My sister, Benyu, typed this by hand, and it's as good as a traditional heated brick bed in Northeast China.

My sister, Benyu, typed this out

by hand, and it's comparable to the kang (heated brick bed) in Northeast China

. Many friends have probably read "The Kang in Northeast China," which is indeed a good article.

But articles always originate from life, yet transcend it. Everyone knows it's not real; it's just something exciting to read.

I don't know if you'll believe it, but I've had a similar experience, though of course, it wasn't nearly as thrilling as described in novels.

My hometown is in northern Shandong, where there are many mountains. We used to sleep on kangs there, but now that living conditions are better, nobody sleeps on kangs anymore.

When I was little, in the 1980s, my family was very poor. We only had three dilapidated rooms, the kind with thatched roofs and thick, sturdy walls made of stone and mud bricks. Until I was fifteen or sixteen, my family lived in that kind of house.

One room was used for storing miscellaneous items and grain, the middle room was the living room, which we called the main room, and the west room was for sleeping. Inside, against the south wall, was a large kang, very wide and long, big enough to sleep five or six people side by side.

I don't remember how I slept when I was very young, but from the age of seven or eight, I had my own small quilt. My sister and I each slept in our own quilts, while my parents slept in the same quilt. Their quilt was very large, seemingly designed specifically for two people.

By the time I was around ten, I understood a lot of things, such as the relationship between men and women, and I knew a little about it. People in the countryside speak crudely, often using vulgar language, and as a child, I gradually understood what that meant.

At night, my parents would often do that in bed, or as they say in the countryside, "fuck." I would often see them wrestling in bed like they were fighting. My father would always be on top of my mother, and they would both be naked, thrusting his big penis into my mother's crotch, like he was pounding a ram, thrusting very quickly. Every time, my mother would cry and laugh, her whole body trembling, I didn't know if it was from pain or something else.

At that time, I only had a vague impression of it. Kids have their own fun, and I wasn't really interested in these things. My older sister, on the other hand, would be very quiet whenever my parents did "that" at night. She'd stay quietly under the covers, never peeking out.

If they weren't doing it, she'd playfully tease me before bed, talking about scratching an itch or something.

When I was twelve or thirteen, I noticed that my penis was starting to grow hair, just like adults. At first, it was just a few fine hairs, but gradually it became more and more numerous and darker. I was very shy and didn't dare take my pants off in front of them. Once,

I went to a puddle with my dad, and he saw the hair in my crotch. He seemed a little surprised and casually touched my penis, laughing and saying it was from the old cow's family.

I didn't understand what he meant, and of course, I was too embarrassed to ask him.后来我发现跟我差不多大的伙计们下面都开始长了毛，我们的小鸡鸡也开始越来越大，特别是尿急的时候，会胀的很大很长，鸡鸡小头的皮儿也会慢慢地往后退，用手往回撸，就会有点疼，又有点说不上来的舒坦。

我们聚在一起玩时，他们常说谁跟谁好了，谁把谁日了什么的。我知道日了就是日逼的意思。这种话说的多了，自己心里也会痒痒，不知道日逼会是个什么滋味，估计可能很舒坦吧，要不然为什么爸妈他们那么爱日逼呢？特别是我妈，每次弄的时候都很疯，跟她平日里完全不像是一个人。

有一次我们又在一起扯这些好像很高深很刺激的东西时，大头说你们都喜欢谁啊？有人说我喜欢花花，有人说我喜欢数学老师，我们就笑他。
大头坏笑着说你们肯定不知道我喜欢谁，我喜欢大军的姐姐！
说完他就跑，好像知道我会揍他似的。我当然会揍他，谁让他说喜欢我姐的。

At that time, I subconsciously believed that no one could like my sister, because I felt that liking my sister meant wanting to sleep with her, and I wouldn't let them do that to her.

