Chapter 4
THE OUTER FRINGES
Incest between the closely related numbers of the family, who are confined to the same household, is not necessarily rarer than that on the outer fringes of the family structure; but it is most often hushed up. Incest between uncle-niece and aunt-nephew, however, comes to light more often, because of the tendency to punish by publicity-including bringing legal charges against the offenders.
Researchers and psycho-therapists have found also, that when a person does talk about incestuous relationships, they usually start by admitting the cousin-cousin incest, and next in the ease of admission is that of the uncle and aunt, niece and nephew sex acts. An important finding is that in the past decade, with prosperity at a high pitch, one contributing factor to the high incidence of this type incest has been alleviated and abated, simply because few families are now forced to live together in the same household, for economic reasons. Thus, records reveal that much of this "fringe incest" now occurs when the aunt or uncle act as baby-sitters, or when children of the brothers and sisters are visiting, or when an aunt or uncle become part of the close family unit, due to the death of one of the parents of the child.
In the chapter concerning father-daughter incest, we learned of one such incident that came about with the death of the brother of the man who was having incestuous relations with his daughter. When his niece came to live with him, he had the one important element of this type of incest: proximity, which in itself provided opportunity. Natural inclination enters into the picture here, for often, a small girl, for instance, starved for male affection, will respond avidly to any attention she receives from one she-likes and does not fear, such as an uncle.
Mavis R. was such a case. We chose her case history because it combines several of the elements necessary to serious incest (rather than merely molestation, or the "feeling up" of a child). Oddly, Mavis became most involved with sex relations with her uncle after she was grown up and married, although the incestuous sex acts had been taking place from the time she was nine.
My world ended when I was almost 10, when my father died. I had been his pet-spoiled, adored, pampered and almost worshipped. For the first year, I was lonely, introverted, lost. When my mother remarried, I thought it would be different, and I tried to love and respect my step-father-I honestly did. But he was so different from my father, and besides, he had two children of his own, and all his attention went to them. They were both boys, and could do no wrong. They were both younger than me, and I was nothing more than a nursemaid and baby-sitter. They liked to go out a lot, and sometimes I'd be stuck with those two brats as many as four nights a week.
Then my uncle came to our town. I only remembered him vaguely. He was 22, warm, friendly, happy-go-lucky-like my dad had been. I liked him the moment he picked me up and raved about my pretty, blue eyes and soft, blonde hair. He got a job and had a small apartment a few blocks from us. He used to drop in almost every night, and he'd bring ice cream for me and the boys, then help me put them to bed. Then we'd watch TV, laugh and talk, and sometimes he'd help me with my school work, or we'd play Monopoly. I often used to sit on his lap while we watched TV, and we'd kiss and he'd put his hand between my legs and rub me. Sometimes he'd put his finger in, and I'd go almost crazy, although I don't think I ever had what you'd call an orgasm, then. I know that sometimes, when he'd leave, I would go to bed and masturbate, thinking about him, and how he kissed me and fingered me.
One night, when he'd got me all hot and wet, I felt his peter getting real hard. He was squirming around, sweating, fingering me real hard. I suddenly wanted to make his thing feel as good as he was making mine feel, and I asked him to take it out. He didn't want to, so I unzipped his pants and put my hand inside, and squeezed and stroked his peter. Then I got down on my knees, took it out, and put it in my mouth. I wanted to. I was happy when I saw how excited he got. He pulled me away after a bit, picked me up and took me in on the bed. He took off my panties and spread my legs, and he crawled up so his head was between my legs and he began licking me, kissing the inside of my legs, sticking his tongue inside me. This time, I know I had an orgasm, and I still wanted more of him and what he did.
He had been masturbating while he kissed me, and I wanted to give him the same wild, wonderful feeling he'd given me at the end of his tonguing. I had him stretch out on his back, and I stroked his peter while I put my mouth on it and sucked. Suddenly, I started to bring it deep into my mouth, and he squirted all this hot juice into my mouth. But he was still plunging it in, so I swallowed it and kept on until he did it a second time. I turned upside down, so my pussy was across his face, while I could still put his peter in my mouth, and he made me come again and again. Afterward, he spread my legs, felt inside me and tried to put the head of his thing inside my pussy. He asked me if it hurt, and I told him it didn't, but he got up and put his pants on. He was afraid he'd hurt me.
