Chapter 1: Rewind, Fast Forward

It seems fitting somehow, I think to myself while I take a look around the flat roof. A strange calm settles over me. I was conceived on a roof like this thirty-nine years ago, somewhere in a small town in Germany, on my parents’ honeymoon. Back then, they were watching a full solar eclipse, stoked to witness a magical moment that not every generation gets to see. That’s how I got my name too. Solar Eclipse Sands. I guess I should be happy that they didn’t name me “Total”. That would have been really awkward.

Today, I watch with a wholly different set of emotions from theirs, and it’s not the sun and moon I’m looking out for. The asteroid’s name is an unwieldy number, “2024 YR4”. The chances of it hitting earth have zigzagged up and down since its discovery in 2024. It was only over the last three months, when they got the fancy new telescope into orbit, that the craggy line became smooth and went at an alarming upward angle. We’re at forty-nine percent impact probability now, but I’m sure it’s actually far higher – but nobody wants a nation-wide panic, but the sudden drop soon after the president announced a “special risk evaluation by experts from the military” was pretty fishy. That’s why I’m up here, watching the sky, wondering if it will pass us by or hit us with the force of a large hydrogen bomb.

Any sane person would seek shelter underground. There’s no saying where exactly it will hit, if it hits, but there’s a huge target painted on the contiguous US and the German satellite television seems to be presenting maps that zoom in on the west coast. A look at my watch tells me I have about a half hour left, so I take a large gulp from the vodka bottle and sigh, reminiscing about the long misunderstanding that I call my life.

It’s not like my parents didn’t love me, but they were always busy, both of them successful in their jobs. My older sister Ellen – half sister, that is, Mom had her before she and Dad met – and I were too competitive to ever feel really close. I was pampered yet lonely, intelligent but adrift. I yearned to make an impression, to live up to my parents’ expectations, but I was too timid, too docile, too dependent on other people’s opinions. That’s how Mrs. Marchbanks, our older neighbor, got her claws into me. She was a devout catholic, and her stories about god and laws and fate gave me an anchor I had been looking for. I never realized how she filled my head with outdated believes and fear of damnation until I was estranged from my family and utterly at her mercy.

I laugh softly, the word “fate” echoing in my mind. Mrs. Marchbanks had seemed so strong and infallible in her belief in god to a budding teenager. I never realized what was happening until I was deeply entrenched in a web of church and prayer and unquestioning devotion. My parents freaked when I turned eighteen and declared I was going to join a convent, but I was dead set on my decision, having removed myself so far from social life with my peers that anything else was unthinkable.

I take another swig of vodka when I think of the convent. The routine had been soothing, the tasks hard but simple. For nearly two decades, I had been content there. I avoided the confrontations and bickering which were commonplace. I challenged myself by memorizing the bible and other religious texts whenever I felt like I was beginning to drift.

Sister Miranda transferred to us shortly after I turned thirty. She was short and lithe and had the most lovable smile. As fate – I chuckle again at the word – would have it, one of the wings of the large building was badly damaged by a winter storm, and we had to cram together. I readily offered to share my cell with her when she stood there in the middle of the night, soaked and miserable. There was no space to set up a second bed, so we had to share.

A soft smile plays over my lips. I had been so naive. Miranda, many years my junior, had picked me for a reason. She had no problems to convince me that sharing body warmth by cuddling close was the sensible thing to do in the drafty cell, and I slept better than ever before when her lithe body snuggled against mine. Within a few nights, I cherished the contact, and I felt disappointed and lonely when we had to get up to start the day with a prayer.

It wasn’t even a week of us sharing the bed when I woke up in the middle of the night, my forehead sweaty, my breath flying and the most wonderful feelings washing through my body. I couldn’t see a thing in the dark, and it took me a few seconds to realize that something warm and soft and wet was touching me between my legs. I reached down and encountered what was indubitably a human head. Yet, with all these unknown, overwhelming sensations and emotions running havoc inside me, it took me far too long to connect the dots, and by the time I figured out that Sister Miranda’s lips and tongue where intruding in my most forbidden place, I had lost all control of my body. Pleasure rushed through me, so strong that all the rapture I had experienced while praying paled into insignificance. My body arched, and a cry of wanton ecstasy filled the tiny cell.

