I was eleven when my mother told my father that she was a lesbian and she wanted to get divorced and she had found her soul mate. I was eleven when my father put my mother on the floor and fucked her and fucked her and fucked her until she told him that she wasn't leaving and that she was his wife.

I was eleven when my mother went back to her room to cry and nothing could console her. I was eleven when my father came back later that afternoon and fucked her some more. I was eleven when my mother got on her knees and apologized and asked for forgiveness.

I was eleven when my mother told me that she was his wife and she had made a terrible mistake. I was eleven when she told me she was going to stop working and stay home. I was eleven when my mother confessed to me that she had made sex with another woman and that it was the most awful thing she had done, that she was sick at the stomach, That she had failed my father. I was eleven when my mother stayed home.

My mother never talked about her soul mate again or about being lesbian.

I was eleven the day I grew up. I was eleven the day my mother became my mother. I was eleven the day I understood I was a woman. I was eleven the day I saw sex. I was eleven the day I cooked with my mother. I was eleven the day I served the table. I was eleven the day I cleaned up without being told.

I was eleven the day I understood you never cheat.