Life of Anne Pt. 02 – Connection

Hey there,

Welcome to part two of Life of Anne. You can read this on its own, but if you want the full picture, I’d recommend checking out Life of Anne Pt. 01 – Orientation on my author page first.

Just a heads-up, this part includes a mild form of coerced sex and some scenes that might come across as incestuous, though there’s absolutely no blood relation between the characters. I hope that doesn’t scare you off, because honestly, I think Anne’s journey is a pretty special one. It’s messy, honest, and full of those moments where you’re just trying to figure out who you are and what you want.

All characters in this story are 18 or older.

Enjoy the read!

NightAelf

**********

Connections

There I was, just shy of twenty-two. Everything I owned that mattered was shoved into one big camping backpack and a beat-up sports bag. Eight hundred guilders in my pocket, a head full of static. I sat at a café terrace in Amsterdam, surrounded by tourists, in a city that never felt like mine, a city that swallowed me whole.

I had no plan. No clue what came next. I just knew I had to get away. Something just wasn’t right anymore.

The world I’d landed in felt off. Not quite mine. Maybe going back home was an option. My mom probably wouldn’t have even noticed I was gone. But just the thought of crossing that threshold again made my chest tighten in a way I couldn’t explain.

I told myself it was nothing. Just nerves or maybe exhaustion. But beneath it there was something else, something I couldn’t name yet. A small fissure running beneath my skin, barely visible, barely there.

I kept breathing, kept moving forward, unaware that with every step those cracks were quietly spreading.

I’d brought my address book, out of habit mostly. I flipped through it with little hope. Aunt Klara, no. Uncle Theo, definitely not. Still in the village, the type to call my parents the moment I hung up. Former classmates, all gone, living lives I wasn’t part of. Marley, not even close.

One name after another, I crossed off in my mind until I stopped at hers, Aunt Helena.

Well, not really an aunt, she was our neighbor back home in the village. She moved to The Hague when I was fourteen. Nobody really explained to me why, just that she had to go. She’d always been kind. Asked questions no one else dared. Actually listened, unlike my mother who mostly talked at me.

There’s no such thing as a stupid question she used to say. Only stupid answers.

So I decided to call her.

Dragging her bags through the city center, Anne finally found a tobacconist where she bought a fifteen-guilder phone card. The first phone booth didn’t work. In the second, a man was yelling in a language she didn’t recognize. Too tired to keep searching, she sank down onto a low stone wall and let the city blur around her. Everything was still rushing through her body. The journey. The loneliness. The doubt.

When the booth finally emptied, I got up, stepped inside, closed the little door behind me and dialed the number. It just kept ringing. Every tone felt like the line might drop, like it could all dissolve before anyone picked up. But then a voice came through, hurried but warm. “Helena Dijkema speaking.”

“This is Anne. Anne Boersma.”

There was a pause. Just long enough for my chest to tighten. But then Helena’s voice broke open in cheerful surprise. “Anne, what a lovely surprise.”

It was exactly what I had hoped for but had not dared to expect. A real welcome. That flicker of recognition. Helena started firing questions before I could get a word in. Where had I been, what had I been doing, was I alright?

In one of the rare silences I managed to squeeze out the only thing that really mattered. Could I come over? Helena did not hesitate. No questions. No conditions. Just that steady familiar voice asking where I was.

I did not tell her I was calling from a phone booth with two bags at my feet and no one knowing where I had gone. I did not explain how I had slipped away without a word. I just said I needed to see her.

We agreed I would take the next train to The Hague and from there catch tram 11. She said she would wait at the Van Boetzelaerlaan stop. Knowing someone would be there settled something in me, even if it was only for one night.

At the station I looked down at the ticket in my hand, now slightly damp from my sweaty fingers. And I knew I was on my way. Not necessarily toward a solution, but toward a place where my story was allowed to land.

When I stepped off the tram, she was already waiting. She looked first at my bags, then at me.

“What’s the plan, Anne?” she asked.

I broke down. Tears came fast and hot. “I don’t know. But please don’t send me back.”

“Alright,” she said softly. “Let’s head home first. I’ll make some tea, then we can have some stroopwafels. After that, we’ll sit down and you can tell me everything. We’ll figure it out together.”

