ABSTRACT

I was reputedly born with an erection and all I wanted, I presume, was to lie in my mother’s arms and suck on her breasts. But according to the fashionable custom of the time, she did not breast-feed me. That may be one reason I have been genuinely obsessed with women’s breasts all my life. I have been known to say that my mother did not love me but to be fair it would be more accurate to say that she loved me (actually a lot) but did not ever say so until she was near death, 62 years later. She had read all my books and my developing ideas on love and recognition and evidently decided that it would be important to finally make her feelings known. Smiling devilishly behind my father’s back she whispered, “I love you,” the last time I saw her alive.