Good dreams are hard to come true. (Change)

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

Moderator's comment: Very cute Electric Fish (2014-5-12 23:41): Where is the link to the previous article?
Emoji (2014-5-13 09:21): The word count is also incorrect. Please use the forum's formatting tool to count the words! Good Dreams Hard to Fulfill (Revised) Part 2 Author: Unknown Word Count: 20831 (IV) Wildness is Calling For me, being able to unbutton every button on her body, to take off her clothes one by one, even the most intimate, to personally peel off the last thing covering her body with my own hands, is just as thrilling as making love itself.

Regarding undressing women, I was originally not particular. After undressing women hundreds of times, it's all the same. As long as they are naked, that's enough. Where to start undressing, how to undress, it will no longer arouse my desire.

I'm talking about undressing other women. Undressing my mother's clothes, my mood is always complicated and exciting. I can't be careless, my fingers must be doubly sensitive.

Which garment would be easiest to remove from her most intimate clothing? Intuitively, I envisioned her bra, letting her expose her breasts first, getting used to my gaze and caresses. This is a woman's first psychological hurdle. Then come the stockings and panties, and finally, only the panties covering her private parts—that's what's called the private parts, arguably a woman's most mysterious, beautiful, and alluring place. A body with its private parts exposed is called nudity.

This logical reasoning forms a ritual before our lovemaking, like a social etiquette. Sometimes, I want to test her. Now that we've made love many times, and we're a straightforward couple, will she succumb to the burning desire and hastily undress, like many other lovers' rendezvous?

She won't, she simply won't; I know her best. And this package of love, opening it, fully possessing its joy—I won't let it slip away. The entire process, including removing her clothes, possessing her body, and sharing sexual pleasure with her, every step is important. Because the gift itself is her.

But I could try something new. The thought of taking off her panties first flashed through my mind. I'd save the bra for last, to see her with it on and her bottom bare. Would she cover her genitals with her hands? Like when I unhooked her bra first, her arms, with nowhere to go, would cross over her chest, trying to hide her breasts. Or perhaps, I could simply pull down her panties and have sex—that's another way of having sex, why not give it a try?

Actually, if a woman is willing to have sex with you, she won't mind where you want to undress her, just as she wouldn't mind you undressing her, even if your mother became your woman.

Nothing more, I just wanted to slowly reveal her nakedness, inch by inch. Because I don't often have the opportunity to have sex with her outside, leisurely and unhurriedly. I don't have the right to enjoy her body, so I cherish every detail, making it all a memory.

Outside, dusk settled, and the snow fell heavier. A flick of the firewood in the fireplace sent sparks flying, making the fire burn brightly. The room was filled with the scent of pine resin, the very aroma that had drawn us to this mountain fir forest, the scent that evoked memories of making love with Pei-yun.

Sex could be different, extraordinary, like us, single-minded, earth-shattering, reckless, loving until the end of time, until the seas run dry and the rocks crumble. Every time we made love, it felt like the last love before the end of the world—love on the rug by the fireplace, love by the window overlooking the lake, love between intertwined wine glasses, love in a king-size bed. To love one's mother requires giving one's all, exhausting the last ounce of energy to love her. When we made love, there was never a dull moment, never disappointing her, and I was content. I withdrew from that tender, beautiful consciousness within her, becoming soft and weak, and lay prostrate on top of her. She shifted her body, freeing herself from my weight, and sat up, smoothing her hair with her hands, her breasts trembling slightly. My mother, after making love, wore a satisfied smile, gently kissing my lips; her red nipples brushed against my face, still hard.

She got up, swinging her long legs, and walked towards the window overlooking the lake. We used to stroll along this lake, boating and fishing in the summer, skating and enjoying the snow in the winter. Her beauty, so fresh and radiant, was different from the beauty before lovemaking. It was exhilarating, relaxed, carefree, confident, and uninhibited. Her flawless buttocks faced me, my kisses etched on her neck and shoulders, as she looked out the window at the falling snowflakes, dancing wildly in the streetlights. Suddenly, she turned to me, a glint of an idea in her eyes, and said,

"It's snowing! Go out and see! If you're a turtle egg, don't come with me!"

Completely naked, she opened the door, called to me, and ran out.

