rSlash - r/Offmychest My Husband is Banging His Sister (again)

Episode Date: April 13, 2025

0:00 Intro 0:09 In the family 1:53 Single question 6:20 Coma 9:08 Wish granted 11:09 Comment 11:54 KFC 14:00 Kicked out Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Welcome to r slash true off my chest, where OP's husband is having an affair with his sister. Our next reddit post is from CoolSir. I think my husband is sleeping with his sister. Again. So when my husband was 12, his mother passed. At age 14, his father remarried. His stepmother also had a daughter his age. They all lived in one house. Apparently, my husband and his stepsister used to sneak around their parents and engage in, um, adult activities. This went on for years. Me and my husband married at 23. I always thought my husband and his stepsister were close, but I just assumed that it was from growing up together. A few years ago, I found out that my husband was having an affair with his stepsister. I didn't even know what to say.

I had no idea this relationship even existed. I can't even wrap my mind around it. Obviously, me and my husband entered counseling where I found out all the details from his childhood and just how close they really were. Somehow I was able to overcome it for the sake of our children. However, for the past few months, my husband has been acting weird, coming home late, being protective of his phone, not wanting to have intercourse like he always does. And I swear I can even smell his sister's perfume on him. We barely got through it the first time,

and I'll be devastated if I find out that it's happening again. My husband claims that she was his first love, but I'm his forever and after love, the one that he can't live without. OP, you said that you stuck with your husband for the sake of your kids. I don't think you're doing your kids any favors here. Yeah, I'm so glad that mommy stayed with daddy while daddy was banging on whoever. That didn't mess me up at all. Our next Reddit post is from Oopsy Doodle. This happened a couple of decades ago when my youngest son was in kindergarten. A little backstory. My first wife and I got married young. We had two children, both boys. And after only a handful of years, divorced amicably

with me having full custody. Our youngest looked very much like me. Brown hair, brown eyes, stocky and broad-shouldered. You could tell by the time that he was two that he'd be a great football player, if he decided to go down that path. Our oldest son, while sharing some obvious traits with me, looked more like his mother. Blonde hair, blue eyes, with very pale, thin skin. This will be important later.

After the divorce, life moved on. My best friend and roommate helped me raise the boys, and eventually I met another woman. After dating for some time, we eventually got married. As far as I knew, she loved the boys just as much as I, and we both agreed on discipline, which consisted mostly of appropriate time out and talking to the boys to explain why they'd gotten

in trouble. Corporal punishment was never a thing in our house. One day, the two of them got into an argument over a toy. The argument ended when the elder son tried to grab the toy out of the brother's hands. And in an effort to keep the toy to himself, the younger child accidentally elbowed his brother in the face. Suddenly they were both screaming and crying, so I stepped in and sent them both to different rooms to cool off.

We had a discussion about sharing, and in the end they went back to happily playing with each other. At dinner, I noticed that the eldest was developing a black eye because he was so fair and thin skinned. He bruised easily, so I sat him back down with an ice pack and gave him some children's Tylenol. He didn't seem to be bothered by it and the evening continued as normal. The next day I sent my kid off to school. About three hours later, two county sheriffs and a social worker from CPS knocked on my

door. They arrested my wife and the social worker took my youngest and after a fairly rude lecture, decided I must be a reasonably okay enough dad to come to her office and wait while she questioned my son. It took me some time to find out the truth. Most normal people who see a five-year-old with a black eye would say, what happened or how did you get the black eye? Not this teacher.

Without any evidence or inclination of anything other than a loving, caring home life, this teacher asked my son verbatim, Did your mommy hit you? My son, thinking he was going to get into trouble again for fighting with his brother, said yes. The teacher then reported it to CPS as was her obligation. I explained the situation to the social worker who replied with, Kids don't lie about these things. I insisted and some time later my son recanted his story

and told the truth. But the CPS worker held fast to the idea that kids don't lie about these things and insinuated that him eventually telling the truth was actually a lie that I'd pressured him into. My wife spent the night in jail and was released under the stipulation that she had no contact with either child. She stayed in a hotel room for a couple of weeks, but we couldn't afford to continue doing that. Her parents offered her a plane ticket to come stay with them on the other side of the

country. So with the judge's permission, she quit her job and moved. My friend had moved out on his own, so with only one income and no affordable daycare, I had to make a choice. I contacted my first wife's parents, who I kept in touch with for the boys, and asked them to take the boys for a while. Then I sold off most of what I owned, packed the rest into my truck, and drove across the country to live with her and her parents.

