My Forbidden Family Truth

I never thought I'd say this out loud, but here it is, raw and unfiltered, the kind of secret that twists in my gut every time I remember. Growing up, my sister and I crossed lines that no siblings should, and god, it was intoxicating in the most messed-up way. We'd sneak around in the dead of night, our bodies colliding in a haze of heat and desperation, her skin against mine feeling like fire and sin all at once. I'd feel her breath on my neck, her hands exploring places they had no business being, and I'd lose myself in the rush, the forbidden thrill that made my heart race and my thoughts spiral into something dark and primal. It started innocently enough, maybe a touch that lingered too long during a hug, but it escalated fast, turning into full-on encounters that left us both breathless and guilty as hell the next morning. The orgasms were intense, explosive, like nothing I'd experienced before or since, but afterward, the shame would hit like a wave, making me question everything about who I was. I know it's wrong, that it messed with my head in ways I still can't fully unpack, but back then, in those stolen moments, it felt like the only real connection I had. Now, years later, I replay it in my mind, the mix of ecstasy and regret churning inside me, wondering if I'll ever shake this shadow. It's a part of me, flawed and unfixable, and admitting it here is like ripping off a bandage that's been stuck for too long.