A talented and beautiful mother

Subconsciously, I also want to share my thoughts and experiences. There's a thrill in having my deepest secrets heard, a feeling of having my soul pierced. In this respect, I think I'm like exhibitionists; they enjoy showing their bodies to others, and I enjoy revealing my innermost thoughts. Those monologues that no one in the real world can tell—speaking them aloud feels like reliving them, and that pleasure is equally captivating. Let

me first talk about my son. He's 181cm tall and weighs 73kg. He likes sports and is good at calligraphy and the violin. I can confidently say that he's excellent, intelligent, and talented; his writing is better than mine. I am 165 cm tall and weigh 58 kg. I love to sing, and my son and I are both quite good at it. I'll share my singing when I have the chance.

I'm also good at the piano; the piano in my bedroom was bought with my savings years ago, and I still practice it every day. My son is deeply influenced by me; our personalities are very similar. We're both kind, simple, and not very strong. My son loves sports, and I also pay attention to exercising, but I'm more focused on the goal than the enjoyment. I want to maintain my figure and health. Besides exercising, I also pay attention to skincare and follow information on beauty and health. I'm not superstitious about cosmetics; clean skin and a light touch of makeup are enough. For a woman to be beautiful, the most important thing is her inner self. I firmly believe that women of every age have their unique beauty, and I can be beautiful too. As long as one's heart is kind and peaceful, beauty will radiate from within.

A young male teacher in my office said I was as elegant as Zhao Yazhi, and that I resembled her. I replied that while we didn't look alike, my pursuit was to be as noble, elegant, and eternally youthful as her. Of course, not everyone in the workplace liked me. Once, while showering in the company bathhouse, a female teacher, about my age—well, if I was in the same bathhouse, I was definitely a woman—said that my high hips didn't look good and affected how my clothes looked. She also said I had excess fat on my lower abdomen and pointed out many other flaws. I didn't know how to respond. Actually, she was far less attractive than me; she was short, plump, lacked curves, and had a dull complexion. I wanted to say that she didn't have excess fat on her lower abdomen and that her chest and abdomen were flat, but I immediately felt guilty, thinking that my words were too malicious, so I just laughed it off.

Although I'm not very confident, I have a clear understanding of myself. I'm quite satisfied with my breasts and hips. Women should have feminine curves and characteristics, but the size of breasts and hips is largely determined by genetics. Postnatal exercise can only change things within the range dictated by our genes. I'm very grateful to my mother for the body I have.

When I was in middle school, I weighed around 100 pounds, but my breasts were already quite well-developed. However, back then, nobody paid attention to it. I never saw any girl with well-developed breasts walking with her chest out. I was the same way; I felt it was fine as long as I was flat like other girls and didn't attract attention. But later, as I matured, people became more open-minded. It felt really good to see men staring at my breasts, and I still do that now. Those looks give me confidence. At my age, it's incredibly difficult to completely eliminate belly fat. Even with consistent exercise, I can't completely get rid of it, but I'm not much better off than women my age who don't exercise. Like I said, maintaining and pursuing a good figure is important, but pursuing a peaceful mindset is even more crucial.

I don't know where to begin, or how to go into detail, so I'll start with university. My first love was in university. I'll talk about some memorable things, and I won't mention the memories that have faded with time.

The era I lived in, and the family and school education I received, meant I had no concept of dating before university. In fact, it felt quite terrifying; I thought dating was immoral. If someone wrote me a letter confessing their love or showed me affection, I would definitely stay far away. But my mindset gradually changed when I got to university. There were many couples around me, and I realized I was getting older and had emotional needs. I learned that dating wasn't shameful.

My ex-husband and I met in university, and that was my first love. He was in the same major as me, and we were from the same city. There weren't many people in our major, and everyone in the classes knew each other. Men are popular in teacher's colleges, and he was quite outstanding at the time—tall, handsome, and talented. We all had good opinions of him when we chatted in our dorm. We had a lot of contact at several college events, and we dated more. Later, it just happened naturally. He never even confessed to me, and I had no experience with dating. Back then, I thought that was what dating was all about, and for a long time, I didn't dare hold hands. The first time we held hands was his initiative, and the first time we kissed was also his initiative. There was a long gap between holding hands and kissing. We had no experience with our first kiss; our lips just touched, but it was enough to excite us. I still remember that feeling vividly. Later, he learned to suck on my tongue, and the pleasure became even more intense

. It felt like my whole body was on fire, and I got wet down there. To be honest, I had never masturbated before college and had no sexual needs whatsoever. But ever since I kissed him, I had a desire for it, but I was too afraid to do it. Those were far less open-minded than they are now. I guess most people's first time was on their wedding night, and he and I were no exception. After graduating from university, I worked at the affiliated high school, while he went to another high school in the city that was almost the best. Back then, it was easy for graduates of teacher's colleges to find jobs, unlike now, although now it's difficult for any major. We got married after working for less than a year. Since our homes and jobs were in the same city, and both sets of parents were satisfied, it went quite smoothly.

Our first time was on our wedding day; it was probably past 11 pm. I was so busy and tired on my wedding day that I was completely disoriented. I just did whatever people told me to do; it seems like wedding procedures have always been so complicated. When he took off my clothes, my face burned; it was the first time I had ever been naked in front of a man. He kissed my entire body passionately, his hands caressing my genitals. His fervor ignited my own passion, and I inevitably became aroused. He thrust inside me, and I gasped, my mouth agape, too afraid to cry out… My first experience with sex was truly wonderful; I was overwhelmed with pleasure. Even now, almost twenty years later, I remember it vividly, down to every single detail, because I've relived that moment countless times in my memory.

When we first got married, we were very frequent, but gradually it decreased, and the pleasure wasn't as intense as before. Perhaps the physical pleasure remained, but the initial excitement had faded. It was only when he was away on business trips or studying for extended periods that I realized how strong my needs were. I would use my fingers to mimic his movements in my vagina, looking at his wedding photo on the wall, imagining him on top of me. Absence truly makes the heart grow fonder; when he returned, we made love passionately, and it felt much better than usual.

After having our child, we experienced the joy and sense of accomplishment of being parents. I often glance at our son and then at him, and my heart is filled with sweetness. Our child is our creation, bearing the characteristics of both of us; the feeling is magical and blissful. For the first few years, our relationship was wonderful, but marriage truly succumbs to the seven-year itch. It really started in the seventh year that he became distant, spoke less to me, and his sexual desire decreased significantly. I panicked, not knowing what I had done wrong. When I asked him, he wouldn't tell me. I tried my best to be gentle with him and diligently did housework, but nothing worked. He only grew increasingly distant, and my heart gradually cooled. I knew his heart belonged to someone else. Our marriage lasted over nine years, and he was the one who initiated the divorce. All I could do was helplessly agree. I knew I couldn't win back his heart.

I kept the child, and he gave me the house and most of his assets, leaving me with almost nothing. Less than a year after the divorce, he remarried to someone from his workplace. At the time, I couldn't understand what I was lacking, what made me inferior to him. I did everything a wife should do, treating his parents with the same filial piety as my own, and treating his brother's children as my own, giving them lucky money and buying them clothes every Chinese New Year. How could this be the result? For two years, I felt truly defeated, and my life was very dark. Later, I thought that for the sake of the child, I couldn't stay like that forever; I had to move on. I was already from a single-parent family, and if I were to become depressed, it would be too detrimental to the child's growth. Many relatives and friends introduced me to potential partners, but I wasn't interested at all at first. Later, I thought I should give my child a complete family, so I tried dating. But I didn't expect my child to react so strongly. She treated all men who came to our home as enemies. I didn't want to upset my child, and besides, I was a little afraid of marriage and didn't have much confidence, so I stopped trying. After that, no one introduced me to anyone.

I feel guilty towards my son. I haven't been a successful parent. Although I studied education, including early childhood education, in college, I couldn't bear to toughen him up. I always tried my best to provide him with a comfortable environment and prepare everything for him, never giving him any opportunity to be independent. As a result, he has very poor self-care skills and is too dependent on me. Even now that I understand this, I still can't bear to let him develop. When he first entered high school, some teachers suggested that I let him board at school, but I wasn't comfortable with that, saying that we lived so close, why spend the money on boarding? Some teachers, to save themselves trouble and to give their children more experience, let their children board at school. I'm gratified that my son is very smart, has excellent grades, and is tall and handsome.

Life is incredibly difficult for a woman raising a child alone, not just financially, but also emotionally and environmentally. When my child was young, there were things I couldn't talk to him about at home, like work-related frustrations—he wouldn't understand. Many people around me didn't understand either. I lived alone, without a man to rely on; I had to do everything myself. I carried rice and flour upstairs myself, without asking for help or hiring anyone. I didn't want more people to know I didn't have a man, not even strangers. It was physically exhausting. But my heart was filled with bitterness, and I couldn't even cry. Back then, a young man in the same building always stared at me with that kind of look. I was truly terrified, realizing what a malicious gaze meant. If I had a husband, I would feel much more at ease, but I didn't. I was always afraid he would break into my house one day, so I would always check behind me before opening the door and lock it as soon as I got inside. Looking back now, it was all a deep sense of inferiority. Later, I stopped seeing the young man; he had probably moved away. Over the years, my mindset has gradually calmed down. My son has also grown up and is tall. Having a man in the house just makes a difference.

The loneliness of the nights after the divorce was unbearable. During those days of intense sexual desire in my menstrual cycle, I longed for a man to comfort and satisfy me, but that was impossible. Only my own hands could satisfy me. The wedding photo on the wall had long been taken down. The object of my fantasies was still my ex-husband. Although I couldn't say whether I loved or resented him, I had once believed that I belonged to him for life and that I could only have sex with him. Gradually, his image faded from my mind, but regardless of who it was, the sadness and loss after masturbation remained. Especially later, when I fantasized about my son.

