Incestuous Memories [The End]

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

As a mother, what should I do? The things I've done are irreversible. I know I'm deliberately numbing myself and trying to forget, afraid to think about them, only able to comfort myself with escape, numbness, and forgetting. Posting what I've written is a form of venting, a way of comforting and commemorating, a tribute to the pure mother-child bond we can never return to.

Don't doubt its originality; I guarantee it with my integrity. This is a heartfelt confession, typed out word by word. I don't seek praise or points, nor will I require replies before reading. I'm just happy that everyone can see my story. Also, you might think I'm despicable, but please don't hurl insults. Please leave me with the last shred of self-respect. I don't know where to begin, or how in detail to go. Let's start with university. My first love was in university. I'll talk about some memorable things, and I won't mention the memories that have faded with time.

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 was quite terrified of it, thinking that having a relationship was immoral. If someone wrote me a letter confessing their love or showed me affection, I would definitely stay far away from them. However, this mindset gradually changed when I entered university. Because there were many couples around me, and I was also getting older and had emotional needs, I realized that dating was not a shameful thing. My ex-husband and I met in college, which marked the beginning of my first love. He was in the same major as me and from the same city. There weren't many people in our major, and most of us 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 things to say about him when we chatted in our dorm. We had a lot of contact and got to know each other better during several college activities, and things just naturally progressed. He never even confessed to me, and I had no experience. I thought that was what dating was all about. I didn't dare to hold hands for a long time. He was the one who initiated the first time we held hands, and he was also the one who initiated the first kiss. 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 exciting enough. I still remember that feeling vividly. Later, he learned to suck on my tongue, and the pleasure was even stronger. It made my whole body feel like it was on fire, and I got wet down there. To be honest, I had never masturbated before college and had no sexual needs whatsoever. But ever since I kissed him, I've had that desire, a desire I absolutely dared not express. Those were far less open-minded than they are now; 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 the affiliated high school, while he went to another high school in the city that was almost the best. Back then, it was easy to find a job after graduating from teacher's college, unlike now, although now it's difficult for any major. We got married less than a year after we started working. Because our families and jobs were in the same city, and both sets of parents were satisfied, everything went smoothly.

Our first time was on our wedding day; it was probably past eleven o'clock. On my wedding day, I was so busy and tired I was completely disoriented. I just did whatever people told me to do; it seems like wedding procedures have always been so complicated. When he took off my clothes, 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 caressing my genitals. His fervor ignited my own passion, and I inevitably became aroused. He thrust inside me, and I gasped, my mouth agape, too afraid to scream… My first experience of sex 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 vividly, down to every 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 had worn off. Only when he was away on business trips, away for extended periods of study and research, could I experience a strong surge of desire. I would mimic his movements with my fingers, imitating him, and look at his wedding photo on the wall, imagining him on top of me. Absence truly makes the heart grow fonder; when he returned, we made love freely, and it felt much better than usual. After having a child, we experienced the joy and sense of accomplishment of being parents. I would often glance at my son and then at him, and my heart would fill with sweetness. Our child was the crystallization of our love, bearing the characteristics of both of us; the feeling was magical and blissful. For the first few years, our relationship was wonderful, but marriage truly couldn't escape the seven-year itch. It really did start in the seventh year. He became distant, spoke less to me, and his sexual desire decreased significantly. I was terrified, not knowing what I had done wrong. When I asked him, he wouldn't say. I tried my best to be gentle with him and diligently did housework, but nothing worked; he only grew increasingly distant. My heart gradually cooled, and I knew his heart belonged to someone else. Our marriage, after more than nine years, came to an end. He was the one who initiated the divorce, and all I could do was helplessly agree. I knew I couldn't win back his heart. I got custody of the child, and he gave me the house and most of the assets; he left 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 with the same filial piety as my own, and regarding 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 bleak. Later, I thought that for my child's sake, 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 detrimental to my child's development. Many relatives and friends introduced me to potential partners, but I initially had no interest. Later, wanting to give my child a complete family, I tried dating, but my child reacted very strongly, treating any man who came to our home as an enemy. I didn't want to upset my child, and besides, I was somewhat 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, even though I studied education, including early childhood education, in school. But when it comes to my own child, I can't bear to toughen him up. I always try 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 now that I understand this, I still can't bear to let him go and 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. I said, "Why spend the money on accommodation when we live so close?" Some teachers, to save themselves trouble and to give their children experience, 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 also emotionally and environmentally. When my child was young, there were things I couldn't talk to him about, like work frustrations—he wouldn't understand. Many people around me didn't understand me either. Living alone, without a man to rely on, I had to do everything myself. I carried rice and flour upstairs myself, never asking for help or hiring anyone. I didn't want anyone to know I didn't have a man, not even strangers. My body was exhausted, but my heart was even more bitter, and I couldn't even cry. Back then, a young man in the same building always stared at me with those kinds of eyes. I was terrified, finally understanding what a malicious gaze meant. If I had a husband, I would feel much more secure, 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 stopped seeing the young man; he probably moved away. Over the years, my mindset has gradually calmed down. My son has grown tall and strong; having a man in the house makes all the difference.

