Son's thoughts about his mother

After dinner, my son locked himself in his bedroom, diligently studying, leaving me bored and sitting alone on the sofa
in the living room , remote control in hand, watching my favorite show: a tedious South Korean idol drama!
The plot was nothing more than a typical Cinderella and Prince Charming story; the drama itself held absolutely no
appeal for me. The only reason I was watching this utterly boring drama so intently was because the
male lead —this young man—was incredibly handsome!
Perhaps because my husband's personality and appearance are so ugly and vulgar, our marriage is a far cry from the perfect union of a handsome man and a beautiful woman that I
often . Therefore, I've always harbored a certain amount
of regret deep down. This regret, while unrelated to our marital relationship and life, has left me with a
latent restlessness: whenever I see a handsome, well-behaved boy, I feel a strange impulse.
This subconscious impulse perhaps confirms the old saying, "Young girls don't dream of love."
As the years have passed, the once-lovestruck young girl has now entered middle age and is already a mother.
Logically, the restless thoughts within her should have been submerged in the mundane routine of daily life, but
quite the opposite has happened . With age and the intensity and frequency of our marital sex life, the initial girlish
shyness has vanished, replaced by a middle-aged woman's peculiar
obsession with carnal desire. This complete transformation from naivety to allure is ultimately the fault of my
sexually voracious and physically strong husband! His superb performance in bed and boundless energy provide me
, at an age when women are at their most sexually active, with complete physical satisfaction.
So even though my husband is often away from home, whenever he's around, he always leaves me feeling incredibly comfortable
and blissful, until I'm completely satisfied. Therefore, my physical needs aren't unmet.
But psychological satisfaction is another matter entirely.
Whenever I saw my husband's dark, fat, and unattractive appearance, I would comfort myself with the promise of our marital love.
At times I even deceived myself, genuinely believing that appearance didn't matter. As time passed,
I gradually adapted to his ugly face and began to accept it as part of my life.
This at least showed acceptance of my husband's appearance.
But it was merely a matter of no longer rejecting him.
Deep down, I harbored an unspoken longing for handsome, well-behaved men because of my status as a wife.
This longing never lessened when my sexual desires were satisfied; on the contrary, it only made me feel regretful.
Even when my husband was so vigorous in bed, fucking me so hard I felt like I was dying, experiencing multiple orgasms, I
still couldn't shake this vague regret. Every time my body was fully satisfied, a trace of disappointment would linger,
and the stark contrast between the two would often leave me feeling incredibly melancholic.
And what made me feel most guilty towards my husband was after a passionate encounter,
after my incredibly pleasurable orgasm... Seeing my husband, dark-skinned and unattractive, hunched over, panting, in such a ridiculous state,
filled me with extreme disgust.
That disgust, which I knew I shouldn't feel but couldn't control, made me feel incredibly ashamed of my husband. Because I couldn't hide
this disgust, for a period after our marriage, I would
inexplicably lash out at my husband after every sexual encounter. My loving husband would always try his best to make me happy, but all I got in return was a superficial
smile turning into joy, while my inner self-reproach only deepened my disgust.
As time went on, the feeling of utterly betraying my husband grew stronger.
One day, by chance, I tried another way to release this pent-up emotion: remembering
the handsome male leads I'd seen in TV shows and movies, and fantasizing that
those , using self-deception to give myself both physical and emotional pleasure. Books
call this: fantasizing.
Although this method is difficult to talk about, it's very effective. Especially when we have sex with the lights off,
I fantasize that instead of my rough, clumsy husband, it's
a . As my husband gives me intense physical satisfaction, my sinful
thoughts are released along with my physical climax, bringing immense pleasure.
In my view, emotional infidelity is harmless to marital sex. The result is that
after each sexual encounter, I experience double the pleasure, and afterwards, I present a completely different
wife to my husband: gentle, alluring, and even a little seductive. My oblivious husband initially doesn't notice the change in me
, and when he does, he doesn't find anything strange about it. He simply thinks I've learned to be more romantic
and is very satisfied with my lingering affection after sex.
