Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. ...the psychology of the whole thing. Oh gosh. Where to start? I think, if you look at the path my stories have taken over time, it is obvious to see the self-discovery I have been through, but, here's some reflection: 1 - I started out with the `My daughter needs his cock' stories, which begin with the idea of drugging an under-age (and hence non-consensual) "play thing" ... where the child is unaware of the act which has been carried out by adults who simply cannot help themselves from this desire. I guess I was, in a way, looking at how the child could least be harmed in a scenario where the adults were going to carry out their deed regardless. However, this story then took a different course and perhaps reflects my own first "crush" on my third-grade teacher, Mr. Walker. Were those the beginning signs of my sexual cravings? I had been "masturbating" since an early age, around 3 or 4, something my parents simply allowed me to do whenever and wherever I saw fit (much to the embarrassment of my older sister). I do have vivid memories of "humping" the hard marble-like nose of a teddy-bear, in the living room while watching cartoons; of the pleasure that little nubbin gave to my own little nubbin. I don't recall what transpired -- whether it was my sister's comments/reaction that brought my attention to this being a potentially `shameful' display, but I do remember at some point realizing it was something that ought to only happen behind close doors and without witness. I don't recall any sort of conversation transpiring between myself and an adult to this effect -- as though I was merely left to draw my own conclusions, rather than offered any practical guidance. 2 - My next writing takes shape in the form of the `Rob finds fun' in which I attempt to normalize the sexuality into a loving and caring scenario, while at the same time giving what might be a poorly displayed, if readily apparent reason for an adult to seek out sexual gratification from a minor/family member. If sex is a natural extension of romantic love, then is it so extremely out of question to suggest that sex is also a natural extension of familial love? I attempt to explore this idea in this series, while also getting bogged down by the physicality of it all -- these stories are being read by a certain audience. I am receiving feedback and attempting to feed the praise -- as any artist would. (i.e. if you like my blue period, perhaps I'll continue with the blue period, since it apparently `sells'). 3 - many discussions with other writers in this genre and other readers in this genre ensue. I attempt a story for the sake of the action -- a parent who simply cannot restrain themselves, regardless of time and age, from sexualizing their child. This appears in the form of "Little" and "Littler" (attempted from both the male perspective and the female perspective) ... did this make the child sexual? Or was the child simply a prop, and the sex actually happening in the mind of the adult(s) in the scenario? The child is very obviously not "harmed" in any way. 4 - Some real life reflection here. I am a mother. I have a nearly 13 year old daughter. Not once in the past 13 years have I viewed her body as sexual. Not when she was a baby. Not when she was a toddler. Not when she was young and not now as she enters her own sexual awakenings. I often interacted with her body in the normal function of parenting, from diapers to illness and otherwise. Nothing about it was sexual. In fact, at one point when she was 10, she had a nasty urinary tract infection that seemed to not respond to any oral medication, and I was instructed by our family doctor to administer a more intensive therapy via cream injections directly into her vaginal entrance. While some readers of my stories might get hot and bothered at this idea, I can tell you, the reality was horrific! It was awkward, painful and completely un-sexy in any way, shape or form. In fact, after my daughter placed a pillow over her face so she could distance herself from the event, and I had to still continue my ministrations, I felt like I was practically raping this child, in order to provide her proper medical care. NOT a very pleasant feeling, certainly not for a mother and certainly not for a woman who has been raped. (see point #5) I also do not see the little children I come across at the doctor's office, or my daughter's day care or school, or the park, or the swimming pool, or change rooms, or any of the number of other places I have crossed paths with children, to be sexual. I have been `attracted' in a sense, to a beautiful smile, or a chubby cheek, or a twinkling eye, or a sweet peal of laughter. But not sexually drawn, only joyously drawn as a way of appreciating something lovely. So if I was not attracted to my daughter, and I have not been attracted to other children.... is there any possible way I can actually be a pedophile? I'm not sure. There's more...... 5 - The issue of rape. I'm going to link to one of my other writings, I'll post it into this assorg directory, rather than link it from my blog (oh, my personal blog is easy to find, but, I'd rather not create the direct hyperlink!) .... The other writing gives the best nuanced detailing of the events in my life considered rape. http://www1.asstr.org/files/Authors/PedoMom/psych/fifth%20time.txt 6 - Specifically "to deal with personal past experiences": When I was 4ish, in the early 80's, I had a babysitter who watched me every day after school. She was an adult, married woman. She had a daughter my age, and we were the best of friends. I remember they took me with them to various places, including away for the weekend to their summer cottage. I remember many things from those experiences -- I remember the cottage trip, the dock down into the water, the "jelly" shoes we borrowed from her mom so we wouldn't have to step in the icky-muddy shore and the same mud which sucked up one of said shoes, and how terrified we were that we would be in SO MUCH TROUBLE. I remember the mom, at the kitchen table upstairs, working on building stained-glass pieces. I remember playing the "hot lava" game across the couch and benches in the basement. I remember the aqua blue shag carpeting in that basement, where we spent many an afternoon watching cartoons, including my favourite: He-Man. I was going to grow up to BE He-Man, and not She-Ra, because whenever She-Ra got in real trouble, her cousin He-Man had to come save her! (roll cross-over episode!)