Mom, I'm so happy to have you.

I was born into an ordinary family, an only child, with both parents working in government offices.

As a child, like most children, I was very attached to my mother, and she loved me dearly, even spoiling me. Our relationship was so close that my father was "jealous" of me. While my mother wasn't a great beauty, she was still quite attractive, a beautiful and virtuous wife and mother. I often thought that when I grew up, I would find a wife as good as my mother.

After starting junior high school, for some reason, I gradually distanced myself from my mother. I stopped snuggling up to her, stopped playing with her, and even stopped talking to her. But my mother continued to care for me and look after me in every way, big or small, which made me increasingly impatient and resentful. I don't remember when it started, but I began to speak harshly to my mother, sometimes even cursing at her. Even so, my mother never got angry with me for it, never holding my rudeness against me.

Entering puberty, I began to experience sexual anxieties. I inexplicably learned to relieve myself with my hands, though I was relatively restrained, only doing it about three or four times a month.

I have a peculiar habit: I'm attracted to women's feet. I don't know when I started this liking; it seems like it's something I was born with. Often, when masturbating, I can reach orgasm simply by imagining playing with women's feet. Near

the end of junior high, one Sunday was my grandmother's birthday. After finishing self-study in the afternoon, I went to her house. The front door of her house faced the door of a guest room, and from the front door, I could see the foot of the bed. That day, as I entered, I saw a pair of very white and beautiful feet on the bed. Due to the limited view, I could only see the bare calves and feet. I couldn't help but feel excited, thinking, "Whose feet are these?" But then I realized, "These are my mother's feet!"

Alas, what a disappointment! It turned out that my mother had been working hard at my grandmother's house and was sleeping on that bed in her skirt and clothes.

In my disappointment, my mind started racing: "If only it weren't Mom, I could have looked at her a little longer. How come I never noticed Mom's feet before..." I stopped abruptly, overwhelmed with guilt.

For the rest of the day, I tried my best to avoid looking at Mom's feet, but I felt uneasy, as if I'd done something wrong.

That night, after going to bed, I imagined playing with a celebrity's feet and masturbated. Just as I was about to climax, Mom's feet appeared in my mind. At that moment, I completely lost control and reached orgasm in extreme excitement. After the orgasm, I was filled with guilt, feeling like a beast, and wanted to slap myself.

In the following days, perhaps due to the pressure of studying and my own efforts to control myself, I no longer felt the urge to look at Mom's feet. My attitude towards Mom also changed drastically. Although I still didn't talk to her much, I no longer resented her concern or spoke harshly to her.

Mom quickly noticed the change in me, was overjoyed, and became even more caring towards me. The more she acted this way, the more uneasy I felt. Two

nights before the high school entrance exam, my mother brought a bowl of sweet soup into my room. I was busy doing my homework, so I told her to put it down. She put down the soup but didn't leave immediately. Instead, she sat down on my bed, watching me lovingly as I worked.

My attention unconsciously shifted to my mother. Before, I didn't have a concept of mature female beauty. I had always been attracted to youthful, beautiful, and slender girls. My mother was no longer young; her beautiful face, though not showing signs of age, had lost its youthful glow, and her figure had become slightly plump. Logically, she shouldn't have attracted my attention. Previously, I had only been attracted to my mother's feet, but that night, I inadvertently discovered a kind of indescribable beauty emanating from her entire being—a beauty different from my pretty female classmates or young actresses. I suddenly realized that this beauty was even more moving, more attractive.

Suddenly, the terrible word "incest" appeared in my mind. I dared not think any further, quickly drank the sweet soup in one gulp, and then handed the bowl to my mother, telling her to leave. Mom took the bowl, looked at me with a hint of reluctance, and then left. It took me a while after she left to settle down and continue doing my homework.

For several days, I devoted myself entirely to the high school entrance exam. After the exam, I was completely exhausted. However, I was relieved to feel that I had done quite well.

