Be solitary for a moment, if you will please. Let your mind wander. Press hard to remember to understand more of self and the strong incestual impulses that are said to lie latent in us all.
Think hard, now.
Remember....
Were you ever sexually stirred by a blood relative of the opposite sex? As a child, did you sometimes entertain fantasies about a cousin? An attractive aunt? Or, if you are one of our lady readers, a handsome uncle. Did the impulse turn closer to home? Did your mother tantalize you? Was your father a man who could arouse erotic feelings? How was it when in close family proximity to a brother or sister?
Perhaps you never experienced sexual arousal for a relative. Some people don't. But an enormous number of average, normal American citizens, have experienced such feelings, psychiatrists tell us, and it should not, in most cases, be assumed that incestual feelings are the mark of a pervert. They are not. They are a part of most normal human beings. It has been true for centuries and will likely be true during future centuries.
But the normal incestual reactions of human beings is not true of the case subjects of this report. The opposite is the case.
CASEBOOK: THE INCEST EXPERIENCE investigates the overt incest lovers who live and love among us. There is little that is latent among these case subjects. Instead, this in-depth report enunciates the circumstances of the most outrageous incestual behavior, which is not limited to conventional intercourse.
Fellatio....
Cunnilingus....
Anal intercourse....
Mammary stimulation ... and most every manner of sexual deviation has been experienced by the case subjects of this text, and the details are reported in a hard, lucid style to Cameo Library readers.
There's a reason.
An excellent reason, the editors believe.
By understanding the aberrant behavior of individuals, we learn more about those who are called "normal," more about self, and the sexual world around us.
Understanding is, after all, what most of us desire. It is the reason we inquire, read, think. And it is one of the reasons that books are published. You see, publishing houses are made up of people who are very similar to the average, mass market book purchaser. We, too, seek knowledge, and we are always anxious to convey it.
We consider it one of the most reverent responsibilities.
Communication, we believe, is essential to understanding. We honor this responsibility. We will strive always to fulfill it to the best of our ability.
-The Publisher
CASE HISTORY 1: ALICIA AND HER FATHER
Alicia M. was ten years old when she was brought to a clinic for psychiatric treatment. For four years she had been involved in an incestuous relationship with her father. It was Alicia's distraught mother who brought the matter to the authorities, but only after Alicia had talked outside the family about her continuing sexual relationship with her father. She told her mother of the oral intercourse indulged in by her father and also related an episode of a paternal uncle molesting her sexually just prior to her father's first contact with her. Alicia's mother recalled that during these four years she went out once a week regularly to play bridge with a group of friends who lived on the other side of town and she feared returning earlier than her expected time because of what she suspected was going on between the father and Alicia. She was most reluctant to know the truth regarding her husband and her daughter and preferred to assume an unknowing air, even though her suspicions were so strong.
There was a decided history of extremely unsettled environment in Alicia's family and this was obvious not only from her own experience but also from the description of her one older brother and two younger sisters. Greg, aged eleven had recently been involved in a service station break-in and also had frequent trouble in school regarding homosexual activities. He was a very poor student in school and a frequent truant. Susan, aged eight, was a lovely blonde, blue-eyed child who was decidedly hyperactive and destructive. She would scream for hours on end when not allowed her own way and took great joy in tearing apart her dolls, sometimes even butchering them with kitchen knives. It became necessary for the entire family to closely watch Susan for fear she would harm herself, for she had already tried to slash her own wrists as she had mutilated a favorite doll of the youngest sister, Beth. There wasn't a babysitter to be found who would take on the responsibility of taking care of Susan in the absence of her parents. The added burden of being constant watchdog over Susan did little to promote favorable family relations. Six-year-old Beth was a quiet, withdrawn, sullen child, given to long sessions of moping and apathy. She was very small for her age and looked physically underdeveloped. She spoke infrequently and when she did verbalize, it was in soft whispers of a few words. Although it was time that she should be enrolled in elementary school, authorities had suggested that Beth be kept at home for another year to allow for further physical development. It had been vaguely suggested that Beth be placed in a county institution for the mentally handicapped, but her mother was adamant in refusing to even discuss the matter.
Alicia's mother had become pregnant with Alicia after knowing and dating the father for almost a year. Since they were not married at this time, Alicia's mother told no one about her pregnancy and received no prenatal care. She refused to see the maternal grandmother after Alicia's birth. At that time, the father was in the service and received an emergency furlough in order to get married. During her first few years of life, Alicia was placed in many different foster homes and lived with various relatives as well. She was described by her parents as unmanageable during the periods when she did not live with them. Both her mother and father beat Alicia often. Evidently her behavior improved at about the time she began attending school.
Alicia's father was the third oldest of a family of seven; four boys and three girls. The paternal grandfather was a sales representative and was away from home most of the time. There was a child born of incestuous relations between a paternal sister and brother. This was not taken as any great scandal in the family circle. The new-born child was accepted without comment or interest.
Alicia's parents were not happily married. They had "Lost touch with each other" over the years and were now almost strangers with nothing in common apart from their children. The father worked steadily as a clerk in a supermarket and handled all the family finances. Although there was a steady income, mother always felt there was little money or other supplies available from the father. After his imprisonment for his sexual offense, Alicia's mother, for the first time, took over the household management. She had little notion of what this role involved and was particularly inefficient in food budgeting, often spending large amounts of money, yet frequently the family went hungry. After the father's imprisonment, the mother obtained a divorce and then moved into the worst slum neighborhood of the city, where a friend had obtained a dirt-encrusted apartment for her. In talking about this move, it became clear that she was depressed and that the selection of that particular dim and dark apartment was an external manifestation of this depression. She revealed at this time that she-had been upset and distraught for many long periods and spoke particularly of the period following the birth of her third child. In the hospital, even though receiving tranquilizers for her depression, she lay in bed trembling, wondering what was going on between her husband and Alicia. Indeed, at that time sexual contact between father and daughter was both oral and genital.
Alicia was ten when she was first seen for diagnostic evaluation. She was a tall, pretty, fair-haired girl who outwardly had an air of assurance. She showed an eagerness to relate, and readily displayed her dependent need for care of any kind. For example, in a psychological testing session she talked at length about needing "daddy's loving his fucking," while "mommy won't let us be together." The diagnostic study revealed that when her dependent wishes were stimulated, Alicia became threatened by depression and anxiety over loss. She dealt with this through hyperactivity and could not tolerate the passive receptive role. Alicia's ability to utilize her intellectual and emotional capacities was markedly hampered by the energy which went into the denial of her infantile needs. Although a bright child, Alicia functioned at a borderline level in school. She had to repeat a grade for the first time the year of her father's imprisonment.
In-depth study revealed that Alicia saw her mother as a dependent little girl who wanted the rest of the family to take care of her, feed her, and not desert her. As part of the care, she felt that the mother wanted the sexual relationship between the girl and her father. The tests did not indicate that she felt guilty over this incestuous sexual relationship. Rather, she showed depression and regret over separation from her father and saw the relationship as one of mutual feeling. In the sexual relationship the male was seen as entering and taking or entering and biting rather than the more usual sexual conception of entering and giving.
In response to one Thematic Apperception Test card the following view came to light regarding the incest experience: "She went to the show to meet a boyfriend, and when she came back, her mother asked, 'What were you doing?' and she said, 'Just talking.' Mother said, 'Oh, no, I was watching. Didn't father tell you not to fuck?' And she said, 'Yes, but don't tell the police,' and they agreed never to tell the police on him." When asked, "How did it turn out?" Alicia said, "When she grows up she marries him and they take the mother to live with them."
After prolonged diagnostic study, Alicia was referred for both individual and group therapy. Her mother, however, was unable to follow through on the recommendation for individual treatment and Alicia was seen in group treatment only.
There was one particularly informative group session in which Alicia was able to discuss her first encounter with her father in depth. The following narration is in the form as recorded by Alicia's group therapist.
THERAPIST: Alicia, do you feel you want to discuss what happened between yourself and your father that very first time you had intercourse together?
ALICIA: Sure, I don't mind telling you what happened the first time we fucked. Daddy and I had been fooling around for a long time ever since I was about six, I liked to put me on his lap and play with me. He'd ran his hand over my body, after he took my clothes off, and then he'd bend down to kiss me. Sometimes he pushed his tongue into my mouth and played with my tongue. That was fun! And then he'd bend down and lick my nipples, sometimes even biting on them. I didn't have any titties like mommy did and I still don't, but daddy would lick me all over, his spit dribbling over my body. And then he would take off his clothes and ask me to hold his cock for him, "to warm it up." I liked doing that. It would start to get bigger and harder, until my hand could hardly hold it. And it would sort of wave at me, almost tingling under my fingertips as daddy kept telling me to hold onto it. And then daddy told me to kiss it. At first I didn't want to do that because I thought he'd pee on my hands, but when daddy began to put his hand between my legs and let his finger poke into my cunt hole, I felt I should do something for him. I was beginning to feel sort of warm and tingly inside, almost like having goose bumps but deep inside my tummy. Daddy's cock smelled kind of strange, but I bent down and kissed it. And then I became frightened as I felt something warm and wet come out of the end of it. Daddy pushed my head down tighter and held it there. I couldn't do anything but take that white stuff into my mouth. At first I was afraid to swallow it, but when I finally did, I found that it didn't taste so bad after all.
THERAPIST: Alicia, was that the first time you had ever performed fellatio on your father?
ALICIA: 'Fellatio?' Is that another way to say I was sucking his cock?
THERAPIST: Yes.
ALICIA: Well-almost. There had been other times when daddy had asked me to just sort of kiss it. I did kiss it when he would put his mouth between my legs and licked my cunt. But I had never before swallowed any of his goo. This was the first time I had ever done that.
THERAPIST: Please go on, Alicia.
ALICIA: Well, after that first little squirting from daddy's prick, I felt a change in daddy. He began to shake and moan so loudly I thought he would wake the kids sleeping in the other room. And then all this white stuff came running out of his cock, splashing all over me, my face, my neck, shoulders, hands everywhere. I knew daddy wanted me to eat it, so I tried my best. I could hardly see what I was doing, but I smelled it. I can still remember the smell today. I used to call it "daddy's milk" and my father would laugh as he'd ask me to "drink up the milk it's good for you." One day after "drinking his milk," my father said he was going to do something different. He said he was going to get inside me that it might hurt for a little while, but then it would be all right. He told me to be very still and do just as he asked. He began to finger my slit and I know I was getting juicy as hell because I could hear the slurping sounds as his finger went in and out of my hole. He would stop once in awhile and lick his fingers and then would smile at me as he said he loved my cunt juice. After he had sloshed around in my hole with his fingers, he moved over me, his cock dangling down over my belly. He pushed my legs far apart and then brought his body down over mine, pressing against my thighs and belly tightly. I could feel his hard cock pushing down against me and then I began to feel the pain. I remember I started to scream, but daddy put his hand across my mouth. I also remember struggling under him I guess I was trying to get away, because the pain was terrible. Daddy kept whispering to me to be quiet or we'd be in a lot of trouble, but all I could think of was the pain at my cunt. And then....
THERAPIST: What is wrong, Alicia? Do you feel you can't go on?
ALICIA: Oh, no, it's not that. I can go on ... but you see ... I must have blacked out just then, because I can't really remember exactly what happened after that. What I really remember is sort of getting up and feeling my pussy. It was all wet and gooey and when I looked at my fingers, they were covered with a pink-red mess. I suppose it was blood and daddy's come. I sure hurt like hell down there and I wanted to get cleaned up. And then I saw daddy. He had a basin and a cloth and he was leaning down to wash me. First he cleaned my face and said he was "sorry" for what he had done. He begged that I forgive him. And then he worked over my pussy hole, washing away the mess. I didn't want him to feel sorry for what he had done I wasn't sorry at all. I knew that now I would be able to have him the way mommy did. His cock would be mine now and we would be able to really fuck now.
After daddy had washed me, I asked him to fuck me again. He looked at me strangely and asked if I knew what I was saying. Sure I knew what I was saying. I wanted to fuck again with my father! That's what I needed! It didn't take daddy too long to rearrange himself and we went at it again. The second time I didn't want to scream from pain I wanted to scream from the pleasure of his prick as it banged against me. It was a great feeling having daddy on top of me and working over me just as if I were mommy. After awhile he squirted into me again and I could feel the warm stream of his come as it sloshed out of my cunt and ran down the inside of my legs. It sure turned me on!
THERAPIST: From that time on did you and your father indulge in frequent intercourse in this manner?
ALICIA: Oh, sure. As often as mother was away from home. I sort of think she was wise to us, but she wouldn't admit it. She stayed away from the house with all sorts of excuses more than she really needed, but daddy and I didn't mind. That gave us more time for all the fucking and sucking we wanted.
THERAPIST: Alicia, did you ever feel that what you and your father were doing was wrong? That you were hurting not only yourself, but your father and mother?
ALICIA: Well, I knew that the other kids weren't doing the same thing, because when I started bragging that daddy and I were fucking, they began to look at me strangely. Most of my old friends kept away from me and all the boys that hung around only wanted to stick their cocks into me, just the way daddy did. I guess my big mouth got me into trouble. I should have shut up and not said anything to anybody. After I began bragging, daddy and I didn't have too much longer for our fucking, because just before school ended for summer vacation, a policeman and a woman came to our apartment and that's when all this investigating started. Mother was upset as hell over it, but I guess she's settled down now that daddy has been taken away. But I still miss his fucking. I'd still like to have his cock inside me, pushing up and down and then squirting his warm goo into my pussy. It made me happy. I liked being able to do something for my father just like my mother.
* * * * *
Alicia's case history may once have been a rare occurrence in a Puritan society that frowned upon such incestuous relationships. But the society of the 70's is no longer Puritan it has become highly permissive, and incest is no longer as infrequent and shocking as it once was. Alicia is no longer in a minority who partake of sexual deviations and experience sexual gratification via incest. Alicia is a product of the times and her unnatural sexual behavior bears ample witness to the disturbed family unit that raised her. The blame lies on many, not only Alicia, and it is hoped that therapeutic sessions will assist Alicia in returning to a more normal life cycle, wherein she can progress in a socially acceptable childhood, becoming a well-adjusted individual, despite her past experiences.
CASE HISTORY 2: CHERYL, 28 YEARS OLD HER BROTHER, 16
Twenty-eight-year-old Cheryl Y. was single, a part-time schoolteacher of elementary grades, and the devoted companion to her mother who was a long-time invalid. She also performed all household tasks, including caring for her sixteen-year-old brother. Cheryl was not especially attractive, in fact, she was quite plain-looking. She had dated only once when she was sixteen, then gave up any attempt to follow through with future male relationships. She had quite enough to do caring for her widowed mother, she always explained to the curious. There was no time for men in her life. And besides, boys and men were usually "silly" and wanted nothing more than the intimacies of a girl's body.
Cheryl's mother died quite unexpectedly. Cheryl was shaken with grief. The brother, Jason, was sad, but not especially upset. He had his life. He enjoyed living it, especially the parts of it that provided him with many girl friends, almost all of whom he had sexually known at one time or another.
Cheryl mourned her mother's passing for nearly a year. Several viewpoints for this rather long mourning period have been advanced by psychiatric authorities.
"The mother's death forced Cheryl to some decisions about her own life," one psychiatrist said. "Until the time of her mother's death, there was an ample amount of activity or excuse, if you will to keep Cheryl from the male relationships that were expected of her by society. With her mother's death, the excuses vanished, too. This threatened Cheryl's defenses. With mother no longer available as an excuse, and as the reality of constant care and long hours of work, Cheryl had to face up to the fact that if she did not now desire male companionship she would have to face up to the questions of her 'difference' or 'oddness.' "
Still another psychiatrist advanced the belief that Cheryl loved the martyr role, that her mother's death robbed her of this role, and that without it Cheryl was an under functioning individual, given to brooding and despondence that was directed toward her lost role, not the actuality of her mother's death.
Another therapist looked to the brother as the cause of her prolonged sadness.
"Cheryl had always entertained incestuous wishes for her brother. She admired him, cared for him like a wife, did all the things for him that a wife does for a husband except the sexual things. Therefore, when their mother died, the last bulwark the last reality of another person in the home was gone, intensifying the young woman's incestuous feelings for her brother, causing her to become solitary and introspective and show all the signs of sorrow that were the symptoms of grief over the loss of a loved one."
At the time that Cheryl began to emerge her shell of loneliness, her sixteen-year-old brother found himself in a great deal of trouble. He was a high school dropout, not wanting to complete any further education, and displayed no interest in any further schooling. He went to work in an electronics firm, working on the assembly line testing television tubes. He was a hard worker and was well thought of by his immediate supervisors. And he confined his pleasure activities to after-work hours. But he played as hard as he worked, dating many girls, making love to all of them while he was not serious about any of them. But fear was brought to his pleasant life. A girl he dated often a fellow employee of the factory discovered that she was pregnant and informed Jason that he was the father. He was totally stunned. Speechless. The prospects of marriage and fatherhood did not at all appeal to him. And the fear that the girl would carry out her threats and go to the police and also tell Jason's supervisors, was just as appalling.
Jason waited as long as was possible, then told his sister of his troubles. Cheryl was sitting on the couch in the living room when he came in from work. He seated himself next to her and confessed the problems he faced.
"Oh, no, Jason," Cheryl said, after he had told his story.
"Yeah, ain't that a pile of trouble though?" he replied.
"Is it true, Jason? Did you really get the girl pregnant?"
"I guess so but it could have been somebody else. She fucked others, you know."
"You know, too," she said seriously.
"Yeah, I know," he answered. "It's me all right."
Cheryl and Jason talked of the problem. And during the conversation, Cheryl sparked to new life and vitality. This hour this moment marked the end of a life of drudgery and dullness. It marked a new pattern for Cheryl, one that found her changing mentally and physically during the following months.
After every conceivable avenue of escape for Jason had been discussed and discarded, Cheryl found the answer for her brother's problem.
"Go to the girl. Tell her you won't marry her," Cheryl said. "But tell her that she should get a leave of absence from work, consult an unwed mother's home, have the baby and put it up for adoption."
"She won't go for that," Jason said.
"Then tell her that we'll give her some money to help her over the period," Cheryl continued. "We can give her one thousand dollars. Tell her that we will do this to help her. And tell her that it's our only offer, that if she doesn't accept it, you'll merely quit your job, go to another state and never be heard from again."
"Hell I bet it'll work," Jason exclaimed almost happily.
"You bet it will," Cheryl told him.
And it did.
Almost immediately a change came over Cheryl. She started wearing make-up, bought some new clothes and undergarments even three French-type bras that would exhibit the ampleness of her tits to best effect and started to spend more time in front of her mirror, working out new hairdos and new make-up styles.
Why should the resolution of so serious a problem cause this change in the twenty-eight-year-old girl?
There are many answers. One is the simple relief of having solved great difficulties. But for a girl such as Cheryl, there is far more significance in the relationship of these two events.
Plain, dull, despondent Cheryl had for the first time competed successfully with another girl. Although it was felt in abstract terms, Cheryl had really bested another girl with the brother as the subject between them. The girl's pregnancy had threatened to take Jason away from Cheryl. But Cheryl had won the combat, she had solved Jason's problem and by the same token had "won" him for herself. And it was this that brought the change to Cheryl; it was this that caused her to take interest in her appearance and suddenly go forth as a woman.
After this event, Cheryl has reported that she spent a great deal of time thinking about sex. But she did not entertain sexual fantasies with herself as a subject. She fantasized the sexual activities of her brother, Jason. And once she even talked about sex with him.
After dinner on a night that found Jason and his sister a few weeks removed from their problem on a night that found them sitting next to each other on the couch awaiting a television program that had been anticipated Cheryl brought up the subject of her brother's active sex life.
"You're going to have to be very careful now, Jason," she said.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I mean that you're going to have to be a little more discreet with girls we can't go on giving out one thousand dollars to every girl you fuck with that gets pregnant, now can we?"
He laughed, then said, "Of course not. I'll be careful."
Then Cheryl laughed, too. "You'd better," she said and then paused and looked at her brother, noting the reddish hair and the sharp, handsome lines of his youthful face.
Jason turned from the television set and smiled into his sister's face. Then he said, "I guess I never did thank you, did I, Cheryl?"
"No, but it's not necessary. You're my brother and I'm glad I was able to help you out of a tight spot."
"But it was good of you not to bitch about spending all that money because of me."
"Why bitch?" she asked softly.
"Hey," Jason exclaimed, grinning. "You look great tonight. What's up? You got a date or something?"
Cheryl couldn't help blushing. "You know better than that."
"No, I don't. Not now. Hell, with mom gone and you with a little time for yourself for a change, man, the studs are going to be howling on the porch for you. And that's for damn sure."
"Don't say that, Jason," she reprimanded.
"What?"
"About me having time now that mother's dead."
"Oh. Sorry." He paused, then added, "But it's the truth. Hell, Cheryl, you ought to start going out now."
She smiled sadly. "I've never been much for that and you know it. Men don't like me too much. I can't seem to find the right things to say to them."
Jason leaned a bit away from his sister in order to cast his eyes over a full view of her body. "Hell, they should take notice of you. You're a good-looking chick. No kidding."
Cheryl preferred to ignore the remark and returned the conversation to the consideration of her brother. "Tell me something, Jason," she said. "What do you look for in a girl when you go out with one? Or rather, what is it about a girl that makes you want to go out with her?"
"Are you kidding?" he asked, smiling devilishly at his sister.
"No, I'm very serious."
"And you want me to be honest about it?"
"Well, Cheryl, baby, I look for sex and that's all. If a girl looks like she'll put out, or looks as if she'll be good at fucking, well, man, she's for me. I try to make a date whenever I smell good pussy."
"As basic as that, eh?"
"Yeah, just that simple. I'm looking for juicy cunt and when I think I've found it, I come right out and ask for it."
"And and the...." Cheryl stopped in mid-sentence.
"What's that, Cheryl?"
She breathed deeply and said, "Well, tell me, do the girls always agree to fucking with you? Does it mean that much to them?"
"Hell, yes," Jason answered. He cocked his head and looked at her curiously, his eyes touching all of her body, but only lightly, merely peeking at her full tits and waist and at the tight lines her miniskirt made against her hips.
"Sure."
The conversation ended. They watched the television program, then went to bed.
Cheryl has reported that she spent a very restless night after talking to her brother about his sex life. She rolled and tossed and could not go to sleep. Finally, because it was hot, she removed the short nightie that she wore and stretched naked between the sheets. She was desperately aware of her body and wondered if Jason had spoken the truth, wondered if she truly did look good lately, wondered, too, if men really should pay more attention to her. She ran her hands down her body, pinching at her tit flesh and drawing at the pinkened nipples, snapping them back into place. She cupped her tits almost lovingly. She was shocked. The nipples were hard and elongated. Then she mentally pursued her favorite dream; she created images of her brother and how he was with the girls, how he maneuvered to fuck them. She thought of his cock touching at a girl's body and at the same time she ran her hands down to her thighs, tugging at the pubic curls hiding her womanliness. And when she created a mental picture of Jason above a nameless, unidentifiable girl, one whom he had undressed and was about to fuck, Cheryl touched at her cunt, paused, felt the heat and wetness, then touched harder, running her fingertips into her sloshy hole. Ripples of sensation swept her body.
Cheryl had never before masturbated. This night she began a new experience. She continued pulling and stroking at her cunt lips, feeling her juices flowing freely down her thighs as she worked over and in her cunt hole. And then she was stabbed with feelings of embarrassment. She withdrew her fingers suddenly, drew out some tissue from a nearby table and mopped at her thighs quickly. She rolled to her side to await sleep. Finally, it came.
Cheryl was determined to probe a little deeper into her brother's sex life. Upon the occasion of their conversations, she asked him many intimate questions and the words "fuck" and "come" began to emerge as a regular part of her vocabulary: "Do you get so hot you just have to fuck, Jason? Do the girls? Do you do any sucking on their cunts, Jason? Have any of the girls ever eaten your cock? Do you like that?"
Jason displayed signs of amusement for his sister's curiosity about sex. And he took a little pride in the change that had come over her, too. But, other than that, he went about his normal pattern. He did this, until a certain Friday night when he came home late and very drunk.
Cheryl had spent the day shopping and doing the usual chores about the house. But it was a day that was different than others for her, for her mind steamed with sexual thoughts. During the day she was besieged with the self-created images of Jason and dozens of girls. Cheryl visualized their lovemaking, their fucking and sucking. And after she had called in her weekly grocery order, she gave a few thoughts to her own body and its needs. She changed from the housedress she wore to hot-pants and a skimpy top that were boldly revealing of her body, bolder than any attire Cheryl had ever worn.
She had just finished changing clothes when the grocery truck pulled into the driveway. She opened the back door and held it while the delivery boy carried in three large boxes of store items.
It was while she was checking the bill and writing a check that Cheryl noticed the young boy looking at her body. She bent over the kitchen table as she wrote the check and felt the boy's eyes upon the sharp outline of her ass, straining in the tight hot pants. Her hand quivered slightly. But she did not break her pose. Instead, she dipped forward a bit more, conscious that the bra peeked open to expose a good portion of her tits. She felt excited. She felt a tingling at her cunt. She knew that the delivery boy was feeling the same emotion, for he shifted his feet restlessly and had maneuvered his body in a position that would afford him a better view of Cheryl's tits.
Soon Cheryl had written the check and handed it to the boy. He took it. Cheryl moved to the door and opened it. The boy started to pass through it, then paused, turned, and thanked Cheryl. As he turned, his forearm brushed against her tits, moved to the right, paused, then strayed left until contact was again made. He hesitated, keeping his forearm pressed tightly against Cheryl's tit. She stumbled some words of thanks of her own, nonsensical words that were not needed except to keep the contact between them alive. Then the boy turned and left the house.
Cheryl leaned against the kitchen table and watched the truck pull out of the driveway. She felt weak and burning up. And she was aware of the tremor that had come to her pussy and the throb that had appeared at her tits. She thought she might faint. But she did not. And her mind filled with new images of sex, those of her brother, and for the first time, some that were created with herself being fucked by first the delivery boy and then by her own brother. And she felt happy. She knew that she must look attractive, otherwise the young delivery boy would not have looked at her with such longing, nor would he have bothered to press a contact against her tits. Suddenly, Cheryl felt very beautiful, very desirable, and very, very much a woman. A woman who needed a fucking by a good, hard, long cock.
That night she made a special dinner for her brother. Then she knew pangs of disappointment when Jason called and explained that he didn't have time to eat, that he had a very important date and had to leave as soon as he showered and changed clothes. Loneliness swept over Cheryl. She even teased Jason a bit, hoping to convince him that he should stay home with her. And, shockingly, she brought her body into play against his, purposely finding ways to rub her tits against his arm, to bend over and reveal her tits, to make tight poses with her buttocks and bare thighs as she stooped over to gather kitchen items from a low cupboard beneath the sink. Jason noticed it all. And he uttered words that pleased Cheryl very much.
"Better watch it in those hot pants of yours, Cheryl," he said. "Somebody might try to get into them. Somebody may very easily rape you for a fucking."
"Don't be silly," she said, flushing and keeping her eyes turned from his.
"I mean it. The milkman or delivery boy or somebody's liable to try and get into your pussy."
"Why?" she asked.
"Because you look so goddamned sweet," he said.
She flushed again, but did not answer.
Jason went off on his date. Cheryl brooded around the house, feeling more lonely than at any time of her memory. And she felt erratic fits of jealousy for the girl who would that night know the pleasure of Jason's cock batterings. Finally, when she could find no way to keep herself occupied, Cheryl decided to take in a movie.
Cheryl attended a neighborhood theatre. Only a few blocks from her home, she walked to it.
It was dark inside. It was also crowded. She found a seat in a middle section and settled herself to watch the presentation. A man sat on her right; an elderly woman whose perfume reminded her of her mother, sat on her left.
The films were both foreign made. They were love stories and exhibited several torrid scenes of lovemaking. Cheryl watched, enthralled. And passion again claimed her body; every part of it from her low-cut bodice to her bare legs. So intrigued was Cheryl with the films, so taken was she by her own reactions to the love sequences that were portrayed, she did not at first notice that the man next to her had moved his leg to a position that put it into contact with her right leg. When she did notice it, Cheryl knew that the man's move had been deliberate, that he was trying to silently communicate his sexual wishes. Cheryl did not move her leg. She was both afraid to move it, and afraid not to move it. So, she keened her interest to the film, pretending not to notice. But then the man moved his arm, snuggling it to the arm rest of the seat, and he made contact with the side of her right tit. Cheryl felt as if she had been burned. Ripples of desire pulsed through her body. She felt her nipples grow hard and push against the thin material of her dress. She felt pulsations at her thighs that were strange and urgent, but rather wonderful.
And now Cheryl's interest in the motion picture disappeared. Now, she was only intent upon the feeling that swept her, the feeling that was unmistakably one of hot desire. For a few minutes, she remained motionless, allowing the contact, even increasing it by slight movements from her body and by an occasional deep breath, but when the man's hand wandered from the arm rest and was suddenly on her knee, Cheryl jerked upright, then shot to her feet. She hurried past the people who sat between her and the aisle, moving in the opposite direction of the man. She dashed up the aisle and out of the theatre.
Out of the theatre and on the street, Cheryl glanced where the man's arm had pressed against her right tit. There was a round, damp spot on her dress, much as if she had been seared with heat. She concealed the spot with her arm as best she could, and hurried home.
The remainder of the evening passed restlessly. Cheryl could not center her attention on anything but sexual thoughts. All of them had her brother, Jason, as a subject. Many included herself. She prowled the house, redid housework that had been completed earlier the same day, tried to watch television, could not sit still, tried to eat and failed at that, too, and finally merely paced the house, knowing that sleep was impossible for her now.
By the time Cheryl heard her brother's car pull into the drive, announcing his premature arrival home, she had chosen liquor as an antidote, having consumed three unaccustomed highballs.
Jason's car entering the driveway startled Cheryl. It was as if his arrival announced something else. And she felt apprehension because her brother had arrived home much earlier than he usually did from a date. She reacted very oddly. Cheryl jumped up from the chair and took two quick steps to the middle of the living room. Then her body stiffened as if she were an actress waiting on the stage for a dramatic entrance of another major character. And then, the very moment that she heard the car motor quiet, Cheryl turned and hurried up the stairs to her bedroom.
