Julius Incestus

I got home with my shirt plastered to my chest, that post-game sweat mixing with the grime and August air until it felt like my pores were leaking cement. I dragged my feet through the front door and could already hear Mom on her phone in the kitchen, barking out some work thing. I considered trying to slink past, but I never got that lucky. The minute my sneaker touched the ...

There’s a trick you learn after twenty-two years of being raised by a goddess: never let your mother catch you staring at her ass, and never, ever let her know you’re hard because of it. The urge to break both rules was pretty much my entire adolescence. Some nights, after the gym or after she’d pose in her Calvin Klein bralette to answer a Zoom call, I’d jerk off twice just ...

I’d been obsessed with my sister since the day she got boobs. That sounds wrong, but there it is, out loud, the thing that lived in the back of my skull since age thirteen: my big sister Mia was gorgeous, wild and way out of my league even if I wasn’t related.

She had high cheekbones, full, naturally pouty lips, and those warm hazel eyes that always seemed to sparkl...

At nineteen, I was home from college, living with my mother. I sat on the couch when I heard her, keys rattling, a muttered curse, the thunk of her gym bag against the mudroom bench. I put my phone down and headed to the hallway just as she came limping in, one arm hanging useless and her face stuck between pain and embarrassment.

“Mom?” I said. “What happened?”