Real-life incest between mother and son

My sexual
development has been quite strange. Perhaps it's strange because no one talks about it, making me feel like I'm the only one experiencing it; I don't know. Therefore, I hope everyone will share their true stories (though not everyone has them, please don't fabricate). Online, you don't need to use your real name, show your face, or leave a message; just speak freely. I also hope this issue can be discussed scientifically (don't be shy about masturbating while discussing; it's normal).

To clarify, if you want to get to know me, I'm welcome 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—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 running into stores, smashing shop windows, and grabbing food—I knew I was dreaming, of course. Or being chased by monsters.

I also had some homosexual dreams, usually involving handsome child stars from movies of the time, such as Pan Dongzi from [a film title] (most Chinese people around thirty years old should 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—male wives, and traveling together. Having such 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 considered anal sex. 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. Then, according to my own interpretation, I feminized their personalities.

But regarding my Oedipus complex, I was quite strange. I only had these 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 nauseous. I was only a few years old then, and had no 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.

This makes me wonder if a person's sexual orientation is formed around eleven or twelve years old.

Other things related to sex 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 loved it when my older sister touched my butt. I remember once pulling down my shorts during my afternoon nap so she could touch it before I could fall asleep. It just felt really good; I didn't have any sexual feelings. My sister always said it wasn't right, but she did it anyway.

She was always very kind to me throughout my life. Once, when I was younger, I touched her breasts in the kitchen. They felt so 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 still contain 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 a copy so I can be infatuated too?" And so on and so forth. I felt uneasy after seeing it. I wonder what my brother-in-law would think if he saw it?

This is one of the reasons I firmly believe that everyone has an incestuous desire!

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. And although my mother was beautiful when she was young, she looks 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 first.

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

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

Our parents worked at the movie theater at that time, and we also frequented it. Because employees' children could come and go freely while outsiders couldn't, the theater was empty when there was no movie showing. There was another wall surrounding the movie 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 an adult, a very grown-up. I don't remember if it was after my mother gave birth to my younger sister. I was quite handsome and quiet as a child, which might have attracted some attention from girls. 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. Then she spread our legs and sat facing each other, pulling my penis towards 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). Just then, my mother came home and knocked on the door. She quickly got dressed and warned me not to tell anyone.

Whether I told anyone or not, I honestly can't remember. Sometimes I think I didn't, sometimes I think I did. It's been so long. She probably didn't have body hair back then, because I don't remember. Back then, I felt intensely disgusted by anyone with body hair, 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, chopping vegetables. She smiled and called me over, but remembering how she 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 maybe she's just pretending.

Sometimes when I read a poet's description of 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 fairy from another world, but like a prostitute, even more despicable than a prostitute—he can have her without paying, and afterwards she'll be very happy. When

I was in my twenties, I went back 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 actually, I was too embarrassed to look for them.

There was also a woman, around twenty or thirty years old at the time, who often visited my house. 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, 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 attend second grade. The only age range I clearly remember begins from there. The city was crowded and noisy, with no secluded spots, and my city friends had never 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 those years, my parents' relationship deteriorated. My father had an affair, they argued, fought, and almost divorced. My parents fighting was terrifying for a child; all I could do was 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, almost driving me insane.

In the end, they didn't divorce for the sake of their child. Later, my father was transferred to work in another city, coming back to see us once a year and sending some money. From then on, he disappeared from my life. My mother was left at home with my two sisters and me. One night, I was sick and feeling dizzy, so my mother asked me to sleep with her. I wasn't very willing because I couldn't stretch out when I slept with her, 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 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 squatted down, one foot beside my left leg and the other beside my right. Since 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 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, seemingly casually, 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 really strange person. Because I remember that before my father passed away, I often slept between them. One time, I suddenly felt a strong urge again, not in a dream, but in reality. I reached out and touched my mother's thigh.

She stirred, so I stopped, then gently stroked it again, and deliberately moved closer to the base of her 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 assumed she was asleep to have the audacity to do this, but now it seemed she was probably awake. So I cried out that 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 inside I was mortified. Of course, I never dared to touch her again. Back then, I couldn't get an erection and didn't understand sex, but that action had a genuine sexual intent.

Now, when my mother touches me, I feel disgusted. Isn't that strange? If I had been as bold and had incestuous thoughts that night, would we have had sex? At that time, our upbringing made me think 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 unusual 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 unconditional liking.

Wherever I work, my mother always follows me. I often annoyed her, and arguments were frequent, but she just stayed with me. I often secretly wrote incestuous stories about mother and son. Back then, there was no internet. After writing them, I would hide them for a while, and once I calmed down, I would regret it and burn them immediately. But the moment I turned around and saw my mother, I would be angry again. Actually, when I wrote those things, I wasn't thinking about my mother herself, but about another woman who didn't exist—a woman in her thirties or forties with a beautiful face.

