Incest is a topic which has been written about since Biblical times.
Foremost in the area of public concern, and that which has been written about prolifically, is the situation in which a father obtains sexual satisfaction at the expense of a young daughter.
"If I could have my way I'd see that the bastard was boiled in oil," was the manner in which an acquaintance of mine reacted upon reading about the apprehension of a man who had performed sex on his eleven-year-old daughter, a story which made headlines news in the local papers not long ago.
The man's reaction, I discovered from my own random samplings within the community, was anything but atypical. Grown men who have sex with their daughters are evaluated with the ultimate in human scorn.
The reason for society becoming inflamed with anger regarding such behavior is evident. An adult should have more respect and decency than to make a play for his young daughter. If sexual release is needed, consensus thinking feels, then there are many other outlets from which to attain it.
Although it should be recognized that a man who would resort to such means to achieve sex stimulation is often highly confused, society often turns a deaf ear to such a plight, roundly condemning the individual involved without ever thinking of the various pressures that might have precipitated such an act.
Ironically enough, despite society's initial sympathy on behalf of young girls subjected to such psychologically damaging attacks, the very people who raise the loudest initial outcry against the male attackers later turn against their female victims. Granted, such a course of action is done unwittingly; but it nevertheless still occurs.
A girl who has been forced into sex by an aggressive father often sees the world in a totally distorted fashion after that. Frequently the girls, in time, develop warped outlooks regarding sex, predicated heavily on their own experiences, and eventually become scorned by society in the same manner in which their fathers had been scorned previously.
This volume was written not to heap scorn but to educate, not to point fingers and denounce but to enlighten. Sex situations, just like human conduct in other aspects of life, are not often what they appear to be. Sometimes the father who was held up for abuse within a community was doing no more than reacting to a temptation placed in his path by a precocious daughter.
Dr. Lars Ullerstam, in his revolutionary work, "The Erotic Minorities," sheds some light on the subject of children being attracted to parents :
"Small children often express an unmistakable interest in their parents' genitals. The psychoanalysts are of the opinion that it is of utmost importance to the child's psychosexual development that the parents do not rebuff these advances, which in some cases can become intensely libidinous. Otherwise, it is said, there is the risk of various emotional disturbances in later life, psychoneuroses, sexual invalidity, etc. I do not know how much truth there is in this, but I believe, in any case, that the children will find it difficult to develop happy instinctive feelings for their parents, if they are not allowed to 'play games under the blanket.' By harsh rebuffs the parents probably lay the foundations for the feelings of sexual guilt and anxiety, which is the dilemma of the present generation of adults."
Ullerstam then goes on to add that in his experience sexual games between parents and children are becoming increasingly common, with such games, which run a wide gamut, having all sorts of affectionate designations.
In certain societies father-daughter sex, rather than being considered deplorable, were placed on an elevated scale.
Author R.E.L. Masters relates in "Forbidden Sexual Behavior and Morality":
"The sexual relations of adults with children may sometimes take the form of open and socially sanctioned incest. Thus, in Guatemala, there used to be celebrated certain holidays on which orgies were staged, with men copulating with their young daughters, and boys with their mothers. (The findings of anthropologists have long since tolled a death knell for the alleged unvacillating universality of the rule of exogamy, or incest prohibition.)"
Given man's basic sexual instincts, and the temptations that often directly flow there from, add it to the numerous tensions abounding in modern life, and incest patterns become far more understandable.
We Americans live in a society bubbling over with tensions and turmoil of every conceivable description. City streets where man, woman, and child alike could walk either day or night without fear have become hotbeds of crime with muggers preying on innocent victims in both darkness and daylight. In addition, streets and highways are glutted with traffic, lakes are polluted by the score, air is congested heavily with smog, and competition for jobs has never been more intense.
Out of this potpourri of chaos has come a "lonely crowd syndrome" concerning which sociologist David Riesman wrote better than two decades ago. We are confronted with the human paradox of people living and working side by side, but not really knowing each other, constantly afraid to make the first move in getting acquainted.
Such social influences have damaging effects upon adults and their offspring alike. A man, particularly one of great sensitivity, is likely to rebel from such a chaotic state of affairs in various ways. One could be through sex with an innocent young daughter as a release from worldly problems.
Each of the five cases studied in this volume involves the question of alienation, sometimes relating to both partners in the relationship. The more alienated an individual becomes from society at large, the greater the degree of likelihood of him straying far from the path of normality.
"I'm fed up with society and I don't give a damn who knows it," a man in his mid-thirties who had sex with his pre-teen daughter several times told me, pounding his fists savagely on my desk for emphasis. "Society has never taken the trouble to find out what makes me tick, so I'll be damned if I care what society thinks of me."
Probably the most difficult single aspect of this documentary effort was that of boiling down the numerous interviews I had with scores of fathers and daughters down to only five case histories. In the process, some highly interesting stories had to be left out. Those that were ultimately selected were done so because they were representative of given personality types that needed public attention.
I then had to boil the subject matter down some more into case histories from the viewpoints of young females. I decided that it would be advantageous to interview and publish case histories about girls who had had traumatic experiences with their fathers as pre-teens, then later fell upon other difficulties as a result of such actions.
In recording such accounts one is able to comprehend much about the tensions that pass between father and daughter in a supercharged emotional setting.
My studies resulted in two basic type categories for the young girls-those who felt that they had done something definitely wrong and those who felt they did not. Some of those in the second category were openly rebellious about life in general and incest in particular.
One attractive young woman now in her late teens, whose story does not appear in this volume, related candidly to me:
"Sure I dig my old man. I always will. I always thought he was much too good for my mother. Every time he would leave the house for any longer than an hour at a time you could count on her to bring some slimy drunken man around to have sex with her. I felt sorry for Dad. He knew what was going on. Well, I talked him into having sex with me one night and we've been doing it ever since. If things could only be different. If only he wasn't my old man then some day I could marry him."
Another young woman saw the incest situation in a completely different light:
"I've been so ashamed of myself ever since that time that I can barely look at myself in the mirror. Yes, it's that bad, and there's no hope in sight either."
The author strongly disagrees with the last young woman's despairing conclusion. There is much hope for young women who have been through such traumas, provided that they are willing to openly face their problems.
One of the major impediments in bringing about constructive changes in the lives of young girls who have had sex with their fathers remains the vindictiveness of society often more disposed toward condemning than listening.
A leading sociologist told me long ago that it is hostility that breeds ignorance, and the more advanced such hostility becomes the harder it becomes to educate.
The topic of incest, as Ullerstam and many other current thinkers agree, has been widely misunderstood. This book is a concerted effort to allay such misunderstandings, substituting instead enlightenment through evaluative comprehension.
If the reader carefully examines the material set forth in these pages, he or she will hopefully come away with a less hostile and more enlightened attitude concerning the subject matter of this exhaustive study.
Gilbert Lyons, Hollywood, Calif.
CASE ONE
Zelda R. came to me in a terrible plight.
Just one week earlier, she had attempted suicide, taking a knife and slashing her wrists. She was rescued by her next door neighbor in the apartment building where she lived. The neighbor's timely entrance, coupled with the police being called, saved Zelda's life.
As she sat before me, her hands were heavily bandaged.
But even with the unattractive looking bandages, serving as an obstacle, Zelda was still a highly beautiful girl.
A spectacularly lovely blonde with a voluptuous figure, she was no more than in her early twenties. But she exuded the experienced attitude of a much older woman. Such an attitude is born out of experience, and the longer I talked to Zelda, the easier it was to conclude that she had truly been through a great deal in her young life.
At first she was a little reluctant to relate important details concerning her life to me. It took a little while for me to develop a bond of trust between the two of us. When we finally did, however, she proved to be most receptive.
I asked Zelda to relate her experiences on tape for me, so that I would be able to edit them, then provide them for readers.
"Why should I do that?" she looked at me skeptically.
"Would you like to see other people experience the same kind of difficulties you have?" I asked her a question of my own.
"No, I wouldn't."
"Then isn't that the best reason a person could have?"
"Now I get the picture," she nodded. "You want me to tell my story so that some other people can be helped before they get to the point that I've reached."
I nodded, and she agreed.
Following is Zelda's story:
I grew up in San Francisco. Actually, my first few years were fairly happy, since my father had a job as the general manager of a service station chain and my mother worked as an advertising executive.
We lived in a beautiful apartment building overlooking the Bay and as I looked back on those first few years, I keep asking myself why they had to leave and why the years that followed them had to occur at all.
My life was fairly happy until I turned eleven. At that point, my father, whom I dearly loved, began to experience problems.
You see, he had been an officer in the Army Infantry in the Korean war. He had been decorated for bravery, and my mother and I were both very proud of him for that. But the war had taken a terrible toll on him. He was a very sensitive man, and he kept thinking about all the men that he had killed during combat activities.
In addition, he started experiencing these recurring headaches that he had first sustained when he was in Korea. He would take aspirin by the score, but it didn't seem to get the job done satisfactorily for him.
Since the aspirin wasn't accomplishing its objective, he began to drink whiskey in huge quantities in hopes of cutting down on the pain.
One thing happened after another. When he started drinking heavily he became out of sorts a lot of the time. His hands would sometimes just shake, and he found it very difficult to communicate with people.
As you could well imagine, his job began to suffer in a highly noticeable way. He finally was fired, which also served to break him up quite a bit.
My mother found it difficult to communicate with him at all. And that communication that did occur was generally very brief. As for sex communication, that deteriorated as well.
No, I wasn't shrewd enough to realize that at the time. At least not in the beginning. I just knew that when he wasn't there, when he would be drinking a lot, she would leave the house all dressed up. Then there would be a babysitter to take care of me.
One afternoon my Dad came home while my mother was working. He had been drinking all morning at a bar down the street, and his eyes were very red.
It was during the summer, so I naturally wasn't in school.
The babysitter who was staying with me then was quite shocked to see him come home in such a stupor.
"You can go now," he snapped at her.
"Very well," she nodded.
I could tell from the expression on the babysitter's face that she was scared of him. Based on the way he looked then, I don't really blame her at all.
As the babysitter walked out the door, Dad walked into the kitchen and got out a fresh bottle of bourbon. He opened it up impatiently, swearing several times, then poured some of the contents of the bottle into a glass.
He gulped down the whiskey so fast that it astounded me. All it took were a few savage gulps, and that was it.
I had a feeling that he was probably going to fix himself another shot of whiskey, but he surprised me by. not doing so. Instead, he walked out into the living room where I was sitting.
"You know, you're a damned pretty girl," he said. "Here you are real young, but you've got the look of a pretty mature young lady about you. How old are you, honey? Eleven?"
"Yes, I'm eleven."
"It's time for me to be teaching you a few of the little things about life," he chuckled. "Would you like a nice lesson? I mean, would you like to go to summer school?"
"No. I don't even like going to school in the winter and, spring."
"I don't mean that kind of summer school," he threw his head back and laughed loudly. "No, I'm not really talking about that at all. I'm talking about something else. I'm talking about your old man giving you an education. Would you like to give me that opportunity?"
"I guess so," I told him in confusion.
"Just follow me, honey," he said, motioning to me with his extended index finger as he walked towards the bedroom.
He walked heavily, and as he reached the door to the bedroom, I observed him undoing his shirt.
It was a pretty warm day, especially by San Francisco standards, and as we walked into the bedroom together, he finished unbuttoning his shirt. He picked it up and tossed it to the floor. He had on a white T-shirt underneath his sports shirt, and it was stained with sweat, particularly under the arms.
I just stood there a little fearfully in a corner of the room while he pulled off the T-shirt and tossed it to the floor as well.
"Just hang on a second, honey, and I'll be starting the lesson," he told me.
I had seen him with his shirt off several times before. He did look very handsome, with a muscular chest and nice solid biceps. He was my father, and I was very proud of him.
"Now don't get shocked when you see what I'm going to do next," he warned.
My father then sat down on the edge of the bed. He kicked off his shoes, then, much to my surprise, removed his belt. He undid his trousers, pulling them off quickly.
Now he was down to his shorts, and he tugged them off with one energetic pull.
To this day I'll never forget how flabbergasted I was the first instance that I set eyes on that huge bulging prick of his. I could hardly believe what I was seeing.
I had heard young girlfriends of mine who had seen their parents having sex together make jokes about their fathers' instruments. I had tried to ignore that kind of talk, since my mother had told me many times that it was bad for a young girl to be thinking of such things.
But there he was, my own father, the man I admired so much, standing there right next to the bed with that huge cock dangling down there between his legs.
"How do you like this big dick?" he chuckled. "Wasn't I right when I said I was going to give you a little education?"
"Yes, Father," I said timidly.
"Isn't it big?"
"Yes, Father."
"Now I'm going to just spread my body out in the middle of that bed. Then I'm going to tell you what to do."
I watched as he slid his body into bed. He was lying on his back with his legs propped up, and now that right hand of his was jerking like crazy on that huge prick.
Back and forth those fingers continued to glide over that piercing rod of his. I was so ashamed that I wanted to run away. He was doing all this right in front of me, and nothing in my background had prepared me for something quite this revealing.
After he had finished jerking off the lengthy instrument for quite some time, he brought those finger movements of his to a speedy halt.
"O.K., the real education begins," he looked at me and winked. "Just spread that pretty little body of yours down on the bed."
I didn't want to do what he was requesting, but I was afraid not to. He had such a wild look on his face that I never would have thought of crossing him. I slid over onto the bed, my eyes wide with fear.
"Now I want to give you your first lesson in sex," he told me. You reach out and grab a hold of that cock of mine. That prick needs a little attention, and you're just the girl who can give it to me. I want you to reach out with your right hand and just move those fingers of yours up and down that entire instrument. I want you to do it nice and slow. I'll tell you what kind of a tempo I want. You read me?"
"But why are you asking me to do this, Father?"
"You listen to your Dad, baby, and don't ask so many damned questions. You're going to get me pissed off if you do. Just work those fingers of yours around my hot dick. That's what I need, sweetheart, and that's what I expect you to do. Move the fingers over the dick, baby, and do it fast."
I leaned forward and reached out ever so slowly with that right hand of mine. I was afraid of what was coming next, but I wasn't about to buck him. Particularly when he was in a mood such as he obviously was.
As my fingers came into contact with his throbbing spear, I got to thinking about what I had heard Mother say to one of the neighbor women over coffee the other day. The other woman had said something about how people who drink a great deal could be very difficult. My mother had told her that that particular statement hit very close to home, and that the more that Dad drink, the harder it was for her to be around him.
Even though I was sitting not that close to him, I could still smell distinctly that whiskey on his breath. I mean, I would have thought that I would have to be right next to him to detect it, but I could easily pick up the scent without any trouble at all.
Now he was lying back, relaxing, his body nice and stiff, the same as his cock was.
After a while, I started to pick up a little bit of a rhythm regarding the finger movements. Back and forth I kept up those fingers activities at a systematic pace.
"Now you can start working the fingers a little faster," he exclaimed, watching me closely. "Come on and work those fingers, sweetheart, I expect a great job of jerking. Yeah, you're doing alright, honey, and you're going to get even better with my coaching. Come on and finger me, baby, go to work."
It was weird. Even though I felt like I was doing something that was terribly wrong, I still kind of liked it. The longer that my fingers moved searchingly over that warm prong, the better that I liked it.
"Finger that dick, finger the prick, baby, keep it up," he encouraged. "Keep working it fast, baby, I want those fingers to move, I like the rhythm, oh, now you're really doing it, now you're really moving those fingers. Keep up that action, sweetheart."
Now my fingers were just thrilling him, and as they did, his body began to twist and tremble.
"Hang on, honey, because the next lesson is coming up," he laughed. "You're going to get a handful of my nice hot juice. I want you to keep on jerking me until those gobs of juicy cum spurt in your hand. Just keep it up, sweetheart, just keep up those finger movements. I love it, I love what you're doing to me."
Now my fingers were just wandering over his dick. I did like the warmth of that huge throbbing tool as I kept on gliding my fingers up and down it.
"Get set," he gasped.
Seconds later he heaved a loud sigh. At that point, the hot white liquid began to spurt out of the end of his penis and into my open hand.
I jerked the hand away, more out of fear than anything else. He groaned a little when I did that, but he soon got over it.
"I just wish you would have let the hand stay there until I finished shooting," he said. "But now you know one way to give a guy's cock some stimulation. How did you like it, baby?"
"It was fine."
"That's good. And how did you like my orgasm?"
"You shot a lot."
"Was it nice and hot?" he grinned.
"Yes."
"You're damned right it was. Your old man is quite a proud cocksman. I guess you know that now, don't you?"
"Yes, father."
"Just one thing, baby. I don't want you telling a soul about this. Especially your mother. You understand?"
Now there was a totally sober expression on his face for the first time since he had entered the house. He had his fingers pressing against my face. I could tell from his tone that he was threatening me.
"I won't tell anybody," I tried to assure him as best I could.
"Just see that you don't," he nodded.
I left the room and he put on his clothes. A few minutes later he went back out and returned to the bar where he had been drinking prior to coming home. As for me, I spent most of the afternoon sobbing in my room. I just couldn't get over what had happened. I had had this keen admiration for my father, even with all of his drinking problems and all. But now it was shattered!
About one week from the time that he had had me jerk him off, my father came back again after having done some fairly heavy drinking in the local bar.
"How would you like to have me take you out to lunch, honey?" he asked me with a smile.
"I'd like that."
"How about a nice meal at Fisherman's Wharf?"
"Gee, that would really be swell."
"Then get dressed, baby. Your father is taking you to lunch at Fisherman's Wharf."
As I got into my brightest red dress, I was feeling very happy. Maybe this was his way of telling me how sorry he was over subjecting me to sex with him.
We had a delightful lunch at Fisherman's Wharf. I'm sorry to say, though, that he didn't eat much of his food. He was too busy guzzling wine.
We returned home immediately after lunch. I noticed during the ride home that he would look at me every now and then and give me strange stares. As a matter-of-fact, they made me feel very uncomfortable, and several times I turned away rather than having to look directly at him.
The moment we got home, he did something that surprised me. Rather than going out into the kitchen and having something to drink, which was his normal custom any time he came home, he instead walked into the bedroom. He closed the door behind him, saying nothing to me.
I stayed in the living room and turned on the television set, preparing to watch an afternoon movie.
Just as I was settling into a motion picture, he called out to me from the bedroom.
"Shut off that goddam television, Zelda, and come in here," he shouted impatiently. "I've got a surprise for you."
I turned off the television set and opened the bedroom door, standing in the doorway stiffly as I observed him lying in the middle of the bed, stroking his hard cock with a big smile on his lips.
"I told you that I'd give you a summer school education," he laughed. "Well, baby, it's time for lesson number three. Come on over here."
I sat down reluctantly on the edge of the bed.
The next thing I knew, he was impatiently moving his fingers over my red dress. He was eager to take it off, and several times he almost tore it with his impatient finger strokes.
"I want you naked just like me," he said. "I'm going to give you a real good time."
Several times I almost had to sob, but I was afraid to do it. I knew how mean he could be after having too many drinks.
Soon he removed my dress. Then he reached out and tugged at my panties, pulling them off.
"You've got a pretty little pussy down there," he laughed.
He guided me into bed with him. He sat up and guided me downward on my back.
As I lay there helplessly, he hunched his body forward. He let his head drop and several times in rapid succession, he delivered solid kisses to my vagina.
He finally released his lips from my cunt. I couldn't help but wonder what was coming next.
"O.K., I just wanted to give you a little affection," he laughed. "Now reach down there and grab a hold of that hard cock. I want you to do it just like you did the last time."
At least he wasn't asking me to do anything different, I thought. I had been afraid when he had told me that he was going to teach me a new lesson. Maybe he had just been joking, I thought, as my fingers began to manipulate speedily over his lengthy rod.
