A woman who suffered a lifetime of hardship

page views:1 Publication date:2022-09-28

I am a woman who has suffered a lifetime of hardship, having grown up in a mining area, with a son and a daughter. I am a traditional Chinese woman, and since marriage, I have never had an affair with any man other than my husband! I believed that doing good housework at home was being a good wife and a good mother. I was always concerned about my children and husband, and I thought that cooking dinner and waiting for my husband to come home was fulfilling my responsibilities as a wife. But more than ten years ago, that night, a night that changed this family's life forever… unfortunately… it's hard to recall the past. One rainy summer night, the clear night sky, a few sparse stars silently accompanying a cool moon; but tonight I felt unwell and left school early. When I got home, I noticed that my mother's bedroom door was ajar, and I could hear faint, strange noises coming from inside, like a dog drinking water. I listened intently. I could only hear indistinct, intermittent heavy groans, like a seriously ill person lying in bed moaning, followed by a series of disturbing creaking and shaking sounds from the large bed. But years after my father's death, a sense of shame arose in my mind. My mother was too restless; she had betrayed my father! But curiosity led me slowly to the door, and I was instantly stunned! Inside, two people, covered in sweat, were naked and engaged in sexual intercourse. To my utter shock, the naked man… was him! My husband! He was riding my mother, moving wildly! He was like a hungry tiger seizing a lamb, the sounds of their union filling the air. My mother lay on her back, naked from the waist down, her upper body half-undone, revealing a large bra, but only partially concealed. My husband was on top of her, holding her tightly, thrusting relentlessly. My mother writhed beneath him, only moaning dreamily. Watching my husband's hips move, each thrust faster and harder than the last, both of them trembled, and I trembled too. After several dozen thrusts, my husband suddenly stopped, and the entire room fell silent. Through the crack in the door, I saw my husband lying on top of my mother, panting. After a while, he got up and pulled out his penis. His penis was wet; their sweat and semen had soaked the sheets. A tantalizing scene unfolded before my eyes. For a long time, I remained silent, my mind blank… Oh God! I was devastated! Just the day before, in this very house, in my own room, I had let out the same passionate moans my mother had just uttered beneath my husband. And today, he had taken my mother's body—my own mother! His mother-in-law! I felt ashamed. I couldn't understand how things had come to this. He couldn't possibly have slept with my mother! He was despicable! I hated him! But how could I face this? What should I do?… I walked alone into the street, the initial vibrant colors fading into the darkness as I watched the lights go out and everyone go to sleep. My heart grew cold. I don't know why, but all I could see were the images of those two bodies tossing and turning on the bed. I knew I couldn't do this! One was my mother, the other my husband. They couldn't do this. They betrayed morality, betrayed their family, and did something they shouldn't have. I thought frantically and fearfully, feeling nauseous, but what could I do? I couldn't get a divorce. Why? I didn't know! Because? Maybe because I still needed a husband, a home like a home. My child still needed a father! Maybe I didn't want to be alone, spending each day feeling like an eternity. When I returned home, exhausted, they had all gone to their rooms to sleep. But as soon as I entered my room, my husband hugged me tightly from behind and gently kissed my earlobe. He breathed softly into my ear, and I quickly turned around and pushed him away. I didn't know whether my feelings were hot or cold; I couldn't even tell. I could only tell him I was very tired, then pushed him away and lay down on the side of the bed. I don't know how long I slept, or even if I fell asleep at all. I don't know when he crawled into my bed. My husband began gently stroking my slightly plump and firm buttocks. At first, I felt extremely uncomfortable, but he held me tightly, rubbing his genitals against my buttocks through his pants. I tried to speak, but somehow, I couldn't make a sound. My husband's hot lips deepened the kiss, and when I tried to struggle again, his hands held me tighter and tighter… Oh God! I couldn't resist this man. His lips were already burning against my neck. I could only sigh. Perhaps I was still his wife, and he had the right to possess me! So I gave up… I decided to give up resisting my own body. As the saying goes, "The pleasures of