A tragic childhood

I was born in a small, second-tier city in southern Jiangsu Province. My family background wasn't particularly distinguished; both my parents were ordinary tailors. My childhood wasn't anything extraordinary either; it was so ordinary that I can't even recall anything particularly memorable.
The reason is simple: I was sickly from birth, and the yellowed walls of my home accompanied me through most of my life. Even a little exercise would leave me exhausted, and a cool breeze after a good sweat would keep me bedridden with a fever for two days. My entertainment consisted of reading fashion magazines or comic books my parents bought, looking at the colorful illustrations to pass the time. While my peers were laughing, shouting, and running wildly outside, I, having suffered greatly from my illness, could only watch them enviously from inside.
However, because I had nothing to do at home but read, I learned more from books than my peers. My top grades always made me the child that my friends' parents talked about; I think it goes without saying that comparisons with other children are inevitable in China. Aside from my progress in emotional and intellectual intelligence, my sexual awakening also occurred earlier than my peers. Since both my parents were tailors, our home was filled with fashion magazines, and the slender female models in these magazines became my earliest sexual enlightenment mentors. The photos in the magazines not only showcased the styles of clothing but also unabashedly highlighted the models' figures: slender necks, partially exposed full breasts, long, snow-white arms, and smooth, rounded thighs. The female models posed seductively in front of the camera, radiating the youthful glow of their bodies, and I meticulously absorbed every inch of these beautiful images into my mind, making them the objects of my fantasies. Although I didn't have a clear understanding of sex at the time, or even the concept of intercourse, this didn't stop me from turning these fragmented images into tools to satisfy my primal desires. Don't underestimate a child's imagination and curiosity, especially when it comes to sex. Adults often remain silent about sex in front of children, unaware that those bright, innocent eyes have already gleaned most of their sexual knowledge from subtle clues. In this light, adults seem rather comically short-sighted.
Getting back to the point, whenever I was bedridden, the burden of caring for me naturally fell on my mother. And I always felt guilty towards her, always busy at my bedside; I've felt this way since I was little. More than once, during brief moments of lucidity amidst a high fever, I saw my mother with tears streaming down her face. Unfortunately, children are often carefree, and it wasn't long before she forgot everything, and repeating the same mistakes was only a matter of time.
You ask me what kind of person she is? My mother is a very ordinary woman. Whether strict or cheerful, at least in her role as a mother, she is like any other mother, pouring all her energy into her children, perhaps even more so. There are photos of her from her youth at home. In the photos, a girl in a crisp white shirt and black skirt exudes youthful vitality. As a child, I often held up the photos and compared her to others, and in my innocent ignorance, I often teased her about looking old. Now, thinking back, how rebellious I was! How sad her expression must have been every time she heard those words. Time is not just about adding a few wrinkles to a pretty, quiet face, nor is it simply about adding a few strokes of white to a once-black and lustrous head of hair. Whenever I think back to that time,
only now, in my prime, can I truly understand the ruthlessness of time and its cruelty. The torment of illness continued until I was fifteen or sixteen. It was only later, in a biology textbook, that I learned the culprit behind my relatively tragic childhood was simply tonsils, which are supposed to be eliminated after puberty.
Once my thymus gland in my chest fully developed, perhaps the useless tonsils only served to block foreign objects?
The tonsils' departure from the scene was perhaps good news for me; at least for several years, I didn't spend a full day in a hospital bed. But perhaps the tragedy for my family had only just begun.
The summer I was in my second year of junior high school, my father passed away in a car accident. Life is like that; disasters can strike suddenly, but they don't always come without warning. My father always drove his motorcycle very fast, and the accident investigation determined he was primarily responsible. After paying the funeral expenses and settling some debts, there was very little compensation left.
At my father's funeral, my mother, dressed in black, wept uncontrollably; the grief of losing her husband in middle age constantly battered her fragile heart. As the funeral ended and everyone left, my mother turned and hugged me as soon as we entered the house.
