The most realistic incestuous relationship between mother and son (I don't know if you've seen it, but I think this one is pretty good).

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The Most Authentic Mother-Son Incest (I don't know if you've read this one, but I think it's pretty good)

Chapter 1: Unforgettable Past Times
My sexual development is very strange. Strange perhaps because no one talks about it, making me feel like only I am like this, I don't know. Therefore, I hope everyone will talk about some real things (maybe not everyone has, please don't fabricate). Anyway, you don't need to use your real name online, and you don't need to show your face or leave a message, just pour your heart out. I also hope this issue can be discussed scientifically (don't feel ashamed while discussing it, it's normal).
Just to clarify, if you want to get to know me, I'm very welcome, and I won't refuse to meet you, but you must bring your mother and proof of your mother-son relationship.
I was definitely before first grade when I first had sexual fantasies about my mother. Because it's been so long, I can't recall the exact age now, but it was very, very young.
I clearly remember, more than once, in my dreams, I loudly said to my mother, "Mom, I want to take off your pants and touch you." When I said those words, I experienced a kind of taboo-breaking pleasure. Although I didn't know the word "incest" back then, I understood it was a very "vulgar" thing. To say vulgar things to my mother, whom I respected in my daily life!
In the dream, my mother didn't react, so I unbuckled her belt, feeling a strange pleasure, mystery, and relief, and reached out to touch her genitals. The location was always her office or a nearby playground. However, I had never seen an adult woman's private parts before, so I couldn't feel anything in the dream.
This kind of dream only happened a few times. Other, more frequent childhood dreams were simply running into a store, smashing the shop window to get food, of course, knowing it was a dream. Or being chased by monsters.
I also had some homosexual dreams, usually involving handsome child stars from movies at the time, such as Pan Dongzi from [a movie title] (most Chinese people around thirty years old should know him, right?). A few times I dreamt he was playing with my neighbor's child—playing with his penis. I went up to him and we touched each other.
Until I was in junior high school, I still fantasized about handsome men from comic books, including Lu Bu, Zhao Zilong, and the Yang family generals from the Three Kingdoms period. I imagined them as my wives and male wives, and that we would travel together. Having these skilled and handsome men with me would be incredibly romantic. They would often fight over me, and I would be the mediator.
As for sex, I still fantasized about touching; I never even considered anal sex because I couldn't get an erection then.
I didn't know anything about these historically handsome young generals; my impressions came from the comic book depictions. I then feminized their personalities according to my own interpretation.
But my Oedipus complex was strange. I only had these thoughts in my dreams at night; they were almost nonexistent during the day. It wasn't that I was afraid to think about it, but rather that I never did. Sometimes, the thought even made me feel nauseous. I was only a few years old then, and I didn't have much of a moral compass. As for homosexuality, I almost never thought about it when I was awake. I only started thinking about it during the day in junior high school. At that time, I didn't know that homosexuals could have anal sex, and my genitals weren't erect (I was under fifteen). I remember once inviting a male classmate home to play, and we stripped naked and played around on the bed, rubbing our butts together. But it was just curiosity, excitement, and fun; there was no sexual pleasure.
This makes me wonder if a person's sexual orientation is formed around eleven or twelve years old?
Other things related to sex happened during my childhood, so this isn't a dream.
I often played with some girls, playing games, one of which involved injections. Once, I saw my sister and another girl of similar age exposing their breasts in front of a public restroom, using a popsicle stick they picked up from the ground to stick into each other's nipples. My sister was also very young then, I don't know how young, but she was only three years older than me, so she hadn't developed yet either. When they saw me, they told me not to tell my mother. This shows they knew it was shameful, but they still did it; I don't know what that felt like.
I really liked it when my sister touched my butt; I remember once pulling down my shorts during my afternoon nap so my sister could touch me before I could fall asleep. It just felt very comfortable; I didn't have any sexual feelings about it. My sister always said it was wrong, but she did it anyway.
She was always very good to me until I grew up. Once, when I was young, I touched her breasts in the kitchen. They felt soft and comfortable, but I felt disgusted. Especially when she smiled at me. I couldn't think of anything softer than a woman's breasts.
Even recently, some of her letters to me still contain strong sexual advances. Once, she heard I published an article that caused a sensation, and wrote to me saying, "...many young girls must be infatuated with you. Could you send me some to see, so I can be infatuated too?" And so on, countless times. I felt uncomfortable reading them. I wonder what my brother-in-law would think if he saw them?
This is one of the reasons I firmly believe that incestuous desires are inherent in everyone!

I swear my sister is beautiful. If her wedding makeup photos were published, those Miss Hong Kong and Miss Asia contestants, if they had even a shred of self-awareness, should all go eat shit.
But I just wasn't sexually attracted to her. My mother, though beautiful in her youth, aged considerably after giving birth to me, and I've always been very sexually aroused by her. Isn't that strange?
The only difference between my mother and sister is: my mother is strict, rarely smiles, and protective of her family; my sister is gentle and always puts others before herself.
I've played similar games with other girls. There was a girl a few years older than me who loved playing with me. She'd insert a popsicle stick into my foreskin, and I'd insert the stick into her vagina. Then I'd put on my pants, casually walk around, and then come back to remove it. Of course, it hurt a little. We called this game "Doctor's Injection."
Back then, I didn't like the feeling of a girl's genitals because there was a lot of dirty fluid, which I thought was urine, but she said it was water for washing her bottom. I actually enjoyed giving her injections in the bottom, but I didn't think about it sexually; the pleasure came more from the mystery.
Our parents both worked at a movie theater, and our activities took place there. Because employees' children could come and go freely while outsiders couldn't, the theater was empty when there were no movies showing. There was another wall surrounding the cinema, and between the wall and the theater, there was nothing but birds and weeds growing from the cracked cement.
We once had a teenage nanny; compared to me, she was an adult, a very grown-up. I don't remember if it was after my mother gave birth to my sister. I was quite handsome and quiet as a child, which might have attracted some attention from girls. One time, when no one was home, she took me to bed, put down the mosquito net, and then undressed herself, undressing me as well. Then she lay down and wanted me to press against her and suckle her breasts. I sucked twice and said there was no milk, it didn't taste good. She then sat opposite me with our legs spread apart, and tried to force my penis into her vagina. Of course, it wouldn't go in; it didn't even touch, and it hurt my foreskin, so I refused (I regret it now). At that moment, my mother came home and knocked on the door. She quickly got dressed and warned me not to tell anyone.
I honestly can't remember if I told anyone. Sometimes I think I didn't, sometimes I think I did. It's been so long.
She probably didn't have any body hair back then, because I don't remember. I felt intensely disgusted by anyone with body hair at that time, so if she did, I certainly wouldn't forget. This is purely logical deduction, not memory.
