Finding My Sister

  • Posted on May 4, 2015 at 2:28 pm

By Cheryl Taggert

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. It was actually written to try to deal with my sense of loss for never having the sister I longed for. The peripheral things in this story are true (my relationship with my family, the desire for a younger sister and the reasons for it, etc.). Only the parts about Kelsey are not (sadly).

There’s not much sex in this story, either, except at the end; it is a story about the characters and life. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

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 to her.

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 sixteen, 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 signposts 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 sixteen 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, sixteen 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 excrement 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 recapture the past sixteen years, all the while knowing that doing so was completely impossible, like making the water flow in the opposite direction under the bridge or un-spilling 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 seventeen? 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, squealing like a schoolgirl 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 sixteen 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 mesmerized me 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 to form delectable tips. 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.

10 Comments on Finding My Sister

  1. Aimie says:

    I loved every word, indeed it made me recollect feelings I experienced with my sibling sisters. But the line where you really got me was:
    “Did she share my other passion? The one I could not tell Kelsey, no matter what?”
    You wonderful tease: Tell, tell!

  2. Cheryl says:

    Aimie,

    Thank you so much! Of course, it would be the desire for young girls, which I would suspect she would share, given her desire for a “sister” five years younger, or only 8 when their sexual relationship began. Of course every word in this story that involves my “sister” is, alas, purely fictional. The comments about my parents are, alas, quite true, which is part of my first blog entry on this site. Anyway, I am so happy you enjoyed this. Yours is the first comment on it, yet it was the first story ever posted to the site. You have made my day, since this is such an important story to me. THANK YOU!!!!! THANK YOU!!!!! THANK YOU!!!!! THANK YOU!!!!!

  3. JetBoy says:

    What a gorgeous, moving story! Years after reading it for the first time, “Finding My Sister” has lost not an iota of its tender beauty. I have to indulge myself and read it several times a year, like listening to an old familiar song that always brings a smile… and sometimes, a happy tear to the eye. (Unlike that old song, this story also provides a serious jolt of arousal.) Thanks for sharing your secret dream with the world, Cheryl.

  4. Cheryl says:

    You’re more than welcome, JetBoy! I’m glad you continue to like it!

  5. Richard Useted says:

    touching. I loved it.

  6. Amanda Lynn says:

    Such a great story Cheryl. My sister was adopted and she is 10 years younger than me. Though I love her dearly, we never formed that sisterly bond most siblings do.

  7. Jennifer says:

    What a truly soulwarming, lovable story, touching my heart deeply. *sigh*

  8. Cheryl says:

    Thank you for reading and commenting. This one is especially close to my heart for obvious reasons. It will appear on the Story of the Week page in another week or so. I am so glad you liked it!

  9. Misty Meadow says:

    Beautifully written, Cheryl. A little more sex would have lifted it from “excellent” to “superb”, but that’s just my opinion. I’m a very randy girl.

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