My Twin Loves

There was one girl, Donna, whom I suppose could be called the twins' best friend. She went to high school and college with them. She'd known Lynn and Amy longer than anyone else in the world. My gang went to a sports bar for a hockey game and the twins brought Donna along. I'd been dating Lynn about two months at this point and was desperate for information that would either prove or debunk my hypothesis.

During the first intermission Lynn told me that Donna thought my friend Pete was cute. Donna was short and blonde and perky, and Lynn asked me if I might put in a good word. I said of course, but when Lynn walked back to the bar I told Donna it was going to cost her.

"Really? What do you want?"

I took her hand and pulled her into the seat next to mine. "Information."

For the next fifteen minutes I interrogated Donna about Lynn. Most of the information she gave me was useless, but there was one subject we discussed that was very illuminating. I asked about Lynn's old boyfriends, and she said, "Well, she really doesn't have any."

"What? None?"

She shook her head. "I mean, she dated lots of guys, she and Amy both did, but neither ever had a real steady guy. You're the record-holder."

I found that hard to believe and I said so. "I know, we used to talk about it-I mean the other girls in our group back in school. Lynn would date a guy, and Amy would say she didn't like him. Amy would go out with someone, and Lynn would shake her head and say she didn't know what Amy saw in him. They would get into some pretty nasty fights about it, too."

"I can't imagine them arguing."

"They never did, and never do, except about boys. I don't know, maybe when one is dating, the other is afraid of being left behind, and they fight. I've never met two people who are closer to each other than Lynn and Amy. You have to remember, all the family they've ever had is each other."

There was a question I wanted to ask, and I finished the final four ounces of my Rolling Rock before I gathered enough courage. "Is Lynn a virgin?"

Her lips curled down. "I don't think I should answer that."

I shook my head. "You're right, it's wrong of me to even ask"

A huge roar filled the bar-the Penguins had tied the game. Donna took a big gulp of her beer and leaned forward. "She is."

"Oh," I said, trying to keep the elation out of my voice.

"Amy is too."

I said "Oh" again. The waitress came and I ordered another round. "I need to know something. Can you tell them apart? Is there a trick to it, something you've figured out since you've known them so long?"

She shrugged, and shook her head. "I can't tell them apart. No one at school could either." She looked over my shoulder, making sure the twins were absorbed in the game. "Lynn's better at math than Amy. Amy's good at English. Back in high school, and in college, they would switch places for tests. No one ever caught on. I didn't either. Lynn told me one night when she had a bit too much to drink."

"Wow," I said, more disturbed than I let on.

"I know, you wouldn't think girls as nice as that would do something, well, dishonest. But they did." Our waitress set two green bottles on the table and I took a long pull at mine. I looked over at Lynn, watching the game with ferocious intent, and Donna grabbed my hand to refocus my attention. "She's a great girl. I love her to death. If you hurt her, I'll kick you in the nuts."

"That's strange, Pete was talking about how he'd like to meet a girl who likes kicking guys in the nuts. He gets off on that."

A minute later I was introducing Donna to Pete. I stayed just long enough to let their conversation take flight, and then left them for my seat next to Lynn.

"What were you talking about?"

"She wanted to warn me about what would happen if I ever hurt you. She's violent, did you know that?"

She giggled. "Then why are you fixing her up with Pete?"

"Because I don't like Pete."

"Are you even watching the game?" Amy complained, and just as she turned Mario Lemieux fired the puck between the goalie's legs. The bar erupted, and as I watched Amy's face turn from me to the screen, and then blossom into an expression of joy, I remembered the same expression on the face of the girl I kissed under the lamppost in the park. I turned left, and Lynn's face had the same triumphant smile.

I yelled something appropriate and let Lynn kiss me, but my heart was troubled. I couldn't shake the feeling that the girl kissing me tonight wasn't the girl I kissed the day before.

It turned out it wasn't just a feeling. Because, a few weeks later, I got some evidence.

The first time Lynn visited my house I gave her the grand tour. I made dinner and we both cleaned up afterward. A week later Lynn came over again, and I was very curious to see if "Lynn" knew her way around.

She passed with flying colors. She knew where the bathroom was. When I asked her to get the coffee out of the cupboard, she knew which one to look in. The first time she came over she'd especially liked a photograph of Pittsburgh at night that I have hanging in my office. When she saw it again she said, "I really do like that picture," as though she'd commented on it before.

