Chapter 1, My Summer of Firsts
Janelle was helping me pack up the remaining items in the apartment when she came across a photo of me, my sister Amy and our friend Allison. I gazed at the photo and fondly remembered the events of nine years ago. We were standing with our arms around each other in front of the swimming pool in my backyard.
But, it was Amy's grinning face that brought tears to my eyes; I sorely missed her. Janelle saw my eyes were edged with tears and gave me a reassuring hug. My Dad appeared in the doorway and I turned away so he wouldn't see my eyes.
With my face downcast, I embraced him but my Dad gently lifted my chin with his hand and saw the tears.
"Why are you crying?" he asked with parental worry and I showed him the picture.
My Father was not a sentimental person but the sight of Amy in the photo caused him to sob out loud. I held him tightly and cried along with him.
As my Father was taking some boxes to the truck, I sat in one of the remaining chairs and recalled the life changing events that preceded the photo. In my mind, I saw the snow covered trails of Vail Mountain and...
ONE:
Amy's skis kicked up a mini snow storm with every turn as I followed my sister down the intermediate terrain on Vail's Back Bowl area. A powdery blanket of new snow covered the slopes and our early arrival meant that crowds were temporarily at a minimum.
By 11am the fresh snow was trampled by endless ski tracks and Amy wanted to warm up in the lodge. After several hot chocolates, I wanted to tackle a black diamond trail off the summit.
"I'll stick to intermediate trails." Amy stated firmly.
"Please Amy" I begged in a little girl voice and she regarded me with a sour expression.
"Ok" she sighed with the resignation of an older and wiser sister.
As we sat on the chair lift on our way to the summit, Amy voiced her concern and emphatically reminded me to traverse across the mountain in long "S" loop turns to keep my speed in check.
After we exited the chair lift, I kept a safe distance behind my sister as she conservatively skied over the nearly vertical terrain. But, less than half way down, I grew impatient with her "senior citizen" pace and skied ahead. I shortened my "S" turns and picked up speed but much faster than I was prepared to handle.
As I hurtled faster down the mountain, I tried lengthening my turns but lost control and fell to avoid going off the trail. It seemed as though I was tumbling in slow motion and real time reestablished itself when I came to a stop.
When I tried to move my right arm and leg, searing pain shot thru my body. I heard Amy screaming my name and saw her panic filled face when she stopped next to me.
"Jessica! Are you alright! She yelled.
"I think I broke something" I groaned.
"Don't move! I'm going to find the Ski Patrol." She said in a loud and concern filled voice.
I cried out in agony when the Patrol rolled me onto the sled/stretcher and strapped me in tight. Amy was sniffing and her eyes were brimming with tears.
"Dad's gonna meet us at the medical center." She stated in a breaking voice.
It was twelve noon on the first day of my long anticipated ski weekend over the Presidents Day holiday and my vacation was over. At the center, someone pushed a needle into my arm and my recollection of the next twenty four hours was hazy.
I recall hearing voices and the words fracture and knee. When I woke, I saw my Dad's very worried looking face.
"Hi Dad." I said in a light drug induced tone and he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.
He described the extent of my injuries and it wasn't pretty. My right wrist was fractured and I sustained right knee ligament tears along with a right leg fracture.
"You're going to be here for the next week, maybe more." He said sadly.
My Father was explaining some of the procedures necessary to stabilize my leg, when I fell back to sleep. For the next two or three days, I was in and out of the conscious world.
During that time, an operation to repair my knee and place pins in my leg was performed. Slowly I was weaned off the pain medication and my journey back to reality was filled with hurt. As my rehab therapy started, my first tentative steps were blindingly painful.
Less than a week after my fall, my Father was sitting next to me in the hospital room and I was whimpering from the pain. But, he had that lecture look on his face.
"Jessica Ann, what were you thinking!?" he questioned angrily.
He always called me Jessica Ann when he was angry with me.
"I'm sorry" I cried with sorrow and the tears came unrelentingly.
However, the tears didn't soften his mood because he was well acquainted with my "crying apologies" during his reprimands.
"You're swimming career is in jeopardy and may be over unless your leg responds to a rigorous rehabilitation schedule. He said with the same anger.
Now I was weeping in earnest and he hugged me with a parent's unquestioning love. I was one of the best swimmers on my high school team and we were in first place at the end of the regular season.
"You're sister is blaming herself for your injuries." He said strongly.
"It was my fault Dad" I sobbed and saw Amy crying along with me.
Amy hugged me with sisterly concern as I cried my heart out.