At that time, I was going through puberty, growing taller like a bamboo shoot, reaching a full 173 centimeters. My mother had intended to hug me like a child, but unexpectedly, she realized I was no longer the small, thin child lying in the hospital bed. She could only sob uncontrollably against my chest. My heart was filled with unbearable grief, but I had no tears left to shed. Perhaps it was as the ancients said, that women are made of water; my mother's tears instantly soaked my chest.
What could I do? The pillar of our family had turned to ashes overnight, and I, holding my mother, couldn't even utter a decent word of comfort. Where was the future of this family? From this day forward, where would we, who depended on each other for survival, go?
Sometimes, it must be said that a person's growth is completed in an instant. My mother, usually strict yet loving, was now crying like a child in my arms, and I couldn't help but think of the young girl in that old photograph.
Completely open, fully releasing emotions, the soul at this moment cannot be measured by age. My mother must have had a day when she cried her heart out, that grief gushing from her heart, the unstoppable tears—two souls crying their hearts out in different times and spaces merged in my heart at this moment. I held the girl tightly in my arms, vowing to love and protect her for the rest of my life.
Although my father had passed away, life had to go on. My mother emerged from her grief and took over my father's tailor shop, returning to her work as a seamstress. Meanwhile, I prepared for my exams while helping my mother with whatever I could. I was still young, with a long life ahead of me. Studying was a crucial part of my life, a foundation I needed to build to support my family. All I could do then was achieve excellent grades and bring a genuine smile to my mother's face.
If that man hadn't appeared, perhaps our lives would have continued as usual.
On the day I was about to register at the provincial key high school with my acceptance letter, that man named Yan Qing appeared. He drove my mother and me to the school.
How could I not see the smile on my mother's face—the smile I had longed for, the smile I had strived for and worked so hard for? And at that moment, just a few words from this man, and that precious smile filled my mother's face. How long had it been since I'd seen my mother so happy? Perhaps I just hadn't seen her often enough? I sat in the back seat, staring at the man in the driver's seat, and soon felt relieved. I vaguely saw my father's shadow in him; from behind, the two looked so alike. My father had only been gone for two years, yet his voice and appearance remained vividly clear in my mind. And Yan Qing, from my perspective at the time, looked exactly like my father. I couldn't help but breathe a sigh
of relief. Perhaps my mother felt the same way, seeing only my father's shadow in this man. After entering high school, I could only go home once a month. However, I often used the school phone to call my mother, partly to reassure her, and partly because I missed her.
When life is filled with struggle and effort, three years pass in the blink of an eye. But the joy of receiving my university acceptance letter was shattered in an instant.
My mother and Yan Qing were getting married, the wedding date set for the day before the Mid-Autumn Festival.
I had no reason to stop my mother. Yan Qing truly resembled my father, so their relationship was much more harmonious than I had imagined. In an instant, I realized that I had transformed my love for my mother into romantic love, and that I had been the one in the wrong all along.
But there was always a stubborn stain in my heart that I couldn't erase, no matter how I tried to wipe it away. I could never get rid of that filthy thought, and in fact, the more I tried to change it, the stronger this inner demon became, eventually taking over my entire heart.
I didn't go anywhere the entire summer vacation. My restless heart rendered me incapable of doing anything. I stayed indoors every day, flipping through old magazines and masturbating to images of slender models. My agitated heart constantly stirred my desires; my youthful vigor seemed to have inexhaustible energy. To avoid touching that forbidden spot in my heart, I could only rely on constantly releasing my desires to gain temporary peace. This was probably what they call drinking poison to quench thirst; soon I tasted the bitter fruit of regret for the rest of my life.
My mother's wedding day came quickly. October 2, 2009. Although everything was kept simple, Yan Qing still got completely drunk. I angrily threw him onto the bed, but he remained unconscious.