I've analyzed my incestuous psychology and discovered that I wasn't really 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 claims to be the mother of the people. I think the best way to deal with it is to let us incestuous lovers rape this slut who calls herself the mother of the nation. Because, in the decades it has ruled the country, it has spiritually 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; I'm too lazy to mention them. As for fellow enthusiasts in other places, I believe it's also the result of too much 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 is considered to be at its highest level, representing 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 the shattering of all moral constraints. While morality is essential for social stability, its control over thought is extremely harmful. I suggest that everyone strive to adhere to moral principles in their actions, but have no scruples in their thoughts.

Taboos regarding mother-son incest or other incestuous acts stem from two sources: sociology and biology. Sociological issues are easily resolved: mutual consent and secrecy are sufficient. Biologically speaking, we all know that thoroughbred horses are bred through inbreeding. While this method of reproduction may lead to the encounter of harmful genes causing genetic diseases, it can also result in the encounter of superior genes, making the offspring even more outstanding—it has both advantages and disadvantages. If you can't stand the shock of having a freak, you can simply not have children.

Society is progressing, and there's absolutely no need to adhere to outdated morals and laws. If you can't 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 that 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, I'll be so grateful I'd kneel down and kiss your feet.

Now, back to myself.

My mother left me with so much regret.

In the days that followed, some things happened between my mother and me. I can't quite recall 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 embedded itself in her flesh, and she asked me to help her find it. At that time, I wasn't particularly interested in incest, nor was I very patient with helping my mother, but I did it anyway.

The thorn really was there, and it was very small, about a millimeter, mostly embedded in her flesh; you really 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, at the collar of her clothes. To make it easier, my mother changed positions several times, tilting her head back and lying on the bed, while I pulled open my mother's vest, revealing her breasts without a bra.

My mother's breasts weren't particularly attractive; 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. She tilted her head back, and I could feel her warm breath on my lower abdomen, arousing me. 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, because after watching my first adult film, I also ejaculated while sober for the first time in my life. After that, masturbation became an uncontrollable habit, 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. Because she didn't touch that dish at all! Why?! I was terrified!

Another time, I was masturbating 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, obscuring the view inside. My mother walked past my door, and 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, softly asked if I was feeling unwell, and 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 panicked and loudly refused in an irritated tone, finally getting my mother to 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 just now? Was there some divine intervention at play? What would have happened if I had let my mother lift the 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, 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 seeing my erection during this 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. They could easily remain dignified and unsmiling, and boys would still pursue 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 already 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, 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'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 brag for you, don't look down on us, women are very stupid, they have no judgment. If others say yes, they will think it is a good idea. We will flatter you and give you one year of study. "A woman must go to bed before she can do it, otherwise she will always be a failure!" I still feel grateful when I think of these words! 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! And 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 and another man leaving a dance hall. 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. When my mother raised her first objection, I said, "She's been doing... you know..." 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 quite different. They said, "Really? You're giving up after just one?" "Yesterday I said you were smart, that you'd learn quickly, but you're a fucking idiot." "I thought you'd won her over, but it seems she's 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, if I tried to call my girlfriend to come out, they would snatch the phone away or declare beforehand, "If she comes, we leave; it's either her or me." 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 so many 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 outlined 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!

However, things didn't go as smoothly as I'd imagined. Of the group of friends, two soon went to do business in other places; another suddenly lost his parents in a car accident, and unfortunately, he was a filial son, so he was devastated; the last one had an affair with the daughter of the deputy director of the Public Security Bureau, and was sentenced to prison for hooliganism, so we all broke up.

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.

After kissing away her lingering desires and comforting her lonely body,

her 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 herself, 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 pairs of old shoes, but my mother had never done anything there; the shoes were covered in a thick layer of dust.

Remembering what 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 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 pretended to be asleep again. My mother actually squatted down at my feet, bending down to tidy things up! Her head was so low, lower than the sofa armrest. After a while, she lifted her head, 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 were the kind that required inserting and removing two discs. The games were nothing more than long, cheetah-like programs written in BASIC. Incestuous literature online 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 often sat 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 hadn't finished a single page in 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 squatted behind the sofa and stared intently at my genitals!

Because the contrast was too great!

One day, I deliberately showed my mother a book, but she said she wasn't interested. I insisted, and she agreed to read it, but seeing her reluctant expression, I knew she wouldn't read 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 don't know what she thought after reading it; on the surface, there wasn't much change. Or rather, not the kind of change I 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 don't know what's 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 son has a crush on his 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 put 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 lifting her legs high enough, so I went up and helped her lift her thighs up a bit. 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 then placed 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 we had danced impromptu 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 noticed her posture was quite alluring today.

My mother supported herself with both 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 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, and she didn't seem to notice. I squatted down, my knees touching her genitals, and she contracted her body slightly, then stretched out again, immediately asking, "Is this right?" I said, "Almost there, can you 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 thigh and the bottom of her buttocks.

After a while, my mother stood up, panting, saying she was so 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 for support. My penis bulged under my underwear, pointing directly at her.

