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From: Tristesssa <Tristesssa@aol.com>
Subject: Innocence Not Lost.......(Insest, True Story.......By Tristesssa)
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Okay guys, here I am. Another true event of my life. I have a spell
checker now, so I hope the misspellings are fewer. I have had
wonderful people guide me through grammar, so maybe this one is a
little better. But probably not, since my habits are old. I tried to fix this
story up so you could see through my window, as I saw it, as I see it. 

Ana~    






        Click, click, click. I could hear my shoes tap on the concrete. It
was such a comforting sound to hear . It told me I was walking away
from my grandfathers house and on my way to the little market a
couple of blocks away. 
        I felt things on that walk that ordinary five year olds probably
never give much thought to. I noticed the trees and sounds, people and
cars. I always wondered where the people were going and  what the
trees were feeling. But I kept my stride. Fudgsicles. This was the
mission. A dollar in my hand and a thought in my head. 
       Pauly was the clerk who owned the little store and he knew my
ritual. I walked in and handed him the wadded up dollar of sin. Then
without hesitation, walked over to the freezer and grabbed one
fudgsicle and skipped out the front door. With a dollar I could buy five
of them. But I only grabbed one at a time and sat on the stoop outside
to eat them. Day after day I studied the wrapper. Clear celephane,
covered yellow polks-dots, and tiny words. I ate one after another, till
the dollar ran out. Sometimes I cried. Sometimes the pain wouldn't go
away but I ate them anyway. Funny how no one ever asked me what
was wrong. No one ever gave me a door to open. Two thugs selling
weird cigarettes often teased me. I just ignored them.                        
	I was a chubby little girl. Short for my age. Long dark
brown curls that swayed and bounced on my back when I walked.
Light skin, soft and creamy. My eyes looked big when I was a child,
sitting over mounds of rosey peppered cheeks. Angel kisses no doubt. 
           My grandmother dressed me in the finest dresses, white laced
socks and black patent leather shoes. The backside of my panties were
covered in layers of frilly lace. I was a beautiful child.
            When summer time rolled around my father would send
me to my grandparents house for long stretches of time. I think it was
his way of having control over my mother. My father was abusive to
her, and felt the need to prove he indeed had full control over us. The
first summer I went was a good one. I was their little princess, being
the oldest grandchild of the oldest son, I was adored. My grandmother
was such a loving woman, but no doubt was under my grandfathers
orders in life. Years of control break a woman to the point she can't
feel anymore. When I came along, my grandmother had purpose.
Meaning to wake in the morning. I became the daughter she never had.
       I could tell even then that at one time she was beautiful. Her hair
was long with streaks of gray that she waded up on her head. Her teeth
were large, straight and white. Her skin color was the most device
ivory shade. She had a chubby body frame, that was the most softest
loving feel when I laid in her lap. Her hands were tiny, manicured,
perfect in every way. I loved her the first time I met her. Her smile was
truly welcoming. She spoke spanish to me, which at first was so
foreign, but I soon learned it without a pause. 
       My grandfather on the other hand was brutal even at first sight. I
knew in my heart he was mean. He looked crazed and manic. His hair
was long and curly, jet black like midnight. He was a rather short man,
kinda stalky. His face showed years of anger and pain. Pain he himself
had carried for years. His voice made you shrink in your skin. It
bellowed and yelled, even when he whispered. He was demanding of
my grandmother. Ordered her around at his beck and call. Early on I
learned that she wasn't allowed to feel any emotion, it bothered him. If
she was excited she was immediately silenced. If she became sad, he
made her really cry. She just existed, numb is the best way to describe
her.
                           My grandfather worked for the railroad. He left
before dawn, and returned after the sun went down. He worked hard
this I know. But he enjoyed his drink too. My grandmother worked
hard in the house. She kept the garden and yard work up, I am sure to
his specifications always. She was a wonderful cook and a very good
housekeeper. Something was always baking, or stewing on the stove.
She made herself busy at all times.
                         I had my own room in their old Victorian home. Small
as it was it seemed huge. The walls were a cold gray chalky color. I
had one large window in which showed the small side street and a
house on the next corner. My curtains were made of a flowery pastel
