Liv’s Legacy: Anise

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(This is a story about lesbian love. If you do not like to read about lesbians and their love, I suggest you find another story more to your tastes. Thank you.)

(Author’s note: This story is very much connected with The Devil’s Advocate, parts 1 and 2, as well as Fortune’s Wiles, part 2. For full appreciation of this story, it is suggested that these be read first.)

Chapter 1

“My friends, my brothers and sisters in Christ who is our lord and savior, I beg you to be pure, to follow God’s will, his commandments. Let not your person be deceived by the devil, Satan, that deceiver from the start. Do not permit him to lay hold of your heart or your mind. He is a sly one, and he ever looks to see who he can snare.

“Now there are those these days that are godless, and their minds have already been deceived; they are caught up in the ways of the world—the devil’s world, the devil’s ways. Beware of all of those who try to tell you things that are very ungodly, that will earn you an eternity if the fiery depths of hell.

“There are many who are now saying that we should allow men to marry men, women to marry women. Do not be fooled! Homosexuality is an abomination before our God, and they are doomed to burn in the everlasting fires prepared for them in hell. Yes! Prepared for them! And God has already warned them, and us too, with his displeasure with them by visiting that plague especially for them as a sign to us all. AIDS is God’s scourge on them. Beware! Be wise! Be ever Godly!

“They will burn in that fiery furnace for their iniquity, for leading so many astray. Will you be one of them? One of those who will scream for mercy when you are dead and not in God’s presence, but are a servant of the devil unto eternity? The bible is clear. The word of God is known to us through it–thou shalt no lie with another of the same sex as you would with your husband or wife. If you do, you are an abomination to God and doomed forever and ever!”

Quite often he shouted. As he spoke, I sensed the sweat of worry on my body. I was damned! Oh, God, please help me; forgive me. I don’t want to live in hell for eternity. I don’t! Help me. Help me please.

And always, my mother and father were shouting their approval of all our preacher said. ‘Amen, brother!’ they would shout continually. I was in hell already, my mind worrying that somehow I would tell them how I felt within myself, how I quickly turned my head so many times whenever I noticed a cute, or pretty, or beautiful girl, or even an older woman.

This body of mine that is damned wanted to be with them, with one of them. Any one of them! Oh, I burned to be with one, but I didn’t want to displease God, and I didn’t want to burn in hell. What was I to do? What could I do? Would this never end in me?

“Brethren, God said that all such should be put to death. We don’t do that anymore, but maybe we should. We’re bringing God’s wrath down on ourselves. We need to purify our society, our communities, even our churches.

“No, I don’t know of any here that are homosexual, but you never know. As I said, as the bible tells us, the devil is a wily one. Let us pray that none here have succumbed to his temptations.”

Once, when he was really worked up to a fever pitch, he had scared me so much that I went up at the altar call and gave my life to God, to Jesus, for I didn’t want to burn in hell. As I went up, I cried.

“My child, why are you here now? Are you answering the call to belong to Jesus, to profess him as your savior?” he had asked gently, his loud, searing voice suddenly gone.

All I could do was to nod.

“Do you confess that Jesus is your lord and savior?”

“Yes,” my voice squeaked the word out.

“And do you wish to be baptized, to be buried to this world, and to rise up a new person in Jesus’ kingdom?”

“Yes,” my voice became stronger, my crumbling mind desperate to be relieved of its misery—my misery.

“Are there any others here who would follow our dear sister Anise, and give their life to God, to proclaim Jesus as our savior?”

I just knew I was doing the right thing. I may not have been twelve yet, but I had already started having my period. And I was becoming more and more aware of other girls, even grown women. I needed to be saved.

When it was the moment to go and change into the baptismal gown, I wondered if it would be him doing the baptizing. It was, but he had one of the women of the church to help me change. I couldn’t wait to be baptized for the woman, Mrs. Alexander, was one of the one’s who had caught my sinful eye. I dared not look at her, and dared not think anything at all for if I did, I knew I’d be saying or doing something that would damn me forever. I had to be baptized, and quickly. Jesus had to help me. He had to!

