"Sex Between Mother and Son" from "A History of Human Customs and Morals"

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"A History of 　　Human Customs 　　and Morals: Sex Between Mother and Son" 　　by Undying Bird
(Please do not plagiarize my 　　original 　　work 　　) 　　****************
... When the troubling word "incest" 　　appears repeatedly, we must have a clear understanding of it. 　　Remember, it's "clear understanding," not "sober understanding," because neither morality nor law 　　can forcibly prevent it. We can only "clearly" know what it's about, not "soberly" despise it morally 　　—after all, the taboo against incest isn't ultimately a product of morality, and who can be certain 　　that close relatives won't experience a strong attraction? 　　I will begin to tell this lengthy story, using the changing ages of the mother and child to reflect how it all 　　unfolded. 　　[Sex is Everywhere] 　　More than twenty years ago, after Mom and Dad signed a contract, they officially became a legal couple 　　. In other words, both parties gained the legally recognized right to engage in sexual intercourse. Mom and Dad could 　　have "legally protected" intercourse and have children. Conversely, 　　any sexual activity between men and women that doesn't complete this process is "self-inflicted." 　　That year, my mother was about 25 years old. A year later, I came into the world (ironically, we are still 　　very curious about the specific process of our arrival, but that is not something we can know). 　　Ten months of pregnancy, one day of childbirth—I lived in my mother's warm belly for ten months. It 　　was during that time that my male genitals developed and tightly embraced my mother's tender uterus; it was truly a happy and blissful time. Finally 　　, amidst my mother's screams and struggles, I left this comfortable paradise, crossed the extremely swollen vagina, and was 　　born with a cry. 　　If we consider the contact between male and female genitals as sexual intercourse, then during the time of my son's birth, he had already 　　engaged in sexual activity with his mother. But neither my father nor my mother thought that way. They only knew 　　that they had the continuation of life, but they never thought that in the process of this new life's emergence, the mother actually 　　had sexual contact with "two" men, not "one." 　　The arrival of the new life brought joy and trouble. The young father had to work twice as hard to feed 　　his wife and son, while my mother stayed at home with me, the infant. 　　I often cried loudly because of hunger, and my mother would take off her top to breastfeed me. At this time, her breasts 　　were at their largest, soft and firm. She gently held me in her arms, bringing her large, white breasts to my 　　mouth. I eagerly took her swollen nipple into my mouth, greedily sucking the sweet milk, the 　　ultimate delicacy for an infant, fresh and delicious. 　　My mother smiled at me like a saint, looking at her crying son in her arms, gently stroking me. I also reached out my 　　delicate little hands, constantly touching those beautiful mounds of flesh. We always have such respect, praise 　　, appreciation, and longing for women's breasts, because they are a treasure bestowed upon women by the Creator to nurture humanity, so great and so 　　alluring. A man's liking to look at a woman's breasts may not be considered impolite, but rather an uncontrollable impulse in the face of life 　　, and a yearning for motherhood. 　　This is a wonderful time no less than being in the womb; I can fully enjoy my mother's sweet, full breasts 　　—they are mine, and no one can take them away. Of course, Dad and Mom would also do what they wanted at night 　　. Perhaps Dad also desired Mom's breasts. When they were together, Dad would always 　　suckle Mom's nipple with all his might. 　　Often, Mom would scold Dad, "Don't be so crazy! You'll drink all the milk, what 　　will happen to our son?" 　　Dad would laugh and say, "It's okay, I'll only drink what our son leaves behind." 　　Mom would blush, hug me shyly, and say, "We won't give it to him, right, son? Mom's milk is only 　　for you." 　　Dad would then laugh heartily. 　　This is an important detail that we cannot easily overlook: both the father and the young son 　　are possessive of the mother's breasts. This can be seen in the father kissing the mother's breasts during intercourse and 　　the infant's longing for the mother's nipple. What does the possessiveness of the father and son towards the mother's breasts signify? For the son 　　, is it merely a need for breastfeeding or a male's need for a woman? I have no way of knowing, nor do I want to delve 　　deeper, otherwise those extreme "moralists" would make me a pariah. 　　At that time, I was a baby boy, and my mother put me in my own little crib. But I would always 　　cry loudly at night because I was hungry or wet the bed, disturbing their peace. My mother had no choice but to let the three of us 　　sleep together, and I would lie "between my father and mother." But even that wasn't enough for me, so I 　　would often poop and pee at the same time. And because I was often snuggled in my mother's arms, my poop would end up 　　on my father. 　　"What a naughty little thing!" my father would complain angrily, and he would have to take the clothes covered in my excrement 　　to wash. This way, I could lean against my mother's soft arms and fall asleep contentedly in her gentle maternal embrace 　　. Thus, because my father anticipated being attacked by my poop at any time, 　　he kept his distance from my bottom and also from my mother; I finally relied on the unique ability of a baby to enjoy my mother 　　's love all by myself. 　　During this period, my arrival not only reduced my father and mother's sex life, but also made my mother give birth...

