Lover's lust

My brother has a lover. His lover is 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, and I slept 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 final 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 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; we often met eye to eye, 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 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 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. Remembering the days we played together when we were little 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 this younger 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, then they started dating alone and became very close. I rarely saw him throughout the summer vacation, as he was always 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.

The next day, he offered to walk me to school, even though we took different routes. He told me he'd pick me up after school. He did, and we walked home together. Every day was the same, him picking me up and dropping me off. Our routes home were different each day, always choosing winding paths. With our backpacks on, we walked past shopping malls, parks, and streets, near and far. He earned some money during summer vacation and treated me to movies, ice cream, bowling, and bought me little trinkets. He seemed much happier, having overcome the pain of heartbreak. Honestly, I worried that once he got over it, he'd 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 and then to the mountainside. When we were little, we often came here to catch butterflies. As we climbed 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 path was dark, with no streetlights, and the sounds of cars below faded into the distance. We walked closer and closer, but didn't speak. Suddenly, he put his arm around my waist. He had never done this before, and a strange feeling filled the air 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 breeze. 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 about him. He was the object of my secret admiration. I usually had a lot to tell him, like what happened at school, what classmate A did, what classmate B did.

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 always together. 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, treasuring it to this day.

We never lacked opportunities to see each other; 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 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. A photo of my brother and me, disheveled, was exposed to her. Mom didn't scold us on the spot, just told us not to lock the door next time.

Afterwards, she talked to me about issues between 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 our love was genuine and pure, others would look at us differently. But I trusted him and never harbored any suspicion. My mother'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 secluded places for secret rendezvous. We were together every day, but it still didn't seem like enough. Even during school hours, I was still thinking about him.

Several months passed like this. 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. 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 I was little, I wasn'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. This is the loss of innocence; people have drawn a line in the sand regarding our sibling relationship. I understood. No siblings could be this close. We'd reached this point, about to enter a deeper level of intimacy, but we weren't allowed to. I dared not imagine further in that direction, only thinking of the times we played house.

We had a prepared 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 were playing what Mom and Dad do in the bedroom—this was a new scenario. He was clumsy, struggling to remove my bra. I was naked, receiving his caresses and kisses all over, making me feel aroused and unable to control myself. The bra constricted me; if I didn't remove it, I would suffocate, so I automatically removed the last line of defense for him. My nipples were immediately sucked on, and I could no longer pretend.

His kisses rained down on my breasts, his fingers probing the flesh between my legs. Then that thing went inside me, completely taking me in. 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 terrified, not knowing what tomorrow would bring. He was sixteen then, and I was fourteen.

Before dawn, I woke my brother, who was sleeping beside me. He was half-asleep, still naked, and climbed onto the top bunk to continue sleeping. I cleaned up the mess on the bed from the previous night; the sheets were stained with blood, marks of my lost innocence and purity. I quickly changed the sheets and took the soiled ones to wash. My mother was disturbed and saw me washing the sheets in the bathroom. She asked, "I just changed them two days ago, and they're dirty again?" I said, "Yes. I came too early and didn't notice they got dirty." I went back to bed, drifted off to sleep, and had a series of nightmares.

I woke up with a start. It was my brother kneeling beside me. Seeing that I was asleep, he kissed me repeatedly on the lips. He wanted to wake me up to go to school, but I hadn't slept well, so I asked him to tell Mom that I was skipping school that day. I was afraid to go back to school; the nun's searchlight-like gaze seemed to see right through the students' secrets. That day, she summoned me to see her and asked if I was dating my boyfriend. I answered, "He's my brother." She scanned my face with her searchlight, 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. Mom went to the market to buy groceries and suddenly felt like I was the only person in the world. I hugged my pillow and cried for no reason. I promised to save myself for the person I love most, to marry him, to have a church wedding with him, and to let him take my virginity. The swelling and pain in my lower body was a punishment I brought upon myself; I deserved it. In a dream, I dreamt that my brother and I were getting married 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 from school immediately 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, wiped away my tears, and held me like a child against the headboard, kissing me repeatedly, wiping away my confusion. This is the love I want. Even if the sky falls, as long as my brother is with me, I'm not afraid. I said, "It still hurts down there!" I pulled my pajamas and underwear down to my knees and asked him to check. He checked me once, but couldn't see anything wrong, so he said it was okay, that people say the first time is painful.

