I gave my mother back her sexual happiness 1-5

This post was last edited by ptc077 on 2020-3-12 09:32.

(I)

When I finally kissed my mother in this small room in a foreign land, I was twenty-one and she was forty.

The whole thing started at eight o'clock last night. I lost a drinking contest at a dinner party and was teased by my friends to send
her a WeChat message, telling her that I was going to give her a perfect vacation.

"Oh—oh—a bet's a bet! Brother Cheng, truth or dare, you choose one."

At the quarterly celebration party, my colleagues egged me on.

"What's the point of truth? I'll just go for dare." I said to them irritably.

"Hey? Cheng-ge, you said it yourself. Don't you have a crush on someone for years? Do you
dare confess to her today?"

"Go away, go away, find someone else." I waved my hand at them, "Didn't I tell you guys, that girl
is already married, don't mess with her."

"Cheng-ge, that's not funny—who says you can't confess after marriage? Today is April Fool's Day
, if you dare to send it, she'll take it as a joke, what's wrong with making the brothers laugh?"

"Yeah, yeah, Cheng-ge, make everyone laugh. It'll also fulfill one of your wishes."

"..." Seeing that everyone was determined not to let me go, I had no choice but to take out my phone, thinking of sending a message to that junior girl
to fool her, but as soon as the screen was unlocked, it fell into my colleague's hands.

"Hey! Give it to me!"

"Hey, Cheng-ge, don't cheat! This pinned one on your WeChat... Weiwei... is your sweetheart, right?
Come on, tell us what to send, we'll send it."

"You guys!!" I was about to explode and rush over to snatch the phone back, but suddenly a strange feeling
calmed me down, and I actually started thinking about what to say.

"Cheng-ge, think of something, you say a sentence and we'll send it."

"Okay, then." I cleared my throat, "First of all, Happy April Fool's Day! I've
loved you for a long time, and I know you're not happy. If possible, I want to give you a happy holiday tomorrow."

"Alright, just send it like this." I waved to my colleagues.

"Okay—Cheng-ge, we sent it exactly as you said, word for word. We really can't guarantee
that she won't take it seriously." My colleague tiptoed and stuffed the phone back into my hand. I was drunk at the time and didn't
realize the real meaning behind their mischievous smiles.

It wasn't until midnight that I was jolted awake by my phone's vibration. A
message

"Weiwei: Pick me up at the train station tomorrow night at 7 PM."

My heart skipped a beat. I quickly unlocked the screen and opened WeChat. Damn it, those bastards had
replaced all the "happiness" I mentioned with "sexual happiness." And the person on the other end of WeChat actually believed it!

At 7 PM, the train slowly pulled into this sweltering central city.
The pungent smell of cigarettes, sweat, and various other odors swelled up, giving me a headache. Swarms of mosquitoes buzzed around people, and the moon,
like a worn-out kidney, floated loosely on the dark lake.

From the bustling crowd, I saw a familiar figure slowly walking towards me. She was wearing a white
dress, a blue jacket over it, and light green flats. I was
smoking at the exit of the station at that moment. The white Nanjing—things connected to my hometown always evoked memories. Every time
I see an acquaintance in a foreign land, it's like seeing many past events at once, some joyful, some sorrowful, until suddenly,
a pair of light, jade-like hands take my arm, and I come back to my senses.

My mother's eyes are staring straight at me. I seem to see
something .

"You invited me all this way? And you didn't say a word? Huh? My handsome little guy?" My mother
stubbed out the cigarette in my fingers and patted my cheek.

I thought that my mother came because of my crazy WeChat message, and for a moment I didn't know what to say, so I came up with
this cliché.

"Is the weather in Nanjing still so unpredictable?"

(II)

Telling some of my past stories might help people understand how I became who I am today, and how these
things happened.

My name is Acheng, and I am twenty-one years old. My life has been violently divided into various scattered fragments.

I have always loved my mother, and it is the love of a lover, something I have realized since elementary school.

In my distant memories, family was always a place of an alcoholic and abusive father and a mother who was always wiping away tears,
with the constant clatter of pots and pans outside my room.

When I was in elementary school, we lived on the first floor, and all of this was witnessed by my peers.
Even later, I couldn't understand why children could harbor such deep-seated malice, thus distancing themselves from a
quiet boy suffering from domestic violence.

At school, boys my age disdained to be with me, whether it was practicing passing in PE class or
group study in academic subjects. Because of this, I interacted more with girls, perhaps further contributing to my childhood
weakness.

Therefore, during this period of burgeoning hormones, while those precocious boys were
already exchanging pornographic magazines or browsing pornographic websites in internet cafes, I, being
the object of protection for the girls my age, felt no masculine lust towards them. Instead, it was seeing
my haggard mother busy in the kitchen at home that evoked a protective instinct in me.

I once suspected that I was born to bring misfortune to my father, that my life's trajectory mirrored his decline
. When I was born, my father was a highly sought-after section chief in his workplace's supply and marketing department.

