Being a victim of incest, I am appalled at the amount of stories that I find on the Internet that glorifies the repulsive act. All of these stories seem to have the same theme: The little girl loved doing it with daddy.
I am telling my story because I feel that this is the only way that I can get through to readers of these stories that this is not an act that should be glorified. I would venture to guess that up to 99% of those girls that have experienced an actual incestuous relationship with their father would tell you that it was the most horrible and traumatic thing that ever happened to them.
In my case, I must confess that I did experience sexual pleasure. Nevertheless, it was still the most fearful and degrading experience that any girl could live through.
I was 15 years old when I gave up my virginity to the 'love of my life' my 16-year-old boyfriend Donald. We had been dating for about a year and he was becoming more and more insistent that we 'go-all-the-way'. I tried to hold him off by giving him oral sex, and even though I became quite adept at it, he kept pressuring me that he needed the 'real thing'. Finally, I relented.
There was no 'magic' that first time. There were no bells ringing or birds singing. There were no glorious thrills of pleasure. It was painful and empty, I simply felt like a useful toy for my boyfriend. In short, I hated it.
The second time that he did it to me was not any better.
The third time is supposed to be a charm and in our case, it almost was. Donnie did not do it to me; we did it together. We were at my house and my mother and father were both working (I thought). Donnie and I spent over a half-hour 'petting'. On this night he was just being plain lovable, without being demanding. We worked ourselves into a passion, slowly, delightfully, like real lovers.
Because Donnie did not rush, by the time we finally got into my bed I was truly horny, for the first time in my life. Still, he did not force himself on me, spending at least another 15 minutes on foreplay. He was turning me on so much that I was actually becoming the aggressor.
When finally he entered me, I felt that the chills and thrilling pleasures going through me were the reason for my being. It was an unbelievable experience. That night, for the first time, my body instinctively was reacting to my inner sensual feelings. I was fascinated and excited at the way my body was moving about on its own accord under my boyfriend's sexual manipulations.
I was only seconds away from my climax when my father burst into the room. Donnie was quickly off me and my father was just as quick upon him. I had never seen my father in such a rage and I will never know how he was able to restrain himself from killing my boyfriend.
Donnie was rapidly putting on his shoes and pants and I started to get up, when my father screamed violently at me, "YOU STAY THERE! DON'T YOU MOVE!"
Naturally, I froze.
In less than a minute, my boyfriend was dressed from the waist down and rushing out of the room carrying his shirt and jacket. I heard the front door slam closed as he beat a hasty retreat, probably thankful that he escaped unscathed.
"Daddy ... I... ," I started to plead. I was so filled with fear and trepidation that I think, in my mind at that point, I was pleading for my life.
"Shut up. Don't say anything!" I will never forget his tone for the rest of my life.
There I lay, naked as the day I was born, still breathing somewhat heavily from the aborted sex and its aftermath, with my father's eyes flashing wildly over my body.
I could feel my hands and my legs trembling. I looked fearfully at him as he stood alongside my bed looking down at me. I originally thought that I was seeing rage on his face but I have since come to realize that what I had been seeing was lust. I nervously looked away, and my eyes frantically searched the ceiling and walls as if they might find an escape route.
As he stood there, my father's eyes took in every inch of my flesh, over and over. After a couple of minutes, I summoned the courage to again turn to look at him, and although I quickly pulled my eyes back away, I still managed to see what was happening. He was hard. His pants were sticking straight out, so it was obvious. My father was sexually aroused. I cannot describe the fear and disgust that I was feeling at that moment.
I had been ashamed of my father for a couple of years by that time. He had always been one of those dads who liked to hug and squeeze his 'little girl', but at about the same time that I had my first period I seemed to sense that his touches were becoming more direct. Although I was a sexually naïve girl, I was still aware of my feminine self and knew that my body was not for touching, not even by my dad.
There had been numerous occasions when, under the pretense of a hug or a squeeze, that I felt his hands touch a 'forbidden' part of me, and sometimes linger until I pulled away. I had learned in school about incest so it did not take me long to sense that there was a problem. A couple of times he even maneuvered my hand onto his crotch and to my horror I felt his hard thing jumping in his pants. However, he made sure that he never touched me wrong if mom was around. I was afraid to tell her of my belief that my father wanted to have sex with me.