Later, she went to work as a nanny for someone else. Once, I walked by and saw her carrying a child on her back, chopping vegetables. She smiled and called me over, but remembering how she'd pulled my penis, I immediately shook my head and ran away. Damn!
This incident reveals a woman's true nature. If a woman is cold and indifferent to you, it doesn't mean she's not interested in sex, but rather that she's not interested in you. Or she might just be pretending.
Sometimes when I read poets describing a pure and ethereal beauty, I feel sorry for the poet: she doesn't like you! If a woman likes a man, she won't be like a celestial being, but like a prostitute, even more cheap than a prostitute, able to have sex with him without paying, and then be very happy afterwards.
In my early twenties, I returned to my hometown, hoping to find those women from back then to erase my regrets. Unfortunately, I couldn't find any of them, and I didn't know how to find them, nor was I particularly embarrassed.
There was another woman, around twenty or thirty years old at the time, who frequently visited my home. One winter, she and my mother were knitting and chatting. My feet were cold, so she told me to put them inside her clothes. I mischievously kicked her breast, and she glared at me and gave me a warning. But I disobeyed and kicked it again, and she angrily took my foot out. I remember that there was a hint of sexual awareness involved in that, because I remember feeling incredibly ashamed at the time. Other things didn't make me ashamed.
When I was seven, my family moved from this small county town to the city, where I continued to attend second grade. The only age I clearly remember starts from this point.
The city was crowded and noisy; there were no secluded places, and the city kids hadn't played those kinds of games. This continued until I was a teenager. I believe that sexual attitudes in the countryside were much more open than in the city.
Over the years, my parents' relationship deteriorated. My father had an affair, and they argued, fought, and almost divorced. Parents fighting is terrifying for a child like me. All I could do was cry and tremble; they fought behind closed doors. The shouts and screams inside were deafening. One moment I thought my father was dead, the next my mother; I was almost driven insane by the fear.
They ultimately didn't divorce for the sake of their children. My father was transferred to work in another city, returning to see us once a year and sending some money. He disappeared from my life from then on. My mother was left to raise my two sisters and me.
One night, I was sick and dizzy. My mother asked me to sleep with her. I wasn't keen because I couldn't stretch out when sleeping with her, but I didn't object.
As I lay down, my mother put up a mosquito net. Because of my dizziness, I closed my eyes. After a while, I felt something strange in my genitals, so I opened my eyes and found my mother straddling my legs, her back to me. At the time, I was only wearing a thin pair of shorts. Although my penis wasn't erect, its natural length and elasticity pushed the shorts up about an inch. My legs were together. My mother was wearing white briefs and a white tank top. She was squatting, one foot to my left and the other to my right. Because I was sleeping on the outside, she straddled my legs and reached under the mosquito net to keep mosquitoes out.
Her lower body brushed against my erect penis. When she looked back at me, I quickly closed my eyes, but left them slightly open. I saw her look back at me, then look elsewhere, and then intentionally or unintentionally rub her genitals against my penis again. Seeing that I didn't react, she boldly looked down at my genitals for about ten seconds before turning off the light and going to sleep. I wasn't an adult then.
I didn't feel any sexual desire for my mother's actions; instead, I felt disgusted. Looking back now, I think I was a strange person. Because I remember that before my father passed away, I often slept between them. One time, I suddenly felt desire again, not in a dream, but in reality. I reached out and touched my mother's thigh.
She moved slightly, so I stopped, then gently stroked it again, and then deliberately moved closer to the groin. When I touched her private parts through her underwear, she flinched. I was startled, but soon touched her thigh again, slowly moving upwards, and she flinched again. This time I dared not move, because I had thought my mother was asleep, which gave me the courage to do so, but now it seemed she was probably not asleep. So I cried out that I needed to pee, and my parents turned on the light. I heard my mother tell my father that I was very naughty in my sleep. I pretended not to understand, but I was mortified inside. Of course, I never dared to do it again. At that time, I couldn't get an erection and didn't understand sex, but that action had a genuine sexual awareness.
Now that my mother is touching me, I feel disgusted. Isn't that strange? If I had been as bold and had incestuous thoughts that night as I am now, would my mother and I have had sex? Back then, our education made me feel that sex was shameful, and incest was something I'd never even heard of, let alone considered.
By the time I was around twenty, I had lost all interest in homosexuality, but my Oedipus complex had intensified. At first, I would secretly imagine having an unusual relationship with my mother, but when I actually saw certain parts of her body, I felt disgusted (because they weren't attractive). Later, it became an unconditional liking.
Wherever I worked, my mother always followed me. I was often annoyed by her, and arguments were common, but she just stayed with me. I often secretly wrote stories about incest between mother and son. There was no internet back then; after writing them, I would hide them for a while, and once I calmed down, I would regret it and burn them immediately. But as soon as I turned around and saw my mother, I would be annoyed again. Actually, when I wrote those things, I wasn't thinking about my mother herself, but about another woman who didn't exist—a woman in her thirties or forties with a beautiful face and a full figure.
I once analyzed my incestuous psychology and discovered that I wasn't really sexually attracted to my mother. More than anything, it was a dissatisfaction and resistance to societal oppression. I've always lived in a place that suppresses humanity, and I deeply despise a certain organization. This shameless thing calls itself the mother of the people, and I think the best way to deal with it is to have us incest enthusiasts rape this slut who calls herself the mother of the nation. Because, in the decades it has ruled the country, it has mentally raped the entire nation countless times!
Of course, there are also those who are being raped by it while cheering loudly. These people are either born prostitutes or mentally challenged, so I won't bother mentioning them.
As for fellow enthusiasts in other places, I believe they are also the result of too much repression, just not as intense as I am. Easterners are subject to far stronger moral constraints than Westerners (fuck Confucius!), and Chinese creativity is far inferior to that of Westerners. Therefore, for the strength of the nation and the people, let's commit incest! Incest,
with mother-son incest as the highest realm, is also the ultimate anti-traditional and anti-moral act. I am sexually attracted to ordinary women, but sexual acts between mother and son bring a strong sense of pleasure from breaking free of mental shackles and shattering all morality, achieving intellectual liberation. While morality is essential for social stability, its control over thought is extremely harmful. I suggest everyone adhere to moral principles in their actions, but have no qualms about their thoughts.
Taboos regarding incest, whether between mother and child or other forms of incest, stem from two sources: sociology and biology. Sociological issues are easily resolved: mutual consent and secrecy are sufficient.
Biologically, we know thoroughbred horses are inbred; while this breeding method may lead to harmful genes meeting and causing genetic diseases, it may also result in superior genes meeting and producing more outstanding offspring—it has both advantages and disadvantages. If you can't bear the shock of having a deformed offspring, simply don't have children.
Society is progressing; there's no need to uphold outdated morals and laws. If you are powerless to defy the law and public opinion, just do it secretly with a clear conscience.
I truly cannot see any reason to treat incest as a monstrous threat.