The gown was thick, and nothing showed through, but to make sure, I had a pair of thick cotton panties, and a similar bra for my breasts were already out, a signal to all to have sex with me, that my body was ripening, şişli escort and most likely wanting. We had each of us changed behind separate screens, so that was good, I thought then.

With the preacher, Mrs. Alexander stood in the baptismal font near to me. Very carefully, the pastor raised his right hand over his head, and pronounced the words of the baptismal rites. Mrs. Alexander held my hands as I was submerged, then helped me up. As my head was out of the water, I saw her smiling brightly at me, happy.

But I wasn’t!

The new woman in me that cried out for another woman felt her hands in mine and wanted to hold her close, to let her know what I felt for her. My tears came again, but all thought it was from the knowledge that I now belonged to Jesus, that they were tears of the joyful knowledge that I was saved. Still, it worried me that someone would know, would see past and know what all the others didn’t know.

When we went back to put on our clothes, I was shaking somewhat, and worked to control it. I thought I was successful until I heard Mrs. Alexander.

“Oh, darn it. Anise, would you mind helping me. I don’t know why, but I can’t seem to latch my bra back. Mercy, I’ve never had this problem. Please?” she entreated me softly, coming out from behind the screen.

She was in her nylons, heels, and panties, the bra straps being held loosely by her, yet revealing a portion of what I imagined were her gorgeous breasts. The little I saw of their outer sides certainly looked gorgeous to me–gorgeous and deliciously sweet even back then. My nerves began their unwanted dance within my body.

“I’m sorry. This is so embarrassing. You are an angel for helping me,” she said in her quiet voice that did exude gratitude, as well as embarrassment. I had to work even harder to quell my nerves, to keep my fingers from trembling. Still, I did have a bit of trouble, and I was certain she could tell I was shaky.

“Thank you. Like I said, I don’t know why I couldn’t latch it together this time. I’m such a klutz.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, seeing her flash a smile at me.

I worked harder than ever to not look at her breasts that were before my eyes, though now thoroughly encased in her bra. I tried to smile in return, and I think I managed a small one. As she turned to go back behind the screen to finish dressing, I couldn’t help but look openly at her buttocks. God, she looked so sexy in those full panties. Her cheeks were completely covered save for an extremely sweet bit of each cheek. Worse, the material was sheer. My breath halted, my heart quickened even more, my eyes glued themselves to those lovely cheeks and her long, beautiful legs. I was so wanting of her.

Mentally slapping myself, I quickly turned to go behind my screen, and finish dressing, but the sin had already been committed: I had looked and truly lusted for the first time after Mrs. Alexander. Those pictures of her burned themselves into my mind and my fantasies. Forever after, I was sure, my breath would always be as it was just then—a heat robbed smothering that nearly forbade me to breathe, to live. I wasn’t worthy of life, or God, or of being saved by Jesus.

When we both came out of the dressing room, she smiled beatifically at me, her arm around my back on my other shoulder, and softly said, “You’re a very lovely girl, Anise,” her smile looking radiant on her lips. I was crushing on her like mad, and I prayed with all my heart that she hadn’t seen that in my eyes. Sure that my shoulder would be scarred from the burning I felt on it from her touch, I both worried, and felt happy to have it if indeed it was there.

This senseless desire had begun in me not too long ago, and for the first time, I felt it wanting to rage in me. Though I was truly scared, I was lucky, for I had always been a quiet child, an angel, my mother said, her angel, which didn’t set too well with my older sister, and probably not with my younger brother either. This day my quietness served me well for all who knew me thought it was just that sweet, quiet girl who was happy, thus her tears and seeming nervousness.

Our church was fairly large, many more than two hundred people attended each Sunday, I was sure, and probably a lot more. Our preacher, Pastor Malloy, always preached sermons on how we should always be alert to the possibility of sin, to avoid it more than any plague for there was nothing worse than being displeasing to God. And he also preached against homosexuality and homosexuals. We were to fight their very existence in whatever way we could, and with a fierce determination for we are truly soldiers of God in the war against their ungodliness and the filth they smeared our society with.

After being baptized, and how I suddenly felt so strongly about Mrs. Alexander, I began to doubt the wisdom of answering the call to be saved. More, all of my thoughts, my anxieties, centered increasingly on my desire for females, young such as myself, I thought, but I did so lust for Mrs. Alexander mecdiyeköy escort after seeing her luscious body, and my hands as if on it. This lustful yearning that was then born in me would never end, I was sure, and I’d be damned in hell for it.

