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Dear reader,
Welcome to the fourth installment of Life of Anne. And wow, what a life Anne’s been living. Nothing’s ever smooth sailing, just like in real life, right?
This part includes some scenes with a man, which I know might not be everyone’s cup of tea. So, consider yourself warned. But try to look past that, because at its heart, this story is about Anne and her journey of self-discovery.
To really get the full picture, you’ll want to read parts one through three first, they’re all on my author page. I hope you’ll enjoy Anne’s journey of discovery just as much as I have.
NightAelf
******
Rebuilding
Rotterdam felt like a new beginning. A city of chances. Of possibilities. The only thing it shared with the other places I’d lived the past years was the sound of the trams. In the village where I grew up, there was only a bus. Once an hour. And if you missed it, well, too bad.
Living on my own took some getting used to. I had my own room, a new school, a whole new rhythm. But I liked it. More than I expected. I had started the new year of my program and threw myself into the work. The technical classes, the smell of ink in the print shop, the feeling of doing something real with my hands. It grounded me. It gave me purpose. I was good at it, too. My supervisor saw it, and gave me space to grow. There was something about taking charge that came naturally to me.
Marley and I weren’t together anymore, but I’d still visit her when she wasn’t drowning in her internship. We knew how to enjoy each other. That hadn’t changed.
The room I rented wasn’t far from school, and my landlady, Sarah, was kind enough. My dad had insisted I find a place with a landlady because he worried I’d be completely alone and maybe slip back into another breakdown.
Sarah was twenty eight, renting out a few rooms in the old house that had once belonged to her grandparents. The house had been passed down to her parents, who moved to France a couple of years before. Sometimes Sarah thought about selling it when the bills piled up, but the house was bound by family agreements to remain in their possession.
The house stood in the Oude Binnenhaven, a part of town barely spared by the Second World War. In just twenty minutes, the heart of Rotterdam had been almost completely destroyed, bombs reduced grand mansions and bustling streets to rubble and silence. Most of the area was rebuilt in the years that followed, but Sarah’s house, and a few others nearby, were among the rare survivors from before the bombing. These old buildings carried their own stories, their own scars and imperfections, standing as living witnesses to a past that refused to be erased.
For Sarah, the house was more than shelter. It was a legacy, a living memory of family and history. Every floorboard whispered secrets, every window held a past she wasn’t ready to forget. The neighborhood changed, ships disappeared, but this old house stayed, a quiet witness to all that had been.
Therapy had taught me that a tidy space helped keep my mind clear. I wasn’t naturally messy, but my need for order turned almost military. Everything had to be put away before I left the room. If I thought I forgot something, I’d turn back to fix it. Maybe it was obsessive, but it kept me grounded here, in this strange new city. And right then, that mattered more than anything.
I stood by the window, eyes drifting to the water in the harbor. Gentle waves lapped at the quay, steady and constant like a heartbeat I didn’t have to make myself. Here, in this quiet rhythm, I could breathe. Outside, the world spun wild and unpredictable. Inside, I held the reins tight.
There were only girls living in the house. I shared the kitchen and bathroom with Gabrielle. And I hated it. She left dishes to rot in the sink, took clean plates from my cupboard when she ran out of her own, turned the shower into a disaster zone. The toilet wasn’t much better.
I tried to shrug it off. Maybe a normal person wouldn’t care that much, but the stress building up inside me was too loud to ignore.
My parents had talked to Sarah before I moved in. They explained everything that had happened and made me promise to speak up if things got too heavy again. I really tried to get better, but the breakdown was still fresh. I couldn’t just flip a switch and change overnight. Sometimes the medication kept me standing but dulled my senses at the same time. I wasn’t always aware of how bad things were or when I was slipping. It wasn’t that I was pretending nothing was wrong, sometimes I simply didn’t realize it. That’s why I was still in therapy, still working on myself. It wasn’t an easy road.
I had discovered that cooking calmed me down. The steady rhythm of peeling potatoes, chopping vegetables, marinating meat, I loved every bit of it. It helped me unwind after a long day.
But that evening, when I got home from school and headed to the kitchen to tokat escort start prepping dinner, I found a war zone. Pans and plates stacked haphazardly, dirty glasses jammed together, sticky leftovers clinging to everything. Nothing had been cleaned. Nothing was usable.
