This is a semi-fictional story that has been written for ENTERTAINMENT purposes only for knowledgable, consenting adult readers. DO NOT READ if you are underage or not interesting in reading detailed depictions of lewd sexual acts between males.
I encourage questions or comments, as it really encourages me to keep writing. Please contact me at: striker88888@gmail.com
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THE TWINS NEXT DOOR, chapter one
"Come on Victoria" I said, scooping my three year old daughter up into my arms. She was running rampant through Whole Foods, kicking an avocado like an oblong soccer ball. "Where do you get this energy?" I handed her to my wife, smiling. "She's all yours."
It was just an average Sunday afternoon, doing errands with my wife and thoroughly rambunctious daughter. It was just an average Sunday afternoon, my fourteen year old son playing baseball with her friends nearby in a suburban lot. It was just an average Sunday afternoon when I realized that you may be able to run from the past, you may be able to hide from it, you may be able to outstrip it through the corridors of time and memory. But in the end, the past always catches up with you.
"Well, well..if it isn't Andy the bitch" a voice intoned from behind me. Instantly, I knew who it was. I knew too well. I had imagined this so many times.
My wife was a few paces away and hadn't heard, thankfully. I quickly turned and moved toward the booming voice, effectively slamming into the guy who was speaking to me. He was just like I remembered, 6'3": muscular, sandy-haired and severe-jawed. He looked like a junior senator who was a bit too cool for school to hang around for a second term. There was something boyish about him, but something dangerous too. Even now, your average suburban dad, happily married and parenting two great kids, I felt his power--his utter superiority. It was a vivid, almost tangible thing.
He took a step back form me, or more accurately, about a third of a step. He was still whisper close, and I could smell he breath as he spoke close to my face. "I was wondering when you were going to pop back into my life. And here you are." A trace amount of his spit flew off his tongue and landed on my nose as he talked.
"Tra-ravis" I stuttered.
"It's Trent" he chuckled, "sorry to disappoint you. I know you always had a thing for my brother."
"M-My family's here."
His eyes gleamed. "Mine is too."
"I'd better go."
"Good one. Come here."
He walked around a display of dried pasta and into another aisle. Unsure what to do, I looked around My wife had gone up ahead on line with Victoria, but I was on auto-pilot. In a few paces he turned around, and I followed, and soon we were in an aisle deep in the corner of the store that was empty. A familiar gleam came to his eye.
Within seconds he had heaved his massive dick out of his pants. I remembered it well, shiny and dark, like the barrel of a shotgun, and almost as long. His thick cut dick head glistened in the store's fluorescent lights, it's pink rim beautifully accentuating how large a bulbous his knob was.
"Are you SERIOUS?--" I started, but couldn't finish. Trent had taken his massive hand and pulled my head down swiftly, in one motion. I was still standing, yet fully doubled over into his protruding boner.
He still had the biggest dick I'd ever seen. 10 inches and always hard. Nuts the size of oranges tautly hanging below. It was a weapon.
Right there and then in that fucking expensive yuppie grocery store, among the artisan breads and gluten-free specialty products, with my wife and daughter just feet away, I took that weapon back into my mouth. It had been 25 years since the last time.
**
I grew up in a town very much like the one my family lived in now, even though it was halfway across the country. Warm summer nights, little league, school dances and PTA meetings. Everyone knew everyone. The jocks and the geeks and the weirdoes. America.
Even though I was only a mediocre athlete--not picked last in gym class but never the go-to, get-er-done kind of guy--I mostly hung out with that crowd--the popular jocks, the cool kids. My parents made decent money and had a pretty large house, and often when they went away it was my place that became the go-to destination for parties, underage drinking, and general high school shenanigans. Maybe a lot of the "popular" kids were using me for my folks' house, but back then I didn't really care or conceive of that. I was happy getting stoned with the football team or occasionally scoring a hand job from some lesser cheerleader who maybe mistook me for someone who had made the team.
But my real entree into this crowd went beyond my parents party-reayd house, and more to do with the house we shared award with. Though a rickety wood fence separated our properties, the Carry's house was visible from most of my house's second and third floors. It was a lot smaller then ours, ramshackle, a bit run down. Though the house was smaller, the yard was bigger, with a two story garage over on one side, some large pine trees flanking it in the rustic manner. Mr. Carry was a mechanic and always had a few cars around the yard, some rusting for years, some just temporary while he finished a job or tinkered with this or that. He was always out there smoking cigars and drinking beer, and maybe my earliest memory involved playing in my yard and hearing a string of profanity bellowing from the next yard.
"OH MOTHER FUCKING COCK SUCKER!" Mr. Carry screamed. My eight year old half climbed the fence and looked over: Mr. Carry had dropped a heavy wrench on his foot and was hopping around holding it tightly. He was still smoking the cigar, which hung out of his mouth like a wet log. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and his hairy chest--much hairier than my dads--glistened with sweat and oil.
