The Crawford

Mommy Dearest in Drag

The problem I had with Mommy Dearest was rather bizarrely shocking if not aberrantly decadent. It was that Mommy Dearest was just as attracted to my boyfriends as I was—if not even more so.

I would sneak them through the back door into my waiting inviting boudoir, trying to avoid Mommy Dearest’s shamelessly obvious prurient interests in my latest boyfriends.

She was so risqué and good at raising her oh-so-curious eyebrows at me, cruising them and saying things like “Oh, honey!!! Looking g-o-o-o-d!!!”

It was so embarrassing and tres competitive—her liking the young stuff too. She was bored with all the used-up burned-out drunks at the local VFW nightclub over on Commercial Street—and I really can’t blame her.

But still, I didn’t need any Lotte Lenya as my “Contessa Magda Terribili-Gonzales” pimp like in The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone—to procure my tricks and enjoy my homoerotic ditherings.

So I stayed out late at night in Mommy Dearest’s rather luxurious outdated chrome-heavy huge DeSoto gas-hog land cruiser out in the sticks—doing what I did best in that nice comfy backseat with the radio crooning away.

One time, though, I caught Mommy Dearest at home after school—sucking off this cute Mexican number who I’d seduced on the wrestling team. She had the nerve to get him off one afternoon—before I could get my famished lips on him.

I caught them fucking in broad daylight—in my own bed Flagrante Delicto!!! I immediately chastised Mommy Dearest by grabbing a coat-hanger—and beating her simply senseless to teach her a lesson!!!

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