Communication

They say it's good to talk, right?

Well that's what I thought too. My only question now is do I still believe that? I'm in a quandary.

I've always placed good, open, honest communication high on my list of priorities when it comes to most walks of life, but certainly at home where it has always seemed vital to me. It was feeling that need for open-ness and clarity that led me to start one particular conversation with my son in the first place.

Christopher - Chris, or occasionally Pups (long story) - had turned eighteen almost four months before this happened and, to be frank, I was starting to wonder just where his sexual preferences lay. Not, you must understand, whether he was straight or gay - neither would have disturbed me in the slightest - but more whether he even understood anything about the subject. Chris is no Adonis, but on the other hand he's no Joseph Merrick either - there's no way that he wouldn't appeal to someone, even if they were particularly picky.

Now, anything even vaguely conversationally sexual is never too easy for a mother with her son, but I am nothing if not determined - and there's no father on the scene these days, which rather forces the issue in any case. All in all, I think that a mere four weeks' preparation and a couple of vodka martinis on the night speaks highly of my willpower. The discussion was needed.

And so it was, I waited one Friday evening until my son took himself off to his room - his usual venue all weekend - and then girded my loins, so to speak, and followed him upstairs.

He was aware of my presence behind him but took no particular notice until he realised that I had followed right him into his murky room. He turned then with a slightly perturbed look on his normally even features.

"Mum? What's up? What have I done now?"

It was an ideal opening for me - better than anything I had so far managed to dream up in any event, "Nothing's immediately wrong, Chris. I just want a little chat, okay?"

"Immediately?"

He was nothing if not fast at spotting rogue words, "Well, yes," I said, "Nothing you've done today. Or yesterday, for that matter. Or the day before that. Or-"

Chris mercifully interrupted my rambling before nerves got the better of me, "Mum! I get it. It's nothing I've done in the past few days. What is it, though?"

For all the preparation and rehearsal in front of the mirror, the words didn't exactly flow from me - but at least I tried, "Look, Chris, I'm sure it's nothing; sure it's just me being a stupid over-protective mother; sure it's... nothing really."

"That helps," he shrugged sitting himself on the end of his bed.

"Okay, okay," I sighed, committed now but making a terrible job of it so far, "I want to have a quiet word-"

"Or a thousand."

"A quiet word - shut up, Pups - about... well about your sex life."

My son's eyes opened wide, "My... sex life?"

I nodded and sat myself at his desk.

"Mum, I don't have a sex life. Yet, anyway."

"I know," I somehow managed, "And that just makes me wonder... well, why exactly?" This time I didn't allow his attempted interruption. I'd reached the crux of my topic, and I was determined to carry on before my nerve deserted me completely, "I mean, you're not ugly, are you? And you're smart, even witty sometimes, and surely there must be some girl... or guy who would be more than happy to have you as their boyfriend... or... well, boyfriend, I guess."

"I'm not gay, mum, so stop fretting about that."

"I'm not," I said, firmer ground somehow located in the midst of my wordy marsh, "This really isn't about your sexual preferences in that regard in any case. I'm just a bit worried that there's no one on the horizon."

"It's not something I'm desperate about," he gave a trademark shrug.

"Nor me," I assured him, "but when I was your age, most guys - and even quite a few of us girl - seemed to have 'relationships' on their minds all the time. What makes you... I mean why do you seem so unconcerned?"

"Dunno, really."

"Chris, that's no answer, and you know it. I didn't spend days plucking up courage to talk about this with you just to be shrugged off like that."

"Maybe that's it then. You've had days to prepare but I haven't. I'm not used to my own mother talking about... that aspect of my life."

He was right, of course, but I had the strongest feeling that my sudden approach would be the only way I would get anything like a straight answer - before my darling son had a chance to spend a few days coming up with feasible excuses that he knew would sound right to my inexperienced ears. "Well it's not like I have much background to call on myself, is it? All I want to know, Pups, is that my son is okay with life and... well, sexual antics are the norm for kids of your age so you not having any friends like that seems... odd to me."

"Oh, so I'm weird now?"

"Chris, no! Different, maybe, but you're not odd or weird. I'm just worried about what's probably nothing anyway!"

For the first time, my son's guard slipped a fraction, "I'm fine, mum, I promise."

