Hometown Snow, Hometown Feelings

page views:1 Publication date:2023-06-11 13:31:17

When I was seventeen, after the winter solstice, the biting north wind grew stronger day by day. As evening approached and dusk deepened, most people closed their doors early, except for a few stalls and shops that remained open. The raging wind, though kept out of my door, seeped in through the cracks in the wooden planks of our old ancestral home, howling and chilling me to the bone. At this time, my mother and I would cut strips of wood paper we had bought, mix some glue, and seal the gaps with the paper strips, preparing for winter.

"Qiao'er, do you think your father has arrived yet? In this cold weather, I'm really worried that the coat I asked him to take isn't warm enough." My mother's fair face was full of worry. "

Mom, don't worry, Dad wore a lot of layers when he left, and there were so many colleagues on the train, he'll be fine. You're just worrying unnecessarily."

My father was wearing the gray-blue crepe leather robe that had been passed down from my grandfather, with an old-fashioned overcoat over it. As an accomplished paleontologist, my father's eyes would light up at the mere mention of a new species, and despite his frail health, he would insist on going to the site. This time, the Zhejiang Provincial Cultural Relics Bureau had invited him to appraise a newly discovered dinosaur fossil, reportedly a medium-sized dinosaur, six or seven meters long, that was both herbivorous and carnivorous. The rescue and excavation work was about to begin.

"Sigh, I was just worried about his health. The traditional Chinese medicine your grandfather prescribed for him finished this morning, so I had to ask him to take some Western medicine with him. If I had known, I would have prescribed more, and things wouldn't have turned out this way… sigh!" My mother sighed deeply, turning her gaze back to the distance, a faint light flickering in her eyes.

"I just didn't expect it. Looking at the weather, it looks like it's going to snow. If the snow closes the mountains, I don't know what will happen. Dad's just so stubborn, I can't persuade him otherwise." I felt both worried and a little resentful. My mother usually did all the housework, juggling work and family responsibilities. Moreover, my father's health has always been poor, and my mother has always taken care of him tirelessly. The couple has never argued or quarreled, which explains why my family has been recognized as a model family by the neighborhood committee every year.

"Yes. This time he said he would be back in two or three days at the earliest, and a week at the latest. But man proposes, God disposes. If it really snows heavily, it will be a terrible thing. Sigh, Qiao'er, what do you think?" My mother rubbed her hands together to warm them, and her breath immediately formed a thin layer of mist on the window.

"Mom, are you cold? Come on, let's light the stove." I took my mother's hand and placed it in my palm; it was indeed icy cold. My mother's small hands were round and delicate, an incomparably exquisite and skillful pair of hands. With her small hands gently plucking and twisting, Suzhou Pingtan became famous throughout the world.

"No, it's not cold. Qiao'er, there's still some lotus flower and corn porridge Mom made, have another bowl." My mother gently pulled away, letting me hold her hand, a slight blush rising on her originally fair face.

I took a deep breath. My mother, standing gracefully before me, was so dignified and beautiful. This was my mother who gave me life and raised me; her warm blood beat in my veins. I couldn't ignore this beauty; this feeling was innate, constantly lingering in my dreams, impossible to shake off.

I often longed for its arrival when I was troubled. Lu Xun wrote in "Call to Arms": "Lately I've only been troubled, troubled like a great poisonous snake coiled around my soul." He wrote so well, revealing my inner world in a single sentence. Because I always felt that troubledness possessed a very demonic quality; it came from nowhere, and once it entangled a person, it was impossible to get rid of, just like the great poisonous snake in the Indian forest, considered sacred yet eerie.

"Alright, go light the stove, I'll go get some more charcoal." My mother pulled my small hand away from her lips, turned, and went into the storage room. Her slender figure was like a pale blue-ochre impressionistic painting. I followed closely behind her. The closed room seemed to be filled with her alluring fragrance, wafting into my nostrils. I could almost see the peach-colored clouds in the sky.

"Mom, I miss you... I want you..." I hugged my mother's soft body from behind, feeling my heart pounding. "You know what? I didn't sleep much last night, just listening to you and Dad..."

"Ah, no, don't... Qiao'er... you, you promised me..." My mother tried to break free from my embrace, but she was powerless. My strong arms were her own. I could feel that my mother's hands and feet were frozen, and her whole body was trembling. I rested my face against her back, my arms still tightly wrapped around her. My mother's firm breasts were in my small hands, fueling my burning desire.