That night, I decided to relax properly with my hand; I hadn't released my pent-up energy for several days. But lying in bed that night, the female celebrities and classmates I thought of didn't arouse me at all. Then, Mom seemed to appear in my mind naturally, and I immediately became extremely excited. After some hesitation, I comforted myself, saying, "I'll just indulge myself tonight, and I won't do it again." Afterwards, I felt extremely satisfied, but also disgusted.

The summer vacation after my third year of junior high was relaxing but boring. I didn't have many friends or hobbies, so I stayed home all day, passing the time with novels. Back then, there weren't many erotic novels, and the sexual descriptions in them were only superficial, but they still excited me greatly. My sexual desire grew stronger and stronger, and I began to relieve myself more and more frequently. At first, it was only once or twice a week, but it developed into almost daily occurrences, sometimes even two or three times a day. My

mother, who was with me day and night, gradually became the primary object of my sexual fantasies. My guilt gradually lessened, and I became uncontrollably and passionately infatuated with her. Every smile, gesture, and movement of hers was captivating to me; her clothing was always impeccably appropriate. I was completely smitten.

This wasn't due to any bad influence, as I hadn't heard of or read about incestuous relationships between mothers and sons at that time. Looking back, it was probably because my mother was the only woman in my life, and she was beautiful.

Although I harbored incestuous thoughts about my mother, I dared not act recklessly in real life. I would only secretly take her underwear and shoes when no one was home to satisfy myself, but the more I did this, the more I longed to have her. I was tormented by my desire for her.

The long summer vacation finally ended, and I started high school. I could no longer devote myself to my studies as wholeheartedly as before. Fortunately, the first year of high school wasn't too stressful, and my grades were barely above average.

One evening in mid-October that year, I felt thirsty while studying in my room, so I went to the living room for a drink. When I got there, I saw my mother wearing a short-sleeved pajama top, half-lying on the sofa, watching TV and massaging her feet. Her long, strong calves and fair, rosy feet made my heart flutter. I quickly poured myself a glass of water and stood behind my mother, pretending to watch TV, but greedily stealing glances at her feet. I thought to myself, how wonderful it would be if I could play with my mother's feet to my heart's content.

Suddenly, I had an idea: I would pretend to massage my mother's feet and have some fun with them!

After making up my mind, I said to my mother, "Mom, did you go down to inspect work again today?"

"Yes."

"That must be tiring. Let me massage your feet for you."

My mother happily agreed.

So I sat down next to her, placed her feet on my thighs, and gently massaged them. I find it strange that I didn't notice my mother's alluring feet when I was little. Perhaps it was because back then, she was an untouchable goddess in my eyes. When I was little, I often played and frolicked with my mother, and it was so easy to touch her feet then.

Stroking those long-desired beautiful feet, I couldn't help but become more and more excited; I really wanted to hug and kiss her feet to my heart's content.

At first, my mother just watched me lovingly massage her feet, but later, perhaps sensing something, her expression became a little unnatural.

"It's alright. Much better now, you don't need to massage anymore."

As Mom spoke, she withdrew her feet. I had no choice but to give up and reluctantly went back to my room.

Back in my room, I immediately closed the door, sniffed and licked my palms, finding no smell, and then excitedly relieved myself with them.

After this incident, I knew Mom had become aware of my illicit intentions, so I never offered to massage her feet again.

Days passed, but my desire for Mom didn't diminish in the slightest. I often dreamed of her, and sometimes, waking up in the middle of the night when Dad wasn't home, I felt an urge to rape her.

Besides Mom, nothing else in my life could hold my attention. My grades gradually declined. In the first semester of high school, I barely passed the midterm exams, but in the final exams, I only ranked in the thirties—my worst score ever. Dad gave me a severe scolding. While Dad was scolding me, Mom watched me silently, her eyes reflecting the past love, worry, and a faint, knowing sadness. I couldn't help but suspect that my mother already knew about my illicit thoughts. And indeed, it seemed so; no mother is unaware of her son's feelings.

During winter break, my mother tried to talk to me alone several times. She had tried before, but because I felt guilty, I always refused to give her the chance, and even refused to be alone with her. Each time, my mother left disappointed.

