My mother was my first woman

When I was little, my mother loved me very much, even to the point of spoiling me, and I was very attached to her. Back then, our mother-son relationship was so close
that even my father was "jealous" of me. Although my mother wasn't a great beauty, she was still a beautiful, virtuous wife and mother.

I often thought that when I grew up, I would find a wife as good as my mother. After starting junior high, as I grew older, I gradually stopped clinging to her,
stopped playing with her, and even stopped talking to her much. But my mother still cared for me and looked after me in every way, big or small, which made
me increasingly impatient and resentful towards her. I don't remember when it started, but sometimes I would speak harshly to my mother, yet she
never got angry with me or held my rudeness against me. Entering puberty, I began to have sexual anxieties, and I instinctively learned to
use my hands to solve the problem.

I had a peculiar liking for women's feet. Near the end of junior high, one Sunday was my grandmother's birthday, and after finishing
self-study I went to her house. Grandma's front door faced the door of a guest room. From the front door, I could see the foot of the bed inside. That day,
when I entered, I was surprised to see a pair of very white and beautiful feet on the bed—due to the limited view, I could only see the bare
calves and feet—and I couldn't help but feel excited. "Whose feet could these be?" But then I realized, it was Mom's feet!

Alas, what a disappointment! It turned out that Mom had been working hard at Grandma's house and was sleeping on that bed in her skirt and clothes. In my disappointment, my mind started
wandering : "If only it weren't Mom, I could have looked at them a little longer. How come I never noticed Mom's feet before…
?" Thinking this, I didn't dare to continue, feeling extremely guilty. For the rest of the day, I tried my best not to look at Mom's feet, but
I always felt guilty and uneasy.

That night, after going to bed, I masturbated while imagining Mom's feet, and reached orgasm in extreme excitement.

After the climax, I was filled with guilt, feeling like a beast, and wanted to slap myself. Although my
attitude towards my mother had changed significantly—I still didn't like talking to her much, but I no longer resented her concern or spoke harshly to her
. My mother quickly noticed the change in me and was overjoyed, becoming even more attentive to me. The more she did this, the more uneasy I felt. Two

nights before the high school entrance exam, my mother brought a bowl of sweet soup into my room. I was busy doing my homework and asked her to put it down. She put down the sweet soup
but didn't leave immediately. Instead, she sat down on my bed, watching me work with loving eyes. My attention unconsciously shifted to my mother: before, I
didn't have any concept of mature female beauty. I had always been attracted to youthful, beautiful, and slender girls, but
my mother was no longer young. Her beautiful face, though not showing signs of age, had lost its youthful glow, and her figure had become slightly plump. Logically, she shouldn't have attracted my
attention.

I had only ever been attracted to my mother's feet, but that night, I inadvertently discovered an indescribable beauty emanating from her entire being—
a beauty different from my pretty female classmates. Suddenly, I realized this beauty was even more captivating, more alluring. Suddenly,
the flashed into my mind. I dared not think any further, quickly gulping down the sugar water and handing the bowl to my mother so she could leave.
She took the bowl, looked at me with a hint of reluctance, and then left. After she left, it took me a while to settle down and continue doing my homework.

For several days, I devoted myself entirely to the high school entrance exam, and I was completely exhausted afterward. However, I was gratified that I felt I had
done quite well. The summer vacation after my final year of junior high was relaxing but boring; I spent all my time at home, passing the time with novels.
Although the sexual descriptions in those novels were only superficial, they already excited me greatly. My sexual desire grew stronger, and I masturbated more frequently. My mother, who was with me
day and night , gradually became the main object of my sexual fantasies. Every smile, gesture, and movement of hers was
captivating to me, and her clothes were always impeccably appropriate.

I became uncontrollably and passionately infatuated with her. This wasn't due to any bad influence; it was probably because my mother was the only woman in my life, and she was beautiful
. Despite my incestuous thoughts about her, I dared not act recklessly in real life. I would
secretly take her underwear and shoes when no one was home to satisfy myself, but the more I did this, the more I longed for her. I was
tormented .

