'Irish Twins' Home Alone Sequel

According to Albert, Andy had fifteen minutes to get back to the equipment installation. But first, he had to find his mom and pass along some information.

"Hey, Mom," he greeted her, as she sat eating at her desk with a pile of scripts and inked-in changes she had made. It looked like another school night at home.

"I need to share something with you ..."

"Something about yesterday, honey?" Doris' eyebrows arched inquisitively.

"Not exactly. ... It's about David."

"And what about David?" Doris asked, as she set her sandwich down. She knew David, a bright-but-conflicted student filled with angst that was revealed in his autobiography assignment she had graded for her Senior English Writing Class.

Andy made it short, simple, and direct -- an 'always Andy' answer. "David ... told me he never made any advances toward Sissy. He's not gay. And he is here to lose his virginity. I thought you might like to know. In case ... you know? He's timid and didn't tell you."

Like the wind, Andy blew back out the door as quickly as he entered, not waiting for a response from his mother. His past experiences taught him that his mother was brilliant and sensitive. She would know what to do with what he gave her. At least, he hoped that still applied to kids just over eighteen years old by mothers and teachers.

Yesterday, he and Sissy had tested those motherly limits. And Sissy sneaking into his room late last night for a sixty-nine quickie wasn't helping the situation. Though, it did help provide that feel-good sense of relief for sexual shyness on his part. The fact that their family parle determined it wouldn't happen again. Well, it did. Sissy explained it away by logical-debate means, defining what 'that' meant like some Arkansas lawyer did when he infamously said, 'It depends on what the meaning of 'is' is.

Andy, though, wasn't much into logic. He was, however, into Sissy's suggestion of going sixty-nine on each other as she stripped naked before him while explaining what 'that' was. Andy was gaining confidence. 'Perhaps, tonight, there could be another clandestine repeat,' Andy thought, as he weaved his way through the large storage area -- now a mockup of rooms in a well-illuminated home setting with wall-mounted cameras and appropriate furniture. The bedrooms had furniture on wheels and quickly rolled back to let camera crew members behind the headboards for head-to-toe shots.

Meanwhile, as the door swung shut, Doris smiled at her Andy's concern for David; Andy, the not-a-baby-boy-anymore man.

'Baby, your heart is in the right place, except for yesterday's misplaced sex. Anyone but your sister. You screwed that up -- you screwed your sister, too. I'm not Cupid, but I could work on something for a shy virgin and a newfound lover,' she mused.

'Now that would be a different quality piece of porn. Perhaps Mrs. Wilkes, the elementary counselor, would aid in resolving David's virginity dilemma. Just those two, on a quiet set, as an actual loss of virginity film, a poignant piece tinged with some romance. It would certainly not be a scene of a girl pretending to be a virgin with multiple tattoos and a pierced clit, spitting on his dick, and jumping some guy's boner like a professional cowgirl at the local bar somewhere,' Doris ventured, as she glanced about her desk, heaped with manuscripts.

Digging through a pile of those for one she had glanced at and dismissed earlier, Doris found one that might work. Re-do the beginning and ending a bit, and -- it could work as a mature-woman-helps-a-boy-overcome-his-shyness story.

"I'll call you Walter ..." she mused, perusing the script once more.

"Too bad I can't rewrite yesterday's script of my kids ... fucking one another," she muttered aloud, as an afterthought opening the script on her laptop. She deleted the intro and the final scenes and started fresh:

FADE IN:

EXT. remote rural HOME -- LATE AFTERNOON

WE OPEN on a modern rural home. The front window curtains are parted. We see the silhouette of a long-haired woman watching out of the window. We slowly push in closer and see a late fortyish blonde watching expectantly for a grocery van to arrive.

CUT TO:

INT. VAN -- GROCERY BAGS

UNUSUAL-LOOKING YOUNG MAN gathers several bags. Closes van. He opens the sidewalk gate and strolls up to the front door. It's WALTER (18), a tall, linebacker-sized young man preoccupied with time, looking at his watch. He is dressed in a light brown employer shirt with his name embroidered and khaki shorts. The attire stands in strong contrast to his very different appearance: an albino with not a single visible sign of hair on his head, arms, or legs.

