Emotional Magic
Hello Literotica! Longtime reader, first-time writer here!
This is a (hopefully) lengthy semi-autobiographical fantasy-story with strong emotional material, incest and lots of magic. I hope you enjoy!
-SwedeWriter
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I had always had a sense of the world being secretly magical, but not even my wildest dreams could have prepared me for what I am about to tell you.
I am a 30 year old Scandinavian male. My name is Helge, an old nordic name meaning 'lucky'. During my life I often laughed at that, as luck has not really been very prominent for me.
I suppose I'd better give you some background information.
I was born in January 1990. A dirt-blonde kid with grey-blue eyes. My birth was dramatic and premature. As a consequence I suffered two brain hemorrhages and was diagnosed with a lesser form of cerebral palsy and a partially paralyzed right foot. Quite a start for the lucky one. I suffered from spasms and cramps mainly in the right side of my body every day and learned to cope with pain early.
In spite of this, my childhood was rather pleasant in many ways. I grew up in a rural part of Sweden with a loving and supporting family. My father, Ulf, was a blonde, stoic and silent man, with a heart of gold. And although my raven haired mother, Rebecca, often wished he would give her more emotional connection, their marriage was a happy one.
My biggest supporters were my two older sisters -- Diana especially (two years my senior), but also Emma (three years my senior). They looked quite similar to one another. Both sporting the blonde hair so famous for our part of the world. Their looks started diverging after they hit puberty, but before that they almost looked like twins.
Diana was bubbly, funny, confident and not afraid to say what was on her mind with a radiant smile. Her eyes were gorgeous things of deep blue spattered with green, making them look like pools of water in a deep, mystic forest.
Emma's eyes were a piercing ice blue, and whenever she looked at me intently, I instinctively stopped to catch my breath out of the sheer force of her gaze. Highly intelligent and with a fire inside tempered by an inherited stoicism from our father, she was a force to be reckoned with in everything she did.
They gave me hell sometimes, but always cheered me on and hugged me when I needed it.
The whole family was quite physical - we often scratched each others heads or backs while watching TV, or hugged spontaneously. Emma and dad didn't do it as much as the rest of us, but they never minded. Sure, having hyper sensitive nerves tended to make touch a bit challenging for me sometimes, but with my family it almost always felt relaxing.
Like I said, a pleasant childhood in many ways.
But there was no escaping the challenges before me, and my life was filled with intense physical rehab, surgeries and constant uphill battles for many years. I was intelligent, verbal and insightful, so I had no problem making friends, I even started practicing karate to help control my body. Yet the feeling of being an outsider never really left me. I became nerdy and somewhat introverted, seeking refuge in books that were far too complicated according to my teachers. I did not let this stop me and became a very avid reader.
Somewhere along the way I picked up a fascination with fantasy, mythology and magic. Partly due to learning a lot about folklore, but mainly because it attracted me somehow. The sense that there was more to this world than meets the eye. Something beautiful, powerful and magical that deserved to be honoured.
My mother used to have strange dreams, some of which came true to an eerie degree, and sometimes she just knew things. Sensed that someone would be coming to the house before they did, or she would buy things without telling anyone that, a few hours later, someone would need or want.
I seemed to have inherited this strange ability, and growing up there were numerous episodes that defied explanation. All small things, like knowing who was calling before answering the phone or sensing when someone was about to get hurt. But in hindsight there were a lot of signs for what was to come. I remember meditating for the first time and feeling like coming home. Like this was a piece of a puzzle I had no idea I had been laying all along. Combined with the fact that we took regular trips into the deep forests to our family cabin just walking in nature and enjoying the beauty of it, I was instilled even deeper with a sense of magic being present in life.
That sense never really left. It was a constant companion, especially so in connecting with people. I was always a sensitive child, with a depth and range quite unusual for a boy. "A Highly Sensitive Person" is what they would call it these days, but back then the term didn't exist. Coupled with whatever magic I had in me, I developed an acute sense of peoples emotions without them often even needing to speak. And my own emotions were all over the place as a consequence. Deep and far more intense than I was equipped to handle at such a young age.