My view is that if you and your mother or other relative are mutually attracted and she (he) consents, then go ahead and have sex! It's practically an ideal situation! If you invite me to visit, I would be so grateful I'd kneel down and kiss your feet.
Now, back to myself.
Chapter Two: How Many Regrets Did My Mother Give Me
In the days that followed, some things happened between my mother and me. I can't quite recall the exact dates or sequence, so I'll just use a certain day as an example. I'll write down what I remember.
One summer, my mother said a thorn had fallen into her clothes and embedded itself in her flesh, and asked me to help her find it. At that time, I wasn't particularly interested in incest, nor was I impatient to help my mother, but I did it anyway.
The thorn really was there, and it was very small, about a millimeter, mostly embedded in the flesh; it was hard to find without careful observation. My mother couldn't possibly find it herself, because it was right in her blind spot, below her neck, at the collar. To make it easier, my mother changed positions several times, tilting her head back and lying on the bed, while I pulled open her vest, revealing her breasts without a bra.
My mother's breasts weren't pretty; they were flat and sagging, but very white and tender. Her nipples weren't the black I disliked, but brown, only slightly larger than a fist. She looked up, and I could feel her warm breath on my lower abdomen, arousing me.
At twenty-one, I was lucky enough to find a job in a wealthy and open city, and my mother came with me. For the first time, I had enough money to buy adult films on the street.
Perhaps this was a misfortune for me; after watching my first adult film, I also ejaculated for the first time in my life while fully conscious. After that, masturbation became uncontrollable, and I developed a strong interest in women.
One day, while helping my mother serve dishes, I masturbated frantically, ejaculating into a dish before taking it out. I kept my eyes fixed on the door, believing my mother hadn't noticed. But what happened later made me suspect she had noticed. Because she didn't touch that dish at all! Why?! I was terrified!
Another time, I masturbated on the bed with the bedroom door wide open. I had checked beforehand; the room lights were off, and the living room light shone brightly through the mosquito net, obscuring the view inside. Just then, my mother walked past my doorway. I boldly knelt on the bed, pointing my penis at her.
She looked inside, stopped, and then came in. I was terrified again and quickly stopped.
My mother came to my bedside and softly asked if I was feeling unwell. She then lifted the mosquito net. I was completely naked and hurriedly said, "No, no," clutching the opening of the mosquito net tightly. She tried to lift the net from another angle, but I panicked and loudly refused in a very irritated tone. Only then did my mother leave. After a while, I got up and looked outside again. I discovered that I could vaguely see inside the net from the doorway! Good heavens! What was going on? Why couldn't I see anything when I stood outside looking? Was there some divine intervention at play? What would have happened if I had let my mother lift the mosquito net? Why did I want it so badly, but back down at the last minute when it was about to happen?
Another day, I felt unwell and lay on the sofa. My mother came over and asked me what was wrong. She then offered to massage me, and I agreed. She knew a bit about medicine and was carefully massaging me. When she reached my groin, she probably saw my erect penis under my shorts, then suddenly stopped, turned around, and left without saying a word.
If my mother rubbing my penis with her genitals that night when I was a teenager made me realize she was interested in me, then this time, seeing my erection during her massage should have made me realize I was interested in her too.
But we kept going like this until I finally got my first girlfriend.
This girlfriend was hard-won, and it was all thanks to my close friends from high school.
My mother's teachings from childhood instilled in me the idea that looking at women was lecherous, flirting with girls was immoral, dating was irresponsible, and harassing women was an unforgivable crime.
For example, one day my sister said that a man at her workplace often stared at her, and my mother said with extreme disgust, "Shameless!" Growing up surrounded by such things, my mating instincts, though developed, were suppressed. Like a seedling growing under a giant rock, I struggled to grow, bending and twisting, yearning for sunlight and rain.
My older and younger sisters received the same education, but the harm wasn't as severe as mine. They could have remained dignified and serious, and boys still pursued them. Their ladylike demeanor only increased their number of suitors. But
I was miserable!
Whenever I saw a girl I liked, I seemed to lose the ability to speak, falling silent. When I wanted to pursue or express my love, my mother's shadow would haunt me, preventing me from uttering a thousand words, my limbs from obeying my will.
While I was alone, studying and working hard, my friends had countless women. But they had no money. I, on the other hand, after years of hard work, had accumulated some savings. So I ended up hanging out with them again.
These old classmates had all distanced themselves from me during our school days because of my mother. Whenever they came to visit me, my mother would call them hooligans. And every time I caused trouble at school and was asked to see my parents, my mother would blame it all on my best friends, who still harbor resentment to this day.
"Hey, does your mom still care about you? If you're with us, she won't come knocking on your door again, will she?" That was the first thing my old friends, whom I hadn't seen in a long time, would say when we got together.
I impatiently interrupted them, telling them I was a different person now. They were skeptical, but I quickly proved them wrong.
I never dreamed they'd slept with so many women during the years I spent sitting in an office like a hermit. When they talked about women at the dinner table, I thought they were just bragging, and I looked at them with disdain and mockery.
They quickly proved themselves too. At the second gathering, everyone brought a respectable woman they didn't know to accompany them. By our fifth gathering, more than half the women had slept with them.
I felt a strange sadness and resentment. At the time, I wasn't thinking about how many women they'd slept with; I just thought that I was far superior to these guys in terms of looks, figure, education, and income, yet I couldn't even find a wife!
One of my friends noticed my predicament and expressed sympathy. One day, after drinking, he said, "Ah Xun's treating, we're going to play around with women, haha." Everyone listening probably felt guilty towards me. The next time we got together, they introduced me to a girlfriend.
Before that, they taught me a lot about playing around with women:
"You think too highly of women, that won't work. You have to see every woman as a prostitute!"
"Be cool, don't act like a pedant!" "
We'll brag for you, don't look down on us, women are stupid, they have no judgment. If others say it's good, they think it's good. One compliment from us is worth a year of your education." "
A woman is only considered 'successful' if you sleep with her, otherwise it's always a failure!"
These golden words of wisdom still make me grateful to this day! But at the time, I was skeptical, and even argued with them.
One friend impatiently said, "You think you're so innocent? So high and mighty? I used to be just like you!" "He almost committed suicide!"
I know that. He once chased a girl all the way to her hometown, only to end up penniless and homeless, when he saw the girl and another man walking out of a dance hall. Enraged, he beat the man up and was arrested by the police. He was only rescued thanks to his friends who rushed to his aid.

-□ 2005-2-19 11:34

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Now, he's slept with a whole platoon of women. These include nurses, doctors, respected female teachers, and enviable female university students.
Hearing his story, I felt like my heart was being cut by a knife: "Women, are you really that despicable?!"
Finally, my friends told me: "Believe it or not, do as we say!"
As a result, in less than a week, I slept with that girl, finally releasing years of pent-up depression!
