Jack Benjamin: The Paths Of Incest

When it hit me, what I'd done, I felt sick to my stomach. Funny, but with Kathy, I had never thought of the word incest, even though she was my blood niece. Maybe it was because she seemed so much more a woman than Melody. Or perhaps it was because I had never really spent enough time around her to feel a close relationship-my brother lived in a town over 700 miles distant, most of his adult life.

Even at first, I wasn't so ashamed at what I had done as I was amazed and disappointed at the outright, wanton sexiness of Melody. Not that I blamed her-it might have happened sooner or later, as I see myself now. But all I could think of at the moment was how utterly cheap she had been about the whole thing. I couldn't convince myself that she had learned this by herself; I had to place a great deal of the blame on Valerie-personally, and indirectly by her own example of wanton sex, and her neglect of Melody. But I could only wonder, at the moment. It must have been a strange scene, Melody sitting there, still naked, her arms wrapped around her knees, covering her tiny breasts but exposing her wet, red cunt almost proudly. And the look on her face-it threw me. She looked like a proud woman who had been chasing a man and had finally caught and seduced him-which, in a way, she had.

I had to talk to her, but I couldn't find the words. Melody didn't have any problem. She enjoyed my embarrassment, I am certain.

"Didn't know your daughter was a grown woman, did you?" she asked me, with a brassy smile. I wanted to slap her mouth, but I couldn't. I couldn't get it out of my mind, how wonderful she had been in the many sex acts we'd performed. And-I'm ashamed to say it-but I went after her again. This time, I was really out of control-I just flopped her back, jumped on and screwed. Oddly, she liked it even better-moaned with delight and begged me not to stop.

But, when I got off her this time, I was really sick with my own actions. I got dressed and drove around for a couple of hours, actually toying with the idea of turning myself in to the police or to a mental institution.

He didn't have to. Kathy settled the issue by becoming pregnant. When it became obvious, school authorities called her uncle, then the juvenile authorities. When Valerie got wind of it, she blew it all out of proportion. When she was finished with Kathy and Melody, the entire sordid story was exploded in the newspapers and he was arrested, charged with statutory rape and with corrupting the morals of minors.

Found guilty on both charges, he was sentenced to prison for two years, with the specific order that he undergo psychiatric treatment in prison, and continue it when released.

He had only vague plans for his life, but he did his best to follow the court's order. He continued his hypno-therapy treatments for almost six months, in twice weekly sessions. He seemed to have at least accomplished control of his emotions and sex desires concerning young girls. The final chapter (at least for the purposes of this study) came about in a letter which he wrote to the psychologist from Mexico.

On a weekend in Tijuana, he had become involved with a cheap bar hooker who was no older than 13. He was sorry, he told the doctor, but he knew what he wanted as far as sex was concerned, and here he could have it without any guilt or legal problems. He married the girl, on the pretense that he would return to the U.S. and arrange for her to eventually become a citizen. Instead, he fled deeper into Mexico, stopping at Guaymus, then eventually taking a job in a restaurant in Tampico, where the girl ran off with someone else.

That this is an unusual story (the sexual promiscuity and aggressiveness of the girls involved) is being shown as a fallacy each day, by school authorities, welfare and social workers, police and doctors, all over the land. The sexual revolt of today has permeated all age groups, from pre-teen to senility and, according to most of the experts-if there is such a person-it will get worse, among the young.

Alfred L. Koerber, in the American Journal of Sociology, writes: "If ten anthropologists were asked to designate one universal taboo, nine of them would name the prohibition of incest." In Social Structure, George P. Murdock reports the findings of a study of the cultures of 250 societies. In each, incest was banned; not one permitted father and daughter, mother and son, sister and brother, to have coitus or to marry. Psychiatrists and gynecologists, however, are changing their views concerning the prevalence of mother-son incest. Once it was believed the rarest form of incest; today, with more and more case histories being revealed through psycho-therapy (and many coming to light by the open bragging of a newly-freed generation), it is becoming clear that incestuous relations between mother and son are almost as frequent as those between father and daughter.

Donald R. is a good example of this type sex aberration. He came to a psycho-therapist at age 43, after having had sex with his mother since he was 12 years old! Dissatisfied with the slowness of his therapy, he switched to hypno-therapy in an effort to speed up his self-understanding and his self-help. He came for help a few months after the death of his mother and after a frustrating series of sexual experiments which included homosexuality.

In condensed form, let us read Don's story.

I was a bastard. My mother got pregnant with me when she was 13, and after I was born, life became so miserable for her with her mother-her father was dead-that she took me and ran away. She eventually lived with a man from the time I was two until he was killed when I was ll, though they never married. I remember him pretty well, although he was never good to me. He did provide a nice home for us, and I guess he cared about my mother, but he and I never spent time together-I mean like fishing, playing ball-things like other kids' fathers seemed to do.

When he died, he left quite a bit of insurance and this house we live in, to my mother. She'd always drank pretty heavy, right along with Ed, my step-father. After he died, she went to pieces. She stayed at home, drunk, for days after the funeral. She wouldn't let me go to school; wouldn't see friendsjust cried and drank.

I was almost 12, which made Adele, my mother, only 25. She was always slender, pretty, and had a beautiful shape. I'd often seen her naked, and it had bothered me a little. A few times, I'd had to masturbate after seeing her breasts and cunt, but it hadn't stayed with me. I was fairly normal-played ball, hung around the other guys' houses, did pretty good in school.

The first few days out of school were fun for me, then I got bored and told her I wanted to go back to school and get out of the house more. She begged me to stay home for a while longer. Then she got the idea that a trip would do her good, and we went to a lake resort in the Sierras. It was a nice cabin, with a motorboat and all, and it was my first timeout in the open, so I had a ball.

The first afternoon there, Adele began to drink heavily. I wanted to go swimming, and she said she'd go too. She began to strip off her clothes, and I just couldn't take my eyes off her. She was drunk, all right, but she knew what she was doing to me. She stood in front of me, running her hands over her breasts and down over her hips, shoving out her pelvic area seductively.

"I have a pretty body, Donnie, don't I?" she asked. I nodded, and didn't know what to do. I knew what I wanted to do, because my prick was busting through my pants, at the sight of the hardened nipples and the slit I could see clearly through the pubic hair.

"Have you ever had a girl?" she asked boldly, smiling at my embarrassment. "I know you play with yourself-I've watched you. What do you think about while you're doing it? What girl?" I didn't answer. My hard on was driving me crazy. "Or is it me you've been thinking of?"