love are fleeting, and one doesn't want to leave." When I regained consciousness, my pants were already on the floor. My husband finally thrust his already large penis into my vagina from behind. What could I say? I could only let him do as he pleased! I lay on the bed with my eyes closed, gripping the sheets tightly with both hands. He left his penis inside my vagina and began to slowly thrust in and out. I don't know why, but I found myself moving in sync with my husband's movements. Even worse, my initial aversion was gradually aroused by his thrusts. I slowly opened my eyes, looking at my husband still on top of me in the mirror, watching him slowly thrust in and out, each stroke going all the way in. He thrust forcefully, and I cried out in response. My husband's movements on top of me became faster and faster, his breathing heavier and heavier. Finally, after a shudder, he collapsed on top of me, motionless. His hot semen spurted into my vagina. Finally, exhausted, he rolled over, slipped off me, and lay paralyzed on the bed, sleeping like a dead pig. After the night, both of our clothes were tossed to one side of the bed. I tried to sit up, supporting myself with my hands, but the slight strain sent a sharp pain through my lower body. A sticky substance began to flow from between my legs. I carefully took out some toilet paper and covered the area where my husband and I had been intimate, wiping my damp vulva a few times. Looking at the foul-smelling fluid from the previous night flowing from my vagina, and then at my husband beside me, I knew that maintaining this kind of home required willpower; it wasn't easy. I had clearly seen it, but I could only pretend not to notice. Tears streamed down my face… I will never forget that cold night… One dark morning, in the same house, the door was tightly shut, the curtains were drawn, and a young man lay naked on the bed, while a woman sat hunched over on the floor, her clothes disheveled. The bed and the floor were a mess, littered with tissues. A strong, fishy smell filled the air; everyone wanted to know what had happened. Yes. The man on the bed was none other than [name missing], and the woman on the floor was also [name missing]. What was their relationship? And what was going on between them? ...That's another story. More than a decade has passed in the unspeakable turmoil of my family life; I'm now in my forties. Six years ago, my health deteriorated, and I had to retire early from the factory. Shortly after, my mother passed away, and my ex-husband abandoned me and our family, running off with another woman. At that time, my children were still young; my son was in middle school, and my daughter was still breastfeeding—it was so pitiful. Raising them was incredibly difficult. My son was very sensible; he always thought of me when he had something good to eat. I couldn't afford to send him to university, so after graduating from vocational school, he entered the workforce and, through his own efforts, found a good job in the telecommunications industry in another city, supporting our precarious family. On his 19th birthday, he came home. His company had just given out a large bonus, and my son and I were very excited, both drinking quite a bit. He lay on the bed beside me, talking to me. I assumed he was just drunk and didn't scold him. Seeing my son grown up, I was overjoyed and even hugged him and kissed him on the forehead a few times. Little did I know that this would cause trouble. My son started getting a little unruly; his hand had somehow slipped inside my clothes and was reaching under me. I realized something was wrong and glared at him. He pressed his body heavily on top of me, completely ignoring my scolding. I was terrified, knowing what was happening but powerless to stop him, only managing to cry out in a panic, "What...what are you doing...no! I'm your mother! Stop it...no...please..." My pleas had no effect; my son roughly pulled down my underwear. I did struggle, but I had been living a life of celibacy for years, and with the alcohol clouding my judgment, my sense of shame wasn't strong enough, and my resolve wasn't firm enough... When an unusual sensation entered my body, I realized I could still speak. "No—," before I could utter the word "want," my face was covered by the corner of the blanket. And just like that, I lost my virginity to my own son. The next day, when I sobered up and found myself on top of my own child, I was completely stunned, unable to believe it was real. I burst into tears, "Waaah... your father's been cheating on me, what hope do I have left in this life... waaah...? All I hoped for was for you to work hard and be successful! And you... you did something so shameless... what a waste of your education..." The child also felt