Chapter 4
It Was a True Love
"I don't know what other experiences girls have had with their families, with their cousins or uncles or anybody else. I've never wanted to talk about it with anyone. Remembering all that always upsets me. Oh, I know, I know. All sorts of studies have been written about incest-that's such an ugly word! I know there are statistics showing how common it is, and even in cases of actual rape, how it's usually committed by relatives. But that doesn't make me feel any better about it . . . any cleaner. I keep telling myself that what's done is done, but whenever I see my cousins, it all comes back.
"I think sometimes that they've forgotten all about it, or maybe they'd just like to and are pretending. But I haven't. Sometimes I gather up all my courage and I decide that I'll just not see the family again, or only see some of them-not my cousins. But what would I say? What could I use as an excuse? What would my husband think if I suddenly started telling him not to pal around with my cousins anymore, not to go to the football games or bowling with them. He'd think I was crazy! You see, when John and I married, he knew that I was a girl with strong family ties and that with me came the entire bunch of us. We all grew up together as a closely knit group, were each other's best friends, and all that. I can still hear my mother asking me why I should want to make friends with 'outsiders'-what she called anyone who wasn't a member of the family-when I had such nice cousins my own age to play with. Play with! Little did mother know. Maybe it's our Scottish ancestry or something, but we were all raised with a strong devotion for the family . . . the clan. No one could ever break us up, or cause trouble. If anyone said anything derogatory about one of us, that person was never permitted into the house again. It's the old story . . . the family can do no wrong . . . if they're family, they're perfect. Lies, all lies . . . we do have faults. But being raised like that made us feel that we were some sort of royalty, a privileged class apart from the rest of the world. It's silly, I know. But that's what it did to us. And if a member of the family said anything bad about another member of the family, it was all hushed up and that person was reminded of his loyalty and duty. We were only to love each other, never see a flaw or fault and point it out.
"Oh, I know now how hypocritical and ridiculous all that was, and is-but I seem to know it only in my head, not my guts. I've read Lucy Freeman and Robert Lindner, Joyce Brothers and Frank Caprio . . . read them and said to myself that they don't know what they're talking about! That the people they describe, the cases they cite . . . that they're devoting too much attention to the extremes, to the weirdoes-what about people like me? How many other little girls are growing up, right this minute, getting fucked by their cousins right under their parents' noses? How many other little girls are too scared to tell, or enjoying it too much to want to tell, or both-like I was. Can I tell John not to see my cousins because they've all been in my pants? That I'm scared to death one of them will tell him? John wouldn't understand that kind of thing. Oh shit! I don't understand that kind of thing. Does anyone?
"And every time I see my two daughters, at a family get-together, playing innocently with their cousins . . . I worry, and I wonder. How soon? How soon before they lose their cherries to their cousins the way I did? The psychology books tell you that a parent conveys his fears to the child, and that by doing so he can implant a fear in the child . . . or actually tempt the child into the deed by making it forbidden fruit-spoken or unspoken. But what am I supposed to do? You can't wipe out your past, or your memory of it. I can't forget my fears! And what's worse is my fears for my daughters when they're around their second cousins-my cousins.
Well? Why not? If they were so cruel as to seduce me, why shouldn't I worry that they'll rape my daughters? Isn't that what the books say? In cases of rape, it's usually a close relative? Well, in my family, we're all close relatives. And then I even begin to suspect my own father, and wonder if he did the same things as my uncles. Do all boys take advantage of the girls in their families? Are girls just supposed to shrug and forget it?
"John knew I wasn't a virgin on our wedding night, but he never said a word about it. John's the good-natured, easygoing, trusting type. On the night we became engaged he told me that he didn't want to know about my past . . . didn't want to know about any other man I might have been with. That was all in the past, he said. Well, maybe his conscience is clear-but mine isn't. And since I can't talk to John about the past . . . who can I talk with? You? Oh, yes, I suppose. Forgive me. I'm not really putting you down. All I mean is that talking to you might make me feel better for a little while, but it isn't really going to change anything, is it? You're not going to sprinkle any magic dust over my head that makes everything all right, are you? Why can't I just forget about it?
"The first time is very clear in my mind. Gary and Fred and I had gone to a matinee movie from their house. I was over, spending the weekend, which I always enjoyed doing because their parents were a lot more fun than mine-and they were always pretty generous with money, taking us all out or giving us enough to go and have a good time on our own. I guess that's because they only had sons. Girls are always raised as if they were congenital squanderers of money, incapable of saving a nickel. Boys, on the other hand, are raised to live today and have a good time, to raise a little hell while they're young. I don't mind telling you that there are some things about women's liberation that I approve of, and childhood is one of them!
"Anyway, the movie had been some swashbuckling thing with a big sea battle, flashing swords, and all that stuff, and the heroine kept hangin' around with her tits half out of her dress, breathing heavily. I remember thinking that I hoped I'd have big tits when I grew up, and sneaking a feel at my thirteen-year-old mounds. I was just beginning to develop there . . . enough for a child's bra. I'm so glad that fad seems to have passed; I think It's obscene to put a bra on a young girl! But my mother insisted, more for modesty's sake than anything else, I'm sure.
