Chapter 2, after locking the door, he gripped his bulging, enormous penis, thinking of his mother's body, and ejaculated all over his hand.
Lin Mo sat on the sofa for about five more minutes.
In those five minutes, he tried every method he could think of to soften himself—reciting the periodic table from memory.
The table (hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium, boron, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, fluorine, neon… When I got to sodium, a picture suddenly flashed through my mind of his mother’s skirt bulging when she bent over.)
(Tight arc, all previous efforts wasted), mentally trying to solve advanced calculus problems (completely unable to solve them), imagining disgusting scenes.
(The cafeteria lady’s face, the frog’s internal organs in the anatomy class, the smell of Zhao Yong’s shoes after playing basketball).
None of it worked.
That thing was as hard as poured concrete, standing motionless in his crotch, the glans throbbing rhythmically.
His pulse was throbbing, and with each beat, a little prostatic fluid seeped out; his underwear was already soaked as if he had just been pulled out of a washing machine.
It came out.
In the kitchen, Gu Xueqing was slicing cucumbers, the rhythmic thud of the knife hitting the cutting board echoing through the air. She then…
They started talking.
”Xiao Mo, what do you want for breakfast tomorrow? I saw there are still eggs and bacon in the fridge, I’ll make you an Americano.”
breakfast?”
”Either is fine,” he said in a muffled voice.
”What does ‘anything is fine’ mean? You always say ‘anything is fine,’ but I’m not a mind reader.”
”Then… a sandwich it is.”
”What should I have with the sandwich? Hot milk or soy milk?”
”milk.”
”Okay. Oh, by the way, your dad said you should schedule your driving test (Part 2) this week, before the final sprint of senior year begins.”
”Get your driver’s license as soon as possible.”
”knew.”
”Don’t just say ‘I know,’ you failed your driving test the last time, so practice hard this time and don’t—”
”Mom,” Lin Mo interrupted her.
”Um?”
”I’m going upstairs to do my homework for a while.”
”Didn’t you say you finished writing it?”
”I still have one English test paper left to do,” he lied, trying to keep his voice steady. “Dinner’s ready.”
Call me.
”Okay, go ahead.” Gu Xueqing’s voice drifted from the kitchen, gentle and soft. “Don’t close the door, I…”
I’ll bring you a glass of water in a bit.
”No need, I’ll pour it myself. You go about your business.”
He can’t let her come up. Absolutely not.
Lin Mo took a deep breath, pressed the cushion tightly against his body, and stood up, bending over. His posture was awkward—
—Leaning forward, hands pressing a cushion between the lower abdomen and thighs, as if hugging a lifebuoy. If Gu
If Xueqing were to peek out from the kitchen at this moment, she would definitely find his walking posture extremely strange.
But she didn’t. She was washing cucumbers at the sink with her back to the living room.
Lin Mo strode through the living room, reached the top of the stairs, and stepped onto the first step. The thing in his crotch…
With each step, west swayed from side to side, the hard shaft slapping against his inner thighs, each slap making him…
He gasped. He quickened his pace, almost taking two steps at a time, as he rushed up to the second floor.
His room was at the end of the corridor. A One Piece poster he’d bought in middle school was pasted on the door; Luffy was grinning.
He smiled, raised his fist, and looked sunny and passionate. Lin Mo squeezed through the door from beside the poster and closed it behind him—
Click.
The sound of the door lock clicking shut was particularly crisp in the quiet corridor.
He threw the cushion on the floor, leaned against the door, and finally didn’t have to maintain that awkward posture anymore. He lowered his head…
He glanced at his crotch—his athletic shorts had created an exaggerated, almost comical, tent-like bulge, dark gray…
The colored fabric, stretched to its highest point, changed color, turning a light gray, while the front section, damp with prostatic fluid, remained dark.
The colored water stains have spread to the size of a coin.
He closed his eyes, pressed the back of his head against the door, and let out a low, guttural sound, somewhere between a sigh and a groan.
The sound.
”Damn it,” he muttered under his breath.
Then he opened his eyes and walked to his desk.
His room wasn’t large, about fifteen square meters, and it was simply furnished—a 1.5-meter single bed was placed against the wall.