Her delicate body meant she had to stay home with me for long periods. My father
was very busy with work to support three people, meaning my mother's hormones were likely to take effect when he wasn't home.
A woman's breasts are her erogenous zones, and when my mother breastfed me, my little mouth diligently
sucked every part of her nipple—a stark contrast to my father's sucking, where men would never
suckle so carefully and for so long. I think at that moment, my mother wasn't just breastfeeding, but also enjoying
the sexual stimulation from her breasts from her child. It was a very subtle feeling, known only to the mother herself
, a blissful experience of this "hidden and subtle" sexual pleasure while feeding her child.
Time flies, and six years have passed in the blink of an eye. I am six, and my mother is 32. As mentioned above, my mother has always treated me like a baby in her arms, showering me with love and care. My father, at this time, 　　has been away from home for many years
due to work , just as he was when I was a baby.
I'm certain that my mother
's sexual needs were very strong at the time, and I can give a few examples to prove it.
1. Although children think that six years old is already an "adult," I still needed my mother to bathe me
, otherwise I would never get those parts that needed cleaning clean.
My mother put me in a wooden tub, rubbed soap on me, and also cleaned my genitals. A boy's genitals are, after
all, male physiological characteristics. When a mother touches them, even if the son doesn't feel any discomfort,
does the mother necessarily feel nothing at all? I still remember the scene of my mother wiping my whole body with a towel; she always
looked at me with infinite tenderness.
It is well known that boys like to play with their own genitals; Freud called this "earliest
sexual desire." When I touched my own genitals, my mother would scold me repeatedly, "Don't play with your little penis!
You'll get sick!"
Why could my mother touch my genitals so casually, yet be so disgusted by me playing with my "little
penis"? I think this is very likely because the mother wants
to obtain sexual satisfaction from her son without him being aware of "sex" —this can prevent him from "going astray" and also make her feel at
ease—this deep-seated mentality is hard to understand.
2. My mother and I often play together on the bed during the day.
I can't remember exactly what we played, but one thing I do remember is that my mother liked to
kiss my cheeks and little mouth affectionately while playing with me. My mother would hug me and say affectionately, "Little rascal, come here, give
Mommy a kiss." I would immediately pout and kiss my mother's cheek. My mother would then say, "Good baby, give me a
kiss." Mother and son would happily kiss.
At this time, I would always ride on my mother's belly, excitedly shouting, "Giddy up! Horse, run faster!"
My mother would laugh and say, "Little one, you're making Mommy breathless!" My mother had no reservations about kissing me; in her eyes, I was just an ignorant child, and kissing was 　　a loving expression between
mother and son .
But who can prove that when my mother kissed me passionately, there wasn't a sexual expression involved?
I was a child, and also a male; kissing can have many meanings, expressing affection while simultaneously providing sexual
satisfaction.
[The Emergence of the Oedipus Complex]
I don't remember the specific details here; I'll only describe the process and
the state of affairs within a particular environment. Regarding the "Oedipus complex," I think it likely emerged during my childhood,
during moments of solitude and intimate contact with my mother. Once this complex arose, it was difficult to shake off because the emotions involved were so deep
and complex; it was hard to define whether it was familial love, attachment, romantic love, or sexual desire.
Six years later, I was 12 years old, and my male hormones were gradually developing. So at this time
, perhaps while still deeply attached to my mother, I also experienced a male's attraction to mature women and sexual urges.