I pinned Da Tou down; he wasn't as big as me and couldn't beat me, so he covered his head and begged for mercy.
I asked him why he liked my sister, and he said he was afraid to say. I said, "Just tell me, I won't hit you."
He said, "Your sister has big breasts and is pretty."

It was true that my sister had big breasts. She was three years older than me, fifteen or sixteen at the time, and in junior high. Compared to her female classmates, her breasts were indeed the biggest, although not as big as my mother's, but much bigger than her classmates'.

At that time, I didn't have a concept of women's breast sizes. Thinking about it now, my sister's breasts must have been a B cup back then, because my wife's breasts are a B cup, and they seem to be about the same size as my sister's at that age.

Ever since Da Tou talked about my sister, I've started secretly paying attention to her breasts. Sometimes I compare them to other women's, and they really are huge. Some women have even had children, but their breasts aren't as big as my sister's.

Back then, we often bragged together, comparing who was stronger, who could pee the farthest, and sometimes we'd boast about touching someone else's breasts. Da Tou asked me, "Have you ever touched your sister's breasts?"

But I didn't hit him that time because I really hadn't. I'd tickled her, but she only let me touch her back, not her front. Sometimes when we were playing around, I'd tickle her armpits, and she'd cover her breasts tightly with her hands, as if she was afraid I'd touch them there.

Da Tou's words made me really itchy; I wanted to touch my sister's breasts and see what they felt like. They described them in such fantastical terms, like they were soft, big, and smelled wonderful, as if they'd actually touched and smelled them. I bet they'd only ever touched their own mother's breasts, never any other woman's.

It was summer then, summer vacation, and we had nothing to do, so we spent our days playing wildly in the mountains, going home to sleep at night. Life was pretty happy.

That night, after I got home, I secretly started thinking about how to touch my sister's breasts. I knew she wouldn't allow me to, so I had to figure it out myself.

That night, I'd barely lain down to sleep, still thinking about this, when my parents started again. Because it was summer and hot, we weren't covered up at all. By the light coming in through the window, I saw my dad first hug and touch my mom for a while, making her moan, then he rolled over and straddled her, spreading her legs and putting them on his neck, his buttocks thrusting forward, and my mom started moaning and groaning.

I turned to look at my sister again and found her sleeping with her back to me, facing inwards, covered by nothing but a pair of shorts and a tank top. While my parents were having their fun, her shoulders trembled, and one hand seemed to be resting on her crotch.
I was very close to her and listened carefully; I could hear her breathing heavily, though very softly and thinly.

I didn't know what she was doing, only that she definitely wasn't asleep, because she wasn't like this when she was asleep—her body wouldn't tremble, and she wouldn't breathe.

Looking at both sides was pointless, and I didn't think of any way to touch my sister's breasts, so I went to sleep.

A few days later, it was raining heavily that afternoon. My parents had gone to the commune to collect some things and hadn't returned yet. Judging by the rain, it wouldn't stop anytime soon, and they probably wouldn't brave the rain to come back.

I played cards at Da Tou's house all afternoon, but I had terrible luck and kept losing, so I didn't want to play anymore and ran home. Fortunately, our two houses are close by, and it's only a few steps to home with my tattered raincoat over my head.

After running into the house, I saw that the door to the main room was closed, so I went straight into the kitchen, which was a separate small room outside the main house, right next to the west room. The stove was against the wall of the west room, so in winter, the mud board behind the stove could be removed to heat the kang (a heated brick bed).

I shook off the water in the kitchen, wondering where my sister was playing when I vaguely heard some noise inside.

So I secretly climbed up a stone and peered into the room through the window. I saw my sister sitting alone on the bed, her back against the kang cabinet. Her clothes were unbuttoned, and her trousers were pulled down to her knees, revealing her bare white buttocks. One hand was touching her breast, and the other was inside her trousers. Her body was trembling, and she was making soft moaning sounds. I didn't know what she was doing, but her expression seemed both painful and comfortable.

