The following case histories all deal with perversities perpetrated upon youngsters by members of their own family.
In a society where the family unit is the foremost means of individual security, it is unfortunate that children are abused by those very persons who should be their most avid protectors.
These cases are similar in that each incestuous act involved the use of enema equipment. Enemas are a popular method of sexual humiliation. It is to be hoped that these youngsters are not adversely affected by their humiliating experiences for the rest of their lives.
Lisa, age twelve, was given an enema as punishment by the older brother who was baby-sitting.
Cathy, ten, was a bruised and battered child. Her mother took her anger out on Cathy with the help of the enema.
Tomasina, fifteen, a helpless deaf dumb and blind child, was viciously abused by her wicked Uncle Ernie.
Carl, aged fourteen, was seduced by his sex-crazed older sister. She used the enema for kicks.
Bernice, a voluptuous seventeen, was raped and brutalized by her own father.
Peter, aged thirteen, was beaten by his mother until he had an erection. She gave him an enema while making him fuck her.
Linda, eight, was abused by her sick and perverted lust-crazed father.
Harry, eighteen, committed perhaps the worst crime of them all. He raped his mother to satisfy his own evil lust and then gave her an enema to punish her.
It is hoped that the following case histories will illustrate to the reader the mental illness that results from these horrid incestuous abuses.
As will be clearly proven in these case histories, resorting to perverted sexual abuse is damaging not only to the psyches of the victims, but also to the minds of the perpetrators as well.
CASE HISTORY ONE
Subject: Lisa Age: Twelve
INTERVIEW ONE
When Lisa walked into my office, she seemed reluctant to be there. She was brought to see me by her mother who had discovered that Lisa's older brother had given her an enema and otherwise abused her young adolescent body.
Lisa kept whispering to her mother that she wanted to leave. I asked her mother to leave the room. She did so and Lisa and I were left alone. Her mother had informed me that Lisa had denied what her brother had done to her, so I started the session determined to discover whether Lisa was blocking out the traumatic experience.
Doctor, I know what happened to me. I remember everything. The reason I told my mother that Lenny didn't do it was because I didn't want him to get in trouble.
Even though Lenny is sixteen, four years older than I am, we're very close. We tell each other everything. Well, almost. I guess there are things you don't tell anyone. But whenever I need someone to talk to, I always know that I can go to Lenny.
The whole thing was my mother's fault anyway. She makes me sick sometimes, really she does. I know you're not supposed to say that about your mother, even if it is true, but she's the one who forced me to come talk to you.
I mean, it's not as if I'm upset about what happened. I mean, I was at first, but that was because I was mad at Lenny for what he did to me. But we fight all the time. We always make up right away.
That's what makes me so mad about my mother. Why does she have to make a big fuss about this? I can't believe she's making me see a psychiatrist I don't need a psychiatrist. If anyone needs a psychiatrist, it's her.
And Lenny, I feel really sorry for Lenny. I mean, I could kick myself for telling her what happened in the first place. I know my mother told you that I've been denying what Lenny did to me, but that was only after she got all upset about it and I wasn't mad any more. So I told her I made it up to get back at him for something but she didn't believe me.
But even though I didn't make it up, I did tell her to get back at him. Really, I swear that's why I told her. I'm not afraid of Lenny. And I'm not all traumatized by what happened. It's over and done with. We fight all the time. Once Lenny came after me with a knife. Once he came after me with a baseball bat. I had to lock myself in the bathroom. But he was so angry that he bashed a hole in the door with the bat.
Lenny's got a temper. You set it off and watch out. But I'm like that too. That's one of the reasons we get along so well. We understand each other and accept the way we are. I remember that one time he made me mad and I tried to strangle him with the telephone cord.
But my mother won't hear any of that. She keeps telling me that Lenny is sick or else he couldn't have done what he did to me. When I tell her that he isn't sick and that it doesn't bother me, she answers me by telling me that I must be sick too. And that's when she got the idea to send me to see you.
She's sending Lenny to see a shrink too, but a different one. His is more expensive than you are--I guess she thinks he's sicker than I am. But the whole thing is ridiculous. I just want to forget all about it. And so does Lenny.
But my mother won't let it drop. Even my father thinks we should just forget about it. That's what I really hate, when they start screaming at each other. When my father agreed with me and Lenny, my mother went haywire. She started accusing my father of all sorts of things.
I think my father must have had an affair or something and my mother found out about it. I could see why he did it, if you ask me. My mother is always in a state about something or other. Me and Lenny talk about her sometimes, try to figure her out. We really don't know what to make of her.
Lenny says that she was very overprotected as a child. My grandparents have plenty of money and she always had everything she wanted. Sometimes we try to figure out why my father ever married her.
Lenny says that it must be because my mother is so good-looking. She is really pretty now, but you should see pictures of her when she was a young girl. She could have been a model or an actress, she was so beautiful. But she didn't do anything except get married.
My father is all right most of the time.
Sometimes he gets fed up with my mother and then he takes it out on us. He's got a good job, but I think he resents that my mother takes all the money he makes for granted. like, she's not the one who has to work for it.
They have terrible fights, my mother and my father. They happen more and more often lately. Lenny thinks that my father is going to ask her for a divorce if she doesn't stop it. You don't understand what she does. She screams about everything, about the least little thing. She makes a big deal about everything.
I love my mother, though. I really do. I mean, she's my mother. She's not a bad person. When she's in a good mood, she's great to us. I mean, she's always buying us things and taking us places. She's a good mother like that. She really cares about us. It's just that she sometimes makes mistakes.
I guess all people make mistakes. I don't want my parents to get a divorce. Lenny says my father is unhappy with my mother so they should get a divorce, but I don't want that to happen. I want to live with both of them.
One time after they had this big fight, I asked my mother why they didn't go to a marriage counselor. She said that her marriage was nobody's business but her own. But if that's the way she feels, why did she send me to see you? Isn't what happened between me and Lenny nobody's business but ours?
I guess you want to know about what happened between me and Lenny. My mother told me she told you about the enema. But I bet she didn't tell you about the rest. She's awfully hung up when it comes to sex.
You look surprised, doctor. I mean, I know you're thinking that I'm awfully young to be saying that my mother is hung up about sex, but it's the truth. I may be only twelve years old, but I know the facts of life. I mean, I'm still a virgin, but I know all about it.
That's where I think my mother makes her big mistake. She still thinks things are the same as they were when she was my age. It upsets her that I know more about certain things than she did at my age, like sex, for instance.
But you can't help it. There are so many things shoving all this information at you. Everywhere you go, all you hear about is sex. It's on television, movies, in magazines-all those places. You couldn't miss it if you tried. I bet I know more about sex than my mother did before she got married.
But she doesn't want to admit it. I mean, I really think that if Lenny did something to me that didn't involve sex, she wouldn't be this upset. She would take it for what it was, a fight. She should be used to our fights by now. But I guess she's not. She says that a mother never gets used to seeing her children fight.
My father is so different than her. My father laughs when he hears about our fights. When he first heard about this enema business, he was really mad, but as soon as he cooled down, he could see the humor in it. I mean, I wasn't hurt, so what's the big deal? It's not as if I was upset by it anymore.
Not that I wasn't at first. I was real mad at Lenny, real mad. I think I was madder at him than I'd ever been before in my entire life. I mean, I really wanted to kill him. But once I had a chance to cool down, I forgave him.
It wasn't that Lenny is sick, really it wasn't. He was just mad because my mother made him stay home to watch me. He took it out on me. Now, I don't think that was very fair, but then again, I'm not fair all the time either. I've done some pretty shitty things to him too. Nothing quite as shitty as this though, I've got to admit.
But my mother insists that I've got to be suffering some kind of emotional damage from the incident. That's why she made me come to see you. I didn't want to come, really I didn't. I didn't need to come. My mother is just wasting her money. But she wastes a lot of money. I guess because she's always had as much as she wanted.
Lenny once told me that it was a good thing that my father kept a proper perspective when it came to money or else we would be really fucked up. My father always made sure we knew that most people in the world didn't have as much money as we did and that we shouldn't take it for granted. But my mother takes it for granted, I think.
Anyway, I guess I should tell you exactly what happened between me and Lenny and how it happened so you can tell my mother that I'm okay and I don't need to see you anymore. I mean, I know she's only doing it because she cares, but she's really driving me crazy. She hasn't left me alone for a minute since it happened.
My mother is babying me like there's no tomorrow. She's always going shopping and picking me up all these things that I don't even want. She pampers me and I know that I could get anything I wanted out of her because of what happened. I try not to take advantage of it, but it isn't easy when someone is asking to be taken advantage of.
I mean, I got my mother to buy me all these records she would never buy me before. I get to stay up late and she even let me stay home from school for a whole week after it happened. I went to school yesterday for the first time, but I didn't go today. I went to see you instead.
The first couple of days I stayed home from school, though, I was really too upset to go. First I was still pissed at Lenny and then I was mad at my mother for making such a fuss. I was really sorry that I had said anything because now she has a different attitude towards Lenny. She keeps saying that he's not the son she raised and she doesn't even know him. She says he's like a stranger to her.
I know it's only because she can't understand why Lenny would do something like give me an enema and all the rest, but Lenny really feels hurt by the way she's been treating him. She acts like he's some kind of evil horrible animal, not even a person. I guess she'll get over it in time, I mean, I hope shell get over it. Maybe you should talk to her about it.
You know, it really is her fault in a way, what Lenny did to me. I mean, she made him stay home to watch me. She shouldn't have done that. I told her I was old enough to stay by myself. Even my father thought she should let me stay by myself. But she was too afraid that something would happen to me.
I think that's ridiculous. What could happen to me in my own house? We live in a good neighborhood and the door has a lock. When I told her that she said there were other things that could happen, like a fire or I could get sick or something. It was exasperating when she said that to me. Those things could happen whether somebody was with me or not.
Then my mother said that if somebody was with me when it happened, they could take care of me. But that's really silly because what could Lenny do that I couldn't if there was a fire? There would be two dead kids, not one. When I said that to her, she told me not to talk like that. She gets upset when you mention bad things.
But I wouldn't let her call a babysitter. I guess that's the real reason Lenny was so mad at me. But it made me feel like a baby. I'm too old to need a babysitter. I mean, I'm old enough to be a babysitter. The whole thing was absurd.
I started screaming. I told my mother that if she called a babysitter I would never speak to her again. I said I would run out of the house and walk the streets by myself rather than stay with a babysitter. I mean, it was humiliating to have to have a babysitter at the age of twelve. What if my friends found out?
But that's how my mother is selfish. Her fears are more important than our feelings about being overprotected. But you know, I think the real reason that she made Lenny stay home was that she didn't want him to go out because she didn't like where he was going.
Lenny had tickets to see the Rolling Stones. My mother saw this movie on television called "Gimme Shelter" and it was about this guy who got killed at a Rolling Stones concert. And she knew there would be drugs and firecrackers and stuff, so she didn't want Lenny to go.
But it wasn't fair. Lenny had been looking forward to that concert for so long. My mother said she would pay him for watching me and pay him back for the ticket, but Lenny didn't care about money. He wanted to see the Stones.
At first Lenny kept saying that he was going to go anyway, no matter what she said. But my mother found his ticket and ripped it up. That's when he went crazy. He started screaming and yelling and hollering and everything. My mother told him to shut up and stop acting like a baby. Then she and my father left. I was left alone with Lenny and he was in a terrible temper.
INTERVIEW TWO
After my parents left, Lenny started screaming at me. I told him that it wasn't my fault.
"Lenny," I said, "don't take it out on me. I mean, I begged her to let me stay by myself."
"You knew she would never do that," Lenny bitterly replied. "You should have let her call a babysitter."
"Lenny," I insisted, "if she did that, my friends would find out about it. It would be so embarrassing."
"So, big shit! It wouldn't be your fault," Lenny replied. "There would be nothing for you to be embarrassed about-only something for Ma to be embarrassed about. The only thing you could be embarrassed about is that your mother is like that."
"That's not true, Lenny," I retorted. "You know I would get teased for weeks about it. And I couldn't take it."
"You could have done it. You could have put up with it for me. You know how much I wanted to see the Stones. Man, when she ripped up that ticket, I wanted to punch her. Do you know how much I could have sold that ticket for? Do you know how many people are dying to go to that concert who don't have seats? Do you know how long I've been dying to see the Stones? And she goes and rips up a ticket!"
Lenny was really indignant and I didn't blame him, but I didn't like the way he was trying to blame it on me. I guess I was feeling guilty because it was my fault.
"Don't blame me," I angrily retorted. "If you're going to be like that, you can just go fuck yourself. Who the hell wants you here anyway!"
I ran crying into my room. I was so angry the tears were streaming down. It was really upsetting. The whole night had been upsetting, all this screaming and yelling going on among everybody. Everybody in the family was mad at everybody else. I was mad at my father for letting my mother have the final say. So was Lenny. Only my parents weren't mad at each other. I was furious at my father for not being mad at my mother. The whole thing was a mess.
I was lying on my bed crying. I felt like a piece of shit. I mean, I really felt guilty that Lenny couldn't go to the concert and that my mother was treating me like such a baby. I pounded my fists on the mattress.
Suddenly, I heard Lenny come into my room. I turned around and he was standing with his back against the closed door. There was a look of anger on his face. I was furious. He didn't have to stay angry with me for such a long time.
"Look, Lenny," I said, "I'm sorry that you have to stay with me. But it's over and done with-let's just forget the whole thing."
"That's easy for you to say," he bitterly retorted. "No one's making you give up anything."
I didn't know what to say. What he was saying was the truth and I knew it. But I still thought he shouldn't blame me for it He could blame my mother and even my father, but not me. Didn't he know that I was on his side?
"You know, you little bitch," said Lenny, "I should really make you sorry that I'm here with you. I should make you all sorry for what you did to me."
"Go fuck yourself, Lenny," I replied.
I was through trying to make up with him. I had tried and he wouldn't have it. If he was going to be like that, then I would be like that too.
"You'll be sorry," Lenny warned. "She thinks the Stones concert is such a bad influence on me-I'll show her that I don't need any bad influences."
With that, Lenny quickly walked out of my room. He slammed the door shut. I was glad he was gone. If he was going to be like that, I didn't want to have anything to do with him.
But Lenny soon returned. He slammed the door shut after he entered. There was a funny gleam in his eye. It was like the excitement of an angry person who was about to take his revenge.
But the thing that immediately got my attention was that Lenny was carrying a bunch of ropes. And he was also carrying an enema.
"What's that for?" I asked, drying my eyes and looking up.
"I'm going to make you suffer. If I have to suffer tonight, so do you. It's all your fault anyhow."
With that, Lenny came towards me and started pulling off my clothes. I started screaming for him to stop. I was laughing because I couldn't believe he was really doing this. I thought he would never go through with it. But he did.
Lenny pulled off all my clothes so that I was completely naked, even though I kicked and struggled. But he had the energy of an enraged person. I was becoming pretty enraged myself by the time he got me completely naked.
I became a little frightened. I didn't know what Lenny had in mind, but he started tying me up. That made me furious. I started cursing at him.
"Shut up, you little bitch. I'll make you sorry," he said.
"You fucking pervert!" I cried. "Go fuck yourself!"
I tried to get loose, kicking and screaming. I even tried to kick him in the balls but I missed. Lenny tied my hands behind my back. Then he tied my ankles. I was lying naked on the bed, completely helpless and exposed. I was his prisoner.
"What are you going to do to me?" I asked, my voice trembling.
"You'll find out," came the reply.
"Lenny, don't. Come on, let me go. Come on, please."
"You can beg me all you like, it won't change a thing," Lenny replied.
I stopped pleading with him. There was something in his tone of voice that made me think he wanted me to beg him not to do whatever it was he was going to do. I remembered the enema and I became sick to my stomach. What a sick way to get back at me, I thought.
But I wasn't frightened. I knew Lenny wouldn't seriously hurt me, no matter how upset he was. I knew that he still loved me. So I just bit my lip thinking that I would go through the enema bravely and get back at him as soon as he untied me. I didn't know exactly what I would do, but I would make sure that it was worse than an enema. I would make him pay for doing this to me. Lenny came toward me. I could hear his footsteps as he approached. I felt cold plastic touch my naked quivering ass cheeks. I knew it was the enema tube. I could hear Lenny fiddling with the bag, making sure it was working properly. I swore to myself I would get even with him for this.
Lenny placed the tip of the enema tube inside the crack of my ass. It felt disgusting sticking in there. I wanted it out of me. I decided to try reasoning with him one more time.
"Lenny," I said, "I can't believe you're really doing this to me."
"Well, believe it because I am," he retorted.
"I'll get back at you, just remember that," I said.
He answered me by thrusting the cold plastic tubing deeply up my rectum. The harsh cold tube hurt me as it forced apart my tender ass tunnel membrane. Lenny giggled with glee as he pumped it in my ass.
I could feel the warm water squirting up my ass as he released the pressure. It flowed up my anal passage in long streaming spurts. I felt nauseous in the pit of my stomach when he did that.
Lenny kept taking the enema tube and pulling it in and out of my ass. It was like he was fucking me with it. He kept going faster and faster, ramming it in harder and harder.
"You're hurting me," I bitterly complained.
"Good," he replied.
I was so angry that I burst into tears. I wanted to kill him. He had no right to do this to me. I'd make sure that he was sorry.
Lenny kept pumping the enema in and out of my trembling wet ass-hole. I could feel all the water squishing around in my bowels. It was the most uncomfortable feeling in the world. I hated it.
But the worst part was the fact that Lenny was watching But Lenny wasn't satisfied with the enema. He did something really shitty. He felt me up-all over my body. I was horrified. The enema was sticking up my ass and he was moving his hands all over my body. I couldn't believe it.
First Lenny rubbed his palms all over my smooth tender buttocks. I could feel him chafe my warm quivering flesh with his cold hands. It was a very funny feeling. Especially with that enema sticking up my ass. I felt all these pangs in my ass-hole. They felt interesting, but I still wanted him to stop.
"Get your hands off me," I said.
"I'll do anything I want," Lenny retorted. "And I'd like to see you stop me."
What could I say? I was all tied up, naked and at his disposal. There was nothing I could do. Lenny could do anything he wanted to me and there was nothing I could do about it. But feel up his own sister? That wasn't right at all.
I didn't think Lenny would have the nerve to touch my sexy parts but I was wrong. When I felt his hands slide underneath my belly, rubbing my stomach in a slow sensuous motion, I thought he would be afraid to touch my tits. I definitely didn't want him to touch my tits. Nobody had ever touched me there before. It was disgusting to think of being felt up by your own brother.
But he did. He slid his hands up from my belly and cupped my two tender blossoming boobs. He squeezed them in his hands. It was a strange feeling-almost thrilling because it was so illicit. But I was furious that he was doing such a thing.
I could feel Lenny's fingers squeezing my ruddy nipple flesh. He was twisting and pinching the meat, playing with the bumps. I wanted to kill him. I silently swore to myself that I would get even.
Then Lenny did something that really wasn't right. He slid his hands down to my cunt. I couldn't believe it! He took his fingers and spread apart my pussy lips. He stuck them inside, feeling the moist hot inner cunt flesh. I wanted to kill him. I swear, if I had a gun or something, I would have blown his brains out. That's how angry I was. I was furious. The only fingers that had ever been up there were mine. I would never even let a doctor put his fingers up there. Lenny had no right to do it.
But still, he moved his fingers in and out of my pussy. My snatch was getting all creamy, dripping with discharge. I felt positively humiliated. I felt like a piece of shit.
Finally, Lenny had enough. He took his hands off my body. I was shaking with rage. He pulled out the enema. It had done its duty well. I really had to shit bad.
But Lenny didn't untie me right away like I thought he would. I kept waiting for him to untie me but he didn't. I wondered what was taking him so long. I really had. to go to the bathroom.