Where that day went, I didn’t know, but I dreaded going to bed for I knew my mind would be filled with thoughts and pictures of Mrs. Alexander. It was, and I suffered mightily with my silly thoughts of love, and more. I had heard girls talking about touching their bodies, of feeling so good, sexually delicious. As my thoughts and mental pictures intensified, I wanted to touch myself. In time, I would nearly panic at the tremendous need of feeling that sexuality the girls had talked about as I pictured Mrs. Alexander’s breasts, and more, her firm and rounded cheeks that showed through her panties.

That feeling of being damned became worse and worse each Sunday after that for I began to really listen to Pastor Malloy’s sermons, especially when he spoke of homosexuality and the horrible plague it was on humanity. The quiet girl I was before was nothing compared to how quiet I began to be after that.

The more I fantasized about Mrs. Alexander, the more I wanted to touch myself, but resisted to the point of nearly exposing how I felt with moans that I feared my sister heard. That made me pray all the harder.

* * * *

The years until I was eighteen were horrible for me. My mother imagined I was all the more her quiet angel, and often hugged me as she didn’t any other, though they were only occasional hugs.

However, when I went to church one day, Mr. Alexander, who was both Minister of Youth and Minister of Visitation, asked to speak to me in private. He had spoken to my mother and father, and they had approved, my mother haltingly, I later found out.

“Anise, there has been some talk among the kids about you, and it made me wonder if I could be of help to you.”

I looked warily at him, not knowing what he was talking about, nor what might have been said by any about me.

“It’s not bad,” he smiled, and patted my hand. “What it being said is that though several boys are interested in you, to date maybe, they say that you are very off putting. Pastor Malloy and I have spoken about this, and I suggested to him that maybe you might talk to me. Will you?” he asked.

“I guess,” I said, unsure of what might be coming, but not liking it, and worrying.

“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, but may I ask you if you’re interested in boys as most girls usually are?”

Thinking nervously as to what to say, I couldn’t come up with anything. Then just said, “I’m not sure how girls usually are interested in boys?”

“Ah. I see. Well, Anise, usually most girls become naturally interested in boys after they reach puberty, and quite often before that. You know that it’s the natural order of life to procreate, and that usually means a boy and a girl falling in love, marrying, and having children. Before that, though, boys and girls usually date, or meet together in groups such as our youth group does. Tell me, have you seen or talked to any boys that you’ve been interested in knowing more, or talking to more than others?”

There it was. Soon they would probably find out how I longed to be with another girl, a woman. Since I had those feelings about Mrs. Alexander, they began to fade, though not disappear. In high school, after gym, we took showers, and my eyes longed to look at other girls, but I dared not for fear of staring and being found out. The others always took me as being shy in the extreme; some knew me from church and I’m sure they spoke of my shyness.

The desires I had built up increasingly in me, and many girls appealed to me, and I longed to be with them, to know them freely, and did in my mind. One after another, they came to my senses over time, and that did include Mrs. Alexander, but not exclusively in any way as before. She was the unattainable older woman thus my mind relegated her to a point where I didn’t think of her much. Besides, there were so many other girls, and they all looked so fresh, so wonderful, so full of life and love, but not for me.


“No? Why not? It’s usual for girls your age to be interested in boys.”

I said nothing, just sat there, my head down, my eyes avoiding his. If they talked to my parents, how could I avoid this? I was deathly afraid of what might be coming. There was no way I could tell them that I liked girls, or maybe women, maybe his wife, Mrs. Alexander who still left me breathless whenever she smiled at me as she often did.

“Anise, is it possible that you don’t like boys because you like girls?” he asked, his voice as if he wouldn’t believe that might be so.

I couldn’t answer, but I just shook my head.

“No, you don’t like girls. Okay. I have to say that I’m relieved. You know that pastor Malloy, as well as all of us, dislike homosexuality. This is a great relief. Well, there’s just one more possibility, maybe. Come with me if you don’t mind.”

