a long love letter I wrote to her, which contained a long novel excerpt, which was hot and intense. After the love letter was handed in, I was even more presumptuous in her class. I stared at her with burning eyes, and I could feel her unnatural.
Finally, when the class was over, she said, "Xiang, you stay and come to my office."
I am very excited and my face is red. I have a little physiological reaction in adolescence, which is uncontrollable restlessness. I followed her and followed her into the office in the middle of the teaching building.
She motioned me to close the door, and the room was silent except for the clock that walked tirelessly and made a clear tick. At that time, my thoughts were ups and downs, and a thousand words came to my mind. However, can I finish it in this short love letter? I saw her take out the love letter from the exercise book on the desk. She said, "Xiang Chao Hai, did you write this?"
I nodded, and my face turned red. I can stare at her when I am under the podium, but when I face her alone, I still feel shy as a teenage boy. I whispered, "Yes, sir."
She handed me the letter, and then said to me calmly, "Chao, I don't know what kind of feelings you have for me." I just think that the emotion you wrote in your letter, the passionate, unrestrained and even uncontrollable emotion, is just your imagination. There will be a little ignorance and impulsiveness in adolescence, but this is not love at all. You are still so young. Sixteen is as big as a flower. You should study hard at this time ... "
I interrupted her, "but Romeo and Juliet both died of love at the age of sixteen." At the age of sixteen, they fell in love deeply. Jia Baoyu and Lin Daiyu. Sixteen-year-old Daiyu has cried her eyes out. "I especially want to list all the relationships of boys and girls I have seen in ancient and modern times, at home and abroad, and tell her, but I am so excited that I can't speak later.
She smiled and said, "That was in ancient times. Those people's living environment is closed, and it is difficult for them to get in touch with the opposite sex, so they have the primitive impulse to think that this is love. You are a freshman now. As a teacher, you come from your age. I understand your budding, but this is not love. When you grow up and look back, you will smile and think that it was just a beautiful episode. "
She sat in a chair and said, "Put this letter away and I'll pretend I haven't seen it before. Study hard, and there will be a girl who knows you and falls in love with you in your mind in the future. "
I had a lot of words in my stomach. Because I was emotional and cleverly rejected by the teacher, I couldn't vent it for a while, and my heart was very depressed. After returning to my teacher, I took a pen and scribbled on my math textbook, until the textbook became a pile of "waste paper" with ink stains, and I stopped.
In the following time, I don't like math class very much. I even deliberately sleep during class, or hide in the last row of the classroom. I seem to be "declaring war" on my teacher to make her notice me. But this is not the case. The teacher not only didn't notice me, but also stopped checking my homework. Such a foolish practice made my math score plummet.
Once, I went to the teacher's dormitory to talk to the class teacher, and saw that the math teacher was hugged by a young man. My heart was broken and I went to the playground to play basketball all afternoon. At dusk, I lay under the basketball frame and watched the golden sunset shine on the basket, glowing and dizzy until it faded.
Later, when I divided the arts and sciences, I chose to leave my present class and chose the arts that I didn't like very much.
In the next high school life, my ignorance and budding seemed to disappear completely. I began to bury myself in my studies, and I began to burn the midnight oil. I do exercises one after another, recite ancient poems one after another, and read foreign languages night after night. Over the years, I have also read a lot of books. Although I am not familiar with personnel, I have conducted numerous personnel drills.
Sometimes, we may not expect anything different in the future, but we should believe in the scientific truth from quantitative change to qualitative change. Those two years of hard work finally turned into a beautiful report card after the college entrance examination. I left Hangzhou and went to a university in Beijing.
2
When I was a freshman, I met a Korean lady who led the team in an exchange activity for international students. From her, I felt the long-lost warmth.
This woman's name is Jin Youcai, and she is very dignified and in her thirties. She can write Chinese characters, learn calligraphy and speak beautiful honorifics. There is a beautiful elegance between her gestures, her exquisite bun, neat little dress, towering chest, strong calves and white ankles ... Her appearance also fascinates me, especially when she laughs, crow's feet on her temples crawl into my heart like bugs, which makes my heart itch.
When she exchanged a pair of China calligraphy with several Asian-faced students, she said that she especially wanted to learn Chinese, and she thought that China's culture was so beautiful that she hoped to be close to this country.
