Chapter 55
The night was late, outside, the sound of the waves lapped steadily, a sound that was emotionless and eternal, completely opposite to the sound of my heart pounding wildly in my chest. The luxurious bedroom of the five-star resort was now like a waiting room to heaven? I didn’t know. All I knew was, I was waiting for my mother.
And mom will come.
Mom’s gaze through the glass at the pool in the afternoon couldn’t be fake. It was a promise
*Knock. Knock.*
The knock on the door was soft and firm, but it made me jump. My heart skipped a beat. I swallowed, my throat dry, my voice broken.
“Mom… Mom?”
The door opened. Mom walked in.
She wasn’t wearing any sexy lace nightgowns, nor was she wearing any elaborate makeup. She was wearing only a white silk hotel bathrobe, the kind that any guest would have. Her hair was neatly tied up, revealing her long, slender neck and completely bare face. A strangely pure, elegant beauty. But what stunned me the most was what she was holding in her hands: a small wooden tray with an open bottle of red wine and two glasses.
Mom smiled, a warm and cheerful smile, not at all as “clinical” or “authoritative” as I had imagined. That smile, for some reason, scared me even more.
“What’s wrong? You look so nervous, my son?” Mom’s voice was clear. “Like you’re about to take an exam.”
She closed the door, the latch clicking. Mom placed the tray on the table, opened the bottle of wine, and poured two glasses. The way she did everything, slowly, leisurely, as if this was just a normal, relaxing evening for the two of them .
*”Damn, Mom is laughing. She calls this a ‘study’. What the hell is this? This is not what I imagined. It’s even scarier.”* I thought to myself, my mind racing.
Mom handed me a glass. “Drink some to be brave. Today’s lesson is going to be a long one.”
I took the glass of wine with trembling hands. Mother sat down on the edge of the bed, opposite me, her long legs gracefully folded under her robe. She took a sip of wine, her naturally red lips pursed slightly.
“Now, my student,” she began, her tone like a mischievous teacher preparing a game for her favorite student. “Today, we will begin our first ‘lecture’, this afternoon was just an ‘introduction’. I will be the teacher, you will be the student. Everything I do is to ‘cure’ you. You must absolutely trust and follow the teacher’s words. Is that clear?”
I nodded mechanically. All the control was gone from me. I was just a student, waiting for my teacher to give me a lecture.
Mom drained the glass of wine in her hand. “Okay, the appetizers are done. Now for the main course.”
She looked at me, her eyes still sparkling with laughter. “Students, take off your clothes. Lie on the bed so the teacher can ‘check your previous lessons’.”
Mother’s command, though spoken cheerfully, had an irresistible weight. I obeyed. Layer after layer of clothing was removed, my heart felt like it was about to leap out of my chest. I lay on my back on the cold, white sheets, completely naked, exposing my weakness and my morbid hope.
Mom took her time. She stood up, walked to the dressing table, looked in the mirror, and pulled her hair back into a bun. She winked at me in the mirror.
“Wait a minute, the teacher has to prepare the ‘teaching aids’.”
I lay there, the pressure of tonight making me feel like an experiment on the operating table. But the surgeon had a knowing smile. The wait was stretched to the limit.
Finally, Mom returned. She didn’t get on the bed. She knelt down on the cool wooden floor beside me. Her usual position. Her eyes focused on the limp, curled thing between my legs.
“Oh my,” Mom teased. “Your ‘homework’ doesn’t look too ‘strong’ today, does it?”
Having said that, the mother bent down.
I closed my eyes, my whole body tensing. I could feel my mother’s hot breath on my thighs. Then, the most awaited moment came. Her soft, warm lips covered mine.
Her mouth was skilled. She didn’t rush. She started slowly, tentatively, as if tasting something new. Her ingenious tongue flicked, then sucked. I shivered, my hands clutching the bedsheets.
My penis began to respond. It slowly rose, like a young plant trying to push itself out of the ground. But… that was it. It was erect, but not hard enough. It “nodded” weakly, lifelessly, as if still half asleep.
