A woman loved by three generations of her family.

My elderly father is hospitalized, and I can't be with him, only visit him occasionally. Today, as soon as I arrived at the hospital, a nurse came over and quietly told me that she suspected my father had hypersexuality, as his penis was always erect when she was handling his urine and feces. My father is 65 years old; can he really still have erections? I was a little skeptical of the nurse's statement, and I had to use tweezers to tap it down to make it subside. Otherwise, the nurse couldn't work. The nurse suggested that I

bring home to recuperate, since it's a chronic illness and there wouldn't be any sudden changes in his condition. She said she could schedule regular checkups and injections with doctors and nurses at home. The nurse seemed a little annoyed. I thought about it and said okay, I'll bring him home and contact you later. My home is quite convenient; I'm a 40-year-old single woman with my son, living in a 150-square-meter house, which is spacious enough.

After arriving home, I took a month's leave to care for my father. I had to wipe his body every day, help him urinate several times a day, and sometimes even help him defecate. A few times, when I was helping him urinate, his penis actually got erect, and it looked quite hard. He even looked at me with eager eyes—I was all too familiar with that look; I'd seen it countless times. I knew he really wanted it. I was puzzled; even with his illness, his libido was still so strong. While I was helping him

urinate, he touched my hand and then pulled it towards his penis. I understood—he wanted me to masturbate him. Without thinking too much, I decided to masturbate him; it was a way of showing filial piety. I gently stroked him with my hand, and he seemed to enjoy it. Seeing this, I started giving him oral sex. After about ten minutes, he suddenly started moaning, and then a sticky, fishy-smelling fluid sprayed into my mouth. Just as he was climaxing, the door behind me opened, and my son suddenly came in and

saw everything. He's grown up; he understood immediately. He didn't say anything and turned back to his room. What should I do? I couldn't explain it to my son no matter how hard I tried.
That evening, my seventeen-year-old son came to my room. I suspected he was up to no good, but to my surprise

, he didn't say anything. He just pulled down his pants in front of me, held up his large penis, and said, "You like to eat penises, and I want someone to eat mine too." I was in a difficult position. I told him that my grandfather was delirious and that's why I had done it for him. My son didn't believe me at all. He came over and forced my head onto his penis, putting it in my mouth. I had no choice but to give him oral sex. Less than a minute later, he ejaculated. His face was flushed, the typical flush after an orgasm. Suddenly, he said, "I want to do a paternity test with my grandfather. I suspect I'm his son." Good heavens!

Why does this kid say such things? He suspects he was born from incest! What should I do? He said that based on my blood type, he could confirm that my father and I were not related. Looking at the photos, he felt I resembled my maternal grandfather and uncle. His father had once said that I was only seven months pregnant when he gave birth to me, making me premature. He added that he still had some physical defects, which he felt were a result of inbreeding. I looked at my son's disabled left hand and remained silent.

My son continued, "I was afraid to suggest a paternity test before, for fear of hurting myself and my family. Sometimes when I unintentionally mentioned blood type, you would immediately interrupt, preventing me from continuing. I felt you were quite anxious about me bringing it up. Now that my father has passed away, can I ask you for the truth? I'm mentally prepared to accept this outcome." My son had pushed me to this point, and I truly had no choice but to recall everything from the past and prepare

to tell my son the whole story.
It turns out that my father and I did have a period of sexual bliss. I was with him for five years, starting when I was fifteen.
Actually, this relationship had already begun back in our hometown. When I was fifteen, I had a one-sided affair with my father. Later, under his influence, we had sex several more times, and we became

hopelessly entangled in this dual relationship of father and daughter and lovers. I knew it wasn't a good thing, but I just couldn't stop.
To avoid the gossip back home, he took me to work in Guangdong and we never went back. I canceled my household registration in our hometown and bought a new one in Guangdong, changing my identity, so no one knew about it.
When I was twenty, I suddenly became pregnant. We had always used protection, but one time

the condom broke, and I conceived a son.
My father found me a boyfriend—my son's father—and we ended our relationship. I married my son's father, had a child, and our son was born. My son's father had doubts about the premature birth, but he died in an accident a few years ago while working away from home, so the matter was dropped

.
Now, although my father is quite ill, he still remembers our familiar sexual acts, the ones we've practiced for years. When he wanted it, their eyes and gestures were so familiar. So my father's eager gaze told me what he was thinking. It seemed like my father didn't have many years left to live, so

satisfying wasn't unreasonable. But the tragedy was that my son
caught us doing something we'd never told anyone our whole lives.
Not long after he found out, his maternal grandfather passed away from heart failure. I cried for days before finally calming down.