Outside, snowflakes fell, and my mother didn't stop. I hesitated for a moment, then quickly got up, put on my slippers, grabbed a blanket, and chased after her. I saw my mother's pointed breasts swaying with every movement of her body. In the hazy, dim light, white snowflakes landed on her black hair and her naked body, white as jade and milky cream. She thrust her breasts towards the falling snow, waving her arms, offering her entire body to me without reservation. I smiled at her, and she smiled back, waving at me. Joyfully, barefoot, she shivered and panted. She danced lightly in the snow, kicking up snowflakes. Just as I was catching up with her, she bent down, scooped up the fresh snow with both hands, gathered it into a snowball with a pointed top and a flowing bottom, and threw it at me. I returned the favor, making an even bigger snowball.

Braving the snowball attack, I quickly stepped forward, caught her, and held her naked, almost frozen body tightly. She cried out and threw herself into my arms. I wrapped her in the sheet, embracing her passionately, caressing her, kissing her, drawing out her red tongue, and engaging in a battle of lip and tongue instead of a snowball fight. Her cold yet soft flesh instantly heated up as our skin touched.

I could no longer withstand the chill that threatened to freeze us into icicles, and was about to take her back inside when she gave an innocent, silly laugh and said,

"Remember? There seems to be a hot spring behind the house. I want to go there and soak in it."

"The snow is so heavy, aren't you afraid of the cold?"

"A hot spring? I'm not afraid of the cold," she said. I picked her up and carried her across the thick snow. After rounding a bend, where the mist rose, we found the natural hot spring pool.

The pool was only about the size of a regular bathtub, and the hot spring water gushed up from the ground, bubbling and gurgling, reaching chest-deep. All around us was a vast expanse of white snow, and the biting wind whipped up thousands of snowflakes, rushing and crashing towards us, only to melt into raindrops by the warmth of the hot spring at the edge of the pool.

My mother soaked in the water, her breasts above the surface, bobbing up and down in the hazy snow and mist. In the vast expanse of the earth, only my mother and I were there, naked, bathing in the river of love. We seemed to return to the most primal place of our nature, discovering our true selves in each other's eyes—so this is how it is. I had nothing to hide from my mother; I was bone of her bones, and she shouldn't hold anything back from me; she was flesh of my flesh. In love, there was no fear, no guilt. Besides her, who else could share with me the most utter nakedness and intimacy between us?

On the deep, desolate snow, there was a destined rendezvous. At a specific juncture, mother and child had to become one, merging with heaven and earth, breaking a spell. Mother returned to herself. Her alluring body transformed into a young doe, trembling with the stirrings of spring, emitting the scent of courtship, awaiting that stag, whether son or brother, as long as he was strong, sharing her lust, riding upon her, fulfilling the eternal law of nature. She needed the wild, untamed lust of a beast, the simple, direct, and untamed union of the forest and the plains.

With my bare arms, I embraced her equally bare, soft waist. Chest to back, lips to face, legs intertwined, hearts in sync. My palms covered her breasts, gently kneading them, washing away the dust of the world. Her small hands wandered to the junction of her buttocks and my thighs, finding what she needed. My mother's hands, familiar and gentle, caressed and teased my scrotum. My perineum immediately received the message, obeying her call, rising again towards her upturned buttocks, thrusting deep from behind. Snowflakes fell like snow, and my mother and I fused violently and rapidly, like wild beasts, primal and shameless.

"Fuck me, take me, take me completely!" she cried out.

She grabbed my hand, biting it between her teeth, enduring the pain of the violent impact amidst pleasure.

"Ugh...oh..."

she let out a long howl like a wild wolf, echoing across the silent, boundless lake, vibrating my heartstrings. This was the cry of her long-suppressed sexual desire, an unleashing of her wildness, unrestrained and released. For a woman who has achieved sexual liberation, anything is possible.

My mother and I were determined to be together; no amount of propriety or morality could stop our love. And we actually became lovers, sharing countless moments of pleasure. Now, I finally encountered my mother, a woman I had never met before. That fearless, trusting love finally awakened her wildness. It was a cry of liberation, a declaration of her sexual climax!

This is love! It is a complete surrender in love. I have never been so moved. She was more persistent than I was, but now she pursues her love and happiness with even greater freedom. I grasped her breasts, our bodies connected, gazing up at the sky. Heaven above, may this love be our witness, our sacrifice. She followed me, taking my hand, climbing up the stone spring. The luminous female body emerging from the mist and water seemed like someone else, someone I had never seen before.

