Huge Ass Aunt Incest

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People are calling her a pedophile and saying she belongs in jail.
A video posted on Instagram by 20-year-old Toronto model Tillie Medland has led to a heated debate on social media. In the video, which was posted last week, Medland can be seen laughing as her 2-year-old nephew, Jetson, reaches into her sports bra and touches her breasts.
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Many believe the video, which now has over 178,00 views, is a display of perverted behavior, and some even accused Medland of promoting pedophilia.
"She is obviously aroused, damn pedophile," one user wrote.
"She should've stopped him from doing it the second time he tried to do rub her boob," another wrote.
"That's child endangerment for sexual abuse ... someone needs to report this," a user wrote.
However, many people have been defending her saying the child's behavior is totally natural, and that her response was heartwarming.
"Ignore the losers! The innocence of childhood is lost on them. There is no sexual thought in that child, it only exists in their own filthy minds," one user wrote.
"You people who say she's horrible for not stopping him need to get a life and go to therapy," another wrote.
"Wow! Some of you have no sense at all. For all we know, this kid could still be breastfeeding, recently weened or hell, maybe he even remembers being fed," read another comment.
Now that user is onto something! According to Dr. Laura Markham from Aha! Parenting, it's totally normal for toddlers to grab breasts, especially when they are being weaned off a bottle. "It is very common for toddlers to need to touch their mother's breasts for comfort or to fall asleep for as much as a year after weaning," she wrote to one user.
While of course Medland isn't the child's mother, chances are that wouldn't make a difference in his behavior. Or maybe he just did it for a reaction, which let's admit, is something toddler's are known for.
GoodHousekeeping.com has reached out to Medland but she has not yet response to a request for comment.
This content is created and maintained by a third party, and imported onto this page to help users provide their email addresses. You may be able to find more information about this and similar content at piano.io
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This is a story about my sex life as a minor and the ramifications of it.
I’m approaching 50. I married at 45. I never had children. Partly because I married so late, partly because every man prior to my husband didn’t love me, partly because I had a very different young adult life than my family did — a very different path from most of the generations of folk that I grew up with in Wild Wonderful West Virginia. I still have a very different life. Some would call it a crazy one. I also never had children because my childhood was, for lack of a better phrase, so fucked up. Abusive mother. No father. Half-siblings who were much older and out of the house. Who started having babies while they were still babies. I was an aunt at 8 years old. An aunt four times over by the time I was 15. I now have eight nieces and nephews and ten great nieces and nephews. (Who I know of.) Most of them are grown. Some are still growing. Too many of them have repeated, and are repeating, unhealthy patterns.
Because too many of them have been the victim of unhealthy patterns.
They are the inspiration for this story…
My grandmother, Dorie, did the bulk of raising me. Whatever my mother & my sister did…I’m not sure what to call it, but they certainly didn’t raise me. My sister was thirteen years old when I was born. The responsibility my mother saddled her with was unfair, to say the least. But as she was working through her own issues and pain, the trickle-down example she offered wasn’t a very good one. Our mother certainly wasn’t a good example, either. Four children by three men — most of us the product of affairs — and dating another married man from the time I was 7 months old until my early teens. (And no, that man was not my father.)
Dorie suffered a massive stroke when I was 16. While she was in a prolonged coma, my mother wouldn’t let me go to the hospital to be by her side. Or to finally say goodbye. This was typical of my mother — everything boiled down to some sort of punishment or control. She was also very jealous of the bond my grandmother and I shared. It was during that time, in a state of desperation to be seen and loved and to distract myself from roaring emotional pain, that I lost my virginity. It was an act of rebellion. Of my taking control. I did it in my mother’s bed. She had left me home alone for weeks on end, often all night, while she was at the hospital with my grandmother…
I barely remember the guy. But I do remember the blood all over her fancy sheets. And, most of all, I remember feeling powerful.
“Fuck her”, I thought to myself. “I’ll start fucking.”
Shortly thereafter, when Dorie finally died, I left the only home I had ever known at 16 years young. As devastating as it was at the time, I now realize it was also a stroke of luck. I got out of a personal hell and got to make my dreams come true.
My mother had decided, to “get me out of her hair”, to abruptly ship me off to an apprenticeship at a summer stock theater in Kentucky that she happened upon in Southern Living Magazine. I knew early on, as did many others in our small town, that I was blessed with some talent. She took advantage of that. I had no real adult supervision there, but I was armed with the birth control pill. (The one wise parental choice she ever made.)
