The coronavirus is everywhere. The non-stop media coverage, the hysteria, like it could be Armageddon.

The end of days, end of the world. Coronapocalypse!

And all I can think is that I’m too young to die! I can’t die, at least not yet, I don’t want to die without ever having sex!

That’s right. I’m a virgin.

Not that I don’t want it, or that I’m a Tim Tebow religious type of douchebag, or that I haven’t tried, but, sadly, I’ve yet to do - “IT.”

I’m a virgin, a fucking incel.

And with the virus wreaking havoc, maybe I won’t even have the chance!

At 18, too, yeah, it’s embarrassing. There’s no one I can confide in, either. I can’t tell any of my friends because they’d totally rake me over the coals. I don’t even wanna think of how savagely they’d roast me if they knew...

My friends are assholes, as would be expected of them, being jocks, guys on the college football team, D-1. My teammates, bros are all banging cheerleaders, but, for me, as the kicker, even though I won 4 games last season with my foot, and kicked us into a national ranking, and televised bowl game, it’s always the quarterback, receivers, linebackers getting the girly action.

With the ladies, like in football, I’m mostly on the sidelines watching. Sitting on the bench.

While I’ve had some success on the field, with the females, my moment of glory has yet to arrive. And now, with the Four Horsemen riding in, with shit about to go all Walking Dead, I might die in incel ignominy.

Not that I never touched a girl, though. I’ve made out a few times. Swapped spit and got my hands up a few shirts.

Not that long-ago I finger-banged a fire-hot, petite, high-cheek boned, chocolate eyed, super-sexy Filipina chick from my college algebra class.

Driving her home from the library, we took a naughty detour to the far end of the campus and climbed into the comfy leather backseat of my Suburban.

Behind the privacy of darkly tinted windows, we melted into the butterscotch colored interior and were instantly locking lips, and next thing I knew, I had her yoga pants down, and my camo shorts fell too, my rock-hard dick popping out, my erect cock drooling pre-cum as her small brown hand was lightly stroking and tickling my wet mushroom tip.

I’d hooked my hands to the waistband of her underwear, was ready to peel off her tiger-print panties and stab into her sweet pussy’s sugar walls, but then her phone rang, and I had to rush her home.

Being a “good” Catholic girl, she felt guilty about it and objurgated me. Wouldn’t go out with me again, saying that I’m possessed by the devil, which, for real, maybe is true...

You see, something’s been in me, overtaking me, ever since me and my folks moved into the mansion my parents bought at a hefty discount, because of it being allegedly haunted...

Some background perhaps is in order...

The mansion, a massive structure, built from beige quartzite stone, was designed to look like a castle and has a conical front-facing turret, three chimneys, and a Roman-style spouting fountain in the front-facing roundabout.

Inside the mansion is all marble flooring, and intricate, lush wood paneling walling, and super-high, vaulted ceilings, floor to ceiling windows in nearly every room.

Built on massive stone foundations, at the peak of a mountain, it eats up a sizable chunk of sky, and towers mightily, dwarfing the glittering glass spiral towers, square clumps of rowhouses, McMansions and suburban sprawl of the city below.

The massive, medieval style manor had been abandoned for years. The owner, who’d built it, was a CEO of a pizza franchise, and had embezzled a ton of cash from his company.

He’d also been having an affair with his oldest daughter, a busty college girl, a goth, Suicide Girl cam-chick, an online model, who’d attended my college, actually.

Once the CEO was facing legal charges, and was ousted from his company, he and his daughter, ironically, committed suicide together, swallowing a big bottle of Oxycontin; the two taboo lovers found nude and motionless together in the master bedroom, by his wife, the girl’s mother.

(Unsurprisingly, the Suicide Girl’s social media, tribute pages skyrocketed in popularity afterwards, and she’d become a viral sensation. And yes, I did view and jerk off to her pics... )

In addition, it came to light that the grounds the mansion was built on used to house gallows, where a series of witches were hung back in colonial times...

The house, and grounds, with their infamy, was understandably difficult to sell, and sat empty for nearly a decade, until my father, upon having success of his own in the corporate world, decided to buy and renovate it.

Not that I believe much in ghosts, but there’s a strange energy in the house and its multi-acre grounds. Before it was renovated, it’d been a morbid tourist attraction, and in the woods nearby, there’d been a series of suicides. The fucking place like our city’s answer to the forest by Mount Fuji...

