"ELECTRA MAGAZINE"                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~                        Published Monthly                       through the Internet                           August 1996             NOT TO BE READ BY ANY PERSON UNDER THE AGE OF 18             Merrill, Castle and Gray (UK)            e-mail: `mag-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk'                       MERRILL, CASTLE & GRAY (uk)                        Adult Books On The Internet          A  non-profit  making  organisation.  Subscriptions  and          purchases  only finance and maintain our FREE  and  ever          increasing archive.          Completely  free  and  currently  containing  some  7000          stories,  the  general section of our  Archive  aims  to          gather together the best of erotic material available.          Through  "ELECTRA MAGAZINE", supporting the Archive  NOW          can  only  be to the benefit of its Subscribers  in  the          future!          +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+                              EDITORIAL                                       THE ARCHIVE                             ~~~~~~~~~~~           IN  introducing Issue Six of `Electra Magazine',  news          of the Archive is good.   Collation and cataloguing is a          full-time operation, but it is hoped necessary work will          be completed to permit a partial-opening during  August.            All requiring time and effort, in each archive acquired,          many stories are replicated, many exist only in part and          most   have  to  be  re-set  to  our  standard   format.            Frequently,  to  make it readable, an  unreadable  story          with  a good story-line has to be re-written.    Of  one          recently submitted archive with a library containing 500          stories,  only approx. 100 were either new to us or  fit          to be re-published.              ACCESS  by the general reading-public to  the  archive          will  be  via normal `list-serving' techniques,  and  as          time progresses, availability of those stories available          to subscribers will increase.           FOLLOWING negotiations, MCG have successfully obtained          sole publishing rights for such stories as `A Matter  Of          Perspective',  `Mending The Tear', and `Etienne  2'  and          after the very popular reception of Part One, we hope to          soon  be  able to present Part Two of `Electra  And  Her          Daughters',  more true-accounts of  incestuous  liaisons          started   by  women.    Prior  to  being   released   to          newsgroups,   these  will  be  appearing   in   `Electra          Magazine' in the next few months.           THE MCCOY SECTION           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~           To help the Archive, regular-poster and writer of many          distinctive  incest-related  stories,  Frank  McCoy  has          donated  his complete Library.   When open,  all  freely          available to newsgroup readers, amongst many others,  it          includes such titles as:                               `Rats'                             `Pedophile`                                 and                                         `But Mom!'            ARCHIVE SUBMISSION           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~           SHOULD any Author wish their work to be placed in  the          Archive, forward details to:                                            `arch-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk'.              COPYRIGHT   AND  RECEIPT  WILL   BE   ACKNOWLEDGED.            Remember, if a story is published in `Electra Magazine',          always  retaining the copyright, the Author  receives  a          properly-audited ROYALTY payment.         Occasional  stories, large or small, defunct  or  unused          Archives are always welcome.           Subscriptions  and  proceeds  only go  to  gather  and          maintain the archive.                      "ELECTRA AND HER DAUGHTERS"                       ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~           As  regular  readers know, "Electra" is  a  term  used          in psychiatry.   The reverse of "Oedipus" who wished  to          marry  his  mother,  "Electra" was  desirous  of  sexual          intercourse  with  her  father.     In  letters  to  the          Authors,  one herself an `Electra', women  describe  the          circumstances  surrounding their decision  to  instigate          incestual contact.           This is the true story of:           Virginia:   "Her  name  is  Virginia,   `Virgin'   for            ~~~~~~~~     short..."            Dear Dr. Woods:            A  couple of months from now, I will be 25 years  old,          and  for  the  past 18 months, have  been  living  in  a          husband-wife relationship with my brother.             Rick  is  two years younger than me. My  first  sexual          contact  with  him  was four  months  before  that,  and          happened  as  a  result  of me  being  in  an  extremely          traumatic situation.            I  married when I was twenty, when my husband,  Elmer,          was  starting  his career as a  teacher.  Naturally,  we          didn't want children right away, so I was on the `pill.'          Life  was  just fantastic, and I thought  our  happiness          would go on forever.           One   Friday,  not  long  after  our  second   wedding          anniversary,   Elmer  came  home  early   from   school.            Feeling very ill, he felt pretty sure a week-end of rest          would fix him up just fine, but it didn't. He felt worse          on Monday and I insisted on calling the doctor who  said          he was not sure what was wrong with Elmer and a few days          later,  we went into the city to see a specialist.  When          he'd  finished running a bunch of tests, the  specialist          got  us both in his office and told us Elmer would  have          to go into the hospital for exploratory surgery.  Saying          he  thought  he was feeling better and  that  he  really          needed to get back to his teaching, Elmer protested  but          the doctor looked at both of us pretty grimly and  said,          "No,  Elmer. This could be serious." Surgery!    Hearing          him say that, I nearly died and grabbed Elmer and hugged          him to me.            For  the next several days, while we were waiting  for          the  operation  to be scheduled, I just went  around  in          kind of a numb daze. How could this be happening to  us?            When I should have been the one cheering him up, telling          me  everything  was going to be all right,   poor  Elmer          tried to cheer me up!            Elmer's  father is his only living relative,  a  poor,          very  sick old man who lives a couple of thousand  miles          from  where  we  live. I called him  but  of  course  he          couldn't come.            My  mother  and  father  are both  dead  and  my  only          relative  is  my younger brother, Rick, who lived  in  a          smaller  city  just  under a hundred  miles  from  here.          Asking him if he could be with me while Elmer was in the          operating  room, he got emergency leave and got  to  the          hospital about fifteen minutes before they rolled  Elmer          into  the  operating room. As he was going past  on  the          gurney, Elmer took Rick's hand and said, "Look after her          for me," and Rick assured him he would.            Rick  and  I sat in the waiting room,  sometimes  just          holding  hands and sometimes getting up and  pacing  the          floor. We both expected to have a pretty long wait, so I          was  surprised - and very hopeful - when  the  operating          surgeon  came  out sooner than expected.    Pulling  his          mask  down, he walked up to me and  said,  "Mrs.-------,          I'm  afraid I have bad news for you." My face must  have          turned  very pale, because Rick came quickly to my  side          and put his arm around me to steady me.            "He's  going  to be all right, isn't  he?"  I  finally          choked out.            Shaking  his head sadly, the doctor put a hand  on  my          arm. "We've lost him."            The  surgeon  told  me when they'd  opened  Elmer  up,          they'd  discovered he was eaten up with  cancer.  "Since          there  was  nothing  we could do  for  him,  we  started          closing,  and his heart just stopped. We tried,  but  we          couldn't get it to start again."            Reeling  back  against Rick, he held me up  with  both          arms.  The  doctor  told is if Elmer  had  survived  the          operation,  he would have had perhaps a month or two  to          live  and  in constant, unbearable  pain.  "Believe  me,          Mrs.------," he said, "Elmer is better off not having to          go  through  that, and though I know how hard it  is  to          believe such a thing right now, so are you."            After  thanking the Doctor, holding me  tight  against          his side so I wouldn't fall kicking and screaming to the          floor, Rick led me out of the hospital.            When  we  got home, not knowing what to do,  I  walked          dazedly through the house. I was not even 23 years old -          and already a widow! Rick fixed us lunch and made me sit          down at the table, but I just picked at my food.            Rick  called  the hospital and the mortuary,  and  the          Principal  at  Elmer's  school,  telling  him  what  had          happened.   Later in the afternoon, he sat and talked to          me.   I cried a lot, and he did his best to comfort  me.          Finally he fixed us some supper. I ate a little of that,          and  afterwards, showed Rick the bedroom where he  could          sleep.  Then,  I  went  to  mine  and  Elmer's  bedroom,          undressed, and climbed in bed.            I laid there, not tossing and turning like you hear of          people  doing. I didn't have the energy for it.  I  just          laid there and stared at the ceiling. I felt so alone!            It  was still before midnight when, in desperation,  I          called  out  to Rick. In only a moment,  he  was  coming          through my door. He hadn't even taken time to dress  and          was just wearing boxer shorts.             "Ginny," he said, "are you all right?"            I  was  crying and I shook my head. "Please  lie  down          with  me, Rick," I begged him. He hesitated for  just  a          second,  then crawled in bed by my side and  pulled  the          covers  up  over us. I put my head on his  shoulder  and          sobbed  for  a while, and then I rolled away  from  him.          "Please hug my back," I asked him, and he took me in his          arms in a `spoon hug'.            I  don't know how long we laid like that, but after  a          little  while,  I felt Rick's penis start  getting  hard          against  my bottom. He moved back, but it was  like  his          cock had pressed a `start button' in me!            I  don't understand the psychology of what I  did  and          I'm not sure I want to, but I moved back a little bit so          that  my buttock touched Rick's erection again - and  it          was  very hard. He jumped at the contact, and all  of  a          sudden,   throwing my uppermost leg across his hips  and          worming  my lower one under him, I found myself  rolling          over to face him.  Pressing my groin to that hard  thing          between my brother's legs, my arms were around him and I          was pulling him to me as hard as I could.            Rick  groaned  and  tried to push away  from  me,  but          wildly humping against his middle, I had an arm and  leg          lock around him. I was still crying, but had managed  to          get my night-gown up around my waist and when I  finally          got  his  penis  out of his shorts and the  head  of  it          against the entrance to my vagina, I jammed forward with          my bottom and it sank all the way into me. For a  minute          or so, he laid still while I moved my vagina up and down          on  him,  and  then rolling over on  top  of  me,  began          pounding it into me.            I was like a wild woman! I hunched up against his cock          as  hard as I could, and he stabbed it into me  like  he          was  trying to drive it right through my body.   When  I          came,  I remember thinking that I hoped  the  neighbours          would just think it was a `widow's wail' and screamed at          the  top of my voice. And grunting and grinding  himself          against  me, Rick came at the same instant. When I  felt          his  cum  shooting into me, I clutched him  tightly  and          felt  his body straining to me.   