Mom and sister

Mom,

my dad was a good man, but a terrible husband. He left you too soon, passing
away alone.
The year after Dad's death, Mom was devastated and began drinking heavily, drowning her sorrows in alcohol
, sometimes drinking all day long. I hated seeing Mom drink, especially
when she was drunk. She would throw things around, driving everyone away, but she only wanted me to stay with her
, perhaps because I was her son.
Regardless, the year after Dad's passing was the most difficult time for Mom and me.
Later, Mom gradually became more careless and casual, not treating me like a man at all, showing no
restraint whatsoever. You see, I was already thirteen years old then, practically an adult, and knew
the many inconveniences between men and women.
Since none of our rooms had locks—because previous tenants had
taken the locks with them—and we were too lazy to change them, thinking, "We're family, why lock the doors like we're protecting ourselves from thieves?" But this way, Mom and I can see each other clearly. She often swaggers into my room
while I'm changing clothes or showering , loiters around for a bit, and then leaves without a word of apology. This happens frequently, making me very embarrassed. I don't like Mom being so casual. Sometimes I can't help but say something to her, and guess what she says? She always says, "What? You're shy in front of your own mother? Isn't every part of you a descendant of your mother?" Then I have nothing to say. Of course, she also doesn't care much about her image as a mother, especially when she's drunk . She often walks around the house disheveled, sometimes even changing her underwear in front of me, with particularly relaxed and unrestrained movements. Whenever she's home, she doesn't like to dress properly, completely ignoring my presence as a grown man, walking back and forth in the room with her prominent chest. What was particularly egregious was that whenever I was showering, brushing my teeth, or combing my hair in the bathroom, my mother would always slam the door open, barge in, and then, as if no one else was there, sit down on the toilet and start urinating, completely oblivious to the fact that I was standing right next to her. One afternoon, I was lying in the bathtub when my mother barged in again. I was used to it by now, and as usual, we chatted for a while. Suddenly, my mother said she wanted to bathe with me. I was startled and glanced at her. I saw her staring intently at me with her bright, dark eyes, something I couldn't understand flickering within them, but her expression was very serious. I found it somewhat amusing, yet also a little embarrassing. I reached out, trying to cover myself. "Honey," my mother suddenly sighed, "you've grown up now." She sat on the edge of the bathtub and took a sip of her drink. "If your father were still here, he would definitely tell you some things— things that boys should know when they grow up." I felt a little embarrassed and said, "I know all that, Mom." I tried to change the subject, but Mom smiled and continued, "What do you know?" Mom's question hit the nail on the head. In fact, I only had a superficial understanding of sex. All my knowledge about sex came from talking to my classmates at school about topics boys liked. I only had a vague understanding of sex. So, I couldn't give a clear answer. "Have you ever seen a girl's body?" Mom continued, mocking me, as if trying to embarrass me . Actually, Mom was the only naked woman I had ever seen. Of course, I couldn't tell her that; I could only honestly say I hadn't. "Do you know where babies come from?" Mom's questions became increasingly explicit. I felt extremely embarrassed and awkward, stammering and unable to answer. I just hoped Mom would leave quickly to end this awkward conversation. But Mom showed no sign of leaving. Instead, she stood there somewhat smugly, watching my embarrassed state, seemingly finding it amusing. She put the wine bottle aside, took the bonsai tree from the stool in the bathroom, placed it on the floor, then dragged the stool to the edge of the bathtub and sat down beside me, facing me. Mom was as casual as ever, her legs spread wide. Unlike most women who would cover their private parts with their skirts when sitting, she liked to deliberately expose her genitals, enjoying my gaze as I stared at her private parts. Mom wasn't wearing underwear, and I could clearly see the dark patch between her legs. Mom continued doing something that surprised me; she unbuckled her belt and opened her robe. Naturally, Mom wasn't wearing a bra either, allowing me to fully admire her slightly protruding belly and her enormous breasts. I felt a little shy; after all, looking directly at my mother's body felt a bit inappropriate. I tried to look away, but my eyes involuntarily lingered on her snow-white, full breasts and the dark area below her abdomen. "You should know these things. It's my responsibility to let you know what a woman is like," she said. My gaze was still restless, wandering over my mother's body. Only after hearing her words did I reluctantly raise my head to face her. "Very good," my mother said, smiling, satisfied with my reaction. "I want you to look at me carefully, so you can understand what a woman's body is like." Saying this, she knelt down, straightened her lower body, and brought herself closer to me so I could see more clearly. My mother's skin was very fair. In fact, we had never been to the beach to enjoy the sun, and my mother often wore t-shirts and long skirts, and frequently wore hats when going out, so her skin was particularly delicate and fair. My mother's lower abdomen was covered with fine, dark, glossy pubic hair, though not thick, surrounding her full vulva and extending down to near her anus. I knew very well that my mother's vulva was large, because I...

