Rape of mother

Chapter One: Unforgettable Past

My sexual development has been quite strange. Strange perhaps because no one talks about it, making me feel like only
I am like this, I don't know. Therefore, I hope everyone will talk about their real experiences (perhaps
not everyone has, please don't fabricate). Anyway, online you don't need to use your real name, nor do you need to show your face or leave a message, just
pour your heart out. I also hope this issue can be discussed scientifically (don't feel ashamed while discussing it
, it's normal).

Just to clarify, if you want to get to know me, I'm welcome, and I won't refuse to meet you, but you must bring your
mother and proof of your mother-son relationship.

I'm sure I first had sexual fantasies about my mother before first grade. Because it's been so long,
I can't recall the exact age now, but it was very, very young.

I clearly remember, more than once, in my dreams, I loudly said to my mother, "Mom, I want to
take off your pants and touch you." Saying those words gave me a thrill of breaking taboos. Although I didn't know
the word "incest" then, I understood it was a very "vulgar" thing. To say vulgar things to my mother, whom I respected every day!

In my dream, my mother didn't say anything, so I unbuckled her belt, feeling a strange mix of pleasure,
mystery, and relief, and reached out to touch her genitals. The location was always her office or a nearby playground.

However, I had never seen an adult woman's private parts before, so I couldn't experience it in my dream.

This kind of dream only happened a few times. Other, more frequent childhood dreams involved running into a store, smashing the window to get
food, knowing I was dreaming. Or being chased by monsters.

I also had some homosexual dreams, usually involving handsome child stars from movies at the time, such as
Pan Dongzi from [a film/TV series] (most Chinese people around thirty years old should know him, right?). A few times I dreamt he was playing with my neighbor
's child—playing with his penis. I would go up to him and touch each other.

Even in junior high school, I imagined handsome men from comic books, including Lu Bu and
Zhao other handsome and powerful men from picture books like the Yang family generals, imagining them as my wives and male wives,
and us traveling together. Having these handsome and skilled men with me was, of course, very romantic. They
often fought over me, and I was always the mediator.

As for sex, it was still just fantasies of touching; I never even considered anal sex. Because I couldn't
get an erection .

I didn't know anything about these historically handsome young generals; my impressions came from comic book depictions. I then
feminized their personalities according to my own interpretation.

But regarding my Oedipus complex, I was quite strange. I only had such thoughts in my dreams at night;
they were almost nonexistent during the day. It wasn't that I was afraid to think about it, but rather that I simply didn't think about it, and sometimes the thought even made me feel nauseous.

I was only a few years old then, and had no moral compass. As for homosexuality, I almost never thought about it when I was awake. The only
time was in junior high school. But at that time, I didn't know that homosexuals could have anal sex, and my genitals weren't erect (I was under
fifteen). I remember once inviting a male classmate home to play; we stripped naked and played around on the bed, even rubbing
our buttocks together. But it was just curiosity, excitement, and fun; there was no sexual pleasure.

This makes me wonder if a person's sexual orientation is formed around age eleven or twelve.

Other sex-related things happened during my childhood, so this isn't a dream.

I often played with girls, playing games, one of which involved injections
. Once, I saw my sister and another girl her age exposing their breasts in front of a public restroom, using a
popsicle stick they'd picked up from the ground to stick into each other's nipples. My sister was very young then, I don't know exactly how young, but she was only three years older than me,
so she hadn't developed yet. When they saw me, they told me not to tell Mom. This shows they knew it was
shameful , but they still did it; I don't know what that felt like.

I really liked it when my sister touched my buttocks. I remember once during my afternoon nap, I pulled down my shorts and asked her to touch them
before I could fall asleep. It just felt very comfortable; I didn't have any sexual feelings. My sister always said it wasn't good, but she
still did it.

Later, until I grew up, my sister was always very kind to me. Once, when I was a teenager, I touched my sister's
breasts They felt very soft and comfortable, but I felt disgusted. Especially when I saw her smile at me.

I can't think of anything softer than a woman's breasts.

Until recently, some of my sister's letters still contained strong sexual advances. Once, when he
heard I published an article that caused a stir, he wrote, "...many young girls must be infatuated with you. Could
you send me some to see, so I can be infatuated too?" And so on, the list goes on. I felt uncomfortable reading them; I wonder
what my brother-in-law would think?

This is one of the reasons I firmly believe that incestuous desires are inherent in everyone!

I swear my sister is a beauty. If her wedding makeup photos were published, those
Miss and Miss Asia winners, if they had any self-awareness, would all want to eat shit.

But I'm just not sexually attracted to her, while my mother, though beautiful in her youth, has aged considerably since giving birth to me, and
I've always had a high sex drive for her. Isn't that strange?

The only difference between my mother and sister is: my mother is strict, rarely smiles, and protects her family; my sister is gentle and
always puts others before herself.

I've also played similar games with other girls. There was a girl a few years older than me who loved playing games with me. She
would stick a popsicle stick inside my foreskin, while I would insert it into her vagina. Then I would put on my pants,
casually walk around, and come back to remove it. Of course, it hurt a little. We
called this game "Doctor's Injection."

At that time, I didn't like the feeling of a girl's genitals because there was a lot of dirty water, which I thought was urine, but she said it was
water used to wash her bottom. I actually enjoyed giving her injections in her bottom, but I didn't think about it sexually;
the pleasure from the mystery.

Our parents both worked at the movie theater, and our activities took place there. Because employees' children
could come and go freely while outsiders couldn't, the theater was empty when there were no movies showing. There was a wall around the theater,
and between the wall and the theater, there was nothing but birds and weeds growing from the cracked cement.

We once had a teenage nanny at home; compared to me, she was an adult, a very grown-up. I don't remember
if it happened after my mother gave birth to my younger sister. I was quite handsome and quiet as a child, which might have given girls
more ideas. One time when no one was home, she took me to bed, put down the mosquito net, then took off her clothes and...
She stripped naked. Then she lay down and wanted me to press myself against her and suckle her breasts. I suckled twice and said there was no milk, it didn't
taste good. She then sat opposite me with her legs apart and tried to force my penis into her vagina. Of course, it wouldn't go in,
it didn't even touch, and it hurt my foreskin, so I didn't want to do it anymore (I regret it now).
At this moment , my mother came back and knocked on the door. She quickly got dressed and warned me not to tell anyone.

I really can't remember if I told anyone or not. Sometimes I think I didn't, sometimes I think I did.

It's been so long.

She probably didn't have any body hair at the time, because I don't remember. Back then, I felt strongly disgusted by anyone with body hair
, so if she did, I certainly wouldn't not remember. This is just logical reasoning, not memory.

Later, she went to work as a nanny for someone else. Once, I walked by and saw her carrying a child on her back, chopping vegetables.

She smiled and called me over, but remembering how she had pulled my penis, I immediately shook my head and ran away. Damn!

