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  • Zinnia Blossoms Ch. 02

Zinnia Blossoms Ch. 02

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Part 2: Burning Girls

Sandy's pretty sure that Mum's fucking her best friend. I'm not so sure.

My name's Sally. Sandy's my twin sister. They say that whenever twins are born there's a sensible one and a not so sensible one. I'm the sensible one - or at least, that's what I tell myself. She'd disagree. But whoever's the sensible one Sandy's the one that jumps to conclusions. That we can agree on. She's actually pretty good at it, too. Well, most of the time.

*****

So, our mother. Let's be clear that I'm blowing my own horn a bit when I say our Mum is a fucking hot lady. I mean, for her age. Or even not, really - she's a steamy-hot woman, there's no doubt about it. Why's that blowing my own horn? You guessed it: Sandy and I look pretty much exactly like she did when she was our age. Which means that as hot as she is, we're that squared. Cubed, probably. Guys (and plenty of girls) go nuts for twins. Even twins that aren't as good-looking as us.

And yeah, I guess people think we're pretty vain. I sure would, reading that paragraph back. We play up to it, you know? In reality we both think we're pretty plain - though Mum's still hot, she's got that cougar thing going on - a bit above average, sure, but the real appeal is what we look like when we're both going down on a guy. Or at least, that's what people think. Can you imagine? You're looking down at the swollen head of your cock and two identical faces are licking at it, looking up every now and then? Looks fucking hot, doesn't it?

Probably. We've never done that.

Well, okay. That's a lie. We'd never done that by the time our story starts. We sure have by the time I'm writing this, though.

But not in this story. Sorry. Going to have to wait for that one.

*****

I don't really know why I'm writing this down. Sally's not my real name, by the way. Sandy isn't really Sandy, our Mum's name isn't Zinnia - you get the idea. Names have been changed to protect the guilty. Why those names? Mum's written about our family before. Just silly little happy-family stories, stupid kids' stuff. She doesn't write any more but she's said if she ever did that's the names she'd use - Zinnia, Dane (our big dumb adorable brother), Sandy and Sally (I'm the youngest by three minutes). So they're the names I'm using. If Sandy ever writes stuff down I'm going to make sure she uses the same names - she's not really into writing, though. She's into reading.

Maybe that's why I'm writing this down? For her. I know she'll read it after I'm done.

Are you reading this, sis? Have you got your fingers all nice and wet thinking about what's going to happen? You KNOW what's going to happen. You were there, after all.

But I'm writing it for you, too, the reader whom I don't know. You're a guy or a girl or maybe a couple. Maybe you're transgender or intersex or gay or straight. I don't know. I don't care, either, to be completely honest. You're welcome here, in the soft, tight, wet squishiness of my mind. Play with yourself while you read. I like imagining that. To tell you the truth I'm probably going to have to stop now and then to do the same.

And I'm writing it for me, too, so I've got something to look back on and smile. Not all our days are happy, in my little family. Not all of anyone's days are. So having something fun and sexy to think about when days get dark, it's nice.

I hope you enjoy yourself.

I know I did.

*****

Imagine a couple of girls coming back from the shops on the corner.

We're not that different from other girls, not really, there's just two of us. Twice the trouble, twice the fun. Our Mum's got this fantastic cute pixie cut that she adopted after she went completely bananas when our dad left. I mean we were all pretty crushed but she was just ruined. Crying when she thought we couldn't hear her, shaking, starving herself, the whole works. She even shaved her hair completely off at one point. Okay, sure, she looked just as sexy with a bald head now that I think of it but it was terrifying at the time. She loved her long hair. But now she loves her pixie cut so that's fine.

We've got the same red hair. Maybe that's why we can act a bit unbalanced at times. Fine skin, freckles, the lot. We look Irish and considering that's where a lot of our heritage comes from I guess that's understandable. Our boobs are smaller than Mum's but they're tighter and younger too. A lot of the times we don't bother with bras. Or panties, to be truthful. We like feeling sexy. Doesn't everyone, from time to time?