*”Damn it! What is this? Why can’t he properly ‘greet’ mom? I’m disappointing her…”* Shame and panic filled my mind.
And then, mom suddenly stopped.
She raised her head and pulled her mouth away from my cock. A feeling of emptiness and coldness washed over her. She looked at her “achievement”, then at me, her expression no longer happy but pensive.
“Hmm… No way.” Mom shook her head.
I felt my face heat up. All the confidence and excitement from before had vanished. I wanted to disappear.
“I… I’m sorry, Mom…” I mumbled.
Mother did not answer immediately. She sat up straight, arms folded, her eyes sharp as a teacher analyzing a difficult math problem.
“I know why,” she finally said. “The problem isn’t with ‘it’.” She pointed at my penis, which was now shrinking in shame. “The problem is with your head. You’re too passive. You just lie there and enjoy it. It’s like rote learning, it’s not effective.”
I was stunned. Her words were like a bucket of cold water, but also like a sick enlightenment. I had failed the test.
Mother smiled, but this time it was a mysterious smile. “A man must know how to use his hands. Hands and mouth must work together. You must make the ‘teacher’ happy, then the ‘student’ will be good.”
She looked straight into my eyes, her voice full of magic.
“So… do you want to take the ‘advanced lesson’?”
Mom’s question hung in the air, both a challenge and a deadly sweet promise. Like a drowning man clutching at straws, I could only nod my head vigorously. My mouth was dry, unable to utter a word.
Mother smiled, the satisfied smile of a teacher seeing her students eager to learn. She did not stand up. She remained kneeling on the floor, but she sat up straight, facing me. Her long, slender hands slowly rose, not to touch me, but to grasp the two flaps of her bathrobe.
*”What is she going to do? What is she going to show me?”* My heart started pounding again.
The silk sash loosened. The cloak slowly slid to the sides.
And then, my first “visual aid” appeared.
Those are mom’s breasts.
Oh my god. I had peeked at them, fantasized about them, seen them hidden under layers of clothing. But never, never had I seen them so naked, so directly, so close. They were not like the artificially inflated, round breasts of models on the internet. Mom’s breasts were truly beautiful, the beauty of a mature woman, a mother. They were full, round, but still had a natural slight sag, forming a soft curve that fell down. The skin there was so white that I could faintly see the tiny blue veins like underground streams. Mom’s areolas were not small, they were a deep pink, and right in the center, the two nipples were firm, erect from the cold air in the room, like two flower buds waiting to be discovered.
Mom looked at me, her eyes not shy at all. She looked straight into my eyes, then down at her breasts, her voice filled with the pride of an artist introducing her most favorite work.
“Here. Your first teaching aid. Mom’s breast.”
She used her index finger to gently point to one breast. “Look closely. It nursed you when you were a baby. Your first milk came from here. Now, it will teach you how to be a man.”
Then she moved her fingers, pointing to the faint, silvery white lines under her breasts. “See? They’re not perfect. These are stretch marks. The marks of having you, Huy. The marks of you on my body.”
Her words, so raw and strangely gentle, sent a jolt of electricity through my chest. These were more than just breasts to fuck. These were a part of my history, a part of the body that had raised me. And now, it was about to “teach” me.
*”Oh my god… she is beautiful in a naked way. Not the perfect beauty of a model, but the beauty of a mother, a real woman. The beauty of my own mother.”*
“Give me your hand,” my mother commanded, her voice pulling me out of my thoughts.
I hesitantly held out my trembling hand. Mom took it. Her hand was warm and soft. She slowly placed my hand on her right breast.
In that moment, an explosion of sensation spread through my body. Soft. Warm. And much heavier than I had imagined. My palm sank into the elasticity of the flesh. I could feel its weight, its vitality.
“Feel it,” her voice whispered. “Feel its weight, its warmth, its softness. Can you feel my heartbeat under your palm?”
