Little Cousin Sex Stories

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Little Cousin Sex Stories
DISASTER My date sped off as soon as he saw me - it was horrible, I'm so done with men
HEART TO BELIEVE I thought my sports bra was too tight - it was actually a deadly condition
WATER FIGHT Woman comes up with way to stop her neighbours’ kids peeking through her fence
HITTING BACK I live in a council house & I’ve no intention of leaving it to buy my own
Nicole Moran was left feeling suicidal by the abuse at the hands of Karl Walsh
NICOLE Moran was just four when she was first sexually assaulted by her nine-year-old cousin Karl Walsh.
Walsh went on to abuse her 350 times over a seven-year period leaving Nicole suicidal.
Now Nicole, 22, from Dublin, bravely shares her story for the first time with Fabulous Online :
I always knew there was something a bit weird about my cousin Karl Walsh, my mum Taine’s nephew, and I wasn't the only one to think so.
I remember my mum describing him as "a bit odd" and my dad, Gerald agreeing.
Although I felt sorry for Karl because all the adults thought he was strange, I didn’t like being alone with him because he made me feel nervous and on edge.
But I was close to Karl’s sister, who was eight years older than me and I loved hanging out with her at their home.
Sometimes I would sleep over. We had lots of fun. She’d do my hair and put make-up on me.
It was on one of those occasions when I was just four that Karl attacked me for the first time.
He stopped me as I left the bathroom and urged me to come into his room. There he lifted up my T-shirt and felt my chest.
I was horrified and scared. Then his hands went down my trousers. As I gasped in pain and fear he told me: "It’s normal – it happens to everyone."
I knew it wasn’t normal. I knew what he was doing was wrong. But, at just four years old, I didn’t understand that I should tell my mum and dad.
So I kept quiet – and it happened again and again. Then it got worse.
Just weeks later I was at his when he forced my hand down his trousers. I cried as he made me touch him.
As time went on it happened all the time. I was terrified.
At eight I became really sore down below and Mum saw it when I was having a bath. Afterwards, while drying me off, she asked me outright: “Is someone hurting you? Is someone touching you beneath your knickers?”
She added: "You can tell Mummy anything, you know."
It was my opportunity to admit what Karl was doing but I froze and said nothing. Then, eventually, I lied to her and said I had injured myself on a piece of playground equipment. Mum believed me.
When I was ten, Karl’s abuse stepped up a notch when he pulled down my trousers and pushed me on to the bed. He unbuttoned his trousers but I screamed out so he stopped.
The seven years of abuse had taken their toll on me. I acted up at school and would fight other pupils.
His hands went down my trousers. As I gasped in pain and fear he told me: 'It’s normal'
I tried everything to get Karl to stop hurting me. I told him I had a boyfriend but he didn’t care. Eventually, when I was 11, I refused to see him anymore. I told Mum we had had a fight, which she believed, and the abuse ended.
But I would still have to see him on family occasions and I hated him so much.
When I was 17, Karl's sister had a baby. I began to worry that Karl would target her just as he had me so I confessed everything to my best friend.
She urged me to tell my mum but I was too upset so she did.
Afterwards I crept into my mum’s room. She was crying and devastated. "I’m so sorry," she said. "I blame myself for letting you go over there."
She had told Dad who wanted to kill Karl – but I knew what I needed to do.
It took me a while to pluck up the courage but a few months later, I approached the police.
He was arrested but even then, my ordeal wasn't over because it was a number of years before he was charged.
During that time I became very depressed and had periods where I felt suicidal.
But, at 21, I had a little girl – now 16 months – who gave me hope.
In April this year Karl Walsh, of Darndale, Dublin, appeared at Dublin Circuit Criminal Court, where he pleaded guilty to five sample counts of sexually abusing me between the ages of four to 11.
Judge Martin Nolan said Walsh molested me every weekend I visited his home. He added the “prolonged nature” of the abuse was an aggravating factor, stating the sample charges were probably representative of 50 or 60 incidents in one year.
He added: “Based on the state’s evidence that is a conservative estimate.”
I realised over the years I had been abused more than 350 times.
Karl was jailed for five years with the final three suspended.
I felt really let down by what I consider a lenient sentence.
But now I am speaking out because I want other victims of sexual assault to realise there is hope and you can move on. I won’t let that monster win.
In another shocking story, a grandad raped his 11-year-old grandaughter then sold her to more than 200 paedophiles - and even had a sick shopping list where full sex cost £50 - read Emma-Louise's brave account .
And another woman was drugged and gang-raped at 14 after her mate lured her to a party – and some of her attackers are still free.
I got a manicure for my wedding - it was so bad, I painted my own nails at 1am
Woman comes up with way to stop her neighbours’ kids peeking through her fence
I live in a council house & I’ve no intention of leaving it to buy my own
I flew to Turkey & they did my hair & nails but it made me feel more insecure
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I lost my virginity to my cousin on holiday - was it incest? - Coleen Nolan's advice column
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My cousin and I are both 17 and were virgins until our holiday with his parents at a villa in Barbados
My cousin and I are both 17 and were virgins until our holiday with his parents at a villa in Barbados.