Once within the confines of her own room, she moved with purpose and a certain fierce determination. She stripped off her dress and undergarments, then, nude, turned to her closet. Quickly, she donned a short, nearly transparent nightie. She decided against slippers because she had recently painted her toenails a bright pink. Then she turned, paused, and finally left her room.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Cheryl could see that her brother was quite drunk. He stood just inside the living room door, bracing himself against the door jamb. He looked very unhappy.
"Well, you're home pretty early tonight, Jason," Cheryl said, walking over to him.
"Yeah. Damn shame, ain't it?"
"What does that mean?" she asked, smiling.
"It means that it was a crummy date so I came home," he answered.
"Oh," she said, unable to deny the feeling of elation that swept over her.
"Really crummy," he mumbled, softly and sadly.
"What happened, Jason?"
"You should say what didn't happen," he said, grinning.
She raised her eyebrows, but did not speak.
"Very strange girl, this one was," Jason muttered, the words slurring drunkenly. "Very, very strange. She wouldn't let me get into her cunt. Can't understand it. One of the first girls I ever came across who wouldn't let me fuck her."
Cheryl cocked her head and said, "You're taking it badly, aren't you?"
"My pride's hurt."
"Is that all?"
"Guess I hurt all over. Christ, what a bitch she was. I sure as hell wanted to fuck her."
"Maybe you'll see her again," Cheryl suggested.
"Huh! Not in your life. I'm a one-shot man if I don't get my cock into her slit the first time, I don't plan on wasting myself for a second try."
Cheryl smiled. Thrills ran speedily throughout her body again. She felt excited and elated, much as if she had secured a victory over a rival.
Jason started to speak again, then paused. He started to move across the room and stumbled. Quickly, Cheryl was at his side. She put her arm around his waist and supported his weight. Jason wound his arm around her shoulder. His hand clutched at her flesh.
"Come on, you'd better get in bed," Cheryl said solicitously.
"Ah, Cheryl-you're a good one the only gal who really understands me my needs anything about me. I can always trust you to know what I need."
"Well, I have known you a long time, Jason," Cheryl laughed.
"Forever, baby. Forever."
They made their way across the living room. At the foot of the stairs, Jason stumbled again. It caused him to readjust his grip upon Cheryl. His hand slipped from her shoulder and, duplicating her hold upon him, laced around her waist. Then his hand nudged upward, pressuring a bit against Cheryl's tit.
Jason's movement was unintentional and in no way sexually centered. It was the simple action of a drunken young man claiming a hold for better support of his body. But to Cheryl, it was remindful of the man in the theatre. It made her passions bubble anew. She gripped her hand a little tighter around her brother's waist.
Slowly, and with their bodies pressed close together, they ascended the stairs. Soon, they were inside Jason's bedroom.
"Come on, let me take your jacket off," Cheryl coaxed.
Jason staggered a bit, then straightened a bit, then held his arms outstretched. Cheryl smiled. She remembered how her brother had been as a little boy. She felt quite the mother as she relieved him of his jacket. Jason moved back a step and stood facing Cheryl with his back to his bed.
"Christ, I'm hot," he said. He loosened his tie and the top buttons of his shirt.
Cheryl nearly gasped when he pulled his shirt from his shoulders. The sight of her brother's bare skin excited her. She became very aware of her own near-nakedness as her tits bounced beneath the flimsy material of her nightie.
Jason, too, must have become aware of his sister's scant attire, for as he dropped his shirt to the floor, his eyes roamed over her body.
"Hey," he said. "Did I interrupt anything by coming home early?"
"Of course not. Why would you say that?"
He grinned evilly, then said, "Well, I just wondered. What the hell, dressed like that you might have been entertaining some stud."
"Jason," she reprimanded lightly.
"No kidding. What the hell, Cher, you're built like a...."
"Please."
"Please what?"
"Please stop kidding."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"Oh, no, little sister," Jason continued, waving his hand in dismissal of her modesty. "You look just great lately what the hell, you're a damn sight better built than that little broad I wasted all the drinks on tonight. Funny I've never noticed it before."
"You're drunk, Jason," she said, offering it as explanation for previous oversights to her attractiveness. She was enjoying Jason's references to her looks.
"I sure as hell am drunk," Jason agreed.
With that, he turned and flopped across his bed. He remained still for a moment, then rolled to his back. His eyes were alcohol-glazed, but they stared straight ahead at Cheryl.
At this point Cheryl had no intention of leaving her brother now that he was safely in bed. All of the things of her life all of the problems, the work, the little rewards, the shyness and sorrow and introspection boiled to a bubbling need of expression. She looked at her brother's bare chest, the hard muscles of it, the flat, hard belly, the muscled arms and strong hands. Then she moved closer to the bed. What followed represents an overt act of seduction in one of its strongest forms; a performance of incest provocation.
Cheryl moved close to the bed. She breathed deeply, hoping, and feeling, that her tits rose high and pressed against the thin material in a way that would make her brother notice them, make him want to know them and fondle them. And he did glance pointedly at their full, round bloom with the nipple studs creasing the material of her nightie. And his eyes grew larger when she bent, lifted one foot and removed his shoe and sock, for her flesh loomed forward dramatically, showing firmness and flesh not previously touched by man.
When Cheryl had removed Jason's shoes and socks, she sighed, then said, "There, that's better. Now you'll be able to relax better."
"I'll never be able to relax," he said despondently. "Not after tonight's bust not after getting all that worked up for a fuck and then getting nothing."
"Try to relax anyway," Cheryl said.
She hesitated, then posed with her right knee on the edge of the bed. The action caused the bottom of her nightie to move high up on her thigh, revealing wisps of pubic curls. She did not pat it back into place. In a moment, she stretched next to her brother on the bed.
"Just be quiet and try to rest," Cheryl said.
Jason did not answer. But his eyes closed as she leaned over his chest and very gently stroked his brow with her fingers. For a moment, Cheryl was afraid that Jason had fallen asleep had perhaps passed out. Disappointment nearly cooled her. Then she experimented. She raised on one elbow and as she continued to stroke his brow, she leaned closer to him in a way that permitted one tit to crush against his chest. The heat between them seemed intense to Cheryl. She cuddled a little closer. Then, quite by surprise, she saw that her brother's eyes were upon her and that they looked very clear, very sober, even if deep and thoughtful. It startled her. She started to pull away from Jason.
"No, Cheryl, stay close to me," Jason pleaded.
She relaxed her body against him again. Then she brought words into play to act as the extra aphrodisiac necessary to join her with her brother in an incestuous act.
"Is it really so terrible for you when you don't get to fuck a girl?" she asked.
"It sure the hell is terrible," he said.
"Poor baby."
"That I am," he said. "And if you're curious just how bad it is on me, I can show you."
Cheryl did not answer at once. His words had notorious meanings. She knew exactly what he meant. From the time that Jason had entered the house, Cheryl had been aware of a congestion of clothing at his groin, a bunched, protruding jam as his cock pressed against his trousers, unmistakable evidence of his un-quenched desire.
"Shhhhh, just relax, darling," Cheryl said. The word of endearment stunned her ears. It had come unplanned, uncoaxed from her mouth. She was not actually prepared to hear herself say this.
Jason swung his arm down and circled it over Cheryl's back. She crushed her tit a little harder against his chest. Then she asked more questions that were exciting to hear, very dramatic that they had come from her, she thought.
"Do the girls always like to fuck with you, Jason?" she asked.
"Usually."
"That must be nice for them."
"Sure. And for me, too."
She moved her lips against his cheek. "Do you do everything hard to them, Jason? Do you fuck them hard? Do you suck them hard?"
"I'm a stud, honey," he said in reply.
"Those girls they're very lucky."
"That's just the way I always figured it, too," he said.
"Such modesty," she smiled.
"No. Just the truth. I know what sort of cock equipment I have and I know what it can do for girls."
"Well, I suppose if anyone knows you do."
"But what about you, Cheryl," he said, raising his head slightly. "You know all about that stuff. You sure as hell must know about it."
"No," she answered simply.
"But a pretty one like you," he said, the words dwindling into nothingness. "Sure as hell, just like I was telling you the other day, now that mom's...."
"Shhh," she whispered against his cheek.
He was quiet a long time, then said, "Your lips are hot."
"Your your body is, too."
"Yes, I know."
"Do you know why, Cheryl?"
"I think so."
"You're right."
"But I didn't give you an answer."
"About things like this you don't have to," he said, becoming somewhat serious.
"I suppose not," she said, her voice suddenly going sleepy sounding.
Cheryl closed her eyes. She thought of the several drinks she had had while pacing the house. Then she thought of Jason's drunkenness. And the thoughts of liquor and its effects seemed to call it forth in a kind of delayed action. Cheryl felt dizzy. She felt daring and anxious and desirable. She moved her lips from her brother's cheek, then nibbled carefully and tentatively upon his ear lobe. She felt Jason's body stiffen, his hand going tighter against the small of her back. Then she moved again and plunged her sharp-pointed tongue within his ear. She moved it wildly, darting and circling and whipping as deep as it was possible for it to go. And Jason grew rigid, even arched his body somewhat.
"Oh, hell," he breathed mournfully.
Cheryl did not stop. Not until Jason clasped her tighter and with a sudden cry, rolled her atop him.
They kissed now in a very passionate way. A man-woman way. Their tongues clashed. They sucked. They spun together, retreated, struck again, clashed harder, withdrew for a rest, then met in the heady combat of frantic passion. And as their mouths stayed glued together, their hands roamed and experimented and touched. Jason brought his fingertips into contact with Cheryl's hot thigh flesh, probing and searching through her muff until he reached her clit. He began to pull and stretch upon her love button and Cheryl moaned in delightful agony as he worked over her cunt lips and back to her clit. And Cheryl's hands were equally busy over Jason's body, her fingers searching out and then tugging beneath his belt.
It was Cheryl who made the move for total nakedness. She brought her mouth free, raised, then quickly pulled her nightie over her head. She remained on her knees above her brother for a moment. The pose made Jason gasp. Then she lowered and the full heaviness of her bare titties touched at his own naked flesh. They renewed their kiss. Their hold upon each other held tighter. Their hands roamed more aggressively. Cheryl, nude and with a man for the first time in her life, snuggled her thighs to him. She felt his pulsing cock, growing, strengthening. She wanted more of it, wanted the fucking which she had never known. She cuddled closer and Jason's hands shot to her naked buttocks and aided her. He ground her furiously against him at the same time that he arched high, pressuring as much of his cock against his sister's naked thighs as it was possible to do. And then Cheryl's hand shot out to Jason's body grabbing at his cock, squeezing mightily in uncontrolled passion.
They rolled apart for a few brief moments, mumbling incoherently. Jason removed the rest of his clothing and returned to his sister.
This time Cheryl gasped, sobbed, choked back tears that must have been born from desire and fear, joy and remorse, from all of the mad, mad things that go to make up the elements of incest. The thrill of naked bodies crushed together was almost more than Cheryl could stand. She cuddled as close as possible, then, when only a total fucking could bring relief for her shrieking body, she pulled back, raised, very expertly lifted Jason's body, then grasped again at his cock. Her fingertips pressed down firmly against the hot male flesh as she felt the determined pulsing against her palm. Then Cheryl brought his lance to her cunt lips, stroking at her own pussy flesh with his steamy knob. And then she placed him at the opening to her love channel and as he plunged, she screamed a long howl which seemed to perfectly express the long years of waiting for the moment of lovemaking that would make her a woman. She and Jason began a long fuck a long, incestuous fuck that brought them both to the ultimate throb of satisfaction that was their reward.
It was Cheryl who proved to be an expert lover. One can rightly ask how the uninitiated can become experts within moments. The only answer is that Cheryl had years of dreams, over a decade of fantasies, and an abundant sensitivity for the ultimate fucking which she sought, probably whether or not her brother had been her first partner.
Their journey to orgasm was an exciting experience. They grappled and struggled, moaned in passionate sobs and eventual outcries. Jason achieved his peak first. Cheryl came to her peak moments later, sobbing heavily as her body heaved beneath her brother's ramming ministrations. She felt his cock juice splash out into her cunt hole, warming her walls with its warmth and then trickling down, oozing onto her strained thighs. They kissed each other frantically during their coming, unable to control their pulsating emotions as they both struggled for release. like sinners caught by the pastor, they immediately rolled away from each other. They fell into a speedy, exhausted sleep.
When Cheryl awoke the following morning, the odor of alcohol was the first thing she noticed. It released the knot of fear that wag crammed in her chest. She remembered the drinking and found an excuse.
When Jason came downstairs, Cheryl was already in the kitchen preparing breakfast. His eyes darted furtively. His voice quivered. And it was representative of the very emotions that Cheryl herself felt at that moment.
She served breakfast to her brother. Neither of them spoke of the previous night. Cheryl hoped that her own excuse of alcohol was also her brother's. She moved and acted normally, pretending that the night and the clash of their bodies had not occurred. But when they were settled over their second cup of coffee, the sham was destroyed.
"You were one hell of a fuck, Cheryl," Jason said, grinning at his sister.
She looked silently into her coffee cup. She did not make a reply.
"Man the guys have something," Jason added, shaking his head from side to side in a kind of puzzled confusion.
Then Cheryl spoke, for the first time making a reference to incest.
"Jason I I want you to know that well, I had quite a bit to drink before you came home last night. What I did was...."
"I know."
"So, you see, that's why...."
"You weren't drunk, Cheryl," Jason interrupted. "And neither was I. Not after we got upstairs. So, don't pretend things that aren't. That'll only make it worse, and I guess it's bad enough when a brother fucks with his own sister. I know it's not accepted readily."
"Don't please don't feel guilty, Jason."
"I don't," he grinned. "The only thing I feel is anxious to have another fucking with you."
"It won't happen again."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Yes."
Cheryl mouthed a word, not truth. That very night they again came together in a violent act of fucking that sent Cheryl to screaming like a madwoman as she achieved her orgasm. It was a violence and the satisfaction derived from it that set the pattern for their future years.
Brother and sister became lovers. At home they acted like man and wife, the man working, the woman caring for her man. They shared the same bed every night. They clashed at night, cock to cunt, fucking in an abnormal amount, meeting several times a night sometimes, especially on those nights when Jason had been out with another girl. On those nights, Cheryl experienced extreme jealousy and she felt called upon to outdo anything her brother might have known with a girl who was not his sister.
Jason, always somewhat the opportunist, began to use incest as a means of securing special favors; extra money, a new car, suits and sports jackets by the dozens. Cheryl did not mind the extra drain upon the family savings account. She was happy to give freely of her money, and of herself.
Their affair lasted for almost eight years. It finally ended when Cheryl had a nervous breakdown, was hospitalized and put in intensive psychiatric treatment that brought insight to her drive for incest.
CASE HISTORY 3: JANET AND HER WEALTHY PROFESSIONAL FATHER
Janet S. was almost eleven years old when she first came together with her father in an incestuous affair. An only child of an upper-middle class family, Janet's mother is extremely jealous of her child. Mrs. S. is a beautiful, sexually-centered, unfaithful woman; a former model for a swim suit manufacturer. Mr. S. is handsome, intelligent and held in high respect as a prominent architect, at the present time holding a high office in a national society of architectural engineers. His annual salary is double that of the median income of an average American family. His home, completely free of mortgage, rests in an upper-income suburb of a large Western city. The home is spacious and has all the necessary elements for gracious living and lavish entertaining, including swimming pool, guest house, servants' quarters and badminton court. But the home is absent of the banter of children, of the laughter of the home's child at play with friends. Janet S. never invited her friends to her house. She kept its location a secret from even her closest friends for she feared others might see the signs of incest that lurked in every corner. And she feared her father's jealousy the wrath he might invoke at the sight of others who shared his daughter's attentions. Janet feared her father's possible outbursts more than anything else.
She has described her very first incestuous affair vividly for her therapist. It occurred shortly before her eleventh birthday, "I knew it was going to happen a long time before it actually did happen," she said. "Does that mean that I wanted to get fucked by my father?"
When the therapist made no comment, Janet continued, saying, "Well, I'll answer that one myself. I think I really wanted to fuck my father. In fact, I know I did. You see, I used to think about it a lot and even when I was ten years old I was hot for it. I mean I really wanted it. And I trusted my father more than anyone I ever knew and it kind of seemed all right to me if I should have it with him. And another thing I could tell my father was interested in me. I mean really interested in me. He wanted to fuck me!"
Janet's first sexual experience, accomplished in incest with her father, followed a day that found her hyperactive and exhilarated in feelings. It was a day that had found school boy classmates paying an unusual amount of attention to Janet, much as if she had suddenly bloomed into the flower of womanly sexuality. And perhaps it was this particular day that thrust her more dynamically into sexual awareness, for her breasts seemed larger as they bounced beneath her sweater, her hips, tight and shapely, undulated as they never had before, and during the day she had known a kind of tremble at her thighs as if they anticipated weight and activity and some searing knowledge.
That day as Janet hurried home from school, she was a picture of vital, happy youth. That was a decidedly dramatic day for Janet. It was early summer and a beautiful, bright, sunny day. Already over five feet tall, she looked older and more mature. She had already started her menstrual cycle a few months earlier and felt herself to be a "woman."
"I was awfully pleased with myself that day," Janet has related. "I knew that I looked great almost beautiful. My hair seemed brighter than usual and I was very much aware of my tits all through the day. A couple of times when we lined up to change classes, two of the boys touched me. It wasn't accidental, either. They really meant it. It made me feel hot and kind of like fainting. But I didn't. And I liked them touching me. It seemed just like the greatest day I ever lived."
The day was momentous, if not "great" as Janet has related, for it brought the mark to her life that made her tread paths of gross sexual promiscuity.
As Janet came home that sunny, late June day, she was surprised to find her father at home. She was not surprised that her mother was absent from the home. Janet had been aware of her mother's extramarital affairs for years. She took them as an almost "normal" pattern for a family, her psychiatrist has claimed.
All day long Janet had been thinking about a swim in the family pool. Several reasons were therapeutically uncovered as the motivation of this wish: Janet had been "hot" during the day, she had known the sexual attention of boys, the pool would be cooling for her body, and water, a well-defined phallic symbol, excited her, i.e., she would be "enveloped" in it, would "slice" through it, would let it "move and sway" her young body. An aside motivation for a swim in the pool at a season that was still premature for this event was a new bathing suit Janet's mother had purchased for her child a few days earlier. It was daring; very low-cut at bra and V-shaped and dipping at the bottom.
Janet discovered her father lying on the bed in his room on the second floor right after she had bounded up the stairs to prepare for swimming.
"That you, Jan?" the father called out.
"Yes. What are you doing home?" she asked.
"Just resting. It's hot."
Janet has reported that she was stricken by the word that he uttered. Hot, was exactly what she had been all during the day. She has said that it made her feel "good" to know that her father had experienced the same symptom.
"I'm hot, too," she laughed. "And that's why I'm going for a swim."
"A swim?" His words were interested.
"Yep."
"It's pretty early in the season," he said. "I didn't even want to get the pool filled for another week or so, but your mother insisted."
Janet's mother was always "insisting," it seemed. When her father said this, Janet felt a pang of sympathy for her father. She was not quite clear as to what her mother's infidelity meant to her father for there were no arguments, no signs of resistance from the father that she had ever encountered, yet this day Janet felt sorry for him, felt that some injustice had been done him and that this was the reason he had left his office and now reclined on the bed.
Janet, with her sweater already banished from her body and her breasts cupped in a little girl's bra, walked to the entrance of her parents' bedroom. She smiled in at her father. He looked very tired. But he sparked alive and pushed up to a sitting position upon sight of his half-naked daughter.
"I guess this was the first time that I even thought a father could be interested in the way his daughter's body looked," Janet stated for her psychiatrist. "You know, as if he looked at his own daughter the same way he might look at a woman he didn't know. It never bothered me. I was always bouncing around the house half-dressed, like kids do, but until this day I never noticed that my father was interested in my body. Or maybe I looked different this day. But I could tell he was excited by me."
Indeed, he was. Janet's father, Robert S., in attempting to resolve the problem of his daughter and himself, has said, "Jan looked like a woman to me that day. She was always a little flirt, especially with me, but this day she looked exactly like a little harlot like a young woman who wanted me to take her sexually."
"Why don't you come for a swim, too?" Janet asked her father.
"Maybe I will," he replied. Janet recalled that his voice was dry and choked sounding.
"Good. Last one in is a monkey."
With that, Janet turned, scooted out of the room, dashed to her own, then, without closing the door, quickly undressed and donned her new swimsuit. She paused for a brief moment in front of her vanity mirror to view her body to find satisfaction for her light hair, blue eyes, curving body, and wide, pink, wanton-looking lips, too then dashed for the pool.
She had made her first plunge of the season and was treading water in the deep end of the pool when her father appeared. He wore trunks. He looked taller than usual, very lean, and more handsome than usual.
"Cold?" he asked his daughter.
"A little. But it's great."
"Great, eh?" he said with a little laugh, acknowledging the use of his daughter's favorite word.
"Come on in."
"I'll come in a minute," he said.
Janet felt a wave of heat at this exclamation from her father. The simple sentence, relating to his entrance into the pool, was loaded with hidden, sexual meaning, not intended, of course, but perhaps subconsciously forced into verbalization.
Janet has said she felt all of the hidden meanings of the word "come." Only a few weeks earlier, in discussion with girl friends, the word had been discovered as that particular word that related to "sexual climax," or a result of fucking. Janet had laughed when a girl friend had explained the "extra" meaning of the word. The psycho-therapeutically recreated conversation between the girls shows not only Janet's intrigue with sex and sexual meanings, but the general curiosity and misinformation of most prepubescent and early pubescent girls.
"Stop laughing, Jan," one of the girls had said. "That's what it means. Honest."
"You're crazy," another of the group claimed.
"Sure you are," Jan agreed.
"I am not," the girl who claimed knowledge of sex said. "When people fuck, they 'come' that means that they're all through."
"I heard that that means that they've made a baby," one of the girls explained.
"It does not," the first girl said. "They can fuck lots of times without making babies. But when they come, that's different. It doesn't have anything at all to do with making babies it means how they feel, that it feels, well, wonderful, I guess."
With this recent background, Janet, half-naked, splashing in the pool and awaiting her father who had just shown a reaction to her maturing body, could not help but react to the sexual connotations of her father's statement, "I'll come in a minute."
Robert S. lingered at the side of the pool watching his daughter tread water, kick, plunge beneath the surface, swim the pool's length, and finally climb up the ladder and walk to the edge of the diving board.
As she posed with her toes curled over the end of the board, she again became aware of her father's scrutiny of her body. His eyes looked hungry, she has said, and they roamed over all of her, from the curled ends of her long hair to her toes which kneaded and wiggled against the rough, matted material that covered the diving board. And once more, Janet felt a sweep of heat course throughout her body until it finally centered at her tits and thighs. She looked directly into her father's eyes, then dove into the pool.
When her father finally sliced through the water, Janet was beneath the water, breast stroking to the side of the pool. But as she started to break above the surface, she knew that he had joined her. His body crashed into hers.
"Caught you," he laughed as his arms wound around her waist.
Janet laughed, too. "Yeah, but you wouldn't have if I had known you were...." She paused, her tongue ready to blurt out the taboo word. "If I had known you were in the water," she said, finishing the interrupted sentence lamely.
Robert S.'s arms remained tightly around his daughter for a few moments, then relaxed and released her. Five minutes later, Janet herself initiated a game that brought her young body into violent contact with that of her father.
Janet suggested a game of water polo as she took a ball from the side of the pool. The game was a disguise for bodily contact. Robert readily consented to the play. Soon, with only single members of a team, water polo gave way to mere wrestling for the ball in a rough game of "keep-away."
Janet has reported that she became awesomely aware of her father's body, especially when their legs entangled and she was made to feel the effects of excitement her body had caused him. But she did not deny the contact: she did not rebuke the hands that cupped her small tits from time to time, the single, wandering hand that pinched at her ass cheeks, the jam of that same hand as it pressured beneath the water at her firmly closed thighs, or at the hard pressure of her father's cock that lunged at her from beneath his swim trunks. Janet rebuked it not at all. Indeed, once, inflamed in the body and mentally beset with curiosity, she plunged beneath the surface to get the ball her father held imprisoned with his thighs. Her attempts were half-hearted. She deliberately brought her hand into contact with the bulge of her father's swim trunks. She lingered there beneath the water as long as her lungs endured, jamming with her hand in pretense of getting the ball but knowing instead the first contact with an erected cock.
From that point on, the game became bolder, tenser, and more directed to all-out bodily contact with only minor interest exhibited for the game itself. Robert's hand now slipped beneath his daughter's bra-top. It fondled and pinched and caressed at flesh and youthful nipple; it encouraged bloat and growth and hardness. And Janet's fingers clung to the small of her father's back, crept inside the waistband of his trunks, touched at the topmost outline of male buttocks, then retreated, paused, and wandered beneath the water where they brazenly sought and found that bulge of material that covered that symbol of her father's sexual desire. The charade of game was over the pre-play of incest was acknowledged by both of the participants.
"It didn't seem so terrible to me," Janet has explained. "As a matter-of-fact, it seemed kind of right. I liked my father. I trusted him. And I felt sorry for him, too, because I kept thinking of how my mother almost never had anything to do with him, even didn't sleep with him most of the time. And I liked the way I felt when he touched me. I liked that a lot. And it made me want more of it, made me want it in a way where we didn't have to pretend that we were playing a game in order to touch and be touched."
Robert S. has explained his feelings during this action of love play with his daughter.
"I was doing all those things to Janet just the same as if she was a stranger a woman, I liked, or something yet, at the same time I kept telling myself that it wasn't really happening, that I couldn't be fondling her and cuddling close to her and all those things."
"What about the arousal of your body?" the psychiatrist asked Robert S.
"It was the same as it would be with a strange woman," Robert replied. "Maybe more probably more. I remember feeling a kind of manly strength with my daughter that I had never experienced with anyone else. And I'll tell you something, it was so strong that I think it blotted out the reality of the situation for me."
"Blotted out?" the doctor inquired.
"Yes. Kept me from realizing what I was working up to."
"What were you working up to, Mr. S.? " the psychiatrist asked.
"Why fucking with my own child," Robert answered most truthfully.
After an hour of play in the family pool, Janet and her father left it. They did not leave by the conventional standards of having quitted a recreation period. Instead, after their play had reached a fevered pitch for Janet, she felt a "kind of desperation," as she explained it. As if "I just couldn't have it end not after we had already gone so far."
"You're an old slowpoke," Janet shouted to her father as she clammered up the pool ladder. "Bet you can't catch me running even if you can swimming betcha I beat you into the house."
Janet hauled her dripping body from the pool, then dashed for the back entrance of the house. She looked back once. Her father had accepted her challenge. He was midway up the ladder, ready to give pursuit. Janet ran faster.
About this moment, Janet has recited that she thought she ran for two reasons: (I) To entice her father into a new game that would offer greater intimacies of their bodies, and, (2) To truly flee from her father and her own incestuous desires for him.
Janet's subconscious aims that had found conscious opportunity, overtook her as she reached the second floor landing of the stairs. She glanced over her shoulder and saw her father move into the foyer. Then Janet giggled, moved to scramble up the remaining stairs to the second floor, but instead stumbled and sprawled upon the landing.
Slips of the tongue are known to give away one's secret wishes. And so it is true with false movements. There is little doubt that Janet wanted to stumble upon the stairs, thus providing her father with the opportunity of overtaking her.
He did just that. Robert bounded up the stairs, then, as it was with Janet and while she continued to giggle wildly, he, too, stumbled and sprawled upon the landing, his body dominating that of his child.
They both laughed for a few minutes. The sound was unnatural and rather distant, yet it had a blend of happiness and togetherness that Janet has reported never before having known. There was a hysterical touch to the tone of their laughter, too, as if both of them had gone mad with the game they played as if both desired to grow even madder.
Janet moved from the position on her side she had first attained. Her father, his body heavy upon her, the moisture of their bodies mixing, was directly atop Janet. She could feel every part of his body and she was especially aware of the pressure from his bulging cock against her thighs. But when Janet moved to change her position, it was not to attain one of rejection. It was to bring them more dynamically into contact with each other. Janet rolled to her back. Robert raised his body just enough to let her reach that position, then pressed heavily atop her again.
"After that, things were a kind of blur to me," Janet has related. "The two of us just stayed that way maybe it was for a long time, I really don't know, but I do know that my father smiled at me and I smiled back at him and then there was the business of the hands again his and mine, touching and everything and then, just like it was magic or something, my bra was off and lying to the side and my father was bent over me and kissing my tits just as crazy-wild .as anything, kissing me all over them and kind of catching all of me in his mouth and pulling and stretching me, then making me flat again as he pressed real close against all of my body while he kept one tit in his mouth."
And what of Robert S. at this moment of his daughter's first experience with the kisses of a man?
"I must have really gone crazy or something," he has reported. "I didn't think of anything not what I was doing, not even that the girl beneath me was my own daughter all I could do was get as much of her as I possibly could as much of her flesh, as much of all of her as I could possibly get."
The landing of the stairway of his own home was not ideal for all that Robert S. wanted from his daughter, however. Almost ceremoniously, he pushed back from his child, raised to his knees, gently edged his hands beneath her body, then rose, lifting her in his arms. like a knight of bygone days capturing his lady fair, Robert S. carried his daughter up the stairs and into the master bedroom.
He lowered her very tenderly to the bed. He straightened. He looked down at his child. Then he stooped over and relieved her of the rest of her wet, clinging swimsuit.
Janet said of this moment, "I'm not sure, but I think I helped him undress me. I remember kind of boosting my hips up so that he could pull the suit off me. I remember that because the suit was very tight from being wet and he never could have gotten it off me if I didn't help at least a little so, you see, I think I did that for him I think I really did assist him in getting the suit off my body and making me completely naked."
The psychiatrist inquired of the circumstances involved with her father's undressing.
"Oh, I didn't help him do that," Janet replied. "I just lay there on the bed and watched as he started to push his swim trunks down then stooped and kind of went out of view. When he raised he was naked. When I looked at him and saw the size of his cock, I was a little frightened. I knew he was like that but I had no idea just how he would be. I guess I was pretty shocked."
