[The Second Sex of Mother] (01-02) [Author: delhaize]

Author: delhaize
Word Count: 5687

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Mother's Second Sex (Part 1)

"Yes, I am a bitch! I am super slutty! I want to fuck men all the time!
When one penis (Taiwanese for penis) is not enough. I need one, two, three. If
I can't find that many penises at once, I have to keep looking and looking all day long, from day to night, to find men to fuck.
That's why sometimes I can't pick up the baby or come home to cook for you! That's
the answer you've wanted to know for the past ten years! Are you satisfied now?!"

In front of Taipei Main Station, where tourists and students gather, is a well-known hotel district. I sat in the car watching my mother yell at
my pale-faced father about the devastating truth. Although I could often smell a
pungent, fishy, bleach-like smell in the laundry basket when my father wasn't home, I naturally knew it was the smell of semen after puberty, so my mother's infidelity
wasn't too surprising. But hearing my mother screaming and confessing that she was a
bitch who loved group sex in the middle of a busy street was quite a shock for me, who had just turned 15.

Looking at my father, tall and imposing with the sharp, sarcastic, and aggressive personality typical of lawyers, I
saw him rendered speechless for the first time in his life by being called a "defendant" or "criminal." Although this "criminal" was his usually gentle wife,
I felt a cruel sense of pleasure at the prospect of our family falling apart. I felt that Mom had avenged Dad for me, and at the same time
, I felt that Dad had avenged Mom for me. As this internal drama played out, outside the window, Dad viciously pushed Mom
to the ground and spat in her face. Then, forgetting that he had driven there, he strode across the street, got into a taxi, and
drove away .

The terrible traffic jam behind me and the shrill honking of cars pulled me back to reality. I hurriedly got out of the car and looked at Mom, who was sitting in
the middle of . Her tight short skirt was squeezed down to only cover half of her buttocks, revealing thick pubic hair and her bright purple, everted
labia majora exposed on the bustling streets of Taipei.

I hurriedly helped her up, then frantically pulled her skirt back to its normal position. After she got up, Mom
quickly came to her senses and went to the driver's seat, urging me, "Baby, hurry up and get in the car, we're blocking someone's way." Mom
drove calmly, her cheek still covered in Dad's spit. Taking advantage of a red light, I handed her a tissue: "Mom,
there's something on your cheek, it's dirty." "

Just leave it there, just pretend a man ejaculated on your face. But thank you, I do need some
tissues , give me a few more." As she spoke, she lifted her skirt down to her crotch, exposing her genitals, and expressionlessly took the tissue.
I saw a thick, fishy-smelling yellow liquid overflowing from her vagina. The strong smell of bleach told me it was
a man 's semen. Her thighs, pubic hair, labia, and semen instantly filled my visual senses, and my penis quickly
became erect, throbbing hotly in my crotch. Mom folded a tissue and placed it on her genitals, sticking out her tongue and saying, "It would
n't be good to get your dad's leather seats smelling."

We remained silent the entire way, Mom lifting her skirt to reveal her messy pubic hair. The car was so quiet you could almost hear the gurgling sound of semen flowing from
her vagina . Years later, I participated in my mother's sexual games, or as she put it, "
the road to liberation." This scene in the car had a profound impact on me. Although the same level of intimacy was
a piece of cake , even easy, every now and then, Mom and I would tacitly agree that this was
the starting point, using this premise to plan the course of the game, like restarting an overheated computer. I think that
in the journey of my mother's licentious life, showing her genitals with the semen of an unknown man (in the future, we mother and son could talk about anything but
this day) must have left a mark on her soul, allowing her
to break free from worldly constraints and open up a new level of understanding of bodily liberation.

Mom drove the car back to the community's basement parking lot. As usual, she smiled and greeted the security guard at the driveway checkpoint.
After parking the car, she didn't turn off the engine immediately. Her eyes were a little vacant, and her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. You could see
the veins on her hands were bulging and her knuckles were white. Her emotions, which she had been trying to keep calm all the way, seemed to have been stretched to the limit like a rubber band.
I was a little troubled about what to say to wake her up when, a few seconds later, she came to her senses and said, "We're here. Let's go upstairs and go home."

After turning off the engine, Mom lifted her buttocks in the car seat, pulled up her skirt, and
squeezed the wet toilet paper that had been placed on her genitals in her hand with a little force. After opening the car door, she casually threw it on the ground. For some inexplicable reason, while waiting for
the elevator I stuffed that clump of wet, sticky, and fishy-smelling toilet paper into my pocket.

