Hometown feelings

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

What I remember most vividly is the winter of my hometown, the snow of my hometown, holding within it so many bittersweet memories. When I was seventeen, after the winter solstice, the biting
north wind stronger day by day… “Qiao’er, do you think your dad has arrived yet? It’s so cold, I’m really worried the coat I asked him to bring isn’t warm enough.” My mother’s fair
face was full of worry. “Mom, don’t worry, Dad wore plenty of layers when he left, and there were so many colleagues on the bus, he’ll be fine. You’re just worrying unnecessarily.”
My father was wearing the greyish-blue crepe leather robe passed down from my grandfather, with an old-fashioned overcoat over it. As an excellent
paleontologist , whenever my father heard of a new species, his eyes would light up, and despite his frail health, he would insist on going to the site.
"Oh, I was just worried about his health. His grandfather finished the traditional Chinese medicine he was given this morning, so I had to get him some Western medicine. If I'd known, I would have prescribed more,
then… sigh!" My mother sighed deeply, turning her gaze back to the distance, a faint light flickering in her eyes.
"I just didn't expect it. Looking at the weather, it looks like it's going to snow. If the snow closes the mountains, I don't know what will happen. Dad's just so stubborn, I
can't reason with him." I felt both worried and a little resentful.
My mother usually does all the housework; she has to work and take care of the family. And my father's health has always been poor, so my mother always takes care of him tirelessly.
The couple has never argued, which is why our family has been recognized as a model family by the neighborhood committee every year.
"Mom, are you cold? Come on, let's light the stove." I took my mother's hand and placed it in my palm; it was indeed icy cold. My mother's small hands
were round and delicate, incomparably exquisite and skillful. With her gentle touches and slow movements, Suzhou storytelling became famous far and wide.
"No, it's not cold. Qiao'er, there's still some lotus flower and corn porridge Mom made. Have another bowl." My mother gently pulled away, letting me hold her hand. A slight blush rose to her originally
fair face.
I took a deep breath. My mother, standing gracefully before me, was so dignified and beautiful. This was my mother who gave me life and raised me;
her warm blood beat in my veins. I couldn't ignore this beauty. This feeling was innate, constantly lingering in my dreams, impossible to shake off.
I often longed for its arrival when I was troubled. Lu Xun wrote in "Call to Arms," "Lately I've only been troubled; trouble is like a poisonous snake
coiling my soul." He wrote so well, succinctly revealing my inner world. Because I always felt a strange, almost demonic, unease. It
came , and once it clung to me, I couldn't shake it off, like a giant, sacred yet eerie serpent in the Indian forest.
"Alright, go light the stove. I'll go get some more charcoal." My mother pulled my small hand away from my lips, turned, and went into the storage room. Her slender figure
was like a pale blue-ochre impressionistic painting.
I followed closely behind her. The closed room seemed to be filled with her captivating fragrance, a subtle scent that wafted into my nostrils. I could almost see the
peach-colored .
"Mom, I miss you… I want you…" I hugged my mother's soft body from behind, feeling my heart pounding. "You know what? I
did , just listening to you and Dad…"
"Ah, no, don't… Qiao'er… you, you promised me…" My mother tried to break free from my embrace, but she was powerless. My strong
arms were her own.
I could feel my mother's hands and feet were frozen, her whole body trembling. I pressed my face against her back, my arms still tightly wrapped
around her, her firm breasts in my grasp, igniting a burning desire within me.
"Mom, Mom, just let me hold you, even just like this," I pleaded, my deep baritone voice trembling like willow catkins in the wind,
dancing wildly in the sky amidst the howling north wind, echoing the fragments of my dreams.
"Good child, listen to me... this isn't good, it's really not good, let me go, I'm your mother!" my mother choked back tears, her silvery voice
ringing in my ears. My soul felt as if it were lying on a dream net, swaying gently, ethereally, and serenely in her fragrant embrace. I was intoxicated, as if I had drunk fine, aged wine
.
"Mom, isn't it nice to hold you like this? Didn't you say you liked it when I held you like this? Mom, I haven't been happy these past few days, so
unhappy!"
I lifted my face and brought my lips to her pointed earlobe. My mother's ear hook was an old-fashioned pure gold hoop, gleaming in her cloud-like black hair.
The sky outside the window was low, the clouds were dim, and the north wind howled across the rooftops and ditches. Countless withered leaves swirled and scattered in the wind, and the trees trembled in the wind, just like
my mother in my arms at this moment.
"Ah, Qiao'er, Mom can't make mistakes again. Let go of Mom, my good child..." My mother's voice was broken and intermittent, like
a half-dried stream hidden by white clouds, or the desolate sound of autumn.
I was silent. My mother's tone was low, like a mermaid lost in the dark night sobbing. I read it, appreciating
all the shock and poignant beauty it brought in this gloomy winter day.