Then I said, "Oh dear, I can't stand up anymore." 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, wanting her to do the same. My mother laughed and said she was old and her back was stiff, so she couldn't 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 she struggled to get up on her own, but she wasn't strong enough, causing our genitals 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 it was fine 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 and walked away. When she turned around, I saw that there was a wet patch on her crotch.

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

After finishing work in the afternoon, I asked my mother to teach me aerobics, and she agreed, carefully avoiding looking at my genitals. I did the same seductive move she did, and I'm sure my testicles had already ripped open a slit in my underwear; I wonder how much my mother saw.

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

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 a cheek dance. Of course, I didn't say the words "cheek dance," but 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 finally wrapped her arms around me.

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

"This is the Mingmen point, the coccyx, and the perineum," I said as I touched down, feeling a sticky, slippery fluid. I felt myself losing control and kissed her. My mother smiled and dodged. Suddenly, I slipped my hand under her swimsuit at the hip and touched her buttocks. My mother glanced at me and pulled away to the right, but I still felt her genitals, wet. "Don't do this," 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 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 would occasionally flinch. I also kept touching her buttocks, pulling her blouse up to her buttocks so I could touch her flesh directly.

My mother didn't object to me touching her buttocks anymore, but when my hand moved downwards, she would suddenly stop, look at me, and only continue dancing after I pulled my hand out. I wanted to put my tongue in her mouth, but her lips were tightly closed, resisting my advances.

After a while, I stopped, feeling deflated. My mother asked, "Not doing aerobics anymore?" I stubbornly refused to answer. She said, "Then Mom's going to make dinner." Seeing that I didn't react, 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, I saw that my mother wasn't doing aerobics, and I felt all the anger I had been holding in all day dissipate. I sat on the sofa without saying a word. My mother asked if I wasn't feeling well. I asked her why she hadn't done aerobics that day, and she said she felt very tired and didn't want to move.

After dinner, I went downstairs for a walk to try and clear my mind. 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 aerobics.

After only 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 arms, not letting her look at me. After a while, seeing that I wasn't speaking, she struggled to look at me again, and I 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 again and touching her buttocks, and 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 touched inside. My mother's labia were also dry, but when I touched the middle, I found that the two labia were 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 several attempts to push me away, my mother stopped refusing to let me touch her vulva. She just hugged me tightly, rubbing her face against my shoulders and neck.

After a while, I carried her to the sofa. Sensing something was about to happen, she resisted. I don't remember what I said, probably something like "I love you."

In the struggle, my mother cried out, "Your clothes are torn!" I said, "It's okay, I'll buy another one." I took the opportunity to push up her swimsuit, which was torn at the crotch, and finally managed to take it off

after much coaxing. 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 run away.

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 things like, "I really want to... please... give it to me... I love you..."—the kind of nonsense women love to hear—as I explored 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 stopping—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 muttering curses at me, 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 the initiative, 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 repels incest, because every time I hug my mother and smell her scent, I feel a strange sensation, as if it erases my desire for her. But incestuous individuals experience a different force that counteracts 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 returned home that evening, my mother was doing aerobics again. I took off my clothes and sat on the sofa watching. She turned around, saw me naked, and was quite surprised, scolding me.

I laughed and went to undress her; she refused, calling me vulgar, but finally let me. We had sex on the sofa, and then went to the bedroom. After ejaculating, I lay weakly on the bed, my mother holding me and 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 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 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 I was about to pay, she haggled with the shop assistant, her attitude very unfriendly. Luckily, the shop assistant didn't mind, but thanks to her, I actually saved several hundred yuan.

Back home, I pulled my mother to sit on the sofa, took out the ring, and she immediately blushed. Another thing that impressed me was my mother's changed posture. In the past, like many middle-aged women, she sat with her thighs slightly crossed, body straight, and hands at her sides. Today, however, she slightly lowered her head, her legs together, and her hands clasped and resting 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, 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 completely 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 was pounding!

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

At the door, my mother paused, closed the door, and then walked with me to the bedside, 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 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 her son 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 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, draped one of my mother's thighs over mine, embraced 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 was more concerned than I was.

My mother lowered her legs, knelt down to untie my shoelaces, took off her shoes, then stood up, hugged my waist, and pressed her face against my chest.

It's worth mentioning that when my mother knelt naked before 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 initial fee is higher, 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 thought 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 ran my hand along my belt a few times, looked at my mother, and she understood my meaning, smiling as she loosened my belt. Then I knelt higher, and she pulled her pants up to my thighs. I sat down and crossed my legs. 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 silently exhale. After all, I was her child, and our reproductive organs were very compatible. My mother's vagina was almost the same length as my penis; 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, clinging tightly to me, only relaxing 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 and seemed lazy and 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, and even those twenty years younger, 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, and my mother went to take a shower. After she finished, she got into bed wrapped in a towel, and I suddenly had a whimsical idea. 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 cry of "Ouch!" 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 that forcing it wasn't enjoyable, so I said, "Forget it, I won't lick it if I don't want to." 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 confidently sucked 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 had her saliva in her mouth for a long time. But after that, things got much better. When my mother sucked on my penis, I could feel her tenderness, and she kept swallowing. I made her swallow my semen once, and she said it made her throat uncomfortable.