So now, lying naked on my bed before him, upon seeing his eyes upon me, and the lump in his crotch, my fears were quickly overwhelming me. My mind was in panic mode, knowing that, with my mom at work, I was in the house alone with my dad.
Then the dreaded night began in earnest. With his eyes lodged on his 'little girl's' naked body, my father, who was still standing alongside of the bed, began to unbutton his shirt. A wrenching pang of fear gripped me, knowing what the look on his face meant.
I started to turn to get up, saying only, "Daddy..." My lips were quivering.
"I TOLD YOU NOT TO MOVE!!!" he roared. "And I told you to shut up. If you move one more time I swear to god I'll kill you!." Looking at his contorted face I was sure that he would.
I lay back and watched in horror as he quickly tore his clothes off himself while his eyes stayed riveted on my naked body. First, he unbuttoned and ripped off his shirt, tossing it aside to the floor. He was glistening from a sheen of sweat that had formed on his muscled body. I had seen daddy's arms and chest many times in my life but this was the first time that I was looking at him as a man. He looked so powerful, which only served to add to my helpless feeling.
As his hands moved to his belt I wanted to get up and run, but I knew if I did, he would probably catch me and kill me. His hands were then pushing both his pants and shorts down his legs and as he was bending to pull them off his ankles, my eyes looked over the muscles on his body. He looked so much manlier than Donnie.
Then he stood. The sight of seeing my father naked brought on my greatest fear. I was having a terrible time trying to breathe. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest that I was afraid that it was just going to stop. I began to silently cry.
I can't characterize how I felt like an uninvolved observer as my father, totally naked, climbed up onto the bed with me.
"So my baby's been fucked, hah? You like to be fucked, hah?"
"SHUT UP, I TOLD YOU!"
I cringed at his powerful fearful voice, and I think from that point on the tears just automatically rolled down my cheeks.
I watched in horror as he moved across my bed. I felt his hands pulling at my inner thigh, wanting me to spread my legs. The fear running through my mind, of his beating me to a pulp, had me willing to let him do anything with me that he wanted. I spread my legs and watched as he moved slowly within them. Then he was kneeling, with his body upright. It was here that for the first time in my life I saw my father's manhood. I must admit that as scared as I was, I was still fascinated by the sight of his flesh, which seemed to be twice the size of Donnie's. I wanted to cry out but my fear prevented my voice from protesting.
To my utter dismay, he then put both of his hands on me. One began rubbing me, first around my belly, next downward to the inside flesh of my thighs, and finally back to repeat the whole procedure. At the same time, his other hand moved right into my pussy. First, his hand rubbed outside and then his fingers started twirling my clitoris. I felt my body involuntarily reacting.
My father began muttering. "Oh my baby ... You're wet ... Your cunt is nice and juicy. It was good to fuck, hah? You liked being fucked, hah? My baby's cunt likes to be filled."
The tears just continued to pour out of my eyes as my sobs increased. I was terrified upon hearing these words. Dad had never before cursed around me, and these babblings only helped to convince me that he was out of his mind, which only served to crystallize my fear. His words kept flowing as his fingers worked on my pussy.
I can't say for sure, maybe it was because my sexual encounter with Donnie was not completed and therefore my body may still have been craving fulfillment, but to my complete horror, I found myself sexually responding to my father's manipulations. As much as I was afraid and hating my father, nevertheless I felt my body moving from side to side under his hands, and when his fingers slid up inside me I reacted like a sleazy prostitute. I heard myself moan and my knees, seemingly of their own accord, raised upward. I truly wanted his hand inside me.
"My baby's cunt is so hot. It likes to be excited. It wants me, hah? It likes daddy's hand. It wants daddy's cock. Do you want me to lick here baby?" he asked as his fingers moved in my pussy to indicate where he meant.
His words nauseated me. What he was suggesting seemed so foreign and ugly. Until that time, I had never heard of such a thing. Yet, my body's reactions were almost directing my thoughts by now.
I cannot in a million years explain this but as much as I was repulsed with what was happening, and whom it was happening with, I was just as equally physically excited; no, maybe even more so. It is because of how out-of-control my mind and body had become that I now state as fact that even though a girl may react positively to an unwanted attack, that does not mean that she is not being forced.
I heard my voice respond, even though I did not direct it. "Yes ... please ... I'd like that," my voice said.