From a mother's perspective

page views:1 Publication date:2023-05-23

The era I grew up in and the family and school education I received instilled in me a complete lack of awareness about dating before university. In fact, I was quite terrified of it, thinking that dating was something immoral. If someone wrote me a letter confessing their love or showed me affection, I would definitely stay far away. But this mindset gradually changed in university. There were many couples around, and I was getting older and had emotional needs. I realized that dating wasn't shameful. My ex-husband and I met in university, and that was my first love. He was in the same major as me, and we were from the same city. There weren't many people in our major, and everyone in the classes knew each other. Men were popular in teacher's colleges, and he was quite outstanding at the time—tall, handsome, and talented. Our roommates all spoke highly of him. We had a lot of contact and interaction during several college activities, and things naturally progressed. He never even confessed to me, and I, being inexperienced, thought that was dating. For a long time, I didn't dare to make a move. Our first time holding hands was his initiative, and our first kiss was also initiated by him. A long time passed between holding hands and kissing. Neither of us had experience with our first kiss; our lips just touched, but it was enough to excite us. That feeling is still unforgettable. Later, he learned to suck my tongue, and the pleasure intensified, making my whole body feel like it was on fire. I was also wet. To be honest, I had never masturbated before university and had no sexual needs whatsoever. But after kissing him, I had a desire, but I absolutely dared not. Those days were far less open than they are now. I guess most people's first time was on their wedding night, and he and I were no exception. After graduating from university, I worked at the affiliated high school, while he went to another high school in the city that was almost the best. Back then, it was easy for graduates of teacher's colleges to find jobs, unlike now, although now it's difficult for any major. We got married less than a year after starting work. Because our families and jobs were in the same city, both sets of parents were satisfied, so it went quite smoothly.

Our first... It was our wedding day, around 11 PM when we made love. I was so busy and exhausted that I was completely disoriented. I just did whatever people told me to do; it seems like wedding procedures have always been so complicated. He undressed me, and my face burned. It was the first time I'd ever been naked in front of a man. He kissed my entire body passionately, his hands touching my genitals. That fervor aroused my own passion, and I inevitably became aroused. He penetrated me, and I was so stimulated that I opened my mouth wide but dared not scream… My first experience of sex was truly wonderful; I was overwhelmed with pleasure. Thinking back, it's been almost twenty years since then, but I still remember it clearly, down to every detail, because I've relived that scene countless times in my memory.

We made love very frequently when we first got married, but gradually it decreased, and the pleasure wasn't as intense as before. Perhaps the physical pleasure remained, but the psychological novelty had worn off. Only when he was away on business trips or studying for extended periods could I experience my needs again. It was very intense. I used my fingers to mimic his movements within my vagina, looking at his wedding photo on the wall, imagining him on top of me. Absence truly makes the heart grow fonder. When he returned, we made love freely, feeling much better than usual.

After having our child, we experienced the joy and sense of accomplishment of being parents. I would often glance at my son and then at him, feeling a deep sweetness in my heart. Our child was the crystallization of our love, bearing the characteristics of both of us; the feeling was wondrous and blissful. For the first few years, our relationship was incredibly strong, but marriage truly cannot escape the seven-year itch. It really did begin in the seventh year. He became indifferent to me, spoke less, and his sexual desire decreased significantly. I was terrified, not knowing what I had done wrong. When I asked him, he wouldn't say. I tried my best to be gentle with him and diligently did housework, but nothing worked. He only grew increasingly indifferent, and my heart gradually cooled. I knew his heart belonged to someone else. Our marriage, after more than nine years, came to an end. He was the one who initiated the divorce, and all I could do was helplessly agree. I know... I knew I couldn't win him back. I took the child, and he gave me the house and most of his assets, leaving me with almost nothing. Less than a year after the divorce, he remarried, to someone from his workplace. At the time, I couldn't understand what I was lacking, what made me inferior to him. I did everything a wife should do, treating his parents with the same filial piety as my own, and treating his brother's children as my own, giving them lucky money and buying them clothes every Chinese New Year. How could this be the result? Those two years were truly disheartening; my life was bleak. Later, I thought that for the sake of my child, I couldn't stay like that forever; I had to move on. Being from a single-parent family, if I were also melancholic, it would be detrimental to my child's development. Many relatives and friends introduced me to potential partners, but I initially had no interest. Later, wanting to give my child a complete family, I tried dating, but my child reacted very strongly, treating any man who came to our home as an enemy. I didn't want to upset my child, and besides, I was a little afraid of marriage and lacked confidence, so I stopped dating. I tried, but then no one recommended it anymore.

