by W. Arthur
When a boy grows up without a father and has a feminist icon for a mother, what kind of man does he become? The short answer is - at least for me - a sad, lonely, and confused loser.
My mother, Hilda, was - and still is - an esteemed professor of women's studies at Freiberg College. Being an avowed feminist, she never wanted a relationship with a man, any man. However, as she once explained it to me, when she turned thirty, in spite of her ambition to sprint up the ladder of academic success, she thought she needed to be a mother.
She further explained that, in order to achieve motherhood, she recruited what she considered to be a suitable male partner. And by suitable, she meant an attractive and intelligent man who was not interested in pursuing a relationship with either her or his offspring. Apparently, she had no trouble finding such a man because eleven months after she began her 'quest,' I arrived and my father promptly disappeared.
Now, I have always suspected that my mother was disappointed to have a boy instead of a girl. However, if this was the case, she never expressed it to me - at least, not outright. Rather, she raised me as well as she could, falling back on what she knew best: feminism and strict discipline - which included, at times, doses of corporal punishment, especially when I entered my high school years and began to look seriously at members of the opposite sex.
For many years, Mother strongly discouraged any kind of relationship with a female. Quite often, that discouragement took the form of a sound hairbrush spanking, administered on my bare backside while bent over her bed - and with her telling me, while she was spanking me, that boys/men had no business asserting themselves with women. Intercourse for the sake of procreation might be a natural necessity, but to tout any other purpose was the product of a paternal social order which she was working to destroy. She was - and still is - on a crusade.
This crusade resulted in the worst spanking she ever administered. It happened not long after I turned twenty and was beginning my junior year at college. Contrary to Mother's wishes, I started to date a sophomore named Emma. After our third date, she invited me to her apartment. After smoking a joint, we had sex on her Salvation Army sofa. The experience was incredible, better than I had imagined it could be. It must have been pretty good for Emma too, because we did it again two days later.
I should have known Mother would find out, as she had eyes and ears everywhere on campus. When she did, there was hell to pay. I don't know what she said to Emma, but whatever it was caused Emma to break off all contact with me. I would occasionally see her on campus, but only at a distance. I never spoke with her again.
As for me, Mother confined me to my room for two days. When she allowed me to come out, she once again bent me over her bed and paddled me until I cried, begged for mercy, and vowed never to touch another woman. And when she concluded the horrible paddling and the accompanying lecture, she threatened to lock my penis into a male chastity device. Believe me, I got the message.
For the next seven years, I lived like a monk, dedicating myself to my education. I earned a PhD in medical microbiology and obtained a prestigious position as a research associate in the medical school. This was a position that afforded me a good salary and interesting work, but also limited my contact with any human, female or otherwise.
At first, I was okay continuing to live a life of absolute celibacy. However, after I turned thirty, I had an epiphany of sorts. Quite simply, I had outgrown this constricting lifestyle. I probably could have resigned my position, move to a new location away from my mother, and dated as I pleased. But my mother's hold over me was strong.
I decided that perhaps I could satisfy my biological urges by occasionally discreetly hiring a female companion. And I did this several times. But each time was more disappointing than the one previous to it. I needed a relationship, something permanent. I needed to get married.
Afraid to face Mother, I brooded about this for several months until I finally worked up the courage to approach her, risking her wrath. She hadn't spanked me in ten years, but I had no doubt she still could if she felt she had to. I would have to be careful in my approach.
For another month, I contemplated my best strategy. I practiced different lines until I came up with one I believed wouldn't provoke her. I decided to appeal to the maternal instinct I knew she had. I went to her on a cool Sunday evening and explained that I was miserable, that I no longer found my life satisfying.
For her part, Mother did express concern. "What's wrong?" she asked.
I took a deep breath - moment of truth. "I've thought a lot about this, and I've tried to fight it," I said. "But I need something more in my life."
She looked me up and down. "You have a great position. You make a good salary. We have a good life together. What more do you need?"
I took another deep breath. Either she'll listen to me and be sympathetic or she'll get the paddle and I'll have to go to plan B. "Mother, I won't feel fulfilled until I have a partner in my life. I want to find a woman, get married, settle down, perhaps even have a child. Don't you want to be a grandmother?" I thought that question might turn the trick.
