Brother is heartbroken

1. My Brother's Heartbreak
My brother had a lover. His lover was none other than me.

The idiom "childhood sweethearts" probably best describes our close relationship. We went to the same primary school, went to school together, came home together, and played together. He was two years older than me and two grades ahead. We lived in an old-fashioned public housing building, cramped with only two rooms. My brother and I shared a room partitioned by wooden planks; he slept on the upper bunk, and I on the lower. We went to the same primary school; he attended morning school, and I attended afternoon school. He would pick me up from school every day, and we would play together at the playground for a while before going home.

After he entered secondary school, we went to different schools. He started to dislike spending time with me, even though I always wanted to follow him. During the summer vacation of his third year of secondary school, he worked in a factory, made some friends there, and spent his free time with them.

After the summer vacation ended and classes started, I noticed he suddenly became depressed. We slept in the same bedroom, so he couldn't hide anything from me. I wanted to ask him what happened, but he didn't give me the chance. He probably thought I was still a child and wouldn't tell me my troubles. However, I was already in middle school by then.

My brother's distraught appearance caught my attention, but I noticed our eyes often met, and I would immediately look away as if struck by lightning. His gaze, secretly fixed on me, seemed to be scrutinizing me, making me very embarrassed. His behavior was strange; what was he up to? Boys' minds are truly unpredictable.

One day after school, he actually appeared in front of my school gate—the first time this had happened since I started middle school. I attended an all-girls school, and a boy picking someone up from school attracted the attention of my classmates. I had to explain to those nosy classmates that it was my brother.

He said he had something important to tell me, so he came specifically to find me. He sounded very serious.

I followed him to a quiet place, and he stammered that he was extremely depressed and wanted to find someone to confide in. He said that thinking back to the days when we played together as children made him feel a little better. We used to have so much to talk about, so he came to find me.

Yes, I used to tell him everything, and he would tell me a lot too, even things he wouldn't tell his mother, knowing I would keep secrets.

So, he told me his story of heartbreak. I had expected it, but the fact that he was willing to tell me, his little sister, about his breakup immediately elevated my status.

He met a girl at the factory and developed feelings for her. At first, they went to the movies and traveled together, but later they started dating alone and became very close. I rarely saw him throughout the summer vacation because he was with his girlfriend. He confessed that he really liked this girl. However, not long after the start of the semester, she broke up with him. Her reason was that she was a few years older and they weren't a good match. He couldn't accept this reason, and it was a huge blow to him.

At this point, he even started crying in front of me.

I didn't know how to comfort him because I had never been in a relationship. However, I could imagine how painful heartbreak must be. I used a tissue to wipe away his tears.

He said, "You're so kind. I feel so much better after talking about my feelings. Let's be together often, like before, okay?"

I said, "Okay." I also wanted to be with him, like when we were kids.

We went home together, and I started telling him all about school.

2. Mutual Affection

The next day, he offered to walk me to school, even though we took different routes. He told me he would pick me up after school.

He did come, and we walked home together. Every day was the same; he would pick me up and take me home.

Our routes home were different each day, always choosing winding and circuitous paths. Carrying our schoolbags, we walked past shopping malls, parks, and streets, near and far. He earned some money during the summer vacation and treated me to movies, ice cream, bowling, and bought me little trinkets. He was much happier; he had overcome the pain of heartbreak. To be honest, I worried that after he overcame his heartbreak, he would ignore me.

My classmates joked that I was dating.

"No way! That boy is my brother."

"Shame on you! Shame on you! You're dating your brother!"

I chased after the classmates who were teasing me, but a sweet feeling lingered in my heart.

One day, after dinner, he told my parents he would take me to the library to study, but instead took me to the mountainside. When we were little, we often came here to catch butterflies.

On the way up the mountain, the moonlight was bright, and the lights below were dazzling. He pointed to the lights below and said, "The stars have all fallen to earth."

I said, "No, they're in the sky."

He touched my hand, testing my reaction, and then took my hand in his. His palms were sweaty, and my heart was pounding. When we were little, we often held hands without feeling embarrassed. But that night, when his hand touched me, it felt like an electric shock?

The mountain path had no streetlights, it was pitch black, and the sounds of cars below faded into the distance. We walked closer and closer, but didn't speak. I don't know when, but he put his arm around my waist. He had never done this before, and a strange feeling filled the space between us.