"Well, aren't you going to untie me?" I angrily asked.
"When I feel like it," Lenny replied.
"Listen, I have to shit, you fuck," I told him.
"Go right ahead," he replied.
I was amazed. He wanted to watch me shit right in front of him. That was the most humiliating thing of all. After all the embarrassing things he did to me, watching me shit would be the worst. Well, I wasn't going to let him get away with it.
"Listen, you bastard," I said, "if you don't untie me this instant and let me go to the bathroom, if I shit on this bed, you're going to clean it up. And if you don't, I'll leave it there for Mommy to see when she comes home.
She'll kill you when I tell her what you did."
At first, Lenny didn't say anything. But the fact that he didn't give me a snotty answer told me that he was thinking about what my parents would say if I told them. I guess now that he had gotten his anger out, he started to think about the consequences.
"Listen Lisa," he said. "I'll let you go only if you promise not to tell Mommy and Daddy anything about what happened. Otherwise, I'm going to watch you shit all night long."
"All right," I said.
It was easy to agree to anything. Nothing said that I had to keep my promise. He untied me and I rushed to the bathroom. I made it just in time. As I sat on the toilet, I thought about my promise. It was then I decided that telling my parents what Lenny had done would be the best revenge I could have. It would get him in the most trouble. It would really make him sorry that he had ever done this to me.
So that's what happened. But things haven't worked out good at all. I mean, I had my revenge and it's over. Me and Lenny both want to forget about the whole thing. He's apologized to me and I forgave him. But my mother just won't let it drop.
CONCLUSION
Lisa is a young girl who shows serious masochistic tendencies. The fact that she can so lightly brush aside the humiliation her sick and perverted older brother subjected her to shows that she is a likely candidate for future deviations of this sort.
Lisa's feeling that her mother was making too much of the matter shows just how warped her mind is. The fact that Lisa does not find the sexual abuse of her young person permanently offensive suggests that she may indulge in perverted sexual practices in the future.
I have recommended to Lisa's mother that Lisa continue seeing me on a weekly basis. I have informed her that I feel Lisa might develop serious problems adjusting as a normal healthy adult later in life. I also recommended that her brother become a patient of mine as well. I stressed the importance of working with the two deviants together.
CASE HISTORY TWO
Subject: Cathy Age: Ten
INTERVIEW ONE
Cathy was brought to see me by her father, who had discovered that his wife was beating and abusing her. The father can only guess at how long the situation had been going on. He told me that he first started to suspect something wasn't right about three months ago, but that it was only a few days ago that he had caught his wife in the act.
Cathy's father reported that his wife was very clever at covering her tracks, which is why it took him so long to catch on. He said it wasn't the kind of thing a man wants to believe his wife is doing.
However, Cathy's father told me, when he caught his wife in the act himself, he could no longer refuse to face the truth. He immediately arranged for his wife to be confined in a private institution where she is presently receiving treatment.
Cathy's father brought her to see me because he is concerned about the state of her emotional well-being after being battered and abused by her own mother. One thing that particularly disturbs him is Cathy's insistence that her mother did nothing bad to her. Cathy cries for her mother at night now that the woman has been hospitalized.
Doctor, I want my Mommy. I don't know where she is or what's happened to her. I tried asking Daddy but he just tells me not to worry about her. He says that she's alright and being taken care of, but I don't believe him. I just know something horrible has happened to her.
Daddy thinks Mommy is a bad person just because he found her spanking me a few days ago. I was a bad girl and I deserved to be punished. Daddy punishes me sometimes too. I don't see how he can blame Mommy for doing the same thing.
I love my mother so much. I can't begin to tell you how much I love her. Sometimes I wonder if she loves me back, though. I mean, she would hurt me when she punished.
Sometimes I thought I was being punished unfairly. But then, afterwards, she would always hug me and tell me she was sorry. She would explain that I had been so bad that I made her lose her temper.
But Mommy has very funny ways of punishing me. I remember the first time she punished me besides spanking me. I was a little kid, about five years old. I must have been five because I remember that I was in kindergarten. I forgot what I did, but whatever it was, it made Mommy very angry.
She was so angry that she filled the tub up with boiling water and made me take a bath in it. She made me take off all my clothes and insert my little pink body in the steaming tub. It was so hot that I started to cry. I pleaded with her not to make me, but she told me to shut up. She warned me that if I didn't listen to her, she would have to punish me even more.
So I had to do it. I had to sit in the boiling water until she told me that it was alright to come out. Until she decided that my punishment had lasted long enough. It was so hot in there that I had blisters all over my body.
When Daddy came home from work I told him what Mommy had done to me. I didn't think it was fair to be punished like that. It was too painful. I knew I had disobeyed Mommy, but I hadn't done anything to deserve being inserted into boiling hot water. So I complained to Daddy.
Daddy listened to what I said. His eyes went wide with surprise. He kept asking me if I was sure. I could hardly believe it. I had never lied to Daddy before. What would make him think I was lying now?
But Daddy didn't accuse me of lying. He just told me to relax. I showed him the blisters and he looked worried. He said he was going downstairs to speak to Mommy.
Upstairs in my bedroom, in my pajamas and under the blanket, I could hear Mommy screaming. I started to shudder as I heard her mention me. She was calling me all kinds of names. She sounded like she hated me. I started to feel very hurt. I didn't want my mother to hate me. I wanted her to love me.
Then I heard her calling me a liar. She screamed it over and over and over. Liar, liar, liar. I put my hands to my ears. I couldn't bear to hear it. Then the tears began streaming down. My whole body shook and trembled.
I took my hands off my ears. Mommy had stopped screaming. I wanted to know what was happening, but I was afraid to go downstairs. I was afraid that Mommy was so mad at me that she would beat me up.
But I wanted to know what had happened. I wanted to know what my Daddy had said to her. I was afraid for him to go to work and leave me alone with her. I wanted to talk to him so I could beg him not to leave me alone with her ever again.
I could hear Daddy's footsteps as he came back up the stairs. I knew he would be coming back into my room. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Sure enough, the door opened and Daddy came in.
"Cathy," he said, "I want to talk to you."
"About Mommy?" I asked. "About Mommy," he replied. "What did she say?"
"Cathy, are you sure that Mommy did what you said she did? Are you sure that she purposely made you take a bath in boiling hot water?"
I looked at my father. There were tears in my eyes. Why was he questioning my word? Didn't he believe me? I remembered how Mommy had screamed, calling me a liar. What would I do if he believed her instead of me?
"Don't you believe me?" I tearfully asked.
"I believe you, Cathy," Daddy softly replied. "I just think that maybe you were exaggerating. Are you sure that Mommy didn't put any cold water in the bath at all?"
I looked at him.
"No," I replied, shaking my head. "She didn't put any in. Not a drop."
"How do you know?" asked my father.
"I watched her run the water, Daddy," I pleaded. "She didn't even touch the faucet for the cold water. I swear to God she didn't."
Daddy looked at me. It was as if he didn't know what to think. I was hurt that he questioned my word. I began to resent Mommy for making him think that I was a liar.
"She's the one who's a liar," I suddenly said, in an angry tone of voice.
"Cathy," said Daddy, gently but sternly, "don't talk about your mother like that."
"Daddy, don't you believe me?" I repeated. "I wouldn't make up something like that, really I wouldn't. Don't you trust me?"
"It isn't that, Cathy," he replied. "I trust you but I also trust your mother. Now you say Mommy stuck you in a tub of boiling water, but she says that she didn't. She says she may have made the bath a little too hot by mistake, but that she tried to regulate the temperature."
"Then you think I'm lying," I insisted.
I began to cry.
"Cathy, Cathy, don't cry," said Daddy. "We'll clear everything up. Now, just think, maybe the bath was too hot, but it wasn't as bad as you thought it was. Now isn't that right?"
I thought about it. I thought about it very hard. Could he be right? Could the bath have been alright, just a little too hot, and the rest my imagination? Then I remembered about my blisters.
"What about my blisters?" I said to Daddy. "How come I got blisters if the bath wasn't too hot?"
A troubled look crossed Daddy's face. He thought for a while, looking at me. Then he spoke.
"Cathy," he said, "this is what probably happened. Your mother made the water too hot without realizing it. That's why you got the blisters. That's why she got so upset when I told her what you told me. She didn't do it on purpose. Do you understand, she didn't do it on purpose. Your mother wouldn't hurt you for the world."
I looked at him blankly with tears in my eyes. That was not the way I remembered it at all. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe my mother hadn't inserted my naked body into boiling hot water. Maybe she had made it too hot by accident.
"What do you say, Cathy?" said my father. "Isn't that what happened?"
I nodded. I supposed he was right. But I was still upset. I could still hear the way Mommy had called me a liar. I still remembered how angry she was. It worried me.
"Is Mommy mad at me?" I asked, in a scared timid voice.
Daddy shook his head.
"She's just upset that you think she would do such a thing," Daddy replied. "She loves you--she would never do anything to hurt you. Don't worry, she's not mad at you. Not really," he added.
I was relieved to hear it. The last thing I wanted, in the world was for my mother to be mad at me.
That was the first time Mommy punished me by hurting me. She didn't do it again for a real long time. Not until I was eight years old. That time, I didn't tell Daddy about it. I was old enough to realize by myself that she didn't mean it. I knew she was sorry right after she had done it by the way she hugged and kissed me and begged me to forgive her. She also begged me not to tell my father. That was why I couldn't. It would upset her too much. I didn't want Mommy to be upset any more than she was. She gets upset a lot.
Mommy would do things like hit me with belt buckles and burn my fingertips with matches. I just used to let her do it. I knew she didn't really mean it. I knew she only did it when she lost her temper. After something like that happened, every time after, Mommy would hug me and kiss me and tell me how sorry she was and beg me not to tell Daddy. She was always terrified that I would tell Daddy. I always promised that I wouldn't.
It wasn't so bad at first. Mommy wouldn't get that mad very often. Maybe five or six times a year. But then, when I was eight and a half, Mommy began to change. She became meaner and meaner. There weren't so many times when she was nice to me. She stopped hugging and kissing me and apologizing after she did it.
I started to wonder about it. It was as if Mommy didn't love me any more. She was never nice and affectionate like she used to be. I began to wonder if she had ever loved me. I began to wonder if I should tell Daddy what she was doing.
From the way Mommy was afraid that Daddy would find out what she was doing, I knew he would be very angry. But I remembered how he had believed Mommy over me the last time. I didn't know if he would take my word for it. And there was no way to prove it.
I thought about it. I decided not to tell Daddy. I really didn't want to get Mommy in trouble because I was still hoping that she would go back to the way she used to be. I also knew that if I told Daddy and he didn't believe me, she would hurt me even worse because she would be so mad at me for telling.
The things Mommy did to me were a lot worse than what she used to do before. I mean, the things she did were so bad that I can't even tell you about some of them. They were really horrible.
But I still love my mother, no matter what. She can't help what she does. She doesn't have control over it. She's a very unhappy person. All she does is scream and cry. I'm pretty unhappy too.
Right now, I'm really unhappy that Daddy found out. I mean, I wasn't at first. Mommy was doing something really horrible to me when he found us. Daddy couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe his eyes when he walked in on us.
I was relieved when Daddy stopped her. I felt glad that she had finally been caught. I didn't want to tell on her, but I was glad she had been found out. I didn't want her to do those things to me any more.
But I was ashamed when Daddy saw us. I was ashamed for her and I was ashamed for me. I didn't want him to see us like that. It was really disgusting. I wanted to die for shame.
But he stopped her-Daddy did stop her. But he made her go stay in a mental hospital. I'm really mad at him for that. I keep begging for him to let her come home, but he says she needs help.
I wish I could make Daddy understand. I wish I could convince him to let Mommy come home. He said it wasn't up to him because what Mommy had done to me was against the law. I don't think Daddy would lie to me.
I wonder if I'll ever see my Mommy again. Daddy says of course I will. I want to see my Mommy, but I hope she never does any of those horrible things to me again. I hope Daddy is right when he says that they will make her better.
INTERVIEW TWO
I wasn't able to convince Cathy to tell me the details of the abuse her mother perpetrated on her until the second time she came to see me. By that time, her father had received some information from the doctors at the institution where her mother was hospitalized.
The doctors reported that Cathy's mother was suffering from nervous schizophrenia. They had decided to try electric shock therapy to ease the tension and then attempt to control the hallucinations with medication. Cathy's father had consented to this treatment.
Cathy's father explained the situation to her as honestly and as non-frighteningly as was possible. Cathy seemed to understand what he was saying, but still wanted to know why her mother couldn't come home. Upon explaining that she would soon be allowed to visit her mother, Cathy felt comforted.
Did Daddy tell you about Mommy? What the doctors said, I mean. They said that when she hurt me like that, she really didn't know what she was doing. They say that she was seeing things and hearing things that weren't really there.
I can't imagine that-can you? It seems so strange-to hear and see things that aren't really there. It must have been weird to be inside Mommy's head while that was happening. I mean, she couldn't tell the difference between what was really there and what wasn't.
They're going to let me go see her. I can't wait. I want to tell her that I'm not mad about what she did to me. I want to tell her that I still love her. Daddy promises that hell take me to see her by next weekend. I can't wait.
Daddy said that I should tell you what Mommy did to me, but I don't want to. I don't understand why we can't just forget all about it. I mean, Mommy will be cured at the hospital and she'll never do those things to me again.
But Daddy says I should tell you so that you can make sure that I won't have bad dreams from it. He said it was a very horrible thing to happen to a little girl and he wants to make sure I'm alright. Daddy kept apologizing to me for not having found out sooner. He feels bad about what happened to me.
Daddy even told me he was sorry for not completely believing me that time I told you about. I told him that he was right, that Mommy really didn't mean what she was doing to me. He didn't remember that he had told me that.
But you know, even though Mommy didn't mean it, it was a really bad thing to do to me. I have bad dreams sometimes and sometimes I get frightened for no reason. And I don't like to think about what Mommy did to me, but I can't help it.
Daddy says that if I tell you all about it, you'll help me not to think about it so much. But I can't decide whether to tell you or not. I'm so ashamed of what happened. I'm so ashamed to admit that those things happened to me. But I don't know how to stop thinking about them.
I'll tell you, but only if you promise not to think bad of me or my mother. If you can promise me that, I'll tell you what she did. I'll try to tell you everything, but it won't be easy.
Mommy had been in a very bad mood all week. I saw her a lot of times crying by herself. She never smiled or seemed happy about anything. I felt sorry for her, but I was also scared. I knew what could happen when she got like that.
I was careful not to do anything to upset her the whole time. I mean, I did everything like I was supposed to. I kept my room clean and I did all my homework as soon as I got home from school. I even washed the dishes lying in the sink sometimes. Just to help her out.
But Mommy got mad at me just the same. It was as if she was going to get mad at me no matter how good she was. She found something specific to pick on me for. It was really a tiny thing. I was really upset that she was yelling at me for it. I forget to buy the newspaper on my way home from school. I was supposed to do it every day but this one day I forgot.
Mommy became furious. She started screaming and shaking her fists at me. I became terrified that she would do to me what she so often did. And she did.
Mommy started screaming that she would have to punish me, to teach me that I'd better listen to her when she tells me something.
I was trembling with fear. Each time she punished me, the punishment got worse and worse. I was horrified to think of what she might do.
Mommy made me go to my room. She told me to take off all my clothes and wait there for her. I did what she told me to do. I didn't want to make her any madder than she already was.
She came back in a little while. She was holding a bunch of ropes and this funny long tube with this rubber bag attached to it. I had no idea what she was going to do with those things.
Mommy was moving very fast. I could tell she was very angry, but she didn't scream at me or anything. Her voice was very calm as she spoke. But it was very, very angry.
"You shouldn't disobey my instructions, Cathy," said my mother. "You always force me to punish you. You should no better by this time."
I was sitting on the bed trembling with fear as she started to unwind the rope. I had the sneaking suspicion that she was going to tie me up. I dreaded it.
And that's exactly what she did. Mommy grabbed my arms and twisted them behind my back. She twisted them so hard that it really hurt a lot. I tried not to cry. I knew that when I cried it only made her more enraged.
After Mommy tied up my arms, she tied my ankles together. She made me spread my knees apart while I did it. My little hole got all open and exposed. She sneered at it in disgust. I shuddered.
After she finished tying me, Mommy went to one of my drawers and pulled out a handkerchief. She made me open my mouth and she stuffed it in there. That terrorized me. She had never gagged me before. And I never screamed when she did these things to me.
What Mommy was planning must be something especially terrible. She had never ever gagged me before. She knew that I didn't scream. But she expected me to scream this time. It must be something really awful.
It was. It was the most horrible thing that ever happened to me. Mommy picked me roughly up in her arms and turned me over on my stomach. She pushed up my knees so that my ass was sticking in the air. Then she took that strange rubber bag thing and put the tube in my ass.
I was never so frightened in my life. Mommy thrust that thing all the way up my ass. She didn't care how much she hurt me.
She pushed the tube all the way in.
I didn't like the way it felt as Mommy shoved it in and out of my ass. It was cold and it made my ass-hole hurt. It was too big to fit. It had to stretch me apart to get in there. I thought Mommy was going to tear me to shreds in there. I could feel my inner skin starting to scrape and bleed.
Suddenly, Mommy pushed it in really hard and left it there. It was sticking in me and it hurt. I felt horrible. All these stabbing pains were going through my behind. Then it happened.
All this water started gushing up my ass. It began spraying up there in spurts. It tickled my insides. It also burned my torn and tattered shredded inner ass-hole flesh. It was the most painful thing that ever happened to me. Every nerve in my ass was burning with agony.
Daddy told me that it wasn't water Mommy had put in the bag but rubbing alcohol. He said that was why it burned so much. It was really excruciating, let me tell you.
Mommy started to laugh gleefully as she stood back and watched me suffer. My body was twitching and trembling from fear and pain. I couldn't see Mommy's face but I could imagine the look. I had seen her look that way before.
Then Mommy left the room again. I was left like that with that tube squirting that stuff up my burning sore ass-hole. It was horrible. I was dying for somebody to take it out. I didn't know how long she would leave me like that.
It felt like hours, but Mommy eventually returned. She picked me up in her arms again and turned me on my back. That thing was still sticking up my ass. The bed pushed it in even tighter. It hurt real bad.
Then Mommy spread open my legs, pulling them from the knees. She pulled them apart until I could feel the pussy lips of my cunt stretching open, exposing my naked moist inner pussy flesh.
Mommy took this big thick plastic thing and put it in my hole. I swear, that's what she did. Isn't that horrible? I don't know exactly what that thing looked like because I only saw it for a second as she took it and shoved it in. But it was so big that she had to hammer it inside with her fist. I thought my body was going to split in two.
Mommy was' breathing heavily as she banged that big plastic thing in my pussy. It forced my trembling pussy walls to open, making way for it to enter. Mommy pushed and pushed it in until she got it all the way up.
The pain in front was even worse than the pain in back. Hot stabs of agony seared my snatch. Mommy hurt me so much.
She was getting excited, ramming it in and out harder and faster, panting like an animal. I was really scared. Even the horrible things she had done to me before were nothing like this. I never thought Mommy would do anything like this to me. I should have known that she would have done anything. But I could never even imagine something like this.
Mommy rammed the big plastic thing in and out of my hole. The big cold plastic penetrated all the way up my quivering bloody pussy. I would have screamed with pain, but the gag muffled my cries. I understood why Mommy had given me the gag now Suddenly, the door to my room opened and Daddy came in. He screamed out in horror as he saw what was happening. He grabbed Mommy and pulled her away from me. He threw her against the wall. Mommy's head banged against the wall. I'll never forget the way it sounded.
Daddy quickly pulled that big thing from my hole. I'd never seen anyone look so horrified. It made me feel sick, looking at the expression on his face. I had never seen anything like it in my life.
