I was a teenager in the late 1950's. I lived in a small valley between two mountains in the Appalachian Mountains in northern Georgia. Our families were small and mostly isolated from outside influences. We had no televisions and radios were rare. We got our news from a weekly paper with mostly old stories. If something important happened in the outside world, we learned about it weeks later if we heard about it at all.
The climate was comfortable all year round with little snow in the winter and cool, shaded summers. We called our little slice of heaven Lonesome Holler. At our peak, we may have had as many as four hundred residents, almost all of them men.
Making moonshine, hunting, fishing and having children were the predominate pastimes. Our holler had a unique characteristic. Most of the children born were men. Most, as in more than 90 percent, of the children were boys. The few girls that were born were cherished and protected. Men who were fortunate to meet and marry one of the few women were fiercely defensive of their good luck. The result was, many of the men in the holler grew up, aged and died without an intimate relationship with a woman. The only alternative was to leave the holler, a difficult choice since many of the men were unable to adapt to life in the outside world.
I was the first girl born into our family in over fifty years and my parents named me Haven. As I grew up, I became our family's most valuable possession. I was married at eighteen to a man twenty-two years older than I was because he promised my parents the largest dowry. I simple terms, Rodney paid for me. I wasn't asked for my opinion and I didn't receive any of the dowry.
After my birthday and before the wedding, I managed to spend two weeks with a distant aunt in Nashville. She understood my anxiety and, with her help, she introduced me to all things womanly, sexual and otherwise. In short, she prepared me for life in an arranged and loveless marriage. I learned a lot about life outside the holler those two weeks including sex with a man and a woman, and daytime quiz shows on television.
Rodney wasted no time in raising a family. I was pregnant within a year and had four sons before our eighth anniversary. I was concerned that I would die young in childbirth and confided in Agnes, the holler midwife. She understood. I wasn't the first woman in the holler to have the same concern. Agnes had a solution. With her help and some forest herbs, Agnes assured me that I would not have further children. It wasn't guaranteed but it was the best I had.
It worked and no matter how often Rodney tried, I didn't get pregnant. The more I didn't get pregnant, the more frustrated Rodney got. By the time I was thirty, Rodney had given up completely and the subject of sex wasn't brought up again until I was thirty-seven.
Thirty-seven was a pivotal year in my life. Adam, my first born, was nearing his eighteenth birthday. Rodney was extremely protective of his "boys." Each of them received his own personal fishing rod on their eighth birthday. Three of them got their first hunting knife at twelve. Davy was only eleven and still a year away from his knife. Adam and Billy got hunting bows at fourteen and hunting rifles at sixteen. Chuck was still a year away from his bow.
Adam's eighteenth birthday weighed heavily on Rodney. He was determined to give Adam the ultimate eighteenth birthday present; something he was probably never going to have living in the holler; something Rodney couldn't give him without help; the touch, scent and taste of a woman.
Rodney, like most of the men in the holler, didn't have contact with many women so he turned to the only woman he knew, me. About a month before Adam's birthday, Rodney took me aside and told me of his plans for Adam's birthday present. He explained how he expected me to provide Adam with the knowledge and experience a man of eighteen years should have, including sexual intercourse.
"You're out of your fuckin' mind," I told him. "I'm not just another woman, I'm his mother."
To his credit, Rodney did not respond to my outburst with his usual insensitivity. He calmly continued to explain what I already knew. There was no other woman in the holler able or willing to provide the required sexual contact, not even for money. I was the only choice. Without my participation, Adam was facing a life without ever having the experience of "knowing" a woman.
"I'm your wife," I declared. "You would never consider allowing me to have sex with another man. How can you consider my having sex with our son?"
"I've thought long and hard about it," Rodney told me. "It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make for my son."
"Bullshit," I exploded. "Your sacrifice? What about the sacrifice you're asking me to make?"
"Haven," he said, still calm. "You will do this for me and our son or you will spend the rest of your life a pariah in our home and the holler. You will live out your life in isolation. No one will see you. No one will speak to you and you will never leave the single room in the shed out back where I will confine you."
"You will imprison me if I refuse?" I asked incredulously.
"I will."
"You can't do that!" I exclaimed.
"Haven," he said. "I can and I will. You forget where you live. This is Lonesome Holler. The laws of the rest of the world do not apply here. We have our own ways and our own traditions. You wouldn't be the first to endure such incarceration and you wouldn't be the last. It's your decision."
"I can't do that," I stated.
"I've already told Adam that you will," said Rodney.
To my everlasting shame, I gave Rodney what he wanted. It wasn't the possibility of a future in solitary confinement that changed my mind. It was the belief that, sooner or later, Adam would take what his father had promised him and I wouldn't give him. I made the only choice that left me some control of the situation and I immediately began to prepare.
In the afternoon of Adam's eighteenth birthday, we had a small celebration with a cake I baked in his honor. Afterward, Rodney took the three youngest boys on an excursion into the holler and I led Adam into my bedroom. I closed and locked the door and covered the windows.