We did it that way for over a year, at least three times a week. I remember the first time he fucked me. It was the night after my 12th birthday. He had had to work on my birthday night, when I'd had a party, and he asked my mother if he could take me downtown and get me a dress for a gift-let me pick it out. I picked out a beautiful blue dress, and he was astonished (though I don't know why he hadn't noticed before) to see how it accented my budding breasts.
He fingered me until I came, and I kissed his penis, in the car on the way home. Then he asked me to come up to his apartment for a while, "so we can do it right."
I was so warm and lovey with gratitude and excitement over the dress, I'd have done anything. He took my clothes off, and kissed my nipples. He had his clothes off, too, and I played with his peter and he masturbated me. But this time, he didn't perform cunnilingus, nor want me to suck him. Instead, he spread my legs gently, got on his knees between my legs, and began to put his peter inside me. I almost went wild with joy-it was so much better-more full and sexy, than his tongue or fingers inside me had ever been. I think we came inside a minute-my first full orgasm with a peter inside me! He was afraid he'd hurt me, but I convinced him he hadn't. He brought me to orgasm with his tongue, then fucked me again-and this time it was even better for me.
From then, until I was 17, he was the only man I had. Oh, I dated, but I got a little high one time at a party, and let this one boy undress me, but he turned me off with his "jump on" ideas. No finesse-no play for awhile. Why, he didn't even kiss my breasts!
At 17, I started going steady with Jimmy. My Uncle Ralph was as jealous as a lover that has been jilted, and our sex became a grind. He would question me about Jimmy-had he fucked me; had he performed cunnilingus or analingus (we'd done that often), and he began to intrude on my dates-following me to the movies, and things like that. Jimmy didn't like Ralph-I think he suspected that there was a little more than uncle--niece stuff going on, because Ralph was always buying me expensive gifts, and was so possessive and jealous. Jim and I eloped on my 18th birthday. He questioned me about Ralph, after awhile, but I never told him the truth. We moved to another city, while Jim finished college and I worked, and everything was working out fine-Jim was wonderful in bed, and as kind and considerate as Ralph had been. Maybe that was one reason I fell in love with him.
Then, Uncle Ralph showed up for a visit. We had the spare room, and, although I was apprehensive about it, we asked him to stay with us for the week he had. Jim had a part-time job in a chemical manufacturing company (he was studying to be a pharmacist) and never got home until after ten-thirty. The very first night, Ralph got pretty drunk, and he was crude and blunt.
"I've been a long time without you, and I haven't got much time to make up for it. Let's go!" He grabbed me and started to drag me into the bedroom. I tried to reason with him, but he wasn't about to listen. He ripped my panties off, took his peter out (it was already hard as a rock) and began trying to force it into me. All of a sudden, I hated him. He wasn't the same man. There was nothing of the gentle, kind person I'd become so attached to in my lonely girlhood years. He was an animal, wanting to relieve his sex urge. I fought him as hard as I could, and in the melee that followed, I hit him with an ashtray. He lay on the floor, bleeding and unconscious, and I had to call an ambulance. Just as they were taking him away, Jimmy came home. I knew by the look in his eyes that my only salvation lay in the truth. I told him that Ralph had tried to rape me!
Jimmy preferred charges, and that should have been that, but in open court, Ralph gloated over the fact that he'd been having sex with me, in all forms, since I was almost ll. He did it to punish me, hoping that my marriage would break up and I'd return to our former relationship.
He was convicted and sentenced to two years, and, though it did put an awful strain on our marital relationship-especially sex-I finally convinced Jimmy of my utter loneliness, and my utter need of love and attention after my dad died. He finally accepted it fully, and forgave me. Since then, life has been fine and wonderful with him. I'm one who agrees that "confession is good for the soul." I've learned since that Jim was no angel-that he'd gotten a girl pregnant when he was only 16. But as for incest, let me warn any girl-it might look wonderful at the time, but it has one great flaw-there is just no way that such a sexual relationship could end happily.