"After the movie, we all stopped and had sodas and then took the bus back to their house. And all during dinner, I couldn't get the movie star's tits out of my mind, remembering vividly how they rose and fell as the men fought over her. Her smooth milk-white skin captured tightly in the bodice of her dress, bursting to spill out. And I dearly wanted to be just like her. By that age I knew about my cunt, knew that it felt good when I rubbed myself, but I'd never had an orgasm. Mostly, I suppose, because I'd fall asleep before I'd arouse myself that much. And I wasn't the kind of kid who'd go around sneaking a feel at myself; it was just something I sort of lulled myself to sleep with. But all through dinner, I sort of played a game with myself pretending that Gary and Fred were the two men who'd be dueling over me, especially since they were both older than I was. Gary was already fourteen, and Fred was sixteen. Fred almost had enough of a beard to have to shave, and that made him pretty important. We'd been good friends all our lives, played and laughed, and sometimes when they'd get too rough with me, Fred would take me aside and soothe me. Then, of course, I thought it was because he was sorry and he loved me. It didn't occur to me until I was much, much older that he just didn't want me squealing to their folks! But I loved both the boys like brothers and as I grew older, the roughhousing stopped.
"They lived in a nice big two-story house and their folks had the front bedroom-so they could hear a burglar, they said-and the boys each had their own room. Whenever I'd come to stay, they'd fix the couch up in the downstairs den for me to sleep, and the den was beneath Fred's room. So later on, we all watched TV for awhile, and then everybody went to bed. I just couldn't get the movie out of my mind and I was having trouble falling asleep. I began to feel my small young breasts, and my hand just wandered on down to my pubic area where I was just beginning to grow some hair. I was comforting myself, lazily brushing my snatch against my fist, and beginning to doze off when I heard something.
" 'Iris,' I heard Gary whisper, 'are you still awake?' His voice sounded strangely constricted.
" 'Uh-huh,' I whispered back. 'What do you want?'
"I saw Gary's outline in the dark then, coming to the side of the couch. 'Iris . . . would you do something for me? A secret?'
"Well! A secret to a thirteen-year-old is irresistible! 'Sure, Gary, what?'
" 'A real secret, Iris . . . something you can never tell to anybody.'
"I swore that my lips were sealed and practiced heaving my bosom in the dark. 'What is it, Gary?'
" 'You won't tell anybody?'
" 'I won't, I promise! What is it!'
"Then Gary pulled the blanket and sheet away from my torso and very gently placed his hand over my right breast. 'I-I've never seen a girl's tits, Iris, a-and I don't know any girls to ask. Would you show me yours? Would you let me see them? Maybe touch them?'
"I don't know what all ran through my mind at that moment, but I probably felt like a mature woman giving a kid a break. I'm sure I felt that my breasts were fully developed and that this was a big moment in Gary's life. 'Sure, Gary.' I unbuttoned my nightshirt all the way down and pulled it down from my shoulders so that Gary could see my tits in the moonlight. They weren't much . . . but they were tits.
"Gary whistled softly. 'Wow, Iris. They're really something else again, aren't they? Is that it? Will they ever get any bigger than that?'
"I was a little slighted by his question, but mostly impressed with the power of having something he didn't. 'Yeah, they'll get real big, like that movie star today. Real big and soft, just like hers.'
" 'Where'll it grow from?' " 'What do you mean?'
" 'Where's it come from? You got all that inside your ribs or what? It's gotta come from somewhere!'
" 'I don't know, Gary. A girl just gets tits as she gets older. I don't know where they come from. Don't they tell you that in school?'
" 'Not yet. Maybe they tell you in high school. But I thought you'd know, being a girl and all.'
" 'Well, nobody's told me either. I'm younger than you are. Maybe Fred will know. Ask him, then you can tell me later. Want to feel them now?'
" 'Yeah. Wanna see my pecker?' " 'You mean your thing?' "'Yeah.'
" 'Is it just growing too?'
" 'Naw. I've always had it. But I can do things with it now I couldn't do when I was a kid.'
" 'Yeah?' I asked, overwhelmed with curiosity. I didn't want to admit it, but I'd never seen a boy's thing-not ever. 'Like what?'
" 'You really want to know? Want to see what I can do?'
" 'Well,' I said, pretending I wasn't too interested, 'if it's really something worthwhile.'
"Gary pulled his whang out from the fly in his pajamas and waved it at me. It wasn't much, I guess, but I'd never seen a pee-pee hose before and I was fascinated. 'So what can you do with it?' I asked naively.
" 'I'll show you, but you gotta help me.'
"Gary told me to put my hand around it, to squeeze it a little, and see what happened. He sat down on the edge of the couch so I could get hold of it better, and while I played with his dong, he began to fondle my young breasts until the nipples were getting firm and hard. There was something terribly exciting about what we were doing, maybe because it was dark, or because we were still so young and curious . . . I don't think that I ever thought about our being cousins. And I'd certainly never heard of the word 'incest.'
"I felt Gary's thing getting harder and bigger and I was so fascinated that I didn't pay much attention to the fact that he was pulling up my nightie to look at my young snatch, sticking his hand in between my legs and manually pulling my labia apart for a better look. It was silly, really. Neither of us could see very much in the dark, with only the moonlight casting its eerie shadows into the den. As I played with Gary's dong, watching it carefully, he reached over to the Morris chair and, taking the discarded newspaper, spread it on the carpet before him. I didn't know why, and I didn't think to ask him. Kids don't think these things strange or odd; if there's a tin can forty feet away, and a kid runs over and kicks it, no one thinks that's unusual behavior. So I thought nothing of the newspaper bit. When his penis became so rocklike and burning in my hand I was sure it must be very painful for Gary, he began grinding on the edge of the bed, moaning softly to himself, and then with a feeble smile he told me, 'Watch this, Iris, watch me come.. . . "
"Come? He was already there . . . where could he come to? But I soon found out. He groaned in a stifled sort of way, his hand grabbing at my cunt like a clump of grass, and his cock began to spurt out gobs and gobs of what seemed a thick white fluid. It shot like a cannon onto the spread newspaper, spreading slowly and soaking it, and the next thing I knew, Gary's prick was small, soft, and limp again. He was breathing heavily and I couldn't help wondering if he was all right.
