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With a wistful sigh and a longing glance back at her socks, I head toward the kitchen in search of Billie.

She's seems fairly well hidden, I can't spot her anywhere in the room. I then turn to the door and come face to face with the petite blonde.

What was that all about? She shakes her head and drags me over to the couch where her socks sit. They're made of a semi soft material, and they're very thin.

They're still warm from minutes earlier when her feet had occupied them, and they're slightly damp as well. I try my best to not get hard as the most disgusting images i could possibly think come to mind.

Of course there was nothing I wanted to do more than smell them, but the last thing I would do was admit my fetish to my younger sister, much less admit my attraction to her.

My breath rapidly increases as i slowly place my hands on her feet and immediately feel my cock begin to rise. I pray it won't be visible, but it's too late to stop it.

I can't disrupt my gaze. She's pointing her toes, showing the tiny wrinkles on her soles. One day my mother got a call from her brother, and she had to go and visit him for a few days, I cannot remember what the exact reason was.

That left me and my younger brother with my father. Being a military person, he knew how to cook and do other simple household stuff.

Therefore, he managed to convince my mother that he will take care of us. I can clearly recall, it was a hot afternoon when my father asked me to come to his room.

He was stitching some of my clothes. I went inside and stood next to him. He got up to close the door and came back.

He asked me to unbutton my pants. As I did that, he made me take them off and lie on the bed. He went away, I thought he has gone, so I got dressed and was just about to leave when he returned.

He had gone to get some oil. He again made me take off my pants and other clothes as well. He did the same to himself, and applied the oil to his penis.

He pushed himself inside me, and did it repeatedly. After he was done, he ejaculated on me which I earlier thought was piss.

I got dressed and left. He asked me to never tell this to anyone and he will give me chocolates for that. The second time it happened was just a couple of days later.

He was drunk this time. I was making teddy bear in my drawing book and watching Jurassic Park with my brother when he came to our room.

He asked me to follow him to his room and my brother to continue with the television. There was no one whom I could tell all that.

I was too scared of him now. The next time my father forced himself inside me was when my mom had gone to attend a funeral.

It happened just like before. After my mom came back, he continued abusing her. She is a nice person. When I heard my mom telling how he forced her as well to have sex with him, I finally blurted out everything.

They're definitely emotional, like you all's. We're not only interested in kids for sex. We just greatly enjoy being in their company, and that's all.

We're like you. Exactly like you. Only you have relationships with adults, and we have ours with children. I shake my head as a no and you look at me.

I know that's a pretty random question, but just tell me the truth. Imagine your large erection penetrating a little girl of five, just finished with being a toddler.

Think of the bruises and contusions. She has her whole life to reflect upon having sex with an adult at age five. Her feelings will catch up to her, and it could do a lot of emotional damage.

She could become horribly depressed and develop serious psychological problems. In her confusion, she could do something bad like become addicted to drugs or hate herself.

It will not only affect her physically and mentally, but it will affect others around her too: her parents, her friends. It could happen because of a fellow adult, too.

You throw down your pen against the desk and look deeply at me. She's five, and you're thirty-four. How could she possibly know what she's getting into?

You could have been manipulative or she could've just been frightened and said yes. We don't know what a five-year old thinks, and that's why we have rape laws to prevent these kinds of things from happening.

It's still rape: statutory rape. You're way over the age of consent, and they definitely were not. They didn't even have the legal right to give consent, and it was your responsibility to be, well, responsible.

You were the adult, not them. They didn't understand, and you did. You took advantage of that, and that's one reason why you're in trouble.

It's called statutory rape. You give me a half-smile, and go back to writing in your tablet. There is silence and I decide to speak up again. You watch me with your eyes.

Your voice sounds frustrated again. It makes perfect sense. It's rape. As I said earlier, I love children and I have relationships with them.

I wasn't raping. I wasn't being violent. You stop writing and look back. Your face is sad, and you then avert your eyes and instead stare at your notes.

I keep watching as you shake your head no, and that is all I need. Getting up from my chair, I pace around the room. And then pace around again.

My brain hurts and I feel trapped. I growl out of pure frustration, and then walk back over to your desk without sitting down.

Instead I place my hands on it and lean over to stare into your eyes. They are blue and scared. In therapy. Wasn't putting me behind bars enough?

He asked me to never tell this to anyone and he will give me chocolates for that. The second time it happened was just a couple of days later.

He was drunk this time. I was making teddy bear in my drawing book and watching Jurassic Park with my brother when he came to our room. He asked me to follow him to his room and my brother to continue with the television.

There was no one whom I could tell all that. I was too scared of him now. The next time my father forced himself inside me was when my mom had gone to attend a funeral.

It happened just like before. After my mom came back, he continued abusing her. She is a nice person. When I heard my mom telling how he forced her as well to have sex with him, I finally blurted out everything.

