Page 17 Nameless love

HE LOVE THAT DOESN’T HAVE A NAME.               1-25-10

                                                                      ROY GARDE

When I got out of tech school I was lucky enough to be given a Government sponsored apprenticeship to a big industrial company and I was delighted with my good fortune when I found that I’d fallen into the perfect job for me because I like working with my hands in the field, setting up equipment and tuning it up, etc. as much as I like sitting at a desk to write programs and procedures, etc.

Because of that, I was dismayed to find out that I was supposed to follow standard procedure – one full year in the office as a go-fer before going out to work in the field – but I soon found that there was no on-going supervision of apprentices so I took a chance and I went to the office of the Supervisor who had been put in charge of a new job that I was interested in and I volunteered to be the go-fer on it. It worked that time and every other time and I realized that it was because everyone who has power, and the responsibility that goes with it, likes to see enthusiasm in his or her applicants and also likes being relieved of doing small tasks like having to search out people to fill a team after the leaders and the skilled people have already been selected.

Because of doing that, by the time that I’d finished my two year apprenticeship, I’d wormed my way into getting acquainted with most of the various types of equipment that my company manufactures and installs and when I was brought in front of the committee – made up of a Manager and a half-dozen Supervisors whose job it is to decide which apprentices are to be offered permanent jobs – when the chairman asked them who could speak for me five of them raised their hands!

When the laughter had subsided the chairman said, “Whoa! Am I missing something here? He’s an apprentice for crisake, how the hell can he have worked for so many of you?”

They all shrugged and so he just let it go and asked a few of the nearest ones to him who had raised their hands whether they’d recommend me or not and they all said some variation of, “Sure, I would. He’s bright and he’s willing and he’s a hard worker and wants to learn and he shows up on time every morning and does what he’s told. What else is there?”

The chairman turned to me and said, “Well, uh, ah yes, Steven, well we usually send our applicants away to give us time to make a decision but in your case I can tell you right now that you’ve earned yourself a place with the company. But listen, son, don’t leave the building because when this is over I’d like you to tell me how come you’ve managed to cover so much ground in just two years.”

Because of all that my name got to be known and from then on I was asked to join teams that were working on new and/or difficult equipment and that progressed, step by step over the years, until I was heading up teams.

If I’d been working for a small company I would have been easily exploited because I don’t mind how much overtime I have to do if the job is interesting – so a lot of those hours would have been unpaid – but because it was a large one there were many bureaucratic controls, and always someone charged to fill out the paperwork, and so, because of that, after a few years I was making as much money as the Supervisors.

The only down side of it was that I was so fully absorbed, seven days a week, by challenging and interesting technical problems that my social life was close to being non-existent. So much so that every few months I’d get a call from the Accounting Department asking me to please deposit my checks because I was screwing up their systems!

Because I was secure in my job I didn’t much care who angled to get credit for the team’s success on the different projects because I was the leader and just as it was my name that signed off on every finished job it followed that it was also my name that was given the credit by top management. Because I was lenient in that way it made me a lot of friends at work and they often asked me to join them at night for dinner and for drinks and for bowling and – well, you name it – but I invariably turned them down because there was always something that I had to do at night to add the touches that would perfect the day’s work and/or to plan the next phase of the job.

If it hadn’t been for being lucky enough to become one of Beth’s FWBs my health might well have been compromised. There’ll be more about Beth and her FWBs later on in the story.

One day, it was a Thursday, we’d been doing a big job in a town that was a two hour drive from the city and we finished it at around two in the afternoon and it had then been checked out and accepted and signed for by the owner, which was one of the big Security Agencies of the government.

Well, the somewhat peculiar way that those Agencies work is that the moment that the equipment is accepted the contractors lose their security clearances.

Bam! Right then. Just like that.

Because of that we were watched over as we packed up our tools and instruments and then we were escorted out and I wasn’t allowed to go back to the control room for even a minute to do the bit of tweaking that had come to me that was needed to bring the whole thing to completion. As often happens, the improvement had occurred to me while we were eating lunch and I’d hoped to be allowed to make the change after the test.

At the handing-over ceremony we were congratulated by a pompous big wig in a terrific suit who was over-fond of saying ‘per se’ and he used it incorrectly at least twice in my hearing. I decided against pleading my case with him because I knew that I could write out the change later on my laptop and then put it in remotely. That’s not, as you might guess, supposed to be possible, especially with government jobs, but the guy who writes the original program nearly always leaves a way to get back into it that’s impossible for anyone else to find no matter about closing it up. I make it triply safe by seeing to it that there are several steps that must be followed meticulously and any haphazard searching for ways to get past them by hackers – official or not – are instantly thwarted because once ‘fishing’ for a way to gain entry to the program is detected it closes that avenue down and also makes changes to the ones that have already been by-passed. We do that because all programmers understandably retain a paternal interest in their work and we like to keep in touch with our babies.

The deadline had been for – “the end of the work week that begins on Monday the eighth of June . . . ” and because we’d finished on the Thursday of the week before that the whole crew agreed that it would be stupid to go back to the office to be assigned to another job that near the end of the week so we said nothing to our main office and decided to have a celebratory dinner that night and then have a lie-in the next morning and drive back home at lunchtime.

Inevitably, one of the crew chortled, luridly, “Yeah! Way to go. The kids will still be in school and after not getting any for a whole week there’s nothing as good as taking the wife upstairs and getting some in broad daylight.”

I had to stay there with them too, for obvious reasons, and consequently I found myself at a loose end and my team knew it and so I couldn’t think of a valid reason to refuse when they gave me an invitation to go to their favorite bar/restaurant to celebrate having finished the job before the strict, penalty-laden time limit that had been set up by the Agency. That meant that our company had not only avoided being fined but had qualified for a nice bonus because – in the mysterious ways of all bureaucrats – “Urgent National Interests call for its completion in good time and doing so will entitle the contractor to the following extra payments . . . ” (Incidentally, the Agency in question didn’t activate the new system until nearly six months had gone by from the time that the job got signed off. Some urgency!)

Also, earning the bonus for the company meant that we’d all get large bonuses of our own at year’s end and that alone called for a celebration.

I’d never been to that particular place before – nor, incidentally, to any other public place where alcohol is served since an unfortunate incident which will not be relayed here but that had made me swear to not do any heavy drinking in future except when I was safely home in my apartment or ensconced within protective family-member circles – and I saw nothing remarkable about it when we’d pushed two small tables together and had arranged enough chairs to let all seven of us gather around.

When the waitress came to take our orders my immediate impression of her was that she’d readily be given a job at any Hooters Restaurant in any and every country in the world just by showing up and asking for one. I figured that it was her presence alone that made the place so attractive for the guys but I was wrong about that.

She had a name tag above her formidable left breast that said ‘Gloria’ and she greeted us as a group and then asked, “Well guys, is it going to be Cheeseburgers-de-luxe all around as usual or is someone going to surprise me and astonish the chef?”

I’d already read the menu and so I piped up, “That’ll be me, please Miss. I’ll have the minute steak with French fries and a salad on the side.”

“Thank the good Christ for that,” she said, writing on her pad, and then she asked me, “How come I haven’t seen you here before? I’m Gloria.” And then she held out her hand.

As I was shaking it one of the guys, Mort the foreman, broke in to tell her that I was their boss and that they call me ‘Doc’ and, “he’s paying for everything so you’d better be extra nice to him, you hear?”

“Pleased to meet you, Doc. Ha! ‘Extra nice to him’ is it? Ha! I’ll leave that to Anna Banana if you don’t mind.” And with that she walked away and headed for the hatch of the kitchen to call in our order.

Clearly my next question had to be, “Who is this ‘Anna Banana’ person?” and when I’d done so they all chortled and Mort said, “You’ll see for yourself soon, Doc, and if she likes you you’d better look out because she doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

I’ll pause here to explain that the title, “Doc,” or sometimes “Doc-torr,” comes automatically to each team’s Leader – who is also the Adjuster and the Programmer and the Trouble-Shooter – that is, if he gets their respect over the long run by being able to solve all the problems that come along without handing out blame and without making a big deal out of doing it.

It was astonishing how many jugs of beer the six of them called for and emptied – I found that the way to limit my intake without being derided was by reaching to refill my glass when the others did but after drinking only the top inch or so whereas they always drained theirs dry – and, as you’d expect, they all got to be more and more exuberant and more raucous as the meal progressed.

When we’d finished eating they changed from beer to beer and bourbon and I asked for a ‘Double Jim Beam, straight up’ which made them all relax and then I nursed that for the rest of the time that we were there and my ploy was never detected because by then they were way past caring.

Along about eight o’clock a different waitress brought us two full jugs of beer and I was the first to notice the change because the others were deep in a discussion about football which doesn’t interest me in the least – I do, however, like soccer because it doesn’t lend itself to being regimented – so I said, brightly, “Hello, hello, hello. And what might your name be, young lady, and please tell me what you’ve done with our Gloria?”

Her face was very attractive, which made her sensible hairdo seem just right for it although, I guess, so would any other, and she was around twenty-five years old. She had a chiffon scarf tucked into the neckline of her uniform and her name tag read ‘Celia.’

When the guys heard me speaking they stopped deciding the fate of the Giants and the Jets in the new season and turned to find out why.

They called out, “Anna!” and were obviously delighted to see her and she addressed all of them by their names and then she stood and stared fixedly at me. Mort hastened to introduce me to her and vice versa.

“Anna, this our boss, Doc. I want to point out straight away that he’s not married.

“Doc, stand up and shake the hand of Anna Banana.”

I was surprised at the formality, which I thought hardly necessary, but then I saw that they were all looking at me expectantly so I hurriedly stood up and turned to her full on and offered my hand and I found out, at first hand you might say, why they called her Anna Banana.

She smiled and held hers out too but just as it was about to touch mine she swerved it aside and it went on past and it grabbed my whole package and then it, expertly, searched out and separated my dick and then it grasped it alone and shook it as she was saying, “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure, Doc.”

When she’d let go she non-chalantly asked if anyone needed anything.

I and the others all said that we were fine thank you and she then moved to another table, presumably on the same mission, but I saw that she didn’t live up to her name at that table which might well have been because there was an elderly couple sitting there.