"There you go, I can see that you learned something that first time," he laughed. "Keep those fingers working, darling, I really like that kind of smooth action."
Back and forth my fingers moved rhythmically over his hard spear. All the while he was getting that much hotter.
"O.K., you can stop now," he said suddenly, running his fingers through my hair.
I immediately released my grip on his tool.
"O.K., now I want you to start sucking this cock," he said. "I'll bet you're a real cocksucker when it comes right down to it. You just haven't had a chance to show it yet. Now grab a hold of this tool with your right hand, baby, and while you're holding it, I want you to start licking the tip of this dick of mine. The hotter the damned thing gets, the better it will be. Then I'll tell you what to do when it gets real hot."
"Do I have to do that, father?" I looked at him painfully.
"You're damned right, you do," he snapped. "What the hell has gotten into you, anyway?"
"I just don't like to do anything like that."
"Well that's just tough shit. You're going to do anything I tell you to. You give me any lip, sweetheart, and I'll slap the shit out of you. Now get down there and suck that cock of mine." I did exactly what he told me to. I worked my fingers up and down that hard rod of his, simultaneously licking on the tip of his prick as I did so.
"That's nice, real nice, baby," he said, running his fingers through my hair.
He kept on guiding me, instructing me to move my tongue with accelerating rapidity. Finally, after I had worked the tongue over the tip of his cock for quite some time, he had another request for me.
"O.K., now I want you to start running that tongue up and down the base of my cock," he said. "I want you to keep that up, baby, do it real fast. Your old man's hot, and I'm going to give you a warning right now. That thing is going to be shooting hot juice pretty quick.
When it does, I want you to swallow the damned stuff. I don't want you to be spitting it out, like some chicks do."
Now my tongue was working in brisk, lightening strides as it maneuvered up and down the base of his entire organ.
Back and forth I kept up the rapid activity, letting that tongue collide eagerly with that hard dick of his.
"I knew you had the makings of a good cocksucker," he laughed. "Come on, Zelda honey, give your old man some kicks. Hell, I don't need these chicks I run into in these bars. I don't need your old lady either. She's not much of a piece of ass anymore. I'd rather have you, good old sweet little Zelda. Come on and suck your Daddy, suck his hard cock."
It really hurt me to hear him talk that way, particularly saying things like that against my mother. But I kept on working that tongue of mine up and down his rod. The longer I kept it up, the more noticeably his entire body began to tremble.
It was weird, the kind of feelings that were going through me when I was sucking him off. I felt a sense of revulsion about the whole thing, but there was another side of me that enjoyed it. He did have a very good body, and there was something that I found tantalizing and enjoy able about running that tongue of mine constantly up and down that hard rod of his.
"Step it up, move it faster now," he exclaimed. "Suck that cock, baby, I need you to suck me. Work the tongue around as fast as you can. I need it, sweetheart, I really do. Go ahead and lick me, baby, mouth that dick of mine."
Now my head was bobbing frantically as I licked as feverishly as I knew how. I didn't want to disappoint him, and as that tongue of mine continued making loping strides over his hard rod, he drew that much closer to climax.
"O.K., get set now," he said. "You're going to get a nice load of hot juice in your mouth. I expect you to hang onto it, baby, I expect you to swallow every drop of this delicious stuff. You'd just better listen to the old man. You'd just better do everything that he tells you. Now get busy, baby, finish the job, just wait for those juicy spurts of jissum that are going to come out of the end of my dick."
A few seconds later, I felt those hot spurts of cock juice shooting into my mouth.
Dad didn't want to take any chances. He pulled my hair, preventing me from pulling back away from his cock.
But I still gagged on his load. I swallowed a few of the drops, but spat out most of what he had orgasmed.
He was a little disappointed when he turned loose of my hair.
"I wanted you to swallow that whole damned thing," he said. "Well, I guess I can't blame you too much, though. You did a good job. A lot of broads spit out cum the first time that they get a nice hot load. You'll be learning as time goes by."
I knew from the determined manner in which he spoke those words that he was planning on having a lot more sex with me.
I got my third sex education lesson from my father about two weeks after that incident when I had sucked his cock.
This time it was early in the evening. My mother had just called to say that she would be working overtime that night. My father was pretty well soused, and when he walked toward me with that little twinkle in his eyes, I was all too well aware of what was coming next.
"Come on, baby, it's sex education time," he laughed. "Don't you think your old man is a pretty good teacher?"
"Yes," I said softly.
He let me walk ahead of him into the bedroom. Several times he reached out playfully with his right hand and slapped my ass cheeks.
"I'll tell you something, sweetheart, I sure envy the bastard that's going to marry you," he said. "He'll be the luckiest sonofabitch in town. He's going to get himself one helluva piece of ass. And just don't forget one thing. It was the old man who broke you in when you were eleven. That means you'll be a helluva long ways ahead of most of these broads."
Now we were alone in the privacy of the bedroom. I watched as he undressed.
"Come on and take your clothes off," he looked over at me and said.
I got out of my clothes quickly, finishing my undressing a few seconds after he was through.
He walked over toward me.
"Reach out and pump on my cock a few times," he said. "It needs a little affection."
As I reached out and grabbed a hold of his cock, playing with it several times, running my fingers up and down it, he leaned forward and kissed my lips. It was one of those long kisses that seemed like it was going to last forever. The only thing I didn't like about it was that there was this heavy stench of alcohol on his breath.
After he got through kissing my lips, he reached out and slipped that tongue of his inside my mouth. Back and forth he would let the tongue slide. I've got to admit that he was pretty good at Frenching, even if he might have been pretty drunk at the time.
He finally guided me inside the bed with him. This time I wound up lying on my back. His hands were straddling my ass cheeks.
"You sure do have a beautiful ass, sweetheart, a great ass," he said. "O.K., this is what I've been building you up for. I'm ready for the big moment, baby. Some girls wait a long time before they get their cherries broken. Well, I'm going to break my baby's cherry right now."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I'm going to fuck you."
"Are you going to hurt me?"
"Oh yes, I'm going to hurt you. It will hurt for a while, sure it will. But let me tell you one thing. The more I do it, the better you're going to like it. But you've got to get fucked that first time, and that does hurt some."
As he moved his penis forward and got set to enter me, I closed my eyes tightly. I didn't even want to watch him make that initial penetration.
Maybe I didn't see him thrust that prick of his into me for the first time, but I sure as hell felt it. I felt the sharp piercing pain shoot through my entire body, focused naturally down there between my legs, as he rocked his body back and forth.
He was jolting me repeatedly, stabbing me with those razor sharp prick movements of his.
"Ah, a virgin, a nice tight virgin," I heard him murmur. "What a piece of ass you are, baby, you're great, honey, and I really love shoving it into you. Oh, it's really nice to fuck somebody like you. Oh, nice, nice, I really like a good piece of ass like this."
That body of his kept rocking back and forth as he moved himself that much closer to orgasm.
As he got close to the big moment, he reached out and pinched my ass cheeks. He pinched them pretty good, enough to where he made them hurt. But nothing like those feelings of pain I had down there between my legs from those incessant stabs of his.
"Oh, what a fuck, a nice virgin fuck, oh, you're great, baby," he exclaimed.
Now he was jolting me with everything he had, driving that huge erect rod into me as deep as it would go.
"What a hot dick I've got," he chuckled. "Get set for some juice, baby, get set for a nice hot orgasm. I'm going to explode this stuff inside that mound of yours. Oh, you're going to get to where you'll learn to love this."
He leaned forward and kissed my lips at the point of explosion. I could feel the warmth from that juice as it spurted inside my mound.
He heaved a sigh, then threw his body off of me. He caught his breath as he lay several inches away.
"You might be bloody now, baby, but it only hurts for a little while," he laughed. "I gave you a good fuck and you're going to get many more like this if I have anything to do with it."
That was the way things started. I had sex with my father repeatedly over the course of the next three years.
Toward the end, though, he was wasting away from all of the alcohol he had consumed. My mother didn't believe in divorce; it was against her religious principles, so she put up with him, doing everything that she could to try and rehabilitate him.
Several times she even sent him away to an alcohol sanitarium. He did dry out temporarily, but once he returned home, he fell back into the same old mold.
Mother worked very hard and had a good job. I can appreciate now more than ever just what she went through to try and salvage something in the way of a family relationship.
If she had ever known about what was going on between Dad and myself, she would really have been shocked. It would have crushed her to no end.
Well, father's misery finally came to an end just after I turned fourteen. He was crossing a street dead drunk late one evening. He didn't even notice the car that was moving quickly down the street.
It was a sports car driven by a teenager who liked to make speed. All it took was just a jolt of that collision. He ran into Dad, who went sprawling. He was dead on arrival at the hospital.
I'll never forget how heartbroken my poor mother was over what had happened.
The funny thing was that, even though I was just as broken up as she was, my eyes were dry. For some strange reason I wasn't able to shed so much as one tear.
For one thing, I felt terribly ashamed as I saw that sincere mother of mine standing there in the hospital reception room crying like a baby, her eyes blood red, I couldn't help but think about the number of times that I had had sex with my father. She had never known about it.
The two of us did our best to pick up the pieces. I tried as best I could to forget about those sex experiences that I had had with my father, but I found myself completely unable to do so.
The more I thought about having sex with him, the worse it made me feel that he was gone. I got to the point after a while where I started missing him very much and those sex experiences with him.
About that time some of my girlfriends were engaging in sex with some of the boys at school. They would ask me along on little excursions to Sausalito on weekends. There they would pet and kiss with the boys until the late hours of the night.
When I was fourteen I was attracting guys who were in college, along with the boys that I was going to school with. I always thought those petting sessions were juvenile, and I wasn't really attracted to the young guys that I came into contact with. To me they were too immature, I mean, I had been trained to do everything to please my father, so I'd be damned if I was going to get turned on by these young kids.
Then something happened. My mother met a man at a church function. He began taking her out regularly.
The man, a widower whose wife died when she was very young, worked as an insurance claims adjuster. He was a tall, handsome Irishman with a winning smile, and I immediately liked him.
After Mother had been going with this man-Kirby was his name-for several weeks, she decided to fix dinner for him at home one night in our apartment.
I could tell from the way that she meticulously arranged her clothing and from the manner in which she prepared the food, that she liked this man Kirby very much and was eager to please him.
I knew that Mother was not the type of woman who would play around with just any man. My guess was that she was not even having sex with this fellow at this point, since she was a woman of great virtue. As a matter-of-fact, I figured that Kirby's best chance of getting her into bed lay in marrying her.
Kirby showed up and had a nice conversation with me while Mother was getting dinner ready. I got the feeling that Mother had deliberately arranged it that way, since she had started her preparation early enough to where, had she wanted to, she could have had dinner ready for Kirby the moment that he hit the door.
But instead she was going through a few last minute preparations, and as she did so, we conversed. He had a very charming way about him, and I couldn't help but find myself becoming greatly attracted to him.
He was quite a storyteller, and told me all about his work as a claims adjuster, telling me all kinds of fascinating details about some of the cases he had worked on. Then after that we got into a discussion about current movies. I found from conversing with him that we had similar tastes when it came to motion pictures.
The entire evening went like a charm. Mother proved to be the perfect hostess, and Kirby and I got along well in conversation. I could tell how happy Mother was by the way that her eyes were gleaming. You know, it was the first time that I recalled her looking like that since Father died. And she hadn't really exhibited that expression for quite a while, prior to his death. As he slid downhill, she tended to look a lot sadder. It reminded me of the days when I was a very young girl.
As Kirby left the house that evening, Mother asked:
"What do you think of Kirby, dear?"
"He's an absolute doll," I quickly replied.
"I agree. How would you like to have him for a stepfather?"
"That would be dreamy."
"Well, let's just say a little prayer and hope that it happens, dear."
"Do you really think it will?"
"You know how it is with men," she chuckled. "Often they don't know what they want. But I really do think that he likes me quite a bit. What do you think?"
"I can tell from the way he looked at you and talked to you that he likes you a lot."
"That's what I was hoping you would say. I hope it just isn't wishful thinking on our part."
"No, I don't think it is at all."
"I certainly hope not. Let's just see what happens."
I began seeing Kirby around the house a lot more frequently after that.
At first I was delighted over the fact that my mother, after having been through so much, might naturally have an opportunity to gain some happiness with another man.
But as time went by, and as the relationship between Kirby and the two of us became that much closer, I found myself experiencing mixed feelings.
Kirby was quite a sportsman, and on weekends he would take my mother and I to baseball games, sometimes to Candlestick Park to see the Giants play, then other times to the Oakland Coliseum to see the Athletics.
The thing that really started to bother me after a while was that I would get downright hot down there between my legs just being around Kirby. I didn't like to think about the consequences of such a response, so I did my best to try and tell myself that it didn't really mean anything.
I guess it was downright foolish of me to take that attitude, to try and sweep something like that that was a real problem, a glaringly real one, underneath the rug.
After a while it got to the point where I would be thinking about Kirby in the evening after I went to bed.
Sometimes I would get so hot that I'd begin to think about him naked. I would imagine him stroking his long cock, just like Dad used to do when I had sex with him.
Every time that I started thinking about Kirby naked, I'd get so hot that I'd have to do something about it. I would reach inside my panties and let my fingers go to work on my love button.
The next thing I'd know, that warm slit of mine would be just about ready to shoot. I'd keep those fingers prying like crazy around that mound of mine until I finally orgasmed.
After orgasming, I would always feel ashamed of myself. Here this man was more than likely going to be my stepfather, and I just had to learn to behave myself. I couldn't constantly be thinking of him in a sexual context, since that just wouldn't be right at all. But I nevertheless kept on thinking about him that way, and the longer that I did, the more intense the feelings inside me became.
Soon it got to the point where I was imagining myself seeing him just about everywhere. On the streets when I'd see a man of his built, I always imagined Kirby being there, even if he might have been some ten or twenty miles away at that particular time.
I can remember early one Saturday afternoon when my mother was working. Occasionally she would work on Saturdays, and this was one of those times.
By that point in their relationship, Kirby was in the habit of just dropping by when he wanted to.
It was a pretty warm day and I had on a white blouse and a pair of cream colored shorts. I've got to admit that at fourteen, I was built better than most women will ever be built at any age.
I opened the door and he greeted me with a smile.
"Hello there, Zelda," he said.
"Kirby, come right in," I said.
"Is your mother around?" he asked, smiling that friendly smile of his.
"No, she's working today."
"Oh, that's too bad. She doesn't usually work on Saturdays, does she?"
"No, not unless she's behind on her work. Today she's trying to catch up."
"You know, I was going to invite both of you to go out to the baseball game with me. We could still go."
"I guess we could," I nodded.
My wheels then began turning in my brain. I just had to detain him, to keep him in this apartment talking to me.
"How about me fixing you a beer?" I smiled. "Say, that would go pretty good on a warm day like this."
"It's nice and cold in the freezer."
"Gee, that really sounds good."
"I'll have it for you in a second."
"Thank you."
I brought him the beer in the can, just the way he always liked to drink it.
I then assumed the conversation initiative, getting him to talk about all kinds of things. All the while the time was passing.
The more beer he drank, the less inclined he was even to think about time. I offered him a second beer after he finished the first, and he gladly took me up on it.
It wasn't until he was about halfway through with his second beer that it suddenly dawned on him that it was a little later than he thought it to be. He looked at his wristwatch and frowned.
"Daggone it, we'll never make that game now," he said. "Why didn't you stop me from doing all this talking?"
"Oh, I didn't want to stop you," I smiled sweetly. "You're a very fascinating man, Kirby, and I really enjoy talking to you."
"Zelda, you're a born charmer," he laughed. "The man that marries you is really going to be a lucky lad."
"Thank you."
As I sat there opposite him, I started getting all hot and bothered inside. I could barely wait for him to finish drinking that second beer.
As he set it down on the table in front of him, I walked over and sat down next to him on the sofa.
"You're so very handsome, Kirby," I told him breathlessly.
He sat there stiffly, his eyes about ready to pop out. I knew what was happening to him. He was succumbing to my charms slowly but surely.
"I love you, Kirby," I finally told him.
I assumed the initiative, leaning my head forward and letting my lips plunge eagerly against his.
As my lips remained frozen against his, I could feel his whole body convulsing with wild passion.
Now I had the definite feeling that I had him exactly where I wanted him.
I finally released my lips from his.
"I've got to play with your cock," I said.
I quickly unzipped his trousers, then pulled out his huge throbbing tool.
I really overwhelmed him, taking him totally by surprise.
"What are you doing, girl? You shouldn't do this," he gasped. "It's not right, it really isn't."
"Like hell it isn't."
"Look at the difference in our ages."
"What the hell difference does that make?"
"But, dear, I'm going with your mother."
"She doesn't have to know about this, does she?"
He gulped as I began to run the fingers of my right hand up and down that flaming prick of his.
Up and down those fingers of mine worked at a fervent level. Soon I had him in the palm of my hand. His face had turned pale from the shock and excitement of it all, but as for that cock of his, it was standing long and proud.
"I've got to suck this thing, I've got to suck this big prick," I told him.
I moved my head forward and let my tongue come into brisk contact with the tip of his cock. That was the way my father had taught me to suck, to begin by stimulating the man with short little thrusts at the very tip of his dick. Back and forth those tongue movements of mine continued as I worked him into a frenzy of passion.
"Oh, I've never felt anything like this before. Oh, what you're doing to me," he gasped.
Now I was extending my activities to the entire base of his organ. Up and down I was rotating that tongue of mine, and as I did, I let the fingers of both hands play ever so energetically with his balls.
I liked the fact that those balls of his were becoming ever larger. It meant that he was getting that much closer to the ultimate moment of orgasmic truth.
Back and forth I continued sliding my tongue, looking forward with ever greater anticipation to the moment that his dick would explode inside me.
"Oh, I can't take much more of this, oh, it's too much," he gasped. "Oh, it's shooting now, oh, it's shooting, it's shooting, it's shooting."
At that point the hot white liquid began to stream out of the end of his hard dick and inside my mouth.
I was successful in gobbling up every solitary drop of that juicy cum, and was very proud of the whole thing.
As soon as I finished digesting his load, he put his penis back inside his trousers and zipped it back up quickly.
He jumped up from the sofa and walked quickly toward the door. Now his face was more pale than ever.
"I'll see you later," he said in a trembling voice.
"You don't have to rush, honey, we can do more things if you'd like."
"No, this is it for me."
It was too. Not only was that his last visit in my presence, it was the last time that he ever came over.
My mother called him several times after several days had elapsed. He gave her flimsy excuses as to why he didn't call her. Finally she stopped calling altogether, realizing that he wanted to break off with her.
I'll never forget the time when she came to the realization that they were through. She burst into tears as she lay on the bed.
"Why, oh why?" she asked. "I've been so good to him. I don't understand it. He liked me, we had so many plans."
If you don't think I felt about two inches high when that happened, then you've got another thought coming.
After that I began throwing myself into affairs with a number of men. My poor mother never met a man that she thought much of after Kirby. She would go out occasionally, but soon the men would stop coming to her house. She just wasn't impressed with them to the same extent she was with Kirby.
As for me, I've been kicking around ever since, and when I think of my poor mother having to live alone now in that apartment, it really makes me feel guilty.
I'm in my senior year now of college, and I live in an apartment just a few blocks away from the campus.
I'm what's known as a real easy mark when it comes to giving a guy a blow job. I do it like a real pro, just like my father taught me to do.
The other night I went to a bar and got drunk. This terribly lecherous character kept buying me drinks. Then I brought him home.
When I saw him in the light, I just about threw up. He's a pretty ugly looking character, and he was drunk besides.
