Hello horny readers. Sometimes a door closes. Your favorite co-star in my blogs, Shannon, has retired. Maybe she has a retirement gift for us in the future, but fear not my dear readers. What’s the saying? Every time a door closes a young and helpless girl’s legs open – sometimes by the choice of someone who should know better! And when little girl legs open some things fill faster than others, but eventually therapist Laylene’s couch fills, too.
So, a big Laylene welcome to Maggie!! I absolutely loved her, I’m sure you guys will too. Remember, some details are too hot to blog, but call me up and I’ll let you know every last little bit – especially the stuff that young Maggie hasn’t really “processed” yet.
How does one process your first date, your first kiss, your first blowjob, and your first fuck all coming on the same night? Different ways, I guess. If it’s with a nice boy who loves, you then you probably process it with a grin and some bragging to your girls.

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If it’s with your uncle in the bed you grew up in with dad a room away, well, you process it on therapist Laylene’s couch. And therapist Laylene needs to know EXACTLY what happened to be able to help.
It started when my uncle came over one night, Maggie told me. Dad let him come right into my room. I smiled a big smile inside when I heard this. Girls whose father’s pimp them to the uncle always are fun to talk to. Can you imagine, dad, your one true protector, letting his own brother knowingly use his own daughter as a Fleshlight? Did dad not have the 99 bucks to gift the brother the deluxe model with lube? Anyway, a question to ask Maggie on her next visit, but for now she told me about the oversized tank top and short “finger length” shorts she wore as uncle closed the door behind him. Where are we going, Maggie asked. We’re staying right here, he told her, as he placed his rough, calloused hands on her exposed legs.
What happened next on your date, I asked Maggie. That of all things triggered the tears, and I knew this would be a productive session. Why are you calling it a date, she protested. “Because when you get dressed up like a whore and invite a man back to your room and let him ravage you without making him pay you that’s a date, dear.” I tell her. She cries some more but doesn’t protest, our first breakthrough I’d call it, processing all of this as a date should help Maggie make sense of why things happened the way they did.

I know you can’t wait for Part Two so click here to read it.

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