Uncle Neice Incest Stories

Uncle Neice Incest Stories

12 Dec, 2013 - 02:12 2013-12-12T02:42:43+00:00
2013-12-12T02:42:43+00:00

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Angeline Mpofu Court Reporter
A MAN from Bulawayo’s Queens Park suburb and his 15-year-old niece stunned their family when they were allegedly caught being intimate, a magistrate heard.
Their names cannot be published because the girl is still a minor.
It is said the two have been sleeping together since April this year.
Bulawayo magistrate Sibongile Msipa heard how the two were caught pants down being intimate in a bedroom. They are both facing charges of incest.
The two lovebirds have not been asked to plead.
Prosecuting, Mazwi Goto told the court that sometime in April, the man proposed love to his niece and she consented.
On unknown dates, the two allegedly indulged in sexual intercourse on two occasions at a family house in Woodville Park.
“The matter came to light when a relative noticed unusual behaviour between the two and became suspicious. He then caught them in the act and alerted other family members,” said Goto.
A report was made to the police leading to the arrest of the two.
The uncle was denied bail and remanded in custody while his niece was remanded in the custody of a relative in Makokoba suburb.
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Get “Dear Prudence” delivered to your inbox each week; click here to sign up. Please send your questions for publication to prudence@slate.com . (Questions may be edited.)
Dear Prudence, I have been with my wonderful boyfriend for two years. I have good expectations as to the direction our relationship will go. My problem is not with him, but his 6-year-old niece. I believe the little girl has a crush on him. My reason for thinking this? She is extremely rude to me. I have been informed by her that I have a “huge bum,” I smell bad, that I’m an “idiot” … I’m sure you get the picture. I have ignored the insults and name-calling for some time now; she is, after all, a child. But now things have progressed. On a recent outing I was repeatedly shoved aside by this kid, who, while shoving, loudly proclaimed that it would be she, not me, holding his hand. When it came time to be seated at a restaurant, she gave me a shove and loudly declared that she would sit next to him, not me. Suggestions by her parents that he sit in the middle were ignored. There were comments made to my boyfriend by the kid that later in the evening he should bring me home and come back by himself! He finally made the astute observation that he thinks she gets jealous when I am around. Well, duh. We agreed that he would talk to his sister about the problem. Her answer was that I need to “develop a thicker skin.” My boyfriend thinks talking to his niece will embarrass her, because “she is only 6 and does not know what she is doing.” Help!
Dear Sick, The 6-year-old sexpot knows exactly what she is doing. This child not only needs a parent to lower the boom, but a therapist, as well. Any 6-year-old kid with a crush on an uncle is unusual enough, but shoving, along with announcements that it should be she, not you, as the “date” is kinda creepy and in no way age-appropriate. Someone in that family is going to have to deal with this soon or they will have a lot worse to deal with in just a few years. Tell your boyfriend that until someone gets hold of this situation, you choose not to be anywhere near this mouthy little horror.
Pru, It seems I’ve committed the sin that befalls so many wives: I snooped. I saw a folder in my husband’s e-mail account labeled with a female name (an acquaintance of mine) and I let my curiosity overcome me. The typical story of snooping follows. I would’ve been much happier being ignorant about the information this folder contained. The e-mails are in no way subtle; they talk blatantly of sex. Not of having it, mind you, but of wanting it (very badly) with each other. These e-mails are dated when my husband and I were engaged. This was almost a year ago, and I do not believe they are continuing in this manner any longer. However, I do not understand why my husband would keep such incriminating e-mails. Should I bring the matter up with him?
Dear Re, If you and your husband communicate well, you might ask about the timing of the steamy e-mails … but then be prepared to defend your prying. As to why they are still there, Prudie doesn’t know about you, but there are tons of outdated files on old Pru’s computer. If you are able to put your questions and concerns aside and gauge his actual behavior—now—do that, and move on. Because you sign yourself “remorseful,” let your penance for snooping be to say nothing and go forth and snoop no more.
