Incest Impregnation Sex Stories

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Incest Impregnation Sex Stories
Read Deidre’s personal replies to today’s problems
I KISSED my sister to comfort her after her boyfriend dumped her and we ended up having sex on her sofa.
She has a good job, a flat of her own and a nice car but her partner was a rat.
She’s beautiful but he made her feel worthless.
He was always calling her names. When he cheated he somehow made her feel it was her fault.
Nobody in our family has ever liked him. She is 21 and I am 25.
She called me one evening a couple of months ago and was in bits. She said her boyfriend had been seeing someone else and when she confronted him he called her fat and ugly.
He threw his clothes into a bin bag and stormed out, saying they were finished for good.
She was crying and saying she must be really ugly because she didn’t deserve to be loved.
I went round there straight away to comfort her. I put my arms round her and cuddled her to reassure her.
I told her she is pretty and cute and I kissed her on the lips. She stopped crying and asked if I meant it. I said yes and kissed her again more passionately.
We both got carried away, went into her bedroom and had sex. It was mind-blowing.
I stayed the night in her bed and we had sex again next morning. We both enjoyed it but agreed we needed to keep it secret.
I couldn’t forget about it though, and I went round two days later to talk about it.
We ended up in bed again and it was even better. We have carried on having sex since then. This morning she dropped the bombshell that she is pregnant and it is my baby.
She wants me to move in with her and us to live as a couple.
DEIDRE SAYS: Brother and sister can sometimes find each other attractive, because you grew up together and feel so comfortable in one another’s company, but that doesn’t mean it is all right to have a sexual relationship. In fact, it is illegal.
You and your sister must stop having sex. It’s not just that you could both be in serious trouble with the law and your family, but that it is trapping you both when you should be out there forming other relationships.
Don’t move in with her as that would make it hard to resist temptation.
You both need to get out with other friends and look for a loving relationship
outside the family. It is a key part of growing up.
If she goes ahead with the pregnancy, there will be so many questions about who the dad is, which could be difficult to deal with and think how this would be for the child.
My e-leaflet on Unplanned Pregnancy explains more and Brook help under 25s with this sort of problem ( brook.org.uk ).
You can text them for advice on 07537 402024.
I WAS so frustrated when I discovered my partner had gambled away our mortgage money yet again, I threw a casserole of hot food at him and he called the police.
He admitted he had a gambling problem during our first year together. He promised to get help and I said I would support him but it’s been so difficult.
He stopped for a few weeks but then started again. That has been the pattern for 18 months. I’m 31, he’s 29 and we live together, buying our own house now.
He has agreed to get help and we’ve decided to try starting our relationship afresh with date nights once a week. But even if we get back on track and he stops gambling, I am always going to think, “What next?”
DEIDRE SAYS: He has said he’s going to get help before so he has to understand this really is his last chance. GamCare can help ( gamcare.org.uk , 0808 8020 133).
He should only have access to cash he needs for basics for the day and you should have control of your joint money for bills, credit cards, bank account etc.
My e-leaflet Gambler In The Family explains more.
I’M looking after my mother as she recovers from stomach cancer so life is tough enough, but I think my boyfriend of two years is cheating on me again.
I’m a gay man of 25 and an only child. He is 22.
When my mum fell ill six months ago he agreed that we should care for her.
We are so in love but he has cheated on me loads. Now every time I enter the room I hear frantic clicking from his laptop. When I look, it’s magically on the home screen. I can’t just throw him out because his family are homophobic.
I used to feel confident and have a good body image but that’s slowly ebbing away. I’m worried about my mum as well. I don’t know what to do.
DEIDRE SAYS: You are under a lot of pressure and it seems your boyfriend is not up to being supportive.
His horrible family background won’t have set a good example but you can’t accept his cheating.
Tell him he must either commit to being faithful, or go. Then the choice is his.
I’m sending you My Gay Resources e-leaflet. For further help see Macmillan Cancer Support ( macmillan.
org.uk , 0808 808 0000).
MY boyfriend eyes up other girls so much, I wonder if he’s fantasising about them.
He does it all the time whenever we are out. It eats me up and I end up having a go at him about it. He denies it but even my friends have noticed.
We have been together for four years. I’m 20 and he’s 22.
He says he loves me and nobody else and wants us to be happy, yet we don’t have sex very often.
When we do, it’s all about him. There’s no foreplay and it only lasts a few minutes.
I generally feel that he is just with me because I am there and I put up with it all, but am I being paranoid?
DEIDRE SAYS: If friends have noticed, you are clearly not being paranoid.