There was a lamp and an alarm clock on the bedside table; a desk piled with textbooks and test papers;
A wardrobe; a bookshelf. Besides the One Piece poster by the door, there’s also a picture of Bincheng University’s campus on the wall.
The photo—that was taken by his mother at school last year, saying it was to motivate him to get into Binzhou University.
The curtains were dark blue blackout curtains, and he went over and pulled them shut tightly. The 3:30 pm sunlight was blocked.
Outside the window, the room suddenly darkened, leaving only a small circle of warm yellow light cast by the desk lamp.
He stood in the center of the room and hesitated for about three seconds.
In those three seconds, an extremely brief but extremely intense debate took place in his mind—
”You can’t do that,” said the rational voice, cold and hard, like a judge reading a verdict. “You must face…”
”You’re masturbating to your mother’s image? Do you know what that’s called? That’s called perversion. That’s called being an animal. Are you even human?”
”I was just masturbating,” another voice replied, deep, hoarse, and impatient.
Frustrated, “It’s not like I really did anything to her. I was just in my room, taking care of myself with my own hands.”
My physiological problems. I want to know what my freedom is.
”You’re thinking about your mother.”
”…”
”You’re thinking about the exposed thighs of your own mother when she bends over. You’re thinking about the breasts peeking out from under your mother’s shirt collar.”
”You’re thinking about your mom’s ass under that pencil skirt. You’re fucking thinking about your mom.”
”I know.”
”You know you still—”
”I can’t control myself.”
The debate is over.
It wasn’t reason that won, nor was it desire. It was that rock-hard penis that made the decision for him—
It hurts. Not just any ordinary pain, but the kind of pain caused by excessive congestion, swelling to its physical limit, with blood vessels and corpora cavernosa all bulging.
A throbbing, alarming pain. If he doesn’t release it, this pain can last for hours and get progressively worse.
It was so severe that it affected his ability to walk and think normally.
He had tried to tough it out before. Once, during his second year of high school, he saw his mother coming to a parent-teacher conference in the school corridor.
She wore a black pencil skirt and a white shirt, her hair styled in an elegant updo, and wore seven-centimeter stilettos.
She walked down the corridor in high heels. All the boys in the grade were stealing glances at her; a few of the bolder ones even blew on their lips.
Whistle. He was so hard his pants were about to burst, but he didn’t go to the toilet—he felt uncomfortable facing the toilet at school.
Masturbating to images of one’s own mother is a very taboo thing. As a result, he remained erect for four entire classes that afternoon, and returned home…
When I got home, my underwear was soaked with prostatic fluid so much that I could wring it out. That night, I masturbated three times in my room.
Only then did it completely soften.
From then on, he learned one thing: it’s pointless to fight against your own body.
He walked to the bedside and sat down.
The mattress sagged slightly under his weight, the springs making a soft creak. He slipped his hand inside the waistband of his athletic shorts.
He pulled down the belt—his shorts and underwear were dragged down to his knees.
That thing popped out.
Like a bent tree branch suddenly released, it broke free from the constraints of the fabric in an almost violent way.
She broke free and slapped him hard on the lower abdomen, making a dull thud of flesh hitting flesh.
Lin Mo looked down at it.
Even though he had seen it countless times—at least two or three times a day—every time he saw it fully erect.
Even now, he still feels a sense of unreality. Is this thing really growing on his body? Its size and…
His 1.81-meter, 72-kilogram refined physique was completely disproportionate, as if the Creator was assembling him…
They mixed up the parts and put an organ from an adult stallion into the body of a high school student.
23 cm. Fully erect.
The shaft stood straight up, its thickness from base to glans comparable to that of an adult woman’s wrist. The surface…
The skin, stretched thin as a cicada’s wing by the engorged corpora cavernosa, appeared a deep red, covered with bulging bluish lines.
The tendons, like a blue python coiled on the pillar, throbbed rhythmically with each heartbeat. The glans penis…
As large as a purplish-red mushroom, with clearly defined edges of the coronal sulcus, and the urethral opening at the apex slightly open, revealing a drop of…
Ming’s prostatic fluid was slowly seeping out, sliding down the curved surface of the glans penis, leaving a thin, silvery thread.
