Legend of Motherly Love

I wonder, my mother, so far away, are you lonely tonight?

What is she doing all by herself? Why do I have such pointless thoughts? Yes, because I'm all alone and
incredibly bored. But I believe she's no happier than me, because she's not a very sociable woman, her social circle
is small, and she doesn't have many close friends. We're both wanderers, lonely and bored. If we were together,
relying on each other , our negatives would make a positive, and we'd each find our place—wouldn't that be a wonderful arrangement?

Most of my life has been spent with her, until I finished high school, grew tired of that
monotonous life, left the small town where I was born and raised, and set off alone, wandering the world, searching for my ideals
. Several years passed in the blink of an eye. I never went home, because I swore that if I didn't achieve success, make a lot of money, and build a big house back home,
I wouldn't turn back.

I drifted along aimlessly for several years, achieving nothing. Leaving the small-town life I thought was unremarkable,
I trapped on a desolate mountaintop. I'd tried several jobs, none of which satisfied me, until I finally found work in the high-altitude logging area
. It was manual labor, but the pay was at a professional level—
the best I could earn with my education.

Trapped in the mountains year-round, I had nowhere to spend my money except in bars and drinking.
Over the years, I've accumulated a considerable amount of savings.

Living in the mountain camp felt like a concentration camp; it had all sorts of entertainment, except for women. Families
were an exception , but I was all alone. Suddenly, I fell ill with lovesickness, inexplicably thinking of my only relative, my mother.

I felt guilty for leaving her alone in our hometown, having not visited her even once in so many years.
I'm not such a heartless person!

And then there's me, this bastard. Maybe it's because I've been isolated in the mountains for so long, my personality has become withdrawn, and because I see more forests
than women, my mind is a complete mess, all muddled and confused. During the day, a swing of the chainsaw and a
tree as thick as an arm's length falls down. At night, my muscles and ribs ache, my pillow is cold, and I start having all sorts of wild thoughts, and my penis gets inexplicably erect, and I do n't know how to deal with it. The Playboy magazine pages in my room are covered with pictures of nude women, but after seeing so many, they all feel unreal. I can't imagine the figures . So, my mother comes into play, temporarily filling in as my dream lover. I'm so ashamed and guilty for making her wear the sexiest lingerie, forcing me to strip her naked, and for her to act like a Pan Jinlian, making all sorts of lewd gestures and moaning sounds. I understand that even if Mom really came and was willing to make love to me, she wouldn't do those lewd poses that were unbecoming of her status. Why not just hire a prostitute? I don't care how much it costs; as long as I have a woman, the problem is solved. There's no need for Mom to sacrifice herself. However, hiring a prostitute down the mountain is a four-hour drive, a round trip in a day. How could I resist the urge? So, I hugged a pillow, imagining it as Mom, and placed it between my legs, spending . I'd heard a lot about the harmful effects of masturbation when I was young, but it's proven to be nonsense. Masturbation is having sex what's the difference between ejaculating into a woman's genitals and ejaculating into your own hand? When the saturation is full, it overflows. However, in my fantasies, Mom's body is often depicted lying prostrate, which makes me feel guilty and uncomfortable . However, when my libido is high, even if it's a poisonous snake, I'll still have to have her. Knowing it's poison, if it can soothe my penis, I'll swallow it. Sometimes I wonder if it's too perverse and absurd to consider my mother as a romantic interest, with thoughts of luring her to bed. But then I think, what boy hasn't had impure thoughts about his mother? She's the woman closest , and he's not wary of her. When she's getting dressed in the bedroom, she might not remember to keep her private parts hidden. While showering, she often unintentionally lets her body tantalize her son. Does her body still attract her grown-up son? No one can rule out the possibility that she wants to use her son's physical reactions to test how much she still has left. I still remember that fleeting glimpse of my mother's naked body, that soul-stirring scene. Thousands of jets of water cascaded from the showerhead, pounding against her erect breasts. The rushing water cascaded down, weaving a net that enveloped her naked body. She stretched her arms over her shoulders, gathering her wet hair into a bundle, wringing it dry, causing her breasts to sway upwards, creating wave after wave of movement. Suddenly, she turned her head, like a classic movie scene, slowly moving towards me. The camera froze, meeting my peeking eyes through the bathroom crack. Was it my luck, or a gift from her, to see my mother's beautiful, alluring naked body? Mother, at your age, your son still secretly admires you. You don't see it as flattery, nor should you consider me an offense ! This bastard of mine, the more I think about it, the more I obsess, only considering the hardness of my penis—it'll ruin my brain . Why not think of my mother? My mother is also made of flesh and blood; I have sexual desire, and so does she. I'm distressed; doesn't she feel lonely all alone? My mother is still quite attractive; perhaps she's managed to snag some lucky guy these past few years, living a life of pleasure and happier than I am. But knowing her as I do, that's probably impossible. She likely has no suitors; in that small town, all the young men have left, and there aren't any suitable candidates her age. If she wants a boyfriend, I hope she 'll give me a chance. At least I have the will and the means (financially and physically), and I believe I can give her everything she needs. I assume she's as lonely as I am tonight! I think about writing to the radio station and requesting Elvis Presley 's "Are You Lonely Somenight?" for my mother to listen to. Suddenly, a strange thought struck me: how can I find out if my mother's sex life is satisfactory? But how can I ask my own mother who she's slept with? Is her sex life frequent? Is she satisfied? If permitted, I would ask her if she had ever considered her son as a lover. Sending her a questionnaire, supposedly a sex survey by a university psychology department , is utterly absurd. Discussing her sex life with my mother can only be done indirectly. Who knows if this trivial matter and these fanciful thoughts will bring unexpected consequences? Miracles can happen in this world; if you sincerely pray to heaven, good people will be rewarded.

