Swept it under the rug as usual, so I learned that I could just keep doing it. Mom was still using me, too, and I think that she secretly pushed for m... to get away with a slap on the wrist, just because she was proud of me for being like her. Yes, proud! Deep down, Mom began to like me, not only because of guilt, but because she had made me just like her! Yet she also felt guilt and she killed that with pills and booze.“By the time that I was eighteen, I had hurt a lot of girls already. So many. Casey had grown into a lovely young woman, dark brown hair, small firm breasts capped with stiff pink nipples, and long shapely legs. She was the kind of girl that did not immediately attract men's attention, but she was a quiet kind of pretty that grew on the people around her the longer they knew her.The problem was that now she could not even look at the few young men who tried to chat with her, her face would flush red and she would not even be able to stammer out a reply to their simple. More

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