First Time Lesbian Incest

🛑 ALL INFORMATION CLICK HERE 👈🏻👈🏻👈🏻

First Time Lesbian Incest


Our Reads



Career


Culture


Life


Style


Wellness



Meet The Team
Join Us


9 Lansdowne St.
Suite 2
Boston, MA 02215
Her Campus may receive compensation for some links to products and services on this website. Copyright © 2021 Her Campus Media, LLC. All Rights Reserved.
No matter how much advice you received from friends, family and school, no one can ever really prepare you for that first break-up, how to go about your first kiss or what on earth to do when womanhood approaches you in the form of blood flowing from your nether regions. Our pubescent years are filled with tackling these ground-breaking life events in our very different ways, some of which we don’t always find comfortable to talk about. I sat down with a plethora of ladies and questioned them on just a few of the highs and lows of ‘femaleness’ and their experiences.
‘I did kiss someone when I was 3 but I don’t think that counts (it was magical). It happened again when I was 13 with a disgusting boy at a party, it was like a washing machine and then I was gone with the wind (again, magical).’
‘When I was 18, at a house party. He asked me if I’d like to go out for some air. At this point, I had no idea what going out for air meant. He just pushed his face into mine and frankly, it was awful. But he’s now gay so I feel like it’s all worked out for the best.’
‘He was my boyfriend in year 9. We’d been out in the park, he walked me home and we kissed on my front door step. Worst moment of my life, and I don’t think I kissed another boy for a year.’
 ‘I was 13 and it was on Wandsworth Common where everyone used to go and just get really drunk. Some creepy guy dragged me off and I swear, his tongue explored my face in its entirety. S C A R R E D.’
 ‘I was 12, nearly 13 and it just happened in John Lewis. Very middle class.’
‘We were on a family holiday in the summer after Year 8. One day, I had a massive argument with my mum because she didn’t like me buying boys’ clothes. That same day, I just started bleeding. Cried on the bathroom floor for hours. The sheer irony of that day still gets me.’
 ‘I was 11 and I didn’t know what a period was. I cried because I thought I was dying and then thought I was pregnant. Cried to my mum and told her what happened. She hugged me, congratulated me on being a woman and then promptly called all the females in my family. When I came home from school that day, my brother had found out and was discovered sat on the bathroom floor crying whilst looking at pictures of me as a small child.’
‘I got mine when I was 8 or 9 and told my mum who then slapped me across the face. Apparently it’s tradition.’
‘Mine was in year 7. I remember I was in History and needed to go to the toilet. When I got up, I accidentally flashed all my friends but didn’t really think anything of it. It was when I got to the toilet that I realised I had started my period. Half my class had seen my bloody knickers.’
First time you shaved or waxed your lady-garden?
‘I think I was going to a party when I was like 15 and some people were allowed to stay over. I’m not sure what I thought would happen but I wanted to be prepared at all costs, so I stole my mum’s blunt razor and got to work. It was a real hack job. I then stayed away from boys at all costs, no one needed to see that.’
 ‘Don’t remember when it actually happened but girls started talking about it so I went home and gave shaving a try. Probably for the best because I got fingered a week later.’
 ‘I actually went for the scissors first. I wasn’t really looking and cut myself a few times which fucking hurt. Then I found my dad’s razor and ended up with a terrible shaving rash and war wounds.’
‘I was 14 or 15. I had a free house, and this guy came round. We were getting drunk and getting off with one another. Things started getting hot and heavy so I told him that I needed the toilet and I locked myself in and shaved literally everything including my forearms.’
