Good dreams are hard to come true (revised version) [Full text]

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(IV) Wildness is Calling 　　For me, being able to unbutton every button on her body, to take off her clothes one by one,
even the most intimate garment, to personally peel off the last thing covering her body with my own hands, is just as thrilling as making love itself. 　　Regarding undressing women, I was originally not particular. After undressing women hundreds of times, it's all the same. As long as they're naked, it doesn't matter where I start or how I undress them. It no longer arouses my desire . 　　I'm talking about undressing other women. Undressing my mother, my feelings are always complex and exciting. I can't be careless, and my fingers must be extra nimble. 　　Which piece of clothing would be easier to start with when taking off her most intimate garment? Intuitively, I imagined it was her bra, to let her expose her breasts first, to get used to my gaze and caresses. This is a woman's first psychological hurdle. Then comes stockings and panties, and finally, only panties remain to cover her private parts—that place, called the private parts, should be a woman's most mysterious, beautiful, and alluring place. A body revealing its private parts is called nudity. 　　This logical reasoning forms a ritual before we make love, like a social etiquette. Sometimes, I want to test her. Now that we've made love many times, and we're a straightforward couple , will she succumb to the burning desire and hastily undress, like many other lovers' rendezvous? 　　She won't, she simply won't; I know her best. And this package of love, opening it, fully possessing its joy—I won't let it slip away. The entire process, including undressing her, possessing her body, and sharing sexual pleasure with her, every step is important. Because the gift itself is her. But 　　I could try something new. The thought of taking off her panties first flashed through my mind. I'd save the bra for last, to see her with it on and her bottom bare. Would she cover her genitals with her hands? Like when I unhooked her bra first, her arms, with nowhere to go, would cross over her chest, trying to hide her breasts. Or, I could simply pull down her panties and have sex—that's another way of having sex, why not give it a try? 　　Actually, if a woman is willing to have sex with you, she won't mind where you want to undress her, just as she won't mind you undressing her, even your mother would be the same after she became your woman. Nothing 　　more, I just want to slowly reveal her nakedness, inch by inch. Because I don't often have the opportunity to have sex with her outside, leisurely and unhurriedly. I had no right to possess her body, so I cherish every detail, making them all my memories. 　　Outside, dusk settled, the snow fell heavier, and I stirred the firewood in the fireplace, sparks flying, the fire blazing brightly. The room was filled with the scent of pine resin, the scent that brought us to this mountain fir forest, the scent I associated with making love with Peiyun. 　　Sex can be different, extraordinary, like us, single-minded, earth-shattering, reckless, loving until the end of time, until the seas run dry and the rocks crumble. Every time we made love, it felt like the last love before the end of the world—love on the rug by the fireplace, love on the windowsill with a lake view, love between intertwined wine glasses, love in a king-size bed. To love one 　　's 　　mother is to demand all one's strength, to exhaust the last ounce of energy in one's body to love her. When we make love, there's never a dull moment. Not letting her down is enough to satisfy me. The gentle, beautiful consciousness within her fades, leaving me soft and weak, as I lie on top of her. She shifts her body, freeing herself from my weight, sits up, and smooths her hair with her hands, her breasts trembling slightly. My mother, after making love, wears a satisfied smile, gently kissing my lips. Her red nipples brush against my face, still hard. 　　She gets up, swinging her long legs, and walks towards the window overlooking the lake. We used to stroll along this lake, boating and fishing in the summer, skating and enjoying the snow in the winter. Her beauty, so radiant, is different from the beauty before lovemaking. Feeling carefree, relaxed, at ease, confident, and uninhibited. A pair of flawless, beautiful buttocks faced me, my kisses etched on her neck and shoulders. Looking out the window, she watched the snowflakes dance wildly in the streetlights. Suddenly, she turned to me, a glint of an idea in her eyes, and said, 　　"It's snowing! Go out and see! If you're a coward, don't come with me!" 　　 Completely naked, she opened the door, called to me, and ran out. 　　Outside, snowflakes fell, but my mother didn't stop. I hesitated for a moment, then quickly got up , put on slippers, grabbed a blanket, and chased after her. I saw my mother's pointed breasts swaying with every movement of her body. In the hazy, dim light, white snowflakes fell on her black hair and her naked body, white as jade and cream. She thrust her breasts forward, waving her arms, her entire body offered to me without reservation, facing the falling snow. I smiled at her, and she smiled back, waving at me . Joyfully, barefoot, she shivered and panted. She danced lightly in the snow , kicking up snowflakes. Just as I was about to catch up with her, she bent down, scooped up fresh snow with both hands, gathered it into a snowball, and threw it at me. I returned the favor, making an even bigger snowball . 　　Braving the snowball attack, I rushed forward, seized her, and held her naked, almost frozen body tightly. She cried out, throwing herself into my arms. I wrapped her in the sheet , embracing her passionately, caressing her, kissing her, drawing out her red tongue…

Instead of a snowball fight, we exchanged words. Her cold yet soft flesh
instantly heated up as our skin touched.