After buying the property, we tore out the spot where the old master bedroom was, remodeled it and transformed it into an outdoor garden featuring a bevy of exotic flowers and plants. Despite the effort, though, it still has this eerie vibe to it, that garden, and even in the summer, even when it’s boiling hot outside, the garden always has a prickly cold touch to it...

And the house, too, has its energy and movements. There’re strange sounds in the house, knocks and footsteps, lights flickering, shutting on and off without reason.

I swear I saw the girl, the Suicide Girl, several times at night. She appeared in hazy mist, an ambrosial waft swirling in the evening air, as the maiden, walking nude, aimlessly, lapped around the winding hallways, with her lips pursed, black rose tattoos carved into her washboard midriff, blood red dragon tats running up her thighs; her perky bell-shaped tits glowing like orbs; silvery glints bouncing in sparks from her facial piercings; her phantom figure so translucent that her pallid skin was whiter than smoke...

The ghostly vision had both aroused and repelled me ... Terrifyingly hot, she was a GILF. Ghost I’d Like to Fuck! Being a horny 18 y/o virgin, especially facing the end of days, the plague and that, I’d have wrecked that witchy spirit ass, fucked the shit out of that supernatural pussy...

I told my father, not about fucking the ghost, but seeing it, and Pops, ever the skeptic, refused to believe it, refused to bow to superstition, and was apathetic anyway, him being basically an absentee landlord, his job having him gone on business most of the year.

Mother was often traveling, too, for pleasure, and waved my visions off with a swatting gesture, not wanting to pay any attention to such “hogwash.”

(Much like she’d said of the coronavirus at its outset, that it was a hoax, before later labeling it a “gift” from God to thin out the population... )

But, similar to the virus showing its teeth, the house has its etiology as well; there’s definitely something to it, in its genesis, its effect, because everyone, my mom, dad, me and sister, has changed since moving in...

My father has gotten older, grayer, aging at a rapid rate, and he’s grown colder, more distant, often staring off into the distance when not on his tablet, dealing with business-related matters, stock price charts or pie graphs.

Mother has gotten more depressed, and got FAR larger, like Lizzo size, eating like a farm animal and drinking like a fish, damn near a bottle of pricey red wine per day.

(I’ve begun to suspect my father of having an affair; his interest in my cow of a mother understandably waning, and I’ve noticed him leering more and more at my smoking hot sister... )

For me, I’ve become more focused on football and am kicking the fuck out of the pigskin, have never kicked better, am kicking like a Kung Fu master, and after only my freshman campaign, there’s been talk of NFL scouts looking at me, that I could one day be a late-round draft pick.

But despite my promising career prospects, when I’m not thinking football, my thoughts have gotten sinister, wildly more sexual. Particularly towards my sister...

My sister, oh, my sister. The debutante, herself involved in college sports, gymnastics, as well as dance, ballet, which explains her flawless hourglass form, her goddess body of perfect, chiseled proportions.

Not that I see her much, though, because, until recently, she’s rarely been home, and has grown up in boarding schools, specialized talent summer camps. But when I have seen her, ever since I recall, she’s been a stuck-up bitch, a fucking cunt, looking down on me, sticking up her nose, acting like her perfectly spherical, wiggly round ass doesn’t fucking stink.

The bitch.

I’ve always wanted to fuck her, sure, but after moving into the house, my thoughts have turned to hate-fucking her, surprise fucking her, creeping up behind her, hard dick poking out of my pants, my dick like a spear, me pinning her to a wall, taking her from behind, ninja-fucking the bitch, putting the cunt in a full nelson and twisting her like a pretzel as I ream balls-deep into her stink monkey...

I’d never had such explicit thoughts, prismatic hate-fuck visions, until moving into the house, and when the thoughts fog in, a different voice speaks to me, a voice with an angrier, harsher timbre. It’s a buzzsaw of a voice, giving me ideas I don’t want to have, but that I can’t gray out; the visions of violently hate-fucking my cunt of a sister, the visions consuming me and stiffening my cock, forcing me to masturbate to soften the edge.

