Platonic love between mother and son

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Can a Platonic love exist between a mother and son?

I'm constantly distracted and can't concentrate on my work. I hide in my office,
refusing to see anyone, not even my secretary, Winnie. I don't want her to ask too many questions, because she's too nosy.

Winnie is my "strategist," the person closest to me in the company, and a good secretary
who knows how expressions.

If I were in love, I couldn't hide it from her, because she knows my daily routine inside and out; she arranges everything I do from
morning night. And she's the best at subtly probing, getting me to reveal
my feelings and admit I'm in love. Who made me feel that way? I haven't told her. She only knows he's a younger
man .

This self-proclaimed love advisor says, "A relationship between an older woman and a younger man is fine. Look at Tingfeng and Faye Wong, aren't they
the envy of many? Don't miss the opportunity; good men are almost extinct."

This is exactly the encouragement I need, because sometimes I wonder if I should indulge myself like this. Sometimes
he would find excuses to inquire about my progress, even asking, "Have you slept with him yet?"

I would immediately blush with embarrassment. I had never thought about it that way, and I thought it was impossible; sleeping with him
was inconceivable.

"Vannie, we won't sleep together, just keep each other company, platonic."

"Don't lie to yourself. You lack confidence in yourself. You think he'll think you're too old for him and won't
sleep with you. No, when love between a man and a woman reaches its peak, they'll go to bed together. I see your reaction to him
is more than platonic."

"You don't understand."

He didn't understand because my boyfriend was my son. Sleeping with my son? Impossible. Although
we had a feeling that was almost like being in love, it wasn't real love. Mother and son depended on each other for survival, spending
time together. However, I applied all of Vannie's suggestions for my so-called "romantic life" to my life with my son . Of course, I wouldn't sleep with him, but what's wrong
with adding a little romance to my life ? 　　During our interactions, her half-joking remarks seemed to hold some truth. My lack of self-confidence is why I pour all my energy into work, adopting a strong, career-woman style—perhaps a psychological compensation… 　　However, being with him has restored my confidence. Every compliment he gives me sounds like a melody, and I'm starting to believe in my own attractiveness. Men are all staring at my thighs, even my son … 　　Compared to Yunni, I have far less dating experience. She can list all her boyfriends, telling me their strengths and weaknesses, including their performance in bed. I'm not as open as her. People think I have many suitors, but actually, very few. At my age, all the men who debuted around the same time as me are married. The unmarried ones are too unappealing. Those less successful than me, younger than me, I don't dare aspire to. Honestly, whenever a man shows me attention , I become wary, fearing I'll encounter the wrong person and end up losing both my money and my heart. 　　Last night I couldn't sleep because I saw him running back, wearing only shorts, his youthful body . His firm, well-proportioned muscles and fresh skin created an atmosphere of palpable sensuality. I thought about him; he slept only a wall away from me, and I wanted to go over and see his sleeping posture and handsome face. 　　He's my son! Why am I so infatuated with him that I can't sleep? 　　This morning before I left for work, he knocked on my door and said, "Mom, remember I asked you out tonight? Dress nicely , okay? Wear the high heels I gave you? You look especially good in stilettos." 　　I was mesmerized, spending half an hour in front of the mirror getting ready, trying to find a match for those heels. Finally, feeling I looked good enough, I opened the door and saw him waiting for me, smiling. He appraised me from head to toe , and only when he was satisfied did I feel relieved. 　　He said, "Wow, you're getting more and more beautiful!" 　　"Really?" 　　"I must have accumulated a lot of good karma to have such a beautiful woman as my guest." 　　"Nonsense, don't joke about your mother." 　　"Would you rather I tell the truth or a lie?" 　　"The truth, of course." 　　He whispered in my ear, "You're really charming," and then gently kissed my cheek . My heart started pounding, and it still is now. Time in the office drags on; I have no interest in looking at documents. The phone call wasn't his voice, so I just answered perfunctorily. 　　I opened the cards and letters he wrote to me, reading them over and over again. He's a good writer, and I love his letters. 　　He would send them to my office. So it became a habit for me to wait for his letters. We live under the same roof, but I enjoy receiving his letters. Of course, I write back. What do they say? 　　I don't really know; it's all about mutual longing and care. 　　How does a mother express her longing for her son in a letter? What does the son say in return? I looked at each letter again and again, feeling that they were more and more like love letters. 　　Winnie knocked on the door to come in, and I, feeling guilty, quickly hid the letters. Winnie came in and reminded me that it was exactly five o'clock, time to leave work. 　　I casually walked out of the office, and Winnie caught up with me, asking, "Seeing you dressed like that, what's wrong?" 　　Her question was unnecessary; I'd only been dating one person lately. The sweet feeling in my heart gave her the answer. 　　"Have fun. I have a feeling you two will have a romantic evening. Maybe they'll propose to you," she whispered in my ear. 　　I couldn't explain why Winnie's words made my heart flutter. I spent a lot of time listening to her offer advice on my " love life." I knew in my heart that eating out with my son and watching plays were completely unrelated to what she was talking about, but the feeling of actually doing them was quite similar. I decided to let go, let things take their course, seize the moment, and enjoy life. These days have been very happy, so let it be. Why force myself to be at odds with happiness? 　　I feel very happy these days, ever since my son's heartbreak… 　　his heartbreak became our starting point. I took him to a bar to drink and comfort him. He lost a childhood sweetheart.