This incident shows the true nature of women. If a woman is cold and indifferent to you, it doesn't mean she's
uninterested in sex, but rather uninterested in you. Or she might just be pretending.

Sometimes when I read a poet's description of a pure and ethereal beauty, I feel sorry for the poet: she doesn't like you
! If a woman likes a man, she won't be like a fairy from another world, but like a prostitute,
even more cheap than a prostitute, someone you can have for free, and then be happy with.

When I was in my twenties, I went back to my hometown, hoping to find those women from back then to make up for my regrets, but
unfortunately , I couldn't find any. I didn't know how to find them, and actually, I was too embarrassed to.

There was also a woman in her twenties or thirties who often visited my house. One winter, she and
my mother were knitting and chatting. My feet were cold, so she told me to put them inside her clothes. I mischievously
kicked her breast, and she glared at me and gave me a warning. But I didn't listen and kicked it again, so she angrily
took my foot out. I remember there was a bit of sexual awareness involved in that, because I still remember feeling incredibly ashamed
at the time . Nothing else makes me ashamed.

When I was seven, my family moved from this small county town to the city, where I continued my second grade of elementary school. The only
age I clearly remember starts from this point.

The city is crowded and noisy, there are no quiet places, and the city kids never played those kinds of games. This continued
until I was a teenager. I believe that sexual attitudes in the countryside are much more open than in the city.

During these years, my parents' relationship deteriorated. My father had an affair, they argued, fought, and almost divorced.

My parents fighting is a terrifying thing for a child. I could only cry and tremble. They
would fight behind closed doors. There were shouts and noises inside. One moment I thought my father was dead, the next I thought my mother was dead
. I was almost driven crazy by fear.

They didn't divorce in the end for the sake of the children. Later, my father was transferred to work in another city and would come back to see us
once , sending some money. From then on, he disappeared from my life. My mother was left to raise the three of us sisters alone.

One night, I was sick and dizzy, and my mother asked me to sleep with her. I wasn't really
willing, because I couldn't stretch out when sleeping with my mother, but I didn't object.

When I lay down, my mother was setting up the mosquito net. Because I was dizzy, I closed my eyes. After a while, I felt
something strange in my lower body, so I opened my eyes and found my mother straddling my legs with her back to me. At the time, I was only wearing
thin shorts, and although my penis wasn't erect, its natural length and firmness pushed the shorts up about an inch
. My legs were together. My mother was wearing white briefs and a white tank top. She was squatting, one foot to my left
and the other to my right. Because I was sleeping on the outside, she straddled my legs and reached
under the mosquito net to keep mosquitoes out.

Her lower body brushed against my erect penis. When she looked back at me, I quickly closed my eyes,
but left a crack. I saw her look back at me, then look elsewhere, and then intentionally or unintentionally
rub her lower body against my penis again. Seeing that I didn't react, she boldly looked down at my genitals for about ten seconds before
turning off the light and going to sleep. I wasn't an adult then.

I didn't feel any sexual desire for my mother's actions; instead, I felt disgusted. Looking back now, I think
I was a really strange person. Because I remember that before my father passed away, I often slept between them.
Once I suddenly had desire again, not in a dream, but in reality. I reached out and touched my mother's thigh.

My mother moved, so I stopped, then gently stroked it again, and then deliberately moved
closer . When I touched my mother's genitals through her underwear, she flinched. I was startled, but soon
I touched her thigh again, slowly moving upwards, and my mother flinched again. This time I didn't dare to move anymore, because I
had thought my mother was asleep and that's why I dared to do this; now it seemed she was probably not asleep. So I shouted that I needed to pee, and
my parents turned on the light. I heard my mother tell my father that I was naughty in my sleep. I pretended not to understand, but I
was mortified . Of course, I never dared to do it again after that. Back then, I couldn't get an erection and didn't understand sex, but that action
carried a genuine sexual awareness.

Now, when my mother touches me, I feel disgusted. Isn't that strange? If I had been
as , would we have had sex? At that time, our education made
me think sex was shameful, and incest was something I'd never even heard of, let alone considered.

By around twenty, I had lost all interest in homosexuality, but my Oedipus complex had intensified. At first, I
would secretly imagine having an unusual relationship with my mother, but when I actually saw certain parts of her body, I felt disgusted
(because they weren't attractive). Later, it became unconditional liking.

Wherever I worked, my mother always followed me. I often annoyed her, and arguments were common, but she just
followed me. I often secretly wrote articles about incest between mother and son. There was no internet then; after writing them, I would hide them for a while,
and after calming down, I would regret it and burn them immediately. But as soon as I turned around and saw my mother, I would be angry again. Actually, when I wrote
those things, I wasn't thinking about my mother herself, but rather another
woman—a voluptuous woman in her thirties or forties with a beautiful face—who didn't even exist.

I've analyzed my incestuous psychology and discovered that I wasn't truly sexually attracted to my mother. More than anything,
it was a resentment and resistance to societal oppression. I've always lived in a place that suppresses humanity, and I deeply despise a certain
organization. This shameless thing calls itself the mother of the people, and I think the best way to deal with it is to have us
incest enthusiasts rape this slut who calls herself the mother of the nation. Because, in the decades it has ruled the country…
It has mentally raped the entire nation countless times!

Of course, there are those who are raped by it while cheering it on. These people are either born prostitutes
or mentally challenged, so I won't bother mentioning them.

As for fellow enthusiasts elsewhere, I believe they are also the result of too much repression, just not as intense as I am.

Easterners are subject to far stronger moral constraints than Westerners (fuck Confucius!),
and Chinese creativity is far inferior to that of Westerners. Therefore, for the strength of the nation and the people, let's commit incest!

Incest is considered the highest form of incest, the ultimate anti-traditional and anti-moral act. I am
sexually attracted , but sexual acts between mother and son bring a strong sense of pleasure from breaking free of mental shackles and shattering all moral constraints,
a liberation of thought. While morality is essential for social stability, its control over thought is extremely harmful.

I suggest that everyone adhere to moral principles in their actions, but have no scruples in their thoughts.

The taboos regarding mother-son incest or other incestuous acts stem from only two points. One is sociology, the other is
biology. Sociological issues are easily resolved; mutual consent and secrecy are all that's needed.

Biologically, we all know that thoroughbred horses are inbred. While this breeding method might lead to harmful
genes meeting and causing genetic diseases, it could also result in superior genes meeting and making offspring even better—
it has its advantages and disadvantages. If you can't handle the shock of having a freak, you can simply not have children.

Society is progressing; there's no need to cling to outdated morals and laws. If you're powerless
to fight against the law and public opinion, just do it secretly with a clear conscience.

I really can't think of any reason to treat incest as a monstrous threat.

My view is that if you and your mother or other relatives are mutually attracted, and she (he) agrees,
then go ahead and have sex! It's practically an ideal situation! If you invite me to visit, I'll be so grateful I'd
kneel down and kiss your feet.

Now, back to myself.

