This is a tribute to two very special women: my Mum and her friend Bev. I'm still very much in contact with Mum but, sadly, I haven't seen Bev for a while.
A few readers will recognise Bev from my description of her, as she is a bit of a celebrity in 'certain circles'. I first heard about her on a visit to Mum, a visit I remember particularly well. It was about four years ago, on a cold drizzly November evening, the most miserable weather during the most miserable time of the year. Mum and my father had parted only a few months before. They had split the money from the sale of the house, and Mum had bought a flat with her share. I remember worrying about her all the way there, as I always did, parking the car and thinking how depressing the light from the orange street lamps looked in the rain. Although I knew deep down that separating from Dad was the best thing for her in the long run, I still felt relieved when she gave me a huge happy smile at the door.
"Sorry darling, running late," she greeted me.
She was wearing a white towelling dressing gown, her straw-coloured hair damp and tangled, and had clearly just got out of the shower. I hadn't seen her look so well for a long time. She ushered me into the lounge. "Make yourself at home. Put the telly on or something. Won't be a minute," she called over her shoulder as she left the room.
In contrast to the grim evening outside, the flat was warm and welcoming, softly-lit and with bright modern furnishings. Mum had done wonders in the short time she had lived there. But then, she has always been creative and has always had good taste.
I made myself at home on the white leather couch. I didn't feel like watching TV, so I picked up a magazine on the coffee table, and there, underneath it, was a book I recognised: 'Sex For One'. I had even read most of it. "Whoa, a bit racy for Mum!" I thought, and then I noticed the paper underneath. It was the latest edition of a free-sheet which advertised the services of local alternative therapists. I had seen earlier editions of these sheets before, because Mum was a qualified Shiatsu practitioner and masseuse and advertised her business in them. Most of the adverts were for the usual New Age therapies: aromatherapy, crystal healing, Hopi ear candles and the rest. What struck me about this particular sheet, though, was that one of the adverts had been ringed with black felt tip pen, and the name Bev was written beside it. The advert read 'The Joy of Self-Loving' followed in smaller letters by 'Liberate Your Secret Self In A Circle Of Trust And Care'. There was also a telephone number.
I must have looked at the book and paper for longer than I had realised, as Mum had got dressed and come back into the lounge while I was still holding them.
"Oh, you weren't meant to see those," she said, reddening slightly.
"I'm so sorry, Mum. I wasn't prying, they were just, there," I replied, more embarrassed than her.
"That's all right, darling. It was my fault, I should have put them somewhere else."
"No, no, not at all," I stuttered in reply.
We stared at each other for a long, rather odd, moment, then a corner of her mouth twitched, followed quickly by mine, and we both burst into laughter.
"Oh God, this is so embarrassing," I spluttered, as our laughter died down.
Mum nudged me in the ribs and said, "Come on, we're mates aren't we? Mates, eh?" followed by another playful nudge and laugh. "Look, I'll tell you what it's all about." She proceeded to explain how she had been introduced to Bev by one of her massage clients and about the so-called Ladies Circle she attended at Bev's home. Bev had been inspired by the American sex educator Betty Dodson, author of the book on the table, and was spreading the gospel in the UK of what she called liberating masturbation. Essentially, she taught that there was a lot more to sex than vaginal penetration, and that clitoral stimulation was the only sure way for a woman to reach orgasm. One of the women in Bev's class had never even orgasmed before, Mum told me, and Bev had transformed this woman's life by teaching her what to do. She'd learnt that sometimes women were amazingly ignorant of their own bodies.
Mum had never spoken to me quite like this before, and I listened to it all in a state of mild shock. "So you sit and masturbate together in your group?" I asked incredulously.
"That's right. But it's all very caring and done very discreetly. Does this embarrass you?"
"No, Mum. I just think you're a very cool person," I replied, truthfully. I think I was too surprised by her frankness to be embarrassed. Mum had always been very open-minded, but I had never expected her to be involved in something as radical as this. "It can't have been easy telling me that, Mum," I added.
"You're right, it wasn't easy," she agreed.
As she had had the courage to say her piece, I felt it was only fair to let her know that I had already read most of 'Sex for One'.
"And do you put it into practice?" she asked, laughing, and to spare my blushes added quickly, "Don't feel you have to answer that!"
"Sure I do," I confessed, laughing also.
There was another silence, comfortable this time, then Mum said, "I'll tell you what's better than sex. Food!"
We ate dinner, and the subject wasn't broached again.
When I got home that evening I poured myself a drink and sprawled out on the settee, feeling more relaxed and contented than I had for ages. I had worried about Mum a lot since her separation, but she had looked and sounded so well that evening that I was hugely reassured. She actually looked several years younger than before the separation and I reflected that being single again seemed to be doing her good.
Mum and I had always been close. We shared the same attitudes about almost everything, and the same sense of humour. Our frank conversation that evening seemed to bring us even closer. Since my split with Anne, my long-term girlfriend, just a couple of months before my parents had separated, Mum and I had become friends as much as mother and son. We worried about each other and supported each other during the hard times. The end of my relationship with Anne (who owned the copy of 'Sex for One' which I had read, and took it away with her - perhaps she needed it more than I did!) had left a huge gap in my life. I filled that gap with work more than play. Sure, I had a couple of girlfriends, but my heart wasn't really in playing the field; at twenty-six I was looking for commitment. It wasn't the happiest period of my life, but at least all the hard work benefited my career and it did have a happy ending, as I'm happily married with children now.
So, after finishing my drink I took myself off to bed. Not surprisingly. I started to think about what Mum had told me. Images entered my mind of young and not-so-young women seated in a circle in an imaginary house, skirts raised, fingers busy between their legs as they chatted casually about shopping or the weather, as if masturbating together was the most natural and everyday thing in the world, their chat punctuated by each other's discreet sounds of pleasure. I populated the imaginary scene with some of my mother's friends. A tall young woman with straight dark hair and a shaved pubic area told her middle-aged neighbour, "Excuse me, I think I'm about to finish." Her neighbour replied, "Let me help," then gently inserted a finger into her young friend's naked puffy slit and began to rub. The others watched, smiling, and worked on themselves more vigorously as they slid further down in their seats, exposing their open pussies further. Some were shaven, some hairy, some ginger, some light, some dark. The older woman fingered her young friend more energetically, making her moan in pleasure. As I rubbed my cock imagining this scene, I remembered how my Mum had looked as she answered the door in her white dressing gown. I had hardly noticed her cleavage at the time, but now it intruded more and more into my fantasy. I considered adding her to the imaginary circle of masturbating women, but came before I had time to do so. I dried the sperm from my belly with a tissue and fell asleep almost immediately.
I had just finished my tea the next evening after another busy day at work, and was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper, when Mum 'phoned. After asking each other how our days had been, Mum told me she had spoken to Bev, who had asked whether she could meet me. (I wondered whether they had met at the Ladies' Circle, but didn't like to ask).
"Er, sure, Mum, any idea what it's about?"
"Well, you know what we were talking about last night?"
