A desolate yet beautiful feeling

When I asked him what he wanted for his birthday, he only said one word: "You!"
For an elderly man, frail and terminally ill, this might be his last birthday, perhaps the last birthday gift he hoped for. So, I made up my mind that no matter how rebellious it might seem, I would help him fulfill his last wish. Years ago, he was a lonely, impoverished old man in his fifties, scavenging for scraps. I was a baby, a few days old, born out of wedlock. He carried me from a garbage can to his hut on a snowy night, raising me with his meager scavenging income and boundless love. When I walked down the aisle under his loving gaze, I secretly vowed that I would give my life for him.
Another snowy night, just like that one. After washing him clean and settling him in bed, I went into the bathroom. About to take that shocking step, I hesitated again. Slowly brushing my teeth, I carefully examined my naked body in the mirror. A 30-year-old woman, full-figured and well-proportioned, would undoubtedly be alluring to an 83-year-old man. But thinking about our relationship, I couldn't help but close my eyes in fear.
I was so nervous I
could hardly breathe. I glanced back at the half-open bathroom door, knowing what was about to happen. This was the first time I'd let him sleep in our bed since my husband went on a business trip. This was the man I loved most deeply in my 30 years of life; he had raised me with so much hardship. I knew that old body lying in the warm blankets was yearning for my caresses. I took one last look at myself in the mirror, turned off the bathroom light, and left.
The bedroom was pitch black, perfectly concealing the awkwardness between us. The room was silent; we didn't need to say another word. I didn't know what the outcome would be, but I decided to try. Was this a betrayal of my husband?
I groped my way to the bed, slowly sat down, feeling my weight sink the bed slightly. I gently slipped my hand under the covers, stroking the wrinkled skin of his aging legs. His legs trembled slightly, and my heart skipped a beat. I slowly slipped under the covers, resting my head on his lower abdomen, pondering my next move. The room was warm enough, and I had turned on the heater beforehand, hoping to give the old man a feeling of summer's warmth.
I moved slowly under the covers, not wanting his frail body to get cold. Finally, I knelt between his legs, my hands supporting me on either side of his hips, and lowered my head to kiss his lower abdomen. I gently extended my tongue, licking and kissing his navel, feeling his trembling and unease. He pushed my head away slightly in resistance.
I continued kissing the folds of skin on his stomach and his shallow navel, occasionally nibbling lightly on his folds and caressing them with my tongue. I slowly moved upwards until I kissed his small nipple, my tongue licking and gently kissing the fleshy tip. I heard his panting and soft moans.
I lingered for a moment on his thin chest, teasing his nipples until they were erect, then slid down, my lips pressing against his pubic bone, covered in pubic hair. I was already aroused, feeling warm fluid flowing from my vagina. I knew that if I turned on the light now, I would see the wet stains on the sheets. "It's okay, I'll wash the sheets tomorrow."
He nudged my head again, but this time it didn't seem like resistance, but rather a desire for me to kiss his penis. Even without light, I could feel it still limply hanging between my legs. This was a penis that had perhaps never been touched by a woman. Due to poverty and low social status, he had never married and had never received any woman's favor. His understanding of the female body might only be limited to the nude photos of women he occasionally found in pornographic magazines in the trash, and his experience of orgasm might only have been through secret masturbation.
I stuck out my tongue and licked his aged, yet still smooth-skinned, penis. It throbbed and trembled slightly, as if trying to lift its head. I licked my way down, using my lips to push it back to his pubic mound, and licked the tip of his penis, tasting some salty pre-ejaculate. Oh, he was aroused too; his penis thickened, but remained semi-erect.
I needed more patience; I shouldn't give the old man too much stimulation. So I licked upwards again, slowly moving closer to his neck, kissing his collarbone, and sucking on his earlobe, my tongue probing into his hairy ear canal, hoping to ignite the most primal wildness and desire within his aging body. I felt his body twitch a few times, followed by a few soft moans; I knew he was aroused.
Turning back, I rubbed my full breasts against his thin, wrinkled body, my lips continuing to kiss downwards. I knelt again between his still wide-open legs, lowering my head to lick and kiss him from the base of his thighs, first kissing the inside of his right thigh, then moving down to the soft back of his knee, and continuing down his calf to his ankle. The old man's feet were thin and bony, his heels and toes covered with rough, dead skin, the veins on his feet prominent. I thought, this is the record of the old man's difficult life, how he relied on these feet to brave wind and rain, struggling to make a living and raise me. Thinking of this, without any hesitation, I took his rough big toe into my mouth, licking and kissing his feet, which had been weary all his life.
