Date: Mon, 26 May 2008 08:34:02 -0700 (PDT)
From: Cheryl Taggert <chta91982@yahoo.com>
Subject: Finding My Sister--for lesbian incest section

The following story is fiction.  Like most writers, I draw some of the
minor details of my stories from my life.  However, the sister and our
story are totally fictional, unfortunately.  (Those who know me can tell
you that the first two paragraphs are all too true.  It's the part after
that painful brief detail that is the fiction.)  Anyway, I hope you enjoy
the story.  I enjoyed writing it, and that, I suppose, will have to be good
enough for now.  There will be no sequel or continuation, and I am afraid
there is not much sex here either; it is a story about the characters and
life.  This is a story I wrote in an attempt to rid myself of certain
demons, and if it does the job, that will be a positive that comes from
this.  Otherwise, I guess the positive will be your enjoyment.

  I am Cheryl Taggert, and my life was Hell until a month ago.  You see,
for all my life I have wanted a sister to share my life with.  When I was
growing up, I envied all my friends who had sisters, especially those with
younger sisters who were near their own age.  I may have even blamed my
mother, God rest her soul, for not producing a sister for me.  Okay, not
may have; I did.  I used to want a sister who was no more than two years
younger than I, or maybe even a twin.  I know there is a certain
psychological aspect to wanting an identical twin, especially as a lover,
but that is precisely what I always wanted.  After all, Narcissus I'm not,
but I suppose I am close enough.

  The fact is that I wanted a sister for more than just sexual love, though
that was a part of it, I wanted a sister who would be there for me and
allow me to be there for her.  I wanted a sister to listen to and keep my
secrets and who would allow me to listen to and keep hers.  For years, I
loved an imaginary sister.  But the ache for a sister would be at its worst
when I wanted someone to whom I could make love and not be judged by
anything I did.  I longed for the touch of another female, and who better
to give that touch than a sister to whom I was closer than I was to anyone
or anything else in the world.  It got so bad that when I was fourteen, I
would lay a full-length mirror on its edge along my bedroom floor, leaning
it against a wall, and lie down, stretched in front of it, and masturbate,
while imagining that my reflection was my twin, copying my every movement.
Strange, I know.  But, hey, that's me, strange to the hilt and beyond
measure.  My first long-term
 partner was a girl who had been having a love affair with her sister for
years, since they were quite young, This isn't the first time I have
wondered how much that had to do with my attraction long after our own
relationship was obviously doomed.

  But the past is not what I wanted to tell you about.

  You see, it turns out that I do have a sister.  She is nineteen, and only
fourteen months younger than I am.  Her name is Kelsey.  Kelsey.  It's
strange, but I have always loved that name.  That fact alone makes me
wonder if somewhere in my soul I knew about her all along.  That what I
really longed for was the sister my soul knew existed out there somewhere,
but whose existence was strangely kept from me until a month ago.

  It was then that my father approached me, actually came to my apartment
to see me (you have no idea how big that is in itself) and told me
something that will forever be a marker in my life.  You see, I believe
that there are markers in our lives.  Things so important that we forever
consider our lives in relation to that point, or marker.  They are sort of
like little sign posts that we erect along the way, and after they occur,
our lives are never the same again.  Most are small, but essentially they
become the measurement of our lives.  Like Prufrock, I once measured my
life with coffee spoons, but now I can measure it with the overwhelming
knowledge that I have a sister.

  Nothing will ever be the same.

  When my father told me what mostly amounts to the news that I am no
longer alone in the world, I didn't believe him, thinking he was pulling
some sort of sick joke, or maybe winning a bet of some kind, which would be
even sicker than the joke.  But when he looked down at the floor with what
I now realize was shame and looked back at me, directly into the eyes I got
from him while tears welled in his own, I knew he was telling me the truth.

  I'd like to say I jumped up and down for joy and excitement, or even tell
you I fainted, or perhaps felt so good about the news that my father and I
reconciled, but I didn't do any of those things.  The fact is that I may
have hated him even more for waiting nineteen years to tell me.  But I
didn't do any of those things you might read about in books--bad books
mostly.  I just reached out with a hand that seemed strangely detached from
my body and took the little piece of paper that held the address and phone
number of the girl he had always known about but never shared with me.  I
noticed the address was in a nearby city, less than fifty miles away.