My mother was 38 years old at this time, and in my eyes, she was incredibly sexy and beautiful: she wasn't tall, about
157 cm, and had a slightly plump figure with a dignified and clear face; her eyes were large and gentle, and her lips were full; her
earlobes had always been my favorite feature since childhood—small, delicate, and incredibly tender; her breasts
were no longer as large as before, her slender waist had gradually become fuller, and her thighs and hips were quite plump.
You can see from this description that I had already learned to carefully observe my mother's body, which
was fundamentally different from my childhood: a child only knows that their mother is kind and gentle, while a teenager, building upon that foundation, has developed
a vague understanding of "sex."
For a while, I could still sleep with my mother. In my dreams, I was still like a child
, tightly hugging my mother's neck. This seemed to make my mother very proud; she often happily told her friends about me:
"My precious son is closest to me; he always hugs me tightly at night." My mother believed that I was still
the same as when I was born, simply an attachment to the mother's body.
I had the same feeling then, but didn't feel uncomfortable. But one time, I suddenly felt that
my mother beside me was also a woman, a thought that surprised and excited me greatly. Involuntarily, I reached out and hugged
her, gently stroking her breasts. This unconscious act made me breathless with tension,
yet also incredibly happy.
I pressed my body against her back, resting my head on her shoulder, feeling warm and gentle, and quickly
fell asleep. In her sleep, my mother gently pushed my hand away, murmuring, "This child never grows up, still wants to
nurse!" This behavior was a mixture of sexual attraction and the attachment of a former child.
Another time, I woke up hazily in the early morning and stroked my mother beside me. It was early autumn; my mother was wearing a
vest, her skin was very delicate, her fair and full arms were clearly visible, and a wisp of downy hair peeked out from under her armpits;
her face was delicate and full, and her sexy neck and breasts were clearly visible. I was overjoyed and hugged
my mother tightly, stroking her plump, smooth arms, then holding her neck and resting my head on her
chin.
In my sleep, my mother unconsciously reached out to stroke me, pulling me close to her waist, so we were face to face.
Her heavy breathing in her sleep filled me with excitement, almost making me want to jump like a child again.
I kissed her lips.
I lay on my side, one leg draped over my mother's well-defined hip, a possessive
desire for her body filling my mind. My penis quickly became erect, brushing against her lower abdomen several times.
I pressed my face closer to hers, my forehead against her lips, and she unconsciously
hugged me tighter, pressing her full cheek against mine. I was so happy I almost cried out. I could estimate that
my lips were only a few centimeters away from hers, and I really wanted to kiss her tender lips. But I didn't dare. I could only hold
her soft waist and caress her small earlobe.
I didn't dare kiss her like I used to, which showed that while I had developed a sensual awareness, I also had mental
self-restraint.
I remembered that in the year or two before I turned twelve, I would pull hard on my mother's nightgown in my sleep,
trying to grab her breasts; but now I didn't dare kiss her. I think this is related to my mother gradually becoming aware of my sexual maturity
. She must have realized that her son had developed at least some sexual feelings and was no longer the ignorant child he once was
. Therefore, my mother consciously kept her distance from me in certain aspects, making me feel her
rejection of my "expressions of affection," which explains my timidity.
There's another point I almost overlooked, but if we assume this incident hadn't happened,
it might have greatly diminished my desire to possess my mother.
I still clearly remember when I was only a few years old, I accidentally witnessed my parents playing around in bed
. It seemed like a joke, but it also felt quite sexually stimulating. To be precise, because my parents
neglected their child's presence and engaged in something akin to intercourse in front of him, I
developed a desire to have my mother's body like my father did. The long periods of solitude between mother and son further
reinforced this desire.
