Chapter 57: Combing Mom's Hair
Chapter 57: Combing Mom's Hair
After I finished cleaning the dishes, I turned off the chandelier in the living room. I stood there for a moment, staring at the light spilling out from Mom’s bedroom, before returning to my own room.
After a hot shower, I wrapped a towel around my waist and sat down at my desk.
I had been home for two days over the weekend, yet I hadn't written a single word of my schoolwork. Instead, I had been constantly occupied, navigating the delicate dynamics between four women: Mom, my little sister, Chen Xiao, and Song Yu.
However, the progress I’d made over these two days was quite significant. I had cleared the air with my sister and established a relationship; things with Song Yu had become ambiguous and charged once more; and as for Mom, it was as if a stone had been tossed into a still lake—ripples were spreading, and we were finally seeing some progress.
The workload for a high school senior mostly consisted of endless stacks of practice exams. At its most exaggerated, the homework could be piled high enough to form a thick volume.
I first pulled out seven or eight English practice papers. If I didn't prioritize the assignments for Chu Ning, my English teacher, I had no idea how she would discipline me once I got to school tomorrow.
The questions on the papers weren't particularly difficult, but they were convoluted and the steps were tedious, forcing you to sink a massive amount of time into them.
Watching an hour slip away in the blink of an eye, I helplessly pulled out my phone and began scanning the questions for answers, mimicking my sister’s usual tactics.
There was no other way. If I continued at my current pace, it would be dawn before I finished these dozens of papers.
Just as I was writing furiously, a knock came from the door. "Yuan'er, can Mom come in?"
"Mom, the door isn't locked. Just come in."
The words had barely left my lips when Mom pushed the bedroom door open.
Looking at her standing in the doorway, I couldn't help but daze for a moment, my expression freezing.
I hadn't expected that when Mom walked in, she would be wrapped in nothing but a bath towel.
Under the light, her skin shimmered with an alluring white radiance, as smooth and delicate as a pearl. That snow-white skin made the white of the towel look dull by comparison.
The towel clung tightly to her delicate frame, tracing the exquisite curves of her silhouette. Her lush, flawless figure appeared even more provocative and enticing under the wrap of the towel.
Her long, black hair was damp and soft, draped casually over her shoulders and reaching down to her waist. Droplets of water continued to trickle from the ends of her hair.
Looking at her, it seemed she had just stepped out of the bath; she looked like a lotus flower freshly emerged from the water.
The towel was wrapped across her chest, revealing her delicate collarbones. Her high, swelling breasts pushed the towel outward, while simultaneously making her swan-like neck appear even more slender and elegant.
The hem of the towel barely reached the middle of her thighs. Below that, two long, dazzling legs—smooth as jade pillars—were exposed right before my eyes.
Mom didn't seem to notice my stunned gaze. She walked straight toward me, asking, "Are you studying?"
I quickly shook my head to steady my mind, uncomfortably shifting my gaze away from her. "Yes, I haven't finished this weekend's homework yet."
As Mom moved, the towel swayed gently with her steps, like a blooming white lily.
Every step she took was so graceful, so captivating, that one couldn't help but be drawn in. Her presence forcibly pulled my gaze back from the side; my eyes remained fixed on her, unable to look away.
"It's fine, keep writing."
Mom stood beside me, her long, narrow Phoenix Eyes scanning the assignments on my desk.
The scent of body wash mingled with her own unique fragrance—a scent like orchids and musk—wafted from her body, making me feel restless.
I kept swallowing hard, my eyes instinctively darting toward her. Seeing that she showed no sign of leaving, I couldn't help but ask, "Mom, is something wrong?"
"Oh."
Mom tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "When I was showering just now, the hot water suddenly cut out. I thought I’d come over and use yours."
"Is the water heater broken? I'll go take a look."
I was just about to stand up when Mom pressed a hand against my shoulder. She said softly, "No need. You focus on your studies. I'll just use the bathroom and then I'll head out."
"Then... okay."
I didn't think much of it and sat back down obediently.
Mom turned and walked into the bathroom. Listening to the sound of the water running inside and staring at the homework on my desk, I found I couldn't process a single word.
"Sigh."
I closed my book and let out a soft sigh. The image of Mom’s curvaceous figure wrapped in that towel kept flashing through my mind.
After this visit from Mom, there was no way I was going to finish the rest of my homework.
I gazed out the window at the bright moon and the illuminated high-rises, but my eyes kept drifting back to the bathroom door as if possessed. It felt as though if I stared hard enough, I could see right through the door to Mom showering inside.