So tokat escort I followed her, feeling the weight of everything in more ways than one. I honestly had no idea where she lived, but I let myself be led like a meek lamb. The few streets slipped past me, one after another, and after about five minutes we stopped. It looked like a cozy place, but at that moment none of it meant anything to me.

The apartment was warm and quiet, nothing like the chaos in my head. She poured the tea, handed me a cup, and placed a plate with stroopwafels between us. I took a bite, the sweet syrup a tiny comfort against the storm inside.

I started talking. It wasn’t easy, the words came slow and stumbling, like I had to push them out against some invisible wall. I told her about Marley, about the silence that had grown around me, about Amsterdam and how lonely it made me feel. How I didn’t really belong there or anywhere. I confessed that I hadn’t really spoken to my parents in weeks. Maybe they hadn’t even noticed I was gone.

Helena didn’t interrupt. She just listened, wrapping an arm around my shoulders when I faltered.

“Your mother’s worried,” she said quietly. “She told me last time we spoke on the phone. I’ve always said you’re stubborn and strong. But even strong girls break sometimes.”

“You need to let her know where you are,” she said gently.

I shook my head, voice barely a whisper. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

She squeezed my shoulder. “You don’t have to explain everything right now. Just tell her you’re safe. That you’re here.”

I looked at her, eyes pleading. “Can you call her? Please?”

She met my gaze. “Just this once. But Anne, you can’t just run and expect someone else to fix it for you. You’re almost twenty-two now. This is the real world. But you’re not alone. We’ll get through this. Together.”

Helena didn’t want me calling her aunt anymore. Just Helena, she said. To me, she was still just Aunt Helena. I called her aunt plenty of times, without any fuss. She didn’t mind at all. What mattered most to her was that I knew she saw me as an equal, not just that little girl from the village. That made it easier for me to trust her, to be myself around her.

She was more practical and direct than I’d expected. She laid down a few rules. If I wasn’t willing to follow them, I could just pack up and leave the next day. I was pretty annoyed at first, but as I listened, I realized her demands weren’t unreasonable. She wanted me to find at least a summer job and to start seriously thinking about my future. She also planned to call my parents and try to work something out with them. If they didn’t agree to her plan, well, I’d have no choice but to go back home.

My parents weren’t thrilled when they found out I’d gone to stay with Helena. But to my surprise, they agreed to Helena’s plan. Somewhere deep down, I was glad she gave me those choices, it gave my life a bit of direction again.

I found myself in the Statenkwartier, a part of The Hague that felt caught between two worlds in the early ’90s. Old houses with tall ceilings and wide streets, where neighbors still knew each other’s names. It wasn’t noisy, but far from quiet. Tradition rubbed softly against change, and beneath it all simmered a tension no one talked about, a place reluctant to let go of its past even as it changed.

Under Helena’s care, I started to come alive again. She was fun, stubborn, and warm, a woman who surprised me in more ways than one. She was attracted to both men and women, which caught me completely off guard. Until then, I’d only known love with Jerrald and Marley. I never imagined this was something others experienced too, something that could feel familiar and real.

I’d never read about it in the encyclopedia tucked away in my parents’ cabinet, nor in those library books I’d skimmed through. Honestly, I never really thought much about it. It just happened, and I was fine with it as it was.

But seeing Helena live her truth like that, it was strange and comforting all at once. It made me realize there was more to love and desire than I’d given myself credit for. And somehow, that opened up a little more space inside me.

At the time, she was seeing a decent guy named Pete, and somehow we all found a way to make it work. The nights Pete stayed over were anything but quiet. Moans and groans floated from her room, impossible to ignore. Honestly, I often found it strangely exciting and more than once I satisfied myself listening to those sounds.

Very soon, I had found a summer job at a nursing home not too far from where we were living. I helped with coffee and tea rounds, and three afternoons a week I joined in with various group activities. I genuinely enjoyed it. I felt useful again, and slowly the idea started forming that maybe I could study to become a nurse’s aide.

There was one caregiver who stood out to me, a woman named Marion. Every time I saw her, I felt this flutter deep in my stomach. She had yozgat escort long, wavy dark brown hair and a soft, slightly curvy figure, but what drew me in most was her laugh. You could hear it echoing from the other side of the hallway, loud and full and real. And every time it did, something in me lit up. That laugh made me feel like maybe life wasn’t as heavy as I thought.