This was my first girlfriend, and I cherished her dearly. She was also very attached to me, but our relationship was unanimously opposed by my mother and friends! This was the first time that the mother and the "little hooligans" in her eyes had stood on the same side.
My mother expressed extreme disgust towards my girlfriend for two reasons. First, the girl's family wasn't wealthy, and her parents weren't from an educated class, making us an unsuitable match. Second, my mother didn't think she was a good girl; she knew about our past relationship. She only found out when I said, "She's been... you know... all that..." in an attempt to salvage the situation. But she didn't see it as a sacrifice; instead, she thought the girl was immoral.
My friends' reasons for objecting were quite different. They said, "Really? You're done with your first one?"
"Yesterday I said you were smart, quick to learn, but you're a fucking idiot." "
I thought you'd won her over, but it seems she's won you over." When
my girlfriend came home with me, my mother gave her a hard time. My friends were also causing trouble; they were busy introducing me to another girl while simultaneously trying to stop us from seeing each other. Their method was simple: at every gathering, if I called my girlfriend out, they would all rush to accuse me of violating the rules and report me! They'd snatch her away, or declare beforehand: "She comes, we go; it's either her or me."
What man doesn't want to sleep with multiple women? I'm a man too, and I was captivated by my friends' suggestions, though I doubted my own abilities. After all, the shadows accumulated over the years weren't easy to erase. Once I got on track with another girl, I slowly forgot about the previous one.
My friends painted a grand picture of my womanizing journey: after sleeping with ordinary women, they'd introduce me to middle-aged women, married women, middle school girls, and so on—and let me sleep with all the women they'd been with first. I was ecstatic!
But things didn't go as smoothly as I'd imagined. Two of my friends soon went to do business in other cities; another suddenly lost his parents in a car accident, and unfortunately, being a filial son, he was devastated; the remaining one slept with the daughter of a deputy police chief, resulting in a conviction for indecent assault and imprisonment, and we all broke up.
With ample experience in womanizing and correct theoretical guidance, but lacking the help of my friends, I still couldn't go it alone, and slowly reverted to my old ways. My second girlfriend ended the relationship before we even slept together. My first girlfriend married someone from another city and left.

Chapter Three: Kissing away her lingering lustful fluids, comforting her lonely cunt
. Life became empty and boring again. By this time, I had been working here for a year because the company was opening a branch in my hometown.
One day, I was sitting in front of the computer playing games out of boredom, smoking and putting one foot up on the stool. My mother came over and told me to smoke less, which was normal. I ignored her, which was also normal. But when she came over to repeat it for the fifth time, it was very abnormal.
Before, I hadn't even looked at her, just focused on my game. The fifth time I glanced at her, she quickly looked away and walked away. But I had already caught her gaze, and looking down, I realized that my shorts were too loose. With one leg up on the stool, the leg had slipped down, exposing half of my buttocks and testicles.
In that instant, I was extremely embarrassed and wanted to curse.
In the afternoon, I was watching TV and unconsciously put my feet up on the sofa and fell asleep. My mother had gone out to buy groceries and was back when I woke up. As soon as I opened my eyes, I saw her squatting beside my feet, tidying up the things she had just bought. That spot used to hold a flower stand and a few old shoes; my mother had never done anything there before, and the shoes were covered in a thick layer of dust.
Remembering what had happened that morning, I glanced down at my pants. There was a gap, and one foot was propped up on the coffee table, spread wide. I reached out and touched it, but before I could get very far, I touched a cold bird's egg.
My mother's unusual expression confirmed my suspicion. Her gaze was unfocused; she didn't dare look at me and hurried away.
I thought for a moment, then pretended to be asleep again. My mother actually squatted down at my feet again, head down, tidying up! Her head was so low, lower than the sofa armrest. After a while, she looked up, glanced at the door behind me, and gave me a quick look, but I continued to pretend to be asleep. Then my mother slowly lowered her head, until her eyes were level with the sofa armrest, and began to glance, intentionally or unintentionally, into my trouser leg. A sudden idea struck me, and I began to snore softly.
In an instant, my mother's expression completely changed. From nonchalant to intensely focused, from peeking out of the corner of her eye to a direct, fixed gaze. It
was the first time in my life I had seen my mother look at me with such an almost greedy gaze—an unforgettable experience!
The past attempts to hide were now a stark reality!
From that day forward, I made an astonishing decision.
Back then, there were no computers or the internet. The computer I used required inserting and removing two discs. Games were just simple programs like Snake, written in BASIC. Incestuous literature online was unheard of.
I felt alone, burdened by a deep sense of guilt. The only thing that supported me was Freud's theories of psychology. During that time, I actually read quite a few psychology books.
My mother also loves reading. She usually reads biographies of famous people from ancient and modern times, both Chinese and foreign. She often
sits under the lamp reading late into the night, wearing her reading glasses. I once saw one of her books; the margins were filled with philosophical sayings, but she seemed to take days to finish even one page. She usually gives the impression of a female scholar, with noble manners and worthy of respect. You can imagine why it was so shocking when she was squatting behind the sofa staring intently at my genitals!
Because the contrast was too great!
One day, I deliberately showed my mother a book. She said she wasn't interested. I insisted, and she agreed to read it, but seeing her reluctant expression, I knew she wouldn't take it seriously.
Later, I discovered she really hadn't read it, so I took the book back, saying, "The author of this book is strange; he thinks incest is normal." My mother looked up, her gaze passing over the top of her reading glasses, and said, "I haven't read it yet." I said, "I thought you'd finished it. Do you still want to read it?" She said, "Have you finished it?" "I said I'd finished reading it, and she said, 'Then leave it here, I'll read it when I have time.'
The next day I found out that my mother had already read the book.
I didn't know what she thought after reading it, but on the surface, there wasn't much change. Or rather, not the kind of change I expected. However, she seemed to be much nicer to me .
During this time, I seemed to focus all my energy on my mother. Sometimes I really didn't know what had gotten into me!
About two days later, I asked my mother if she had finished reading it, and she was unusually vague.
'What?' I asked.
'Finished, a little bit.'
She finally managed to utter a coherent sentence, her gaze shifting. I took the book and examined it carefully, and sure enough, I found that she had underlined a sentence in it. I don't remember the details, but it was something like 'Every child secretly loves their mother.' Then, while she was around, I wrote something in the book. She asked me what book I was reading, and I answered, then made a mark in the book and put it somewhere on the bookshelf.
What I wrote was: At least that's how I feel.
Right next to the sentence my mother had underlined."
When I got home from work, I immediately discovered that the book had been moved. Unfortunately, my mother hadn't added any further comment. However, my usually stern mother gave me several rare smiles that night. I had never seen her like that before, and I was momentarily at a loss for words. It wasn't until the next day that I managed to regain my composure and return the smile.
Many similar incidents followed, which I won't go into detail about, but a few major breakthroughs are worth mentioning.
