Mother's tenderness

Ma Lingling left like a gust of wind, making me unsteady on my feet, so I had to sit down on the sofa. My mother

reclined beside me, watching TV without even looking up. She propped her head up with one hand and ate sunflower seeds with the other, occasionally clicking

her tongue. As the plot unfolded, her right foot, resting on the sofa armrest, would rhythmically wiggle a few times.

The curtains were half-drawn, and the sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains, like the flowing stems and leaves of phytoplankton, gently enveloped my mother. I stole

a glance, and she was looking at me, quickly cracking open a sunflower seed, saying, "Captain Ma is about to fart."

My mother's long hair was loose, revealing a section of her fair neck, and a warm glow emanated from her as she turned her head. I

couldn't quite put my finger on it, but my heart started racing, and I felt inexplicably irritated. So I started scratching myself louder,

acting like a masochist. My mother's knees were red and swollen, but she remained immersed in the

illusory . Over the years, probably no one could keep track of how many times this show had been rebroadcast, except for my mother.

Sure enough, a short while later, amidst my mother's cheers, the effeminate

Kuomintang spy Yu Zecheng took down the rather manly Captain Ma. She glanced at me triumphantly, as if I were a corrupt and degenerate Kuomintang agent,

and that our forces had finally suffered a major blow. As the majestic "Deep Sea" began to play, I put away my back scratcher and

curled my lip in disdain. Unfortunately, my mother didn't see it. She stretched and

yawned . Her raised arms were like the tentacles of a water sprite, eager for the rare human touch on the surface of the water.

Then she sighed. I asked what was wrong, and she said quietly that her foot hurt, so I fell silent. I really didn't know what

to say . Then, with a "hey," my mother suddenly sat up. She carefully placed her right leg on her left knee and

looked down at her ankle for a while.

"Does it really hurt that much?" I couldn't help but ask.

My mother didn't reply, but stared intently at me.

"What is it now?"

"Nothing, you didn't even go grocery shopping with Lingling, what kind of behavior is that?" She sighed again, a half-smile on her face.

"I'm watching TV," I slumped onto the sofa, trying to look relaxed, "Besides, she's

going grocery shopping, not the other way around, what's there to be afraid of?"

"Look at you, if you keep acting like this, be careful Ma Ling'er runs off with someone!" My mother lowered her head, her chestnut curls obscuring

half her face, "Please bring me the safflower oil."

This three-bedroom, one-living room, one-kitchen, one-bathroom thatched-roof house outside the Third Ring Road required a down payment of over 400,000 yuan, nearly a third of which

was paid by my parents. My mother slept in the guest room outside the bedroom, clean and tidy, except for the recently changed blue coarse cloth sheets

which were a bit jarring. Some people always carry a strong personal style, leaving their mark wherever they go.

My mother was probably that kind of person. Strangely, I had never noticed this before.

"Hey Wang Hui, shouldn't the safflower oil be made fresh?"

"Coming, coming," I jogged along, practically skipping along. "Shall I apply it?"

"I used to think you were like your mother, but now you look more and more like your father. Are you crippled or something?" My mother rolled

her eyes at me and lay down on the sofa.

Words are an art, so I could only pretend I didn't hear her and laugh it off. My mother was wearing black capri leggings

, which clung tightly to her thighs, making her small feet look even more delicate and adorable. Almost instinctively, I gently

pinched . The forefeet were bright red, the soles white and tender, secreting a faint dampness. Of course, some dead skin was inevitable; my mother

was never one to live a life of luxury.

"Not that I'm criticizing you, but why can't you be a little more efficient?" my mother continued. She tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and didn't react to my

actions . That pinch reminded me of a scene from *The Big Lebowski*. The flirtatious

Bonnie invited me to blow-dry her nail polish, and her tiny feet made the Eunuch's hands tremble like a Parkinson's patient. My

heart pounded, and I suddenly felt short of breath. I wondered if it was just my imagination, but her delicate toes seemed

almost translucent in the sunlight. I could almost smell a strange scent emanating from her feet. And that familiar warmth seemed

to rise again in the living room. I glanced at my mother, then grasped her entire foot and rubbed it a couple of times. She

opened her eyes , shifted her bottom, and said rather impatiently, "Ankle! Ankle!"

