Salut je m'appelle ben C'est l'histoire de ma mère et de moi. Cela commence par le retour habituel du collège et une difficile réinsertion dans la vie de famille que j'avais laissée quatre ans plus tôt et à laquelle je n'avais pas participé sauf pour les vacances de Noël et l'été qui a suivi ma première année. Chaque été après, j'avais travaillé comme job de rêve en tant que membre de l'équipage d'une entreprise de location de voiliers dans les Caraïbes. Je l'ai fait pendant les deux premiers mois suivant l'obtention de mon diplôme mais, en raison du ralentissement de l'économie, la société a été obligée de me laisser partir. Je me trouvais donc à la porte de mes parents, un diplôme en poche et quelques centaines de dollars dans ma poche, sans aucune perspective d'emploi. Voilà pour mon diplôme.
Je suppose que maman et moi étions un peu surpris l'un de l'autre. Je ne revenais pas sur la côte ouest depuis l'été dernier, cela faisait donc plus d'un an que nous ne nous étions vus. Le bronzage profond surpris Maman par surprise, probablement parce que chaque fois qu'elle m'avait vue à Noël, elle avait eu quatre mois pour s'estomper de l'été précédent. De plus, je portais un vêtement d'été – un short et un t-shirt avec les manches déchirées – et mon cadre mince, âgé de 22 ans, montrait clairement le style de vie sain que j'avais vécu.
En regardant maman, je pouvais voir qu'elle avait apporté ses propres changements. L'air de Simon et Garfunkel, The Boxer, sortit du salon. Maman portait une sorte de longue chemise ample et hippie teint dans une chemise de jeans presque déchiquetée, une tenue des années soixante-dix. Ses cheveux, qui ne faisaient que brosser ses épaules, lui avaient laissé un peu plus de liberté. En plus de la longueur supplémentaire, il était beaucoup plus touffu, ses brins ondulés blonds et rougeâtres créant un effet fauve convenaient parfaitement à une femme plus jeune prête à s’amuser. En dehors de cela, Maman se ressemblait beaucoup: une femme svelte ne dépassant guère cinq pieds de hauteur avec une belle silhouette malgré son aversion pour un exercice intense.
Nous avons tous les deux ri de bonne surprise.
"Pourquoi ne m'as-tu pas dit que tu venais pour que je puisse venir te chercher?" Maman m'a averti alors que le taxi s'éloignait.
"Je voulais te faire une surprise," dis-je.
En fait, je ne voulais pas être dérangé. J'étais un peu déçu d'arriver à la maison presque en ruine. À vrai dire, si j'avais pu trouver un emploi, je ne serais pas rentré à la maison.
"Eh bien, tu as fait ça." Maman a soudainement sauté et m'a embrassé à nouveau. "Je suis si heureux de te voir!"
Maman s'est retournée et a ouvert la voie à la maison.
"Tu as faim?" elle a demandé.
"Affamé", ai-je dit. Je n'étais pas vraiment mais je savais que ma mère voudrait que je mange quelque chose et que la conversation serait moins stressante si elle était occupée à faire quelque chose et si ma bouche était pleine.
"Prends tes bagages dans ta chambre pendant que je te prépare quelque chose à manger", dit-elle. "C'est juste la façon dont vous l'avez laissé et venez tout de suite pour me dire ce que vous avez fait. Vous pourrez déballer vos affaires plus tard."
Alors que je me retournais pour monter les escaliers, je jetai un dernier regard sur la silhouette en retrait de maman. Qu'est-il arrivé à ma mère, représentante des assurances? Où étaient les costumes conservateurs, les jupes et les chemisiers? Une chemise teinte par une cravate, des jeans délavés et de vieilles chaussures de tennis? Que s'est-il passé à la maison l'année dernière?
Mes appréhensions en rentrant chez moi ont été surmontées par ma curiosité. J'ai fait exactement ce que maman a dit; Je jetai mes valises dans mon ancienne chambre et me précipitai en bas. Je devais découvrir ce qui avait causé ce changement chez ma mère.
Des sandwichs à la tomate et un grand verre de lait m'attendaient déjà sur la table de la cuisine. Maman était en train de poser une théière avec une grande tasse mince décorée d'une sorte de motif pseudo-médiéval aux couleurs pastel.
Maman m'a demandé ce que j'avais fait tout de suite, mais quand j'ai commencé à manger, elle a fini par me raconter tout ce qu'elle avait fait. À l’évidence, elle a vécu une expérience qui a changé sa vie et qui l’a amenée à quitter le secteur des assurances pour se consacrer à la sculpture à plein temps. Papa n'était pas très heureux de la perte de revenus, mais elle avait baissé les pieds et avait refusé de changer d'avis. Elle allait devenir un sculpteur, un professionnel, qu'il le veuille ou non. Cependant, elle a admis qu'elle se sentait sous pression de vendre certaines de ses œuvres maintenant que cela faisait presque un an qu'elle avait quitté son emploi.