On the mountain, there was a large rock, and we sat there watching the night view. He had one hand on my shoulder and the other brushing aside my long hair, which was being blown about by the night wind. The scenery below seemed dreamlike and ethereal. I felt a little cold, so I nestled in his arms, letting his body heat warm me. I felt that we were so close. His lips searched my face for a while, then gently stopped at the corner of my mouth and kissed it. A wave of heat emanated from there, reaching straight to the back of my ear.

Oh no, what does this mean? Why do I have this strange feeling?

Before I could figure out what was going on, we started kissing passionately. I was only thirteen years old at the time, and I had many fantasies and dreams about love. I longed for someone to love me, and the first boy to kiss me was actually my brother. I don't regret giving him my first kiss. I didn't know many boys, but among my brother's classmates, neighbors, and relatives, he was handsome, extraordinary, and had a scholarly air. He was the object of my secret admiration.

I usually had a lot to say to him, such as what happened at school, what classmate A was like, and what classmate B was like. That night I didn't speak; my lips were sealed by his kiss. I closed my eyes, afraid to look at him.

On the way down the mountain, he held my hand, just like when we went to school together as children.

Back home, we kissed again before he let go and went to bed. I couldn't sleep; he slept on the top bunk, and soon I could hear him sneezing. I tossed and turned, completely immersed in the feeling of him kissing and caressing me.

From then on, we were inseparable. Except for going to school, we were always together. I would link my arm with his, and he would put his arm around my waist; holding hands felt natural—we were like siblings, after all, it was natural to be intimate. In quiet places, or at night when the lights were off, or before going to sleep, he would hold me and kiss me.

He borrowed a camera and tripod from a classmate and we went on a trip to the countryside, taking a series of intimate photos together. He chose one of the photos of us embracing, wrote our names, the location and date of the photo on the back, and drew two hearts, stringing them together with an arrow and the English word "love." I kept it in my wallet, treasuring it to this day.

3. First Encounter

We never lacked opportunities to meet. Living together, spending every day together, it was natural for us to be together. No one suspected anything unusual about our relationship, and even my mother didn't think much of our intimacy. Once, she accidentally saw that intimate photo in my wallet. She didn't say anything, just looked surprised.

Another time, we were embracing and kissing in bed when Mom knocked on the door to come in. My brother and I were exposed to her in our disheveled state. Mom didn't scold us on the spot, but just told us not to lock the door next time.

Afterwards, she talked to me about things related to men and women, like how men and women shouldn't touch each other, and that there should be boundaries and propriety between siblings. I realized that although we were truly and purely in love, others would look at us with strange eyes. But I trusted him and never harbored any suspicion. Mom's words didn't damage my relationship with my brother. To avoid her suspicion, we would use excuses like going to the library or participating in school activities to sneak off to meet in secluded places. We were together every day, but it still didn't seem like enough. During school hours, I was still thinking about him.

This went on for several months. One weekend, my parents went to a banquet, and we went to see a movie, a romantic film, which of course had many explicit sex scenes.

When we got home, it was just the two of us. We closed the bedroom door, and it was our own private world. He held me tightly and kissed me deeply, just like a couple in a movie. He unbuttoned my jeans, and my heart pounded even faster. His hand slipped inside my t-shirt, trying to loosen my bra, but he couldn't get the buttons off.

Finally, all my clothes were off, leaving only my bra, but it felt like I was completely naked.

When we were little, we weren't shy about bathing together. Lately, I've been kissing my brother and letting him caress me every day, and I've accepted it all. But when I'm naked next to him, I can't look him in the eye. It's a loss of innocence; people have drawn a line in the sand when it comes to sibling relationships. I understand now, no siblings can be this close. We've reached this point, about to enter a deeper level of intimacy, but we're not allowed to enter.

I don't dare imagine it going in that direction; I only think of the times we played house.

We had a prepared dialogue:

"I'll be Dad, you'll be Mom," my brother would say.

"I'll cook and do your laundry," I'd say.

"You still have to take care of my baby," my brother said.

"Dad's off work, come home for dinner," I said.

Now, we're doing what Mom and Dad do in the bedroom—this is a new scenario.

He's clumsy, struggling to remove my bra. I'm naked, receiving his caresses and kisses all over my body, making me feel aroused and unable to control myself. The bra is binding me; if I don't take it off, I'll suffocate, so I automatically remove the last line of defense for him. My nipples are immediately sucked on, and I can no longer pretend.

