Chapter 1: Prologue - Precocious

It is said that I was a precocious child. I guess it was true. Certainly my upbringing was unusually open and my erotic evolution broad-minded.

I'm sure that many will say that the way I grew up was wrong; that my mother was wrong in her outlook, her view of life, and her guidance of me as a child. I myself would say none of those things. I look back on a rich and varied education and development. Every aspect of my young life seemed to guide me in the direction of being a useful, thoughtful, feeling adult.

Still, I was aware even at an early age that it was different from other children. Somehow I knew that it was something to be protected, perhaps even sheltered from the eyes of others. I have no idea why that should be, since nothing was ever said about it, I just knew.

My father died when I was nine years old. Most of us grow up thinking our mothers are nearly perfect; so it was with me. She was intelligent and beautiful and perfect. After my father died, there were lots of tears and I was lonely. But, after a time, my mother's resolve and intelligence took over and we became an avowed "team" dedicated to making each other's lives happy and rich with art, sport, play, everything that made life a pleasure.

She loved the opera and the ballet. I came to love them too, and it seemed natural to be taken to each performance with her. The lights, the people, the music enthralled me, even then. I took piano lessons, but they didn't seem to take with me. On the other hand, Mom seemed to love the things I loved as well. She hardly ever missed a baseball game or tennis match, and encouraged me in all outdoor activities.

I sensed that she really missed Dad and it became natural for me to watch for the signs and try to behave a little better when I saw them. I felt especially tender toward her when I saw the sadness creep over her from time to time.

She had a very good job as an executive assistant to the President of one of the larger companies in our town and it appears that she was very good at the job. Smart and willing to do whatever had to be done, logical and protective of the President and of the company's interests. I'm sure you have known the sort of person who succeeds in that world. That was my Mom. Always immaculately and stylishly dressed, she went off to work each day and returned at night, usually with work to be done at home. She always wore a business suit or tailored dress to work, never pant suits like I saw other mom's wearing. Everything about her was feminine, the perfume, the swishing sound of her nylons as she walked or crossed her legs, the lovely drape of the white silk blouse.

She seemed to know something about everything. If she didn't know, she was willing to do the research to help me find the answer. Her guidance over the years made me more and more eager for knowledge and for variety. We learned about astronomy, photography, sailing, painting, hiking and even a little bit of fishing, though she didn't much like worms and other squirming things.

She dated occasionally but none of them ever really caught on as a regular thing. Perhaps she never really got over her first love, my father. I don't think I stood in the way of her romance, at least I hope not. But as it turned out, she never re-married. On the other hand, she had many friends and had an active social life, mostly centered around the arts. And she was a wonderful grandmother to my two children.

In spite of the loss of a father and husband, we had, I think I speak for both of us, a happy family life. We two.

I wouldn't be writing this at all, nor having all these thoughts at this time, if it hadn't been for finding her diary as I closed up my mother's house after her recent death.