Copyright to author all rights reserved.01.10.24
Everyone is eighteen or older
Elaine's Journey, Chapter 01
Grammie Elaine had died when daddy was in high school, and now he was gone. I was going through my grandmother's stuff, which was in daddy's attic, alone, as mommy had left us when she was caught fucking daddy's boss, but that was another story.
I found a diary and old pictures of Grammie Elaine and her mom and dad, Lola and Bill, and their shack in Tulsa. The shack had a sleeping porch, with windows without glass, having chicken wire stretched across, instead of glass. It had a dirt floor, and there was a wood stove and a water pump, with a privy outdoors.
I was astounded at the pictures of Elaine on her eighteenth birthday. She was startlingly beautiful. Her tits looked like soft basketballs on her thin frame.
There was a heavy, leather-bound journal, that was at least three inches thick, and her written entries commenced in 1941, September; she was eighteen years old -- just as I was!
Here are Elaine's words from her journal when she was eighteen, (in italics) ...
Things have never been so good for me! I just started at the University of Tulsa as a freshman and I was in a sorority. I still have my job at the department store plus the weekend work I do for Miss Jean, which is where I make my real money. Not only that, but my daddy is in Seattle, wherever the hell that is, after disappearing in 1935 after being off work as a brass caster since 1929. I have bright-red hair and pale-white skin and Daddy and Mama have dark hair. I was born in Tahlequah, Oklahoma, Cherokee County on the reservation.
Well, the depression hit and Daddy lost his job and he beat everyone, except my youngest brother. He worked, when he worked, in this factory casting brass and making molds to do that. But in 1935, he'd disappeared in the morning with his suit on, looking for work. He'd eat at the soup kitchen, and somehow, he had money to get drunk on and he'd come home and we all slept in one bed, 'cept my brothers, John and Lee, who were out on the sleeping porch.
I feel naked writing this, but now that I am eighteen, still at home for a few weeks, and my daddy is back from disappearing in 1935, he resumed beating Mama and me. I don't think he's my real daddy, Mama and him have dark-brown hair and darker complexions, and Mama has tiny titties. Well, I have red hair and my titties are big and soft, and jiggle when I turn my head, let alone walk or run. I'm five-foot-nine and weigh one hundred and fifty-five pounds and Mama says I'm gorgeous. Mama is five-foot-three and Daddy is five-foot-eight.
Last night, Daddy, Mama and I slept in the same bed, as always and the boys were out on the sleeping porch. Well, Daddy started slapping Mama's face and calling her a cheating whore, and then he threw her over his knee and spanked her hard and Mama was sobbing and moaning and then he said, "You're sopping wet!"
Before I knew it, he was fucking her from behind her and Mama moaned more, and said, "Daddy, Daddy fuck me, fuck me, fuckitty, fuckitty!"
I felt so warm, flushed, and scared all at the same time. I slid off the bed, thinking he might pass out or die or somethin'. I was totally scared. Finally, he stopped and they were both moaning.
He said, "I love you honey," and mama said, "With all my heart."
I stayed quiet as a church mouse, barely breathing, until they were both snoring and I carefully climbed onto the bed. My legs were all wet, but it was not my monthly, I'd had that a week ago. I reached down between my legs and I was sopping wet, and so confused, I mean I know now, but then I just put my shirt tails down to dry it off.
I had a cotton-print dress, a plain-white dress, and a nice white dress for church, when we went. In the morning, I got ready for school and Mama had oatmeal for me, courtesy of Auntie Louise and sometimes Aunt Enid, too. We would have starved without them. Daddy ate at the soup kitchens, but he was embarrassed to have us stand in line. If we starved to death, that was okay.
When I got home, I asked Mama if we could talk. She had some coffee and we smoked Lucky Strike Reds; I'd been smoking since I was ten. Everyone did. P
"Mama," I said, "when daddy was beating you and then was making babies with you, I got all wet down below, think it was because I was afraid. I was sopping wet, honest to my goodness and I felt so hot and flushed. Mama, I'm scared. Am I sick?"
Mama reached out, and said, "Come here child," and I sat on her lap and started sobbing real hard. She hugged me and patted my back and then she had a deep rumbling chuckle.
Mama said, "Honey you're fine. You're a normal healthy girl."
I looked at her, with my eyebrows raised quizzically.