Then he collapsed   on          top of me.            Almost immediately, he tried to roll away from me, but          I locked my legs around his hips and my arms around  his          shoulders.  I was crying again as inside me, I felt  his          penis beginning to soften, and I started slowly grinding          my  bottom in small circles until I felt it grow  again.          Rick raised his head and looked into my face for just  a          moment.  I closed my eyes, and he laid back flat  on  me          and let me work my vagina on him until he was hard.            Then  we  went at it a second time like  a  couple  of          rabbits. Rick plunged, and I was jerking up against him,          almost  like we were trying to hurt each other until  we          brought each other to a second orgasm.            Like I said, I don't understand why I was doing what I          was doing with my brother, but it was like I thought  if          I let Rick take his penis out of my vagina, I would die,          too.    Even  after  coming a second time,  I  held  him          between my legs and wouldn't let him pull out. I knew  I          had  strong muscles around my cunt, Elmer had teased  me          many  times  about trying to bite his cock off  with  my          pussy,  and  now I put them to good  use,  squeezing  my          brother's  limp  penis. He was breathing  hard,  but  it          wasn't too long before I felt him stir inside me  again,          and we went at it a third time.            When  we came that time - it took Rick  longer,  which          isn't very surprising - my orgasm was so strong that  it          felt  like  he  was  tearing my guts  out,  and  then  I          fainted.            Next morning, neither of us said a word about what had          gone on the night before, it was just as if it had never          happened.  We  called the funeral home and  Rick  and  I          picked  out a casket, then I called Elmer's  father  and          told  him what had happened. He cried a little over  the          phone, but finally said he was too sick and didn't  have          enough money to buy a ticket to come to the funeral. So,          the funeral would be a few neighbours, whatever  friends          Elmer had had at school and Rick and me.            By  the middle of the afternoon, everything  had  been          arranged  for the funeral the next day. I wanted to  get          it over as quickly as possible. We had phone calls  from          other teachers and a few students, and then things  sort          of came to a standstill. Drained from the fits of crying          I'd  had during the day, I told Rick I wanted to take  a          nap.            I don't know how to explain this, but when I stood  up          to go to my bedroom, I caught him by the hand and pulled          him with me, and when we were in my room, I grabbed  the          buttons  on his shirt and nearly tore them off. I was  a          wild  woman  again, and I couldn't get his  clothes  off          fast  enough!   Rick stood there looking at me as if  he          was patiently indulging a child and as soon as I had him          completely naked, I ripped off my own clothes and pulled          him  to the bed.    My legs wide-spread, I fell back  on          it,  and  pulled him down on top of me. He  was  already          hard, and I couldn't wait to get his penis in me!            Again, we screwed like a couple of rabbits and when we          came,  I  locked my legs and arms around Rick  like  I'd          done the night before and wouldn't let him take it  out.          I  milked  him with my cunt muscles until  he  was  hard          again, and we did it a second time. When the spasms died          away  in  me, I felt him moving off.  As I  grabbed  him          again  with  my arms and legs, he put his head  down  by          mine  and said, "Sis, I just can't do it  again.  Please          let me up."            Deep  in  my mind, I knew I'd been using  Rick  and  I          guess  my  conscience  at wearing  him  out  took  over,          because I let him could roll off me. Instead of  getting          up and going out of the room, he laid back beside me and          put  his arm under my neck. I hugged him to me  and  had          another spell of crying, and then we both went to sleep.            The phone woke us as evening was coming on. Then there          were more phone calls from people who wanted to know the          funeral  details.  A little before midnight,  I  said  I          thought  it  was  time to go to bed,  and  Rick  agreed.          Without  either  saying  anything, we both  went  to  my          bedroom  and got ready for bed. I think he came with  me          because  he knew I could not stand being alone  and  I'm          sure he had no intention of instigating any more sex.            Our  bodies  not touching, we laid down  together  and          turned  out  the bedside lights. My eyes  open,  looking          toward  the ceiling for a long time, I laid flat  on  my          back. Then it was almost as if the different parts of my          body had a mind of their own.            My  left hand reached over and, finding Rick's  penis,          pulled it out through the opening in his shorts. Like it          was drawn there by a magnet, my head went down to  where          my  hand was,  and I sucked him into my mouth.   As  his          body jerked and he gave a little groan, I couldn't  tell          whether  he was awake or not, but then felt his hand  on          the back of my head as he pushed down with it gently  to          get  more of his cock into my mouth. For maybe a  minute          or two, I sucked him until he got fully hard, and  then,          pulling  away  from  him, stripped  off  my  night-gown.          Straddling  his middle and sinking down on him until  he          was  all  the  way in, I moved my bottom  up  and  down,          increasing my speed until finally stretching forward,  I          pressed  my breasts to his face. He took a  nipple  into          his mouth and sucked and I felt like my body was  flying          apart. Grinding myself down on Rick's penis, his  bottom          was  hunching  up, pushing it into me, and  both  of  us          shaking like we were in an earthquake, we came together.            When it was over, I rolled off of him and laid with my          back  to  him. He put his arms around me and   wet  with          both of our juices, I could feel his limp cock lying  in          my bottom crack. And then we slept.            Getting ready for the funeral service next morning, we          were very busy. There were more people there than I  had          expected. I guess Elmer had more friends at school  than          I  realized, both teachers and students. They  were  all          very sad and very sympathetic, but the funny thing is  -          well,  it isn't funny at all, but I don't know  what  to          call it or how to explain it - whilst acknowledging  all          the  expressions of sympathy, Rick and I were both  just          going  through  the motions. We smiled sadly  and  shook          hands with everybody, but casting furtive looks at  each          other,   we both knew we could hardly wait to  get  away          from there and go home and fuck!                        And  that is exactly what we did. Elmer's  coffin  had          hardly been lowered into the ground and people  starting          to drift away when Rick and I made a dash to our car and          headed for home. We didn't even make it to the  bedroom.          I  think  we  were undoing our clothes  before  we  even          reached  the house.   As we entered, I threw my  panties          and bra on a chair in the living room, and Rick was down          to his shorts.            Grabbing  me and sitting me down on the sofa, for  the          first  time,  Rick took the initiative.    Spreading  my          legs, he knelt on the floor in front of me and the  next          thing I knew, his mouth was on my pussy.  Just to get it          hard like I'd done to Rick the night before, I'd  sucked          Elmer's  cock,  but  I don't think  either  of  us  ever          thought of him licking my pussy. I wondered why Rick was          doing  that, since I didn't have to be gotten hard,  and          then  I  felt his tongue on my clitoris  and  my  bottom          nearly jumped off the sofa. Never in my life had I  felt          anything  like  that,  and I could no  more  control  my          movements  than  I could fly! My buttocks lifted  up  to          push  my  pussy into my brother's face and I  ground  it          against  him like a belly dancer. My hands  pulling  his          face into me and my bottom grinding against his  tongue,          I  came in almost no time, and then he pulled  back  and          smiled up at me.             Shuddering for just a moment, I jumped up and  pulled          him  with me into the bedroom. Rick's cock was  standing          straight out in front of him and I could hardly wait  to          feel  it filling my vagina. He was so ready,  it  didn't          take many pumps of his stiff cock before he was  huffing          and  puffing and poking it to me with all his  might.  I          thought  he might come ahead of me, but when I felt  his          stuff shooting into the depths of my vagina, it set  off          my own orgasm, and hugging each other tightly,  we  came          together.            For  awhile,  breathing heavily, we laid  beside  each          other, and then Rick got up on one elbow and looked down          at  me. Giving me a small, kind of quizzical  smile,  he          whispered, "Why, Ginny?"            Of  course,  I  knew what he was  talking  about,  and          looked away in embarrassment. Finally, I said, "I  don't          know,  Rick.  I  just don't know."  Then  I  looked  him          straight in the eye and said, "I felt like I just had to          do  it.  I felt like I'd die of grief if I  didn't  have          it."  Putting   my hand on his naked shoulder,  I  said,          "I'm sorry, Rick. Please don't think badly of me. I just          had to do it!"            To  my  surprise, he smiled again  and  leaning  down,          kissed  me on the lips, the first time he'd  done  that.          "Ginny,  I've been in love with you since I  was  twelve          years old."            Kind  of like I didn't believe him, I guess, I  looked          at  him.    He must have read my look because  he  said,          "Before that, you were pretty much of a pain in the ass,          I'll admit, but when you got to be fourteen, you all  of          sudden kind of grew up."    He told me I'd gotten pretty          and even started treating him nicer, and reminded me  of          the time, after school one day when he was fourteen,  he          showed  up at home with a black eye and a cut  over  his          eyebrow.               Remembering, I said, "Yes, you said you were hit by  a          swing while you were crossing the playground."             "Well, that wasn't what had happened," he said.  What          happened was he'd seen me walking across the campus  and          a couple of the older high school boys were watching me.          One of them said I was the prettiest girl in school, and          the other one said, "Yeah! Her name is Virginia,  Virgin          for short, but not for long," and they'd both giggled.            [Having  changed the respondent's name to protect  her          identity,  we  also  had  to  change  the  "joke."   The          original remark which "Rick" overheard was  considerably          cruder. F. vB.]            I  laughed,  and Rick said when he heard the  boy  say          that,  he'd lit right into him. He didn't know Rick  was          my  brother,  so he'd been taken by surprise  when  Rick          poked him in the belly. It hadn't hurt much, though, and          then he'd straightened up and given Rick the black eye.            I  hugged him and said, "That was sweet, you  standing          up for me like that."            "Well-l," Rick said, turning kind of red in the  face,          "That  was the first time I ever thought about  you  and          sex  at the same time. I guess it made me  realize  that          someday  you were going to let somebody fuck you, and  I          was awfully jealous of whoever that might be."            "Oh, Rick!" I said, smiling at him.            Rick nodded his head several times and said when  he'd          see me in my night-gown, or underwear after that -  "You          know,  you  weren't  as modest as you  could  have  been          around  a  teenage boy, Sis," - thinking  about  how  it          would  be  to  do  it to me, he'd go  to  his  room  and          masturbate,   "I  even thought about  how  wonderful  it          would  be  if I could marry you, and it made me  sad  to          know I couldn't".            