I feel guilty towards my son; I haven't been a successful parent. Although I studied education, including early childhood education, in school, I couldn't bear to toughen him up. I always tried to provide him with a comfortable environment and prepare everything for him, never giving him any opportunities to be independent. As a result, he has very poor self-care skills and is too dependent on me. Even now that I understand this, I still can't bear to let him develop on his own. When he first entered high school, a teacher suggested I let him board at school, but I wasn't comfortable with that, saying, "We live so close, why pay for boarding?" Some teachers let their children board at school for convenience and to help their children develop. I'm glad my son is smart, has excellent grades, and is tall and handsome.

Raising a child alone is truly difficult, not just financially, but also mentally and environmentally. When he was younger, there were things I couldn't tell him at home, like work-related frustrations. He wouldn't understand, and many people around me don't understand either. I live alone, without a man to rely on, I have to do everything myself. I carry rice and flour upstairs by myself, without asking for help or hiring anyone. I don't want more people to know I don't have a man, not even strangers. My body is tired, but my heart is even more bitter, I want to cry but have no tears. Back then, a young man in the same building always stared at me with those kinds of eyes. I was really scared, I learned what a malicious gaze was. If I had a husband, I would feel much more at ease, but in fact I didn't. I was always afraid that he would break into my house one day, so every time I opened the door, I would look behind me to see if anyone was there, and after entering the house, I would quickly lock the door. Looking back now, it was all a deep sense of inferiority. Later, I didn't see the young man anymore, he probably moved away. After so many years, my mentality has gradually calmed down. My son has also grown up and is tall. Having a man in the house feels different.

The loneliness in the middle of the night after the divorce is hard to bear. During those days of my menstrual cycle when my desire is high, I really wish there was a man. He couldn't possibly comfort or satisfy me; only my own hands could satisfy me. The wedding photo on the wall had long been taken down. My fantasies started with my ex-husband. Although I couldn't tell if it was love or resentment, I had once believed I belonged to him for life and that I could only have sex with him. Gradually, his image faded from my mind. But regardless of who it was, the sadness and loss after masturbation remained. Especially later, when I fantasized about my son. But the next time, I couldn't help but fantasize again; my son's image wouldn't leave me until after orgasm, when my mind went blank. After a while, I felt not only sadness but also deep self-reproach. I didn't want to, but the only man I could rely on was my son. In fact, we depended on each other. Sometimes when he lay in my arms, I felt a maternal tenderness; sometimes I lay on his chest, in his arms, and felt like a little woman. Having someone to rely on gave me a sense of secure happiness; it was as if my son was my man.

The only man I've ever been in contact with is my son. Unlike other mothers and sons, we don't have any taboos. Perhaps it's because I've always treated him like he was when he was little. Even now that he's grown up, I still worry about him and take meticulous care of him, giving him countless instructions. As a result, his self-reliance is very poor. I want to let him develop on his own, but I'm too worried and can't bear to. He can't live without me—in daily life, emotionally, and physically. Because mothers and sons are naturally close, especially after so much time alone together, he's attached to his mother, and I'm attached to my son. At my age, I understand the reasons, but I'm powerless to change it. For example, when I stare at my son's muscular physique and bulging lower body, I know that infatuated look is wrong, but I can't take my eyes off him. Thoughts are one thing, actions are another. If actions were entirely guided by thoughts, there would be far fewer mistakes in the world. Mistakes are all due to ignorance. My son and I had a long history of living alone and being intimate, and we both had needs and desires for each other—that's undeniable. I think we understood each other's feelings, but neither of us ever brought it up. Even now, after this incident, we rarely discussed it verbally. Back then, we were both cautiously probing, wanting to take things further but feeling uneasy, each hoping the other would make the first move.