Art W. was a much different type from the girl in the last case history. He was raised on a farm, and, as he says, "knew all about sex by the time I was 10." And Art wasn't just boasting. He had indulged in homosexuality, child molestation, semi-incestuous relations with an older first cousin, and had even attempted intercourse with a dog and a cow-all this at the tender age of 10!
There were eleven in my dad's family, and he was the second youngest, so when my grandpa died, my dad just stayed on and took over the farm in Missouri. The youngest one in his family was my aunt Jean. She was ten years older than me, and she continued to live on the farm, with my grandmother. Grandma died two years after grandpa, so Jean was like a big sister to me. My mother and father had to work like hell to make a living off the place, and so did Jean and me, as well as my younger brother and sister. I always liked farming, though, so I have no complaints. I don't think I'm much different than most farm kids. I used to jack off watching the bull screw the cow, or the dogs going at it. Screwing seemed the natural thing in all animals, and I figure that humans ain't no different. When the guys would get together, they'd often have a "jack off party", and see who could squirt the farthest when they came. (Shocking as some of these revelations may be, remember that they were made under hypnosis, which allows for no adornment of facts, nor withholding of them.)
One day, five of us were swimming-naked, the way we always did-and we were lying on the bank in the sun, when one of the guys suggested we have a sucking party. I was nine, I think, and I'd often wondered what it would be like to take a pecker in my mouth and suck it. We had sometimes jacked each other off for fun, but so far, no one had suggested we suck each other off. It was fun. I got a kick out of it. (NOTE: Many other instances of this activity among young boys is on record, and, as with Art, in later years, all traces of homosexuality had disappeared.)
One of the older guys-I think he was about 15-wanted to try cornholing, another time. (A gutter term for anal intercourse, as practiced by most homosexuals at one time or another.) I let him do it to me, but it hurt, and when he wanted me to put my pecker in his ass, I wouldn't.
I used to have this collie dog, and sometimes, I'd jack off and get her to lick it, but it never worked too good. I'd have to finish it myself. I tried putting it into her cunt one time, but she bit and snarled, so I quit. I'd heard the guys making jokes about what a good screw a cow was, and I got a box one day and tried to put it into our cow, Nell. But it was big and sloppy, and my pecker was lost inside it. It felt good, though, slippery and warm, and I was pumping away when who walks into the barn but my Aunt Jean!
I turned all kind of colors and tried to explain it away, but there I was, my stiff pecker in my hand, and I knew she'd seen me with it in Nell.
"You nasty thing!" she hollered. "I ought to tell your father!" I begged her not to-told her I'd do anything she asked if she just wouldn't tell. She finally agreed, but warned me that I'd better jump when she told me to do something, from now on. She was a grown woman then, and I'd often sneaked around and saw her naked. She had nice, round titties and a lot of hair between her legs that still didn't hide that slit, and it was funny, but I was still all worked up, and I could just picture what it would be like to put it into her slit. When she left, I just jacked off then and there, closing my eyes and thinking about her cunt.
She used to take me to Sunday school. She was real religious and I don't think she'd ever been out with a man alone. She used to go to church socials and barn dances and things like that, but never on what you'd call a date. And, nobody ever brought her home alone.
When I was 13, and Jean was 23, we had this family reunion picnic at the farm. I think it was the first time a man had put his hand on Jean's breasts or cunt, and I watched it. This cousin of mine, he tried all day long to corner her, and he finally did, by following her when she went to milk Nell and the other two cows we had. He just grabbed her, put his hand up under her dress and the other on her tit, and he kissed the hell out of her. She fought him, but I could tell that she enjoyed some of it. He begged her to let him fuck her, in the hayloft, but she called him a nasty thing and made him go back to the rest of the party, or she was going to tell his wife.