Ma's girlfriend, I once considered her my daughter-in-law. My son is no less than anyone else; fate
is predetermined. The heart aches, the setback is immense, but are there no
other girls ?

Then, we spent a lot of time together. He said that before, he was so focused on his relationship that he neglected me. Moreover,
he discovered that his mother, outwardly a strong and busy woman, was actually very lonely and needed someone to pamper her.

So, my son and I spent a lot of time together, which he jokingly called "dating." With
his youthful energy and humor, he brought life to my dull and tense existence.

What do mother and son do when they date? Anything! After work, on holidays, we'd go to
the movies , concerts, restaurants, trips…

So, besides work, I started to have a private life. Ever since the waiters at our usual restaurant
mistook us for a couple, he suggested we play a game: pretending to be a couple in front of them.

When he called me "wife" in front of the waiter, I almost burst out laughing.

Tonight, we're going to that restaurant, the best in town. He picked me up in front of my office; I always
leave before my colleagues to avoid them seeing him and gossiping. His hand naturally reached out,
and I helped him into the car. I see now that the tie he's wearing is a gift from me. In the car, he politely
helped me adjust my dress; my posture had pulled it up, revealing a section of my thigh above my stockings.

He picked out the fishnet stockings I was wearing when we went shopping together. He has great taste and is very good at giving
women advice. He influenced my clothing choices and taught me to pay more attention to my appearance. For example, his theory about which style of
high heels best accentuates my legs—"Don't bury your beautiful legs, lots of men love to look"—made
all my new skirts seem a few inches too short. I know some people do, one of them being my son.

When we walked together, his hand would always rest gracefully on my waist or hip, making me feel
comfortable . I would unconsciously hook my arm around his, letting him take me wherever he wanted. This
gesture would elicit a knowing smile from us; it was our unspoken understanding.

Being with him made me forget the pressures of work, and he seemed to forget the pain of heartbreak. He told me many stories—
his friends since middle school, the things they had done. I had been too busy with my career and neglected him; I
realized had grown.

All evening, he gazed at me, his eyes sweeping over me with a peculiar intensity, entwining me, seducing
me. When our eyes met, I would avert them instantly. In business, I'm used to looking directly into the other person's
eyes when speaking. Yet, I was afraid of his eyes, because they seemed to hold so much unspoken meaning. I
felt I understood, yet I didn't want to.

Suddenly, I heard someone call my name. He reached out his hand, lifted my face, and said, "Shiya
, do you mind if I call you by your name? I think if the waiter hears me say you're a mother, our secret will be
exposed . Besides, I feel more intimate calling you by your name."

I nodded, swirling my wine glass, watching the candlelight reflected in the red wine's swirl.

"Shiya... are you listening to me?" I kept hearing him call my name. But my mind was unsettled,
and I couldn't remember what he said.

