Enemas Bizarre Incest
by Unknown 


GENERAL INTRODUCTION 

The following case histories all deal with perversities perpetrated upon 
youngsters by members of their own family. 

In a society where the family unit is the foremost means of individual 
security, it is unfortunate that children are abused by those very persons 
who should be their most avid protectors. 

These cases are similar in that each incestuous act involved the use of 
enema equipment. Enemas are a popular method of sexual humiliation. It is to 
be hoped that these youngsters are not adversely affected by their 
humiliating experiences for the rest of their lives. 

Lisa, age twelve, was given an enema as punishment by the older brother who 
was baby-sitting. 

Cathy, ten, was a bruised and battered child. Her mother took her anger out 
on Cathy with the help of the enema. 

Tomasina, fifteen, a helpless deaf dumb and blind child, was viciously 
abused by her wicked Uncle Ernie. 

Carl, aged fourteen, was seduced by his sex-crazed older sister. She used 
the enema for kicks. 

Bernice, a voluptuous seventeen, was raped and brutalized by her own father. 

Peter, aged thirteen, was beaten by his mother until he had an erection. She 
gave him an enema while making him fuck her. 

Linda, eight, was abused by her sick and perverted lust-crazed father. 

Harry, eighteen, committed perhaps the worst crime of them all. He raped his 
mother to satisfy his own evil lust and then gave her an enema to punish 
her. 

It is hoped that the following case histories will illustrate to the reader 
the mental illness that results from these horrid incestuous abuses. 

As will be clearly proven in these case histories, resorting to perverted 
sexual abuse is damaging not only to the psyches of the victims, but also to 
the minds of the perpetrators as well. 



CASE HISTORY ONE 

Subject: Lisa Age: Twelve 

 INTERVIEW ONE 

When Lisa walked into my office, she seemed reluctant to be there. She was 
brought to see me by her mother who had discovered that Lisa's older brother 
had given her an enema and otherwise abused her young adolescent body. 

Lisa kept whispering to her mother that she wanted to leave. I asked her 
mother to leave the room. She did so and Lisa and I were left alone. Her 
mother had informed me that Lisa had denied what her brother had done to 
her, so I started the session determined to discover whether Lisa was 
blocking out the traumatic experience. 

Doctor, I know what happened to me. I remember everything. The reason I told 
my mother that Lenny didn't do it was because I didn't want him to get in 
trouble. 

Even though Lenny is sixteen, four years older than I am, we're very close. 
We tell each other everything. Well, almost. I guess there are things you 
don't tell anyone. But whenever I need someone to talk to, I always know 
that I can go to Lenny. 

The whole thing was my mother's fault anyway. She makes me sick sometimes, 
really she does. I know you're not supposed to say that about your mother, 
even if it is true, but she's the one who forced me to come talk to you. 

I mean, it's not as if I'm upset about what happened. I mean, I was at 
first, but that was because I was mad at Lenny for what he did to me. But we 
fight all the time. We always make up right away. 

That's what makes me so mad about my mother. Why does she have to make a big 
fuss about this? I can't believe she's making me see a psychiatrist I don't 
need a psychiatrist. If anyone needs a psychiatrist, it's her. 

And Lenny, I feel really sorry for Lenny. I mean, I could kick myself for 
telling her what happened in the first place. I know my mother told you that 
I've been denying what Lenny did to me, but that was only after she got all 
upset about it and I wasn't mad any more. So I told her I made it up to get 
back at him for something but she didn't believe me. 

But even though I didn't make it up, I did tell her to get back at him. 
Really, I swear that's why I told her. I'm not afraid of Lenny. And I'm not 
all traumatized by what happened. It's over and done with. We fight all the 
time. Once Lenny came after me with a knife. Once he came after me with a 
baseball bat. I had to lock myself in the bathroom. But he was so angry that 
he bashed a hole in the door with the bat. 

Lenny's got a temper. You set it off and watch out. But I'm like that too. 
That's one of the reasons we get along so well. We understand each other and 
accept the way we are. I remember that one time he made me mad and I tried 
to strangle him with the telephone cord. 

But my mother won't hear any of that. She keeps telling me that Lenny is 
sick or else he couldn't have done what he did to me. When I tell her that 
he isn't sick and that it doesn't bother me, she answers me by telling me 
that I must be sick too. And that's when she got the idea to send me to see 
you. 

She's sending Lenny to see a shrink too, but a different one. His is more 
expensive than you are--I guess she thinks he's sicker than I am. But the 
whole thing is ridiculous. I just want to forget all about it. And so does 
Lenny. 

But my mother won't let it drop. Even my father thinks we should just forget 
about it. That's what I really hate, when they start screaming at each 
other. When my father agreed with me and Lenny, my mother went haywire. She 
started accusing my father of all sorts of things. 

I think my father must have had an affair or something and my mother found 
out about it. I could see why he did it, if you ask me. My mother is always 
in a state about something or other. Me and Lenny talk about her sometimes, 
try to figure her out. We really don't know what to make of her. 

Lenny says that she was very overprotected as a child. My grandparents have 
plenty of money and she always had everything she wanted. Sometimes we try 
to figure out why my father ever married her. 

Lenny says that it must be because my mother is so good-looking. She is 
really pretty now, but you should see pictures of her when she was a young 
girl. She could have been a model or an actress, she was so beautiful. But 
she didn't do anything except get married. 

My father is all right most of the time. 

Sometimes he gets fed up with my mother and then he takes it out on us. He's 
got a good job, but I think he resents that my mother takes all the money he 
makes for granted. like, she's not the one who has to work for it. 

They have terrible fights, my mother and my father. They happen more and 
more often lately. Lenny thinks that my father is going to ask her for a 
divorce if she doesn't stop it. You don't understand what she does. She 
screams about everything, about the least little thing. She makes a big deal 
about everything. 

I love my mother, though. I really do. I mean, she's my mother. She's not a 
bad person. When she's in a good mood, she's great to us. I mean, she's 
always buying us things and taking us places. She's a good mother like that. 
She really cares about us. It's just that she sometimes makes mistakes. 

I guess all people make mistakes. I don't want my parents to get a divorce. 
Lenny says my father is unhappy with my mother so they should get a divorce, 
but I don't want that to happen. I want to live with both of them. 

One time after they had this big fight, I asked my mother why they didn't go 
to a marriage counselor. She said that her marriage was nobody's business 
but her own. But if that's the way she feels, why did she send me to see 
you? Isn't what happened between me and Lenny nobody's business but ours? 

I guess you want to know about what happened between me and Lenny. My mother 
told me she told you about the enema. But I bet she didn't tell you about 
the rest. She's awfully hung up when it comes to sex. 

You look surprised, doctor. I mean, I know you're thinking that I'm awfully 
young to be saying that my mother is hung up about sex, but it's the truth. 
I may be only twelve years old, but I know the facts of life. I mean, I'm 
still a virgin, but I know all about it. 

That's where I think my mother makes her big mistake. She still thinks 
things are the same as they were when she was my age. It upsets her that I 
know more about certain things than she did at my age, like sex, for 
instance. 

But you can't help it. There are so many things shoving all this information 
at you. Everywhere you go, all you hear about is sex. It's on television, 
movies, in magazines-all those places. You couldn't miss it if you tried. I 
bet I know more about sex than my mother did before she got married. 

But she doesn't want to admit it. I mean, I really think that if Lenny did 
something to me that didn't involve sex, she wouldn't be this upset. She 
would take it for what it was, a fight. She should be used to our fights by 
now. But I guess she's not. She says that a mother never gets used to seeing 
her children fight. 

My father is so different than her. My father laughs when he hears about our 
fights. When he first heard about this enema business, he was really mad, 
but as soon as he cooled down, he could see the humor in it. I mean, I 
wasn't hurt, so what's the big deal? It's not as if I was upset by it 
anymore. 

Not that I wasn't at first. I was real mad at Lenny, real mad. I think I was 
madder at him than I'd ever been before in my entire life. I mean, I really 
wanted to kill him. But once I had a chance to cool down, I forgave him. 

It wasn't that Lenny is sick, really it wasn't. He was just mad because my 
mother made him stay home to watch me. He took it out on me. Now, I don't 
think that was very fair, but then again, I'm not fair all the time either. 
I've done some pretty shitty things to him too. Nothing quite as shitty as 
this though, I've got to admit. 

But my mother insists that I've got to be suffering some kind of emotional 
damage from the incident. That's why she made me come to see you. I didn't 
want to come, really I didn't. I didn't need to come. My mother is just 
wasting her money. But she wastes a lot of money. I guess because she's 
always had as much as she wanted. 

Lenny once told me that it was a good thing that my father kept a proper 
perspective when it came to money or else we would be really fucked up. My 
father always made sure we knew that most people in the world didn't have as 
much money as we did and that we shouldn't take it for granted. But my 
mother takes it for granted, I think. 

Anyway, I guess I should tell you exactly what happened between me and Lenny 
and how it happened so you can tell my mother that I'm okay and I don't need 
to see you anymore. I mean, I know she's only doing it because she cares, 
but she's really driving me crazy. She hasn't left me alone for a minute 
since it happened. 

My mother is babying me like there's no tomorrow. She's always going 
shopping and picking me up all these things that I don't even want. She 
pampers me and I know that I could get anything I wanted out of her because 
of what happened. I try not to take advantage of it, but it isn't easy when 
someone is asking to be taken advantage of. 

I mean, I got my mother to buy me all these records she would never buy me 
before. I get to stay up late and she even let me stay home from school for 
a whole week after it happened. I went to school yesterday for the first 
time, but I didn't go today. I went to see you instead. 

The first couple of days I stayed home from school, though, I was really too 
upset to go. First I was still pissed at Lenny and then I was mad at my 
mother for making such a fuss. I was really sorry that I had said anything 
because now she has a different attitude towards Lenny. She keeps saying 
that he's not the son she raised and she doesn't even know him. She says 
he's like a stranger to her. 

I know it's only because she can't understand why Lenny would do something 
like give me an enema and all the rest, but Lenny really feels hurt by the 
way she's been treating him. She acts like he's some kind of evil horrible 
animal, not even a person. I guess she'll get over it in time, I mean, I 
hope shell get over it. Maybe you should talk to her about it. 

You know, it really is her fault in a way, what Lenny did to me. I mean, she 
made him stay home to watch me. She shouldn't have done that. I told her I 
was old enough to stay by myself. Even my father thought she should let me 
stay by myself. But she was too afraid that something would happen to me. 

I think that's ridiculous. What could happen to me in my own house? We live 
in a good neighborhood and the door has a lock. When I told her that she 
said there were other things that could happen, like a fire or I could get 
sick or something. It was exasperating when she said that to me. Those 
things could happen whether somebody was with me or not. 

Then my mother said that if somebody was with me when it happened, they 
could take care of me. But that's really silly because what could Lenny do 
that I couldn't if there was a fire? There would be two dead kids, not one. 
When I said that to her, she told me not to talk like that. She gets upset 
when you mention bad things. 

But I wouldn't let her call a babysitter. I guess that's the real reason 
Lenny was so mad at me. But it made me feel like a baby. I'm too old to need 
a babysitter. I mean, I'm old enough to be a babysitter. The whole thing was 
absurd. 

I started screaming. I told my mother that if she called a babysitter I 
would never speak to her again. I said I would run out of the house and walk 
the streets by myself rather than stay with a babysitter. I mean, it was 
humiliating to have to have a babysitter at the age of twelve. What if my 
friends found out? 

But that's how my mother is selfish. Her fears are more important than our 
feelings about being overprotected. But you know, I think the real reason 
that she made Lenny stay home was that she didn't want him to go out because 
she didn't like where he was going. 

Lenny had tickets to see the Rolling Stones. My mother saw this movie on 
television called "Gimme Shelter" and it was about this guy who got killed 
at a Rolling Stones concert. And she knew there would be drugs and 
firecrackers and stuff, so she didn't want Lenny to go. 

But it wasn't fair. Lenny had been looking forward to that concert for so 
long. My mother said she would pay him for watching me and pay him back for 
the ticket, but Lenny didn't care about money. He wanted to see the Stones. 

At first Lenny kept saying that he was going to go anyway, no matter what 
she said. But my mother found his ticket and ripped it up. That's when he 
went crazy. He started screaming and yelling and hollering and everything. 
My mother told him to shut up and stop acting like a baby. Then she and my 
father left. I was left alone with Lenny and he was in a terrible temper. 

 INTERVIEW TWO 

After my parents left, Lenny started screaming at me. I told him that it 
wasn't my fault. 

"Lenny," I said, "don't take it out on me. I mean, I begged her to let me 
stay by myself." 

"You knew she would never do that," Lenny bitterly replied. "You should have 
let her call a babysitter." 

"Lenny," I insisted, "if she did that, my friends would find out about it. 
It would be so embarrassing." 

"So, big shit! It wouldn't be your fault," Lenny replied. "There would be 
nothing for you to be embarrassed about-only something for Ma to be 
embarrassed about. The only thing you could be embarrassed about is that 
your mother is like that." 

"That's not true, Lenny," I retorted. "You know I would get teased for weeks 
about it. And I couldn't take it." 

"You could have done it. You could have put up with it for me. You know how 
much I wanted to see the Stones. Man, when she ripped up that ticket, I 
wanted to punch her. Do you know how much I could have sold that ticket for? 
Do you know how many people are dying to go to that concert who don't have 
seats? Do you know how long I've been dying to see the Stones? And she goes 
and rips up a ticket!" 

Lenny was really indignant and I didn't blame him, but I didn't like the way 
he was trying to blame it on me. I guess I was feeling guilty because it was 
my fault. 

"Don't blame me," I angrily retorted. "If you're going to be like that, you 
can just go fuck yourself. Who the hell wants you here anyway!" 

I ran crying into my room. I was so angry the tears were streaming down. It 
was really upsetting. The whole night had been upsetting, all this screaming 
and yelling going on among everybody. Everybody in the family was mad at 
everybody else. I was mad at my father for letting my mother have the final 
say. So was Lenny. Only my parents weren't mad at each other. I was furious 
at my father for not being mad at my mother. The whole thing was a mess. 

I was lying on my bed crying. I felt like a piece of shit. I mean, I really 
felt guilty that Lenny couldn't go to the concert and that my mother was 
treating me like such a baby. I pounded my fists on the mattress. 

Suddenly, I heard Lenny come into my room. I turned around and he was 
standing with his back against the closed door. There was a look of anger on 
his face. I was furious. He didn't have to stay angry with me for such a 
long time. 

"Look, Lenny," I said, "I'm sorry that you have to stay with me. But it's 
over and done with-let's just forget the whole thing." 

"That's easy for you to say," he bitterly retorted. "No one's making you 
give up anything." 

I didn't know what to say. What he was saying was the truth and I knew it. 
But I still thought he shouldn't blame me for it He could blame my mother 
and even my father, but not me. Didn't he know that I was on his side? 

"You know, you little bitch," said Lenny, "I should really make you sorry 
that I'm here with you. I should make you all sorry for what you did to me." 

"Go fuck yourself, Lenny," I replied. 

I was through trying to make up with him. I had tried and he wouldn't have 
it. If he was going to be like that, then I would be like that too. 

"You'll be sorry," Lenny warned. "She thinks the Stones concert is such a 
bad influence on me-I'll show her that I don't need any bad influences." 

With that, Lenny quickly walked out of my room. He slammed the door shut. I 
was glad he was gone. If he was going to be like that, I didn't want to have 
anything to do with him. 

But Lenny soon returned. He slammed the door shut after he entered. There 
was a funny gleam in his eye. It was like the excitement of an angry person 
who was about to take his revenge. 

But the thing that immediately got my attention was that Lenny was carrying 
a bunch of ropes. And he was also carrying an enema. 

"What's that for?" I asked, drying my eyes and looking up. 

"I'm going to make you suffer. If I have to suffer tonight, so do you. It's 
all your fault anyhow." 

With that, Lenny came towards me and started pulling off my clothes. I 
started screaming for him to stop. I was laughing because I couldn't believe 
he was really doing this. I thought he would never go through with it. But 
he did. 

Lenny pulled off all my clothes so that I was completely naked, even though 
I kicked and struggled. But he had the energy of an enraged person. I was 
becoming pretty enraged myself by the time he got me completely naked. 

I became a little frightened. I didn't know what Lenny had in mind, but he 
started tying me up. That made me furious. I started cursing at him. 

"Shut up, you little bitch. I'll make you sorry," he said. 

"You fucking pervert!" I cried. "Go fuck yourself!" 

I tried to get loose, kicking and screaming. I even tried to kick him in the 
balls but I missed. Lenny tied my hands behind my back. Then he tied my 
ankles. I was lying naked on the bed, completely helpless and exposed. I was 
his prisoner. 

"What are you going to do to me?" I asked, my voice trembling. 

"You'll find out," came the reply. 

"Lenny, don't. Come on, let me go. Come on, please." 

"You can beg me all you like, it won't change a thing," Lenny replied. 

I stopped pleading with him. There was something in his tone of voice that 
made me think he wanted me to beg him not to do whatever it was he was going 
to do. I remembered the enema and I became sick to my stomach. What a sick 
way to get back at me, I thought. 

But I wasn't frightened. I knew Lenny wouldn't seriously hurt me, no matter 
how upset he was. I knew that he still loved me. So I just bit my lip 
thinking that I would go through the enema bravely and get back at him as 
soon as he untied me. I didn't know exactly what I would do, but I would 
make sure that it was worse than an enema. I would make him pay for doing 
this to me. Lenny came toward me. I could hear his footsteps as he 
approached. I felt cold plastic touch my naked quivering ass cheeks. I knew 
it was the enema tube. I could hear Lenny fiddling with the bag, making sure 
it was working properly. I swore to myself I would get even with him for 
this. 

Lenny placed the tip of the enema tube inside the crack of my ass. It felt 
disgusting sticking in there. I wanted it out of me. I decided to try 
reasoning with him one more time. 

"Lenny," I said, "I can't believe you're really doing this to me." 

"Well, believe it because I am," he retorted. 

"I'll get back at you, just remember that," I said. 

He answered me by thrusting the cold plastic tubing deeply up my rectum. The 
harsh cold tube hurt me as it forced apart my tender ass tunnel membrane. 
Lenny giggled with glee as he pumped it in my ass. 

I could feel the warm water squirting up my ass as he released the pressure. 
It flowed up my anal passage in long streaming spurts. I felt nauseous in 
the pit of my stomach when he did that. 

Lenny kept taking the enema tube and pulling it in and out of my ass. It was 
like he was fucking me with it. He kept going faster and faster, ramming it 
in harder and harder. 

"You're hurting me," I bitterly complained. 

"Good," he replied. 

I was so angry that I burst into tears. I wanted to kill him. He had no 
right to do this to me. I'd make sure that he was sorry. 

Lenny kept pumping the enema in and out of my trembling wet ass-hole. I 
could feel all the water squishing around in my bowels. It was the most 
uncomfortable feeling in the world. I hated it. 

But the worst part was the fact that Lenny was watching But Lenny wasn't 
satisfied with the enema. He did something really shitty. He felt me up-all 
over my body. I was horrified. The enema was sticking up my ass and he was 
moving his hands all over my body. I couldn't believe it. 

First Lenny rubbed his palms all over my smooth tender buttocks. I could 
feel him chafe my warm quivering flesh with his cold hands. It was a very 
funny feeling. Especially with that enema sticking up my ass. I felt all 
these pangs in my ass-hole. They felt interesting, but I still wanted him to 
stop. 

"Get your hands off me," I said. 

"I'll do anything I want," Lenny retorted. "And I'd like to see you stop 
me." 

What could I say? I was all tied up, naked and at his disposal. There was 
nothing I could do. Lenny could do anything he wanted to me and there was 
nothing I could do about it. But feel up his own sister? That wasn't right 
at all. 

I didn't think Lenny would have the nerve to touch my sexy parts but I was 
wrong. When I felt his hands slide underneath my belly, rubbing my stomach 
in a slow sensuous motion, I thought he would be afraid to touch my tits. I 
definitely didn't want him to touch my tits. Nobody had ever touched me 
there before. It was disgusting to think of being felt up by your own 
brother. 

But he did. He slid his hands up from my belly and cupped my two tender 
blossoming boobs. He squeezed them in his hands. It was a strange 
feeling-almost thrilling because it was so illicit. But I was furious that 
he was doing such a thing. 

I could feel Lenny's fingers squeezing my ruddy nipple flesh. He was 
twisting and pinching the meat, playing with the bumps. I wanted to kill 
him. I silently swore to myself that I would get even. 

Then Lenny did something that really wasn't right. He slid his hands down to 
my cunt. I couldn't believe it! He took his fingers and spread apart my 
pussy lips. He stuck them inside, feeling the moist hot inner cunt flesh. I 
wanted to kill him. I swear, if I had a gun or something, I would have blown 
his brains out. That's how angry I was. I was furious. The only fingers that 
had ever been up there were mine. I would never even let a doctor put his 
fingers up there. Lenny had no right to do it. 

But still, he moved his fingers in and out of my pussy. My snatch was 
getting all creamy, dripping with discharge. I felt positively humiliated. I 
felt like a piece of shit. 

Finally, Lenny had enough. He took his hands off my body. I was shaking with 
rage. He pulled out the enema. It had done its duty well. I really had to 
shit bad. 

But Lenny didn't untie me right away like I thought he would. I kept waiting 
for him to untie me but he didn't. I wondered what was taking him so long. I 
really had. to go to the bathroom. 