I was afraid that one day I would lose control and do something irreparable, and that day finally came.

In April of that year, I had a high fever for several days in a row and couldn't go to school. My mother also took leave to take care of me at home. That morning, after returning home from the hospital with an injection, I slept until the afternoon.

In my dream, I dreamed of my mother again, and I woke up just as I was hugging her legs.

My mother found me awake, immediately came into the room, touched my forehead, and then happily said to me, "The fever is gone! You should be better after taking some more medicine. Oh, and I need to change your blanket."

As she spoke, she moved a stool, stood barefoot on it, and went to get the blanket from the top shelf of the cabinet next to my bed. Because I wanted to get something, Mom put her right foot on my pillow.

At that moment, I was burning with desire and couldn't resist reaching out and grabbing her foot. Mom turned her head to look at me, but didn't say anything and continued getting the blanket. I stroked it a few times, then lowered my head and started kissing Mom's toes haphazardly.

Only then did Mom tense up. She stopped grabbing the blanket, pulled her foot away, jumped off the bed, and muttered, "Nonsense!" before leaving.

I realized I'd really messed up. Just as I didn't know what to do, Mom came in with a bowl of medicine, her face calm. She sat down beside my bed, fed me the medicine, and then changed my blanket. This time, when she got the blanket, she didn't put her foot on my bed again. She told me to sleep a little longer before leaving again. She acted as if nothing had happened.

At that moment, I was incredibly excited because I had finally kissed Mom's foot! At the same time, I couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed by my recklessness.

For the next few days, I felt awkward whenever I was with my mother, but she didn't bring it up again and treated me as before.

This attitude surprised me, but it also emboldened me. I secretly resolved to kiss my mother's feet again. I knew the best time was when she was sleeping alone.

About a month later, the opportunity arrived. That noon, my father didn't come home, and my mother was taking a nap in her room.

I hesitated for a long time, but finally mustered the courage to go into her room.

When I reached her bedside, she was still asleep. She was lying face down, a thin blanket draped around her waist, her legs slightly bent and sticking out from under the blanket.

Looking at her smooth, alluring feet, my breathing became increasingly rapid. I had originally thought that she would wake up as soon as I entered the room, and I planned to take advantage of her inattention to forcefully kiss her feet. But now I changed my mind.

I leaned down and brought my nose close to my mother's feet to smell their fragrance. My mother had worn leather shoes all morning, but her feet only had a faint, intoxicating scent, not at all smelly. After sniffing my mother's feet for a while, I finally started kissing them. I kissed the soles and heels, and just as I was sucking on her toes, her foot twitched, and she immediately woke up.

When she turned over and saw it was me, she didn't seem very surprised, just a little unhappy. At that moment, I felt a little embarrassed. I stood up, left the room without saying a word, grabbed my schoolbag, and went to school.

Last time, I had only given my mother's feet a quick, fleeting kiss; this time, I truly enjoyed them. I was extremely satisfied.

When I got home from school in the evening, my mother and father were already there. As usual, my mother was busy in the kitchen, and my father was reading the newspaper in the living room. When my mother brought out the dishes, she gave me a reproachful look. Although I didn't really care, I was too embarrassed to meet her gaze.

After that incident, just as I expected, my mother didn't pursue the matter and treated me as well as usual, but she intentionally or unintentionally avoided being alone with me.

This semester, my studies haven't improved, with my grades hovering between 30th and 40th place. My dad has scolded me several times, and I really want to concentrate on my studies, but my heart is completely captivated by my mom. Especially after that night when I "ambushed" her, all I could think about was how to get my satisfaction back.

My dad usually goes on business trips for a few days every month or two, but he hadn't gone for almost three months. I later found out it was because he was busy with a special project. This made me incredibly anxious.

Finally, in mid-July, my dad was going on a three-day business trip. I was as happy as a child celebrating the New Year.

On the day my dad left, I was at home in the morning, absentmindedly reading a novel, anxiously waiting for my mom to come home from work. Time seemed to drag on forever, and I finally made it to noon when my mom came home.