We wouldn't linger in crowded places; after dinner, we'd go home, preferring to stroll along the beach near our house. Under the
pale yellow streetlights, he would take my hand, walk around the gates, and onto the beach. There, we wouldn't speak,
just listen to the waves, count the stars...

I've forgotten why he initially took my hand. I needed male companionship, and he happened to be there.

When our fingers intertwined, I felt an energy flowing from my heart and hands to him, healing his
broken heart. And from his warm palms, I received a sense of security.

A feeling that had been dormant for years seemed to awaken within me; for so many years, I had lacked a male companion. But it wouldn't be
him, nor could it be. He was too young, and besides, he was my son. Nevertheless, I allowed myself to indulge
in this feeling of being loved and admired. At a certain point, given the right environment and atmosphere,
some boundaries became blurred, leading to more intimate actions, such as kissing.

We sat on a chair by the sea, watching the waves crash onto the beach.

He called my name affectionately, like a lover.

Weren't we a couple? His hand rested on my rounded shoulder, pulling down the thin strap and caressing
it gently. I only saw his mouth move; his voice was too soft, drowned out by the sound of the waves. One hand
brushed my hairline, lightly stroking my face. His arm encircled my waist, and I went limp, leaning into his
embrace .

I said, "No, turn your face away." He turned my face towards him and kissed my lips. I pushed him away, but
he wouldn't let go, calling my name. I understand why my heart has been pounding since this morning. Our
lips met, and his hands slipped under my skirt, caressing my thighs until they reached my deepest point.

He said he had wanted to kiss me for a long time, but hadn't dared. Tonight, he felt we were very close, and
could get even closer.

I said, "Why are you doing this? I'm scared."

He said, "Don't be afraid. The spell is broken. I can call your name, and you responded.
When I call you 'Mom,' you play a role. When I call your name, you're my girlfriend."

I said, "I'm not your girlfriend."

He said, "You are, you admit it. You let me kiss you, and once you've been kissed, you're my girlfriend."

He wouldn't let me speak, pulling me into his arms and kissing me passionately, our lips meeting. His hands
caressed my body, reaching under my skirt, teasing my private parts. I was powerless to stop him; my panties were soaked, my nipples
were erect.

He unhooked my bra, letting his palms cover my breasts, gently kneading them. He ripped off my
underwear and stockings, and I took off my high heels, lifting my legs so he
could pull them off. He sniffed them and then put them in his suit pocket. My mind went blank;
there was nothing under my skirt. Only his fingers, rubbing my labia, then slipping inside, searching for my clitoris. I
trembled uncontrollably, like a leaf in the wind.

I rubbed my inner thigh against his fingers, unable and unwilling to stop, because the feeling was too good
. If he didn't insert his fingers now, I would insert my own fingers in my sleep to relieve
my desire. He could give me real pleasure not only with his fingers, but also with something else.

When he tried to lift my skirt, I said, "Not here."

My legs felt like they didn't belong to me, following him step by step home. My thighs felt empty, yearning
for something to fill them.

He held me tightly, and I nestled against his shoulder. My heart pounded even harder; I was about to
cross the barrier with him, embarking on a path of no return.

As soon as we entered the house, we kissed again. I felt like a puppet, completely at my son's beck and call. He caressed me
and called my name, beginning to undress me. I helped him, pulling down the thin straps and zipper of my skirt, removing
my dress and bra, standing before my son, completely exposed. I
maintained .

My son, too, had completely stripped naked, facing me face to face. His posture revealed the raw
, untamed desires of his body.

Could this be the man I had been waiting for all these years?

I tried to cover my shame with my hands, and he moved closer, enveloping me in his arms.

"Shiya, what are you afraid of? What's there to be ashamed of in showing me your body?" he asked.

I buried my head in his chest, unable to look up at the man embracing me naked. His hands gently patted
my back, down my neck and up my hips, caressing me incessantly, saying, "Shiya, your body
is beautiful , even more beautiful than I could imagine through your clothes. Don't be ashamed of your beauty. Trust me,
give yourself to me, I will love you well. I know you are a woman too, you need someone to love you and cherish you."

