My cousin had come to visit the city, and we welcomed him at my mother’s house. The evening went like any normal family gathering: laughter, stories, and constantly refilled glasses. Everything seemed ordinary, but certain glances and subtle gestures made me feel uneasy; there was a persistence in the way he approached, a touch here and there, a closeness I couldn’t ignore.

At one point, we were left alone, and his words began to take on a more suggestive tone, hinting at desires I hadn’t invited. I laughed nervously, trying to keep my distance, feeling cornered and unsure how to react. Each comment heightened my tension, a sense of discomfort running under my skin.

Then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed me. A long, wet kiss full of intention that completely surprised me. Guilt and confusion hit me immediately—I wasn’t sure if I wanted it, but my body responded anyway. Between nervous laughter, teasing remarks, and the haze of alcohol, the line between right and forbidden blurred, and a dangerous heat began to rise inside me.

We went upstairs, intending only to sleep, but he didn’t stop. His hands began to explore my body, touching me forcefully and pushing past my resistance. I struggled between fear and a reluctant arousal, feeling my body react despite my mind telling me no. He penetrated me, and every movement made my heart pound with a mix of terror, shame, and a twisted pleasure I hadn’t wanted. When he asked me to perform oral sex, I reached my limit and pulled away, finally stopping him. All the while, my brother was sleeping in the next room, probably hearing something of what was happening.

After that night, my relationship with my cousin was never the same. I could never trust him again, and he never looked at me as just his cousin; something had broken between us forever, leaving a memory of that forbidden night that marked our relationship for good.