I still sucked him off, though. But when I got through, I looked at myself in the mirror and saw what was becoming of me.
I felt so terribly sorry for my mother and what I had done to her. Perhaps if I hadn't succumbed to sex with my father, just maybe he could have worked out his problems.
Well, I got so depressed that I did my best to end my life. I didn't succeed, and I can't say that I'm happy that that woman who lives next door saved me.
SUMMARY
It is plain to see that Zelda R. is a highly confused girl with strong guilt feelings.
Had Zelda's father not forced her into sex with him, she would more than likely have developed sex attitudes and preferences which would have been considered wholesome for a girl of her age. In time she would have become a mature woman sexually. But instead she was pushed into a premature relationship at a time when she was not physically or emotionally equipped to cope with something of that nature.
My first piece of advice to her was to suggest that she see a psychiatrist, whereby she answered by relating to me that she was currently seeing one.
I asked her for permission to talk with the psychiatrist, passing along a number of layman's observations that I was able to arrive at on the basis of my extensive interview with her.
She consented, but said pessimistically:
"I don't think it's going to do any good. I think that the ball game is over."
I did my best to encourage her, telling her that she had youth on her side and that she could overcome her problems if she would only hang tough.
About one week after I talked with Zelda in my office, I called up the psychiatrist. We had a lengthy chat, in the course of which he confided his observations to me.
He related that a girl in Zelda's predicament stood at a fatal crossroads. If she could whip her problems at that particular juncture, then there was a good deal of hope for her. But, he cautioned, she was fighting a battle against time.
I quizzed him immediately on that point. I was puzzled. She was a very young woman, and I wondered why time was that imperative.
"Because the guilt syndrome has been operating for so long," the psychiatrist explained. "We must kill it off right now, and the only way that we can do that is to instill in her the importance of forgetting about what transpired in the past. I told her that the best way for her to make things up to her mother was to start acting like the kind of young woman who would make a mother proud. For instance, even though she's very bright, she does poorly in her school work. I said that was one area where she could show improvement. Also, if she met the right young man and got married, that would make her mother proud as well."
"Have you had any success with this approach?" I asked hopefully.
"Only time will tell," the psychiatrist shrugged.
Several months after my meeting with the psychiatrist, I received a call from him.
This time he sounded far more optimistic than he had on previous occasion.
"Do you remember Zelda?" he began the conversation.
"Of course I do," I replied, "How is she doing?"
"Much better."
"I'm delighted to hear that."
"You know, she graduated from college, then went out and got a job. She met an enterprising young man , who works as an accountant in downtown San Francisco. She told me that they were on the verge of being engaged. Just as I thought, her mother is now a lot happier about things. I knew that that girl could change her mother's attitude about life if she would just get out and accomplish something to make her mother feel proud."
"It looks like you were right."
"She isn't completely out of the woods yet, but things are looking a lot better," the psychiatrist said.
A few weeks ago I received an invitation in the mail to a wedding.
By the time this book gains publication status, young Zelda R. will have been married.
I know one thing for certain, her mother will be the proudest person there.
Zelda's problem, which now appears to be solved, differs in one basic respect from that of Ann V.'s.
In Ann's case, the moments of sadism and masochism were highly prevalent.
With respect to sado-masochism, Wilhelm Stekel has stated the following:
"I repeat: Sado-masochism is a form of psychosexual infantilism. The impulse shows an obsessive character and manifests itself as repetition compulsion. In all cases of sado-masochism we shall find the entire instrumentalism of infantilism and with it a well-developed fetishism accompanied by its most important phenomenon, flight from the partner. Careful analysis shows that all these cases are obsessive parapathies. The obsessive parapathy seeks to overcome the inner resistances through a compulsion; it binds the impulse as a result of the displacement of affect, through an obsessive symptom."
Ann's sado-masochism had its roots with one tragic incident. From there it gathered momentum like a charging locomotive.
Ann's case illustrates a different type of reaction under the traumatic experience of sex between a daughter and her father.
CASE TWO
Ann V. came to me in a thoroughly embittered state of mind.
She at first was highly hostile about even engaging in conversation with me.
"Why should I tell you anything?" she glowered at me. "I don't know you."
"I do think it would help you very much if you would get a few things off your chest, Ann," I replied tactfully.
"How do you know anything's on it?" she laughed.
"Come now, Ann. I'm familiar enough with your case to know that."
"O.K., since you know so much about me, why don't you tell me what you know? Why do you need me to help you?"
"There are a number of voids to be filled," I explained. "I really would appreciate it if you would help me."
It took me several more minutes of conscientious reasoning in order to convince her that I really was concerned about her welfare. When she reached the point where she could agree, she indicated her willingness to help me out.
Finally, she was willing to explain everything about herself at length. As she began to talk, her voice became more and more excited.
The longer that she unraveled her story, the more clear it became to me that she really wanted to reveal the details about her life to begin with, and just wanted to make sure that she was talking to somebody who was sensitively attuned to her problems.
Ann's interesting story follows:
I absolutely hated my old man. It would be impossible for me to tell you just how much I do hate him.
He's rotten, I mean rotten to the very core, and as I tell you more and more about him, you're going to find that out in much greater detail.
I remember the early days when we were growing up in Chicago. I was one of four kids, and the old man worked as a custodian. He worked in one of the big buildings in downtown Chicago, a good sized building just across the street from the Wrigley Building. It housed some of the more prominent doctors and lawyers in Chicago.
He worked there nights, and during the days he was sitting around the house.
He always had a mean streak in him, but it seems like the older he got, the worst the mean streak became.
He also started to develop a possessive streak toward my mother that drove the poor woman up the wall. She had a job working part time as a domestic. I really think that the big reason wasn't so much the extra money, even though that helped, but just to get away from him.
But he was an absolute maniac. He thought something else.
"You're playing around, I know damned well you are," I heard him confront her one night after I had gone to bed.
"That isn't so, John," she said in that soft voice of hers.
"Like hell it isn't. You're a bitch, you're a disgrace to me and a disgrace to the whole family."
"Please don't say that," she began to sob.
I felt like getting up and helping my mother, but I knew that my father had been hitting the wine, and whenever he did that, you could count on him being as mean as can be. If any of us had gone out there to aid my mother, we would have been clobbered right across the mouth, and we all knew it. So, we just hovered helplessly in our beds listening to the loud argument.
"I know damned well what goes on," he said. "I'll just tell you one thing. If you pull anything that I can catch you on, if I ever find you horsing around with another guy, I'm going to slit your throat and slit his too."
I shuddered when I heard him say that to my poor mother, who broke down into tears. I hated him so bad that, if I had had a knife at that instant, I would have thought nothing of shoving it into his rotten belly.
Time went on, and, of course, he never found my mother with another man. I think she just wanted a little relief from him, a chance to get out of the house.
He would often just sit around and watch television during the day. He would do that and he would drink beer, can after can. And when he felt like he needed something a little stronger, he'd quickly switch to the wine, about the cheapest kind he could get his hands on.
One day when my mother was working, and when my brothers were out playing baseball, I came home from school and found him lying on the sofa. He was watching television.
"Hello there, cutie," he winked at me as I walked in the door.
"Hello," was all I said.
At that time I had just turned twelve, and I was already fairly well developed for a girl my age. I had long flowing black hair, and there was something in the way of breast development that had made its presence already. I know that I was getting looks from young guys all the time, and I really didn't like the way my father was looking at me.
"You sure are a gorgeous little chick," he said. "Just make sure you don't turn into a bitch like your old lady. I'm no fool. I know she's playing around."
"She is not," I struck back.
"Don't talk to your father that way."
"Well, don't talk about my mother that way."
"You know, I'm afraid I'm going to have to discipline you," he shook his head. "There's one thing the old man won't put up with, and that's insubordination. I don't want you giving me any guff."
"I wasn't giving you any guff. You were saying some nasty things about my mother that aren't true."
"How would you know that they're not true?"
"I just know it. How do you know that they are?"
"You stay married to a person long enough, and you know just about everything that's going on in that person's life."
He got up from the sofa and walked toward me. I could smell that wine on his breath, and I didn't like it one bit.
The next thing I knew, he had clasped his right hand around my left. He squeezed it so hard that it hurt me.
"You come with me," he grinned savagely. "I've got a little lesson for you. I'm going to teach you that you can't talk to your old man that way and get away with it."
He took me into his bedroom and locked the door. When he did that, I really became fearful.
I anticipated him taking off that belt of his and really giving me a beating, like he would do with my brothers.
But he took me by surprise by doing something else instead. His trembling fingers went to work on my dress, pulling it off as quickly as he could.
The moment that he finished removing my dress, he reached out and began undoing my bra. He removed it, then pulled off my panties.
"I'm going to have a good time with you," he laughed. "I'm going to get you in the middle of that bed, then I'm really going to go to town." Now I was lying on my back, and his fingers were going to work on my breasts.
"Wow! Only twelve years old and you've got beautiful tits already," he chuckled. "I'm really going to have fun with you, baby. Am I ever."
After the fingers had manipulated around my breasts for a little while, he decided to move the action down to between my legs.
He began to work the fingers of his right hand eagerly over my mound. I had orgasmed probably three times in my life up to that point, always through masturbation late at night. It made me embarrassed even to think about it, but this was far worse. Here it was my father letting his fingertips roam ever so freely over my pussy.
Back and forth he continued those movements, and as he did, my entire body quivered.
"I'm really going to have fun with you," he laughed. "Is this such a tough way to be disciplined?"
"I guess not."
"It had better not be. Your brothers get my belt. I think you'll like this a lot better."
I wasn't about to answer that comment at all. Actually, in a way I would have rather received a beating with his belt rather than to get what I was getting. But I really didn't have any choice in the matter. I knew he wasn't about to switch to anything else at that point. He was having too much fun with what he was doing.
He kept up the finger movements until he decided it was time to switch the action. Then he took me by surprise by removing the fingers and lowering his tongue.
"Now you're really going to get kicks," he laughed, "you're going to get some real fun now. I'm going to work that tongue over that mound of yours. You're really going to love that, baby."
Now my entire body was twisting and turning as he turned that long red tongue of his loose on my pussy.
All it took were a few preliminary strokes and I already started getting moist down there. As the dew drops filtered out of my pussy, he became that much more enchanted with the prospect of getting some beautiful sex. So he just kept that tongue manipulating ever so freely around my mound, working it at a feverish clip.
As he let the tongue loose on my mound, he reached out and grabbed a hold of my ass cheeks. He clutched them ever so vigorously, hanging onto them for dear life while his tongue continued to stab and thrust with rapier efforts over my burning mound.
Never had I experienced sensations quite like those that were sailing through me at that point.
Back and forth the tongue would maneuver, and as it did, I could feel myself drawing that much closer to orgasm.
I was panting and gasping with every twisting and turning effort that his tongue put forth down there between my legs.
Finally I heaved a loud sigh, at which point the juice began to shoot out of my pussy and into his waiting mouth.
He released his tongue from my mound. Even though I had enjoyed the experience of orgasm, I still hated everything that my father stood for.
I hated it in particular to observe him grinning in such a glowing manner. He had had some fun at my expense.
I would have thought that the action would have ended right there, but unfortunately for me, it didn't. After that, things got considerably worse.
"I'd sure like to fuck you," he said.
"Please don't do that," I implored.
"Shut up, you little slut. You're just like your old lady. I bet you've been fucked many times."
"No, I never have."
"Bullshit. Well, I'll fuck you right now, and I'll almost guarantee you that you've never been fucked this way."
"What are you going to do?"
"Just never you mind. You'll find out soon enough."
The next thing I knew he was grabbing a hold of my leg, squeezing them so tightly that it just about choked off the circulation. He threw those legs of mine over his powerful shoulders, then hunched his body forward.
He thrust that huge tool of his into my anus. To make matters worse, he hadn't even bothered to lubricate it at all. He probably liked the idea of penetrating my anal area without any softening process. That way it hurt me all the more.
"Stop, oh stop, you're killing me," I gasped. "Shut up," he replied. "I'm giving you exactly what you deserve, you lousy little bitch."
"Please, you're hurting me, you're hurting me."
"I'll hurt you a lot more if you don't stop your bawling."
He reached out and slapped me across the face. It was a stinging slap, and it caused my upper lip to bleed.
I realized that he meant business, and I had the sick feeling that, if I didn't stop my crying right then and there, he would actually kill me.
So I gasped and grimaced as that cock of his continued to penetrate inside my anal area.
"You've got a cute little rectum," he laughed. "You're real tight down there. I kind of figured you would be. Oh, is it ever great fucking you down there. Is it ever great fucking that asshole of yours."
I gasped and sobbed as he kept it up, but all the while I was doing my best to see to it that I didn't sob loudly.
Now he was shoving that huge pecker of his as deep inside my anus as he possibly could. Then did that hurt! Oh, there's nothing that I hate worse than sodomy, especially when the person who is doing it to me is as brutal as that terrible sonofabitch was.
But he kept it up, he kept on stabbing time and again, getting his sadistic kicks by brutalizing me with those searing movements.
"Ah, this is fantastic," he gasped. "I really love this. This is sure a helluva lot better than fucking your old lady's cunt. The damned thing is loose already from all those kids and all. But you, baby, you really do have a nice ass. I really love shoving that huge pecker of mine into it. This is what I call fun, real fun."
It might have been fun for him, but it was outright hell for me, and as he moved closer to climax, I began hurting all the more down there.
My anus was burning like crazy as he kept on penetrating inside it with that huge mammoth organ of his.
"O.K., the old prick's getting ready to shoot. Oh, the juice is getting ready to fly," he laughed. "Just feel that hot juice in your asshole, baby, just feel it."
The hot white jissum then began to shoot out of the end of his instrument and into my waiting anus.
I felt a great feeling of relief as he finally released his big dick from my asshole.
"Well, I bloodied you a little down there," he laughed. "The next time that asshole of yours will be a little more ready for me."
As I lay there on that bed trembling in pain, he left the room, going down the street to buy himself another bottle of wine.
It was a tragic experience, one that I'll never forget.
It was repeated on a number of occasions. He would wait until we were alone in the place, then he'd make his suggestion.
I did my best never to be alone with him, but it would often just work out that way.
Just before I turned thirteen, he looked at me and said:
"Have you ever had your pussy fucked?"
"No, I haven't."
"You sure about that?"
"Positive."
"You ever had sex with anybody but me?"
"No, I haven't."
"I think I'll find out if you're lying. I think I'll have sex with you right now. That way I'll find out for sure."
The next thing I knew we were in the bedroom and he was tearing my clothes off of me. He panted like some kind of a wild animal when he wanted sex. The funny thing, when a lot of guys get drunk, they aren't able to be as effective in the sex act. But it was different with that sonofabitch. When he got smashed, he could fuck like nobody's business.
He pulled my panties off of me, then pushed that hard dick of his forward inside my mound.
He really drilled me with it, and it hurt. Did it ever hurt! It reminded me very much of the first time he had sodomized me.
"I'm going to find out if you bleed," he said. "If you're telling the truth, then I'll break that cherry of yours."
Those hips of his were flipping back and forth with uninhibited zeal as he continued to enter my mound.
Before long he was pushing and punching that big dick of his into me as deeply as it would go. He was fucking me with blinding enthusiasm, driving that lengthy pecker of his high and deep inside my mound.
I was burning up all over, and it hurt me so bad that the tears were just streaming down both sides of my face. They were tears of pain, and I was doing my best to reduce the sobbing. If I ever sobbed too much, I could expect just one thing-the back of his hand, and he was only too free to give out with that kind of a response.
"Hey, you are bleeding down there," he laughed. "I guess my little girl was telling me the truth. I guess you weren't lying after all. Hey, I really love this action, baby. I'm really getting down to the end now. I really love what you are doing for me."
Now he was pinching my thighs as he moved into the final few stages preceding climax. He was breathing heavily now, and I could tell just how far along he was.
Whenever he would reach the point where he was breathing at a certain level, I knew he was just about ready to expel his juices. That was exactly where he was at that point.
"Oh, I'm all set to orgasm. Oh, am I ever ready," he gasped. "Look out, baby, because I'm going to unload inside you."
He heaved one final sigh, after which the white juice spilled out of the end of his organ.
There was one other thing that he liked to do with me. He loved to grab me by the hair and make me go down on that cock of his.
"Come on, suck the thing," he would say impatiently.
He would continue to cling to that hair of mine, shoving me down over that huge pecker of his. Several times I almost threw up, I was so disgusted about the whole thing, but there was nothing that I could do except to go along with him. I knew that he would beat me senseless if I ever crossed him at any point.
So, as he would hang onto my hair, I would let that tongue of mine stab and roll up and down the base of that hard pecker of his.
He had a monstrous cock on him, one you just wouldn't believe, and he knew just what he wanted when it came to sucking enthusiasm.
I would get dizzy and sweaty from letting my tongue roll up and down that long pecker.
"Just keep it up, don't let up, don't let up one bit," he would implore. "I need that action, baby, I really need it. Keep it up, sweetheart, just keep up those stabbing movements. I'm going to fuck you in the mouth, baby, am I ever going to fuck you good. Come on and lick, lick that hot juice, I want you to suck it all out, suck it, baby, suck that hot juice out of the end of my fucking dick."
A few seconds later he would heave a loud sigh, then I'd feel that hot juice spilling from the end of his cock and into my mouth.
The first time that I ever sucked him, I choked on the stuff and didn't swallow any of it.
It was the last time I ever did that, because he really made me pay.
"You wiseass little bitch," he exploded.
He slapped me several times across the face, actually causing a swelling in one spot.
When my mother, examining me, asked what happened, he piped up and said:
"She was a bad little girl and I had to discipline her."
I'll never forget the evening just after I celebrated my fourteenth birthday when a policeman came to our house.
We kids listened from another room as the policeman explained to my mother what had happened.
My father, dead drunk, and in a terrible rage, had gotten into an argument with a man at a bar on the North Side. They had had a wager on a pool game, and my father had accused the man, who had beaten him, of cheating.
Loud words followed, after which my father took out his trusty knife and stabbed the man in the stomach. He then proceeded to slit his throat, killing the poor guy.
My father, the officer said, was being held in jail and would be tried for manslaughter.
I was sitting in court with my mother and brothers when my father was sentenced to prison for first degree manslaughter. My mother broke into tears, but I was happier than I had ever been in my life. I might not have been smiling on the outside, because I didn't want to do anything to hurt my mother, but I was sure cheering on the inside.
As he walked past me, I said to myself: You sonofabitch, do you ever deserve it.
He's been doing time in Joliet Prison ever since, and it's a good place for him. He's such a dangerous bastard that I hope they keep him locked up for good, even though he is due to come out sometime soon.
I stuck around home until I finished high school. By then Chicago had become a real drag to me. I wanted to leave home, to get far away from those terrible memories.
Just after I turned eighteen, I went to California, waving goodby to my mother and brothers in a bus station.
As that Greyhound bus pulled out of the depot, I felt a tremendous sense of relief in knowing that I was leaving Chicago for the first time in my life and going somewhere else.
The somewhere else was Los Angeles, a place that I had seen in so many movies and read about in so many magazines. I had thought of it as some kind of heaven, what with all the movie stars living there and all. I figured that it was a good place for a good looking gal like myself to try her hand.
As for my mental attitude, I remained very confused. I'll admit it, I would still wake up at night in a trembling sweat, thinking about my father. I envisioned him stabbing that pecker of his deep into my rectal passage. I could feel the terrible pain, those punishing stabs, that appeared as vivid as they had been when he had actually meted them out.
I figured that the change of scenery might get me away from that kind of thinking. Maybe if I was in a completely new locale, I could close the books on that phase of my life and start anew.