.
The entire penis was as hard as an iron rod; you could feel its metallic hardness even if you flicked it with your finger.
It exudes a strong scent of male hormones—not a foul odor, but a primal, wild one.
It exudes an aggressive aura, like the pheromones emanating from a male beast in heat in the forest.
Lin Mo’s hand hovered in mid-air for a second.
His phone vibrated at that moment.
He took his phone out of his shorts pocket and glanced at the screen. It was a WeChat message from Zhao Yong.
”Hey Mo, wanna play ball this afternoon? We’re one short.”
He typed a reply with one hand: “No, I’m staying home.”
Zhao Yong replied instantly: “You’re staying home again? Not going out on the weekend, you’re like a sixty-year-old man.”
”Too lazy to move.”
”Okay. By the way, how did you do the last big math problem? I spent ages trying to figure it out.”
”Use L’Hôpital’s rule to simplify first and then differentiate.”
”I recognize each word you say individually, but I don’t recognize them when they’re put together.”
”Then I’ll tell you when you get to school tomorrow.”
”Alright, Mo-ge is awesome. By the way—” Zhao Yong sent a mischievous grin emoji, “Your mom was here today…”
Home?
Lin Mo’s thumb stopped.
”Why ask this?” He typed those four words, hesitated, and then deleted them. Too sensitive.
He typed again, “Yeah, what’s up?”
”It’s nothing, it’s just that the last time I went to your house for dinner, your mom made such delicious sweet and sour pork ribs, I still crave them now.”
”I’m doing it. When can I come over for dinner again?”
”All you ever think about is food.”
”It’s not just the food, it’s mainly because your mom is such a kind person. Every time I go, she puts food on my plate, she treats me even better than my own mother.”
and–“
”And what?”
”And your mom is really beautiful. Let me tell you, everyone in our grade says your mom is the prettiest in the whole school.”
That’s the kind of parent I’m talking about, without a doubt. At the last parent-teacher conference, your mom wore that black skirt and white shirt; when she walked down the hallway…
Li Haoran from the next class almost had his eyes pop out.
Lin Mo stared at the text on the screen, his thumb hovering above the keyboard, motionless.
His temples throbbed twice.
”Your mother wore that black skirt and white shirt”—this sentence was like a key, precisely unlocking his memory.
In a deep drawer. The image immediately flashed before my eyes: on the day of the parent-teacher conference, his mother wore a black pencil skirt and…
A white shirt, hair in a bun, and high heels—she walked from the other end of the corridor. Her pencil skirt was more revealing than the bag she was carrying today.
The skirt was tighter and narrower, outlining the contours of her hips and thighs in exquisite detail. A white shirt was tucked into the skirt’s waistband.
Her G-cup breasts were so large that the buttons were straining against her, and the third button was slightly ripped open, revealing…
A deep cleavage appeared. As she walked, her high heels clicked on the corridor tiles, tap, tap, tap, each…
Each step caused her hips to sway slightly from side to side, the two mounds covered by black fabric.
Her round, fleshy buttocks resembled two ripe peaches stuffed in velvet bags, trembling precariously, so full they seemed about to burst.
son.
He remembered it clearly. At least twenty boys were peeking at her in the hallway that day. Someone whistled.
Someone whispered, “Holy crap, whose mom is that?” Someone else said, “Lin Mo’s mom, a professor in the Literature Department.” Then someone else said…
”Damn, what good deeds did Lin Mo do in his past life?”
At that moment, two completely opposite emotions welled up inside him: one was anger—these people were fantasizing.
His mother, he wanted to rush up and smash their mouths shut; another was… a kind of hidden… he didn’t want to admit.
A secret, burning excitement—his mother was indeed beautiful, so beautiful that no man could look away, and she was…
His. She’s his mother. She belongs to their family. She belongs to… him.
He was startled when the thought first popped into his head that afternoon.
The phone vibrated again. Zhao Yong sent another message: “Hey, are you dead?”
