Mother's perspective

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-23

The era I lived in and the family and school education I received instilled in me a complete lack of awareness about dating before university. In fact, I felt quite apprehensive about it, thinking that having a relationship was immoral. If someone wrote me a letter confessing their feelings or showed me affection, I would definitely stay far away. However, this mindset gradually changed in university. Because there were many couples around me, and considering I was getting older and had emotional needs, I realized that dating wasn't shameful. My ex-husband and I met in university, and that's how my relationship began. My first love was in the same major as me, and we were from the same city. There weren't many people in our major, so most of us knew each other. Guys are popular in teacher's colleges, and he was quite outstanding at the time—tall, good-looking, and talented. We all spoke highly of him when we chatted in our dorm. We had a lot of contact at several college events and dated a bit more. Things just naturally progressed. He never confessed to me, and I had no experience; I thought that was what dating was all about. For a long time afterward, I was too shy to even say hello. He initiated the first time we held hands, and he also initiated the first kiss. A long time passed between holding hands and the kiss. Neither of us had experience with our first kiss; our lips just touched, but it was enough to excite us. I still remember that feeling. Later, he learned to suck on my tongue, and the pleasure intensified, making my whole body feel like it was on fire. I also became wet. To be honest, I had never masturbated before university and had no sexual desire whatsoever. But ever since I kissed him, I've had that desire, but it's a desire that... Absolutely not. Those were far less open-minded than today. I imagine most people's first time was on their wedding night, and he and I were no exception. After graduating from university, I worked at a high school affiliated with a university, while he went to another high school, arguably the best in the city. Back then, it was easy for graduates of teacher's colleges to find jobs, unlike now, although of course, now it's difficult for any major. We got married after working for less than a year. Because our homes and jobs were in the same city, and both sets of parents were satisfied, it went quite smoothly.

Our first... It was on our wedding day, around 11 PM. I was so busy and tired that I was completely disoriented. I just did whatever I was told, as if wedding procedures had always been so complicated. He undressed me, and my face burned. It was the first time I'd ever been naked in front of a man. He kissed me passionately all over, his hands touching my genitals. That intense passion aroused me too, and I inevitably became aroused. He then penetrated me. I was so stimulated that I opened my mouth wide but dared not scream. Coming out… experiencing sex for the first time was truly wonderful; I was overwhelmed with pleasure. Thinking back, it's been almost twenty years since my first time, yet I still remember it clearly, down to every single detail, because I've relived that scene countless times in my memory.

When we first got married, we had sex very frequently, but gradually it decreased, and the pleasure wasn't as intense as before. Perhaps the physical pleasure remained, but the psychological novelty wore off. Only when he was away on business trips or studying for extended periods could I experience my needs. It was very intense. I used my fingers to mimic his movements inside my vagina, looking at his wedding photo on the wall, imagining him on top of me. Absence truly makes the heart grow fonder. When he came back, we made love passionately, and it felt much better than usual.

After having a child, we experienced the joy and sense of accomplishment of being parents. I often glance at my son and then at him, and my heart is filled with sweetness. Our child is our creation, bearing the characteristics of both of us; the feeling is wonderful and blissful. For the first few years, our relationship was very good. It was good, but marriage really does seem to succumb to the seven-year itch. It really did start in the seventh year. He became distant, talked less, and his sexual desire decreased significantly. I panicked, not knowing what I had done wrong. When I asked him, he wouldn't tell me. I tried my best to be gentle with him and did housework diligently, but nothing worked. He just grew increasingly distant, and my heart gradually cooled. I knew his heart belonged to someone else. Our marriage lasted over nine years, and he was the one who initiated the divorce. All I could do was helplessly agree. I know... I knew I couldn't win him back. I took the child, and he gave me the house and most of his assets, leaving with almost nothing. Less than a year after the divorce, he remarried, to someone from his workplace. At the time, I couldn't understand what I was lacking, what made me inferior to him. I did everything a wife should do, treating his parents like my own, and caring for his brother's children as if they were my own. I gave them lucky money and clothes every Chinese New Year. How could this be the result? I was truly heartbroken for those two years. The feeling of failure made life very gloomy. Later, I thought that for the sake of my child, I couldn't stay like that forever; I had to go out and move on. Being from a single-parent family, if I were to become gloomy, it would be too detrimental to my child's development. Many relatives and friends introduced me to potential partners, but I wasn't interested at all at first. Later, I thought about giving my child a complete family, so I tried dating. However, I didn't expect my child to react so strongly. She treated all men who came to our home as enemies. I didn't want to upset my child, and besides, I was a little afraid of marriage and lacked confidence, so I stopped dating. I tried it, but no one recommended it after that.