"I know," I said, my face instantly turning red, my voice hoarse. I quickly unscrewed the cap, poured in some

medicine , warmed it up, and carefully applied it to my mother's foot. Her ankle was indeed very swollen; it didn't seem this noticeable yesterday. "Does it hurt?

Should I rub it? Or maybe I should drink some liquor?"

My mother nodded, her eyes tightly closed. I didn't know what she meant, but I

increased . My mother let out a soft groan and then fell silent.

I rubbed it clockwise and counterclockwise before stopping. The injured woman was clutching the sofa cushion tightly, her head covered in sweat, her body twisted like a stiff rabbit.

"Does it hurt a lot?" I smiled.

My mother opened her eyes, sighed deeply, and after a while said, "Your mother."

By the time I finished washing my hands, my mother had already gotten up from the sofa. She put her hands on her hips, looked out the window, and said, "The sun

is so nice." It was indeed a nice day. With smog all year round, such a good sun was a rare treat. If

my mother hadn't sprained her ankle, we probably would have left the city like those ordinary men and women to embrace the long-absent

fresh air of nature. We would have held hands and thoroughly cleansed our lungs.

"Lingling's not here yet?"

"Not long, the commercials haven't even finished." The TV commercials for fake medicine went on and on, trying

their best to it sound convincing and unrealistic, as if they were afraid someone would fall for it. I moved closer to my mother, then turned away and pointed at the TV.

My mother didn't look up, but instead twisted her waist. She was wearing a small floral round-neck blouse, the hem of which slanted over

her thighs. It was quite loose, but with her hands on her hips, her full lower body curves were on full display. My mother was tall and had a big

bottom ; she used to have a nickname at the factory: "Big Foreign Horse." Not only did the disheveled adults say that, but

many of my classmates at school knew it too. During those skinny teenage years, that shameful nickname

always made me blush and want to fight someone. For a while, we were constantly being called in for parent-teacher meetings, and my mother got impatient and grabbed a broom.

I gave her a good beating, and then had my father take over. He came home from work looking like a dead man, lying in bed and

refusing to get up. At dinner, he looked at my backside and yelled, "Are you even my real mother?" My sister, watching from the side

, had tears in her eyes, a testament to my mother's ruthlessness. After that, I rarely fought anymore. Rather than learning something, I

became indifferent to many things. People have to grow up, after all.

But a foreign woman is a foreign woman, the real deal. My mother is fifty this year (by Chinese reckoning), and her backside is still like an

inflated balloon, incredibly full. In the dim light, her slender waist could be encircled with one hand, the soft fabric of her clothes

sliding down her plump buttocks, releasing many delicate folds with each subtle sway. That's a bit of an exaggeration; I

don't mean my mother's waist is actually "encircled with one hand," but it is indeed slender, and calling it a willow waist wouldn't be an exaggeration. Even the shadow beside

the sofa confirms it.

I moved closer to my mother, a strange, sweet fragrance filling my nostrils. Her soft, flowing waves seemed to stir a breeze,

gently caressing my face. I cleared my throat and called out, "Mom." My voice trembled. Suddenly,

without warning, my mother turned around, causing me to stumble and nearly fall. She burst out laughing, saying, "Wang Hui, are you playing a fool?"

Besides laughing, I didn't know what to say. After I sat down on the sofa, my mother limped into the bathroom.

Without turning her head, she said, "Change the channel. Watching the commercials so intently, are you stupid?" I slumped onto the sofa,

listlessly flipping through a few channels, finally switching to a satellite channel. They're selling shapewear now. I

wonder many teenagers these ads can still get hard. Back in the day, we

could get incredibly aroused just watching Posture Corrector and Sailor Moon. Times have changed.

