10 years. 10 years since high school graduation, and the reunion felt less like a gathering of old friends and more like a carefully staged performance. Jerry, now twenty-eight, sipped a warm soda, watching his high school crush, Jerome, from across the crowded living room.
Jerome, now twenty-eight as well, looked impossibly better than he had at eighteen. The years hadn't softened his features; they had only sharpened them, replacing boyish charm with a confident, defined masculinity, string looks, six foot-one with almond brown skin color and hazle eyes. He was laughing, his arm draped easily around Stacy, beautiful southarn bell type blonde hair, blue eye girl who had always been the sun around which every boy—except Jerry—had orbited.
A painful, familiar throb resonated in Jerry’s chest, a ghost of the obsessive, unrequited love he’d carried like a burden through adolescence. He had spent years trying to erase the memory of Jerome’s easy dismissal:
“You’re my brother, Jer. My best friend.”
Now, Jerry stood beside Jasmine, 5'4, tanned, korean american, chestnut hair woman, his wife. They were linked by his father's, Malcom's law firm connections and the shocking discovery that Jasmine was Jerome's step-sister. It had felt like destiny then, a desperate, flawed way to keep Jerome in his orbit. They had married after college, had their son, Simon, and established a life built on mutual convenience and polite companionship, never passion.
“Isn’t it cute?” Jasmine murmured, nudging his arm. “Simon and Claudia.”
Jerry looked down. Six-year-old Simon, short, half Korean, half Caucasian kid with grey eyes and blonde like his fagher jerry and Asian features like his mother jasmine. Simon, already displaying his father’s serious disposition, was locked in a cold war with five-year-old Claudia, also short, beautiful, mix girl who has mixed features of her parents,Jerome and Stacy. Claudia had light, curly brown hair, light skin girl. Thr eyes like her mother. Blue.
“She keeps touching my dinosaur,” Simon announced with legalistic disapproval.
“Well, he keeps looking at me like I’m a bug!” Claudia retorted, eyes narrowed.
Jerry managed a dry smile. “They’ll be fine. They’re just getting to know each other.”
The afternoon wore on, heavy with polite conversation and the suffocating pressure of a life he’d chosen but didn't love. The sight of Jerome’s easy, happy interaction with Stacy from earlier—a happiness Jerry still secretly felt belonged to him—was a lead weight in his stomach. He needed an escape, and the low-calorie soda wasn't cutting it.
“I need a real drink,” Jerry muttered to himself.
He navigated the crowd, seeking the sanctuary of the kitchen. As he passed the central staircase, he heard it—a rhythmic, faint thudding sound coming from above. It wasn't the bass of music; it was too heavy, too precise, too intimate.
Mind your own business, Jerry. It’s a huge house. People are— his inner voice screamed, but the curiosity, dark and compelling, had already taken root. It was the same curiosity that had driven him to agree to the blind date with Jasmine once he knew she was connected to Jerome. He was drawn to the drama of the forbidden, even if it destroyed him.
He eased himself onto the staircase, the laughter from downstairs becoming muffled, distant. The thudding grew louder, punctuated by low, muffled sighs. He crept down the carpeted hallway until he reached the partially closed door of an unoccupied guest room.
He pushed the door a crack further and his breath hitched, instantly freezing his limbs.
It wasn't a stranger. It was not one of the many cousins or relatives attending the party.
It was Jasmine, his wife, being aggressively taken from behind. And the man pounding into her was Jerome.
A thousand volts of pure, agonizing shock ripped through Jerry. Betrayal? Yes. Profound, shattering humiliation? Absolutely. But beneath the tidal wave of moral revulsion, a strange, sickening knot began to tighten in his groin. He watched his wife, a woman he shared a child with, with a cold detachment, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from the man, Jerome, the center of his teenage universe.
Jerome was slick with sweat, his eyes closed in effort. His voice, usually warm and familiar, was low and guttural.
“Mmh, yeah baby, tell me who’s is it?” Jerome grunted, his hips driving hard.
Jasmine’s head was thrown back, her hair a mess on the pillow. “Oh, fuck baby, it’s yours… it’s yours!”
“Sssh, keep your voice down, princess. You don’t want anyone hearing us having sibling sex.”