Chapter Two: How Many Regrets Did My Mother Give Me?

In the days that followed, some things happened between my mother and me. I can't quite
recall , so I'll just use a certain day as an example. I'll write down everything I remember.

One summer, my mother said a thorn had gotten into her clothes and embedded itself in her flesh, and asked me to help her find it. I
wasn't , and I wasn't keen on helping my mother, but I did it anyway.

The thorn really was there, and it was very small, about a millimeter, mostly embedded in her flesh; you wouldn't find it unless you looked closely.

My mother couldn't have found it herself, because it was right in her blind spot, below her neck and at the collar. To
make it easier, my mother changed positions a few times, tilting her head back and lying on the bed, while I pulled open her tank top,
revealing her breasts without a bra.

My mother's breasts weren't pretty, a bit flat and sagging, but very white and tender, and her nipples weren't the black I disliked,
but brown, only slightly larger than a fist. With her face tilted back, I could feel her warm breath on my lower abdomen, and I felt a surge of desire.

When I was twenty-one, I was lucky enough to find a job in a very wealthy and open city, and my mother came with me
. For the first time, I had enough money to buy adult videos on the street.

This was perhaps a misfortune for me. After watching a pornographic film for the first time, I also
ejaculated while fully conscious for the first time in my life. After that, masturbation became uncontrollable, and I developed a strong interest in women.

One day, while helping my mother serve dishes, I masturbated frantically, ejaculating into a dish before taking it out.

I kept my eyes fixed on the door, believing my mother hadn't noticed. But what happened later made me suspect she had noticed.

Because she didn't touch that dish at all! Why?! I was terrified!

Another time, I was masturbating on the bed with the bedroom door wide open. I had checked beforehand; the room lights were off, and the living room
light shone brightly through the mosquito net, obscuring the view inside. Then my mother walked past my doorway. I boldly knelt on the bed,
pointing my penis at her.

She looked inside, stopped, and then came in. I was terrified again. I quickly stopped.

My mother came to my bedside and softly asked if I was feeling unwell, then lifted the mosquito net. I was completely naked and hurriedly said,
"No, no,"

clutching the opening of the mosquito net tightly. She tried to lift the mosquito net from another angle, but I got impatient and
loudly
refused in a very irritated tone , and my mother finally left. A while later, I got up and looked outside again, only to find that I could vaguely see inside the net from the doorway! Good heavens! What was going on? Why
couldn't I see anything when I stood outside looking earlier? Was some divine intervention at work? What would have happened if I had let my mother lift the mosquito net then? Why
did I want it so badly, but back down at the last minute when it was about to happen?

Another day, I felt unwell and lay on the sofa. My mother came over and asked me what was wrong, then offered to massage me, which
I agreed to. She knew a little about medicine and massaged me very carefully. When she massaged my groin, she probably saw
my erect penis under my shorts, then suddenly stopped, turned around, and left without saying a word.

If my mother rubbing my penis with her genitals that night when I was a teenager made me realize she was interested in me, then this time,
when she massaged me and saw my erection, she should have known I was interested in her too.

But we dragged this out until I finally got my first girlfriend.

This girlfriend was hard-won, and I owed it all to my close friends from high school.

My mother's teachings from a young age instilled in me the belief that staring at women was lecherous, flirting with girls was immoral
, dating was frivolous, and harassing women was utterly heinous.

For example, one day my sister mentioned that a man at her workplace often stared at her, and my mother exclaimed in disgust, "
Shameless !" Growing up surrounded by this kind of influence, my mating instincts, though developed, were suppressed
. Like a seedling growing under a giant rock, I struggled to grow, desperately yearning for sunlight and rain.

My older and younger sisters received the same education, but the damage wasn't as severe as mine. They could easily remain demure and
reserved, and boys would still pursue them. Their ladylike demeanor only
increased .

But I was doomed!

Whenever I saw a girl I liked, I seemed to lose the ability to speak, falling silent. When I wanted to pursue
or express my love, my mother's shadow haunted me, preventing me from uttering a thousand words and rendering my
limbs .

While I was alone, diligently studying and working, my friends were involved with countless women. Yet they
had no money. I, on the other hand, had accumulated some savings after years of hard work. And so, I found myself back with them.

These old classmates all distanced themselves from me back in school because of my mother. Whenever
they came to visit, my mother would call them little hooligans. And whenever I caused trouble at school and was asked to see my parents,
my mother would blame it all on my best friends, and they still harbor resentment to this day.

"Hey, does your mom still care about you? If you're with us, she won't come knocking on your door again
, will she?" This was the first thing these long-lost friends asked when we got together.

I impatiently interrupted them, telling them I was different now. They were skeptical, but I quickly
proved them wrong.

I never dreamed they'd slept with so many women during the years I spent sitting in an office like a hermit.

When they talked about women at the dinner table, I thought they were just bragging, and I looked at them with disdain and mockery.

They quickly proved them wrong too. At the second gathering, each of them brought a respectable woman they didn't know
, and by our fifth gathering, more than half the women had already slept with them.

I felt a strange sadness and resentment. At the time, I wasn't thinking about how many women I wanted to sleep with; I just thought that I was far superior to these
guys in terms of looks, figure, education, and income, yet I couldn't even find a wife!

One of my friends noticed my distress and expressed sympathy. One day, after drinking, he said,
"Ah Xun is treating, we're going to play around with women, haha." Everyone probably felt sorry for me. At the
next gathering, they introduced me to a girlfriend.

Before that, they taught me a lot about playing around with women: "You think too highly of women, that
won't . You have to see every woman as a prostitute!"

"Be cool, don't act like a pedant!"

"We'll brag for you, don't look down on us, women are stupid, they have no judgment. If others say
it's good, they think it's good. One compliment from us is worth a year of your education."

"A woman is only considered 'successful' if you sleep with her, otherwise you'll always fail!"

These golden words still make me grateful to this day! I was skeptical at the time, and even argued with
them .

One friend impatiently said, "You think you're so innocent? So high and mighty? I used to be
just like you, didn't I? I almost committed suicide!"

I knew this; he had once chased a girl all the way to her hometown, only to end up penniless and
homeless , when he saw her walking out of a dance hall with another man. He was furious, beat the man up
, and was arrested by the police. It was only thanks to his friends' intervention that he was rescued.

Now, he's slept with a whole platoon of women, including nurses, doctors, respected female teachers, and
enviable female college students.

Hearing his story, I felt like my heart was being cut by a knife: "Women, are you really that despicable?!"

Finally, my friends told me, "Believe it or not, do as we say!"

As a result, in less than a week, I slept with that girl, finally releasing years of pent-up
depression!

This was my first girlfriend, and I cherished her dearly. She was also very attached to me. However, our relationship was met with
unanimous opposition from my mother and friends! This was the first time my mother and the "hooligans" in her eyes had stood on the same side.

