Chapter 112: You are me (02)

Mom looked at me, opened her mouth, turned her head and said: That's right.

I could hear that my mother was comforting me, and she was feeling a little depressed. I thought of the elegant middle-aged man I had made on my back. A feeling of lack of security came. At the same time, I recalled the ideological struggle I had done next to the artificial lake in the school, and I couldn't help but call softly: Mom~

My mother turned her head and looked at me. I leaned sideways towards her shoulders, greedily sucked her body fragrance and said: Mom, it actually hurts when you hit me, especially when I really made a mistake.

As I said that, my right hand walked around my mother's abdomen and hugged her. My mother stretched out one hand and gently grabbed my wrist and replied in a low voice: You won't change it when you hit you, what's the use?

If I correct all my mistakes and you stop hitting me, I may not be used to them.

Mom turned her head and looked out the window. After a long time, she looked back and said meaningfully: That day is when you really grow up.

I hope I will never grow up and be a mother's child... I silently make this wish in my heart, even if it cannot be realized.

My mother may have been pressed by me and felt uncomfortable. She twisted her butt and moved her body to the other side. I lay in her arms. Seeing this, my mother reached out to push my head, but couldn't push me at all. The force on her hands slowly decreased, and finally inserted her fingers into my hair and gently rubbed it, just like when I was a child, she stroked my head and told me fairy tales.

However, when I was a child, I did not cherish the tenderness of maternal love, and now I am the same.

After stroking my head for a while, my mother sighed and said: Get up, I'm going to bed.

My head was buried in my mother's abdomen, feeling the warmth and confusing body fragrance it brought to me, and asked in a muffled voice: Mom, can I sleep next to you?

This problem is quite normal when I was a child or when I was a simple mother-son relationship with my mother, but at the moment, whether I want to sleep next to my mother or want to sleep with my mother, it is so ambiguous, even a naked declaration.

Unexpectedly, my mother lifted me out of her arms without any mercy, rubbed her thighs and glared at me, leaving one behind. Get out!He strode back to the bedroom without looking back, leaving only a faint fragrance in the air.

Of course I can't get out of here after listening to my mother, but I can't be too impatient. During this period when I don't know how my mother views the relationship between me and her, it's difficult for me to grasp this degree. I vaguely noticed that my mother was a little unusual recently, but I can't say what it is.

After sitting for a while, I went to the bathroom to take a shower, changed into clean pajamas, and when I passed by my mother's bedroom door, I stood there for a while, and then tentatively turned the door handle. Surprisingly, my mother didn't lock the door.

The room was pitch black, and the mother lying on the side of the bed could be seen vaguely. She didn't respond, maybe she was asleep.

Standing at the door, I felt a sense of stimulation of peeping. Looking at the amplitude formed by the quilt covering my mother's delicate body, my heart was beating fast. I really wanted to sneak into my mother's quilt and touch the smooth skin that made me intoxicated. But after thinking about it, I almost couldn't control myself and rushed in and took a slap.

A large part of the reason why I hesitated was because of my confusion about the future. As time went by, I began to gradually realize that incest is a path of no return. If this continues, it is very likely that my mother and even myself will push her into an abyss that I cannot turn over... Maybe this is just my psychological comfort, implying that I will still think about my mother.

I took a step back and pulled the door handle to slowly close it. When I was about to close the door, I thought of another thing: Mom knew that I would not be at peace when I came home, but she still didn't lock the door!

Does this mean that my mother resists this emotion on the surface, but in fact she still accepts it passively in her heart, otherwise... Otherwise... why didn't she lock the door?

right!That must be true!I began to say to myself in my heart: Mom, she can't let go of this face, so she didn't lock the door, so she hints that I can...climb onto her bed.

After such psychological hints, the previous guilt is gone, even if the truth may be just that my mother has forgotten about it.

I pushed the door open again, closed it gently, and tiptoed to my mother's bed. My mother lies on her back to me and sleeps, breathing smoothly, and she doesn't find that her boudoir has been lost.

I was not so stupid that I woke up my mother, pinched the corner of the quilt and lifted it up, and tried not to make any noise and slippers got into the quilt full of fragrance.

Looking at the white neck under my mother's hair, I couldn't help but lean forward and gently pressed it on. A few hairs penetrated into my nostrils. The itchy feeling mixed with the fragrance of shampoo made my desire and love burst out. But I knew that it was not the time yet. At least I couldn't get her while my mother was asleep. At most, I would take advantage of it.

Mom, have you slept?I asked in a low voice, but my mother did not answer, and her breathing was as steady as before. Seeing this, my courage gradually grew. She covered her palms on her shoulders, exploring downwards as she breathed.

Five fingers followed my mother's arm to her waist. My mother's body suddenly shivered very slightly. I was frightened and stopped. I carefully observed my mother's reaction and her breathing, and judged that she should still be in a sleep state. So I returned to her slender waist again.

My mother's waist usually looks quite plump and feels even weak and boneless. She is neither thin nor fat, and can hold it with one hand.

After stroking my mother's waist for a while, I wanted to explore other places, but due to the position, my hands could only reach her hips.

I half supported my body and looked down to observe how my mother looked when she fell asleep. She lay on the side of the soft collapse, her black hair dispersed like a cloud, her eyes were quietly closed, her eyebrows were not as severe as usual, and the shadows covered under her slightly jumping eyelashes were filled with a faint sadness.

Perhaps only in my sleep can my mother’s sorrow be revealed.