Rape of an honest mother

Preface:

I'm delighted to see everyone openly discussing the topic of incest.

The internet age is an era of great freedom, with all sorts of ideas strongly impacting everyone. The revolutionary consequences it brings are still unpredictable, and I hope everyone cherishes it.

Now, I want to share some true stories from my life.

Remember, this isn't the first chapter of a novel.

My sexual development was quite strange. Perhaps it's strange because no one else talks about it, making me feel like I'm the only one experiencing it; I don't know. Therefore, I also hope everyone will share some true stories (perhaps not everyone has them, please don't fabricate). Anyway, online you don't need to use your real name, nor do you need to show your face or leave a message; just pour your heart out. I also hope this issue can be discussed scientifically (don't be shy about masturbating while discussing it, it's perfectly normal).

Just to clarify, if you want to get to know me, I'm welcome to, and I wouldn't refuse to meet you, but you must bring your mother and proof of your mother-son relationship.

I first had sexual fantasies about my mother before first grade, but because it was so long ago, I can't recall the exact age now, but it was very, very young.

I clearly remember, more than once, in my dreams, I loudly said to my mother, "Mom, I want to take off your pants and touch you." Saying that gave me a thrill of breaking taboos. Although I didn't know the term "incest" at the time, I understood it was very "vulgar." To say vulgar things to my mother, whom I normally revere!

In the dream, my mother didn't react, so I unbuckled her belt, feeling a strange mix of pleasure, mystery, and liberation, and reached out to touch her genitals. The location was always her office or a nearby playground.

However, I had never seen an adult woman's private parts before, so I couldn't experience it in my dreams.

This kind of dream only happened a few times. Other, more frequent childhood dreams involved running into stores, smashing shop windows, and taking food—of course, knowing it was while I was dreaming. Or being chased by monsters.

I also had some homosexual dreams, usually involving handsome child stars from movies at the time, such as Pan Dongzi (most Chinese people around thirty years old know him, right?). A few times I dreamt he was playing with my neighbor's child—playing with his penis. I went up to him and we touched each other.

Until I was in junior high, I still imagined handsome men from comic books, including Lü Bu, Zhao Zilong, and the Yang family generals from the Three Kingdoms period—all dashing and powerful figures—imagining them as my wives and husbands, and traveling together. Having these skilled and handsome men with me would be incredibly romantic. They would often fight over me, and I would play the mediator.

As for sex, it was still just fantasizing about touching; I never even thought about anal sex. Because I couldn't get an erection at that time.

I didn't know anything about these historically handsome young generals; my impressions came from comic book depictions. I then feminized their personalities according to my own interpretation.

But my Oedipus complex was strange. I only had these thoughts in my dreams at night; they were almost nonexistent during the day. It's not that I didn't dare to think about it, but rather that I never thought about it at all. Sometimes, thinking about it even makes me feel disgusted.

I was only a few years old then, and I didn't have much of a moral compass. As for homosexuality, I almost never thought about it when I was sober. The first time I really thought about it during the day was in junior high school. But at that time, I didn't know that homosexuals could have anal sex, and my genitals weren't erect (I was under fifteen). I remember once inviting a male classmate home to play, and we stripped naked and played around on the bed, even rubbing our butts together. But it was just out of curiosity, excitement, and fun; there was no sexual pleasure.

Because of this, I seriously doubt whether a person's sexual orientation is formed around the age of eleven or twelve.

Other things related to sex happened during my childhood, and that's not a dream.

I often played with some girls, playing games, one of which involved giving injections. Once, I saw my sister and another girl of the same age exposing their breasts in front of a public restroom, using a popsicle stick they'd picked up from the ground to stick it into each other's nipples. My sister was very young then, I don't know how young, but she was only three years older than me, so she hadn't developed yet either. When they saw me, they told me not to tell Mom. This showed they knew it was shameful, but they still did it, I don't know how that felt.

I liked it when my sister touched my butt. I remember once during my afternoon nap, I pulled down my shorts and asked my sister to touch them before I could fall asleep. It just felt very comfortable, I didn't have any sexual feelings. My sister always said it was wrong, but she still did it.

Later, until I grew up, my sister was always very good to me. Once, when I was a teenager, in the kitchen, I touched my sister's breasts, they felt very soft and comfortable, but I felt disgusted. Especially when I saw my sister smile at me.

I couldn't think of anything softer than a woman's breasts.

Until recently, some of my sister's letters to me contained strong sexual provocations. Once, he heard that I had published an article that caused a sensation, and he wrote to me saying, "...There must be many young girls who are infatuated with you. Could you send me some to see, so I can be infatuated too?" And so on, the list goes on. I felt uncomfortable after reading them. I wonder what my brother-in-law would think if he saw them?

This is one of the reasons why I firmly believe that incestuous desires are inherent in everyone!

I can swear that my sister is a beauty. If her wedding photos were published in the newspaper, those Miss Hong Kong and Miss Asia winners, if they had even a shred of self-awareness, would all want to eat shit.

But I just wasn't sexually attracted to her. While my mother was beautiful when she was young, she looked much older after giving birth to me, and I've always had a high sex drive for her. Isn't that strange?

The only difference between my mother and sister is: my mother is strict, rarely smiles, and protects her family; my sister is gentle and always puts others before herself.

I've also played similar games with other girls. There was a girl a few years older than me who loved playing with me. She would insert a popsicle stick into my foreskin, and I would insert the stick into her vagina. Then we'd put on our pants, pretend to be nonchalant, walk around, and then come back to remove it. Of course, it hurt a little. We called this game "Doctor's Injection."

At that time, I didn't like the feeling of a woman's genitals because there was a lot of dirty fluid. I thought it was urine, but she said it was water from washing her bottom. I actually enjoyed giving her injections in the buttocks, but I didn't think about it sexually; the pleasure came more from the mystery.

Our parents both worked at the movie theater, and our activities took place there. Because employees' children could come and go freely while outsiders couldn't, the theater was empty when there were no movies showing. There was a wall around the theater, and between the wall and the theater, there was nothing but birds and weeds growing from the cracked cement.

We once had a nanny who was a teenager; compared to me, she was obviously an adult, a very grown-up. I don't remember if it was after my mother gave birth to my sister. I was quite handsome and quiet as a child, which might have given girls more ideas. One time when no one was home, she took me to bed, put down the mosquito net, and then took off her clothes and undressed me too. Then she lay down and wanted me to press myself against her and suckle her breasts. I took two sips and said there was no milk, so it didn't taste good. She then sat down opposite me with her legs spread apart and tried to force my penis into her vagina. Of course, it wouldn't go in; it didn't even touch my foreskin, and it hurt a lot, so I refused to continue (I regret it now). At that moment, my mother came back and knocked on the door. She quickly got dressed and warned me not to tell anyone.

I honestly can't remember whether I told anyone or not. Sometimes I think I didn't, and sometimes I think I did.

It's been so long.

She probably didn't have any body hair back then, because I don't remember. I felt strongly disgusted by anyone with body hair back then, so if she did, I certainly wouldn't forget. This is just logical reasoning, not memory.

Later, she went to work as a nanny for someone else. Once, I walked by and saw her carrying a child on her back while chopping vegetables.

She laughed and called me over, but remembering how she'd pulled my penis, I immediately shook my head and ran away. Damn it!

This reveals a woman's true nature. If a woman is cold and indifferent to you, it doesn't mean she's uninterested in sex, but rather uninterested in you. Or perhaps she's simply pretending.

Sometimes, when I read poets describing a beautiful, ethereal woman, I feel sorry for the poet: she doesn't like you! If a woman likes a man, she won't be like a celestial being, but like a prostitute, even more despicable than a prostitute—she can be slept with without payment, and afterwards, she'll be very happy. When I

was in my twenties, I returned to my hometown, hoping to find those women from back then to erase the regrets, but unfortunately, I couldn't find a single one. I didn't know how to find them, and frankly, I was too embarrassed to.

There was also a woman in her twenties or thirties at the time who often visited my home. One winter, she and my mother were knitting and chatting. My feet were cold, so she told me to put them inside her clothes. I mischievously kicked her breast, and she glared at me and scolded me. But I disobeyed and kicked it again, so she angrily took my foot out. I remember there was a hint of sexual awareness in that, because I remember feeling incredibly ashamed at the time. Other things didn't make me ashamed.

When I was seven, my family moved from this small county to the city, where I continued to study in second grade. The only age I clearly remember starts from this point.

The city was crowded and noisy; there were no secluded places, and the city kids had never played those kinds of games. This continued until I was a teenager. I believe that attitudes towards sex are much more open in rural areas than in cities.

In the past few years, my parents' relationship deteriorated. My father had an affair, they argued, fought, and almost divorced.

My parents fighting is terrifying for a child; all I could do was cry and tremble. They fought behind closed doors. The shouts and screams inside were deafening. One moment I thought my father was dead, the next I thought my mother was dead; I was almost driven to a nervous breakdown.

They ultimately didn't divorce for the sake of their children. My father was transferred to work in another city, returning to see us once a year and sending some money. From then on, he disappeared from my life. My mother was left to raise the three of us sisters alone.

One night, I was sick, feeling dizzy, and my mother asked me to sleep with her. I wasn't very willing because I couldn't stretch out when sleeping with my mother, but I didn't object.

When I lay down, my mother was putting up the mosquito net. I closed my eyes because I was dizzy. After a while, I felt something strange in my lower body, so I opened my eyes and found my mother straddling my legs with her back to me. At the time, I was only wearing a very thin pair of shorts, and although my penis wasn't erect, its natural length and elasticity pushed the shorts up about an inch, and my legs were together. My mother was wearing white briefs and a white tank top. She was squatting, one leg on my left side and the other on my right side. Because I was sleeping on the outside, she straddled my legs and reached under the mosquito net to keep mosquitoes out.

She rubbed her lower body against my erect penis. When she looked back at me, I quickly closed my eyes, but left a slit open. I saw her look back at me, then look elsewhere, and then intentionally or unintentionally rub her genitals against my penis again. Seeing that I didn't react, she boldly looked down at my genitals for more than ten seconds before turning off the light and going to sleep. I wasn't an adult then.

I didn't feel sexually aroused by my mother's actions; instead, I felt disgusted. Thinking back now, I think I was a strange person. Because I remember that before my father passed away, I often slept between them. Once, I suddenly had desire again, not in a dream, but in reality. I reached out and touched my mother's thigh.

My mother stirred, so I stopped, then gently stroked her again, deliberately moving closer to her inner thigh. When I touched her private parts through her underwear, she flinched. I was startled, but soon touched her thigh again, slowly moving upwards, and she flinched again. This time I dared not move, because I had thought I dared to do this only because my mother was asleep, but now it seemed she was probably not asleep. So I said I needed to pee, and my parents turned on the light. I heard my mother tell my father that I was very naughty in my sleep. I pretended not to understand, but I was mortified. Of course, I never dared to move again. At that time, I couldn't get an erection and didn't understand sex, but that action had a genuine sexual awareness.

Now that my mother is touching me, I feel disgusted. Isn't that strange? If I had been as bold and had incestuous thoughts that night as I do now, would my mother and I have had sex? Back then, our upbringing taught me that sex was shameful, and incest was something I'd never even heard of, let alone considered.

By around twenty, I had lost all interest in homosexuality, but my Oedipus complex had intensified. At first, I would secretly imagine having an inappropriate relationship with my mother, but when I actually saw certain parts of her body, I felt disgusted (because they weren't attractive). Later, it became an unconditional liking.

Wherever I worked, my mother always followed me. I was often annoyed by her, and arguments were common, but she just stayed with me. I often secretly wrote articles about incest between mother and son. Back then, there was no internet. After writing, I'd hide it for a while, and once my emotions calmed down, I'd regret it and burn it immediately. But the moment I turned around and saw my mother, I'd be furious again. Actually

, when I wrote those things, I wasn't thinking about my mother herself, but about another woman—a voluptuous woman in her thirties or forties, with a beautiful face—who didn't even exist. I've analyzed my incestuous psychology and discovered that I wasn't truly sexually attracted to my mother. It was more about dissatisfaction and resistance to societal oppression. I've always lived in a place that suppresses humanity and deeply despise a certain organization. This shameless thing calls itself the mother of the people, and I think the best way to deal with it is to let us incest enthusiasts rape this slut who calls herself the mother of the nation. Because, in the decades it has ruled the country, it has mentally raped the entire nation countless times!

Of course, there are also those who cheer while being raped by it. These people are either born prostitutes or mentally challenged, so I'm too lazy to mention them.

As for fellow enthusiasts in other places, I believe they are also the result of excessive repression, just not as intense as mine.

Easterners are subject to far stronger moral constraints than Westerners (damn Confucius!), and the creativity of Chinese people is far inferior to that of Westerners. Therefore, for the strength of the nation and the people, let us commit incest!

Incest, with mother-son incest as the highest realm, is also the ultimate anti-traditional and anti-moral act. I am sexually attracted to ordinary women, but sexual relations between mother and son bring a powerful sense of liberation, a liberation of mind, a breaking of mental shackles and all moral constraints. While morality is essential for social stability, its control over thought is extremely harmful.

I suggest everyone adhere to moral principles in their actions, but have no such inhibitions in their thoughts.

The taboos surrounding incest between mother and son or other incestuous acts stem from two sources: sociology and biology. Sociological issues are easily resolved with mutual consent and secrecy.

Biologically, we know that thoroughbred horses are inbred; while this method of reproduction may lead to the encounter of harmful genes causing genetic diseases, it may also lead to the encounter of superior genes, resulting in more outstanding offspring—a double-edged sword. If you can't bear the shock of having a freak, simply don't have children.