I sat on the edge of the bed and indicated that Adam should sit next to me. "Adam," I said with a shaky voice. "I'm going to teach you how to approach a woman; how to treat her and how to do it."
"I already know how to do it," Adam declared. "I just ain't never done it," he added as he reached for my tits.
I slapped his hand away.
"What?" Adam said. "Pa already told me what we're going to do. Pa said you would do it."
"Sit there and listen," I ordered Adam. "Your father knows nothing about how to treat a woman. He knows how to make babies but not how to love a woman. If I do anything today, I'll teach you how to love a woman so that she will love you back. Today, you can make a choice. You can get laid once or you can get laid more than once. You can fuck one woman or you can fuck many women. What would you prefer?"
Shocked by my language, Adam relented. "Okay," he said.
"Great," I confirmed. "Sit and listen to me for a moment. A woman's body is her most personal possession. She will give her body willingly to the right man. You can take her body and earn her hatred forever or you can be the right man.
"First, always treat her body as she would treat it herself. I know that's hard. You don't have the slightest idea how a woman would treat her body. Use your own body as a guide. Would you prefer to have your balls squeezed and squashed or would you prefer to have your balls held gently, stroked softly and kissed?"
Adam considered my words with a sense of understanding.
"Okay," I continued. "Women have breasts. I have breasts. Breasts are more than tits to provide a play area for men or for suckling babies. They are connected to her erotic center. Properly approached, a woman's breasts will unleash a sexual desire in a woman. Or shut her down completely. She will respond to you exactly as you approach her. Tenderness begets willingness; force begets resistance."
Adam was paying attention.
"Look at my breasts," I told him.
Adam focused on my chest. His hands twitched in his lap and the start of an erection was obvious in his shorts.
"They're yours if you want them but only if you want them in the proper way," I told him.
The intensity of his focus on my breasts intensified.
"Have you ever touched a woman's breasts?" I asked.
Adam shook his head.
"Would you like to touch them?" I asked.
Adam nodded. His hands twitched again.
"Give me your hand," I said.
Adam lifted his hand and placed it in my hand. I held the back of his hand and moved it in the direction of my breast. Adam's tension was evident. A moment ago, he was reaching for my breast as if it was a nothing more than the next beer. Now, he seemed almost afraid to touch it.
I had prepared for this moment. I hadn't worn a bra under my dress. I placed his hand on my breast and removed my hand. Adam's fingers contracted against my breast. "Gently," I cautioned.
Adam was very gentle, an ability I didn't think he possessed. "Move your hand under my breast. Heft it in your hand. Feel its weight. Hold it as you would a baby," I told him.
Adam did as I instructed. His face was relaxed and almost joyful. I thought I saw a tear forming in the corner of his eye.
"Use your thumb to touch my nipple," I instructed him.
I was surprised by my reaction to his thumb on my nipple. I had explained to Adam how a woman's breasts were connected to the center of her sexuality but I had never felt it before. His thumb touching my nipple sent an electric current through my body and remote parts of my body responded in unexpected ways.
"Have you ever seen a woman's breast?" I asked.
"Only in pictures," Adam whispered.
"Would you like to see my breasts?" I asked.
"Please," he said. I don't think I'd ever heard him say please for anything he wanted.
"How would you go about it?" I asked.
"What do you mean?" he asked in return.
"To see my breast," I responded. "I'm wearing a dress and it hides my breast from you."
"I need to remove your dress?" he asked.
"You do or I have to," I told him. "Which would you prefer? Better yet, which would you think I'd prefer? Just as a reminder. Ripping my dress off me is never the right answer."
"How can I tell what you'd prefer?" Adam asked.
"Look at us. You're holding my breast. Am I tense or am I relaxed? If I'm tense, my body is saying you should move cautiously and wait for me to make the next move. If I'm relaxed, you could unbutton my dress."
Adam looked into my eyes. He removed his hand from my breast and began to undo the top button of my dress. Suddenly, I missed his hand on my breast. "Slowly," I cautioned him.
Adam unbuttoned the top four of the buttons on my dress until it was open to the bottom of my breasts. He tried to push the top of my dress aside. I put my hand on his hands. "There's no hurry. Eventually, all will be revealed. Never be impatient. It spoils the moment and potentially the whole day."
Adam returned to unbuttoning my dress. "Perfect," I encouraged him.
The last button was at the waist of my dress. "Now slide the top of my dress off my shoulders," I instructed him. "Slowly," I reminded him. "Let my breasts reveal themselves as the top of my dress comes off."
Adam's hands remained on my dress at my waist. My breasts were exposed on my chest. I was proud of my breasts. They were large but with only a slight sag. My nipples were brown and already erect. Adam seemed mesmerized looking at them. "You can touch them again if you want to," I said.
Adam moved slowly and gently held my breasts in both hands. His thumbs resumed touching my nipples. My sense of peace and calm returned. If I had been wearing panties, they would have become wet. "What are you feeling?" I asked.
"Your breasts," he answered simply.
I touched his chest over his heart. "Not with your hands. In here," I said.
"I don't know," he said.