After entering the room, my son and I went back to our respective rooms. I locked the door and threw myself onto the bed. The whole day had
been beyond my comprehension. I learned her secret of sometimes disappearing without a trace, and I saw her purplish,
engorged labia. This was a completely unfamiliar woman, even though she had the face I knew as my mother.

It all felt like a dream. The swollen, painful feeling of my penis throbbing against my foreskin
reminded me that this was all real.

I took out that disgusting pile of toilet paper. The milky yellow semen mixed with a few pubic hairs that must have belonged to my mother.
I couldn't help but forcefully pull out my penis. After only a few strokes, before I could even put the toilet paper down, I
couldn't help but ejaculate a large amount of semen. Instantly, the room was filled with the smell of multiple men.

My mind went blank for what felt like an eternity when a knock on the door startled me awake. My mother was calling my
nickname . I looked slowly at my naked, sticky genitals, still wet with semen. The toilet paper my mother had used lay on the edge of the bed.
A wave of shame washed over me, and I chose to cover my head with the blanket and not respond.

After calling out a few times, Mom said, "Baby, I'm so sorry for embarrassing you in front of everyone today. I
don't know how to explain what I did. It's okay
if you don't forgive me. You're so young to have witnessed this and discovered that your mother is a slut. I'm going to Grandma's house in Taichung now. Although you might not forgive
me, or not want to acknowledge me, or not want to hear from me, I will contact you often. We are
mother and son connected by blood. When you grow up a little more, if you are still curious about what happened to your mother, I will
discuss it with you openly and honestly. Mom promises you, I will never lie to you again. Although I have a woman's identity, I will always be
your mother. I love you."

After Mom sighed, I heard the door open and close. I took off my clothes and left the room,
wandering aimlessly around the house. I opened my parents' room, and it was neat and tidy. I couldn't tell that Mom had left
at all. After taking a shower, I carefully sealed
the tissue , put it in the bedside table, and lay there in a daze.

Around 1 a.m., I heard the doorbell ring, followed by someone banging on the front door. The iron gate banged
loudly shouted for me to open it. I got up, locked my bedroom door, and turned off the lights. Dad made a scene in the hallway for about ten minutes.
Neighbors came out to check on him, and finally, the older woman next door found his key in his pocket. Everyone helped him inside.

After the neighbors left, I could hear Dad muttering to himself on the sofa through the wall, occasionally letting out a roar and vomiting
.

Around 6 a.m., I heard Dad enter the master bedroom, followed by the sounds of various bottles and cans smashing and glass breaking.
I finally realized that Mom had left this house and burst into tears.

(II)

After Mom left, Dad became a manic-depressive alcoholic, which surprised me quite a bit. He had been having affairs for years and quite liked to go to
hotels to discuss business. I even overheard him joking with a partner at a law firm about renting
a private room at a certain hotel, paying annually, and specifying which hotel girls would work as his shift secretary. As a result, he fell into chaos because of his mother's departure
. At the time, I was fifteen years old and naively thought that this was a symbol of my father's love and attachment to my mother. However, as I
grew older began my complicated sexual adventures, I realized that my father's
feelings were a kind of broken self-esteem of a proud son, and had nothing to do with love.

My father's affair was an open secret in our family. When I was about eight years old, his mistress came to our house, swaggering and
provoking my mother. When my father came home, my mother just said indifferently, "That girl is so pitiful. You'd better not come home too often."

Now, comparing this to my mother's shocking confession of being a slut, on the timeline, the day that girl came to challenge us
, my mother forgot to pick me up from school again. I was standing there in a daze at the school gate and watched cartoons in the school police station. In the end, the school police officer saw that it was too late and
called a taxi for me. When I got home, I saw a
girl sitting on the stool by the door putting on her shoes. That was the girl. She saw me and
started chatting with me right there at the door, asking me all sorts of questions. Although she seemed friendly, she was still a stranger, so I didn't want to open the door and let her in.
Just as I was starting to get impatient, my mother came out of the elevator. She

paused for a moment when she saw me with the stranger. A young woman stepped forward and introduced herself as Dad's girlfriend. Mom came over
and patted my head: "Sorry, baby. Mom went to Auntie's house to play cards and forgot the time. Are you hungry?
Go inside and wash your hands and tidy up. Mom will chat with this lady for a bit."