I saw the chink in his armour and don't blame me for it - any mother would do the same - but I went for it with all guns blazing, "Is it something I've done? Something I've said? Haven't I said often enough you can bring friends back here? Chris, babes, I wasn't joking about any of that, you know? I'd even take myself out for a night at Stephie's if that's what you wanted. I'd-"

"Mum! Don't! I know, okay? I know you mean all of that stuff."

I could feel the chink closing and I wasn't ready for his defences again, "So why then? Why haven't you got a friend like that?"

To my surprise and relief - at first - he seemed to relax and open a little more, "Mum, I just... It's not so easy, you know?"

I shook my head, "I thought things were so much easier these days."

He gave a snort of a laugh, lacking humour whichever way you looked at it, "Easy? Sure."

"You mean... you have at least tried to get... well... involved, I guess."

Christopher gave another shrug but this wasn't a trademark sulky teenager's shoulder twitch - this carried resignation, "I'm just not..."

He'd said more but even from a couple of feet away I couldn't make out the words. "You're just not... what?"

"I said," he sighed in what was clearly surrender, "I'm just not confident enough, I guess. I start to talk to a girl and I get all tongue-tied."

"Well at least you start to talk-"

"Mum, don't! Do you really want to hear this?"

I nodded, aware of how delicate the situation had become. My boy was on the verge of truly opening up to me, and I really thought that's what I needed just then. "Tell me," I said, softly.

He took a deep breath and nodded to himself, "If you really must know than, I do more than talk to girls. I've dated a few. Some more than just a couple of times. But... but..."

I bit my lip and just muttered, "Go on, baby. If I can help I will."

"You can't," he muttered before another deep breath. "Look. Mum, I go out with them and sure the subject of... well, sex... comes up and I just kinda freeze, okay?"

"Freeze?"

This time the shrug was back to its teenage guise, "I can't think of what to say or what to do, I suppose."

"Do you mean it's embarrassing or..."

"It's the 'or', mum. Assuming you were going to say 'or stiflingly nervous'."

I couldn't help myself. I laughed, "Oh babes, you're-"

He shot to his feet, "See? I knew it! Knew it was stupid to tell you anything! You can't help. No one can. I even want to swear about it but I can't because you don't let me say anything I want to!"

It's odd how some reactions have such unexpected effects. My son's anger sloughed away the last of my embarrassment and nervousness, "Chris, sit back down." To my surprise he did, and then even more surprisingly looked directly at me. I nodded, "For a start, swearing is a perfectly acceptable recourse to language options under certain circumstances. I guess this is one of those fucking times, okay?" A smile twitched at his lips, "And Chris? It's not stupid, the way you have reacted. If you lack confidence in such matters, then maybe that's as much my fault as anyone's. You certainly didn't ask me to kick your father out of the door and I guess that has left you with few home-based options when it comes to discussing this sort of thing."

"I don't blame you, mum. I can't imagine I'd have had any time or chance to talk to him either. Dad was always a bit... pre-occupied, wasn't he?"

I nodded, "You mean so far up his own arse he could lick his teeth clean from the back?"

Finally, Chris laughed, "Yeah, mum, I guess I do. He was a total... prick."

"That wasn't so hard, was it, my newly foul-mouthed baby?" But seriously... surely there're friends you could talk with?"

The last piece of armour fell away, "They sort of passed me by. I guess I was too het up with other sh... stuff... no, shit... when that sort of thing was the big thing to talk about and by the time I was ready most of them were already long past the talking stage."

"So me and your dad splitting up was the real cause, then?"

He shook his head, "It was a distraction but I'm not so sure I could have opened up enough anyway. I guess I'm just one of those guys who doesn't let things out."

"Well here's your chance," I told him, happy that he had finally opened up to me, at least. It was a chance to redeem myself, "What could I have ever said or done that might have helped?"

"Nothing," he muttered, the armour being donned again in front of my eyes.

"I don't believe you," I told him, "I'm all too aware that certain subjects have been off the radar here and now I'm aware they shouldn't have been. I guess I just wasn't ready to be a mother to a teenage son all alone, quite like that. So come on, let's start setting the record straight and see if that helps you any. What might you have asked if I wasn't so anal about all that... shit?"

"It's not funny, mum."