I often looked at pornographic magazines, which featured many photos of naked women. Through comparison, I knew my mother's labia
were quite large, and her vulva was very open.
"These are Mom's pubic hair," she said, running her fingers through the dark hair on her genitals, picking up a small strand to
show me its beauty. "Of course, yours can be called that too. And look, this is Mom's vulva
."
Her hand gently stroked that slightly swollen, beautiful spot on her genitals, a
mysterious place I had never touched yet desperately longed to experience. I had only had a vague impression of it from videotapes and pornographic magazines before
, but now it was truly before my eyes.
"Here, here, look, look here," my mother explained the secrets of her body to me in detail
, "These are labia, very beautiful, aren't they? They even have hair on them."
My mother spread her legs as wide as possible, as if afraid I wouldn't see her genitals clearly, while simultaneously using her hands to spread her
large labia, revealing the bright red world inside her vulva.
"See that little thing inside? That's the labia minora, most people call it the inner vulva or inner labia. Some
women's inner labia are quite large, sometimes they even protrude."
I looked curiously at my mother's vulva. It was all both familiar and strange to me; before, I'd only
imagined it from pictures, but now it was all so real.
But I was also a little scared, secretly glancing towards the door, worried that someone might suddenly burst in and
catch us both red-handed.
However, to be honest, I was incredibly excited, not just physically, but I was also
terrified that I was having such unclean and filthy thoughts.
My mother's genitals were very close to me; I could almost smell the faint odor emanating from them. It was a rather strange
smell, not strong, not unpleasant, a bit like mushrooms, but very exciting.
My mother continued to show me her internal structure, specifically pointing out the location of the clitoris.
"Here, see? Here, a little inside." Mom pointed, but I really didn't want her
to tell me the secrets of the female reproductive system so clearly. If she did, my future would be very difficult
; I might go crazy thinking about it every day.
"Men always like to insert their penises here, that's called the vagina. A man inserts his penis,
then sows the seed of love. If conception is successful, a baby is born, and then the baby
comes into this world from here."
I laughed out loud, feeling quite comical. I couldn't believe that such a big baby could
come out of such a small hole, but Mom assured me it was true; I came out from here.
"Try inserting your finger," Mom encouraged me.
She guided my finger into her vagina, letting me feel its warmth and moisture.
I can't describe the feeling of my finger inside Mom's vagina; it's beyond my vocabulary. I
can only roughly describe it as if my fingers were being squeezed into a pile of cotton, but the warm, moist sensation was like soaking in
a bathtub full of hot water—warm, cozy, and incredibly intoxicating.
My mother didn't let me indulge in this intoxication forever; she guided my hands to caress every part of my genitals, allowing me to fully
experience the secrets of the female body.
I was very curious about why my mother's vulva was constantly leaking fluid. My mother explained patiently, spreading her
labia wide to show me the secrets inside the vagina.
"See? There are many folds inside, that's called the labial band, but some women don't have these.
How about it, isn't it quite interesting?"
Watching my mother's genitals had a unique stimulation, completely different from reading a magazine. The latter
was merely curiosity, but the former had a strong sexual allure.
My genitals had become fully erect without my realizing it. Although I was still very young, and my penis wasn't fully
developed, my erect penis stubbornly stood out from the water.
My mother noticed immediately, a smile that was hard to decipher appearing on her lips. She reached out and gently grasped my penis
.
Her fingers softly stroked it, occasionally fiddling with my scrotum.
"Do you know why it gets hard? It's natural, it's a human instinct. When a man is aroused
, his penis gets bigger and harder like this because it wants to penetrate a woman's vagina—mmm, that feels
really good."
At first, I hesitated when my mother touched my penis, but the feeling of her hand stroking it
was so wonderful that I quickly felt at ease.
"Did you do this like me when you got hard before?" my mother asked.
