Diary of a Mad Old Man

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

The Mad Old Man
's Diary - Day

15
: When I woke up, it was just getting light, the air was a bit damp, with a slightly earthy smell; the rain was still falling,
a light drizzle, so soft you had to hold your breath to hear it. I got up, added half a cup of hot water to the kettle—I'd already
added salt—gargled in it, and then slowly drank it. I urinated, rinsed my mouth with mouthwash, washed my face, and finally
sprayed 0.5 mg of phenylephrine into each nostril. Perhaps I was too excited, because I didn't feel the urge to defecate today.
I turned left from the bathroom door and slowly walked into the easternmost workroom. The three storage baskets were full of
clothes waiting to be washed, given the rain these past few days. The leftmost basket mostly contained shirts, along with some socks and underwear—
my son 's things. My son and I both prefer gray and beige. The light green shirt in the middle basket probably
belonged to my son-in-law, although I hadn't seen him wear it. I searched carefully, picking through each piece of clothing, but found nothing.
Although I wasn't wearing my glasses, I wasn't looking for anything tiny; it was impossible to have missed anything. The middle basket
was full of my daughter and son-in-law's clothes, and a quick search told me they weren't here either—had they already been disposed of…?
On the 19th, I suddenly caught a cold a few days ago, and the doctor advised me to rest in bed and take two tablets of antihistamine twice a day
. My daughter had been wanting to move me to the first floor, but I firmly refused: "No, the room I'm in now
is very quiet, I like it very much."
"You need to move around more; it's inconvenient to go up and down the stairs."
"At my age, what kind of movement can I make? Just a stroll in the yard. Besides, my legs are still very good now;
we'll talk about it when it's inconvenient to walk up the stairs."
…
Not only does my daughter resemble my deceased husband in appearance, but both mother and daughter are keen on controlling my movements;
just like when I moved to the master bedroom on the second floor alone, now I have to put on a strong stance, otherwise I'll definitely be
moved back. Actually, while moving to the master bedroom was indeed for the quiet, I also had my own reasons.
After marriage, the daughter-in-law considered drying clothes in the yard indecent, so she moved them to the second-floor terrace.
The washing machine and dryer were also moved upstairs to the workshop. As he aged, his physical functions gradually declined, and his childhood
preferences had turned into addictions—the tactile and gustatory stimulation from his daughter-in-law's underwear and stockings was now the only way
to release his sexual desires. Drying clothes was inconvenient during rainy seasons, and changing into unwashed clothes with his daughter-in-law's scent was
a rare pleasure. He's been sick these past few days, resting in the bedroom, which is a real pity.
On the 21st, the weather finally cleared up, and the doctor came again. "You can stop the medication." He first examined
his tongue , warmed the stethoscope with his hand, and listened to his lungs for a long time. "Please be careful in the future; thankfully, it didn't develop into
pneumonia."
His neck was very uncomfortable that night, numb from the left side of his neck to his left shoulder blade, and it hurt when he bent his head.
The physiotherapist from the nearby hospital, who usually came every other day, hadn't come these past few days. He had his daughter apply a hot towel, and
he finally fell asleep in the middle of the night.
On the 22nd, the physical therapist arrived. She was a woman in her thirties, and her technique was excellent. She rubbed, sawed, kneaded, pinched, and
rubbed, gradually warming and softening my stiff muscles. Finally, she applied a hot salt compress wrapped in gauze, which made me feel much better.
In the afternoon, my son and daughter-in-law came. I've never known much about my son, only that he joined
a multinational company after graduating from university. I don't know exactly what he does, but I heard he's about to be promoted to head of some department.
"I've learned a little massage. When the physical therapist isn't available, I can massage you," my daughter-in-law
said softly. "Really? I didn't know that," my son turned his face away. "It would be great if you knew how."...
From the beginning of their relationship, my wife and daughter were against it. After all, my daughter-in-law had
no relatives; her parents died in a car accident when she was very young, and she grew up in an orphanage. I
didn't care about that; I even felt a little sorry for her—my son is fickle, a trait he probably inherited from me.
On the
23rd, breakfast was a glass of vegetable juice, two slices of coarse bread, and two hard-boiled eggs with the yolks removed.