  My only response to him was one word, "Why?"  He knew what I meant, of
course.  He'd known I wanted a sister.  My one word question represented
many.  Why had he and my mother not kept my sister but kept me?  Why had
they given her up in the first place?  Why was he telling me now, nineteen
years after my life should have been fulfilled?  A million thoughts zipped
through my strangely sluggish brain, one of the chief ones being that my
parents had certainly long wished they'd kept her instead of me.  After
all, I had turned out to be the lesbian, which in my family was the same as
saying Nazi, child killer, or some other word with such negative
connotations that the mere mention of it could cause shudders of distaste.
My mother rarely said the word, but when she did, it was as if she'd been
saying "shit" as though there were some of the foul excement in her mouth
with all its stench.

  To his credit, my father tried to answer my one-word question as best he
could, knowing it would never be enough.  He looked like someone standing
before God Himself, explaining his sins while knowing there was no
explanation for them that God would accept.

  "We were so poor back then.  We could barely afford you.  You were still
in diapers, and we decided that rather than raise two girls in poverty,
we'd do the best we could with you and allow the other to be adopted.  It
was best for her, you see."

  Well, that is one thing I could certainly see, quite easily really, but
not for the same reasons he was thinking.  I was jealous of my baby sister
without ever having met her because she had escaped being raised by these
two people.  But it wasn't a hateful jealousy.  Just an envious one, as if
she had been the lucky one.  I suddenly found myself wishing my parents had
decided to give both of us up to one family.  At least then we'd have been
together--and without them.

  But that was all water under the bridge...spilled milk... you pick the
metaphor.  The point was that my life had been what it was, and hers had
been what it was.  All we could do now was try our best to re-capture the
past nineteen years, all the while knowing that doing so was completely
impossible, like making the water flow in the opposite direction under the
bridge or unspilling the milk.

  "Does she know about me?"

  "She knows she's adopted, but other than that, I'm not sure.  It all
depends on what the adoption agency told them."

  I looked at my father, or at least the man who'd gotten my mother
pregnant with me, oh yes, and my sister, and said, "Whatever," and slowly
shut the door in his face.

  I stared at the slip of paper that held my past and my future.  It was
the physical manifestation of the marker that would define the rest of my
life, forevermore putting my life's days in two categories, BK and
AK--Before Kelsey and After Kelsey.  I had a sudden feeling that
Publishers' Clearing House had just knocked on my door.

  Then the fear set in.  A panic, really.  What if she didn't want to meet
me?  Get to know me?  Talk to me just once on the phone, even?  My heart
hammered against my ribs with the words that shaped reality: what if, what
if, what if...?

  Then I lay down, right there on the carpet of my apartment's small living
room, and cried.  I cried for what had never been and what had.  Some
people wallow in self-pity.  That day, I embraced it, sadly not for the
first time, hopefully for the last.  Because I had a sister.  No, I HAVE a
sister.

  If she would have me.

  As dusk began to press against my door and windows, I rose and made my
mind up that having a sister and not contacting her would be the same as
never having had one, so I went to the phone before I lost my nerve and
punched in the number from the tiny paper lifesaver I had been tossed after
so many years.

  "Hello?"  It was a man's voice.  He sounded my dad's age.  I was so
confused, expecting a girl around my own age to answer that I stammered for
a moment.

  "I, uhm, I - I'm sorry.  I, uh, must have the, uh, wrong number."

  "What number were you calling?" the man asked.  He sounded pleasant,
kind.  His voice had the quality of someone who wanted to help.

  I read him the number on the paper.

  "Well, you have that number.  Who were you trying to reach?"

  I could barely talk, my throat was so dry.  "Kelsey?" I said, making the
statement a question with my nearly inaudible voice.

  "Oh, yes.  She's here.  Why didn't you just ask?  Hang on a sec'."

  I could hear him calling my sister to the phone and the feminine response
that I couldn't make out from somewhere in their home.  His "Don't know,
some girl" let me know she'd probably asked who it was calling.

  For a moment, I thought of saying, "Tell her it's her sister," but I
thankfully dismissed that idea.  At least if I said nothing, I could at
least hear her say hello.

  Then she was there.  "Hello?"  She sounded impatient, as if I'd
interrupted something important.  More important than I was, certainly.

  "I'm sorry.  You must be busy.  I can call again later."

  "No.  You've already called.  What is it?"

  She thought I was a telemarketer.  Oh, God.  This wasn't going well at
all.