But the next time, I couldn't help but fantasize again; my son's image wouldn't leave me until after orgasm, when my mind went blank. After a while, I felt not only sadness but also deep self-blame. I don't want to either, but the only man I've been in contact with and can rely on for a long time is my son. In fact, we are mutually dependent. Sometimes when he lies in my arms, my heart is filled with maternal love and tenderness. Sometimes when I lie on his chest or in the crook of his arm, I feel like a little woman. Having someone to rely on gives me a very secure happiness, as if my son is my man.

The only man I've ever been in contact with is my son. Unlike other mothers and sons, we don't have any taboos. Perhaps it's because I've always treated him the way he was when he was little. Even though he's grown up now, I still worry about him and take care of him meticulously, giving him countless instructions. As a result, his self-care ability is very poor. I want to let go and let him develop, but I'm too worried and can't bear to. He can't live without me—in life, emotionally, and physically. Because mothers and sons are naturally close, especially after so much time spent alone together, he's attached to his mother, and I'm attached to my son.

At my age, I understand the道理 (principles/reasons), but I'm powerless to change. Like when I stare at my son's muscular physique and bulging lower body, I know that gazing is wrong, but I can't take my eyes off him. Thoughts are one thing, actions are another. If actions were entirely guided by thought, there would be far fewer mistakes in the world. Mistakes are often mistakes of ignorance. My son and I have lived alone for a long time, and we're physically close. We both have needs, and we both have desires for each other—that's undeniable. I think we understand ourselves and each other, but neither of us has brought it up. Even now, after what happened, we rarely discuss it verbally.

Back then, we were both cautiously probing, wanting to take things further but feeling uneasy, both hoping the other would make the first move.

I don't know when it started, but the way my son looks at me has changed. Even when I'm behind him, I can feel that gaze—focused and intense. When I turn around, I quickly look away. Actually, I know that's how I look at him too. He exercises often and has a very fit physique. That youthful energy is really attractive. Every time he walks around the house shirtless in his underwear without any inhibitions, I can't help but stare at him. His chest muscles are very attractive, but what entices me the most is his bulging lower body. Just seeing that makes my legs go weak. Maybe women have a kind of male genital worship? I even wanted to kneel down and worship it. Haha, I usually think he's useless, but at that moment I felt he was a great and imposing man.

When he was little, my son always slept next to me. He only felt safe and could fall asleep when he was touching me. Later, as he grew older and needed to study, I let him have his own room. But he still comes to my room and sleeps in my bed from time to time. He always has a lot of excuses. He says he was scared because of a dream, or because it was cold when he was hungry, or because my bed is a double bed and he won't fall off. But when he comes to my bed, he doesn't fall asleep right away. He always hugs me, just like when he was little. He has one nipple in his mouth and his hand is touching the other breast. The difference is that when he was little, he would just suckle, but now he licks it with his tongue. It really teases me. I asked him, "Son, is this reminding you of when you were little?" He was still sucking on the nipple and mumbled something. I didn't know what he was saying. I didn't know whether I wanted to hear him say yes or no. He said it would reassure me: "This behavior is nothing. It's just mother and son reliving the past."

To be honest, I wouldn't be excited or have many fantasies. I've always been a very contradictory person, conflicted in my emotions and in my decisions. Actually, at that time, I was completely aroused and really wished something could fill it, like his fingers or his... but I didn't dare. For a long time, we found satisfaction in these borderline behaviors, which were both satisfying and agonizing. Neither of us dared to cross that line. We didn't touch each other's... with our hands. Once, I was really sleepy and asked him to go back to the room, but he wouldn't listen, so I turned my back to him. He hugged me and touched my breasts, and his penis kept rubbing against my buttocks. Even through two layers of underwear, I could feel its heat. I immediately became wet, and my heart was in my throat. I really hoped he would take off my underwear and stuff it inside me, but I didn't move. After a while, he went back to his room, and I couldn't wait to masturbate. I thought my son must have masturbated in his room too, but most of the time we would touch each other and then he would sleep on my bed. I was too afraid to masturbate because I was afraid of making a sound and waking him up. He must have been afraid too.

However, when his desire was too strong, he was afraid of nothing. Once, I woke up after a nap and found my son's penis above my face. He was masturbating. I almost screamed when I opened my eyes, but I held it in because I was afraid it would be embarrassing. There were no lights on, so it was quite dark and he didn't see me open my eyes. He continued to rub his penis, which was not far from my face. I wondered what would happen if he ejaculated. What if he ejaculated on my face? Should I keep pretending to be asleep with my eyes closed? His movements became faster and faster. Fortunately, he caught it with his left hand when he ejaculated. After going to the bathroom, he went back to his room. I lay in the same position as before, masturbating while reminiscing.

When I couldn't hold back, I hugged his head tightly and pressed it against my breasts. The squeezing sensation brought me pleasure, but after a while, he broke free and gasped for breath because his mouth and nose were covered and he was suffocating. I really wanted to put my hand down there to relieve the itch, but I didn't dare. Besides, our bodies were pressed together and there was no space. I couldn't hold back any longer and reached my hand in from behind. I couldn't reach all the way in from behind. The power of lust is truly terrifying. My left hand even pretended to slip from my son's chest to his penis unintentionally. I hadn't touched his penis with my hand for more than ten years. I was so excited that I tried my best to control my excitement. My right hand moved gently inside his vagina, while my left hand just rested on his penis without moving, and he didn't move either.

I didn't dare move my arms for fear of making too much noise and alerting my son. I could only bend and straighten my fingers, and I tried to keep my body as still as possible. I still remember that feeling of pleasure that was both suppressed and exciting. With one hand touching my son's penis and the other inside my vagina, it felt like my two hands could merge into one, and I imagined my fingers were my son's penis. Before it happened, of course, I felt a longing but lacked the courage. At that time, I didn't even dare to hope that I could have sex with my son, but I realized that if we both longed for it so much, we would have sex sooner or later. Actually, a very simple action can lead to a qualitative breakthrough, but that one action was heavy and difficult. I don't know how many times I was on the verge of desire. My whole body, especially my vagina, was unbearably itchy. Being in that state without being completely satisfied was torture. I really wanted to spread my legs and wrap them around him so that he could penetrate me all the way in and stop me from being so itchy. But I didn't dare, and I endured it again and again.

There was one very close incident. I woke up in the middle of the night, and he was lying next to me, also awake. I reached out and touched him; he felt a little warm, even though he wasn't. Everyone's body temperature is different, and as long as it's within a certain range, it's fine. I don't know if I was possessed or what, but I said to him, "Can Mom touch your 'down there' to see if it's hot?" He seemed to be just waking up and mumbled an "Mmm" in his sleep. I felt like I'd received a royal decree; my heart started racing, and I reached my hand inside him... I touched his testicles, oh my god, they felt so good. The two balls were wrapped in soft skin, and they were even flowing when I squeezed them. I really didn't want to take my hand back, but I couldn't keep touching them. So I said that it was okay, it wasn't hot, and slowly pulled my hand back. When I touched his penis, I shuddered. It was normal just now, but now it was so hard, so big and so long. I couldn't help but grab it with my hand. It stimulated my hand, making me linger and not want to let go.

My son groaned. I knew that not only I felt pleasure, but he did too. I hoped that holding his hand like this would continue, and I was sure he felt the same way. If I massaged him further, he would feel even more pleasure. But even though we both wanted this, I pulled my hand back. The action I had just taken was already too much, and I dared not take any further steps. I still carefully maintained that last bit of distance, preserving our last pure mother-son relationship. After pulling my hand back, my heart couldn't calm down. I savored the dreamlike moment, savoring the comfortable feeling. I clenched my fist, but my empty hand held nothing.

I knew that day would eventually come, but I didn't expect it to be me who initiated it. But thinking about it, it makes sense; my son is always shy and never as proactive as I am. That night, I wasn't wearing anything, I slept naked after showering. A short while later, my son came into my room and, before I could react, crawled into bed with me. Afraid he'd find me naked and without underwear, I faced him and stuck my butt out. He still touched and kissed my breasts like that. Maybe it was because I was in my menstrual cycle, but my reaction was... It was so intense, my hand involuntarily went to his genitals again, and my other hand went into his vagina from the front this time. He was lying on his back at first, then suddenly grabbed my hand and started rubbing his penis. Then he pulled down his underwear a little so my hand could directly touch his penis. I was so excited! I didn't care if I was being too rough. I used both hands to vigorously masturbate both myself and my son. He must have been feeling really good, moaning softly. I really don't know how I felt at that moment... Where did I get the courage? I pushed my luck. I had dreamed of doing this before, but at the time I felt it still wasn't enough. So I got up and straddled him, pointing his penis at my opening. I sat down and went all the way in. Because there was so much fluid and my opening was wide open, the pleasure was so intense that I collapsed onto my son. He cried out and his body jerked. I sat up again and moved up and down, but after a few movements, my body went limp and I involuntarily collapsed back down. Perhaps my son wasn't satisfied with my speed, so he rolled over, pinned me beneath him, and began moving rapidly. That must have been his first time; he ejaculated very quickly, I could feel the intense heat, but he didn't go soft or pull out, continuing to move inside me. God, I was going crazy. Words are so inadequate to describe that overwhelming pleasure. The second time, he lasted much longer, only ejaculating after I had climaxed, and then he lay there and quickly fell asleep.

I feel that the light of daytime is a constraint, is it the gaze of the world? We rarely touch each other's bodies during the day, but when darkness falls at night, it's as if we don't belong to this world anymore, no one can restrain us, and our behavior truly descends into unbridled madness. As for what will happen in the future, I really don't want to think about it.