deep regret.He knelt down and begged for my forgiveness. Although it was because he had been drinking, after what had happened, my son felt too ashamed to face me. He only came home from work once a month to bring me living expenses. The days passed by, one by one. Later, while cleaning the room, I accidentally found one of my son's diary entries and realized that what happened that night wasn't accidental; I also bore a great deal of responsibility. In her diary, the child wrote: "I started remembering things when I was very young. When Mom wasn't home, Dad and Grandma were quite casual. Grandma often did housework in the summer wearing only a t-shirt and shorts. One day, I discovered a secret in Mom's bedroom: I saw Dad riding on Grandma, and occasionally I heard Grandma groaning in pain. I wasn't old enough to understand sex then, and I thought Dad was abusing Grandma. But I was too timid to tell Mom. Later, after hearing it so many times, I got used to it. Once, Dad noticed me squatting by the door, but he didn't pay much attention. Grandma gave me a piece of candy and asked what I had heard. I stupidly asked her if she was sick. Grandma smiled and didn't say anything more." They ignored the existence of a 5-year-old boy, but this had a profound impact on me. Around fifth grade, I developed a strong interest in sex, especially my mother's. I would stay up very late every night to eavesdrop on my parents having sex and then masturbate. Often, I would wake up in the morning to find several wads of toilet paper on the floor of their room—white wads of paper on a black background, very conspicuous. This is what sparked my interest in their sex life. Through eavesdropping, I learned that my parents' sex life wasn't harmonious. My father had premature ejaculation, but he still enjoyed sex, while my mother didn't. From what I overheard during their sex life, sometimes it was because my father was too rough, and sometimes because he ejaculated too early. My father liked to drink, and when he was drunk, he liked to stroke my mother's genitals, even when I was around; perhaps he thought I was too young. But Mom hated his hands. Once, while they were watching TV, I peeked from outside the room and saw Dad putting his hand inside Mom's underwear, fiddling with it. Suddenly, Mom shoved his hand away and said, "Do you know how much it hurts?" Another time, Dad came home drunk, and I was woken up by their arguing. "Come on, just once!" "No, not these days." "Why not?" "Why do you think I am, you heartless man..." "It used to be okay, didn't it?" "The past is the past, not now!" Then I heard them pulling at each other, followed by Mom's sobs. Finally, Mom said angrily, "Here you go, here you go, okay? Come on!" After a while, I heard Dad's groaning... After starting junior high, I heard it less often because I lived at school, but I still heard it once on a Saturday. That day, I went to bed late as usual, and it was summer. Mom was sleeping next to me, and we slept in the living room because it was cooler there. After I pretended to be asleep, I heard my dad call, "Ping, Ping!" My mom waited a while, then got up and went into their room. (The rest of the story is available on ninilu.)I got up, but because it was dark, I could only see a little by the light. I heard Mom say, "Thinking about it again today?" Dad: "Yes!" "You didn't drink today. If you do this again, I'll make you feel comfortable." "Okay, I promise." "Wait a minute, see if our son is asleep." I immediately lay down, and then Mom came out. I squinted and saw that her nightgown was tucked up to her waist, and she wasn't wearing anything between her legs, just a dark patch. She glanced at me and then went back inside. "She's asleep. Be quiet, don't wake her." After I got up, I leaned against the door. "Oh, stop touching me, come in. Don't rush, I'll lie down." Then I heard Dad grunt, and then I heard them both panting. Then Mom said, "Be gentle, I'm in my belly right now..." "Okay, okay, I'll be gentle!" "It's okay now, come in!" "At this moment, I slowly peeked out and saw, through the outside light, that the blanket was very high, rising and falling with my father's panting. My mother was making 'humph, humph' sounds from time to time." About four minutes later, Mom said, "...Yes...that's it...just a little longer...his dear father..." Dad said, "I'm almost there..." Mom: "Just a little longer..." But Dad immediately started breathing heavily and lay down. I secretly looked at her body and saw that she hadn't put her skirt down, but instead left her lower body naked. The area that used to be covered with dark hair was now covered by a wad of toilet paper... Soon I would have a younger sister, but my parents separated... At this point, I couldn't hold back anymore, and