I was quite a bit worried about my son Mik. He would simply come home from college and either sit on the sofa in the lounge or go up to his room; he never seemed to date, not girls, not boys. If not for the stains on his bedsheets and soiled tissues in his bin, I would have thought that he had no sexual desires, but he obviously did.

I didn’t know how to broach the subject; perhaps I could find a way to show him I knew that whatever he was going through, I could help him. I needed to find a way to help myself too; his room, quite frankly, stank, and it smelt bad. I could not change his sheets every day; I simply couldn’t afford that amount of washing and detergent. I couldn’t say, ‘Mik, just masturbate in the shower’, that would mortify him. I knew that teenage boys were very fragile where their sexual needs were concerned, but I had to do something.

I was having coffee with Maia in town, and as we sipped at our lattés we were talking out our boys. Her Stefan was a college year younger than Mik, but their ages were similar.

“Oh my, Mik’s room does smell,” I said. “I should wash his sheets every day, but I just can’t.”

“Stefan used to be like that,” she shook her hand in the universal masturbate symbol, “several times a day. I was so pleased when he finally got a regular girlfriend; now all I have to deal with are knotted condoms in his waste basket, easier to deal with than sticky socks.”

“Sticky socks?” I asked, unable to fathom what she could mean.

“Yes, he used to masturbate into a sock and then throw the sock in the laundry. He got through several socks a day, much easier to deal with than sticky sheets, and believe me, pre-socks, it didn’t used to confine itself to his sheets. Boy, he can shoot.”

“Oh my, I think Mik is the same; I hate going barefoot into his room.”

“Ha, yes, tell me,” Maia said, laughing.

When I got home, Mik was still at college, and so I hurried to his room and stripped his bed, sprayed Febreze everywhere, and then remade his bed. On his pillow I placed a sock and a small packet of tissues. I put a note under his sock. ‘SOS. Save Our Sheets. Use me!’, and I just prayed that he got the connection and did as I asked. I also opened his bedroom window to let some fresh air in.

Later that evening as Mik lay on the sofa, I spoke to him. I didn’t intend to mention the sock. “I am worried about you?”

“Why Mum?”

“You don’t have a girlfriend; I have never seen you with a girlfriend, and you never mention a girlfriend. You know, if you prefer boys, that’s okay.”

“Bloody hell, Mum, no, I am not fucking gay.” He seemed quite cross that I might think that he was.

“No, no, I wasn’t suggesting that you were, just that it would be okay if you were. We can’t help who we are attracted to.”

“There are no girls or boys, Mum. I am not interested in any of them; they don’t attract me.”

“Well, it seems to me that you are healthy in that regard, so why no girls, not even one that slightly attracts you? Not even enough to try?”

“Mum, yes, no, I mean no. The only one I have ever been attracted to is unavailable, so no one else comes close, so no, I am fine.”

“Who was it, Mik? Who was she? Why could you not explore that attraction?”

“Mum, leave it, please, okay? I am fine. And yes, I found the fucking sock.” He got up and left and went to his room. That went well. I had no idea what I could do. I could only wonder who is mystery attraction was and why he couldn’t follow up. Was she already spoken for?

I sat on the sofa, and I wondered if, now that Mik was older, I shouldn’t dip back into the dating pool and find someone that I could go out with, have a laugh with, cuddle and even, perhaps, do more with. It had been a long time since I had been intimate with anyone other than my Battery-Operated Boy, or BOB, as I called it, but that, whilst giving the physical release, wasn’t really enough; there was no satisfaction, just completion.

Mentally shrugging, I decided to go for a shower; the days were warm, and I knew that the night would be hot; a clean body to start off with would help. I went to my bedroom and stripped, dropping my knickers in the laundry hamper; my bra I hesitated with and then, in the end, threw in the laundry too. My dress was fine, and I laid that on my chair for tomorrow. I looked in the mirror and critiqued what I saw. Boobs, nice, a bit saggy, but then I wasn’t a teenager anymore. A small mummy tummy, no stretch marks, no orange peel on my thighs, and my fanny hidden away behind a forest of blonde curls. ‘I should get the scissors out and neaten that up,’ I decided.

I threw my robe on and went to the bathroom, passing Mik’s room, his door half open; I looked in. Oh my. He was lying naked on his bed, and my goodness, he really was a big boy. Oh my. I moved swiftly on, he would have heard me walking past and would be mortified if his mum had seen him naked. Goodness.

As the shower water warmed, I hung my robe over the back of the door and stepped under the warm water. I turned the head to needle and sprayed myself starting at my shoulders and worked down; my nipples tingled a little as I sprayed them. Goodness, that wasn’t usual, and then as I went down, the spray hit my vulva at just the wrong angle and pounded my nubbin. I think my knees must have failed; I thought I was going to fall. Oh. Wow, I haven’t had a feeling like that in a very long time. I was just having a shower; why, why did I nearly have an orgasm?

I turned the showerhead to rainfall and just washed, my mind all over the place. What had caused that moment? Could it have been seeing Mik’s dick? No, surely not; he is my son. That kind of cause and effect shouldn’t happen. After I had finished showering, I sat on the loo and trimmed my pubic hair, nice and short and neat. My labia now more visible – not that anyone would be looking, but anyway, neater. I flushed the loo, washing my trimmings away, put my robe back on, and went back to my room, resisting the urge to have another look through Mik’s open door.

I took my robe off and had a proper look at my newly trimmed area in my bedroom mirror. Yes, neater and tidier and, I thought, much better-looking. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and saw the back of Mik reflected in the mirror, going back to his room. I hadn’t shut my bedroom door fully, and so from where I was standing, I could see through the partially open bedroom door onto our landing. ‘Must have gone to the loo,’ I decided.

My dreams that night were hot and torrid: sex with half-remembered boyfriends, with Mik’s dad, and images of naked Mik mixed all in. I woke up very hot and very much in need of a shower, especially down there. I grabbed my robe, threw it on and dived to the bathroom. I walked in on Mik, naked, standing there.

“Oh gosh, Mik, sorry,” I said, backing out. Mik turned, and his erection swung into full view. “Sorry, I’ll come back,” I muttered as I realised my robe wasn’t done up and I had just given my son a full frontal. Oh my God, he would be traumatised; no boy needs to see his mum naked. No boy needs his Mum to see him naked with a fully engorged erection.

“No worries, Mum, I won’t be long,” he said and turned back. It seems I was the only one mortified. I tied up my robe and went downstairs, put the kettle on and threw some slices in the toaster, and as the appliances were both doing their things, I stood up, leaning on the countertop, playing back the bathroom disaster. He is indeed a big boy. He is my son. I had been effectively naked before him. He is my son. ‘Stop it, stop it,’ I chided myself. Stop it; he is your son.

“Morning, Mum. The bathroom is free now,” Mik said as he walked into the kitchen. I turned thankful to see he was wearing boxers at least and that my robe was firmly tied to.