I nodded. Mom’s heartbeat was also beating very fast.
“Don’t just leave it there,” Mom instructed. “Rub it. Gently.”
She took my hand and moved it in a circle. My palm brushed against her smooth skin, making me shiver.
“Now try squeezing gently.”
I did so, my fingers clenching awkwardly.
“No, not like squeezing an orange,” Mom chuckled. “You have to hold it gently. Imagine you’re holding a ripe peach, you don’t want to crush it, you just want to feel its plumpness.”
She took my hand again and showed me how to use my fingers to cup my breast, how to use the pressure from my palm to gently push it up. Then she guided my thumb and index finger to my erect nipple.
“Use two fingers to gently rub it… See? It’s even harder. It’s ‘answering’ you.”
I did as she asked, gently rubbing her nipple. It did get harder, more sensitive under my fingers. And then…
“Hmm…”
A soft, almost inaudible moan escaped her throat. She threw her head back, her lips parted slightly.
That moan, though very small, was like a clap of thunder in my head. I had made my mother moan! With just my hands! My flaccid penis was now pumped, it throbbed, hard to the point of pain.
Mom opened her eyes and looked at me, her gaze a little dreamy. She glanced down at my lower body, then back up at me, a satisfied smile on her lips.
“Good. Your hands are starting to ‘talk’.”
She nodded. “Looks like this ‘teaching tool’ is working well.”
Pride and a sick sense of power welled up inside me. I had succeeded. I had done it.
“Now,” Mom said, her voice a little hoarse. “We’ll try the combination. I’ll keep ‘testing’ down there. And your hand, don’t stop.”
She looked straight into my eyes, her gaze both commanding and encouraging.
“Just keep ‘chatting’ with them.”
Having said that, Mom slowly bent down. Her hair fell down, brushing against my belly. My hand, still shy, rested on Mom’s bare breasts. A new lesson, a symphony of flesh, was about to begin.
——————–
Mom leaned down. The moment her soft lips closed around the head of my cock again, the familiar, overwhelming feeling washed over me. But this time, something was different. My hands were no longer hanging uselessly at my sides. They were resting on Mom’s bare breasts.
*”This time is different. I am no longer passive. I am participating. I am doing the work.”*
The thought was like a stimulant, racing through my veins. I was no longer a patient waiting to be cured. I was a student, practicing my lesson.
At first, I was quite confused. Mom’s mouth was slowly working below, while my hand above only dared to rub gently and timidly. I didn’t know where to focus. The hot, wet, sucking feeling in my lower body, or the soft, warm feeling in my palm? Everything was like a chaotic symphony that I didn’t know how to control.
I decided to experiment. I was a student, and this was my practical. I had to find the “answer” to the problem that the “teacher” had given me.
I tried squeezing the breast gently in my hand. Immediately, I felt a slight change down there. Her sucking rhythm quickened a little.
*”It worked!”* I shouted in my head.
I tried again, this time using my fingers to gently rub the erect nipple.
“Um…”
A soft, muffled moan escaped her throat, but my ears caught it. And with it, I felt her tongue swirl more playfully around the head of my cock.
I began to understand. This was a wordless dialogue. A response of the flesh. Every movement I made on her breasts produced a corresponding reaction from her mouth. I was no longer a one-way receiver. I was “talking” to her, in the most primitive language.
Confidence began to rise. I was no longer shy. I used both hands to cup her breasts. They felt heavy and full in my palms. I began a rhythm of my own: circling, squeezing, and rolling the nipples. I was like a musician exploring my new instrument, searching for the notes that would produce the most beautiful sound.
And my mother, my “lute”, responded enthusiastically. Her moans were no longer suppressed, they became clearer, more urgent. Her mouth worked with a frenzy and passion I had never felt before.
But my penis, though much harder, still hadn’t reached the state I craved. Something was still missing. One final “switch.”
In a moment of boldness, I decided to do something different. Instead of individual actions, I would combine them. I took a deep breath, and with both hands, I squeezed my mother’s breasts at the same time. Not a tender squeeze, but a possessive squeeze, as if to deform them in my hands.
