Sexual Relationships Between Mother and Son in the History of Social Customs

More than twenty years ago
, when Mom and Dad signed a contract, they officially became a legally married couple. In other words, both parties gained the
legally recognized right to engage in sexual intercourse. Mom and Dad could have sex "protected by law" and have children. Conversely,
any sexual activity between men and women that doesn't complete this process is "self-defeating."

That year, my mother was about 25 years old. A year later, I came into the world (ironically, we are still very curious about the specific process of our coming into the world
, but that is not something we can know).

Ten months of pregnancy, one day of childbirth—I lived in my mother's warm belly for ten months, during which time the boy's genitals developed and
tightly embraced my mother's tender uterus; it was truly a happy and blissful time. Finally, amidst my mother's screams and struggles, I left this comfortable paradise, crossed the extremely swollen
vagina, and was born with a cry.

If we define sexual intercourse as contact between male and female genitalia, then sexual intercourse had already occurred between the son and mother around the time of his birth. However, neither
the father nor the mother would think this way. They only know that they have contributed to the continuation of life, but they never consider that in the process of this new life's emergence,
the mother actually had sexual contact with "two" men, not "one."

The arrival of a new life brought both joy and trouble. The young father had to work twice as hard to feed his wife and son, while his mother stayed
home with him as a baby.

I often cried loudly because of hunger, so my mother would take off her top to breastfeed me. At this time, her breasts were at their largest, soft and firm. She
gently held me in her arms, bringing her large, white breasts to my mouth. I eagerly took my mother's swollen nipple into my mouth, greedily sucking on the sweet milk
, the ultimate delicacy for a baby, fresh and delicious.

My mother smiled at me like a saint, looking at her crying son in her arms, gently stroking me. I reached out my tiny, delicate hands, constantly touching those beautiful mounds of
flesh. We always hold women's breasts in such reverence, praise, admiration, and longing, for they are a treasure bestowed upon women by the Creator to nurture humanity—so
magnificent and so alluring. A man's attraction to a woman's breasts may not be considered disrespectful, but rather an uncontrollable urge towards life and
a yearning for motherhood.

This was a wonderful time, no less so than being in the womb. I could enjoy my mother's sweet, full breasts to my heart's content; they were mine, and no one could take them away.
Of course, Dad and Mom would also do what they wanted at night. Perhaps Dad also longed for Mom's breasts. When they were together, Dad
would always suckle Mom's nipple with all his might.

It's common to see mothers scolding fathers, "Don't be so crazy! You've drunk all the milk, what will happen to our son?"

The father smiled and said, "It's okay, I'll only drink what my son leaves behind."

My mother blushed and hugged me shyly, saying, "We won't give it to him, right, son? Mommy's milk is only for you."

Dad then burst out laughing.

This is an important detail that we cannot easily overlook: both the father and the young son exhibit a possessive desire for the mother's breasts.
This can be seen in the father kissing the mother's breasts during intercourse and the infant's longing for the mother's nipples. What does this possessiveness of the father and son towards the mother's breasts signify
? For the son, is it merely a need for breastfeeding or a male's need for a woman? I have no way of knowing, nor do I wish to delve deeper, otherwise those extreme "
moralists" would turn me into a pariah.

At that time, I was a baby boy, and my mother put me in my own little bed. But I would always cry loudly at night because I was hungry or wet the bed,
disturbing their peace. My mother had no choice but to let the three of us sleep together, and I would lie "between my father and mother." But even that wasn't enough for me,
so I would often poop and pee at the same time, and because I was often snuggled in my mother's arms, I would poop directly on my father.

"What a naughty little thing!" Dad grumbled angrily, and had no choice but to take my clothes, which were covered in my poop, to wash. This way
, I could snuggle in Mom's soft arms and fall asleep contentedly in her gentle, maternal embrace. Because Dad anticipated being attacked by my poop at any moment, he
kept his distance from my bottom and from Mom as well; I finally relied on this uniquely infant ability to enjoy my mother's love all by myself.