(Here and there, at a demon’s prodding, I’ve been sneaking into her room, stealing and sniffing at her panties, and running them over my dick, using them to whack off, while staring and sneering at her vanity pictures adorning the walls. There I’ll stand, in her room, drinking in the scent of bitch, that bitch scent, scent of nail polish, beauty products and young fresh cunt floating in the room’s air, and I’ll jerk off, imagine primate-fucking my sister raw... )

My sister ... the bombshell blond, she’s changed too. Become more withdrawn. When home, she’s started dressing in more revealing attire- hotter hot pants, fishnet stockings and plunging décolletage half-shirts and in styles darkly sexy, slightly more “goth” as opposed to her prior, basic bitch preppy sorority girl chic, and she’s gotten into listening to synthpop, Mr. Kitty and The Birthday Massacre, and vintage metal, early AC/DC, Metallica and Slayer instead of much of the Justin Bieber shit she’d been into previously.

She’ll wear a lot of rock band shirts, too, and paints her nails opal shades, and cakes on loads of smudgy black lipstick. heavy rouge on her rosy cheeks. I’ve noticed that she’ll sneak out of the house a lot too, slip into this red Bugatti Veyron that revs, zooms and roars off into the black of night.

I can only imagine what she’s been doing. Probably something involving dick. Sex. Partying. Thinking of her out banging dudes only makes me want to fuck her more...

二

As for my sex life, there’s not much to discuss, after the Catholic girl, that rough experience; after that, I’ve not dated much, aside from a brief encounter with a drunk chick at a frat party; the last party I went to before the virus outbreak...

This crazy chick, a short, olive skin, early 20 something honey with hefty melon-tits, damn near DD-cups, and shoulder length purple hair, and hot pants cut so high they exposed the edge of her white cotton panties; this nutty chick, like a ninja, stealthily snuck up behind me, pulled and twirled me around by the shirt collar, and chastised me, her voice slurry, screaming, “Chad, whurh’ve you FUCKING been!?”

To that my eyes bulged, and I replied that I “wasn’t Chad.”

“You’re fucking Chad, you asshole!” she shouted. “STOP lying!” she implored, grappling me, taking two fistfuls of my cinnamon colored polo shirt into her claws and shoving me backwards, into an open closet.

After we entered, and I nearly stumbled over a bucket and some cleaning supplies, she propped me up against the wall, and a couple bros, walking by and laughing at my predicament, pointed at me, and one of them stuck out and wagged his tongue and slammed shut the door to the closet.

It was dark, but enough light trickled in from the door’s rectangle edges that I could make out the crazy chick dropping to her knees.

The thumping bassline from “HUMBLE” came on, and I heard the dance floor erupt in howls; the rhythms of the bass and hard beat vibrating through me as the purple chick then unbuckled my pants, unbuttoned the waistband, unzipped the fly, twisted my pants down to my feet. My boxers followed the same trajectory, layering the pile, becoming ankle bracelets.

The purple hair chick affixed her hands to my bare, rippling thighs, bowed her head forward and began aggressively tonguing my balls, licking and then lightly sucking on them.

The sensation was amazing. Next thing I knew, between slurps, she muttered, “Chad, you piece of shit,” and then gulped my now throbbing hot and heavy prick directly into her hot/cold mouth, bobbing her head back and forth on it, vacuuming and deep-throating it.

Her lips were puffy, Angelina Jolie big, and the sensation of them gliding on my cock was incredible. It was the first time I’d had a blowjob. Being introduced to oral by a pro like this was quite the welcome.

She quickened, sucking faster and harder, almost too hard, and a mixture of pleasure and pain caused me to squirm, wince and tap her on the head, tapping out like my cock was in an MMA submission hold.

Taking the cue, she eased up, let my dick out of her mouth, held it in her hands and began jerking it, with both hands, like she was milking a cow, and she stuck out her tongue, shook her head from side to side, wagging and twirling her tongue wildly, licking at my glans, driving me wild, making my toes curl and clench. Then she inhaled the entirety of my cock once again, drinking it in, splendidly, the slut’s playful tongue, buttery lips and swirling saliva enveloping me, from my dick to the length of my spine, in decadent bliss, and I succumbed.

I grasped her temples tightly and blasted a money shot deep into her throat.

Not skipping a beat, or drop of my load, she swallowed enthusiastically. Every last gooey fucking bit.

She continued sucking after I’d finished, for another 20 seconds or so, and then unloosed my semi-hard dick, clutched it and polished off the tip, sponging up any trace of the post-cum.

A true cum slut!