His kisses rain down on my breasts, his fingers inserting into the crevice between my legs, exploring the path. Then that thing is inside me, completely taking me over.

I'm already soaking wet from his touch, but his thing is so thick and big, when it goes in, it feels like it's tearing me apart, the pain bringing tears to my eyes, and I scream.

My brother stops thrusting: "Does it hurt?"

"It's okay, as long as you love me."

"I love you," he said, filling me with his semen.

"As long as you love me, I'm willing to give myself to you."

Just as our love was at its peak, Mom and Dad came home. We felt like we'd been caught red-handed, too scared to move, afraid of arousing their suspicion. We didn't even have time to put our clothes back on; we covered our naked bodies with the blanket, holding our breath until it was quiet outside, then we breathed a sigh of relief.

He comforted me, saying, "It's okay." I said,

"I'm so scared. " He said, "

Don't be afraid, I love you."

I said, "Really?"

He said, "Really."

I said, "I love you too."

This was the first time he had said "I love you" to me. I felt we were in love. That night, I slept in my brother's arms, we had never been so close. I felt his thing was always inside me, never leaving me. I was filled with him, my mind was filled with him. His thing was always hard and pressing against my lower abdomen.

He fell asleep, but I couldn't sleep. I was still very scared, not knowing what tomorrow would bring. He was sixteen then, and I was fourteen.

4. Petals Fallen

Before dawn, I woke my brother, who was sleeping beside me. Half-asleep and still naked, he climbed onto the top bunk to continue sleeping. I tidied the mess on the bed from the previous night; the sheets were stained with petals, marks of my lost innocence and purity.

I quickly changed the sheets and took the soiled ones to wash. My mother, disturbed by my activity in the bathroom, asked, "I just changed the sheets two days ago, and they're dirty again?"

I replied, "Yes. I came early and didn't realize I'd gotten them dirty."

I went back to bed and drifted off to sleep, having a series of nightmares. I woke up with a start; my brother was kneeling beside me, kissing me repeatedly on the lips.

He had intended to wake me for school, but I hadn't slept well, so I asked him to tell Mom I was skipping school. I was afraid to go back to school; the nun's searchlight-like gaze seemed to see right through a student's secrets.

That day she summoned me to see her, asking if I was dating my boyfriend. I answered, "He's my brother." She shone a pair of spotlights on my face, trying to verify my statement through my expression.

She said, "God will know." Then her gaze fixed on my skirt.

I had grown two inches taller, and the skirt was now too short and small, ill-fitting, exposing my thighs.

My mother went to the market to buy groceries and suddenly felt like I was the only person in the world. She hugged her pillow and cried for no reason.

I promised to save myself for the person I loved most, to marry him, to have a wedding ceremony with him in a church, and to let him take my virginity.

The swelling and pain in my lower body was a punishment I had brought upon myself; I deserved it.

In a hazy dream, I saw my brother and I having a wedding ceremony in a church. The priest said, "You two, brother and sister, cannot marry." But I had already had a physical relationship with him, and I was carrying his child. What should I do?

My brother came home immediately after school to see me. He saw my eyes were swollen and still had tear stains. He hugged me and comforted me. He gently stroked my face, wiping away my tears. He held me like a child, leaning against the headboard, his arms around me, kissing me repeatedly, wiping away my bewilderment.

This was the love I wanted. Even if the sky fell, as long as my brother was with me, I wouldn't be afraid.

I said, "It still hurts down there!" I pulled my pajamas and underwear down to my knees, asking him to check.

He checked me once, seemingly unable to see anything, and said it was fine, that people said the first time was painful. Then he continued to hold me, his fingers gently stroking my mons pubis, but he dared not touch that area.

After dinner, he said he wanted to talk to me about last night. He took me to the mountains. In a secluded spot at the summit, he embraced me, kissing me wildly. He couldn't control his youthful impulses, pulled off my underwear, and made love to me under the open sky.

Another tearing pain. This was the price of our love. I endured the pain until he took his pleasure from me.

On the way down the mountain, his semen spilled out, staining his underwear, and he didn't put it back on. A cool breeze lifted his skirt, and a chill seeped between his legs, calming the post-coital pain.