At first, of course, I felt a little ashamed of this slightly perverse fantasy,
and even felt a deep sense of guilt. Deep down, I believed that this emotional infidelity was
more shameful than despising my husband's ugliness. But as time went on, I became obsessed with this ambiguous union of mind and body, and
the extraordinary sensory stimulation it produced in our sex life. Considering I hadn't harmed anyone, and I hadn't actually done
anything to betray my husband, I let go of the psychological burden. I
buried this secret deep within my heart, my greatest privacy, never mentioning it to anyone, and gradually I became more accustomed to it. Even
when my husband wasn't home, late at night, lying in bed, I would secretly masturbate, fantasizing about having sex with handsome
young men, while my husband, whom I should have longed for, never appeared in my sexual fantasies.
Now let me tell you about the protagonists of my fantasies. I like young, well-behaved boys. My initial sexual fantasy object
was Alec Su from the Little Tigers. But as the wrinkles on Alec Su's face gradually increased, my sexual interest in him was gradually
replaced by the ever-increasing influx of South Korean male stars. Although I've heard that the handsome men and beautiful women in Goryeo and South Korea are all
the result of , the boys' handsome faces are just too tempting for me. Anyway, they're just
tools for my fantasies, so I don't care about the details. But I've never fantasized about any real men.
Recently, I've become a fan of the lead actor in this idol drama: a South Korean guy surnamed Zhang.
He's in his early twenties, incredibly handsome, and his smile is especially sunny.
Just to remember his face, I've been watching this trashy idol drama for days.
On TV, the male lead takes the female lead to a beautiful forest, and after some dialogue, they start kissing.
I stared intently at the female lead on the screen, who, too, had undergone cosmetic surgery and appeared incredibly pure and beautiful. She was enjoying
the boy's passionate kiss with her eyes closed, and I felt a slight pang of jealousy. How I longed to be the one kissing that handsome young man
!
A sudden dryness gripped my mouth, and the man and woman on the TV blurred. Before my eyes, it seemed I was being held in that young man's arms,
passionately kissing him. In the dim woods, the handsome boy smiled at me. I licked my dry
lips, a girlish blush rising to my cheeks. Even though I was
middle-aged still made my heart flutter. I tried to take the boy's hand and slip it under my skirt,
murmuring, "Come on! Touch me! Darling!" The boy also blushed, shyly letting me put his
hand inside my damp underwear, his hands groping awkwardly at my genitals. His shy expression was incredibly adorable!
"Ah! Keep going, keep touching me! Little guy! Don't be shy! Auntie likes you so much!"
This sexual fantasy of disciplining a young boy made me incredibly excited. I could almost feel the handsome boy's
shy expression and gentle caresses. I was so intoxicated that I lost my composure.
After a while, I returned to reality. Watching the changing scenes on the TV, everything was
the same as always it was all just a fantasy. Feeling incredibly melancholy, I couldn't help but sigh softly.
Just then, my son suddenly came out of his room, stood next to me, looked at the TV, and noticed I was watching an idol
drama. He looked very engrossed and couldn't help but laugh disdainfully.
"Mom! You're watching this again? It's so rubbish! South Korea just makes up some nonsensical love stories
to make middle-aged women like you cry. You actually fell for it!" My son grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the table,
took a bite, and said.
"Ugh, don't block Mom's TV! Sit down. Mom's old enough to watch TV,
it won't bother you!" I waved my hand at my son, annoyed, signaling him to leave me alone
. Little did he know how I felt.
"Go ahead and watch, I'm going to take a shower." My son finished his apple in a few bites, tossed the core aside,
and started taking off his clothes.
Although he was upset that afternoon because I hadn't worn any clothes
after my shower, he never seemed to care about me, his mother. He never bothered to hide from me when he showered or changed, and I
was used to it . After all, he's my own flesh and blood, what's the big deal? A few years ago
, before we had air conditioning, my son would wander around the house in just his underwear during summer vacation, and I never thought anything of it.