Lin Mo snapped out of her reverie and typed, “I’m here. Can you please stop mentioning my mom?”
”You’re upset that I complimented your mother’s looks?”
”It’s not that I’m unwilling, it’s just… never mind, it’s fine.”
”You’re not jealous, are you? Hahahaha.” Zhao Yong sent a string of laughing emojis. “Don’t worry.”
Auntie is auntie in my heart, I’m just giving an objective evaluation. Your mom’s looks and figure, to put it bluntly…
”I’ve heard that; even in the entertainment industry, they’d be top-tier.”
”Alright, alright, go play your ball.”
”Okay, see you tomorrow.”
Lin Mo tossed his phone next to his pillow, screen down.
Zhao Yong’s words were like pouring gasoline on an already burning fire. “Your mother’s looks and figure…”
These seven words bounced back and forth in his mind, and with each bounce, the thing in his crotch would twitch.
He glanced down at it.
The penis remained erect, even harder than before—if that was still possible.
The glans penis changed color from dark purple to almost blackish purple, indicating extreme congestion, with a thin layer of fluid on its surface.
The light was from the prostatic fluid applied. The veins on the shaft were even more bulging than before, the thickest one extending from the base.
The area extends all the way down to below the coronal sulcus, like a winding river, bulging rhythmically with the heartbeat.
Contraction, then expansion.
He stretched out his right hand, fingers spread, and grasped the thing from above.
The moment his fingers closed, he gasped.
It was hot. That penis was as hot as an iron rod just pulled from the furnace; the moment his palm touched it, he…
He almost thought he was going to get burned. The shaft was at least two or three degrees hotter than his body temperature, and his engorged corpora cavernosa…
It was hard and bulging beneath the skin; when you gripped it with your fingers, you could clearly feel the rise and fall of each vein.
move.
His fingers could barely close—barely. The thing was so thick that his fingers could barely encircle it.
The circle has about a centimeter of space between the fingertip and the thumb.
”Damn it…” he muttered under his breath, though it was unclear who he was cursing at.
He didn’t move immediately. He held the object, closed his eyes, leaned against the wall behind the bed, and tried to…
My breathing calmed down.
But the moment I closed my eyes, the scene appeared.
It wasn’t something he consciously thought about. The images just flooded in on their own, like a flood bursting its banks, surging forth…
Surging, unstoppable.
The first scene: She bends down to take ribs from the bottom of the refrigerator. The hem of her gray pencil skirt rides up, revealing her…
The upper thighs were dazzlingly white. The tender flesh was slightly pressed together, forming a shallow slit. The edge of the underwear…
The light-colored elastic fabric, barely visible, peeks into the soft flesh.
His hand moved involuntarily.
He slowly, heavily stroked from the base to the glans. The skin of his palm rubbed against the skin of the shaft.
The prostatic fluid acts as a natural lubricant, producing a soft, sticky “tsk” sound.
”She’s my mom,” he thought to himself.
Her hands didn’t stop.
The second scene: She stands in front of the sink, slicing cucumbers, her body turned sideways to him. Afternoon sunlight filters through the milky white…
A silk blouse outlines the silhouette of a lace bra beneath. Her G-cup breasts are stretched taut within the blouse.
The breasts were perfectly rounded, the highest point of their peaks stretching the silk fabric until it shimmered slightly, as she chopped vegetables.
The two enormous objects produced a slight, dizzying sway.
His hands moved faster.
The frequency of stroking, from the base to the glans and then back to the base, increased from once per second to twice per second.
Next. His palm tightly enveloped the shaft, and each time it slid up to the glans, his thumb would unconsciously…
He traced a circle around his eyes; that was his most sensitive spot, and every touch sent a tingling electric current through him.
The glans penis spurted to the coccyx, then exploded from the coccyx, spreading throughout the body.
”Her body is fucking amazing.” This thought immediately followed the previous one, like a wicked…
The devil whispered in his ear.
”She is your mother,” came the angel’s voice.
”G-cup. You see? Those two things are bigger than your head.”
”She’s your biological mother. You came out of her womb.”
”Her ass. Did you see her ass when she bent over? That skirt was about to burst.”