  "I'm... uhm..."  Say it, dammit!  Say it!  "I'm... uh... your sister."

  The confusion in her voice was so clear it was almost a solid with a
distinct shape as she said, "C'mon, this isn't Trish.  Who is it?"

  Now she thought I was claiming to be her sister--her sister in her
adopted family--but I clearly did not sound anything like her.

  "No, not Trish," I said, wondering how this might go and cursing my
parents for the billionth time.  I decided to plunge on.  "Your birth
sister."

  There was silence on the line.  Complete and utter silence.  I thought
for a moment that my father had lied, that Kelsey was totally unaware she'd
been adopted and I had just informed her of that fact, ruining her life
with a marker better never found.  I vaguely wished that my heart would
stop pounding and my salivary glands would work.

  The silence continued until I heard the man say from somewhere near my
sister, who was obviously in shock, "Kelsey?  Is something wrong?"  Then I
heard the tears.  Whether of joy, fear, sadness, anger, or what, I couldn't
tell.

  When she spoke, to the man not to me, I could tell the phone was not near
her mouth.  "Sister.  It's my sister.  From my birth family."  And suddenly
the man was on the phone.

  "Who is this?"  He didn't sound angry or annoyed.  What?  Concerned?

  "I'm sorry to bother you both.  I'm sorry.  I won't call again," I
managed to say between my own sudden sobs and hung up.

  I sat on the sofa, cradling the phone in my lap, and continued with the
long cry I had started after hearing this news.  Only now, I had someone
fifty miles away that I had managed to get to join me in my misery.  I
pictured my tub, with my bleeding body lying in it, my arms slit to the
hilt.  I shook my head hard to clear that image from my brain.  I'd
survived too much to give up now.

  When the phone rang five minutes later, I was startled and answered
before the end of the first ring, as if I'd been waiting for the call, and
in a way I had been all my life.

  "Don't hang up, PLEASE!" she said.  "What's your name?"

  "Cheryl," I said.

  "I'm sorry, Cheryl.  I shouldn't have reacted that way, but I've longed
to talk to someone from my birth family since I was a child.  You see, my
parents never hid it from me that I was adopted.  They told me they were
lucky enough to choose their angel.  But I always wanted to know my birth
family...."

  She was talking too fast from nerves and excitement, practically rambling
really.  I knew because I did the same thing all the time.  I either would
clam up, as I was now, or go totally in the other direction, rambling like
an idiot--but a cute idiot.  Yes, she was my sister.

  "....So when you said you were my birth sister, I sorta freaked, you
know?" she continued.  "But that's because I just couldn't believe it, you
know?  Oh, my GOD!  I'm ACTUALLY talking to my sister!  My FLESH AND BLOOD
SISTER!"

  "Yes."  It was all I could think of to say.  I felt numb.

  "Sorry.  I kinda ramble when I get nervous and excited at the same time."

  "Yeah, I do that too."

  "You don't sound very excited to talk to me.  Are you okay?  You did call
to talk, right?  I mean, this isn't about asking for a kidney or anything,
is it?"

  I finally smiled for the first time since I had opened the door to find
my father there.  "No, of course not.  I'm sorry.  You see, I didn't even
know about you until today.  Just about an hour ago, in fact."

  "Wow!  Really?  I didn't like know who you were or anything, but I did
know I had an older sister.  Or are you another one, younger than me?"

  Apparently, the circumstances of her birth and adoption had been shared
with her family.  "No, I'm the only birth sister you have," I said.  "I
guess, anyway.  They might be hiding another one for all I know."  I was
trying to hide the sarcasm, but I guess it slipped through.

  "Oh, yeah.  I guess it sorta pissed you off that they hadn't told you
about me, huh?"

  "Yeah, you could say that."

  "Wow.  I guess you musta been still pretty young when I was born not to
remember, huh?"

  "My father just told me we are fourteen months apart."

  "Really?  Wow!  Then you're only twenty?  Jeez.  We have to meet!  Oh,
sorry.  I'm assuming a lot.  I mean, do you want to meet?"

  My heart was pounding again, but for a different reason.  I was instantly
and madly in love with her.  Just as I'd always been, really.

  "I would love nothing better," I said, willing myself not to go off on a
ramblefest with her, too afraid I would tell her more than I was ready to
this soon.  I pictured myself saying something so totally stupid she would
decide to change her number and move, like, "I always fantsized about a
sister.  I saw us masturbating together and doing everything."
Fortunately, I held my tongue.