We embraced, walking into the night below the mountain; it felt as if the world had shrunk to just the two of us.

5. Suspicion of Pregnancy

After we started having sex, nothing happened, and we didn't die. This was our second time. And

after the second, there was a third. Every time we made love, he made me sore and swollen down there.

A fourteen-year-old girl like me hadn't thought about what would happen if I got pregnant.

My period came late, which worried us for a while. Fortunately, it was just late, but I was already wary of sex. Actually, at that time, sex didn't feel so good to me. After the pregnancy rumors cleared up, he asked me to have sex again, but I always used the possibility of a child as an excuse to keep my distance.

There's an English proverb that says, "Where there's a will, there's a way." If you want to do something, you'll find a way to do it. He bought condoms so I wouldn't have an excuse to refuse him.

I said, "But it will hurt a lot." He said

, "I'll be gentle, I'll be considerate."

He really did learn to be gentle and considerate.

However, we couldn't go to the mountains to make love every night; the mosquitoes there bit my legs until they were red and swollen. And in the house, we had to wait until no one was home. But given the opportunity, he would have sex with me. Having had sex with my brother, our relationship deepened. I knew he wanted to have sex with me; it was my greatest pleasure. Did I feel guilty afterward? No matter how I explained it to my conscience, I knew I had done something wrong.

Since our relationship progressed to the level of sex, we became more wary, maintaining a certain distance at home and in front of relatives and friends, afraid of arousing suspicion. Sometimes he would take me to his classmates' activities, clearly ignoring me intentionally. At his age, some of his classmates were already dating, some would bring their girlfriends out, and in those situations, they would openly show their girlfriends attentiveness and care. I didn't dare hope to receive the same treatment, but he treated me like I didn't exist. Being next to him felt superfluous, even a burden.

There were one or two female classmates who were quite pretty and knew how to dress, and I could tell he would use excuses to get close to them. If they talked for a few more minutes, I would get jealous. After the party ended, when we were far away from his classmates, he tried to hold my hand and put his arm around my waist, but I refused. He wanted to kiss me, so I turned my head away and avoided him. Only then did he realize I was throwing a tantrum.

He was very resourceful. He would buy me a small gift, say sweet words, take me to the beach to see the night view, and let me feel the sea breeze. I would forget all my unhappiness and fall back into his arms, wholeheartedly becoming his little lover, letting him have sexual rights over me.

6. Old Love Like a Dream

He got into university, and we were both very happy. He moved into the university dormitory and began his independent and free life. At first, I thought it would make it easier for us to meet, so I started taking birth control pills to avoid the need for condoms. However, this was just wishful thinking on my part.

First, after he moved into the dormitory, my mother wanted him to move out of our room. When he came home on weekends, my mother wouldn't let him sleep in the same room as me, making him sleep on the sofa in the living room. She said we were grown up, and it wasn't convenient for a single man and woman to sleep together; he had no reason to enter my room. So we lost our own little world, and he simply stopped going home overnight.

We had to make plans to meet, otherwise it was hard to find him. I had to travel all the way to the university to see him, and if his roommate wasn't there, we'd make love in the dorm. We'd take walks near the university, sometimes watch movies or go to concerts. Gradually, his social activities became more frequent. At first, he would take me to his classmates' events. His classmates were all from prestigious universities, and their lifestyles and ways of thinking were completely different from mine, who grew up in a public housing estate. Among his friends, I was always an outsider. My thoughts and speech seemed very immature, and I wanted to get into university quickly and be like them. However, I had no interest in studying; all my energy was devoted to maintaining this relationship.

We met alone less often, and whenever we did meet, we'd try to make love. Sex did become more frequent, but our feelings regressed. I increasingly didn't understand what he was thinking.

Gradually, he rarely went home and rarely called me. I was always the one calling him and going to the university to see him. Even during sex, he seemed absent-minded, there was sex but no love. The part that was inside me seemed disconnected from his soul. We slept together the moment we met; our meetings were solely for sex. After ejaculating, his task with me was complete.

I threw tantrums many times, expressing my dissatisfaction, but he seemed indifferent.

In the end, I resigned myself to my fate and went back to him. I undressed on his bed, spread my legs, and wholeheartedly became his mistress.

