All my mother was was an older version of Becky Thomas. Two days after her fourteenth birthday the guys had gotten Becky out of her clothes and while ...he didn't look like the girls in Gallery that little patch of hair between her legs drove us just as crazy as the pictures in Gallery had. Becky fucked every boy who even hinted that he might like to try her on and soon everyone was calling her whore, slut, cum bucket, sperm bank and that is just what my mother was.It made me feel bad. Not that. What was there to say? Almost anything would be wrong. What I had been attracted to in the first place was purely visual. And that hadn't changed. What I fell for was a mind. And that certainly hadn't changed. What had changed was what I expected. I suppose you could say that it was dishonest not to inform me that my expectations were incorrect, but what had I expected? Whether it was love or infatuation, and anyway did I know the difference, the person was still the same. Tomorrow is another. More

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