Shemale at the airport
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RachelChapter 2 free porn video
I was jolted out of my fog by Rachel tugging on my shirt, asking me "What are we going to do, Alfie?"
Before I could say a word, my stomach rumbled. "Trust your gut," someone once told me, and so I did. I told her, "The first thing we're going to do, young lady, is get some breakfast! You look hungry, and so am I!". Judy wiped the tears from her eyes, and said, "that's a good idea, I'm hungry too! Let's go!"
So the three of us went back to my place, and soon the smell of bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee was filling up the kitchen. Rachel ate like she'd never seen so much food before, and I mean she packed it away. She almost growled at me when, as a joke, I went to take a piece of bacon off her plate, and she grabbed her plate, and a snarl appeared briefly on her face, and the hungry child raised her plate off the table, and held it away from my hand. Then, mortified by embarrassment, she put her plate back down onto the table, and looked like she was going to cry.
Another reason for me to hate the Higginses. The trembling girl began apologising, and when I reached over to put my hand on her shoulder, to comfort her, she flinched away from my hand, as though I was about to strike her.
I got up, causing her flinch again, tighten her shoulders and hang her head in shame, I went to her, and held her gently, and told her that she shouldn't be scared of me, I was only playing, and from now on, I wouldn't touch her plate, no matter how hungry I was.
She managed a small smile when she noticed I was only joking.
She threw her arms around me, and kept saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," over and over, and so I just held her, soothing her, and stroking her hair.
She calmed down, and although my breakfast was cold, I still ate it, because she had helped to make it, her excitement contagious, and refreshing. As she had opened the fridge and got the butter and eggs out, she was amazed that there was so much food in there. She told Judy and I that there was never enough food at her old place, she wasn't allowed to go near the fridge, and she was constantly hungry. Little wonder she wolfed down her breakfast, then.
As we sat there, she timidly asked me if we were going to try to find her, and she choked saying this, her "Mom and Dad'. I turned to her, and keeping my voice level, but unable to keep the anger out of my voice, told her no, we'd let the police do that.
She sat there, digesting this, and asked when were they arriving? I told her that we hadn't called them yet, because there was still something I had to tell her. She could tell by the look on my face she probably wasn't going to like it.
After we had cleared the table, and done the dishes, I took her hand, and led her into the living room. I sat her down, and then sat next to her. I struggled for the right words, and my mouth was dry, and for the first time in my life, I felt truly afraid.
Rachel looked at me, trust shining in her eyes. But I knew what was coming, and she didn't. I feared the storm, and I didn't know which way she'd rage when I told her. How would she take it? What would she do?
What would she do? That question haunted me.
So I took the bull by the horns, and asked her what her full name was.
"Rachel Antonia Higgins," she replied.
I nodded, and asked her if she'd noticed the ball of paper Mrs Higgins had tossed at me. She said, Uh huh, but she didn't know what it was.
I told her it was a birth certificate, and got a blank look. I said it was her birth certificate. Still nothing, except a frown. She was expecting me to get to the point.
So I handed her the piece of paper, and she glanced down at it, and then froze. She went pale, and then she began to tremble as she read it. Judy wrapped an arm around her in comfort and support, and I sat there, waiting for the storm to hit. I didn't have to wait long.
Her face went from dead white, to red with rage and anger. She turned to me, and snapped, "You are kidding, right? Is this a joke?" She waved the certificate at me. "Because if it is, it's not a very funny one!"
"No, my darling sister," I told her, angry at the two hell-hounds that masqueraded as her parents. "The joke was on us, for thirteen years!"
She searched my eyes, but saw only truth, pain, anger for all those missed years, and compassion for her. Then Rachel threw the certificate away, and buried her face in her hands and sobbed, harder than she'd done previously. After about ten minutes, she started to hiccup, and with her nose and eyes streaming, (thank god for kleenex!), she told us, "I knew it! I just knew something was wrong! No wonder I never fit in! I always used to dream of a knight who'd come to rescue me, but I didn't know he'd be my brother, because I didn't know I even had a brother!"
She wept again, and then my eyes were streaming, so were Judy's, and we all held each other and cried our eyes out.
I'm glad Tom Winton didn't see that. So much for my tough-guy image!
When the police arrived, we were a tight-knit group of three. We sat there and answered all their questions, as honestly as we could, leaving nothing out, gave as much detail as we could, and then Rachel was taken into the kitchen by a female officer, and went through it all again. Judy and I had to do likewise.