Something in me snapped.
Before I even realized what I was doing, I swept everything off the counter. The crash of glass and ceramic hitting the floor echoed off the walls. Sarah came rushing upstairs and found me sitting on the kitchen floor, surrounded by shards and sauce and bits of food. I hadn’t even noticed the cut on my arm until I saw her face pale. She carefully stepped over the broken pieces and knelt beside me, speaking softly, coaxing me to my feet.
She wrapped an arm around my waist and helped me back to my room. The contrast between the disaster in the kitchen and the sterile neatness of my bedroom was almost ridiculous.
I stood there, frozen. Unable to think, unable to breathe properly. The panic was rising in my chest and I began to hyperventilate.
Sarah didn’t flinch. She grabbed a clean sweater and joggers from my dresser and gently coaxed me toward the bathroom.
“Come on,” she said kindly. “Let’s get you into a hot shower.”
She led me there, but when she flipped on the light, something made her hesitate. A moment later, she switched it off again and said, “You can use mine instead.”
Still dazed and trembling, I followed her down to her floor. Her hand stayed warm in mine until we reached the bathroom. She gently helped me out of my clothes and guided me into the shower. I didn’t resist. I didn’t need to.
She left the door slightly open.
The heat calmed me. Steam wrapped around me like a soft blanket. I let the water run over my body and tried not to think about what I’d done.
But of course, I did.
Why did I always let things escalate? Why couldn’t I just stay level?
When I finally turned off the water, a soft towel was waiting for me. I dried off and pulled on the clean clothes Sarah had given me.
Only then did I really look around her bathroom. Pretty little Provençal sachets lined the shelves, delicate jars and soft-smelling soaps everywhere. As I bent to toss the towel into the laundry hamper, I noticed something, my underwear was already in there. I hesitated for a second. Should I take it back? Or just leave it?
I reached in, feeling slightly embarrassed. But as I grabbed my bra, a soft black pair of panties came with it. I held them for a second, longer than I meant to. There was something intimate in the fabric, in the scent. A flicker ran down my spine.
Startled by my own reaction, I let go quickly, tossed everything back, and stepped into the hallway.
Sarah was in the kitchen and called out, “Coffee’s ready!”
I padded into her living room, cheeks still warm, and muttered an apology about the kitchen.
“Anne,” she said, cutting me off mid-sentence. “Stop. Sit down and drink your coffee. We’ll sort it out in a minute.”
I sat down beside her. Tried to calm my thoughts. Tried not to think about the black lace or how close she’d been just minutes ago. She was beautiful, I suddenly realized. I don’t know why I hadn’t seen it before. The soft curls in her dark blond hair, the grey-green of her eyes, the shape of her mouth.
She’d argued with Gabrielle before, she told me. About the mess. She knew it wasn’t me. In fact, she had quietly suspected I might be a bit obsessive. Not unkindly. Just observant.
She’d already decided Gabrielle needed to go. Said she’d look for someone else to take the room. Someone calmer. I asked, quietly, what we’d do about the damage.
“We’ll clean it up,” she said. “Together. And if anything’s broken, we’ll sort it with insurance. No big deal.”
I exhaled, deeply. The weight on my chest lifted, just a little.
Later, we tackled the kitchen together. The damage was less than I feared. And it went quickly. When my hand started bleeding again, Sarah walked with me to my room, opened my first aid kit, and cleaned the wound. Then, with a small smile, she kissed the bandage like you would a child’s scraped knee.
Something in me fluttered. Her eyes met mine for a second too long, and I had to look away. She touched my cheek and kissed it lightly, then went back downstairs.
Two days later, I came home to find a plastic bag hanging on my doorknob. My underwear. Washed and folded. Inside, tucked neatly between the fabric, was a note and, a black pair of panties.
The note said only:
“Dear Anne, almost everything’s been washed.”
My cheeks flushed as I read it. Had she noticed? How did she know?
I couldn’t tell. But I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer just yet.
Things settled down for a while, and Gabrielle moved out. Christy moved in.
Christy was a breath of fresh air. Fun, laid-back, and allergic to mess. Compared to my last housemate, she was an yozgat escort absolute relief. She had a boyfriend too, and even though overnight male guests weren’t allowed, she still managed to get her fill during the day and evening.