... I remember being taken to a Regal (catalogue) shop where one of the parents worked, and I was allowed to choose anything from a certain section, and I chose a little heart-shaped glass jewelry box... I remember the mom, the kid, but who I don't remember even remotely, is the father. He must have been there... he must have come to the cottage with us. He was likely the one who took us to the Regal outlet. What happened at some point, my family moved away from that area, and I could no longer use that same babysitter. About a month later, the father was arrested and charged for molesting his daughter. My parents say they asked me at the time, to see if anything was happening with me and I seemed to indicate that nothing was. But I have exactly zero memory of this man. This is also right around the time that I started "humping" my toys (masturbating). Did something happen? Do I think something happened? Did he only get caught because I was no longer there for him to play with and he turned to his daughter? Was he always molesting both of us and it was a fluke he only got caught after I moved away? Did nothing at all happen and I've created this whole huge deal in my mind, simply because memories from more than 30 years ago do not include a man, who was likely away at work most of the time while I was at the house after school? I don't know. 7 - I continued to receive praise for my writing on this site and encouragement to continue writing. Some requests for certain things. Some suggestions for other things... I attempt to answer these messages and encourage what I assume they want to hear from me. I try out some of the suggestions in later chapters of some of my on-going writing. I'm not sure how I feel about it all. On some level I enjoy the praise. On some level I'm not entirely sure I want it. On another level, I can't imagine wanting anything more than praise for my works. I start to question why I'm writing THIS sort of story and not others. I have all sort of inner turmoil and questions I don't know how to ask. I continue to write, maybe trying to access my subconscious in this way? 8 - Now comes Captive. What if the parent were forced to enter into this experience. Completely against her will. What if her body defies her. What if she is surprised by how she feels, by how her child appears to respond, by the ease of her captors manner.......... what if? Does that make it okay? Can it ever be okay? What am I really asking here? Am I trying to create a scenario in which what might have happened to me as a child has some framework of reference -- like maybe he was in a loveless marriage? Maybe he was sexualized as a child and just assumed it was right? Maybe if it's in a loving way, maybe.. maybe.. maybe... I think I'm exploring? I don't know. So many times I've thought to delete all my stories. So many times I've wondered what the heck am I doing? So many times I've questioned where these stories COME from? I don't plan them out. There's no story-board and plot-lines. I just sit at a computer and let the words fall from my finger tips. There's nearly no editing after the fact, other than for typos or glaring grammatical errors........... Do I have a muse? Is there some greater power out there using me as a vessel to convey a story that must find purchase? I'm not sure what I think of that muse, if so! Where do I go next? What other story-lines do I play with? 9 - Olivia came directly from a request. I did not create it for me. I crafted it specifically to meet a need in the community I seem to have found myself. I have no idea how that makes me feel. Is this like a painter taking a job request, to paint a portrait to specification? Am I merely carrying out the deed, and have no further attachment to it? Except, Olivia went from a short quip, which was the fulfillment of the request, and suddenly took on a whole life of it's own, becoming 3 more chapters. Is that me, now? Is this story what I think happens out there? 10 - Legality. Well, I'm pretty sure if anyone decides to argue the point, these stories could send me to jail. I'm not really certain on the law, I know that I'm writing them for my own exploration, but I don't know if that matters, in the long run. It's strange the way our justice system works. An author can write an entire novel all about the execution of a murder, the whole tricky plan not to get caught.... and then the novel can be picked up and turned into a screen-play and actors can carry out this plot ..... but still, it's seen as fiction and it's okay. The news can show horrific images of horrific events, post warnings of their horrific nature, before showing them -- but they're just reporting actual events, so they're not guilty of traumatizing their viewers, they're just reporting the facts. Yet here I write, pixels on a digital screen, stories that depict something our society sees as the absolute most egregious act -- the sexualization of a child. And suddenly, WHAM! It's potential jail time. No one was harmed; perhaps I was helped in unfolding my inner demons by writing it, perhaps a reader was sated and did not need to seek out the reality, because living in my fantasy was enough.... but somehow, it is so very _wrong_ that I must be punished. Ugh. I don't even know where my head is at. I know that if my family found this, I'd be disowned and shunned. I know my daughter would never understand. I know my (divorced) parents would see the other as at fault -- my father was too liberal, my mother wasn't liberal enough ........ I don't know where any of this comes from. If you're still reading, perhaps you're as much a glutton for punishment as I am............ .... that's the end of my mental ponderings for one night. (12:01am Sunday February 5, 2017)