Anyway, back on track. Imagine two girls. They look the same. Same red hair down to the shoulders. Same high tits with nipples that almost - but don't quite - show through their tops. Tight t-shirts that show their chests off. Jean-shorts that make their legs look nice and long. Shoes with enough of a heel that their legs look yummy but not so much that they're tripping over everything. That's Sandy and me. We were both track runners in high school and we never really got over the running bug so we've got a kind of toned look. We also have light tans and we DO have heaps of freckles. We burn way too easily. I don't like it that much. Sandy loves feeling burnt, total beach-bunny. I mean right down to the peeling and itchiness, it's weird. She says she loves feeling like she's too hot to touch the world. Gives her a buzz. Mum says it's to do with endorphins. Dane thinks she's just insane. Me, like I said I don't like it but we do everything together so I get burnt a lot too. And I whine about it. Loudly. A lot.

Two girls, walking down the road, dressed the same, faces the same, haircuts the same. The only difference is that while we both have our hair pinned back on one side the pin in Sandy's hair has a plastic daisy stuck to it while the one in my hair is a sunflower. There's other differences but they're way too subtle for most people to pick up on. Even Mum and Dane get us confused now and then. That's a lot more fun than it should be.

The sun's out and the birds are cheeping like little birdy bitches. It's a REALLY pretty day. We've gone to the shops to get some drinks because Sandy wants sunlight and I'm feeling bored enough not to argue. The cute shop boy blushes when we walk in, tries not to stare at us and then fumbles our change when we pay. We flirt with him a bit just to watch his blood pressure rise and then we go out. His name's... Well, we'll call him Bob. Bob's a couple years younger than us, making him a cute seventeen year old. He's finishing off secondary school; we're in university studying psychology and sociology (you didn't fall for the little airhead ditz act, did you? For shame, reader, for shame).

Leaving the shop behind we walk hand-in-hand down the street. We hold hands a lot. We've done that since Dad left. When your world ends and you turn to those closest for comfort you tend to adopt little idiosyncrasies. Ever noticed how close-knit families that have experienced some kind of trauma act a little... weird? Yeah. That's why. Then take into account that twins often tend to be close and you've got some serious hand-holding going on.

"Would you do him?" I ask her.

"Who?" she says, but she knows who.

"Bob."

"Bob?" She shakes her head. "Naaah." After a few seconds, because she knows I know she's lying through her teeth, she nods. "Yeeeeah."

"Me too. He's a bit young still but he's cute." I drink from the can I'm holding in my free hand. "Dane's so boring," I add.

She's not expecting this and I know it. The two statements don't mesh properly in her head but that's okay because I did it intentionally. She looks at me, wrinkling her nose up in confusion. It's cute.

"Huh?"

"He's boring. I mean, can you remember the last time he even had a girlfriend, let alone brought someone home?" I sigh. It's a deep, affected sigh. It's fake and over the top and it makes Sandy giggle, which was the goal, so I'm satisfied.

"Last girl he brought home," she nods, "man she was dull. Mum hated her."

Mum doesn't get along with Dane's girlfriends. You know how defensive fathers get of their little girls? Some mothers get like that about their little boys and let's be real clear: Dane's a softy. He gets walked over a lot. Some girls are really fucking mean and he seems to attract them like flies. I don't think he's ever stuck his dick in anything nice. Well, I didn't think that then.

"I know," I nod. "No tense dinners, no awkward conversation, it's just so... uneventful."

"We could bring some guys home that Mum hates," Sandy suggested. Now it's my turn to giggle.

*****

We got home pretty soon after that. We got wolf-whistled once by some guys passing in a car but a couple of upward-turned fingers sent them driving off. Want to get to know us? Stop your car, get out and have a decent conversation with us. Sure, it's nice to watch people drool a bit but it's not actually something we'd ever go for. Wolf-whistles aren't a compliment, boys.

Mum and Dane were in the kitchen. We banged our way in - we can be pretty boisterous - and headed straight through with only a brief 'hello'. It was early and Dane was probably getting ready to go to work. We didn't have classes that day - yay! - so it was talking about boys and lots of television for us.

The lounge room is really nice. There's a couple of big squishy chairs - the kind you can sink into, recliners that you can lean back, too - and a matching squishy-comfy couch. Our whole family's ended up sleeping on that couch more than once - separately, you know. Dad slept there when he and Mum started having trouble, Dane's fallen asleep there before, Mum's done the same thing. Hell, Sandy and I have shared it, wrapped up in each others' arms and snuggled under a blanket. I know, you're getting turned on again, right?