I nodded. In fact, I masturbated frequently, and my fantasies were often about my mother.
"You don't have to do this, it's bad for your health."
I didn't know why my mother said that, because I knew that almost every man in the world had masturbated at some point
, and I didn't think there was anything wrong with masturbation, but my mother insisted that I didn't need to do it at all.
"Come out," Mom said. "You've been in the water for too long. Your hands and feet will turn into dried
plums if you stay any longer."
I thought Mom was going to take a bath herself, but she pulled the plug out of the tub, drained the water, and then dried me off
. But instead of letting me put my clothes back on, she led me to her bedroom.
"Now, little one, let Mom teach you how to communicate with a woman."
"Teach me!?"
I wondered if I'd misheard, my breath almost stopping: Mom was saying she was going to teach me *that*!
I suddenly felt a chill.
I'd heard stories of incest between mothers and sons, and I'd always thought it was the most despicable
, vile, and shameless thing humans could do. But whenever I heard these stories, I felt an indescribable excitement
and thrill, and I felt an overwhelming urge to entrust myself completely to Mom, because I always trusted her;
whatever she did was right.
I didn't know what my mother wanted from me. If it was just sex, I figured she wouldn't need to go through
me. She wasn't old, and she wasn't bad-looking; seducing a man
wouldn't be difficult for her. But now she said she wanted to teach me some secret things between men and women. I really didn't know
what my mother was thinking, but I knew I couldn't refuse her invitation.
My mother took off her coat and then took my hand.
"There's nothing to be afraid of," she comforted me. "You'll like it. Every man would like it. It feels
great."
To me, my mother was a perfect woman—not too tall, not too short, not too thin, and her age was
just right. Although she wasn't the kind of beauty everyone called a beauty, her dignified and familiar appearance
genuinely aroused my desire. Her lightly painted eyebrows and sharp, narrow eyes were enough to ignite a burning
lust within me.
I picked up my mother and put her on the bed.
"Do we want to have a child?" I asked.
"Oh, no," Mom said, "but after you and Mom have experienced it together, you'll understand how to make
a girl have a baby."
Then she made me kiss her, which I did.
"No, not like that, look at me."
Mom corrected my incorrect kissing technique. She extended her soft tongue, gently hooking
mine, and then our tongues intertwined. At the same time, Mom sucked hard, her tongue
swirling forcefully in my mouth, almost pulling my heart out.
I had never heard of the correct way to kiss before and seemed a little flustered. Mom giggled and made me
do it like her. I tried to extend my tongue as well, and Mom immediately took mine in her mouth, gently sucking
. I unconsciously sucked hard on Mom's sweet saliva.
Mom's breath was sweet and passionate, the warm breath from her nose evenly spraying on my face, tickling and
so comfortable. Her saliva had a lemony taste, a seductive aroma.
I found myself enjoying this way of kissing. I loved the mouth-to-mouth exchange, the
feeling of our tongues entwined.
One of my mother's breasts pressed against my bare chest, and she took my other hand, pressing it to her
other breast. Of course, before this, I had never truly touched a woman's bare breasts
; they had only appeared in my dreams. So, my mother's breasts were the first I had ever touched.

My mother was only thirty-five years old, and didn't look old, but at this age, the changes in her body
were undeniable. Her nipples had darkened somewhat, and although her breasts were very full, they had begun to
sag. Her hips were becoming increasingly rounded and full, and her lower abdomen was slightly protruding from childbirth, but her limbs were
still supple and strong.
In any case, my mother's body was still quite well-proportioned; she didn't have much fat around her waist, and her lines were soft
, especially her thighs, which remained firm and elastic, indicating that her body was in the prime of its life.
"Come on top of me," my mother said.
She spread her legs, and I climbed on top of her, pressing my hot, hard penis against her belly.
She told me to lift my body, then reached out and grasped my penis. I could feel my mother's warm
hand guiding my penis to her clitoris, gently rubbing it against her soft pubic hair. After
a while, the head of my penis touched something soft and warm; I knew it was against my mother's vulva
.
I felt a wave of dizziness, because I was about to enter a brand new world, a new beginning in my life
. Although I didn't know what the future held, I only knew that I was about to become a
real man, and this coming-of-age ceremony would be presided over by my mother.
My mother lifted her legs, wrapped them around my waist, and then lifted her buttocks. I barely realized it, but
my penis had already slipped inside her. Instantly, my whole body and nerves tensed.
