Copyright©2003

There was a young lady named Gilda
Who went on a date with a builder.
He said that he would,
And he could and he should,
And he did and it damn well near killed her.

"I don't care what it says, it was wrong Carol!"

My husband pulled the duvet up to his waist and settled the book on his over-sized round stomach.

My anger was about to explode. "God damn it Darren - our daughter may be sexually active!" I stood at my side of the bed with my hands on my waist.

My husband's nearly-bald head started to turn red, and he huffed as he set down his hardcover book, "Listen Carol - don't you remember how you were when you were seventeen? I know I was was walking hormone." You would not know it to look at him now - as he looked and acted nothing like that outrageous and fun teenager that I went to school with so many years before. "Things are not good between you and Jackie as it stands Carol - what do you think would happen if she knew you were reading her diary?" He glared at me, challenging me to contest his statement.

I wanted to scream at my fat bald husband - I wanted to tell him that I knew about the Sunday afternoon's that our daughter had wrote about in her diary. When her brother Gill was at his soccer practise and I was at pottery - my daughter spent an hour in the sun, wearing a bikini bottom, and nothing on top. And if her own description was to be believed, was nearly non-existent. She did this not for the sake of browning her skin, but to give her father a show - to let 'dear old daddy' get his 'rocks off' by peeking at her. The more recent entries in her journal spoke about how her father trembled as he rubbed lotion over nearly 'every centimetre' of our daughters body.

Darren had no idea that his daughter was playing him for the fool.

Jackie is nothing like me at that age - I was much more naive about the world, about men and women than she is. She knew her father, knew him as a man. She wrote that she may have to give her father a hand job, or perhaps a blow job for 'something extra special', but that she was also disgusted just to be near him.

Thank god nothing else had happened but Darren gawking at our daughter and rubbing suntan lotion on her body. Regardless that she described him spending many long minutes rubbing lotion into her breasts and her ass cheeks.

I lifted the duvet and slipped into my side of the bed, my heart pounding with such anger that I felt like hitting my husband.

I did not yell at him nor did I hit him - you see, my daughter was not only playing her father, but she was also playing me as well. If her father disgusted her - I enraged her.

I read how Jackie hated me, hated my voice, how I dressed, my round soft curves, my maternal dominance over our family. My daughter wanted to hurt me - figuratively and physically. I head read how Jackie wanted to see me crying in humiliation and pain, to hear my beg her 'to make it stop'. She wrote about her rape fantasies - where she tied me up and pissed on me, had a stray dog have intercourse with me. She hated me with a passion that tore my heart out and left fear in its wake. If there was any positive note about what she wrote - is that she had no idea how to get this revenge, or control, over me. Jackie had wrote about dressing suggestively, about having a chance encounter where I saw her naked - but I did not react in a way that she could have used. In truth, the way she dressed only caused loud arguments in our home and I do not remember any chance encounters at seeing my daughter's body.

Telling Darren about the diary, hinting about Jackie's darker side had been my way to begin to win my husband to my side. And 'side' it is - because Jackie had wrote how and what she would do to get her father and brother to her 'side'. Obviously, my revealing the diary to Darren had been a mistake - he had immediately shown a reluctance at hearing a word I said, the signs obvious after twenty years of marriage. Perhaps it was even guilt that I may stumble across something about their Sunday afternoons. If he only knew!

Next to me Darren read his book. When we first married - we would make love practically every night before we fell asleep, now it was one of thousands of books that he preferred to fall asleep with.

Was I really that unattractive a woman? I still had a little of the perky cuteness that my face held when we first met. Sure my hips had widened after two children, my breasts were large so that many people thought me overweight. But I was not fat, I had a waist even if I did not show it off in the way I dressed. Darren was staring at our daughter's lithe teenage body - practically no breasts, only a slight curve to her hips and waist. My daughter had a body not so unlike some teenage boys I thought - a body she did not inherit from my side of the family. I had a womans body not that of a teenage girl - why was he so fascinated with looking at her and not his wife?