I felt his heart drifting away from me; my days were unbearable, filled with anxiety and unease. Summer vacation finally arrived, but he joined a Taiwan tour organized by his classmates. If he had taken me, it might have been a chance to mend our relationship, but I was disappointed.

After he returned, I heard rumors that he was getting intimate with a female classmate.

He entered his second year of university and moved into a single room. However, I only visited his room once or twice.

One time, I really wanted to see him, but I couldn't reach him, so I went to his dorm. He answered the door, looking surprised to see me. His girlfriend was in the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, fixing her hair and clothes, just like the way Mom used to catch us in the act. Judging by her appearance, they were deeply in love.

My brother introduced them: "This is my sister, and this is my classmate." No explanation was needed; I already knew she was my brother's "girlfriend." She was, but I wasn't, not at all. It was a cruel truth. I suppressed the sour feeling, exchanged a few polite words with them, and left.

On the way home, I fought back tears, realizing I was just a "substitute." He didn't care about me anymore; I should have known. He didn't explain, nor did he do anything to win me back. No phone calls, not a single word. Ah, he never wrote me a letter, only a few photos of us together, a few cards, and those small gifts. Was

this all it took to break up? I was unwilling to accept it. We had been together for so many years, and he didn't even owe me an explanation. Years ago, he sought my comfort after his breakup. Now that I've broken up, who will comfort me?

University entrance exams were fast approaching, and I had to recover from my academic setbacks. But it was too late; my studies had been neglected, and my mind was scattered. Although I passed the exams, my scores weren't high enough to get into university, and in fact, I'd lost all motivation to go. As a result, I found a job at a trading company and took secretarial courses in the evenings.

I was more mature and worldly than girls my age, and quickly gained my boss's favor. Within a year, I was promoted to the boss's secretary and received a raise. Wanting to live more independently and for the convenience of commuting, I shared an apartment with a colleague.

Our ambiguous relationship ended without a trace. When we met, we pretended nothing was wrong, remaining like brother and sister, though sometimes a hint of guilt would appear in his eyes. From our first kiss, everything was consensual—or rather, one-sided. Our true relationship was that of brother and sister. He had treated me like a lover, and we had an illicit affair. Did I expect him to marry me? That was impossible. At most, he owed me an explanation.

I swallowed my deep disappointment; without him, I had to continue living.

After graduating from university, with the help of his future father-in-law, he got a job at a large company, got married soon after, and my nephew was born shortly after.

7. Renewing My Feelings

I also had several suitors, one of whom was my boss, Mr. A. He was more than ten years older than me, very well-off, divorced, and had two children. My parents didn't like him much, but I didn't care; as long as he asked me out, I wouldn't refuse.

I moved into another social circle, and my relationship with my brother ended there, leaving it behind.

I was hesitant and not serious about Mr. A because he wasn't the one I considered my soulmate. My brother's marriage hit rock bottom in less than two years. On my father's birthday, my sister-in-law wasn't there, and I could tell from his eyes that something was wrong. At the banquet, he kept glancing at me, as if he had many things to confide in me. While I was in the restroom, he followed me, saying he had something to say to me. Rationally, I should stay out of it; emotionally, however, I couldn't let go.

After the banquet, we agreed to talk at a lounge in a nearby hotel. He poured out his unhappy marriage, and I just listened, not wanting to get involved in his emotional turmoil. When the lounge closed, he suggested renting a room to continue talking.

Didn't I know what he wanted? He wanted me to spend the night with him, to fill the emptiness in his body and soul. He was lonely, haggard, and pitiful. He begged me for a night's comfort, but I hardened my heart and refused him.

I said, "This isn't right!"

He said, "I'm sorry, I know it's wrong, but..."

I said, "I'm just concerned about you as a sister, don't think about anything else."

He didn't finish his sentence.

Actually, it wasn't that I didn't want a man to spend long nights with me. He was indeed a good partner in bed, a good lover. I haven't forgotten his kisses and caresses, the real feeling of his thing inside me. But now, I'm no longer that thirteen or fourteen-year-old girl who could be coaxed into bed with a few words; our relationship was long over.

Not long after, he often called me, asking me to meet. I went every time, actually wanting to know how his unhappy marriage had ended. He finally got divorced, but he couldn't even win custody of his son. He was devastated.

His marriage failed, and I didn't know whether I should be happy or unhappy. Because my illicit affair with him was bound to end sooner or later. It's perfectly reasonable for my brother to find someone, get married, and start a family. I've recovered and am now seeing him again as a brother and sister.