I'm finally inside! That was the only thought in my mind.
The bathroom door was still open, the sound of dripping water filling the air. The room was quiet; Mom seemed to have stopped
moving as well, only our lower bodies remained tightly connected.
I felt the wonder of this moment, my penis throbbing in Mom's warm embrace, an indescribable
feeling of warmth welling up inside me. I slowly relaxed my tense nerves, my body loosened, and I gradually got used to
this strange and unfamiliar sensation. I moved my body slightly, feeling the hair below Mom's abdomen brush against my
stomach, while my penis gently rubbed against the walls of Mom's vagina. A surge of excitement rushed to
my head.
"Okay, baby, move," Mom moaned, encouraging me to do what a man should do.
Without Mom's urging, without her telling me how to do it, and without her explaining
the wonder of doing it, I instinctively began to thrust forcefully.
My mother's vagina wasn't very tight, perhaps because my penis wasn't old enough. My thrusting encountered almost
no resistance, but the friction of flesh against flesh was incredibly stimulating.
My mother seemed to respond to my movements, her body constantly writhing, trying to accommodate my thrusts.
We continued like this for about twenty minutes, then my mother told me to keep looking at
the point where our bodies were connected while I thrust.
I curled up, forcefully entering and exiting my mother's body while looking at her genitals.
My mother's genitals were now a mess, covered in wet, lustful fluids. Her plump labia
flipped in and out with the movement of my penis, even the surrounding pubic hair curled up, wrapping around my penis, squeezing
in and out.
I used my hands to spread my mother's vagina, forcefully pulling her labia apart, so I could clearly see
my penis moving in and out of my mother's blood-red vagina. It was an extremely lewd scene;
the inside of the vagina was a bright red, the walls wrinkled and layered, tightly gripping my penis. Every time I pulled my penis out, it...
I could see the fluid seeping from the walls of her flesh.
Oh, is this what sex is? It feels so amazing!
I was incredibly excited by everything I saw and felt, which further fueled my desire to conquer.
My movements became increasingly violent, and my mother's body trembled uncontrollably from my thrusts, her lower abdomen
rippling with each penetration.
I held on for a while, and finally couldn't hold back any longer, ejaculating inside my mother. This was the first time in my life I had ever truly
ejaculated, and the feeling was completely different from masturbation. It was incredibly pleasurable, and I ejaculated a lot.
When I calmed down, I collapsed onto my mother's soft body.
My mother didn't stop me when I ejaculated, nor did she let me ejaculate outside. She just moaned and
moved her lower body to meet my release. After I finished my virginity, my mother praised me, saying I did a
good job. It seemed that my mother didn't mind that I ejaculated inside her.
My mother stood up, gently kissed my lips, and then went to take a shower.
Two days later, Mom asked me again if I still wanted to talk to her. Of course I said yes, how could I not?
It was something I'd been dreaming about for days, and I'd already gotten a taste of it. But if Mom
hadn't brought it up, I wouldn't have had a chance. Now, of course, I couldn't be happier.
We made love again in Mom's bedroom.
For the next few weeks, our relationship continued like this, two or three times a week.
I remember one night, I asked Mom for sex again.
Now, all I could think about was making love to Mom; nothing else mattered. For me, nestled
in Mom's warm embrace, having a place for my throbbing member, was more important than anything else.
I think I've become addicted to sex, and my love for Mom is different now. I
love my mom more than ever, not just as a mother, but as a mature woman.
But when I told Mom my request, she seemed satisfied and happy.
She hugged me tightly and told me that I should only love her as a mother. She said if I only saw
her as a woman to release my sexual desires, she would be very sad, feeling she hadn't fulfilled
her duty as a mother to guide her child, because she had a responsibility to guide me in matters of sex.
Since we became intimate, Mom stopped drinking, and we no longer talked about her past alcoholism
. But I knew it must have taken a lot of effort for her to do this; after all, habits are hard to break.
Without the help of our relationship, I think Mom would still be a complete alcoholic.
Later, we started sleeping in the same bed every day.
About two weeks after our first time, I noticed some
things my mother did during sex that I didn't understand. When I tried to penetrate her, she started screaming and panting loudly, and her
body reacted very intensely.
Those of you with experience will know what's going on, but I don't. I only know that Mom
was happy, and so was I.
