The brother is heartbroken, and the sister comforts him.

(I) 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 as children, 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 of a bunk bed, and I slept on the lower bunk. 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 among the workers, 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 was wrong, 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 I were about to be electrocuted. The way he stared at me was like he was scrutinizing me, which made me very embarrassed. His behavior was strange; what was he up to? Boys' minds are so hard to fathom.
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 wanted to explain to those nosy classmates that it was my brother.
He said he had something important to tell me, so he came to find me. He sounded very serious.
I followed him to a quiet place, and he stammered as he told me that he was extremely depressed and wanted to find someone to confide in. Thinking back to our childhood, the days we played together, made me feel a little better. We used to talk a lot, so he came to 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 this little sister about his breakup immediately elevated my status.
He met a girlfriend at the factory and developed feelings for her. At first, they went to the movies and traveled together, then they started dating alone and became very close. I rarely saw him throughout the summer vacation; he was always with his girlfriend. He confessed that he really liked this girl. However, not long after school started, 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 wiped away his tears with a tissue.
He said, "You're so kind. I feel much better now that I've talked about my feelings. Can we stay together like we used to, like we used to?"
I said, "Yes." I also wanted to be with him, like when we were kids.
We went home together, and I started telling him all about school.
(II) Mutual Affection
The next day, he offered to take me to school. Even though we took different routes, he walked me to the school gate and 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 every 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 some little trinkets. He was much happier and had overcome the pain of heartbreak. To be honest, I was 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 mine, it felt like an electric shock?
The mountain road 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 chilly, so I nestled in his arms, letting his body heat warm me. I felt that we were truly 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 behind my ear.
Oh no, what does this mean? Why do I have this strange feeling?
Before I could figure out what was happening, 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 tell him, like what happened at school, what classmate A was like, what classmate B was like. But that night I didn't say anything; 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.
When we got home, we kissed again before he let go of me 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 together all the time. I would link arms with him, he would put his arm around my waist, and holding hands felt natural; we were like siblings, so 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 with my arms around him, 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 and treasured it to this day.

(III) First Experience of Love
We never lacked opportunities to meet. Living together, spending every day together, it was only natural for us to be together. No one suspected anything unusual about our relationship, and Mom didn't seem to care about our intimacy. Once, she accidentally saw a close-up photo of us 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. My brother and I were exposed to her in our disheveled state.
Mom didn't scold us on the spot, only telling us not to lock the door next time.
Afterwards, she talked to me about issues between men and women, like the proper boundaries between siblings, and so on. I realized that although we were genuinely and purely in love, others would look at us differently. 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 attending school activities to meet in secluded places. We were together every day, but it still didn't seem enough. Even at school, 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, of course, with many explicit sex scenes.
Back home, it was just the two of us. We closed the bedroom door, creating our own private world. He held me tightly and kissed me deeply, just like the lovers in the movie. He unbuttoned my jeans, and my heart pounded even faster. His hand slipped inside my t-shirt, trying to undo 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 was naked next to him, I couldn't look him in the eye. This was a loss of innocence; people had drawn a line in our sibling relationship. I understand now. No siblings could be this close. We've reached this point, about to enter a deeper level of intimacy, but we're not allowed to.
I dare not imagine further in this direction, only thinking of the times we played house.
We had prepared our own dialogue:
"I'll be Dad, you'll be Mom," my brother said.
"I'll cook and do your laundry," I said.
"And take care of the baby," my brother said.
"Dad's coming home from work, hurry home for dinner," I said.
Now, we're playing 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, making me feel aroused and unable to control myself. The bra constricts me; if I don't remove it, 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 probing the flesh between my legs. Then that thing went inside me, completely taking me over.
I was already soaking wet from his touch, but his thing was so thick and big, it felt like it was tearing me apart when it went in. The pain brought tears to my eyes, and I screamed.
My brother stopped thrusting: "Does it hurt?"
"It's okay, as long as you love me."
"I love you." Saying that, he ejaculated inside me.
"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, so 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 that we were in love. That night, I slept in my brother's arms, closer than ever before. I felt his penis inside me, never leaving. I was filled with him, my mind was filled with him. His penis remained hard 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. Fallen Petals

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

I quickly changed the sheets and took the soiled ones to wash. My mother was disturbed. Seeing me washing the sheets in the bathroom
, she asked, "I just changed them for you two days ago, and they're dirty again?"

I said, "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; it was my brother kneeling beside me.
Seeing me asleep, he kissed me repeatedly on the lips.

He wanted 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 students.

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

7. Further Confessions

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

I immersed myself in another social circle, letting my relationship with my brother fizzle out and leaving it behind.

I was dragging my feet with A, not taking it seriously, because he wasn't the one for me. My brother's marriage
hit a rough patch 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,
I couldn't let go .