Society is progressing, and there's absolutely no need to uphold outdated morals and laws. If you're powerless to fight against the law and public opinion, just do it secretly with a clear conscience.

I really can't think of any reason to treat incest as a monstrous threat.

My view is, if you and your mother or other relatives are mutually attracted and she (he) consents, then go for it! It's simply the ideal! If you invite me to visit later, I'll be so grateful I'll kneel down and kiss your feet.

Now, back to myself. Chapter Two: How Many Regrets Did My Mother Leave Me?

In the days that followed, some things happened between my mother and me. I can't quite remember the exact time or sequence, so I'll just use a certain day to indicate it. I'll write down everything I remember.

One summer, my mother said a thorn had fallen into her clothes and pierced her flesh, and she asked me to help her find it. At that time, I wasn't particularly interested in incest, nor was I patient enough to help my mother with chores, but I did it anyway.

The thorn really was there, and it was very small, about a millimeter in size, mostly embedded in the flesh; you wouldn't find it unless you looked very closely.

My mother couldn't have found it herself, because it was right in her blind spot, below her neck and at the collar. For convenience, she shifted her position several times, tilting her head back as she lay on the bed, while I pulled down her tank top, revealing her unbraced breasts.

My mother's breasts weren't pretty; they were flat and sagging, but very white and tender. Her nipples weren't the black I disliked, but brown, only slightly larger than a fist. With her face tilted back, I could feel her warm breath on my lower abdomen, and I felt a surge of desire.

At twenty-one, I was fortunate enough to find a job in a very wealthy and open city, and my mother came with me. For the first time, I had enough money to buy adult films on the street.

Perhaps this was unfortunate for me; after watching my first adult film, I also ejaculated for the first time in my life while fully conscious. After that, my masturbation became uncontrollable, and I developed a strong interest in women.

One day, while helping my mother serve dishes, I masturbated frantically, ejaculating into a dish before taking it out.

I kept my eyes fixed on the door, believing my mother hadn't noticed. But what happened next made me suspect she had noticed.

Because she didn't touch that dish at all! Why?! I was terrified!

Another time, I was masturbating on the bed with the bedroom door wide open. I had checked beforehand; the room lights were off, and the living room light shone brightly through the mosquito net, obscuring the view inside. At that moment, my mother walked past my door. I boldly knelt on the bed, pointing my penis at her.

She looked inside, stopped, and then came in. I was terrified again. I quickly stopped.

My mother came to my bedside and gently asked if I was feeling unwell. She then lifted the mosquito net. I was completely naked and hurriedly said, "No, no," clutching the opening of the mosquito net tightly. She tried to lift the net from another angle, but I became impatient and loudly refused in a very irritated tone. Only then did my mother leave. After a while, I got up and looked outside again. I found that I could vaguely see inside the net from the doorway! Good heavens! What was going on? Why couldn't I see anything when I stood outside looking? Was there some divine intervention at play? What would have happened if I had let my mother lift the mosquito net? Why did I want it so badly, but back down at the last minute when it was about to happen?

Another day, I felt unwell and lay on the sofa. My mother came over and asked me what was wrong. She then offered to massage me, and I agreed. She knew a little about medicine and was massaging me very carefully. When she massaged my groin, she roughly saw my erect penis under my shorts, then suddenly stopped, turned around, and left without saying a word.

If the night my mother rubbed my penis with her genitals when I was a teenager made me realize she was interested in me, then this time, seeing my erection during the massage should have made me realize I was interested in her too.

But we kept going like this until I finally got my first girlfriend.

This girlfriend was hard-won, and I owed it all to my close friends from high school.

My mother's teachings from a young age made me believe that looking at women was lecherous, flirting with girls was immoral, dating was frivolous, and harassing women was an unforgivable act of lewdness.

For example, one day my older sister said that a certain man at her workplace often stared at her, and my mother exclaimed in disgust, "Shameless!" Growing up surrounded by such things, my mating instincts, though developed, were suppressed. Like a seedling growing under a giant rock, I desperately bent and twisted, yearning for sunlight and rain.

My older and younger sisters received the same upbringing, but the damage wasn't as severe as mine. Because they could remain dignified and unsmiling, and boys still pursued them. Their ladylike demeanor only increased their number of suitors. But

I was doomed!

Whenever I saw a girl I liked, I seemed to lose the ability to speak, falling silent. When I wanted to pursue or express my love, my mother's shadow haunted me, leaving me speechless with a thousand words in my heart, and my limbs wouldn't obey my commands.

While I was alone, diligently studying and working, my friends were having affairs with countless women. But they had no money. As for me, after years of hard work, I had accumulated some savings. So I ended up hanging out with them again.

These old classmates had all distanced themselves from me during our school days because of my mother. Whenever they came to visit me, my mother would call them hooligans. And every time I caused trouble at school and was asked to see my parents, my mother would blame everything on my good friends, who still harbor resentment to this day.

"Hey, does your mom still care about you? Won't she come knocking on your door and yell at you again if you're with us?" This was the first thing my long-lost friends said when we got together.

I impatiently interrupted them, telling them I was a different person now. They were skeptical, but I quickly proved them wrong.

I never dreamed they'd slept with so many women during the years I sat in my office like a hermit.

When they talked about women at the dinner table, I thought they were just bragging, and I looked at them with disdain and mockery.

They quickly proved themselves too. At our second gathering, everyone brought a respectable stranger to accompany them; by our fifth gathering, more than half the women had slept with them.

I felt a strange sadness and resentment. At the time, I wasn't thinking about how many women I'd slept with; I just thought that I was far superior to these guys in terms of looks, physique, education, and income, yet I couldn't even find a wife!

One of my friends noticed my distress and expressed sympathy. One day, after drinking, he said, "Ah Xun's treating, let's play around with women, haha." Everyone who heard this probably felt guilty towards me. At the next gathering, they introduced me to a girlfriend.

Before that, they taught me a lot about playing with women: "You think of women as too noble, that's not okay. You have to think of every woman as a prostitute!" "Be chic, don't act like a pedant!" "We will help you brag, don't look down on us, women. People are very stupid, they have no judgment. If others say it is good, they think it is good. We will give you a compliment and let you study for a year. Otherwise, it will always be a failure! These golden words still make me cry with gratitude! But I was dubious at the time and even started arguing with them.

A friend said impatiently, "You think you're so innocent? So high and mighty? Damn it, I used to be just like you! I almost committed suicide!" I knew this. He once chased a girl all the way to her hometown, only to end up penniless and homeless, when he saw her walking out of a dance hall with another man. Enraged, he beat the man up and got arrested by the police. It was only thanks to his friends rushing to his aid that he was rescued.

Now, he's slept with a whole line of women. These include nurses, doctors, respected female teachers, and enviable female college students.

Hearing his story, I felt like my heart was being stabbed: "Women, are you really that despicable?!" Finally, my friends told me, "Believe it or not, do as we say!" As a result, less than a week later, I had slept with that girl, finally releasing years of pent-up depression!

This was my first girlfriend, and I cherished her dearly. She was also very attached to me. However, our relationship was met with unanimous opposition from my mother and friends! This was the first time my mother and the "hooligans" in her eyes had stood on the same side.

My mother expressed extreme disgust for my girlfriend for two reasons. First, the girl's family wasn't wealthy, and her parents weren't from the intellectual class, making us an unsuitable match; second, my mother didn't think she was a good girl, and she knew about our past relationship. That was when my mother raised her first objection, and I said, "She's been doing... that thing..." in an attempt to salvage the situation, which is how my mother found out. But she didn't think the woman had made any sacrifices; instead, she thought she was improper.

My friends' reasons for opposing the relationship varied greatly. They said, "Really? You're already giving up after just one?" "Yesterday I told you you were smart, that you'd learn in no time, but you're a fucking idiot." "I thought you'd won her over, looks like she won you over." My girlfriend and I went home together, and my mother gave her a hard time. Meanwhile, my friends were also causing trouble. They were busy introducing me to another girl while simultaneously trying to stop us from continuing our relationship. Their method was simple: at every gathering, they'd accuse me of breaking the rules and report me! They'd call my girlfriend out, and then they'd all rush to accuse me of breaking the rules and report me! They'd snatch her away, or declare beforehand, "If she comes, we leave, it's either me or her." Actually, what man doesn't want to sleep with a few women? I'm a man too, and I was drawn to my friends' advice, though I doubted my own abilities. After all, the shadows cast by those years weren't easy to erase. Once I got on the right track with another girl, I slowly forgot about the first one.

My friends painted a grand picture of my womanizing plans: after dating ordinary women, they wanted to introduce me to middle-aged women, married women, middle school girls, and so on, and first, let me experience all the women they'd been with. I was absolutely thrilled!

But things didn't go as smoothly as I'd imagined. Two of my friends soon went to do business in other cities; another suddenly lost his parents in a car accident, and unfortunately, he was a very filial son, which devastated him; the last one even had an affair with the daughter of a deputy director of the Public Security Bureau, resulting in him being convicted of indecent assault and imprisoned, and that's when our group fell apart.

With ample experience in dating and sound theoretical guidance, but lacking the help of friends, I still couldn't go it alone and slowly reverted to my old ways. My second girlfriend ended the relationship before we even slept together. My first girlfriend married someone from another region and left. Chapter Three: Kissing away her longing, her lustful juices, comforting her lonely vagina,

life became empty and boring again. At this time, I had been working in my hometown for a year because the company was opening a branch.

One day, I was sitting bored in front of the computer playing games, smoking, and propping one leg up on the stool.

My mother came over and told me to smoke less, which was normal. I ignored her, which was also normal.

But when she came over for the fifth time to repeat it, it was very abnormal.

Before, I hadn't even looked at her, only focused on my game; the fifth time I glanced at her, she quickly turned her eyes away and walked away. But I had already found her gaze, and looking down, I realized that my shorts were too loose. With one leg up on the stool, the leg had slipped down, exposing half my buttocks and testicles.

I was instantly mortified and wanted to curse. That

afternoon, I was watching TV and unconsciously put my feet up on the sofa again, then fell asleep. My mother had gone out to buy groceries, and when I woke up, she was already back. As soon as I opened my eyes, I saw her squatting beside me, tidying up the things she had just bought.

That spot used to hold a flower stand and a few old shoes; my mother had never done anything there before, and the shoes were covered in a thick layer of dust.

Remembering what happened that morning, I couldn't help but look down at my pants. There was a gap, and one leg was propped up on the coffee table, spread wide. I reached out and touched it, but before I could get very far, I touched a cold bird egg.

My mother's unusual expression confirmed my suspicions. Her gaze was unfocused; she didn't dare look at me and hurried away.

I thought for a moment, then continued to pretend to be asleep. My mother actually squatted down at my feet again, bending down to tidy things up! Her head was so low, lower than the sofa armrest. After a while, she looked up, glanced at the door behind me, and gave me a quick look, but I still pretended to be asleep.

Then, my mother slowly lowered her head until her eyes were level with the sofa armrest, and began to look into my pants, intentionally or unintentionally. I had a sudden idea and started to snore softly.

In an instant, my mother's expression completely changed. From nonchalance to intense focus, from furtive glances to a direct, unwavering stare. It was

the first time in my life I'd ever seen my mother look at me with such an almost greedy gaze—an unforgettable experience!

The past attempts to avoid her were now a stark reality!

From that day forward, I made an astonishing decision.

Back then, there were no computers or the internet; the computers I used still required inserting and removing two discs. The games were nothing more than long, serpentine games written in basic programming. Incestuous literature online was unheard of.

I felt utterly alone, burdened by a deep sense of guilt. The only thing that sustained me was Freud's theories of psychology. During that time, I actually read quite a few psychology books.

My mother also loved reading. She usually read biographies of famous people from ancient and modern times, both Chinese and foreign. She would often sit under the lamp reading late into the night, wearing her reading glasses. I once read one of her books; the margins were filled with philosophical sayings, but it seemed she couldn't finish even a single page for days. She usually gave the impression of a female scholar, with noble manners and worthy of respect.

You can imagine why it was so shocking when she was squatting behind the sofa staring intently at my genitals!

Because the contrast was too great!

One day, I deliberately showed my mother an incest novel. She said she wasn't interested. I insisted repeatedly, and she agreed to read it, but seeing her reluctant expression, I knew she wouldn't take it seriously.

Later, I found out she really hadn't read it, so I took the book back and said, "The author of this book is strange; he thinks incest is normal." My mother looked up, her gaze passing over the top of her reading glasses, and said, "I haven't read it yet." I said, "I thought you'd finished it. Do you still want to read it?" She said, "Have you finished it?" I said I had, and she said, "Then leave it here; I'll read it when I have time." The next day, I found out that my mother had already read the book.

I didn't know what she thought after reading it; on the surface, there wasn't much change. Or rather, not the kind of change I had expected. However, she seemed to be much nicer to me.

During this time, I seemed to focus all my energy on my mother. Sometimes I really didn't know what had gotten into me!

About two days later, I asked my mother if she had finished reading it, and she was unusually vague.

"What?" I asked.

"Finished reading, a little while," she finally managed to utter a coherent sentence, her gaze darting around.

I took the book and examined it carefully, and sure enough, I found a sentence she had underlined. I don't remember the details, but it was something like "Every child secretly loves their mother." Then, while she was around, I wrote in the book. She asked me what I was reading, I answered, and then marked the book and placed it randomly on the bookshelf.

What I wrote was: At least that's how I feel.

It was right next to the sentence my mother had underlined.

When I came home from work, I immediately noticed the book had been moved. But unfortunately, my mother hadn't added anything else.

However, my usually serious mother showed me several rare smiles that night. I had never seen my mother with that expression before, and I was momentarily at a loss. It took me until the next day to regain my composure and respond with a smile.