Robert S.'s body stammered wildly as he bent close to his daughter. Janet recalled that there was a look of awe upon his face, much as if he had become stricken with the enormity of the act he was about to commit. His expression added to his daughter's fright, for she was sure that it meant that he was going to give up the fucking she anticipated. But it was not so. Janet's fear was soon abated. Robert leaned forward on the bed, braced one knee on its edge, then began once more to fondle his daughter's body. He touched her tits, ran his hands down her body, kneaded a bit at her belly, then lightly massaged at her thighs, causing her to raise with a start as she knew thrill, causing her, too, to make that parting that offered a welcome from her young body. Her legs moved slowly, presenting her welcoming cunt entrance, now seeping with love juices.
There was some difficulty about entrance, but Robert was gentle and patient and probed at her pussy lips until that moment when he could not delay another second. Then he plunged forward, jamming his cock into his daughter's slit, capturing his daughter's body with his own, making her his prisoner, joining them in a bond that was closer than even that bond of blood relationship.
Janet does not recall exactly her part in the lovemaking. But she does remember experiencing sensations of excitement and a "fullness within me like nothing I had ever dreamed of." She recalls something else, too. Near the end of their fucking, when her father's pace had increased to an optimum speed, Janet heard her own voice crying out obscenities, as she was carried away by the passion of the moment.
"It was a little girl's voice," she has explained. "Not like mine at all more like a stranger's. It seemed real far away and it was all kind of choked-up and tight as if it was trying not to cry or was holding back some terrible, bursting thing. I wondered who it was that was crying if she was crying for me and how she had gotten into the room. And the words that the voice said sort of shocked me, too. They were words I knew and had heard before, but words that I never spoke in front of my family."
"What did the voice say?" Janet was asked.
"Oh, just terrible things."
"Will you explain, please?"
"Well, I kept shouting kept saying 'fuck me, daddy, fuck the piss out of me, slam your damn cock into my cunt, daddy, fuck my cunt faster, jam the shit out of my ass-hole with your cock,' and things like that."
Janet did not experience an orgasm as a result of her first act of sexual intercourse. But upon the occasion of sexually coming together with her father the fourth time, she did know gratification.
"It was like the whole world was crashing down upon me, or as if I was being shot out of a volcano," she has said, describing the event.
Following the attainment of climax, Janet S. became addicted to the thrill of sexual intercourse. It became her greatest preoccupation. She pursued her father aggressively, sometimes even forced him into a sexual act when he was disinclined for that adventure. She did not seek other partners her father was enough. She gave him the fidelity that he had never known from his wife. And with him she began to experiment with sex and the means of greater thrill. Janet learned to participate in long periods of love play. She insisted that her father pay all of her body great attention, and she did the same for him, trading kisses and eventually bartering fellatio for cunnilingus. In these deviations they both continued to know a climax, but always they returned to sexual intercourse as the way to the most gratification.
Janet and her father continued as lovers for nearly two years. During this period, Janet became more introspective, did less well in school, sought out fewer friends as companions, and developed a feeling that her mother had learned of the incestuous affair. Mrs. S. never mentioned the matter. Instead, according to Janet, the mother acted as if she knew a secret and was pleased with that secret.
The period of father-daughter cohabitation brought changes to Mr. S., too. He became quieter, more depressed, stayed home from his office more often, showed signs of jealousy over attentions paid his daughter by other people, and generally seemed to age dramatically. He talked of taking a long trip by himself, of living in a tent in the woods for an entire summer, but he was unable to follow through in this respect.
It was three months after Janet's thirteenth birthday when she hurried home from school one day, hoping to find that her father had returned early from his office. During the day she had felt a great anxiety, a steaming need for love-making. It was worse than usual, she has explained. It was as if she must hurry and sexually engage with her father in order to bring reassurances to herself that were needed.
When she turned the corner of her street, Janet's heart began to thump heavily. She sighted her father's car in the driveway, knew that he was home, knew, too, that they would soon be naked and "fucking" together. She started to run toward the house, then slowed and fell into a fast walking pace to the front door.
It was quiet inside the house. Janet smiled. It was always quiet when her father was home early, awaiting the attendance of her young body. She knew that he was in the upstairs bedroom where he always awaited her presence.
Still smiling, Janet slowly moved up the stairs, feeling part of the game that had developed between her father and herself. She paused at the second floor landing. Then she walked down the carpeted hall. Then she paused again, just outside her father's room. And then she presented herself at the door and looked inside. And then she screamed.
Robert S. was slumped half off the bed. Blood stained the bed clothes and the carpeting. A shotgun was resting on the floor. And Janet's father was without a head: Above the jagged pieces of flesh that had been his neck there was only a mass of blood and seared, white tissue that looked like maggots wiggling in filth.
Janet screamed and screamed and screamed, then ran from the room.
It is odd that death should sometimes be an aphrodisiac, that it should mark the embarkation of a thirteen-year-old child's constant quest for sexual activity, a quest that followed incredible paths and that tortured many lives. But this is true of the case of Janet S. She became involved in all manner of sexual deviations from that time onward, enticing her many male relatives into episodes of lovemaking that jarred the very reasoning of many of them. She enticed her male school friends into frequent sexual encounters, taking great pleasure in seeking out the boys who had not yet indulged in intercourse. She became teacher of sexual deviations to her youthful friends and was particularly fascinated by seducing her male relatives. There is no firm answer as to what will happen to Janet. Will she eventually overcome her strong incestuous desires? Will she be able to pacify the sexual monster raging deep within her inner being? Only Janet herself will be able to resolve these deep problems only by her own self-awareness and acceptance of therapy will she be able to assume a positive attitude regarding her problems. It is only this realization that will bring her to a favorable therapeutic resolution.
CASE HISTORY 4: A MOTHER, SEXUALLY FASCINATED BY HER 16-YEAR-OLD SON
Tricia L. lost all interest in her husband when her son was born. The boy, Will, became her whole life. The husband, Allan, had the impression that he "was always in the way" when his son and wife were together. Although the marriage between Tricia and Allan had never been a happy one although it was later described by a psychiatrist as a "hostile, dependent relationship" there was a semblance of marital community between the couple until they experienced the birth of their only child. Then, Tricia changed dramatically. She began to neglect housework, was tardy, or absent altogether of meals for her husband. She grew less communicative and spent most of her time cuddling her offspring.
The child, Will, was sickly during the first three years of his life. It had been suggested that his sickness was largely induced by an over amount of motherly protection, but regardless of the cause, he did know long periods of bed rest because of constant colds, a suspicion of tuberculosis, chronic asthma, and all the diseases that move a mother to worry and anxiety for the welfare of her child. Will's illnesses were an excuse for further neglect of wifely responsibilities.
Quite early in Will's life, Tricia stopped sleeping with her husband. Never especially sexual or gratified by an act of intercourse, it seemed quite natural to her that having acquired the child she had always wanted, it was not extraordinary that she should now be through with her husband and the sex he offered. The husband reacted by finding other activities. He largely ignored his son once it was established that Tricia was to be sole custodian of the boy. Allan began to drink, stay out late, come home drunk, tumble into his bed, then awake in the morning to meet the scorn and wrath of his wife. It always seemed a little strange to him when Tricia screamed her displeasure at "the damn fucking condition he came home in." He knew she really didn't care, knew that she was really pleased at his behavior because it gave her excuses not to sleep with him, thereby not having "to luck" with him. Soon, Allan began to cheat. He was quite open about it, even on occasion bragging about the sexual conquests he had made and reminding his wife that perhaps it would not have happened had she been willing to spread her thighs.
There was brought to light the following conversation between Tricia and Allan during this time of their marriage.
"Where the hell have you been tonight?" Tricia asked her husband as he stumbled into their bedroom.
"What the fuck does it matter? Your dried up pussy won't be bothered tonight, or any night by me for that matter," Allan mumbled as 'he stumbled about the room, removing his clothing.
"The least you could have done was to tell you would be home so late," admonished Tricia.
"What the fuck would you care what time I came home?" Allan barked at his wife. "I've been on the prowl for some cunt meat and damn it, I found exactly what I needed. Some juicy cunt for a damn good fuck! You were never as good as what I had tonight. My cock sure as hell got its fill that damn pussy was well worth the price."
"So, you admit to spending money on prostitutes," Tricia pouted sullenly. "What with Will being so ill, and our spending so much money on doctors and medicine, you still go out and spend it on some whore. What sort of a father are you?"
"What the hell kind of a wife are you?" he shouted back.
"At least I don't go around spending our money on sex. You could at least have considered your family before you spent the money." Tricia began to sob.
"Oh, fuck! Stop this nonsense, Tricia. You bloody well know that I can't get my cock into you. You won't let me get near you with a ten-foot pole. I'm only human and I need some pussy to keep me going. You can't seem to get that through your thick skull. If you keep those thighs locked together much longer, they'll grow together."
"Oh, you're a beast," cried Tricia. "You'd let our son die just because you wanted to fuck. What sort of a man are you? I hate you, do you hear I hate you!" With that Tricia jumped out of bed and ran from the room. She sobbed as she sped down the hallway, rushing into their son's room and throwing herself on the daybed. She spent that night there and many nights thereafter she slept by her son's bed, crying herself into a troubled slumber where she repeatedly encountered the same vivid nightmare of being chased by hundreds of cocks as she sought refuge in a child's crib.
By the time Will was eleven, silence reigned throughout the house whenever both parents were present. When the father was absent, Tricia spoke in horribly disparaging terms of her husband, calling him a "no-good ass," a "cheat," a "drunk," an "indifferent father," and going into vivid detail about the rottenness of her life with a man she "could not love and respect." Soon, Will joined his mother in her martyrdom. Most of the mother-son conversations centered upon the worthlessness of their breadwinner. Will took to calling his father by these names, but only when the father was not around. He began to hate his father with a vengeance matching that of his mother. He really believed that his father was all of these things a mean, heartless, cruel man who sought only his own pleasure at the expense of his family, his wife and only son. Will's hatred of his own father grew to a frightening degree as he sought to comply with his mother's attitudes.
Because of Will's illnesses, Tricia continued in her habit of sleeping with her son. When he turned twelve and showed signs of becoming a strapping lad, Tricia continued to sleep with him. When the, father was in the house, mother and son were aligned against him during the day and slept together at night, making a kind of combative family trio much as if mother and son were lovers who openly betrayed the presence of a husband who actually "cheated" in front of him.
Soon, Allan ceased to come home at night. Weeks would pass without his appearance, although he usually stopped on payday to leave the family allowance money.
Will had few friends. Tricia wouldn't allow them. She didn't want him to become influenced by ruffians, she once explained. And as a result, Will was quite a novelty in the neighborhood. He was considered somewhat of a "sissy." Boys and girls his age would walk past the house, chanting insults for the boy who never joined them. Sometimes Will felt badly about it. Sometimes he even wanted to join those who were his peers. But when sad, there was always mother to comfort him: there was always her solid, protective presence that spelled the only security he knew. And at night there was the mother's presence in bed where the boy cuddled to her form in a way that was reminiscent of the embryo position of the earliest life. He sought refuge of sorts in his mother's arms.
Tricia was very permissive with her son. She caught him smoking at fifteen, then told him that she wished he wouldn't because of his "weak lungs." Will, looking rather defiant, took another drag on his cigarette. Then Tricia told him that if he really wanted to smoke, it was all right with her. She, too, smoked now they could enjoy a cigarette together.
At the age of thirteen, Will started masturbating. Usually, it was accomplished while bathing, but occasionally Will would masturbate at night while in bed with his mother. It caused Tricia great anxiety. Masturbation frightened her. She knew that it was a sign of sexual desire, that it was the first step toward her son's eventual involvement with girls. She could hardly bear the thought. He was all she had, she could not lose him.
It was then that Tricia took on a new habit. Upon retiring at night with her maturely built son, she started sleeping in a position that faced the boy. Always, she had turned in the opposite direction. Now, she faced him, striking an even more dramatic pose, one that cast them in the play of lovers.
When Will was sixteen, his mother seduced him into an act of sexual intercourse. Her purposes were hyper motivated. Will had been showing signs of restlessness and had even expressed the wish that he be allowed to attend a high school dance with a girl he had met. And, his masturbation had become more frequent with the mother-son bed as the center of the activity.
The psychiatric record of Tricia's thoughts is sketchy, but it is assumed by authorities that the woman was afraid of "Losing" her boy and sought to make a sexual bond with him that would bind him forever. She looked upon masturbation as a very genuine threat to their relationship. She thus decided upon intercourse as a final and irrevocable tie between them.
The act occurred quite simply. Tricia, pretending sleep, waited until she heard the motions in the bed that told of her son's masturbation, then she turned to him and clutched his hand to quiet it.
"That's not necessary, darling," she said.
Will, obviously embarrassed, was unable to say anything to his mother. In fact, he did not understand her not until she reached, gripped him, then rolled on her back as she urged him closer.
"Now, dear, mother will give you what you need," she whispered softly. "You do just as I say and you won't ever have to do that again. I can give you such better feelings, you won't ever have to ringer your cock yourself. We'll be able to do so many things together. Mother has a juicy hole for you, just waiting for your cock. Now you lay still while I do some very nice things for you."
The incestuous affair between mother and son lasted until Will was twenty-one years old, when, rebelling against his life, the boy robbed a pharmacy to gain money that he did not need. He was quickly apprehended and made the subject of a criminal prosecution which placed him under the authority of an early offenders' detention center that provided psychiatric treatment. It was obvious to everyone that Will was seeking to "get caught" in order to escape his incestuous life. His subconscious brought him to this act of violence, which relieved him of a pressure he no longer was able to face.
CASE HISTORY 5: AUNT AND NEPHEW
Nancy Wallace suggested to her husband, Tim, that they visit a marriage counselor. They had been married six years, their marriage was going poorly, they argued a great deal about money and about matters that concerned the permanent residence of a seventeen-year-old nephew, the son of Nancy's deceased younger brother. The nephew, Gene, was an attractive boy, and well liked by both Nancy and Tim. But his presence caused difficulties they could not combat. So, Nancy suggested a marriage counselor. Tim agreed to some preliminary interviews.
After several hours of private conference with each of the subjects, the marriage counselor interviewed them jointly, then suggested that they take advantage of a group therapy session that had been recently organized at the marriage counseling center. The Wallace's agreed to submit to participation in group therapy as a means of solving their marital problems.
The following is a capsule presentation of the background of the married couple.
Tim was twenty-nine years old, a good, steady worker in a food processing plant where he held a position of supervisor. Nancy was five years his junior. They owned their own small, suburban bungalow in a middle-class neighborhood on the outskirts of town. They were both high school graduates and both had normal intelligence as established by pre-testing examinations. Tim was rugged looking, but not handsome. He was given to somberness a good deal of the time. Nancy was pretty and fun loving. One of her complaints about her marriage to Tim was that "they never did anything never had any fun or went out like they once did." Another complaint submitted by Nancy was that her nephew should not live in the same house with a young married couple, that the boy should room alone, that she did not think it right that a mature boy should be in such close proximity to herself, especially since she was only a few years his senior.
The psychiatric case worker thought it very interesting that Nancy should render this complaint about her own nephew and stated that he would not be surprised had the complaint been the husband's, not hers.
"Maybe it does seem odd," she said. "But that's the way it is. My husband--likes the idea of Gene living with us. I'm the one who objects to the arrangements."
"And the boy is your nephew, is he not?" the case worker asked.
"Yes."
But you don't want him living with you and your husband, right?"
"That's right. I don't want it at-all."
"Why?"
"I don't really know. I just kind of sense that Gene being with us puts pressures on us that we could do without."
Upon this note, Tim and Nancy Wallace entered active group therapy.
The first few sessions were little contributed to by either Nancy or Tim. Mainly, they listened to the discussions around them and did not offer their own views of other's problems. But during the sixth session of the group, Tim, after stating the circumstances of some recent problems that concerned the nephew, made a statement that provided for some important retorts from other members of the group. They are reported here exactly as they were recorded during the session.
TIM: I think the reason my wife and I fight so much about her young nephew being in the house is because she's afraid she's going to get sexually involved with him. After all, he is a good-looking kid and Nancy isn't very much older than he is. Also, they're together a lot when I'm at work.
THERAPIST: That's an interesting observation.
MEMBER: I think you might have something there, Tim. We know that people sometimes resist the things they want the most. Success, for one thing. There's a little self-destruction in us all, we've learned at these sessions, so maybe your wife is righting hard to get Gene out of the house because she's really afraid of her own feelings for the boy afraid that she might get sexually involved with him because she wants to.
NANCY: That's absurd. It's not the truth at all. I might be a member of a group therapy organization, but that doesn't mean I don't know my own feelings. And I very definitely am not sexually attracted to Gene. Besides, that's incest.
ANOTHER MEMBER: So, what's with incest? It is done, you know.
NANCY: Not by me, it isn't.
TIM: Hey, the way you just said that. It gave me a funny feeling. The way you said that makes me think that because it would be incest, that that's the only reason that you wouldn't have sex with Gene.
MEMBER: That's exactly how I interpreted it, too.
ANOTHER MEMBER: Me, too.
THERAPIST: How do you feel about the statement you just made, Nancy? Would you retract the wording if you had the chance? Tell us about it. NANCY: All I said was if I had anything to do with my nephew that it would be incest.
TIM: See, now you're down to saying if you had anything to do with Gene. You say that as if it means you would, or that you've been considering it or thinking about having it with him or something.
NANCY: It does not. Oh, you're so stupid.
MEMBER: You sound jealous, Tim. Maybe that's why you put up such a big pitch about liking the nephew and wanting to keep him with you. Maybe you do that because you're jealous and don't want to admit it.
TIM: Maybe you're right, but I've never thought about it in those terms.
It is impossible for members of a group therapy session to leave feelings and emotions behind once the session is over. And so it was with Nancy and Tim. They talked very little on their way home. Each of them burned with inner thoughts, provoked by the session, but not yet answered satisfactorily. And later, in bed, in a manner that was extraordinarily unusual for Nancy, she provoked a sexual act with her husband and participated in it as an aggressor for the first time during their marriage. She was wilder and more driving and showed greater passion than any ever displayed during her years of marriage.
The next morning, with Tim off to work, Nancy was plagued with reminders of the remarks made the previous evening. She tried to direct thoughts to the core of her problems, made a true attempt to diagnose her part in the family difficulties she knew. She considered her nephew in the terms that had been suggested by members of the psychotherapy group. She considered everything she knew about him, about herself, and even forced herself to face sexual fantasies that she created with the two of them as lovers. Still, she saw no truth in the proposition that she wanted Gene removed from her home because she feared her own sexual attraction for him. Yet, even as she denied this, there was a L hint of something familiar, something about her f nephew that did make her feel a certain fear. For a long time, Nancy thought about these things, resulting in irritability and restlessness that was foreign to her. Several times, she tried to turn her thoughts off. It was impossible. And for a little while she began to suspect her motivations in the light that had been suggested.
Nancy was still pondering these many questions when Gene returned home from the high school where he was a senior. She looked at him with new interest an interest that was created from a hypersensitivity for everything about the boy.
"Hi, Nancy," the boy greeted her, banging through the front door in the carefree and careless manner of the happy young.
"Hi," she responded.
"What're you doing? Just sitting?"
"Looks like it, doesn't it?" she said.
"Yeah. That's a novelty for you, I'd say."
"Why?" she asked.
"Because you're always busy around this place a real little swinger, or at least you could be if you'd let yourself go."
"A swinger?" she inquired.
"Sure."
"And what kind of swinger?"
"Well, the real cool kind of swinger, you know a gal or a guy who's well who's...."
Nancy smiled, then said, "So a dreary old housewife like me could be a swinger, eh?"
"Yeah." He grinned at her and walked to where she was sitting on the couch.
Nancy looked intently at his face, noticing the dark, brown eyes that seemed so full of life, so happy and gay and without a care in the world. She felt a stab of envy for that youth and happiness that was not too many years removed from her own age. She felt cheated, too, as if she had never really known such happiness herself.
"Hell, you're the cutest aunt a guy could have," Gene said. "I just think I might ask Tim if it's all right for me to take you to a school dance some night that, or a drive-in or someplace where I can show you off. How does that sound to you?"
"So, you'd like to show me off me, your aunt," she said, lifting her words in a question.
"Sure."
Her eyes darted over his young body. She noticed how finely chiseled his features were, how he was so lean in his tight jeans, how he seemed as agile as some wild animal. And then she noticed his lips. She became intrigued with them. She wondered how they would feel on her own. She wondered about the taste of them and about their hardness and determination. Then, feeling a sweep of shock, she jumped up from the couch, made an excuse of housework to her nephew, and disappeared to another area of the house, a place where her thoughts and the reality of the young man's reality would not follow her. She retreated to a safety zone.
At the very next session of the therapy group, Nancy mentioned her self-analysis and the feelings that suddenly swept her when she faced the subject of her fantasies.
"Now, I don't know if I'm exaggerating things or not," Nancy told the group. "I don't even know if I started to feel these things because of the matters we discussed at the last session, but I do know that when Gene came into the house, I looked at him with new interest. I kept thinking about what some of you said the last time we met about my being hostile about Gene being in the house because I was afraid of my own feelings for him and when he was suddenly there in front of me well, I thought that maybe this was true that you all were right about me wanting to fuck with him. I really became frightened of my own self then."
"Did your nephew say anything or act seductive in any way that might have provoked these feelings in you?" the group therapist asked.
"I don't think so," Nancy answered.
"What did he say?" asked her husband, Tim.
"Well, he just said that I looked cute that I was cute a swinger, he called me, and he said that he was going to check with you to see if he could take me out some night and show me off. He said he wanted to go out with me to a dance or drive-in."
"He did, eh?" Bill answered.
Another member of the group said, "This must have flattered you, Nancy. Don't forget that one of your complaints about your marriage is that you don't go out enough with your husband."
"That's true," said the therapist, nodding his head affirmatively in agreement to the last remark.
"Yes, but that couldn't move me as much as I was moved," Nancy replied. "I actually looked at him looked at my own nephew and while I was looking at him I was thinking about his lips and his cock and how it might feel if I kissed his cock and how it might feel if his lips were over my pussy lips. Now that's just terrible and I'm the first one to admit it."
"Why?" asked the group therapist.
"Because I'm his aunt, that's why," she replied almost angrily.
"See," her husband said. "There you go again. You always say things like incest is the only reason that you wouldn't fuck with him."
"I do not."
"You do."
"I don't," she insisted. "I'm just doing what every one of us here is supposed to do be honest, honest about everything, about every thought while we're here or when we're away from the group. And that's more than you do, Tim Wallace, I'll say that right now and right in front of everyone here and...."
"This is getting you no place," one of the members interrupted. "Save your fights to have at home. We're here to iron out your difficulties and not listen to your squabbling. Now let's get this discussion back in its proper perspective so that we can accomplish something."
"Well, do you know what I think?" Nancy questioned loudly, turning from her husband to the entire group.
"No, what do you think, Nancy?" asked the leader.
"I think that this treatment is causing me to go through these things to make things more serious than they really are. Now I swear that I never intentionally thought about fucking with my nephew before these sessions."
"That can't be true," one of the members cut in.
"Why not?" Nancy asked.
"Because of your ages and your proximity. It is absolutely impossible for a girl not to have a sexual thought about a man who's around all the time. You're not being honest with us or yourself, Nancy."
"I am, too."
"You're not," the group member said. "How old are you, Nancy?"
"Twenty-four."
"And how old is this nephew of yours?"
"Seventeen."
"Hell, that's only a few years difference. You're not looking truthfully at yourself, Nancy. You have had sexual thoughts about your nephew you've had to have, if you're normal. You've had to have these thoughts, because it's impossible for you to be around a good-looking kid only a few years younger than yourself and not have thoughts about how it'd be to fuck with him. That's the truth, Nancy. Why don't you admit it to yourself? Maybe if you did, you'd get over some of your problems with Tim."
"I can't admit it because I don't know if it's true or not," she said. "Maybe I'm just feeling all these things because of this treatment because of all these ideas you people give me."
"Sometimes this does happen," the group therapist agreed. "Sometimes the things we discuss cause us to be a little extra-sensitive about ourselves, our feelings and everything, nevertheless it's important and worthwhile that you've been considering these different things. That's what this group therapy is all about and the sooner you understand this, the sooner you will achieve self-realization."
That night followed a pattern that had been set for Nancy and Tim shortly after their first session of group psychotherapy. They were silent, almost shy with each other on the way home. But once in bed, Nancy again turned the sexual aggressor. She was ravenous in her desires for Tim's cock. And for the first time in her life, she performed an act of fellatio to completion. She sucked on Tim's prick with an unbelievable appetite. Tim was shocked. He could not fully appreciate the intimacy for he kept thinking that it was as if she did this for him as a means of "making up" or asking for forgiveness for something. The act made Tim suspicious of his wife, made him wonder about the motivations behind her sudden interest in fellatio. (It made him question his own nature, as well, it was later learned, for the act, one that Tim had often wished for, touched at his latent homosexuality, causing threats and anxiety.)
When Nancy awakened the following morning, Tim had already left for work. She felt a sweep of embarrassment for her sexual activities of the previous night. She recognized that she had been different and that the sucking she had performed on Tim's cock had been a symptom of that difference. Nancy remained in bed a long time, pondering her emotions, trying to relate them to the experience of group therapy.
When she finally arose from bed, she went to the window and looked down on the rear yard. Her nephew was there, stretched on his back on facing the early summer sun. He was naked except for very short, tight swim trunks. She felt a moistness at her cunt, then remembered that Gene had mentioned that there was no school that particular day because of an area teacher's meeting. Then Nancy wondered why she had experienced the panic, finally deciding that Gene's presence when she had not expected it posed some threat to her. She did not question the dampness at her crotch any further, nor did she dwell on the tightness below her tits, a pressure in her chest unlike any she had ever before experienced. It was in reality a feeling of excitement, but Nancy was determined to brush these feelings aside quickly.
Nancy dressed in hot pants and a halter top. It was going to be a steamy sort of day. She loved the sun and wanted some of it. She decided to give herself a rest from trying to relate the questions that were raised at group therapy to herself and her nephew. She would enjoy the day, she decided firmly.
She was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee, when Gene appeared at the back door and entered the house. He looked at her and emitted a low, slow wolf-whistle.
"All right now," Nancy reprimanded. "It's too early in the morning for any of that. Besides, I'm not about to be conned by you."
"No con intended, Nancy," Gene said. "Just thought I'd give a little whistle for the way you look. You sure as hell do look sexy in that outfit."
She smiled and took more of her coffee. As Gene moved across the room to get a drink of water at the sink, Nancy's eyes followed his body. She noticed at once that he had a hard-on. His swim trunks were tenting at his crotch very obviously. He made no effort to conceal it. If anything, she decided, he acted as if he wanted her to become aware of the effect her nearly nude body had made. She looked away from the sight of his erect cock. But her eyes could not free themselves from the rest of his body, from his broad shoulders that had flecks of grass and perspiration on them, or from his firm thighs and flat belly. And Nancy experienced a grind of longing at her own thighs, a return of the moisture at her cunt that had so suddenly engulfed her earlier this morning. It was like nothing she had ever previously experienced. She had a mental image of herself performing fellatio upon her husband the previous night. She kept tasting his cock flesh in her mouth as her thoughts lingered on those moments with her husband. Then there was a montage of images of herself and her husband in an act of face-to-face fucking. She recalled, too, the absence of an orgasm in her life, how sex to her seemed always experimental in that regard, how she pursued it optimistically every time with the hope that that encounter would bring her the climax she had never had.
Gene finished his drink and turned from the sink. He leaned his hips back against it, causing a slight arch of his body and a greater showing of his hard-on pushing against his swim trunks.
Nancy avoided a direct look at that sign of his passion. She looked directly into his eyes, yet she has stated that there was a portion of her vision directed to the sight of his protruding cock. She could not help herself. She was drawn to the bulge at his thighs by some unexplained force.
"So, what are you going to do with your free day?" Nancy asked her nephew.
"Oh, I just thought I'd be lazy and soak up some sun, I guess," he answered. "But right now, I'm going to try and get some of this damn grass off me."
With that, he turned and left the room.
Soon, Nancy heard the shower turn on in the bathroom directly above her. She visualized her nephew beneath the needle spray and she wondered if the grass on his back had been an excuse, wondered if he now showered under cold water in an effort to subdue his risen passion. Then she felt a stir of excitement when she considered that it had been she who had caused it, she, a kind of dreary, not especially attractive housewife who was also the boy's twenty-four-year-old aunt.
The sound of the shower quieted. Then there was a thump on the ceiling above her. Then there was Gene's voice calling out.
"Hey, Nancy, where the hell are the towels? There's no towel at all in here."
She remembered that she had not brought the clean linens from the laundry room where she had washed them the previous day.
"Hold it, they're down here, Gene," she called, looking up at the ceiling. "I'll bring you one in just a minute."
Nancy hurried to the laundry room, gathered an armful of towels together, then hurried back up the stairs, those from the laundry room and those that led to the upstairs bathroom where Gene awaited her.
Nancy was surprised that the bathroom door was partially open. She stood to the side of it, and called to her nephew. "Here you are, Gene."
"Oh, great. Thanks," the boy's voice said.
In a moment, he came into view. Standing behind the bathroom door, he leaned out from it, exposing his naked body from the waist upward. He reached his hand out to take the towel from Nancy.
His eyes danced merrily when she handed him the stack of towels which made him stretch both arms outward and further expose himself from behind the door.
"There you go," Nancy said.
"Yeah, thanks."
Nancy turned and started to leave the bathroom, but Gene called to her before she had moved two full paces.
"Stick around a minute, will you, Nancy?" Gene asked. "You've got to help me."
Nancy paused. She breathed deeply. She turned, feeling a strange mixture of fear and curiosity. She moved back toward the bathroom, then stopped in her tracks when Gene's bare body flashed into view. He was naked except for a towel that was wrapped loosely around his waist. He held another towel in his hand. Nancy saw at once that the shower had not cooled him. A portion of the towel stuck straight out from his thighs. He very obviously had a hard-on, despite the fact that he had just been sprayed by the shower.
"Here, give my back a going over, will you, Nancy?" the boy said, extending the towel to her.
Nancy took it. She didn't speak. Her eyes were not shy now, it was as if she had reached a point of decision from which she could not turn back. And her eyes were more candid. They did not hide her awareness of his protruding cock. She looked directly at the bunching towel, then into her nephew's eyes. Then she took a step closer to him as he turned to present his back.
