I am so thankful I found this site, I've been needing to get this out. This is a secret that both me and my father will take to our graves.
I never knew my real father until I was about 12 years old. I met him for the first time and he was a fairly attractive man. We grew a decent friendship and learned that I was just like him in many ways. As I got older I noticed he would get flirty with me, and instead of a normal father-like hug.. I would get a hug and a long kiss on the neck. I never minded though.

He was a truck driver, he went on 2 week trips at a time, then a week off. I was 18 years old when he invited me to go with him for a trip, and I agreed.. I was excited because I never got to travel much. His semi had bunk beds, but I would always lay in the bottom bed with him for a while after he parked for the night. On the 4th day I asked him to rub my back, so he did.. he then told me its been so long sinse he's felt a womans body like this that it was effecting him in a certain way, hearing him say that, did the same thing to me. All I could do was smile at him, and he kissed me passionately then kissed my neck and chest. I knew it was so, so wrong.. but it didn't feel that way, it felt so good and I didn't want him to stop. And he didn't.

What happened on that trip was my body's desires taking over, maybe if I had self control I could have stopped it from happening.. I fell into a deep depression after I returned home because of the shame and disgust I felt towards myself. I blamed my father, I went months without speaking to him. I wish I never even met him. But a few more months past and suddenly I felt lonely, I got ahold of my father again.. we started to talk, we apologized to eachother and everything was fine again.

It didn't take long till the memories of our trip started to creep back into my thoughts, but this time it didn't upset me, it made me want him again. I lusted for him, I needed to feel that love again.. So I went to stay him on his week off, we shared his bed. It was amazing just like the first time.. but afterwards I went back home and became angry and depressed again. When my period was 2 weeks late I took a pregnancy test, I was so scared to look.. but it was true, it was positive. When I told my father he asked me to abort, but I told him no.


My baby girl is now 2 1/2 months old. She is perfect, healthy and so beautiful. She has dad's bright blue eyes. Mama's nose, lips and chin, and our dark hair. I got so lucky that she looks mostly like me.. I sometimes wish the 3 of us could be one strange little happy family, but remembering the past, I know I will regret it because it seems to be an endless cycle of lust then hate. I tell people I was too drunk at a party to remember who I slept with. I'd rather be known as a drunk whore then an incesting freak. I know i'm not alone but I know the real world would never understand. My father has always told me he doesn't see me as his daughter, but as a beautiful young woman. And he's never been my dad.. he was a stranger I met when I was 12, and we became very close. I do know there is something called genetic sexual attraction syndrome... but I will just leave it at self diagnosed. He has only met my daughter once sinse she's been born, and I honestly hope he'll be more involved in her life, even if she'll only know him as grandpa.

Thanks for reading <3

From what I have been told, I was talking and walking by 9 months old. Perhaps it is an exaggeration, but I can attest to the ease I have experienced in school, with dealing with problems, and assessing the “right” behavior in situations.

I have had one imaginary friend, from what I can remember, since I was about two years old. I remember when he first knocked on the door, a back door with a mud room in my house, and I let him in. I would tease my Dad that he was my boy friend. He kept me wonderful company and was an enlightening, safe harbor. I remember another time when someone entered through this same door. I remember that I was handed a stuffed animal by this man, but I cannot recall any more.

When I was seven, I remember feeling sure that I could survive on my own, if only my parents would let me alone. In kindergarten, I could read chapter books and would forge my mother’s signature on the homework list each week. I remember wanting the independence from my mother to moderate my own life.

My favorite thing to do at that time was read. I had a children’s encyclopedia and learned about sexual reproduction in this fashion. I discovered an obsession with looking at Michael Angelo’s “David” sculpture. I would sit and look at it for different durations each day.

Between seven and nine, my parents split up (though, I had suspected it for over a year). At this time I began having very sexual, very vivid dreams. One dream I remember was of my self in a hotel room, seducing a much older, ugly man. I believe between six and seven I was sexually abused again, by the same close friend of my family that had been in my life much earlier, and that I had let into my home through the mud room door. I cannot remember it happening, but I have returned to a certain event when I remember I was alone with this person, and there are blank spots in my memory.

I started touching my self with my dolls or stuffed animals around this time, I don’t really understand why. I would “tell” my sister’s fortune by looking into my crystal ball. Around the same time I stopped feeling normal. When I saw myself in the mirror, I felt an intense, unnatural feeling. It was almost disgust. It increased when I had on feminine clothing. I still feel it, sometimes seemingly random and sometimes by noticeable triggers, to this day.

