[I Just Want to Be a Good Mother] (03) [Author: Not Han Han]

Author: Not Han Han
Word Count: 6578
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Chapter
3: Obsessed with My Son's Scent
The days passed at a leisurely pace, and before I knew it, it was mid-May. These past few days, every evening I would
apply liniment to my son's back, and the bruises were slowly fading. But I still habitually applied it every night
because I noticed that since I cried in front of him last time, his attitude towards me had softened. As soon as he finished eating, he
would go to the bathroom to shower, then, wearing his basketball shorts and shirtless, he would lie on the sofa waiting for me to finish washing the dishes. What pleased me even more
was that my son would proactively talk to me about school, something that had never happened before. I took this
opportunity to learn more about my son.
After learning more, I realized that I had left him at home when he was very young, preventing him from developing... Receiving my mother
's love had actually caused him so much harm, making me realize I wasn't a good mother at all.
That evening, as usual, my son was shirtless, lying on the sofa. I came from the kitchen to the living
room to apply liniment to him. Looking at his increasingly broad back and strong waist, a feeling
of happiness welled up inside me. My hands sometimes wandered over his bruises, sometimes over his shoulders—this
little guy, ever since our relationship improved, has started making demands of me; every time I apply liniment,
he wants to use me as a masseuse.
Just as I was getting into the swing of things, his phone rang from his room.
He tried to sit up, but then seemed to remember something, lay back down, and turned to me, saying,
"Mom, go get the phone for me, see who's calling."
I took my hands off his back, held them up as a gesture, and said, "My hands are covered in liniment, how can I
get it for you? Get up and get it yourself."
My son seemed to have something he couldn't say, and still refused to get up, letting his phone ring. I couldn't persuade him otherwise, so I
grabbed two tissues, wiped myself down, and went to his room to get his phone. It turned out to be a call from his friend. Listening to
him talking to the other person on the phone, I felt uneasy. Why wouldn't my son get his phone himself
? Thinking back, every time I applied liniment to his back, he insisted I take a shower first, otherwise he wouldn't get up,
and every time I finished showering, his bedroom door would close.
A little while later, my son hung up and said to me, "A classmate called, asking if I wanted
to go out with him this Sunday."
I hummed in agreement, then continued working on my son's back. My fingers
danced across his increasingly broad back. The countryside night was quiet, and it was just my son and me in the living room, so
I could hear him occasionally let out a comfortable "hmm."
After applying the liniment, I called him to get up, but he still wouldn't. Frustrated, I went to the kitchen to wash my hands.
As I went, I thought to myself, my son always refuses to get up in front of me, even when
he was on the phone just now. I wondered what he was up to
. I stopped at the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, intending to see why he wouldn't get up.
On the sofa, hearing my footsteps, my son quickly stood up. Only then
did I understand why he wouldn't get up in front of me. His lower body had a large tent bulging, his loose
basketball shorts were out of shape. I was startled. My son is growing up; he's at that age where he's starting to feel sexually aroused.
Perhaps it was because I applied the liniment that he reacted. I thought to myself that his injury was
healed now, and I shouldn't apply it to him anymore, lest he feel so uncomfortable. Just as I turned to wash my hands, I saw
my son squatting in front of the sofa, his face buried in it, seemingly sniffing something intensely.
He glanced at me for a few seconds, but thankfully I dodged in time. Yes, he was sniffing the
spot where I had just been sitting. I peeked out again and saw him lick the sofa with his tongue. Judging from his mouth, he seemed to mumble
"Mommy" a few times before standing up and going back to his room, his large erection prominently displayed.
I was stunned by what I saw.
After washing my hands, I gathered my clothes, quickly showered, and returned to my room. Lying
on the empty bed, my thoughts were in turmoil. I didn't know how to interpret my son's behavior. Perhaps he was just at that
age of sexual arousal, and it was normal for him to be curious about his mother. But my son's behavior clearly
couldn't be explained by curiosity. His erection, the way he licked the sofa I'd sat on—just because of my
warmth or scent—what was he trying to do with that bulging tent? That bulge was something he didn't want
me to see. And it seemed like my son wasn't wearing underwear—what was I thinking? What a despicable child, thinking about such
useless things. The most important thing now is how to properly guide my son, to give him a proper understanding of sex
, to help him find a girlfriend? No, no, he's still so young. Our relationship has only just started to improve. I can't bear
to give him away to someone else. Besides, judging from that little tent, his penis must be very big and long.