I watched pornography late at night, deliberately letting my mother see. Then I taught her how to use a VCR, and she borrowed some science popularization videotapes from me. Soon after, she discovered that the marked pornographic tapes had been moved.
I started wearing underwear at home, and soon my mother was also often seen walking around the house in just her underwear. Her figure wasn't great, and sometimes I found it a bit annoying. So I encouraged her to do aerobics. At first, she said it was boring, but a month later I found out she was already participating.
I asked her to demonstrate aerobics for me, and she agreed, doing some movements in a high-slit aerobics outfit. Although I tried to control myself, I quickly got an erection. My mother saw this and walked away.
I also invited her to the movies, and she went. Soon after, it was her birthday, and I bought her a gift and flowers, which made her very happy. Her expression was different from anything I had ever seen before.
My mother started acting like a woman, not the strong woman she used to be; her voice became much gentler.
When she was doing laundry, I would give her a pair of underwear separately and ask her to wash it for me, and she washed it very clean.
I wrote in my diary: I love seeing her in aerobics and cheongsams. My diary also contains some of my erotic dreams, recorded in a very subtle way. Many of them are about my mother.

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The diary was on the table, and I discovered it had been touched.
On the third day, my mother wore a cheongsam, and I said it looked beautiful, very beautiful. My mother started doing aerobics at home, and I would come out to watch every time.
She would watch the instructional video on TV, doing the movements, while I sat on the sofa watching. She would turn around and ask me if I was doing it correctly, and I would deliberately let her notice that I was looking at her private parts.
I pointed out that she wasn't lifting her legs high enough, and went up to help her lift her thighs up a bit. Seeing that she was wearing long stockings, I said that it wasn't good for her skin to breathe. She didn't wear them the next day.
I immediately bought her a new leotard, but she said it was a swimsuit, but she wore it anyway.
I frantically collected information about incest, cutting and pasting it into a notebook. Some of it was borrowed from the library; I photocopied some, but I didn't want to spend too much money on photocopying, so I just copied some. Soon, I added my own opinions to real examples and critical investigations, mixing the truth with falsehood.
I wrote: "According to research by American scientists, humans have an innate tendency towards incest." Scientists believe that incest is unacceptable from a eugenics perspective, but acceptable from a love perspective…”
Of course, I put it on my desk again so my mother would see it.
One afternoon in July 1996, my mother was doing aerobics in the swimsuit I had bought her, and I was watching her from the sofa in my tight underwear. Her figure was much better than before. During
this time, I had the experience of touching my mother's inner thighs and had danced with her a few times on the spot, each time ending with laughter. My mother had completely become a woman.
When she asked me to help her stretch her legs again, I found her posture very alluring today.
My mother supported herself with her hands on the ground, one leg kneeling, the other leg stretched straight back and raised, asking me to help her raise it higher.
I saw a brownish indentation around the outside of my mother's labia majora at the narrow crotch of her pants, with a few pubic hairs on it. I picked up her thigh and tried to rub my swollen penis against her leg, and she didn't seem to notice. I squatted down, my knees touching her genitals. Her body contracted slightly, then relaxed, and she immediately asked, "Is this how?" I said, "Almost there. Can you go a little higher?" She said, "Try it."
I held her knees with one hand and slid the other down her thighs to her buttocks.
After a while, my mother stood up, panting, saying she was tired. I told her to change positions, and she asked what. I stood in front of her, leaning back until my hands were on the ground. My penis was bulging under my underwear, pointing at her.
Then I said, "Oh dear, I can't stand up." My mother laughed and helped me up, my penis pressed tightly against her lower abdomen. After we got up, I held her, panting, and said my back almost broke. My mother just laughed.
Then I helped my mother and asked her to do the same. My mother laughed and said she was old and her back was stiff, so she couldn't do it. I told her she was young and didn't need me to protect her. With my support, my mother slowly leaned back.
My mother's thighs were spread wide, our genitals pressed together through two thin layers of fabric.
Before my hands even touched the ground, she said she couldn't take it anymore and asked me to help her up. I jokingly refused, and she struggled to get up on her own, but she wasn't strong enough, causing our genitals to rub together.
After I picked her up, she felt dizzy and leaned against me. At this moment, I became excited and boldly touched her buttocks. After touching her, she said she was fine there, but her lower back was a little sore, and she asked me to massage it for her. I felt a little guilty, so I moved my hands up to her.
After massaging for a while, she said it was okay and got up and walked away. When she turned around, I saw that her crotch was wet.
The next morning, I put the underwear stained with semen on the bed, and my mother took it to wash.
After work in the afternoon, I asked my mother to teach me aerobics, and she agreed, carefully avoiding looking at my genitals. I also did her provocative move, and I believe my testicles had already pushed open a crack in my underwear; I wonder how much my mother saw.
We did the backbend exercise again, and I was so excited that I asked my mother to dance. As usual, she said she didn't know how, but I still said, "I'll teach you," and hugged her.
It was getting dark, and we didn't turn on the lights, only the fluorescent light from the TV illuminated the room.
Then I asked my mother to do a cheek-to-cheek dance. Of course, I didn't say the words "cheek-to-cheek dance," but simply asked her to put her arms around my neck instead. My mother said, "That's fine." I insisted, letting go of her and putting my arms around her waist. She had to put her hands on my shoulders, and I pushed her hands to my neck before she would hug me.
After dancing for a while, I touched my mother's buttocks, slipping my fingers under her crotch and finding it wet and slippery. Then my mother said, "Can you massage my back? It's a little swollen." Learning from yesterday's experience, I said, "Let me help you unblock the meridians in your back." My mother said, "Okay, do you know how?" I said, "Of course I do." Then I touched her from her shoulders to her buttocks.
"This is the Mingmen point, the coccyx, the perineum," I said, touching down, my hand finding a sticky, slippery substance. I felt myself losing control and kissed her. My mother smiled and dodged. Suddenly, I slipped my hand under her swimsuit at the hip and touched her buttocks. My mother glanced at me and pulled away to the right, but I still touched her genitals, wet and sticky.
"Don't do this," my mother whispered, pushing me away.
I refused to pull out, and she pushed harder and harder, almost to the point of a fight, before I finally withdrew.
My mother hugged my neck again, and I slipped my hand into her crotch again, this time touching her genitals directly. My mother warned me again in a low voice, "Stop it, just dance properly," and pushed my hand away again.
We continued dancing, and I kept kissing my mother, who would occasionally flinch. I also kept touching her buttocks, pulling her blouse up between her buttocks and touching her buttocks directly.
My mother didn't object to me touching her bottom anymore, but when my hand reached down again, she would suddenly stop, look at me, and only continue dancing with me after I took my hand out. I wanted to put my tongue in her mouth, but her lips were tightly closed, avoiding me. After
a while, I stopped, feeling deflated. My mother asked, "Not dancing anymore?" I stubbornly refused to answer, and she said, "Then Mom will go cook." Seeing that I didn't react, my mother went back to her room to change and then went to the kitchen.