During lunch, I had no appetite, but I tried my best to control my emotions, not wanting my mom to notice anything. Only when my mom was clearing the dishes did I secretly stare at her bare feet in slippers, thinking that those feet would be mine again soon.

After washing the dishes, Mom didn't go for her usual afternoon nap; instead, she started cleaning. I patiently waited, thinking she might go to sleep after she finished. But Mom didn't finish until almost 2 PM, and then she went to work.

I was extremely disappointed and could only console myself by waiting until Mom went to sleep that night.

That evening, amidst my anxiety, it was finally bedtime. Mom turned off the TV and went into her room. I almost jumped for joy. But unexpectedly, Mom immediately closed the door and slammed it shut.

I was stunned; I felt like I'd fallen into an ice cave.

I didn't sleep well that night, my heart filled with both love and hate for Mom—it felt like a broken heart.

The next day at noon, I still held onto a sliver of hope. But Mom went into her room and slammed the door shut again. I was completely devastated.

That night, I went to bed early, seething with anger and resentment. Around ten o'clock, Mom turned off the TV and came into my room. I glanced at her, then turned away, ignoring her. Mom stood silently by my bed for a while, then seemed to sigh softly before leaving.

She sat quietly in the living room for quite some time, finally returning to her room around 11 o'clock. I heard her close the door, but I didn't hear that hateful "slam" sound. And for a long time afterward, there was no further sound.

Had I missed the sound of the door locking, or had Mom forgotten to lock it? My heart began to pound.

I was determined to find out. I got out of bed, put on my basketball shorts, and went out.

I stood in front of my mother's bedroom door and tried to turn the lock; it wasn't locked.

My mother had been asleep for almost half an hour, so I figured she should be asleep by now. I pushed the door open and went in.

My mother always slept with a bedside lamp on, and in the light, I could see her lying face down, wearing only a blouse and underwear. Her long, black hair, full and graceful figure, long, white legs, and warm, alluring feet made my blood boil.

I carefully walked to my mother's bedside and stopped. Suddenly, I realized that my mother wasn't asleep; she was awake. I stood there for a while, carefully observing her, and became even more certain that she was awake.

"Why isn't Mom responding to me? She's awake!" I was truly puzzled.

Finally, I decided to see what would make my mother stop pretending to be asleep.

I lifted the mosquito net, bent down, and gently took my mother's foot in my right hand. As I held her foot, it twitched slightly, but didn't pull away. I was secretly delighted and began to gently knead her soft foot. My mother let me be, ignoring me.

At that moment, I couldn't resist any longer and lowered my head to kiss her foot. When my mother noticed me kissing her foot, she immediately tried to pull it away. But how could I let go? I held onto my mother's feet tightly, kissing and licking them indiscriminately.

My mother struggled a few times but couldn't break free, so she loosened her grip and let me do as I pleased.

I kissed my mother's feet wildly, for what seemed like an eternity, until the skin on her feet was wrinkled from kissing, before finally letting go.

My mother's indulgence emboldened me more than ever before. After releasing her feet, without thinking, I pounced on her and hugged her tightly.

After embracing my mother, I felt a little lost, just staring blankly at her face.

She looked at me gently, calmly, her eyes filled with love.

After a moment of awkward silence, she reached out and hugged me, gently stroking my back and head, then slowly pressing my head down so my forehead touched hers, rubbing it lightly, occasionally kissing my cheek.

Suddenly, I seemed to understand what to do. I eagerly kissed her face, nose, earrings, neck, and her sweet, soft lips. The feeling of kissing was so wonderful; ignoring her struggles, I kissed her greedily again and again. Suddenly,

she pushed me away, then sat up and slowly took off her clothes. Seeing this, I immediately got up and took off my clothes as well.

Facing her naked body, I felt a little lost again.

She had seemed a little shy as she took off her clothes, but seeing my reaction, she seemed completely relaxed. She smiled slightly and lay down calmly.

"Come on up," Mom whispered.

