Mom's Pride

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

I was born into an ordinary family of teachers. My father, Hao Wei, is a track and field coach for the city's sports team, and he's quite famous in sprinting, having trained many top athletes in the province. His most outstanding student won third place in the 100-meter dash at the National Games. In recent years, the provincial sports bureau's policies have changed, and our city has begun to focus on developing young athletes. Good prospects are quickly selected for the provincial team. My father was furious about this, but there was nothing he could do. In fact, when he was younger, he had a conflict with a leader in the provincial sports bureau due to his youthful impetuosity. Now that leader has been promoted to the top position, and although my father is in his prime as a coach, his chances of being promoted to the provincial team are basically slim.
However, my father didn't remain pessimistic. In recent years, the city's economy has developed significantly, and it has trade relations with many cities in Southeast Asian countries. The city's sports bureau has also started exchanges with these foreign cities, and my father often leads teams to Southeast Asia to participate in sports meets for primary and secondary school students, winning gold and silver medals. This was a very impressive achievement on the surface. The city sports bureau leaders were promoted within a few years, and my father's career experienced a second spring. His income over the years allowed him to buy a new house and a new car. There were even rumors from the province that he would be transferred to the provincial team to train national-level athletes.
As for my mother, Zhang Hongyu, she was an ordinary high school English teacher. During the period when paid tutoring was all the rage, she also ran tutoring classes and made a considerable amount of money. Later, she found it too tiring and stopped. In my opinion, many students who desperately wanted to learn English from my mother back then had ulterior motives; they weren't there to learn English, but to stare at her. My mother was very beautiful, with an oval face, fair skin, tall and slender. In recent years, she liked to wear her long hair and dresses, exuding femininity. My mother was very strict as a teacher and liked to scold students. She was very intelligent, so she couldn't understand why some students couldn't even do the simplest problems, and she would often give the student who made the mistake a severe scolding. But so what? This is a world that judges by appearances. As soon as they heard Mom was going to start tutoring classes, those male students still came running like dogs, tongues lolling out, panting and snorting, to hand over their money. As a mother, Mom was ruthless when it came to education; I was scolded a lot when I was little. It was often things like, "How come you can't even beat the girls?", "You can't even do such a simple question?", "Look at Xiao Wang next door.", "Don't ask me, figure it out yourself, you're not allowed to eat dinner if you can't solve it." I felt like I'd eaten shit, and from then on, I never dared to ask Mom for help with her homework again.
Finally, let me talk about myself. My name is Hao Jie. I trained with my dad when I was little, so my physical fitness was pretty good; in fact, my grandfather said I was better than my dad in that aspect. But when I was nine, my grades still didn't meet the standard (the standard my dad used to train national athletes), so I gave up the path of an athlete and focused on my studies. Because I was strong and healthy from playing sports, I encountered some unruly classmates in elementary school. I would fight them whenever I couldn't stand them, sometimes even taking on four at once. Afterwards, my parents, their faces ashen, took me home. My mother, with a stern expression, said, "You like fighting, huh? I'll beat you to your heart's content." That night is unforgettable. I barely scraped by in elementary school; after all, years of sports training had made me restless, and I couldn't sit still in the classroom. I don't think that was my fault. Fortunately, as I grew older, I gradually developed patience in my studies. Patience is a necessary condition for success. I was already focused on sports, but it wasn't until middle school that I truly shifted my focus to academics and developed a genuine interest in learning. Plus, my mother inherited good genes, so my grades naturally improved rapidly, and I got into the prestigious high school where my mother taught. She happened to be teaching a graduating class, and after some persuasion from the school administration, I was assigned to her class. My mother is truly charismatic, and I love her English classes.
My mom doesn't usually dress very formally for work. She often wears skirts that go past the knee, in various styles. Sometimes she wears stockings, sometimes she doesn't. My mom isn't someone who sticks to one style; she likes to experiment. Once, she wore a very brightly colored pair of stockings embroidered with many flowers, and for the entire class, all the boys' eyes were on her legs.