"Well, aren't you going to untie me?" I angrily asked. 

"When I feel like it," Lenny replied. 

"Listen, I have to shit, you fuck," I told him. 

"Go right ahead," he replied. 

I was amazed. He wanted to watch me shit right in front of him. That was the 
most humiliating thing of all. After all the embarrassing things he did to 
me, watching me shit would be the worst. Well, I wasn't going to let him get 
away with it. 

"Listen, you bastard," I said, "if you don't untie me this instant and let 
me go to the bathroom, if I shit on this bed, you're going to clean it up. 
And if you don't, I'll leave it there for Mommy to see when she comes home. 

She'll kill you when I tell her what you did." 

At first, Lenny didn't say anything. But the fact that he didn't give me a 
snotty answer told me that he was thinking about what my parents would say 
if I told them. I guess now that he had gotten his anger out, he started to 
think about the consequences. 

"Listen Lisa," he said. "I'll let you go only if you promise not to tell 
Mommy and Daddy anything about what happened. Otherwise, I'm going to watch 
you shit all night long." 

"All right," I said. 

It was easy to agree to anything. Nothing said that I had to keep my 
promise. He untied me and I rushed to the bathroom. I made it just in time. 
As I sat on the toilet, I thought about my promise. It was then I decided 
that telling my parents what Lenny had done would be the best revenge I 
could have. It would get him in the most trouble. It would really make him 
sorry that he had ever done this to me. 

So that's what happened. But things haven't worked out good at all. I mean, 
I had my revenge and it's over. Me and Lenny both want to forget about the 
whole thing. He's apologized to me and I forgave him. But my mother just 
won't let it drop. 

 CONCLUSION 

Lisa is a young girl who shows serious masochistic tendencies. The fact that 
she can so lightly brush aside the humiliation her sick and perverted older 
brother subjected her to shows that she is a likely candidate for future 
deviations of this sort. 

Lisa's feeling that her mother was making too much of the matter shows just 
how warped her mind is. The fact that Lisa does not find the sexual abuse of 
her young person permanently offensive suggests that she may indulge in 
perverted sexual practices in the future. 

I have recommended to Lisa's mother that Lisa continue seeing me on a weekly 
basis. I have informed her that I feel Lisa might develop serious problems 
adjusting as a normal healthy adult later in life. I also recommended that 
her brother become a patient of mine as well. I stressed the importance of 
working with the two deviants together. 

 CASE HISTORY TWO 

Subject: Cathy Age: Ten 

 INTERVIEW ONE 

Cathy was brought to see me by her father, who had discovered that his wife 
was beating and abusing her. The father can only guess at how long the 
situation had been going on. He told me that he first started to suspect 
something wasn't right about three months ago, but that it was only a few 
days ago that he had caught his wife in the act. 

Cathy's father reported that his wife was very clever at covering her 
tracks, which is why it took him so long to catch on. He said it wasn't the 
kind of thing a man wants to believe his wife is doing. 

However, Cathy's father told me, when he caught his wife in the act himself, 
he could no longer refuse to face the truth. He immediately arranged for his 
wife to be confined in a private institution where she is presently 
receiving treatment. 

Cathy's father brought her to see me because he is concerned about the state 
of her emotional well-being after being battered and abused by her own 
mother. One thing that particularly disturbs him is Cathy's insistence that 
her mother did nothing bad to her. Cathy cries for her mother at night now 
that the woman has been hospitalized. 

Doctor, I want my Mommy. I don't know where she is or what's happened to 
her. I tried asking Daddy but he just tells me not to worry about her. He 
says that she's alright and being taken care of, but I don't believe him. I 
just know something horrible has happened to her. 

Daddy thinks Mommy is a bad person just because he found her spanking me a 
few days ago. I was a bad girl and I deserved to be punished. Daddy punishes 
me sometimes too. I don't see how he can blame Mommy for doing the same 
thing. 

I love my mother so much. I can't begin to tell you how much I love her. 
Sometimes I wonder if she loves me back, though. I mean, she would hurt me 
when she punished. 

Sometimes I thought I was being punished unfairly. But then, afterwards, she 
would always hug me and tell me she was sorry. She would explain that I had 
been so bad that I made her lose her temper. 

But Mommy has very funny ways of punishing me. I remember the first time she 
punished me besides spanking me. I was a little kid, about five years old. I 
must have been five because I remember that I was in kindergarten. I forgot 
what I did, but whatever it was, it made Mommy very angry. 

She was so angry that she filled the tub up with boiling water and made me 
take a bath in it. She made me take off all my clothes and insert my little 
pink body in the steaming tub. It was so hot that I started to cry. I 
pleaded with her not to make me, but she told me to shut up. She warned me 
that if I didn't listen to her, she would have to punish me even more. 

So I had to do it. I had to sit in the boiling water until she told me that 
it was alright to come out. Until she decided that my punishment had lasted 
long enough. It was so hot in there that I had blisters all over my body. 

When Daddy came home from work I told him what Mommy had done to me. I 
didn't think it was fair to be punished like that. It was too painful. I 
knew I had disobeyed Mommy, but I hadn't done anything to deserve being 
inserted into boiling hot water. So I complained to Daddy. 

Daddy listened to what I said. His eyes went wide with surprise. He kept 
asking me if I was sure. I could hardly believe it. I had never lied to 
Daddy before. What would make him think I was lying now? 

But Daddy didn't accuse me of lying. He just told me to relax. I showed him 
the blisters and he looked worried. He said he was going downstairs to speak 
to Mommy. 

Upstairs in my bedroom, in my pajamas and under the blanket, I could hear 
Mommy screaming. I started to shudder as I heard her mention me. She was 
calling me all kinds of names. She sounded like she hated me. I started to 
feel very hurt. I didn't want my mother to hate me. I wanted her to love me. 

Then I heard her calling me a liar. She screamed it over and over and over. 
Liar, liar, liar. I put my hands to my ears. I couldn't bear to hear it. 
Then the tears began streaming down. My whole body shook and trembled. 

I took my hands off my ears. Mommy had stopped screaming. I wanted to know 
what was happening, but I was afraid to go downstairs. I was afraid that 
Mommy was so mad at me that she would beat me up. 

But I wanted to know what had happened. I wanted to know what my Daddy had 
said to her. I was afraid for him to go to work and leave me alone with her. 
I wanted to talk to him so I could beg him not to leave me alone with her 
ever again. 

I could hear Daddy's footsteps as he came back up the stairs. I knew he 
would be coming back into my room. I breathed a sigh of relief. 

Sure enough, the door opened and Daddy came in. 

"Cathy," he said, "I want to talk to you." 

"About Mommy?" I asked. "About Mommy," he replied. "What did she say?" 

"Cathy, are you sure that Mommy did what you said she did? Are you sure that 
she purposely made you take a bath in boiling hot water?" 

I looked at my father. There were tears in my eyes. Why was he questioning 
my word? Didn't he believe me? I remembered how Mommy had screamed, calling 
me a liar. What would I do if he believed her instead of me? 

"Don't you believe me?" I tearfully asked. 

"I believe you, Cathy," Daddy softly replied. "I just think that maybe you 
were exaggerating. Are you sure that Mommy didn't put any cold water in the 
bath at all?" 

I looked at him. 

"No," I replied, shaking my head. "She didn't put any in. Not a drop." 

"How do you know?" asked my father. 

"I watched her run the water, Daddy," I pleaded. "She didn't even touch the 
faucet for the cold water. I swear to God she didn't." 

Daddy looked at me. It was as if he didn't know what to think. I was hurt 
that he questioned my word. I began to resent Mommy for making him think 
that I was a liar. 

"She's the one who's a liar," I suddenly said, in an angry tone of voice. 

"Cathy," said Daddy, gently but sternly, "don't talk about your mother like 
that." 

"Daddy, don't you believe me?" I repeated. "I wouldn't make up something 
like that, really I wouldn't. Don't you trust me?" 

"It isn't that, Cathy," he replied. "I trust you but I also trust your 
mother. Now you say Mommy stuck you in a tub of boiling water, but she says 
that she didn't. She says she may have made the bath a little too hot by 
mistake, but that she tried to regulate the temperature." 

"Then you think I'm lying," I insisted. 

I began to cry. 

"Cathy, Cathy, don't cry," said Daddy. "We'll clear everything up. Now, just 
think, maybe the bath was too hot, but it wasn't as bad as you thought it 
was. Now isn't that right?" 

I thought about it. I thought about it very hard. Could he be right? Could 
the bath have been alright, just a little too hot, and the rest my 
imagination? Then I remembered about my blisters. 

"What about my blisters?" I said to Daddy. "How come I got blisters if the 
bath wasn't too hot?" 

A troubled look crossed Daddy's face. He thought for a while, looking at me. 
Then he spoke. 

"Cathy," he said, "this is what probably happened. Your mother made the 
water too hot without realizing it. That's why you got the blisters. That's 
why she got so upset when I told her what you told me. She didn't do it on 
purpose. Do you understand, she didn't do it on purpose. Your mother 
wouldn't hurt you for the world." 

I looked at him blankly with tears in my eyes. That was not the way I 
remembered it at all. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe my 
mother hadn't inserted my naked body into boiling hot water. Maybe she had 
made it too hot by accident. 

"What do you say, Cathy?" said my father. "Isn't that what happened?" 

I nodded. I supposed he was right. But I was still upset. I could still hear 
the way Mommy had called me a liar. I still remembered how angry she was. It 
worried me. 

"Is Mommy mad at me?" I asked, in a scared timid voice. 

Daddy shook his head. 

"She's just upset that you think she would do such a thing," Daddy replied. 
"She loves you--she would never do anything to hurt you. Don't worry, she's 
not mad at you. Not really," he added. 

I was relieved to hear it. The last thing I wanted, in the world was for my 
mother to be mad at me. 

That was the first time Mommy punished me by hurting me. She didn't do it 
again for a real long time. Not until I was eight years old. That time, I 
didn't tell Daddy about it. I was old enough to realize by myself that she 
didn't mean it. I knew she was sorry right after she had done it by the way 
she hugged and kissed me and begged me to forgive her. She also begged me 
not to tell my father. That was why I couldn't. It would upset her too much. 
I didn't want Mommy to be upset any more than she was. She gets upset a lot. 

Mommy would do things like hit me with belt buckles and burn my fingertips 
with matches. I just used to let her do it. I knew she didn't really mean 
it. I knew she only did it when she lost her temper. After something like 
that happened, every time after, Mommy would hug me and kiss me and tell me 
how sorry she was and beg me not to tell Daddy. She was always terrified 
that I would tell Daddy. I always promised that I wouldn't. 

It wasn't so bad at first. Mommy wouldn't get that mad very often. Maybe 
five or six times a year. But then, when I was eight and a half, Mommy began 
to change. She became meaner and meaner. There weren't so many times when 
she was nice to me. She stopped hugging and kissing me and apologizing after 
she did it. 

I started to wonder about it. It was as if Mommy didn't love me any more. 
She was never nice and affectionate like she used to be. I began to wonder 
if she had ever loved me. I began to wonder if I should tell Daddy what she 
was doing. 

From the way Mommy was afraid that Daddy would find out what she was doing, 
I knew he would be very angry. But I remembered how he had believed Mommy 
over me the last time. I didn't know if he would take my word for it. And 
there was no way to prove it. 

I thought about it. I decided not to tell Daddy. I really didn't want to get 
Mommy in trouble because I was still hoping that she would go back to the 
way she used to be. I also knew that if I told Daddy and he didn't believe 
me, she would hurt me even worse because she would be so mad at me for 
telling. 

The things Mommy did to me were a lot worse than what she used to do before. 
I mean, the things she did were so bad that I can't even tell you about some 
of them. They were really horrible. 

But I still love my mother, no matter what. She can't help what she does. 
She doesn't have control over it. She's a very unhappy person. All she does 
is scream and cry. I'm pretty unhappy too. 

Right now, I'm really unhappy that Daddy found out. I mean, I wasn't at 
first. Mommy was doing something really horrible to me when he found us. 
Daddy couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe his eyes when he walked in on 
us. 

I was relieved when Daddy stopped her. I felt glad that she had finally been 
caught. I didn't want to tell on her, but I was glad she had been found out. 
I didn't want her to do those things to me any more. 

But I was ashamed when Daddy saw us. I was ashamed for her and I was ashamed 
for me. I didn't want him to see us like that. It was really disgusting. I 
wanted to die for shame. 

But he stopped her-Daddy did stop her. But he made her go stay in a mental 
hospital. I'm really mad at him for that. I keep begging for him to let her 
come home, but he says she needs help. 

I wish I could make Daddy understand. I wish I could convince him to let 
Mommy come home. He said it wasn't up to him because what Mommy had done to 
me was against the law. I don't think Daddy would lie to me. 

I wonder if I'll ever see my Mommy again. Daddy says of course I will. I 
want to see my Mommy, but I hope she never does any of those horrible things 
to me again. I hope Daddy is right when he says that they will make her 
better. 

 INTERVIEW TWO 

I wasn't able to convince Cathy to tell me the details of the abuse her 
mother perpetrated on her until the second time she came to see me. By that 
time, her father had received some information from the doctors at the 
institution where her mother was hospitalized. 

The doctors reported that Cathy's mother was suffering from nervous 
schizophrenia. They had decided to try electric shock therapy to ease the 
tension and then attempt to control the hallucinations with medication. 
Cathy's father had consented to this treatment. 

Cathy's father explained the situation to her as honestly and as 
non-frighteningly as was possible. Cathy seemed to understand what he was 
saying, but still wanted to know why her mother couldn't come home. Upon 
explaining that she would soon be allowed to visit her mother, Cathy felt 
comforted. 

Did Daddy tell you about Mommy? What the doctors said, I mean. They said 
that when she hurt me like that, she really didn't know what she was doing. 
They say that she was seeing things and hearing things that weren't really 
there. 

I can't imagine that-can you? It seems so strange-to hear and see things 
that aren't really there. It must have been weird to be inside Mommy's head 
while that was happening. I mean, she couldn't tell the difference between 
what was really there and what wasn't. 

They're going to let me go see her. I can't wait. I want to tell her that 
I'm not mad about what she did to me. I want to tell her that I still love 
her. Daddy promises that hell take me to see her by next weekend. I can't 
wait. 

Daddy said that I should tell you what Mommy did to me, but I don't want to. 
I don't understand why we can't just forget all about it. I mean, Mommy will 
be cured at the hospital and she'll never do those things to me again. 

But Daddy says I should tell you so that you can make sure that I won't have 
bad dreams from it. He said it was a very horrible thing to happen to a 
little girl and he wants to make sure I'm alright. Daddy kept apologizing to 
me for not having found out sooner. He feels bad about what happened to me. 

Daddy even told me he was sorry for not completely believing me that time I 
told you about. I told him that he was right, that Mommy really didn't mean 
what she was doing to me. He didn't remember that he had told me that. 

But you know, even though Mommy didn't mean it, it was a really bad thing to 
do to me. I have bad dreams sometimes and sometimes I get frightened for no 
reason. And I don't like to think about what Mommy did to me, but I can't 
help it. 

Daddy says that if I tell you all about it, you'll help me not to think 
about it so much. But I can't decide whether to tell you or not. I'm so 
ashamed of what happened. I'm so ashamed to admit that those things happened 
to me. But I don't know how to stop thinking about them. 

I'll tell you, but only if you promise not to think bad of me or my mother. 
If you can promise me that, I'll tell you what she did. I'll try to tell you 
everything, but it won't be easy. 

Mommy had been in a very bad mood all week. I saw her a lot of times crying 
by herself. She never smiled or seemed happy about anything. I felt sorry 
for her, but I was also scared. I knew what could happen when she got like 
that. 

I was careful not to do anything to upset her the whole time. I mean, I did 
everything like I was supposed to. I kept my room clean and I did all my 
homework as soon as I got home from school. I even washed the dishes lying 
in the sink sometimes. Just to help her out. 

But Mommy got mad at me just the same. It was as if she was going to get mad 
at me no matter how good she was. She found something specific to pick on me 
for. It was really a tiny thing. I was really upset that she was yelling at 
me for it. I forget to buy the newspaper on my way home from school. I was 
supposed to do it every day but this one day I forgot. 

Mommy became furious. She started screaming and shaking her fists at me. I 
became terrified that she would do to me what she so often did. And she did. 

Mommy started screaming that she would have to punish me, to teach me that 
I'd better listen to her when she tells me something. 

I was trembling with fear. Each time she punished me, the punishment got 
worse and worse. I was horrified to think of what she might do. 

Mommy made me go to my room. She told me to take off all my clothes and wait 
there for her. I did what she told me to do. I didn't want to make her any 
madder than she already was. 

She came back in a little while. She was holding a bunch of ropes and this 
funny long tube with this rubber bag attached to it. I had no idea what she 
was going to do with those things. 

Mommy was moving very fast. I could tell she was very angry, but she didn't 
scream at me or anything. Her voice was very calm as she spoke. But it was 
very, very angry. 

"You shouldn't disobey my instructions, Cathy," said my mother. "You always 
force me to punish you. You should no better by this time." 

I was sitting on the bed trembling with fear as she started to unwind the 
rope. I had the sneaking suspicion that she was going to tie me up. I 
dreaded it. 

And that's exactly what she did. Mommy grabbed my arms and twisted them 
behind my back. She twisted them so hard that it really hurt a lot. I tried 
not to cry. I knew that when I cried it only made her more enraged. 

After Mommy tied up my arms, she tied my ankles together. She made me spread 
my knees apart while I did it. My little hole got all open and exposed. She 
sneered at it in disgust. I shuddered. 

After she finished tying me, Mommy went to one of my drawers and pulled out 
a handkerchief. She made me open my mouth and she stuffed it in there. That 
terrorized me. She had never gagged me before. And I never screamed when she 
did these things to me. 

What Mommy was planning must be something especially terrible. She had never 
ever gagged me before. She knew that I didn't scream. But she expected me to 
scream this time. It must be something really awful. 

It was. It was the most horrible thing that ever happened to me. Mommy 
picked me roughly up in her arms and turned me over on my stomach. She 
pushed up my knees so that my ass was sticking in the air. Then she took 
that strange rubber bag thing and put the tube in my ass. 

I was never so frightened in my life. Mommy thrust that thing all the way up 
my ass. She didn't care how much she hurt me. 

She pushed the tube all the way in. 

I didn't like the way it felt as Mommy shoved it in and out of my ass. It 
was cold and it made my ass-hole hurt. It was too big to fit. It had to 
stretch me apart to get in there. I thought Mommy was going to tear me to 
shreds in there. I could feel my inner skin starting to scrape and bleed. 

Suddenly, Mommy pushed it in really hard and left it there. It was sticking 
in me and it hurt. I felt horrible. All these stabbing pains were going 
through my behind. Then it happened. 

All this water started gushing up my ass. It began spraying up there in 
spurts. It tickled my insides. It also burned my torn and tattered shredded 
inner ass-hole flesh. It was the most painful thing that ever happened to 
me. Every nerve in my ass was burning with agony. 

Daddy told me that it wasn't water Mommy had put in the bag but rubbing 
alcohol. He said that was why it burned so much. It was really excruciating, 
let me tell you. 

Mommy started to laugh gleefully as she stood back and watched me suffer. My 
body was twitching and trembling from fear and pain. I couldn't see Mommy's 
face but I could imagine the look. I had seen her look that way before. 

Then Mommy left the room again. I was left like that with that tube 
squirting that stuff up my burning sore ass-hole. It was horrible. I was 
dying for somebody to take it out. I didn't know how long she would leave me 
like that. 

It felt like hours, but Mommy eventually returned. She picked me up in her 
arms again and turned me on my back. That thing was still sticking up my 
ass. The bed pushed it in even tighter. It hurt real bad. 

Then Mommy spread open my legs, pulling them from the knees. She pulled them 
apart until I could feel the pussy lips of my cunt stretching open, exposing 
my naked moist inner pussy flesh. 

Mommy took this big thick plastic thing and put it in my hole. I swear, 
that's what she did. Isn't that horrible? I don't know exactly what that 
thing looked like because I only saw it for a second as she took it and 
shoved it in. But it was so big that she had to hammer it inside with her 
fist. I thought my body was going to split in two. 

Mommy was' breathing heavily as she banged that big plastic thing in my 
pussy. It forced my trembling pussy walls to open, making way for it to 
enter. Mommy pushed and pushed it in until she got it all the way up. 

The pain in front was even worse than the pain in back. Hot stabs of agony 
seared my snatch. Mommy hurt me so much. 

She was getting excited, ramming it in and out harder and faster, panting 
like an animal. I was really scared. Even the horrible things she had done 
to me before were nothing like this. I never thought Mommy would do anything 
like this to me. I should have known that she would have done anything. But 
I could never even imagine something like this. 

Mommy rammed the big plastic thing in and out of my hole. The big cold 
plastic penetrated all the way up my quivering bloody pussy. I would have 
screamed with pain, but the gag muffled my cries. I understood why Mommy had 
given me the gag now Suddenly, the door to my room opened and Daddy came in. 
He screamed out in horror as he saw what was happening. He grabbed Mommy and 
pulled her away from me. He threw her against the wall. Mommy's head banged 
against the wall. I'll never forget the way it sounded. 

Daddy quickly pulled that big thing from my hole. I'd never seen anyone look 
so horrified. It made me feel sick, looking at the expression on his face. I 
had never seen anything like it in my life. 