Like a hungry, greedy baby, I took each of his toes in turn, sucking hard like a nipple suckling milk, my tongue licking the gaps between his toes. When my tongue swept across the soft flesh of his sole, his body twisted a few times, and he groaned incoherently. I knew he was a little ticklish, but his moans showed he enjoyed the licking and kissing, and craved the stimulation.
Turning my head, I hugged his left foot and, in the same way, gently licked and kissed every inch of his skin. When I licked down his ankle to his left calf, a dark red scar, like an earthworm, crawling along the inside of his calf, evoked a moment I will never forget. That year, I was in fourth grade. During summer vacation, I saw other children going on outings with their parents, so I begged him to take me out too. I never imagined that my family wasn't as wealthy as others, nor that he didn't have as much free time as other parents. You see, he scavenged for scraps and didn't have holidays or weekends; if he didn't work, life became increasingly difficult. But he still granted my request, taking me on a tour bus to the mountains outside the city.
On the way back, the tour bus collided with a large truck on a winding mountain road, resulting in a comminuted fracture of my right thigh. Due to disputes over compensation, my treatment was delayed, leading to an infection of the wound. Later, with the intervention of relevant authorities, the compensation issue was resolved, and I was transferred to a hospital with better facilities for treatment. The doctor removed the infected, loose bone fragments from my body and needed to transplant some bone from another part of my body to help my injured leg recover and avoid disability. Upon hearing this, he firmly disagreed with taking bone from another part of my body and insisted that the doctor take a piece of bone from his own leg for me, saying that the child's leg was already injured and she shouldn't suffer pain and torment elsewhere.
So, a part of his body was permanently embedded in mine, while four steel nails were driven into his leg, leaving permanent scars. I remember that he took care of me day and night, dragging his operated leg. Every time I needed to use the toilet, he would carry me, holding my legs to the toilet. Looking back, what was that hard thing pressing against my lower buttocks must have been his erect penis. But at the time, I didn't understand anything and thought he had an extra bone there, so he would have extra bone to transplant to me. Now, looking at his aging, limp penis, I truly regret not giving myself to him when his physical needs were at their most acute.
I kissed the scar for a long time, then slowly licked and kissed my way up his leg, repeating the same movements and processes. Every inch of his skin—his toes, ankles, knees, and thighs—was covered by my lips and tongue. Slowly, I moved back to his groin, but this time I didn't touch his penis or scrotum. Instead, I rubbed my lips against his mons pubis, which was covered with gray pubic hair, and the warm breath I exhaled from my nose warmed and stimulated his lower abdomen. His abdomen heaved violently as he tried to calm himself with deep breaths.
I leaned against him, kissing his rugged, washboard-like ribs, while my hands kneaded his loose scrotum, my fingers occasionally pinching and stimulating his testicles. I licked and kissed my way to his armpits, noticing he was slightly sweaty, his armpits emitting a distinctively masculine scent that made me involuntarily arouse myself. The room was already warm, so I gently pulled back the covers a little, my lips and tongue continuing to roam over his body.
Slowly, my full, soft breasts pressed completely against his chest, my lips kissing his shaved chin and the ridge on his throat. At that moment, I hesitated, wondering if we could withstand the awkwardness and shame of facing each other if I continued kissing his lips. But I thought, having already taken the first step, I wanted to give myself completely to him, to give him a complete birthday present. So, I resolutely kissed upwards from his chin, finally pressing my lips against his trembling, dry lips. He was clearly a little frightened; he tilted his head slightly, trying to avoid my wet kiss. But I continued to pursue his lips, licking the rough wrinkles on them with my tongue, then parting them and slipping my tongue into his mouth.
The old man's breath was slightly bitter; he bit his weak, chipped teeth, trying to stop me from going any further. But he was clearly not as resolute as I was, and soon his lips parted, his tongue entwining with mine. The sweet kisses caused our hormone levels to rise rapidly, and our saliva became increasingly sweet. Finally, I released his tongue, moving my lips upward to kiss his nose, his tightly closed eyes, his eyebrows, and his forehead, which was slightly sweaty. Suddenly, he curled up, reaching down from my firm chest to take one of my nipples into his mouth, then sucking hard like a hungry child.