Sometimes, when her moans and breathy giggles slipped through the walls, I’d get so turned on I couldn’t help myself.
Sarah’s black panties had found a permanent spot under my pillow. When I touched myself, I’d press my face into them, breathing in a scent that had long faded but still lived somewhere in my memory.
I found myself going out of my way to bump into Sarah. Literally. If she was heading downstairs and I was coming up, I’d time it so we’d meet on the narrow part of the stairs. We’d pause there for just a moment, bodies close, eyes locking. And something flickered in that space between us.
I started wondering what would happen if I tested the waters. Just a little.
That morning, I had slipped into my nicest purple panties. Later, instead of tossing them in the laundry, I tucked them into the little plastic bag Sarah hung on my doorknob with a note.
“Dear Sarah, this one hasn’t been washed either.”
I hung it on her doorknob and scurried back to my room, heart pounding.
I hoped I hadn’t misread the signals, but honestly, the thrill was worth it. The boldness. The risk. The wicked little grin that lingered on my lips the rest of the night.
Studying for my exam was practically impossible with how wet I was
The next day, just as I walked in, Sarah was coming down the stairs. She was already near the bottom, but I was just quick enough to land next to her on the last few steps.
This time, we stood a little longer than usual. Close. Closer than necessary. I noticed a flush on her cheeks, that soft pink that gives everything away. Then, without a word, she leaned in and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before disappearing down the last few steps.
I floated up the stairs. Two flights, barely feeling the effort. And there it was. That familiar little plastic bag, hanging from my doorknob like a secret.
I almost ripped it open on the spot, but made myself slow down. I took off my coat, flopped down on the couch, and only then reached for the bag.
Inside was a deep burgundy pair of panties. Soft lace. Elegant. With a note pinned on top:
“If I wash yours, will you wash mine?”
My breath caught. I lifted the fabric to my face and, God. That smell. Warm, sweet, unmistakably hers. The fabric was still damp.
I tucked it under my pillow, right next to the black one, and felt a shiver go through me. The signals were no longer subtle. Sarah was playing, and she was playing well.
Still, I didn’t want to rush it. I wanted to see how bold she really was.
So I said nothing. For two whole days. We didn’t run into each other on the stairs, and I made no move to reach out. But every time I passed my door, I glanced at the handle, hoping for something.
On the third day, I made my move. I took the purple bra I’d been wearing all day and slipped it into a new bag. I added a note:
“A set’s better when it’s complete.”
I tiptoed downstairs, heart pounding, and hung it on her doorknob. Just as I was heading back up, I heard the front door swing open. Sarah’s voice. Christy’s laughter.
I had been just in time. The adrenaline made me giddy. I could hardly focus. An hour or two later, there was a soft knock at my door. I jumped up from the couch and opened it.
“Can I come in?” Sarah asked. I opened the door all the way and stepped aside to let her in.
“Want something to drink?” “A Coke would be nice,” she said, settling into my couch like it was hers.
She was in her joggers and a loose hoodie, but the mischief in her eyes told me she hadn’t come up just for soda. I sat down next to her, close enough to touch, and she immediately wrapped an arm around my shoulders.
Her body was warm and soft against mine. My head found its place on her shoulder, and I nuzzled lightly into her neck. She smelled faintly of perfume and something else, something more raw and real. I felt the heat bloom in my belly. My hand moved without much thought, fingers finding the zipper of her hoodie. I pulled it down just a little, and the soft curve of her chest appeared, framed perfectly by lavender lace. My lavender lace. My breath hitched.
She was wearing my bra.
It fit her so perfectly I almost forgot how to breathe. My hand hovered, then lightly traced the edge of the fabric. I could feel the warmth of her skin through the smooth material. Her breath hitched too.
I leaned closer, brushed my lips near her collarbone. Her skin trembled. When I finally looked up, her eyes were already on me. Something passed between us, wordless and electric. I reached for her face and pulled her into a kiss, soft, slow, but hungry. Her tongue twisted around mine, licking and biting my lips. I got even zonguldak escort hornier than usual from kissing, hips pressing forward, hungry for more. I jumped up from the couch, peeling off my shirt as I crossed the two meters to my bed. Sarah followed, pushing me down onto the mattress. I slid back a little and she settled between my legs. Our mouths found each other again, eager and hungry. After that brief pause, the fire inside me flared up again, hotter than before.
