The police took us away. I was confined by the juvenile authorities and Daddy went to jail. Then there was the trial, and we both knew what the outcome would be.
Perhaps as many people said, my father was no more than a weak and lonely man who had succumbed to his carnal desires for my body and had discarded what moral standards he might have had. Perhaps I was an unwilling pawn to a monstrous act! I had been hypnotized into a degenerate sexual relationship that was both unnatural and against all the laws of civilization. During the time of the confinement and trial, I hardly knew what to think. I only knew that Daddy was going through some terrible ordeal and I wanted to be by his side just to hold his hand and reassure him that I still loved him and always would. But even that was denied me and when he was finally sentenced, my whole world was so shattered and crushed that I remained in a state of absolute shock.
Paradoxically, the law is not equal – where Daddy suffered all the wrath of an indignant society, I was allowed to go free although I had to make periodic reports to a parole officer.
I visited Daddy every chance I could, but these times were rare. I had little money and no family, so I had to find work. I managed to get a secretarial job and to live an isolated life for some time, but always I would think of some excuse to get to see the man I loved whenever I could.
Fate, too, was good to Daddy, even though it was hard. In prison, his spirit withered and ultimately after no more than six months, he seemed to completely deteriorate.
Death was merciful. Perhaps wrongly, I let the state bury him in an unmarked grave. That final resting place might have eased some of the guilt from his mind; I don’t know.
But I was now hopelessly alone. Society says that I had not merely been a pawn, I had not been lured into a degenerate act by a monster. I had loved with all my heart and soul and body. I am sure that because of the depth and intensity of that love I shall never be able to find similar happiness again. If it was wrong.
I don’t even care now, for at least I had the joy of knowing it all! Even though the proper members of the society have continued to tell me how terrible it all was.
I did go through a time of hopeless and helpless confusion for some months after Daddy finally died. I was lost. Even the psychiatric aid the state offered was no help at all for it did not center on understanding me or my emotions. It was only a final effort on the part of the “ins” to brainwash me into believing I had sinned.
Perhaps that’s why I. finally decided to write it like this – to go into the details of an impossible love – a love that can never die, because, as the old and corny song goes, my heart belongs to Daddy. It always did, I guess, and it always will. Oh, I’m not trying to say that I live in absolutely celibate isolation. I don’t. I did for a while, while I was with the juvenile authorities. I spurned the advances of all the dykes down there and when I got out and moved to a small apartment, I tried to stay away from everyone.
But sex had become a habit with me and it was one I couldn’t break by just wishing the urge away. Daddy was no more; my body still craved attention and sexual satisfaction.
For the first time in my life I turned to masturbation almost on a grand scale similar to what Sally had performed on herself when she had been alive. Often I would masturbate myself several times in a single day: in the mornings before I left for work, in the woman’s room at the office and twice or more in the evenings when I got home. But it wasn’t the same. After a while my intensity succeeded in irritating my clitoris to the point where the act was painful rather than pleasurable.
Also, I have to admit that I’m the kind of woman who is not left alone by men. I’d always had the opportunity for dates. Despite the fact that I was pregnant and flaunting myself to the world, the men asked me out. While the child was growing within me, I had an easy excuse, but then everything seemed to happen at once.
My time of delivery came near and Daddy died. I had to give the child up for adoption even though she was the one thing I really wanted to keep.
I suppose I knew it would be that way from the moment we were caught. Maybe I am really some form of masochist and really take some form of pleasure in my own emotional pain. But that last moment with my child – our child – when I was allowed to see and hold it, feel the pressure of its tiny body warm against my breast, will live with me forever.
If things had only been different. If only I could have kept our baby to have some living proof that it wasn’t the sordid cheap affair that everyone kept telling me it was.
I know just thinking about it like this is no good, but I also know that I can never really forget. The sadness is with me. It’s a part of me for.-I was caught in a trap from which I could not even hope to escape. There never could have been the slightest hope of keeping the child after we were caught, so I had to face the inevitable. The adoption. Maybe, I tell myself, it is better this way, for my baby will be around people who really know how to love.