My mom and my aunt hugged me and cried. None of the buas and chachas supported us. They treated me and my mom badly. They would make me sit in front of everyone and ask me to tell in detail about what happened.

During that stay, one of my cousins also tried to do things with me. When I was asleep one day, he lied next to me and started kissing and running his hands over my body.

And at that very moment there was a power cut, and other people came inside the room. He would come along with my younger brother and emotionally blackmail my mother.

It continued for a few days, and my mother again fell into the trap. The same thing happened again with me and my mom. He started abusing and assaulting her every day.

One night when he left saying that he had to go for work, my mother understood he was lying. She followed him up and caught him red handed.

My father came running in from the back door and locked it. Perhaps he wanted to rape me again. I took my brother and escaped from a small hole in the backyard.

Some street dogs chased me, I was scared to death. They were arguing about all the illegitimate children my father had and how much it was costing them.

And then there is another memory that was in the recesses of my mind. She was adopted. Her mother gave her all the information she had on her blood mother when she was a teenager.

There was no information in any of the records on her father. Her mother was from Lancaster County and she got pregnant while in high school.

She went to a home in Lancaster County for pregnant girls who were giving their babies up for adoption.

My therapist would tell me life for many adopted children is a hard road to traverse. It is reflected many ways in our society — from the prison population to alcohol and drug treatment centers.

Many people adopt, not for love of the child, but to fulfill their own needs — whatever they may be. But, I digress. Back to the DNA test. You see, I know the odds are very small.

But I have a list of so many things — and this one comes down to plain science. It comes down to a I know I have half-brothers and sisters out there — I know it.

But she, by the odds, is not one of them. So, the big question is, if my brothers and sisters wrote a letter to a Dr. We told you she was crazy!

She was born on St. I met her on the school bus to Mountville Elementary School when we were both in the 6th grade.

We became instant, inseparable friends. We remained best friends until the summer of That summer, I asked her to take a DNA test. Not a definitive answer for half-sisters — but an indication possibly quite strong that the possibility existed.

That summer in , I looked into her face and saw my father. I saw him as clear as day. For many years prior, and to this day, I look in the mirror and see her.

Tomorrow, the unusual reaction of my parents and brothers and sisters. And it got far stranger the weekend before last….

Please check back later today for a St. It is awful. It happens everywhere — in every corner of society — behind some of the prettiest front doors.

Please check back later today…. Well, folks. I was confused and not for the first time I hear you all saying. In desperate need of some thinking time and with a great deal else to do — I thought Easter was this weekend.

Sadly, it is not. Five tragedies in a week. Please check back tomorrow…. I figured something out. A list of questions and puzzles about my family and parents.

The second floor was converted into one large room. There were no divisions, no privacy. My two sisters and I shared it. There were two built-in dressers and across the end of the room, a built-in desk.

There was no furniture that was movable, other than a small table. My son likes to rearrange his room twice a year when the seasons change.

There was nothing to move. It will not only affect her physically and mentally, but it will affect others around her too: her parents, her friends.

It could happen because of a fellow adult, too. You throw down your pen against the desk and look deeply at me.

She's five, and you're thirty-four. How could she possibly know what she's getting into? You could have been manipulative or she could've just been frightened and said yes.

We don't know what a five-year old thinks, and that's why we have rape laws to prevent these kinds of things from happening.

It's still rape: statutory rape. You're way over the age of consent, and they definitely were not. They didn't even have the legal right to give consent, and it was your responsibility to be, well, responsible.

You were the adult, not them. They didn't understand, and you did. You took advantage of that, and that's one reason why you're in trouble.

It's called statutory rape. You give me a half-smile, and go back to writing in your tablet. There is silence and I decide to speak up again.

You watch me with your eyes. Your voice sounds frustrated again. It makes perfect sense. It's rape. As I said earlier, I love children and I have relationships with them.

I wasn't raping. I wasn't being violent. You stop writing and look back. Your face is sad, and you then avert your eyes and instead stare at your notes.

I keep watching as you shake your head no, and that is all I need. Getting up from my chair, I pace around the room. And then pace around again. My brain hurts and I feel trapped.

I growl out of pure frustration, and then walk back over to your desk without sitting down. Instead I place my hands on it and lean over to stare into your eyes.

They are blue and scared. In therapy. Wasn't putting me behind bars enough? Do they think I am crazy? Why do I need a fucking psychologist?

There's nothing wrong with me. You tell me to calm down. I try to, but it is hard. You threaten to call security on me, and I say that I have no intention of hitting you or anything else.

I simply just want to know. To mostly everyone and anyone. I understand you like them a lot, but it can't be.

Research the world. In single every country there are statutory rape laws. Don't you ever wonder why? Maybe they do and know.

It's too much to handle.

Little incest stories

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