My mother expressed extreme disgust for my girlfriend for two reasons. First, the girl's family wasn't wealthy,
and her parents weren't from the intellectual class, so we weren't a good match. Second, my mother didn't think she was a good girl; she
knew she had a relationship with me. When my mother raised her first objection, I said, "She's been... you know... you
know..." hoping to salvage the situation, and that's when my mother found out. But she didn't see the girl as making a sacrifice; instead, she
thought she was immoral.

My friends' reasons for objecting were quite different. They said, "Really? You're already done with your first one?"

"Yesterday I said you were smart, that you'd learn quickly, but you're a fucking idiot."

"I thought you'd won her over, but it seems she's won you over."

My girlfriend and I went home together, and my mother gave her a hard time. My friends were also causing trouble. They were busy
introducing me to another girl while simultaneously trying to stop us from continuing our relationship. Their method was simple: at every gathering, if I tried to call my girlfriend out, they'd jokingly accuse me of breaking
the rules and report me! They'd snatch me away, or
declare beforehand, "If she comes, we leave; it's either her or me."

What man doesn't want to sleep with multiple women? I'm a man too, and I was drawn to my friends' suggestions,
though I doubted my own abilities. After all, the shadows accumulated over the years weren't easy to erase. Once I
got on track with another girl, I slowly forgot about the first one.

My friends painted a grand picture of my womanizing plans: after sleeping with ordinary women, they wanted to introduce me to middle-aged
women , married women, middle school girls, etc., and first, let me sleep with all the women they'd been with. I
was ecstatic!

But things didn't go as smoothly as I'd imagined. Of my group of friends, two soon went to
do business ; another suddenly lost his parents in a car accident, and unfortunately, being a filial son, he was devastated; the remaining
one had an affair with the daughter of a deputy director of the Public Security Bureau, resulting in a conviction for indecent assault and imprisonment, and we all
broke up .

Despite having ample experience with women and proper theoretical guidance, lacking the help of friends, I still couldn't
go it alone and slowly reverted to my old ways. My second girlfriend ended the relationship before we even slept together. My first
girlfriend married someone from another city and left.

Chapter Three: Kissing away her longing, her lustful desires, comforting her lonely vagina,

life became empty and boring again. At this time, I had been working in my hometown for a year because the company opened a branch there.

One day, I was sitting bored in front of the computer playing games, smoking, and propping one foot up on the stool.

My mother came over and told me to smoke less, which was normal. I ignored her, which was also normal.

But when she came over for the fifth time to repeat it, it became very abnormal.

I hadn't even glanced at her before, just focused on my game. The fifth time I looked at her, she quickly looked
away and walked off. But I'd already caught her gaze. Looking down, I realized my shorts were too
loose; with one leg up on the stool, the leg had slipped down, exposing half my buttocks and testicles.

I was instantly incredibly embarrassed and wanted to curse. That

afternoon, I was watching TV and unconsciously put my feet up on the sofa again, then fell asleep. My mother had gone out to buy groceries,
and when I woke up, she was back. As soon as I opened my eyes, I found her squatting beside my feet, organizing the things she'd just bought.

There used to be a flower stand and a few old shoes there, but my mother had never done anything there; the shoes were covered in
a thick layer of dust.

Thinking about what happened that morning, I glanced down at my pants. There was a gap, and one foot was propped up on the coffee table
, spread wide. I reached out and touched it, but before I got very far, I touched a cold bird's egg.

My mother's unusual expression confirmed my suspicion. Her gaze was unfocused; she didn't dare look at me and hurried
away.

I thought for a moment, then pretended to be asleep again. My mother actually squatted down at my feet, bending down to tidy things up! Her head was so low,
lower than the sofa armrest. She looked up after a while, glanced at the door behind me, and gave me a quick look, but I still pretended to be asleep.

Then, my mother slowly lowered her head until her eyes were level with the sofa armrest, and began to
look, intentionally or unintentionally, into my pants. A thought struck me, and I started to snore softly.

In an instant, my mother's expression completely changed. From nonchalant to extremely focused, from peeking out of the corner of her eye to staring
intently .

For the first time in my life, I saw my mother look at me with such almost greedy eyes—an unforgettable experience!

The evasiveness of the past had become a stark reality!

From that day forward, I made an astonishing decision.

Back then, there were no computers or the internet. The computer I used required inserting and
removing . Games were nothing more than long, serpentine programs written in basic programming. Incestuous
literature online was unheard of.

I felt alone, burdened by a deep sense of guilt. The only thing that sustained me was Freud's theories
of psychology . During that time, I actually read quite a few psychology books.

My mother also loved to read. She usually read biographies of famous figures from ancient and modern times, both Chinese and foreign. She would often sit under the lamp, wearing her reading glasses, reading late into the night.
I once saw one of her books; the margins were filled with philosophical maxims, yet she seemed to take days to finish even
a single page . She usually gave the impression of a scholar, with noble manners and commanding respect.

You can imagine why it gave me such
a strong !

Because the contrast was too great!

One day, I deliberately showed the book to my mother. She said she wasn't interested. I insisted repeatedly, and she agreed to
look, but seeing how reluctant she seemed, I knew she wouldn't take it seriously.

Later, I found out she really hadn't looked, so I took the book back and said, "The author of this book is strange;
he thinks incest is normal." My mother looked up, her gaze passing over the top of her reading glasses, and said, "I haven't
read it yet." I said, "I thought you'd finished it. Do you still want to read it?" She said, "
Have you finished it?" I said I had, and she said, "Then leave it here; I'll read it when I have time."

The next day, I found out that my mother had already read the book.

I don't know what she thought after reading it; outwardly, there wasn't much change. Or rather, not
the kind of . However, she seemed to be much nicer to me.

During this time, I seemed to focus all my energy on my mother. Sometimes I really don't know what's wrong with me
!

About two days later, I asked my mother if she had finished reading it, and she was unusually vague.

"What?" I asked.

"Finished, a little," she finally managed to say, her gaze darting around.

I took the book and examined it carefully, and sure enough, I found a sentence she had underlined. I don't remember the details,
but it was something like "Every child secretly loves their mother." Then, while she was around, I wrote something in the book. She asked
me what I was reading, and I answered, then marked the book and put it somewhere on the bookshelf.

What I wrote was: At least that's how I feel.

It was right next to the sentence my mother had underlined.

When I came home from work, I immediately noticed the book had been moved. But unfortunately, my mother hadn't added anything else.

However, my usually serious mother gave me several rare smiles that night. I had never seen
my mother with that expression before, and I was at a loss for words. It wasn't until the next day that I managed to regain my composure and smile back.

There were many similar incidents afterward, which I don't want to describe in detail, but a few major breakthroughs are worth
mentioning.

I watched pornographic videos late at night, deliberately letting my mother see me. Then I taught her how to use a VCR, and she borrowed some
science popularization videos from me. Soon, I discovered that the marked pornographic tapes had been tampered with.