I don't know when it started, but the way my son looked at me changed. Even when I was behind him, I could feel that gaze—focused and intense. When I turned around, I would hurriedly look away. Actually, I knew that my gaze towards him was the same. He exercises regularly and has a very fit physique; that youthful energy is really attractive. Every time he walked around the house shirtless in his underwear, I couldn't help but stare at him. His chest muscles were attractive, but what tempted me most was his bulging lower body. Just seeing that made my legs go weak. Do all women have a kind of male genital worship? I even wanted to kneel down and worship it, really, haha. I used to think he was useless, but back then I felt he was a powerful and tall man.

When he was little, my son always slept next to me, he only felt safe and could fall asleep when he touched me. Later, when he got older, I let him have his own room because of his studies, but he still comes to my room and sleeps in my bed from time to time. He always has a lot of excuses, saying he had a scary dream, that it was cold when he was hungry, that my double bed wouldn't fall off. But when he comes to my bed, he doesn't go to sleep right away, he always hugs me, just like when he was little, with one nipple in his mouth and his hand touching the other breast. The difference is that when he was little, he just sucked, but now he licks it with his tongue. It really arouses me. I asked him, "Son, is this reminding you of when you were little?" He still had the nipple in his mouth and mumbled something I couldn't understand. I don't know if I wanted to hear him say yes or no. No, saying it would put my mind at ease: this behavior is nothing, just a mother and son reliving the past. Saying it wouldn't excite me or make me have many fantasies. I've always been a very contradictory person, conflicted emotionally and in terms of decision-making. Actually, I was very aroused at the time, really hoping something would fill it, like his fingers or his... but I didn't dare. For a long time, we found satisfaction in this borderline behavior, which was both satisfying and torturous. Neither of us dared to cross that line. We didn't touch each other's... with our hands. Once, I was really sleepy and asked him to go back to his room, but he wouldn't listen. So I turned my back to him, and he hugged me and touched my breasts, his... rubbing against my buttocks from time to time. Even through two layers of underwear, I could feel its heat. I immediately became aroused, my heart was in my throat, and I really hoped he would take off my underwear and fill me up, but I still didn't move. After a while, he went back to his room, and I couldn't wait to masturbate. I thought my son must have masturbated in his room too, but more often... After we started touching each other, he would fall asleep on my bed. I was too afraid to masturbate myself for fear of making noise and waking him up. He was probably afraid too.

But when his desire was too strong, he wasn't afraid of anything. Once, I woke up after a while and found my son's penis above my face. He was masturbating. I almost screamed when I opened my eyes, but I held it in because I was afraid it would be embarrassing. It was dark, so he didn't see me open my eyes. He continued to rub his penis, which was not far from my face. I wondered what would happen if he ejaculated. What if he ejaculated on my face? Should I pretend to be asleep with my eyes half-closed? He moved faster and faster. Luckily, he caught it with his left hand when he ejaculated. After going to the bathroom, he went back to his room. I lay in the same position as before, masturbating while savoring the moment.

When I couldn't hold back, I hugged his head and pressed it tightly against my breasts. The squeezing sensation brought me pleasure, but he broke free and started breathing heavily because his mouth and nose were covered and he was suffocating. I really wanted to put my hand down there to relieve the itch. But I still didn't dare, and besides, our bodies were pressed together and there was no space left. I couldn't resist any longer and reached my hand inside from behind. You can't reach all the way in from behind; the power of lust is truly terrifying. My left hand, seemingly casually, slid from my son's chest to his penis. I hadn't touched that part of him in over ten years. I was so excited, I tried my best to control my excitement. My right hand moved gently inside my vagina, while my left hand remained on his penis without moving, and he didn't move either. I didn't dare move my arms, afraid of making too much noise and getting noticed. I could only bend and straighten my fingers, and I tried to keep my body as still as possible. I still remember that feeling of pleasure, both suppressed and excited. One hand was touching my son's penis, and the other was inside my vagina; it felt like my two hands could merge into one, imagining my fingers as my son's penis.