Daddy was so overcome by shock and horror that he couldn't even speak. I was afraid to look at him. I was embarrassed by what he had found. I wished I could sink through the bed and just disappear.
But Daddy didn't act like there was anything wrong with me. He pulled out that horrible thing. It hurt when he did it, but I was glad it was gone. Blood started to gush from my hole.
Daddy ran to call an ambulance. Meanwhile, Mommy had picked herself up from the floor, where she had landed after banging her head. She looked around. It was like she was in a daze. She didn't seem to know what was going on.
Daddy came back. I could tell that he was afraid to let her near me. He stood in front of her in case she tried to get at me, but she didn't. She just staggered around in a circle, looking at the ceiling. I felt sorry for her. I started to cry.
That drew Daddy's attention to me. He rushed to my side and quickly untied the ropes. He pulled the gag from my mouth and picked me up, hugging me close to him. Then he noticed the enema sticking in my ass. That was when he started to cry.
You know what happened after that. The ambulance came and rushed me to the hospital. They took Mommy along too. The doctor at the hospital took one look at Mommy and told the nurse to give her a shot. They rushed me into this room where they hooked me up to all kinds of wires. I think they were afraid that I was going to bleed to death.
But I didn't. They stopped the bleeding and I got better. But I haven't seen Mommy since. I'm very worried about her. She was acting really strange when they gave her that shot.
CONCLUSION
Cathy had been subjected to the most cruel and perverse torture imaginable. The brutal sexual assault upon her person by the person in the world she most cared for is bound to have deep and far-reaching affects upon Cathy's troubled psyche.
Cathy's extreme concern for her mother is not unusual for a child in her situation. Children are sometimes sensitive in ways that adults are not. Right now, Cathy is more understanding of her mother than is her father. He is still very bitter toward his wife.
Cathy's father was informed by the doctors at the private mental institution that his wife would have to be institutionalized for at least another six months. He immediately signed the papers. Cathy was very upset about this.
Cathy's attachment for her mother has deepened since the horror of her father's discovery. Fortunately for Cathy, her father is an intelligent man who knows how to explain the situation honestly, but without frightening her.
However, I do feel that a child of ten is too young to comprehend the malfunctioning nervous system that is schizophrenia. It is something that doctors themselves do not yet fully comprehend. Until we discover something definite, children should not be troubled with these things. The questions our lack of knowledge poses is too frightening for their young minds to cope with.
CASE HISTORY THREE
Subject: Tomasina Age: Fifteen
INTERVIEW ONE
Tomasina was brought to see me by her worried mother. The mother had to tell me Tomasina's plight, for the child had been deaf, dumb and blind from birth, so her mother informed me. The first interview you will be reading was given to me by Tomasina's mother in her presence. The woman was greatly distraught.
Doctor, I don't know what to do to help my daughter. Nobody seems to be able to get through to her. My husband took her to see a regular doctor. He did all these tests on her and told us that her problem was not physical but only in her mind. He said that she could see, hear and speak if she wanted to.
After he told us that, I became very impatient with her. I would beg her for hours and hours to respond to me. But she would just give me that horrible blank stare of hers.
I decided to take her to see you after my husband discovered something quite shocking. I feel very guilty about it, doctor, but how was I to know that her own uncle would do something like that? And to think that I trusted him to take care of her.
You see, my husband and I are afraid to leave Tomasina alone. She's completely helpless. She can't do anything for herself. She needs someone to help to clean her and to dress her. I can tell that she hated having people do things for her. She especially hates it when people help to dress her. Usually I do it myself. But sometimes I'm too busy and then my husband or a relative will do it.
Sometimes I would let Tomasina dress herself. She seems to want to so much. But she would always come out looking cockeyed and then I would have to fix her up. I couldn't let her go out in public looking like that.
We try to take her out as much as we can. When we can't, there are some neighborhood kids who are nice enough to take her to the candy store. The candy store is right down the block from us, a place where some of the kids hang out. They're nice kids--they play pinball and do things like that. Tomasina is a whiz at pinball ... she even won a contest one time. Nobody can figure out how she does it.
One time, my husband found out that one of the kids had given her some LSD. We thought it was a cruel thing for him to do. He was some kind of pusher, we discovered. We didn't let her go out with those kids again for a while. We were very angry.
But that was when her cousin Kevin had volunteered to watch her and take her places. At first, we were very grateful. That was until we found out what he did to her.
One time, we had left Kevin with Tomasina while we went out to the movies. We came back earlier than we had expected. We found Tomasina tied to a chair and Kevin was burning her heels with the end of a lit cigarette. My husband was so mad he almost beat him to a pulp. It took everything he had to contain himself.
But my husband is not a violent man, doctor. He told Kevin to get out and never come back. And he called Kevin's parents on the phone and told them exactly what Kevin had done, even though Kevin's mother is his own sister.
That was when we decided to ask Uncle
Ernie if he could watch Tomasina once in a while. Uncle Ernie is my father's brother-that is, he was. My father is dead now. He's the only living relative I have left, other than Tomasina and her father. I felt very grateful when he agreed to help us out with her.
When Tomasina first became ill-doctor, why are you looking at me like that? What's that? Uh, uh, you misunderstood me. No, doctor, of course not. Why would I lie? Why would I lie about something like that?
Alright, alright, I admit it, I lied. Tomasina wasn't born with her affliction. It happened when she was about three years old. It was my fault. It was our fault. I admit it, I admit it. Oh, it's so horrible to think about.
Doctor, you're not allowed to reveal things without your patients' permission are you? I mean, if I told you something in confidence, you wouldn't be able to tell anyone what I said without my permission, would you? How about the police? What if I told you something you thought the police should know about? Would you still keep the confidence?
I'll tell you, I'll confess. We've kept it between ourselves all these years, my husband and I. It's a long story. I guess I should start at the beginning.
My husband used to be a sailor. He was a good sailor. He was captain of his own ship. I mean, he didn't own the ship, but it was under his command. I was pregnant with Tomasina when he went out to sea for the first time as captain.
It was about five months after that when I received a telegram telling me the ship had gone down. There had been no survivors. Most of the bodies had been found aboard the sunken vessel. My husband's wasn't among them. The sea authorities assumed that he had drowned with the rest of the men whose bodies weren't found in the sunken ship. They concluded that they had tried to escape aboard one of the life boats but had not survived.
I was stricken with grief. My husband was the whole world to me. I was carrying his child. I was all alone, a young helpless widow. I had no family except for Uncle Ernie, but he was out of the country at the time. I had no one to turn to.
Tomasina was born. She was a beautiful baby. She looked exactly like her father. She broke my heart every time I looked at her. But I was grateful to have a part of him live on in her.
I loved my infant daughter to distraction. I centered all my hopes and attentions upon her. I lavished her with love and care to make up for what I couldn't afford in money. She was a happy healthy completely normal child.
Then I met this man. He was very handsome and he helped me out. It happened when Tomasina was about two years old. He gave me enough money after a while so that I was able to quit my job and look after Tomasina myself, instead of leaving her with a babysitter all the time. I was very grateful.
We dated for a few months and then the man moved in with us. I wasn't madly in love with him as I had been with my husband, but he was good to me and Tomasina. I cared about him deeply and thought that I would grow to love him in time.
We had an intimate relationship, doctor, if you know what I mean. I hope you won't think too badly of me, but a woman has needs. And it did help me to get over the grief I felt for my husband.
But I guess I never really stopped loving Tomasina's father. Even though I was living with this other man as if we were man and wife, I never stopped loving my husband. Even though me and my lover were planning to be married as soon as Tomasina's father was legally declared dead. That would happen in five more years.
We lived together very happily for a year, me, my lover, and Tomasina. We were just like a real family. Tomasina loved him like her own father. She had never even seen her real father.
For all practical purposes, my lover was her real father. He was the only father she had ever known.
Then one day, I'll never forget it as long as I live, the doorbell rang. We were living in a modest but comfortable home that my lover had bought for us. He had a steady job and had saved enough for the down payment. He worked very hard to take care of us.
Anyway, this day I'm telling you about, my lover was at work. Tomasina was three years old at the time. She was in the back of the house, playing in the garden. I was busy cleaning.
When the doorbell rang, I dropped my dust cloth and went to answer it. I'll never forget the strange feeling I had when I saw this ragged hairy man staring at me. He just stared and stared at me. He didn't say anything.
I thought it was very strange. I wondered what he wanted. When I asked him what he wanted, I noticed there were tears in his eyes. The whole thing was very strange.
There was something about this ragged man that was vaguely familiar to me. Suddenly, it hit me who he was.
No, I thought to myself. It just couldn't be, it just couldn't be! How is it possible? How could it possibly be?
My heart palpitated and my body trembled.
I stared right at him. I think he realized that I recognized him.
"Don't you know me?" he asked, his voice all choked up.
I couldn't speak. The words were stuck in my throat. I was too overcome by my emotions. I tearfully nodded. Then I threw myself into his arms.
It was Tomasina's father, returned from the dead. We passionately embraced each other. I could hardly believe it. I was shaking and laughing and crying all at the same time. I brushed the tears that were streaming down his eyes. I took him into the house. I could hardly believe he had really been given back to me.
We talked for hours. The first thing he wanted to do was to see Tomasina. I wanted to tell him about my lover first. It was funny how I had forgotten all about him until my husband mentioned Tomasina.
My husband was very understanding. Of course I assured him that I would give up my lover. I was so glad to have him back.
I cautioned my husband not to tell Tomasina who he was. I told him that she thought my lover was her father. I promised my husband that as soon as things were settled, we would tell her the truth. He agreed with me.
I've never seen anybody look so full of emotion as my husband did the first time he saw Tomasina. I could tell that he was dying to take her in his arms and claim her as his daughter. My heart went out to him.
We spent the afternoon talking. We talked for hours and hours. The first thing I did was to give my husband some clean clothes. He took a shower and put on some of my lover's clothes. Then I made him something to eat.
He told me that he and three other men had drifted in the ocean for weeks and weeks. He said it was horrible. There was a shortage of food and water. He said several men became so thirsty that they drank the salt water, even though they knew it would kill them. He said it was horrible when they had to dump the bodies overboard.
Then he told me how they had finally been spotted by a small fishing boat. They were off the coast of some tropical island. They were rescued and brought to the island. There, my husband worked hard until he managed to save enough money to come back home. He tried wiring the owners of the ship that he had commanded, but found they were gone without leaving a forwarding address. There was no way he could come back to me sooner.
I was grateful to have him back at all. It seemed to me that he had never left. But as it got nearer and nearer to five o'clock, I started to worry how I would explain everything to my lover. He knew about my husband, of course, but I knew he wouldn't give me up easily. I was right.
When my lover returned and found that my husband had come back from the dead, he was shocked. But he was very civil. He told me to be very kind to the man because of all he had been through. He said he could appreciate the shock of going through all that and then coming home to find that his wife and child belonged to another man.
I looked at my lover with strange wild eyes. It angered me that he assumed I would just desert my husband for him. It angered me that he thought there would be no decision involved. I thought it was very presumptuous of him.
I didn't know what to do. But before I got a chance to say anything, my husband told him that I had decided to give up my lover. My lover turned red and told my husband that he couldn't expect things to be just like they were before he left. My husband said that we were still legally married and there was nothing that my lover could do about it.
The fighting became very heated. One word led to another. Suddenly, my lover lost his temper. He picked up a butcher knife that was lying on the table. He waved it at my husband, threatening to kill him if he didn't go and leave us as we were before he had returned.
Without my even noticing it, Tomasina had crept into the room. The screams of the fighting men had attracted her curiosity. She came to find what was going on. She must have hid herself silently behind the curtain, or somewhere like that, because no one even noticed she was there until after it was all over.
My husband lost his temper. It was very understandable. He had survived and returned home to his family against all odds. He couldn't take the nerve of this other man telling him that he couldn't have his family back, especially as he knew he I wanted him over my lover. He started screaming in a rage of anger.
My lover came closer and closer with the threatening butcher knife. Finally, my husband had just had it. He reached forward and attempted to grab the butcher knife from the hands of my lover. A struggle ensued-I watched in horror as the two men grappled for control of the weapon.
I gasped as my lover tried to thrust the knife in my husband's heart.
"No, no!" I cried.
My lover turned to me. Shock and horror was written all over his face. He was waiting for some kind of sign from me, some sign that I wanted him and not my husband. I slowly shook my head--my eyes were sad. He knew. He became furious.
He turned to my husband and tried to thrust the knife deep inside his heart. But my husband grabbed my lover's wrist and sharply twisted it. The knife penetrated my lover's flesh. A few moments later he lay on the floor, a lifeless bloody corpse.
My husband and I looked at each other in shock. I'm sure I was as pale as a ghost. We stood there shuddering, unable to move, not knowing what to do.
Suddenly, we heard whimpering over in the corner of the room. I turned and saw Tomasina peering out from behind the curtain, looking at the corpse of my lover. Her eyes were red and streaming with tears. The dead man lying on the floor was the only father she had ever known.
I pointed to Tomasina. My husband looked at the hysterical child with horror. What she had seen was so terrible that we could hardly bear it. Suddenly, my husband jumped up and ran over to her. He knelt and grabbed her by the shoulders. Tomasina shuddered as he looked straight into her eyes.
"Tomasina," he said, "you didn't see it, you didn't hear it. You don't know nothing-never in your life, not a word about what happened hear."
I suddenly realized what my husband was doing. It was important that no one ever discover what had happened. My lover had no family and no close friends. It would be easy to say that he had just gone away after my husband had returned.
I ran over to Tomasina and pushed him away. I could feel myself slowly becoming hysterical. I grabbed my daughter and started screaming in her ear. I didn't realize it at the time, but she must have been in shock. I'm sure that I was. I grabbed Tomasina and started screaming at her.
"You didn't hear it! You didn't see it! You don't know nothing! Never, never in your life, not a word about what you just saw. You didn't see it, Tomasina, you didn't see or hear a thing. You can never tell a soul!"
My husband pulled me away from her. In my frantic panic, I had not been aware that poor Tomasina was trembling and white. My husband took Tomasina and sat her down on the sofa. She stared blankly at the wall. I think that's when she first lost her sight.
I put Tomasina to bed while my husband got rid of the body. He chopped up all the parts and wrapped them individually in boxes. He sank each box in a different body of water-rivers, lakes and oceans. We were safe. No one would ever find us out.
But Tomasina, doctor, Tomasina. She hasn't spoken a word since that day. Not one word. And she's given no indication that she can hear or see since. Tomasina's been totally deaf, dumb and blind and it's all my fault. It's all my fault! I did it to her!
I'm sorry. I'm sorry I got so upset. I mean, it isn't my fault. I never wanted anything like this to happen. I'd cut off my arms and legs for my baby to regain her lost senses. I'd give a king's ransom just to hear a single word pass her lips.
My God! I never intended to tell you all of this. It's just that it's been bottled up inside of me for so long I couldn't contain it any longer. Especially in light of what I found out. It's so easy for people to take advantage of Tomasina because she's so helpless. That's what I came to see you about. What happened to my child in the hands of Uncle Ernie.
We knew that he'd had a little too much to drink, but we decided it would be alright to leave her with him anyway. Uncle Ernie drank a lot, but he always seemed to know what he was doing. I guess he knew what he was doing all right. I guess he had it all planned. That's why he was so willing to watch Tomasina for us in the first place.
I was never so shocked in my life as I was when I came home and found what I found. It was really incredible!
I walked into Tomasina's room to see if she was sleeping. I was wondering where Uncle Ernie was when we couldn't find him downstairs. My husband suggested that he had probably conked out in our bedroom. So I went to check on Tomasina before going in to wake him up.
I opened the door to a shocking, horrible sight! Tomasina was naked and tied up with masses and masses of twiny rope. Her arms were twisted and tied behind her back. Her ankles were bound. There wasn't a stitch of clothing on her young tender pink body.
Tomasina was staring blankly at the ceiling. Her body was shivering and trembling. There was an enema sticking in her ass. I could see the leaking bag on the bed attached to the tube which was shoved up her ass.
But the worst of it was that Uncle Ernie was also naked. He was on top of Tomasina, pumping his big fat dick in and out of my poor helpless child's pussy. The hot male meat rammed in and out of Tomasina's battered pussy hole.
Uncle Ernie's big quivering strong male body was pressing down upon the slender lithe body of my fifteen year old deaf, dumb and blind daughter. While he rammed her furiously with his big thick hot pulsing dick, he shoved the enema tube way up her ass, twisting and digging it in. I could tell from the look on Tomasina's face that she was in great pain.
Uncle Ernie continued to ram my daughter while I stood aghast in the doorway. I was so stunned that I was paralyzed with disbelief. I could do nothing but stand there and watch for a full five minutes.
Uncle Ernie was digging his red-hot filthy cock in and out of Tomasina's poor shuddering pussy. I could see the blood dripping from her recently virgin cunt. The big pumping dick banged in and out of her.
Uncle Ernie was taking the enema tube and thrusting it in and out of Tomasina's raw tattered ass. He twisted it, thrusting in time to the rhythm of his hot ramming cock. Tomasina appeared motionless, unaware of what was happening to her, but there were tears in her eyes.
I wanted to kill him. I started to shriek like a mad woman. My husband heard me and quickly came running up the stairs. But Uncle Ernie was so hot and frantic that he didn't even notice we were home until my husband pulled him out of Tomasina's pussy. He beat him to a pulp.
Uncle Ernie was a bit embarrassed about being found out, but he wasn't even sorry for what he had done. He said that Tomasina had a nice hot twat that shouldn't be allowed to go to waste, even though she was deaf, dumb and blind. My husband told him to get out and never show his face again if he liked being alive. Uncle Ernie quickly left and has not been heard from since.
Doctor, that's why I brought Tomasina to see you. It's impossible to tell how the brutal attack may have affected her because no one can communicate to her. I don't know what to do. I'm afraid she may be suffering terribly and no once can know about it. She can't even talk to us to relieve her mind of its torment. I don't know what to do, doctor. Can't you help her?
INTERVIEW TWO
The story of Tomasina's hysterical deaf, dumb and blind condition and the horrors perpetrated upon her by the wicked Uncle Ernie really grabbed my sympathies. I was determined to cure the girl of her affliction.
When I told Tomasina's mother that I was not concerned with the after-effects of the brutal and violent incestuous rape, but rather with removing the block which prevented the normal functioning of her ears, eyes, and tongue, the mother's face lit up with hope.
"Dr. Lamb," she said, "we'd lost hope years ago. Please don't promise something you can't deliver. We've been disappointed so many times."
I assured the woman that I knew I could cure Tomasina. It was only a matter of time until I could get through to her. The woman looked at me as if I were hopelessly naive. She wrung her hands and tears glistened in her eyes.
"Doctor, what can I say? Of course, I want you to try anything you think of. But we've been trying for years. And it's been so frustrating since that doctor told us it was not a physical impairment. I try desperately to get through to Tomasina. Sometimes I'll talk to her, plead with her, beg her to respond to me. But all she ever does is stare at herself in the mirror."
I informed the woman that I found the fact about the mirror very interesting. She explained that wjien the doctor had checked Tomasina to discover the nature of her disorder, he had given the child a mirror. Ever since, Tomasina had been fascinated with her own reflection. Tomasina's mother said she was sure that Tomasina could see herself.
I found that very interesting. I gently pulled Tomasina from the chair upon which she was seated and led her to my storage closet. I opened the door to reveal a long shiny mirror hanging on the inner door. I placed Tomasina in front of it.
Sure enough, Tomasina stared at her own reflection in the mirror. There was a strange glow in her eyes as she studied herself. I called her name, but she didn't acknowledge me. I turned her face towards me, but there was no glimmer of recognition in her eyes. The only time she appeared to be seeing was when she was staring at her own reflection in the mirror.