Like two playful children, we ran hand in hand back into the house. A little longer outside and we'd freeze into icicles. We stoked the fire, facing each other, still breathless. I looked at her, this newly discovered body; I felt an even stronger attachment to her, an inability to leave her forever. I asked her to stand, took a large bath towel, and began to dry her from head to toe. She stood motionless, letting me do the drying. She seemed as delicate and alluring as a little girl, now revealing her innocent, wild side to me. Her breathing grew softer, her breasts rose and fell, her face flushed, her body radiant, her legs slightly parted, her buttocks firm and round, like a boy's. Her pubic hair, soaked and dripping wet, clung to her mons pubis, looking sparser than usual... I felt a little embarrassed by her gaze. I walked to the mirror, carefully examined my naked body, then turned away from the large mirror, staring at my back and buttocks, utterly bewildered.

"Why are you looking at me like that? Haven't you seen me before? What's so interesting?" she asked, continuing to search her body from all angles.

Only I had the right to look at her body however I pleased, whether she was clothed or not. I saw all her flaws. However, beauty is in the eye of the beholder; imperfections are seen as perfection, and beauty is what the lover sees. If she were willing to be beautiful for me, I could have her wear things to suit my taste, to accentuate certain aspects of her figure... It would be wonderful if I could have my way! In truth, a son's taste is cultivated from a young age by the person most influential in his life—his mother.

"You are beautiful, but I just caught a glimpse of your stunning figure from one angle."

"Tell me what it was?"

"I was just trying to find that angle."

I held her arms, making her lift them up and support them behind her head. This way, her breasts were high and exposed, her abdominal muscles were tucked in, and her armpit hair and pubic hair formed a triangular shape.

She became impatient, or her hands felt heavy, and she tried to let them fall. I gestured for her to stay in the position.

"What are you doing? Aren't you hungry? You want something to eat."

"Wait. Just like that, don't move. You look beautiful to me like this. I want to give you a little something."

"What little something?" she asked.

"Don't ask, you'll find out soon enough."

I took her silk scarf, folded it several times, and blindfolded her.

"What are you doing?"

"Listen to me, don't ask, close your eyes, don't look, I'm going to give you a surprise."

I tightened the silk scarf and blindfolded her. She was told to stand, her arms crossed over her chest, gently supporting her breasts, waiting for something to happen. I had prepared a gift for my lover: a pair of precious little scallop nipple shields inlaid with gemstones, connected by a thin chain. A matching girdle was also present. I didn't know if it could be called underwear, because I imagined it as an ornament, something worn on the outside. That is to say, its design concept was to be the only ornament covering the lower body. Wearing it under underwear would render it useless. It was a precious little scallop strung on two small chains; its large opening certainly couldn't cover her mons pubis, or any woman's mons pubis. A string of matching gemstones hung from the little shell, perpendicularly matching the lower end of the triangle formed by the nipple shields. I saw these two items three years ago during my honeymoon in Hawaii. I was delighted at first sight, secretly bought them, and hid them for my mother. I don't know why I had that thought back then; it was an extremely impractical and unsuitable souvenir for my mother. However, I kept it, carrying it with me every time I met my mother, hoping that one day the right opportunity would come and I could put it on her.

I believed that the time I was waiting for had arrived.

I used the small scallop shells to cover her nipples, the concave part of the shell perfectly nestling her bulging nipples. After adjusting the length of the chain connected to the scallop shells and fastening it behind her back, the two small shells became ornaments set on her breasts, making her exposed breasts appear even more proud and high.

As for the G-string chain, the tightness had to be adjusted according to the width of her waist and the depth from her waist to her groin. The chain had no elasticity, and it constricted her crotch, the G-string part, requiring individual adjustments to ensure that the small shells just covered Peiyun's pubic hair. My mother's pubic hair wasn't very thick, and the small shells only allowed a few strands to escape. The intersection of the three curved lines on her lower body formed the visual focus. Throughout the dressing process, she stood quietly, her posture fixed, like a mannequin in a shop window, completely at my mercy. I led her to the mirror; the small shell and G-string chain between her thighs, nestled in the crease between her buttocks and labia, became an obstacle to her walking, the gemstone pendants dangling with her movements. She had to walk with her legs slightly apart than usual, and more lightly, to avoid the chain and gemstone pendants rubbing against her genitals and thighs, so her gait was a little awkward and unnatural. But I found her graceful and incredibly sexy.