As for my mom's teaching style, she has a serious face and is very focused and earnest, but because of her delicate features, this seriousness is captivating. Especially when my serious mom laughs during class, it's like a blooming peony, mesmerizing.
Naturally, the boys in the class often fantasize about my mom in private, but of course, everyone knows that Teacher Zhang is my mom, so they never discuss it in front of me. But I often overheard boys from other classes discussing this, and they didn't shy away from me. Things like, "Have you noticed? Ms. Zhang's breasts are getting bigger, and so is her butt." "Just now on the stairs, I was following behind Ms. Zhang, and I think I saw her underwear. Guess what color it was?" "Look at the way Ms. Zhang drinks mineral water, that mouth... if she were holding my penis in her mouth, oh..." I would get angry and disdainful. I would treat them all like toads. Some male teachers were the same, always trying to curry favor with my mother. But for me, my mother is always my mother. I've tried to consider her only as a woman, and I've even thought about what if she cheated on me? But I quickly rejected that idea with my conscience and sense of shame. If I fantasized about my mother, would I still be human? I couldn't get past that hurdle.
Soon it was senior year. My grades were consistently among the top, in the top three of my grade, and in the top fifty in the city. My father's career was thriving, my grades were improving, my mother was becoming more and more elegant, and naturally, our family became more and more harmonious.
After the first semester of my senior year, I moved up one place in the city-wide standardized test, ranking second in my grade and sixth in the city, only four points behind the top student in my class. All the teachers congratulated my mother, saying she had raised a wonderful son, and that Tsinghua or Peking University was a certainty. I became known as "the kid next door," and this envy pleased my parents greatly. They started to indulge me in many ways, trying their best to fulfill my requests. For example, when I wanted a cell phone, my father, despite considering my grades, bought it for me as a reward. After that, my grades didn't drop, which reassured my parents even more. My mother wasn't as strict as before, always smiling at me. All of this was achieved by giving up almost all entertainment. On weekends, I would at most go out with friends to eat cold drinks and play billiards. Since they were all from the top classes, even when we were just playing, the conversation would inevitably turn to studying. Many students with poor grades attribute their academic shortcomings to a lack of intelligence, which I think is unfair. The price students like us pay in life is unimaginable. Admittedly, success isn't limited to academics; I'm simply following the path my parents hoped for.
This year, my father is leading a team to Singapore for the sports meet during the Spring Festival. He recently discovered a promising talent—in his words, world-class. This sports meet brings together outstanding middle school students from Europe and America, so my father values this opportunity highly and took his student there for training well in advance. Only my mother and I were at home. After the exams and tutoring, our actual holiday didn't start until the 24th of the twelfth lunar month. My mother decided to go to my maternal grandparents' house for the Spring Festival this year, so on the second day of the holiday, my mother and I went to my paternal grandfather's house. My grandfather dotes on me and insisted I stay overnight, so it wasn't until the third day of the holiday that my mother and I flew to my mother's hometown. My mother's hometown is a mountainous city in a southwestern province. We flew to Guiyang, where my uncle picked us up, and then drove for several hours on the national highway to get there.
My uncle is seven years older than my mom. His son couldn't keep up with his studies and dropped out of high school to work. He won't be coming home for Chinese New Year this year, supposedly to rush an overseas order. He can get double pay for working overtime during the holiday (triple pay is just a dream). Because of me, my aunt and uncle often nag my cousin about me, so he doesn't have a good impression of me. He often calls me a bookworm, a bookworm who only knows how to study. I really want to say, if you don't believe me, let's meet on the track! Sprint, long-distance, high jump, long jump—take your pick! Studying is half intelligence and half focus. Take the top student in my class in the city, for example. He's studying all the time except when he's eating or using the bathroom. What makes you think you can beat him? There are definitely people who are good at both playing and studying, like in my class, but those "good" are only in the top fifteen of the grade. At the very top, it's all about focus. There are no shortcuts, and no room for distraction. Over the years, I've gradually become so focused on my studies that, aside from running a couple of laps around the track after school to exercise, I've almost reached a point where my mind is completely free of distractions. I'm not a bookworm, but in my pursuit of higher goals, I've become one whose eyes are only on books. That's why my cousin disapproves of me, and I look down on him just the same.
