I've told my family to have dinner without me because I have a late appointment in my office. I'm a psychologist and author. Aside from seeing patients, I also speak with interesting people and tell their stories in my books.
There's a woman named Elena who's desperate for a meeting, but won't give any details for some reason. She's persistent, which always raises a bit of intrigue. I've already done some research on her. She runs a successful high-end Italian restaurant and bakery in this city. Mature in age, strong in stature. From the online pictures I've seen, she looks like a woman who might have a decent tale.
When she knocks on the door and I let her inside, my intrigue grows. This woman has a commanding presence like an old school movie star. She even dresses like a woman of value. This interview is anonymous so she has freedom to say whatever she wants.
"Apologies for the hour," she says. "My day starts early and ends late. Here, I brought you something."
She hands me a box of pastries and I can smell the buttery aroma, but I can tell from her voice that she isn't sympathetic, it's more of a formality that she's giving me. I can also tell that she's used to ordering people around. Certain people are born leaders and she comes across as a hardened entrepreneur. I respect that.
"Thank you, it smells delicious," I say, putting the box on a nearby table.
"And I know you have a family," she says. "So I'll get to the point. This is worth your time, I guarantee it."
"Well, that's what we're going to find out. Have a seat. Let's get started."
Elena sits in my office, gets comfortable, and looks around at the bookshelf and photographs that decorate the room. Her posture is upright and her manner of dress is immaculate. Although she presents herself as a stoic woman, her fingers give a slight tremble and she rubs her hands together.
"Nice place," she says. "Excellent decor."
"Thank you. I'm here all the time, might as well have style. Now, I'm going to press record. Tell me a little about yourself first. As we had already discussed, your identity will remain completely anonymous. Just give an impression about who you are."
I press the record button.
"Sure, thank you for having me. I'm a 48 year old woman, I'm single after being widowed a few years ago. I've worked in the restaurant industry all my life, Italian food. I was born in Italy and I came here in my teens. I've always loved the arts, culture, and the sense of occasion around eating. That's why I'm a proud restaurant owner. Simple as that, I work all the time."
"But somewhere there's more," I say. "Why else would a woman who runs a busy restaurant and bakery want to spend her evening in my office?"
She gives a sly smile. "Correct."
"What brings you here? What's your story about?"
Elena gets comfortable in her seat. "My story? I would say that my story is about history, life, passion, my family... my son."
The way her voice changes tone when mentioning her son is suspicious, borderline sexual, and I've never heard a mother speak about her son that way. Elena doesn't have social media accounts for personal use, but she has social media for her businesses.
On the different pages she uses (website and social media) there is constant mention of family and tradition. I remember seeing a picture of Elena with her son, smiling together, but now the context is totally different.
I sharpen my gaze at her. "Okay, that's interesting."
"Do I have your attention?"
"Yes, you do."
"Good, it's always fun being mysterious."
"What's the current relationship with your son?" I ask.
"Do you mind if I give some context first?"
"Sure, you have an open platform."
"Okay, thank you," she says. "About five years ago, after my husband passed, I decided to move back to Italy for the rest of my life. It was a spiritual calling to return to my homeland and family. I also have business opportunities in Italy as well. But that's not important for this conversation.
She continues, "The obvious problem is that I'll be leaving behind my son, Michael, who was born and raised in this country. He's 29 with a stable job and he's recently married. I intend to fly back to America every so often and I'm sure Michael would be thrilled to visit me with his new wife.
She continues, "But as a mother, I knew there would be something missing in my life without my son. We've always been very close. He actually lives a few blocks away from me. He's my heart and soul. I made sure he was there during all the important milestones in my life. And I was there for all the important milestones in Michael's life in return."
Just as she gets her rhythm going, Elena stops and looks down at her heels. She struggles with guilt and maybe shame for telling me something like this. It's becoming more clear what she does with her son, but I'll leave that for Elena to explain.
"Can I ask you something?"
She looks at me. "Sure."
"Are you romantic with your son?" I ask.
"Yes."
"I'm assuming that's the main thing you wanted to discuss today."
"That's right," she says. "I was hoping you would share this story in your next book, because this is more common than people realize. I've started doing extensive research on this subject. I want mothers who participate in this to realize they aren't alone. I want them to know that they can be moral and spiritual, yet still be considered good women, even though they do something like this."
"What made you decide to do it?" I ask.
"My son was a virgin. Until a few months ago, Michael never had sex with anyone. My husband and I raised him to be religious, to save himself for marriage, and I made him swear before God that he would agree. Looking back, I wondered how much of that had stunted his growth when dealing with women. I knew it was the right choice, but was Michael less of a man? The question haunted me.
She continues, "As I planned to return to Italy, the question lingered. Then I realized that this would be my farewell gift. The best thing I could do -- as a mother -- would be turning my son into a man. Someone who could face anything and stand up to anyone. I remember stepping naked out of the shower, looking at my reflection in the mirror, wondering if I could still arouse young men.
She continues, "There's a young man who lives next door. Sometimes he says, 'hello' to me and we make small talk. It's been that way for years. I can hear when he's in the backyard and we have a fence between us. One day, I heard him outside, then I went to my backyard wearing a silk robe. That's all. Nothing underneath. I untied my robe, pretending to water some plants, and I let the wind do its job, blowing my robe open.
She continues, "That was step one, which was a success. I had the courage to be in my backyard with my front side exposed. I could tell my neighbor was staring at me, but neither of us said anything. My neighbor didn't want to spoil the show. In the days that followed, he was extremely cordial everytime he saw me, offering to carry my groceries and do any chores I needed done. It was then that I realized I was still attractive to young men, that my body could work wonders."
"That was the moment you decided to seduce your son," I say.
"That's right."
"And what about Michael's partner? No judgment, but as a woman, did it bother you to snatch Michael's virginity away from the wife?"
Elena laughs. "Actually, I'm glad you asked."
"Why is that?"