tears welled up in my eyes. Oh God, this is fate. During the time I was separated from my son, life gradually returned to normal, but we were both under a lot of psychological pressure. My son's departure made the house feel even colder and quieter. Life was really hard for my daughter and me. The neighbors slowly started to gossip, saying that I was a withdrawn weirdo, and many bored people often mocked me. I could only hide under the covers at night and cry in secret. Misfortune struck again soon. That day, I was home alone when Old Zhang from downstairs came to collect the water and electricity bills. I went into the inner room to get the money. Unexpectedly, this scoundrel had evil intentions. He quietly closed the door and grabbed me tightly from behind... By the time I realized my situation and tried to resist, my hands were already firmly held in place by his wolfish claws, and his other hand was ruthlessly tearing at my lower body... He pulled out a switchblade, and I trembled in fear. He took the opportunity to push me down onto the sofa... His hands deftly unbuttoned my clothes... I heard his panting... My breasts popped out... My first instinct was to turn to the side, but I was no match for this lecherous old man. Several attempts to move were in vain; his thin body and two powerful legs pressed firmly against me, causing my bones to ache unbearably. Oh no! My underwear was ripped open! My second reaction was to bite. I opened my mouth several times, but missed my target; that broad, powerful jaw kept my head firmly in place. At the same time, he was puffing out foul-smelling smoke from that barrel-like mouth. Oh no! Oh no! It's all over! I jerked my right hand away and grabbed at the spot where the smoke was coming from, completely exhausted… As he got off me, he threatened me viciously, saying that if I dared to call the police, he would have his son bring a group of people to kill my whole family—his son was a notorious thug in our neighborhood. I was terrified and furious, crying until my voice was hoarse, only able to bite my sleeve hard... Old Zhang left, and I curled up in the bathtub, desperately scrubbing myself, but no matter how much I washed, I felt I couldn't wash away the filth. I felt like a person abandoned by society, that even such a person could insult me! But my son wasn't around, a lonely woman with a six or seven-year-old girl, I could only swallow my anger and cry alone. After a serious illness, I couldn't bear this life anymore, so I went to his company to find him, but I didn't dare tell him about what happened, because I was afraid he would look down on me. My son bought a two-bedroom apartment near his company, and my daughter and I went with him, far away from that heartbreaking mining area. In this unfamiliar new city, I learned that he had worked hard for the past two years and made a considerable amount of money through stock trading. He said I had suffered so much for him and deserved to enjoy life, adding that we would buy a bigger house when we were richer. I finally settled in, and having grown accustomed to a life of hardship and poverty, I found it difficult to adjust to my new home at first. However, the fact that my son was finally back by my side, just like before, offered me some comfort. But what troubled me was that we seemed to have become a burden to him. To save money, I had my daughter board at school. But my son's biggest problem was his personal life; he hadn't found a serious girlfriend. He suffered setbacks time and time again in his relationships. The girls in the city not only had high expectations regarding family financial status but also looked down on him because he was the son of a miner. He gradually became disheartened about settling down and getting married. For a while, my son's emotions were very unstable. He seemed to be under immense pressure from work and life. He often stayed out all night, or came home drunk, reeking of alcohol. One afternoon after his nap, instead of going to work as usual, he came to my room and said he wanted to "sleep" with me. Hearing this, out of the last shred of "self-respect" a mother, or rather, a woman, had, I slapped my son, but immediately regretted it. My thoughts became chaotic. I could understand my son's distress: in the mining area, at his age, he should already be married with children, but he was still single. His father, at that age, was like a wolf, wanting to devour me. Anyway, we'd already missed our chance once, and I was already quite old, no longer a "clean" woman… I wavered, unsure what to do. But the thought of doing this in broad daylight at home… a wave of nausea and shame washed over me, and I covered my face and sobbed. My son was frightened, said a few soft words, and quietly left. When I left