[My Mother and I]

6.

High school was different from junior high; the interval between public holidays was one month. My mother's business became increasingly busy, and she
couldn't find time to visit me at school, so we rarely saw each other. Regarding our relationship,
as you can see from the above, my mother was always hesitant and worried about us. She would never actively pursue or
indulge my desires. Of course, I admit that if I strongly insisted, I believe my mother would give in. But every time I went home, I
saw my mother's busy and tired figure, so I controlled myself, even though it was painful and agonizing.

I don't know exactly when my mother and father went through divorce proceedings, and this didn't affect me
much. After all, I had little impression of my father; he only played a nominal role in the family
.

My mother's remarriage was also arranged by my maternal grandfather, through an acquaintance. The man was from Fujian
, two years older than my mother. He had come to Jiangsu with my mother when he was very young but had never married. He used to work in
a before resigning. I only found out about the wedding when my mother asked an aunt to explain
, saying that she was mainly worried about affecting my studies and that my mother was very tired from running her business alone. She also said that after the wedding, my mother would
live with me, etc. The wedding was held on the 16th day of the first lunar month in 1987, which was
the last . Because the groom's ancestral home was too far away, the ceremony was held at
my maternal grandfather's house, essentially meaning my grandfather had taken in a son-in-law. Since it was his second wedding, the only guests that day were the families of my five uncles. There wasn't
much of a ceremony; everyone had a reunion dinner to acknowledge the new family member. The not-too-lively day passed
quickly and my five uncles all went back to their respective homes. After dinner, my grandfather, exhausted from a long day
, invited me to rest with him. Deep down, I absolutely couldn't accept my mother going
into . I stammered that I wasn't sleepy. My mother, sensing my thoughts, stood up and said,

"Dad, this child is always so busy at night, he keeps asking questions. Don't disturb your rest. Let him stay with me."

She then gave the man a meaningful look, and he agreed.

"It's alright, Dad, I'll sleep in your room. Let the child stay with his mother,"

my mother said to the man, without saying anything as my grandfather got up and went back to his room.

"You should go early too. Keep an eye on Dad if anything happens tonight."

"Okay." The man then followed Grandpa into the house.

Mom and I sat quietly at the dining table, neither of us speaking. The air in the room seemed to freeze. I
'm sure my face was filled with hurt and a longing for Mom's comfort. Finally, Mom stood up and said,

"Want to sleep? If not, Mom will stay with you a little longer."

I knew Mom was giving me an out, so I understood and changed the subject.

"Mom, it's so cold in the countryside. Won't we get cold at night?"

"It's okay, we'll warm up under the covers. Come on, let's go to sleep."

I followed my mother into another bedroom, or rather, her new room. It was an old house that had
just been painted, and the furnishings were all newly made tables and chairs. The bright red "double happiness" character above the bed
was particularly eye-catching under the light. The aunties, who were always eager to see what would happen, had already made the bed during the day. The bright red double quilt and
pillows seemed to foreshadow everything that was about to happen. My mother reached into the covers, took out a hot water bottle,
handed it to me, and said... "Take this to warm your hands." I paced around
the room "Feeling better?" Mom asked. I nodded, still shivering. Mom added, "Go to bed quickly
, just cover yourself with the blanket."

I remember each time I took off a piece of clothing, the biting cold sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn't until I was snuggled into the warm blankets that
I slowly recovered. I looked at Mom from under the covers and said, "You should sleep too, Mom." "Okay, I'll sleep."
As she spoke, Mom went to the wall and turned off the light in the room. Although the light was off, the room wasn't dark because
the bright moonlight of the 16th day of the first lunar month pierced the room. Mom seemed to... Noticing this, after removing her heavy outer
coat, my mother, dressed only in thermal underwear, crawled into bed. I stared intently at her every move. I
wondered if my mother, who always slept in her pajamas, would really sleep fully clothed like this. Sure enough, after only
a few minutes, she fumbled under the covers and took off her thermal underwear. The moment she pulled the clothes out
of the covers , my heart suddenly started racing. The desire that had been dormant for almost half a year began
to surge within me again. My mother, wearing only a bra and panties, released a large amount of her unique body scent, especially in this closed and
warm bed.