I couldn't withstand the chill that threatened to freeze us into icicles, and was about to take her back inside when
she gave an innocent, silly laugh and said,

"Remember? There seems to be a hot spring behind the house. I'd like to go there and soak in it."

"The snow is so heavy, aren't you afraid of the cold?"

"A hot spring? I'm not afraid of the cold," she said.
I
picked her up and carried her across the thick snow. After rounding a bend,
where the mist rose, we found the natural hot spring pool.

The pool was only about the size of a regular bathtub, and the hot spring water gushed up from the ground, bubbling and gurgling, up to
chest height. All around was a vast expanse of white snow, the biting wind whipping up countless snowflakes that
surged and crashed against the pool, only to be melted into raindrops by the warmth of the hot spring.

My mother soaked in the water, her breasts above the surface, bobbing in the hazy snow and mist. In this
boundless land, only my mother and I remained, naked before each other, bathed in the river of love.
We seemed to have returned to the most primal place of our nature, discovering our true selves in each other's eyes—
so this is how it is. I had nothing to hide from my mother; I was bone of her bones, and she
had nothing to withhold from me; she was flesh of my flesh. In love, there was no fear, no guilt.
Besides her, who else could share with me this utter nakedness, this intimacy? On the deep ,

desolate snow, a destined rendezvous took place. At a specific juncture, mother
and child were to become one, merging with heaven and earth, breaking a spell. The mother returned to herself.
Her alluring body transformed into a young doe, trembling with desire, emitting
a scent of longing, awaiting the male deer—whether son or brother, as long as he was strong and vigorous
, sharing her lust, to ride upon her and fulfill the natural order of life. She
craved the wild, untamed passion of a wild beast, the simple, direct, and untamed union of the forest and the plains.

I embraced her naked, soft waist with my bare arms. Chest to back, lips
to face, legs intertwined, hearts united, my palms covering her breasts, gently kneading, washing away the dust of the world. Her
small hands swam to the junction of her buttocks and my thighs, finding what she needed.
My mother's hands, familiar and gentle, caressed and teased my scrotum. My perineum immediately received the signal
, obeying her call, rising again towards her upturned buttocks, thrusting deeply from behind. Snowflakes
fell like a blanket, and my mother and I clashed violently and rapidly, like wild beasts, primal
and shameless.

"Fuck me, take me, completely take me!" she cried out.

She gripped my hand, biting it between her teeth, enduring the pain of the violent thrusts amidst pleasure. "

Ugh...oh..."

she let out a long, wolf-like howl, echoing across the silent, boundless lake,
vibrating my heartstrings. This was the cry of her long-suppressed lust, an
unrestrained release of her wildness. A woman who has achieved sexual liberation—
anything is possible for her .

