Chapter 50: Whispers of Care**
Dad is sleeping.
But in the living room, another world exists.
I sat curled up on the sofa, my body almost lost in the soft leather cushions. The dim blue light from the TV screen illuminated my young face, but my eyes weren’t really looking at it. They were dry, lifeless, staring past the images dancing on the screen, lost in their own world.
*Clack.*
A very small sound came from the wooden stairs. I was startled and pulled out of my thoughts.
My mother is coming down.
Mom walked barefoot. Each of her steps made no noticeable noise, just soft, gentle “thuds” on the wooden surface. But to me, each of those steps was like a drum beating against my chest.
My mother wore a cream silk nightgown. The dress was thin and soft, flowing along the curves of her body. It wasn’t revealing, but it was more provocative than any skimpy outfit. The yellow light in the living room caught the thin silk, making it almost transparent in places. I could vaguely see the shape of her full breasts, not constrained by her bra, and the dark triangle that peeked out from under the fabric whenever she moved.
Mother had removed her makeup. Her face was no longer perfectly painted, but it had a different beauty, a naked, warm beauty. Her lips were slightly swollen and red, traces of passionate kisses with her husband. Her eyes, no longer sharply lined, were larger, deeper, and strangely moist.
Mom didn’t go to the kitchen or get a drink of water. She went straight to the sofa and sat down in the armchair opposite me.
And she was silent.
Mom just sat there, arms crossed over her chest, long legs crossed, and looked at me.
It was not the teasing gaze of a “beloved concubine”. Nor was it the stern gaze of a teacher. It was a different gaze. A scrutinizing, analytical, curious gaze. The gaze of a sculptor re-evaluating his unfinished work, looking for a crack, an imperfection that needed to be chiseled away.
I felt that gaze like a tangible hand was running over me. I felt confused, awkward. I shifted in my seat, pretending to concentrate on the TV screen.
“Is the movie good, son?”
Her voice rang out, soft but direct, breaking the stifling silence.
“Yes… it’s normal, mom.” I stammered, not daring to look her straight in the eye.
“Then why are you watching so intently?” Mom smiled softly, a knowing smile. “Or are you thinking about something else?”
I was silent. I knew I couldn’t lie to this woman.
My mother didn’t force me. She stood up, her silk dress fluttering around her body. She walked over and sat down next to me on the sofa. The distance between us was only a hand’s breadth. I could smell the scent of shower gel on her skin, her own scent, warm and familiar, but now it made my heart beat wildly.
“Me.” Mom called, her voice whispering. “Come sit with me.”
Mom didn’t say “sit here”, but “sit with me”. She patted the empty space right next to her. I was like a robot, unconsciously moving closer. My shoulder almost touched hers. I could feel the warmth radiating from her body.
“I’m not happy.”
That’s not a question. That’s a statement.
Mom turned to look at me, her deep eyes piercing my soul. “Don’t lie to me. I see everything. You’ve been acting like a lost soul lately. You’re pale and always avoiding my gaze. What’s wrong?”
“I… I’m fine.”
“It’s okay?” My mother curled her lips. “While I… you see.” She arched her back slightly, an unconscious but meaningful movement that made her full breasts seem to spill out through the silk. “I feel like I’m coming back to life. And you’re like the dry tree next to me. Don’t you find it strange?”
I bowed my head. I found it strange. I saw it more clearly than anyone. That contrast was like a thorn in my self-esteem every day.
“Is it because of ‘it’?” Her voice suddenly dropped to a whisper barely audible to the two of them. “It’s still not quite right, is it?”
I jumped. I didn’t expect my mother to be so direct.
Seeing her son silent, my mother sighed. She did not beat around the bush anymore. She had made up her mind. Tonight, she had to see it with her own eyes, touch it with her own hands. Whether it was the concern of a mother, or the curiosity of a woman who had experienced all the flavors of desire, she did not know. Mother only knew that she could not let her “work” have such a big flaw.
Her soft, warm hand suddenly moved.
It did not rest on my shoulder or my hand to comfort me.
It rested squarely on the crotch of my thin pajama pants.
I froze. My whole body felt like it was being electrocuted. I held my breath. I could clearly feel the warmth of my mother’s palm through the fabric, pressing against my most sensitive skin. Her long fingers did not squeeze hard, nor caress. They just pressed there, firmly, as if to measure, to feel.
“Mom…” I moaned, my throat dry.
“Shh.” My mother shushed me. Her eyes were still fixed on my face, watching every little change. “I just want to know.”
Her hand remained there, with no intention of leaving. I felt as if I was being nailed to the spot. Under the warmth and pressure of my mother’s hand, the thing I was always self-conscious about was having a weak reaction, a slight twitch, a bit of warmth spreading.
My mother sensed it. A small, satisfied smile crossed her lips.
Mom withdrew her hand. I breathed a sigh of relief, but the feeling of loss immediately came back.
Mother stood up, looking down at me, her son sitting motionless on the chair. Her voice rang out, no longer a whisper, but an undeniable command, a command wrapped in the concern of a warped mother’s love.
“Stand up.”
I looked up blankly.
“Go to your room,” Mom continued, her eyes not wavering at all.
“I want to see.”
I walked like a sleepwalker. I was no longer conscious of my feet. My whole existence was now concentrated on the woman walking right in front of me.
Ngoc My. My mother.
Mom didn’t hold my hand, didn’t pull me, just silently walked ahead to lead the way. But I felt an invisible, tense string connecting my neck to her every movement. My eyes were glued to her wasp waist, to the way her round, plump buttocks gently swayed rhythmically under her cream-colored silk nightgown. The thin fabric clung to her skin, revealing the curve of her buttocks, an image both familiar and forbidden, making my throat dry.
