Inlove with my stepbrother

[Him]: Are you alone tonight, baby?

[Me]: Yes. Just got out of the shower.

[Him]: Tell me what you're wearing.

My thumb hovered over the keyboard, heart thudding, breath caught somewhere between guilt and thrill.

I knew how this would go. It always started like this, gentle curiosity, playful tension, and then... fire.

I looked around my room—the same one I’d slept in since I was thirteen. Posters still hung on the wall, some faded. My pink lamp cast a warm glow, and the sound of my mom humming in the kitchen floated down the hall.

She had no idea. No one did. Not Zara. Not my classmates. Definitely not my mother, who thought I was some sweet, innocent girl still figuring herself out.

But he saw the other version of me.

[Me]: Just a towel. Nothing underneath.

A second passed. Then another. Three gray dots appeared.

[Him]: Fuck. Do you have any idea what you do to me?

I bit my lip. My body was already reacting to his words, my skin humming with anticipation. Every time we texted, it felt like I was stepping out of my own body and into this… alter ego. A version of myself that felt braver. Sexier. More alive.

I didn’t even know his name. He never gave it. I didn’t give mine either.

And yet, we knew each other.

I told him things I’d never say out loud. He knew the way I touched myself. The way I gasped when he described things in detail. The fantasies I had when I couldn’t sleep.

It was wrong, wasn’t it?

But it didn’t feel wrong.

[Him]: Take off the towel for me. Imagine me watching you do it.

[Me]: Why don’t you imagine doing it yourself?

His reply came in seconds.

[Him]: I would. Slowly. I'd let it drop and just... stare. I wouldn’t even touch you yet. I’d make you beg first.

A shiver ran down my spine. I leaned back against my pillow, letting the phone rest on my chest for a moment, my body warm, tingling.

Was it messed up that he was the most consistent thing in my life?

I didn’t even know how this started. One random message turned into two… then into weeks of flirtation, then into months of late-night confessions and bold fantasies. I never thought it would go on this long. I never thought I’d become the kind of girl who craved anonymous attention.

But with him, it wasn’t just about the sexts.

It was how he talked to me.

He paid attention. He remembered details. Like the day I said I had a test, he messaged hours later asking how it went. When I told him I hated wearing bras, he sent a message saying, “Good. They only get in the way.”

He made me feel like I wasn’t just a body behind a screen—I was a woman he wanted.

[Him]: You’re quiet now. You touching yourself already?

[Me]: Maybe. What would you do if I said yes?

I smiled, biting the inside of my cheek.

God, I was so shameless with him.

[Him]: I’d tell you not to stop. I’d tell you to moan my name, even though you don’t know it.

[Me]: Would you finally tell me, then?

[Him]: Where’s the fun in that?

I groaned softly, pressing the phone against my face like it could bring him closer.

Sometimes, I wanted to know. I wanted to see him. Hear his voice. Know his name. Just once.

Other times… I liked the not knowing. The mystery kept it exciting. Safe. Detached from the real world.

Because if I knew who he was, I might never be able to look him in the eye.

And if he knew me? God. I’d never recover.

[Me]: Maybe I’d moan your name if you told me what it is.

[Him]: Trust me. When you finally say my name out loud, I want it to be real. Not through a screen.

That made me pause.

I reread the message three times. He’d never said anything like that before. He was always teasing, playful, sexual. But this? This sounded like he wanted… more.

[Me]: What do you mean “real”? Are we ever going to meet?

[Him]: Maybe we already have.

My heart stopped.

Wait.

What?

I sat up in bed, fingers frozen, staring at the screen like it had betrayed me.

[Me]: What does that mean? Have we?

[Him]: Goodnight, baby.

And just like that, he was gone.

I stared at his last message until my screen dimmed. My chest rose and fell faster than I liked.

My thoughts spiraled.

What if he knows who I am? What if he’s someone I pass on campus every day? What if he’s seen me?

I pressed my hands to my face, breath shaky. My heart was pounding, but not from lust anymore. From curiosity. From fear. From the nagging thought that maybe this wasn’t as anonymous as I thought.

Somewhere out there…

He knew.

And I didn’t.