So, I found myself caught between two men. With Mr. A, it was all about romance and fine food and wine; with my brother, we remained friends, and we got along quite well. Unexpectedly, our connection wasn't over, and one day I found myself back in his arms.

8. Rekindling a Past Romance

It was late at night when my brother, drunk, stumbled into my door. I never let him come to my house, but he was so intoxicated that I had to help him in and let him rest on my bed. As I took off his shoes and loosened his tie, he seized the opportunity to hug me, muttering that his marriage had completely failed, and he should have known it would turn out this way. It was his fault, because I was the one he loved most, but reality wouldn't allow siblings to be together—fate was cruel.

Fueled by alcohol, he tore my robe, pushed me onto the bed, and kissed me wildly.

He said, "Forgive me! Let's start over, let me make up for what I've done to you..."

But I remembered the days he neglected me, and I said, "I can't be summoned and dismissed at will. I don't want to be a substitute in love, someone to fill the void."

Remembering his neglect also brought back sweet memories of nestling in his chest and arms. The emptiness in my heart was left behind by his departure. He came back and filled it.

Drunk people will argue with me, even my body won't cooperate. If I used a little force, I could break free from his grasp. But I didn't do that; I just protested verbally, my legs weak, and he easily separated them. He could tell with one touch that what I said and what my body reacted were two different things.

For four years, I wanted to prove that I could live happily without him. There was a stubbornness and resentment in my heart, as if he had abandoned me. But seeing him so lost and frustrated, I felt that he had been punished enough, and my heart softened. We made love again, more tenderly than ever before.

He said, "I love you." He added that he would love me forever and would never leave me.

For the first time in a long time, I heard him say "I love you" to me. His loving touch melted my frozen body and my fossilized heart. He understood love better than ever before, making me feel that only he could make me a truly satisfied and happy woman. I surrendered, because I had gotten back what I wanted most.

He said, "I knew all along that you still loved me."

I said, "Who loves you, you unfaithful man?"

He said, "But you still love me."

His thighs rubbed against mine, intertwining. His real member connected our two bodies as one.

I said, "Deeper...deeper..."

He sent his love to the depths of my soul.

When we were tired from making love, I fell asleep in his arms.

The next day, we took the day off work and made love all day long. At noon, we got dressed, went out for a bite to eat, and returned to our room. We kissed passionately again, then undressed and went to bed for another round.

He had prepared a long speech for me, telling me to believe that I was the one he loved most. He didn't need to say it; I already believed him. But women always love to hear these things. Years ago, I hoped he would say something like that to me, but I never did. Now he finally did, and though it was late, I accepted it all.

After some twists and turns, we were together again. What obstacles existed between us besides our familial relationship?

At first, we were innocent young lovers, unaware of the dangers, boldly loving without ever thinking about the future. As we grew older, the situation became more complicated. We didn't know how to face it, and we couldn't manage it. Breaking up was painful, but we had no choice. The pain of separation and the breakdown of our marriage made us cherish our time together even more.

My brother started talking to me about love. He had studied some psychology in college and used it to analyze his love for me. He said that incest was fundamentally abnormal, and people should seek partners outside the marriage. My inappropriate relationship with you filled me with guilt. To avoid further despair, I quickly got married, only to realize I had made a mistake. It turns out the person I truly love is you. I confessed this to you and will no longer run away. I won't give up until you tell me yourself that you no longer love me. Even then, I cannot love another woman.

I said, "So what if we love each other? Can we be together? What about your guilt?"

He said, "We are both adults and must be responsible for our actions. We will bear the consequences of our actions."

Back then, I had planned to follow him for life, only to regret his fickleness. I asked myself, between my brother and Mr. A, who would I rather marry?

9. Cohabitation

My roommate and I didn't interfere in each other's private affairs; she didn't know who stayed overnight in my room that night.

Afterwards, my brother and I went to hotels for trysts several times, but it was always inconvenient. When I suggested moving in with him, he was overjoyed. However, I had one condition: to maintain our own social lives. That is to say, I would continue dating Mr. A. Five days a week were his, and two days were A's.

He readily agreed to live with me.