Another time, after I ejaculated, my mother put some of my semen in her mouth for me to taste. I ate it, and it tasted alkaline and bland, and my throat felt numb; it wasn't very pleasant, so I refused to let my mother swallow my semen again. Unexpectedly, my mother seemed to enjoy the feeling again. She said, "The numbness is also fun." So later, when she was aroused, she would still suck on my penis until she drew out the semen, and then swallow it.

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

We tried everything that year, including various positions, but ultimately we both felt that face-to-face embracing and penetration was the most pleasurable and intense. We also tried sneaking off to hotels to experience new environments. We even 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 somewhat, but we were still very much in love. My mother suggested that 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 without hesitation and drove her away, finally ending the relationship. Soon after, I slept with a second girl, a clerk at a company. She was very beautiful, but she wasn't a virgin either. However, 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. My mother and I hadn't been together for a long time, so when we had a chance to be alone, we naturally slept together 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 swayed excitedly.

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

Whenever my wife was around, my mother reverted to her old ways, refusing even a kiss from me, 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 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, scolding in a low voice, "Are you crazy?" Sometimes, I would sneak out from work to relive my past with my mother, but each time it was a rush, and I couldn't fully enjoy myself. Occasionally, when my wife is away on business or there are company events, my mother and I can immerse ourselves in sex again.

Spending so much time with two women, I naturally compare them in my mind, and my mother seems quite interested in my wife's bedroom skills. Out of female modesty, she's embarrassed to ask, but she listens very attentively whenever I bring it up.

To be honest, my mother is inferior to my wife in many ways. She gave birth to three children, so her vagina is naturally loose, but fortunately, her vaginal fluid is thicker and less abundant, which compensates somewhat for the lack of friction. Besides, my mother is over fifty years old; she has many wrinkles on her face, 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 my mother was well-maintained compared to women her age, she was far less attractive than my young and beautiful wife.

However, because I crave excitement, the shortcomings my mother had 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 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 she didn't want to imitate those kinds of shameless women. At that moment, I thought to myself, even if someone is shameless, they wouldn't stoop so low as to sleep with their own son. Of course, this was something I absolutely couldn't say aloud. I wanted her to peek at my wife and me making love, and she called me vulgar.

Compared to my mother, my wife is a hundred times more open-minded. She's tried every move in adult films with me. Once, I asked her if she wanted to do bestiality, and she said, "I'd do it if you let a dog do it." She meant it, but I didn't want to let a dog do it, so the matter was dropped. I also asked her about her opinion on incest, and she said, "If other people like it, it's 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.

Aside from 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 entire life. And then there was the unparalleled softness of her body. Women's bodies are generally soft, but compared to my mother, it's nothing. She was practically boneless and muscleless. Holding her, even without committing adultery, was incredibly pleasurable.

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 I find strange. This is probably a result of natural selection, a kind of protective mechanism.

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

My sisters went their separate ways after finishing their studies, and I spend less time with them. When we were little, we were often at odds over toys and other things; there wasn't much affection between us. I don't know what the future holds, but if anything happens, I will write it down for the readers.

I had thought that our sexual relationship, like that of a normal married couple, would decline over time and eventually cease, but it hasn't turned out that badly. I think it's because we can't fully satisfy each other. Especially after I saw the first incestuous article online, I suddenly felt a strong sense of identification. My mother read it too, and after that, we reached a new climax.

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 home from 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 is usually in the kitchen chopping meat or washing rice, and I go straight there as soon as I walk in. If she's not there, she'll be washing clothes in the bathroom.

When my mother is sexually aroused, she'll stop what she's doing, turn around, and hug me as soon as I reach out. Then we'll kiss and caress each other in the kitchen. My mother prefers me to touch her; she rarely initiates it. While touching me, I'll reach under her skirt, pull down her underwear, and then rape her against the kitchen wall.

My mother usually wears skirts, and occasionally a bathrobe, which means she's sexually aroused. If she's not wearing anything underneath, it's very stimulating. Even if I'm not really interested, she'll use oral sex or something to arouse me. If she wears trousers, then it's hopeless; no matter how much I touch her, she won't get wet. I get annoyed whenever I see my mother wearing trousers. 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 I'm not interested than my mother.

My sexual development is very strange. Perhaps it's strange because no one talks about it, making me feel like I'm the only one like this; I don'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 running into stores, smashing shop windows, and grabbing food—I knew I was dreaming, of course. Or being chased by monsters.

I also had some homosexual dreams, usually involving handsome child stars from movies of the time, such as Pan Dongzi from [a film title] (most Chinese people around thirty years old should 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—male wives, and traveling together. Having such 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 considered anal sex. 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. Then, according to my own interpretation, I feminized their personalities.

But regarding my Oedipus complex, I was quite strange. I only had these 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 nauseous. I was only a few years old then, and had no 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.

This makes me wonder if a person's sexual orientation is formed around eleven or twelve years old.