I knew that day would eventually come, but I didn't expect it to be me who initiated it. But thinking about it, it makes sense; my son has always been shy and never as proactive as me. That night, I wasn't wearing anything; I slept naked after showering. My son came into my room and before I could react, he was on the bed. Afraid he'd find me naked without underwear, I faced him and stuck my butt out. He touched and kissed my breasts as usual. I guess I was in my monthly arousal period, and my reaction was very strong. My hand involuntarily went to his genitals, and this time my other hand went into my vagina from the front. He was lying on his back at first, then suddenly grabbed my hand and rubbed his penis. Then he pulled down his underwear a little so my hand could directly touch his penis. I was so excited! I didn't care if my movements were too big. I vigorously masturbated both of us. He must have felt very good, moaning softly. I don't know where I got the courage; I was pushing my luck. I'd dreamed of this before, but at that moment, I felt it still wasn't enough. So I got up, straddled him, positioned his penis against my vagina, and sat down until it was fully inside. Because there was so much fluid, my vagina was wide open. The pleasure... It was so intense that I collapsed onto my son. He cried out and jerked his body. I sat up and moved up and down, but after a few movements, my body went limp and I involuntarily collapsed back down. My son was probably not satisfied with my speed, so he rolled over and pinned me beneath him, then began moving rapidly. That must have been his first time. He ejaculated very quickly; I could feel how hot it was. But he didn't go limp, nor did he pull out; he continued moving inside me. Oh God, I was going crazy. Words are so inadequate in the face of such intense pleasure. His second time lasted a long time; he only ejaculated after I had climaxed, and then he lay there and quickly fell asleep.

I feel that the light of daytime is a kind of constraint, is it the gaze of the world? We rarely touch each other's bodies during the day, but when it's dark at night, it's as if we don't belong to this world anymore. No one can restrain us, and our behavior truly descends into unbridled madness. As for what will happen in the future, I really don't want to think about it.

The hardest part is the first time; once you get past that hurdle, it's not so difficult anymore. My son and I have sex very frequently, just like when I first got married. Our sexual desire makes us seem so greedy when we're together. I greedily sucked on my son's penis; it seemed like a reward for him. He looked up at me, as if he hadn't expected me to be so willing to do that for him. He made very loud, pleasurable sounds. I think the psychological pleasure probably stimulated him more. Watching his performance and seeing how excited he was made me feel happy too. Generally speaking... We don't cook during the day, but there are exceptions. One time, he didn't have evening self-study. After all, the second year of high school isn't as stressful as the third year I teach. That time, I was proctoring the monthly exam for the class I taught. The exam was at 6 PM, and around 5 PM, my son called me saying he was hungry and wanted me to come home and cook for him. I told him to cook some instant noodles first and I'd make more when I got home, but he insisted on eating instant noodles. I couldn't persuade him otherwise, and thinking that we lived nearby, I figured I could make more later. So I rushed home and started cooking. As soon as I put the cutting board on the table, my son hugged me tightly from behind. I told him to stop, or we'd run out of time, but he wouldn't listen. He wouldn't let it go. I was wearing the school-issued work uniform skirt at the time. He lifted my skirt and started touching me inside. Maybe I'm just a sensitive person, but I become weak and defenseless when touched. Even when a stranger I don't like touches me, I feel the same way. He took off my clothes underneath and rubbed my genitals with his hard penis. I immediately got wet. My son slowly inserted himself. I suddenly remembered that if I was late, several classes of students wouldn't be able to take the exam, and I still had the papers. So I got up and said, "No, don't do it." But my son grabbed me and inserted himself again. I had no choice but to call my class representative and ask him to come to my office to get the test paper. This basically meant the questions had been leaked, but there was nothing I could do. My son wouldn't leave my side; he wouldn't even pull his penis out. He insisted on coming with me to the living room to get my phone. While I was explaining things to the student, my son was still moving vigorously behind me. I was afraid the noise would be heard on the phone, and I was also afraid I wouldn't be able to handle it and would make a sound, but he was holding me tightly around the waist, and I couldn't push him away, so I had to use my hands to cover my buttocks. After I finished explaining, I quickly hung up the phone and told him to hurry to the bedroom. Well, he insisted on going to the kitchen, so I was forced to walk with my back bent. As soon as I touched the counter, he sped up, and my body slowly slumped down until my upper body was on the counter, my legs so weak I almost knelt. My son grabbed my waist and lifted me up, slamming into me hard. That time it lasted a long time. After he finished, he told me he didn't want noodles anymore and that he could just cook instant noodles himself, and that I should hurry up and go to work. I was both angry and loving. When I got to the classroom, the students who were answering questions with their heads down all looked up at me. I was startled, feeling like they knew what I had just done. After calming down and thinking it over, I realized it was impossible.

