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Women Only
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Lesbian Female / 30
Finding My Sister Wife, Taking Care Of The One I Love
This is my story of becoming a sister wife with my best friend growing up. We grew up in the same neighborhood, but not in the same socioeconomic class. Her father was a prominent doctor and my mother was a clerk at the high school. But we were friends from grade school.
She went off to a fancy New England liberal arts college and I went part time to the City College. I worked part time, and lived with my mother. Living with my mother meant that I had no sex time, plus I was taking nine hours a semester and working full time as a waitress. While she was away in college she met this guy, who wanted to start a business. Since she was in love with him her father gave them the seed money. And I continued to wait tables.
Two years after she got married, she had had a couple of miscarriages, she was examined further by a fertility specialist and he suggested she be seen by an oncologist, she had precancer lesions on her uterus. She went to an oncologist, and they took biopsies and confirmed that she had stage 2 uterine cancer. Further tests showed that she also had bladder cancer. And she had ovarian cancer. It was all caught 'early', which is better than when it's far along, but she had a complete hysterectomy and chemotherapy. Her DNA showed she had the BRCA gene, and a double mastectomy was recommended. She was 24 and I was 24 and I went to live with her to take care of her.
I found out that you can't take care of someone and if you do not love them. I wasn't a 'nurse'. I found out that I was in love with her. I found out that I had been in love with her since we were in Junior High, except that we had very different lives other than being in school together. During her surgeries, and recoveries and chemotherapies she was not available to her husband. She asked me to sit in for her, if I really loved her I would do that for her. I bathed her then, sat with her in the bathroom while she was in the tub and bathed her, I washed her hair. I loved her. I held her. I slept with her. Asking me to accept her husband was like having ice cold water thrown in your face. I couldn't do it. She begged me, not only to accept her husband but to have a baby for her.
He tried to be gentle but I was not. Him touching me like that, touching my private parts, kissing on me, and inserting himself in me and injecting his sperm in me was all the worst experience of my life. But I was fertile, too fertile and I got pregnant. I welcomed the pregnancy, it was a huge relief for me. Now I could have her baby for her. We continued to sleep together, I continued to bathe her, wash her hair, fix her meals. She got better slowly, by the time the baby came she was well enough and there didn't seem to be any other cancers. By the time the baby turned one she was back to herself, except she didn't have her insides, and she had fake breasts, which are never the same. They did save the nipples, which I guess is what gives you that sense that you have your breasts.
By then I was pregnant again, I was better emotionally to put up with him injecting himself in me. I thought of one thing and that was the baby I was going to make. Now she slept with him, and he had his wife again. It wasn't easy for me. It took all my courage to accept the jealousy. I bathed her, I washed her hair, and I dressed her. She told me that she couldn't live without mem without me loving her. And if I kissed her she let me, if I hugged her she let me, if I fixed her dinner she let me. She told everyone that I was her sister from another mother. And I made babies for her.
She went off to a fancy New England liberal arts college and I went part time to the City College. I worked part time, and lived with my mother. Living with my mother meant that I had no sex time, plus I was taking nine hours a semester and working full time as a waitress. While she was away in college she met this guy, who wanted to start a business. Since she was in love with him her father gave them the seed money. And I continued to wait tables.
Two years after she got married, she had had a couple of miscarriages, she was examined further by a fertility specialist and he suggested she be seen by an oncologist, she had precancer lesions on her uterus. She went to an oncologist, and they took biopsies and confirmed that she had stage 2 uterine cancer. Further tests showed that she also had bladder cancer. And she had ovarian cancer. It was all caught 'early', which is better than when it's far along, but she had a complete hysterectomy and chemotherapy. Her DNA showed she had the BRCA gene, and a double mastectomy was recommended. She was 24 and I was 24 and I went to live with her to take care of her.
I found out that you can't take care of someone and if you do not love them. I wasn't a 'nurse'. I found out that I was in love with her. I found out that I had been in love with her since we were in Junior High, except that we had very different lives other than being in school together. During her surgeries, and recoveries and chemotherapies she was not available to her husband. She asked me to sit in for her, if I really loved her I would do that for her. I bathed her then, sat with her in the bathroom while she was in the tub and bathed her, I washed her hair. I loved her. I held her. I slept with her. Asking me to accept her husband was like having ice cold water thrown in your face. I couldn't do it. She begged me, not only to accept her husband but to have a baby for her.
He tried to be gentle but I was not. Him touching me like that, touching my private parts, kissing on me, and inserting himself in me and injecting his sperm in me was all the worst experience of my life. But I was fertile, too fertile and I got pregnant. I welcomed the pregnancy, it was a huge relief for me. Now I could have her baby for her. We continued to sleep together, I continued to bathe her, wash her hair, fix her meals. She got better slowly, by the time the baby came she was well enough and there didn't seem to be any other cancers. By the time the baby turned one she was back to herself, except she didn't have her insides, and she had fake breasts, which are never the same. They did save the nipples, which I guess is what gives you that sense that you have your breasts.
By then I was pregnant again, I was better emotionally to put up with him injecting himself in me. I thought of one thing and that was the baby I was going to make. Now she slept with him, and he had his wife again. It wasn't easy for me. It took all my courage to accept the jealousy. I bathed her, I washed her hair, and I dressed her. She told me that she couldn't live without mem without me loving her. And if I kissed her she let me, if I hugged her she let me, if I fixed her dinner she let me. She told everyone that I was her sister from another mother. And I made babies for her.