During this time, my arrival not only reduced my parents' sex life, but my mother's delicate postpartum body also meant she had to
stay home with me for extended periods. My father was very busy with work to support three people, which meant my mother's hormones were likely to take effect when he wasn't home.

A woman's breasts are her erogenous zones. When my mother breastfed me, my little mouth diligently sucked on every part of her nipple—a
stark contrast to my father's sucking, where men would never suckle so carefully and for so long. I think at that moment, my mother was not only breastfeeding, but also enjoying the sexual stimulation her child provided from her breasts. It's a very subtle feeling, one that only the mother herself knows— a blissful experience of this "hidden and subtle" sexual pleasure
while feeding her child .

Time flies, and six years have passed in the blink of an eye. I am six years old, and my mother is 32. As mentioned above, my mother has always treated me like a baby in her arms,
showering me with love and care. My father, at this time, has been away from home for many years due to work, much like when I was a baby. I am certain
that my mother's sexual needs were very strong back then, and I can give several examples to prove it.

1. Although children think that six years old is already an "adult", I still need my mother to help me take a bath, otherwise I will never be able to clean the
parts that should be clean.

My mother placed me in a wooden basin, lathered me with soap, and cleaned my genitals as well. A boy's genitals are, after all, a male physiological characteristic.
When a mother touches them, even if her son shows no discomfort, does the mother necessarily feel nothing at all? I still remember the scene of my mother wiping my entire body with a towel;
she always looked at me with infinite tenderness.

It's well-known that boys enjoy playing with their genitals, a phenomenon Freud referred to as "the earliest form of sexuality." When I play with my genitals,
my mother scolds me, "Don't play with your little penis!"

You'll get sick!

Why can my mother touch my genitals without any problem, yet she is so disgusted by me playing with my penis? I think this is likely because: my mother
hopes to obtain sexual satisfaction from her son without him being aware of sex—this can prevent her son from "going astray" and also make her
feel at ease—this deep-seated mentality is hard to understand.

2. My mother and I often play together on the bed during the day.

I can't remember exactly what we played, but one thing I do remember is that Mom liked to kiss my cheeks and little mouth affectionately while playing with me. Mom
would hug me and say with a loving smile, "Little rascal, come here, give Mommy a kiss." So I would immediately pout my little mouth and kiss Mom's cheek. Mom would then say, "Sweetie
, give me a kiss." And the two of us would happily kiss.

At that time, I would always ride on my mother's belly, excitedly shouting, "Giddy up! Horse, run faster!"

Mom laughed and said, "Little one, you're making it hard for me to breathe!"

My mother didn't seem to have any reservations about kissing me; in her eyes, I was just an innocent child, and kissing was a way for mothers and children to express their affection. But who can prove that
when my mother kissed me passionately, there wasn't a sexual undertone involved?

I am both a child and a man. Kissing can have many meanings; it can express affection while also providing sexual satisfaction.

The emergence of the Oedipus complex

I don't remember the specific details of that time at all; I'll only describe the process and the state of mind in that particular environment. Regarding the "Oedipus
complex," I think it likely originated from the time I spent alone with my mother and the intimate contact I had during my childhood. Once this complex developed, it
was difficult to shake off because the emotions involved were so deep and complex—it's hard to say whether it was familial love, attachment, romantic love, or sexual desire.

Six years later, I was 12 years old. My male hormones were gradually developing, so at this time, while I was still very attached to my mother
, I also had the attraction and sexual desire that men have for mature women.

My mother was 38 years old at this time, and in my eyes, she was incredibly sexy and beautiful: she wasn't tall, about 157 cm, and had a slightly plump figure . She had
a dignified and clear face; her eyes were large and gentle, and her lips were full. My mother's earlobes had always been my favorite feature—small, delicate, and incredibly tender. Her
breasts were no longer as large as they used to be, her slender waist was gradually becoming fuller, and her thighs and hips were quite plump.