I feel guilty towards my son; I haven't been a successful parent. Although I studied education, including early childhood education, in college, I couldn't bear to toughen him up. I always tried my best to provide him with a comfortable environment and prepare everything for him, never giving him any opportunity to be independent. As a result, he has very poor self-care skills and is too dependent on me. Even though I understand this now, I still can't bear to let him learn and grow independently. When he first entered high school, some teachers suggested that I let him live at school, but I wasn't comfortable with that. I said, "Why pay for boarding when we live so close?" Some teachers, to save themselves trouble and to give their children more experience, let their children live at school. I'm so glad my son is very smart, has excellent grades, and is tall and handsome.

Life is really tough for a woman raising a child alone, not just financially, but even more so in terms of mental and environmental pressure. When he was little, there were some things I couldn't tell him at home, like work-related frustrations. He wouldn't understand, and many people around me don't understand either. I live alone; there's no man to rely on at home. I have to do everything myself. I carry rice and flour upstairs myself; I don't ask for help or hire anyone. I don't want more people to know I don't have a man, not even strangers. My body is tired, but my heart is even more bitter; I want to cry but can't shed a tear. Back then, a young man in the same building always stared at me with that kind of look. I was truly afraid; I learned what it meant to have a malicious gaze. If I had a husband, I would feel much more at ease. But the truth is, I didn't. I was always afraid he would break into my house one day, so I would always check behind me before opening the door and lock it as soon as I got in. Looking back, it was all a deep sense of inferiority

. Later, I stopped seeing him; he probably moved away. Over the years, my mindset has gradually calmed down. My son has grown up and is tall. Having a man in the house just feels different. The loneliness in the late nights after the divorce was unbearable. During those days of my menstrual cycle when my libido was high, I really wished for a man. He wanted to comfort and satisfy me, but that was impossible. Only my own hands could satisfy me. The wedding photo on the wall had long been taken down. The object of my fantasies was still my ex-husband. Although I couldn't say whether I loved or resented him, I had once believed that I belonged to him for life and that I could only have sex with him. Gradually, his image was no longer in my mind. But no matter who it was, the sadness and loss after masturbation were still there. Especially when I fantasized about my son later. But the next time, I couldn't help but fantasize about my son's image again. The memory lingered, remaining blank until the climax. After a while, I felt not only sadness but also deep self-blame. I didn't want it to, but the only man I could rely on was my son. In fact, we were mutually dependent. Sometimes when he lay in my arms, I felt a maternal tenderness; sometimes when I lay on his chest or in his arms, I felt like a little woman. Having someone to rely on gave me a sense of secure happiness; it felt like my son was my man.

The only man I've ever been in contact with is my son. Unlike other mothers and sons, we don't have any taboos. Perhaps it's because I've always treated him the way he was when he was little. Even though he's grown up now, I still worry about him and take care of him meticulously, giving him countless instructions. As a result, his self-care skills are very poor. I want to let go and let him develop, but I'm too worried and can't bear to. He can't live without me—in life, emotionally, and physically. Because of the natural bond between mother and child... We're just close to each other, especially after all this time we've spent alone together. He's attached to his mother, and I'm attached to my son. I'm older now, so I understand the reasons, but I'm powerless to change. Like when I stare at my son's muscular physique and bulging lower body, I know that dazed look is wrong, but I can't take my eyes off him. Thinking is one thing, acting is another. If actions were entirely guided by thought, there would be far fewer mistakes in the world. Mistakes are all due to ignorance. My son and I had a long history of living alone and being physically close. We both had needs and desires for each other—that's undeniable. I think we understood each other's feelings, but neither of us ever explicitly stated it. Even now, after what happened, we rarely discussed it verbally. Back then, we were both cautiously probing, wanting to take things further but feeling uneasy, each hoping the other would make the first move.

I don't know when it started, but the way my son looked at me changed; that look... Even behind me, I could feel it—focused and intense. When I turned around, I hurriedly looked away. I knew my gaze was the same when I looked at him. He exercised often and had a very fit physique; that youthful energy was truly captivating. Every time he walked around the house shirtless in his underwear, I couldn't help but stare. His chest muscles were attractive, but what tantalized me most was his bulging lower body. Just seeing it made my legs go weak. Do all women have a kind of male genital worship? I even wanted to kneel down and worship it, really, haha. I usually think he can't do anything, but at that moment I felt he was a powerful and tall man.

