The room she never wanted anyone to enter. The carpet was soft, the lighting dim. I almost didn't see Mom standing by the window looking out at the ...awn. She twitched when I put my hand on her shoulder."Oh, Peter," she said, turning to me with a smile. "I didn't hear you. You gave me quite a firght." No, Mom, not Peter," I said. Peter was my Dad's name. "It's me. Mark. Your son." Mark?" she said, voice wavering. The look of confusion in her eyes almost made me want to weep. Mom was. We were still c***dren dressing-up but she imparted the notion of stockings and garter belts, though the later, did never have the same effect as the former. She never married and being a society girl, was never short of male friends, some whom I met and one who fucked me, the night I stayed without my cousin. As auntie got older she became a tad distant and forgetfull, the age thing was slowly creeping-up on her, athough the night in question, was more champagne induced, than a biological. More

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