Anyway, we plonked down on the couch. It's kind of our place. When the whole family's watching TV we commandeer the couch. It's big enough for three people but Sandy and I don't tend to sit separately if we can avoid it.

Your next question's probably going to be, 'Oh, but have you fucked someone together before?' Well, yes and no. We're sure as hell not virgins and we've fucked in the same room before, but different guys. We've ALMOST fucked a girl together but she chickened out.

The sight of Mum holding a bag of... something, peas I think... to the back of her head came back to both of us at the same time. We stopped and looked at each other.

I watched Sandy's face get nasty. I shook my head because I thought the same thing she did.

"Oh, come on Sandy, he wouldn't."

It was too late. She'd climbed off the couch and stormed out. Best I could do was follow her.

"If you hit Mum I'll cut your fucking dick off and feed it to you," Sandy told Dane.

It was a mess. Well, it was almost a mess. Dane looked hurt, Mum told us she'd fallen out of bed, I sang a bit. You know how I told you Sandy tends to jump to conclusions? Yeah. Sometimes she long-jumps to them. But we got it all cleared up, anyway. Sort of. Mum still looked weirdly embarrassed and Dane looked like Sandy really HAD cut his dick off - poor guy was shattered his little sister could think he'd EVER hit Mum.

"You have to apologise to him," I told Sandy as we went back into the lounge room. "Holy fuck, Sandy. Dane? He wouldn't hit a nail if his hands were made of hammers!"

Sandy made some kind of angry noise. She was embarrassed. She doesn't react well to feeling stupid.

We plonked back down on the couch. You know how you don't really sit, you kind of let your body drop and bounce a bit? That's how we tend to sit down. Plonk.

I put my arms around her neck. "Come on." My best encouraging tone. Sandy calls it my 'wheedling' tone. "You gotta. I mean it was like you'd kicked him in the business. Doesn't have to be now but you've got to apologise to him, right?"

Sandy didn't say anything but she relaxed a bit in my arms and leaned against me.

"Right?" I repeated, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

She leaned on me some more and then she nodded, sniffed a bit and put her arms around my waist. I lay back and pulled her on top of me, her head snuggled on my chest. I kissed the top of her head and just let her be.

*****

Dane left. That's when Mum came in. She was still in her dressing gown and looked kind of... rumpled. She also looked like she had a headache. Considering she'd fallen out of bed - though something about that didn't sound quite right to me and I couldn't work out why - I guess the headache was understandable.

"Sandra," she said. Uh oh. She doesn't use Sandy's full name (fake full name, I guess, in this context) unless she's INCREDIBLY pissed off.

We both sat up.

"I know, Mum," Sandy said immediately. She was wiping away tears. I glanced down and was, I have to admit, a bit surprised to see my t-shirt was wet. Salty-wet.

"He's a good man," Mum tried, but let me tell you from years of experience that it's hard to stay angry at Sandy when she's got tears on her face. She doesn't cry much (except over movies). She was REALLY sorry.

"You need to -"

"I know, Mum!" Sandy sounded like she was being stabbed. There was anguish going on, the real stuff. I kind of shifted awkwardly and all three of us fell quiet. For a little bit there was just the sound of Sandy sniffing now and then. Awkward...

"What do you have planned for today?" Mum asked eventually.

"Nothin'," Sandy replied, a bit sullenly. I just shrugged. "No classes," my sister added, "so we'll probably just hang around. Go out tonight."

"Do you have classes tomorrow?" Mum asked.

"Yeah, of course," Sandy nodded.

"Which you'll go to hung over," Mum guessed, her voice sounding affectionate but tired.

Sandy and I nodded readily. That was the plan. Go out, get drunk, go to university badly hung over, ignore the majority of what was going on until lunch time. It's funny but the innate senselessness of that didn't really occur to us at the time. That's what university is about, I guess. Plus, you know, all those classes and stuff.

Mum just nodded and kissed Sandy's forehead, then kissed mine.

"I need to talk to Linda," she said as she straightened up. Linda's her best friend. You know, the one Sandy thinks Mum is fucking. Of course we didn't think so then.

But we were about to.

"And I suggest," Mum added as she walked out, "that you stay away from Dane's dick."

*****

University isn't really built for developing and maintaining discipline. Oh, they'll TELL you it is but it's a pretty lie. In truth it's built for screwing up those people who don't have discipline. If you have it you'll sail through as long as you study and have a halfway decent memory. If you lack even one of those - discipline, study or memory - then unless you can pick them up on the way you're pretty much screwed. And not in the good way.