Tomasina's distraught mother was at the end of her rope. She could stand it no longer. She ran up to Tomasina and grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her head so that Tomasina was forced to look at her. But Tomasina didn't appear to see her.
"You don't answer my call with a nod or wink, but you gaze at your own reflection alright," she angrily said. "You don't seem to see me but I think you can see yourself--how can the mirror affect you?"
Tomasina's face was nothing but blank. She was completely oblivious to her mother. Her mother lost her temper and became enraged.
"Listen to me," she screamed. "Do you hear me, or do I smash the mirror?"
No response. The mother repeated the threat.
"Did you hear what I said? Acknowledge me-I know you can see. You see yourself in the mirror! Answer me, Tomasina, or I'll smash that mirror."
Tomasina gave no indication that she heard or saw her mother. The frustrated woman lost control of herself. She picked up a large heavy paperweight that was on my desk and flung it upon the mirror.
The glass shattered with a loud crashing noise. Chips of the mirror flew all over the room. Tomasina's mother was trembling, with rage, but with the shock of her own action too.
I watched with interest as the expression on Tomasina's face changed. There was a glimmer of recognition flickering in her eye. She started blinking and clearing her throat.
We stared at her, Tomasina's mother and I. We could scarcely believe it. It appeared that the girl was going to speak. It was a miracle.
I'm free, I'm free. Mother, doctor, do you understand me? I'm free. If I told you what it takes to reach the highest high, you'd laugh and say nothing's that simple, but it's true. What you consider to have been my affliction has been my deepest blessing.
I can't begin to tell you of the wondrous sensations that flickered through my body, undisturbed by any other interfering inferior sense. I stared at myself in the mirror because I knew that everything must come from within me.
Everything is in within me, all of it. All the answers that everybody, including doctors like you, is searching for, came from within my own being. I was locked inside myself, had nothing but my own sensations and feelings to go by. From myself and no other, I got the story.
I know something that most people don't know. Most people don't go through what I've been through. I have a special insight, a special light, into the heart of things. Now that I've been cured, I can do the world a lot of good.
Mother, doctor, you must help me spread the word. I must go around the world, telling the people. They must follow my teachings if they are to be helped. They must discover what I have discovered the way I have discovered it. They must plug up their ears, eyes and mouths. They must play pin ball. They must stare at themselves in the mirror. It is only then that they will be able to perceive the truth.
CONCLUSION
Tomasina emerged from herself in a very disturbed state of mind. Being deprived of any other stimulation but that of the workings of her own mind, Tomasina had come to certain conclusions uninfluenced by the teachings of others. She learned the technique of trusting oneself only in a sure-fire manner.
However, instead of recommending that others find the light by listening to the workings of their own minds, Tomasina expects them to listen to her. She plans to travel around the world, preaching her doctrine of enlightenment.
A few days after Tomasina's wondrous miracle cure, her mother phoned to say that Tomasina had already convinced a bunch of her pinball buddies to become her disciples. They intended to follow her around the world as she struggled to convert the unenlightened masses.
Tomasina's mother informed me that the publicity Tomasina had received as a result of her cure, as well as her reputation for being a pinball whiz, had enabled her to receive substantial financial offers for touring and lecturing around the world. She plans to open a Holiday Camp for the training and conversion of those who wish to become disciples. She says that anyone at all is invited to join her organization.
Tomasina has hired Uncle Ernie to run the camp for her. She claims that the wild sensations he evoked in her body helped lead her to the path of enlightenment. Tomasina will continue to tour the world in search of more and more disciples while Uncle Ernie takes care of matters at the Holiday Camp.
Although I feel that Tomasina is suffering from delusions of grandeur, I have agreed to act as psychological adviser to her organization. I feel the good to be done by far outweighs the bad.
(Editor's note: Dr. Lamb has signed a contract with Tomasina's organization. It is agreed that he will receive ten percent of all net profits.)
CASE HISTORY FOUR
Subject: Carl Age: Fourteen
INTERVIEW ONE
Carl was a good-looking boy with a very mature body for a boy of his years. I immediately noticed the huge bulge in his crotch, so outstanding was his male organ. He was wearing tight jeans which showed his body off to perfection.
Carl had been sent to see me by his mother, who had discovered that he had been sleeping with his older sister, aged nineteen. The mother had been appalled to find them in the tub one night, giggling as they gave each other enemas.
Doctor, I'm really upset that my mother is making me come to see you. I don't think what I do is anybody's business but my own, except the person I do it with. It's not like me and my sister didn't know what we were doing. We knew all about it and decided to go on with it anyway.
My mother says that now I have to suffer the consequences. But there would be no consequences if she didn't make such a big deal over it.
One good thing, though, is that she's afraid to tell my father. He would beat my sister to a pulp if he ever found out. I mean, my sister told my mother that she seduced me and that it wasn't the other way around. My mother had been horrified, but my sister just laughed.
I don't know what to say about it. I know you must think we're weird or something. But to tell you the truth, I thought my sister was sick when she first suggested it. It wasn't something that happened all of a sudden, either. It had been building for a long time.
I have always looked older than I really am, ever since I was a little kid. Me and my sister were always close-best friends, really, even though she's five years older than me.
Melissa, that's her name, told me about sex when I was ten years old. She didn't just come out of nowhere and say it-I asked a bunch of questions and she just told me the truth. My mother was very upset when she found out. She thought that Melissa had put a lot of disturbing thoughts in my mind that I was too young to understand. But actually, all Melissa did was explain things to me. She really cleared up a lot of questions.
I started having erections at a very early age. By the time I was twelve, I had a full grown cock. Unless, of course, it gets even bigger. But I noticed that women stared at me wherever I went.
My mother used to yell at me for wearing tight pants, but I liked the way it looked. I like looking sexy. I like driving women wild wherever I go. It gives me thrills. It makes me feel powerful.
Melissa was always telling me how sexy I was. She was always admiring my body, telling me that I should go out and get laid. She was sure I could do it, even though I was so young. Melissa was certain that I would have a wonderful sex life.
She was right. I really appreciated the way she encouraged me. I screwed the first time when I was thirteen, last year. It was this girl I went to school with. She wanted it as much as I did. Melissa did a lot to show me that the inhibitions society places on sex are absurd when you think of the reality.
I mean, why shouldn't kids have sex? Adults are like that, you know. They think that only they have the right to have a good time. like, we're not supposed to smoke or drink or fuck, even though they do it. They tell us that we're too young. But hell, we have the same desires that they do.
Melissa once said to me that since nature makes us sexually mature at adolescence, we should be allowed to fuck. She said that we can't help the fact that we feel horny and that there was nothing wrong in relieving our horniness. She said that I just had to make sure I didn't get anybody pregnant or pick up a disease. I thought it was good advice and I tried to follow it.
I don't fuck that much because most girls I know are still virgins and they want to stay that way. I think the whole thing is stupid, but Melissa told me never to try and get a girl to fuck me when she didn't want to. At first, I didn't see why I shouldn't, but then I tried it one time and the girl began to cry hysterically. I never tried it again.
It was Melissa's idea for us to sleep together, not mine. I mean, I was more liberal when it came to sex than most people I knew, but some things still shocked me. When Melissa actually started doing the things she did to me, I was horrified.
But that's getting ahead of myself. I should tell you about all the sexual vibrations that existed between Melissa and me beneath the surface of our relationship. It had to be there-we were both very preoccupied with sex.
Melissa had a great attitude about sex. She looked at it like a guy looks at it. She would tell me all about the guys she had fucked. The first time she did it was really something. She told me that the guy didn't want to fuck her when he found out that she was a virgin.
But Melissa had been trying to get fucked for the longest time. She said it took her a while to find a guy she wanted to fuck. Melissa said she would never fuck anyone unless he aroused a passion in her or unless she was so horny that she couldn't resist. But she insisted that she would never fuck somebody she didn't like, no matter how horny she was.
Anyway, Melissa got fucked when she was sixteen. She met this guy in the park and he tried to seduce her. She said that at first, she had no intentions of fucking him because she didn't like him. But the longer she talked to him, the more she began to like him. After a while, she said she was mad with passion for him.
Melissa said that when he invited her to go back to his apartment with him, she had no doubts whatsoever. They were kissing and making out in the park and she was horny as hell. Melissa wanted to fuck and she wanted to fuck this guy in particular. It was what she had been waiting for ever since she was fourteen, she told me.
Melissa went back to this guy's apartment with him. She was nervous because she knew that he didn't think she was a virgin. For one thing, Melissa looks older than she is. She's also very mature for her age. And her uninhibited attitude towards sex immediately gave the impression that she had been around.
Melissa was embarrassed that she would do something wrong. After all, reading about sex and talking about sex are very different from actually having sex. You didn't really know anything about it until you did it. And Melissa was determined to do it.
She decided that she would have to tell him the truth-that she was still a virgin. Melissa was embarrassed to admit it, but she figured that she should never be embarrassed by the truth. She also figured that he would show her a better time if he knew all the facts. Melissa was determined to tell him.
She thought of letting him find out for himself. She considered just hopping into the bed with him and letting him play it by ear. He would find out that she was a virgin when it was too late for him to do anything about it He would bust her cherry and then he would know.
But Melissa said that would have been the chicken way out. She told me that she didn't want to have to worry about his reaction when he found out while she was fucking. She said that she wanted to relax and think of nothing but sexual pleasure.
Melissa paused as he took her in his arms when they arrived at his apartment.
"Wait," she said, "I've got something to tell you."
"What is it?" he said, a quizzical look on his face.
I guess he must have thought it was a strange time to make confessions.
"I'm a virgin," said Melissa. She said it softly, waiting to see his reaction.
"You're kidding," he said, smiling strangely, pulling away.
Melissa told me that she didn't know what to do. She could tell that it made a difference to him. She had thought he might be surprised and wonder what was wrong with her, but she never thought that he would change his mind about fucking her.
Then Melissa decided that she wanted to get fuck and this was ridiculous.
"Well, don't let it bother you," she told him, a bit miffed that it made a difference.
The guy looked at her, surprised and puzzled. He didn't know what to do. Melissa told me that it seemed to her like he was trying to decide whether or not it would be right to fuck her or not.
Melissa suddenly burst into laughter. His whole dilemma seemed absurd to her. What the fuck was so precious about a virgin's cherry that a guy would be reluctant to take it from her?
She patted him on the back.
"Well, come on," she said, smiling at him. "It's alright."
He hesitated just a moment and then he took her in his arms. Melissa said they went at it for hours. She still says he was the best guy she ever fucked, in terms of sexual prowess, even though she's fucked lots more since. She said he moved his cock around in her like a thick wonderful finger. She said she never knew any other guy to have such fabulous control.
"What a way to begin!" she would sigh, whenever we talked about it. We talked about sex a lot. Then Melissa would start to laugh. "I was into sex right from the beginning. I had no hang-ups at all. In fact, I was so uninhibited that he kept asking me if I was sure I was a virgin. And he wasn't kidding either. I mean, I didn't bleed or feel my cherry pop, or anything. Never, not in all the times I've fucked. I must have been born without one or something. I mean, the first time I fucked I felt all pleasure and no pain. But I wasn't afraid of the pain--I knew it would be worth it."
That should give you an idea, doctor, of how Melissa looked at sex. She used to complain about all these guys who would become emotionally attached to her just because she would sleep with them. Not that Melissa is a cold person, but sex was very important to her. And sex had nothing to do with love.
Me and Melissa would flirt all the time. Nothing very spectacular. We would say things to each other in a joking manner, like, "you can suck my cock," (I said that one, not Melissa) and look at each other with fire in our eyes.
We would touch each other a lot, put our arms around each other's waist. I even used to kiss her with my mouth open--a habit, I guess. A very pleasurable habit, I can tell you. Melissa used to giggle and sigh with satisfaction. We played at being sexually daring with each other without really getting into the real thing.
Melissa had this boyfriend for a while and then she broke up with him. She wasn't fucking anybody. There were guys around that wanted to fuck her, but she said they didn't turn her on. She said she liked her men to be daring and aggressive, not just horny. She liked them to have personality. Then she laughed and said that I had more personality than any guy she had met in the past three months.
I was flattered. Me and Melissa always fed each other's ego, but we always meant what we said. I knew she thought I was sexy and I thought she was sexy. But I never thought about fucking her-I mean, you just weren't supposed to fuck your sister. Your sister was your sister.
But Melissa had other ideas. One night, when my parents went away, Melissa came into my room. She smiled and threw a joint on my bed. I laughed with delight.
"Where did you get this?" I asked, pleased.
"I bought an ounce," she told me.
My face lit up with glee. I didn't have any money and I couldn't afford to buy much pot. But whenever Melissa had any, she was very generous with it.
"Why don't you light it?" Melissa suggested, as she headed for the stereo.
I lit the joint, smoking until Melissa had returned. She had put on the Rolling Stones. They're very sexy, in case you don't know what they sound like. Anyway, I hadn't gotten laid in a long time and I started to get very horny. It must have been that I was just doing my exercises. Whatever it was, my cock was tingling.
Melissa sat down next to me and took the joint from my hand. She smoked it and passed it back to me. We sat on the bed together, smoking the joint until it was all gone. Every inch of me tingled with a buzzing desire.
"Oh," I moaned, complaining, "I'm so horny."
"Me too," agreed Melissa. "How long has it been since you've fucked?"
"Oh, about four months, I guess," I replied. like I told you, it was hard to find girls my age who were willing to fuck. "What about you?"
"Not since I broke up with Warren," Melissa replied.
"I don't understand why you just don't fuck one of those other guys, even if they are losers. Fuck them and leave them," I said.
"It's no fun that way," Melissa insisted. "I want to admire the guy I fuck. I want to know that he has the same attitude toward sex as I do."
"That makes sense," I agreed.
We sat there for about twenty minutes, smiling at each other and listening to music. Melissa later told me that the idea came to her all of a sudden, right then and there. She told me she had thought about it before, but never seriously. She said she always admitted the possibility that it might happen, but never really thought that it would. As it turned out, she was wrong. Melissa saw to it that it did happen.
INTERVIEW TWO
I was sitting there, thinking about things. Fucking Melissa was the furthest thing from my mind. Suddenly, I felt her put her arm around me. I looked up at her and smiled.
"Carl," she said, in a low seductive voice.
"Yeah?"
Melissa didn't answer. She bent down and kissed me. Just like that. It was no sisterly kiss either. She opened up her mouth and stuck her tongue inside of mine. Before I realized what was happening, I found I was instinctively responding to her advances.
She was a fantastic kisser. She really drove me wild with her hot sucking tongue. Melissa thrust her tongue inside my mouth, whipping and exploring my hot inner mouth flesh.
I pressed my burning lips against hers. She was kissing me with everything in her. I had this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. I didn't know what I should do. I couldn't make up my mind if I wanted to continue or push her away from me. I wasn't uninhibited at all. I kissed her, but I held a lot back. I really let her kiss me more than kiss her back at all.
But Melissa just kept right on going. She slid her hot sucking mouth down to my neck. She ran her licking tongue all over my sensitive throat, making me tingle with thrilling delight. That scared me because I started to want to fuck her.
I knew that I shouldn't do it. I knew I would be sorry afterwards. I knew I would be embarrassed that I had fucked my own sister. But I didn't stop. I didn't do anything. I just-let Melissa call all the shots.
Melissa moved slowly, but I knew where she was headed. I let her take me there. I didn't go along with her side-by-side, but I followed her lead. Melissa pulled off my T-shirt and began to sensuously stroke my chest.
She was really horny. She was red-hot and steaming. She was itching to go. I knew she wouldn't stop for anything. She covered my nipples with her hot sucking mouth, taking in flesh like a vacuum. Hot thrilling shivers of desire ran up and down my spine.
Melissa was panting and going crazy all over me. She pulled down my zipper in a frenzy of lust. I felt the thrill of doing something very illicit as she grabbed my cock in her hand and squeezed.
"What a cock!" she muttered, as she brought her lips to it.
Melissa showered kisses all over the long meaty rod. Then she took it in her mouth and she began to lick and suck. I could feel her wet sucking mouth working my male flesh to a frenzy of excitement. Hot throbs of desire began to well in my dick.
All of a sudden, I made my decision. So what if Melissa was my sister? So what if other people thought we weren't supposed to fuck. I was horny and she was horny and she was the most experienced female I knew. She could take me to the heavens with her wild unrestrained sexual knowledge. She really knew what to do with my thick male meat in her mouth. She sucked me like I had never been sucked before.
Up until now, I had not done anything assertive. I had let her do anything she wanted, but I had not joined in the action. Well, things changed. I was nervous when I did it, but I put my hand on Melissa's tit, cupping the big soft round globe with my hand. Her tit was so big and voluptuous that I couldn't get my hand over all of it.
Melissa giggled with glee as I felt her boobs. I could tell that she was glad that I was getting into it. And once I started, I went all the way.
It happened gradually, but soon I was feeling and touching Melissa as if she was any other girl and not my own sister. I forgot all about the fact that she was my sister. All I knew was that this sexy voluptuous girl was driving me crazy with desire.
I pushed up Melissa's blouse and felt her wonderful bare jugs. They were hot and jiggling as I squeezed her big round nipples with my fingers. They were firm but pliant as I moved them around in my fingers, feeling all the wonderful bumps.
I seized Melissa's mouth with my lips, frantically kissing her with my wet hot tongue. Sharp pangs of thrilling desire seized my cock. It throbbed and burned with lustful excitement. My own sister was driving me crazy, crazier than anybody had ever done. It was so exciting.
Melissa let go of my cock. It had gotten hard in her mouth as she frantically sucked it. It was leaking sex juices as she worked it over, licking it with her wonderful hot tongue. But then she let it drop from her lips.
"Listen," she whispered in my ear, in a throaty sensual tone, "Let's do it in the tub."
"What?" I asked.
"Trust me," she said, getting up and pulling me off the bed.
I followed Melissa to the bathroom. I thought she was crazy but it really turned me on. I figured she knew what she was doing-she had been around. So I let her call all the shots.
When we got to the bathroom, Melissa started to take off all her clothes. I went wild when I saw her sexy voluptuous body. Hot shivers went up and down my spine as I saw her big swaying tits and her furry pubic patch. I was aching to stick my cock in her. But Melissa wasn't ready.
"Hurry, take off your clothes," she said, "while I get ready."
"Get ready?" I said.
But Melissa didn't hear me. She opened up the cabinet underneath the sink and pulled out an enema. She put the bag under the faucet and began to fill it. I watched her in surprise. I was so surprised that I stopped taking off my pants even though they were midway down my legs.
"What are you doing?"
Melissa turned around and smiled. The running faucet was still filling the enema bag.
"I'm going to show you something you'll love, Carl. Believe me, you'll love it."
I started to laugh. Love an enema? She had to be kidding! My mother used to give me those things when I was a little kid. I hated them!
"Melissa, I hate enemas," I insisted.
She laughed.
"Well, you won't when I get through with you," Melissa replied.
I decided to give it a go. Considering what I was doing, committing incest with my sister, an enema seemed tame to me. I decided to let her do whatever she wanted. I continued taking off my clothes.
I stripped completely naked. She gazed at my smooth soft body with delight. My cock stood up, erect and proud. It bulged in front of me, long and thick, pulsing with desire. Melissa licked her lips.
"I can't wait to fuck you," she said, shutting off the faucet.
Melissa took the bag and adjusted something so that the water wouldn't spill. Then she hung it on a hook that was in the shower. She pointed to the tub.
"Get in," she said, pointing to the tub.
I looked at her as if I were dubious, which I was, but I did what she said. I climbed into the tub. I sat down.
"Lay on your stomach," she ordered.
I started to giggle, but I did it. Melissa took her fingers and stuck them in the crack of my ass. She ran her pointy nails up and down the lining of my ass crack. It gave me hot shivers of delight when she did that. My cock quivered and throbbed with desire.