But the emptiness was there nonetheless. I quit my job, sold all the furniture and left because it was all around me. I had no idea where I intended going or what I would do when I got there. I suppose I hated myself more than anyone or anything.
It was in New York where I finally determined that, if everything I had done was called wrong by an uncaring world, I might just as well do something really wrong to make them and myself know the real truth.
I was alone and almost broke and hadn’t found a job yet, and I was just walking aimlessly along 42nd Street right by the old Times Building. Something came over me in a flash and I walked into the life of a prostitute as easily as some people bite into a cookie.
A middle-aged man was standing on the curb apparently eying the street for possible cabs. Whether he reminded me of Daddy or not I can’t really say, but I walked up to him as bold as ever you please and simply said, “Like some fun?”
He glanced down at me, let his eyes run over my breasts and hips and, without speaking, hailed a taxi. He opened the door for me and I got in. Within minutes I was in an apartment in the east seventies, lying on my back in a huge bed as a stranger pumped his sexual part into me.
I tried to respond, but I couldn’t. I lay there thinking it was all somehow wrong, but enjoying the wrongness of it and the dirtiness of it. When it was over, he handed me a twenty dollar bill and told me to get out. I went downtown, bought myself a good dinner and found another fuck.
It’s a wonder I didn’t get caught; but I didn’t. What finally caught me was myself and one day I woke up in bed with a man who had shared my body but who knew nothing of me and I calmly decided that if I kept up this way, I would kill myself mentally as well as physically.
As he still slept, I got dressed, left his hotel room and, after stopping once at the bank where I had deposited my savings, decided to leave town. I didn’t even return to my apartment. I wanted to end the disgusting life I was leading with a clean amputation. I got a bus for Chicago but didn’t like the town. I headed south to Dallas, spent some time in Phoenix, and even worked as a topless dancer in Las Vegas for a while, but none of it seemed right.
Finally, I came back to Los Angeles and got a job as a secretary with an aircraft concern. I decided that, good or bad, that was where I would stay. I would not run from life any more. I would not whore. I would try to live the life of a normal young woman.
Of course, the men wouldn’t let me. I hadn’t been on the job more than a week when I got my first invitation to dinner. I turned that one down but then, thinking that I had acted the fool, determined that in the future I would accept dates instead of spurning them. After all, the dinner and entertainment were free and maybe, just maybe, I. might find some man who could thrill me as much as Daddy had in those days that seemed centuries ago.
Always the men wanted sex, and on my third date with one of the men who had asked me out, I experienced my first legitimate sexual intercourse since the good old days of my childhood.
We had gone to dinner and had had a few drinks and I suppose I had allowed the alcohol to warm me more than I should, but by this time, I didn’t really care. When he asked if he might come in after he took me home, I agreed and the first thing I knew, we were in bed.
He wanted me to take his prick in my mouth, but I didn’t want to. I let him lick and kiss and fondle me and gained a certain amount of pleasure from his touch, but it wasn’t really the same. It wasn’t what it should have been and in time I got sick of his ministrations. Then I simply rolled him on his back, straddled him as I had straddled Daddy that first time and moved so fast and furiously that he had an almost instant orgasm. Then I told him I was tired and wanted to be left alone to sleep.
He never asked me out on another date and I wasn’t sorry. But other men did and I got to know one of them pretty well without knowing what his “problem” was. He had always been the perfect gentleman with me in everything he did. He always opened car doors and behaved like a knight in shining armor until I began to suspect the truth.
For some reason, the poor fellow was partially impotent. Sensing this, I became the aggressor and one evening as we were sitting in his apartment I reached over and laid my hand on his lap, hoping that my overtness would bring him to a state of potency. It didn’t.
We sat there for a while, he staring across the room obviously thinking, and I fondling his flaccid organ until he finally turned to me and asked if I would like to see some movies.
At first, I thought he was joking and then it dawned on me what kind of movies he was talking about. I sensed that only with the movies could he be aroused. Although I was not that interested in seeing them, I certainly saw nothing wrong.
“Sure,” I told him. “Why not?”