Daddy was so overcome by shock and horror that he couldn't even speak. I was 
afraid to look at him. I was embarrassed by what he had found. I wished I 
could sink through the bed and just disappear. 

But Daddy didn't act like there was anything wrong with me. He pulled out 
that horrible thing. It hurt when he did it, but I was glad it was gone. 
Blood started to gush from my hole. 

Daddy ran to call an ambulance. Meanwhile, Mommy had picked herself up from 
the floor, where she had landed after banging her head. She looked around. 
It was like she was in a daze. She didn't seem to know what was going on. 

Daddy came back. I could tell that he was afraid to let her near me. He 
stood in front of her in case she tried to get at me, but she didn't. She 
just staggered around in a circle, looking at the ceiling. I felt sorry for 
her. I started to cry. 

That drew Daddy's attention to me. He rushed to my side and quickly untied 
the ropes. He pulled the gag from my mouth and picked me up, hugging me 
close to him. Then he noticed the enema sticking in my ass. That was when he 
started to cry. 

You know what happened after that. The ambulance came and rushed me to the 
hospital. They took Mommy along too. The doctor at the hospital took one 
look at Mommy and told the nurse to give her a shot. They rushed me into 
this room where they hooked me up to all kinds of wires. I think they were 
afraid that I was going to bleed to death. 

But I didn't. They stopped the bleeding and I got better. But I haven't seen 
Mommy since. I'm very worried about her. She was acting really strange when 
they gave her that shot. 

 CONCLUSION 

Cathy had been subjected to the most cruel and perverse torture imaginable. 
The brutal sexual assault upon her person by the person in the world she 
most cared for is bound to have deep and far-reaching affects upon Cathy's 
troubled psyche. 

Cathy's extreme concern for her mother is not unusual for a child in her 
situation. Children are sometimes sensitive in ways that adults are not. 
Right now, Cathy is more understanding of her mother than is her father. He 
is still very bitter toward his wife. 

Cathy's father was informed by the doctors at the private mental institution 
that his wife would have to be institutionalized for at least another six 
months. He immediately signed the papers. Cathy was very upset about this. 

Cathy's attachment for her mother has deepened since the horror of her 
father's discovery. Fortunately for Cathy, her father is an intelligent man 
who knows how to explain the situation honestly, but without frightening 
her. 

However, I do feel that a child of ten is too young to comprehend the 
malfunctioning nervous system that is schizophrenia. It is something that 
doctors themselves do not yet fully comprehend. Until we discover something 
definite, children should not be troubled with these things. The questions 
our lack of knowledge poses is too frightening for their young minds to cope 
with. 

 CASE HISTORY THREE 

Subject: Tomasina Age: Fifteen 

 INTERVIEW ONE 

Tomasina was brought to see me by her worried mother. The mother had to tell 
me Tomasina's plight, for the child had been deaf, dumb and blind from 
birth, so her mother informed me. The first interview you will be reading 
was given to me by Tomasina's mother in her presence. The woman was greatly 
distraught. 

Doctor, I don't know what to do to help my daughter. Nobody seems to be able 
to get through to her. My husband took her to see a regular doctor. He did 
all these tests on her and told us that her problem was not physical but 
only in her mind. He said that she could see, hear and speak if she wanted 
to. 

After he told us that, I became very impatient with her. I would beg her for 
hours and hours to respond to me. But she would just give me that horrible 
blank stare of hers. 

I decided to take her to see you after my husband discovered something quite 
shocking. I feel very guilty about it, doctor, but how was I to know that 
her own uncle would do something like that? And to think that I trusted him 
to take care of her. 

You see, my husband and I are afraid to leave Tomasina alone. She's 
completely helpless. She can't do anything for herself. She needs someone to 
help to clean her and to dress her. I can tell that she hated having people 
do things for her. She especially hates it when people help to dress her. 
Usually I do it myself. But sometimes I'm too busy and then my husband or a 
relative will do it. 

Sometimes I would let Tomasina dress herself. She seems to want to so much. 
But she would always come out looking cockeyed and then I would have to fix 
her up. I couldn't let her go out in public looking like that. 

We try to take her out as much as we can. When we can't, there are some 
neighborhood kids who are nice enough to take her to the candy store. The 
candy store is right down the block from us, a place where some of the kids 
hang out. They're nice kids--they play pinball and do things like that. 
Tomasina is a whiz at pinball ... she even won a contest one time. Nobody 
can figure out how she does it. 

One time, my husband found out that one of the kids had given her some LSD. 
We thought it was a cruel thing for him to do. He was some kind of pusher, 
we discovered. We didn't let her go out with those kids again for a while. 
We were very angry. 

But that was when her cousin Kevin had volunteered to watch her and take her 
places. At first, we were very grateful. That was until we found out what he 
did to her. 

One time, we had left Kevin with Tomasina while we went out to the movies. 
We came back earlier than we had expected. We found Tomasina tied to a chair 
and Kevin was burning her heels with the end of a lit cigarette. My husband 
was so mad he almost beat him to a pulp. It took everything he had to 
contain himself. 

But my husband is not a violent man, doctor. He told Kevin to get out and 
never come back. And he called Kevin's parents on the phone and told them 
exactly what Kevin had done, even though Kevin's mother is his own sister. 

That was when we decided to ask Uncle 

Ernie if he could watch Tomasina once in a while. Uncle Ernie is my father's 
brother-that is, he was. My father is dead now. He's the only living 
relative I have left, other than Tomasina and her father. I felt very 
grateful when he agreed to help us out with her. 

When Tomasina first became ill-doctor, why are you looking at me like that? 
What's that? Uh, uh, you misunderstood me. No, doctor, of course not. Why 
would I lie? Why would I lie about something like that? 

Alright, alright, I admit it, I lied. Tomasina wasn't born with her 
affliction. It happened when she was about three years old. It was my fault. 
It was our fault. I admit it, I admit it. Oh, it's so horrible to think 
about. 

Doctor, you're not allowed to reveal things without your patients' 
permission are you? I mean, if I told you something in confidence, you 
wouldn't be able to tell anyone what I said without my permission, would 
you? How about the police? What if I told you something you thought the 
police should know about? Would you still keep the confidence? 

I'll tell you, I'll confess. We've kept it between ourselves all these 
years, my husband and I. It's a long story. I guess I should start at the 
beginning. 

My husband used to be a sailor. He was a good sailor. He was captain of his 
own ship. I mean, he didn't own the ship, but it was under his command. I 
was pregnant with Tomasina when he went out to sea for the first time as 
captain. 

It was about five months after that when I received a telegram telling me 
the ship had gone down. There had been no survivors. Most of the bodies had 
been found aboard the sunken vessel. My husband's wasn't among them. The sea 
authorities assumed that he had drowned with the rest of the men whose 
bodies weren't found in the sunken ship. They concluded that they had tried 
to escape aboard one of the life boats but had not survived. 

I was stricken with grief. My husband was the whole world to me. I was 
carrying his child. I was all alone, a young helpless widow. I had no family 
except for Uncle Ernie, but he was out of the country at the time. I had no 
one to turn to. 

Tomasina was born. She was a beautiful baby. She looked exactly like her 
father. She broke my heart every time I looked at her. But I was grateful to 
have a part of him live on in her. 

I loved my infant daughter to distraction. I centered all my hopes and 
attentions upon her. I lavished her with love and care to make up for what I 
couldn't afford in money. She was a happy healthy completely normal child. 

Then I met this man. He was very handsome and he helped me out. It happened 
when Tomasina was about two years old. He gave me enough money after a while 
so that I was able to quit my job and look after Tomasina myself, instead of 
leaving her with a babysitter all the time. I was very grateful. 

We dated for a few months and then the man moved in with us. I wasn't madly 
in love with him as I had been with my husband, but he was good to me and 
Tomasina. I cared about him deeply and thought that I would grow to love him 
in time. 

We had an intimate relationship, doctor, if you know what I mean. I hope you 
won't think too badly of me, but a woman has needs. And it did help me to 
get over the grief I felt for my husband. 

But I guess I never really stopped loving Tomasina's father. Even though I 
was living with this other man as if we were man and wife, I never stopped 
loving my husband. Even though me and my lover were planning to be married 
as soon as Tomasina's father was legally declared dead. That would happen in 
five more years. 

We lived together very happily for a year, me, my lover, and Tomasina. We 
were just like a real family. Tomasina loved him like her own father. She 
had never even seen her real father. 

For all practical purposes, my lover was her real father. He was the only 
father she had ever known. 

Then one day, I'll never forget it as long as I live, the doorbell rang. We 
were living in a modest but comfortable home that my lover had bought for 
us. He had a steady job and had saved enough for the down payment. He worked 
very hard to take care of us. 

Anyway, this day I'm telling you about, my lover was at work. Tomasina was 
three years old at the time. She was in the back of the house, playing in 
the garden. I was busy cleaning. 

When the doorbell rang, I dropped my dust cloth and went to answer it. I'll 
never forget the strange feeling I had when I saw this ragged hairy man 
staring at me. He just stared and stared at me. He didn't say anything. 

I thought it was very strange. I wondered what he wanted. When I asked him 
what he wanted, I noticed there were tears in his eyes. The whole thing was 
very strange. 

There was something about this ragged man that was vaguely familiar to me. 
Suddenly, it hit me who he was. 

No, I thought to myself. It just couldn't be, it just couldn't be! How is it 
possible? How could it possibly be? 

My heart palpitated and my body trembled. 

I stared right at him. I think he realized that I recognized him. 

"Don't you know me?" he asked, his voice all choked up. 

I couldn't speak. The words were stuck in my throat. I was too overcome by 
my emotions. I tearfully nodded. Then I threw myself into his arms. 

It was Tomasina's father, returned from the dead. We passionately embraced 
each other. I could hardly believe it. I was shaking and laughing and crying 
all at the same time. I brushed the tears that were streaming down his eyes. 
I took him into the house. I could hardly believe he had really been given 
back to me. 

We talked for hours. The first thing he wanted to do was to see Tomasina. I 
wanted to tell him about my lover first. It was funny how I had forgotten 
all about him until my husband mentioned Tomasina. 

My husband was very understanding. Of course I assured him that I would give 
up my lover. I was so glad to have him back. 

I cautioned my husband not to tell Tomasina who he was. I told him that she 
thought my lover was her father. I promised my husband that as soon as 
things were settled, we would tell her the truth. He agreed with me. 

I've never seen anybody look so full of emotion as my husband did the first 
time he saw Tomasina. I could tell that he was dying to take her in his arms 
and claim her as his daughter. My heart went out to him. 

We spent the afternoon talking. We talked for hours and hours. The first 
thing I did was to give my husband some clean clothes. He took a shower and 
put on some of my lover's clothes. Then I made him something to eat. 

He told me that he and three other men had drifted in the ocean for weeks 
and weeks. He said it was horrible. There was a shortage of food and water. 
He said several men became so thirsty that they drank the salt water, even 
though they knew it would kill them. He said it was horrible when they had 
to dump the bodies overboard. 

Then he told me how they had finally been spotted by a small fishing boat. 
They were off the coast of some tropical island. They were rescued and 
brought to the island. There, my husband worked hard until he managed to 
save enough money to come back home. He tried wiring the owners of the ship 
that he had commanded, but found they were gone without leaving a forwarding 
address. There was no way he could come back to me sooner. 

I was grateful to have him back at all. It seemed to me that he had never 
left. But as it got nearer and nearer to five o'clock, I started to worry 
how I would explain everything to my lover. He knew about my husband, of 
course, but I knew he wouldn't give me up easily. I was right. 

When my lover returned and found that my husband had come back from the 
dead, he was shocked. But he was very civil. He told me to be very kind to 
the man because of all he had been through. He said he could appreciate the 
shock of going through all that and then coming home to find that his wife 
and child belonged to another man. 

I looked at my lover with strange wild eyes. It angered me that he assumed I 
would just desert my husband for him. It angered me that he thought there 
would be no decision involved. I thought it was very presumptuous of him. 

I didn't know what to do. But before I got a chance to say anything, my 
husband told him that I had decided to give up my lover. My lover turned red 
and told my husband that he couldn't expect things to be just like they were 
before he left. My husband said that we were still legally married and there 
was nothing that my lover could do about it. 

The fighting became very heated. One word led to another. Suddenly, my lover 
lost his temper. He picked up a butcher knife that was lying on the table. 
He waved it at my husband, threatening to kill him if he didn't go and leave 
us as we were before he had returned. 

Without my even noticing it, Tomasina had crept into the room. The screams 
of the fighting men had attracted her curiosity. She came to find what was 
going on. She must have hid herself silently behind the curtain, or 
somewhere like that, because no one even noticed she was there until after 
it was all over. 

My husband lost his temper. It was very understandable. He had survived and 
returned home to his family against all odds. He couldn't take the nerve of 
this other man telling him that he couldn't have his family back, especially 
as he knew he I wanted him over my lover. He started screaming in a rage of 
anger. 

My lover came closer and closer with the threatening butcher knife. Finally, 
my husband had just had it. He reached forward and attempted to grab the 
butcher knife from the hands of my lover. A struggle ensued-I watched in 
horror as the two men grappled for control of the weapon. 

I gasped as my lover tried to thrust the knife in my husband's heart. 

"No, no!" I cried. 

My lover turned to me. Shock and horror was written all over his face. He 
was waiting for some kind of sign from me, some sign that I wanted him and 
not my husband. I slowly shook my head--my eyes were sad. He knew. He became 
furious. 

He turned to my husband and tried to thrust the knife deep inside his heart. 
But my husband grabbed my lover's wrist and sharply twisted it. The knife 
penetrated my lover's flesh. A few moments later he lay on the floor, a 
lifeless bloody corpse. 

My husband and I looked at each other in shock. I'm sure I was as pale as a 
ghost. We stood there shuddering, unable to move, not knowing what to do. 

Suddenly, we heard whimpering over in the corner of the room. I turned and 
saw Tomasina peering out from behind the curtain, looking at the corpse of 
my lover. Her eyes were red and streaming with tears. The dead man lying on 
the floor was the only father she had ever known. 

I pointed to Tomasina. My husband looked at the hysterical child with 
horror. What she had seen was so terrible that we could hardly bear it. 
Suddenly, my husband jumped up and ran over to her. He knelt and grabbed her 
by the shoulders. Tomasina shuddered as he looked straight into her eyes. 

"Tomasina," he said, "you didn't see it, you didn't hear it. You don't know 
nothing-never in your life, not a word about what happened hear." 

I suddenly realized what my husband was doing. It was important that no one 
ever discover what had happened. My lover had no family and no close 
friends. It would be easy to say that he had just gone away after my husband 
had returned. 

I ran over to Tomasina and pushed him away. I could feel myself slowly 
becoming hysterical. I grabbed my daughter and started screaming in her ear. 
I didn't realize it at the time, but she must have been in shock. I'm sure 
that I was. I grabbed Tomasina and started screaming at her. 

"You didn't hear it! You didn't see it! You don't know nothing! Never, never 
in your life, not a word about what you just saw. You didn't see it, 
Tomasina, you didn't see or hear a thing. You can never tell a soul!" 

My husband pulled me away from her. In my frantic panic, I had not been 
aware that poor Tomasina was trembling and white. My husband took Tomasina 
and sat her down on the sofa. She stared blankly at the wall. I think that's 
when she first lost her sight. 

I put Tomasina to bed while my husband got rid of the body. He chopped up 
all the parts and wrapped them individually in boxes. He sank each box in a 
different body of water-rivers, lakes and oceans. We were safe. No one would 
ever find us out. 

But Tomasina, doctor, Tomasina. She hasn't spoken a word since that day. Not 
one word. And she's given no indication that she can hear or see since. 
Tomasina's been totally deaf, dumb and blind and it's all my fault. It's all 
my fault! I did it to her! 

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I got so upset. I mean, it isn't my fault. I never 
wanted anything like this to happen. I'd cut off my arms and legs for my 
baby to regain her lost senses. I'd give a king's ransom just to hear a 
single word pass her lips. 

My God! I never intended to tell you all of this. It's just that it's been 
bottled up inside of me for so long I couldn't contain it any longer. 
Especially in light of what I found out. It's so easy for people to take 
advantage of Tomasina because she's so helpless. That's what I came to see 
you about. What happened to my child in the hands of Uncle Ernie. 

We knew that he'd had a little too much to drink, but we decided it would be 
alright to leave her with him anyway. Uncle Ernie drank a lot, but he always 
seemed to know what he was doing. I guess he knew what he was doing all 
right. I guess he had it all planned. That's why he was so willing to watch 
Tomasina for us in the first place. 

I was never so shocked in my life as I was when I came home and found what I 
found. It was really incredible! 

I walked into Tomasina's room to see if she was sleeping. I was wondering 
where Uncle Ernie was when we couldn't find him downstairs. My husband 
suggested that he had probably conked out in our bedroom. So I went to check 
on Tomasina before going in to wake him up. 

I opened the door to a shocking, horrible sight! Tomasina was naked and tied 
up with masses and masses of twiny rope. Her arms were twisted and tied 
behind her back. Her ankles were bound. There wasn't a stitch of clothing on 
her young tender pink body. 

Tomasina was staring blankly at the ceiling. Her body was shivering and 
trembling. There was an enema sticking in her ass. I could see the leaking 
bag on the bed attached to the tube which was shoved up her ass. 

But the worst of it was that Uncle Ernie was also naked. He was on top of 
Tomasina, pumping his big fat dick in and out of my poor helpless child's 
pussy. The hot male meat rammed in and out of Tomasina's battered pussy 
hole. 

Uncle Ernie's big quivering strong male body was pressing down upon the 
slender lithe body of my fifteen year old deaf, dumb and blind daughter. 
While he rammed her furiously with his big thick hot pulsing dick, he shoved 
the enema tube way up her ass, twisting and digging it in. I could tell from 
the look on Tomasina's face that she was in great pain. 

Uncle Ernie continued to ram my daughter while I stood aghast in the 
doorway. I was so stunned that I was paralyzed with disbelief. I could do 
nothing but stand there and watch for a full five minutes. 

Uncle Ernie was digging his red-hot filthy cock in and out of Tomasina's 
poor shuddering pussy. I could see the blood dripping from her recently 
virgin cunt. The big pumping dick banged in and out of her. 

Uncle Ernie was taking the enema tube and thrusting it in and out of 
Tomasina's raw tattered ass. He twisted it, thrusting in time to the rhythm 
of his hot ramming cock. Tomasina appeared motionless, unaware of what was 
happening to her, but there were tears in her eyes. 

I wanted to kill him. I started to shriek like a mad woman. My husband heard 
me and quickly came running up the stairs. But Uncle Ernie was so hot and 
frantic that he didn't even notice we were home until my husband pulled him 
out of Tomasina's pussy. He beat him to a pulp. 

Uncle Ernie was a bit embarrassed about being found out, but he wasn't even 
sorry for what he had done. He said that Tomasina had a nice hot twat that 
shouldn't be allowed to go to waste, even though she was deaf, dumb and 
blind. My husband told him to get out and never show his face again if he 
liked being alive. Uncle Ernie quickly left and has not been heard from 
since. 

Doctor, that's why I brought Tomasina to see you. It's impossible to tell 
how the brutal attack may have affected her because no one can communicate 
to her. I don't know what to do. I'm afraid she may be suffering terribly 
and no once can know about it. She can't even talk to us to relieve her mind 
of its torment. I don't know what to do, doctor. Can't you help her? 

 INTERVIEW TWO 

The story of Tomasina's hysterical deaf, dumb and blind condition and the 
horrors perpetrated upon her by the wicked Uncle Ernie really grabbed my 
sympathies. I was determined to cure the girl of her affliction. 

When I told Tomasina's mother that I was not concerned with the 
after-effects of the brutal and violent incestuous rape, but rather with 
removing the block which prevented the normal functioning of her ears, eyes, 
and tongue, the mother's face lit up with hope. 

"Dr. Lamb," she said, "we'd lost hope years ago. Please don't promise 
something you can't deliver. We've been disappointed so many times." 

I assured the woman that I knew I could cure Tomasina. It was only a matter 
of time until I could get through to her. The woman looked at me as if I 
were hopelessly naive. She wrung her hands and tears glistened in her eyes. 

"Doctor, what can I say? Of course, I want you to try anything you think of. 
But we've been trying for years. And it's been so frustrating since that 
doctor told us it was not a physical impairment. I try desperately to get 
through to Tomasina. Sometimes I'll talk to her, plead with her, beg her to 
respond to me. But all she ever does is stare at herself in the mirror." 

I informed the woman that I found the fact about the mirror very 
interesting. She explained that wjien the doctor had checked Tomasina to 
discover the nature of her disorder, he had given the child a mirror. Ever 
since, Tomasina had been fascinated with her own reflection. Tomasina's 
mother said she was sure that Tomasina could see herself. 

I found that very interesting. I gently pulled Tomasina from the chair upon 
which she was seated and led her to my storage closet. I opened the door to 
reveal a long shiny mirror hanging on the inner door. I placed Tomasina in 
front of it. 

Sure enough, Tomasina stared at her own reflection in the mirror. There was 
a strange glow in her eyes as she studied herself. I called her name, but 
she didn't acknowledge me. I turned her face towards me, but there was no 
glimmer of recognition in her eyes. The only time she appeared to be seeing 
was when she was staring at her own reflection in the mirror. 