‘I remember my first time because I was in the bath and the shower head ended up between my legs and was feeling quite nice. Got quite into it and then the shower head came off.’
‘I was pretty young, between 10 and 12, and I didn’t know what I was doing. It involved a pillow. I was basically dry-humping a pillow. My mum walked in. It was under covers but she knew. She. Knew.’
 ‘I think I was 15 and this girl had sent a video of herself masturbating to a boy, who in turn ended up sharing it with everyone. Me and my group of friends were like, “well, gonna give this a go and see what all the fuss is it about”.’
‘It was a very long time ago and I thought it was the most incredible thing in the history of the world and thought no one else could do it, almost like a secret power. Used to do it all the time and then slowed it down, because it was getting weird.’
First time you did anything sexual with a boy
‘I was 16 with a long term boyfriend. He fingered me and that was it. It was pretty good, I can’t really remember it if I’m being honest, all I know is I didn’t want to touch his penis.’
‘Everything happened on the same night. It was so painful, we just went from one thing to another. Finger, penis, done, ouch. He got a condom from his parents’ room which I realise now is really weird. I was in so much pain afterwards and then ran to the toilet and cried. Then he bought me Ben and Jerry’s which we ate in bed. Cute.’
‘Kinda half gave someone a hand-job in an ICT lesson. Classic.’
‘It was on a beanbag in my mate’s house and it was weird because my hand was down his trousers, holding his penis but I didn’t know what to do with it. You know at primary school when you’d have to put your hand in a bag and try to figure out what was in your hand? It was like that. Like a blind man trying to peel a carrot.’
‘After 3 attempts of trying and failed miserably to have sex, we gave it another go. We were passionately kissing, clothes were off, he was on top and then next thing you know, he whispered in my ear that it was in. To which I responded ‘really?’ Afterwards, I sang ‘Like a Virgin’ by Madonna.’
‘It was actually not bad, it obviously hurt a bit. Bled a bit but not a lot because I dance. The next day when I was getting the train from his back to mine, I remember being at the train station and feeling really aware that everyone knew what I had done.’
‘I’d had sexual relations with a boy about 5 minutes beforehand, and being the horny hunni that I am, another guy who was interested started getting off with me and we were just canoodling in a dark room. Another friend entered the room and unsuspectedly started chatting to us about X Factor. It was simply not the time nor the place so we decided to move the party to the downstairs bathroom and my first real sexual position was standing up doggy style. When it was over, I went home and cried a bit because I was really hungover.’
‘It was with my boyfriend in year 11 who I’d been together with for 8 months. I invited him round thinking that it would be the day it finally happened. We had one condom. He got really nervous and ripped it. It was not the day.’
 ‘It was devastating. We had an intense summer romance over 4 months. One night at Crisis I got a text from him out of the blue saying ‘I don’t think this is going to work anymore’. I didn’t speak for 5 or 6 days afterwards. He told me I had to get over it and when I stalked him on Facebook, I discovered he had gotten a girlfriend. Since then, I’ve never actually fallen for someone else.’
‘It was primary school. He was actually quite a rebel and I was attracted to the bad boy in him. I think I thought I could change him, We’d double-date with another couple and all go to the playground. But then it just fizzled out.’
‘I went to a house party. I was just not feeling the relationship anymore and he kind of brought it up whilst we were sitting with his friends. We ended up breaking up there and then but I was still staying over and had to drive him back the next day. He kept trying to spoon me in the night. It was pretty awkward.’