After about five weeks of working there, I couldn’t deny it anymore. I was in love with Marion.

Helena had noticed something too. I was less gloomy, more talkative, and I actually looked forward to going to work. One afternoon, after an activity Marion and I had done together, I came home grinning like a fool. Helena gave me a look, tilted her head, and said, “Is my little Anne in love?”

I didn’t even answer. My face said enough. I wasn’t used to being open about these things. Most of what I’d felt before had been quiet, hidden, folded away in corners where nobody could see it. But this felt different. It felt nice not to have to keep secrets. Still, I hadn’t said anything to Marion. I was scared. Really scared. The breakup with Marley still haunted me, and it had left me questioning myself more than I cared to admit.

Helena told me not to wait too long. That if I felt something, I should act on it. She said the worst that could happen was hearing no. But even that felt like too much. I didn’t know if I could handle that kind of rejection again.

The solution pretty much landed right in my lap. After a long and exhausting movement activity with the physiotherapist, a handful of volunteers, Marion, and me, started bringing the residents back to their rooms. On the way, Marion made some sharp remark that had everyone laughing again, the way only she could.

Mrs. Pronk was the last one we brought back to her room, and just before we got there, she looked at Marion and said, “Child, your husband must be going out of his mind with you talking like that all day.”

Marion burst out laughing and said, “If I had a husband, maybe. But none of my girlfriends have ever complained.” Then she looked straight at me and gave me this wicked wink that lit a fire in my chest.

Mrs. Pronk replied that maybe it was time she found herself a man anyway, and Marion said something back that I couldn’t quite catch. But I hoped it meant exactly what I thought it did, because that look she gave me really seemed to say something.

Once Mrs. Pronk was all settled in, Marion and I walked back to the changing rooms, talking the whole way like nothing had happened. I had finished my shift and she was about to go on her break. And right then, caught in the warmth of the moment, I asked her. Just like that. I asked if she maybe wanted to grab a drink with me sometime, after work.

She said no.

My heart sank for a second, but before I could even react she smiled and said the weekend would be better, since she’d have the evening off. That grin on her face made everything inside me light up.

We made plans to meet on Saturday, at a café on the Grote Markt. Just before I turned to leave, she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “See you Saturday,” she whispered.

Two more days. I had a date.

When I got home, I could hardly wait for Helena to walk through the door so I could tell her everything.

I’d spent hours getting ready, pacing between the mirror and my wardrobe while Helena hovered nearby, teasing me every chance she got. My excitement must’ve been contagious, because even Pete couldn’t resist joining in. “Looks like it’s just the two of us tonight, Lena,” he said with a grin. “You’d better brace yourself.”

Helena gave him a kiss on the cheek and whispered something in his ear that made his face flush a deep red. I saw him shift awkwardly, clearly flustered. “You two are like teenagers,” I said, rolling my eyes, though I had already decided I wouldn’t be home early.

Marion was already on the terrace when I arrived, sipping from her glass and scanning the crowd. “I got here super early,” she said with a half-smile when she saw the look on my face. I laughed, feeling some of the nerves melt away.

Despite the tension buzzing just under the surface, the night felt easy. We talked about everything. I told her about Jerrald, about Marley, about why I’d ended up in The Hague. She listened closely, never interrupting, just quietly taking it all in. Then she shared her story, how she’d had a few girlfriends before, how she’d noticed me from the very start.

Time slipped by like it always does when things feel right. At one point, she glanced at her watch and looked back up at me.

“Any other plans for tonight?”

I told her about Helena and Pete, and how I figured they wouldn’t mind a bit of space tonight. Marion laughed and said she lived just around the corner, and if I wanted, we could go back to hers for a drink, maybe talk some more.

There was a flutter low in my belly, that quiet rush of wanting and not quite knowing. zonguldak escort But I didn’t hesitate.

“Yes,” I said. “I’d really like that.”

After a fifteen-minute walk, we reached her place, a top-floor flat in a narrow, leaning street. It looked lived-in and warm. Nothing matched, yet everything somehow belonged. I dropped onto the two-seater couch, the only proper place to sit. When Marion came back with the drinks, she sank down right next to me. The seat was narrow, and I didn’t mind how close we ended up. Her arm rested on the backrest, and without thinking, I leaned my head against it.