At the beginning, it felt like a honeymoon; intimacy and pleasure were plentiful. However, in normal life, it's impossible to have sex every night. With work pressures, household chores, and caring for elderly parents, we soon became like any other couple, leaving early and returning late, cooking and doing laundry. After getting used to sharing a bed, we didn't feel like lovers anymore, but more like siblings. Our words and actions naturally revealed what's called a married couple's resemblance. Many people could tell we were a couple, but we weren't; we were just siblings living together.

We told our parents we were living together to save money. It was a very weak excuse. We were especially careful in their presence, consciously restraining ourselves from being overly affectionate. We jointly sold an apartment to make our love nest; it had two rooms, outwardly appearing as if we each had our own bedroom for our parents and a few visiting relatives. In reality, we only needed one bed. We didn't hire a Filipino maid, not even a chaperone, to avoid revealing our secret.

He was quite sensitive about my relationship with A. Every week, I would go on a date with A once or twice, usually on weekends, sometimes just for business. He always complained that I came home too late and wanted to investigate every detail of the dates. I would deliberately tease him, making it seem romantic and enjoyable, to provoke his jealousy. Afterwards, he would demonstrate his prowess in bed, making me feel good, proving to me that he was better at flirting than A and was a better lover.

My dates with A felt like rendezvous with a lover. I felt indebted to my brother, who was waiting for me at home, so I let him do as he pleased in bed, adding extra flirtatiousness and allure during sex as compensation. This actually became a highly anticipated event.

A was completely unaware of my cohabitation with my brother, and I never let him into our room. He had no suspicions about us living together, but he felt that this brother was too controlling and worried about his sister. A was older and more experienced, and he was very considerate and protective of me. He pursued me, allowing me, a still relatively young and pretty girl, to fulfill my emotional needs. My brother, on the other hand, was a man of passion, fond of art, and had a zest for life. Being with him was romantic and carefree, bringing me true satisfaction and happiness.

Thus, I navigated between two men who loved me, while also living a life similar to that of husband and wife with my brother—this was my most fulfilling life.

10. Marrying A

My youth quickly faded, and my parents grew older. My father has a heart condition, so he often urges me to get married. My mother told me that although siblings are family, they can't live together forever; I need to plan for my future.

Her words were loaded with meaning, and we couldn't disrespect her good intentions.

My brother and I discussed this endlessly. After struggling for months, we finally made a painful decision—we couldn't live like this forever. Our relationship would eventually be exposed; how would we explain it to our parents? These four years of living together were the happiest days of our lives. We were reluctant to part, but the happy times quickly passed. We bowed to reality and married Mr. A, who had pursued me for five or six years.

Like other couples, I discussed with my brother whether or not to have children.

I asked him if he wanted a child, and he said, "We already have a son. Our relationship doesn't need a child to sustain it. A child would only be an obstacle because we can't officially marry, so we can't give the child a normal family life." Therefore, he didn't want me to get pregnant.

However, as I approached my wedding, I was no longer afraid of pregnancy. After deciding on the wedding date, I stopped taking birth control pills. We counted down the days, and every night he would make love to me, always giving it his all. He said I should always remember what it was like to make love to him, and remember that he was my best sexual partner.

Shortly after the wedding, I found out I was pregnant. Eight months later, I gave birth to a son.

I knew very well that the child in my womb was my brother's. When I told him I was pregnant with his child, he was overjoyed and bought his nephew many clothes and supplies. My parents were ecstatic because my brother's son was being cared for by his ex-wife, and they had lost the joy of having a grandchild. My child would be with them. Although it wasn't my brother's first time being a father, he was also very happy to have a child in middle age.

Although my brother had married me off, he still wanted to "retain" the right to sleep with me, but I didn't agree. Before, when we lived together, I had never slept with A; now that A was my husband, I didn't want him to be cuckolded.

But I was too weak. One night, I went back to my parents' house for dinner and drank some wine. My husband, Mr. A, had a business dinner and couldn't pick me up in time, so my brother drove me home. In the car, he forcefully pulled me into his arms and kissed me. I didn't resist, letting him take off my underwear and loosen my bra, wantonly caressing my breasts and genitals. He drove back to our old love nest.

I've only had sex with two men. Of the two, only my brother could bring me to sexual climax. My brother knows best how to ignite the spark of desire between us. How could I resist him when I was in his hands?

