A girl needs two hiding places: one that her brother must never discover, the other, easy for him to find so he’ll not keep poking around. My secret-secret one’s behind the board I worked loose in my closet. That’s where I’ll keep the list of who I’ve done it with, once I start. The fake-secret one’s under my underwear. That’s where I put Flowers in the Attic, the best pages with corners folded over.

Here are the best parts, starting with page 304.

Hoarsely he choked, “Why did you run? Because you ran, I had to chase. And I was only teasing. I wouldn’t cut one strand from your head; it was just something to do, to have fun. And you were wrong when you said I thought your hair was pretty. It’s more than just pretty. I think you may grow on your head the most glorious hair in the world.”

A little knife twisted in my heart as he lifted his head long enough to spread my hair fanlike and cover my bare breast. I could hear him breathing deeply my scent. We lay there quietly listening to the winter rain drumming on the slate roof not so far above.

Next page, where she lets him kiss her nipple.

Over and over again I twirled a strand of his hair around my thumb, pretending not to notice one of his hands was ever so cautiously stroking my breast, the one his face didn’t cover. Because I didn’t object, he dared to kiss the nipple.

I jumped, startled, wondering why that should feel so strange, and so extraordinarily thrilling. What was a nipple but a tannish-pink little peak? “I can picture Raymond kissing Lily, just where you kissed,” I went on breathlessly, wanting him to stop, and wanting him to go on, “but I can’t imagine them doing what comes next.’

Where my copy falls open to on its own, page 337, is about what’s next.

“You’re mine, Cathy! Mine! You’ll always be mine! No matter who comes into your future, you’ll always belong to me! I’ll make you mine ... tonight ... now!”

I didn’t believe it, not Chris!

And I did not fully understand what he had in mind, nor, if I am to give him credit, do I think he really meant what he said, but passion has a way of taking over.

We fell to the floor, both of us. I tried to fight him off. We wrestled, turning over and over, writhing, silent, his strength against mine.

It wasn’t much of a battle.

I had the dancer’s legs; he had the biceps, the greater weight and height and he had much more determination than me to use something hot, swollen and demanding, so much it stole reasoning and sanity from him.

And I loved him. I wanted what he wanted -- if he wanted it that much, right or wrong.

Somehow we ended up on that old mattress -- that filthy, smelly, stained mattress that must have known many before tonight. And that is where he took me, and forced in that swollen, rigid male sex part of him that had to be satisfied.

It drove into my tight and resisting flesh which tore and bled.

Now we had done what we both swore we’d never do.

And then,

Now there might be a baby. A baby to make us pay in life and not wait for hell, and everlasting fires reserved for such as us. We drew apart and stared at each other, our faces numb and pale from shock, and barely could we speak as we drew on our clothes.

He didn’t have to say he was sorry ... it was all over him ... the way he quivered, the way his hands trembled and were so clumsy with his buttons.

And a little later,

“Don’t hate me, Cathy, please don’t hate me. I didn’t mean to rape you, I swear to God. There’s been many a time when I’ve been tempted, and I was able to turn it off. I’d leave the room, go into the bathroom, or into the attic. I’d bury my nose in a book until I felt normal again.”

Tight as I could, I wrapped my arms around him. “I don’t hate you, Chris,” I whispered, pressing my head tightly against his chest. “You didn’t rape me. I could have stopped you if I’d really wanted to. All I had to do was bring my knee up hard, where you told me to. It was my fault, too.” Oh yes, my fault too. I should have known better than to kiss Momma’s handsome young husband. I shouldn’t have worn skimpy little see-through garments around a brother who had all a man’s strong physical needs, and a brother who was always so frustrated by everything, and everyone. I had played upon his needs, testing my femininity, having my own burning yearnings for fulfillment.

It was a peculiar kind of night, as if fate had planned this night, long ago, and this night was our destiny, right or wrong. It was darkness lit up by the moon so full and bright, and the stars seemed to flash Morse Code beams to one another ... fate accomplished.

The rest of the book is OK, but weird. I’d have left the video for my brother to find, but it leaves out what makes the book good.

I know when he found it by leaving a piece of hair between the pages where it would fall out when opened. Worked like a charm.

It’s all about psychology, gaming my brother. First he’ll masturbate -- I can hear from the hall -- pretending he’s the brother in the story. Then he’ll masturbate more, knowing that I’m the one who marked those parts. Then he’ll make a plan, but then again, maybe he’ll chicken out. A girl’s got to take control sometimes.