" 'Did you see that?' he asked me, huffing slightly.
" 'How'd you do it?' I asked.
" 'Can't help it,' Gary grinned. 'When it gets hard like that, gets stiff, and I pump on it, that's what happens.'
" 'Can you do it again?'
" 'Not for a while. My thing is very sensitive afterwards, not really sore, but almost. It sure takes a lot out of a guy!'
"I remember clearly how Gary and I giggled about his statement-it had taken a lot out of him, and it was all over the newspaper. It seemed an uproariously funny thing to say. Anyway, shortly thereafter, Gary went back up to his room. He'd thanked me for letting him look at my titties, hoped I'd enjoyed watching him come, and that was that. All very proper and well-mannered. But after he left, my twat was driving me frantic with a need to be touched, to be fondled. His playing with me down there had felt good, only it left me with a kind of hunger I'd never known before. Not knowing quite what to do about it, I stuck my fist between my legs and eventually fell into a troubled sleep.
"The next day, Gary, Fred, and I went for a walk down by the narrow stream that ran about two city blocks from their house. Ever since I could remember, their folks had admonished us against playing near the river ('Any nut might be hanging around there!'), and ever since I could remember, we'd always gone down to the river to play . . . returning home hours later, invariably wet, or carrying dead pollywogs in our pockets, denying vehemently that we'd been anywhere near the river.
"Since awakening that morning, I'd felt an especial closeness between Gary and me. Our 'secret' seemed vitally important, a blood-and-guts bond between us which no one-no one!-would ever know or share. It was Gary and me, all the way, against the world, forever more. Even if the lions were to attack me, the Nazis were threatening to torture me, or the Nam wanted to brainwash me.. . Gary would come to my aid, Gary would save me. We had a secret. Gary would die for me, and I for him. Children lead such simple lives when you think about it-there's either total commitment, or total disinterest. No halfway, no gray, no maybes or we'll see. It's either Gung Ho! or Drop dead. But my loyalty and devotion bubble was soon to burst. When we had reached the river bank, stretched out on the littered sand and dirt, Fred poked Gary in the ribs and they both snickered.
" 'Hear you two had a little party last night,' Fred said, leering at me and winking at Gary.
"Needless to say, my world of chivalry collapsed instantly. I'd been betrayed. Gary had broken our pledge of secrecy. And I began to cry. Yes. Cry. That's how crushed I was. I'd been deceived, led on . . . made a fool of. And for that moment, I hated Gary so violently I could have killed him. But Fred was smart, or perhaps just the factor of his being sixteen to my thirteen was enough. He began to placate me, telling me how he'd always wanted to see my titties too but had never thought I'd let him, how he could come better than Gary because he was older, and how he knew even better tricks. He cajoled and soothed until I'd stopped crying, but I was far from over my hurt. Then Fred began asking me questions: did I have my menstrual period yet, when was my last one, did I ever feel a funny kind of tingling down between my legs, had I ever stuck anything up there, and sundry other questions which, at that age, meant little to me. Yes, a week ago, oh yes, oh no . . . I nodded or answered but saw no connection, no continuity to his line of interrogation. I'd never heard of the Rhythm Method, so I took Fred's questioning in the same way as I would have taken Gary's before he'd betrayed me. Boys were curious about girls, and vice versa. And then Fred sprang the big one on me.
" 'Want to see my pecker, Iris? It's a lot bigger than Gary's. And I can do something that Gary hasn't found out about yet. Want me to make you feel real good all over, take care of that funny feeling down there in your cunt? I can do that, y'know. I can make you come too, just like Gary and me can come . . . 'cept that girls don't shoot all over the place. Want to find out how it feels? And this'll be our secret, then. Just the three of us. Swear to never tell anyone, Iris, you've got to swear to that!'
"By then, of course, I was burning from curiosity and my twat was twitching maddeningly. Yes, yes, a secret! We'd be the three musketeers then, the three of us with a common bond . . . yes! That would be even better-wouldn't it?-than just Gary and I sharing a secret that had very little meaning. Fred knew how to make me come too, how to get rid of that itch in my cunt. Oh, that had to be infinitely better than the childish secret which Gary and I had shared for so little a time. I nodded and swore-solemnly. Had it been up to me, we'd have cut ourselves and let our blood mix, but I didn't have the nerve to suggest it to Fred. Gary might have done it, but Fred would probably have laughed.
" 'Okay then, Iris, let me see your titties,' Fred commanded and as I began to remove my blouse, he unzipped his fly and pulled out his penis. I marveled at its size! It was at least three times the size of Gary's, and it was still limp. What would it be like when it got hard? Thinking about it, and watching Fred toy with it in his hand, letting his other hand run across my breasts, the familiar aching feeling returned to my snatch; a lonely, hungry feeling of being incomplete and needing something-but what? Fred said he knew. And I wanted to know desperately.
"As Fred played with my tits, teasing my nipples, he told Gary to help me out of my jeans and pull down my panties. Gary readily complied, his face a mask of rapt fascination, his eyes glazed watching Fred's hand on my titties in the daylight.
" 'Here, Iris, feel my cock. Play with it and I'll play with your pussy and make it feel real good.'