But one thing university does impart, if you're even slightly social, is a knowledge of the best clubs.

Go on, tell me that's not ironic, because it is. One of the first and most thorough things you learn at university is how best to avoid it. Whether you do or not, I guess that's the part where it becomes important to have self-discipline. Never been our strong point. I mean we weren't failing but we weren't doing as well as we could have either. But that's fine; there's no real difference between scraping through and getting through with flying colours unless you plan on taking the education further and we didn't. Get in, get degrees, get out. That was the mission.

If there's one thing being in a single-parent family gives you it's perspective. We don't work, you see. Mum and Dane, they don't make a fuss, but they're supporting us. So we figure it's our duty to get degrees, get into decent jobs and then help support them for a change. We owe them both. If it weren't for them we'd likely be screwing people to get through our courses.

Not that that wouldn't have a certain... dangerous appeal.

Okay, now I'm seriously off-track. We were talking about Mum and Linda.

The rest of our day was boring. It usually is when you're waiting for something, though. We spent most of it with our rear ends on the comfy couch, cuddled into one another, watching dumb movies. Generally when one of us is upset then we'll snuggle up so I spent most of the day sitting behind Sandy with my arms around her and her leaning back against me.

It wasn't until night-time that she really started to perk up. Remember how I said she cries mostly during movies? She cried a lot that day so the night was a relief to both of us. She bounced off the couch - I kind of peeled myself off, half-dragged by my twin sister - and we went upstairs to change. I pulled my top off over my head as we went through the kitchen and that was when we saw Dane coming in the front door.

Don't get the wrong idea, here. I don't generally walk around the house topless - UNLESS I'm sure that nobody except my sister is going to be home. Dane wasn't supposed to be. He was working. He SHOULD have been working late. But for some reason he was coming in the front door just as I was pulling my t-shirt off.

There's no way he hadn't seen me. Or, more accurately, there's no way he hadn't seen my tits. It's not the first time he'd seen them, of course, but it'd been a few years and, well, I'd grown since.

He and I stared at one another in shock. No, wait. Let me be more precise: I stared at him in shock while he stared at my bare tits in shock.

Hilariously enough Sandy hadn't seen me take my top off. Twisting her hands together she went right up to him and opened her mouth - to apologise, probably, I dunno really because I was a bit preoccupied - and it wasn't until he failed to hear her say his name that he turned around and let out a shriek.

That broke the spell. Nothing quite like Sandy shrieking to bring life back into a room. I held my t-shirt up and Dane looked away, going crimson, stuttering some apology or other. Sandy dragged me upstairs and all but threw me into our bedroom, slamming the door closed behind us before leaning heavily against it like she was keeping out a horde of zombies.

My nipples had gotten hard. Yeah, I know what you're thinking, but it wasn't like that. They'd gotten hard because of the action of my t-shirt over them and because the little episode had my blood racing. But I've gotta tell you for a moment there I was completely confused by it. My nipples? Hard?? From my brother looking at me? What kind of pervert was I?

Then reality reasserted itself.

Sorry if that disappoints you. You were probably hoping that I'd realised some deep-seated desire to fuck my brother that I'd been harbouring since before puberty and all that jazz. Some people do get that way, as I understand it. But not me. No, I was just freaked out at my body responding to basic physical stimulation and attributing it to the wrong thing.

"You stay here," Sandy ordered, pointing at me, "and find some clothes. I'm gonna go talk to him. What the fuck's he even doing home at this hour?"

I shrugged, mute, and headed to the wardrobe as she went out. My head was spinning. I knew how I felt... But how did he feel? He was staring pretty hard.

*****

It's funny, really, the sort of things that can plant an idea in your head.

Let's be clear: I had no desire to fuck my brother. But the thought of him watching me... That idea had taken root without me noticing it. I wasn't dwelling on it, not then, but the seed had been sown.

That's really when it all started. For me, anyway. Not that I realised it then.

*****

I could hear them talking downstairs but I couldn't make out the words. Just the tone. It was quiet, hurt, tense.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, two pairs of them, and a knock sounded at the door. I knew it was Dane - Sandy didn't do extravagant things like bothering to knock on the door when I was on the other side - and I called for him to come in.

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