my room and found my son gone, the living room floor littered with cigarette butts, I was overwhelmed with mixed emotions. I could almost picture him arguing with those unreasonable girls, driven to despair and frustration, or perhaps he'd contracted AIDS after visiting prostitutes… He didn't return until after dark. I'd prepared dinner and waited for him. He seemed relieved to see I wasn't angry anymore. During dinner, he timidly apologized, but I remained silent. After a while, I mustered my courage and said, "Tonight… tonight… you can come over to sleep…" my voice was barely audible. My son hesitated, looking at my expressionless face. I ate slowly, occasionally meeting his gaze before quickly looking down again. I was originally a typical Chinese woman, traditional, dutiful, and cautious. In my youth, I'd even blushed at my husband's affectionate behavior, but after experiencing certain things, both my son and I had become somewhat numb. I didn't want to think about it anymore; I just let things be. That night, I made the bed, slowly took off my clothes, and lay down to wait for him. I tried not to think about what was about to happen, searching my mind for random thoughts, hoping time would pass quickly. My son took a shower, opened the door, and carefully slipped into my bed… I closed my eyes, my body rising and falling beneath him, taking deep breaths to calm myself. From his clumsy yet greedy kisses, I knew he had never had any intimate contact with a girl before. I suddenly felt sorry for my son. I was already a mother at his age. In the darkness, I kept asking myself: Is this real? Is it really my son touching me? Is he really kissing my face? I recalled the adorable little guy from before, and now… My face was so hot… Just as I was lost in thought, my son fumbled to unbutton my pajamas, lifted my bra, and gently kneaded the breasts that had once nourished him, biting them lightly, his tongue licking back and forth… This almost made me die of embarrassment. Reason told me I should stop my son at all costs, and I truly didn't want to have sex with him; his caresses couldn't possibly arouse me. But my love for him left me in turmoil, unable to bring myself to do it. When our eyes met, his gaze shattered my last line of defense. At the moment of making my decision, I found myself calm, silently letting him enter me. His burning body, our tight embrace, our clumsy yet passionate kisses—it all felt so strange yet so familiar. Sometimes his impulsiveness caused me pain, but I endured it, as if I were back in the painful yet blissful moment of becoming a mother for the first time. I couldn't help but hold him tightly. The terrible thing was, after a feeling of utter betrayal of my husband, body and soul, a strange, vengeful pleasure rose within me. After it was all over, my son and I silently put on our clothes. My son was filled with shame and remorse. He glanced at me, and I was sure my face was flushed too. My body trembled slightly, and then I sighed softly, trying to remain calm, and said, "Let's just forget about it. Mom doesn't blame you, really doesn't. Let's just pretend nothing happened. Okay, go to sleep now, or you won't be able to get up tomorrow!" My son let out a satisfied sigh and soon fell into a deep sleep, but I didn't sleep a wink all night. When I woke up in the morning, I couldn't believe it was real; it felt like a dream. After this incident, things got increasingly out of control. Every few weeks, especially at night, he would sometimes...I couldn't help but secretly push open my bedroom door... I always had thoughts and obstacles in my mind. I knew that guilt and conflicting emotions also accompanied my son; he felt sorry for me but couldn't control himself. What was wrong with us? A year later, we finally adapted to this kind of life, and our relationship became normalized. Every day when he came home, I would open the door for him, put his things away, and help him take off his clothes. We often slept together at night, and had sex once or twice a week. Then one Sunday, he took me shopping, saying he wanted to buy me something. When we arrived at the jewelry store, I initially refused to go in, but he persuaded me and the shop assistant greeted me before I reluctantly went in. He wanted to buy me a ring and asked if I thought it was okay. I was a little uneasy and said, "You decide." When I was about to pay, I bargained with the shop assistant and actually saved a few hundred yuan. When we got home, he put his arm around me and sat on the sofa, took out the ring, and I even felt shy. Another thing that I found difficult to talk about was that my sitting posture had unconsciously changed. In the past, like many middle-aged women, I would sit with my thighs slightly crossed, body upright, and hands