Those two fleshy halves… round, perky, bouncy, you could definitely bounce them back if you slapped them.”
”Shut up.”
”You can’t shut up. You’re hard. You’re holding that 23-centimeter cock, pointing it at your mother…”
The video is playing. You’re already doing it. What are you pretending to be, some self-righteous gentleman?
His hands didn’t stop. In fact, they accelerated.
Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk—
The sound of prostatic fluid rubbing against the shaft of the penis was exceptionally clear in the quiet room—wet, sticky, and rhythmic.
It carries a primal sense of decadence.
The third scene: She walked to the sofa, sat down, and reached out to touch his hair. Her fingers ran through his hair.
Strands of her hair, her fingertips gently brushing against his scalp. She was very close to him, less than twenty centimeters away; he could see her eyelashes.
The curve of her lips, and the scent of gardenia-scented shower gel on her skin. Her lips were slightly parted, cherry blossom pink, full and plump.
Full……
His breathing became heavy. His chest felt like a bellows, each breath accompanied by a low, labored gasp.
He breathed. His abdominal muscles tensed, the outline of his V-line clearly bulging on both sides of his lower abdomen, his six-pack abs bulging with each breath.
The rhythm rises and falls.
The image began to distort in his mind.
No longer the actual scene from that afternoon, but—a fantasy. Pure, filthy, and unspeakable.
fantasy.
He imagined himself still standing in the kitchen. She was bending down in front of the refrigerator, looking for yams, the hem of her gray pencil skirt…
It slid down to his upper thigh, revealing the edge of his underwear. But this time, he didn’t just stand there watching. He walked over.
Go. He stood behind her. He reached out his hand—
”No…” he whispered a single word, but his hands were speaking another language.
He imagined his hand resting on her hip. Through the thin gray fabric, he could feel his palm…
I sensed the warmth and elasticity of those two buttocks—warm, soft, and full, like two perfectly fermented lumps.
The dough is like this; when you press it with your finger, it will leave a shallow indentation, and it will slowly spring back when you release it.
He imagined her being startled by his touch, straightening up, and turning around—”Xiao Mo? What are you doing?”
Her voice was filled with surprise and confusion, and her amber-colored peach blossom eyes were wide open.
He imagined he hadn’t answered. His hand slid from her hip to the hem of her skirt, his fingers hooking around the fabric.
Lift it up—
His hands suddenly accelerated in reality.
The frequency of stroking increased from twice per second to three or four times per second, with the palms gripping the shaft tightly from the base.
From the glans to the base, each upward slid was accompanied by a fierce force, as if trying to rip that thing off my body.
He twisted it off. He wasn’t getting enough prostate fluid, so he spat into his palm, mixing it with the remaining fluid, and continued…
The stroking, the wet, sticky sound became louder, clearer, and more unrestrained—
Tsk tsk tsk tsk tsk—
He fantasized that her skirt had been lifted up to her waist. Her panties were exposed before him—white, lace-trimmed.
It was so thin it was almost transparent. Through that thin fabric, he could see the outline below: full labia majora, tight…
A narrow gap, and… the shadow of a small patch of dark, neatly trimmed pubic hair.
”Lin Mo!” she screamed in his fantasy, her voice a mixture of shock and anger. “Are you crazy? I’m your mother—”
—
”I know,” he answered in his imagination, his voice hoarse and unlike his own. “I know you are my mother.”
”
He imagined his fingers hooking the edge of her panties and pulling them aside—
The pleasure reached its peak at this moment.
He felt his entire lower body burning, from his lower abdomen to his groin, from his perineum to his tailbone.
Every nerve ending was screaming. His testicles tightened, pressing heavily against the base of the shaft, filled with semen.
Like a volcano about to erupt, with magma churning, boiling, and searching for an outlet beneath the earth’s crust.
His waist involuntarily arched forward, his buttocks lifted off the bed, and his whole body arched like a fully drawn bow.
His hand moved the penis rapidly, his palm darting back and forth between the glans and shaft, releasing pre-ejaculate.
The lubricant mixed with saliva was stirred into fine white foam.
The scene in his fantasy froze at the last moment—he lifted his mother’s skirt from behind.