Because she was sitting against the cabinet, facing inwards, she naturally couldn't see me outside the window, but I could see everything clearly from outside.

I saw her hands groping around, occasionally taking her hand out of her pants to look at it, smell it under her nose, and then putting it back in to touch it.

I found it very exciting; I had never seen her do anything like that before. Although I didn't know what she was doing, I guessed it wasn't anything good, otherwise she wouldn't have closed the door and locked herself in her room.

Seeing my sister like that, and hearing the intermittent humming sounds from her throat, I felt a pang of anxiety, like a cat scratching at my heart. I felt something was definitely wrong, but I didn't know why. My throat felt dry, so I swallowed hard, big gulps of saliva. Suddenly

, I remembered what my parents always did at night. Every time, I saw my mother's expression was the same—eyes squinted, mouth open, and that same sound coming from her throat, as if she was afraid someone would hear her but couldn't help but shout.

That's it! I knew what my sister was doing. But then I thought, something didn't make sense. My mom only did this when my dad forced her into it, but my sister wasn't with anyone else. She was just touching herself, so why was she doing this?

What happened that day shocked me and planted a big question in my mind. I didn't know who to ask. How could I tell everyone what my sister was doing?

Then I thought of Xiaolingdang. He was the most knowledgeable among us kids, especially about things adults forbade us to talk about.
Looking back, we learned almost everything about sex from him.
Xiaolingdang was two years older than me. He dropped out of school early, only finishing third grade, and worked with his father repairing bicycles in the commune. He interacted with many people and naturally knew a lot.

I took the opportunity to ask her, "I saw a woman touching herself and making noises. Do you know what happened?"
Little Bell just stared at me and chuckled, asking, "Is it your mom or your sister?"
I said, "Neither. I saw her outside."

He kept staring and laughing, a laugh that gave me the creeps. Then he said, "You're getting better and better at this. Let me tell you, she was masturbating."
I said, "What's masturbating?"
He said, "You know what masturbating is, like having sex?"
I said, "I know. "
He said, "Masturbating is the same as having sex, both are pleasurable. You, who did you see?"
I ignored him and ran away.

I felt like I'd discovered a big secret, a big secret about my sister.

That night, after the lights were off, my parents were whispering on the other side of the kang (heated brick bed) about what was happening in the fields. I snuggled up next to my sister, nuzzling her head, and smelled a wonderful fragrance on her. I wondered what she'd put on. My sister said, "

What are you doing? Get away."
I said, "I have a question for you."
She said, "What is it?
" I said, "Does masturbating feel good?"

My sister was stunned when she heard what I said. She was stunned for a long moment before she covered my mouth, brought her lips to my ear, and whispered, "What are you talking about? I'll beat you up... don't tell!"

I knew I couldn't let Mom and Dad know this; it was a little secret between my sister and me.
So I lowered my voice and brought my lips to her ear, saying, "I saw everything. I know what you're doing."

My sister gently twisted my ear, like she was tickling me.
She brought her lips close and said, "You can't tell anyone, or I won't recognize you as my brother anymore. Okay?"

I said okay and we made a pinky promise. In our minds as kids, a pinky promise is a contract, a guarantee, just like signing a contract today.

That night, I noticed my sister was sleeping very restlessly, tossing and turning, sighing deeply, as if she had a lot on her mind.
I don't know if this had anything to do with the little secret I told her, but I slept soundly because I knew I had finally uncovered one of my sister's secrets, a secret that could make her listen to me.

After another heavy rain, I went with my sister to pick mushrooms and black fungus in the mountains behind the village. Black fungus is a type of fungus that only appears after a heavy summer rain; it's very tender and smooth, a great ingredient for soups and dishes.

We climbed over two small hills; the old forest there is rarely visited, and the mushrooms there grow well, so we could fill a basket in no time.

But just as we got there, a cloud drifted in from somewhere, and the rain suddenly intensified.