Tomasina's distraught mother was at the end of her rope. She could stand it 
no longer. She ran up to Tomasina and grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling 
her head so that Tomasina was forced to look at her. But Tomasina didn't 
appear to see her. 

"You don't answer my call with a nod or wink, but you gaze at your own 
reflection alright," she angrily said. "You don't seem to see me but I think 
you can see yourself--how can the mirror affect you?" 

Tomasina's face was nothing but blank. She was completely oblivious to her 
mother. Her mother lost her temper and became enraged. 

"Listen to me," she screamed. "Do you hear me, or do I smash the mirror?" 

No response. The mother repeated the threat. 

"Did you hear what I said? Acknowledge me-I know you can see. You see 
yourself in the mirror! Answer me, Tomasina, or I'll smash that mirror." 

Tomasina gave no indication that she heard or saw her mother. The frustrated 
woman lost control of herself. She picked up a large heavy paperweight that 
was on my desk and flung it upon the mirror. 

The glass shattered with a loud crashing noise. Chips of the mirror flew all 
over the room. Tomasina's mother was trembling, with rage, but with the 
shock of her own action too. 

I watched with interest as the expression on Tomasina's face changed. There 
was a glimmer of recognition flickering in her eye. She started blinking and 
clearing her throat. 

We stared at her, Tomasina's mother and I. We could scarcely believe it. It 
appeared that the girl was going to speak. It was a miracle. 

I'm free, I'm free. Mother, doctor, do you understand me? I'm free. If I 
told you what it takes to reach the highest high, you'd laugh and say 
nothing's that simple, but it's true. What you consider to have been my 
affliction has been my deepest blessing. 

I can't begin to tell you of the wondrous sensations that flickered through 
my body, undisturbed by any other interfering inferior sense. I stared at 
myself in the mirror because I knew that everything must come from within 
me. 

Everything is in within me, all of it. All the answers that everybody, 
including doctors like you, is searching for, came from within my own being. 
I was locked inside myself, had nothing but my own sensations and feelings 
to go by. From myself and no other, I got the story. 

I know something that most people don't know. Most people don't go through 
what I've been through. I have a special insight, a special light, into the 
heart of things. Now that I've been cured, I can do the world a lot of good. 

Mother, doctor, you must help me spread the word. I must go around the 
world, telling the people. They must follow my teachings if they are to be 
helped. They must discover what I have discovered the way I have discovered 
it. They must plug up their ears, eyes and mouths. They must play pin ball. 
They must stare at themselves in the mirror. It is only then that they will 
be able to perceive the truth. 

 CONCLUSION 

Tomasina emerged from herself in a very disturbed state of mind. Being 
deprived of any other stimulation but that of the workings of her own mind, 
Tomasina had come to certain conclusions uninfluenced by the teachings of 
others. She learned the technique of trusting oneself only in a sure-fire 
manner. 

However, instead of recommending that others find the light by listening to 
the workings of their own minds, Tomasina expects them to listen to her. She 
plans to travel around the world, preaching her doctrine of enlightenment. 

A few days after Tomasina's wondrous miracle cure, her mother phoned to say 
that Tomasina had already convinced a bunch of her pinball buddies to become 
her disciples. They intended to follow her around the world as she struggled 
to convert the unenlightened masses. 

Tomasina's mother informed me that the publicity Tomasina had received as a 
result of her cure, as well as her reputation for being a pinball whiz, had 
enabled her to receive substantial financial offers for touring and 
lecturing around the world. She plans to open a Holiday Camp for the 
training and conversion of those who wish to become disciples. She says that 
anyone at all is invited to join her organization. 

Tomasina has hired Uncle Ernie to run the camp for her. She claims that the 
wild sensations he evoked in her body helped lead her to the path of 
enlightenment. Tomasina will continue to tour the world in search of more 
and more disciples while Uncle Ernie takes care of matters at the Holiday 
Camp. 

Although I feel that Tomasina is suffering from delusions of grandeur, I 
have agreed to act as psychological adviser to her organization. I feel the 
good to be done by far outweighs the bad. 

(Editor's note: Dr. Lamb has signed a contract with Tomasina's organization. 
It is agreed that he will receive ten percent of all net profits.) 

 CASE HISTORY FOUR 

Subject: Carl Age: Fourteen 

 INTERVIEW ONE 

Carl was a good-looking boy with a very mature body for a boy of his years. 
I immediately noticed the huge bulge in his crotch, so outstanding was his 
male organ. He was wearing tight jeans which showed his body off to 
perfection. 

Carl had been sent to see me by his mother, who had discovered that he had 
been sleeping with his older sister, aged nineteen. The mother had been 
appalled to find them in the tub one night, giggling as they gave each other 
enemas. 

Doctor, I'm really upset that my mother is making me come to see you. I 
don't think what I do is anybody's business but my own, except the person I 
do it with. It's not like me and my sister didn't know what we were doing. 
We knew all about it and decided to go on with it anyway. 

My mother says that now I have to suffer the consequences. But there would 
be no consequences if she didn't make such a big deal over it. 

One good thing, though, is that she's afraid to tell my father. He would 
beat my sister to a pulp if he ever found out. I mean, my sister told my 
mother that she seduced me and that it wasn't the other way around. My 
mother had been horrified, but my sister just laughed. 

I don't know what to say about it. I know you must think we're weird or 
something. But to tell you the truth, I thought my sister was sick when she 
first suggested it. It wasn't something that happened all of a sudden, 
either. It had been building for a long time. 

I have always looked older than I really am, ever since I was a little kid. 
Me and my sister were always close-best friends, really, even though she's 
five years older than me. 

Melissa, that's her name, told me about sex when I was ten years old. She 
didn't just come out of nowhere and say it-I asked a bunch of questions and 
she just told me the truth. My mother was very upset when she found out. She 
thought that Melissa had put a lot of disturbing thoughts in my mind that I 
was too young to understand. But actually, all Melissa did was explain 
things to me. She really cleared up a lot of questions. 

I started having erections at a very early age. By the time I was twelve, I 
had a full grown cock. Unless, of course, it gets even bigger. But I noticed 
that women stared at me wherever I went. 

My mother used to yell at me for wearing tight pants, but I liked the way it 
looked. I like looking sexy. I like driving women wild wherever I go. It 
gives me thrills. It makes me feel powerful. 

Melissa was always telling me how sexy I was. She was always admiring my 
body, telling me that I should go out and get laid. She was sure I could do 
it, even though I was so young. Melissa was certain that I would have a 
wonderful sex life. 

She was right. I really appreciated the way she encouraged me. I screwed the 
first time when I was thirteen, last year. It was this girl I went to school 
with. She wanted it as much as I did. Melissa did a lot to show me that the 
inhibitions society places on sex are absurd when you think of the reality. 

I mean, why shouldn't kids have sex? Adults are like that, you know. They 
think that only they have the right to have a good time. like, we're not 
supposed to smoke or drink or fuck, even though they do it. They tell us 
that we're too young. But hell, we have the same desires that they do. 

Melissa once said to me that since nature makes us sexually mature at 
adolescence, we should be allowed to fuck. She said that we can't help the 
fact that we feel horny and that there was nothing wrong in relieving our 
horniness. She said that I just had to make sure I didn't get anybody 
pregnant or pick up a disease. I thought it was good advice and I tried to 
follow it. 

I don't fuck that much because most girls I know are still virgins and they 
want to stay that way. I think the whole thing is stupid, but Melissa told 
me never to try and get a girl to fuck me when she didn't want to. At first, 
I didn't see why I shouldn't, but then I tried it one time and the girl 
began to cry hysterically. I never tried it again. 

It was Melissa's idea for us to sleep together, not mine. I mean, I was more 
liberal when it came to sex than most people I knew, but some things still 
shocked me. When Melissa actually started doing the things she did to me, I 
was horrified. 

But that's getting ahead of myself. I should tell you about all the sexual 
vibrations that existed between Melissa and me beneath the surface of our 
relationship. It had to be there-we were both very preoccupied with sex. 

Melissa had a great attitude about sex. She looked at it like a guy looks at 
it. She would tell me all about the guys she had fucked. The first time she 
did it was really something. She told me that the guy didn't want to fuck 
her when he found out that she was a virgin. 

But Melissa had been trying to get fucked for the longest time. She said it 
took her a while to find a guy she wanted to fuck. Melissa said she would 
never fuck anyone unless he aroused a passion in her or unless she was so 
horny that she couldn't resist. But she insisted that she would never fuck 
somebody she didn't like, no matter how horny she was. 

Anyway, Melissa got fucked when she was sixteen. She met this guy in the 
park and he tried to seduce her. She said that at first, she had no 
intentions of fucking him because she didn't like him. But the longer she 
talked to him, the more she began to like him. After a while, she said she 
was mad with passion for him. 

Melissa said that when he invited her to go back to his apartment with him, 
she had no doubts whatsoever. They were kissing and making out in the park 
and she was horny as hell. Melissa wanted to fuck and she wanted to fuck 
this guy in particular. It was what she had been waiting for ever since she 
was fourteen, she told me. 

Melissa went back to this guy's apartment with him. She was nervous because 
she knew that he didn't think she was a virgin. For one thing, Melissa looks 
older than she is. She's also very mature for her age. And her uninhibited 
attitude towards sex immediately gave the impression that she had been 
around. 

Melissa was embarrassed that she would do something wrong. After all, 
reading about sex and talking about sex are very different from actually 
having sex. You didn't really know anything about it until you did it. And 
Melissa was determined to do it. 

She decided that she would have to tell him the truth-that she was still a 
virgin. Melissa was embarrassed to admit it, but she figured that she should 
never be embarrassed by the truth. She also figured that he would show her a 
better time if he knew all the facts. Melissa was determined to tell him. 

She thought of letting him find out for himself. She considered just hopping 
into the bed with him and letting him play it by ear. He would find out that 
she was a virgin when it was too late for him to do anything about it He 
would bust her cherry and then he would know. 

But Melissa said that would have been the chicken way out. She told me that 
she didn't want to have to worry about his reaction when he found out while 
she was fucking. She said that she wanted to relax and think of nothing but 
sexual pleasure. 

Melissa paused as he took her in his arms when they arrived at his 
apartment. 

"Wait," she said, "I've got something to tell you." 

"What is it?" he said, a quizzical look on his face. 

I guess he must have thought it was a strange time to make confessions. 

"I'm a virgin," said Melissa. She said it softly, waiting to see his 
reaction. 

"You're kidding," he said, smiling strangely, pulling away. 

Melissa told me that she didn't know what to do. She could tell that it made 
a difference to him. She had thought he might be surprised and wonder what 
was wrong with her, but she never thought that he would change his mind 
about fucking her. 

Then Melissa decided that she wanted to get fuck and this was ridiculous. 

"Well, don't let it bother you," she told him, a bit miffed that it made a 
difference. 

The guy looked at her, surprised and puzzled. He didn't know what to do. 
Melissa told me that it seemed to her like he was trying to decide whether 
or not it would be right to fuck her or not. 

Melissa suddenly burst into laughter. His whole dilemma seemed absurd to 
her. What the fuck was so precious about a virgin's cherry that a guy would 
be reluctant to take it from her? 

She patted him on the back. 

"Well, come on," she said, smiling at him. "It's alright." 

He hesitated just a moment and then he took her in his arms. Melissa said 
they went at it for hours. She still says he was the best guy she ever 
fucked, in terms of sexual prowess, even though she's fucked lots more 
since. She said he moved his cock around in her like a thick wonderful 
finger. She said she never knew any other guy to have such fabulous control. 

"What a way to begin!" she would sigh, whenever we talked about it. We 
talked about sex a lot. Then Melissa would start to laugh. "I was into sex 
right from the beginning. I had no hang-ups at all. In fact, I was so 
uninhibited that he kept asking me if I was sure I was a virgin. And he 
wasn't kidding either. I mean, I didn't bleed or feel my cherry pop, or 
anything. Never, not in all the times I've fucked. I must have been born 
without one or something. I mean, the first time I fucked I felt all 
pleasure and no pain. But I wasn't afraid of the pain--I knew it would be 
worth it." 

That should give you an idea, doctor, of how Melissa looked at sex. She used 
to complain about all these guys who would become emotionally attached to 
her just because she would sleep with them. Not that Melissa is a cold 
person, but sex was very important to her. And sex had nothing to do with 
love. 

Me and Melissa would flirt all the time. Nothing very spectacular. We would 
say things to each other in a joking manner, like, "you can suck my cock," 
(I said that one, not Melissa) and look at each other with fire in our eyes. 

We would touch each other a lot, put our arms around each other's waist. I 
even used to kiss her with my mouth open--a habit, I guess. A very 
pleasurable habit, I can tell you. Melissa used to giggle and sigh with 
satisfaction. We played at being sexually daring with each other without 
really getting into the real thing. 

Melissa had this boyfriend for a while and then she broke up with him. She 
wasn't fucking anybody. There were guys around that wanted to fuck her, but 
she said they didn't turn her on. She said she liked her men to be daring 
and aggressive, not just horny. She liked them to have personality. Then she 
laughed and said that I had more personality than any guy she had met in the 
past three months. 

I was flattered. Me and Melissa always fed each other's ego, but we always 
meant what we said. I knew she thought I was sexy and I thought she was 
sexy. But I never thought about fucking her-I mean, you just weren't 
supposed to fuck your sister. Your sister was your sister. 

But Melissa had other ideas. One night, when my parents went away, Melissa 
came into my room. She smiled and threw a joint on my bed. I laughed with 
delight. 

"Where did you get this?" I asked, pleased. 

"I bought an ounce," she told me. 

My face lit up with glee. I didn't have any money and I couldn't afford to 
buy much pot. But whenever Melissa had any, she was very generous with it. 

"Why don't you light it?" Melissa suggested, as she headed for the stereo. 

I lit the joint, smoking until Melissa had returned. She had put on the 
Rolling Stones. They're very sexy, in case you don't know what they sound 
like. Anyway, I hadn't gotten laid in a long time and I started to get very 
horny. It must have been that I was just doing my exercises. Whatever it 
was, my cock was tingling. 

Melissa sat down next to me and took the joint from my hand. She smoked it 
and passed it back to me. We sat on the bed together, smoking the joint 
until it was all gone. Every inch of me tingled with a buzzing desire. 

"Oh," I moaned, complaining, "I'm so horny." 

"Me too," agreed Melissa. "How long has it been since you've fucked?" 

"Oh, about four months, I guess," I replied. like I told you, it was hard to 
find girls my age who were willing to fuck. "What about you?" 

"Not since I broke up with Warren," Melissa replied. 

"I don't understand why you just don't fuck one of those other guys, even if 
they are losers. Fuck them and leave them," I said. 

"It's no fun that way," Melissa insisted. "I want to admire the guy I fuck. 
I want to know that he has the same attitude toward sex as I do." 

"That makes sense," I agreed. 

We sat there for about twenty minutes, smiling at each other and listening 
to music. Melissa later told me that the idea came to her all of a sudden, 
right then and there. She told me she had thought about it before, but never 
seriously. She said she always admitted the possibility that it might 
happen, but never really thought that it would. As it turned out, she was 
wrong. Melissa saw to it that it did happen. 

 INTERVIEW TWO 

I was sitting there, thinking about things. Fucking Melissa was the furthest 
thing from my mind. Suddenly, I felt her put her arm around me. I looked up 
at her and smiled. 

"Carl," she said, in a low seductive voice. 

"Yeah?" 

Melissa didn't answer. She bent down and kissed me. Just like that. It was 
no sisterly kiss either. She opened up her mouth and stuck her tongue inside 
of mine. Before I realized what was happening, I found I was instinctively 
responding to her advances. 

She was a fantastic kisser. She really drove me wild with her hot sucking 
tongue. Melissa thrust her tongue inside my mouth, whipping and exploring my 
hot inner mouth flesh. 

I pressed my burning lips against hers. She was kissing me with everything 
in her. I had this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. I didn't know 
what I should do. I couldn't make up my mind if I wanted to continue or push 
her away from me. I wasn't uninhibited at all. I kissed her, but I held a 
lot back. I really let her kiss me more than kiss her back at all. 

But Melissa just kept right on going. She slid her hot sucking mouth down to 
my neck. She ran her licking tongue all over my sensitive throat, making me 
tingle with thrilling delight. That scared me because I started to want to 
fuck her. 

I knew that I shouldn't do it. I knew I would be sorry afterwards. I knew I 
would be embarrassed that I had fucked my own sister. But I didn't stop. I 
didn't do anything. I just-let Melissa call all the shots. 

Melissa moved slowly, but I knew where she was headed. I let her take me 
there. I didn't go along with her side-by-side, but I followed her lead. 
Melissa pulled off my T-shirt and began to sensuously stroke my chest. 

She was really horny. She was red-hot and steaming. She was itching to go. I 
knew she wouldn't stop for anything. She covered my nipples with her hot 
sucking mouth, taking in flesh like a vacuum. Hot thrilling shivers of 
desire ran up and down my spine. 

Melissa was panting and going crazy all over me. She pulled down my zipper 
in a frenzy of lust. I felt the thrill of doing something very illicit as 
she grabbed my cock in her hand and squeezed. 

"What a cock!" she muttered, as she brought her lips to it. 

Melissa showered kisses all over the long meaty rod. Then she took it in her 
mouth and she began to lick and suck. I could feel her wet sucking mouth 
working my male flesh to a frenzy of excitement. Hot throbs of desire began 
to well in my dick. 

All of a sudden, I made my decision. So what if Melissa was my sister? So 
what if other people thought we weren't supposed to fuck. I was horny and 
she was horny and she was the most experienced female I knew. She could take 
me to the heavens with her wild unrestrained sexual knowledge. She really 
knew what to do with my thick male meat in her mouth. She sucked me like I 
had never been sucked before. 

Up until now, I had not done anything assertive. I had let her do anything 
she wanted, but I had not joined in the action. Well, things changed. I was 
nervous when I did it, but I put my hand on Melissa's tit, cupping the big 
soft round globe with my hand. Her tit was so big and voluptuous that I 
couldn't get my hand over all of it. 

Melissa giggled with glee as I felt her boobs. I could tell that she was 
glad that I was getting into it. And once I started, I went all the way. 

It happened gradually, but soon I was feeling and touching Melissa as if she 
was any other girl and not my own sister. I forgot all about the fact that 
she was my sister. All I knew was that this sexy voluptuous girl was driving 
me crazy with desire. 

I pushed up Melissa's blouse and felt her wonderful bare jugs. They were hot 
and jiggling as I squeezed her big round nipples with my fingers. They were 
firm but pliant as I moved them around in my fingers, feeling all the 
wonderful bumps. 

I seized Melissa's mouth with my lips, frantically kissing her with my wet 
hot tongue. Sharp pangs of thrilling desire seized my cock. It throbbed and 
burned with lustful excitement. My own sister was driving me crazy, crazier 
than anybody had ever done. It was so exciting. 

Melissa let go of my cock. It had gotten hard in her mouth as she 
frantically sucked it. It was leaking sex juices as she worked it over, 
licking it with her wonderful hot tongue. But then she let it drop from her 
lips. 

"Listen," she whispered in my ear, in a throaty sensual tone, "Let's do it 
in the tub." 

"What?" I asked. 

"Trust me," she said, getting up and pulling me off the bed. 

I followed Melissa to the bathroom. I thought she was crazy but it really 
turned me on. I figured she knew what she was doing-she had been around. So 
I let her call all the shots. 

When we got to the bathroom, Melissa started to take off all her clothes. I 
went wild when I saw her sexy voluptuous body. Hot shivers went up and down 
my spine as I saw her big swaying tits and her furry pubic patch. I was 
aching to stick my cock in her. But Melissa wasn't ready. 

"Hurry, take off your clothes," she said, "while I get ready." 

"Get ready?" I said. 

But Melissa didn't hear me. She opened up the cabinet underneath the sink 
and pulled out an enema. She put the bag under the faucet and began to fill 
it. I watched her in surprise. I was so surprised that I stopped taking off 
my pants even though they were midway down my legs. 

"What are you doing?" 

Melissa turned around and smiled. The running faucet was still filling the 
enema bag. 

"I'm going to show you something you'll love, Carl. Believe me, you'll love 
it." 

I started to laugh. Love an enema? She had to be kidding! My mother used to 
give me those things when I was a little kid. I hated them! 

"Melissa, I hate enemas," I insisted. 

She laughed. 

"Well, you won't when I get through with you," Melissa replied. 

I decided to give it a go. Considering what I was doing, committing incest 
with my sister, an enema seemed tame to me. I decided to let her do whatever 
she wanted. I continued taking off my clothes. 

I stripped completely naked. She gazed at my smooth soft body with delight. 
My cock stood up, erect and proud. It bulged in front of me, long and thick, 
pulsing with desire. Melissa licked her lips. 

"I can't wait to fuck you," she said, shutting off the faucet. 

Melissa took the bag and adjusted something so that the water wouldn't 
spill. Then she hung it on a hook that was in the shower. She pointed to the 
tub. 

"Get in," she said, pointing to the tub. 

I looked at her as if I were dubious, which I was, but I did what she said. 
I climbed into the tub. I sat down. 

"Lay on your stomach," she ordered. 

I started to giggle, but I did it. Melissa took her fingers and stuck them 
in the crack of my ass. She ran her pointy nails up and down the lining of 
my ass crack. It gave me hot shivers of delight when she did that. My cock 
quivered and throbbed with desire. 

I felt Melissa spread apart the cheeks of my ass with her fingers. She took 
the enema tube and inserted it in my ass. I could feel the cold plastic 
chafe my hot ass flesh as she shoved it inside. 