When I asked what the hell that had been about and why I was the only one who got groped I was told that she only did that when she was introduced to a new face.

I asked if she was the local whore, although I doubted it given her appearance, and dismay was shown on all the faces and I got battered by a chorus of, “No-way, man.” And, “Boy, have you got it wrong.” And, “Aw hell, man. No.”

Hearing all of that denial made me fling my hands up in defeat and so Mort took pity on me by leaning over and telling me quietly, “She’s a relative of the owners of this place and she comes in three nights a week from eight until ten. She doesn’t get paid and she puts all of her tips into the pool jar in the kitchen and so the other waiters and waitresses don’t mind a bit her coming in to help them.

“She gives her special greeting only to the guys that she likes at first sight and who she’s never met before, like you. When she’s met all the eligible ones in here each night she sits down next to them and asks questions and then decides who’s going to be the lucky one. She only considers single men and she only goes with each one once, and, get this: She doesn’t make them pay for it! Have you ever heard the like? She explained her MO to me after I’d tried to get her to pick me early on – she came and sat next to me and then she asked me a couple of questions and I don’t know how she did it but she got me to admit that I was married in about three minutes flat – and now, on quiet nights, she comes and sits with us. She told us that she likes to go with unattached men because she’d found, over time, that otherwise her life gets to be too complicated what with angry wives and/or jealous lovers who get mad at her. She wouldn’t tell us why it’s always just a one date deal with the one that she picks and I’ve been wondering about that ever since.”

“Oh, look,” one of the guys said a half hour or so later, “Anna’’s just given her special greeting to another guy over there so Doc’s not necessarily a shoe-in for the honors tonight!”

“Jesus!” I exclaimed, “you’re setting me up, here! Well, thank you but no thanks. I can find my own women, thank you.”

Mort snorted and then said, “Aw, come off it, Doc. You won’t find anybody that good unless you want to pay out four figures for a short time like our late, unlamented Governor.”

And then, maybe another half hour later, “Look! She’s sitting next to that other guy. The other one that she groped and she’s whispering to him.”

“Oh, oh, wait,” said the designated look-out after a few minutes. “She’s stood up already. He must be married. Jesus, I bet he’s pissed. Oh, oh. She’s heading back this way. Make up a good story for her Doc. Your chance of a lifetime is approaching ‘cos they say that she’s a really great lay.”

When she got to our table the other guys melted away to the sides to give her space to sit next to me and when she’d sat down her perfume wafted over and it was light but very pleasing.

“It’s ‘Doc,’ right? Well listen, Doctor, I’m going to be thirty soon so can you give me a pill to lower that a bit?”

The humorous remark was lifted wholesale from a recent New Yorker cartoon but the plagiarism didn’t bother me a bit. Nothing else mattered either because when she turned on the charm I was sold, plucked, cooked, served up and eager to be consumed right down to the bone.

She asked me where did I come from originally and then about my family and if I was married and where I was staying and I don’t know how she did it but, like Mort, I couldn’t have lied to her about any of it to save my life.

“Well, Doc, I like you and I can see that you like me so would you like to be with me later on tonight?”

“Uh . . ah . . well . . uh, yes. Yes. I’d like that very much. How and – uh, when, uh – and where?”

“Well, let’s go up to your hotel room, shall we? Doing it on a bed is always best, right? Uh, it can’t be just yet, Doc because I’ve got to do some more work to do if I want to keep my welcome here open. So, wait until I signal to you from that door over there and then you have to go out the front door and I’ll come around and join you. OK?”

It was much more than ‘OK.’

The guys had the good sense, and had enough chivalry left poking through or around their alcoholic hazes, to let her get to be well out of hearing before breaking out with the whooping and hollering and they all wanted to shake my hand and say something like, “You lucky bastard.” “I wish I hadn’t gotten married.” “I’d give my left testicle to get to screw her just once.”

Some of it was the beer talking and some of it was the bourbon talking but most of it wasn’t either one.

When we were walking to my hotel, which was only a block and a half away, she asked me some pertinent questions about my MO between the sheets and then she said, cleverly and, as it turned out, honestly too, “Don’t worry about whether you have a condom or not because, as you’ll soon find out, I’ve got that part covered.”

Then she went on to talk about everyday things and she showed no interest at all, neither then nor later, in what we’d been doing in the Agency which relieved a lingering doubt that I’d been harboring somewhere deep in my mind, a la Le Carre.

The receptionist in the hotel didn’t give her a second glance after she’d nodded at me and we walked over to the elevators.

When we got to my room she headed for the bathroom and she told me that she’d be right out and that I should get undressed and lie on the bed because it would only take her a few minutes before she’d join me and she went on to say that when she did so, because she didn’t know me, she wanted to stay in charge of the proceedings until she’d found out if I could be entrusted with taking over, “as director.”

When she came out she was indeed naked and she paused to see my reaction and then she pirouetted and curtsied. She was breathtakingly beautiful all over and especially her buttocks which were perfectly shaped.

She was holding something shiny in her hand and when she was sitting on the side of the bed she held it out and said, “Look at this, Doc. It’s a female condom and, look, this part here covers all of the area and this other part of it goes inside me and acts like a regular condom. OK? It protects both of us and gives you a nice, wide play area, which – I hope and if I’m wrong I’ll be very disappointed – you’ll take full advantage of. Now, enough talking. Let’s get to it.”

We did a whole lot of nice kissing that progressed into being much more and while that was going on, and later, she let me have more and more lee-way as she got to know that I could be trusted to not rush things.

However, when it got to be what I thought was the time to test the internal part of her peculiar condom she kind of swiveled her hips out of range and then grabbed my dick and by squeezing it just so she eased the tremendous drive that I was under. By doing that she also got my full attention.

I protested and she shushed me by giving me an extra strong squeeze and then she said, “Sorry Doc, but you don’t get to do it until you’ve given me at least two more orgasms with your tongue. You got started at it nicely and I had high hopes for you but you stopped too quickly so – please? More?”

Well now, let me pause here to tell you about my education as to activity between the sheets: I had a long term but casual relationship with a benefit-giving friend whom I’ve known since high-school, and who I mentioned earlier, named Beth. Her favorite thing in the whole world was getting eaten all up – I don’t know how many other guys were in her circle of FWBs but I was glad to be one of them and, although I have no way of knowing, I was probably the most avid one when it came to giving her what she craved most – and she invited me over once every week, or so, and more often than that if one of her other FWBs had failed her in some way and she needed emergency stabilization. As you’ll no doubt have realized already, given her life style she was exposed to many different procedures and methods over the years and because she diligently passed them all on to all of her FWBs we all became, willy nilly, experts at the art.

I met her when she was a freshman and I was a sophomore and someone had told her that I was good at math. She came up to my table in the cafeteria and asked if she could sit there and then she told me her name and asked me to please help her get through her dreaded Science and Math exams and she asked in a way that sent my blood racing and so I told her that I’d be honored to help.

When we got started at it at first I thought that she had to be kidding me when she told me that she couldn’t see that there was a difference between one over three and three over one! We battled our way through that one but the doing of it convinced me that following conventional teaching methods wouldn’t do it for her so I decided that the only thing for it was to exploit her good memory.

I knew, in general, what questions would be asked in each exam – having already sat through them myself – and so I helped her to memorize the likely-to-be required formulas and proofs and to recite, by rote, the steps that had to be shown in the answers to several standard questions.

She dropped both math and science from her curriculum the minute that she could but, after getting a lucky B+ in her last math exam as a sophomore, which delighted and mystified her parents, she was so happy when she read them on the bulletin board that she pulled me into an alcove and she let me kiss her and then encouraged me to cop a few feels.

When I was waiting for a bus after the first day back at school the next September she came up to me and asked me if I’d like a ride home and I found that her parents had given her a nice little English, racing-green, sports car on the strength of her B+ in math. She told me that she owed it entirely to me – which was very true and I still haven’t forgotten the shock that she gave to my fundamentals when she’d said on our first session, fully sure of herself and ready to defend her logic, that one over three was the same as three over one – and then, instead of taking me to my home, she took me to hers and she invited me up ‘to see my summer projects.’

She was proud of the fact that she’d persuaded her parents to let her have the ‘Granny flat’ that was around the back of the main house. They’d built it for her, late, grandmother and, to give her some privacy, it was self contained and had its own private entrance, so when she’d closed the door behind us I realized that we weren’t going to be disturbed.

I was naïve in most things regarding necking although I’d gotten lucky a few times over the years – sometimes you only had to be there to get drawn in – and so I went through the standard procedures and when, eventually, it had led up to the point when I was entitled to slip her panties off she let me do it but then she closed her legs tight, and got my attention by doing so, and then laid down the ground rules.

“Listen to me, if you want to become my friend with benefits you have to understand that going all the way is not on, ever. OK? Oh now, don’t look so mortified. I’ll take care of you before you leave but it’ll only be this one time if it turns out that you aren’t good at following my directions. Or if you don’t like doing the same things that I do. OK?”

“Uh, well, uh, yes. Sure. OK.”

She pulled a chair up to the side of her bed and told me to sit in it and then she sat on the bed with her legs closed so that I could only see a triangle of black pubic hair – although that was enough to keep me panting – and then she said, “I’m a sexaholic and I’m happy about it. You hear me? There’s nothing in the world that I’d rather do than be with a guy who like me, can’t get enough either. You hear me? I’m hoping that you’re one of those guys and so here comes the big test.”

She arranged some pillows and cushions behind her and then she leaned back on them and then slowly opened her legs. The intriguing triangle changed into being a mere upper frame for her center and her plump outer labia came into view and a half inch of blazingly red inner labia was pushing through at the top.

It was so blatantly, beautifully desirous that I found that I was fixed in the chair and it was only when she, obviously well practiced, covered herself with one hand that I could move a muscle and she laughed and let me touch it but then she pushed my hand away and told me to get on my knees.

I got to be introduced to the wondrous art of cunnilingus a la Beth.

I listened and I paid rapt attention and I followed her instructions meticulously and I worked at it assiduously and I was delighted when she told me, an hour later, that I’d passed her test with flying colors.

As promised, she ‘took care of me’ before I left, with her mouth and her hands, and when I was fully dressed she opened the door for me and said, “Goodnight, new FWB. I’ll call you.”

I don’t remember ever hearing anything that pleased me more.

