“PAINTING” MOM

Hi, I’m Ben. This is the story about my mother and me. It begins with the familiar return from college and a difficult re-insertion into the home life that I had left four years earlier and had not been part of except for Christmas holidays and the summer after my first year. Each summer after that I had worked a dream job as part of the crew for a company chartering sailboats in the Caribbean. I did that for the first two months after graduation but, due to the sagging economy, the company was f***ed to let me go. So there I was, on my parents’ doorstep, degree in hand and a few hundred bucks in my pocket, and no job prospects whatsoever. So much for my degree.

I guess Mom and I were both a little surprised by each other. I hadn’t been back to the west coast since the past summer so it had been more than a year since we’d seen each other. The deep tan caught Mom by surprise, probably because each time she’d seen me at Christmas it had had four months to wear off from the previous summer. Also, I was wearing summer garb — shorts and a t-shirt with the sleeves torn off — so my lean, twenty-two year old frame clearly showed the healthy lifestyle I had been living.

Looking at Mom, I could see that she had been making changes of her own. The Simon and Garfunkel tune, The Boxer, wafted out of the living room. Mom was wearing some kind of loose, hippy, tie-dyed long shirt over a pair of almost shredded jeans, an outfit straight from the seventies. Her hair, normally just brushing her shoulders, had been allowed a few more inches of freedom. In addition to the extra length, it was much bushier, its wavy blonde and reddish strands creating a tawny took befitting a younger woman ready for fun. Other than that, Mom looked much the same: a slender woman not much more than five feet tall with a nice figure despite her aversion to strenuous exercise.

We both laughed in pleasant surprise.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming so I could pick you up?” Mom admonished me as the taxi pulled away.

“I wanted to surprise you,” I said.

Actually, I didn’t want to be a bother. I was kind of bummed out showing up at home almost broke. Truth be known, if I could have found a job, I wouldn’t have come home.

“Well, you did that.” Mom suddenly jumped up and kissed me again. “I’m so happy to see you!”

Mom turned around and led the way into the house.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“Starving,” I said. I wasn’t really but I knew Mom would want me to eat something and it would take the pressure off conversation if she was busy doing something and my mouth was full.

“Take your bags up to your room while I make you something to eat,” she said. “It’s just the way you left it, and come down right away to tell me what you’ve been doing. You can unpack later.”

As I turned to go up the stairs, I cast a last glance at Mom’s retreating figure. What had happened to my insurance-rep Mom? Where were the conservative business suits and crisp skirts and blouses? A tie-dyed shirt, faded denims and old tennis shoes? What had happened on the home front in the last year?

My apprehensions at coming home were over-ridden by my curiosity. I did just what Mom said; I tossed my suitcases into my old room and rushed downstairs. I had to find out what had caused this change in my mother.

Tomato sandwiches and a large glass of milk were already waiting for me on the kitchen table and Mom was just setting a teapot down with a tall, slim mug decorated with some kind of pseudo-medieval design in pastel colors.

Mom asked me what I’d been up to right away but when I started eating she slipped into telling me all about what she’d been doing. Evidently, she had had a life changing experience that led her to quit the insurance business to take up sculpting full time. Dad wasn’t too happy about the loss of income but she had put her foot down and refused to change her mind. She was going to become a sculptor, a professional one, whether he liked it or not. However, she admitted that she felt under pressure to sell some of her works now that it had been almost a year since she’d quit her job.

I finished the first sandwich and Mom insisted I tell her what I’d been doing, interrupting me as soon as I started to apologize for not being able to come to my graduation because they just couldn’t afford to fly across the country.

“I really feel guilty about that,” she said, stretching her hands out to hold mine, the one not holding a sandwich.

It didn’t take long for me to tell her about the sailing charters, something I’d already told her and Dad about before, and how the economic downturn had resulted in the failure of the company. I had the impression Mom just wanted to hear my voice.

“So, here I am, broke and without a job,” I laughed, picking up the other half of the second sandwich.

“Oh, dear,” Mom said.

Before I took a bite, I asked Mom what had happened to make her quit her job. I was curious but also wanted to change the subject from my situation. I had already dwelled on it enough by myself. Mom launched into a story about not feeling well for a long time, always feeling tired, and a list of other symptoms. I listened half-heartedly until she said the dreadful word.

“Cancer?” I blurted, my mouth full of half-chewed bread and tomatoes.

Mom nodded.

“Cancer?” I repeated.

“Yes, breast cancer.”

My eyes dropped to Mom’s breasts, a rather insensitive thing to do right after a woman has just told you she has breast cancer.

“I still have them,” Mom laughed, seeing the direction of my gaze.

I blushed profusely and looked down at the sandwich in my hand.

Mom laughed out loud. “Don’t feel bad. Every single man that hears about it does that. All my friends’ husbands, even the ones who heard about it through their wives, as soon as they see me, they look at my chest. We all get quite a kick out of it. Jenny said, ‘Now we know what the girls at Hooters feel like’.”

I didn’t recognize Jenny as one of Mom’s regular friends. “Who’s Jenny?”

“Oh, just a girl I met at the clinic. She’s about your age, very pretty but a little different.”

“She had cancer?” I asked.

Mom ignored the question. “Come on,” she said, reaching out to grab my sandwich-free hand. “Look.”

As soon as I looked up, Mom retrieved her hand and used both to heft her breasts.

“See…healthy as a horse.”

“What about the cancer?” I asked, my eyes staying on Mom’s breasts, nicely show-cased by the curved brackets of her hands.

“False alarm,” Mom said as if it was a little thing but I noted a trace of relief that belied her light-hearted dismissal. Mom had obviously been scared silly, the little twitch in her cheek betraying her true feelings. She must have been afraid for her life.

“So you’re ok?” I persisted.

“Absolutely,” Mom banged her hand flat on the table for emphasis. “But your Dad…now, I’m not sure he’s alright.”

“Why?”

“Well, all these changes have upset him, especially me wanting to be a sculptor.”

“Sculptress,” I corrected her. I have no idea why I said that.

“Sculptress. I like the sound of that. Anyway, changes happened and your Dad is having a hard time dealing with it. He thinks things should have gone back to the way they were as soon as we heard the good news. He just doesn’t realize what a life-changing experience it is to hear that awful word. It changes everything. Nothing is the same and there’s no going back.”

Mom reached out to grasp my hand again, this time holding it between both of hers. She looked me seriously in the eye.

“You understand, don’t you.”

I nodded, pausing with the last bit of sandwich inches from my mouth. “Of course,” I said. “Everything’s different.”

Mom released my hand. “It’s amazing, actually. I feel so alive now. I feel like I know what’s important and what’s not but Ken just doesn’t get it.

“He’ll come around, Mom.”

I popped the last of the sandwich into my mouth and watched Mom slowly shake her head.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I just don’t know.”

I cast my eyes down to Mom’s medium-sized breasts and noticed something else that was different. Mom was wearing a regular t-shirt under the tie-dyed shirt but that was all. For the first time in my life, I really saw my new mother, the braless one.

—————————————

“You won’t find anything around here to make a career out of,” Dad said the same thing for the third time using different words.

“I know, Dad. I get it. I’m just going to get my shit together for a couple of months and then get my name out there.”

“Get your shit together? That’s just great. Your mother’s finding herself and you’re ‘getting your shit together’. Perfect. Just perfect.”

“Dad, I need a stable address and somewhere I can get steady access to the internet. And, frankly, a bit of a rest. I’ll find something, probably in LA. Until then, I’m going to help Mom.”

“Doing what? Stirring mud so she can make statues out of it?”

“No, I’m going to build a website so she can display her stuff and sell it. You should see it. Some of it’s pretty good and will probably sell in the city.”

“I have seen it and she has tried to sell it at every fair and market around here for almost a year. She hasn’t made a hundred bucks.”

“She said she’s sold about a thousand.”

“Well, a thousand then, but she’s spent five grand on that studio out back and all that crap for making figurines.”

“Statues,” I corrected my father. “They’re miniature garden statues.”

“Whatever.”

“Dad, she’s had a big shock.”

“We’ve all had a shock but it’s time to move on, get back into the swing of things.” Dad stopped walking and ran his right hand through his hair, then released a long sigh. “I know, Ben. I know. It’s just that…well…I thought she would be getting back to normal but it doesn’t look like she’s going to, or even wants so. I don’t know what to do,” Dad lamented, his exasperation evident.

“Just give her some room,” I suggested.

“Room? Room? I given her all the room in the world and all she’s done is go further off track.”

“Maybe she really needs to go in a different direction, Dad. It happened to her. The cancer happened to her, not to us.”

“Yeah, well it affects all of us. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” Dad ran his hand through his hair again. “All our friends are talking about it. She’s doing nude statues, you know. Have you seen them? And that’s not the half of it.”

I ignored his question. In fact, I hadn’t seen them but suspected they were underneath the tarp in the far corner of Mom’s studio.

“How about you give her a while longer, maybe another two or three months?”

“Two or three more months?” Dad looked at me, stunned.

“Yeah, a couple of months or so. I’ll get a website up and send some emails off and we’ll see what happens. I think people will be interested in her sculptures and if they’re not, well maybe Mom will realize sculpting has to be a hobby and she’ll go back to work.”

I felt guilty stringing Dad along. I didn’t think Mom was ever going to return to work, not as an insurance agent anyway, but the carrot worked—the one about sales rather than returning to work as I thought.

“You really think people in the city might buy that stuff.”

“There’s the possibility. Yeah, I think so.”

I wasn’t convinced but I needed Dad to think there was a chance so he’d give Mom a breather. She needed it.

“Ok, son. Two months then.”

“Three, Dad. Three.”

“Ok, three.”

Dad walked away with a spring in his step.

n, you’re making me self-conscious,” Mom complained.

She was washing a few dishes by hand while I finished my cereal. As she
scrubbed the dishes, my eyes were drawn to the green tank top she was
wearing or, more to the point, the tantalizing movement underneath that
made the material so interesting to watch. I just couldn’t believe my
mom didn’t wear a bra. This was my third day at home and Mom hadn’t worn
one yet. She wore t-shirts, loose blouses, and tank tops but never a
bra.

Misinterpreting the reason for my attention, Mom added, “They’re fine. I
only have the one lump and it hasn’t grown and there aren’t any new
ones.”

My face reddened. Whenever that happens to me, trying to stop it makes
it worse. I tried to hide it by looking down and scooping Honey Nut
Cheerios into my mouth. “Whatever you say, Mom.”

It was definitely better that she believed I was worried about her
health than the truth, that is, that I was ogling my own mother’s tits. I
slurped down the last of the cereal and put the bowl on the counter,
then returned to finish my coffee.

“You should quit drinking that stuff,” Mom said. “You’ll end up like your father, all antsy and uptight.”

I laughed. She had Dad pegged alright. Mom cleaned my bowl and pulled
the plug out of the drain. Immediately, she picked up a dish towel,
dried her hands and then started on the dishes in the rack. My eyes
followed her as she turned to put a glass away in the far cupboard. I
barely managed to look away before she turned back to get another glass
but kept my eyes suitably averted while she dried it. When she turned to
put it away, my gaze locked onto her buns again. Mom had a great
bottom, nicely lifted and outlined by the jeans. They may be old and
faded, but they were designer none the less and made to highlight a
woman’s best feature, at least, the best for some women.

And Mom was one of those women. Her butt sloped gradually away from her
waist to end in two beautiful lumps that looked like someone had filled a
couple of longish balloons with water, held them over an edge, and
covered them with denim. The bulk of the weight swelled out at the
bottom and. As she walked, her ass swayed and the jeans tightened
alternately over each cheek. Mom had remarked that her ass was getting
fat, critically eyeing the way it jutted out more than it had a few
years ago, but to me it was fulfilling its destiny, assuming a
near-perfect form, the pinnacle of female assery. But Mom was the
sculptor and that’s why all her statues, which were all of women, sat in
various poses. Not one was standing. It was a shame because I knew
there were cretans out there like me that would gladly buy a statue
adorned with a butt like Mom’s.

Yeah, Mom used herself as a model for her sculptures. She had a large
mirror set up in her studio and she looked at herself, striking a
particular pose, as she created each new work. She must have put hours
and hours into it to have made all the statues sitting around the
studio. I hadn’t seen the ones under the tarp, which I suspected were
the nudes that Dad had referred to. I hoped that one day Mom would show
them to me since I knew they had to be mirror images of her.

“If you’re going to make a website, you’d better get a closer look at my
stuff,” Mom said, folding the towel and hanging it over the oven door
handle. “Should I put them out on the lawn so you can take pictures, or
would the patio be better?”

“Either way. It doesn’t matter.”