"Believe or not that was accidental. 'Shit' and 'anal', I ask you... silly. But no, come on, I mean it. What might you have asked back when you really needed to?"

Chris sat forward, "I'm not really sure. This is all so sudden for me, you know? Maybe... probably stuff like 'how was it for you back then when you started to learn about things'?"

I nodded, relieved that I'd finally got him to relax a little, and it was a question I had prepared for, "I was no little ice maiden, that's for sure. You know your nan and granddad well enough and believe me they were just as wide open and with-it back when I was a kid. They weren't exactly encouraging me to enjoy 'free love' or whatever they called their romps, but they sure never made life difficult for me in that regard. I have a feeling that maybe it's made me a little too opposite when it comes to you. Believe me, I certainly knew my way around a guy - and a girl - by the time I was your age. Remember, I was your age when I got pregnant with you!"

He'd spotted the rogue word again, though, "Girl? Do you mean..."

It was my turn to shrug, "Nan and granddad always made it clear that you never knew until you tried, Well, I tried and didn't enjoy it nearly as much as... guys."

Apparently I had impressed my son, "Wow, mum! You were... like, really active back at my age?"

"It's not a great thing," I admonished gently, "Not that I haven't loved one product of the wild days ever since he was born!"

"Over eighteen years ago, I know, I know. But jeez, mum, you mean you had actually... done plenty by my age?"

"I'm not exactly proud of it, but yeah I guess so."

He huffed, "Wish I could have been around then and met someone like you."

I laughed, flattered in a silly way, "I have a feeling my life would have turned out quite, quite differently if there had been someone like you around."

"Yeah, you wouldn't have been lumbered with a teenage pregnancy, that's for sure!"

"It was a shock, certainly but I never felt 'lumbered' with you!"

"That's the thing, though, isn't it?" My son's mood was swinging back to the dark side, "I'd never have come on to you, let alone got you pregnant!"

I sighed, "Oh, come on, Pups! I might have been entirely smitten with you!"

"Smitten? Mum, I haven't even seen a naked tit, let alone been ready to get a smitten girl pregnant!"

Now that rocked me back in the chair - and not because my mild-mannered, mega-polite, son had used the word 'tit'. It was far more to the point that he had used it in that way. "You mean you've never..." I tailed off, my embarrassment returning.

The defensive shrug was back with reinforcements, "You wanted to know, right? Well there it is, okay? Happy now? Is it any surprise I get cowardly around girls?"

It rang through my mind and body. Jeez, by the time I was my boy's age I sure knew what a tit looked like, and I wasn't referring to the mirror. I knew by his age what one tasted like, and I was female for heaven's sake. And by then there had been a lot of guys who knew what mine looked like... "Oh my baby, what have I done to you?"

He shook his head and I could see his facial muscles clenching and unclenching. "It's not your fault, mum."

My son, my damn-near grown-up son, was close to tears and whatever he had just said, I knew that I was as culpable as anyone, "Oh Chris, I just wanted you to be polite and respectful to women... to others. I never, ever, meant for you to miss out on...'

"Sex?"

"No! I was going to say 'life', but okay, now you come to say it, yes, on sex as well." My returned embarrassment was having to take a back seat to the incredulity I was now feeling. "Oh for fuck's sake! What have I done to you!"

Chris was shaking his head now, but his control over his tears was slipping and when I stared, sorrowful and shocked, into his face, I could see the salty glitter on his lower lashes. Somehow he managed to splutter, "It's not... not your fault, mum."

My mind was whirling, "It is though, isn't it? Oh damn it, Pups, sure I would have found it a bit embarrassing at first but... shit, why couldn't I have just seen what I should have been doing, been talking to you about?" I skipped out of the chair and onto the bed beside my son, pulling him to me as his tears spilled out, "Oh, baby, no, please don't!" My own tears started to well, "Where's fucking H.G. and his time machine now when I really, really need one?"

His shoulders started to heave, It's... it's okay..."

"No. No, baby, no it isn't. I've been so... stupid! Me and my stupid, ridiculous... pride. So full of myself doing the 'nice' thing, so keen to put my little tart days behind me, to hide my own past from my beautiful boy! When, jeez! It would have been so helpful, so easy! Should have been!" That mind of mine had well and truly whirled away by then, "Oh baby, what can I do to make it up to you? How can I make amends?"

