Donkey Doubled: A Twin Stepbrother Menage Romance Read online

  Donkey smile, relaxed again now. “Once more”, I say, “Two weeks is a long time.”

  “Okay”, Zach agrees, “but just once, we don’t want you getting complacent.”

  “Or falling in love with an English major”, Jack adds, while the boys flex again.

  “Or an entirely different stepbrother on the other side of the family, no matter how good he is at catching the ball and running with it”, Zach says.

  “I promise”, I declare quickly. “I promise, I promise.”

  “Anyway, I think it’s just a fling, and Marcus has got a girlfriend anyway. Or two girlfriends, or a string of them, who knows, he has a lot of girls around him all the time”, Jack says.

  The boys put their T-shirts back on, even though I’m perfectly happy watching them continue to remove even more clothes.

  “And what about you two, I suppose you must have women around you all the time, like you did in school”, I say.

  I try not to be jealous, but it’s hard sometimes, especially when I miss them so much.

  “All the time”, Jack jokes, his mouth spread into a grin.

  “Yeah, I bet”, I say, my eyes dipping and my face going red.

  “And you?” Zach asks.

  “Me? Hundreds”, I say. “Like, literally hundreds all waiting to carry my books or help me with my essays, or take me to the library.”

  “Hundreds?” Jack asks.

  “Thousand, probably. I mean it’s hard to count with so many of them.”

  “Wow”, Zach says.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, just make sure you tell them that you’ve got two stepbrothers that will sort them out if they treat you badly”, Jack says.

  I smile at how relaxed they both are. I love the trust we have between us all, the mutual respect and admiration. “I still can’t hear that word without getting shives down my spine.”

  “Nothing’s going to change between us”, Jack says. “It’ll just be that we can legitimately see each other more often without raising suspicion.”

  “Everything’s going to change between us”, I say, trying to think positively about it, but hitting a dead end constantly. “What if they have a baby together?”

  Zach pulls a yuck face at the thought of it.

  “I honestly don’t think that’s possible”, Jack says, “and even if it were it wouldn’t make any difference to our relationship nor how we feel about each other.”

  “Do you honestly believe that, or are you just saying it to make me feel better?” I ask.

  “I’m just saying it to make you-”, Jack begins, “wait, what were the options again?”

  “Asshole”, I say, trying not to give him the pleasure of a smile.

  “Some people think it’s kinky you know”, Zach says. “The whole stepbrother stepsister thing. There are books all over Amazon. Maybe you should write one. Tell our fucked up story.”

  “That’s a thing?” I ask.

  “And not just here in Louisiana”, Zach adds.

  “Some people are weird”, I say. “Others just date two brothers at once.”

  “Exactly”, Jack says, his mouth breaking out into that huge grin again.

  “I miss you two”, I confess.

  “We miss you too”, Zach says. “Jack just doesn’t understand me like you do. Our relationship is dysfunctional without you in it.”

  “That is simultaneously the cutest and strangest thing you’ve ever said to me, Zach”, I say.

  “I mean it”, he says. “I worried it wouldn’t work but now that I know it does, what doesn’t work is not having you here.”

  “And this isn’t enough”, Jack adds, “not for me.”

  “I’m working on it”, I say. “It’s hard with Mom.”

  “Just get her to come along”, Zach suggests. “Plenty of single dads in Baton Rouge, some of whom have sons that play for the school football team.”

  “Too weird”, I say. “That would be way too weird even for us three.”

  “That would probably make us the weirdest family in the States”, Jack says, “And that’s saying something.”

  “I’m happy just sticking with where we are right now”, I say. “I don’t think I’ve come to terms yet with the fact that Dad’s getting married again so soon after divorcing Mom, so anything else would just blow my mind completely. This year has been totally fucked up for a number of reasons, good and bad.”

  “Same”, Jack says. “I still can’t believe you secretly wanted us both.”

  “Not just wanted”, I say.