Nancy was incapable of making a full stroke with the towel. She brought it to the back of his neck, pressed it down, then collapsed her own body against the boy's lean form as she moaned inwardly.
"Oh, Gene," she sobbed, holding close to him.
The two words and the sound of her impassioned voice were all that the seventeen-year-old youth needed. He turned and clutched his aunt tightly to his naked body.
Nancy felt his kiss at the same time that she felt the pierce of his strong cock against her thighs, throbbing and pleading and pressing for a welcome. She gave it. She cuddled tight against him. She wound her arms around his neck. She pressed her heavy tits into his chest. She gave her tongue, then took his. And then, as if afraid that any extra step or movement might break their spell, they crumbled to the hallway floor, settling their nudity into the tuft of the carpeting.
"Oh, Gene," moaned Nancy softly in his ear. "We shouldn't be doing this."
"Oh, hell, you've wanted this fuck for a long time, Nancy, and you know it. I'm going to give you a taste of some real cock the sort of cock you won't be forgetting for a long time. I've seen the look in your eyes lately. I've known what you were after, and I'm going to give it to you right here and now. So get that pussy opened up. I'm coming in!"
"No, no, we mustn't be doing this. What if Tim should come home?" Nancy began to squirm beneath Gene, unable to control her movements as she sought to place his male lance to her opening.
"Oh, shut up, Nancy. Let's concentrate on what we're going to do. We both need this fuck. I've been so damn hot for you lately, I've been squirting off in my pants. I can feel how juicy your cunt is, so don't think you're not ready. Baby, you're more than ready."
Nancy began to shiver as Gene spoke to her in this manner, speaking words that she would have never herself uttered.
And then words were no longer needed. Gene had swiftly removed Nancy's clothing, throwing aside his own towel and now there was a single kiss between them. A single kiss that was the signal for the beginning of their incestuous love-making. There was only the kiss that glued their mouths together as if that joining could keep them from noticing the other joining at their thighs, that of cock to cunt.
Nancy yelped a short cry into her nephew's mouth when he went into her cunt with a hard, crushing drive. Then he withdrew, then pounded to her in a heavy beat. His cock kept working at her thighs and her hips rose and lowered, went high, arched, descended, then ascended to meet the fury of his youth again. And again and again and again. And onward and more driving and more intense until at last there was a gathering of all her emotions in that single place that finally offered release and Nancy Wallace's first experience with a sexual climax.
Nancy found an excuse not to attend the next session of her therapy group. Nor did she attend the next, or the one after that. Her husband attended alone. And while he was in the midst of deep, psychic discussion, Nancy was at home, involved in matters of the flesh with her nephew, fucking matters, acting out the incest wishes that her peers had claimed as her major problem.
When Nancy finally attended a session of her group, it was for a brief few minutes of discussion with the leader, alone and away from the others. She confessed the new developments in her life to the therapist, then asked him to put her in touch with a psychiatrist for private treatment. The matter was arranged. Nancy entered psychotherapy according to her own wishes.
CASE HISTORY 6: A BULLY FATHER ... A SENSUAL DAUGHTER....
Peggy D. made an interesting discovery one day as she encountered her father as she came out of the shower. It was at that moment that she knew that he desired her, that one day he would sexually know her despite their blood relationship.
Stuart D. was a bully. He was a big, hulking man, well over two hundred pounds and standing several inches over six feet tall. He ran his family with a decidedly iron hand; everyone, his wife, two sons and Peggy, at one time or another knew the brutality of his hard hands. A construction worker who had lately specialized in home repairs, Stuart earned a considerable wage. He spent much of it on himself, drinking excessively, frequenting whorehouses in the slum neighborhood of his city.
Stuart was very open about almost everything in his life. He made no secret of his infidelities, his drinking, or, eventually, his sexual desire for his daughter, Peggy. His twelve-year-old, budding daughter began to gnaw at his mind, and particularly at his crotch. The skimpy summer clothing that she wore around the house caused many a hard-on on a warm summer evening as Stuart sat drinking a can of beer in front of the television set. Her bouncy little tits caught his eye favorably, as did her swishing ass as she pranced in front of him, almost, it seemed, deliberately.
Peggy had only a towel draped around her young body when she met her father in the upstairs hallway of their home one particularly hot, mid-August evening.
"What're you hiding there, kid?" Stuart asked, grinning widely.
Peggy flushed. "Nothing, daddy."
"You're damn right you're hiding nothing," her father laughed. "Nothing worth bothering about, anyway, at least for another year or so."
"I have to go to my room, daddy," Peggy said, ignoring his remark but unable to cool the flush that had appeared at her cheeks.
Stuart laughed and did not move from where he blocked his daughter's path. Then he suddenly whipped out his big hand and snatched the towel roughly from her young body. Droplets of water glistened across her naked form.
"Daddy!" Peggy protested. She tried to cover her tiny titties with crossed arms.
"Well, I'll be goddamned," Stuart bellowed. "You're more grown up than I thought. Hell, some day you'll be a regular knockout chick."
The "someday" of Stuart's prediction occurred a few weeks after Peggy's thirteenth birthday. She had bloomed forth a full-blown woman's body, large tits, hard nipples, narrow waist, flaring hips, and shapely legs, as well as a healthy bush of pubic hair. Peggy was alone with her father. It was a warm autumn Saturday afternoon and the girl was dressed in bra and tight shorts. Her feet were bare. She had just finished vigorously brushing her long, blonde hair, sitting at the vanity. As she replaced the brush and glanced into the mirror again, she saw her father watching her from the doorway. She could tell he was very, very drunk. She could also tell that he had chosen this day for the event of her sexual violation. It was just a strong feeling that gripped Peggy as she watched her father.
"Oh, daddy, what are you doing here?" she questioned, looking straight ahead into the mirror.
"Now just what the hell do you think I'm doing here, kid?" he replied.
"Looking at me," she said sassily.
"Oh, my, ain't we the bright one though. You're just full of bright answers this afternoon."
Peggy did not answer.
"Come over here," Stuart commanded his daughter. "Come over here right now."
"I'm busy, daddy," Peggy told him. "I've got lots of things to do this afternoon and I want to start doing them. Please, daddy, I really have to get on with them."
"Goddamn it, I said get over here." Stuart was shouting loudly at his daughter now.
She turned and looked at him, then said, "Oh, come on, daddy, leave me alone. Go get yourself another beer and watch TV or something."
Stuart's face turned livid with rage. In a few quick strides he was across the room and had his hands wound into his daughter's thick hair. He jerked her to her feet. Then he slapped her hard across the chest, sending her spinning to the bed. Before she could raise, he was upon her, his rough fingers ripping off her clothing.
"Oh, daddy, please stop," Peggy screamed as her father kept ripping. "Please, daddy, please!"
"Oh, shut up, you slut. You've been asking for this for a long time. You knew you would be in for a fucking. Why the way you've been prancing around lately, you've been asking for a rape. I thought by now one of your brothers would have gotten into your hot panties, but I don't give a damn now. I've got a hot cock here and I aim to get it cool and fast. Now, shut up or you'll get hurt."
Peggy began to sob as her father ripped off the last shreds of her shorts and then hungrily ran his hands over her young body. The lust in his eyes burned at her flesh as he pushed and jabbed at her tits and then brought his face down upon one small tit, sucking on the tiny nipple with such force that Peggy cried out in fear.
"Oh, shut up, you bitch," Stuart barked drunkenly. "I won't bite it, but if you don't shut up, I will."
Peggy bit her lower lip in a grimace as her father continued sucking and slurping over her titties, going from one to the other, pulling at the nipples and then snapping them back into place. The pain was almost excruciating for Peggy but she feared that any outcry would bring her father to violence. She endured his slobbering lips as they raced over her young body, greedily searching out her anatomy in a sex-crazed lust that she knew was not to be controlled.
Stuart screamed at his daughter. "Now, baby, I'm gonna fuck you and fuck you like hell! You've never had a fuck like I'm gonna throw to you. Now just get good and juicy for this damn cock of mine. It needs some cunt juice, kid, and you'd better have it."
Peggy knew that she could not fight off her crazed father, that she could not avoid the rupture of her virginity that he intended. All that she could hope for was that he would be gentle. He was not gentle. He was fierce, wild, mad with passion.
Stuart's heavy weight pinned his child beneath him. The rough material of his work pants rubbed and scratched against the soft skin of her inner thighs. He plunged hard, making Peggy scream, then slapped her for the sound she uttered. He pounded to her as relentlessly as if she were one of the prostitutes he bought on Friday nights. And when he had finished with her, he warned her.
"Not a goddamn word about this, kid," he said. "Not one fucking word or I'll make you do some things that'll make your hair stand on end."
It was a sufficient warning. Peggy did not tell of the incestuous affair until two years later when she was within the security of a policewoman's office. An investigation by a welfare officer had brought her there. Peggy was grateful.
CASE HISTORY 7: THE FATHER WAS EXACTLY TWICE HIS SEXY DAUGHTER'S AGE
When Kathy O.'s psychiatrist suggested that she longed for a sexual affair with her father, she shouted, "But that's absurd."
"I don't think it's very absurd at all," the psychiatrist responded. "Your father's an attractive man he lives with you, you care for him like a wife does a husband and you have been unable to establish any relationships with other men which is the reason you entered treatment."
"But he's my father!" she exclaimed.
"Yes, he is."
Kathy was twenty-two years old when she entered psychiatric treatment. Her reasons were simple. She was unable to form relationships with men, could hardly talk to them because of the abnormal shyness that had been part of her since entering her teens. After high school, she made several attempts to get employment, but she was never able to go beyond the initial interview if it was a man she had to face. Finally, she gave up trying for a job altogether. Her mother had been dead since she was eleven. She fell into the pattern of keeping house for her father, a man of only forty-four who was rich, dynamic, a successful wholesale merchant, and very devoted to his daughter.
Kathy was at ease with her father. With him, she jabbered in conversation, was not shy, and even talked of the most intimate things, like her inability to communicate with other men. It was her father who suggested psychotherapy. Kathy entered it, and although demonstrating toward the psychiatrist the same shyness she had always known, she eventually was able to be free and talkative with him as she was with her own father.
Incest was a topic for psychiatric discussion for many months. Kathy became intrigued with the subject. True, it astounded her, made her fear herself, but still it was a topic that she hoped would resolve her problems. She centered all of her attention upon incest, both during the hours of therapy and during the many hours away from the analyst's couch. She began the habit of looking at her father while she entertained thoughts of incest. She found excuses to come upon her parent while he was in bed, or minus some of his clothing. She tried hard to investigate her true feelings while she was with him. And she even developed the custom of kissing him good-bye in the morning and hello at night. The kiss was never platonic. She kissed him like a lover, hard and full, and with her tongue clashing inside his mouth.
"Why am I doing that now?" she asked her psychiatrist.
"Why don't you tell me?" he queried.
"I don't know."
"Think about it a minute."
She did. Then she said, "Maybe I'm testing myself."
"In what way?"
"Testing myself to see if it really is a sexual attraction that I feel for my father to see if all the things about incest that we've been talking about are true or not."
"Well are they true?" the doctor asked.
She was silent.
"Well?" the doctor prompted again.
"I don't know. But a funny thing just happened when you asked me if it was true when you said the word 'true.' "
"What happened to you, Kathy?"
"I got a funny feeling." She paused, then lowered her hand and touched between her thighs. The motion was slow. She was lying on the analyst's couch. She brought her hand from where it had been above her head and slowly lowered it to the place at her thighs.
"Is that where you got a feeling, Kathy?" the therapist asked.
"Yes."
"What kind of a feeling was it?" he asked.
"Not 'was,' " she said. "I've still got it."
"What kind of a feeling is it?"
"A sexual feeling. I'm very hot in my cunt and it's like my heart's beating there. I feel very full there. And even as I'm telling you all this I keep feeling it and I guess this is horrible thinking about my father."
Kathy's sensations remained at her thighs long after she left her psychiatrist's office. There was a bloat there that seemed almost incapacitating. She had difficulty walking without a continual awareness of the sensations that brought moisture to her cunt lips, a moisture that was slowly spreading down her inner thighs.
The symptoms of sexual desire repeated themselves at every one of Kathy's next eight visits to her psychiatrist. At one of them, she remarked, "This is getting to be a part of me guess it means I go for my dad or you, one or the other or both of you, eh?"
The principle of transference is well known in psychiatric circles. Simply put, it is the transference or relaying of feelings to some person who is not the subject of the feelings. During any course of psychotherapy, it is common that a patient will usually direct feelings toward the psychiatrist that are meant for the patient's mother, father, brother or sister, some distant relative who has been influential on the person's life, or even an employer or business associate. So, it was not unique that Kathy should have made the above statement, that her feelings were mixed between father and therapist. Both men represented authority to her and Kathy subconsciously put them on a common level.
After nearly a year of psychiatric treatment, another threat to the resolution of Kathy's problems was presented. Her father began dating. The girl was only a few years older than Kathy. She was attractive. She was also very friendly and a gay companion for Kathy's father. Upon learning of the circumstances, Kathy burned with some fierce new inner feelings that tore at her being.
"So this girl of your father's has upset you," the therapist said after Kathy explained her new feelings.
"Yes."
"Why should she bother you? Your father is a young man by most standards. It is not unusual that he should want the companionship of a young woman."
"I'm afraid he's going to marry the girl," Kathy burst out.
"So...."
"And if he does, I'll be without him. I couldn't stand that! I can't be without the only man I can talk to or have anything to do with at all, except for you, and you're a professional I pay you our relationship cannot go on the rest of my life. And if I lost my father, I don't know what I'd do."
"Kathy, what you said about us is true," the psychiatrist stated. "A patient-doctor relationship may last for years, but it can never substitute for a normal relationship with other men."
Kathy felt more threatened and hopeless than ever. She left the doctor's office deeply despondent. Her head spun with all the aspects she and her therapist had discussed for months. Desperation clutched her. She felt on the brink of some dramatic event of her own making, some final move that would bring all of the things that bothered her together at the same time.
When she arrived home, it was late. The house seemed empty, but she soon discovered her father sitting alone in the dark in the study. She was surprised to see him. He seemed tired and low, as despondent as Kathy herself felt. Then he explained that he had had a fight with his girl friend. He was very unhappy over the circumstances.
"It'll probably be over with tomorrow," Kathy tried to comfort.
"Probably," he agreed.
The happiness that Kathy had felt at the news of the lovers' estrangement quickly died. A torrent of fear and threatening events formed in her mind and crushed her.
Kathy walked over to where her father sat in a chair, almost as if she had come to the end of some long, much-traveled and tired road of decision. She stood at her father's side, looking down at him for a moment. Then she said, "Poor daddy," stooped and kissed him hard upon the mouth. It was a very intimate, open-mouthed kiss, not the sort expected between father and daughter. But Kathy wanted desperately to prove something to her father to prove that she was a woman and to make him very much aware of her passionate feelings at that moment. The kiss was passionate, enduring.
The father answered his daughter's kiss with a sharp cry and two anxious hands grasping at her back and pulling her onto his lap. Their kiss lasted a long time. It was fervent. Their tongues clashed against each other in a loving duel. And the closeness of their bodies was a jam of sensation for Kathy as she felt her nipples harden at the same time that she felt the hardness of her father's cock, erect and pressing determinedly against her body.
"Oh, daddy," Kathy moaned. "I need you so. I've wanted you for so long. Oh, please, do it to me, please...."
Kathy's father was startled, but only for a moment. He pressed his daughter closer and whispered into her ear. "Kathy, you can't know how long I've wanted to to fuck you, darling. Oh, God, forgive me, but I've wanted it for so long, I thought I would go out of my mind. There have been times when I've come in my underpants from just thinking about it. Oh, darling, do you really want this?"
The silence that followed was broken only by the movement of lips upon other lips, kissing frantically in passion. Kathy broke away from her father's embrace long enough to say, "Yes, I want this very much. Daddy, I want you to fuck me very much. I want to feel your hard cock pushed deep into my cunt slot. I want to feel the gush of your cock juice splashing against my pussy walls. I want to be ripped apart by your love. Oh, daddy, please, fuck me, please!" Kathy's voice broke off as she trembled and grasped at her father wildly.
"Ah," moaned Kathy's father as he bent lower and unfastened his daughter's blouse and then placed one hand at the back of her bra and undid the clasps. He reached down and grasped one naked tit in his hand and kneaded firmly upon his daughter's naked flesh. He caressed and fondled and then brought his tongue upon the erect nipple to kiss and bite and draw upon the cherry nipple.
Kathy was silent while her father caressed at her naked tit flesh, but her fingers were not still. She brought them to the waistband of his trousers and loosened, tugged and then finally clasped that which she sought. Her father's prick was hard and throbbing in her palm and he groaned as she brought it forth to look at it with lust-filled eyes.
Father and daughter arranged themselves speedily and then began to fuck. They had only parted clothing, did not remove it entirely. And they both tried to act as if the event was not taking place, as if the words of the previous moments had never been uttered. They both felt as if they were stealing that few minutes' interlude from the entire world, from the past, the present, and the future.
It is very likely that the incestuous affair would have ended after a single encounter had not Kathy become so quickly addicted to fucking and various deviations. She was violent in her pursuit of her father, forced him to sexual encounters when he did not want them, even hinted at blackmail if he denied her the sex that she demanded.
She would often call her father at his office and say, "Now remember, daddy, this is the night we're going to fuck. I'm going to fuck with you until your prick is sore and then I'm going to eat your cock until you've lost all your come, and after that, you're going to get down with your lips at my cunt and you're going to lap and suck and kiss to get my juice. Oh, daddy, we'll have a ball tonight! Now, remember, hurry home. I'll be waiting for you."
Although Kathy's father may have been reluctant at first to continue with the incestuous relationship with his daughter, he eventually became as addicted to it as his own daughter had. But he feared being found out. He feared that his daughter would boast to someone about their lovemaking, and most of all he feared a possible pregnancy. He had arranged with a physician acquaintance to obtain some pills for Kathy, explaining that his girl friend needed them, but still the fear gnawed at his being. He could not rest easy with this relationship, but he also was unable to bring a halt to their incestuous actions.
Kathy reported the affair to her psychoanalyst immediately after it occurred. She sounded almost proud as she related the experience. And from that point onward, for many, many years, Kathy continued to dabble in incest even as she visited a therapist twice weekly to solve that very problem.
"It is little wonder that Kathy did not react to psychoanalysis," the doctor once stated. "Therapy to her was a way of having her cake and eating it, too. She went through the motions of resolving her problems by attendance at therapy hours and used this as an excuse to continue the incest toward which she had been emotionally, and almost irresolvably directed." Kathy's visits to her therapist became a routine of life for her, just as her incestuous lovemaking with her father had become an expected experience, one that she considered essential for her existence.
CASE HISTORY 8: THE INCESTUOUS AUNT AND HER STUD NEPHEW
Tina K. was thirty-five years old when she came to the attention of a psychiatrist. She had been married fifteen years and was childless. Tina was an exquisite beauty who sought leisure and luxury. While still a very young girl, Tina became well aware of her physical attractiveness and she made up her mind that the best kind of life she could acquire was by marrying young to some eligible and wealthy man. She put just such a plan into motion and she entered into just that sort of marriage. She married Winthrop K. when she had just turned twenty. He was twenty-one years her senior and the sole owner of an electrical contracting firm. From that moment on she had all the wealth and leisure that a woman could hope to have.
Because her husband's business was in the town of her birth, Tina maintained close ties with her family, especially a younger brother who had one child, a sixteen-year-old son. Without children of her own, Tina lavished attention and gifts upon her nephew. She visited her brother and the boy several times a week and usually there were gifts for everyone.
The nephew, Danny, showed quick intelligence at an early age. He did very well in school and soon became quite the most popular boy in the local high school. He was tall and fair and had the good looks that attracted many girls to him. He was also ambitious and, as his aunt had done with boys years earlier, was discriminating in his choice of girl friends, dating and encouraging only those who were children of the town's better families. Quite obviously, he was planning for his future. A good marriage would not hurt at all. He had had enough of poverty: He wanted no more of it. And he deemed that he would not.
When Danny moved into his teen years, Tina started to aid him in his plans. She had traveled a lot with her elderly husband and she encouraged her nephew to do the same. Travel was broadening, she told him. It would give him the culture and polish that was needed to make it big in the world. At the same time, Tina let Danny know that she would sponsor his college education should he show ability as a scholar. He did. He also demonstrated enough athletic ability to have scholarship offers from many universities.
Aunt and nephew were good companions when they were together. They enjoyed many of the same things, such as swimming, tennis, books, music, etc.
As reported by the nephew, one of the things that impressed him about his aunt was her rather wild, unconventional attitude toward life. She acted, he claimed, "hell bent on nothing but enjoying herself." And part of that enjoyment of life that Tina demonstrated was a total disregard for local laws. Danny reported the following incident to the social worker who was assigned to his case.
On a Saturday afternoon, Danny and Tina had driven to Tina's mountain cabin on a lake about sixty miles from town. This was not unusual as they often spent a good deal of time together. But this day Tina had seemed wilder than her usual self. They swam together, sunned their bodies on the bobbing, white raft that was anchored offshore, and strolled through the woods that surrounded the area.
Tina, in her middle thirties, was an attractive, sexual woman. Her hair was very blonde and she kept it that shade by constant visits to the beauty shop. She had an exquisite body, with all the lines and curves and swoops of one much younger. Her body was particularly noticeable this day, Danny has reported, because his aunt wore a new bikini. It made the boy nearly tremble with excitement. The bra top of the garment was very narrow, and because Tina's tits were large and firm, the bra concealed a mere third of them. Even her nipples seemed to want to come into view as they pressed firmly against the tight fabric of her swim suit, jutting outward very obviously. The bottom of the suit dipped very low beneath her navel, held together at the sides by mere strips of cloth. When the suit was wet it clung to her in an almost wanton effect, which seemed to please Tina intensely for she kept running her hands over her body, adjusting and straightening at her skimpy garments.
Danny has said that during their swim he could not help but react to the closeness of her body. Their nearly naked forms came into contact frequently, bumping against each other, thighs nicking together, Tina's tits burrowing at Danny's bare forearm; all the maneuvers, whether intentional or not at this time, that were usually reserved for youth and youth's seductiveness of each other.
Following a long swim and a long period of sun bathing, Tina and her nephew returned to the cottage. She prepared a light lunch, then turned to her nephew and asked, "Before we eat, Danny, how about a drink?"
"I don't drink, but it sounds great," Danny answered eagerly.
"It is great," she said.
"And it is against the law," he reminded her playfully. "I'm a minor, you know."
"I know," she said, staring straight into his eyes. "What shall we have Martinis or Manhattans?"
"I'll leave it up to you," he told her.
"Martinis then," she said. "They're delicious."
Danny was not sure that he liked the drinks, but he did consume two of them very quickly and then he felt the first effects of alcohol. He did not especially like the slight dizziness that he felt, but he was surprised by the hardness that had come at his thighs and he enjoyed the reckless feeling the drinks gave him.
When they were finished with their drinks, Danny said to his aunt, "Shit, these are sure strong. I'm beginning to feel real crazy. Hell, I've even got a hard-on! I didn't know alcohol would do that to me. And just think, you're taking the chance of getting arrested by serving me liquor."
"Yes, isn't it exciting?"
"Exciting?"
"Breaking the law. Don't you find it exciting to do that sometimes, Danny?"
"Usually I'm scared to break it," he replied.
"Well, you shouldn't be, Danny," Tina said. "You should learn to take everything in life as something that either stimulates you or does not stimulate you."
"And breaking the law stimulates you, eh?" he asked.
"Most of the time," she admitted. "But only in very special ways."
"The fuzz sure don't stimulate me," he laughed.
Tina laughed, too, much as if Danny was the funniest comedian in the world.
And then aunt and nephew had their lunch. Then they prepared to return to the town. Usually, Tina let Danny drive her expensive foreign car whenever they were together, but this day she took the wheel. She drove very fast, and with the top down and her golden hair flying and twirling as they moved, she looked nearly as young as her nephew.
"You'll get a ticket for sure," Danny warned.
"Let them try."
"They can catch you, too."
"So, let them. But I'll give them a run for their money first."
Much later, Danny was to remember that day and the way his aunt flaunted the law. The way she did, he was to say later, was not as if her wealth allowed her special license, but rather as if she enjoyed breaking the law for the sheer joy of it.
A few weeks later, Danny's summer vacation started. The whole summer was before him and he began making plans. He had considered working during the summer months, but Tina talked him out of it.
"You'll be working the rest of your life," she told him. "Take this one summer to enjoy yourself really have a groovy time."
Then she suggested that he accompany her on a trip East. The trip could be a sort of a present to him. And while there she would outfit him with an entire new wardrobe so that he would be equipped for school in the autumn. Danny was excited about the trip.
They took a jet and it was Danny's first experience flying and everything about it seemed to thrill him. The city excited him, too. Never had he seen anything so dramatic, large and filled with such varied people and places to go. Tina saw to it that they went everywhere together. They went to the theatre, did the sightseeing bit at the tall buildings, museums, parks, everything. And Danny could not get over the fact that in the city he was treated maturely. He was astonished when a waiter asked him "what he wanted from the bar."
"Man I must look awfully old," he said after the waiter had left the table.
"No, dear, it's not that," Tina said. "Don't forget that here, eighteen is the minimum age for drinking."
"Hell!"
"Yes, they treat you quite grown-up, don't they?" .
"They sure do."
"And, of course, you are growing up," she said, her eyes moving over his strong, young body as if she were assessing him.
That same night, after Tina and Danny had gone to their separate rooms which were situated exactly next to each other, Danny found himself remembering his aunt's vivaciousness. He could not keep from thinking of her charm and beauty, and her kind of wild, unconventional attitudes about life and laws and nearly everything. Roger had special reasons to think of the womanliness of his aunt, this night. Only recently had he given up the status of virgin. Late at night, following one of the many parties that preceded the ending of the school year, he and a girl friend had parked in a lonely lovers' lane. This procedure was routine for Danny as much as it was the other young people of the town. But this night there was the extra excitement of a party where some liquor had been consumed, and the great irresistibility of the girl herself who seemed more daring and sexual than at any time Danny could remember. So the petting had become intense; the tongue kisses sharper and hotter and the hands of both the young people, more adventuresome. Danny's fingers played at the girl's erect nipples, caressing and fondling at her flesh. Her fingertips began to grasp at the cloth of his trousers, and then gently unzipped and withdrew and then grasped at his hard cock in fierce determination. And then they arrived at the point from which there was no turning back. Suddenly, the girl hunched low on the front seat of the car and her skirt had been pushed up high and billowing around her waist and Danny was above her, fumbling, making separations, then thrusting forward on his first fucking experience.
Although Danny's first attempt at fucking had not been entirely satisfactory because of the inexperience of both the girl and himself, the action did leave its mark upon Danny. Twice more before the end of the school year, he and the girl fucked again. Danny spent a good deal of time reminiscing about the affairs. And, the provocation of his attractive aunt made him think about them all the more. He frequently began thinking of how it would be to see his aunt totally naked. His cock would get hard just thinking about the furry goodness she held between her thighs and several times he had come just from thinking about fucking her.
Danny was dressed in only shorts, lounging on the bed in his hotel room when a light tap sounded on the door. He moved from the bed to the door without bothering to cover his nearly naked body. He knew that his aunt was the caller, and with Tina he had always been rather casual.
Danny opened the door. Tina stood before him. She, too, was dressed in a way that revealed much of her body. Her negligee ended at her knees and billowed outward so that occasional flashes of bare thighs were discernible. Beneath the negligee, she wore a short, transparent nightie. The effect was astonishing and highly sexual, Danny quickly learned, for her nipples, hard and pointed, stuck outward from the material in a manner that made her seem more sexual than if she had been nude. Tits and nipples jiggled audaciously, almost in welcome.
"Hi," Tina said. "Thought I'd come over and visit for a bit."
"Oh, yeah. Sure. I'm glad you did."
Danny held open the door and Tina entered the room. His eyes fastened on the sway of her hips and her bouncing tits. When he closed the door behind her, he became aware of the quick effect the sight of her body had on him. His cock was beginning to harden and rise and he hoped his aunt did not notice. But she did. She turned and stared directly at the tenting caused by his prick. She smiled knowingly. Danny flushed, then clumsily hurried to the closet where he caught up a robe and put it on.
Tina went to a large chair that rested in the corner of the room. She sat down. Her negligee and the nightie beneath it pulled high over her thighs. She did not make any effort to adjust it and conceal her flesh. In fact, she crossed her legs, causing the fabric to creep higher still, revealing wisps of cunt hair.
Danny, wearing the robe now, moved to a chair opposite his aunt.
"Did you know that this is illegal?" Tina turned and asked the boy.
"What's illegal?" he asked.
"The two of us being in the same room in a hotel. It's against the law."
"No kidding?"
"That's right. It's illegal for two unmarried people to be in the same hotel room, especially in the condition we're in."
"Condition we're in? What do you mean?"
"The way we're dressed or undressed, I should say."
"Oh." He was contemplative a moment, then said, "But, what the heck, Tina, you are married."
"But not to you, darling."
"Oh, yeah. Sure. I get it. They sure do have some crazy laws, don't they?"
"This one's kind of cute, I think."
He grinned and said, "You would. You think everything's cute especially thumbing your nose at some laws. You really get a kick out of that, don't you?"
"Yes, I guess I do."
They talked another few minutes, then Tina suggested that they have a drink together a nightcap, she called it but Danny didn't have any liquor in his room, of course, so Tina went to hers and brought back a bottle.
"Here we go," she said gaily, lifting the bottle in front of her.
Danny fetched glasses. He settled them on a small cocktail table in front of the small settee that was at one end of the room. He felt excited and the feeling was familiar. Then he remembered it recalled the same feeling during those moments when he knew he was going to fuck the high school girl. At first he thought that was strange. After all, it was his aunt who was guest in his room. But as Tina bent low over the table, pouring them drinks, it didn't seem nearly so strange. Her tits bulged out of her bodice. They rather loomed at Danny, and he flushed hot and stared hard, hoping to see beyond them to their red-brown nipples. In a moment, he did. Tina bent even lower as she adjusted the table to the settee and this motion brought Danny the view that he desired. New heat swept him as his cock began to throb in a new manner, bringing intense heat to his thighs.