Other things related to sex 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 loved it when my older sister touched my butt. I remember once pulling down my shorts during my afternoon nap so she could touch it before I could fall asleep. It just felt really good; I didn't have any sexual feelings. My sister always said it wasn't right, but she did it anyway.

She was always very kind to me throughout my life. Once, when I was younger, I touched her breasts in the kitchen. They felt so 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 still contain 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 a copy so I can be infatuated too?" And so on and so forth. I felt uneasy after seeing it. I wonder what my brother-in-law would think if he saw it?

This is one of the reasons I firmly believe that everyone has an incestuous desire!

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. And although my mother was beautiful when she was young, she looks 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 first.

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

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

Our parents worked at the movie theater at that time, and we also frequented it. Because employees' children could come and go freely while outsiders couldn't, the theater was empty when there was no movie showing. There was another wall surrounding the movie 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 an adult, a very grown-up. I don't remember if it was after my mother gave birth to my younger sister. I was quite handsome and quiet as a child, which might have attracted some attention from girls. 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. Then she spread our legs and sat facing each other, pulling my penis towards 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). Just then, 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 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 body hair back then, because I don't remember. I felt intensely 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, chopping vegetables. She smiled and called me over, but remembering how she pulled my penis, I immediately shook my head and ran away. Damn! This incident shows 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 maybe she's just pretending.

Sometimes when I read a poet's description of 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 fairy from another world, but like a prostitute, even more despicable than a prostitute—he can have her without paying, and afterwards she'll be very happy. When

I was in my twenties, I went back 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 actually, I was too embarrassed to.

There was also a woman who was in her twenties or thirties at the time, who often came to visit my house. One winter, she and my mother were knitting and chatting. My feet were cold, so she asked 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 stepped on it again, and she angrily pulled my foot away. I do remember that there was a hint of sexual awareness involved, because I remember feeling incredibly ashamed at the time. Nothing else made me ashamed.

When I was seven, my family moved from this small county to the city, where I continued to attend second grade. The only age I clearly remember starts from this point. The city is crowded and chaotic, with no secluded places, and the city kids 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. It's terrifying for a child to see their parents fighting. All I could do was cry and tremble; they always fought behind closed doors. The shouts and screams inside were deafening. One moment I thought my father was dead, the next my mother; I was practically 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 keen, because I couldn't stretch out when sleeping with her, but I didn't object. As I lay down, my mother put up a mosquito net. Because of my dizziness, 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 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 leg and the other on my right leg. 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 turn her head to look at me, then look away, and then intentionally or unintentionally rub her genitals on my penis again. Seeing that I didn't react, she boldly looked down at my private parts for more than ten seconds before turning off the light and going to sleep. I wasn't an adult at that time.

I didn't feel sexually aroused by my mother's actions; on the contrary, I felt disgusted. Thinking back now, I think I was a really 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 moved, so I stopped, then gently stroked her again, and then purposefully moved closer to the base of her thigh. When I touched my mother's private parts through her underwear, my mother's whole body shrank. I was startled, but soon I touched her thigh again, slowly moving upwards. My mother flinched. This time I dared not move again, 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 touch her again. At that time, I couldn't get an erection and didn't understand sex, but that action had a real 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, would my mother and I have had sex? Back then, my 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. There was no internet back then; after writing them, I would hide them for a while, and once I calmed down, I would regret it and burn them immediately. But as soon as I turned around and saw my mother, I would be annoyed again. Actually, when I wrote those things, I wasn't thinking about my mother herself, but rather another woman—a plump 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. More than anything, it was a resentment and resistance to societal oppression. I've always lived in a place that suppresses humanity, and I 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 incestuous 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 countless people!

Of course, there are also those who are being raped by it while cheering it on. These people are either born prostitutes or mentally challenged; I'm too lazy to mention them. As for fellow enthusiasts elsewhere, I believe they too have suffered from excessive repression, just not as intensely as I have. Easterners are bound by far stronger moral constraints than Westerners (damn Confucius!), and the creativity of the Chinese is far inferior to that of Westerners. Therefore, for the strength of the nation and the people, let's commit incest!

Incest, with mother-son incest as its highest form, is the ultimate anti-traditional and anti-moral act. I am sexually attracted to ordinary women, but sexual acts between mother and son bring a powerful pleasure of breaking free from mental shackles and shattering all moral constraints, achieving intellectual liberation. While morality is essential for social stability, its control over thought is extremely harmful. I suggest everyone adhere to moral standards in their actions, but have no qualms about their thoughts.

The taboos surrounding incest, including mother-son incest and other incestuous acts, stem from two sources: sociology and biology. Sociological issues are easily resolved: mutual consent and secrecy are sufficient. Biologically, we know that thoroughbreds are inbred; while this breeding method may lead to the encounter of harmful genes causing genetic diseases, it can also result in the encounter of superior genes, making offspring even more outstanding—it has both advantages and disadvantages. If you can't bear the shock of having a "freak," simply don't have children.

Society is progressing; there's no need to cling to outdated morals and laws. If you can't fight against the law and public opinion, just do it secretly with a clear conscience.