Back home in California, my road to rehabilitation was long and arduous. Because I was in my senior year of high school, a school district tutor was assigned to me for six hours a day Monday thru Friday. However, two weeks later I was able to return to classroom instruction on crutches.
I attended some of the meets but my teammates lost in the district quarter finals. I was angry and frustrated with myself for my stupid behavior on the slopes. My lack of good judgment probably cost my team a berth in the state finals.
My senior year of high school was ending on a dramatic downbeat and I went dateless and on crutches to my senior prom. I was hoping to be crutch free by graduation and limped to the podium to accept my diploma.
With my acceptance to State U. partially based on my swimming ability, I started my own rehab program at home. My father had a pool installed in our backyard when Amy was in 10th grade and it saw a lot of use over the years.
I had floundered in school sports until I discovered I had some talent for swimming. By my senior year, our team was considered one of the top ten among California high schools.
My eighteenth birthday on June 15th was very subdued and I really didn't feel like celebrating. With a few friends and family at my home, I solemnly blew out the candles on my cake.
I spent the week swimming laps in the pool for two hours a day; one hour in the morning and one hour in the late afternoon. Initially my right leg and arm prickled with pain and I was forced to take leisurely but slow strokes. When I pulled my Speedo on after four months of swimming inactivity, it felt snug; too snug.
When I looked at myself in the mirror, my lean and athletic body had softened and evolved into a curvier and more feminine look. My breasts looked fuller and more pointed. My legs still retained their muscular look but with slightly larger hips. But, the sight of the scars from the operations to my knee and leg bothered me a great deal.
At first I was upset with the changes but realized I had experienced a growth spurt the past few months. One fact was certain, I looked a lot more grown up.
With spirited resolve, I maintained my two hours a day swimming laps in the pool. My sister's friend Allison lived next door and periodically appeared for a swim or to chat with Amy.
It was unusually hot for early summer and I started wearing a bikini bottom and no top for my pool laps. With our gated and high security fence, our pool was private. However, one afternoon my Dad caught me and he was livid.
"Jessica Ann! Where is your top?" He yelled with an irate voice.
Funny, but I failed to remember him ever calling Amy, Amy Elizabeth.
I promised to wear my Speedo when I practiced laps. But, secretly I kept wearing only the bottoms for my morning practice because he left for work long before I started.
One morning I was finishing my laps when I heard the back gate open. I swam to the side of the pool and saw Allison walking onto the pool deck. I waved and climbed up the pool ladder in front of her.
With water dripping off my braless tits, I felt Allison's hot gaze as she looked me up and down. Although it made me feel uncomfortable, I was mildly fascinated by her reaction. I reached for my towel and wrapped it around my upper body.
When I told Allison that Amy was working until noon, she made no attempt to leave. This went on for a week or better with her appearance during my topless morning swim. She would watch me until I finished and then talk idle chit chat for awhile.
I was smart enough to know that Allison wanted something or she wouldn't be staring. I was inexperienced with sexual matters and except for kissing a few boys at parties, was a virgin from the neck down. My involvement and dedication with swimming occupied most of my time until I was injured.
One morning I decided not to cover up and she brazenly gawked at my tits. I got a tingly and warm feeling in my pussy and after she left, I noticed my bottoms were damp.
I knew about same sex hook ups on the swim team but never paid much attention to them. On my computer, I went to the internet looking for websites with lesbian content and my eyes were glued to the screen.
The pictures of girls sucking each others tits and pussies had me squirming in my chair. Before I realized it, I was fingering my moist slit to orgasm.
I found lesbian story websites and was intrigued by the ones dealing with seduction. After a few days of Allison ogling my breasts and surfing the lesbian porn sites, I was masturbating on a daily basis.
I discovered one excitingly explicit site and while I was in the shower stroking myself like crazy, Amy came home from her part time job. She must have heard my moans and when I turned around, saw her looking at me thru the glass doors.
"Having fun?" She questioned with a sly tone.
I tried to cover up and Amy handed me a towel as I exited the shower. I was mortified but my sister asked me if I wanted to talk about it. When I was fourteen, we had the "Birds and the Bees" discussion several times until I knew by heart the concept and consequences of sex.
When our Mom died seven years ago, she became a surrogate mother to me as well as big sister. Despite the three year age difference, she assumed the role with the same love, care and devotion. However, I was a mischievous kid until puberty reared its ugly head and I became a moody bitch. Thankfully, Amy was a compassionate person because I tested her patience on many an occasion.