I looked at him in surprise, and he laid his head back          on the pillow. "And now I've really done it to you,"  he          finished.            "And how did you like it?" I whispered.            Rick  turned  his head to look into my eyes.  "It  was          about  ten times as great as I thought it would be if  I          ever got the chance to do it to you, which I was sure  I          wouldn't."            A  couple  of days later, Rick had to go back  to  his          job, but since he wasn't terribly far away, promised  to          come  back  on  the week ends  to  help  straighten  out          Elmer's affairs.   He did.  And we slept together.            In  those awful weeks before and after Elmer died,   I          guess  I  was under so much stress that  remembering  to          take my pill every morning was the least of my  worries.            Several  week-ends  later,  I had to  tell  Rick  I  was          pregnant with his child.            I think life begins at conception and to me, having an          abortion  would be the same thing as murder.    Besides,          I'd just lost a husband and couldn't face losing a child          too,  so when Rick asked if I was going to have  one,  I          told him `no'.             Rick pointed out I would need to think about  moving          away from where we had lived It was too late for  anyone          to  believe the child was Elmer's, so people would  know          I'd  been sleeping with somebody.  I knew he was  right,          but had no idea where I could go.            A week later, Rick showed up for his week-end and told          me  he had talked to his company about him  transferring          to another city, far away from where we were.   He asked          if I would go with him. I said, yes, I'd love to live in          the same city with him.             Rick   said  what  he  had  in  mind  was   something          different. "Will you make a dream come true for me?"             "What dream?" I asked him.            "The dream I used to have about how great it would  be          if I could marry you," he said, smiling at me.            Saying  we couldn't get married, I protested; we  were          brother  and  sister.   Rick said he knew that,  but  we          could  live  together  and  let  people  think  we  were          married.  Legally,  I  could get  my  maiden  name  back            "Who'd know us having the same last name was not because          we were married?" he asked.            It was kind of a wild idea - but I told Rick I'd think          about it.            Elmer's insurance paid off the house we'd been buying,          so  I put it on the market and, meanwhile, Rick got  his          transfer. A couple of weeks later, I called him, telling          him I'd decided I would go along with him on the husband          and  wife  thing. If the father was present,  it  really          would  be  better for our child and having  a  `husband'          would  save  an  awful lot  of  explanations.  Rick  was          elated!             About  a month later, the house sold, he came to  help          me  move to the little house he'd rented in the  suburbs          of our new home city.            There was a large vase filled with roses on a table in          the  entry  hall  when  we walked  in  the  front  door.          Grinning,  Rick said they were for me, (he'd wired  them          to  a neighbour and gotten him to bring them  over  just          before  we were scheduled to arrive).   Looking  at  the          little  card, the only thing written on it was "Song  of          Solomon  4:9-11."  I gave him a  questioning  look  and,          still  grinning like a kid with a delicious  secret,  he          picked up a Bible that was behind the vase and handed it          to me.            Bursting  into tears, when I read the verses,  I  fell          into his arms. I can't even come close to describing the          love  I  felt flowing between us. (This letter  is  long          enough  as it is, Dr. Woods, so I won't copy the  verses          here; you can look them up if you want to know what they          say.)                 [Author's Note: Of course we looked them up!               And, from the King James Version:                 "Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister,  my               bride; thou hast ravished my heart with one of               thine eyes, with one chain of thy necklace.                 How  fair is thy love, my sister, my  bride!               how much better is thy love than wine! and the               smell of thine oils than all spices!                 Thy   lips,  O  my  spouse,  drop   as   the               honeycomb:  honey  and  milk  are  under   thy               tongue; and the scent of thy garments is  like               the smell of Lebanon." R.W.]            Crying and hugging him to me for some minutes, I  told          Rick I didn't know he was a Bible scholar.   He laughed,           telling  me  that ever since high school,  when  he  had          something  really  preying on his mind, he's  close  his          eyes  and let the Bible fall open by  itself.    Putting          his  finger  down  on  the page,  reading  what  it  was          pointing to, he'd done it when he'd got back home  after          my telling him that I was pregnant. "I don't  understand          what  the  Song  of  Solomon is  all  about,"  he  said,          blushing, "but that sure looked like an omen to me. It's          what gave me the nerve to suggest this."            I have to admit that I was amazed!            With  the foresight to adopt a middle name, I filed  a          petition  to get my maiden name restored to me. I  chose          one that could be a surname so it would appear to be  my          maiden  name whenever I filled out any kind  of  papers.          With  my  blonde coloring and Rick's dark hair,  no  one          would ever guess we are brother and sister, so we  don't          have any trouble being accepted as a married couple.              Our  daughter is close to a year old now, and much  to          the relief of both of us, she is a perfect baby! She  is          the  product  of incest, so how could we  know  how  she          would   turn  out?  But  there  certainly   is   nothing          physically  wrong with her, and the  paediatrician  says          she's smart as a whip, so I guess no harm done!            I  guess  you'd have to say that there was  a  lot  of          traumatic  stuff  involved here, Dr. Woods,  but  living          with  my brother as his wife and having sex with him  is          not part of it.            We love each other very much. I don't know where  Rick          learned  all the stuff he knows about sex, but I'm  sure          glad  he did. I really do wish Elmer hadn't died, but  I          admit that if I was still married to him we'd always  do          it the same old way, with him on top and his penis in my          vagina.            But  Rick  and I really let ourselves go  and  do  all          sorts  of different things.   No use tempting fate,  you          know,  so  I am on the pill now, and will  stay  on  it.             I'm  taking some courses in college in  preparation  for          becoming a teacher - as good as Elmer was, I hope!            By the way, not long ago I read about how some  people          -  men and women both - turn to sex when they are  in  a          grief situation.    It told about one woman who got  her          husband's  brother into bed with her at about  the  same          point where I got Rick into bed with me, and another man          and  his sixteen-year-old daughter consoled  each  other          with sex before the undertaker had even picked up  their          wife's  and mother's body from the bedroom  where  she'd          died in the same house.            So, maybe I'm not as weird as I thought I was!            [Author's  Note:  Virginia  is right;  it  is  not  an          extremely  uncommon  occurrence  for  a   newly-bereaved          person  to seek consolation through sex, though  usually          with  a  close  friend  rather  than  a  family  member.          However,  it would appear from other responses  received          that  death  of a husband/father can be  the  impetus  -          perhaps  even  an understandable one  -  for  mother-son          incest.  But  none have been included  here  because  of          their  lack of any corroboration from the son  that  the          incest was, indeed, non-traumatic. R.W.]            Sometimes,  though, remembering Elmer laying  on  that          gurney,  telling Rick to `look after me,' I think,  "Oh,          Elmer!  I  know  this is not what  you  meant,  but  I'm          happier than I thought I'd ever be again!"            Yours truly,            `Virginia'            From: "ELECTRA AND HER DAUGHTERS"            c: Drs. FvB and RW 1995 (US Edition)                    Merrill Castle and Gray (This Edition)                All rights reserved           +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+         SPECIAL  FEATURE: In September's edition,  `Julia',  the          incestuous sister from `Consequences' discusses her way-         of-life  and  answers  queries.    Your  opportunity  to          receive  a  reply to those questions  concerning  incest          you've only thought about.  Submit the question you wish          answered to                      `jul-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk'.         If you  have  yet to read `Consequences!',  chapter  one           can be obtained from `CQ1-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk'         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+                       !!!!COMPETITION : COMPETITION: COMPETITION!!!         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+                             ARCHIVE NAME:                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~           Although   an  excellent  name,  excluding  `The   New          Louvre',  or any derivation thereof, do you have a  good          title for the Archive?           Some suggestions already received have been:                                                 `The Vatican Library'                                                `The Parthenon',                           `Library of Congress'                                               and the                           `Alexandria Library'.          but  apart from not wishing to upset the Pope, and  with          the poetic talent often displayed by newsgroups posters,          we are looking for something a little subtle and  easily          remembered.              In the meantime, M.C.G. have specifically reserved the          title  `The Zoo' for that part of the Archive  available          only to those smoking funny tobacco, the  strong-hearted          or  weak-headed.   When ready, access instructions  will          be sent to Magazine Subscribers.                         FREE COPY           ~~~~~~~~~           FOR the sake of sending an e-mail with your  suggested          name,  the  mailer  submitting the  best  title  in  our          estimation  will  WIN  a FREE copy  of  the  soon-to-be-         released  revised and up-dated best-seller,  `TOMORROW'S          FAMILY?'.    Retailing at $30.00 (15  pounds  sterling),          written  by the family involved, it is the true  account          of  their conversion to incest as a  way-of-life.    The          competition is open to anyone over the age of 18 years.         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+                       !!!Story - Story - Story!!!                                        "TAKING THE BLAME"                              A Sad Story                            by Frank McCoy            I  remember  the  first time I saw  Jennie.  My  first          impression, was, "Oh what a shame!" The little  11-year-         old  seemed  so bright and cheerful that day,  I  almost          couldn't believe that she didn't even seem to know  what          had been done to her.            Well,  sadly  that's my job. I'm  a  psychiatrist  who          works  for the city Human Services Department, and  they          send me the abused little girls that seem to make up  an          ever-growing  number  of  our city's  children.  If  you          looked,  you could almost see the tiny little  bulge  in          the  girl's  tummy, that advertised the  fact  that  she          would probably be a mother, before she was 12 years old.          