At least that was the way that I saw it, and even though that bus ride might have been exhausting, I didn't notice it one bit, I was all too happy to be leaving Chicago and going to Los Angeles.
Believe it or not, I was so naive upon coming to Los Angeles that I actually tried to get a job as an actress. When that didn't work, I tried to get work as a model.
I could have had some success there, what with my youth, my looks, and all. But there was one thing that I just couldn't hack. The fact that all those guys that could have helped me get to the top were all drooling over me. It was just like my old man all over again, so I nixed that fast.
When I got to the point where my money had run out and I was really hurting, I got a job as a cocktail waitress at a bar out in the San Fernando Valley.
At first I just couldn't stand the drips that would come in there and try and put the make on me, but after a while I figured that I would play along with them.
I would get them to buy me breakfast after work, then I'd play along when they'd ask me for a date. They would be hot and bothered, and would want to take me to bed right that minute, but I naturally would put them off. After all, I had to act like a lady, didn't I?
Well, I got to be an expert at prying money loose from them for certain things. But I would always leave them dangling. Dangling down there between their legs. If they wanted the action that bad, then they could jack off as far as I was concerned.
There was one guy that really began to bug me, though. His name was Artie, and he was married with a family.
He told me that his wife wasn't very good about satisfying his sexual desires, and he'd come in and bitch like crazy about it.
I started going out with Artie. I figured he would be a good guy to know. He was a pretty sharp dresser, and a little classier than the run of the mill creeps that visited the place.
He dressed well and drove a late model Mercedes, so I naturally figured he was worth some bread. If I hadn't figured that, you can be damned sure that I never would have gone out with him in the first place.
I played along with the sonofabitch, hoping that I'd get some money out of him. But he wasn't all that eager to buy me things, like so many of the other guys had been. He wanted me to put out.
One night, after the joint had closed, he suggested that we go to a beautiful hotel located not far from the bar.
"You're rushing things, my dear," I warned him.
"Bullshit, I am," he laughed. "Just what are you taking me for? You're putting me on."
"No, I'm not."
"Well, I'm getting fed up with this."
"Do you think I've had it perfect? After all, you haven't done much for me."
"I've given you plenty of company."
"A girl can't pay her bills with that."
"You stick with me and everything's going to be fine."
"You keep saying that, but I'm still looking for proof."
"You'll get it in time."
I went to that hotel with him, even though I wasn't particularly eager about it. I thought that maybe the guy would buy me some clothes or something afterwards.
Well, he undressed, and so did I in the darkness of that room. I could tell that he had that look of hellfire in his eyes and it wouldn't be easy to turn him off.
The moment that I climbed out of my panties, he was all over me, panting like a hungry dog.
He let his fingers curl around my breasts and nipples, and permitted that tongue of his to go to work down there between my legs.
Back and forth he manipulated that tongue at a brisk clip, working nice and fast, enjoying the fervent activity that he was putting forth.
As he kept up that licking, he drove me that much closer to orgasm.
I had the same mixed feelings once more that I had when I was getting my pussy sucked by my old man. There would be one side of me that would enjoy the sensation, while the other side would be completely turned off and would hate everything that was going on.
I actually hated this creep Artie, and I wondered if I hadn't made a mistake by getting involved with him at all.
The tongue of his kept twisting inside my pink vaginal walls, and I kept moving closer to orgasm.
I finally shot my pussy juices inside his mouth, after which he was all the more eager to get his rocks off.
"That was a good suck," he told me. "Now I want you to go down on me, just like I went down on you."
"No way," I told him. "At least not until you are really willing to put out."
"What is this? Some kind of a shakedown racket?"
"I'll tell you what. I'll do you a favor. You've got money. I'll go down on you if you'll pay me a hundred bucks."
"Like hell I will," he exploded. "So you're nothing but a goddam little whore. A little bitch whore."
When I saw that mean expression on his face, I thought immediately of my father. I could see that same snarling expression surfacing before my eyes, and did I ever hate it. There wasn't anything more dreadful, as far as I was concerned, than that expression that he had on his face.
"You're going to suck that cock and you're going to like it," he said, his hands clutching my shoulders.
"Turn loose of me."
"Not until I'm good and ready."
"Please turn loose of me."
At that point he turned loose, but, much to my surprise got up from the bed and walked over toward where he had hung his clothes up in the closet.
He reached inside his coat pocket, removing a knife.
Now I really was scared. I thought about my old man. This character Artie was just like him, every bit as hateful. He walked toward me with that terribly menacing look on his face.
"I mean it. I want my cock sucked, and if I don't get it, I'm going to kill you," he said.
I was petrified. But not to the point where I couldn't think.
I did have one ace in the hole, provided that I wanted to risk my life to use it. I kept a revolver stashed in my purse. I knew that, fooling with men the way that I did, there was always a chance that one of them might fly into a rage sometime. That was why I kept the revolver there, just for some meaningful insurance.
As he moved toward me with that knife, glowering at me in the same way that my old man used to do, I reached out and made a grab for that purse.
I grabbed the gun. I was planning on using it just to hold him off, to force him to abandon his aggressive instinct and to leave me alone.
But he had other ideas. Who knows, maybe Artie figured that I was going to try and kill him first.
"You bitch, I'll get you," he threatened.
He then thrust out with that knife, doing his best to stab me with it before I had a chance to shoot him.
I pulled the trigger quickly and instinctively. The next thing I knew I had fired three shots at him.
He was lying dead on the floor in a cloud of smoke.
I let out a scream, and seconds later the police were in the room.
The police questioned me all night long, then had me come back the next day for more questioning.
After they got through with me, some men from the District Attorney's office questioned me as well.
The attorney that I had hired to apprise me of my rights told me that they were trying to decide whether they had enough evidence against me to merit prosecuting me for manslaughter.
They finally decided, though, that it was a clear-cut case of self-defense, and let me go.
It turned out, I found out, that Artie had a pretty bad reputation with women, and that he had been arrested several times for beating up his poor wife.
Since then I've been real reluctant about messing with men at all. I got out of that bar where I was working as a cocktail waitress.
Since then I've been working at a restaurant, waiting on tables.
The creeps are still there, always trying to get into my pants, just like my old man, but I don't let them.
I just mind my own business and live my own life. Maybe it's lonely, and maybe I do get depressed quite a bit, but at least I'm safe that way, and I don't have to put up with a lot of these crumbs.
SUMMARY
Ann V. suffered so traumatically from the sordid relationship with her father that it affected her life in a highly negative way, to the extent of retarding her progress as a woman.
She developed an entirely negative attitude concerning men, and it is problematical as to whether she can ever overcome those hostile negative feelings that were initially imparted into her as a result of her relationship with her father.
I got together with the psychiatrist that Ann was going to and compared notes with him.
He sounded very pessimistic about Ann's situation.
"You see, she hasn't had even one wholesome relationship with somebody of the opposite sex," he related sadly.
"You mean a wholesome sex relationship?" I asked.
"I'm glad you put it that way," he nodded. "That's my point. I'm not just talking about sex. I'm talking about a meaningful human relationship with another man. You see, if a young girl has a truly worthwhile relationship with her father, she doesn't acquire these warped, highly negative attitudes somebody like Ann did. But when her father used her and abused her, thinking only of satisfying his sexual desires, she not only lost all respect for him, she lost respect for all mankind. That was her source of contact with the opposite sex, and when the relationship proved so highly damaging to her, it implanted terrible feelings within her."
"Have you seen any progress since she first started coming to you?"
"I'm sorry to say that I haven't. You see, she has reached the point now where she can communicate with me without feeling any hostilities, but she still has this feeling within her and it's a very strong one-that men live solely to use her. She feels that even though she could communicate with me on a professional level, that if she ever tried communicating with me on a human level, it would be different. She feels that it's that way with all men."
"Then she must have had the same impression about me," I said.
"That's exactly correct. She certainly would. She has about as despairing an attitude concerning the opposite sex as any woman could possibly have."
"Has she become involved in any lesbian relationships?"
"I questioned her at length on that point," the distinguished psychiatrist replied. "No, she certainly wouldn't admit to any such relationship, and I do believe she would level with me in the event that she had expressed herself in that way. I do think, though, that if she does not change her ways and develop some kind of a meaningful relationship with a man, that there is a very strong likelihood she will eventually turn to lesbianism. After all, there will come a time when she will feel the need of some kind of sexual bond with someone. At that point, provided that she hasn't changed her attitude about men per se, I would regard it as almost inevitable for her to slip into a lesbian relationship, provided such an opportunity emerges."
"And being such an attractive woman, it almost certainly would," I said.
"Precisely. That's absolutely correct," he nodded.
The sadistic impulses of Ann's father had totally warped her outlook regarding sex.
The father's sadistic impulses were highlighted by a desire to see blood. He enjoyed the act of penetrating her virginal vagina, and of shoving his huge penis high into her rectum. Both of the acts resulted in Ann shedding blood.
Dr. L.T. Woodward, writing in his book, "Sadism," stated the following relating to the blood motif concerning sadistic males:
"It is not easy to tell what motives move the clouded minds of such individuals. Certainly blood takes on a sexual meaning for them; in its most specific forms, it leads the vampire to commit an act incredibly revolting to most of us. The drinking of menstrual blood. (This combines vampirism with cunnilingus, or oral-genital contact, an act not customarily regarded as perverse anymore.) However, this is not a sadistic action, though it is certainly a strange one."
Even though Ann's father John did not go quite that far, he had certainly engaged in enough disgusting acts to totally inactivate her human and sexual development with regard to the opposite sex.
I have not heard about Ann V. since my discussion with the psychiatrist, and, judging from the signs in evidence at that time, things did not look good.
My third case, that dealing with Katherine D., did not involve any of the brutal aspects of Ann's case.
One noticeable similarity did develop, however, between Ann and Katherine. Both of them, as an outgrowth of their sexual relationships with their fathers, found it next to impossible to develop as normal young women.
Katherine encountered a number of tragedies as well, and did her best to rise above them, but found great difficulty in doing so.
Like Ann, she too found herself becoming buried in an impenetrable shell, isolating herself from people in general.
The principle of is one of the most inherently dangerous encountered by man or woman, and often retards mental and physical growth alike.
CASE THREE
I met Katherine D. through a referral from a psychiatrist.
The psychiatrist related to me that it would be a good idea for Katherine to confide her story to somebody else in addition to him.
"This girl is badly in need of confidence," he told me. "If you can just sit there and listen to her story, and maybe provide her with some kind of helpful advice, it will be exceedingly helpful from every standpoint."
"I'll do my best," I promised him.
When I saw Katherine for the first time in my office, I could hardly believe that she was as disturbed as the psychiatrist said.
At first glance she looked like the all American girl. She wore a neat looking pink pantsuit, and her hair was a stunning red. The color of the hair matched the sensuousness of her lips, and her eyes were a deep sea blue color.
She manifested nervousness, however, as we sat there and began to talk.
I could see that I would have to ingratiate myself with her on a gradual basis. I would have to develop confidence within her through talking to her over a period of time.
But the longer I talked, the easier everything became. Actually, she was a very nice girl, and it wasn't until she began to reveal the aspects of her life story that I was able to see why she was in such a troubled state of mind.
Katherine's story follows:
We were a very close family. I was the only child, and my father and mother were both very devoted to me.
On weekends we would always go places. We lived in a beautiful section of west Los Angeles, and our nice little home was centrally located, so we could go to a number of different places.
I really felt good about life. My mother was a beautiful, wonderful woman, and my father was as devoted to me as anybody could be.
I guess it's when things are that good when everything is going beautifully, maybe too beautifully, it only stands to reason that tragedy is going to rear its ugly head somehow in your life. That's the way it happened to us.
One evening when I came home following my music lesson, my father called me into his room to talk with him.
I sensed that something was wrong, judging by the curt expression he had on his face. He was a very happy guy, and that cheerful manner of his helped make him a top salesman, so this just wasn't like him at all. I knew that something terribly serious had happened, or maybe was about to happen.
"I know you're only twelve years old, Kathy, but you're going to have to absorb something that would make any adult cringe."
"What is it?" I asked anxiously.
"I thought long and hard about whether I should even tell you about this," he said. "I've been told by the doctor and I've spent several sleepless nights just worrying about this whole thing. And I kept wondering whether I should tell you all about it. But now I've come to the conclusion that I think I should. I'd rather have you prepared rather than to catch you by surprise. You've always acted very grown-up for your age, anyway, so I'll tell you. Your mother is going to die."
"No, it can't be," I began sobbing, my heart pounding thunderously.
"It's true," he assured me steadily. "She has terminal cancer. She doesn't have any more than four or five months to live."
"Isn't there anything we can do?"
"No, my dear. The doctors have no hope. Your mother doesn't know about this, and I don't think she should know. But the more I thought about it, the more I concluded that you should know. I wouldn't have wanted to leave you in the dark, especially since in the end she will be doing quite a bit of suffering and she's going to have to be in the hospital quite a bit of the time, particularly at the very end. I know you would have been asking a lot of questions, so I thought I'd get them out of the way right now."
"Oh, I can't believe it. Oh, this can't be happening to us," I said.
"Unfortunately, it is," he patted me sympathetically on the head.
I lay there crying in my room for the next hour. By then I knew I had to stop, because my mother would be coming home very shortly.
My father and I both did our best to maintain our bravery. But we were really going to pieces as her condition deteriorated.
What made it even more tragic was that we were there to watch her degenerate from a very healthy woman in the prime of life to a very sickly woman who was so thin at the end that she looked like a ghost.
In a way it was a relief when she finally passed on, because at least both of us knew that she was out of her suffering.
About a week after the funeral, my father suggested that the two of us take a trip back East. He felt that it might help us get our minds off of Mother.
I must say, though, that it really didn't work. We were both far too sensitive to be able to throw off the terrible hurts and sorrows of Mother's death that fast.
Father was a handsome, dynamic guy, and there were many women around who would have liked to marry him. He could have gone out and found somebody with little difficulty, but instead of doing that, he spent an awful lot of time with me.
There's nothing like tragedy to draw two people close together, and that's the way it was with Dad and me. We were very close before, but were doubly close after Mother's death.
I found myself admiring Father all the more, and the more frequently we went out together, the better I seemed to like him.
I found myself developing a crush for him, much like you would expect an older woman to. But I felt a whole lot more mature than most of the girls my age. I didn't have any time for that giggly stuff. I'd been through a great tragedy and I was determined that, painful as it was, I was going to overcome it.
But the longer I spent around my father, the stronger the urges became that I felt.
I recall one evening when everything was nice and quiet. I had just finished my homework and was getting ready for bed.
I had just gotten out of my dress, and was wearing nothing other than my panties.
A tremendous temptation surged within me. I wanted my father to see me like this. I must say that for a girl of twelve I was very well built, and my face was every bit as beautiful then as it is now. I knew I was a pretty enticing young gal, and I wanted my father to admire me. "Father," I called out to him.
He opened the door and walked into the room. As he eyed my body, I could see that he was reacting as a normal man. At that point his fatherly instincts were elsewhere. He was looking at an attractive girl who just happened to be his daughter.
"What is it, dear?" he asked.
"My back is bothering me," I told him.
"What seems to be the trouble?"
"I don't know, it's just kind of sore."
"Did you injure it, dear?"
"No, not that I know of. It just kind of stiffened up on me."
Actually there was nothing wrong with my back at all. I was just using a clever little ploy on my father in hopes of getting what I wanted.
"I'm awfully sorry about that," he said.
"You could help me with it."
"Just what could I do?"
"I'd really appreciate it if you'd rub it for me, Dad. That will make it feel a lot better. I know that that will help."
"I'm not exactly what you'd call a professional masseur," he laughed.
"You don't have to be. All you've got to do is just rub it a little. That will help a whole lot. I just know that it will."
"Apparently you've got more confidence in me than I've got in myself," he chuckled, a little nervously.
"I'll just lie on my stomach on the bed and you can rub me there. Just do it for a little while. I think that I'll feel a lot better."
"O.K., I'll try," he shrugged.
I turned over on my stomach, giving him a good look at my beautiful buttocks and well constructed legs.
I observed his cock hardening out of the corner of my eye.
He reached out with both hands, letting those muscular fingers of his glide up and down my back.
"Is that of any help, dear?" he asked.
"Yes, but I need it some more. It's still pretty sore."
"Then maybe I should have you see a chiropractor, or something."
"No, that's o.k.," I said. "You're doing a very good job. Just keep it up."
"But I'm not a professional. I sure don't want to do something wrong."
"No, you're not going to do anything wrong. Please, Dad, please keep that up. I want you to."
"Alright," he finally consented.
The longer that his fingers worked their way up and down my back, the more aroused I became. I sensed that he was experiencing great arousal himself from running those fingers up and down my back. He was coming into steady body contact with me, and I had a strong inkling that he would get excited.
Needless to say, the longer that Dad massaged my back, the more aroused I became about everything that was happening.
Pretty soon those fingers just seemed to tingle as they ran effectively up and down my back.
"How does that feel now?" he asked.
"It feels real good, Dad. You're doing a very good job."
"That's good. I'm glad you like it. Are you feeling any better now?"
"Yes, you're doing a very good job of rubbing the soreness out."
"Maybe it was just a little tension, dear. But I certainly don't know of any reason for you to feel tension."
"I don't know what it was, but now it's feeling a lot better."
"Very good."
He kept it up for several more minutes. By that time I was so aroused that I just couldn't contain myself any longer.
"You can stop now," I said.
"O.K., dear."
He released his fingers from my back. I turned over on my back, looking up at him.
I could tell from the look in his eyes, one of uncertainty, that he was feeling much the same thing toward me as I was toward him. We wanted each other, and that was very plain to see.
I leaned forward suddenly and let my lips plunge against his. We had kissed many times before, but never like this. This wasn't one of those typical father-daughter kisses. This was something a lot more, something with a good deal more impact behind it.
I let my lips continue to cling to his for several long seconds. Then I finally released them.
"What's getting into you, dear?" he asked in a very low voice.
"I love you, Dad."
"I love you too, but let's not get carried away."
"Oh, it felt so good to kiss you."
"We can't allow this to happen again. After all, I am your father."
"Don't you like me?"
"I told you that I love you."
"I mean, do you find me attractive?"
"Any man would find you attractive, dear."
"Then let's have sex. I want you, Dad, I really want you."
"No, that just wouldn't be right."
"It certainly would. It's the only thing to do when two people feel this way about each other."
"Not when they're father and daughter."
"Oh yes, even if they're father and daughter." Now my lips were plunging against his once more. This time I threw my arms tightly around that strong body of his. I could feel him coming unglued, beginning to tremble under the steady impact of the kissing.
He broke the kiss that time, and now he was looking at me with more desire than ever. "Honey, oh, you're too much," he said.
Now his fingers were working diligently over my breasts and nipples.
"What soft, lovely skin," he said. "Oh, I love touching it. Oh, do I ever love touching your skin."
Back and forth he maneuvered those fingers at a brisk clip, causing me to squirm from side to side from all of the enticing activity he was putting to bear.
He kept up the finger movements for quite a while, then let his fingers drop down to my panties.
He tugged at the panties, pulling them off completely.
"Oh, now you're completely naked," he said. "Seize on the advantage, Dad. I want you. I want you to have sex with me."
"But something like this is so wrong. I've never allowed myself to even think about you sexually before."
"But you're doing it now, aren't you?"
"I got carried away. I can't say that I'm proud of myself either."
"Come on, Dad, and make love to me. There's been a void in both of our lives ever since Mom died. Come on, Dad, please do it."
"But you are a virgin, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"It would be terrible of your own father to deprive you of your virginity."
"It isn't when I love you as much as I do."
"It's the wrong kind of love. Don't you see that, dear?"