Many similar incidents followed, which I won't go into detail about, but a few major breakthroughs are worth mentioning.

I watched pornography late at night, deliberately letting my mother see it. Then I taught her how to use a VCR, and she borrowed some science popularization tapes from me. Soon after, I discovered that the marked pornographic tapes had been tampered with.

I started wearing underwear at home, and soon my mother was also often seen walking around the house in just her underwear. Her figure wasn't great, and sometimes I found it a bit annoying. So I encouraged my mother to do aerobics. At first, she said it was boring, but a month later I found she was already participating.

I asked my mother to do some aerobics for me, and she agreed, doing some movements while wearing a high-slit aerobics outfit.

Although I tried to restrain myself, I quickly became erect. My mother saw it and left.

I also asked her to go to the movies, and she went. Soon after, it was her birthday, and I bought her a gift and flowers, which made her very happy. Her expression was different from anything I had ever seen before.

My mother was starting to act like a woman, instead of the strong woman she used to be, and she spoke much more gently.

While she was doing laundry, I gave her a pair of underwear to wash, which she washed very clean.

In my diary, I wrote: "I love seeing her in aerobics clothes and cheongsams." The diary also contains some erotic dreams I had, recorded in a very subtle way. Many of them were about my mother. The

diary was on the table; I realized it had been used.

On the third day, my mother wore a cheongsam, and I said she looked very beautiful, extremely beautiful. My mother started doing aerobics at home, and I would come out to watch every time.

She would watch the instructional video on TV, practicing the movements, while I sat on the sofa watching. She would turn around and ask me if I was doing it correctly, and I would deliberately let her notice me looking at her private parts.

I pointed out that she wasn't lifting her legs high enough, and went up to help her lift her thighs a little higher. Seeing that she was wearing long stockings, I said that it wasn't good for her skin to breathe. The next day, she stopped wearing them.

I immediately bought her a new leotard, which she said was a swimsuit, but she wore it anyway.

I frantically collected information about incest, cutting and pasting it into my notebook. Some of it was borrowed from the library; I made copies, but not wanting to spend too much money on reprints, I just copied some. Soon, I mixed my own opinions into real-life examples and critical investigations, blurring the lines between fact and fiction.

I wrote: "According to research by American scientists, humans have an innate tendency towards incest. Scientists believe that incest is unacceptable from a eugenics perspective, but acceptable from a love perspective..." Of course, I put it on my desk so my mother would see it.

One afternoon in July 1996, my mother was doing aerobics in the swimsuit I had bought her, and I sat on the sofa watching her in tight underwear. Her figure was much better than before.

During this time, I had the experience of touching the inner thigh of my mother and had danced with her spontaneously a few times, each time ending in laughter. My mother had completely become a woman.

When she asked me to help her stretch her legs again, I found her posture today very alluring.

My mother supported herself with her hands on the ground, one leg kneeling, the other leg stretched straight back and raised, asking me to help her lift it higher.

I saw a brownish indentation around the outer edge of my mother's labia majora on the narrow crotch of her panties, with a few pubic hairs on it.

I picked up her thigh and tried to rub my erect penis against her leg, and she didn't seem to notice. I squatted down, my knees touching her genitals. She contracted slightly, then straightened up, immediately asking, "Is this right?" I said, "Almost there. Can you go a little higher?" She said, "Try it." I bent her legs with one hand and slid the other down her thigh to her groin and buttocks.

After a while, my mother stood up, panting, saying she was tired. I told her to change positions, and she asked what. I stood in front of her, leaning back until my hands were on the ground. My penis was bulging under my underwear, pointing at her.

Then I said, "Oh dear, I can't stand up." My mother laughed and picked me up, my penis pressed tightly against her lower abdomen. After we got up, I held her, panting, saying my back almost broke. My mother just laughed.

Then I helped my mother up and asked her to do the same. My mother laughed and said she was too old and her back was too stiff to do it.

I told her she was very young and that I was there to protect her. With my support, my mother slowly leaned back.

Her thighs were spread wide, and our genitals were pressed together through two thin layers of fabric. Before

my hands even touched the ground, my mother said she couldn't take it anymore and asked me to help her up. I jokingly refused, and my mother struggled to get up on her own, but she wasn't strong enough, so our genitals rubbed together.

After I picked my mother up, she felt dizzy and leaned against me. At this moment, I became excited and boldly touched her buttocks. After touching her, my mother said that there was nothing wrong there, but her lower back was a little swollen and she asked me to massage it for her. I felt a little guilty, so I moved my hands up to her. After massaging

for a while, my mother said it was enough and got up to leave. As she turned around, I noticed a wet patch on her crotch.

The next morning, I put the semen-stained underwear on the bed, and my mother took it to wash.

After work in the afternoon, I asked my mother to teach me aerobics, and she agreed, carefully avoiding looking at my genitals.

I also did her seductive pose, and I'm sure my testicles had already torn a slit in my underwear; I wonder how much my mother saw.

We did the backbend pose from yesterday again, and I was so excited that I asked my mother to dance. As usual, my mother said she didn't know how, but I still hugged her, saying, "I'll teach you."

It was getting dark, and we didn't turn on the lights, only the fluorescent light from the TV illuminated the room.

Then I asked my mother to dance cheek to cheek. Of course, I wouldn't say the words "cheek dance," I just wanted her to wrap her arms around my neck instead. My mother said, "That's fine." I insisted, letting go of her and wrapping my arms around her waist. She had to put her hands on my shoulders, and I pushed her hands to my neck before she could wrap her arms around me.

After dancing for a while, I touched my mother's buttocks again, my fingers reaching down to her crotch, finding it wet and slippery. At this moment, my mother said, "Give me a massage on my lower back, it's a bit swollen." Learning from yesterday's lesson, I said, "Let me help you unblock the meridians on your back." My mother said, "Okay, do you know how?" I said, "Of course." Then I touched her from her shoulders to her buttocks.

"This is the Mingmen point, the coccyx, and the perineum," I said as I touched down, feeling a sticky, slippery fluid. I felt like I was about to lose control, so I kissed her. My mother chuckled and dodged. Suddenly, I slipped my hand under her swimsuit and touched her buttocks. My mother glanced at me and leaned to the right, but I still felt her genitals, wet.

"Don't do that," my mother whispered, pushing me away.

I refused to pull out, and she tightened her grip, almost to the point of a fight, before I finally withdrew.

My mother hugged my neck again, and I slipped my hand inside her pants, this time touching her genitals directly. My mother warned me again in a low voice, "Stop it, just dance properly," and pushed my hand away again.

We continued dancing, and I kept kissing my mother, who occasionally flinched. I also kept touching her buttocks, pulling her blouse up to her buttocks and touching her flesh directly.

My mother didn't object to me touching her bottom anymore, but when my hand reached down again, she would suddenly stop, look at me, and only continue dancing with me after I took my hand out. I wanted to put my tongue in her mouth, but her lips were tightly closed, avoiding me. After

a while, I stopped, feeling deflated. My mother asked, "Not dancing anymore?" I stubbornly refused to answer, and she said, "Then Mom will go make dinner." Seeing that I didn't respond, my mother went back to her room to change and then went to the kitchen.

The next day, I was absent-minded all day. When I came home from work and saw that my mother wasn't doing aerobics, I felt all the anger I had held back all day dissipate, and I sat on the sofa without saying a word. My mother asked if I wasn't feeling well, and I asked her why she hadn't done the exercises that day. She said she felt very tired and didn't want to move.

After dinner, I went downstairs for a walk to clear my head. A little girl kept bothering me to buy flowers, so I bought a red rose and brought it back to my mother. My mother was very happy to receive the flower. After a while, she went back to her room, changed into her swimsuit, and came out to do some aerobics.

After a few repetitions, I went up to her and hugged her. I didn't say anything about dancing, I just held her close. My mother looked at me and smiled, "What's wrong?" I pressed her head into my chest, not letting her look at me. After a while, seeing that I wasn't saying anything, she struggled to look at me again, and I finally said, "Let's dance." Then I put on some music and turned off the lights.

We hugged silently and swayed to the music for a while. Then I started kissing my mother and touching her buttocks. She didn't object. I tentatively touched her crotch, but it was still dry. Seeing that she didn't react, I boldly used my fingers to lift the cloth covering her buttocks and touch inside. My mother's labia were dry, but when I touched the middle, I found that the two labia were already full of nectar, which immediately seeped out along my middle finger.

At this moment, my mother raised her head, her face stern, and said, "Don't touch Mom there." Fortunately, her tone wasn't very harsh.

After a few more attempts to push me away, my mother didn't refuse my touching of her vulva anymore, but just hugged me tightly and kept rubbing her face against my shoulder and neck.

After touching her for a while, I carried my mother to the sofa. She sensed something was about to happen and refused me. I don't remember what I said, probably something like "I love you."

During the struggle, my mother gasped, "Your clothes are torn!" I said, "It's okay, I'll buy another one."

I then pushed up her swimsuit, which was ripped at the crotch, and after much coaxing, she finally took it off. Once naked, I pulled down my underwear, exposing my penis. This was obviously very uncomfortable, but I didn't dare get up. If I relaxed even slightly, my mother would escape.

Then I pressed myself against her, gently spreading her thighs with my legs while trying to persuade her. My mother whispered, "No." "Be good, you can't do this." "No, I can't." Finally, it became, "Mom isn't feeling well, can we do it tomorrow?" I said, "I really want to... please... give it to me... I love you..." and other such sweet nothings that women love to hear, exploring with my glans. My mother struggled, twisting her hips, trying to stop me from entering. This was almost exactly the same as when I slept with my first girlfriend. I wonder if other women are like this too?

"Mom, just put it in for a little while, please..." I said, and my mother seemed to cry, whimpering and remaining still—that was tacit consent. I immediately found the entrance, inserted my penis into my mother's warm body, and completed our first intercourse.

The pleasure of ejaculation was indescribable. Afterwards, I lay down, and my mother kept cursing me in a low voice, saying she wanted to die. It wasn't until I had my second erection and pressed myself against her that she opened her lower mouth and closed her upper mouth.

The second time, we made love for a long time; I occasionally thrust in and out, but spent most of the time kissing her and talking to her. I recounted how I had seen her spying on me in the past, but my mother denied it all, saying I was making things up, that it was all nonsense, and so on.

I didn't argue with her; instead, I told her lies that I had loved my mother since I was very young—lies that women like to hear—and waited until she felt sweet inside before slowly taking advantage of her.

This time, my mother stopped talking and let me do as I pleased. I carried her to her bed and made love to her for half an hour. She closed her eyes and hummed softly. When I ejaculated, my mother hugged me tightly, making soft moaning sounds, her buttocks arching repeatedly until I squeezed all my semen into her vagina.

When I woke up in the morning, I couldn't believe it was all real; it felt like a dream.

I kissed my mother awake, constantly asking myself: Is this real? Was I really touching my mother's breasts? Was I really touching my mother's genitals?

My mother opened her eyes, looking confused, thoughtful, and perhaps a little worried.

"Mom, you're still not awake?" I asked her. She smiled, looked at me, and stroked my forehead with her hand.

I rolled over and pressed myself against my mother, kissing her.

Our kiss was awkward; our teeth occasionally touched, and our tongues flicked haphazardly. Later, my mother wisely took a passive approach, reducing the impact.

My mother closed her eyes, her body rising and falling beneath me, occasionally taking deep breaths, as if trying to calm herself down.

I want to clarify the difference between having sex with my mother and having sex with my girlfriend. I suspect everyone has a gene that rejects incest, because every time I hug my mother and smell her scent, I have a feeling that it erases my desire for her. But incestuous people experience a different force resisting this. For me, this force is forbidden pleasure. It's far stronger than the first force.

While showering, my mother and I had sex again, but I didn't ejaculate.

When I came home that evening, my mother was doing aerobics again. I took off my clothes and sat on the sofa watching. She turned around, found me naked, was quite surprised, and scolded me.

I laughed and went up to undress her, but she refused, saying I was vulgar. She eventually let me. We had sex on the sofa, then went to the bedroom. After ejaculating, I lay weakly on the bed, and my mother hugged me, gently touching my body.

A week later, our sexual relationship normalized, and we had sex once or twice a day.

Every day when I came home, my mother would open the door for me, put my things down, undress me, and then immediately hug me. I asked her, "Did you miss me?" She nodded, and then we went to bed and made love. We were newlyweds, inseparable.

Then one Sunday, I took my mother shopping, saying I wanted to buy her something. When we arrived at the jewelry store, my mother refused to go in, but after my persuasion and the shop assistant's invitation, she finally went in.

I wanted to buy her a ring, but she was very nervous. When I asked if it was okay, she always said, "You decide." When I was about to pay, she started haggling with the shop assistant, and her attitude was very unfriendly. Luckily, the shop assistant didn't mind, but thanks to her, I actually saved a few hundred yuan.

When we got home, I put my arm around my mother and sat her on the sofa. I took out the ring, and she immediately became shy. Another thing that impressed me was my mother's changed posture. In the past, like many middle-aged women, she would sit with her thighs slightly crossed, her body straight, and her hands at her sides. But today, she lowered her head slightly, her legs together, and her hands clasped and resting on her knees. What touched me even more was that her calves were together and slightly tilted to the right, while her upper body leaned towards me to the left, showing an indescribable gentleness and consideration.

This body language reflected my mother's inner world; she had completely come to rely on me, more than a thousand words could express. At that moment, she was no longer the prim and proper, unsmiling mother who would scold me at the slightest provocation. She had become my new wife.

Especially when I took her hand and placed the ring on her fingers, roughened by years of labor but still long and slender, words could not describe the expression on her face.

My heart pounded wildly at that moment!

