Lisa: An Old Photograph, Part One

by Taylor

This is the first chapter of Lisa's historical saga. While being erotic in nature, it is also intended to be honest and true to life. I stand by my mission.

I hold in my hands a photograph. It is over thirty years old, this black and white photograph, but somehow it has stood the test of time. I handle it delicately, by the edges. It is a photograph of two girls standing together, side by side, arms folded defiantly. They do not smile. They stand with their backs to a wall.

One girl is bigger, taller, twelve years old with light-colored hair. The other girl is petite, almost eight years old with dark hair. While the older girl had pale green eyes and the little one had pale blue, in the picture they appear the same. Their names are Suzy and Lisa Taylor. My name is Lisa, and I am the little one. Suzy is gone now, and I wish I could tell you that she did not suffer, but I do not lie.

By the time this picture was taken, the damage was done. I had found out what my mother was. I did not have a name for it; I simply knew that it was not what she was supposed to be. Before I found this out, I had a very strong sense of things not being right. Of course, memories of early childhood are lost to me now, but I do remember instances of not being held when I wanted to be, when I was scared or cold or just upset.

I guess it was when I turned seven, a time when my memory comes into much stronger focus, that I realized what my sister Suzy had known all along, that I was pretty much on my own. At this time, however, Suzy was becoming more and more tired of my mother's crap. My mother was always after her about cleaning and taking better care of things while she was at work and she would call Suzy names and slap her face if she talked back.

All of this made little me pretty upset. I didn't want to hear them fight. I didn't want to see my mother slap my sister. I would hide in my room until it was over, often covering my ears.

One day, after a pretty bad fight, there was a knock on my bedroom door and I asked who it was. It was Suzy asking to come in. I told her it was OK.

Suzy came in, turning away from me and closing the door. She turned back around and I saw tears rolling down her cheeks. My sister had the prettiest green eyes in the world, and also the saddest, and when she was really sad it made your heart break. I remember getting up off my bed and walking to her and reaching up my arms to hug her.

We ended up on my bed. She lay close with me, crying on my shoulder. She was lonely. She had been lonely for a long time. She only had one friend down the block, but that friend's mom didn't like her hanging out with Suzy. I couldn't understand it, but what did I know? I was just a seven year old girl. How was I supposed to understand anything?

But we lived in a crappy little house, always dirty, with crappy old furniture, and with a mom you wouldn't want your little friends to meet. My mother took care of what she absolutely had to. Somehow she managed, and I will give her that. She kept us in school, kept the state off her doorstep, but at the same time she did very little in the way of actual mothering. I don't think she knew how.

I should take a moment here to describe my mother as she was then, and be fair to her for a moment, as hers was not as easy situation. She was a good-looking woman in her late twenties, having had Suzy when she was still a teenager. She was tall and curvaceous with black hair and blue eyes. She kept a job at a tool and die company as a receptionist and secretary, and then as accountant. She must have been sharp in her mind, and good with people, to have excelled in her job like that. She had a second job on weekends for a while, one we knew nothing about...

As for our grandparents, she was not on speaking terms with them. According to her, they wanted nothing to do with her. My father was arrested for drugs when I was a baby and taken away. Suzy did not remember him very well. She told me at some point that we may have had different fathers, that we may only be half-sisters, but the idea upset me so much that she never brought it up again.

That my mother was able to hold things together in that time, to be all on her own with two young daughters, I do commend, but what was it worth, I ask? My God, what was it worth?

I believe it was after evening when my sister snuggled with me in my bed that it started to become a regular thing. Sometimes we would talk as we snuggled, sometimes not. It felt good, especially as the weather got colder. Our house was not the best heated or insulated on the block. We would go under the blanket and snuggle and get so warm that neither of us would want to move. That's where our mother would find us sometimes when she woke us for school, all snuggled up in Suzy's bed or mine.

I became very aware at this time of my sister's body, how soft and warm it was. She seemed so much bigger than me. At age eleven she was big for her age. At age seven I was small for my age. I could get lost in her body. She was also a bit on the thick side. Her tummy, her hips and her thighs were all a little big. That was OK with me. There was more to snuggle with. Besides that, she was so beautiful with her dishwater blonde hair and green eyes.

