Tell me, how politically correct is it to have your legal unfit in her own well breed way, mother, dress you? Tell you that you’ll never find someone? Of course, that is a drunken bi-curious story for another time.
I suppose at twenty something the stains I left on others were only remnants of the fairy tale life I began to believe in.
Santa! Bella! Vampire! Happy endings! Chocolate chip pancakes and chocolate milk. My whole being had been reared by the wicked Adopt-A-Mom, from the very beginning.
Who else but a sexually deprived and loveless mass of blood and muscle, tooth and silver spooned speech, aged woman; tells her bought at a fair market price, daughter where her redneck birthmother is? Who spits out at every dining experience around the white bread made of mahogany setting for eight- dinner table,
Every out of the way school I ever attended allowed me in on money not merit.
I spray myself with convenience store Smoke B Gone! I ride with all the windows down in the car an hour after I’ve smoked. I have a ball and chain and I don’t want to be married to her. I want her docksiders to not match mine!
Did I say, I’m an adult, I hope so. I don’t really feel like one. My only hope in life was to be a famous pole dancer or lap grinder. The feel of my nakedness is the only thing that turns me on.
Damn, if my Adopt-A-Mom wouldn’t be aghast by that. Walking around during the company’s Christmas Party. Showing off the newly purchased Grand Father clock, bragging to her colleagues about how her daughter is fresh out of diapers and fresh out of college.
Quickly the smug group glides upstairs to the forbidden zone. The attic. No, knock. No sweetie, it’s Mom. Just the quiet opening to a world of forty pounds overweight and deep into Deep Throat daughter.
I read lots of books, from mythology retellings to literary fiction and I love to reread books from childhood, this is a place to voice my thoughts for fun. I also like to ramble about things such as art or nature every now and again.