Overwhelmed with excitement, I found myself trembling uncontrollably. My trembling alerted my mother, who reached
out touched me, asking, "Still cold?" I nodded and shook my head helplessly. Seeing that I was alright, she
withdrew her arm and said, "Go to sleep." How could I possibly fall asleep peacefully? I lay motionless in my
usual . I admit I had the urge to pounce on my mother and hug her, but
it had been six months since our last sexual encounter. In those six months, I had suppressed that urge countless times, and my mother seemed
to be subtly implying in her calm tone that she could refrain from doing so again, and that she didn't expect her sexual needs to be met in
any way. So I dared not make any rash moves. But primal desires drove me wild,
repeatedly assaulting my already fragile mental state. The winter in the rural north of Jiangsu was quiet, with only the occasional
bark of a dog No one knew that in this new house, on the same bed, wrapped in the same blanket, lay
a nearly naked mother and son.

"Mom," I uttered in a pitiful tone.

"Hmm, still not asleep," Mom replied, her back to me.

"Mom," I said uncontrollably, using the tone I used as a child.

Perhaps this tone stirred the maternal love in Mom's heart, for she turned around and spoke in a gentle voice.

"What is it?" she asked, then reached out her delicate arm again to stroke my head.

"I want... to eat for a while, okay, Mom," I

pleaded, my voice almost a sob. Mom didn't remove her arm from my neck; it remained there. My heart pounded with a mixture of
nervous excitement and anticipation for her answer. I could feel her hand trembling slightly on my neck,
and I knew she was also struggling internally. Finally, desire once again took over our
world, and Mom's fragrant body pressed against my already burning body.

As I mentioned before, what my mother could most readily accept was me suckling her breast, perhaps
as a form of compensation for my childhood. My mother's hand pulled me closer, gently pressing my
shoulder, signaling me to bury my head under the covers. I naturally complied. In the darkness, I felt
my mother's other hand lift her bra. There were still those full, firm breasts, still those extremely sensitive
nipples . I opened my still-parched lips and completely took them in. I used my wet tongue to linger around the nipple
, savoring every tiny bump on the areola. My mother's nipple quickly hardened and stood erect. I
couldn't help but gently nibble at it with my teeth. My mother's arm, which was wrapped around mine, trembled slightly with my nibbling.

I think all men are the same; during sex, they wouldn't abandon either breast. My hand
rubbed and squeezed my mother's other breast, the full, swollen breast yielding to the changes in my hand's movements. As
my lips left my mother's breast and moved downwards, she realized that the memory she didn't want to recall was about to
unfold again. She tried to stop me by tightening her grip on my arm, but I ignored her attempt, as she too was about to be
melted . Finally, under my persistence, she released her already
delicate and weak arms, and instead, she gently placed her hands
on my head, which I was searching for, as if guiding me to touch all her sensitive areas. I kissed almost every inch of her
skin , even leaving faint teeth marks on any of her tender spots.

My mother's body undulated gently in the warm bed, fully enjoying every pleasure her son brought her
. Unlike last time, this time when I pulled down her underwear, she was compliant, because she knew in her heart that
the outcome was already predetermined, so let it happen; she had completely lost control. Many novels
use the words "fragrant" or "scented" to describe the smell of a woman's genitals, but that's
just . In reality, a woman's genitals have a faint, slightly sour smell; at least, I know my mother
's smell was like that. Although I had penetrated my mother's body through that area several times before, this was the first time I
had tasted it with my lips and tongue. I pressed my face, nose, and tongue tightly against my mother's already moist and
slippery vulva, wanting to use all my senses to experience the
vulva of the mother who had given me life.

I didn't say that part emitted an intoxicating scent, but I dare say that scent could
rapidly arouse a male. My mother, already aroused and her desires were high, couldn't control the abundant secretions of her 38-year-old body
. Streams of viscous fluid kept overflowing from her vaginal opening, no matter how much my lips and tongue sucked, my
mouth was filled with the slippery juices from inside my mother's body. I nibbled at my mother's most tender parts.
Her two crescent-shaped labia, which were not very thick to begin with, parted slightly due to the engorgement caused by my tongue. After several sexual encounters,
I knew that a woman's most sensitive parts should not be touched directly. So I only used the tip of my soft tongue
to touch my mother's clitoris very lightly. But even this very light touch made my mother's entire body tremble violently.
My mother instinctively pushed my head away with her hands, letting me know that she could not bear such direct stimulation.

