Message-ID: <6756eli$9803101620@qz.little-neck.ny.us> From: Tristesssa Subject: Innocence Not Lost.......(Insest, True Story.......By Tristesssa) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <574fb28d.3501f3a5@aol.com> Okay guys, here I am. Another true event of my life. I have a spell checker now, so I hope the misspellings are fewer. I have had wonderful people guide me through grammar, so maybe this one is a little better. But probably not, since my habits are old. I tried to fix this story up so you could see through my window, as I saw it, as I see it. Ana~ Click, click, click. I could hear my shoes tap on the concrete. It was such a comforting sound to hear . It told me I was walking away from my grandfathers house and on my way to the little market a couple of blocks away. I felt things on that walk that ordinary five year olds probably never give much thought to. I noticed the trees and sounds, people and cars. I always wondered where the people were going and what the trees were feeling. But I kept my stride. Fudgsicles. This was the mission. A dollar in my hand and a thought in my head. Pauly was the clerk who owned the little store and he knew my ritual. I walked in and handed him the wadded up dollar of sin. Then without hesitation, walked over to the freezer and grabbed one fudgsicle and skipped out the front door. With a dollar I could buy five of them. But I only grabbed one at a time and sat on the stoop outside to eat them. Day after day I studied the wrapper. Clear celephane, covered yellow polks-dots, and tiny words. I ate one after another, till the dollar ran out. Sometimes I cried. Sometimes the pain wouldn't go away but I ate them anyway. Funny how no one ever asked me what was wrong. No one ever gave me a door to open. Two thugs selling weird cigarettes often teased me. I just ignored them. I was a chubby little girl. Short for my age. Long dark brown curls that swayed and bounced on my back when I walked. Light skin, soft and creamy. My eyes looked big when I was a child, sitting over mounds of rosey peppered cheeks. Angel kisses no doubt. My grandmother dressed me in the finest dresses, white laced socks and black patent leather shoes. The backside of my panties were covered in layers of frilly lace. I was a beautiful child. When summer time rolled around my father would send me to my grandparents house for long stretches of time. I think it was his way of having control over my mother. My father was abusive to her, and felt the need to prove he indeed had full control over us. The first summer I went was a good one. I was their little princess, being the oldest grandchild of the oldest son, I was adored. My grandmother was such a loving woman, but no doubt was under my grandfathers orders in life. Years of control break a woman to the point she can't feel anymore. When I came along, my grandmother had purpose. Meaning to wake in the morning. I became the daughter she never had. I could tell even then that at one time she was beautiful. Her hair was long with streaks of gray that she waded up on her head. Her teeth were large, straight and white. Her skin color was the most device ivory shade. She had a chubby body frame, that was the most softest loving feel when I laid in her lap. Her hands were tiny, manicured, perfect in every way. I loved her the first time I met her. Her smile was truly welcoming. She spoke spanish to me, which at first was so foreign, but I soon learned it without a pause. My grandfather on the other hand was brutal even at first sight. I knew in my heart he was mean. He looked crazed and manic. His hair was long and curly, jet black like midnight. He was a rather short man, kinda stalky. His face showed years of anger and pain. Pain he himself had carried for years. His voice made you shrink in your skin. It bellowed and yelled, even when he whispered. He was demanding of my grandmother. Ordered her around at his beck and call. Early on I learned that she wasn't allowed to feel any emotion, it bothered him. If she was excited she was immediately silenced. If she became sad, he made her really cry. She just existed, numb is the best way to describe her. My grandfather worked for the railroad. He left before dawn, and returned after the sun went down. He worked hard this I know. But he enjoyed his drink too. My grandmother worked hard in the house. She kept the garden and yard work up, I am sure to his specifications always. She was a wonderful cook and a very good housekeeper. Something was always baking, or stewing on the stove. She made herself busy at all times. I had my own room in their old Victorian home. Small as it was it seemed huge. The walls were a cold gray chalky color. I had one large window in which showed the small side street and a house on the next