Betty Dodson with Carlin Ross

Better Orgasms. Better World.

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In 1974 I called Mother on her 75th birthday and asked how she felt after having lived three quarters of a century- quite an accomplishment, to say the least.
"Well, Betty Ann, I feel no different than when I was 25. Only my body has changed. I have elevator pains now." When I asked what an elevator pain was, she laughed and said, "The one's that just go up and down, up and down."

On my 75th birthday this past August, I got out the last photograph taken of mother the year she turned 75. Although she was still beautiful with her white hair and sweet face, we look a lot different at the same age. Her hair style is a bouffant carefully arranged to give her more height since she was only five foot two. Mine is cut short and my color range is from blond to white to different shades of blue. Her body posture is formal with a small Clara Bow smile. My mouth is usually wide open and I'm not at all ladylike. Her clothes are appropriate to a woman her age while I dress casual or outrageous. But the biggest difference between us at the same age is on the inside, the result of totally different lifestyles.

Mother raised four children and spent nearly 50 years in a difficult marriage as a working mother long before it was fashionable. I opted not to have children and bailed out of a seven year marriage to have a more complete sexlife. Mother sacrificed a lot for the sake of her children. The rest of my life belonged to me and I designed it like I would paint a picture. After several art exhibitions I left the art world and learned how to write. I published and illustrated a couple of books, got a degree in sexology and produced several videos. People wanted to honor me by calling me "The Mother of Masturbation," not what I'd call a prestigious title. Women know that most mothers are taken for granted. However, teaching masturbation skills to women these past 30 some years has been the real honor. In a sense, I've been a sexual mother to mothers.

Bessie lived to be 80. The last 14 years of her life she was widowed following the death of my father. At one point I sent her a Magic Wand for Mother's Day. She said it was a wonderful massager and it was also good for "you know what." Although she complained toward the end about the boredom of watching too much television, she was proud of her children and felt she'd lived a full life. She also felt she'd bettered herself. Growing up in a rundown shack without electricity or running water, she'd escaped the extreme poverty of a Missouri farmers hard life and ended up owning a proper little house in the big city of Wichita.

On her 75th birthday, my two brothers and their wives took her out to dinner. I celebrated my 75th birthday by spending the entire month of August in a beautiful house with a glass front overlooking Lake Michigan. The house belongs to my girlfriend Marianna who inherited it from her mother. It's set in the woods of the upper peninsula in Door County just outside the little resort town of Fish Creek Wisconsin. Our plan was to spend the month creating art; I would draw and paint while she sculpted. When Marianna discovered that I ignored my birthdays every August 24, she insisted we celebrate for a whole week to catch up. Her partner Jack and my partner Eric were to join us for the last week in August along with Carol and Robert, our friends from San Francisco. We partied every night.

That first week after we settled in, I couldn't think of anything I wanted to draw so I did a small self-portrait with the acrylic paints I'd bought. But I disliked the medium and I began to feel the whole idea of making art again was foolish. Instead, I decided I'd turn the time into a physical vacation of working out, swimming, reading books and generally relaxing. I rarely have unstructured time to enjoy.

Than on Friday the 13th while walking at dusk, I stepped into a pothole and broke the fifth metatarsal bone in my foot. The next day I'm on crutches with a big Boot that I have to Velcro onto my left foot each morning for six weeks. So now I've got to sit down! Since I'm of the school that believes there are very few if any accidents, I kept speculating why this happened. What lesson was to be learned from this? I sure as hell didn't believe I was being punished by some mean spirited authoritarian God.

So that weekend I picked up a pen and did a stream of consciousness drawing where I watched the pen make the lines. Lo and behold two sex organs appeared. There before me was a sweet cock about to kiss a pretty clitoris. That's when it dawned on me that I wanted to draw some of my sexual fantasies. But would I dare, especially in these paranoid times of Bush-Ashcroft censorship? Then I remembered how I've often said, "I'd love to get arrested for my art. That's the kind of publicity money can't buy."

After the first dirty drawing was finished, I said to Marianna, "I've made a real breakthrough with this drawing." We both looked at each other and repeated the word "breakthrough" out loud and started laughing. So my broken foot was a blessing in disguise. I was meant to draw. When I got back to New York, I had twenty pen and ink drawings plus a dozen little magic marker porn sketches for the website. Once again I'm interested in creating art, but only if it's politically incorrect filth from the dark uncensored recesses of my brilliantly dirty mind.

Throughout the month I could hear Mother's voice in my head from time to time saying, "Betty Ann, why don't you draw something people can hang in their living rooms?" I'd mentally answer, "Because I want to draw something that challenges me and turns me on, not something just to please other people." One big bonus of drawing my fantasies was that it was making my clit throb with a youthful desire I hadn't felt since the first year Eric moved in six years ago. Some drawings sent me to my bedroom to ride my vibrator more than once. I was masturbating way beyond the point of going blind. In fact, I could swear each orgasm was improving my eyesight.

The same as Mother, I feel young at 75 and I'm relatively pain free. Her generation knew nothing about the evils of smoking cigarettes, the importance of exercise and how to eat healthfully. Bessie was a fried pork chop and mashed potatoes gal so my body is stronger and healthier than hers. Although I suspect she would have enjoyed a much younger lover after my father died, I doubt her sense of propriety would have allowed it. However, I feel she approves of me living with a much younger man and she's happy that Eric makes my life more comfortable. Like Georgia O'Keefe, I too have a handsome young assistant, a friend with benefits.

Come to think of it, I remember one tenant Mother rented the furnished basement to for several years. They often had drinks and dinner together. I'd call her on a Sunday night and they'd both be sitting at the kitchen table talking and laughing and feeling no pain. Hmmm. Like they say, the proverbial apple doesn't fall that far from the tree. Maybe Mother and I are more alike than I'll ever know. Although she spoke easily about sex and felt it was a natural part of life, I'm sure there were many things she kept to herself unlike her daughter who tells all. Well, nearly all. I actually tore up one of my dirtiest drawings because it was just too raw. Stay tuned.