The next day, I was absent-minded all day. When I came home from work and saw that my mother wasn't doing aerobics, I felt all the anger I had held back all day dissipate, and I sat on the sofa without saying a word. My mother asked if I wasn't feeling well, and I asked her why she hadn't done the exercises that day. She said she felt very tired and didn't want to move.
After dinner, I went downstairs for a walk to clear my head. A little girl kept pestering me to buy her flowers, so I bought a red rose and brought it back to my mother. My mother was very happy to receive the flower. After a while, she went back to her room, changed into her swimsuit, and came out to do some aerobics.
After a few steps, I went up to her and hugged her without saying anything about dancing. My mother looked at me and smiled, "What's wrong?" I pressed her head into my arms, not letting her look at me. After a while, seeing that I didn't speak, she broke free and looked at me again. I then said, "Let's dance." Then I put on some music and turned off the lights.
We hugged silently and swayed to the music for a while. Then I started kissing my mother and touching her buttocks. She didn't object. I tentatively touched her crotch, but it was still dry. Seeing that she didn't react, I boldly used my fingers to lift the cloth covering her buttocks and touched inside. My mother's labia were also dry, but when I touched the middle, I found that the two labia were full of nectar, which immediately seeped out along my middle finger.
At this moment, my mother raised her head, her face stern, and said, "Don't touch Mom there." Fortunately, her tone wasn't too harsh.
After a few more attempts to resist, my mother didn't refuse my touching of her vulva anymore; she just hugged me tightly, rubbing her face against my shoulder and neck.
After a while, I carried my mother to the sofa. She sensed something was about to happen and refused me. I don't remember what I said, but it was something like "I love you."
In the struggle, my mother cried out, "My clothes are torn!" I said, "It's okay, I'll buy another one." I took the opportunity to push up the swimsuit with the torn crotch, and after much persuasion, I finally got it off.
After taking it all off, I pulled down my underwear, exposing my penis. Of course, this was very uncomfortable, but I didn't dare to get up. If I relaxed even slightly, my mother would run away.
Then I pressed myself against my mother, coaxing her while slowly spreading her thighs with my legs. My mother whispered, "No." "Be good, you can't do this." "No, I can't." Finally, it became, "Mom isn't feeling well, can we do it tomorrow?" I
said things like, "I really want to... please... give it to me... I love you..."—the kind of nonsense women love to hear—while exploring with my glans. My mother struggled, twisting her hips to prevent me from entering. This was almost exactly the same as when I slept with my first girlfriend. I wonder if other women are like this too?
"Mom, just put it in for a little while, please..." I said, and my mother seemed to cry as she moaned and stopped moving, which meant she consented. I immediately found the entrance and inserted my penis into my mother's warm body, completing our first intercourse.

-□ 2005-2-19 11:38

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The pleasure of ejaculation is indescribable. After it was over, I lay down, and my mother kept cursing me in a low voice, saying she wanted to die. It wasn't until I got an erection a second time and pressed myself against her that she opened her lower mouth and closed her upper mouth.
The second time we did it for a long time. I occasionally thrust in and out, but most of the time I kissed her and talked to her. I recounted all the times I'd seen her spying on me, but my mother denied it all, saying I was making things up, that it never happened, and so on. I didn't argue with her, instead telling lies that I'd been in love with her since I was little—lies that women love to hear. I waited until she felt a sweet warmth in her heart before slowly taking advantage of her.
At this point, my mother stopped talking and let me do as I pleased. I carried her to her bed and made love to her for half an hour. She closed her eyes and hummed softly. When I ejaculated, she held me tightly, making soft moaning sounds, her buttocks arching repeatedly until I squeezed all my semen into her vagina.
When I woke up in the morning, I couldn't believe it was real; it felt like a dream.
I kissed my mother awake, constantly asking myself: Is this real? Did I really touch my mother's breasts? Did I really touch her genitals?
My mother opened her eyes, looking confused, thoughtful, and perhaps a little worried.
"Mom, you're still not awake?" I asked her. She smiled, looked at me, and stroked my forehead.
I rolled over and pressed myself against my mother, kissing her.
Our kiss was awkward, our teeth occasionally clashing, our tongues flicking haphazardly. Later, my mother wisely took a passive stance, reducing the impact.
She closed her eyes, her body rising and falling beneath me, occasionally taking deep breaths, as if trying to calm herself.
I want to clarify the difference between having sex with my mother and with my girlfriend. I suspect everyone has a gene that rejects incest, because every time I hold my mother and smell her scent, I have a feeling that it eliminates my desire for her. An incestuous person, however, experiences a different force that resists it. For me, this force is forbidden pleasure. It's far stronger than the first force.
While showering, my mother and I had sex again, but I didn't ejaculate.
When I came home that evening, my mother was doing aerobics again. I took off my clothes and sat on the sofa watching. She turned around, found me naked, and was quite surprised, scolding me.
I laughed and tried to take off her clothes, but she refused, calling me vulgar, and finally let me. We had sex on the sofa, then went to the bedroom. After ejaculating, I lay weakly on the bed, and my mother held me, carefully touching my body.
A week later, our sexual relationship normalized, and we had sex once or twice a day.
Every day when I came home, my mother would open the door for me, put my things down, undress me, and then immediately hug me. I would ask her, "Did you miss me?" She would nod, and then we would go to bed and make love. We were newlyweds, inseparable.
Then one Sunday, I took my mother shopping, saying I wanted to buy her something. When we arrived at the jewelry store, my mother refused to go in. Only after my persuasion and the shop assistant's invitation did she finally enter.
I wanted to buy her a ring, but she was uneasy. When I asked her if it was okay, she always said, "You decide." When I was about to pay, she haggled with the shop assistant, her attitude very unfriendly. Fortunately, the shop assistant didn't mind, but because of her, we actually saved a few hundred yuan.
When we got home, I hugged my mother and sat on the sofa, took out the ring, and she immediately became shy. Another thing that impressed me deeply was my mother's changed posture. In the past, like many middle-aged women, she would sit with her thighs slightly crossed, body upright, and hands at her sides. Today, however, she lowered her head slightly, her legs together, and her hands clasped on her knees. What moved me even more was that her calves were slightly tilted to the right, while her upper body leaned to the left towards me, an expression of unparalleled tenderness and care.
This body language reflected my mother's inner world; she had completely come to rely on me, a support that spoke volumes more than a thousand words. At this moment, she was no longer the prim and proper, unsmiling mother who would often scold me with a stern face. She had completely become my new wife.
Especially when I took her hand and placed the ring on her fingers, roughened by years of hard work but still long and slender, words could not describe the expression on her face.
My heart pounded at that moment!