But. The first time Lynn came over, I showed her a picture of me with my mother when I graduated from college. It sat on a table in my living room. The second time Lynn came over, I switched pictures. It was still a picture of me at graduation, but it was me and my Aunt Karen, my mother's sister. They look a bit alike, but they're far from identical.

It was a setup.

I maneuvered Lynn to the couch, seating her so she could see the picture. After we watched the movie and I'd gone for more popcorn, Lynn welcomed me back with a smile and motioned to the picture. "You really do have your mother's eyes," she said.

She'd said the same thing the week before. Made the same observation about my mother. And now she'd said the same thing about my aunt. I felt something twist inside me, twist tight then snap. "Oops, have something in my eye," I said. I ran to the bathroom, flushed the toilet, and vomited into the swirling vortex.

That wasn't Lynn. It was Amy. Or, it was Lynn this time, and Amy had been here the week before.

Or, to be consistent, Number 2 was here tonight, and Number 1 had been here before.

Two weeks later Lynn and I had dinner with my parents. I introduced her to Mom and Dad and carefully watched her reaction. And there was one. She had her megawatt smile on for my father, but when she shook my mother's hand, there was a brief hesitation, a quick flash of confusion. Then she caught herself, that smile blazed forth, and all was well.

As we left the restaurant my mother grabbed my arm. "You let this one go, I disown you." We said our goodnights, and then Lynn and I walked back to my car.

"You're mother looks different than I imagined," she said. There was the tiniest edge to her voice.

"How so?" I said with practiced nonchalance.

"That picture you have at home. She looked...she didn't look like I expected."

I held the door open for her and she didn't get in. She was staring at me. She suspected something. I was gripping the door handle so hard I thought I might break it off.

"Her hair's a lot different now," I said. "It used to be straight, but now she's wears it curly." A lie. My mother's hair has been curly since the day she was born. My Aunt Karen's is straight as rain. The girl standing in front of me had only seen the picture for five seconds. She was thinking, thinking. I smiled at her. And then, just like that, her face softened, and she leaned against the door.

"I like your parents."

"They adore you. They like you more than they like me."

She kissed me. "Let's go home."

We drove back to her house, we sat on the couch, and I spent an hour kissing Amy. *****

But that was the only slip I caught. Not that I didn't keep trying. One night, when we were at my place watching a movie, I asked Lynn if Amy had ever shown an interest in any of my friends. I was just fishing.

"No," she said.

"Would you mind if sometime I asked Rick over and had you and Amy over to see if, uh, maybe they hit it off?"

It was the first time I detected a chill in Lynn's musical voice. "I don't think Amy would be interested."

"Oh, OK."

"Why are you so determined to fix my sister up with someone?" She was upset, but hiding it.

"I'm not. It's just that Rick is a nice guy, he thinks Amy is nice, she's not seeing anyone..." I threw that line out, fishing some more.

"I know Rick is a nice guy. And if Amy wanted to go out with him, she'd let him know." Then she said something that chilled my very marrow. "Wouldn't it bother you, wouldn't you think it was weird, if my sister dated one of your friends?"

It wasn't just what she said, it was how she said it. Those blue eyes burned into me. She was angry. But the reason why she was angry was left unspoken. "Why would it bother me?" I asked. Even though it WOULD bother me, it would make me crazy. If the twins really were switching back and forth with me, then the girl I loved would be going to the movies with Rick. And that was totally unacceptable.

Lynn still hadn't answered my question. So I asked it again. She paused, thinking. Then she said, "What if Amy started dating Rick, and it didn't work, wouldn't it be tough for him to see us together?"

It was plausible. Her concerns made sense.

And it was bullshit. That wasn't why she was upset. She was upset because if Amy started dating Rick, she would be dating Rick too. She was upset because both twins were dating me and they didn't want to date anyone else.

I know it sounds arrogant. Nothing could be further from the truth. She looked at me and there was a challenge in her eyes. Go ahead, her eyes said. Ask.

Or maybe I was just seeing things. Not that it mattered. I didn't have the courage. "Well, I guess I see your point."

She smiled, I think with relief that I'd passed the test. "It's nice that you want Amy to be as happy as you've made me."

"I make you happy?"

"Very happy."