The hardest part was the first time. Once you got past that hurdle, it wasn't so difficult anymore. My son and I did it very frequently, just like when I first got married. Our sexual desire made us seem so greedy when we were together. I greedily took my son's penis in my mouth; it seemed like a reward for him. He looked up at me, as if he hadn't expected me to be so proactive in doing that for him. He made a very loud, pleasurable sound. I think the psychological pleasure probably stimulated him more. Watching his reaction and seeing him so excited made me feel happy too. Normally we don't cook during the day, but there are exceptions. One time he didn't have evening self-study. After all, the second year of high school isn't as stressful as the third year I teach. That time, I was proctoring the monthly exam for the class I taught. The exam was at 6 PM, and around 5 PM, my son called me saying he was hungry and wanted me to come home and cook for him. I told him to cook some instant noodles first and I'd make more when I got home that evening, but he insisted on eating noodles. I couldn't persuade him otherwise, and thinking that we lived nearby, I figured I could cook later and make more later. So I rushed home and started cooking. Just as I put the cutting board on the table, my son hugged me tightly from behind. I told him to stop fooling around for a bit. Even though we were running late, he wouldn't let up. I was wearing the school-issued work uniform skirt, and he lifted it up and started touching me inside. I guess I'm just a sensitive person; I go weak and have no resistance when touched. Even when a stranger I don't like touches me, I feel the same way. He took off my inner clothes and rubbed my genitals with his hard penis. I immediately got wet there, and then he slowly inserted his penis. Suddenly, I remembered that if we were late, several classes of students wouldn't be able to take the exam, and I still had the papers. So I got up and said, "No, don't do it." Then my son grabbed me and penetrated me again. I had no choice but to call my class representative and ask him to come to my office to get the test paper. This basically meant the questions had been leaked, but there was nothing I could do. My son wouldn't leave me, and he wouldn't take his penis out. He insisted on coming with me to the living room to get my phone. While I was explaining to the student, my son was still moving vigorously behind me. I was afraid that the noise would be too loud and could be heard on the phone, and I was also afraid that I wouldn't be able to stand it and would make a sound. But he was holding my waist with both hands, and I couldn't push him away, so I had to use my hands to block behind my buttocks.

After I explained everything, I quickly hung up the phone and told him to hurry up and go to the bedroom. He refused and insisted on going to the kitchen. I was forced to walk with my back bent. As soon as I put my hand on the counter, he sped up, and my body slowly sank down until my upper body was on the counter, my legs were so weak I was about to kneel. My son hugged my waist and lifted me up, slamming into me hard. That time it lasted a long time. After he finished, he told me that he didn't want to eat noodles anymore and he could cook instant noodles himself. He told me to hurry up and go to work. I was both angry and loving. When I got to the classroom, the students who were answering questions with their heads down all looked up at me. I was startled and felt like they knew what I had just done. But after calming down and thinking about it, I realized that was impossible.

Writing these words and recalling those things gives me a sense of exciting satisfaction, and I'm wet down there again.

Actually, our relationship is just special; the way we do things isn't anything special, it's just like that, as everyone knows. What impressed me most was what was different from usual, like during the day.

It was a Sunday afternoon, and my son was watching TV on the sofa in the living room. I was doing housework but for some reason suddenly felt very aroused. However, he was staring intently at the TV and completely ignored me. I felt that it would be inappropriate and unromantic to directly ask for it, so I took the mop and started mopping the floor. In the living room, he lingered between the mop and the TV. Although the floor was already very shiny and clean, the house was very hot. The heating company provided ample warmth, and we were all wearing very little. I was wearing tight shorts and a loose, short shirt, and I deliberately swayed my head towards him, thinking his gaze would shift from the TV to me. Sure enough, when I turned around, he got up and hugged me from behind, reaching inside my clothes to grasp my breasts. Even though only my breasts were being grasped, I felt a warm sensation, as if my entire body was enveloped. I felt his movements weren't enough, so I pressed my breasts against his hands and rubbed them. He immediately rubbed them faster. As he grasped and rubbed, his fingers also pinched my nipples. I felt hot and excited all over, and involuntarily twisted my hips to rub against his hard penis. Our breathing became rapid. He practically dragged me into my bedroom. Because we were wearing very little, he quickly stripped us naked. Then he made me lie face down on the bed with my butt sticking up, which was my favorite position.

My favorite position, which is also the most common one, is with me lying on my back and him on top of me. I think this position has many advantages. It allows me to clearly feel that my son belongs to me at that moment. We can make eye contact, and I can see his expression clearly. Moreover, when I feel excited to the point of helplessness, I can hold onto his body to seek a sense of belonging and security. However, my ex-husband and my current son don't really like this position. My son likes me to lie on my stomach with him behind me, grabbing my hips or breasts and moving around. He says he likes the visual impact my buttocks give him, and that when my breasts are sagging, he can fill his hand with them.

My son is an introverted but humorous person, but I can't stand his humor at those times. Once, I did as he asked and stuck my butt out. He looked from behind and said, "Mom, your butt is sticking out so high it's practically reaching the clouds." This made me laugh so hard I was shaking. Even a withered flower branch can tremble. I felt like I had lost all my senses and my desire had decreased a lot. But then he suddenly thrust in all the way in. I immediately stopped laughing, and the trembling of my body turned into a different kind of trembling, a trembling stimulated by a sudden and intense pleasure. Our preferred method is for me to kiss his penis. I like to suddenly take it all into my mouth and suck on it while it's still soft, then feel it grow bigger in my mouth, until it's pressed tightly against my throat, only able to take in half. Although it gets very hard, the head still feels very tender and has a great texture. My usual method is to lick all over it first, then hold the head in my mouth and move my tongue around it. I can only take in half at most, but my son always holds my head and tries to push it in deeply. At this time, I easily gag and cough. At first, I didn't swallow my saliva, so after a while my mouth would be full of saliva and a little of his secretions. I would spit it out and continue kissing. Later, I started to swallow, but I still don't eat his semen.

My son really enjoys oral sex. He always looks down at me, moaning incessantly, seemingly finding it more satisfying than intercourse.

We also like to call each other "Mom" and "Son" when we're about to climax. It excites us, probably because calling each other that reinforces our mother-son relationship and intensifies the incestuous feeling, even though we've never used the word "incest."

That's a bit of a tangent. Let's get back to that Sunday afternoon. After he penetrated me, he started to thrust slowly. I initially supported myself on the bed with both hands, but my wrists got sore, so I leaned my shoulders against the bed, grabbed the pillow, and buried my head in it. The pleasure made me make sounds, but I didn't dare to make a loud noise, so I had to suppress them. Suddenly, the fullness in my vagina disappeared, and it felt empty. I looked up and saw that my son had gone to the living room. He turned the TV volume up really loud, and then came back and continued thrusting inside me. I understood what he meant. I could make my voices freely now. I felt like I had never screamed so loudly or so unrestrainedly before, even a little exaggeratedly. His speed increased and his movements became rougher, which drove me somewhat mad. This intense pleasure also made women easily tired, and my cries became hoarse and desperate. I couldn't take it so hard and reached orgasm. I couldn't maintain that position anymore, and my body sank downwards. I had told my son that if I continued thrusting after orgasm, my pleasure would diminish or even become very uncomfortable, so he stopped. He flipped my limp body over and straddled my abdomen to masturbate, rubbing my breasts with his left hand.

After a while, he sat on my chest again. I watched as his hand gripped his penis and moved it back and forth rapidly. He would occasionally thrust forward, bringing his penis to my lips and rubbing it against them. I stuck out my tongue, and he used his hand to move his penis around to tease my tongue. He even put the head of his penis into my mouth and stroked the back part. Then he would take it out, repeating this process. Gradually, his hands moved faster and faster, and his breathing became more and more rapid. I knew he was about to ejaculate, so I turned my head to one side. I seemed afraid of the violent ejaculation, but he turned my head back and then kneaded my face. He was now sitting on my shoulders and neck, and my arms were pinned under his legs, unable to move. Finally, after a long and deep groan, he ejaculated all his semen onto my face and lips. I kept my mouth tightly closed to avoid getting it in.

It was so hot that it felt like it could burn my face, but it cooled down very quickly. Actually, I didn't want my son to ejaculate on my face. It made me feel humiliated, like he didn't care about my dignity. But when I saw him quickly get off me, carefully wiping the semen off my face and lips with a tissue, and looking at me with a fearful expression as if I had done something wrong, I felt relieved. He still cared about my feelings; he was just unable to control himself due to his lust at the time.

I once told myself that I was willing to give everything for my son, including my life and dignity. What does that matter? My only fear is that my son won't love me or care about me. I don't want him to have a girlfriend either. He's very outstanding and has no shortage of girls around him at school. I know I can't keep him like this for too long. He'll eventually have to settle down and leave me. The thought of him no longer belonging to me and making love with other women fills me with sadness. I can only cherish what I have while I can. I asked his homeroom teacher if he had a girlfriend. When I heard he didn't, I was relieved and told him the teacher to keep a close eye on him and prevent him from dating too early. Who knows my selfish motives? I'm really selfish, but I truly love my son so much. I would do anything as long as I hear him say he loves me.

A few days ago, he had a fever. Fever reducers and anti-inflammatory drugs didn't work. I skipped evening self-study to take him to the hospital. My son said he could go by himself; the hospital wasn't far. But I thought it would be so boring for him to lie there alone while getting an IV drip, and besides, I was worried about him. I couldn't not go. The small hospital near our house had few doctors at night, and their efficiency was really low. We had already bought the medicine, and we were still waiting on the hospital bed. Seeing my son with his head down, silent from the fever, broke my heart. I really wanted to yell at the doctors, but we couldn't even find anyone. It was awful, but finally someone came and gave him the injection. My son has been terrified of needles since he was little. I've always been by his side whenever he gets a shot, and I can never bear to watch the needle go in. After the injection, he said his stomach felt very uncomfortable, so I quickly went to ask the doctor. The doctor said the medicine was very irritating to the stomach and that eating something would help. I wanted to go out to buy something, but my son wouldn't let me go and wanted me to stay with him. He's always so well-behaved and childlike when he's sick, like when he was a baby, and he's very attached to me. I told him I'd be back soon, and only then did he let me go.