My mother soon emerged from the bathroom, saying, "Why are you still watching commercials?" I said, "Which channel do you

want to watch ? Sun Honglei is about to jump out." No one answered. I turned my head and saw my mother on

the balcony . Through the glass, I could see her face occasionally tilting upwards. My mother had a high, straight nose with a gentle curve, phoenix eyes, and willow-leaf eyebrows

; her charm was undeniable. If there was any regret, it was perhaps that her lower lip was a little full, which might not suit some people's aesthetic standards. While I was still in a daze,

my mother appeared in the living room carrying a pile of clothes. She glanced at me: "Watch whichever channel you want, I don't care!"

With the clatter of her slippers, she went into her room in the blink of an eye.

The door wasn't closed properly, leaving a crack. My mother disappeared in a flash. I turned the TV volume down, but I still

couldn't hear her. This made me feel humiliated, or rather, absurd, and I felt instantly irritable and restless. As if I could

no longer bear the weight of my growing head, I lay back on the sofa and let out

the kind of sigh only a dying person would utter. I even kicked my legs, as if to prove that I was really not far from death. Just then, my mother's

clear : "Hui, bring the safflower oil over when you're done. Don't leave it in the living room. I'll need it tonight." According to

her, it seemed like I was the one getting the medicine applied. Of course, I couldn't dwell on these details; I immediately

jumped up.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly made my way to my mother's room. She was folding clothes with her back to the door, half her bottom on

the edge of the bed, one leg crossed. I said, "Here you go!"

"Can't you see I'm busy? Put it back where you took it." My mother didn't even look up, her hands moving with practiced ease.

To be honest, sometimes I really admire women; they are artists in certain areas. For example, folding clothes—

to someone with OCD like me, it's incredibly satisfying. So after putting down the medicine, I lingered there, admiring her for a while.

The more I looked at her, the thinner her waist seemed, and the plumper her buttocks appeared. With the magical swinging of her arms, my mother's body

swayed , injecting something indescribable into the air. Suddenly, the surroundings became unbearably hot. It's only June

. I squeezed out a few beads of sweat and softly called out, "Mom." My mother hummed in response, but then seemed not to hear me.

Sparks seemed to dance before my eyes, crackling and exploding in my ears. My head felt hot and bothered. The television was barely audible.

I glanced at the living room, took two large strides, and collapsed onto the bed.

"Go play somewhere else, what are you doing here causing trouble?" My mother clicked her tongue and turned her face away. She probably wanted to

say something more , but suddenly fell silent. Because I had wrapped my arms around her waist. "Wang Hui." My mother stiffened and

lowered her voice. I mumbled a response, rubbing my face against her thigh and holding her even tighter. My mother's lower abdomen was

incredibly soft, reminding me of a text I read in elementary school about the Dead Sea. The description of the decadent bourgeois lifestyle in that text

is probably my earliest memory of "comfort."

"Listen to me, Hui," my mother's voice trembled slightly, her hands gripping my arms tightly. "Ma Ling'er should

be here soon."

"Not long. With her temper, she'll never come to buy groceries before mealtime. She's worried the vegetables will spoil if they're left out too long

." The leggings, smooth and revealing the fullness and elasticity of her thighs, brought back the unsettling

smell that had been lingering in my nostrils for the past ten days, making me feel slightly tipsy.

"What are you saying? You're always being sarcastic now. Why don't you say that to my face?" My mother chuckled, but her grip on

my forearm remained firmly in her teeth, still holding onto the pair of pliers.

"Mom." I supported my waist with one hand and stroked my mother's spine with the other. I couldn't quite describe the material of her clothes, but they were definitely

thin and smooth. I could feel the outline of her bra.

"Get off me now, go do what you're supposed to do, or Mom will really get angry." My mother twisted her body, her voice

tense .

I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what to say. So I stopped talking and slid my right hand down to grab

one of her buttocks. Soft and supple, plump and full, as if you could squeeze water out of it. My mother let out a soft cry, trying to get up,

but I held her tightly.

"Don't you have any sense of propriety?" My mother's struggles weren't fierce, but her voice was like a leaf. After a while, she

stopped , paused, and said, "If you don't behave, I won't be polite."

At this point, I could only be a mangy dog. I turned to the side, my right hand quietly wandering, reaching for my mother's chest.