Later on, they drank a lot of cider and elderberry wine, and I guess Jean had a lot-or maybe she wasn't used to it. She had to excuse herself and she came up to bed. I'd been in bed for an hour, but I wasn't asleep. Some of the relatives had brought guitars, mandolins, fiddles and a bass fiddle, and they were playing and dancing in the parlor, so I couldn't sleep. I heard Jean in the next room to mine, stumbling and giggling, and I sneaked out to watch her undress. She never closed her door, and when I peeked in, she was standing in front of the mirror, with her one hand on her titty, and the other one at her cunt. She was sticking her finger in and out, giggling and straining, and squatting sort-of, so she could get her finger in farther. I got so excited watching her that I started jacking off my hard on. All of a sudden, she spotted me.
I thought she'd be upset and mad, but she just smiled at me. She went over to the bed, laid down, held her arms out and beckoned to me. "I'm better than a cow," she said. "Fuck me, Artie-fuck me good."
I'd fooled with a couple of girls-I'd even fingered my little sister some, but I'd never really had it in a girl. And those hard nipples and wet, inviting cunt were something else I'd never really seen before. I went over and I took one nipple in my mouth, while I ran my fingers up inside her, feeling the hard little point of her clitoris. She began to moan and wiggle and play with my pecker, until I was ready to come. "Don't, don't," she moaned. "Put it in me, fuck me, oh, Artie-fuck me please."
She pulled me down on her and I got it in. Inside of a few plunges, I shot into her and she wrapped her legs around my back, pumping like mad, and I knew by the quivers of the muscles inside her that she must have come also. She kept me locked between her legs while she rolled her hips around and she sucked my tongue until I had another good one on. Then we went at it again. I lasted a little longer this time, and she didn't have an orgasm, because she begged me to "keep it in, Artie," but it started to go soft.
I got off her, but she grabbed me and pulled me so that I was straddling her face, upside down, and she pushed my face down into her cunt, while she took my pecker in her mouth and began to suck it hard, plunging it deep inside her throat. She went wild when I hit that hard spot with my tongue. I put one hand under her and caressed her ass-hole, and after a couple of minutes, almost at the same time I did, she came again.
We never did get caught at it. It was easy, really. The one thing that bothered me was her praying-almost every time we'd fuck or suck, she'd get down on her knees and ask God to forgive her and me, and help us never, never to do it again. But we always did. We could never go more than a couple of days without it. I guess it opened the gates, because she began to go out a lot, and, like in any small town, word began to get around that she was an easy fuck. I heard once, at the poolroom, one guy bragging that "that Jean gives me a blow job like you've never dreamed about." I guess she must have known that my mother and dad would hear about it and, when they did, my mother kicked her out. She said she didn't want to raise her family with a slut like Jean around. Man, if she'd ever known who had opened those gates of passionate sex!
Jean went to Joplin (my dad gave her three hundred dollars, she told me later) and got a job as a waitress. I don't know what she did for the next two years, as far as sex went, but when I was 16 I left home. I headed straight for her place. I was big, and, a lot of people say, handsome. Jean was not a good-looker, but she sure had a sexy body-and now, she didn't go to church or pray anymore. I just moved in with her. We didn't make any pretenses, like me sleeping on the couch. I shared her bed and her cunt and her mouth for the next six years. Even now, I seldom find a dame who can give me what she does. Some suck good, some fuck good, some are good in the ass; but Jean has them all stopped in every way. She has lots of other guys, but I don't mind-except a couple of times she'd brought home some teenagers. Maybe it's a hangover from all our good times, that she still-likes to get a 13 or 15-year-old boy in bed. But, what the hell-we're not married. I work, she works, and we have a hell of a good time sucking and fucking each other, so why should I complain?
He also stated that her anal muscles and tissues were still "nice and tight" and from a purely physical standpoint, since he had a fairly small penis, he got a much fuller orgasm when he performed anal intercourse with his aunt.
This man is subnormal in intelligence. He had dropped out of school early (he'd never been good at any subject in school), and he had been exposed to the most raw and brutal sex education possible, almost as if he'd been raised in a jungle.