The  really  sad thing was; Jennie didn't even  seem  to          realize what had been done to her.            I mean, she DID know that she was pregnant, it's  just          that, at that time, the little girl seemed almost proud,          that she was carrying her own father's baby inside  her,          instead of ashamed and frightened, like she should  have          been.  It was my duty to show her, so she could  lead  a          normal life, like I do.            I got into this job, because I know what it's like  to          be  raped  by a relative, and it gives me  insight  that          other  people  don't have; especially men.  Some  people          think that a single woman like me isn't the best  person          to  be handling cases involving families, but I've  been          able to counter that at least I'm a woman.            No man could possibly know what it's like to be raped.          Besides, could you imagine putting these little girls in          the  hands of a MAN, after a thing like this? I  try  to          fix  things  up, but sometimes even I can't do  much  to          undo the damage.            It  took  me three days to  win  Jennie's  confidence,          enough  that  she'd even talk to me. At  first  she  was          suspicious  of me, figuring I was just another or  those          so-called  court-appointed head-shrinks; trying to  help          the prosecutor make a case against her father. I had  to          reassure  the little girl, that my duty was to her,  not          to the state, and that anything she told me couldn't  be          divulged. Not even to convict her father.            As I talked to her, she finally admitted to having sex          with  her father. Not once, but many times. It  had  all          started, she told me, as she followed her big sister one          night;  when  she saw the older girl  sneaking  down  to          their  father's bedroom. She told me that once  she  saw          how much fun her older sister had with their father, she          insisted  on doing the same thing herself.  Later,  when          her  big  sister got pregnant, she told me how  she  had          bugged  her father, until she finally got him to do  the          same thing to her.            Can  you  imagine the depravity of the man?  Not  only          does he fuck his own little girl; somehow convincing her          that  she  "enjoys" this atrocity, but  he  abuses  her,          until she actually BEGS him to get her pregnant.  That's          something  like  whipping a man, until he  begs  you  to          shoot him. Something I think should be done to men  like          the one who raped this cute little girl.            Of course, Jennie kept insisting it WASN'T rape,  that          if anything, SHE raped HIM. God, that's even worse.  Can          you  imagine how much he must have abused the child,  to          get  her  to  think  that having  sex  with  him  was  a          pleasure? And worse yet, she didn't seem to think  there          was  anything wrong, with having her own father's  baby.          In  fact,  she seemed quite proud of  the  fact,  almost          flaunting  her  slightly bulging tummy, and  saying  how          much  she was looking forward to holding the little  boy          in her arms, and feeding him from her own body.            That a man would do this, to his own little girl, then          somehow force her into thinking she LIKED it, is  beyond          me.  For  the first few days, hearing  the  little  girl          chattering  happily  away, about how good it  felt;  how          much she liked the idea of being able to give her father          another child to love, and even how having sex with  her          father  had made both her and her big sister  grow  even          closer together, almost convinced me.            Then reality set in. I mean, a little girl starting to          have  sex, at 10 years old? There's no WAY a child  that          young  could  enjoy sex. I mean, a  woman's  body  isn't          ready to have babies, until she's 14 or 15 (Jennie being          the rare exception.) If a girl that young is having  sex          with  her father, no matter how much she says she  wants          it,  it must because he's forced her. Probably  in  some          unspeakable manner as well.            In  a  case like Jennie, I figured that  her  father's          abuse must have been so bad, she was even repressing the          memory. This made me all the more determined to find out          just  how bad his abuse had been; to make her  think  it          never  happened. I mean ALL men abuse their children  to          some  extent.  It's in the nature of being a  man.  It's          just that some men are worse than others; and her father          looked to be one of the worst.            It  took many sessions, but I finally managed  to  get          Jennie  to  remember how her father had abused  her.  At          first,  the  little girl insisted that  her  father  had          NEVER abused her, but after many sessions, I was able to          help her uncover the memories she had repressed so hard.          It makes me so mad; to see a little girl so abused, that          she can't even remember BEING abused. It was only when I          made her dig into her memories, pointing out each little          time  her father had punished her, and showing her  that          the times she thought he was showing his love, were just          a  chance  to  feel  her  body,  not  genuine  hugs   of          affection.  I mean, a man isn't supposed to hug his  own          son; let alone his daughter.            I  told  Jennie, that she should have known  that  men          don't  love the same way women do. Any man who  pretends          to  love you, is just dreaming of a way to get  in  your          pants. It's a shame, but true. I remember the first time          I  found  out about men. As I mentioned earlier,  I  was          raped  by  my  uncle, when I was 12 years  old.  Just  a          little  older  than Jennie here. No, he  didn't  hold  a          knife to my throat. In fact, his approach was similar to          Jennie's  father. He made me believe I wanted it. I  was          just  a  little  girl  playing at  being  sexy,  and  he          encouraged me. In fact, the SOB actually made me feel  I          wanted it. And you know that's not true. I mean, how can          a girl of 12, really want to have sex? Heck, I'm over 35          years old, and barely like it now.            Of  course,  the worst part, was when he  got  caught.          There  I was that time, in his bedroom, sliding  up  and          down  on his cock while John was lying on his back  with          his  eyes  closed. He didn't even know my  parents  were          there,  until Momma's screams about him raping  me  woke          the whole neighborhood.            Up  until  that time, I thought a man had  to  hold  a          knife  or gun to a woman, to rape her. Thankfully  Momma          taught  me  different. Momma says I must  have  been  in          incredible pain, as I was moaning and screaming and even          begging my uncle to cum in me.            Can you imagine how much pain I must have felt, to  be          begging my own uncle to squirt his sperm inside me, just          to get it over with? It must have been unbelievably bad,          as my mind has blocked out almost everything.            Even  now, after years of therapy, I still can't  make          myself  remember the pain. It must have  been  extremely          bad,  as  all  I remember is the horrified  look  on  my          mother's face, when she came into the room and found  me          sliding  up and down one last time, before  her  brother          filled  my  womb with incestuous cum.  Years  later,  my          memories  still  almost trick me into thinking  it  felt          good.            For  a  while, I thought my mother was mad at  ME.  In          fact,  it  wasn't  until she got  me  to  press  charges          against my uncle, that she let up on lecturing me  about          the   evils  of  sex,  and  especially  with  your   own          relatives.  After  that, Momma would  always  make  sure          everyone knew about how abused I was and how you had  to          be  careful  around  men. Indirectly, I  think  that  my          uncle's  raping  me, led to my parent's divorce,  as  my          father  was trying to make Momma stop protecting me  all          the  time, while Momma knew I had to be  sheltered,  and          taught never to let men touch me in any way. Thankfully,          Momma  decided that I needed to be protected  from  men,          more than she needed a husband, so they broke up.            Can  you imagine? My father actually thought I  should          go  to dances and parties, where men actually  held  the          girls  in  their  arms, before  I  was  eighteen.  Momma          protected  me  from this kind of sexual abuse,  until  I          turned  21.  Then, she told me that being  of  age,  she          couldn't legally protect me any more, so she hoped I had          learned to do it myself.            I think I have. If it hadn't been for Momma, who knows          what might have happened? Momma taught me all about men,          and  what  they wanted. If it hadn't been for  her,  who          knows how I might have turned out? Thanks to my  mother,          I'm the woman I am today.            Poor Jennie. It took so much longer than I  originally          figured it would, to bring up the repressed memories  of          abuse. At first, she kept insisting her father had NEVER          hurt her, and that you could hold a gun to his head, and          he still wouldn't hurt her. It's a shame to see a little          11-year-old girl brainwashed like that. It was only with          the  help of hypnosis that I was finally able  to  bring          the full horror of her abuse to the surface.            For  those  of  you  not  in  the  psychiatric  field,          hypnosis  is a very suggestible state, where the  person          being  hypnotized will do almost anything to please  the          hypnotist. A person can be made to imagine they feel  no          pain, even through having teeth pulled, or to see things          that  aren't  there, or to even forget  things,  if  the          subject thinks that will please the hypnotist.            It  can  also be used as a tool to  uncover  repressed          memories.   The  subject  can  be  asked   to   remember          something,  and he or she will search their memory in  a          manner  not  possible to a normal person.  It  was  this          method, that finally gave me some success with Jennie.            At  first, even under hypnosis, Jennie  insisted  that          her father had always loved her, and had never hurt her.          However, when I asked her to remember times when she  at          least didn't get her way, she gradually remembered times          when  he had sent her to bed hungry, then times when  he          had spanked her. When I encouraged her, I was  gradually          able  to get her to remember worse and worse  things  he          had done to her, at my prompting.            After about 5 hypnosis sessions, Jennie finally  broke          down.  Now I finally had her remembering these  horrible          things  that her father had done to her. (Some of  which          are  just  too horrible to tell  here.  It's  absolutely          amazing,  that the little girl wasn't scarred for  life,          the  things  she told me her father did to her,  with  a          knife, cigarettes, and heavy leather belt. Surprisingly,          she  had  managed to escape with only one  little  scar,          that  at  first she had insisted she  had  gotten  while          roller-skating.  It was only under hypnosis, that I  was          able  to get her to remember how her father  had  beaten          her  with the lamp-cord, and then only when  I  prompted          her.)            It  was quite a relief to me, to see the  little  girl          finally  admit  to this abuse. After all, they  say  the          first step to recovery, is to admit you have a  problem.          Now,  Jennie  finally had. Once she  realized  that  her          father's love was all a sham, Jennie broke down. It  was          at this point, that she tried to take both her own  life          and  the baby's, by sticking herself in the gut  with  a          sharpened coat-hanger. She only succeeded with the baby.            When I remember how much Jennie had told me she wanted          that  baby, I almost cried. I guess the little  girl  is          better  off without it though. I mean: can  you  imagine          having to spend your life caring for the baby of the man          who  raped you? It still aches me a little bit,  when  I          remember how proud Jennie had been, when she first  came          to see me, almost showing off the fact that she was  big          enough to have her Daddy's baby. She had seemed so smug.          