Man of the House

"I don't know," I said.

"I had four children," Joanne said, smiling, "And they are all out of the house now. David is in medical school, but the others are... I am sorry, I wasn't trying to rub anything in," Joanne said, she must've noticed the face I hadn't even realized I was making. I shrugged.

"It's fine, I am happy for your family's success," I said, trying not to sound too bland.

"My only point is that I know a lot about raising children. And the struggles that come with adolescence. I just think you might need some...fresh ideas." I thought for a minute. What was the harm in asking? I was absolutely out of plans and too burned out to even try to think of more.

"I can use anything that you have. What, exactly, did you have in mind?"

"Have you tried anything to change his behavior?" Joanne asked carefully.

"Like what?" I asked, thinking of all of the fun suggestions for a life outside the house I had given, and, alternatively, all the chores I had assigned. I had signed him up for adult sports leagues, filled out job applications (and got him interviews). I had brought home hundreds of continuing education applications and e-mailed him dozens of toys and electronics that he could buy if he just got a job. All for nothing.

"I mean how did you treat him when he really was a child? If he didn't want to eat dinner, did you just give him a cookie? No, you took action to control his behavior. I don't think anything changed. You said yourself, he is still a child. And you're his mother," Joanne replied.

"What would I do? Take away his video games? Ground him? Isn't that just turning him more into a child than he already is? I mean how can I say 'be a man or I will take away your toys.'? I want to punish him. I am angry will him. But it will just make things worse."

"My youngest, David, he never responded to that sort of stuff anyway. If I punished him, it just made him dig his heels in harder," Joanne said thoughtfully.

"The medical student?" I asked and Joanne smiled proudly.

"If I took away his video games, he just read. If I took away his books, he would stare at the ceiling. Not complaint. Just do without. Still, I figured out how to get him to do his homework."

"How?" I asked, suddenly rapt. This was, in some ways, the crux of my problem. And Joanne claimed to have the answer. I was desperate. I'd do anything she advised.

"I was making a mistake. Because all my older kids, they responded to the stick. You want them to do something. You smack them," She looked at me eyebrows raised, "Not literally. But you give a punishment and they change behavior to avoid it. David didn't think that way. He just adapted to bad things. But, one night, he was sitting in his room with no TV, not books, staring at the ceiling. Happy as can be. And, on a whim, I said, 'David, would you like some of the coffee cake I made for your father?' And he looked up and he smiled and nodded. And I said, 'then you just need to do five math problems in your homework. And I will go down and cut it.' And I came back, and five problems were done. And right. He ate his cake. And I learned something new."

"Yes..." I said.

"David responds to carrots, not sticks. I found the lever the boy needed, and I applied it. And now he is in medical school," Joanne said proudly. I felt a little deflated. Hardly some sort of ninja secret.

"I have tried that," I said sadly, "I have bought video games and card games and...hell, I offered to buy a car so he could get a job. He doesn't care." I lifted my hands and then dropped them onto the table.

"My son, he was easy. A little boy who wanted cake. But you're son is tougher. I understand that. But giving video games just reinforces the fact that he is a child. And offering to get him something so he can get a job...the reward you're offering is a job, not a car."

"What're you saying?" I asked, feeling a bit like I was being called dumb. But I was dumb. This was a problem I couldn't fix.

"You have to ask yourself what your end goal is, and think about the carrot you give to encourage that result," Joanne said slowly. I stared at her. Shrugged.

"I don't know what you mean," I said dropping my head. Joanne reached forward, placed her hand on my shoulder.

"You want your boy to be an adult. So you have to make being an adult the carrot. Make him want to be an adult by making adulthood the reward," Joanne said. I snorted.

"So what? I say, 'go get a job and I will let you do taxes?'" I asked, "Hell, Joanne, you know as well as I do that in some ways Anthony Jr. is onto something. Being an adult is terrible. If it weren't for the fact that if you don't work, you don't eat, no one would do it." Joanne laughed and shrugged.

"There are still good things about it," she mused.

"When I was a kid, the only things I ever wanted to do were drive and set my own bedtime. I grew up and realized that driving is just another chore and I want to go to sleep early. And Anthony Jr. already does both of those things. I can't stop him," I said.

"There's sex," Joanne said, looking over the tops of her glasses, "Is Anthony Jr. a virgin?" she asked. I felt my cheeks go red. I had not expected this sudden change in topic. It caught me off guard.