A girl his age definitely wouldn't be able to handle it—"Slap!" I slapped myself hard, feeling
utterly despicable for thinking about such things. I'm such a failed mother. —Wait, based on
my son's reaction just now, the semen on my underwear last time must have been his! Good heavens, he actually
molested my underwear and ejaculated so much semen on it! And then I remember, I just grabbed these very underwear
to change into, and now they're covering my round buttocks and private area.
The thought of my son ejaculating so much semen on these underwear, and now I'm wearing them,
makes me feel strange. It's not the disgust I felt when I first saw the semen on the underwear, it's just a strange feeling—worry, fear
, and also anticipation. Slowly, it feels like a million ants are crawling all over my body; I want to take these...
The underwear, the underwear my son had ejaculated in. When I placed my hand on the waistband, a pang of sadness struck me. These were
the underwear my son had ejaculated in, and I was wearing them. So, so, had my son and I indirectly intercourse? Ugh,
ugh, how could I think like that? It's just underwear, and it's washed clean. My son is still young, he doesn't understand
, these actions are understandable. My son is still young, but his... well, it doesn't seem small...
My head felt like it was filled with countless little voices, arguing and contradicting each other.
Even at two in the morning, I still couldn't clear my mind, my thoughts were a jumbled mess, and I had no pajamas. I wondered what my son was doing right now. His genitals were so swollen every day; how did he relieve himself? 　　What was he thinking when
he did ?
Lost in thought, my hand involuntarily reached for my lace panties, and
when it slipped down to my crotch, I was surprised to find them already soaked with secretions. My fingers
felt sticky and slippery against them. I hadn't even realized when I'd become so wet; my mind had been so chaotic that
I hadn't noticed my body's changes. I was such a bad mother, thinking about my son while my body was so depraved.
My fingers pressed against my soaked vulva through the thin panties, and I realized my desire. Yes,
at that moment, I felt empty, both physically and mentally, and longed for a man. For a woman my age, wanting a man isn't
shameful, but what shamed me was that my mind was filled with thoughts of my son, his actions,
his erection. Finally, I had to convince myself that I was just thinking about him; after all,
he was a part of me, a part of me more than ten years ago, so it was normal for me to think about him. And so,
in a state of self-numbing, I took out the eggplant I had chosen and washed the day before yesterday from the drawer. Those curved things... my son's must
be much better than this.
I took off my underwear and smelled it against my face. It was covered in the fishy smell of my own vaginal fluid, but I still
tried to smell something different. In my imagination, I smelled a strong
scent of a young man—my son's scent. I fantasized that when my son was holding my underwear and
stroking his huge penis, he was definitely thinking of his mother, me. Yes, he was definitely thinking of me. If that were true, then
Mom would be very happy…
After three or four minutes of masturbation, I reached orgasm. This time was different from any other time; it
was more pleasurable than any masturbation I had ever experienced. Just as I was about to ejaculate, an image appeared in my mind: my
son holding me, thrusting into me forcefully, again and again…
After ejaculation, the pleasure disappeared. I savored the pleasant moment, but soon guilt replaced the pleasure.
I am such a despicable woman, and a despicable mother. To masturbate is bad enough, but to even think about my son masturbating is unacceptable.
How did I become such a person? When did I become like this?
Tormented by guilt and remorse, I still couldn't sleep. I took out my phone and opened WeChat to search,
hoping to find answers. I found many mothers' or sons' accounts of their own experiences. Some were troubled,
some resisted, some accepted it after resisting—there were all sorts of stories. It's true, the world
is full of wonders. Thinking about it this way, compared to those who forcibly assault their mothers, my son only masturbating in front of my
underwear isn't that heinous.
After clicking around randomly, I entered a WeChat public account called "Red Beauty Fades in Autumn." The name was rather strange. It
was full of photos of women around my age, some of whom looked particularly unattractive, yet they
received many likes and comments praising them as "beautiful" and "good-looking." I really don't understand people's aesthetic sense these days. Liking
mature women is one thing, but liking such unattractive ones is quite another. If this is considered beautiful, then am I some kind of national beauty?
Leaving the dull "Red Beauty Fades in Autumn" public account, I watched some funny videos, which improved my mood
considerably, and my previous guilt gradually dissipated. Perhaps there is some kind of affection between a mother and son; after all,
a son is a part of his mother's flesh. Thinking about it this way, it does seem normal.
