He sits gazing at his image in the mirror. The becalmed surface of the mirror conceals ineffectually the ripples of foreboding and desire that gnaw him from within. I am familiar with this pattern right from childhood. I have learnt to leave undisturbed his solipsistic communion. Rather,it has become, for us now, in retrospect, a familiar yarn. I doubt, though, whether what he saw were depths. Undoubtedly they were extensions of self regard, extending and perpetuating endlessly, in a closed circle.
I remember our first kiss. I went blank and benumbed. I felt desire coursing through me, liquiefying me, attenuating my composite self into diffuse shards of alternating warmth and desire. My voracity predominated over my rationality. It was almost as though my body became a potent, tangible reality with a volition of its own. Simultaneously though i was repulsed too. All these alterations of consciousness coexisted while our uninterrupted kiss continued. I drew the line at sex. It seemed too precipitate, too contraband. Besides i was mindful of the consequences.
We had many moments of commingling for some time. Once the initial spark was conflagarated continuance seemed ineluctable. He was always furtive and sheepish. He expended himself with alacrity and surreptitiously left. While i, i held, despite the frantic nature of our coupling, the semblance of warmth that carried me through. I never felt i was doing anything wrong. Since then, i have come to regard the forbidden as a repression that must be carefully considered and rationalized. While i had sex with him i was aware of the taboo but disallowed it from assuming paramount significance. I was young, consumed with desire, we were harming no one and i was being sufficiently precautionary. As long as we kept to ourselves this was our reality, our inner moment of intersection. The outside world needn't be implicated. Its intervention, in the oasis of our self containment, was irrelevant.
When i speak to my analyst now, about my past the word 'sibling incest' crops up frequently. My analyst claims to be unsurprised but i can see her puritanical nature furrowing in striations of disapprobation. She wants to disinter my past, get to the kernel that culminated in our sexual activity. She is full of pat theories of repression, oedipus complex and castration anxiety. He is older to me by two years. She inveigles a regression that is retrogressive because its findings are fruitless and do not yield the answers she seeks or rather tries to fit into a predetermined narrative. Her explanations are incompensatory because they are shaped around theories that are but a simulacrum of lived experience.
And frankly i'm done with the phase of my life. While it lasted it had moments of beauty. It was an initiation that shaped my subsequent relationships that would heretofore follow. I never felt any sense of guilt neither did the nature of the taboo redouble its irrepressible irresistibility. I had an impulse which he had too. We commingled. That's really all there is to it.