As you can see from this description, I have learned to carefully observe my mother's body, which is fundamentally different from my childhood: a child only knows that his mother
is kind and gentle, but a teenager has developed a vague understanding of "sex" beyond what a child could have.

For a while at first, I was still able to sleep with my mother. In my sleep, I would still cling tightly to her neck like a child. This seemed
to make my mother very proud; she would often talk about me happily to her friends.

"My baby son is closest to me now, and he always holds me tightly at night." My mother believes that I am still the same as when I was first born, just a kind of attachment to the mother's body
.

I had the same feeling back then, but I didn't feel uncomfortable. However, one time, I suddenly felt that my mother beside me was also a woman, a thought that
surprised and excited me greatly. I unconsciously reached out and hugged my mother, gently stroking her breasts. This involuntary action made me so nervous I could hardly breathe
, yet I was also incredibly happy.

I pressed my body against my mother's back, resting my head on her shoulder. It felt warm and gentle, and I quickly fell asleep. In my sleep, my mother gently pushed
my hand away, murmuring, "This child never grows up; still wants to nurse!" My behavior was a mixture of sexual attraction and the attachment I once had as a child
.

Another time, I woke up groggily in the early morning and stroked my mother beside me. It was early autumn, and she was wearing a vest. Her skin was very smooth, and her fair and full
arms were clearly visible, with a wisp of downy hair peeking out from under her armpits. Her face was delicate and full, and her sexy neck and chest were clearly visible. I felt very happy and
hugged my mother tightly, stroking her plump and smooth arms, then holding her neck and resting my head on her chin.

Even in my dream, my mother subconsciously reached out to stroke me, put her arm around my waist, and brought us very close together, face to face.

My mother's heavy breathing in her sleep excited me so much that I almost wanted to kiss her lips like I did when I was a child.

I lay on my side, placing one leg on my mother's well-defined femur. A possessive desire for a woman's body filled my mind, and my penis
quickly became erect, brushing against my mother's lower abdomen several times.

I pressed my face even closer to my mother, my forehead against her lips, and she unconsciously hugged me tighter, pressing her full cheek against mine
. I was so happy I almost cried out; I could estimate that our lips were only a few centimeters apart, and I really wanted to kiss her soft lips. But I didn't dare. Instead,
I hugged her soft waist and gently caressed her small earlobe.

I didn't even dare to kiss my mother like I used to, which shows that while I've developed a sense of sensuality, I've also developed self-discipline.

I remember that a year or two before I turned twelve, I would tug at my mother's nightgown in my sleep, trying to grab her breasts; but now I don't
dare to kiss her. I think this is related to my mother gradually becoming aware of my sexual maturity. She must have realized that her son has developed at least some sexual feelings and is no longer
the ignorant child he once was. So my mother consciously keeps her distance from me in certain ways, making me feel her rejection of my expressions of affection. This
explains my timidity.

There's another point I almost overlooked: if we assume this event never happened, it might significantly
diminish my desire to possess my mother.

I still clearly remember when I was just a few years old, I accidentally witnessed my parents playing around in bed. It seemed like they were joking, but
it also felt sexually stimulating. To be precise, because my parents neglected me and engaged in something resembling sexual intercourse in front of me
, my son developed a desire to have my mother's body like my father's. The long periods of time spent alone with his mother only reinforced this desire.

We should not underestimate children's judgment. They can understand the world with keen eyes and rich emotions, which is far
superior to explaining the world with language—because many things and many scenes cannot be expressed in words. The truths that children experience in their hearts, truths they cannot clearly articulate themselves
, may never be discovered by us adults.

In general, during this period, my mother rejected my attempts at intimacy (or perhaps "teasing" would be a more accurate description). I felt a mix of fear
, excitement, and desire.