And that left out the fact that she was his daughter for god's sake!

My hand moved smoothly beneath the duvet until it rested on Darren's wide pyjama-covered thigh. When was the last time we made love? Months at least - and if memory is anything, I can not remember the last time that he lasted longer than a minute inside me. Darren seemed determined to ignore me, to ignore my hand.

Then I moved it up his lap to grasp his tiny soft member above his pyjamas bottoms. Without even moving his book or looking up from it - he spoke firmly, "Not tonight Carol."

I had a choice - take my hand off him or press my case more firmly.

This was not the first time I had tried to interest my husband into making love with his wife - and so well understood the frustration of being denied. My hand slipped off his crotch as easy as it had attached itself. I knew a lost cause when I faced one.

I curled up into a ball facing away from my husband and stared into the shadows of our bedroom. Perhaps Jackie had been right - Darren was a disgusting man... but he is all I got. That is probably part of the reason she wanted to win him to her 'side'.

The next morning, before going to work - Darren had ordered me to leave our daughter's diary alone. Of course I begrudgingly agreed - else it would turn into a big fight. But I could not stop reading it - I felt that it was my only strength at the moment, my only defence at the devil with my only daughter.

Darren kissed me goodbye, trying to hide his triumphant smile. Does he smile when he rubs lotion into his daughters ass and tits every Sunday afternoon?

Jackie, as usual, had left early for school - kissing her father's cheek before he left and ignoring me.

That left Gill and I alone.

I had read in Jackie's journal that she thought her sixteen year-old brother to be a pain in the ass, but useful in certain situations. Jackie often left her soiled panties for her brother to 'jerk off to' and frequently gave him peaks of her tall thin body. She described her younger brother to be like a puppy dog with its tongue hanging out just waiting for its next bone.

If my husband Darren was a disgusting pig for pawing his daughters near-naked body and staring at her for hours - our son's actions could be excused. Gill is not the brightest of teenagers but he is typical in all ways - even in the ways of learning about his sexuality. I am his mother I know that my little boy had changed - the stains on his bed sheets was enough proof if I needed any more. Having his older, more intelligent, and evil older sister manipulate him - what chance did he have against her?

Unlike my husband, I did not place any blame on Gill's shoulders.

So after Darren and Jackie had left for their day - I cooked a large breakfast for Gill. He practically foamed at the mouth as I set thick pancakes and bacon before him, before digging in as if he were starved. I did this for a few reasons - I loved my son and he was not against me as his sister was, or immobile as my husband was. 'Sides' again - and I wanted Gill on my side.

I was again amazed at the amount of food that he consumed - the teenage appetite is an amazing thing. When he finally pushed his plate away from him, peeking at the clock to see if he had much more time before school - which he did, I said, "Do you know I love you Gill?"

He blinked up at me three times before answer, "Of course mom. I love you too."

He spoke it not so unlike how a computer would regurgitate it back when told to say the words. It was not very reassuring.

"You know you can always come to me if you need to talk right honey?"

Gill shrugged with his shoulders and then bent over to retrieve his book bag, "Sure mom." I don't think he heard a word I said. My son stood up and started to rush out of the kitchen before stopping and turning to kiss my cheek quickly. Then he was out of the kitchen and the house with a flash - with the energy only a teenager can have.

I was left holding my cheek where he had kissed me - tears starting to cloud my vision. What was the last time my son had kissed me? Years maybe - not counting holidays or birthdays. Surely not all was lost in my family?

I stood like every mother stands when facing the cold frustration that is our children - with my arms crossed over my chest and one foot tapping the floor in barely-contained anger.

Jackie sat in a hard-backed chair reading some trashy teen magazine with one leg over the other and her bare foot wiggling in the air. She was wearing an extremely short skirt and a very tight tank top.