When my son was little, he always slept next to me, and he only felt safe and could fall asleep when he was touching me. Later, as he grew older and needed to study, I let him have his own room, but he still comes to my room and sleeps in my bed from time to time, always with a lot of excuses, saying he had a scary dream, saying he didn't... It was cold when he came to my bed, and he said that since it was a double bed, he wouldn't fall off. But even after coming to my bed, he wouldn't immediately go to sleep. He kept holding me, just like when he was a baby, with one nipple in his mouth and his hand touching the other breast. The difference was that when he was a baby, he would just suckle, but now he would lick it with his tongue. It was really irresistible. I asked him, "Son, are you thinking about when you were little?" He was still sucking on the nipple and mumbled something I couldn't understand. I didn't know whether I wanted to hear him say yes or no. No, saying it would put me at ease: this behavior is nothing, just a mother and son reliving the past. Saying it wouldn't make me excited or lead to many imaginings, I've always been a very contradictory person, conflicted emotionally and in terms of decision-making. Actually, at that time, my lower body was overflowing with desire, and I really wished something could fill it—his fingers or that—but I didn't dare. For a long time, we found satisfaction in these borderline behaviors, which were both satisfying and agonizing. Neither of us dared to cross that line. We both... Without touching him with my hands, once when I was really sleepy and asked him to go back to his room, he wouldn't listen. So I turned my back to him, and he hugged me and touched my breasts, while his penis rubbed against my buttocks from time to time. Even through two layers of underwear, I could feel its heat, and I immediately became wet. My heart was in my throat; I really hoped he would take off my underwear and stuff it inside me, but I still didn't move. After a while, he went back to his room, and I couldn't wait to masturbate. I thought my son must have masturbated in his room too, but more often... After we started touching each other, he slept on my bed. I was too afraid to masturbate myself for fear of making noise and waking him up. He was probably afraid too.

But when his desire was too strong, he wasn't afraid of anything. Once, I woke up after a while and found my son's penis above my face. He was masturbating. I almost screamed when I opened my eyes, but I held it in because I was afraid it would be embarrassing. There were no lights on, so it was quite dark and he didn't see me open my eyes. I continued to rub him there, which was right next to my face. I wondered what would happen if he ejaculated. What if he ejaculated on my face? Should I keep pretending to be asleep with my eyes half-closed? His movements got faster and faster. Luckily, he caught it with his left hand when he ejaculated. After going to the bathroom, he went back to his own room. I lay there in the same position as before, masturbating while savoring the memory.

When I couldn't hold back anymore, I hugged his head tightly and pressed it against my breasts. That squeezing sensation brought me pleasure, but after a while, he broke free and started breathing heavily because his mouth and nose were covered and he was about to suffocate. I really wanted to put my hand down there to relieve the itch. But I still didn't dare. Besides, our bodies were pressed together, and there was no space. I couldn't resist any longer and reached my hand inside from behind. I couldn't reach all the way in from behind; the power of lust is truly terrifying. My left hand, seemingly casually, slid from my son's chest to his penis. I hadn't touched his penis in over ten years. I was so excited, trying my best to control my excitement. My right hand moved gently inside his vagina, while my left hand remained on top of it without moving, and he didn't move either. I didn't dare move my arm, afraid of making a sound. My son noticed I was too big for him, so I could only bend and straighten my fingers, trying my best not to move my body. I still remember that feeling of pleasure, both suppressed and exciting. One hand was touching my son's penis, and the other was inside my vagina. It felt like my two hands could merge into one, and I imagined my fingers were my son's penis.

