Living Hell

PAGE:  27

The family was only gone about fifteen minutes when Dave arrived home.

He had been drinking and was high from his cocaine, “So Brene, you missed me?” he asked.

“Nope!  I didn’t miss nobody.  You had a house to stay in.  I couldn’t live home because of you, remember!”

“Ah…come on baby, don’t be mad at your daddy.  I missed you.  I ain’t had no good p---- since you been out of here,” Dave said, squeezing Brene’s breast.

“Stop it daddy, or I’m telling Mommy when she comes back,” Brene said, slapping his hands.

“Come on Brene, you know you missed your daddy!”  Dave said, pulling up Brene’s skirt and tugging at her panties.

“Stop it!  I’m telling…” was muffled by Dave’s lips meeting Brene’s.  Dave forced Brene down on the couch with his body.  Her ability to fight him was strapped by his strength. 

When he was done, Brene sat rocking in a chair, her thumb in her mouth, crying uncontrollably.

Dave went up to bed, and, turning the TV on, he fell fast asleep.

“What’s the matter Brene?” April asked, seeing her from the TV light.  “I thought I told you no TV.  What’s wrong with you?” April asked, moving closer and staring in disbelief.

“Mommy, he did it again,” Brene said, crying harder than before.

“Where is he?” April asked, running up the stairs as fast as her feet could carry her.

Dave was snoring loudly.

April yelled.  “What happened Dave?”

PAGE:  128

“Fine, I’ll call Willard and see if he can make the trip with me.”

Bill and Willard returned in the early morning hours with Jason.  I was able to sleep soundly knowing Jason was finally safe and sound.

I went to work as usual, and while driving home I had unusual feelings of confusion and frustration.  “I have never felt like this before.”  I thought.  Suddenly, I started to have flashbacks. 

I am a very little girl, and I have my daddy’s penis in my hands.  He is coaching me to put it in my mouth…I am trying to do it and then gagging. Then the scene ended.  “What is going on?”  I wondered, pulling the car to the side of the road.  I started to cry.  Then I continued to remember in small segments. 

My father lying on his back in his bed.

“Who’s picking my bumps tonight?  A nickel a bump!”

“I am…”

“It’s my turn…you always pick daddy’s bumps.”

“Sooooooo…I can pick bumps better than you…right daddy?”

“Yep.  You can pick them next time Jason.”

“She always gets a turn.  I never get to have a turn.”

“Boy…git on out of here wit that whining,”

I start off picking bumps on daddy’s back.  Then he turns over, and I start picking bumps on his face and chin.  Then daddy reaches in his pants and pulls out his penis; he has little bumps all over it, and I start to pick those.  Picking bumps is so much fun.  It certainly brings Daddy a lot of gratification.