I bought him drinks and orange cookies, all his favorites. Back in the ward, I washed my hands and peeled an orange to feed him. The orange peel was very hard, and my nails hurt, but seeing my son's satisfied expression made me happy. After he finished eating, I talked to him, and he smiled a little. But I kept touching his forehead, and his fever still hadn't gone down. After a while, he got sleepy, so I held his hand and sat down next to him. The IV drip was very slow, and it didn't finish until after nine o'clock. When we got home, he got into bed and started sweating. He wanted to lift the covers, but I quickly stopped him. Although it was hot in the room, we still had to listen to the doctor and keep him warm. He obediently stayed still, and I kept wiping away the sweat from his head and face. He said he wanted water, so I fed him spoonful by spoonful. After a while, he said he wanted rice porridge, his stomach seemed both hungry and full, so I made him some porridge, cooled it down to lukewarm, and fed it to him slowly. He kept making various requests, I thought maybe he was just too hot and irritable, and this was to relieve his restlessness. Finally, he calmed down, looked at me intently, his eyes shining, and said something that moved me deeply: "Mom, I love you." Hearing this, I immediately burst into tears. He had never said he loved me before; this was the first time. Whether it was the love between mother and son or the love between lovers, as long as he said he loved me, that was enough.

I didn't sleep well all night, constantly checking to see if his fever had gone down, until his temperature returned to normal the next morning.

When he woke up in the morning, I was looking into his eyes. He looked at me, blinked, and said, "Mom, I'm all better," and then kissed me... That day, which had filled me with anxiety, also brought me immense happiness.

I recalled an unpleasant experience before that. That time, my son hadn't finished evening study and was waiting for me at my office to go home together. A young male teacher, who usually liked to joke with me, made an inappropriate joke, saying I looked like Ya-zhi, and that I looked like I was under 30. The implication was that he wanted to marry me and become my son's stepfather. I retorted, "Then show me the divorce papers you wrote to your wife before I'll be with you!" As soon as I said that, I regretted it. My son's face darkened. He didn't say anything, but I knew he was unhappy with both the teacher's joke and my words.

Sure enough, he was silent the whole way home, and even after we got home, he remained silent. When I asked him anything, he basically just brushed me off with simple phrases like "okay," "it's okay," or "no need." I was terrified, afraid that my son would never speak to me again. I knew his anger would eventually subside, but the fear at that moment was impossible to stop or hide. I ran to him and asked what he wanted to eat for dinner. He coldly replied that anything was fine. Disappointed, I went to the kitchen to cook his favorite dishes. He stood on the balcony next to the kitchen, looking out, seemingly lost in thought. I tried to make conversation, and at first he would answer with a word or two, but then he fell silent. I didn't dare ask anymore, and tears welled up in my eyes. I went behind him and hugged him tightly, terrified that he would stop loving me and leave me. His cold attitude was causing me so much pain. I know it's my fault for being angry today, not his. But if he doesn't love me, I'll lose all hope in life. He struggled a couple of times and then stopped. I kissed his back, turned to face him, and kissed his chest. Then I slowly kissed my way down, kissing his genitals through his underwear. I was afraid he would push me away, so I was very careful. When he didn't react, I gently pulled down his underwear and took his penis inside. It always gets bigger quickly, but this time it got bigger very slowly. Maybe it's because my son is really angry and has no emotions. I kissed and sucked his penis with all my might to please him. I even felt that I looked very lewd. Suddenly, he grabbed my head and started moving back and forth. He responded, which made me very happy. He thrust in very deep, and I tried my best to hold back my cough.

He pulled me up, made me bend over with my hands on the balcony windowsill, lifted my skirt—I remember the long cotton skirt I was wearing that day—and then pulled down my underwear and thrust inside me. I kissed his penis, which aroused me, and I became aroused, so it went in smoothly. My legs immediately went weak. He lifted my skirt very high, reached out and grabbed my breasts, kneading them. The people across the street could see us. So I told my son I was going to the bedroom and to put on a condom because it wasn't my safe period these past few days. He didn't speak, just kept moving forcefully. I said again, "Turn off the kitchen light," but he still didn't answer, only thrusting even more violently. His hands tightened, making me feel very uncomfortable. My moans turned from pleasure into pain. I said, "Son, be gentle, it hurts," but he ignored me. He pinched my nipples with his fingers and grabbed my breasts with his palms, kneading them vigorously. Unlike the buttocks, which don't hurt much when rubbed or even slapped, breasts are very delicate and can't withstand too much force. So I kept saying, "Son..." "Go easy, son," she pleaded, her body silently enduring the pain. Her son was venting his frustration on her body. He'd never been so rough before. He straightened up, grabbed her hips, and thrust even more violently, calling out "Mommy" repeatedly. Hearing this, she felt relieved, thinking he had forgiven her. She endured the pain and responded as gently as possible, "Son, son." Finally, he thrust hard and ejaculated inside her. She didn't care anymore; she'd take the birth control pill. Her son mixed his frustration with his semen. It all came out inside me. He climbed on top of me and hugged me. Even though my legs were weak and limp, I still tried my best to stand up...

I've posted this monologue before on similar forums. I don't understand why I feel such a strong urge to vent, making me keep posting these things. Am I mentally unstable? Why do I have to publicize something shameful? Maybe I'm just too repressed by reality, so I want to shout it out in a place where no one knows me. Those things have already been done and cannot be undone. I know I am deliberately numbing and forgetting. I dare not think about it and can only comfort myself with escape, numbness and forgetting. Posting what I have written is a kind of catharsis, a kind of consolation and memorial, to commemorate the pure mother-son relationship that we can never return to. All those causes and consequences, all those past lives and present lives—was that my initial intention? Would a woman with a complete and happy life do that? The path is indeed one I walk myself, even if it's a winding one. But from which step did it begin to turn? A path of no return is also a series of wrong turns, perhaps it was wrong from the start, but I was still powerless. This isn't an excuse for my actions; it's the inherent nature of my son and me. We both have flaws in our personalities, a severe interdependence, and a desire to possess each other to the greatest extent possible.

Initially, I certainly wanted to find another man. Many people introduced me to men, but no matter who it was, no matter how hard they tried to gain my son's approval, he never accepted them. His refusal meant I couldn't accept them either. So later, I resolved to remain single for ten years. How many decades in a lifetime do I have to endure loneliness? From then on, my son and I relied on each other for survival, both physically and emotionally. Personality determines destiny; perhaps this was our fate.

I endured countless accusations. Some people said they could understand my actions, but in reality, no one could. Who has experienced the loneliness of over ten years, both emotionally and physically? Who has felt the torment of desire and morality when having physical intimacy with their beloved son? Who has imagined the immense psychological pressure they carried afterward? Did I really think it was like in novels, where mother and son indulged in unrestrained sexual relations? Can guilt still breed pleasure? Guilt is always there. No matter how intense the pleasure of breaking taboos, it cannot mask the guilt. The world is fair and balanced, isn't it? While bringing us physical pleasure, it also burdens our minds with shackles. Even if the relationship ends, I may never be able to shake it off. Isn't that cruel? But even if it is cruel, it's still a balance, and I can't blame anyone else.

I remember first posting these words on a now-closed forum called xx (ps: due to forum rules, cross here) Entertainment Forum. My username then was "From Confusion to Fate," but I am confused rather than confused, accepting fate. Many unexpected incidents occurred during this time, which I won't go into detail about here.

At the time, all I heard was support, saying I was a great mother worthy of respect. I was very confused. Is it really that easy for such a thing to gain public approval? Is society really that accepting of incest between mother and son? And even if it were, it wouldn't be considered noble or respectable. Later I understood: the people browsing those forums were people who harbored a deep longing for their mothers and had a strong Oedipus complex, but couldn't realize it in reality. My outrageous behavior satisfied their fantasies, so naturally they supported me. At the time, I was truly numb, ignoring rational advice and being drowned out by the overwhelming voices of support.

I've said before that I'm a conflicted person, always conflicted, always hesitant and indecisive. As for the principles of being a good person, how could I not understand them at my age? But does simply understanding them guarantee I won't make mistakes? If so, there would be no such thing as knowingly committing a wrong. There are things I know are wrong, but my willpower can't resist temptation, so I still do them. After tasting the sweetness of temptation, I also bear the pain of a heavy sense of guilt. But my weak will and supreme pleasure make it impossible for me to stop. I can't give up, so I can only escape. I dare not reflect on myself. Whenever I think about this, I immediately force myself to think about other things to distract myself.

I hid behind the internet, pouring my emotions into words, trying to comfort myself with the encouragement of others. Little did I know that the souls of those who encouraged me actually needed saving, just like mine. I ignored and deliberately disregarded the advice that was truly helpful to me, thinking that ignoring it would bury the fear deep in my heart. Knowing that the fear was still there, knowing that it was self-deception, I continued to deceive myself. Who else could save me? A person who abandons self-redemption and chooses self-exile is probably beyond redemption. Sometimes I truly hate myself, so much. Why can I understand yet still not repent? This is the most painful thing. It's like how people with sensitive nerves feel the pain most acutely when they are traumatized. So, it might as well just drift through life, only knowing the pleasures of mother and son. Sometimes I even think it would be better to be an animal. They have no moral constraints, no mental shackles. Who cares who is the mother and who is the son? They are all just tools for each other to release their lust. Such thoughts flash by, followed by deep self-reproach. I actually want to give up being human, to abandon all human moral standards, and to escape all human responsibility. My thoughts are so chaotic, so very chaotic. I will always be a person suffering in contradiction; this is my destiny.

Describing my blush-inducing lovemaking experiences online is like reliving those moments of ecstasy and ecstasy. Seeing others excited by my stories makes me excited too. The

thrill of having my deepest secrets heard is like having my soul pierced. In this respect, I feel like exhibitionists. They enjoy showing their bodies, and I enjoy revealing my innermost thoughts—monologues I can't share in the real world. Speaking them feels like reliving those experiences, and that pleasure is equally addictive.

I don't know what I'll be said about this time. I want to be numb, but I'm not numb. Every harsh accusation and insult pierces my heart. Perhaps you're right, but please think about what I've been through. You're dealing with a woman with a tragic fate. This isn't me wallowing in self-pity.