I also became more aware of my own body, but only when no one was around. The focus of my interest was between my legs, up inside my thighs, inside the folds of my pee-pee. Sometimes when I was alone, usually in my bed before going to sleep, I would lie there and slip my hand down the front of my panties and explore. It was magical. There was one tiny spot that felt the best when I rubbed it. It caused a tingling sensation that seemed to get better the longer I touched it.

There was never anything like those first, innocent explorations. I didn't think about anything as I touched myself except how good it felt. I knew nothing of sex. I knew nothing of orgasms, so there was no goal in mind. At most, sometimes, I felt like I was taken away, that as I breathed in and out and flexed my little toes under the covers, I was floating. I could feel the tingling move from my pee-pee up and down my legs and all over my body. It was relaxing to touch myself as a little girl.

I miss that clear-minded, unadulterated innocence...

I don't remember anyone bullying me in the first grade, but in the second grade it was Stacy Watts. Being petite, smaller then any girl in my class, and somewhat quiet and withdrawn, I suppose I was an easy target. Stacy herself was a pretty girl who was just a little chubby. She had brown hair and brown eyes and wore sweaters and corduroy pants a lot. I always thought she had pretty brown hair.

The bullying started out of the blue, the way these things tend to do, during the latter part of winter. I couldn't understand what I had done to make her come after me. It seemed like she was angry with me or something, but I could not imagine why. It just built up and built up, until one point when it just came to a head.

"Hey, Taylor," she said one day on the playground at recess, calling me by my last name, "are you the teacher's pet?"

"No," I said, grimacing.

"But you sit by her, and you always do what she says, and she pats your little head."

She sounded silly. I liked Mrs. Aaron. She was nice. That didn't make me her pet. I just liked being around a woman who liked me for who I was, and had a pretty smile.

"Well?" Stacy prodded. "Are you teacher's pet or not?"

I got up from where I was sitting and walked away. I don't think that made Stacy very happy because the next thing I knew I was shoved from behind.

I put my hands out in front of me and caught myself on the way down, but it still hurt. I was wearing a dress and I skinned one knee, I got mud on my stockings and on my coat, and I felt like I hurt my wrist. I cried, yes, but from the shock of it more than anything. Mr. Thompson, the other second grade teacher, was on recess patrol and had seen the incident. He asked me if I was OK and took me gently by the hand while he ordered Stacy into the building.

She got in trouble which only meant more trouble for me. If anybody thought this crap only happens to boys, they've never lived in lower-middle-income suburbia.

One day, during recess, Stacy came to me again.

"After school, you're dead," she said.

"What did I do to you?" I asked her.

"You got me in trouble."

"No, I didn't," I said.

Simple-minded me, innocent little me, I didn't understand anything. I was also too stupid to realize that the solution was as plain as the nose on my face. I was scared. I thought about faking a stomach ache so my mom would come and get me, but that wouldn't help anything. For one thing, I knew my mom would be upset at the inconvenience.

At the end of the day, I sat at my desk watching Stacy leave with a couple of other girls. Mrs. Aaron asked if anything was wrong. I said, "No." I inched out into the hallway and watched the other kids empty out through the exit door. I waited for a long time, shaking with fear. I felt sick in my stomach. I wanted to go back in and tell Mrs. Aaron, but then I would look like a baby. Finally, I walked to the exit door, pushed through it, took several steps, and looked around.

"Lisa, you want to walk home with me?"

I turned and looked behind me. It was Suzy, standing in the opposite doorway. I sighed, feeling all of the fear leave my body. The nausea passed. I was trembling as she walked up to me. She didn't make anything of it. I sometimes wonder if she didn't hear something. Word travels, even in an elementary school. But she never said anything to me.

"I think we should walk together the rest of the year," was all she said. "I would like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah," I answered, feeling safe and protected at my big sister's side. We saw neither hide nor hair of Stacy Watts on that walk, but on later walks, if she was in our way, she would abruptly move. In class, or in recess, she sometimes made mention of me hiding behind big sister, but after a while she just shut up and moved on.

We were in bed, Suzy and me, on one of those last cold days of the winter or early spring. It must have been a day off from school because mother was gone and it was just the two of us alone, all day long. I'm not sure what time of day it was, but we were still in our nightgowns. We were snuggling for warmth as we often did when Suzy asked me if I wanted to kiss.