The tube went all the way up my ass. I had never felt anything up my ass 
before, not even a girl's fingers. It was the most thrilling thing you can 
imagine. It was a lot different than when my mother used to give me enemas, 
I can tell you that. 

Melissa turned on the pressure and the cold sink water went spraying up my 
ass in cool refreshing streams. I could feel every inch of my inner ass 
flesh tingle and buzz with desire as Melissa playfully poked around with the 
enema tube up my ass-hole. She had put it in deep, so far that it reached a 
piece of shit stuck up in my ass. I knew that I was going to have to go. 

"Melissa," I said, laughing, "I'm going to have to go to the bathroom." 

"You'll just have to hold it until we're finished," she told me. 

I laughed at the matter-of-fact way she said it. Melissa joined me in the 
tub, still holding on to the enema tube, thrusting it in and out of my ass. 

"How'd you like a cock in there?" she asked. 

"Don't get funny," I told her. 

"I'm not," she replied. "I mean, I like cocks up my ass, why shouldn't you? 
It just feels good." 

"That makes sense," I agreed. But right now, all I had up my ass was that 
thrilling spraying enema tube that my sister kept moving around in me. It 
was driving me crazy. 

Melissa pushed me over on my side, taking my huge throbbing male meat in her 
hands. She pulled it to her pussy, frantically clutching at it with her wild 
cunt muscles. She put the tip of my cock right inside her pussy, past her 
creamy fleshy lips. I was wild with excitement. 

Melissa was right about the enema. It was filling my ass with thrilling 
pangs of wild dizzy sensation. I had never been so hot in my life! My cock 
had never been so ready to burst wide open! I couldn't wait to enter her. 

I mustered up force and thrust my big splitting dick right into her. I 
shoved it in her good and hard. I knew Melissa would like it that way. She 
always told me that the rougher a guy was, the better she liked him. I 
banged my cock into her with everything I had. 

Melissa went crazy. She clutched my pulsing member frantically with her 
contracting hot cunt muscles. She was an expert at fucking, I swear. She 
rocked her hips, wriggling and writhing, just the right way to make me wild. 

My cock was red-hot and sizzling. 

I pumped in and out of her. Fucking with the enema in my ass was tremendous. 
I could hardly believe it, but it was true. The cool streaming spray was 
providing my twitching ass with all sorts of incredible delights. My whole 
bottom was buzzing, right from my tingling cock as it rammed in and out of 
Melissa's hole to my tingling ass cheeks. It was the greatest fuck of my 
life. 

Then it happened. It was horrible. My mother came home and found us. Right 
there in the bathtub. I'll never forget the way she shrieked with horror. 
She had had a fight with my father and walked out of the movie. She took a 
cab home. I'll never forget the way she screamed when she found us. 

I don't know which horrified her more--the incest or the enema. I think it 
was about equal. I was almost about to come and I was banging into Melissa 
like a rocket taking off. I was ramming her at the speed of light. What a 
time for my mother to walk in! 

"Oh shit," I whispered to Melissa, as I quickly pulled out of her. I had 
this horrible sinking feeling. 

"What's the matter?" moaned Melissa. "Don't stop," she begged. 

"Melissa, you're disgusting," gasped my mother. 

Melissa turned around. She was horrified to find my mother standing there, 
gaping at us. I began to feel very embarrassed. I looked at Melissa. Her 
face was all red. I could tell she was trying very hard not to panic. This 
was definitely not going to be easy to get out of. This was something my 
mother just wouldn't overlook. 

Melissa climbed out of the tub and reached for her clothes, which were 
strewn on the bathroom floor. She quickly put them on. I was worried about 
her. I could tell that my mother was mad at her and not mad at me. I think 
she thought that Melissa had been taking advantage of me. 

Melissa stood before my mother. She was trembling, but she looked her 
straight in the eye. 

"Melissa," said my mother, "I was shocked when I found your birth control 
pills, but this is beyond belief! Good Lord! Your own brother! How could 
you?" 

My mother began to choke, trying to hold back her sobs. Melissa groaned. 
This whole thing was one big fat mess. I quickly got out of the tub, trying 
to discreetly pull the enema out of my ass. But my mother noticed. 

"Did you put that thing in him?" my mother angrily screamed at Melissa. "Did 
you do that perverse thing to your own little brother? Melissa, he's just a 
baby!" 

My mother started to cry. It was just awful. She was heaving these great big 
sobs. I wanted to just crawl in a hole and die. 

"Ma, Ma," I said, "don't cry. She didn't hurt me." 

I had grabbed a towel from the rack and put it around my body. I didn't want 
to stand naked in front of my mother. I didn't want to remind her of what 
she had just seen. But she didn't need a reminder. 

"Carl!" she cried. "How could she make you do such a thing?" 

"She didn't make me, I did it willingly," I insisted. 

My mother glared angrily at my sister. 

"You're very sick, young lady, very sick. I knew you were a slut and a 
tramp. I knew you let any guy who wanted dig his prick into you. But I never 
would have thought in a million years that you would try to get your brother 
to be just as sick as you are. I thought you loved him. But now I see that 
you don't love anyone but yourself." 

"Ma!" cried Melissa, as my mother turned to walk out of the room. "You don't 
understand!" 

My mother paused. 

"There is nothing to understand," she said, "except for the fact that you're 
a sick disgusting girl. You should be put away somewhere. I want you out of 
my house this instant. I don't want you near that child." 

So Melissa isn't living at home any more. My mother refuses to have anything 
to do with her. She told my father that she and Melissa had had a terrible 
fight, but she refused to tell him what it was about. My mother insists she 
never wants to see Melissa again. 

I kept telling my mother that Melissa hadn't done anything wrong-at least, 
that if what we had done was wrong, we deserved to share the blame equally. 
But my mother kept insisting that I was a child and that Melissa was old 
enough to know better. There was nothing I could say to change her mind. 

Melissa called me to let me know where she was. I was very worried about 
her. She said that she had tried calling me a couple of times before, but 
that my mother had answered so she had hung up. 

My mother wanted me to see you because I keep saying that there's nothing 
wrong with Melissa. I keep explaining that what we did is not such a big 
deal. I keep begging my mother to let Melissa come home. But Melissa says 
she never wants to come home. But she doesn't have that much money. I'm very 
worried about her. 

 CONCLUSION 

Carl is a very disturbed youngster. He became very angry when I refused to 
take his side against his mother. I told him that his sister was indeed a 
very disturbed young woman and that she had been a corrupting influence on 
his young and impressionable mind. 

I recommended to Carl's mother that he continue to see me on a regular 
basis. I also recommended that she forgive her daughter and try to help her. 
I suggested that I could work with the girl and get her to see the error of 
her ways. 

It is unfortunate that sexual perversion is so horrifying to some people 
that it would prevent them from seeking help for their own children. Carl's 
mother remains adamant in her insistence that she never wants to see Melissa 
again as long as she lives. 

Melissa will never receive the help she so desperately needs. Chances are, 
she will end up a victim of her own deranged sexuality. I wouldn't be 
surprised if she was found murdered one night in a shabby hotel room, an 
enema wrapped tightly around her neck. 

 CASE HISTORY FIVE 

Subject: Bernice Age: Seventeen 

 INTERVIEW ONE 

Bernice was a very attractive well-built young girl. She had long flowing 
chestnut hair and a voluptuous figure. She seemed nervous as she sat down 
and I had to encourage her to tell me what she had come to see me about. 

Doctor, I don't know where to begin. It's so horrible I'm ashamed for 
anybody to know. I mean, I don't understand how my own father could do 
something like that to me. 

I came to see you because I don't know what to do about it. I'm frightened 
to go home. I mean, I haven't been home since it happened. I've been staying 
at a friend's house for the past three days. That's when it happened. Last 
Tuesday night. 

I don't know what to say to my mother. How can I tell her something like 
that? She loves my father so much. I don't even know if she'll believe me. I 
mean, if I was her, I'd find it hard to believe. I'd find it impossible. 

I would have never imagined that my father was capable of doing such a 
thing. I mean, it's not. like we were close or anything. As a 
matter-of-fact, I really never liked him much. I always thought he was 
jealous whenever my mother paid me any attention. 

When I was eight years old I found out that my parents got married because 
my mother had gotten pregnant with me. I'm an only child. It was really a 
shocking thing for an eight-year-old to find out. I mean, I really didn't 
understand about how babies were conceived. I couldn't understand how my 
mother could get pregnant without being married. 

I tried asking her about it one day. Not right away. I mean, I know how my 
mother is. She tries to avoid things she doesn't like. Somehow, I sensed 
this was something she would avoid. 

But this was something about me. I just couldn't stop thinking about it. It 
preyed on my mind and then I decided to question her about it. She would 
have to tell me--I had a right to know. I mean, it was about me. It was my 
right to know about myself. 

But I had a sneaking suspicion that my mother would just ignore the subject 
no matter how much I insisted that I had a right to know. But it was worth a 
try. I had nothing to lose. 

But my mother acted just like I thought she would. She wouldn't tell me a 
thing. She turned pale when I showed her the letter and pointed out the 
telling lines. She turned white like a ghost. 

"Where did you get that?" she asked. 

"I found it in the attic, with a bunch of pictures," I replied. "But it 
doesn't matter where I found it, I found it. And I want to know what it 
means. I thought ladies couldn't have babies unless they were married." 

My mother stood speechless. I didn't understand it at the time, but now I 
realize she was stuck in a corner. I mean, she wanted to bring me up so that 
I wouldn't make the same mistake that she had, but she knew she couldn't 
tell me that ladies could get pregnant without being married. Because once 
she did that, she would have to tell me all about sex and she thought I was 
too young to know. 

I also think that my mother was afraid that I would lose respect for her if 
she admitted that she had had sex before she was married. When I grew older, 
I realized that my father threw it up to her every time they had a fight. He 
would call her a lousy slut and a tramp and say that she had tricked him 
into marrying her. I don't think my father ever knew that I had found that 
letter. 

But when I was old enough to learn the facts of life, I understood perfectly 
about how I had been conceived. But I wanted more information-I mean, I'd 
always thought that my parents had a strange relationship. I wondered what 
it was like before they were married. I wanted to know. I just had to know. 

I asked an aunt of mine about it one time. Aunt Barbara. She's my mother's 
older sister. But she's not anything like my mother. I mean, I love my 
mother more than anybody in the whole world because she's my mother, but I 
think I would have had a better childhood if Aunt Barbara had been my mother 
instead. She was a lot easier to talk to. She didn't try to evade me. I was 
thirteen years old at the time. Aunt Barbara had a house in the country. I 
used to go spend one week with her every summer. She was a spinster-I really 
hate that word-I mean, it has connotations that don't fit Aunt Barbara at 
all. 

Aunt Barbara is a real lively person. I mean, she leads a much fuller life 
than any other woman I've ever known. The image of a lonely shy wallflower 
just doesn't fit her. 

That time when I asked her about how my parents met and got together and 
stuff, we had a long talk about sex. She told me that she had lots of 
lovers. When I found out about sex, my mother told me that I must never, 
never do it until I got married or I would ruin my whole life. 

I thought that was a strange thing for her to say. I thought about it for 
days-I mean, did my mother forget about that time I had asked her about the 
letter? Didn't she know that I was old enough to realize that she had had 
sex with my father before they were married? What was she telling me? 

Maybe my mother was saying that her life had been ruined. But that didn't 
make any sense! She was always telling me about how she loved my father. She 
was always saying that she didn't know what she would do without him. And if 
premarital sex hadn't ruined her life, why was she so certain that it would 
ruin mine? It just didn't make any sense. 

I asked Aunt Barbara all of this. She smiled kindly at me and told me she 
would try to explain. 

"Bernice," she said, "your mother has a lot of ideas that don't make any 
sense, at least not to me. You want to know how your parents got together?" 

I nodded. She smiled. 

"Then I'll tell you," Aunt Barbara replied. "But it's a long story." 

"I want to hear everything," I told her. 

"Okay. I'll start at the beginning. I'm only two years older than your 
mother. I really don't know how we turned out so different, but we did. I 
mean, I was always sure of myself and independent and your mother was always 
shy and clinging." 

"What was Grandma like?" I asked. 

My grandmother had died when I was a little kid and I really didn't remember 
anything about her. 

"She was a strong woman," Aunt Barbara replied. "I think your mother might 
have felt that she had to compete with me. Not that I ever tried to make her 
feel like that. I think it just happened. And I think she sensed that I was 
our mother's favorite. 

"Anyway, to continue about your parents, I had been dating this one boy for 
about a year. Your mother was seventeen at the time. She had never had a 
boyfriend. I didn't tell her that the reason I had so many was that I slept 
with them. If our mother had ever found that out, she would have killed me. 

"Your mother met your father after this one boy she had liked told her that 
he wanted her to introduce him to me. She introduced us, and we ran off to 
Europe together six months later. Your mother still had a crush on him and 
she was very upset. 

"When I returned, your mother had already met your father so I don't know 
much about their early relationship. They were already dating steadily. 

"Maybe I shouldn't tell you this, but your father once made a pass at me. 
Your mother wouldn't sleep with him and he knew about my reputation. But of 
course, I rejected his advances. I wouldn't have been interested in him even 
if he wasn't my sister's boyfriend. He just wasn't my type. I always thought 
he was too domineering. 

"But your mother must have liked it because she was madly in love with him. 
I remember how her eyes used to sparkle as she dressed for a date with him. 
I didn't understand what she saw in him, but I was glad that she was so 
happy. 

"I don't know why your mother slept with your father. She never talked about 
it. I didn't find out until she suddenly eloped and I put two and two 
together. When she immediately became pregnant, I knew I had hit the nail 
right on the head. 

"I tried to get her to talk to me about it, but she got very angry. She was 
ashamed and refused to admit that you had been conceived before she was 
born. I don't know about that letter you found. Maybe it was written in one 
of the rare times your mother let her hair down. I was surprised when you 
told me about it. I didn't think she had ever admitted it to anybody. I 
don't know who the person is who you say it was addressed to, so I couldn't 
even begin to guess at her reasons. 

"Maybe your father threatened to leave her if she didn't give in. That's the 
only thing I can think of, knowing your mother's character. That's one of 
the reasons we were never close. She didn't approve of my sex life." 

Anyway, doctor, you can see how confusing it was for me. I mean, I had grown 
up thinking that my mother and father were a loving married couple just like 
every other couple. 

But that was about the time I was beginning to go out with boys and I began 
to notice things I hadn't noticed before. like, my mother was very nervous 
and always wanted to know everything about the boy. She insisted on meeting 
them before she would let me go out with them. And more than once, she 
refused to let me go out with a guy just because his hair was too long or 
she didn't think he was neat enough. Stupid things like that. But she would 
never mention sex directly. 

But my father, that was another story. My father wouldn't come right out and 
tell me what he was talking about, but he made it very clear. He told me 
that men were animals and that I should be very careful not to trust them. 
He told me that it was alright to kiss a guy goodnight on the second date 
and maybe hold his hand, but that if the guy tried to touch me in any other 
way, I should tell him to get lost. He said I should tell guys like that 
that my father would beat the hell out of them. 

It was funny, but my father didn't take such an interest in my dating 
situation until I began to develop physically. I would notice him staring at 
my tits as they blossomed into fullness. I would catch him staring at my 
curved hips and slender waist. He would always avert his eyes really quick, 
like he didn't want me to know he was looking. 

But sometimes, I would catch him staring at me when he would be so lost in 
something that he wouldn't even realize that I had noticed his penetrating 
glance. My father would look at me intently, lost in a deep dream. He would 
always have this strange leer on his face with fire darting from his eyes. 
And his breathing would always seem strange. 

It made me uncomfortable, although I didn't know why at the time. But I do 
now. I know exactly what was on my father's mind when he was looking at me 
like that. I know exactly what he wanted to do to me because last week he 
actually did it. I'm still in shock. Doctor, I still can't believe I was 
raped by my own father! 

 INTERVIEW TWO 

I guess I should tell you about the event that precipitated it. I was going 
out with this boy I know named Ronald. I was starting to like him better 
than any boy I had ever known. I wasn't a virgin, for Aunt Barbara had 
influenced me more than my parents and my cherry was popped when I was 
fifteen. But Ronald had yet to make a pass. I think he was a little shy. 

Anyway, last Saturday night, Ronald made his first pass. We went all the 
way. I don't think he expected it, but it made him very happy. Ronald is not 
the type of guy who loses respect for a girl just because she enjoys sex. 

The next morning, when I woke up, my father was waiting for me in the living 
room. I could tell right away that he was angry about something because he 
was tapping the table with his fingers. He always does that when he's angry. 

"Sit down, Bernice, I want to talk to you," he gruffly said. 

I did as he told me. I knew better than to disobey my father. When I was a 
little kid and I did that, he used to beat me with a strap. 

"What is it?" I asked. 

"I've had a very interesting phone call last night," he said. 

"What about?" I asked. 

I was trembling. There was something in the tone of his voice that let me 
know he was very angry with me. Whoever had called must have told him 
something about me that he didn't like at all. 

"It doesn't matter who called. That's not important," he said. "What is 
important is that you were seen in the back seat of that animal's car with 
your clothes off." 

I gasped in horror. It was true, that's where we had done it, but I wondered 
who it was who had seen us and phoned my father. From the tone of his voice, 
I was afraid that he was going to kill Ronald. 

"Don't call him an animal," I said, my voice quivering. I was always afraid 
of my father when he was angry. He could be so mean sometimes. 

"Are you going to stick up for that boy?" screamed my father. 

He stood and slapped me across the face. 

"Tramp!" he cried. "Slut! Whore!" 

The tears were streaming down my face. I wanted to run awayN but I was 
afraid that would make him even angrier. I stood there, trembling before 
him. 

"Get to your room!" he ordered. "You're being punished. If your mother ever 
found out about you, it would break her heart. Do you understand me, 
Bernice? You are not to move from your room until you have my permission. 
And you are never, never, do you hear me, never to see that animal again. If 
I ever catch you within ten feet of him I'll tear him apart limb from limb. 
In fact, I don't want you going out with any boy until you learn to behave 
like a decent proper young lady. Is that understood? No dates until further 
notice." 

L tearfully nodded. What else could I do? If I tried to argue with him, my 
father would beat the shit out of me. 

But I was very unhappy. I didn't know what to do. I just couldn't give up 
seeing Ronald. I really liked him. He really meant a lot to me. I didn't 
know what I was going to do. 

By Monday morning I decided that I would have to see Ronald on the sly. I 
would have to lie to my father and tell him I was seeing a girlfriend. I 
would get my friends to cover for me in case he decided to check it out. It 
was the only solution. I just couldn't give up seeing Ronald. 

I told Ronald what happened when I saw him in school and he felt bad about 
it. At first, he was afraid to see me without my father's permission, but I 
convinced him that we should. The more I thought about the whole thing, the 
more I came to the conclusion that my father had no right to restrict me 
like that. After all, it wouldn't be long before I was eighteen. 

I thought about running away from home, but Aunt Barbara was away in Europe. 
She had been living there for the past two years. There was no one else I 
could go to who would understand. I even thought about going to Europe, but 
I didn't have any money. 

I went out with Ronald Tuesday night. When I got home, my father was waiting 
for me. He had really not spoken a word to me since he had found out about 
me and Ronald. He had just glared at me since then. 

My mother wasn't at home. She was playing bridge with some friends. We both 
knew that she wouldn't be home until after midnight. That was the time that 
their game broke up. For some reason, I began to wish my mother was home the 
minute I walked into the door. 

My father was sitting on the sofa. He didn't look angry, but there was 
something about the expression on his face that just wasn't right. And it 
was obvious that he wasn't pleased with me. 

"Bernice," he said, standing up, "I'm going to teach you a lesson." 

I began to shudder with fear. Can you imagine that? I was terrorized about 
being alone with my own father. 

I don't know how I knew but I knew immediately what he was going to do to 
me. It must have been the way he was looking at me, his eyes roaming my body 
up and down, and staring at me as if I didn't have any clothes on. Or, to be 
more accurate, as if he wished I didn't have any clothes on. I was 
terrified. 

I turned to run and he caught me up in his arms. I began to struggle but he 
smacked me and dragged me into my bedroom. He flung me on the bed and began 
to tear at my clothes. 

"Little tramp! Little whore! Thought you could fool me, didn't you? I know 
you've been with that boy tonight! I know what you've been doing!" 

"How did you find out?" I gasped, struggling to keep him from ripping off my 
clothes. 

"Never mind, I found out. You filthy little slut. You want to be a slut, 
alright, I'll treat you like a slut then. I'll do everything to you that a 
tramp deserves. I'll use you for what you are--a no good piece of hot ass." 

I burst into tears. His words horrified me. I could hardly believe it! My 
own father was going to rape me. It seemed too incredible to be true. 

He tore the clothes off my struggling body. He grabbed some rope that was 
lying on the bed. He must have planned the whole thing before I came home. 
He must have planned the terrible things he was going to do to me. 

I started kicking and screaming but he was too strong for me. He grabbed my 
arms and twisted them behind my back. He did it roughly to purposely hurt 
me. I could tell. 

I was completely naked and shivering with fright. He tied my legs into a 
horrible contorted position. He pushed me flat on my back and pulled my 
knees up to my belly. I fought him, but he overpowered me. 

He bound my knees to my belly, winding a long rope around and around me 
until I was tied with six or seven layers. Then he tied my ankles together. 

