The Sculptor & His Mum

Ethan: Hi Mum!

Emma: Hi Ethan!

Ethan: Is Dad in?

Emma (sighs): He is in another zone. I mean, time zone. Traveling again! Three weeks. I am a de facto widow.

Ethan: I have a commission. I need your help.

Emma (jocularly): To spend it? How thoughtful of you to think of your mum in your fortuitous moments!

Ethan: No, Mum! I've been awarded a job for artwork. Your helping me to spend it will come after we have earned it. All in good time.

Ethan outlines his commission, and the challenges he faced in sourcing a model. He stressed the anonymity of the model to allay his mum's privacy concerns.

Ethan: Will you do it?

Emma: Hmmm... naked in front of my son? We'll be crossing a fat red line. I believe it is called taboo in popular culture. And incest in the law statutes.

Ethan: Mum, stop being dramatic. It is just modeling for art.

Seb is getting increasingly distracted from his reading. He can't help but be piqued by the unfolding mum-son conversation. It is not everyday living room webcam family banter that a son discusses his mum's nudity with his mum. The breezy crosstalk belies a simmering mum-son tension.

Ethan: It's for Art. High-minded Art at that.

Emma (sheepishly): I don't know about revealing my venerable body, my flabs and sags, cellulite, warts and all, to the world. I'm a granny twice over, for goodness sake!

Ethan (matter-of-factly): This is a study of the mature feminine form. A celebration of mature womanhood. Your earthy body form is exactly right. If your body is that of the plasticky sculpted machinery of a sweet young nubile, it wouldn't be fit for the aesthetic purpose. And your identity will be anonymous per the museum's explicit requirement. Your face will be artfully obscured in the photos. Your drawn and sculpted face will be artistically rendered. Nobody will be able to associate your body form with you.

Emma: Hmmm... Do you even know what you're getting into? I can see that this commission is important to you. I wouldn't want to be the one to mess it up for you. You need a professional model.

Ethan (emphatically): I am the artist. Let me be the judge.

Emma: What's there to judge?

Ethan: Let me have a look at you. To check you out.

Emma: Hmm... Check out your mum?

Ethan (matter-of-factly): As in to validate your suitability. And if we proceed with the project, to let me imagine the poses that we will use.

Seb instinctively cocks his ears. He twitches. He wonders where this conversation is leading to.

Emma stands up sheepishly in front of the webcam. She is in a summery pastel home casual dress. She steps back. She twirls in slo-mo.

Ethan: Mum, we need to move on to the next level of appraisal.

Emma: What?

Ethan: Mum, this is a little intrusive. I need to have a look at your form.

Emma is processing her son's words. It dawns on her the private nature of her son's request. She hesitates momentarily as she gazes into her son's eyes to confirm her understanding. Ethan nods mutedly. Nobody has seen her nude other than her husband. Ethan has never seen her in anything less than a sensible one-piece swimsuit.

Emma (gasps): Oh my god!

Ethan nods again. In an instinctive demonstration of socially conditioned modesty, Emma turns her back to the webcam.

As she starts to unbutton her dress, she realises that she has nothing on underneath. It is a hot summer day. She is alone at home, not expecting any visitors. She hasn't bothered with underwear.

Emma turns around, still clothed, to face the webcam sheepishly.

Emma: I just realised I don't have underwear on. Let me go put on some.

Ethan: Mum, I need to have a look at your form. Why don't we just carry on.

Emma (conflicted): I don't know about this...

Emma steps away, and turns her back to the webcam. She drops her dress into a puddle at her feet.

Emma is now perfectly nude. A creamy white unblemished back tapering to hips. Sacral dimples peek above her twin orbs like a classic smiley face. A set of well-turned legs. A preview of coming attractions.

Emma drapes her right arm modestly across her breasts. Her left hand minimised coyly over her thatch of mound. She turns around sheepishly to face the webcam. She instinctively tilts her casual hips for emphasis.

Seb hears a sharp intake of male breath. This is uncharacteristic of Ethan. What's up?

Ethan: Mum, let's complete the appraisal. You can drop your hands now.

Emma looks bashfully away from the webcam as if fixated on a distant distraction. She wonders why she is complying to her son's commands. He is going way too far.

Ethan (prompting softly): Mum, your hands...

Emma (breaking the spell): That's enough!

Ethan (decisively): You fit the job to a T. When can you start?

Emma (dissonant): Alot to process. I will message you my decision tonight.

Ethan (awkwardly): What about dad?

