thatsickgirl

I've been reading through back entries in several kink/fetish/general communities and I've come to the conclusion that I am, in fact, a big virgin who doesn't know anything about anything. So, I'll make this blanket statement upfront: if I refer to something incorrectly, or use an inappropriate term, or in general sound like an idiot... rest assured that I am in fact an idiot, but I absolutely don't mean to offend any person of any walk of life with anything said here.

Part of the reason I started this journal is to explore my incest kink. Or fetish. Or interest. Whatever word you want to use for it.

I've been reading and writing incest fiction for about two years, and I've had to defend myself on the topic several times. I mostly did that by clarifying that I can separate fiction and reality, and that things that were "wrong" or harmful in reality could be harmlessly explored in fiction. Lines could be crossed. My writing fiction about brothers and sisters in no way meant that I wanted to fuck my brother or sister, or thought anyone else should be fucking their brothers or sisters.

And the part about my not having any particular attraction to my own siblings (or my parents or any member of my immediate family) still holds up. But at some point I realized that my own lines were blurrier than I had thought. And I'm still working on figuring out what they are.

Like many others I know, my first exposure to incest-as-erotica (and possibly incest in general) was through VC Andrew's novel Flowers In The Attic. I was around thirteen years old and it was one of the first (if not the first) times I can remember being actively aroused by some outside stimuli. I was an avid reader, I'd read books with sexual content before, but Cathy and Chris were... different. It struck me as something special, something somehow above any other relationship I had seen depicted.

My brother and sister are considerably older than me and we've never been close. The bond, even minus the sexual aspect, between the FITA siblings was something I had never experienced. And maybe that's the root of my interest? The fact that I had siblings, but at the same time, they were unavailable to me and uninterested in me, to the point of being practically strangers -- that we never really had any relationship, let alone such a close one? I'm sure that's part of it, but I don't think it's all.

I devoured the Andrews series after that, and every incarnation of family sex (and there were many) inspired the same reaction in me. And I do have close relationships with many people in my family, so I really couldn't truck out the same excuse. My father and I have always been very close, I'm very much a Daddy's Girl... but I can unequivocally state that I have no sexual feelings towards him. When I read father/daughter fiction (which I do), I don't feel that I'm acting out any conscious or unconscious fantasy about the two of us, specifically. So I have to wonder why if effects me the way it does.

I've always been personally averse to mother/child fiction; I'll admit I even have a tendency to villify mothers/mother figures in my writing. Do I have an Electra complex? Jung, Freud and I aren't the best of friends, but still, now that I'm writing all of this out it does seem a little apt.

Similar to my experience with FITA, the first film I can remember being aroused by (again, I had seen other, similar scenes between non-related characters, which had none of the same effect) contained a forced father/daughter scene. I was around the same age, early teens, and it's also the first memory I have of masturbating to orgasm. Afterwards I felt an incredible sense of shame, and abnormality. What I had seen hadn't been special, it had been nothing like the desperate, isolated romance of Cathy and Chris, but it had the same extreme effect on me. I felt like a sick person, and it was certainly nothing I could discuss with anyone else. I had no information, no way of processing the feelings.

For quite some time, nothing else hit me in the same way as those books and that film. I rarely re-read them, never watched it again, and I suppose I just put it out of my mind. I was going to high school, getting to the dating age, and I had my real life to think about, real relationships.

This may or may not be directly related to my incest affinity (believe it or not I do have room for yet more issues, on other topics) but I was never really satisfied with any of my romantic relationships, as a teenager or an adult. Something was always missing. They couldn't hold my interest. I didn't feel what I thought I was supposed to feel, often I didn't feel much of anything at all.

It wasn't special.

Over the last two years or so, I've rediscovered my interest in family relations, and I've become a great deal more accepting of them and myself. Mostly this has been inspired by entertainment media and fanfiction, or original fiction -- no real life scenarios. Brother/sister incest, which I consider my primary interest, has actually gotten quite a bit of play (relatively -- pardon the pun) on television in recent years (on the HBO series Carnivàle and Six Feet Under, for example) and I followed these stories ardently. I realized that original feeling inspired by FITA wasn't a fluke, and it wasn't a matter of caring for two characters who just happened to be related. It really was simply the brother/sister bond. I "ship" (fanfiction term for supporting/reading/writing about a certain relationship) several other incest pairings and I belong to LJ communities based on them (through a different journal). My closest friends share my interest, and we write about and even roleplay (text only) these relationships. I feel that this is a healthy and safe outlet for me, and I'm happy to have it.

But at the same time? All of that is based on fictional worlds.

I don't feel safe expressing, even to these close friends, my interest or curiosity about real life incest. I don't want to lose them. But it's something I feel I need to figure out for myself.

Which is partly why I'm here.

So, I've touched up on brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers. The sordid tales of my cousins and I, I'll save for another evening.

Shawn, twenty-two, female, lesbian-identifying.

This is my semi-anonymous journal of pseudointellectual sexual exploration.

Fact(s): I was raised Catholic, and attented Catholic school for twelve years. Regular church attendance was mandatory and several of my teachers were priests or nuns. Some of my first active sexual fantasies were about a seminary student who visited my fourth grade class. I wish corporal discipline had still been permitted while I was in high school. I have the standard uniform fetish. We wore blue and green plaid kilts; the dress code demanded they fall to the knee, but almost every girl rolled up the waistband two or three (or five or six) times to make them shorter. We constantly got in trouble for it and it pushed my buttons, even at fourteen or so, to consider how closely the teachers were paying attention to our skirts (more correctly, our legs).

Fact(s): One side of my family is Italian, the other is Irish and they're all extremely Catholic. I have over fifty first cousins, and I see almost all of them regularly. I have one brother (nine years older) and one sister (eleven years older). My parents have been married thirty-five years and are, to the best of my knowledge, happy. We are, by and large, a "healthy" family. Which is all by way of saying, my incest kink is not grounded in reality. Mostly.

Fact: I've never had penetrative sex, with a male or female. I don't identify as a virgin, but feel free to make your presumptions.

Fact: I have sexual fantasies about males.

Fact: I am a lesbian.

Fact: If you're helplessly compelled to lecture me about the inherent contradiction between the previous two points, I will be helplessly compelled to kick your ass.

Those are the basics. Read, friend and/or comment at will.