My eyes betrayed my dirty mind, dropping to Mom’s chest even though I was strongly willing them to remain focused on her face.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Ben. Here.”

Mom took two quick strides toward me and, standing in front of my chair,
grabbed my hand and pulled it up to the side of her breast. I was
shocked as the soft yet firm flesh filled my hand. Mom pushed my hand
underneath, guiding my finger to a small, hard spot part way but not
quite in the middle of the underside of her breast.

“See? It’s quite small and it’s benign. It’s nothing to worry about.”

I was stunned. I was sitting there, looking up at Mom’s breast, resting
in my hand and hers, reveling in the sensation of its warmth and weight,
and the perfect curvature of its globular form. Despite my mental
effort, there was a stirring in my loins.

“Come on, stand up.”

Mom pulled me up with her free hand, then used it to guide my other mit to her left breast.

“See? Nothing there.”

Mom rubbed my hand in a small semi-circle under her other breast.

“Nada. All clear. Nothing to worry about.”

Mom dropped her hands and, reluctantly, I let mine fall away too.

“It doesn’t hurt to check,” I mumbled.

“That’s true, and I check all the time. Now, let’s get down to business.”

Mom swept out the patio door and headed for her studio at the far end of
the yard. A few seconds later, I jolted into action, following her, my
eyes firmly on the tick-tock, tick-tock action of her jeans. I had to
rearrange myself before we got to the studio. I don’t know what was the
matter with me but I couldn’t keep my eyes off Mom’s body.

—————————————

Moving the statues out ready to take pictures, I discovered something
else about Mom’s new life. There were several bottles of wine in the
cupboard in the cupboard near where she sat to shape the new statues.
She saw me make the discovery and simply remarked, “‘Sometimes it helps
my creative juices get going.”

I shrugged. It wasn’t really any of my business. We hauled all of Mom’s
finished pieces out into the yard, all except for the ones under the
tarp. I took pictures and then put them in a more orderly fashion at one
end of the studio except for the best ones which I placed around the
patio. If we managed to get someone to visit, they would be the first
ones to be seen.

I stayed up to the wee hours of the morning that night getting a basic
website up and running. It was noon before I got up. Mom was working in
her studio. I made myself a cup of coffee and wandered out there,
standing in the doorway for several minutes before she became aware of
me. She paused to review her progress, picking up a glass of wine to sip
as she eyed it critically. Putting the glass down, Mom arched her back
and held her arms high, then bent her elbows so her hands could stretch
her fingers along the back of her neck, her breasts thrust wonderfully
tight against her cotton shirt. She turned to face me, smiled and let
her arms drop slowly to her sides.

“Oh, good morning sl**pyhead.”

The sun shining through the window cast a bright slash across Mom’s face
but it couldn’t compete with the sparkle in her eyes. Clearly, she
thoroughly enjoyed what she was doing. If sculpting could do that, it
was well worth it. I had to find a way for Dad to see how much Mom loved
it.

“Hey, I have an excuse. I was up all night working on your website.”

“Really?” Mom’s smile widened and her face brightened even more, if that was possible. “Can I see it?”

“Anytime,” I said, sweeping my arm toward the house in a wide guesture to show the way and spilling my coffee in the process.

Mom giggled. “Go get your breakfast started and I’ll join you in a
minute… for lunch,” she laughed. “Then we’ll see your new creation.”

Mom sat across from me with a plate of fruits and vegetables she had
pulled out of the fridge. I was eating Honey Nut Cheerios again and
feeling a bit guilty about it. Mom was wearing a pair of black pants
smeared with sculpting stuff and a white blouse similiarly streaked with
clay. That, however, wasn’t where my attention was drawn. The blouse
was unbuttoned way down, so far that Mom’s breasts threatened to spill
out every time she lifted her hand to put a carrot in her mouth. She
smiled when she saw where I was looking.

“I checked them this morning. They’re A-OK,” her smile widened.

I was surprised that my face didn’t go red. I mumbled, “Ok.”

Amazing. I had just stared at my mother’s tits without any adverse
repercussions. She even seemed to take it as a mark of my love for her
that I was so worried rather than a lecherous leer. I made a pact that I
would endeavor to be obviously worried at least once a day, if not
more.

After lunch, we went upstairs to look at the website. I had created a
page listing all her pieces with associated email links identifying the
work if someone was interested. I didn’t have enough information to
create a proper shopping cart but could do that later if this first bit
produced any results. I had put the photos in place but needed names and
a short description for each piece. Mom proved to be excellent at
dreaming up catchy names and artsy bits to say about them. It came
naturally and it dawned on me that this was what she was thinking when
each piece was created. She was simply recalling how she felt during
that process. I marveled at the inspired look on her face while this
happened, though I must admit, my eyes strayed downward several times to
appreciate the heart she had put into it too. Mom’s shirt was open to
just below where her breasts swept off her chest and the sides were
alternately covered and revealed, sometimes in quick succession but
other times mostly covered and then mostly exposed. I even managed to
glimpse the side of her right nipple several times.

Mom was ecstatic when we finished and asked when the first sale was likely to happen.

“It will take a while Mom, maybe a week or two before the site even gets noticed. We have to market it first.”

Mom responded with a simple, “Oh,” but quickly recaptured her enthusiasm. “Well, I should get back to work.”

She started to get up, then turned back to face me, twisting her chair toward me a little.

“I know you’re still worried about me, sweetheart, but I really am ok.”

I started to protest but Mom interrupted. “I saw that you were worried a few times.”

I guess staring at Mom’s tits was evidence of me being ‘worried’.

“Look, honey. Would it make you feel better if I checked myself several
times a day? It isn’t necessary, but would it make you feel better?”

I nodded as if greatly relieved. I had better act really worried or I would sure as hell be in deep shit.

Mom pulled her shirt apart, almost exposing her right tit in its
entirety. She felt underneath, her fingers searching for and finding the
little lump. I stared at her exposed nipple which, as Mom’s fingers
lifted her breast, pushed magically upward. My mouth dried and I found
it difficult to breathe. I guess I looked pretty anxious along with
sucking in my breath because Mom reacted right away. She sat up straight
and smiled encouragingly at me.

“Would it make you feel better to check it yourself, honey?”

I looked into Mom’s face, thankful for my slow comprehension and the blank look it provided for my face to wear.

“Check it myself?” I finally managed to say, afraid to believe what I thought I was hearing.

“Yes. Here.” Mom grabbed my hand, as she had the day before, and placed it on her breast. “Go ahead, honey.”

My fingers tentatively closed around Mom’s beautiful globe, capturing
the meatiest part, and slid underneath in search of the little lump. I
wasn’t as adept at finding it as Mom and she had to interrupt my search.

“It’s here, honey,” she said, guiding my finger to the right spot. “See how little it is? It’s even hard to find.”

Mom pulled my hand away in hers. A sense of disappointment welled up in
me but it was squashed by the sheer joy of handling Mom’s tit and the
knowledge that this could be a daily event if not more often. I was
thrilled. I was in heaven. Could it get any better?

“Here, honey. Check the other one to satisfy yourself it’s ok too.”

Mom dragged my hand under her shirt to her other breast and held it
there. Immediately, I slipped my fingers around its orbit, gently
searching for telltale little bits of hardness. I couldn’t find any but
Mom didn’t interrupt me this time, instead letting me check longer to
assure myself that she was safe. The feel of her skin made my fingers
tingle, a sensation that ran up my arm and made it tremble.

“Well, I guess I’m good to go until tonight,” Mom joked as she got up to leave.

“Until tonight,” I repeated, not meaning anything.

“Tonight,” Mom repeated. “I usually check myself before going to bed.”

Belatedly, I turned to watch her go but only managed the briefest
glimpse of her shapely bottom. Could women get lumps there, I wondered. I
turned to the computer and opened Google.

Mom came downstairs and presented herself to me in the living room that night after she and Dad had gone upstairs to go to bed.

“I almost forgot about my check-up,” she explained her reappearance.

She stood expectantly in front of me in her bathrobe, still cinched tight by a bow in the terry cloth belt.

I got up and stood close to her. Mom smiled but didn’t make a move to
take my hand like she had before, or to offer her breasts for
inspection. I glanced up the stairs.

“Your father’s in bed,” Mom said.

“Oh,” I responded. Tentatively, I stretched out my hand and tried to pull the lapels of Mom’s robe apart without success.

“You have to undo the belt, silly.”

“Oh.”

I pulled one end of the belt, expecting it to come completely undone but
was left in a knot as often happened when I rushed to get my running
shoes off.

“Damn,” I muttered.

Mom giggled.

I struggled with the knot while Mom waited. Nervously, I glanced several
times up the stairs but Mom didn’t say anything, nor did she look
impatient.

Finally, I got the bl**dy thing undone and pulled Mom’s robe apart.
Underneath, she wore a long nightgown with a long V open to her waist
that was held together by three sets of laces, the uppermost already
undone. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to check through the thin
material or try to get my hand in through the top. I debated for several
seconds while Mom continued to wait patiently, then abruptly tugged the
end of the second lacy bow. It came apart easily. There was now plenty
of room for my hand to slip inside but I moved to the final bow instead,
picking up its ends in my trembling fingers, now overly eager upon the
realization that Mom was going to let me get inside the nightgown. Could
I undo the whole thing? Mom’s smile widened but I still chickened out.

I released the last set of laces and moved my hand up. With a final
glance upstairs, I slipped my hand under Mom’s nightgown onto her right
breast. I knew where the lump was now and went directly to it, grunting
in satisfaction that it was still small, but then moved on, ostensibly
searching with prodding fingers for other lumps. I felt Mom’s right
breast for as long as I thought I could get away with it before moving
to the equally exquisite left and checked it out for just as long,
managing to brush my palm over Mom’s erect nipple.

When I was done, Mom said, “Thank you, sweetheart,” and re-tied the
laces, muttering under her breath as she did so, “It’s nice to see at
least one man in this house concerned about my health.” Then, she smiled
sweetly, leaned forward to give me a kiss, and said, “Nighty, night,”
like she used to when I was little. As she climbed the stairs, she
cinched her robe up tight.

—————————————

The next day, I asked about the sculptures hidden under the tarp in the
corner. Mom hadn’t heard me step into the studio so I was able to watch
her preen in front of the mirror, arching her back, pushing her arms up
and bending them so she could play with the hair behind her neck, and,
best of all, thrusting her breasts upward. She twisted her torso to and
fro and glanced often between her refection and the piece she was
sculpting. I startled her when I spoke.

“Can I see them?”

“Oh, Ben. You gave me a start for sure. See what?” Mom’s lashes dipped. Had she glanced down at her chest?

“The ones you’re hiding from me.” I nodded toward the corner.

“Oh, those. I’m not hiding them,” she said, defensively.

“Then, I can see them?” I walked toward the tarp.

“No, Ben. Don’t.”

I stopped. “Why, what’s so terrible about them. If they’re not up to
snuff, we should move them to make room for the stuff you’re doing now.
It’s great.”

I started for the corner again.

“They’re not duds, they’re nudes,” Mom explained.

I was astonished. “Nudes?”

“Yes, nudes. Well, bare-breasted, anyway.” Mom looked down and blushed.

“You don’t want me to see them because they’re bare-breasted? Mom, I’m twenty-two.” I started to move again.

“Wait. It’s just that, it’s just…well, they’re of me.”

“Mom, they’re just statues.”

“I know, but still.”

“Mom, I you let me check your breasts for lumps last night, the real ones, not replicas.”

“I know but that’s a medical thing. This is different.”

“Ok,” I put up my hands, relenting.

Somehow, it didn’t seem appropriate now to ask Mom if I could check her
breasts which is what I’d come out to the studio hoping to do. I hung
out for a bit, then quietly slipped away. I think Mom was relieved to
see me go.

I was surprised when Mom slipped downstairs that night to present
herself to me again. She wore an enigmatic smile the whole time I
loosened and parted her robe and also while I slipped the second lace
apart. This time, I quickly moved to the third and last bow and undid it
too. Mom gave no indication of whether she approved or disapproved. As
soon as it was done, I spread Mom’s nightgown apart, peeling it back to
her arms. I didn’t need to open it that wide but Mom didn’t object. My
mouth dropped open at the unimpeded beauty of her perfectly shaped
breasts jutting with surprising firmness from her chest. I slipped my
hands over them, both at the same time, fingers first, followed by
sliding palms, a whole hand check-up. My fingers strayed lightly all
around Mom’s tits before I used my palms to press them against her
chest.

“I did a little reading,” I explained. “You’re supposed to flatten them so the smaller lumps will show.”