"Now, we're all set," Tina exclaimed.
She moved around the table and took a place next to Danny. She sat very close to him. Then she reached forward and handed him his glass. She turned to him, they clicked their glasses together, then drank some of the unmixed liquor. Danny tried not to make a face as the liquid heat traveled to his stomach. Hell, it was sure fire-hot!
Soon, Tina began to giggle and acted generally as if she were drunk. Danny knew that it wasn't possible, still she acted that way.
"Oh, God, but I feel sexy tonight," she said, when her giggling had quieted.
"Is that what it is?" he asked.
"Yeah. This trip has been wonderful being with you and everything, Danny but it's almost over and I wish there was some groovy kick we could get out of it before we leave town."
"Do you want to go someplace tonight? Maybe a show or something?"
"No, baby. We've been every place and done everything."
Tina returned to finishing her drink, then replaced the glass on the table, her tits again coming into view as she did so. Then she raised and twisted her body to better face Danny. She curled her feet now bare, for she had kicked off her slippers under her buttocks and arched a bit.
Danny looked at his aunt over the rim of his glass, as he sipped at the liquor. He became intrigued with her lips. They seemed so red and kind of lush, so sweet and puffy, that he began wondering if the kiss of a mature woman was the same as he had known from his girl friends at school. He even began to wonder vaguely how it would feel to have her red lips kissing at his cock, her tongue licking along his pecker as she would suck his last drop of come. His thoughts became even more intense as he wondered how it would feel to lap at her cunt, perhaps even nibble at her ass-hole? Would she like that? Or would she push him aside as a child?
"Don't you hate to have our trip end, Danny?" Tina asked.
"Yeah. It's been great."
"Oh, God, but I'm restless tonight."
In a kindly gesture, Danny reached his hand out and stroked the back of his aunt's long, blonde hair, running his fingertips gently across her neck and shoulders.
She closed her eyes tightly as if it would help her keep the contact alive. Then she turned her head quickly and snuggled her cheek against Danny's hand.
"Ummmmm, you touch me nicely," she mumbled.
Danny's hand hesitated. Then he started to withdraw it, saying, "What the hell, Tina, I'm I'm sorry. We've got got to be careful."
"Why?" As she asked the question, she caught his hand in hers and returned it to her cheek where she held it gently. "Why do we have to be careful, Danny?"
"The hotel and everything," he answered in a strained tone. "You said it's illegal for us to even be here together. Remember?"
She kissed his hand, and with her lips still pressed against it, she said, "Baby, that's not all that illegal about this deal."
She raised her face to him, then reached both her hands out and caught them behind his head. She pulled him forward. At first, he strained against her hold, but soon he moved of his own will.
Their incestuous kiss was hot. Their tongues clashed and nibbled. Tina was fiercely moved. Her head shook from side to side as she attempted to consume the giving of her young nephew. And as they kissed, Danny gained confidence. His arms shot around his aunt: He jerked her close to him. Tina burrowed her tits as hard as possible against him. Their bodies scorched each other's. They moaned undistinguishable words into each other's mouth and the words carried strange, wild tastes and odors. Tina could feel Danny's hard cock pressing against her body, seeking entrance, it seemed, as he pressed tightly against her soft body.
"Oh, Danny, Danny," Tina cried, pulling her mouth from his and burying it into his neck, and then taking loving nibbles upon his neck flesh, then licking at his youthful flesh, tugging at the hair which fell to just above his shoulders. She sighed as she nuzzled even closer.
Danny remained silent. He seemed almost frightened and incapable of words. But his arms were tight around his aunt. They gripped at her body, bringing her closer to his own trembling form.
Soon, Tina's wishes were whispered into the boy's ear.
"Fuck me, Danny. Please. Please, fuck me, Danny. I need you so much. I need your cock. I need to feel your prick deep inside my cunt. I've wanted it for so long. Please, let's do it now. Let's fuck right this minute. I'll show you a time you'll never forget. I promise you." Tina was almost sobbing as she voiced her request.
"I I can't," he stuttered. "You're my aunt! We can't fuck together. It's it's not natural!" Danny blurted out.
"That doesn't matter, darling. Truly, it doesn't. Trust me."
"But...."
"Shhh," she whispered. "Be quiet now. We can talk later. Right now we have other, better things to do. Just do as I say and everything will be just fine. You'll feel the best you ever have, Danny, just trust me. Your aunt knows what's best for you. You know that, don't you?"
Danny was quiet a moment, then started to speak again, but once more Tina hushed him to be quiet, at the same time bringing her hand down his chest in a long trail of his body, moving her hot fingers from his cheek to his neck, down his chest, and finally past his waist and below it where she made a deliberate grab at his hard cock which was already protruding through the fabric of his robe.
"Oh, God!" Danny exclaimed.
Tina gripped at his cock harder still, then she started a slow, deliberate movement.
Now, Danny did move. He pushed his aunt a little away from him, then bunched the front of her negligee and nightie together in his hand. For a moment, he held it in a fierce knot. Then he jerked it downward. There was a shriek of ripping fabric. The negligee and nightie opened down Tina's front like a long incision of herself. Her tits tumbled forth. Her navel winked. The muscles beneath it contracted. And then both her hands shot forward to rip at Danny's robe, pulling apart fiercely to bring his naked form into total view.
Within seconds, they were nude. In another minute they had finished with the new kisses, accomplished while they stretched naked and together upon the couch. And then Tina's words ended any consideration of more prolonged love play. Her body trembled as she spoke.
"Fuck me, darling fuck me now," she demanded urgently.
Danny drew back. He sat hunched on his knees for a moment and looked at the long, alluring body of his aunt, naked and slightly arched, awaiting the first touch of true incest. Then Danny heaved forward and she knew that first incestuous touch, knew it and the deep, continued drive of her nephew's hard cock as he rammed it time and time again into her slushy cunt, pushing and withdrawing with the vigor that only youth can muster for fucking. Her juices trickled down between her thighs as he continued with his battering. His cock drove deeper and deeper into her cunt hole as Danny fucked his aunt with a ferocity never before known to him. His aunt moaned beneath his passionate cock beating, as he exclaimed incoherent sounds from deep within himself, grinding into her pussy flesh, bringing her vibrating cunt to a boil of cunt juices.
They were frantically driven. They thrust and fought each to the other with power and desire that seemed made from a million poppy seeds of aphrodisiac. And yet it was the fucking itself the incest that was all the aphrodisiac that was needed by Tina. And for Danny, it was the lure of a naked body, completely available to him after only a few weeks since becoming initiated in the ways of sex. This mind-blowing fuck was the greatest ever for Danny. His cock blows continued to barrage her cunt mound until he began to feel the rumblings of the deep, unrestrained emotions that would soon erupt. He quivered as he pummeled her depths until the hot, stringy cock juice ran into her pussy hole, coating her walls with his jism as he blasted into her. And then his come mingled with her own cunt juices and trickled down her inner thighs warmly in gooey strings of male and female fuck juices.
And then Danny slumped atop his aunt, totally spent exhausted from his fuck labors.
"Oh, man," Danny groaned as he slid off his aunt's hot, wet body. "Oh, man, what a fuck! I never knew it could be that good. Shit, you drained the last drop of come from my cock like an automatic juicer and now I feel like I'll never walk again."
Tina laughed at her nephew's remarks. "Oh, darling, you can't mean that. Why after a few minutes' rest, we'll have another go at it. I can't let all that good cock power go to waste now, can I?" She teased her nephew as she ran her fingertips gently over his flaccid organ as it lay limp across his belly. And then she brought her lips close to his cock, gently showering it with whiffs of breath, alternating with gentle kisses. She stroked and kissed. She tongued and licked. She rearranged her naked body so that her cunt came into contact with her nephew's own lips. Danny knew what she had in mind. He didn't object. Danny welcomed her advances at orality. He had often thought of just this same thing and now he would be able to do the sort of kissing and tasting of her cunt flesh he had often dreamed about. He knew he would even eat at her ass-hole before the night was over. They would fuck many times over before Danny would collapse totally spent and unable to bring about another erection of his cock flesh. Danny looked forward to what the next few hours would bring. He and his aunt would fuck and lick and suck and do all the things that lovers do. Danny had a good teacher.
Tina and Danny continued as blood-kin lovers for three years. During that time, Tina again and again displayed her excitement for having broken the taboo of incest and the laws against it. During this same time, Danny showed fits of deep remorse and guilt. Again and again he tried to control his desire for the incestuous affair. Always, however, Tina offered too much provocation for his will to endure. Always, he fell as the helpless victim before her teasing, her threats, her tears, and the gross audacity of her delightful body.
In his junior year at college, Danny's marks began to slip badly. He also lost interest in the sports that had earned him a scholarship. The army draft loomed as a reality, and Danny, probably seeking an excuse to free himself from his affair with his aunt, enlisted in the navy and was sent to a distant state.
For a while Tina was crushed with loneliness. Then she began to find new lovers, usually young ones who made her remember Danny and their blazing, incestuous affair. Tina often thought back to that night in the hotel room; the night of their first fucking. She recalled fondly how she had taught her young nephew to eat her cunt and then how he had eagerly devoured her cunt flesh until she had to call a halt to his actions. She smiled as she remembered how he insisted on eating her ass-hole with such determination that she had been almost frightened. Tina recalled with delight how he had offered his youthful cock for her kissing and how she had gone down on him, working her tongue about his prick until he had spurted into her throat and she had tasted his gooey cock milk. Tina had had her incestuous affair with her young nephew and she often recalled their many incidents of lovemaking while she continued searching out youthful partners to fulfill her sexual cravings.
CASE HISTORY 9: A LITTLE GIRL FOR FATHER AND UNCLE
Melissa H. had been a frequent lover with her father. They had entered into incestuous relations shortly after the hospitalization of Mrs. H. for a lengthy illness. At the time Melissa had been twelve, a beautiful, budding child, just entering into womanhood. Mr. H. was quick to notice Melissa's attributes and take advantage of them. His daughter had not been reluctant to engage in lovemaking with her own father. In fact, she had often daydreamed of just these same experiences and was more than willing to bring the matter to reality.
The incest between father and daughter was short-lived. Mr. H. became highly despondent, took to excessive drinking and eventually took his own life. Melissa wept dramatically over her father's suicide, saying to herself, "Oh, God, what'll I do without daddy. I'm going to miss his fucking so much. I needed him so much. Where will I find a cock to replace daddy's?"
At thirteen, Melissa was without the only lover she had ever known. That it had been expressed through physical acts, did not matter. Incest had been love to Melissa. Without it, there was a vacancy within her mind and body that seemed incapable of fulfillment. For days following the father's death, Melissa took little interest in anything but her memories of the man who had been both her lover and her father.
Mrs. H. seemed little affected by her husband's passing. They had not been compatible for years. Death could not alter that. Mrs. H. continued her promiscuous behavior with scores of men, sometimes even flaunting them in front of her daughter, allowing the men to spend the night, kissing them in front of Melissa and doing everything that a woman would not ordinarily do in front of her child.
"She was just showing off," Melissa once said to her therapist. "My mother was trying to impress me tell me that I wasn't so much just because I was young and pretty, that she was really a hot, groovy bitch."
Mrs. H. had little patience with her daughter. The girl was in the way; her brooding made the mother despondent. There is good reason to believe that the mother knew the reason for the brooding. Once she had even hinted that her daughter and husband had been "fucking." But Mrs. H. largely ignored her child, leaving her care to a governess who had been hired and thereby seeing her offspring as little as possible. The mother did, however, provide something for Melissa that was meant for entertainment. She joined a family club that had many facilities; a gym, a swimming pool, tennis lessons, a bowling alley, modern dance classes, gymnastics and regular Friday and Saturday night jam sessions, where the teenagers were allowed to dance to the rock combos.
Melissa's first trip to the club was grudgingly made. But it suddenly caught her interest and eased some of the depression that had been her constant companion since the day of her father's death. Melissa began attending the club after school as often as she could. Soon, she was attending almost daily, for she discovered the boys who were also members the boys who showed great interest in her young body.
Within a month, Melissa had made several alliances with boys. She was different than the other girls of the club. She seemed very worldly, and her conversation had taken on a sexual connotation. She quickly developed the reputation of being "fast." Melissa was amused by this. She soon set out to prove the validity of the title.
Some of Melissa's conversations with boys during her fifteenth year left little doubt why some mothers would not allow her the company of their sons. Her voice was deep and gruff and was sexually centered. "She sounds exactly like a young whore," one mother said. Conversations between Melissa and different boys of the club were psychotherapeutically recalled and are produced here in nearly the same terms in which they were reported.
Scene: The club tennis court, completely secluded by high bushes and lush trees.
Characters: Melissa and a seventeen-year-old boy.
Dialogue:
"Hey, Melissa, how come you wear leotards for tennis instead of the usual things the girls wear?" the boy asked her.
"Because it shows me off to better advantage than those crummy tennis dresses and bloomers," she answered.
"It sure does," the boy agreed.
"Glad you noticed," she told him.
"You got anything on underneath that?" he asked.
"Of course not, silly. You're not supposed to wear anything under leotards, except maybe some tights. But I'm not dancing, I'm playing. See...." She inflated her tits so that her nipples struck against the stretch material of her blue leotard.
"Oh, boy," the boy gasped.
"Do you want to touch my tits?" she asked.
"Sure."
"Well, go ahead, it's all right. I don't mind."
The boy touched first one breast, then the other, then the first again with a hard, squeezing motion.
"That's enough just a little sample of the merchandise, that's all," Melissa said, pulling away from his hand.
"Jeez, you're a funny one," the boy said.
"Why?"
"Because you're not like the other girls. Hell, most of them act as if they're too good to even talk to you, to say nothing about touching their tits. But you man, you're sure different."
"Have you ever fucked, Bruce?" she asked.
"What?"
"I asked if you've ever fucked," she returned.
He looked away, then said, "No. I came pretty close a couple of times. But I've got virgin cock so far."
"Would you like to fuck with me?" laughed.
"Shit! You bet I would!"
"Well, maybe I'll let you someday."
"Groovy!"
* * * * *
Scene: The club recreation room. It's dark. The characters, Melissa and a sixteen-year-old boy, are sitting on a sofa in the deserted room. No one is around. Most of the people have either left or are at the bar having a few final evening drinks before going home. The following conversation took place between Melissa and the boy, Jeff.
"It's nice here," the boy said.
"It sure is."
"You're nice, too, Melissa."
"No, I'm not."
"You are, too!"
"No, nice, I'm not," she said. "That is, there's lots of nice things about me but I'm not nice the way you mean. I'm the opposite of nice. I'm bad. Bad as hell."
"Well, I think you're nice anyway," he said. There was a pause, then he added, "Just 'cause some people say you've been fucking with the boys around here doesn't mean you're bad." Another pause, the boy's voice asking, "Do you really fuck around so much, Melissa? As much as the kids say you do?"
"Oh, shit," she said brusquely. "Of course I fuck around. Why should I deny it? I like fucking around. In fact, I've been thinking how much fun it would be to suck your cock. I just love the taste of cock come!"
"You do?"
"Sure. Ever since daddy and I used to fuck and do some pretty wild sucking, I've never been able to get enough cock juice. I keep remembering how much daddy used to squirt and how I used to lick it all up, cleaning his cock for him. We had a ball! But then he had to get chicken and blow his head off. What a bummer!"
The boy was dumbfounded for a moment, unable to say the words he was thinking. But then he returned to the reality of the moment. "Melissa, will you fuck with me now?"
"Why you goddamned kid, I thought you'd never ask me."
"When can we do it, Melissa?" he asked softly.
"Why right now, you dumb kid. I'll get rid of these clothes and you'll be able to ram your cock into my belly in no time. Come on now, get rid of your clothes so we can get with it, man."
Melissa and Jeff engaged in heated lovemaking that night, while club members were enjoying cocktails in an adjoining clubroom.
* * * * *
Scene: The gymnasium and mats beneath the balcony again.
"Shit, Melissa, don't stretch out on the mats like that. It makes me hot. My cock is pushing up and someone may come by and see us."
"I like to make guys hot," she replied with a laugh, stretching her arms higher over her head in a way that revealed her young body in a very sexy way.
"You do it, kid," the boy said.
"I know it." She giggled, then said, "One look at those goddamn gym shorts of yours and I know how hot you get when you're around me. Shit, don't you ever wear a jock?"
"I've got one on," he said sourly.
She giggled, then laughed very hard.
* * * * *
Melissa H., recovering from the loss of her father and the sexual life she had known with him, soon did meet with many boys of the club in acts of intercourse and its aberrations. Her psychiatrist has stated that had she not known premature sex had it not been incestuously oriented she verylikely would not have dived so deeply into a promiscuous life at such an early age.
In her sex life with the various boys of the club, Melissa was discreet in only one respect. Before she allowed a boy the delight of her body, she insisted that he fortify himself with contraceptives. Once the boy was securely arranged, she gave herself to him freely. And as often as he wanted or until she became bored with his advances.
It is obvious that sex with boys near her own age proceeded from some point other than the attainment of gratification. Although she had very early become attuned to orgasm and had achieved it many times with her father, Melissa did not know a similar experience with the boys of the club. A physical problem could have been one of the reasons. Most of the boys had little endurance and usually experienced premature ejaculation. But Melissa's psychiatrist expressed the view that it was possible that if she could not have a father, or a father-figure, as her lover, she would always fall short of full sexual satisfaction for herself. The recreated scene of her first sexual experience with a male relative, other than her father, carries this theory out in strong detail for the stranger-lover was a mature man and the conversation that preceded the act was father-figure oriented.
* * * * *
It was summer and hot and Melissa decided to use the day for aloneness and for sun bathing. She dressed in a low-cut swim suit that was in many respects more daring than the briefest bikini. Then, over it, she pulled on a see-through shirt and hot pants. She wore skimpy sandals on her feet.
Melissa left her home and walked the half dozen blocks to a park that bordered a giant lake. The park was absent of people for it was still early in the day. Melissa liked it that way. She wanted only to be alone and gaining the benefit of the hot sun.
After looking over the area for a spot that would provide comfort and space, she settled about fifty yards away from a small harbor that jutted landward from the lake. It was lined with cruisers and sailing boats and a few luxurious cruisers. Melissa recalled vaguely that her Uncle Ralph had a cruiser moored somewhere in the vicinity. She thought how she would like to be able to see it and mused about going down later and finding it. Her gaze returned to the scene of the harbored boats. It was very pleasant, had a mood of wealth and success about it that Melissa liked very much. A few of the boats had people working upon them, scraping old paint, applying new, polishing, fussing with motors, testing sails, doing all the things that landlubbers who are weekend sailors like to do. But most of the boats were absent of their crews. They seemed lonely, and perfectly matched the mood Melissa had attained since her father's suicide.
Melissa pulled off her blouse and pulled down her shorts from her hips. She spread them on the grass, making a kind of beach blanket effect for her sunning body. Then she reclined and stretched on her back to face the sun. She stretched her arms high above her head, then lowered them to stretch them sideways from her body. She made a delightfully provocative picture. Her body glistened beneath the sun, spotting her flesh with dewdrops of perspiration. Most of her body was exposed. Her bra was tiny, merely covering half of her tits which had grown full and mature beneath the attentive hands and mouth of her father. Her legs were strong and firm, and with the bright pink toe-nail polish catching sunrays, it was as if heat shot upward to rage all of her body. The bottom part of her swimsuit was tiny, too. It dipped far below her navel, held together at the sides by tiny bows, prettily setting off the V between her lush thighs. An observer even if he were not observant could notice that as she breathed, Melissa's small, hard, red-brown nipples peeked in and out of view.
It is of exceptional value that psychiatry has provided the means to look within a subject's mind to record and report for the benefit of other cases, other eras, other problems. Melissa's thoughts this day, as later revealed to her therapist, were very interesting to observe, for they found the subject at a time shortly following her father's suicide, yet still preceded any new sexual attachment. And, although it is not unusual that a fourteen-year-old girl's thoughts should be of sex and fucking and all the dramatic involvements which approached womanhood, it is novel that Melissa, who was candid and bold about incest-sex, should daydream sex in abstractions. It has been stated that this mechanism took place within the subject's mind because the girl wished to not have any other sex except that which she had known with her deceased father.
Nevertheless, Melissa, three-quarters nude and lying beneath a blazing sun, dream-wandered in her mind, touching at many strange images of people and things that, to the professional, represented sex and its impending impact.
Quite naturally, Melissa entertained memories of her father. She recalled the thrill of her first orgasm, and even sought to recall whether or not there had been pain when her hymen had been broken. She could not remember. There was too much of that first sexual experience to recall; too much of sounds and smells and the mumbled voices of her father and herself. Soon, Melissa was finished with memories of her father. She tried to make her mind a blank. It was difficult, for visions appeared, crowding for her attention. There was a black box, a lady's black purse, its cheap gold clasp open. And then there was another box. This one was green. It contained snakes, green, too, and winding themselves around each other in a way that made it impossible to identify any single serpent. After the snakes, there was an image of her father again that had apparently been seen by Melissa as a snapshot in a family album, for he was dressed in the clothes of a period that preceded Melissa's birth by more than a full decade. And then that image was blacked out and a new one appeared, also of her father, but in this instance a full-length shot of his naked body, his cock hard and full, protruding from his thighs lustfully. And then the snakes reappeared.
Melissa shifted her position. She moved from her back to her stomach. She cuddled to the clothes that rested between her body and the tufted grass. She felt ticklish. She cuddled closer and felt the sharp pricking feeling of grass ends brushing her. And then her mind filled with the images again. They appeared as foreign shots in a travelogue might appear, sometimes in color, sometimes in black and white, but always with a voice-over narrator whose voice was unmistakably that of her father. But she couldn't understand the words. They were strange. They seemed of another language, yet they had hints of familiarity to them much as if they were lines that had been well rehearsed and were being played back to her for the hundredth time. But still she could not understand.
When the woman's black purse with the gold clasp, now gapping fully open, appeared again Melissa shifted her position and turned on her side. Her tits lounged heavily. Her thighs were tightly pressed together. Her buttocks felt smooth and outlined as indeed they were.
Suddenly, Melissa pushed to a sitting position. She opened her eyes. For a moment, everything was red, then it changed to orange, red again, a darker red, and finally made up the true hues of the day and place. She looked around. The sway of the boats fascinated her. She decided to walk along the sidewalk at the edge of the water and investigate the different crafts, thinking that she may spot her uncle's cruiser.
Melissa left her clothes where they were on the grass. She didn't bother putting on her sandals, either. In only her very brief swim suit, she walked toward the boats. Her body swayed. She wondered if it was contrived. She tried to keep her body very rigid as she moved, but it was impossible. Her hips insisted upon undulating. Her tits could not help but bounce playfully. And her bare stomach was made up of a constant sweep of tight, lean muscles, that rolled like small waves, giving her the impression of one undergoing a dramatic, sensual change.
Melissa passed many boats as she moved slowly down the walk. She paused at several, investigating them with her eyes. She was curious about her uncle's craft. She kept searching, looking carefully over the many boats.
At the end of the line of boats, Melissa paused again, this time in front of a large, very ornate cabin cruiser on which was written "Allegro." This must be Uncle Ralph's, she thought to herself, smiling delightedly. She marveled at the sleekness of the craft and its polished wood. She guessed it slept at least eight people. And then she stretched on her toes and tried to see inside the cabin, but it was too high. The boat, she noticed, was hardly moved by the light waves, so large and stable and steady was it. She walked to the bow. Then she walked to the stern and tried to make out the strange symbols that were on one of the short flags. Then she just stood there, looking at the remarkable cruiser and wondering if her uncle was anywhere aboard.
Melissa called out and received no answer. She called out again. Still no answer. She was sure no one was aboard the boat. She wished someone would appear, particularly wished that her uncle would greet her, for she felt a deep curiosity for the inside. If her uncle showed up, she would ask if she might see the inside of the boat. Her mother had raved about it on many occasions and Melissa had a deep urge to see if her mother was right. She remained by the cruiser a long time, and had just about decided to return to her sunbathing, when an idea struck her. What was wrong with going aboard the boat and looking around? It was her uncle's boat, wasn't it, and that made any inspection all right, didn't it? She would do no harm. It wasn't like breaking into a house, or something. Yes, that was what she would do.
She stepped to the edge of the dock. She looked to the right and the left. Then she made a quick jump and landed on the deck of the cruiser. The deck, heated by the sun during the day, burned Melissa's feet and she did a quick little dance until she found a patch of shade by the cabin hatchway. She paused a moment, then gently opened the door and stepped down the stairs and into a cabin.
It was a large room and Melissa guessed that it was a living room. There was a bar in one corner, two large chairs and a leather couch, plus other assorted furniture. There was carpeting on the floor, too. She walked across it and enjoyed the tickle-feel of the material beneath her bare feet. Then she peeked into an adjoining room and saw that it was made up of several bunks and small vanity tables. Everything seemed so neat and in place. Melissa thought the quarters heavenly. Her mother had been right in her praises about the boat. Melissa now investigated further and found a bathroom she recalled that such places were always called "the head" and two more cabins with tiered bunk beds. And at the very end of all the rooms, there was the kitchen, or galley.
Melissa spent considerable time looking at the small rooms. She was very careful not to touch anything she didn't want to be thought a real, honest-to-goodness intruder; just a self-invited guest and relative of the owner.
Soon, she was sure that she had stayed the limit of her opportunity. She turned away from the galley and proceeded through the bunkrooms to the main cabin. When she reached its doorway, she stopped dead in her tracks. A tall, very handsome, distinguished looking man was standing at the end of the room, obviously awaiting her.
"Oh, God!" she exclaimed, bringing a fist to her mouth in a gesture of fright.
But the stranger was no real stranger. Melissa saw, as he approached closer, that it was her Uncle Ralph, the uncle whom she had not seen for so many years. She ran to greet him, threw her arms about him, squeezed hard and then said, "Oh, Uncle Ralph, it's you! I'm so glad to see you. I didn't recognize you for a moment we haven't seen each other for so long. But it's really you! I'm so happy!" She bubbled over with enthusiasm.
Ralph smiled broadly as he looked down at the scantily clad youngster. "Why, Melissa so you're my stowaway," he laughed. "You're just exactly what I've always wanted aboard a pretty, little stowaway."
"I I'm sorry, Uncle Ralph. I just...."
"No need to be sorry, Melissa. I just thought about you the other day and wondered if perhaps you and your mother would like to take a cruise with me down the coast. And now here you are. I'm really very glad."
"Oh, Uncle Ralph, I'm sorry if I alarmed you by coming aboard."
"Well, don't think a thing about it, dear," he said. "It happens all the time. People just can't resist looking my little cruiser over. And that's whether I'm aboard of not."
Melissa smiled at him. She felt an instant rapport with this uncle she hadn't seen for so many years. And she could not help noticing that he was very handsome, much more handsome than she could remember. He almost looked like a movie actor, or someone of like profession, for although his hair was gray, it was thick and curly and his body showed the results of much sun and physical exercise that kept him in shape. Melissa thought that he must be in his mid-forties.
"Come on now, Melissa, might as well let me show you all there is to see aboard," her uncle said, striding toward Melissa.
"I've seen everything, I believe," Melissa said. "But thanks anyway. I guess I should be moving along. Mother may be worried about me."
"Oh, come now, dear. I haven't seen you for so many years, I'd like to have a long chat with you. And besides, you're my first such pretty stowaway and I'd hate to see you leave so soon."
Melissa laughed.
"Come on, I'll fix you a drink," her uncle said.
"I don't drink," she answered.
"Sure you do. What kind of soda would you like?"
Uncle Ralph walked to the bar. Melissa hesitated a moment, then joined him.
While he made himself a highball and poured an iced glass full of Pepsi for Melissa, he brought her up-to-date on the happenings in his life during the past few years. He explained that he was divorced, semi-retired, and that he spent all of his free time on the boat, sailing from one port to another.
"And I don't have a crew, either," he proudly.
"My, that must be hard," Melissa said.
"Sometimes. In bad weather. But I manage. I always seem to manage."
"Uncle Ralph, you must get very lonely," Melissa said. "But I suppose you have many girl friends you're so handsome and all."
He laughed at her remark. "Well, Melissa, yes, I do have many lady friends, and many who would like to marry me, but I've remained single. I like it that way. I enjoy playing the field and I don't intend to get tied down to another bitch." He blurted out the last word almost angrily and swallowed a healthy mouthful of his drink and then banged it down on the bar.
Melissa didn't pursue the subject further. Her uncle seemed very bitter about the subject of women and, besides, he made a big show of serving Melissa her drink. She accepted it and was ready to sip from the glass when he detained her.
"Oh, no, not yet," he said. He bent down behind the bar. When he raised, he held two cherries that were stabbed with miniature sabers. He dropped them into Melissa's glass, saying, "There we are one for you and one for me but you can have mine so that makes you a double celebrity."
Uncle Ralph raised his glass, muttered a short, nautical toast, then took a swallow of his drink. Then he placed the glass next to Melissa's and walked around the bar. Quickly, he assumed a position on the bar stool next to the one Melissa occupied. He took off his captain's hat and rested it on the bar top.
While they sipped at their drinks and made idle conversation, Melissa became aware of her uncle's eyes upon her. She became aware, too, that his body had inched closer to hers and sometimes touched her at the bare thigh or lightly covered breasts. Melissa was not surprised by this maneuver. In fact, she knew that her uncle was quite a lady's man and she liked his attention. She hadn't known such attention from a relative for a long time, not since the fucking sessions she had had with her father.
Melissa began thinking of her father again. But this time, there was no sadness connected with the thought. She felt quite comfortable and sensed that it was because of her uncle's presence, because of the fact that he so strongly reminded her of her father, and because of his easy, informal and friendly manner.
"Uncle Ralph, you haven't mentioned your children. I remember that you had two sons and a daughter. Where are they now?"
His smile faded as he answered. "Jack was killed in Vietnam and Mary and Sally are both living with their mother. I haven't seen the girls for over three years. Their bloody bitch of a mother won't let them come to visit me, for fear I'll corrupt them! But, what the hell, I have you here right now and we should be talking of far more pleasant matters."
Melissa felt like crying. "Oh, what a shame. I'm I'm so terribly sorry."