My wife eventually took the case to trial and was found not guilty. The stress of everything put a serious strain on our relationship that never recovered, and we ended up divorced a few years later. The one thing that's weird about this story is the CPS worker who said kids don't lie about this type of thing. Kids lie about everything. All the time. They're little lying machines.

They'll come to you with chocolate icing covering their face and their nose and even up on their forehead and you ask them, did you eat a chocolate cupcake? And they'll look you in the eyes and say, no, I didn't. I don't want to be too harsh on the CPS worker because it's his job to believe kids. So, you know, but still kids are little liars. That's just how they are. Our next Reddit post is from nixedbones. I'm a 27 year old guy and I had open heart surgery a little over a week ago. It was my second surgery, my first was at the age of 4. I have tetralogy of follate technically, but my case is quite severe.

This condition OP describes is a rare heart condition that you're born with. Both surgeries ended up more complicated and twice as long as initially planned. Both surgeries, because of how long my chest cavity was open, swelled a lot so they couldn't immediately suture me back up and had to wait for the swelling to go down. In both cases, I was in a medically induced coma. When I was 4, it went on longer because I would crash every time they took the breathing tube out so that was prolonged. This recent surgery, I was in a 3 dayday coma, and I was supposed to be totally dead

to the world. But I wasn't. I was conscious. I heard the doctors, my parents, the nurses. I felt them suctioning liquid from around my breathing tube. I felt the quick wipe down that a nurse gave me. I heard my sister on the phone with my mom. My sister tried to let me hear my mom,

but the doctor said that I couldn't. I was screaming about how wrong they were in my mind. I saw the doctors when they were checking for pupil dilation. I felt them put goop, some kind of lube or eye drop stuff in my eyes, but I couldn't move my pupils. No one knew that I was alert. There was nothing on my vitals that indicated it. And when I woke up and started recounting everything, the doctors and my folks grew more and more horrified. The administration gave me an in-person apology and told me that she was launching a full-scale investigation into how this might have happened. I haven't been able to find too many other experiences like this for medically induced comas. Mostly brain injury ones. Anyways, I thought this was interesting

and I wanted to share. So I know this is the basic plot for at least one horror movie, which I have not seen. I kind of gleaned it from the preview because it seems like an awful movie, but the premise is weird serial killers paralyze people with chemicals and then do surgery without anesthetics. Hold on, if OP was awake, could he feel pain? Let me check the comments. Okay, this is weird. OP didn't feel the pain from having his chest opened up, but he did feel pain in his joints because he was sitting stationary for a very long period of time. And then when the nurses shifted him to a new position, he felt joint pain.

This sounds like straight torture, man. Even without the pain, even without experiencing, you know, the scalpel cutting you open, just being awake for days and days and days while doctors like, you know, fondle your heart and stitch you together. Ourahahahahahaaaaa! Our next Reddit post is from FattyApples. Many years ago, when I was in high school, there was a boy who had been struggling with cancer for years. I can't exactly remember what kind of cancer, but it was terminal and it had killed another

one of his relatives. He had played football throughout his childhood, but unfortunately the illness and its aggressive treatments weakened him severely and by high school he was more like an honorary player. He went to all the games and got to hang out with all of his friends on the team despite being mostly wheelchair bound. I was a cheerleader through high school and so we often spent a lot of time around the football players, whether it was on the bus ride to away games, near the field, or simply in the cafeteria getting folks excited for the games.