My mother and I were determined to be together; no amount of propriety or morality could stop our love.
And we actually became lovers, making love quite often. Now,
I finally encountered my mother, whom I had never met before. That fearless, trusting love finally unleashed her wildness.
It 　　was a cry of liberation during the climax of our lovemaking! 　　This is love! It is a complete surrender in love. I have never been so moved. She was more persistent than I was before,
but now she pursues her love and happiness more freely and unrestrainedly. I hold her breasts tightly, our bodies connected, gazing up at the sky. Heaven above, may this love be our witness, may 　　we worship it. 　　She follows me, taking my hand, climbing up from the stone spring. A luminous female body emerged from the mist and water , seemingly someone else entirely, someone I had never seen before. 　　Like two playful children, we ran hand in hand back into the house. A little longer outside , and we would have frozen solid. We stoked the fire, facing each other, still breathless. I looked at her, this newly discovered body; I would become even more attached to her, never able to leave her. 　　I asked her to stand, took a large bath towel, and began to dry her from head to toe. She stood motionless, 　　letting me dry her. She seemed as delicate and alluring as a little girl; she was now revealing her innocent, wild side to me. Her breathing grew softer, her breasts rose and fell, her face flushed, her whole body radiant, her legs slightly parted, her buttocks firm and round, like a boy's. Her soaked pubic hair clung to her mons pubis, dripping wet, and looked sparser than usual... 　　She seemed a little shy under my gaze. She walked to the mirror, carefully examined her naked body, then turned away from the large mirror, turned her 　　head , stared at her back and buttocks, and said, utterly bewildered, 　　"Why are you looking at me like that? Haven't you seen me before? What's so interesting?" She asked as she continued to search her body from all angles. 　　Only I had this right; I could look at her body however I pleased, whether she was clothed or not. I saw all her flaws. However, beauty is in the eye of the beholder; imperfections are seen as perfection, and beauty is what the lover sees as beauty. If she were willing to be beautiful for me, I could have her wear things to suit my taste, to highlight certain aspects of her figure... It would be wonderful if I could have my way! Actually, a son's tastes are shaped from a young age by the person most influential in him—his mother. 　　"You are certainly beautiful, but just now, from one angle, I caught a glimpse of an absolutely stunning figure..."

"Segment."

"Tell me quickly, what is that?"

"I'm trying to find that angle."

I held her arms, making her raise them behind her head, so that her breasts were high and
exposed, her abdominal muscles were tucked in, and her armpit and pubic hair formed a triangular shape.

She became impatient, or her hands felt heavy, and she tried to let them fall. I gestured for her to
maintain the position.

"What are you doing? Aren't you hungry? You want something to eat." "

Wait. Just like that, don't move. You look beautiful to me like this. I want to give you a little trinket."

"What little trinket?" she asked.

"Don't ask, you'll find out in a moment."

I took her silk scarf, folded it several times, and blindfolded her. "

What are you doing?"

"Listen to me, don't ask, close your eyes, don't look, I'm going to give you a surprise."

She tightened the silk scarf, blindfolding her. She was made to stand, her arms crossed over her chest, 　gently
supporting her breasts, waiting for something to happen. 　　I had prepared a gift for my lover: a pair of precious little scallop nipple shields inlaid with gemstones , connected by a thin chain. Matching them was a g-string. I don't know if it can be called underwear, because I imagine it as an ornament, something worn on the outside. That is to say, its design concept is as the only ornament to cover the lower body. Wearing it inside underwear, it loses its function. It is a precious little scallop strung together by two small chains; its large size certainly cannot cover her mons pubis, or any woman's mons pubis. A string of matching gemstones hung from a small seashell, perpendicularly matching the lower end of the triangle formed by the nipple cover. 　　I 　　saw these two items three years ago during my honeymoon in Hawaii. I was immediately captivated and secretly bought them , hiding them for my mother. I don't know why I had that thought back then; it was an extremely impractical and unsuitable souvenir for my mother. However, I kept them, carrying them with me every time I had a tryst with my mother, hoping that perhaps the right opportunity would come when she could wear them. 　　I believed that the moment I was waiting for had arrived. 　　I covered her nipples with the small seashells; the concave part of the seashell perfectly nestled her bulging nipples. After adjusting the length of the chain attached to the seashells and fastening it behind her back, the two small seashells became ornaments set on her breasts, making her exposed breasts appear even more proud and high. As for the G 　　-string chain, its tightness had to be adjusted according to the waist width and the depth from the waist to the groin. The chain had no elasticity, constricting the crotch area, specifically the G-string part. Each small section had to be adjusted individually to ensure the small shell just covered Peiyun's pubic hair. Her pubic hair wasn't very thick, and the small shell only allowed a few hairs to escape. The intersection of the three curved lines of her genitals formed the visual focal point. Throughout the dressing process, she stood quietly, maintaining a fixed posture, like a mannequin in a shop window, completely at my mercy. I led her to the mirror 　. 　　The small shell and the G-string chain were stuck between her thighs, nestled in the crease between her groin and labia, hindering her movement. The gemstone jewel dangled with her movements. She had to walk with her legs slightly apart than usual, and more lightly, to avoid the chains and gemstone pendants rubbing against her genitals and thighs. So her gait was a little awkward and unnatural. But I found her graceful and incredibly sexy . 　　Blindfolded with a satin ribbon and wearing these small shell ornaments with three points attached, my mother 's wildness wasn't restrained; instead, it seemed to liberate her body from all constraints and taboos. The body of my mother presented before me was vibrant, alluring, and infinitely captivating, transforming into Venus born from the water— my worshipped goddess of love! 　　I untied the satin ribbon from her eyes. She rubbed her eyes and, seeing her most primal, instinctive beauty reflected in the mirror , gasped in surprise. Like a woman in a wedding dress, she posed in front of the mirror , caressing her face, shoulders, breasts, and thighs, almost indulging in self-pity, even masturbation, lost in her reflection. Naturally beautiful, how could such a stunning body not attract admiring eyes and gentle touches? 　　 "So? Do you like it?" Seeing her seemingly admiring expression, he said confidently. " 　　Thank you, I've never seen underwear made of seashells before." " 　　It's not underwear, it's jewelry, ornaments for the body, like earrings, necklaces, nipple rings, and the like." " 　　So, am I dressed? Should I wear panties?" 　　"You can't wear panties, you can't wear a bra, you can't cover it up." 　　"Can these things be worn as clothes?" 　　"The original intention is for you to wear them alone, without wearing anything else." 　　"Do you think I look good like this?" 　　"Absolutely beautiful. Come closer, let me see more clearly." 　　I opened my arms to her, and she leaned in, letting me shelter her entire body under my protection, receiving my gentle caresses. I felt this was our most intimate moment, I had never felt this way , never loved her like this, never possessed her like this. Full of confidence, and taking a huge risk, I whispered in her ear, 　　"Mommy, oh! My mommy..." 5 ) Who knows if there will be a tomorrow? 　　If there's still a barrier between us, this is it. Even now, I still don't dare call her by her name . She lets me kiss her, lets me caress her most private parts, lets me see her naked body, and lets me make love to her in various positions, but she won't let me call her by her name. The name Pei-yun can only be uttered by her father and her elders, her peers. The moment I see her, her name gets stuck in my throat, I can't utter it, as if I'm unworthy to call her by her name. What kind of psychological barrier is that? Is it just a difference in generation?