I took the initiative to find her and said that I could teach him Chinese, read China's ancient poems and read China's prose. First she was surprised, then she looked very gentle and bowed to me to say thank you. I briefly introduced myself and said that I also hope to exchange Korean with Mr. Jin and make progress together. Later, we agreed that every Wednesday and weekend, I would go to the International Students' Building to teach her Chinese. In return, she would teach me Korean. The communication between us is limited to the cultural exchange between China and South Korea.
The first personal contact with Jin Youcai was in her single apartment, located on the eighth floor of the school single apartment. Here I want to talk about the layout of that building. It is a building similar to Tianjin Xiaoyanglou, with eight floors and ten rooms on each floor. Those rooms are apartment-style, with balcony, kitchen and bathroom. Very complete, much more luxurious than the normal student apartment.
During the first lecture, we all behaved well, except for occasional skin friction and no over-the-top movements, but from this simple skin contact, I can know a message that Jin Youcai didn't repel me, and even liked me a little. Jin Youcai is the kind of woman who looks great. She is gentle as water, speaks softly and cooks delicious Korean food.
On the second personal contact, I grabbed her hand and tried to kiss her like a flirt. She pressed her finger against my lips. I thought she would always remain humble. I was a little disappointed, but she didn't stop.
She went into the house and changed into a traditional Korean dress, which was made of silk, and her body was looming inside. Under her guidance, I completed the transformation from a boy to a man. Although she is ten years older than me, she breathes like a girl. Nestled in her arms, I fell asleep quietly. In my dream, in the golden sunshine, there is a kind face smiling at me, and I feel very relaxed.
Until the second half of my sophomore year, before Jin Youcai returned to China, we kept a close relationship. I am infatuated with her arms, her warm breasts and her motherly concern for me. Every time I go to have a tryst with her, she will cook good Korean food for me and clean it up for me. Every corner and every inch of the apartment for overseas students has our traces, leaving memories of love and longing. I have also completed the transformation from consciousness to master, and I can feel her attachment and longing for my body. It is safe to say that I learned all my X skills from her.
Before Jin Youcai returned to China, on our last farewell night, we told each other our heartfelt wishes, but also said that we would not contact each other again in the future, so that the good memories would remain in our hearts forever. She gave me a pendant with a strong X hint (imagine what it is, hahahaha). She said there was a part of her body in it, and she hoped that her warmth would always accompany me.
After I returned home with money, that summer vacation was a bit difficult for me. I put my ornaments in a box and take them out for study when no one is around. I've never seen anything in it that belongs to a woman's body, but I've never understood it.
three
In my junior year, the whole school took an elective course, and I chose ancient philosophy. The teacher who teaches is also an associate professor in his late forties, surnamed Yan, female. Although Xu Niang is half-aged, her charm remains the same. To tell the truth, I didn't have that fantasy about her at first.
When talking about Freud, it is strictly required to write a paper to explain Freud in our hearts. At that time, I was an enemy of the world, or I was hit by something in my brain. I wrote a report on X's learning experience, which is not really a report, but I wrote all my theories from high school to college. Originally, I wrote another paper, but I accidentally handed it in when I handed in my homework, but I didn't know it.
By the time the class is open next week, I will go to class with my computer in my arms. Like most college students, I am half asleep. In that class, the teacher distributed all the students' test papers. I vaguely heard someone calling my name. I stood up and mechanically walked to the podium to read my paper.
I saw Yan smiling at me, and I smiled back out of courtesy. When I sat back in my seat and saw the paper in my hand, I was shocked. It turned out that the report was too confusing. I saw a short paragraph at the end of the newspaper, which said, "Hello, Chao Hai. This paper was written by Wang Yang, which is very good. I hope to have the opportunity to discuss this topic together. " The signature is a word, and her phone number.
When I looked up at her, I saw that she was looking at me, too, and there was a warmth in her eyes. In that class, the teacher continued to talk about western philosophy and metaphysics of those philosophers. That phone number interested me, and I began to seriously look at the teacher: she is also a very quiet intellectual, with fair skin and a little light makeup, but also very elegant; Behind a bronze mirror are a pair of gentle eyes.
Such a person made my complex jump out of my heart, and I began to have feelings for this woman, who could be my mother at that age. I hardly listened to the course content, just observed her, and I even felt her shyness and anxiety. Because when I see her looking around the classroom, her eyes always fall on my position.
After class, I walked on the path in front of the public teaching building, and the phone number popped up in my mind. If you want to know, why did she leave me this number? Do you want me to call? Is she anxiously waiting for her cell phone to ring? I laughed, but I began to get upset at random. I went to the carport to ride my bike and started walking to the dormitory.
(To be continued. . . . . . )