My mother and I have a past we'd rather forget.

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

My mother and I have a past I find hard to recall. I never imagined there were so many like-minded people in the world—fond of incestuous literature. But I'm ashamed to say I wasn't as lucky as everyone else; my mother and I have a past I ca
n't bear to look back on. We lived in the countryside, and our family was poor. I don't know what charm my father possessed that allowed him to marry my beautiful and gentle mother. In my memory, my mother was simply stunning: tall, with a fair complexion (rare in the countryside), a soft voice, and especially her breasts. Although she had given birth, time hadn't left many marks on them; they remained firm and full. When she carried loads, her breasts swayed, making many men, including myself, unbearably aroused. I secretly observed that they required at least two hands to touch. It's a pity that people in the countryside didn't wear bras back then, otherwise they would have been large (extra large).
Perhaps it was a man's instinct, but I had a vague liking for my mother since I was little. Sometimes I would use a sweet excuse to sleep with her, but I never did anything inappropriate. I remember when I was eight or nine, my mother was breastfeeding my younger sister, and I watched intently, a longing look on my face. My mother smiled and said, "You're all grown up now, still want to eat?" I had no choice but to walk away, but my mother's mature figure was deeply imprinted in my heart. My mother didn't seem to have any inhibitions; she often wore loose underwear and a vest in front of us. In the summer, when it was breezy, we could vaguely see her large breasts without a bra. When she sat on the sofa reading newspapers or watching TV, I would always make excuses to drop a pen or go to the toilet to peek at her private parts, but unfortunately, I didn't see anything. A few times, I only saw her pubic hair slightly exposed. What was even more unbearable was that she often urinated in the nearby toilet without caring about our presence. A few times, I even saw her undo her menstrual belt to change something, but I was too timid to look directly at her. This situation continued until I was in the second year of junior high school.
That summer was particularly hot, and it coincided with the busy double harvest season in agriculture. The adults, exhausted from a long day's work, went to bed early. Although I was also very tired... For some reason, I couldn't fall asleep, tossing and turning in bed. I felt like I had inexhaustible energy. Maybe it was puberty, or maybe it was because I had just started studying physiology and hygiene. Suddenly, I had an urge. I tiptoed into my mother's room (my father is a night owl), and gently lifted a corner of the mosquito net. I saw my mother wearing loose underwear and a vest. The vest had been pulled up halfway in her sleep, revealing half of her breast. Her thighs were wide open and slightly bent. She was snoring softly. The fan was blowing from the side, and as the underwear was moved, I could see a little bit of dark, curly pubic hair and the fat around it. I couldn't stand it! I really wanted to pounce on her, but I didn't dare. My outstretched hand trembled and withdrew. I went back to bed feeling sullen. This happened for several days in a row, and I didn't know what to do. My mother didn't notice anything unusual about me and continued to do her chores and sleep as usual (still wearing loose underwear and a vest). One night, I actually reached out and slowly pulled down my mother's underwear. And there it was—as the underwear was pulled down little by little, I saw the sacred place I had longed for day and night—lush pubic hair, a full vulva, and a swollen, dark "bean" on the vulva…it really looked just like in the textbook. As I continued pulling down the underwear, my mother jumped up and said in a low voice, "Grandson, (I'm the eldest son), I'm your own mother! How can you do this to your ancestors?!"
I stood there dumbfounded, speechless. My mother asked again, "Did something happen at school? Who do you usually play with?"
"Nothing. I was thinking…" Just then, the door opened. I quickly went to open it. "Why aren't you asleep yet?" my father asked as soon as he entered.
"I was discussing something with Grandson; he's starting school soon," my mother said, appearing out of nowhere to smooth things over. We said goodnight to each other and went to sleep.
The next day, I slept until late morning. Normally, my mother would have already made me get up to do chores. For several days, I didn't talk much to my mother. Fortunately, the harvest season ended a few days later, and I went back to school for extra classes.
Since that incident, I noticed that my mother dressed much more seriously, even wearing long pants to bed. The chances for me were slim.
