Damaged love

I remember the first time I looked apon my sister and brother in the act. No they where not having intercoars, no it was just 'innocent playing' as she would call it.
"Jake please don't tell, . . . please!", she said to me as I stood at the top of the stairs to the living room.
My mind was angry, my body was still hot with the image of my brothers face buried in her legs; the flash of a nipple. .

Soon my face was flush with heat again, and with it my thoughts began to shift into a darker part of the human mind, a part I had not known until that day had existed inside of me.
There on the top of those steps I said to my sister words that I regret to this day. "don't you ever do anything like that with my little brother again, and I won't tell if you let me see your boobs."

Fast-Forward six weeks and me and my sister where no different than any other couple we saw in public. We kissed, we held hands, we joked and flirted with one another; It was A lie we told one another.

If someone saw us in public holding hands we would just pretend it was platonic and everyone would say it was cute how close me and my sister where. Fake smiles hid the truth.

We would kiss and makeout and fondle and grope but always behind a tree, or in a abandoned house, or even in my dads car.
A few close calls and a few quick retreats just made things even more fun.

One night me and my sister had decided to let my little brother in on the action, my parts were too big and there would be no easy way to explain the blood anyways, but my little brother on the other hand . . .
I sat there masterbating to my little brother and my sister going at it. Pretty soon I was hot and ready, my sister was too; logic be damned. we spoke no words and asked my little brother to go away; that he could watch but not speak.

So as I stood there on my knees with my sisters legs wrapped around me, I carefully tried to enter her body, it was slow going, both of us were so focused on each other that we did not notice as our little brother left the room.
A few moments later my mother came barging in.

That night a part of me died inside, a part of me I wish I could get back. Though thinking back it died the day I chose to behold my sisters form rather than go to my mother.
So far gone is it that our family pretends it never happened.
The words my mother spoke, the look on her face, so far forgotten and put away that I can not recall them even as I write.

But always I remember how I loved my sister, how she loved me, and how disgusted I am with myself that I can't let it go. I can never love my sister as just a sister ever again. My brother was so young he recovered from it easily.
Me though . . . sometimes I wish I had been born to another family, if just to hear my sisters laugh at something I said again, to see her smile. No . . she will never smile at me, and I never at her, it hurts too much, uncomfortable feelings brought to the surface . . . painful forgotten, if only all was.