My uncle bought a new house this year, a three-bedroom, one-living-room apartment, 120 square meters. My maternal grandfather passed away the year before last, and my maternal grandmother, who is over 80 years old and whose hearing is failing, lives with my uncle. She was overjoyed to see my mother and me come in, and I had to call out to her loudly for her to hear me.
That night, my uncle and aunt slept in one room, my grandmother in another, and my mother and I had to sleep in the last room.
My aunt had already made up our beds and asked with a smile, "Is it alright for you two to squeeze in?" Why couldn't my mother and I sleep together? My mother jokingly said, "The child is all grown up now; it's a rare opportunity to sleep with my son." Even though she said that, when my mother and I lay down, we found that the bed was a bit small. This bed was originally meant for my cousin, so it was bound to be a little cramped for the two of us. My mother said we'd make do for a few days and then lay down to sleep.
Even though I was tired from the long journey, I was still a little shy and couldn't fall asleep. My mother, on the other hand, fell asleep as soon as she lay down.
My mother slept on her side with her back to me. Because the bed was small, my arm inevitably ended up pressed against her back. Listening to her even breathing and smelling her fragrance, I would idly recall her usual demeanor in class. She
would stand on the podium with her long hair flowing, her voice stern and authoritative, a presence that naturally inspired awe. My mother seemed to stand on a very high place, a place we could never reach. I once asked her, "Why are you so strict in class?" She thought it was only natural; how could students listen to you if you weren't strict? I think this stems from a class mentality—teachers are a level above students, and students must maintain respect for them.
The implication is that students treat the teacher's teachings like sacred decrees, taking every word as gospel. Your motivation for learning is either your own desire or being forced to learn; you don't need to consider whether it's right or wrong, but whether it's what the teacher said. My mother maintained her inviolable authority, and her teaching was built upon this foundation. And now my mother was sleeping right in front of me. I couldn't help but do what other students always wanted to do: slowly bring my nose close to her long hair, inhaling its faint fragrance.
Thinking back, it seemed I hadn't slept in the same bed with my mother since I was seven. So many years had passed; I had grown up, and my mother had aged. She was no longer as slender as she had been in her youth; she had gained weight around her waist and become more voluptuous.
When was the first time I heard someone fantasize about my mother? I couldn't remember. I subconsciously reached out to stroke her beautiful hair. It was permed, slightly wavy. Suddenly, my mother turned over, facing me, which startled me. I immediately turned away, as if I had done something wrong, unable to look at her. My heart raced. I closed my eyes to calm myself, my mind filled with the summer of my first year of high school, July, extra classes, the temperature reaching 40 degrees Celsius. The classroom didn't have air conditioning, only four electric fans creaking and groaning. These fans didn't even cover enough space for everyone in the classroom to feel comfortable; the teacher's podium wasn't even within their reach. I remember that day, my mother was wearing a low-cut dress, revealing a patch of her fair skin. Perhaps she was a little irritable from the hot weather; that class was just a simple handout of test papers. My mother was grading the previous papers at the podium. Perhaps she was tired, she stood up. Because it was a multimedia podium, much higher than a traditional one, she naturally rested her forearms on it and bent over to scan the students below. With that bend, her beautiful breasts were pressed together, a cleavage almost spilling out, and the sweat dripping from her breasts due to the heat made it an ultimate temptation. The boys below, including me, heard my mother stand up and looked up. Upon seeing it, I instinctively looked down again, then stealthily glanced at her cleavage. My mother herself hadn't expected that her chest would become such a striking sight. She maintained this position for about five minutes before sitting down again to resume grading papers.
After class, I overheard a few boys whispering at the back of the classroom about what had happened during the lesson. Thinking back, I suddenly wondered what bra size my mother had? B or C? I had no idea; I simply thought it was probably C, without any basis in fact. Lost in these thoughts, I drifted off to sleep.
The next day, my mother got up very early and helped prepare breakfast in the kitchen. She didn't dress up that day, just wore very light makeup. Today's plan was to visit my maternal grandfather's grave in the countryside to pray for my success in the college entrance exam.