I was prone to crying, being overwhelmed by the beauty and intricacy of even the smallest things. The sound of rain. Sunlight refracting on glass. The sense of joy that radiated from one of my friends when they were truly happy about something. It all pulsed and swirled around me and through me, just as easily and with the same simplicity as the forests enveloped me with their energy whenever we went to them. Sometimes it made me feel like ever more of an outsider, like I was far older than my years. I had problems relating to other kids at a deeper level, yet felt that I couldn't speak to adults about it either, as I didn't have any words to describe what was going on inside of me. So I started hiding that part of me away.
I remember one episode that really floored me. I was seven years old, still in a wheelchair from a major surgery on my right leg. Early april. I was sitting in the break yard at school, just looking out over the other kids running around, and the trees billowing lightly in the breeze. Something in me simply opened up, and I felt so interconnected with everything and everyone. It was marvelous, fantastic and absolutely terrifying at the same time. I couldn't handle it. None of it. I felt so odd and alienated. Who would understand? Where would I even begin? I had to suppress it. A part of me just desperately wanted to be normal, even though I knew it would never happen. I hid away, escaped back to my beloved books.
A back and forth developed, where I would be flooded with joy and love over the magic and beauty in life, and then I'd shove it away and try to not stick out. There was a war going on inside me. A storm that slowly built itself up, year after year.
Diana felt this and tried to help. It did help, but shame can be a sticky thing. We were similar in many ways, she and I. She felt that magical connection too, albeit in a different way. We didn't talk about it often, but sometimes when we were playing with friends or walking in nature and I felt something come over me, she would squeeze my hand and nod to show me she felt it too, sharing that space with me. We developed a close relationship growing up.
Years passed and I went from a struggling kid to a struggling young man of eighteen. That storm in me kept on building. Looking back at it I'm amazed at how I didn't explode from keeping all of it shut away, but as anyone will tell you, children are resilient and stubborn, even when they shouldn't be.
Before I move on I have a confession to make.
I always thought my sisters were beautiful as a kid, and that feeling only escalated as we hit our late teens. Diana and Emma grew into gorgeous women, both physically and emotionally. Horniness mixed with love, attraction and shame inside me as I found myself growing ever more sexually attracted to both my sisters over the years.
When I was eighteen and a half I had come to a point where I could no longer deny it to myself. Especially when it came to Diana. And I had no idea how to handle it.
Diana -- now twenty - was short, a bit over 160 cm in height. But she had the most amazing body. Long blonde hair that flowed freely down to the small of her back. Curves in all the right places.
The main thing that drew the attention from boys - including me - were her breasts. Simply put, they were enormous. Easily a DD-cup when she was just thirteen, at twenty they were even larger, probably at least an F-cup, and still seemingly growing. Diana was oozing sexuality and eroticism, and she knew it.
She wasn't a slut or anything, but she never had trouble getting attention or finding a boyfriend. I saw her naked in the shower one morning by accident when I was going to the bathroom a few months back, and couldn't get the image out of my head. After that I kept stealing glances at her whenever I thought I could get away with it and masturbated to fantasies of her almost daily.
Our relationship continued to grow. We shared a lot. Diana often came to me with her troubles, and I did my best to make her feel better. Heartbreak, anxiety, frustration - you name it. I always managed somehow, even though I rarely had any kind of real-life experiences to draw from.
There just seemed to be some kind of inherent wisdom somewhere inside me that told me what to do or say to ease her pain. A connection to her I couldn't explain. We shared a love of books and all things nerdy, like superhero movies, Video Games (especially Nintendo and The Legend of Zelda) and I loved her more than anyone in my family.
Diana did her best to support me as well. She helped me through my first heartbreak when it happened just a little while after I'd turned eighteen -- a lovely girl named Sonja that was brilliant in many ways. She had quite strong issues with anything regarding sex though, and that started grating on me. Something in me yearned deeply for physical intimacy, but Sonja and I never went beyond making out and petting
It triggered a lot of my insecurities. Combine that with my inability to master or even understand my innate intensity, and it was bound to fall apart from the start. I felt like crap about the whole thing, and a part of me hated myself deeply.
I told Diana most of it, and shared more of my moods and emotions with her than anyone else. Although there was a lot I never dared share even with her, I was simply too ashamed. Not the darkness I kept hidden away. Not how I desperately had begun trying to suppress myself after the whole ordeal with Sonja. Or how disgusted I felt with myself. Not the tiredness I had been feeling over the last few months. Especially not the fact that I often masturbated to thoughts of her naked body, or how hugging her or even being near her had started sending tingles down my body.