"I don't know. I believe so," I said, but that was a lie It was entirely impossible for him NOT to be a virgin, "Yes, he is." I said, more honestly.

"That's the best thing about being an adult, if you ask me," Joanne laughed. I smiled. To be honest, I'd never had much fun with sex. And it had been, God, years since I had it. I felt a bit jealous. "Your son likely wants to have sex. But only adults can have sex. Let him know that women will want to sleep with him, if he is an adult man."

"There aren't any girls who come around," I said, "I don't know how I'd...convince someone to have sex with my son anyway," I said, the words coming out tortuously. "If any woman wanted to sleep with him, she'd be doing it."

"Some women don't need to be convinced," Joanne said meaningfully, "Or, I guess I should say, one thing in particular convinces them." She held up her hand and rubbed her thumb against the pads of her fingers. I nearly gasped.

"You want me to hire a hooker for my son?" I said incredulously. But Joanne didn't flinch.

"You say you are desperate. Desperate times and all of that." We sat in silence for a long time. I pictured myself, I don't know, going to some seedy place in town...or going on a website...It was just too...And then Anthony Jr...How would I even...No. No this was not even...

"I can't do that," I said, "It is just...it is wrong," I said. But I wasn't even really sure I thought it was wrong. I just knew I couldn't do that.

"Well, barring that, you are right. There is only one solution," Joanne said. I furrowed my brow.

"What do you mean?" I asked. I hadn't suggested anything.

"You don't work, you don't eat," Joanne shrugged, "Push the baby bird out of the nest. Give him no choice but to fly." There was a hard feeling in the pit of my stomach. The thing I had always avoided thinking about.

"Hey Ms. Glenn," a small voice said from the front lawn. Joanne and I both turned and looked. A neighborhood boy was standing there. I knew him.

"Hello, Dylan," I said.

"Can Anthony Jr. come out and play?" he asked and I felt my heart sink into my knees. Was I doomed to hear those words for the rest of my life.

"He is out back. You guys trading cards?" I asked and Dylan nodded. He was 12. My son was friends with kids his emotional age. Dylan nodded and headed to the fence. Headed out to the backyard. Joanne watched him walk away. Then she turned to me.

"I need to go home. Carl will be home from work soon. I need to get started on dinner," she said. I nodded.

"Thanks Joanne," I said, "For talking."

"Wish I could do more," she smiled and stood up.

"Wish I could too," I said, meaning much more than she did. I watched her walk over to her home. The door closed. A happy woman with an empty nest. I sighed.

And then I heard giggling. From the back yard. My son and his friend. Having fun as boys do. I buried my head in my hands for a moment. Just closed my eyes and tried to drown out all of my thoughts as best I could. Just trying to make a low hum in my mind. But I couldn't I could hear them talking. My son and his friend.

I rose up from my seat, not really thinking about what I was going to do, and I took the same path Dylan had just taken. I moved around towards the back of my house. There was a small deck in the back. And, below the deck, was a patio. Anthony Jr. Took his laptop and his cards out there sometimes. I knew he was there. I knew he had his headphones on when I was talking to Joanne. Because he always did. But now he was talking to Dylan. I stopped, just at the edge of the house. I didn't move around corner. I stopped and listened where they couldn't see me. I don't know why I did that.

"No way!" I heard Dylan say, "I won't give you," I don't know, some card I can't remember now, "For six of," some other goddamned cards. Dylan laughed.

"Come on! You said you would two weeks ago, I got the card. Let's make the trade!" Anthony Jr. whined. God, his voice might've sounded higher than Dylan's.

"Well I am not doing it," Dylan said.

"Bullshit you douche, you promised." Anthony Jr. sniveled louder. It almost made me want to go around the back of the house and slap him. To care so much about something so dumb. To complain so pitifully about it. I ran my hands through my hair.

"We didn't shake hands," Dylan taunted Dylan was a little shit too, I concluded.

"Look, you came all the way out here, you want to make a trade still. What do you want? You know what I got," Anthony Jr. pleaded. There was a pause for a minute. I think Dylan was rifling through Anthony Jr.'s card.

"You don't have" some other fucking card, "anymore." Dylan said, disappointed.

"I traded it to Matt last week," Anthony Jr. said.

"For what?" Dylan asked.

