From the Beginning

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.

Although reluctant to leave Charlene, she encouraged me to confront my mom about my feelings. She lead me to the desire to scream at mom the way I used to, to force her to understand why I hated the situation they had all put me in. I wanted to beat her over the head with my anger until she broke down in a fit of uncontrollable crying, muttering softly about how utterly unfair they had been to me. I was crazy with the idea of making her ache with guilt about forcing me, on two of the most important days of my life, to be a peacekeeper. So fluffing up my courage I left late Friday evening secretly hoping to avoid the confrontation until the morning.

I finally got home after an hour of aimless driving, circling my neighborhood without ever passing by my house. As I pulled in I was completely surprised by an empty driveway. I vividly remember searching my brain for a memory about her plans. After a few minutes I settled on a hope that she had finally gone on a date and was enjoying herself for the first time in years. A shot of emotional pain shot across my fragile mind catching me completely off guard. I felt strangely torn between a desire to see her happy and a horrifying image of a dirty scene in a scummy hotel room. I was so engrossed in my imagination, that as I walked into the house I didn't even see the blinking light on the answering machine.

With little else to do, I took a long shower to rinse off the tears and exhaustion from days of mental tension. Yet I couldn't get the tawdry images of a naughty rendezvous out of my mind. As the water bounced off my skin I let my imagination go, letting the snapshot grow into a full-fledged fantasy. Suddenly I was seeing through her eyes, waiting impatiently by the door for the date to arrive. When the doorbell rang I flew to the door and pulled it open forcefully, not even attempting to hide my anticipation. Then I gasped as I stared into the eyes of the most beautiful man I had ever seen.

He had chiseled features, like Adonis or Hercules, as if he were shaped out of flawless marble over centuries of painstaking craftsmanship. His eyes smoldered with a soft intensity that made me quiver slightly. My legs threatened to give out underneath me as I took his proffered hand in silent reverie. Mentally I fast-forwarded through the boring parts of the introductions. I jumped smoothly into a romantic dinner in the best restaurant in town, letting him romance me with his subtle charm and deeply sexy voice. It was as if his every word reverberated through me, causing endless satisfaction. It felt like he was going to make me cum with just his voice.

Then just as smoothly as before the scene transitioned to an elegant uptown condo on the top floor of a high rise with breathtaking vistas of the city below. He moved around me like a panther, encircling me with the skills of a dancer. Every so often his powerful hands brushed against my back sending tantalizing chills up my spine. Taking his time to tease me, he drew closer and closer until his body was pressed up behind me. I could feel his growing excitement pressing into the soft curve of my waist. His breath warm and sweet blew onto my neck causing my skin to electrify. Impatient for his touch I attempted to turn into his lips, wanting desperately to taste him for the first time.

But instead he wrapped his solid arms around my shoulders and pulled me tightly against him. He then lowered his chin and pressed his cheek to mine and started to hum softly. At first I didn't realize what he was doing as he began to guide gently in a sway from side to side. Then he started to sing, soft and sexual, undercurrents of Leonard Cohen and Barry White caressed my ears. Turning me without breaking the contact between us, he began to lead me into a casual dance. He had moved his hand to my waist without me even realizing it. Waltzing with subtle movements he spun me around his living room sending me into a swoon.

I closed me eyes and enjoyed the sensations, all my other senses overloading with erotic stimulus. Then I felt something brush against my lips, something soft and warm. It pushed against me attempting to gain access to my tongue. I opened up eagerly, wanting to consume him in my overwhelming desire. The kiss started fast and passionately, each of us trying to top the other in our forceful lust. As my tongue played an aggressive game of tag with his I felt him start to pull back a little. I moaned in protest but he seemed undeterred. The transition would've been almost imperceptible except for my increasing disappointment as his kiss became tender. I was slow on the uptake trying to continue my frenzy, until he broke from me abruptly. I felt the expression of hurt on my face, so I opened my eyes to a crooked smile full of mischief.

His playful grin teased my emotions as he suddenly erupted in movement. Next thing I knew I was horizontal floating across the room on arms made of steel. I was wrong before, he wasn't some Greek god, he was a superhero, and this was his way of showing me his power. He laid me gently on his bed and began to undress me, kissing each inch of my skin as he exposed it. For each moment that passed I wanted him more, for each second he teased I grew increasingly impatient. At the height of my lust he finally exposed my breasts. The air against my skin was too much for me and I came instantly, breathing deeply but trying to suppress the flush of blood filling my cheeks. Irrationally I didn't want him to know how insane he was making me. I had to fight every impulse to throw myself against him and force him inside of me.

But he noticed anyway, leaning in close to my ear as he cupped my breasts in his hands for the first time. Blowing gently against my earlobe he whispered, "Irene"... suddenly I was in my shower the water still cascading around me in a warm cocoon. My own hands cupping my breasts instead of his, and the feeling in my stomach soured instantly from butterflies to nausea. Quickly I shut off the water, feeling very confused. The last elements of his perfect face started to fade from my thoughts as I pushed the idea of finishing the fantasy as deep into the dark corners of my mind as it would go.

I toweled off in a daze and stumbled into my room grabbing a large shirt and slippers. I was afraid that any contact with the more sensitive areas of my body would be detrimental to my willpower to resist the fantasy. I went downstairs and turned on the TV hoping to drown out the last of the lingering imagery. It worked better then I could've hoped as I flipped through the channels and found one of my favorite old romance movies. I was quickly pulled into its simple charm, filling my head with old daydreams of true love and pretty illusions of happily ever after. I didn't even think about the time as I watched my old friends on screen. When the final credits rolled by and the picture faded into a corporate logo I suddenly realized something was wrong. This jerked me back into reality, I found myself curled into a ball on the couch clutching the remnants of an abused tissue that I had poured cups full of tears into. Blinking quickly I focused on the digital clock on the VCR.