Pulling aside her panties, I saw that pink, moist, slightly parted area—
”Um–!”
He bit the back of his left hand, and a muffled groan escaped through his teeth.
It shot.
The first spurt of semen shot out from the urethra with the force of a high-pressure water gun; it was a thick, white liquid.
The body traced an arc, flew nearly thirty centimeters, and landed on his chest with a thud, splashing out a white spray.
Colored flowers.
Then came the second, third, and fourth shares—
One gushe after another, less than a second apart, each gushe thick, scalding hot, and astonishingly large in quantity. Semen sprayed onto…
His chest, abs, navel, lower abdomen, and even a particularly powerful force flew directly to his chin.
Warm liquid slid down the jawline and dripped into the hollow of the collarbone.
His hand continued to move mechanically, each stroke squeezing out a new stream of semen, as if he were squeezing out a tube of ejaculate.
The toothpaste tube was far from empty. His waist convulsed uncontrollably in the spasms of orgasm, his hips thrusting rhythmically.
Facing the air, his abdominal muscles were taut like steel plates, and the outline of his V-line was as clear as a sculpture under the smear of semen.
Ejaculation lasted for nearly fifteen seconds.
Fifteen seconds. This time is unimaginable for a normal man—most people’s ejaculation…
The duration was between three and five seconds. But Lin Mo wasn’t like most people. His body, in terms of sexual ability, was like…
A machine that has been set to maximum power has every parameter far exceeding the normal range.
As the last spurt of semen slowly seeped from the urethral opening and slid down the curved surface of the glans, his hand…
It finally stopped.
He lay paralyzed on the bed, panting heavily.
His chest heaved violently, each breath a heavy gasp. His whole body was trembling—
—It wasn’t cold, it was muscle spasms after an orgasm, from my thighs to my lower abdomen to my chest, every muscle was spasming uncontrollably.
The ground trembled, as if it had just finished running a marathon.
He looked down at himself.
The place was a complete mess.
White semen almost covered his entire body from his chest to his lower abdomen; the thick liquid clung to his skin.
It flowed slowly, some of it already beginning to become translucent, while others still retained their milky white color when they were first ejected.
His abs, navel, and the creases of his V-line were covered in semen. His right hand was even worse.
It was a terrible sight—the entire palm, fingers, and even the spaces between them were completely covered in a thick, white liquid, making it look like the hand…
He reached into a can of condensed milk.
The amount is too much. It’s always like this. Sometimes he feels like he has a thing inside his testicles that will never dry out.
The reservoir was dried up; no matter how many times he masturbated in a day, the amount he ejaculated each time was ridiculously large.
His penis was still semi-erect, draped crookedly across his thigh, the glans slowly fading from dark purple to…
It was a deep red color, its surface covered with a mixture of semen and prostatic fluid. At his recovery rate, it would probably take about ten minutes…
It can achieve a full erection again after 1 hour.
But he doesn’t plan to do it again.
Because after the pleasure subsides, something else surges up.
Shame.
It came faster than the pleasure faded, like a bucket of ice water poured over your head, washing away the last traces of the orgasm.
The warmth and tingling sensation vanished instantly. His stomach felt like it had been squeezed, a wave of nausea rising from the bottom and pressing against him.
It reached the throat.
He closed his eyes.
The images from his fantasies still lingered in his mind—lifting his skirt, pulling down his underwear—but now…
These images no longer excited him. They became mirrors, reflecting his ugliest, most filthy…
The most secret part of myself.
”You just masturbated while looking at a picture of your mother,” he said to himself, his voice as cold as ice.
Son, “You fantasize about lifting her skirt. You fantasize about pulling down her panties. You ejaculated all over your hands. You ejaculated all over your body. You and him…”
The semen your mother ejaculated on yourself was a fantasy directed at your biological mother.
Every word felt like a needle piercing his temple.
He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. The ceiling was white, clean, and completely blank. But he…
It felt like the ceiling was covered in writing, and every single word was the same sentence—
You are an animal.
He raised his right hand, which was covered in semen, and flipped it in front of his eyes. A thick, white liquid clung to his fingers.