Luckily, we found a small cave in time and took shelter inside, so we didn't get soaked.
My sister sat on a stone slab, hugging her knees, staring blankly at the sky. I asked her what she was looking at.
She didn't answer, and after a while, as if suddenly remembering something, she pulled me to sit next to her and said, "When did you see that?"
I said, "See what?"

Her face turned bright red, and she lowered her head without saying a word.
I guessed what she meant.

I said, "Anyway, I saw it. I even saw you take your pants off."
She raised her hand to hit me, but instead of striking, she pouted and started crying, sobbing as if she had suffered a great injustice.

I panicked a little, wondering why.

Suddenly, my sister put her arm around my shoulder, pulled my head into her arms, and cried, "You can't tell anyone, it's so embarrassing..."

Her arm was wrapped tightly around me. She was a little taller than me, and the stone slab she was sitting on was higher than mine, so my face was pressed against her breast. I could feel her soft breast, warm and comfortable against my face.

I didn't want to move away, so I wrapped my arm around her waist, snuggled against her, and tickled her with my fingers. She chuckled and stopped crying.

I stayed in her arms for a while longer, then suddenly realized my face was pressed against her breast. This was a rare opportunity! Wasn't I just trying to touch her breast?

Thinking of this, I quietly reached up with my other hand, from below her chest, and touched my sister's breasts for the first time.

To be honest, I didn't feel much through her clothes. Because of the clothes, and the fact that she was covering her breasts with cloth inside her clothes (back then, rural women didn't wear bras; young girls usually wrapped their breasts with a long strip of cloth, especially women with large breasts, so they swayed quite a bit when they walked or worked).

My sister probably felt self-conscious about her large breasts and the constant unwanted attention she received, so she wrapped them tightly in cloth, making them feel soft to the touch.

When she realized I was touching her breasts, she immediately jumped away like a weasel in a henhouse, shoving me aside and yelling, "What are you doing?"

Her face was flushed, and her eyes were red, probably from crying earlier. She was completely startled, as if I had done something terribly wrong.

I said, "I just touched them briefly, why are you getting so worked up?"

She then started kicking me, calling me a pervert and saying, "You're trying to be a pervert too!"

I dodged her kicks and retorted, "If you kick me again, I'll tell everyone what you're doing at home!"

After I said that, she stopped kicking me, just glaring at me with red eyes, puffed up in anger, and soon started crying again.

I didn't dare provoke her again. I knew her temper best. Don't let her quiet and unassuming demeanor fool you; she's incredibly stubborn. If you really angered her, she could twist me to death with her fingers—just two fingertips, specifically targeting the flesh inside my thigh. The pain was excruciating; just thinking about it terrifies me.

My sister sat back down and said, "Come here, I won't twist you."
I didn't dare go over, and she glared at me, saying, "If you don't come here, I'll twist you."
I had no choice but to carefully squat down next to her, cautiously watching her hands, ready to slip away at any moment.

But that day, she really didn't twist me. She still hugged me like before, even tighter.

My sister said, "You can't say things like that, or I'll be too ashamed to live."

I didn't realize this was so serious. She even said she'd be too ashamed to live. Was it that shameful? I asked her.

She spat at me and grinned, "What do you know!"

I said, "Of course I know! People say masturbation is just as pleasurable as having sex."

My sister blushed even more, chuckling as she tightened her grip on my neck, pulling my head close to her chest. Her large breasts pressed against my face, making it hard to breathe.

When she finally released me, I tentatively said, "I'll just touch it, it's not like you'll lose a piece of flesh, what's the big deal?"

I was ready to run away, but she didn't kick or twist me. She stared at me blankly, her face red, for a moment, then gently bit her lip, as if she had made a huge decision. She said, "Then promise me you won't tell anyone, not even Mom!"

I said, "Okay, I'll touch it?"

My sister nodded, her face still red, turning her face away from me, still biting her lip tightly, looking like she wanted to laugh but dared not.