We should not underestimate children's judgment. They can understand the world with keen eyes and rich emotions
, which is far superior to explaining the world with language—because many things and many scenes cannot
be expressed in words. The truths that children experience in their hearts, truths they cannot clearly articulate themselves, we
adults may never discover. Generally speaking, during this period, my 　　mother rejected
my intimate behavior (or perhaps "teasing" would be more accurate). I felt a mixture of fear, excitement, and desire. 　　Finally, I realized that I was no longer the child I once was. If I tried to 　　obtain sexual satisfaction through the way a child expresses intimacy to their mother, I was mistaken—my mother certainly felt the sexual satisfaction I gave her (this 　　could be seen from her reaction to my caresses in her sleep), but she wouldn't willingly accept my 　　blatant sexual advances. 　　※In the above text, my frequent use of the word "sex" is solely based on my feelings and judgments 　　, and may not be entirely appropriate, but it is supported by ample theory and examples. Moralists often 　　vehemently criticize views like mine, accusing them of being "filthy, vulgar, and desecrating the pure bond between mother and child." However, 　　sex does not preclude genuine emotions. There are many ways to express emotions, and sex is 　　one of them. Moreover, sex and emotion are often inseparable: 　　1. Let's discuss the affair between Ximen Qing and Pan Jinlian in *Water Margin*. 　　Could a man and woman so infatuated with sex not harbor any feelings of love? Pan Jinlian's 　　marriage to Wu Dalang was unhappy, so she first hoped for Wu Song, and after being rejected, accepted Ximen Qing's pursuit. Of course, 　　such extramarital affairs are condemned by traditional morality, but who can 　　deny the existence of "emotion" in the pursuit of a man she desires? 　　2. Furthermore, for example, in *The Bridges of Madison County*, the heroine falls in love with the male reporter, and after they fall in love 　　, they have sex. Can you separate "emotion" from "sex" here? 　　Considering these reasons, I summarize the above two parts as "ubiquitous sex" and the resulting 　　"Oedipus complex." Below, I will further describe and 　　analyze the changes in the family's marital breakdown and the emotional bond between mother and son. ※ 　　【Using "Sex" as Revenge; Changes in the Emotional Bond Between Mother and Son】　　We use six years as a timeframe. Six years later, I am 18 years old, and my mother is 44. I have 　　the composure of an adult and richer emotions, while my mother has lost some of her youthful beauty, her face bearing 　　the marks of time, but she has gained a mature charm and an elegant demeanor. 　　In my eyes, my mother is still so beautiful; no woman has ever impressed me like her: 　　she is intelligent, humorous, hardworking, kind, and dignified. In other words, my love for my mother has only increased, but this 　　"love" is different from before: undeniably, I still have some attachment to her, and a lot of sexual 　　attraction, but more importantly, I am deeply captivated by the extraordinary charm of a mature woman. This "love" has undergone 　　a huge change, a result of gradual growth. 　　I no longer openly "professed my love" to my mother as before, but expressed my feelings very subtly 　　; at the same time, I became bolder and no longer afraid of my mother's rejection. 　　Then something very unpleasant happened: my father had an affair (note that from this point on, 　　we changed our address for our fathers from "Dad" to "Father." This change in address signifies that the boy had become 　　a man, no longer having the same attachment to his father, and perhaps even harboring some hostility). 　　I remember my mother once telling me that marriages in her generation were generally not very happy. Due to the Cultural Revolution 　　and the resulting downsizing, many people grew up in the countryside and were unable to return to the city immediately. Their urgent need for sex led many 　　to hastily marry. We can reasonably conclude that marriages based solely on sexual needs are unlikely to have an emotional foundation 　　—which is why we often see couples in their forties divorcing or having extramarital affairs. 　　This example also verifies the relationship between "sex" and "emotion" mentioned earlier; forcibly separating the two 　　will yield no results. Similarly, I do not intend to endorse Plato's concept 　　of love as "fully armored," nor can I accept that my previous sexual advances would have a positive effect. So what, then, is...

"Love"? I doubt we could debate it for a thousand years and still not find an answer, so I don't want to dwell on it.
What I find laughable is that those who have extramarital affairs don't necessarily derive much satisfaction from the affair
. Perhaps initially there's the sexual thrill of tasting forbidden fruit and the excitement of finding "new love," but as time goes on, they
discover that the other person isn't much different from their spouse.
Thus, we see this cycle: marriage – extramarital affair – divorce – remarriage – another
extramarital affair – another divorce… until finally everyone gets fed up and decides to stop doing such a laborious and unprofitable thing.
Isn't that ridiculous? Marriage shouldn't be taken lightly, and once you have a wife (or husband), you should fulfill your responsibilities and not
easily commit adultery; conversely, those who enjoy philandering shouldn't get married,
lest everyone be unhappy.
I've met the woman who was rumored to have had an affair with my father; she was a slutty, fat nouveau riche, utterly
repulsive. Unfortunately, perhaps that was just my father's taste; or perhaps he felt he couldn't
compare to my elegant and proud mother, and thus automatically gave up on her—which is why I repeatedly reminded him: marriage shouldn't be taken lightly
.