"No, I don't. All I know is that I love you and I want you to express your love for me. I want you to have sex with me."
This time he thrust his head forward, letting his tongue begin to dart inside my mouth. Back and forth those tongues swirled with great energy as the activity accelerated.
As the tongues continued to splash with great eagerness, he reached down and began to run his fingers over my buttocks. At first he was manipulating the fingers slowly, but soon he was pinching those ass cheeks, enjoying coming into contact with the skin.
"Oh, that feels so good," he said, as he removed his tongue from my mouth.
"Make love to me, Dad. Do everything to me, I want it, I really want it. I really like what you're doing."
Once more the fingers went back to the breasts. Now he was letting his fingertips toy with my pink nipples.
He hunched his body forward. Now he unzipped his trousers and pulled out his huge erect instrument.
"Oh, that looks absolutely wonderful," I said.
"Would you reach out and touch it?"
"Oh yes, I want to touch it. I bet that will feel good."
"There's only one way for you to find out, dear. Reach out there with that right hand of yours and let those fingers go to work. And while you're fingering me there on my cock, you can use the fingers of your left hand to play with my balls."
"Oh, that sounds wonderful."
"It still isn't right, and I still feel awfully funny about it. But I just can't help myself. I want you, baby, and there's just no other way."
"Yes, Dad, don't fight it. Don't fight a thing." Now I was simultaneously manipulating the fingers of my right hand up and down his penis, and was working the fingers of my left hand around his balls.
They were bulging with excitement, and the longer that my fingers went to work, the hotter he became.
Whereas he had been trembling just a little in the beginning, now he was trembling in a highly noticeable manner.
"Oh, now you're really doing it," he said. "I really love the way you're supplying me with that action. Keep those fingers going, darling, keep them going fast."
I stepped up the pace of my finger movements, letting them assume a brisk, overpoweringly rapid clip as they moved up and down and all around his cock and balls.
Finally he got to the point where he was so excited that he could withstand no more of that particular kind of action. It was just plain too much for him.
"O.K., you can stop now," he said.
"Didn't you like what I did?"
"I liked it too much."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean that I just about exploded. Oh, honey, do you really want me to rob you of your virginity?"
"I don't consider it robbing. I love you, Dad, and it would be a great honor. Please do it, Dad, please fuck me."
He heaved a helpless sigh. He acted as if he was still highly reluctant about the whole thing, but by then he didn't know what else to do other than to follow through with his passions.
Now his fingers were once more massaging my ass cheeks, and he let that huge prick of his push forward towards my mound.
The second that hot prong began to make contact with my tight pussy, I felt the sharp stabs of pain.
"Ouch," I said.
"Is that too much for you?" he asked sympathetically. "If it is, I just won't do it."
"Oh no, I've heard that it hurts the first time that a girl gets it. Come on, Dad, I want you to do it to me. I want you to do it right now. Oh, Dad, I want you to screw me, I want you to pour that hot penis of yours into me."
"O.K., sweetheart, that's what I'll do."
"Drive it into me, please do it."
"Hang on."
"Oh, I will. I'm enjoying this. Oh, am I ever enjoying it."
Back and forth he kept on thrusting that huge instrument of his ever deeper inside my mound.
He was really blasting away, pushing his penis that much deeper inside me with every succeeding plunge.
I could tell from the way he was gasping that he was enjoying it a good deal, and that he would not be able to keep up that level of screwing for much longer. I knew that he was getting extremely hot, and that meant that he would be exploding very shortly. I had heard girls at school talking about what sex was like. I had been a little naive myself, but now I was going to be ahead of all of them. I was getting a terrific sex lesson from a wonderful man, my own father.
"Keep plunging it into me," I said.
"Is it still hurting, my dear?"
"Not nearly so bad now."
"That's good."
"You are really making me feel good."
"I'm glad to hear that."
Now he was driving it into me as hard and as deep as he could, pushing himself that much closer to the moment of supreme thrill.
"Oh, now I can feel myself really getting hot," he said. "Oh, baby, this is too much, am I ever excited. Do I ever get excited being around you."
"Oh yes, keep that up. Oh, I want you to keep it up. This is so great, it's wonderful getting these stabs from you."
Now that he was nearing the end of the screw, he wanted to do something to propel me to my greatest heights of ecstasy.
He finally came up with just the perfect act. While his penis kept on plunging into me repeatedly with great urgency, he reached out with his right index finger and began to thrust it inside my asshole.
I began to gasp and sputter now myself as I found myself moving towards orgasm.
He was pushing that index finger ever higher and deeper inside my anus. Did it ever feel wonderful getting that kind of beautiful sensations.
I was getting carried away under the beauty of the moment. Here he was driving that prick of his into my pussy, and while that was going on, he was plunging that finger at a brisk pace around my asshole.
Now he was using that finger to drill me with everything that he had. He kept plunging it into my rectum, enjoying every stabbing sensation that he received.
"Oh. I'm so close now," he said. "Just get set, baby, oh, it's wonderful the way you're twisting that little ass of yours around."
"I can't help it. With you doing that, it's only natural for me to react that way."
"I can easily understand that. Oh, this is great, so swell."
"Yes, oh yes, what sensations."
Back and forth he continued to slide that razor-sharp pole of his high and deep inside my vagina.
Now I had forgotten completely about the pain and was concerned only about pleasure, something I was receiving a great deal of every time that he pushed and plunged that huge pecker deep into my mound.
My pussy and anus were both getting quite a work-out from him. As for that index finger, he knew just how to put that to work. He knew the precise manner in which to excite me a great deal. He kept on thrusting that finger around, maintaining my enthusiasm at a truly high level.
"Oh, I can't keep it up any longer," he said. "I'm going to explode, honey, I've just got to explode. Oh yes, I can't hold back anymore."
This time that finger of his thrust into my rectum just as high as it was able to go.
"Oh, I'm ready to orgasm too, it's just too much, oh, just too much," I gasped.
He exploded first, and I heaved a sigh a few seconds later, my body spasming every which way as the juice was released from my pussy.
It was a great screw, one that I'll never forget.
As a matter-of-fact, as far as sex is concerned, I never expect to be any more satisfied than that. As far as I'm concerned, that was the ultimate. Doing it with a man I love. So what if he happened to be my own father. That didn't mean a thing as far as I was concerned. The only thing that meant anything was that I loved him deeply and he apparently loved me every bit as much.
Now that the action was over, Dad acted a little embarrassed about the whole thing.
As he withdrew his penis from my mound, he exclaimed:
"I still don't know what got into me."
"You don't have to be embarrassed about it," I laughed.
"I must admit, you're taking this a lot better than I am."
"I'm taking it well because I know that I did the right thing."
"Maybe you seduced me, but that really doesn't mean anything. I'm an adult, and I should never have allowed you to talk me into it."
"Does that mean you didn't enjoy it?"
"Quite the contrary," he insisted. "I enjoyed it more than I ever believed I could. I enjoyed it so much that I would like to do it again, but I know that I shouldn't."
"Don't you want to make love to any woman?"
"You're not a woman, you're my daughter."
"But don't you think I'm a pretty girl?"
"I think you're a beautiful girl, but that really doesn't have anything to do with it."
"Shouldn't it?"
"Not really. Men aren't supposed to have sex with their daughters. I just can't get over what I did."
"You're making me feel very bad."
"Look, honey, you're just a young girl and I don't really blame you. We've both been through an awful lot, your mother dying and all. It isn't surprising that we would resort to strange activities because of all the pressures that we've been under. But I can't allow myself to get carried away doing anything quite this bizarre. This was my fault, clearly it was."
"That isn't true. It wasn't anybody's fault."
"Have it your way. I just can't let this happen again."
At that point he got up and put his penis back inside his trousers, quickly zipping up.
With great embarrassment he left the room. I felt sad. I wanted him to feel proud of the fact that he had had sex with me, not ashamed.
Several weeks passed after that experience. He looked at me strangely now quite a bit of the time. It was obvious that the sex episode had changed him.
As for me, I desperately wanted sex with him some more. I had enjoyed the experience more than anything, and I wanted some more of the same kind of wonderful activity from him.
He resorted to doing something else that hurt me too. He started dating a little more often now. I guess he figured that if he could only find some woman who was willing to provide him with sexual satisfaction, he wouldn't as likely be tempted to have sex with me.
One evening he came home from a date about nine-thirty. I figured that more than likely he hadn't had any sex, since otherwise he would have been home a whole lot later.
I had been thinking about trying something to get him turned on again. I had almost done it several times, then had lost my nerve at the last minute.
Now I decided upon my course of action, and was intent upon following through with it. So I tiptoed to my bedroom immediately the moment that I heard him begin to open the door.
I took off all of my clothes, admiring myself for a few moments in the mirror. I really did have the body of a grown woman, even though I was still a little under thirteen.
Now that I was nude, I decided I was ready for the second stage of the action.
I walked into the bathroom, getting some perfume out of a drawer. I had bought it one day without my father knowing anything about it. I sprinkled this perfume all over my body, smiling all the while. It carried with it quite a fragrant scent, just the kind that would turn a man on for sex.
I sprinkled it all around my pussy, my armpits, my breasts, all of the really sexy areas of my body.
Then I boldly marched out of the bathroom and into the living room, where my father was having a drink and reading the newspaper.
He quickly looked up from the paper upon hearing my footsteps. As his eyes fastened on my naked body, he swallowed hard and dropped the paper on the table.
"What are you celebrating, young lady? Do you think you are Lady Godiva or some thing?"
"I just thought I'd surprise you, Dad."
"There you go. You're trying to tempt me again."
"You haven't been paying much attention to me lately."
"Of course I have. Didn't we go out just last weekend?"
"But that's different. That's what every girl, or just about every girl, gets from her father," I said, disappointedly.
"But you want something different, don't you?"
"Just one thing. I want to get intimate with you, Dad. I need that kind of action, I really do.
I need it so bad. I felt so terrible since that last time, because we haven't had any more sex."
"You're making it so difficult for me to resist you," he said as I began to walk slowly toward him.
I could see him trying to stiffen his resistance, but the closer I got and the more he picked up the scent of my perfume, the more obviously overpowered he became under my influence.
"Now, honey, you'd better go away," he said nervously.
"But I don't want to go away."
"You really should. We shouldn't get involved anymore like we did last time. That was just a mistake. You caught me in a weak moment. Don't expect it to happen again."
"But I want it to happen again. It just has to happen again."
Now I was sitting on his lap. I looked down and observed the huge bulge down there between his legs.
"You're very hard," I said. "When a man's that hard it means that he wants sex. Please don't try and hide it, Dad. It means an awful lot to you and it means a lot to me. Come on, Dad, let's have sex. Let's go into the bedroom."
"You crazy little seducer."
"Oh, Dad."
I reached out and delivered a hot kiss to his lips, which caught him by surprise and caused his entire body to quake with sensation.
By the time that I released my lips from his, he was all ready to go into the bedroom with me. Or anywhere else, for that matter.
I laid down in the middle of the bed, watching him as he quickly took off his clothes.
I liked the fact that he was undressing this time. On the first occasion he had done no more than to unzip his trousers and pull out his hard dick. Now he was going to be totally nude for me.
He took off his shorts, then jumped into bed with me. He embraced me, letting his lips collide with mine time and again. Then he reached out and allowed his tongue to slip inside my mouth.
While his tongue was colliding vigorously against mine, he repeatedly ran his fingers through my hair.
I felt the tingles all over my body, and felt, if that was possible, even more excited than I had been on that first occasion when we had had sex.
He was really in great form the way that he allowed that tongue to slide ever so eagerly around inside my mouth.
Back and forth our tongues continued to meet and thrust. It was like magic unfolding! When I was in his arms, I didn't care about anything else. As far as I was concerned, the rest of the world could go away.
He kept up the tongue thrusting for quite some time, and then released his tongue from my mouth.
He finally released that tongue of his from my mouth, and I couldn't help but wonder what was coming up next.
"I wish you'd grab a hold of my cock, dear," he said.
"I'd be glad to."
"And work those fingers up and down it with nice, brisk movements."
"Like I did last time?"
"Yes, do it real fast."
"O.K., I will."
Now the fingers were working at a swift clip, moving up and down with brisk enthusiasm over that hard cock of his.
I kept it up for a few minutes, after which he told me to stop.
"O.K., now I want you to try something new," he suggested with a smile.
"What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to bend down and start kissing my prick. I want you to kiss it several times, baby, because that will get me real hot."
"Oh, that sounds yummy."
"It is yummy. Go ahead and do it."
"Oh yes, I will."
Those lips of mine came into contact with his cock repeatedly. The more times I tried it, the better I liked it.
"O.K., now I want you to try something else," he said.
"What this time?" I looked at him with curiosity. "I hope I didn't do it wrong the last time."
"No, you didn't. As a matter-of-fact, you did it very well."
"That's good."
"I want you to position that body of yours over the top of my face. I mean, that's where I want your pussy to wind up. I want to suck your cunt, honey, and while you're doing that, I want you to start using that tongue of yours on my prick."
"Oh, you're teaching me something new."
"I decided I'd break you in properly. That tongue of yours has really stood up under the French kissing."
"Oh yes, I love that. I just love letting my tongue run against yours."
"O.K., so now I want you to go to work on that cock of mine," he told me. "I want you to start out nice and slow, letting the tongue move at a real slow clip. Then I want you to start sucking faster, I want you to start sucking faster about the time I start. You can tell, it won't be all that hard."
"You mean you want me to do it about the way you do it."
"That's right. Just let me set the pace, baby. I've had a whole lot more experience at these things than you have."
"I know you have."
"But I'll tell you one thing. You can hold your own with anybody when it comes to sex. You have that bubbling enthusiasm, and that's what it takes."
"Gee, thanks, Dad."
"You're quite welcome, dear."
I got into position, with Dad guiding me all the way.
"That's it, honey," he said. "I want you to bring that pussy of yours to a halt right there in front of my face. That way that tongue of mine will be in a good position to stab you there."
"I wonder how that will feel."
"There's no way to adequately describe it. You're just going to have to wait and see."
"Oh, I bet it will feel real good."
"I'll let you be the judge. I can promise you one thing, though. It won't disappoint you. I know it won't. Neither will the cocksucking. I know you're going to be good at that."
"Just tell me if I make a mistake."
"I will, but I don't think you'll make one. Just start out slow like I told you. Start out licking the tip at first, then work the tongue all the way up and down the cock. Just let the pace build as I accelerate it. You're going to be able to tell by the way that I suck your pussy."
"O.K., I'll watch real close," I giggled.
"You won't be able to do too much watching, dear. You're going to be right in the mainstream of the activities," he said, patting my asscheeks affectionately.
Now Dad was all set to get started with the pussy licking.
I was anticipating that first suck, and when his tongue made its initial impact on my mound, let me tell you something. It was absolutely fantastic. My whole body felt like it had thousands of little tiny sparks shooting through it. It was just like the Fourth of July inside me, as I heated up like crazy from those hot sucks that he was putting forth with that tongue of his.
He kept on briskly circulating it, maneuvering it quickly, letting it slide around every crevice of my snatch.
He apparently thought my cunt was pretty enticing, judging by the way that he let that tongue of his slide like crazy all around it.
He started at a pretty quick pace, so I figured that I ought to try and duplicate the same kind of action with his cock.
I started out by letting my tongue run quickly over the tip of it, doing the very thing he said he wanted me to do at the outset.
No sooner had I taken a few licks, than he moved his tongue away from my mound.
"Hang on," he said. "I want you to move real slow. I want you to circulate that tongue of yours slower over my cock."
"O.K., I thought you were going pretty fast. But you said try and match-your strokes."
"That's right, honey. I did say that, and I got carried away awful fast. I'm sorry about that. Now I want you to work your tongue a little slower. When it comes to getting that excitement from you, I hardly know where and how to stop."
"O.K., baby, then that's what we'll do. We'll take turns learning from each other."
"That's right."
Now the tongues were both back to work, circulating briskly over each other's organ.
I mean, his tongue was still working briskly over my mound, but he was going a whole lot slower now. He wanted to give me an opportunity to learn, to get into the groove in a gradual way.
So we went to it, working those tongues around, providing each other with whirlpools of enjoyment.
After a while I got to the point where I could instinctively react to everything he was doing. While that tongue of his was working its way energetically around my cunt, I in turn was working my tongue up and down his cock.
I let myself lick on the tip of his prick a lit tie while, then extended my movements to the rest of his mammoth organ.
Gradually the action was accelerating, and we were really enjoying every stroke that we supplied for each other.
Back and forth we were lapping it up, pushing each other that much closer toward that big moment of climax.
Let me tell you something, nothing could match the sensations of giving and getting at the same time. It was absolutely great letting that tongue of mine work up and down his hard cock while he in turn was allowing his tongue to work around my mound.
Back and forth we kept up those stimulating movements, driving our tongues at a brisk clip. Now we were working the tongues as fast at a brisk clip. Now we were working the tongues as fast as they would go, preparing for that big moment when we would orgasm.
I shot first, and my whole body came unglued with torrents of passionate enthusiasm as the pussy juices spurted out of my mound and inside his mouth.
I'll tell you something, though. He didn't let up one bit after receiving that load. He went right back to work, letting his tongue work with the same degree of enthusiasm that it had before as he worked it around my snatch once more.
All the while my tongue was manipulating ever so freely over his cock. I could tell from the way that he was licking my box that it wouldn't be much longer before that white juice of his would come popping out of the end of his long dick and into my waiting mouth.
So now I was working the tongue around with great passion, enjoying what I was doing to him. And as the tongue was twirling and working around that big dick of his, I let the fingers of my right hand go to work on his balls.
Those balls were just bulging with sensations, and I kept up that activity, just working with everything that I had with my fingers and my tongue.
I felt another orgasm coming on, and my body was beginning to quiver with great excitement.
Back and forth we kept exchanging sucks, as we worked down into the final stages of our activities.
I bolted a load of pussy juice into his mouth just as he was getting set to explode.
As the hot white juicy cum came bolting out the end of his long rod, he called out to me as he released his tongue from my mouth:
"Hang onto it, baby, don't choke on it. Come on and eat it, eat that hot dick juice. Eat the cum, sweetheart, I want you to have it. Oh, I want you to enjoy every drop of the hot stuff."
I was taken by surprise first, and I coughed up a few drops of the white juice. But soon I acclimated myself to the point where I was able to receive those hot drops of joy juice without having to spit them out.
I enjoyed the delicious adventure of eating his load, and when we were finished, I felt like I knew him intimately in a way that I hadn't before.
"You're quite a wonderful girl," he patted me on the head.
"I'm willing to learn, Dad."
"You certainly are."
"Do you like having sex with me?"
"Like I said before, I like it too much. Why do you keep asking me that same question?"
"There's only one reason," I giggled coquettishly. "I like to ask it of you because I happen to like you one hell of a lot."
"That's a fine way for a young girl to be talking."
"Right now I don't feel like a young girl, Dad. I feel like a lady."
"I guess you ought to, considering that you are certainly acting like one in bed."
"That's a great compliment. I like to know that I'm doing things right."
"You're so precocious at this stuff that it absolutely terrifies me."
Little did I know it at the time, but that marked about the last learning episode in our relationship.
After that, I was well rounded enough to where I picked things up without any problems. After all, he had fucked me up the cunt one time before, so once I mastered the sucking, that was just about all that I needed, in the way of indoctrination.
The next two years were absolutely beautiful as far as I was concerned. We really enjoyed each other, and when Dad found out just how much fun he could have going to bed with me, he wasn't quite so anxious to go out and look for other women to date. He concentrated more of his attention on me, which naturally flattered me. It made me feel that I could more than hold my own with these women that were in his age category.
Then something happened that changed our whole sex relationship. It occurred not long after I turned fourteen.
