Edited by Mikhail (circa 2006)

Janet took an apple from the bowl and took a bite before mumbling,

"Oh, Jake said something about wanting to see you up in his room mom."

I looked up from the sudsy water in the sink - my only son wanted to see me upstairs? Alarm bells should be going off right? But this was just another family weeknight - my husband was in the next room watching the news, my eldest daughter Janet seemed busy with her homework as usual, my youngest daughter Jenny was upstairs probably on the phone with one of her friends. The supper dishes were nearly complete and put away, only a few pots left. Normal.

But why did I have this nervous twitch deep in my stomach?

Let me tell you a little about Jake before I go on. He is the spitting image of his uncle George, my brother, when he was seventeen.

At that age I was in love with my brother. I don't mean I loved him as a brother, but as the strongest male influence in my life and in the physical sense.

I was two years younger than George and it started when I was eleven.

An awkward time; Just starting puberty and even my own brother and father were starting to look at me differently. George just came to my room late one night, woke me up, and as he was pushing me to the floor he took out his penis and grunted, "open your mouth", and proceeded to use me until he filled my mouth with his salty seed. After he finished, I was left there, laying on the floor sobbing, semen running from my lips.

Yes, my brother George raped me, repeatedly, almost nightly I learned quickly not to disappoint him. The very next night, he came in and pushed me to the floor yet again. I knew what was about to happen and fought him viciously. George just sat down on the edge of my bed and threw me over his lap, yanking down my pyjama bottoms and exposing my bare posterior and proceeded to spank me again and again until I was begging and pleading for him to stop. When it was over and he dumped me back on the floor between his legs, I never denied him, doing my best to not choke on his hard penis.

Oral sex became full blown intercourse in only a few short months. I became his secret sexual toy and he used me at least once per day. I denied him nothing.

Why didn't I tell my parents, a teacher, someone? Well, back then sex wasn't discussed and the public knowledge that my brother was 'doing it with me' was just too humiliating to tell a teacher or our family priest. What about my parents then? Well, after George started to come to my room at night, I realized what those looks he used to give me were about - lust. My father was giving me those same mile-long gazes, often glaring at my teenage half-grown breasts, and it terrified me, I did not want to have two guys forcing me against my will. To this day, I am convinced that my mother knew what George had done to me and stood by doing nothing. The evidence was just too damning, the coincidences for being caught together to obvious.

George never thought twice about having sex with me when mom was in the house - and not once did she interrupt, no matter how loud we were. That always disturbed me more than father for some reason that I dared not delve too deeply into. As time went on, I came to enjoy our sexual encounters, sucking and fucking, how, and what to do to pleasure him. I knew every millimetre of that penis and can still see it when I close my eyes, now, decades later. I was in love; though, looking back, it was obviously one way.

George did a damn fool thing and went to the United States to join the Marines and consequently got himself killed in some numerically named hill in Vietnam. I was in mourning for nearly eighteen months.

To this day, I have told no one, not even my husband, this secret.

Then there was Jake, my eldest child and the spitting image of his long dead uncle. My mother commented on the physical similarities when Jake was still a toddler, saying George looked exactly like him at the same age. I unsuccessfully tried to ignore her words but they clenched my heart in a cold fist and would not let go.

The changes started as Jake entered puberty consequently he started to act different, not so alike the boy that came to my room to rape my mouth so long ago. It was awkward around him, I did whatever I could do to avoid being alone with the teenager. I became a distant parent, doing my duty and nothing else.

When Jake was fifteen, I started to notice how my eldest daughter Janet, fourteen at the time, was looking at him with something bordering on idol worship. Had I looked at George in that way later in our relationship? Had Jake been at his sister Janet turning her into some sexual toy to be used at his whim?

I did not delve too deep, scared of what I may find, but the thought continued to terrify me; even to this day.

What would I do if it were true?

Janet took another bite of her apple and strode into the adjoining room where her father sat watching the news.

I was being silly right? Jake probably just had a paper from school that had to be signed or something. I wiped my hands dry on the dish towel and strode up the stairs to the door of my son's room.

Just as I raised my hand to knock another wave of fear rushed through my body and I had to tell myself how stupid I was, I was Jake's mother for god sake.

"Come in mother." Had I knocked, I couldn't remember?

Opening the door I stepped in looking around his messy room, "Hi honey, Janet said you wanted to see me." I put on my pleasant Motherly-face. Jake stood up and strode up to the door, his determined advance causing a flutter of nausea to hit me. I did not like being alone with him like this and with him so close just caused me to tense up.

He closed the door and before I could utter a word, he stepped up directly before me. Fear clenched at my heart - he looked so like his uncle George, intense gray eyes, strong large features, even the full red lips.

What was going on?

Surprising me, he shoved me back against the closed door, banging my head so violently that I saw stars. Then he was on me holding me against the door as his lips slammed against my own, his tongue invading my mouth. This was no kiss, but an assault. He could care less if I enjoyed it, or even that I was his mother that he was attacking.

I tried to scream with his mouth covering mine - and came out muffled and weak. My hands finally moved and I struck at his hard shoulders and arms in a vain attempt to stop my son from doing this.

I prayed to god, something I had not done since before I fell in love with my brother George, when his attacks had been nothing resembling pleasure for me. But just like my early teens, god was not listening.

Then Jake stopped, leaning his face away from my own, smirking as if he owned me. That was when my hand came up and struck at one side of his face. His smirk dissolving into fury and I regretted my strike even before I saw his hand approaching. It hurt like hell and I was thrown to the floor on my side, one side of my face on fire. I felt his hands yanked me up off my hip to my knees and looked up just as the hand descended yet again, on the other cheek. I tasted blood and my eyes began to tear up.

I was still stunned and in pain, but the horror of my situation had not yet sunken in. I was savagely thrown to the bed and lay there gasping, holding my cheeks in pain, shocked.

Next to my dangling feet, Jake began to remove his clothing - the jeans, tee shirt, and then underwear all falling to the floor to add to the mess. That was when reality sunk in, that this was happening again; the horror, the pain and the humiliation.