This was bullshit of course which I suspect Mom knew but I felt I needed
to provide an explanation and that was the best I could come up with.
Squishing them for a mammary exam was one thing but squashing them with
your palms was quite another. Still, Mom let me get away with it. She
let me check her out for the longest time yet and when I was finished
and stepped back, I thought that Mom’s nipples looked more stimulated
than when I had started but I couldn’t be sure because Mom closed her
nightgown quickly.

When she leaned forward to kiss me, she whispered, “I guess I’m ready for your father, now.”

Those words reverberated around my skull for hours that night, ‘ready
for your father now’. Was she teasing me? I pictured her presenting her
stiff nipples to my father, nipples I had prepared, the lucky bastard. I
strained my ears for the sound of love-making but I didn’t hear
anything definitive which both pleased and disappointed me. Eventually, I
satisfied myself by rubbing my dick until I spilled my seed in my
shorts.

—————————————

The next day, Mom wore the old designer jeans again, topped by a loose
shirt. The shirt had been buttoned right up until Dad left for work but
when Mom returned from kissing him goodbye at the door, it was half
undone. I tried to initiate a check-up but Mom spurned me, saying she
had to get to work right away. When I tried again at lunch time, she
flatly refused, saying that once a day should be enough. I was crushed.
What had I done? She seemed to be okay with my extended check-up the
night before, even pleased, and possibly excited. Was that it? Had I
crossed a boundary that betrayed the sexual nature of my ‘medical’
examination? I hoped not.

Later that afternoon, Mom called me out to the studio. She was in the corner, holding one end of the tarp.

“Help me move these, will you Ben?”

I moved quickly to comply, not questioning her change of heart. A dozen
miniature statues were revealed, all of them of a woman in various
sitting poses, mostly with an arched back and uplifted arms and breasts,
and hair that fell to barely graze an elegant pair of shoulders
bracketing a sleek neck. The breasts were well-matched to the woman’s
slender form and perfectly shaped except for a tiny lump underneath the
right breast, almost like a flaw in workmanship, or a signature.

“Mom, these are great. We’ve got to get them on the website right away.”

“Oh, no. These aren’t for sale.”

“Not for sale? You’re k**ding?”

“I couldn’t. It would be too embarrassing.”

“Mom, these will sell. The website isn’t getting any traffic and this will attract lots of viewers.”

“But that’s so… pornographic.”

“Mom, come on. All the great sculptors did nudes. Some of them, nothing
but. You have to let me put these up. You need to earn enough to at
least partly pay for all this or you’ll eventually have to go back to
selling insurance.”

“Ok, but I don’t want see anyone who wants to buy them.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll look after that.”

“And the wheeling and dealing.”

“And I’ll take care of the business too,” I agreed.

It was harder getting the names and stories for these new pieces from
Mom but I was glad I pushed her. The stories were incredibly touching.
This was good stuff. I took great pain to get the pictures just right
but I wasn’t completely satisfied. As an avid amateur photographer, I
wanted the lighting to be just perfect but the conditions weren’t right.
Still, I managed to get a sufficiently decent interplay of light and
shadow for each piece to show well.

Mom noted my disappointment so I took great pains to explain it to her
lest she think it reflected her workmanship which was superb. She
understood in the end, leaving the discussion with a portentous comment.

“Too bad you can’t put the light and shadow right on the statue. Then it wouldn’t matter where you took the pictures.”

I worked on the website that afternoon adding a bit about the shock of
cancer and mentioned the tiny lump lest some mistake it for poor
craftsmanship instead of a signature.

—————————————

That night, Mom was late coming downstairs. Given what had happened that
morning and afternoon, I figured the check-ups were over. I was mildly
surprised and greatly relieved when I saw her descending in her robe. I
got up to meet her so stopped in the middle of the living room to wait
for me with that strange smile on her face.

She spoke as I untangled the belt on her robe, “Your father’s fallen asl**p already.”

The fact that she pointed that out to me made the hair on my arms
tingle. Why had she felt it necessary for me to know that? Perhaps
because I was thinking so hard about that, I was slower than the night
before to get Mom’s robe and nightgown undone. When I finally had her
breasts exposed and my hands enveloping them, Mom whispered, “If you’re
only going to do this once a day, you’d best do it carefully.”

I nodded but didn’t look at her for I was already busy checking her
breasts. In the interests of thoroughness, I allowed my fingers to slip
up onto the top of Mom’s breasts and even let them brush over her
nipples, which were indeed stiff. My examination turned into an
extended, continuous caress, barely disguisable as anything but. When
Mom finally stopped me, at least five minutes later, we were both
breathing more rapidly and swaying unsteadily on our feet. Mom pushed my
hands away but she didn’t step back or f***e me away.

“Did you know women can get lumps on their bottoms too?” I suddenly blurted out.

That had just popped into my head.

“No, really?” Mom whispered, still swaying on her feet, as was I.

“Yeah, especially if you’ve had a lump on your breast.”

This was pure bullshit and I was sure Mom likely knew it as such but I still said it with conviction.

“Have you checked yours?” I asked, my hands already sliding down her shoulders and then jumping to her waist, inside the robe.

“No, I didn’t even know about it,” Mom replied.

“I better check, then,” I mumbled, my hands slipping around the curve of
Mom’s waist, sliding easily over the silky material of her nightgown.

Gently, I urged Mom closer to me, pressing my hands into the small of
her back. When she was almost touching me her arms lifted until her
hands clutched my shoulders. I moved my hands lower, palms flat on Mom’s
back, sliding down until each was poised at the top of her buttocks. I
paused for a moment, scared to continue without permission, then, when
it didn’t come, proceeded anyway.

Oh, what a gentle, erotic slope my hands traveled, a curve as
magnificent as the underside of her breasts and just as perfect. How
magically her buns filled my cupped hands, how sensuous they felt, soft
yet firm, quivering with a life that couldn’t be contained. Oh, if only I
could touch them directly, sense their bare skin, I would be in heaven.
I reached the bottom and curled my fingers underneath, testing the heft
of each slightly sagging swell and, sighing, lowering my head to Mom’s
shoulder. I squeezed and pulled them closer, bringing Mom into full
frontal contact.

“Ben,” Mom whispered.

“Ben,” she repeated, more firmly.

“Yes,” I replied groggily.

“I think, perhaps, we should finish this tomorrow.”

Mom’s hands were gently urging me away.

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes, tomorrow.”

I brought my left hand up to Mom’s waist, preparing to part, but the
right lingered. Slowly, I allowed its fingers to curl completely around
Mom’s left buttock until the tips were pressed into the base of the
divide between her cheeks and then, just as slowly, I deliberately
raised my hand, dragging my fingertips up the crevice that stretched
above.

“Ok, tomorrow,” I whispered.

Thankfully, Mom wasn’t angry. She stretched up to kiss me on the neck,
then lifted higher to kiss me on my ear, her slightly moist lips leaving
a hot trail between.

“Goodnight, baby.”

She was gone and I was left with the smell of her hair and her perfume.
It filled my nostrils for hours after that as I dreamed of her and
eventually squeezed my fluid out into my shorts for a second night.

—————————————

“You’re not serious?” Mom was aghast. “You don’t really think I’m going to let you smear that mess all over me, do you?”

“But you’re the model. You look at yourself in the mirror as you work. It has to be on you.”

“Why can’t you just paint the statues?”

“Two reasons,” I explained. “First, nobody wants a painted statue.”

“I guess,” Mom concurred. “And second?”

“And second,” I continued, “it’s what you see that counts. You’ll see a
different array of light and shadow and that will change what you
create. Don’t you see?”

“Yes, Mom,” replied, her fingertip in her mouth, eyes narrowing as she thought. “I do see.”

Mom stood up. “Go ahead, then, paint me,” she said, holding her arms out at her sides.

“Not here, and not wearing all those clothes.”

“Where, then? You can’t put that on me in the house. It will ruin the floor if it spills.”

“Right out there then, on the grass.”

“On the grass? I’m not taking my clothes off in the back yard.”

“Just your top, and your jeans.”

“I don’t need to take off my jeans. I only do women sitting.”

“Yes, but the tops of the thighs and the sides of the hips are showing. They need to be painted too.”

“What if someone comes?”

“Who ever comes here during the day?”

Reluctantly, Mom acquiesced. “Alright, but just down to my bra and panties, or maybe I should put on a bathing suit.”

“No, Mom. We don’t have time. We need to be finished before Dad gets
home. You can imagine what he’d say if he knew you were painting
yourself.”

Mom walked out to the middle of the yard, kicked off her flip flops and
loosened her jeans, then pushed them down her legs. She kicked them off,
undoing the buttons on her blouse and letting it fall to the ground as
she sank to her knees wearing only a brief pair of panties. Not a thong,
mind you, but a nice small triangular pair of black panties with narrow
ears that rose up and over the swell of her hips. The fleshy part of
her ass bulged out a bit under the edge of the black panties.

“What a woman must suffer for her art,” Mom chuckled. “Come on, get it over with.”

As I started rubbing the mix on Mom’s shoulders and back, she barked, “Ugggh. This better work.”

I lathered the ‘paint’ on Mom’s shoulders, arms, back, stomach and
thighs, spreading it slowly with my hands and working it into her soft
skin. I left the best parts for last: her breasts, the inside of her
thighs, and the bits closest to her panties in the back. I did her
breasts first because she was used to me touching her there and was less
likely to object to my exploring fingers on that part of her body. By
the time I finished coloring her breasts, Mom’s nipples were definitely
erect. I moved to her legs but as my fingers pushed the paint between
her thighs, Mom objected and closed her legs tight.

“Hey, I don’t need this stuff there.”

“If you don’t, you’ll be disconcerted by the line that shows. You should have it right over the tops of your thighs.”

Mom reluctantly loosened her legs to let me apply the paint. I rubbed it
up and down the length of her inner thighs but was careful not to get
too close to her panties. I sensed that a boundary existed somewhere
around there and that my proximity to it was making Mom a little tense. I
definitely didn’t want to spook her so I chickened out on my plans to
smear the stuff over Mom’s ass, especially those intriguing bulges at
the bottom.

“Ok, you’re ready,” I said, standing back to admire my work.

“Well, now we’ll see,” Mom said, standing.

She walked awkwardly to the studio as if she was covered in mud and I
supposed that’s what the stuff felt like as it dried. I stood as quietly
as I could, out of Mom’s sight, as she worked on the next piece. She
worked quickly and rarely stopped to examine her body. When she did, she
struck a pose and merely glanced at the mirror rather than twisting and
turning, preening, and peering intently as she usually did. Somehow,
she was seeing immediately what she needed to see. When she was done,
she started on another one right away.

“Ben. Ben!”

I ran to the bathroom.

“Ben! Come here!”

I opened the door, carefully peeking inside, ready to quickly yank my head out.

“Come in. Quickly. And shut the door.”

I stepped inside. Mom was in the shower, the sliding door half open, her eyes closed and her hair full of shampoo.

“This stuff isn’t coming off and your father will be home soon.”

I surveyed at Mom’s glistening body. She had the stuff mostly off her
front and the backs of her legs but it still clung to the backs of her
upper arms and all down her back. My eyes drifted to her pelvis, the
swell of her tummy and the tuft of hair below it. If she turned, I would
see my mother’s pussy.

“Ben. Get in here and scrub my back.”

“What?”

“Get in here. You put it on, now you get it off!”

“Oh, ok.”

I scrambled to get my pants and shirt off.

“Leave those on,” Mom yelled when I pushed my underwear down. “What are you thinking?”

I nodded, acknowledging my silliness. Mom pulled the shower door wide
open and I stepped in behind her. She reached behind herself to hand me
the soap and a wash cloth. I was staring at Mom’s bare ass, the one I
had groped the night before and pounded my poor little dick all night
over. Naked, it was even sexier than I had imagined it to be, firm but
jiggling, the bulgy cheeks clearly separated. I dearly wanted to cup
them in my hands.

“My back, Ben. Scrub my back.”

I started rubbing the soap all over Mom’s back and following it with the
washcloth, working it in hard. The paint began to come off. When I got
her back done, I searched out bits behind her arms and beside her
breasts that she had missed. Mom had calmed down quite a bit when she
realized the stuff was coming off and stood with both arms stretched up
on the end of the shower wall to brace herself against my rubbing hands.
Her head turned when they slid below her back and onto her slippery
buttocks.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“Some of the paint dripped down. You’ve got some here and here,” I said,
touching the top of her bum just above her crack and the bottom of each
cheek, the parts that would have been above and below her panties.

“Really? How on earth did that happen?” Mom asked, craning her neck to see but unable to.

“I don’t know,” I replied, scratching at the area just above her crack,
my scr****g fingertip managing to slip into her delightful crevice.
“Should I get it?”