So, thank you.

Subconsciously, I also want to share my thoughts and experiences. There's a thrill in having your deepest secrets heard, a kind of soul-piercing pleasure. In this respect, I feel like exhibitionists. They enjoy showing their bodies to others; I enjoy revealing my innermost thoughts, those monologues that no one can tell in the real world. Speaking them feels like reliving those experiences, and that pleasure is equally addictive.

Let me first tell you about my son and me. My son is 181 cm tall and weighs 73 kg. He likes sports and is good at calligraphy and violin. I can confidently say that he is very excellent, smart, and talented; his writing is better than mine. I am 165 cm tall and weigh 58 kg. I like to sing, and both my son and I sing quite well; I'll release some recordings when I have the chance. I'm also good at the piano. The piano in my bedroom was bought with my savings years ago, and I still practice it every day.

My son is deeply influenced by me; his personality is very similar to mine. We are both kind, simple, and not very strong. My son loves sports, and I also pay attention to exercise, but it's more about purpose than enjoyment. I want to maintain my figure and health. Besides exercise, I also pay attention to skincare and follow information on beauty and health. I'm not superstitious about cosmetics; clean skin and a light touch of makeup are enough. For a woman to be beautiful, the most important thing is her inner self. I firmly believe that women of every age have their unique beauty, and I can be beautiful too. As long as my heart is kind and peaceful, beauty will radiate from within.

A young male teacher in my office said I'm elegant and resemble Zhao Yazhi. I said that while we don't look alike, my pursuit is to be as noble, elegant, and eternally youthful as her. Of course, not everyone in the workplace liked me. Once, while showering in the company bathhouse, a female teacher who was about my age—well, if I was in the same bathhouse as her, I was definitely a woman—said that my high hips were unattractive and affected how my clothes looked. She also said I had excess fat on my lower abdomen and pointed out many other flaws. I didn't know how to respond. Actually, she was far less attractive than me; she was short, plump, and had no curves, plus dull skin. I wanted to say that she didn't have excess fat on her lower abdomen and that her chest and abdomen were flat, but I immediately felt guilty because I thought that was too harsh. So I just laughed it off.

Although I'm not very confident, I have a clear understanding of myself. I'm quite satisfied with my breasts and hips. Women should have feminine curves and characteristics, but the size of breasts and hips is largely determined by genetics. Postnatal exercise can only change things within the range dictated by our genes. I'm very grateful to my mother for the body I have.

When I was in middle school, I weighed around 100 pounds, but my breasts were already quite well-developed. However, back then, nobody paid attention to it. I never saw any girl with well-developed breasts walking with her chest out. I was the same way; I felt it was fine as long as I was flat like other girls and didn't attract attention. But later, as I matured, people became more open-minded. It felt really good to see men staring at my breasts, and I still do that now. Those looks give me confidence. At my age, it's incredibly difficult to completely eliminate belly fat. Even with consistent exercise, I can't completely get rid of it, but I'm not much better off than women my age who don't exercise. Like I said, maintaining and pursuing a good figure is important, but pursuing a peaceful mindset is even more crucial.

I don't know where to begin, or how to go into detail, so I'll start with university. My first love was in university. I'll talk about some memorable things, and I won't mention the memories that have faded with time.

The era I lived in, and the family and school education I received, meant I had no concept of dating before university. In fact, it felt quite terrifying; I thought dating was immoral. If someone wrote me a letter confessing their love or showed me affection, I would definitely stay far away. But my mindset gradually changed when I got to university. There were many couples around me, and I realized I was getting older and had emotional needs. I learned that dating wasn't shameful.

My ex-husband and I met in university, and that was my first love. He was in the same major as me, and we were from the same city. There weren't many people in our major, and everyone in the classes knew each other. Men are popular in teacher's colleges, and he was quite outstanding at the time—tall, handsome, and talented. We all had good opinions of him when we chatted in our dorm. We had a lot of contact at several college events, and we dated more. Later, it just happened naturally. He never even confessed to me, and I had no experience with dating. Back then, I thought that was what dating was all about, and for a long time, I didn't dare hold hands. The first time we held hands was his initiative, and the first time we kissed was also his initiative. There was a long gap between holding hands and kissing. We had no experience with our first kiss; our lips just touched, but it was enough to excite us. I still remember that feeling vividly. Later, he learned to suck on my tongue, and the pleasure became even more intense

. It felt like my whole body was on fire, and I got wet down there. To be honest, I had never masturbated before college and had no sexual needs whatsoever. But ever since I kissed him, I had a desire for it, but I was too afraid to do it. Those were far less open-minded than they are now. I guess most people's first time was on their wedding night, and he and I were no exception. After graduating from university, I worked at the affiliated high school, while he went to another high school in the city that was almost the best. Back then, it was easy for graduates of teacher's colleges to find jobs, unlike now, although now it's difficult for any major. We got married after working for less than a year. Since our homes and jobs were in the same city, and both sets of parents were satisfied, it went quite smoothly.

Our first time was on our wedding day; it was probably past 11 pm. I was so busy and tired on my wedding day that I was completely disoriented. I just did whatever people told me to do; it seems like wedding procedures have always been so complicated. When he took off my clothes, my face burned; it was the first time I had ever been naked in front of a man. He kissed my entire body passionately, his hands caressing my genitals. His fervor ignited my own passion, and I inevitably became aroused. He thrust inside me, and I gasped, my mouth agape, too afraid to cry out… My first experience with sex was truly wonderful; I was overwhelmed with pleasure. Even now, almost twenty years later, I remember it vividly, down to every single detail, because I've relived that moment countless times in my memory.

When we first got married, we were very frequent, but gradually it decreased, and the pleasure wasn't as intense as before. Perhaps the physical pleasure remained, but the initial excitement had faded. It was only when he was away on business trips or studying for extended periods that I realized how strong my needs were. I would use my fingers to mimic his movements in my vagina, looking at his wedding photo on the wall, imagining him on top of me. Absence truly makes the heart grow fonder; when he returned, we made love passionately, and it felt much better than usual.

After having our child, we experienced the joy and sense of accomplishment of being parents. I often glance at our son and then at him, and my heart is filled with sweetness. Our child is our creation, bearing the characteristics of both of us; the feeling is magical and blissful. For the first few years, our relationship was wonderful, but marriage truly succumbs to the seven-year itch. It really started in the seventh year that he became distant, spoke less to me, and his sexual desire decreased significantly. I panicked, not knowing what I had done wrong. When I asked him, he wouldn't tell me. I tried my best to be gentle with him and diligently did housework, but nothing worked. He only grew increasingly distant, and my heart gradually cooled. I knew his heart belonged to someone else. Our marriage lasted over nine years, and he was the one who initiated the divorce. All I could do was helplessly agree. I knew I couldn't win back his heart.

I kept the child, and he gave me the house and most of his assets, leaving me with almost nothing. Less than a year after the divorce, he remarried to someone from his workplace. At the time, I couldn't understand what I was lacking, what made me inferior to him. I did everything a wife should do, treating his parents with the same filial piety as my own, and treating his brother's children as my own, giving them lucky money and buying them clothes every Chinese New Year. How could this be the result? For two years, I felt truly defeated, and my life was very dark. Later, I thought that for the sake of the child, I couldn't stay like that forever; I had to move on. I was already from a single-parent family, and if I were to become depressed, it would be too detrimental to the child's growth. Many relatives and friends introduced me to potential partners, but I wasn't interested at all at first. Later, I thought I should give my child a complete family, so I tried dating. But I didn't expect my child to react so strongly. She treated all men who came to our home as enemies. I didn't want to upset my child, and besides, I was a little afraid of marriage and didn't have much confidence, so I stopped trying. After that, no one introduced me to anyone.

I feel guilty towards my son. I haven't been a successful parent. Although I studied education, including early childhood education, in college, I couldn't bear to toughen him up. I always tried my best to provide him with a comfortable environment and prepare everything for him, never giving him any opportunity to be independent. As a result, he has very poor self-care skills and is too dependent on me. Even now that I understand this, I still can't bear to let him develop. When he first entered high school, some teachers suggested that I let him board at school, but I wasn't comfortable with that, saying that we lived so close, why spend the money on boarding? Some teachers, to save themselves trouble and to give their children more experience, let their children board at school. I'm gratified that my son is very smart, has excellent grades, and is tall and handsome.

Life is incredibly difficult for a woman raising a child alone, not just financially, but also emotionally and environmentally. When my child was young, there were things I couldn't talk to him about at home, like work-related frustrations—he wouldn't understand. Many people around me didn't understand either. I lived alone, without a man to rely on; I had to do everything myself. I carried rice and flour upstairs myself, without asking for help or hiring anyone. I didn't want more people to know I didn't have a man, not even strangers. It was physically exhausting. But my heart was filled with bitterness, and I couldn't even cry. Back then, a young man in the same building always stared at me with that kind of look. I was truly terrified, realizing what a malicious gaze meant. If I had a husband, I would feel much more at ease, but I didn't. I was always afraid he would break into my house one day, so I would always check behind me before opening the door and lock it as soon as I got inside. Looking back now, it was all a deep sense of inferiority. Later, I stopped seeing the young man; he had probably moved away. Over the years, my mindset has gradually calmed down. My son has also grown up and is tall. Having a man in the house just makes a difference.

The loneliness of the nights after the divorce was unbearable. During those days of intense sexual desire in my menstrual cycle, I longed for a man to comfort and satisfy me, but that was impossible. Only my own hands could satisfy me. The wedding photo on the wall had long been taken down. The object of my fantasies was still my ex-husband. Although I couldn't say whether I loved or resented him, I had once believed that I belonged to him for life and that I could only have sex with him. Gradually, his image faded from my mind, but regardless of who it was, the sadness and loss after masturbation remained. Especially later, when I fantasized about my son.