I decided to confront my son. Both the opposing parties were dead—his father and grandfather. Now
it's him oral sex. In the public eye, that's not considered formal intercourse, but in a doctor's eyes, it's definitely incest; medically, oral sex is considered sexual activity. My son's future will be a huge problem; a child with a disabled hand will find finding a girlfriend harder than climbing to heaven.

This is all my fault. I don't want to think about it anymore; it's too distressing.
On a day when I was in a good mood, I called my son to my room. I wanted to have a serious talk with him, to clear away the fog that had shrouded us for over a decade. I recounted my past relationship with his maternal grandfather, explaining to him that she was the product of our absurd relationship and expressing my apologies to him and his

father. My son, clutching his disabled left hand, lay on the bed and cried uncontrollably, grieving for his pitiful past. But I, his only family in this world, was his mother, burdened with so many sins. I told him that to atone for my mistakes, I would grant him any request he made. He said nothing, and we both fell asleep silently that night.

The next day, my son came to my room again. As if making a firm decision, he said, "Mom, I want to marry you." I said, "That's impossible. The law doesn't allow it." He said, "I don't need anyone else's approval. I just need you to acknowledge us as husband and wife. Although I'm disabled, I can still do some things. I want to take care of you for the rest of my life. Anyway, it'll be very difficult for me to find a wife." Actually, this is what I was thinking too. I can't give my son anything else, like finding him a wife, but

I can still satisfy his sexual needs while I'm alive. Besides, I'm not ugly. If I were, my dad wouldn't have clung to me for five years. So I agreed to my son's request without hesitation.
In the following days, my son seemed incredibly busy. Finally, one day he took out a wedding ring, solemnly put it on my finger, and then showed me a beautiful wedding dress, asking me to change into it and even do my own makeup.

He prepared a few red candles, some wine, some snacks, and a few side dishes. At that moment, I felt incredibly happy, even happier than at my wedding with his father, when I had ulterior motives and was actually quite nervous. With my own son, I could open my heart completely and hug him. My son and I performed a ritual of bowing to heaven and earth, then to each other, but we didn't bow to our parents because it was impossible.

Tonight is my son's wedding night. We are an incestuous family, and we are extremely indifferent and dismissive of the concept of incest. As my son slowly removed my wedding dress and my undergarments, my still-slender body was laid bare before him. My large, E-cup breasts hung precariously in front, and below was my round, full vulva, covered only by a sparse tuft of light-colored pubic hair. They say a hip wider than one's shoulders is a sign of divine beauty; my hips are wider than my shoulders…

These things brought countless moments of sexual bliss and fond memories to my son's maternal grandfather and father. Now, all of this belongs to my son. My son and I lay naked on the bed, still filled with the anticipation of our first wedding night. My son pressed his lips to mine, and I returned his passionate kiss, which lasted a full minute. My son used his crippled, claw-like left hand to caress my breasts, and his other hand to touch my genitals. The stimulation from above and below, combined with my

love for my son, instantly concentrated in my abdomen. I was somewhat intoxicated. My son could still give me happiness after my husband's death. I was going crazy because my whole body, especially my vagina, was screaming with thirst. I grabbed my son's large penis and forcefully inserted it into me. The stimulation of my son returning to the womb sent shivers down my spine. My son excitedly worked on his mother, the new bride, cultivating the land that his ancestors had cultivated. My body responded passionately to

my son. As we were lost in the moment, experiencing the intense throbbing desire at our point of union, it suddenly erupted under our combined stimulation, assaulting our souls. Our bodies trembled and shook, and we involuntarily murmured in our sleep. No one knew what we said, but I knew that my body had happily accepted my son's seed, though I didn't know if it would bear a sweet fruit of love for us.
(The End)

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A woman loved by three generations of her family.

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