I obediently climbed onto her. Mom hugged my head, burying it between her full, soft breasts. I immediately snapped back to reality, becoming excited again, constantly kneading and kissing her breasts. Under my actions, Mom also became excited, her breathing gradually becoming heavier, her cheeks flushed.

I kissed my way down Mom's breasts, and just as I was about to kiss her genitals, Mom suddenly squeezed her legs together.

"No!" Mom said firmly in a low voice.

But how could I agree? After some effort, I finally pried open Mom's legs. I carefully examined Mom's private parts, "So the honey hole is just a dark red slit of flesh." I first smelled the faint fishy smell, and then licked it with my tongue.

Mom groaned softly as I licked her, and her body twisted slightly. At this moment, although I didn't know that this was a sign of Mom's excitement, I vaguely felt that this was not a bad thing, so I licked even more vigorously, and finally even probed my tongue into Mom's vagina.

After kissing my mother's vulva enough, I continued kissing her legs and feet. By this time, I was incredibly aroused.

After I climbed back on top of my mother, she kissed my face, closed her eyes, and grasped my penis, thrusting her hips forward.

I realized what was about to happen, and I focused intently on feeling it:

the foreskin on my penis slowly peeled back, and my penis slowly entered a warm, lubricated passage.

The feeling was so wonderful! As soon as my mother released her grip, I immediately began to thrust forcefully. Each thrust was harder than the last, and my mother's vagina was incredibly wet and slippery. Sex was truly so intoxicating; I enjoyed it ecstatically, and soon reached orgasm, holding my mother as I ejaculated all my semen.

Afterward, I felt completely drained, collapsing weakly onto my mother. Mom opened her eyes, reached for some toilet paper on the bedside table, then shifted her body to remove my penis from hers, pushed me away, sat up, quickly cleaned herself, and went to take a shower.

I lay alone for a while before getting up and putting on my clothes. Mom returned from her shower, now dressed in clean pajamas.

We were both a little embarrassed, and I felt somewhat lost. Mom seemed much calmer; as she tidied her things, she softly told me, "Go wash up and go to bed."

I listened and hesitantly left Mom's room.

That night, my mind was a mess. I couldn't believe I had gotten Mom! I felt both excited and deeply guilty. Lost in thought, I don't know when I finally fell asleep.

I woke up the next day, almost noon. At lunch, Mom didn't mention the previous night at all, and even chatted with me about trivial things, her face relaxed. Seeing this, I felt a little relieved.

When Dad came home that evening, I couldn't help feeling a little guilty in his presence. But Mom remained calm; there was no sign of anything unusual on her face.

In the following days, Mom treated me the same as before, and I gradually relaxed and stopped worrying about it.

A few days into the new semester, Dad didn't come home for lunch. My lust returned. After lunch, while Mom was washing the dishes, I hugged her waist from behind. Mom understood my intentions and softly said, "No, what if your father comes home?"

I begged repeatedly, but Mom wouldn't agree, so I finally gave up. However, that noon I still caressed Mom's feet, which was some consolation.

Two weeks later, Dad went on a business trip, and that evening Mom finally agreed to let me have sex again. That time, we did it for two nights in a row.

From then on, Mom almost always agreed to let me have sex only when Dad didn't come home at night. My mother had her reasons. She only locked the door from the inside when we slept at night, so even if my father suddenly came home, he couldn't open the door and wouldn't suspect anything.

My mother loved me very much, but that love was simply a mother's love for her son. Although she was always selfless and even experienced orgasm during sex with me, I knew it was only for me; she was willing to do it with me because she loved me so much.

One shouldn't be too selfish. After I went to university, I started dating girls and gradually stopped making demands of my mother.

Now I have my own little family, and my relationship with my mother is still very good. We've never intended to forget the past; how could we possibly forget it? I love my mother deeply, and if she's willing, I still want to make love to her. Because besides a son's love for his mother, I also have a husband's love for his wife. My mother is, in effect, my first wife.

Mom, I love you!

[The End]

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Mom, I'm so happy to have you.

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