When I was young
. Doctors disapproved of this diet; they preferred to prescribe specific nutritional components, forcing
us to eat monotonous, rigid foods—"You can't eat this, you can't eat that"—and repeatedly emphasized that it was
for our health. On this point, my wife and daughter-in-law surprisingly agreed—my daughter-in-law was
a nurse , and my wife couldn't argue with her.
Lunch and dinner were eaten with everyone in the dining room, and unsurprisingly, my son and son-in-law weren't there.
They probably come home for meals only a handful of times a month, always for social engagements, work, or other reasons. As I see it,
my son probably has a mistress—my son-in-law is unlikely, as his income is all in my daughter's hands—I really don't know if it's
a good thing or a bad thing. Middle-aged men are especially attractive to young women; I'm afraid if I can't handle the situation, then things will be terrible.
The 25th. After lunch, I went to the living room to rest. From afar, I saw my daughter-in-law standing in front of the dressing mirror,
a large pile of shoes beside her. "The company is having a cocktail party tonight, and I'm hesitating about what shoes to wear. Could you give me
some advice , Dad?" This was quite rare; since having a child, the couple seemed to have grown distant, rarely going out together.
"I'm getting old, what can I choose?"
"They're all for men anyway, Dad's taste is never wrong."
After picking through them, only two pairs remained. I suggested, "The cocktail party is quite formal, right? Try on some stockings and
compare ."
"What color should I wear? It's hard to choose." "
For formal occasions, you can only wear nude or black. I think light gold shoes would suit you well, so wear
nude stockings." My daughter-in-law prefers black stockings, but her legs are quite thin, so nude would be more suitable.
She went back to the bedroom, put them on, and carefully examined herself in the mirror. "Dad picked a really good one." I had thought she would
wear stockings in front of me, so I was a little disappointed.
On the 26th, I still hadn't found any underwear for my daughter-in-law. Yesterday she was still wearing stockings, probably drying them in
her bathroom. Did she discover something…?
On the 31st, I called
my daughter-in-law after my afternoon nap: “Can you give me a massage if you’re free? I just woke up, my neck is so stiff.” Since moving into the master bedroom, my son has installed telephones in every room, and even a doorbell
connecting to the next room, in case a nurse needs to stay there.
Although he said he’d be right there, it still took a long time—maybe it was just my imagination, but waiting always seemed
incredibly long. “Did you just take a nap too?” I asked, seeing my daughter-in-law wearing a bathrobe.
"No, I'm just lying down for a bit." My daughter-in-law sat down on the bed. "Don't get up, Dad, just
lie in bed. Should we open the window screen?"
I turned over. "If it's too dark, let's open it. Can you see the acupoints?"
"I can see them. But you don't need to. You can find them by measuring with your hands."
"I was wondering how blind masseurs do massages."
"Blind masseurs are very accurate at finding acupoints. It's easier to be off-target if you use your eyes. I only learned a little bit back in school
." She laughed and straddled my waist. "You're not heavy, are you? You've gained a lot of weight now."
My bare skin felt tingly; my daughter-in-law must be wearing stockings.
"Your technique is very good. You must massage him often."
"I used to, but then he had a mistress, so he didn't have time for me to massage him anymore."
It's true... and my wife found out... you idiot!
"It was after I gave birth, wasn't it? It was a colleague from his company," my daughter-in-law said calmly. "He
confessed it to me himself. After all, we've been married for ten years, the child is still young, and my father treats me so well."
...
One day, I continued writing. The doctor said I have a heart condition and shouldn't overexert myself, but that wasn't entirely true. Yesterday, no,
it should be the day before yesterday, after a massage, as my daughter-in-law got up, I rolled over and pinned her down. I was immediately slapped,
my eyes filled with tears, and my cheek went numb. My daughter-in-law pushed me away, got up, and ran out. I lay in bed,
my mind blank, my heart pounding, and my consciousness slowly fading.
After a while, someone draped a nightgown over me—it was my daughter-in-law—shoved two pills into my mouth,
helped me sit up with her right hand, and fed me water with her left. Tears inexplicably started flowing again. After taking the pills, I lay back down, and
my daughter-in-law sat by the bed and applied a cold compress with a towel. I stroked her thigh, but she didn't move.
Three days later, the marks on my face were no longer visible. During this time, I made an excuse that I wasn't feeling well, and my daughter-in-law
brought to me in the bedroom. My son wanted to call a doctor, but I refused. Luckily, my daughter was on vacation, otherwise I really don't
know how I would have managed. On
the third
or fourth day, the fact that my daughter wasn't home had one advantage: my daughter-in-law gave me a bath—she wouldn't have agreed before,
maybe she felt
guilty didn't like.