Because of that background, when I was challenged by Anna Banana I decided to impress her – that’s because she had already impressed me all to hell in that, as I’ve already said, she’s very nicely built but also, as I found out at first touch, her body has exactly the right amount of adipose so just being allowed to caress it is very pleasurable and with that as a starting-off base everything else is given a very positive running start and so, almost involuntarily and against my own best interests, as I’ll soon explain, I started in on going through all of Beth-of-the-Benefit’s favorite initial routines and, as with her, I always took good care to stop after doing every one of them to let Anna recover enough to be able to appreciate the next one that was about to come at her but not for long enough to stop her from retaining the full, accumulative effect.

//                                                                                           //

With Beth-of-the-Benefits I used to be able to gage accurately when it was time to bring my performance to an end by paying attention to the length of time that she took to recover from each orgasm – she herself knew it too, of course, because by then she’d be beginning to feel like a wrung out rag, a happy wrung out rag, sure, but nevertheless there it is – and when I made the move that signals that the wrap-up was at hand she’d cry out, “Hooray! Here comes the grand finale.” And I’d then get on with her favorite technique.

If she was still ‘compos mentis’ after that she’d cheerfully do her duty by getting me off with her mouth and hands but if she was a ‘persona non presenta’ then I’d have to follow her rules.

She was always very aware that her FWBs don’t want to – couldn’t possibly – go out into the cold with an erection so it was a given that if she was equivalent to being comatose – off in another world due to the cumulative effect of the multiple, hard-worked-for orgasms that we would have given her by then – we were allowed to use any and all parts of her body to get off on, not in, but we were then expected to follow her four rules which were: One – Wash the soiled part of her body with soap and water and a towel: Two – Leave no ‘unpleasantness’ on her sheets: Three – Put her panties on her along with a T-shirt “in case my parents come calling and they know that I never sleep in the nude.” : Four – Cover her up properly because the thermostat is in the main house and her father always lowers the heat to fifty-five degrees when he goes to bed.   


I’d better explain here – for older readers – that these here benefits that Beth obligingly used to hand out to several of us never included actual intercourse. To illustrate that fact clearly, although it’s hard to believe, the last time that she asked me to go to her place – it was a few days before she got engaged – I explored with my tongue, as usual, and I was astonished to find that she was no longer intacto.

That was a huge surprise because I well knew that if one of us had been stupid enough to insist on taking her virginity he would have had to elevate his status to ‘boyfriend’ and from then on, as long as his new title stayed valid, there’d be no benefits available for anyone else – except in emergencies, of course, because that’s what real friends are for, true?

From that I knew that the visit that I was on was a ‘farewell’ one and later, after she’d ‘helped’ me and we were cuddling, she said, “You know already, don’t you? I felt you searching for ‘it’ with your tongue. Well, yes, it’s gone forever, I’m unhappy to say. Even the remnants of it have disappeared.”

“Yes I did notice and I can’t tell you how sorry I am about it because it means that this is the last time that you’re going to invite me over, isn’t it?”

“Fraid so. You know. I’m really, really going to miss all the nice loving. You especially because you’re the gentlest one.”

“Thank you, I think. Uh, Beth, tell me something. Do you feel different now? Without a hymen, I mean.”

“I feel sad about it mainly. It’s so – uh – final. Right? There’s no going back.”

“Right. Uh, how did you feel when it was finally happening.”

“Well, the word that comes to mind is one that I don’t think that I’ve ever spoken or heard said before. I felt ‘jolted.’ I’ve thought a lot about it since and I guess that I felt jolted when it was happening because the part of me that had been revered – even ‘worshipped’ is not too strong a word – for all these past years was actually being ‘used and abused.’ It is now just another utilitarian object. True?”

“Well, if you say so but it’s a crying shame. You’re the best that there is and I’m sure going to miss seeing you.”

“Thank you and I’m tempted to make an exception in your case but it wouldn’t be right, would it? I have to keep it for him only. I know you’ll understand, Steven. Yes?”    

                                //                                                                                   //

I’d already given myself such a marvelous time with Anna – her body really was lovely and exciting and serving it had somehow given me much more pleasure than I’d given in return although that’s hard to fathom seeing that she remained almost entirely passive while I was going at it – that I knew very well that I wanted to be her long time lover so I decided to give her the full Beth treatment and I clinically ‘gauged’ her progress down, or up, the road to satiety as I was doing so.

When she got there I pulled her on top of me and I held her there as I smoothed her bottom and waited. I was strangely content even though I was still sporting an erection.

When she started to come back down to earth I eased her to one side and when she was with me fully she did some contented sighing and some voluptuous arm stretching before looking around and when she saw me there she was startled until she remembered. She surreptitiously slipped a hand under the cover and then on down to her center and when she found that her vagina wasn’t sore and that her peculiar condom was still in place, and hadn’t been called into action, a delighted smile showed on her face just before she burst out with, “Wow, thank you for not doing it but I really would like to know why you didn’t? But aren’t you a darling man though for not doing it?”

“Aw, shucks.”

“No, really. Please tell me because I’m pretty sure that I’ve never before – uh – been with a man who wouldn’t have – uh – gotten some when the getting was good and I know for sure that you certainly don’t lack the wherewithal.”

“I wanted to – my God, did I ever? And still do – because you’re truly beautiful and – uh – comely too, but although I knew that you’d told me that this would be a one-time get-together and that because of that I might not ever get another chance I couldn’t bring myself to do it because it didn’t seem right somehow without your full participation.”

“Wow, such scruples! Not even to an ‘Anna Banana?’ ”

“Not to you. Whatever your name is. Is it ‘Celia’ like on your name tag?”

“It is, indeed . . . Well, Doc, you’re one of a kind and I’m pleased to know that there’s at least one man like you around. Oh! But wait. I’m forgetting the important thing here – you’re a real artist at going down on women aren’t you? It was marvelous, truly. I’ve never before experienced that many orgasms nor have I ever been transported that far out and for so long.”

“My pleasure, I’m sure.”

“Don’t be so modest, it was devin . . . Oh! . . . What time is it? Oh, my God? Can’t be, can it? It is! I’ve got to make a phone call, will you please hand me my bag?”

I did so and she took out her cell phone and thumbed in some numbers and then she said, “Clive, darling. I’m so sorry I don’t . . . ”

And then she did some listening and soon a delighted smile showed on her face and she tried to send some messages back but couldn’t because, clearly, the person on the other end wouldn’t let her get a word in.

After a few minutes of only being allowed to go, “uh hu, uh hu,” an incredulous look appeared on her face and she said, “But Clive darling, that’s not what we . . . ”

And then she was muscled out again and she did some more listening before –

“Well, all right, I will. But . . .” ‘

Again she had to do some more listening and what she heard brought back the incredulous look to her face and then she said, with a lot of doubt in her voice, “All right, I’ll ask him but . . . ” And then she listened some more and then she hung up after getting the last word in which was, “All right, dear. Well, I’ll see you in the morning.”

She put the phone into her bag and then she snuggled up to me and after allowing her to give me some nice kisses, passively because I was having difficulty trying to accept this ‘Clive’ guy, I moved my head away from her and then tried to ask the obvious question – Who is this here Clive when he’s home? – but she stilled my tongue by flinging aside our blanket and taking up a provocative Goya-esque pose and as I was admiring her body she asked me if she could spend the whole night with me. I answered her by wanting to know if she could please make it the whole weekend and with that she smiled nicely and said that we’d have to wait and see about that and then she reached down and in a couple of seconds, in spite of my discomfort, she made me hard again and she widened her eyes when I’d filled her hand and she said something about my being a real stud – and was I Italian? – and then she heaved her hips at me in an inviting way and I nearly injured myself in my haste to get on with the battle royal again.

That time, when we got together in the middle of my bed we both knew that something special was in the offing and it wasn’t long before she pulled away from me to say that she trusted me fully and then she removed and ditched her peculiar ‘female condom’ and with it went all of her inhibitions and her prohibitions and rules and she showed me a few things that were new to me and just before she welcomed me inside her for the first time she said, with conviction, “I’m so glad that we’ve found each other at last, Steven.”

In the morning when we woke up, and joined each other in the middle of the bed, we both knew for positive sure, without having to say it, that what we had was very special and, it followed from that, that all of the other stuff that she was up to had to stop and stop right then.

I pulled her up on top of me and she lay still and relished the full body contact for a while and then she giggled and said, delightedly, “Now I know why Clive was so excited. Wow! You really are good and he must have stayed high all night long. Hooray!”

That, and what she mumbled next, was registered by me – not ‘understood’ but ‘registered’ – “I think that with you alone I could fuck for a whole army of needy brothers not just one! My word, you really are both virile and clever Steven. Thank you very much for sharing with us, you darling, darling man.”

I was mystified, of course, so I bucked her off and moved into the spoon position and then I reached around and grabbed a breast and I squeezed it roughly to get, and keep, her attention and then I asked her, “Who the hell is this ‘Clive?’ Is he your husband?”

“No,” she said, “he’s my brother and if you’ll stop hurting my breast I’ll explain – – – –  There. All right, I’ll tell you but you’ve got to promise me that you’ll never repeat it to anybody, ever. Yes?”

//                                                                                       //

He, Clive, was Celia’s identical twin brother and he was born a full hour before her and his being first into the world decided their attitude towards each other from the beginning and that continued unabated and unalleviated until they got to be in their mid twenties at which time everything else changed too.

As infants they hated to be parted and their parents learned quickly that if they wanted to get any sleep at night they’d better leave them in the same bed where they could touch each other and all through their infancy they wouldn’t play with even very interesting toys unless they could do so together.

Life intervened in their cozy arrangement, of course, in that they were forced to split up when they got to grade school because the system demanded separate facilities for boys and girls and different agendas too. They reluctantly complied with the rules but they didn’t feel whole until they could reunite after classes.

As early as kindergarten they began to pay attention to the fact that they had a special accord in that when they were apart if one of them laughed at a joke, or at a funny happening, the other one would feel an inexplicable sense of joy and as time went by they learned to note the time and ask about it later and that way they’d both get to laugh about it again. Similarly, if one of them got hurt the other one would feel pain and distress too and if it was severe they’d drop whatever they were doing and run to offer help or comfort.