I knew that day would eventually come, but I didn't expect it to be me who took the initiative. But thinking about it, it makes sense; my son has always been shy and never as proactive as me. That night, I wasn't wearing anything; I slept naked after showering. A moment later, he came into my room and before I could react, he was under the covers. Afraid he'd find me naked and without underwear, I faced him and stuck my butt out. He continued to touch and kiss my breasts as usual. Perhaps because I was in my menstrual cycle, my arousal was very strong, and my hand involuntarily went to his penis. My other hand went into my vagina, this time from the front. At first, he lay on his back, then suddenly grabbed my hand and rubbed his penis. Then he pulled down his underwear a little so my hand could touch his penis. The direct contact was incredibly exciting. I didn't have to worry about making any big movements. I used both hands to vigorously masturbate both myself and my son. He must have been moaning softly in pleasure. I don't know where I got the courage. I was pushing my luck. I had dreamed of doing this before, but at that moment I felt it still wasn't enough. So I got up and straddled him, positioning his penis against my opening. I sat down and went all the way in. Because there was so much fluid, my opening was wide open. The pleasure was incredible. It was so intense that I collapsed onto my son. He yelled and jerked his body. I sat up and started moving up and down, but after a few movements, my body went limp and I involuntarily lay back down. My son probably wasn't satisfied with my speed, so he rolled over and pinned me beneath him, then started moving very quickly. That must have been his first time. He ejaculated very quickly; it was so hot I could feel it. But he didn't go limp, and he didn't pull out; he kept moving inside me. Oh my god, I was going crazy, in that incomparable... Faced with intense pleasure, words are utterly inadequate. He lasted a long time the second time, only ejaculating after I had already climaxed, and then he lay there and quickly fell asleep.

I feel that the light of daytime is a kind of constraint on people, is it the gaze of the world? We rarely touch each other's bodies during the day, but when it's dark at night, it's as if we don't belong to this world anymore, no one can restrain us, and our behavior truly descends into unbridled madness. As for what will happen in the future, I really don't want to think about it.

The hardest part is the first time; once you get past that hurdle, it's not so difficult anymore. My son and I have sex very frequently, just like when I first got married. Our sexual desire makes us seem so greedy when we're together. I greedily sucked on my son's penis; it seemed like a reward for him. He looked up at me, as if he hadn't expected me to be so proactive in doing that for him. He made a very loud, pleasurable sound. I think the psychological pleasure probably stimulated him more. Watching his reaction and seeing him so excited made me feel happy too. Generally speaking... We don't cook during the day, but there are exceptions. One time he didn't have evening self-study. After all, the second year of high school isn't as stressful as the third year I teach. That time, I was proctoring the monthly exam for the class I taught. The exam was at 6 PM, and around 5 PM, my son called me saying he was hungry and wanted me to come home and cook for him. I told him to cook some instant noodles first and I'd make the main meal when I got home. He refused and insisted on eating instant noodles. I couldn't persuade him otherwise, and thinking that we lived nearby, I figured I could make the main meal later. So I rushed home and started cooking. As soon as I put the cutting board on the counter, my son hugged me tightly from behind. I told him to stop fooling around or we'd run out of time, but he still wouldn't let me. No way! I was wearing the school-issued work uniform skirt at the time. He lifted my skirt and touched me inside. Maybe I'm just a sensitive person, but I go weak and have no resistance when touched. Even when a stranger I don't like touches me, I feel the same way. He took off my clothes underneath and rubbed my genitals with his hard thing. I immediately got wet there. My son slowly inserted himself. I suddenly remembered that if I was late, several classes of students wouldn't be able to take the exam, and I still had the papers with me. So I got up and said no, don't do it. But my son grabbed me and inserted himself again. I had no choice but to call my class representative and ask him to come to my office to get the exam paper. This basically meant the questions had been leaked, but there was nothing I could do. My son wouldn't leave my side; he wouldn't even remove his penis. He insisted on coming with me to the living room to get my phone. While I was explaining things to the student, my son was still moving vigorously behind me. I was afraid the noise would be heard on the phone, and I was also afraid I wouldn't be able to handle it and would make a sound, but he was holding my waist with both hands, and I couldn't push him away, so I had to use my hands to block behind my buttocks. After I finished explaining, I quickly hung up the phone, saying I was going to the bedroom right away. Well, he insisted on going to the kitchen, so I was forced to walk with my back bent. As soon as I touched the counter, he sped up, and my body slowly slumped down until my upper body was on the counter, my legs so weak I almost knelt. My son grabbed my waist and lifted me up, slamming into me hard. That time it lasted a long time. After he finished, he told me he wouldn't eat noodles anymore, he could just cook instant noodles himself, and that I should hurry up and go to work. I was both angry and loving. When I got to the classroom, the students who were answering questions with their heads down all looked up at me. I was startled, thinking they seemed to know what I had just done. After calming down and thinking it over, I realized it was impossible.