at my sides. Today, however, I lowered my head slightly, kept my legs together, and clasped my hands on my knees. This body language wasn't deliberate; it reflected my inner world—I had completely come to rely on my son, no longer the stern-faced mother who used to scold him at the slightest provocation. Especially when he took my hand and placed the ring on my rough, calloused fingers, words couldn't describe the expression on my face. My heart pounded wildly at that moment! I haven't explained the meaning of that ring then, or even to this day, but we both understand. At least we both think of it that way: it's like an "engagement ring" for us, mother and son. Afterwards, we slept together. It was the most enjoyable and smooth intercourse we'd ever had since we became intimate. He gently pulled me up, and I stood up lightly, feeling like a young girl. We walked closely together towards the bedroom, exchanging knowing smiles. At the door, I paused, closed the door, and then followed him to the bedside, embracing and kissing. He unbuttoned my jacket and remained silent for a long time. He had clearly noticed I had changed into the new underwear he had bought for me—before, I had made my own underwear from old fabric. He probably understood my feelings as a mother. The underwear wasn't particularly sexy, but it was the mother's sentiment that was: son, I belong to you now. I smiled shyly, and we kissed again. The underwear fluttered down like leaves in the wind, while he remained impeccably dressed in his suit. When I saw my impeccably dressed son in the mirror, holding his naked mother in his arms, I felt an unprecedented thrill and immense excitement. I closed my eyes, enjoying my son's caresses and kisses. After letting him touch me for a while, I straightened up, looked at my child somewhat shyly, and gently loosened his tie, removing his shirt. As I took off his pants, I was still a little embarrassed, so I simply hugged him again, pressing my breasts against his chest. He put one leg on the bed, draped one of my thighs over his, wrapped his arms around my waist, and kissed me. I opened my eyes and whispered, "You've dirtied the bed." He smiled, not caring at all. After all, it wasn't him washing the sheets, but his mother, so I felt more sorry for him than he did. I took my legs off, knelt down to untie his shoelaces, took off his shoes, then stood up and put my arms around his waist. This was probably the effect of that three-thousand-yuan ring, right? I thought to myself with a touch of self-deprecation: Actually, I'm no different from a prostitute now, except the first time is more expensive, and I don't have to pay afterwards. Of course, this was just a subconscious, irritating thought, nothing more. Over the next year, our sexual needs gradually increased, but I couldn't be so free in the mining area. This new lifestyle filled that void. We were mother and son, so even with plenty of time alone together, no one would suspect anything… After taking off his shoes, I led him hand-in-hand to the bed. We didn't say anything then, but instead undressed each other and knelt facing each other. I refused his kisses but welcomed his hands. He rubbed his belt a few times, looked at me, and I understood. I loosened his belt. We were naked immediately. I remember one detail: we carefully arranged our clothes on the stool beside the bed, instead of throwing underwear all over the floor like in Hong Kong movies. At that moment, I felt too embarrassed to move, so I knelt there, looking down at the bed. He then hugged me, and my hand stroked his body under his arm. He lay down, reaching out to pull me onto him, but this time I didn't immediately understand. I lay on my side next to him, so he turned over, and I turned back to lie on my back. As he pressed down, I spread my legs, everything perfectly coordinated. This time, my son entered my vagina easily. This was the first time my son and I had made love in bright light. I kept my eyes tightly closed, afraid to look at him, my thighs wrapped around his waist, my arms tightly around his neck. He penetrated gently, and I occasionally opened my mouth to silently exhale. After all, he was my child, and our reproductive organs were very compatible. When he thrust harder, my body would involuntarily tremble. I took a deep breath, and he gently patted me, signaling me to relax. When my son ejaculated, my whole body tensed, clinging tightly to him until a minute afterward, when I finally relaxed. At dinner, we were very close. We didn't say much, just smiled at each other from time to time. I hadn't smiled as much in the entire first half of my life. A year later, our passion had waned somewhat, but we were still harmonious. My biggest worry was contraception; he refused to wear