Dad and I had been engaging in sex with increasing frequency, and now he was getting to the point where he wanted to fuck my vagina quite often.
One day I began feeling kind of funny. I told my Dad about it and he suggested that I go to the doctor.
I waited at home for him that afternoon after seeing the doctor and getting his diagnosis.
When my father came to the door, I blurted out the news to him.
"Dad, I'm pregnant," I said.
"That's what I was afraid of," he nodded sadly. "Sit down, dear. We're going to have to tough this thing out. It means that you're going to have to be very brave."
I sat down on the sofa next to him and he began to talk to me about abortion. I had heard the word several times before, and I knew what it meant. I really flinched when he mentioned it the first time.
"No, I couldn't do that," I began to sob.
"But you've got to, dear. After all, I'm the one who impregnated you. We can't let that child live."
"But this is awful, so awful," the tears were now streaming down my face.
"I'm sorry, dear. I'm sorry that I ever weakened to the point of having sex with you. It wasn't right. That was what opened the flood gates. If I just hadn't weakened that first time, then nothing would have happened."
He threw his arms around me at that point and tried his best to console me, but it wasn't an easy matter. I was really hurting and so was he.
"I can't tell you how sorry I am about this whole thing," he said.
"But don't be sorry about having sex with me. I love you, Dad, and the sex meant an awful lot to me."
"It meant a lot to me too, dear. But it still wasn't right to do it."
The longer we talked, the more I came to the reluctant conclusion that I was just going to have to do it Dad's way, even though it was something that I dreaded.
I went through that painful experience of getting an abortion one afternoon, and that day when my Dad came home, he made a promise to me:
"I'll never have sex with you again, darling. It took an awful lot to get me to learn my lesson, but now I have."
"No, don't talk that way," I protested.
"Oh yes. No, never again."
"But there are other ways of doing it. We can do it orally. Besides, I've been reading articles about contraceptives and things. We can guard against something like this happening again."
"No, it was wrong to ever do it and we won't do it again."
I was really disturbed as he walked out of the room. I knew my Dad well enough to realize that, when he made up his mind about something, that was usually it.
I could hardly even eat that night, and I didn't get much sleep either.
I noticed another pattern that started to emerge in the next few days. Dad went back to doing a lot of dating. But this time he was a whole lot more serious about it than before.
When he used to date, it was mainly with the intention of having himself some fun. But now he was more serious about everything, and in particular that.
Soon it became apparent to me what he was trying to do. He wanted to get married.
One night he brought a good looking woman in her thirties home. He introduced her to me as Sally.
"Sally said she's very anxious to meet you."
"I am," Sally smiled. "My, what a lovely daughter you have."
"Thank you," I said.
Even though Sally did everything she could to be nice to me, I had a deep resentment for her right from the beginning. I think what caused me to feel the resentment more than anything was that I could see that she liked Dad quite a bit and that he liked her too.
I still looked on Dad as my own private lover, and the thought of somebody else moving into the scene and horning in on my action was just too much for me to bear.
I didn't have much to say that night, even though Sally was doing her best to get acquainted with me. After Dad took her home and came back, I was still up.
He looked at me with a little bit of disgust.
"You were certainly cold tonight," he said. "What was wrong, dear, weren't you feeling well?"
"No, I wasn't."
"What seemed to be the matter? "
"I just didn't feel so hot."
"I hope it isn't what I'm afraid it might be."
"What do you mean?"
"I know how much you enjoyed having sex with me. I'd really be crushed if I thought that you were carrying a torch for me. You need a stepmother badly, honey, and I need a wife. That would solidify things around here a lot more."
"Oh, I don't know about that," I said disgustedly. "I thought things were pretty good before."
"I really do hope that you get used to Sally," Dad said seriously. "She's an awfully nice woman, and I would really like to marry her."
Those last few words jolted me. It wasn't that they really took me that much by surprise. It was just that hearing them for the first time of course added to the overall impact of the situation.
One night about three weeks later he came back from a date with Sally in a happy frame of mind.
"Guess what, dear?" he said, walking into my room and interrupting my studies.
"What's the matter, Dad?"
"I feel so wonderful. You know Sally, that wonderful girl you met the other night?"
"Yes, Dad. What about her?"
"We're engaged to be married," he grinned broadly.
"Congratulations," I said, but in a subdued tone.
The thought of losing my father as a sex partner forever was just too much for me to take.
But I still tried to make the most of things. I couldn't help, though, feeling a good deal of resentment every time that my new stepmother was around.
I could tell that I had hurt her quite a few times with my coldness, but there didn't seem to be anything I could do about it. It seemed to be an instinctive reaction. Naturally Dad couldn't go into details and tell her about what had happened between us. That would have been far too embarrassing for him, and I don't blame him for not bringing out the details.
By the time I reached sixteen, I found myself uninterested in the boys at school. I was still carrying this terrible torch for my Dad, and there didn't seem to be anything I could do about it.
I finally decided that the thing to do was just run away from home. At least that way I would be ending the misery for my father and stepmother. Or at least so I thought.
It turned out that they got more upset than anything over me leaving. It took them quite a while to locate me.
I went clear over to Canada and moved in with a hippie commune.
A private detective that Dad hired finally tracked me down and brought me back.
After that, Dad had me talk with a psychiatrist. That's where I am now, in a pretty screwed up frame of mind.
SUMMARY
Katherine D.'s basic problem was that of loving her father too much.
In marked contrast to Ann, whose story we saw in Case Three, Katherine had a profound love for her father, one which was boundless and which she found herself unable to cut herself off from once she had experienced sex with him.
Very often tragedies will result from other tragedies, and that was precisely what happened in the case of Katherine.
The tragedy of her mother's death had caused Katherine great grief. Her father suffered as well. The death made them both far more vulnerable when it came to becoming involved with one another in a sexual context.
As Katherine found herself more removed from the rest of the world, she began to clutch that more frenziedly in the direction of her father.
Once they experienced sex together, they began to enjoy it so much that they did not want to stop.
It was Katherine's father who ultimately cut off the relationship, but not until after yet another tragedy had occurred, that of an abortion.
Some two weeks after my discussion with Katherine, in the course of which I did my best to placate her fears, her father came to visit me.
The psychiatrist had set up the appointment, relating to me that her father had been most impressed by the manner in which I had talked with his daughter.
"He is very grateful," the psychiatrist said. "And he thought it might be a good idea to get your observations personally."
"There's just one question."
"What's that?"
"Will he let me ask him a number of questions? I think it will definitely help."
"There's no problem there," the psychiatrist assured me. "We've been over that. He realizes that everything will be told to you in the strictest of confidence, and in the interest of research. He recognizes that if this case is ever used in book form, the real name of the parties will not be mentioned. So, yes, he will be most happy to talk with you about anything that concerns you."
"That's good," I said.
Katherine's father George was an impressive looking man, with broad shoulders and a sparkling disposition.
But when we began to settle into the seriousness of the conversation, the sparkle immediately vanished and a troubled look appeared in his eyes.
"I want what's best for my daughter," he explained. "Do you have any suggestions?"
"The important thing is for her to develop other contacts, as I see it," I replied. "She has shut herself off from the rest of the world. It isn't that difficult to see why. After all, she did experience that terrible tragedy. Her mother died when she was very young. That was very hard for both of you to hold up under."
"It certainly was."
"Well, that makes it all the more important for her to develop those contacts."
"Yes, I've been told that before," he nodded. "The big problem is that she seems so totally unwilling."
"I'll tell you what I would do if it were my daughter. I would do my best to see to it that she got involved in various activities. She should join a club, do something like that. I really think that if she could find something to occupy her active mind, things would be much better."
"She does have an active mind," he confirmed. "She's a brilliant girl."
"I know she is. But she definitely needs straightening out in the psychological department. If she gets proper psychological help, then I'm convinced that she can adjust normally."
"I want to thank you very much."
"You're quite welcome."
"You've been most understanding," he said, getting up and shaking my hand vigorously.
I am happy to report that Katherine has satisfactorily adjusted to her surroundings.
Once she came back home, she began to settle down. She began attending dances at school, and even though she was anything but impressed with the young boys that she dated in the beginning, she gradually began to develop an interest in them as well as school activities.
The last accounts I heard she had been selected as vice president of the student body at the high school she attends in Los Angeles.
Her story, fortunately, had a happy ending after much tragedy had occurred in Katherine's young life.
The subject of Case Four, however, has not had that same experience. Unfortunately, her life has been shrouded in controversy, chaos, and tragedy of every conceivable description.
Gail C., has packed a good deal of living into slightly better than twenty years.
Her attitude toward her father is comparable to that of Ann in Case Two. She had a strong contempt for him that knew no bounds, totally unlike the situation of Katherine, who loved her father too much for her own good.
But Gail C. and Katherine held one basic point in common. Both of them felt victimized greatly by alienation. Each felt almost totally insulated from the rest of the world.
CASE FOUR
Gail C. was referred to me by a writer friend, who knew that I was involving myself in a case history relating to sex problems of young females.
The friend assured me that Gail, if I could succeed in getting her to open up and tell her entire story, would provide' me with a great deal of noteworthy information.
Gail was a statuesque brownette who looked like she could easily be a showgirl in a Las Vegas or New York chorus line.
She had the smooth, flowing grace of a showgirl as well, and was inclined to look upon me with a good deal of skepticism the first time that she came into my office.
She seemed to be almost daring me to pry any details out of her.
At one point after a good deal of jousting that accomplished nothing, I said in abject frustration:
"If you didn't want to talk to me about it, Gail, why did you even consent to come here?"
"I was curious to see how you'd act."
"That's the only reason that you came?"
"Well, maybe, I figured I'd talk to you about a few things."
"So far you haven't discussed anything more controversial than the weather."
"Yes, but then again, we've only been talking for a short time."
"Then maybe I have time on my side?"
"We'll see."
Unlike the other three girls I included in my first three cases, Gail did not appear to display any outward emotion of any kind. She was like an iceberg, and for that reason I found her incredibly fascinating. I realized that somewhere underneath that frosty exterior, she was feeling something, and my guess was that the iceberg demeanor represented nothing more than a pose. I had a strong hunch that down deep she was suffering a good deal.
Through past experiences I had learned that people who often seem to be the most carefree on the outside were really the most tragic on the inside.
This applied in particular to people who acted as cool and detached as Gail did. I knew that she had to have been through something in the way of psychological turmoil since my friend would not have recommended hr otherwise.
I finally hit a responsive chord purely by accident.
"It sounds like you have a little kind of a Southern accent," I said. "Do you mind telling me where you're from?"
"That's a Texas accent, dearie," she smiled for the first time. "I was born and raised in a little town just outside of Wichita Falls. A little place that devoted itself to its oil wells and not much else."
"I see. That marks the first direct answer you've given me."
"It took a lot of trying for you to get that far," she said.
"Yes, it did."
I was imbued with confidence about my prospects at that juncture, and plunged in for more conversation. Eventually she began to unravel, and as she did, I became more and more convinced that my initial impression was correct that that icy pose of hers was nothing more than just that.
Contained herein is Gail's story:
As I said, I lived in this dirty little town just outside of Wichita Falls.
I had one brother, and he was quite a bit older than I was.
As a matter-of-fact, my brother Joey was spending most of his time just chasing after the women and working out in the fields.
The young guys that graduated from high school, if they were lucky enough to get that far, usually went to work out in the fields right after they graduated. That was the way it was with Joey. He graduated from high school, even though I never have been able to figure out how. He was anything but a student. Of course, he was a pretty good football player, and that probably didn't hurt him at all.
My father was a real brute, and I guess he had to be in order to be a foreman for this company that he worked for.
He would come home just drenched in sweat and oil, and he was as hard as nails. If he hadn't been, he just couldn't have survived.
When Joey started to work for him, he really gave Joey the treatment.
Joey had been bragging about how he could stand up under that kind of work because he'd played football and all. My old man told him that he'd be dragging himself after a good eight or nine hours out in the fields.
The old man was right, and I'll never forget how conked out Joey was that first night.
My old man showed him the same compassion he generally showed anyone else-namely, not one goddam bit.
He laughed at poor Joey, who was so tired he could hardly even sit up at the dinner table.
He just kept on drinking beer that night and letting Joey have it, telling him what a pantywaist he was.
Looking back on things now, and knowing a whole lot more about human nature, I can see that the old man must have been a pretty insecure guy. You've got to be pretty insecure in order to put people down the way that he wanted to do. I mean, he was even doing it to his own son, and that didn't sit too well with me or Mom.
But poor Mom never said much to him. She was afraid of him, just like just about everybody else, and I couldn't really blame her.
He was a pretty awesome looking specimen. He stood around six-three, but he had muscles that were piled on top of muscles, and for that reason he seemed to be about seven feet when you were standing next to him.
He was a real ugly character with coal black hair and crooked teeth, but somehow he thought he was God's gift to women anyway.
I don't know why Mom ever married him, but several times she told me that he was a whole lot different back when she met him, before he got into the oil business and started working in that little town, where just about everybody seemed to fall into a rut in no time at all.
As long as Dad was around, pandemonium was the order of the day around the house.
Joey got awfully sick of the whole thing, and I really don't blame him one bit.
Dad would ride his ass like crazy, every night after work.
"What's the matter, boy, haven't you got what it takes?" he's ask if Joey was particularly tired. "You just can't take it, can you? Gee, that's real bad, isn't it? Maybe some day you'll be up there with the men like me."
Joey got sick and tired of the whole grind, particularly the guff he had to take from the old man.
Finally he left, going to Dallas. He told me he didn't know what he was going to do when he got there, but at least he'd be away from Dad, and that was a step in the right direction.
"I know what you mean," I told him.
I envied Joey when he left. I was only wishing that I could have gone with him, but I was still a young little tyke, and there wasn't anything I could do about it. I was stuck with things the way they were at home.
Dad got more uproarious all the time. He'd work all day in the fields, get drunk on his way home on beer, then do some more drinking at home. All the while, he was giving Mom and I all the hell that we could possibly take.
He also was pretty demanding when it came to sex. I'll never forget one night when I heard loud noises coming from my folks' bedroom.
I had heard some noises in the past, and on all those occasions I had been afraid to get up and investigate. But this time my curiosity had really gotten the better of me, so I got up and decided to see what was going on.
I cracked open the door of the bedroom just a wee bit, enough to where I could see what was going on without tipping the old man off that I was watching him.
He was naked, while Mom had on her pajamas.
"Get down there and suck it," he said loudly, pointing down at that huge cock of his.
I had never seen anything like it. Damned, but that thing was big!
I was just stunned as I stood there watching the action develop.
Mom looked half terrified about the whole thing. For one thing, she didn't want to have to listen to him handing her a lot of guff, but that went right along with the act.
If he hadn't terrified her so much, she probably would have been a lot more willing about going along with sex, but since she had to put up with so much crap, it made the whole thing pretty intolerable.
She was just lying there, watching him as he stroked on the end of that huge dick of his.
"Get down there and suck it," he shouted.
The next thing I knew, he reached out and grabbed Mom by the ears. He really pulled them hard too, until she started sobbing.
"Stop it, oh, stop it," she said.
"I'm not going to show you any mercy until you give me what I want. You get down there and start sucking that prick of mine, and I don't mean maybe."
"Alright, alright, anything," she sobbed.
He let go of the ears, but then reached out and grabbed her by the hair. He tugged at that hair, guiding her over his huge erection.
"Now I'm really going to throat fuck you, you bitch," he said.
I flinched over hearing him call my mother a bitch. He maneuvered that body of his forward, then simultaneously guided my mother's body downward.
Now Mom was lying on her back, and that big cock of Dad's was moving swiftly toward her.
He finally shoved that huge pecker of his deep inside her mouth. He pushed that cock into her, driving it deep into her mouth.
"Come on and eat it, you bitch, eat my hot prick," he said. "You'd just better eat it, baby, you'd better it, eat that cock juice, baby, eat that prick of mine."
Back and forth he was sliding that huge body of his. I was so angry that I could have killed him, but naturally I was afraid to do anything. He was such a powerful guy that just about everybody was scared to say anything to him.
That bed was really rocking now from his size, as he kept shoving forward. All the while he pushed that huge cock of his ever deeper inside her mouth.
"Eat my prick, eat that hot dick," he said. "Come on and suck that juice out of there, baby, I want you to eat it, I want you to suck out every drop of that cum. I'm going to spill it inside you, baby, and you'd damned well better eat it." Now he was reaching out and pulling her hair more sharply than ever as those penis stabs became that much more intense and frequent.
Now he was driving that huge prick as deep into her throat as it would go. He thrust and ground that prick as he moved that much closer toward orgasm.
"You'd better get set now, because I'm getting ready to shoot inside your mouth," he ex claimed. "You'd just better eat it, honey, you'd better swallow every drop of that stuff. I'm warning you, baby, that you'd just better not spit any of it out. Eat it, eat it, baby, eat that hot stick, eat that prick juice, go after that hot sperm."
He kept on pulling her hair. She was gasping and sputtering helplessly as that huge member of his kept on stuffing itself ever deeper inside her mouth.
She turned white and her eyes were rolling around real crazy-like from the intensity of the developing action.
Get set, get set, baby, I'm going to ram this hot dick down your throat," he said. "And now I'm going to spurt my hot white juice into you. Eat it, sweetheart, eat every drop of this hot white prick juice. Go get it, darling, go get that hot stuff."
A few seconds later his entire body began to quiver. It was like watching an earthquake.
The bedsprings jangled louder than ever, and that bed rocked so much that I thought it was going to break as the hot white juice began to spurt out of the end of his lengthy rod and into her mouth.
It was one of those deluges that attacked her from all sides. That stuff just kept spilling in there like crazy, shooting like fireworks.
The hot white lava just kept exploding till Mom was unable to eat all of it. She couldn't help but spit some of the droplets of the hot white cum out of her mouth and as she did she made Dad very angry.
He reached out and slapped her.
"That's what you get for disappointing me," he said.
"But I did it, didn't I?" she replied weakly. "Not good enough. I want you to eat every drop of that fucking stuff when it spills out of there. It's no excuse to just eat some of it. I mean, baby, I expect a cum stream and I really mean a stream."
He released his cock from her mouth and lay contentedly on the bed. He stretched his arms and legs, then exclaimed:
"Now I'm thirsty. Think I'll go out and get myself a can of beer."
As he rose quickly to his feet, I had to dart back into my bedroom.
My heart pounded for about one hour after that from the combination of the shock of watching my mother be subjected to such rank humiliation in the name of sex satisfaction, and from the fear that I encountered in having to run back to my room to avoid detection by the old man.
I hate to think of what would have happened to me had the sonofabitch caught me. I'll tell you one thing, though, it wouldn't have been very pretty.
Little did I know it at the time, but that episode in my life was going to have even more meaning later on. I had watched my mother get it, and little did I know at the time that my father had designs on me.
The big explosion came one evening when my mother had gone away on a trip.
She had gone to visit a sick aunt in Little Rock and my old man was in a lousy frame of mind over the fact that she had left him at all. He wanted to keep her captive right around the clock, to not give her any kind of an opportunity to go anywhere.
He came home one evening dead drunk. He had stopped at the local beer joint to enjoy some brew with his buddies from the oil fields, then had come home just as I was getting ready for bed.
He walked into the bedroom. Here I was, a young girl of eleven, and I was just getting out of my dress.
He opened the door, taking me totally by surprise. He was kind of staggering against the wall, and he had that crooked smile on his face. If you don't think the smile was crooked, then you've got another thought coming. He had those crooked teeth, and his head was kind of tilted sideways, so you know what I mean when I say that the whole thing looked awfully crooked.
But I got scared all of a sudden. I didn't know what he was up to, but I sensed that it was not anything that was going to benefit me.