"Don't feel sorry for me," he barked back at Melissa. "That was a long time ago and I don't think about it now. No use in living in the past."
"And now you just sail the lakes," Melissa said.
"Yes. The lakes and the oceans. The cruiser is large enough to handle all kinds of waters."
"That sounds so exciting, Uncle Ralph. I wish I could be just like you. Free and able to do whatever I wanted. That's what I'd like."
Melissa swung her legs around in order to attain a position where she could better face her uncle. As she did so, she saw that his eyes were directed boldly at the crevice between her tits. And again, Melissa didn't mind that he was looking at her with such desire. She liked it. She even breathed deeply, hoping that the sight of her swelling tits and peeking nipples would please him. It did.
"You're very beautiful, Melissa," he said suddenly, not even bothering to move his eyes from her full tits.
"Not really, I'm not," she said. "I'm just kind of healthy looking."
"Oh, you're that all right." His eyes moved from her tits to her bare midriff to the puff of her cunt mound and then to her bare legs.
Melissa shifted slightly on the bar stool. She felt very warm. And she regretted that she had not seen her uncle sooner. She wished she could stay for a long time and visit with this family relative who put her so at ease.
"Now, you tell me about the family," he said. "I haven't seen anyone for so long, it's hard to remember faces."
"There's not much to tell. You must know that daddy is dead. As for mother, well, she has her job and her friends and she lets me do just about as I please. But we get into some fierce arguments, especially since daddy's death, but I guess we'll manage. I really miss daddy. He was so good to me."
Uncle Ralph smiled as Melissa spoke. He smiled in a manner that hinted of knowledge; hinted of the knowledge of the sexual relationship she had enjoyed with her father. Melissa wondered briefly if perhaps her father had written to Uncle Ralph about the happenings, but then she shrugged her shoulders silently and gave it no further thought.
Uncle Ralph made a new drink for himself and supplied Melissa with another Pepsi. When he moved to rejoin her, he came around the other side of the bar and passed behind Melissa. She felt the brush of his clothing against her buttocks at the place where they jutted over the edge of the bar stool. And she felt him pause directly behind her, too. She remembered the hardness of her father's cock, recalled the many times that he had come up behind her to wrap his arms around her front and jam her close to his thrusting hips. She missed that feeling. And she felt sorry when her uncle continued past her to reclaim his seat. For a moment, it was almost as if it was her father standing behind her again, getting ready to fuck her with a passion known only between father and daughter.
Melissa and her uncle talked for another fifteen minutes. Then he made a suggestion that met with Melissa's instant approval.
"Would you like to take a little ride in the boat, Melissa?" he asked. "I'm sure your mother wouldn't mind. After all, I am one of the family and you're very safe with me."
"Oh, I'd love to go," Melissa said happily. "I know I should be getting home, but mother won't mind, I guess. She's probably gone out herself already."
Melissa helped free the cruiser from its moorings and they were off. She was surprised that the boat moved so speedily through the water. But she was surprised at the change that took place in her uncle once they were cast off from the shore. He seemed harsher and more sexually inclined. Melissa also noticed that there was a tenting at his trousers. His cock was rising, she thought to herself. Just like daddy's used to.
"Come here and I'll let you steer," he said.
Melissa moved next to him.
"Place your hands on either side of the wheel and keep it steady," he instructed.
He raised his hands from the wheel and Melissa took it over. Her hands moved a bit and Ralph, from behind her, wound his arms around her and clamped his hands on top of hers firmly.
"Easy does it," he breathed softly.
As Melissa directed the boat towards the middle of the lake, she became very conscious of her uncle behind her. His body thumped against her from time to time. And once, when her hands loosened their grip, he reached for her hands but instead cupped her tits.
Melissa did not say anything. But she turned her head and looked at him.
"You know what the score is, don't you, Melissa?" he asked, his voice suddenly going gruff sounding. "I know what you and your father were up to. I received letters from him. I guess he had to tell someone. That was quite a thing he had going for himself. I didn't realize that you were such a looker, though. Now I can see why he had to fuck you!"
"Oh, Uncle Ralph, I didn't know that daddy wrote to you about it. He promised he wouldn't tell anyone. He promised!" With that Melissa broke into deep sobs.
"Oh, come on now, baby. Don't put on such a scene for my benefit. I know what you both did and I know that your dad enjoyed it. Now what do you think I brought you out to the middle of the lake for? Do you think it was just to admire the scenery? I've got a throbbing cock between my thighs just as good as your dad's was, and I intend to put it to good use. Right now!"
Melissa looked at her uncle dumbfounded. She was speechless. This she had not expected from her uncle. She was not frightened, although she cried softly as her uncle maneuvered the boat to a spot that was shielded by an outpoint of land. Ralph had taken over the wheel and now glided the cruiser inward and finally cut the motor. Then he released the anchor and the boat halted after making a slight jolt.
"Shall we go below?" Melissa's uncle smiled at her, the lustful look plainly visible in his eyes.
"I I don't think we should, Uncle Ralph."
"Oh, come on, kid. I've thought of just one thing since I saw you. I've got to get some of that young pussy and I won't take your no for an answer. Now, let's get down there and fast."
Melissa looked at her uncle for a long moment, then she turned and followed him down to one of the larger cabins.
"Don't you want to fuck with me, Melissa?" he asked her.
"It's not that, Uncle Ralph. It's that you remind me so much of daddy. It's hard to get accustomed to the fact that you're really not daddy. You're my Uncle Ralph and I guess I love you but...." She paused, unable to continue.
"Oh, baby, I know how you must be feeling, but I promise you, I won't hurt you. Really I won't. It'll be just as good as your fucks were before, honestly. I'll be gentle and slow with you. I'll show you how a real cock can handle you. I know just how to do it. Remember I had two daughters."
Melissa was only mildly surprised and only for a few short moments. So, she thought, Uncle Ralph has been tasting virgin cunt as well. How very, very interesting. Maybe he'll be as good as daddy.
Ralph escorted Melissa below as if she were a queen from a mighty land. But once downstairs, he turned and opened his arms, drawing her into his clasp tenderly, lovingly, kissing at her cheeks softly.
Melissa didn't hesitate a moment. She flung herself within the secure prison of his mature arms. Ralph's hands worked hard as his mouth caught hers and he knew the shocking thrill of the young tongue darting to his pleasure.
"Ah," moaned Melissa as her uncle's lips swirled above her own, his tongue pushing into hidden crevices of her young mouth. "Oh, Uncle Ralph, I feel so...."
"Shhh," her uncle reprimanded. "Right now I just want to kiss you. We'll have time for talking much later. Let's concentrate on fucking."
Melissa giggled somewhat but she did as her uncle requested. She stopped talking and gave herself over totally to the feelings of the moment. Her uncle's lips kissed fervently at her young lips and then he moved down to her neck, nibbling at her ears and then he moved still further downward. His arms reached around her back and quickly the bra top of her brief bikini was discarded. Her small titties bounced into freedom and were quickly devoured by her uncle's hungry lips. He bit and tugged at first one nipple then the other, playfully drawing upon her tittie flesh. Melissa could not refrain from moaning out in delight at the sensations that were rippling through her. She could feel the dampness begin at her thighs as her pussy lips began to seep love juices caused by the loving of her uncle. The uncle who so much resembled her dead father. She wiggled about and herself began to draw off her bikini bottoms, pulling desperately at her own hips. Her uncle smiled as he realized what she was doing and then he gently drew away her hands.
"Leave that to me, dear," he smiled. "I love to undress lovely girls like yourself. In fact, I've made it my avocation." He leaned over Melissa and began to draw the soft fabric down over her thighs, then her knees, until she stood naked in all her loveliness before him. "Ah, just as I expected," he sighed. "Just a little muff but such a lovely muff hiding all that cunt goodness. May I kiss it, dear?"
Melissa could only nod her head in compliance. The sensations of the moment were so overpowering that she was unable to verbalize her agreement. Her uncle swept her up in his strong arms and then carried her over to one of the bunks, laying her down very gently. He looked at her longingly, lustfully and then he began to discard his own clothing. In moments he stood before her, naked and ready to proceed. His cock waved at Melissa, strong and hard and already weeping white fluid through the head. Melissa drew up and grabbed at his cock, bringing it to her lips, sucking quickly upon his throbbing lance. "Mmmmm," she moaned happily, "I just love cock juice. It's been so long since I've had any."
Her uncle was pleased at her action and speedily he made arrangements on the bunk so that his head was facing her youthful cunt. Melissa's head was facing her uncle's strong thighs, his cock slapping against her cheek. They both knew exactly what to do. They wasted no time. Quickly, Melissa drew her uncle's cock into her mouth, sucking loudly upon his male flesh as she slurped hungrily over his organ. Uncle Ralph pursed his lips, held her puffy cunt folds apart, and then blew delightful sensations into Melissa's depths. And then he shot out his thick tongue and began to lick at the pink flesh, pinching playfully at times as he lapped at her slit, tasting of her cunt fluids as he worked desperately over his niece. And then the sucking was not enough. They both required a closer mingling. Melissa's uncle withdrew his cock from her desperate mouth, and moved down her naked body until he was in position to consummate another loving, the fucking that they both so eagerly now awaited. Their naked bodies trembled in anticipation of the ramming that Melissa's uncle was about to effect.
"Oh, Uncle Ralph," Melissa called out. "Please hurry! Please fuck me, now! I need you so badly. I can't stand to wait any longer. Please hurry, please!"
"Yes, dear," whispered her uncle. "I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to fuck you until your cunt juices run dry. I've needed this just as much as you have. So, let's shut up and fuck!"
Nothing further was said between uncle and niece. They moved about frantically on the bunk as cock was jabbed into hot cunt, as uncle and niece performed incestuous lovemaking with all the force and determination of long-time lovers. The cabin reeked of the odor of incest, as time after time Melissa's uncle slashed into her young cunt, his come-filled cock seeking ultimate satisfaction. His thick shaft kept pounding at her youthful thighs, wringing from her honey pot the last drops of love juices. And then her pink snatch felt the flooding by his own cock juices, as he jetted forth into her cunt hole. He groaned in seemingly total desperation as his jism left him, raining into her depths as his body shook with the sensations of ejaculation and climax. Melissa's own body quivered as she felt the slap of his heavy balls against her cunt lips and then the spurt of cock goo that slowly began to ooze down her inner thighs as it seeped out of her filled cunt hole. Melissa knew satisfaction as well. She knew that state of euphoria that comes from climax, that unrestrained freedom of emotion that came from her very core. She panted while her uncle pummeled her depths with his steel cock and then she screamed out as she reached her climax, drawing her long fingernails across her uncle's bare back, the droplets of blood bringing a tingling warmth to her fingertips. And then they drew apart and fell into the sleep of satisfied lovers.
Melissa met with her uncle three more times for sexual interludes. Then, as if suddenly shaken with fear, Ralph bid Melissa adieu one night and said that he would not be seeing her again. He was sailing away to the South Pacific in a matter of a few hours and he expected to be gone for many months.
Melissa missed her uncle for a while, but she soon had the boys at the new club to interest her, to tempt, to fuck with her body in an attempt to unleash those titanic things she had experienced with her father, and for a while, with her uncle.
Melissa's teen years were almost revoltingly promiscuous. She estimated for her psychiatrist that she must have been intimate with over twenty boys of the club membership. And this record was compiled before she turned seventeen. Then, bigger adventures awaited her. She began dating older men, and with a few of them knew a semblance of the thrill that had been hers in incest with her father and her uncle.
CASE HISTORY 10: UNCLE, NIECE AND COUSIN
Walter S. lived an existence of self-destruction, a life that sought to break laws for the sheer emotional pleasure that it brought him; for the psychological satisfaction that was necessary to his very existence.
Since his early teen years, Walter S. had been in trouble with the law. Possessed of charm and wit, he usually avoided jail sentences until he was seventeen, at which time he was apprehended in the act of robbing a service station. He was sentenced to several years in the state prison. He served his time and was released on parole. He succeeded in fulfilling the obligations of parole and was, at last, a totally free man.
Walter secured a job in a retail furniture store. He did well and was promoted after a year. He earned a good salary. He started to spend quite a lot of money and in the course of enjoying himself, he encountered Janet A. who was to become his wife. Walter was twenty-three at the time of his marriage. His wife was four years his senior.
Walter has said that one of the things that attracted him to his wife was that "her father was so much against it." This intrigued Walter. Life became a combat for him: He loved nothing better than to goad his future father-in-law in arguments, in almost everything that would let him feel the thrill of victory over another.
"Walter was always elated when he had bested the older man in something," said Walter's psychiatrist. "Naturally, this resulted from some father-feelings of his own. And it resulted from something else, too. Fatherhood even father-in-lawhood, represents authority, the same kind of authority as a government or the police or prison officials. Walter needed to reject law, fight it, insult it, show his contempt for it in every way possible. It was part of the inner drive toward his own destruction."
Walter settled down with his twenty-seven-year-old wife. After a year of apartment living, they bought a home. Walter worked hard to make it somewhat of a showplace. His wife, aware of Walter's prison record from their first date, thought it wonderful how well Walter had "adjusted to society and its demands."
During their second year of marriage, Janet's parents were killed in an airplane crash. Janet's younger sister, Donna, was left without a home or parents. Only fifteen and in her first year of high school, the girl faced a life of orphan proportions. And then Janet asked Walter if Donna might come and make her home with them.
"Sure," he said at once. "Your old man never treated her very well anyway."
And so fifteen-year-old Donna moved in with Walter and Janet.
Walter didn't mind having Donna around the house at all. She was very attractive. But it is especially interesting that Walter was not motivated sexually toward this child. She was in close proximity to him, she was attractive, and sometimes, it was quite obvious that she was also available. But still, Walter, who was moved to break laws, was not moved to break the one of sexually cohabiting with a minor. Incest did not appear to be his bag at that time.
And then fate dealt again with Walter and his wife. He received a wire from the small town in the West where some of his family still lived. There was a problem and a request. A cousin like Donna, an orphan because of the death of her widowed mother wanted to move South and find a job. Could Walter help? Would he take the cousin, Tammy, into his home until she could make the necessary arrangements for her own place. Walter wired back that he could and would be happy to help out.
"Why not?" he said to his wife. "We've got your kid sister here, might as well have a kin of my own, too. What harm will it do?"
Tammy arrived with a single suitcase and large, round, frightened eyes darting at every corner of the train station. Walter, Janet and Donna met her and welcomed her into their home.
Tammy was seventeen and an exceptional red-haired beauty. She was a tall girl and large boned, but her body was built in perfect proportions with great sexuality as a result. Although timid, and having difficulty with communication because of her introvert quality, Tammy was quite captivating and made an immediate hit with Walter. He had last seen the girl when she was only about eight. It seemed impossible that she had grown up so fast and so beautifully.
A young man himself, Walter nevertheless acted like a father to both Donna and Tammy. The younger girl he helped with school work, the other with looking for a job. Soon, most of his spare time was spent with Donna and Tammy. Walter's wife did not seem to object. This became a matter for considerable psychiatric curiosity from which several opinions were advanced.
"I think the difference in their ages had quite a bit to do with Janet's passivity," said one psychiatrist. "Janet was by nature shy and retiring. She didn't like fuss in any form. And she had always been self-conscious over the fact that she was older than her husband. So, she did not assert herself when she saw that her husband was becoming attached to the two girls in the house. Also, the fifteen-year-old was Janet's younger sister. If it wasn't for Walter's generosity, the child would have been placed in a foster-home or some other type of similar arrangement, therefore, there was an element of gratitude in Janet's attitude toward the situation."
"Janet was non-competitive, and this is why she did not object to her husband paying so much attention to Donna and Tammy," another psychiatrist has said.
Walter made a decided impression upon both the young girls. He looked like a rebel and talked that kind of a role most of the time, although in truth he was law-abiding and quite conservative. However, he did relate experiences he had had while in prison. Unlike most men with a prison record, Walter talked about this part of his life a good deal. He seemed very proud that he had once been a reject from society, that he had been criminally intended and was punished for it. And strangely, when in the company of Donna and Tammy, Walter gave the impression of one soon to flaunt the law again, to break it and show his rebellion. It seemed to be an attitude that he put on especially for the young girls, conscious or not, but there nevertheless. Both girls seemed to enjoy it and were able to press him into a reckless attitude that was not always his true self.
One incident illustrates this to a considerable degree.
Walter invited the three women of his household to go for a ride. It was hot; a ride along the lake would cool them. Janet, Walter's wife, did not want to go. Donna and Tammy accepted the invitation readily and bounded out of the house merrily.
The lakeshore drive was jammed with traffic. Walter grew impatient and began weaving in and out of cars in order to gain the road ahead. But, once freed from a section of bumper-to-bumper traffic, he would only meet another bottleneck. He cursed, hollered at other motorists, cut in and out, and generally drove in a reckless, dangerous manner.
"You'd better be careful," warned Tammy. "You'll get a ticket."
"Oh, hell, who cares!" Walter blurted.
"You mean you don't care?" asked the other girl, Donna.
"I don't give a fuck what they try to do to me," he answered, sounding put-upon and persecuted.
As he continued to disobey traffic laws, Walter seemed to grow happier, as if this very thing gave him the greatest satisfaction. He continued with his reckless driving until both the girls pleaded that he return home immediately. They were no longer enjoying the drive that had brought so much excitement to them earlier.
One night, Walter returned home late from work. He was very drunk. His wife was furious, but rather than argue with him, she left the house, deciding a movie "would calm her." She took her sister, Donna, with her. Tammy remained at home with Walter.
Walter raged around the house, stumbling over furniture, rolling out long curses, and verbalizing his prison experiences, how rotten the officials were, how unfair the law was, how police officials were "crooked." He kept on drinking as he fumed about the house.
Tammy tried to calm him. Once she picked him up from where he had fallen over the arm of a chair. Finally, she put her arm around him, supported him in an upright position, and escorted him toward the bedroom. Walter's hand had reached around his cousin and was suddenly upon her full tits, holding her there. The young girl did not think too much about it. She knew that he was very drunk and clumsy. But when they reached the bedroom, Walter turned and smiled lewdly at the girl.
"Damn nice of you to take me to the bed, little cousin," he smiled lustfully.
"You'd better get some rest, Walter," the girl told him.
He grinned. Then he whipped his arms around her and jerked her body against his. She turned her head as he sought her mouth, but he was too strong. He forced his kiss upon her. Then, with a mighty lurch, he tumbled her onto the bed and leaped atop her. His hard cock was pressing against his trousers painfully and Walter groaned loudly as he moved about on the bed, trying to position himself.
"No, Walter. No, no, no," the girl pleaded. "You must be crazy or something. The police they're going to get. you for this."
"Ah, shut up," he shouted. "I'm gonna fuck you, kid, so you'd better get ready for this old cock of mine. It's full of juice and it needs a cunt hole and yours is the nearest, so just open up those thighs of yours so we can fuck!"
Tammy began to sob as Walter began to fiercely kiss her, biting into her lips as he held her arms pinned down at her sides. Her squirming only brought Walter to greater frenzy as he shouted, "All right, kid, cut it out! Just let me have that baby cunt of yours and everything will be just fine. One fuck and you'll forget what you're fighting over. Just one fuck from me and your pussy will get so juicy you won't be able to stand not having my cock in your honey-hole."
Walter laughed wildly, then brought one hand to the front of her dress. He jerked it downward and her dress ripped apart, exposing her large, lush tits. She had not worn a bra and her full beauties jumped to freedom as the blast of cool air rushed against them. Tammy trembled in fright as Walter bent his head downward and began to nibble on her rose-brown nipples, pressing his lips and teeth against one nipple until he brought screams to Tammy's lips. And then Walter raised one hand and slapped Tammy across the cheek. She screamed still harder. He struck her again, screaming, "Shut up, you goddamn bitch. I'm gonna fuck you, so shut up or you'll get hurt."
Tammy continued whimpering, fighting him all the way. Walter overpowered her at every turn and finally his cock shot into her cunt hole, ravaging her virginal body with his battering prick blows while she continued sobbing. Then, as if resigned to the fucking that had been imposed upon her, Tammy ceased the struggle and gave up her pussy hole with a somewhat passive attitude.
The sexual affair with his cousin fulfilled some anti-social need of Walter. He threatened the girl whenever she sought to end the affair. And soon, as if doubly spurred by taboos, Walter forced his sexual attentions upon the fifteen-year-old sister of his wife, achieving for himself an incest of two degrees; blood, and affinity, both of which his wife finally discovered and reported to the police.
When finally apprehended, Walter was heard to exclaim, "Well, I knew this fucking couldn't go forever. But, man, oh, man, while we fucked it sure as hell was one blast!"
Walter was brought to therapy sessions where it was attempted to bring to light the deep, hidden repressions that had been part of Walter's psychological make-up for many, many years. It was hoped that Walter would be brought to understand what had occasioned these desires in him, these hurtful desires that brought him to rape his own niece as well as the sister of his own wife. It is not known at this date whether or not Walter's therapy was successful.
CASE HISTORY 11: DELIGHTED WILLING DAUGHTER
As a young girl, Jenny Y. was a dreamer and it carried over into her teen years. She was somewhat shy and very introspective, and teachers claimed that this was probably why she did so well in school, attaining a college evaluation percentile that placed her in the upper two per cent of all the nation's high school students.
Jenny's mother and father had married young during World War II. The child was born while the father was overseas with the Air Force. Upon his discharge from service for a medical disability, incurred from leg wounds received in combat, the young couple settled down to married life in a small apartment. The father was delighted with his child who was a year old when he first saw her. He spent a great deal of time caring for the child, even performing some "mother duties" during his wife's absence from the house which developed more and more frequently.
Soon, Gordon Y. learned that his wife was seeing another man. She was having an affair. He reacted passively (his reason for this, later reported to a psychiatrist, was "because of his daughter"). The wife's infidelities continued. Gordon ceased all sexual relations with his wife, but continued to live with her. And, as a matter of sublimation, he poured his attentions more ardently upon his small daughter. Soon, he became almost a mother and father to the child, as her mother became more and more neglectful of her duties.
When Jenny reached her fifteenth birthday, she knew that her mother and father did not enjoy a true marriage relationship. Her parents slept in separate bedrooms, they seldom talked to each other, and while all of her father's free time was spent around the house with his child, the mother absented herself from the family. Undoubtedly, Jenny sensed, even if she did not truly know, that her mother cheated on the father.
Jenny was always close to her father. They were good companions, even if a little too close by the standard of most father-daughter relationships. Soon, the mother would be absent from the house for long periods of time; weekends, several times an entire week's running. During these times, Jenny has said that she "felt so terrible for my father that I couldn't do enough for him." During these periods, too, the father lavished extra attention upon his daughter, actually treating her like a "date" sometimes; taking her out to dinner, the theater, etc. It was as if each, father and daughter, recognizing the failure of the marriage that bound the three of them together, compensated to each other for the deficiencies of the mother.
Why didn't Gordon seek a divorce? That matter has often been asked.
His rationalization for continuing a marriage that was unhealthy was his attachment for his child. The reality was that he needed the "sick marriage." His relationship with his wife who was openly unfaithful to him was a hostile-dependent relationship. It obviously satisfied some need of Gordon's confused personality.
The continuation of this bad marriage, however, did draw the father and daughter closer and closer together in a neurotic web of dependence and compensation that eventually led to an incestuous affair.
Jenny felt that she was different from the other girls of her neighborhood and school. Although attractive and with a body that was maturing in a way that gave great promise of sexuality, Jenny did not make any relationships with boys of her own group. And her father discouraged her from this normal venture of a fifteen-year-old.
"There'll be plenty of time for boys," he would say. "You have years ahead of you when I'm not in the picture at all."
But the years sped by, and father was still in the picture. Jenny was seventeen, about to enter college, and she had still not formed any boy-girl relationships. The boys couldn't understand it. Some of them did ask Jenny for dates, but always she rejected them, giving the impression that she wasn't the least interested. Jenny's fantasies now included the boys her life did not, however. She spent a good deal of time daydreaming about boys and dates with them and even marriage and lovemaking. These fantasies prompted heavier sexual thoughts. She was not naive about sex, as one would expect from her life. Actually, she was quite a sophisticate on the subject, for she had read and reread many books pertaining to sex and "marital sexual harmony," etc. She knew all about "fucking" from her books and her daydreams and night fantasies often included just such actions with boys she had casually met.
It was spring vacation time and Jenny was out of school for an entire week. She chose to stay home while her classmates made plans for family trips, school excursions and dances, and all the things that the young are noted for doing during a school vacation. Jenny did none of these things. She stayed home and read, listened to music and accompanied her father on various expeditions to the library and museum and concert performances.
Upon returning home from one of the concert performances, father and daughter were shocked to find a stranger in the house. It was a man. He was only half-clothed, interrupted in that condition by their early arrival home. The man was one of many of the mother's lovers. She was upstairs showering, obviously refreshing herself after the fucking activity she and the man had engaged in just prior to the return of father and daughter.
In a shaking, unsure voice, Gordon Y. ordered the man out of his house. The man grinned, continued dressing, and was heading for the door when Jenny's mother came downstairs, clad only in a light dressing gown.
She offered no explanations, no apologies, nothing but a sly grin that was meant as an insult for her passive husband.
Jenny was horror-stricken. She could not stand the reality of the infidelities she had always suspected of her mother. She wanted to scream and yell and cry out. And when she did not, she wished that her father would take some positive action, even engage in a fight with the stranger. But he did not. He did nothing but gulp, glance from his wife to the man, gulp again, then stand aside as the man left the house. In a few minutes, his wife also left the house, explaining that she didn't know when she would return if she would even bother returning because, as she put it, "Jenny doesn't need a mother anyway. You're quite enough mother for her a real pansy of a father."
Daughter and father ate a lonely dinner together, one the father had prepared. Then they went for a walk along the lake that was nearby their home. It was dark when they returned home. Both were disinclined to go to bed, so they settled in front of the television set to view the late-show entertainment. Soon, Jenny was sleepy and stretched out on the couch with her head in her father's lap. He gently stroked her hair.
Jenny has reported that her feelings at this moment were those of deep sympathy for her father, that she "would have done anything to cheer him." She has also given evidence that hints at feelings of disgust for her father, ton. Disgust and disrespect because of his passive role when faced with the living proof of his wife's unfaithfulness. And another sensation was mixed with the others. Jenny, reposing on her father's lap, felt a pulsation that the girl knew represented the stirring of his cock. It excited her. She has said she felt as if it offered her a chance to make her father happy. She recalls that at the time a moistness came to her pussy which made her even more aware of her own sexuality.
Jenny remained very still. So did Gordon, unwilling to break the trance of the moment. But soon, her father, even as he stared straight ahead at the television screen, shifted his position slightly and the action brought the press of his hardened cock in contact with his daughter's cheek. And soon there was another stir from the man, another shifting of position, and then there was the exposed bareness of his cock, brought to reality without a word pertaining to it, brought to the surface as if this was really not happening at all. Father and daughter put on faces of complete oblivion.
Neither of them moved for a long time. It was as if each waited for the other. It was as if each was afraid to make that move that would mark them the aggressor in an oral act of incestuous love. But soon, Gordon did move. He brought one hand to his child's head and gently pushed her downward at the same moment that he lifted his cock that awaited attention.
His daughter did not hesitate. Intuitively, she knew what was expected of her. She did her father's bidding. And Gordon, grinding beneath his attentive daughter, continued to act out his passivity by pretending that the act was not happening. Although his breath was heavy, he continued to stare at the screen of the television. He did this, that is, until the very end when he shouted out the phrases that gave recognition to the act itself.
"Ah, yes, suck my cock, Jenny! You're all I have we must always love only each other. Yes, that's it, love my cock, Jenny, love it hard," he mumbled passionately.
Jenny only mumbled as she continued sucking on his lance; sucking and then gently kissing and then even nibbling with love bites upon his knobby pecker. It pulsated and quivered beneath her loving touches of lips and tongue. Its heat seared at her mouth as droplets of goo appeared at the cock head.
"Oh, Jenny," mumbled her ecstatic father. "You're the best cocksucker ever. My daughter the best cocksucker ever! Oh, yes, that's the way that's the way keep doing it, Jenny, keep on!"
Jenny did not hesitate with her orality to her father's cock. Indeed, she increased her sucking, slurping over his cock tool in an experienced fashion. She was a virgin cocksucker, but she learned her lesson quickly. She became an immediate expert fellatrice as she drew upon her father's prick, squeezing gently at his flesh, tapping at his balls with her tongue, then licking slowly up and down his cock shaft, then to his hanging balls as they slapped against her cheek, then drawing upon the thick hair, tugging and pulling until her father cried out.
"Hey, come on, Jenny, don't bite it off!" And then he laughed. "Just keep on sucking, Jenny keep on sucking my cock."
"Yes, daddy," Jenny rose her head to say. "I'll keep on sucking and kissing your cock for you. I know you need me to do this to you. I understand it, daddy. Really, I understand it." And then she dropped her head back down to her father's pulsating flesh, erect and throbbing beneath her warm, pink lips as she began to labor lovingly over her father's prick.
Gordon Y. knew that he would soon be letting loose a stream of cock juice that might frighten his daughter. He began to think that perhaps he should warn her of his coming eruption. And then it was too late to warn Jenny. He shouted, "Ah, I'm coming!" And then his warm jism splashed onto Jenny's face, covering her lips, eyes, cheeks, nose, running down her chin and neck in warm droplets of sticky cock goo. Jenny seemed startled for a moment, but then she smiled and began to lick at her father's cock, sloshing at his lance as she licked up every trace of come from his pecker. She smacked her lips and then looked up at her father, smiling, "Well, daddy, did I do it the right way? Is that the way you like to have your cock sucked? When can we do it again, daddy?"
Gordon was taken aback for a moment, unable to return an answer to his daughter as the shock of her fellatio performed so willingly still held his thoughts. And then in reply, he leaned downward and kissed his daughter full on the lips, bringing out his tongue to slash in her mouth, stabbing within her cheeks, searching, tasting. He then licked at her face, cleansing his come from her cheek, neck, chin.
"And now, dear, take off your clothes and I'll show you another way of doing it." Gordon smiled almost gently at his daughter as he watched her remove her clothing. Now, he thought, he would show her how a man can lick at a cunt, and then he would fuck her. He would fuck her until he released his come again, only this time he would spurt into her cunt hole, coating her child's pussy cave with his cock juices, searing at her insides until she would cry out in wild abandon as a real woman would. And moments later, Gordon began the cunnilingus he had anticipated.
