The dude Chris that I used to hang around with and we fought up at JT’s Saloon and we gangbanged that older man’s wife together, this was his mother.

She was about forty years old, thin, not huge-chested, but plenty there, nice ass , long legs, but the hair, she had a beautiful head of hair.

She was a wild chick, aparty animal, running with biker gangs in the 70s and 80s. They had her as a dancer, working in places from the Mississippi Gulf Coast up the east coast, all the way to New York. They may have used her as prostitute, but I don’t know.

She had a scrapbook that had pictures of her on stage in all of these clubs, skimpy pastees, thongs, not real gaudy. There was some rind stones that she would pull off as the show progressed. It was a metal-spiral bound scrapbook about yay-thick [three inches.] These bikers would throw her on the back of a bike and take her around and make money, more than likely pimp her out and take her money. She would point out places like Biloxi, Norfolk, Baltimore, New York, Providence and point out what club it was she was working for. She worked for a long time at the Wagon Wheel down on North Point. She had low self-esteem, probably had something to do with these bikers working on her, pimping her out, She was gorgeous southern Italian. She could have done well but liked drinking and getting high and liked those dirty-ass biker types, following her pussy and not her brain.

She had four kids, largely raised by relatives because she would take off with these biker assholes all her life.

I came to the house to see if my buddy was there and sat down and started having drinks with this woman. I’m only a teenager. I was sixteen. She was about forty. She offered to walk up to Dead Freddie’s. We went in and sat at a table over by the pool tables and she got some pitchers of beer and a couple of glasses.

I was sitting at a table off the bar.

She was wearing jeans and a top on, not all dressed up.

We were drinking and before you know it she was standing on the table dancing for me.

We left and went back to her house—it was the aunt’s house, Aunt Rose who made the shrimp salad out of the shrimp that Chris stole—and she pretty much made a man out of me.

We had a couple more times together, then she wound up hooking up with this guy Wild Bill, this crazy dude from Chesterfield and Belair Road, started dating him—it wasn’t like we were dating but that put an end to it. It was matter of being there at the right time.

Now, Wild Bill, come walking across Northern Parkway and a drunk driver ran him over and he wound up in a wheelchair, going up and down Harford Road, panhandling, getting drunk, sleeping in his wheelchair. He would panhandle, saying he was a Vietnam vet, but he wasn’t. She did stick by him while he was in that wheelchair.

She was a good woman. She just had a crushed spirit and low self-esteem, exploited by bikers all through the 70s and 80s, a good woman who got the short end of the stick.

She wound up passing away from either Huntington’s or Hutchison’s disease, ten-fifteen years ago.