I slowly straightened my body and pressed myself against my mother's curvaceous, fair, and warm body. My mother
knew what she was about to receive. She opened her arms and pulled me into her embrace, naturally spreading her
legs apart. Unlike before, this time my mother actively adjusted the position of her hips,
moving her honey hole to the head of my penis, which I could easily insert with a simple thrust. I knew that my mother's desire for penetration
had reached its peak. As I entered her completely, my mother's arms wrapped around me tightly, and her legs
hooked and pressed against my waist. She seemed not to want me to pull out; she wanted to fully enjoy the feeling of being
filled and satisfied.

I waited, until my mother slightly raised her hips and relaxed her legs, loosening their grip on me.
Like began my frenzied thrusting. My movements were rough, even savage, because my lust
had raged within me. I didn't care whether my mother could withstand my onslaught; I only remember the loud
slapping sounds of our abdomens pressing together. That night, my mother's vagina was tighter, warmer, and more lubricated than ever before
. She didn't stop my unbridled advances, letting my swollen glans scrape and experience the wetness within her vagina
.

As my movements gradually calmed, my mother again embraced me, her hands gently
sliding across my back, as if telling me not to engage in such violent intercourse. She needed a long,
tender, and gentle contact. I understood her meaning and changed my thrusting to a slow, gentle movement of my penis within her vagina. Sure enough,
my mother's limbs gradually relaxed from their initial stiffness, and she even pressed my head against her chest, letting
me suckle her nipples. Because of the slow, lingering rhythm, that intimate moment lasted a long time. During that
time didn't withdraw from her body. When I woke up in the middle of the night, my mother was still fast asleep, holding me

. Thinking about how my mother had remarried and how I wouldn't see her again for a long time after
returning home and going back to school
let me do as I pleased.

Although my mother had no desire at this time, the secretions and semen remaining in her vagina last night still made it
very smooth for me to penetrate her again. When I penetrated her, my mother didn't open her eyes, but just made a soft "hmm"
and then put her hand on my buttocks. I knew what my mother meant. I didn't make any movements, but just let my
penis remain quietly inside my mother's body, enjoying and remembering that tight grip and warm wetness.

The next morning, when my grandfather knocked on the door, my mother and I were still in our warm bed, not yet awake. We
opened our eyes almost simultaneously. My mother knew my thick penis was still inside her, but instead of immediately pushing me away , she
brought her full breasts to my mouth. After a few minutes, she gently patted my back
and then lightly pushed my buttocks away. I looked up at my mother, and she looked at me too. When I
pulled my penis out of her vagina, her gaze remained unchanged. Her eyes told me
that she loved and cared for me, knowing that now that she had remarried, she might never be able to be so intimate with me again. In the morning light...
I watched as my mother fastened her red bra and put on her red underwear, a symbol of her new marriage.

Whether

my mother's married life was happy or not, I have no way of knowing. But that man was just a
fleeting figure in her life. Ten days after their marriage, he died in a famous fire in Nanjing.
Since there was no real affection between them, it didn't cause my mother much pain; at most, she could only sigh that she would have to
face life alone again. However, her period didn't arrive on time that month, which greatly troubled her. The doctor clearly
told her she was pregnant. Of course, my mother could choose to have an abortion, but some busybodies had already
leaked to the man's mother. Later, I heard from my mother's friend that the old woman had knelt down and begged my mother to continue her family
line. My mother was caught in a painful choice. Traditional values still dominated her thinking; she knew that as a wife,
she had already shouldered the responsibility of carrying on the family line. If it weren't for our passionate wedding night, I don't think
my mother would have let a 70-year-old woman plead with her. The helpless old lady eventually sought help from her maternal grandfather.
Under the persuasion and pressure of the two elders, the kind-hearted mother reluctantly agreed to the arrangement, her only request being that the child
take her surname after birth.

When God created all things, He quietly allowed this seemingly complex natural world to follow inescapable laws,
which even thinking humans cannot defy. Sexual activity is the only
way . Although it is the only way, it does not restrict the identities of the men and women involved, and as long as the conditions
are met, the formation of new life is permitted. As a member of nature, the mother, of course, could not control or prevent the embryo from
forming within her body, nor could she choose which man's sperm her egg would combine with. The mother's worry was precisely that
she could not determine whose child was in her womb.