Their parents gave up on trying to get them to sleep in their own beds although they never did stop feeling uneasy about it.

Sexuality inevitably became a factor when they got to be about eight years old and it showed itself, benignly of course at that age, in their liking to have skin contact at night and later, when they got to be around ten, they found that they felt comforted and could go to sleep easier if they kept one hand between the other one’s legs when the lights were put out.

Celia suffered from constant but mild penis envy until she learned to direct her stream of urine while standing up at which point she lost interest in it and not having one of her own became a non-issue again for a year or two.

However, she entered puberty first, which showed itself when she grew a few straggly pubic hairs and her breasts began to grow by pushing her nipples out to form strange looking cones.

For several months after that the twins merely accepted the new changes in her until she showed blood for the first time which, naturally, made her go running to her mother in distress. When she’d explained what was happening to her body, and why, she was horrified because she finally, and convincingly, got to realize that there was an unambiguous and unbridgeable difference between boys and girls.

After that their parents insisted that they use separate beds and the twins humored them by waiting in their rooms until they heard the master bedroom door close and then Celia, whose room was nearest to their parents, would creep out and go and join her brother. In the morning, when their father’s alarm clock woke him up it would wake Celia too, and she’d go back to her own bed when she heard the water for his shower start to run.

She did, of course, pass on the information that her mother had given her to her brother and both of them became very interested in the phenomenon in general and how it could affect their personal life and they surreptitiously read-up on the subject, and related ones, in their school library and in the public one and they were mystified and intrigued by what they discovered.

They realized that, as far as they were concerned and they never had the slightest interest in anyone else’s problems or achievements, everything had to be put on hold until Clive’s first erection showed up and they waited for it with growing impatience and they spent a lot of time trying to encourage it to change from being a slack, disappointingly soft, hanging tissue into a viable, hymen-breaking, vagina-probing tool as promised.

They were sent to different camps that summer – he had developed an interest in chess and she in horse-riding so the two things were seized on by their parents and used as the deciding factor – and so they were apart for two agonizingly long weeks and on their first night back at home when she brought her nakedness to his bed he cried out in pain two seconds later because for the first time ever his penis had swollen enough to shoulder aside his foreskin.

They switched the light on to examine it, and to worriedly check to see if there was any damage, and they were both delighted with what he’d produced and for the first time they had to admit that the books had been telling the truth all along however unlikely it had seemed back then when the very idea that what he had down there could push its way into her tightness was ludicrous.

The driving force that his erection gave him saw to it that her hymen didn’t put up much resistance for long but they both knew very well by then what the possible consequences were and so when he came he saw to it that her belly got coated and not the lining of her vagina.

The wonder of it meant that once was plenty for them that first night and although neither of them got very much out of it directly, because of the pain, they shouldered their way on to success and she vicariously shared his ecstasy when he ejaculated. It had all been so fundamental and strange for him that he wanted to wallow in her, to try to recapture and hang onto the moment, so she helped him to put his much reduced member back inside her and then they both stayed silent because the whole thing was far too complicated for immediate analysis and discussion. He was delighted with his lot and was content but she was puzzled about it all and also very disappointed about having been given such a passive role in the act by Nature but she decided that it was best to accept it, knowing that there was little that she could change about it until she knew a whole lot more about the whole thing, and she held him tight and when her pain had eased she followed his example and went to sleep, still co-joined.

The next day they both acknowledged that there was a huge amount of potential in the act and so he agreed to buy condoms so that they could avoid his having to make abrupt withdrawals so that they could both get to experience the full effect.

The next afternoon, after school, Celia went directly to her bi-weekly horse riding session and that meant that Clive got to be alone in his room for a few hours. He was reading for homework when he thought back to what had happened the night before and, like all teenage boys, he immediately got an erection that persisted and it firmly, as it were, held his attention and so he decided to – that is, he gave in to the almost over-powering need to relieve the pressure and the tension that having one calls for in youths – to do what his friends had been describing for him for more than a year by then and had even progressed to boasting about how many times they did it every day.

He soon got the – uh – hang of it and when he came he barely managed to suppress a cry of triumph that surely would have brought his mother running upstairs to investigate.

Well, it’s true that there’s little that’s remarkable in that episode but what is noteworthy is how it affected Celia.

Luckily she wasn’t riding her horse at that self-same time because she was walking it to let it cool down gradually – if she had been on it her reaction would have certainly embarrassed all of her fellow equestrian-club members – when a strange feeling began building up at her center and soon she had to tie the reins to the nearest fence post and hurry to find a shielded area where she could sit down and ease her shaking knees. A moment later she remembered what had happened to her the night before and so she relaxed and slipped one hand into her jodhpurs and helped herself to enjoy what was, by then, sweeping through her whole body.

When Clive reached his crescendo she got almost as much pleasure out of it as he did and because she was out of everybody’s sight and sound she could, and did, let her cry of joy ring out uncontained.

She was bemused but very pleased with the amount of pleasure that she’d received while doing little to earn it and so she hurried home to find out what her brother had done and how soon could he do it again, please.

They compared notes and were at first frightened to find – and then, gradually, very pleased – that what he’d done had to have been responsible for what had happened to her and that led to their experimenting by touching and fingering in turn and that led to proof positive that if one of them did something, anything, that engendered sensual pleasure for him/her-self the other one instantly received a similar amount. Still later they learned, of course, that by combining efforts they could multiply the effect enormously.

Their experiments made them hot for some real action and so they locked the door and Clive rolled a condom on and they successfully, and fully that time, consummated their illegal union.

They found it difficult to pull apart and get dressed when their mother called them down for dinner an hour later because – well – everybody knows how marvelous having good sex is under ordinary circumstances so try to imagine what it must have felt like for them when the pleasure and the needs and the urges and the strivings and the writhing and the squirming and the thumping and the driving and the built up intensity that finally succeeded in bringing them relief were not just doubled throughout but were amplified far above that level due to the laws of compound interest and returns on investments!

Knowing all that, is there any question at all as to why they soon became experts at it?

They both knew that they had to be careful with how they exploited their good fortune and so they limited themselves to doing it to completion only once in every twenty four hours until they could put a sensible and sustainable handle on the whole thing and, after a month or so, they were able to do so and they established limits and procedures that both helped them to maximize their pleasure and also ensured that no one else, especially their parents, would find out what was going on.

They both earned scholarships but to different colleges – their parents had again made it crystal clear to them, when they became seniors in high school, that they’d have to split up – and they were dropped off at their respective campuses and the following week was the most difficult one of their lives.

Because they were both attractive they had no difficulty, in those permissive days, with finding partners to go to bed with but the difference between the ordinary sex that they got from that couldn’t begin to compare with they could give each other so it helped them but did little to assuage their greater needs because trying to coordinate their activities was far too difficult.

Clive was never able to understand why his male friends were obsessed with getting multiple conquests because for him there were only two women’s bodies in the whole world: Celia’s and every other woman’s.

Although the college’s rules made him live in a dorm the first year he couldn’t put up with it for that long and so at Xmas he tapped his grandmother for some funds and he rented a nice one-bedroom apartment just outside town and, by telling no-one in authority, he got away with it.

Eventually, through a system of elimination – the chance of being able to leave the dorms made many of the freshmen girls eager to become his room mate – he found a nice, clean, willing, responsible girl from San Francisco and, after getting her to understand that theirs would be an arrangement which would end when they graduated, she moved into his apartment and, that same evening, into his bed.

When Celia called him the next morning to tell him, not ‘to ask him’ but ‘to tell him,’ that he’d slept with someone the night before – she thanked him profusely for doing so because she’d been flooded, on and off, for most of the night with vicarious pleasure – he told her what had happened and they then agreed, simultaneously, that Celia had to arrange for the same thing to happen to her so that they could get to work on a cooperative scheme.

She found PDQ that getting her part done wasn’t easily accomplished.

She went to the same grandmother for funds to rent an apartment so that bit was OK and, of course, she didn’t have much difficulty with finding guys who wanted to go to bed with her but, as she found out to her chagrin, once one of them had ‘established’ himself as being her boyfriend his performance would drop off alarmingly and within a week or so he’d be content with doing it once a night and so the twin’s goal of being able to call on their partners to get active when one of them realized that the other one was working up to getting it done was stymied most of the time due to the difficulty with the logistics.

Her strategy to get around that dismaying state of affairs, as it were, was to take on all comers – that is, to have a different, lusty lover in her bed regularly – but sometimes she’d find that she’d picked one who had a tiny member or couldn’t get it up twice for some reason, or like that, and that meant that she couldn’t live up to Clive’s expectations and she suffered from knowing very well indeed that he was indulging himself often and very successfully too.

To get over that, partially, she had to resort to a trick that would, much later, lead up to her earning the nickname ‘Anna Banana.’ She’d meet up with a new guy and she’d let him feel her up under the table in a booth in a bar or a restaurant, or in the back seat of the movies or, wherever, and a few minutes later she’d reach over and feel him up too and if he had an erection already, and was sufficiently well hung, she’d invite him to leave the movie house, or where ever, and join her in her bed.

Her new method accommodated their master plan well and it went like this: when she was being felt up Clive would be put on the alert because his blood would start racing and he, in turn, would call to his room mate to come over and sit with him and he’d close with her to keep her close and ready for action.

The new boyfriend/stud, having passed Celia’s test, would be in her bed, perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes after he’d first touched her, and Clive would be able to follow her progress from the moment that she started getting kissed meaningfully and that would be his signal to help his own girlfriend to get undressed and then into bed.

When Celia was really into it Clive would start in too, and would try to match intensity with hers, and both of their partners would be astonished at the amount of pleasure that he/she was obviously generating and would think that they were splendidly expert lovers.

The next morning Clive would call his sister to compare notes and one time it went like this: “Thanks, Sis. Five times, right? You know that I matched you OK the first two times – right? – but then I went to sleep and you woke me up for number three and again later for number four but both times I didn’t think that Julie would be happy about my asking her to do it again so I just laid there and enjoyed what was coming at me and I felt really happy for you. Julie was in the shower for number five and so I couldn’t help you, nor myself. That one went on for much longer than the others, right? If this guy is that capable maybe you should consider putting him on your list?”