“Hurry then,” Mom said. “Dad will be home soon.”

I moved down to scratch at the fleshy bottom of Mom’s cheeks. I was in
my glory, rubbing away at Mom’s fantastic butt, my head lowered to see
what I was doing. There was, of course, no paint there. Employing both
hands in the interest of getting the job done faster, I managed to pull
Mom’s cheeks apart to observe her crinkly bottom hole. Of course, the
pulpy lips below divided by her furry slit didn’t escape my attention
either. If wasn’t long before Mom had had enough because she pushed
herself away from the wall and abruptly shut off the shower.

Stepping out, she said, “I’ll get the rest later. Your father will be here any minute now.”

“I managed to get it all,” I said, in case she examined herself in her bedroom and found no paint on her butt.

“Good, good,” Mom replied, toweling herself hurriedly. “You better get
to your room.” She glanced at me as she rubbed herself and I noticed
that her eyes were drawn to my soaking wet underwear and the swollen
cock they contained. “Maybe you should just get back in the shower,” she
grinned, and left.

I did as Mom suggested. Of course, I couldn’t leave my cock alone. It
was empty when I was done five minutes later and pictures of Mom’s wet
cheeks were still floating in front of my closed eyes.

—————————————

Mom didn’t come down that night. I waited for hours but finally went to
bed but I couldn’t sl**p. I checked the computer and found several
emails requesting more information about the nude statues and their
prices which I hadn’t put in because I didn’t know what was appropriate.
I was about to answer when one email in particular caught my eye,
offering five thousand dollars in the subject line for a commissioned
work. The message body promised more to follow if they liked the first
one.

Naturally, I read that email with great interest. They — it appeared to
be from a man and a women — had read the bio of Mom that I had put up in
an ‘About the Sculptress’ page, noting her recent cancer scare. They
wanted to know if Mom would do a commissioned work with the woman lying
down rather than sitting. I responded to the email saying that we were
open to the idea. A response came back within minutes when I was in the
middle of responding to a price request. I left that message to read the
response.

Are you the Sculptress?

No. I’m her son.

The response was immediate.

Her son. How very nice to meet you. Will your mother do the piece we’ve
requested and would she be interested in further requests? We’re willing
to pay more.

I’m sure she will. She is very much the artist and is interested in the
piece more than the money. That’s why she let’s me look after the
business part. My I ask how much more?

If we like the first, then we’re thinking $07,000 per piece. Does that sound reasonable to you?”

What kind of pieces did you have in mind?

I was so excited I could hardly type. I was relieved this exchange
wasn’t taking place face to face. I couldn’t have kept my cool if it
was.

Several in the prone position and perhaps a few more sitting or lying with a young man son nearby.

The latter would be much more work.

We’re willing to offer more for those.

If my mother is willing, will you put down a deposit?

We’ll pay up front for the first piece. Please send us the details so we can wire the money to your account.

I couldn’t believe it. I replied that I would send the details ASAP and
then responded to the other requests saying that the prices would be
posted soon. I wanted to get Mom to see this right away but it was after
midnight. I had a heck of a time getting to sl**p. I was so worked up, I
didn’t even beat off.

I was up early the next day. Dad and Mom were still finishing their
breakfast. Mom could see that I was excited but Dad was oblivious. I
didn’t say anything because I wanted to let Mom know first and let her
decide what to say to my father. I could hardly wait for him to leave
and Mom noticed my agitated state.

Finally, Mom accompanied Dad to the door, dressed in a white blouse and a
black, pleated skirt. She kissed him goodbye, stood at the door until
he got in his car, then waved as he backed out of the driveway. Closing
the door, Mom turned and walked back toward the kitchen, already
unbuttoning her blouse as she came.

“What’s up mister? Why are you so antsy?” she smiled as she entered the
kitchen, the buttons already undone almost to the waist of her skirt.
Mom was pulling the blouse up, untucking it from the skirt but stopped,
peering at my face. “What? What is it?”

“You won’t believe it, Mom. Some couple wants to commission a statue… for five grand!”

“What? You’re joking?”

“Nope, I k** you not.”

I got up and went to Mom. Instead of hugging her, I brushed her stilled
hands aside and grasped her blouse, pulling it up out of her skirt to
finish the job for her.

“You’re really serious, aren’t you?”

“I am,” I laughed. “I’m really, really serious.”

I struggled and failed to keep a straight face. What I didn’t fail at
was undoing the remaining buttons on Mom’s blouse. She didn’t seem to
even notice what I was doing, even when I pulled her blouse apart to
reveal her naked breasts and started pushing it off her shoulders.

“What do they want?” Mom asked, automatically holding her arms out from
her sides to make it easier for me to strip off the long-sleeved blouse.

I got it off one hand but it hung up on the other. I ignored it and grasped her breasts in both hands.

“I told you these, I mean they, would sell.”

Mom was oblivious to my caressing hands.

“When do they need it?”

“When you’re done. It’s at your discretion.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“You’re a Sculptress, Mom. You’ve really done it.”

“With you’re help. You’re the one that made it happen.”

Mom threw her hands around my neck and hugged me hard, almost dislodging my hands but I managed to retain my grip.

“You wonderful, wonderful boy. You’ve given me a new career.”

Mom kissed me, full on the mouth.

I was stunned. So stunned, I forgot her tits and actually let them go.
Mom was giddy with laughter. I slipped my hands around her shoulders and
kissed her back. We broke apart and laughed together. My arms slid down
to the small of her back and I kissed her again. The laugh between was
short-lived. Mom’s arms tightened around my neck and we kissed again.
This time, Mom really kissed me, her lips mashing against mine for
several long seconds before her tongue slipped into my mouth. I moved my
hands around to her front to reclaim her tits, sucking her tongue
deeper into my mouth. Mine dueled with hers and finally pushed it back
until it retreated to its home, closely chased my mine invading her own
mouth. We were gasping for air when we finished. Mom’s hands slid from
my shoulders and she stepped back.

“Whew,” Mom sighed. “I guess we got a little carried away.”

“We had a good excuse,” I panted.

“I suppose. I guess artists sometimes let their emotions get the better
of themselves,” Mom responded, turning away, pulling the blouse off her
wrist and tossing it onto a chair. “We’d better finish our breakfast,
we’ve got painting and sculpting to do.”

As we finished breakfast, I filled Mom in on the email exchange. I could
see her mind drifting off to plan the new sculptures as I spoke. As I
suspected, the money, fantastic as is was, was secondary to the fact
that someone wanted her work. As her mind toiled, I could have slapped
myself to see if I was really awake and not dreaming. I mean, I was
sitting at the breakfast table with my sexy mother, dressed in a skirt
with her breasts nonchalantly on full display without a hint of
discomfort on her part.

We walked together into the yard but Mom stopped in the middle of the grass.

“I guess you better paint me,” she said, indicating with her flapping hand that I should fetch the paint.

I returned quickly to find Mom still standing where I had left her. When
she saw me, she smiled and reached down and slid the zipper down the
side of her hip, then kinked it up and back, letting the skirt fall of
its own accord. Mom kicked it away several feet, then turned around and
kneeled on the grass wearing only her panties. I went to her and sank to
my knees behind her.

“I guess you’d better paint all of me,” she instructed in a rather throaty voice.

I splashed the paint on Mom’s back and spread it around, covering her
arms and shoulders and even the back of her thighs and her calves. When I
reached around to do her front, and Mom didn’t object, I concentrated
on her breasts, kneading and stroking them for long minutes, massaging
and flicking her nipples, once even tugging them up until they dropped
from the weight of their fleshy substrate.

The two pieces Mom had done the day before were really superb and I
really thought it was due to the paint making the contours of her body
more apparent to her as she worked. After all, she had worked quickly
with the briefest of glances at her body in the mirror, but I had now
changed my mind. I now believed the superior work was due to Mom’s state
of arousal and I was going to make sure she was aroused for this first
commissioned piece of work. I think Mom was aware of it too, at least at
some level, when I thought about the strength of her conviction that it
was me that had made it happen. I had thought she was referring to the
website but now I think she was voicing her own conviction and she, more
than anyone, should know what was driving her.

I dipped my hand in the paint bucket and, with my left lightly stroking
Mom’s throat, I splashed the right on her belly, moving the paint slowly
around in an ever widening circle. Again, I dipped my hand and spread
the paint everywhere, even onto Mom’s panties. Dipping my hand in again,
I dropped it onto Mom’s thighs which parted to give me access to the
inside of her legs. My lips dropped onto Mom’s neck and I nibbled the
crook as my hand languidly pushed the paint deep between her legs,
scr****g her panties on each upstroke.

I looked at Mom’s eyes and was pleased to see they were shut, a wanton
expression covering her face. Dipping my hand again, I surprised her by
rubbing it onto her bottom, covering her cheeks and the panties. She
slumped back against me so I curled my left arm around her torso beneath
her breasts to pull her up on her knees. I dipped my hand again and
applied a liberal quantity of paint to Mom’s bottom again, this time
working it between her legs from behind. I wasn’t shy about rubbing my
hand up her center, letting my fingers push into the crevice dividing
her cheeks. The next handful went directly on the front of Mom’s panties
and my mouth covered her ear, the tip of my tongue swirling slowly
around its rim, then tasting the center. When the first low moan escaped
Mom’s lips, I pushed her forward onto the grass.

Mom lay still where she had landed. My eyes drinking in her painted
body. It was a surreal, extremely erotic sight. I leaned forward and
pushed the back of her right knee, moving it up until her leg was bent
at almost ninety degrees. Observing her position critically, I moved her
left leg up too but not as much. After a brief pause, I pulled on Mom’s
right shoulder until her upper body was almost perpendicular to the
grass. Gently, I pried her face up so it looked like she was trying to
look back, waiting expectantly for someone behind her, except her eyes
were closed. Almost satisfied, but not quite. I adjusted Mom’s hips so
they tilted forward slightly but her ass pushed up and back. For the
final touch, I moved Mom’s knees together and aligned her lower legs so
they matched, one on the other, with one foot curling over the other.

Perfect. A woman waiting expectantly for her lover. Apprehensive, yet offering him everything, from behind.

I laid down behind Mom, snuggling up to her and fitting myself around
her body, the lump in my shorts just barely touching the triangle below
her painted panties. As I leaned over to whisper in her ear, my bulge
pressed into that sacred spot.

“You’ve got work to do,” I whispered thickly into her wet ear.

I stood and dragged Mom to her feet.

I kept my distance, quietly watching Mom as she worked feverishly for
the next few hours. She worked right through lunch, though I set a plate
of fresh fruits and vegetables nearby. She finished the first statue,
lying on its side, twisting up to look at the sky, the pert upper breast
leaping from its chest as if it wanted to launch itself up to meet the
target of its gaze. The second was finished in the middle of the
afternoon. It, too, was lying on its side, though turned down toward the
earth, it’s prominent, naked bottom pushing up as if unashamed of the
heathen triangle it blatantly offered.

When she was done, Mom looked vacantly about, almost immediately
noticing the food. She devoured it ravenously, the speed with which she
ate forcing juice from the oranges and tomatoes spilling over her chin.
She didn’t drink until the food was gone and then she gulped it down in
one go. Then, she slumped in her seat before getting up and tottering
like an old woman. I stepped quickly forward and grabbed her, fearing
that she was about to fall. I carried her in my arms, upstairs, to the
bathroom and the shower. There, I pulled the panties down and, God help
me, kissed each bare cheek as I pushed the panties down her legs and off
her feet.

As she stood in the shower, leaning against the wall, letting the water
run over her back, I undressed… completely. Mom was watching me with
listless eyes but they still tracked my underwear being dragged down to
my feet and off… then rose to follow the spring of my cock. I stepped
into the shower behind her, soap in one hand and a washcloth in the
other. I set to work, wiping away the paint and the stress.

I cleaned her well and massaged her body as I went, interested more in
relaxing than caressing. Yes, I took liberty in touching every part of
her body but I didn’t try to rub my hard cock on her though my tip did
accidently bump into her bum several times. I don’t know how but I
resisted the urge to push it between her legs. She was susceptible and I
didn’t want to take advantage. I let her know that I loved her in the
tender way I touched her, that I was fascinated with her beauty in body
and soul, but most of all, just that I loved her.

We didn’t say a word to my father about the emails or the new sculptures.

—————————————

Mom didn’t come downstairs again that night either. Perhaps the day’s events had taken too great a toll.