It was the most incredible, humiliating position I had ever been in. My ass 
was rounded and exposed, so was my naked quivering pussy. My father had tied 
me so that he could get at both my holes. It was disgusting. 

My tits were naked and jutting up from my body. My father looked gleefully 
at my shamefully exposed private parts. He lunged at my quivering globular 
boobs with his grabbing hands. He squeezed them brutally, twisting and 
pinching the nipple flesh. He was vicious. I had never known he could be 
that vicious. 

"Is this what he did to you?" he leered. "Is this what they all did to you? 
Is this what you let them do to you?" 

I couldn't answer. I was choking on my tears. It was absolutely degrading. I 
felt very humiliated. He was trying his best to make me feel like a piece of 
shit and he was succeeding. 

"Slut!" he screamed. "You're going to-beg me to do what you begged all those 
other guys to do. And then I'm going to do it to you like it's never been 
done to you before!" 

"No!" I cried. "Daddy, don't. Please don't, Daddy. How can you do this to 
me? How can you?" 

"Beg, you slut, beg," he viciously said, an evil gleam in his eye. 

He gripped my pussy with his fingers, brutally twisting the flesh. It was 
the most painful thing I had ever felt. He dug the ring on his finger into 
my cunt, pressing it sharply against my clit. The harsh metal cut into my 
moist tender pussy flesh. 

"Beg," he said, cutting me with his ring. "I'm begging," I replied. 

"Beg me! Tell me what to do!, " commanded my father, "Tell me how you want 
me to stick my big fat cock up your little tramp hole!" 

I choked with hysterical sobs. Why was he doing this to me? Why was he 
trying to humiliate and degrade me so much? I didn't want him in me. I 
didn't want to beg him, my own father, to fuck me. I didn't say anything. 

He started furiously rubbing the palm of his hand against my pussy. Hot 
pangs of intense desire welled up in my cunt. I just couldn't help feeling 
horny, the way he rubbed me there. Even though I hated every second of it. 

But that was exactly what he wanted, to make me so horny that I would beg 
him for it. It was like my father was out to prove I was the tramp he said I 
was. It was like my father had to show me my sexuality in a way that was 
disgusting to me, like being made horny by my own father. 

But I wouldn't beg him. Even though he kept trying to get me to beg him, I 
wouldn't. He made me so horny that I thought I would die, but I still 
wouldn't beg him to relieve me. 

But my father was getting horny too. His strong fingers were raking in and 
out of my moist juicy pussy. He took out his cock and started to rub it like 
a madman. It was thick and stubby, bulging hard and erect from his crotch. 

He had me in that uncomfortable position. He wanted me to beg for sex even 
though he was doing everything he could to make me feel humiliated and 
debased. But he was dying for it so much himself, that he had to fuck me 
before I gave in. That gave me satisfaction, I have to admit. That I could 
hold out longer than he could. 

My father took his big meaty tool and rammed it up my cunt. He shoved it in 
so hard I thought I would split in two. I mean, my father's cock is a lot 
bigger than the cocks of boys like Ronald. Although I was far from being a 
virgin, I wasn't used to anything like this. 

The thick erect dick swiftly penetrated my pussy. I couldn't help it. Every 
nerve in my cunt went haywire with mad pleasure. I hated that I was feeling 
that way while my father was raping me, but I knew it was inevitable. And he 
was purposely making me horny because he wanted to humiliate me. 

Only I don't see how that's supposed to humiliate me. I mean, if anyone 
should feel humiliated it should be my father. He only showed me how low he 
really is. I mean, I may be a horny girl, but he's just as horny. 

It makes me wonder about my parents' sex lives. Does my father think it's 
wrong to want sex and not be ashamed of it? Does he think it's wrong to go 
out and get sex if you like it? 

I don't know! 

I just don't understand it. I can't live with them any longer. In the first 
place, I never want to see my father again as long as I live. I think he's a 
filthy disgusting person because he thinks sex is filthy and disgusting and 
the only way he can enjoy it is when he makes it filthy and disgusting. 

And my mother is really no better; she coos and moons over him, thinking 
he's the greatest thing that ever walked the face of the earth. And she's 
afraid to go against him, even if she disagrees with him. She's so dependent 
on him it makes me sick. But I don't want her to get hurt, so I haven't told 
her what he did. It would crush her if she ever found out. But I really feel 
like I want to tell her to her face, to wake her up from the dream she's 
been living in. 

But then I tell myself that I shouldn't even bother. That I should get 
myself the hell out of there and have as little to do with them as possible. 
I wrote to Aunt Barbara and she says I can come to Europe and live with her. 
That's what I'm going to do. 

Aunt Barbara wired me the money for my ticket. She also told me I should 
come see you, just in case my parents tried to have me brought home because 
I was a minor. She said that if I told you about how my father raped me, you 
could testify in court for me if it ever came to that. She also told me that 
she thought I should tell somebody because it would make me feel better to 
talk about it. So I took her advice and came to see you. 

But I'm glad I did because now I realize that I really don't know what to do 
about my mother. Whether to tell her what happened or not. 

 CONCLUSION 

I suggested to Bernice that she leave well enough alone between her parents 
and refrain from causing a rift in their relationship. I told her that I 
thought her idea to go live with Aunt Barbara was a good one, in light of 
the danger she was in by living with her father. 

I told Bernice that she should attempt to reconcile the difference between 
herself and her parents, though, even though she is presently very angry. I 
told her that it was important for her mental health that she maintain no 
bad feelings towards her father, because he is her father. If Bernice learns 
to deal with her parents, she will be well on the way to recovering from the 
traumatic shock of being raped by her father. 

After her meeting with the doctor, Bernice decided that she would never tell 
her mother the truth because that would make it almost impossible to get 
together again as a family. Bernice decided that she would give it one more 
time. She would forgive her father, even though he raped her, although she 
wouldn't live with him. 

These decisions were made over a period of six months while Bernice lived in 
Europe with her aunt. After that time, against the advice of Barbara, 
Bernice decided to return home. She had been corresponding with her parents 
and her mother had been begging her to come home. 

Bernice returned, but the reconciliation only lasted a few months. Bernice's 
father found out that she was dating a young man who was separated from his 
wife, the young man being all of twenty-one and only married for three 
months, and accused her of being an adulteress. He kidnapped her one day and 
held her terrorized in an abandoned shack for a week and a half, during 
which he tortured and sexually abused her. 

Bernice's father was finally caught and he is currently incarcerated in a 
state mental institution. Bernice's mother, cracking under the discovery of 
her husband's perverse activities with their daughter, is presently being 
treated for a nervous breakdown. Bernice returned to her Aunt Barbara's 
care, where she is currently recovering from the trauma of her father's 
brutal captivity. 

 CASE HISTORY SIX 

Subject: Peter Age: Thirteen 

 INTERVIEW ONE 

Peter was brought to see me by his worried father. The man had discovered 
that his wife had been seducing the boy as well as inflicting pain with 
various abnormal methods of punishment. Peter's father had the woman 
arrested and is presently concerned with Peter's ability to adjust and grow 
into a healthy male. He is afraid that Peter's mother's perversity might 
affect his ability to sexually deal with women later in life. 

My father found out what my mother was doing to me so he made me come to see 
you. Doctor, I didn't tell my father all those times because he would have 
beaten my mother up. He would do that sometimes and I could never stand to 
watch him hit her. 

He would really beat her up bad sometimes. For really stupid things. I can 
remember when I was a little kid the things he used to do to her and how she 
would cry all the time. My father always treated my mother like she was 
supposed to do everything the way he wanted her to do. 

I remember this one time. I was about five years old. That was eight years 
ago, but I can still remember it like it happened the other day. It really 
made an impression on me. 

My mother had been working all day washing all the clothes and cleaning the 
house. My father came home from work and supper wasn't ready. He got mad at 
my mother and she became afraid of him. It was such a stupid thing to get so 
violent about too. I'll never forget how it was. 

My mother was just coming in from hanging up the wash. She was in a good 
mood, cheerful and humming a song that was playing on the radio. I helped 
her hang up the wash so she was going to bake me some cookies. I was only 
five. 

She was in the kitchen, mixing the batter from scratch, when my father 
arrived home. He was usually late, but this day he was on time. Sometimes he 
was even late for an hour-one time he was even late two hours. He never 
called to say he was going to be late either. Sometimes my mother would get 
worried-other times she would just get very sad. 

This one time in particular, my mother hadn't gotten supper ready in time 
even though she was just about to cook it after putting the cookies in the 
oven. She even had the ingredients waiting on the work table, ready to be 
put together for our dinner. 

Well, my father came home and became very angry when he saw that she was 
working on my cookies before she was working on his dinner. He said he was 
the one who went to work and made all the money. He said that if it wasn't 
for me, that he wouldn't have to work so hard. He thought he at least 
deserved the consideration of being attended to first. 

I felt real bad. It sounded like he didn't love me. And it used to make my 
mother feel bad too. She started to defend me and that's when he started to 
smack her around. I remember it so vividly because I thought that if it 
wasn't for me, she wouldn't be getting it from my father. If it wasn't for 
the cookies she was making for me, she would have been working on his dinner 
by the time he had arrived home. And I felt especially bad about it because 
I told her I would help with the wash only if she baked me cookies. Mommy 
hadn't minded, but look what had come from it. 

"Marilyn," said my father, "what are you doing? Why hasn't my dinner been 
started?" 

"Pat," said my mother, "I was just about to put it up. I just finished 
preparing the cookies and putting them in the oven." 

"Cookies?" he said. 

"I thought it would be nice to have some chocolate chip cookies, you know, 
to have with our coffee," my mother explained. 

"You're lying to me again," said my father. 

"What do y-y-you mean," my mother stammered. 

"You're baking these cookies for that kid," my father accused. 

"I thought Peter might enjoy them," my mother quietly replied. "But I 
thought you would like some too." 

"I don't want any fucking cookies," said my father. 

"Pat, watch your language in front of Peter." 

"Fuck Peter!" cried my father. "You're always so goddamned concerned with 
him. Well, I don't have to run my whole life around Peter. You're turning 
him into a spoiled brat. Cookies! His fucking cookies could wait-he hasn't 
spent a whole day working for a living." 

"Pat, he's only a baby!" my mother insisted. 

"Marilyn, I don't want to hear no back talk from you, I'm warning you. I 
worked hard all day and I just feel I'm entitled to have my dinner taken 
care of before cookies for your baby." 

"Pat!" cried my mother, the tears shining in her eyes, "You hardly ever get 
home before six o'clock. How was I to know that you'd be early today? If you 
had come home at six o'clock, your dinner would have been all ready. I made 
sure I had enough time to have it ready by six!" 

"I don't want to hear that bullshit, Marilyn." said my father, in a warning 
tone of voice. 

"Pat, it's not bullshit!" my mother insisted. 

"It's bullshit!" my father adamantly replied. 

"It is not bullshit. You haven't come home before six all week long." 

"MARILYN!! ! ! " screamed my father, puffing and turning red. 

My mother froze. She stood there, shaking, and quivering. His temper was so 
fierce that he made her shudder with fear. My mother was afraid of what my 
father would do to her if she continued to argue with him. 

My mother bit her lip in silence, forcing herself to hold her tongue. I knew 
that she wanted to tell him how he was wrong to feel that she wasn't 
thinking of him. I wanted to tell him. But we both knew that if we tried to 
make him understand, he would simply blow his top. And we both knew what he 
could to do my mother if that happened. My mother was all ready to let it 
drop. 

But my father didn't want to let it drop. He wanted to make sure my mother 
understood him. 

"Marilyn,'" he sternly said "I finish work at 5 o'clock sharp. You know I 
never stay later than I have to. If I decide to go someplace after work, 
like for a beer with some of the guys, that's my business. All you need to 
know is that I should be home by five-thirty and five-thirty is when I 
expect my dinner on the table." My father glaringly looked at his watch, 
pointing to it in anger. "And it's five-thirty now and you haven't even 
started it!" he screamed. 

My mother quivered with fear. She didn't say anything. I went and hid behind 
the table. I was always afraid that my father would kill me when he got like 
that. He would blame everything on me. 

He always managed to find a way so that everything was my fault. My fault 
because I was taking too much of my mother's attention. He really blamed her 
for it more than he blamed me. He would just get furious with her for doing 
things solely for me. It was as if she wasn't supposed to give me too much 
attention. 

I used to wonder if my father was worried that she would spoil me, or just 
jealous of the attention my mother gave me. Sometimes when they would fight, 
he would tell her that she was the one who wanted to have a kid, not him. 
That was when I used to feel the worst. 

But other times, when me and my father were alone, he would act like a real 
friend to me. He would talk to me about things, teaching me things, 
explaining about life to me. Those were the times I liked the best. My 
father always seemed to know what he was talking about. 

Sometimes he would try to explain to me about my mother. He would say things 
like my mother doesn't really know about life. That most women didn't know 
about life because they took care of a man's home and that all these 
ridiculous Women's Libbers who kept complaining that men kept them from 
experiencing life would probably freak out if we ever gave them what they 
thought they wanted. 

I didn't know if I agreed with him. I mean, I thought my mother would have 
been a lot better if she would have known more about life outside of her 
family, but she didn't. I mean, it used to amaze me how she could still love 
him even after the way he used to treat her. Sometimes I hated my father for 
the way he treated her. 

My father would be proud of me sometimes. I was always good at sports and he 
really liked that. But I guess I never really trusted him because I knew how 
he felt about me deep down. He was sorry that I had ever been born. 

My father used to sleep with other women. He didn't even bother to hide it. 
It was almost as if he was challenging my mother to say anything to him. She 
never did. Once, when she found him in the bedroom with this other girl, my 
father told her to get lost, that he was busy. My mother cried a lot after 
that happened. When my father finished what he was doing and the girl had 
left, my mother was still crying. He was in the kitchen-that's kind of like 
her room because she's the only one who ever really goes in it--anyway, my 
father came into the kitchen to get a beer and found my mother sitting down 
at the table crying with her face in her hands. 

I really felt sorry for her. That happened last year, after she had already 
started doing these weird things to me. I never minded, really, because I 
understood why she was doing it. I always went along with her. I was never 
really afraid that she was seriously going to hurt me. 

When my father found out what was going on between me and my mother, he 
really hit the ceiling. He beat her up so bad I thought that he was going to 
kill her. I felt guilty because it was all over me. It was always over me. 
That was the part I really couldn't stand. 

I'll never forget the day my father found out. I'll remember it as long as I 
live. I thought that he would kill my mother and that maybe then he would 
kill me. He kept saying things like it was disgusting and that we both 
deserved to be dead. I mean, at first, he just blamed her, but then when I 
tried to stick up for her, he went bananas. He said I was perverse just like 
my mother and that he wouldn't have a fucking pervert for a son. He said I 
would probably grow into a faggot or something. He said that no son of his 
better be a faggot if he knew what was good for him. 

I didn't even know what he was talking about. All I knew is that my mother 
had been doing something to me that she shouldn't have been, but that she 
only did it because my father drove her to it. She only did it after he made 
her feel quilty for wanting to have a baby when they were first married. She 
only did it to show him that she didn't care as much for me as he blamed her 
for caring. 

 INTERVIEW TWO 

Unfortunately, Peter's time ran out as we were about to delve deeply into 
the actual experience of his sexual subjugation to his mother. We had to 
wait until the following session, which occurred three days afterwards, to 
work on the trauma of being sexually abused by one's parent. 

The day my father found out what my mother was doing to me, boy that was 
something. It was a Sunday afternoon. My father had promised my mother that 
he would take us to the zoo. We hardly ever went anywhere as a family. I 
couldn't believe it when he promised us. I thought it was too good to be 
true. It was. 

When Sunday came, my mother got up early and started preparing a picnic 
lunch for all three of us. It was a beautiful spring day. I got up early, 
too excited to sleep late. My father had been in a good mood pretty much all 
week. I really thought this was going to turn into a good day, in spite of 
the fact that I knew my father hardly ever kept his promises. 

I could smell the bacon frying in the kitchen. I came out and found my 
mother singing while she prepared breakfast. She was in a good mood. I 
smiled happily and asked her if we were still going. 

Her face was shining with excitement as she told me that she would wake my 
father up as soon as she had finished preparing breakfast. I wanted to know 
if she had double-checked that we were still going with my father the night 
before. 

My mother paused for a second. A cloud of doubt flickered in her eyes. It 
was just for a second, but it was enough to make me feel uneasy. I had a 
sudden sinking feeling that this was not going to be turning out so well 
after all. 

She told me that she hadn't, but she also told me that I shouldn't worry 
about it. My mother wanted to believe that my father would really keep his 
promise, but I think deep down she knew that there was no reason for him to 
keep this one more than any of the others. 

But she seemed so happy and so sure that he would take us to the zoo after 
that moment of doubt that I didn't say anything. I was hoping that my father 
would really keep this promise, even though it was unlikely. I think I 
wanted to believe that he would too, although deep down I really didn't 
believe it either. Deep down neither me nor my mother believed that he 
would. 

As soon as the breakfast was almost ready, my mother went to wake my father 
up. It was almost noon. Usually on Sundays, he slept till two or three in 
the afternoon, except when he wanted to get up to watch a football or a 
baseball game. Today there was a baseball game I knew he'd want to see. I 
thought he might get up early, but I wondered if he was really going to give 
up the baseball game just to take us to the zoo. 

My mother went into their bedroom. She must have left the door open because 
I could hear everything that they were saying. My mother woke my father up 
in a playful loving tone. He was very grouchy as he asked her what she 
wanted. She told him that breakfast was on the table. 

My father put on his robe and came out to the kitchen. The table was all set 
and the food smelled good. My father had a smile on his face when he smelled 
how good it was going to be. His grouchiness faded as he drank his morning 
coffee. I began to think that we would be going to the zoo after all. 

We ate breakfast together, as a family. We were all in a good mood, 
especially my mother. She kept smiling and remarking what a beautiful day it 
was. My father kept agreeing with her, looking out of the window with a 
smile upon his face. It was too good to be true. It really was. 

It turned out that my father was planning to go to the baseball game instead 
of watching it on television. Some guy he worked with gave him a box seat 
ticket right by the dugout and he was real excited. That was why he was in 
such a good mood. 

When he told my mother, her face dropped. She immediately asked him if he 
had forgotten about the zoo. 

My father said that he remembered all about it but that he had never really 
promised that he would go, the way that she was insisting he had. They got 
into a big fight about it. 

My mother started saying that he never spent any time with us, that I didn't 
know what it was like to have a father. My father became enraged. 

"Always that kid again!" he screamed. I was sitting right between them while 
this was happening. I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. 

"You promised," my mother said. 

"Can't you ever do anything without thinking about him!" cried my father, in 
anger. "Can't you ever make any plans that don't revolve around him, for 
God's sake?" 

My mother burst into tears. I could tell that she didn't know how to defend 
herself against his charges. She really did think of me all the time. She 
wanted all three of us to be a family. But I felt like the last thing my 
father wanted was to have me around. 

My father just put his jacket on and walked out of the house. He slammed the 
door, but my mother could tell he was in a good mood, even though he was 
angry with her. I think that was what drove her crazy more than anything 
else--that fighting with my mother didn't upset my father like it upset her. 
It was obvious that my father was more important to my mother than she was 
to him. 

My mother was shaking for a full ten minutes after she heard the door slam. 
She trembled so violently that I was afraid she was going to pass out. She 
was white as a ghost. 

But she didn't faint. My mother just started clearing the dishes from the 
breakfast table. 

I watched her carefully as she took the plates and put them in the sink. 
There was a very strange, expression on her face. It was as if she were 
thinking something over very carefully. 

I knew that look well. It was the same one she got every time she started to 
think that her marriage would have been better had she not insisted on 
having a baby. I knew that she was the one who had wanted me, not my father. 

I started to shudder myself, for I knew what she could do to me when she 
started thinking that way. I knew what was going to happen. I had an idea of 
what I was in for. I remembered that last time my mother had resented giving 
birth to me because my father had accused her of paying too much attention 
to me. 

I wondered if I should say something to try to make her feel better or just 
get the hell out of there. But I knew my mother was very hurt and I didn't 
want to leave her alone like that. I didn't know what I should do. 

I decided I would try talking to her to see exactly how upset she was. I 
waited until she finished washing the pots and pans from breakfast. Then I 
told her that I wanted to talk to her. 

She asked me what I wanted. I thought that she didn't seem too resentful. I 
wondered how I could cheer her up. 

Suddenly, I thought that maybe just the two of us could go to the zoo 
together. My father had gone off to the baseball game. It was too late to do 
anything about that, but why change our plans? Why not go ahead with them 
and have a good time anyway, in spite of my father? 

I made the suggestion to my mother. I told her that we already had a lunch 
packed and everything and that it was a beautiful day. I asked her why we 
should spoil our day just because my father had failed to keep his promise 
to us. 

That was when my mother became very mad. She started screaming at me. 

"Now don't go blaming your father," she said. "It's not that he's a liar, 
it's that he wants me and him to be together without you. He wants it to be 
just the two of us, but you're always in the way." 

I started to shake. What she was saying and the tone of voice she was saying 
it in weren't good. I knew what would happen. I hoped I could avoid it by 
handling the situation tactfully, but I had grave doubts. 

I told my mother that I was sorry, that she should make plans with my father 
for next weekend, that I was a big boy and could stay home by myself. 