I never explained the meaning of that ring then, nor even to this day, but we both understood. At least we both thought of it that way: it was our engagement ring.

Afterwards, my mother and I had sex. It was the most pleasurable and successful sexual encounter we had ever had since we became a couple. With a gentle pull, my mother gracefully stood up, her lightness like that of a vibrant young girl. We walked arm in arm towards the bedroom, exchanging knowing smiles.

At the door, she paused, closed the door, and then followed me to the bedside, where we embraced and kissed.

I unbuttoned her cheongsam and discovered she had changed into new underwear, which I couldn't recall when she had bought it. Before, my mother had always made her own underwear from old fabric. I not only saw the new underwear but also felt my mother's emotions. The underwear wasn't particularly sexy; what was sexy was my mother's sentiment: son, I belong to you now.

My mother smiled shyly, and we kissed again. Her underwear fluttered down like leaves in the wind, while I remained dressed in my suit and tie. When I saw myself in the mirror, impeccably dressed, holding my naked mother in my arms, caressing her until she gasped softly, I felt an immense excitement.

Heh, it was like a client playing with a prostitute.

My mother, with her eyes closed, enjoyed my caresses and kisses, completely unaware that I was treating her like a prostitute.

This was the result of my friends' teachings.

However, I didn't actually see my mother as a prostitute; it was just a thrilling thought. I believed that even if my mother knew my true feelings, she would forgive me.

After a while, my mother straightened up, smiled at me, and gently loosened my tie, removing my shirt. Then, seemingly embarrassed to take off my pants, she hugged me again, pressing her breasts against my chest.

I put one leg on the bed, draped my mother's thigh over mine, wrapped my arms around her waist, kissed her, and caressed her vulva.

My mother opened her eyes and whispered, "The bed is dirty." I smiled, not caring at all.

After all, it wasn't me who washed the sheets, but my mother, so she cared more than I did.

My mother took her leg off, knelt down to untie my shoelaces, took off my shoes, then stood up, wrapped her arms around my waist, and pressed her face against my chest.

It's worth mentioning that when my mother knelt naked in front of me to take off my shoes, I felt a strong sense of pleasure!

The way she knelt down seemed to be telling me: Son, you have conquered me.

This must be the ring that cost over three thousand yuan working its magic, right? I thought: Actually, there's not much difference between a mother and a prostitute, except the first time costs more, and then you don't have to pay anymore. Comparatively speaking, paying for a mother's services is more cost-effective than paying for a prostitute's. Of course, thinking like this is just for the thrill, nothing more.

After taking off my shoes, my mother and I went to the bed hand in hand and knelt facing each other. I ran my hand along my belt a few times, looked at my mother, and she understood what I meant. She smiled and loosened my belt for me. Then I knelt a little higher, and she pulled my pants up to my thighs. I sat down and tucked my legs in. My mother took off my pants and carefully placed them on the stool by the bed, instead of throwing her underwear all over the floor like I did.

I was still wearing my underwear, but my mother stopped moving, kneeling there, looking down at the bed. I went up to her, hugged her, and kissed her. Her hands caressed my body under my arms, and then, finally, she started to take off my underwear.

I lay down and reached out to pull my mother up, wanting her to lie on top of me, but this time she didn't understand. She lay on her side next to me, so I had to turn over. She also turned over and lay on her back. When I pressed down on her, she spread her legs. Everything was perfectly coordinated.

My glans was wet and slippery, making it easy to slip into my mother's vagina.

This was the first time we made love in a brightly lit place. My mother kept her eyes tightly closed, not daring to look at me, her thighs wrapped around my waist, and her arms tightly around my neck. I used a technique of nine shallow thrusts followed by one deep one, penetrating her. She would occasionally open her mouth and silently exhale.

After all, I was her child, and our reproductive organs were perfectly coordinated. My mother's vagina and my penis were almost the same length; when I inserted it to the hilt, with a little more force, I reached her clitoris. If I thrust in too hard, her body would involuntarily tremble.

She was taking deep breaths, seemingly trying to suppress the pleasure; I gently patted her, signaling her to relax.

During ejaculation, my mother's whole body tensed, clinging tightly to me until a minute after I finished, when she relaxed.

As she hugged me, her vagina contracted rhythmically with her panting breaths.

At dinner, we were very close. We didn't say much, just smiled at each other from time to time. In all my life so far, I'd never seen my mother smile so much.

After that, we shared a bed for a year, and I estimate I ejaculated a whole bucket of semen inside her during that time.

For a while, she stopped bodybuilding, seeming lazy and quite coquettish. After my encouragement, she resumed exercising, and her figure improved significantly. Of course, she can't be compared to a teenage girl, but compared to her peers, even those twenty years younger than her, she's quite good. I often buy my mother high-end shower gel and skincare products, making her skin smooth and supple. She also takes good care of herself, even wearing gloves when washing vegetables.

The only drawback is that my mother's breasts just won't grow bigger.

The first time I gave my mother oral sex was at night. I was already in bed when she went to take a shower. After she finished, she got into bed wrapped in a towel. I suddenly had a whim, pushed her down, spread her legs, and buried my face in her. My mother was startled, thinking I was going to bite her there, and let out a soft "ouch." But after I licked it open, she became extremely excited, producing a lot of fluid, which had a slightly fishy smell, but it was still bearable.

Later, I asked my mother to lick my penis. She didn't want to refuse, but she seemed reluctant, licking it a few times. I felt that forcing it wasn't enjoyable, and the feeling wasn't good, so I said, "Never mind, if you don't want to lick, then don't." My mother hesitated and asked me, "Will you kiss me after you're done licking?" I said, "Of course!" It turned out she was afraid I would find her dirty.

My mother then readily began sucking my penis. After a while, to prove myself, I pulled her up and kissed her hard, sucking out her saliva and swallowing it. To be honest, it was a bit disgusting because she seemed to have held her saliva in her mouth for a long time. But things got much better after that. When my mother sucked my penis, I could feel her tenderness, and she kept swallowing her saliva. I made her eat my semen once, and she said it made her throat uncomfortable.

Another time, after I ejaculated, my mother put my semen in her mouth and let me taste it. I ate it and found it salty and fishy, and also seemed bland. My throat did feel a bit numb, which wasn't very pleasant, so I never wanted my mother to eat my semen again. Unexpectedly, my mother seemed to enjoy the feeling again. She said, "The numbness is also fun." So later, when she was happy, she would still suck my penis until she sucked out my semen, which she would then swallow.

We also tried anal sex, but my mother didn't like it, so we did it less often. I hope she will change her mind someday.

We tried everything this year, including various positions, but in the end, we both felt that face-to-face embracing and thrusting was the most pleasurable and intense. We also tried sneaking off to hotels to experience new environments. We also tried having sex in parks at night while traveling, but I found that the pleasure wasn't great when I ejaculated, so we stopped.

A year later, our passion had waned somewhat, but we were still very loving. My mother suggested that I find a girlfriend, promising she wouldn't be jealous.

Around this time, my friends all came back, and I spent more time with them chasing girls, spending less time with my mother.

When I got home at night, my mother would always complain, but as soon as my penis entered her vagina, she would become as docile as a puppy.

Soon, I hooked up with another girl and soon brought her home to live with me. My mother secretly asked me if the girl was a virgin, seemingly more concerned about it than I was. I said, "Where are there virgins these days?" My mother looked down on that girl and allowed me to find another one.

My live-in girlfriend was unwilling to be dumped and came to the house to make a scene several times. My mother scolded her without hesitation and drove her away, ending the relationship. Soon, I slept with a second girl, a clerk at a company. She was very beautiful, but not a virgin either. However, this time when my mother asked, I lied and said she was. My mother was very happy and treated her as her future daughter-in-law, urging me to get married quickly.

A year later, my girlfriend became pregnant, and we prepared to get married.

The night before the wedding, my girlfriend went to stay at her parents' house. I hadn't spent time with my mother in a long time, so given the opportunity to be alone with her, I naturally went to bed with her without hesitation

. After we had sex once, I told my mother to put on her wedding dress, and then we had sex on the wedding bed. My mother said, "How could you even think of that?" while her body writhed excitedly.

After the wedding, life at home became peaceful. My wife soon gave birth to a son, and my mother loved taking care of her grandson, finding a new source of joy.

Whenever my wife was around, my mother reverted to her old ways, not even letting me kiss her, afraid of being seen.

One time, my wife was in the bathroom, and I secretly said to my mother, "Don't wear underwear." She asked curiously, "Why?" I felt very awkward. Another time during a meal, my wife went to the kitchen, and I secretly touched my mother's thigh, startling her so much that she almost dropped her bowl. She whispered angrily, "Are you crazy?" Sometimes, I would sneak out from work to relive our past romance with my mother, but it was always rushed and never truly satisfying. Occasionally, when my wife was away on business or there were company events, my mother and I could finally indulge in sex again.

Spending so much time with two women, I naturally compared them, and my mother seemed quite interested in my daughter-in-law's bedroom skills. Out of female modesty, she was too embarrassed to ask, but whenever I brought it up, she listened intently.

In many ways, my mother wasn't as good as my wife. Having given birth to three children, her vagina was naturally looser, but fortunately, her vaginal fluid was thicker and less abundant, which compensated for some of the friction. Besides, my mother is over fifty years old. Her face has many wrinkles, her hair is streaked with gray, her breasts are small and sagging, and her nipples point downwards. She

also has a lot of fat on her lower abdomen, always looking like she's three months pregnant. Although compared to women her age, my mother is well-maintained, she's far from being as youthful and beautiful as my wife.

However, because I crave excitement, my mother's shortcomings due to old age become advantages in my eyes. It is precisely because of this that I truly feel: I am having sex with my own mother!

Also, my mother is very conservative. Every time we have sex, we do it the traditional way. Because we are mother and son incestuous, she has a deep sense of inferiority and is very concerned about my attitude towards her. She dislikes me making her lie on the bed and then having sex with her from behind like a dog. I wanted her to imitate the actresses in adult films, but she said she didn't want to imitate those kinds of sluts. At that moment, I thought to myself, even if someone is slutty, they wouldn't be so slutty as to sleep with their own son. Of course, this is something I absolutely cannot say out loud. I also wanted her to secretly watch my wife and me making love, but she called me vulgar.

Compared to my mother, my wife is a hundred times more open. She has tried every position in adult films with me. Once, I asked her if she wanted me to break the rules and report me! She said, "I'd do it if you let the dog do it." She meant it, but I wasn't willing to let the dog do it, so the matter was dropped. I also asked her about her opinion on incest, and she said, "Whatever other people like is none of our business." Once, we were watching an adult film, and I pointed to the actor having sex with his mother and said, "If we have a handsome son in the future, would you want to have sex with him?" She retorted, "Have you slept with your mother?" I pretended to be angry and ignored her, but inside I was terrified and never dared to bring up that question again.

Besides the forbidden thrill, what made my mother superior to my wife was her snow-white skin; I've never seen a living woman whiter than my mother in my life. And the softness of her body was also incomparable.

Women are generally soft-bodied, but compared to my mother, she was nothing. She was practically boneless and muscleless.

Holding her, even without committing adultery, was incredibly comfortable.

My sisters' beauty was no less than that of Miss Hong Kong or Miss World, arguably even surpassing them, but I've never felt any sexual interest in them from childhood to adulthood. This puzzles me. This is probably a result of natural selection and evolution, a kind of protective measure.

In fact, you can observe in daily life that women become less attractive after giving birth to boys, while becoming more beautiful after giving birth to girls; and sons usually resemble their mothers (this is easier to see in reproduction between different races), while daughters usually resemble their fathers (most people don't experience sexual desire for themselves, and perhaps even less for those who resemble them). Could these changes also be to prevent incest between mothers and sons, or fathers and daughters?

My sisters went their separate ways after finishing their studies, so I didn't spend much time with them. When we were little, we were always at odds, fighting over toys and such; there was little affection between us. I don't know what the future holds. If anything happens, I'll write it down for readers.

I thought our sex life would decline over time like that of a typical married couple, eventually ceasing altogether, but it hasn't gotten that bad yet. I think it's because we can't fully satisfy each other. Especially after reading my first incestuous article online, I suddenly felt a strong sense of identification. My mother read it too, and then we reached a new peak.

In the past year, I've had sex with my mother far more often than my wife, and it happens more often in the kitchen than in bed, usually right after I get off work. Because my wife had to sell vegetables, she usually got home half an hour later than me, and my mother and I would use this opportunity to have affairs. At this time, my mother would usually be in the kitchen chopping meat or washing rice, and I would go straight to the kitchen as soon as I entered. If she wasn't there, she would be washing clothes in the bathroom.

When my mother was sexually aroused, she would stop what she was doing, turn around, and hug me as soon as I reached out. Then we would kiss and caress each other in the kitchen. My mother preferred me to touch her; she rarely initiated touching me. While touching me, I would reach under her skirt and pull off her underwear, then press her against the kitchen wall and rape her.

My mother usually wore a skirt, but occasionally she would wear a robe, which meant she had a need. If she wasn't wearing anything under her robe, it was very exciting. Even if I wasn't really interested, she would use oral sex or something to arouse me. If she wore long pants, then it was hopeless; no matter how much I touched her, she wouldn't get wet. I always felt annoyed when I saw my mother wearing long pants.

However, both of these situations were relatively rare. Usually, I was the one who initiated touching her, and she would become aroused in less than three minutes. All things considered,

it was more often me who wasn't interested than my mother.

Ultimately, the bond that maintained our sex life was forbidden pleasure, at least that's how I felt.

Sometimes I think about it, and after my mother and I developed an unusual relationship, the way we looked at each other changed. If my wife were sensitive, she could have noticed. Why hadn't she realized it all these years? One reason I thought of was: when she married me, my mother and I had already been intimate; our relationship would have changed long ago, so she probably thought it was normal.

