And that was amazingly easy to explain to her, by the way. The System. All of the lessons I’d learned from my father about how to protect our family from the outside world, Amity accepted with equanimity. For her, it was simply a foregone conclusion and explained perfectly how our world worked. And when she pointedly asked WHY such a thing was put into place for us, we told her the stark truth. We told her everything. She didn’t bat an eye, mostly because she confessed to already suspecting as much. We’d never really been all that discreet about our relationship around her when she was growing up, so I suppose we shouldn’t have been surprised when she took our confession in stride. She even took joking about it in subtle ways, like calling her mother “Gran-Mommy,” which at first annoyed mother to no end but eventually she took to liking it.
Mother, for her part, aged gracefully. She developed a few wrinkles here and there, acquired a few gray hairs as the years went on, but her figure and beauty were as vital as ever. For a woman in her forties, she could easily have passed for 25 if she really wanted to. But she wasn’t vain. She ate well, exercised regularly, kept busy around the house and generally doted on me and our daughter with boundless energy. I never forgot that conversation we’d had when Amity was still only an infant, about her worries of not being able to keep up as she got older, but the truth of the matter was that Mother, if anything, seemed to grow younger. We made love almost every night and never tired of each other. We tried every sexual position we could think of and some we learned about from the Internet. When Amity was very, very young we often got interrupted by a sniffling little girl who wanted to be close to her parents- and we never turned her away. Eventually, Amity grew out of that needful stage but as she got older, after we explained everything to her, she never tried to pretend that she didn’t know what we were up to in our bedroom. On rare occasions she would jokingly complain that we’d woken her up in the middle of the night, but that was it. She never seemed bothered by our relationship in any way, even though she had long-since learned that the rest of Society frowned upon such couplings. If anything, she encouraged us in her own, quiet manner. She gave us room to love and be. Like I said, our daughter was an exceptional girl.
We never did have a marriage ceremony- who would’ve attended?- so we were married only on paper, but Mother was positively my wife in every way. Yes, menopause overtook her and made her infertile, but we never lacked for enjoyment when it came to our sex life, which was rich and plentiful. Making love to my mother was as powerful, exciting and pleasurable as it had been on our first encounter, most especially now that Amity had made it clear that she wasn’t bothered by it.
We were perfectly happy. Until we weren’t.
Understand that this stage of our life was a nightmare that I couldn’t have endured alone. If not for Amity, our beautiful daughter, I think it’s very likely that I would’ve committed suicide when Mother died. It was an accident of nature, something that no one could have predicted or prevented, and I have been assured by the doctors that Mother’s death was both painless and instantaneous, which is a blessing for her. She deserved that at the very least. I can’t imagine having to endure the agony of cancer that her mother had gone through, not for her, not for me, certainly not for Amity.
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