  We made plans to meet that night at a restaurant about half way between
us and have dinner, and go stroll along the beach after and talk.  Of
course, my imagination had us doing much more than talking on the beach,
but I realized I would have to give up on that idea.  The moment for that
to happen had long since passed.

  As it turned out, I was wrong about that.  Dead wrong.  But I didn't know
that then.

  Still, as I hung up to shower and get ready, it occurred to me that *69,
ironically, may have saved my life.  After all, she had bothered to return
the call.  And now she wanted to actually meet to talk to me.

  ******
  We had talked about what we would be wearing and such so that we would
recognize each other, but as it turned out that wasn't necessary.  She had
arrived first and she stood outside the seafood restaurant waiting.  As I
drove up, she didn't see me, and for a moment I just sat in my car and
looked at her.  The family resemblance was amazing.  We had the same eyes
and our noses were our mother's. Her jawline was narrower, like my
mother's, but I had my--our--father's, stronger and less "sharp."  Her
lips?  They just looked kissable to me right then, and for the first time,
I wondered if I could get through this night without reaching out, hugging
her gorgeous, slender body to mine, and kissing her with all the passion of
long-lost lovers, which to me, we were.

  As I climbed out of my car and approached her, she saw me and ran into my
arms, squeeling like a school girl and kissing my cheek hard.  We stood
there hugging and crying for so long that people began to stare, but I
didn't care, and I doubt she did either.

  We stepped back from each other and, wiping my eyes, I said, "Thank God
for waterproof mascara."  She laughed, wiping the tears from her eyes as
well.

  We entered the restaurant and were soon seated.

  "I love this place.  It has the best seafood in the area," she said,
which started us on a conversation about near misses.  This was one of my
favorite restaurants as well, and we wondered if there were ever a day we
were there at the same time.  This led to other places we loved to go.  As
it turned out, we had the same favorite beach, a state park with clean
bathrooms and showers, and we had been to a number of the same ball games,
such as a Miami Dolphins game just a few weeks before.  She had come with
some friends, as had I.  And it turned out we were only one section away
from each other.

  "Gee," she said, "we could have like bumped into each other and never
known it."

  "I don't know," I said.  "I would have recognized the family resemblance
at least.  You look just like our mother, only with our father's eyes."

  "Really?  Do you think they would like to meet me?"

  I could hear the fear in her voice.  I didn't want to verify that fear of
rejection, but I also didn't want to lie to her.

  "Well, I have to be honest with you--"

  "It's okay.  We have each other," she said, cutting me off.  "I mean,
they didn't want me then, why would they now?"

  The waiter brought my salad, and I looked down at it, wondering how to
tell her everything.

  "What?" she asked.  "There's something you want to tell me.  Go ahead.
What is it?"

  God.  How could she never have met me and know me so well?  I guess
there's something to say about genetics.  "Well, our mother's dead.  I'm
sorry.  She died a few years ago.  Her heart."

  "Oh, well.  You have pictures, though.  Lemme see them.  I'm anxious to
know how much I look like her."

  "Take my word for it.  Except for our father's eyes, you do.  It's scary,
in fact."

  "Show me," she said, tapping the table with both hands impatiently.

  Hmm.  Honesty time.  And way too soon for my taste.  I looked down at my
salad again.  She stopped tapping the table and reached across and took my
hands in hers.

  "Cheryl?  Honey, what is it?  We're sisters.....BLOOD sisters....You can
tell me."

  I looked at her, tears welling.  "I don't carry pictures of our parents.
I haven't for years."

  "Oh."  She was starting to get the idea that maybe she'd been the
fortunate one after all.  "Were they mean?  Did they beat you?"

  "Well..." I started.

  "Oh, God.  Did our dad like rape you?" she interrupted.

  "No, nothing like that.  They just... well, they just decided they didn't
want to see me again."

  It was her turn to well up.  "Oh, Honey.  I'm so sorry.  But why?  What
happened?"

  "You're my sister, right?"

  "Of course."

  "And you'll love me no matter what?"

  "Oh, Honey, yes.  Of course I will.  I mean, I've waited for this all my
life.  I've loved you forever.  I used to lie in bed and imagine us lying
there together and talking into the night.  I mean, Trish, who's my adopted
family sister, would talk to me and stuff, but she's like five years older
than I am, so that sorta made it different.  But you're like the confidante
I've always longed for, you know?  I will love you no matter what.  Even if
you, like, killed someone.  That wouldn't matter.  I will ALWAYS love you."

