I tried to hire a call girl to teach my shy autistic boy the joy of sex, says KATHY LETTE: Desperate mother’s shocking solution to help her lost, lonely ‘savant’ son find love


By Kathy Lette For The Mail On Sunday,

Will I ever have a girlfriend, mum?’ My tall, handsome son asked me one night. ‘I just don’t seem to be on the same wavelength as girls my own age. No woman ever seems to pick up my signal.’

It was true. Despite Julius’s charm, intelligence, and gentle kindness, my autistic son might as well have been relaying transmissions from Alpha Centauri.

When he was born, Jules walked and talked early – he seemed so advanced. But then, around 13 months, he lost his language.

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It was as though his computer had crashed. He didn’t speak again until he was four and a half, but once he’d found his vocal cords he just babbled away as garrulously as a brook. Words streamed out of him, a geyser of words and stories and tangential, lovely logic.

He knows the right temperature for sperm whales to mate and that seahorses are the only species whose males give birth. He knows that ‘triskaidekaphobia’ means extreme fear of the number 13. Blessed with the photographic memory of a savant, he knows the result of every major tennis game ever played.autismYou might also enjoy: Love Island’s Amber Davies in pregnancy scare as she ‘requested morning after pill’ and ‘was given safe sex lecture’ after unprotected romps with Kem

But the one thing Julius, who is now 26, doesn’t know is how to read social situations, which is why he so often finds himself exiled to Social Siberia.

At school, the bullying was constant. Aged nine, he came home with a sign sticky-taped to his back saying: ‘Kick me, I’m a retard.’ You might as well have ripped my heart out of my chest and stamped on it.

‘What does it mean when people call you a ’tard, Mum?’ he’d said, traumatised. I lied.

I so wanted the world to welcome my boy, to respect and value his quirky qualities, but it was clearly never going to happen.

Years of endless rejections meant that, by 20, my son’s confidence was so diminished, you’d need a Hubble Telescope to detect it.

‘What can I do, Mum? The endless rejection, it’s breaking me down,’ he said finally. ‘I struggle, Mum,’ misery rising off him like steam.

‘Maybe women will forever find me freakish and geekish?’ he said sadly, after a girl he’d asked out told him he was a loser.

Some days, his depression and anxiety were off the scale. His moods darkened. He seemed to shut down, closed in upon himself like a holiday cottage shut up for winter.

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Even though we were sitting safely at our kitchen table, he looked as though he was being buffeted by the fiercest winds.

‘If you’d known I’d be autistic, would you have aborted me?’ he asked. ‘I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment as a son.’

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