Blindfolded by the satin strip, wearing this small shell ornament with three points attached, it didn't restrain my mother's wildness; instead, it seemed to liberate her body from all constraints and taboos. The body of my mother presented before me was vibrant and alluring, transformed into Venus born from the water, my worshipped goddess of love!

I untied the satin band covering her eyes. She rubbed her eyes and, seeing her most primal, instinctive beauty reflected in the mirror, gasped in surprise. Like a woman in a wedding dress, she struck different poses in front of the mirror, caressing her face, shoulders, breasts, and thighs, almost self-pityingly, indulging in her reflection. Natural beauty is hard to ignore; how could such a beautiful and alluring body not be admired by adoring eyes and touched by gentle hands?

"How is it? Do you like it?" Seeing that she seemed to appreciate herself, I said confidently.

"Thank you. I've never seen underwear made of seashells before."

"Not underwear, but accessories, body ornaments, like earrings, necklaces, nipple rings, and the like."

"So, am I dressed? Should I wear underwear again?"

"No underwear, no bra, nothing to cover it."

"Can these things be worn as clothes?"

"The original intention is for you to wear them only, without wearing anything else."

"Do you think I look good like this?"

"Absolutely beautiful. Come here, let me see more clearly."

I opened my arms to her, and she leaned in, letting me shelter her entire body under my protection, receiving my gentle caresses. I felt this was our most intimate moment, I had never felt this way, loved her like this, possessed her like this. Full of confidence, taking a great risk, I whispered in her ear:

"Mommy, oh! My mommy..."

5) Who knows if there will be a tomorrow?

If there is still a barrier between us, this is it; until now, I still haven't dared to call her by her name. She let me kiss her, let me caress her most private parts, let me see her naked body, and let me make love to her in various positions, but she wouldn't let me call her by her name. The name Peiyun could only be uttered by my father and her elders, by her peers. The moment I saw her, her name stuck in my throat, impossible to utter, as if I were unworthy to call her by her name. What kind of psychological barrier was that? Was it simply a difference in generation?

In the vast restaurant lobby, there were only the two of us. The waiter told us that we had brought a blizzard. The roads were piled high with snow, and several avalanches had blocked the roads, preventing other guests who had booked rooms or were coming for dinner from arriving.

Regardless of whether there were guests, the pianist played one romantic piece after another on the Steinway grand piano. Sometimes, he sang along, occasionally humming a few love songs.

I felt that everything was arranged for us, including this terrible weather. I will remember this heavy snow for the rest of my life.

I reached across the table and held my mother's hands, silently and foolishly staring at her. The waiter, who had been waiting for a while, smiled knowingly as he watched our affectionate gaze. "

Are you envious of us?" I wondered.

The food didn't need to be anything special; the chef's recommendations would suffice. However, to celebrate our three years of love, I would personally select a bottle of fine aged wine from the cellar—it had to be exceptionally good to match my beauty.

The large fireplace in the dining room had just been lit, releasing the scent of pine resin, a fragrance that reminded me of the passionate lovemaking with my mother. She would occasionally lower her hand under the table, tugging at the chain beneath her skirt, adjusting the shell and chain that had shifted with her changing position. I must have fastened it too tightly, constricting her lower body; I should loosen it a bit. I imagined making love with her—without unfastening the chain, how? There was a shell in front, but I could enter from behind. This was her favorite position because I could penetrate very, very deeply.

Her gesture, which resembled scratching an itch, was rather unseemly, but no one saw it; we were the only two guests. The pianist, head bowed, played and sang. Even though I was the only one who saw her, I didn't think she was being disrespectful. A lover can accept his lover doing the most private things in front of him.

I had explained to her the origin and purpose of the three seashells—they weren't underwear, but ornaments, worn on the outside, not underneath—but she insisted on wearing a dress and couldn't go to the restaurant naked. The restaurant was a refined place with strict dress requirements for its guests.

I could have easily booked the entire restaurant, and no one would have cared what she wore. Now, with no guests coming, it was almost the same as if we had booked it.

She said, "It's all because of your crazy idea, it made me so itchy down there."

"Tonight, you'll make love to me while you're dressed."

"That's enough. Today, you came really deep and hard several times, maybe you taught me to have your child."

"Am I really that good? Is that how women know if they're pregnant?" I momentarily lost in thought and moved to her side, kneeling down and touching her belly.

