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From: "Nikki@P.U."
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.incest
Subject: Dear Mother (M/f, rape, anal, nocons)
Date: Thu, 09 Sep 2004 14:45:20 -0700
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Dear Mother (M/f, rape, anal, nocons)
By Danyealle
Mother,
I'm writing this to finally say what I have been trying to say to you
for years, what you have blatantly refused to listen to. Since this will
be the last thing you will ever hear from me, you may want to pay
special attention to it.
Let's start in some kind of order, shall we, mother? Life was pretty
good for us until you married HIM. Then it all changed. Then things got
bad. It all started small. He wormed and wiggled, trying to be Mr. Nice
Guy, but neither I nor Stacey liked him. You just shrugged it off as us
resenting him, or thinking he was trying to take dad's place. That
wasn't it, that wasn't it at all. There was something about him that
creeped both of us out.
We soon figured it out; he was abusive and a pervert! First, he started
hitting (beating would be a more accurate word though, wouldn't it
mother?) you, and was just generally foul to us. Even as children,
Stacey and I could tell that he didn't like us at all, and wished we
weren't around. Then things progressed, didn't they Mother? He started
beating on us. You would yell and scream at him for it, but nothing
changed. Every time you would get mad at me and Stacey, you would blame
US for causing your fights. Wonderful times, huh Mother?
Then the pervert side of him started to show. It started out with all
the porn lying around and him locking himself in your room to watch the
movies. But he sure made sure the volume was cranked high enough for all
of us to hear it though, didn't he? Then he started walking around naked
all the time. Gross, mother! When he knew you weren't looking, he made
sure that that cock he was so proud of brushed up against us, or he was
in such a place that we had to put our hands on it. Guess it was a sign
of things to come.
About this time, the "brat" came along. With this, he seemed to treat us
worse and want us around less. Typical. Yet you did nothing about it,
even though it was blatant and in your face.
By the time I hit 13, it was just short of open warfare between him and
me. Gee, I wonder why? You, mother, totally ignored it, professed to be
too tired to deal with it, or flat out took his side, no matter the
'facts'. Of course, those were subjectable, depending upon his whim at
the moment. You swore he never lied to you, but like most things that
came out of his mouth, that was a lie too, yet you swore it was the
gospel truth. If Stacey or I could prove otherwise, you would go into a
ranting and raving fit about how we were just trying to sabotage your
marriage, and didn't want you to be happy. Such fun times, Mother!
You blamed me for most of it, because I would tell you what a jackass he
was, and Stacey would stay quiet. But I can assure you she felt exactly
as I did, she was just too afraid to tell you. She wasn't even a
teenager yet, and was still the world's biggest tomboy, yet you had
already decided that she was a slut, and you were going to have problems
with her. Such a wonderful, caring Mother you were!
All of a sudden there was a big shift in life - we moved and I got my
first period. Like some kind of male dog sniffing out a female in
estrus, he knew immediately. I could feel his little piggy eyes on me
all the time. I was having adjustment problems at school and problems
making new friends. Now I also had your husband slavering around me like
some kind of rutting beast.
Then one day, it went from bad to worse. He decided I was 'adult enough'
to learn about sex. And since you were too prudish to talk to me about
it, he would have to show me. Would you like me to tell you now how it
felt to have a man I loathed paw at me? How humiliating it was to have
to take my clothes off in front of him? Then how sickened I was when he
made me touch him? How I wanted to die when he sat me up on the edge of
the washer and forced his cock into me for the first time, even though I
was screaming in pain and begging him to stop? Maybe you don't want to
be told, but I guess I did anyway. Oh well, deal with it.
Sex with him became a constant fear in my life. I loathed him even
worse, if that was possible, because of what he was making me do. It
started out as a once in a while thing, then progressed to once a week,
then finally to several times a week. It didn't matter when, either -
day time, night time, anytime, it didn't matter to him. It didn't matter
if anyone was home, either. He sure was a sneaky bastard about that!
It was like a game of cat and mouse. I was trying not to be caught alone
with him, while that is exactly what he was trying to do. Hell, I wasn't
even safe, asleep in my own bed! He would slither in at night and try to
have sex with me, even though I would pretend I was asleep. Didn't seem
to matter to him, pussy was pussy, awake or not.
First, he taught me how to perform oral sex on him. God was that gross!
I cannot even begin to tell you how disgusted with myself I felt after
doing that. No matter how much I gargled or brushed my teeth, it seemed
that I would never get the taste of him out of my mouth! I didn't think
anything could get more disgusting and degrading that that - boy was I
wrong!
Next phase of my 'education' was anal sex. Oh joy and happiness! There
is no adequate way in the world to describe the pain of that act, nor
how dirty it made me feel. All of it made feel disgusted with myself.
After all my holes were 'broken in' came all the different positions and
places. It was so bad that I almost wanted to puke when he was going to
take me somewhere in the car because I knew he was going to try
something - and he usually did. Sick bastard!
The whole time this was going on, you kept harping on me about my 'bad
attitude' towards him. Well DUH! Not only that, but you went on about my
strange habits, like my hour long showers (I was TRYING to feel clean
again!) and my sneaking around. Then the health problems started - the
vaginal infections, the stool problems, the start of the ulcer, and my
hair falling out.
Of course, you blamed me for it all. It was my fault for being the
squeaky wheel, or I was faking it to get attention. And when you found
out I wasn't a virgin, you hit the roof. Thank your hubby for that, Mother.
