Well, I’m still learning the whole man thing, having pretty much given up on being a lesbian, which I’m pretty sure was my first choice. But as for sex, that I learned about from some tacky little pamphlet (or two) in my daddy’s bottom drawer.
I wonder about this, was it just early conditioning, or did my father and I share proclivities. His tastes in porn ran to books about older women and incest — two, which I swiped and kept were “My Mother Seduced Me,” an explicit novel about growing up with a young attractive, sexually active, widowed mother, and “Women Who Seduce Boys,” a collection of explicit short stories with a variety of plot lines that all ended in the same general buffet of sweaty fevered delights.
Fifteen years ago, or so, I succeeded in finding a copy of My Mother Seduced Me online from a vintage porn dealer, but they wanted $50 for it and $50 was real money back then. Ah well. It was the book that introduced me to damn near everything I know about fucking. Not just older women as sexual beings, but acts such as cunnilingus, anal sex and fellatio both receiving and giving, french kissing, tit fucking, spanking and caning and hair pulling, the taste of semen and pussy and ass as sensual delights, the practical problems of deflowering a virgin and of hiding from a husband.
Damn, I have never before inventoried that thing.
Oh, I remember what happened to it — it got soaked when a bottle of homemade hard cider exploded in my drawer — soaked and swollen and stinking of fermentation, it no longer served as my trusty warm jacking off literature, though I dried it out and kept it around for another year or so until it seemed an artifact of an earlier age (I probably chucked it out in a pique of embarrassment).
And it was what I was reading when I had my first conscious orgasm. I didn’t even realize I was stroking my 13 year old dick at the time. But I remember I was reading yet again the chapter where the young teen aged hero fucks his mother for the first time. I had missed the crucial explication the first time I read it and had to go back and search it out again (and again). I was very involved with the overall narrative arc, and perhaps unfamiliar at the time with the significance of the details — that’s my only excuse.
Anyway, his mother had come to visit him at the military boarding school she had sent him a few months back when his alarming, uh, maturity began to create some uncomfortable situations, being fifteen or sixteen at the time. (At the boarding school he is introduced to S/M at the hands of a cadet sergeant a la Ben Gazzara in The Strange One) I recall that his mother wore a tight blue dress and had had her hair done — she was a natural blond — and that the hero was both proud of how sexy she was and the effect she had on his school mates, and more than a bit jealous of the flirting attention she easily paid them while maintaining a motherly attitude toward him. There was dinner out later at a swanky restaurant, just mother and son, like a real adult date, and rum and coke ordered and delivered without question because our teen hero comported himself in a much more mature manner than his years would suggest.
The drinking is important here, I realize, as the entire premise of the book was these were the notes of a psychologist recording his patient’s telling of his own life history. And the patient was a patient because of the misery his life had become by middle age, having misspent his youth and adulthood in libertine extravagance, chasing and catching pussy, sucking cocks, seducing underaged relatives and elderly landladies alike, and drinking himself into alcoholism. It was, after all, a morality tale, with details, but the dissolution was the ultimate lesson. In theory.
And woven throughout was the hero and his mother’s ambivalence about their taboo relationship, and their reluctance to either give it up or embrace it, neither being a viable option. Damn. I really need to find this book. I doubt if it was a good as I remember it, but maybe it was. At any rate I was both really looking forward to trying every thing I learned in the book, and very certain I would at a young age succumb in squalor to the inevitable consequences of my inquiries. And apparently I have.