Then she wiped her mouth with her right forearm, stood up, poked me in the chest, playfully, and said, “Look, dude, I know you’re not Chad. He’s my boyfriend. I spotted him getting a blowjob from some pigtailed Harley Quinn wannabe-bitch. This was revenge. Don’t take it personally.”

I was happy to help, and, still out of breath, panting, from the amazing oral work she’d done, I muttered, “Uh, okay, no problem. Happy to help anytime...”

“If you see Chad, don’t tell him, though. Or I WILL NEVER talk to you again!” she warned me, poking my chest again, this time much harder.

Finding her way out of the closet, she opened the door and wafts of vape smoke and grayish light from the party poured in and Purple Hair blew a kiss sarcastically at me and waved goodbye...

三

Other than that, um, unique experience, though, I’ve been striking out with the ladies. No chicks wanting to bang the kicker.

I’ve given Tinder a whirl but am getting nowhere fast, so I’ve been jerking off like mad, usually to the thought of hate-fucking my sister or flashing back to the icy hot BJ I got that night, in that dark closet, the party-house shaking, my bones rattling to the bump of the bass as the random crazy slut sucked me into another dimension.

Oh fuck, the tenderness of her hair, its fluffy softness, as I crawled my fingers through her silky purple curls, her magical tongue flittering and flicking...

I get hard practically anytime I think of that crazy purple chick ... Her brain like a scholar...

Occasionally I’ll imagine that mouth being my sister’s, thinking of the curvature of my sister’s full lips, their geometrical shape and how they’d glide over my dick, engulf it. My sexy sister’s perfectly symmetrical face, drinking in my thick, stiff cock.

I’ll think of me hiding in the pantry, jumping out and ambushing her in the kitchen; me grabbing a clump of her hair, jumping up on the counter and mouth-fucking her, her flashbulb eyes darting around, on the look out for our parents, worried they might catch us...

That’s a favorite fantasy of mine, taking her mouth. Of course I’ve dreamed of her golden pussy too, but never thought I’d get into it.

However, with the apocalypse arriving, anything could happen...

I’ve been back home for the last week because college closed due to the virus spreading in my area, and there isn’t much going on other than isolated small group, distanced football practice.

Everywhere classes, events, parties are canceled; the city’s a ghost town, hardly any traffic at night when I drive back to the house from practice.

Despite the creepiness of being in a cursed dwelling during a plague outbreak, the house is fucking colossally big and luxurious, which makes it a pretty beast spot for a quarantine.

And it’s gotten even nicer since a few days ago, when my older sister came home, her school as well being canceled.

My sister, Sandy, the cunt with the sweet ass, recently celebrated her 21st birthday alone in her sorority house bedroom before it got closed, posting pissed off pics about it on her Instagram, fishing for sympathy ... Boo-fucking-hoo, bitch...

Although, like I said, I generally detest her, truth is that I don’t know her too well; we’d never been close growing up, because of my parents shipping her off to a series of elite boarding schools since kindergarten.

But I have certainly spent enough time with her for me to label her a snobby bitch. That I can confirm beyond a doubt.

I’d always resented her. How she’d been preened. How she walked in elongated steps and strides.

Though, as I experienced puberty, the way I viewed her, my perspective, my gaze, shifted drastically into a different manifestation of hate...

I started to notice how hot she is. How fine and tight her body is, its curves, peaks and shapes.

Sandy’s basically perfect-looking. Flawless.

She’s tall, with creamy, ivory white skin. And she’s thin, but athletic. Nothing could be prettier than her face, especially the arches and contours of her heavenly high cheekbones. Fuck, she has a beautiful, round face and these huge sparkly bright blue eyes. Her facial structure could be studied by plastic surgeons, beauticians. Her hair is most radiant, too, lush and curly platinum blond medium length, styled immaculately with sexy face framing fringe.

Her shapely legs go on for miles and her figure is curvy yet firm, with her tight, toned tummy and perfectly perky C-cup sized teardrop tits. From behind as well she’s aesthetically pleasing, as sports, dance, and exercise have bestowed upon her a gloriously voluptuous, well-rounded rear that stands magnificently high and is terrifically taut.

Something about her look reminds me of Marilyn Monroe. My sister is slightly taller and thinner, but there is, for sure, an uncanny resemblance...

Simply put, my sister is a FOX. A fucking harridan in training, a superbitch, but a fox.