But how can I bring myself to say to my mother directly, "Mom, I want you to be my lover"?

If that's not possible, what methods can I use to lure her into my arms?

Mom, have you heard? Many lovers call each other "family." In this world, we
are the closest of friends. I live alone in the mountains, unable to find a wife, while you have been widowed for a long time, lonely and helpless. How about this
: please come and cook for me, do the laundry, manage the household chores—you'll be responsible for everything, including…

If we both have those needs, you know what I mean. Let's be open and honest,
comforting each other, because you are the closest of friends, my family!

Please don't misunderstand, I don't mean any disrespect, I absolutely don't want to use you as a tool for sexual gratification,
I swear, I have no intention of taking advantage of you. Please understand me, I just want everyone to be satisfied! I
want you to be close to me, so I can take care of you and be filial to you.

And whatever you want, I'll buy it for you. Want a car? I'll buy it for you. Want to travel
the world ? Easy, that's a dream you haven't been able to realize for years, I'll take you right away. Want a diamond ring as
a token of our love? Just say the word, and it'll be delivered. Anything money can buy is not a problem, as long as you like it.
Whatever , you'll have it, including warming your feet in your bed. If you don't mind, and if everyone feels it's necessary
, we might as well get a little closer. I believe you understand what I mean. I just want to say, please don't
rule out this possibility. You might feel a little wronged, but I won't lie to you, I really have that intention
and need.

This is the most tactful and appropriate way I can say it within my capabilities. No, I can't say it like that.
It's too abrupt; if I say it, I'll definitely scare Mom to death.

I could use gentle persuasion, or like pursuing a girlfriend, to prove my love over time and
show my heart through actions, to win her heart and persuade her to give herself to me. However, this is an extremely difficult task,
but I believe that heaven rewards those who persevere. I will win
her . Even if thousands of mountains and rivers separate us, love will bring us together again.

(II) Mom, no one can replace you

. So, I began to write letters to her, sitting in my cold, small room under the solitary lamp, writing letters.

I don't have much writing talent, but I have a thousand words to express to her. Longing is the inspiration of writers, creating
countless poems and articles.

Even if her heart were as hard as stone, it would melt away with my heartfelt love letters.

I say: My mother…

My family

… My sister…

My love…

We have loved each other for a long time, but we haven't confessed our feelings yet.

Don't you know how deep my love for you is? No one can replace you in my heart. Without you,
I simply cannot live.

I yearn for you, I need you, I want you. Even if we are separated by mountains and rivers, we must silently and sincerely
unite our hearts. This is my ideal life.

My dear sister, allow me to call you that. I am a child without care, rushing into your
embrace like a bird. In your soft bosom, I wish to rest there forever.

Mom, I love you. Let these words be the only ones I can utter in this world. And you, don't hesitate,
don't be afraid. Come, come into my heart, and seek your happiness.

Perhaps you have too much experience. Let me tell you, when it comes to love, there's no such thing as being a good match, a bad
match , worthy or unworthy. Know that love is everywhere. Whether it's God or the devil,
good or bad, as long as they are loved, they will be drawn together by that great and mysterious love. They will
become one, blending into one. What difference or distinction will there be?

My dear, let us be like the wind and the clouds. Let us always resonate with each other, always be in harmony. Then,
even if the world rejects us, we will be absolutely fulfilled, absolutely without regret.

