My first memories are of life are of my brother masterbating on me. I was no more than two. He was 12. As I got older, it progressed to touching him. Him touching me. Then oral, then when I was 13, he raped me for hours in my grandmothers shed.
I was bleeding so bad, I never had anything up there, not even tampons. I thought I was going to die. I would rather die than explain what happened so I stayed there. This was thanksgiving weekend with probably 30-40 family members.
I’ve cheated on every boyfriend I’ve had (3) with my brother. Not because I wanted to but because I have to. If you’re reading this you already think I’m sick so, wait until you hear this: I enjoy the sex with my brother more than anyone else. Yup, I am a sick fuck.
After every encounter, I take a shower. I crank it up the hottest I can stand it and scrub my skin furiously to feel some sense of clean, I feel some relief if I start to bleed. I can’t tell you how many infections and scabs I have had. When my scabs start to heal, I pick at them. I pick at them and take the picked off skin and eat it. I nibble on the piece of blood-dried skin only with my most front teeth. It calms me down.
We have a normal brother-sister relationship otherwise. And, I love him. Loving him makes me feel like more of a sicko. I’m tormented by the memories but, he’s my brother, I care about him. He is a paramedic and always wanted to be one, to help others and save a lives, which he has done many, many times.
I wanted to be a paramedic too but I dropped out of school at 16, had a baby at 17 and my kid was my only concern from that point on. I take whatever jobs i can get, usually admin or odd jobs. I’ve wanted to be botanist though.
He is married now but we still have sex. At every family get-together/dinner, he makes an excuse to leave momentarily and I know what that means. He’s usually waiting for me in a bathroom or garage. I could tell you hundreds of more instances but, you don’t have the time and I don’t have the energy.
Flavia, 26, USA