The most realistic incest I've ever seen

Those things have been done, irreversible. I know I'm deliberately numbing myself and trying to forget. I dare not think about it, so I can only comfort myself with escapism, numbness, and forgetting.
Posting what I've written is a form of venting, a form of solace and remembrance, a tribute to the pure mother-son relationship that can never be returned.
Don't doubt its originality; I guarantee it with my integrity. This is a heartfelt confession typed out word by word. I don't seek praise or points, nor will I require replies before reading. I'm just happy that
everyone can see my story. Also, you might think I'm despicable, but please don't hurl insults. Please leave me
with the last bit of self-respect. I don't know where to begin, or how in detail to go. Let's start with university. My first love was in university. I'll talk about some memorable
things, and I won't mention the hazy memories faded by time.
The era I lived in and the family and school education I received instilled in me a complete lack of awareness of dating before university. In fact, it felt quite terrifying; I thought
dating was immoral. If someone wrote me a letter confessing their love or showed me affection, I would definitely stay far away. However, this mindset gradually changed when I entered university.
There were many couples around me, and I realized that I was getting older and had emotional needs. I also realized that dating was not a shameful thing. My ex-husband and I met in
college marked the beginning of my first love. He was in the same major as me and from the same city. There weren't many people in our major, and most of us in the classes knew each other.
Men are very 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 got to know each other better during several
college activities, and things just naturally progressed. He never even confessed to me, and I had no experience. I
thought that was what dating was all about. I didn't dare to hold hands for a long time. He was the one who initiated the first time we held hands, and he was also the one who 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 learned
to suck on my tongue, and the pleasure was even stronger. It made my whole body feel like it was on fire, and I got wet down there. To be honest, I had never masturbated before college and
had no sexual needs whatsoever. But ever since I kissed him, I've had that desire, a desire I absolutely dared not express. 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 the 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 Because our families and jobs were in the same city, and both sets of parents were satisfied, everything went smoothly.
Our first time was on our wedding day; it was probably past eleven o'clock. 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. When he took off my clothes, 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 caressing my genitals. His fervor ignited my own passion, and I inevitably became aroused. He thrust inside me, and I
gasped my mouth agape, too afraid to scream… My first experience of sex 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 vividly, 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 of study and research, could I experience a strong surge of desire. I would
mimic his movements with my fingers, imitating him, and look 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, and it felt 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, and my heart would fill with sweetness. Our child
was the crystallization of our love, bearing the characteristics of both of us; the feeling was magical and blissful. For the first few years, our relationship was wonderful, but marriage truly couldn't escape the seven-year itch. It
really did start in the seventh year. He became distant, spoke less to me, 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 distant. My heart gradually cooled, and 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 knew I couldn't
win back his heart. I got custody of the child, and he gave me the house and most of the assets; he left 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 regarding 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 bleak. Later, I thought that for my child's sake, 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 somewhat afraid of
marriage and lacked confidence, so I stopped trying. After that, no one introduced me to anyone.
I feel guilty towards my son; I haven't been a successful parent, even though I studied education, including early childhood education, in school. But when
it comes to my own child, I can't bear to toughen him up. I always try my best 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 too dependent on me. Even now that I understand this, I still can't bear to let him go and develop his abilities.
When he first entered high school, some teachers suggested that I let him live at school, but I wasn't comfortable with that. I said, "Why spend the money on accommodation when we live so close?" Some teachers, to save themselves trouble and to
give their children experience, let their children live at school. To my delight, 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 couldn't talk to him about, like work-related 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. Even buying rice and flour, I carried it upstairs myself, without 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 that kind of look.
I was truly terrified of knowing what malicious stares meant. If I had a husband, I would feel much more secure, but I didn't. I was always afraid he would
break into , so I would always check behind me before opening the door and quickly lock it after entering. Looking back, it was all a deep-seated sense of inferiority. Later, I stopped seeing
him; he probably moved away. Over the years, my mindset has gradually calmed down. My son has grown tall and strong; 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, I desperately wished for a man to comfort and satisfy me, but
that was impossible. Only my own hands could satisfy me. The wedding photo on the wall was long gone. 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
lingering in my mind until the climax, leaving my mind blank. After a while, I felt not only sadness but also deep self-reproach. I don't want to, but my son is the only man I've been in contact with and can rely on
for so long In fact, we depend on each other. Sometimes when he lies in my arms, I feel
a 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 is my man, and all the men I've ever been in contact with are my son. We don't have any taboos like other mothers and sons, perhaps because I've always
treated him like he was when he was little. Even though he's grown up now, I still worry about him and take care of him meticulously, giving him every little instruction.
As a result, his self-care ability is 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 either—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. At my age,
I understand the道理 (principles/reasons), but I'm powerless to change anything. Like when I stare at my son's muscular physique and bulging lower body, I know that dazed 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 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—that's