In those past days, my soul had long been corroded by that great serpent. Sometimes I even longed for that pain to return, because it was accompanied by
joy and could slightly lift my gloomy spirit.
I had neither the courage of Hemingway to commit suicide, nor could I allow this deathly silence to permanently erode my soul. So, I could only continue down the wrong path. In silence, I
persisted in my convictions.
My left hand slipped under her clothes, and my mother's breast, full and delicate, possessed the typical grace of a woman from the Jiangnan water towns. In my grasp, it
twisted and shaped, melodious and soft. But what ignited my burning desire was her gentle and exquisite vulva, which, under the cover of my right hand, went from cold to hot, swirling like clouds.
My mother no longer struggled. The room was quiet, but the pulse of our excitement beat within it. A mysterious, natural language slowly seeped into the depths of my soul.
I believed that my mother felt the same way I did.
In this utterly silent realm, my heart, like a wisp of silk, drifted and fluttered, recalling that beautiful day, that lovely time, the
lingering melancholy after the wine had finished and the guests had left, that tender longing, and that deep sense of helplessness!
My mother cried. My charming, gentle, affectionate, and inherently fragile mother trembled, and a warmth spread to my fingertips. I turned my mother around; her
bright eyes were dazzling, tinged with a hint of sorrow, and the bamboo fence in my heart collapsed once more.
I gently picked her up; her rosy lips were like blooming violets, their color so vibrant it seemed cut from paper, and in her flowing eyes floated a lush green.
I couldn't help but recall a line of poetry: "In her autumn waters, verdant meadows pass by."
"Qiao'er...you, you put down the mosquito net..." My mother's timid, soft, watery voice was like the chirping of a bird with wings.
"Yes, Mom." I obediently lowered the gauze curtain, even though it was just the two of us in the room, she insisted on doing so.
The large, carved rosewood bed that my mother had brought with her as part of her dowry swayed and rocked rhythmically, with rises and falls.
My mother's tenderness was revealed bit by bit in her plaintive moans, each sound like a clear spring that initially
flowed with difficulty and murmur in a crack in the rocks, and then, drawn by me, gushed forth in a torrent.
My mother's vulva was initially a little rough, like the lush green grapes of the south, its color amber, vibrant with a reddish glow. I felt my strong
member galloping across the vast countryside, or like a small boat with a plain sail, moored in the middle of a paddy field.
In my heart, all worries vanished. I gazed at the lush green grass, listening to my mother's melodious song, like birdsong, and the world was filled with
wondrous sounds.
"Qiao'er, be gentle... I want it, I'm almost... I can't take it anymore..." My mother rose and fell a few times, slowly slowing her swaying, the complex rhythm
becoming harmonious, long and short, fast and slow, like the whisper of wind and the song of rain, a lazy yet joyful expanse.
I slowed my pace, gently stretching my growing waist. Through the white gauze curtain, I saw the latticed screen covered with faded blue silk, and the grid paper that my
mother had pasted together.
I turned my gaze away; my mother's body was a pearly white, like a frosty morning, shrouded in a misty silver vapor. Her whole body was like a wordless
book, unfolding before my eyes.
My mother's voice rose melodiously, lingering in the air, filled with a faint floral fragrance... soft, fresh, giving me boundless joy.
About three to five minutes later, I heard the patter of raindrops on the grass, the soft, trembling sounds of my mother's murmurs and whispers, the clear, melodious chirping. For some reason, it made me smile slightly, yet also brought tears to my eyes.
How could the gentle breeze, the splashing of spring water, compare to the most tender melody of human lovemaking?
"Mmm...mmm, hum...ah..." my mother murmured again, the down comforter covering her arching, and without realizing it, my mother and I stretched our legs out,
basking in the sunlight, without feeling the cold.
I listened intently; her clear voice floated all around, like the chirping of spring insects, the murmur of flowers. Wasn't this scene the very image of that eternal day? That night,
the night was beautiful, and the world was unusually quiet. In that scene, "Mom, I want to do it here, okay?" I gently placed my fingers on her vulva. The
folds revealed a hazy mountain, shrouded in mist, like a fairy draped in a milky-white veil. I often fantasized about one day wandering among them.
My mother was shy. I had tried to do it from behind, but she refused. That unusual position made her feel humiliated, I knew and understood. Therefore,
I tried to guide her, taking advantage of the beautiful atmosphere, taking advantage of this intoxicating moment.