I felt Melissa spread apart the cheeks of my ass with her fingers. She took the enema tube and inserted it in my ass. I could feel the cold plastic chafe my hot ass flesh as she shoved it inside.
The tube went all the way up my ass. I had never felt anything up my ass before, not even a girl's fingers. It was the most thrilling thing you can imagine. It was a lot different than when my mother used to give me enemas, I can tell you that.
Melissa turned on the pressure and the cold sink water went spraying up my ass in cool refreshing streams. I could feel every inch of my inner ass flesh tingle and buzz with desire as Melissa playfully poked around with the enema tube up my ass-hole. She had put it in deep, so far that it reached a piece of shit stuck up in my ass. I knew that I was going to have to go.
"Melissa," I said, laughing, "I'm going to have to go to the bathroom."
"You'll just have to hold it until we're finished," she told me.
I laughed at the matter-of-fact way she said it. Melissa joined me in the tub, still holding on to the enema tube, thrusting it in and out of my ass.
"How'd you like a cock in there?" she asked.
"Don't get funny," I told her.
"I'm not," she replied. "I mean, I like cocks up my ass, why shouldn't you? It just feels good."
"That makes sense," I agreed. But right now, all I had up my ass was that thrilling spraying enema tube that my sister kept moving around in me. It was driving me crazy.
Melissa pushed me over on my side, taking my huge throbbing male meat in her hands. She pulled it to her pussy, frantically clutching at it with her wild cunt muscles. She put the tip of my cock right inside her pussy, past her creamy fleshy lips. I was wild with excitement.
Melissa was right about the enema. It was filling my ass with thrilling pangs of wild dizzy sensation. I had never been so hot in my life! My cock had never been so ready to burst wide open! I couldn't wait to enter her.
I mustered up force and thrust my big splitting dick right into her. I shoved it in her good and hard. I knew Melissa would like it that way. She always told me that the rougher a guy was, the better she liked him. I banged my cock into her with everything I had.
Melissa went crazy. She clutched my pulsing member frantically with her contracting hot cunt muscles. She was an expert at fucking, I swear. She rocked her hips, wriggling and writhing, just the right way to make me wild.
My cock was red-hot and sizzling.
I pumped in and out of her. Fucking with the enema in my ass was tremendous. I could hardly believe it, but it was true. The cool streaming spray was providing my twitching ass with all sorts of incredible delights. My whole bottom was buzzing, right from my tingling cock as it rammed in and out of Melissa's hole to my tingling ass cheeks. It was the greatest fuck of my life.
Then it happened. It was horrible. My mother came home and found us. Right there in the bathtub. I'll never forget the way she shrieked with horror. She had had a fight with my father and walked out of the movie. She took a cab home. I'll never forget the way she screamed when she found us.
I don't know which horrified her more--the incest or the enema. I think it was about equal. I was almost about to come and I was banging into Melissa like a rocket taking off. I was ramming her at the speed of light. What a time for my mother to walk in!
"Oh shit," I whispered to Melissa, as I quickly pulled out of her. I had this horrible sinking feeling.
"What's the matter?" moaned Melissa. "Don't stop," she begged.
"Melissa, you're disgusting," gasped my mother.
Melissa turned around. She was horrified to find my mother standing there, gaping at us. I began to feel very embarrassed. I looked at Melissa. Her face was all red. I could tell she was trying very hard not to panic. This was definitely not going to be easy to get out of. This was something my mother just wouldn't overlook.
Melissa climbed out of the tub and reached for her clothes, which were strewn on the bathroom floor. She quickly put them on. I was worried about her. I could tell that my mother was mad at her and not mad at me. I think she thought that Melissa had been taking advantage of me.
Melissa stood before my mother. She was trembling, but she looked her straight in the eye.
"Melissa," said my mother, "I was shocked when I found your birth control pills, but this is beyond belief! Good Lord! Your own brother! How could you?"
My mother began to choke, trying to hold back her sobs. Melissa groaned. This whole thing was one big fat mess. I quickly got out of the tub, trying to discreetly pull the enema out of my ass. But my mother noticed.
"Did you put that thing in him?" my mother angrily screamed at Melissa. "Did you do that perverse thing to your own little brother? Melissa, he's just a baby!"
My mother started to cry. It was just awful. She was heaving these great big sobs. I wanted to just crawl in a hole and die.
"Ma, Ma," I said, "don't cry. She didn't hurt me."
I had grabbed a towel from the rack and put it around my body. I didn't want to stand naked in front of my mother. I didn't want to remind her of what she had just seen. But she didn't need a reminder.
"Carl!" she cried. "How could she make you do such a thing?"
"She didn't make me, I did it willingly," I insisted.
My mother glared angrily at my sister.
"You're very sick, young lady, very sick. I knew you were a slut and a tramp. I knew you let any guy who wanted dig his prick into you. But I never would have thought in a million years that you would try to get your brother to be just as sick as you are. I thought you loved him. But now I see that you don't love anyone but yourself."
"Ma!" cried Melissa, as my mother turned to walk out of the room. "You don't understand!"
My mother paused.
"There is nothing to understand," she said, "except for the fact that you're a sick disgusting girl. You should be put away somewhere. I want you out of my house this instant. I don't want you near that child."
So Melissa isn't living at home any more. My mother refuses to have anything to do with her. She told my father that she and Melissa had had a terrible fight, but she refused to tell him what it was about. My mother insists she never wants to see Melissa again.
I kept telling my mother that Melissa hadn't done anything wrong-at least, that if what we had done was wrong, we deserved to share the blame equally. But my mother kept insisting that I was a child and that Melissa was old enough to know better. There was nothing I could say to change her mind.
Melissa called me to let me know where she was. I was very worried about her. She said that she had tried calling me a couple of times before, but that my mother had answered so she had hung up.
My mother wanted me to see you because I keep saying that there's nothing wrong with Melissa. I keep explaining that what we did is not such a big deal. I keep begging my mother to let Melissa come home. But Melissa says she never wants to come home. But she doesn't have that much money. I'm very worried about her.
CONCLUSION
Carl is a very disturbed youngster. He became very angry when I refused to take his side against his mother. I told him that his sister was indeed a very disturbed young woman and that she had been a corrupting influence on his young and impressionable mind.
I recommended to Carl's mother that he continue to see me on a regular basis. I also recommended that she forgive her daughter and try to help her. I suggested that I could work with the girl and get her to see the error of her ways.
It is unfortunate that sexual perversion is so horrifying to some people that it would prevent them from seeking help for their own children. Carl's mother remains adamant in her insistence that she never wants to see Melissa again as long as she lives.
Melissa will never receive the help she so desperately needs. Chances are, she will end up a victim of her own deranged sexuality. I wouldn't be surprised if she was found murdered one night in a shabby hotel room, an enema wrapped tightly around her neck.
CASE HISTORY FIVE
Subject: Bernice Age: Seventeen
INTERVIEW ONE
Bernice was a very attractive well-built young girl. She had long flowing chestnut hair and a voluptuous figure. She seemed nervous as she sat down and I had to encourage her to tell me what she had come to see me about.
Doctor, I don't know where to begin. It's so horrible I'm ashamed for anybody to know. I mean, I don't understand how my own father could do something like that to me.
I came to see you because I don't know what to do about it. I'm frightened to go home. I mean, I haven't been home since it happened. I've been staying at a friend's house for the past three days. That's when it happened. Last Tuesday night.
I don't know what to say to my mother. How can I tell her something like that? She loves my father so much. I don't even know if she'll believe me. I mean, if I was her, I'd find it hard to believe. I'd find it impossible.
I would have never imagined that my father was capable of doing such a thing. I mean, it's not. like we were close or anything. As a matter-of-fact, I really never liked him much. I always thought he was jealous whenever my mother paid me any attention.
When I was eight years old I found out that my parents got married because my mother had gotten pregnant with me. I'm an only child. It was really a shocking thing for an eight-year-old to find out. I mean, I really didn't understand about how babies were conceived. I couldn't understand how my mother could get pregnant without being married.
I tried asking her about it one day. Not right away. I mean, I know how my mother is. She tries to avoid things she doesn't like. Somehow, I sensed this was something she would avoid.
But this was something about me. I just couldn't stop thinking about it. It preyed on my mind and then I decided to question her about it. She would have to tell me--I had a right to know. I mean, it was about me. It was my right to know about myself.
But I had a sneaking suspicion that my mother would just ignore the subject no matter how much I insisted that I had a right to know. But it was worth a try. I had nothing to lose.
But my mother acted just like I thought she would. She wouldn't tell me a thing. She turned pale when I showed her the letter and pointed out the telling lines. She turned white like a ghost.
"Where did you get that?" she asked.
"I found it in the attic, with a bunch of pictures," I replied. "But it doesn't matter where I found it, I found it. And I want to know what it means. I thought ladies couldn't have babies unless they were married."
My mother stood speechless. I didn't understand it at the time, but now I realize she was stuck in a corner. I mean, she wanted to bring me up so that I wouldn't make the same mistake that she had, but she knew she couldn't tell me that ladies could get pregnant without being married. Because once she did that, she would have to tell me all about sex and she thought I was too young to know.
I also think that my mother was afraid that I would lose respect for her if she admitted that she had had sex before she was married. When I grew older, I realized that my father threw it up to her every time they had a fight. He would call her a lousy slut and a tramp and say that she had tricked him into marrying her. I don't think my father ever knew that I had found that letter.
But when I was old enough to learn the facts of life, I understood perfectly about how I had been conceived. But I wanted more information-I mean, I'd always thought that my parents had a strange relationship. I wondered what it was like before they were married. I wanted to know. I just had to know.
I asked an aunt of mine about it one time. Aunt Barbara. She's my mother's older sister. But she's not anything like my mother. I mean, I love my mother more than anybody in the whole world because she's my mother, but I think I would have had a better childhood if Aunt Barbara had been my mother instead. She was a lot easier to talk to. She didn't try to evade me. I was thirteen years old at the time. Aunt Barbara had a house in the country. I used to go spend one week with her every summer. She was a spinster-I really hate that word-I mean, it has connotations that don't fit Aunt Barbara at all.
Aunt Barbara is a real lively person. I mean, she leads a much fuller life than any other woman I've ever known. The image of a lonely shy wallflower just doesn't fit her.
That time when I asked her about how my parents met and got together and stuff, we had a long talk about sex. She told me that she had lots of lovers. When I found out about sex, my mother told me that I must never, never do it until I got married or I would ruin my whole life.
I thought that was a strange thing for her to say. I thought about it for days-I mean, did my mother forget about that time I had asked her about the letter? Didn't she know that I was old enough to realize that she had had sex with my father before they were married? What was she telling me?
Maybe my mother was saying that her life had been ruined. But that didn't make any sense! She was always telling me about how she loved my father. She was always saying that she didn't know what she would do without him. And if premarital sex hadn't ruined her life, why was she so certain that it would ruin mine? It just didn't make any sense.
I asked Aunt Barbara all of this. She smiled kindly at me and told me she would try to explain.
"Bernice," she said, "your mother has a lot of ideas that don't make any sense, at least not to me. You want to know how your parents got together?"
I nodded. She smiled.
"Then I'll tell you," Aunt Barbara replied. "But it's a long story."
"I want to hear everything," I told her.
"Okay. I'll start at the beginning. I'm only two years older than your mother. I really don't know how we turned out so different, but we did. I mean, I was always sure of myself and independent and your mother was always shy and clinging."
"What was Grandma like?" I asked.
My grandmother had died when I was a little kid and I really didn't remember anything about her.
"She was a strong woman," Aunt Barbara replied. "I think your mother might have felt that she had to compete with me. Not that I ever tried to make her feel like that. I think it just happened. And I think she sensed that I was our mother's favorite.
"Anyway, to continue about your parents, I had been dating this one boy for about a year. Your mother was seventeen at the time. She had never had a boyfriend. I didn't tell her that the reason I had so many was that I slept with them. If our mother had ever found that out, she would have killed me.
"Your mother met your father after this one boy she had liked told her that he wanted her to introduce him to me. She introduced us, and we ran off to Europe together six months later. Your mother still had a crush on him and she was very upset.
"When I returned, your mother had already met your father so I don't know much about their early relationship. They were already dating steadily.
"Maybe I shouldn't tell you this, but your father once made a pass at me. Your mother wouldn't sleep with him and he knew about my reputation. But of course, I rejected his advances. I wouldn't have been interested in him even if he wasn't my sister's boyfriend. He just wasn't my type. I always thought he was too domineering.
"But your mother must have liked it because she was madly in love with him. I remember how her eyes used to sparkle as she dressed for a date with him. I didn't understand what she saw in him, but I was glad that she was so happy.
"I don't know why your mother slept with your father. She never talked about it. I didn't find out until she suddenly eloped and I put two and two together. When she immediately became pregnant, I knew I had hit the nail right on the head.
"I tried to get her to talk to me about it, but she got very angry. She was ashamed and refused to admit that you had been conceived before she was born. I don't know about that letter you found. Maybe it was written in one of the rare times your mother let her hair down. I was surprised when you told me about it. I didn't think she had ever admitted it to anybody. I don't know who the person is who you say it was addressed to, so I couldn't even begin to guess at her reasons.
"Maybe your father threatened to leave her if she didn't give in. That's the only thing I can think of, knowing your mother's character. That's one of the reasons we were never close. She didn't approve of my sex life."
Anyway, doctor, you can see how confusing it was for me. I mean, I had grown up thinking that my mother and father were a loving married couple just like every other couple.
But that was about the time I was beginning to go out with boys and I began to notice things I hadn't noticed before. like, my mother was very nervous and always wanted to know everything about the boy. She insisted on meeting them before she would let me go out with them. And more than once, she refused to let me go out with a guy just because his hair was too long or she didn't think he was neat enough. Stupid things like that. But she would never mention sex directly.
But my father, that was another story. My father wouldn't come right out and tell me what he was talking about, but he made it very clear. He told me that men were animals and that I should be very careful not to trust them. He told me that it was alright to kiss a guy goodnight on the second date and maybe hold his hand, but that if the guy tried to touch me in any other way, I should tell him to get lost. He said I should tell guys like that that my father would beat the hell out of them.
It was funny, but my father didn't take such an interest in my dating situation until I began to develop physically. I would notice him staring at my tits as they blossomed into fullness. I would catch him staring at my curved hips and slender waist. He would always avert his eyes really quick, like he didn't want me to know he was looking.
But sometimes, I would catch him staring at me when he would be so lost in something that he wouldn't even realize that I had noticed his penetrating glance. My father would look at me intently, lost in a deep dream. He would always have this strange leer on his face with fire darting from his eyes. And his breathing would always seem strange.
It made me uncomfortable, although I didn't know why at the time. But I do now. I know exactly what was on my father's mind when he was looking at me like that. I know exactly what he wanted to do to me because last week he actually did it. I'm still in shock. Doctor, I still can't believe I was raped by my own father!
INTERVIEW TWO
I guess I should tell you about the event that precipitated it. I was going out with this boy I know named Ronald. I was starting to like him better than any boy I had ever known. I wasn't a virgin, for Aunt Barbara had influenced me more than my parents and my cherry was popped when I was fifteen. But Ronald had yet to make a pass. I think he was a little shy.
Anyway, last Saturday night, Ronald made his first pass. We went all the way. I don't think he expected it, but it made him very happy. Ronald is not the type of guy who loses respect for a girl just because she enjoys sex.
The next morning, when I woke up, my father was waiting for me in the living room. I could tell right away that he was angry about something because he was tapping the table with his fingers. He always does that when he's angry.
"Sit down, Bernice, I want to talk to you," he gruffly said.
I did as he told me. I knew better than to disobey my father. When I was a little kid and I did that, he used to beat me with a strap.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I've had a very interesting phone call last night," he said.
"What about?" I asked.
I was trembling. There was something in the tone of his voice that let me know he was very angry with me. Whoever had called must have told him something about me that he didn't like at all.
"It doesn't matter who called. That's not important," he said. "What is important is that you were seen in the back seat of that animal's car with your clothes off."
I gasped in horror. It was true, that's where we had done it, but I wondered who it was who had seen us and phoned my father. From the tone of his voice, I was afraid that he was going to kill Ronald.
"Don't call him an animal," I said, my voice quivering. I was always afraid of my father when he was angry. He could be so mean sometimes.
"Are you going to stick up for that boy?" screamed my father.
He stood and slapped me across the face.
"Tramp!" he cried. "Slut! Whore!"
The tears were streaming down my face. I wanted to run awayN but I was afraid that would make him even angrier. I stood there, trembling before him.
"Get to your room!" he ordered. "You're being punished. If your mother ever found out about you, it would break her heart. Do you understand me, Bernice? You are not to move from your room until you have my permission. And you are never, never, do you hear me, never to see that animal again. If I ever catch you within ten feet of him I'll tear him apart limb from limb. In fact, I don't want you going out with any boy until you learn to behave like a decent proper young lady. Is that understood? No dates until further notice."
L tearfully nodded. What else could I do? If I tried to argue with him, my father would beat the shit out of me.
But I was very unhappy. I didn't know what to do. I just couldn't give up seeing Ronald. I really liked him. He really meant a lot to me. I didn't know what I was going to do.
By Monday morning I decided that I would have to see Ronald on the sly. I would have to lie to my father and tell him I was seeing a girlfriend. I would get my friends to cover for me in case he decided to check it out. It was the only solution. I just couldn't give up seeing Ronald.
I told Ronald what happened when I saw him in school and he felt bad about it. At first, he was afraid to see me without my father's permission, but I convinced him that we should. The more I thought about the whole thing, the more I came to the conclusion that my father had no right to restrict me like that. After all, it wouldn't be long before I was eighteen.
I thought about running away from home, but Aunt Barbara was away in Europe. She had been living there for the past two years. There was no one else I could go to who would understand. I even thought about going to Europe, but I didn't have any money.
I went out with Ronald Tuesday night. When I got home, my father was waiting for me. He had really not spoken a word to me since he had found out about me and Ronald. He had just glared at me since then.
My mother wasn't at home. She was playing bridge with some friends. We both knew that she wouldn't be home until after midnight. That was the time that their game broke up. For some reason, I began to wish my mother was home the minute I walked into the door.
My father was sitting on the sofa. He didn't look angry, but there was something about the expression on his face that just wasn't right. And it was obvious that he wasn't pleased with me.
"Bernice," he said, standing up, "I'm going to teach you a lesson."
I began to shudder with fear. Can you imagine that? I was terrorized about being alone with my own father.
I don't know how I knew but I knew immediately what he was going to do to me. It must have been the way he was looking at me, his eyes roaming my body up and down, and staring at me as if I didn't have any clothes on. Or, to be more accurate, as if he wished I didn't have any clothes on. I was terrified.
I turned to run and he caught me up in his arms. I began to struggle but he smacked me and dragged me into my bedroom. He flung me on the bed and began to tear at my clothes.
"Little tramp! Little whore! Thought you could fool me, didn't you? I know you've been with that boy tonight! I know what you've been doing!"
"How did you find out?" I gasped, struggling to keep him from ripping off my clothes.
"Never mind, I found out. You filthy little slut. You want to be a slut, alright, I'll treat you like a slut then. I'll do everything to you that a tramp deserves. I'll use you for what you are--a no good piece of hot ass."
I burst into tears. His words horrified me. I could hardly believe it! My own father was going to rape me. It seemed too incredible to be true.
He tore the clothes off my struggling body. He grabbed some rope that was lying on the bed. He must have planned the whole thing before I came home. He must have planned the terrible things he was going to do to me.
I started kicking and screaming but he was too strong for me. He grabbed my arms and twisted them behind my back. He did it roughly to purposely hurt me. I could tell.
I was completely naked and shivering with fright. He tied my legs into a horrible contorted position. He pushed me flat on my back and pulled my knees up to my belly. I fought him, but he overpowered me.
