It is a bit irreverent, I know, to ask this, and impertinent. But speaking of hands, I wonder if they were strong, and firm, and tender, when they touched my mother in the act of love? For all their skill, I do not, myself, remember them as loving hands. Not for me. I hope they were, for her. I hope you treasured the touch of that smooth, warm skin I still recall beneath the flimsy, silken transparency of her nightgown--should I even be saying this?--when I was allowed, as a very little boy, in bed beside her in the morning?
And while we’re on the subject of hands, I recall your having said once, à propos of I know not what—because this still surprises me; why would you tell me such a thing?—that you were never interested in masturbation. So did you really never touch yourself? Experience the subtle pleasures of what your generation, judgmentally, called “self-abuse”?
As a boy I recall being warned against this sinful, sinfully appealing act—but indulging in it, sinfully, anyway. Often. You might say obsessively. On every possible occasion.
You might say—I say—it’s natural.
As a grandfather, I watch my grandson scarcely able to keep his hands away from that delightful toy. As a man in a circle of men, in later life, I would watch as almost every hand was raised when the question came up: how many of you men jerk off? (I apologize for the crude language, Harry, Father, Padre, but these are the words we use…)
So here’s my question: were you being really honest when you made that claim? And why did you feel the need to make it? Could it be that this was out of a sense of guilt? Come on, now, Harry, did your hand really never stray between the black folds of your cassock—perhaps even at lonely moments in the vestry—or through the gap in your pajamas and seek out that irresistible source of masculine delight? Were your fingers really never curious enough to explore its size, its heft, the sense of urgency it generates? Did you really never pump away, as most men do, in the effort to reach that moment of quiet, solitary ecstasy?
But as I say, it’s an impertinent question of a father from his son, so let’s leave it unasked. Or at least unanswered.
With respect, your son,
Peter
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