For instance, rarely does a mother say to her daughter, 'It is wrong for you to have intercourse with your own father.' Instead, the girl is told, from an early age, 'Don't come into the bedroom while your father is dressing.' And, 'Close the door while you change.' These same rules are seldom applied where the mother or brothers are concerned, and the young girl is thus separated sexually from the males of the family. Other means of sexual separation are also used, of course.
So, even if one accepts as truth Melody's professed ignorance of the mechanics of sexual intercourse, it must be assumed that, by other means, she knew she was in violation of certain restrictions when she allowed, returned, and perhaps encouraged these first sexual caresses.
Most important of all… she knew her father would be punished if she told. But she did not tell.
Despite her youth and her lack of sexual knowledge, Melody knew her father had done something terribly wrong. She knew it was wrong even before the rape itself occurred. A threat might well have stopped him, had it been made before her father lost complete control. The fact that she waited so long shows — despite her fears — incestuous desire on her own part.
Her awareness of the power of such threats is shown by the manner in which she later used them to gain a certain amount of power over her father; the power to taunt him, to torture him by flaunting her body before him, etc.
The second rape was the child of the first. By the manner in which she held the first act over the head of her father — through the occasional threats, the exposure of her partially nude body, etc. - Melody invited it. Each reference to the first rape must surely have awakened new desire in her father. In fact, Melody may have meant to do just that. It may have been her way of punishing him for the loss of her virginity — a possession of great, though dubious, value in our society. Then, too, her subconscious mind may have longed for a repetition of the assault. Later events support this last possibility.
The fact that Melody, whose parents had never explained to her the barest essentials of the sexual functions, was so strongly aware of the wrongness of incest tends to support Freud's theory that the taboo against incest is so deeply ingrained in the human race that it is an 'historical inheritance', e.g., the taboo is biologically inherited. Wayland Young, author of Eros Denied, a study of sexual taboos and their origins, also subscribes to this theory.
'This taboo against incest is probably determined by evolution itself,' Young says, 'and Freud is probably correct in his theory and in his belief that the taboo is of a genetic nature.'
Young adds that the taboo against incest, unlike most others he considers, '… is appropriate to mankind as a whole.'
Appropriate or not, the barrier between Melody and her father had fallen, never again to be erected… at least not by themselves.
Like many cases of daughter-father incest, this one eventually came to the attention of the authorities. In the conclusion of this study, Melody tells of the events which took place before that discovery, of a change in the relationship, and of an agonizing decision she was forced to make.
I was sixteen the next time we fucked… Sweet sixteen. Two years older and God only knows how much wiser — or so I thought. And horny! I was full of the fever that night… and most of it was between my legs.
I'd been to a drive-in movie that night. My guy and I'd gone double with another couple. That meant that we'd had to limit ourselves to necking in the back seat, sneaking feels of each other when we got the chance. Torture! By the time they dropped me at the front door my knees were weak and my legs were trembling. Daddy just grunted when I came into the house. Mom was gone.
'Just like the other two times,' I thought to myself as I began to undress in my room. Then, I wondered why that thought had popped into my mind later, I knew why.
As I stripped to my under things — skimpy black bra and matching panties, dark hose and satiny garter belt — the touch of my own fingers made me hotter and hotter. Damn' those double dates. Through the silky material of my panties I rubbed at my pussy. I stood with my feet planted wide on the floor, my knees bent, rubbing my pussy. It did no good. It only made me hotter. And it was degrading.
'Just like the other two times!' The thought popped into my mind again. I felt cold sweat in the cleft between my tits as I thought of the old man. I saw him sitting before the TV. I saw him coming into my room. Getting between my legs. Suddenly, I was back to that night, two years in the past. I was under him. I was coming.
It was a long time before I got up the nerve to do it. I sold the idea to myself by remembering how he'd used me when he needed a little. I needed some now. It was my turn.
I slipped off my panties, trembling with excitement as the plan formed in my mind. The hose and garter belt accented the bright bush around my pussy, the white of my skin. I left one small lamp burning then got into bed and covered myself with a sheet. I was ready.
'Dad, would you come here,' I called loudly, and I couldn't help smiling as I added, 'There's something that needs taken care of.' I smoothed the sheet down over the contours of my body, especially down into the valley at the juncture of my widespread legs.
He was at the door, a newspaper in his hand. 'What is it?'
Slowly I peeled away the sheet. With my fingers spread, I slowly ran my hands up the insides of my thighs. 'This,' I said huskily, 'is what needs to be taken care of.'
The newspaper made a rustling noise as it dropped from his fingers. His face went slack as he stared at my naked pussy. He seemed frozen, unable to move. His hesitation was almost funny; he hadn't hesitated before. My fingers stroked the naked white flesh above the shiny dark strips at the tops of my hose.
'What's the matter — don't you think you can take care of it?' My brazenness was as exciting as the touch of my fingers, the lust I could now see on his face, replacing the surprise that'd been there. I liked knowing that I could be so… so whorish.
'I can take care of it.' His eyes never left my pussy as he walked toward the bed. He sat down beside me. He looked into my face as he put his hand between my legs. My hips jerked once, convulsively, as his fingers touched my cunt. 'You know I can take care of it.'
For two years we had been pretending, I suddenly realized, and now the pretending was over. I squeezed his hand between my thighs and threw my arms around his neck. I felt his finger slip into my pussy as we kissed. I lowered one hand into his lap and found his cock. It was hard. I squeezed it.
That squeeze brought him down on top of me. His tongue tasted good as it came into my mouth. I sucked it, and his fingers did crazy things to my cunt. My own fingers clawed wildly at the buttons of his blue work shirt, then at the zipper of his pants. Soon his shirt was open and his cock was in my hand. I tried to guide it home…
Let me get naked, baby, he said, pulling away; then while I watched through a red haze of passion, he did just that. I took off my bra. The air felt cool against my tits.
His prick was bigger than I'd remembered. As he stepped out of his shorts, I raised myself into a sitting position on the bed and teasingly ran one hand up his hairy leg, slowly beneath the dark-colored, thickly-haired sack of his balls and out onto the length of his prick. Beneath the skin I could see the blue veins, like rivers on a map. Still holding his cock, I leaned my cheek against his thigh. I levered his cock slowly toward my face. I kissed the dark head of it, softly. I heard him chuckle.
'Developed yourself a taste for cock, huh?' he said, turning so that his peter swiped across my face and I was suddenly facing his hairy groin. He stroked my hair. 'Well, I've got a taste for cunt. Man gets a smell of cunt, baby, or a taste of it, and he never loses the hunger.' And I knew he was going to go down on me.
As he sank to the bed and kissed me, his arms going around me and holding me so that I lay half on my side, my tits flattened against his hard and hairy chest, I felt relief. He had misunderstood me. I had no desire to suck him off. That kiss on the head of his cock had been more… well, instinct. At that moment, for the first time in years, I'd felt affection toward him. His words had killed it.
But all that passed away as he eased me down against the pillow and began kissing his way down my body. He was on his belly, his legs over the side of the bed, his cock beneath him. He rested himself on his elbows and his hands held my tits while his lips sucked hard at one of my nipples. I forced my hand under him and found his cock. He shifted so I could hold it.
I squirmed as his kisses moved lower on my body.
His tongue licked slowly down through the cleft between my tits, onto the soft mound of my belly, and it
