I had nightmares about having to stare at his cock. Nightmares about when he rubbed my spit and his cum all over my face. When I had to lick his hairy...balls. And just the thought that he's got it all on camera, made me sick to my stomach. I was praying, hoping that that's all he wanted me to do, that maybe I would just have to buy him shit if he asked or something. I didn't see him for a week, I gave up going to the frat meet ups, I didn't want to be a part of it any more. I was trying to cheer. We were half brother and sister. How could this be? How could this possibly happen? When we were eighteen years old we demanded to know the truth from our parents. My Mama told me that Charles’s father, Emmet Tate, had been a few years older than she and seduced by his charm and good looks and wealth. And they both swore never to let the truth be told to me and Paul for they didn’t think we’d become childhood sweethearts instead of just being friends. When Charles and I met up at the bench. More

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