Once again, she looked at me with what I thought to be sympathetic eyes. She touched my cheek and managed a small smile. "You're right," she said. "Perhaps I've been too hard on you, keeping you for myself. And, yes, I think I might like being a grandmother." She paused and her expression changed slightly. "But, Vern, I can't just stand by while you find and marry some bimbo who doesn't fit into our family. I will give you my blessing only if you let me arrange a marriage for you. I think I can find someone for you. Will you agree to that?"
I thought about that for a moment. I had met many of the feminists with whom Mother associated. They all struck me as being, at best, women who preferred women, and, at worst, absolute man-haters. I couldn't imagine any of these women agreeing to marry me and consummate the marriage.
Still, I felt myself growing desperate and at least this was an offer; my mother wasn't paddling me for making the suggestion. "Can I at least meet her first?"
Mother smiled. "You've already met her," she said. "Let me talk to her and see if she agrees. If she does, we'll go from there. Okay?"
"How soon?" I asked.
She huffed. "I'll let you know by Friday afternoon."
I'd waited more than ten years. I figured I could wait another five days. I managed a smile. "Thank you." And that was the end of the conversation.
Mother was true to her word. On Friday after work we met at Amber Lee's, the only vegetarian restaurant in the area, owned by women for women. They tolerated my presence because I was Hilda Corsair's son. And, as such, I generally ate my salad and finger sandwiches, and kept to myself.
We finished our meal and were working on our second cup of green tea when a woman approached our table. She appeared to be early middle age with a trim but sturdy body. She wore a purple dress and low heels. Her long, brown hair was secured in the back in a prim ponytail. She waved.
"Hi, Hilda," she said in a cheery voice.
My mother smiled and shifted her gaze between the woman and me. "Hello, H K," she said. She pointed to me. "This is my son, Vernon. Vern, this Dr. H. K. Bingham, Professor of Women's Studies at Coppinger State."
I rose from my chair and extended my right hand. "Pleased to meet you," I said.
H K didn't take my hand. Rather, she remained where she was, her brown eyes running up and down my body. After about thirty seconds of silence, she smiled and asked, "May I join you?"
Mother nodded. "Of course."
H K took a chair next to me while I resumed my seat. She looked at once more. "Vernon, I've heard quite a bit about you from Hilda."
I flushed slightly, wondering if this woman was the one Mother had picked out for me. I wasn't sure how to respond, so I hesitated. Was this an interview of sorts? I settled for nodding.
She eased back in her chair. The server brought her a cup of tea. "Hilda tells me you're a microbiologist doing research at the med school," she said. "Must be interesting work."
"It is if you like studying different kinds of cells," I said.
She nodded. "And you do, I suppose."
"Yes. Especially if my work potentially contributes to a breakthrough."
H K shifted her gaze to Hilda. "Hilda, I think this can work," she said. She took a sip of the tea and pushed back her chair. "I'll call you and we can work out the details." She rose from her chair and flashed me a smile. "Vernon, it appears your mother raised you properly. See you soon." She pivoted and disappeared out the door of the restaurant.
I took a deep breath. "Mother, is she the one, then?"
She nodded. "I told you I'd get you fixed up," she said. "H K - short for Helena Kay - was a student of mine. I was on her dissertation committee. We've stayed in touch over the years. She's an ardent feminist and champion athlete - swimming and lacrosse. But she can't shake her attraction to men. Last year, she admitted she wanted to have a baby. She believes a child should be the product of a marriage and have two parents. I'm not sure I understand it, but it is what it is. When I told her about you, she thought you might make a good partner." She paused and gave me a hard look. "What do you think?"
For a moment, I considered the question. H K appeared to be an attractive woman, one that an ordinary-looking guy like me would be lucky to have as a partner. The fact that she wanted to have a baby indicated that she would be receptive to sexual relations. As an ardent feminist, she would, no doubt, want to be in charge of our household. However, I was used to that.
"Like she said, I think it can work. Thank you."
"Good," Mother said. "I will get together with her and arrange the details. I doubt she'll want a big church wedding. The semester ends in two weeks. Perhaps you two can marry over the break. She'll probably want you to move in with her. Or maybe you can get a place together." She paused and dabbed at a tear. "Vern, I'm going to miss you."
I looked at her. I hadn't fully realized how much she depended on me. "Mother, it's not like I'm moving to Europe," I said. "We'll still see each other. And now you'll have a daughter-in-law, and hopefully in a year or two, a grandchild."
"That will be nice," she said.
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