  Now tears were running down my cheeks, despite my efforts to stop them.
I could have said that to her.  Word for word, except about having an older
sister.

  "What is it?" she pleaded, genuinely wanting to know.

  I looked her in the eyes; I wanted to see her first reaction to what I
was going to say.  She stared back, directly into mine, and I had the
sensation of falling into a deep well, completely consumed by the beauty of
those eyes.  They were my father's eyes, true, but she made them beautiful
in a way I had never recognized in myself.

  Looking directly into her eyes, I said, "Kelsey.  Your sister's a
lesbian."

  And she laughed.  And in a way, that was the best thing she could have
done, because the laughter touched her eyes, and I could see that my
sexuality was of no consequence to her.  Or at least that is what I saw and
felt then.  The fact is that my statement of being a lesbian put other
things in motion.

"Is that all??  They disowned you because you're a--she paused, lowering
her voice--a lesbian?"

  "Yes."

  "Wow.  They were really weird, huh?"

  "You don't know the half of it.  Then it doesn't bother you?"

  "Why would it?"

  I don't know.  If you'd grown up feeling the shame I've always been made
to feel, you'd think it was one of the world's worst crimes."

  "Well, it isn't.  You think I'm all innocent and stuff just cuz I'm your
little sister?"

  "No, I don't.  I mean you're nineteen and very pretty, so of course you
aren't innocent.  The boys probably form a line outside your home just for
a date."

  She smiled.  That smile could light Miami.  It certainly lit my heart.
Then she squirmed in her seat a little to lean closer across the table.
With a devilish twinkle in her eyes, she said, "Well, not just the guys."

  "You mean you..."

  "Well, I'm not exactly a..." again she lowered her voice "... a lesbian,
but I guess you'd say I'm bi."

  My God.  My heart was about to pound its way out of my chest.  "Have you
ever been with a girl?"

  "Yes.  Plenty of times."

  I was more than curious.  "Who was it?  When?"

  It was Kelsey's turn to pause.  She obviously hadn't expected me to ask
that.  "Well, it was kinda weird.  REALLY weird, in fact."  She began to
blush, her face growing a deep red.

  Then it hit me, and I was suddenly jealous.  The look on her face said it
all.  It was Trish, her sister in her adopted family.  The sister she ended
up with, ironically, had done what I wanted to do all those years ago.  It
was almost as if it were pre-determined that her sister would introduce her
to lesbian sex.

  Only it was the wrong sister.

  Again, I wondered if our souls were somehow linked and I had masturbated
to fantasies about the two of us precisely when she was busy with Trish.

  "What is it?" she asked.  Apparently, my mouth must have been hanging
open.

  "It was your sister, wasn't it?  Trish."

  Her brow furrowed a bit and her eyes welled up again.  "How did you know?
Do you think I'm all weird now?  I wasn't going to actually tell you."

  "No, I don't think you are all weird now.  I love you.  Just like you
love me."  Then I looked in her eyes.  "Maybe more so."

  "It wasn't like we were like blood relatives, and anyway, that's only a
danger when it's a brother or another guy in your family.  Trish couldn't
exactly get me pregnant.  I mean, there was no inbreeding taking place or
anything.  We were just sisters having fun together.  It was more fun than
doing it alone."  Then what I'd said hit her.  "What did you mean, 'Maybe
more so,' anyway?"

  I looked into those gorgeous eyes again and let her know the full extent
of my lifelong love for her.

  "I used to masturbate at night, wishing I had a sister about your age to
do it with.  I still do, in fact.  The last time was just a few days ago."

  "How long has that been going on?"

  "Masturbating or fantasizing about a sister?"

  She thought for a second.  "Both."

  "Well, I've been masturbating nearly my entire life, ever since I
discovered how good it felt to ride a rocking horse when I was about four.
You?"

  "I found out it felt good when I was five or so, but I didn't know about
masturbation until I was eight and walked in on Trish."

  "What did she do?"

  "Let me watch until she came.  She always loved being watched.  We
started masturbating together after that, and when I was twelve, we really
got into it.  So how long have you had the sister fantasy?"

  "That started when I was about ten or eleven.  I've actually placed a
full-length mirror on the floor and imagined I had a twin."