The liquid flowed slowly through the cracks, gleaming with an unhealthy sheen under the warm yellow glow of the desk lamp.
This hand, just ten minutes ago, had taken the wine bottle from her mother in the kitchen. Her fingertips touched his.
Fingers, soft, slightly cool, and slender.
And now, this hand is covered with the semen he ejaculated in his fantasies about her.
The nausea intensified. It wasn’t disgust for the semen—he wasn’t averse to cleanliness regarding his own body—but rather…
A feeling of disgust towards oneself. A pure, overwhelming feeling that surges from the depths of one’s soul, inexplicable and impossible to resolve with any reason or excuse.
Pure self-loathing.
He sat up, pulled a handful of tissues from the bedside table drawer, and began wiping the semen off his body.
His hands were quickly soaked through, so he pulled out another handful, then another. He used five or six tissues before he could barely dry his chest and abdomen.
Wipe it clean. Semen on the hands is the hardest to clean; it’s in between the fingers and under the nails. He cleaned it finger by finger.
The floor was scrubbed vigorously, as if trying to wipe away some invisible stain on the skin.
After wiping, he stuffed the damp tissue into the bottom drawer of the bedside table—that drawer…
There was already a black plastic bag in the drawer, containing the tissues he had used before. He would… every two or three days…
When no one is home, I will secretly throw away the plastic bag and replace it with a new one.
This is his secret. His biggest, dirtiest, secret that he could never let anyone know.
He pulled up his trousers, walked to his desk, and sat down. On the desk lay an English reading comprehension workbook.
Turn to a page, pick up a pen, and try to get your attention back on track.
But his eyes were fixed on the English words in the workbook, and he couldn’t read a single one.
Gu Xueqing’s voice came from downstairs, muffled and distant through the floorboards and doorway, but he could still hear it clearly.
What was she saying?
”Xiao Mo, the pork rib soup will be ready in another forty minutes. Are you hungry? Would you like to have some fruit to tide you over?”
?”
Her voice was gentle, caring, and full of maternal love.
That’s the voice. That’s the owner of that voice. He just ejaculated all over his hand while fantasizing about her.
Lin Mo buried her face in her hands.
His shoulders trembled slightly.
He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t crying. He just felt something stuck in his chest, heavy and making it hard for him to breathe.
He couldn’t breathe. It was the weight of shame. It weighed a thousand times heavier than the semen he had ejaculated, pressing down heavily on him.
It was pressing on his chest, on his stomach, on his soul.
He knew that tonight, he would sit across from his mother at the dinner table, eating her stewed pork rib soup and listening to her chatter.
He talked about his grades, watched the curve of her eyes when she smiled, and then smiled and said, “Mom, the soup is delicious.”
。
He will act as if everything is normal.
It was as if nothing had happened.
But his right hand—the one that had just been gripping his 23-centimeter penis and masturbating in his mother’s fantasy—
His right hand, covered in semen, would use chopsticks to pick up the ribs she had served him, put them in his mouth, chew, and swallow.
He would use this hand to take the tissue she offered.
He would clink glasses with her using this hand.
He would use this hand to steal glances at her chest, her waist, and her… when she wasn’t looking.
Her buttocks.
Then he’ll come back to this room tonight, and he’ll come again. Maybe twice. Maybe three times.
He couldn’t control himself.
He could never control himself.
”Not hungry,” he replied to the void, his voice hoarse as if scraped from the depths of his throat.
I wonder if she downstairs can hear me.
Then he picked up his pen and unconsciously drew a circle in the blank space of his workbook. A circle with a very large arc…
A full, round shape, resembling the outline of some kind of fruit.
He stared at the circle for three seconds, then scribbled it black.
The black ink seeped into the paper, leaving a blurry mark on the back.
He threw the pen on the table, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the ceiling.
Downstairs, the faint sound of pork rib soup simmering could be heard, mixed with his mother humming a tune.
He closed his eyes.
A wave of shame washed over him, one after another, over his ankles, knees, waist, and chest.
The mouth eventually went over his head.
He was submerged in the tide, his eyes open, unable to breathe, and unable to break free.