When I woke up the next day, the sun was already high in the sky. I looked at the wall clock and muttered to myself, "Oh no,"
I had forgotten to get up early to cook breakfast for my son. I quickly got dressed and went outside. My son's bedroom door was open, and everything
was already tidied up. He must have already gone to school. Then I thought about it; his bedroom door seemed like his
heart. Before, he would always close it when he left, not allowing me to go in. Now, it seemed to always be open.
On the coffee table, there was a note left by my son, conspicuously placed. I picked it up and saw it was scrawled:
"Mom, I'm going to school. Buy your own breakfast." I muttered to myself, "He's in middle school now, and his handwriting is still so bad."
But a warm feeling welled up inside me. It seemed my son's attitude towards me was getting better. Before, he would never tell me
what he was going to do, let alone leave a note.
I washed up, put on light makeup, cooked something simple, and ate. Feeling bored, I went to
visit Aunt Liu. They had a rare group of people playing mahjong together today. I watched for a while, but since I didn't understand it, I felt
bored and went home to watch TV. After a simple lunch, I took a short nap, but
woke up quickly. Feeling bored, I went to weed the vegetable patch in front of the house…
I felt restless all day until my son came home. Then I understood why I was
so restless and found everything uninteresting. I was surprised to realize how much I cherished him, wanting to see
him constantly and feel his presence.
After dinner, as usual, I applied liniment to his skin. Watching his back, I felt
the warmth of his body in my palm, and a wave of emotion washed over me. I tried to finish quickly, and
while he was still lingering, I took a deep breath and said with great determination, “Son, Mom won’t apply it for you anymore
. You’re all better now.”
My son didn’t say anything, just a soft “Oh.” I got up to go to the kitchen to wash my hands, feeling a pang of sadness. I
had only done this out of necessity. Looking at my son's vibrant body, my heart grew increasingly uneasy.
I feared that if this continued, my son would become even more addicted to my touch, and I would become even more infatuated with him, which
would only harm him.
When I came out of the kitchen, my son was no longer on the sofa; his bedroom door was tightly closed. I thought, at this moment, he might...
I was sad or resentful, but what could I do? I had to be a good mother, to consider his feelings, and
to guide him at this impulsive age so he wouldn't go astray.
The next day, I felt a pang of sadness. Thinking about how my son hadn't spoken to me at breakfast that morning, it
felt like I was back in the past. My heart ached, and I regretted the words I'd spoken to him the night before. I thought, giving
him a simple back pat wasn't a big deal; I'd do anything for him if he wanted
. But words spoken are like water spilled; I figured he'd be cold to me for a while.
My son didn't return until six in the evening. Before that, I was on tenterhooks waiting for him. I
saw him stagger into the house, his clothes torn open, his pants and clothes covered in mud. Clearly
, he'd been fighting again. I rushed over, furious, and demanded, "Why did you fight again? Ca
n't you give me a break?"
My son, without turning his head, said to me, "Don't worry about me, you don't care anyway."
I angrily replied, "How can I not care about you, huh?"
He looked up at me and said, "You find it troublesome to even apply liniment to my body, so from now on, don't interfere in my affairs
."
Looking at his feigned stubbornness, I felt a pang of hurt. I knew he was a quiet
child, sulking. I reached for his dirty clothes, and he tried to pull away, but seeing my
red eyes, he couldn't bear it and let me. Sure enough, there was a deep bruise on his back. I
immediately understood, and choked out, "You really wanted Mom to apply liniment to you that badly that you went to get into
a fight?"
He tried to walk to his room, but I pulled him back. He protested, "No, no, I just didn't
like them, so I went to beat them up." His excitement betrayed him. I felt a mix of anger and delight.
I was angry that my son had foolishly gone to get into a fight just to get me to continue applying the liniment, but delighted that he
cared about me so much.
I calmed myself down and said, "Don't say anything more. Go take a shower and lie down quietly while Mom applies the liniment."
My son said, "No way! I don't want you to do anything with me anymore," but his tone was no longer as forceful as before.
I let go of him, sat on the sofa to watch TV, and let him shower and eat. It was already 7:30 when he went back
to his room and closed the door. I was furious. His stubbornness was just like mine. I went
over, knocked on the door, and said, "Liu Xiangsu, don't push your luck. I said I'd apply the liniment for you."
There was no response. I threatened, "You don't want me to apply it, huh? Then I'm going back to my room to sleep."
My son's hurried voice came from inside the room: "Hey, just come in, Mom, it's not locked."