"For," Christ, you know I don't know what card. Dylan guffawed.

"No way! That card you traded wasn't worth that!" Dylan said, "How'd you get that out of Matt?" There was a long pause.

"I gave him other stuff too," Anthony Jr. said.

"What else?" Dylan said flipping through the cards, "Nothing else is missing." Anthony Jr. Sighed loudly.

"Promise you won't tell?" he asked, childishly. I didn't hear Dylan say anything, but it was evident that he nodded, "A pair of my mom's panties."

It was a gut punch. That was, without a doubt the last thing that I expected to hear. And I was disgusted by it. The invasion of privacy. The...nastiness of it. I leaned against the wall of my house. What had Anthony Jr. done? To get some sort of stupid card. My cheeks burned and my guts churned. But Dylan was laughing.

"Your mom is so fucking hot!" Dylan said.

"Shut up you dick!" I heard Anthony Jr. say.

"Your mom wants my dick," Dylan joked. I didn't hear Anthony Jr. say anything. "I will trade this card if you get me one of your mom's bras." He said.

"You guys are such pervs," Anthony Jr. said.

"Oh come on, you know your mom is hot. You can't pretend like she isn't."

"She's my mom!" Anthony Jr. protested.

"You didn't say she wasn't hot," Dylan taunted. There was a long pause. A very long pause.

"Yeah, okay, let's make the trade. I will go to the laundry room," Anthony Jr. said. And he went inside.

* * * * *

Later that night, after dinner and my shower, I was standing in my bedroom, looking at myself in the full length mirror. I was 42 years old and hadn't even thought about sex in...ages. I didn't have any real desire to attract a man (and I worked almost exclusively with women), so it had never really occurred to me. Was I still attractive? Dylan seemed to think so.

My hair was long. Very long at the time, more than halfway down my back and very straight. Sometimes, like now, I had it in a long, loose ponytail. It was very dark brown, nearly black. My eyes were similar actually, such dark brown that in certain lights I looked like I just had massive pupils. My eyes themselves were large and round, my eyelashes long naturally. I had a somewhat round face with a thin, short nose and wide, fat lips. A pretty face, I supposed.

But now, looking at myself in the mirror, I knew that it wasn't my face that had allowed me to achieve the rank of a "hot mom." It was my body. I had breasts that weren't large, but looked large on my narrow frame. Further, because they weren't too big, they still sat up high and perky on my chest. I had large, puffy pink nipples. My waist was narrow, my hips about as wide as my breasts. I had a tight, pink pussy with puffy lips the same color as my nipples. I had just finished shaving myself clean, so I could get a better look at myself. My ass was high and round, though small. My legs were short, but elegant. In sum, I still had the body that had enticed Big Anthony all those years earlier.

"Your mom is so fucking hot," I said to myself quietly, as I looked in the mirror, and I shrugged. Dylan's words. I guessed he was right, I thought while smiling. I no longer even begrudged him the bra. It was nice, on a bad day, to be reminded that if nothing else you were attractive.

But thinking about what Dylan had said was, I knew, just a way of avoiding thinking about Anthony Jr. After I had gone back inside, I had made the conscious decision to just not think about Anthony Jr. for a little while. To not think about what he'd done. The way he had violated my privacy. That was still wrong and I was still upset. But, at the same time, I was now feeling a little bit...good about myself as I turned and gazed at myself in the mirror. And, to a certain extent, that was because Anthony Jr. had invaded my privacy. How could I feel good and still hold a grudge? What good would it be to even bring this up? I would write off the bra and panties and pretend I didn't know anything about it.

"After all," I said quietly to myself, "Anthony Jr. can't help it if he as a hot mom." I laughed a little bit and shook my head. I walked over to my bed and found the large extra-large t-shirt that I wore to bed and slipped it over my head. I decided not to worry with panties tonight.

"He does know, after all, that he has a hot mom," I said now, turning back to look at myself in the mirror. The bulky shirt hid my body, and I looked at my face, pursing my lips. And, at that, I remembered the real reason I had avoided thinking about Anthony Jr. that night, avoided thinking about him even when we were sitting at the kitchen table together, eating in silence.