I was overjoyed! Finally, I could touch my sister's breasts! I could proudly tell them that I had touched a woman's breasts!

But thinking about my promise to my sister—that I wouldn't tell anyone—I felt a little defeated. But I decided to touch them anyway, and if she didn't tell, so be it.

I still placed my hand on her breast through her clothes. The moment my hand touched her breast, she shuddered violently and let out a soft "ah," as if my hand was icy cold and had upset her.

I pressed my hand firmly against her breast, but couldn't feel anything. I rubbed it back and forth a couple more times, making her pant and her face turn bright red, but I felt nothing. What was the difference between this and touching my own butt?

My sister said, "Dajun, you can't touch it anymore... it's uncomfortable..."

I said, "Why is it uncomfortable? Wasn't it very comfortable?"

My sister glared at me fiercely, her face flushed, and said, "How can you touch like that? It's like a massage."

I was very annoyed. I didn't expect that women's breasts were nothing special. I don't know what they were so happy about touching them!

Ever since I touched my sister's breasts, I've noticed that her attitude towards me has changed. Before, maybe I was too naughty, or maybe I just didn't like her enough, but anyway, she would always scare me, kicking and twisting me. Even my mom couldn't stand it anymore and often stood up for me.

But after that incident, she never yelled at me again, never twisted me again, and often showed concern for me. If I did something wrong at school, she wouldn't come home and tell on me anymore.

After that summer vacation, my sister started her third year of junior high, and I started my first year.

Our junior high was next to a large reservoir not far from the commune's headquarters. It used to be a military factory, but after it was abandoned, it was converted into a junior high. It was just out of the way, with nothing around.

But the school was quite close to my house; I only needed to cross a mountain to find a shortcut home.

After starting junior high, like my sister, I could no longer sleep at home every day.
At first, I wasn't used to living in the dorms. The conditions were terrible; there were about ten bunk beds in one room, the wooden kind that creaked and groaned when you climbed on them, making it hard to sleep soundly at night.

I often went to my sister's dorm because I often didn't have enough dry food and pickled vegetables, while hers always had more than enough, so I often ate her food.

Their dorm wasn't cramped like the boys' dorms, and it was clean and tidy, always with a wonderful, indescribable fragrance, just like my sister's. As

I went more often, I became familiar with her classmates, and they all called me "little brother." Whenever they brought something delicious, they would share it with me.

The girl who shared a bed with my sister was named Zhang Min. Her father was a cadre in the commune, and her family was wealthy, so she dressed well, like a city girl, and had the most nice things in her closet. I often pestered her for food, and she would tell me to call her "sister," my dear sister, and she would give it to me.

Anyway, calling her "sister" wouldn't hurt, so I did it without hesitation.
Once, I was rummaging through her snacks in her cupboard when I suddenly found a pack of tissues. They were all neatly folded, soft, and smelled nice.
I thought they were love letters she'd hidden, so I pulled them out one by one to look at them.

Zhang Min was chatting with her sister at the time. When she saw me take out that thing, her face turned red, and she tried to snatch it from me, saying, "You little rascal!"

I didn't know what it was. Later, I secretly asked my sister and learned it was something women used—sanitary napkins. But back then, they didn't call them that; they seemed to call them "shameful." Anyway, it wasn't something everyone could afford; my sister didn't use those things.

By then, I understood the difference between women and men, and I knew that women often had rectal bleeding, just like my mom. My sister was the same way; every now and then, the toilet would be covered in blood, looking very dirty.

After the first snowfall of winter, it was a weekend. We hadn't been out of school yet when I saw my mom, bundled up tightly, standing at the classroom door waiting for me with big bags and small packages.

My mom said the village was under construction, and your dad and I were busy at the construction site every day. She told us not to come back, that she'd brought all the food, and that we should stay at school and come home next week.

We didn't go home that day. At noon, all the other students went home, leaving just the two of us at school.