He bound my knees to my belly, winding a long rope around and around me until I was tied with six or seven layers. Then he tied my ankles together.
It was the most incredible, humiliating position I had ever been in. My ass was rounded and exposed, so was my naked quivering pussy. My father had tied me so that he could get at both my holes. It was disgusting.
My tits were naked and jutting up from my body. My father looked gleefully at my shamefully exposed private parts. He lunged at my quivering globular boobs with his grabbing hands. He squeezed them brutally, twisting and pinching the nipple flesh. He was vicious. I had never known he could be that vicious.
"Is this what he did to you?" he leered. "Is this what they all did to you? Is this what you let them do to you?"
I couldn't answer. I was choking on my tears. It was absolutely degrading. I felt very humiliated. He was trying his best to make me feel like a piece of shit and he was succeeding.
"Slut!" he screamed. "You're going to-beg me to do what you begged all those other guys to do. And then I'm going to do it to you like it's never been done to you before!"
"No!" I cried. "Daddy, don't. Please don't, Daddy. How can you do this to me? How can you?"
"Beg, you slut, beg," he viciously said, an evil gleam in his eye.
He gripped my pussy with his fingers, brutally twisting the flesh. It was the most painful thing I had ever felt. He dug the ring on his finger into my cunt, pressing it sharply against my clit. The harsh metal cut into my moist tender pussy flesh.
"Beg," he said, cutting me with his ring. "I'm begging," I replied.
"Beg me! Tell me what to do!, " commanded my father, "Tell me how you want me to stick my big fat cock up your little tramp hole!"
I choked with hysterical sobs. Why was he doing this to me? Why was he trying to humiliate and degrade me so much? I didn't want him in me. I didn't want to beg him, my own father, to fuck me. I didn't say anything.
He started furiously rubbing the palm of his hand against my pussy. Hot pangs of intense desire welled up in my cunt. I just couldn't help feeling horny, the way he rubbed me there. Even though I hated every second of it.
But that was exactly what he wanted, to make me so horny that I would beg him for it. It was like my father was out to prove I was the tramp he said I was. It was like my father had to show me my sexuality in a way that was disgusting to me, like being made horny by my own father.
But I wouldn't beg him. Even though he kept trying to get me to beg him, I wouldn't. He made me so horny that I thought I would die, but I still wouldn't beg him to relieve me.
But my father was getting horny too. His strong fingers were raking in and out of my moist juicy pussy. He took out his cock and started to rub it like a madman. It was thick and stubby, bulging hard and erect from his crotch.
He had me in that uncomfortable position. He wanted me to beg for sex even though he was doing everything he could to make me feel humiliated and debased. But he was dying for it so much himself, that he had to fuck me before I gave in. That gave me satisfaction, I have to admit. That I could hold out longer than he could.
My father took his big meaty tool and rammed it up my cunt. He shoved it in so hard I thought I would split in two. I mean, my father's cock is a lot bigger than the cocks of boys like Ronald. Although I was far from being a virgin, I wasn't used to anything like this.
The thick erect dick swiftly penetrated my pussy. I couldn't help it. Every nerve in my cunt went haywire with mad pleasure. I hated that I was feeling that way while my father was raping me, but I knew it was inevitable. And he was purposely making me horny because he wanted to humiliate me.
Only I don't see how that's supposed to humiliate me. I mean, if anyone should feel humiliated it should be my father. He only showed me how low he really is. I mean, I may be a horny girl, but he's just as horny.
It makes me wonder about my parents' sex lives. Does my father think it's wrong to want sex and not be ashamed of it? Does he think it's wrong to go out and get sex if you like it?
I don't know!
I just don't understand it. I can't live with them any longer. In the first place, I never want to see my father again as long as I live. I think he's a filthy disgusting person because he thinks sex is filthy and disgusting and the only way he can enjoy it is when he makes it filthy and disgusting.
And my mother is really no better; she coos and moons over him, thinking he's the greatest thing that ever walked the face of the earth. And she's afraid to go against him, even if she disagrees with him. She's so dependent on him it makes me sick. But I don't want her to get hurt, so I haven't told her what he did. It would crush her if she ever found out. But I really feel like I want to tell her to her face, to wake her up from the dream she's been living in.
But then I tell myself that I shouldn't even bother. That I should get myself the hell out of there and have as little to do with them as possible. I wrote to Aunt Barbara and she says I can come to Europe and live with her. That's what I'm going to do.
Aunt Barbara wired me the money for my ticket. She also told me I should come see you, just in case my parents tried to have me brought home because I was a minor. She said that if I told you about how my father raped me, you could testify in court for me if it ever came to that. She also told me that she thought I should tell somebody because it would make me feel better to talk about it. So I took her advice and came to see you.
But I'm glad I did because now I realize that I really don't know what to do about my mother. Whether to tell her what happened or not.
CONCLUSION
I suggested to Bernice that she leave well enough alone between her parents and refrain from causing a rift in their relationship. I told her that I thought her idea to go live with Aunt Barbara was a good one, in light of the danger she was in by living with her father.
I told Bernice that she should attempt to reconcile the difference between herself and her parents, though, even though she is presently very angry. I told her that it was important for her mental health that she maintain no bad feelings towards her father, because he is her father. If Bernice learns to deal with her parents, she will be well on the way to recovering from the traumatic shock of being raped by her father.
After her meeting with the doctor, Bernice decided that she would never tell her mother the truth because that would make it almost impossible to get together again as a family. Bernice decided that she would give it one more time. She would forgive her father, even though he raped her, although she wouldn't live with him.
These decisions were made over a period of six months while Bernice lived in Europe with her aunt. After that time, against the advice of Barbara, Bernice decided to return home. She had been corresponding with her parents and her mother had been begging her to come home.
Bernice returned, but the reconciliation only lasted a few months. Bernice's father found out that she was dating a young man who was separated from his wife, the young man being all of twenty-one and only married for three months, and accused her of being an adulteress. He kidnapped her one day and held her terrorized in an abandoned shack for a week and a half, during which he tortured and sexually abused her.
Bernice's father was finally caught and he is currently incarcerated in a state mental institution. Bernice's mother, cracking under the discovery of her husband's perverse activities with their daughter, is presently being treated for a nervous breakdown. Bernice returned to her Aunt Barbara's care, where she is currently recovering from the trauma of her father's brutal captivity.
CASE HISTORY SIX
Subject: Peter Age: Thirteen
INTERVIEW ONE
Peter was brought to see me by his worried father. The man had discovered that his wife had been seducing the boy as well as inflicting pain with various abnormal methods of punishment. Peter's father had the woman arrested and is presently concerned with Peter's ability to adjust and grow into a healthy male. He is afraid that Peter's mother's perversity might affect his ability to sexually deal with women later in life.
My father found out what my mother was doing to me so he made me come to see you. Doctor, I didn't tell my father all those times because he would have beaten my mother up. He would do that sometimes and I could never stand to watch him hit her.
He would really beat her up bad sometimes. For really stupid things. I can remember when I was a little kid the things he used to do to her and how she would cry all the time. My father always treated my mother like she was supposed to do everything the way he wanted her to do.
I remember this one time. I was about five years old. That was eight years ago, but I can still remember it like it happened the other day. It really made an impression on me.
My mother had been working all day washing all the clothes and cleaning the house. My father came home from work and supper wasn't ready. He got mad at my mother and she became afraid of him. It was such a stupid thing to get so violent about too. I'll never forget how it was.
My mother was just coming in from hanging up the wash. She was in a good mood, cheerful and humming a song that was playing on the radio. I helped her hang up the wash so she was going to bake me some cookies. I was only five.
She was in the kitchen, mixing the batter from scratch, when my father arrived home. He was usually late, but this day he was on time. Sometimes he was even late for an hour-one time he was even late two hours. He never called to say he was going to be late either. Sometimes my mother would get worried-other times she would just get very sad.
This one time in particular, my mother hadn't gotten supper ready in time even though she was just about to cook it after putting the cookies in the oven. She even had the ingredients waiting on the work table, ready to be put together for our dinner.
Well, my father came home and became very angry when he saw that she was working on my cookies before she was working on his dinner. He said he was the one who went to work and made all the money. He said that if it wasn't for me, that he wouldn't have to work so hard. He thought he at least deserved the consideration of being attended to first.
I felt real bad. It sounded like he didn't love me. And it used to make my mother feel bad too. She started to defend me and that's when he started to smack her around. I remember it so vividly because I thought that if it wasn't for me, she wouldn't be getting it from my father. If it wasn't for the cookies she was making for me, she would have been working on his dinner by the time he had arrived home. And I felt especially bad about it because I told her I would help with the wash only if she baked me cookies. Mommy hadn't minded, but look what had come from it.
"Marilyn," said my father, "what are you doing? Why hasn't my dinner been started?"
"Pat," said my mother, "I was just about to put it up. I just finished preparing the cookies and putting them in the oven."
"Cookies?" he said.
"I thought it would be nice to have some chocolate chip cookies, you know, to have with our coffee," my mother explained.
"You're lying to me again," said my father.
"What do y-y-you mean," my mother stammered.
"You're baking these cookies for that kid," my father accused.
"I thought Peter might enjoy them," my mother quietly replied. "But I thought you would like some too."
"I don't want any fucking cookies," said my father.
"Pat, watch your language in front of Peter."
"Fuck Peter!" cried my father. "You're always so goddamned concerned with him. Well, I don't have to run my whole life around Peter. You're turning him into a spoiled brat. Cookies! His fucking cookies could wait-he hasn't spent a whole day working for a living."
"Pat, he's only a baby!" my mother insisted.
"Marilyn, I don't want to hear no back talk from you, I'm warning you. I worked hard all day and I just feel I'm entitled to have my dinner taken care of before cookies for your baby."
"Pat!" cried my mother, the tears shining in her eyes, "You hardly ever get home before six o'clock. How was I to know that you'd be early today? If you had come home at six o'clock, your dinner would have been all ready. I made sure I had enough time to have it ready by six!"
"I don't want to hear that bullshit, Marilyn." said my father, in a warning tone of voice.
"Pat, it's not bullshit!" my mother insisted.
"It's bullshit!" my father adamantly replied.
"It is not bullshit. You haven't come home before six all week long."
"MARILYN!! ! ! " screamed my father, puffing and turning red.
My mother froze. She stood there, shaking, and quivering. His temper was so fierce that he made her shudder with fear. My mother was afraid of what my father would do to her if she continued to argue with him.
My mother bit her lip in silence, forcing herself to hold her tongue. I knew that she wanted to tell him how he was wrong to feel that she wasn't thinking of him. I wanted to tell him. But we both knew that if we tried to make him understand, he would simply blow his top. And we both knew what he could to do my mother if that happened. My mother was all ready to let it drop.
But my father didn't want to let it drop. He wanted to make sure my mother understood him.
"Marilyn,'" he sternly said "I finish work at 5 o'clock sharp. You know I never stay later than I have to. If I decide to go someplace after work, like for a beer with some of the guys, that's my business. All you need to know is that I should be home by five-thirty and five-thirty is when I expect my dinner on the table." My father glaringly looked at his watch, pointing to it in anger. "And it's five-thirty now and you haven't even started it!" he screamed.
My mother quivered with fear. She didn't say anything. I went and hid behind the table. I was always afraid that my father would kill me when he got like that. He would blame everything on me.
He always managed to find a way so that everything was my fault. My fault because I was taking too much of my mother's attention. He really blamed her for it more than he blamed me. He would just get furious with her for doing things solely for me. It was as if she wasn't supposed to give me too much attention.
I used to wonder if my father was worried that she would spoil me, or just jealous of the attention my mother gave me. Sometimes when they would fight, he would tell her that she was the one who wanted to have a kid, not him. That was when I used to feel the worst.
But other times, when me and my father were alone, he would act like a real friend to me. He would talk to me about things, teaching me things, explaining about life to me. Those were the times I liked the best. My father always seemed to know what he was talking about.
Sometimes he would try to explain to me about my mother. He would say things like my mother doesn't really know about life. That most women didn't know about life because they took care of a man's home and that all these ridiculous Women's Libbers who kept complaining that men kept them from experiencing life would probably freak out if we ever gave them what they thought they wanted.
I didn't know if I agreed with him. I mean, I thought my mother would have been a lot better if she would have known more about life outside of her family, but she didn't. I mean, it used to amaze me how she could still love him even after the way he used to treat her. Sometimes I hated my father for the way he treated her.
My father would be proud of me sometimes. I was always good at sports and he really liked that. But I guess I never really trusted him because I knew how he felt about me deep down. He was sorry that I had ever been born.
My father used to sleep with other women. He didn't even bother to hide it. It was almost as if he was challenging my mother to say anything to him. She never did. Once, when she found him in the bedroom with this other girl, my father told her to get lost, that he was busy. My mother cried a lot after that happened. When my father finished what he was doing and the girl had left, my mother was still crying. He was in the kitchen-that's kind of like her room because she's the only one who ever really goes in it--anyway, my father came into the kitchen to get a beer and found my mother sitting down at the table crying with her face in her hands.
I really felt sorry for her. That happened last year, after she had already started doing these weird things to me. I never minded, really, because I understood why she was doing it. I always went along with her. I was never really afraid that she was seriously going to hurt me.
When my father found out what was going on between me and my mother, he really hit the ceiling. He beat her up so bad I thought that he was going to kill her. I felt guilty because it was all over me. It was always over me. That was the part I really couldn't stand.
I'll never forget the day my father found out. I'll remember it as long as I live. I thought that he would kill my mother and that maybe then he would kill me. He kept saying things like it was disgusting and that we both deserved to be dead. I mean, at first, he just blamed her, but then when I tried to stick up for her, he went bananas. He said I was perverse just like my mother and that he wouldn't have a fucking pervert for a son. He said I would probably grow into a faggot or something. He said that no son of his better be a faggot if he knew what was good for him.
I didn't even know what he was talking about. All I knew is that my mother had been doing something to me that she shouldn't have been, but that she only did it because my father drove her to it. She only did it after he made her feel quilty for wanting to have a baby when they were first married. She only did it to show him that she didn't care as much for me as he blamed her for caring.
INTERVIEW TWO
Unfortunately, Peter's time ran out as we were about to delve deeply into the actual experience of his sexual subjugation to his mother. We had to wait until the following session, which occurred three days afterwards, to work on the trauma of being sexually abused by one's parent.
The day my father found out what my mother was doing to me, boy that was something. It was a Sunday afternoon. My father had promised my mother that he would take us to the zoo. We hardly ever went anywhere as a family. I couldn't believe it when he promised us. I thought it was too good to be true. It was.
When Sunday came, my mother got up early and started preparing a picnic lunch for all three of us. It was a beautiful spring day. I got up early, too excited to sleep late. My father had been in a good mood pretty much all week. I really thought this was going to turn into a good day, in spite of the fact that I knew my father hardly ever kept his promises.
I could smell the bacon frying in the kitchen. I came out and found my mother singing while she prepared breakfast. She was in a good mood. I smiled happily and asked her if we were still going.
Her face was shining with excitement as she told me that she would wake my father up as soon as she had finished preparing breakfast. I wanted to know if she had double-checked that we were still going with my father the night before.
My mother paused for a second. A cloud of doubt flickered in her eyes. It was just for a second, but it was enough to make me feel uneasy. I had a sudden sinking feeling that this was not going to be turning out so well after all.
She told me that she hadn't, but she also told me that I shouldn't worry about it. My mother wanted to believe that my father would really keep his promise, but I think deep down she knew that there was no reason for him to keep this one more than any of the others.
But she seemed so happy and so sure that he would take us to the zoo after that moment of doubt that I didn't say anything. I was hoping that my father would really keep this promise, even though it was unlikely. I think I wanted to believe that he would too, although deep down I really didn't believe it either. Deep down neither me nor my mother believed that he would.
As soon as the breakfast was almost ready, my mother went to wake my father up. It was almost noon. Usually on Sundays, he slept till two or three in the afternoon, except when he wanted to get up to watch a football or a baseball game. Today there was a baseball game I knew he'd want to see. I thought he might get up early, but I wondered if he was really going to give up the baseball game just to take us to the zoo.
My mother went into their bedroom. She must have left the door open because I could hear everything that they were saying. My mother woke my father up in a playful loving tone. He was very grouchy as he asked her what she wanted. She told him that breakfast was on the table.
My father put on his robe and came out to the kitchen. The table was all set and the food smelled good. My father had a smile on his face when he smelled how good it was going to be. His grouchiness faded as he drank his morning coffee. I began to think that we would be going to the zoo after all.
We ate breakfast together, as a family. We were all in a good mood, especially my mother. She kept smiling and remarking what a beautiful day it was. My father kept agreeing with her, looking out of the window with a smile upon his face. It was too good to be true. It really was.
It turned out that my father was planning to go to the baseball game instead of watching it on television. Some guy he worked with gave him a box seat ticket right by the dugout and he was real excited. That was why he was in such a good mood.
When he told my mother, her face dropped. She immediately asked him if he had forgotten about the zoo.
My father said that he remembered all about it but that he had never really promised that he would go, the way that she was insisting he had. They got into a big fight about it.
My mother started saying that he never spent any time with us, that I didn't know what it was like to have a father. My father became enraged.
"Always that kid again!" he screamed. I was sitting right between them while this was happening. I wanted to crawl in a hole and die.
"You promised," my mother said.
"Can't you ever do anything without thinking about him!" cried my father, in anger. "Can't you ever make any plans that don't revolve around him, for God's sake?"
My mother burst into tears. I could tell that she didn't know how to defend herself against his charges. She really did think of me all the time. She wanted all three of us to be a family. But I felt like the last thing my father wanted was to have me around.
My father just put his jacket on and walked out of the house. He slammed the door, but my mother could tell he was in a good mood, even though he was angry with her. I think that was what drove her crazy more than anything else--that fighting with my mother didn't upset my father like it upset her. It was obvious that my father was more important to my mother than she was to him.
My mother was shaking for a full ten minutes after she heard the door slam. She trembled so violently that I was afraid she was going to pass out. She was white as a ghost.
But she didn't faint. My mother just started clearing the dishes from the breakfast table.
I watched her carefully as she took the plates and put them in the sink. There was a very strange, expression on her face. It was as if she were thinking something over very carefully.
I knew that look well. It was the same one she got every time she started to think that her marriage would have been better had she not insisted on having a baby. I knew that she was the one who had wanted me, not my father.
I started to shudder myself, for I knew what she could do to me when she started thinking that way. I knew what was going to happen. I had an idea of what I was in for. I remembered that last time my mother had resented giving birth to me because my father had accused her of paying too much attention to me.
I wondered if I should say something to try to make her feel better or just get the hell out of there. But I knew my mother was very hurt and I didn't want to leave her alone like that. I didn't know what I should do.
I decided I would try talking to her to see exactly how upset she was. I waited until she finished washing the pots and pans from breakfast. Then I told her that I wanted to talk to her.
She asked me what I wanted. I thought that she didn't seem too resentful. I wondered how I could cheer her up.
Suddenly, I thought that maybe just the two of us could go to the zoo together. My father had gone off to the baseball game. It was too late to do anything about that, but why change our plans? Why not go ahead with them and have a good time anyway, in spite of my father?
I made the suggestion to my mother. I told her that we already had a lunch packed and everything and that it was a beautiful day. I asked her why we should spoil our day just because my father had failed to keep his promise to us.
That was when my mother became very mad. She started screaming at me.
"Now don't go blaming your father," she said. "It's not that he's a liar, it's that he wants me and him to be together without you. He wants it to be just the two of us, but you're always in the way."
I started to shake. What she was saying and the tone of voice she was saying it in weren't good. I knew what would happen. I hoped I could avoid it by handling the situation tactfully, but I had grave doubts.
I told my mother that I was sorry, that she should make plans with my father for next weekend, that I was a big boy and could stay home by myself.