She kissed me, hard, her tongue driving into my mouth. I put my hands on her breasts. She untucked my shirt and ran her hands over my chest, my stomach. Then her hand moved down to my thigh.

She said, "Honey, I want to do something to you."

"To" me. "What?" I said, watching her hand move between my legs.

Her tongue touched her upper lip. "I want to make you feel good."

"Lynn." She began unbuckling my belt. My breathing quickened. She wasn't going to...no...

She unzipped me. "Lynn." She stood and helped me to my feet and then she pulled my pants down. I was hugely erect. "You're so big," she whispered.

She didn't have to do this. I wanted to tell her that she didn't need to do this. I loved her anyway. I wanted to tell her that but the words wouldn't come.

She said, "I want to show you how much love I have to give you."

She pushed me down on the sofa and knelt between my opened legs. She took my penis in her hand and looked at it like it was the first one she'd ever seen. She said, "You're so hard." Her soft lips parted, she lowered her head, and I felt her warm mouth engulf my penis. She closed her eyes and slid her lips up and down my shaft, up and down, up and down. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I couldn't believe that this sweet, gentle girl was doing this dirty thing. Doing it so willingly. And so WELL. She sucked on me and her tongue swirled around my tip and in a minute I was rhythmically thrusting my hips to meet her slippery strokes. Her eyes were still closed, mine were locked on her beautiful face, on her mouth, which was giving me so much pleasure I couldn't bear it.

"Lynn, I love you," I said.

She let my penis slip from her lips. "Then show me."

I couldn't bear it. Her mouth was hot and wet and I'd never received such pleasure in my life. I'd wondered what Lynn might be in bed. She was so innocent that I thought she might not be that open sexually. Forget that. I couldn't imagine her as a wildcat in the sack, I hadn't seen that in her. And now she had me whimpering like a puppy, totally under her control.

"Lynn, I'm going to come, please."

She didn't stop. "Oh, oh," I was on the brink. She didn't stop. I was breathing through my mouth, I arched my back. "Lynn!" I'd never had a girl let me come in her mouth before. But she did. I moaned and felt the warm spurts fill her mouth. I couldn't believe this angel let me do that. I didn't know what I believed anymore.

When I finished she put her head on my stomach. I was breathing so fast you'd have thought I'd run a 400-yard dash. "I guess you liked that," she giggled.

"Oh yes," I sobbed. I was in tears. I was a mess. I was as happy as a man can be, and terribly confused.

"Did you mean it when you said you loved me?" she asked.

I looked into her eyes. "I loved you the second I saw you."

"Say it again."

I did, and she said, "I love you too," and we lay there a long time, holding each other. She said, "I'm not ready yet to have sex. Is that OK?"

"Yes, of course, I..." I was disappointed, because I wanted to make love to her, and because Amy was out of town for a few days and we had all the time we wanted to be alone. I looked deep into her bottomless blue eyes, tracing the line of her jaw with my fingertips. "I can wait."

"Is it OK if I keep using my mouth on you? I love that."

Did I mind if she kept giving me brain-busting blowjobs? I laughed. "No, that's fine." It was just too good to be true.

And, hours later, when I was lying in bed and replaying the scene in my mind's eye, that thought stuck fast. It WAS too good to be true. I got up and walked to my desk and unlocked the bottom drawer. Tucked in the back was the notebook. I wrote my entry about the day's incredible events. That part of the notebook was almost full. But the sections about Number 1 and Number 2 weren't so heavily notated.

But since Amy was out of town, and I was betting that it was Amy because she was chaperoning a school trip to a nature retreat, I filled two pages with notes about Number 1.

That's when I came up with my theory as to why Lynn wanted to wait before we made love. Because Amy wasn't around. Maybe...maybe there was some kind of pact between the two of them. Maybe there was a pattern there. I met Number 1. My first date was with Number 2. It was Number 1 who came to my house the first time, Number 2 who met my parents. It was Number 1 who gave me a blow job. And, if my theory held, the first time we made love, it would be with Number 2.

They must be witches, succubi, who would suck the life out of me and leave behind an empty husk. Those intense, meaningful looks they exchanged, what did they convey? Did they have one mind, shared between two identical bodies? They were binary souls, digital, a one and a zero, on and off. They formed their own personal, wireless Internet, downloading each other's thoughts, memories and experiences in nanoseconds, uploading gigabytes of data with a tilt of the head.

