Edited - Elizabeth's story - Background:
I am Elizabeth. Today, I am a happily married woman, age 29 with two small children. By any standard, I am a happy, well adjusted mother and housewife.
The story I am about to tell occurred almost exactly ten years ago, during the summer following my senior year in high school, within a few months of my dad's death in Afghanistan.
Events occurred that I did not plan, and I am not necessarily proud of; however, after a decade of reflection, I am no longer ashamed of them either.
My husband, whom I adore, knows about these events, and not only understands, but actually finds them stimulating and exciting. He asked me to write and publish this story. I confess, that recalling these events in vivid detail arouses me.
As I look back, ten years later, I both regret and cherish some of the experiences my brother and I shared. I have often wondered if something can be wrong and beautiful at the same time. I think I have come to the conclusion that it can be. In a very real sense, this experience was both; at least to me it was.
I expect most of you will quickly decide that what my brother and I did was wrong; you may, or may not decide it was also beautiful. I actually understand if you decide this was simply wrong. Remember, things are often more complex when you are experiencing them, than they might appear to an outside observer years after the fact.
We lose our father:
Even before my dad was killed, it was pretty much just my mom, my brother and me at home most of the time. Dad was a career military officer who spent extended periods of time deployed overseas. Since many of his deployments were to war zone areas, the rest of the family remained back in the states. We often lived in military housing, either on the base or immediately off the base
Dad was a good man, who loved his country and had a strong sense of duty. He truly believed that the actions of our military served to make the world a better place. Me, I am not so sure. But this story is not about political debates surrounding the U.S. military.
As a military officer, my father was a stern, complex man, who was difficult to get to know. He would pray to his God one moment; and then drink heavily and cuss the next.
He also had a difficult time showing any vulnerability, emotional or otherwise. I know he loved us all; but at times he struggled with precisely how to show that love.
Dad was deployed in the original 'desert storm' and 'desert shield', and also served during the second Iraq invasion before being deployed to Afghanistan. We received word that Dad was killed shortly after my 19th birthday, the summer before my senior year in high school. His vehicle had encountered a road side bomb. He did not survive the attack.
The news of my father's death was a devastating blow to me personally; but I seemed to be able to deal with the loss much better than my mother or my younger brother. Mom fell into a bottle, became a heavy drinker, and was 'passed out drunk' most nights by 8 p.m. I felt sorry for my mom, but really did not know what, if anything, I could do to help her deal with this loss.
Gary had just turned 18 at the time, seemed to take the loss very hard. Gary had been a good student, active in sports, and really never got into any trouble prior to Dad's death. Before Dad's death, Gary talked about attending the Air Force Academy and making the military his career, similar to his father. But his plans and his behavior changed significantly that summer.
Gary's demise coincided with the news of Dad's death, and I am convinced Gary's sudden and precipitous down slide was a direct result of it. Since mom was not in any condition to help anyone most nights, I felt that it was my responsibility to help guide Gary through this grief and get him 'back on track', so to speak.
Despite my strongest objections, Gary quit the basketball team following Dad's death. He had been one of the better forwards on the team. Gary also started drinking and smoking marijuana. Now neither of these are unusual or that horrific for teenage boys as they prepare to enter their senior year in high school, but the change in Gary was clear and evident, and the direction he was heading was not good. Gary also made it clear that he was no longer interested in the military as a college choice or as a career. In fact, Gary started to question whether he wanted to attend college at all.
On the other hand, although I felt a terrible loss, I decided the best way to 'honor my father's death and life' was to continue to be the daughter he wanted me to be. To me, that meant continuing to do well in school, stay active in sports, and go to college as he and I had planned all along. I felt that it would be a tragedy of my father's dying in defense of America would lead to his own daughter's future being derailed. As you will read, if you elect to continue with me on my 'stroll down memory lane', is that I largely succeeded; but I did allow myself to get involved in something which I fear my father would have strongly disapproved; an intimate and inappropriate relationship with my brother.
At age 19, I was an attractive, budding young woman with a sleek, athletic build. I had been captain of the girl's volley ball team, and had a tall, slender figure with firm, perky breasts that were starting to develop nicely, a nice butt and long legs. I am not conceited about my looks, but these are just the objective facts. I had (and still have) a pretty face with blond hair and green eyes. I had a sweet, innocent, 'wholesome' look about me.
I was naïve and inexperienced with boys. Using the high school vernacular, had had never gone past 2 nd base. (Meaning no boy had touched me, nor had I touched any boy, below the waist.) I was more than just a virgin, I was an inexperienced virgin.
Truthfully, sweet, wholesome virginal girls, who seemed intent upon remaining that way, were not the most popular options for high school boys. I did not attract a great deal of attention from boys at my school. I was OK with this fact.
Chapter one:
I see my first penis, and it belongs to my brother:
About two months after my father's death, I got an interesting and disturbing text from one of my best friends. It was about 9:15 p.m. on a Friday night in June, shortly after the school year had ended. I got a text message from Jenna, telling me to call her as soon as I could.
I assumed Jenna wanted to hang out tonight and I could not decide if I wanted to call her or not. I was pretty tired; so I delayed responding to the text.
About ten minutes later I got another text from Jenna. This one said, 'Call me ASAP. Important. About Gary.'
I was anxious and concerned by the tone of the text. I immediately found a place where I could talk and called Jenna, "What's going on?"