  I could tell from the look on her face that she was thinking--coming to a
decision.  It didn't take long.

  "Really?  You used to fantasize about me even before you knew I was
alive?"

  "Yes."

  Her eyes got that devilish twinkle again as she leaned forward again and
said, "Let's finish our meals and go for that walk on the beach.  I think
we have some catching up to do."

  "Really?  You want to...?"

  "If you do.  To be honest, my pussy started getting wet when I first laid
eyes on you."

  I swallowed.  Hard.  "Mine, too."

  "Then it's settled," she said, smiling.  Eat up."

  I grinned.  "Oh, I intend to."

  I couldn't believe it, but then again, I could.  She was my sister, after
all.  There was obviously a genetic similarity, and perhaps that similarity
had led to our being similar in other ways as well, such as incestuously
inclined toward a sister.

  We finished our dinner and I stopped at my car for a blanket to lay out
on the beach.  It would be sandy, but that was fine.  At least I would be
with my sister.  My real, flesh and blood, sexy, loving sister.

  We found a secluded spot and spread the blanket.  I lay down and she
joined me there.  I propped myself up on one elbow and looked into those
eyes that had had me mesmerized all evening.

  "I love you, you know," I said, nearly panting my desire was so great.

  "I know.  I love you, too," she said and closed her eyes and waited for
my kiss as if she'd done it every day of her life.  I didn't make her wait
long.

  We lay there and kissed, tongues dueling gently but passionately.  Her
lips would melt butter, just as her eyes had melted my heart and soul.

  I could feel the heat of her before my hands moved to her breasts.  They
were not too large, only a B cup on her slender frame.  She had shed her
bra while we walked on the beach, carrying it in one hand while holding my
hand with the other, and I had done the same.  I lifted her shirt and
exposed her lovely breasts.  I was not surprised that her nipples were the
same chocolate brown as mine, with the same small protruding nipple that
grew nearly a quarter of an inch from the areolas.  I smiled and lifted my
shirt to let her see how nearly we were twins.  My breasts were only
slightly fuller than her own, a C cup.  She began to lick and suck my
nipples as well.

  "It's almost like sucking my own nipples," she said, bestowing a kiss on
my left breast.

  Soon, we were getting hot enough to need more.  My hands found the snap
to her jeans, and she helped me get the pants off, revealing her panties.
I returned the favor.  We were down to nothing but the cotton low riders we
each wore.  I moved into the sixty-nine position, and I felt her fingers
grasp the elastic of my panties and pull them to my knees.  Wiggling my
legs, I helped her get them all the way off.  She buried her face into my
most tender spot and began to kiss and lick my clit and labia with a wild
abandon.  After removing her panties, I returned the favor.

  As we licked and sucked, I could feel her fingers playing with my anus.
I could tell she was wondering if she should enter me there.  I wanted to
put her at ease.  "Finger my ass.  Whatever you like to do, I probably like
as well."

  Her finger plunged in.  Soon we were humping each other's fingers and
devouring the wettest regions on each other's body.  Her juices were
flowing from her like water over a dam, cascading into my mouth as I licked
and sucked the mound that I had dreamt of nearly all my life.

  I felt the orgasm building, and from the way she was bucking up and down
on my face, she was close as well.  Finally, she pushed her hips into my
face and held them there and began to scream out her orgasm, legs, belly,
and buttocks shivering with the immensity of it.  Within seconds of the
arrival of her own orgasm, mine began.

  Afterward, we lay on the blanket, cuddling together as I had always
wanted.  We were both crying quietly, happy in our love to the point that
it overflowed our hearts into our eyes and cascaded down to lips that we
tenderly kissed, bringing the salty tears into ourselves, and thus
swallowing the happiness of the other.

  I told Kelsey that Trish had waited a lot longer than I would have.  "I'd
have been doing it with you from the time you were six."  I was jealous,
but I had won out in the long run.

  "Well, there was an age difference we don't have.  Five years is a long
time when you're eight and your partner is thirteen."  That got me to
thinking about Trish.  Did she share my other passion?  The one I could not
tell Kelsey, no matter what?

  We returned to our cars and Kelsey followed me home.  We spent the night
together for the first time, and we lost count of the orgasms.  It's been a
month since that first night.  She is moving in with me next week.

  As I said, until a month ago, my life was a living Hell.

  One month and Kelsey have made it heaven.