Writing these words and recalling those events gives me a strange sense of satisfaction, and I'm getting wet again. Just listen and enjoy, anyway, I feel much more relaxed, haha…

The era I grew up in and the family and school education I received meant that I had no concept of dating before university. In fact, I was quite terrified of it, thinking that dating was something immoral. If someone wrote me a letter confessing their love or got close to me, I would definitely stay far away from them. But this mentality gradually changed in university because there were many couples around me. Besides, I'm getting older and have emotional needs. I know that dating isn't shameful. My ex-husband and I met in college, and that was my first love. He was in the same major as me, and we were from the same city. There weren't many people in our major, and everyone in the classes knew each other. Men are popular in teacher's colleges, and he was quite outstanding at the time—tall, good-looking, and talented. We all had good things to say about him when we chatted in our dorm. We had a lot of contact and interaction during several college activities, and things naturally progressed. He never even confessed to me, and I had no experience. I thought that was dating. I was too afraid to hold hands for a long time. He initiated the first time we held hands, and he also initiated the first kiss. There was a long gap between holding hands and kissing. We had no experience with our first kiss; our lips just touched, but it was exciting enough. I still remember that feeling vividly. Later, he sucked on my tongue, and the pleasure was even stronger. It made my whole body feel like it was on fire, and I got wet. To be honest, I had never masturbated before college and had no sexual needs at all. I wanted to... But ever since I kissed him, I've had this desire, a desire I absolutely dared not have. Those were far less open-minded than they are now; I guess most people's first time was on their wedding night, and he and I were no exception. After graduating from university, I worked at an affiliated high school, while he went to another high school in the city that was almost the best. Back then, it was easy to find a job after graduating from teacher's college, unlike now, although now it's difficult for any major. We got married less than a year after we started working. Because our families and jobs were in the same city, and both sets of parents were satisfied, things went smoothly.

Our first time was on our wedding day; it was probably past eleven. On my wedding day, I was so busy and tired I was completely disoriented. I just did whatever people told me to do; it seems like wedding procedures have always been so complicated. He took off my clothes, and my face burned. It was the first time I'd ever been naked in front of a man. He kissed my whole body passionately, his hands touching my genitals. That fervor aroused my own passion, and I inevitably became aroused. He penetrated me, and I was so stimulated that I opened my mouth wide but didn't dare to scream… Experiencing sex for the first time was truly wonderful; I was overwhelmed with pleasure. Thinking back, it's been almost twenty years since my first time, yet I still remember it clearly, down to every detail, because I've relived that scene countless times in my memory.

When we first got married, we had sex very frequently, but gradually it decreased, and the pleasure wasn't as intense as before. Perhaps the physical pleasure remained, but the psychological novelty had worn off. Only when he was away on business trips, away for extended periods, could I experience a strong desire. I would use my fingers to mimic his movements in my vagina, looking at his wedding photo on the wall, imagining him on top of me. Absence truly makes the heart grow fonder; when he returned, we made love freely, feeling much better than usual.

After having a child, we experienced the joy and sense of accomplishment of being parents. I would often glance at my son and then at him, feeling a sweet warmth in my heart. Our child is the crystallization of our love, bearing the characteristics of both of us; that feeling is wondrous and blissful. For the first few years, our relationship was very, very good, but marriage truly cannot escape the seven-year itch. It really started in the seventh year that he became distant. He talked to me less, and his sexual desire decreased significantly. I panicked, not knowing what I had done wrong. When I asked him, he wouldn't say. I tried my best to be gentle with him and did housework diligently, but nothing worked. He just grew increasingly indifferent, and my heart gradually cooled. I knew his heart belonged to someone else. Our marriage lasted over nine years, and he was the one who filed for divorce. All I could do was helplessly agree. I knew I couldn't win back his heart. I kept the child, and he gave me the house and most of the assets, leaving me with almost nothing. After the divorce... He remarried a year later, to someone from his workplace. At the time, I couldn't understand what I was lacking, what made me inferior to that person. I did everything a wife should do, treated his parents with the same filial piety as my own, and treated his brother's children as my own, giving them lucky money and buying them clothes every Chinese New Year. How could this be the result? Those two years were truly frustrating; my life was very dark. Later, I thought that for the sake of my child, I couldn't stay like that forever; I had to move on. Being from a single-parent family, if I were also melancholic, it would be too detrimental to my child's development. Many relatives and friends introduced me to potential partners, but I wasn't interested at first. Later, wanting to give my child a complete family, I tried dating, but my child reacted very strongly, treating all men who came to our home as enemies. Not wanting to upset him, and also because I was somewhat afraid of marriage and lacked confidence, I stopped trying. After that, no one introduced me to anyone.