The word sibling hit Jerry like a physical blow, a strange, dark key turning in the lock of his repressed desire. They weren't blood, but their parents were married—the transgression was doubled, incestuous in spirit if not in biology. It was wrong, unspeakably wrong, yet the forbidden nature of the act, coupled with the sight of Jerome utterly consumed by animal instinct, sent a terrifying, unwanted jolt of heat through Jerry.
He should have shouted. He should have lunged forward. He should have grabbed Jasmine and dragged her out. But he didn't. He stood, paralyzed, a witness to his own destruction. His eyes were wide with a mix of disgust and a shameful, horrifying pleasure he hadn't felt in years. He felt himself hardening, a purely physical, instinctual reaction that made him hate himself in that moment more than he hated them.
He reached down, his fingers brushing the fabric covering his own erection. He pressed lightly, feeling the sensation, the sheer, wicked adrenaline of the moment fueling a self-loathing arousal. He was watching his life crumble, and he was turned on.
“Mmh, of course, baby,” Jasmine whispered, looking over her shoulder at the ceiling, but her eyes were glassy and unfocused. “I wouldn’t want them to interrupt us while we’re making… this sweet lo—”
She cut off with a sudden, sharp gasp of delight. “Ooh, fuck, baby… uuuugh!”
Jerome’s voice was a low growl. “Yeah, baby, take that gorilla dick. Mmmh fuck, your pussy is so tight for your big brother.”
Jerry was leaning against the door frame now, his knuckles white, fighting the urge to tear his shirt open just to breathe.
Then, from the bottom of the stairs, a sudden, loud burst of laughter and a door slamming shut echoed up the stairwell.
The motion in the room instantly ceased. Jerome snapped his head up, eyes wide and scanning the door. Jasmine twisted, her face still flushed, looking over her shoulder toward the hallway.
Three pairs of eyes—Jerome’s, Jasmine’s, and Jerry’s—locked in a horrifying, silent triangle of shock, shame, and irreversible exposure. They were busted.
For a long moment, time ceased to exist. In the small, half-open doorway, the three of them were suspended: Jerry, the shocked spectator; Jasmine, the exposed wife; and Jerome, the sweat-slicked friend and step-brother. The laughter that had startled them had died down, the unseen person now vanished into the house. Yet, they remained frozen.
The silence was heavier than any shout could have been, thick with the stench of betrayal and the sickly-sweet scent of arousal.
Jerry broke it first. He didn't speak, he didn't scream, and he didn't condemn. He simply turned his back and walked away, his legs stiff. The image of Jerome's face—a mixture of shame and raw sexual exertion—was seared onto his mind.
Jerome’s voice, a low hiss of urgency, followed him.
“Jerry! Wait!”
Jerry heard the frantic shifting behind him, the quick, sickening sound of flesh separating, and the rustle of clothes. Pre-ejaculate residue, thick and shameful, clung to the man and woman who had just shattered his life. But Jerry was already down the stairs and moving toward the glass door leading to the backyard.
Out on the lawn, the party was still in full swing, blissfully oblivious. Laughter, clinking glasses, and the scent of grilled meat filled the air. Jerry looked at the faces, searching for something—Stacy, maybe, or his son, Simon—but all he saw were strangers inhabiting a world he no longer belonged to.
His physical response, the shameful hardening, was gone, replaced by a churning, toxic mix of emotions he couldn't categorize. Anger, yes, absolutely. He was furious at Jasmine, his wife, for the infidelity. He was livid at Jerome for betraying Stacy, his supposed great love. He was disgusted by the incestuous implication, the sibling sex that had momentarily turned him into a voyeuristic pervert.
But beneath all the noise, the true, agonizing wound was this: The man he had loved since he was fifteen, the man who had dismissed him as a brother, had chosen someone else—his own step-sister—to share a forbidden, destructive passion with. He hadn't been chosen for the regular life, and he hadn't been chosen for the secret life either. The realization was sharp, brutal, and humiliating. He felt his eyes watering, not from sadness, but from a rage of unacknowledged, denied love.
“Jerry?”
He heard the concern in Stacy’s voice and quickly wiped the moisture from his eyes. Without a word, he turned, pushed through the crowd, got into his car, and drove.
Stacy watched his abrupt departure, a deep furrow in her brow. Moments later, Jerome and Jasmine appeared in the doorway, both looking winded and far too flushed for people who had only been retrieving drinks. Their sweat-slicked appearances spoke volumes. Stacy felt a cold, dull disappointment settle in her stomach, but she swallowed the realization and kept her mouth shut.