I wasn't completely sure what she meant so I asked and she told me "like a boyfriend and a girlfriend", with her being the boy because she was bigger in size. Well, I had never kissed a boy before, or even pretend-kissed before, but it sounded OK. I smiled and let her kiss me on the mouth, at first just a peck, and then one of those lingering movie kisses. Oh, that felt nice, I had to admit. My sister had these full lips that were so soft to the touch. It was awkward, but it got less and less. I did pretty good kissing her back, too. She told me so. We kissed for a long time, cuddled up nice and cozy side by side. It was then that she sat up, lifted her nightgown off over her head, shivered, and got back under the blanket and snuggled up to me once again.

"Take yours off?" she said softly.

"But it's cold," I said.

"You'll see," she said.

I took off my flannel nightgown and snuggled up to her. Girl, was she right! It was body heat. I felt so warm being next to Suzy with nothing to separate us. I enjoyed the smooth feeling of her skin. I got to look down at her little breasts, small as they were, and feel the hardness of her nipples against my chest. I got to feel all of her flesh about me, without any clothing in the way. It created a feeling in me I could not describe at the time, but I believe I know now, and have the audacity to say it.

The first female I was ever attracted to was my sister Suzy.

Whiskey, it was a drink. It was a liquid that made you act silly or stupid or sometimes even made you act mean. There was always a bottle in our kitchen, somewhere. Even if we were out of bread or milk or butter or eggs, or peanut butter and jelly, there was always whiskey. It was never a small bottle but a big bottle. My mother drank a little bit during the week, more on the weekends, and when she drank a lot she acted silly and stupid and yes, sometimes mean.

Suzy was older than me, had a whole life of growing up before me. There were things she began to share with me. One of the secrets she had to share was the ritual of pouring portions of our mother's whiskey down the sink and adding water. She showed me how to do this after school one day with a freshly opened bottle, minus one drink or two. I smiled as I watched but she kept a straight face, as serious as could be, using a funnel to add the water into the bottle.

After the cap was placed back on the bottle, and the bottle was carefully returned to its spot, the funnel had to be washed and dried and returned to its drawer and plenty of water had to be run down the sink so it didn't smell of whiskey. I still wonder how a girl of eleven, perhaps younger when she began doing this, developed such a ritual. Had someone taught her how to do this? Had someone taught her how to water down her mother's drinks? But I know why she did it, and I began to understand it then.

Some of the other things that Suzy taught me were how to steal little bits of money from mom's purse without it being noticed, which could only be done after she had gone out on a Saturday night and come home half-in-the-bag; she taught me how to French-kiss during one of our snuggles; she taught me how to sneak out of the house and into the backyard at night by climbing out my window; she taught me how to smoke a cigarette, and I choked and gagged and swore I would never take another puff...

It got very warm, mid to late spring, and one night my mother brought a man home. I don't remember much what he looked like. He was just some guy we saw for a minute, Suzy and I, before our mother told us to go to our rooms. It wasn't even that late. Suzy took me by the arm and led me to her room where she closed the door.

"I don't know why we have to hide out in here," she said. "Why'd she have to bring some man home?"

"What are they going to do?" I asked her.

"They're probably going to drink," she said, "and then they're probably going to 'do it'."

"Do what?" I asked.

She didn't answer. Either she didn't know exactly what it was or didn't want to tell me. She just sat down with me and we talked about something else until it was time to lie down. Suzy suggested I just stay with her that night. That was fine with me, but I had to go pee. Suzy told me to be very quiet and go directly to the bathroom and come right back when I was done. That made me frightened.

I went out into the corridor, went to the bathroom, closed the door, took my shorts and panties down, and peed in the toilet. When I was done, I wiped and flushed and pulled my shorts and panties back up, washed my hands quickly, and opened the door and turned off the light. As soon as I stepped back into the corridor, I heard the sounds.

The sounds were of bedsprings and moaning, and voices back and forth in-between. I stopped there in my bare feet on the hardwood floor, hearing those sounds coming from my mother's bedroom.