I started at it for a moment in disbelief and I was immediately filled with worry. Irene had never stayed out this late, even when my parents went on dates when I was kid. Frantically I started to look around for a note or a message until my eyes finally settled on the blinking red light of the answering machine. I had no idea what horror awaited my finger after I pressed play, so I walked slowly and deliberately. Forcing each step forward to take longer then the one before. Finally I was hovering over the ugly square box and in slow motion pressed the play button. The small tape squealed at me as it rewound. My heart started to race, and I couldn't wrap my mind around why I was feeling so odd, like there was a sense of impending heartache.

So when the message started to play my already rapidly beating heart started to spasm, jumping beats and aligning into a new rhythm that sounded oddly like the first strings of Madame Butterfly. The message was too short, it didn't tell me anything. The nurse that called was very simple and direct, but also very vague. Even now, so many years later, I remember the words exactly because they've been burned into my memory.

"This is St Mary's Hospital, I'm calling for a Lora Silversmith. This afternoon a Mrs. Irene Silversmith was brought in to our emergency room with multiple injuries resulting from an automobile collision. We are calling to inform you that she is now out of surgery..." And that is all I remember, I'm sure I fainted after she said surgery. When I woke I rushed out to my car completely forgetting that I was wearing next to nothing and sped to the hospital.

They led me to a small private recovery room; she was sleeping heavily and seemed to have gained twenty pounds. Her right leg was in a cast up to mid thigh that was elevated from a sling mounted to the ceiling, her face was covered in several small bandages, and her right hand was wrapped in gauze. I managed to sit in the chair by her bed before breaking down into tears. She had always been strong, even during the fights with my dad. She was the kind of person that had an aura of strength that others fed off of. All of a sudden it was as if all of her strength was simply gone, and all that was left was a shell that looked like a poor copy of my mother.

She slept for almost two days; the concussion she had sustained combined with anesthesia from the surgery and pain medication made her nearly comatose. I called my father and David, and they both sent hollow regrets and well wishes. It was then that I realized I was all that she had in the entire world. So I never left her side, holding her hand and mumbling quietly to myself about guilt and blame. Suddenly she was a saint, she was forgiven for everything that had ever happened. I didn't care how horrible I felt the week before; it didn't matter anymore because she was still alive. Charlene came frequently and comforted me almost as much as I attempted to comfort my unconscious mother.

Then she was awake, and we went home. Charlene became a staple for the first week, and for the first time in years I felt like I was home. I was happy in a way I hadn't been in years, like the way I felt when my family was together. But it didn't last, after the first week Charlene had to go home and deal with her own family issues, and mom started to turn on me. I had been helpful, selfless, and very cheery due to my new frame of mind. Yet for every good thing I did for her, she returned the favor with bile. She started pushing at my buttons and nagging me incessantly. In less then a week I started to crash, emotionally exhausted and utterly confused. I couldn't understand what I was doing wrong.

Rejection isn't something I deal with well, and after I had hit such an emotional high I didn't know where to go. So I turned to Charlene, and she offered to take me away from everything for a couple of days. It sounded like heaven; the plan was to take the form of a trip to the city to go to a concert and a party at my brother's university. I trudged through the rest of the week, trying desperately to put up with my mother's increasingly irrational tirades that would leave me in tears most of the time.

That Friday, the morning of the trip, Charlene called me with a sour tone of voice. It took me a less then second to realize what she was calling for. When she told me and made the inevitable plausible excuse my world started to crash again. I had built up the trip as a way to recover that lost happiness that I felt for those few days. She apologized of course, perhaps a dozen times before getting off the phone. But it was too late, everything was gone now and I felt abandoned again.

I ran out of the house in tears, I heard mom calling out to me as I left but I didn't care. I drove for hours, determined to find an escape. But on autopilot I only managed to circle around my neighborhood twenty or so times. When I realized this I gave up and turned the car back towards home. I made it to the driveway before loosing my nerve; I didn't want to face her in the worst way. Quickly I came up with a plan to sneak into the house and past her room without getting noticed.

I got through the living room and to the base of the stairs when I heard something strange coming from upstairs. I was like a deer caught in headlights, I stood in utter silence afraid to move, and oddly eager to see if wasn't imagining things. Then it happened again, and there was no mistake this time, it was a moan. For reasons I couldn't fully fathom at the time curiosity got the better of me. So I crept up the stairs to her room, and was surprised to find the door slightly ajar. I leaned around the edge of the doorstop to peer through the sliver of an opening.

What I saw made me nearly faint in shock, and instant arousal. Like a queen she was propped up on a small mountain of pillows. She had lowered her purple silk nightgown below her breasts and was using her left hand to caress her nipples in an alternating pattern. But her breasts only kept my attention for a moment, it was what was going on below her waist that grabbed my attention and held it. Her broken leg was spread as far as it could go and other leg was splayed open nearly ninety degrees. It was clear she was no longer wearing panties, but most of her private parts were covered by her right hand. Her hand was moving furiously, pumping two fingers inside of herself while her thumb rubbed circles around her engorged clit.

I had never seen anyone else masturbating and I was instantly aroused by it. The mental connection to who was actually performing the act didn't register. The only thing that mattered now was the new heat that was beginning to build in my pussy. Almost as if she knew she had an audience she began to moan again, but her eyes were still closed so I knew that she hadn't seen me. The intensity of her movements grew along with her breathing to the point where she started to almost hyperventilate. Then she screamed and begun to convulse, spasms rippling through her body. I was so turned on that I didn't care if she caught me. As she started to come down she smiled and whispered my name. For a second I thought she had seen me, and then I realized her eyes were still closed. That's when it dawned on me that she was fantasizing about me.