I remember the first time we did, I felt great, but Mom didn't react as intensely as she does now. It seemed
something unusual was happening between us.
I asked Mom what was wrong, and she said, "You brought Mom to orgasm."
When I understood what that meant, I felt incredibly proud because I knew I had truly grown up and
could give Mom real sex.
Mom started teaching me more about sex, and we explored together how to make each other happier, how to
last longer, and how to better coordinate our time. We tried all sorts
of positions and ways of making love, which greatly enhanced the pleasure of our sex life. Mom
often used her sensual mouth to service my penis, and I learned to use my tongue to bring Mom to orgasm. We
became more and more in sync.
But one thing puzzled me: when I asked Mom if I would marry her when I grew up
, she refused. She said that if I married my own mother, I would never
become a real man.
Mom was very stubborn on this point, completely ignoring my passionate feelings.
Then something happened that Mom had tried so hard to avoid—she got pregnant, despite being very careful.
The pregnancy terrified her. I think if abortion had been so easy back then, she
would have done it long ago. Luckily, she didn't have that opportunity.
Mom worried constantly that the baby would be deformed, and because of her pregnancy, we
had to move. Dad had been dead for two years, and Mom never dated other men.
If anyone saw her heavily pregnant, they would suspect me, so we had to leave
.
We moved to California, and my sister, Jessie, was born in our new home.
Thank God, Jessie is healthy. Now she teaches grammar at a high school, lives a very happy life
, has her own family and her own child, but she doesn't know I'm her father.
Of course, that's all in the future.
After we moved, life was relatively stable. When I went to college, I was lucky enough to get into
one of the most prestigious universities on the West Coast, so we moved again. Mom bought a house near the university.
Although we still loved each other, my mother insisted that I live at school and tried to minimize our
sexual contact. For a while, this was very difficult for me, but everything my mother did was for my sake; she knew
what was right.
Later, I met my wife, Clara, at school. My mother liked her very much, especially
after her grandson was born; she was overjoyed.
However, tragedy struck my mother; she died in a car accident thirty
years ago. Two days before her accident, we had made love; little did I know that would be our last
time.
I loved my mother so much. She was a devoted and lovely mother, and also my first
woman.
I loved her so much and missed her so much.
For a long time after my mother's death, I was depressed. I found that the only thing that could make me happy was my
younger sister, Jessie. She looked so much like her mother, and as the years passed, I
saw more and more of my mother's image in my sister. But I knew my mother would never want what happened between us to happen to her
daughter, so I just liked being with her, looking at her face, listening to her voice, and
imagining my mother's figure in my mind. This helped to alleviate some of my loneliness and gave me some comfort, though it was better than nothing.
But later, the longing for my mother tormented me more and more, and I began to have impure thoughts about my sister. I longed
to have another incestuous story between my sister and me, just like my mother had. I'm trying to get closer to my sister. I never thought there would be anything wrong
with us developing a surprisingly intimate relationship, but I don't know how she would feel. From her perspective, she's a cultured woman. As far as I know, she's quite traditional, even somewhat conservative, especially when it comes to sex. I can imagine her reaction if I tried to assault her. She would definitely think it's a terrible, immoral act, and might hate me for the rest of her life. But I've completely transferred my love for our mother to my sister. I so desperately want to possess her, and I'm afraid I might do something foolish to her one day. I don't want to lose her respect for me. But I'm truly captivated by this intense desire for my sister. I know I need her, but I can't do this. If I have any conscience, I should leave this family. I can't interfere with my sister's life, but I know leaving is impossible . My roots are here; I've lived here for decades. I can't just walk away—but how can I face my sister? How can I explain this to my wife? I don't know what the future holds— oh no, I hope nothing happens, I won't let it—but really—? Oh God—if only Mom were here! I miss Mom! Mom is only thirty-five this year, she doesn't look old yet, but at this age, the changes in the body are undeniable. Her nipples have darkened a bit, and although her breasts are very full, they have begun to sag. Her hips are becoming more rounded and full, and her lower abdomen is slightly protruding from having given birth, but her limbs are still soft and strong. In any case, Mom's body is still quite well-proportioned, she doesn't have much fat around her waist, and her lines are very soft , especially her thighs, which are still firm and elastic, indicating that her body is in the mature stage. "Come on top of Mom," Mom said. She spread her legs, and I climbed on top