After the banquet, we agreed to talk at a nearby hotel lounge. He poured out his unhappy marriage, and
I just listened, not wanting to get involved in his emotional turmoil anymore. 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 forlorn, haggard, and pitiful. He begged me to give him 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 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, fine wine, and delicious food; 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 the Bond

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, mumbling 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, filling the void when it arises."

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. I just protested verbally, my legs went weak, and he easily separated us.
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 depressed, 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 said 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 fossilized heart. He understood love better than before, and I felt 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, intertwined. His real thing connected our two bodies
into 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 world's imperfections, boldly loving without ever thinking about the future. As we grew up, things 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 abnormal relationship with you filled me with guilt. To avoid further despair, I quickly got married, only to realize my mistake. It turns out the person I truly love is you. I confessed this to you, and I will no longer run away. I will only give up if you tell me yourself that you no longer love me. Even then, I cannot love another woman. I said, "What's the point of loving each other? Can we be together? What about your guilt?" He said, "We are both adults, and we must be responsible for our actions. We will bear the consequences of our deeds. " Back then, I had planned to follow him for life, only to hate how fickle he was. I asked myself, between my brother and Mr. A, who would I rather marry? She said, "God knows." Then her gaze fixed on my skirt. I had grown two inches taller, and the skirt was now short and small, ill-fitting, exposing my thighs. My mother went to the market to buy groceries and suddenly felt that I was the only person in the world. She hugged her pillow and cried for no . I promised to save myself for the person I love 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 is a punishment I brought upon myself; I deserve it. In my dream, I was having a wedding ceremony with my brother in a church. The priest said, "You and your brother cannot marry." But I've already had a physical relationship with him, and I'm pregnant with his child. What should I do?

My brother came home immediately after school to see me. He saw my eyes were swollen and still wet with tears. He held me in his arms and comforted
me. He gently stroked my face, wiping away my tears, and held me like a child against the headboard, kissing me
repeatedly, wiping away my confusion.

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, but couldn't see anything wrong, so he said it was okay, that he'd heard it hurt the first time. Then he continued
to hold me, his fingers gently stroking my mons pubis, careful not to 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
under the open sky .

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

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

We embraced and walked into the night below the mountain, as if the world had shrunk to just the two of us.

5. The Pregnancy Suspicion

After we had sex, the sky didn't fall, and lightning didn't strike us dead; this was our
second time.

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

And 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 had become wary of sex
. Actually, at that time, sex didn't feel so good to me. After the pregnancy suspicion dissipated, he
asked me to have sex again, but I always used the excuse of having a child to guard against it.

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 replied, "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. In the house,
we had to wait until no one was home. But when the opportunity arose, he would make love to me. Having made love to my brother, our relationship
deepened. I knew he wanted to make love to 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 that others would notice anything amiss. Sometimes he would take me to his classmates' activities, clearly
ignoring me intentionally. At his age, some of his classmates were already dating, and some would bring their girlfriends out
. In those situations, they would openly show their affection and care for their girlfriends. 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.

One or two female classmates were quite pretty and knew how to dress; I could tell he was using them as an excuse to get close. If they
talked for a few more minutes, I would get jealous. After the party, when I was away from his classmates, he would try to hold my hand or put his arm around
my waist, but I wouldn't let him. He wanted to kiss me, but I would turn my head away and avoid 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. Then I would forget all my unhappiness, and I would fall back into his arms, wholeheartedly becoming
his little lover, letting him have sexual rights over me.

6. Old flames faded like dreams

. He got into university, and we were both overjoyed. He moved into the university dormitory, beginning a life of independence and freedom.
At first, I thought it would make it easier for us to meet secretly, so I started taking birth control pills, eliminating the need for condoms. However,
this was just wishful thinking on my part.

First, after he moved to the dormitory, my mother made him 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 coming home to stay overnight.

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

We met less often alone, and whenever we did, we made time for sex. Sex became more frequent, but our feelings regressed
. I increasingly couldn't understand what he was thinking.

Gradually, he rarely came home or 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 inside me seemed disconnected from his
soul. We met and immediately went to bed for sex; meeting was only 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 took off my clothes on his bed, spread my legs, and wholeheartedly
became his mistress.

I felt his heart was drifting away from me, and I was having a hard time, filled with anxiety and unease. Summer vacation
finally arrived, and he joined a Taiwan tour organized by our 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 close to a female classmate.

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

One time, I really wanted to see him but couldn't reach him, so I went to his dorm. He answered the door and saw me...
He looked surprised. His girlfriend was in the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, fixing her hair and clothes, just like the way we looked when Mom caught us in
the act . Judging from their expressions, they were deeply in love.

My brother introduced them: "This is my sister, and this is my classmate." Without needing a clear explanation, I already knew
she was my brother's "girlfriend." She was, but I wasn't, nothing 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 little 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. Back then,
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.

9. Cohabitation

My roommate and I kept to ourselves, and she didn't know who had stayed in my room that night.

Afterwards, my brother and I went to hotels for trysts several times, but it was never convenient. 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 A. Five days a week would be his, and two days would be A's.