Finally, I realized that I was no longer a child, and that it was a mistake to try to achieve sexual satisfaction by mimicking a child's displays of affection towards their mother.

Yes—Mom must have felt the sexual satisfaction I gave her (this can be seen from her reaction to my touching her in her sleep), but Mom would not actively accept
my blatant sexual advances.

Using sex as revenge; changes in the emotional bond between mother and child.

We use six years as a timeframe. Six years later, I will be 18 and my mother will be 44. I will have the composure of an adult and richer emotions,
while my mother will have lost some of her youthful beauty, with more traces of time on her face, but she will have gained a mature charm and a graceful and elegant temperament.

In my eyes, my mother has always been so beautiful; no other woman has ever inspired such admiration in me.

She is intelligent, humorous, hardworking, kind, and dignified. In other words, my love for my mother has only grown stronger, but this "love" is different from before: undeniably
, I still have some attachment to her, and a lot of sexual attraction, but more than anything, I am deeply captivated by the extraordinary charm of a mature woman. This
"love" has undergone a significant change, a result of my gradual growth.

I no longer openly "propose" to my mother as I used to, but express my feelings very subtly; at the same time, I have become bolder and no longer afraid
of my mother's rejection.

Then something very unpleasant happened: the father had an affair (note that from this point on, we change our address for our fathers from "Dad" to
"Father". This change in address means that the boy has become a man and no longer has the same attachment to his father, and may even harbor some hostility).

I remember my mother once told me that marriages in her generation were generally not very happy. Due to the Cultural Revolution and the resulting rural relocation, many people grew up in the countryside and
were unable to return to the cities immediately. Their urgent need for sex led many to hastily marry. We can reasonably conclude that marriages based solely on sexual needs are unlikely
to have an emotional foundation—which is why we often see couples in their forties getting divorced or having extramarital affairs.

This example also verifies the relationship between "sex" and "emotion" mentioned earlier; forcibly separating the two will yield no results. Similarly, I
do not intend to agree with Plato's concept of "being fully armored."

Love, and even more so, the belief that one's past sexual advances would have a positive effect. So what exactly is "love"? It's a question that could be debated for a thousand years without a definitive answer
, and I don't want to dwell on it.

What I find amusing is that those who have extramarital affairs don't necessarily derive much satisfaction from the affair. Perhaps at first there's the sexual
thrill of trying forbidden fruit and the excitement of finding "new love," but as it progresses, they discover that the other person isn't actually that different from their spouse.

Thus, we can see this cycle: marriage – extramarital affair – divorce – remarriage – extramarital affair – divorce again… In the end, everyone
gets fed up and decides to stop doing such a laborious and unprofitable thing.

Is it ridiculous? Marriage is not something to be taken lightly, and once you have a wife (or husband), you should fulfill your responsibilities and not easily do things like having an affair
; conversely, people who like to have affairs should not get married, so as not to make everyone unhappy.

I've met the woman rumored to have had an affair with my father; she was a slutty, overweight nouveau riche, utterly repulsive. Unfortunately, perhaps
that's just my father's taste; or perhaps he felt he couldn't compare to my elegant and proud mother, and thus automatically gave her up—which is why I repeatedly remind you: marriage is not
something to be taken lightly.

My mother argued with my father for a long time about this. Her anger was so intense and destructive that even I, an observer who "didn't participate in the fight," was deeply affected.
I saw my mother so distressed that she banged her head on the ground, and I immediately went to comfort her. My mother leaned sadly on my shoulder, tears streaming down her face, soaking my sleeve. As I comforted
my grieving mother, I cursed my father's despicable behavior and that damned slut in my heart.

I love my mother very much, so I absolutely will not allow anyone to hurt her. Although, according to Freud, the father is the son's
rival in the competition for the mother, I still will not allow him to be unfaithful to my mother in the slightest (originally, the son should be very happy at this time because he can have
the opportunity to have his mother all to himself).

