Another laugh. I waited. Finally, she said, “I am seventy-four years old and I never experienced oral sex, either giving or receiving.”
I was shocked, to say the least, both by the declaration and her willingness to talk about it. Still, having said time and again that I was as uninhibited a person as anyone was likely to meet, I pushed through that and asked, “Didn’t you and Dad ever do any stuff like that?”
“Your father? Heavens, no,” she said emphatically. “James was the type of man who believed in missionary sex only. He felt that oral sex was sodomy, and any position other than missionary gave the woman dominion over a man, and according to his religious beliefs, he refused to differ as he thought that would be to challenge God.”
“His beliefs?” I asked.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said immediately. “Yes, when your father died, I threw myself into the church, fanatically at times, and I’ve lived the life of a prude ever since. The truth of the matter, though, is when James died, I never had sex again.”
“Whoa-whoa-whoa,” I stopped her. “Dad died over forty years ago and you’re telling me that you haven’t been with anyone else since?”
“Don’t you believe me?”
“Uh … I guess,” I answered, “but just understand how hard it is to believe something like that.”
“I have no reason to lie,” she assured me.
Silence, then, “So, you said you needed something from me,” I reminded her. “I hope it’s not to hook you up with anyone, because I don’t know anyone your age.”
“I wouldn’t want anyone my own age,” Mom told me, “but yes, I would like someone to live this fantasy out with.”
“One of my friends?” I asked in disbelief.
“Understand something here, Johnny: If I entered into a sexual relationship with someone at this stage of my life, I would really have to trust him. Right now, as it stands, the only person I can think of who I could trust that much is … You.”
“What?” I knew what I heard, I just wondered if what I heard and what she said were the same thing. I actually dug my pinkies into my ears to unclog them, then leaned forward.
“Would you allow me to experience oral sex with you, Johnny?” she asked, making herself perfectly clear.
“Oh, wow!” I exclaimed as I sat back. I looked up, through the ceiling and into the cosmos. I really couldn’t fathom what she was requesting of me.
Making note of my inability to make sense of things, Mom said, “Please, Johnny. If nothing else, consider it your dying mother’s last request.”
“That’s not fair,” I said as I looked back at her.
“You’re the only one I trust,” she said again.
I must have sat there for two solid minutes in silence, then I said, “Let me think about this, okay? It’s a lot to take in.”
“Well, take what time you need, but remember that my time is limited.”
Another jab. “Okay, Mom. Just … Give me a few days, is all.” With that, I left. I had a lot of thinking to do.
Most incest begins at an early age, yet here was my mother, who is seventy-four, asking her fifty-two-year-old son to engage in it with her. Had I ever entertained thoughts of it? In all honesty, yes, when we both were younger, but the last time I had a thought like that, Dad was still alive. Dad. Was he really such a slave to the Bible that he couldn’t enjoy anything other than missionary-style sex? If so, then poor Mom. No woman should be deprived of oral sex. No woman should be deprived of oral sex. Did I truly believe that? Of course, I did. I guess that I had found my answer, then. I decided to wait until tomorrow to call and tell her.
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