The vast restaurant lobby was empty
except for the two of us. The waiter told us we'd
brought a blizzard. The roads were piled high with snow, several avalanches had blocked the way, and
other guests who had booked rooms or were coming for dinner couldn't come.

The pianist, regardless of whether there were guests, played one romantic piece after another on the Steinway grand piano
. Sometimes, he sang along, occasionally humming a few love songs.

I felt that everything was arranged for us, including this terrible weather.
I will remember this heavy snowfall for the rest of my life.

I stretched my hands across the table, holding my mother's, silently, foolishly staring at her. The waiter,
who had been waiting for a while, smiled knowingly at our affectionate gaze. "

Are you envious of us?" I wondered.

The food didn't need to be anything special; the chef's recommendations were fine. However, to celebrate our three years of love
, I must personally select a bottle of fine aged wine from the cellar—it must be mellow enough to be worthy of my beauty.

The large fireplace in the dining room had just been lit, releasing the scent of pine resin, a fragrance that reminded me of
the passionate lovemaking with my mother. She occasionally lowered her hand under the table, tugging at the chain beneath her skirt,
adjusting the shell and chain that had shifted with her changing position. I must have fastened it too tightly, constricting
her lower body; I should loosen it a bit. I imagined making love with her, without unfastening the chain—
how could I do it? There were shells in front, but I could enter from behind. This was her favorite position
because I could penetrate very, very deeply.

Her seemingly ticklish gesture was truly unseemly, but no one saw it;
we were the only two guests. The pianist, head bowed, played and sang. Even if only I saw her, I wouldn't think she was being
unladylike. A lover can accept his lover doing the most private things in front of him.

I explained to her the origin and purpose of these three seashells; they weren't underwear, but ornaments—
to be worn on the outside, not underneath. But she insisted on wearing a dress; she couldn't
go to the restaurant naked. The restaurant was a high-class place with strict dress requirements for its guests.

I could have just booked the entire restaurant, and no one would have cared what she wore. Now, no guests
would come, almost like it was booked for us.

She said, "It's all your fault for this weird idea; it made me so itchy down there."

"Tonight, you'll make love to me dressed." "

That's enough. Today, you ejaculated very deeply and powerfully several times; maybe you taught me how to get pregnant with
your child."

"Am I really that good? Is that how women know if they're pregnant?" I momentarily lost my composure
and moved to her side, kneeling down and touching her belly. "

It's a woman's sixth sense, it's very accurate."