A week passed in strained, miserable silence. Jerry and Jasmine navigated their house like ghosts. Jerry was consumed by his fury, yet he lacked the willpower to initiate the confrontation, fearing the conversation would lead to him revealing his true, sickening jealousy. Jasmine felt awful for the pain she had caused but was annoyed by Jerry’s withering sarcasm.
Surprisingly, it was Jerome who broke the silence. He wasn't focused on Stacy; his relentless texting was directed solely at Jerry, trying to salvage a twenty-year friendship.
Jerry: what?
Jerome: please I need to see you
Jerry: for what? You fucked my wife. Your own sister! I never want to speak to you again
Jerome: are you sure it's just that?
Jerry stared at the screen, his heart hammering against his ribs. Wait, does he know? He frantically scrolled back, replaying the entire awful scene in his head. Had Jerome seen his hand drop to his groin?
Jerry: what do you mean?
Jerome didn't text back. The silence was deafening, filling Jerry with a nervous dread.
Jasmine descended the stairs, dressed for work.
"I’m taking Simon to school," she announced, her tone brittle.
"Good," Jerry replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Wouldn't want you to be late. The firm needs you sharp. Unlike me, who will be here, guarding his house against cheating spouses and incestuous relatives."
Jasmine flinched. "Jerry, I apologized. I feel terrible. But you don't get to treat me like this indefinitely." She walked out, Simon clutching her hand, oblivious.
Left alone, Jerry’s mind spiraled. He was divorcing her, of course. Full custody. But the thought struck him with the force of a blow: Simon. Could Simon possibly be Jerome’s son? The idea was maddening, fueling his rage until the doorbell rang.
It was Jerome.
Jerry yanked the door open, intending to slam it in his face, but Jerome was quicker and, thanks to his relentless gym routine, physically superior. He wedged his athletic body into the gap, forcing the door open and stepping inside.
“Just let me explain what you saw last week,” Jerome said, closing the door firmly behind him.
Jerry immediately turned his back. “You’ve got some nerve coming to my house, trying to force me to hear your explanation! Which I do not want to hear!” Jerry shouted, walking away.
Jerome followed him, maintaining a deliberate proximity.
“Jerry, please understand that once we met each other, we just had a connection. I liked her a lot, and she and I became each other’s first and—”
“Spare me the details, alright?” Jerry spun around, his voice raw. “I don’t want to hear it! Bottom line: you fucked my wife. I don’t even think our relationship—our friendship—can be ever repaired because of you two!”
Jerry started to walk away again, then stopped and turned back, his face contorted.
“Actually, I will say this. Why? Why hurt the woman you claimed you love so much in high school? Why would you do that and not consider—” He cut himself off, the true, desperate question dying in his throat.
Jerome, now inches away, noticed the sudden halt.
His expression shifted from apologetic to perceptive, almost predatory. "Consider what, Jer?" he asked, his voice low and intimate.
Jerry recoiled, moving back. “No. Stay away from me.”
“You’re asking why did I cheat on my wife for my sister? Is it out of curiosity for hurting Stacy, or… something else?” Jerome’s eyes bored into him, cold and knowing.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Jerry replied, stumbling backward until his back hit the frame of the bedroom door.
Jerome took another step, trapping him. “I think you do, Jer.” Jerome’s hand rested flat on the door, caging Jerry in. “I think last week you were hurt, yes. But not because I fucked your wife. I think you were hurt by the fact that I fucked someone else that wasn't you.”
Jerry gasped, his face burning, the truth of it shattering his composure. He was aroused again, his body betraying his righteous anger. He pushed against Jerome’s chest, but his strength failed him.
“No! Stop it!” Jerry demanded, but the sound was weak.
Jerome leaned in, his voice a warm, rough whisper in Jerry’s ear. “I could simply give it to you. All you have to do is ask.”
Jerry squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to fight the temptation. But Jerome’s hard, athletic body was hovering over his, and his own member was painfully hardening against his trousers.
“Ooh… someone is getting excited,” Jerome whispered, a cruel smirk forming. His erection, already prominent, gently rubbed and ground against Jerry, creating a friction that drew a tortured, lustful moan from Jerry’s lips.
“Come on, baby… let me suck your cock.”