In spite of his laughing it off, his early homosexual experience had stayed with him. After several sessions of hypno-therapy, Art finally admitted that he had wanted to try anal intercourse with the older boy who had performed it on him. He also admitted that, on one occasion, he had attempted anal intercourse on a twelve-year-old boy who had first performed fellatio on him: though he denied that he had ever fellated the boy.
Art is walking a razor's edge. That he has been influenced by strong homosexual tendencies is obvious, for he does prefer anal intercourse to any other, at this stage. If he stays with his therapy, and truly desires to become completely heterosexual, he can probably make it-but not if he continues his sex relations with his aunt, for she cooperates too well and indulges his desire for anal intercourse.
Art claims that he has had many other women, but that they are mostly bar pickups and semi-prostitutes and that they mean nothing to him. What he is admitting is that he does have a deep emotional attachment for his aunt. Possibly, if he were to meet a girl with whom he could have uninhibited sex relations-including anal intercourse-but for whom he felt a strong emotional involvement, this man might yet enjoy a full sex life. On the other hand, should he swerve just slightly, and choose to try anal intercourse with a male, he might easily become a confirmed homosexual. (Remember, he has performed oral sex acts with boys, and has had them fellate him.) At this writing, the future of Art is hard to predict, but two experts in this field of sexology tend to think that the ultimate road that Art will take, will be that of overt, unashamed homosexuality.
He has no deterrent, no motive to do anything except satisfy his own sex appetites whenever and wherever he can. His motive in seeking help was purely selfish; not to make him a fuller human being, but to assure himself of being sexually satisfied.
As to the unfortunate Jean, she is probably beyond help because she does not realize that she may need it. She is morally substandard, educationally devastated, and again, is interested only in existing day-to-day, both emotionally and sexually. However, many a woman has been whisked from the primrose path to the halls of marriage and has made the grade magnificently.
To close out this chapter on the less related incestuous beings, one case is interesting, merely because it involves a rare form of incest: that between grandson and grandmother. Again, we advise: THIS IS NOT A TYPICAL CASE (if there were such a thing) but one that was caused by a particular set of circumstances.
Arnold B. was struck down by a car accident when he was 15. Result: a total and irreparable paralysis of the legs and a horrible disfiguration of the face. His parents had been dead since he was five, and Arnold has been raised by his grandparents. Fortunately, his grandfather had been a fairly wealthy man. We say fortunately, because the ultimate surgery and treatments were costly, and at least, Arnold was spared becoming a charity case. His grandfather died in the accident which injured Arnold, and his grandmother took over his care and keeping. His grandmother, Ella, was a woman of 58 at the time, and a vigorous, sexually healthy woman who frankly admits that she enjoyed the fullest sexual relations with her husband, right up until his death. But, driven by guilt feelings, Ella eventually sought help. She felt it was wicked, sinful and wrong that she should be satisfying her grandson's sexual desires, and allowing him to more-or-less satisfy hers, insofar as he was able.
We make no moralistic judgments, but we do point out that this woman's motives seem to be of the noblest nature. Hear her account:
I was so grateful when Arnie lived. Of course, I was shocked at Albert's death, and taking care of Arnie gave me an interest in life-something to keep my mind off my own loss. He was so pitiful, not wanting anyone to see his face all scarred up. Then when we got the verdict that he'd never walk, he needed someone to understand. I wanted him to face life squarely and to become a man, and one night, when he was extra despondent, and I was bathing him-I suddenly wanted to prove to him that he could have a full life. I took his penis and just put it in my mouth. I'd done that for Albert for years-I enjoyed doing it. I sucked and caressed it until it was hard and stiff. Poor Arnold was almost in a state of shock, but I knew what I was doing. I had seen him masturbate, and knew that he was still normal, sexually. I sucked him until he came, then did it again. I told him not to be ashamed, because I wasn't. I really wanted him to take a look at himself, as a man-as a fully capable, operative human being, who had hope and confidence in himself as a man and as a person.
