Chapter 6 - 🌶️ Desires Entangled
A week later…
It’s late at night, but I’m still chatting with Emmy. Tonight, there’s a shift in the air—subtle, but undeniable. Our conversation starts out as usual, light and casual, but soon, we start drifting into more personal topics.
- Emmy (message): “Sometimes, I feel like nobody really understands me. It’s like I’m constantly playing a part.”
- Me (message): “Do you feel lonely?”
- Emmy (message): “Yes… and no. I have people around me, but I always keep a part of myself hidden. It’s exhausting sometimes.”
I can tell she’s more open tonight, more vulnerable. It’s as if the barrier she usually keeps between us is starting to crack. But part of me wonders if it’s real—or just another act.
Curious about where this might go, I decide to follow her lead.
- Me (message): “I get it. I also find myself wearing masks, hiding parts of who I really am.”
- Emmy (message): “Exactly. Sometimes, I just want to be myself without worrying about what others think.”
The conversation deepens, and Emmy opens up even more. She talks about her dreams, her aspirations, but also her fears and frustrations. I’m discovering a different side of her, a young woman carrying a heavier burden than she lets on. But somewhere in the back of my mind, a question lingers: does she do this with all her subscribers? Is it a way to create an illusion of intimacy, a means to keep me engaged, or is there something different about what she feels for me?
As we talk, I sense that Emmy is growing closer to me. She doesn’t say it outright, but it’s there in her words, in the way she reveals herself. She tells me about her life on ForFansOnly, about the interactions she has with other subscribers.
- Emmy (message): “With you, it’s different. I’m not just doing this for the money. I really enjoy our conversations. You make me feel… like myself.”
- Me (message): “It’s mutual. I didn’t expect to find someone like you here.”
Her words get under my skin, but doubt lingers. Am I really different in her eyes, or does she say this to anyone who shows her a bit more interest? I can’t help but wonder if she’s as genuine as she seems, or if it’s just a well-practiced strategy.
A few days later, while we’re at the dinner table, Emma starts asking questions about hockey, which is unusual for her.
- Emma: “Brice, I’ve always wondered… How does hockey actually work? I mean, what are the main rules?”
I raise an eyebrow, surprised by her question. Emma usually doesn’t take much interest in what I’m doing on the ice.
Me: “It’s pretty straightforward, really. The goal is to score points by getting the puck into the other team’s net. There are five players on the ice per team, plus the goalie. Basic rules are kind of like soccer, just…on skates.”
Emma: “But it looks so fast-paced, right? How do you keep track of everything without losing focus?”
Her tone is light, almost casual, but this sudden curiosity catches me off guard. Why the sudden interest in hockey when she’s never cared about it before? I can’t help but think back to my conversations with Emmy.
Me: “Yeah, it’s fast. But when you’re on the ice, it’s all instinct. You just know where your teammates will be, where the puck’s headed.”
Emma: “Sounds intense… and complicated. So, are there a lot of people playing around here?”
Me: “We live in a big city—of course, there are tons of players around here. Why the sudden interest?”
Emma shrugs.
Emma: “Just curious.”
I smile, but a hint of unease lingers. Her sudden interest feels odd, but I decide not to push it.
That same evening, as I’m relaxing in my room with the house steeped in nighttime quiet, a notification from ForFansOnly suddenly lights up my screen. Heart pounding, I open the app to find a new post from Emmy. Eagerly, I tap to open it, and my eyes land on her, dressed in a tiny pair of shorts that leaves little to the imagination.
The tight fabric hugs her curves perfectly, each detail highlighted by the soft light in the photo. This kind of outfit demands attention—especially mine. A wave of warmth builds inside me, my fingers gliding instinctively over the screen, then onto my own body, almost unconsciously. Time seems to stop as I stare at the image, completely mesmerized by the sensuality she exudes.
Minutes slip by unnoticed, my mind fully surrendering to these thoughts, these images that continue to burn into my mind. An hour passes, maybe more, as I lose myself in silent contemplation, gripped by a tension that refuses to fade. Fatigue starts to weigh on me, but the intensity of my thoughts doesn’t weaken.