"No, no, this won't do, how can this be? We're not animals, besides, it's so dirty there..." My mother's reserve and shyness made her refuse
this position that made her feel ashamed. However, I knew. I knew she and my father had done it; I had seen it by chance once. That was when I was thirteen,
just as the cicadas were shedding their last chirps and flitting across the branches. That day, the summer heat was fading, and a refreshing autumn breeze was blowing…
That year, after graduating from university, my father visited my maternal uncle and met my mother. She told me that she was
attracted , and didn't look down on him because of his frail appearance; on the contrary, she fell in love at first sight and remained devoted to him for life. My father's
outstanding success in his academic field was undoubtedly inseparable from my mother's virtuous support.
"You, isn't it the same in the study? Why do you insist on coming back to the bedroom?" As I expected, my father couldn't resist my mother's insistence and had to follow her back to
their bedroom.
"No, how can we do this there? What if Qiao'er suddenly comes back? Yu Nong, please don't turn on the light again."
After closing the door, my mother took off her underwear and neatly placed it on the bedside table. The light was still on, but my father ignored her; he
wanted to savor and appreciate my mother's beauty.
Desire stirred within me, a surging passion. This passion rose from my lower abdomen, rising higher and higher, as if to burst through my heart
and then spread in all directions.
My mother's breasts were small and delicate, not as enormous as the neighbor's mother's, but more refined and rounded, the nipples a pale purple, adorning her firm
breasts . My father stroked my mother's abdomen, where there was a mark left from giving birth to me.
"Jiang, you're so beautiful. Look, you're all wet..."
"Alright, my little darling, I'm coming..." My father thrust his penis deep into my mother's body, his voice hoarse, as he lifted her
legs into his hands, in a position like a spear thrusting into the sun.
I heard my mother's joyful tears, and the air was filled with the sound of fine sand rubbing together. Drawn to it, I listened intently. It didn't
sound like their genitals were intertwined; it sounded more like three or five small blue dragonflies rubbing their thin wings together, or a babbling brook. The sound seemed to be tinged with vibrant colors, and I could almost see the damp
green , near and far, shrouded in a melancholy mist.
"Ah..." my father cried out, a long, mournful cry, tinged with despair. His body twitched a few times, then he lay motionless on top of my mother. Time
seemed to stand still. The night was long, and the room was deathly silent. I could only hear my own breathing, sometimes fast, sometimes slow.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry... Jiang, it's been so long since we did it. I thought... I thought... who knew..." Hiding behind the curtains, I held my breath, afraid
to speak . The chill of the late autumn night rose from between my toes. I heard my mother sigh deeply.
"It's alright, Ming-ge. You've always been in poor health, and you've been working so hard lately, you might have been distracted. It's okay, we'll start again."
Mother propped herself up, her naked body as pure and beautiful as a melancholy goddess, emitting a sapphire-like glow. I finally saw Father's coral-like
fluid spraying, dripping onto her soft pubic hair, lewd and desperate.
"Come on, let me help you." Mother grasped Father's limp penis, slowly rubbing it until it revived.
"Jiang, I heard there's a way to stimulate me..." Father inserted his fingers deep into Mother's body, his eyes shining, his alluring wife lying
delicately under the orange light, just like the bride she once was.
"What?" Mother gasped. She placed her hand on Father's face and gently stroked it, her tenderness like a goddess dancing.
"I heard you can insert it here too. Jiang, let's try it, okay?" In desperation, Father pressed his thumb against Mother's anus.
"Oh, how can this be? How could you even think of that? It's so dirty!" Mother's face flushed red with embarrassment, and she pushed Father away.
"No, it's okay, really. Jiang, just let me try." Father's stubborn voice held anxiety and pleading.
"It's so small here, how can it fit? And it will hurt a lot." Mother hesitated, and under Father's caresses, her vulva secreted some
fluid , glistening under the light.
"How will you know it won't work if you don't try? Come on, Jiang... even if it's for me..." Father probably imagined the sensation, his penis hard as a board,
stretching open in Mother's hands. Mother's unease slowly subsided, and she looked at the penis, murmuring.
"Okay, just this once." She propped her elbows on the bed, her rounded buttocks facing me.
"Ah, it hurts... it hurts..." Mother's buttocks were smooth and flawless, unlike the overgrown vulva, and Father's glans could be clearly seen penetrating her anus.
"Just bear with it, you've forgotten, the first time is always like this..." Father placed his left hand on Mother's smooth buttocks, while his right hand reached around to her
breast , then pulled back slightly before thrusting forward again.
Mother's panting and moans echoed in the quiet night, ethereal and mysterious, carrying the delicate cries and sobs unique to Eastern women, "I'm going to die... I'm really
going to die ..." I seemed to feel the loneliness of a bamboo shoot breaking through the soil, and I even saw the blood, the cruel red... "Qiao'er, get up, okay?"
Mother's gentle tone was as usual, carrying a faint fragrance.
"Yes, Mom, I'll go heat up some wine, let's have a few cups, okay?"