It took less than a minute until Mother Superior was in our cell, outraged and outspoken. Sister Miranda was whisked away. I was clothed, dragged to the chapel and made to kneel and pray for forgiveness.

Or so they sought. And yes, I tried. I tried and failed, over and over, for the rest of the night and all through the morning.

I take another mouthful of vodka and swallow slowly, savoring the slight burning sensation that travels down into my center and numbs the ever-present pain a little.

They were all there. The Mother Superior, Father Jonathan and the oldest sisters. They were there and stared at me with disappointment and disgust. Father Jonathan told me gravely that it was not too late to repent, that my sin as a bride of Jesus was grave, but that I could give an oath of silence, put in extra prayers and take care of the most menial tasks until God forgave me.

It was at that moment, as I stood there in front of all these elders, heaped with disapproval, that I felt myself back in my teenage years, in over my head, steered into directions I had no idea about, and the scales fell from my eyes. The memory of such incredible pleasure still resonated inside me, and I became intensely aware of the gritty, ugly reality that was hiding behind a veil of virtuousness. All these thousands of instances of backstabbing and envy I had conveniently ignored suddenly couldn’t be denied.

And for the second time in my life, I stood up straight and met the disapproving stares head on. “I’m sorry, Mother Superior,” I said, “but my time in the convent has come to and end.”

They tried to convince me to stay, but I stayed steadfast. The longer they talked, the more I disliked them. Their arguments were shallow and backhanded.

“I will pack my belongings now and leave,” I said sharply when fatigue tried to overwhelm me, and I went to my cell and started to fill a cotton bag with my meager belongings. I switched my habit for the long, heavy, gray dress we only wore when we worked on the fields. Then I swung the bag over my shoulder and walked out, past the frowns of my fellow sisters.

I look at my watch again. There’s a little over five minutes left until the coin is flipped, and I feel hopeful and relieved.

Leaving the convent was freeing, but the world I entered again after so long was different from the one I remembered. I had no money, and I was too proud to beg. I slept in hidden spots in alleys and nicked leftover food from dumpsters. I became homeless. For a few weeks, I told myself I was going to head home, but the hunger and bad sleep made me forget about anything but the here and now.

Adrift. That what was I was again. A nobody living in the shadow, alone and unnoticed. I may have died like that, famished and sick, but a passerby found me when I collapsed and called an ambulance.

They nursed me back to health, and Kelly, one of the nurses took an interest in me when she heard about my background. She helped get me on welfare and arranged for a place in a shelter. She explained many things to me that I had either been ignorant of or which I had long since forgotten. Everything appeared to shape up. I was high up on the list for a flat. But then I went to the hospital for a check-up and they found the cancer.

Terminal.

I look at my watch, and it’s only seconds now. I feel giddy when I take another gulp of vodka.

The sky suddenly lights up in spectacular colors, yellow and red and green and violet, and I have to close my eyes. If I could only go back, I think, and make different decisions. I’d do everything the church condemns. I’d live a life of pure sin. I’d-

Pain hits me all of a sudden, and a booming sound fills my head. Heat sears through my body.

“Get up!” Someone shakes me.

I gasp and sit upright. I feel dizzy, and echoes of pain radiate through my body, slowly fading away. I blink in the bright light and realize I must be dreaming.

Ellen frowns at me, her arms crossed. “I swear,” she hisses, “if we’re gong to late because of you, you’re going to get it.”

I weird sensation twists my guts. It can’t be!

She yanks my blanket away, and I remember everything. Her tennis tournament. Her blaming me for losing her qualifying match because I overslept and we got there late. My thoughts race. Mom drove us that day, but Dad was home.

“You should go without me,” I tell her. It’s not hard to sound miserable and look like I’m in pain. “I’m not feeling well.”

She huffs, but then she turns around leaves without a word. It would have taken me another half hour to get ready.

I slump back onto the bed and pull the blanket over my body. Then I pinch myself hard on my thigh, and it hurts. My head is spinning, and I actually feel pretty sick when I realize that this is real, that I actually have the chance to change my decisions. I hear the garage door rumble open, then the engine of Mom’s BMW.