I truly cannot see any reason to treat incest as a monstrous threat.

My opinion is, if you and your mother or other relative are mutually attracted, and they agree, then go for it! It's practically the ideal! If you'd like to invite me to visit, I'd be so grateful I'd kneel down and kiss your feet.

Now, back to myself.

How many regrets has my mother given me?

In the days that followed, some things happened between my mother and me. I can't quite recall the exact time or sequence, so I'll just refer to them by a certain day. I'll write down what I remember. One summer, my mother said a thorn had gotten into her clothes and embedded itself in her flesh, and she asked me to help her find it. At that time, I wasn't particularly interested in incest, nor was I very patient with helping my mother, but I did it anyway.

The thorn really was there, and it was very small, about a millimeter, mostly embedded in her flesh; you really couldn't find it without careful inspection. My mother couldn't have found it herself because it was right in her blind spot—below her neck, at the collar of her clothes. 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 breasts, which weren't covered by a bra.

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. She tilted her head back, and I could feel her warm breath on my lower abdomen; a surge of desire rose within me. At twenty-one, I was fortunate enough to find a job in a 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, because after watching my first adult film, I also ejaculated while fully conscious for the first time in my life. After that, masturbation became an uncontrollable habit, 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, confident that my mother hadn't noticed. But what happened next made me suspect she had noticed something. Because she didn't touch the dish at all! Why?! I was terrified!

Another time, I was masturbating 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, obscuring what was inside. Just then, 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 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 mosquito net from another angle, and I got impatient and loudly refused in a very irritated tone, finally getting my mother to leave. A while later, 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 just now? Was some divine intervention at play? What would have happened if I had let my mother lift the mosquito net then? Why did I so desperately want to do it, 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, 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 seeing my erection during this 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. They could easily remain dignified and unsmiling, and boys would still pursue 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 already 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, 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'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 brag for you, don't look down on us, women are very stupid, they have no judgment. If others say yes, they will think it is a good idea. We will flatter you and give you one year of study. "A woman must go to bed before she can do it, otherwise she will always be a failure!" I still feel grateful when I think of these words! 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! And 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 and another man leaving a dance hall. 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 were quite varied. They said, "Really? You're 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. My friends were also causing trouble; they were busy introducing me to another girl while simultaneously trying to stop us from seeing each other. Their method was simple: every time we got together, if I tried to call my girlfriend out, they would grab the phone or declare beforehand, "If she comes, we leave; it's either her or me." What man doesn't want to sleep with multiple women? I'm a man too, and I was fascinated by my friends' suggestions, but I doubted my own abilities. After all, the shadows accumulated over so many 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 painted a grand picture of my womanizing plans: after sleeping with ordinary women, they would introduce me to middle-aged women, married women, middle school girls, and so on, and first let me sleep with all the women they had slept with. I was absolutely ecstatic!

However, things didn't go as smoothly as I had 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 filial son, so he was completely devastated; the last one slept with the daughter of a deputy director of the Public Security Bureau, and was convicted of hooliganism and imprisoned, so we all broke up.

With rich experience in womanizing and correct theoretical guidance, but lacking the help of my friends, I still couldn't go it alone, and slowly I 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.

I kissed away her lingering desire, comforting her lonely body,

which felt 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 herself, it was very abnormal.

Before, I hadn't even looked at her, just focused on my game. The fifth time I glanced at her, she quickly looked 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 pairs of old shoes, but my mother had never done anything there; the shoes were covered in a thick layer of dust.

Remembering what 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 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 pretended to be asleep again. My mother actually squatted down at my feet, bending down to tidy things up! Her head was so low, lower than the sofa armrest. After a while, she lifted her head, 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 were the kind that required inserting and removing two discs. The games were nothing more than long, cheetah-like programs written in BASIC. Incestuous literature online 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 often sat 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 hadn't finished a single page in 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 squatted behind the sofa and stared intently at my genitals!

Because the contrast was too great!

One day, I deliberately showed my mother a book, but she said she wasn't interested. I insisted, and she agreed to read it, but seeing her reluctant expression, I knew she wouldn't read 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 don't know what she thought after reading it; on the surface, there wasn't much change. Or rather, not the kind of change I 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 don't know what's 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 son has a crush on his 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 put 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, independent woman she used to be; she spoke much more gently.

When she was doing laundry, I would hand her a pair of underwear and ask her to wash it for me, and she washed it very clean.

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

The diary is on the table; I realized it had been disturbed.

On the third day, my mother wore a cheongsam, and I said it looked beautiful, very 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 that I was looking at her private parts. I pointed out that she wasn't lifting her legs high enough, so I went up and helped her lift her thighs up a bit. 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, but she wore it anyway.

I frantically collected information about incest, cutting and pasting it into a notebook. Some of it was borrowed from the library; I made copies, but I didn't want to spend too much money on copies, so I just copied some. I quickly added my own perspective to real-life examples and critical investigations, blurring the lines between fact and fiction.