I feel guilty towards my son; I haven't been a successful parent. Although I studied education, including early childhood education, I couldn't bear to toughen him up. I always tried to provide him with a comfortable environment and prepare everything for him, never giving him any opportunity to be independent. As a result, he has very poor self-care skills and is overly dependent on me. Even now that I understand this, I still can't bear to let him develop his independence. When he first entered high school, a teacher suggested I let him board at school, but I was worried, saying, "We live so close, why pay for boarding?" Some teachers, to save themselves trouble and to help their children develop, let their children board at school. I'm comforted that my son is very smart, has excellent grades, and is tall and handsome.

Life is incredibly difficult for a woman raising a child alone, not just financially, but also emotionally and environmentally. When the child was young, there were things I couldn't talk to him about, like work frustrations—he wouldn't understand anyway. Many people around me didn't understand me either. Living alone, without a man to rely on, I had to do everything myself. I carried rice and flour upstairs myself, never asking for help or hiring anyone. I didn't want anyone to know I didn't have a man, not even strangers. My body was exhausted, but my heart was even more bitter, and I couldn't even cry. Back then, a young man in the same building always stared at me with those kinds of eyes. I was terrified, finally understanding what a malicious gaze meant. If I had a husband, I would feel much more secure, but I didn't. I was always afraid he would break into my house one day, so I would always check behind me before opening the door and lock it quickly after entering. Looking back, it was all a deep-seated sense of inferiority. Later, I never saw the young man again; he probably moved away. After all these years, my mindset has gradually calmed down. My son has grown up and is tall; having a man in the house makes all the difference.

The loneliness of the nights after the divorce was unbearable. During those days of intense sexual desire in my menstrual cycle, I really wished a man could comfort and satisfy me, but that was impossible. Only my own hands could satisfy me. The wedding photo on the wall was taken down long ago, and I started fantasizing about my ex-husband. Although I can't say whether it was love or resentment, I once believed that I belonged to him for life and that I could only have sex with him. Gradually, his image disappeared from my mind, but no matter who it was, the sadness and loss after masturbation were still there. Especially when I fantasized about my son later. But the next time, I couldn't help but fantasize again, and my son's image wouldn't leave me until after the orgasm, when my mind went blank. After a while, I felt not only sadness but also deep self-blame. I didn't want to, but my only long-term companion and the only person I could rely on was my son. This man, in fact, we are mutually dependent. Sometimes when he lies in my arms, my heart is filled with maternal tenderness; sometimes I lie on his chest, in his arms, and I feel like a little woman. Having someone to rely on brings a sense of secure happiness, as if my son were my man.

The only man I've ever been in contact with is my son. We don't have the same taboos as other mothers and sons, perhaps because I've always treated him like he was when he was little. Even now that he's grown up, I still worry about him and take meticulous care of him, giving him countless instructions. As a result, his self-care abilities are very poor. I want to let go and let him develop, but I'm too worried and can't bear to. He can't live without me—in life, emotionally, and physically. Because mothers and sons are naturally close, especially after so much time alone together, he's attached to his mother, and I'm attached to my son. I'm old enough to understand all this, but I'm powerless to change it, like watching... When I looked at my son's fit physique and bulging lower body, I knew my infatuated gaze was inappropriate, but I couldn't take my eyes off him. Thoughts are one thing, actions are another. If actions were entirely guided by thoughts, there would be far fewer mistakes in the world. Mistakes are often mistakes of ignorance. My son and I have lived alone for a long time, intimately, and we both have needs and desires for each other—this is undeniable. I think we understand ourselves and each other's feelings, but neither of us has ever explicitly stated it. Even now, after this incident, we rarely discuss it verbally. Back then, we were both cautiously probing, wanting to take things further but feeling uneasy, each hoping the other would make the first move.

