The Taft Family’s Before and After - 3. Introducing Jill Taft

Hi, I'm Jill Taft. Don't call me Gillian, my asshole father used to call me that, so I don't answer to it anymore. My life has been fucked up on and off since I was eleven, all thanks to that mother fucker. Or maybe daughter fucker would be more appropriate. Anyway, you may have heard some of my story from my Uncle Brendan, but he didn't know the half of it. My psychiatrist thought it would be good to get it all off my chest by writing it down. We'll see if that makes me feel better. I'm not so sure, but I guess it can't hurt. Memories can't hurt you as much as going through shit the first time. Especially the shit that I went through.

At first, it started out slow. My breasts were starting to grow, and dad obviously noticed. One night he came into my room to say goodnight. Nothing unusual there, but it didn't stay 'usual' for long. This particular instance, he asked me to remove my pajama top. Needless to say, I wasn't too keen on the idea. But being only eleven, I didn't know any better, so when he said it was normal that fathers should check on how well their daughters were developing, I figured it would be okay. I should have kicked him in the nuts right then and there, but like I said, I didn't know any better. So he rubbed my breasts and nipples before giving me a kiss goodnight. On the lips. That should have been another warning. I missed that too.

I had to put up with that for over two months. I started to complain after a couple weeks, but it didn't stop him. After the couple months went by, he asked me a weird question. I've since figured out what he meant by it, but him asking me if my privates ever bled freaked me out at first. Like, wouldn't that be a bad thing? He insisted he needed to check. I refused until he said he'd send me away to an all-girls school. In hindsight, that probably would have been better, but I also know now, it was an idle threat. He was getting a look at my vagina no matter what. He claimed it was normal because I was so pretty. What a crock of shit. Just looking lasted a couple months, but then the touching started.

He was supposedly teaching me how to let a man do things to me. Fucking pervert wasn't teaching me shit. He didn't touch me down there for too long before he said he needed to taste it in order to know I was growing properly. What could I do? He was bigger than me. I told mom once, and she said what he was doing was okay, perfectly normal. I didn't know until then that she was just as fucked up as he was. Later, I found out she was worse. After maybe six months of licking me, he started rubbing his penis on me, down there. The couple times it slipped in a tiny bit, accidentally, he claimed, I pulled away. I knew that was way more wrong than everything else. But he said he would kill me if I said anything, so I didn't say anything. Not even to mom. I doubt she would have tried to stop him anyway. Hindsight pretty much proved that statement.

I finally got him to stop touching me down there, or so I thought. He tried to put his penis in my mouth, but I wasn't having anything to do with that, so I bit him, hard. Mother fucker was bleeding, and I was happy about it. He beat me pretty badly after that. And kept beating me on and off until New Year's Eve in twenty-twenty-one. I was twelve, almost thirteen by then. I thought he was being nice, telling me I could stay up late to watch the ball drop. That wasn't what he had in mind. Not at all. He brought me into the living room; mom and Aunt Eve were there, along with my brother Steven. I don't know where Nick was, but I figured mom probably stashed him in a bathroom, she'd been doing that as a form of punishment. Why not use it to keep him out of the way for their perversions?

Anyway, I was told to take off my clothes. There was no way I was doing that in front of Steven, but I ended up not having a choice when he started ripping them off. Then he carried me into the kitchen and threw me down on the table. I hit my head and was a little dizzy. I guess that made things easier for him to do what he wanted. Mom dragged Steven in, telling him he needed to learn how to fuck a girl. Thankfully, he wouldn't watch. While dad was taking my virginity, mom was fucking me in the ass with a sharpening rod. Aunt Eve was kissing me. All I could do was lie there and take it, crying. Dad finally finished. I felt so gross. He even watched his semen drip from my vagina before he told me to go take a shower and go to bed. Mom had to carry Steven to his bed, he was crying so bad, he couldn't even stand. The fuckers: he stuttered after that for the longest time.