Emma (matter-of-factly): Did you say that it is the museum's stipulation that the identity of the model must not be disclosed?

Ethan is about to say something, then, bites his lip, knowing better.

Ethan: Yes

Emma absentmindedly drops her hands as she approaches her PC to close the webcam session.

Seb hears another sharp intake of organic male breath.

***

That night...

Ethan's cellphone chimes.

"Day after tomorrow. Half 5."

***

Chapter 5: Arrival

Seb is out sailing all day. Ethan does not join him as he is expecting his mum.

Tack to Smuggler's Point. A run to and round Mersea Isle. Beetle back to the cove.

***

Seb trudges wearily up the cliff path. As he nears the cottage, he hears light musical laughter. He passes a window.

A woman is sitting on the sofa. This must be Emma.

She is in a casual pastel loose summer dress. Her dress is carelessly hiked up to her thighs. Her legs are splayed open. Not the most ladylike, let alone mother-like, of postures. It is not clear what else she has on.

Ethan sits cross-legged on the floor in front of his mum, facing her. Her feet rest flat on each of his thighs.

He dips a tiny brush tip into the nail varnish bottle. He meticulously paints a toenail. He looks up a notch, pauses, as if ascertaining a captivating aesthetic detail. This he executes methodically for each maternal toenail. Is that a smirk on her face?

Seb feels that he should move on. But an inexplicable force field detains him.

It appears like Ethan is almost done. He inspects each toenail as if enthralled by his own micro artistry, and then contemplates them collectively in the parade of pink. He gazes up a little after that.

Seb beats a silent hasty retreat from the window. He makes an exaggerated noisy approach to the cottage to advertise his return.

Emma appears shellshocked to see Seb.

"Is this Sebastian? Ethan, you didn't tell me Sebastian is visiting?"

"Oh, did I not?"

"Mrs. Astley, pleased to see you again! Ten years to the day! You are a sight to behold! You are movingly lovely!"

"Sebastian, this is a pleasant surprise! And so sweet of you to remember our last meeting. Gosh, yes, it has been ten years!"

"I have been counting the days, to this day! And this day is upon me now."

Emma flashes an English smile. "Hmmm... Sebastian, you are a shameless flatterer, an inveterate liar and a consummate diplomat. And I love, love, love you for that."

She breezes on, "And please call me Emma like a good chap. None of that Mrs. Astley plumage. It makes me a depressing venerable matriarch protagonist in a period drama saga."

Seb quips, "We have a deal. You Emma. Me Seb."

Seb adds, "Emma, Ethan, I know you have your work cut out for you in the next seven days. I will be out sailing daily. The wind here is good to go. I will get out of your hair."

Emma looks at Ethan cryptically as if in deep telepathic communion.

Ethan offers, "I may need some help such as manning the photography lighting. Maybe we can discuss this later, over supper."

Emma affirms, "I will be happy with whatever that helps Ethan further his career. This commission is a breakthrough for Ethan."

Seb chimes, "Me, ditto."

Seb has a sense that Emma is comfortable with being nude in front of him in an artistic context, that Ethan doesn't really care one way or the other, and that they don't really want to discuss his participation in the project, to avoid any awkwardness. He will go with this instinctive consent.

***

Chapter 6: Photoshoot

The project begins.

Ethan with Emma and Seb in short tow, opens the door to his studio. The room is sparsely furnished with large umbrella lights, a rug, a posing chaise lounger, a colourful chair with arms, and a matt black backdrop. The dressing room and washroom is across the hall.

Ethan asks his mum if she can remove her clothes, down to her bra and panty, so that he can appraise her artistically. He needs to plan and visualise the shoot.

He adds that most of the photos taken will be for the photography portfolio part of the artwork. But, some photos, such as close-ups will be used as complementary and supplemetary reference in the drawing and sculpture part of the artwork, over and above the live model. This is so that the modeling sessions will not be overly long and tiring for Emma. The fine details can be gleaned from the photos. These photos will not be submitted to the museum.

This is the moment of reckoning. The moment of truth. Emma feels uneasy. Queasy. No other male has seen her in her lingerie, in the flesh, other than her husband in all her sixty years of existence. She freezes.

Ethan senses this ice-breaking moment. It will be disastrous if his mum chickens out now, having come this far. His schedule will be in disarray. His commission in jeopardy. His reputation as an artist who can deliver will be shot.

Ethan reaches out to hold his mum's hand. He leads her gently to the changing room. He tells his mum that there is a robe which she can use.