"Oh, God, yes," I heard my mother really pouring it on thick, "fuck me! Fuck me hard!"

"Oh, Linda," the man said, "take that, you hot little whore!"

My sister's bedroom door opened and she waved for me to get in there. I moved quickly and she ushered me in, but she did not close the door. She turned off the light and we stood there and listened to the production for a while. Then she closed the door.

"Were they 'doing it'?" I whispered.

"I think so," Suzy said.

"What does 'fuck' mean?"

"You mean you never heard that word before?"

"Yeah, but only when older kids at school said it, not like mom just it."

"It's kind of the same thing as 'do it'."

We curled up together that night and the world seemed different. As a matter of fact, it was growing more different all of the time. For each little bit I learned, I seemed to be losing something, and as well I only seemed to have more questions. And there was my sister Suzy always by my side, and we were becoming closer than any pair of sisters I had seen, especially for our ages.

The weather was beautiful that late spring and we did have one neighbor with a pool who allowed a lot of the neighborhood kids to come over and swim. Our mother shelled out a little bit of money and bought us bikinis. Mine was a tiny pink one with strings and Suzy's was blue, not quite as brief but she looked beautiful in it. Actually, I was surprised that she was even interested in going, because she never seemed to like going anywhere with people, but she said she had been swimming there before a few times and liked it.

The pool was above-ground, connecting to a deck that came off the back of the house. There were a lot of us there, and Suzy grimaced and steered clear, but the herd thinned out fast after a lot of the younger ones got their fill. Before long, Suzy and I looked around and noticed we were the only ones around or in the pool.

"Do you wanna go home?" I asked her. "Everybody went home."

"No," Suzy said, "not yet." She smiled and turned, drifting toward the ladder. I thought maybe she was going to get out, but instead I saw her move up next to it. "Keep watch," she said. "Tell me if someone is coming."

"What are you going to do?"

I couldn't see. She appeared to be spreading her legs about the ladder, holding on with one hand. I couldn't see where the other hand was. I slowly swam closer. I moved right up beside her.

"Are you keeping watch?"

I looked up at the backdoor of the house. All was quiet.

"Yes. Nobody's coming."

She was doing something with her panties, holding them with her other hand while she held onto the ladder, sort of straddling it. It looked like something was coming out of this pipe that was sticking out of the ladder, and she was right up next to it. She was red in the face and breathing funny.

"Are you watching me, Lisa?" she turned to me angrily.

"No," I said, "I'm not watching you." I moved away. I kept my distance.

"I'm sorry, Lisa," she said. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

"It's OK," I said.

"This feels really good," she said. "You wanna try it?"

My sister turned around, her skin flushed from her face down to her neck and shoulders and chest. It looked and sounded like fun. It seemed a little scary and weird, but I was with Suzy. I swam toward her and she took me by the arms, placing me in front of the ladder, positioning me so that the crotch of my panties was in front of the pool pump. She showed me how to straddle the ladder and hold on.

I was too afraid to hold on with only one hand; I held on with two hands, so when it came time to pull the crotch of my little string bikini panties aside, it was Suzy who had to do it. She was right behind me, guiding me, helping me as I felt the first direct rush of water upon my little pink folds. Within those folds, my clitoris was immediately stimulated. It was almost overwhelming, the sensation that I felt from that pool pump.

"Feels good, huh?" Suzy said.

I must have made some sort of sound or she must have felt me trembling. Anyway, she finally got me to hold onto the ladder myself, and for a few minutes I flew solo, holding my own panties aside as she watched the door and watched me, occasionally smiling. The feeling was incredible. It was like my fingers, only better. I finally slipped off down off the ladder, my inner thighs tingling.

"You're all red," Suzy whispered. "It's my turn. Keep watch." I did keep watch, but I also watched her. This time she didn't seem to mind. She clutched the ladder with one hand, straddled it with her thighs, held her panties aside and closed her eyes. I looked up at the door and back at Suzy. She held her breath and let it out. I looked at the door. I looked back at Suzy. She was shaking. Her back was shaking, her shoulders were shaking. Her mouth was open. I looked up and back. She held her breath and let it out again, then held it... then she grabbed onto the ladder very tight, whimpered softly, ducking her head down, dropping down off the ladder and putting her hand between her legs.