He’s very handsome and as I fancied him I deliberately made him sexually excited by asking him to rub sun oil over my body while we were sunbathing in the garden.
His parents were out, so no one could see us.
I pulled off his trunks and dared him to swim naked with me in the pool.
After telling him I was on the Pill, he realised what I had in mind and minutes later we lost our virginity, which felt wonderful.
The next day when we were left alone again by his parents, we couldn’t resist doing it again when we were at the beach.
We had a good time together and are longing to see each other again, but my friends think sex with a cousin is incest and is wrong.
I led him on and I’m worried and confused.
What you’ve done isn’t illegal but what you have to realise if you want to continue this relationship is some people won’t approve. Your parents probably won’t.
You were both virgins and felt so ­comfortable in each other’s company that you were able to share one of the most special moments of your lives together.
You mustn’t confuse that with love or think it means you’re meant to be together.
You’re young, so why get into a potentially difficult relationship at this stage?
I think you can be glad that you lost your virginity to someone close who you respect and feel at ease with, but I’d be wary of turning this into something else before you’ve experienced other relationships.
Don't miss resident agony aunt Coleen Nolan's weekly newsletter


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To get to the campsite, I had to drive down that one road for a few miles until I came to this gate.
Then I had to stop, get out of the car, open the gate and drive through it. Then I had to stop, get out of the car, and close the gate before I continued.
On a cattle ranch, you never leave a gate open unless someone right behind you is also coming through the gate. Once that’s the case, it’s that person’s responsibility to close it.
Unless someone right behind them is also coming through the gate.
I drove forever, and I mean forever. Through rocky creeks, through bumpy roads, through Purgatory.
Not really on the Purgatory part. I just like to say Purgatory every now and then.
The truth is, I had no idea where I was going. My mother-in-law organized this campout/cousin reunion and she and my father-in-law just found the spot the other day. It’s so remote, I had never, ever been there in all the years I’ve been on the ranch.
Marlboro Man had gone on to the campsite with the kids and I’d run to town to get more bottled water since the temperature was 109 degrees at 6:30 pm and in situations like that, mothers don’t know what else to do but buy more bottled water. And by the time I was at this spot, my beloved texted me.
“Where are you?” he asked. I think he was concerned I’d taken a wrong turn.
That’s when I saw them on the horizon. There they were! I saw a bunch of cars—all of Marlboro Man’s cousins who’d traveled from far and wide with their kids and their tents—and I saw all the kids running around and playing. They were a good mile-and-a-half down the road, but at least I had them in my sights. At least I was headed in the right direction.
I stopped the car and typed “I see you guys!” on my phone. I figured Marlboro Man would look down the road and see my gnarly white vehicle traveling along, leaving a trail of dust behind it.
I drove along, and a few seconds later, Marlboro Man texted back.
Huh? I thought. What does he mean? He can’t see me? How is that possible? I’m driving right toward them. I see the cars. I see the kids!
I stopped the car again. “Look down the road,” I texted back.
Then Marlboro Man responded, “There is no road.”
Huh? He’s talkin’ crazy! I told myself. I continued on, refusing to be thwarted.
By that time I was close enough to the cars and kids to see that they weren’t actually cars and kids.
“Never mind,” I cryptically texted, refusing to go into detail.
After the whole humiliating “I see you guys!” thing, I persevered.
I eventually found another gate Marlboro Man had described to me, and I went through it. After that, I was almost entirely on my own.
There were hardly any tracks anywhere, as again: my mother-in-law and father-in-law just found this spot the other day. There wasn’t a worn path forged by pioneers on chuckwagons or even modern feed trucks. There hardly any trails, period. And that is a vulnerable feeling.
But at long last, I found it! I knew I’d found it when I saw…
Marlboro Man and Tim had helped set up the campsite, including helping their cousins—all girls, by the way—haul in and set up their own tents. This was cousin Deborah’s tent, which we would affectionately nickname Taj Matent.
My blessed mother-in-law had planned this whole cousin campout back in February, when Marlboro Man’s uncle passed away. All the cousins—who share a great-grandfather—attended the funeral, and she decided they all needed to get together more frequently, just like they did when everyone was young.
Shortly after I got there, the first two kids went into the water. Something about it being 109 degrees.
Before long, a few more had joined in.
Minutes later, almost all the kids were in the creek, wading and swimming and laughing and staying in a cohesive group in order to avoid a water moccasin attack like the one in Lonesome Dove, which all the kids watched while still in the womb, and which they all know by heart.
You know what? All of these kids share a great-great grandfather.
He was Pa-Pa to my father-in-law, but Big Pa-Pa to my husband and all of his cousins.
Kate was Big Pa-Pa’s wife. The grandkids called her Dokie.