Elated by my reply, he rose from the couch, left the room for a moment and returned with the projector in one hand and a small screen under the other arm. I waited as he set the machinery in place and returned to sit beside me before he flicked the switch on the projector.
After all of the things I had already been through, it may seem strange that I had never seen a pornographic movie before, but I hadn’t!
As the couples on the screen writhed in every possible sexual act, singly and in couples and trios, I began to feel strangely stimulated. Again I reached out to touch him and wasn’t really surprised to find that he had taken his cock in his own hand and was sitting beside me playing with himself as he avidly watched the twisting bodies on the screen in front of us.
“Here,” I said, “let me – “
With that, I removed his hand and leaned over him in such a way as to be able to take his cock in my mouth as I watched the action on the screen. I was thrilled and delighted as I felt the flesh of his organ harden in my mouth and quiver with a power I had no idea it possessed. The thrill of that, coupled with the excitement generated by the film, and finally intensified by the fact that his own hand had reached behind me, lifted my skirt and was playing with my own sexual parts, made me as eager and excited as I had been in years. It was the first time since my last coupling with Daddy that I felt desire surge through me and I didn’t want the moment to leave.
As the movies played on the screen before us, I helped him unbutton his shirt and made his task of undressing me that much easier. As the movies still continued, he threw me on the couch and without further preamble, thrust the hot power of his sex in me with a surge of wild and passionate ecstasy.
We were both watching the action of the actors while our lower bodies concentrated on pounding into one another and then, just as the film ended and the screen turned a nickering white, I could feel him beginning to come within me. I wanted to hold back – to save my love for a memory, but I couldn’t! I was on the very lip of life’s most intense pleasure and I couldn’t deny my body’s right to it. I let the floodgates open and thought I would be torn apart by the great sea of passion that roared through me. My legs caught his body in a scissor hold and I screamed in sheer ecstasy at the intensity of the pleasure I was experiencing – a pleasure of body I thought would never be mine again.
But it was a pleasure of body alone – one of pure animal desire. I was not in love and knew I could never be in love again. My love had all been given to one mature man when I was but a mere child, and still remains with him in his grave somewhere in a cold, damp, dark cemetery. That, I knew, would never change.
But at least I had overcome one barrier. I was again able to experience the purely physical pleasure of sex. That was a milestone in itself.
Since that time with the movies, I have been able to lead a more or less normal sex life, certainly not that much different from some of the other girls I have met. I can experience orgasm most of the time and I don’t need to rely on the crutch of pictures. I do need to know that the man is terribly excited, that he feels he has to have me. When I sense that kind of excitement, I almost think I belong again and my sexual experiences are almost complete.
They will never be totally complete again, however. For they will always lack that essential item for total completion – love.
Maybe we are all born with only a certain capacity for love. The ability to give a little of it here, to art or beauty, and a little there, to our parents, and some more to our loved ones and children and thus we can spread it around. I don’t think I was born with any different capacity, but I do know that all the love I had went in one direction and has now hopelessly gone from me.
Call it wrong, call it perverted, call it what you like, but I gave all my love to Daddy and there is no changing that fact. Perhaps I am neurotic as they say because of my inability to feel as others feel, but I wasn’t always that way! I loved Daddy in all ways. He was beauty, he was my parent, and he was also my lover and companion. All my love went out to him when I was so young that none can remain now. I simply do not have it to give.
But my case is not terribly sad. Even I, with this huge hole of eternal emptiness in my heart still find time to see how fortunate I really am! For even though I cannot feel love now and even though the only man in my life has gone forever – yes, even though my only child is somewhere where she and I will never meet, I have one thing that can never be taken away from me and which will be with me always.
This is my little shrine to an impossible love! My little private room of thought where the world’s criticisms are never heard. There is no time for agony. These are the golden fields of eternal sunshine that can never be blackened for me.
With all I lack, and with all I have suffered and may even suffer tomorrow, I still have my memories. And no matter what society or psychiatry says, they are things of joy and beauty for me. For me, incest was something wonderful and I shall always love my daddy.