Under the tablecloth, I saw her sitting with her legs spread apart. Her thighs were shapely, long, and open,
revealing a deep, unfathomable tunnel beneath her skirt, at the end of which was a small scallop pulled from the deep sea
. She couldn't close her legs or fold them, as this would cause the scallop, the string chain, and the
small gemstone pendant to rub against her labia.

I gently stroked her exposed, round knees, then closed them. She moved my hand away,
spread her legs, and said, "

Ugh, sit up straight, it's not good if someone sees."

"What are you afraid of? There's no one else here." The waiters all discreetly moved away. "

You're going to be a dad, and you're still not serious."

"Yeah, I'm going to be a dad, that's great!"

"But how are you going to explain to your dad where this kid came from?"

"Go back and sleep with him right away..." I rushed out, but before I could finish, I regretted it. "

Will he believe it? He doesn't even believe it himself."

"We can't do that. I mean, this is my child. I can't call him a younger brother or sister.
We can go somewhere, to Mexico, get married there, and have him..."

"I won't go to Mexico. How will we survive there?"

"There's always a way. I'm willing to do anything, even hard labor."

"I don't want to be exiled, wandering in a foreign land. And what about your wife?
What about your father? Haven't you thought about that?"

"Mom, they're not important. Haven't you thought about it? Who do you love most? Who do you want to
be with forever? Who can't you live without? Think about it, we'll have our own home, and children, and
live happily ever after..."

"...................."

"Tell me."

"I don't know."

"What will you do to our child?"

"Don't say these things anymore. Maybe you didn't get me pregnant. If I did, it
's my child, and I'll find a way...
"
"It's our child."

"It's mine."

Her tone hardened, then she fell silent, and so did I. The intimacy
, affection, and romance we'd cultivated all day vanished abruptly, like a bubble bursting.

I was instantly bewildered...

Romance and reality can't be reconciled. Or perhaps, what is romance is subjective. I thought
that letting my mother's lover carry my child, and then wandering the world with her, living a carefree life, was incredibly romantic.
She didn't think so.

I've realized it now, my mother and I have no tomorrow...

Tomorrow holds too many unknowns. My mother might get pregnant; we might break up.

Tomorrow... what will become of us? Will the snowstorm block our return?

Or will there be no tomorrow at all...?

The whole world is a vast expanse of white, still snowing heavily, the snow covering the earth, covering
the skylights of the rooms. The room

lights were off, leaving it pitch black. The fireplace was dying down, and the room was filled with the smell of pine resin.

On the king-size bed, Peiyun held me tightly, her warm, soft body pressed against me—
a familiar, homey feeling. My mind became hazy. Was I drunk? Or was it a dream?
In the dream, I didn't know where I was? Was I in a mountain resort? Or
in Mexico? Or back home...?

I remember when we got into bed, we didn't speak, didn't give each other a pre-sleep kiss, and unusually,
didn't make love. Had I asked her for sex and been rejected? Or was she trying to seize the opportunity to make love more, and
I stubbornly refused? I can't remember anymore, it doesn't matter.

The next moment, in the darkness, I touched her half-naked breasts, still wearing the
precious seashell nipple shield I gave her as a gift from my lover. Her eyes were closed, silent. Her waist was still so slender
, tied with a thin chain, and the small seashell shield covering her modesty, and the fine pubic hair that the shield couldn't cover. Unable

to sleep, I lay half-reclined, silently watching her, pondering.
What would happen if she were pregnant with my child? I had no answer.

It's strange; I don't think I've ever really looked at her closely before, never truly seen her face. Is it
a kind of taboo, or a self-deceiving thought, that I'm afraid if I see her clearly, I won't forget her appearance, and I'll fall in love with
her? A small face, white as jade, a pointed chin, broad eyebrows, clear eyes, cherry
lips—the very image of a beauty from a painting. In my memory, my mother looked just like that,
never aging. I want to firmly remember her beautiful face, though no longer young, yet still youthful,
so that my lover will always be beautiful, never old.

How could she be my mother? How could she become my lover?

Even if loving someone means they age early, and the duration of love is
short, what does it matter? As long as one's heart remains youthful, differences in age and generation will not
cast a shadow over love; in fact, they can make many love stories sensational.

I promised her that one day, when she grows old, I will also grow old in a complete mess.
Although we cannot be young together, like some childhood sweethearts, we can grow old together.

She smiled without speaking; was she happy or lost in thought?