Today was no different. My son was going to take a shower, and as he took off his clothes next to me,
I didn't pay much attention when he threw them on the sofa next to me. But
when I smelled the strong masculine scent emanating from his shorts and vest, I couldn't help but take a closer look at him.
My son is a bit thin, but very muscular. His fair skin is a result of my genes, and I'm glad he didn't inherit that
from his father. He's also very handsome, naturally inheriting my good looks—they say boys resemble their mothers,
and it seems that's absolutely true. He's also inherited some of his father's physique. Although my husband always thinks our son
is weak-willed and not physically strong enough, I think he's much gentler and more considerate than my husband.
And while his physical condition isn't as good as my husband's, it's certainly healthy for his age, even though he's going through puberty . Just because we're mother and son, I never realized that my growing son so perfectly matches the criteria of
my subconscious sexual fantasies: handsome, sunny, gentle, and shy. In that instant, I felt a little strange looking at my son as he undressed. He stripped down to only his underwear, oblivious to my slightly surprised expression, and without saying much, went into the bathroom alone in his slippers. Watching his retreating figure, that wicked feeling that I'd always been holding back quietly welled up inside me. The handsome boy I had just boy whose hand I had held and whose hand I had slipped under my skirt, his face flushed with embarrassment, had become my son! "No! This is my son! How could I have any thoughts about him! It's so perverted!" I tried my best to suppress my sinful thoughts, but I still stared at my son's strong back until he closed the bathroom door. My heart started pounding. "My son is so handsome now! ...How come I never noticed...No! I can't think like this! Not even a thought!" I rested my head on my hand, conflicted. Suddenly, a faint smell of male sweat wafted into my nose. It was my son's shorts and vest that he had taken off. I couldn't help but stare at his shorts , feeling an urge to secretly take them and smell them. "What am I thinking?" I tried to control my impulse, my face burning. How could I, as a mother, suddenly have such indescribable thoughts about my son? Was it the stimulation of his masculine scent on his clothes? Was it the impulse left over from being abruptly interrupted while fantasizing about a handsome young man? Whatever the reason , how could I do something so shameful! Despite my struggle against the inexplicable evil desires rising within me, my mind suddenly replayed the day's events like a movie: the unspeakable embarrassment of my ample breasts pressed tightly against my son's back on the crowded bus, and the silent shame of my son's erect penis rubbing against my buttocks because of my physical stimulation—all these intertwined within me. Now, recalling them was incredibly arousing. The image of me standing naked before my son that evening, filled with boundless shame, aroused by his scent and fueled by the burning desire from watching television, even led me to fantasize about an even more erotic scene of a man and woman facing each other. "Ah! What...what's wrong with me?" After the initial surge of impulse subsided, my mind gradually cooled, and I couldn't help but murmur to myself. My face flushed crimson, and I realized that without realizing it, I was clutching and playing with my son's shorts. How utterly inappropriate! I was already aware of this; if my son saw me in this ridiculous state, the consequences would be unimaginable! I desperately forced myself to throw his shorts aside. I stood up, tidied my disheveled hair, and tried to calm myself. But no matter what I did, the wicked thought that had suddenly arisen in my mind regarding my son wouldn't go away. Even though that vague thought was only fleeting, I still felt...

I felt incredibly ashamed. But the smell of my son's sweat seemed to have a magical power, making me
reluctant . I couldn't help but secretly pick up my son's shorts again, hold them in front of me, and take a deep sniff. It was a very strong, sweaty
smell, but why was it so alluring to me? When my
son came out of the bathroom, dripping wet after his shower, I sat up straight,
pretending to be watching TV and ignoring him, but I couldn't help but glance at
his strong body and handsome face out of the corner of my eye. When my gaze lingered on
the cute little mound of flesh tightly encased in his dark blue briefs, my slightly trembling lips immediately became
even drier than when I had a brief sexual fantasy earlier, so much so that I involuntarily licked my dry upper lip. Because I suddenly remembered how hard
that little thing had been pressing against my butt this morning.
