The fact that i was a young girl was inescapable to me. As also was the fact that he was a boy. In retrospect, this gender binary, which, by the way, i found completely arbitrary played out in our relationship. I was disallowed many of the things he was. I felt envy about his realm of experience not because i found it irresistibly attractive but because i could not share in it. And i was voracious in my desire to access spaces in life i never could by dint of my femininity and experience. I have no doubt that he was so enraptured by what he saw in his world that he deemed it irrelevant to get a glimpse into mine. His sense of worldview seemed indubitably true to him.
Which is why i recall that night with perfect horror. Though horror, incidentally, was only a part of what i felt. That night he came and fucked me.His ministrations were tender though it was a tenderness prompted out of a desire to realize his unconscious fantasies than out of consideration for me. He had worked out the mechanism beforehand, the accoutrements of pleasure seeking and i was but a conduit, a facilitator to that. That my subjectivity was notional, incontrovertibly allied to my archetypal femininity than me, was no doubt the precipitating factor. But i , his sister entombed this femininity in a specific relationship to himself which redoubled the contraband nature of our intersection.
All these retroactive insights couldn't obviate the fact that i felt a tantalizing thrill. The contraband taboo that intensified his desire conflagarated mine too . I hadn't thought through the implications of what this meant . Though, in his aegis, i was but a conduit i felt desire even as a conduit, perhaps even because i was a conduit. I effaced myself, absolved myself of all culpability. And culpability implies the same moral register whose arbitrariness i alluded to earlier. And i have always felt equivocal about any moral certainties.
Ultimately though it was not the incest which proved rancorous but the inevitability of my deracination. His unmindfulness about the consequences of his visitations of flesh on me, his unawareness that it might ramify for me is unpredictable ways upset me . Was he so consumed by the vision of his own desire? Or was it that, me, as a female, was expendable. There was no cruelty in his demeanour towards me and if anything he was always solicitous. So imputations of brutality would be incorrect. But the indifference , the convenience in his overlooking that i was not only his sister but a female, irked me the most.
Perhaps my femininity and consaguinary bond blended into appendages for him. Right from childhood he'd never acknowledge me a separate existence from himself. I was 'his sister', as though i was begotten by him. I felt this primal relationship keenly and often struck out in futile attempts to reassert my own singularity.
I have managed somehow better now than then. Time has separated us in many ways. When we meet at our parents he often entreats me for a coupling where i never felt myself but which was so constitutive of my young adulthood. Even now it is not moral considerations that move me. I fear, more than anything, a plunge into that primordial vortex . I know what i'm capable of and this time around, were i to succumb, there'd be no turning back.