Romantic Mother-Child Bond

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Romantic Mother-Son Relationship (1)

My name is Wang Tiexiong. I am the eldest son in my family and I have a younger sister who is two years younger than me.

My sister has always been in poor health and is younger than me, so my parents naturally love her more. But when I was little, I always thought that my parents were biased and treated me worse than my sister, so I was resentful.

Perhaps because of this, I have been rebellious since I was a child, with a withdrawn personality and strange behavior.

I rarely do anything to satisfy my parents and often go against them and make them angry. My parents are helpless about this.

The only thing that can comfort them is that my academic performance is good and my character is not bad.

I am very good at studying because I want my parents to know that I am better than my sister.

When I was thirteen or fourteen years old, I gradually developed a strong interest in women, and masturbation developed from occasional to daily. But masturbation cannot truly satisfy me. I crave real intercourse. Back then, society and schools were still very conservative. For someone my age to pursue a girl was a serious matter; it would invite gossip and whispers behind my back.

Being very vain, I naturally didn't want to do such a thing. I could only endure the torment of lust. I don't know when it started, but my mother's beautiful figure gradually attracted me, and later I even made her the object of my sexual fantasies.

My mother's name is Zhao Zhuoya, and although she is thirty years old, she is still stunningly beautiful.

My mother has a lovely and charming face, and a noble and elegant temperament. She works in a private company, belonging to the white-collar elite, so when she often wears fashionable and well-fitting cheongsams and high heels, she appears even more captivating.

Whenever I see my mother, my heart races; when I think of her, I feel inexplicably excited.

I am completely captivated by my mother; it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say I'm obsessed. My mother is the only woman in my life who has ever truly driven me mad.

But despite my thoughts, reason told me it was impossible: "My mother is my biological mother, I cannot fall in love with her. This is not allowed by morality and etiquette, it is crazy or even perverted."

Helplessly, I could only fantasize about my mother or masturbate. I even wanted to use my mother's underwear to vent my frustration. Later, I also wanted to peek at my mother's body, but I never had the chance. But despite this, I never actually did anything improper to my mother. I am not that shameless.

I thought my love for my mother was just my own dream, a dream that could never be realized.

I just hoped that this dream would end soon. But that afternoon, God gave me an opportunity, an opportunity that would affect my whole life.

Romantic Mother-Son Relationship (2)

That afternoon, I came home from school. My sister was in tutoring class, and my parents were at work, so no one was home.

On the wall of my living room hung my parents' wedding

photo from back then, and I couldn't help but stare at it. My mother looked like a fairy in her white wedding dress, but she hasn't changed much now, only she is more dignified and mature.

My mind started daydreaming again: "What if I were standing next to Mom instead of Dad, and I married Mom..."

The sound of a door opening interrupted my thoughts. I sighed inwardly; it was probably my sister coming home from school or Dad coming home early. I couldn't help but feel annoyed that their return had interrupted my peaceful reverie.

The door opened, and there was Mom.

Mom never came home early, and seeing her, I felt a mix of joy and nervousness. I stammered, "Mom, you, you're back?"

Seeing it was me, Mom asked, somewhat surprised, "School's out so early? Don't you have classes this afternoon?"

I suppressed my excitement and pretended to be calm, saying, "No classes this afternoon." I secretly glanced at Mom.

Today, she was wearing a light purple suit, light-colored stockings, and white high heels.

My heart pounded again, and a certain part of my body stirred.

To avoid losing my composure, I was about to go back to my room when I heard Mom cry out "Ah!" behind me.

I turned around and saw that Mom had accidentally twisted her ankle; she was in so much pain she couldn't stand.

I rushed to help her, settling my mother into a seat on the "I'm the Number One Fool" chair.

"Mom, are you alright?" I asked with concern.

My mother shook her head, her face still contorted in pain.

She tried to bend down to take off her high heels, but the pain prevented her.

I don't know where I got the courage, but I bent down and lifted my mother's sprained right ankle, saying, "Mom, let me help you."

As I spoke, I took off my mother's right high heel, and her slender, beautiful foot immediately appeared before me: her delicate feet, encased in stockings, were even more alluring.

I was incredibly excited; this was a part of my mother's body that I had longed for—her beautiful feet!

For so long, I had even dreamed of having close contact with my mother's body, and now those beautiful feet were right in front of me.

I reached out and grasped my mother's foot, beginning to gently stroke and knead it. I was completely out of control! I murmured, "Mom, your feet are so beautiful."

After a few minutes, I suddenly snapped back to reality.

I looked up and suddenly saw my mother staring at me. Her face was flushed, and her eyes held a strange look—I could

n't tell if it was anger, reproach, or shyness; it was just odd. Seeing her blushing cheeks, I was stunned, my hands still tightly gripping her slender foot, forgetting to put them down.

My mother said softly, "Aren't you going to put them down?"

I was still bewildered: "Put down what?"

My mother's face turned even redder: "Put down my foot."

Just then, the door opened. My mother abruptly pulled her foot back, and I jumped up as well.

My father and sister walked in.

My father was startled to see us and asked, "What are you all doing here?"

"I don't have class this afternoon." "I don't have work this afternoon,"

my mother and I said almost simultaneously.

My mother's face seemed to flush again, and she hurriedly asked, "How did you all get together?"

My father and sister seemed to blush as well, their heads down as they hurriedly changed their shoes, answering, "We met at the door too."

I said, "Mom's ankle is twisted."

My father asked, "Is it alright?" without showing much concern.

Mom replied, "It's nothing."

After saying that, Dad immediately went upstairs, and my sister followed, leaving just Mom and me in the living room.

I suddenly realized that Dad had seemed indifferent to Mom and me in recent years, but his concern for my sister was unusual.

I didn't dare look at Mom and mumbled, "Mom, is your foot alright?"

Mom's voice sounded unnatural as she said, "My foot is fine."

I fled back to my room.

That night, I couldn't sleep a wink, constantly thinking about the scene of me touching Mom's foot that afternoon.

At that time, I brazenly touched my mother's feet, and she did not resist or refuse, nor was she angry; most importantly, she did not tell my father. During dinner, she even talked to me, as if nothing had happened.

I kept thinking: "If a woman is willing to let you touch her feet, will she also let you touch any part of her body?"

After this incident, I felt as if I saw hope. I felt that my union with my mother was not a pipe dream, and maybe one day we really would...

Romantic mother-son relationship (3)

I began to wait patiently, waiting for God to create an opportunity for me.

I stopped masturbating, and I no longer felt the guilt and remorse that came with thinking about my mother.

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