"Hello there, little girl," he said. "You look down-right cute in those panties."
"Thank you," I said softly, scared practically out of my skin at the very sight of him.
"You know, I really think you're cute."
Now he was moving toward me. The next thing I knew he had those huge ham-like hands of his moving around my face. He practically smothered me with them.
"I think that I could teach my little girl a little something about the facts of life," he laughed, pulling me down in the bed with him. "Would you like to learn a little something about the facts of life?"
"No, not right now."
"Then that's tough shit, baby, because I'm going to make you learn. You don't talk to your old man like that."
He reached out and grabbed a hold of my right arm, twisting it behind my back. He applied just enough pressure to make me cry.
"Oh, stop it, oh, please stop it," I said.
"Well, are you going to be a good girl?"
"Yes?, oh yes."
"Then I'll turn loose."
He quickly turned loose of my arm, then astonished me by unzipping his trousers and pulling out his huge prick.
"What do you think of the size of that thing?" he asked grinningly.
"It's very big."
"Sure, and you're going to get some of this action."
"What kind of action?"
"You're going to suck it."
I watched as he sat there sprawled out on that bed, his legs spread widely. He moved those fingers up and down his hard dick for a long time, then finally reached out and grabbed me by the arm.
"O.K., now come over here and start sucking," he said. "I want you to start working that tongue of yours around this hard dick. Now just start sucking, lick the tip of it, and if you know that I mean business, then you'd just better do exactly what I tell you. If you don't, baby, then you're going to be in real trouble. So come on and start licking."
He applied just enough pressure to make it hurt a little bit, My arms were burning, so I reached down there and started to lick on the tip of that big cock of his.
"That's nice, oh nice, I really like that," he laughed. "Now I'm teaching my baby to suck cock. Come on, honey, work that tongue around there. Oh honey, I like that."
I kept on gliding my tongue around the tip of his cock. I was hoping that he wouldn't want anything more than that, but I should have know he wouldn't stop at that point.
"O.K., now I want you to start sucking over the whole thing," he told me. "Keep working that tongue around there, only I want you to work it over the whole cock now. I want you to suck it, I want you, you to suck that dick, I want you to go after that cock juice," he implored. "Now drive that tongue of yours like wildfire, baby, I need that action, I need to be sucked off. I want you to go after the hot juice, baby, I want to give you a nice bath with this sperm of mine. A nice bath for your mouth. Come on and go after that tongue bath."
I knew that I would be beaten up if I didn't please him in every way, so I kept on working that tongue swiftly, making it maneuver up and down the length of his entire rod.
"Now you're getting the hang of it," he laughed. "Now you're really making your daddy feel good. Suck faster, baby, suck that cock fast."
He reached out and grabbed a hold of my shoulders now. He was really applying pressure, so much that I was hurting all over. I hurt throughout my whole body.
"Come on, if you know what's good for you, you'll step it up," he said. "Suck that cock, suck it good, sweetheart, go after that hot white cum. I'm going to splash that juice in your mouth."
Then few seconds later, an earthquake occurred like the one that happened with Mom that night.
As the earthquake occurred, he began to heave loud gasps and to sputter.
"Oh, here it goes, baby, hang in there, eat that cock juice, eat it good," he said. "Go after that hot white cum, go after that lava, baby, I need it, I need that release."
I'll never forget the experience that followed. All I remember is that I felt like I was going to drown in a sea of hot white juice.
I never saw anything like it. The guy came like gang-busters, shooting that thick hot white juice of his into my mouth.
I started coughing so hard that the tears were rolling down my cheeks.
I was delirious, and I just couldn't seem to stop coughing. When I finally did get the coughing under control, I started to gag.
"You bitch, you rotten little bitch," he shouted at me.
He was pulling hard on that hair of mine as I kept on gagging and finally I threw up.
"That's rotten of you, you little slimy slut," he shouted.
He looked down at the sperm on the floor, then his face began to turn red.
He reached out and slapped me several times, knocking me to the floor.
"I'll learn you, you little bitch," he said. "When I say that I want something done a certain way, then you'd just damned well better do it that way."
That was my first introduction to sex with the old man. I was hoping at the time that it would be the last, but I wasn't destined to be that lucky.
It turned out that he wanted to have sex with me about as often as he did with Mom, and even when Mom returned from the trip, he always managed to find time to do it with me when she wasn't around.
He always wanted the same act, to have his hard dick sucked off. At first I had a terrible time swallowing those huge loads of his, but after a while I got used to it to the point where I could take it without too much difficulty.
That is, I could tolerate it. I hated his guts, and it made me want to throw up every time that I had to do anything with him, but I was too scared to ever raise my voice in protest.
One evening my mother was out at a meeting. She wasn't expected back until pretty late.
My old man came home drunk, missing dinner, as he so often did.
He saw me sitting on my bed doing my homework.
"You can close that book now," he said.
I closed the book immediately, looking at him fearfully.
"I think I'm going to try something a little different tonight, baby," he winked.
He reached out and began to unzip my slacks. He pulled them off of me quickly, then slipped my panties down as well.
I wondered what he was up to, and the longer that he went to work with those fingers of his taking off my clothes, the more fearful I became.
"I'm going to treat you like a little doggie," he laughed. "I'm going to slip that pecker of mine into your asshole."
I knew what that would be like. Maybe I hadn't ever heard the word sodomy before, but I sure knew it would hurt one helluva lot to be getting that hard prick of his stabbed up there in my buns.
"Am I ever going to fuck you," he laughed.
He finished removing my panties, then reached out with those huge hands of his and clutched hold of my asscheeks.
He really hurt me the way he squeezed them, causing me to cry out in pain.
"You shut up," he said. "You and your old lady both make me sick. You expect me to treat you with kid gloves. Well, I'm not about to treat anybody that I'm fucking with kid gloves. You women are all a bunch of bitches anyway and that's exactly how I'm going to treat you."
He threw my legs around his shoulders, then lunged forward.
I began to shriek deliriously as he shoved that huge erect spear of his inside my anus.
I began to bleed from the savage attack that he was mounting with that flaming instrument of his, which he kept shoving repeatedly with spear-like effectiveness high inside my anus.
At that particular time, my mother happened to be coming home from the meeting.
It let out a little earlier than usual, and she walked into the house at the very time that I was screaming bloody murder.
She ran into the bedroom without saying anything, then observed the sight of me getting my ass fucked by my old man.
He had his back to her, so he didn't even know that she was in the room.
I'll never forget that expression on Mom's face. At first she turned white, just like that night when he forced her to go down on him. Then her lips began to quiver nervously. She looked like some other person, somebody I'd never even seen before. She was totally overcome by shock.
"My baby, my baby," she sobbed.
The old sonofabitch then recognized her voice, shrieking:
"Get out of here, bitch, I'm fucking my daughter," he said.
"Please, you're acting like an animal, you're hurting her," Mom sobbed bitterly. "She's bleeding. Can't you see, she's bleeding."
"A little blood ain't ever going to hurt a thing," he said insistently. "Hell, I've bled a lot of times too and it didn't bother me none."
He kept on stabbing that rectum of mine brutally with that huge spear of his. My whole body was just trembling from the shock of the experience of being entered by him again and again.
At that point Mom walked toward a dresser drawer. Dad was so busy fucking my ass that he didn't even know what was happening.
I knew that Dad kept a knife around just for the hell of it, but I didn't know where he kept it. Apparently Mom did, since she pulled out this huge hunting knife.
"Let go of her, let go of her, I say," Mom said as she walked toward the old man.
He turned around and observed her coming toward him with that knife.
He was shocked enough to where he released that prick of his from my asshole.
"Give me that goddam thing," he shouted. "I'll make you pay for pulling something like this."
He reached out with his right hand, making a grab for the knife.
His effort came a little too late, however, since Mom got there first, stabbing him in the stomach.
I'll never forget the fantastic thrills that went through me as Mom shoved that knife into his guts just as deep as the thing would go.
The blood was just spurting all over the place, and Dad was lying there with his mouth and eyes open, looking like some kind of a zombie.
As a matter-of-fact, that's just exactly what he was. Mom, the poor, gentle little soul who had never hurt a fly in her life, had made good with that one stab. She knew that her own life might be in jeopardy, and before the goddam bastard could get a chance to do anything to her, she ran that knife through him and killed him.
Now she was lying there sobbing, and I got up from the bed and threw my arms around her, doing my best to comfort her.
"He got what he deserved, he got exactly what he deserved," I said.
"He still is your father."
"Was my father," I corrected.
"Oh, I killed him, I killed him."
Poor Mom was broken up about it, but I was happy about the whole thing.
Mom was even more delirious after the police arrived and talked to her. Naturally they weren't about to take her in. They knew what a bastard my old man was, and they believed her story right off.
To this day I think that was the happiest day of my life. Maybe he did make me bleed by shoving that pecker of his into my rectum, but it was worth all that in order to see him lying there on the floor. He got exactly what he deserved.
Mom and I got tired of this little oil town awfully fast. Poor Mom couldn't get it out of her mind that she had killed Dad, and she said she wanted to move so she wouldn't have those memories fixed in her mind.
I told her that that was fine, and that as far as I was concerned, I'd leave with her right away.
We moved to Little Rock with that aunt of mine, who was still very sick.
Aunt Martha was very happy to have us around, and my mother looked after her quite a bit. Aunt Martha was a widow, and she had quite a bit of money from her husband's will. So that kept us all going. I went to school and my mother spent all of her time taking care of Aunt Martha and me.
Poor Aunt Martha remained in terrible health until she died just after I graduated from high school.
I'll tell you something. I didn't really socialize much in high school. I thought that the guys at school were like my old man. The only difference was that they weren't quite as openly crude. But every time that one would look at me kind of funny like, I would greatly distrust him and expect the worst.
When Aunt Martha died, we moved again, this time to Southern California.
We settled in Burbank, out in the east end of the San Fernando Valley, and I hoped that maybe I could get a little happiness there.
But we hadn't been there any more than about a year when Mom started to take ill.
I got me a job right away as a secretary, and spent most of the money I made just taking care of Mom, buying her medication, seeing that she got to doctors and all.
She had a heart attack about six months after we came out to California. Even though she was still a pretty young woman, I wasn't the least bit surprised to see her health break. Anybody that had been through what she had could expect to have her health break down.
I'd had so much tragedy occur in such a short time in my life, that I was beginning to think that's all there was to life. I was starting to become immune to just about anything and everything.
For that reason, I wasn't really that surprised when Mom got a second heart attack about a year after we'd been in California. This heart attack took her life.
I actually envied Mom as I looked at her lying there in that casket. I realized she was out of her misery while mine was probably only beginning.
I still kept that secretarial job, though, at this business office in Los Angeles.
There was a guy there, a traveling salesman that spent quite a bit of his time in Los Angeles. He started acting real nice around me, and I fell for it. After all, I was pretty broken up over Mom's death, and when this guy started acting real nice, it made me feel good, like I was somebody real special.
He took me out to a lot of nice restaurants that I couldn't ever have afforded to go to otherwise.
"This is an awfully expensive place," I told him. "It sure must cost you a lot of money. You shouldn't spend money like that."
"You silly girl," he laughed. "I'm on an expense account. The company pays for this, I don't. So eat hearty, baby."
The guy's name was Jess, and the better I got to know him, the more decent he seemed to be.
He treated me like a real lady, and that really went over. I had been around so many crude guys, that I had to be bowled over by a guy acting like a gentleman, which Jess definitely acted like.
He dressed real nice too, and it always made me feel good when I was in his presence.
It wasn't until he had known me for a month that he decided to try and get intimate.
"Would you like to come up to my room with me for a drink?" he asked me one night.
"I guess I could," I answered.
We had the drink, then he started pawing me.
I liked the fact that he was gentle about it, though, and not at all like my old man had been.
A few minutes later we were in bed, and he was kissing those breasts of mine ever so tenderly.
The more times that those lips of his came into contact with my breasts and nipples, the more excited I became about what was going on.
"Oh, keep kissing me, I love it, darling, I really love it."
"Hang on, baby, because I'm going to give you plenty of thrills before we're through," Jess said.
Back and forth he worked those lips of his, letting them come into contact with every crevice of my breasts.
When he got through with the kissing, he turned loose that tongue of his, working it at an eager clip around my breasts and nipples.
Now my entire body was swaying back and forth from the tongue action that he put forward.
It was beautiful action, and I loved every bit of it, enjoying every stab and suck that he provided for me.
"Do you like the tongue action?" he raised his head and smiled.
"I love it."
"I'm going to give you another kind of tongue action now," he said emphatically.
He then began to move that tongue down there between my hot legs.
Now that Jess had me all hot down there between my legs, he let his tongue loose on my mound.
It really felt good the way he licked that vagina of mine, working his tongue around with great skill.
It was apparent from watching him at work that Jess had quite a bit of sex in his day. He sure knew how to twirl that tongue of his around my hot twat as I got more aroused with every stroke.
I finally exploded, after which he decided that he would wrap things up in grand style.
"I'm going to fuck that pussy of yours," he said. "I'm going to really turn that prick loose on your cunt."
It seemed so strange listening to him talk that way, but when it came to getting involved in sex, I guess he was just like any other man.
Soon that hard dick of his was making its impact felt inside my mound. He drove it forward spiritedly, letting it slide ever so eagerly inside my mound.
He kept on stabbing that thing in there with great energy, working eagerly until the white juice began to spurt out of his prick and into my mound.
"Oh, what a screw you are, how great a fuck you are, so nice and tight," he gasped. "You are absolutely incredible, baby, just great."
After that,. I started going to bed with him regularly. The one thing I found disconcerting, though, was that every time I talked about future plans, he'd make it a point to change the subject.
I finally found out why the hard way. He stopped coming around the office and I asked some of the people what happened to him.
Then I really got the lowdown! I found out that he had been assigned to another territory, and that he was married and the father of four children.
Now it became all too clear to me. I was being used by the bastard.
The one person who was very sympathetic toward me during this period was a gorgeous blonde that worked as a secretary with me. Her name was Rona, and she suggested one evening that we have dinner together.
"I really feel for you, honey," she told me as we polished off dessert together. "You know, I was married once and the guy that I married played around an awful lot."
He shouldn't have, what with a beautiful girl like you at home."
He told me I was more beautiful than any of the women he played around with, but he said he couldn't help it. He said he could never be a one-woman man. Isn't that a good one?"
"The bastard!"
"I've found out, honey, that they're all bastards," she said calmly. "The sooner you find it out, the better off you'll be."
"Well, I can't speak for all of them, but the ones that I've dealt with have been that way."
"They're all that way, baby. Take it from me."
"I hope not."
"That's why I felt so sorry for you. I could see that you were being taken in by a terrible creep, but I didn't feel that there was anything I could do about it. I don't like to horn in on other people's affairs."
"I wish that you would have, in this case," I laughed.
"Well, it's all over now," Rona said philosophically.
After we finished dinner she invited me to her apartment. She said something about getting comfortable, then took off the dress she was wearing.
As she sprawled out on the rug, wearing nothing but her panties and bra, she chatted with me.
"Do you think I have a beautiful body?" she asked.
"It's absolutely fantastic," I said.
"Would you like to have sex with me?"
Her words jolted me. I tried to believe that she was being serious.
"You're kidding, of course."
"No, I'm not. Haven't you ever made it with a girl, honey?"
"Heavens no."
"But you have made it with men."
"Yes. You know that I have."
"O.K., was it satisfying with a man? Were they decent to you?"
"No. They were absolute bastards."
"Alright, then how about giving women a chance? Don't listen to what society says. Listen to the dictates of your own conscience. And, of course, your flesh. Tell me now, couldn't you get turned on with me?"
I said nothing, but sat there watching her. I had to admit I was getting more and more excited every minute I looked at her.
Soon she was getting up from the floor. She removed her panties and bra, standing before me in the middle of the room completely naked.
"Take off your clothes, honey," she whispered.
I don't know whether it was the soft music, the fact that I had had a few drinks, or what, but the next thing I knew I was removing my clothes.
Seconds after I finished undressing, she pressed her breasts against mine and her lips against mine. It was quite a fantastic thrill to be kissed by her while our tits were rubbing together beautifully.
After she broke the kiss, she grabbed a hold of my body, gliding me downwards toward the rug with her.
Now she was all set to unleash that tongue of hers. She started by working it around my breasts and nipples. Finally she deposited it inside my mound.
Back and forth she worked that tongue of hers, allowing it to slide ever so gracefully around my hot mound.
"Oh, that's so nice, I really love that," I gasped. "I never thought it could feel this good getting it from another woman, oh, baby, please do it, please keep up the licking, oh, suck that hot mound of mine."
Back and forth she was rolling that tongue of hers, letting it go to work on my torrid mound.
She kept up those beautiful movements, letting that tongue of hers unleash itself on my warm mound.
She wasn't about to stop until I exploded, and she succeeded in getting me to accomplish that particular objective.
After I exploded my juices into her mouth, she said:
"How would you like to do the same thing to me?"
"I don't think that I would be any good at that."
"What are you talking about? You're being silly. You know that you can suck my mound. I've got a beautiful body, and men and women are turned on with it. But I don't let the men get any action anymore. I restrict myself strictly to girls."
"You are very lovely."
"Of course I am. We ought to be tonguing each other, baby. Let's just turn those tongues loose on each other and have some fun. We'll work those tongues around until we both explode. Now how does that sound to you?"
"It sounds pretty good. It's just that I'm a little scared about attacking something like this."
"Why, because you've never done it before?"
"I guess that's true."
"Don't let things scare you for that reason. Just work that tongue of yours, baby, around my box. I'll start first, then you can pick up the tempo from me."
"I am developing confidence in you."
"Of course you are. Do you know why?"
"Not exactly."
"You're developing confidence in me because you know that I'm interested in your welfare. I dig you, honey, so go down there and start licking my twat."
I did exactly as she suggested. I allowed my tongue to manipulate ever so slowly around that mound of hers, and as it did so, she started unleashing that tongue of hers around my box.
Just like she had said, we adjusted to each other. We developed our own little syncopated rhythm as we matched each other tongue for tongue, stroke for stroke, working ourselves into quite a lather.
Back and forth those tongues continued to work. We were really excited about what was happening. It really was getting to me, engaging in my first sixty-nine with somebody of my same sex.
I couldn't get over how quickly I was taking to it. I was just like a duck in water. It was natural, something that just made me bubble over with fantastic anticipation.
We kept on matching each other with our licking efforts until I exploded first.
She lapped up every drop from my mound, then neared the point of orgasm.
Once she exploded, we spent a little time lying next to each other and chatted.
Now, after catching our breath, we went right back to work again, supplying each other with some more magnificent sucks. We kept it up till we both lost track of our orgasms.
I stayed overnight with her that night, and the following morning she had a suggestion:
"Why not move in here with me?"
"I'd love to."
"I entertain a lot of beautiful women. We can get together and really have a good time."
"But I don't feel that I need any other women. Not now that I have you."
"That's awfully sweet of you, baby, and I love you too. But it's often a lot of fun having a little variety, and these girls will give us an opportunity to experiment a little. Besides, on top of that, they're very nice people."
"It does sound like loads of fun."
"Certainly it is. And there's one thing about it. You're not going to have to worry about some old hairy stud with a big dick anymore. That's a thing of the past."
It is a thing of the past too. I'll talk to men, but that's just about it.
Oh, some of them have treated me decently, but I've noticed that the only time I get the decent treatment is when there's no sex involvement of any kind.
Like with you, you seem like a pretty decent guy, but I sure wouldn't like to have any kind of romantic involvement with you.
I'm hard as nails when it comes to evaluating people. I've been hurt so many times, and now I don't really get hurt at all because I don't allow myself to get hurt. I'm as cool as a cucumber, and I look out for my own interests.