I started wearing underwear at home, and soon my mother was also often seen walking around the house in just her underwear. Her figure wasn't great,
and occasionally I felt a little annoyed. So I encouraged my mother to do aerobics; she initially said it was boring, but a month later
I found out she was already participating.

I asked my mother to demonstrate rhythmic gymnastics for me, and she agreed, doing some movements in a high-slit aerobics outfit.

Although I tried to restrain myself, I quickly became erect. My mother saw this and left.

I also invited my mother to the movies, and she went. Soon after, it was her birthday, and I bought her a gift and flowers, which made her
very happy. Her expression was different from anything I had ever seen before.

My mother started acting like a woman, not the strong woman she used to be; her voice became much gentler.

When she was doing laundry, I would give her a pair of underwear separately and ask her to wash it for me; she washed it very clean.

I wrote in my diary: I love seeing her in aerobics and cheongsams. The diary also contained
some of erotic dreams, recorded in a very subtle style. Many of them were about my mother.

The diary was on the table, and I found it had been touched.

On the third day, my mother wore a cheongsam, and I said it looked very beautiful, extremely beautiful. My mother started doing aerobics at home
, and I would come out to watch every time.

She would watch the instructional video on TV, doing the movements, while I sat on the sofa watching. She would turn around and ask me if I was doing it
correctly , and I would deliberately let her notice that I was looking at her private parts.

I pointed out that she wasn't lifting her legs high enough, and went up to help her lift her thighs a little higher. Seeing that she was wearing long stockings, I
said that it wasn't good for her skin to breathe. She didn't wear them the next day.

I immediately bought her a new leotard, but she said it was a swimsuit, but she wore it anyway.

I frantically collected information about incest, cutting and pasting it into my notebook. Some were borrowed from the library;
I photocopied some, but I didn't want to spend too much money on photocopying, so I just copied some. Soon, I
added my own opinions to real examples and critical investigations, mixing the truth with falsehood.

I wrote: "According to research by American scientists, humans have an incestuous nature. Scientists believe that
incest is unacceptable from the perspective of eugenics, but it is acceptable from the perspective of love..."

Of course, I put it on my desk so that my mother could see it.

One afternoon in July 1996, my mother was doing aerobics in the swimsuit I had bought her, while I
sat on the sofa watching, wearing tight underwear. Her figure was much better than before.

During this time, I had the experience of touching the top of her thighs and had even danced with her a few times, each time
ending in laughter. My mother had completely become a woman.

When she asked me to help her stretch her legs again, I found her posture very alluring today.

My mother supported herself with her hands on the ground, one leg kneeling, the other leg stretched straight back and raised, asking me to help her lift it higher.

I saw a brownish indentation around the outside of her labia majora at the narrow crotch of her underwear, with a few pubic hairs on it.

I lifted her thigh and tried rubbing my swollen penis against her leg; she didn't seem to notice. I squatted
down, my knees touching her genitals. Her body contracted slightly, then relaxed, and she immediately asked, "Is
this right ?"

I said, "Almost there. Can you go a little higher?" She said, "Try it."

I held her knees with one hand and slid the other down her thighs to her buttocks.

After a while, my mother stood up, panting, saying she was tired. I told her to change positions, and she asked what. I
stood front of her, leaning back until my hands were on the ground. My penis was bulging under my underwear, pointing at her.

Then I said, "Oh dear, I can't stand up." My mother laughed and helped me up, my penis pressed tightly against
her lower abdomen. After we got up, I held her, panting, and said my back almost broke. My mother just laughed.

Then I helped my mother and asked her to do the same. My mother laughed and said she was old and her back was stiff, so she couldn't do it.

I told her she was very young and that I was there to protect her. With my support, my mother slowly leaned back.

My mother's thighs were spread wide, our genitals pressed together through two thin layers of fabric.

Before my hands even touched the ground, she said she couldn't take it anymore and asked me to help her up. I jokingly refused, and she
struggled to get up on her own, but she wasn't strong enough, causing our genitals to rub together.

After I picked her up, she felt dizzy and leaned against me. At this moment, I became excited and boldly touched her
buttocks . After touching her, she said she was fine there, but her lower back was a little sore, and she asked me to massage it for her. I felt a little guilty,
so I moved my hands up to her.

After massaging for a while, she said it was okay and got up and walked away. When she turned around, I saw that her crotch was wet
.

The next morning, I put the underwear stained with semen on the bed, and my mother took it to wash.

After work in the afternoon, I asked my mother to teach me aerobics, and she agreed, carefully avoiding looking at my genitals.

I also did her provocative move, and I believe my testicles had already pushed open a crack in my underwear; I wonder how much my mother
saw.

We did the backbend exercise again, and I was so excited that I asked my mother to dance.
As usual said she didn't know how, but I still said, "I'll teach you," and hugged her.

It was getting dark, and we didn't turn on the lights, only the fluorescent light from the TV illuminated the room.

Then I asked my mother to do a cheek-to-cheek dance. Of course, I didn't say the words "cheek-to-cheek dance," but simply asked her to
put her arms around my neck instead. My mother said, "That's fine." I insisted, letting go of her
and putting my arms around her waist. She had to put her hands on my shoulders, and I pushed her hands to my neck before she would hug me.

After dancing for a while, I touched my mother's buttocks, slipping my fingers under her crotch and finding it wet and slippery. Then
my mother said, "Can you massage my back? It's a little swollen." Learning from yesterday's experience, I said, "Let me help you unblock
the meridians in your back." My mother said, "Okay, do you know how?" I said, "Of course I do." Then
I touched her from her shoulders to her buttocks.

"This is the Mingmen point, the coccyx, the perineum," I said, touching down, my hand finding a sticky, slippery substance
. I felt myself losing control and kissed her. My mother smiled and dodged. Suddenly, I slipped my hand under her swimsuit at the hip and
touched her buttocks. My mother glanced at me and pulled away to the right, but I still touched her genitals, wet and sticky
.

"Don't do this," my mother whispered, pushing me away.

I refused to pull out, and she pushed harder and harder, almost to the point of a fight, before I finally withdrew.

My mother hugged my neck again, and I slipped my hand into her crotch again, this time touching her genitals directly.
My mother warned me again in a low voice, "Stop it, just dance properly," pushing my hand away again.

We continued dancing, and I kept kissing my mother, who would occasionally flinch. I also kept touching her buttocks,
pulling her blouse up between her buttocks, touching her buttocks directly.

My mother didn't object to me touching her bottom anymore, but when my hand reached down again, she would suddenly stop,
look at me, and only continue dancing with me after I took my hand out. I wanted to put my tongue in her mouth, but her lips
were tightly closed, dodging me.

After a while, I stopped, feeling deflated. My mother asked, "Not dancing anymore?" I stubbornly refused to answer, and she said,
"Then Mom will go cook." Seeing that I didn't react, my mother went back to her room to change and then went to the kitchen.