Jenny and her father continued to have regular fellatio and cunnilingus relations with each other for several years. During that period, their affair went through a number of refinements which brought greater pleasure and passionate excitement to both father and daughter. And they did engage in sexual intercourse as well. Father and daughter rutted about as frenzied lovers, both experiencing unrestrained sexual emotions.
Jenny continued her schooling at a city college which offered her the opportunity of continued residence in her own home. She was reluctant to leave the lovemaking offered by her father. She was often prone to justifying her own actions to herself in this manner:
"After all, my father needs me," she explained. "With my mother being so awful and everything, I felt it was my duty to stay home and take care of my dad. And he needed my loving just as much as I needed his fucking. We complemented each other. That's the way it was meant to be for us."
And Jenny did just that until at twenty-one years of age she fell into a despondency and attempted to commit suicide. Then she was placed in a mental hospital where she gained the benefit of psychotherapy with its resultant good effects which permitted her to continue her career as a teacher and away from the presence of her parents. Jenny's mother and father eventually were divorced, but Jenny no longer felt any compulsive compassion for her father and she felt no obligation to comfort him via incestuous relations.
CASE HISTORY 12: A STEPDAUGHTER SEXUAL RELATIONSHIP
When Andrea Bronson was only five her father was killed in an automobile accident. From that date onward, Andrea's mother dedicated herself to keeping her husband's memory alive for their child.
Andrea's fondest memories were those that concerned her father, for he was a good parent and his life with the family had been happy. After his death, Mrs. Bronson began the habit of sitting on the edge of Andrea's bed when the girl was ready to retire, and telling her stories about her father. He had been an adventuresome man. There were many stories to tell: stories of Mr. Bronson working in the steaming jungles of South America, mining in the far North, on a construction crew in Iran, of his adventures in many corners of the world where he was a soldier of fortune, an instructor at a flying school, a driver of experimental racing cars, an assistant trainer of wild African animals, and a very genuine hero of World War II who won one of the nation's highest awards. He was indeed an all-around hero.
Andrea loved the stories that her mother told so vividly. It made her father seem alive for a little while. Sometimes she suspected her mother of exaggerating the stories of her father's adventures, but usually there was some evidence to give validity to the woman's claims.
Mrs. Bronson usually interlocked tales of family happiness with the adventure stories of her husband. Again and again Andrea heard how they had been so happy together, how they were a devoted family, how loyal and true and kindly her father had always been. In the stories about him, Mr. B. was made to appear as a man without a flaw. (Years later, in therapy, Andrea told her therapist, "I wondered how any man could be so perfect. I knew it wasn't possible. So then I wondered why my mother worked so hard at making him seem that way. I wondered who she was trying to fool, or if she was trying to fool herself, too.")
The bedtime stories of Mr. Bronson's exploits continued through the years, even after Andrea had entered high school. The results of the stories had many effects, among them the creation of Andrea as somewhat of a perfectionist when it came to people. No one seemed quite good enough to Andrea. Or for Andrea. She snubbed boys and girls in her school who seemed less than she desired in friends. She was often outright rude to adults who displayed flaws. And she was this way with her mother, too, for the woman could not herself live up to the post-reputation she had created of her late husband. She lacked the excitement and passion for living that her husband seemed to have possessed during his lifetime. Andrea was quick to realize this and she did not refrain from showing her lack of respect for her mother.
At fifteen, Andrea was an attractive girl, beautifully built and always well groomed. She did well in school but was not especially popular with her peers. Many of them considered Andrea a "snob."
It came as a terrible shock to Andrea when one day her mother announced that she had started to see a gentleman friend; a co-worker where Mrs. Bronson worked as a clerk. Andrea was horrified. She wondered how her mother, so devoted to the memory of her husband, could now, suddenly, begin dating a man.
"You're getting older, dear," the mother explained. "Everyone needs someone even me. And it doesn't mean that I don't still cherish the memory of your father."
Another shock that Andrea was not prepared for was the continuance of the hero-bedtime-stories. It seemed somehow disloyal that the mother should continue with the stories. But it had already become an ingrained ritual of their life and they did not discontinue that which was so very familiar and comfortable to them.
Just before Andrea was to turn seventeen, her mother married. Andrea was overwhelmed by the news. And she was even more overwhelmed when after the wedding, the groom moved into the home that had been left them by Andrea's father, the mother insisted upon continuing the stories of her first husband's adventures. It seemed the worst kind of deception to Andrea. And it continued to seem to be that when her mother explained that her new husband, Rick, didn't mind at all that she kept the memory of Mr. Bronson alive, both for herself and for the child of that union.
Andrea soon became very critical of her new stepfather. It became apparent to him, and to Andrea's mother, that the child was comparing the new man in the house to her real father. Naturally, he could not compare, not by any standards, for Andrea had years of manufactured images by which all other men were compared. No one could make a favorable comparison.
During this time, Andrea also showed signs of great hostility toward her mother and stepfather. Sometimes she argued violently with them. And always, the parents backed down; Andrea would win her point and that which she wanted. It never failed.
And then an abrupt change came to Andrea's attitude toward her stepfather. She became fond of him, inordinately fond, it seemed. The parents were delighted. Family harmony was the dream of their lives. Now they would have it, it seemed.
But something notorious was bubbling within the subconscious of the young girl. She had developed a pose-r that of friendliness and fondness for her stepfather for the sole purpose of showing him up as a fraud and making her mother seem the true idiot the girl thought her to be. Andrea had worked out a devilish scheme.
Andrea prompted the attentions of Rick, her stepfather. She asked him to teach her to play tennis and they spent a lot of time together at the country club and upon the tennis courts there. And at every opportunity whenever they were together, Andrea did not miss any opportunity to make bodily contact with the middle-aged man. She was not a novice in the ways of romance; she dated, was popular and had, at the early age of fifteen, "fucked" with a neighborhood boy. Since that time she had felt the! stabbing of many youthful cocks to her juicy pussy.
Andrea started acting more and more seductively toward her stepfather. Her mother thought that it was "cute," a sure sign of the togetherness of their little family. And Rick thought it was nice, too. Very nice. There is strong evidence that he did not in the least mind the pats of his stepdaughter's body against his own. In fact, he looked forward to any such contact.
On one particular Friday evening that found Andrea's mother away from the house for a weekend in answer to a long-distance call informing her of her brother's illness, Rick seemed especially gay, particularly when Andrea noted that it was the first time he and his wife had been separated for a night since their marriage she had thought a man of such devotion would be sad in his wife's absence. But he was not. He was gay. So was Andrea. And, to add to the festive mood of the evening, Rick asked Andrea if she would like to go to a night club with him see an honest-to-goodness floor show.
"I'd love it," she said. "But you have to give me a chance to shower and dress first."
Rick was happy to give her that necessary time. Time wasn't important, for, as it developed, they were many hours delayed arriving at the night club Rick had chosen as the place for his stepdaughter's entertainment.
Andrea had hurried with her shower. Her hair was bound in a towel and so was her body as she left the bathroom. She paused in the hallway. She had heard something. She knew it was footsteps and that they belonged to her stepfather. She wasn't in the least surprised. She was delighted. It saved her making another occasion during the night that would allow the fucking she had planned.
Rick walked directly to her, looking a little drunk, although he had not been drinking. He kissed her hard: Andrea returned his kiss harder still. He removed the towel from his stepdaughter's body. They moved to the bedroom. Andrea was the first to reach the bed. She stretched long and sensually before the figure of Rick as he busied his fingers with his own undressing.
Rick lowered himself to the bed and went to the child in a rush of giving of himself. He brought his cock into a slam against her cunt mound, pushing and driving with a passionate force. Andrea met his cock blows and surpassed his sexual intensity, for she was filled with titanic emotions, sensations that had been many years coming, for they were made of dreams and fantasies and stories of her first father. And as she fucked with her stepfather, she smiled, knowing that no man not the first father or this present one was perfect, that they all had flaws. She was very happy that she was able to uncover the fraud that had been given her throughout her life, the fraud that was the infallibility of men.
CASE HISTORY 13: BROTHER AND SISTER
Only sixteen months apart in age, it was natural that Irene and Mark should be playmates during their early years. It was also convenient for the mother, Hillary, who was flighty and given to finding all sorts of activities that kept her away from her home and her responsibilities as much as possible. It was common for the mother to place the children in the playpen in order to keep them busy with each other and out of the way. This is not the least bit unusual for all mothers, but in this instance the mother did it abnormally often and not for the right reasons.
Irene and Mark were nine and eleven years old respectively when they started to show an interest in each other's body. They played doctor and nurse often. It was their favorite game. At first, both of them would play their roles using a neighbor playmate as the patient. They would undress the "patient," run their hands over the child's body, and perform all the make-believe tasks of a doctor and a nurse. Then, when other playmates were not available for the game, Irene and Mark would take turns being the patient and experiencing the touches of the other.
Irene was the first to notice the difference of their sexual build. She mentioned it to Mark while performing a make-believe examination of him during their game one day. Mark, as it was later reported to his psychiatrist, thought that his sister was "crazy or something." He has stated that he was sure that they were built the same, that she really had a cock as he did, but that she was "hiding" it or keeping it concealed "between her legs." Mark insisted that Irene expose her body so that they could make a true comparison. Irene refused, saying that they could not do that because they were playing nurse and patient and nurses never undressed for the patient. Mark had to agree that that was the way the game went, however, he was insistent. Irene obliged. She lifted her skirt and pulled down her panties. Mark was overwhelmed. He still was not convinced that Irene had not at one time had a cock. She felt the same way. Then they decided that she must have at one time had a cock but lost it in an accident or had it "cut off." Irene was quite upset, especially when her brother kept boasting that "he had something she didn't have."
The following childhood conversation about this phenomenon was reconstructed by Irene for her psychiatrist during one of her therapy sessions.
"Everybody has one you did, too," Mark said.
"Maybe not."
"I say you did."
"But lots of girls are like this just like I am so that can't be true."
"It just happens to all girls," Mark explained.
"That's what it does happens to all girls when they're babies or something."
"Maybe not," Irene said, her voice sounding hopeful.
"It does, it does, it does. Ha, ha, boys got something girls ain't I got something you haven't got."
Feelings of castration and a complex called "Phallus Envy" are not at all unusual in the young. Most girls, Freud proclaimed, feel a certain "denial" or rejection in that they are not built as their fathers are built. Many young girls also feel that originally they possessed a penis and were built exactly like the male, and that their penis was taken from them. Girls of this disposition find further evidence for this belief's validity when they begin to menstruate. Then there is blood, very much as if it flowed now, years later, because of the amputation that was made at a very early age.
So, Irene and Mark were not too very much different from other children upon discovering the difference of their sex organs. Undoubtedly, they had discovered this fact many years before, at a far younger age, but to the subject's memory this was the first incidence of discussion with her brother about the subject of their sexual difference.
Irene and Mark began masturbatory play when they were about thirteen and fifteen. Both of the children were large for their age and developing rapidly. Irene's tits were budding and her hips had begun to jut sassily outward from her skirt. Her legs were beginning to take on lines and curves. She wore her hair long and the ends of it bounced as low as the small of her back. Mark was large for his age and although on the skinny side, he showed all the signs of young muscles and strength.
"Remember how we used to play?" he asked of his sister one day when they were alone in the house.
"Oh, we've played a lot, I guess," she answered.
"I mean how we used to play kind of 'dirty.' "
She glanced away, then back to him again. Mark was sitting in a chair across from where she lounged on the couch.
"That was sure something, wasn't it?" Mark asked.
"Yes. We were pretty young then."
"Real young."
"Were those happy times for us, Mark?" Irene asked suddenly.
"Sure they were."
"They were?"
"Sure they were. What the hell, can't you remember? I remember everything about when we were kids together."
"I don't remember much about it," Irene said. "I do remember that we were alone a lot. Alone and naked."
"Yeah, that. But something else, too."
Irene frowned in concentration, then said, "Oh, sure. I remember how we always liked to play doctor and nurse."
"Yeah, that's the one I remember, too. Hell, we sure were kids, weren't we?"
"We sure were."
"We fussed around quite a lot, didn't we?" he "How do you mean, Mark?"
"You know. Touching each other and everything."
"I guess so," she said, shyly turning her head.
"Most brothers and sisters do that, I guess," Mark said.
"At least that's what some of the guys with sisters tell me."
"Do they really?"
"Yeah."
"But you didn't tell them about how we were when we were kids, did you? I'd just die if I thought any of the kids knew about that."
"Naw, I didn't say anything. Besides, it's none of their goddamned business. If they want to sound off to me about their sisters, that's all right, but I don't tell 'em nothing."
"Oh, I'm glad, Mark, real glad," she said enthusiastically.
The day dragged on. Their mother, following her usual pattern, was late returning from the office where she had worked as a bookkeeper since her divorce from the children's father when they weren't much more than babies. When the homework was finished and other diversions failed to interest them, Mark suggested a game.
"Hey, I got an idea, Irene," he said.
"What's that?"
"Let's play that old kid's game of doctor and nurse."
"You're kidding."
"I'm not."
"You have to be kidding, Mark. What the hell, we're almost grown-up now."
"So what?"
"So it's not nice, that's what."
"Why isn't it nice?"
She sighed exasperatedly, then said, "You know very well why it isn't nice. Because we'd have to take our clothes off and everything."
"So, what the heck, I see you without your clothes lots of times," he said.
"You do not."
"I do so. And so do you see me in the bare. What the fuck, Irene, why are you always trying to act like everything I say isn't true. You know it's true. We've been naked together this week."
"When?"
"When you were coming out of the bath tub and I came in to take a bath. We were standing right there together in the middle of the bathroom without either one of us having a stitch on."
"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that time. But it was only for a minute."
Mark got up from his chair and walked over to his sister. Playfully, he tugged on her hair where it hung over one shoulder.
"Come on, Irene. Don't be an old ninny. Let's play the game. What the fuck, at least it will be something to do. What else can we do?"
"What if Mom comes in?"
"Huh fat chance at this hour of the day."
"But she might."
"Has she ever come home at this time?"
"No."
"Then come on, it'll be fun acting like kids again."
"Well...."
"Come on, Irene. Please."
"But if you ever tell any of the kids. Any of your friends or anything, well, I'll just hate you the rest of my life."
"I won't tell," he promised.
Irene and Mark decided that the upstairs bedroom was the place to play their game. It offered seclusion, and should someone enter the house, it provided them with ample time for dressing. They climbed the stairs together and entered Irene's room.
"Okay," said Mark. "Who's going to be the doctor and who's going to be the patient?"
"I don't know. I don't care, I guess," his sister replied, her voice now a little tenser than before.
"Okay, then I'll be the doctor first. Then you can have a turn. So, you be the patient."
"All right."
Irene moved to the bed, then turned and faced her brother. Mark, a natural comedian, it seemed, made a great show of pretending to be a doctor. He pretended to be busy at Irene's vanity which was now a table that held surgical instruments and medications and he took on a serious, dour look that was meant to resemble that of an overworked doctor.
"Okay, start the game," he said out of the side of his mouth in a stage whisper.
Irene walked to where her pseudo-doctor brother busied himself at the make-believe medical table. She paused in front of him and waited while he ignored her. Then she shifted from one foot to the other, showing the signs of a grown-up woman waiting for the doctor who was unmindful of her presence. Then she raised her And then she coughed lightly.
Mark looked up and leaned back in the chair to view this patient who had entered his office.
"Umph, oh, yes, Mrs. Brown, isn't it?" he asked.
"Yes, I'm Mrs. Brown, doctor," Irene answered.
"And what can I do for you today, Mrs. Brown," Mark asked.
"I'm sick."
"Oh, that's a shame now. What seems to be the problem, Mrs. Brown?"
"I don't know. That's why I came to see you, doctor."
"Oh, sure. But how do you feel? Where do you feel sick? Is it your heart, maybe?"
"I have pains, doctor," Irene said. "Here." She brought both her hands around to hold at her stomach. "It just hurts terrible here sometimes."
Mark leaned further back in his chair and stroked his chin, doing it with a flourish as if he had a long, flowing beard.
"What can possibly be wrong with me, doctor?" Irene asked.
"Well, that's pretty hard to tell right now," he said. "We'll have to have an examination. You know, look at all of you to see just what it is that's wrong with you."
Mark stroked his chin again and upon his action, both of the children broke into laughter for the game they played for their own proficiency at portraying the roles of doctor and patient. But they maintained their characters and stifled their laughter.
Mark pushed up from his chair. "All right, Mrs. Brown. You can go right in there and undress." He gestured toward the bed.
Irene lowered her eyelids in a pose of shyness that was undoubtedly made up in part of truth. Then she moved toward the bed.
"Just undress and I'll be right in with you," Mark said, trying hard to keep from grinning.
"Oh, but isn't your nurse here today, doctor?" Irene asked.
"No. I'm sorry about that. My nurse had to go to the hospital for me. But don't be bashful go right ahead and undress. Take everything off. We doctors are used to that, you know."
Irene nodded, then turned and walked over to the bed. She turned and looked back at her brother. He had turned and pretended to be busy at the table (vanity) again. His head was bent low. Irene smiled, then crossed her arms in front of her and raised her sweater up and over her head. She threw it on a chair in front of the bed. She looked back at her brother, then pretended a gasp when she saw that he was looking directly into the mirror and at her tits which were held by a young schoolgirl bra.
"Stop it, Mark," she exclaimed, breaking character. "If you look when we're not playing the game just like you really were my brother and not the doctor, well then I'm not going to play I won't be able to do it."
"Please. 'Doctor' that's what you call me," he said, scolding her with a finger.
"Well, damn it all...."
"Go on I'm sorry. I won't peek." Then he changed the tone of his voice and called out, "Did you say something, Mrs. Brown?"
"No, I didn't, doctor," she replied, falling back into her role as a patient.
Irene looked at her brother to be sure he was playing doctor again and not looking at her reflection in the mirror. Then she undid the button and zipper at the side of her skirt, slipped it down and stepped out of it. Again, she glanced at Mark but he was bent over several perfume bottles that were obviously being used as props for their game. She turned away from him, then bent and kicked off her shoes and pulled her socks free of her feet. She raised and breathed deeply. Dressed in only bra and half-slip, she felt the pinpricks of excitement upon her flesh. Then, very slowly, she reached her hands behind her back and unhooked her bra. She let it fall away from her tits and she sent it flying to the chair. Irene glanced at her titties. They seemed larger than at any time that she could remember. She wondered if the game she played with her brother had anything to do with it. She felt warm and guessed that she was blushing, as she so often did when embarrassed, but she did not risk a glance at the vanity mirror, for fear of raising her brother's attention to her again. Again, she breathed deeply, then she slid her half-slip away from her body. She felt very warm at that time. She wondered why the heat had come to her. She looked downward at the thin panties that remained as her last article of clothing. Then, she felt a wet heat at her crotch and as she rather determinedly banished the panties from her body, she felt a wetness at her pussy lips that puzzled her.
Completely nude now, Irene turned to the bed. She swung around and lowered her buttocks to its edge. Then, still without looking at the pretend-doctor at the vanity, she called to him.
"I'm ready, doctor."
"Oh, good," Mark said, raising his head but still not looking at her.
There was a little confusion between role-playing and reality when Mark moved in front of his sister and stared at her naked body. A flush appeared at his cheeks and it seemed a twin to the burn Irene already knew.
"Umph, yes, Mrs. Brown," Mark said. Then, breaking character again, he said, "God, Irene, I had no idea you had gotten so...."
"Shut up!" she snapped.
"Oh, yeah. Sure." He paused, then reassumed the posture and expression of a doctor and said, "Ah, yes, indeed, Mrs. Brown, now we can see what the trouble is."
They both giggled at this. They could not help it. To Irene, feeling a little nervous anyway, it seemed like just the greatest joke in the world that a doctor could "see" what the trouble was because she was naked.
"I can see you haven't been to the doctor too often," Mark continued. "You don't get naked just like that, Mrs. Brown. You get naked, but then you hold a sheet over you until the doctor comes in to examine you."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Irene said.
Mark bent and freed a sheet that lay at the bottom of the blankets. He stretched it way out, loosening it, then he handed it to his sister.
"Here you are, Mrs. Brown," he said.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Irene pulled the sheet in front of her and bunched it at her small, round titties. The bottom portion of the sheet draped downward, covering her upper thighs but leaving her legs exposed. And she did very much resemble a girl waiting to be examined by a doctor a shy, young girl, uninitiated in the ways of medicine or men or doctors, or almost anything.
"Well, now," Mark said, continuing as the doctor. "You can just remove that sheet now if you will, please."
Irene giggled again and in a moment, Mark did, too. Both of them caught the humor of the doctor giving a patient a sheet to be covered with, only to ask that it be removed within the next ten seconds. But again they reconstructed their role and continued the game.
"If you'll just lay down we'll see if we can see what your trouble is," Mark said.
Both of them very nearly laughed again, but they controlled it and Irene pulled the sheet away, swung her legs up on the bed, then reclined flat on her back.
For quite a long time, Mark just stared downward at his sister's body, his eyes running over it from her neck to her toes, then back again, but slower and with stops made at her pussy mound, her thighs, her belly, and finally, at her young, pouting, but pretty titties.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"I'm ready, doctor."
"Now just where did you say you've been having pains?" he asked.
"Here." Again, she brought both her hands to rest lightly on top of her stomach.
"Take your hands away, please," Mark said, bending deeply over her body.
Irene removed her hands.
Very slowly, and with a slight tremble, Mark placed his hands where Irene's had been. His fingers spread wide, covering all of her belly, almost to her hips and dipping devilishly low so that the butt of his hands were only a fraction of an inch from her cunt mound that was covered by a fine furry fuzz.
"Right there?" he asked.
"Yes, that's where it hurts, doctor."
"Now, as I move my fingers, you tell me if any one spot hurts any more than any other place. Can you do that for me Mrs. Brown?"
"Sure doctor."
Mark began pressuring his fingers, starting with the small fingers and running up the scale as if he were doing a Bach fugue. Then, apparently sensing the resemblance to a musician he made, he broke character again, this time from play-doctor to play-musician. He threw his head way back and made his eyes bug outward like one entranced with beauty. Then he began pressuring his fingers hard, running them in scales yet, but faster and harder and finally so fast that it became an act of tickling.
Irene couldn't stand it another second. She howled with laughter and jerked her knees up as she rolled to her side to escape her brother's musician-doctor fingers.
Mark laughed, too. Uproariously.
Soon, they brought their emotions under control again and Mark replaced his fingers on his sister's stomach. He moved them again, this time in a doctor-professional manner so that there would be no more giggling.
"Oh, yes. It hurts there, doctor."
"Ummmm. Here?" He pushed his little fingers deep into her flesh.
"No, a little to the side of that," Irene told him.
"Here? I bet this is the spot," he said, burrowing his right thumb into her belly.
"Ah, yes, but lower."
Mark readjusted the position of all his fingers, bring the total contact of them upon her body, so low that he now actually covered her cunt mound.
Irene felt like shivering. She couldn't understand it. She was certainly warm enough, hot, in fact, yet she felt as if she had taken chills. She wanted to tremble. And then she thought that perhaps she would cry, and she had a vision of herself breaking into sobs, springing up from bed and running from the room. But she did not. She remained motionless except for the now, exerted motion of breathing that had come to her.
"I think we've got it now,, " Mark said. He pressed with all his fingers.
"I think you have, too," Irene said softly.
Mark allowed his fingers to play upon his sister's stomach and the area around it for quite a long time. He maintained the pose of doctor, but his fingers were those of a young boy investigating a girl's body for the first time since she had started the bloom of womanhood. His fingers acted hungry. They probed. They pressured. They wiggled and moved and moved still lower when his entire hand lifted and went down a bit. And his breathing had become exerted, too, was like that of his sister's, for his chest heaved as if he were truly under great exertion, as he no doubt was.
"What are you going to do for it, doctor," Irene asked in a sick voice.
"Can't tell yet," he said strainedly.
"Can you cure me?" she asked, pushing to get the tone back to that of their game.
"Don't know. Hope so." He pressured all his fingers, then flicked his eyes to the right, sweeping her body until he reached her tits. His hands relaxed.
"What's wrong, doctor?" Irene asked, raising her head a bit to look at him.
"Nothing," Mark replied. He sounded like Mark, not a doctor.
"But you look funny," she said, also sounding like herself, and not a character from a game. Mark jerked his hands away from her stomach. His eyes shot away from his sister's young tits and again he assumed the role he had determined to play.
"Am I going to be all right, doctor?" Irene asked, falling back into her characterization.
"I'm pretty sure you are," Mark said. "But first, I have to make more of an examination of you."
"But you just did."
"Yes, but you know, sometimes the trouble starts someplace else. Or it might be able to infect you other places so I just better check you over to make sure you're okay."
He brought his hands to her tits; his right to her left, his left to her right. He squeezed.
"Careful," she added a little breathlessly.
"Hurt there, does it?"
"No, but be careful anyway."
"Of course I will," he said. "I'm the doctor, aren't I?"
"Yes, doctor."
Mark alternated the pressure on his fingers as they moved on his sister's tits, going light, then harder, and finally light again, then rolling them around all of her roundness. Then he brought his fingers away from her tits altogether. When he touched her again, he pinched at the red-brown bud of her nipples. He rolled them. He pulled them gently away from their base, then let them return, then pulled them again, up and down, up and down, up and down, each movement a little harder and pulling the ends a little further away from their mounds.
Irene closed her eyes. The light from the ceiling seemed to blind her although she knew that it was a low watt light and could not really do that. Still, she closed her eyes. Then, by closing her eyes, she learned that she could better concentrate upon her brother's actions upon her body. She tingled with excitement. She felt very happy, happier than she had been in a very long time. She wondered if this was the happiest she had been since they had last played this childhood game of doctor-patient. She wondered if she was happy now because they had returned to the past, had returned to a period that did not pose a threat at them for the things they did. She wondered and wondered and wondered. And all the time Mark's hands played upon her, rolling upon her, nipple and tit, tucking and tickling, and pulling and snapping and kneading. All the time he seemed to be making her warmer and warmer.
"Ah, yes, there could be trouble here," Mark said.
"Really?"
"Yes." He brought one hand free from her tit as he continued to hold her with the other.
"And there could be trouble here, too," he said, continuing. He dropped his free hand to the joining of her thighs, to the puffy cunt mound.
"Oh!" Irene said with a short start.
"Hurts there, eh?" Mark asked.
"Yes yes, doctor."
Mark kneaded her tit with the hand that held her there, and with the other hand he made a quick, inward stab into her cunt mound.
"OHHH!" Irene cried, sharply and with shock, but in no way that sounded like a sign of pain.
"Well, I think we'll be able to take care of you all right, Mrs. Brown. In fact, I'm sure of it."
"Will you have to operate, doctor?" Irene asked in a voice that sounded very far away.
"Maybe."
"Oh, I hope not."
"Why? It won't hurt. You'll get a a well, we'll put you to sleep and you won't know anything that's going on."
"Oh, yes, that would be the best way," she said. "I don't want to know what's going on."
"You don't?"
"No. Not when you're operating."
"We'll put you out, then."
To Irene's surprise, Mark pulled his hands completely away from her body. It felt strange where he had been, as if an impression had been made there, as if her skin still carried his fingers' marks like white dough would the prints of the baker who had kneaded it.
"Are you through now, doctor?" Irene asked.
"No. No, I'm not through, Mrs. Brown," Mark said. His voice sounded strange and serious, different than Irene had ever heard it, different, too, than the voice used for his doctor role.
"What's going to happen now?" she asked.
"I'm going to have to to to go inside your cunt a bit, Mrs. Brown. Not far, just enough to see to see...."
Irene's body stiffened. It did so involuntarily, almost before Mark's sentence had ended. And then it stiffened again as she felt the touch of her brother's ringers brought back to her body. This time, one of them was extended and stiff and it probed.
Her body jerked and arched a little. She did not cry out. She had not thought of the role of patient that she was playing: She recognized that she was being sexually fondled by her brother. And she did not care. Did not care at all.
Mark was more careful than many early teen-aged boys would have been under similar circumstances. He seemed to have a true wish not to do his sister harm, but his finger was so curious that sometimes he reached a depth he had not intended. But when Irene emitted that short, little cry of hers, he always drew back, and went gentle again.
They were silent except for the sounds, light and furry, that could not help escaping from their lips. And Irene felt as if she would burn up. She did not pretend to herself that she did not feel a reaction to her brother's inner caresses. She did. Fantastically so. She forced herself to keep her body in check, keep it taut and away from breaking into pieces or from burning up as it felt it might do. And all the time she felt a kind of growth, a kind of swelling that was very pleasant and delightful and kind of beautiful in a far-away, blue-haze look. Very suddenly, it seemed to Irene that the growth within her should be encouraged, that it could be encouraged to grow so big that it would burst. Then, that was what she wanted it to do. To burst. Within her. Hard. And fast, too, if possible, but she didn't know how to help herself, how to make it happen, or how to instruct Mark in whatever it was that was needed to make it happen.
But when the heel of Mark's hand pressed hard against her above where his finger strayed, and she knew that he had found the clue, that he, all by himself, had touched that emotion of her that could cause some fabulous thing to happen. She helped him along a little. She began arching and lowering, making a tighter contact with both the heel of his hand and his curious finger as it stabbed inside her cunt lips, pulling and drawing upon her clit.
"Oh oh, Mark," she suddenly pleaded.
Mark's only answer was a groan and a faster, harder movement.
"Oh, God Mark. MARK! What's happening?"
"It's it's all right, Irene."
Soon, he moved faster and faster and at the end it was the speed that sent Irene to shrieking, crying and sobbing and choking back pleas that she could not believe came from her own throat.
When Irene's climax had ended, brother and sister talked about it. Irene told Mark how she felt. He acted a little worldly, as if he knew all about such things, but, of course, Irene knew that it was just a pose, knew that he was putting on just as he put on when he played doctor or musician or anything. But she could not stop talking about it. She rambled on and on and on.
The talk, the frightening-pleasurable thing that had happened to Irene, ended their attention to the doctor-patient game. Now, they didn't even pretend that they were playing their childhood game. Now, they were very determinedly interested in sex, and they knew it wasn't a game.