Dear Prudence, Some time ago, I met what I thought was a wonderful man … attentive, courteous, well-established, self-sufficient, and extremely attractive. He is from the same country that I am from, and we have carried on our courtship in our motherland as well as different places in the United States. He would e-mail me often and we spoke on the phone, as well. I got to meet part of his family, his staff, friends, and clients, and he would share with me top-secret stuff about his work. But just yesterday, one of my friends was leafing through a year-old magazine and found a picture of him with what we are sure is his wife. He never told me he was married, and I am horrified that he made me a part of something so despicable as an affair. Had I known this, I would have never had anything to do with him. Even more disheartening is that it’s possible it will be found out, and our respectable family name will be dragged through the mud in our country. I believe I deserve an explanation, but don’t know how to go about getting it. My first impulse is to lash out in a harsh manner, but I don’t think that’s the best way to do it. And if he is recently divorced, why did he not tell me?
Dear Hurt, A good way to get an explanation is to ask for one. Typically, people in a romance disclose details like whether there are ex-spouses, or soon-to-be exes. The rats, however, omit information about current ones. This may be one bit of top-secret information he kept to himself. Your inamorato may have a perfectly legitimate explanation for the magazine picture, but Prudie doubts it.
Dear Prudence, I don’t know where to turn or what to think. While getting my father ready for a nursing home, my older sister and I helped our mother clean out the house. Most of the papers made their way to my house. I read some letters my dad sent my mom, and now I don’t know which end is up. Sis and I were always told that she was premature, having been born seven months after my parents’ marriage. That may not be true. If it isn’t, that’s no big deal by today’s standards and we couldn’t care less, but understand why they might want to hide it. However … my father speaks of “the baby” and doing “what is best for her.” My parents, being of different races, were going to face many hardships in their relationship, and biracial children in the early ‘60s had a hard time. If this is what happened, do my sister and I have a right (obligation?) to look for our missing sister? This would be a full sibling, which could possibly give my sons cousins, and me nieces or nephews, something I sorely miss. My mind says it was before my time and not my decision, but my heart aches for a sister I will likely never know. How do I reconcile all this?
Dear Still, If your father is of an age to go into a nursing home, your parents are elderly. The meaning of “doing what is best for the baby” is hard to know without asking your mother. Prudie thinks you ought to respect your parents’ wish to keep the secret. It seems highly unlikely that you would even be able to locate this person, were she actually the first child. If such a person were to find you , that would be a different story. Do your mother a kindness and don’t bring up a piece of the past she obviously wished that you not know about.
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I think I recently had one of the hardest days of my life. It was a personal issue so I’m not gonna disclose the issue, but everything was falling apart and I couldn’t gather enough courage to pull myself out of the muck.
Today, I happened to spot a thread on Quora that asked readers to describe the hardest day of their lives. I came across an answer that has occupied my head from the very moment I read it. I couldn’t help but write about it because every person should read the story of this brave woman called Ann Young , who has been fighting with life since she was a little kid.
The hardest day of my life was my entire childhood.
At age 3, my uncle made me lick his penis “like a lollypop.”
At age 9, I was raped by another family member.
At 15, my mom and step-dad thought it was funny for my step-dad to touch my breasts.
My mom’s second husband would make me strip naked and lay in the center of my bed while he beat me all over my body.
My mom’s third and current husband, my step-dad, beat me regularly for a decade, from the time I was 5 until I was 15.
I got hit for making too much noise in the morning. I got hit for eating the last pickle. I got hit for speaking. I got hit even if I opened my mouth to speak. I endured black eyes, bloody noses, fat and bloody lips, a broken finger, welt marks and bruises all over my body. I’ve been hit with a croquet mallet and beaten with a whiffle bat until it was broken in half. My entire childhood was terrifying.
On top of it my mom would tell me that she didn’t want me, that if she could do things over she wouldn’t have had me. She didn’t want me.
My step-dad made fun of me every day because I was a little chubby. He would entertain guests by making fun of me. He would encourage me to make fun of him in return and then laugh at my poor attempts. Whenever I did make a joke he didn’t like, he would beat me for it.
I tried my best to overcome it. By age 30, my body gave out. It was too damaged from all the physical abuse. I have Enthesopathy, Fibromyalgia, and polyarthritis, just to name a few. I also suffer from chronic PTSD, major depressive disorder, and anxiety.
I live off of SSD and receive less than $12,000 a year to survive. All of my hopes and dreams were stolen from me.
Shortly after my uncle sexually abused me, he killed himself. I have wondered all of my life if he killed himself because of what he did to me.