My son, oblivious to my inner turmoil and the discord in his outward appearance, stood beside me, glanced at
the boring TV show I was watching, and muttered dismissively, "Boring!" before turning and going back to his room.
After he left, my tense nerves finally relaxed!
I'm naturally prone to daydreaming, and after suddenly having these inexplicable fantasies about my son, my heart had been
pounding wildly, terrified he'd discover my dirty secret—the smell of his shorts. Fortunately, my son was rather
careless and didn't notice anything different about where his dirty clothes were. Now that he's in his room sleeping, I
finally breathed a sigh of relief. I turned off the TV, took his dirty clothes to the bathroom, and put them
with to wash tomorrow. Holding his dirty clothes, smelling his scent, my heart
churned, and I managed to resist the urge to sniff them again.
This obsession with the scent emanating from a man's body was something I'd never experienced before.
The complex mix of tension, shame, and fear
I felt because the object of my desire was my own son—a feeling akin to being a thief, yet incredibly thrilling. At the same time, using a handsome young man around me as the object of my fantasies for the first time, the real
feeling—including his naked body and the strong smell of sweat—was far more
tangible than any of my unrealistic fantasies about teen idols. But regardless, I still found it hard to accept my inappropriate thoughts about my own son.
No matter how tempting those thoughts were, we live in reality. The responsibilities of being a mother,
a wife, and a woman's morality restrained me. This restraint, coupled with reason, plunged me into deep self-reproach after my emotions were completely
under control.
The self-reproach was fleeting; as the night wore on, what followed was the loneliness and emptiness unique to middle-aged women, left
alone in their empty house because their husbands were away on business .
I lost all interest in watching television. I returned to my bedroom, closed the door, turned on the computer, and
logged onto an online video website that my husband and I often watched, wanting to completely vent my inner frustration.
It was a pornographic website offering paid online streaming of adult films.
My husband and I are both relatively open to new things, and we share the same open-minded
view . Therefore, to add some fun to our sex life, we
secretly watched pornographic videotapes together back in the days of VCRs. With societal progress, VCDs, DVDs, and now the
internet age, this bad habit has accompanied us from shy, naive newlyweds
to our current state of raging middle-aged sexual desire. Countless nights we've watched porn and
enthusiastically imitated the actions of the men and women in the films, making love wildly. Countless nights when my husband was away on business trips, or during my menstrual
period, one of us would masturbate alone while watching porn to relieve our cravings. These repeated nights have made
porn, without my realizing it, an inescapable source of mental nourishment.
Perhaps it's due to my own upbringing and temperament, although I admit I might be a wanton woman at heart.
But in daily interactions, no one knows this inner indulgence. Only my husband knows
just how slutty I am in bed. And he's happy that I can take the initiative and be wildly passionate in bed, so he can enjoy a more
perfect sex life. In short, in my husband's eyes, I'm
the perfect woman—a housewife at home, a lady in public, and a harlot in bed. From an outward perspective, this assessment is quite accurate. But in reality, he still hasn't grasped
my true inner thoughts. The reason I act so wanton and seductive in bed is simply because I always
close my eyes and fantasize about him as my favorite handsome young man.
The entire pornographic video website contains nearly ten thousand adult films of different styles; the resources are undeniably comprehensive.
My husband and I are both pretty straightforward people; we only like watching uncensored porn.
We've always looked down on films with mosaic censorship, believing that censored films are more likely to be fake, lack visual stimulation, and
have dragging plots—they're just more finely categorized. Therefore, we rarely watch them. But today, I
inexplicably wandered into the censored section, cautiously searching for the category I was looking for.
Incest series! Found it!
Seeing those four words made me blush even more than if I'd actually watched porn, my heart started racing again. But
I still chose a Japanese censored porn film with a decent-looking cover, put on the headset we'd bought specifically to avoid our son discovering
we were watching porn, and started playing.
