This is not the way to deal with a naughty son.
I'm a member of an informal group of women who meet up for coffee once a week to relax, chat, share our concerns and give one another support.
We like to think of ourselves as a gathering where we can share absolutely anything that's on our minds without fear of judgement or censure.
Although actually, there are limits, in my experience. I can think of a number of things I wouldn't dare to tell them because of how they might react.
But I'm probably not typical.
And anyway it's been such a lifeline. Some of my friends are so inspiring.
Take Emma. Emma is kind of my hero/heroine, as she is for most of us I think. I'm really proud to be a friend of hers. Emma does so much for our community and sets such an example for all of us.
Only last week she was telling us all about her latest project. She takes young men who've been in prison or juvenile correction centres from very difficult backgrounds between the ages of 18 and 21 (I remember thinking how young they are; the same age as my son Alf) and integrates them back into society with a programme of visits to poetry recitations, art exhibitions, concerts, plays and cinema.
So very worthy and we listened patiently and praised her selflessness. I'm not saying we were bored by her telling us about another of her good works but our interest was piqued when she went on to describe how she had daily been the subject of unwanted sexual advances by these young criminals.
Our eyes lit up as we shook our heads and offered our opinions about the ingratitude of young men and advice about her safety.
Emma brushed our concerns aside with a smile:
"Oh don't you worry. I know exactly how to deal with boys like that."
It may have been my imagination but Emma and I caught one another's eyes and it felt as though we was addressing me directly as she continued:
"I'm sorry but I don't care who they are. Boys need to be taught a lesson in how to respect women. The earlier the better. Nip it in the bud. Young men should not be touching up women who might very well be their mothers."
I looked down and nodded more vigorously than anyone as Emma told us what she'd done:
"Well, I found myself having to pass across the row of cinema seats which necessitated squeezing in front of the boys. Some of them stood up and grabbed me by the waist, pressing themselves into my behind, some pushed me forward, some of the little ruffians made me sit on their laps. I felt their hands all over me; squeezing my bum, fingers wriggling up my skirt and pulling my knickers down, grabbing at my tits. I had to do something. So, without hesitation I reached behind me, grabbed the nearest pair of balls and squeezed them as tight as I could until I heard a scream. Then they all let go of me. I didn't stop or look back. I just carried on walking till I got to the aisle. And I had no bother from any of them from that moment on."
We all cheered: "Well done Emma!" "They'll never do that again!" "That's how you deal with naughty boys!"
I was silent and self-conscious but nodded with my friends: we all agreed that the pubescent male is a disgusting creature; always touching and groping and leering at women as though we were nothing more than objects of desire for their sexual gratification.
I wondered if I was the only one who felt a little aroused at the thought of being an object of desire for the sexual pleasure of rough young criminal pubescent males.
But I said nothing.
I should imagine I probably am the only one who has those feelings. There must be something wrong with me. Especially with me being a mother as well.
Be that as it may I decided to follow Emma's example next time it happens to me: the next time I feel my son's hands on my body.
I resolved that the next time Alf starts touching me up I would squeeze his balls and that it would stop him from touching his mum up ever again.
*
As soon as I'd settled upon my course of action I was gripped by doubt. The prospect of never again feeling his hands on me made me feel depressed. I began to fear that I would regret what I was about to do.
It's not as though I minded him touching me up.
If it had not been for the judgment of society and the power of the incest taboo I could quite happily have indulged my son's unnatural lust, for his happiness if not my own.
I became anxious that by acting out of a sense of maternal duty and social conformity I was depriving my son of happiness.
Let's be very clear: I have never encouraged Alf's behaviour. I have always told him off. Always. Very firmly. But I could not so easily hide that my heart was beating hard and my cheeks were flushed with excitement after prising his hands off my body and pushing him away, tidying my hair, reapplying my lipstick, readjusting my top and bra, pulling my knickers up and pushing my skirt back down over my hips.
Of course I asked my husband to come to my aid. Dave; my husband, Alf's father, knew what was happening. I asked him to speak to Alf, to have a proper father-son talk and lay down the law. To do what any normal husband and father would do. But he just made excuses and refused - totally useless as per usual.
He's actually seen Alf rip my clothes off and everything, it's happened right in front of him on more than a few occasions. He either goes and hides in the toilet or watches us over the top of his newspaper while pretending to be engrossed in the word search puzzle then rushes up to bed.
Dave's seen me come to our bedroom in a very excited and aroused state after an encounter with Alf so he knows the affect it has on me. He just tells me not to worry, that it's a phase and that Alf will probably grow out of it. Grow out of it! The boy's 18 now for goodness sake.
Typical of my Dave: too timid and submissive.
I told him: I said doesn't he think it's him who ought to be touching me up? Him, as my husband who's hands should be all over my body, groping me, arousing me and treating me like an object of sexual desire? We are man and wife after all!
God knows I'd love that. And our son Alf would get the message as to which male member of the household I'm supposed to be fondled by. Then perhaps he'd go and get a girl his own age instead of lusting after his poor old mother.
I began to suspect that Dave was actually getting off on it; getting some sort of perverse sexual gratification over what was happening between me and our son. It wouldn't be out of character.
Ever since me and Dave started going out, even since we got married I've been chatted up and propositioned by other men. I've always told them to leave me alone because I'm taken and I've told Dave to fight them off and protect my honour. But he never has. He just lets them have their way with me. It's led me into all sorts of situations that could have been avoided if he'd have been more aggressive and possessive.
Instead of taking me home he would rather let me go off with other men. He always seems to be looking the other way while other men have their way with me. Then he gets all upset and makes me to tell him what they've done to me, which has always appeared to make him quite excited.
I put it down to his penis being very much on the small side. It's a wonder he ever managed to knock me up at all, let alone produce such a big masculine boy as Alf. The complete opposite of his father, which is something of a relief. At least he'll make some young woman happy one day.
I'm not condoning Alf's lecherous behaviour toward me at all but it's a sign that my son has developed into a healthy male with everything working properly.
Also, and I know this is going to sound very wrong but, being the subject of Alf's attention; misdirected though it clearly is; has reminded me that I'm still a woman myself with all the needs and desires of a woman.
Years of being married to a husband who has shown no interest in physical love had left me feeling like nothing but a housekeeper. Of course I've never encouraged Alf in any way but since he started touching me up I have begun to feel like an attractive sexual human being. I've started to attend to my appearance in a way I hadn't for years - I had my hair done, wore make up more frequently and even bought new sexy underwear and some new outfits.
Anyway. We're getting off the subject. Notwithstanding all of these private thoughts I came home from our coffee afternoon fully resolved and determined to follow Emma's advice and take the matter firmly in hand the very next time I felt Alf put his hands on my body.
Perhaps I should explain what my son has been doing.
He started by just looking at me. I didn't notice at first but then I caught his eyes on my boobs and looking up my skirt. I smiled and told him off. Said he was a naughty boy.
