Writing Away the Darkess

Editor's Note: this story contains discussions of the effects of abuse.

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My Literotica handle is LegendInMyOwnMind. My real first name is Mike, and that is all the personally identifiable information you are going to get. For whatever it's worth, I'd like to share my motivations for writing.

My story involves the inter-generational effects of incest. If this would be hurtful to you, please stop reading.

I am not talking about incest as the most popular genre on Literotica. I enjoy reading it, in my fourth hopefully soon to published story I've enjoyed writing it. But this is voluntary sex among concerning adults who happen to be related.

The real world is far different. 99% is involuntary, most of it involving kids. This is not rape writ small—it's rape writ in bloody letters ten feet tall. I have not myself a victim in the physical sense. But my soul nevertheless bears the marks.

Mom was not so fortunate. She was brutally raped by her grandfather at the age of four. It never recurred but she lived in terror until the day he died that it would.

Unlike many sufferers, she did not fear her parents wouldn't believe her but rather that her Mom would, and would straight up kill the man. Mom could deal fine with the idea of her perpetrator being dead, but not with her mom doing life in prison or perhaps dancing on the end of a rope. (This was in Illinois 1930).

So she kept silent for the duration of her grandfather's life. However, she told me in graphic detail when I was ten. Burdening a ten year old boy with knowledge like that is cruel enough, but there is more. This knowledge caused me to mistrust male sexuality and my own specifically, though I was not yet actually experiencing it. I was twenty-five when I lost my virginity to a hooker.

Mom never touched me sexually. My memories are unbroken from the age of two, I know that for a natural fact. But the way we related emotionally had distinctly incestuous overtones. No mother thinks any woman is good enough for her little boy, but this went far deeper. She wanted me for herself, in every way, though to her credit, she didn't want to want me.

She shared the feelings with me that she should have been sharing with Dad. As a father, he was physically present but emotionally absent. Mom ran the show. Dad was a survivor of abuse but not incest as far as I know.

I had many unsuccessful relationships in my late twenties and early thirties. In my mid thirties I had relationships with two wonderful women, each 10-15 years older than myself. Short term but very healing.

The first was Laurie, who was a psychologist and was as helpful to my healing as anyone not herself a survivor could have been. We were not suited non-sexually for the long haul, but the sex was incredible. She taught me much about pleasing a woman and being pleased by a woman. Taught me sex can be loving and beautiful rather than dark and ugly. Thanks, Dr. L. I will always love you.

The second was Bess, who was herself and incest survivor. We helped healed each other and and the sex was incredible. She helped finish what Laurie had begun, and I now had crystal clarity about the warps in my soul. Our non-sexual interests and values just did not align. I suspect I would have been with her to the day she died were it not so. RIP, Bess I owe you one.

I married for the first time at the age of 41,we stayed together 22 years. No fault to her or me, she just wasn't able to cope with the disabilities caused by my first stroke in 2009, nor with the death of our second born autistic son a year later, Neither could I. I will not tell her first name nor shall I name any person now living.

Finally I am married to the love of my life who I met in a nursing home. We will be together as we have sworn "till death part us or Christ return". For the very first time of my life, I am truly happy.

But the darkness isn't gone, it rears its ugly head now and again. So another story is born. So I exorcise my demons for a time, the process will never finish until I see God face to face and all the sin and darkness fall away as if they never were.

I hope that my stories please others, but fundamentally I write for myself. I am every main character. I'm Jeremy in Remembering Anita, I'm Bart in My Blonde Goddess, I'm Mark in The Yellow Rose of Texas, I am Matt in I Dream of Jenny.

I have written Mature from both the older and younger perspectives, Erotic Romance, and now Incest. I will try other categories, there is the germ of a Sci-Fi/Fantasy story boiling in my unconscious now, it hasn't yet taken shape. Some categories such as BDSM, I don't feel competent to write, though I've found ones with milder, more playful bondage enjoyable to read, and to experience IRL for that matter.

Non-con I will never touch. I won't read it and I won't write it. No judgment intended on those who do enjoy reading and or writing it—the genre just fills me with horror and not the fun horror movie kind. I can't even write fully consensual but unloving sex.

I cannot write a story that isn't a love story at heart, and it always write first person, in a perspective that might be called "first person omniscient in retrospect".

I would love to hear from other writers. What motivates you to write? I hope it is for less dark and more cheerful reasons than mine, but whether or no, feel free to share them. You will not find any judgment here, only love.

Now for the line I've been ending all my writings with since Yellow Rose...: now stop reading and go out and get some good loving, and more importantly give some.