of her, pressing my hot penis against Mom's belly. She made me lift my body up, and then reached out and grabbed my little brother. I could feel my mother guiding my little brother with her warm hands to that nectar-like spot, gently rubbing it against her soft pubic hair. After a while, my glans touched something soft and warm; I knew it was against my mother's vulva . I felt a wave of dizziness, because I was about to enter a brand new world, a new beginning in my life . Although I didn't know what the future held, I only knew that I was about to become a real man, and this coming-of-age ceremony would be presided over by my mother. My mother lifted her legs, wrapped them around my waist, and then lifted her buttocks. I barely realized it, but my little brother had already slipped into my mother's body. Instantly, my whole body and nerves tensed up. I'm finally in! That was the only thought in my mind. The bathroom door was still open, and the dripping sound of water could be heard. The room was quiet; my mother seemed to have stopped moving as well, only our lower bodies remained tightly connected. I savored the beauty of this moment. My little brother throbbed in my mother's warm embrace, and an indescribable feeling of warmth welled up inside me. I slowly relaxed my tense nerves, my body relaxed, and I gradually got used to this strange and unfamiliar sensation. I moved my body slightly, feeling the hair below my mother's abdomen brush against my stomach, while my little brother gently rubbed against the walls of my mother's vagina. Instantly, a surge of excitement rushed to my head. "Okay, baby, move faster," my mother moaned, encouraging me to do what a man should do. Without my mother's urging, without her telling me how to do it, and without her explaining the wonder of doing so, I consciously began to thrust forcefully. My mother's vagina wasn't very tight, perhaps because my little brother wasn't old enough, my thrusting encountered almost no resistance, but the friction of flesh against flesh gave me a very strong stimulation. My mother seemed to respond to my movements as well, her body constantly twisting and turning, trying to accommodate my thrusts. We continued like this for about twenty minutes, then Mom told me to keep watching the point where our bodies were connected while I thrust in and out. I curled up, forcefully entering and exiting Mom's body, watching her genitals. Mom's genitals were now a mess, covered in wet, lustful fluids. Her plump labia flipped in and out with the movement of my penis, even the surrounding pubic hair curled up, clinging to my penis, squeezing in and out. I used my hands to spread Mom's vulva, forcefully pulling her labia apart, so I could clearly see my penis going in and out of Mom's blood-red vagina. It was an extremely erotic scene, the inside of her vagina a bright red, the walls wrinkled and layered, tightly gripping my penis. Every time I pulled out, I could see the fluid seeping out from the vaginal walls. Oh, is this what sex is? It feels so amazing! I was thrilled by everything I saw and felt, which fueled my desire to conquer. My movements became increasingly ferocious; my mother's body trembled uncontrollably from my thrusts, her lower abdomen twitching with each stroke.

Ripples spread across the surface.
I held on for a while, and finally couldn't hold back any longer, ejaculating inside my mother. This was the first real
ejaculation in my life, and the feeling was completely different from masturbation. It was incredibly pleasurable, and I ejaculated a lot.
After I calmed down, I collapsed onto my mother's soft body.
My mother didn't stop me when I ejaculated, nor did she let me ejaculate outside. She just moaned and
moved her lower body to meet my release. After I finished my virginity, my mother praised me, saying I did
well. It seemed that my mother didn't mind that I ejaculated inside her.
My mother stood up, gently kissed my lips, and then went to take a shower.
Two days later, my mother asked me again if I still wanted to communicate with her. Of course, I said yes. How could I not?
It was something I had been dreaming about for the past few days, and I had already tasted the sweetness of it. But if my mother hadn't taken the initiative, I wouldn't have had a chance
. Now, of course, I couldn't ask for anything more.
Right then and there, we made love again in my mother's bedroom.
For the next few weeks, our relationship continued like this, happening two or three times a week.
I remember one night, I asked my mother for sex again.
Now, all I could think about was having sex with my mother; nothing else mattered. For me, nestled
in my mother's warm embrace, having a place for my hungry little brother to rest, was more important than anything else.
I think I've become addicted to sex, and my love for my mother is different now. I
love my mother more than ever, not just as a mother, but as a mature woman.
But when I told my mother my request, she seemed very satisfied and happy.
She hugged me tightly and told me that I should only love her as a mother, and that if I only saw
her as a woman to release my sexual desires, she would be very sad, she would feel that she had not fulfilled
her duty as a mother to teach her child, because she had a responsibility to guide me in this regard.