“Yeah, I will. He’s nice as well as being virile and he’s pre-med and he wants to be a Gynecologist so he’s taken it on himself to get to know as much as he can about ‘women’s responsive parts’ as he put it. I was able to help him – Ha! Was I ever? – and when he was being extra nice before starting the third go-around I was tempted to tell him about our secret – as a sure way to keep him interested – but I held back and when we were resting I decided against it because he’d probably want to make a name for himself and he’d write a paper on it and then they’d never leave us alone. Right? Well, I’ve got to go. Miss ya, Bro.”

For one reason or another none of her boyfriends qualified for long-term consideration all through the four years that they were in college and the twins were only able to thoroughly overcome their anguish by meeting up periodically in a motel that was equidistant from them both. They were able to sign in, truthfully, as ‘Clive and Celia Reynolds,’ which made it a little bit easier for them. They got to be together, of course, through the long summer breaks and the other holidays, etc., but having to separate so many times over the four years made them promise each other that when they’d graduated they wouldn’t ever be parted again.

When they did graduate they went home and they made no attempts to find jobs and they got to be so close to each other that their parents became alarmed again and started to drop more and more forceful hints about their relationship being unhealthy, and that they should split up and find jobs in different cities, so they decided to lie to them and get themselves an apartment in NYC but, a matter of days before they were going to leave home, fate intervened in a way that meant that they didn’t have to go anywhere.

Their father, who did a lot of traveling as a consultant engineer in Public Works, developed a splitting headache on a plane back from Ecuador and was rushed to hospital the minute that the plane landed and the inoperable tumor on his brain killed him stone dead a scant two weeks later.

Their mother couldn’t get over it and what with being a widow and knowing that she couldn’t cope, alone, with what was happening between her only two children she ‘accidentally’ emptied a bottle of sleeping pills down her throat, with the aid of some gin.

And so, in a few short months, the twins went from having two loving, albeit apprehensive, parents to being orphans.

When the wills were read they found that there was a pleasingly high amount of money coming to them from insurance along with 401K’s and IRA’s and stocks and bonds and that their big, lovely home was free and clear of mortgages so they didn’t need to look for jobs and didn’t.

They indulged themselves in idleness, and in unbridled and unlimited voluptuousness for over a year but then they got to be a little antsy so, to get out of the house every day, they both volunteered at a local hospital, three afternoons a week, and he was assigned to the Geriatric ward and she to the Children’s Ward.

When they were filling out the forms they came to – ‘Did you contract measles as a child?’ – and  they didn’t know, and there was no one to ask, but because they didn’t attach much importance to the question and because a ‘no’ answer called for several follow-up questions, they agreed that they should check the ‘Yes’ box.

A few months later Celia came home at the end of her shift with a headache, and was shivering even though she was running a high temperature, and the next morning a tell-tale rash showed up and their family doctor diagnosed measles and he warned Clive to stay away from his sister as much as possible. That didn’t happen because by then they just about had to get very, very close and were very, very close very, very often. Consequently, Clive developed the rash a few days later and when he went to see the same doctor he was surprised when he saw the grave look on his face. It was explained to him that while children get over the sickness relatively easily, and that women rarely get any lasting side effects, that was not always true for male adults. The doctor did his level best for him but even so inside a matter of weeks Clive’s testicles had shrunk to the size of marbles and his libido had disappeared altogether and, after another examination, the doctor told him, sadly because he was a man as well as being a professional, that he hoped that Clive had had an extensive love life up to then because all of his future sexual experiences would take place only in his mind.

The news is devastating for any and all men and if he’d been normal Clive’s knowing that his love life was over might well have jumped off a cliff, and time his jump to coincide with the passing of a truck on the road below but, knowing about his peculiar rapport with his sister, he was saved from total depression because he knew that, uniquely, the word, ‘vicarious’ could be made to take a large and life-saving role in his life.

Celia stayed home 24/7 to nurse him through his dismay and they slept entwined every night but as far as he was concerned all of that skin contact was only comforting. She tried, through the day, to get him to show some renewed interest in her body by managing to ‘inadvertently’ bare some choice skin for his benefit regularly and although he always appreciated the gesture, and liked what he saw, it was only on an esthetic plane because without an erection, or the established probability of getting one to show up on time when called for, he had no drive and was thus confined to only looking and wishing.

He liked to watch her masturbate because of what he’d get out of it and he’d react appropriately throughout and would find nearly as much relief and release at the end of it as she did but she couldn’t get him to so much as offer one middle finger to aid her with her task, much less his tongue, and so she quickly tired of doing it and he’d always have to employ a whole lot of cajoling to get her to put on the show for him more than once a day even though she well knew that even ten times wouldn’t be enough to adequately meet his wants. Both of them began to develop poor health symptoms that they knew were psychosomatic and would disappear if they could find a way to get regular satisfactory sexual stimulation that wasn’t self administered and that would end in satisfying climaxes.

They both knew that they couldn’t go on long without finding a solution and so they came up with a dead-line for finding one and when it arrived she reluctantly offered to re-introduce the method that they’d used, when they’d been in different colleges, to deal with the physical distance that had separated them.

Clive, who had, in vain, spent all of the allotted time thinking up a solution, couldn’t improve on her idea so they used it as the central core of the plan that they came up with which was for her to go out three times a week – reduced down from his suggestion of ‘every night of the week’ and up from her ‘once a week’ – to ‘interview’ strangers with the goal of finding a healthy-looking male, an attractive one if possible, who was well hung and who loved women’s bodies and who, after some gentle prompting, would express whole-hearted enthusiasm for oral sex, and then, when she’d found someone who passed her test – after hearing her final question just about every one of them exclaimed, “Do I like it? Ha! I only invented it, that’s all!” – she’d take him to bed after he’d agreed to give her at least three, and preferably several more than that, climaxes with his tongue before being allowed to get one for himself in the usual way.

To avoid any unpleasantness, and to ensure that each encounter would supply the necessary amount of virility to the mix, the twins agreed that it would be best if she chose a different man every time.

Clive thought that she’d be able to find plenty of eager participants in bars around town and so, on the agreed on night, she dutifully checked them out but got to be totally discouraged after entering three of them because what she found was that they were all dimly lit and none too clean and that the men in two of them were sitting along the bar with an empty stool on either side of them and with a glass of beer and a shot glass of liquor in front of them. They were all staring straight ahead and not speaking and the bartenders were drinking coffee and watching TV at the far end which put her off altogether. The last one that she went in was a sports bar and the men in there were staring at a basketball game that was on three separate TV screens and they weren’t interacting at all and didn’t so much as give her a glance all the time that she was in there.

She went back home, very discouraged, and Clive, who had been eagerly waiting to be transported, was angry with her and he drank a good deal of bourbon before passing out on his chair in the living room.

The next morning they attacked their problem again and although they knew that the availability of alcohol was important for their cause they agreed that for men in bars its availability seemed to be the determining factor for them being there rather than being a stimulant that would help them approach and chat up women.

Where else did men congregate, they asked themselves?

They ruled out churches and movie houses and social clubs and when Clive came up with ‘restaurants’ they both immediately thought of their distant cousin Rudy who owned one that was on Central Avenue.

They called him up and, after the usual small talk, asked him to reserve a table for them for that night, which was a Wednesday, and he laughed out loud and told them that the place was always only half full except for Friday and Saturday and Sunday nights and that anyway they didn’t need reservations even on those days because the place was so big that it was rarely full.

They went in on the Friday night and had dinner and drinks and Rudy picked up the tab for them and then invited them both up to meet his aged mother who lived in one of the apartments above the place.

Back home, both Clive and Celia agreed that there had been a few suitable men around and so Celia went back the next day and she asked Rudy to sit with her so that she could ask a favor of him which was permission to come and work there every Monday and Thursday and Saturday from, say, eight o’clock to, say ten o’clock.

He was wary at first, understandably, but that dropped away when she said that she wouldn’t expect a salary and would hand over any tips that she was given and when he asked what she had in mind she told him that she’d like to be a “back-up greeter or a welcoming receptionist, or whatever title you want to give me, but I want to be a useful member of your staff and with direct contact with the customers.”

How could he refuse? He had plenty to gain and nothing to lose because she was an attractive woman and – could it be for real? – she came free!

“Would you like to start to day?” he asked in an attempt at humor but also because he wanted to try to tie her down with a commitment. She told him that the next day was a Thursday which suited her plans and would that be all right by him?

When she’d thanked him and had left he spent a good deal of time thinking up the best way to exploit the situation.

She showed up on Thursday night, at eight o’clock, in an attractive dress that had a near to non-existent skirt which meant that she flashed a generous amount of plump buttock, and glimpses of frilly panties, with every step that she took and she was happy to agree to his suggestion that she should concentrate on helping his other staff members to serve the tables that held his regular and special guests.

She worked diligently and efficiently until the last of the privileged customers had left and then she dutifully put all of the generous tips that she’d been given in the bowl in the kitchen and then she was free to start searching out single males, in the other parts of the place, who appeared to be suitable subjects for her strategic offensive.

She went over and took orders from, and brought drinks, etc, to groups of young people who were enjoying themselves for various reasons like birthday or engagement parties and soon she was able to banter freely with them and that led to her being able to single out a male who had no obvious entanglements at the table nor in the room and that led to him giving her an invitation to sit next to him. In a matter of minutes she’d have found out his marital status and details of his personal life and, if she was happy with his answers, that would lead to whispered propositions and tentative copping of feels by him under the table and that led to a reciprocated one and if it successfully determined that her selected prospect was not only hung well enough but was also eager for action that led to enquiries about his proclivities with a woman between the sheets and whether he liked giving oral sex. If he gave her the standard macho nonsense – along the lines of, “Ha! Do I like it? I only invented it, that’s all!” – that led to a suggestion that they both exit when her ‘shift’ was over and that led to their walking to his car for a trip to his apartment and to his bed and, hopefully, to hours of bliss during which she’d lose count of the number of orgasms that she was given and, at the end, while sharing his own.

Clive, who would have been on tenterhooks at home ever since he’d received vibes that she was, at last, getting felt up, was delighted with her prowess and her cleverness and he’d tell her so when she came home a few hours later.