“Ah!”
Mom cried out, not in pain, but in surprise and pleasure. Her back arched. Her head fell back. And then, the miracle happened.
At that moment, I felt my mother’s mouth suddenly constrict. The sphincter muscles in her mouth tightened around my penis, like a python wrapping around its prey. A wave of intense pleasure rushed straight into my brain. And I felt it. I felt my penis, as if being given an invisible force, swell, expand, and become as hard as an iron bar inside my mother’s hot mouth.
*”There it is! I found it! When I please my mother, ‘it’ gets harder! This is the secret! This is the answer!”*
A feeling of absolute power and victory washed over me. I was no longer an impotent boy. I was a man, a man making his woman moan with pleasure.
To be sure, I repeated the action. I loosened my grip a little, then suddenly squeezed both breasts.
“Ugh…”
The reaction was identical. My mother’s body jerked again, and her mouth closed around me again, a magical grip. My cock was now an iron rod, a proud weapon. I had succeeded. I had solved the problem.
I was basking in that feeling of victory when suddenly, my mother stopped.
She slowly withdrew her mouth, leaving me feeling empty and disappointed. She looked up at me, her face slightly flushed, her lips swollen, breathing heavily. A satisfied and somewhat proud smile appeared on her lips.
“See? You did it. Good job.” Mom’s voice was hoarse, full of appreciation.
I felt my chest swell with pride. I had passed the test.
But then, Mom shook her head. Her eyes flashed with mischief.
“But that’s not enough to be ‘rich,’” she said. “A man has to know how to please from many angles.”
My excitement was halted by my mother’s words. Not enough? This is not enough? What else does my mother want to teach me?
“But that’s still not ‘rich’ enough. A man must know how to please from many angles.”
My mother’s words immediately poured cold water on the smugness that had just begun to grow in me. Wasn’t that enough? I had just found the “secret”, had just made my mother moan, and had just felt my iron-hard penis in her mouth. Was that still not enough?
Mom seemed to read my mind. She smiled, a mischievous yet sympathetic smile of a teacher looking at a young student.
“Breasts are for pampering, for cherishing,” Mom explained, her voice sounding like she was giving a profound philosophical lesson. “But buttocks… are for conquering, for possessing. Those are two completely different categories. You’ve learned how to ‘pamper’. Now… do you want to learn how to ‘conquer’?”
I swallowed, unable to speak, all I could do was nod. Learning how to win over my mother? It sounded so crazy and exciting.
“Good.”
Mom stood up. Her white silk bathrobe slid down, revealing a bare shoulder and almost the entirety of one full breast for a moment, before she casually pulled it back with her hand. That unintentional yet intentional action sent a spark straight to my lower body.
She didn’t go back to bed at once. She walked a few paces across the room, then suddenly turned her back on me.
“To learn this lesson, you need another ‘teaching aid,’” Mom said, her voice full of meaning.
I held my breath. I knew what she was going to do.
Her long, slender hands reached behind her back, grasping the lower flap of her cloak. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, she lifted it up.
The white silk shirt was pulled up, revealing mother’s long, white legs. Higher. And then, they appeared.
Heaven. Hell. A work of art by nature.
Mom’s ass.
Holy shit! It wasn’t completely naked. It was wrapped in a black lace thong. And that was what made it so killer. The sheer black lace, with its intricate patterns, both concealed and accentuated every curve of her round, plump ass. Her porcelain skin was visible through the thin fabric, creating a magical visual contrast. I could clearly see the shape of two hemispheres of her ass, round and perfect, separated by a deep cleft where the thin lace disappeared. It wasn’t the nakedness of flesh, but the allure of a delicately wrapped gift, waiting to be discovered.
