"Barbie, love, it's me." I whispered, pushing open the door to her—to our—room and stepping inside.

I navigated my way carefully through the piles of burnt, water-damaged objects she hoarded there, to find her laying on the bed, her beautiful wrinkled face framed by a shock of grey-white hair.

"Chris? What are you doing?" she moaned, her voice quiet and hoarse. Age had not been kind to her, but that was a problem I had set out to fix. For some time now I had been sending her meditation tracts, to stimulate her brain and bring back some of her youth, and the results were starting to show quite splendidly. She'd had memory problems in the past, but since I'd begun stimulating her in her mind and soul, she had been getting steadily better.

"Chris?" she repeated, a faint quaver of fear in her voice now, one someone else might have noticed; autism rendered me blind to such social nuance, however.

"Sssh, just let this happen." I soothed her, lowering my ample frame onto the bed next to her, my hand going to the hem of her nightdress. "Be my boyfriend-free girl, love. Just for the night."

"Christine, no!" she protested weakly, but I silenced her by pressing a chubby finger to her lips.

I could feel our souls bonding as my hand made its' way beneath her dress, until it found its' goal between her legs. Gently, I began to rub her, massaging her wrinkled womanhood, tracing my fingers in tender circles across her lips. She let out a stifled gasp as my fingertips reached her clit, and I began teasing it tenderly, bringing a healthy flush to her weatherworn cheeks.

Feeling her moisten beneath my touch, I plunged my fingers into her, sliding them deep between her lips until she began to whimper and moan. I probed her depths, searching for the spot I knew would make her shudder. Even my father, Mister Chandler, or Robertchu as he was now known, had never hit her G-Spot—but I was determined to give my mother the pleasure she deserved.