I opened the door and saw my son, shirtless, lying on the bed playing on his phone. He quickly put down
his phone when he saw me and said, "Mom, can you put some liniment on me? My whole body aches so much, I don't want to go to the sofa, just
do it here." He moved a little further in, gesturing for me to sit on the edge of the bed. I sat down and looked at
the bruises on my son's back, which were more noticeable after his shower, and my heart ached. I picked up the liniment from the bedside, poured some into my hands
, rubbed it a few times, and gently placed my hands on my son's back, feeling the warmth emanating from his young body.
We chatted casually, just like the past few days. After I had applied
the liniment to all the areas, I was about to get up to wash my hands when my son said embarrassedly, "Mom, are there any areas I haven't covered?"
I asked, "Where?"
My son mumbled, "My butt, my butt hurts too." I sat down anxiously and pulled up my son's basketball shorts
by the waistband. Sure enough, there were bruises inside. My son was clearly surprised by my actions, and to be honest, I didn't understand
what I was doing either. But since I'd already seen it, I had to bite the bullet and say, "Take them off. Mom will put some liniment on them
. You're a grown man, why aren't you wearing underwear?"
My son said, "What? That's not a good idea."
I pretended to be angry and said, "You just told me, 'Tell Mom if you dare, then take your pants off.' Besides,
you're a piece of my flesh. I've seen you everywhere when you were little. Now that you're grown up, you're acting all shy and
hesitant." For some reason, as I said these words, I felt a little hopeful, but I
didn't know what I was hoping for.
My son hesitated for a moment and said, "Okay, then turn around and I'll take my pants off."
I laughed and said, "Okay, okay," then turned my head away. It felt like an eternity passed until my son told
me I'd taken off my pants. Only then did I turn back, looking at the muscles on his buttocks. I was somewhat dazed. I
applied some liniment and timidly rubbed it on the bruises on his buttocks, gently massaging it, eliciting comfortable gasps from him
. Looking at his buttocks, and following the groove downwards, I could see his testicles. Clearly, he was afraid I
'd see his embarrassing state, so after pulling down his pants, he used his body to cover his genitals. But his testicles were too big to cover,
so they were exposed. There were already some dark pubic hairs around them. Seeing this, I felt my mouth
go dry. I swallowed, feeling both happy and disappointed. Happy to see my son growing up so healthily, disappointed that
his most important part was covered up and I couldn't see it. "What am I thinking? How could I covet
my son?" I thought to myself, then pretended to be calm and finished the rubbing.
I told my son to put on his pants and go to bed as soon as possible. He said, "Mom, I'm used to sleeping naked. If you're not home,
I'll walk around naked even when I'm home. Mom, could you take my pants out and wash them tomorrow?" I picked up the basketball
shorts he'd thrown at the foot of the bed and slammed the door shut as if fleeing.
I think I must be crazy. I was actually disappointed that I couldn't see my son's penis. How could I be like this—
no, no, no, I just wanted to be a good mother, to understand my son's body better.
Being curious about his body isn't wrong.
Looking at the basketball shorts in my hands, I unconsciously brought them to my nose. A strong, fishy smell and
the scent of a young man hit me, pretty much what I'd imagined. My heart stirred. I rolled up the shorts and, sure
enough, saw a deep wet stain on the front. I knew it was my son, his swollen penis.
The semen was flowing out. I watched my son close his bedroom door, turn off the living room light, and then sneak back to my
room like a thief.
Lying on the bed, smelling the semen on my son's basketball shorts, I was bewildered. My son, why did you leak
so much semen? Did you miss me as much as I miss you—how could I have become such a despicable woman
? He is my son, my flesh and blood, we are mother and son—son, I miss you so much, I miss your thick
penis, I miss you on top of me, I miss you…
My reason was completely destroyed. I gently licked the semen on my son's long underwear with my tongue. It was salty, the taste
wasn't very good, but I liked it. I hunched over, my hand reaching down to my private area, which
had been overflowing ever since I saw my son's naked bottom. Why am I so lewd? Heavens, what kind of mother am I?
What kind of woman am I?
I took my son's basketball shorts and used the semen on them to wipe my erect penis and nipples.
Then I moved my fingers down, pressing against the soaked parts of his shorts, rubbing my overflowing area through the fabric.
My son's image appeared in my mind; my vaginal fluids had soaked his shorts, mixing with his semen
. My whole body stirred, as if my son were already inside me. Son, Mom is thinking
of you right now, so much. And you, are you thinking of Mom too? Ah—son…
—To be continued—

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[I Just Want to Be a Good Mother] (03) [Author: Not Han Han]

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