The next day, I was absent-minded all day. When I came home from work, I saw that my mother wasn't doing aerobics, and I felt
all the anger I had been holding in all day dissipate. I sat on the sofa without saying a word. My mother asked if I wasn't feeling well, and I asked her
why she hadn't done the exercises that day. She said she felt very tired and didn't want to move.

After dinner, I went downstairs for a walk to clear my mind. A little girl kept pestering me to buy her flowers, so I
bought a red rose and brought it back to my mother. My mother was very happy to receive the flower, and soon went back to her room, changed into her swimsuit, and came out
to do aerobics.

After a few jumps, I went up and hugged her, without saying anything about dancing, just holding her close. My mother looked at me and smiled,
"What's wrong?" I pressed her head into my arms, not letting her look at me. After a while, seeing that I wasn't speaking, she pulled away
to look at me again, and I said, "Let's dance." Then I put on some music and turned off the lights.

We hugged silently, swaying to the music for a while, and then I started kissing my mother and touching her buttocks, which she didn't
object to . I tentatively touched her crotch, but it was still dry. Seeing that she didn't react, I boldly used my fingers to lift
the cloth covering her buttocks and touched inside. My mother's labia were also dry, but when I touched the middle, I found that the two labia were
full of nectar, which immediately seeped out along my middle finger.

At this moment, my mother raised her head, her face stern, and said, "Don't touch Mom there." Fortunately, her tone wasn't very harsh.

After a few more attempts to push me away, my mother didn't refuse to let me touch her vulva anymore, but just hugged me tightly,
rubbing her face against my shoulder and neck.

After touching her for a while, I carried my mother to the sofa. She sensed something was about to happen and resisted. I don't remember
what I said, probably something like "I love you."

In the struggle, my mother gasped, "Your clothes are torn!"

I said, "It's okay, I'll buy another one." I

then pushed up the swimsuit with the torn crotch, and

after much coaxing, I finally managed to take it off. Once naked, I pulled down my underwear, exposing my penis. This was obviously very uncomfortable, but I didn't dare
get up . If I relaxed even slightly, my mother would run away.

So I pressed myself against her, gently prying her legs apart with my own while trying to persuade her. My mother whispered, "No.
" "Be good, you can't do this." "No, no." Finally, it became, "Mom isn't feeling well,
can we do it tomorrow?"

I said things like, "I really want to… please… give it to me… I love you…" the kind of nonsense women love to hear,
exploring with the head of my penis. My mother struggled, twisting her hips, trying to stop me from entering. This was
almost . I wonder if other women are like this too?

"Mom, just put it in for a little while, please…"

I said, and my mother seemed to cry, whimpering and stopping, which meant she was consenting. I immediately found the entrance,
inserted my penis into my mother's warm body, and completed our first intercourse.

The pleasure of ejaculation was indescribable. Afterwards, I lay down, and my mother kept muttering curses at me, saying she wanted to
die. It wasn't until I had a second erection and pressed myself against her that she opened her lower mouth and closed her upper one.

The second time, we made love for a long time. I occasionally thrust in and out, but spent most of the time kissing her and talking to her. I told her all
the times seen her spying on me, but she denied it all, saying I was making things up, that it was all nonsense, and so on.

I didn't argue with her, instead telling lies that I'd loved my mother since I was little—lies that women like to hear. I waited until she
felt a sweet warmth in her heart before slowly taking advantage of her.

At this point, my mother stopped talking and let me do as I pleased. I carried her to her bed and made love to her for half an hour. She closed her eyes
and hummed softly. When I ejaculated, she held me tightly, making soft moaning sounds, her buttocks arching repeatedly
until I squeezed all my semen into her vagina.

When I woke up in the morning, I couldn't believe it was real; it felt like a dream.

I kissed my mother awake, constantly asking myself: Is this real? Was I really touching my mother's breasts? Was I really
touching her genitals?

My mother opened her eyes, looking confused, thoughtful, and perhaps a little worried.

"Mom, you're still not awake?" I asked her. She smiled, looked at me, and stroked my forehead.

I rolled over and pressed myself against her, kissing her.

Our kiss was awkward, our teeth occasionally clashing, our tongues flicking haphazardly. Later, my mother wisely
took a passive stance, reducing the impact.

My mother closed her eyes, her body rising and falling beneath me, occasionally taking deep breaths, as if trying to calm herself down.

I want to clarify the difference between having sex with my mother and with my girlfriend. I suspect everyone has a gene that rejects
incest , because every time I hold my mother and smell her scent, I have a feeling
that it eliminates my desire for her. An incestuous person, however, will experience another force resisting this. For
me, this force is forbidden pleasure. It's far stronger than the first force.

While showering, my mother and I had sex again, but I didn't ejaculate.

When I came home that evening, my mother was doing aerobics again. I took off my clothes and sat on the sofa to watch. She turned around
, was quite surprised to find me naked, and scolded me.

I laughed and went to take off her clothes, but she refused, saying I was vulgar, but finally let me. We
had sex on the sofa, and then went to the bedroom. After ejaculating, I lay weakly on the bed, and my mother held me, carefully touching my
body .

A week later, our sexual relationship normalized, and we had sex once or twice a day.

Every day when I came home, my mother would open the door for me, put my things down, take off her clothes, and then immediately hug me. I would ask her,
"Did you miss me?" She would nod, and then we would go to bed and make love. We were newlyweds, inseparable.

Then one Sunday, I took my mother to the street, saying I wanted to buy her something. When we arrived at the jewelry store,
my mother refused to go in, but after my persuasion and the shop assistant's invitation, she finally went in.

I wanted to buy her a ring, but she was very uneasy. When I asked if it was okay, she always said, "You decide."

When I was about to pay, she started haggling with the shop assistant, her attitude quite unfriendly. Luckily, the shop assistant didn't mind, but thanks to
her, we actually saved several hundred yuan.

When we got home, I put my arm around my mother and sat her on the sofa. I took out the ring, and she immediately became shy. Another
thing that impressed me was my mother's changed posture. In the past, like many middle-aged women, she would sit with
her thighs slightly crossed, her body straight, and her hands at her sides. But today, she lowered her head slightly, her legs together, and
her hands folded on her knees. What touched me even more was that her calves were together and slightly tilted to the right, while her upper body leaned to the left towards me,
showing endless tenderness and consideration.

This body language reflected my mother's inner world; she had completely regarded me as her support, which was more powerful than
a thousand words . At this moment, she was no longer
the mother who used to sit upright, never smiled, and would scold me with a stern face. She had completely become my new wife.

Especially when I held her hand and placed the ring on her
fingers, roughened by years of hard work but still long and slender, words could not describe the expression on her face.

My heart was pounding!

I haven't explained the meaning of that ring then, or even to this day, but we both understood. At least
we both thought of it that way: it was our engagement ring.

Afterwards, my mother and I went to the bedroom and had sex. It was the most enjoyable and smooth
sex . With a gentle pull, my mother stood up gracefully, her lightness like that of a vibrant young girl. We
walked arm in arm to the bedroom, exchanging knowing smiles.