It still takes more than an hour until I can think clearly. I’m fifteen again. I’m going to enter high school once more. I can make different friends and take different courses. I can make my own decisions. The feeling I had when I left the convent is back, even stronger now, knowing that I really have a chance this time. Excitement bubbles up, and I get up and head into the bathroom. Seeing myself this young again is weird, and I run my fingers over my face in front of the mirror.

The girl looking back at me is far cuter than I had believed myself to be. True, I never was the blond cheerleader type, but my brown hair is shiny and straight. I have large eyes and a small nose. There’s still a hint of pudginess filling my cheeks, but that’s no wonder. I never took to sports, always too indecisive and too afraid to fall short of expectations.

Tears of relief suddenly spring from my eyes and blur my vision, but it feels good to cry, liberating and cleansing. It seems to wash away the guilt about my own stupidity. Then I have to laugh because I remember the promise I made in my last moments of the old life. I have little idea how to be naughty, but I promise myself to try hard.

I step into the large shower and turn on the water. It takes only a few seconds to get warm, a luxury not present at the convent, and I revel under the soft massage. I soap myself up with scented body wash and shampoo and conditioner and breathe in deeply.

“How did it go?” I ask at the same time as Mom asks, “Are you feeling better?”

Ellen looks up in surprise. Things between us have been pretty distant lately. Then she grins. “I made second place.” She pulls a silver trophy from her large bag and holds it up.

“Cool!” I say, and I do something I haven’t done for ages, not even in this timeline. I hug her. “Congratulations, Sis,” I whisper into her ear.

She eyes me a little warily when I let go, but then she nods. “Thanks,” she says. “I need a shower.”

“I know,” I say.

Mom beams.

I watch Ellen trudge up the stairs. She seems pretty wrung out. The muscles on her calves are tight and pronounced. “It’s great that all her hard training finally paid off,” I tell Mom, who watches me curiously for a few seconds. “What?” I ask.

Her expression softens, and then she pulls me into a hug. “Were you really feeling sick?” she whispers.

I take a deep breath. “No,” I admit. “But I would have held you up, and you know how nervous she gets when she thinks she’ll be late.”

Mom laughs softly and holds my shoulders. “That’s true,” she says with a giggle. Then she turns serious again. “What changed?”

I gulp. And I suddenly realize that she wasn’t the ignorant woman I had painted her as, that it was my own avoidance that caused us to drift apart. For a moment, I feel like I’m about to cry, but I quench the feeling and gulp again. “I’m going to be at high school soon. I’ve got to decide on subjects. I need to figure out where I want to go with my life.” The sentences appear on my lips without effort, because those topics are really on the forefront of my mind. “I was always envious because Ellen knows what she wants, and I felt stupid because I didn’t.”

The truth of what I just said hits me like hook in the guts. Thankfully, Mom doesn’t question my words and just pulls me into a hug again. “You know you can always talk to me, honey,” she says, sounding teary, and I’m totally overwhelmed.

I tighten my arms around her and sob into her shoulder, and for the first time in many, many years, I feel safe.

“Thank, Mom,” I sniffle.

“Is something wrong?”

I yelp when Dad’s deep voice startles me. “N-no,” I stammer and wipe my eyes hastily.

“It’s fine,” Mom tells him and brushes my cheek. “Solar is growing up.”

He doesn’t get it, I can see that in his eyes, but he nods sagely. “It happens to the best,” he says with a sad voice.

“Jeremy!” Mom chastises him, but I don’t mind. This time around, I get his flighty humor.

“It’s okay,” I say, squeezing her hand. “I tried hard not to. Sorry if I let you down, Dad.”

He looks started for a moment, but then he laughs and pulls me into a hug and makes me sniffle again.

A butterfly wiggled its wing somewhere in South America.

The atmosphere is a little strange. Mom and Dad sometimes look at me strangely when they think I’m not looking. Ellen’s still too knackered from her tournament to notice. The sky’s a beautiful red, promising more perfect summer weather, and I savor the flavors of the steak and vegetables Dad made on the barbecue.

“Gosh, you’ve outgrown your clothes again, honey,” Mom suddenly says, looking at me across the table.

She’s right, of course. The t-shirt is tight around the shoulders and my midriff. The last time around I shrank into myself and her words sounded like an accusation to me, which is so silly in hindsight.

“I guess,” I say and look down my body.

“The two of us need to go shopping next weekend,” Mom decides.