I guess dad had his fill for a while after that, although the beatings continued. Then a couple months later, we were all shoved into mom's car late one night and she drove us to a motel a couple hours away from home. After a couple weeks there, we went to another house and moved in. I was still getting beat over every little thing, but the sex had stopped, until one day, a couple years later, I came home from school late. Mom and dad knew I was staying late to work on a project, but I guess I needed to be punished anyway. Dad took me into their bedroom and raped me again. At dinner, I wondered where Nick was, and they just said, 'he moved out.' I was dumbfounded; a seven-year-old boy moving out? I knew there was more to it, but I also knew to not make waves. That was a Wednesday. On Sunday morning, the cops came. I had to tell a policewoman, Officer Case, what dad had done. I couldn't bear to bring myself to provide details about the rapes, other than to say he had raped me. Apparently, mom had done stuff to Steven, because they were both arrested. I later found out Nick didn't move out on his own, but they threw him out. Mother fuckers.

I'd heard mom talking to someone the night before and saying, 'I'm your sister.' She mentioned to dad it was Brendan on the phone. I had no idea mom had a sibling. A young man had come to live with us for a few days when I was around five, but if I was told who it was, I didn't remember. Anyway, I looked at the call history while the cops were taking them away and called the number. It was indeed an uncle that I never knew I had. He came right over and took us away. I hoped he'd watch us until child services figured out what to do with us, but we ended up living with him permanently. He even adopted all of us. I guess dad didn't care. Mom was basically in a coma, so she probably didn't know what was going on around her. I do hope she understood me the one time I visited and wished she was aware, and it was hell for her. After a while, she did wake up, but couldn't do anything besides breathe, shit and piss. And suffer in her private hell. Oh, boo hoo. She deserved every second of it. Newdad, Uncle Brendan was our new dad by then, had made us go to the funeral. I made sure to let her know one last time how I felt whether she could hear me or not. I called her a cunt and said I wished she'd suffered longer.

Things were pretty normal with Uncle Brendan. I even got to have a boyfriend, something dad would never allow. I guess he wanted me all to himself. But Uncle Brendan was a really cool guy. At first, I wasn’t too comfortable around him, so I had to make sure he wasn't going to come into the other room where I was sleeping when we spent a week or so in a motel, but he said he'd never do anything to me like that, and he didn't. He also took me to a psychiatrist. I didn't think I needed one at first, but after a few appointments, I knew it was good he suggested it.

Like I said, I got myself a boyfriend. One of the first things he did that made me know he was a good one, was standing up for me when one of Steven's friends groped me in the pool. Andrew yanked him away from me. Nobody saw the initial action, but he pulled Lanny away from me by his hair. I told everybody he put his hand between my legs. While that wasn't false, it wasn't the complete truth. The little pervert actually got a finger inside my vagina. After a while, I told Andrew a little about the abuse I'd suffered at my father's hands. I had to let him know why I wasn't willing to do too much with him. Teen-aged boys and all that. He was understanding and we took things at my pace. Amazingly, he was willing to wait to have sex. God, what a saint. I made him wait until our wedding night. And even then, he had to wait until I told him everything. After that, he held me for an hour, letting me cry, before we made love. Wow, what a difference from getting fucked by my asshole father. If I knew how nice it was going to be, I would have done it sooner. But I have no regrets in that regard.

By then, we had both graduated college. Andrew got a good job writing software for automobiles. You've heard of smart phones? Well, Andrew was instrumental in making smart cars really smart. And not those little dinky "Smart" cars they had for a number of years in the twenty-tens. The driver-less ones that were around when we were younger flamed out when a defect was uncovered. It seemed their lane sensors and whatever were thrown off if the oncoming car was flashing its high beams. Imagine that; they flash you to let you know you're coming up on a cop, and they hit you head-on. As for me, I got a nursing degree. I wasn't ambitious enough to try to be a doctor, but I wanted to help people, and I thought nursing was the way to go. I was right. I enjoy every minute of it. Bedpans weren't fun at first, but you can get used to anything.

I took some time off for the birth of each of our four children, three girls and a boy. I'm proud to say neither Andrew nor I ever touched one of them in an inappropriate way. Fuck the concept that the abused become abusers themselves.

Next Up - “Steven's Story”