I was up early again the next day, eager to see her. Mom wore a simple
white blouse, braless again, and a dark, navy blue skirt with intricate
designs sketched in thin white lines. The thin cotton skirt swirled
about her legs as she walked but when she returned from waving goodbye
to Dad it was her blouse that attracted my attention. It was fully
buttoned and Mom didn’t give any indication that she was going to
unbutton it as she walked unsmiling toward me and stopped in front of my
chair.

I can’t describe the thrill that spread through my chest when, once
there, a smile appeared and Mom started to undo her blouse. Slowly, very
slowly. I didn’t say a word as I craned my neck to see and neither did
she. The white blouse was dropped carelessly and my eyes followed it to
the floor despite the fact that Mom wasn’t wearing a bra. Her fingers
were already sliding the zipper down on the navy blue skirt and my
attention focused there, intent on the bare skin being exposed as Mom
slowly lowered it over her hips. The depression between hipbone and
tummy was revealed only to be hidden by the unfortunate appearance of
panties but, as the skirt continued its fall, Mom’s flesh, in the form
of soft, white thighs, reappeared. The skirt passed her knees and Mom
stepped carefully out of it before dropping it onto the blouse. Two
pieces of clothing. Only white panties were left. Mom leaned over me to
brace her hands against the wall behind my head.

“I don’t want to get paint on these. I had to throw the black ones out yesterday.”

Mom waited, still smiling, but didn’t say anything more. Her words sank
in and I reached out with both hands to tug the panties down her hips.
They caught briefly on the jutting swells of her behind, then snapped
down to the base of her ass and the thickness of her thighs. Her pussy
was bare, a neatly trimmed slot barely covering the puffy lips. I
savored its musky aroma. Slowly, I tugged the panties further, in no
hurry, leaning closer to Mom the farther I pushed them down her legs.
When they were near her feet, my face was so close I could have stuck
out my tongue and tasted her. Mom stepped out of the panties and I
dropped them where they were on the floor.

“Come,” Mom whispered. “We’ve got work to do.”

She pulled me up by my hand and turned to lead me outside. I stumbled
trying not to step on her panties. What would Dad think if he came home
to find Mom’s clothes strewn around the kitchen, especially her panties?
Halfway across the yard, just as she had the day before, Mom stopped
and pulled me even with her, then pushed on my back to urge me ahead.

“Go get the paint,” she said.

I turned back to Mom and folded my arms around her naked body.

“We don’t need the paint.”

I leaned down to plant a kiss in the crook of her neck.

“No,” she whispered.

I stiffened, then pulled back and looked into her eyes.

“I guess you’re right, we don’t,” she said and stretched up to kiss me on my mouth.

I pulled her to me and mashed my lips on hers, slowly slipping my tongue
into her mouth. My hands roamed down Mom’s back and onto her gently
sloping buttocks, curling around her bottom and squeezing her delicious
buns. The kiss was intense and when we stopped twisting our faces to
catch our breath, I had pulled Mom hard against the fullness of my
swollen private parts. I realized what I had done and was about to pull
away when Mom’s mouth sought mine again, her tongue pushing thickly into
me. I responded to its demand, kissing her hard and wrapping my arms
tightly around her. Her pelvis thrust against mine and I ground my cock
into its yielding flesh, forcing it into a rotational movement that
continued until we parted again to breathe.

“No,” Mom said. “We certainly don’t need the paint.” She stepped back,
out of breath, but didn’t turn away. My eyes moved down from her flushed
face to her heaving chest and quivering nipples, then below to her
pubic hair which was pulsing with excitement. I noticed that the front
of my shorts were bursting with my own excitement and dropped my hands
in front as I quickly looked up to see if Mom had seen. She had. I
caught her just as she averted her eyes.

“Don’t interrupt me today,” she said, her breathing barely allowing the
words to get out. “I want to know you’re waiting, and that I can’t see
you until I’m done.”

It was one of the most difficult things I ever did, watching Mom walk
naked away from me. She worked for hours and hours. It was late
afternoon when she finished. I stepped hesitantly up to the door just as
she was covering her new work with the tarp. Her look kept me from
entering so I waited, patiently, until she joined me at the door.

“Your father will be here any minute. It’s a good thing we didn’t use the paint,” she said.

“Yes, good thing,” I agreed, though I didn’t really agree at all. I had
been waiting all day to have our shower and it hadn’t dawned on me once
that it needn’t happen if we didn’t use the paint.

—————————————

That night, I prepared a comforting environment for Mom after she and
Dad retired for the night, just in case she did come downstairs unlike
the previous two nights. After sitting alone for over two hours, I was
about to give up and go to bed when I heard the soft click of a door
being carefully closed upstairs. I craned my neck, turning my ear toward
the stairs but I saw her before I detected the soft fall of her
footsteps. She descended the stairs slowly, dressed like she had been
every other night in a tightly cinched robe. Her eyes said it all as she
stepped into the living room.

“Hi sweetheart. I couldn’t sl**p… Oh Ben, this is so lovely. Thank you so much.”

Mom’s eyes danced with the reflection of the candles I had placed all
over the living room, on the window sill, the tables, and even on the
floor. Her nostrils flared as she breathed in deep, inhaling the aroma
of their scented oils.

“Gosh, it’s a bit overwhelming… almost too much.”

Her steps faltered and I leapt to my feet, crossing the floor to steady her.

“Sit here,” I guided Mom to the couch, first sitting down myself against
the pillows piled up at one end, one leg stretched across the cushions,
then pulled her down with her back toward me. Mom wiggled her back,
nestling comfortably against my chest.

“I couldn’t sl**p,” she continued where she had left off. “I didn’t want to wake Dad so I got up.”

“Mmhmmmm,” I nodded, though she couldn’t see my head behind her.

“I keep thinking about their request,” Mom referred to the couple whose
commission pieces she had worked so hard to do the past couple of days.
“I hope they like them.”

“I’m sure they will,” I said, confidently, kissing Mom’s hair.

“I don’t know. Their instructions leave so much latitude: statues of a
woman lying down and of a man sitting, watching her; statues of the two
of them lying down together; and to make the woman older than the man,
much older.”

“I know, it’s strange.”

“Yes. Usually it’s the man with a wife much too young for him but a
woman with a much younger man but I’m sure it happens. They sound like
they’re wealthy.” Mom paused, then added, “It’s probably her money.”

“Yes, probably,” I murmured, kissing Mom’s neck inside the collar of her robe.

“It’s just that I can’t decide what to do next. That’s why I can’t sl**p.”

“Relax. You’ll think of something.”

By the sound of Mom’s sigh, she wasn’t as sure as I about that. My
fingers found the belt securing her robe and began toying with it in a
lackadaisical fashion, tugging its ends and slowly pulling the knot
undone. Mom shifted left to bring her right leg up onto the couch too. I
continued playing until the knot pulled free. Mom seemed to be deep in
thought and unaware of my activity. Slowly, not because I was afraid she
would stop me but rather because I didn’t want to disturb her, I pulled
Mom’s robe apart until I had an unobstructed view down the front of her
body, covered by the nightgown until just below her knees. Her feet
were bare; she had kicked off her slippers.

As Mom pondered what to do the next day, I untangled the laces
connecting her nightgown with discretion similar to that I had applied
to dismantling the robe. After quite a few minutes, I had succeeded in
unfettering Mom’s breasts and taken them gently into my hands. For the
next half an hour, I nuzzled Mom’s neck and massaged her breasts,
occasionally letting my hands stray down her belly inside the nightgown
to stroke her soft skin. I was surprised when I encountered the upper
traces of her pubic hair but I didn’t venture into it.

I didn’t want to disturb Mom’s thoughts as I was sure she was well into
the creative process. Nevertheless, I could not stop my cock from
swelling more at the thought of Mom’s bare pelvis. Had she purposely
removed her panties before coming downstairs or was it just a
coincidence? Her pussy was bare just inches below my trembling fingers. I
hoped my hard cock, now pressing into the small of her back, didn’t
intrude rudely into her thoughts but there was little I could do about
that. Hoping to alleviate the situation, I returned my hands to Mom’s
breasts. Mere seconds later my fingers surrounded her nipples, gently
tugging and tweaking them into full extension. I would have stopped when
I became aware of what I was doing were it not for Mom’s contented sigh
and the feel of her body relaxing against mine. What I was doing must
be helping her generate creative thoughts.

Several minutes later, Mom pulled up her knees, pushing her back more
f***efully into my erection. Incredible as it sounds, my hands tired of
manipulating Mom’s breasts. Again, they descended her body but this time
stayed on top of her nightgown, stopping on her hips. My fingers
stretched out and retracted, pulling the nightgown back. I repeated this
several times until the hem was dragged up and over Mom’s raised knees.
A few more clenches and the hem started an inexorable descent down the
top of Mom’s thighs until it was bunched up on her belly. As soon as
that happened, Mom lowered her legs until they were once again stretched
out straight on the couch.

I returned my hands to her breasts but after several minutes reviving
her stiff nipples let them stray down to Mom’s waist. There, my fingers
began kneading her sides and, as a side-effect, rolling the nightgown up
under Mom’s breasts. She was very quiet but I could feel her breath
shortening and knew she was excited by either her thoughts or what I was
doing. So was I! My boner was so ragingly hard I worried that I might
damage her spine if I moved suddenly. I moved my head, stretching it up
slightly so I could get a better view past Mom’s breasts. I was
pleasantly surprised when she adjusted her head to accommodate me, or
was that just accidental?

The last of the nightgown was now sliding up over Mom’s pouting tummy,
revealing the tuft of pubic hair covering her mound, a slash of white to
either side where the sun never reached when she tanned in the back
yard. When the nightgown was completely rolled up, Mom pulled her legs
up again, her rising knees held tightly together. Was she feeling
self-conscious? Was she going to cover up?

Mom turned her head sideways toward the back of the couch. Maybe she was
embarrassed that she’d let me expose her this way. Her head rubbed into
the hollow under my left shoulder as if scratching an itch in her ear,
then was still. A few seconds later, Mom’s knees parted, then stopped
when the gap was only two inches wide. Haltingly, her knees continued to
give way, stopping and starting, again and again, until they were more
than two feet apart. I raised my hand to press Mom’s hair against the
back of her head to clear the line of sight between my eyes and her bare
pussy, now pulled slightly apart.

I could see a slight furrow through the slot of pubic hair. She was
trembling down there. Why? Was she ashamed? If so, why didn’t she close
her legs? Or maybe she was quivering in anticipation, or from the feel
of my eyes’ caress?

I didn’t know. What I did know was that I wanted to be closer to that
tantalizing tuft of hair. I returned my hand to Mom’s hip and moved both
of them closer to the center, stopping in the shallow groove just
inside her hipbones. Stretching my fingers toward each other, I set them
down on Mom’s soft pelvic flesh just short of that wondrous strip of
hair, pressed in, and pulled.

What a fantastic revelation! The furrow widened and a moist, pink slit
appeared at the bottom of the trench. I had seen Mom’s pussy this
morning when she let me pull her panties down but this, this was my
first ever view of her cunt. My cock throbbed into her back. Oh God,
don’t come, don’t come. I groaned out loud with the effort, willing my
cock to stop.

The moment passed and I sighed with relief. I rubbed my fingers up and
down at the sides of Mom’s pussy, then pushed them together and pulled
them apart.

“Ohhhhhh,” Mom released a quiet sigh.

I kept manipulating the flesh at the sides of Mom’s pussy, alternately
hiding and revealing that pink slit and causing Mom to sigh again and
again, more frequently as the pinkness moistened. When her sighs were
almost constant, I moved my hands closer together. Now, when they
reached toward each other, they met on top of that beckoning furrow and
descended together into the pinkness, prying it apart, tenderly,
lovingly. Up and down, my fingertips stroked as Mom’s sighs were
converted into soft moans.

When the moans because groans, I began openly thrusting my hardness into
Mom’s back, at first slowly but then with more and more vigor. In my
passion, I forgot to be tender and felt the fingers of my right hand
push inside Mom, between her pussy lips, inserting themselves in her
cunt, which immediately shoved itself more firmly upward until my digits
were completely ensconced. My left hand moved instinctively to the top
of Mom’s pussy and was hotly welcomed there. I was bucking frantically
against her back now, no longer afraid of a messy release. In fact,
needing it desperately. When it came, filling my shorts with hot, sticky
goo, Mom’s hands covered mine, pressing them tight as she shuddered to
her own release.

We were still. The candlelight flickered in the night as we became once
more aware of our surroundings. I pushed Mom’s nightgown down over her
belly until it was piled up, covering her. Mom’s hands took over,
pushing it up and over her knees which were now closed demurely
together. Her legs lowered and Mom sat up, twisting to put her feet on
the floor. She gathered her robe about her and tugged it in to her
waist, threading the belt into a bow and pulling it tight into a knot.
She found her slippers and slipped her feet into them, then turned and
looked down at me.