One of the detectives shook his head, and told me that this was a damn fine mess, and as his grandfather used to say, "Now the shit's really gonna to hit the fan, boy!"
He wasn't far wrong in his assessment!
They wanted to put Rachel into Welfare care until this all was sorted out, but I knew that that would take months. So I was adamant. She was staying with me at my place, I told them, because I was her brother, so I claimed responsibility for her. A female detective told me I was being presumptuous, and told me I should ask Rachel, or 'the girl', whether or not she wanted to stay with a stranger, someone she didn't know, or know whom she could trust.
Rachel blew the head off the detective's shoulders at that! You should have seen her! She was impressive in her anger.
"I've finally found my brother after being kidnapped my entire life, and you dare to call him a stranger? You didn't rescue me, HE did! I'm staying here! Try and make me go!"
That was the sum of her speech to the shocked detective!
It had taken hours, and Rachel, surprising us all, turned out to have a photographic memory, and was a fair artist with pencil and paper. She was with a police sketch artist, and she became frustrated with him, he couldn't seem to get a nose right, so she took the pad away from him, and then demanded his pencil, and she went silent, and about twenty minutes later, there was Mr and Mrs Higgins staring up at us from the sheets of paper.
Rachel apologised and told us they weren't very good, being self-deprecating, but everyone who saw them only gave her positive praise and comments for her efforts. The police sketch artist grumbled that Rachel was putting him out of a job, but he said so with a smile!
One of the lead detectives got up from the table, and told us he was going 'to put this on the wire' and see if any other police agencies had anything on them.
Detective Morris, a tall clean shaven man with a shaved head, the lead detective, stood, and said he supposed that a news release should be given, to put the pictures out on television, and see if they got any hits from that.
Rachel, Judy and I asked that our identities be kept secret, as the commotion caused by the press would be a major disruption.
We were right. Local, state, and nation-wide services picked it up, ran with it, and it snowballed. They bayed like hounds on a scent for any scrap of information they could find. Nobody could talk about anything else except the young girl who'd been kidnapped as a baby, and held prisoner for sixteen years by a pair of desperate people now on the run.
We knew eventually the press would get wind of who we were, and it was Mrs Malman that opened that can of worms. She was paid handsomely for her efforts. Unfortunately for her, she also became persona-non-grata in our neighbourhood, a non-person. Nobody would talk to her, including the flock of magpies she'd hung out with! She was a pariah, and they didn't want to be associated with a Jonah.
Rachel had gone back to school, and tried to live her life as though nothing had happened. But with one 'teensy' little change.
With her freedom came a new change in self-confidence. I had offered to drive her to school, and then pick her up afterward, but she insisted on taking the school bus, telling me it was something she had to do, and so I left it alone. She started to come home from school with black eyes, split lips, bruises, her school blouse was torn a couple of times, and she had scrapes on her knuckles, from getting into fights at school, and on the school bus. She fair pounded her tormentors, she said, and she glowed with pride each time she told us about it!
"They're not going to put me down anymore, Alfie," she defiantly told me. "Nobody is keeping me prisoner anymore!"
She would have nightmares about the Higgins coming back to get her, and in her dreams she would see Mrs Higgins especially looming over her bed, cackling like a demon, and telling her that she was going home, they were coming for her.
The police psychiatrist assured us that this was normal behaviour exhibited by the patient, as he referred to Rachel, saying that the mind was freeing itself from the constraints imposed on it, and she was freeing herself from years of captivity.
"She'll be fine!" he told me with a smile.
We gave into the pressure, now that our identities were known thanks to a certain non-individual, and we stood united as we gave a press conference. The lead detective, Morris, helped us, and stepped in when questions became too personal, or when he felt it was necessary. We were grateful. Eventually, thank god, the fuss died down, and the press went away, pursuing more juicy stories.
I helped Rachel get her drivers' licence, and she passed with flying colours. One of the other things we did shortly after the Higgins left town, was that we went shopping, and a whole new wardrobe was purchased for my sister, from the skin out. And that meant underwear, jeans, tops, skirts, shoes, some makeup, toiletries, the list was inexhaustible! I had no idea a girl needed so much!
She'd been having her periods regularly since she was twelve, and so she knew how to take care of her feminine needs, having to literally find out about such things all on her own. All her old clothing went into the trash. She couldn't bear the sight of it.