I smelled a foul bleach odor on Mom, and her breath smelled equally awful.

In short, Dad came home drunk every day in the early hours of the morning, rushing off to work reeking of alcohol. At first,
I thought it was quite pleasant. My nagging Mom wasn't there, and Dad, with his obsessive-compulsive disorder and the immense pressure he put on my daily life, had no
time or inclination to care about me—it was paradise for a fifteen-year-old. But
after a few weeks, our home, with only Dad and me, became a mess. Paradise turned into a filthy hell. I felt a deep hatred for Mom,
unconsciously calling her a bitch in my mind.

Since no one was home, I started wandering around, going to internet cafes and hanging out with friends at night. I even went to temples to meet
people my age or older who were into the Eight Immortals. In a short time, I began to understand what it meant to be a social person, and I was no longer
the obedient good student I used to be.

A few months later, I came home at 1 a.m. and went to the refrigerator in the kitchen to get something to drink. I walked into the kitchen, which my mother had insisted on renovating
a few years ago and which she was very proud of, having spent a lot of money on it. When I turned on the light, I saw that the floor
was piled with things, and the mess showed that they had been carelessly discarded. They were all my mother's things, and the sheer number of
them suggested that all of her belongings in the master bedroom were here.

"Damn it, what's wrong with Dad now?" I cursed inwardly as I walked toward the master bedroom. Suddenly, I heard a woman's moaning
. Listening carefully, I could also hear a man's panting. It seemed to be the sound of moaning during sex? And it was
coming from the master bedroom?! I tiptoed closer, and even without pressing my ear to the door, I could hear the "slap slap
slap of impacts, the man's low panting and groaning, and the woman's high-pitched, lewd moans.

"This is outrageous!???" I blankly returned to the kitchen, drank some water, and absentmindedly rummaged through my mother's
belongings. Under several large coats, I found piles—no exaggeration, piles of sexy lingerie, or rather,
erotic lingerie—of all styles: leather, sheer fabric, made of just a few strips of cotton, thongs, C-strings,
vests , open-crotch camisoles, stockings (in all colors), completely transparent cheongsams (?), and the legendary all-piece
fishnet stockings. It was clearly from an online erotic lingerie retailer. Continuing to search, aside from a few seemingly expensive wireless
vibrators, there was nothing else of note.

In front of me were my mother's familiar everyday loungewear and supposedly expensive suits, next to which was a pile of extremely
sexy, suggestive underwear that immediately conjured up images. "What are these two doing?"

Even so, I still examined the rare lingerie exhibition piece by piece with a research-oriented attitude. I found that most of
the lingerie showed signs of wear, smelling of laundry detergent. A few pieces
of lingerie that could fully cover the genitals (mostly thongs and open-knit panties) had indelible off-white stains on the crotch.

The thought of Mom wearing these clothes in front of a group of men, having sex with them, filled me with an indescribable
bitterness and pain, along with disgust. In anger, I kicked all the clothes into a pile, but could
n't resist taking a black thong with me when I left the kitchen.

Back in my room, I wrapped the thong around my penis, tightened it, and masturbated while listening to the moans from the master bedroom.
How far could this family go in its depravity? Mom had been gone for months without a word, and I didn't know
what I should say if she contacted me, how I, at fifteen, should face all this.

I was suddenly jolted awake by the pain of morning erection in a half-awake state. It turned out my thong was still half-wrapped around my penis. After tidying myself up a bit, I realized
it was almost noon. Thinking Dad should have already left, I glanced at the thong on the bed and felt
it was ; I should have hidden a few more, more unusual ones. I went into the kitchen and searched, but all my sexy clothing
, including the vibrator, was gone. I deliberately knocked on the master bedroom door and turned the handle; the door was locked.

Dad started bringing women home every few days. At first, he would sneak over in the early morning, but after a while, sometimes I could hear women moaning in the room
around 7 or 8 pm. The door, which had been locked, was now only half-open, providing me
with the perfect environment for peeping. Because of this, I discovered it was always a different woman; I guessed they were all paid for.

Although watching one's own father have sex with a woman is a very strange feeling, the women he brings back
are all quite attractive. Watching them suck on penises, thrusting their hips against men, and actively guiding their penises into their
vaginas . Some of the women have tattoos that blend seamlessly into their bodies.
Twisting and deforming, like a flower swaying in the wind.