She followed a similar routine every night that she was on duty from then on and was usually successful and so Clive continued to be well pleased with her as was Rudy who noticed how popular she was with his customers and how many more customers came in on ‘her days’ than before. She continued to amaze him by never changing her mind about being paid for her work and by faithfully handing over her considerable amount of tips to the communal pot that didn’t include her in its nightly distribution and, of which, of course, he took the lion’s share.

The only flaw in her operation came when a quickly dismissed suitor, for poor performance, spitefully started referring to her as ‘Anna Banana’ to his cronies in the restaurant and the name comes so trippingly off the tongue that it was seized-on by everybody, though never to her face but she couldn’t help occasionally over-hearing it being used. Over time she came to accept it and she reinforced its use by trying to live up to her nickname – that way eligible men would be ready for her greeting, and her evaluation, which smoothed things out hugely for her purpose – by making it even more well-earned by, whenever a stranger offered her his hand to shake, usually at the urging of his buddies who were in the know, she’d move her own on past his proffered one and would reach for and find his package and then skillfully separate away his scrotum and make an expert and instant evaluation of the dimensions of his member and decide whether he’d be worth interviewing later on.

One night, as already described, I was the lucky recipient of her Anna Banana-ing.

//                                                                              //

When she told Clive about me wanting to be her permanent boyfriend he was delighted for her until he got to realize that our being together and forsaking all others would mean that he’d have to learn to accept and then live with the inevitable decline to the ‘once a night’ level although his disappointment was lessened when he realized that he’d get to be stimulated every night from then on instead of three times a week. He tried to be philosophical about it but that was difficult given his circumstances and so he, politely but only tentatively, welcomed me into his family.

Celia and I got married a few months after we met and we bought a nice apartment in town and started a family and I rarely agreed to go with her to Clive’s place because there was tension on all sides. It came at me from him because I was the one who’d cut his extensive love life down to ‘normal’ levels and from me to him because it was difficult for me to accept the fact that he not only knew about it every time that I made love to his sister but he was sharing her pleasure as it was going on and in her ecstasy when it ended. Celia wasn’t happy with him because of the fact that he was getting what she considered should be hers alone now seeing that he didn’t contribute anything anymore and her resentment was made stronger because she figured that now that she was a wife and a mother, soon to be three times over – he’d stayed passed-out drunk when he knew that each baby was due because he didn’t agree at all that her pain should be shareable too – it was unseemly of him to keep sharing our pleasure. Because of our mutual resentment we tried to forget about him and so we gradually stopped meeting him except on the big holidays.

Clive didn’t roll over and give up – he did however roll over and give it up! – and we found that out because late one Friday afternoon, years later, Celia was clearing up after lunch when she suddenly straightened up and dropped an empty saucepan that made an awful clatter when it hit the floor.

She hurried to the sofa but she didn’t sit in it. She knelt on the carpet and leaned forward onto it, and when I got there, to find out what was wrong, she reached for my hand and then seemed to be bracing herself and then she started breathing heavily and then she threw her head back and let out shouts and moans that frightened me and the children. I wanted her to sit in the chair but she said that she didn’t want to, couldn’t in fact, sit down and had to stay where she was bent over the chair.

After more shouts of distress, and then one shout of release, she slowly got back to normal and, because by then I’d arrived, despairingly, at a probable cause, I gave the kids instructions about what they could watch on TV and then I took her up to our room.

“As you’ve cleverly guessed,” she said when I’d closed the door, “I was getting vibes from Clive like in the old days, but these were strangely different. Y’know, I’d come to think that that was impossible for him after all this time but, Wow! I haven’t had any vibes from him since before the measles thing and I’m not complaining, mind you, that things are looking up for him but because there was little pleasure in it for me that had to be the same for him too.

“Well, at least he’s trying now and it might well get better in time and he owes me big time seeing that the action has been going one way for years. Well anyway, let me tell you about it because I find it very puzzling. At first it was gentle and nice and then it kept building up and then there were severe stabs of pain and then the pain eased off but kept coming back mixed up with pleasure and then it got to be mostly pleasure. But what’s puzzling about it is, as I’ve said, that all the way through it was odd and strange and different from what I remember. But, that aside, what I want to know is how on earth did he get his virility back?”

I had already guessed what was happening but because his vibes didn’t come at her again for several days we dismissed it as being an ‘unexplainable phenomenon’ but then, the following Friday night at around ten o’clock when we watching TV, they started up again and after a few minutes of moaning she started in on writhing and then she had to kneel down again and lean on a chair for close to five minutes, at first groaning with pain but that soon changed to moaning with pleasure, and then came a shout of release before it all ended and she could sit again. She told me that the pain hadn’t been as bad as the last time and the pleasure had been more distinct but that there was still definitely something strange about it all.

A scant half hour later the same thing happened again and once again she had no choice but to kneel down and bend over the chair for another five minutes or so and when it was over she told me that she was definitely going to call her brother the next morning to find out what was going on.

We went to bed as usual at around midnight and I was getting comfort from her in the spoon position when she cried out, “Oh, Jesus! Not again!”

But t’was so, so t’was.

She had to pull away and stand up and then bend over the bed and when it was well underway she got an idea and she said, “If we can’t beat ‘em we should join ‘em,” and she went on, “Please, Steven dear, let’s do it right now. Can we?” And with that she straightened up and slipped her panties off and then bent over the bed again.

I took steps to get the required equipment to show up but as soon as I got inside her she cried out, “No. No. Stop right now. Take it out, please. Something’s not right. It only hurts!”

It wasn’t a bit easy to do but I did it, of course, and then I stayed there and held her up and waited until she’d stopped writhing and had gone, “Oh, oh, oh!” a few times.

When we were lying down again I asked her what had happened.

She told me that the vibes that she’d been getting from afar didn’t meld properly with the ones that my efforts had been generating in her and so they clashed and made for a “strange and confusing experience.”

After staying silent for a while she remembered her wifely duties and she reached over and found that I was still hard and so she said, “Oh, you poor dear. Bring it here to Mama right now.”

Sure enough, Mama made it all better, but afterwards I couldn’t go to sleep because I couldn’t stop thinking about how, once again, her brother was causing me frustration and humiliation by having made me pull out and wait until he’d finished and so I spent some time thinking up a way to see to it that that didn’t happen again. When I told Celia what I’d come up with she wouldn’t, couldn’t, believe it and so I challenged her into letting me introduce her to anal sex – we’d never so much as given it a thought before because I didn’t want to hurt her seeing that, as I’ve said, I’m on the large side – and then, when she’d gotten her mind around my reason for wanting to do it, she agreed with my prognosis and she let me get on with it. She didn’t get torn but she sure did a whole lot of hollering while it was in process. When it was over she swore, black and blue and up and down, that it was never going to happen to her again but just before I went to sleep she told me, somewhat sheepishly that yes the pain spasms had been very similar to the ones that she’d experienced earlier on by proxy.

The next day was a Saturday, and, intrigued with my theory and wanting to be armed with the truth before confronting her brother, she asked me if we could please do it again, “Oh no! Not now you silly man. I mean when I’ve healed back there – and, if you can manage it, remember to go really slowly next time, please.”

She asked me several times, while we were waiting for her/it to heal, to reassure her that, just like when having her hymen torn to pieces, it only hurts the woman the first time but how could I have possibly known whether that was true or not?

When the time was right – a few days later when a probing finger caused her no pain – she got into position, leaning forwards on the mattress, and she offered herself up, tentatively. After I’d applied some Vaseline, she found that she could accommodate me without much pain and so she gave herself up to the new sensation and she braced herself as best she could.

She told me, when it was over and she’d been kind enough to clean me up seeing that I had no strength left in my knees, that we had to add it to our portfolio because, “I like being able to give you that much extra pleasure and it’s exciting in that it’s probably illegal and – for a reason that I don’t yet understand – by doing it that way it somehow stimulated, in what has to be the ultimate way, a deep, innate need of mine that I didn’t know that I had which is to submit myself totally to the omnipotent penis. And, besides all that, the new set of experiences that I got with little pain were really good. There was nothing to get me to even approach having an orgasm but there was a swamping intensity that I didn’t know was possible! . . . Uh, Steven dear, are there any more ways of doing it that I should know about? Or any new positions, maybe?” but when I reminded her as to why I wanted to get her accustomed to doing it that way she acquiesced and agreed to, “keep it in reserve.”

Following our plan, we waited for the next time that she started getting incoming foreplay vibes and she got into position and, all Vaselined up and ready to go, we waited for the pleasant vibes to end just before the massive one came at her.

When she said, “There. I think that it’s going to – Ooooh! Yes! Yes, it’s happening right now. Do it, please.” I pushed into her and it got to be immediately obvious to her that the incoming vibes interacted perfectly with the feelings that she was getting from my best endeavors and so much so that I had to hold her hips up and in position to be able to continue.

She hadn’t gotten an orgasm before from the vibes alone or from my best efforts alone but with the combined inputs she had a whole series of them.

By the time that it was over, that first ‘combined’ time, I’d learned how to control myself until it was obvious that I had to speed up because she kept up a running commentary that exactly matched, in cadence, the rhythm of what, by proxy, she was receiving from her brother’s – uh – end.

Afterwards neither of us had any strength left and so I had to help and encourage her to ease herself down until she was lying on the bed and we stayed there, co-joined, for however long it was that we needed to get enough strength back to be able to separate and get washed up.

It was three full days before I felt even the slightest stirrings of my libido and the glazed look in Celia’s eyes took at least twenty-four hours to clear.

On Monday morning, after breakfast when I’d gone to work and the children had caught their school bus, she called Clive.

He sounded like what their mother would have called ‘chipper’ and when they’d finished with the small talk he had to come clean, of course, and he told her that he already knew that we’d worked out what was happening to him because of the way that we’d coordinated our efforts with his and then he asked her to let him call her back in an hour or so – she guessed the reason for that and, sure enough, ten minutes later she had to go and lean against something for ten minutes and wait for the vibes to finish having their way with her and a half-hour after that he called her back and they had a long talk.

//                                                                                    //

After Celia had left him to live with me Clive coasted along after having come to terms with having a life in which the only positive feature was being able to share in her love life, and in her orgasms, two or three times through the week and several times over the weekends, but after she’d given birth to the last of our three kids – he knew the exact day and hour and minute that all of them had been born – the frequency of the vibes that he was receiving slipped below the level that his brain and body thought acceptable and he began a long downward slide in mental and physical health.