“Thanks,” she said, patting my chest. She didn’t look down at my still
bulging shorts or the spreading wetness there. “I think I know what I’m
going to do now.

Mom got up and quietly walked away.

—————————————

Mom was already out in the studio working when I got up the next
morning. Dad was gone. After breakfast, I returned to my room instead of
disturbing her, deciding instead to work on the website and check for
emails. There were several queries which I answered. I made a lunch and
took it out to the studio. Mom had just finished a piece and covered it
up so we ate together. I glanced curiously several times at the tarp,
wondering what was underneath. Mom noticed.

“Be patient,” she said. “I’ll show you when I’m ready.”

“Do you need some support before you go back to work?”

“Support?” she asked. My eagerness for her response must have answered
her query because she smiled softly as if trying to let me down gently,
“No, I know exactly what I want to do.”

I must have looked devastated because Mom immediately added, “But I’m
not sure what to do for tomorrow. Perhaps we can do a little more
mentoring tonight?”

“Yeah, Mom. Whatever you want. I’m happy to help out any way I can.”

“You a bigger help than you know.”

Mom turned back to work and, as she did, her eyes flitted across my
shorts. I looked down to see a huge boner that, until then, I had been
completely unaware of. I blushed and looked at Mom, ready to say
something, to apologize or whatever, but she was already working.
Quietly, I slipped outside and disappeared into the house.

It was late, much later than the night before, when Mom appeared on the
stairs. She was standing still, as if she was waiting for me to notice
her before she made her descent. She was dressed in the same robe. Her
eyes sparkled as she neared the candlelight. I thought it odd that I
could notice her eyes at the same time I registered the way her body
pressed against the robe as she walked and noticed how silently her bare
feet carried her across the carpet.

Her steps didn’t falter tonight. She strode confidently toward me,
motioning for me to lie back against the pillows. When she was next to
me, she pulled two of them out and pressed me back until I was almost
prone. Then she undid the belt on her robe but held it together with one
hand as she lifted one knee over me and set it down between my leg and
the back of the couch. As she lay down on top of me, her robe fell open
and her breasts dangled down. Mom was naked!

Mom wriggled on top of me, getting comfortable. When she was finally
still, her head was on my shoulder and her face was buried in my neck.

“Will you tickle me while I think?” she asked.

“Tickle you?” I asked.

“Yes. You know what I mean. Start with my back.”

I placed my hands on Mom’s back and started stroking it.

“Underneath,” she murmured. “On my skin.”

“Oh,” I said.

I pulled at Mom’s robe but had trouble baring more than a few inches
below her neck. Pulling it up from her front, squeezed between us, I
peeled it away from her shoulders until her back was bare and the robe
was piled on top of her buttocks. I started from there, in the small of
her back, using long strokes up her sides and down her spine.

“Mmmmmmm, like that,” Mom purred.

I stroked and caressed Mom forever, my fingertips dancing lightly with
the barest of touch at times and then rubbing firmly with the sole of my
knuckles and even pressing in with my palms. I sc****d along the side
of her breasts but I didn’t try to reach underneath to hold them. I was
familiar with them now and didn’t want to relieve the pressure of her
body along mine, it felt so good. At some point, I pulled the rest of
the robe up from Mom’s sides and pushed it off her bottom until it fell
on the floor. Now, my strokes traced the length of her back and more,
tasting the full range of her buttocks.

I gravitated more and more onto Mom’s ass, plying it with my eager
fingers, exploring every curve, every cranny, and the full extent of her
jutting cheeks. When my fingers tracked near her hidden valley, Mom’s
pelvis pressed down more firmly against my own. Soon, my fingers were
plying that forbidden canyon, pulling her cheeks apart to make the
entrance wider. My right hand stretched in search of the moist crevice I
had explored the night before but I couldn’t quite reach it. Mom
shifted on top of me, moving up until her head flopped over my shoulder
and my straining fingers found her delicious slit.

So inviting, so wet! My fingertips slid easily inside.

“Ohhhhhhh,” Mom moaned in my ear, her lips pressing against the side of
my head and encircling the edge of my ear just as her tongue pressed
inside.

I pushed my fingers in deep. Mom scrunched hard into my cock and moaned
in my ear, then lifted her ass back to shove my fingers deeper inside
her. I started fingering her and running my other hand up and down her
ass. Mom’s hip began to rotate, dry humping my cock and fucking my
fingers. The fingertips of my left hand found and pressed on her anus.
Mom’s tongue shoved hard into my ear, swirling wetly, then broke away.
Her head lifted up and the next thing I knew her mouth was covering mine
and her tongue was reaching for my throat. I slipped my fingertip into
her asshole.

Immediately, Mom started bucking on my cock and her hands shoved under
my back, grabbing my shorts and pushing them down. She was like a woman
possessed, desperate to get at me, desperate to find relief. I strained
to lift us both. The effort was worth it when my shorts suddenly shot
down over my hips and ass, scr****g over my cock until the waistband was
caught by my balls. One hard jerk later, and my balls were pressing
against Mom’s moist pussy.

Feverishly, Mom’s hand found my cock. She didn’t hesitate for an
instant. She rose up until her head was hanging above mine and, looking
down, she guided my cock to her entrance, slowed to carefully insert its
tip, then just as slowly sank down my rigid shaft, mewling a strange
a****l-like sound until her mound found my root. The fucking started
right away. Mom leaned over me, huffing and puffing while her cunt
gripped my cock, chewing up and down its length like a starving cow
deprived of its cud. All I could do was lay underneath and groan my
pleasure. Each time I thrust up, I was immediately smashed down. Mom was
fucking my ass off and all I could do was grab her hips and hang on.

I came hard but was dwarfed by Mom’s silent yet thundering explosion
which drenched my balls. She didn’t stop right away. Rather, she
continued fucking my cock, though ever slower and slower, until finally,
she collapsed on my chest, hands running through my hair and kissing my
forehead. After a long time, Mom pulled away and stood beside the
couch. She let me look at her heaving breasts and trembling, wet pussy,
only slowly pulling her robe closed and belting it up. She touched her
fingers to her lips and then pressed it to my forehead. About to turn
away, she repeated the touch to her lips and then touched the tip of my
worn out cock, now flopped over my stomach. She giggled, a mischievous
glint in her eye, and turned away.

The next morning, while Dad drank his coffee and I ate my breakfast, Mom
washed some apples in the sink. Dad’s nose was poked into the morning
newspaper which was fortunate given the outrageous act Mom performed.
She reached under her skirt and pulled her panties down to her knees,
then continued scrubbing the apples as if everything was normal. She
wiggled her legs until the panties had fallen to her ankles, then kicked
the flip flops off her feet and stepped out of them. Bending over to
pick them up, she smiled at me and calmly opened the cupboard under the
sink and deposited them in the garbage. Mom returned to scrubbing the
apples as if nothing had happened.

When Mom returned from waving goodbye to Dad, she didn’t stop in front
of me as I had expected. Instead, she walked right past me and out into
the yard. By the time I got up and to the door, she was already stopped
in the middle. She dropped to her knees and then flopped forward.
Turning onto her side, she twisted her pelvis forward and drew her legs
up until her legs were bent, striking the pose I had placed her in the
last time I had painted her.

I strode toward Mom and stopped, looking down at her. She turned away
without looking at me and stretched her hands out on the grass. As
quietly as I could, I opened my jeans and pushed them down my legs. As I
stepped out of them, I hoped Dad hadn’t forgotten anything. On my
knees, I crawled up behind Mom and flipped her skirt up over her ass.
Quickly, I ducked down, holding my hard boner to guide it into her magic
triangle. The tip bumped against her soft flesh and followed the
moistness to her entrance. I slipped easily inside, grasped Mom’s hip,
and slid home with a relieved grunt.

Immediately, I started fucking her with a steady, vigorous pace. I
couldn’t hold back, I needed to do her. I straddled her thighs and she
pushed her ass up to help my cock find its easiest path. I held Mom by
the waist and stepped up the pace, lunging harder and harder without any
finesse, just a long hard, fast fuck. I was grunting and wheezing and
almost yelling obscenities when I unloaded my balls. Gasping, I fell on
Mom’s back. Eventually, I managed to speak.

Oh yeah. We did have son. In fact we had two: twins.

“I”m sorry, Mom. I couldn’t stop. I meant to leave you… tense, so you could work.”

“Shhhhh,” Mom twisted around and I pushed myself up to let her turn. “I
need serenity for the next piece and this is just what I need, at least
for a start.”

Mom reached down to grasp my sticky, softening cock, immediately arresting its decline.

“Now, make love to me, and take your time.”

As Mom held my cock, I rained kisses upon her. She directed my mouth and
my hands for a while, then quit, evidently satisfied with where I put
them and what I did. It was a long session but I’m proud to say that I
managed to bring Mom to an intense orgasm. After a minute or two of
rest, Mom got up and walked to the studio. I flopped onto my back and
watched her go. I lay on the grass for a long time, listening to her
work before eventually getting up and going into the house.

—————————————

They were here, at the door; the couple that commissioned all the work.
The man was in his early forties and the woman was at least twenty years
older, maybe more. They were elegantly dressed and a long, black limo
was parked in the driveway, the driver standing respectfully by the rear
door. The man spoke.

“Hello, I’m Nick and this his Gwen. We’ve come to see the pieces, if they’re ready.”

“Oh. I’m… uh… I’m not sure they are. I wish you’d let me know you were coming. I’ll uh, have to check with my mother.”

“Ben,” Mom’s voice came from behind me. “Please let them in.”

Mom greeted the couple, assuring them that their surprise visit was
welcome and they could see the pieces any time. Would they like some tea
first? I was shocked, given Mom’s earlier expressed aversion at meeting
potential patrons, yet she was clearly keen to meet this couple and
already seemed to be comfortable with them. They declined the tea and
expressed their eagerness to see Mom’s work as soon as possible.

“Well then, right this way, Nick,” I said, my arm indicating the way
through the kitchen and out the glass doors into the back yard. “I’m
sure you and your wife will be very pleased. Mom has worked very hard
and has completed several large sculptures.”

There was an awkward silence. Even Mom was looking at me as if I’d made a huge faux pas.

“Actually, Gwen is my mother.”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” I stammered.

“That’s ok,” Nick said. “How could you know?”

Gwen spoke for the first time, looking at Mom. “But, of course, you knew, didn’t you?”

Mom nodded, holding Gwen’s gaze.

To make a long story short, Gwen and Nick were thrilled. They bought all
the pieces, leaving us with a hundred thousand dollars in cash with a
promise to make arrangement to have the sculptures picked up. The real
shocker was when Gwen turned around to speak to Mom at the front door as
they were leaving.

“I would truly appreciate it if you could find it in your heart to do at least one more piece to complete the set,” she said.

“Of course,” Mom said. “You have been more than generous.”

“Not as generous as you’ve been with your talent and your passion,” Gwen
replied. “Please allow us to reward you for the magnificent gift you
have bestowed upon us.”

“If you insist, but it isn’t necessary,” Mom said.

“Mom…”

Gwen interrupted her son. “Shhh, Nick. This is a matter for mothers.”
She turned to Mom. “I would be truly grateful if you would accept the
same amount for the final piece.”

“It would be a honor to do it for you.”

After they had gone, I asked Mom about the final pieces.

“What is it she wants? She didn’t say anything about it.”

“She didn’t need to,” Mom said. “I already know.”

“What is it?”

“I’ll let you know when the time comes.”

—————————————

Mom worked for several days without any assistance from me. I was cut
off. The first day and evening, I tried everything I could to bring my
plight to Mom’s attention but she ignored every hint, no matter how
plain. On noon of the fourth day, however, things changed.
Unfortunately, it was a Saturday and there was no way I could take
advantage of Mom’s renewed attention.

I thought it cruel of Mom to tease me the way she did. She flitted
around near me sending signals that made my dormant cock sore. She
wasn’t brazen. Dad’s presence prevented that, but she managed to let me
know she was interested in seeking my moral support again. A smile here,
a flash of her eyes there, an unnecessary twist of her torso to
emphasize the jut of her breast, the fall of her skirt from her knee
baring the underside of a curved thigh and, late in the afternoon, the
incessant tap of her bare foot as it dangled her flip flop from a
painted toe. Oh, I got the message all right, or at least I thought I
did.

After dinner, Mom pulled me aside as I headed for the living room.

“I don’t want you lighting candles anymore. Your father asked this morning why the house reeks of incense.”

I had been burning the candles every night waiting in vain for Mom to
show. I was immediately depressed. I guess I had misread the signals.
Mom was ending our affair and her way of letting me know was to tell me
so stop burning the candles. Perhaps she had no further need of my
particular brand of inspiration.