"Mom, Mom, just let me hug you, even just like this." I pleaded, my deep baritone voice trembling like willow catkins in the wind, dancing wildly in the sky with a frenzied, drunken state, echoing the fragments of my dreams.

"Good child, listen to me... This isn't good, it's really not good. Let me go, I'm your mother!" My mother choked back tears, her silvery voice ringing in my ears. My soul felt like it was lying on a dream net, swaying gently, ethereally, and serenely in her fragrant embrace. I was as intoxicated as if I had drunk fine, aged wine.

"Mom, isn't it nice to just hug you like this? Didn't you say you liked it when I hugged you like this? Mom, I haven't been happy these past few days, so unhappy!" I lifted my face and brought my lips to her pointed earlobe. My mother's ear hooks were old-fashioned pure gold hoops, gleaming in her cloud-like black hair. The sky outside the window was low, the clouds were dim, and the north wind howled across the rooftops and ditches. Countless withered leaves swirled and scattered in the wind, and the trees trembled, just like my mother in my arms at that moment.

"Ah, Qiao'er, Mom can't make the same mistake again. Let go of Mom, my good child..." My mother's voice was broken and faint, like a half-dried stream hidden by white clouds, or the desolate sound of autumn.

I remained silent. My mother's tone was low and deep, like a mermaid lost in the dark night sobbing. I read it, appreciating all the shock and poignant beauty it brought on this gloomy winter day. In the past, my soul had long been corroded by that great serpent, and sometimes I even longed for that pain to return, because it was accompanied by joy and could slightly lift my gloomy spirit. I had neither the courage of Hemingway to commit suicide, nor could I allow this deathly silence to permanently erode my soul. So, I could only continue making mistakes.

In the silence, I persisted in my resolve. My left hand slipped under her clothes, and my mother's breast, full and delicate, possessed the typical grace of a woman from the Jiangnan water towns. In my grasp, it twisted and swayed, its soft curves like a gentle moan. But what ignited my burning desire was her docile and exquisite vulva, which, under the cover of my right hand, went from cold to hot, swirling like clouds.

My mother no longer struggled. The room was quiet, but the pulse of our excitement beat within it. A mysterious, natural language slowly seeped into the depths of my soul. I believed that my mother felt the same way I did. In this utterly silent realm, my heart soared like a wisp of silk, recalling that beautiful day, that time, the lingering melancholy after the party, that tender affection, and that deep sense of helplessness!

My mother wept. My charming, gentle, passionate, and inherently fragile mother trembled, and a warmth spread to my fingertips. I turned my mother around. Her bright eyes were dazzling, tinged with a hint of sadness, and the bamboo fence in my heart crumbled once more. I gently picked her up. Her rosy lips were like blooming violets, their color so vibrant they seemed cut from paper, and her eyes, shimmering with autumn light, seemed to float with a lush green. I couldn't help but recall a line of poetry: "In her autumn waters, verdant meadows pass by."

"Qiao'er...you, you put the mosquito net down..." My mother's timid, soft voice, like the chirping of a bird with wings, murmured.

"Yes, Mom." I obediently lowered the beaded gauze mosquito net, even though it was just the two of us in the room, she still insisted on doing so. The large, carved mahogany bed that my mother had brought with her dowry swayed and rocked, a rhythmic, undulating movement. My mother's tenderness was revealed bit by bit in her mournful and low moans. Each sound and rhythm was like a clear spring that first flowed with difficulty and murmur in the cracks of the rocks, and then, under my guidance, it gushed forth in a torrent.

My mother's vulva was initially a little awkward, like the lush green grapes of the south, its color amber, vibrant with a reddish glow. I felt my strong member galloping across the vast countryside, or like a small boat with a plain sail, moored in the middle of a paddy field. All my worries vanished. I gazed at the lush green grass, listening to my mother's melodious song, like birdsong, and the world was filled with wondrous sounds.

"Bridge, be gentle... I want it, I'm almost... I can't take it anymore..." My mother rose and fell a few times, slowly slowing her movements. The complex rhythms became harmonious, long and short, fast and slow, like the whisper of wind and the song of rain, a languid yet joyful undulation.