But the next time, I couldn't help but fantasize again; my son's image wouldn't leave me until after orgasm, when my mind went blank. After a while, I felt not only sadness but also deep self-blame. I don't want to either, but the only man I've been in contact with and can rely on for a long time is my son. In fact, we are mutually dependent. Sometimes when he lies in my arms, my heart is filled with maternal love and tenderness. Sometimes when I lie on his chest or in the crook of his arm, I feel like a little woman. Having someone to rely on gives me a very secure happiness, as if my son is my man.

The only man I've ever been in contact with is my son. Unlike other mothers and sons, we don't have any taboos. Perhaps it's because I've always treated him the way he was when he was little. Even though he's grown up now, I still worry about him and take care of him meticulously, giving him countless instructions. As a result, his self-care ability is very poor. I want to let go and let him develop, but I'm too worried and can't bear to. He can't live without me—in life, emotionally, and physically. Because mothers and sons are naturally close, especially after so much time spent alone together, he's attached to his mother, and I'm attached to my son.

At my age, I understand the道理 (principles/reasons), but I'm powerless to change. Like when I stare at my son's muscular physique and bulging lower body, I know that gazing is wrong, but I can't take my eyes off him. Thoughts are one thing, actions are another. If actions were entirely guided by thought, there would be far fewer mistakes in the world. Mistakes are often mistakes of ignorance. My son and I have lived alone for a long time, and we're physically close. We both have needs, and we both have desires for each other—that's undeniable. I think we understand ourselves and each other, but neither of us has brought it up. Even now, after what happened, we rarely discuss it verbally.

Back then, we were both cautiously probing, wanting to take things further but feeling uneasy, both hoping the other would make the first move.

I don't know when it started, but the way my son looks at me has changed. Even when I'm behind him, I can feel that gaze—focused and intense. When I turn around, I quickly look away. Actually, I know that's how I look at him too. He exercises often and has a very fit physique. That youthful energy is really attractive. Every time he walks around the house shirtless in his underwear without any inhibitions, I can't help but stare at him. His chest muscles are very attractive, but what entices me the most is his bulging lower body. Just seeing that makes my legs go weak. Maybe women have a kind of male genital worship? I even wanted to kneel down and worship it. Haha, I usually think he's useless, but at that moment I felt he was a great and imposing man.

When he was little, my son always slept next to me. He only felt safe and could fall asleep when he was touching me. Later, as he grew older and needed to study, I let him have his own room. But he still comes to my room and sleeps in my bed from time to time. He always has a lot of excuses. He says he was scared because of a dream, or because it was cold when he was hungry, or because my bed is a double bed and he won't fall off. But when he comes to my bed, he doesn't fall asleep right away. He always hugs me, just like when he was little. He has one nipple in his mouth and his hand is touching the other breast. The difference is that when he was little, he would just suckle, but now he licks it with his tongue. It really teases me. I asked him, "Son, is this reminding you of when you were little?" He was still sucking on the nipple and mumbled something. I didn't know what he was saying. I didn't know whether I wanted to hear him say yes or no. He said it would reassure me: "This behavior is nothing. It's just mother and son reliving the past."

To be honest, I wouldn't be excited or have many fantasies. I've always been a very contradictory person, conflicted in my emotions and in my decisions. Actually, at that time, I was completely aroused and really wished something could fill it, like his fingers or his... but I didn't dare. For a long time, we found satisfaction in these borderline behaviors, which were both satisfying and agonizing. Neither of us dared to cross that line. We didn't touch each other's... with our hands. Once, I was really sleepy and asked him to go back to the room, but he wouldn't listen, so I turned my back to him. He hugged me and touched my breasts, and his penis kept rubbing against my buttocks. Even through two layers of underwear, I could feel its heat. I immediately became wet, and my heart was in my throat. I really hoped he would take off my underwear and stuff it inside me, but I didn't move. After a while, he went back to his room, and I couldn't wait to masturbate. I thought my son must have masturbated in his room too, but most of the time we would touch each other and then he would sleep on my bed. I was too afraid to masturbate because I was afraid of making a sound and waking him up. He must have been afraid too.

However, when his desire was too strong, he was afraid of nothing. Once, I woke up after a nap and found my son's penis above my face. He was masturbating. I almost screamed when I opened my eyes, but I held it in because I was afraid it would be embarrassing. There were no lights on, so it was quite dark and he didn't see me open my eyes. He continued to rub his penis, which was not far from my face. I wondered what would happen if he ejaculated. What if he ejaculated on my face? Should I keep pretending to be asleep with my eyes closed? His movements became faster and faster. Fortunately, he caught it with his left hand when he ejaculated. After going to the bathroom, he went back to his room. I lay in the same position as before, masturbating while reminiscing.

When I couldn't hold back, I hugged his head tightly and pressed it against my breasts. The squeezing sensation brought me pleasure, but after a while, he broke free and gasped for breath because his mouth and nose were covered and he was suffocating. I really wanted to put my hand down there to relieve the itch, but I didn't dare. Besides, our bodies were pressed together and there was no space. I couldn't hold back any longer and reached my hand in from behind. I couldn't reach all the way in from behind. The power of lust is truly terrifying. My left hand even pretended to slip from my son's chest to his penis unintentionally. I hadn't touched his penis with my hand for more than ten years. I was so excited that I tried my best to control my excitement. My right hand moved gently inside his vagina, while my left hand just rested on his penis without moving, and he didn't move either.

I didn't dare move my arms for fear of making too much noise and alerting my son. I could only bend and straighten my fingers, and I tried to keep my body as still as possible. I still remember that feeling of pleasure that was both suppressed and exciting. With one hand touching my son's penis and the other inside my vagina, it felt like my two hands could merge into one, and I imagined my fingers were my son's penis. Before it happened, of course, I felt a longing but lacked the courage. At that time, I didn't even dare to hope that I could have sex with my son, but I realized that if we both longed for it so much, we would have sex sooner or later. Actually, a very simple action can lead to a qualitative breakthrough, but that one action was heavy and difficult. I don't know how many times I was on the verge of desire. My whole body, especially my vagina, was unbearably itchy. Being in that state without being completely satisfied was torture. I really wanted to spread my legs and wrap them around him so that he could penetrate me all the way in and stop me from being so itchy. But I didn't dare, and I endured it again and again.

There was one very close incident. I woke up in the middle of the night, and he was lying next to me, also awake. I reached out and touched him; he felt a little warm, even though he wasn't. Everyone's body temperature is different, and as long as it's within a certain range, it's fine. I don't know if I was possessed or what, but I said to him, "Can Mom touch your 'down there' to see if it's hot?" He seemed to be just waking up and mumbled an "Mmm" in his sleep. I felt like I'd received a royal decree; my heart started racing, and I reached my hand inside him... I touched his testicles, oh my god, they felt so good. The two balls were wrapped in soft skin, and they were even flowing when I squeezed them. I really didn't want to take my hand back, but I couldn't keep touching them. So I said that it was okay, it wasn't hot, and slowly pulled my hand back. When I touched his penis, I shuddered. It was normal just now, but now it was so hard, so big and so long. I couldn't help but grab it with my hand. It stimulated my hand, making me linger and not want to let go.

My son groaned. I knew that not only I felt pleasure, but he did too. I hoped that holding his hand like this would continue, and I was sure he felt the same way. If I massaged him further, he would feel even more pleasure. But even though we both wanted this, I pulled my hand back. The action I had just taken was already too much, and I dared not take any further steps. I still carefully maintained that last bit of distance, preserving our last pure mother-son relationship. After pulling my hand back, my heart couldn't calm down. I savored the dreamlike moment, savoring the comfortable feeling. I clenched my fist, but my empty hand held nothing.

I knew that day would eventually come, but I didn't expect it to be me who initiated it. But thinking about it, it makes sense; my son is always shy and never as proactive as I am. That night, I wasn't wearing anything, I slept naked after showering. A short while later, my son came into my room and, before I could react, crawled into bed with me. Afraid he'd find me naked and without underwear, I faced him and stuck my butt out. He still touched and kissed my breasts like that. Maybe it was because I was in my menstrual cycle, but my reaction was... It was so intense, my hand involuntarily went to his genitals again, and my other hand went into his vagina from the front this time. He was lying on his back at first, then suddenly grabbed my hand and started rubbing his penis. Then he pulled down his underwear a little so my hand could directly touch his penis. I was so excited! I didn't care if I was being too rough. I used both hands to vigorously masturbate both myself and my son. He must have been feeling really good, moaning softly. I really don't know how I felt at that moment... Where did I get the courage? I pushed my luck. I had dreamed of doing this before, but at the time I felt it still wasn't enough. So I got up and straddled him, pointing his penis at my opening. I sat down and went all the way in. Because there was so much fluid and my opening was wide open, the pleasure was so intense that I collapsed onto my son. He cried out and his body jerked. I sat up again and moved up and down, but after a few movements, my body went limp and I involuntarily collapsed back down. Perhaps my son wasn't satisfied with my speed, so he rolled over, pinned me beneath him, and began moving rapidly. That must have been his first time; he ejaculated very quickly, I could feel the intense heat, but he didn't go soft or pull out, continuing to move inside me. God, I was going crazy. Words are so inadequate to describe that overwhelming pleasure. The second time, he lasted much longer, only ejaculating after I had climaxed, and then he lay there and quickly fell asleep.

I feel that the light of daytime is a constraint, is it the gaze of the world? We rarely touch each other's bodies during the day, but when darkness falls at night, it's as if we don't belong to this world anymore, no one can restrain us, and our behavior truly descends into unbridled madness. As for what will happen in the future, I really don't want to think about it.