Mom, I love you. Let these words be the only ones I can utter in this world. And you, need not hesitate,
need not be afraid, come, come, come into my heart, seek your happiness.

Your dearest son

, without waiting for a reply, writes and sends letters every day to my love far away, hoping
one will touch her heart.

The rainy season arrives in the mountains, continuous downpours cause landslides, block roads, and halt logging operations.
Trapped at home all day, watching the raindrops patter against the window, I feel melancholy and desolate. At this time, I
can only think of one person, my only love.

Countless nights, whenever I am lonely and my thoughts are turbulent, her
beautiful image floats into my eyes.

I whispered her name, and she heard me, coming at my call.

A mother is a mother; she always comes quietly and gently when I need her most.

She was still wearing the same open-front floral dress she often wore at home, the neckline
revealing glimpses of her snow-white breasts and deep cleavage. Her cleavage, the hidden depths of her breasts, was the eternal focus of my
gaze . I couldn't imagine
where my eyes would fall if she wore a dress without an open neckline.

The diamond ring I gave her had indeed touched her heart; she offered herself as a gift, thanking me for my willingness
to care for her for life.

If she would share the rights in bed with me, I wouldn't hesitate, and undressing her myself
would be my right to enjoy her.

I began to unbutton my mother's clothes, one button at a time, opening her blouse. I was ashamed to admit that I had
little experience undressing women. The prostitute had barely stepped in before she was completely naked. Unless otherwise
stated , the service did not include kissing or the customer undressing her. And here, finding
a woman willing to spread her legs for me to have sex with was a rare find.

I had mentally rehearsed every detail of how to undress my mother, how I should undress her according to her style of
clothing . Removing a shirt, t-shirt, bra, panties, and stockings required different etiquette;
it couldn't all be peeled off like an orange, "whoosh," that would be inappropriate and
disrespectful to my mother.

Trembling, I peeled off her clothes piece by piece, from the outside in, from top to bottom, hanging them on the bedside railing
like banners of love; my love had triumphed.

However, her dress was always the same style, worn a thousand times over. With her arms raised straight up, I
pulled on the hem of her skirt, revealing the secret beneath. She would
display every angle of her beautiful figure in her daily new bra and panties. Tonight, she wore it especially for me, letting me undress her—
a seamless bra with thin straps, a three-quarter low-cut design, velvet floral embroidery. The visible buttons
were easy to unfasten, revealing her snow-white, full breasts.

The panties and bra were a matching set, high-waisted, with two thin elastic bands
connecting the two triangles of fabric at the outer edges of the crotch. The front was so small it barely covered the slightly protruding mons pubis. This was the limit of
sexiness , because she wasn't some cheap AV actress. I wanted her thighs to look long and slender.

Between her narrow waist and the curve of her small buttocks, I slipped my fingers inside the thin
elastic bands of the panties, which were almost completely pressed against her skin, and slowly pulled them down. I wanted her to be so naked, exposing her triangle, more mysterious than Bermuda.

And so, she stood before me, completely naked, but dignified, composed. Her breasts
thrust towards me, her buttocks arched back. She let her hair down, draping it over her shoulders, and tossed strands behind her ear. With
her arms raised, her armpit hair was unguardedly exposed—an unintentional, yet most alluring pose.

I took her hand and led her behind me. Her breasts bounced with each step, her nipples still
proudly erect. We reached the bed and I lifted the sheet. Mom stopped, her eyes lowered, seemingly hesitant.

"Mom, what's wrong? Are you alright?" "

I'm fine."

"Are you scared?"

She shook her head.

"Do you regret coming? If you don't want to, I won't force you."

"If you want to, I do too."

"That's great, Mom, hold me." I pulled her close and said.

She quietly wrapped her arms around me, and I held her tightly. She pulled her chest and abdomen closer to me. I
could imagine how sensitive her aroused breasts must have been against my bare chest. Our lips
parted as they touched, entering a tender, blissful dream. I let her lean back, supporting her with my arms. But
I never left her lips, kissing her. The faint taste of toothpaste in her mouth, a fresh, unforgettable
scent, and the fragrance of the soap on her skin reminded me of
the .

Then, she gently pulled away from me, her cheeks flushed, and whispered in my ear, "Turn off the light."

"Turn off the light? What's the big deal?"

"It's not pretty when we're making love. You have to promise me you won't see me making love." " I'll

close my eyes, I won't see." "

You won't. What man doesn't like seeing a woman's expression during sex?"

I didn't argue with her anymore; a moment of passion is priceless.

The whole world seemed to freeze in that moment, witnessing my love for my mother, a love that has existed since the beginning of time, an love
that will never cease . But who could teach me how to love my mother? No one could tell me; it was an age-old
secret, only to be understood through personal experience.