When Darren and I heard her come in - way past her curfew, as if that still mattered in this house, my husband suggested he go and 'speak to our daughter'. Well I had read in Jackie's diary how effective her father's talks were - when things looked tight she would press her tall thin frame against her fathers rotund body, or she may give him slow kisses over his face or just take one of her father's index fingers and suck it brazenly. Yes, there is little doubt that Jackie had her father wrapped about her finger - so it was I that went downstairs to confront the little tramp.

"Relax mom - I am only a little late." Three hours late - and I hated how she kept reading that stupid magazine as she spoke to me. Then beneath her breath, though easily loud enough for me to hear, "Why don't you get your panties out of your ass bitch."

"Pardon me young lady? You shall not speak to me like that!" I was practically screaming at her.

"Yea, whatever."

Then Jackie did something that I think was not intentional - she uncrossed her legs and let her knees spread almost shoulder-width apart. Even in the shadowed light I could see well enough up the very short skirt to my daughters white lace panties. For some strange reason the sight caught my eye and I froze, looking at the darkness of her privates beneath the skimpy undergarment. Blame it on the diary - how she had explained that she had tried showing me her body previously, testing to see if I could be controlled like her brother and father. Yes, I thought of that as I starred at my daughters crotch.

Something broke the spell - though I am sure it only lasted a second - before I tore my eyes from between my daughters smoothly tanned thighs and back up to her face. What I saw was that my daughter was surprised that I had looked. All too soon, her face and eyes turned to a smug grin that reseeded my earlier anger, as it had been forgotten at the sight I had witnessed.

I had no defence at what I had done - could not find a single statement to berate my daughter. I spun quickly and retreated back to my bedroom and my husband. Darren asked me tentatively how it went, but I ignored him and curled up into a ball facing away from his side of the bed and feigned sleep. There had been enough fights between mother and daughter in this house so Darren understood when to leave a topic alone.

I hated the weakness that I had shown my daughter the night before - fearing I had lost another battle in our ongoing war. I avoided my family the next morning and only came out of my room after they had all left the house. I went right to Jackie's bedroom and retrieved the diary from the secret place she hid it in. I even took care with the single strand of hair she placed on the cover - as I had originally guess properly that she was a conniving little tramp.

I went directly to the last entry and read my daughter's messy writing. It started out about how her date last night went - explaining in detail how she sucked and then fucked the boy in his parents car all the while belittling the young man's performance and penis size. It comes as no surprise that my daughter is sexually active, contrary to what I hinted to Darren, I've read many pages of details that makes the best sexual moments in my life chaste in comparison. It was the last paragraph that I was looking for.

I caught the old bitch checking out my twat when I got home. Perhaps I was wrong - the old skank may just be into young cunt after all. A few more tests to see if it was a mistake - but if I am right I may turn her into one of my little toys, like dad and my dorky brother. Just thinking of the old bitch begging for me just gets me wet - maybe I should enjoy her to the fullest. How can she deny me anything after she had knelt between my legs licking me. She would be my little cunt-slave - at least until I got tired of the old fat bitch.

What I read stunned me - it was worse than I feared. How could any daughter think that way about her mother? It was revolting. Things could never be the same between us - how could I look at my daughter and not see these words that she had written, knowing what is in her mind. An 'old fat bitch' huh?

Of course I am no lesbian - so I had little doubt that her plan will fail, yet why had I looked between her legs like that? It had to be fascination - wondering what was so different between her and what the two men in the house thought so highly of.

I returned the diary back to its hiding place, returning the hair exactly has it had been placed. Then I went across the hall to Gills room - which was a mess, with old discarded clothing thrown about the room and dusty toy model aeroplanes hanging from the ceiling. I sat on Gill's single bed and looked around.

In the diary I had read about Jackie standing at the foot of this bed and watching as her naked brother jerked off while looking at her bare chest. I had read how it turned Jackie on - not seeing her brother naked, or watching him masturbate to completion, but how she controlled her younger brother as if he were 'a worm on a hook'. Sometimes she would enter his room, remove her panties while he watched from his bed, then slip them over his head so that her still warm moist crotch would be across his face. He would then be ordered to masturbate laying there in that prepared position.