The long summer vacation finally ended, and I started high school. However, I could no longer devote myself to my studies as wholeheartedly as before, and my
grades barely remained above average.

One evening in mid-October of that year, I felt thirsty while studying and went to the living room to get a drink. Entering the living room, I saw my mother, dressed in
a short-sleeved pajama top, reclining on the sofa,
watching TV while massaging her feet. Her long, strong calves and fair, rosy feet made my heart flutter. I quickly poured a glass of water and stood behind her, pretending to watch TV while greedily stealing glances at her. I thought to myself,
how wonderful it would be heart's content. Suddenly, an idea struck me: I would
pretend to massage my mother's feet and indulge my urge to do so! After making up my mind, I said to my mother, "Mom, did you go down to inspect work again today?" "Yes." "That must be tiring. Let me
massage your feet for you." My mother happily agreed. So I sat down next to her, placed her feet on my thighs, and gently began to massage them.

At that time, my mother was my goddess. Touching her long-awaited beautiful feet made me increasingly excited. I really wanted to
hug tightly and kiss them to my heart's content. At first, my mother just watched me massage her feet lovingly, but later, perhaps sensing something, her expression became a little unnatural.
"Okay. Much better now, no need to rub anymore," Mom said, withdrawing her feet. I had no choice but to give up and reluctantly went back to my
room. After this incident, Mom seemed to realize my illicit thoughts, so she never offered to rub her feet again.

Days passed, but my desire for Mom didn't diminish at all. I often dreamed of her, and sometimes I'd wake up in the middle of the night, when
Dad wasn't home, and I desperately wanted to rush to her room… Besides Mom, there was nothing else in my life that I cared about
. My grades gradually declined. In the first semester of my first year of high school, I barely passed the midterm exams, but I only ranked
in the thirties my worst performance ever. Dad scolded me severely.

While Dad was scolding me, Mom looked at me silently, her eyes filled with the same loving gaze, but also worry and a faint sadness that seemed to understand everything.
I couldn't help but wonder if Mom knew about my illicit thoughts. And indeed, she did. No mother is unaware of her son's feelings.
During the holidays, my mother tried to talk to me alone several times, but because I felt guilty, I always refused to give her the chance, and even refused to be alone with her. Each time,
my mother left disappointed. I was afraid that one day I would lose control and do something irreparable, and that day finally came.

In April of that year, I had a high fever for several days in a row and couldn't go to school. My mother also took leave to take care of me at home. That morning,
after returning home from the hospital with an injection, I slept until the afternoon. In my dream, I dreamed of my mother again, and I woke up just as I was hugging her feet. My mother
found that I was awake, immediately came into the room, touched my forehead, and then happily said to me, "The fever is gone! You should be better after taking some more medicine. Oh,
and I need to change your blanket." As she spoke, she moved a stool, stood barefoot on it, and went to get the blanket from the top shelf of the cabinet next to my bed. Because she wanted to get it easier
, my mother's right foot was placed next to my pillow. At this moment, I was filled with lust and couldn't help but reach out and grab her foot. Mom
turned and looked at me, then continued getting the blanket without a word. I stroked it a few times, then lowered my head and started kissing Mom's toes randomly. Only then did Mom tense
up. She stopped getting the blanket, jumped off the bed, and muttered, "Nonsense!" before leaving.

I realized I'd really messed up. Just as I was wondering what to do, Mom came in with a bowl of medicine, her face calm. She sat down
beside my bed, fed me the medicine, and then changed my blanket—this time she didn't put her feet on my bed again—telling me
to sleep a little longer before leaving again. She acted as if nothing had happened. I was incredibly excited because I had finally kissed Mom's feet
! At the same time, I felt a little embarrassed by my recklessness.

For the next few days, I felt uncomfortable whenever I was with Mom, but she didn't mention it again, treating me as before.
Mom's attitude surprised me, but it also emboldened me. I knew the best time was
when Mom was sleeping alone. About a month later, the opportunity arrived.

