Forgiveness and Reconciliation – Chapter 0 – Prelude

Greetings and salutations, reader. I’m writing to you, addressing you, with a very specific goal in mind. This story is not the first I have written, however it is the first I’ve felt comfortable enough in it’s quality to publish online. As such, there is a task I’m asking you to complete. Tell me what you think. The more specific the better, obviously, but even a simple, “It’s good”, or “It sucked” is better than no feedback at all. Point out any errors I might have missed in spelling, and be the best grammar Nazi you can be. I believe in you, and you just need to believe in your ability to point out things that are wrong. With that said, sit back, relax, and enjoy.

This first installment is NOT PORN. It is just backstory which I feel is needed for the characters to feel real. NO CHARACTERS will be having sex while underage. Thems the rules, and they’re going to be followed. That being said, it’s foolish to imagine that no characters existed in these stories before they were of legal age, and that seems to be the case a lot of the time. All too often I’ve read stories which are well written, grammatically correct and with proper spelling, good sex scenes, and characters which are about as interesting as dead fish. The next chapters will come soon, but don’t expect sudden hole-stuffing, because you aren’t going to get it.

“There’s no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it.” -Alfred Hitchcock

EDIT! – This is a reupload to this site. This story was previously banished from the site as it was classified as underage, while the domain was transitioning and playing with its rules. There are multiple stories up now that have been up for a while featuring underaged characters, and so I feel confident in this non-sexual piece of backstory being uploaded again. Hopefully it is as well received this time as it was last time. Any and all encouragement is appreciated. and constructive criticism, once again!

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My name is Justin, and I love my sister. Not in the familial sense, but in a deep, primal way. I’ve known this for a long time, but right now I’m questioning how I could have ended up so broken. My sister is curled up beside me, naked and asleep in this hotel bed that we ran away to. I don’t know if we’ll ever see our parents again. In fact I doubt it. We fled after they found us together, there’s no other way to describe it. We ran as far and as fast as we could, because we were scared. I don’t think either of us are bad people, but we both know what we’ve done, what we’re doing, is wrong. If you’ll let me, I’d like to tell you how we got to this point, running from our family and our lives.

I suppose a physical description is in order, dear reader. As I said, my name is Justin. I’m 6’1″ tall, 19 years old, and am a nice solid 186 lbs. I inherited the red hair of our Father, and the blue eyes from God-only-knows who. A tight cluster of freckles across my cheeks and the bridge of my nose marks me as a pure ginger, when coupled with my pale skin and asthma. One of the few upsides of being asthmatic was no one ever expected me to participate all that hard in PE in high school. I’d just whip out the inhaler and claim to not feel up to dodge-ball, or roller-hockey, or whatever monstrosity our school’s basketball coach was telling us to do. And while this displeased him greatly, it gave me time to read, or do the homework I should have done the night before.

My sister on the other hand was a different mater. Her name is Rachel, and while she shares my freckles, that’s the only major resemblance we have. She’s a year older than me at 20, standing at 5’5″, and about 130 lbs. She has the brown eyes of our parents, and short cut black hair. She’s dyed it black since she was 13, her natural hair colour being blonde. Her reasons for short dyed hair were simple, really. First, she was a tomboy, and just couldn’t be bothered to brush out long hair. Keeping it short also let her run through the bushes without it getting caught on things, which she frequently did. Second, she liked black hair. If you were expecting some profound revelation, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place. She’s always been a bit of a troublemaker. Those running through the bushes I mentioned was usually because she was being chased by someone. Like the coach after she egged his house when she was 16. This wasn’t received well by him. Or our parents. Or the principle. Turns out that throwing eggs at the coach’s house because, “You don’t like being told what to do”, isn’t a good enough reason, and will get you suspended from the girl’s basketball team for a few games. But that’s Rachel. She’s never been one to follow the rules, even the rules she agreed to participate by.