Speaking of my dad, he never liked the Mr. Carry much -- said he was "low class" and didn't like me spending too much time over there. That's probably why--because who can resist defying a prohibition from their parents--I became best friends with the Carry Twins: Travis and Trent. We were born on the same day in the same hospital, and entered the same pre-K together too. Maybe it was destiny.
They were the only twins I had met--and until elementary school started and the VanDell sisters entered our class, I didn't realize their were other twins on the planet. Travis and Trent had always been, since we met in pre-K at age 3 or 4, more developed. They were taller than the rest of the class by a foot--a trait they got directly from their father. They were born athletes, and together taught me how to shoot a basketball, throw a football, and jump over homemade hurdles we would craft out of parents form their father's garage. I could always jump a little bit higher than Trent and Travis, definitely the only athletic advantage I've ever had over them.
Brown haired, green eyed, sports-obsessed--they were as confident as two twenty-three year olds, yet barely 5 or 6 by the time we entered school. Needless to say they were born leaders and always popular in whatever class we were in. Being friends with them meant I was someone worth knowing--someone to pay attention to.
But over the years the Carry twins and I developed a relationship that was a bit more...complicated.
The Carry boys would hold big games of Manhunt --which was basically a suburban version of Hide and Go Seek -- for the local kids, starting when we were about ten. We'd gather in their yard, choose who was "it", and take off, scurrying through angry neighbors yards to find somewhere to hide. My dad always got pissed when we trampled his garden, but it didn't stop us much.
There was one game of Manhunt that changed my life, and it was a hot and sweaty summer evening when we were twelve. The sun had set and most of the kids had gone in for dinner--and in fact I was late myself to get home for our family supper -- but as my team was "it" I couldn't stop playing now. It was Me, Travis and our friend Jon versus Trent, their cousin Ralph, and an older kid named Chuck.
I had searched in the yards up and done my block for Trent, who was the only one on their team still unfound. Unsuccessful, I returned to the Carry yard. It was very quiet, save for the buzz of firelights, but something from atop one of the large pine trees astride the garage caught my attention. I remembered how the boys had started working on a treehouse with their father, and though it was only partially finished it would have been an ideal place to hide, covered totally by pine branches and partially obscured by the garage. "Aha" I said to myself--sure I was onto Trent's hidden spot.
I wasn't much of a climber, but I steadily and slowly lifted myself branch to branch and up the tree. I was probably about fifteen feet off the ground when I felt something warm hit me on my neck just below my chin. one drop, then another, then a steady stream. And then I smelled it, rank and acrid and slightly metallic, a full-on heavy stream of piss splattering my shoulder.
I looked up and Trent was indeed up there, another 30 or 40 feet higher, his dick fully out of his shorts as Trent tugged on it gleefully. I still remember how manically he laughed as I got soaked. I tried to get out of the way of the stream but he kept aiming it at my face, and I was too high up to just jump down. "Screw you Trent!" I screamed up, through his laughter.
Just then another stream hit my left check, this one even stronger than the first. At the top of the tree, a little bit higher than even Trent, was his brother Travis, pants around his ankles, full on taking a leak down several feet and onto my face. The brothers laughed and laughed as I finally made it down to the bottom. Travi was giving his brother crap for his "bad aim" as I stepped on the ground, half-crying, ready to make my get-away.
But I took one last look upwards. Maybe I looked a second too long, in hindsight, but I was amazed by what I saw. Granted they were the first real in-the-flesh dicks I saw--besides my own and maybe my father's in the shower when I was little -- but they were, even then, humungous. Even from far away up in the tree I could tell they were massive pieces, fitting for the Carry's who were so much taller than the other kids. At twelve, soft and urinating, they were around a good 7 inches and growing. And both of them--jsut like Trent and Travis themselves--looked exactly the same.
As awful as it was dripping in my neighbors' piss, something stirred in me that day as I looked up and saw the underside of those two giant, identical wangs. I ran off, hosed myself down, with the hose in our side yard, and into my parents house. I quickly showered off and sat down at the table just as my mother was serving dinner...
My dad noticed how I was freshly showered and raised an eyeball, "Hot date tonight, kid?"
I smiled, "something like that." And as I ate, all through the meal, I still smelled the Carry Brother's hot piss all over me, on my hands, in the crook of my neck, even in the food on my plate. I tasted it faintly in the Pepsi that filled my class, and even the cereal I ate the next morning for breakfast. It took three days before that smell and taste and sight went away, and even then it was still in my mind, barely below the surface; and something about it was wonderful.
**
TO BE CONTINUED
I encourage questions or comments, as it really encourages me to keep writing. Please contact me at: striker88888@gmail.com