As a tranny is there anything worse you can do to a woman than meet her son at the altar?
Years of her life, sacrificing even her body to bring him into this world, to feed and nurture him so he could knock some woman up and give her grandkids.
She watched as her baby boy's body grew big, hard and muscular, all now for your enjoyment. Her dreams were shattered when he brought you, "some fag in a dress", home. She thought it was just a phase, that you were some toy he'd play with and toss away for a "real woman" but instead each day his love for you only got stronger and you only became more beautiful.
And so now she's forced to look on as her soon to be daughter-in-law walks the aisle, radiant in her flowing white dress more beautiful than ever, trying her best not to let her mind wander to her own wedding night and visualize her son on top of you passionately using your needy body in ways she could only dream of. And she'll see it in her son's eyes too and know that he won't even be able to wait until you get out of the dress to ravish you. Then she'll begin to wonder where she went wrong? She'll try to blame her husband for turning her son into a fag only to accept that it was all her. All that time ensuring he'd turn out better than his father, that he 'd truly love his woman, only set him on the path to you.
With that epiphany she'll reach a sort of morbid acceptance, that her son is madly in love with the woman in front of him. Her son's purpose was always to bring you joy and pleasure, to give you warmth and support, and make you feel safe in his arms. She'll hold out hope he'll cheat on you, afterall a bastard is a grandchild still. But his love for you never wanes and you use every inch of your body to ensure that every single drop of his seed is wasted on it. Gallons of his potential progeny tasted, swallowed, shot deep inside of you and soaked up. Other husbands always seem to need something more, kids or some other woman, but he only ever needed you.