The cheerleaders became pretty close with the guy because it felt like our duty to help make his high school experience memorable given that many believed he wouldn't even make it to graduation. He was funny, outgoing, and even on his worst days when you could sense his pain, he would go out of his way to make everyone around him smile. As his body started failing him, but before he was fully in the wheelchair, he started asking us if we could help walk him to the cafeteria table since there were stairs and it was quicker than taking the ramps. I didn't hesitate even for a minute to help him. I would take his arm around my shoulder and walk him down the stairs. Then one day, instead of just grabbing onto my upper arm to support himself, he reached down lower and

cupped my breast under my jacket. And I let him. I didn't say a single word and I helped him find his seat acting like nothing happened. It happened a few more times after that and I just let him every single time. Do I regret it? Not really. Do I regret not speaking up? Nah. Sometimes I start feeling weird about it but I honestly hope that it gave him comfort because in the end he never did make it to graduation. Down in the comments, people are talking about Make-A-Wish and not a fan of Olive says this, In my office building, our regional chapter of Make-A-Wish is right down the hall. Some of their employees showed up at the building Christmas party. Of course, my stupid self had to ask one of them, has anyone ever asked a motorboat Elvira

as a dying wish? And the person said, uh, we, uh, don't take those requests. Okay, yeah, probably not something I should have asked at work. On that note, there is an organization in Japan called White Hands and it truly does exist. I just looked it up. There's a vice documentary about it. And basically they are adult workers who give manual relief to disabled patients. My family ate all the KFC that I ordered. It all started from a raging period craving. I specifically wanted to eat KFC.

I remember almost tasting the oil, craving it. I don't to eat KFC. I remember almost tasting the oil, craving it. I don't even like it normally. I ordered it and told my sister to wait for the delivery guy because I had just taken some powerful prescribed painkillers for my period pain. I have endometriosis, so my period is agonizingly painful every single time. The painkillers left me drowsy and I slept for a good 3 hours. I came downstairs expecting cold KFC. I could already imagine it. Instead, what I got were boxes filled with bones and half empty sauce packets. The ultimate betrayal.

I'm shocked beyond words. Mind you, I ordered enough for the whole family. I'm not some narcissist who ordered food only for myself. I ordered enough for everyone and they still ate my share. I'm in pain, I'm hungry, and I'm hurt by their betrayal. I just can't wrap my head around how they have no decency to leave me some food. I would have been content with just half-eaten fried chicken at least, but all they left me is sucked chicken bones. My sister saw me becoming visibly angry and rushed to calm me down. I just told her to wear a bra and off we go to the nearest KFC store. I drove slow,

quiet the whole way. When we arrived, I ordered my sister to get out and get me the same amount of food from before. I stayed in the car, cramping uterus still ongoing. I arrived home and invited my family to eat KFC with me. Nobody touched anything as I ate. One piece of chicken is all it took to satisfy my craving. The leftover chicken was still hot. I left it there in the living room and then went to sleep. I didn't shout or get mad, but the guilt and awkwardness worked as they apologized one by one. Some transgressions justify murder. This, I think, might be one of them. Our next Reddit post is from FeistyReview. As soon as I turned 18, my mother kicked me out on the streets. She decided that it was time for me to experience the realities of the world and to struggle like she did. So there I was,

homeless with 400 bucks to my name, trying to figure it out. I couch-surfed at some friends until I got a job at a fast food outlet and eventually rented a room in a shared flat. I was always very academic in school, so I decided to apply for university and take out a loan. Strangely, I kept in touch with my mom and she used to get angry whenever I told her about my plans for further study. I will never forget the time she emailed me at 3am to tell me that the open day I was going to was useless because university is full

of rich people who I'll never fit in with. Eventually, I stopped telling her about my life. Long story short, I ended up going to university where I met my now partner. At the time, I didn't know they were wealthy because they didn't act snobbish or entitled. They lived a pretty average university life, sharing a house with friends and shopping at discounted supermarkets. It wasn't until years later when we were about to be married that I found out about the wealth they were acquiring. I never told my mother about my marriage or my partner's wealth. My mom passed away a couple of years ago thinking that I was some brainwashed

liberal with a useless degree. She also had a degree and worked in finance by the way. What she never realized was that by going to university, I enabled myself to build a life worth living. And for those wondering, no, I'm not some stay at home wife drinking matcha and doing pilates. I now have a PhD and work full time in my country's public health department. I'm so grateful for the life that I built myself. I love my partner and we have a wonderful relationship.

That was r slash off my chest and if you like this content be sure to follow my podcast because I put out new reddit podcast episodes every single day.