*”Oh my god! This is the ass that drove dad crazy. The ass that sat on Ky Nam’s lap. Now it’s right here, in front of me, calling me.”*
“Here,” my mother’s voice called out, pulling me out of my trance. “The second tool. It’s a little harder, because it has a ‘protective layer.’” She patted her bottom, making a soft “pop” sound that echoed in my head. “You have to learn to overcome it, or better yet, use it.”
I lay there, unable to take my eyes off the scene before me.
“Come on,” Mom ordered, her voice a little impatient. “Touch it.”
Like a robot, I slowly extended my trembling hand. The moment my fingertips touched the lace, a completely different feeling spread throughout my body. It was not as soft as skin. It was a bit rough, the stitches were rough, but underneath the fabric, I could still feel the warmth, firmness and elasticity of my mother’s skin.
“See?” Mom instructed. “This lace adds friction. It makes the touch more ‘exciting.’ Use it. Run your hand along the seam of the panties.”
I did. My fingers ran along the lace, where the fabric met her skin. Mom shivered.
“Good. Now squeeze. Squeeze hard.”
I obeyed, using both hands to cup one side of my butt and squeeze it.
“Ah…” Mom let out another small cry, a sound of surprise and delight. “Harder. You’re conquering him. Let him know who’s boss.”
I felt empowered. I squeezed with all my might. The lace and flesh sank deep into my fingers. I could feel all of its fullness, its vitality. The feeling of power rose again, even more intense than before.
Mom seemed satisfied. She let out a breath, her voice a little urgent.
“Well done… student… It seems you have a gift for conquest…” She glanced down at my erect penis, which was about to explode. “Alright… the ‘tool’ is ready. We… must put it all into a symphony.”
She turned around, her face flushed, her eyes sparkling. She was no longer a serious teacher, but a girlfriend playing a mischievous game.
“Good,” she said, and slowly knelt down beside the bed again. “Now… put everything you’ve learned together. One hand on the breast, one hand on the buttocks.”
She looked me straight in the eye, a challenging smile.
“Let me see what your symphony will be like.”
————————
Mother knelt before me once more. But this time, everything was different. I was no longer a timid student, nor a patient waiting to be cured. I was a conductor, and my mother’s body was her most precious instrument, and I was about to create my own symphony.
I took a deep breath, feeling my chest swell with power. One hand, I placed on my mother’s bare left breast, feeling the familiar softness and warmth. The other hand, I placed on her right buttock, feeling the roughness of the black lace contrasting with the plump flesh underneath. Two completely different sensations, yet strangely blended under my palm.
Mom looked at me, a mischievous, encouraging smile. Then, she leaned down, and that hot mouth enveloped my already hard cock again.
The symphony begins.
This time it wasn’t an overload. My mind was unusually clear. I knew what to do. I was no longer a passive recipient of pleasure, I was actively creating it, for both my mother and myself.
Mom’s mouth begins to work, a slow, inviting rhythm. I respond. My right hand begins to caress her ass, tracing the curves of the lace. My left hand gently strokes her nipple.
“Mmm…” Mom moaned softly. Her mouth sucked harder.
I smiled. I was “talking” to my mom.
I started trying new “chords”.
I used my left hand to squeeze her breast hard, at the same time, my right hand also squeezed her butt.
“Ah… ugh…” Mom jerked slightly. Her mouth contracted, squeezing my cock. A wave of pleasure ran down my spine.
*”That’s right… This feeling… When I do both at the same time, Mom’s reaction is stronger.”*
I tried another combo. My left hand was still fondling her nipple, but my right hand became bolder. I wasn’t just massaging the outside anymore. My fingers began to explore, running along the thin lace that was hidden deep in her ass crack.
“Your hand… your hand… is so naughty…” Mom’s voice was muffled, unclear, but I could hear the pleasure in it.
Mom’s tongue became more skillful, swirling around the head of my cock, as if trying to “reward” my hand’s boldness.
*”I am controlling my mother. My hands are commanding her mouth. I am the conductor, and my mother’s body is a symphony.”*
The excitement was overwhelming. I felt like a god, playing with a living work of art. But I wanted more. I wanted a higher note, a bigger explosion. I wanted to find the ultimate “switch.”