Since we became intimate, Mom stopped drinking. We stopped talking about her past alcoholism
, but I know it took a lot of effort for her to do so. After all, habits are hard to break,
and without our relationship, I think Mom would still be a complete alcoholic.
Later, we started sleeping in the same bed every day.
About two weeks after our first time, I noticed something I didn't
know happening to Mom during sex. When I was making love to her, she started screaming and panting, and her
body was reacting very intensely.
Those of you with experience would know what's going on, but I didn't. I only knew that Mom
was happy, and so was I.
I remember the first time we were intimate, I felt good, but Mom didn't react this intensely. It seemed
something unusual was happening between us.
I asked Mom what was wrong, and she said, "You made me orgasm."
When I understood what was happening, I felt very proud because I knew I had truly grown up and
could give Mom real sex.
My mother began teaching me more about sex. We explored together how to make each other happier, how to
last longer, and how to better coordinate our time. We tried all sorts of
positions and ways of making love, which greatly enhanced the pleasure of our sex life. My mother
often used her sensual mouth to service my penis, and I learned to use my tongue to bring her to orgasm. We
became increasingly compatible.
But one thing puzzled me: when I asked my mother if I would marry her when I grew up
, she refused. She said that if I married my own mother, I would never
become a real man.
My mother was very stubborn on this point, completely ignoring my passionate feelings.
Later, something happened that my mother had tried so hard to avoid—she became pregnant, despite being very careful.
The pregnancy terrified her. I think if abortion had been so easy back then, she
would have done it long ago. Fortunately, she didn't have that opportunity.
My mother was constantly worried that her child would be born deformed, and because of her pregnancy, we
had to move. My father had been dead for two years, and my mother never dated other men.
If anyone saw her heavily pregnant, they would suspect me, so we had to leave
.
We moved to California, where my sister, Jessie, was born.
Thank God, Jessie is healthy. She now teaches grammar at a high school, lives a very happy life
, has her own family and children, but she doesn't know I'm her father.
Of course, that's all later.
After we moved, life was relatively stable. When I went to college, I was fortunate enough to be accepted into
one of the most prestigious universities on the West Coast, so we moved again. My mother bought a house near the university.
Although we still loved each other, my mother insisted that I live on campus and tried to minimize our
sexual contact. For a while, this was very difficult for me, but everything my mother did was for me; she knew
what was right.
Later, I met my wife, Clara, at school. My mother loved her very much, especially
after her grandson was born; she was overjoyed.
However, tragedy struck. She died in a car accident thirty
years ago. Two days before the accident, we made love; little did I know it would be our last
.
I loved my mother so much. She was a devoted and loving mother, and also my first
woman.
I loved her so much and missed her so much.
For a long time after her death, I was depressed. I found that the only thing that could make me happy was myself.
My younger sister, Jessie. She looks so much like her mother, and as the years go by, I
see more and more of my mother's shadow in my sister. But I know my mother would never want what happened between us to happen to her
daughter, so I just enjoy being with her, looking at her face, listening to her voice, and
imagining my mother in my mind. This helps to alleviate some of my loneliness and gives me a little comfort, though not much.
But later, my longing for my mother tormented me more and more, and I began to have impure thoughts about my sister. I longed
to have another incestuous relationship with my sister, like my mother's.
I tried to get closer to my sister. I never thought there
was anything wrong with us having some kind of intimate relationship that would surprise the world, but I didn't know how my sister would think about it. From her perspective, she is
a cultured woman. As far as I know, my sister is quite traditional, even somewhat conservative, especially when it comes to
sex. I can imagine how she would react if I tried to assault her. She
would surely think this is a terrible, morally reprehensible thing, and might hate me, her brother, for the rest of her life.
But I've completely transferred my love for my mother to my sister. I so desperately want to possess her,
and I'm terrified that one day I'll do something foolish to her. I don't want to lose her respect for me. But I'm truly
captivated by this intense longing for my sister. I know I need her, but I can't. If I have any
conscience, I should leave this house; I can't interfere with my sister's life. But I know leaving is impossible
. My roots are here; I've lived here for decades. I can't just walk away—but
how can I face my sister? How can I explain this to my wife? I don't know what the future holds—
oh no, it's best if nothing happens. I won't let it—but really—?
Oh God—if only Mom were here!
I miss Mom

!

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