condoms, so I had to continue taking the pill. Later, he got a girlfriend, and I wouldn't let him touch me. Now, I'm gratified that my daughter got into a university outside the province. My son is married. I've reverted to being a mother, not even letting my son kiss me, afraid of being seen. Once, my wife was in the bathroom, and he secretly said to me, "Don't wear underwear." I glared at him and asked, "Why?" My son seemed annoyed. Another time during a meal, my daughter-in-law went to the kitchen, and he secretly touched my thigh. I was so startled I almost dropped my bowl. I scolded him in a low voice, "Are you crazy?" Sometimes, my son would sneak out to see me while he was at work, and I would reluctantly agree, but it was always a rush, and he couldn't fully enjoy himself. Occasionally, when my daughter-in-law was away on business or there was a company event, I would half-heartedly satisfy my son. After all, I'm almost fifty years old. I have many wrinkles on my face, a lot of gray hair, and my breasts are starting to sag. I also have a lot of fat on my lower abdomen, always looking like I'm three months pregnant. Although I'm considered well-maintained compared to women my age, I'm far inferior to my youthful and beautiful daughter-in-law. But for some reason, my son is still very infatuated with me. Perhaps it's because he likes excitement; the shortcomings his mother has due to old age have become advantages in his eyes. He doesn't mind me at all; on the contrary, he's somewhat proud—he's having sex with his own mother! Also, every time we have sex, I use the traditional method. Because of our incestuous relationship, I feel deeply frustrated and am very sensitive to his attitude towards me. I especially dislike it when he makes me lie on the bed and then penetrates me from behind like a dog. My son wants me to imitate the actresses in adult films, but I tell him I shouldn't imitate those kinds of shameless women. At that moment, I feel very inferior; even the most shameless women wouldn't stoop to sleeping with their own son. Of course, this is something I absolutely cannot say aloud. I originally thought that our sexual relationship would decline over time like that of a normal couple, eventually ceasing altogether, but that's not the case. I think it's because I can't fully satisfy him. In the past year, I've had sex with my son far more often than with his wife, and it happens more often in the kitchen than in the bed, usually right after he gets off work. Because my daughter-in-law sells vegetables, she usually gets home half an hour later than my son, and we take advantage of this opportunity. At this time, I'm usually in the kitchen cutting meat or washing rice, and my son goes straight to the kitchen as soon as he walks in. When I need him, he reaches out, and I put down what I'm doing, turn around, hug him, and then we kiss and caress each other in the kitchen. I prefer him touching me; I rarely initiate it. While touching my son, he reached under my skirt and pulled down my underwear, pressing me against the kitchen wall… Conclusion: Over the years, although I've experienced some intimacy, I've never completely let go of my psychological burdens. After each sexual encounter, endless regret awaits me. Especially now that I have a grandson, the pressure is even greater; I even dream of my ancestors cursing me. But I still want to say that after experiencing so much pain, I now have my own opinions. Because of these opinions, worldly influences on my son and me are less severe. Theoretically, it's incest, but in reality, I take precautions to prevent pregnancy, so there's no social harm from disrupting blood relations. From a certain perspective, it's purely about satisfying physiological needs, like eating and sleeping. It doesn't harm my daughter-in-law, nor does it disrespect my ex-husband. If my son were to solicit prostitutes or I were to make mistakes outside, it would pose a social threat and could potentially lead to sexually transmitted diseases for myself. Actually, my son and I aren't abnormal. He was misbehaved regarding sex from a young age, and later, after losing his father, he was young and impetuous, while I was widowed for many years, so… Thinking about it now, I have a new understanding of my mother's situation back then. If anyone's to blame, it's his heartless father.The shameful things we've done and the cold reality of this society. But we both know that continuing like this will harm our new family. Now, we've both made up our minds to end this relationship and start a new life. Although it will take some time, my son and I will do it.

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A woman who suffered a lifetime of hardship

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