An old woman, at least fifty years old, was screaming in agony, while a lewd-looking man, who looked to be at least 45,
dressed in a Japanese school uniform, was licking the old woman's vulva. Thick mosaics
completely obscured the man's stubble chin and the old woman's darkened genitals!
This was awful!
I had been driven by a vague sense of unease, a mix of impulse and longing, hoping to find some emotional fulfillment online
, but instead, I encountered this garbage. It was a real blow! I closed the video.
This time, I didn't bother looking at the cover description and randomly opened another one.
This one was completely different from the poorly made trash I'd just watched. A plump middle-aged woman,
about was hanging her washed underwear in the yard, while a thin, fair-skinned boy
peeked from a corner. Although he also looked lewd, at least the male and female leads looked like mother and son.
I rested my chin on my hand, intently watching at my computer: the plot had unfolded. The seemingly dignified
single mother knew her son was lusting after her beauty and often subtly tempted him, eventually leading to...
My son, in a moment of impulse, raped her, yet the seemingly rapist act of mother-son sex was portrayed with unparalleled beauty.
Especially the scene where the boy, from behind, was penetrating his mother, who was lying on the sofa, while simultaneously holding her breasts and giving her a wet kiss as
she turned her face away—I replayed this scene several times.
My underwear was even a little wet from watching it! I took off my nightgown, spread my legs, sat in front of the computer, and put my hand inside
my underwear to masturbate.
My husband is often away on business trips, so masturbation is a regular occurrence for me, given my high libido. Because I know my
sensitive spots very well, I can usually bring myself to a peak of pleasure with
just A short while of pleasure is enough to satisfy me. But watching those mother-son incestuous porn videos that I've been replaying, today, no matter how much I
stroked my smooth clitoral head exposed outside my foreskin, I couldn't feel satisfied. What I desperately craved was the feeling of a man's penis
truly penetrating me!
Ah! I tried inserting my index finger into my wet vagina, stimulating my G-spot, and finally,
I felt . I let out a soft, seductive moan, just like the mother in the video on my computer, but I tried my best to keep it down, making my voice as low
as it could go. I was terrified my son next door would hear, and when I felt like screaming, I covered my mouth with my other hand
. Waves of pleasure, growing stronger with each passing moment, combined with the joyful intercourse between mother and son in the pornographic film,
unconsciously transformed my desire for men into lust for my son.
At that moment, a lewd image flashed through my mind: I was kneeling on
the ground, using every trick in the book to play with the erect penis before me, while the owner of that penis, a naked,
fair body, was gradually revealed, until the man's face, tinged with an embarrassed smile, was shown. And the boy, with a shy expression
and his erect penis, letting me manipulate him, was my son: Yang Yang…
I climaxed! I climaxed! The sounds of a man and woman making love through my earpiece, the sexual fantasies before my eyes, and the wild masturbation finally brought
me to the peak of ecstasy. A torrent of vaginal fluid gushed out, completely soaking my cotton panties.
My body went limp, and I licked my wet fingers, still wanting more. Watching the screen play another round of mother-son
intercourse , I felt a complex mix of emotions. Was it disappointment? Satisfaction? Or desire? I couldn't say for sure.
I only remember that I couldn't sleep that night. My son's tall figure kept flashing through my mind,
and seeing his image made me feel a burning desire. On the other hand, my conscience was deeply condemning me:
a great mother, masturbating while fantasizing about her son—how shameful! Shame and desire tormented
me, keeping me awake for a long time, constantly wavering between reason and fantasy. It wasn't until the early hours of the morning that I finally drifted
off to sleep, exhausted.
That night I had a dream. I dreamt that my family of three was happily eating breakfast around the table. My husband was
reading the newspaper while eating, and my son, as always, was absent-minded. I was sitting between them,
chatting and laughing , and it felt incredibly warm and cozy.

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