Since that intimate night when we crossed a forbidden line and “made friends” in bed, the dynamic between my mother and me had grown delicate and complicated. She used to fix me with a fierce, no-nonsense stare that said, “You can be honest with me.” Now, her gaze carried these strange, knowing smiles that seemed to whisper, “Son, I understand you.” It left me feeling exposed, as if she might walk over at any moment, punch my shoulder playfully, and say something like, “Hey, man.”
Of course, I knew exactly what she was thinking. But this sudden effort from an elder to act like a buddy felt incredibly weird and embarrassing. I almost preferred the old days, when she would slap me across the head, kick me lightly, and yell, “Ethan, you deserve a beating!”
A week later came the midterm exams for the first half of senior year. With everything that had happened recently weighing on my mind, my performance was far from ideal. I dropped from the top ten in the class straight down to eighteenth place.
Before dinner that evening, my mother sat on the living room sofa, staring at my report card in silence for a long time. A frost-like chill gradually settled over her delicate features. Finally, she slammed her hand on the table and shouted, “Ethan reed! You were studying so seriously!”
I curled my lips and frowned, replying with a hint of grievance, “I really did work very hard.”
“Then why did your grades fall so badly?” she demanded sharply.
“Maybe… others are just working even harder,” I muttered.
“You even admit that others are working harder!” My mother slapped the table again. “This is your senior year of high school. Everyone is sprinting toward the finish line. If you don’t advance, you fall behind. Do you understand that, son?”
“I understand, but… I’m trying too,” I said, struggling to explain.
She glanced back at my father, who was absorbed in his phone. Her voice rose. “Your son just bombed his exams, and you’re still playing on your phone!”
Dad quickly set his device aside, pretended to examine the report card, and mumbled, “Let me see… Oh, you didn’t do so well. Just work harder next time.”
I jumped in quickly. “Yeah, I’ll work harder next time.”
Mom snatched the report card back, her chest heaving with anger. “You father and son are ganging up on me. You’re really going to drive me crazy!”
Dad tried to calm her. “It’s just one bad exam. He’ll do better next time. Why get so angry every day? It’s bad for your health.”
I leaned over and gently stroked her back. “Yeah, getting angry hurts your body.”
Mom shot me a sideways glance.
Dad asked casually, “What time is it? Is dinner ready, honey?”
I echoed him immediately. “Yeah, what time is it? Is dinner ready, wife?”
Mom slapped the back of my head, smacked the coffee table hard, and stood up. “Sooner or later, you two are going to make me explode!”
After dinner, I returned to my bedroom and started working on practice papers. A short while later, my mother pushed open the door and sat down beside me.
I knew why she had come. Before she could speak, I raised my hand. “Mom, don’t worry. I’ll learn from this and work harder. I’ll get a good score next time.”
She ignored my promise and said flatly, “Let’s not talk about next time. Let’s talk about this time. What happened? Your grades were so strong before. I just spoke with your class teacher. She said you’ve been spacing out and inattentive in class. What’s going on?”
I frowned, scratched my head, and muttered, “I don’t know. I just feel a bit dizzy lately.”
“Are you sick?” Mom reached out and pressed her cool hand against my forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”
“I’m not sick,” I assured her.
“Then be honest with me. Why can’t you concentrate? Is it because of the way I scolded you the other day? Are you still upset? Or… is there something else?”
I waved my hand dismissively. “It has nothing to do with you scolding me. You can scold me three hundred and sixty-six times in a three-hundred-and-sixty-five-day year. In a leap year, you’d have to add one extra scolding. I’m used to it by now.” Get faster updates on NovelPing.
Mom didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “That mouth of yours… I swear I’ll sew it shut one of these days. I’m being serious right now. Can you stop joking? Tell me the real reason.”
I sighed deeply, my expression turning solemn. “I don’t know. Maybe the pressure is just too much.”
“Pressure?” She sounded skeptical. “You seem happy and carefree every day. You don’t act like a senior preparing for the college entrance exam at all. Where is all this pressure coming from?”
“Then maybe this is just the trouble of growing up,” I replied vaguely.
Mom slapped the table in frustration and stormed out of the room.
I leaned back in my chair, lost in thought. I truly couldn’t pinpoint the exact cause. My heart was in chaos, tangled with an inexplicable emotion that lingered constantly. Though I didn’t want to admit it, the source of that emotion was my mother.
Lately, I kept thinking about her for no reason—her joys and sorrows, her smiles, even the way she scolded and beat me when I misbehaved. This had only happened once before, right after I started my relationship with Lily. For some reason, I had become unusually attached to her then too.
I had a faint suspicion, one that frightened me. I even went to an internet café to search for information about the"attraction to your own mother”, comparing my symptoms point by point. Yet I still couldn’t find a clear answer. I tried to comfort myself, insisting that I was only obsessed with my mother’s sexy body as a woman, not with her as my mother.