J'ai fini le premier sandwich et maman a insisté pour que je lui dise ce que je faisais, m'interrompant dès que je commençais à m'excuser de ne pas pouvoir me présenter à la remise des diplômes, car ils ne pouvaient tout simplement pas se permettre de traverser le pays.
"Je me sens vraiment coupable pour ça", dit-elle en tendant ses mains pour retenir les miennes, celle qui ne tient pas de sandwich.
Il ne m'a pas fallu longtemps pour lui parler des charters de voile, ce que je lui avais déjà dit à lui et à papa, et de la façon dont le ralentissement économique avait entraîné la faillite de la société. J'avais l'impression que maman voulait juste entendre ma voix.
"Alors, je suis fauché et sans travail," je ris, ramassant l'autre moitié du deuxième sandwich.
"Oh, chérie," dit maman.
Avant de prendre une bouchée, j'ai demandé à maman ce qui était arrivé pour la faire quitter son travail. J'étais curieux mais je voulais aussi changer de sujet par rapport à ma situation. Je m'y suis déjà suffisamment attardé. Maman s'est lancée dans une histoire selon laquelle il ne se sentait pas bien pendant longtemps, toujours fatigué, et une liste d'autres symptômes. J'ai écouté sans enthousiasme jusqu'à ce qu'elle prononce ce mot affreux.
"Cancer?" J'ai bêlé, ma bouche pleine de pain à moitié mâché et de tomates.
"Cancer?" Je répète.
"Oui, cancer du sein."
Mes yeux se posèrent sur les seins de ma mère, une chose plutôt insensible à faire juste après qu'une femme vienne de vous dire qu'elle avait un cancer du sein.
"Je les ai toujours," rit Maman en voyant la direction de mon regard.
Je rougis abondamment et baissai les yeux sur le sandwich dans ma main.
Maman éclata de rire. "Ne vous sentez pas mal. Tous les hommes qui entendent parler de ça le font. Tous les maris de mes amis, même ceux qui en ont entendu parler par leur femme, dès qu'ils me voient, ils me regardent dans la poitrine. Jenny a dit: "Maintenant, nous savons à quoi les filles de Hooters se sentent". "
Je n'ai pas reconnu Jenny comme l'une des amies habituelles de maman. "Qui est Jenny?"
"Oh, juste une fille que j'ai rencontrée à la clinique. Elle a à peu près ton âge, très jolie mais un peu différente."
"Elle avait un cancer?" J'ai demandé.
Maman a ignoré la question. "Allez," dit-elle en tendant la main pour prendre ma main sans sandwich. "Regardez."
Dès que je levai les yeux, maman récupéra sa main et utilisa les deux pour lui tirer les seins.
"Voir … en bonne santé comme un cheval."
"Qu'en est-il du cancer?" Ai-je demandé, mes yeux restant sur les seins de maman, joliment mis en valeur par les crochets incurvés de ses mains.
"Fausse alarme", dit maman comme si c'était une petite chose, mais je notai une trace de soulagement qui dissimulait son licenciement insouciant. Maman avait visiblement eu l'air bête, la petite contraction de sa joue trahissant ses vrais sentiments. Elle a dû avoir peur pour sa vie.
"Alors tu vas bien?" J'ai persisté.
"Absolument", Maman a frappé sa main à plat sur la table pour mettre l'accent. "Mais ton père … maintenant, je ne suis pas sûr qu'il va bien."
"Eh bien, tous ces changements l'ont bouleversé, surtout que je voulais être sculpteur."
"Sculptrice", je l'ai corrigée. Je ne sais pas pourquoi j'ai dit ça.
"Sculptrice. J'aime le son. De toute façon, des changements sont survenus et ton père a du mal à le gérer. Il pense que les choses auraient dû revenir à ce qu'elles étaient dès que nous avons entendu la bonne nouvelle. Ne réalisez pas que changer cette vie est une expérience terrible d'entendre cet horrible mot. Cela change tout. Rien n'est pareil et il n'y a pas de retour en arrière. "
Maman tendit la main pour saisir à nouveau ma main, cette fois-ci en la tenant entre les deux mains. Elle m'a regardé sérieusement dans les yeux.
"Tu comprends, n'est-ce pas?"
Je hochai la tête, m'arrêtant avec le dernier morceau de sandwich qui me séparait de la bouche. "Bien sûr," dis-je. "Tout est différent."
Maman a relâché ma main. "C'est incroyable, en fait. Je me sens si vivant maintenant. J'ai l'impression de savoir ce qui est important et ce qui ne l'est pas, mais Ken ne comprend tout simplement pas.
"Il va venir, maman."
Je glissai le dernier sandwich dans ma bouche et regardai maman secouer lentement la tête.