The hardest part was the first time. Once you got past that hurdle, it wasn't so difficult anymore. My son and I did it very frequently, just like when I first got married. Our sexual desire made us seem so greedy when we were together. I greedily took my son's penis in my mouth; it seemed like a reward for him. He looked up at me, as if he hadn't expected me to be so proactive in doing that for him. He made a very loud, pleasurable sound. I think the psychological pleasure probably stimulated him more. Watching his reaction and seeing him so excited made me feel happy too. Normally we don't cook during the day, but there are exceptions. One time he didn't have evening self-study. After all, the second year of high school isn't as stressful as the third year I teach. That time, I was proctoring the monthly exam for the class I taught. The exam was at 6 PM, and around 5 PM, my son called me saying he was hungry and wanted me to come home and cook for him. I told him to cook some instant noodles first and I'd make more when I got home that evening, but he insisted on eating noodles. I couldn't persuade him otherwise, and thinking that we lived nearby, I figured I could cook later and make more later. So I rushed home and started cooking. Just as I put the cutting board on the table, my son hugged me tightly from behind. I told him to stop fooling around for a bit. Even though we were running late, he wouldn't let up. I was wearing the school-issued work uniform skirt, and he lifted it up and started touching me inside. I guess I'm just a sensitive person; I go weak and have no resistance when touched. Even when a stranger I don't like touches me, I feel the same way. He took off my inner clothes and rubbed my genitals with his hard penis. I immediately got wet there, and then he slowly inserted his penis. Suddenly, I remembered that if we were late, several classes of students wouldn't be able to take the exam, and I still had the papers. So I got up and said, "No, don't do it." Then my son grabbed me and penetrated me again. I had no choice but to call my class representative and ask him to come to my office to get the test paper. This basically meant the questions had been leaked, but there was nothing I could do. My son wouldn't leave me, and he wouldn't take his penis out. He insisted on coming with me to the living room to get my phone. While I was explaining to the student, my son was still moving vigorously behind me. I was afraid that the noise would be too loud and could be heard on the phone, and I was also afraid that I wouldn't be able to stand it and would make a sound. But he was holding my waist with both hands, and I couldn't push him away, so I had to use my hands to block behind my buttocks.

After I explained everything, I quickly hung up the phone and told him to hurry up and go to the bedroom. He refused and insisted on going to the kitchen. I was forced to walk with my back bent. As soon as I put my hand on the counter, he sped up, and my body slowly sank down until my upper body was on the counter, my legs were so weak I was about to kneel. My son hugged my waist and lifted me up, slamming into me hard. That time it lasted a long time. After he finished, he told me that he didn't want to eat noodles anymore and he could cook instant noodles himself. He told me to hurry up and go to work. I was both angry and loving. When I got to the classroom, the students who were answering questions with their heads down all looked up at me. I was startled and felt like they knew what I had just done. But after calming down and thinking about it, I realized that was impossible.

Writing these words and recalling those things gives me a sense of exciting satisfaction, and I'm wet down there again.

Actually, our relationship is just special; the way we do things isn't anything special, it's just like that, as everyone knows. What impressed me most was what was different from usual, like during the day.

It was a Sunday afternoon, and my son was watching TV on the sofa in the living room. I was doing housework but for some reason suddenly felt very aroused. However, he was staring intently at the TV and completely ignored me. I felt that it would be inappropriate and unromantic to directly ask for it, so I took the mop and started mopping the floor. In the living room, he lingered between the mop and the TV. Although the floor was already very shiny and clean, the house was very hot. The heating company provided ample warmth, and we were all wearing very little. I was wearing tight shorts and a loose, short shirt, and I deliberately swayed my head towards him, thinking his gaze would shift from the TV to me. Sure enough, when I turned around, he got up and hugged me from behind, reaching inside my clothes to grasp my breasts. Even though only my breasts were being grasped, I felt a warm sensation, as if my entire body was enveloped. I felt his movements weren't enough, so I pressed my breasts against his hands and rubbed them. He immediately rubbed them faster. As he grasped and rubbed, his fingers also pinched my nipples. I felt hot and excited all over, and involuntarily twisted my hips to rub against his hard penis. Our breathing became rapid. He practically dragged me into my bedroom. Because we were wearing very little, he quickly stripped us naked. Then he made me lie face down on the bed with my butt sticking up, which was my favorite position.

My favorite position, which is also the most common one, is with me lying on my back and him on top of me. I think this position has many advantages. It allows me to clearly feel that my son belongs to me at that moment. We can make eye contact, and I can see his expression clearly. Moreover, when I feel excited to the point of helplessness, I can hold onto his body to seek a sense of belonging and security. However, my ex-husband and my current son don't really like this position. My son likes me to lie on my stomach with him behind me, grabbing my hips or breasts and moving around. He says he likes the visual impact my buttocks give him, and that when my breasts are sagging, he can fill his hand with them.

My son is an introverted but humorous person, but I can't stand his humor at those times. Once, I did as he asked and stuck my butt out. He looked from behind and said, "Mom, your butt is sticking out so high it's practically reaching the clouds." This made me laugh so hard I was shaking. Even a withered flower branch can tremble. I felt like I had lost all my senses and my desire had decreased a lot. But then he suddenly thrust in all the way in. I immediately stopped laughing, and the trembling of my body turned into a different kind of trembling, a trembling stimulated by a sudden and intense pleasure. Our preferred method is for me to kiss his penis. I like to suddenly take it all into my mouth and suck on it while it's still soft, then feel it grow bigger in my mouth, until it's pressed tightly against my throat, only able to take in half. Although it gets very hard, the head still feels very tender and has a great texture. My usual method is to lick all over it first, then hold the head in my mouth and move my tongue around it. I can only take in half at most, but my son always holds my head and tries to push it in deeply. At this time, I easily gag and cough. At first, I didn't swallow my saliva, so after a while my mouth would be full of saliva and a little of his secretions. I would spit it out and continue kissing. Later, I started to swallow, but I still don't eat his semen.

My son really enjoys oral sex. He always looks down at me, moaning incessantly, seemingly finding it more satisfying than intercourse.

We also like to call each other "Mom" and "Son" when we're about to climax. It excites us, probably because calling each other that reinforces our mother-son relationship and intensifies the incestuous feeling, even though we've never used the word "incest."

That's a bit of a tangent. Let's get back to that Sunday afternoon. After he penetrated me, he started to thrust slowly. I initially supported myself on the bed with both hands, but my wrists got sore, so I leaned my shoulders against the bed, grabbed the pillow, and buried my head in it. The pleasure made me make sounds, but I didn't dare to make a loud noise, so I had to suppress them. Suddenly, the fullness in my vagina disappeared, and it felt empty. I looked up and saw that my son had gone to the living room. He turned the TV volume up really loud, and then came back and continued thrusting inside me. I understood what he meant. I could make my voices freely now. I felt like I had never screamed so loudly or so unrestrainedly before, even a little exaggeratedly. His speed increased and his movements became rougher, which drove me somewhat mad. This intense pleasure also made women easily tired, and my cries became hoarse and desperate. I couldn't take it so hard and reached orgasm. I couldn't maintain that position anymore, and my body sank downwards. I had told my son that if I continued thrusting after orgasm, my pleasure would diminish or even become very uncomfortable, so he stopped. He flipped my limp body over and straddled my abdomen to masturbate, rubbing my breasts with his left hand.

After a while, he sat on my chest again. I watched as his hand gripped his penis and moved it back and forth rapidly. He would occasionally thrust forward, bringing his penis to my lips and rubbing it against them. I stuck out my tongue, and he used his hand to move his penis around to tease my tongue. He even put the head of his penis into my mouth and stroked the back part. Then he would take it out, repeating this process. Gradually, his hands moved faster and faster, and his breathing became more and more rapid. I knew he was about to ejaculate, so I turned my head to one side. I seemed afraid of the violent ejaculation, but he turned my head back and then kneaded my face. He was now sitting on my shoulders and neck, and my arms were pinned under his legs, unable to move. Finally, after a long and deep groan, he ejaculated all his semen onto my face and lips. I kept my mouth tightly closed to avoid getting it in.

It was so hot that it felt like it could burn my face, but it cooled down very quickly. Actually, I didn't want my son to ejaculate on my face. It made me feel humiliated, like he didn't care about my dignity. But when I saw him quickly get off me, carefully wiping the semen off my face and lips with a tissue, and looking at me with a fearful expression as if I had done something wrong, I felt relieved. He still cared about my feelings; he was just unable to control himself due to his lust at the time.

I once told myself that I was willing to give everything for my son, including my life and dignity. What does that matter? My only fear is that my son won't love me or care about me. I don't want him to have a girlfriend either. He's very outstanding and has no shortage of girls around him at school. I know I can't keep him like this for too long. He'll eventually have to settle down and leave me. The thought of him no longer belonging to me and making love with other women fills me with sadness. I can only cherish what I have while I can. I asked his homeroom teacher if he had a girlfriend. When I heard he didn't, I was relieved and told him the teacher to keep a close eye on him and prevent him from dating too early. Who knows my selfish motives? I'm really selfish, but I truly love my son so much. I would do anything as long as I hear him say he loves me.

A few days ago, he had a fever. Fever reducers and anti-inflammatory drugs didn't work. I skipped evening self-study to take him to the hospital. My son said he could go by himself; the hospital wasn't far. But I thought it would be so boring for him to lie there alone while getting an IV drip, and besides, I was worried about him. I couldn't not go. The small hospital near our house had few doctors at night, and their efficiency was really low. We had already bought the medicine, and we were still waiting on the hospital bed. Seeing my son with his head down, silent from the fever, broke my heart. I really wanted to yell at the doctors, but we couldn't even find anyone. It was awful, but finally someone came and gave him the injection. My son has been terrified of needles since he was little. I've always been by his side whenever he gets a shot, and I can never bear to watch the needle go in. After the injection, he said his stomach felt very uncomfortable, so I quickly went to ask the doctor. The doctor said the medicine was very irritating to the stomach and that eating something would help. I wanted to go out to buy something, but my son wouldn't let me go and wanted me to stay with him. He's always so well-behaved and childlike when he's sick, like when he was a baby, and he's very attached to me. I told him I'd be back soon, and only then did he let me go.