That noon, Dad didn't come home, and Mom was taking a nap in her room. I hesitated for a long time, but finally mustered the courage to go into Mom's
room. When I reached her bedside, she was still asleep. She was sleeping face down, a thin blanket draped around her waist, her legs slightly bent and sticking out from
under the blanket. Looking at Mom's smooth, alluring feet, my breathing became increasingly rapid. I had originally thought that Mom would wake up as soon as I entered the room, and I planned to take advantage of her
inattention to grab her feet and kiss them. But now I changed my mind. I bent down and began to kiss Mom's feet. I kissed the soles and
heels , and just as I was sucking on her toes, her feet twitched, and she immediately woke up. When Mom turned over and saw it was me,
her face didn't show much surprise, just a slightly unhappy expression. At that moment, I felt a little embarrassed. I stood up,
left the room without saying a word, grabbed my schoolbag, and went to school.

In mid-July, Dad had to go on a business trip for three days. I was as happy as a child celebrating the New Year. The day Dad went on his
business trip, I was absentmindedly reading a novel at home in the morning, anxiously waiting for Mom to come home from work. I finally made it home at noon. After lunch, Mom washed the dishes, but instead of
taking her usual nap, she started cleaning. I patiently waited, thinking she might go to sleep
after didn't finish until almost 2 pm, and then she went to work. I was extremely disappointed and could only console myself by waiting until Mom went to sleep that night.

That night, amidst my anxiety, it was finally time for bed. Mom turned off the TV and went into her room. I almost jumped for
joy . But unexpectedly, Mom immediately closed the door and locked it with a "snap." I was stunned, feeling like
I had fallen into an ice cellar. I didn't sleep well that night, feeling a mixture of love and resentment towards Mom, like the feeling of heartbreak. The next day at noon, I
still clung to a sliver of hope. But after Mom went into her room, she slammed the lock shut again, and I was completely desperate. That night, I went to
bed early, seething with anger and resentment.

Around ten o'clock, Mom turned off the TV and came into my room. I glanced at her, then turned away, ignoring her. Mom
stood silently by my bed for a while, seemed to sigh softly, and then left. Mom sat silently in the living room for quite a while,
finally returning to her room around 11 o'clock. I heard her close the door, but I didn't hear that hateful "slam." And there was no sound for a
long time . Could it be that I didn't hear the lock, or that Mom forgot to lock it? My heart started pounding. I decided
to find out. I got up, put on my basketball shorts, and went out.

I stood in front of Mom's door and tried to turn the lock; it was indeed unlocked. By then, Mom had been asleep for almost half an hour, so I figured she should
be asleep , and I pushed the door open and went in.

The bedside lamp was dimly lit—Mom always slept with it on when she slept alone—and in its light, I could see her face
turned , wearing only a blouse and underwear. Her long, black hair, full and graceful figure, snow-white and slender legs, and warm, alluring feet made my
blood boil;

I carefully walked to Mom's bedside and stopped. Suddenly, I realized Mom wasn't asleep; she was awake. I stood there for a while,
carefully observing her, and became even more certain that she was awake. "Why isn't Mom responding to me? She's awake!" I was truly puzzled.
Finally, I decided to see what would make Mom stop pretending to be asleep. I lifted the mosquito net, bent down, and gently took Mom's foot in my right hand.
As I held her foot, it twitched slightly, but didn't pull away from my hand. I was secretly delighted, and without thinking, I threw myself on
top of her, hugging her tightly.

After hugging my mother, I was a little lost, just staring blankly at her face. My mother looked at me gently, calmly, her eyes
filled with love. After a moment of awkward silence, she reached out and hugged me, gently stroking my back and head, then slowly pressing my
head down so my forehead touched hers, rubbing it lightly, occasionally kissing my cheek. Suddenly, I seemed to understand
what to do. I eagerly kissed my mother's face, nose, earrings, neck, and her sweet, soft lips.

The feeling of kissing was so wonderful; ignoring my mother's struggles, I kissed her greedily again and again. Suddenly, my mother pushed me away, then
sat up and slowly took off her clothes. Seeing this, I immediately got up and took off my clothes as well. Facing my mother's naked body,
I was once again at a loss. My mother had been somewhat shy as she took off her clothes, but seeing my reaction, she seemed to relax completely. She
smiled slightly and lay down calmly. "Come on up," Mom whispered; I obediently climbed onto her.