After breakfast, my uncle drove my aunt and me to the countryside.
On the way, we inevitably chatted about various things. My aunt asked me, "Jie, are you going to apply to Tsinghua or Peking University? What do you want to study?" I had to be modest, "I haven't decided what to study yet, and besides, I need to be able to get in." My aunt said, "I've heard that based on past results, your city gets at least 10 students into Peking and Tsinghua every year, and often more. You're in the top ten in the city, so it's practically guaranteed." My mother said, "Don't try to convince him. Many people underperform in the college entrance exam; don't think everything is a sure thing." My uncle said, "My nephew definitely won't. I've never seen anyone who studies so well yet doesn't seem like a bookworm. Anyway, I don't believe he'll underperform." I listened without saying anything. I felt that saying anything now was pointless. I'd heard stories of high-achieving students who failed their college entrance exams. I couldn't guarantee I wouldn't either. After all, for most people, the college entrance exam only happens once in a lifetime. Without being there, I'd never know what my mindset would be.
My uncle brought up Grandpa's grave again. Since everyone lives in the city now and doesn't have time to tend to it, they've asked a villager to add soil and weeds to the grave occasionally. My uncle said, "That old Wang originally agreed to give us 1000 yuan a year, but this year something went wrong. It's like he thinks we're rich; he insisted on raising it by another 1000." My mother said, "What's the point? It's not like he has to go every month or every day, and nobody even knows if he went." My aunt chimed in, "That's right. Last time we went to the grave for Qingming Festival, it looked like a deserted grave. If you ask me, we shouldn't give him that 1000 yuan; it's a waste." My uncle said, "You can't say that..." Listening to them talk about social customs, I gazed out the window. I had no plans for my future. Perhaps many years later, I'll be chatting about everyday things like this too.
After the car arrived, we still had to get out and walk for about 20 minutes. Standing at the grave, I remembered how my mother often threatened to hit me when I was little. It was always my maternal grandfather who protected me. My grandparents, after all, weren't blood relatives with my mother, so they couldn't intervene when she hit me. They would only stop her after I'd been hit several times, saying, "That's enough, that the child knows she's wrong." My grandfather was different. When he was around, he had the authority he'd built up over my mother. He would unhesitatingly pick me up and say, "Hongyu, why are you being so harsh with the child? Did I ever hit you like that when you were little? You're all grown up now
, aren't you?" My mother was really angry. After my grandfather said that, she was even angrier, but she couldn't retaliate. Looking back now, I realize it was because my grandfather crossed my mother's line. In my mother's eyes, she belonged to her own class, high and mighty, her authority unassailable. But in my grandfather's eyes, both my mother and I were children, children he loved. His words made my mother feel like she was on the same level as me, which was unacceptable to her. My mother's parenting style was based on an innate hierarchical suppression; there was no need to reason with you, because I was older, and you had to listen to me.
If this advantage no longer exists, then Mom is no longer Mom. What is she then? She has lost herself. So I don't blame Mom for being even angrier, her eyes filled with fury. If Mom compromises, she will no longer be the proud Mom I knew. That pride was Mom's faith.
The wind was blowing that day, the sky was overcast, and it felt like it would rain soon.
Mom cried loudly at the grave. I stood beside her, stroking her back. I didn't know how to comfort her, so I just let her cry for a while.
My uncle and aunt were cutting the weeds on the grave with sickles, and I started burning paper money. Mom's crying subsided as she burned the paper money one sheet at a time, saying, "Dad, you always loved Jie Jie the most. Please bless him so he can get good grades this year."
"I don't ask for top marks, just a normal performance." He patted me on the shoulder after saying that, "You should also ask your grandfather for blessings." I thought for a moment and said, "Grandpa, please bless me to perform normally this year." My uncle teased from the side, "You're so good, your grandfather will definitely have wasted his time this year." My grandfather loved playing chess, and this time, we specially burned a cardboard chessboard and pieces.