I don't know when it started, but the way my son looked at me changed. Even behind me, I could feel that gaze—focused and intense. When I turned around, I would hurriedly look away. Actually, I know that my gaze towards him was the same. He exercises regularly and has a very fit physique. That youthful energy was truly captivating. Every time he walked around the house shirtless in his underwear without any inhibitions, I couldn't help but stare at him. His chest muscles were attractive, but what tantalized me most was his bulging lower body. Just seeing it made my legs go weak. Maybe women have a kind of male genital worship? I even wanted to kneel down beneath it and worship it, really. Haha, I used to think he was useless, but back then I felt he was a powerful and imposing man.

When he was little, my son always slept next to me, needing to touch me to feel safe and fall asleep. Later, as he grew older and needed to study, I let him have his own room, but he still occasionally came to my room to sleep in my bed, always with a lot of excuses, saying he had a scary dream, that it was cold when he was short of breath, that my double bed wouldn't fall off. But when he came to my bed, he wouldn't fall asleep immediately; he would always hug me, just like when he was little, with one nipple in his mouth and his hand touching the other breast. The difference was that when he was little... He used to just suckle when he was breastfeeding, but now he licks with his tongue, which really arouses me. I asked him, "Son, does this remind you of when you were little?" He was still sucking on the nipple and mumbled something I couldn't understand. I didn't know whether I wanted to hear him say yes or no. If he said yes, I would feel at ease: this behavior is nothing, just mother and son reliving the past. If he said no, I would be excited and have many thoughts. I've always been a very contradictory person, conflicted in my emotions and in my decisions. Actually, I was very aroused at that time, really hoping something would fill it, like his fingers or his... but I didn't dare. For a long time, we found satisfaction in this borderline behavior, which was both satisfying and torturous. Neither of us dared to cross that line. We didn't touch each other's... with our hands. Once, I was really sleepy and asked him to go back to his room, but he wouldn't listen. So I turned my back to him, and he hugged me and touched my breasts, his... rubbing against my buttocks from time to time. Even through two layers of underwear, I could feel its heat. At that moment... My heart was in my throat, I really hoped he would take off my underwear and stuff it inside me, but I still didn't move. After a while, he went back to his room, and I couldn't wait to masturbate. I thought my son must have masturbated in his room too, but most of the time we would touch each other and then he would sleep on my bed, so I was too afraid to masturbate for fear of making a sound and waking him up. He must be afraid too.

But when his desire was too strong, he wasn't afraid of anything. Once, I woke up after a while and found my son's penis above my face. He was masturbating. I almost screamed when I opened my eyes, but I held it in because I was afraid of being embarrassed. It was dark, and he didn't see that I had opened my eyes. He continued to rub his penis, which was not far from my face. I thought, what if he ejaculated? What if he ejaculated on my face? Should I keep pretending to be asleep with my eyes half-closed? His movements got faster and faster. Luckily, when he ejaculated, he reached out his left hand to catch it. After going to the bathroom, he went back to his room. I was still lying in the same position, masturbating while savoring the memory.

When I couldn't hold back ... I held his head tightly against my breasts; the pressure brought me pleasure. But after a while, he pulled away and gasped for breath, as he was suffocating with his mouth and nose covered. I wanted to put my hand down there to relieve the itch, but I didn't dare. Besides, our bodies were pressed together, and there was no space. I couldn't resist any longer and reached my hand inside from behind. I couldn't reach all the way in from behind; the power of lust is truly terrifying. My left hand, seemingly casually, slid from my son's chest to his penis. I hadn't touched his penis with my hand for over ten years. I was so excited that I tried to control my excitement. My right hand moved gently inside my vagina, while my left hand remained on his penis without moving. He didn't move either. I didn't dare move my arms, afraid that any movement would alert him. I could only bend and straighten my fingers, and I tried to keep my body as still as possible. I still remember that feeling of pleasure, both suppressed and exciting. With one hand touching my son's penis and the other inside my vagina, it felt like my two hands could merge into one, and I imagined my fingers were my son's penis.