"I took hold of his member and weighed it in my small hand. In the light of day, I could see the tiny ridges all over the length of it, like little raised canals, or the veins on the backs of old people's hands. Bluish, some of them beet red, but all of them pulsing toward the large smooth knob at the other end of his shaft. The knob was almost like sponge rubber, soft yet hard, yielding yet resiliency firm. I figured out for myself that the tiny hole at the tip was where they shot their come, but it hadn't occurred to me that it was the same hole they peed through. Nor would I have cared at that moment. Fred was touching me down between my legs in a way that Gary had not; Fred was sending chills up my spine the way he touched me, played with me. Using just his fingers (unlike Gary who had grabbed me down there like a greased bowling ball) to tease my flesh. He seemed to be running just two fingers up and down the length of my cunt, pretending to be like a snake and writhing all over me down there, spreading wide the lips of my vagina and putting his forefinger onlyup against that part of my cunt and rubbing lightly, driving me frantic and not knowing why. I felt as if I had to pee, yet knew that I didn't have to; but the sensation was similar.
"Fred told me to stretch out and relax, to just lie there and enjoy the feeling, and to keep playing with his ever-growing cock. Gary had squatted down next to us to get the maximum view, and had already taken out his whang and was playing with it. After a few moments of just closing my eyes and giving in to the feeling of Fred's fingers on my aching snatch, I felt his fingers growing slippery and wet. I wondered about it, but I would never have broken our magic moment by asking. Then Fred began to just sort of slide around down there, and he began to pinch lightly at one spot of my cunt, up on top, and my pelvis jerked uncontrollably each time he did it.
" 'That's your clit, Iris, that's where you have the most feeling down there. Look here, Gary, get a good look at it 'cause if you want to get a girl hot in a hurry, just play with that clit for awhile. She'll beg you to let her slip your dong up inside of her if you play with her clit long enough. Really turns 'em on!'
" 'Is that where you stick it?' Gary asked in an awed voice.
"'Hell no!' Fred answered. 'There's no hole there. That's just to make 'em hot, just to give them a hard on like we get. Here, feel it. See how hard it's getting? Just like a baby penis.'
"I felt Gary's hand upon my clitoris, his touch rougher than Fred's. But nonetheless my body responded and I couldn't help bucking at this incredible sensation, a feeling of boiling oil surging through my body.
" 'She's sure all slimy down there,' Gary said softly, as if I were a dying patient and he the doctor in conference with my surgeon. 'It wasn't like that last night.'
" 'Dummy, did you play with her? Did you get her all hot down there? What do you know anyway,' Fred summarized curtly and then I felt him changing positions, taking his huge cock out of my hand. I glanced down and saw how he was placing himself between my legs, stretching out his body so that his prick was poking at my cunt impatiently. 'I'm going to take care of that itch for you, Iris, and you'll know how good it can be to get fucked. I've got a man's cock and I know how to fuck girls real good. You'll like this, Iris, you really will.'
"With that, Fred lowered his head and began to kiss my nipples, his cock pushing at my snatch and driving me almost insane. My body just wouldn't hold still. I pushed my titties hard against his face, feeling his tongue on first one and then the other, and his burning rod pressing and poking at my snatch. I couldn't stand it, it was so intense a feeling. Instinctively, I raised my legs up and locked my ankles across Fred's waist. This brought his throbbing cock into a position where I could rub my entire cunt up and down on it, feeling my clit riding along it, and then I felt the head of his prick captured down toward my ass, felt the heat of it burning against my hole.
" 'That's it, Iris, that's it, baby! Fred's going to fuck Cousin Iris real nice, fuck her real good. Put it inside of you, Iris, take Fred's whang and stick it up inside of you-that's the way to get rid of that itch of yours!'
"I almost didn't have to be told. I'd already reached down to capture his cock in my hand and tried to push it up inside of my hole. All in all, Fred was being very gentle-but of course, I had no basis of comparison then. I felt the head of it penetrate my vaginal canal, spreading me open deliriously until I felt it hit something like a wall, and that hurt.
" 'That's just your hymen, Iris,' Fred reassured me, his breath coming fast and rasping, his face blanketed in sweat. 'We've got to push my big cock past your hymen, and that'll hurt for just a few seconds. You might even bleed a little, but no more so than you do with your period. And after that, Iris, after that you'll be in heaven. Are you ready?'
"I remember whimpering and nodding at the same time. I wasn't worried about a little pain . . . all I knew was that his stiff prick inside of me felt like something out of this world, that I wanted it all the way inside of me, filling me up to compensate for that hollow feeling I'd known for so many months, that feeling of being incomplete. If I'd only known about sticking something up inside of me before . . . oh my God! how delicious it was! Even with Gary's heavy breathing almost in my ear, knowing that he was jacking himself off, I was experiencing the most exquisite sensations ever imagined. And then Fred lurched into me. One quick, piercing lurch. I began to scream but Fred quickly covered my mouth with his, sticking his tongue into my mouth, kissing me until I quieted down. He didn't move his cock once he'd broken my hymen. He'd pushed it all the way up inside of me, and he'd left it there, letting me adjust to the size of it, to the feeling of a throbbing prick inside my burning hole. As he kissed me, his hands playing with my titties, I began to enjoy the feeling of his big dong up inside of me, the feeling of the head of it resting snugly almost into my belly, and I began to move my hips slowly, began to rotate them to feel his cock better. I had so little hair on my snatch that Fred's pubic hairs were tickling me and making me hotter, his bulging balls slapping against my asshole gently. And I could feel my clit as it rested against the base of his big shaft. I felt as if every inch of me were vibrating and afire; even the soles of my feet were burning. I'd never dreamed that anything could ever feel so good!
