Adult content. Please enjoy, and please be guided
accordingly.
My mother is inured
to my ribaldry.
She wanted to give
me a bottle of lotion for my hands. I
told her I don’t use lotion, not even when I wank. She just chuckled in response.
Sometimes, when I
go home to Marilao, she would ask me, “Do you have a booking?” And I would reply, “Depends if I meet someone
who’s game.”
When I come back,
she would ask, “Did you have a booking?”
And I would tell her, “Yes, I did.
He’s handsome and sexy but with a small dick (or something to that
effect).”
Sometimes, while
watching TV she would suddenly call and tell me, “There’s a handsome guy on TV.” And I would tell her, “He has a great body
too but without a bulge, probably has a small dick.” And she would chuckle as usual.
My mother wasn’t
that open-minded decades ago. Decades. Decades slowly peeled away her
homophobia. And when you’re a parent
with a child like me, you don’t just deal with your homophobia, you will feel
like a therapist trying to treat a queen brimming with blue-blooded
hubris.