undeniable . I think we understand ourselves and each other's feelings, but neither of us has brought it up. 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 looks at me has changed. Even when I'm behind him, I can feel that gaze—focused
and intense. When I turn around, I quickly look away. Actually, I know that's how I look at him too. He exercises often and has a great physique. That
youthful energy is really attractive. Every time he walks around the house shirtless in his underwear without any inhibitions, I can't help but stare at him. His chest muscles are very attractive
, but what tempts me the most is his bulging lower body. Just seeing that makes my legs go weak. Maybe women have a kind of male genital worship? I even
wanted to kneel down and worship him, 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 grew up, I let him have his own room because of his studies
, but he still came to my room to sleep in my bed from time to time. He always had a lot of excuses, saying he had a scary dream, that it was cold when he was hungry, and that my double bed wouldn't
fall off. But when he came to my bed, he didn't go to sleep right away. He always hugged 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 aroused me. I asked him, "Son
, are you thinking about when you were little?" He was still sucking on the nipple and mumbled something. 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 , it's just mother and son reliving the past. I don't know if it's because I get excited or have a lot of imagination. I've always been a very contradictory person, conflicted in my feelings and in my decisions.
Actually, I was really aroused at that time, and I really hoped that 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 . It was satisfying, but it was also torture. 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... was also rubbing against my buttocks from time to time. Even through two layers of underwear, I
could feel its heat. I was wet right then and there. My heart was in my throat. I really hoped that he would take off my underwear and fill me up there, 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 when he went back to his room too. But most of the time, after we touched each other, he would
sleep on my bed. I didn't dare to masturbate anymore because I was afraid of making a sound and waking him up. He must have been afraid too.
However, when his desire was too strong, he was fearless. Once, I woke up after a nap 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 quite dark, and 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 keep pretending to be asleep with my eyes half-closed? His movements became faster and faster. Fortunately, when he ejaculated, he reached out his left hand and caught it
. After going to the bathroom, he went back to his room. I lay in the same position as before, masturbating while reminiscing.
When I couldn't resist, I held his head tightly against my breasts. The pressure brought me pleasure, but he soon broke free 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 hold back 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
just rested on his penis without moving, and he didn't move either. I didn't dare move my arms for fear of making too much noise and attracting my son's attention. 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 took the initiative. But thinking about it, it makes sense; my son is always shy and never takes the initiative as much as I do. That night I...
I was sleeping naked after showering, and my son came into my room shortly after. Before I could react, he was already under the covers. Afraid he'd find out I was naked and 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 I put my other hand inside my vagina from the front. At first, he was lying on his back, but then he 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 of us, and 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, straddled him, positioned his penis against my vagina, and sat down until it was fully inside me
. Because there was so much water, my mouth was wide open, and the pleasure was so intense that I collapsed onto my son. He cried out and his body jerked. I
sat up moved up and down, but after a few movements, my body went limp and I involuntarily collapsed. Perhaps my son wasn't satisfied with my speed, so he rolled over, pinned me beneath him
, and began moving quickly. That must have been his first time. He ejaculated very quickly; I could feel how hot it was. But I didn't go limp, and he didn't pull out; he
kept 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 was the first time. After that, it wasn't so difficult. 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 pleasurable sound. I think the psychological pleasure probably stimulated him more
. I also felt happy watching his performance and seeing how excited he was. 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 my son called me around 5 pm saying he was hungry and wanted me to come home and
cook noodles. I couldn't persuade him otherwise, and thinking that we lived nearby
, I could come over after cooking. I went home and quickly started cooking. As soon as I put the cutting board on, my son hugged me tightly from behind. I said, "Stop it for a while." Even though we were running late, he wouldn't let up.
I was wearing the school-issued work 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 . Even when a stranger I don't like touches me, I feel the same way. He took off my clothes and rubbed his hard penis against my genitals, which immediately became wet
. My son slowly inserted himself. I suddenly remembered that if we were late, several classes of students wouldn't be able to take the exam, and the papers were still with me. So I got up and said,
"No, don't do it." But my son grabbed me and continued to penetrate me. I had no choice but to call my class representative and ask him to come to my office to
get the living room with me to get my phone.
While I was explaining to the student, my son was still moving vigorously behind me. I was afraid the noise would be too loud and could be heard on the phone, and I was also afraid I would make a sound. But he
was holding my waist with both hands, and I couldn't push him away, so I had to use my hands to cover my buttocks. After I explained everything, I quickly hung up the phone and told him to hurry up and go to the bedroom. He refused and insisted on
going to the kitchen. I was forced to walk with my back bent. As soon as I put my hand on 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 hugged my waist and lifted me up, thrusting into me hard. That time it lasted a long time. After he ejaculated, he told me he didn't want noodles anymore and 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,
thinking they seemed to know what I had just done, but after calming down, I realized that was impossible.
[The End]

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The most realistic incest I've ever seen

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