Ever since I began to beat off, she’s prominently featured in my fantasies. Fantasies that’ve only intensified...

Besides my recent mental visions of suck-offs, I’ve forever been having a recurring romp, in my mind, of me and my sister in the shower, me standing behind her, plowing into her forbidden pussy, my pelvis clapping at her sculpted, athletic ass, me cupping her bulging tits, our wet bodies in motion, us under the rain shower, slapping skin...

Thinking about fucking her so much makes me feel a wash of adrenaline when in her presence. And now I’m going to be in her presence far more, with the epidemic.

But hey, maybe the fucking black death, if we are about to die, and we are alone together, maybe something ... something could happen...

Despite my sister’s being a total raging bitch, or maybe because of it, she’s preparing to be a hot shot corporate lawyer. And I can see it too. Shit, I can see her being a politician, as evil as she is. I have faith in her heart of darkness. I mean, she is smart as a whip, has razor sharp wits, and is a valedictorian in addition to a beauty queen.

She could be the first female president, MILF status, impeached over her getting a sneaky muff munching in the Oval Office by a Chris Hemsworth looking young intern. I can see it...

四

Since Sandy’s been home, however, she’s seemed to mellow out, somewhat, with the epidemic situation and non-stop shitty news, people in hazmat suits, and dire warnings of death and plague. The situation grim enough for even her frozen cunt to thaw...

Just the other day, our nonchalant parents decided to fly private, jet off for a ski trip at an exclusive resort, and since they’ve been gone, my sister and me have started to get acquainted, talk more, and it’s not been long before she noticed that I’ve been sneaking peaks down her shirt, checking out her ass. At first, she was pretty lax about it, smirking at me coyly when I did so.

Finally, though, this morning, she called me out on it.

It happened when we were in the kitchen, a tangerine sun glowing through the French windows, illuminating her flawless figure as she leaned over the fruit bowl while sifting through a stack of oranges, her eyes squinting and nose crinkling as she carefully dug through the pile, inspecting and sorting, in search of the ripest piece...

Her hair was in a chignon, and she wore a solid black, low-cut AC/DC logo T-shirt dress, its plunging neckline so revealing that her succulent tits hung directly in my line of vision, swinging freely, their luscious glory in full display.

Being a horny bastard, young, dumb and full of cum, I couldn’t take my eyes away and stared, like a deer in headlights, at her dangling, jiggling tits; her tits so bouncy and alive, such hypnotic pendulums.

My sister peered up from the fruit bowl, her gorgeous eyes beaming, laser-like, into mine, and her nostrils flared, and she blushed strawberry red and burst into laughter.

“YOU are such a PERV!!!” she exclaimed, laughing boisterously, snatched an orange and rushed off as if escaping a burning building, scampering off into the dining room, giggling and vanishing into the hallway.

I was ashamed that she’d caught me and remembered an episode of Seinfeld I’d seen as a kid, where Jerry had spoken of cleavage being something you look at only for a split second, then avert your gaze from, like the sun. I wished I’d heeded the sage-like advice.

How would I face my sister, after she busted me THAT royally?

My demons soothed me, though. Told me not to worry, that I should have taken a cell phone picture. But I couldn’t help trembling, panicking and feeling like a total peeping tom, sex offender asshole.

I grabbed a stockpile of food from the fridge, enough to last me the day, and ran up to my room, up the spiral staircase, and locked my door and hunkered down. I knew I’d have to see her eventually, but at least maybe I could avoid her for the rest of the day...

五

It’s about 10 p.m. at night, and I’m in my blue and white Dallas Cowboys pajamas, leaning back into my black leather gaming swivel seat, playing LOL on my PC, when I hear a musical knock on the door.

I get up, hoping it was my parents, home early, hoping it was the cleaners, hoping it was the police, an armed robber, anyone other than...

No such luck. It’s my sister, and she’s staring at me, accusingly, as I pull open the chestnut brown arched wooden door.

Dammit, she’s still wearing the same low-cut T-shirt dress, looking ripe as fuck!

Her hair’s down, which I prefer on her, I gotta say; her flocculent golden locks brushed and parted to the right.

She’s painted on black lipstick and dabbed on heavy helpings of mascara and caramel eye shadow. Fuck she looks hot! Truly ravishing in the amber lighting of the hallway that’s highlighting and tracing her curvaceous form...