Dad's condition was getting increasingly strange. When I had to ask him for living expenses, we inevitably had a conversation. Although his tone
was still quite serious, I could sense his memory and concentration were collapsing. He seemed a lot like
one of the older brothers in the Eight Generals gang I knew, who had taken drugs and acted strangely.

One day, I came home late again. As soon as I opened the door, I smelled a terrible stench of smoke, which made me cough violently.
A woman, almost naked except for her underwear, was sitting on the living room sofa with a small light on. Her feet were on the coffee table,
in what looked like a position for giving birth in an OB-GYN. The TV was on, and the colorful lights on the screen
danced on her large, slightly flared breasts. Metallic glints flashed on her nipples like stars. In
a few minutes I would know they were nipple rings.

Hearing the cough, she looked up and swayed from side to side as if searching for the source of the sound. Seeing me standing there dumbfounded,
she raised her hands and waved them, saying in an excited, slightly naive, breathy voice, "Yaaaaa~ Great,
someone's here! Hi! Little brother, can you come help me? Big big big, are you busy?"

Although I felt very embarrassed and wanted to go back to my room, the stars on her nipples were beckoning, and my legs unconsciously moved closer to
her. Before I could speak, she said in a breathy voice, "Please come over here quickly." As she spoke, she raised one leg to
her knee and touched her chest, pointing to the coffee table, "Sit here." Sitting there meant facing her crotch!

After I sat down, she put her legs down, and I felt like an obstetrician being embraced by a woman's spread legs. She said,
"I'm so itchy, can you scratch it for me?" I didn't know where it itched, so I saw her stick her fingers into
her vagina. She was wearing a purple, open-crotch panty with a tie. I recognized the panty; it belonged to my mother.
This pair of panties was different from the usual cheap, thin, open-crotch panties. It was made of very comfortable, smooth, opaque silk. Although it was
for a lewd purpose, it left a deep impression on me. I never knew it felt like wearing it on a real body.

She twisted her lower body, "I'm so itchy, itchy inside, so itchy, so itchy, so itchy, so itchy, so itchy, so itchy."

Every time she said "itchy," her fingers would forcefully poke into her vagina. Although the light was dim, I could hear
the squelching sounds coming from her vaginal opening. The woman suddenly raised her upper body and grabbed my hand forcefully with her right hand, while her left hand
parted her labia majora: "Put your fingers in and help me scratch, I can't reach inside."

I moved my face closer, less than fifteen centimeters from her vulva. A sour, fishy smell hit me. Her vaginal
opening was about the size of a ten-yuan coin, the opening like the mouth of a goldfish in a fish tank, opening and closing. My fingers
entered, guided by her. My fingers entered a wet paradise. I was a little shy at first, but how could I give up when a woman was so shamelessly
exposing her genitals to me? Following the example in the pornographic video, I started to move my fingers

in and out. She seemed relieved, leaning back in her chair. With one hand, she spread her labia wider and wider, and with the other, she used
her nails, painted red and studded with rhinestones, to tease a small, raised spot above her vaginal opening—that must be
her clitoris , right? The rhythm of her teasing of her clitoris matched
the speed of my thrusts. She breathed heavily and used her breath to direct my thrusting speed, "Faster, faster, stop, stop for a moment, okay, move slowly, don't
move too much, pull out a little, thrust in hard, slowly, slowly, faster, faster, faster." My fingers
became a vibrator.

"Two fingers, put in two fingers."

"Three, ah, so good. Three fingers are so full, so good, hmm hmm hmm hmm, so good."

She pinched her clitoris with her thumb and forefinger, pulling hard. Her hand, which had been spreading her labia, was now grabbing and rubbing
her breasts. I had some energy left to observe her nipples. Her skin-colored nipples wore nipple rings, which
swayed like small boats on the sea with her breasts. Her tongue licked her bright red lips, and her buttocks swayed violently up and down. One of the straps on her purple lace-up
panties came undone from the twisting, and the crotch area hung on my wrist.

Her vagina contracted violently, as if it wanted to swallow my whole hand. One leg was hooked around my neck, and
I could feel the muscles tensing. Suddenly, she screamed, "I'm going to orgasm!" Her body curled up towards the ceiling, trembling. A few seconds later
, her legs relaxed and she stepped on the ground. A warm liquid gushed from her vagina—urine.

After pulling my fingers out, I untied the other strap of her panties and held them in my hand. My father
's women varied in size and figure, each with different sexual techniques and service attitudes; the only thing they had in common was that they wore
the sexy clothes left behind by my mother.

(To be continued)

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