corner. My curtains were made of a flowery pastel print, made for me. I had a small bed, a cot really. The floor was of a worn cement, covered with throw rugs. This room was cold and empty feeling. My room back home was very feminine and there were toys in which to amuse myself. But my grandfather wasn't big on toys. He thought that they were such a waste of money. The first night in that room was scary for me. It was dark. My grandmother would shut the door. At home I had a night light to be sure the monsters wouldn't come out. But here, it was dark. Too dark. That was the first time I heard a train run along the tracks. The windows vibrated, and my bed wiggled underneath me. A bright light sprayed on the wall. I laid there, not moving a muscle. My toes curled and my hands grabbed at the bottom sheet, my eyes widened, and my breath stopped. What else is a 5 year old kid to do? It wasn't until the next day that I had realized it was a train running along the tracks. The rails only separated my grandparents by a small lot of grass no wider that 30 feet. They lived in the barrio where all poor mexicans lived, near the "tracks". When I stayed that summer, anyone could tell I was raised properly by my mother. I used graceful thankyous, and honorable good-byes. I knew how to smile and sit in a dress. I never spoke in adult conversation unless spoken to and I never left a mess behind for anyone to clean up after. I remember thinking that maybe things would be good here. My mother and father fought so much. He was always angry with her. She was always crying, and I was always sent out of the room with a push or shove. I spent a lot of time in my room at home with stuffed animals, papers and pens. I remember pretending to write everything down that they were saying. I spent a lot of time in the closet too. Drawing pictures in the dark on the walls, with purple crayons. Always purple. But I was thinking that maybe if I was good enough here at the grandparents house that maybe, just maybe they would like me enough to keep me. So with that thought I was always good. I made my bed in the morning and cleaned my plate. Picked up after myself and any other thing out of place. Simple thoughts. I just wanted to belong to someone, anyone, somewhere, anywhere. Strange how I carried that into my adulthood thought process. Radio bingo was always a big agenda on my grandmothers chores in the day. Mexican radio always played in their house whether TV was on or not, the radio blared. She would sit around lunch time in front of the radio with pinto beans in hand and her cards. For a stretch of about a half hour this was her little pleasure. Bingo. I never could understand why she never went anywhere. She didn't drive either. We walked to the grocery and that would be it for an outing. Daytime was so much fun living there. It was just her and I, in our house. We danced to the music, made mexican pastries, and she made me dresses. Flour back then came in large bags of printed material. So with the bags she would make dresses for me to play in. I was beginning to ruin the good dresses climbing trees and playing on the tracks. We had two large fig trees in the front yard I would climb and sit there for hours just watching the traffic on the freeway. Wondering where people were going. Those frilly dresses never lasted long in a tree. I liked these dresses better because they were hand made for me. My grandmother laughed a lot that summer. I made her cry several times because I was such a silly little girl. I had my mothers , mother too. But she was different. She loved me, but hated my father which made a relationship hard with her. It wasn't till I was older that I had realized all the manipulation that went on behind the adult scene. It was then that I also realized my grandfather hated my mother as well. The summer I turned six I returned to their home of anger and guilt. That was also the summer my grandfather changed his tune with me. He began taking me for rides in the back of his pickup and taking me for walks down Main St. He would stand me in front of the candy store and allow me to pick anything out I wanted out. I grew closer to him. I began loving this old angry man. "Grandma! It's bath time! Can I fill the tub with bubbles this time?? Can I?? Grandma! " I was screaming at the top of my lungs running from room to room in only my panties. "Shhhh Mija, not so loud Grandpa is taking a nap." "I love to take bubbles Grandma," "Okay, okay, come on then." As I turned the corner to go to the bathroom I could see my grandfather stirring in his bed. So I stopped and peaked around the corner. His hips were moving and he was partially uncovered. I could see his backside and his arm was moving. I didn't understand what was happening. I walked in slowly not