Life without family is rare, i suppose, and sad would it be not to have a loving base of people who are there 'for' you no matter what. I am one of the sad majority who grew up in a cell called a family who were not "there for you". I had my share of smacks across the face and locked in my room and "patty cake on my pee-pee" and 'come and snuggle with me'. I'm fifty-four now but back them? By thirteen i din't give a shit. Whether they touched me or they din't; whether i did something or i didn't. Mother saw me come out of her bedroom one or two times. It was eery the first time because she smiled all day, as if she need for another enticement to keep my father put and she'd found one with me. We never spoke of it, though. Not even to this day and if you were to ask her, she never saw it happen.

One of my uncles was over yesterday and told me my titties were getting bigger and asked if he could see them. Dad was there and told me to lift my blouse. I giggled and as he touched them, we all laughed together and then we watched a movie. My pick! I sat in the middle. By the end of the movie i didn't have any clothes on and when mother arrived home i had to scramble and hide behind the couch. She smiled naturally and kept walking to the kitchen, arms filled with groceries. Dad whispered behind at me to go and get dressed and help mom and that maybe we can all watch a movie together later. With smiles between the three of us, i was off. As disgusted and confused as i was, I had become addicted to their touch.