Mother’s amusement in dressing me in her clothes and makeup, may have only been matched by how

Mother’s amusement in dressing me in her clothes and makeup, may have only been matched by how visibly uncomfortable it made me, her scrawny, shy, insecure son. How she so felt proud of herself when she gifted me a framed photo she took of me, of I, laying in bed, posed alluringly and seductively for the boys.

How mortifying it was having that framed photo in my bedroom, being the first and last thing I saw each day. The dreams it induced in me, finally tipping me over into homosexuality.