When I was nine, I realized that my father was not scary. I saw that he would raise his voice to intimidate me- and, I saw that it was just that- and that I was capable of it too. This led me to a strange relationship with aggression. I began to “dominate” my siblings, feel an anger that was confusing and overwhelming. I felt as if something in me was red fire hot, and I had no control over it, nor the ability to stop it, nor the knowledge of how it started. I felt like a victim while I victimized other people. And still, though less frequently and with more control to mask it, I have this sensation of being a puppet. At this time I also began trying to study witch craft and wanted to be a vampire. I would mediate and attempt to make spells.

By the time I was eleven, I was not only participating in on-line sex and wishing to be kissed by a boy at school, but I was finding attendance at school more difficult, as well as having increased bouts with anxiety and depression. This only worsened as I got older. And by fourteen, I was full blown suicidal. My parents attempted to get me help, but the doctors, therapists, teachers, and medication were so easily manipulated that no one could touch me.

I would get into these crazed, raging fits of frustration and aggression. I would yell, scream, shake, cry, weep, sob; I was frightening. I started “cutting” which was mostly scratching. I started messing around with older guys. I started lying and going out and trying to drink/party as much as possible. When my father would have a chance to sit and talk to me, he would try to hug me, but I would yell insults until he would give up. I remember ...

[ Continued ]

----Every new day can change one's life; Every new experience can deepen the realm within ones world. These notions run parallel, to the story of Johnny and The Cupcake Girl----

(Character Background. If looking for eroticism, skip to next chapters.)

Prelude: Aromatic Cupcakes

The sun was beaming through the cracks of the curtains - Johnny woke up, always curious as to what the day would entail. Getting ready for work at the store was a very systematic process for him. Every slight movement, down to the way he dried off his vascular body after a steaming shower, was replicated with exact precision.

Coffee and cigarettes. The fix of the morning, yet today they seemed ever so weak. Bitter sensations on the tongue - Johnny needing something new.. Something sweet.

His inner world was intense. Always maneuvering, always watching - ever changing. Those simpletons who he sped by on the inter-state know no sensation similar to the ones concocted by Johnny's dis-inhibited mind.

Many are curious, but few truly venture. Today was the day, like so many before, that one curious, light-hearted being, would accept any contingencies within coffee shop: The Cupcake Girl. After all, what was life for the young girl without knowledge of the unknown? She was so full of life, full of energy, but being virgin to many experience which she knew exist, felt like a ghost on a winding path.. She was so confused about the world.. People and their intentions.. What she wanted.. What she stood for.. The Cupcake Girl needed something stable - Something definite. Something, to hold on to.

Unbeknownst to the depths of the labyrinth, The Cupcake Girl took the leap of faith that was so intrinsic to her nature, and necessary to develop her ever curious mind regarding that of which she had no experience.

Her name was Pricilla. And she smelled exactly like she looked.

I am a victim of sexual abuse. Most of my previous posts were usually pretty short and very vague about my situation. They were mainly used for ranting, so I didn't expect anyone to read them. Then, I began to realize from being on this website, that this would be a safe enviornment to talk about things. So, here it goes; I am a teen girl, who began getting sexually abused by my step brother in the seventh grade. It went on for two years, until I finally told my mom, which she refused to do any thing, because she didn't want to leave her boyfriend. I am now living with my Dad, and my mom and her boyfriend are now married. The last couple years have been a huge roller coaster of events, from my maternal grandmother dying, my Dad getting custody over me, my little sister getting beaten by my mom, and me finding the two things that I have eternally fallen in love with; Zachary and roller derby. I want my junior year to be the mark of my synapse. I know I still have a long way to go, and I will still have troubles ahead, but this time, I will fight.

so i have d.i.d. (dissociative identity disorder) and one of my alters is named benji. benji is an 8 year old boy in the body of a 18 year old biologically female. i have no issues regarding my gender or sex and feel i was born in the right body. benji has such bad dysphoria that he hates coming out, refuses to look at himself in the mirror, refuses to take pictures, and everyone can feel how much sad it makes him. last night was the final straw though when my mom wanted to take pictures and he was co-fronting with me he started to cry because he asked her why she needed to take them. my mom dismissed his feelings and i just want to help him. anyone have something similar to this or have any ideas on how to help? i am so lost right now...