My knees buckled, and I collapsed into his arms. He kissed me tenderly, lifted me up, took me to the bed,
and lay on top of me, kissing every inch of my body. My thighs opened automatically for him, allowing him to part my labia and kiss
me there, then to receive his desire for my body into me.

That long-lost touch awakened my senses, allowing desire and flesh to meet in their
truest form within our two naked, intertwined bodies.

He said, "I want to tell you, that's the most wonderful place."

"But you shouldn't. Tell me, when did you have this wicked thought about me?"

"The night after my breakup, the night you asked me to talk to you at the bar. On the sofa, I saw your
thigh flash under your skirt, and I got an erection, and it's been there ever since."

"What will we do from now on?"

"Make love first, then talk. I'll tell you later."

I rose and fell with his thrusts. He was right, I am a woman too, I deserve to be loved,
even though the one who gives me that love is my son. I will accept him, even though he is younger than me, and he knows how to
please me better than others. Beneath him, I reclaimed the sexual pleasure I deserved.

Tonight, our two bodies mingled into one; in truth, we were originally one.
The hard connected us, offering the happiness a woman craves. Every woman longs for
something like that, and I couldn't live without him.

He said, "Mom, I know you're not a casual woman. I don't want a one-night stand, but
a lifetime together . So please marry me."

His thrusts slowed, conveying the words I'd been waiting for.

I'd never been so moved during sex, even to the point of tears. But his words made my nose sting, and I cried.

I couldn't speak, only holding this man who loved me tightly. Seeing me cry, he comforted me like
a child , saying, "I'm capable of supporting you now. If you can give up your career and become my wife,
you can enjoy a life of leisure. You won't have to worry about making a living, and you can live a carefree life with me."

I cried even harder. I would agree to anything he asked. Yes, with each
thrust , my mind went blank a little more. After dozens of deep and shallow thrusts, I became a
foolish woman in bed, no longer the career woman I once was.

I'm willing to do anything for this son I've fallen in love with. At the climax, I agreed.

With each push, he asked, and I agreed—I agreed to everything. I want to be his homemaker, do
his laundry, cook for him, be the mother of his children, for life.

Needless to say, our passion will be boundless that night, and if my son wants it, I'll give it to him.

Tomorrow, Yunni will see me sleepless but beaming, and she'll definitely ask me
if I slept with him. I'll confidently announce to him, "Last night, we made love, and he was wonderful."

That nosy girl will definitely ask about every detail of what we did in bed.

I won't tell her; I'll leave her to guess and be envious.

She won't believe that after our first time making love, I can't live without him. We're a match made in heaven. His
thrusts are perfect, perfectly synchronized with mine. He thrusts all the way in naturally, sending the most wonderful sensations
into me. I'm certain I can't miss this wonderful man.

"Shiya."

"Did you call me?" Someone woke me up in my sleep, kissing my breasts and private parts.

"Yes, can we make love again?"

"No, I have to sleep, I have to go to work tomorrow."

"Just one more time."

"How many times have we made love tonight?"

(The End)

Good article, should support the author's work, this H-story is written with emotion, it's warm and exciting to read. Thank you, author, beautiful article, the writing is quite good, it's a pity the ending is a bit abrupt. It seems real. More like prose, it reads differently from ordinary erotic articles, it gives a warm feeling, really good. Super good article, I like this kind of article, thank you!! The article is very good,
written very smoothly, not just simple H,
support the classic line for pursuing girls at the end.
He said: "I want to tell you, that is the most wonderful place."

"But, you shouldn't. Tell me, when did you have this wicked thought about me?"

"After I broke up, the night you asked me to talk to you at the bar. On the sofa, I saw your big
"My leg flashed under your skirt, and I got an erection. I got an erection for you, and I still do."

"What will we do now?"

"Make love first, then talk. I'll tell you later."
This is a rather sentimental yet unconventional piece of writing. Xiao Xiong licked Anqi's anus, using his saliva to reduce the swelling. It's well-written, noticeably different from other erotic novels. It doesn't just write erotic content for the sake of eroticism; it's like a real novel, with a rigorous plot, detailed descriptions, and clever structure. It's just a little short, which is a slight disappointment. I hope the author will post more good stories like this in the future. Thank you.

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Platonic love between mother and son

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