Of course, I would never dare to ask her. (

Preface

) I'm happy to see everyone openly discussing incest.

The internet age is an era of great freedom, with all sorts of ideas strongly impacting everyone. The revolutionary consequences it brings are still unpredictable, and I hope everyone cherishes it.

Now, I want to tell you some true stories from my life.

Remember, this isn't a novel. Chapter One: Unforgettable Past Times

My sexual development was strange. Strange perhaps because no one else talked about it, making me feel like only I was like this; I didn't know. Therefore, I also hope everyone will talk about real things (maybe not everyone has these experiences, please don't fabricate them). Anyway, you don't need to use your real name online, and you don't need to show your face or leave a message, so feel free to speak your mind. I also hope this issue can be discussed scientifically (don't feel ashamed to masturbate while discussing, it's normal).

To clarify, if you want to get to know me, I'm very welcome, and I won't refuse to meet you, but you must bring your mother and proof of your mother-son relationship.

I was definitely before the first grade of elementary school when I first had sexual fantasies about my mother. Because it was so long ago, I can't recall the exact age now, but it was very, very young.

I clearly remember, more than once, in my dreams, I loudly proclaimed to my mother, "Mom, I want to take off your pants and touch you." Saying this, I experienced a thrill of breaking taboos. Although I didn't know the term "incest" then, I understood it was a very "vulgar" thing to do. To say such lewd things to my mother, whom I respected in my daily life!

In the dream, my mother didn't react, so I unbuckled her belt, feeling a nameless pleasure, mystery, and liberation, and reached out to touch her genitals. The location was always her office or a nearby playground.

However, I had never seen an adult woman's private parts before, so I couldn't experience it in my dreams.

This kind of dream only happened a few times. Other, more frequent childhood dreams involved smashing shop windows to grab food, of course, knowing it was a dream. Or being chased by monsters.

I also had some homosexual dreams, usually involving handsome child stars from movies of the time, like Pan Dongzi (most Chinese people around thirty years old know him, right?). Several times I dreamt he was playing with my neighbor's child—playing with his penis. I would go up to him and touch it.

Even in junior high, I imagined handsome men from comic books, including Lü Bu and Zhao Zilong from the Three Kingdoms period, and the Yang Family Generals, imagining them as my wives and husbands, and traveling together. Having these skilled and handsome men with me would certainly be very romantic. Furthermore, they often fought over me, and I was always the mediator.

As for sex, it was still just fantasizing about touching; I never even thought about anal sex or anything like that. Because I couldn't get an erection at that time.

I don't know anything about these historically handsome young generals; my impressions come from comic book depictions. I then feminized their personalities according to my own interpretation.

But in terms of Oedipus complex, I was quite strange. I only had such thoughts in my dreams at night; they were almost nonexistent during the day. It wasn't that I was afraid to think about it, but rather that I simply didn't think about it, and sometimes the thought even made me feel disgusted.

I was only a few years old then, and I didn't have much of a moral compass. As for homosexuality, I almost never thought about it when I was awake. The first time I really thought about it during the day was in junior high school. But at that time, I didn't know that homosexuals could have anal sex, and my genitals weren't erect (I was under fifteen). I remember once inviting a male classmate home to play. We stripped naked and played around on the bed, even rubbing our butts together. But it was just out of curiosity, excitement, and fun; there was no sexual pleasure involved.

This makes me wonder if a person's sexual orientation is formed around the age of eleven or twelve.

Other sex-related things happened during my childhood, so this isn't a dream.

I often played with girls, playing games, one of which involved injections. Once, I saw my sister and another girl of similar age exposing their breasts in front of a public restroom, using a popsicle stick they'd picked up from the ground to stick it into each other's nipples. My sister was very young then, I don't know exactly how young, but she was only three years older than me, so she hadn't developed yet either. When they saw me, they told me not to tell my mother. This shows they knew it was shameful, but they still did it; I wonder what that felt like.

I really liked it when my sister touched my butt. I remember once during my afternoon nap, I pulled down my shorts and asked her to touch them before I could fall asleep. It just felt very comfortable; I didn't have any sexual feelings about it. My sister always said it was wrong, but she did it anyway.

She was always very good to me until I grew up. Once, when I was young, I touched her breasts in the kitchen. They felt soft and comfortable, but I felt disgusted. Especially when she smiled at me.

I couldn't think of anything softer than a woman's breasts.

Even recently, some of her letters to me contained strong sexual advances. Once, she heard I had published an article that caused a sensation, and she wrote, "...There must be many young girls who are infatuated with you. Could you send me some to read, so I can be infatuated too?" And so on, countless times. I felt uncomfortable after reading them. I wonder what my brother-in-law would think if he read them?

This is one of the reasons I firmly believe that incestuous desires are inherent in everyone!

I swear my sister is a beauty. If her wedding photos were published, those Miss Hong Kong and Miss Asia winners, if they had any self-awareness, would all go to hell.

But I'm just not sexually attracted to her. My mother, though beautiful in her youth, has aged considerably since giving birth to me, and I've always been very sexually attracted to her. Isn't that strange?

The only difference between my mother and sister is: my mother is strict, rarely smiles, and fiercely protective of her family; my sister is gentle and always puts others before herself.

I've played similar games with other girls. There was a girl a few years older than me who loved playing with me. She would insert a popsicle stick into my foreskin, and I would insert the stick into her vagina. Then we'd put on our pants, casually walk around, and then come back to remove it. Of course, it hurt a little. We called this game "Doctor's Injection."

Back then, I didn't find the girl's genitals pleasant because of the lots of dirty water—I thought it was urine, but she said it was water used to wash her bottom. I actually enjoyed giving her injections, but I didn't think about it sexually; the pleasure came more from the mystery.

Our parents worked at the movie theater, and our activities took place there. Because employees' children could come and go freely while outsiders couldn't, the theater was empty when there were no movies showing. There was a wall surrounding it, and between the wall and the theater, there was nothing but birds and weeds growing from the cracked cement.

We once had a nanny who was a teenager; compared to me, she was an adult, a very grown-up. I don't remember if it was after my mother gave birth to my sister. I was quite handsome and quiet as a child; girls might have had more ideas about that. One time, when no one was home, she took me to bed, put down the mosquito net, and then took off her clothes, undressing me as well. Then she lay down and wanted me to press against her and suckle her breasts. I sucked twice and said there was no milk, it didn't taste good. She then sat us face to face with our legs apart, and tried to force my penis into her vagina. Of course, it wouldn't go in; it didn't even touch, and it hurt my foreskin, so I refused (I regret it now). At that moment, my mother came home and knocked on the door. She quickly got dressed and warned me not to tell anyone. I

honestly can't remember if I told anyone. Sometimes I think I didn't, sometimes I think I did.

It's been so long.

She probably didn't have any body hair back then, because I don't remember. Back then, I felt a strong aversion to anyone with body hair, so if she did, I certainly wouldn't forget. This is purely logical reasoning, not memory.

Later, she went to work as a nanny for someone else. Once, I walked by and saw her carrying a child on her back, chopping vegetables.

She smiled and called me over, but remembering how she had pulled my penis, I immediately shook my head and ran away. Damn!

This incident reveals a woman's true nature. If a woman is cold and indifferent to you, it doesn't mean she's not interested in sex, but rather that she's not interested in you. Or she might just be pretending.

Sometimes when I read poets describing a pure and ethereal beauty, I feel sorry for the poet: she doesn't like you! If a woman likes a man, she won't be like a celestial being, but like a prostitute, or even worse—she can be slept with without payment, and afterwards, she'll be very happy.

When I was in my early twenties, I returned to my hometown, hoping to find those women from back then to make up for the regrets, but unfortunately, I couldn't find a single one. I didn't know how to find them, and

frankly, I was too embarrassed to. There was another woman, around my twenties or thirties at the time, who often visited my home. One winter, she and my mother were knitting and chatting. My feet were cold, so she told me to put them inside her clothes. I mischievously kicked her breast, and she glared at me and gave me a warning. But I disobeyed and kicked it again, and she angrily took my foot out. I remember there was a hint of sexual awareness involved in that, because I remember feeling incredibly ashamed at the time. Other things didn't make me ashamed.

When I was seven, my family moved from this small county to the city, where I continued my second grade of elementary school. The only age I clearly remember starts from this point.

The city was crowded and noisy; there were no secluded spots, and my city friends hadn't played those kinds of games. This continued until I was a teenager. I believe that sexual attitudes in the countryside are much more open than in the city.

During these years, my parents' relationship deteriorated. My father had an affair, they argued, fought, and almost divorced.

Parents fighting is terrifying for a child; I could do nothing but cry and tremble. They fought behind closed doors. The shouts inside were deafening; one moment I thought my father was dead, the next I thought my mother was dead—I was almost driven insane by fear.

They didn't divorce in the end for the sake of their children. Later, my father was transferred to work in another city, returning to see us once a year and sending some money. From then on, he disappeared from my life. Only my mother and I, the three sisters, were left at home.

One night, I was sick and dizzy, and my mother asked me to sleep with her. I wasn't very willing because I couldn't stretch out when sleeping with my mother, but I didn't object.

When I lay down, my mother was putting up a mosquito net. Because I was dizzy, I closed my eyes. After a while, I felt something strange in my lower body, so I opened my eyes and found my mother straddling my legs with her back to me. At the time, I was only wearing a thin pair of shorts. Although my penis wasn't erect, its natural length and elasticity pushed the shorts up about an inch. My legs were together. My mother was wearing white briefs and a white tank top. She was squatting, one leg to my left and the other to my right. Because I was sleeping on the outside, she straddled my legs and reached under the mosquito net to keep mosquitoes out.

Her lower body brushed against my erect penis. When she turned to look at me, I quickly closed my eyes, but left a small gap. I saw her look back at me, then look elsewhere, and then, intentionally or unintentionally, rub her genitals against my penis again. Seeing that I didn't react, she boldly looked down at my genitals for over ten seconds before turning off the light and going to sleep. I wasn't an adult then.

I didn't feel sexually aroused by my mother's actions; instead, I felt disgusted. Looking back now, I think I was a strange person. Because I remember that before my father passed away, I often slept between them. One time, I suddenly felt desire again, not in a dream, but in reality. I reached out and touched my mother's thigh.

My mother stirred, so I stopped, then gently stroked her again, deliberately moving closer to her inner thigh. When I touched her private parts through her underwear, she flinched. I was startled, but soon touched her thigh again, slowly moving upwards, and she flinched again. This time I dared not move, because I had thought I dared to do this only because my mother was asleep, but now it seemed she was probably not asleep. So I said I needed to pee, and my parents turned on the light. I heard my mother tell my father that I was very naughty in my sleep. I pretended not to understand, but I was mortified. Of course, I never dared to move again. At that time, I couldn't get an erection and didn't understand sex, but that action had a genuine sexual awareness.

Now that my mother is touching me, I feel disgusted. Isn't that strange? If I had been as bold and had incestuous thoughts that night as I do now, would my mother and I have had sex? Back then, our upbringing taught me that sex was shameful, and incest was something I'd never even heard of, let alone considered.

By around twenty, I had lost all interest in homosexuality, but my Oedipus complex had intensified. At first, I would secretly imagine having an inappropriate relationship with my mother, but when I actually saw certain parts of her body, I felt disgusted (because they weren't attractive). Later, it became an unconditional liking.

Wherever I worked, my mother always followed me. I was often annoyed by her, and arguments were common, but she just stayed with me. I often secretly wrote articles about incest between mother and son. Back then, there was no internet. After writing, I'd hide it for a while, and once my emotions calmed down, I'd regret it and burn it immediately. But the moment I turned around and saw my mother, I'd be furious again. Actually

, when I wrote those things, I wasn't thinking about my mother herself, but about another woman—a voluptuous woman in her thirties or forties, with a beautiful face—who didn't even exist. I've analyzed my incestuous psychology and discovered that I wasn't truly sexually attracted to my mother. It was more about dissatisfaction and resistance to societal oppression. I've always lived in a place that suppresses humanity and deeply despise a certain organization. This shameless thing calls itself the mother of the people, and I think the best way to deal with it is to let us incest enthusiasts rape this slut who calls herself the mother of the nation. Because, in the decades it has ruled the country, it has mentally raped the entire nation countless times!

Of course, there are also those who cheer while being raped by it. These people are either born prostitutes or mentally challenged, so I'm too lazy to mention them.

As for fellow enthusiasts in other places, I believe they are also the result of excessive repression, just not as intense as mine.

Easterners are subject to far stronger moral constraints than Westerners (damn Confucius!), and the creativity of Chinese people is far inferior to that of Westerners. Therefore, for the strength of the nation and the people, let us commit incest!

Incest, with mother-son incest as the highest realm, is also the ultimate anti-traditional and anti-moral act. I am sexually attracted to ordinary women, but sexual relations between mother and son bring a powerful sense of liberation, a liberation of mind, a breaking of mental shackles and all moral constraints. While morality is essential for social stability, its control over thought is extremely harmful.

I suggest everyone adhere to moral principles in their actions, but have no such inhibitions in their thoughts.

The taboos surrounding incest between mother and son or other incestuous acts stem from two sources: sociology and biology. Sociological issues are easily resolved with mutual consent and secrecy.

Biologically, we know that thoroughbred horses are inbred; while this method of reproduction may lead to the encounter of harmful genes causing genetic diseases, it may also lead to the encounter of superior genes, resulting in more outstanding offspring—a double-edged sword. If you can't bear the shock of having a freak, simply don't have children.

Society is progressing, and there's absolutely no need to uphold outdated morals and laws. If you're powerless to fight against the law and public opinion, just do it secretly with a clear conscience.