I slowed my pace, gently stretching my growing waist. Through the white gauze curtain, I saw the lace-covered partition with faded blue silk, and the checkered paper that my mother and I had pasted together. I withdrew my gaze, and my mother's body, a pearly hue in the frosty morning light, shrouded in a misty, silvery vapor, unfolded before me like a wordless book. Her voice rose in a melodious tone, lingering in the air, carrying a faint floral fragrance… gentle, fresh, and filling me with boundless joy.

After about three to five minutes, I heard the patter of raindrops on the grass, her soft, trembling whispers mingling with joyful and resonant tones. This clear, trilling melody, for some reason, made me smile slightly, yet also brought tears to my eyes. How could the gentle breeze, the splashing spring water, compare to this most tender melody of human pleasure?

"Mmm...mmm, hum...ah..." Mother murmured again, the down comforter covering her arching up. Unconsciously, our legs stretched out, exposed to the sunlight, and we didn't feel cold at all. I listened intently; her clear voice floated all around, like the chirping of spring insects, the murmur of flowers. Wasn't this scene exactly that eternal day? That night, the night was beautiful, the world unusually quiet. No painter's brush could capture that scene, yet it's forever etched in my heart!

"Mom, I want to do it here, okay?" I gently placed my fingers on her nipples. There, in the folds, were hazy mountains, shrouded in mist, like fairies draped in milky-white gossamer veils. I often fantasized about one day wandering among them. Mother was shy. I once tried to do it from behind, but she refused. I knew that unusual position made her feel humiliated, and I understood. Therefore, I tried to guide her, taking advantage of this beautiful atmosphere, this intoxicating moment.

"No, no, this won't do, how can this be? We're not animals, and besides, it's so dirty there..." My mother's reserve and shyness made her refuse this position that made her feel ashamed.

However, I knew. I knew she and my father had done it; I had seen it by chance once. That was when I was thirteen years old, when cicadas were shedding their last chirps and passing by other branches. That day, the summer heat was fading, and a cool autumn breeze was blowing...

(II)

"Brother Qiao, I caught another cricket today. Let's go find Da Sha's 'Ever-Victorious General' to have a fight." The neighbor Er Leng pushed open my door, holding a small earthenware jar in his hand. The chirping coming from inside was loud and powerful. I could immediately tell that this cricket was very good at fighting. Sure enough, when I opened it, it was long, had a big mouth, strong legs, and was black with brown markings. It was a top-quality cricket. I gently nudged it with a blade of grass, and it immediately bared its beak, flapped its wings, and chirped eagerly.

"Where did you find it? Hey, this time we'll definitely beat that kid!" I exclaimed with delight. Yesterday, Da Fu and I had spent ages rummaging around at the foot of the old blue brick wall behind my house and in the damp ruins, but we hadn't found a single good fighter. The most we found were fat, big three-tailed crickets, which were useless.

"Hehe, I found this one last night by the ancient tomb on the back hill. How about that? Pretty impressive, right?" Er Leng looked smug, just like the arrogant cricket in the earthenware pot.

I laughed heartily and grabbed his hand. "Come on, let's go find Da Sha."

"Qiao'er, you haven't eaten yet?" My mother rushed out, wearing a light purple woolen coat and holding an unpeeled water chestnut.

"It's okay, Mom, I'm not hungry. You and Dad eat..." I replied as I ran, the passion for battle burning within me, encouraging me. I was determined to defeat that smug fellow immediately.

But I lost that battle badly.

When I returned home dejectedly, it was late, the moon hidden by the treetops. I walked home, bypassing the pond behind the old house. Looking up, I saw the old house standing alone by the water, its windows draped with thin curtains, and several graceful autumn willows gently brushing against the clean white marble slabs in front of the door. I didn't go in through the front door; instead, I climbed over the narrow wall and jumped into the courtyard. The autumn night air was filled with the rich fragrance of locust blossoms. Through the glass window, I saw my father's study, bright as an autumn pool, radiating a soft, clear light.

On the exquisite ebony table by the window lay an animal skeleton, apparently a new specimen my father had made. My father and mother were admiring the specimen side by side; my father pointed at it, while my mother nodded in admiration, her lowered eyes sparkling with love and joy. I think it was perhaps a case of loving the house because of the house; my mother also cherished every one of my father's works. That mutual understanding and connection often amazed me in the years that followed.

The clear, watery lamplight illuminated my father's white hair and my mother's rosy cheeks. Occasionally, they would look up, their eyes meeting, revealing a deep and unforgettable love between them.