Ethan asks his mum if she will be more at ease if Seb is not present. There is no problem. He can easily explain to Seb that she has butterflies in her stomach which needs quiescing. It isn't everyday custom that a woman and a mum models for her son and his friend. Seb will understand.

Emma processes this for a minute. On the one hand, she will certainly feel more at ease without Seb's presence. On the flipside, this project is important to Ethan, and she wants to ensure that he has all the support to produce quality artwork. Lighting is key to good photography. She just doesn't see Ethan being able to manage both camera and lighting implements concurrently. There will be inevitable compromise of quality.

As a compromise, and desiring to be seen to upkeep a basic level of modesty, Emma tells her son that Seb can stay since his help in managing the lighting is crucial. She will go with the flow, and signal to Ethan if she feels awkward. Speaking of flow, Emma feels a creeping moistness.

Ethan returns to the studio to rejoin Seb. Ethan primes Seb, "Mum is understandably nervous about her nudity. Watch out for cues from me. I may have to signal to you to leave us if I sense that her nervousness is affecting her modeling. You then make some excuse about something, like attending to your cellphone message or whatever. Then, I will call you back when her nerves have flatlined some."

"I'm cool to sit this out from now, if it will help your mum to settle down. I do understand your mum's situation."

"No. I do need help to manage the lighting implements. Better you be engaged from the outset rather than you insert yourself later, and we have to readjust. Let's play this by the ear."

Emma returns. She faces away from Ethan and Seb in a nominal show of modesty. She proceeds to remove her robe. Being a gentleman, Seb turns his back to give her more privacy. Ethan busies himself with his camera gear.

When Emma announces that she is ready, Seb turns. Both men look at her to make their intimacy acquaintance. They take in the sight that meets their eyes. Ethan eyes his mother artistically. Seb, speculatively, head to painted toe.

Emma is in her bra and panty. Her panty, an undergarment of transparent lawn. She betrays a certain restlessness.

***

This is a good time to describe Emma.

Emma is the quintessential English rose. Light brown hair, off her shoulder, with some grey in places. She is pretty in a plain sort of way.

Emma was a ballet dancer in her youth. Although she has stopped active dancing a long time ago, she maintains the upright graceful mien of a ballerina.

A mature woman, five feet four inches, just shy of buxom. She has her obligatory share of flabs and sags of her age.

Small to medium pendulous breasts. All natural. Her nipples point down just enough to make them alluring. Her breasts are heavier than they look. Sagging a little from their weight. A dusting of freckles on upper chest accentuates her cleavage.

Softly contoured rump, prominent, but short of provocative. Not a young girl's butt for sure. But, not a blubber mass either. A woman's tail, longish and curving. The hint of pencilled light shadow that marks the recess between her orbs is bewitching.

Soft rise of tummy. An artful delicate caesarean section cut filament line just above her mound.

Luscious creamy thighs taper down to sylphy tender arcs of calves. Well-turned legs flare into wide hips. Lite Rubenesque.

Curiously, if not incongruently, Emma's mons pubis is a minimalist dainty gash. Where one expects a lurid flowering of petals, there is an impish cleft with no inner lips protruding. Almost pubescent. This is her normal state. When aroused, she is apt to show her inner nether character. A thatch of pubis completes the imagery.

A somewhat curious confluence abstraction of buxom and nubile, of pubescent and mature. It all hangs together into a sensual womanly whole that is alluring. Easy to identify, but hard to define precisely.

Emma has mixed feelings about her body. Self-evidently, she likes her buxom bits. But, she is acutely conscious of her modest top.

Emma is somewhat shy. But, she is no prude. Her entire sexual universe in her sixty years encompasses only a singular other actor, her husband. She has often wondered what is out there over yonder, in the world at large. But, she is faithful to the concept of a wife.

Emma entertains a patriotic belief in God. God and Country. But, since her youth she has been to church about as seldom as she has been to Buckingham Palace.

***

On this day, Emma has a welling expectant sense that her universe is about to expand, although she doesn't know how. The charm is in not knowing.

Ethan beams an uncharacteristic smile, telling his mum that she is just what he is looking for in a mature model. He gushes economically, "Lovely!" A generous word from a brooding artist whose eyes are keen, and his way sure, with a severe word stock deficit.

Ethan has Emma turn, twirl and pirouette this way and that, and again, uncharacteristically complimenting his mum.