Sitting at the desk, I grew restless. Without realizing it, I walked out of my room, over to Mom’s bedroom, and stepped into her bathroom.
Because she had just showered, the bathroom was still filled with a lingering mist of steam. I glanced at the water heater; the display showed a normal temperature.
Is the displayed temperature wrong?
I turned on the showerhead. As the warm droplets fell, my body stiffened slightly.
Feeling the hot water flowing over my palm, I turned the handle to the maximum setting as if in disbelief. Immediately, a scalding heat hit my hand, even turning the back of my hand slightly red.
I stared blankly at my wet palm, then looked back at the temperature displayed on the heater, unable to believe what I was seeing.
There was clearly hot water in the heater—it was even scalding. Why did Mom say there was no hot water?
My mind felt like it had exploded, leaving me in a daze.
Why would Mom say that? Why would she lie to me?
Recalling how she had pressed her hand on my shoulder to stop me from checking her water heater, I suddenly became agitated. I was so worked up that my body felt slightly numb, and my limbs felt out of my control.
Why would Mom tell such a lie? Why would she go out of her way to deceive me? And why would she come to my bathroom to shower wrapped in only a towel?
I thought back to her behavior over the past two days—the sudden "inspection" at school, her testing of Chu Ning, her jealousy over Song Yu, her wariness regarding the relationship between my sister and me...
Mom’s reactions lately had clearly exceeded the boundaries of a mother’s concern for her son.
Could it be that Mom really feels the same way I do? Does Mom actually "like" me?
At that thought, my mouth went dry. Carrying a heart full of uncontrollable excitement and a wild idea I could hardly believe, I quietly backed out of Mom’s room.
Back in the living room, I poured a glass of cold water and downed it in one gulp. The icy water slid down my throat, soothing the dryness in my mouth.
I spent a long time calming my turbulent, racing heart before I finally walked back to my own room.
When I pushed the door open, Mom seemed to have just finished her bath. She was still wrapped in that same towel, her long, snow-white legs crossed as she sat on the edge of the bed. Her calves were slender and her thighs were rounded; the sight of those beautiful, pale legs made it impossible for me to look away.
Mom sat there with her legs crossed, holding my towel, her head tilted as she dried her long, wet hair.
Her Phoenix Eyes flicked toward me, taking me in, and her sexy red lips parted slightly. "Where did you go?"
I tried my best to keep my voice and expression natural. "I went to the living room for a glass of water."
Mom nodded slightly and beckoned me over. "Come here, blow-dry Mom’s hair."
"Okay."
I agreed and walked over to her side. I took the towel from her hands and gently dabbed away the water droplets clinging to the strands of her hair.
Once there were no more visible drips, I picked up the hairdryer and began drying her long tresses.
My fingers ran through her hair, acting like a comb to untangle her waterfall of locks. I asked considerately, "Mom, is it too hot?"
Mom gave a soft hum of response. "It’s not hot. It’s just right."
As I dried her hair, I studied her exposed snowy back and jade neck. She was truly graceful and exquisite, as fine as the most perfect piece of precious porcelain in the world.
Perhaps if I kissed her now, running my tongue over the skin of her jade back, she wouldn't refuse?
The more I thought, the hotter my body became, and the wilder my ideas grew.
I even felt a sudden impulse to pull away her towel and kiss every inch of her skin, licking her from head to toe.
But Mom’s true feelings weren't clear yet, and I didn't know what she was really thinking.
I can't be impulsive...
I can't rush this...
It’s still too early.
After carefully drying every strand of her hair and applying some hair oil, I picked up the wooden comb from the desk to style it for her.
Mom’s hair was already soft and smooth, but after the oil, it became even more lustrous.
I gently brushed aside the stray hairs on her forehead and ran the comb softly from the roots to the tips. Every time the teeth of the comb slid through her hair, the sensation felt as if I were stroking her skin. I could almost feel the warmth and smoothness of her body.
Mom lightly closed her beautiful eyes, enjoying my service.
In this moment, the flow of time seemed to slow down and stretch out. It felt as if only the two of us, mother and son, remained in the entire world. The atmosphere was quiet and cozy, and I was enveloped in an indescribable sense of comfort.
Combing a woman’s hair is no simple task; it is a symbol of romance. After all, traditionally, only a husband combs his wife’s hair.
With comb in hand, deep affections pass; yet strands of hair entwine a fated bond.
With her hair lingering between my fingers, my heart felt peaceful and serene, as if I truly were combing the hair of my own wife.
I looked at Mom’s flawless, beautiful face and silently whispered in my heart: Mom, would you be my wife?
In that moment, I wished that time would stop forever.