For me though, the true downward slide started in a three month period
when I didn't get my cycle and thought I was pregnant. I wasn't, thank
God, but that started problems for me that lasted to this day. First
came the cutting on myself. How you explained the slashes on my arms,
legs and stomach to yourself I will never know, but you completely
ignored them. Then came the eating disorders. First was the bulimia,
then the anorexia.
But still you didn't get that there was something very wrong with me.
Finally, there were the eight suicide attempts in six months. That
should have been a red flag, Mother, one so bright it was like a neon
sign. But as I learned early on, you use the ostrich approach to
everything - bury your head in the sand and ignore it until things go
away. I didn't get the help I needed, I just got told I was not wanting
to die. How could I be so stupid as to think that? Either you are really
stupid, or a damn good actress. I've never figured out which one.
Finally, the day came when I could stand no more and told the guidance
councilor at school. At 17 I was done, nothing was going to change what
had happened to me. What made me say something was he was starting the
same shit with Stacey, so I started talking. I should have known better
though, shouldn't I? All you were worried about was keeping it quiet,
not protecting me and Stacey from the predator that you were married to.
You said you believed us and it would stop, yet in the same breath you
said you couldn't live without him. We got the message loud and clear,
you couldn't live without him, but you could us. As usual, you put
yourself before what was good for us.
Did it stop, Mother? Of course not. He knew you wouldn't do anything, so
he continued on. In six months, I graduated and moved as far away as I
could. I hoped Stacey could protect herself in the year she had left.
I drifted about for several years, hoping now that I was away, the
problems would end. They didn't. They just manifested themselves in
other ways. I let every man I came across use me for whatever whim he
had, each taking a piece of me with them when they left. The love and
acceptance I so craved never found me. The eating disorders came back,
but now added to the mix was severe depression.
I did go into therapy but the pain was too great, so I stopped going.
But I did learn a thing or two while I was going. One of them is this -
I'm not responsible for what happened to me. HE is, and to an extent,
YOU are as well, Mother. Own the responsibility, Mother, it's yours.
Last time I talked to you, you whined that me and Stacey live so far
away from home now and won't come to see you or him. You chose what you
wanted a long time ago Mother, now live with that choice. Stacey and I
have our own lives now, Mother. Accept that. You chose what you wanted a
long time ago, now you have to live with that.
I know what you are thinking, "how could she lay this all on me?"
Because it's time I unburdened myself from what I feel. I also know you
and your selective memory well enough to know you are going to deny all
of it, but deep down inside you know it's true. Deep down you will
remember all of it.
You see Mother, I am writing this now because for once I am going to get
the last word in on the subject, and you aren't going to be able to call
and argue with me about it, or tell me how spoiled and ungrateful I am.
You see Mother; I've been in a lot of pain in the last year. The
anorexia and depression are back, so the pain is almost unbearable at
this point. Each hour for me is an unbearable agony. But pain is a funny
thing. Sometimes when it hurts the most, you are able to see things very
clearly and are able to make a decision you could never make before.
Then, a calm descends.
I've made my decision, Mother. I've had enough pain for this lifetime,
so I'm going to make my exit from it. Do I blame you, or am I trying to
make you feel guilty? No. The decision is wholly mine, and I accept it.
This letter is my way of trying to make you understand my decision. So
read it carefully, and try to understand from my point of view please,
Mother.
"What about HIM?" you may ask. I've written HIM a letter as well. Only
difference is I posted his letter to Child Protective Services with
every detail I could recall. You see, there is no help for me now, my
life is over. He can't undo what he did, nor can I. But what I can do is
do something to protect my nieces and nephews. I contacted Stacey before
I sent it off and she agreed to verify the contents and to testify in
court about what he did to her, if need be. He will now finally have to
own up to what he did.
I'm tired now, Mother. The pills I took are taking effect, so before I
get too sleepy, I am going to drop this in the lobby mailbox. Then I am
going to come back up here, open the curtains, lay on the bed, and go to
sleep. From my window, there is a beautiful view of the Golden Gate
Bridge, and at night time, like now, with it lit up it is magnificent. I
want that to be my last earthly vision, a beautiful site to ease me from
this life.
The pain is ending now, Mother, and for that I am grateful. I've
suffered enough, and for far too long.
Know this before I go, though. Am I angry with you? No. Saddened, yes,
but not angry. Am I doing this to make you suffer and get even with you?
No. I do it for the most selfish of reasons. I want the pain to end, and
this is finally the way to succeed - nothing else has worked. Do I love
you? Yes. If you forget all else in this letter, remember that. I do
love you.
Think of me now and again, Mother, but make them happy thoughts.
I know this will hurt you, but someday that will too pass, just as the
seasons slip away each passing year.
My twilight approaches, Mother, and I can no longer ignore its beckoning
call, so I will end this in this way...
Goodbye Mother, Eden rests now, finally free from the burden of her pain
and suffering. I shall finally be at peace and rest...
I as an author never feel the need to explain to anyone why I have
written what I have or done it in the manner I have, but this time is
different. First and foremost, this is entirely a work of fiction.
Nothing, nor anyone in it is real, but I have tried my best to make it
as real as I could. It's a cautionary tale and one I hope I did well.
Take it for that, and that alone, that is all it is meant to be.