"And then Fred began to withdraw slowly. I whimpered again, but this time for a different reason. I wanted him back up inside of me, snug and captured, giving me that exquisite feeling of fullness and completeness. I didn't want him to pull out of me. I began to worry that he'd come already. Somehow in my ignorance, I wondered if a boy came by breaking a girl's hymen, and that this was something that one did over and over again . . . but then, I remembered that Gary had come without even going inside of me. So then I worried that I'd only come if I got my hymen broken. But then
Fred began to ride me. Long, lingering, slow strokes as he filled my cunt with his cock, then slowly withdrew. And I recalled that when Gary had come, his thing had gone all limp again. So, obviously, Fred had not come. He was still in there, hard and strong as a steel rod! I heard Gary's mumbled 'Oh wow!' over and over as Fred rode up inside of me, back and forth, in and out, over and over again, turning my insides into liquid fire, making me squirm with pleasure and wanting more and more of his cock. I humped at Fred, my hands grabbing at his back, my nails raking into his flesh, wanting to shove him all the way up into me, feeling my hot sticky snatch clutching at his cock as it rode in and out. It became more and more difficult to breathe, and the feeling in my hole was driving me insane. My body writhed and twisted under Fred's, his mouth alternately kissing my hard little nipples and sucking on my tongue. And then, as if Fred knew what I was going through, he began to fuck me faster . . . and faster . . . harder, and harder. In and out, in and out, pistoning, pushing, pumping, humping, our bodies met and fought in a battle to culminate in supremacy, ecstasy . . . two animals threatening to devour one another with fulfillment. And then . . . and then-I can still remember it-the bursting, the lightheadedness, the screaming pulsating pushing throbbing blissful explosion of my first orgasm!
"We both fell into a limp heap, panting for air, and I was aware of Fred's prick shriveling up inside of me; slipping, slipping from within me. With an almost audible, sigh, I felt it fall from my hole, that hot hole still pulsing with its recent release. I didn't know what to say, or even if anything was supposed to have been said. I felt tears running down my cheeks, but I didn't know why. I wasn't really crying, why were there tears? I felt too good to be crying, too grateful. Yet the tears ran freely down my face and onto the earth beneath me.
" 'You sure that was your first time?' Fred asked, rolling off from me and zipping himself up again. He noticed the blood on his cock, nodded to himself, and then, grinning at me, he patted my belly. 'Well, you're a damned good lay, Iris, I'll tell you that. You're going to make a very good wife someday!' Then he stretched, glanced over at the drooping Gary, and exclaimed, 'Come on, let's go get something to eat . . . I'm hungry as all hell.'
"And that was that. That was my introduction. Most girls look forward to their first kiss, then to maybe letting their steady feel their breasts-but I'd had the whole ball of wax in one brief afternoon on the edge of a dirty river . . . with my cousin."
The case of Iris N. is a very complicated one, and she has been referred to a psychiatrist. Again, it is not so much that she had her first sexual experience with her cousin which brought her in trouble. As we have seen, there are many cases of cousins who experiment sexually with each other as children and there are at least 1/3 of the states in the union where the sexual act between two cousins is not considered incestuous.
It is the needless acquiescence to family ties, it is the moral blackmail and the excessive masculine aggression from which this subject has suffered.
Iris N. is an attractive, young housewife, approximately twenty-five years old. She has an average intelligence, is married, and has two children, both girls. For several years now, Iris has been contemplating either a divorce from John N., or suicide.
She is tremendously insecure and believes herself to be worthless. This inferiority complex was greatly reinforced by her traumatic experiences with her cousin Fred.
All children, to a certain extent, experiment sexually. This experimentation is usually done with playmates and siblings. In an extraordinary close and clannish family, it is obvious that this experimentation will be done with cousins.
Although proper sex education could have prevented the entire first episode between Iris and her cousin Gary, there was actually no harm done when the two children, out of curiosity, explored each other's body. The parents made a glaring mistake, namely to let two boys and a girl of sub-teen age sleep unsupervised. Even the most unimaginative parent could have guessed that the children were curious and would seize any opportunity to satisfy that curiosity.
The family ties were extraordinarily close. Even after several years of marriage to John, Iris was incapable of breaking away from her family. She imagined herself to be a very bad wife, sexually speaking, though she had never talked about this with her husband. She actually believed her cousin Fred when he told her that she was nothing but a "whore and a cocksucker." Of all people, Iris should have known that these allegations were absolutely false.
She was also convinced that her husband did not truly love her, a conviction which apparently arose from her ingrained mistrust of anyone who is not "family."
Walter Stokes, in The Encyclopedia of Sexual Behavior, writes about the devastating effects guilt and conflict have in relation to sex. He says:
When contemplating any definition of guilt it is important to discriminate between guilt that is conscious and guilt that is unconscious but active in stimulating compulsive defenses against its conscious acknowledgement. Conscious guilt, such as over masturbation, may be very disturbing. But the most damaging guilt is often altogether unconscious, as in the more severe cases of sexual impotence or frigidity or as manifested through phobias or sexual deviations. Whatever the type and nature of sex guilt, it serves to make its victim feel isolated from his fellows and mistrustful of them. Warm, loving enjoyment of sex is possible only when men and women approach each other with a high degree of confidence in themselves and in each other. Feelings of guilt make the affectionate and satisfying enjoyment of sex impossible or impose a damaging handicap.
As has been stated, Iris was incapable of breaking away from the extremely close family ties and never trusted her husband completely. Many young husbands, as a sign of confidence, will tell their wives that they do not have to feel compelled to tell every single youthful indiscretion. But what a vast difference between a youthful indiscretion such as the loss of her virginity to cousin Fred and the mass gang rape a couple of years later which, aside from several cousins, included three of her uncles.
If anybody could have committed moral blackmail, it could have been Iris herself, and not her cousin Fred who, throughout her early teens, dominated and possessed her sexually, only to serve her up as the victim of that family orgy the day he left for the Army.