Seb drinks in the marvels. He is in a sort of mesmerised trance. A soaring stupor. He is about to wax lyrical, and then stops. He is conscious that he is the inconvenient elephant in the room for now until Emma settles down to the modeling routine.

Emma has a bright but somewhat embarrassed smile on her face. Ethan ascertains his mum, hesitates a little, before asking her to remove her bra and panty.

Emma nods meekly. But, doesn't move.

To Seb's surprise, Ethan helps his mum with her bra. He then helps her with her panty. Ethan crouches before his mum. He pulls down her panty. For a moment, her crotch is in his face. She places her right hand on Ethan's shoulder, and lifts her left foot to free the panty. Then, she places her left hand on his shoulder, and lifts her right foot to free the entire panty.

Emma is now standing naked for her son's appraisal. He studies her with a critical eye. He tells her that he is pleased with her carriage and self-confidence.

Ethan tells his mum that he wants to show her some of the poses that he has in mind.

He proceeds to have her sit down. She keeps her knees together as he looks at her pose. Ethan tells her she looks too rigid. He asks her to spread her legs a little, which she does. He looks at her again saying that she needs to relax more. Emma does not say anything. Ethan and Seb watch as she slides forward and slowly spreads her legs more, revealing her vaginal area to them. Murmurs of approval.

Ethan asks if he can touch her vaginal area to place her lady parts in the position he wants her in. She nods weakly in muted assent. His intense face is utterly intent on the work in front of it. Ethan touches her vaginal opening. He explores the minutiae of her womanhood to the extent that he can ascertain and decide what are the presentation options. He does some delicate arrangement.

Ethan tells her that this is the type of poses he is looking for. He asks if she is comfortable with them. She nods, blushing red.

The ice somewhat broken, Ethan continues explaining other poses.

Ethan calls for a tea break. Seb makes himself useful by going to the kitchen to make tea.

When Seb returns to the studio with the tea, he is piqued to see Ethan crouched before his mum who is standing, apparently preening and prepping some aspect of her.

Seb is surprised, if not amused that Emma remains unabashedly naked as they chat and drink tea.

Emma sits on the posing chair, legs crossed defensively, yet coyly. The pencil shading top edge of her thatch peeks out of her crossed legs. Ethan and Seb hover over her.

Seb admires her breasts from that perspective. Lovely attributes. He relishes the little quivers and ripples in their pendular pliant form when she raises the tea cup to her lips, and when she laughs. Seb endeavours to make light humour.

***

The shoot begins.

Ethan asks Emma to cup her hands under her breasts, pushing them upwards and forwards, while arching her back slightly. Ethan purposefully barks crisp instructions to Seb on the lighting, as if justifying his presence.

Click.

Now settled down, Emma laughs somewhat nervously. She makes the point that she is always embarrassed about the large size of these, pointing to her nipples, but not using the actual word.

Seb finds it interesting that although she is quite willing to show them off to her son and him, she is also at the same time, still too embarrassed about saying the word 'Nipple' in front of them.

She adds that she hopes that they will not look too lewd in the photos. Ethan comments, rather rudely Seb thinks, that his mum does indeed have unusually large nipples. But, he says that regardless, he thinks that they will still look interestingly good in the shots. Seb cringes a little. It is not everyday custom that a son discusses his mum's nipples matter-of-factly with his mum and his friend.

Emma mentions that baby oil may help alleviate her condition. Seb goes to fetch the baby oil. He passes the bottle to Emma, but Ethan cuts in. To Seb's utter amazement, Ethan squirts the oil into the palm of his right hand, and then proceeds to massage it all over his mum's breasts, as well as over her nipples. Surprisingly, she raises no protest as he does this, allowing him to handle her breasts as casually as if he is rubbing it onto her back. She even shuts her eyes and tilts her head backwards, as he all too casually, rubs the glistening oil all over them.

Seb is completely caught off guard by this unexpected turn of events. He starts to get a little nervous witnessing this, more so because of the fact that Emma looks like she is actually enjoying being handled this way, rather than because of the fact that Ethan is touching her in such an intimate fashion.

It seems perfectly natural when Ethan had been posing his mum before, by moving her arms and legs around, but this all too brash escalation of actually touching her breasts is in a different category of things. When Ethan eventually seems satisfied by his efforts and stands back to admire his handiwork, he asks Emma if she won't mind twisting, and at the same time, pulling on her nipples a bit so that they really stick out with conviction. It always looks far more attractive in a photo if a woman's nipples are firm. Again, Emma does not seem put off by his request. She does exactly as asked.