I can’t imagine how much joy Big Pa-Pa and Dokie would feel if they could see their great-great grandchildren playing in the creek together.
And I’m sure they’d be proud of these three lads, who avoided getting all wet by offering to be lifeguards.
They had a set number of heads to count. And they just sat there and counted them.
Evening finally turned to night, and 109 degrees finally turned to 90 degrees. Marlboro Man, Tim, and the rest of the men left for home while all the female cousins stuck around and caught up and laughed and told stories.
Meanwhile, the next generation—the third cousins—all got to know one other by playing games and toilet papering each others’ tents.
I didn’t know campers did things like that.
It was fun to watch them bond over camp pranks.
It was also so much fun listening to Marlboro Man’s cousins—Katie, Deborah, Jana, Lori, Blake, Kim, and Holly—tell stories about growing up together. About their parents and grandparents. About Marlboro Man and Tim. I could listen to that stuff all day long. I just love it.
We also talked about cousin relationships.
If you share a grandfather, you’re first cousins.
If you share a great-grandfather, you’re second cousins.
If you share a great-great grandfather, you’re third cousins.
Then there’s the whole once-removed thing.
If you share a grandfather, you’re first cousins. If your first cousin has a child, that child is your first cousin once-removed.
If you share a great-grandfather, you’re second cousins. If your second cousin has a child, that child is your second cousin once-removed.
So what I determined is that the kids that were running around are my third cousins once removed by marriage.
There was a boys’ tent and a girls’ tent.
But it didn’t matter. The kids were back and forth between tents all night.
Eventually, around midnight, the little girls called it quits. Initially, Missy and I had planned to leave late after everyone else had gone to bed, and go home to the comfort of our respective air conditioned bedrooms. Because of this, I hadn’t brought anything along: Not a sleeping bag, not my toothbrush, not my Tums. It’s a thing that happened during my pregnancies: I learned never to be without Tums at night. I usually don’t need it. But I can’t sleep if it’s not there, because there’s nothing worse than waking up in the middle of the night needing a Tums and not having one.
As the night wore on, though, Missy had decided that we were both going to spend the night after all. She did not consult me about this. She merely informed me that we were both staying.
“But…” I objected. “But but but but but but…”
“But I don’t have my Tums.” I said. Tums had became the symbol for all I did not bring to the campout, which was everything. But my mother-in-law had conveniently brought along two extra cots for the girls’ tent, so there was really no getting out of it.
“We’ll get through it together!” Missy responded. And with that, we both headed to the girls’ tent while the adult cousins continued catching up about the old days.
Because Tums had been in the ether all night, Missy and I laid on our cots and had a whispered conversation about the kinds of foods we eat that cause us to need Tums. For Missy, it’s pizza. Not homemade pizza, but take-out pizza. Anything with an acidic tomato sauce. For me, it’s garlic—but only after 7:00 pm. I’m fine if it’s 6:30, but if I ingest garlic after 7:00 pm, I have to have Tums. Then Missy started describing how her pizza-induced heartburn manifests itself, and how she’s learned that if she props herself up with a pillow, it’s fine. And I said that I’ve just learned not to eat garlic after 7:00.
We went on and on like this for awhile, occasionally giggling while we continued to swap war stories about heartburn.
That’s when we heard the little girls in the cabin—all of whom we though were sound asleep—begin to whisper. Then, in unison, they all burst into laughter—deep belly laughter that rang through the night sky.
Missy and I were jolted out of our whisper-fest.
“What in the WORLD?” I asked. “We thought you guys were asleep!”
Missy joined in. “What’s so funny, anyway?”
My twelve-year-old daughter let us in on it.
“We were just laughing because you and Aunt Missy are just like us,” she explained. “You came into the cabin and started whispering and giggling just like we did.”
“Aw,” Missy and I said. We felt young again. We were just like the young ‘uns!
And then my daughter lowered the boom.
“Except instead of talking about lip gloss and music…you’re talking about Tums.”
Then they all started laughing again.
Missy and I went to sleep in a huff.


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When My Little Sister Wants to Play 'Doctor'
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My sister is 10 years old, and we all try to encourage her to use her imagination and play. In this day and age, I feel like sometimes everyone (including kids) are too busy looking at screens for entertainment instead of entertaining themselves. I try to explain to her that I wish I felt like doing all the things she can, but having chronic fatigue syndrome leaves me very limited.
Naturally, she wants to play games and do things with me. We might play a game on the card table, where I can lay in the chair on the heating pad. She plays restaurant and brings me food. She made her own menu and everything. Then we swap roles and I bring her fake food.
However, after we were done playing restaurant, she wanted to play doctor. This may sound silly, possibly petty or even me just being plain sensitive. I told her alright, we can play that. She asks me why I am there, and of course, playing doctor is no fun if there is nothing wrong with you. Right? It makes sense for a kid to want to have something wrong with the other. That is what playing doctor is anyway.
I just kept hoping she would not bring up my illness. She had done it in the past. She had asked why I was there and even had a cure for
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