He readily agreed to live with me.

At the beginning of our cohabitation, it felt like a honeymoon, with plenty of intimacy and pleasure. However,
in normal life, it's impossible to have sex every night. There was work pressure outside, housework inside, and elderly
parents to take care of. Soon, we became like any other couple, leaving early and returning late, cooking and doing laundry. After getting used to
sharing a bed, we no longer felt like lovers, but more like siblings. Our words and actions
naturally revealed what's often 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 lived together to save money—a rather lame excuse. In their
presence, we were especially careful, consciously restraining ourselves from being overly affectionate. We jointly sold
an apartment as our love nest, with two rooms. Outwardly, 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 part-time housekeeper,
to avoid revealing our secret.

He was quite sensitive about my relationship with A. Every week, I would meet 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 our dates. I deliberately teased him, making it sound romantic and enjoyable, to provoke his jealousy. Afterwards, he would
demonstrate his prowess in bed, making me feel good and proving he was better at flirting than A, a superior lover.

My dates with A felt like rendezvous with a lover; I felt indebted to my brother, who waited for me at home
, so I let him do as he pleased in bed, adding extra flirtatiousness and allure as compensation. This
actually became something I looked forward to.

A was unaware of my cohabitation with my brother; I never let him into our room. He
had no suspicions about us living together, but he felt this brother was too controlling and worried about his sister. A,
being older and more experienced, was incredibly considerate and protective of me. His pursuit of me allowed me, a
still relatively young and attractive girl, to find solace in my love life. My brother, on the other hand, was a
man of passion , fond of art and with a zest for life. Being with him was romantic and carefree, my true satisfaction and happiness.

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

10. Marrying Mr. A
My youth faded quickly, and my parents grew old. My father developed heart disease, so he often urged me to get
married. My mother told me that although siblings are family, they can't live together forever; I had 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 one day be exposed; how would we
explain it to our parents? These four years of living together had been our happiest days. It was hard to let go, 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 to have 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 get married, and therefore can't give the child
a normal family life." Therefore, he didn't want me to get pregnant.

However, when I was about to get married, I wasn't afraid of getting pregnant anymore. After deciding on the wedding date, I stopped eating...
I took 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 belly 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 to it. 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. 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 former
love nest.

I've only had sex with two men. Of the two, only my brother could bring me to sexual climax. My brother
knew best how to ignite passion with me; how could I resist him when I was in his hands?

Yes, he still loved him, which is why we remained entangled. Afterwards, we arranged
various excuses and opportunities to meet with my brother. We were siblings, family, so meeting was much easier.
We could 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 former
love nest and have sex there. Visiting my parents' home 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. Finally, we became a couple

. My brother never remarried. He often flattered me by saying that we were practically married. Even though he
married , he still had the right to have sex with me, and I didn't need to find another woman to satisfy my 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. He was diagnosed with lung cancer, and I fulfilled
my duties as a wife, caring for him until his death. The inheritance he left me 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.

Mom 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 worry: that she wouldn't understand our relationship
. Her moving in was tantamount to acknowledging our connection.

On Mom's 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, Mom cooked a delicious
home-style meal. Our family was 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 you and your sister are dating?"

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

I said, "What if Mom finds out?"

He said, "We'll be quiet when we're doing it, then 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 see as much as I want."

My brother wouldn't let me go, determined to "bully" me. I pretended to be coy and shy. My coquettish
demeanor aroused him. The touch 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 breathless. It was as if 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 couldn't, he

would still love me... We were both middle-aged now, and many couples our age had a bland, even nonexistent, sex life
. Our sex life had remained constant, but it had become mundane. Unexpectedly, my mother living with us had
stimulated our intimacy.

Relatives and friends had long gossiped about our close relationship, but we never paid any attention.
Among , we were like siblings, one widowed, one divorced, taking care of each other. The title of husband and wife
was unimportant to us. Lovers don't necessarily have to be husband and wife. We grew up together, fell in love, weathered storms together
, and each married before; nothing could separate us.

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

12. Postscript:

I wrote these things down not to encourage incest. Not every sibling will fall in love.
Many siblings are more distant than friends. Some may harbor feelings of affection, but never have the chance to develop them into lovers.
Those who don't understand might think we've succumbed to lust and violated ethical norms. We've also felt guilt for letting our brother leave us and
find someone else . Finally, when we let go of adult hypocrisy and dared to love and be loved, we understood who
our true love was.

I won't say any more; I don't need to use these words to justify myself, nor am I advocating incest.
There are many lovers in the world who, due to various obstacles and setbacks, cannot be together. Some are bound by
the norms of ethics and morality, unable to change or transgress. Besides sighing at the cruel twist of fate, we can actually
create a space in our hearts where we can let our imaginations run wild. As long as we make up our minds, we will find
a way!

May all lovers in the world be united in marriage, like my lover and I.

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The brother is heartbroken, and the sister comforts him.

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