It was more than a relief to me that I’d gotten past that. I followed him obediently across the room. He stopped in front of a mirror that I’d not noticed. It was one of those full length ones so you could see your whole body. His hands led me to stand before him, having them on my shoulders.

“I’d like for you to look in the mirror at yourself, Anise. I want you to notice yourself, how you look.”

My head lifted to look at him through the mirror, wondering what he meant, what he was after. The confusion was most unsettling.

“You’re a very lovely looking woman, Anise. Yes, a woman. Though you’re just eighteen, everything about you says woman, full grown to any person’s eye, especially a man’s. Maybe you feel like a full grown woman too, and who could blame you. Any man looking at you would find you very desirable as a mate,” he said, his hands moving to my hips.

My breath started to quicken more than it had been, my breasts, I noticed, rising and falling faster from the increasing uncertainty I was feeling. What was he up to? What was he doing? What would he say next, or ask, I should say?

“Yes, you are definitely a woman in her prime. Perhaps boys your age don’t appeal to you. Tell me, do you feel you want an older man? Is it that the boys still seem so childish to you, that you want more than their immaturity offers you?”

As he asked that, his hands moved to be under my ribs, then up to my breasts at which he stopped, his hands as if holding them up.

“Does this appeal to you, Anise? Is this what you’re wishing for—a man that is more mature and understands you better?” he said, hefting my breasts upward as if feeling them, or maybe weighing them. “Do you like this, Anise?” he asked, his mouth coming closer to my neck.

It was. His breath was warm on me, and I was frightened, my body tensing mightily.

“You don’t want boys, and you don’t want girls, and you’re a fully grown woman. This must be all you want then. Is it, Anise? If it is, just say the word. I assure you, no one will know.”

I felt trapped. No, I didn’t want or particularly like boys, and I had lied when I said I didn’t like girls, but what could I do. He couldn’t believe I wanted an older man, or him. Was it a trap, or was it possible that he wanted me? My mind was in turmoil.

I fairly yanked away from his hands, my head lowered, still wondering what I should say. Then I was saying something.

“No. I don’t want an older man. I—I have to go. I’m sorry, but I have to leave,” I said, and hurried to the door, tears coming out of my eyes silently.

My parents were at home, but I didn’t want them to see me this way so I went to a park nearby, found a quiet place apart from others, and sat as I tried to order my mind and stop my crying. I couldn’t understand what he was after? Was he trying to expose my desire for another girl or woman? Yes, that had to be it.

Making sure I was presentable, I went home.

“How was your meeting with Mr. Alexander, dear?” my mother asked me.

“Okay, I guess,” I told her, my heart pounding so hard, my mind wondering if he had talked to them.

“What was it about?”

“H—he wanted to know if I was interested in a couple of boys that he said were interested in me, but I told him no, that I only wanted to finish school and go to college,” I lied as I had never lied before. I couldn’t remember ever lying to my mother.

“Well, that’s a good reason, especially if you aren’t truly interested in them. Did they go to him because of your shyness?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Well, it was good of him to be interested in you that way, and trying to see if he could help what I’m sure were nice boys in his opinion, and I’m sure they were. Would you like something to eat now?”

“No, Mother, I’m not hungry. I think I’ll just go up to my room for a while.”

“Very well, dear.”

That was it, and I was glad, but my mind was still torn as to what all had happened. Though I wouldn’t think about it with words, I knew I wondered at him touching me as he had. Maybe he was trying to see if I was what they say is normal. Did other girls like what he did?

It remained a confounding thing to me, and I worried incessantly on it, but then Pastor Malloy asked to talk to me in private the next week.

“Thank you so much for meeting with me. As you know, we’re very interested in your well-being, as well as your soul,” he said as he sat next to me on the sofa.

I simply nodded, but again, I felt trapped.

“Mr. Alexander spoke to me about his meeting with you. You were born into this church, so you know exactly what we believe, and how we believe God wishes us to be with him. I did have to have Mr. Alexander to talk with you as he did because we are concerned with your soul. As well as I’ve known you since birth, I always thought of you as one of God’s most precious children, but we’re all different, Anise, and who can say what any of us thinks or truly feels.”

He patted my hand that was on my lap, but left his there instead of removing it. Though I didn’t think of it at first, maybe I should have.

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