 ‘I was on holiday with my first ever proper boyfriend in Cyprus with some friends. We were all walking down the beach and he ran into the sea with my best friend’s little sister and they literally started getting off and having sex in the sea. He tried to talk to me but I was like, you’re fucking dumb. But it’s okay because he’s gay now.’
‘On Facebook chat, he was just like, this isn’t working. I got finished on Facebook chat. Minute of silence for me please.’
‘It was year 8 and I went to a friend’s party. We were all in the pool and we decided to get with each other. Some of the girls were topless. I really just don’t know.’
‘I kissed a friend at a house party because we wanted to make two of our male friends kiss. We kissed but they didn’t so we were pissed. Also, one time in Market Bar, someone was aggressively trying it on with me and I told me and my friend were in a lesbian relationship. He told me to prove it and frankly, I don’t like being called a liar. Sparks flew.’
 ‘I’ve never done it properly. Just a little peck but who doesn’t do that?’
‘I was on a night out and dancing, proper going for it. I was swivelling around, slut dropping and then accidentally karate punched this girl’s drink out of her hand. I was like, “so sorry I’ll buy you a drink”. So I bought her a drink and then she decided to kiss me. Didn’t really mind. The bartender was like, no PDA in this bar and proceeded to squirt the girl in the face with the soda hose. A whirlwind romance.’
First time you got horrifically drunk
‘It was on the day of our last GCSE exam. My mum kindly gave me a bottle of wine which I downed all by myself. I passed out for about 4 hours. Came about and everyone started freaking out. I staggered towards the garden. The girl whose house I was at was like ‘please don’t throw up on my mum’s garden, she just paid £400 for it.’ I was like, “I’m so sorry”, and proceeded to projectile everywhere.’
‘Me and a couple of friends went to an 18th when we were 14. Took a litre of vodka from my parents’ alcohol cabinet and drank about an eighth of it. We were all sat in the corner being sick on each other. My friend called a taxi and I was sick in my coat but fashioned it in such a manner that it was like a bag, so when the driver tried to make us pay a sickness charge, I threatened to pour it on him. That shut him up real quick.’
 ‘I was THAT girl at the first party of sixth form. Went to a party and was fed straight gin. My mate’s dad had to take me home, stopping on the way so I could throw up on the side of the road. My mum answered the door to witness me fall out of the car and hit my head on the kerb. I threw up on my mum’s feet and then was put in my bed. Threw up there too. Was still throwing up two days later. My friend’s dad still asks about me: “how’s the drunk girl?”’
‘I was visiting my sister at uni when I was 16 and she threw a house party. I got smashed before the house party on Apple Sourz jelly shots. I passed out in her roommate’s bed and threw up in her shoe closet but it was alright because her shoes were ugly.’
 ‘In my defence, it was the first time I had ever been prescribed co-codamol and didn’t know it reacted with alcohol. I was 14 and at a friend’s house party. A few of us had some drinks beforehand, very casually. Her parents were quite strict. 10 minutes later, the alcohol and co-codamol reacted. I have a vivid memory of being on the floor of her bathroom and not being able to move. I would will myself to stand up but would flop to the floor like a jellyfish. Her mum had to drive me home. I don’t think my mum has actually been angrier with me since.’
‘It was at a BBQ and I was still dealing with having been broken up with for the first time. We starting drinking at like 12 in the afternoon. Had a couple big bottles of cider, then a lot of tequila, wine, Cointreau and then 3 shots of absinthe. I then remember waking up to my mother shouting at me, showing me a picture of myself in a hospital bed. Apparently, I threw up so much, I didn’t even have to get my stomach pumped.’
The newsletter you won’t leave unread.
The newsletter you won’t leave unread.