So, I chose to love my mother and my lover in the simplest way.

"Mom, the lights are off. Let's love each other; no one will see."

She threw her full weight onto me, and I caught her, pulling her down onto our bed.
I held her close, kissing her forehead, her eyes, her nose, her lips, and her chin.

Suddenly, I tasted a warm, salty flavor. Tracing its source, I realized—it was her eyes. Mom, she was crying,
bowing her head to lick her eyes. Yes, tears.

"Mom, are you crying? Why are you crying?"

"Nothing. Just a sudden feeling. I thought no one would love me anymore."

"Mom, I love you, I've always loved you, and I'll always love you. I've given you my love, my soul, my
body, everything I

have." "Then love me now." I embraced my love, rubbing her back, her breasts, her buttocks,
and the hardships she had endured over the years.

My mouth found one of her nipples, firm and erect. It gently slid into my mouth, allowing me to greedily
suckle, just like when she was an infant.

She took my hand and pressed it under her lower abdomen, pressing down on the tuft of curly hair, beneath which was her protruding
pubic area, already quite wet.

The darkness of the room couldn't hide Mother's shyness. Her half-open eyes, seemingly filled with fear yet also with
ecstasy , closed shyly the moment I touched her. My two fingers, tracing a gentle curve, slipped into the folds of her inner walls,
gliding over the most sensitive spot, finding her priceless pearl.

The moment I touched it, her parted legs snapped shut; I wouldn't let her. I wanted that most
beautiful place in the world to shyly expose itself before me, to repay my love for her. I decided to pluck that precious
pearl, and Mother cried out softly, resisting her pleasure.

"Mom, come love me, I need you."

I easily found the path into her; Mother's slender hands guided her son to his
paradise. Fragrance gushed from her body like a spring. She opened herself up, welcoming my thrusts.

She gripped the headboard railing with both hands, swaying back and forth. Her hips moved up and down in rhythm.

The night bent down, listening to us, the darkness whispering around us, suggesting that all worldly
barriers had been laid down at the foot of the mountain. In the small house on the mountain, far from the hustle and bustle, we two
, who needed each other, sought nothing from outside, fulfilling our long-cherished wish, enjoying joy to compensate for
the longing .

(III) Mom and I, Mom and I, can never be separated again

. If only there were a recent photo of Mom in the house, it would not only brighten the room, but also make it easy to imagine
what it was like when we made love. If I could have a picture of her, preferably a picture of her in a swimsuit, I
would put it by my bedside, to keep me company while I sleep, to keep me company while we make love.

If she were willing to give me her swimming photos, I would feel much more confident about our future. Why ask?
She wants a nude photo? I wouldn't dare ask; it's difficult to do. But just a swimsuit photo, it's hard to refuse. Unless she
has absolutely no interest in me.

A sexy swimsuit, preferably a bikini, who cares if her figure is suitable for a three-piece? Whether her
figure is good or bad, I'll see it all sooner or later. Don't spoil my fun, send it to me quickly.

Of course, I've considered that she'll have all sorts of excuses to refuse my request, such as saying her legs aren't long enough, her waist is
a little too big, and it doesn't look good to show her belly button. Just for me, for her son to see, what's wrong with that? If you
agree, I'll give you a string of black pearl necklaces to wear on your smooth, snow-white neck, how beautiful that would be.

Mom, it doesn't matter if your figure is perfect or not. What woman's figure is perfect? As long as someone likes to see
it , that's enough. I'm your loyal little fan, every part of your body is absolutely beautiful in my eyes.

However, in that peaceful little town, who will take these photos of my mother? Even if someone
knows photography, they wouldn't understand which angles I like to admire her figure from. And she wouldn't want to
wear a swimsuit, posing provocatively in front of others, letting them take pictures. I must go there myself and
pose for my beauty. Under my guidance, she will naturally strike various alluring poses.

Therefore, I must buy her several swimsuits, and incidentally, some bras and underwear—that's my responsibility.

I need to dress my mother up to show off her best features. But I don't know her size or bra
size, and I dare not ask her. She would also consider it shameful to tell her son her measurements, even if she
knew how much her son admired her.

Today, this problem is easily solved. I can order swimsuits and underwear of various brands, styles, and sizes online without leaving home
. Every week, packages are delivered up from the foot of the mountain. When she arrives and
finds her wardrobe filled with these personal items, she'll realize how considerate and
attentive her son is to her.