And I have an idea, one where we don’t have to wait a full week. “Mom? Would it be okay if Ellen and I went?” I look at my sister. “Only if you want to. Maybe tomorrow?”

Ellen’s head snaps up, and she stares. “You mean it?” she wants to know.

“Yes.” I meet her gaze.

Her eyes narrow. “Only if you let me pick out what we buy.”

There’s a lot I can read in her eyes. My past self had been so caught up in her self-consciousness that she never noticed how frumpy she dressed. She insisted on buying stuff she was familiar with. Ellen, on the other hand, is a free spirit. She likes to tease and to challenge Mom, always toeing the line of what she can get away with. It was probably really embarrassing to be associated with frumpy old me.

“I don’t know,” Mom says, but I cut her off.

“Pretty please?” I turn to my sister. “You get to decide.”

She waits for almost half a minute. “Okay,” she finally says, trying not to look at me like I have two heads. “Please, Mom?”

Mom shrugs helplessly. “I think I’m outnumbered here, Jeremy,” she whines.

“Yes, I think you are, honey,” Dad agrees with a wink.

“Traitor!” she hisses, but he silences her with a kiss.

Ellen pulls up an eyebrow, then rolls her eyes.

I giggle.

Mom gave Ellen her credit card, and we’re entering the mall. “It’s high time that you start wearing real clothes,” she says bluntly, steering us towards Victoria’s Secret.

“You think Mom will go along with this?” I ask, but I don’t slow down.

“I’ve been coming here for ages,” she just says and we head into the store.

There’s a short moment where the two decades of indoctrination try to rear their head, but I force them down. If I want to be a sinner, this is perfect!

“What colors do you think fit me?” I ask, having never worn anything like the frilly, intricate things I see all around me.

Ellen stops and looks me up and down. “Black, dark green and brown,” she says after only a moment, “and pink of course.”

“That is spot on,” a female says behind me, startling me a little. I whirl around and look into the face of a woman around Mom’s age. She’s tall and pretty, with soft, black curls. The dress she wears is sleek and tight, shows lots of cleavage and only the badge on her chest gives away that she’s an employee. “I am Martha. What are you looking for? Comfy? Sporty? Elegant? Sexy?”

My gaze flickers to Ellen, who’s biting her lip in thought and looking like she’s having a mental struggle.

“What do you think?” I ask her. “Should I go for s-sexy?”

Her eyes widen, but then she grins. “Sexy it is,” she agrees.

Martha doesn’t let on if this is something out of the ordinary. “Perfect,” she breathes. “What size are you?”

I part my lips, but I realize I have no clue. I’ve always let Mom pick out my clothes, and the clothes at the convent were rough estimates and ugly as sin, never meant to feel comfortable. Comfort was a worldly luxury. “I have no idea,” I admit.

“Let’s get you measured, then.”

I think I catch an expression of mirth on Ellen’s lips for a second, but then she’s smiling again and following us towards the changing cubicle Martha leads me to. We step inside, including Ellen, and Martha closes the curtain.

All of a sudden, I feel incredibly nervous, which only gets worse when Ellen looks thoughtfully at Martha. “I guess you’ll get the best accuracy if you measure her in the buff, right?”

“The less clothing, the better,” Martha quickly agrees.

Oh, the old Solar would have frozen to stone or curled into a ball. She may even have cried and run. But the old Solar didn’t experience the short but life changing wonder that Sister Miranda’s mouth caused. My fingers tremble when I pull the tight t-shirt over my head and unclasp the tight bra, the sight of which causes Martha to wrinkle her nose. I slip out of my short and panties at the same time, and then I stand in front of my sister and the stranger, buck naked and embarrassed and suddenly strangely excited.

My gaze meets Ellen’s, and she smirks. When my eyes follow hers, I see why. My nipples are tightly puckered, despite the warm air. They tingle nicely, and I feel like wrapped in a nice, warm blanket when Martha touches my shoulders and has me turn around. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and I watch her wrap a measuring tape around my chest. She’s all professional, but her fingers touch my skin and make it tingle as well. I almost tear up because it feels so good to be touched by someone, even if it is just for a flighty moment. She measures below my breast, then above them, then right around, sliding the tape over my nipples and making my knees buckle a little.

