The previous entry, I see, is the longest in this journal. And it is all about others!
And yet… yet I did not put it all down, not quite. It has now been three days since I sat up so late, writing all that, and… It has been eight days since the… the occurrence itself.
My motive for writing it down in the first place was…
I…
I had a dream, four nights after seeing what I saw. In the dream I saw it all again, save only that time I felt some of what my imagination has told me Aunt Isobel felt. It was awful.
And now I have dreamed again. Last night I again dreamed of that dungeon-like basement or cellar beneath Erik Parker's stone house in the woods.
But last night Aunt Isobel was not the victim. Last night's dream did not contain Aunt Isobel at all. I was the victim!
And it was not… all… painful.
And… and I awoke… before dawn, having been beaten and poked and… and entered in my dream. I awoke…
Well, I must try to write these things down without being so childish. This after all is a record and I may have some want of it someday.
Certainly no one else will ever see it.
When I awoke my breasts felt very very tight and congested… though I now sleep without a bra… and the nipples were tight and stiff and swollen, and not only was I moist in my, my secret nook, but… some of that inner moisture was on the lips themselves, obviously having seeped forth from my very interior!
I sat there in the dark, shamelessly exploring myself, and shivering. For a time I thought that the dream must have been reality.
It was not. The mucousy juice was not that white male stuff I had seen in the basement of Erik's home. Nor was it urine.
What is happening to me? What will become of me?
(later)
It is so hard to admit, even here.
I find it extremely difficult not to think… no, that isn't the way to put it.
I think of Erik and Miles and Lois all the time.