The interview was the very first occasion that had ever presented itself to Iris where she could talk about her traumatic experience, where she could express her fears and anxiety about what was going to happen to her daughters. Aside from the fact that she truly believed herself to be a very immoral woman-whereas, in effect, she was the victim of the crime of rape-she had apparently never taken any steps to protect her daughters from a similar fate.
Iris felt extremely guilty, in retrospect, not so much about her first experience as such, but that her first experience in sex was with her own cousin. Sex, as a matter of education and enlightenment, had never been discussed in her family. It was not 'til! she reached her mid-teens that Iris became aware of the crime of incest. Although she was unable to break away from her cousins' aggressive dominance-she never dated any other boys but Fred and Gary-she felt extremely guilty about her committing incest. It never occurred to her that, in that case, Fred and Gary were equally as guilty of the same crime and therefore equally as "worthless."
Paul Gebhard et al., in Sex Offenders, state that incestuous behavior is commonest with first cousins and least common with mothers. The researchers state that they have included coitus between first cousins in their report because most states prohibit first-cousin marriages. They go on to say, however, that except for first-cousin incest, incest is such a minority phenomenon that any generalizations are reduced to the status of near speculation.
With regards to incest in general, the abovementioned researches observe:
Many a father who would rather commit suicide than have sexual contact with his daughter has guiltily repressed incestuous thoughts that come unbidden to his mind. It is hard to recognize sexual attractiveness without being sexually attracted.
At the extreme one sometimes finds cases that bring to mind the primate families or European peasant families of the past, where the wife and nubile daughters were regarded as the personal property of the male to do with as he pleased. Even today in some nations incest is looked upon as a family problem rather than a matter calling for legal action by society. In these cases the male's basic attitude is a simple and not illogical one: "I've reared them, fed them, and protected them for years; by rights I should have sexual access to them in recompense." Vestiges of this old pattern remain in some of our culturally "backward" communities and urban slums. These vestiges are not only recognized but expected by the persons involved-"Pop's drinking again tonight, Sis; you'd better go over and stay with Aunt Jenny." Such a situation, accepted as one of life's hazards by the participants, is enough to send the college-educated social worker running for the nearest policeman.
Iris has been suffering mental anguish almost half of her life. Stripped of all the dramatic details, her suffering was greatly unnecessary. All she initially lacked was sexual education from her parents. Especially in a family where such extremely close ties existed, proper sexual education of the children would have been the easiest thing to accomplish. As it was, the girl learned the basic facts from her slightly older male cousins, who were basically as ill-informed as she was. Though in her later years she became obsessed with guilt because she had been in love with her cousin, and the belated knowledge that this was incestuous and therefore illegal and immoral, it did not dawn on her to feel guilty because she had had premarital coitus, which in itself is a criminal offense in over 30 states of the Union.
Fortunately, only a minority of girls suffer from being raped by several members of her family. But if Iris had had sexual education, this whole affair would probably not have happened to her. And if it had happened, she would have been better prepared to cope with it.
"In one weekend, unexpectedly, I had become a woman. I had lost something before I even knew I had it-my cherry. And in those early years of my teens, of budding into physical maturity, I never realized what impact there would be later in life, when the full truth of what we'd done, and continued to do, sunk in. I don't blame Gary for that furtive moonlight fumbling . . . he was only a year older than I and had no intention of fucking me.
But later I came to realize that Fred knew full well what he was doing, and with whom. Fred was old enough to know what taking a girl's cherry would mean to her later on, not to mention fucking his own cousin. Many dictionaries don't specify exactly what relatives comprise an incestuous act . . . most of them merely say 'close relatives.' Well, surely that includes emotional closeness! Not just blood. Good God, for that matter, incest should include any trusted and closely allied person . . . when a child trusts someone, never thinks of that person in a sexual way, and that person introduces the sexual act, surely that too should be classified as incest. I should think that incest would have an emotional definition as well as a purely formal bloodline characteristic.
"Well, anyway, that was just the beginning. I felt no guilt then. I felt a great closeness, an even greater warmth toward both my cousins, Fred and Gary. Our 'secret' rose above any other consideration. And it became a regular pattern, too. Whenever I saw one or both of my cousins, we found a way to sneak off and fuck together. In that following year, I blossomed out into a lovely young woman with fully developed breasts, rounded hips, and strong sturdy legs with trim ankles. My body developed, and my hunger for sexual intercourse grew and intensified. Whenever either Gary's or Fred's name was introduced into a conversation, whenever I saw them, it was a matter of instant hot pants. Having been properly fucked taught me how to masturbate, of course, and whenever there were long periods-several weeks-of not seeing my cousins, I'd have to resort to taking care of myself. But I'd always envision Fred as my lover whenever I indulged in this desperate act to relieve my tensions. Fred had become my hero, my idol, everything I could possibly want. I began to spend time at the public library after school, reading all sorts of books about incest, and noticing that nowadays it was not too uncommon for cousins to marry and have a family. The taboo seems to be more religious than genetic, and by the time I was in the tenth grade, I'd become quite a little expert on the subject. I pined, and mooned, dreaming of my cousin Fred, waiting to see him, hinting at romance, marriage, anything to find out what his thoughts were of me. I knew he thought I was a terrific lay, but that knowledge recognized that the only way he could know it would be from considerable experience with other girls. Oh yes, certainly, I screwed with Gary too . . . but it was never the same thing. That was more of a share and share-alike act, sort of a throwaway bonus for being Fred's kid brother. No. It was Fred who filled my life-completely.