"Take it off."
"No." My daughter-in-law lathered my body with soap using a bath sponge, "We agreed to just bathe, and besides, Daddy
will get hard..."
Since I got older, apart from the occasional morning erection, my penis has always been limp, even
when I'm playing with my daughter-in-law's stockings and underwear. When my daughter-in-law was scrubbing my back, I felt a tingling
sensation , and when she washed my penis with soap, it actually got erect—although a little soft—I was really
surprised.
I reached out to touch my daughter-in-law's breasts, but she quickly dodged away. "I hit really hard. Sometimes
I can't even in time and just slap someone. It hurts so much your eyeballs could pop out."
"Can't I just touch it once?"
"No, Dad. I'm going to rinse you off now, please don't move."
Five days later, there's a big surprise today! My daughter-in-law led me to the bathroom and took off her pajamas. I noticed she was wearing black
pantyhose today.
"Ah, why are you wearing pantyhose while showering?"
"Don't you like it? For a dad with a fetish, touching pantyhose is more exciting than touching breasts, right?"
"Fetish?"
"Dad, don't you often play with my pantyhose and underwear? Aren't you careful? There's saliva all over your pantyhose."
So she already knew...
"Can I touch it? Thank you so much."
I squatted down in front of my daughter-in-law, greedily stroking her legs, and then had her lift one leg against the wall, carefully
licking the sole of her foot clad in black stockings. My daughter-in-law's feet are beautiful, long and slender, unlike some women's feet which are as
thick as a baby's. I put her toes in my mouth and savored them; the taste of her stockings filled my mouth—it was so blissful, this must be heaven
…
November 11th. Last time I took a bath, I slipped and fell, thankfully only scraping my skin. Maybe I squatted for too long
and stood up too suddenly. My son and son-in-law saw I was alright, gave me a quick greeting, and left. But my daughter came back and
complained about her sister-in-law.
"It was my own carelessness, I don't blame her,"
my daughter said, giving her daughter-in-law a resentful look. Their relationship has never been good. When we got married, my husband said
that since my son-in-law's parents were no longer alive, we should live together. I agreed then, but now it seems my husband wanted to
prevent my daughter-in-law from having any influence on the family.
These past few days, my daughter has wanted to feed me instead of my daughter-in-law, but I refused. Now, mealtimes are my special time
, and no one is allowed to disrupt it. I finish my food quickly, but eating a person takes a
long time . My daughter-in-law lay half-reclined on the sofa, her legs spread apart and resting on the armrests. I always started with her feet—
occasionally gently biting them with my teeth—making soft moaning sounds, feeling incredibly happy. Her stockings were covered
in saliva stains.
At my urging, she wore only pantyhose, her vulva separated from me by only a thin layer of silk. It felt warm to the touch,
her vaginal fluids and saliva mixing together, creating a lewd smell. However, fearing the marks, she forbade me from caressing
her breasts .
On the
47th, my daughter-in-law didn't immediately wash her stockings and underwear after changing them; instead, she left them in the workroom for me to enjoy.
Summer had arrived, and the weather was gradually getting warmer, but I still didn't dare turn on the air conditioning for fear of catching a cold.
On the 20th, the house we were living in was built when my father was still alive. It had no insulation, and although
there was an attic, the second floor was still unbearably hot and stuffy. I turned on the air conditioning a little, but felt stuffy and heavy-headed, so I immediately
took two tablets of Duxin and lay down to rest.
On the 23rd, I felt a little better. During my bed rest, I asked my daughter-in-law to bring some pantyhose, which I stuffed under the covers.
I wrapped several pairs around my waist and penis, feeling extremely secure. "Dad, why are you wearing pantyhose here too?"
When no one was around, my daughter-in-law reached under the covers and was startled.
"It's a little cold,"
she giggled, then knelt by the bed, untied the pantyhose, and began sucking on my penis until I fell asleep.
On the 26th, it was still a bit chilly in the morning. Although I was better, I still said I needed to rest so
my daughter-in-law could bring me food—I think she understood that. Lunch was cold duck porridge, boiled shrimp, cucumber salad with seaweed,
stir-fried bitter melon, and winter melon and pork rib soup—all very large portions.