Shortly after my birth, his workplace closed down, and he, along with many others, was laid off. He then
tried his hand at business, only to lose all of the family's meager savings. It wasn't until his
uncle, , committed suicide by jumping into Xuanwu Lake that he finally gave up on business and went to work in a factory, trying to pay off his debts.
The money was paid back. But then he developed an alcoholic habit. Over the years, my father transformed from a humorous and upright man into
an alcoholic and violent one. He started beating and verbally abusing my mother and me, believing that all his misfortunes were
our fault. Because of this, I often stayed at school until the very end before returning home, but I still couldn't escape his scolding.

"Where do you go every day, you good-for-nothing?! Are you out playing around? Do you even know that
I'm risking my life to support your education?"

"I...I'm at school..."

"Next time, come home as soon as school is over! Otherwise, get out and never come back!"

My mother heard my father yelling at me and quickly came over to stop him. "Oh dear, what are you doing? Isn't the child quite
diligent?"

"Slap—" My father slapped my mother across the face. "Spoiling him! You've spoiled him rotten! You've spoiled him so much that he's become
unrecognizable !" After saying that, he angrily went back to his room, smoking one cigarette after another and chugging from the bottle.

My mother covered her face and told me to go back to my room and go to sleep. I quickly ran back to my room.

I remember that night, I couldn't sleep at all. I secretly read a comic book under the covers with a flashlight—it was
"Oolong Courtyard," a nonsensical comic. I was completely unaware of footsteps creeping closer.

Suddenly, the covers were pulled back, and I was horrified to see my mother smiling at me. I was about
to apologize when she shushed me, pointed towards their bedroom, and gestured for me to move closer;
she was sleeping in my bed that night. I quickly tucked the book under the bed and made room for my mother.

My bed wasn't big then; it might have been enough for me alone, but it was quite cramped for two. My mother had
a fuller figure, with breasts slightly larger than average, and the bed's
narrowness .

Therefore, she had to hug me tightly. I can still recall that night, the warm breath on my
face , and the dreamlike touch I felt—that soft, yielding sensation, along with my mother's heartbeat, gradually
etched her image into my mind. I saw my mother's delicate eyelashes
fluttering , her body surging with boundless restlessness and heat, relentlessly advancing towards my lower body...

The next morning, I felt a cool sensation between my legs. Touching it,
I felt a sticky liquid on my underwear, accompanied by a slippery feel and a fishy smell. At that moment, I didn't know it was a wet dream, and I quickly
covered it with my hand, not wanting my mother to see that I was still wetting the bed at ten years old. As a result, my movements woke my mother, and she loosened
her arms from around me. She gently sniffed the area, looked at my crotch that I was covering with my hand, and immediately laughed
.

"Oh dear, our little Cheng is growing into a man."

After saying that, she made me take off my underwear and told me not to tell my classmates about this; it was
a little secret between my mother and me. I quickly rushed to the closet, grabbed some clean underwear, changed, and ran out of the room to wash up, while my mother,
holding my underwear soaked with the unknown liquid, gave me a mischievous smile and gestured for me to hurry up and go to school.

Later, whenever they argued or had a cold war, my mother stopped asking my opinion and would sneak into
my bed, with reasons like "I'm too cold with your dad on" or "I'm too hot with your dad on
." Eventually, she just slept with me.

My memories aren't entirely devoid of family harmony. Actually, when my father wasn't drunk, he was a normal
man, silent like millions of fathers in China, and he even tried to be a good father and
a good husband, but I think he lacked that natural talent.

That must have been my tenth birthday. According to the customs of my father's hometown, this was a
festival that required grand preparation. That day, quite by chance, we went to a five-star hotel, where there were about five or six tables. Many relatives and friends
came to wish me a long and healthy ten years, including some of my classmates. When we had drunk
a few rounds, I saw that my father's face was already red, but he was still playing drinking games with others. My mother gestured for me to tell
my father to stop drinking, so I went to my father's side and pressed down on the glass he was about to put to his mouth.

Who knew my father would suddenly fly into a rage, “Get the hell out of here! Who gave you the right to tell me what to do? You good-for-
nothing ! You’re ten years old and you still want to sleep with your mother. Ask these uncles and elders, when I was ten, wasn’t
I out there earning money for your grandma?”

Seeing this, my mother rushed over and slapped my father, “What nonsense are you spouting? How can you talk about your
son ?!”

My father spat on the ground, pointed at my mother’s nose and cursed, “Spoil him! Keep spoiling him! See if you
grow up to be a spendthrift, then I won’t give you a single penny!” He then pointed at me and said, “What are you going to do
? You still have three years left to finish that lousy elementary school, right? Get out! Go to the county middle school!”

This story has always been etched in my mind. I always vividly remember my father’s bulging veins in the restaurant
, the children’s secret snickers, the adults’ muttered “Don’t be
like them,” and my mother’s distraught, apologetic smile as she tried to appease everyone.

Now, when I mention these things, I don't even feel any hatred. After I grew up, I finally found the reason for my father's violence in the songs of Omnipotent Youth
Society . The people they sang about being killed,
the people who "finished work at six in the evening, taking off their pharmaceutical factory clothes," were my father. He may have been killed long ago; he
raised me with his already dead body.

When I grew up and finally became calm due to exhaustion, I took it upon myself to forgive my father. But I never forgave him on behalf of
my mother .

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