Writing these words and recalling those things gave me a strange sense of satisfaction, and I even got wet down there. Just take it as a joke, anyway, I feel much more relaxed, haha…

The era I grew up in and the family and school education I received instilled in me a complete lack of awareness about dating before university. In fact, I felt quite terrified about it, thinking that having a boyfriend was something immoral. If anyone wrote me a letter confessing their feelings or showed me affection, I would definitely stay far away from them. But this mindset gradually changed in university because there were many couples around me… Besides, I'm getting older and have emotional needs, and I know that dating isn't shameful. My ex-husband and I met in college, and that was my first love. He was in the same major as me, and we were from the same city. There weren't many people in our major, and everyone in the classes knew each other. Men are very popular in teacher's colleges, and he was quite outstanding at the time—tall, good-looking, and talented. We all had good opinions of him when we chatted in the dorm. We had a lot of contact at several college events, and we dated more. Later, it just happened naturally. He never confessed his feelings to me, and I had no experience with it. At the time, I thought that was what dating was all about. I was too afraid to hold hands for a long time. The first time we held hands was his initiative, and the first time we kissed was also his initiative. There was a long gap between holding hands and kissing. We had no experience with our first kiss; our lips just touched, but it was enough to excite us. I still remember that feeling vividly. Later, he learned to suck on my tongue, and the pleasure became even more intense. It felt like my whole body was on fire, and I got wet down there. To be honest, I had never masturbated before college, and I had no sexual needs whatsoever. I wanted to... but ever since I kissed him, I've had that desire, a desire I absolutely dared not have. Those were far less open-minded than today; I guess most people's first time was on their wedding night, and he and I were no exception. After graduating from university, I worked at a high school affiliated with a university, while he went to another high school in the city that was almost the best. Back then, it was easy for graduates of teacher's colleges to find jobs, unlike now, which is difficult—of course, now it's difficult for any major. We got married after working for less than a year. Because our homes and jobs were in the same city, and both sets of parents were satisfied, we... It went quite smoothly.

Our first time was on our wedding day, around 11 PM, I think. I was so busy and tired that I was completely disoriented; I just did whatever I was told. It seems like wedding procedures have always been so complicated. He undressed me, and my face burned; it was the first time I'd ever been naked in front of a man. He kissed my entire body passionately, his hands touching my genitals. That intense passion aroused me too, and I inevitably became aroused. He then penetrated me, and I was so stimulated that I opened my mouth wide but dared not scream… Experiencing sex for the first time was truly wonderful; I was overwhelmed with pleasure. Thinking back, it's been almost twenty years since my first time, yet I still remember it clearly, down to every single detail, because I've relived that scene countless times in my memory.

When we first got married, we were very frequent, but gradually it decreased, and the pleasure wasn't as intense as before. Perhaps the physical pleasure remained, but the psychological novelty wore off. Only when he was away on business trips for extended periods could I experience a strong desire, and I would use my fingers to mimic his movements. As I felt the throbbing in my vagina, I looked at his picture in our wedding photo on the wall, imagining him on top of me. Absence

truly makes the heart grow fonder; when he came back, we made love passionately, and it felt so much better than usual. After having our child, we experienced the joy and sense of accomplishment of being parents. I would often glance at our son and then at him, and my heart would fill with sweetness. Our child is our creation, bearing the characteristics of both of us; the feeling is magical and blissful. For the first few years, our relationship was incredibly strong, but marriage truly seems to succumb to the seven-year itch. It really was in the seventh year that he became distant. He talked to me less, and his sexual desire decreased significantly. I panicked, not knowing what I had done wrong. When I asked him, he wouldn't say. I tried to be as gentle as possible with him, and I was diligent in doing housework, but nothing worked. He just grew increasingly indifferent, and my heart gradually cooled. I knew his heart belonged to someone else. Our marriage lasted over nine years, and he was the one who initiated the divorce. All I could do was helplessly agree. I knew I couldn't win back his heart. I kept the child, and he gave me the house and most of his assets, leaving with almost nothing. After the divorce... He remarried a year later, to someone from his workplace. At the time, I couldn't understand what I was lacking, what made me inferior to him. I did everything a wife should do, treated his parents with the same filial piety as my own, and treated his brother's children as my own, giving them lucky money and buying them clothes every Chinese New Year. How could this be the result? Those two years were truly frustrating; my life was very dark. Later, I thought that for the sake of my child, I couldn't stay like that forever; I had to move on. Being from a single-parent family, if I were also melancholic, it would be too detrimental to my child's development. Many relatives and friends introduced me to potential partners, but I wasn't interested at first. Later, wanting to give my child a complete family, I tried dating, but my child reacted very strongly. He treated every man who came to our home as an enemy. I didn't want to upset him, and besides, I was a bit afraid of marriage and lacked confidence, so I stopped trying. After that, no one introduced me to anyone.