Panties... she had mentioned various times in the diary how she had given her sixteen year-old brother 'panties to jerk off too'. I slipped my hand beneath the pillow wondering and fearing I would find Jackie's soiled panties but I found nothing.

I sat looking around the room again, again wondering how a daughter of mine could use what I saw as her minimal sex appeal to enslave the attention of her brother and yes, even, my husband. Darren used to love playing with my big heavy breasts and wide nipples - but now, it seems, he was more interested in looking, and more if the diary can be believed, at our daughters tiny 'A' cup chest.

Then, with barely any forethought, I spread my knees and bent at the waist to look under my son's bed. Lots of dust, a few old toys that he used to play with and forgotten soiled socks and not much else. I sat back up and sighed.

Why was I so interested in finding Jackie's panties? I believed the words in her diary explicitly - the residual evidence was apparent in the eyes and attitudes of Darren and Gill when Jackie was within the room. I had read that Jackie thought her father digesting - but did not think it unreasonable that she was willing to go much further than letting him rub her body if that is what it took to keep him under her thumb. How can I fight against that if my suggestive attempts to make love with my husband fails? He sees me naked frequently - but he rarely even looks any more and I know without a doubt there was no tempting him like Jackie did, with just the sight of her body.

I was feeling incredibly old.

This time as I bent over, I slipped my hand between the mattress and the box spring of Gill's bed. At first I felt nothing unexpected and was about to yank my hand back when I felt something with my finger tips. I dug deeper and yanked out a black satin French-cut panty.

I held it up before me as if it was diseased, with just my forefinger and thumb, and stared at it. Of course it was Jackie's - it was her size. The inside crotch of the panty was a little discoloured but I knew it was not the remains of my son's ejaculate, but of his sisters emissions. Evidently he had not got around to using these panties for his pleasure as yet. I leaned forward so that the panty nearly touched the tip of my nose and I inhaled the stale thick scent recognizing it for what it was, even if it was different than my own. I yanked my nose away quickly, disgusted at myself. Here was even more evidence that the writings of my deranged daughter was all true. And if they are - god help me!

I dropped the garment onto my lap and shoved my hand beneath the bed yet again. It took some seconds but I felt something else, and yanked it out.

Hanging before my amazed eyes was a pair of my own white cotton panties, the crotch of which had a dried white crust upon it that I knew immediately what it was.

"Oh my god."

Sure I was startled - but I was also a little relieved.

Perhaps I had not lost the 'war' as I had feared after all. I am still an attractive woman with sexy female curves - which is more than I can say for Jackie - and here was proof that someone had indeed noticed me.

Sure, you may say, but its my son? You must try to put yourself into my place - my home with its seething barely contained hate mixed with a strange brew of lust. I've watched it pouring out from my daughter so that it seemed to draw my own husband and my son to it - as if they were helpless. I was ignored. More than just ignored, I was neglected.

If my son wanted to steal my panties and jerk off using them who was I to judge against that? He is a teenage boy - his body is going through some amazing and bare contained changes. I was actually honoured that someone thought me attractive enough to use my plain cotton panty to masturbate with.

My surprise and unanswered questions was more to do with the fact my panty was soiled with dried sperm and my manipulative daughters was not?

A proud joy filled me and if my son was there, I would have hugged and thanked him for still caring for his old mother.

Being Friday night - Jackie had another date with another guy. Always a different guy - she went through them weekly. No wonder as I had read in her diary how she belittled them, left them angry and humiliated after she was done with them.

Darren, after showing his barely contained jealousy for his daughter going out on another date, lost himself in front of the television.

Gill had gone to his room to study.

I cleaned up the supper dishes and tidied up the kitchen, contemplating going up to Gill's room to confront him about what I had found.