Now  look at her. She'll probably never have normal  sex          again,  and  almost certainly never have  any  children,          with the damage she did. And all because of her father.            After several years, I'm just beginning to get  Jennie          to  remember  how  much  she  hates  her  father.   It's          surprising  how much she had suppressed this. Even  with          hypnosis,  she's just beginning to remember. Up to  now,          she's kept this hate hidden so deep inside her, that you          wouldn't  even  have  suspected it,  if  you  weren't  a          professional  like I am. Once I get Jennie  to  confront          the hate for her father, maybe she can finally start  to          heal.            Jennie  is  slowly recovering from her trauma,  and  I          still see her every so often. Sadly, I was never able to          help  her older sister, like I have Jennie. It was  with          Karen's  help,  and even some from  Jennie,  that  their          father's  sentence was reduced from 20 years, to  2,  of          which  he only served 3 months. They both moved  out  of          state, and who knows what depravity the man does to  the          girl? Karen was old enough at the time, that she refused          to let me help her, like I did her little sister.            Right  now, I understand that Jennie is  doing  fairly          well,  at the nursing home. She'll never be  the  young,          happy child again, that I had such a precious glimpse of          when I first saw her. Sadly, I understand that both  her          father  and her older sister blame ME for her  condition          for  some reason, instead of putting the blame where  it          belongs,  on  her father. It's amazing how  some  people          will blame everybody but themselves, for the damage they          do.                                  THE END                                 ~~~~~~~         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+                                  !!!YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!         Very  far removed from Incest, concerning one  girl  and          her horse, this story is entitled:                               HORSEWASH                               ~~~~~~~~~                               by Kaftka           Bright  and  blinding,  the sun  shone  on  the  green          outside,  but in the barn, it was cool and warm.    From          the  blur outside, each step echoing through  the  empty          building  as the hollow floorboards resonated  with  the          heavy  foot-falls of the fine animal, through the  rough          grey door into the smell of fresh hay, she led the horse          in.            Lean and tan, her strong, muscular thighs showed  well          under the tight denim cut-offs that hugged her firm ass.          Shining in the bright beams of light peering through the          cracks  in  the walls, each step in  the  hay  kicked-up          thousands  of  tiny  motes of  dust  as,  barefoot,  she          brought the hose from its place in the corner.              Scrubbing hard with a stuff brush against the soft and          wet hair, carefully working her way over the back of the          animal,  her own back showed well beneath her  tank-top,          lithe muscles rippling below the surface of tanned skin.           Firmly  scrubbing against the tough skin below the wet          coat  of  fur, she brushed out  the  beautiful  animal's          mane.   Shining briefly in stripes of sunlight,  wetting          her  shirt and face, short sprays of water flew  through          the air and red, pointed, tight nipples showing  through          the  wet  tank- top.   Tiny rivulets tricking  over  the          small swellings of her chest, her freckled face  gleamed          with delight as she threw back her hair and laughed with          sheer happiness.           Scattering more tiny droplets across her face, tossing          back  its mane, the horse stood still as  bending  down,           the  slick  wet hair clinging to its lean  and  muscular          body, she began to massage the chest of the fine animal.              Slowly  working her way down the chest and belly,  her          body  shivered  in anticipation as she ran  her  fingers          over the huge animal's penis. Fastened to the body  with          a small fold of skin, the huge cock was clamped tight to          the  chest  and  covered with a soft downy  fur,  almost          kitten-like  in shape and size, its testes were  already          large and tender.   Delicately massaging them, under her          fingers, she felt them grow larger and firmer.            Sitting  lotus-like on the ground beneath the  massive          animal's  belly,  continually  running  her  long,  thin          fingers  across  its chest, the slick  soap  foamed  and          dripped into her lap as artfully,  each tickle making it          expand  and swell, her skilful hands slowly  teased  the          length  of the lightly-veined, fleshy phallus  from  its          sheath.    Soon,  fingers  encircling  its  girth,   its          strange weight in her hand, the engorged spear of  flesh          was at full length.                 Smoothly   blunt-ended,  as  its   dull-shining   head          beckoned  her, her heart skipped a beat.   So large  she          could barely fit the enormous glans into her  wet-lipped          open  mouth, as the animal's head tossed, relishing  the          salty-tang,  lubrication  escaped  from  the   jet-black          nozzle as she slid it across her tongue.            The snorting horse slowly bucked, sending tiny ripples          across the muscles of the back, the body tossing up into          the air; now, the cock was enormous.            Cupping the testes in her hand and holding them firmly          as  the animal began to wriggle and buck,  slowly,  very          slowly,  withdrawing her mouth, she ran her tongue  over          the huge pipe, mouthing it, lovingly licking its  length          as if cleansing something adorable.             Quiet  and well-behaved now, the black  horse  waited.          Finally,  she could stand it no longer. They  both  knew          what would come next.             Setting  it  down  under  the  still-dripping   chest,          withdrawing  the small stool from the table  nearby  and          sliding out of the tiny shorts, placing her firm, white-         skinned  buttocks  upon  it,  her  nipples  rubbing  the          animal's bristly-hair, she slid underneath him.             Cool  water dripped unto the wet shirt she  wore,  her          small  teats shining, the nipples ever  visible  through          the loose fabric.   Tiny droplets slid from between  her          waiting  thighs and slid down her legs as between  them,          the pink slit visible under the wispy dewy-blonde  hairs          as  she breathlessy spread her legs underneath the  huge          wavering black cock, she slowly began to rub it  against          her clitoris.    One steadying hand against the  shining          black  flank  of  the animal, holding  it  to  her  soft          tissue, her other hand grasped the huge organ, and slow-         stretching inch by inch, forced it into her wet, waiting          slit.              Her  face  tight and drawn as she  pressed  her  cheek          against  the  fur of the chest above  her,  taking  many          tries  to  stretch them out enough so  that  they  could          accept  such a cargo, in time, her body had  learned  to          well  handle what her mind desired, and now  opening  to          swallow  the massive cock as it had done so  many  times          before,  the  muscles  about  the  pink  folds  of  skin          relaxed.             Stimulated by the warm, oily, still-slender  tightness          of  her  vagina, trying to penetrate its  enormous  cock          into  her, haunching in a slow and regular  rhythm,  the          huge  body began to buck.    Rearing-up, forcing her  up          into the air as she clung with both hands for dear life,          the  musky scent of her slender body mingling  with  the          sweet and pungent horse-smell that permeated every  pore          of  her body,  her clit briskly rubbed against  the  wet          and sweaty fur.             Moaning  and  whimpering, feeling her  body  full  and          complete  with  every movement, faster and  faster,  the          animal above rocked into her.   Under no control of  her          own,  head rearing back, her screaming-mouth  opened  as          every  muscle in her body tensed to breaking point,  her          sheath expanding, to contract around the hot flesh  over          and over and over again.             Lasting an eternity, giving herself to the rhythm, she          hung  on until, rearing back for one final  stroke,  the          massive  animal  tossed  its front legs  into  the  air.             Sheer force of the powerful spray forcing it out of  her          slit,  the  spurting cock squirted  sticky  white  fluid          across her thighs and chest.            Sore  in every muscle, sliding off the tiny  stool  to          lay in dry, sweet-smelling hay, the delicious flavour of          warm, satisfied lethargy slowly crept over her.         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+           FROM THE POSTBAG           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~           Taken from the Incest Help-Line post-bag this month is          the  following interesting letter.   Together  with  the          reply from the `Tomorrow's Family' team, it highlights a          not unusal problem, but a wife's unorthodox answer.           As  with all names in `Electra Magazine',  the  letter          has been `anonymised'.>From help-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk (Incest Help-Line)Reply-To: help-mcg@bartra.demon.co.ukMessage-Id: <10666@bartra.demon.co.uk>Subject: Re: I'm pregnant, can my daughter stand in for me?Lines: 56Status: R> > Dear people> > I'm eight months pregnant and the pregnancy is a bit precarious so I > won't be able to "service" my husband vaginally for at least three or > four months.  (two before the birth and two after).   He doesn't find > handplay satisfying.  > > I have a lovely daughter by a previous marriage, she is 12 years 6 months > old and very skinny, with long blonde hair and the most perfect deep blue > eyes.  I have asked her whether she would mind standing in for me two or > three nights a week and satisfying my husband.  She is a bit nervous but > my husband seems keen.  Do you think I should swap beds with her for a > while and see how the two of them get on?> > Theresa> >            Viccy's Reply           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~helloall we can tell u to do under these circumstances is to tread very, verygently; it seems to us all u are likely to be doing this for the verywrong reasons.assuming something does happen; who is going to be happy afterwards?u'll probably be filled with wall-to-wall guilt, so will your husbandand your daughter might just be very upset.if she has any form of attraction towards him, then it might be a little different!   putting the age situation to one side - although it is abig point - if this is foisted on her, prepare for upset!the best thing u could all do is to sit and have a long talk about it.if this proved to make anyone feel guilty, it is the proof u are lookingfor that this is not a good scheme.   on the other hand, if everyonefinds that they ARE happy to openly discuss it, even if nothing comes of it, no damage will be done and some good will come from it even if only fromthe deepening relationship which will come about.tread very carefully, talk it out first and see who is happy and who isn't.we also suggest u do not get caught as being the person to do all theinstigating; u'll be caught as piggy-in-the-middle; if everyone elseenjoys it, it will be on your conscience; if they do not like just theidea of talking about it, it will be your fault.come back to us if you need further help; we are in no position to say whether u should or shouldn't, it's going to be what you make ofit and how u go about it that really counts. loveviccy-- Incest Help-Line           For Readers:           ~~~~~~~~~~~           (The  `Incest Help-Line' averages twenty  enquiries  a          week  from people with problems in this difficult  field          of human emotion and experience).           If any reader of "Electra Magazine" has any comment to          add to the above, please e-mail:                      `help-mcg@@bartra.demon.co.uk'.           `Viccy',  `Alex' and their family are always  prepared          to discuss any aspect of incest, and/or sex in  general.            Regular    followers   of   the   `Tomorrow's    Family'          serialisation  will be pleased to learn that  the  legal          difficulites  which arose regarding publication  of  the          book  have  now  been over-come  and  from  next  month,          ensuing chapters will regularly be published in `Electra          Magazine'.           +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+                               AMBUSH                           Author: Unkown                                           ~~~~~~           You're in your bedroom, getting ready for bed. As  you          climb  between the cool sheets, I can tell  what  you're          thinking. I know exactly what you are thinking. You  are          thinking  of me. We've sent E-Mail back & forth  before,          but we've never met...yet.            You can't see me but I am here. Waiting in the shadows          patiently. As you turn off the light, I watch you try to          go to sleep. My heart is pounding wildly against my thin          silk  gown that flows over my nude form. I want  you,  I          mouth to myself, as I watch you drift almost to sleep. I          long for you, for your touch, for your kiss.            I make my move and go very slowly to your bed. You  do          not  notice  me. : Your breathing is even  and  slow.  I          nudge  your bed gently, shaking it only enough  to  make          you  turn  over to gaze at me with half-aware  eyes.  My          hands move slowly over the roundness of my breasts, down          to  my firm, smooth stomach, then I caress my  hips  and          thighs.            As  you watch me, you wonder, but for a moment, how  I          could have gotten in here, but you find you really don't          care. I crawl gently next to you on your bed. I rest  my          fingers gently upon your lips, quelling any doubt, and I          gaze  into your questioning eyes and you realize what  I          want. :            I  move my fingers from your lips slowly to your  neck          and  I bend to kiss you with my soft, full lips.  Softly          and gently I give my tongue to your mouth as you enclose          me  with your arms, and pull me towards you. I can  feel          your wild heartbeats against my chest. I break the  kiss          as to slide my lips down to your neck so that I may lick          and  tug  on the skin where I feel your rapid  pulse.  I          caress  your chest with my soft fingers, and then I  use          my  nails  to  trace patterns from one  nipple  to  your          other, making you sigh quietly.             I feel your cock stiffen against my thigh. I begin  to          leave a wet path with my tongue down to your stomach, my          eyes  slowly, steadily watching you watching me. I  move          to  kiss  the insides of your thighs, your  cock  stands          directly in front of me, waiting for my mouth to  attack          it.  But I won't! I want you to feel everything. I  want          you to feel every single thing that I'm doing to you.  I          tongue your balls slowly and bring them very gently into          my  mouth.  The sensation wakes you up in  a  heartbeat,          meanwhile, I increase the intensity by breathing hot  on          your tight balls.             Your  wait is over, and your mouth gapes as  I  encase          your  cock with my lips. I go all the way to the  bottom          of your shaft, and move very, very slowly upward to  the          very  tip,  and back down again. Your hands  clutch  the          sheets  and beads of sweat fall from your forehead.  You          close your eyes to intensify the pleasure.             Your  move  your hips up and down, in  an  unconscious          effort to drive your cock even further into my hot,  wet          mouth.  I  know your game, and I know  what  you  really          need. I go back to the tip, your swollen head, and  lick          the hard vein underneath, and I flick it back and forth,          while  you  whisper, begging me to take  you  inside  my          warm, wet mouth. I do so and swirl my tongue around your          delicious  head. Then I put a firm clamp on you with  my          lips and just move my head back and forth.             I  increase my suction and you plead for release.  No,          not yet, I want to drive you near insane. I push my head          down just a bit further so I can rub your sensitive head          against the roof of my mouth and push you deeper into my          mouth until you're just at the back of my throat.             In one swift motion, I have you deeply imbedded in  my          mouth, and I swirl all around your hot, throbbing  cock.          You've thrown your head back, and your moans of pleasure          are nothing compared to the waves of ecstacy that are in          my  own body. I gently remove your cock from  my  mouth.          You lean up and see my eyes widen, as I notice that it's          just  glistening with my saliva. You look as  if  you're          about  to  burst! I move on top of you,  and  kiss  your          forhead,  your  eyes, your nose, your lips, and  try  to          draw  blood out of your tongue. I know you want to  come          and you shall, but not yet. You find my nipple close  to          your  mouth and you suck it between your  teeth.  Ooooh,          your  mouth feels so good on me! Then you hold me  tight          and  run your fingers along my very wet slit, I'm  in  a          position where I couldn't move if I wanted to!            You start to tease me with your cock, putting it on my          clit,  rubbing  it back and forth. I beg you to  put  it          inside  me, but you don't, you want me to beg you  more,          you want me half-crazed from the pleasure I feel. I  rub          my pussy against your cock, letting you feel my wetness,          and  move back to try to lure into my hot, steamy,  lust          filled  slit. You push your hips up and I feel your  the          head of your cock spreading me apart, and then  entering          me.             My  pussy contracts involuntarily as you  move  deeper          in, sending shivers down my spine. I cry out, your  cock          feels  so good sliding into me. As I feel you  more  and          more, deeper and deeper inside my pussy, nice and  snug,          and I'm not about to let go.             I  dig my fingernails deep into your chest and  rotate          my  hips, around & around & around, grinding slowly.  My          mouth  hangs open and I moan loud when you  thrust  deep          into   me.  We  gaze  into  each  other's  eyes   almost          hypnotically.             You  become  more  aggressive, our  juices  and  sweat          mingle.  You pump me faster for a while, then we  change          places  and  now I'll ride your hips for  a  while.  The          rhythm comes back, and you roam my steamy body with your          hands. You squeeze my tits and pinch my nipples, while I          stroke  my  swollen clit. I suck on your  cock  with  my          pussy,  squeezing it, and pulling it as you buck  wildly          under me.             I lean over, only for a moment, to whisper softly  and          slowly in your ear, "Fuck me, lover, don't hold anything          back..." In a swift motion, you re-enter me after I turn          back over, I throw you an admiring look. I throw my legs          over your shoulders, and you ball me savagely. Ooooh,  I          love  the  way you ravish me! We develop  a  rhythm  and          grind together passionately. Deep within me, I feel  you          swell even more than before!             I move my legs around your waist in an effort to  pull          you closer and deeper. Time has little meaning, if  any.          We  gasp heavily, almost as if possessed. My  utterances          aren't words, but sounds of ecstacy.             As  I  grind my cunt up into your groin, you  bite  my          neck.  Your balls are burning with the desire  to  shoot          forth your delicious come. I can feel them slap  against          me.  I reach down and slide my fingers over  your  balls          and  feel  their  smooth  tightness.  Your  whole   body          trembles, and you feel a tingling that is  unmistakable.          My  clit is burning and I beg you to go faster,  faster,          faster,  I  scream. Oooooh! Yes, harder, ram  your  cock          into me, harder, faster! Slam it into me, tear me  apart          with  your  beautiful cock! We sound like  animals.  Our          moans  and gasps are louder as we lose control and  head          for the silver rainbow.             I  feel your cock twitching & jerking inside my  cunt.          Our  bodies  shake and quiver and tremble  and  we  lose          awareness  of  all  else  except  each  other  and   our          pleasure.  Our  voice becomes one great  crescendo,  our          bodies  burst  forth, I feel you come inside  me  and  I          follow suit by bathing your groin with my nectar.             Our  heads  spin  for a time, and  finally,  the  last          moments  of  our  climax draw to  a  close.  We  breathe          heavily, almost glowing, you move up to bury your tongue          in  my  mouth and I bring our hearts close  together  by          hugging  you  very tightly. Neither of  us  have  looked          better,  the  eyes  of one taking in the  other  to  the          fullest.  We  sleep  in  each  others'  arms,   content,          tranquil...             You stir, half-aware of my lips caressing yours,  with          a  look back, I gather up my gown. You rub your eyes  to          clear  them,  and  look around your  room...but  I  have          returned to the darkness from whence I came.                                 THE END         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+         "Electra Magazine" is always happy to hear from  readers          on any subject at all.         Of what would you like to read?   Can we improve on  the          contents, lay-out and design of the Magazine?                   e-mail: `com-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk'         For all our publications: `list-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk'         FRIENDS: Would any of your friends or associates like to          receive  a  FREE copy of the Magazine?  Or  if  changing          your e-mail address, contact:                                `dist-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk'         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+         And now, the penultimate chapter of                              "THE DOORS TO GAYLE'S FUTURE"                             Chapter Seven                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~           Sometimes  having to put our minds to remembering  it,          Gayle  and  I were no longer father and  daughter,  we'd          transcended that.   Somehow surpassing awareness of  any          family  tie,  I never even regarded her as anyone I  had          known longer than the last three of four years.   In our          existence between home and hospital, we were simply  us,          two entwined people who shared life, thoughts and  love.                       As  a reversal,  when out together, always calling  me          by  a  pet or my Christian name and often causing  us  a          smile,  it  was  only when alone  together  in  intimate          moments was the word `Daddy' said or whispered.   Within          the  limits imposed by her physical frame, she did  more          for  me than I did for her and into the bargain, I  came          out well, for I'd happily do everything for her.           It  was only when other people were happy to  talk  of          her  future  that reality struck home, a  bolt  of  fear          occasioning itself when her surgeon pronounced Gayle was          almost  mended.    For so long visualised as  a  blurry,          meaningless `one day', this day had sneaked up on me.             Unprepared  for  it,  without reason  to  sense  other          patients in the Ward were holding a secret, on bidding a          `good morning' to the Sister, I didn't detect a  certain          sparkle in her eye.   As I walked past her, in just  her          normal voice,  and starting to chat about normal  every-         day things, she called me back   Impatient to see Gayle,          I  was about to take my leave of her and make my way  to          Gayle's room when a soft voice gently called -                                     "Daddy."          and  thunderstruck,  jaw dropping in amazement,  I  spun          round.              