Yes, I'm still living with Rona, and we're very happy. Who needs men when you've got a nice situation like that?
SUMMARY
It does not take a lot of reflection to conclude that Gail C. is not likely to resume normal sexual relations with the opposite sex.
If such an eventuality ever comes to pass, it more than likely will not do so in the foreseeable future. It would take a good deal of adjustments in Gail's life in order for her to reach the point where she would develop an interest in men.
What soured her more than anything else on the opposite sex was her father. She had knowledge only of terrible sex in the heterosexual sense. She witnessed a sickening scene involving her mother and her father, then was brutally subjected to sex of the most disgusting sort with her father.
Given such a background, the only thing that could have altered her viewpoint would be a wholesome and satisfying relationship with the right man.
Unfortunately for Gail, such a eventuality did not come to pass. Instead of meeting a man who would devote himself unselfishly toward her, she met Jess, who was seeking to use her.
At the time that she met Jess, it should be noted Gail stated that she was impressed by him due to his gentlemanly airs. That means that at that particular interval she was not disposed toward lumping all men into one ogre category. She apparently felt that the only kind she needed to steer clear of was the type like her father, and when she met a gender sort of man, her interest in men was revived.
When Jess was discovered to be married, and when she learned that he was apparently using her for nothing other than sexual gratification, it caused Gail to turn off men altogether. She felt at that point that even the smoothies were to be watched, and that they differed from the roughies only in terms of subtlety.
She was a sitting duck for a more experienced woman like Rona, who was able to take advantage of her tragic situation and convert it into an asset.
Rona wanted sex on a permanent basis with a beautiful partner with whom she could share her apartment, and lovely Gail proved to be that person.
I had a chat with a psychiatrist not long ago pertaining to the question of lesbianism in general and incest in particular.
He revealed to me that a number of cases he had treated of women who had turned to other women for sexual gratification had had tragic incest experiences, more often than not with their fathers.
"Yes, those early experiences mean so much," the psychiatrist said solemnly. "You see, when a young girl is in that kind of development stage, she can turn just about any direction, depending upon what the conditioning factor happens to be. In most instances, a well adjusted young girl will see her mother and father displaying affection toward each other, and she comes to realize That she in turn will some day be showing affection for a man."
"Yes, the example is the thing," I said. "That's what you're trying to tell me, isn't it?"
"Yes, that and a little more," he said. "What I'm saying is that at certain junctures in any person's life, the twig is in a position to be bent."
"And in the case of the girl who experiences a tragic early sex situation, the twig is bent," I said.
"Precisely. Not only is it bent, it can ultimately be destroyed," he revealed soberly. "Take a girl whose father advances upon her in an aggressive sexual manner. That girl's respect for the father is likely to be irreparably shattered at that point. But her attitude goes beyond that. She will be exceedingly skeptical about men in general, if she hasn't been turned off already. And very often girls like this are the ones who become the most vulnerable to pitches from lesbians. When the lesbian tells her that men are just plain no good, she isn't likely to give her much of an argument."
The above comment bears relevance to the case history of Gail C., a tragic girl who just never seemed to have a chance to develop a proper relationship with a man.
Gail's case stands in marked contrast to that of Mildred G., the subject of Case Five.
In the case of Gail, she ultimately found herself unimpressed by men. As for Mildred, she was not only attracted to them, she became a female exhibitionist, and one who enjoyed watching sex as much as she did participating in it.
Female voyeurs are considered to be a rare phenomenon, but as time elapses a greater number of studies are being done which have concluded that there are more female voyeurs around than what one would be inclined to think.
As Fullerstan said:
"If one can give credence to Kinsey, women very rarely find any pleasure in looking at the nude male body. But not very long ago a Swedish evening paper published a call for pornography for women-and this plea was made by a woman."
In order to properly understand what happened to Mildred, one must go back to the beginning of her story, which proved to be as highly bizarre as it was fascinating.
Once more, as in the cases of the four preceding girls, the home background was lacking. Rather than receiving a normal adjustment to sex, a traumatic episode early in Mildred's life discolored her thinking.
CASE FIVE
Of all the girls I interviewed, including those of whom that are not included in this volume, none spoke more freely than Mildred G.
Following is Mildred's story:
Actually, Dad was quite a square during the early stages of my life. He wouldn't have thought of doing anything out of the way either to me or my older sister Irene, who was two years older than I was.
Then when I was twelve and Irene fourteen, a tragedy happened in our lives. My mother was killed in an automobile accident.
That changed Dad. He had been very devoted to Mom, and after she died, he went into this terrible brooding, when he wouldn't see anyone or do anything.
Then, a nephew of his came over to spend a few weeks with us. This nephew was a real swinger, with a sports car and the whole works. He was making the scene with chicks all the time, and he took Dad out a few times, not so much to get him to ball chicks as to help cheer him up and bring him out of the doldrums.
Well, the nephew left, but after that Dad was a completely changed man.
He started staying out late at night and doing a lot of drinking. Then the next thing I knew, he bought a sports car, somewhat like the one that his nephew had. On top of that, he changed his clothing style, wearing all kinds of mod attire. He got his hair styled so he looked a lot younger than he actually was.
One night when my sister and I were doing our homework together, he came home acting real silly. He told us that he'd been to a pot party, and he said he wanted us to smoke a joint with him.
At first we tried to talk him out of it, but he wasn't about to take no for an answer. He wanted us to smoke with him, and that was it.
"But before you do, we're all going to take off our clothes," he laughed. "That's the way they did it at this party, and we're going to do it the same way."
Irene and I both felt awfully embarrassed about taking our clothes off, but we finally ended up doing so to please Dad.
We also noticed that when he got his shorts off he had a huge hard-on. He reached down and started pumping on it with his left hand.
We sat down in a semi-circle and smoked pot. While we were smoking, Dad was telling us a lot of silly jokes.
I'll never forget how that cigarette affected me. I've smoked pot lots of times since then, but nothing can ever match the experience of that first joint.
I was dizzy all over, and I started getting giggly just like Dad. I looked over at Irene and she was the same way.
"You girls are so cute," Dad said. "Milly, honey, you've got the most gorgeous blonde hair I've ever seen, and, Irene, you've got the same luscious black hair that your mother had. You're both beautiful, and I want to see you two make it together."
Irene and I looked at each other, wondering just what the old man had in store for us.
"I want you two to sixty-nine," he implored. "Go down on each other while I'm pumping on my dick."
He kept insisting until we finally got down there on the rug and let our tongues fly.
"Now start out by sucking each other's ass," he said.
You know, at first the whole thing seemed disgusting to me, but Irene was a beautiful girl and as I started to suck her asshole, I got all kinds of sensations flying through my entire body.
But that was just the beginning. I was going to receive more sensations when beautiful Irene started to let her tongue go to work inside my asshole.
Back and forth we let those tongues dart, and the longer that they went to work, the more noticeably our bodies trembled.
As for Dad, he was eating it up. He was standing up and jerking up and down on that huge pecker of his while we kept matching each other stroke for stroke.
"O.K., now you can switch the action to your cunts," he shouted excitedly. "I want some pussy licking, you girls. Come on and give it to me. Work those tongues around."
After sucking out Irene's asshole, my inhibitions had sufficiently left me to the point where I didn't mind at all going down on her twat.
You know, she was already nice and moist down there from the excitement that I had generated inside her when I was sucking her asshole.
It soon became a contest who was going to get off first, and we were both sucking up a storm, letting those tongues splash with feverish passion as we exchanged stroke for stroke.
"That's it, you gorgeous chicks," Dad said. "Now suck those cunts, suck, you girls, suck each other."
The fact that he was getting so turned on watching us caused us to feel that much more excitement. We kept letting those tongues unleash themselves with swift movements. Back and forth I let that tongue of mine go to work repeatedly inside her mound, and Irene did the same thing for me.
We kept it up until we shot, within seconds of each other.
We figured that the action was over at that point, but it wasn't by a long shot. The old man wanted to get his rocks off.
"O.K., Millie honey, I'll fuck that pretty pussy of yours," he smiled. "And while I'm doing that, baby, you can suck my asshole out, Irene."
It was quite a spectacle, what with the old man drilling that prick of his inside my virginal twat, and Irene letting that tongue of hers unleash itself inside his anus.
That asshole sucking naturally got him all the hotter, and he was twisting and turning that tongue of his with relentless energy inside that mound of mine.
Back and forth that body of his rocked as he kept on drilling me with everything that he had. Sure it hurt, but by that time I didn't really give a damn. I was having a good time.
He finally exploded in my mound, and after that he suggested taking a whirl with Irene.
"Now you can suck my ass," he told me, patting me on my beautiful blonde hair.
The old man had me beat his meat for him a little bit to get him as hard as he had been before he exploded.
Then he finally turned that rod of his loose inside of Irene's mound and as he did so, I was going to work with that tongue of mine inside his asshole.
I've got to admit that sucking out his ass was almost as much fun as getting my cunt fucked by his hard pecker.
He was so excited that it didn't take him very long to explode his juices inside of Irene's nest.
That evening marked the beginning of a new era in all of our lives.
The old man played it cautiously after that. He told us that he didn't want to knock us up, and he had gotten carried away the first time of popping our cherries. So he made sure that he wore a rubber when he screwed us after that. He was always a little skeptical about the contraceptives, so he went the rubber route. But did he ever fuck us.
I'll tell you something, he wasn't the only one. He started bringing home friends of his to watch exhibitions that we put on.
Sometimes he'd bring a whole scad of men and women along to watch and participate.
We would always start out the same way, with Irene and I going to work on each other.
I remember one time when there was a drunken gathering in the house, and Dad seemed more proud than ever of us.
"Just watch these chicks go to work on each other," he laughed to his friends. "You're really going to see something."
"They're so beautiful that it makes me want to shoot just looking at them naked," one of the guys said.
"Me too," one of the women said, precipitating a good deal of laughter.
That night we were both high on grass, and was that ever reflected in the way that we went to work on each other.
We started sucking each other's ass out, and that night the asses twirled and swayed faster than ever.
The quicker that those asses swayed back and forth the hotter everybody got watching us.
After we got so turned on that we could hardly keep from shooting, we switched the sucking to each other's cunt.
While those tongues were going to work eagerly on each other's snatch, Dad hollered out:
"Come on, you girls, and start finger fucking."
We knew exactly what he meant by that. We reached out with our right index fingers and began stabbing up each other's rectum.
If you don't think that that turns a girl on, then just try it sometime. That extra momentum that we provided for each other in the form of that adventurous finger fucking really got us turned on.
You know, between the finger fucking and the cunt licking, we wound up orgasming about four times each.
By the time we got through with that beautiful action, we had those guys so horny that they just had to get off their rocks.
"How about a daisy chain?" Dad suggested. "The girls can all line up on their knees in a circle, and they can take turns sucking off all the guys."
"That's a beautiful suggestion," one of the men said.
"I sure know who I want to suck me off," a handsome blond haired guy said, looking at me and winking.
"I'm ready for you," I said.
"That's good," the man nodded.
"Go ahead, Carl. My daughter likes you," Dad said, patting Carl on the shoulder.
I gave Carl a suck unlike anything he could believe. I kept on moving that tongue of mine up and down that huge, hard prick of his while my fingers went to work on his balls.
"Suck me, baby, suck that prick," Carl said, running his fingers affectionately over my breasts.
I always have liked good tit action, and by that time, even though I was just barely into my teens, I had developed a couple of good ones.
Apparently Carl thought so too, judging by the way that those fingers of his played with them.
I was bouncing that head of mine up and down ever so eagerly, determined to swallow that hot load of his.
"Oh, I'm getting ready to shoot, get set, get set for my juice," he finally said.
Just as he was set to explode, I reached out and toyed with his balls.
He heaved a huge sigh, then shot a load unlike anything you can believe, a real thick one, into my mouth. Like the pro that I am, I handled every solitary drop of it.
Yes, Carl was quite a fuck, and that was quite a session. I'll never forget it.
I guess all good things have to come to an end, and that's what happened with those wonderful sessions that we used to have with Dad.
The neighbors started to complain about all the noise that they heard coming from our place, and when it was discovered that the old man was involved in these sex exhibitions, there was immediate talk about putting us in a foster home.
They finally committed poor Dad. I guess he did have a little too much grass for his own good, and, on top of that, he really hadn't been sane ever since Mom died.
Irene and I go to see Dad every now and then now, but he is only a shell of his former self. He hardly has anything to say, and he seems to want to sleep just about all the time.
As soon as we got out of high school, Irene and I both got out of that foster home. It drove us nuts being tied down like that. But even so, we became the scourge of the local high school by going down on boys.
I can remember one night when I took on fifteen, one right after the other. I had enough cum to last me for a whole week, but I got all hungry again for the nice juicy stuff.
Now Irene and I are both old enough to work in bars, and we like working at dances.
We just love getting up on tables wearing scanty little costumes and shaking our beautiful asses for these guys.
Do they ever get horny watching us, and who can blame them! After all, we're both beautiful and we know it. The ones who dig brunettes go for her, and the ones for a preference for blondes naturally go for me.
We share an apartment together, and things are going beautifully.
We get paid to put on sex exhibitions, with two of us going to work on each other.
We do more than go down on each other now, though. We really added to our repertories Now we fuck each other with dildos, suck each other's asshole, suck cunt, do everything.
We've even worked out a wonderful little act where we shoot whipped cream over each other's body, then go to work with our tongues.
We leave those guys so horny that they don't know what to do. If any of them want to screw us, they know the price, and you'd better believe it that it's a damned big one.
We live in a fantastic apartment, and things are going to stay that same way. We like luxury, and we're not about to give it up now that we've got it.
I don't know, maybe Irene and I will get married some day, but right now we kind of doubt it. We've got things going so beautifully just the way they are, that we don't need to marry. After all, we can screw all the men we want now, and get paid for it to boot.
It's just too bad that poor Dad isn't able to recognize how successful we've both become. He could justifiably feel great pride from what has happened to us, since, if it hadn't been for him, we probably never would have developed this wild type of life.
It really makes me cry every time I think that if it hadn't been for Dad, maybe Irene and I would be married to some poor guys who wouldn't be able to give us what we want.
Do I still love Irene? Of course I do. When we're not being banged by some guys, we spend most of our time lolling around the apartment.
One guess what we do when we're lolling around. We screw. I just dig looking at that naked body of hers, and she really likes looking at me too.
But I guess you realize by now that the looking is just the first stage. That's no more than a prelude to the screwing, which is really a beauty to behold.
When the two of us get together, and those tongues of ours start going to work on each other's cunt, that friction is really something. It's too bad that not every guy in this whole country could have an opportunity to see us. I can guarantee you one thing. There wouldn't be a limp cock in the joint.
There never is any time that we put on one of our exhibitions, and the big reason why our exhibitions are so convincing, is that we're not acting. It's the real thing with both of us, because we truly dig each other.
I suppose that by now you're of the opinion that we're both terribly warped creatures. Well, if you think that, then my answer is that you're warped.
That's right, you look at any of the groovy societies, especially in Europe, and you'll find that fantastic sex orgies were a part of them. That's a part of tradition that Irene and I have sought to latch onto.
And now that we've found it, we're not about to give it up. I don't think we'd even give it up if we both had a chance to marry rich men. And if they weren't rich, we wouldn't even consider it.
SUMMARY
, It is indeed a tragedy that Mildred G. never had an opportunity to develop wholesome sex urges.
She was forced into exhibitionism at an early age, and now she is convinced that it is the only way of life for her.
Actually, she is correct, since it has been the only way of life for her. She has not, however, had an opportunity to find out how other young women live. Even though she claims to be content, her type of life can only end in misfortune and frustration.
There will be a day in the not too distant future when both Mildred and Irene will face a cross-roads. Their looks will begin to fade, earlier than they would be able to anticipate, as a result of their promiscuous and varied activities, and when that occurs, they will be far less enticing and the many men who had flocked to see them will no longer be that excited at their very presence.
When such a state of affairs surfaces, they will then begin to see just how transitory and superficial their way of life actually is.
It is doubtful now that they can be made to come to grips with the truth. They are so fully indoctrinated in their way of life, that they would not be likely to listen to anyone who would present them with a different viewpoint.
As for the phenomenon of exhibitionism, it is a facet of sex that, as Mildred said, has existed from time immemorial. Some of the wealthiest of men, for diversionary purposes, either engaged in or viewed sex orgies.
The technical name for the propensity of sex watchers is scopophelia, a synonym for voyeurism.
In Dr. Ullerstam's excellent treatise, "The Erotic Minorities," he devotes an entire chapter to this particular phenomenon.
In terms of providing definitive background, Ullerstam asserts the following:
"For many scopophils the sight of a striptease act or of a full-scale exhibition of intercourse is their most highly valued source of sexual pleasure. Others find themselves dependent on special stimuli, such as urination, sodomy, Lesbian exhibitions, grotesque and sado-masochistic performances, etc. Peter the Great, Czar of Russia, had his own peculiar tastes. For his banquets, he ordered dwarfs of both sexes to be stripped naked and then baked into enormous pies. On an agreed signal, they then burst forth from the pastries and danced about on the tables, to the great consternation of the European ambassadors. Sometimes the stimulation does not even have to be of a sexual character: there are, for instance, men who can reach orgasm when they see galloping horses.
"In some cases the 'peeping' provides sexual release; in others, perhaps especially individuals of a weak sexual urge, it seems to be a means for excitement to release by other methods.
"Some people demand of good pornography that the sexual act itself should only be hinted at. This type of voyeurism need rarely lack stimuli. Others want an explicit description giving a great deal of realistic detail. These individuals hunt for coarse verbal and visual obscenities. Many of them, however, arrive at the insight that it isn't at all that exciting to watch a film showing only the sexual act, no matter how many intimate details it contains. Sexual excitement often grows more intense in a public cinema, where the act of intercourse, even if it is only hinted at, is shown in its narrative and psychological connection to various formal and emotional relationships between the participants."
Such is the type of life that Mildred and Irene have lived. They have existed to provide pleasure for themselves and others, and, as intelligent young women, they will ultimately find out more than likely the hard way, that they must pay a dear price for those superficial pleasures of the flesh.
I did my best to attempt to convince Mildred without attempting to appear like a preacher, that it was in her own best interest to attempt to develop a more meaningful relationship in her sexual life.
I told her that the best thing for her would be to meet a decent man who could support her and make her his wife.
She replied in the following manner:
"You've got to be kidding."
I felt genuinely sorry for her when she walked out of my office with a big grin on her face. Apparently none of my importunate pleas had registered even the faintest impact on her.
In retrospect, after having completed this volume, it would have to be stated that the girls interviewed fell into two distinct categories-those who hated their fathers, and those who loved them too much.
In the case of Zelda R., Ann V., and Gail C., the attitude was one of hate directed toward their fathers, who had put them through all kinds of sexual abuse.
As for Katherine D., the subject of Case Three, and Mildred G., the subject of Case Five, they fell into the distinct category of women who loved their fathers too much.
They admired their fathers greatly. In Mildred's case, the admiration was for all the wrong reasons. Her father was a disturbed, warped man who sought sexual favors from his daughters, along with exposing them to additional sexual contact with other people.
In conclusion, it needs to be stated that more definitive study is needed in the little understood world of incest as it relates to sexual activities between fathers and daughters.
It is to be hoped that the reader will come away from this reading experience less disposed toward indicting the unfortunate, often highly confused individuals featured in these five case studies, adopting instead an attitude of compassionate understanding and an inquiring mind.
Only through definitive exploration and exhaustive investigation, can we ever hope to shed any meaningful light on these difficult problems that face us in our chaotic modern day world.