I feel guilty towards my son; I haven't been a successful parent. Although I studied education, including early childhood education, in college, I can't bear to be harsh on my own child. I've always put in so much effort to provide him with a comfortable environment and prepare everything for him, never giving him a chance to be independent. As a result, he has very poor self-care skills and is overly dependent on me. Even now that I understand this, I still can't bear to let him develop his abilities. When he first entered high school, some teachers suggested that I let him live at school, but I wasn't comfortable with that, saying that we lived so close, why spend the money on accommodation? Some teachers, to save themselves trouble and to train their children, let their children live at school. To my delight, my son is very smart, has excellent grades, and is tall and handsome.

Life is incredibly difficult for a woman raising a child alone, not just financially, but even more so in terms of emotional and environmental pressure. When my child was young, there were things I couldn't talk to him about at home, like work-related frustrations—he wouldn't understand. Many people around me didn't understand either. Living alone, without a man to rely on, I had to do everything myself. I carried rice and flour upstairs myself, without asking for help or hiring anyone. I didn't want more people to know I didn't have a man. Even with strangers, my body was exhausted, but my heart was even more bitter, and I couldn't even cry. A young man in the same apartment building always stared at me with that kind of look. I was truly terrified; I finally understood what a malicious gaze meant. If I had a husband, I would feel much more at ease, but I didn't. I was always afraid he would break into my house one day, so I would always check behind me before opening the door and lock it quickly after entering. Looking back, it was all a deep-seated sense of inferiority. Later, I never saw the young man again; he probably moved away. Well, after all these years, my mindset has gradually calmed down. My son has grown tall and strong, and having a man in the house makes all the difference.

The loneliness of the nights after the divorce was unbearable. During those days of my menstrual cycle when my needs were high, I really wished a man could comfort and satisfy me, but that was impossible. Only my own hands could satisfy me. The wedding photo on the wall was taken down long ago, and the object of my fantasies is still my ex-husband. Although I can't say whether I love or resent him, we once... I'd decided that I belonged to him for life, that I could only have sex with him. Gradually, his image started to fade from my mind. But no matter who it is, the sadness and loss after masturbation are always there. Especially when I fantasized about my son later. But the next time, I couldn't help but fantasize again; my son's image wouldn't leave me until after orgasm, when my mind went blank. After a while, I felt not only sadness but also deep self-blame. I didn't want to, but my only person I had been in contact with and could rely on was my son. This man, in fact, we are mutually dependent. Sometimes when he lies in my arms, my heart is filled with maternal tenderness; sometimes I lie on his chest or in his arm, and I feel like a little woman. Having someone to rely on brings a sense of secure happiness, as if my son is my man.

The only man I've ever been in contact with is my son. We don't have any taboos like other mothers and sons do, perhaps because I've always treated him the way he was when he was little, even now... Even now that he's grown up, I still worry about him a lot, taking meticulous care of him and giving him countless instructions. As a result, his self-care skills are very poor. I want to let go and let him develop, but I'm too worried and can't bear to. He can't live without me—in life, emotionally, and physically. Because mothers and children are naturally close, especially after so much time spent alone together, he's attached to his mother, and I'm attached to my son. I'm old enough to understand all the道理 (principles/reasons), but I'm powerless to change it. It's like watching him... When I look at my son's well-built physique and bulging lower body, I know that his lecherous gaze is inappropriate, but I still can't take my eyes off him. Thoughts are one thing, actions are another. If actions were entirely guided by thoughts, there would be far fewer mistakes in the world. Mistakes are often mistakes of ignorance. My son and I have lived alone for a long time, yet we are intimate. Moreover, we both have needs and desires for each other—this is undeniable. I think we understand ourselves and each other's feelings, but neither of us has chosen... Ming, even now that this has happened, we rarely talk about it. Back then, we were both cautiously probing, wanting to take things further but feeling uneasy, both hoping the other would make the first move.