Sure I could just leave well enough alone - let him go on using my panties as he wished - but you have to consider the Jackie-factor. I wanted my son to know that I knew, and that it was OK with me. Jackie had no control over either of us, between our natural mother-son love and respect. I wanted to reinforce that - to have Gill on my 'side'. To me, he knowing that I knew about my soiled panties would help reinforced that love.

Before I could go upstairs, Gill came down to dig into the fridge for an apple. After he slammed the fridge and looked about to return to his room, I spoke up quickly - so not to loose the strength I needed to confront my son. No matter what you may think, this was not easy for me - any conversation about sex with a child is always awkward and difficult.

"Gill honey?"

He stopped just a meter from the fridge and turned to look at me. I listened to the television, knowing that Darren would shout up from the family room in the basement if he wanted anything so Gill and I would have some semblance of privacy. "Yea mom?"

Unlike his sister, his words were not impatient and harsh.

I could not meet his eyes, "I was cleaning your room today and found something between your mattresses?" I looked up into my son's face, now that I got the most difficult part out.

Gill's face turned immediately a bright red and he froze. "Mom... !" He did not seem to be able to continue and a silence built between us.

I stepped forward quickly and placed my open hand against his warm smooth cheek, "Its OK honey. I am not mad."

He frowned in surprise but did not turn any less shade of red.

"I know what you did and I want you to know that its OK, its perfectly natural." That, in its single sentence, was the sum of what I wanted to tell him.

His voice returned, though it cracked a little, "Your not mad?"

"No, of course not honey. In fact I am a little flattered." I knew as soon as I said it that I had spoken too much.

"Then you liked it?" He showed great surprise that startled me for some reason - I had no time to analysis what it meant at that moment.

"That is not what I meant honey." I tread softly, so as not to hurt all that I've gained in this conversation. "Just that I understand and that its OK what you did." There is that statement yet again. I could feel my face warming up and knew my cheeks were turning red as well. This was not an easy chat for either of us.

A few lengthy seconds while our eyes tried to read the other, "You really did not mind mom?"

I forced a soft smile to spread on my lips before answering, "Of course not honey."

"So I can keep doing it?"

My mouth opened but no words came out for several lengthy seconds. "If you wish?"

A pleased smile spread on my son's lips. "That would be great mom. Thanks!" Had I just given my son permission to continue to masturbate into my panties? Well, perhaps it was better than him sneaking around and doing it. And my plan had certainly succeeded - he knew that I knew.

Then my son's eyes slowly moved downward and it shocked me when I realized he was checking me out. His mother! I can not remember the last time any man, or boy, looked at me like this - as if he could see through my ugly jeans and loose sweatshirt. My body tingled strangely enough and I knew I wanted my son to look at me this way - when he was looking at me, he was not looking at Jackie. And when I felt his eyes upon me, I felt rejuvenated - young.

His eyes moved down to my ugly slippers and then back up to stop at my chest. After a lengthy few seconds, I tore my eyes from his pleased face and looked down at my own chest. There above the thick sweatshirt I could see that my nipples were pressing aggressively so that they were plainly visible. My son appeared infatuated with my large heavy breasts and suddenly my knees felt weak.

Seconds later the moment was broken and Gill said happily, "Your the best mom!" And then two thick strong arms wrapped about me and hugged me fiercely against him. Even as I realized he had to feel my large chest flattened against his strong hard chest, he let me go and disappeared back toward his bedroom.

I stood swaying in the kitchen for long minutes afterwards.

When Jackie returned home from her date - there was less fear within me for the encounter. My son had done it - given me confidence to battle this young manipulative tramp.

As I waited for my daughters return, my husband and son had gone to bed, and I scrubbed the already clean kitchen as I considered all that my daughter thought of me, as I had read in her diary.

"Hello Jackie?" The kitchen lights were the only lights still on in the house - she had to have been drawn to the only lit room when she finally got home.