I really can't think of any reason to treat incest as a monstrous threat.

My view is, if you and your mother or other relatives are mutually attracted and she (he) consents, then go for it! It's simply the ideal! If you invite me to visit later, I'll be so grateful I'll kneel down and kiss your feet.

Now, back to myself. Chapter Two: How Many Regrets Did My Mother Leave Me?

In the days that followed, some things happened between my mother and me. I can't quite remember the exact time or sequence, so I'll just use a certain day to indicate it. I'll write down everything I remember.

One summer, my mother said a thorn had fallen into her clothes and pierced her flesh, and she asked me to help her find it. At that time, I wasn't particularly interested in incest, nor was I patient enough to help my mother with chores, but I did it anyway.

The thorn really was there, and it was very small, about a millimeter, mostly embedded in the flesh; you couldn't find it without careful observation.

My mother couldn't have found it herself, because it was right in her blind spot, below her neck and at the collar of her shirt. To make it easier, my mother changed positions several times, tilting her head back as she lay on the bed, while I pulled open her tank top, revealing her unbraced breasts.

My mother's breasts weren't pretty; they were a bit flat and sagging, but very white and tender. Her nipples weren't the black I disliked, but brown, only slightly larger than a fist. With her face tilted back, I could feel her warm breath on my lower abdomen, and I felt a surge of desire.

When I was twenty-one, I was fortunate enough to find a job in a very wealthy and open city, and my mother came with me. For the first time, I had enough money to buy adult films on the street.

This was perhaps unfortunate for me; after watching a pornographic film for the first time, I also ejaculated while fully conscious for the first time in my life. After that, masturbation became uncontrollable, and I developed a strong interest in women.

One day, while helping my mother serve dishes, I masturbated frantically, ejaculating into a dish before taking it out.

I kept my eyes fixed on the door, believing my mother hadn't noticed. But what happened next made me suspect she had noticed.

Because she didn't touch that dish at all! Why?! I was terrified!

Another time, I masturbated in bed with the bedroom door wide open. I had checked beforehand; the room lights were off, and the living room light shone brightly through the mosquito net, making it impossible to see inside. Just then, my mother walked past my doorway. I boldly knelt on the bed, pointing my penis at her.

She looked inside, stopped, and then came in. I was terrified again and quickly stopped.

My mother came to my bedside and softly asked if I was feeling unwell, then lifted the mosquito net. I was completely naked and hurriedly said, "No, no," clutching the opening of the mosquito net tightly. She tried to lift the net from another angle, and I panicked, arguing loudly in an annoyed tone. Only then did my mother leave. After a while, I got up and looked outside again, only to find that I could vaguely see inside the net from the doorway! Good heavens! What was going on? Why couldn't I see anything when I stood outside looking? Was some divine intervention at play? What would have happened if I had let my mother lift the mosquito net? Why did I so desperately want it, yet back down at the last minute when it was about to happen?

One day, feeling unwell, I lay on the sofa. My mother came over and asked what was wrong, then offered to massage me. I agreed. She knew a little about medicine and diligently massaged me. When she reached my groin, she roughly saw my erect penis under my shorts, then suddenly stopped, turned, and left without a word.

If that night when I was a teenager, my mother rubbed her genitals against my penis, making me realize she was interested in me, then this time, seeing my erection during the massage, she should have known I was interested in her too.

But we kept dragging things out until I finally got my first girlfriend.

This girlfriend was hard-won, and I owed it all to my close friends from high school.

My mother's teachings from a young age instilled in me the belief that staring at women was lecherous, flirting with girls was immoral, dating was irresponsible, and harassing women was utterly heinous.

For example, when my sister mentioned that a man at her workplace often stared at her, my mother exclaimed with utter disgust, "Shameless!" Growing up surrounded by such influences, my mating instincts, though developing, were suppressed. Like a seedling growing under a giant rock, I struggled to bend and grow, yearning for sunlight and rain.

My older and younger sisters received the same education, but they weren't as badly hurt as I was. They could maintain their composure and remain serious, and boys still pursued them. Their ladylike demeanor only increased their number of suitors. But

I was miserable!

Whenever I saw a girl I liked, I seemed to lose the ability to speak, falling silent. When I wanted to pursue or express my love, my mother's shadow would haunt me, preventing me from uttering a thousand words, and making my limbs obey my every whim.

While I was alone, diligently studying and working, my friends slept with countless women. But they had no money. And I, after years of hard work, had accumulated some savings. So I ended up with them again.

These old classmates all drifted apart from me back in school because of my mother. Whenever they came to visit, my mother would call them little hooligans. And whenever I caused trouble at school and was asked to see my parents, my mother would blame it all on my best friends, and they still harbor resentment to this day.

"Hey, does your mom still care about you? If you're with us, she won't come knocking on your door again, will she?" This was the first thing my long-lost friends said when we got together.

I impatiently interrupted them, telling them I was a different person now. They were skeptical, but I quickly proved them right.

I never dreamed they'd slept with so many women during the years I sat in my office like a hermit.

When they talked about women at the dinner table, I thought they were just bragging, and I looked at them with disdain and mockery.

They quickly proved themselves. At the second gathering, everyone brought a respectable woman they didn't know to accompany them. By our fifth gathering, most of the women had already slept with them.

I felt inexplicably sad and resentful. At the time, I wasn't thinking about how many women I wanted to sleep with; I just thought that I was better than these guys in terms of looks, figure, education, and income, yet I couldn't even find a wife!

One of my friends noticed my distress and expressed sympathy. One day, after drinking, he said, "Ah Xun is treating. We're going to play around with women, haha." Everyone who heard this probably felt sorry for me. At the next gathering, they introduced me to a girlfriend.

Before that, they taught me a lot about playing with women: "You think of women as too noble, that's not okay. You have to think of every woman as a prostitute!" "Be chic, don't act like a pedant!" "We will help you brag, don't look down on us, women. People are very stupid, they have no judgment. If others say it is good, they think it is good. We will give you a compliment and let you study for a year. Otherwise, it will always be a failure! These golden words still make me cry with gratitude! But I was dubious at the time and even started arguing with them.

A friend said impatiently, "You think you're so innocent? So high and mighty? Damn it, I used to be just like you! I almost committed suicide!" I knew this. He once chased a girl all the way to her hometown, only to end up penniless and homeless, when he saw her walking out of a dance hall with another man. Enraged, he beat the man up and got arrested by the police. It was only thanks to his friends rushing to his aid that he was rescued.

Now, he's slept with a whole line of women. These include nurses, doctors, respected female teachers, and enviable female college students.

Hearing his story, I felt like my heart was being stabbed: "Women, are you really that despicable?!" Finally, my friends told me, "Believe it or not, do as we say!" As a result, less than a week later, I had slept with that girl, finally releasing years of pent-up depression!

This was my first girlfriend, and I cherished her dearly. She was also very attached to me. However, our relationship was met with unanimous opposition from my mother and friends! This was the first time my mother and the "hooligans" in her eyes had stood on the same side.

My mother expressed extreme disgust for my girlfriend for two reasons. First, the girl's family wasn't wealthy, and her parents weren't from the intellectual class, making us an unsuitable match; second, my mother didn't think she was a good girl, and she knew about our past relationship. That was when my mother raised her first objection. I said, "She's been doing... that thing..." hoping to salvage the situation, and that's how my mother found out. But she didn't see the girl as making a sacrifice; instead, she thought she was indecent.

My friends' reasons for objecting were completely different. They said, "Really? You're giving up after just one?" "Yesterday I said you were smart, that you'd learn in no time, but you're a fucking idiot." "I thought you'd won her over, looks like she won you over." My girlfriend and I went home together, and my mother gave her a hard time. Meanwhile, my friends were also causing trouble. They were busy introducing me to another girl while trying to stop us from continuing our relationship. The method was simple: every time we got together, they'd pretend I was breaking the rules and report me! They'd call my girlfriend out, and then they'd all rush to pretend I was breaking the rules and report me! They'd snatch her away, or declare beforehand, "She comes, we leave; it's either me or her." What man doesn't want to sleep with multiple women? I'm a man too, and I was fascinated by my friends' suggestions, only doubting my own abilities. After all, the shadows accumulated over the years aren't easy to erase. Once I got on the right track with another girl, I slowly forgot about the first one.

My friends sketched out a grand blueprint for my womanizing: after sleeping with ordinary women, they wanted to introduce me to middle-aged women, married women, middle school girls, etc., and first, let me sleep with all the women they'd already slept with. I was absolutely thrilled!

But things didn't go as smoothly as I'd imagined. Of my group of friends, two soon went to do business in other cities; another suddenly lost his parents in a car accident, and unfortunately, being a filial son, he was devastated; the last one had a fling with the daughter of a deputy director of the Public Security Bureau, resulting in a conviction for indecent assault and imprisonment, and we all broke up. Despite

having ample experience with women and correct theoretical guidance, lacking the help of my friends, I still couldn't go it alone and slowly reverted to my old ways. My second girlfriend ended the relationship before we even slept together. My first girlfriend married someone from another city and left. Chapter Three: Kissing away her longing, her lustful fluids, comforting her lonely vagina,

life became empty and boring again. At this time, I had been working in my hometown for a year because the company was opening a branch there.

One day, I sat bored in front of the computer playing games, smoking, and propping one foot up on the stool.

My mother came over and told me to smoke less, which was perfectly normal. I ignored her, which was also perfectly normal.

But when she came over for the fifth time to repeat herself, that was very strange.

Before, I hadn't even looked at her, just focused on playing my game. The fifth time, I glanced at her, and she quickly looked away and walked away. But I had already caught her gaze, and when I looked down, I realized that my shorts were too loose. With one leg up on the stool, the leg had slipped down, exposing half of my buttocks and testicles.

I was instantly extremely embarrassed and wanted to curse. In

the afternoon, I was watching TV and unconsciously put my feet up on the sofa again, then fell asleep. My mother had gone out to buy groceries, and when I woke up, she was already back. I opened my eyes and saw her squatting at my feet, tidying up the things I'd just bought.

That spot used to hold a flower stand and a few old shoes; my mother had never done anything there before, and the shoes were covered in a thick layer of dust.

Remembering what had happened that morning, I glanced down at my pants. There was a gap, and one leg was propped up on the coffee table, spread wide. I reached out to touch it, but before I could get very far, I touched a cold bird egg.

My mother's unusual expression confirmed my suspicions. Her gaze was unfocused; she didn't dare look at me and hurried away.

I thought for a moment, then pretended to be asleep again. My mother actually squatted down at my feet again, bending over to tidy up! Her head was so low, lower than the sofa armrest. She looked up every now and then, glanced at the door behind me, and gave me a quick look.

I pretended to be asleep. Then my mother slowly lowered her head until her eyes were level with the sofa armrest, and began to look into my trouser leg, seemingly casually. On a sudden impulse, I started to snore softly.

In an instant, my mother's expression completely changed. From nonchalant to extremely focused, from peeking out of the corner of her eye to a direct, fixed gaze.

For the first time in my life, I saw my mother look at me with such an almost greedy gaze—a sight I'll never forget!

The past attempts to hide were now a stark reality!

From that day forward, I made an astonishing decision.

Back then, there were no computers or the internet; the computers I used were the kind that required inserting and removing two discs. The games were nothing more than long, serpentine games written in basic programming. As for incestuous literature online, it was unheard of.

I felt alone, burdened by a deep sense of guilt. The only thing that sustained me was Freud's theories of psychology. During that time, I actually read quite a few psychology books.

My mother also loved reading. She usually read biographies of famous people from ancient and modern times, both Chinese and foreign. She would often sit under the lamp reading late into the night, wearing her reading glasses. I once read one of her books; the margins were filled with philosophical sayings, but it seemed she couldn't finish even a single page for days. She usually gave the impression of a female scholar, with noble manners and worthy of respect.

You can imagine why it was so shocking when she was squatting behind the sofa staring intently at my genitals!

Because the contrast was too great!

One day, I deliberately showed my mother an incest novel. She said she wasn't interested. I insisted repeatedly, and she agreed to read it, but seeing her reluctant expression, I knew she wouldn't take it seriously.

Later, I found out she really hadn't read it, so I took the book back and said, "The author of this book is strange; he thinks incest is normal." My mother looked up, her gaze passing over the top of her reading glasses, and said, "I haven't read it yet." I said, "I thought you'd finished it. Do you still want to read it?" She said, "Have you finished it?" I said I had, and she said, "Then leave it here; I'll read it when I have time." The next day, I found out that my mother had already read the book.

I didn't know what she thought after reading it; on the surface, there wasn't much change. Or rather, not the kind of change I had expected. However, she seemed to be much nicer to me.

During this time, I seemed to focus all my energy on my mother. Sometimes I really didn't know what had gotten into me!

About two days later, I asked my mother if she had finished reading it, and she was unusually vague.

"What?" I asked.

"Finished reading, a little while," she finally managed to utter a coherent sentence, her gaze darting around.

I took the book and examined it carefully, and sure enough, I found a sentence she had underlined. I don't remember the details, but it was something like "Every child secretly loves their mother." Then, while she was around, I wrote in the book. She asked me what I was reading, I answered, and then marked the book and placed it randomly on the bookshelf.

What I wrote was: At least that's how I feel.

It was right next to the sentence my mother had underlined.

When I came home from work, I immediately noticed the book had been moved. But unfortunately, my mother hadn't added anything else.

However, my usually serious mother showed me several rare smiles that night. I had never seen my mother with that expression before, and I was momentarily at a loss. It took me until the next day to regain my composure and respond with a smile.

Many similar incidents followed, which I won't go into detail about, but a few major breakthroughs are worth mentioning.

