when in my late teens in late '60s Belfast, a couple of school mates told of how they had been picked up in a bar by some older wimmen - wimmen old enough to be their mother, experienced, loving, wimmen.
After much threats of physical violence, and a few digs around their heads, they generously told us the location of this gateway to the earthy pleasure of carnal delights - the Queen's Bar in Queen's Arcade.
Fortunately for moi, I worked the weekends in another bar and so I was not one of the multitude of hormonely overstimulated Old Spice drenched sexually rabid youths who descended on the bar en masse only to overhear one of the mature ladies as she fled the place remark " I don't think that we'll go there again, it seems to have turned queer".
Remembering my late teens, I find it hard to condemn Iris for her generosity, or her foolishness. Many a young man has been instructed in the art of pleasuring women by an older woman, and hopefully most have thanked them for saving them from the "wisdom" of the peers and, at best, the thwarted disappointed flumbing with inexperienced girls of their own age, or at worse, early parenthood.
So thanks you, all of the Mrs Robinsons.
Let He Who is Without Sin Cast the First Stone.