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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?"
Jenny nodded.
"You told her about Nick and Gwen?"
"Yes."
"She was intrigued?"
"Very."
"Did you suggest she take up sculpting?"
"No. She said it was something she'd always wanted to do and that she was good at in school."
"I see," I nodded, thinking. "You asked Nick to follow up to see if she had done it?"
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