My mother argued with my father about this for a long time; her anger and destructive power were so great that even I,
an observer who "didn't participate in the fight," was deeply affected. I saw my mother in so much pain that she banged her head on the ground, and immediately went to
comfort her. My mother leaned sadly on my shoulder, tears streaming down her face, soaking my sleeve. As I comforted my grieving
mother, I cursed my father's despicable behavior and that damned slut in my heart.
I love my mother very much, so I absolutely cannot allow anyone to hurt her. Although, according to Freud
, the father is the son's rival in the competition for the mother, I still wouldn't allow him to be unfaithful to my mother in the slightest
(originally, the son should have been very happy at this time, because he could have the opportunity to have his mother exclusively).
This feeling, which even I couldn't understand, was perfectly normal for a mother and son with
such a deep bond, yet it also resembled the complex emotions of a love triangle.
While comforting my mother, who was sobbing in my arms, I experienced a bittersweet mix of sadness and happiness, all the while
secretly plotting revenge against my father. Taking advantage of a time when neither of my parents was home, I
forced myself on that slut (see my humble work, "The Mature Woman Who Came to My Door").
No one knew that after this act of revenge, that slut never dared to associate with my father again and obediently left
. This was the first time I used sex to get revenge on my father. Later, my mother seemed to know about it,
mentioning it casually, but my furious reaction terrified her into not asking further.
On another occasion, while comforting my mother, I expressed my love for her, passionately kissing her and holding
her tightly in my arms. Mom understood what I meant and pushed me away, saying, "Don't do anything rash! Are you
going to bully me too?"
Looking at the glistening tears on Mom's beautiful face, I almost cried myself: "Mom, I love
you! Why would you rather be bullied by him than accept me?"
Mom angrily slapped me, and seeing my reddened face, she immediately stroked me with heartache and sighed,
"What do you want me to do?"
I hugged Mom again, expressing my apology with deep kisses and caresses. Mom didn't object anymore, obediently
letting me comfort her, leaning against me and sobbing. She nestled gently in my arms, and from her helpless
and loving eyes, I could see she was waiting for me to win her over.
This time, Mom accepted me, but I couldn't bear to have her now. I sighed again, comforted
her a few times, and then stopped forcing her. I understood that Mom hadn't truly accepted me; she was using "sex" to
retaliate against Father, and I had no interest in that kind of "sex."
It's strange, but when our lovers betray us, our first reaction is always to retaliate with sex—just
as when we see our lover having sex with someone else, we feel utterly hopeless.
Sex is selfish, love is selfish.
When what is private is not respected, people will use the same method to compensate themselves and retaliate against others.
[Mother Falls in Love with Son]
Under pressure from my mother and me, my father was forced to back down and break off contact with that woman. My mother and father
also stopped their fighting, and everything returned to normal. But in my opinion, the rift between my mother and father was irreparable
; they could never return to their former intimacy. I was very worried about their superficial harmony; I felt a
suffocating atmosphere in the house, but I was powerless to do anything about it.
Time flew by, and four years passed in the blink of an eye. I was 22, and my mother was 48. My infatuation with my mother
grew stronger every day and never wavered. During this time, my mother seemed to have suddenly regained the charm of a young woman,
becoming radiant. She was still rather plump, but she had completely retained the vibrant spirit of youth.
I was pleasantly surprised by my mother's changes and proud of her youthful spirit.
My father, however, felt increasingly distant from my mother and felt unwelcome, so he focused his attention
on work and socializing.
When I wasn't home, my mother was very lonely; there was no one to talk to. As I grew more independent
, it seemed there were even fewer things for us to discuss. This was something I didn't want to see, and I resolved to try my best
to understand my mother and care for this lonely, charming, and beautiful woman. I've started referring to my mother
as "a woman" here because we're more like adult friends than a simple, childish mother
and son.