Mom held my head, burying it between her full, soft breasts. I immediately snapped back to reality, becoming aroused again, and began to caress and kiss her incessantly.
I kissed her breasts. My actions aroused her, her breathing quickening, her cheeks flushed. I
kissed my way down her breasts, and just as I was about to reach her genitals, she suddenly clamped her legs together. "No there!" she whispered firmly. But
how could I agree? After some effort, I finally pried her legs open. I carefully examined her private parts. "So, a honey pot
is just a dark red slit of flesh." I first smelled the faint fishy scent, then began to lick it with my tongue. She
moaned softly as I licked her, her body gently twisting.

Although I didn't know this was a sign of her arousal, I had a feeling it wasn't a bad thing, so I licked even more vigorously, finally
inserting my tongue into her vagina. After kissing her honey pot enough, I continued kissing her legs and feet. By this time, I was incredibly excited
. After I climbed back onto my mother, she kissed my face, closed her eyes, and groped for my penis, lifting her hips to
slowly insert it into her wet vagina.

I realized what was happening and focused intently on the sensation: the foreskin slowly peeled back, and my penis entered
a warm, lubricated passage. The feeling was so wonderful! As soon as my mother released her, I began to thrust forcefully. Each
thrust was harder than the last, and my mother's tender vagina became increasingly wet. Ah! Having sex with my mother was so pleasurable! I enjoyed it ecstatically, quickly reaching
orgasm, embracing my mother and ejaculating all my semen.

Afterwards, I felt completely drained, collapsing weakly onto my mother. My mother opened her eyes, reached for some
toilet paper , then moved her lower body to remove my penis from her vagina, pushed me away, sat up, cleaned herself, and went to shower. I lay alone
for a while before getting up and putting on my clothes. Just then, Mom came back from showering, having changed into clean pajamas. We were both a little
embarrassed , and I felt somewhat lost. Mom seemed much calmer. As she tidied her things, she softly told me, "Go wash up and go to bed."
I listened and hesitantly left Mom's room. That night, my mind was a mess. I couldn't believe it—I had Mom
! I felt both the excitement of getting what I wanted and a deep sense of guilt. Lost in thought, I don't know when I finally fell asleep.

I woke up the next day, almost noon. At lunch, Mom didn't mention the night before at all, and even chatted with me about
trivial things, her face relaxed. Seeing this, I felt a little relieved too. That evening, Dad came home, and I couldn't help
feeling a little guilty in his presence. But Mom remained calm; there was nothing unusual on her face. In the days that followed, Mom treated me the same as before
, and I gradually relaxed and stopped thinking about it. A few days into the new semester, my father didn't come home for lunch, and my sexual desire
returned. After lunch, while my mother was washing the dishes, I hugged her waist from behind. My mother understood my intentions and softly said, "
No , what if your father comes back?" I begged repeatedly, but my mother wouldn't agree, so I finally gave up. However, I still
caressed my mother's feet that noon, which was some consolation. Two weeks later, my father went on a business trip, and that evening my mother finally agreed to have sex with me again.
That time, we did it for two nights in a row. From then on, my mother almost always agreed to have sex with me only when my father didn't come home at night. My mother had her
reasons; only when sleeping at night could she lock the door from the inside, so even if my father suddenly came home, he wouldn't be able to open the door and wouldn't suspect anything.

My mother loved me very much, but that love was only a mother's love for her son. Although my mother was always selfless and could enjoy orgasms during sex with me
, I knew it was only for me; she was willing to have sex with me because she loved me so much. One shouldn't be too selfish. After I went to university,
I started dating girls and gradually stopped making demands of my mother. Now I have my own family, and my relationship with my mother is still
very good. We have never intended to forget the past; how could we possibly forget it? I love my mother deeply, and if
she were willing, I would still want to have sex with her. Because I have not only the love a son has for his mother, but also the love a husband has for his wife. My mother is,
in effect, my first wife.

[The End]

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My mother was my first woman

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