The wooden staircase creaked silently. It seemed as if the whole house had held its breath at this strange pilgrimage. When she reached the second floor, she did not go to her bedroom. Mother turned away.
my room
My heart felt like it was being squeezed. This was it. The execution site. I suddenly wanted to turn around and run away, but my legs were under a spell, unconsciously following my mother’s scent, a scent of warm skin mixed with the scent of silk and something very special, very feminine.
Mom pushed open my bedroom door. The room was a mess, filled with the smell of a teenage boy. Books were strewn across the table, a few clothes were hanging on the chair, a rock band poster was stuck crookedly on the wall. My chaotic, immature world.
My mother entered, and her presence immediately made the room cramped and cramped. She was like a goddess who had accidentally wandered into a slum. Her neatness, elegance, and body scent were completely out of place, contrasting cruelly with her son’s messiness.
*Clack.*
The door latch clicked. Dry. Decisive.
It was like a knife cutting me off from the outside world. Now, in this space, there was only me and my mother. Only the patient and the healer. Only the prey and the predator.
My mother turned around. Under the yellow light of the nightlight in my room, she looked even more ghostly. Her fair skin seemed to glow. Her eyes were no longer gentle, they were deep and focused, like those of a scientist looking at a rare specimen.
“Take off your clothes, Huy.”
Her voice was still soft, but there was no room for negotiation. It was an order.
I took a step back, my back against the cold wall. I shook my head vigorously, my hands unconsciously hugging my chest like a scared young girl.
“Mom… don’t… please…”
A sad smile crossed Mom’s lips. She slowly approached, closing the distance between us. She wasn’t angry, she wasn’t impatient. She just looked at me, a penetrating gaze.
“Why are you hiding it from me?” Mom asked softly. “I am your mother. I gave birth to you, I have bathed you since you were a baby. Every inch of your skin, is there any part of you that I have not seen?”
Mom raised her hand and brushed a stray strand of hair from my forehead. “Don’t you trust me, Toi? I just want to help you. You’re my son, I can’t let you stay like this.”
Those words, imbued with maternal love, were the most terrifying weapon. They took away all my reasons for resistance. I was her son. Mother had rights. Mother had the right to know, to see, to touch.
Seeing me still motionless, shame and fear frozen on my face, my mother let out a soft sigh. She didn’t say anything more. Actions would speak louder than words.
Mom slowly knelt down in front of me.
A beautiful, proud woman, the vice principal of a prestigious school, was now kneeling before her son. That posture, it was both submissive and contained absolute power. Mother was lowering herself, but to possess.
Her ivory hands placed on the waistband of my pajama pants. I jumped, my whole body trembling.
“Don’t be afraid…” Mom whispered, and started pulling.
The pants slowly slid down, revealing my rather large legs and thighs. And finally, it was revealed. The thing I always hid, always felt insecure about. I closed my eyes, not daring to witness this scene.
But Mom looked. She looked without blinking.
My penis, in its normal state, was limp and small, lying pitifully among the sparse down. It was pale pink in color, but there were a few faint scars on its shaft, traces of the terrible accident years ago. It looked like a young bird with broken wings, without any vitality.
The intense concentration on her face broke. It was replaced by an undisguised grief. Her delicate brows furrowed slightly. Her red lips pursed. This was her son. A part of her flesh and blood. And he was hurt.
Mother reached out, her long, soft fingers trembling. She didn’t touch it roughly. She touched it with a gentleness that was almost reverent. Her index finger slid lightly over the skin, stopping at the longest scar.
Mom gently stroked the raised scars. The skin there was calloused and rough, a stark contrast to the soft skin around it. The touch made me shiver, not from pleasure, but from the reawakening of an old pain.
“Oh my god…” My mother whispered, her voice cracking. “The scar is still so clear… It must have hurt a lot, right?”
That question, filled with a mother’s compassion, completely broke down my last wall of defense. Tears began to flow, rolling down my cheeks. I no longer felt ashamed, only hurt and hurt.
The air in the room was no longer taboo. It was filled with a strange feeling, a mixture of physical pain, maternal sorrow, and utter nakedness.
My mother looked up at her son’s tear-stained face. She used her other hand to wipe away my tears. Then, with a steely determination in her eyes, she spoke firmly.
“Let me treat you.”
Before I could fully understand the meaning of that statement, I witnessed an unimaginable act.
My mother, my noble mother, slowly bowed her head.
Her silky black hair was loose, a few strands touching my inner thighs, making me shiver. Her beautiful face moved closer and closer. I could see each curl of her eyelashes, and even my own distorted image reflected in her jet-black eyes.
And then, an indescribable warm, soft, wet feeling suddenly enveloped the most sensitive part of my head.
Mom took it.
My mother’s mouth.
It was like I had been struck by lightning. My mind went blank. All thought, all logic, all social conventions vanished. All that remained was a feeling. A feeling so real, so wrong, and yet so real.
It wasn’t a lustful sucking action. It was different. It was slow, probing. She didn’t use her teeth, she didn’t suck hard. She just used her lips and tongue, very gently, to “explore” it. Her soft tongue circled around the head, as if tasting, examining every cell. It was like a sacred examination, an “anatomy” with the most primitive senses.
My body reacted instinctively. The seemingly dead thing suddenly jerked, then began to tremble, a warm stream of blood slowly being pumped into it, causing it to wriggle slightly in her mouth.
My mother sensed that change. She slightly raised her head, the corner of her mouth still had a bit of clear liquid. She looked straight into my eyes, a deep, meaningful look.
Mom got her diagnosis.
I was stunned, my body was shaking from the shock, and tingling from a strange feeling that had just been awakened. I didn’t know what to do, what to say. I only knew that, from this moment on, the relationship between me and my mother had turned to a completely different page, a page that no one in this world could understand.