My mother was wearing a bright red new dress today, her face unusually heavily made up. Her eyebrows were drawn in ink, her lips were crimson, and her face was beaming with a smile. Today, she was still as beautiful as she had been on her wedding day.
"Tongtong, I cooked two bowls of porridge. You've been busy all day; have some to tide you over." Ha. For a moment, my heart sneered. My lovely mother would never know what her son was thinking.
I simply turned away coldly and went into my room.
But she relentlessly followed me in. How could I not know what she wanted to say? She had spent the entire holiday trying to persuade me to accept Yan Qing, and I was already tired of those arguments. Especially today, the thought of those clichés made me incredibly agitated. The moment I opened my mouth, that forbidden zone in my heart burst open, and I felt a chaotic, violent surge of energy rush to my head, blowing everything away. When I came to my senses, everything in the room was in chaos. Pillows were scattered everywhere, book pages were strewn all over the floor, and my mother was pinned beneath me.
I looked directly into her eyes and saw panic, fear, anger, and above all, surprise. Perhaps I always obeyed her without question, and I must have been exceptionally savage before; I don't even remember what happened.
"Tongtong, let me go. Let's talk this out, okay?" She softly called my nickname, trying to get away from under me. But that gentle tone overwhelmed me, who had just regained my senses, with another surge of desire.
Why? She was supposed to be my woman, and I swore to be with her for life. My heart roared.
Losing control, I lowered my head and frantically kissed my mother.
At first, my mother seemed frightened, letting my tongue wander in her mouth. After a few breaths, she began to struggle, but her struggle was so gentle, as if afraid of hurting her son who was abusing her.
I could feel a slight pain on my tongue at first, as if my mother's teeth were about to bite down, but the next moment, her tongue was desperately pushing out, and our tongues intertwined.
My mother's hands desperately pushed against my chest, and her legs only symbolically pushed, as if afraid of hurting me.
Naive mother, your son is in his prime; such weak resistance only arouses my beastly nature.
I lifted my face and reached out to lift my mother's bright red tube skirt. She held it down tightly, shaking her head. I ignored her cries and simply fumbled for the zipper beside her, undone the skirt. The black stockings covering her round buttocks became an obstacle, which I ripped open with all my might. In that instant, I felt a tearing pain in my fingertips, forcing me to stop.
"Tongtong, no..." My mother's cries reached my ears, but they did not awaken my conscience.
My lower body was swollen and hard, breaking through all obstacles and thrusting into my mother's body. At that moment, my mother frantically hit and pushed, but I just held on top of her. I don't remember how long it lasted. When I straightened up, my mother on the ground was probably exhausted and stopped struggling. I stared at her tear-streaked face and burst into tears. My penis was still inserted in my mother's vagina, but the thought of Yan Qing's ugly penis having penetrated it like this, even ejaculating inside, made me nauseous. I turned and vomited, vomiting up everything I had eaten at the banquet.
My mother struggled to her feet, patted my back, and sobbed hoarsely, "Tongtong, what's wrong? Are you alright?"
I was truly a rebellious devil, a son deserving of divine retribution. After my assault, my mother's first concern was for my health, and how did I respond to her? I wiped the saliva from my mouth, turned around, and roughly pushed my mother down, tearing open her new clothes without even unbuttoning them. As I rubbed her breasts, just like the voluptuous models I fantasized about in those days, I shoved my penis back into my mother's vagina, awkwardly and clumsily moving it around inside.
"You're mine, you're mine! I love you..." I cried, repeating these words over and over. My mother was too weak to struggle and passively endured my rape. Stimulated by her wet, hot vagina, I ejaculated inside her. I hastily wiped the stains with a nearby tube skirt, shoved my half-erect penis back into my pants, and rushed out without looking back.
I had planned to leave home for school the next day; my luggage was already packed. Having committed this beastly crime, I grabbed my bags and left the land that had nurtured me for nineteen years that very night.
[The End]

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A tragic childhood

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