From: bobandcarole@aol.com   
      
   Story: Cindy's Upbringing   
      
   by bobandcarole   
      
      
       I wrote this story after a reader responded to my "Angela the Naughty   
   Altar Girl" series.  "Cindy" asked me to write out the stories of her   
   youth. We exchanged a few emails during which she revealed to me her   
   molestation by her father when she was a little girl.   
      
       ***************   
      
       Hi, my name is Cindy and I'm twenty-five years old.  I'm a graduate   
   student at the University of ****** (deleted).  I wanted to share my   
   stories about growing up with my dad.  Depending on your point of view,   
   this is a story about child abuse and molestation.  Some days I think back   
   and my mind is made up that I was abused.  Other days I'm not so sure.   
      
       My dad and I lived alone in rural Montana.  My mother had left us when I   
   was less than a year old.  You hear stories every day about how tough it is   
   for working single moms.  Let me tell you that being a working single dad   
   is just as difficult.   
      
       My dad did office work for a local contracting company.  The pay was not   
   terrible but it definitely wasn't enough for a single parent.  He   
   eventually had to take on part-time job at the local Wal-Mart.  Even so,   
   when I was growing up I remember we had to save money at every turn.  I   
   usually wore cheap thrift store clothes and our meals were never elaborate.   
   Plenty of macaroni and cheese with hot dogs, I remember.   
      
       Being a single father, my dad told me in later years that a lot of his   
   parenting came from improvising on the spot.  His methods were almost   
   always non-traditional.  For example, he knew it was important for me to   
   eat vegetables but he never had time to prepare them.  I drank gallons of   
   V-8 for the first five years of my life.  Once that got too expensive, my   
   dad bought his own ingredients and made homemade V-8 juice.  It wasn't   
   until I was a teenager that I began eating solid vegetables.   
      
       That's one example of my non-traditional upbringing.  The others are as   
   follows.   
      
       I.  The Butt Plug   
      
       After my mother left, my father was faced with the difficulties of   
   raising a newborn baby.  As he told me later, one of the greatest expenses   
   for newborns was diapers.  For the first two years, my father was able to   
   afford disposable diapers.  Once I turned two, his finances were so   
   depleted that he started using cloth diapers.  This worked okay but as a   
   working dad he never had time to wash the diapers.  It didn't help that we   
   had no washing machine.   
      
       As he told me once I was older, the peed-on diapers were easy to clean.   
   It was mostly a matter of letting them soak.  It was the poop that was more   
   stubborn.  After staying up until one a.m.  one night cleaning diapers, my   
   dad hit upon a rather unique solution.  With his pen knife, he trimmed a   
   taper candle to a few inches and notched a bulb out of one end by shaving   
   away the wax.  He then wrapped the whole thing in plastic Saran Wrap.   
   There it was: a homemade butt plug.   
      
       As he told me this story, my dad said he felt very ashamed and   
   embarrassed for being such a terrible father.  But what could he do?  He   
   worked two jobs for almost 70 hours a week and there was simply no time to   
   clean diapers and make sure they were properly sanitized..   
      
       With a bit of KY jelly, my dad lubed up the homemade butt plug.  Taking   
   me out of my crib, he took off my diapers and laid me down on my stomach.   
   With very tender care, he told me, he gently worked the butt plug into my   
   rectum and reapplied my diaper.  He then put me back in my crib and went to   
   bed himself, knowing he had to wake up at six a.m.  the next day.   
      
       When his alarm went off that next morning, my dad checked on me as he   
   always did when he first got up.  My diaper was wet but there was no sign   
   of any poop.  The butt plug was working.  Lining my crib with newspaper, my   
   dad removed my butt plug and put me back in the crib.  He then went to get   
   ready for the morning.   
      
       By the time he came back, I had done my "other" business but the   
   newspaper saved the day.  My dad just had to clean me up and throw out the   
   newspaper.  He apparently found the solution to the diaper problem.   
      
       So it began.  My dad kept a butt plug in me all the time.  Four times a   
   day (when he woke up, around lunchtime, around dinner time, and before bed)   
   he would remove the butt plug and place me in a newspaper-covered crib to   
   let me do my business.  Afterwards he would clean both me and the crib.   
   Finally, before putting on a diaper, he would re-insert the butt plug using   
   fresh Saran Wrap and more lube.  It became a ritual.   
      
       It was about a six months later when my dad ran across an adult toy   
   catalog.  Inside he found a butt plug kit that had various sizes.  After   
   saving money for four months, he finally ordered it.  When it arrived, he   
   chose the smallest butt plug and replaced the candle plug he had fashioned.   
   I had graduated to using real sex toys before age three.   
      
       This is why, from age thirteen back to as far as I can remember, I   
   always had a butt plug inserted in my anus.  It sounds uncomfortable but I   
   basically grew up with it so I never noticed anything out of the ordinary.   
   It was your standard butt plug with a thicker bulbous tip followed by a   
   flared end that prevented the plug from going all the way in.  It was small   
   and discreet enough that I could wear a swimsuit and it was completely   
   undetectable.  I didn't even walk funny because I was so used to it.   
      
       Once I was old enough to be potty trained, my dad taught me how to   
   remove the butt plug myself.  I also learned how to carefully clean it with   
   soap and water before using a bit of lube to re-insert it.  During potty   
   training, my dad kept using the butt plug as a backup precaution but even   
   after potty training, I kept the butt plug inside me.  I distinctly   
   remember my father taking away the butt plug when I was four years old.  I   
   pouted and cried for days because it just felt strange and foreign to have   
   an empty rectum.  My sphincter muscle had grown accustomed to clenching the   
   butt plug.  Some kids had security blankets.  I had a security butt plug.   
      
       Once I was old enough to begin kindergarten, my dad explained to me that   
   the butt plug had to be kept secret.  Not all children wore butt plugs, he   
   told me.  At that age, I didn't fully understand the concept but I kept the   
   secret all through my school years.  I'm pretty sure I was the only   
   kindergarten student who carried a small tube of KY jelly in my backpack   
   though.   
      
       Each birthday I would receive, in addition to other small gifts, a new   
   butt plug.  This was a coming-of-age necessity because I would outgrow my   
   butt plug, just like I would clothes or shoes.  My dad kept all my old butt   
   plugs so even today I can chart my growth.  The earliest plugs from my   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)