Then he continued to hug 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 on the mountaintop, he embraced me, kissing me wildly. Unable to control his youthful impulses, he pulled down my underwear and made love to me under the open sky. Another tearing pain followed. 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 my underwear, which I didn't put back on. A cool breeze lifted my skirt, penetrating between my legs, a chilling sensation that soothed the post-coital pain. We embraced, walking into the night below, as if the world had shrunk to just the two of us.

After we had sex, the sky didn't fall, and lightning didn't strike us dead; this was our second time. And with the second came the third. Each time we made love, he left me throbbing and aching down there. A fourteen-year-old girl like me hadn't considered 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 developed a fear of sex. Actually, at that time, sex didn't feel so good to me. After the pregnancy rumors cleared up, he again asked me to have sex. I always used the excuse of having a child to keep him at arm's length. 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. 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 cautious, 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, but he would clearly and intentionally ignore me. 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. There were one or two female classmates who were quite pretty and knew how to dress, and I could tell he was using them as an excuse 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 small gifts, 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.

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, eliminating 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 understood less and less 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 meeting was 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, and 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 desperately wanted to see him but 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 her to us: "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 grades 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 I 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.

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; I wouldn't refuse him as long as he asked me out. I immersed myself in another social circle, and my relationship with my brother fizzled out and was put behind me. I was dragging my feet with Mr. A, not taking it seriously, because he wasn't the one I considered my soulmate. My brother's marriage hit the rocks in less than two years. On my father's birthday, my sister-in-law didn't come, and from his eyes, I knew something was wrong.

At the banquet, he kept looking at me, as if he had many things to confide in me. While I went to 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 lounge in a nearby hotel. He laid bare his unhappy marriage, and I listened, not wanting to be drawn into his emotional turmoil. When the lounge closed, he suggested renting a room to continue their conversation. Did I not 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 for a night's comfort, and I hardened my heart and refused.

I said, "This is wrong!"

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

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

He didn't finish. Actually, it wasn't that I didn't want a man to spend the long night with me. He was indeed a good partner in bed, a good lover. I hadn't forgotten his kisses and caresses, the real feeling of his penis inside me.

But now, I was no longer the thirteen or fourteen-year-old girl who could be easily coaxed into bed with a few words; our relationship was over. Soon after, he frequently called me, asking to meet. I went as arranged, actually because I wanted 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 was perfectly reasonable for my brother to find someone, get married, and start a family. I had already recovered and was seeing him again as a brother.

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

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 drunk that I had to help him in and let him rest on my bed for a while. As I took off his shoes and loosened his tie, he seized the opportunity to hug me, murmuring that his marriage had completely failed, and he knew 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; it was fate playing tricks on him.

Fueled by alcohol, he tore my robe, pushed me onto the bed, and kissed me frantically. 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 had 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. His return filled it. When drunk, he would argue with me, even my body wouldn't cooperate; if I had used force, I could have broken free. But I didn't. I only protested verbally, my legs weak, easily pulled away by his touch. He knew immediately that my words and my body's reaction were two different things. For four years, I wanted to prove I could live happily without him. A stubbornness and resentment lingered in my heart, as if I had been abandoned by him. But seeing his loss and dejection, I felt 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, making me feel that only he could make me a truly fulfilled and happy woman. I surrendered, because I got back what I wanted most.

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

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

He said, "But you still love me."

His thighs rubbed against mine, intertwined.

His real thing 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 to eat something, and returned to the door. We kissed passionately again, took off our clothes, went to bed, and did it again. He prepared a long speech for me, wanting 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 heard it. Now he finally said it, though it was late, and I accepted it all. After some twists and turns, we were together again.

What obstacles exist between us besides our familial relationship? At first, we were innocent young lovers, recklessly loving without a thought for the future. As we grew older, things became more complicated. We couldn't face it, we couldn't manage it. Breaking up was painful, but we had no choice. The pain of separation, the breakdown of our marriage, made us cherish our time together even more. My brother started talking to me about love. He studied psychology in college and used it to analyze his love for me.

He said incest is abnormal; people should seek partners outside the family. My abnormal relationship with you filled me with guilt. To avoid further depravity, I quickly got married, only to realize I 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're both adults, we have to be responsible for our actions. We'll bear the consequences of our own deeds."