I was one of three teenagers in a small company of adults. Mostly men. We all lived together and worked together for 3 long months. Dorie had passed away only weeks prior. I hadn’t healed or processed her death. I hadn’t been comforted. I had been abandoned in a strange place with total strangers. And that’s when I started having sex on a regular basis. A minor — having sex with adult men. Multiple men. Some as old as 50.
It’s true that we all grieve in different ways…
When I say “regular basis”, that’s putting it mildly. It was a fast and furious addiction. I had no idea how to say no. To anyone. To my urges. I often instigated encounters. I was getting attention. It felt good. It made me forget about all of the bad stuff. Little did I know, I was self-medicating. To soothe the pain of my abusive mother. Because of the loss of my beloved grandmother. For having no father. Sex was the only way I knew how to relate to men. To feel “loved”. And not a single person there — man or woman — tried to intervene and quell my behavior. Or protect me. This was the 80s. I guess it was de riguere to look the other way?
I had decided to call my mother one day whilst there to discuss coming home. Our number had been disconnected. I didn’t know where she was for weeks. She was unreachable. This was before cell phones and email, remember. Sex was a welcome distraction and pleasurable past-time until she surfaced again.
I had a field day in college. Promiscuity was my calling card. It made men like you, but women hate you. Way to double up on the emptiness, huh? I was more discriminatory as I aged, but sex remained a priority and a huge part of my identity. It was my super power. I slept with teachers as well as fellow students. Married men from off campus. I even tried a few women in hopes that they might like me, too. And all the while maintaining a GPA of 3.7 and above, along with regularly performing on stage at a semi-professional level and working part-time jobs. (I put myself through college. All four years worth.)
When I graduated and moved to NYC in my early twenties, I made the conscious choice to stop having sex for at least six months. I vividly remember marking it on my calendar. Some pretty awful scenarios went down from 16 to 22. Date rapes. Unwanted sodomy. Stalkers. Abusers. Vilification. Those 6 months easily turned into more than a year. It was the first healthy choice I had ever made for myself. I reclaimed my personal power. It was during that time that I finally started to learn to love myself and to have some healthy boundaries.
Needless to say, throughout my 20s and into my 30s, I did not make great choices when it came to men. No surprise there. The majority of my relationships were still primarily sexual. I sought out men who weren’t available — emotionally or otherwise. I didn’t really do the one night stand thing so much — but when I did, I would be utterly devastated when they didn’t call the next day. That’s when I realized there was still much healing to be done. When I started to question what might have happened to me during my childhood. I found myself a CBT, (cognitive behavioral therapist), and did some serious and lengthy work. When a person has next to no self-esteem and is in the habit of engaging in unhealthy patterns, you literally have to relearn who you are and how to relate to other people.
You also have to relearn how to relate to yourself.
To the world, I looked like a wanton young woman who aggressively chased men. Little did anyone know that I was desperately chasing love.
I am telling you this story because I have watched, throughout those years, too many of my teenage nieces be abused, behave promiscuously, and start having babies far too young. I have seen some of my male family members physically and emotionally abuse their mothers and their partners. And most recently, I witnessed a video of one of my youngest nieces behaving rather provocatively on social media.
When I saw it, it triggered every horrible memory and every ounce of past self-loathing in my being. It reached deep into the reservoirs of my mind. It triggered my PTSD. My reaction was pure muscle memory. It reminded me of all the times that I sensed abuse was happening with friends and family members and that I mistakenly chose to remain silent. It reminded me of what I set myself up to endure. It reminded me that no one came to my rescue. It reminded me of how I abused myself.
And it got me thinking… What causes young girls to act in an overtly sexual way? Are our hormones that strong? Yes. They sure are. Just like a young boy’s are. We make jokes about their stiff socks or how long they spend in the bathroom. But it’s different for girls. Coming of age for girls is both dangerous and full of double standards. It’s at once judged and taken advantage of. We know that promiscuous sexual behavior in adolescent girls is a result of abuse and neglect. That’s textbook. But what if there is no history of abuse or neglect? Is society a culprit? You bet. It’s a man’s world. It is learned behavior. It is learned from everywhere. Hyper-sexual environments at home, at school and in the workplace. Colleges. The military. The church.
What about the lack of boundaries we are living through in our current social climate? The internet and social media? Inappropriate, unregulated and boundary-less apps on our cell phones? A president who “grabs them by the pussy”? The Jeffrey Epsteins and Harvey Weinsteins of the world? The content the entertainment industry provides? IPhones and sexting? Are there any boundaries left? I know a number of loved, good young girls whose fathers bought them boob jobs for their sixteenth birthdays and high-school graduations. Even tits for Christmas.