I don't know when it started, but the way my son looked at me changed. Even when I was behind him, I could feel that gaze—focused and intense. When I turned around, I would hurriedly look away. Actually, I know that's how I look at him too. He exercises often and has a very fit physique. That youthful energy was truly captivating. Every time he walked around the house shirtless in just his underwear, I couldn't help but stare at him. His chest muscles were attractive, but what tantalized me most was his bulging lower body. Just seeing it made my legs go weak. Maybe women have a kind of male genital worship? I even wanted to kneel down beneath it and worship it, really. Haha, I usually thought he was useless, but at that moment I felt he was a powerful and imposing man.

When he was little, my son always slept next to me. He needed to touch me to feel safe and fall asleep. Later, as he grew older and needed to study, I let him have his own room. But he still comes to my room and sleeps in my bed from time to time, always with a lot of excuses. He says he had a scary dream, that it's cold when he's not breathing, or that my bed is a double bed so he won't fall off. But when he comes to my bed, he doesn't fall asleep right away. He always hugs me, just like when he was little, with one nipple in his mouth and his hand touching the other breast. The difference is that when he was little... He used to just suckle when he was breastfeeding, but now he licks with his tongue, which is really arousing me. I asked him, "Son, is this reminding you of when you were little?" He was still sucking on the nipple and mumbled something I couldn't understand. I didn't know whether I wanted to hear him say yes or no. If he said yes, I would feel at ease: this behavior is nothing, just mother and son reliving the past. If he said no, I would be excited and have many thoughts. I've always been a very contradictory person, contradictory in my emotions, contradictory in my decisions. Actually, at that moment, my lower body was... It was overflowing, and I really wished something could fill it, like his fingers or his... but I didn't dare. For a long time, we found satisfaction in these borderline behaviors, which were both satisfying and agonizing. Neither of us dared to cross that line; we didn't touch each other's... with our hands. Once, I was really sleepy and asked him to go back to his room, but he wouldn't listen. So I turned my back to him, and he hugged me and touched my breasts, his... rubbing against my buttocks from time to time. Even through two layers of underwear, I could feel its heat. At that moment... My heart was in my throat, I was so excited, I really hoped he would take off my underwear and stuff it inside me, but I didn't move. After a while, he went back to his room, and I couldn't wait to masturbate. I thought my son must have masturbated in his room too, but most of the time we would touch each other and then he would sleep on my bed, so I was too afraid to masturbate, afraid of making a sound and waking him up. He must have been afraid too.

But when his desire was too strong, he wasn't afraid of anything. Once, I woke up after a while and found my son's penis above my face. He was masturbating. I almost screamed when I opened my eyes, but I held it in because I was afraid it would be embarrassing. It was dark, and he didn't see me open my eyes. He continued rubbing his genitals, which were close to my face. I wondered what would happen if he ejaculated. Should I pretend to be asleep with my eyes closed if he ejaculated on my face? His movements became faster and faster. Luckily, he caught it with his left hand when he ejaculated. After going to the bathroom, he went back to his room. I lay in the same position, still reliving the experience while masturbating.

When I couldn't hold back... I held his head tightly against my breasts; the squeezing sensation brought me pleasure. But after a while, he broke free and gasped for breath, as if he was suffocating with his mouth and nose covered. I desperately wanted to put my hand down there to relieve the itch, but I didn't dare. Besides, our bodies were pressed together, leaving no room for movement. I couldn't resist any longer and reached my hand inside from behind. But I couldn't reach all the way in from behind; the power of lust is truly terrifying. My left hand, seemingly casually, slid from my son's chest to his penis. I hadn't touched his penis with my hand for over ten years. I was so excited that I tried my best to control my excitement. My right hand moved gently inside his vagina, while my left hand just rested on his penis without moving. He didn't move either. I didn't dare move my arms for fear of making too much noise and alerting my son. I could only bend and straighten my fingers, and I tried my best to keep my body still. I still remember that feeling of pleasure that was both suppressed and exciting. With one hand touching my son's penis and the other inside my vagina, it felt like my two hands could merge into one, and I imagined that my fingers were my son's penis.