And then, a crazy thought flashed through my mind.
My right hand, groping in the crack of her ass, found it. The thin lace was tight. I hooked my index finger around it. I felt its elasticity.
I pulled it back gently, like drawing a bow. Mom’s skin at the crack of her buttocks was stretched, white and tender.
Then, I suddenly let go.
*Cup!*
The thread snapped against her skin, making a small but sharp sound.
“Ah!!!”
Mom let out a scream, an uncontrollable scream. Her entire body jerked as if electrocuted. And most importantly, her mouth that was holding my cock tightened so violently that I felt like my cock was about to be crushed in a spasm of pleasure. The feeling was so intense that I almost came right then and there.
I gasped. I had found it. The “G-spot” of interaction. The ultimate turn-on.
I looked at Mom. She had her eyes closed, her brows furrowed, her mouth still closed. She looked like she had just had a mini-orgasm.
The cruelty of a conqueror rose in me. I wanted to see that reaction again.
I hooked my finger into the thread again, pulled it tight… and released it.
*Cup!*
“Ugh… ah…” This time, Mom didn’t scream, but let out a long moan. Her body jerked again, and that mouth tightened around me again.
I was going crazy. I repeated the action, over and over. Pull and release. Pull and release. Each snap was a spasm of her body, a contraction of her mouth, pushing me closer and closer to the brink of explosion.
The rhythm of the symphony had now become frantic. My left hand roughly squeezed my mother’s breast. My right hand repeatedly “popped” the lace into her ass crack. And my mother’s mouth, like a whirlwind, sucked, sucked, and swallowed my penis greedily.
I couldn’t take it anymore. It felt like millions of ants were crawling through my veins. My lower body was so tight it felt like it was about to explode.
“Mom… mom…” I whispered, my voice lost in pleasure. “This time… I can’t… I can’t control myself anymore…”
Mom seemed to have reached her limit too. She looked up at me, her eyes dreamy and wet, her face flushed with lust. She was panting, but still tried to smile at me, a smile of permission.
“Good…” she said hoarsely. “This time… I’ll allow it…”
She leaned in close, whispering the final words, the magic spell that would release them all.
“Shoot… Shoot it all out for me!”
My mother’s permission, the liberating spell I had been craving, echoed through my head like a clap of thunder. In an instant, all other thoughts vanished. The hands that had been kneading my mother’s breasts and ass dropped to the sides of the bed. My entire consciousness, my entire existence, now contracted, compressed into a single point: where my cock was surrounded by my mother’s hot, wet mouth.
Mom was no longer a teacher. She was a whirlwind, an abyss of pleasure. She looked up at me, her eyes dreamy and wet, then bent down, picking up speed. Her mouth sucked, licked, sucked, making naked and lewd “slurp”, “slurp” sounds. Each suck of Mom was like an electric shock, each swirl of her tongue pushed me closer to the brink of explosion.
My body began to tense. My back arched off the bed. My toes curled, and an unbearable tightness began to build at the base of my cock. I knew I was about to cum. The flood was at the dam, waiting for one final command to break it all.
And in that moment before I broke down, when my mind went blank and only my instincts remained, the images I had been trying to suppress for so long suddenly surfaced.
I saw this wonderful mouth, the mouth that was giving me heaven, that had once taken my father’s cock in the kitchen.
I saw her being held down and forced roughly by Ky Nam in the hotel bathroom.
I saw him kneeling down, serving Anh Khoa in the cafe restroom.
Why?
Why do they get this before me?
A sudden surge of dark anger and jealousy surged through me, stronger than the rising pleasure. This is my mother! This mouth is mine! These breasts are mine! This ass is mine! This entire body, this entire pleasure, should have belonged to me alone from the very beginning! They have no right!
*”This is mine! It’s all mine!”*
That possessive rage was the final push. It merged with orgasm, turning mere pleasure into an act of ownership, a revenge, a flood of possession.