I watched pornography late at night, deliberately letting my mother see it. Then I taught her how to use a VCR, and she borrowed some science popularization tapes from me. Soon after, I discovered that the marked pornographic tapes had been tampered with.

I started wearing underwear at home, and soon my mother was also often seen walking around the house in just her underwear. Her figure wasn't great, and sometimes I found it a bit annoying. So I encouraged my mother to do aerobics. At first, she said it was boring, but a month later I found she was already participating.

I asked my mother to do some aerobics for me, and she agreed, doing some movements while wearing a high-slit aerobics outfit.

Although I tried to restrain myself, I quickly became erect. My mother saw me and left.

I also asked her to go to the movies, and she went. Soon after, it was her birthday, and I bought her a gift and flowers, which made her very happy. Her expression was different from anything I'd ever seen before.

My mother started acting like a woman, not the strong woman she used to be; she spoke much more gently.

When she was doing laundry, I gave her a pair of underwear and asked her to wash it for me, which she did very well.

In my diary, I wrote: "I love seeing her in aerobics and cheongsams." My diary also contains some of my erotic dreams, recorded in a very subtle way. Many of them are about my mother.

I found the diary had been touched on the table.

On the third day, my mother wore a cheongsam, and I said she looked beautiful, very beautiful. My mother started doing aerobics at home, and I would come out to watch every time.

She watched the instructional video on TV, mimicking the movements. I sat on the sofa watching. She turned to me and asked if I was doing it correctly. I deliberately let her notice me looking at her private parts.

I pointed out that she wasn't raising her legs high enough, so I went up and helped her lift her thighs a little higher. Seeing that she was wearing long stockings, I said that it wasn't good for her skin to breathe. She stopped wearing them the next day.

I immediately bought her a new leotard, but she said it was a swimsuit, yet she wore it anyway.

I frantically collected information about incest, cutting and pasting it into a notebook. Some were borrowed from the library; I made copies, but not wanting to spend too much money on reprints, I just copied some. Soon, I was mixing real-life examples and critical investigations with my own opinions, creating a false impression.

I wrote: "According to American scientists, humans have an innate tendency towards incest. Scientists believe that incest is unacceptable from a eugenics perspective, but acceptable from a love perspective..." Of course, I put it on my desk so my mother would see it.

One afternoon in July 1996, my mother was doing aerobics in the swimsuit I had bought her, and I sat on the sofa watching her in tight underwear. Her figure was much better than before.

During this time, I had the experience of touching the top of my mother's thighs and danced with her spontaneously a few times, each time ending in laughter. My mother had completely become a woman.

When she asked me to help her stretch her legs again, I found her posture very alluring that day.

My mother supported herself with her hands on the ground, one leg kneeling, the other leg stretched straight back and raised, asking me to help her raise it.

I saw a brownish indentation around the edge of her narrow crotch, with a few pubic hairs on it.

I lifted her thigh and tried rubbing my erect penis against her leg; she didn't seem to notice. I squatted down, my knee touching her genitals. Her body contracted slightly, then stretched out again, immediately asking, "Is this right?" I said, "Almost there, can it go a little higher?" She said, "Try it." I held her leg with one hand, bending it, and slid the other hand down her thigh to the base of her buttocks.

After a while, my mother stood up, panting, saying she was very tired. I told her to change positions, and she asked what. I stood in front of her, leaning back until my hands were on the ground. My penis bulged under my underwear, pointing directly at her.

Then I said, "Oh dear, I can't stand up." My mother laughed and lifted me up, my penis pressed tightly against her lower abdomen. After we got up, I held her, panting, saying my back almost broke. My mother just laughed.

Then I helped my mother up, wanting her to do the same. My mother laughed and said she was old and her back was stiff, she couldn't do it.

I told her she was very young and had me to protect her. With my support, my mother slowly leaned back.

My mother's thighs were spread wide, our genitals pressed together through two thin layers of fabric.

Before my hands even touched the ground, my mother said she couldn't take it anymore and asked me to help her up. I jokingly refused, and my mother struggled to get up on her own, but she wasn't strong enough, causing our lower bodies to rub together.

After I picked her up, she felt dizzy and leaned against me. At this moment, I became excited and boldly touched her buttocks. After touching her, my mother said that there was nothing wrong there, but her lower back was a little swollen, and she asked me to massage it for her. I felt a little guilty, so I moved my hand up to her lower back.

After massaging for a while, my mother said it was enough and got up to leave. As she turned around, I noticed a wet patch on her crotch.

The next morning, I put the semen-stained underwear on the bed, and my mother took it to wash.

After work in the afternoon, I asked my mother to teach me aerobics, and she agreed, carefully avoiding looking at my genitals.

I also did her seductive pose, and I'm sure my testicles had already torn a slit in my underwear; I wonder how much my mother saw.

We did the backbend pose from yesterday again, and I was so excited that I asked my mother to dance. As usual, my mother said she didn't know how, but I still hugged her, saying, "I'll teach you."

It was getting dark, and we didn't turn on the lights, only the fluorescent light from the TV illuminated the room.

Then I asked my mother to dance cheek to cheek. Of course, I wouldn't say the words "cheek dance," I just wanted her to wrap her arms around my neck instead. My mother said, "That's fine." I insisted, letting go of her and wrapping my arms around her waist. She had to put her hands on my shoulders, and I pushed her hands to my neck before she could wrap her arms around me.

After dancing for a while, I touched my mother's buttocks again, my fingers reaching down to her crotch, finding it wet and slippery. At this moment, my mother said, "Give me a massage on my lower back, it's a bit swollen." Learning from yesterday's lesson, I said, "Let me help you unblock the meridians on your back." My mother said, "Okay, do you know how?" I said, "Of course." Then I touched her from her shoulders to her buttocks.

"This is the Mingmen point, the coccyx, and the perineum," I said as I touched down, feeling a sticky, slippery fluid. I felt like I was about to lose control, so I kissed her. My mother chuckled and dodged. Suddenly, I slipped my hand under her swimsuit and touched her buttocks. My mother glanced at me and leaned to the right, but I still felt her genitals, wet.

"Don't do that," my mother whispered, pushing me away.

I refused to pull out, and she tightened her grip, almost to the point of a fight, before I finally withdrew.

My mother hugged my neck again, and I slipped my hand inside her pants, this time touching her genitals directly. My mother warned me again in a low voice, "Stop it, just dance properly," and pushed my hand away again.

We continued dancing, and I kept kissing my mother, who occasionally flinched. I also kept touching her buttocks, pulling her blouse up to her buttocks and touching her flesh directly.

My mother didn't object to me touching her bottom anymore, but when my hand reached down again, she would suddenly stop, look at me, and only continue dancing with me after I took my hand out. I wanted to put my tongue in her mouth, but her lips were tightly closed, avoiding me. After

a while, I stopped, feeling deflated. My mother asked, "Not dancing anymore?" I stubbornly refused to answer, and she said, "Then Mom will go make dinner." Seeing that I didn't respond, my mother went back to her room to change and then went to the kitchen.

The next day, I was absent-minded all day. When I came home from work and saw that my mother wasn't doing aerobics, I felt all the anger I had held back all day dissipate, and I sat on the sofa without saying a word. My mother asked if I wasn't feeling well, and I asked her why she hadn't done the exercises that day. She said she felt very tired and didn't want to move.

After dinner, I went downstairs for a walk to clear my head. A little girl kept bothering me to buy flowers, so I bought a red rose and brought it back to my mother. My mother was very happy to receive the flower. After a while, she went back to her room, changed into her swimsuit, and came out to do some aerobics.

After a few repetitions, I went up to her and hugged her. I didn't say anything about dancing, I just held her close. My mother looked at me and smiled, "What's wrong?" I pressed her head into my chest, not letting her look at me. After a while, seeing that I wasn't saying anything, she struggled to look at me again, and I finally said, "Let's dance." Then I put on some music and turned off the lights.

We hugged silently and swayed to the music for a while. Then I started kissing my mother and touching her buttocks. She didn't object. I tentatively touched her crotch, but it was still dry. Seeing that she didn't react, I boldly used my fingers to lift the cloth covering her buttocks and touch inside. My mother's labia were dry, but when I touched the middle, I found that the two labia were already full of nectar, which immediately seeped out along my middle finger.

At this moment, my mother raised her head, her face stern, and said, "Don't touch Mom there." Fortunately, her tone wasn't very harsh.

After a few more attempts to push me away, my mother didn't refuse my touching of her vulva anymore, but just hugged me tightly, rubbing her face against my shoulder and neck.

After touching her for a while, I carried my mother to the sofa. She sensed that something was about to happen and refused me. I don't remember what I said, but it was something like "I love you."

During the struggle, my mother gasped, "Your clothes are torn!" I said, "It's okay, I'll buy another one." I took the opportunity to push up the ripped swimsuit, and

after much coaxing, she finally took it off. Once naked, I pulled down my underwear, exposing my penis. This was obviously very uncomfortable, but I didn't dare get up. If I relaxed even slightly, my mother would escape.

Then I pressed myself against her, coaxing her while slowly spreading her thighs with my legs. My mother whispered, "No." "Be good, you can't do this." "No, I can't." Finally, it became, "Mom isn't feeling well, can we do it tomorrow?" I said, "I really want to... please... give it to me... I love you..." and other such nonsense that women like to hear, exploring with the head of my penis. My mother struggled, twisting her hips, trying to prevent me from entering. This was almost exactly the same as when I slept with my first girlfriend. I wonder if other women are like this too?

"Mom, please, just a little bit, please..." I said, and my mother seemed to cry as she whimpered and stopped moving, which was her tacit consent. I immediately found the entrance and inserted my penis into my mother's warm body, completing our first intercourse.

The pleasure of ejaculation was indescribable. After it was over, I lay down, and my mother kept cursing me in a low voice, saying she wanted to die. It wasn't until I got an erection for the second time and pressed down on her that she opened her lower mouth and closed her upper mouth.

The second time we did it for a long time. I occasionally thrust in and out, but most of the time I kissed her and talked to her. I told her about the times I had seen her spying on me, but my mother denied it all, saying I was making things up, that it didn't happen, and so on.

I didn't argue with her. Instead, I told a lie that I had loved my mother since I was very young—the kind of lie women love to hear. I waited until she felt a sweet warmth in her heart before slowly taking advantage of her.

At this point, my mother stopped talking and let me do as I pleased. I carried her to her bed and did it for half an hour. She closed her eyes and hummed softly. When I ejaculated, she held me tightly, making soft moaning sounds, her buttocks arching repeatedly until I squeezed all my semen into her vagina.

When I woke up in the morning, I couldn't believe it was real; it felt like a dream.

I kissed my mother awake, constantly asking myself: Is this real? Was I really touching my mother's breasts? Was I really touching my mother's genitals?

My mother opened her eyes, looking confused, thoughtful, and perhaps a little worried.

"Mom, you're still not awake?" I asked her. She smiled, looked at me, and stroked my forehead with her hand.

I rolled over and pressed myself against my mother, kissing her.

Our kiss was awkward, our teeth occasionally clashing, our tongues flicking haphazardly. Later, my mother wisely took a passive approach, reducing the impact.

My mother closed her eyes, her body rising and falling beneath me, occasionally taking deep breaths, as if trying to calm herself down.

I want to clarify the difference between having sex with my mother and having sex with my girlfriend. I suspect everyone has a gene that rejects incest, because every time I hold my mother and smell her scent, I have a feeling that it erases my desire for her. But incestuous people will have another force resisting it. For me, this force was a forbidden pleasure. It was far greater than the previous force.

While showering, my mother and I had sex again, but I didn't ejaculate.

When I returned home that evening, my mother was doing aerobics again. I took off my clothes and sat on the sofa watching. She turned around, found me naked, and was quite surprised, scolding me.

I laughed and went to take off her clothes; she refused, saying I was vulgar, but finally let me. We had sex on the sofa, then went to the bedroom. After ejaculating, I lay weakly on the bed, my mother hugging me, carefully touching my body.

A week later, our sexual relationship normalized, and we had sex once or twice a day.

Every day when I came home, my mother would open the door for me, put my things down, help me take off my clothes, and then immediately hug me. I would ask her, "Did you miss me?" She would nod, and then we would go to bed and make love. We were newlyweds, inseparable.

Then one Sunday, I took my mother shopping, saying I wanted to buy her something. When we arrived at the jewelry store, my mother refused to go in. Only after my persuasion and the shop assistant's invitation did she finally enter.

I wanted to buy her a ring, but she was uneasy. When I asked her if it was okay, she always said, "You decide." When it came time to pay, she haggled with the shop assistant, her attitude very unfriendly. Fortunately, the shop assistant didn't mind, but thanks to her, we actually saved a few hundred yuan.

When we got home, I hugged my mother and sat her on the sofa, took out the ring, and she immediately became shy. Another thing that impressed me deeply was my mother's changed posture. In the past, like many middle-aged women, she would sit with her thighs slightly crossed, body upright, and hands at her sides. Today, however, she lowered her head slightly, brought her legs together, and rested her hands on her knees. What touched me even more was that her calves were together, slightly tilted to the right, while her upper body leaned towards me to the left, exuding an indescribable tenderness and care.

This body language reflected my mother's inner world; she had completely come to rely on me, a support that spoke volumes more than a thousand words. At this moment, she was no longer the stiff, unsmiling mother of the past, who would often scold me with a stern face. She had completely become my newlywed wife.

Especially when I took her hand in mine and slipped the ring onto her fingers, roughened by years of hard work but still long and slender, words couldn't describe the expression on her face.

My heart was pounding!

I haven't explained the meaning of that ring then, or even to this day, but we both understood. At least we both thought of it that way: it was our engagement ring.