This kind of emotion, which I myself find perplexing, is perfectly normal for a mother and child with a deep bond, but at the same time it also resembles the complex
feelings of someone in a love triangle.

As I comforted my mother, who was sobbing in my arms, I experienced a bittersweet mix of emotions, while secretly plotting revenge against my father with intense rage.

My method. I took advantage of the fact that my parents were not at home and forced myself on that slut (see my humble work "The Mature Woman Who Came to My Door").

No one knew that after my act of revenge, that bitch never dared to flirt with my father again and obediently left. This was the first time I used sex to get revenge on my father.
Later, my mother seemed to know about it and mentioned it to me casually, but she was too frightened by my furious reaction to ask any further questions.

Once, while comforting my mother, I expressed my love by kissing her passionately and holding her tightly in my arms. My mother understood what I
meant and pushed me away, saying, "Don't do this! Are you going to bully me too?"

Seeing the glistening tears still on my mother's beautiful face, I almost burst into tears: "Mom, I love you! Why would you rather be bullied by him than
accept me?"

My mother angrily slapped me, and seeing my reddened face, she immediately stroked me with heartache and sighed:

"What do you want me to do?"

I hugged my mother again, expressing my apology with tender kisses and caresses. My mother didn't object further, obediently letting me comfort her, leaning against me and
sobbing. She nestled gently in my arms, and from her helpless yet loving eyes, I could see she was waiting for me to take her.

This time, my mother accepted me, but I couldn't bear to have her. I sighed again, offered a few words of comfort, and then stopped forcing her. I understood that
my mother hadn't truly accepted me; she was using sex to get back at my father, and I had no interest in that kind of sex.

It's strange that when our lover betrays us, our first reaction is always to retaliate with sex—just as we
feel utterly devastated when we see our lover having sex with someone else.

Sex is selfish, love is selfish.

When private property is not respected, people will compensate themselves and retaliate against others in the same way.

The mother fell in love with her son

Under pressure from my mother and me, my father was forced to back down and break off contact with that woman. My mother and father also stopped their fighting, and everything returned to normal. But
in my opinion, the rift between my mother and father is irreparable, and they can never return to their former intimacy. I am very worried about their superficial harmony; I
feel a suffocating atmosphere permeating the house, but unfortunately, I am powerless to do anything about it.

Time flies, and four years have passed in the blink of an eye. I am 22 years old, and my mother is 48. My infatuation with my mother has grown stronger day by day, never wavering. During this
time, my mother seems to have suddenly regained the charm of a young woman, becoming radiant. She is still rather plump, but she has completely lost the vibrant
spirit of youth.

I was pleasantly surprised by the changes in my mother and proud that she still maintains a youthful mindset.

As the distance between the father and mother widened, he also felt unwelcome, so he focused his attention on work and social life.

If I'm not home, my mother is very lonely; she has no one to talk to. As I grow more independent, it seems there's less and less for us to talk about
. This is something I really don't want to see, and I'm determined to understand my mother as much as possible and care for this lonely, charming, and beautiful woman. I'm
referring to my mother as "a woman" here because our relationship is more like that of adult friends, rather than a simple, childish mother and son.

I often took the initiative to chat with my mother, letting my thoughts and knowledge flow freely, engaging in rambling and imaginative discussions. My mother was delighted by my maturity
and fascinated by my increasingly outstanding demeanor, because I could see everything in the tender gaze she gave me.

In my spare time, I would do housework with her while we chatted happily. The harmonious atmosphere was indescribable, and the sentiment was something that those
pretentious men and women who constantly talked about "sentiment" but lacked substance could never achieve. What is sentiment? It is a noble and elegant state of mind, a tacit and harmonious pairing
. Without spiritual communication and rich inner qualities, it cannot be learned at all; at best, it is just a formalistic imitation that is beautiful on the outside but rotten on the inside.