After dinner, I said I wanted to sleep with her and not go back; I was scared to be alone.
My sister smiled but didn't say anything.

That night, my sister moved Zhang Min's blanket to another bed, then spread out her own blanket and said, "Squeeze in with me, don't get her blanket dirty, she's very clean."

My sister always slept in a tank top and underwear, but I liked to sleep naked.
When my sister saw me naked again, her face turned red, and she said, "Aren't you ashamed!"

Why should I be shy? I sleep naked like this at home all the time; she's seen it before. The only difference is that I had more and more pubic hair around my penis then, and my penis was much bigger than before.

My sister's blanket wasn't big; it was meant for her alone, and with two people wrapped around it, it felt too small. If we weren't close enough, the sides wouldn't be properly covered, letting in drafts.

So, my sister had to turn to her side and hug me, tucking the blanket around my back to make sure I was snuggled up, and then she would hold me as we slept.

Actually, by then I was already as tall as her, and my physique was getting stronger.

She was holding me so tightly that I didn't have anywhere to put my hands, so I wrapped my arms around her waist and teased her. We played around and twisted, and somehow my hand ended up grabbing her breast.
She didn't use a cloth to cover her breasts when she slept at night; she only wore a small vest, which was so small it barely covered her large breasts, leaving her belly exposed.

When I grabbed my sister's breasts, she froze instantly. After a long pause, she lowered her head and whispered, "Let go, you little rascal."

Actually, I was stunned too. I never expected her breasts to be so soft. Last time I touched them, they were covered by strips of cloth and clothes, and they felt tight and unresponsive. This time, besides her little vest, there was practically nothing on them; they were big and soft. Good heavens, it felt completely different.

I ignored her and continued to gently knead them. She started panting, softly breathing, and tightly hugged my head, saying, "Brother, be gentle, it tickles...it tickles so much..."

I didn't know why kneading her breasts made her itchy; wasn't it only when I tickled her armpits that she felt itchy? That itch was different from this one. When I tickled her armpits, she would scream and try to escape, but when I rubbed her breasts, she not only didn't dodge, but she snuggled closer to me, her body pressed tightly against mine, her legs wrapped around me, as if afraid I would run away.

I nestled in my sister's arms, rubbing her breasts with one hand each. Feeling that rubbing through the small cup wasn't enough, I simply slipped my hands under her vest and grabbed her breasts directly.

My sister's breathing became even heavier, she was breathing heavily, and her body was trembling violently, making the whole bed shake.

I asked, "Sister, are you feeling better?"

She twisted my ear and said, "You're so naughty."

Actually, I didn't have any ulterior motives at that time; it was purely for fun, and I felt it was really fun.

I rubbed my sister's breasts in my hands for a while, and her body got hotter and hotter, like she had a fever.
Suddenly, she hugged my head and said, "Brother, come up here."

I don't know what happened, but I sat up and lay down next to her on the pillow. My sister's breath was hot, blowing warmly on my face. I felt her getting closer and closer, and then her lips pressed tightly against mine, completely sealed together, without a single gap.

I know this is called kissing. I've seen my dad and mom kiss often, but they never kiss as gently as my sister. When my dad kisses, he just grabs my mom's head and nibbles at it a few times, and that's it.

Unlike my sister, who gently holds my head, her sweet, smooth little tongue licking my lips, then slowly slipping inside to find my tongue.

I don't know how to kiss, but I know kissing feels good. Better than touching her breasts.

It felt awkward to be lying on my side like that, so I got up, rolled over, and straddled my sister, imitating how my dad straddled my mom, and then lowered my head to continue kissing her.

My sister chuckled and said, "You're so naughty! Who taught you that?"
I said, "Dad."

She fell silent, trembling as I held her, kissed her, and played with her breasts.

My sister's hands roamed over my back, gently embracing me. Only when I kissed or touched her too intensely would she lightly slap me.