The day I heard the news that Fred had been drafted into the Army, I nearly went into a swoon from shock. My parents knew, of course, how devoted I was to Fred but they thought that it was because I held him in an older brother regard. They hadn't figured out that I was in love with Fred as only a fifteen-year-old girl can be in love. And the poor foolish things decided that what I needed to make me feel better was a party. So they decided to have a big family get-together, to invite all the relatives to a huge picnic and give my beloved Fred a happy send-off. Before the day of the big picnic, I spent endless hours phrasing my parting words to Fred, telling him in my fantasy how
I would wait for him forever, and that even if he came back from the war a cripple, missing his arms and legs, I would still be his-forevermore.
"It's funny to you, I suppose. The adolescent ramblings of a confused young girl, I suppose, are funny to everyone-but the young girl. But I had given Fred everything a girl can give, and it was only logical to me that we would get married. When the big day came, I went to great lengths to look my best for Fred. No longer a tall scrawny girl, but now a filled-out voluptuous creature who knew the pleasures of her own body and how to give pleasure to her man. Her 'man.' Fred! My God, you should see him now . . . his bald spot that he tries to cover up with some kind of dye, his paunch that no amount of bowling will ever make firm again. But I'm getting away from the point.
"My parents spared no expense for the gala event, and relatives poured in from all over the state-even some I'd never even met before. I suppose it was as good an excuse as any to finally get us all together. . . . The backyard was festive with Chinese lanterns, streamers of red, white and blue, miniature paper American flags, and even the paper tablecloths and napkins had a patriotic motif to them. My dad had set up the tape recorder out on the patio-unfortunately most of the tapes were of music he and Mom had enjoyed when they were kids . . . cornball swing stuff that the old folks could still manage to dance to-and where our backyard ended, the woods began. The woods. Now, of course, the entire area has become just mile after mile of housing projects, but ten years ago, we still had woods. Our nearest neighbor was three miles away, the nearest shopping center was a thirty-five minute drive, and I took the rural school bus every day for the long five-mile drive. I didn't get my own car until the following year--mostly because of my despondency after that day.
"Everyone shouted and laughed loudly, hailing each other, giggling like children, swilling down the whiskey punch my dad had prepared, and paying next to no attention to us kids. My eyes never left Fred's body no matter who he was talking to, or where he was standing-acting very grown-up, talking impressively to the older men of the family about the role of U.S. in Vietnam. Oh, I was impressed . . . very impressed. My Fred was off to the wars, and I would sit home and write to him every day, send parcels, be faithful to him until his return to me. But I didn't know very much about my darling Fred . . . I wasn't prepared for what happened that afternoon, for what Fred did to me. Had he sent me out to whore for him, it wouldn't have been nearly so disastrous as what he did to me that day.
"All the grown-ups were pretty snockered by four or five in the afternoon, the sun was low and only visible through the foliage of the trees. Everyone was dancing or snacking at the rather disheveled picnic tables where relatives had gulped down food and left the remains to dry and cake on the plates, attracting flies. When no one had been looking, I helped myself to the punch and with Gary at my side, talked to my many cousins and second cousins and even third cousins. It seemed after a while that the entire world was populated by my relatives! But I'd seen precious little of my Fred, so busy being a man, talking only to men and only the prettiest of my female cousins. I was becoming immobilized with jealousy, and booze; Fred never smiled at me that way, Fred never bowed his head like that to me . . . on and on and on. Gary kept telling me I was making a big thing out of nothing, that Fred had a surprise he was working on for me, and all sorts of other things to calm me down. Although I'd never told Gary about my passion for Fred, I think he sensed it. He knew that he could fuck me, too, but he never once attempted to lay a hand on me unless Fred was around. I belonged to Fred, and if there were any crumbs left over after Fred was finished with me, then Gary could have them. But not before Fred had had his fill.
"Finally, Fred came over to us and conspiratorially told me that he'd been rigging a surprise for me, one that I'd enjoy enormously. All my jealousy disappeared instantly, and I followed him toward the woods. Fred had brought a plastic container with an ample supply of Dad's punch, and we'd take long slugs of it as we walked deeper and deeper into the darkened woods. Gary, of course, trotting along directly behind us. The three musketeers off to another adventure. Finally Fred halted and spread an old blanket out on the ground, dropping to his knees and holding out his hand to me. The invitation, and his intent, were unmistakable. I'd removed my halter top even before I'd stretched out on the blanket next to him. My body ached for him to love me, to touch me, to fuck me. I assumed that his 'surprise' was that we'd find a moment to fuck in that frantic family get-together party where everyone seemed to be monopolizing his time-everyone but me.
"I too had something a little extra for Fred to remember me by, and as soon as he had dropped his pants and shorts, I took his beautiful member in my hand and brought it to my anxious mouth. I kissed it tenderly, feeling it twitch at the touch of my lips, and then began to lick at it lovingly.
" 'When did you become a cocksucker, Iris?' Fred asked me, his expression both amused and surprised, but pleasantly so.
" 'I heard one of the girls at school talking about it, and I thought.. . . " But Fred cut me off.
" 'I don't really give a shit about all that crap. Just suck me if you're going to!'
"And I knew that Fred hadn't meant to seem so cold, so cruel. He was going to the war; time was precious. Taking his penis in one hand, I cupped his gorgeous balls with the other and squeezed them lightly as I ran my tongue up and down, over and around his rapidly hardening cock. That lovely cock that belonged to me! I would kiss it, and suck it so that he'd never want any other woman to contaminate it, so that he'd keep it pure and clean just for me. I showered his growing penis with hundreds of tiny kisses, then tongued him, rolling my tongue lazily around the ridge of his glans, nibbling at the flesh, wrapping my wet blade around his prick, then lapping it in long steady strokes. Perhaps it was the liquor, or just the fact that it was Fred's precious cock, but I was getting turned on something terrific. And I couldn't get over how smooth the tip of his cock was to my mouth, my lips, my tongue. Finally, when I felt how full his shaft was, how hard, how proud, I began to push the head of it into my mouth, covering my teeth with my lips and keeping my mouth closed tightly enough so that it would feel like a virgin's cunt to his prick.