“For sexy, we better take a complete measurement,” she tells me, turning me back around, and then she wraps the tape around the base of my left breast.

I can’t stop my breath from shivering, but she acts like nothing happened. She measures my other breast as well, then she measures the distance from the lower bases of my breasts to my nipples, and I feel utterly dizzy. My nipples almost hurt.

Then she crouches down and wraps the tape around my hips. Then my waist. Her eyes are close to my most sacr- my pussy, I force myself to think. I’m not ready for the c-word yet.

“You realize you will have to shave,” she suddenly says.

“Huh?” I gasp, staring down.

“This.” She brushes her fingers over my soft curls, and heat washes through my lower body. “The hair will need to go.”

“Oh,” I breathe, my mind only working with delay.

“I’ll teach you to shave.”

I gulp hard. “Sure,” I stammer. “Thanks.”

“32C on top. A six for the bottoms,” Martha declares, standing upright again. “Let me see what I can find. I’ll be right back.”

“Solar?” Ellen asks softly.

“Yes?”

“Are you getting off on this?”

I have to fight my long trained instincts, but I force myself to look her in the eyes and ignore the burning blush that spreads from my face down chest, and I struggle to remember the right words we had whispered at school before our neighbor pulled me into her sick world. “I’m dripping wet,” I admit, and the admission itself fills me with a wicked, wonderful, debauched feeling.

Ellen giggles. “It’s hot, isn’t it,” she whispers and licks her lips.

My sister is beautiful, I suddenly realize, and an image pops up in my head at that moment that robs me of my breath. In my mind’s eye, I see Ellen’s full lips approach my throbbing pussy. The idea is so wrong and intense...

“Solar?” she asks softly.

“Ellen,” I try to say, not finding anything else that makes sense, but it comes out as a moan. Her eyes get wide, and I feel mortified. I start trembling.

“Oh. My. God!” she suddenly whispers and steps closer. “You horny little thing.”

My breathing stops when she reaches out and slides her fingers over my breasts. My knees give out and I plop down on the bench. “Ellen?” I whisper urgently, caught between excitement and panic.

“We’ll have a long talk at home,” she promises, “sister to sister.”

I search her eyes, but I don’t see disgust or shock. Instead of freaking out, she grins and squeezes my shoulder.

Before I have time to work myself into a mental frenzy, Martha slips into the cubicle again, her arms loaded with garments. She hands me thin panties in the tone of my skin first. “You need to wear these to protect the panties,” she tells me with a knowing smile.

For the next half hour, I do nothing but put on underwear, turn in circles and take them off again. All the while, my arousal simmers hotly. I almost cum when they have me put on a sheer, pink ensemble with only a string between my buttocks and a half cup bra with lovely little frills that hides nothing at all yet pushes my breasts into perfection.

I’m breathing like I ran five miles by the time I’m back in my clothes. Ellen and Martha went outside to sort through the garments and choose what to buy.

I feel naked and incredibly sexy in the new underwear. My breasts look a full size bigger in my opinion, and the pale brown summer dress flows nicely around my upper thighs.

We’ll have to come here again tomorrow because I’m still in need of jeans and shirts and shoes, but I’m exhausted after four hours of shopping, and Ellen looks tired too. We bought dresses and less fancy underwear for school, working our way up the mall. We grab burgers with sweet potato fries at the diner on the ground floor, then we head home with three bags full of clothes. I ask Ellen a few times about the cost, but she doesn’t tell me.

“You looked like you were going to cum right in that cubicle,” Ellen says.

We’re lying on her bed facing each other.

“I guess I was,” I admit quietly.

“You’ve changed. Like, overnight, too.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

Single word questions can be the hardest to answer. I rub my face to stall a little. “I – I got thinking. About school. Life. Friends. My future.”

“That’s why you overslept.”

“Yeah.” In a way, it is true. “I didn’t like what I saw. I realized I want to be a lot more like you and a lot less like...” I can’t help but scrunch up my face. “ ... me.”

“You want to be like me?” There’s suspicion in her eyes, and I can’t blame her.

“I’m sorry for acting like I didn’t care,” I tell her quietly. “I didn’t mean to. I just – you’ve always been decisive and strong and successful, everything I wasn’t, and I was envious. Mom and Dad always go on about your achievements, and I barely have anything to show, and I always felt that you’re so pretty and I’m so mousy, and I know it’s of my own doing and stupid and unjust, so I’m really, really sorry, Ellen.”