“Aaaaaa!”
I roared, a beastly roar. My whole body convulsed violently. And then, I shot.
Not a stream, but a veritable flood. Wave after wave of thick, hot semen was drawn from deep within my body, sprayed straight into my mother’s throat. I felt the contraction of every muscle, felt the emptiness and lightness after each spray.
I opened my eyes and looked at my mother through a haze of pleasure. She hadn’t stopped. She was still holding my cock tightly in her mouth, still sucking, as if she wanted to drain every last drop, not to waste anything that belonged to me. Her eyes were closed, her long eyelashes trembled slightly, her flushed face looked both reverent and strangely lustful.
And then I heard it.
*Gulp.*
A small sound, but clear in the quiet room. Mom’s neck muscles moved. She had swallowed the first dose.
*Gulp.*
Second batch.
She was swallowing it. Swallowing my essence. Swallowing my anger, my jealousy, my possessiveness. In that moment, I felt like I was inside her, a part of her in a way more primal and profound than when I was a fetus. I had won. I had defeated Dad, I had defeated Ky Nam, I had defeated Anh Khoa. I had taken back what was mine.
After I had ejaculated until there was nothing left, Mom kept it in her mouth for a few more seconds, as if to “clean” it up. Then she slowly, reluctantly let go. A silvery thread of saliva and semen connected her lips to the tip of my penis for a moment, before breaking off.
Mom knelt there, panting, her lips swollen and glossy. She stuck out her tongue and licked the corners of her lips in satisfaction. She looked at me, who lay like a rag doll, and smiled.
“My student…” she said, her voice hoarse with pleasure. “Very good…”
—————————–
I lay on the bed, my whole body limp as if there were no bones left. My chest heaved with each gasp. The whole room was filled with the smell of sweat, wine, and the very strong smell of semen. The smell of sin. The smell of heaven.
Mom was still kneeling beside the bed, also panting. Her face was flushed, her lips were swollen, and a few strands of hair were stuck to her sweaty forehead. She was no longer a teacher, nor a virtuous mother. She was a woman who had just had a passionate love affair. And the man who had done it to her was me, her son.
A silence fell. Not the suffocating silence of waiting before, but a silence of echoes, of satisfaction.
Then Mom moved. She slowly stood up, pulling her bathrobe back over her body, which had been the stage for our symphony. She walked into the bathroom. I heard the sound of running water. A few minutes later, Mom returned with a warm towel in her hand.
She knelt down beside me again. Her gentle hand took hold of my flaccid, saliva-covered penis. She began to wipe it. Bit by bit. After she had cleaned me thoroughly, she did not throw away the towel. She folded it, then sat down on the edge of the bed, right next to me. She brushed the sweaty strands of hair from my forehead, her eyes regaining the brilliance of a “teacher”.
“The lesson is over for today,” she said, her voice clear again. “I give you a 9.”
*”9 points!”* A childish joy welled up in me. I had been praised by my teacher.
“You have learned how to coordinate your hands and mouth, how to create pleasure for your ‘classmate’,” Mom commented, like an experienced judge. “That is a big step forward. You have understood that to ‘receive’ you must know how to ‘give’. You have mastered the rhythm.”
Complacency made me greedy. I looked at my mother, my voice filled with anticipation. “So… what will we learn in the ‘new semester’? Will there be more difficult lessons, Mom?” I hoped, I longed to go further, to explore the remaining lands on my mother’s body.
Mother smiled, but it was a distant smile, and shook her head.
“Huy, you have ‘graduated’.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Graduated? But… you still haven’t…”
“Not yet?” Mother interrupted, her eyes becoming serious. She stood up, walked to the armchair, and sat down opposite me, just as before. She crossed her legs again, and slowly lifted the hem of her cloak.
A familiar scene appeared. A plump butt and a mysterious sacred land covered by black lace.
“Do you want to touch here? Or do you want to go inside?” Mom asked bluntly.