I felt a huge spasm in my pussy and when Sarah pinched my nipple I suddenly orgasmed spontaneously. Quickly I got rid of my last clothes and when I wanted to undress Sarah quickly pushed me back. I sat completely naked with a soaking wet pussy watching Sarah taking off her clothes for me like a true striptease dancer.
Besides my purple bra, she was also wearing my purple panties, and she swayed her hips teasingly right in front of my face. I placed my hands on her stomach and pulled her closer, pressing her hips against my face. She smelled amazing, and faintly I caught my own scent too. So she hadn’t washed my panties before putting them on.
I drew her up onto my lap and let my hands roam over her entire body. Her breasts got the most attention. Eventually, I slipped the purple set off her and threw her back onto my bed. I felt incredible, soaking in the sight of her slim, radiant body.
I knew the scent of her arousal well by now, but with her legs spread before me, dripping with white desire, she smelled even better than I’d imagined. It had been a while since I’d had another woman in my bed besides Marley, but from the sounds she made, I must have been doing something right.
My body relaxed into a quiet calm after my spontaneous release, but my hands and mouth kept exploring every inch of her glowing skin. I teased around her, careful to avoid the most sensitive places, at least for a while, licking the delicate lines of her thighs and the soft curves behind her knees.
“Anne,” she moaned softly, “you have the kind of touch that drives any woman wild.”
Beneath my tongue, she writhed and gasped, pressing herself closer each time I neared her most intimate place. Finally, I let myself drift slowly between her legs, circling with gentle, teasing movements. It was almost too much for her, but I wasn’t about to let her come just yet.
I traced the damp heat with my tongue, savoring every moment, every sigh. My fingers joined the dance, moving slowly inside her, discovering the tightness I hadn’t expected. Yet her eagerness made every touch easy, every movement natural.
She twisted beneath me, eyes fluttering, murmurs slipping from her lips, caught between pleasure and surprise. I found a steady rhythm, my tongue and fingers working in harmony, keeping her right on the edge.
When her orgasm finally swept through her, it was intense, breathtaking. I paused, startled by the force of it, but she urged me on with a whispered command. Slowly, her body settled, shivers rippling down her legs. I couldn’t resist tracing a finger lightly over her, watching her reaction, knowing the game wasn’t quite over yet.
My bed was soaked with the wet traces of our desire. Her warmth lingered beneath me and I quickly became aroused again. I slid down to sit on her belly, careful not to overwhelm her, and let the gentle friction between us slowly build. My body moved in gentle circles, my clit gently against her skin, teasing myself closer and closer to the edge. And over.
Sarah lay beneath me, spent but still holding onto my legs. Exhausted, I collapsed beside her, but the narrow bed left little room for us both. She whispered in my ear, a mischievous invitation, “Come to my bed?”
I smiled, grateful for the escape, and after gathering a few things and turning off the lights, I followed her quietly. On the way, we bumped into Christy, who caught the tone without a word. She winked knowingly and laughed, “Sounds like you two had a good time.”
Relieved, I let out a breath and followed Sarah down the stairs, ready for whatever came next.
Sarah and I saw each other almost every day now, but I was clear about one thing: school came first, everything else second. We agreed it wasn’t a relationship. We liked each other a lot and had a great time together, but I wasn’t ready to tie myself down again. With Sarah, I could share everything, and it became easier to talk about my past.
She’d had relationships with both women and men, and one day she asked me what I thought about men. That question caught me off guard. The truth was, I didn’t think much about men. Or women, really. I told her that for me, it was about people, that gender didn’t really matter.
Generally, I wasn’t focused on men or women. Whatever came my way, came my way. That’s just how I’d always seen it. From the moment I discovered sex, it was just sex. I never worried about whether it was with a man or a woman, or anything else. I didn’t label myself, I was simply Anne.
More and more, Sarah started sharing her fantasies with me, and things between us got pretty intense. Often, her stories involved threesomes with a man. Honestly, the idea intrigued me too. I had one condition: I had to feel good about the guy. Sarah was totally fine with that.
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