At the door, my mother paused, closed the door, and then came to the bed with me, embracing and kissing.

I unbuttoned her cheongsam and found she had changed into new underwear, which I didn't know when she had bought. Before, my mother
had always made her own underwear from old fabric. I not only saw the new underwear but also felt my mother's emotions. The lingerie wasn't particularly
sexy; what was sexy was my mother's heart: Son, I belong to you now.

My mother smiled shyly, and we kissed again. Her lingerie fluttered down like leaves in the wind, while
I remained impeccably dressed in my suit. When I saw myself in the mirror, impeccably dressed, holding my naked mother in my arms,
caressing her until she gasped, I felt an immense excitement.

Heh, it was like a client playing with a prostitute.

My mother closed her eyes, enjoying my caresses and kisses, completely unaware that in her son's heart she was being
treated .

This was the result of my friends' teachings.

However, I didn't actually see my mother as a prostitute; it was just a thrilling thought. I believed that
even if my mother knew my true feelings, she would forgive me.

After touching her for a while, my mother straightened up, smiled at me, and gently untied my tie and removed my
shirt. Then, seemingly embarrassed to take off my pants, she hugged me again, pressing her breasts against my chest.

I put one leg on the bed, draped one of my mother's thighs over mine, wrapped my arms around her waist, kissed her, and rubbed
her vulva.

My mother opened her eyes and whispered, "You've dirtied the bed." I smiled, not caring at all.

After all, it wasn't me who washed the sheets, but my mother, so she cared more than I did.

My mother took her leg down, knelt down to untie my shoelaces, took off my shoes, then stood up, wrapped her arms around my waist, and
pressed her face against my chest.

It's worth mentioning that when my mother knelt naked in front of me to take off my shoes, I felt a strong sense of pleasure!

Her kneeling posture seemed to tell me: Son, you have conquered me.

Perhaps it was that ring worth over three thousand yuan that was working? I thought: actually, there's not
much difference between a mother and a prostitute, except the initial fee is higher, but afterwards you don't have to pay. Comparatively speaking, paying for a mother's services is more cost-effective than
paying for a prostitute. Of course, this thought was just for excitement, nothing more.

After taking off my shoes, my mother and I went to the bed hand in hand and knelt facing each other. I ran my hand along my belt a few times,
looked at my mother, and she understood what I meant, smiling as she loosened my belt for me. Then I knelt a little higher, and she pulled my pants
down to my thighs. I sat down and crossed my legs, and my mother took off my pants and carefully placed them on the stool beside the bed,
instead of throwing her underwear all over the floor like I did.

At this point, I was still wearing my underwear, but my mother didn't move, kneeling there, looking down at the bed. I went up and hugged
her and kissed her. Her hands caressed my body under my arms, and then, finally, she began to take off my underwear.

I lay down and reached out to pull my mother onto me, but this time she didn't understand.
She lay on her side next to me, so I turned over, and she turned and lay on her back. As I pressed down, she spread her
legs . Everything was perfectly coordinated.

My glans was wet and slippery, making it easy to slip into my mother's vagina.

This was the first time we made love in bright light. My mother kept her eyes tightly closed, not daring to look at me, her thighs wrapped around
my waist, her hands tightly around my neck. I used a nine-shallow-one-deep method to penetrate her. Occasionally, she would open her mouth and
exhale silently.

After all, I was her child, and our reproductive organs were very compatible. My mother's vagina and my
penis were almost the same length. When I inserted it to the hilt, with a little more force, I reached her clitoris. If
I thrust in too hard, my mother's body would involuntarily tremble.

She was taking deep breaths, seemingly trying to suppress the pleasure. I gently patted her, signaling her to relax.

During ejaculation, my mother's whole body tensed, clinging tightly to me until a minute after I finished, at which point she relaxed.

As she held me tightly, her vagina contracted rhythmically with her panting breaths.

At dinner, we were very close. We didn't say much, just smiled at each other from time to time. In all my life,
I'd never seen my mother smile so much.

After that, we shared a bed for a year, and I estimate I ejaculated a whole bucket of
semen .

For a while, she stopped bodybuilding, seeming lazy and prone to being coquettish. At my urging,
she resumed exercising, and her figure improved significantly. Of course, she couldn't compare to a teenage girl, but compared to her peers, even those
twenty years younger, she was quite good. I often bought my mother high-end shower gel and skincare products, keeping her
skin smooth and supple. She also took great care of herself, even wearing gloves when washing vegetables.

The only drawback was that my mother's breasts just wouldn't grow bigger.

The first time I gave my mother oral sex was at night. I was already in bed while she went to take a shower. After she finished, she got into bed wrapped in a towel
. Suddenly, I had a whim, pushed her down, spread her legs, and buried my face in her. My mother was startled, thinking I was going to bite her
there , and let out a cry of "Ouch!" But after I licked her, she became extremely excited, producing a lot of fluid, which had a slightly fishy smell, but
it was still bearable.

Later, I asked my mother to lick my penis. She didn't want to refuse, but seemed reluctant, licking it a few times. I
felt that forcing it wouldn't bring happiness, and it didn't feel good, so I said, "Forget it, if you don't want to lick, then don't." My mother hesitated and
asked me, "Will you kiss me after you're done licking?" I said, "Of course!" It turned out she was afraid I would find her dirty.

My mother then confidently gave me oral sex. After a while, to prove myself, I pulled her up and kissed her hard,
sucking out her saliva and swallowing it. To be honest, it was a little disgusting because she seemed to have had her saliva in her mouth for a long time. But
after that, things got much better. When my mother sucked on my penis, I could feel her tenderness, and she kept
swallowing . I made her swallow my semen once, but she said it made her throat uncomfortable.

Another time, after I ejaculated, my mother put my semen in her mouth and let me taste it. I ate it and found it salty
and fishy, yet also bland. My throat felt numb, which wasn't very pleasant, so I never wanted my mother to swallow my
semen again. Unexpectedly, my mother seemed to like the feeling again. She said, "The numbness is also fun." So later,
when she was happy, she would still suck on my penis until she sucked out the semen, and then swallow it.

We also tried anal sex, but my mother didn't like it, so we did it less often. I hope she will change her mind someday.

This year, we tried everything, including various positions, but in the end, we both felt that face-to-face embracing
and thrusting was the most pleasurable and intense. We also tried sneaking off to hotels to experience new environments. We also tried
having sex in parks at night while traveling, but I found that the pleasure wasn't great when I ejaculated, so we stopped.

A year later, our passion had waned somewhat, but we were still very much in love. My mother suggested that I find a girlfriend,
promising she wouldn't be jealous.

Around this time, my friends all came back, and I spent more time with them chasing girls, spending less time with my mother.

When I came home at night, my mother would always complain, but as soon as my penis entered her vagina, she would become as docile as a
puppy.