I sat in the dark that night, waiting. Finally, at two in the morning, I
got up and carefully made my way through the dark to the stairs. Mom
startled me. She was sitting on the steps half way up.

“What the…”

“Shhhhhhh.”

“Mom?” I whispered.

“Be quiet,” she snapped.

“How long have you…”

“Shhhhh.”

Mom stood and started down the steps, grasping my hand as she passed by
me. I turned to follow. We threaded our way easily through the kitchen,
the light of the moon shining through the glass doors. Mom pulled the
door open, taking great care to make as little sound as possible. It was
only then that I realized she was naked. She turned around to face me.

“Take your clothes off,” she whispered.

When I didn’t react, Mom waved her hands impatiently. I yanked my
t-shirt over my head and threw it on a kitchen chair, then quickly
pushed my shorts down and off my bare feet. The moonlight glinted off my
hardening rod as I moved toward Mom but she put her hands up to stop
me.

“Be still.”

I did as Mom said. The only part of me that moved was my stiff cock
bouncing in the moonlight. I didn’t have any idea what was going on but I
knew it wasn’t going to be bad.

“What do you think you’re going to do with that?” Mom asked.

She didn’t have to point. I knew what she was talking about.

“Nothing,” I said, like a little k** getting caught with something he wasn’t supposed to have.

“Did you think something was going to happen with your father right
upstairs wondering why his house smells like incense every morning?”

This was taking a bad turn.

“No.”

“I should think not. Now, follow me but be very quiet. Your father hasn’t been sl**ping very well the past few nights.”

Mom turned and walked out into the yard toward the studio. Was she going
to show me what she’d been doing the last few days? Couldn’t she wait
until Monday?

I bumped into her back when she suddenly stopped in the middle of the
grass. Mom gave me a stern look and glanced up at the dark bedroom
window behind me. I turned to look. It was wide open, covered only by
the screen.

“Be very quiet, Ben. We’re going to do something very special tonight but you’ll have to control yourself. Are you in?”

“Good. Get down on your knees.”

I knelt before Mom. She came closer, and closer, until her trimmed bush
tickled my face. I pressed my nose against her belly and let my tongue
slip past my lips, curling up into her furrow to taste hers. Mom’s hands
curved around my head and pressed my face against her with gentle
pressure. Her hips rotated and she sighed as my tongue entered her
pussy. A minute later, Mom was slipping and sliding steadily up and down
my face, her fingers gripping my hair tightly. Except for the sound of
her breathing there was only the rustle of the trees from the light
breeze. I braced my hands on the back of Mom’s thighs but she moved hers
down to bat mine away without slowing her churning hips. A new sound
entered my ears: Mom’s wet pussy working around my stiff tongue.
Abruptly, Mom’s hips went into overdrive.

“Oh… oh, oh, ohhh… uh huh, uh huh, uh huh… oh, yes… yeah, yeah, yesssss, yessss, yesssssssss.”

Mom was not losing control. Her words were whispered and the intervening sighs muted.

Slowing, her hips were slowing, she was stepping back, falling to her
knees, panting heavily, her hands covering her sex, arms closing in
front, squeezing her boobs together, back arching, head falling back,
looking at the sky.

“Yesssss, oh yessss.”

Mom flopped forward. I sat back on my heels, cock wavering in front of
me, still hard and ready to go. I waited patiently, sure that it would
now be my turn. I turned to look back at the bedroom window, suddenly
nervous. Mom hadn’t been loud but if Dad was awake, could he have heard
her? I couldn’t see any movement or any sign of lightness that would
indicate someone standing in the window.

I whipped my head around when Mom’s lips covered my cock. She was
sucking me, the fingers of one hand now circling my root while the other
slipped down the underside of my shaft and onto my balls. I dropped my
hands to the side of her head and thrust forward slightly, betraying my
eagerness. Mom’s mouth pulled off my cock and my hands were smacked
roughly away.

Her mouth regained my helmet and slid down my shaft. I kept my hands to
myself. Up and down, twisting, sucking, fingers squeezing and stroking,
nails scratching, tongue rubbing, flicking my tip, swirling around it,
mouth sucking, for so long… oh, so long. I moved my hands toward Mom’s
head but caught myself before I ruined everything. God, I wanted to
hold her head, to fuck her face. Why was she teasing me so?

I pushed forward, afraid of the response but unable to hold back. No
reaction, just Mom’s mouth pushed more firmly over my shaft. I pushed
forward again, gently, provoking a gargling sound as my cock pushed
against the back of Mom’s mouth, but still no recrimination. I moved my
hips steadily, slowly at first, just a bit ahead and back, but fucking
just the same. Fucking Mom’s mouth! Fucking her face!

I moved so steadily it was hard to realize I was pushing forward in
longer and longer strokes and moving faster and faster. The sucking
sounds from Mom’s mouth were louder now, as was the wet gargling sound,
but I didn’t turn around to see if they were being registered by anyone
else but us. This was too good not to focus on it completely. Not a
single neuron in my brain was willing to direct its attention elsewhere.

How could she take such long strokes in her mouth? Incredible. She was
so wet, her mouth and my cock sloppy with saliva, making it so slick. So
fucking good. Faster now, it wouldn’t be long, my hands resting on the
top of my thighs, slipping around underneath to help lift my cock into
Mom’s face. Oh, god, yeah.

Mom’s hands on mine, pulling them away from my legs, toward her, onto
her head, clasping them over her ears, letting go, leaving my hands in
place, holding her head. I pulled Mom’s face onto my cock, thrusting,
holding in, pulling out, thrusting in, holding, oh god… I was coming,
coming, coming, leaning over Mom’s head, kissing her hair, keeping her
mouth on my spurting cock, mumbling, “I love you, love you, love you.”

I was still, chest heaving, gasping for air, cock slipping out, over
Mom’s lips, hands running down Mom’s back to her ass, hugging her. Mom
was pulling away, her back straightening. I did too. She reached out and
took my flaccid cock in her hand and began stroking it. Nothing
happened for a minute or too, my manliness failing me, but then it
struggled to rise, to once more venture into the breech. Mom leaned over
my valiant, half-hard erection and… drooled saliva all over it! She
worked it in with her hands, then bent and drooled on it again, then
again. Mom walked on her knees past me. I turned to follow but she
stopped, hunched over, knees and calves together. She looked back at me.

“Ben,” she whispered.

“Yes,” I whispered back.

“You have to do this very quietly, understand?”

“Yes,” I replied, though I wasn’t sure what she was talking about.

“You’ll have to keep me quiet too, understand?”

“Yes.” Now I was really in the dark.

Mom turned her face to the ground, reached behind herself with both
hands, and pulled her cheeks apart. Ahhhhh, now I understood. Was this
what Gwen and Mom had secretly understood? Was there one more statue to
make? I crabbed my knees forward, fitting in behind Mom, my cock now
rapidly hardening to the consistency of a steel pike.

“Spit on it,” Mom’s voice instructed, though I couldn’t see her face.

I bent over and spit on my cock.

“No, on me.”

Oh. I redirected my face and drooled spittle over Mom’s ass where I
thought her asshole was. I used my finger to spread it around, searching
for the little gateway. My finger slipped right into it. Had Mom
prepared for this before she came downstairs? I had seen her anus before
and it was a tight little pucker, not partly open like this. The
thought added tungsten to my rod. Mom, laying in bed beside Dad with
something in her ass, preparing it for her son. Oh God, I so wanted to
fuck her there.

I brought my cockhead into contact with my left hand and slid it forward
through my palm to the index finger, still embedded in Mom’s little
hole. Pulling it out, I replaced it with the most concentrated bundle of
nerves in my body.

It was so tight. My cock bent with effort but was still denied entry.

“Push,” Mom’s whisper was strained.

I pushed forward but my cock simply bent even more. Using my hand, I
kept it straight while I shoved forward again. There. Her ass was giving
way. I think. I kept up the pressure. Yes, I was sure it was giving
way. I wished it was a full moon so I could see better. Is it? Is it
going in? Yes, there it is, but so tight… my god, shove. Yeah, oh
yeah. Mom was groaning. I leaned forward and reached down with my left
hand to find her face, slipped my hand under it to cover her mouth. Mom
groaned and my palm vibrated with its slick tones.

I pulled my cockhead out and drooled on Mom’s hole again. Even in the
moonlight, I could see that it was bigger. Encouraged, I pressed my
hardness in again. Mom’s audible groan split the night. I lunged forward
to cover her mouth but not before another groan escaped Mom’s lips in
response to my sudden move as my cock burst through the gate. I was in!
My cock was in Mom’s ass!

I let Mom accommodate to my girth before moving gently to and fro, a
fraction of an inch in and back, then an inch. I kept doing this until
the grunts vibrating my palm abated, replaced with the occasional
murmur. I lengthened my strokes and within a few minutes I was fucking
Mom’s butt just like I would fuck her pussy. Mom’s throat was behaving
so I pulled my hand back and used both to hold her hips, pulling her ass
back as I thrust forward.

Soon, it almost felt like a common experience, so I varied the speed and
depth of my strokes, rewarded by Mom’s reaction through her breathing,
love whimpers, and soft moans. She seemed to like it when I suddenly
thrust in hard and held it so I got up on my feet and straddled her ass,
gouging my cock in as deep as I could, in long, slow twists. Oh yes,
she loved that. And so did I! I humped her in a series of five or six
lunges followed by a grinding pause, then repeated it all. This went on
and on and on until I finally realized that we were both getting way to
loud. I pushed forward and drove Mom flat on the grass, gripped her
cheeks and began fucking her ass very hard.

I had to release one cheek to cover Mom’s mouth again. I pulled her chin
up to point her face toward the bedroom window where Dad was sl**ping.
Releasing the other cheek, I grasped Mom’s hair and started on what I
knew would be the final part of this ride, at least for me. I love that
final run where you know you couldn’t stop if you tried, that you’d come
anyway, so you just go with it and the woman you’re with knows it too
and tries to match you so she can come with you. I could feel Mom doing
that. I leaned forward to whisper encouragement in her ear, to tell her
how much I loved her ass, and how much more I loved her.

We lay spent on the grass for ages. The first hints of dawn were evident when we finally dragged ourselves to our feet.

—————————————

“Mom. What are you doing?”

Mom had pulled back my covers and was pulling me by the hand.

“Where’s Dad?” I asked, my eyes frantically looking past Mom’s nude body.

“He went out to see Eric. Come on. Get up.”

I stumbled to my feet, still groggy from sl**ping but relieved that Dad wasn’t in the house.

“Where are we going?”

“To bed,” Mom said. “I haven’t made love in the morning for years and years.”

“Mom, this is crazy.”

However, my mind was already losing the battle to my cock as I followed
Mom with faltering footsteps, my eyes running over her body. Did I
mention that Mom had wonderful legs?

“Mom, Dad could come home any time.”

“Don’t worry about that.”

I did. I worried about it until Mom flopped on her bed and turned onto her back, legs opening and arms beckoning.

We made love several times that day. All morning and into the middle of
the afternoon. Long, tender, unhurried love-making, probably the best
sex I have ever had. After one exhausting session, Mom pushed me up and
slid down underneath me to take my cock into her mouth. She sucked and
tickled my balls until I began thrusting into her mouth, the visions of
filling it with my seed already bringing me to the brink of realease but
before I lost complete control, Mom suddenly shifted up and plunged my
turgid pole into her eager cunt. I was startled at how easily it
swallowed my my cock, which felt larger than it had ever felt before,
but my thoughts were soon lost as I arched my back to dig as far into
her moist suction as I could get.

Mom was so unworried about Dad’s potential return that I stopped
worrying about it too, even initiating the last session over Mom’s mild
objections. We made love like that a lot over the next two months. I
would stay in bed until Dad had gone to work. Before his car even pulled
out of the driveway, Mom would enter my room, naked, to pull me away to
her bed. The hallway would always be littered with her clothes.

Sometimes, Mom sculpted but her interest had waned. We would talk or go
for a walk or bike ride instead, that is, when we weren’t making love.

I was shocked when she told me the cancer had returned. Well, as it
turned out, it had never really left. One day, Mom admitted that she had
found out a few weeks earlier. The dJulor simply announced that the
cancer had spread. Mom didn’t want it to ruin the last few months she
had on earth, especially with me she said, so she didn’t tell me at
first. But now, she said, it wouldn’t be long before she became quite
ill. She she was right. Mom passed not much more than a month later.

Dad started to drink. Nothing I said could persuade him to stop. It was a
shame, an enormous waste, but there was simply nothing I could do to
stop it. We didn’t seem to have any connection at all.