Anthony Jr. behaved like a child. He did childish thing. Trading my underwear for some sort of trading card was surprising, sure, but not really shocking. It was in character. No, the real reason I had been shocked had been something more subtle. Dylan had said I was hot. Anthony Jr. protested, saying I was his mom. Dylan said Anthony Jr. had never denied that I was hot. Anthony Jr. didn't respond. Not a word about it. For several seconds. I hadn't seen what Anthony Jr.'s face looked like during those seconds. Hadn't been able to gauge what he was thinking.

"Sex," a voice in my head said. Not mine. "The best thing about being an adult." It was Joanne. It was her suggestion. The carrot to light a fire underneath of Anthony Jr. Find something about adulthood, and make that the reward. Adults have sex.

"Sometimes," I said aloud, ruefully. I sat for a minute in silence and then realized what I was doing, "Christ Bev, what are you thinking?" I asked myself, appalled. Without even realizing it, I had been wondering whether or not Anthony Jr. found me attractive. And what advantage I could gain from that. But that wasn't a motherly thought. It was...perverse. I ignored any physical excitement I felt at those unmotherly thoughts. Pretended I didn't feel them.

Once again, I lapsed into silent thought. And, once again, I found myself circling back to the thoughts I had just audibly rejected. I pictured myself slipping my bulky t-shirt back off, padding across the hallway into my son's room and there, naked, telling him...

"No, no, no!" I said to myself, laughing a little bit nervously and shaking my head. This was just crazy. It was crazy because I was just so stressed out worry about Anthony Jr. lately, and then those things that Joanne told me, and Dylan and...I wasn't myself right now. I felt attractive for the first time in ages and I really didn't know how to handle it. And I was just...I was desperate and I wanted to do something desperate to at least prove that I given it everything.

That thought sunk into my brain as I climbed into my bed and pulled up the covers. Because that was what I was doing. Even if I hadn't realized it before. But now...thinking about it, was it such a bad idea? I had always said I would do anything for my son. I had done anything for him, up to this point. Tried everything I could think of to get him back on the right track. None of that had worked. I wasn't just feeling desperate. I was desperate.

"And what is the alternative?" I asked myself aloud. Joanne had supplied that answer as well. If I didn't think of something, anything, to motivate Anthony Jr., then there was really only one other option left. Something I had also been trying to avoid thinking about.

"What is less motherly?" I asked myself, "to go next door and...well whatever. Do what needs to be done with love in my heart? Or kicked him out? Where I know that he can't take care of himself and he might get hurt or resent me forever? Or wait 35 years and then die not knowing if he can care for himself as an old man? Of those three things, what's the least bad option?"

I realized, in that moment, that I had been rolling these idea around in my mind all evening. Ever since I had heard that moment of silence between Dylan and Anthony Jr., with Joanne's advice ringing in my head. I had been probing my mind, wondering if this was something that I should do. If it was something I could do. My mind hadn't allowed me to really think about it, consciously. Because I knew I would reject the only thing I knew to be the correct answer.

It was wrong, I had reached that conclusion. What I was thinking about was wrong. But my other options were also wrong. More wrong. This was the least bad thing that I could do for my son.

I hadn't even realized, while I was thinking that my realization, that I had gotten up out of bed and slipped my bulky t-shirt back up over my head and turned my lights back on. I was sort of surprised to find myself rummaging through my underwear drawer, searching for something in particular.

"I am just going to go in there and talk to him anyway. Not really do anything, really. Just a kind of...tease or something. Just a little something to motivate him. A vague sort of promise about the benefits of growing up. But nothing more. Just talking," I said to myself as I got dressed. I didn't know if what I was saying was true. I just knew that if I stopped to really think about what I was doing for even a second, that I would realize I couldn't go through with it and stop. I was sort of talking over my brain, trying to trick it into action. And then, I was heading towards the door to my bedroom. My body moving automatically, my thoughts still whirring.

Just a few seconds later, I watched as my hand rose and then rapped gently on Anthony Jr.'s door. I couldn't...feel my hand. It was strange, it was like I was watching someone else knock. My head felt foggy and my heart was beating so rapidly that it felt like my blood was working into a foam as it rushed through my arteries. I was almost confused by how I had gotten to this spot. Time seemed to be moving strangely.

"Yeah? Come in, mom?" Anthony Jr.s' familiar voice was saying. For a moment, I almost turned back and headed to my room. What, exactly, did I think I was doing here? But my hand rose again, twisted the doorknob, and in a moment I was standing in Anthony Jr.'s messy childhood room.