"It's a woman's sixth sense, very accurate."

Under the tablecloth, I saw her sitting with her legs spread. Her thighs were shapely, long, and open. Under her skirt was a deep, unfathomable tunnel, at the end of which was a small scallop pulled from the deep sea. She couldn't close her legs, or fold them, as it would cause the scallop, the G-string chain, and the gemstone pendant to rub against her labia.

I gently stroked her exposed, round knees, then brought them back together. She moved my hand away, spread her legs, and said,

"Ugh, sit up straight, it's not good if someone sees us."

"What are you afraid of? There's no one else here." The waiters all discreetly moved away.

"You're going to be a father, and you're still not serious."

"Yes, I'm going to be a father, that's great!"

"But, how are you going to explain to your father where this child came from?"

"Go back and sleep with him right away..." I rushed out, but before I could finish, I regretted it.

"Will he believe it? He doesn't even believe it himself."

"We can't do that. I mean, this is my child. I can't call him a younger brother or sister. We can go somewhere, to Mexico, get married there, and have him..."

"I won't go to Mexico. How will we survive there?"

"There's always a way. I'm willing to do anything, even hard labor."

"I don't want to be exiled, wandering in a foreign land. And what about your wife? What about your father? Haven't you thought about that?"

"Mom, they're not important. Haven't you thought about it? Who do you love most? Who do you want to be with forever? Who can't you live without? Think about it, we'll have our own home, and our child, and live happily ever after..."

"...................."

"Tell me."

"I don't know."

"What will you do with our child?"

"Don't say these things anymore. Maybe you didn't get me pregnant. If I did have a child, it's my child, and I'll find a way..." "It's our child."

"It's mine."

Her tone became stubborn, and then she stopped speaking, and so did I. The intimate, loving, and romantic atmosphere that had been cultivated all day suddenly vanished like a bubble bursting.

I was instantly bewildered...

Romance and reality cannot be put together. Or perhaps, what is romance is a matter of different interpretations. I thought that having my mother's lover pregnant with my child, and then traveling the world with her, living a carefree life, would be incredibly romantic. She, however, disagreed. I've

come to my senses; my mother and I have no tomorrow...

Tomorrow holds too many unknowns. My mother might get pregnant; we might break up.

Tomorrow... what will become of us? Will the snowstorm block our journey home?

Or will there be no tomorrow at all...?

The whole world is a vast expanse of white, still snowing heavily, the snow covering the earth, covering the skylight of the room.

The lights are off, the room is dark, the fire in the fireplace is dying down, and the room is filled with the smell of pine resin.

On the king-size bed, Peiyun held me tightly, her warm, soft body pressed against me—a familiar, homey feeling. My mind became hazy. Was I drunk? Or was it a dream? In the dream, I didn't know where I was? Was I in a mountain resort? Or in Mexico? Or back home...?

I remember when we got into bed, we didn't speak, didn't give each other a pre-sleep kiss, and unusually, didn't make love. Had I asked her for sex and been rejected? Or was she trying to seize the opportunity to make love more, and I resentfully refused? I can't remember anymore, it doesn't matter.

The next moment, in the darkness, I touched her half-naked breasts, still wearing the precious seashell nipple shield I gave her as a gift from her lover. Her eyes were closed, silent. Her waist was still so slender, tied with a thin chain, and the small seashell shield covering her modesty, and the fine pubic hair that the shield couldn't cover.

Unable to sleep, I lay half-reclined, silently watching her, pondering. What would happen to us if she were pregnant with my child? I have no answer.

It's strange that I've never really looked at her closely before, never truly seen her face. It's a kind of taboo, or perhaps a self-deceptive thought—a fear that if I saw her clearly, I wouldn't forget her appearance, and I would fall in love with her. A small face, white as jade, a pointed chin, broad eyebrows, clear eyes, cherry lips—the very image of a beauty from a painting. In my memory, my mother looked just like that, never aging. I want to firmly remember her beautiful face, though no longer young, yet still youthful, so that my lover will always be beautiful, never old.

How could she be my mother? How could she become my lover?

What does it matter if loving someone means they age early, and the duration of love is short? As long as the heart remains young, differences in age and generation will not cast a shadow on love; in fact, they can make many love stories sensational.

I promised her that one day, when she grows old, I will also grow old in a terrible mess. We may not be young together, like some childhood sweethearts, but we can grow old together.