I straightened my chest, letting him take turns kissing and sucking on my nipples. At the same time, one hand reached down to caress his slowly swollen penis, hoping to give him more intense stimulation. By then, the blanket had slipped off our bodies, and an old man and a young man were simultaneously exposed without cover in the sweltering summer room. This exposed scene seemed to make him feel even more ashamed; he suddenly released his lips from my nipples, and his rough hands no longer greedily caressed my smooth back. I knew I had to give him more encouragement, so I rolled over and straddled his shoulders, my bare vulva and buttocks almost touching his chin. My face was close to his somewhat erect penis, one hand kneading his testicles, the other stroking his lower abdomen. Suddenly, I felt his skin was so smooth, so soft, so lovely!
Provoked by me, he became somewhat unrestrained, his rough fingers groping my soft, delicate vulva and anus, making me suddenly recall that familiar feeling. That year, when I was about four or five years old and just beginning to develop a sense of shyness, I hadn't had a bowel movement for two days due to constipation, and my stomach was very uncomfortable. Perhaps because he didn't have money to go to the hospital, or perhaps because he thought it wasn't a serious illness and he could handle it himself, he treated me with a folk remedy. He took off my pants, made me kneel on the bed with my buttocks raised high, and inserted two wet, thinly shaved bar of soap into my anus. Then he massaged my anus and perineum with his fingertips. Looking back now, he may have been a little agitated when he saw my most private female organs, because during the massage, he even kissed my anus and vulva, murmuring, "Poor thing, my little baby..."
His folk remedy really worked; soon I felt the urge to defecate, so I quickly told him, pulled up my pants, and ran outside to use the toilet. The constipation problem was indeed solved. Back then, we lived in an old shantytown. There was only one public toilet in the alley, and we had to walk a long way to use it.
Later, after I had a boyfriend and then a husband, I learned that a woman's vulva and anus could also be kissed and caressed by a man. On our wedding night, when my husband inserted his tongue into my anus, he exclaimed, "I love you so much, my little baby..." This suddenly reminded me of my childhood experience, of the feeling when an old man pressed his lips to my anus. Now, the old man's anus was
right in front of me, and I wanted to repay him in the same way. I gently pressed a finger against his folded anus, slowly caressing it, and then slowly and firmly pushed my short-nailed finger inside. Although he was old, his muscles were still firm and strong, contracting to resist my penetration. But I knew what he felt, knew that such stimulation would rejuvenate him, so I continued to push my fingertip into the center of his anus. Finally, the first joint of my finger was fully inserted into his tight, fleshy hole. I gently hooked my finger, probing, slowly thrusting, and vibrating it inside his anus, skillfully massaging and stimulating his secret place that had never been touched by a woman
before. I used to use this method to give my husband special stimulation and enjoyment when we made love. Sometimes, he was even too lazy to have penetration with me, just wanting me to stroke his penis while licking and fingering his anus. He would then raise his legs high, his mouth emitting cool breaths, moaning like a woman being penetrated. In the end, he would always be stimulated by me to no longer be lazy, his incredibly hard penis satisfying my desire.
To give him even greater stimulation and enjoyment, I turned around and knelt between his legs, lifting his legs to fully expose his genitals, then lowered my head, kissing his buttocks with my lips, licking and kissing the folds of his anus with my tongue. After a while, I continued licking upwards, licking his scrotum covered in rice-grain-like goosebumps and the perineum beneath it, then took his testicles into my mouth and caressed them with my tongue. I alternately kissed and sucked on his two mounds for over ten minutes, feeling his testicles slowly swell in my mouth.
Then, I continued licking upwards along his long, drooping scrotum. Because the blanket was off, I could see his penis clearly with the help of the dim light coming in from the window. This was the first time I had clearly seen his penis, a very beautiful penis that wasn't fully erect. The thick shaft was covered by a very delicate foreskin, which, perhaps never having been truly used in his life, still covered the entire glans. I gently pulled down his brown foreskin, easily exposing his purplish-black glans; perhaps this was the result of his long-term masturbation?
Kissing and caressing this magnificent male organ, I thought, if he hadn't come from a humble background, if he hadn't lived in poverty, it might have been very successful, perhaps attracting countless women. At that moment, I couldn't help but recall that when I was ten years old, someone introduced him to a woman, a woman in her forties who was quite attractive. She also appreciated his character and diligence and was willing to spend her life with him. However, she made a condition: he had to send me to an orphanage. In the end, he made a difficult choice between wanting a woman's affection and caring for me, who had been abandoned at birth. He gave up the enjoyment of a woman's tenderness and the life of a married couple because he couldn't bear the thought of me being abandoned again.
After I and my boyfriend had consummated our relationship, after I lay in bed with my husband, after I couldn't resist temptation and secretly met with my lover behind my husband's back, I understood even more deeply how much willpower and courage it took for him to give up a woman's tenderness, and I felt even more deeply the great contribution and sacrifice he had made for me. Therefore, when he asked me to give myself to him as a birthday gift, I felt that I finally had the opportunity and the means to repay him.