When, about two months before their long talk, Celia had had to deal with a yeast infection that called for her to forswear all sexual contact with me for a couple of weeks, his body had balked towards the end of it and he finally had to seek help from the family doctor.

As soon as he saw him in one of his examining rooms the doctor, who knew his history well, saw that he was very run down and although he had immediately guessed what was probably troubling him he insisted on giving him a full examination after which he recommended a specialist in Urology.

When he’d received the Urologist’s report it showed that his first prognoses had been almost certainly correct and so he asked his receptionist to call Clive and make another appointment.

When he got there he asked him to sit down in his private office and he gently told him why he was feeling weak and why he’d lost his general drive in life.

“There is no magic pill or potion that I can give you to deal with your symptoms and I could send you to more specialists but I’m sure positive that none of them, except one, will be able to help you.

“I strongly recommend that you go and see this psychiatrist friend of mine who specializes in disorders of – uh – the ones that you have. He’s very good and I’ll advise him of your history before you go to see him and that will get you to avoid any – uh – well, a lot of embarrassment. Yes? Will you see him? Good. Oh, in the mean time, let me give you a prescription for Valium which will get you through the bad times until you get to see him.”

Clive certainly didn’t want to go to a psychiatrist but he knew that he had to and when the shrink’s receptionist told him that there’d be a three week long wait for an available slot he felt relieved about it at first but then, an hour later, sorrow swept over him again and he took a ten milligram pill and was pleased with the resulting feeling of calm that it gave him and he rationed out the remaining nineteen carefully to get himself through the intervening period.

He got worried when he read the plate on the front door of the Psychiatrist’s offices because after listing all of his degrees it said, ‘Specialist in Sexual Aberrations and Disorders’ but, after looking around to be sure that nobody was paying attention to him, he apprehensively but determinedly pushed the door open and went in.

He had to wait for a half hour and by the time that it had gone by he’d skimmed through all of the outdated magazines and some of the, mostly alarming, medical bulletins.

When the receptionist told him, “The doctor will see you now, Mr. Reynolds,” and that he should go inside to Room Three he did so and a minute later he was shaking the man’s hand and, reassuringly, was impressed with his comparatively youthful good looks and then with his air of compassionate caring.

The doctor was long practiced with troubled and sexually ambivalent men and women and he knew that he had to be very patient with them until he could get to know each one’s individual’s traits but, in Clive’s case, his family doctor had briefed him on his condition and so he didn’t need to enquire about the devastating result that the measles had brought with it and so, as was his usual practice, when they were both seated at a little table he told him that he’d like to ask him a long series of questions as to his life in general. Of the thirty odd questions only three were pertinent but by asking the other mundane ones, and getting a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ to them, he could then ask follow-up ones and the answers that he got to those gave him the details that he needed to get to make an overall evaluation. In Clive’s case he was easily able to ascertain that he’d had an overly close relationship with his only sister – his ‘identical twin sister’ which occasioned a large, a very large, red flag to drop in his mind – and that she’d married and had moved out of his life and that he’d never been able to find a suitable replacement for her – as if, as he must well know, there could be such a thing.

When he’d asked Clive all of his questions he put aside the forms and he took off his glasses and leaned back in the chair and said, “Dealing with psychological ailments and hang ups is one thing but dealing with them with a patient who has irreversible physical deficiencies like yours is entirely different, as must be obvious. Consequently, the only way that I can help you is by dealing with your physical disability in a physical manner. Do you see? Good. Well, this is what I want to do. I’d like you come back in a week or two – Oh! – too long a wait for you? – well, all right, lets say three days – I’ll need at least that long to be able to evaluate your answers to my questions. Yes? Good. Well, please wait here and I’ll go and have a word with my receptionist and get her to open up a spot on – uh – let’s see. Today is Tuesday so come back on Friday, yes? At this same time? Is that good for you? Good. Well, now. Let me go and get it done.”

“Thank you Doctor and – uh – can you please give me another prescription for twenty Valium tablets? Oh, uh, ten milligrams again, please.”

When he was sitting in the same chair on the Friday, after being greeted and agreeing that the nice weather was very welcome after an overly long spell of rain, the doctor said, “Do you remember my saying that because you are physically incapable of having a so-called ‘normal love-life’ our approach necessarily has to be on the practical level? Yes? Good. Well, this is what I think might be best for you. Please don’t be alarmed when you hear it because it’s only the first of several methods that we can apply and we’ll move on to the second one if you reject this first one outright.

“Well, there is a good field physical therapist whose services I often call on and I’d like you to go and see him. I want you to let him give you a full body massage during which he’ll professionally be able to evaluate your idiosyncrasies and one of those will be, don’t be alarmed, will be your innate ability to receive and to benefit from contact with another male. Yes. I know that it’s a huge step to take but you’ve got to remember that there’s no other way for you to find a satisfying outlet for the needs that are the root cause of your present general unhappiness and of your failing health. As you undoubtedly know, you’ve lost thirty pounds in the last six months and there is no other reason for it and if it’s allowed to continue unchecked you might get to be really ill.

“Now, listen to me carefully, please Clive. The therapist whom I’m recommending is long experienced and is both accomplished and sensitive and if he gets to realize that you are uncompromisingly heterosexual he’ll simply finish his massage and he’ll tell me that in his report and if that happens we’ll have to – uh – try something else, as I said.

“But please remember that this way we might well find that you’ll be able to shoulder aside your scruples enough to let you get well again without resorting to the use of insidious, habit forming drugs like Valium.

“So. Will you go and see him?”

“Uh, you’re sure that he’ll be able to – uh – evaluate me with out – uh – going too far?”

“I guarantee it. He’s really good at his job. So, you’ll go?”

“Uh – yes, I suppose I should, right?”

“Exactly. You really should. Well now, that’s settled, right? So. Let me prepare you for what will happen. He and I have often discussed what are the best therapy methods to use in similar cases to yours and he is ‘hands on’ as we say, which means exactly that. He’ll start by easing away the knots that are in your muscles and he’ll do the usual things that are done in any and all professional massages but he’ll gradually progress from touching and manipulating to caressing and gentle probing and if, at any time as I’ve already said, it gets to be obvious to him that you are totally incapable of receiving pleasure from another male he’ll go back to simply finishing his full body massage.

“If, on the other hand, he finds that you are getting real pleasure from his touches he will, as I think you’ll agree is logical, progress to – well, to as far as you want to him go with it and that can, and perhaps should if you’re so inclined, include some penetration. Do you see? Do you still agree?”

“Uh – well, yes, seeing that I really do want to get well again, I do agree but I don’t think that it’ll work because I’ve never been the slightest bit attracted to other men in all my life.”

“Well, that could possibly be because any tendency that you might have had ‘that way’ was always obliterated by your – uh – closeness to your twin. Do you agree?”

“Ah, well – maybe. But we’ll soon find out, yes? Will you give me this therapist’s phone number please?”

“Here’s his card with his address. As I just said, I’ve already talked to him about you and he can see you this afternoon at three o’clock. Is that good for you?”

“Wow! That soon? Well, why not, hey? Thank you doctor. Goodbye.”

When he met the therapist he was relieved to see that he was a regular featured man who had a well shaped, weightlifter’s body and because of it he felt a little less apprehensive about the whole thing. At least, he told himself, he wouldn’t recoil from the guy’s touch simply because of a built in aversion to him.

He had to sign several disclaimer forms and, even after that, he was made to pay attention when the man told him that although the massage that he was about to be given might well develop into ‘something more’ he was a professional therapist and when the session was over there could be no further contact between them, “No matter what. Is that fully understood?”

He was shown into a room that had a large massaging table at its center and he was relieved when he was left alone to get undressed. He knew that the shrink must have told the guy about the minuscule size of his package but even so.

He laid himself down on the table as instructed – face down – and then he waited.

The first thing that was done to him was the rubbing in of oil all over the back of his body and the guy’s touch was far from gentle. Similarly, the muscle-locating/rubbing/probing/slapping therapy that came next was also far from being gentle and when he’d completed that phase the next one was very different indeed.

Fingering started at his scalp and then moved down to his neck and then his upper arms and shoulders and then to the small of his back and it felt like TLC and so he, quite involuntarily, started to react favorably to it and he found, to his consternation but never strongly enough to want it to stop, that he was silently willing the hands to get on and reach his erogenous zones more quickly. By that he, naively, meant his genitals because, in his memory, they had been his central, and certainly the main, source of pleasure production.

When his buttocks were being smoothed he thought to himself, “Ha! Not far to go now,” but then he found that he was squirming with pleasure from that alone and was surprised no end when he found that they’d become far more sensitive than usual to being out in the air and were ultra responsive to touches.

When they were forcibly separated, while being squeezed, he gasped with pleasure and need and when ten well-versed fingers started in on rapidly brushing past his anus he called out for – he knew not what.

However, luckily for him, the therapist knew very well ‘what’ was but, being a professional, he had to do two more things first that would make him absolutely sure of his ground and that would also conclude the indoctrination routines which would seal the deal and transfer his client’s long built-in reverence for vulvas to an entirely different object, for ever.

To hold his attention, and to maintain the level of his need, he pushed a latex covered middle finger – the one on his left hand because Clive’s head was turned to the right – into his anus and then moved around to the right hand side of the table where he placed his own, by then fiercely erect, penis into Clive’s hand and when he got the proper response – which was not the outright rejection of it that would have been the case a few minutes earlier but a welcoming wrap-around grasp that didn’t need much encouragement to start in on some gentle squeezing and rubbing – he then bent over and French kissed him and when he felt Clive’s tongue reciprocate nicely that was the go ahead signal that he needed.

He lubricated his penis and then he inserted it firmly and with dispatch where his finger had been.

Clive squealed with pain and soon after that he started to groan with relief that was liberally mixed with pleasure and then he stopped sounding off all together the better to concentrate on accommodating and aiding the alien object that was entering him because he realized that it was supplying him with what was certainly the most satisfying experience that he’d had since before he’d contracted measles and, as he firmly believed at that moment, ever.

When he came around he made to sit up but a hand held him down and he realized that the therapist, for whom he now had a good deal of affection, was washing him and shortly after that he felt him expertly examine his anus for tearing and then came a terse order to get dressed just before the man left the room.