One day, I managed get myself to enter the studio. There, I found one
last statue, one of me taking Mom from behind, my bent cock just
entering her ass. I was astonished that Mom had made such an explicit
piece. What would Dad have thought if he’d come in here? Or, had he? Is
that why he was drinking? No, I was sure he hadn’t. He would have said
something to me. And for sure, he wouldn’t have left the $200,000 in
cash sitting in an open box on one of the tables.

I covered the statue and put it in my car. To anyone else except Dad and
I, it was just a younger man fucking an older woman in the butt. It was
probably commissioned by Gwen and Nick. I would call them and see if
they wanted it.

That’s what brought me to Gwen and Nick’s estate. It is a beautiful
place with a large, old brick mansion surrounded by an inner circle of
pleasant lawns and gardens enclosed within acres of rolling hills and
forest laced with walking trails. It is a sanctuary for the soul and
just what I needed. Over tea, the invitation was casual yet compelling.

“I think you should spend some time with your mother’s works. They’re
all out there,” she waved her hand to the grounds to the east side of
the estate.

“I’d love to do that, if you wouldn’t mind,” I replied, surprised at my
eagerness to accept the kind invitation or, perhaps more truthfully, to
avoid going home for a few more hours.

“Not at all. It’s just what you need for a few days at least.”

“A few days? Oh no, I couldn’t do that. It’s very kind of you to offer but…”

“But what?” Gwen cut me off. “What else do you have to do? Go back home
to be on your own? Your mother isn’t there, she’s here in our gardens.
No. You stay here and spend some time with her.”

And that was that. Gwen wasn’t the kind of woman to be argued with. I
moved in to a beautiful room upstairs. Meals were provided by servants
who seemed to be at my beck and call. They bought clothes for me in the
local village and I stayed for a week, sitting amongst Mom’s statues
which were concentrated in one particular lawn encircled by a flower
garden on three sides and the entrance to the forest on the fourth.
Along the pathway leading into the forest, I found several more of Mom’s
creations. At dinner, the only meal that everyone attended together,
Gwen pressed me for details about how each piece was conceptualized. I
confess, I wasn’t very forthcoming and I did feel a little guilty
withholding information from such a generous host but I considered it a
cherished memory, for Mom and me alone.

I spent a week there before I met Nick and Gwen’s daughter. Yes, I did
say daughter. The revelation didn’t surprise me, nor did her beauty.
Nick was quite a handsome man and you could tell that Gwen had once been
a patrician beauty. Jenny was a few years older than me and looked very
much like the younger pictures of her mother that I had seen throughout
the house except for her hair which was worn in the same tawny style
that my mother had sported toward the end. Jenny and I seemed to have a
natural affinity for each other without any awkwardness. Jenny knew when
I needed to be alone and when I needed company, she was very easy to
talk to. I think she understood me and, given her origin, I knew why.

One week turned into two, then three and, before I knew it, I had been
Nick and Gwen’s guest for two months. Jenny had made a habit of bringing
me a light lunch when I was sitting in Mom’s garden, often setting it
down on the bench in the middle of the lawn and leaving without
disturbing me as I sat on this or that bench around the periphery.

There were statues of Mom sitting on the lawn in various places and some
of her later ones prone on the grass, usually with a statue of a
younger man nearby. The statues were arranged in a progression from a
woman sitting, then prone, then the younger man and the older woman
together holding hands with their arms around each other, then entwined
in an embrace, making love, fucking one behind the other and, second to
last, the last one with my bent cock trying to gain entrance to Mom’s
ass. The latter was less than accurate because Mom was wearing a dress
that she had pulled, or the young man had pushed, up and over her
buttocks, giving the impression of an impulsive act when, in reality,
Mom had been completely naked at the time.

The first statues could have been any woman with a younger man but I
recognized intimate details of Mom’s body, including the growth below
her breast. As the works progressed around the lawn, however, it became
unmistakably clear that the woman was Mom and the young man was me. The
detailed renditions of our faces left no doubt, especially on the final
statue. The other statues were all situated on the grass but the last
one was set on its own bed which, upon inspection, looked like the
rumpled sheets on a single bed, a hospital bed. The young man was curled
up behind the woman, cradling her head in one hand and stroking her
stringy, sparse hair with the other. A tear threatened to fall off the
cheek of each one. It was incredibly touching and never failed to make
me cry.

It had taken three weeks for me to notice the statue of the older man
standing in the trees observing this last statue. I don’t know how I
missed them. A quick survey around the garden revealed other statues,
hidden behind larger flowering plants, some peering around the edge of
the bushes but three were sitting in chairs. I recognized the chairs
first. One was the wicker chair Mom kept in her bedroom, another was one
of our dining room chairs, and the third was identical to our kitchen
chairs. Only then did I recognize the older man as my father!

Mom had created these works. Was it her fantasy that Dad observed her
making love to their son, or reality? I pondered this question for days
and days, scouring my memory for any hint that Dad had been watching us,
especially the night when Mom had given me her ass. I couldn’t find a
shred of evidence but then I couldn’t refute it either. Dad could have
sat in our dining room before that night and observed us in the living
room. My eyes had been drawn upstairs but he could have already been in
the dining room. It would have been easy to climb out of the upstairs
bedroom and enter through the window in the dining room. And the other
chairs? How hard would it have been for Dad to come home after leaving
for work and sit either in the kitchen or upstairs in his bedroom. I
wondered if that’s why he drank?

I concluded that Dad knew about Mom and I and that she knew that he
knew. What I wasn’t so sure of was if Dad had consented to it. Looking
back on it, Mom had clearly seduced me. Towards the end, she initiated
sex with me often on the weekends when Dad was around and about in the
house. She became more and more brazen as if she didn’t care about the
consequences.

It was this conclusion that led me to Jenny. Long ago, when I had first
come home, Mom had mentioned a young woman she had befriended in the
clinic, a woman whose beauty she had noted, a woman named Jenny. Were my
Jenny and Mom’s Jenny the same woman? Her tawny, bushy hairstyle may
have been the inspiration for the new look Mom had adopted. Had Jenny
confided her story to Mom? Was this the origin of the spontaneous magic
moment when Mom first placed her hand on her breast to show me how small
the lump was, and the instigation for the subsequent investigations, or
should I say, explorations? I was convinced that the two Jenny’s were
the same and that she had told Mom a story about the love between a
young man and his mother, probably her own parents. Perhaps, dwelling
upon the story, Mom began to desire a similar experience for herself in
her final days.

Jenny was approaching me now with the usual tray of fruit, snacks and
juice. She had been about to set it down on the circular stone table at
the center of the garden as she normally did when she changed her mind,
straightened up, and brought it to me. Jenny handed me the small tray
and sat down on the grass before me. There was no room on the bench
beside me because a statue of me was sitting there gazing at the prone
figure of Mom on the grass.

I ate in silence, regarding Jenny with a blank expression on my face.
She leaned back on her hands and waited for me to finish or to say
something. When I was done, I set the tray down on the grass beside me.

“You met my mother at the clinic, didn’t you?”

Jenny nodded.

“You told her about Nick and Gwen?”

“Yes.”

“She was intrigued?”

“Very.”

“Did you suggest she take up sculpting?”

“No. She said it was something she’d always wanted to do and that she was good at in school.”

“I see,” I nodded, thinking. “You asked Nick to follow up to see if she had done it?”

“No. I came across your website and asked Nick to support her. If I did it myself, she would have considered it charity.”

“So, I owe it all to you.”

“Yes,” was Jenny’s brutally frank reply. “Well, the beginning anyway.”

“I suppose thanks are in order,” I sighed.

“You can pay me back, you know.”

With that, Jenny rolled over onto her stomach, her head on the grass
canted back so she could look at me. She reached behind herself to grasp
the hem of her summer dress and pulled it up until it was stretched
across the bottom of her buttocks at the top of her slightly parted
legs. A dark patch of pubic hair stretched down between the triangle
formed by her legs and the apple-like cheeks of her bottom.

“You owe me,” she whispered hoarsely.

Maybe it was because I hadn’t had sex for so long, maybe it was because
Jenny was so beautiful and we were so fond of each other, or maybe it
was because we understood one another so well. I don’t know the why but
my erection was instantaneous and I didn’t hesitate for a second. I
stood up and shoved my shorts down to my ankles. I didn’t bother trying
to get them off over my running shoes, I simply sank to my knees between
Jenny’s feet, still wearing my shirt. She raised her butt up and the
dress fell over her buttocks, baring her ass. I moved forward to impale
her with my hardness but Jenny suddenly twisted around to face me with
her widespread legs, welcoming pussy pushed up and forward, ready for
action.

“I want a son of my own,” she cried in a thick, passionate voice.

I stared down at her already moist pussy. “Alright,” I muttered, my cock
aching for entry. I leaned down to bring it close, so close I could
feel her heat on its tip.

“Wait,” Jenny cried. “Look at me first,” she demanded.

“Promise that when the time comes you’ll stand back and let him have his turn.”

I stared at Jenny, my mouth wide open, as the full reality of her offer exploded in my brain.

“Promise,” Jenny yelled. “I’ll give you everything you need, but only if you promise.”

“I promise,” I muttered, then with more f***e, “I promise!”

I reached under Jenny’s thighs and lifted her pelvis from the ground, my
cock sk**ding between her inner thighs, bouncing from one to the other
until I found her slit, nudged inside, and slid home with gut wrenching
need.

“Ahhhhhh, yeah,” I cried, and started fucking my new soul mate with wild abandon.

It was a hard, desperate fuck. You couldn’t call it making love, that
came later. Jenny responded as if she was in just as much need as I. How
long had she waited for the right man to come along, the man that would
willingly sire his own cuckold and honor his promise to relinquish his
throne. As I pulled on Jenny’s straining thighs, I was surprised that I
looked forward to the day, even cherished it. I would never do it for
any other man, but for my son, that was different.

I think it was right after those thoughts that I first croaked, “Oh, Mom, Mom.”

Jenny went wild. Her hips bucked up to meet mine with as much f***e as
mine slammed down to pierce her. I think she really got off on being
called ‘Mom’ and I later wondered if she had always wondered what it
would be like to fuck her own son, just like her mother had done.
Whatever, the mutual hammering was extremely intense and I wasn’t really
surprised when we were done to find ourselves in the middle of the lawn
under the central stone table, gasping desperately to recapture our
breath.

Jenny waited while I pulled up my shorts. Hand in hand we sauntered back
to the house. Nick and Gwen were sitting on the large stone patio
behind the mansion having their afternoon wine. Gwen was watching the
birds in the nearby trees with her small binoculars as she often did.
Jenny smiled at them as we climbed the stone steps, her hand stretching
back to hold mine, towing me behind her.

“We’re going to be married,” she announced in the most nonchalant fashion you can imagine. “We’ll be upstairs celebrating.”

Nick and Gwen smiled and I nodded my agreement as if it was a foregone
conclusion. As I entered the large house, I looked back just as Nick’s
hand settled on Gwen’s knee. As Jenny pulled me into the house, the hand
slid up and under Gwen’s skirt.

Days later, I discovered something else that might have had something to
do with Dad’s drinking. The second to last statue depicted Mom prone on
her back, her hands on my buttocks urging me forward with the tip of my
cock just entering her mouth. Mom had done this on several occasions
but she had never let me come there. Instead, when I was ready to
unload, Mom would always slide her hands around to the front of my
thighs and push hard, forcing me down and arching her hips up to capture
my by then already drooling cock between her legs. Mom always wanted me
to come inside her. That is, until the end. Then, she let me come in
her mouth. Not on her face, mind you, just in her mouth.

So what was so strange about that?

Her tummy, that’s what. Mom’s stomach in that statue pouted way too
much. It looked almost swollen. I had noticed it before but thought it
was an expression of her realism. Now, I suspected another reason. Mom
was pregnant, and intentionally so! She wanted to have a c***d with me
but that was when she was well, when she thought she was free of cancer.
Looking back, Mom had only let me come in her mouth after the first
tell-tale signs that the cancer had returned. She carried that secret to
her grave but Dad may have found out from the dJulor after her death.
Maybe. That swollen stomach haunted me.

So why did I think that? Because when Jenny and I spent the afternoon
making love, I clambered over her chest just like in the statue with
Mom. Jenny let me put my cock into her mouth and lovingly teased it back
into something a man could be proud of. She insisted, however, that I
put it in her pussy, as she did over the next few days. That
recollection, while sitting on the bench regarding the statue of Mom and
me, triggered similar memories with Mom. Jenny demanded that I come in
her pussy because she wanted a son, and now I believed that’s why Mom
had insisted on the same thing.