I was initially completely unaware of my mother's pregnancy. Anyone with children knows that a woman's physical changes are not very noticeable in the first
four months the weather wasn't very warm during those months, and people wore thicker clothes
, so even though I went home once a month, I didn't notice anything. I remember in June, when the public holiday was approaching,
my homeroom teacher informed me that I had to participate in a math competition, so I couldn't go home. I asked someone to send a message to my mother, asking her
to bring me my living expenses for the following month. When my mother arrived at the dormitory, I wasn't there. After I rushed back, my best friend
handed me the money my mother had brought, telling me that my mother had left before I put the money down. While he was saying
this I noticed that another roommate had a mysterious smile on his face. A little
angry, I asked him what he was smiling about. He said nothing, but the smile that puzzled and angered me remained. Then
my best friend pulled me aside in a corner of the hallway to explain. He said,

"Your auntie probably suspects something. Your belly is a little protruding. Her smile doesn't mean anything else; she probably feels
embarrassed that we're both 17 and her mother is pregnant again, so she wanted to smile when she saw you."

I remember pushing my best friend away, cursing him for talking nonsense, and
storming back to the classroom. In the following period, although I was nervously preparing for the final exams of my second year of high school
, my classmate's words kept flashing through my mind.

I'll never forget the moment I opened the door to my mother when I got home for vacation. A light blue tank
top covered her young woman's body, and beneath the knee-length skirt were her slender, white legs.
Her nipples, unbraced, stood erect on her full, swollen breasts, taut over her thin dress. Her noticeably protruding belly told
me that my 38-year-old mother was nurturing a new life. My mother slightly raised her head, her beautiful face
calm, as if she had mentally prepared herself to meet her son's gaze. I stepped aside,
past her in the hallway, and rushed into my room without saying a word. I sobbed,
smashing everything in the room with my schoolbag, tearing at my hair. It was
n't so much as a punishment for my own resentment and anger. It was hard to pinpoint who was at fault, but the pain
was silently borne by my frail mother alone. My frenzy subsided with my mother's soft sobs. It
brought me back to my senses. Did I really need my most wounded mother to comfort me?

For the next few days, I felt suffocated and depressed. Suddenly,

one day there was a knock at the door, which surprised me. It was my mother. When I opened the door, I saw my mother's pale face, bloodless and lifeless, her frail body
trembling as she was supported by an aunt. The aunt settled my mother in the room and left with a tone of
pity and helplessness. "Take good care of your mother. We just got back from the hospital. Your mother had an induced
abortion ." Watching her leave, my heart ached like it was being pierced by needles. Guilt and self-blame
slapped me hard across the face like two heavy blows. I timidly stared at my mother's bedroom door, unsure how to push it open.

More than a month passed in the blink of an eye. In this month, I experienced the tedium of housework. My
mother, who was weak, slowly recovered under my less-than-attentive care. Seeing her complexion becoming rosier day by day, I
gradually found some comfort in my heart.

I remember it was late afternoon in August, and I was sitting alone in the living room reading. I saw
my mother push open her bedroom door and quietly come out. "I'm going downstairs for a walk," my mother said. This was
the first time in more than a month that my mother had spoken to me on her own initiative. I was shocked and at a loss for words. "Oh,
" I quickly replied.

"Mom, I'll come with you." My mother didn't answer, she just nodded slightly. As we
walked Mom didn't offer me any help, so I could only follow behind, a little timidly. The summer
evening sun had become weak and gentle, and a light, warm breeze wafted through the air. Small
groups , while Mom and I strolled along, one after the other. Occasionally, we'd bump into
someone or two we recognized, nodding and exchanging greetings. Mom seemed to enjoy this slow walk, and
we didn't get home until dusk.

"Mom, sit down, I'll cook," I said quickly as soon as I entered the house. "I'll do it," Mom replied.
"You rest, Mom," she said. "I'm fine, it's alright," I replied. Mom went into
the kitchen . To be honest, I didn't really enjoy the meal that night.
I felt uneasy, a feeling I couldn't quite describe. I sat on the sofa,
absentmindedly . Mom, who had finished clearing the table, came over and sat down next to me. My heart pounded
, and I felt more nervous than ever before. Mom noticed all of this. She picked up a
fan from the sofa and gently fanned it. The breeze carrying her scent filled my nostrils. I
knew that scent so well. "Come on, catch up on your studies. You haven't had time to study lately," Mom
said softly as she fanned herself. As she said this, a wave of sadness washed over me, and a few tears fell onto
the pages of my book.