When she comes, I won't pay any attention to her affected mannerisms anymore. I'll make her try on every bra in front of me, and
I'll know her figure. I'll even measure her bust, waist, and hips myself—of course, she has to be naked for the measurement to be
accurate . When she comes, in the little house on the mountain, anything can happen between us. So,
just wait and see!

Since I'm buying some personal items for Mom online, I can also buy some clothes, shoes, lipstick
, mascara, face powder…

The weather on the mountain is frigid, with a hint of snow. The logging area closes after winter, leaving only a few colleagues
who haven't come down the mountain. When it snows, the roads up the mountain are closed, completely isolating us from the foot of the mountain until next
spring .

One day, I went to the post office to check for mail. The administrator told me that a strange woman had come to my house, and she
looked exactly like me. Who would come up the mountain in winter? What a strange thing!

I wasn't surprised, because I knew that one day she would come.

I rushed home immediately. The front door was wide open, and a pair of red high heels were lying askew in the entryway.

My heart pounded wildly. I took a deep breath and looked inside. The

bathroom door was ajar, and through the steam, I could see a woman's bare thigh, the showerhead spraying water . A pair of breasts stood proudly amidst the cascading water, catching my eye. "Mom, is that you? You've come?" "It's me." Yes, it was her voice. On the dining table, amidst the scattered cups and plates, lay a large stack of love letters I had written to her. "Mom, I wrote you so many letters, why didn't you open them or reply?" "I don't need to open them to know, they're all the same." "How did you know?" "I just knew. Have you forgotten I'm your mother? I know everything about you." "So, you came?" "Yes, I came. I know you're all alone in the mountains, and you need me." "Mom, thank you." "Come in!" She waved to me through the steam. The water jets pounded deafeningly against the glass bathroom door, and my clothes clung wetly to my body. She helped me unbutton my shirt. In my daze, through the mist, I saw her face. She hadn't been. In the cramped bathroom, two naked bodies faced each other, inescapably. This was our destiny; we were destined to be together, never to be separated. I moved closer to her, drawing near, and embraced her. Our naked skin pressed against the slippery tile wall, and my penis unexpectedly hardened. We had endless longing and unresolved desire. She took my penis, stepped out of the bathroom, and went to my room, drying me with a large towel. She opened the wardrobe, which was filled with women's underwear and fashionable clothes. I picked out a well-fitting bra and and skillfully dressed her. I had tried on every single piece for her before, familiar with every step of the dressing process. Mom, the curves of these bra cups are supported by hidden underwires, and the shimmering gradient film pattern makes the lines of the breasts more prominent. Double thin shoulder straps and a triangular back clasp secure the straps and prevent slipping. The panties are high- cut and made of the same material as the bra. In my bedroom, Mom, you only need to wear this much so you can feel your own sexiness. The fine hair on your thighs has grown back; I need to trim it first. The razor runs over the beautiful curves of your thighs. Then, I want Mom to sit in front of me with her legs spread like Sharon Stone so I can dry her curls and trim her pubic hair. Her hair, like mine, is soft yet thick, and has a golden hue that I love. Then, I have her sit in front of the mirror and watch me draw her eyebrows, put on long false eyelashes, and apply iridescent eyeliner . Mom's face was haggard. Was it from the long journey, or from lovesickness? I applied thick foundation, covering her deep-set eyes, and then applied bright red rouge, bringing her elegant femininity to life before the mirror. And then, I'll apply lip rouge for you; your little lips are as soft as the braids of a red rose. "Mom, you've dressed me up, now we can make love. Come on, we're finally together." I took her hand, returned to the bedside, and lifted the sheets. Mom lay down, legs spread and bent, her right hand reaching under her bra to knead her breasts, which swelled in my palm.

Come, her nipples are hard as marbles. My left hand slipped inside her panties, and her legs clamped tightly together, her labia
squeezing me, her breath coming in soft gasps.

"Mom, I'm here, I'm here."

"I'm here too," Mom whispered in my ear.

Outside the window, snowflakes danced like goose feathers, so pure, so crystalline, like my love for Mom.
More and more snowflakes fell, pressing against the vines by the window, making soft, rustling sounds, like Mom's moans.

On the mountain, only I and Mom, Mom and I, our bodies making love, indistinguishable, Mom and I
, Mom and I.

Snowflakes covered the mountain forest in white.

In that quiet, solemn, and melancholic winter, Mom came, and I became one with her, never to be separated,
on this mountain.

[The End]

**************************************************************************
Postscript:

Having sex with someone of blood relation is a form of narcissism.

Masturbation is, in essence, having sex with oneself.

The Legend of the Mountains tells the story of someone who becomes the person they admire.

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