God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem - Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Hate And Love
…Oh god. It’s acting up again.

My hatred for older men and my love for older women is acting up again.

I’ve been keeping it supressed since I’ve been trying to integrate into society without giving myself out in any way for the past two years, but now that I’m in a new world where I’m considered to be the protagonist, it’s all coming out again.

My hatred towards older men stems from various factors in my childhood; and all the bad memories I could think of that impacted me negatively involved them.

It started off with my own father, who left me on the streets in the cold when I was a baby. Then it went to the grandpa that found me on the streets; who at that time I thought was going to take care of me but actually sold me to some traffickers for some drug money.

Even though I had a perfectly working mind back when I was a one-year-old baby and could understand what was going on around me like an adult, I still had the body of a baby and couldn’t do anything as I was getting sold. Luckily, the traffic ring was busted, and I was sent to an orphanage to get taken care of.

But the story doesn’t end there, as one of the male caretakers there tried to molest me when I was 4 years old, and when I was 6, the new warden of the orphanage was a sick sadist who abused and thrashed me and some other children around when we made the slightest mistake.

And at age 8, a man burned the orphanage I lived in; at age 9, my english teacher, who was my first love, got engaged to another man; at age 10, the foster father of one of the little girls I cared for at the orphanage was found to be a pedophile; at age 11, a government official was stealing all the money that was supposed to go to the orphanage; and after that, I was chased by those organisations that were led by men.

Ever since I was a child, everything unlucky that happened to me involved a man, so I’ve grown to detest them with all my heart over the years. Even though I may talk to them normally nowadays, I always keep a guard on them and never get too close since it always ends horribly for me.

But older women, on the other hand…Well, they were the exact opposite. Every moment of my life where I felt safe, happy, and satisfied was when I was with an older woman.

Like how I was saved by a task force led by a female officer who brought down the trafficking brigade and made sure I was taken care of in the orphanage as a baby. Or the several female caretakers in the several orphanages I was in, who treated me like their own son and gave me their unconditional love.

There was also my first love as a child who was my English teacher, the rich older lady who always donated to the orphanage and played with the children there, the lady lawyer who fought against the man who stole from the orphanage, the granny who always brought sweets to share with the children, the lady who would buy me a new book every time she visited me, and so many more times where women were the sunshine in my life.

Just like how men were the malignant tumours in my story, women were the stars that kept me moving forward every day.

And because I matured at a very young age due to my constitution, I never found girls my age attractive and was only interested in older women, even as a child. And not simply any adult women, but women who gave off a mature feeling as if they would pamper you in their presence. Women who gave off a motherly aura with plump and soft bodies, that had softened over the years like ripe fruit.

That’s the type of woman I like…So basically, milfs in general.

That’s why a gorgeous woman like my mother before me was simply irresistible in my eyes, and there was no way in hell I could ever treat her as my real mother.

But I should remember that I shouldn’t be greedy just because I’m in a new world, as greed brings forth the demise of others, which I’ve personally witnessed in the past.

So, for that reason alone, I will leave my father alone if he actually exists…That is, unless the Gods want to see him vanish, which I will happily carry out.

“Oh. You’re finally here. I thought I was going to have to go back to your room and play my newest musical piece.” My mom noticed me standing near the kitchen entrance.

“But since the food is going to take a few minutes to be ready, why don’t I just play it for you as you wait…” My mom turned and said, with a playful smile on her face, as she held a pan in one hand and a spatula in the other.

But just as she was about to start banging away, she once again stopped and froze in place. Her blue eyes went wide as she had a look of shock on her face, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

She almost dropped the utensils from the surprise, and she was looking at me with her lips parted, as if she were looking at a completely different person.

I didn’t understand why she was staring at me with wonder and disbelief in her eyes, like she was seeing her son for the first time, when I looked exactly like her actual son.

Or is it that her motherly instincts activated, and she immediately realised that I wasn’t her real son when she saw me?

I didn’t know what to make of the situation and just stood in place, staring back at her, hoping she didn’t find out that I was a fake.

“Kafi…You…You’re looking at me.”

Huh?…Why is she so surprised that I’m looking at her? Is there some tradition in this world where I can’t look at my own mother’s face?