After lunch, I had sex.
Yes, I'm very sorry to my son, but I still did it.
Three days later. I had sex with my daughter-in-law a few days ago, which gave me confidence in my physical condition—my erection wasn't
ideal, but it was pretty good for my age, even though I rested for several days afterward. I guess my daughter-in-law was also
surprised by this; her husband ignores her, so she probably just wanted some comfort and didn't expect to have
sex again.
After my afternoon nap, I had my daughter-in-law give me a bath. I specifically chose this time to avoid my daughter, as she
gets up . I sprinkled bath salts into the bathtub, filled it with water, soaked for a while, and then sat on a high stool while
my daughter-in-law scrubbed my back and lathered it with soap. "Dad, open your legs a little wider." Since that day, my daughter-in-law has been
particularly . She lathers the soap on the bath sponge, then squats in front of me, lifts my penis,
and reaches in with one hand to gently rub it from the perineum outward. She cleans the scrotum and pubic hair very thoroughly, and even pulls back the foreskin to rinse it
. After drying myself off, I changed into a bathrobe and lay on the sofa drinking tea. After showering in the bathroom, my daughter-in-law
sat down beside me, dried her hair with a towel, and then knelt down to take my penis in her mouth. Her nimble tongue licked from the base of the penis along the vas deferens to
the glans, then rubbed around the coronal sulcus, while her right hand gently massaged my testicles.
My penis slowly hardened, but was still a little soft.
My daughter-in-law stood up, supported my penis with her hands, turned around, and slowly sat down in front of it. Her vagina was warm
and juicy , as if it had a suction force. My daughter-in-law kept sitting down and standing up, supporting herself on the armrest,
and my penis pulled up the tender flesh around her vagina as it entered, making a "plop, plop" sound. I closed my eyes to rest, and
waited until my vagina had sucked my penis hard, then I got up and pinned my daughter-in-law down. My daughter-in-law bent her knees and raised her buttocks, opening her mouth wide.
I took a breath, slowly inserted my penis, and then pulled it out abruptly. My daughter-in-law
was moaning , her body twisting and turning, her breasts swaying: "Daddy, faster... ah..." I ignored her.
Anyone with experience knows that slow, deep thrusts, nine shallow thrusts followed by one deep one, rhythm is key in sex.
My daughter-in-law's postpartum vagina was soft and fleshy, like a small mouth enveloping my penis. I gradually couldn't resist
thrusting , and my daughter-in-law moaned even more intensely, her vagina becoming tighter and tighter, the friction increasing with each thrust.
I quickly grew tired, dizzy and lightheaded, and could only rest on top of her.
"Shall I go on top?"
Last time was like this, and the stimulation wasn't enough; the semen just flowed out, and neither my daughter-in-law nor I were satisfied.
I shook my head, refusing the suggestion, climbed onto the sofa, and put my penis in my daughter-in-law's mouth. After a few sucks,
I felt refreshed , and I had my daughter-in-law kneel on the sofa, penetrating her from behind. Seeing my penis
going in and out of her vagina like this helped maintain arousal and prevented me from giving up halfway due to fatigue.
I stood up and began to gently move, slowing down to prevent fatigue,
inserting . This allowed me to feel the friction of my penis against the folds of her vagina more clearly,
which was more stimulating than rapid thrusting. Gradually, my daughter-in-law also began to experience the pleasure, her buttocks thrusting back in rhythm
with me, the "slap, slap" sounds of our bodies colliding
blending with the "splish, splish" sounds from her vagina, creating such a lewd symphony...
Ten days. Once.
Twenty-one days. Once. Maybe I didn't rest well, because it leaked.
Thirtieth day, everyone said I looked unwell and needed to rest. When I bent over, I saw that my daughter-in-law
was wearing open-crotch pantyhose and no underwear...
...
Postscript:
With a "slap," the yellow-covered notebook was closed. My wife lit a cigarette, took a deep drag,
and slowly exhaled.
"Finished reading." On this crisp autumn day, her palms were sweaty,
even more so than when she received the death notice from the hospital. I grabbed a tissue to wipe my hands. "My sister found this while tidying up her room. Pretty interesting,
right?"
"Very interesting," my wife said, a slight smile playing on her lips.
I slapped her across the face, knocking her to the ground. A purplish-red mark immediately appeared on her fair cheek, but she just
giggled. (
5. The End)

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