My mother reached out and patted my head to comfort me, and I sobbed even harder. Perhaps it was
the sobbing that triggered her maternal instincts; she pulled me into her arms and gently patted my
back.

Once I calmed down in her arms, she gently pushed me away and said, "Go to sleep early
." Hearing this, I immediately threw myself into her arms again and said in a spoiled tone, "No, Mom, hold
me a little longer." "Then why aren't you resting?" my mother said. "Mom, I'll sleep with you tonight." I really don't know
where the courage to say those words. As I spoke, I suddenly realized the atmosphere in the room had frozen instantly
. My mother also suddenly stopped patting me. I really didn't know what my mother would do next; I
felt nervous and even a little scared. "Go wash up; you're all sweaty." A few seconds later, my mother's soft
words dissolved the awkwardness. A masculine instinct within me made me understand that this was a kind of tacit consent unique to women, even though
I was only 17 years old at the time.

When I hurriedly showered and entered my mother's room, she was bending over, tidying up the clothes on the bed.
I stood in the doorway, watching her. People say that induced labor is more harmful to a woman's body than postpartum recovery, and it's true
. My mother's movements weren't as nimble as before; every movement seemed to require a lot of
effort. In the dim light of the room, her frail figure was slightly thinner than before her pregnancy, but her hips,
encased in a light blue sundress, appeared so full and rounded. Her calves, peeking out from under the hem,
were smooth and slender. The armpit hair she inadvertently revealed when she raised her arm looked
so dark and alluring against her fair arms. The biggest change was in her breasts; five months of pregnancy had
made her already relatively full breasts even firmer, and her nipples were particularly noticeable under the thin nightgown
.

"Go to sleep," my mother said, glancing back at me before picking up the folded clothes and walking away.

"Oh," I replied, then lay down on one side of the bed, quietly awaiting the impending storm
. Suddenly, the lights in the room snapped off, and my heart clenched with that sound. In the darkness, I
listened to my mother's footsteps approaching the bed.

The moment my mother's body slipped under the blanket, my blood surged through my veins
, and I felt my cheeks slowly warming. It had been six months since my last sexual encounter with my mother, and in those six months,
my testosterone levels had reached their peak, seemingly preparing for tonight's explosion. My hand
slowly moved under the blanket towards my mother's body until it touched her soft abdomen. My mother didn't avoid my
touch but let my hand roam over her body. I gently turned my mother to face me with the hand around her waist
, pressing my head and face against her chest, while also pulling her body tightly against mine
.

I looked up to find my mother's lips and tongue. As our tongues intertwined, the desire within her began
to slowly rise. My mouth gently traced her cheek, down her smooth neck, and lingered on her full,
firm breasts. Under the teasing of my tongue and the kneading of my hands, her nipples quickly hardened.
Naturally, my other hand lifted her skirt and reached for her most intimate area. A woman's shyness couldn't withstand
the teasing of my fingers. My mother's tightly closed thighs gradually parted, and I placed my entire hand on her protruding mons pubis. My free
middle finger could freely and wantonly touch her genitals. Even through her underwear, I could still feel
the warmth and moisture there. As my fingers rubbed and pressed, the wetness became more and more obvious until saliva overflowed and soaked through her
underwear.

I knew that at this moment, my mother's last line of defense had been completely broken. When her last garment was removed, and her
entire warm body, exuding a captivating aura, was fully exposed before me, I rolled over and straddled her.
An impatient heart urged me to enter my mother's body. I twisted my hips, using my already hot and hard
penis with bulging veins to find the entrance to my mother's vagina. Just as the head of my penis touched my mother's labia,
my mother be electrocuted and pulled her hips up, pushing my lower abdomen hard with her hand. Just as I was surprised by my mother's actions,
her other hand, which she had been holding, handed me a piece of plastic. At that time, I didn't know anything about condoms , nor did I understand why my mother had that thing. Of course, I now know that it was a family planning product that
my mother received when she remarried . 　　I remember my mother almost twisting her head, closing her eyes, and blushing as she helped me put on the condom. Although we had already had sex three times before, this was the first time she had touched my penis with her hand. Perhaps she was ashamed of such an initiative, but she had no choice. I enjoyed the way my mother's delicate fingers played with my penis. When she was sure I could insert it safely, my mother slowly lay down and guided me with her hand, which was already holding my penis, to her slightly parted vulva. I clearly remember the "plop" sound. With that sound, my thick, hard penis slid in to the root. My mother's head tilted back slightly as I entered, as if she couldn't the sudden fullness in her lower body. The following attack on my mother's body was fierce and unrestrained. I almost exhausted all my strength, rubbing my hard, hot penis against the tender . 　　My mother's legs tightly encircled my waist, wrapping my entire body against her warm inner thighs. I still couldn't help but look down at my mother's genitals; with each thrust, her labia would open and close, because...