Before I could squeeze, a crisp "smack" rang out, and a ball of fire instantly ignited on my arm. Perhaps it was the spatial

difference , but the slap was extremely penetrating. I was stunned for a moment, and that absurd feeling swept over me again.

Almost reflexively, I released my mother, like a squid abandoning its prey. The analogy is inappropriate

and rather disgusting, but I'm afraid I can't correct it.

My mother got up, paced a couple of steps, then turned and bent down to gather the remaining clothes. She didn't say a word throughout the entire process.

I lay on my back, unsure whether to get up. The energy-saving light bulb above my head looked like an ET head; I couldn't understand

why Ma Lingling would choose such a design. My mother occasionally fanned a few wisps of air, making my already stiff body even stiffer. I had no choice

but to flip over. The slipper that was already hooked on my left foot wobbled a few times before finally falling to the floor. Then my mother

spoke: "Your feet are dirty, don't step on my bed."

I responded with a breath through my nose.

"Oh, you're angry now," my mother scoffed.

Now I couldn't even breathe.

"Then you can be angry by yourself."

I could only be angry by myself. After a while, a hand grabbed my shoulder: "Really angry?"

I didn't move. It started to exert force, trying to straighten me. I could only strain to keep it from turning me right. After a moment

of stalemate , my mother spat and slapped me on the back: "Stubborn mule!"

I rolled over and glanced at my mother. She was looking over too. Backlit, my mother's full

breasts , but her eyes were moist and evasive: "Stubborn from childhood to adulthood, you haven't changed a bit." Almost instinctively,

I grabbed my mother's hand. She only had time to gasp before she collapsed onto the bed. My face was

instantly struck by two mounds of soft flesh.

"Wang Hui!" my mother snorted, trying to stand up by pushing herself up from the bed. I hugged her tightly, arching my

head , like a bird struggling to plunge into the infinitely clear sky. The warm scent of flesh filled the air, penetrating my nostrils and

coursing through my body. I couldn't bear it any longer, and with a swift movement, I pinned my mother beneath me.

"Ouch, you idiot!" my mother cried out, pounding my back a few times.

I leaned down and stared at my mother, almost able to see every fine line etched by time. Even though she hadn't gone out, she still

wore light makeup, her high-arched eyebrows adding an indescribable allure to her eyelids. "Mom," I breathed heavily, my breath

landing on her face. Her eyelashes trembled, and a blush crept onto her cheeks and into her eyes.

She glared at me and then looked away, saying after a long while, "How can my old bones withstand your

antics?"

"Mom."

"Silly boy."

I didn't hold back anymore, grabbing her long-awaited breasts and exaggeratingly rubbing them a few times. First the right, then

the left, and finally the right again. They were so soft, so soft that sweat dripped down my back. My mother rolled her eyes at me but didn't say anything.

I put in more effort and pulled her nipple out of her bra. It was like a thick rivet; I

could feel its hardness even through her clothes. After fiddling with it a few times, I pinched it and gently twisted it. My mother gave a muffled groan and

said, "Be gentle." I said that wasn't gentle enough, so she turned her face to the side, her full red lips occasionally parting slightly.

So I lowered my head and covered my mother's mouth. She braced herself on my shoulders with both hands, making a few whimpering attempts to dodge

before still.

My mother's lips were full and electrifying; I sucked hard for a while, my tongue touching her teeth. For some reason,

I didn't dare to go any further, but instead kissed my way down to her fair neck. I don't really like French kissing; it always feels

sticky and uncomfortable. Even with Ma Lingling, I tried to keep it as short as possible, avoiding any deep kisses.

"Ma Lingling should be here soon," my mother said breathlessly, pulling away from me. "She

's still a while away. Should I call her and ask?"

My mother didn't say yes or no, but instead smoothed her hair and let out a long sigh. Her face was flushed, and

beads of sweat glistened on her full forehead.

"Mom," I knelt down and pulled my mother's hand to my crotch.

"How disgusting!" Mother spat, but still grabbed my raging member. She squeezed it

lightly, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. "You naughty thing, just the other day..."

"What about the other day?"

"Nothing much."

"Ouch, damn it."

"Now you know how powerful I am." Mother withdrew her hand and sat up.