Soon, I found another girl and brought her home to live with me. My mother secretly asked me if the girl was a virgin,
seemingly more concerned about it than I was. I said, "Where are virgins these days?" My mother looked down on that girl
and indulged me in finding another one.

My live-in girlfriend was unwilling to be dumped and came to our house to make a scene several times. My mother scolded her mercilessly and drove her away, finally ending
the relationship . Soon after, I slept with a second girl, a clerk at a company. She was very beautiful, but not
a virgin either. However, this time when my mother asked, I lied and said she was. My mother was very happy and treated her like a future daughter-in-law, urging me to...
I wanted to get married quickly.

A year later, my girlfriend became pregnant, and we prepared to get married.

The night before the wedding, my girlfriend went to stay at her parents' house. My mother and I hadn't been together for a long time, so when we had
a chance , we naturally went to bed without hesitation

. After we had sex once, I told my mother to put on her wedding dress, and then we had sex on the wedding bed. My mother said, "How could
you even think of that?" while her body writhed excitedly.

After the wedding, life at home became peaceful. My wife soon gave birth to a son, and my mother loved taking care of her grandson, finding a new
purpose in life.

Whenever my wife was around, my mother reverted to her old ways, not even letting me kiss her, afraid of being seen.

Once, when my wife was in the bathroom, I secretly told my mother, "Don't wear underwear." She asked curiously, "Why?"

I felt very awkward. Another time, during dinner, my wife went to the kitchen, and I secretly touched my mother's thigh,
startling her so much that she almost dropped her bowl. She scolded me in a low voice, "Are you crazy?"

Sometimes, I would sneak out from work to rekindle our old flame with my mother, but each time it was rushed and
I couldn't fully enjoy myself. Occasionally, when my wife is away on business or there are company events, my mother and I can immerse ourselves in sex again
.

Spending so much time with two women, I naturally compare them in my mind, and my mother seems quite interested in my wife's bedroom
skills . Out of female modesty, she's embarrassed to ask, but she
listens very attentively whenever I bring it up.

To be honest, my mother is inferior to my wife in many ways. She gave birth to three children, so her vagina is naturally loose, but fortunately,
her vaginal fluid is thicker and less abundant, so the friction compensates for some of that. Also, my mother is over fifty years old
; her face has many wrinkles, her hair is streaked with gray, her breasts are small and sagging, and her nipples point downwards. She

also has a lot of fat on her lower abdomen, always looking like she's three months pregnant. Although compared to women her age,
my mother is well-maintained, she's far inferior to my youthful and beautiful wife.

However, because I enjoy excitement, my mother's shortcomings due to age become advantages in my eyes.
That's why I truly feel: I'm having sex with my own mother!

Also, my mother is very conservative. Every time we slept together, we did it the traditional way. Because we were mother and son
incestuous, she had a deep-seated inferiority complex and was very sensitive to my attitude towards her. She disliked me making her lie on the bed
and then having sex with her from behind like a dog. I wanted her to imitate the actresses in adult films, but she said she didn't want to imitate those kinds of sluts
. At that moment, I thought to myself, even if someone is slutty, they wouldn't stoop to sleeping with their own son. Of course, this was something I absolutely couldn't say
out loud . I also wanted her to secretly watch my wife and me make love, but she called me vulgar.

Compared to my mother, my wife was a hundred times more open-minded. She and I had tried every position in adult films. Once,
I asked her if she wanted me to break the rules and report me! She said, "I'd do it if you let a dog do it." She
was serious and meant what she said, but I didn't want to let a dog do it, so the matter was dropped. I once asked her about
her opinion , and she said, "If others like it, that's none of our business." Once, while watching an adult film, I pointed to
an actor having sex with his mother and said, "If we have a handsome son in the future, would you want to have sex with him?"

She retorted, "Have you slept with your mother?" I pretended to be
angry and never dared to ask that question again.

Besides the forbidden thrill, what made my mother superior to my wife was her snow-white skin. I
've never seen a living woman whiter than my mother in my life. And her body's suppleness was unparalleled.

Women's bodies are generally supple, but compared to my mother, it was nothing. She was practically boneless and
muscleless .

Holding her, even without committing adultery, was incredibly pleasurable.

My sisters' beauty was no less than that of Miss Hong Kong or Miss World, arguably even surpassing them,
but I've never felt any sexual interest in them from childhood to adulthood. I find this strange. This is probably the result of natural selection and
evolution , a kind of protective measure.

In fact, you can often observe that women become less attractive after giving birth to boys, while becoming more beautiful after giving birth to girls; and sons
usually resemble their mothers (this is more easily seen in reproduction between different races), while daughters usually resemble their fathers (most people don't experience
sexual desire for themselves, and perhaps have less sexual desire for those who resemble them the most). Are these changes perhaps to
prevent incest between mothers and sons, or fathers and daughters?

My sisters went their separate ways after finishing their studies, and I spend less time with them. When we were young, we were often at odds over toys
and such, and there wasn't much affection between us. I don't know what the future holds; if anything happens, I'll write it
down for readers.

I originally thought that our sexual relationship would decline over time like that of ordinary couples, eventually ceasing altogether, but
it hasn't turned out that way yet. I think it's because we can't fully satisfy each other. Especially
after reading my first incest article online, I suddenly felt a strong sense of identification. My mother read it too, and then we reached a new
peak.

In the past year, I've had sex with my mother far more often than with my wife, and it happens more often in the kitchen than
in bed, usually right after I get off work. Because my wife sells vegetables, she usually gets home half an hour later than me, and
my mother and I use this opportunity to have affairs. At this time, my mother is usually in the kitchen chopping meat or washing rice, and I go straight to the kitchen as soon as I
walk in . If she's not there, she'll be washing clothes in the bathroom.

When my mother is sexually aroused, she'll put down what she's doing, turn around, and
hug me as soon as I reach out. Then we'll kiss and caress each other in the kitchen. My mother prefers me to touch her; she rarely initiates it.
While touching me, I'll reach under her skirt, pull down her panties, and pin her against the kitchen wall for a rape.

My mother usually wears a skirt, and occasionally a robe, which means she's interested. If she's not wearing anything under her robe,
it's very stimulating. Even if I'm not sexually aroused, she'll use oral sex or something to arouse me.
If she wears trousers, then there's no chance; no matter how much I touch her, she won't get wet. I always feel annoyed when I see my mother wearing trousers.

However, both of these situations are rare. Usually, I'm the one who initiates the touching, and she'll become aroused in less than three minutes.

Come to think of it, it was me who wasn't interested more often than my mother.

Ultimately, the bond that held our sex life together was forbidden pleasure, at least that's how I felt.

Sometimes I think about it, and after my mother and I developed a special relationship, the way we looked at each other
changed . If my wife were perceptive, she could have noticed. Why hadn't she noticed all these years? I think
one reason is: when she married me, my mother and I had already been intimate; the way we looked at each other would have changed long ago.
She'll probably think it's normal, right?

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