I happily savored all of this, as if returning to the innocent joy of my childhood. My mother was also very intelligent; she not only listened but also offered guidance
. This made me even more captivated—of all the girls and women I've known, none understood me or offered such
guidance as my mother; her charm was unparalleled! What reason did I have not to love such a woman?

Gradually, my mother developed a kind of emotional dependence on me. I often noticed that she would lower her head slightly and look at me with gazing, as if I were her...

Her entire life.

A sweet smile played on my mother's face, almost imperceptible, like the shy tenderness of a young girl facing her lover in the throes of first love. At that moment, I would deliberately
stop and say with a smile, "Mom, what are you smiling about?"

Mom then realized she was completely absorbed, and blushed, quickly saying, "It's nothing! Please continue." I gave her a sly look,
gave her a knowing and warm smile, and continued to share my views and do my chores. Mom would involuntarily stop again, giving me those affectionate glances once more;
her bright eyes seemed to be permanently attached to me.

This is a woman's reliance on and infatuation with a man; I can express the situation so clearly. Because of my care, thoughtfulness, and increasingly
mature charm, my mother has finally experienced a completely new kind of enjoyment. How intoxicating this is compared to her past foolish courtship!

My meticulous care in daily life and my continuous emotional growth made my mother feel that she had found a man's protection and care, which
is the most important support for a woman. Deep in their minds, every woman has a psychological dependence on men and a desire to be protected and valued. When she feels that
the man beside her treats her in this way, she will give him sincere gratitude and even all her love.

My concern for my mother doesn't make me expect anything from her; I just want to savor this fleeting moment of beauty. But to be honest, if my mother
truly gave me everything, I would be very excited to accept her love right now.

Once, I was standing on the balcony, lost in thought, when my mother appeared before me. She hugged me from behind, rested her head on my shoulder, and
gently chuckled, asking, "Silly boy, what are you daydreaming about?"

I felt an overwhelming tenderness, and my breathing quickened involuntarily. I took my mother's hands and brought them to my lips, kissing them deeply. Then I turned and put my arms around her
soft shoulders, pulling her close. My body was warm; such intimate contact had become rare.

I kissed my mother's cheek and earlobe. She flinched slightly, giggling and playfully scolding me, "Still so naughty!"

Seeing my mother's shy expression, a strong desire surged through me, making me almost unable to control myself. I wanted to become one with her right now! Because I
love her so much!

I pulled my mother closer with my arms, my hand inadvertently brushing against her armpit, feeling her full, soft breasts. She didn't move,
continuing her gentle conversation. I released her, took her hands in mine, and gazed at her again. Her smile was the most beautiful flower in the world; captivated, I didn't want to shatter
this pure moment, struggling to suppress the rising flames of desire within me.

My mother asked me softly, "What are you looking at? Silly boy? Don't you recognize your mother?"

I said earnestly, "Mom, you're so beautiful! If you went for beauty treatments and wellness regularly, no one would guess you're almost 50."

Mom said with a delighted coquettish tone, "You naughty boy, you have such a sweet tongue! When did you learn to fawn over your mother?" I was telling the truth, and Mom
laughed happily.

Although I didn't take the initiative, it was clear that my mother liked me. I often stared at her beautiful and captivating figure, admiring her repeatedly; she
attracted me like a goddess. And she always looked at me with affection, her constant flirtatious glances touching my heart. I never imagined that one day I
would actually win my mother's love; it was something I never even dreamed of before.

Our mutual care, understanding, and tacit agreement laid a solid foundation for us; what we needed at this point was "sex."

This exciting and stimulating drug spurred everything to fall into place, and then everything fell into place naturally.

My gaze towards my mother grew increasingly intense, and she seemed to sense it, appearing somewhat uncomfortable yet also quite pleased. Perhaps she
was proud of attracting her young son, and even more so, she felt deeply captivated by his refined and handsome appearance—a mutual attraction. Driven by the gradually arousing sexuality, their interdependent hearts
became both tense and excited, both fearful and yearning, filled with fantasies and anticipation about what was to come.