"Je ne sais pas", dit-elle. "Je ne sais tout simplement pas."
Je baissai les yeux sur les seins de taille moyenne de maman et remarquai quelque chose d'autre qui était différent. Maman portait un t-shirt ordinaire sous la chemise teintée mais c'était tout. Pour la première fois de ma vie, j'ai vraiment vu ma nouvelle mère, la mère sans soeur.
"Vous ne trouverez rien ici pour faire une carrière", a dit papa la même chose pour la troisième fois en utilisant des mots différents.
"Je sais, papa. Je comprends. Je vais juste rassembler mes conneries pendant quelques mois, puis mon nom."
"Rassemble tes conneries? C'est tout simplement génial. Ta mère se retrouve et tu" prépares tes conneries ". Parfait. Parfait.
"Papa, j'ai besoin d'une adresse stable et d'un endroit où je peux avoir un accès stable à Internet. Et, franchement, un peu de repos. Je vais trouver quelque chose, probablement à Los Angeles. D'ici là, je vais aider maman. "
"Faire quoi? Mélanger de la boue pour qu'elle puisse en faire des statues?"
"Non, je vais créer un site Web pour qu'elle puisse afficher ses documents et les vendre. Vous devriez le voir. Certains d'entre eux sont très bons et vont probablement se vendre en ville."
"Je l'ai vu et elle a essayé de le vendre à chaque foire et marché ici depuis presque un an. Elle n'a pas gagné cent dollars."
"Elle a dit qu'elle en a vendu environ mille."
"Eh bien, mille alors, mais elle a dépensé cinq mille dollars pour ce studio et toutes ces conneries pour faire des figurines."
"Des statues", corrigeai-je mon père. "Ce sont des statues de jardin miniatures."
"Papa, elle a eu un grand choc."
"Nous avons tous eu un choc, mais il est temps de passer à autre chose, de revenir dans le vif du sujet." Papa a arrêté de marcher et a passé sa main droite dans ses cheveux, puis a poussé un long soupir. "Je sais, Ben. Je sais. C'est juste que … eh bien … je pensais qu'elle reviendrait à la normale mais il ne semble pas qu'elle le fasse, ni même le souhaite. Je ne sais pas quoi à faire ", a déploré papa, son exaspération évidente.
"Laisse lui un peu de place," suggérai-je.
"Chambre? Chambre? Je lui ai donné toute la place du monde et tout ce qu'elle a fait, c'est s'éloigner davantage du sujet."
"Peut-être qu'elle a vraiment besoin d'aller dans une direction différente, papa. C'est ce qui lui est arrivé. Le cancer lui est arrivé, pas à nous."
"Ouais, ben ça nous concerne tous. Je ne sais pas combien de plus je peux supporter." Papa se passa la main dans les cheveux. "Tous nos amis en parlent. Elle fait des statues nues, tu sais. Les as-tu vues? Et ce n'est pas la moitié."
J'ai ignoré sa question. En fait, je ne les avais pas vues mais je les soupçonnais de se trouver sous la bâche dans le coin éloigné du studio de maman.
"Et si tu lui laissais un peu plus longtemps, peut-être encore deux ou trois mois?"
"Deux ou trois mois de plus?" Papa m'a regardé, abasourdi.
"Oui, quelques mois à peu près. Je vais créer un site Web et envoyer des courriels et nous verrons ce qui se passe. Je pense que les sculptures vont intéresser ses sculptures et si ce n'est pas le cas, maman pourra peut-être se rendre compte que la sculpture doit être un passe-temps et elle retournera au travail. "
Je me sentais coupable d'avoir enfilé papa. Je ne pensais pas que maman allait un jour retourner au travail, pas en tant qu'agent d'assurance de toute façon, mais la carotte fonctionnait – celle qui concernait les ventes plutôt que de retourner au travail comme je le pensais.
"Vous pensez vraiment que les citadins pourraient acheter ce genre de choses."
"Il y a une possibilité. Ouais, je pense que oui."
Je n'étais pas convaincue, mais j'avais besoin que papa pense qu'il y avait une chance pour qu'il puisse respirer maman. Elle en avait besoin.
"Ok, mon fils. Deux mois alors."
"Trois, papa. Trois."
Papa est parti avec un ressort dans sa démarche.
"Ben, tu me rends conscient de moi", se plaint maman.
Elle faisait quelques assiettes à la main pendant que je finissais mes céréales. Tandis qu'elle nettoyait la vaisselle, mes yeux étaient attirés par le débardeur vert qu'elle portait ou, plus précisément, par le mouvement tentant qui le rendait si intéressant à regarder. Je ne pouvais tout simplement pas croire que ma mère ne portait pas de soutien-gorge. C'était mon troisième jour à la maison et maman n'en avait pas encore porté. Elle portait des t-shirts, des chemisiers amples et des camisoles mais jamais un soutien-gorge.