My father grew up in poverty, his hair turning white in his youth, yet he excelled academically, highly regarded by the school and industry—truly a top student among top students. My mother met my father through my eldest uncle, who was my father's classmate. The year he graduated from university, my father visited my uncle and met my mother. My mother said she was attracted by the deep, ethereal wisdom flowing in my father's dark eyes, and did not look down on him because of his frail appearance; on the contrary, she fell in love at first sight, and from then on, her love for him remained unwavering throughout her life. My father's outstanding success in his academic field can be said to be inseparable from my mother's virtuous support.

"Peijiang, I'm going to Beijing tomorrow. What do you want me to buy for you?" Father gently pulled Mother into his arms, lowered his head to kiss her temples, and his hands roamed over her body.

"Hmm, I don't need anything. I just hope you can finish your business and come back soon. You should buy some toys for Qiao'er; he's been a bit too wild these past few days, and I really don't know how to teach him." Mother's voice was sweet and cloying, like glutinous rice paste mixed with sugar.

"You always spoil him like this; you'll spoil him rotten." Father was slowly undressing Mother, but then Mother broke free from him, went to the window, and drew the curtains. In my haste to hide, I caught a glimpse of her milky white skin beneath her neck. My heart pounded, and I jumped into Mother's bedroom. I knew Mother's temperament; she wouldn't do that kind of thing with Father in the study.

"You know, it's the same in the study, why do you insist on coming back to the bedroom?" As I expected, my father couldn't resist my mother's insistence and had to follow her back to their bedroom.

"No, how can we do this there? What if Qiao'er suddenly comes back? Yu Nong, please don't turn on the light again." After closing the door, my mother took off her underwear and neatly placed it on the bedside table. The light was still on, but my father ignored her; he wanted to savor and admire my mother's beauty.

Desire stirred within me with surging passion. This passion rose from my lower abdomen, rising higher and higher, as if to burst through my heart and then spread to the vast expanse. My mother's breasts were small and delicate, not as enormous as the neighbor's mother's, but more refined and rounded, with pale purple nipples adorning her firm breasts.

My father stroked my mother's abdomen, where there was a mark left from giving birth to me. "Jiang, you're so beautiful. Look, you're all wet..."

"Hmph... Yu Nong, stop touching me..." My mother closed her eyes, and I could feel the rising desire within her, because it was also burning in my chest, making me close my lips tightly so I couldn't breathe. For the first time, my burning penis proudly erected its tent.

"Alright, my little darling, I'm here..." Father thrust his penis deep into Mother's body, his voice hoarse. He lifted Mother's legs in his hands, in a spear-like position. I heard Mother's tears of joy, and the air was filled with the sound of fine sand rubbing together. Drawn to the sound, I listened intently. It didn't sound like their genitals intertwining; it sounded more like three or five small blue dragonflies rubbing their thin wings together, a babbling brook. The sound seemed to be tinged with vibrant colors; I could almost see the damp green, near and far, shrouded in a melancholy mist.

"Ah..." Father cried out, a long, mournful cry, tinged with despair. His body twitched a few times, then he lay motionless on top of Mother. Time seemed to stand still. The night was long, and the room was deathly silent. I could only hear my own breathing, sometimes fast, sometimes slow. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry... Jiang, it's been so long since we did it, I thought... I thought... who knew..."

Hiding behind the curtains, I held my breath, afraid to speak. The chill of the late autumn night rose from between my toes. I heard my mother sigh deeply.

"It's alright. Ming-ge. You've always been in poor health, and you've been working hard lately, so you might have been distracted. It's okay, we'll start again." My mother propped herself up, her naked body as pure and beautiful as a melancholy goddess, emitting a sapphire-like glow. I finally saw my father's coral-like fluid, dripping onto her soft pubic hair, lewd and desperate.

"Come, let me help you." My mother grasped my father's limp penis, slowly rubbing it until it revived.

"Jiang, I heard there's a way to stimulate me..." My father inserted his fingers deep into my mother's body, his eyes shining. His alluring wife lay sprawled under the orange lamplight, delicate and fragile, just like the bride she once was.

"What?" Mother gasped. She gently stroked Father's face, her touch softer than a goddess soaring through the air.

"I heard it works here too. Jiang, let's try it, okay?" In desperation, Father pressed his thumb against Mother's anus.

"Ah, how can this work? How could you even think of that? It's so dirty!" Mother blushed and pushed Father away.