She smiled without speaking; was she happy or lost in thought?

"Holding your hand, growing old together." Could the word "子" in that famous line from the Book of Songs be interpreted as "son"?

Would she hold her son's hand, carrying the son she bore for him, and grow old with him?

I gently stroked her eternally youthful face, using my tongue as a paintbrush to draw her eyebrows, touch her nose, outline her lips, and kiss her small mouth. She didn't want to open her eyes, burying her head in my chest, avoiding my touch and kisses. Her hair, recently straightened with ion, cascaded down my chest, making her look ten years younger, even more fitting for me.

I inhaled the fragrance of her hair, gently kissing her lips and the back of her neck, licking her most sensitive spot behind her ear. Suddenly, she cried out, her voice sweet and coquettish, "I'm tired. We've been making love all day, and my whole body is sore. Even if you don't want to, I need to sleep. Don't bother me."

Her hands resisted me, not allowing me to roam over her most sensitive areas. I pushed her hands away, holding them firmly, preventing her from supporting herself. In bed, she was usually very cooperative, but when she wasn't, I had a way of dealing with it: I would use the blindfold to tie her wrists, raising her snow-white arms behind her head. Her breasts would then harden, her legs would spread, and she would open herself up to me. But she would still keep her eyes half-closed, seemingly asleep. I used the tip of my tongue as a paintbrush, lightly sketching a picture of an unclothed lady, starting with her eyebrows, slowly and gently moving to her lips, tracing their outline. Her tongue emerged, offering me a shallow taste of her unique fragrance. Then, it sketched the outline of her breasts. The coolness of the nipple chain held my tongue, which lingered between her breasts and cleavage, connected by the chain. It then slid down to her navel. She couldn't resist the tickle and giggled, yet remained lazily lying there, letting me do as I pleased. My tongue circled the chain around her waist, sliding down, only to be blocked by the small, private part of her vulva. I didn't untie the chain; I had decided to make love to her while she wore that vulva. I turned her over, and from her back, along her spine, I licked downwards. Peiyun's buttocks, though she had given birth, remained firm, without much excess fat. Deep between the two soft mounds of flesh lay that G-string chain; I slipped my tongue inside… a wonderful fragrance filled the air!

I heard a few soft moans and the soft, melodious Wu dialect.

She said, "What a sin!" and those whispered words. But what she said, I only vaguely understood.

When I was young, she spoke to me in these same tones; that should be considered my mother tongue. I couldn't understand them, but I didn't need to—it was my mother's murmur. Now, it sounds like something from a distant past, yet it feels infinitely familiar. She spoke to my father in these same accents. How many more of these pillow-side whispers will we have left?

My mother trembled slightly beneath me, her hips swaying, her upper body supported by my bound hands. My gun was fully loaded; I had to fire again. I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulled on the chain around her waist, and gently lifted her buttocks, kissing those two smooth mounds of flesh incessantly, like jeweled pendulums swinging. The small scallops blocked my way, but behind me was only the G-string chain binding my anus and vulva. Pulling it open a little wouldn't prevent me from entering my paradise to commit my sin.

I remember there, with all the sins I had committed, and perhaps an embryo yet to take shape. I believe I've never penetrated so deeply, never ejaculated so forcefully. She said that if the force was enough, if I ejaculated deep enough, she would get pregnant. I believed her without a doubt, vowing to ensure that my sperm reached her uterus, that she carried my child, for our relationship to be complete. I finally understood that even if she was willing to sleep with me, to be naked and unashamed before me, even to wear a shell-shaped nipple shield, it was all superficial. Only if the seed I planted within her, inside her body, bore fruit, and she carried my child, would she truly be my woman.

With each deep and shallow thrust, my hands cupped her breasts, the small shells becoming her nipples. Her buttocks pressed against my thighs, swaying with my rhythm, her back glistening with sweat, her straight hair cascading over her shoulders, the jeweled pendants clicking against the small shells, gradually increasing in speed, her breathing becoming forceful. Then, I heard our wild cries and smelled the incense of pine resin.

"Love me, I want your love, deeper, deeper still."

"My mother, I will always love you."

Forgetting the frozen mountains and rivers outside, and the utterly silent world around us. At this moment, mother and I were making love, intertwined as one, a love that would last forever, who cared about tomorrow!

The End

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