Yes, he still loves him, which is why we're still entangled. Afterwards, we arranged various excuses and opportunities to meet with my brother. We're siblings, family, so it's much easier to meet. We can appear together in certain places without fear of being "misunderstood."

I strongly encouraged my husband to do more business in mainland China. On days when my husband wasn't home, I could return to our old love nest and have sex there. Going back to my parents' house on weekends was the best excuse. By leaving my daughter with my grandparents, I could reunite with my brother, make love passionately, and spend an afternoon naked in bed, listening to him profess his love for me.

This weekend's date, rain or shine, was the day I looked forward to all week.

11. A Perfect Match

My brother never remarried. He often flattered me by saying that we were practically married. Even though he had married me off, he still had the right to have sex with me and didn't need to find another woman to satisfy his sexual needs. He was happy to be my mistress; before, I was his backup mistress, and now it was his turn to be my husband. I could have two men at the same time, both loving me. He said, "We've got it all sorted out."

A few years later, my father died of a heart attack. I married Mr. A for less than ten years when he was diagnosed with lung cancer. I fulfilled my duties as a wife, caring for him until his death. His inheritance was enough for my daughter and me to live on for the rest of our lives. Mr. A's children from his previous marriage were all married. My son went to university in Canada, leaving my brother and me with no ties. So we moved back to our love nest,

hoping to keep each other company for the rest of our lives. My mother knew, but didn't say anything. She still lived in an old-style public housing unit, requiring climbing stairs, which was difficult for her due to her age. We suggested she move in with us. We offered her one of our rooms, and she readily agreed. For over twenty years, we'd had a lingering concern—that she wouldn't understand our relationship. Her moving in was tantamount to acknowledging our bond.

On her first day, we invited her to sit down and offered her a cup of tea. She drank it, then gave us two red envelopes, saying they were a token of her good fortune. That evening, my mother cooked a delicious home-style meal. We were all together again, just like before. After dinner, we watched TV with her for a while, then she told us to rest if we were tired.

My brother followed me back to our bedroom. After the door closed, we couldn't help but embrace and kiss deeply. I remembered the times I used to sneak into bed with my brother, always on edge, terrified of being caught in the act by our mother. Without a word, my brother started to undress me.

I said, "No! Mom's watching TV outside!"

He said, "The door's closed, she can't see."

I said, "Aren't you ashamed that your brother and sister are dating?"

He said, "That's why we can't let anyone know."

I said, "What if Mom finds out?"

He said, "If we're quiet when we're doing it, she won't know."

I said, "Aren't you tired of it yet?"

He said, "Yes! While we're not tired of watching, let me watch to my heart's content."

My brother wouldn't let me go, insisting on "bullying" me. I feigned modesty, acting coy and shy. My coquettish posture aroused him, making him feel hot all over. The caresses of his fingers and his wet, passionate kisses stirred my heart again. I was pushed down onto the bed, my legs numb and weak, unable to close, and he spread them apart. He regained his vigorous energy, his penis as firm as it had been in his youth, thrusting into me until I was exhausted. We were like we were back then, he was sixteen and I was fourteen, experiencing our first love in a room with wooden partitions.

He said he would love me forever.

I said, "Forever is too long."

He said, "Let's love each other until we're eighty!"

I said, "Can you still do that?"

He said, even if we can't, he'll still love me...

We're both middle-aged now, and many couples at this age have a bland, even nonexistent, sex life. Our sex life has remained the same, but it has also become mundane. Unexpectedly, Mom living with us has actually enhanced our intimacy.

Relatives and friends have long gossiped about our close relationship, but we've never paid them any attention. Among our friends, we're like siblings—one widowed, one divorced—caring for each other. The title of husband and wife is unimportant to us. Lovers don't necessarily have to be husband and wife. We grew up together, fell in love, weathered storms together, and even married different people; nothing can separate us now. For

over twenty years, nothing we've missed has escaped Mom's notice. Now, she didn't object to us living together outside the marriage back then; now that she lives with us, it's a form of acknowledgment of our relationship. She says that some karmic debts from past lives must be repaid in this one.

URL 1:https://www.sexlove5.com/htmlBlog/210381.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=210381&aspx=1

Previous Page : A Tragic Love Affair - Chapter Forty: Facing

Next Page : Wife swapping, incest, and promiscuity

增加

comment Open a new window to view comments

Contact Information

Brother is heartbroken

comment Open a new window to view comments