My mother's erect clitoris, barely visible beneath her labia minora, was a delicate pink, and I couldn't help but squeeze it. This
sudden, direct stimulation almost made her cry out; her whole body trembled, but she immediately used her hand
to stop my teasing, clearly unable to bear it. I must admit that condoms in the 1980s greatly
reduced the sensitivity of my glans, because I couldn't feel the gentle nibbling inside my mother's vagina or the subtle lubrication of her vaginal
walls . I tried different pressures and positions, but still couldn't achieve
the pleasure I craved. Even as I collapsed, panting, on my mother's soft body, biting her nipples, I still felt
no urge to ejaculate. My mother was also exhausted, but she could only lie there obediently, waiting for my next
assault.

Due to the exhaustion, I could no longer repeat the previous intensity, and instead used slow, gentle
thrusts, though my penis remained hard. I don't know how my mother felt, or if she was also unwilling to continue this kind of
sex that exhausted her and that I couldn't finish. My mother started to support her body with her arms, adopting a semi-
arched posture to accommodate my penetration. Seeing this, I simply pulled my mother's body up and placed her buttocks on my
thighs. I wrapped my arms around my mother's waist, and the two of us engaged in intercourse in a cross-legged position. Throughout the entire
change of position, my mother never let my penis leave her body, but adjusted in a natural transition
. Perhaps this way, she felt more at ease.

The changed position allowed me to admire my mother's plump, white breasts, and it also made it easier
for to use my arms to hook her buttocks. My mother was also able to respond more flexibly to my every move. I
buried my head between my mother's two soft breasts and alternately licked her nipples, while my mother gently wrapped her arms around my neck.
As time went on, the stimulation made me more sensitive. Although the hymen prevented me from clearly discerning all the changes inside
my mother's vagina, I could still clearly feel the slippery wetness during the thrusting process. As the insertion
became smoother and the squelching sound gradually increased, I knew that my mother's fluids were beginning to overflow in large quantities, and her orgasm was approaching.

I looked up at my mother's face, but she had already tilted her head back, her eyes tightly closed, her arms
wrapped around my head, which was resting on her breast. I felt her hips begin to move involuntarily, as if searching for
a suitable point of contact between my glans and the inside of her vagina. The movements were becoming increasingly larger and deeper.
I stopped in surprise, but my mother ignored me and continued her movements. I knew this was
her instinct or unconscious reaction as she approached orgasm. She had forgotten the dignity
and restraint she had always upheld as a mother. An irresistible flood of pleasure overwhelmed her. As before, her vagina
began to contract rhythmically, and with each contraction, thick, copious amounts of vaginal discharge
slowly trickled down between her vagina and my penis. My mother climaxed.

But she didn't utter a single moan. From her tightly clenched lips, I knew she
was trying hard to control herself. As for me, I really wanted her to make a sound so I could fully enjoy a perfect
sexual experience. But from my mother's perspective, I could accept and understand that she still couldn't fully
release . After her climax, my mother's body went limp and she collapsed onto the bed, letting me, who hadn't yet ejaculated
, release my pent-up desires on her body. When I finally climaxed, my mother didn't react; she simply touched my head
, a strange expression flashing across her face—a mixture of relief, affection, and perhaps some kind of ending…
I couldn't decipher it.

This was the last time my mother and I had sex. Although I asked her several times afterward, she always
firmly refused. I admit I used a lot of erotic descriptions in the above text, but as I
said at the beginning, I don't like pornography, I even despise it. However, the reason I used this, and the subject was my mother, is
because this truly happened during my childhood, an event that will
leave the deepest mark on my life. My mother and I are both upright and cultured normal people, but this
is how it happened. This is an exploration of human nature, a glimpse into the most authentic and profound aspects of humanity.

The End

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