As a farm boy, for the sake of my future and livelihood, I could only study hard and got into the city's top high school with excellent grades. Seeing me studying like this, my mother seemed to have forgotten about the incident. She went back to wearing loose underwear and a vest to bed. But then something happened during the summer of my second year of high school, which I now find unbearable to recall!
Strangely enough, that summer was also particularly hot. After the harvest season ended, school hadn't started extra classes yet, so I stayed home. One night, I went into my mother's room to get some hot water and glanced at her sleeping soundly (I saw her fair thighs). My father was a night owl again, and his long-dormant desires were rekindled. I asked softly, "Mom, is there any hot water?" She didn't answer. I was overjoyed and secretly climbed onto the bed, kneeling beside her thighs, my head hovering over her private parts, my hands carefully pulling down her panties... When I had pulled them down most of the way, Mom opened her sleepy eyes—such a complex look: anger, surprise, disappointment... She said in a low voice, "What a terrible thing to do! What a disgrace!" Her tone was full of resentment. I don't know where I got the courage, but I suddenly hugged Mom and whispered, "Mom, teach me..." "Teach me what? You'll know when you're older!" Perhaps Mom noticed that I was hugging her tighter and tighter, she pushed me away, and I fell off the bed. "Don't think such things, the hope of the whole family, the whole clan..."
My mind went blank, and I went back to my room to sleep dejectedly. I heard Mom let out a long sigh, a sigh I can never forget—resentful, long, heavy, like a hammer hitting my heart with pain.
The next day, I made an excuse to go back to school early and left home. From then on, I never went home for holidays or summer and winter vacations, and I asked people from the same village to bring me whatever I needed. Whenever my father asked, I would make excuses about being too busy with my studies; I never spoke to my mother proactively, and even if she did, I was absent-minded and would only say a few words before stopping.
After all the hardship, I was admitted to a prestigious university in the north, known as the "direct descendant of ***," with the highest score in the city. My whole family and village were overjoyed. After attending the award ceremony organized by my alma mater, I reluctantly returned home. My mother was very excited to see me and looked me over carefully. Seeing her smiling face, I was filled with mixed emotions. As usual, we held ancestral worship at home, set up a few tables for a feast, and then I set off north.
During my first winter break from university, I was fighting with my younger sister, who had just started junior high, over a game console. I pushed her onto the bed, and we were in a position like a couple having sex. I yelled, "Give me back my game console!" "Brother, you're so mean! You're bullying me like Dad bullies Mom! So mean! So mean!..." Those words were like a thunderclap. "Dad bullies Mom?" "Bullys Mom?" I murmured, forgetting about the game console. So much pain and fear surged into my heart. The look in my mother's eyes that night during my second year of high school was so painful and frightening. I went back to my room and sat there, lost in thought. That winter break seemed incredibly long!
For some reason, I never went home again, not even during winter and summer breaks. Whenever my dad asked (the school had started installing telephones), I'd say I was working to help support the family. My dad even praised me for being sensible—but he had no idea what I was thinking!
I've been working in another province for four years since graduation, and I only went back home for the first Spring Festival after starting work. I didn't talk to my mother much then, but recently she's started calling more often after learning how to use the phone. The last thing she calls is when I'm going to find a girlfriend and when I'm getting married; her concern is palpable.
It's funny, I have absolutely no dating experience. For some reason, my evaluation of a girl is based on my mother's standards—gentle, understanding, and big breasts (funny, right?). How can my mother possibly understand this?
The painful past only provides me with some solace in reading incest novels. Some incest novels start with a passionate encounter, with extreme descriptions of sexual acts. These novels are no different from regular pornography, just with different perspectives, and they don't interest me at all. I prefer a style that is sincere and develops feelings slowly. That's why I like stories like "Divine Retribution," "My Secret Story with My Mother," "My Mother's Pajamas," "Ten Years of Adultery with My Mother," and "My First Time with My Mother in 50 Years." Seeing so many articles from everyone, I can't just read without saying anything, so I'll share my personal experience with you all.

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