  “I can’t believe we didn’t read the notebook either”, Zach says. “That would have made things a little easier for sure.”

  “I like that it didn’t matter”, I say. “Marcy still can’t believe you didn’t, but for me, I think it’s perfect.”

  “Will you write another one for us?” Zach asks, his cheeks reddening a little. “You know, maybe as a Christmas present.”

  “Dirty or clean?” I ask again.

  “Dirty”, Zach says. “As dirty as you can get.”

  I bite my lip as a sudden bolt of desire flashes through my gut, squirming its way down to my pussy. The other thing about skype sex is the fact it sort of kills the buzz. There’s something that turns me on about the wait, that makes the moment we actually do it after two or three weeks apart, all that more explosive.

  “If I write it”, I say, “you know the rules.”

  “We know the rules”, Jack says, all too aware of how filthy my mind is when writing my desires down. What I have trouble with saying, I have absolutely no hesitation to put in print. “You know, if you wanted to, we could always-.”

  “I want to”, I say, unsure if I’ll be able to resist anyway, “But I want to wait until I see you as well.”

  “It’s three weeks”, Jack says, “That’ll be over a month in total.”

  “I know”, I say, that flash of desire hitting me again. “But it’s so good when we’ve built it up for so long.”

  “That’s the writer in you”, Zach says. “Building the anticipation up to a massive pay off.”

  “Maybe”, I say. “Maybe it’s just the woman in me too.”

  “You can’t leave us empty handed”, Jack protests. “Not now the conversation has made this turn.”

  “Oh?” I naively ask, already positioning myself in a way that will allow me to lift my dress slowly and gradually show the boys my pussy.

  “Nuh uh”, they say, shaking their heads in unison, hands going into laps to cover up already semi-hard erections.

  “Well”, I say, the hem of my dress already in my hands. “I guess that doesn’t leave me with much choice.”

  With eyes almost out on stalks, Donkey lean forward to get as close as they can to the screen, while I lift my dress slowly and show them my tight wet pantieless pussy that has grown so wet over the duration of the conversation my finger slips inside without any resistance at all.

  It feels so good I have to demonstrate an almost inhuman level of resistance to hold myself back, and after a good half a minute of fingering my tight wetness, I drop my dress again and cross my legs.

  “That will continue when we see each other again”, I say, fighting hard to get the words out.

  Donkey lean back against the wall, bulges clearly jabbing against the soft fabric of their jogging pants. “Fuck, yes it will”, they say in unison.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Christmas comes and goes. Cold weather, long and dark nights, egg nog and an anemic looking Christmas tree I force Marcy into helping me put up so there is at least something in the house that represents the festive season. Mom is blasé on her good days, completely disinterested on her bad ones.

  I’ve never really been too much of a fan of Christmas anyway, but this year it’s absolutely torturous. The temperatures drop low enough for there to be snow, but what we get instead is a kind of mush that mixes with the mud at the edges of the pathways and creates a mess of gritty disgustingness that turn
s my bad enough mood up at the edges into something I barely recognize. I’m anxious about the changes that are about to be forced on this family, and sad that I can only see Donkey in their two dimensional state, from a distance so far away it’s as if we’re in completely different worlds.

  Mom’s mood doesn’t help either, which for the last month or so has been stable but low, accepting but not able to advance. It’s frustrating to see such little emotion coming from her, and I know I shouldn’t blame her for what has essentially been thrust upon her, but I can’t help but feel like she’s losing any kind of battle she could mount, if she gives up on life completely. As Dad, Janice and Brian have all now proven, not to mention countless others before her, life doesn’t end just because a relationship does.

  Dad and Janice, by contrast, are upbeat and sickeningly enthusiastic. They go all out with Christmas decorations, dolling up their apartment like the front window of a department store, buy a huge tree that barely fits into the corner of the living room that spreads its upper branches out across the ceiling, and buy stacks of unnecessary presents for each other just because first Christmas together.