Maman a mal interprété la raison de mon attention, "Ils vont bien. Je n'ai qu'une bosse, elle n'a pas grandi et il n'y en a pas de nouvelle."
Mon visage rougit. Chaque fois que cela m'arrive, essayer de l'arrêter aggrave les choses. J'ai essayé de le cacher en baissant les yeux et en glissant des Cheerios au miel et aux noix dans ma bouche. "Quoi que tu dises, maman."
C'était certainement mieux qu'elle croyait que j'étais inquiète pour sa santé plutôt que la vérité, c'est-à-dire que je lorgnais les seins de ma propre mère. Je buvais le dernier des céréales et posais le bol sur le comptoir, puis retournais pour finir mon café.
"Tu devrais arrêter de boire ça," dit maman. "Tu finiras comme ton père, tout agité et tendu."
J'ai ri. Elle avait bien ancré papa. Maman a nettoyé mon bol et a débranché le drain. Immédiatement, elle a pris un torchon, s'est séchée les mains puis a commencé à faire la vaisselle dans le présentoir. Mes yeux la suivirent alors qu'elle se tournait pour ranger un verre dans le placard du fond. J'ai à peine réussi à détourner le regard avant qu'elle ne se retourne pour aller chercher un autre verre, mais que je garde mes yeux suffisamment éloignés pendant qu'elle le sèche. Quand elle se retourna pour le ranger, mon regard se fixa de nouveau sur ses petits pains. Maman avait un super bas, bien soulevé et souligné par les jeans. Elles sont peut-être vieilles et fanées, mais elles étaient néanmoins des créatrices et ont été conçues pour mettre en valeur le meilleur long métrage d'une femme, du moins le meilleur pour certaines femmes.
Et maman était l'une de ces femmes. Ses fesses s'écartèrent peu à peu de sa taille pour se terminer en deux jolis morceaux qui semblaient avoir été remplis d'eau par deux ballons longs, tenus au-dessus d'un bord et recouverts de denim. La majeure partie du poids s'est gonflée vers le bas et. Alors qu'elle marchait, son cul se balança et le jean se resserra alternativement sur chaque joue. Maman avait remarqué que ses fesses grossissaient, lorgnant d'un œil critique comme elles l'avaient fait plus il y a quelques années, mais pour moi, cela remplissait son destin, prenant une forme presque parfaite, le summum de la culerie féminine. Mais maman était le sculpteur et c'est pourquoi toutes ses statues, qui étaient toutes des femmes, étaient assises dans différentes poses. Personne n'était debout. C'était dommage parce que je savais qu'il y avait des crétois comme moi qui achèteraient volontiers une statue ornée d'une crosse semblable à celle de maman.
Oui, maman s'est elle-même utilisée comme modèle pour ses sculptures. Elle avait installé un grand miroir dans son atelier et elle se regardait, prenant une pose particulière, créant chaque nouvelle œuvre. Elle a dû y mettre des heures et des heures pour avoir créé toutes les statues autour du studio. Je n'avais pas vu ceux qui se trouvaient sous la bâche, que je soupçonnais être les nus dont papa avait parlé. J'espérais qu'un jour Maman me les montrerait, sachant qu'elles devaient être à son image.
"Si vous voulez créer un site Web, vous feriez mieux de regarder mes affaires de plus près," dit Maman en pliant la serviette et en la suspendant au-dessus de la poignée de la porte du four. "Est-ce que je devrais les mettre sur la pelouse pour que vous puissiez prendre des photos, ou le patio serait-il meilleur?"
"De toute façon. Ça n'a pas d'importance."
Mes yeux ont trahi mon esprit sale, me laissant tomber sur la poitrine de ma mère, même si je souhaitais vivement qu'ils restent concentrés sur son visage.
"Oh, pour l'amour de Christ, Ben. Ici."
Maman a fait deux pas rapides vers moi et, debout devant ma chaise, a attrapé ma main et l'a tirée sur le côté de sa poitrine. J'ai été choqué lorsque la chair douce mais ferme a rempli ma main. Maman a poussé ma main dessous, guidant mon doigt vers un petit point dur, à mi-chemin mais pas tout à fait au milieu de la face inférieure de sa poitrine.
"Tu vois? C'est assez petit et c'est bénin. Ce n'est pas grave."
J'étais abasourdi. J'étais assise là, regardant la poitrine de maman, reposant dans mes mains et la sienne, savourant la sensation de chaleur et de poids, et la courbure parfaite de sa forme globulaire. Malgré mon effort mental, il y avait une agitation dans mes reins.
Maman me releva avec sa main libre, puis l'utilisa pour guider mon autre mit dans son sein gauche.
"Tu vois? Rien là-bas."
Maman m'a frotté la main dans un petit demi-cercle sous son autre sein.