"No, it's okay, really. Jiang, just let me try." Father's stubborn voice held anxiety and pleading.

"It's so small, how can it fit? And it'll hurt a lot." Mother hesitated, but under Father's caresses, her vulva secreted some fluid, glistening in the light.

"How will you know it won't work if you don't try? Come on, Jiang... even if it's for my sake..." Father, perhaps imagining the sensation, his penis hardened, stretching open Mother's hand. Mother's unease slowly subsided; she looked at the penis and murmured.

"Okay, just this once." She propped her elbows on the bed, her rounded buttocks facing me. Her pubic hair was half-wet, half-dry, her tender pink labia half-open, revealing delicate, smooth, and glistening flesh in the middle. My lips were dry and parched from the throbbing, and imagining that sweet juice and tender pink flesh, my mouth finally watered.

"Ah, it hurts...it hurts..." My mother's buttocks were smooth and flawless, unlike the overgrown pubic area. I could clearly see my father's glans inserted into her anus.

"Just bear with it. You forgot, the first time is always like this..." My father placed his left hand on my mother's smooth buttocks, while his right hand reached around to her breasts. Then, he pulled back slightly and started making love again. Although I couldn't see my mother's expression from behind, I could still hear some pleasure in her painful groans. I think my mother was in pain, but also experiencing pleasure.

In the hidden shadows, my engorged penis, veins bulging, throbbed and swelled in my hand, vast and boundless, like a lone wolf roaming the grasslands in search of prey.

My mother's panting and moans echoed in the still night, ethereal and mysterious, carrying the delicate cries and sobs unique to Eastern women, "I'm going to die... I'm really going to die..."

I seemed to feel the loneliness of a bamboo shoot breaking through the soil, and I even saw the blood, the cruel red...

*** *** *** *** ***

"Qiao'er, get up, okay?" My mother's gentle tone was as usual, carrying a faint fragrance.

"Yes, Mom, I'll go heat up some wine, let's have a few cups, okay?" My hand gently pressed against my mother's warm mons pubis, slow and soft, like caressing a newborn baby.

Outside the window, yellow leaves fluttered and struck the old windowpane, the wind grew stronger, and the sky grew darker.

"Let me go, you stay in bed where it's warm." My mother lifted herself from my strong abs, which had been nestled against her. Her voice, soft and melodious like pearls rolling on a jade plate, was gentle and pleasant after her love bath. She turned her back, her shapely back shimmering with a crystalline light, and tears welled in my eyes. I was moved.

My mother lived fully in my past years—the most vibrant and vivid seventeen years of my life. It was during these years that I understood the secrets of the sky and nature, glimpsed the secret trysts of mountains and clouds, became familiar with the tender embrace of rice paddies and land, and participated in the rendezvous of the ocean and sandy shore…

There were sixteen jars of "Daughter's Red" wine that my mother had brought with her as part of her dowry. My father didn't drink, and neither did my mother. It wasn't until my grandfather came to visit when I was sixteen that my mother took it out of the storage room.

My mother opened the jar; the wine was a deep crimson, a powerful color that embodied the tenacious emotions of life, containing a rich tapestry of meaning: death and rebirth, lingering affection and liberation, disillusionment and reality, imprisonment and freedom…

“Qiao’er, this is my homesickness.”

I was jolted. My frail and delicate mother had been away from her family home for over a decade. Her hometown, Huilin Town, wasn’t far, yet I had never seen her return. Why, I didn’t know. However, today, for the first time, I saw her face solemn, and in the shimmering reflection of the wine, I felt an unusual melancholy. Warm flames danced in the charcoal stove, mingling with the wine.

“Mom, are you homesick?” A slight pang of pity welled up in my heart. Perhaps, as one grows older, homesickness comes and goes like the tides.

Two large tears welled up on my mother’s pure and elegant face. She shook her head slightly. “No. Qiao’er, you’re still young, you don’t understand…” Her voice was as soft as smoke, drifting across the aged red windowpane.

"Mom, when can I go home with you? I've never been to Grandma's." My mother's eyes were shimmering and dreamy, captivating my heart. I gazed at the charming dimples at the corners of her lips, where so much tender affection and blissful longing were hidden.

I just stared, wishing I could see the world as dust on my eyelashes.