The person who raped me when I was 9 years old was my older brother. He did not live with us.
My two older brothers grew up with our biological father while I grew up with my mom and step-dad. My mom didn’t want the boys. She barely had anything to do with them. She kept me because I was a girl and because she wasn’t entirely sure who my father was. I grew up believing that William James Young Sr was my father. My mom kept me away from him for most of my childhood because of my brothers, according to her.
The brother who raped me did so during a very rare visit to our home. He was allowed to spend the night that night. He hated me. He hated that my mom kept me and had barely anything to do with him. Little did he know what I was going through.
I didn’t tell on him until I was 11. My mom contacted the police and a woman came to our home. I had to tell her everything. My brother was arrested and sent to live in a juvenile detention facility for 4 years. His last year there, my mom took some interest in him for some reason. She started bringing my rapist home for visits. One day she made me sit at the dining room table and write a letter. She forced me to write that I had forgiven my brother and that I wanted him to come live with us. None of it was true. I was terrified of my brother. Additionally, my parents never got me any help for what he did to me. They said that they couldn’t afford it. My parents could afford new jewelry every Christmas for my mom and yearly vacations to Las Vegas but they couldn’t afford anything for me ever, not dental check ups, not doctors, nothing. I was lucky to get a coat for winter and with that I was forced to get on my knees and thank my parents repeatedly for all they did for me.
My mom had my rapist come live with us. Then they blatantly favored him right in front of me. He was good looking. He made them laugh. My step-dad would have my brother join in in making fun of me.
Eventually, they kicked him out when he became a serious drug user and started selling their stuff.
I came to forgive my brother. I learned that he did to me what someone had done to him. He is currently on parole after serving his second prison term. He never stopped using drugs. I don’t have anything to do with him.
A couple of people have asked me, “Why didn’t you get out?” As a young child, I didn’t realize I was being abused. I thought that all kids got hit like me. I was a bad child. I didn’t clean my room when I was told to. I made too much noise. Sometimes I talked back. I ate the last pickle. I didn’t clean up my parents mess in the kitchen. I could go on.
When my step-dad broke my finger my parents brought me to the hospital. I was told to say that I slipped and fell in the driveway. I was threatened that if I said anything else I would be hurt worse. I was too terrified of my parents to say anything but what I was told to.
It wasn’t until my early teens that I was allowed to spend time with friends in their homes. That’s when I saw that they weren’t being beat like I was. I remember one friend talking back to her dad. I winced and cowered in anticipation. I was shocked by her father’s response. He spoke to her firmly but lovingly. I finally started to see that what was happening to me was not normal.
At 15, I overdosed on Advil. I was questioned by many people at the hospital but I was still too terrified to speak about my parents. I blamed it all on a bad grade.
Eventually, I started to confide in some of my friends and one friend’s mom in particular. I would tell her something and then I would be shocked and intrigued by her response. She was the one who got me to open up a little.
At one point CPS (Child Protective Services) were notified by another friend’s mom. I told CPS a few things over the phone. The next day they showed up at my high school. I was horrified. My step-dad was a teacher at the school. I was brought to a guidance counselor’s office. I knew that the guidance counselor knew my step-dad. I was too terrified to speak. I only confirmed the few things I had told CPS on the phone. From there, a detective brought me down to the police station.
I was brought upstairs to a room full of desks. The detective introduced me to the secretary. I recognized her name. “She knows my step-dad!” I exclaimed. The detective yelled at me saying that whatever I had to say would stay in that room. Again I was too terrified to speak about my parents. The detective started asking me if my step-dad touched my breasts “playfully or sexually.” To me it didn’t matter. I thought it was wrong that he touched me period. I couldn’t answer the detective. He kept asking me over and over again, becoming more irate everytime he asked. He was outright screaming at me. I thought about how my parents would laugh at me everytime my step-dad touched my breasts. They thought it was funny that I would get upset by him touching me. After the third time he touched me, I stood up and stormed off. That’s when my mom said, “oh we can’t even play with you!” Because she had said that, I finally answered the detective, “playfully.” That was it. That’s all he wanted to know. He was done with me.
The detective then brought me down to CPS. I was made to sit in a worker’s cubicle. Somewhere in the room,
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