I knew that day would eventually come, but I didn't expect it to be me who initiated it. But thinking about it, it makes sense; my son is always shy, and I'm never as proactive as him. That night, I wasn't wearing anything, and I slept naked after showering. Not long after, my son came into my room and climbed into my bed before I could react. Afraid he would find out I was naked and not wearing underwear, I faced him and stuck my butt out. He touched and kissed my breasts as usual. Maybe it was because I was in my monthly arousal period, but my reaction was very strong, and my hand involuntarily went to his genitals, while my other hand went to my vagina. This time it was from the front. He started lying on his back, then suddenly grabbed my hand and rubbed his penis. Then he pulled down his underwear a little so my hand could directly touch his penis. I was so excited! I didn't care if the movements were too big. I vigorously masturbated both my son and me. He must have been enjoying it, moaning softly. I don't know where I got the courage. I was pushing my luck. I had dreamed of doing this before, but at that moment I felt it still wasn't enough. So I got up and straddled him, pointing his penis at me. That opening, I sat down and it was all the way in, because there was so much water and the opening was wide open. The pleasure was so intense that I collapsed onto my son. He cried out and his body jerked. I sat up and moved up and down, but after a few movements, my body went limp and I involuntarily collapsed. My son was probably not satisfied with my speed, so he rolled over and pinned me beneath him, then moved quickly. That must have been his first time. He ejaculated very quickly, I could feel how hot it was, but he didn't go limp and didn't pull out. He kept moving inside me. God, I was going crazy. Words are so inadequate in the face of such intense pleasure. His second time lasted a long time. He only ejaculated after I had climaxed, and then he lay there and fell asleep quickly.

I feel that the light of daytime is a kind of constraint on people. Is it the gaze of the world? We rarely touch each other's bodies during the day, but when it's dark at night, it's as if we don't belong to this world anymore. No one can restrain us, and our behavior really descends into unbridled madness. As for what will happen in the future, I really don't want to think about it.

The hardest part was the first time. Once you got past that hurdle, it wasn't so difficult anymore. My son and I had sex very frequently, just like when I first got married. Our sexual desire made us seem so greedy when we were together. I greedily sucked on my son's penis, which seemed like a reward for him. He looked up at me, as if he hadn't expected me to be so proactive for him. He made a very loud, pleasurable sound. I think the psychological pleasure probably stimulated him more. Watching his performance and seeing how excited he was made me feel happy too. We usually don't have sex during the day, but there are exceptions. One time he didn't have evening self-study. After all, the second year of high school isn't as stressful as the third year I teach. That time, I was proctoring the monthly exam for the class I taught. The exam was at 6 pm, and I started at 5 pm. My son called my cell phone saying he was hungry and wanted me to come home and cook for him. I told him to cook some instant noodles first and I'd make more when I got home later, but he insisted on eating instant noodles. I couldn't persuade him otherwise, and since we lived nearby, I figured I could make more later. So I rushed home and started cooking. I had just put the cutting board on the table when my son hugged me tightly from behind. I told him to stop, or we'd run late, but he wouldn't let up. I was wearing my school uniform skirt, and he lifted it up and started touching me inside. I guess I'm just a sensitive person; I become weak and defenseless when touched, even by strangers I don't like. He took off my clothes and rubbed his hard penis against my genitals, which immediately became wet. My son slowly inserted himself... and suddenly... Thinking that if I was late, several classes of students wouldn't be able to take the exam, and the papers were still with me, I got up and said, "No, don't do it." But my son grabbed me and started thrusting into me again. I had no choice but to call my class representative and ask him to come to my office to get the papers. This basically meant the questions had been leaked, but there was nothing I could do. My son wouldn't leave me, and he wouldn't even pull his penis out. He insisted on going to the living room with me to get my phone. While I was explaining to the student, my son was still thrusting hard behind me. I was afraid the noise would be heard on the phone, and I was also afraid I wouldn't be able to handle it and would make a sound, but he was holding my waist with both hands, and I couldn't push him away, so he had to use his hands to cover his buttocks. After I finished explaining, I quickly hung up the phone and said, "Let's go to the bedroom quickly," but he refused. He insisted on going to the kitchen, and I was forced to walk hunched over. The moment my hand touched the counter, he sped up, and my body slowly slumped down, my upper body leaning against the counter, my legs so weak I almost collapsed. My son grabbed my waist and lifted me up, thrusting into me forcefully. That time it lasted a long time. After he finished, he told me he didn't want noodles anymore and would just cook instant noodles himself, and told me to hurry up and go to work. I was both angry and delighted. When I got to the classroom, the students who were engrossed in

answering questions all looked up at me. I was startled, thinking they knew what I had just done, but after calming down, I realized that was impossible. Writing these words, recalling those events, gives me a strange sense of satisfaction. I'm wet again. Just listen to this, anyway, I feel much better now, haha…

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