WALTER (TALKING TO HIMSELF)

I swear, if I get one more crack about being dressed for an alien costume party, I will punch that puss. People should respect me and just shut the fuck up about my --

JUST THEN, the front door slowly creaks open. DOTTIE WHITE (49), attractive, busty, and nervous, steps outside. She is dressed in summer workout clothes: bare midriff, spandex shorts, and barefoot.

WALTER CONVERSATION

Hands full of groceries gawks.

Ah, delivery for Dorothy White, ma'am.

DOROTHY WHITE CONVERSATION

I'm she. But I go by Dottie. Come on in; just put them on the kitchen table, please.

QUICKLY SPINS AROUND WALKING AWAY -- Expects Walter to follow.

WALTER CONVERSATION

CALLS OUT TO DOTTIE -- as she disappears around the corner.

Ma'am. I'm not supposed to deliver inside.

SIGHS -- Left alone at the open door

He spots a white cane for the visually impaired, leaning against the closet door.

REALIZES HER IMPAIRMENT

LOW VOICE SIGH

And I thought I had problems.

CUT TO HALLWAY

Walter lugs the three bags of groceries through the living room and turns down the hallway toward where he believes the kitchen to be.

FADE OUT

Doris had the start of the movie script. She'd run it by Hank later, but first had to pull Mrs. Wilkes out of her dry-run script reading of the other plots being considered for filming this week.

"Mrs. Wilkes," she thought of her approach with a grin as she sought out the elementary school counselor, "how'd you like to roleplay a lonely vision-impaired woman and take an eighteen-year-old's virginity this week to get started?" Or, she mused, would that not be how a counselor begins her conversation with a virgin seeking a first encounter?

Andy made it back into the control room just as Albert, the electrical engineer, arrived. Albert had a big grin, bigger than the one he left with earlier. Andy hadn't seen him at the cafeteria and was curious about his lunch break -- especially with a pleased smile.

"You brought your lunch, Albert? Didn't see you at the cafeteria."

Albert grinned broadly, "Had a fur burger for lunch, kid; low-calorie diet." Then chuckled, as he picked up a spool of cable and was off to the remote cameras again.

Andy was left puzzled by the fur burger comment. "What's a fur burger?" He wanted to ask, but Albert was gone. 'Perhaps, tomorrow, I'll try one. A strange name for a burger,' Andy figured, 'probably something Caflifornian. But if it's as good as the bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich today, that would be great.' Andy thought, as he started installing more monitors and loading the editing software his dad had given him earlier.

While the software loaded, Andy connected a second workstation and typed in 'fur burger' in the browser window to see the ingredients. His eyebrows went up as he shut down the computer's browser window. No wonder Albert had such a big grin.

'Got to ask Sissy if she knows about fur burgers,' Andy smiled, as he set to work.

The afternoon was a flurry of activities as Albert introduced Andy to the two newbie Steadicam guys. Those were far better than the handheld cams in the high-school productions. Albert ran tests on all the remote-mounted cameras, the close-ups, and the switch gear Andy used in the A-roll and B-roll editing equipment. With a few minor adjustments, the setups were fully functional. Andy had done a quick edit and a brief character generator overlay, using the crew's names. Andy stared at the blowup sex doll they were filming. It was the first sex toy he had seen outside Andreanna's battery-operated one. He was tempted to stick a finger in ... but resisted the temptation.

"Fuck, Andy," Albert chuckled, "it all works on the first day. And kid, you've got some talent. You handle those controls pretty well for a newbie. Maybe Hollywood one day, eh?"

Andy was basking in the praise when Hank came in. Andy had that caught-playing feeling, but Albert glossed that over by rerunning what he called a 'test shot' of the equipment. Hank saw that, recognized Andy's editing style immediately, and nodded.

"Trial shots for real tomorrow then, Albert?" he asked.

"Yeah, boss ... if you want naked ones, I'll volunteer for those," Albert laughed.

In Andy's presence, Hank wasn't all that comfortable in answering. "We'll see." That was the way Hank answered that. Given what he saw yesterday, he still wasn't sure that having Andy behind an editing console was an excellent solution to rein in his libido.

"We'll wrap up in an hour. I'm headed to check in on the script readers. If you need me ..." And Hank was out the door.

"Why are you smiling, kid?" Albert asked, catching the grin on Andy's face.

"Fur burger." Andy snickered. "I looked that up."

Andy's remark had Albert laughing. "I'm old school kid; I like 'em natural. You had any fur burgers, Andy?"

Andy turned a little red at his remark. "Just one," he managed to answer, hoping Albert didn't wander into the situation. He wasn't ready to discuss sex outside of conversations with Sissy. He hadn't eaten hers. Instead, he just ran his tongue around it in haste to explore the other soft and fleshy mounds that captivated his attention. The potent smell of lust had given him some reservations.

"Well, kid, take a word of advice from an experienced man with years in the porn business. Get all the pussy you can, and as often as you can. 'Cause when you get old, you're gonna regret it if you don't. A man's cock eventually runs down, and a day comes when you want it to get stiff -- but it won't work that way anymore. You're gonna start looking back at all that missed pussy and wish you had done it more often and with every available gal that came along and offered ... or that would accept your offer."

"For real?" Andy blinked in response. "That happened to you?"

"Hell, no! Kid, I ain't that damned old!" Albert shot back, with a belly laugh. "Andy, that's for real. No old guys discuss it openly. So, I'd guess a youngster like you hasn't had that kind of conversation. But it is as real as my name is on some of those movies still floating around labeled vintage movies."

With that, Albert grinned that million-dollar Hollywood smile, reached out, opened the web browser, and typed in a URL entry. Up popped nearly two dozen movies with his name and bio-pictures. As it turns out, Albert was a famous bodybuilder, under another name, turned porn star, then went back to college to finish an electrical engineering degree. He returned to work on porn stages because it was an easy gig, and as Albert chuckled about it, 'it was easier to get plenty of ass.'

"Andy, let me give you another piece of advice. Suppose you're with a woman and thinking about if she would -- don't leave the question hanging. Tell her you'd like to do her any way she wants. And make sure you tell her you enjoy cunnilingus performances. Kid, the worst that could happen is she turns you down. The best you can hope for is to lay her when she accepts. Throwing in the cunny treatment is like setting out a jar of honey and opening the window -- draws the queen bees in like magic."

Andy's smile was almost as big as Albert's, as he tucked away that first helpful nugget of adult knowledge about women and -- don't let it hang, ask -- concept. Who knew it was that simple? It seems it works for Albert, anyway. He got a fur burger for lunch. Guess she liked it that way, Andy mused as he returned to work.

INTERNAL DIALOG DOTTIE WHITE

STARING OUT THE FRONT WINDOW -- THE CURTAIN DRAWN PARTIALLY BACK

"Life gets damned lonely," she says, glancing at a blank television screen. "You've become my conversation companion for the past two years."

VOICE-OVER, PENSIVE WINDOW SCENE

"At forty-nine, my doctor spotted some macular degeneration; not correctable. Its sudden onset left my husband and me in an unprepared state. I retired from teaching; Walter moved his work from downtown to a home office environment. Then, we sold the two-story for safety and moved to a rural ranch home, forty-five minutes outside the city limits. Close enough to medical sites and a nearby rural shopping center. The one-story was designed with age-in-place concepts, and the terrain was flat. I had a garden area that kept me busy and my mind off the ever-increasing onset of ... blindness.

"Things got worse from there. An EMS unit took my Walter to the closest hospital, never to return. Alone, at home, I managed. But I depend on the local delivery of weekly groceries from Nate's Produce and Meat Market out on the highway.

"I stood peering out the front window, pulling back the curtain. He was late. I was anxious about having my routine broken. The store manager had said she had hired a new delivery guy for the summer, a soon-to-be college student."

TELEPHONE CONV -- DOTTIE & LINDA - MANAGER

"I hope he's dependable," I said to Linda, as she took my usual order.

"Yes, Dottie, he seems to be pretty mature. Big with lots of muscles ... shy though," she added.

"Sounds like you got a crush going on there," I teased.

"No," she said, "he's not my type."

I left the conversation at that. Linda's type was more along the lines of anything with a swinging dick that also came with a long tongue. Wrong, I know, I shouldn't be thinking like that. But without getting some myself, my mind tended to wander there.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of tires crunching on gravel. The familiar silhouette of the delivery van came to a quick halt. I heard the back doors rapidly open. I could tell by the sounds that he was in a hurry.

He came through the gate lugging three full bags of groceries, all in one trip. He closed the gate and headed up the walkway. I waited for his knock and heard him muttering to himself, before I opened the door.

"I swear, if I get one more crack about being dressed for an alien costume party, I will punch that puss. People should respect me and just shut the fuck up about my..."

"Afternoon, ma'am. I'm Walter. Got a delivery for Mrs. Dorothy White."

I'm she. But I go by Dottie. Come on in; just put them on the kitchen table, please.

His introduction caught me by surprise. I hadn't expected to hear 'Walter.' It jarred me and punched me in the gut. I felt a wave of grief flash upon me. Raw and as bitter as the day my Walter left me, without saying goodbye.

I turned and scurried down the hallway, hiding my tears and stress. I'd left my white cane at the doorway. I didn't use it anymore, at least inside. My mind had every inch of the house mapped out in footsteps. If you didn't know I operated by shadows and counting footsteps, you'd never know I had low acuity vision.

"Ma'am." I heard him call out, "I'm not supposed to deliver inside." But I couldn't deal with that now. He'd see my tears and think I was a fool.

"Shit! Now, what do I do?" Walter muttered, "Hell ... that's a white cane for the visually impaired leaning against the closet door. And I thought I had problems." Walter sighed, adding to his dilemma.

'I can't leave these heavy bags here after she said to put them on the kitchen table. Probably used to having them carried inside.' On that note, Walter walked inside, trying to follow the direction of the petite lady with a cute body. The one who abruptly left him in the doorway and expected him to follow her through the hallway.

The hallway was dark. The only light came from the open door at the end of it. Walter took that direction; it seemed a natural course of action, until he walked into a bedroom with a crying woman sitting at the end of it.

"Ah, sorry, lady!" he uttered, "I thought this was the kitchen."

"No, the other way, twenty paces and then left and fifteen paces on the right is the kitchen. And I'm sorry to ... for leaving you so abruptly, Walter," she countered.

"You see, I lost my husband, my Walter, two years ago. Hearing your name just brought back a flood of memories to these old eyes.

Walter's youthfulness didn't know how to process that remark. It should have been along the lines of 'sorry for your loss.' And made a hasty retreat. Instead, it came out as, "You aren't old, ma'am. You're more like my mom's age."

Then Walter had a second, brief, unspoken thought as he stared, 'Hey, although you could be my MILF.'

Between wiping away a tear or two, Dottie did some mental arithmetic, eighteen for his age, double that for a minimum for his mother -- possibly thirty-six. Dottie smiled despite the situation and took that as a compliment at her forty-nine years of age. She knew, though, that an eighteen-year-old kid wasn't good at guessing a person's age. Still, it was nice to think he could do that with some degree of accuracy.

"Bet you say that to all the oldies you deliver to, Walter," she managed with a slight smile.

"No, ma'am, you're the only old one," he replied, standing there with his hands full and his foot just inserted into his mouth for a second time -- still without realizing it.

"Could you put the milk, butter, and juice in the refrigerator, Walter? I'll be right out."

Dottie prompted him when she saw he hadn't moved. His eyes, she could tell, were fixed on her attire; she finally realized that even though her vision was hazy. Her Walter used to say, "You've got the legs and ass of a twenty-five-year-old." She was in her workout bra and spandex shorts in the exercise room when she went to look out the front window. Not the best of attire to be in, to greet a young delivery boy at the front door.

Walter really didn't see that he had a choice. She asked him to help again. She was ... visually impaired. And he had come this far, ending up in the wrong room to boot. He pivoted and followed her directions to the kitchen, putting away the perishable goods.

Then he waited. And waited. 'Didn't she say she would come right out?'

"Is she okay, after all?" he said aloud, in that habit of talking to himself. In search of an answer, he meandered back down the darkened hallway and into the open doorway. It was the action of a naïve kid, like a fly drawn to a spider's web, perhaps.

Dottie still sat on the end of the bed -- nervous now, rather than tearful.

Walter's eyes popped, and his jaw dropped simultaneously, like a fish out of water.

"Is this too forward?" Dottie inquired of him, hoping it was not.

Walter was speechless. He was still gawking at the nude figure sitting on the edge of the bed with her arms by her side, grasping the rolled corner of the duvet.

Dottie tried to gauge his reaction, but her vision couldn't account for the facial response, the lack of hair she hadn't noticed, and the albinism lost in the shades of gray she could detect. She did hear his heavy breathing, however. And took that as a possible favorable sign. She felt, rather than saw; his eyes were roaming her nakedness. He'd lost his ability to speak, move, or breathe -- his automatic reflexes finally drew a deep breath for him -- or he would have died.