Dialogue: No blessings for Mrs Robinson

By ELISABETH EASTHER

I'm thinking of taking up with a 16-year-old, and not because I'm dissatisfied with my current love or that I'm jealous he's at Cannes without me.

Nor is it because I have paedophiliac tendencies. I just think it would be an interesting experiment since, if the genders were reversed, most people would not raise an eyebrow.

Why is it that middle-aged men, or even younger men, are congratulated when they consort with women - girls, really - from another generation, yet if a woman eyes up talent that doesn't need to shave, she's a pervy Mrs Robinson?

It does seem unfair that an old slapper like me taking up with a fresh young piece of pants would probably set off a chorus of tongue-wagging disapproval.

I was reading an advice column in a British newspaper the other day. A young reader had written in wondering if he had blown his chances of getting it on with his schoolmate's mother. It was the sort of advice page where the questions have been printed the week before so readers can have their say alongside the agony aunt's opinion.

The question had been troubling a boy of 17 who finally decided the best thing to do was to ask the sage's advice. The headline read, "Should I succumb to Mrs Robinson?"

"Last weekend," he wrote, "I stayed at a friend's house after a party and woke up to find his mother massaging my back. She then climbed into bed with me and made it clear she wanted to make love. I was really embarrassed and put her off but now I can't stop thinking about her."

He went on to say he had never had sex and was terrified of not being able to do it properly. "My friend's mother seemed willing and I'm wondering if I should go back and tell her I'd like to try. Part of me feels that wouldn't be right. Please, what should I do?"

The advice from Moral Muse, as she is known, contained mostly sound counsel. She said it would be best not to go back, although if he did, it wouldn't be entirely wrong. "In some cultures, it is usual for a young man to be initiated by an older, more experienced woman, often a prostitute." Obviously, she is a very open-minded agony aunt with a broad knowledge of anthropology.

As for the readers who wrote in, they unanimously agreed that the boy had turned down a golden opportunity. One said, "Boy, you blew it. How many callow youths dream of just such an offer?"

Another said he took his chance in similar circumstances in 1955 and still savours the experience.

Had the roles been reversed, though, and the mother had written in saying she had initiated sex with a son's friend and he had said no, I'm sure the agony aunt would have rapped the predatory parent over the knuckles. I doubt she would have congratulated her for offering to share her bedroom wisdom with the boy.

When a 15-year-old schoolfriend of mine started going around with a 20-year-old guy, we all thought she was pretty flash having found herself a real man. We never considered that he might be socially retarded to favour the company of a schoolgirl.

Playing devil's advocate, my sister-in-law Jo asked, which would be more fun - fooling around with someone who knows as little as you do about what goes where, or being initiated into the pleasures of the flesh by someone who knows something about it?

The ancient Greeks, she reminded me, held that the most beautiful love of all was that between an experienced older man and a beardless youth.

Hugh Hefner, head of the Playboy empire, for a while took himself a set of twins whose ages added together did not quite match his, and I couldn't help but think, "Good on him." Of course, you have to wonder what Candy and Brandy were most attracted to about him, but good on him all the same.

My boyfriend called from Cannes to tell me that he had just that minute come home from Hugh Hefner's big hooley on the hill. His report confirmed my suspicion that wealth and the male midlife crisis equals babes galore, Porsches and possibly a tonne of Viagra.

The females down that way tan themselves silly, trade permanent partners for little dogs in coats and probably haven't noticed that all the men their own age are up at Hugh's.

I know, it's not the prettiest picture. Still I wish I was there right now. And taking up with a 16-year-old probably isn't going to make me feel better.

Best I pack my bags, then, and get over there pronto. That's it. I'm off.