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 then placed it on my desk for my mother to see.

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 we had spontaneously danced 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 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. She contracted slightly, then stretched out again, immediately asking, "Is this right?" I said, "Almost there, can you 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 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, 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 that I was there 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 genitals 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 she was fine 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.

After massaging for a while, my mother said that was enough and got up and walked away. When she turned around, I saw that there was a wet patch on her crotch.

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

After finishing work in the afternoon, I asked my mother to teach me aerobics, and she agreed, carefully avoiding looking at my genitals. I did the same seductive move she did, and I'm sure my testicles had already ripped open a slit in my underwear; I wonder how much my mother saw.

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

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 a cheek dance. Of course, I didn't say the words "cheek dance," but 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 finally wrapped her arms around me.

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

"This is the Mingmen point, the coccyx, and the perineum," I said as I touched down, feeling a sticky, slippery fluid. I felt myself losing control and kissed her. My mother smiled and dodged. Suddenly, I slipped my hand under her swimsuit at the hip and touched her buttocks. My mother glanced at me and pulled away to the right, but I still felt her genitals, wet. "Don't do this," 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 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 would occasionally flinch. I also kept touching her buttocks, pulling her blouse up to her buttocks so I could touch her flesh directly.

My mother didn't object to me touching her buttocks anymore, but when my hand moved downwards, she would suddenly stop, look at me, and only continue dancing after I pulled my hand out. I wanted to put my tongue in her mouth, but her lips were tightly closed, resisting my advances.

After a while, I stopped, feeling deflated. My mother asked, "Not doing aerobics anymore?" I stubbornly refused to answer. She said, "Then Mom's going to make dinner." Seeing that I didn't react, 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, I saw that my mother wasn't doing aerobics, and I felt all the anger I had been holding in all day dissipate. I sat on the sofa without saying a word. My mother asked if I wasn't feeling well. I asked her why she hadn't done aerobics that day, and she said she felt very tired and didn't want to move.

After dinner, I went downstairs for a walk to try and clear my mind. 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 aerobics.

After only 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 arms, not letting her look at me. After a while, seeing that I wasn't speaking, she struggled to look at me again, and I 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 again and touching her buttocks, and 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 touched inside. My mother's labia were also dry, but when I touched the middle, I found that the two labia were 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 several attempts to push me away, my mother stopped refusing to let me touch her vulva. She just hugged me tightly, rubbing her face against my shoulders and neck.

After a while, I carried her to the sofa. Sensing something was about to happen, she resisted. I don't remember what I said, probably something like "I love you."

In the midst of the struggle, my mother gasped, "Your clothes are torn!" I said, "It's okay, I'll buy another one." I then pushed up the ripped crotch of my 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 run away.

Then I pressed myself against my mother, gently prying her thighs apart 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 nonsense that women love to hear, exploring with the head of my penis. My mother struggled and twisted 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 let me put it in for a little while, 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. Afterwards, I lay down, and my mother kept muttering curses at me, saying she wanted to die. It wasn't until I had a second erection and pressed myself against her that she opened her lower mouth and closed her upper one.

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 told her about how I had seen her spying on me in the past, but she 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 that I would slowly manipulate her when she felt sweet inside.

At this point, 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 kept her eyes closed 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, are you 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.

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

I want to clarify the difference between having sex with my mother and 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 eliminates my desire for her. An incestuous person, however, experiences 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 returned home that evening, my mother was doing aerobics again. I took off my clothes and sat on the sofa watching. She turned around and was quite surprised to find me naked, then scolded me.

I laughed and went to take off her clothes, but 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, and my mother hugged 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, undress me, 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 to the street, 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 sales clerk's invitation did she finally enter.

I wanted to buy her a ring, but she was very uneasy. When I asked her if it was okay, she kept saying, "You decide." When it came time to pay, she haggled with the clerk, her attitude quite unfriendly. Fortunately, the clerk didn't mind, but her actions actually saved us several hundred yuan.

Back home, I pulled my mother to sit on the sofa, took out the ring, and she immediately became shy. Another thing that impressed me was the change in my mother's posture. In the past, like many middle-aged women, she would sit with her thighs slightly crossed, her body upright, and her hands at her sides. Today, however, she lowered her head slightly, her legs together, and her hands clasped and resting on her knees. What moved me even more was that her legs were slightly bent to the right, her upper body leaning towards me to the left, an expression of boundless tenderness and care.

This body language reflected my mother's inner world; she had completely come to rely on me, a sentiment that spoke volumes. 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 went to the bedroom and had sex. That was the most enjoyable and successful sexual encounter we'd 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 towards the bedroom, exchanging knowing smiles.

At the door, she paused, closed the door, and then followed me to the bedside, embracing and kissing.

I unbuttoned her cheongsam and noticed she had changed into new underwear, which I didn't know when she'd bought. Before, my mother had made her own underwear from old fabric. I not only saw the new underwear but also felt her 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, 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 her son 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 believe 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, placed my mother's thigh on top of mine, hugged 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, hugged 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 pleasure! The way she knelt down seemed to be telling me: Son, you have conquered me.