No  crutches, no  walking-sticks, just  resting  on          the  arm of a nurse, and silhouetted by sunlight  behind          her,  a  few  yards away stood  Gayle.    Dressed  in  a          diamond-patterned  tan  and  green  Raglan  jumper  and,          falling gracefully away over her hips, a tan skirt  with          a  broad  brown belt, her brown hair swept up  over  her          forehead  revealing her oval face with just a  touch  of          skin-tone  lipstick.   She looked beautiful but  timidly          seeking approval, her brown-eyes looked at me.           Caught by surprise, moving habitually to support  her,          the  Ward  Sister  caught my arm as letting  go  of  the          nurse, very slowly, but very steadily, Gayle started  to          walk.   Our eyes locked together; one step,  two  steps,          three  steps and as I held my breath, every one of  them          increased  the  tightness in my  throat.    Willing  her          towards me, as Gayle approached, nothing else existed in          the world but the beats of my heart matching her,  thump          for step.                With the slightest of limps but without so much as a          tiny  falter,  Gayle  confidently  closed  the  distance          between  us,  until standing only a few inches in  front          of  me, the breath burst from my aching lungs  as  hands          flared  at her side, with a huge, happy smile  over  her          face, she presented herself.              "Well?"            Stupidly  gazing  at her for many misty  moments,   I          could  eventually  only  think  of  one  thing  to  say.           Swallowing  hard  and only able to whisper, I  took  her          hands in mine.            "Do you know, Gayle, you really are the most beautiful          girl.    If  I wasn't already so proud of  you,  I'd  be          proud of you all over again."              Oblivious to others watching, throwing our arms  round          each  other,  we were lost in a long, long  hug.    With          even the occasional cheer and much applause, an  excited          hub-bub  of  conversation burst out amongst  the  people          watching  us to drown my voice as I whispered,  "I  love          you very, very much."            "I know.   I love you, too."               "I'm afraid she's been holding out on you," smiled the          Ward Sister.   "Gayle took her first real unaided  steps          some  time  ago, but swore everyone  to  secrecy.    She          wanted  it  to  be perfect when  you  saw  her.    She's          practised that walk every day for a month.           "Everyone's been marvellous", I said sincerely.           "Oh,  yes",  she  agreed, "But Gayle had  to  make  it          happen.    Everyone could only help in their  own  funny          way.    Some funnier than others," she added and I  felt          myself  flush as she gave me a direct, meaningful  look.             We turned to watch Gayle walking along the long corridor          back to her side-ward.              "I  never  thought I would live to see  the  day  that          happened," I said.           "Gayle's had some big secret incentive", Sister  said.            "Two  years ago, she confided to us that when she  could          cross a room to you, something wonderful was to  happen.            We've  been  wondering what it  was."    Hopefully,  she          stared at me.   "Now she's done it, what happens next?"           With a swimming head, I slowly sank onto a chair.  I'd          completely  forgotten the bargain I'd made  with  Gayle.             Able to walk, a promised door was supposed to open,  but           to  maintain the integrity of Gayle's future life,  this          was one I had to keep a shoulder firmly wedged  against.            With a sinking feeling, my heart sank.           Short-term  reprieve came in the shape of  my  mother.            Leaving  the  hospital  for the last time  a  few  weeks          later,  Gayle's surgeon came to see her  off.    Shaking          hands with me, an old-fashioned gentleman, as he  peered          over his spectacles, he'd said, "I'm most terribly sorry          I never believed you.   But as I recall, some six  years          ago,  I did mention miracles could happen."    Somewhere          within  me,  a male voice said `hmpff',  but  once  he'd          become  convinced, aware of the efforts the surgeon  had          put  into to help Gayle, I grinned at him.   Turning  to          her,  he  said,  "Well, I suppose I owe you  a  game  of          tennis.    You've  beaten  everything else,  so  I  have          little doubt you're going to beat me."           On  the  journey  home,  looking  around  her  with  a          contented little smile, Gayle was very quiet but to  her          surprise, as we'd walked up the garden path, the  front-         door opened and there, come to stay for two months,  was          my  mother, "...just for company until you are  used  to          getting  around".   Suspicious, Gayle looked at me,  but          said  nothing, for which I was grateful; it  had  needed          much persuasion to get my widowed mother to agree.           Busily  completing  a  long-ago  day-dream,  for  days          ensuring  her grand-mother was never out-of-earshot  and          consequently, we were never alone, blaming the  presence          of  Grandma,  I kept myself at arms-length  from  Gayle.            Often,  a hopeful or romantic expression on her face,  I          found her looking at me, but sure I was doing the  right          thing,  apart  from normal father/daughter  morning  and          evening kisses, I avoided all physical contact.           Apart  from  regular  check-ups,  clear  of   hospital          visits, Gayle still continued with daily exercises,  and          even before five weeks had passed from the day I'd first          seen her walk, her limp all but disappeared, she   began          to participate in all the normal physical activities  of          an  18  year-old girl.   Many celebratory  parties  were          held  for her, our local newspaper featured  her  story,          and   tipped-off  by  the  Hospital  Friends,  she   was          interviewed for local radio.   Having previously  passed          a driving test in a disability-adapted car, it was short          work to convert ours back to normal operation, and being          able to travel around, all-in-all, she became quite  the          local celebrity, as well as being only too happy to help          the  Hospital  at any time, called upon to  open  Church          Bazaars and the like.              Although  I  watched her carefully, with no  signs  of          strain  or  tiredness,  Gayle  took  everything  in  her          stride.   Why did I expect anything less?                            **      *      **             Without  warning  or  discussion,  three  weeks  after          Gayle's  discharge from hospital, leaving the  following          morning,  I  told  them both I was  going  away,  alone.            Mother  said,  "You deserve it, dear", but the  look  of          hurt  surprise in Gayle's eyes stayed on  my  conscience          for  a  long  while.   For the first time  in  some  six          years, she and I were going to be parted overnight,  and          deliberately avoiding any opportunity for  conversation,          before  anyone rose the following morning, I'd left  the          house.    Everything  was going to be  difficult  enough          without courting drama.                                 Very  pleased  with  myself,  three  days  later,  I'd          returned.    Gayle's  happy, warm kiss of  greeting  did          nothing  to  ease  my  guilt,  but  uneasy  of   opening          unnecessary doors, whilst returning it, kept it purely a          `Daddy' kiss.           Mother  was  completely  in the picture,  and  when  I          suggested taking a Sunday afternoon drive that week-end,          she  was  so enthusiastic that a  still  confused  Gayle          became caught up in it and for a time, we functioned  as          a  normal  happy  family.   But, aware of  what  was  at          journey's  end, refraining from catching Gayle's eye  in          the rear-view mirror as, unusually and another piece  of          my  engineering, she sat in the rear of the car, as  the          miles ticked by, inside, I became more and more morose.            Since first visiting a particular coastal county as a          child,  Gayle had often expressed a wish to  live  there          when  she grew older.  Some hours later, just outside  a          country  village  which was a  particular  favourite  of          hers,  I  pulled up the car in front  of  a  newly-built          little house.            Constructed  of  stone  with  smart  grey  and   white          woodwork,  the afternoon sunlight reflecting  from  old-         style,  mullioned-windows  gave the house a  homely  yet          neat  appearance, and watching Gayle's face, I  knew  at          once  she liked what she saw.   Old trees had been  left          in the gardens, and from the top of a nearby cliff,  the          sea stretched away to the horizon.           Mother  and  I keeping perfectly silent, after  a  few          minutes, Gayle asked, "Who lives here, then?"           "You.   If you want, that is."           Delighted, Gayle squealed.   "Daddy!  How?   Whose  is          it?"   Scrambling  from the car, laughing  happily,  she          stood  in front of the house.  Helping a smiling  Mother          out of her seat, glancing at Gayle, she whispered  "This          might just work."           Supporting her arm as we walked across to where, hands          on  hips,  Gayle  was admiring  the  view,  crossing  my          fingers, I murmured, "I hope so.   Oh, how I hope so."           Opening the front door with a flourish, I stood to one          side  as,  like a child looking at her  first  Christmas          tree,  Gayle  entered.    Passing  from  room  to  room,          sweeping  round in wondrous circles as her eyes took  in          the  fixtures  and fittings, her face was a  picture  of          happiness.     To  my  question,  "Do  you   like   it?"          reproachfully  she  looked  at me.    "You  know  I  do.            There's everything in it I've ever wanted."           "I  should think so, too,"  I grumbled with  a  smile.            "It's just taken four men three days to move  everything          in.   And me to supervise them."            Beginning to move towards me, about to give me a hug,          Gayle's face lit-up, but rudely, I turned to my  mother.            "Shall we tell her the rest?"              Grannie nodded.  "Well, you ought, seeing it's hers"           To  Gayle's  puzzled look, I said "The  house  is  all          yours.   From the accident money.   When it happened,  I          made  up my mind that if you survived, you'd  have  your          own  little house, just how you wanted it and where  you          wanted."  I waved my arm around the room.   "This is it!            With  love from your mother and I.   She'd want  you  to          have  it.   And so do I.  You have a life to lead,  now.            All yours, to do with as you wish."           Incredulously staring around her, Gayle sat down  with          a bump.   "It's what I always dreamed of.   Everything I          wanted  in  my own little home, with the people  I  love          around me."   She turned to me.   "How did you know what          furniture to get and things like that?"           "All  those evenings talking to you, I was  spying  on          you.   When you said you like something you saw, or when          you  were talking about colours and such-like,  it  just          sort  of became filed away in my mind.    The  insurance          claim was settled about two years ago and we've scarcely          touched  the  money.   It's all on deposit;  we've  been          living  just on the interest."  I held out the bunch  of          house-keys.    "The money and these, they're all  yours,          kid."           Suddenly aware of something in my attitude and sensing          betrayal,  her face white and serious, Gayle  stared  at          me.   In an false, tight voice, she asked, "When are  we          going to move in, Daddy?"           Like  the  fantasy `one day' when  Gayle  would  walk,          never  believing it would arrive until it actually  did,          disbelievingly talked-about for years but suddenly here,           that  other `moment' was hurriedly and unpityingly  upon          me.   Suddenly feeling sick and dizzy, I said pointedly,          "You just did."           Hurt  and disappointed, suddenly realising the  truth,          Gayle said in a small voice, "Oh."              There was a long pause as she thought things  through.           