  I spend what should be a pleasant Christmas eve with them, but something about the grandiosity of the display seems showy and fake to me, and instead of allowing myself to relax, I can’t help but feel like none of this is that real. It’s odd, because Dad has never been a fan of Christmas either, certainly not this style of celebrating it, so seeing him like this seems to serve only to create more distance between us. I wonder if what I’ve experienced growing up never was the way my father was and now, finally that he’s found someone to support and accept him, is he able to fully be himself. The thought saddens me and I try not to dwell on it too much, especially because they’ve gone to huge efforts to make me feel welcome, and besides all of that, Dad seems like he’s happy.

  I don’t hear him complaining like he used to, he’s pleasant and complimentary to Janice, who in turn is patient and loving with him, and together they just seem like the picture perfect couple, desperately trying to make the most of what was probably years of lost time for the benefit of their maturing children.

  I spend much of the rest of the time in between the specific days of celebration with Marcy or on my own writing sexy stories to send to the twins, or read to them when we finally find ourselves together again, and then see the new year in at a party she insists on dragging me to, even though all I want to do is curl up in bed and call the twins. It isn’t really my scene, but I go to be a good friend, and it ends up being the perfect distraction to the rest of the shit that’s going on in my world that I know will get way too real before I even have time to comprehend it.

  We drink and then we dance and then we get hit on by a group of boys from the neighborhood who get all pissy when we turn them down, and then at about two am we decide to bail.

  A little bit drunk and a lot maudlin, I decide it seems like the perfect time to tell Marcy about my plans to move. I’ve submitted a request and I’ve contacted LSU about a transfer, and right now I’m waiting to hear back.

  I wasn’t going to tell her until I heard one way or the other, but with the new year starting and the fact that Christmas has been a hell of a depressing affair in general, keeping something so important from my best friend seems like the last thing I want to do right now. There have been so many lies and so much deception already surrounding the many relationships in my life, I really don’t want that to continue.

  “Got any resolutions?” Marcy asks, as we walk down the middle of the street, holding onto one another against the cold, kicking the slush that rucks up against our boots.

  “Get published”, I say. “Formalize my relationship with Donkey, get Mom on a dating program, you?”

  Marcy puts a cigarette to her lips, lights it and blows a cloud of smoke out into the air in front of us.

  “Give up smoking, join your mom on the dating scene, get a better job, you know, the usual. Get out of Madison maybe.”

  I give her the side eye. “Yeah? I’ve heard Louisiana is nice at this time of year.”

  “Less slush?”

  “More po’boy.”

  “I could get down with that. The men here aren’t real men”, Marcy says.

  “No?” I ask.

  “I think you’ve already claimed the best two that were on offer”, she adds.

  “I got lucky”, I confess.

  “So, how long have I got?” she guesses. “A month? Two? The summer?”

  “That’s one thing I love about you, Marcy, you’re so perceptive.”

  “Rum heightens my abilities.”

  “I don’t doubt that”, I say.

  We walk on for a bit, arm in arm.

  “So?” she asks after a while.

  “I don’t know”, I say. “I was going to tell you when I heard. Until then, it’s not much more than an idea. Plus with the wedding and Mom. Anyway, I’m sorry, I should have said.”

  “That’s ok”, Marcy says. “I’ll join your mom on the porch, the two of us can drink rum and bitch about men.”

  “You could always join me”, I suggest.

  “And leave you with no-one to keep you sane when you came back to visit your Mom? Please.”

  “Donkey thinks I should bring her with me, introduce her to some of the single dad’s of the players on their team”, I say.

  Marcy raises her eyebrows. “Keep talking about players and you might be able to convince me.”

  “It won’t be for a while”, I say. “There’s tons of shit to sort out here first. The wedding, Mom, plus we’ve got to come clean at some point, which is going to be a barrel of laughs, and I need to work out how I’m going to afford it.”

