Boy Interrupted (Patreon)

You can make art out of almost anything! 😜

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“What about here?” Monique asked, gesturing at the naked brunette standing near the faux-fireplace mantle.

I shrugged. “That corner is supposed to be stark.”

“She is stark, in her own way,” Monique laughed. “Her future especially.”

The newly-created girl sniffled and bowed her head.

“Now we won’t have any of that,” I warned. “Hold your head high. Be proud of what was made of you. Besides, it’s more aesthetically pleasing, and that was the entire point of this endeavor.”

“I—” the brunette started.

I held a finger to her plump lips. “Statues don’t talk. Even living ones.”

Monique rubbed her chin. “This is really quite a remarkable work. The transformation is staggeringly—”she glanced at the groin—“Complete.”

At this remark, tears flowed down the girl’s face. “P-please, let me go. I’ll never tell anyone—”

I glared, and the girl immediately fell silent. She knew from experience there were far harsher positions at my estate than that of a living statue.

Monique said, “I see you chose to leave his face mostly unchanged, however. May I ask why?”

“This is meant to be a statement piece,” I replied. “And there would be no statement if our friends didn’t recognize my son. My former son.”

Monique nodded. “I understand. Tell me, Jon worked against your interests for years. What was the final straw?”

An impertinent question, but one I was eager to answer. “He organized an undercover reporter to visit us, to film our home, to do a story on our supposed depravities.”

Monique gasped. “No wonder you made an example of him.”

“I made art of him,” I corrected. “He was useless as anything else. If he also serves as an example, well, that’s simply a bonus.”

Monique stooped low and peered at the lovely handcrafted vagina where my son’s manhood had once proudly stood. “Lovely.”

“Yes,” I said, though I had to admit, watching my chances for an heir get toss into a red biohazard bin was a hard blow.

“Which surgeon did you use?” Jankovic?”

I snorted. “Obviously.” Jankovic was the best, and I only used the best of everything.

“So,” Monique stood and put her hands on her hips. “What are you calling this one?”

I grinned at my former son. “Boy Interrupted.”