I pulled down my underwear, glanced down, and then yanked it all the way down. My penis sprang out. Mother

glanced at it and said, "Have you no shame, Wang Hui?"

I wanted to say "No," but felt that would be stupid, so I kept quiet. Wiping away sweat, I

took off my underwear and pretended to pounce on Mother.

"Wait, it's getting late." Mother huddled up.

I reached up her thighs and touched her crotch.

"Get off me," Mother pushed me away, her eyes a little glazed. "Hurry up." Saying that, she

carefully stood up, turned her back to me, and took off her leggings. Her big white buttocks swayed out. So close,

I could see the crisscrossing marks from the bra. The red panties were tiny, deeply embedded in her buttocks. It was

the first time I'd ever seen my mother wear such sexy lingerie. Instinctively, I reached out and slapped her plump buttocks.

"Get lost," my mother glared at me. Because she was slightly bent over, the ochre-colored flesh between her buttocks

was faintly visible, and many pubic hairs were peeking out restlessly. I immediately felt a sense of unreality. In a daze,

my mother had already gotten out of bed and quickly took off her round-neck shirt. Then she went into the closet and pulled out a floral dress.

Navy blue, covered with white and pale yellow flower buds, like the perpetually barren vegetable gardens

of the Northwest .

"How is it? Does it look good?" Only after changing and turning around in front of the mirror a few times did my mother's tense face finally break into

a smile. She tossed her hair and puffed out her chest.

I was momentarily stunned and nodded reflexively.

"Are you still coming or not?" My mother quickly gathered the clothes scattered on the bed and glanced at

me indifferently.

My penis was already limp.

"You're something else." My mother chuckled, her hand on the bed, as she bent over towards me. Her ample, rounded curves

instantly filled my vision. I pounced on her like a madman, burrowing under her skirt.

"Alright, alright," my mother wiggled her hips, "If you don't hurry, I'm going to change my mind."

As she pulled down her underwear, a long, thin thread stretched out from her crotch. I showed it to my mother, and she turned her face away,

saying, "Hurry up, don't you even know what time it is?" Of course, I didn't check the time, because Ma Lingling could

come at any moment, no matter what. We both knew that.

My mother's labia were thick and a bit dark in color, and the entire side of her pubic hair was wet. I grabbed her plump, white legs

and dragged her a little closer to the edge of the bed.

"Watch your step." My mother frowned, her eyelids slightly lifting. Then she raised her neck and let out a

soft, muffled, slightly hoarse cry. So I quickly thrust a few more times. My mother's lower abdomen slapped against my thigh with a loud thud.

She gripped my hand, and a trembling moan escaped her lips uncontrollably.

"Mom," I said, lightly touching her face before leaning down to her neck. Perhaps because she was so fair,

her skin was faintly pink.

She hummed in response, I couldn't tell if she was responding to me or to my penis.

I straightened up, gripped her slender waist, and thrust again. Our bodies mingled, making soft, gurgling sounds. Each time, my penis

revealed a patch of tender, bright red flesh. My mother had a naturally slender waist, but her white belly still had some excess fat, which

trembled under the piston-like movements. I couldn't help but reach out and touch it, as if trying to

soothe a turbulent sea.

"Mom."

"Are you trying to awaken my soul?"

"Is it good?" I grabbed one of her breasts from under her dress.

"It felt so good... wasn't it?" My mother glared at me, her brows furrowing quickly, a strange light

gleaming . "Don't hold back, hurry up and finish."

Her "hurry up" made me impatient, as if Ma Lingling were standing at the door, ready to fumble for her keys.

So I hoisted my long legs up and slammed down with all my might. With a series of sharp slaps, my mother howled, her voice distorted

.

In less than a few dozen thrusts, she came. She gripped my arm tightly, panting heavily. I asked if it felt good. She

kicked me after a while. After resting for a bit, I made my mother bend over. She scolded me for using such unorthodox methods, and

told me to be careful not to hurt my feet. She said, "The medicine hurt like hell just now."

I said, "What?"

My mother said, "You fucked me to death just now." She smiled, gently lifting her plump buttocks,

a .

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