Like  a child trying to delay bed-time, inspiration  for          obstruction  coming to her, her face lighting up,  Gayle          exclaimed,  "But  I can't live on my own,  Daddy!    Not          yet, anyway.   I've just come out of hospital.   I  need          help around me."           Ruthless,  I'd  already cut off that  retreat.    "You          won't  be on your own, my love.   Until we are sure  you          are  perfectly OK, Grandma has agreed to live  with  you          for  a few months.   She's happy to stay for as long  as          you need.   Aren't you, Mother?"           Expecting  happiness and smiles all the way,  suddenly          aware something was drastically wrong, glancing uneasily          first at Gayle and then me, my mother said, "Of  course,          dear.   I'll make us a drink."           Looking  at each other as crockery rattled and  Mother          hummed  to  herself in the kitchen, her  eyes  wide  and          frightened and on the verge of tears, Gayle's  trembling          lips mouthed a silent, "Why?"           "Because  it's  for the best, I suppose,  darling,"  I          replied dumbly.   "It wouldn't be right.   Much though I          love  you,  you know that, it just  wouldn't  be  right.            Try to understand."           Clutching a last feeble straw, Gayle asked in a  small          voice,  "How  about my clothes and things?   I  need  to          talk to you.   We'll come and pick them up."           Foreseeing this particular question, I had the  answer          ready.    "There's a charge-account in your name in  all          the  major stores in town.   You can well afford to  buy          whatever you want and in any case, everything at home of          yours is being brought down here tomorrow."           "But,  Daddy..."   Misery beginning to  well  in  her,          Gayle's voice faltered.   "But, Daddy...   White-lipped,          she looked away from me, her fingers pinching the bridge          of  that lovely nose as fighting tears, she  screwed  up          her  eyes.    Swallowing hard, her  voice  throaty,  she          whispered,  "But  what about your promise?   We  made  a          deal  and  I love you and I don't want  this."    Slowly          shaking  her  head,  her  voice  cracking,  she   slowly          repeated.    "I really do not want this.   I want it  to          be  as we promised each other."   Tears very close,  her          voice  choking  as  it  changed to  a  little  whine  of          anguish, her brown eyes sparkled water as she looked  at          me.   "Oh,  Daddy.   Why?    Don't  make  it  this  way,          please."           Avoiding her eyes, I swallowed.   "Of all the promises          I've ever made you, Gayle, I've always kept them.    But          there is just this one I can't keep.   It isn't  because          I  don't want to.   I just can't!"   Pleading, I  looked          back  at her.   "Oh, Gayle, I've done my best.    Surely          I'm entitled to renege on just one promise?"           Unsteadily, her lips pinched, a pale-faced Gayle leant          against  the  back of a chair.   Gazing at  nothing,  in          exactly  the  same very flat  voice,  unemotional  voice          she'd  used when the rabbit had hit the car,  she  said,           "So  it  was  all a big fib.   You never  did  want  me.             Everything  was  simply to keep me  working  at  getting          better, wasn't it?   Just to stop me from feeling  sorry          for myself."           More  than ever before, I wanted to put my arms  round          her, to kiss Gayle's eyes and lips and face and neck and          anything else I could possibly reach; to tell her it was          all  subterfuge, that in six years, the only reason  I'd          been able to keep going was because she had made me feel          so selfish, too ashamed to give up.   That I desperately          wanted  her, that the future would mean nothing  without          her.              And  break  faith and tell her I might have,  save  at          that moment, the serving-hatch opened and Mother  pushed          through the tea-tray.   Clamping my heart back in place,          I  shrugged as she came into the room.   "I  can't  stay          any longer, Mother.   It's a long journey, and I must be          getting back."   Moving to Gayle, as I kissed her cheek,          I  closed my eyes to avoid the look of deep pain on  her          face.  Slipping a set of keys on the table, I  murmured,          "There's  a  car in the garage.   That's  all  yours  as          well."           Glancing  sideways at her grand-mother, in a  whisper,          Gayle asked, "Who's going to look after you?   You'll be          all  on  your  own.   I want to look  after  you."   She          paused.   "I always have done."           "I've  looked after us both for a long time,  darling.           I  can easily fend for myself."   Avoiding Gayle's  look          of  disappointment, I did my best to  smile  cheerfully.            "In  any  case,  I'm off on  holiday  tomorrow,  a  real          holiday.   My present to me from the Insurance  Company.            Sunny  climes  and sandy beaches!" I  lied.    "For  two          whole months."            With  my head down as I scuttled from the  house,  my          last  sight of Gayle was as she sat with her  elbows  on          the  table, her hands clasped either side of  her  nose,          her  shoulders heaving as she choked back  unexplainable          tears  which  my mother  wouldn't  understand.    Hunch-         shouldered,  falling over my own feet like the  drenched          rat I felt, I scurried to the car.           But  I knew I was right!   Fully-recovered, Gayle  now          had her own life to lead.   For 154 long miles, I knew I          was right.   Back in a normal environment, she'd quickly          abandon all day-dreams of our continuing our love-affair          and be very happy that events had progressed only as far          as they had.   All the drive home, I constantly reminded          myself I was right; Gayle was much more mature than  her          18  years,  she'd quickly appreciate the  wisdom  of  my          decision,  why  I had kept her at  arm's  length.    For          every inch of those dark, cold long miles, I told myself          that  given time, she would even come to appreciate  how          from  the  moment  I knew she could walk,  it  had  been          necessary  to avoid her, to put distance between us  and          for  fear my heart would break and I'd give-in, to  park          her  Grand-mother on her for some months; good  company,          someone  to  talk to and laugh with.    About  the  same          company I'd always tried to be.           Gayle  was  hurt,  but  she'd soon  know  why  it  was          necessary.    I  knew I'd hurt her, but it was  for  the          very  best of good reasons; how many good reasons did  I          need?    What  did she know of love?  Tantamount  to  a          school-girl    crush,   infatuated   with    a     White          Knight-figure, she was still a child who didn't know her          own mind.   Any thought to the contrary was kicked out.              Reaching home, wearily garaging the car, I entered the          cold,  still  house.   Making myself a hot drink,  as  I          recalled everything that had happened and had been  said          in  each room of the house, remembering  Gayle's  misery          and   tearful   eyes,  reminding  myself  of   all   the          wonderfully right, moral and noble reasons I'd done what          I'd done, grimacing, I paced the room,               I  was  right!   If the situation  were  explained  to          them,  who would be happy to agree with me, I  wondered.            Just about everybody!   Wouldn't God?   Would Val?                      Sitting  inside me for weeks, squeezing my heart,  the          truth I'd summarily suppressed suddenly popped up and as          once again, thoughts beginning to churn, I  acknowledged          I'd  made a terrible, ghastly mistake.   Using  the  old          routine, I separated myself from the equation, and  seen          through  her mother's eyes, I was wrong.    Despite  her          distress, through all the difficulties, the only  person          upon whom I could rely to keep faith, to always trust me          and  whose  judgement  I  respected  was  Gayle.    From          everyone  around, the only person consistently  thinking          of  me and for me, the one importance was  Gayle.    And          I'd just broken her heart.   Between any two people,  as          long as it was unconditionally-given and they both  were          happy, love - be it heterosexual, homosexual,  incestual          or  any other `ual'-  was their own private concern  and          no  matter how important they considered themselves,  of          no  business of any other person, race,  creed,  colour,          religious denomination or anything else!           And  through the eyes of The Almighty?    Expecting  a          prompt `you're right!', amazingly, I just couldn't think          of  an answer.   But if Gayle was love to me,  the  same          Love  He  was purported to be, I'd broken His  heart  as          well.   Slumping down in my chair, I realised that in my          nobility,  just how hideously wrong I was,  that  whilst          I'd  lost  a true love for ever, into the  bargain,  I'd          very probably lost a fried, a mate.   And a daughter.             Jumping  as  I  thought I  heard  Gayle's  bell  ring,          outside  the window, a cat mewed.   Beset by  the  empty          house's  memories  of Gayle's laughter, her  voice,  her          scent,  of  her  whispered tendernesses  as  we'd  loved           together in this very room, I sat.           And remembered.           And wept.         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+              Chapters 1-6 of this story can be obtained from                       `list-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk'                  Concludes   in  the  September  edition  of                             `Electra Magazine'         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+         NEXT  MONTH:  includes another  true-account  of  incest          written by an `Electra'         Two other stories taken from our Arichive         `Viccy'  reveals more from her `Incest-Help-Line'  mail-         bag and asks if incest is geographic?   Or even natural?          `Julia' answers your incestuous questions!         And  read  the moving, final chapter of  "THE  DOORS  TO          GAYLE'S FUTURE"         Plus other features, letters and topics of interest.         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+           Merrill, Castle and Gray (UK)           e-mail:           editor      : `ed-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk'           distribution: `dist-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk'           subscription: `sub-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk'           publications: `list-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk'           archive     : `arch-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk'           +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+           `ELECTRA MAGAZINE' is usually published between 10  days          and 2 days prior to the month to which it applies.         The Proprietors, Editor and Staff of Merrill, Castle and          Gray  accept no responsibility for matters arising  from          the   contents   of  the  Magazine,  neither   does   it          necessarily reflect their views or opinions.         Any discrepancy or omission of Author acknowledgment  is          entirely circumstantial.         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+        "ELECTRA MAGAZINE" (August)                 copyright: Merrill, Castle & Gray 1996 (UK Edition)          All rights reserved. No part of this publication may  be          reproduced  or transmitted in any form or by any  means,          electronic,   mechanical,  photocopying,  recording   or          otherwise, without prior permission of the publishers.          This magazine is published subject to the condition that          it  shall not, by way of trade or  otherwise  circulated          without  the  publishers prior consent in  any  form  or          binding  or  cover  other  than  that  in  which  it  is          published  and without similar condition including  this          condition being imposed on the s ubsequent purchaser.          Merrill, Castle & Gray.          e-mail:ed-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk -- Distribution ManagerMerrill, Castle & Gray

  
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