I knew that day would eventually come, but I didn't expect it to be me who initiated it. But thinking about it, it makes sense; my son is always shy and never as proactive as I am. That night, I wasn't wearing anything, and I slept naked after showering. Not long after, my son came into my room and, before I could react, climbed into my bed. Afraid he would find out I was naked and not wearing underwear, I faced him and stuck my butt out. He still touched and kissed my breasts like that. Maybe it was because I was in my period, and my reactions were very strong. My hand involuntarily went to his penis, and my other hand went to my vagina. This time, he started from the front. He lay on his back and then suddenly grabbed my hand and rubbed his penis. Then he pulled down his underwear a little so my hand could directly touch his penis. I was so excited! I didn't care if I was being too rough. I used both hands to vigorously masturbate myself and my son. He must have been enjoying it, moaning softly. I don't know where I got the courage. I was pushing my luck. I had dreamed of doing this before, but at that moment I felt it still wasn't enough. So I got up and straddled him, pointing his penis at me. The opening was so tight that I could sit down and it was completely inside. Because there was so much water, the opening was wide open, and the pleasure was so intense that I collapsed onto my son. He cried out and his body jerked violently. I sat up again and moved up and down, but after a few movements, my body went limp and I involuntarily collapsed back down. Perhaps my son wasn't satisfied with my speed, so he rolled over and pinned me beneath him, then began to move rapidly. That must have been his first time; he ejaculated very quickly, I could feel it, but he didn't go limp, nor did he pull out; he continued inside. Oh my god, I'm going crazy. Words are so inadequate in the face of that incredibly intense pleasure. He lasted a long time the second time, and he only ejaculated after I had already climaxed. Then he lay there and quickly fell asleep.

I think the light of daytime is a kind of constraint on people. Is it the gaze of the world? We rarely touch each other's bodies during the day, but when it's dark at night, it's as if we don't belong to this world anymore. No one can restrain us, and our behavior really falls into unbridled madness. As for what will happen in the future, I really don't want to think about it.

The hardest part was the first time. Once you got past that hurdle, it wasn't so difficult anymore. My son and I did it very frequently, just like when we first got married. Our sexual desire made us seem so greedy when we were together. I greedily sucked on my son's penis; it seemed like a reward for him. He looked up at me, as if he hadn't expected me to be so proactive in doing that for him. He made a very loud, pleasurable sound. I think the psychological pleasure probably stimulated him more. I watched his performance and felt happy seeing him so excited. We usually don't do it during the day, but there are exceptions. One time he didn't have evening self-study. After all, the second year of high school isn't as stressful as the third year I teach. That time, I was proctoring the monthly exam for the class I taught. The exam was at 6 PM, and he was up until 5 PM. My son called me on my phone saying he was hungry and wanted me to come home and cook for him. I told him to cook some instant noodles first and I'd make the main dish when I got home later, but he insisted on eating regular noodles. I couldn't persuade him otherwise, and since we lived nearby, I figured I could make it later after cooking. I rushed home and started cooking. Just as I put the cutting board on the counter, my son hugged me tightly from behind. I told him to stop, or we'd run out of time, but he wouldn't let go. I was wearing my school uniform skirt, and he lifted it up and started touching me inside. I guess I'm a very sensitive person; I become weak and defenseless when touched, even by strangers I don't like. He pulled down my undershirt and rubbed his hard penis against my genitals, which immediately became wet. My son slowly inserted himself... and suddenly... Thinking that if I was late, students from several classes wouldn't be able to take the exam, and the papers were still with me, I got up and said I couldn't continue. But my son grabbed me and thrust into me again. I had no choice but to call my class representative and ask him to come to my office and retrieve the papers. This basically meant the questions had been leaked, but there was nothing I could do. My son's body wouldn't leave my penis. He took it out and insisted on coming with me to the living room to get his phone. While I was explaining to the student, my son was still moving around vigorously behind me. I was worried the noise would be heard on the phone, and I was also afraid I would make a sound myself, but he was holding me by the waist and I couldn't push him away, so I had to use my hands to block him from behind. After I finished explaining, I quickly hung up the phone and said, "Let's go to the bedroom quickly," but he refused. He insisted on going to the kitchen, and I was forced to walk with my back bent. As soon as I touched the counter, he sped up, and my body slowly sank down until my upper body was slumped over the counter, my legs so weak I almost knelt. My son grabbed my waist and lifted me up, thrusting into me forcefully. That time it lasted a long time. After he finished, he told me he wouldn't eat noodles anymore, he'd just cook instant noodles for himself, and that I should hurry up and go to work. I was both angry and delighted. When I entered the classroom, the students who were engrossed in answering questions all looked up at me. My heart skipped a beat; I felt like they knew what I'd just done. But after calming down, I realized that was impossible.

Writing these words, recalling those events, gives me a strange sense of satisfaction. And now I'm all wet down there. Just take it as a story; anyway, I feel much lighter now, haha…

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