By signing up you agree to our Terms of Use and Privacy Policy
Please tell us why you hid this ad?
Please tell us why you hid this ad?
Please tell us why you hid this ad?
Please tell us why you hid this ad?
Comments our editors find particularly useful or relevant are displayed in Top Comments , as are comments by users with these badges: . Replies to those posts appear here, as well as posts by staff writers.
Spam Offensive Disagree Off-Topic
Among the criteria for featured comments: likes by users, replies by users, previous history of valuable commenting, and selection by moderators.
‘They are preparing for war’: An expert on civil wars discusses where political extremists are taking this country
Brett Kavanaugh is the latest target of protests at D.C. restaurants
Perspective Carolyn Hax chat: My husband constantly makes comments about my showers
Perspective Carolyn Hax: Caretaker struggles with a lack of reciprocal support from friends
Our best tomato salad recipes for summer
Unparalleled reporting. Expert insight. Clear analysis. Everything you’ve come to expect from the newsroom of The Post -- for your ears.
Keep supporting great journalism by turning off your ad blocker. Or purchase a subscription for unlimited access to real news you can count on.
Questions about why you are seeing this? Contact us
I watch a young mother climb into the swimming pool with her 3-year-old daughter. They wrap their arms securely around each other and playfully bob up and down. Not a hint of distrust crosses this child's face; she appears confident of her mother's love and protection.
After a few moments, the mother attempts to place the child into an inflatable toy ring. Protesting, the little girl begins to kick her feet and cling desperately to her mother's neck. The mother tries to assure her daughter that she will not be left adrift, but her efforts fail.
Acknowledging the fear, the mother tosses the ring onto the deck and gently kisses her daughter's cheek. A smile of success and relief appears on the child's face.
The memory surfaces of myself as a small child: My arms are wrapped around my father's neck while swimming in a lake. I see the same joy on my face as I just saw a moment ago on the child's, until my father reaches his hand under my swimsuit to fondle me. My look of joy suddenly turns to one of shame and fear.
Today, I am left with an image of horror and betrayal.
I acknowledge another equally painful memory, of my mother, who did not protect me from my father. I look at the little girl in the pool and wish that I could have felt the same bond of trust with my mother that she feels with hers. Tears form in my eyes, and I dive into the water so they will go unnoticed.
Vulnerability is difficult to expose to others, but now I can allow myself the relief of crying. For most of my life, the pain was buried under the defenses that I had developed to emotionally survive the incest. ::
My father, a former police officer, began to sexually abuse me at the age of 3 and continued until just prior to my 16th birthday. His assaults ranged from manual stimulation to oral, anal and vaginal penetration. As a child, I did not understand what my father was doing. It seemed that he was providing me with the love and affection that a child desperately needs from a parent. Only after he began to mention the word "secret" did I question if what we were doing was right.
My father never physically forced me to participate sexually with him until my mid-teens. His force was emotional. He was my father, and I trusted him.
Between the ages of 13 and 15, I informed four people of the incest: my mother, a physician, a schoolteacher and my best friend. None of them believed me. Yet my behavior at the time indicated that there was, in fact, something seriously wrong in my home environment.
I was desperately crying for help -- through bedwetting, truancy, poor academic performance, attention-seeking behavior, self-destructiveness, hypochondria, chronic depression, fatigue and eventually drug and alcohol abuse and promiscuity.
Physical indications of sexual abuse were also present, such as chronic upper respiratory, kidney and bladder infections, as well as gynecological problems and rectal bleeding. My entire physical and emotional being screamed for someone to recognize that something was deeply hurting me.
At 16, no longer willing or able to endure any further abuse, I ran away from home. A week later, my father found and brought me home, only to beat me and throw me physically out onto the sidewalk. My mother's immediate concern, I felt, was that the neighbors might see what was happening. I walked away knowing that I would never return home, even if it meant ending my own life.Putting aside my fear that again I would not be believed, I sought the help of a social worker at the county mental health center. Finally, someone knew that I was telling the truth. She looked at the bruises on my face and said that it was her responsibility to report child abuse to the Department of Social Services. She asked me if I would talk to a case worker. I said yes; she dialed the telephone.
As she talked to the case worker, my heart raced. I was terrified of what would happen next. Would my father go to jail? Would I be sent to a foster home?
That telephone call led to my father's indictment and a trial. Although I was relieved to be out of my parents' home, the thought of testifying against my father in court was horrifying. I was breaking the silence that he demanded I keep -- I was betraying him. I felt ashamed, as if I were to blame for the abuse and should have been able to stop him.
As I testified, I could see the hate in his eyes. My mother sat next to him; I had been abandoned. Her support of my father strengthened my belief that I was a very bad person.
At the end of the court proceedings, my father was convicted of criminal sexual conduct in the fourth degree. His sentence was a two-year probation, with an order for psychiatric treatment and a $750 fine.
My sentence was the emotional aftermath of the abuse.
Ten years have passed since the trial, and at age 26 I look back on the painful process of recovering. Healing the wounds of my childhood has required more than the passage of time.
In fact, most of this time was spent in a state of emotional denial. On an intellectual level, I knew that I had been a victim of incest, along with physical and emotional abuse. But on an emotional level, I felt numb. When talking about my experiences, it was as though I were speaking about someone totally separate from myself.
I lived from crisis to crisis, was unable to maintain a healthy intimate relationship and continued to abuse alcohol. I was financially irresponsible, chronically depressed, a compulsive overeater and lived in a fantasy world. Yet at times my behavior was the opposite: super-responsible, perfectionist, mature, overachieving and ambitious -- to the point of near exhaustion.
Behavior that I had developed as a child to protect myself from my father was also still present. I would sometimes awaken in the night, screaming for my father to leave me alone. Locking bathroom and bedroom doors, out of fear that someone would attempt to enter and violate me, was common.
The greatest effect of the abuse was the profound sense of guilt and shame that plagued me on a daily basis. I hated myself. No matter how hard I tried to feel good about myself, feelings of shame and worthlessness would surface. I continuously sought the approval of others. Surely someone would think that I was a good person if only I tried hard e
Camgirl Anal
Foxxy Ts
Big Breasted Hotties