"Fred moaned as his cock slipped into my mouth. 'You know something, Iris? For a kid who's never done this before, you're damned good at it. You're a natural, Iris!'
"I wanted to tell him that it was because I loved him so much, that only for him was I good at sucking or a good lay. That he could ask Gary if he wanted to, that Gary never thought I was a good lay-just for Fred, my Fred, my very own darling Fred. But I knew better than to say anything right then, better than to take his cock out of my mouth just to tell him something that I could just as easily tell him later. Besides, I was so enjoying the taste of his cock, the feel of it inside my mouth, the way the head stretched out my cheeks even the way it stretched out my vagina when it was inside of me. Sucking Fred's cock like that made me feel totally his, and that he was totally mine. I could feel my cunt burning against my panties, screaming to be loved too, but I could wait. First I would bring Fred to orgasm, and then he would take me after he'd rested for a bit . . . maybe even suck my cunt! By then Fred was humping my face, shoving his cock deeper and deeper into my throat, almost choking me; his hands grabbed the back of my head and pushed and pushed, helping me to fuck his cock with my hot wet mouth, and then I felt his engorged penis begin its eruption, felt his burning sperm shoot against my throat in wave after wave of intense ejaculation. I swallowed it, of course, what else could I have done? It was my joy, my pleasure, to take everything of Fred's into my mouth and keep it with me.
"When he'd finished, I let his limp penis slip from my lips and kissed it over and over until Fred shoved me away. 'Now it's time for your surprise,' he said with a look I'd never seen in his eyes before. He pulled up his pants, turned in an easterly direction, and waved. Waved? To whom? Who was out there? What was this all about? And then I saw. Saw them! Four of the cousins I'd met that very day, and two of my uncles emerged from the woods from behind the trees. All of them had seen us. Had seen me sucking Fred's cock! Frantic, I didn't know what to do or where to go. How could Fred be doing this to me . . . and why? It was our secret! It had always been our secret! And as they came closer I saw the looks on their faces, the mean brutal glaze to their eyes. And I knew. I knew! I screamed and tried to make a break for it, to run-anywhere, just to run and get away. But Fred caught my leg and brought me down to the blanket, pinioning me there with the weight of his body.
" 'What's the matter, cousin dear? What's good for me has always been good for Gary, too . . . why not a few more? An old whore like you must've been putting out for every guy in school, you must've been fuckin' any guy walking . . . and now that I know you're a cocksucker too . . . well, shit, Iris, share the wealth!'
"I struggled to get away, tried to scream but Fred signalled Gary to shut me up. He put a gag on my mouth, a dirty old handkerchief. I couldn't say a word. I couldn't tell Fred that I loved him, that I'd never gone to bed with anybody but him, that I'd never suck anybody but him . . . except Gary, of course, but Gary didn't count. My head was pounding with panic, with the blood rushing behind my eyes as I saw the others come up to me, already fumbling with their pants, standing in a circle around me to see who'd go first. Gary and Fred held my arms and my cousin Jim came toward me, and laughing, he ripped my panties from my body exposing my sopping wet cunt . . . but it was wet for Fred, not for anyone else!
"One by one, they fucked me . . . they pawed my breasts and stuck their pricks into me and fucked and fucked and fucked until I could no longer struggle. I passed out finally. Passed out. Six of them fucked me. By the time the first one had finished and the last one, the first one was ready again. I don't know how often they ravaged my body, these dear sweet cousins and uncles of mine. I suppose Gary must have gotten his, too; maybe even Fred got inside of me a couple of times. I don't know. But I've never gotten over that day. Never. I don't think I ever will. All I'd ever meant to Fred was an easy fuck. That's all. I'd never been anything more to Fred than a quick lay
. . . and I would have died for him-willingly.
"Fortunately for me, I suppose, Fred reenlisted after his two year hitch. I didn't see him during his brief visit home. I didn't want to see him. Not ever. But of course, in a family like mine, it was inevitable that we'd see each other again. Pretend to be just loving cousins and nothing more. Pretend that he'd never set me up for a gang rape by my own relatives.
"I've tried to 'pretend" all these years. I pretended when John came into my life-dear, sweet, quiet John who trusts me, who believes in me so completely. He hasn't found out yet about Fred or Gary or.. . the others. But he will. And then what will I do? How can I ever explain it to him? That it was just foolish, adolescent puppy love? No. He'll see through that. He'll see the real me! A tramp. A worthless harlot. And what's worse, he'll be so hurt . . . I've always been a rotten lay for John. What else could I do? If he knew what real feelings I had inside of me, he'd have guessed that I'm nothing more than a cheap whore. Fred was right on that awful, day, just an old whore. But John thinks I'm a model wife, and he doesn't object to my being a rotten bed partner . . . I think he believes that shows my purity. But John will find out one of these days . . . and then what?"
Iris went to see a psychiatrist. It was recognized that she was a suicidal personality. Some reasonable doubt existed about the veracity of the gang-rape she was submitted to. Whether or not it actually happened is immaterial, however, because as far as Iris was concerned, it was the gospel truth. And as such, she suffered from the consequences to the point where she had decided that she could no longer live with it.
However, her continued indecision, her inability to resolve her feelings of inferiority, are likely to bring Iris to a nervous breakdown long before she actually attempts suicide or asks for a divorce. Neither of these two drastic decisions would alter, much less improve, her basic problem.