I often initiate conversations with her, sharing my thoughts and knowledge, engaging in free-flowing, imaginative discussions. My mother is delighted by my maturity and captivated by my increasingly outstanding demeanor, because I 　　see everything in
the tender gaze she gives me . 　　In my spare time, I would do housework with her while we chatted happily. The harmonious atmosphere was indescribable 　　, and the sentiment was something that those pretentious men and women who constantly talked about "sentiment" but lacked substance could 　　never achieve. What is sentiment? It is a noble and elegant state of mind, a tacit and harmonious pairing. Without spiritual 　　communication and rich inner qualities, it cannot be learned at all; at best, it is just a formalistic 　　imitation that is beautiful on the outside but rotten on the inside.

I happily savored all of this, as if returning to the innocent joy of my childhood. My mother was also very intelligent;
she not only listened but also offered guidance. This made me even more captivated—of all
the girls and women I had ever known, none understood me or offered such guidance as my mother. Her
charm was unparalleled! What reason did I have not to love such a woman?
Gradually, my mother developed a kind of spiritual dependence on me. I often noticed her slightly lowering her head,
gazing at me with dreamy eyes, as if I were her whole life.
A sweet smile played on her face, barely perceptible, like
the shyness and tenderness of a young girl in first love facing her lover. At this moment, I would deliberately stop, laughing and saying, "Mom, what are you laughing at?"
My mother would then realize she was completely engrossed, blushing and quickly saying, "Nothing! Please continue
." I would look at her with a sly gaze, revealing a knowing and warm smile, and continue explaining my views and
doing my chores. My mother would involuntarily stop again, casting me tender glances, her bright eyes seemingly
glued to me.
This was a woman's reliance on and devotion to a man; I can express this feeling so clearly
. Because of my care, thoughtfulness, and growing maturity, my mother finally experienced a completely new kind of enjoyment
. How intoxicating this was compared to her past foolish courtship!
My meticulous care in daily life and my continuous spiritual growth made my mother feel that she had gained
a man's protection and care, which is the most important pillar for a woman.
Deep within every woman's mind lies a dependence on a man and a desire for protection and attention. When she feels that the man beside her
treats her in this way, she will offer him sincere gratitude and even all her love.
My care for my mother doesn't make me expect anything in return; I just want to savor this fleeting moment of beauty—but honestly, if my mother truly gave me everything, I would be very excited 　　to accept her love
now . 　　Once, I was standing on the balcony, lost in thought, when my mother appeared before me. She 　　hugged me from behind, resting her head on my shoulder, and gently chuckled, asking, "Silly boy, what are you daydreaming about?" 　　I felt an overwhelming tenderness, and my breath quickened involuntarily. I took her hands and 　　kissed them deeply, then turned and pulled her close, my arms around her soft shoulders. My body was hot; such intimate 　　contact had become rare. 　　I kissed her cheeks and earlobes; she flinched slightly, giggling and playfully scolding me, "Still so naughty 　　!" 　　Looking at her shy expression, a strong desire surged through me, making me almost unable to control myself. I 　　wanted to become one with her right then and there! Because I loved her so much! 　　I pulled her closer with my arms, my hand inadvertently brushing against her armpit, feeling her 　　full, soft breasts. My mother didn't move, continuing her gentle conversation. I released her, took her 　　hands in mine, and gazed at her once more. My mother's smile is the most beautiful flower in the world. I, captivated by it all, didn't want to shatter this pure and beautiful 　　scene, so I tried hard to suppress the rising flames of desire within me. 　　My mother asked softly, "What are you looking at? Silly boy? Don't you recognize your mother?" 　　I said earnestly, "Mom, you're so beautiful! If you went for beauty treatments and health maintenance regularly, no one would guess you 　　're almost 50." 　　My mother happily chided me, "You naughty boy, such a sweet tongue! When did you learn to fawn over your mother 　　?" I was telling the truth, and my mother laughed heartily. 　　Although I didn't take the initiative, I was certain of my mother's affection for me. I often stared intently at my mother 　　's beautiful and captivating figure, admiring her repeatedly. She attracted me like a goddess; and she always looked at 　　me with tender affection, her ever-present glances touching my heart. I never imagined that one day I would actually win 　　my mother's love; something I never even dreamed of before. 　　Our mutual care, understanding, and tacit agreement laid a solid foundation for us. All that was needed was 　　the alluring and exciting stimulant of sex to ignite it, and then everything fell into place. 　　