She took the glass from my hand and placed it on the table, then shifted her body to face me. “Well,” she said with a half-smile, “here we are.” Her eyes searched mine for a sign. I didn’t give her time to find one. I leaned in and pressed my lips against hers.

She pulled back for a second, surprised maybe, but I followed her, kissed her again, softly. When her lips opened, I felt the warmth of her breath, the slow welcome of her mouth. After some gentle kisses on her lips, she opened her mouth and I licked the inside of her lips. French kissing always made me instantly horny and passionately I crawled into her lap. Her hands slid down my back and I traced a wet trail with my tongue to her neck where I also gently bit her for a moment. When I looked up at her I saw the desire burning in her eyes and quickly I descended with my mouth back on hers. Our tongues got into a fight and her hands slipped under my blouse. As we gasped for a moment, Marion managed to say that we had better go to her bedroom. I jumped up from her lap and pulled her upright. Clothes fell away as we stumbled down the hall, not caring where they landed. We reached the bed half-dressed and entirely undone.

With a hunger I hadn’t expected, Marion pushed me down onto the bed, stripping away the last layers between us with quick, impatient hands. I drank in the sight of her, every line, every curve and felt the rush of desire surge through me.

“Do you really want this?” she asked, her voice low and hoarse.

Her question caught me off guard. “Don’t you?” I asked, suddenly unsure.

“I want all of you,” she whispered, her eyes dark with need. “Every part. I want to make you mine.”

Something in the way she said it sent shivers down my spine. And I didn’t answer with words. I just pulled her closer, needing her to feel how much I wanted it too.

After the hesitant exploration with Jerrald and the soft, searching tenderness I’d had with Marley, being with Marion was something else entirely. It wasn’t gentle or slow. It was fierce. Intense. Like she wanted to burn through every boundary I didn’t even know I had.

It caught me off guard, at first. The way she took control. The hunger in her hands, her mouth, the way she looked at me like I was something she’d been starving for. I wasn’t used to that kind of urgency, but somehow, it didn’t scare me. It woke something up.

I was still figuring things out, still full of doubt. But in that moment, with her, it didn’t matter. I wanted her. All of her. And I wanted to be wanted like that.

Marion roughly pushed my legs apart and let her fingers slide into my dripping wet pussy. “How wet you are!” she panted hornily in my ear. Hard she pumped two more fingers inside me and in no time there were 4 fingers in my tight hole.

It did hurt for a moment, sharp and sudden, and I was a little taken aback by how assertive she was. There was a rawness to it, something almost unfamiliar. But before I could get lost in hesitation, the sensation shifted, intensity folding into something deeper. The overwhelming feeling of being claimed, of giving in completely, washed over me.

Before I knew it, my body was answering hers. I moved with her, not against her, drawn into the rhythm, into the heat of it. Every nerve felt awake. I wasn’t thinking. I was feeling. Reaching. Letting go. Marion didn’t want me to touch her and suddenly we were caught in this heated kind of battle. Every time I tried to reach for her, she’d push her fingers even deeper, like she was daring me to stop. It got intense, and before I knew it, she snapped at me, her voice firm and low: “Now you stay quiet and behave, or I’ll tie you up.” Her words hit me hard. So many feelings crashed through me all at once, but mostly I felt like I was about to come undone. I gave in to the battle and rolled onto my side, draping my leg over Marion’s hip. That way, she had all the space she needed for her fingers, and I could kiss her freely.

I felt the storm rising from my toes, rushing up through me, my body curling into a blissful cramp. It was like fireworks exploding all around the room. Completely spent, I collapsed back onto the bed.

Marion slowly pulled her fingers out, and a warm wave of wetness followed onto the bed. Completely spent, drenched in sweat and buzzing from the orgasm, I lay there savoring the afterglow. I hadn’t even noticed when Marion got up, but she came back with a big, soft towel. Gently, she started drying me off, and I purred like a contented cat on the bed. Once I was dry, Marion climbed back on top of me and kissed me deeply again. I savored her warm body pressed against mine and the feel of her wet, warm tongue exploring my mouth.

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