As my gilded cage dangled from its golden chains, cradled between my mother's breasts, I looked out past the confines of her shirt at that thin wedge of the outside world I could see. Familiar sight passed us by as she walked; places I'd frequented before my unfortunate condition manifested, robbing me of my size and of any hope of leading a fulfilling life. Faces familiar and unfamiliar appeared, most vanishing in the blink of an eye, a few stopping to converse with my mother. All ignored me as something beneath their notice, or else acknowledged me only to give a pitying glance. Feelings of loss stirred within me; I would have turned away without a second thought, had I anything better to turn to.

In time my mother's steps carried us into a boutique, where she amassed a pile of clothes she carried into the fitting room. There she took off the necklace from which I hung and left it dangling from one of the hooks on the wall, giving me a front-row seat to something that would be half fashion show and half striptease.

My mother changed clothes without any care for how much skin she exposed to her son; If anything, she seemed to delight in making me watch as she showed off her body, making playfully seductive gestures at me. The first few times we had done this, I had covered my eyes and looked away, not wanting to watch as my mother almost stripped naked before me. Over time I became used to seeing my mother in various states of undress, not only here, but also at home—in the bathroom, in bed, or just on a lazy day when she didn't feel like getting dressed. Such familiarity bred apathy, and I had long since stopped caring how much of her I saw.

The last piece of clothing she tried on was a tight pair of jeans whose zipper she struggled to pull all the way up, giving a triumphant smile when she finally managed it. She grabbed the necklace off its hook and brought it behind her, dangling my cage before her ass. “Sweetie, do these pants make mommy's butt look big?” she asked as she swayed her hips from side to side. The fabric was pulled taut over her skin, hugging it so tight it followed her every curve perfectly. She reached down and gave herself a quick slap on the ass, one which set put a jiggle into her cheeks. Giggling, she put the necklace back on before changing to her own clothes and leaving the fitting room. She would end up buying almost everything she'd tried on, jeans included.

That night, I lay awake in my mother's navel and waited until I heard her breathing slow and turn into a soft snoring, a sure sign that she had fallen asleep. Only then did I allow my mind to recall the scenes of her in the fitting room. Then, doing my best to ignore the shame I felt, I began pleasuring myself to those images my mother—the only woman whose touch I would ever know again.