The loneliness of the nights after the divorce is unbearable. During those days of intense sexual desire, I desperately wish a man could comfort and satisfy me, but that's impossible. Only my own hands can satisfy me. The wedding photo on the wall has long been taken down. My fantasies start with my ex-husband. Although I can't say whether it's love or resentment, I once believed I belonged to him for life and that I could only have sex with him. Gradually, his image faded from my mind. But no matter who it is, the sadness and loss after masturbation are always there. Especially later, when I fantasize about my son. But the next time, I can't help but fantasize again; my son's image lingers until after orgasm, when my mind goes blank. After a while, I feel not only sadness but also deep self-reproach. I don't want to, but the only man I can rely on in the long run is my son. In fact, we depend on each other. Sometimes when he lies in my arms, I feel maternal love; sometimes I lie on his chest, in his arms, and I feel like a little woman. Having someone to rely on brings a sense of peace and happiness. It's as if my son is my man, and all the men I've ever been around are like him. Unlike other mothers and sons, we don't have any taboos. Perhaps it's because I've always treated him like he was when he was little. Even now that he's grown up, I still worry about everything he does, taking meticulous care of him and giving him countless instructions. As a result, his self-care skills are quite poor. I want to let go and let him develop, but I'm too worried and can't bear to. He also can't live without me—in life, emotionally, and physically. Because mothers and sons are naturally close, especially after so much time alone together, he's attached to his mother, and I'm attached to my son. At my age, I understand the道理 (principles/reasons), but I'm powerless to change anything. 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. 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, intimately, and we both have needs and desires for each other—that's undeniable. I think we understand ourselves and each other's feelings, but neither of us has brought it up. Even now, after this incident, we rarely discuss 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 looks at me has changed. Even when I'm behind him, I can feel that gaze—focused and intense. When I turn around, I quickly look away. Actually, I know that's how I look at him too. He exercises often and has a great physique. That youthful energy is really attractive. Every time he walks around the house shirtless in his underwear without any inhibitions, I can't help but stare at him. His chest muscles are very attractive, but what tempts me the most is his bulging lower body. Just seeing that makes my legs go weak. Maybe women have a kind of male genital worship? I even wanted to kneel down and worship him, really. Haha, I used to think he was useless, but back then I felt he was a powerful and tall man. When he was little, my son always slept next to me. He only felt safe and could fall asleep when he touched me. Later, when he grew up, I let him have his own room because of his studies, but he still came to my room to sleep in my bed from time to time. He always had a lot of excuses, saying he had a scary dream, that it was cold when he was hungry, and that my double bed wouldn't fall off. But when he came to my bed, he didn't go to sleep right away. He always hugged 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 just sucked, but now he licks it with his tongue. It really aroused me. I asked him, "Son, are you thinking about when you were little?" He was still sucking on the nipple and mumbled something. 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, it's just mother and son reliving the past. I don't know if it's because I get excited or have a lot of imagination. I've always been a very contradictory person, conflicted in my feelings and in my decisions. Actually, I was really aroused at that time, and I really hoped that something would fill it, like his fingers or his... but I didn't dare. For a long time, we found satisfaction in this borderline behavior. It was satisfying, but it was also torture. 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... was also rubbing against my buttocks from time to time. Even through two layers of underwear, I could feel its heat. I was wet right then and there. My heart was in my throat. I really hoped that he would take off my underwear and fill me up there, 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 when he went back to his room too. But most of the time, after we touched each other, he would sleep on my bed. I didn't dare to masturbate anymore because I was afraid of making a sound and waking him up. He must have been afraid too.

However, when his desire was too strong, he was fearless. Once, I woke up after a nap 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 quite dark, and he didn't see me open my eyes. He continued to rub his penis, which was not far from 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 became faster and faster. Fortunately, when he ejaculated, he reached out his left hand and caught it. After going to the bathroom, he went back to his room. I lay in the same position as before, masturbating while reminiscing.