I did not dare to answer, just nodded unconsciously.
Mom sighed. “I know. But no, Huy. This land,” she pointed to the place, “will be off limits to us . You will be allowed to see it as a reward, a recognition of your efforts. But you will not be allowed to touch it.”
A cold, bitter feeling of disappointment washed over me. Again the limit. Again the prohibition.
But this time, Mom didn’t let me wallow in that disappointment. She continued, her voice suddenly serious and full of direction.
“Huy, do you understand what the purpose of all this is?”
I was confused. “To… to cure my child?”
“Yes. But what is the cure for?” Mom asked again. “So you can do what?”
She didn’t wait for me to answer. “It’s so you can be confident with other women. So you can be a real man out there.”
She looked me straight in the eye. “I am not your destination, Huy. I am just your ‘practice ground’. A safe place where you can fail and learn without being judged.”
*”Practice ground?”* The word hit me like a hammer.
Having said that, my mother stood up, quietly left the room and went to the kitchen. I quietly followed.
….
After finishing her sip of warm milk, my mother looked at me, her eyes deepening, like a teacher preparing to give her final advice to a graduating student.
“Huy,” she began, “our practice has helped you regain your confidence. I’m glad about that.”
She paused, stirring her coffee. “But to really be a good man, you need experience. And experience comes from observation.”
I listened attentively, trying to absorb every word my mother said.
“I can’t always be the place to ‘teach’ you forever, “new lands” also need you to conquer,” she continued, her voice a bit distant. “But my life… lately… since I started treating you… sometimes it’s complicated. You see that too. There will be other men coming to me, for many reasons.”
She spoke softly, as if telling a story that had nothing to do with her. But I knew she was talking about Dad, about Khoi, about Nam, about all the men who had and were lusting after her body.
“I don’t encourage it,” she said, and I saw a flash of sadness in her eyes. “But if it does happen… I don’t want you to see it as a betrayal or something horrible.”
She looked me straight in the eye. “Think of it as a ‘visual classroom’. A chance for you to learn. Watch them, see what they do right and what they do wrong. Watch how a woman reacts. It will help you a lot when you have a girlfriend later on.”
My mother’s words were like a time bomb ticking in my head. She wasn’t giving me orders. She wasn’t giving me power. She was simply giving me advice, a conditional permission. She was giving me a new lens through which to view my own mother’s infidelity: it wasn’t a sin, it was a “lecture.”
*”If it happens? Mom said ‘if’. That means she didn’t take the initiative, but she didn’t refuse either. She was giving herself a conditional permission. A tacit nod.”*
My mind was spinning. A big question began to form, a question I had never dared to think about before.
*”So… should I just sit and wait for the ‘if’ to happen? Or… can I be the one to create that ‘if’? Should I take the initiative to arrange a ‘lesson’? Do I have that right?”*
The question is both terrifying and strangely alluring. Being an audience member is exciting enough. But being a director, a arranger… that’s a whole other level of power.
Just then, as if in answer to my question, my mother’s phone on the table suddenly vibrated. The screen lit up, and I could read the name on the notification.
**”Khoi.”**
Mom glanced at the phone, then sighed, a sigh that was unclear whether it was from fatigue or boredom.
“It’s him again,” Mom said, sounding annoyed. “It’s so…”
She left the sentence unfinished, not picking up her phone or turning off the notification. She just left it there, a silent invitation.
I looked at the glowing phone screen, then looked back up at my mother. The “if” was no longer a hypothesis. It was there, right there on the table, within my reach. Just a text message from my mother, or a call from mine, and that “if” would become a “when”.
The power to decide, even though my mother did not directly give it to me, is now in my hands. Should I take it? Should I cross the line from being a permitted observer, to becoming an active arranger?
I looked at my mother, she was sipping warm milk, her eyes staring out at the night sea, as if she did not care about the struggle in my heart. But I knew, she knew. She was waiting. Waiting to see what her student would do with the teacher’s final advice.