The language we use is even complicit. An “underage girl”? That is a child.
So — I am not a mother. But I am a crazy aunt. Crazy protective of the female children in my life. Crazy because of my wild past. Crazy because I left home at 16 and never looked back. Crazy because I’m a bleeding heart liberal. Crazy because I’m an actress. Crazy because I’m raw and honest and outspoken. Crazy because I’m in touch with my sexuality and proud of it, while still being a feminist. And crazy outta my head about how females are conditioned to be, first and foremost, sexualized and submissive.
So how do we educate and protect these girl children? How do we prepare them for a world full of too many men who are predators and oppressors? For a society that teaches them that they are subordinates and sex objects? How do we teach them that sexuality is a healthy, natural part of being human, while so much of sexuality is abhorrent, repressed, prioritized or abused?
To steal a man’s phrase, we should start to “teach them young.”
It’s complicated and confusing. Sex is power. But it doesn’t make you powerful. When will women be rewarded for intelligence and capability instead of only “fuckability”? When will our better powers be rewarded?
Here’s a bigger question. Why can’t they be rewarded at the same time? Do they have to be mutually exclusive?
We collectively need to stop being in denial and become accountable for the conditioning both men and women give young girls. I think we also need to realize, that in this American culture, we confuse sexuality with objectification and exploitation.
How do we change the perspective that women with a brain are deficient, and that women with sexual prowess who can keep their mouths shut are an asset?
It’s maddening. We are shamed for being too smart. We are shamed for being too strong. We are shamed for having children and not having children. We are shamed for being too sexy. We are shamed for not being sexy enough. We are shamed for having sex and for not having sex.
As females, this shaming is all we’ve ever known.
As an actress, having sex appeal is a big part of the job. Especially when you’re young. But now, I view that differently. I view myself differently. I own that energy now. It’s for me. For the role, if it’s required. It’s for my husband. I have a sense of humor about it. It goes out into the universe when I want it to. It’s not my general currency for being wanted or desired like it used to be. Although I still enjoy being thought of as sexy. Is that wrong? Am I sending the wrong message?
There is a way to be a healthy sexual being as a woman. An openly free sexual being with healthy boundaries. Sexuality itself is not unhealthy. The interpretation of it is the issue. That is what is difficult to navigate.
For many women, there is the duality of not wanting to be objectified, but still wanting to be desired. To remain “fuckable”. I want to be in control of my sexuality and my fuckability. Not men. Not other women. Not showbiz. Not society. Not a social media platform.
Is a woman a hypocrite if she’s a feminist and believes in women’s rights but still posts provocative photos of herself? Is she objectifying herself?
Is wearing a sexy dress “asking for it”?
I know women who started stripping after being raped, because it was a way of taking back their power. Are overtly sexual young girls just claiming their power? If so, why does sexuality have to be their predominant power?
Because that’s what they’ve been taught.
To quote Dr. Joseph Murphy from The Power of Your Subconscious Mind, “What is impressed in the subconscious is expressed.”
No wonder we don’t know what to tell our female children.
We have a societal disease to cure. And it is clearly going to take a village. I can’t imagine what the challenges of parenting must be like today. My husband and I watch the television series “Euphoria” in shock and horror. I commend it for its bravery and truth. I think we collectively need to be more brave and truthful with the young girls in our lives. Especially about their sexuality. And I’m not talking about just the birds and the bees.
I wrestled with putting this piece out into the world. Will I sound unctuous? Like a hypocrite? What credentials do I have? I only have experience. And being an actress, it’s my job to understand human behavior. So there’s that, too. I ask that you understand that this is not only a testimonial, it is a maternal urge. A protective gesture. An S.O.S. Whilst writing it, I discussed this topic at length with my dear friend who is a psychotherapist. The bottom line is, all healthy behavior is a result of awareness and consciousness. Then comes choice. It is hard to be aware and conscious when you’re still developing into an adult. It’s hard to make the right choices.
So, it’s our responsiblilty. I’m just trying to be responsible.
I want all young girls, especially the ones I love, to choose better for themselves. I want them to be armed with a deep knowledge and awareness that they are worthy. Worthy of love and respect and accomplishment. I want them to be aware that you teach people how to treat you. That people are only going to be as good to you as you are to yourself. That just because you have sex with a boy,(or a man), it rarely means he’s going to fall in love with you.
Or give you the job, the passing grade, the promotion…
That just because no one is there to protect you, it doesn’t mean you can’t protect yourself.
No one told me this. So now — I am telling you.
Actress, essayist, columnist, poet, writer

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