“Hey, perv...” she blurts out, snickering and then curls her upper lip, shakes her head arrogantly. I can smell peppermint on her breath.

She then arches her eyebrows, steeples her hands and giggles seductively.

“Shh! Don’t be so loud! Someone might hear you!” I chide her, in a hushed voice.

“No one’s here! The parents are still in Colorado, dumbass! I was going to sneak over to my friend’s, but her parents are in full doomsday mode, won’t let anyone over, like they think it’s about to be The Purge or 28 Days Later, and I have nothing to do, and I’m sick of looking at my phone, so I thought I’d come see what my pervy bro is doing...”

I notice her eyes being sorta bloodshot as she relaxes into a resting bitch face and folds her arms over her stomach, which kinda pushes up, accentuates her delicious boobs.

“I’m gaming.” I tell her, doing my best to keep my eyes to hers and not let them wander downwards again.

“Gaming?”

Her head tilts to the side, and she raises an eyebrow.

“Playing games online.”

“Cell phone games?”

“No, LOL.”

“LOL?”

“League of...”

“Uh, that’s lame,” she cuts in, derisively, totally interrupting me.

“You should be out chasing girls. It’s the fucking apocalypse, and here you are playing video games. You’re on the football team, too! Like, who on the football team is sitting on his computer, during the plague, playing video games?” she asks, rhetorically, or rather affirms, her expression of disappointment causing her upper lip to curl up even further, like a ski slope.

“I’m the kicker. No one cares about me until the game is on the line. Then I’m the most important guy in the world...”

“You’re lame and pathetic,” she bluntly proclaims, folding her arms higher up over her ample chest, tossing her head back and rolling her eyes.

Back into bitch mode, I gather; my sister being a total cunt again. The demon thirst, the primal urge to hate-fuck her intensifies, seething inside me, eating into my better intentions.

She continues her berating, and the pitch of her voice swells into a shrewish falsetto.

“Why don’t you play soccer? Soccer guys are hot.”

Since she’s in a chatty, inquisitive mood, I figure two could play at that game, and I decide to hit the cunt with the Socratic Method.

“Didn’t you play soccer in high school?” I ask, in a calm, Sam Harris-ish monotone.

“I did, yeah,” she replies, her tone softening and stance slacking, her shoulders slouching.

“Is that why you’re hot?” I blurt out, realizing that for the first time, I’d called my sister “hot” to her face.

“So you think I’m hot? Well, I know you must. That’s why you were looking down my shirt!!” she retorts, accusingly, the portals of her eyes bulging as if they were dots under exclamation points.

She snickers, and my face blushes scarlet red; now I’m on guard again, and I stammer, “I, yes, I, couldn’t look away. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’re juss a guy.”

I notice her voice is slurry.

“You been drinking, Sandy?” I ask, angle my head and shoot her a suspicious glance.

“No. But I might have smoked weed. Do you wanna drink with me?” she asks and then smiles, and I marvel at how pretty her smile is and how impeccably aligned and marshmallow white her teeth are.

Back to nice Sandy. Fuck, maybe she’s bipolar.

Whatever the case, it’s hard to refuse drinks with such a beautiful woman. It doesn’t matter, either, because of the plague, that woman being my sister.

“Sure. And we can watch something on Netflix too. I was about to watch Contagion.”

“Uh, no, we can watch the news for that. How about something uplifting?”

“Amityville.”

“You asshole ... Okay...”

“Alright.”

“Hey, you’re not gonna kidnap and violate me are you, though? You perv...” asks my sister, crossing her arms tighter, more defensively, hiding her boobs and giving me a snooty stare.

Not that I’d really abduct or violate anyone, especially not my sister, but the thought of being on top of her, throttle-fucking her gives me a euphoric rush and a tingling in my nether region.

I try as best I can to banish the idea from my mind...

“No, I promise, no violating or abuse of any kind!”

“No peeking at my boobs?”

“No peeking at your boobs...” I promise and hold up my right hand like we’re in a courtroom.

Mentally, though, I want to inquire: “But what about your crotch or ass?” but I restrain my base, carnal instincts, my demons, and steel myself with a calming mantra, the words a psychic attempt, a fire extinguisher to the flame of my depravity, the mantra being: “Dude, she’s your sister. Dude, she’s your sister ... Dude...”