He wasn't buried in the ancestral graveyard, but on a mountain opposite, according to his will. It's said that because he married into the family, he harbored a deep-seated resentment towards them. After paying respects to my grandfather, we also visited the ancestral graveyard, asking our ancestors to bless me with success. Strictly speaking, I don't think I'm a descendant of the Zhang family… these ancestors probably don't recognize me.
That night, back home, my mother and I slept in the same bed again.
After turning off the lights, this time my mother didn't go to sleep immediately, but asked me about my studies. My mother asked me, "Teacher Yue once told me that you and Shuya are getting very close, which seems a bit unusual. I've also observed that you two do have a good relationship. I don't mean anything by it, I just remembered and wanted to ask you." Teacher Yue is our homeroom teacher, and a very capable woman. I protested, "Mom, you're overthinking it. We're just ordinary classmates, friends. I'll be more careful in the future." "I'm not just making things up, after all, there are only four months left until the college entrance exam, and we can't afford any mistakes, you know?" I nodded, "Yes, I know." "Have you had any problems with your studies lately? You didn't do well on the English exam this time, otherwise you would have had a chance to compete for first place." My mother's face was very close to mine. The weather, which had been gloomy during the day, suddenly cleared up at night, revealing a bright moon. The curtains weren't drawn, and the moonlight shone in, falling directly on my mother's face.
"Nothing's wrong..." I said, feeling my mother's breath. Her breath hit my face, and for a moment I was lost in thought.
"What's wrong?" my mother asked.
"No, no... I didn't do well on the English reading this time. There were a few words I didn't know, so I misunderstood them. I might not be able to do them next time. It's all luck." "What luck? I've made you memorize words countless times. You just don't listen. I'll make a plan for you when we get back." "Okay. Got it." "Don't think about so much during the New Year. Go to sleep."
"Okay."
After saying that, Mom adjusted her sleeping position, turning face up. I turned to my side with my back to Mom, looking at the moon outside, and suddenly thought, if only the moonlight were brighter. Mom turned to face me, and I slowly turned over to look at her face. In the moonlight, Mom's face wasn't very clear. The interplay of light and shadow concealed the wrinkles left by time, illuminating her charming eyebrows, delicate nose, and small lips. I've never looked at Mom's face so intently before. Was it admiration? Or something else? I don't know.
I defended myself, saying it's like when you see a beautiful woman on the street, you can't help but glance at her a few more times, it's no big deal. I stopped looking at my mother and immediately turned over, my back to her. My mother muttered softly, "What are you doing? Go to sleep." I thought my mother knew I had been staring at her, so I didn't dare move again and obediently went to sleep. ( ) The holiday wasn't long, and the teachers gave out many test papers and exercise books. I got up very early the next day and focused on doing some of the test papers.
My aunt brought breakfast to my room and muttered, "If only your cousin were half as diligent as you." My mother was at the door, and hearing such an ordinary sentence, she felt immense relief and a huge sense of vanity. When people get old, they don't become without desires; instead, they start pursuing things they used to think were worthless or even disgusting.
Because there were so many test papers and exercise books, with my mother, a teacher, there, and with my own self-discipline, I basically didn't consider cheating. So that day, I didn't go out with my mother and aunt to buy New Year's goods, but instead focused on doing my homework at home all day. When I got tired of writing, I lay in bed and played on my phone. I usually just read the news; I prefer international news to broaden my horizons. I came across a news story about an American female teacher having sex with a student, and for some reason, my mother's image immediately popped into my mind. It was a simple news story, but I read it with my heart pounding. I didn't dare think too much, so I closed the news and read a few more. Then I saw a famous film critic's blog, the cover of which was a very seductive picture of a beautiful woman. I clicked on it. The blogger had written a review of an erotic film. This film told the story of several teenagers going astray, their curiosity about sex leading them to engage in frenzied sex, and the protagonist's promiscuous mother also experiencing a midlife crisis. The film's climax ended with incest between mother and son. The blogger used brilliant language, deliberately embellishing the story, and commenting on how incredibly relevant the final incestuous scene was, how it fully expressed certain emotions, and how it reflected certain social problems. I didn't remember a single word after reading it; only one question remained in my mind: Why would there be incest between mother and son?