I had cleaned out one of my spare rooms, the largest one, and that became Rachel's space, and she promptly set about decorating it, and I helped, which caused me to get rewarded with a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.
She spent most of her time in her room, only coming out to use the toilet, or coming to the dinner table to eat. Some habits die hard, I guess. She had a healthy appetite, and she slowly but surely started to fill out, her figure rounding out and gaining womanly curves, and she would giggle as she told me about boys at school who'd hit on her, begging her for a date. She'd made a few friends as well, a couple of them girls who wouldn't talk to her when she was "skinny".
When she started to fill out, she surprised me by buying some new bras out of an allowance I had given to her. Rachel had never had money of her own before, and she held me, trying not to cry, thanking me profusely. What the surprising thing about it was, was that when she showed them off to me later, she was wearing them at the time!
They were mainly white, and she had a beautiful pair of breasts on her chest. They were smallish, rounded, and firm, and Rachel giggled when I blushed, and told her to put a shirt on, telling her that, although I was proud of her, she was my sister, after all, and she shouldn't be showing herself off to me that way, and I was slightly uncomfortable below my waistline about seeing her almost nude from the waist up.
Then, as Rachel's confidence grew, and a relationship of love and trust was established between us, she would come out to the living room more often, and spend more time there with me, and her room was for when she wanted some alone time, and for sleeping.
She wanted to be with me a lot at night. She'd talk, and her life story would pour out of her, and more than once, we'd be clinging to each other, and we would both cry, our sadness and grief washing out of us. I would tell her what I remembered of Mom, and she'd smile, and hold my hand, and prompt me whenever I'd get lost in a memory.
I decided to show her the accident and autopsy reports, when I became reticent about talking about our father, and she asked me why. When she'd read them, especially Mom's autopsy report, she was horrified, and in a quiet voice, I told my sickened sister how our parents would be when they came back from their 'outings', then pale and trembling, she threw her arms about me, and cried again.
Rachel was full of surprises. She wanted to learn how to cook, she told me, so one afternoon, the kitchen became an utter mess as we tried different things, finally ending up baking some cookies. Judy received a big handful of them. She complimented Rachel on them, saying that they were really very tasty, so from then on, Rachel baked regularly. The house was always filled with the smells and aromas of cookies, cakes, biscuits, and all sorts of things.
Then she wanted to learn how to ride a horse, so we went to a farm not far from where we were, and I talked to the owner there, whom I had done some work for, and she happily lent us a horse, a saddle and a bridle, and I spent a couple of hours with Rachel, who sat on the horse, and was happy to just sit there and let the horse do all the work. Rachel glowed and couldn't keep a grin off her face.
In the evenings, Rachel would shower, and she'd taken to wearing an old tee shirt of mine, one I'd thrown out, but she'd pulled it out and claimed it, and it was now hers. She shyly came into the living room the first time she'd worn it, stood for a moment at the door, then gathering her courage, walked over to the 'Big Chair', as she called it, sat down and tucked her legs under her.
We sat there for a minute or two, and we watched each other. She was glowing from her shower, flushed and smelling sweet from her shampoo and body wash. I had frozen, my eyes following her, as if on their own.
The thin plain self-effacing girl was nowhere in evidence, she had gone. Rachel was a breath-taking young woman. She was beautiful! She'd made an effort to really impress me, I knew, and oh, boy! I surely was!
Her long auburn hair had been washed, brushed, and hung down to cover her head and shoulders. The tee shirt hung around her body like a robe, and I saw her nipples harden as I looked at her, so that told me she was bra-less underneath it. When she'd sat down, I had caught a flash of pink panties, and as I sat there, her nipples weren't the only thing that had gotten hard.
I was suddenly out of my depth, and there was no firm ground under my feet. I sat there, drinking in the sight of my lovely little sister, and a small smile tugged at the edges of her mouth as she watched my reaction to her, her blue eyes boring into my skull.
"Wha, what are you doing?" I managed to choke out.
"I'm sitting in this chair!" she told me impishly.
I flushed, and I suddenly had the urge for a shower. Yes, I thought to myself that would give me time to get myself pulled together.
I managed to stand up without wrenching my erection, and bent over slightly, trying to hide it with my hand, I staggered down to the bathroom, mumbling that I was going to shower now.
Nanette
- 01.03.2022
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