I bought him drinks and orange cookies, all his favorites. Back in the ward, I washed my hands and peeled an orange to feed him. The orange peel was very hard, and my nails hurt, but seeing my son's satisfied expression made me happy. After he finished eating, I talked to him, and he smiled a little. But I kept touching his forehead, and his fever still hadn't gone down. After a while, he got sleepy, so I held his hand and sat down next to him. The IV drip was very slow, and it didn't finish until after nine o'clock. When we got home, he got into bed and started sweating. He wanted to lift the covers, but I quickly stopped him. Although it was hot in the room, we still had to listen to the doctor and keep him warm. He obediently stayed still, and I kept wiping away the sweat from his head and face. He said he wanted water, so I fed him spoonful by spoonful. After a while, he said he wanted rice porridge, his stomach seemed both hungry and full, so I made him some porridge, cooled it down to lukewarm, and fed it to him slowly. He kept making various requests, I thought maybe he was just too hot and irritable, and this was to relieve his restlessness. Finally, he calmed down, looked at me intently, his eyes shining, and said something that moved me deeply: "Mom, I love you." Hearing this, I immediately burst into tears. He had never said he loved me before; this was the first time. Whether it was the love between mother and son or the love between lovers, as long as he said he loved me, that was enough.

I didn't sleep well all night, constantly checking to see if his fever had gone down, until his temperature returned to normal the next morning.

When he woke up in the morning, I was looking into his eyes. He looked at me, blinked, and said, "Mom, I'm all better," and then kissed me... That day, which had filled me with anxiety, also brought me immense happiness.

I recalled an unpleasant experience before that. That time, my son hadn't finished evening study and was waiting for me at my office to go home together. A young male teacher, who usually liked to joke with me, made an inappropriate joke, saying I looked like Ya-zhi, and that I looked like I was under 30. The implication was that he wanted to marry me and become my son's stepfather. I retorted, "Then show me the divorce papers you wrote to your wife before I'll be with you!" As soon as I said that, I regretted it. My son's face darkened. He didn't say anything, but I knew he was unhappy with both the teacher's joke and my words.

Sure enough, he was silent the whole way home, and even after we got home, he remained silent. When I asked him anything, he basically just brushed me off with simple phrases like "okay," "it's okay," or "no need." I was terrified, afraid that my son would never speak to me again. I knew his anger would eventually subside, but the fear at that moment was impossible to stop or hide. I ran to him and asked what he wanted to eat for dinner. He coldly replied that anything was fine. Disappointed, I went to the kitchen to cook his favorite dishes. He stood on the balcony next to the kitchen, looking out, seemingly lost in thought. I tried to make conversation, and at first he would answer with a word or two, but then he fell silent. I didn't dare ask anymore, and tears welled up in my eyes. I went behind him and hugged him tightly, terrified that he would stop loving me and leave me. His cold attitude was causing me so much pain. I know it's my fault for being angry today, not his. But if he doesn't love me, I'll lose all hope in life. He struggled a couple of times and then stopped. I kissed his back, turned to face him, and kissed his chest. Then I slowly kissed my way down, kissing his genitals through his underwear. I was afraid he would push me away, so I was very careful. When he didn't react, I gently pulled down his underwear and took his penis inside. It always gets bigger quickly, but this time it got bigger very slowly. Maybe it's because my son is really angry and has no emotions. I kissed and sucked his penis with all my might to please him. I even felt that I looked very lewd. Suddenly, he grabbed my head and started moving back and forth. He responded, which made me very happy. He thrust in very deep, and I tried my best to hold back my cough.

He pulled me up, made me bend over with my hands on the balcony windowsill, lifted my skirt—I remember the long cotton skirt I was wearing that day—and then pulled down my underwear and thrust inside me. I kissed his penis, which aroused me, and I became aroused, so it went in smoothly. My legs immediately went weak. He lifted my skirt very high, reached out and grabbed my breasts, kneading them. The people across the street could see us. So I told my son I was going to the bedroom and to put on a condom because it wasn't my safe period these past few days. He didn't speak, just kept moving forcefully. I said again, "Turn off the kitchen light," but he still didn't answer, only thrusting even more violently. His hands tightened, making me feel very uncomfortable. My moans turned from pleasure into pain. I said, "Son, be gentle, it hurts," but he ignored me. He pinched my nipples with his fingers and grabbed my breasts with his palms, kneading them vigorously. Unlike the buttocks, which don't hurt much when rubbed or even slapped, breasts are very delicate and can't withstand too much force. So I kept saying, "Son..." "Go easy, son," she pleaded, her body silently enduring the pain. Her son was venting his frustration on her body. He'd never been so rough before. He straightened up, grabbed her hips, and thrust even more violently, calling out "Mommy" repeatedly. Hearing this, she felt relieved, thinking he had forgiven her. She endured the pain and responded as gently as possible, "Son, son." Finally, he thrust hard and ejaculated inside her. She didn't care anymore; she'd take the birth control pill. Her son mixed his frustration with his semen. It all came out inside me. He climbed on top of me and hugged me. Even though my legs were weak and limp, I still tried my best to stand up...

I've posted this monologue before on similar forums. I don't understand why I feel such a strong urge to vent, making me keep posting these things. Am I mentally unstable? Why do I have to publicize something shameful? Maybe I'm just too repressed by reality, so I want to shout it out in a place where no one knows me. Those things have already been done and cannot be undone. I know I am deliberately numbing and forgetting. I dare not think about it and can only comfort myself with escape, numbness and forgetting. Posting what I have written is a kind of catharsis, a kind of consolation and memorial, to commemorate the pure mother-son relationship that we can never return to. All those causes and consequences, all those past lives and present lives—was that my initial intention? Would a woman with a complete and happy life do that? The path is indeed one I walk myself, even if it's a winding one. But from which step did it begin to turn? A path of no return is also a series of wrong turns, perhaps it was wrong from the start, but I was still powerless. This isn't an excuse for my actions; it's the inherent nature of my son and me. We both have flaws in our personalities, a severe interdependence, and a desire to possess each other to the greatest extent possible.

Initially, I certainly wanted to find another man. Many people introduced me to men, but no matter who it was, no matter how hard they tried to gain my son's approval, he never accepted them. His refusal meant I couldn't accept them either. So later, I resolved to remain single for ten years. How many decades in a lifetime do I have to endure loneliness? From then on, my son and I relied on each other for survival, both physically and emotionally. Personality determines destiny; perhaps this was our fate.

I endured countless accusations. Some people said they could understand my actions, but in reality, no one could. Who has experienced the loneliness of over ten years, both emotionally and physically? Who has felt the torment of desire and morality when having physical intimacy with their beloved son? Who has imagined the immense psychological pressure they carried afterward? Did I really think it was like in novels, where mother and son indulged in unrestrained sexual relations? Can guilt still breed pleasure? Guilt is always there. No matter how intense the pleasure of breaking taboos, it cannot mask the guilt. The world is fair and balanced, isn't it? While bringing us physical pleasure, it also burdens our minds with shackles. Even if the relationship ends, I may never be able to shake it off. Isn't that cruel? But even if it is cruel, it's still a balance, and I can't blame anyone else.

I remember first posting these words on a now-closed forum called xx (ps: due to forum rules, cross here) Entertainment Forum. My username then was "From Confusion to Fate," but I am confused rather than confused, accepting fate. Many unexpected incidents occurred during this time, which I won't go into detail about here.

At the time, all I heard was support, saying I was a great mother worthy of respect. I was very confused. Is it really that easy for such a thing to gain public approval? Is society really that accepting of incest between mother and son? And even if it were, it wouldn't be considered noble or respectable. Later I understood: the people browsing those forums were people who harbored a deep longing for their mothers and had a strong Oedipus complex, but couldn't realize it in reality. My outrageous behavior satisfied their fantasies, so naturally they supported me. At the time, I was truly numb, ignoring rational advice and being drowned out by the overwhelming voices of support.

I've said before that I'm a conflicted person, always conflicted, always hesitant and indecisive. As for the principles of being a good person, how could I not understand them at my age? But does simply understanding them guarantee I won't make mistakes? If so, there would be no such thing as knowingly committing a wrong. There are things I know are wrong, but my willpower can't resist temptation, so I still do them. After tasting the sweetness of temptation, I also bear the pain of a heavy sense of guilt. But my weak will and supreme pleasure make it impossible for me to stop. I can't give up, so I can only escape. I dare not reflect on myself. Whenever I think about this, I immediately force myself to think about other things to distract myself.

I hid behind the internet, pouring my emotions into words, trying to comfort myself with the encouragement of others. Little did I know that the souls of those who encouraged me actually needed saving, just like mine. I ignored and deliberately disregarded the advice that was truly helpful to me, thinking that ignoring it would bury the fear deep in my heart. Knowing that the fear was still there, knowing that it was self-deception, I continued to deceive myself. Who else could save me? A person who abandons self-redemption and chooses self-exile is probably beyond redemption. Sometimes I truly hate myself, so much. Why can I understand yet still not repent? This is the most painful thing. It's like how people with sensitive nerves feel the pain most acutely when they are traumatized. So, it might as well just drift through life, only knowing the pleasures of mother and son. Sometimes I even think it would be better to be an animal. They have no moral constraints, no mental shackles. Who cares who is the mother and who is the son? They are all just tools for each other to release their lust. Such thoughts flash by, followed by deep self-reproach. I actually want to give up being human, to abandon all human moral standards, and to escape all human responsibility. My thoughts are so chaotic, so very chaotic. I will always be a person suffering in contradiction; this is my destiny.

Describing my blush-inducing lovemaking experiences online is like reliving those moments of ecstasy and ecstasy. Seeing others excited by my stories makes me excited too. The

thrill of having my deepest secrets heard is like having my soul pierced. In this respect, I feel like exhibitionists. They enjoy showing their bodies, and I enjoy revealing my innermost thoughts—monologues I can't share in the real world. Speaking them feels like reliving those experiences, and that pleasure is equally addictive.

I don't know what I'll be said about this time. I want to be numb, but I'm not numb. Every harsh accusation and insult pierces my heart. Maybe you're right, but please think about what I've been through. You're dealing with a woman with a tragic fate. This isn't me wallowing in self-pity.

So, thank you.

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