When I couldn't resist, I held his head tightly against my breasts. The pressure brought me pleasure, but he soon broke free and gasped for breath, as he was suffocating with his mouth and nose covered. I wanted to put my hand down there to relieve the itch, but I didn't dare. Besides, our bodies were pressed together, and there was no space. I couldn't hold back 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 with my hand for over ten years. I was so excited that I tried to control my excitement. My right hand moved gently inside my vagina, while my left hand just rested on his penis without moving, and he didn't move either. I didn't dare move my arms for fear of making too much noise and attracting my son's attention. I could only bend and straighten my fingers, and I tried to keep my body as still as possible. I still remember that feeling of pleasure, 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 my fingers were my son's penis.

I knew that day would eventually come, but I never expected it would be me who initiated it. But thinking about it, it makes sense; my son is always shy, and I'm never as proactive as him. That night, I was naked after showering. A little while later, my son came into my room and crawled into my bed before I could react. Afraid he'd find me naked without underwear, I faced him and stuck my butt out. He touched and kissed my breasts as usual. I guess I was in my monthly arousal period, and my reaction was very strong. My hand involuntarily went to his penis, and my other hand went into his 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 directly touch his penis. I was so excited! I didn't care if the movements were too big. I vigorously masturbated both of us. He must have felt very comfortable, moaning softly. I really don't know how I felt at that moment. I had no courage, and I was pushing my luck. I had dreamed of this before, but at the time I felt that this was still not enough. So I got up and straddled him, pointing his penis at 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 so intense that I collapsed onto my son. He cried out and his body jerked. I sat up and moved up and down, but after a few movements, my body went limp and I involuntarily collapsed. My son was probably not satisfied with my speed. He rolled over and pinned me down, then moved quickly. That must have been his first time. He ejaculated very quickly, and I could feel how hot it was. But I didn't go limp, and he didn't pull out. He kept moving inside me. Oh my god, I was going crazy. Words are so inadequate in the face of such intense pleasure. His second time lasted a long time. He only ejaculated after I had climaxed, and then he lay there and fell asleep quickly.

I feel that the light of daytime acts as a constraint on people—is it the gaze of the world? We rarely touch each other's bodies during the day, but when night falls and we are surrounded by darkness, it's as if we don't belong to this world anymore, and no one can restrain us. 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 was the first time. After that, it wasn't so difficult. My son and I had sex very frequently, just like when I first got married. Our sexual desire made us seem so greedy when we were together. I greedily sucked on my son's penis, which seemed like a reward for him. He looked up at me, as if he hadn't expected me to be so proactive 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 have sex 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 my son called me around 5 pm saying he was hungry and wanted me to come home and cook for him. I said, "You can cook some instant noodles first and I'll make more when I get home tonight." He refused and insisted on eating hand-pulled noodles. I couldn't persuade him otherwise, and thinking that we lived nearby, I could make more time after cooking. I went home and quickly started cooking. As soon as I put the cutting board on the table, my son hugged me tightly from behind. I said, "Stop it!" Even though we were running late, he wouldn't let up. I was wearing the school-issued work uniform skirt, and he lifted it up and started touching me inside. I guess I'm just a sensitive person; I become weak and defenseless when touched. Even when a stranger I don't like touches me, I feel the same way. He took off my clothes and rubbed his hard penis against my genitals, which immediately became wet. My son slowly inserted himself. I suddenly remembered that if we were late, several classes of students wouldn't be able to take the exam, and the papers were still with me. So I got up and said, "No, don't do it." But my son grabbed me and continued to penetrate me. I had no choice but to call my class representative and ask him to come to my office to get the papers. This would basically mean the questions had been leaked, but there was nothing I could do. My son wouldn't leave me; he wouldn't even pull his penis out. He insisted on going to the living room with me to get my phone. While I was explaining 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 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 cover my buttocks. After explaining everything, I quickly hung up the phone and told him to hurry up and go to the bedroom. He refused and insisted on going to the kitchen. I was forced to walk with my back bent, and as soon as I put my hand on the counter, he sped up. My body slowly slumped down, my upper body leaning on the counter, my legs so weak I almost knelt. My son hugged my waist and lifted me up, thrusting into me hard. That time it lasted a long time. After he ejaculated, he told me he didn't want noodles anymore and 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, but after calming down, I realized that was impossible.

Writing these words and recalling those things gives me a very exciting sense of satisfaction, and I'm wet again. Just listen to this, anyway, I feel much more relaxed, haha!

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Incestuous Memories [The End]

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