I haven't explained the meaning of that ring then, or even to this day, but we both understand. At least we both think of it that way: it's our engagement ring.
Afterwards, my mother and I went into the room and had sex. It was the most enjoyable and smooth sex we'd ever had since we started our relationship. With a gentle pull, my mother stood up gracefully, her lightness like that of a vibrant young girl. We walked arm in arm towards the bedroom, exchanging knowing smiles.
At the door, my mother paused, closed the door, and then came to the bedside with me, embracing and kissing.
I unbuttoned her cheongsam and found she had changed into new underwear, which I didn't know when she had bought. Before, my mother had always made her own underwear from old fabric. I not only saw the new underwear, but I also felt my mother's feelings. The underwear wasn't particularly sexy; what was sexy was my mother's sentiment: Son, I belong to you.
My mother smiled shyly, and we kissed again. Her underwear fluttered down like leaves in the wind, while I remained impeccably dressed in my suit. When I saw myself in the mirror, impeccably dressed, holding my naked mother in my arms, caressing her until she gasped, I felt an immense excitement.
Heh, it was like a client playing with a prostitute.
My mother closed her eyes, enjoying my caresses and kisses, completely unaware that I was treating her like a prostitute.
This was the result of my friends' teachings.
However, I didn't actually see my mother as a prostitute; it was just a thrilling thought. I believe that even if my mother knew my true feelings, she would forgive me.
After a while, my mother straightened up, smiled at me, and gently loosened my tie, removing my shirt. Then, seemingly embarrassed, she took off my pants, hugged me again, and pressed her breasts against my chest.
I put one leg on the bed, draped one of my mother's thighs over mine, wrapped my arms around her waist, kissed her, and caressed her vulva.
My mother opened her eyes and whispered, "The bed is dirty." I smiled, not caring at all.
After all, it wasn't me washing the sheets, but my mother, so she felt more sorry for me than I did.
My mother took her legs down, knelt down to untie my shoelaces, took off my shoes, then stood up, hugged my waist, and pressed her face against my chest.
It's worth mentioning that when my mother knelt naked in front of me to take off my shoes, I felt a strong sense of pleasure! Her kneeling posture seemed to be telling me: Son, you have conquered me.
This was probably the effect of that ring worth over three thousand yuan. I thought: Actually, my mother and a prostitute are not much different, except that the first time is more expensive, and you don't have to pay afterward. Comparatively speaking, paying for a mother is more cost-effective than paying for a prostitute. Of course, thinking like this was just for the thrill, nothing more.
After taking off my shoes, my mother and I held hands and got onto the bed, kneeling facing each other. I rubbed my hands on my belt a few times, looked at my mother, and she understood what I meant, smiling as she loosened my belt. Then I knelt higher, and she pulled her pants up to my thighs. I sat down and crossed my legs. My mother took off my pants and carefully placed them on the stool beside the bed, unlike me, who threw her underwear all over the floor.
I was still wearing my underwear, but my mother didn't move. She knelt there, looking down at the bed. I went up and hugged her, kissing her. Her hands caressed my body under my arms, and then she finally started to take off my underwear.
I lay down and reached out to pull my mother up, wanting her to lie on top of me, but this time she didn't understand. She lay on her side next to me, so I had to turn over. She also turned and lay on her back. When I pressed down, she spread her legs. Everything was perfectly coordinated.
My glans was wet and slippery, making it easy to slip into my mother's vagina.
This was the first time we made love in a brightly lit place. My mother kept her eyes tightly closed, not daring to look at me. Her thighs were wrapped around my waist, and her hands were wrapped tightly around my neck. I used a nine-shallow-one-deep method to penetrate her. She occasionally opened her mouth and silently exhaled.
After all, I was born of her, and our reproductive organs were perfectly coordinated. My mother's vagina and my penis were almost the same length; when I inserted it to the hilt, with a little more force, I reached her clitoris. If I thrust in too hard, her body would involuntarily tremble.
She was taking deep breaths, seemingly trying to suppress the pleasure; I gently patted her, signaling her to relax.
During ejaculation, my mother's whole body tensed, clinging tightly to me until a minute after I finished, when she relaxed. As she hugged me tightly, her vagina contracted rhythmically with her panting.
At dinner, we were very close. We didn't say much, just smiled at each other from time to time. In all my life, I had never seen my mother smile so much.
After that, we shared a bed for a year, and I estimate I ejaculated a whole bucket of semen inside her during that time.
For a while, she stopped bodybuilding, seeming lazy and prone to being coquettish. After my persuasion, she resumed exercising, and her figure improved dramatically. Of course, she can't be compared to a teenage girl, but compared to her peers, or even those twenty years younger than her, she's quite good. I often buy my mother high-end shower gel and skincare products to keep her skin smooth and supple. She also takes good care of herself, even wearing gloves when washing vegetables.
The only drawback is that her breasts just won't grow bigger.
The first time I gave my mother oral sex was at night. I had already gone to bed, and my mother went to take a shower. After she finished, she wrapped a towel around herself and got into bed. I suddenly had a whim, pushed her down, spread her legs, and buried my face in her. My mother was startled, thinking I was going to bite her there, and cried out in pain. After I licked her, she became extremely excited, producing a lot of fluid, which had a slightly fishy smell, but it was still bearable.
Later, I asked my mother to lick my penis. She didn't want to refuse, but seemed reluctant, licking it a few times. I felt that forcing it wouldn't bring happiness, and the feeling wasn't good, so I said, "Never mind, if you don't want to lick, then don't." My mother hesitated and asked me, "Will you kiss me after I lick you?" I said, "Of course!" It turned out she was afraid I would find her dirty.
My mother then readily took my penis in her mouth. After a while, to prove myself, I pulled her up and kissed her hard, sucking out her saliva and swallowing it. To be honest, it was a bit disgusting because she seemed to have held her saliva in her mouth for a long time. But things got much better after that. When my mother sucked my penis, I could feel her tenderness, and she kept swallowing her saliva. I made her eat my semen once, and she said her throat felt uncomfortable afterward.

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Once, after I ejaculated, my mother put my semen in her mouth and let me taste it. I ate it and found it salty and fishy, yet also bland. My throat felt numb, which wasn't very pleasant, so I never wanted my mother to eat my semen again. Unexpectedly, my mother seemed to like the feeling again. She said, "The numbness is also very fun." So later, when she was happy, she would still suck my penis until she sucked out the semen and swallowed it.
We've also tried anal sex, but my mother didn't like it, so we did it less often. I hope she'll change her mind someday.
That year we tried everything, including various positions, but ultimately we both felt that face-to-face embracing during penetration was the most pleasurable and intense. We also tried sneaking off to hotels to experience new environments. We even tried having sex in parks at night while traveling, but I found the pleasure wasn't great when I ejaculated, so we stopped.
