The news of my father's death was hard enough. The revelations that surfaced about his secret life made the passing all the more traumatic for the family. Two mistresses attended the funeral; Mom having to be held back in her fury when one of them attempted to present her with Dad's possessions. A heart attack had taken him whilst in the woman's presence. In 'the act,' I learned. Dad being a big guy, it gave me some satisfaction to know 'she' had been caught under his dead weight for however long it took to extract herself. Just desserts for sleeping with a man she knew was married, I decided. Eventually I accepted his things from her and dumped them in the trunk of my car just to get them out of sight while the mood at the service tempered.
Three years at least, we discovered he'd been cheating on Mom and it was likely his conquests didn't end with the two that attended. Overall, it was an understandably stressful few days and when it was all done and I had Dad's ashes beside me on the way back from the funeral home a week later, I was glad we could finally put the whole event behind us and all move on with our lives. And then I remembered Dad's possessions in the rear of my car...
It wasn't pleasant holding a dead man's clothes. His wallet was empty of cash and knowing Dad always carried at least a twenty, I wondered if 'she' had taken it as recompense for being 'died upon?' His phone down to one bar of battery was locked of course, but knowing Dad, I typed 'password' when prompted and it opened up to me to access.
Out of curiosity I looked at his messages and saw the evidence of his affairs all over it. If he was trying to keep it secret from his wife, he wasn't doing much to cover his tracks. Maybe he just didn't care, wanted her to find out? Why wouldn't he have just divorced her if he was no longer happy? I certainly had never suspected there had been problems. Nor had Mom form her reaction to the mistresses.
I was on the verge of dismissing the phone when I thought about the search history, any potential downloads, even the camera. I didn't want to give it back to Mom to have her find something offensive in the files and after finding his browser empty, I navigated my way through to his gallery.
My life would certainly never be the same again.
The three photos of my mother told me exactly when and where they'd been taken, my sister and I having made much of her appearance on the night of their 30th wedding anniversary. The tight white dress she'd worn being so out of character to her regular demeanor. Dad had obviously noticed as well. The first picture was of her sitting cross-legged in the booth we'd occupied. Yes, she was showing a great deal of leg, but it was innocent enough and could have been taken when both my sister and I were present. The latter two however were not, and it had me wondering when in hell they'd actually done it?
In the second, Mom had her legs parted. She stared directly at the camera, a smile on her face clearly aware of the way she sat. The dress had been mid-thigh but with the spreading of her legs had risen to her hips exposing what I first assumed was a perfectly hairless pussy. The photos not of a high definition, upon further examination revealed to be flesh colored underwear. Regardless, I felt light headed, looking on an 'upskirt' of my own mother.
With a swipe I came upon the last. Mom with head turned, possibly to be sure she wasn't being observed. She remained spread legged, only now with panties removed, dark brown hair lavishly coating her pubic mound. The addition of the front of her dress pulled down, breasts exposed, hands holding them suggestively. Of course, I'd seen similar on porn sites. Mature women flashing for their husbands in public. Had devoted time myself to admiring such. To see my own mother depicted the same way was mind-blowing, confronting, and yet, even though I hated to admit at the time, arousing. I had to remind myself to breathe as I took in this new reality, swallowing painfully with a dry throat.
There were other photos. The women my father had been fucking behind everyone's backs, including their own. Their's weren't so affecting to me. My feelings toward them not hidden, the appearance of them naked, provocative, disgusted me more than intrigued and when I swiped onto what was clearly my very own father's cock, I chose to end my perusal, deleting all but the chosen three.
Emailing them to myself was my first indiscretion I supposed. Deleting them from Dad's phone along with the others probably wasn't my call to make but I justified it somehow. Did Mom know they were on Dad's phone? If so, surely she'd have been more eager to regain his possessions. No, it was better this way. She'd never know, and with them now safe on my phone alone, Mom nor my sister would ever be troubled by the knowledge.
*
She looked different to me somehow when I arrived at her house to drop off Dad's things. Not in appearance, she was still 'Mom,' only now (and I know it sounds stupid,) she seemed more of a woman. Her legs that were so bare in the photo, now covered by tight Levi's, her ass filling out the rear. The bulge of pussy pressing hard against the denim, for the first time catching my eye, now aware there was a thick furrow of pubic hair lurking behind. The green t-shirt she had on did little to obscure her breasts. One's that I'd seen uncovered half an hour before as she held them towards the camera. That I could now look upon with a swipe of my phone any time I chose.
I felt my cock stir at the recollection and forced my eyes from her tits as she passed a cup of tea across the table. Dad's ashes and the bag of his belongings sat before her and the first item she pulled from it was his phone, my face blushing as she made to turn it on.
"Dead," she remarked when she found the battery drained and set it aside. It was a blessing I supposed. If she was aware the photos were on there, with the battery exhausted she'd assume I hadn't been able to view them either. Mom scoffed much as I'd done when she found his wallet empty and we gave each other a knowing look. "So, what do we do with these?" Her hand rested on the small wooden box containing his ashes.
"It's up to you I guess. Keep them. Scatter them somewhere," I offered. "Do you want them in the house?"
"No," Mom assuredly responded. "I want him gone," she followed up before throwing a hand over her mouth. "Oh, that sounds terrible doesn't it?"
"No, it's understandable Mom. What he did..." I shook my head.
I watched as she pulled his tie from the bag, running her fingers over the silk.
"I gave him this," she paused, wrapping the material around her hand. "We did love each other," her eyes rose to meet mine and I saw a great sadness that she was trying desperately to hide.
"I know Mom, it's alright," I ran a hand across the surface of the table and she reached out with her spare, her fingers interlocking with mine. Her hand so small, the skin so soft, amid her grieving I scolded myself for becoming aroused at the connection, as my penis stiffened beneath the table.
"Maybe your father's fishing spot?" she stated, and confused I asked her to repeat it.
"I mean his ashes," she explained. "What if we scattered them on the river. We could all drive up together. I don't know, spend a night in that old motel we used to stay in? Maybe next weekend. We did have some good times up there," she insisted.
By 'all,' I assumed Mom was meaning my older sister Bonnie and I didn't like the chances of her going along with Mom's plan.
"I think that'd be a great idea Mom," I concurred, stroking the back of her hand with my thumb. "In fact, I'll call Bonnie now."
I wasn't thinking straight, I knew. The mention of the motel upstate was bring back memories of happy times yes. It also brought up an incident that affected much of my adolescence and was probably the catalyst for my current Oedipal obsession.
The motel we stayed in looked exactly like the 'Bates motel' from the movie! Albeit minus the creepy house on the hill and the lake behind. We called it as such whenever vacation plans were made, once a year for easily more than ten we'd make the journey, Mom and Dad continuing on the tradition long after Bonnie and I ceased holidaying with them. Dad's prime and secret fishing spot the reason for the four-hour long drive there and back.
On the first mention of Dad's ashes, Bonnie responded how I'd assumed she would.
"He's dead to me Dale...literally!" Bonnie replied. "What he did to Mom, to all of us. I don't care what you do with his ashes. Frankly I'm amazed Mom would honor him like that."