My e-leaflet How To Have Great Sex will help but you must spell out to him what it takes to be a good lover.
Putting more energy into his sex life could stop his eyes wandering. If not, he will never make you happy.
I LOVE my wife but it’s not her I’m thinking about when we are having sex.
Our marriage is good and we get on great. I’m 27, she is 24.
She has a sister who is two years younger. I didn’t take much notice of her at first but she looked stunning at a party last year and I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
Since then, when I have sex with my wife, I think about her sister. I’m so confused.
DEIDRE SAYS: Your wife’s sister probably shares some of the characteristics that attracted you to your wife in the first place but with the spice of being forbidden.
Make no mistake, letting your thoughts focus on her is going to cause big trouble.
When your mind wanders, open your eyes, look at your wife and remind yourself that she is the one you are with.
My e-leaflet 50 Ways To Add Fun To Sex will help you pep up the sex and knock out thoughts of anyone else.
ONE in five men suffer from loss of sex drive at some point. That isn’t surprising when stress and depression can knock passion for six. My e-leaflet Reviving A Man’s Sex Drive explains what you and your partner can do. Email the address below for a copy.
EVERY problem gets a free personal reply.
Email me here , private message me on Facebook , or write to Deidre Sanders, The Sun, London SE1 9GF (please enclose SAE).
You can also follow me on Twitter @deardeidre .
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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 enough to please them. I would do almost anything for a friend or my employer to gain approval, even if that meant neglecting or overextending myself.
At times, my guilt would overwhelm me to the extent of becoming suicidal. I wanted to end the pain, not my life, but the two were deeply enmeshed. I desperately wanted someone to rescue me from my pain. Turning others into parental figures and expecting to be taken care of was a way of survival. I didn't have to face my losses if I could maintain the fantasy that someday I would have the kind of parents that I needed.
Eventually, I recognized my need to return to professional counseling. I had been in psychotherapy during the court proceedings, and again five years later.
This time, along with therapy, I sought the help of an incest survivors' support group. Being in the presence of others with similar experiences helped me feel that I was not alone in my quest for recovery. Hearing other victims talk about their sorrow, fear, rage and confusion allowed me to share my own feelings with them. We supported each other with acceptance and understanding, affirming that it was safe to grieve. Together, we acknowledged our need to learn ways of parenting ourselves. The skills that our parents should have taught us as children were absent. Essentially, we were growing up all over again.
In therapy, my social worker helped me become familiar with the little girl that I still carried with me -- the little girl who was hurt by her parents and needed me as the adult to love and accept her. First, we looked at how I treated the part of myself that was still a little girl. When she would cry for help, I would usually stifle her as much as my parents had. I learned that my self-abuse was directed at my little girl; I didn't want to acknowledge her existence. I was certain she was demanding, rebellious and a rotten little kid. After all, wasn't this the message that my parents had given me?
To help me get to know my little girl, I gave her a name that felt affectionate. "Punky" was a nickname that an aunt called me, so this was my choice. In therapy, I worked on teaching Punky to trust that I would not try to quiet her if she wanted to share her pain with me or my social worker. Learning to listen to her gave me tremendous insight into my own needs, feelings and behavior. Eventually, Punky learned that it was safe to trust -- not only me, but also others.
Trust is the foundation of a child's life; my father exploited that trust through incest. Without the ability to trust, it is impossible to develop loving relationships.Peeling back the layers of defenses to expose the core of my pain was frightening. Only by approaching and then retreating from my feelings could I allow myself to actively grieve. Trusting in my ability to stop when the pain became overwhelming was essential in allowing the grief to surface.
Losing control over my grief was a constant concern. I soon learned, however, that I had the inner strength to control my response to my own emotions, if only I would choose to exercise it.
For the first time, my tears began to flow. I wasn't sure if they would ever stop. My crying lasted, off and on, for several months. Over and over, I needed to recount memories of the abuse in order to accept and let them go. For all of my life, the memories controlled and haunted me. Now, I had control over them.
Underneath the pain was rage toward my parents for what they had done. I was afraid of this rage because, as a child, my parents' anger often resulted in violence. The rage that was too threatening to express toward my parents out of fear of violence and rejection became internalized and directed toward myself.
My suppressed anger was the source of my shame, guilt and self-destructive behavior. I would overreact to criticism, create conflicts with co-workers, complain constantly and would allow others to take advantage of me.
Through therapy, my anger became directed toward my parents, where it belonged. With the support of a friend, I called them on the telephone and screamed about how deeply they had hurt me. I also wrote letters to them in my angriest times. I mailed only one of
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