Soon, Mark, without an announcement of any sort, undressed.
Irene stared at him when he was naked. She couldn't remember ever having seen him the way he now looked so strong and straight and kind of like a man.
Mark flopped upon the bed. Irene jumped up from it.
"Okay, now you look me over," Mark instructed.
"Like you did me?" she asked.
"Not just like that," he said. "Just just do do whatever you want.
"Like a doctor, eh?" she laughed.
"Yeah, like a doctor."
Irene placed her hands on her brother's belly, but no sooner had she touched him there than she jerked them away.
"Hey, what's the matter?" Mark asked.
"I better get dressed."
"Now, don't do that. It wouldn't be fair."
"But somebody might come in."
"We'll have time if they do."
"Gee, I don't know, Mark."
"I do. Damn it stay like you are."
She brought her hands back to his belly, but they only remained attentive there a few minutes. There was much too much heat and curiosity and desire. Irene grasped his cock with one hand. Mark groaned and arched, indicating that she had made the touch that he desired. She squeezed and released and repeated the action for several minutes. And then she became inventive, spun his prick, twisted and twirled and maneuvered him to suit her mood, his mood, too, obviously, for he groaned harder and arched more deeply.
Other than the groaning sounds that came from him, Mark uttered only one word as he started to strain harder, as his cock began to throb with more passion.
"Faster," he choked.
Irene obeyed his command.
At the end she was like a machine and feeling some of the same excitement she had herself experienced only a short time earlier. But she was not prepared for what the end brought forth. She was not prepared for the squirting of his cock juice as it splattered forth, covering her hands with his gooey globs of prick milk.
"Oh, Mark, what have I done to you?" she cried out. "I hurt you. Oh, Mark, I'm so sorry."
Breathing hard, Mark twisted to his side. In a moment, he rolled over and faced his sister.
"You didn't hurt me, Irene," he said. "Not at all. Not a bit, you didn't hurt me. That was just come that came out of my cock. It's supposed to do just that."
This mysterious event was cause for another deep conversation. And when it ended, they showered, dressed and were sitting downstairs in the living room when their mother returned to her home from work and the cocktails she always had immediately following her day's chores.
The brother and sister became even closer companions than they had been before their recreation of their childhood game. They continued to partake of masturbatory play at every opportunity they had. They had many such opportunities. Their mother, aside from work, was absent from the home frequently and for long periods of time. Irene and Mark always took advantage of it. They became proficient, too, and soon developed a method whereby there was no need to take turns at giving pleasure, a method and arrangement of their bodies that enabled them to give and receive at exactly the same time.
Irene and Mark were both in high school before they decided to experiment with their first fucking. It was very interesting to Irene's psychiatrist, many years later, that neither of the young people put much emphasis on the taboo of incest. It was the fucking that they thought "bad," not the incestuous nature of it.
Fucking for the brother and sister was very much like the elevation of a game, like a final step that had to be taken to make their game complete. And, in effect, this was exactly what it was. They had indeed proceeded from the early childhood games that are an excuse for sexual investigation, to outright masturbatory play, and finally to the ultimate fucking action.
They even talked about it first, and did not "fall into" the affair like so many people do or claim to do.
"How about really fucking?" Mark asked his sister one night.
"Do you want to?"
"Sure," he said.
"Why do you want to, Mark? Don't we have enough fun the way we are now?"
"Oh, sure. We're great. Always have been. But the guys have been talking. You know how it is. They're all big shots, know all about fucking."
"And you want to know all about it, too, eh?"
"I guess so. But it's not just that."
"What is it then?"
"I don't know," he answered honestly, for his thoughts about intercourse were indeed confused.
Irene put him at ease at once. "I know," she said. "The girls talk about fucking, too, you know."
"And you want to know what it's like, is that it?" Mark asked.
"I suppose I do."
"And it's got to happen sometime," he suggested.
"I guess it does."
"Well, what about it?"
"All right, I guess."
"You just guessing about it?"
"No," she laughed. "I just say that all the time. You know that."
"I know you do."
"You know everything about me, don't you?"
"Yeah. And you know all about me, too."
"Sure I do."
"So, how about it, Irene? What do you say?"
"It's fine with me. Anything you want to do is fine with me. Always has been that way--always will be, I guess."
Mark smiled.
"But you have to do something, Mark," Irene added quickly.
"What's that?"
"You know."
He cocked his head to one side and looked puzzled at her remark.
"You have to get something. Something to put on your cock."
"Oh, sure. I forgot. Thanks for reminding me, Irene."
"Is that going to be hard for you, Mark? To get them, I mean."
"Naw, I'll work it out."
"Do you need any money?"
"I've got enough."
"I've a little from my lunch money, if you need it," she generously offered.
"Naw, forget it, kid. Treat's on me," he laughed.
"You're not going to have to go into a store or anything, are you?"
"Naw. There's a senior at school. He makes a little money on the side."
"Oh, good."
It was arranged. Mark did his shopping. The opportunity was presented. An incestuous fucking affair was begun.
The brother and sister, Irene and Mark, became lovers and continued in that relationship until Mark was drafted into the Army at the age of twenty. Irene missed him fiercely. And he missed her. Letters passed between them, and if they had not been intercepted one would think that they were a sweet exchange between two lonely lovers.
After Mark had been away a year, Irene, for the first time started dating. She was popular overnight, for she did not resist the sexual advances the boys made. She was a ready piece of ass and the boys sought her out for all the fucking they wanted. It seemed quite natural to her. But she seldom achieved anything that even closely resembled the thrill that she had known when she fucked with her brother.
Many dozens of lovers had pushed their cocks into her hot cunt mound before Irene found one boy who provided her with the climax for which she had yearned. He was considerably older than she, and greatly experienced. Also, there was something about him that made her think of her brother. They began their first fuck on their second date. They met regularly, and fucked regularly, for four months. Then, the boy asked Irene to marry him. She accepted at once. Things were going badly at home with her mother. Irene was glad to be away from that. And, only recently she had had a letter from Mark, stating that he dated quite a bit, but was serious with no particular girl. He also stated that he liked the Army and intended to make it his career. So, Irene eloped with the boy who had erotically aroused her as her brother once had done.
Marriage was different than courtship, Irene soon learned. She was incompatible with her new husband. And once their one-week honeymoon had ended, she ceased the ability to obtain a climax. She grew distraught, ill-tempered, argumentative with her husband. He grew a little brutal, and showed Irene the hardness of his fists. Soon, they separated. When Irene applied for a divorce, the judge refused to grant it until the young couple visited a court-appointed marriage counselor. They complied with the court's order, and Irene, upon the advice of the counselor, sought and received psychiatric treatment at a state-supported psychological center.
Fortunately, and unlike most cases of such an incestuous past, Irene responded to treatment. After a year's separation from her husband, the couple reunited and at last information they were making inroads toward a happy family life together.
Why did Irene have difficulties in reacting well to marriage? her psychiatrist was asked.
"For many reasons," the psychiatrist said. "But one point does stand out above all the others. In a way, Irene had already been married. To her brother. She had a history of sexual relations with her brother dating back many, many years. She was compatible with her brother, too. And this hindered compatibility with her real husband. Also, because Irene had enjoyed what is normally thought of as a 'good sex life' with her brother, it was difficult for her to sexually adjust to another. And when upon marriage, she stopped experiencing orgasm, well, then, all of the marriage was bad. And there were many elements of guilt prevalent in Irene's subconscious, too. This, quite naturally, caused difficulty. But I would say that Irene turned out rather well much better than we would expect the partner in a long incestuous affair to turn out."
And what of Mark? How did he fare? Did incest leave irresolvable marks upon his life?
Mark remained in the military service. He advanced to a top grade in the ranks of noncommissioned officers and has served in many strange and exotic lands. Mark never to this date, to our knowledge married. He was popular with the girls and tended to drift from one to the other, never finding the one who quite satisfied him enough to warrant a marriage proposal. Perhaps some day he will find just that girl.
CASE HISTORY 14: THE LASCIVIOUS UNCLE AND NIECE
At the age of seventeen, Karen G. had evolved from incest to early teenage torrid promiscuity, and back to incest once again.
The subject of her new incestuous relationship was her mother's forty-nine-year-old brother, who, upon leave from his foreign position as news attach,, was spending a short vacation with his divorced sister and niece.
The subject of Karen's first incestuous relationship had been her father. She had provoked him into the encounter and shortly thereafter, he had fled the household. It was sometime later that her mother obtained a divorce on the grounds of desertion.
When Karen's uncle arrived, he made a great impression on her. His name was Ronald and he was extremely attractive. He talked in a clipped, precise manner that seemed foreign, although he was an American citizen. He was a bachelor, had never married, he claimed, because a man in his work cannot have family ties.
Ronald was a guest in Karen's home less than three days when Karen tried for a seduction. He was in the guest bedroom. Karen was in the hall. Ronald was in pajamas and robe. Karen wore a short, transparent negligee. She entered the bedroom.
"Well, hello there," Ronald said pleasantly to his niece.
"Good morning," Karen replied.
"My early morning prowling didn't disturb you, I hope," Ronald said, his eyes holding steadily to Karen's, although he knew that his stare was forced and strained by the effort it took to keep from glancing at the well-revealed curves of her body.
"You didn't disturb me at all," Karen said, walking the rest of the way into the room. "I've been up for hours."
"An early riser, eh?" Now, the eyes did stray, then they bugged as they fastened at Karen's bouncing, vitality packed tits.
Karen was glad that he was looking at her like that. She had become very accustomed to men looking at her body, all the time looking at it until eventually they touched it and made love to it.
"My word, but you are lightly dressed, aren't you?" the uncle said. Now his eyes moved boldly down her front, leaving tits to touch at waist and navel and thighs and cunt mound.
"I'm always lightly dressed," Karen said. "Do you know why?"
"Afraid not."
"I'm always lightly dressed because I'm always so goddamn hot."
"My word."
"The word, Ron. That's what I'm giving you."
"My well, I do declare," he said, stuttering somewhat. Karen laughed. Then she walked close to her uncle, not pausing until her extended tits brushed at the front of his bathrobe.
Ronald gulped, then darted his eyes to a table at the side. There, he found an excuse for movement away from the seductive and determined young girl. He walked over to the table, picked up his pipe, then began filling it with tobacco.
"You always smoke a pipe?" Karen asked curiously.
"Ah, yes, I do."
"You like it?"
"Quite a lot, as a matter-of-fact."
"What else do you like, Uncle Ron?"
"Oh, many things. Food, for one thing. I'm quite a gourmet, you know."
"Food. Oh, fuck food. Food and smoking a pipe." Karen's voice held a strong note of loathing.
Ronald lighted his pipe, then puffed upon it.
"Well, Ron, let's get down to business. Do you know why I'm here?"
"To visit, I presume."
She laughed, very hard, then upon quieting, she said, "You presume wrongly, Uncle Ronald."
"Well then, tell me, why are you here?"
"To tell you to come down to breakfast," she laughed at him.
Karen broke up over the expression on her . uncle's face. It was a cross between relief and disappointment. Karen laughed and laughed and laughed. She laughed leaning over, allowing her tits to hang nearly out from the bodice of her negligee. She laughed leaning way back, with her hands on her hips in a wanton pose that revealed every line of her fine young body to Ronald. She revealed her straining nipples as she brought her tits up high and threw a lustful look at her uncle. And then she laughed again, departing the room and making her way down the stairs and to the breakfast that was waiting.
If Ronald was disappointed in the reason for Karen's early morning visit to his room, he was not to know that emotion late the same night, when, with the entire house in blackness and Karen's mother sleeping in her room only a dozen feet away, the girl returned to her uncle's room, paused at the edge of his bed, looked down at the sleeping figure, then dropped her nightie from her shoulders and to the ground and quietly and in utter nudity crawled beneath the covers and next to her uncle.
"Shhhh," she said when he jerked awake. "And if you say anything, I'll scream and say you were forcing me."
It is not known what threshold Ronald had to the provocation of his niece's naked body next to him in the darkness of the night. It is not known what any man's threshold would be to such brazen provocation. It is not truly known if incest is a. sufficient deterrent to stay the hand that moves upon the tit, to halt the knee that thrust at thighs for an opening of cunt flesh, to deny the hot, foil lips that were open and waiting to take and bite and draw upon a tongue. It is not known if any man could deny that hand that reached beneath covers to unravel his cock from pajamas.
And so with Ronald, it is unknown exactly what his emotions were after Karen crawled into bed with him. But it is known what transpired.
Ronald grasped Karen to him and held her body against him with all the strength he could muster from his arms. And his knee did press for a welcome. It wasn't necessary; it was only a gesture, like asking for something one knows will willingly be given. But Ronald pressed and he found his welcome. He found much more than that, too. He found ten hot ringers that helped relieve him of his pajamas. He found a night figure of a girl hunched on her knees and bent over him, kissing at his cock flesh, at the hardness she had herself created. Kissing at all of him, kissing all the time, and always constantly lower, kissing. And soon, when the kissing had stopped, her uncle knew the softness of tits striking against his chest in a back and forth motion that Karen created by quick shifting . movements from her shoulders. And then, when both of them sensed that Ronald could know no more without knowing all, Karen rolled to her back and gathered her uncle into her arms hungrily.
Ronald was not a young man. He was certainly nothing like the boys Karen had pursued at school and at the country club. He reminded her somewhat of her father who had fucked her. And here he was now, above her, slowly pressing, finding his way, making his cock strikes, gathering speed as he pressed in and out of her cunt flesh, and taking all the time in the world for this incestuous act of love with his niece.
Karen responded with a moaning, grinding, body-crunching orgasm, the--likes of which she had not known for a very long time. And when it was over, despite Ronald's nervous pleadings, Karen insisted upon spending the rest of the night with him, and did not leave his bed until early the following morning.
For the remainder of Ronald's visit, Karen continued to pursue and win her uncle's sexual commitments. They were, by all the standards of Karen's active sexual life, successful lovers, showing consideration for each other, and with Karen always achieving a climax.
Although she hated to see him leave, Karen was not left sexually destitute by her uncle's departure from her home. There were many young men, and a few older ones, too, who awaited his leaving so that they could resume their relationships with the hot-blooded, incest-inclined, youthful girl.
Karen finished high school at age eighteen. Disinclined toward work and busy with numerous dates, she submitted her application for entrance to a city college, then waited out the summer, filling it with as much pleasure as was possible.
By mid-summer, Karen had tired of the young men she knew and directed her sexual interest toward older men, especially, for some subconscious reasons all her own, those older men who were also married and had families.
Karen created encounters with two neighbors, each of whom was in his middle years, married, and the father of several children. She also managed to sexually know a former schoolteacher, the college counselor by whom she had been interviewed, the manager of the store where her mother bought all her clothes, the corner druggist, the market manager down the block and several residents of homes in the surrounding neighborhood. Indeed, it seemed that she hadn't missed anyone.
Karen was only a month into classes at college when, pointedly due to a late menstrual cycle, she decided to get married. The groom of her choice was a man in his early thirties who had known her since she was a child and had once been employed by her father during a summer vacation from college.
Karen accepted his proposal at once, but thought a few words of warning were in order.
"I'm not sure I'm in love with you," she explained.
"That's all right," her lover told her.
"I'm rotten. You know that, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Do you know how rotten?"
"No."
"Filthy's the word, honey, just damn filthy. That's what I've been."
"It doesn't matter," he said.
"Do you know what it'd be like having me for a wife?" she asked.
"Wonderful, I hope."
"Well, you're wrong. It'd be hell. You have to know that."
"So, then it would be hell," the man said.
"I think I had better go on a little," Karen said. "I don't want any repercussions when we're old and gray."
"All right. Go on, if you want."
"I do. And I will." She paused, then said, "Do you know that I'd probably never be true to you? That I've got something with me that keeps me going after men."
"I'll take my chances."
"You'll lose."
"Maybe."
"Can you guess how many men I've fucked already?"
"No."
"Do you want me to tell you?"
"No."
"Well, I'm going to anyway. I don't really know how many, but I do know that it's in the Hundreds of hundreds, men."
"I've thought about it," he said. "Not that many. But I've thought of the men you've had and how it might affect our marriage."
"And how will it affect us?" she asked.
"I don't know. like I said, we'll have to take our chances."
"And you want to, eh?"
"Yes."
"Man, what a glutton for punishment you are."
Upon this note they embraced, sealed their vows with a bond, then drove to a motel to bind the bargain a little tighter with some lovemaking.
Karen was married in white. Her mother cried. Karen didn't. Not until after she got raging drunk at the wedding reception her mother gave for her at an exclusive country club.
The marriage went badly from the very start. It never had a real chance. Yet, it continued for eight long years eight years of fights, physical and verbal, eight years of Karen's almost constant and compulsive adultery. Her husband had sought a hostile-dependent relationship rather than only a wife. If it were not for this, the marriage would have died a quick, painless death. But the marriage lingered and the adultery and fighting and drinking and misery continued until, at last, the couple decided upon a divorce, separated, then a year later, secured the final decree.
Karen didn't need to make any adjustment to an unmarried status. She had been living like a single girl all during her marriage. She merely continued the pattern that was so well known to her. The difference was that she had a rather sizeable alimony check each month to sponsor her adventures. And all of Karen's adventures were sexual in nature.
Karen spent the years between her twenty-eighth birthday and her thirty-fourth year, continuing her nearly insane drive for sexual encounters. She found and had men in the most un-likely places. And she found many places, for it became her habit to travel a lot, both within the country and abroad. Although her looks were beginning to fade, her body was still exquisite and her flippant, sexually centered attitude, made her attractive to many men. During these years, Karen experienced few orgasms. Most of her sexual encounters had been made for other and deeper reasons than sexual needs.
At the age of thirty-five, Karen married a second time. At thirty-seven she married a third time and a fourth marriage resulted at the age of forty. She was incapable of being faithful. She could not love. Nor could she accept true love when it was extended to her. Not until it was too late; not until youth had passed her by and she carried that drained look that one often experiences after a long and unpleasant hospitalization.
Karen was in the rear of a taxi cab being driven to a destination to meet a new lover an older man, fairly reminiscent of her father. Suddenly, she started screaming. She screamed insanely. She ripped her nails down her clothing, tearing it into shreds, then turned her attack upon the upholstery of the taxi cab.
The driver drove until he came to a police car. Then he stopped. The police had all they could do to hold Karen, now naked and still shrieking, but they managed to detain her until an ambulance vehicle arrived to take her to the city hospital.
Soon, Karen was transferred from the city facility to a private mental hospital far from the city. And there she spent six tortured years of remembering, of thinking of the past, trying to orientate the present, and planning for a future that at most promised only aloneness and bleakness.
"We'll never really know what caused all of Karen's problems," said her psychiatrist recently. "Cases like this are made up of combinations of so many things. So many, many attitudes and ideas and environment and the growth and experience of the child growing up. But as regards the incest and the incest wishes that were a part of her, there is no doubt that she suffered emotionally because of her incestuous experiences, especially those with her father. To another person, these experiences may not have caused such a violent reaction, but to Karen it spelled doom and despair and all the wretched elements that go to make up a futile, valueless life as she had."
"But is there hope for Karen now that she has finished her hospitalization?" the doctor was asked.
"Very little, I'd say," he answered.
CASE HISTORY 15: BROTHER AND SISTER: TEENAGERS, AND SEXUAL LOVERS
This case history involved another brother-sister incestuous partnership. That of Beth Anderson and her brother, Gary. Where the preceding case displayed elements of companionship, compatibility and love between the brother and sister, the relationship between Beth and Gary demonstrates the force that hostility and hate has in some incestuous encounters.
Beth and Gary were two and a half years apart in age and oceans removed from each other in the matter of their parents' affection. Gary was the older. He was bright and handsome and the favorite of both the mother and father. All plans centered around Gary. Whatever Gary wanted, he surely got. Gary also got many things he never requested: clothes, sporting equipment, money, and especially the total attention of his father.
Beth was pretty, but her parents seldom noticed it, and never mentioned it. Not to her, or anyone else. Beth, younger than her brother, usually wore a cheated look upon her face. As if she had come to the family too late to have any love left over for her. Beth did well in school, but her marks were never quite what Gary's had been in the same grade, so she received little praise and no reward for her ability which had placed her in the upper third of her classes during elementary school.
Mr. Anderson and his son, Gary, were constant companions on weekends. From the boy's thirteenth birthday, the males of the fished together, hunted, attended baseball football games in season, and enjoyed the companionship of each other that Beth never knew with anyone.
One would think that Beth would find solace for her paternal neglect in the figure of her mother. Not so, however. When the men weren't present, Mrs. Anderson was too busy for her daughter. When she took time to even talk to the child, the conversation centered on Gary, how good-looking he was, how bright, how athletic how everything, all of which Beth was already well-reminded of every day of her life for as long as she could remember.
Beth began to try and determine what it was about herself that displeased her parents so. When she was fourteen she recognized that she was pretty, even if in a plain sort of way, and she did well in school and was popular enough with her peers. What was it that was wrong? What had she done? A crime perhaps a horrible crime when she was young that she could not remember? What was it?
Quite simply, it was nothing. Nothing special. The Andersons, only second-generation Americans, were very male-centered. They could not help but be this way. So male-centered and Gary-centered were the Andersons that they did not even recognize that they neglected their female child.
Through psychiatric reconstruction of a life, it was determined that it had not always been this way. Once, Beth did receive attention. Quite a lot of it, at that. But, unfortunately, for this particular child, it was the kind of attention she would have been better off without.
When the children were little, Beth about two and Gary nearly four, Mr. Anderson made a game of taking a shower. He would invite the small children to join him within the tiled cubicle and beneath the needle-spray. The children loved the game. Naked and bouncing about together seemed like the very best kind of fun. But in the community of being naked and showering together, certain directions were given to Beth's attitudes that later went to make up her problems and her feelings of hostility and hate. For one thing, father and son each had a penis. She did not. She was sure she had somehow been cheated or overlooked. She later put it during a session of psychotherapy, that she felt "short-changed."
It became apparent, in therapy, that as a young girl, Beth envied the physical make-up of her father and brother. It follows that when the brother turned out to be the favorite, the one to whom all things were given and done, Beth's young mind subconsciously construed it as a result of Gary being different than she was, the fact that he had a penis and she did not.
Beth never quite became resolved to her role of second place to brother Gary. She yearned for more achievement, better reception from her parents. She did not get it. Then, the bubbling buds of the subconscious directed her toward a method of achieving that which Gary already had.
It must be pointed out that despite the difference of paternal love for the children, Beth really liked her brother quite a lot. And Gary liked her, too. Sometimes, it has been reported. Gary felt badly and considerably guilty because Beth was not accepted as he was. The brother and sister, even with these worlds of acceptance between them, were good companions upon occasion. And it was this good companionship that helped break down the barriers that led to incest.
Mr. Anderson's position as an automotive representative required that he travel a good deal of the time. As the children grew older, he was often absent from the house on weekends. Beth loved these times. Then, there was a lessening of the stress that always seemed to be present when her father was home. And it was on such a weekend a Sunday morning while the mother was absent from the house, that all of Beth's hostility and hate and envy gathered together in her subconscious to force a conscious issue of incest between her brother and herself.
Gary was in bed, reading the Sunday papers when Beth entered his room.
"Hi," he said pleasantly. "Want part of the paper, Beth?"
"Okay. The comic section, if you're through with it."
"I'm on sports now. Here." He handed her the colored comic section of the Sunday paper.
Beth took the paper, then crawled into the bed next to her sixteen-year-old brother. Lately, Beth had noticed that her brother had be come more than ordinarily interested in girls. She noticed the physical signs of sexual interest, too; the tenting of his trousers as his cock rose and trembled beneath the fabric of his trousers. When she crawled into the bed, she made a point of striking against her brother's thighs clumsily with her elbow to determine if his cock was hard that morning. It was, she quickly determined. To herself, she smiled, thinking that her parents would surely be horrified if they knew that Gary had a hard-on. It didn't occur to her that his posture had nothing to do with voluntary reactions.
After about ten minutes of attention to the papers, Beth was moved to begin a conversation with her brother. It was quite a special kind of conversation, for it was sexually centered. Beth liked the idea of talking about sexual things to Gary. It excited him, she knew very well. And, exciting him was a way of getting even for all the dirty tricks that had been played upon her by her parents and because of Gary.
Beth has told her psychiatrist that she didn't recall exactly how it happened. But, in no time at all, brother and sister had found a way that allowed them to roll and wrestle together on the bed. Then, as quick as anything, they were without their clothing. And then they became very quickly involved in a short, rapid, quite unsatisfactory coital encounter, wherein Gary rammed his hard cock into her tender cunt folds, squirting his cock juice all over her naked body as they pounded together fiercely.
The next day, Irene realized that she had made a real victory. By fucking with Gary, she had managed to take some of the fluff out of his image. They seemed more on a level now. And, she had something on him. She could destroy his reputation with their parents by a simple accusation, if she cared to make it. She did not so care. Instead, she required that Gary become her regular lover, which, sometimes unwillingly, he did.
Psychiatrists found several reasons that Beth should be directed to incest with her brother. "By having sexual intercourse with him," said one of the doctors, "Beth was subconsciously achieving for herself the penis she did not have, actually taking it within her body and having it, even if for only a little while." Another psychiatric view was that Beth was moved to a love affair with her brother as a means of castrating him, actually taking his penis from him by taking it into her own body. And another opinion of this case of incest was that Beth, by seducing her brother and making him her lover, was expelling the hate she had for her parents, expressing this hate, so to speak, by making Gary as dirty as she was, thus destroying his image, the reduction of which, she hoped, would raise her in the esteem of her parents.
When her brother went away to college, Beth began a rampage of promiscuity with scores of boys. When she found herself pregnant at the age of seventeen, she married the boy who was only a little more than a year older. The marriage lasted less than two years. Another marriage followed. This one lasted less than a year. And she was married still a third time when a nervous breakdown hospitalized her and placed her in touch with psychiatric treatment which has provided us with this case history.
A portion of Beth's recollection therapy brought to light the following conversation between her and her therapist:
Beth: What sort of questions do you want to ask me? Go ahead and ask whatever you need to. I won't be embarrassed.
Therapist: That's just fine, Beth. There will be many questions that I will be asking you, so just make yourself comfortable. Now, to begin with, when did you first decide to bring about a sexual encounter with your brother?
Beth: Oh, I'd been thinking about it for a long time. I wanted to get back at my damn parents for ignoring me all the time and giving all their attention to that bastard, Gary. I had it all planned out carefully and I was only waiting for the right chance to get even. That Sunday morning was just perfect for enacting my plan. I was going to get Gary to fuck me, whether he wanted to or not.
Therapist: Did Gary suspect anything that day? Anything that might have made him feel that you were about to do something out of the ordinary?
Beth: Hell, no. I often came into his room on Sunday morning and we would share the paper. Only I usually just sat on the bed. That particular morning I used the excuse that it was cold and without even asking him, I crawled under the covers with him. I remember feeling the hardness of his cock with my elbow as I crawled over him. He didn't even wince when I brushed against that hard cock of his. He just went on reading his sports section.
Therapist: And what did you do then, Beth?
Beth: Well, I pretended to read the comics for a few minutes, and then I tossed the paper aside and began teasing Gary, just sort of pinching and pushing at him, just like kids do sometimes. And pretty soon the covers were off the bed and my nightie had crept high on my belly, showing off my fuzzy cunt mound. Gary took a giant look and his eyes bulged wildly as he got that first sight of my puffy pussy. And then I tugged at his pajamas. He was only wearing the bottoms and I pulled at the string and then tugged them down over his hips. Before he knew what was happening, he was naked, his cock was bulging at me as it loomed straight up from between his thighs. I pounced on his prick then, locking it with my hands fiercely. I remember that Gary moaned and cried out that we shouldn't be doing that, but I didn't pay any attention to his ramblings. I wiggled out of my nightie and then I was naked beside him as I began to rub my thighs against his, pressing my titties into his strong chest. Pretty soon Gary got the message and then he was no longer reluctant to proceed. He began to shout, "Fuck me, Beth! Fuck me, fast!" And that's exactly what we began to do. I had only had two other boys fuck me before that time, so my cunt was pretty small for that giant cock of his, but I took him. I took all he had to give and when his come began to squirt out of that cock head, I could feel its warmth filling me and then squishing out of my cunt hole to run down my thighs. He really flooded my pussy that morning with his come, but I loved every drop of it.
Therapist: What did your brother say after your lovemaking that morning, Beth?
Beth: What could he say? We had fucked and that's all there was to it. Oh, sure, he said he was sorry and all that rot and that it wouldn't happen again. He kept repeating that sort of shit. But that wasn't for me. Not at all. I needed more of his fucking and I told him so. He was shocked, of course, but when I told him I would tell the folks about what he had done to me, he pleaded that I keep my mouth shut. He said he would fuck me whenever and wherever I wanted it. I had to laugh at that! Here was my big, strong brother begging me not to tell on him. That was one fuck of a laugh, man, I'll tell you. One fuck of a laugh, indeed. I had his ticket but good then and I intended to use the hold I had over him as often as I could. I would keep reminding him of our bargain whenever I got the chance. He became very embarrassed over my winking and sly looks and touches and asked me not to carry on that way in front of our parents. Damn, I couldn't have cared less about them. What had they ever done for me? Nothing! Now that I was getting my own way around the house for a change, I was going to see that it kept on. I was going to use up my brother's cock in no time. He would have to keep real busy to give me enough of that cock juice of his.
Therapist: How long were you able to continue this relationship, Beth?
Beth: As long as I would have wanted it, I suppose. But then the damn jerk had to go away to college and that ended all our fucking and all my future plans. It was one hell of a shame, though, because he had the biggest cock ever. And he was really learning how to jam that prick of his into my cunt flesh. He was a damn good fuck!
Therapist: What did you do when your brother left for college and you were alone, Beth?
Beth: Well, I fingered my own pussy for a long time, until I found a stud who would be able to service me well. And then I got knocked up. I even married the bastard, but it didn't work out at all. And then I kept getting married. I guess I was really trying to forget Gary and the great fucks we had had, but I wasn't able to get him off my mind. No cock was able to compare to Gary's. I can still remember it. What a mind-blowing fucking deal we had that last time. Man, what a fuck that was!
