Written by Olive Pepper
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Wednesday, 25 August 2010

image for Son, I'm Not Happy You're Getting Laid Tonight Is that how you present yourself in a place like this?

I'm sure you're surprised to see me here, but are you any more surprised than I am to see you here? What kind of a boy did I raise that he would end up in this house of ill repute on a Saturday night with his roughhousing friends? Haven't I always said they were bad influences on you? Now I have proof positive. And is that alcohol I smell on your breath?

As for what I'm dong here, I'm tempted to say your mother's business is none of your business, but I think you deserve a straight-forward answer. The fact is, I had to do something after your father left me for that-that whore. I mean, there I was, a mother with only a high school diploma trying to find work to raise my child. I had shoes to buy you, clothes to buy you, and even walking-around money to give you-which I do hope to mercy you're not using to come to this place! Perhaps you would think that's quite funny, but as the person who worked her hips to the bone to earn that, I hardly think that's funny, I can assure you.

So, you see, as much as I wish it hadn't come to this, it has. With few skills but with a remarkably toned body for a 40-year-old woman, I did what I felt I had to do.

But look at how you're dressed! Is that how I raised you, to come to a house of ill repute dressed like a common criminal? You come here with your pants hanging down to your knees and your underwear sticking out! I'm ashamed to be you mother! I know you know how to dress like a gentleman, and I would expect that, when you come to lose your virginity-or have you already done that?-that you would look more presentable. Because you're not just representing yourself when you come here; you're representing the Workman household.

Can you imagine my earning any money here to pay for those clothes if I came to work each night dressed as sloppily as you? No! My supervisor would throw me out the door on my rear, just like I'm tempted to do with you!

Look at the care l've taken in how I present myself: everything I have on isn't just designed to give men who walk in here an erection; it's designed to look good and stay looking good. Everything is pressed and fits me appropriately. I've taken care in selecting my jewelry and I've made sure my shoes are tasteful and coordinate well with the color and fabric of my clothes. In short, I'm presenting myself in a way that shines a positive light on who I am as a person-plus, everything is easy to take off as needed once I'm in my room with a client. Even more importantly, everything is permanent press, because, as much as I hate to say it, I'm not always with clients who are patient. Of course, I prefer not to work with those clients, but, as with everyone else in the workplace, I don't get to pick and choose who I work with. I'm just a working girl, after all.

But, back to you, young man. I don't like the fact that you're here one bit, and particularly with these ruffian friends of yours. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you come in here with that group of hoodlums. It's clear you all came here hell-bent on raising a ruckus and on getting laid, and I can't hide the fact that I find that shocking. To think my little boy is now roving the streets at night and ending up in a place like this!

At least you had the class to come here and not some of those disgusting places where everyone's on drugs and the police are always raiding. I have to give you credit at least for coming to what's certainly by far the nicest and classiest place of the sex trade in the area. Of course, this is the only place I would work; no other place has the reputation of this house for its respectability and elegance.

True, the police still make raids here, but it's all perfunctory. They know perfectly well this is the quality shop patronized by the wealthy and powerful-and, at least several times a week, their own bosses as well! :) So, we just give them a few drinks, blow their cocks, and send them on their way. Then they go across town and bust a joint so the people can see they're doing their job against prostitution.

Son, I don't like the fact that your mother had to stoop to doing this to earn money. I wish I would have trusted my instincts when I was your age and completed college and embarked on a career rather than marrying your father and putting my needs on hold. The result is that, when he left me (after screwing who knows how many other women!), I had nothing to fall back on except my hotness. I just thank my lucky stars there's a market for slightly older women who can still rev up men's motors. I take a lot of pride in the fact that even young men come to me to rip off my clothes and suck on my breasts, which remain surprisingly firm and round. Of course, it hasn't been all luck and good genes; I've always taken my health and fitness seriously and worked hard when I was raising you to keep myself looking good.

But, if I were to start over, I wouldn't choose this path. So, let this be a lesson to you. If you don't want to end up competing for unskilled labor jobs, you'll stay in school, get your degree, and get into a good line of work. As for tonight, I'm all booked up but there are several other girls who are available. Just don't let them overcharge you; they think they can get an extra $100 out of you because you came in here all loosey-goosey drunk, but I'm telling you to hold your ground. Now, get laid but then get a good night's sleep so you can be fresh for school on Monday!

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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