"Nada. Tout est clair. Rien à craindre."
Maman a laissé tomber ses mains et, à contrecœur, j'ai laissé tomber les miennes aussi.
"Ça ne fait pas mal de vérifier," marmonnai-je.
"C'est vrai, et je vérifie tout le temps. Maintenant, passons aux choses sérieuses."
Maman a balayé la porte du patio et s'est dirigée vers son studio au fond de la cour. Quelques secondes plus tard, je me suis mise à l'action, je l'ai suivie, les yeux rivés sur l'action de son jean, tic-tac-tac-tac. J'ai dû me réorganiser avant d'arriver au studio. Je ne sais pas ce qui n'allait pas avec moi mais je ne pouvais pas garder les yeux fermés du corps de maman.
En déplaçant les statues, prêtes à prendre des photos, j'ai découvert autre chose à propos de la nouvelle vie de maman. Il y avait plusieurs bouteilles de vin dans le placard dans le placard près de l'endroit où elle était assise pour façonner les nouvelles statues. Elle m'a vu faire la découverte et a simplement fait remarquer: «Parfois, cela aide mon esprit créatif à démarrer."
J'ai haussé les épaules. Ce n'était pas vraiment une de mes affaires. Nous avons transporté toutes les pièces finies de maman dans la cour, à l'exception de celles se trouvant sous la bâche. J'ai pris des photos et les ai ensuite placées de manière plus ordonnée à une extrémité du studio, à l'exception des meilleures que j'ai placées autour du patio. Si nous réussissions à faire venir quelqu'un, il serait le premier à être vu.
Je suis resté éveillé jusqu'aux petites heures du matin cette nuit-là pour obtenir un site Web de base opérationnel. Il était midi avant que je me lève. Maman travaillait dans son studio. Je me suis préparé une tasse de café et je me suis promené quelques minutes devant la porte avant qu'elle ne prenne conscience de moi. Elle fit une pause pour examiner ses progrès, prenant un verre de vin à siroter en la regardant d'un œil critique. Reposant le verre, Maman se cambra dans le dos et leva les bras, puis baissa les coudes pour que ses mains puissent étendre ses doigts le long de la nuque, ses seins parfaitement serrés contre sa chemise en coton. Elle se tourna vers moi, sourit et laissa ses bras tomber lentement sur ses côtés.
"Oh, bonjour somnambule."
Le soleil qui brillait à travers la fenêtre projetait une vive coupure sur le visage de maman, mais il ne pouvait rivaliser avec l'étincelle dans ses yeux. Clairement, elle a vraiment apprécié ce qu'elle faisait. Si la sculpture pouvait le faire, cela en valait la peine. Je devais trouver un moyen pour papa de voir à quel point maman l'aimait.
"Hé, j'ai une excuse. J'ai passé toute la nuit à travailler sur votre site web."
"Vraiment?" Le sourire de maman s'élargit et son visage s'éclaira encore plus, si c'était possible. "Puis je le voir?"
«À tout moment», ai-je dit, levant mon bras vers la maison dans une large tribune pour montrer le chemin et versant mon café par la même occasion.
Maman a rigolé. "Allez chercher votre petit-déjeuner et je vous rejoindrai dans une minute … pour le déjeuner", rit-elle. "Ensuite, nous verrons votre nouvelle création."
Maman était assise en face de moi avec une assiette de fruits et de légumes qu'elle avait sortis du réfrigérateur. Je mangeais encore Cheerios au miel et aux noix et me sentais un peu coupable. Maman portait un pantalon noir taché d'étoffes sculptantes et un chemisier blanc strié d'argile. Ce n’est cependant pas là que mon attention a été attirée. Le chemisier était entièrement déboutonné, à tel point que les seins de maman menaçaient de se renverser chaque fois qu'elle levait la main pour se mettre une carotte dans la bouche. Elle a souri quand elle a vu où je cherchais.
"Je les ai vérifiées ce matin. Elles vont très bien," son sourire s'élargit.
J'ai été surpris que mon visage ne soit pas devenu rouge. J'ai marmonné, "Ok."