My heart ached, every time I looked at that once-handsome face, and saw the despair in his eyes. He was a fine boy, and I admit, maybe I felt I was paying part of the debt we owed him, because it was Albert who was driving when Arnold was crippled. Later, I stopped fooling myself and Arnold. I enjoyed it-sexually, as a woman-and he enjoyed our sex also-as a man.
After a few times of me sucking him until he came, he began to worry about me-about what I was getting from it. One night, he stopped me as I was going down on him. "Not unless you let me do the same thing to you," he said. I knew he meant it, so I stripped naked and showered and perfumed myself. I was always proud of my body-Albert used to say I was the only grandmother in the world with the body of a teen-ager.
I was also always proud of the cleanliness I observed-Albert used to love to perform cunnilingus on me because he said I smelled and tasted clean and fresh and inviting.
Our first try, I got on my knees over Arnold's face, propping his head with pillows to help him get his tongue inside me better. I guess I'd been without any sex for too long, because I came good, in less than two minutes. I then fellated Arnold, and after making us comfortable, we performed mutually-the sixty-nine position. He was so eager to please, and he did.
It was a long time before we tried regular intercourse. Arnold told me that he'd had girls before, but never with the female doing most of the active work. He was able to sit in a chair all right, after being put there, and we got a strong, solid-backed chair and I'd help him onto it. Then, I'd straddle him, lowering my vagina down over his penis. We would both guide his penis in, and naturally, I'd make the up and down motions, until we both came. It took some doing to learn to adjust to one another's desires and emotions, but if we missed, we always resorted to cunnilingus and fellatio.
Of course we embraced and kissed while having sex-after all, I love Arnie dearly, and he loves me in a special way. And we need each other so-that's something that so many married couples never have-that wondrous need, and the beauty of fulfilling another's need.
Guilt? Maybe a little, but my real purpose is to discover if I am doing a disservice to this boy I love so. What happens to him when I go? Will there be a woman for him, on this earth, or am I just building his hopes on sand? As long as I live, and he desires me to fill his life, then I will. But my real concern is Arnold, though I do admit, this wonderful boy has filled a tremendous gap in my own life. Not like Albert, my husband, for many times, I long to feel the weight of a man atop me-the deep thrust that comes from the loins of a man, and Arnold can't give me that. But what we can give, we do give, and there is no guilt attached to that kind of giving.
Love? Of course there is love. The age difference is there, but only sometimes does it crop up. I'm a woman. He's a young man. We both have sexual needs. Would it be better if I ran around and went to bed with other men? I'm not unattractive. But what of Arnie? His face will never be much better than it is now.
DOCTOR (who knows of the relationship): "I'm not a psychiatrist, but, frankly, my interest has to be in the patient. I must, therefore, state unequivocally that this has been good for Arnold. He has a new outlook-upon himself, and upon the world. For the first time, he can see himself as a possible male-able to fulfill some of the sex acts required of a man. I have talked, off the cuff, to a friend of mine who is a psychiatrist, and he says that this woman has done for this young man, what a dozen psychiatrists might never have been able to do. The morality of it is none of my business. If you had asked me five years ago whether I could ever condone incest, I'd have given a flat negative answer. Now-I can't take any position except neutrality."
ARNOLD: "Wrong? Yes, according to all I've been taught about things. The world says it is wrong, but then, the world isn't crippled. I've thought a lot about it. I know this: If the accident hadn't happened, Gram would have Gramps, and I'd be able to date, make love, go out. Maybe, even with my face, I'd find someone-I don't know, but being immobile makes a big difference. I can't go after girls, and I surely can't ask them to come in and audition me. I don't know how it will all end, when Gram goes. She's a marvelous woman-and I mean that in every sense of womanhood. Quite bluntly, without her, I'd have cut my throat. I mean it. Life was meaningless. I had nothing, not even hope. She gave me back life itself. You make what you want of her, as a woman or a person, but to me, she's a saint."
Often, the best doctors and psychologists run into the "one in a million" case. We leave the judgment of this one to the reader.