  “Just bunk with the boys on campus”, Marcy says.

  “I don’t think that would work, especially if they knew we were stepsiblings”, I say.

  “I still can’t believe it.”

  “You’re not the only one. Remember last new year’s up on Monument Hill? When you were talking about going to college, the Twins were nothing more than a fixation and everything seemed to be normal?”

  “Yes I do”, Marcy says. “That college idea didn’t last too long. That was right before I got that job at Seventh Heaven and I realized earning money was way more attractive than being in debt.”

  “That whole time seems like a completely different world away”, I say wistfully.

  I feel a snowflake fall against my face and look up to the sky. Another one falls, and then another after that. I open my mouth and let the frosty wetness melt against my tongue.

  “Any regrets?” Marcy asks me.

  “No”, I say.

  “None?” she insists.

  “Maybe the prom”, I admit. “The after party too. Getting wasted and making a fool of myself. I thought that would bury me. I thought I’d fucked up with Donkey then too. Losing my notebook, that wasn’t cool.”

  “Puking on the lawn outside their house?” she asks.

  “That too.”

  “Well, whatever you did, it worked.”

  The snow is falling more heavily now, thick enough to make our hair wet and white.

  “You?” I ask.

  “Regrets?” Marcy says. “Men in general, I suppose.”

  “Yeah, you’ve had your fair share of bad ones”, I say.

  “You’ve got to kiss a lot of frogs”, Marcy says. “Or just the right two. Maybe I’m just unlucky in love.”

  “Or I’m extremely lucky”, I suggest.

  “That too.”

  We walk on for a bit, the tops of the cars at the edges of us white with fresh snow. It hasn’t snowed like this all season and seeing it here now makes me disproportionately happy. Perhaps it’s the whole scene that’s doing it, though. Walking along, arm in arm with my best friend in the whole world, while 2017 ushers its way in on a fresh blanket of white. You can’t get much purer than that I suppose.

  “You know, it doesn’t snow like this in Baton Rouge”,
Marcy says.

  “I didn’t think it snowed like this in Madison either”, I say.

  I rest my head on her shoulder for a moment. “I won’t be going immediately, you know, plus I’ll be back often, and you can always come and visit”, I add.

  “That’s how the end of a friendship begins”, Marcy says. “Little by little we’ll drift apart.”

  “Not if we don’t let ourselves”, I say.

  “It’s alright, the snow is making me sad”, Marcy admits.

  “I thought you never got sad”, I say.

  “I never had to deal with growing up before”, she says.

  “Nor me”, I say. “It’s way harder than I thought.”

  “At least you’re happy.”

  “I am with Donkey”, I say, “but it’d be a hell of a lot easier if they weren’t about to become my stepbrothers.”

  “Better than them being your actual brothers”, Marcy says, and it makes me laugh out loud.

  “Never a truer word spoken. Hey”, I say, breaking away from her, the idea just coming to me. “You want a snowball fight?”

  Marcy narrows her eyes at me, while I’m already testing the snow from a car roof for suitability.

  “A snowball fight?” she asks, the question formed in such a way it suggests she’s saying instead, why the fuck did we not think of this before?

  “I don’t know, Jenny, I’m not all that competitive”, she says, while edging her way towards a huge stack of snow on the hood of the closest car.

  The snow isn’t brilliant, but I manage to make a decent enough ball anyway. I toss it between my gloved hands, waiting for Marcy to get ready.

  “That’s okay”, I say. “You don’t need to be competitive, you just need to be good at throwing.”

  “Or ducking”, she says, expertly avoiding the snowball I’ve thrown without warning, which explodes against the car window behind her. I giggle hard while I work quickly at gathering more snow only for a neatly packed bundle to explode painfully against my lower back.

  “Ow!” I scream out, turning around to see Marcy laughing hard and already gathering more snow. “You’re going to pay for that.” I say, before taking a more strategic position and ducking behind one of the parked cars on my side of the street.