Incroyable. Je venais de regarder les seins de ma mère sans répercussion défavorable. Elle semblait même prendre pour une marque de mon amour pour elle le fait que j'étais tellement inquiète plutôt qu'une lere lubrique. J'ai fait un pacte que je m'efforcerais évidemment d'être inquiet au moins une fois par jour, sinon plus. Après le déjeuner, nous sommes montés regarder le site Web. J'avais créé une page répertoriant toutes ses pièces avec des liens de messagerie associés identifiant le travail si quelqu'un était intéressé. Je n'avais pas assez d'informations pour créer un panier d'achat approprié, mais je pourrais le faire plus tard si ce premier élément produisait des résultats. J'avais mis les photos en place, mais il me fallait des noms et une brève description pour chaque pièce. Maman s'est avérée excellente pour créer des noms accrocheurs et des paroles artistiques à dire à leur sujet. C'est venu naturellement et j'ai compris que c'était ce à quoi elle pensait lors de la création de chaque pièce. Elle se rappelait simplement comment elle s'était sentie pendant ce processus. Je me suis émerveillé du regard inspiré sur son visage alors que cela se produisait, même si je dois l'avouer, mes yeux s'égarèrent plusieurs fois plus bas pour apprécier le cœur qu'elle y avait mis aussi. La chemise de maman était ouverte juste au-dessous, là où ses seins avaient balayé sa poitrine et ses côtés étaient alternativement recouverts et révélés, parfois de manière successive, mais d'autres fois, la plupart du temps couverts et ensuite exposés. J'ai même réussi à apercevoir le côté de son mamelon droit à plusieurs reprises.
Maman était extatique quand nous avons fini et a demandé quand la première vente était susceptible de se produire.
"Cela va prendre un moment, maman, peut-être une semaine ou deux avant que le site ne soit remarqué. Nous devons d'abord le commercialiser."
Maman a répondu par un simple "Oh", mais a rapidement repris son enthousiasme. "Bien, je devrais retourner au travail."
Elle commença à se lever, puis se retourna pour me regarder, tordant un peu sa chaise vers moi.
"Je sais que tu t'inquiètes toujours pour moi, chérie, mais je vais vraiment bien."
J'ai commencé à protester mais maman l'a interrompue. "J'ai vu que tu étais inquiet à quelques reprises."
Je suppose que regarder les seins de maman était la preuve de mon "inquiétude".
"Regarde, chérie. Est-ce que ça te ferait du bien de me vérifier plusieurs fois par jour? Ce n'est pas nécessaire, mais est-ce que ça te ferait du bien?"
Je hochai la tête comme si j'étais grandement soulagée. Je ferais mieux d’agir vraiment inquiet sinon je serais bien dans la merde.
Maman a séparé sa chemise, exposant presque sa mésange droite dans son intégralité. Elle se sentit en dessous, ses doigts cherchant et trouvant la petite masse. Je fixai son téton exposé qui, lorsque les doigts de maman soulevèrent son sein, se leva comme par magie. Ma bouche a séché et j'ai eu du mal à respirer. J'imagine que j'avais l'air plutôt anxieuse et que je retenais mon souffle parce que maman a réagi immédiatement. Elle s'est redressée et m'a souri d'un air encourageant.
"Est-ce que ça te ferait sentir mieux de vérifier toi-même, chérie?"
Je regardai le visage de maman, reconnaissant de ma compréhension lente et du regard vide qu'elle permettait à mon visage.
"Vérifiez moi-même?" J'ai finalement réussi à dire, peur de croire ce que je pensais entendre.
"Oui ici." Maman a attrapé ma main, comme elle l'avait fait la veille, et l'a placée sur sa poitrine. "Vas-y, chérie."
Mes doigts se refermèrent timidement autour du magnifique globe de maman, capturant la partie la plus charnue, et glissèrent dessous à la recherche du petit morceau. Je n'étais pas aussi habile à le trouver que maman et elle a dû interrompre mes recherches.
"C'est ici, chérie," dit-elle, guidant mon doigt au bon endroit. "Tu vois comme c'est peu? C'est même difficile à trouver."
Maman a retiré ma main dans la sienne. Un sentiment de déception m'envahissait, mais il était écrasé par la joie pure de manipuler les seins de maman et par le fait de savoir que cela pourrait être un événement quotidien sinon plus souvent. J'étais ravie. J'étais au paradis. Pourrait-il aller mieux?
"Tiens, chérie. Vérifie l'autre pour t'assurer que ça va aussi."
Maman a traîné ma main sous sa chemise jusqu'à son autre sein et l'a maintenue là. Immédiatement, je glissai mes doigts autour de son orbite, cherchant doucement des petits morceaux de dureté révélateurs. Je n'ai pas pu en trouver, mais maman ne m'a pas interrompue cette fois, mais m'a laissé vérifier plus longtemps pour m'assurer qu'elle était en sécurité. La sensation de sa peau faisait tinter mes doigts, une sensation qui remontait mon bras et le faisait trembler.
"Eh bien, je suppose que je suis capable d'y aller jusqu'à ce soir", a plaisanté Maman en se levant pour partir.
"Jusqu'à ce soir," répétai-je, ne voulant rien dire.
"Ce soir," répéta maman. "Je me vérifie habituellement avant d'aller au lit."
Par la suite, je me suis retourné pour la regarder partir, mais je n'ai réussi qu'à apercevoir son plus beau fond. Je me demandais si les femmes pouvaient avoir des bosses là-bas. Je me suis tourné vers l'ordinateur et a ouvert Google.