"No, you're not!" she angrily replied. "You need someone to look after you. 
You're a little kid and you're too young to take care of yourself. But I'll 
teach you to interfere between your father and me, I'll teach you good." 

My mother grabbed me and started shaking me against the wall. She grabbed me 
by the shoulders and just shook and shook. My head banged against the wall 
so hard that I thought I was going to bleed. But I didn't. There was just a 
big painful bump on the side of my head that had struck the wall. 

My mother continued beating me in this fashion. I started to cry. I hated 
when she got like this. I felt like nobody loved me at all--not my mother 
and not my father. I was used to my father taking things out on me, but I 
really couldn't take it when my mother did it. 

But I told myself that it wasn't her fault. I told myself that my father 
drove her to it, that it was his fault. Each time it happened, I swore that 
I would hold him responsible for what my mother did to me, not her. It was 
my father who caused her to do it. 

My mother grabbed me and dragged me into the living room. I knew what was 
going to happen. She tore all the clothes from my body until I was naked 
before her. Then she grabbed some rope that she had in the pocket of her 
apron and tied my wrists together in front of my belly. 

I always felt embarrassed to be stark naked in front of my mother. I always 
had a hard-on, I think because I didn't want to and I tried so hard not to 
have one. But I always had one. I think she wanted it to happen. 

My mother left me tied and naked in the living room. She went to the 
bathroom. I knew what she was getting. She had gotten it so many times 
before. I knew what she was going to do to me. 

My mother returned with the enema equipment. I groaned to myself thinking of 
the ordeal she was going to put me through. But I wasn't going to complain 
or resist her because I felt sorry for what my father had put her through. I 
knew that doing these things to me made her feel better so I let her do 
them. 

When she returned from the bathroom with the enema, my mother ordered me to 
lie down on the sofa. She told me to lie on my stomach. I could feel my hard 
cock pressing into the soft sofa cushion, I knew what she was going to do 
with that cock. 

My mother started giggling with wicked delight. She was getting to take out 
all her anger. She would work it all out on me. I knew she didn't mean it 
for me, I knew she was really angry at my father, but I let her take it out 
on me. I knew that I was the only outlet she had. I knew that she was too 
afraid of my father to direct her anger toward him. 

"You had to come along," she bitterly said. "You're always around to ruin 
things. I always have to think of you, and then your father gets mad. Well, 
I won't have it! I'm going to teach you to get me to make promises to you. 
I'll teach you, you little bastard!" 

Even though I knew my mother didn't mean what she said, I still felt very 
hurt. I couldn't help feeling that my mother didn't love me after all, that 
deep down, she resented me as much as my father did. But I couldn't stand 
thinking like that. That was like being without anyone in the world to love 
you. I had to believe that my mother really didn't mean it. Doctor, I just 
know she really didn't mean it! 

My mother took the cold plastic enema tube and forced it up my ass. I 
trembled with discomfort as I felt the intruding tube plunge all the way up 
my ass-hole. I hated the way it felt. It was wedged in there and I didn't 
want it, but there was nothing I could do to get it out. 

There was nothing I could do because my hands were tied. But I wouldn't have 
pulled it out even if they weren't. I wouldn't have pulled it out because I 
would let my mother do whatever she wanted. I knew she needed some way to 
get rid of her frustrations. 

My mother pulled the enema tube in and out of my shivering ass-hole. Throbs 
of shivering pain bothered my stretched ass-hole tunnel as she kept 
thrusting that cold uncomfortable plastic in and out of my rear chamber. 

My mother was becoming increasingly excited. Her eyes were lighting up and 
her breathing was heavy. She put her hand to her pussy and began to rub 
furiously, still pumping my ass-hole with her other hand. 

My mother was gasping for breath as she masturbated. Her entire body was 
twitching and shuddering as she rammed my sore ass with the enema tube. I 
could feel the cold water shooting up my ass as she brought herself off. 

I waited for what I knew would happen next. I knew what would happen from 
all the other times she did this to me. I knew that she would take my little 
but strong cock in her mouth and suck me until I had an orgasm. I could 
never figure out why she did it, but she always did. She always had to give 
me an orgasm. 

At first, I found it terribly embarrassing, but I soon discovered that she 
liked it better when I let myself go. So after the first few times, that's 
what I did. I worked at getting an orgasm. I breathed hard and panted and 
stretched all my muscles. I could feel my sizzling dick twitching and 
pulsing in her hands. 

Suddenly, I heard the front door open. My mother dropped my cock and 
trembled with fear. She became paralyzed. She couldn't move a muscle. 

It was my father. It turned out that he returned because he had forgotten 
the ticket for the game. He had stormed out, so fast he had forgotten the 
baseball ticket. It was too bad for my mother that that happened. 

He walked into the living room just as my mother let my cock drop from her 
hands. He saw her let my cock drop. I could see the expression on his face 
from where my head was. I don't think that I'll ever forget it. 

My father ran over to my mother and slammed her against the four walls. It's 
funny, but the first feeling I had was that my father did love me after all. 
The first feeling I had was that my father was horrified at what she was 
doing because he loved me. 

When he rushed over to me and pulled the ropes from my hands, I looked to 
him for comfort. I thought he would say a few words about how horrible what 
she had been doing to me must have been. But he didn't. He started screaming 
at me. 

"What's the matter with you? You disgusting little kid," he said. "How could 
you let your own mother do that to you." 

My father untied me. My mother crawled upstairs to her bedroom. Her face was 
red and I thought she would die of embarrassment. I knew that she was 
horrified that my father had discovered what she had been doing. I knew she 
was afraid that he would love her even less now than he had before. I just 
had to explain to him why she did it. 

"Daddy," I said, "she doesn't mean it. Mommy doesn't mean it. She just does 
it because she thinks it's my fault that you're always mad at her." 

"She's damned right that it's always your fault," my father replied. He 
picked up my clothes that were lying on the floor and threw them in my face. 
"Go on, put your clothes on. That's disgusting, being naked in front of your 
mother. A boy as old as you. That's disgusting what you were letting her do 
to you. Letting your own mother jerk you off. That's really disgusting." 

He kept saying all those things while I was getting dressed. I felt ashamed, 
as if I had done something wrong. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say 
anything. 

My father hasn't spoken to my mother since. He's keeping all sorts of tabs 
on her--says she can't be trusted. And he won't let her be alone with me. 
That bothers me because I want to tell my mother that I still love her, in 
spite of what she did to me. I know she feels that my father really hates 
her. He sure acts like he does. But I can't tell her in front of my father. 
He refuses to let us talk about what happened. He just told me that I'd 
better listen to you so I didn't turn out to be a faggot. 

 CONCLUSION 

Peter was a very confused child when his father brought him to see me. He 
had all sorts of insecurities about the depth of his father's love for him. 
Oddly enough, he never doubted his mother's even though she had been the one 
who was abusing him. 

I explained to Peter that his father loved him, in spite of the fact that he 
was too busy to spend that much time with him. I told Peter that his father 
was the kind of man who had trouble showing how he felt. 

Peter answered me by saying that his father never had any trouble showing 
them when he was angry. Peter wanted to know why his father treated his 
mother so badly if he was a really good person. 

I explained to Peter that people don't always treat those they love with the 
understanding and patience that they should. I explained that his father 
only wanted what was best for him. 

I told Peter's father that the boy had a deep subconscious animosity against 
him which would require a rather lengthy treatment to cure. Peter's father 
has agreed to send the boy to therapy for the next six months. He claims 
that if Peter is not over what his mother had done to him by then, that he 
will have to send the boy away to a hospital. He claims that he cannot allow 
his wife and son to be alone together unless he is assured that Peter will 
no longer allow her to abuse him. Peter's father wants Peter to resist his 
mother, even if he has to beat her up to do it. 

 CASE HISTORY SEVEN 

Subject: Linda Age: Eight 

 INTERVIEW ONE 

Linda was taken to see me by her mother, who had discovered that her husband 
was sexually abusing the child while she was playing mah-jongg. 

The mother informed me that she and her husband do not get along and that 
she is in the process of starting divorce proceedings against him. She said 
that she planned to divorce Linda's father prior to the discovery of his 
perverse activities. 

Doctor, Mommy said that I had to go to a doctor because of the games me and 
Daddy played when she went to play mah-jongg. She says that Daddy is a bad 
man and she doesn't want me to like him any more. 

That upsets me because I always have fun with Daddy and I hardly ever have 
fun with Mommy. She's constantly screaming about something-she's a very 
nervous person. 

My Mommy and Daddy don't treat each other like Mommies and Daddies are 
supposed to. Sometimes, I can't understand how they ever fell in love and 
got married. 

My mother told me one time that she never loved my father, not even when she 
married him. That upset me very much because I wanted my mother to love my 
father. I thought she had no business being married to him unless she loved 
him. I figured that she was just mad at him when she said that she didn't 
love him. 

My father loved my mother. I know that he did because he used to tell me how 
much he loved her. All those times when Mommy was out playing mah-jongg and 
we were alone together, he would tell me how much he loved Mommy. Then he 
would tell me that he loved me even more and that I was all the world to 
him. 

But even though I love my father, there are things about him that really 
bother me. I mean, he's old enough to be my grandfather. My father is twenty 
years older than my mother and forty-one years older than I am. He's older 
than any of my friends' fathers. That always embarrassed me. 

There were other things about my father that would embarrass me too. For 
instance, my father is very religious. He doesn't want me to have any 
friends unless they're Jewish. I hate to bring my friends home because he 
always asks them a lot of questions, trying to find out if they're good 
enough to be my friends. I really wish he wouldn't do that. 

Sometimes, I like my mother better than my father. I mean, she never asked 
my friends embarrassing questions. But she wasn't nice to me like my father 
was. For instance, if I told my father that I wanted something, he always 
made sure that I had it. I didn't even have to ask him for it. All I had to 
do was let it be known that I wanted something and I always ended up with 
it. 

Those were the times when I thought my mother really hated me. She would 
rant and rave and scream like a maniac, just because my father had bought me 
a doll or something. She would act like I was taking the bread from her 
mouth. She made me feel very guilty. 

My mother would scream about how much money she needed to run the household 
and that my father was too extravagant. I know how she got that way-she was 
poor when she was a girl. One of my cousins once told me that she was put in 
a concentration camp when she was fourteen. My cousin told me that was why 
my mother was so nervous all the time-that she had been scared badly and had 
never gotten over it. 

I thought about what my cousin told me very carefully. My cousin was older 
than me-she was almost a grown-up. I knew that she had found out everything 
from her mother and that she wasn't the type who would make it up. I thought 
about what had happened to my mother a lot. It explained a lot of things. 

After my cousin told me that, I started paying a lot more attention to the 
things you would hear about concentration camps. They frightened me, but I 
always wanted to know more and more about them. I always perked up with 
attention whenever they were mentioned. 

I even went to the school library once and took out a book on it. The book 
described all these terrible things that happened. It said that people were 
burned in ovens and had experiments conducted on their bodies. I wondered if 
any of those things had ever happened to my mother. 

I wanted to ask her, but I was afraid to bring it up. From the way my cdusin 
had sounded when she told me, I thought that my mother didn't want me to 
know what had happened. She never mentioned it to me herself and my cousin 
had told me that I shouldn't let my mother know I knew unless she brought it 
up first. 

But that never happened and I just had to talk to her about it. I had to 
know what she had gone through, so I could understand her better. She was my 
mother and I wanted to know what the Nazis had done to her. I really hated 
Germans. I wished that all of them were dead. 

One day, me and Mommy were home alone at night. My father had a night job 
and he wouldn't be home until early in the morning. Whenever my father had 
night jobs, Mommy would let me stay up to keep her company, provided that I 
didn't have to get up the next morning to go to school. 

We were watching this movie on television. It was all about the people in 
concentration camps. It was the first time we had watched a movie like this 
together since my cousin had told me what had happened to my mother. 

I couldn't help thinking more about my mother than the movie. I looked at 
her as she watched the movie. She was deeply engrossed in it-it was a very 
good movie, we had watched it together before. 

This time, I watched Mommy while she watched the movie. I could see her face 
turn white and the tears quiver in her eyes as she sat trembling while she 
watched. I felt very sorry for her. I wanted to know what they did to her. I 
wanted to hate the people who had hurt her her, too. I wanted her to know 
that I knew. 

I decided to ask her about it when the commercial came. When it did, I 
didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to begin the conversation about 
the thing I wanted to talk about. 

Finally, I decided that I would have to come right out with it or else I 
would never get anywhere. I called her name and gulped as she turned to me. 

"What is it, Linda?" she said. 

"Mommy, there's something I want to ask you about," I replied. 

"What is it?" 

"I don't know how to say it," I replied. Mommy sighed. 

"Linda," she said, "just come right out and say it." 

"Okay. Mommy, Linda told me that you were in a concentration camp." 

The tears came to Mommy's eyes. I could tell that she had been thinking of 
it while the movie was playing and that it had upset her. I almost felt 
sorry that I had brought it up and reminded her of it. But I thought that 
she would feel better if we talked about it, so I wasn't really sorry. 

"That's true," my mother dryly replied. "I told her mother that I didn't 
want you to know about it. "I'm going to have to tell Lucy's mother what she 
did. I told Lucy myself one time, after I had found out that Anna told her, 
that she shouldn't under any circumstances mention it to you." 

"Don't be mad at Lucy, Mommy," I answered. "She only told me so I would 
understand you better. And I'm glad she told me. I want to know." 

"Oh Linda," my mother answered. "It's bad enough that I had to go through 
it. I don't want you to know from it. I wish you would just forget it." 

"I can't forget it. I want you to tell me about it," I insisted. 

So Mommy had told me all about how the Germans had invaded her Hungarian 
village when she was fourteen. She told me all about how she had been raped 
by one soldier and had then become a prostitute because her family needed 
money and she knew that she had been soiled for life. Mommy said that she 
knew no man would ever marry her after they found out she was ruined. She 
said everybody in the village knew she had been raped. She said it was 
something that she could never live down. 

I didn't really understand what she was saying. I didn't know what rape was. 
I knew from watching television and hearing the news that it was man 
attacking a woman, but I didn't know what exactly it was that he did to her. 
So I asked Mommy what it was. 

She told me that it was when a man forced a woman to do something dirty with 
him so that he could have a good time. My mother said that it was something 
that women shouldn't do unless they were forced into it. She said she was 
forced into it by the man who raped her and then forced to do it because her 
family needed the money to buy food. I got pretty much what she was trying 
to tell me, even though I still didn't understand exactly what it was that 
women weren't supposed to do unless they were forced. 

Mommy said that after that she was taken and put in a concentration camp. 
She said that her whole family was separated and put into different camps. 
She said that was why we had no relatives except for a couple of cousins, 
because the Nazis had murdered her whole family. 

She talked a little about what it was like in the concentration camp. It 
sounded horrible. She told me that she sometimes had to sleep with the Nazis 
to keep from being sent to the ovens. When I asked her, my mother told me 
that was the same thing as rape. 

She said that she was sure she was going to die soon. My mother said that 
she knows she was going to be in the next batch of people to be gassed when 
the war ended and the people were released from the camps. 

My mother said that as soon as she had enough money, she came right here. 
She said that she met my father on the boat. He had been in a concentration 
camp too and he was coming from Poland. 

My mother said they got together because they both wanted someone to lean 
on. She said that my father wants her to be his mother. 

My mother said she was very young when she married and she was looking for 
someone to take care of her because of what she had been through. She said 
that the marriage was a mistake and that the only reason she didn't leave my 
father was because of me. That made me feel guilty. 

But it also made me think more about my father. Hadn't my mother said that 
he had also been in a concentration camp? Then all those horrible things 
that my mother told me had happened to her had happened to him, too. 

 INTERVIEW TWO 

The next time my mother went to play mah-jongg, I paid special attention to 
Daddy. I had been looking forward to being alone with him because I wanted 
to talk to him about it the way I had talked about it with Mommy. I wanted 
him to tell me exactly what had happened to him, the way Mommy had told me 
everything that had happened to her. 

I also wanted to hear what he had to say on another matter. That was his 
marriage to my mother. Mommy had said that she was sorry that she married 
him. That must have meant that she didn't love him. I wondered if Daddy 
loved Mommy even though she didn't love him. 

Mommy went to play mah-jongg twice a week. I used to miss her, but now I was 
glad to have a chance to be alone with Daddy. Besides, lately Mommy had been 
very nervous and Daddy was never in a good mood when she was around. I loved 
my father when he was in a good mood. That was when he told me that I was 
the most important thing in the world to him and he bought me all sorts of 
presents. 

But when my mother was mad at him, he was afraid to show that he liked me. 
It was like he had to do it in secret, show how much he loved me. Sometimes 
I thought that Mommy was jealous that he loved me so much. That was because 
he loved me more than he loved her. But he still loved her a lot also. 

This one night, I started to ask Daddy about the concentration camp. It was 
easier to ask him because he always liked it when I wanted to talk to him. 
It didn't matter what I wanted to talk about. He just liked talking to me. 

But when I asked him about the concentration camp, he became very strange. 
His eyes clenched up and his brow wrinkled. There was a frown upon his face. 
He seemed to be nervous, but it was different from the way that Mommy gets 
nervous. I knew that Daddy wasn't going to scream at me the way she would. 

But I had never seen Daddy like this before, except for when Mommy was mad 
at him. That's exactly how he was, except this time he was mad at Mommy. 

"She shouldn't have told you all those things," he said, his voice 
trembling. "She shouldn't have told all those horrible things to a little 
girl." 

"Daddy, I'm not too young. Don't be mad at Mommy," I said. "I wanted to 
know." 

"She shouldn't have told you," replied my father, in a sudden burst of 
anger. He pounded his fist on the table. I never saw him do anything like 
that before. 

"Don't be mad at Mommy, Daddy," I said. "She didn't want to tell me at 
first, but I made her." 

"Ah, Linda," said my father, shaking his head sadly, "you're such a little 
girl." 

I didn't know what to say. There was something so sad in his voice. It just 
made me want to cry. I didn't know what to do. I just sat, waiting for him 
to do something. 

Then my father told me something that really surprised me. He told me that 
my mother wanted to divorce him. That upset me a lot. Then my father said 
that my mother wanted to take me away from him, that she didn't ever want to 
let him see me again. 

That really upset me. I wanted to live with both of my parents. It just 
couldn't be true. I didn't want my mother to stop me from seeing my father. 
I knew why she was doing that. She was jealous because he loved me better 
than he loved her. 

I told my father not to worry, that my mother wouldn't be able to stop us 
from seeing each other if we really wanted to. I told him that we would see 
each other anyway. 

Daddy looked up at me and smiled. It made him feel good that I wanted to see 
him so much that I would go against my mother. I knew that sometimes he 
would feel bad because he knew that I was ashamed of him in front of my 
friends. 

I felt sorry for him. I wanted him to know that I loved him as much as I 
loved Mommy, even more some times. I wanted him to know that I appreciated 
how nice he was to me and how he bought me presents even when Mommy kept 
screaming that he shouldn't. 

Then Daddy became cheerful again. He told me not to worry about things like 
concentration camps, that it had happened before I was born and there was no 
need for me to even think about it. 

He also said that I should ignore all those things mother had said to me 
about men. Daddy told me that men didn't always force women to do those 
things. My father said that there were lots of women who did it because they 
liked it. He said it was only bad if the man wasn't nice to the woman when 
they were doing it. 

I asked him if he and Mommy did it. He turned red, but he told me that he 
did. I asked him if Mommy liked it, and he said that she didn't. He said 
there was something wrong with her, that's why she didn't. 

Then Daddy did something very strange. He told me that he wanted to take me 
upstairs to his bedroom and play a game with me. He said it was going to be 
a fun game and that we would get to pretend all sorts of things. 

I got excited because I loved to play games, especially make-believe. So I 
followed Daddy upstairs to the bedroom. Only what happened when we got 
inside really frightened me. 

Daddy locked the door and then took a pillow and stuck it under the covers 
so that it looked like a sleeping person. Then Daddy told me to stand by the 
side of the bed, right next to him. 

"Linda," Daddy explained, "this is Mommy. Let's pretend this is Mommy." 

"Okay," I said, "it's Mommy." 

Suddenly, Daddy made a fist and pounded the pillow. That was what frightened 
me. He was very mad and he kept punching the pillow. 

He wanted me to do it too. 

"Come on, Linda," he said. "This is Mommy. We hate Mommy, we hate Mommy, 
don't we? We hate her because she always yells at us. Let's beat her because 
we hate her." 

That really scared me, but Daddy kept talking about how mean Mommy was to 
us. He was right. She was very mean to us sometimes. After a while, I 
thought I'd like to do what he was doing, beat Mommy for being so mean to 
me. After all, she yelled at me for things I didn't even do, most of the 
time. She yelled at me for no reason at all. I wanted to hit her because she 
made me so mad. 

We pounded the pillow, me and Daddy, over and over again. He was turning red 
and screaming and cursing at my mother while we beat the pillow. 

Then finally, Daddy decided that we had beat the pillow enough. He took hold 
of my arms and stopped me from hitting it again. Daddy sat down on the bed 
and pulled me on his lap. 

"Linda," he said, "your mother is not a good person. She's a very mean 
person. She doesn't want anyone to have what she doesn't have. She thinks 
sex is bad and she wants you to think that sex is bad too." 

"What's sex?" I asked. 

Daddy seemed uncomfortable, as if he wasn't sure what he should say. He told 
me that sex was the thing that Mommy told me that women shouldn't do with 
men unless they were forced to do it. He told me that Mommy was wrong about 
that, that wives were supposed to want to do it with their husbands. 