Clive took his time about it because he couldn’t keep from pausing to think back about how very, very good it had been and how ridiculously easy the transfer to what he now recognized as being firm ground for him had been and he relished knowing that there was a viable way out for him and that life wasn’t hopeless after all.

After getting the paper work out of the way he found that leaving his office without gushing to the man about how grateful he was for the, yes, for the loving therapy that he’d received was impossible for him but when he did so the cold indifference that showed on his now very much ex-lover’s face helped him to walk over to the door while retaining a little dignity.

When he put his hand on the knob a good riposte occurred to him and he turned and asked, “Do you really get paid for doing this?”

On his way home – while he was walking to the subway station and sitting in the subway train and while waiting some more in Central Station and on the train that took him to his hometown and while walking to the taxi stand – he became aware that men were giving him quizzical looks and so he eventually got to understand, and hastily took steps to rectify it, that when a man willingly becomes a receiver for another man’s – uh – attention tell-tale limp-wrists and mincing and swishing come with the territory.

When he was sitting in his living room he laughed out loud when the thought came to him that Celia had to have been a very confused woman at a certain point of that afternoon.

His soreness disappeared a few days later and he badly wanted more of the same and so that night he dressed in his most flamboyant clothes and then checked out the gay bar in the next town to his but he found that it was filled with men who were either far too hostile-looking, or far too outlandishly foppish-looking, for his taste and so he didn’t even hang around long enough to have a beer.

For several nights after that he, and Celia, found it difficult to sleep at night because of his very evident anguish but, try as he might, he couldn’t think up any way to find someone to share a bed with that didn’t involve using the internet, which he didn’t trust, or going into Manhattan where he felt vulnerable even when he was merely checking out a new museum exhibition, or some such.

The next day, at around two o’clock, his trick cyclist called him and after asking him how he felt and whether his depression had lifted – and after listening to his answer, which was, “Yes, thank you very much. I’m really thrilled with the result of the therapy although beforehand I didn’t think for a minute that it would, uh, ‘take.’ I’m still amazed by it and I’m thrilled with knowing that it will almost certainly let me find a way to participate in real sex again.” – the doctor told him that the therapist’s report had arrived on his desk a half hour earlier and he’d read it and he was both pleased and worried by it because although it supported his diagnosis very well indeed he’d never read anything in a report from him before that was nearly as enthusiastic.

“Well, let me quote the report directly for you Steven, ‘The patient’s body is well proportioned if a little too thin. His muscles are firm and finely tuned so I guess that he has to be following a strict regimen of exercises. His buttocks are remarkably symmetrical and quite charming and I’ve never seen the like except on the statue of David in Rome and we know all who its sculptor was, don’t we?’ ”

“My God! I thought you said that he’s a professional. That sounds very much like gushing to me.”

“Yes, to me too, and that’s partly why I’m calling you. Because of what it says I don’t think that I’ll be able to use his services again unless you can tell me that he hasn’t contacted you since your session.”

“He has not.”

“Ah, good. Well, will you please promise me that if he does so in future you’ll call me at once?”

“I’ll do that, yes.”

“Thank you. Now let me get to the second reason for this call.

“Well, because I can – and, indeed, I’ll do so immediately after this call – stamp your folder, ‘Case Closed,’ and file it away for ever that will end our doctor-patient relationship and that means that I can invite you to see me on a social basis. Would you like that? Please say yes because I’ve liked you from the moment that I first saw you.”

“Wow! Really? Do you mean like a date?”

“Exactly like a date. If you come into town tonight we’ll have drinks and go out to dinner and I promise that if we don’t hit it off, or if you want to leave for any reason at all, I guarantee that I’ll put you on the next train back to your hometown. Please? What do you say, Clive?”

“Wow. Well – uh – Brian, I must admit that I liked you at first sight too and I’m ever so grateful for – uh – what you did for me, so – uh – all right, where shall I meet you?”

When they met up in the bar of the restaurant that Brian had picked out – because it was easy to get to, and from, the train station – they shook hands and they both acknowledged to themselves at once that doing so was very different from the handshakes that they’d exchanged when meeting and parting on the two occasions that Clive had visited his office and so they were loath to let go.

With such a good start Brian gave the Major D’ a special nod and they were shown to a secluded table a few minutes later. He knew from the handshake that he wouldn’t have to ply Clive with a lot of alcohol nor lose valuable time wooing him to get him to stay the night at his place and he was, understandably after having been to Rome himself, anxious to get to see, and to evaluate for himself, a body that had a bottom that rivaled – David’s, no less.

When the taxi dropped them off at a cross street down the road from Brian’s building he led Clive along the street and then down the ramp to the garage where they could take an elevator directly up to his floor. He apologized and promised him that using that means of ingress to the building would only have to be done once.

When the door to his apartment got to be closed behind them Brian reached for Clive’s hand and that was enough to get them to kiss and then Brian led the way to his bedroom.

They got on famously and Brian, who had seen the statue in question in Rome, was awed by what he had in bed with him and, after a few hours of bliss, he decided to pay the Therapist extra in appreciation for having given him, Brian, the heads-up on finely chiseled and delightful in all ways – Clive.

That was the night that Celia got very little sleep indeed, nor did I, due to the number of times that she was woken up by her brother’s vibes coming at her.

//                                                                                         //

The twins’ long talk to each other – understanding leads to forgiving – also led to their reconciliation and Celia and I started going to their house in Long Island regularly and it wasn’t only filial love, nor the fact that it was huge and luxurious and was situated near the beach, that drew us there. It was mainly for the good sex that was in the offing for me and for the superb sex that was there for Celia.

That was possible because Brian’s and Clive’s routines had settled into a pattern of Brian driving them both there on Saturday afternoon and he’d stay until early Monday morning and then drive back on his own and Clive would catch a train to the city on Wednesday afternoons and he’d stay in Brian’s apartment until it got to be time to go back out to Long Island with him on the Saturday morning.

Our routine became that we’d drop off our kids at my parents’ place in New Jersey on Saturday morning and Celia and I would then drive to the beach house – this in the spring and summer and fall – and we’d stay until late on Sunday afternoon when we’d drive back to New Jersey and have dinner with my parents. My parents and the kids got on very well indeed for which we were grateful because we soon learned to like our weekends away very much.

Because getting to the beach from the house is very convenient we go there often and when we come back we take turns under the outside shower, cold water only, to wash the sand off.

On the first day that we did that we’d stripped our swimming suits off and had hung them to dry on a nearby bush and had modestly turned our backs to the others as we were standing in the water jets, and I got to see that Brian is as well hung as I am and that astonished me because in all my life I’ve never met another man – in school in the shower after a game or in college or in the Navy or, wherever – who could match mine for size. It was also the first time that Clive had seen mine and that Celia had seen Brian’s so, for a while, there were four sets of eyes ogling our two dicks. Celia broke us all up when she giggled and said, “My God! Will you look at that? Another set of identical twins!”

The next day was a Sunday and, after brunch, Brian and I went down to the beach – both Celia and Clive had decided to stay indoors because they’d taken too much sun the day before – and when we came back, and had cold-showered away the sand, we went inside to take a more thorough one in hot water. At the top of the stairs Brian headed for the main bedroom – it was his and Clive’s because Clive lived there permanently – and I headed for the bathroom that adjoins the guest room and I’d only just put my hand on the door knob before I heard Brian hiss my name with some urgency and when I turned to look in his direction I saw that he had a finger to his lips and that his other hand was grasping, obviously in an effort to subdue it, the formidable object that was making the center of his robe bulge outwards. He beckoned at me to come back and when I got there he whispered, “You’ve got to see this,” as he led the way into the master bedroom.

Brother and sister were naked and were sound asleep on the bed and Clive was lying on his left side with his right leg forward and bent at the knee and Celia was cuddled up behind him with her face pressed against the back of his neck and her right arm was flung over his upper arm and her right leg was up on his hips for some reason.

Both of their lovely bottoms, identical except in size, were therefore prominently displayed and both of their anuses were looking directly towards us as we stood in the doorway – it was that that had turned Brian on, of course – and Celia’s plump, white, soft, outer labia were clearly visible through her sparse pubic hair and seeing that very definitely turned me on too.

I looked at Brian and he looked at me – by then I too had been forced to use my right hand to comfort and rein-in what was creating the mound in my robe – and we raised a quizzical eyebrow and the slightest of nods got us to let our robes fall to the floor and then move to wake up our significant others with kisses and then we pushed and pulled them into the proper improper positions to allow intermingling to take place.

That session proved to be spectacularly successful and truly satisfying for all concerned and from then on we all slept in the big bed together – that is, of course, when we didn’t have guests staying with us but even then we weren’t made overly bereft by it because, of course, Clive and Celia would know when there was action starting up for the other one and the as-yet-not-engaged one would inform his/her partner and they would hasten to catch up and then see to it that we all finished together.

Because there were no longer any rules or shyness to contend with – and when I was sure positive that Brian wasn’t a bit interested in Celia’s breasts nor in what she had between her legs whether we were at the beach or taking a shower or in bed – I was able to relax and from then on we all four mingled uninhibitedly. We’d indulge in a lot of anything-goes love play and the action would progress until we got to the point where the twins would both be lying on their stomachs with pillows under their hips and they’d be holding hands and their heads would be turned inwards so that they could look into each other’s eyes and offer each other in their private language – what? Endearments? Encouragement? Only they knew what went on between them – and we’d see that there was delight showing on their faces that was there partly due to their knowing that they were together again, and as close as ever and were able to share everything that they had again, and partly because they were eagerly looking forward to what was about to happen.

Brian and I would apply lubrication, strategically, and then we’d meld with our significant others and the pleasure that we got for ourselves was always strengthened by a huge factor because the amount of it that both recipients were getting, directly, reverberated back and fore between them and it got increased with each cycle which made them respond more which, in turn, made us increase our efforts to please, and so on.

When they climaxed the level of pleasure that had to be coming at them could only be imagined by us but, as I said, Brian and I are well content with what we get but what the twins get from the ultimate hedonistic act is something that common or garden words can’t begin to describe.

There’s only one descriptive phrase that comes close – Ineffable Love.

However, in spite of that, Celia often tells me that she’s fervently grateful that she didn’t give birth to twins.