She could not hide the surprise before it melted into a suspicious look, "Your up late mom?"

Actually I had considered jumping my husbands bones tonight - insisting he put down his stupid book and make love to his horny wife. Yet I hadn't for three reasons. One was that I don't think I would have been successful. Two, I feared that if I was, he would be thinking of our daughter even as he pumped in and out of me. Three, Darren really is a fat disgusting pig and I had no desire for him. If I had attempted it - it would have been simply to win another battle in this war that I found myself in.

"I had trouble sleeping, your father is snoring again." Which was true - he could shake the walls with his snoring.

She still looked suspicious, probably more to do with the fact that I was being more civil with her than I had for a very long time.

"How was your date?" I sipped the glass of water - because my mouth was drying out quickly. I was not immune to this fear I had when confronting my daughter.

"The pig came before I could - so I am going to have to go upstairs and handle it myself." She smirked at her bold words.

You see, it was one of the reasons that I decided to look into my daughters diary - into her private thoughts - as I wondered if the bold words she used when we were alone had any truth in them. I unfortunately knew them to be all true in retrospect.

I think I paled because I felt light headed and my daughter smirked even wider.

"Would you like to come upstairs and help me mom?"

I began to cough uncontrollably. She had never spoken so boldly before - had not propositioned me in this way before. I reasoned that it had something to do with what happened last night - how she had caught me looking up her skirt and ultimately the words I read in her diary.

She suddenly laughed without any humour and said, "Relax mother - I was joking." I could see within her eyes, and knew her statement had not been a joke. As her diary stated - she wanted to turn me into her slave!

It was not only men that my daughter manipulated - not all her dates were guys either. I had read about one girl a year younger than my daughter - how Jackie used her whenever the urge for a tongue between her legs came upon her. Strangely enough, though she treated the young girl like shit - it was the longest sexual relationship my daughter has had with anyone. I am not surprised that my daughter could find pleasure in men as well as women - it seemed to fit her selfish nature.

Would Jackie had lead me upstairs and shoved my head between her legs if I had agreed to her request?

Without a doubt I knew it to be true.

I had stayed up for a reason, coming to a plan of sorts that came to fruition within my mind after my son had hugged me fiercely to his bosom. Only after that hug did I realize that one of my son's hands had been over the hooks to my brassiere - had he been seeing if I wore a bra with his hug? The thought was intoxicating. And rather than consider it further, I turned to what had happened between Jackie and I the night before - her words in the diary.

Why not let Jackie think one thing while I twisted it to how I desired? Let her think me interested in her, not so unlike her own father is. There is no harm and I knew it would not go to the extent that Darren or Gill has with her. Let her think she is twisting me about her finger - but then only so far, let her try and get the upper hand. Only then would I have a power over her - turning the tables on my immature evil daughter.

After my short discussion with Gill hours earlier, I felt I could handle such a manipulation. It was in the equitable spirit of my daughter after all.

So you will now understand why I let my eyes move slowly down to her hear-flat chest and linger there. Gill had looked thus to me - and I could not have missed it just like Jackie could not miss my look.

She didn't of course - and she silently let me look for some minutes until it was obvious between us.

Only then did I look back up to her face, her forced somber look. I knew she wanted to laugh in triumph to call me a fat old bitch to my face - but she thought she had the upper hand suddenly. Moments like this don't pass my daughter by.

To my surprise she gently spoke, "I hate how we fight mom?" I had expected her to comment on my look - to offer me more.

I simply nodded in agreement.

Jackie walked toward me on her nylon covered feet and then sat on a chair perpendicular from me at the table. She wore, of course, another of her very short skirts and I let my eyes moved down to her long slim black nylon covered legs as she crossed one over the other.

When I looked back up to her face I saw the tail end of a triumphant smile before it disappeared and she again looked somber. Her cool hand grasped my own and held it gently. "I know its going to take a lot of work on my part mom, but I will do anything to help our relationship heal."