Then my father told me something that really upset me. I don't know why it 
upset me so much, but it did. He said that Mommy let him do it to her, but 
that she acted like he was doing something horrible to her. Daddy said that 
he couldn't have a good time doing it because of the way she always acted. 

I felt bad for him, I really did. I mean, my father seemed so sad about the 
whole thing. But I could also tell that he was angry. I knew that he was 
very angry at my mother for acting like he was forcing her to have sex with 
him against her will. 

I looked at Daddy. I wanted to say something to make him feel better. But I 
really didn't understand what it was all about. I understood how everybody 
had all these feelings about sex, but I didn't know exactly what it was that 
a man did to a woman that made such a difference. 

"Daddy," I said, "I don't understand what sex is. I don't understand." 

My father looked at me as if trying to decide whether to tell me or not. 
Finally, he spoke. 

"Linda," he said, "sex is when a man sticks his penis into the hole between 
a woman's legs. You have a hole there, don't you." 

I nodded. 

"What's a penis?" I asked. 

My father turned red. He looked at me confidentially. 

"Let me show you," he said, unzipping his pants. 

I was never so amazed in my life as when I saw what my father had between 
his legs. He was very different than I was. Daddy said that the difference 
there was what made the difference between boys and girls. 

I thought about how Daddy had said that the man put that thing in a woman's 
hole. I didn't see how it could be possible and I told him so. 

Daddy looked at me a while. His brow was all wrinkled up as he was trying to 
decide something. Then he looked at me and whispered. 

"You mustn't tell anybody what we're going to do," he said, his fingers to 
his lips. "Especially not your mother." 

"What are we going to do?" I asked. I was very curious. 

"I'm going to show you what sex is," my father replied. "I want to show you 
so you'll know that it's as much fun for women as it is for men." 

I nodded. I was all for having fun with my father. 

Daddy sat me on the bed and started undressing me. He had undressed me 
sometimes before, so it didn't bother me. I was used to it. 

Daddy took off all my clothes and stared at me. There was a Strang look on 
his face. And he didn't put me into my pajamas right away, so I wouldn't 
catch cold, like he usually did. 

Instead, Daddy took off all of his clothes. 

We were both sitting on Mommy's bed, without any clothes on. That big thing 
between Daddy's legs was standing up, not hanging down like it was before. 
It seemed bigger than it was before too. I couldn't help staring at it. 

"If we're going to have sex," I asked, "does that mean you're going to put 
that thing between your legs into my hole?" 

Daddy nodded as a bright light of excitement came into his eyes. He pushed 
me gently down so that I was flat on my back. He told me to spread my legs 
so that he could put it in me. 

I did as he told me. I wanted him to put it in so that I could judge for 
myself whether women should let men do it to them. I couldn't think of 
anyone better to do it with than my father. I knew that he wouldn't do 
anything to hurt me. I knew that he loved me more than anything in the 
world. 

My father climbed on top of me. I could feel his weight pressing me into the 
mattress. That big thing was hard as a rock as it slapped against my thigh. 

As my father put it right on my little pink mound, I suddenly became very 
frightened. I suddenly changed my mind. I didn't want him to do it to me. I 
was just a little girl and he was a grown man. What if his thing was too big 
for me and hurt me? I thought he would hurt me if my father tried to have 
sex with me, so I didn't want to do it anymore. 

But when I told him, he just brushed my fears aside. He told me not to 
worry. Before I had a chance to say anything, he just put it right in. 

It hurt a lot. That big fat hard thing went thrusting up my tight tender 
hole. It forced apart my tight tunnel walls. It hurt so bad as he shoved 
that big thing all the way, penetrating all the way in. 

I felt something rip inside, some skin or something, and then I could feel 
the blood begin to flow in my torn tattered hole. I started to cry. 

"Don't cry," Daddy whispered to me, as he moved his thing around in my hole 
real fast. 

That frightened me. I thought it was a strange thing for him to do. I didn't 
want him to be doing it. 

But no matter how many times I asked him to stop, he just wouldn't. Daddy 
pulled his cock in and out of my sore burning hole. Something strange was 
happening to him while he did it. 

Daddy was panting heavily and getting very excited. He kept thrusting that 
thing in and out of my sore dripping hole. All these juices were dripping 
down as well as the blood. Still, Daddy kept ramming in and out of me with 
his big piercing thing. 

Mommy is definitely right, I thought to myself. Women shouldn't let men do 
this to them. It hurts. It doesn't feel good at all. 

Finally, Daddy pulled out of me for good. Before he did it though, that 
thing started to quake and shudder inside of my hole. Then this creamy stuff 
went shooting up my hole. It burned my raw and tattered inner hole flesh. 

But right after that happened, Daddy took it out of me. He seemed to be much 
more relaxed than he was before. He was smiling and in a good mood. 

"Now, wasn't that fun," he said. 

I shook my head. There were tears in my eyes. 

"No?" he said. 

I shook my head again. I must have looked very sad. I felt very sad. 

"Well, sometimes the first time a girl does it, it isn't that much fun. But 
it gets to be more and more fun each time you do it." 

I didn't say anything. The way I felt was that I never wanted to do that 
thing ever again in my entire life. But I didn't want to talk about it 
anymore with Daddy. I didn't want him to do any more sex things with me. But 
Daddy wasn't finished. 

"I'll be right back," he said, heading for the door. "We've got to clean you 
up so that Mommy never, ever finds out. Do you understand? You must never, 
ever let Mommy find out that I showed you about sex. It would make her very 
angry and then she would start yelling at us. And we don't want her to yell 
at us more than she already will on her own, do we?" 

I nodded in agreement. I didn't want to tell my mother what happened. For 
some reason, I was ashamed. I felt like I didn't want anyone to know ever 
that my father had shown me sex. 

My father soon came back to the room holding this rubber bag attached to 
this tube. I recognized it as this thing Mommy used to put up my rear end 
whenever I was having trouble going to the bathroom. I wondered what my 
father had gotten it for. 

I soon understood. My father took the tube and was going to shove it up my 
hole. I realized that he would spray the water to clean me out up there, 
just like my mother used it to clean out the other hole. 

That made me feel better. I was feeling all sticky and uncomfortable inside. 
I knew that the warm spraying water would be soothing to my torn battered 
flesh. I was looking forward to Daddy doing it to me. 

Suddenly, the door burst open. It was my mother. One of the players had 
gotten sick and the mah-jongg game had ended early. She screamed with 
horror. Daddy turned around and froze. 

"What are you doing to her?" shrieked my mother. "What are you doing to 
Linda?" 

She ran towards me and pulled the tube from his hands. My father was 
shaking, afraid to move or to say anything. He was afraid of what my mother 
would do to him. He knew that she had made him very angry. 

My mother took one look at my dripping bloody hole and she knew what had 
happened. She started pounding on my father with her fists, crying and 
screaming. It was horrible. 

I didn't know how to feel. I felt bad for my father that my mother was being 
so cruel to him. I could see that he was suffering. But I was also glad that 
she was punishing him for what he did to me. My mother must care a lot about 
me to get so upset over it. 

 CONCLUSION 

Linda is a very confused and mixed-up young child. Both parents are 
extremely neurotic and prove detrimental to Linda's well-being, each in 
their own particular way. 

I recommended to Linda's mother that the child be kept away from her father 
unless she is there to supervise the meetings. I told her that I did not 
think the family should discuss the incident with Linda except in the 
presence of myself. The entire family is currently undergoing treatment at 
my hands. 

 CASE HISTORY EIGHT 

Subject: Harry Age: Sixteen 

 INTERVIEW ONE 

Harry was sent to see me by the juvenile authorities. His father had the 
police arrest him for the rape of his mother. 

Harry appeared to be a rough angry boy who wasn't the least bit sorry for 
what he had done. 

I know why they sent me here for, doctor. They want to find out if I'm sick. 
Of course, I'm sick! I raped my own mother, didn't I? What more do they need 
to know? 

I don't understand why they just don't put me away somewhere. I committed 
the worst crime someone could commit. I went against everything. I raped my 
own mother and forced her to submit to having sex with her own son. 

You want to know why I did it, don't you? I'll tell you why I did it. I'm 
not ashamed of it. She deserved it, that's why I did it. 

My father is really furious at me. He says he doesn't want to see me any 
more, that he can't believe a son of his would do something so horrible. 

But he doesn't know what my mother does behind his back. He's not around to 
see the things that go on when he's at work, but I am. I see how my mother 
cheats on him behind his back. My mother must have fucked every guy in the 
neighborhood. She even fucked the husbands of some of her friends-that's how 
bad she is It used to make me so mad. I knew that my father never cheated on 
her. When I first learned about sex, I remember I asked him one time. He 
looked very seriously at me and then he told me that cheating was only for 
people who weren't happily married. When I asked him if he was happily 
married, he smiled at me and said of course he was. 

But I don't know about that. I mean, I was only thirteen at the time but I 
could tell that my parents weren't satisfied with each other. Though I have 
to admit, mostly it was my mother who wasn't satisfied with my father. 

That's what made me so mad at her. It seemed to me that everything would be 
just like it was supposed to be if only my mother wouldn't be so picky about 
my father. Nothing he did was alright with her. She found fault with 
everything. Sometimes I wanted to kill her when she got on his back. 

Then when I got older, I realized that my mother was having all these 
affairs. I found out what a cheap slut she really was. She was so cheap that 
almost anyone could have her. The day I found out that she was making it 
with the father of my best friend was too much for me. I just had to tell 
her that I knew exactly what kind of a tramp she really was. 

I knew he was in the bedroom because I had seen her let him in. My mother 
didn't think I was home-I mean, she tried to work it so that I wouldn't find 
out about it, but she fucked way too much for that. 

Anyway, that day I had played hooky and come home from school early. I had 
sneaked into the house because I didn't want my mother to know. I knew she 
would get really angry and make a big fuss about it. Probably because it 
interfered with her slutty adulterous affairs. 

So I saw Mr. Clemmings come into the house. I saw how my mother flung her 
arms around his neck and kiss him like she was creaming in her pants for 
him. It was disgusting. It made me sick to my stomach. 

I didn't do anything then, though. I was too embarrassed in front of my 
friend's father. I didn't want Mr. Clemmings to know that I had found out. I 
would never be able to face him again if he did. 

I waited until they had finished and he left. I was sitting in the living 
room, waiting for my mother when she returned from showing him out of the 
door. 

She jumped, startled to find me there. 

"Harry," said my mother, "what are you doing home from school?" 

"You make me sick!" I said, in a tone of vile disgust. 

My mother turned red. It was obvious that she instantly knew what I was 
talking about. But she tried to cover, tried to pretend that she didn't 
understand what I was talking about. 

"Harry, I don't know what you mean," she said, a funny catch in her voice 
that she was trying her best to hide. But she didn't succeed. 

"I know all about the filthy things you do behind my father's back," I 
angrily said to her. 

When I said that, my mother turned white. Then she looked at me. She 
muttered something about making me understand, but I wasn't having any. 

I just sat there, listening to her and shaking my head in disbelief. How 
could she think that I would ever have any respect for her again after what 
she did? 

My mother just went on. She was dying for me to say I understood what she 
had done. She was dying for me to forgive her. But I'll never forgive her 
for what she did to my father. Do you know how embarrassing it would be for 
him if anyone ever found out? I mean, my mother gets around so much I'm 
surprised it's not all over the neighborhood by now. It probably is, in 
fact. They just stop talking about it when I'm around. 

I glared at my mother with hatred. I didn't like the things she was saying. 
She started to blame the whole thing on my father. I didn't like that one 
bit. 

 INTERVIEW TWO 

My mother was saying things like how my father paid more attention to his 
job than he did to her and how she was very lonely and that I had to 
understand how it was for her. I wasn't having any of it. 

"You're nothing but a tramp!" I shouted. I was mad as all hell. "My own 
mother is nothing but a goddamned slut!" 

That's when my mother became angry, when I said those things to her. But 
they were all true, every word I said was the truth. She just didn't want to 
hear it. 

She turned red and told me that I had no right to talk to her because she 
was my mother and I ought to have some respect. I asked her how she expected 
me to have respect for a no-good tramp. 

That was when she slapped me. My mother's hand went cracking against my 
face. The skin on my face stung from her anger. I looked right into her 
eyes. Mine were darting anger at hers. 

"You're going to be sorry you did that," I said. 

"No," she said, shaking her head, "you're wrong. I won't be sorry. Not 
ever." 

Then my mother turned and swiftly walked into the kitchen. 

"Come back, " I called. "I'm not finished with you." 

But she ignored me. She didn't even acknowledge that I had called her back 
after she smacked me and walked away. It made me furious. 

I sat on the couch fuming. She had no right to do that, ignore me as if I 
didn't even exist. It was the same thing she was doing to my father. She 
went right ahead fucking anyone she pleased as if he didn't even exist. As 
if neither of us existed. I hated her for it. 

As I sat there on the couch, a little idea ran through my brain. I would 
show her just how disgusting I thought she was. I would show her in a way 
that she wouldn't be able to ignore. And I would make her suffer for what 
she'd done to me and my father, all at the same time. 

I waited for my mother to come out of the kitchen. It took her a long time. 
I knew that she was afraid to face me. But I wouldn't make it easy for her. 

When she came out, my mother looked at me to see if I was still angry at 
her. When she saw the look on my face, she quickly turned away. But she 
wasn't going to get away from my anger so easily. I wouldn't let her. 

I jumped up and grabbed her. She angrily started to shove me away. 

"Harry, for God's sake, what are you doing?" she yelled. 

"I'm not finished telling you what I think of you," I said, sneering at her 
as I shoved her to the couch. 

She looked up at me as I held her shoulders, pinning her to the seat. Her 
cheeks were red with anger. My mother had the nerve to be indignant with me 
after she was the one who went and fucked all those men. It made me want to 
laugh. 

"Unless you change your attitude toward me," my mother said, "I won't hear 
anything you have to say to me. You always take your father's side. I want 
you to know that I'm getting pretty sick of it." 

Can you imagine? My mother had the nerve to say that to me! Of course I took 
my father's side over hers! He wasn't the one who went out and fucked every 
person who would spread their legs. My mother was the one who had been all 
over town with every man who would have her. 

"You make me want to throw up," I told her. "You're nothing but a tramp. 
You're not good enough to be my mother. My father ought to throw you in thy 
gutter. Do you know how much money he gives you? And then what's his thanks? 
You slut around with anything in pants. You make me sick." 

I had my mother pinned so she couldn't move. But she looked up and spit at 
me, really spit at me hard. I couldn't believe it when she did that. 

I couldn't believe that my mother had the nerve to spit at me. It was as if 
she was trying to make me feel like I was the one who had done something 
wrong. She was trying to make me feel ashamed, but she was the one who had 
done something to be ashamed of. 

I glared at her. That spit in my face was the last straw. I was going to 
show her exactly what I thought of her. 

I started tearing at her clothes. My mother started screaming. She wanted to 
know what I was doing. I didn't say anything. I wanted to get her naked so 
that I could tie her up. Then I was going to show her just what a tramp I 
thought she was. 

I punched her in the jaw a few times, just to keep her quiet. She was such a 
slut that I didn't care what I did to her. She's in the hospital now. I 
don't even care if she dies. I'm glad for every single thing that I did to 
her. 

I ran to the kitchen and pulled some rope out of the junk drawer. I came 
running back. I was glad to find that I had punched her hard enough so that 
she was having trouble trying to stand. She was dizzy and I walked right 
over and pushed her down on the sofa. 

My mother was frantically trying to pull the clothes together on her body as 
I stood over her, holding the rope. 

"Harry, you're sick!" she said, looking up at me in wonder. 

"There's nothing the matter with me except that I hate your fucking guts," I 
told her. I ripped the blouse from her body. My mother trembled with fright. 

"Harry, you don't intend to rape your own mother, do you?" she asked. 

I knew I had her then. I could tell from the quivering in her voice that she 
was really frightened about what I could do to her. I knew that if I went 
all the way and raped her, I would really make her suffer. That's why I 
decided to do it. I really wanted to make her suffer. 

I grabbed hold of her arms and tied them behind her back. She struggled, but 
I was too strong for her. After I got her arms tied, I pulled the pants from 
her ass, even though she kept kicking. 

Then she told me that she would start to scream if I didn't let her go. I 
told her to go ahead and try it. She retorted that it would be very 
embarrassing for people to find out that I had tried to rape my own mother. 
She said that everybody would think I was sick and that the police would 
make her put me away somewhere. 

But I knew she was only saying those things because she wanted to frighten 
me into letting her go. But there was no way I was going to let her go now. 
Not after she called me sick. I would show her that I could be as sick as 
she was. I would show her that I could stoop as low as she could. That was 
how I was going to get her. 

But she started screaming like she said she would when I started tying her 
ankles. My mother screamed so loud that I was really afraid that someone 
might hear her. Otherwise I would have just let her keep screaming. I would 
have laughed right in her face while she yelled her bloody brains out. 

But she was screaming so loud that I was really afraid that someone would 
hear her and come in to find out what was wrong. Then all those things she 
had threatened me with would probably happen, just like she said they would. 
I really didn't care, except I didn't want to give her the satisfaction. I 
didn't want to give my mother something to gloat about. 

I took the handkerchief from my pocket, the one she washed and ironed, and 
stuffed it in her mouth. That shut her up. She still tried to scream, but 
the sound was muffled enough so that I didn't have to worry at all. I knew 
that I was the only one could hear her. 

She knew too. After a little while, she stopped screaming. She looked at me 
with an expression of horror as I unzipped my pants and let them drop to my 
knees. 

I took my cock and rubbed it with my hands, watching with delight the look 
of terror on my mother's face. I knew she was dreading what I was going to 
do to her. I wanted to rub it in good. I wanted to make her suffer as much 
as I could. 

"You spread your legs for everybody else, why not for me too?" I told her, 
leering as I rubbed my dick. "Why shouldn't I get a piece of the town's 
easiest ass, just like every other guy around?" 

My cock got hard and erect. I couldn't wait to stick it in her. I got down 
on top of her. I could feel her terrified breathing underneath me. It made 
me angry. What was she terrified of? She had done it a hundred times before. 
Thousands! Millions! 

There was no difference between me shoving my cock in her and anyone else. 
That was just what I said to her right before I put it in. 

My thick sizzling cock went sliding up her easy wide-open hole. Her hole was 
so big that any guy could tell just how much she'd been around just by 
putting his cock in her. But I laughed ironically as I thought of that. Any 
guy could tell what a tramp she was just by how easy it was to get her into 
the bed. 

I decided to fuck her over good. I slammed my big meaty hammer way inside 
her pussy, shoving it hard up the quivering tunnel walls. I could feel the 
muscles spasming in my mother's hole as I furiously pulled my cock in and 
out of her cunt. 

My cock was pulsing and tingling with excitement, but I hardly noticed it 
because I was so enraged with my mother. But I was determined to come in 
her, just to show her how low I thought she really was. 

I thrust my hard red-hot sizzling cock into her creaming pussy with brutal 
force and vigor. I plunged into her like a non-stop locomotive express. I 
wouldn't stop banging her for nothing. It was like I was whipping her, no, 
karate chopping her with my dick. I was really knocking her up. 

It was the greatest feeling in the world. It gave me the satisfaction I had 
been waiting for all these years, just waiting to show her what I thought of 
her slutty behavior. Just to show her what kind of a whore I thought she 
really was. 

I dug my red-hot seething sizzling hot cock forcefully up my mother's 
dripping cunthole. See what a slut she is, I thought to myself? Her pussy 
creams even though it's her own son she's fucking! 

I turned my attention back to my mother. I had become so involved with my 
own thoughts that I had forgotten how I had planned to torment her to her 
face. 

"Do you like it, you tramp?" I sneered, as I slammed my cock up her hole. 
"Does it feel so good that you can't get enough?" 

She couldn't answer me because of the gag that was in her mouth, but that 
was okay because I didn't want to hear anything she would have to say. I 
knew it would all be a pack of lies. I didn't want to hear a word from her. 

I kept on banging into her with my tough whipping cock. She looked angry, 
but she was also hurt and humiliated. I was glad. 

I came in her and then I pulled out. What a feeling of satisfaction, 
shooting off my jet of come right up her hole. She would have something to 
remember this by, something to remember exactly what I thought of her, 
something she couldn't get rid of. 

My mother was naked and trembling by the time I pulled out of her. She was 
crying and she looked very angry at me. She also looked afraid. It even 
occurred to me that she was afraid that I might kill her. 

What am I to do Doctor? 

 CONCLUSION 

Harry is a very disturbed adolescent. His anger at his mother's infidelity 
unhinged the strong and usually unfulfilled desires of puberty. 

Unfortunately, the prognosis for Harry is not very good. His father refuses 
to have anything to do with him. The man claims that he has to wait until 
his anger has cooled until he sees his son. He claims to be afraid of saying 
something he might regret. 

 GENERAL CONCLUSION 

The preceding eight case histories we have examined deal exclusively with 
the problem of incestuous rape using the enema. It is time to draw our 
conclusions concerning what is to be learned from the above-described cases. 

It has been shown that people who willingly commit incest are very sick 
people. Those who feel the need to add the enema bag are particularly 
perverse. It is to be hoped that they will all continue with the therapy 
that is necessary for them to lead normal healthy happy lives. For even an 
incestuous perverse rapist, as well as his victims, can be cured.