I first noticed that Rachel was a girl when we were still young. It might sound strange that when you’re a kid you don’t realize the person you’re sharing a bath with has different bits than you, but I don’t think we really noticed until we were 7 and 8. Thinking about it, that seems like a really long time to not notice something so profound, but oh well. I guess we did notice it, but there were never any questions to come along with the noticing before then. Once the questions did come however, we found ourselves taking separate baths. And while this is a perfectly reasonable and logical decision to make, there was a problem. Our questions weren’t answered. And so it wasn’t until 5 years later that we got the explanation we were looking for. It was that dreaded day of 7th grade, when they marched all the girls of the class into the gym and gave them “The Talk”. She came away from that experience a little traumatized, if I’m being completely truthful. However, it gave us a window into a world we’d been told not to ask about.

That day was probably the day I started to fall in love with my sister. We lived a short ways out of town, and rode the bus every day back and forth from school. We climbed on like normal, and when we sat down in our usual seat, she immediately began speaking to me. “We had this awful thing today.” My response was to grunt, as was my usual way of telling someone to continue talking. “The teachers grabbed all of the girls and started talking to us about stuff. About sex stuff. And they showed us a video of a baby being born. It was so gross.” A dip in the road sent us banging around the school bus, and she was quiet for a few moments. I didn’t exactly have anything to say to her. Or rather, I didn’t know what to say to her. I was still in 6th grade, and all I could really do was sit there as my big sis talked. She did eventually get back to talking, but her voice had changed from the excited tone a few moments earlier to one of nervousness. “When we get home I have to ask you something. I don’t want to do it on the bus.” I nodded at her and listened to the sounds of the bus until we got home.

Our home was a blue, dusty looking, two story farm house. Neither of our parents were farmers, and all the fields surrounding the house belonged to our neighbour, who lived another mile down the road. All we had was the lawn in front of the house, the house itself, and a small patch of trees behind the house that a little stream would run through if it rained hard. We were a little over a mile out of town, and could easily hop on our bicycles and ride along the gravel road and be there in a handful of minutes. We climbed out of the bus, and went inside, throwing our bags on the ground, and kicking off our shoes. “So what did you want to ask me?” Rachel looked nervous again, almost enough to not say anything. She took a deep breath and managed to squeak out, “Come take a shower with me.”

I looked at her like she was crazy, because frankly I thought she was. “Why would I do that?” She fidgeted, but answered slowly, “Because I want to see you naked. They told us today about a boy’s penis, and I want to see one. And you’re a boy. And I don’t think it’d be fair if you were the only one naked, so I’m going to get naked too.”

“Well, okay. But why do we have to take a shower though?” She grunted in frustration and ran her hands through her hair, which had been dyed black for the first time a few days ago. “Just come upstairs to the bathroom dummy. Hurry up or you won’t be able to see my boobs.” This was a laughable concept, as her bust was practically non-existent. But it was enough to perk the interest of a 12 year old boy, so I went upstairs with her as quickly as I could follow. She demanded I stayed outside the bathroom while she stripped and got into the shower. Once she did that, she called me in and I hurriedly took off my clothes. The shower curtain was pulled closed, and I nervously pulled it to the side so I could step in, closing my eyes while I did so.

Once I opened my eyes, I saw my sister standing in front of me, staring at my crotch. I in turn stared at hers. We stood there as the shower sprayed us, staring at each others crotches, not saying anything to each other. This went on for several minutes before she let out a nervous giggle. It was an adorable sound, like a guinea pig squealing in joy after finding a carrot. And so I giggled back. This made her giggle in return, and soon we were laughing at the fact we were both completely naked, staring at each other, wet, and had no idea what we were doing. She turned off the water and we got out, dried off, and got dressed again. we went back downstairs and made ourselves something to eat. She told me everything she could about what she’d learned today, and I drank in her every word.

While I sat there and listened to her, I thought she was this genius or something, holding all the world’s secrets. I’m not ashamed to admit that at that moment, I looked up to my big sister like a hero. She ended her lecture with a simple phrase which I took to heart. “And they said if you have any questions to ask them, so ask me if you want to know anything and I’ll ask them for you.”