"Okay, we'll go back after your college entrance exam next year." My mother was somewhat delighted. "Actually, you've been back before, but you were only two years old then, and you've long forgotten."

"Come on, Mom, let's have a drink." I picked up the bowl; the wine, as crisp as the harsh winter outside the window, melted in my warm heart.

When my father returned home, it was exactly 5:30 in the afternoon. The car rumbled, and I could tell it was still that old Beijing Jeep, screeching over the snow-covered road surface before screeching to a stop outside the door.

"Quick, Qiao'er, you go out first." My mother let out a long sigh, her warm breath coming from her nostrils, sounding like the gentle whimper of a baby. I felt a nervous excitement as I pulled my still-erect penis from my mother's tight vagina and tucked it into her cotton sweatpants. My mother hurriedly and awkwardly adjusted herself. "Aren't you going yet?" she glared at me, her reproachful eyes filled with a seductive allure.

"Dad, you're back." My quiet father, wearing my grandfather's fur coat, looked even thinner. His face, ravaged by the north wind, was rough and pale, and the thick purple-framed glasses on his nose made him appear even more haggard. A pang of sadness struck me. My father had spent years working the land, enduring wind and rain, not only for his beloved career but also for this family.

"Yes, you're back. Qiao'er, did you listen to your mother at home?" Seeing my voice choked with emotion, my father patted my shoulder reassuringly. "It's so good to be home."

"Dad, Mom is getting you hot water in the inner room. Where's the driver?" I peeked at Xiao Wu, the driver, who was starting the car. "Why don't you let Uncle Xiao Wu come in and sit down?"

"Hey, he's in a hurry to get home. It's so cold, and he's newly married. Accompanying us on this trip for several days must have worn him out." My father chuckled, watching the Beijing Jeep, emitting a lot of black exhaust fumes, gradually disappear into the distance. He seemed to be in a good mood.

"You're back. How can you say such things to the child?" My mother stood gracefully at the door, staring at my father with a look of feigned reproach, her face full of joy, her eyebrows exuding a strange charm.

"Yes, yes. Hehe, I'm back." Father hurriedly stuffed the entire package into my hands. "Qiao'er, take these things inside and distribute them. Some are for the neighbors." I saw the astonishment on Father's face. I knew in my heart that Father hadn't seen Mother for a few days and found her even more alluring than before, so he was eager to get rid of me.

But he didn't know that it was precisely because we had just made love that Mother displayed that languid and seductive charm. "Okay, I'll take some to Erleng's family later," I agreed. Father always brought back some local specialties to share with the neighbors whenever he went out, and coupled with Mother's dignified, humble, and kind nature, our family was known for its good relationships in the area.

The room was filled with a strong fragrance, mixed with the scent of women's rouge and floral water. I thought that Mother probably wanted to avoid that kind of scent in the air, so she took out this rather strong perfume and sprayed it on. As soon as my father entered the house, he sneezed several times. "Why does it smell so good?"

"Hmm, I took out some old clothes to prepare for winter, and they had a bit of an odor, so I sprayed some perfume, but I accidentally knocked it over." Sure enough, the bottle of cologne lay overturned on the table. I noticed a hint of shyness, a touch of mischief, and a dash of pride in my mother's eyes. Our eyes met, and my mother's face flushed. She glanced at me sideways and then ignored me

. My father, who had just entered the house, didn't notice our little exchange, still immersed in the joy of returning home. Perhaps for those who have left home, home truly is a sanctuary for the soul, real and tangible.

My eyes gradually welled up with tears. Every time my father left home, for some reason, I always felt a sense of loss, as if something important was missing from my life. Although I could enjoy intimate moments with my mother, there was more wistfulness and confusion than joy.

My father's broad and generous smile told me that the world of three was the most perfect, and this kind of family happiness was irreplaceable. Father, I want to cry. Joy brings me heartache, and I forgive my years of foolishness and recklessness. Though I have long since fallen into depravity, and nightmares have tightened around my fragile neck like a long rope, I dare not kick off that footrest.

After the tears, a heart-wrenching pain lingers within me. Every time I wake in the middle of the night, I feel as if I am in an endless snowfield, with drops of black blood flowing through me…

Yet, I have become a prodigal son who will never turn back, obsessed with my mother's round, verdant breasts. The abundant milk of her breasts draws me in and nourishes me. Her broad mons pubis is like a fertile plain, where a warm palace is built, storing boundless energy, waiting for me to seize it…

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