I noticed that my mother's clothes were becoming increasingly glamorous; she was dressing them for me, and she seemed to enjoy the passive feeling of being stared at with my burning gaze. There
was a hint of "visual rape" in it; my mother probably enjoyed this feeling of being "forced" by her beloved son, contentedly waiting for me to take her.

On a cool and mild autumn day, after noon, Mom changed her clothes: she wore a cream-colored embroidered short-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of hip-hugging short
casual pants. Her short, ear-length hair looked exceptionally delicate and fresh after washing.

Mom went to the balcony, and I quietly came up behind her, gently embracing her waist and kissing her neck. Mom didn't resist at all; instead, she
slowly rested her head and body against my chest. I noticed Mom closed her eyes, smiling as she let me caress her. My heart pounded wildly, and my hands gradually moved to Mom's chest,
stroking her.

My mother was moved. She reached out and turned my head, kissing my cheek. Looking at her slightly red lips and smelling the fragrant orchids, I was even more
captivated. My mother was like a vibrant crabapple blossom just awakening from a deep sleep, captivating and endearing. I couldn't help but lower my head to kiss her lips. My mother
offered her cherry lips with boundless tenderness, closing her eyes at the same time. When I kissed her tender, fiery red lips, it felt like holding two ripe, sweet fruits in my mouth,
savoring them endlessly, unwilling to let go… After a long while, our lips reluctantly parted. My mother was still immersed in the blissful moment, pressing close to
me, softly humming, her face flushed, her starry eyes slightly closed. When a woman doesn't love you, she won't show any reaction to your advances; but if a woman
is completely devoted to you, she will willingly offer her red lips for you to savor.

I kissed my mother's fragrant lips again, and this time we became one with overwhelming excitement for a full ten minutes, unwilling to separate; in our passionate love, we
explored every tender spot on each other's bodies.

My mother, panting, rested her head against my chest and said breathlessly, "My dear child, I can't breathe!"

I kissed her forehead and said, "Mom, you were so excited just now! You made me feel like I couldn't breathe."

My mother buried her face in my chest shyly... Words are superfluous now, just as lovers in the throes of passion say, "Silence speaks louder than words."

Finally, after a long and tender moment, my mother and I, completely lost in the moment, stripped naked and became one! I had waited for this moment for what felt
like five hundred years! Guided by my mother, I stepped back into my long-missed birthplace—my childhood Eden, a warm and safe
fortress filled with endless joy.

Returning to this familiar place filled me with immense excitement, and I jumped for joy. My mother, infected by my happiness, also cheered excitedly, welcoming me, her
wanderer, back to my homeland.

I played joyfully in the soft, tender womb, scattering my love little by little into the soil that gave me birth. With each bump and
thud, my mother cried out, just as she had during my delivery, with a mixture of pain and bliss: "My good child, I've given you everything! Hurry up!"

My love for my mother transformed into boundless passion, fueling my increasingly intense advance. I longed to possess my mother and forever protect this
woman I loved so deeply; I wanted her! Just as she had already completely possessed me!

With a simultaneous cry from mother and son, we collapsed, leaning on each other, panting heavily. We continued our passionate lovemaking, releasing
all the pent-up emotions, indistinguishable between pleasure and pain, wanting only to plunge into each other's bodies, to possess each other once and for all
… When our love juices had run dry, my mother and I were utterly exhausted, embracing each other, gazing at each other with a tenderness emanating from our exhaustion. My mother,
both happy and pained, burst into tears—after all, joy and sorrow are brothers born of the same mother! I held the woman I loved most in my life tightly, letting her tears
fall on me. From that moment on, she was my woman, and no one could take her away from me.

【over】

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Sexual Relationships Between Mother and Son in the History of Social Customs

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