I realized I was a little bit afraid of them. If they were capable of deception this monstrous, what else might they do?

I didn't sleep well that night. I tossed and turned, trying to think of a way out of this.

I had to confront them. Tell them I knew their secret. Tell them it had to stop right now.

I didn't have the courage. What if they denied it? What then? How would I explain that for the past three months I'd suspected I was kissing Amy and said nothing about it? And, horror of horrors, what if I was WRONG?

But I wasn't wrong.

I finally fell asleep, and when I woke up, I found that I'd come up with another way to fix the problem.

All I had to do was kill Amy. Problem solved.

I ate a bowl of cereal and thought about the best way to murder the sister of the woman I loved. Her death would truly set me free. It would break Lynn's heart, but maybe that would just bring us closer together. The trauma would bind her to me so fiercely that nothing could ever come between us.

I can't say exactly how long I honestly thought about killing Amy, but I ate three bowls of Frosted Mini-Wheats mulling it over. The practical problems were as daunting as the moral ones. Killing Amy wouldn't do much for my chances with Lynn if she found out I did it, and I couldn't think of how to do the deed and get away with it. Shoot her? Poison her? Run her over with my car? Hit man?

And how could I be sure that it was Amy I killed and not Lynn? It still made a difference to me, though I couldn't be sure at this point which of my sweet memories were of Lynn and which were of Amy. It didn't matter. I wanted Lynn. Or, Number 1. And I didn't know who she was. I couldn't risk killing her.

I suppose it was all bullshit, all this plotting. I'm not a killer. I wouldn't hurt a fly. But my feelings for Lynn were so strong that there wasn't anything I wouldn't do to keep her. Anything short of murder. I was pretty sure I would draw the line at murder.

If I couldn't kill Amy, could I perhaps mark her in some way that couldn't be duplicated by Lynn? If, say, I "accidentally" cut off Amy's little toe, or cut her shoulder in a way that left a permanent scar, or if I splashed boiling water on her and it left a red burn mark behind...that would work just as well.

But I wasn't sure I could do something really gruesome to Amy. I was either too cowardly or too decent to do something permanent like that.

Draw the line. That gave me an idea, one that seemed so good at the time. I drove to the local mall and wandered around a bit. There was a big art supply store, with paint, brushes, canvases, the works. I wondered the aisles for awhile and found a huge display of Magic Markers. I read the labels of a half-dozen styles, and finally selected one that read "PERMANENT INK. WILL STAIN FABRIC. AVOID CONTACT WITH SKIN. CANNOT BE REMOVED WITH HOUSEHOLD SOAP".

Perfect.

Amy came back to town two days later. So, according to my theory, it was Amy who arrived at my door at 7PM that Saturday night. I'd just put the fish in the oven when she showed up, and she asked, "How long till dinner?"

"Maybe 20 minutes."

Her dark eyes gleamed with lust. "That's just enough time."

I sat on the sofa as she went down on me again. If this was Amy, and the first time was Lynn, I couldn't tell the difference. Their oral technique was exactly the same, exactly incredible. Lynn had done this mind-bending thing with her tongue, trilling along the underneath of my helmet, and Amy did the exact same thing. Ten minutes later I ejaculated into her hungry mouth and my orgasm was just as intense and wonderful as the first time.

She drew her lips away from my sticky penis and smiled. "Don't worry. I haven't spoiled my appetite."

We ate. I was still in a kind of fugue state, my brain bubbling. If only I hadn't had these terrible doubts about the woman sitting across from me, I would have been the happiest man on earth, instead of the tortured wretch shoveling salmon into his mouth without tasting it.

She helped me do the dishes. While she put the last pot in the dishwasher I opened a drawer and pulled out the marker. I had a recipe card out and I pretended that I was making a note on it. I'd tested the marker on myself, just a dot on my armpit. It was still there, after three days of concentrated scrubbing. It had faded, sure, but it was putting up a hell of a fight.

The marker was in my right hand, hidden by my palm so only the wet tip stuck out. "Thanks, honey," I said when she shut the dishwasher. I held out my arms, she stepped into my embrace, and when we pulled away I reached for her hands. My right hand stubbed into her left, and the marker did it's job. I said, "Oh, shoot!" as it made a four-inch long streak from the center of her palm to her wrist.