I don't know why, but I felt a burning desire inside me that I couldn't release. The more I kissed and caressed her, the more suffocated I felt.

I straightened up, gasping for breath.

My sister held my bottom and asked what I was doing.
I said I was catching my breath, I was suffocating.

My sister laughed and said, "You silly boy."

That night, we hugged, kissed, and caressed each other until late into the night, finally falling asleep in each other's arms.
But my hands remained on my sister's breasts the entire time, never leaving them, and she didn't touch any other part of my body, only my back and bottom.

Later, my sister told me, "If you wanted me that day, I definitely would have given myself to you."
That was many years later, by which time we had all grown up, started our own families, and had our own children.
My sister was still my sister, the one who loved and doted on me.
When it was just the two of us, I would often sneakily touch her a couple of times, just like before. I liked touching her breasts, I always have.

That winter vacation, the snow fell one after another, endlessly.

The mountain roads were completely dammed, and people had no work to do, so they just ate, slept, and gathered together to play cards and chat.

One night, when I was trying to sleep, my parents started doing it again, making a lot of noise, panting and slapping. My mother was screaming louder and louder, and it kept me awake. That day, my father seemed particularly vigorous, and he did it to my mother for a long time, until she was crying and begging for mercy, but he still wouldn't stop.

While my father was doing it to my mother, I turned to look at my sister and saw her eyes darting around. When she saw me looking at her, she looked back at me and smiled.

I wanted her breasts again, so I secretly stuck my arm out from under the covers and slipped under the covers to touch them.

My sister seemed to enjoy it more and more; she moved closer to me, lifted the covers to cover my arm, and gently pulled up her vest, so my hand firmly grasped her breast.

I noticed her breasts were getting bigger and softer. After a few strokes, she started panting heavily, but she didn't dare make a sound, so she covered her mouth with her hand, gritting her teeth and enduring my touch.

When Dad made Mom laugh and cry like a madwoman, my sister seemed to go crazy too, pulling my hand down to her crotch, gently spreading her legs, and shoving my hand inside.

Suddenly, I realized she wasn't wearing any underwear. I didn't know if she'd taken them off from the beginning or at some point, but her lower body was completely naked. There was very little hair there, just a few soft specks, but her vulva was very wet and hot, tightly gripping my fingers, twitching, and occasionally squeezing out fluid.

My sister's body was hunched over, her head almost buried in my chest, and she was making those deep, guttural sounds like my mother's, like they were coming from within her body. This, combined with the constant slapping sounds behind me, made me panic and feel completely lost.

My sister said I was a little fool, that I had so many chances but I didn't dare to take her.

But I thought I'd done enough with her. We'd kissed, I'd touched her breasts, and I'd even touched her vulva—the only thing missing was actually inserting my penis into her vagina; that would have been truly fucking her.

After my sister went to high school, our family rebuilt our house. The large kang (heated brick bed) was dismantled and replaced with a large bed for each person. Of course, my father and mother still slept together.

Many years later, my sister brought a man home; that man was my brother-in-law.

At night, they would make those slapping noises while they slept. I knew they were having sex.

Around that time, I also had my own woman, Zhang Min, the woman who had slept in the same bed as my sister.

I told Zhang Min how exciting it sounded!

Zhang Min said my sister was a slut, that she used to masturbate back in school.

I really wanted to tell her that I had also masturbated my sister, but how could I say that?

My sister said she had a boyfriend in middle school, in the second year, when I saw her touching herself—that man had corrupted her.

For some reason, hearing her say that made me feel relieved. It turned out I wasn't the first man to have taken my sister's body with my lips and fingers. It seemed her promiscuity had nothing to do with me.

My sister married a good man, someone who could earn money, support the family, and even bear the heavy burden of being cuckolded. Sometimes I really felt sorry for him; such a good man, spending his whole life with only my sister—it was such a pity.

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My sister, Benyu, typed this by hand, and it's as good as a traditional heated brick bed in Northeast China.

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