The 35 year-old woman knew full well that the wall that separated her room for her son's was flimsy, but didn't care if he could hear her having sex with all her men or not. Linda was a slut, and proud of it.

Paul was sick of his mother's whoring ways. In the last few years, he had become a very angry, bitter young man and locked himself inside a psychological shell, withdrawing from his peers at school and ending his friendships.

His grades took a nosedive as well as his interest in social activities. Instead of the A's and B's he used to get, now the troubled teen was getting C's and D's. He hated his life and he didn't care anymore.

He knew his mother didn't care about him nearly as much as she cared about the never-ending parade of men she entertained in her bedroom. He despised the strangers that got to know her better than he ever would. And utilizing a form of denial, he told himself he hated her, as well. It was easier that way. Easier than feeling the pain of neglect and rejection.

He was lying to himself, of course. In truth he would have done just about anything to get his mother's attention. He longed for her to tell him she loved him, or give him a hug, or... just SOMETHING. Something other than screaming at him to do better in school 'cause she was sick of the teachers and counselors calling her. Or screaming at him to do the dishes or his laundry or to clean his bedroom.

Oh, how he hated that one! SHE... Actually had the nerve to say she was embarrassed by... HIM! "Clean up your room- I don't want my boyfriend to see what a slob of a son I'm raising," she had the unmitigated gall to say. It made him want to strike her when she pushed him too far like that. Hit her, and kill every fucking bastard that she brought home.

THEY were the ones she loved. Not HIM- not her very own flesh and blood, but all the men that she boffed day after day and week after week......(cont)