I got out of bed and sat at my desk, trying to concentrate on my homework, but my mind was filled with images of my mother, haunting me.
Blog posts kept popping into my head like ghosts, and I got an erection. Over the years, it's not that I haven't had sexual urges, but I subconsciously considered it wrong and tried to avoid it. I mainly relied on nocturnal emissions to resolve my sexual needs. I spent a long time lost in thought, and I hadn't even finished the multiple-choice questions on my math test.
That night, when my mother was lying on her side facing me, I cautiously moved my arm to touch her breasts. I had no morals; my actions were purely driven by instinct.
Even through her pajamas and bra, the firm, soft touch still excited me. If I remember correctly, the last time I touched my mother's breasts was when I was 18. We had a gathering at a relative's house, and because I stayed up late, I fell asleep first. When we got home, my mother carried me upstairs. I woke up from the shaking, and my hand brushed against my mother's breast. The soft touch made me want to touch it.
At first, my mother didn't know I was awake. When I touched it, she paused noticeably, and I instinctively let go. As she walked away, I boldly touched her breasts again. She continued walking, and this leniency emboldened me. The wonderful feel made me place both hands on her breasts simultaneously.
My mother coldly scolded, "You're so old, still touching breasts? Aren't you ashamed? Let go!" I was terrified and withdrew my hands, too afraid to speak.
Thinking back to this unforgettable experience, looking at my sleeping mother, I tried several times to muster the courage to touch her breasts, but each time I failed. I couldn't overcome that mental hurdle.
On New Year's Eve, due to my usual habit, I barely managed to stay awake until midnight. I was so tired that I lay down on the bed and fell asleep, forgetting to turn off the light. I don't know how much time passed, but I heard a slight noise in my sleep and opened my eyes as if by some strange impulse. What I saw was a scene I'll never forget. My mother, perhaps thinking I was fast asleep, changed her pajamas under the light, taking off all her clothes until she was only wearing a white bra and white panties. She was facing the mirror in the wardrobe, seemingly admiring her figure, and sighed softly.
Why was she sighing? I couldn't help but wonder. My mother's skin was as fair as ever. Although time had left its mark, and she had inevitably gained some weight, her original figure was still there. My mother was 1.71 meters tall, and although her figure was fuller, her height supported it, and the extra weight didn't look unattractive; instead, it added to her mature charm.
Her buttocks were more pert and rounder, and her beautiful breasts were almost overflowing from her bra.
My mother ran her hands over her waist, slowly lifting her breasts upwards, gently raising and lowering them repeatedly. I was stunned by the elasticity and firmness she maintained at her age. She seemed to be smiling with pride, until she was completely satisfied before taking out her pajamas from the closet and putting them on. I closed my eyes, afraid of being discovered, until my mother turned off the light and lay down on the bed. Only then did I dare to open my eyes, recovering from the sensual scene I had just witnessed.
I desperately wanted to touch those beautiful breasts. But I didn't dare. I waited for Mom to fall asleep, but this time she kept her back to me, leaving me helpless. I didn't dare turn her over; a huge desire was urging me on. I didn't want to think too much; I just wanted to follow my instincts. I don't know how long I waited, but Mom wouldn't turn over. I held my breath and fell asleep, feeling resentful.
On New Year's Day, my mind was filled with thoughts of those untouched breasts. All day, I kept glancing at Mom's chest, a voice inside me urging, "Touch it, touch it, just touch it!"
I finally made it to night, almost completely exhausted.
This was also the last night I would sleep in the same bed with Mom, because we were flying back the next day. I had to seize the opportunity.
This time, I lay in bed early, pretending to sleep, hoping to witness the beautiful scene from last night again. But this time, I was greatly disappointed. The first thing Mom did when she came in was to quietly scold, "Why did you forget to turn off the light again?" Then she turned it off.
I panicked immediately. I could hear my mother changing clothes, but everything was dark before my eyes; I couldn't see anything clearly. After a while, my mother lifted the covers and came in.
[The End]

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