making a noise for a better look.' Was he sick?' I thought. I moved to the foot of the bed as he turned over. He looked up at me and motioned for me to come closer. I was scared at first but moved towards the head of the bed. "Look babygirl, Grandpa is going to show you something. Where's Grandma?" he said in a low breathless voice. "She went to get my Minnie Mouse towel off the clothesline so I can take a bath." My eyes grew big and I became a little nervous as he uncovered himself. I had never seen a mans body before. I stood still without expression. He was rubbing his privates and had his other hand on my naked breast. "Come closer babygirl and lay with grandpa." "How come? Are you sick or something? Why are you rubbing yourself? " Just then he laid his erect penis on my hip still moving back and forth. He came all over me. On my stomach and legs. I was scared and tried to get out of the bed, but he pulled me back. "Shhhhhhhh....If you tell grandma then we can't go for rides or to the store anymore." " K" I began to cry. I wasn't sure what just happened. Later, I found out my grandmother knew exactly what was happening and hated her for it. "Come on Mija time to bathe" she never even asked why I was in the bed with her naked husband. While preparing for my bath I watched the bubbles grow like a white snow in the winter. Grandma turned the heater on for me and closed the door. As I slipped into the bath water I felt funny about what I had just seen and homesick all at once. I wanted to know how he did that. How he made rubbing cream come out of his privates. I could still feel it on my tummy and began to make circles in it with my fingertips. It was soft and sticky. I wondered if it had a taste but the bubbles were on it now. I guess I had been in there a while when I heard the front door slam and Grandpa's footsteps coming closer when I knocked the bottle of shampoo on the floor spilling it everywhere. "Mija? What was that?" Grandpa's voice bellowed through the crack in the door. " I spilled the shampoo, I'm sorry." As he opened the door I slid into the bubbles so he couldn't see my naked form. "Well we shouldn't waste it, sit up. I will scrape it up and give you a bath. Come on." I didn't say a word. I just sat up. He began rubbing shampoo on my back and hips. He let some of the water out of the tub making most of body exposed. "Lay back Mija, I need to wash your privates so you don't smell like Grandma." I laid back. I could feel my body shake. He opened my legs and began rubbing my privates. It felt good. After a while of rubbing he stood and opened his jeans. I could hear the zip louder then it should have been for some reason. He pulled out his erect penis and kneeled just enough to lay it on the side of the tub. "Kiss it baby, and make grandpa's peter feel better. I am sick you know. " "That’s gross Grandpa" I said. "Rub it for me then." I could feel tears began to fill in my large hazel eyes when I touched it. He moaned. Something wasn't right about this and I could feel it. He slipped his finger between my virgin lips and began to rub faster than before. I was confused. It felt good when he rubbed my hairless little sex. He began that rubbing thing with his sex again. As he began to move faster he grabbed my locks of brown hair and pulled my face to the end of his penis. The cream, the cream was now on my face and lips. He began rubbing it on my nose and eyes. Silence. " I hate you I said. I will always hate you." With that he slapped me and pulled me out of the tub in one motion with a handful of my hair. My head hit the tile floor and I slid about two feet into a wall. He stood above me yelling things I can't remember, then knelt over me laying his semi erect cock across my face, and with that I knew he was in full control. The summers to fallow were the same until I was about eight. I chose not to go that summer. I made excuses that I was too old for leaving my friends behind for that long. I made promises to do the yardwork and baby-sit my little brothers. I won the war. Since then, have never spoke to them. I have to tell you, the reader, that I enjoyed those interludes with my grandfather. At first I was scared and unsure of what was happening. I never have had any great therapy nor ever carried any guilt for those pleasures as a child. I married (and separated) and have two children. I have never had the desire to engage in such acts with my kids, nor ever will. I must say that when I found out later in life that it was wrong my thoughts on sexuality shifted dramatically. So much that in the adult part of my life I only chose to lay with two lovers. I have to say I am a little inhibited, but for the most part normal. Thanks for reading~ Ana Hernandez 1998 -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |