Ames and Oscar were identical twins. I started dating Ames two summers ago, and learned about Oscarr pretty early. It didn’t mean much at the time, at the “getting to know each other” stage, but even then, a small part of me knew, or at least suspected, or at least fantasized, that it was probably inevitable. That when I started dating an identical twin that at some point along the line, they would switch on me at least once. I ignored that voice – because it was silly, because it was fantasy, and because I was taking it slow, making sure I knew the man before I let him into my bed, which I eventually did.

This meant it was simultaneously a startling betrayal and deep, secret fulfillment when, after a few months of increasingly fin and intense relationship building (and better and better fucking), they confessed to me. I’d gone over to Ames’ place for dinner (with my lingerie secretly telegraphing the dessert I was expecting), to find that Oscar was also there fore the meal, and apparently more. Partway through the excellent meal, the admission came – told by both of them taking turns, that they had in fact switched on me. Not just once – but literally all the time – almost every date. I had not been getting to know “the man.” I’d been getting to know two men at the same time. Almost every other time I slept with my “boyfriend” I was in fact sleeping with his twin. I’d had no idea. I had fucked both of them, and both of them were very good at making me cum – both of them had gotten to know me extremely well. I even thought I might be starting to fall in love, but with whom? And what to do about the deception?

As if that weren’t complicated enough, their confession included the dual declaration that they were both falling for me as well. The awkward silence that followed the earnest confrontation was almost unbearable. So many assumptions upended. So many truths turned into lies – but revealing other truths.

In the end, the solution was obvious.

Both of them had been intimate with me. Both of them knew what turned me on, and how to give me pleasure. Both of them knew the rest of me as well – my likes and dislikes, how to make me laugh, how to make me feel better if I was down, how to share themselves (all except for that one thing, anyway). I knew what they liked also. I knew who “he” was – the single fake man that the two brothers had built. But that meant I also knew a lot about who they really were, too. I kind of wanted to know the rest. So, why couldn’t everyone have what they wanted?

The silence had progressed beyond awkward to almost unbearable by that point. Ames and Oscar were waiting, expressions neutral like they were ready for nearly anything – an explosion of rage, trembling accusations, the sobs of a broken heart. Maybe in the very back of their minds they’d held a prayer or a fantasy, but when I slowly stood and pulled my dress off my shoulders to reveal the outfit underneath that I had known would turn Ames all the way on, they were actually taken by surprise. And it was also quite evident that in choosing something that would excite Ames, I had also found what would titillate Oscar as well. I told them in a voice that did not tremble, that I knew exactly half as much as I wanted too know – as much as I needed to know – to make a decision about all this, and that they had better get started on filling in those gaps.

Being taken by both of them at the same time was… surreal. It was also mindblowing. I don’t know how many women fantasize about having more than one lover who really knows them, but I got to live it. I get to live it. In the end, I may really be falling for both of them.

Categories: Cassie Andra, Erotic Fiction, The Wrong AlphabetTags: , , ,

Cassie Andra

Old enough to know better and not care. Vanilla on the outside. Vanilla through and through, except for the mind. You don't want to go there, but I'll give you peeks. Be warned: erotica themes include standard fun, but also the taboo-est of the taboo. Coming of age, infidelity, family relations, dubious and non-consent. Every throbbing inch of it is, however, fantasy, and should be treated as such.

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