Okay, Okay, I know what I said right then. I know how it could be interpreted in so many different ways. It doesn't matter now, does it? I'd set myself up for a difficult conversation, full of chances for some hard, hard news, but not for a second - one single second - had I prepared myself for what I was feeling right then. I can make every excuse to myself now to justify my words, justify how this mother wanted just to help her son, maybe make amends for years of what was little more than neglect - not the nasty neglect that all too many parents display, but neglect of a type that could in some ways be more mean, have a life-changing effect. I could try to portray that reproachful mother to you - and the lords know I have tried it on myself for weeks now - but there's one other thing you really need to know.

When I asked my Pups how I could make amends I immediately realised just how he could interpret what I had just said. And the most amazing thrill coursed through me.

There. Said it. It was as unexpected as a lottery win, and to me, right then, just as unlikely. But it happened. I'd said it and it had the most amazingly shocking, delightful effect on me.

And even as, beside me and in a shocked whisper, my Chris said, "You don't mean it, though, do you?", from somewhere deep inside me I was already formulating a plan to continue things.

Where to? I had no idea. Why? Oh please. I still have no clue. How? Ah, well that's where I am able to fill you in.

I grasped my son's face in both hands and made sure he was looking directly into my eyes. "But I do mean it, Pups. I've been so callous in neglecting even the most basic lessons I could have shared with you, and look where that's got you now! What every young male needs and craves, it's passed you by, hasn't it? And all because of my lack of attention." Every word was sending sparks coursing through my nerves, building an inner tension I never even knew was present. "I will make this up to you, Pups, and I will make sure you know I mean it." The fuse inside me which I had lit with my original words now reached the explosive. My hands dropped to my lap and I gripped the bottom of my t-shirt. "Look at me, Pups. I know I'm not some cute little teenager any more, but if you want proof that I really mean to help you any way I can... well, look at me now."

Without any possibility of allowing my conscious mind - my conscience, even - to question me, I raised my hands, still gripping the hem of my top, in one swift motion. I pulled it over my head and sat back a little in just skirt and bra now, my libido already blanking rational thought. "There? See that I mean it all? My poor baby hasn't seen a topless woman in the flesh before because of me, well doesn't this prove that I meant it when I said I'd make things up to you?"

Chris's mouth was hanging open and he swallowed hard before starting to say, "But, mum.., you're... you're-"

"Still not a topless woman? No, you're right. No, no, don't interrupt." I reached behind my back and unclipped my bra without any thought except that my groin suddenly felt on fire with a sensation that I had not felt for twenty years. As the flimsy garment fell away from my pretty small, but still pretty perky, breasts, an excitement crashed through me. "There! Is that better? Does that prove what I meant?"

My boy's eyes were fixed on my bared breasts and I swear it felt as if they were somehow caressing me. When he could do no more than gape wordlessly, I reached and grabbed his hands, "I know I'm no sweet little thing anymore but I really meant it, Pups. I would do anything to make things up to you!"

He coughed and finally found his voice - nervously, "Oh mum, it doesn't matter you're not eighteen again! You're f... you're gorgeous!"

"Maybe to you, baby - and if this is too much then just you say. Not eighteen and I'm your mother, I know, but well..."

If Chris hadn't interrupted me then it might all have been so different.

"But nothing, mum!" It was his turn to gabble away without apparent thought, "I might not have seen a real breast before but I've seen loads of photos, and I don't give a toss that you're my mum. This is... I mean you are... well... gorgeous!"

"I'm your first, is all, but it's lovely of you to-"

"I'm not just being nice, mum! I mean... wow!"

His second interruption destroyed any chance I had of finding the scattered remnants of my common sense. "That's really sweet, but I'm not fishing for compliments. I'm sitting here like this because I want to please my boy - and do you know something? It's pleasing me on more than a purely maternal level."

"What... what does that mean?"

I laughed, all too easily, "It means that this is... nice for me too."

"You mean that?"

I nodded, "Yep. I do. I wanted to make amends but it's better than just recompense. So stop being so embarrassed, because my tits might be on show, but I'm not at all embarrassed now."

That seemed to work in ways I had never dreamed possible, "You don't... mind me looking?"