My left thumb and forefinger formed a loop, encircling his scrotum near the base of his penis, and I slowly pulled it down, squeezing his two swollen testicles into my palm, giving him a slightly painful yet intensely pleasurable sensation. My right thumb and forefinger pinched the foreskin on his glans, slowly pulling it down to fully expose the large glans. His glans was hot, and a little fluid oozed from the fish-mouth-like urethral opening; I gently licked it with my tongue, tasting a salty, fishy flavor. He seemed to be starting to estrus.
So, I placed his raised legs back on the bed, straightened up, and rubbed my breasts against his erect penis. As my nipples slid across his shaft and glans, I felt his foreskin was so smooth, so soft, so… yes, so tender—that word was absolutely apt!
I felt a deep pang of sympathy for a man with such a magnificent penis who had almost never experienced a woman's body. I felt a deep pang of sympathy for a man at this age whose glans was still covered by his foreskin. I felt a deep pang of sympathy for him who had the right and opportunity to take my virginity but let it slip away. I felt a
deep pang of sympathy for me who, in his old age, finally had the courage to offer him my tenderness completely… I lowered my head and took the glans, which had been peeking out from my cleavage, into my mouth again. I used my lips and tongue to carefully savor his magnificence and his long-suppressed desire. The hard, swollen yet incredibly soft glans gave me a wonderfully pleasurable sensation. My tongue felt the trembling of his urethral opening and the fragrant taste of the oozing fluid. I slowly lowered my head and swallowed his penis into my throat, letting him experience deep throat oral sex for the first time. I knew that my deep throat technique had once amazed my boyfriend, husband, and lover, and it would surely give him an unforgettable experience and stimulation.
Sure enough, he couldn't hold back any longer. His glans throbbed in my mouth, and more fluid flowed out. His soft moans turned into heavy breathing and groans. I knew he was about to ejaculate, and I knew that a man his age couldn't possibly get an erection again after ejaculation. I wanted him to experience real sex; I wanted him to ejaculate into my vagina. So, I tightened my mouth muscles, using my tongue to tightly envelop his glans, while simultaneously pinching the base of his penis with my index finger and thumb, suppressing his impending ejaculation. Then, I quickly stood up, lifted one leg and straddled his lower abdomen, kneeling on either side of his hips. I guided his hard penis to my wet vaginal opening and slowly sat down.
Ah! Father and daughter were finally united! Thanks to the ample foreplay, his penis was as hard as a young man's, and my vagina was as wet as during our first tryst. Our bodies easily intertwined. Years ago, he willingly offered me his leg bone to save me from the pain of disability and lameness, but in my passive acceptance, I couldn't fully understand his pain and pleasure. Today, as I bear the infamy of committing an act against humanity, I truly understand the joy and pleasure of enduring pain to contribute to the one I love! For the past 30 years, he has used all his love and devotion to save my life and create my happiness. Now, in a single moment, I want to use all my love and dedication to make his life eternal.
I slowly raise my body, then slowly sit down.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
As I sat down for the fourth time, I felt his scrotum tighten, his testicles swell, and his penis throb a few times inside my vagina. I knew he was about to ejaculate, so I quickly thrust up and down a few more times. Oh! He really ejaculated! Hot semen surged into the depths of my vagina like a torrent. How I wished he could keep ejaculating, keep ejaculating, never stopping, so that I could bear his child, so that his seed could blossom into a flower of monstrous love within me…
I gently lay on top of him, my lips meeting his, carefully feeling his every throbbing, every breath. After a long time, when I felt his limp penis slip out of my body, I reluctantly rolled over and lay on my side next to him, gently pinching one of his nipples with my fingers, continuing to feel his trembling, and occasionally kissing his cheek and neck. Only
then did I utter my first words of the night: "I hope you enjoy this moment as much as I do!"
But he didn't hear me, because he had already fallen asleep with a peaceful smile. I nestled beside him, looking at him lovingly as he slept, knowing in my heart that what I gave him was not just a birthday gift, but the greatest and best reward for his lifelong dedication to raising me. He gave me a second life, and he was my birthday gift too. Happy birthday! I said to him, and to myself, slowly lying down beside him, falling asleep with a desolate yet beautiful feeling…
The next morning, when my husband, who had returned early from a business trip, woke me from my sleep with a look of astonishment, I found him lying naked in my naked arms, already a cold corpse, but a smile still lingered on his aged face.

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A desolate yet beautiful feeling

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