Afterwards, my mother and I went to the bedroom and had sex. It was the most enjoyable and successful sex we'd ever had since we started dating. With a gentle pull, my mother gracefully stood up, her lightness like that of a vibrant young girl. We walked arm in arm to the bedroom, exchanging knowing smiles.

At the door, my mother paused, closed the door, and then came to the bedside with me, embracing and kissing.

I unbuttoned her cheongsam and found she had changed into new underwear, which I didn't know when she had bought. Before, my mother always made her own underwear from old fabric. I not only saw the new underwear, but also felt my mother's emotions. The underwear wasn't particularly sexy; what was sexy was my mother's sentiment: son, I belong to you.

My mother smiled shyly, and we kissed again. Her underwear fluttered down like leaves in the wind, while I remained dressed in my suit and tie. When I saw myself in the mirror, impeccably dressed, holding my naked mother in my arms, touching her until she gasped softly, I felt immense excitement.

Heh, it was like a client playing with a prostitute.

My mother closed her eyes, enjoying my caresses and kisses, completely unaware that her son was treating her like a prostitute.

This was the result of my friends' teachings.

However, I didn't really see my mother as a prostitute; it was just a thrilling thought. I believed that even if my mother knew my true feelings, she would forgive me.

After touching her for a while, my mother stood up straight, smiled at me, and gently loosened my tie and removed my shirt. Then, seemingly embarrassed to take off my pants, she hugged me again, pressing her breasts against my chest.

I put one leg on the bed, placed one of my mother's thighs on mine, wrapped my arms around her waist, kissed her, and rubbed her vulva.

My mother opened her eyes and whispered, "The bed is dirty." I smiled, not caring at all.

After all, it wasn't me who washed the sheets, but my mother, so she was more concerned than I was.

My mother took her leg off, knelt down to untie my shoelaces, took off my shoes, then stood up, wrapped her arms around my waist, and pressed her face against my chest.

It's worth mentioning that when my mother knelt naked in front of me to take off my shoes, I felt a strong surge of pleasure!

Her kneeling posture seemed to be telling me: Son, you have conquered me.

Perhaps it was that ring costing over three thousand yuan that was working? I thought: Actually, there's not much difference between a mother and a prostitute, except the first time is more expensive, and you don't have to pay afterwards. Comparatively speaking, paying for a mother is more cost-effective than paying for a prostitute. Of course, this was just for the thrill, nothing more.

After taking off my shoes, my mother and I held hands and went to the bed, kneeling facing each other. I rubbed my hands on my belt a few times, looked at my mother, and she understood what I meant, smiling as she loosened my belt. Then I knelt higher, and she pulled her pants up to my thighs. I sat down and bent my knees. My mother took off my pants and carefully placed them on the stool beside the bed, unlike me, who threw her underwear all over the floor.

I was still wearing my underwear, but my mother stopped moving, kneeling there, looking down at the bed. I went up and hugged her, kissing her. Her hands caressed my body under my arms, and then, finally, she started to take off my underwear.

I lay down and reached out to pull my mother up, wanting her to lie on top of me, but this time she didn't understand. She lay on her side next to me, so I had to turn over. She also turned over and lay on her back. When I pressed down, she spread her legs. Everything was perfectly coordinated.

My glans was wet and slippery, making it easy to slip into my mother's vagina.

This was the first time we made love in a brightly lit place. My mother kept her eyes tightly closed, not daring to look at me, her thighs wrapped around my waist, her arms tightly around my neck. I used a technique of nine shallow

thrusts followed by one deep one, penetrating her. Occasionally, she would open her mouth and exhale silently. After all, I was born of her, and our reproductive organs were very compatible. My mother's vagina was almost the same length as my penis, and when I inserted it to the hilt, with a little more force, I reached her clitoris. If I thrust in too hard, my mother's body would involuntarily tremble.

She was taking deep breaths, seemingly trying to suppress the pleasure. I gently patted her, signaling her to relax.

During ejaculation, my mother's whole body tensed up, clinging tightly to me, and only relaxed a minute after I finished.

As she hugged me tightly, her vagina contracted rhythmically with her panting breaths.

At dinner, we were very close. We didn't say much, just smiled at each other from time to time. In all my life, I'd never seen my mother smile so much.

After that, we shared a bed for a year, and I estimate I ejaculated a whole bucket of semen inside her during that time.

For a while, she stopped bodybuilding, seeming lazy and quite coquettish. After my encouragement, she resumed exercising, and her figure improved significantly. Of course, she couldn't be compared to a teenage girl, but compared to her peers, even those twenty years younger than her, she was quite good. I also frequently bought her high-end shower gel and skincare products, making her skin smooth and supple. She takes good care of herself, even wearing gloves when washing vegetables.

The only drawback is that her breasts just won't grow bigger.

The first time I gave my mother oral sex was at night. I was already in bed, and she went to take a shower. After she finished, she got into bed wrapped in a towel, and I suddenly had a whim. I pushed her down, spread her legs, and buried my face in her. My mother was startled, thinking I was going to bite her there, and let out a soft cry. After I licked it open, she became extremely excited, producing a lot of fluid, which had a slightly fishy smell, but it was still bearable.

Later, I asked my mother to lick my penis. She didn't want to refuse, but seemed reluctant, licking it a few times. I felt forced and unhappy, and it didn't feel right, so I said, "Forget it, I won't lick it if I don't want to." My mother hesitated and asked, "Will you kiss me after you're done licking?" I said, "Of course!" It turned out she was afraid I'd find her dirty.

My mother then confidently started sucking my penis. After a while, to prove myself, I pulled her up and kissed her hard, sucking out her saliva and swallowing it. To be honest, it was a little disgusting because she seemed to have held her saliva in her mouth for a long time. But things got much better after that. When my mother sucked my penis, I could feel her tenderness, and she kept swallowing her saliva. I made her swallow my semen once, and she said her throat felt uncomfortable afterward.

Once, after I ejaculated, my mother put my semen in her mouth and made me taste it. I ate it and found it salty and fishy, yet also bland. My throat felt numb, which wasn't very pleasant, so I refused to let my mother eat my semen again. Unexpectedly, my mother seemed to like the feeling again. She said, "The numbness is also fun." So later, when she was aroused, she would still suck my penis until she sucked out the semen, and then swallow it.

We also tried anal sex, but my mother didn't like it, so we did it less often. I hope that one day she will change her mind.

This year, we've tried everything, including various positions, but ultimately we both feel that face-to-face embracing and penetrating each other is the most stimulating and intense. We've also tried sneaking off to a hotel to experience new environments. We tried having sex in parks at night while traveling, but I found the pleasure wasn't great when I ejaculated, so we stopped.

A year later, our passion had waned, but we were still very much in love. My mother suggested I find a girlfriend, promising she wouldn't be jealous.

By then, my friends had all come back, and I spent more time with them chasing girls, spending less time with my mother.

When I came home at night, my mother would always complain, but as soon as my penis entered her vagina, she would become as docile as a puppy.

Soon, I found another girl and brought her home to live with me. My mother secretly asked me if the girl was a virgin, seemingly more concerned about it than I was. I said, "Where are virgins these days?" My mother looked down on that girl and allowed me to find another one.

My live-in girlfriend was unwilling to be dumped and came to our house to make a scene several times. My mother scolded her mercilessly and drove her away, ending the relationship. Soon after, I slept with my second girl, a clerk at a company. She was very beautiful, but not a virgin. However, when my mother asked, I lied and said she was. My mother was very happy and treated her like her future daughter-in-law, urging me to get married quickly.

A year later, my girlfriend became pregnant, and we prepared to get married.

The night before the wedding, my girlfriend went to stay at her parents' house. My mother and I hadn't been together for a long time, so when we had a chance to be alone, we naturally went to bed without hesitation.

After we had sex once, I asked my mother to put on her wedding dress, and then we had sex on the wedding bed. My mother said, "How could you even think of that?" while her body writhed excitedly.

After the wedding, life at home became peaceful. My wife soon gave birth to a son, and my mother loved taking care of her grandson, finding a new source of joy.

Whenever my wife was around, my mother reverted to her old ways, not even letting me kiss her, afraid of being seen.

Once, when my wife was in the bathroom, I secretly told my mother, "Don't wear underwear." She asked curiously, "Why?" I felt awkward. Another time, during dinner, my wife went to the kitchen, and I secretly touched my mother's thigh, startling her so much that she almost dropped her bowl. She whispered angrily, "Are you crazy?" Sometimes, I would sneak out from work to rekindle our old flame with my mother, but it was always rushed and never enough. Occasionally, when my wife was away on business or there was a company event, my mother and I could immerse ourselves in sex again.

Spending so much time with two women, I naturally compared them, and my mother seemed quite interested in my daughter-in-law's bedroom skills. Out of female modesty, she was embarrassed to ask, but whenever I brought it up, she listened very attentively.

In truth, my mother is inferior to my wife in many ways. She gave birth to the three of us siblings, so her vagina was naturally loose. Fortunately, her vaginal fluid was thick and slippery, and the amount was small, which compensated for some of the friction. Besides, my mother was over fifty years old; her face had many wrinkles, her hair was streaked with gray, her breasts were small and sagging, and her nipples pointed downwards. She

also had a lot of fat on her lower abdomen, always looking like she was three months pregnant. Although compared to women her age, my mother was well-maintained, she was far inferior to my young and beautiful wife.

However, because I enjoy excitement, my mother's shortcomings due to old age became advantages in my eyes. It was precisely because of this that I truly felt: I was having sex with my own mother!

Also, my mother was very conservative. Every time we slept together, we used the traditional method. Because we were incestuous, she had a deep-seated inferiority complex and was very sensitive to my attitude towards her. She especially disliked me making her lie on the bed and then having sex with her from behind like a dog. I wanted her to imitate the actresses in adult films, but she said those kinds of sluts were unacceptable. At that moment, I thought to myself, even the most slutty women wouldn't stoop to sleeping with their own son. Of course, this was something I absolutely couldn't say aloud. I also wanted her to secretly watch my wife and me making love, but she called me vulgar.

Compared to my mother, my wife was a hundred times more open. She tried every position we'd ever done in adult films. Once, I asked her if she wanted me to break the rules and report me! She said, "I'd do it if you let a dog do it." She was serious and meant it, but I wasn't willing to let a dog do it, so the matter was dropped. I once asked her about her opinion on incest, and she said, "What other people like is none of our business." Once, we were watching an adult film, and I pointed to an actor having sex with his mother and said, "If we have a handsome son in the future, would you want to have sex with him?" She retorted, "Have you slept with your mother?" I pretended to be angry and ignored her, but inside I was terrified and never dared to bring it up again.

Besides the forbidden thrill, what made my mother superior to my wife was her snow-white skin. I've never seen a living woman whiter than my mother in my life. And the softness of her body was incomparable.

Women's bodies are generally soft, but compared to my mother, it's impossible. She was practically boneless and muscleless.

Holding her, even without committing adultery, was incredibly comfortable.

My sisters' beauty was no less than that of Miss Hong Kong or Miss World, arguably even surpassing them, but I've never felt any sexual interest in them from childhood. This puzzles me. This is probably a result of natural selection and evolution, a kind of protective measure.

In fact, you can observe that women become less attractive after giving birth to boys, and more beautiful after giving birth to girls; sons usually resemble their mothers (this is more easily observed in interspecies reproduction), while daughters usually resemble their fathers (most people don't experience sexual desire for themselves, and perhaps have less sexual desire for those most similar to themselves). Are these changes also to prevent incest between mothers and sons, or fathers and daughters?

My sisters went their separate ways after finishing school, and I spent relatively little time with them. When we were little, we were often at odds over toys and such; there was little affection between us. I don't know what the future holds. If anything happens, I'll write it down for my readers.

I originally thought our sex life would decline over time like that of a normal married couple, eventually ceasing altogether. But it hasn't gotten this bad yet, I think it's because we can't fully satisfy each other. Especially after I read my first incestuous article online, I suddenly felt a strong sense of identification. My mother read it too, and then we reached a new peak.

In the past year, my mother and I have had sex far more often than my wife, and we've had sex more often in the kitchen than in bed, usually right after I get off work. Because my wife sells vegetables, she usually gets home half an hour later than me, and my mother and I use this opportunity to have our affair. At this time, my mother would usually be in the kitchen chopping meat or washing rice, and I would go straight to the kitchen as soon as I entered the house. If she wasn't there, she would be washing clothes in the bathroom.

When my mother was sexually aroused, she would stop what she was doing, turn around and hug me as soon as I reached out, and then we would kiss and caress each other in the kitchen. My mother preferred me to touch her and rarely touched me first. While touching me, I would reach under her skirt and take off her underwear, then press her against the kitchen wall and rape her.

My mother usually wore a skirt, and occasionally a robe, which meant she was in need. If she wasn't wearing anything under her robe, it was very stimulating. Even if I wasn't sexually aroused at the time, she would use oral sex or something to arouse me. If she wore long pants, then there was no chance; no matter how much I touched her, she wouldn't get aroused. I get annoyed whenever I see my mother wearing long pants.

However, both of these situations are relatively rare. Usually, I'm the one who initiates the touching, and she'll become aroused in less than three minutes.

Come to think of it, it's more often that I'm not interested, and less often that my mother isn't.

Ultimately, the bond that sustains our sex life is forbidden pleasure, at least that's how I feel.

Sometimes I think about it, and after my mother and I developed an unusual relationship, the way we looked at each other changed. If my wife were perceptive, she could have noticed. Why didn't she realize it all these years? One reason I thought of was that when she married me, my mother and I had already been intimate, so the way we looked at each other would have changed long ago. So she probably thought it was normal.

Of course, I would never dare to ask her.

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