This was probably the ring that cost over three thousand yuan working its magic. I thought: Actually, my mother and a prostitute aren't that different, except the first time is more expensive, and then you don't have to pay anymore. Comparatively speaking, paying for sex with a mother is more cost-effective than paying for sex with a prostitute. Of course, this thought was 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 crossed my legs. 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 was almost the same length as my penis; 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 sat very close. We didn't say much, just occasionally looked at each other and smiled. In the entire first half of 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 can't be compared to a teenage girl, but compared to her peers, even those twenty years younger, she's quite good. I often buy 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 while she went to take a shower. After she finished showering, she got into bed wrapped in a towel. Suddenly, I had a wild idea. 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. She cried out, "Ouch!" But after I licked it open, she became extremely excited, producing a lot of fluid, a slightly fishy smell, but 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 unsatisfied, so I said, "Never mind, if you don't want to lick, then don't." My mother hesitated, asking, "Will you kiss me after you're done?" I said, "Of course!" It turned out she was afraid I'd find her dirty.

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

Once, after I ejaculated, my mother put my semen in her mouth and let me taste it. I ate it, and it tasted alkaline and bland, and my throat felt numb. It wasn't very pleasant, so I never wanted my mother to eat my semen again. Unexpectedly, my mother seemed to like the feeling again. She said, "The numbness is also very fun." So later, when she was happy, she would still suck on my penis until she sucked out the semen and then swallowed 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.

We tried everything that year, including various positions, but ultimately we both felt that face-to-face embracing and penetration was the most pleasurable and intense. We also tried sneaking off to hotels to experience new environments. We even 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 somewhat, but we were still very much in love. My mother suggested that 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 without hesitation and drove her away, finally ending the relationship. Soon after, I slept with a second girl, a clerk at a company. She was very beautiful, but she wasn't a virgin either. However, 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. My mother and I hadn't been together for a long time, so when we had a chance to be alone, we naturally slept together 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 swayed excitedly.

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

Whenever my wife was around, my mother reverted to her old ways, refusing even a kiss from me, 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 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, scolding in a low voice, "Are you crazy?" Sometimes, I would sneak out from work to relive my past with my mother, but each time it was a rush, and I couldn't fully enjoy myself. Occasionally, when my wife is away on business or there are company events, my mother and I can immerse ourselves in sex again.

Spending so much time with two women, I naturally compare them in my mind, and my mother seems quite interested in my wife's bedroom skills. Out of female modesty, she's embarrassed to ask, but she listens very attentively whenever I bring it up.

To be honest, my mother is inferior to my wife in many ways. She gave birth to three children, so her vagina is naturally loose, but fortunately, her vaginal fluid is thicker and less abundant, which compensates somewhat for the lack of friction. Besides, my mother is over fifty years old; she has many wrinkles on her face, 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 my mother was well-maintained compared to women her age, she was far less attractive than my young and beautiful wife.

However, because I crave excitement, the shortcomings my mother had 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 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 she didn't want to imitate those kinds of shameless women. At that moment, I thought to myself, even if someone is shameless, they wouldn't stoop so low as to sleep with their own son. Of course, this was something I absolutely couldn't say aloud. I wanted her to peek at my wife and me making love, and she called me vulgar.

Compared to my mother, my wife is a hundred times more open-minded. She's tried every move in adult films with me. Once, I asked her if she wanted to do bestiality, and she said, "I'd do it if you let a dog do it." She meant it, but I didn't want to let a dog do it, so the matter was dropped. I also asked her about her opinion on incest, and she said, "If other people like it, it's 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.

Aside from 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 entire life. And then there was the unparalleled softness of her body. Women's bodies are generally soft, but compared to my mother, it's nothing. She was practically boneless and muscleless. Holding her, even without committing adultery, was incredibly pleasurable.

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 I find strange. This is probably a result of natural selection, a kind of protective mechanism.

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

My sisters went their separate ways after finishing their studies, and I spend less time with them. When we were little, we were often at odds over toys and other things; there wasn't much affection between us. I don't know what the future holds, but if anything happens, I will write it down for the readers.

I initially thought our sex life would decline over time, like that of a typical married couple, eventually ceasing altogether. But it hasn't turned out that badly, 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 after that, we reached a new peak.

In the past year, my mother and I have had sex 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 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 is usually in the kitchen cutting meat or washing rice, and I go straight to the kitchen as soon as I walk in. If she's not there, she'll 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 initiated it. While touching me, she would reach under her skirt and take off her underwear, then pin her against the kitchen wall and rape her.

My mother usually wore a skirt, and occasionally a robe, which meant she was sexually aroused. 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 trousers, then there was no chance; no matter how much I touched her, she wouldn't get aroused. Whenever I saw my mother wearing trousers, I felt annoyed. However, both of these situations were relatively rare. I'm usually the one who initiates the touching, and she'll be wet in less than three minutes. Come to think of it, it's more often I who's not interested than my mother.

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Real-life incest between mother and son

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