Maman est descendue et s'est présentée à moi dans le salon cette nuit-là, après que papa et elle soient montés se coucher.
"J'avais presque oublié mon bilan de santé", expliqua-t-elle sa réapparition.
Elle se tenait dans l'expectative devant moi dans son peignoir, toujours serrée par un nœud dans la ceinture en tissu éponge.
Je me suis levée et je me suis approchée d'elle. Maman sourit mais ne voulut pas me prendre la main comme avant, ni offrir ses seins pour inspection. J'ai jeté un coup d'œil dans les escaliers.
"Ton père est au lit," dit maman.
"Oh," j'ai répondu. Tentative, j'étendis ma main et tentai de déchirer les revers de la robe de maman sans succès.
"Tu dois défaire la ceinture, idiot."
J'ai tiré un bout de la ceinture, m'attendant à ce qu'elle soit complètement défaite, mais je me suis retrouvée dans un nœud, comme c'est souvent arrivé quand je me suis précipité pour enlever mes chaussures de course.
Maman a rigolé.
J'ai lutté avec le noeud pendant que maman attendait. Nerveusement, j'ai jeté un coup d'œil plusieurs fois dans les escaliers mais maman n'a rien dit, elle ne semblait pas impatiente non plus.
Finalement, j'ai récupéré le foutu sanglant et j'ai séparé la robe de maman. En dessous, elle portait une longue chemise de nuit avec un long V ouvert à la taille et maintenue par trois paires de lacets, la plus haute étant déjà défaite. Je ne savais pas si j'étais supposé vérifier à travers le matériau fin ou essayer de me glisser la main dans le haut. J'ai débattu pendant plusieurs secondes pendant que Maman continuait d'attendre patiemment, puis tirait brusquement la fin du deuxième arc en dentelle. Il s'est défait facilement. Il me restait maintenant assez de place pour que ma main glisse à l'intérieur, mais je me dirigeai plutôt vers l'archet final, prenant ses extrémités dans mes doigts tremblants, maintenant trop impatient de réaliser que maman allait me laisser entrer dans la chemise de nuit. Puis-je défaire le tout? Le sourire de maman s'élargit mais je m'épuisais encore.
J'ai sorti le dernier jeu de lacets et levé la main. Avec un dernier regard en haut, j'ai glissé ma main sous la chemise de nuit de maman sur son sein droit. Je savais où se trouvait maintenant la masse et y suis allé directement, grognant de satisfaction qu'elle soit encore petite, mais a ensuite avancé, cherchant ostensiblement d'autres doigts. J'ai senti le sein droit de maman aussi longtemps que je pensais pouvoir m'en sortir avant de passer à la gauche tout aussi exquise et le vérifier aussi longtemps, réussissant à passer ma paume sur le mamelon dressé de maman.
Quand j'ai eu fini, maman a dit: "Merci, ma chérie", et a resserré les lacets en murmurant à mi-voix, "C'est agréable de voir au moins un homme de cette maison préoccupé par ma santé." Puis, elle sourit gentiment, se pencha pour me donner un baiser et dit: «Nighty, night», comme elle le faisait quand j'étais petite. En montant les escaliers, elle a serré sa robe.
Le lendemain, j'ai posé des questions sur les sculptures cachées sous la bâche dans le coin. Maman ne m'avait pas entendu entrer dans le studio, je pouvais donc la regarder s'affaler devant le miroir, la cambrer, les lever et les plier pour qu'elle puisse jouer avec les cheveux derrière son cou, et mieux encore. tous, poussant ses seins vers le haut. Elle a tordu son torse et a souvent jeté un coup d'œil entre sa réflexion et la pièce qu'elle sculptait. Je l'ai surprise quand j'ai parlé.
"Puis-je les voir?"
"Oh, Ben. Tu m'as donné un bon départ. Tu vois quoi?" Les cils de maman ont plongé. Avait-elle baissé les yeux sur sa poitrine?
"Ceux que tu me caches." Je hochai la tête vers le coin.
"Oh, ceux-là. Je ne les cache pas," dit-elle, défensive.
"Alors, je peux les voir?" Je me suis dirigé vers la bâche.
"Non, Ben. Ne le fais pas."
Je me suis arrêté. "Pourquoi, qu'est-ce qui est si terrible chez eux. S'ils ne sont pas à la hauteur, nous devrions les déplacer pour faire de la place pour ce que vous faites maintenant. C'est génial."
J'ai recommencé pour le coin.
"Ce ne sont pas des ratés, ce sont des nus", a expliqué maman.
J'étais epoustouflé. "Des nus?"
"Oui, nus. Bien, la poitrine nue, de toute façon." Maman baissa les yeux et rougit.
"Tu ne veux pas que je les voie parce qu'ils sont nus? Maman, j'ai vingt-deux ans." J'ai recommencé à bouger.