Different expressions flicker over her face, too fast to read them. All I can do is wait and pray that she doesn’t think I’m weird. And while I wait for her to process what I said, I realize that I really, really care what she thinks, and I feel closer to her than ever before, which is a wonderful feeling.

“Oh, Solar,” she suddenly whispers and wiggles closer, and then we’re hugging each other painfully tight. For a long time, we just hold each other, and I sniffle a little.

When she finally lets go, she’s a little teary eyed herself. “So,” she says softly.

“Yeah,” I agree when she doesn’t continue.

“Horny.”

I bite my lip. “As hell.” Oh my, cursing feels good! I giggle.

She looks hard at me. “What we’re talking here will never leave this room. Otherwise I’ll deny everything and make your life miserable.”

Her threat hits me like a slap, but then I realize that she hasn’t got many reasons to trust me. “I swear on my life!” I promise her.

“You seemed to enjoy it when I touched your tits. Did you want me to touch your pussy too?”

She doesn’t let on if this a test, but I won’t hide behind false modesty any longer. “I would have loved it. Would still love it,” I confess and meet her stare.

“We’re sisters,” she reminds me.

“Half sister. So it’s only half wrong. Which means it has to be half right, doesn’t it?”

Her eyes widen. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Yes.”

We just look at each other for at least five minutes, and I feel strangely comfortable. There’s no hint of judgment in her eyes, just curiosity and arousal, and a lovely warmth.

“Have you thought about it before?” I can’t help but ask.

“A few times,” she admits. “Not like this, though, not ... talking about it, not so ... close.”

“I don’t really get it.”

She takes a deep breath, and for a moment, she looks pained. “There were moments when I was so angry at you and your ignorant, cold behavior, and sometimes I imagined slapping you, stripping you naked, throwing you on your bed, sitting on your face and using you to get off.

It takes me a moment to get the full picture. She suddenly seems shocked by her own words and looks at me with a vulnerable expression. Weird sensations bubble up in me.

“I’d certainly deserve it.” My skin starts tingling.

Her breath hitches. “Oh definitely,” she says darkly, sliding closer.

“I’d let you.” My own breath hitches too.

“Are you sure?” Her warm breath tickles my lips, and desire wells up in me.

“I’ll let you do whatever you want.”

“Solar,” she says, and it’s almost growl. “Sis. I’ll do it. For real.”

Her lips touch mine, soft and warm, and I moan into the kiss. Her hands slip behind my head, and she explores my lips with hers, making me tremble all over. The arousal I felt at that moment in the cubicle is back, accompanied buy the most giddy, happy feeling in my chest that nearly makes me burst with joy. I giggle and cry and moan, and I sob with delight when her tongue touches mine and the wonderful, intimate sensation fills my whole being.

I barely notice it when her deft fingers wiggle my clothes off my body, but then I’m naked and staring at her while she shimmies out of her panties and crawls towards my head.

“Solar!” she growls and swings a leg over my head.

“Jesus!” I gasp and extend a mental middle finger towards our neighbor and the nuns while I stare at my sister’s approaching, hairless vulva, her full pussy lips and rosy inner ones, and I breathe in the heady scent of her arousal.

She does what she promised. She rides my face wildly, and I stick out my tongue to capture her taste. It’s so wrong and right, and I love how she tastes. She paints my face with her juices, and all too soon she starts trembling and tips forward, clenching her thighs together and lifting off me, rocking lightly in her climax.

When she manages to relax and roll off me, her eyes are glassy and dreamy. “You still okay?” she asks, laying a hand on my tummy.

“Yeah. I like how you taste.”

“That’s cool,” she says and slides her hand lower. Her fingertips caress my pussy lips, and I let out a deep sigh.

“This is nice,” I whisper.

She plays with my pussy lips and caresses the insides of my thighs, and I spread them wide to make it easier for her. Sparks dance on my vulva and I fall into a dream-like state, floating gently, wishing this to never end. But then her finger slips between my folds and the soft pleasure turns into heated desire. My moans start to fill the air, and then her finger starts toying with the small, swollen button at the top of my slit and the pleasure explodes and has me cry out in delight.