However, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop myself from reading them.Did those stories have an impact on me? Maybe, but they were only fictio... relating to what I already felt. They almost made me feel normal; if there were that many people writing stories like that, it had to be more common than I believed. When I decided I'd had enough of the stories, I'd go to use Google and research incest, mostly because I was trying to convince myself it wasn't normal, hoping I could stop what I. After the dinner my son got up to leave for his room. “Ronald,” I called him. “Yes, Mom,” he replied. “I think we can do it tonight,” I said, “In my room.” “Okay,” he replied, and left. After finishing all the work in the kitchen, and settling all the things on the dining table again, I went to my room. My son was already there in the room. “Ronald go out of my room for a minute, and come in when I call you,” I said. “What happened?” he asked. “You will know,” I replied and he left. More

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