My hand gently rested on Mother's warm mons pubis, slow and soft, like caressing a newborn baby. Outside the window, yellow leaves fluttered against the old windowpane, the wind
grew stronger, and the sky grew darker.
"Let me go, you stay in bed where it's warm." My mother lifted herself from my strong abs, which had been nestled against her. Her voice,
soft and melodious like pearls rolling on a jade plate, was gentle and pleasant after her love bath. She turned her back, her shapely back shimmering with a crystalline light, and tears welled in my eyes. I was moved.
My mother lived fully in my past years—the most vibrant and vivid seventeen years of my life. It was during these years that I understood the secrets of
the sky and nature, glimpsed the secret trysts of mountains and clouds, became familiar with the tender embrace of rice paddies and land, and participated in the rendezvous of the ocean and sandy shore… There
were sixteen jars of "Daughter's Red" wine that my mother had brought with her as part of her dowry. My father didn't drink, and neither did my mother. It wasn't until my grandfather came to visit when I was sixteen that my mother took it out of the storage room
.
My mother opened the jar; the wine was a deep crimson, a powerful color that embodied the tenacious emotions of life, containing a rich tapestry of meaning: death and
rebirth , lingering affection and liberation, disillusionment and reality, imprisonment and freedom… “Qiao’er, this is my homesickness.” I was jolted.
“Mom, are you homesick?” A slight pang of pity welled up in my heart. Perhaps, as one grows older, homesickness comes and goes like the tides.
Two large tears welled up in my mother’s pure and elegant face. She shook her head slightly. “No. Qiao’er, you’re still young, you don’t understand…” Her voice was as soft
as smoke, drifting across the aged red windowpane.
“Mom, when can I go home with you? I’ve never been to Grandma’s house.” My mother’s eyes were shimmering and dreamy, deeply moving.
"Okay, we'll go back after your college entrance exam next year." My mother said with some joy. "Actually, you've been back before, but you were only two years old then, and you've long forgotten
."
"Come on, Mom, let's have a drink." I picked up the bowl; the wine, as crisp as the harsh winter outside the window, melted in my warm heart.
As I gazed at her intently, a blush suddenly rose on my mother's beautiful face. "Still not enough, you silly boy..." My mother's coquettish scolding shattered my
senses . How could
I not be enough? I gazed into those deep, ocean-like eyes, into those lingering whispers, into a deep longing that time could not take away. Finally, we were united again, my mother whom I longed for day and night, the one I dreamed of! I could hear my mother's soft, melodious moans, gentle and tender,
like the ocean's song, shrouded in a golden mist.
"Oh... Qiao'er..." she groaned. I sipped the delicate, purplish-red wine, taking a small bite; the milky aroma was tempting and delicious.
I was startled to see her tremble, and the dust beneath me was immediately drawn back into that warm sea. It was gentle and serene, bold and passionate, profound
and deep, mysterious and transcendent… The shouts of passersby came from outside the door, “It’s going to snow soon!”
My mother sat up, her anxious eyes peering through the latticed paper window, “It’s snowing, they should have arrived by now…”
“Mom, Dad will call when he arrives. Don’t worry, it’s not the first time Dad has gone out, he’s been through much more dangerous things before, let alone this snow.”
My mother stretched out her snow-white arm, gathering the beaded gauze curtain, “You just enjoy yourself, without a care in the world, how heartless…” There was a hint of displeasure in her voice
, a soft scolding tinged with a touch of coquettishness.
"Mom, you've misunderstood me. My love for Dad is the same as yours, no different. I was just saying, even if we worry here for ages, it's useless.
What's meant to happen will happen, and what's not meant to happen won't happen. There's no need to worry too much." I felt a little wronged, withdrawing my
fingers that were still inserted in my mother's vagina. The strong smell of semen, like the release of fragrant wine, slowly faded.
"And you still say that? Look at you..."
I was lost, as if I had been exhausted by the search, as if I was still hesitating and wandering on the streets of dreams, lost in the thick fog. My thoughts,
in the moment my heart slightly opened, were lost... In the great fusion and harmony of heaven and earth, I was melted and merged, heaven and earth became one. In intoxication, I forgot
my father's existence; in infatuation, I forgot the ethics of a son. It felt like a fleeting moment, yet also like an eternity. I can't recall
how many times I've enjoyed such warm, sweet, and beautiful days… I also don't know if I will, as my mother said—one day,
feel that the comfort is no longer so intoxicating, the whispers no longer so moving, and my mother's jade-like body gradually turns yellow, her delicate flower
withers day by day, her firm and full breasts shrunken like fruits in the dead of winter—then I will understand.
I gently place my hand on my mother's mound of Venus, her crescent-shaped vulva…it washes over my thirsty heart, and in this
stillness slowly settles, slowly drifting into sleep…
[The End]

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