"No, you're not!" she angrily replied. "You need someone to look after you. You're a little kid and you're too young to take care of yourself. But I'll teach you to interfere between your father and me, I'll teach you good."
My mother grabbed me and started shaking me against the wall. She grabbed me by the shoulders and just shook and shook. My head banged against the wall so hard that I thought I was going to bleed. But I didn't. There was just a big painful bump on the side of my head that had struck the wall.
My mother continued beating me in this fashion. I started to cry. I hated when she got like this. I felt like nobody loved me at all--not my mother and not my father. I was used to my father taking things out on me, but I really couldn't take it when my mother did it.
But I told myself that it wasn't her fault. I told myself that my father drove her to it, that it was his fault. Each time it happened, I swore that I would hold him responsible for what my mother did to me, not her. It was my father who caused her to do it.
My mother grabbed me and dragged me into the living room. I knew what was going to happen. She tore all the clothes from my body until I was naked before her. Then she grabbed some rope that she had in the pocket of her apron and tied my wrists together in front of my belly.
I always felt embarrassed to be stark naked in front of my mother. I always had a hard-on, I think because I didn't want to and I tried so hard not to have one. But I always had one. I think she wanted it to happen.
My mother left me tied and naked in the living room. She went to the bathroom. I knew what she was getting. She had gotten it so many times before. I knew what she was going to do to me.
My mother returned with the enema equipment. I groaned to myself thinking of the ordeal she was going to put me through. But I wasn't going to complain or resist her because I felt sorry for what my father had put her through. I knew that doing these things to me made her feel better so I let her do them.
When she returned from the bathroom with the enema, my mother ordered me to lie down on the sofa. She told me to lie on my stomach. I could feel my hard cock pressing into the soft sofa cushion, I knew what she was going to do with that cock.
My mother started giggling with wicked delight. She was getting to take out all her anger. She would work it all out on me. I knew she didn't mean it for me, I knew she was really angry at my father, but I let her take it out on me. I knew that I was the only outlet she had. I knew that she was too afraid of my father to direct her anger toward him.
"You had to come along," she bitterly said. "You're always around to ruin things. I always have to think of you, and then your father gets mad. Well, I won't have it! I'm going to teach you to get me to make promises to you. I'll teach you, you little bastard!"
Even though I knew my mother didn't mean what she said, I still felt very hurt. I couldn't help feeling that my mother didn't love me after all, that deep down, she resented me as much as my father did. But I couldn't stand thinking like that. That was like being without anyone in the world to love you. I had to believe that my mother really didn't mean it. Doctor, I just know she really didn't mean it!
My mother took the cold plastic enema tube and forced it up my ass. I trembled with discomfort as I felt the intruding tube plunge all the way up my ass-hole. I hated the way it felt. It was wedged in there and I didn't want it, but there was nothing I could do to get it out.
There was nothing I could do because my hands were tied. But I wouldn't have pulled it out even if they weren't. I wouldn't have pulled it out because I would let my mother do whatever she wanted. I knew she needed some way to get rid of her frustrations.
My mother pulled the enema tube in and out of my shivering ass-hole. Throbs of shivering pain bothered my stretched ass-hole tunnel as she kept thrusting that cold uncomfortable plastic in and out of my rear chamber.
My mother was becoming increasingly excited. Her eyes were lighting up and her breathing was heavy. She put her hand to her pussy and began to rub furiously, still pumping my ass-hole with her other hand.
My mother was gasping for breath as she masturbated. Her entire body was twitching and shuddering as she rammed my sore ass with the enema tube. I could feel the cold water shooting up my ass as she brought herself off.
I waited for what I knew would happen next. I knew what would happen from all the other times she did this to me. I knew that she would take my little but strong cock in her mouth and suck me until I had an orgasm. I could never figure out why she did it, but she always did. She always had to give me an orgasm.
At first, I found it terribly embarrassing, but I soon discovered that she liked it better when I let myself go. So after the first few times, that's what I did. I worked at getting an orgasm. I breathed hard and panted and stretched all my muscles. I could feel my sizzling dick twitching and pulsing in her hands.
Suddenly, I heard the front door open. My mother dropped my cock and trembled with fear. She became paralyzed. She couldn't move a muscle.
It was my father. It turned out that he returned because he had forgotten the ticket for the game. He had stormed out, so fast he had forgotten the baseball ticket. It was too bad for my mother that that happened.
He walked into the living room just as my mother let my cock drop from her hands. He saw her let my cock drop. I could see the expression on his face from where my head was. I don't think that I'll ever forget it.
My father ran over to my mother and slammed her against the four walls. It's funny, but the first feeling I had was that my father did love me after all. The first feeling I had was that my father was horrified at what she was doing because he loved me.
When he rushed over to me and pulled the ropes from my hands, I looked to him for comfort. I thought he would say a few words about how horrible what she had been doing to me must have been. But he didn't. He started screaming at me.
"What's the matter with you? You disgusting little kid," he said. "How could you let your own mother do that to you."
My father untied me. My mother crawled upstairs to her bedroom. Her face was red and I thought she would die of embarrassment. I knew that she was horrified that my father had discovered what she had been doing. I knew she was afraid that he would love her even less now than he had before. I just had to explain to him why she did it.
"Daddy," I said, "she doesn't mean it. Mommy doesn't mean it. She just does it because she thinks it's my fault that you're always mad at her."
"She's damned right that it's always your fault," my father replied. He picked up my clothes that were lying on the floor and threw them in my face. "Go on, put your clothes on. That's disgusting, being naked in front of your mother. A boy as old as you. That's disgusting what you were letting her do to you. Letting your own mother jerk you off. That's really disgusting."
He kept saying all those things while I was getting dressed. I felt ashamed, as if I had done something wrong. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything.
My father hasn't spoken to my mother since. He's keeping all sorts of tabs on her--says she can't be trusted. And he won't let her be alone with me. That bothers me because I want to tell my mother that I still love her, in spite of what she did to me. I know she feels that my father really hates her. He sure acts like he does. But I can't tell her in front of my father. He refuses to let us talk about what happened. He just told me that I'd better listen to you so I didn't turn out to be a faggot.
CONCLUSION
Peter was a very confused child when his father brought him to see me. He had all sorts of insecurities about the depth of his father's love for him. Oddly enough, he never doubted his mother's even though she had been the one who was abusing him.
I explained to Peter that his father loved him, in spite of the fact that he was too busy to spend that much time with him. I told Peter that his father was the kind of man who had trouble showing how he felt.
Peter answered me by saying that his father never had any trouble showing them when he was angry. Peter wanted to know why his father treated his mother so badly if he was a really good person.
I explained to Peter that people don't always treat those they love with the understanding and patience that they should. I explained that his father only wanted what was best for him.
I told Peter's father that the boy had a deep subconscious animosity against him which would require a rather lengthy treatment to cure. Peter's father has agreed to send the boy to therapy for the next six months. He claims that if Peter is not over what his mother had done to him by then, that he will have to send the boy away to a hospital. He claims that he cannot allow his wife and son to be alone together unless he is assured that Peter will no longer allow her to abuse him. Peter's father wants Peter to resist his mother, even if he has to beat her up to do it.
CASE HISTORY SEVEN
Subject: Linda Age: Eight
INTERVIEW ONE
Linda was taken to see me by her mother, who had discovered that her husband was sexually abusing the child while she was playing mah-jongg.
The mother informed me that she and her husband do not get along and that she is in the process of starting divorce proceedings against him. She said that she planned to divorce Linda's father prior to the discovery of his perverse activities.
Doctor, Mommy said that I had to go to a doctor because of the games me and Daddy played when she went to play mah-jongg. She says that Daddy is a bad man and she doesn't want me to like him any more.
That upsets me because I always have fun with Daddy and I hardly ever have fun with Mommy. She's constantly screaming about something-she's a very nervous person.
My Mommy and Daddy don't treat each other like Mommies and Daddies are supposed to. Sometimes, I can't understand how they ever fell in love and got married.
My mother told me one time that she never loved my father, not even when she married him. That upset me very much because I wanted my mother to love my father. I thought she had no business being married to him unless she loved him. I figured that she was just mad at him when she said that she didn't love him.
My father loved my mother. I know that he did because he used to tell me how much he loved her. All those times when Mommy was out playing mah-jongg and we were alone together, he would tell me how much he loved Mommy. Then he would tell me that he loved me even more and that I was all the world to him.
But even though I love my father, there are things about him that really bother me. I mean, he's old enough to be my grandfather. My father is twenty years older than my mother and forty-one years older than I am. He's older than any of my friends' fathers. That always embarrassed me.
There were other things about my father that would embarrass me too. For instance, my father is very religious. He doesn't want me to have any friends unless they're Jewish. I hate to bring my friends home because he always asks them a lot of questions, trying to find out if they're good enough to be my friends. I really wish he wouldn't do that.
Sometimes, I like my mother better than my father. I mean, she never asked my friends embarrassing questions. But she wasn't nice to me like my father was. For instance, if I told my father that I wanted something, he always made sure that I had it. I didn't even have to ask him for it. All I had to do was let it be known that I wanted something and I always ended up with it.
Those were the times when I thought my mother really hated me. She would rant and rave and scream like a maniac, just because my father had bought me a doll or something. She would act like I was taking the bread from her mouth. She made me feel very guilty.
My mother would scream about how much money she needed to run the household and that my father was too extravagant. I know how she got that way-she was poor when she was a girl. One of my cousins once told me that she was put in a concentration camp when she was fourteen. My cousin told me that was why my mother was so nervous all the time-that she had been scared badly and had never gotten over it.
I thought about what my cousin told me very carefully. My cousin was older than me-she was almost a grown-up. I knew that she had found out everything from her mother and that she wasn't the type who would make it up. I thought about what had happened to my mother a lot. It explained a lot of things.
After my cousin told me that, I started paying a lot more attention to the things you would hear about concentration camps. They frightened me, but I always wanted to know more and more about them. I always perked up with attention whenever they were mentioned.
I even went to the school library once and took out a book on it. The book described all these terrible things that happened. It said that people were burned in ovens and had experiments conducted on their bodies. I wondered if any of those things had ever happened to my mother.
I wanted to ask her, but I was afraid to bring it up. From the way my cdusin had sounded when she told me, I thought that my mother didn't want me to know what had happened. She never mentioned it to me herself and my cousin had told me that I shouldn't let my mother know I knew unless she brought it up first.
But that never happened and I just had to talk to her about it. I had to know what she had gone through, so I could understand her better. She was my mother and I wanted to know what the Nazis had done to her. I really hated Germans. I wished that all of them were dead.
One day, me and Mommy were home alone at night. My father had a night job and he wouldn't be home until early in the morning. Whenever my father had night jobs, Mommy would let me stay up to keep her company, provided that I didn't have to get up the next morning to go to school.
We were watching this movie on television. It was all about the people in concentration camps. It was the first time we had watched a movie like this together since my cousin had told me what had happened to my mother.
I couldn't help thinking more about my mother than the movie. I looked at her as she watched the movie. She was deeply engrossed in it-it was a very good movie, we had watched it together before.
This time, I watched Mommy while she watched the movie. I could see her face turn white and the tears quiver in her eyes as she sat trembling while she watched. I felt very sorry for her. I wanted to know what they did to her. I wanted to hate the people who had hurt her her, too. I wanted her to know that I knew.
I decided to ask her about it when the commercial came. When it did, I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to begin the conversation about the thing I wanted to talk about.
Finally, I decided that I would have to come right out with it or else I would never get anywhere. I called her name and gulped as she turned to me.
"What is it, Linda?" she said.
"Mommy, there's something I want to ask you about," I replied.
"What is it?"
"I don't know how to say it," I replied. Mommy sighed.
"Linda," she said, "just come right out and say it."
"Okay. Mommy, Linda told me that you were in a concentration camp."
The tears came to Mommy's eyes. I could tell that she had been thinking of it while the movie was playing and that it had upset her. I almost felt sorry that I had brought it up and reminded her of it. But I thought that she would feel better if we talked about it, so I wasn't really sorry.
"That's true," my mother dryly replied. "I told her mother that I didn't want you to know about it. "I'm going to have to tell Lucy's mother what she did. I told Lucy myself one time, after I had found out that Anna told her, that she shouldn't under any circumstances mention it to you."
"Don't be mad at Lucy, Mommy," I answered. "She only told me so I would understand you better. And I'm glad she told me. I want to know."
"Oh Linda," my mother answered. "It's bad enough that I had to go through it. I don't want you to know from it. I wish you would just forget it."
"I can't forget it. I want you to tell me about it," I insisted.
So Mommy had told me all about how the Germans had invaded her Hungarian village when she was fourteen. She told me all about how she had been raped by one soldier and had then become a prostitute because her family needed money and she knew that she had been soiled for life. Mommy said that she knew no man would ever marry her after they found out she was ruined. She said everybody in the village knew she had been raped. She said it was something that she could never live down.
I didn't really understand what she was saying. I didn't know what rape was. I knew from watching television and hearing the news that it was man attacking a woman, but I didn't know what exactly it was that he did to her. So I asked Mommy what it was.
She told me that it was when a man forced a woman to do something dirty with him so that he could have a good time. My mother said that it was something that women shouldn't do unless they were forced into it. She said she was forced into it by the man who raped her and then forced to do it because her family needed the money to buy food. I got pretty much what she was trying to tell me, even though I still didn't understand exactly what it was that women weren't supposed to do unless they were forced.
Mommy said that after that she was taken and put in a concentration camp. She said that her whole family was separated and put into different camps. She said that was why we had no relatives except for a couple of cousins, because the Nazis had murdered her whole family.
She talked a little about what it was like in the concentration camp. It sounded horrible. She told me that she sometimes had to sleep with the Nazis to keep from being sent to the ovens. When I asked her, my mother told me that was the same thing as rape.
She said that she was sure she was going to die soon. My mother said that she knows she was going to be in the next batch of people to be gassed when the war ended and the people were released from the camps.
My mother said that as soon as she had enough money, she came right here. She said that she met my father on the boat. He had been in a concentration camp too and he was coming from Poland.
My mother said they got together because they both wanted someone to lean on. She said that my father wants her to be his mother.
My mother said she was very young when she married and she was looking for someone to take care of her because of what she had been through. She said that the marriage was a mistake and that the only reason she didn't leave my father was because of me. That made me feel guilty.
But it also made me think more about my father. Hadn't my mother said that he had also been in a concentration camp? Then all those horrible things that my mother told me had happened to her had happened to him, too.
INTERVIEW TWO
The next time my mother went to play mah-jongg, I paid special attention to Daddy. I had been looking forward to being alone with him because I wanted to talk to him about it the way I had talked about it with Mommy. I wanted him to tell me exactly what had happened to him, the way Mommy had told me everything that had happened to her.
I also wanted to hear what he had to say on another matter. That was his marriage to my mother. Mommy had said that she was sorry that she married him. That must have meant that she didn't love him. I wondered if Daddy loved Mommy even though she didn't love him.
Mommy went to play mah-jongg twice a week. I used to miss her, but now I was glad to have a chance to be alone with Daddy. Besides, lately Mommy had been very nervous and Daddy was never in a good mood when she was around. I loved my father when he was in a good mood. That was when he told me that I was the most important thing in the world to him and he bought me all sorts of presents.
But when my mother was mad at him, he was afraid to show that he liked me. It was like he had to do it in secret, show how much he loved me. Sometimes I thought that Mommy was jealous that he loved me so much. That was because he loved me more than he loved her. But he still loved her a lot also.
This one night, I started to ask Daddy about the concentration camp. It was easier to ask him because he always liked it when I wanted to talk to him. It didn't matter what I wanted to talk about. He just liked talking to me.
But when I asked him about the concentration camp, he became very strange. His eyes clenched up and his brow wrinkled. There was a frown upon his face. He seemed to be nervous, but it was different from the way that Mommy gets nervous. I knew that Daddy wasn't going to scream at me the way she would.
But I had never seen Daddy like this before, except for when Mommy was mad at him. That's exactly how he was, except this time he was mad at Mommy.
"She shouldn't have told you all those things," he said, his voice trembling. "She shouldn't have told all those horrible things to a little girl."
"Daddy, I'm not too young. Don't be mad at Mommy," I said. "I wanted to know."
"She shouldn't have told you," replied my father, in a sudden burst of anger. He pounded his fist on the table. I never saw him do anything like that before.
"Don't be mad at Mommy, Daddy," I said. "She didn't want to tell me at first, but I made her."
"Ah, Linda," said my father, shaking his head sadly, "you're such a little girl."
I didn't know what to say. There was something so sad in his voice. It just made me want to cry. I didn't know what to do. I just sat, waiting for him to do something.
Then my father told me something that really surprised me. He told me that my mother wanted to divorce him. That upset me a lot. Then my father said that my mother wanted to take me away from him, that she didn't ever want to let him see me again.
That really upset me. I wanted to live with both of my parents. It just couldn't be true. I didn't want my mother to stop me from seeing my father. I knew why she was doing that. She was jealous because he loved me better than he loved her.
I told my father not to worry, that my mother wouldn't be able to stop us from seeing each other if we really wanted to. I told him that we would see each other anyway.
Daddy looked up at me and smiled. It made him feel good that I wanted to see him so much that I would go against my mother. I knew that sometimes he would feel bad because he knew that I was ashamed of him in front of my friends.
I felt sorry for him. I wanted him to know that I loved him as much as I loved Mommy, even more some times. I wanted him to know that I appreciated how nice he was to me and how he bought me presents even when Mommy kept screaming that he shouldn't.
Then Daddy became cheerful again. He told me not to worry about things like concentration camps, that it had happened before I was born and there was no need for me to even think about it.
He also said that I should ignore all those things mother had said to me about men. Daddy told me that men didn't always force women to do those things. My father said that there were lots of women who did it because they liked it. He said it was only bad if the man wasn't nice to the woman when they were doing it.
I asked him if he and Mommy did it. He turned red, but he told me that he did. I asked him if Mommy liked it, and he said that she didn't. He said there was something wrong with her, that's why she didn't.
Then Daddy did something very strange. He told me that he wanted to take me upstairs to his bedroom and play a game with me. He said it was going to be a fun game and that we would get to pretend all sorts of things.
I got excited because I loved to play games, especially make-believe. So I followed Daddy upstairs to the bedroom. Only what happened when we got inside really frightened me.
Daddy locked the door and then took a pillow and stuck it under the covers so that it looked like a sleeping person. Then Daddy told me to stand by the side of the bed, right next to him.
"Linda," Daddy explained, "this is Mommy. Let's pretend this is Mommy."
"Okay," I said, "it's Mommy."
Suddenly, Daddy made a fist and pounded the pillow. That was what frightened me. He was very mad and he kept punching the pillow.
He wanted me to do it too.
"Come on, Linda," he said. "This is Mommy. We hate Mommy, we hate Mommy, don't we? We hate her because she always yells at us. Let's beat her because we hate her."
That really scared me, but Daddy kept talking about how mean Mommy was to us. He was right. She was very mean to us sometimes. After a while, I thought I'd like to do what he was doing, beat Mommy for being so mean to me. After all, she yelled at me for things I didn't even do, most of the time. She yelled at me for no reason at all. I wanted to hit her because she made me so mad.
We pounded the pillow, me and Daddy, over and over again. He was turning red and screaming and cursing at my mother while we beat the pillow.
Then finally, Daddy decided that we had beat the pillow enough. He took hold of my arms and stopped me from hitting it again. Daddy sat down on the bed and pulled me on his lap.
"Linda," he said, "your mother is not a good person. She's a very mean person. She doesn't want anyone to have what she doesn't have. She thinks sex is bad and she wants you to think that sex is bad too."
"What's sex?" I asked.
Daddy seemed uncomfortable, as if he wasn't sure what he should say. He told me that sex was the thing that Mommy told me that women shouldn't do with men unless they were forced to do it. He told me that Mommy was wrong about that, that wives were supposed to want to do it with their husbands.
