Note to the reader: This is a work of fiction and all characters within it are fictitious. Any similarity between these characters and anyone either living or dead is purely coincidental. All characters portrayed in a sexual manner are eighteen years old. This story is of an incestuous and taboo nature and may not be suitable for all readers. This is a revised version of "From the beginning Ch. 01" new scenes and details have been added as well as a clean up of some very spotty punctuation. Also due to some requests I have attempted to expand upon the love scenes by adding some explicit details and some emotional responses. This is a broader version than what was written before, and it expands upon a couple of the characters and elements of plot. I hope you enjoy the revisions.
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There is very little to enjoy about the passing of another year without love. The sad thing is that before I was eighteen I had no idea what I was missing. At the time the change of seasons was as unremarkable to me as the rising and lowering of the tide. I remember feeling like I was supposed to know something, or even to feel something about reaching such an important age. But to me turning eighteen seemed to be an absolutely arbitrary moment. One minute I'm a minor making me legally incapable of making adult choices. Then the next I'm expected to know instinctively how to make them.
But what I find truly funny is how things change. I was naïve and innocent, so blinded by the rules of society that I would never have even thought to look at another woman if things hadn't happened the way they did. To tell you the truth, writing this isn't something easy. Yet I find myself in a period of self-examination, placing my need to examine my past squarely at odds with an oath that I made never to relate that past. But irony is without compassion, so even though it is wildly inappropriate to start with my first story, it is exactly what I am going to do.
With my reasons explained I should probably introduce myself. My name is Lora, and my story starts almost eleven years ago, two weeks after turning eighteen. At the time I was a little over five and a half feet tall, I wore my hair long and straight dangling down close to the top of my ass. Without dye I have strawberry-blonde hair, and my eyes are a natural sapphire blue. My body hasn't really changed much since I was a teenager, and even pushing thirty I've managed to stay trim and athletic. Even so when I was eighteen I very skinny, and my top half was, and still is, not exceptionally curvy. My breasts barely push past an A cup, but still I pride myself on my perfect pink nipples. They are roughly the size of silver dollars and placed centrally on my very perky tits, well perky for their size. Although my nipples are a point of pride, I would say that my best asset is my ass. It is bigger then my frame would suggest and it's shaped similarly to an upside down heart.
Now to start with, things with my family life had been strained for a couple years. Jonathan (my father) had cheated on Irene (my mother), which sparked the beginning of a bitter separation. The separation lasted through my final two years of high school and the divorce was finalized two weeks before graduation. My eighteenth birthday was a couple of days after graduation, and because of my stupid family I was very depressed. Living with my mother had become unbearable, especially after my brother David moved out when I was sixteen.
David was estranged from our parents and refused to even accept their calls. I had played messenger for mom at first but as the months past she eventually began to grow tired of his constant refusals to talk to her. Finally she gave up and refused to even mention his name. This got more then a little awkward when they were all reunited for my graduation. That night was sprinkled with threats in harsh emotionless tones, backed up by cold stares probably causing hunting shops throughout the state to call for an emergency restock of daggers. Even though I was trying to be the family ambassador, I made very little head room since they wouldn't even shake hands.
The next couple of days were rough, mediating the three of them into something resembling a cease-fire accord. But by the end of the third day, which just happed to be my birthday, the situation ruined any happiness I might have derived from the occasion. The next day David and my father left, giving me hugs and half smiles, wishing with empty words how they wanted to spend more time with me. This left me alone with my mother, now don't get me wrong I love my mother, but we were not exactly close.
There was something about our relationship that was unusual. First off she had an unnerving habit of knowing exactly what I was thinking. During my rebellious years this lead to an endless number of heated screaming matches. That trend continued well after I had started to mature; only by then the fire had shifted into an icy bitterness. Yet there was an underlying gravity in our relationship, almost an intensity that was both at the same time very healthy and extremely unhealthy. As I grew older I had learned to love our fights, because I realized it was our way of showing that we did love one another.
The next day and for the next two weeks following, I managed to escape the house with my best friend Charlene. I spent a majority of the time at Charlene's, leaning on her for support so that I could start to patch up my broken spirit. Charlene and I had one of those friendships where secrets were forbidden; we shared everything with one another. In a lot ways she was more then my best friend, I believed in a foolish sort of way that she was my soul mate, joined together in a platonic union that could never be broken. By the end of those short weeks, my cares about my broken family had begun to vanish, and the bitter memory of my ruined birthday had faded almost entirely.
