She started muttering something about a fall but she has never been able to lie to me and about three sentences into her explanation she collapsed against me, crying. No, beyond crying. She was bawling, loud sobs, and clinging to me as I held her.
I could feel the tension through her body as she shook against me. I cradled her head gently against my chest and let her cry, whispering that it was okay, that I was here. Gentling her like a hurt animal.
When she was cried out she was finally able to look up at me. Tears washed her mascara down her cheeks. Snot ran from her nose, making streamers off of her chin. When she wiped at it the thick mucus-filled saliva from her mouth added to the filaments between her hand and her face.
I pulled her to me again, holding her for another minute while she quieted, patting her back through the final hiccups. Then, without saying anything, I led her to the bathroom and sat her on the toilet.
I was careful not to look at her as I ran the water, letting it get hot, and then soaked a face cloth. I lifted her chin, forcing her to look up, as I carefully, very gently, washed her face. She winced when I touched the swollen side of her face and I made myself a promise that whoever had done that was going to lose the hand that did it. Her eyes were darting around as I gently pulled her lip up, looking to see if it was truly split. There was a small cut on the inside, but nothing that would require stitches. She managed a very small smile when I bent and kissed it.
She still hadn't said anything as I led her back into the living room and sat her on the couch. I went to the kitchen and mixed her a bloody Mary, a triple, and then as an afterthought added a straw. I took the drink in to her, sat next to her, took both of her hands in mine, and said "now, what happened."
Chapter One
The story that unfolded was one that I remembered almost verbatim from one of the Psychology, or Human Growth and Development, or some such class that I had taken as part of my Education Major. I understood about ten minutes into her recital. But I let her go on. It seemed cathartic for her and she was gaining confidence as the story unfolded. She said, and I believe her, that I was the first non-professional person she had ever told it to.
Millie's mother was killed in a car wreck when Millie was 18, getting ready to graduate from high school. Such a loss was devastating, and she and her single dad had trouble coping. She would crawl into his bed at night and they would sleep together.
As these things happen, one night she crawled into bed and found him naked.
He told her that daddy loved her and that he wanted her to do something for him. As he talked and coaxed she soon found herself with his cock in her mouth. She did as he asked, and when he was ready to ejaculate he pulled out, cumming on her face.
The thing is, I could almost understand. Both of them would have been terribly lonely and hurting. And this was a physical release he needed. By his lights, by leaving her hymen intact he hadn't really engaged in incest and, to use the archaic phrase, "ruined" her.