"Are you OK?" I asked her.

She just nodded to me, red all over this time, her nipples poking through her bikini top.

"We'd better go home now," she said.

After that pool visit, and there were more pool visits later on, the desire to touch myself was much stronger than before. I started trying different things besides my fingers. I tried rubbing against my pillow, the floppy ear of a stuffed animal, the nose of another stuffed animal, but what I settled on, of all things, was the eraser of a number2 pencil directed right on the spot.

I know I was getting close.

My mother having men over and "doing it" was a regular thing for a while that spring. What could Suzy and I do but go hide in the bedroom and play a game or talk? Of course, there was always snuggling, with and without clothing. And, sometimes, there was still kissing, pretending to be the boyfriend and girlfriend.

I believe school was out, done for the year, and we were home alone. We were sitting on the couch on the living room. The couch had a sheet over it to cover all the tears in the fabric. I was wearing a little yellow play dress. Suzy was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. We were pretending to be boyfriend and girlfriend, watching TV and kissing. It was after one long, lingering kiss that Suzy looked me in the eyes.

"You wanna do it?" she asked me softly.

Not knowing what "it" was, well, I sure was curious to know, but we were two girls. How could we "do it"?

"You mean pretend?"

"Yes," Suzy said, "Of course."

"OK," I said.

We got up off the couch and walked to Suzy's bedroom. Suzy closed the door. She took off her t-shirt and turned to me. I took off my dress. I watched her take off her shorts and then, with surprise, her panties. I bent down and took my panties off too. Then I stood in front of her as she sat on the bed. I noticed a little tiny patch of brownish hair between her legs that I had never seen before.

"What do we do?" I asked.

"Well, I guess we snuggle and kiss first," she said.

"OK." That sounded good to me. I climbed on the bed and lay down, prepared for Suzy to lie beside me. She did, and we did kiss that way for a while, but then she moved me, scooting me into the middle of the bed and placing me on my back. She proceeded then to climb on top of me.

"What are you doing?"

"This is how you kiss when you're going to 'do it'," Suzy said "Spread your legs for me."

I did what she told me. I was a little nervous but excited too, not knowing what to expect. We kissed some more. She slipped me the tongue. I slipped her my tongue. I began to feel her press herself against me, the base of her belly against mine. I could feel her brush against my hairless folds.

"Are we 'doing it'?"

"Yes." She began to grind against me in a rhythm. It felt very good, very tingly. It was very warm in the room and our bodies felt hot together. Suzy was careful not to rest her full weight on me, resting her elbows on either side of me. Sweat began to bead on her skin.

Time seemed to stop for that moment as my big sister rubbed her lower belly against mine. I forgot we were pretending, I forgot everything, just closed my eyes and felt the strange pleasure of it all, grinding my own hips and flexing my toes. I was that comfortable with it. But then I thought, hey, aren't we supposed to be pretending? So how do we pretend?

"Fuck me," I said softly. "Fuck me hard."

Suzy rose up her head, all red in the face, smiled at me, and kissed me on the forehead. She started grinding faster and I could feel it right down to my toes. I closed my eyes again. I felt my sister's hand clutch my thigh, the base of her belly moving hard against me. I felt wetness down there. And above, my sister was dripping sweat from her hair onto my face and into my hair.

"Oh..." my sister began letting out these moans, soft and pretty, one after the other, "oh... oh... oh..." and they continued on, then they stopped, and she stopped grinding a moment, looking at me and catching her breath. Then she continued on, and so did the moans. Then she stopped, held her breath, let it out, held it quickly again, and then, as she was grinding very fast against me, sending tingles up and down the insides of my thighs, she suddenly stiffened, arching her back, her face contorted.

The loud cry frightened me. The look on her face, as if she were in pain, frightened me. The violent way that she shook and fell against me frightened me. I closed my eyes. I held her, but I did not look at her. It seemed to last forever. But it ended. It calmed. And she rolled off of me and saw the look on my face. She sat up and said she was sorry... saying we should get dressed.

I look at this photograph with tears in my eyes... I forgive you, Suzy, my love... as if there was anything to be forgiven... you were a child and I was a child... and I loved you, oh, sister, my sister...

(to be continued)