"Attends. C'est juste que, c'est juste … eh bien, ils sont de moi."
"Maman, ce ne sont que des statues."
"Je sais, mais quand même."
«Maman, je t'ai laissé vérifier tes seins pour les bosses la nuit dernière, les vrais, pas les répliques.
"Je sais mais c'est un truc médical. C'est différent."
"Ok," je levai les mains, me reculant.
D'une manière ou d'une autre, il ne semblait pas approprié maintenant de demander à maman si je pouvais vérifier ses seins, ce que je voudrais faire au studio dans l'espoir de le faire. Je traînai un peu, puis m'écartai doucement. Je pense que maman était soulagée de me voir partir.
J'ai été surprise quand maman a glissé en bas ce soir-là pour se présenter à nouveau à moi. Elle avait un sourire énigmatique tout le temps que je desserrais et séparais sa robe et aussi pendant que je glissais la deuxième dentelle. Cette fois-ci, je suis rapidement passé au troisième et dernier arc avant de le défaire aussi. Maman n'a donné aucune indication indiquant si elle avait approuvé ou non. Dès que cela a été fait, j'ai écarté la chemise de nuit de ma mère et l'ai mise dans ses bras. Je n'avais pas besoin de l'ouvrir aussi large mais maman ne fit pas d'objection. Ma bouche s'ouvrit face à la beauté sans gêne de ses seins parfaitement formés, saillant avec une fermeté surprenante de la poitrine. Je glissai mes mains dessus, les deux en même temps, les doigts en premier, suivis des paumes glissantes, d'un examen complet des mains. Mes doigts s'égarèrent légèrement autour des seins de maman avant que je n'utilise mes paumes pour les presser contre sa poitrine.
«J'ai lu un peu» expliquai-je. "Tu es censé les aplatir pour que les plus petites bosses apparaissent."
Je suppose que Maman savait que c’était des conneries, mais j’avais le sentiment que je devais fournir une explication et c’était ce que je pouvais trouver de mieux. Les écraser pour un examen mammaire était une chose, mais les écraser avec vos paumes en était une autre. Pourtant, maman m'a laissé sortir avec. Elle me laissa la regarder très longtemps et quand j'eus fini et reculé, je pensai que les mamelons de maman avaient l'air plus stimulés que lorsque j'avais commencé, mais je ne pouvais pas être sûr car maman fermait sa chemise de nuit rapidement.
Quand elle se pencha pour m'embrasser, elle murmura: "Je suppose que je suis prête pour ton père, maintenant."
Ces mots résonnèrent autour de mon crâne pendant des heures cette nuit-là, "prêt pour ton père maintenant". Est-ce qu'elle me taquiner? Je l'imaginais en train de présenter ses tétons raides à mon père, les tétons que j'avais préparés, le bâtard chanceux. J'ai tendu mes oreilles pour le son de l'amour, mais je n'ai rien entendu de définitif qui me soit à la fois satisfait et déçu. Finalement, je me suis contentée de frotter ma bite jusqu'à ce que je renverse ma semence dans mon short.
Le lendemain, maman a de nouveau porté le vieux jean de designer, surmonté d'une chemise ample. La chemise avait été boutonnée jusqu'au départ de papa, mais quand maman est revenue de l'embrasser au revoir à la porte, elle était à moitié défaite. J'ai essayé de faire un bilan de santé mais ma mère m'a repoussé en lui disant qu'elle devait se rendre au travail tout de suite. Quand j'ai réessayé à l'heure du déjeuner, elle a catégoriquement refusé, disant qu'une fois par jour devrait être suffisant. J'étais écrasé. Qu'ai-je fait? Elle a semblé être d'accord avec mon examen prolongé de la nuit précédente, même ravie et éventuellement excitée. Était-ce ça? Avais-je franchi une frontière qui trahissait la nature sexuelle de mon examen médical? J'espérais que non.
Plus tard dans l'après-midi, maman m'a appelé au studio. Elle était dans le coin, tenant un bout de la bâche.
"Aidez-moi à les déplacer, voulez-vous 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 asleep 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 force 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.
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.
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.
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."
"Get in here. You put it on, now you get it off!"
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 sleep. 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 $10,000 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 sleep. 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 sleep… 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 sleep," 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 sleep."
"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 forcefully 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. Pourquoi? 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.
"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.
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.
"Mom?" I whispered.
"Be quiet," she snapped.
"How long have you…"
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.
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.
"I should think not. Now, follow me but be very quiet. Your father hasn't been sleeping 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? Incroyable. 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 sleeping. 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 sleeping 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."
J'ai fait. 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 doctor 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?"
"You told her about Nick and Gwen?"
"She was intrigued?"
"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 force, "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 force 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 doctor after her death. Peut être. 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.
Oh oui. We did have son. In fact we had two: twins.
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