I’m not used to staying up this late, and hunger finally pushes me to leave my room and head downstairs to the kitchen. The house is quiet, steeped in darkness, with only a faint glow from the moon filtering through the windows.
As I approach the kitchen, an unexpected sight stops me in my tracks. Emma is there, standing by the fridge, rummaging for a late-night snack. My eyes are immediately drawn to her outfit: she’s wearing the exact same type of shorts that Emmy wore in her photo.
The shock is instant, my mind scrambling to reconcile the image of Emmy with that of my own sister, standing here in the same kind of outfit.
I stand frozen, unable to look away. Hidden in the kitchen’s shadows, I watch her without being noticed. My gaze drifts over her body, tracing each curve, each subtle movement. The shorts cling to her hips, accentuating her figure in a way that’s… unsettling. A familiar heat stirs within me, and, despite myself, my thoughts wander into forbidden territory. It’s as if the line between Emmy and Emma begins to blur, leaving me grappling with a desire I can’t quite contain.
Emma, still focused on rummaging through the fridge, doesn’t immediately notice me standing there. My thoughts grow more intense, almost obsessive. The very idea of what I’m doing—how I’m watching her—fills me with shame, yet I can’t seem to look away. My mind is flooded with images I shouldn’t have, thoughts I shouldn’t entertain.
Then, suddenly, she stops, as if sensing something. She turns slowly, her eyes meeting mine in a moment heavy with silence and discomfort. She can clearly see that I’m looking at her in a way I shouldn’t be.
- Emma: “Uh… Brice, what are you doing?”
Her voice, gentle yet questioning, snaps me abruptly out of my trance. I blink, trying to regain my composure, searching for an excuse.
- Me: “Uh… sorry, I… I’m just tired. I couldn’t sleep, so I came down for a snack.”
She looks at me with a hint of confusion in her eyes but says nothing more. She turns slightly, seeming to accept my excuse, yet I can tell she knows exactly what was going through my mind.
- Emma: “Hmm… Okay… you’re acting kinda weird, though.”
Emma bends down to grab something from a lower cabinet, her body arching in a way that accentuates her curves almost hypnotically. My gaze lingers, against my better judgment, tracing the outline of her hips. A fleeting thought crosses my mind, an almost instinctual urge to reach out and touch, just to feel that tempting curve.
But immediately, a wave of shame crashes over me. What am I even doing? How could I let a thought like that cross my mind? This is my little sister, and the mere idea of wanting to touch her makes me feel profoundly wrong. My heart pounds heavily in my chest, a mix of forbidden desire and overwhelming guilt. I want to look away, to push these shameful thoughts from my mind, but they cling to me, refusing to fade. Each passing second deepens my guilt, leaving me struggling desperately to regain control over my own thoughts.
Stop, it’s Emma! I tell myself internally, forcing my gaze away, almost panicking, and heading to the fridge to grab something—anything—to escape these thoughts.
- Me: “Do you… want anything from the fridge?”
My voice trembles slightly as I open the fridge door, trying to appear relaxed.
- Emma: “No, thanks, I have everything I need.”
She closes the cabinet gently, leaving me alone in front of the fridge, its cold air a stark contrast to the heat still burning inside me. I grab a yogurt, just to have something in my hands and seem normal.
- Me: “Well… I’m heading back up. Good night, Emma.”
She gives me one last look, devoid of any particular emotion, before replying.
- Emma: “Good night.”
I leave the kitchen quickly, yogurt in hand, but my thoughts are still tangled in what just happened. I know I shouldn’t think about her like this, that it’s entirely inappropriate, but these images won’t leave my mind. As I climb the stairs, I suddenly realize I have an erection.
A cold jolt runs through me, panic surging in its wake. What if Emma noticed? The thought chills me to the bone, and a wave of shame crashes over me. I feel like I’m losing my grip, unable to understand how I got here or how to regain control.