"Holding your hand, growing old together." In the famous line from the Book of Songs, could the word "子" be interpreted as "son
"?

Will she hold her son's hand, with the son she bore for him, and grow old with him?

I gently stroked her eternally youthful face, using the tip of my tongue as a paintbrush to draw her eyebrows, touch her nose,
outline her lips, and kiss her small mouth. She didn't want to open her eyes, burying her head in my chest, avoiding
my touch and kisses. Her freshly straightened hair cascaded down my chest, making her look
ten years younger and more compatible with me.

I inhaled the fragrance of her hair, gently kissing her lips and the back of her neck, licking her most sensitive spot behind her ear again
and again. Suddenly, she cried out, her voice sweet and coquettish, "I'm tired. We've been making love all day,
and my whole body is sore. Even if you don't want to, I need to sleep. Stop bothering me."

Her hands resisted me, not allowing me to roam over her most sensitive areas. I pushed her hands away, then
firmly grasped them, preventing her from supporting herself. In bed, she was usually very cooperative, but when she wasn't, I had
a method: I would use the blindfold to tie her wrists, raising her snow-white
arms behind her head. Her breasts would then harden, her legs would spread, and she
would open herself up to me. 　　But she still kept her eyes half-closed, seemingly asleep
.
I used my tongue as a paintbrush, sketching a portrait of an unclothed lady with delicate strokes
. I began by tracing her eyebrows, slowly and gently moving to her lips,
outlining them. Her tongue emerged, offering me a light taste of her unique sweetness. Then,
I sketched the contours of her breasts. The coolness of the chains covering her nipples held my tongue, lingering between the two breasts and cleavage connected by the chains.
Then, it slid down to her navel. She couldn't resist
the tickling and giggled, yet remained lazily lying there, letting me do as I pleased. My tongue circled
the chain around her waist, sliding down, only to be blocked by the small scallop covering her private parts. I didn't untie the chain; I wanted her
to make love to me while wearing the scallop—this was what I had decided to do. I turned her over, and from her back,
following the groove of her spine, I traced my tongue downwards. Peiyun's buttocks, though she had given birth, remained firm, without excessive fat or
flesh. Deep between the two soft mounds of flesh lay that G-string chain; I slipped my tongue inside... and
a strange fragrance wafted into my nostrils!

I heard a few soft moans and soft Wu dialect.

She said, "What a sin!" and those whispered murmurs. But what she said, I only vaguely understood.

When I was young, she spoke to me in these same tones; that should be considered my mother tongue.
I couldn't understand them, but I didn't need to; they were my mother's murmurs. Now, it sounds like something very
distant, yet infinitely familiar. She spoke these same accents with my father.
How many more of these pillow-side whispers will we two have?

My mother trembled slightly beneath me, her buttocks twisting, her upper body supported by my bound hands. My gun
was fully loaded; it had to fire again. I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling on the chain around her waist,
gently lifting her buttocks, kissing her two smooth mounds of flesh incessantly, like jeweled pendulums swinging.
Her vulva was partially obscured, but behind her was only the G-string chain binding her anus and vulva. Pulling it open a
little wouldn't prevent me from entering my paradise, to commit my wicked deeds.

I remembered there, the many sins I had committed, and perhaps unformed embryos. I
believed I had never penetrated so deeply, never ejaculated so forcefully. She said that if the force was enough, if the ejaculation
deep enough, she would become pregnant. I believed her without a doubt, vowing to ensure that my sperm reached her
uterus, that she would bear my child, for only then could our relationship be complete. I finally understood that
even if she was willing to sleep with me, to be naked and unashamed before me, even to wear a shell-nipple
bra, it was all superficial. Unless the seed I planted inside her, within her very being, can bear fruit...
The fruit was there; she carried my child in her womb, and only then was she truly my woman.

With each deep, shallow thrust, my hands cupped her breasts, the tiny scallops becoming her nipples.
Her buttocks pressed against my thighs, swaying with my rhythm, her back glistening with sweat, her straight hair cascading over her shoulders,
the jeweled pendants clicking against the small seashells, gradually increasing in speed, her breathing becoming strong. Then,
I heard our wild cries, smelled the incense of pine resin.

"Love me, I want your love, deeper, deeper still."

"My mother, I will always love you."

Forgetting the frozen mountains and rivers outside, the utterly silent world around us. At this moment,
mother and I were making love, intertwined as one, a love that lasted forever, who cared about tomorrow!

The End

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