I wanted desperately to push aside these distractions and focus on my studies, but concentration eluded me. These psychological troubles had even overshadowed my usual physical urges for a while.
I longed to talk to someone about the storm inside me, but I couldn’t find the right person. I considered seeing a psychiatrist but ultimately gave up. I even felt that this situation was somewhat perverse. How could I possibly explain it to anyone else?
The next evening, after dinner, my mother disappeared into the kitchen to stew something. I returned to my room to review my notes.
About an hour later, she stepped into my room, carrying a steaming bowl.
I glanced at it. A thin layer of oil floated on the dark broth, and the aroma of herbs and chicken filled the air. I frowned.
"What is this?"
Mom smiled. "A homemade herbal soup. One of the other moms gave me the recipe. It's supposed to help you stay focused during exams."
"So that's what you've been doing in the kitchen."
She nodded. "Drink it while it's hot."
"Mom, you don't really believe this works, do you?"
"It can't hurt. Now drink."
Knowing there was no point arguing, I took the bowl and drank it in a few gulps. It was a little greasy, but it tasted better than I expected.
"Finished."
She smiled with satisfaction. "Good. Now get back to studying."
I assumed it was a one-time thing.
I was wrong.
For the next several days, she brought me a bowl of herbal soup every evening.
Oddly enough, it seemed to work. I felt more energetic, and my concentration improved. Unfortunately, so did the urges I'd been trying to suppress. They came back stronger than ever, making it nearly impossible to focus on studying.
Normally, spending time with Lu Yiyi would have helped, but ever since our last argument she'd kept her distance. No matter what I said, she wouldn't budge.
Left with no other outlet, I was on my own. To make matters worse, Mom had taken away my phone, my laptop, and even my hidden magazines. All I had left was my imagination, and somehow that just wasn't enough New chapters come out on novelping dot com first.
After some thought, the best option seemed to be using a pair of my mother’s stockings. Unfortunately, the last treasured pair I had hidden was long gone.
Strangely, ever since that night, my mother’s stockings had started disappearing. Whether freshly worn or freshly washed, they vanished. I had no idea where she was hiding them. Perhaps she had realized how unreliable they were around her son and decided to keep them out of reach.
One afternoon, I returned home from school to find my parents still out. The familiar restless itch returned, clawing at my insides.
Like an addict, I paced back and forth outside my parents’ bedroom door. I kept warning myself: I had promised my mother I wouldn’t do it again. I had to hold back. I had to resist.
Just then, the sound of the front door lock turning startled me. I quickly composed myself and sat down on the sofa as if nothing had happened.
“We’re back,” Mom called out while changing her shoes.
When I looked up, I froze.
Her usual tight bun was gone. Long, wavy hair spilled over her shoulders, framing her face in soft layers. Paired with her striking eyes and deep red lipstick, she looked effortlessly elegant.
As she bent to slip off her heels, her fitted black pencil skirt hugged her curves.
Mom almost never wore her hair down. The change made her look stunning
My eyes glazed over. Almost instantly, my cock hardened in my pants.
Sensing my intense stare, she looked back and asked suspiciously, “What’s wrong?”
I forced myself to stay calm, resting my chin on my hand and smiling. “I thought some beauty had wandered into the wrong house. Turns out it’s just my dear mother with a stunning new hairstyle.”
“Flatterer,” she replied with a small smile, spitting the word softly. She straightened up, placed one hand on her hip, struck a pose, and asked playfully, “So, does the new hairstyle look good?”
“It looks amazing,” I said, giving her two enthusiastic thumbs up.
Mom smiled, blinking at me. “There’ll be a reward later.”
“What reward?”
“I bought your favorite steak.”
“Steak?”
“Why? Don’t you want them?”
“It’s not that. I’m just… a little overwhelmed.”
My whole body felt feverish. My heart raced, and my erection throbbed painfully. To hide it, I clamped my legs together tightly and pretended everything was normal.
Only after she turned and went inside did I leap up, clench my fists, and pound the sofa in frustration. I rushed to the bathroom, turned on the cold water, and doused my head in an attempt to cool down.
“What are you doing? Washing your hair with cold water?” Mom’s alarmed voice came from outside. She hurried in behind me and pulled me upright.
My hair was dripping, my breathing ragged. I stared at her with unfocused eyes. She had already changed out of her work clothes and stockings into loose loungewear, but those long, wavy curls still looked irresistibly charming and seductive. I felt myself losing control again. Quickly, I ducked my head back under the running water.
“Oh, you foolish boy!”
She anxiously pulled me up once more, gazing at me with concern. “What on earth are you doing? You’ll catch a cold!”