print, made for me. I had a small bed, a cot really. The floor was of a
worn cement, covered with throw rugs. This room was cold and empty
feeling. My room back home was very feminine and there were toys in
which to amuse myself. But my grandfather wasn't big on toys. He
thought that they were such a waste of money.
            The first night in that room was scary for me. It was dark. My
grandmother would shut the door. At home I had a night light to be
sure the monsters wouldn't come out. But here, it was dark. Too dark.
That was the first time I heard a train run along the tracks. The
windows vibrated, and my bed wiggled underneath me. A bright light
sprayed on the wall. I laid there, not moving a muscle. My toes curled
and my hands grabbed at the bottom sheet, my eyes widened, and my
breath stopped. What else is a 5 year old kid to do? It wasn't until the
next day that I had realized it was a train running along the tracks. 
The rails only separated my grandparents by a small lot of grass no
wider that 30 feet. They lived in the barrio where all poor mexicans
lived, near the "tracks".
                     When I stayed that summer, anyone could tell I was
raised properly by my mother. I used graceful thankyous, and
honorable good-byes. I knew how to smile and sit in a dress. I never
spoke in adult conversation unless spoken to and I never left a mess
behind for anyone to clean up after. I remember thinking that maybe
things would be good here. My mother and father fought so much. He
was always angry with her. She was always crying, and I was always
sent out of the room with a push or shove. I spent a lot of time in my
room at home with stuffed animals, papers and pens. I remember
pretending to write everything down that they were saying. I spent a
lot of time in the closet too. Drawing pictures in the dark on the walls,
with purple crayons. Always purple. But I was thinking that maybe if I
was good enough here at the grandparents house that maybe, just
maybe they would like me enough to keep me. So with that thought I
was always good.
          I made my bed in the morning and cleaned my plate. Picked up
after myself and any other thing out of place. Simple thoughts. I just
wanted to belong to someone, anyone, somewhere, anywhere. Strange
how I carried that into my adulthood thought process. 
                Radio bingo was always a big agenda on my grandmothers
chores in the day. Mexican radio always played in their house whether
TV was on or not, the radio blared. She would sit around lunch time in
front of the radio with pinto beans in hand and her cards. For a stretch
of about a half hour this was her little pleasure. Bingo. I never could
understand why she never went anywhere. She didn't drive either. We
walked to the grocery and that would be it for an outing. Daytime was
so much fun living there. It was just her and I, in our house. We
danced to the music, made mexican pastries, and she made me
dresses.
             Flour back then came in large bags of printed material. So
with the bags she would make dresses for me to play in. I was
beginning to ruin the good dresses climbing trees and playing on the
tracks. We had two large fig trees in the front yard I would climb and
sit there for hours just watching the traffic on the freeway. Wondering
where people were going. Those frilly dresses never lasted long in a
tree. I liked these dresses better because they were hand made for me.
My grandmother laughed a lot that summer. I made her cry several
times because I was such a silly little girl.
            I had my mothers , mother too. But she was different. She
loved me, but hated my father which made a relationship hard with
her. It wasn't till I was older that I had realized all the manipulation
that went on behind the adult scene. It was then that I also realized my
grandfather hated my mother as well.
               The summer I turned six I returned to their home of anger
and guilt. That was also the summer my grandfather changed his tune
with me. He began taking me for rides in the back of his pickup and
taking me for walks down Main St. He would stand me in front of the
candy store and allow me to pick anything out I wanted out. I grew
closer to him. I began loving this old angry man. 
              "Grandma! It's bath time! Can I fill the tub with bubbles this
time?? Can I?? Grandma! " I was screaming at the top of my lungs
running from room to room in only my panties.
              "Shhhh Mija, not so loud Grandpa is taking a nap."
              "I love to take bubbles Grandma,"
              "Okay, okay, come on then." As I turned the corner to go to
the bathroom I could see my grandfather stirring in his bed. So I
stopped and peaked around the corner. His hips were moving and he
was partially uncovered. I could see his backside and his arm was
moving. I didn't understand what was happening. I walked in slowly
not making a noise for a better look.' Was he sick?' I thought. I moved