My gaze towards my mother grew increasingly intense. She seemed to sense it, appearing somewhat uncomfortable, yet 　　also quite satisfied. Perhaps she was proud of attracting her young son, and even more so, she felt 　　deeply captivated by his elegant and handsome appearance—a two-way connection. Driven by the gradually arousing sexual desire, our two interdependent hearts became both tense and excited, both fearful and yearning, filled with 　　fantasies and anticipation 　　about what was to come . 　　I noticed my mother's clothes becoming increasingly glamorous; she was dressing for me, enjoying the 　　passive feeling of being stared at by my fiery gaze. There was a touch of "visual rape" in it; my mother probably enjoyed 　　this feeling of being "forced" by her beloved son, contentedly waiting for me to take her. 　　On a cool, mild autumn day, after noon, Mom changed her clothes: she wore a cream-colored 　　embroidered short-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of short, fitted casual pants. Her short, ear-length hair looked exceptionally delicate 　　and fresh after washing. 　　Mom went to the balcony, and I quietly came up behind her, gently embracing her full waist and kissing her neck 　　. Mom didn't resist at all; instead, she slowly rested her head and body against my chest. I noticed Mom closed 　　her eyes, smiling as she let me caress her. My heart pounded wildly, and my hands gradually wandered to Mom's chest, caressing her. 　　Mom became somewhat aroused, reaching out to turn my head and kissing my cheek. Looking at Mom's slightly red lips 　　and smelling the fragrant orchid scent, I became even more moved. Mom was like a vibrant crabapple blossom just awakening from a deep sleep 　　, captivating and endearing. I couldn't help but lower my head to kiss her lips. Mom tenderly 　　offered her cherry lips, closing her eyes at the same time. When I kissed my mother's tender, red, and fiery lips, it felt like holding 　　two ripe, sweet fruits in my mouth, savoring them endlessly, unwilling to let go... 　　After a long while, our lips finally parted reluctantly. My mother was still immersed in the blissful moment, 　　pressed tightly against me, softly humming, her face flushed, her starry eyes slightly closed. When a woman doesn't love you, she...

She might not respond to your advances; but if a woman is truly devoted to you, she will
offer her lips for you to savor.
I kissed my mother's lips again, this time we passionately became one, for a full ten minutes, unwilling
to separate; we explored every sensitive spot on each other's bodies in our fervent love.
My mother, panting, rested her head on my chest, saying breathlessly, "My dear, I can't breathe
!"
I kissed her forehead and said, "Mom, you were so excited just now! You made me breathless."
My mother shyly buried her face in my chest... Words were superfluous now, just as lovers in the throes of passion
say, "Silence speaks louder than words."
Finally, after a long and passionate embrace, my mother and I, completely lost in our intoxication, stripped naked and became
one! I felt as if I had waited five hundred years for this moment! Guided by my mother, I
stepped back into my long-missed birthplace—my childhood Eden, a warm and safe fortress filled
with boundless joy.
Returning to this familiar place filled me with extraordinary excitement, my heart pounding with joy. Infected by my happiness, my mother also
cheered with great excitement, welcoming me, her wanderer, back to her homeland.
I played joyfully in the soft, tender embrace of my mother, scattering my love little by little into the
soil that gave me birth. With each thrust, my mother cried out, just as she had during my childbirth, with a mixture of pain and bliss
: "My good child, I give you everything! Hurry!"
My love for my mother transformed into boundless passion, and I thrust even more fiercely. I longed to possess my mother
and forever protect this woman I loved so deeply; I wanted to have her! Just as she had already completely possessed
me!
With a simultaneous cry from mother and son, we collapsed, leaning on each other, panting heavily. We
continued our passionate lovemaking, releasing all the pent-up emotions we had been holding back. We couldn't distinguish
between pleasure and pain; we only wanted to penetrate each other's bodies and possess our precious child once and for all
…
When our love juices had run dry, my mother and I were utterly exhausted. We embraced,
gazing at each other with a tenderness that shone through our weariness. My mother was both happy and in pain, and she cried—after all, joy and sorrow are brothers born of the same mother ! I 　　held the woman I loved most
in my life tightly, letting her tears fall on me. From that moment on 　　,
she was my woman, and no one could take her away from me.
[The End]
********** ... How much of a role does morality still play? 　　The current decline of sexual culture reveals a great deal of confusion and helplessness.

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