Then my father told me something that really upset me. I don't know why it upset me so much, but it did. He said that Mommy let him do it to her, but that she acted like he was doing something horrible to her. Daddy said that he couldn't have a good time doing it because of the way she always acted.
I felt bad for him, I really did. I mean, my father seemed so sad about the whole thing. But I could also tell that he was angry. I knew that he was very angry at my mother for acting like he was forcing her to have sex with him against her will.
I looked at Daddy. I wanted to say something to make him feel better. But I really didn't understand what it was all about. I understood how everybody had all these feelings about sex, but I didn't know exactly what it was that a man did to a woman that made such a difference.
"Daddy," I said, "I don't understand what sex is. I don't understand."
My father looked at me as if trying to decide whether to tell me or not. Finally, he spoke.
"Linda," he said, "sex is when a man sticks his penis into the hole between a woman's legs. You have a hole there, don't you."
I nodded.
"What's a penis?" I asked.
My father turned red. He looked at me confidentially.
"Let me show you," he said, unzipping his pants.
I was never so amazed in my life as when I saw what my father had between his legs. He was very different than I was. Daddy said that the difference there was what made the difference between boys and girls.
I thought about how Daddy had said that the man put that thing in a woman's hole. I didn't see how it could be possible and I told him so.
Daddy looked at me a while. His brow was all wrinkled up as he was trying to decide something. Then he looked at me and whispered.
"You mustn't tell anybody what we're going to do," he said, his fingers to his lips. "Especially not your mother."
"What are we going to do?" I asked. I was very curious.
"I'm going to show you what sex is," my father replied. "I want to show you so you'll know that it's as much fun for women as it is for men."
I nodded. I was all for having fun with my father.
Daddy sat me on the bed and started undressing me. He had undressed me sometimes before, so it didn't bother me. I was used to it.
Daddy took off all my clothes and stared at me. There was a Strang look on his face. And he didn't put me into my pajamas right away, so I wouldn't catch cold, like he usually did.
Instead, Daddy took off all of his clothes.
We were both sitting on Mommy's bed, without any clothes on. That big thing between Daddy's legs was standing up, not hanging down like it was before. It seemed bigger than it was before too. I couldn't help staring at it.
"If we're going to have sex," I asked, "does that mean you're going to put that thing between your legs into my hole?"
Daddy nodded as a bright light of excitement came into his eyes. He pushed me gently down so that I was flat on my back. He told me to spread my legs so that he could put it in me.
I did as he told me. I wanted him to put it in so that I could judge for myself whether women should let men do it to them. I couldn't think of anyone better to do it with than my father. I knew that he wouldn't do anything to hurt me. I knew that he loved me more than anything in the world.
My father climbed on top of me. I could feel his weight pressing me into the mattress. That big thing was hard as a rock as it slapped against my thigh.
As my father put it right on my little pink mound, I suddenly became very frightened. I suddenly changed my mind. I didn't want him to do it to me. I was just a little girl and he was a grown man. What if his thing was too big for me and hurt me? I thought he would hurt me if my father tried to have sex with me, so I didn't want to do it anymore.
But when I told him, he just brushed my fears aside. He told me not to worry. Before I had a chance to say anything, he just put it right in.
It hurt a lot. That big fat hard thing went thrusting up my tight tender hole. It forced apart my tight tunnel walls. It hurt so bad as he shoved that big thing all the way, penetrating all the way in.
I felt something rip inside, some skin or something, and then I could feel the blood begin to flow in my torn tattered hole. I started to cry.
"Don't cry," Daddy whispered to me, as he moved his thing around in my hole real fast.
That frightened me. I thought it was a strange thing for him to do. I didn't want him to be doing it.
But no matter how many times I asked him to stop, he just wouldn't. Daddy pulled his cock in and out of my sore burning hole. Something strange was happening to him while he did it.
Daddy was panting heavily and getting very excited. He kept thrusting that thing in and out of my sore dripping hole. All these juices were dripping down as well as the blood. Still, Daddy kept ramming in and out of me with his big piercing thing.
Mommy is definitely right, I thought to myself. Women shouldn't let men do this to them. It hurts. It doesn't feel good at all.
Finally, Daddy pulled out of me for good. Before he did it though, that thing started to quake and shudder inside of my hole. Then this creamy stuff went shooting up my hole. It burned my raw and tattered inner hole flesh.
But right after that happened, Daddy took it out of me. He seemed to be much more relaxed than he was before. He was smiling and in a good mood.
"Now, wasn't that fun," he said.
I shook my head. There were tears in my eyes.
"No?" he said.
I shook my head again. I must have looked very sad. I felt very sad.
"Well, sometimes the first time a girl does it, it isn't that much fun. But it gets to be more and more fun each time you do it."
I didn't say anything. The way I felt was that I never wanted to do that thing ever again in my entire life. But I didn't want to talk about it anymore with Daddy. I didn't want him to do any more sex things with me. But Daddy wasn't finished.
"I'll be right back," he said, heading for the door. "We've got to clean you up so that Mommy never, ever finds out. Do you understand? You must never, ever let Mommy find out that I showed you about sex. It would make her very angry and then she would start yelling at us. And we don't want her to yell at us more than she already will on her own, do we?"
I nodded in agreement. I didn't want to tell my mother what happened. For some reason, I was ashamed. I felt like I didn't want anyone to know ever that my father had shown me sex.
My father soon came back to the room holding this rubber bag attached to this tube. I recognized it as this thing Mommy used to put up my rear end whenever I was having trouble going to the bathroom. I wondered what my father had gotten it for.
I soon understood. My father took the tube and was going to shove it up my hole. I realized that he would spray the water to clean me out up there, just like my mother used it to clean out the other hole.
That made me feel better. I was feeling all sticky and uncomfortable inside. I knew that the warm spraying water would be soothing to my torn battered flesh. I was looking forward to Daddy doing it to me.
Suddenly, the door burst open. It was my mother. One of the players had gotten sick and the mah-jongg game had ended early. She screamed with horror. Daddy turned around and froze.
"What are you doing to her?" shrieked my mother. "What are you doing to Linda?"
She ran towards me and pulled the tube from his hands. My father was shaking, afraid to move or to say anything. He was afraid of what my mother would do to him. He knew that she had made him very angry.
My mother took one look at my dripping bloody hole and she knew what had happened. She started pounding on my father with her fists, crying and screaming. It was horrible.
I didn't know how to feel. I felt bad for my father that my mother was being so cruel to him. I could see that he was suffering. But I was also glad that she was punishing him for what he did to me. My mother must care a lot about me to get so upset over it.
CONCLUSION
Linda is a very confused and mixed-up young child. Both parents are extremely neurotic and prove detrimental to Linda's well-being, each in their own particular way.
I recommended to Linda's mother that the child be kept away from her father unless she is there to supervise the meetings. I told her that I did not think the family should discuss the incident with Linda except in the presence of myself. The entire family is currently undergoing treatment at my hands.
CASE HISTORY EIGHT
Subject: Harry Age: Sixteen
INTERVIEW ONE
Harry was sent to see me by the juvenile authorities. His father had the police arrest him for the rape of his mother.
Harry appeared to be a rough angry boy who wasn't the least bit sorry for what he had done.
I know why they sent me here for, doctor. They want to find out if I'm sick. Of course, I'm sick! I raped my own mother, didn't I? What more do they need to know?
I don't understand why they just don't put me away somewhere. I committed the worst crime someone could commit. I went against everything. I raped my own mother and forced her to submit to having sex with her own son.
You want to know why I did it, don't you? I'll tell you why I did it. I'm not ashamed of it. She deserved it, that's why I did it.
My father is really furious at me. He says he doesn't want to see me any more, that he can't believe a son of his would do something so horrible.
But he doesn't know what my mother does behind his back. He's not around to see the things that go on when he's at work, but I am. I see how my mother cheats on him behind his back. My mother must have fucked every guy in the neighborhood. She even fucked the husbands of some of her friends-that's how bad she is It used to make me so mad. I knew that my father never cheated on her. When I first learned about sex, I remember I asked him one time. He looked very seriously at me and then he told me that cheating was only for people who weren't happily married. When I asked him if he was happily married, he smiled at me and said of course he was.
But I don't know about that. I mean, I was only thirteen at the time but I could tell that my parents weren't satisfied with each other. Though I have to admit, mostly it was my mother who wasn't satisfied with my father.
That's what made me so mad at her. It seemed to me that everything would be just like it was supposed to be if only my mother wouldn't be so picky about my father. Nothing he did was alright with her. She found fault with everything. Sometimes I wanted to kill her when she got on his back.
Then when I got older, I realized that my mother was having all these affairs. I found out what a cheap slut she really was. She was so cheap that almost anyone could have her. The day I found out that she was making it with the father of my best friend was too much for me. I just had to tell her that I knew exactly what kind of a tramp she really was.
I knew he was in the bedroom because I had seen her let him in. My mother didn't think I was home-I mean, she tried to work it so that I wouldn't find out about it, but she fucked way too much for that.
Anyway, that day I had played hooky and come home from school early. I had sneaked into the house because I didn't want my mother to know. I knew she would get really angry and make a big fuss about it. Probably because it interfered with her slutty adulterous affairs.
So I saw Mr. Clemmings come into the house. I saw how my mother flung her arms around his neck and kiss him like she was creaming in her pants for him. It was disgusting. It made me sick to my stomach.
I didn't do anything then, though. I was too embarrassed in front of my friend's father. I didn't want Mr. Clemmings to know that I had found out. I would never be able to face him again if he did.
I waited until they had finished and he left. I was sitting in the living room, waiting for my mother when she returned from showing him out of the door.
She jumped, startled to find me there.
"Harry," said my mother, "what are you doing home from school?"
"You make me sick!" I said, in a tone of vile disgust.
My mother turned red. It was obvious that she instantly knew what I was talking about. But she tried to cover, tried to pretend that she didn't understand what I was talking about.
"Harry, I don't know what you mean," she said, a funny catch in her voice that she was trying her best to hide. But she didn't succeed.
"I know all about the filthy things you do behind my father's back," I angrily said to her.
When I said that, my mother turned white. Then she looked at me. She muttered something about making me understand, but I wasn't having any.
I just sat there, listening to her and shaking my head in disbelief. How could she think that I would ever have any respect for her again after what she did?
My mother just went on. She was dying for me to say I understood what she had done. She was dying for me to forgive her. But I'll never forgive her for what she did to my father. Do you know how embarrassing it would be for him if anyone ever found out? I mean, my mother gets around so much I'm surprised it's not all over the neighborhood by now. It probably is, in fact. They just stop talking about it when I'm around.
I glared at my mother with hatred. I didn't like the things she was saying. She started to blame the whole thing on my father. I didn't like that one bit.
INTERVIEW TWO
My mother was saying things like how my father paid more attention to his job than he did to her and how she was very lonely and that I had to understand how it was for her. I wasn't having any of it.
"You're nothing but a tramp!" I shouted. I was mad as all hell. "My own mother is nothing but a goddamned slut!"
That's when my mother became angry, when I said those things to her. But they were all true, every word I said was the truth. She just didn't want to hear it.
She turned red and told me that I had no right to talk to her because she was my mother and I ought to have some respect. I asked her how she expected me to have respect for a no-good tramp.
That was when she slapped me. My mother's hand went cracking against my face. The skin on my face stung from her anger. I looked right into her eyes. Mine were darting anger at hers.
"You're going to be sorry you did that," I said.
"No," she said, shaking her head, "you're wrong. I won't be sorry. Not ever."
Then my mother turned and swiftly walked into the kitchen.
"Come back, " I called. "I'm not finished with you."
But she ignored me. She didn't even acknowledge that I had called her back after she smacked me and walked away. It made me furious.
I sat on the couch fuming. She had no right to do that, ignore me as if I didn't even exist. It was the same thing she was doing to my father. She went right ahead fucking anyone she pleased as if he didn't even exist. As if neither of us existed. I hated her for it.
As I sat there on the couch, a little idea ran through my brain. I would show her just how disgusting I thought she was. I would show her in a way that she wouldn't be able to ignore. And I would make her suffer for what she'd done to me and my father, all at the same time.
I waited for my mother to come out of the kitchen. It took her a long time. I knew that she was afraid to face me. But I wouldn't make it easy for her.
When she came out, my mother looked at me to see if I was still angry at her. When she saw the look on my face, she quickly turned away. But she wasn't going to get away from my anger so easily. I wouldn't let her.
I jumped up and grabbed her. She angrily started to shove me away.
"Harry, for God's sake, what are you doing?" she yelled.
"I'm not finished telling you what I think of you," I said, sneering at her as I shoved her to the couch.
She looked up at me as I held her shoulders, pinning her to the seat. Her cheeks were red with anger. My mother had the nerve to be indignant with me after she was the one who went and fucked all those men. It made me want to laugh.
"Unless you change your attitude toward me," my mother said, "I won't hear anything you have to say to me. You always take your father's side. I want you to know that I'm getting pretty sick of it."
Can you imagine? My mother had the nerve to say that to me! Of course I took my father's side over hers! He wasn't the one who went out and fucked every person who would spread their legs. My mother was the one who had been all over town with every man who would have her.
"You make me want to throw up," I told her. "You're nothing but a tramp. You're not good enough to be my mother. My father ought to throw you in thy gutter. Do you know how much money he gives you? And then what's his thanks? You slut around with anything in pants. You make me sick."
I had my mother pinned so she couldn't move. But she looked up and spit at me, really spit at me hard. I couldn't believe it when she did that.
I couldn't believe that my mother had the nerve to spit at me. It was as if she was trying to make me feel like I was the one who had done something wrong. She was trying to make me feel ashamed, but she was the one who had done something to be ashamed of.
I glared at her. That spit in my face was the last straw. I was going to show her exactly what I thought of her.
I started tearing at her clothes. My mother started screaming. She wanted to know what I was doing. I didn't say anything. I wanted to get her naked so that I could tie her up. Then I was going to show her just what a tramp I thought she was.
I punched her in the jaw a few times, just to keep her quiet. She was such a slut that I didn't care what I did to her. She's in the hospital now. I don't even care if she dies. I'm glad for every single thing that I did to her.
I ran to the kitchen and pulled some rope out of the junk drawer. I came running back. I was glad to find that I had punched her hard enough so that she was having trouble trying to stand. She was dizzy and I walked right over and pushed her down on the sofa.
My mother was frantically trying to pull the clothes together on her body as I stood over her, holding the rope.
"Harry, you're sick!" she said, looking up at me in wonder.
"There's nothing the matter with me except that I hate your fucking guts," I told her. I ripped the blouse from her body. My mother trembled with fright.
"Harry, you don't intend to rape your own mother, do you?" she asked.
I knew I had her then. I could tell from the quivering in her voice that she was really frightened about what I could do to her. I knew that if I went all the way and raped her, I would really make her suffer. That's why I decided to do it. I really wanted to make her suffer.
I grabbed hold of her arms and tied them behind her back. She struggled, but I was too strong for her. After I got her arms tied, I pulled the pants from her ass, even though she kept kicking.
Then she told me that she would start to scream if I didn't let her go. I told her to go ahead and try it. She retorted that it would be very embarrassing for people to find out that I had tried to rape my own mother. She said that everybody would think I was sick and that the police would make her put me away somewhere.
But I knew she was only saying those things because she wanted to frighten me into letting her go. But there was no way I was going to let her go now. Not after she called me sick. I would show her that I could be as sick as she was. I would show her that I could stoop as low as she could. That was how I was going to get her.
But she started screaming like she said she would when I started tying her ankles. My mother screamed so loud that I was really afraid that someone might hear her. Otherwise I would have just let her keep screaming. I would have laughed right in her face while she yelled her bloody brains out.
But she was screaming so loud that I was really afraid that someone would hear her and come in to find out what was wrong. Then all those things she had threatened me with would probably happen, just like she said they would. I really didn't care, except I didn't want to give her the satisfaction. I didn't want to give my mother something to gloat about.
I took the handkerchief from my pocket, the one she washed and ironed, and stuffed it in her mouth. That shut her up. She still tried to scream, but the sound was muffled enough so that I didn't have to worry at all. I knew that I was the only one could hear her.
She knew too. After a little while, she stopped screaming. She looked at me with an expression of horror as I unzipped my pants and let them drop to my knees.
I took my cock and rubbed it with my hands, watching with delight the look of terror on my mother's face. I knew she was dreading what I was going to do to her. I wanted to rub it in good. I wanted to make her suffer as much as I could.
"You spread your legs for everybody else, why not for me too?" I told her, leering as I rubbed my dick. "Why shouldn't I get a piece of the town's easiest ass, just like every other guy around?"
My cock got hard and erect. I couldn't wait to stick it in her. I got down on top of her. I could feel her terrified breathing underneath me. It made me angry. What was she terrified of? She had done it a hundred times before. Thousands! Millions!
There was no difference between me shoving my cock in her and anyone else. That was just what I said to her right before I put it in.
My thick sizzling cock went sliding up her easy wide-open hole. Her hole was so big that any guy could tell just how much she'd been around just by putting his cock in her. But I laughed ironically as I thought of that. Any guy could tell what a tramp she was just by how easy it was to get her into the bed.
I decided to fuck her over good. I slammed my big meaty hammer way inside her pussy, shoving it hard up the quivering tunnel walls. I could feel the muscles spasming in my mother's hole as I furiously pulled my cock in and out of her cunt.
My cock was pulsing and tingling with excitement, but I hardly noticed it because I was so enraged with my mother. But I was determined to come in her, just to show her how low I thought she really was.
I thrust my hard red-hot sizzling cock into her creaming pussy with brutal force and vigor. I plunged into her like a non-stop locomotive express. I wouldn't stop banging her for nothing. It was like I was whipping her, no, karate chopping her with my dick. I was really knocking her up.
It was the greatest feeling in the world. It gave me the satisfaction I had been waiting for all these years, just waiting to show her what I thought of her slutty behavior. Just to show her what kind of a whore I thought she really was.
I dug my red-hot seething sizzling hot cock forcefully up my mother's dripping cunthole. See what a slut she is, I thought to myself? Her pussy creams even though it's her own son she's fucking!
I turned my attention back to my mother. I had become so involved with my own thoughts that I had forgotten how I had planned to torment her to her face.
"Do you like it, you tramp?" I sneered, as I slammed my cock up her hole. "Does it feel so good that you can't get enough?"
She couldn't answer me because of the gag that was in her mouth, but that was okay because I didn't want to hear anything she would have to say. I knew it would all be a pack of lies. I didn't want to hear a word from her.
I kept on banging into her with my tough whipping cock. She looked angry, but she was also hurt and humiliated. I was glad.
I came in her and then I pulled out. What a feeling of satisfaction, shooting off my jet of come right up her hole. She would have something to remember this by, something to remember exactly what I thought of her, something she couldn't get rid of.
My mother was naked and trembling by the time I pulled out of her. She was crying and she looked very angry at me. She also looked afraid. It even occurred to me that she was afraid that I might kill her.
What am I to do Doctor?
CONCLUSION
Harry is a very disturbed adolescent. His anger at his mother's infidelity unhinged the strong and usually unfulfilled desires of puberty.
Unfortunately, the prognosis for Harry is not very good. His father refuses to have anything to do with him. The man claims that he has to wait until his anger has cooled until he sees his son. He claims to be afraid of saying something he might regret.
GENERAL CONCLUSION
The preceding eight case histories we have examined deal exclusively with the problem of incestuous rape using the enema. It is time to draw our conclusions concerning what is to be learned from the above-described cases.
It has been shown that people who willingly commit incest are very sick people. Those who feel the need to add the enema bag are particularly perverse. It is to be hoped that they will all continue with the therapy that is necessary for them to lead normal healthy happy lives. For even an incestuous perverse rapist, as well as his victims, can be cured.