Back then, I had planned to be with him for life, only hating that he was so heartless. I asked myself, between my brother and A, who would I rather marry?

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 many 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; we were intimate, and the pleasures of our shared room were plentiful.

However, in normal life, it's impossible to have sex every night. With work pressures on the outside, household chores on the inside, and elderly parents to care for, we soon 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 speech and actions naturally revealed what we considered 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. I would go on one or two dates a week, 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 sound romantic and enjoyable, to arouse his jealousy. Afterwards, he would show off his skills in bed, making me feel good and 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 like I owed my brother, who was waiting for me at home, something, so I let him do whatever he wanted in bed, adding extra flirtatiousness and coquettishness during sex as compensation. This actually became a show I looked forward to. A was unaware of my relationship with my brother, and I never let him into our room. He didn't suspect that we lived 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 relentlessly, allowing me, a still youthful and pretty girl, to find solace in my love life. My brother, however, was a man of passion, fond of art and with 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 living a life akin to marriage with my brother—my most fulfilling days.

My youth faded quickly, and my parents grew old. My father developed heart disease and often urged me to marry. My mother told me that although siblings are family, they couldn'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 cohabitation had been our happiest days.

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 having children with my brother. 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 get married, and therefore can't give the child a normal family life."

Therefore, he didn't want me to get pregnant. However, as I approached my wedding date, I stopped being 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 told me to always remember what making love with him was like, and to 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 A's first time being a father, he was very happy to have a child in middle age.

My brother, despite marrying me off, still wanted to "retain" his right to sleep with me, but I didn't agree. Before, when we lived together, I never slept with A; now that A is my husband, I don't want him to be cuckolded. However, I was too weak. One night, I went back to my parents' house for dinner and drank some alcohol.

My husband, 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 passion with me; how could I resist him when I'm 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. 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.

My brother hadn't remarried; he often flattered me by saying that we were practically married. Even though he'd married me off, 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, 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. Less than ten years into my marriage with A, 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. A's children from his previous marriage were all married.

With the children studying in Canada, my brother and I had no more ties, so we moved back to our love nest, hoping to spend the rest of our lives together. When Mom found out, she didn't say anything. She still lived in an old-style public housing unit, which required climbing stairs, and due to her age, it was difficult for her to go up and down. We suggested that 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 with us was tantamount to acknowledging our connection. On Mom's first day in, we invited her to sit down and offered her a cup of tea. She drank it, then took out two red envelopes and gave them to us, saying they were a token of her good fortune for moving in. 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, and 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 be so anxious when my brother and I had our trysts in our room, fearing that Mom would catch us in the act. Without a word, my brother started taking off my clothes.

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, "We'll be quiet when we're doing it, then she won't know."

I said, "Aren't you tired 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 pretended to be reserved, acting coy and shy. My coquettish posture aroused him, making him feel hot all over. His fingertips caressed me, 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, and his penis was as hard as it was in his youth, thrusting into me until I was almost dead. We seem to remember those days, when he was sixteen and I was fourteen, our first time making 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. Many couples our age have a bland, even nonexistent, sex life. Our sex life has remained the same, but it's also become mundane. I never imagined that Mom living with us would stimulate our intimacy.

Relatives and friends have long gossiped about our close relationship, but we've never paid any attention. Among our friends, we're like siblings, one widowed, one divorced, supporting 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 done has escaped Mom's notice. Today, she didn't object when we lived together outside; now that she lives with us, it's a way of acknowledging our relationship. He said some karmic debts from past lives must be repaid in this one.

I'm writing this down not to encourage incest. Not every sibling couple falls in love; many are more distant than friends. Some may have feelings of affection, but never have the chance to develop into a romantic relationship. Those who don't understand might think we've succumbed to lust and violated ethical norms. We've also felt guilt for causing my brother to leave me and find someone else. Finally, we let go of adult hypocrisy and dared to love and be loved, only then did we understand who our true love was.

I won't say any more; I don't need to explain myself, nor am I advocating incest. There are many lovers in the world who cannot be together because of various obstacles and setbacks. Some are bound by the norms of morality and etiquette, unable to change or transgress them. Besides lamenting the cruel twist of fate, you can also cultivate a space within your heart where your mind can roam freely. As long as you make up your mind, you will find a way! May all lovers in the world be united in marriage, just like my lover and I.

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