A year later, our passion had waned somewhat, but we were still very much in love. My mother suggested I find a girlfriend, promising she wouldn't be jealous.
By then, my friends had all returned, and I spent more time with them chasing girls, spending less time with my mother.
When I came home at night, my mother would always complain, but as soon as my penis entered her vagina, she would become as docile as a puppy.
Soon, I found another girl and brought her home to live with me. My mother secretly asked me if the girl was a virgin, seemingly more concerned about it than I was. I said, "Where are virgins these days?" My mother looked down on that girl and indulged me in finding another one.
My live-in girlfriend, unwilling to accept being dumped, came to my house and made a scene several times. My mother, without any politeness, scolded her away, and the relationship ended. Soon after, I slept with a second girl, a clerk at a company. She was very beautiful, but not a virgin. However, this time when my mother asked, I lied and said yes. My mother was very happy and treated her like a future daughter-in-law, urging me to get married quickly.
A year later, my girlfriend became pregnant, and we prepared to get married.
The night before the wedding, my girlfriend went to stay at her parents' house. My mother and I hadn't been together for a long time, and given the opportunity to be alone, we naturally went to bed without hesitation.
After we had sex once, I told my mother to put on her wedding dress, and then we had sex on the wedding bed. My mother said, "How could you even think of that?" while her body writhed excitedly.
After marriage, life at home became peaceful. My wife soon gave birth to a son, and my mother loved taking care of her grandson, finding a new purpose in life.
Whenever my wife was around, my mother reverted to her old ways, refusing even a kiss from me, afraid of being seen. Once, when my wife was in the bathroom, I secretly told my mother, "Don't wear underwear." She asked curiously, "Why?" I felt awkward. Another time, during a meal, my wife went to the kitchen, and I secretly touched my mother's thigh, startling her so much that she almost dropped her bowl, whispering angrily, "Are you crazy?"
Sometimes, I would sneak out from work to rekindle our past romance with my mother, but it was always rushed and never truly satisfying. Occasionally, when my wife was away on business or there were company events, my mother and I could immerse ourselves in sex again.
Having been with two women for so long, I naturally compared them in my mind, and my mother seemed quite interested in my daughter-in-law's bedroom skills. Out of female modesty, she was too embarrassed to ask, but whenever I brought it up, she listened very attentively.
To be honest, my mother is inferior to my wife in many ways. She gave birth to the three of us siblings, so her vagina is naturally loose. Fortunately, her vaginal fluid is thicker and less abundant, which compensates somewhat for the lack of friction. Besides, my mother is over fifty years old; her face has many wrinkles, her hair is streaked with gray, her breasts are small and sagging, and her nipples point downwards. She also has a lot of fat on her lower abdomen, always looking like she's three months pregnant. Although compared to women her age, my mother is well-maintained, she's far inferior to my youthful and beautiful wife.
However, because I enjoy excitement, my mother's shortcomings due to old age become advantages in my eyes. That's why I truly feel: I'm having sex with my own mother!
Also, my mother is very conservative. Every time we have sex, we use the traditional method. Because we are mother and son incestuous, she has a deep sense of inferiority and is very concerned about my attitude towards her. She dislikes me making her lie on the bed and then having sex with her from behind like a dog. I wanted her to imitate the actresses in adult films, but she said she didn't want to imitate those kinds of sluts. At that moment, I thought to myself, even if someone is shameless, they wouldn't stoop so low as to sleep with their own son. Of course, this was something I absolutely couldn't say out loud. I also wanted her to secretly watch my wife and me making love, but she called me vulgar.
Compared to my mother, my wife is a hundred times more open-minded. She's tried every move in adult films with me. Once, I asked her if she wanted to play along and break the rules, to report me! She said, "If you're willing to let a dog do it, I'm willing too." She was serious and meant what she said, but I wasn't willing to let a dog do it, so the matter was dropped. I also asked her about her opinion on incest, and she said, "If other people like it, it's none of our business." Once, we were watching an adult film, and I pointed to the actor having sex with his mother and said, "If we have a handsome son in the future, would you want to have sex with him?" She retorted, "Have you slept with your mother?" I pretended to be angry and ignored her, but inside I was terrified and never dared to ask that question again.
Aside from the forbidden thrill, my mother's superiority over my wife lay in her snow-white skin; I've never seen a living woman whiter than her in my life. Her physical suppleness was also unparalleled. Women's bodies are generally soft, but compared to my mother, it was nothing. She was practically boneless and muscleless. Holding her, even without committing adultery, was incredibly pleasurable.
My sisters' beauty was no less than that of Miss Hong Kong or Miss World, arguably even surpassing them, yet I've never felt any sexual interest in them from childhood. This puzzles me. This is probably a result of natural selection and evolution, a kind of protective measure.
In fact, one can observe that women become less attractive after giving birth to boys and more beautiful after giving birth to girls; sons usually resemble their mothers (this is more easily observed in interspecies reproduction), while daughters usually resemble their fathers (most people don't experience sexual desire for themselves, and perhaps have less sexual desire for those most similar to themselves). Could these changes also be to prevent incest between mothers and sons, or fathers and daughters?
My sisters went their separate ways after finishing their studies, spending relatively little time with me. When we were little, we were always at odds, fighting over toys and such; there was little affection between us. I don't know what the future holds, but if anything happens, I'll write it down for readers.
I thought our sex life would decline over time like that of any other couple, eventually ceasing altogether, but it hasn't turned out that way yet. I think it's because we can't fully satisfy each other. Especially after reading my first incestuous story online, I suddenly felt a strong sense of identification. My mother read it too, and then we reached a new peak.
In the past year, my mother and I have had sex far more often than my wife, and the location is more often in the kitchen than in bed, usually right after I get off work. Because my wife sells vegetables, she usually gets home half an hour later than me, and my mother and I take advantage of this opportunity to have our affair. At this time, my mother is usually in the kitchen cutting meat or washing rice, and I go straight to the kitchen as soon as I walk in. If she's not there, she'll be washing clothes in the bathroom.
When my mother is sexually aroused, she'll put down what she's doing, turn around and hug me, and then we'll kiss and caress each other in the kitchen. My mother prefers me to touch her, but rarely initiates it. While touching me, she'd reach under her skirt to pull down her panties, then pin her against the kitchen wall and rape her.
My mother usually wears skirts, occasionally a robe, which means she's interested. If she's not wearing anything under her robe, it's very stimulating. Even if I'm not sexually aroused, she'll use oral sex or something to arouse me. If she wears trousers, then it's hopeless; no matter how much I touch her, she won't get wet. I always feel annoyed when I see my mother wearing trousers. However, both of these situations are rare. Usually, I'm the one who initiates the touching, and she'll become aroused in less than three minutes. All things considered, it's more often I'm not interested, and less often my mother isn't.

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The most realistic incestuous relationship between mother and son (I don't know if you've seen it, but I think this one is pretty good).

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