to the foot of the bed as he turned over. He looked up at me and
motioned for me to come closer. I was scared at first but moved
towards the head of the bed. 
            "Look babygirl, Grandpa is going to show you something.
Where's Grandma?" he said in a low breathless voice.
            "She went to get my Minnie Mouse towel off the clothesline so
I can take a bath." My eyes grew big and I became a little nervous as
he uncovered himself. I had never seen a mans body before. I stood
still without expression. He was rubbing his privates and had his other
hand on my naked breast. 
           "Come closer babygirl and lay with grandpa."
           "How come? Are you sick or something? Why are you rubbing
yourself? " Just then he laid his erect penis on my hip still moving
back and forth. He came all over me. On my stomach and legs. I was
scared and tried to get out of the bed, but he pulled me back. 
          "Shhhhhhhh....If you tell grandma then we can't go for rides or
to the store anymore."
          " K" I began to cry. I wasn't sure what just happened. Later, I
found out my grandmother knew exactly what was happening and
hated her for it.
         "Come on Mija time to bathe" she never even asked why I was in
the bed with her naked husband.
         While preparing for my bath I watched the bubbles grow like a
white snow in the winter. Grandma turned the heater on for me and
closed the door. As I slipped into the bath water I felt funny about
what I had just seen and homesick all at once. I wanted to know how
he did that. How he made rubbing cream come out of his privates. I
could still feel it on my tummy and began to make circles in it with my
fingertips. It was soft and sticky. I wondered if it had a taste but the
bubbles were on it now.
        I guess I had been in there a while when I heard the front door
slam and Grandpa's footsteps coming closer when I knocked the bottle
of shampoo on the floor spilling it everywhere. 
        "Mija? What was that?" Grandpa's voice bellowed through the
crack in the door.
        " I spilled the shampoo, I'm sorry."
         As he opened the door I slid into the bubbles so he couldn't see
my naked form.
        "Well we shouldn't waste it, sit up. I will scrape it up and give
you a bath. Come on."
         I didn't say a word. I just sat up. He began rubbing shampoo on
my back and hips. He let some of the water out of the tub making most
of body exposed. 
        "Lay back Mija, I need to wash your privates so you don't smell
like Grandma." I laid back. I could feel my body shake. He opened my
legs and began rubbing my privates. It felt good. After a while of
rubbing he stood and opened his jeans. I could hear the zip louder then
it should have been for some reason. He pulled out his erect penis and
kneeled just enough to lay it on the side of the tub.
        "Kiss it baby, and make grandpa's peter feel better. I am sick you
know. "
        "That’s gross Grandpa" I said. 
        "Rub it for me then." I could feel tears began to fill in my large
hazel eyes when I touched it. He moaned. Something wasn't right
about this and I could feel it. He slipped his finger between my virgin
lips and began to rub faster than before. I was confused. It felt good
when he rubbed my hairless little sex. He began that rubbing thing
with his sex  again. As he began to move faster he grabbed my locks of
brown hair and pulled my face to the end of his penis. The cream, the
cream was now on my face and lips. He began rubbing it on my nose
and eyes. Silence. 
       " I hate you I said. I will always hate you." With that he slapped
me and pulled me out of the tub in one motion with a handful of my
hair. My head hit the tile floor and I slid about two feet into a wall. He
stood above me yelling things I can't remember, then knelt over me
laying his semi erect cock across my face, and with that I knew he was
in full control.
        The summers to fallow were the same until I was about eight. I
chose not to go that summer. I made excuses that I was too old for
leaving my friends behind for that long. I made promises to do the
yardwork and baby-sit my little brothers. I won the war. Since then,
have never spoke to them. 
       




        I have to tell you, the reader, that I enjoyed those interludes with
my grandfather. At first I was scared and unsure of what was
happening. I never have had any great therapy nor ever carried any
guilt for those pleasures as a child. I married (and separated) and have
two children. I have never had the desire to engage in such acts with
my kids, nor ever will. I must say that when I found out later in life
that it was wrong my thoughts on sexuality shifted dramatically. So
much that in the adult part of my life I only chose to lay with two
lovers. I have to say I am a little inhibited, but for the most part
normal. Thanks for reading~



Ana Hernandez 1998       



      
              
          


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