Page 36 of The Twins

I can’t explain it, but it drives me to snoop on what he’s doing.

The doors of this home are made from glass, and lucky for me, Mr. David’s door isn’t even properly shut. His caretaker must have forgotten to close it, or he asked for it to be half-open. Mom says Mr. David despises needing a caretaker. He never employs people inside his house. He does it all on his own, and this broken leg is messing with his structure of things.

I understand him, but I also find it amusing.

A flustered Mr. David is fun.

The closer I step to Mr. David’s, the more intense the moans grow. My body instantly reacts because I’m as innocent as they come. I leave the self-loving to my brother. I don’t think of myself that way. I wouldn’t know how.

“Fuck,” I hear Mr. David curse. A heavy grunt follows. One that I feel in my own body.

The polite protocol proclaims for me to knock and announce myself, but as my brother would say, fuck following protocols. Nobody else is around, and I can freely stalk my neighborhood’s hot bachelor.

“Fuck.” This time, it’s an exasperated sigh that follows. It sounds too real, and the horny voices that I presume come from his phone or laptop stop. I take a step back, afraid of what this lapse of time means. What happens now? “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”

I crash into the wall behind me. The framed painting on the wall rattles, announcing my presence. It would be perfect timing for me to curse right now, but I keep my mouth shut, shuffling outside of Mr. David’s home in a matter of seconds.

My feet take me to my own bed, and I hide under the covers, blushing and feeling the heat roll all over my body. I leave my hands above the sheets, but my thumb is already working my tip from up here, and I can’t find the strength to resist.

When my phone vibrates, I feel my balls tense.

Unknown number:

that was rude

Remo:

Excuse me?

This can’t be true. Embarrassment flushes my cells, but my cock grows harder. Is this what my brother feels when he chats with girls in school? Somehow, I doubt it. Sure, he gets hard for them, but this tingling excitement that comes along with a real crush… Vegas makes it look methodical. He’s never into the people he fucks.

It makes me sad for him, but my predicament of no fucks at all makes me even sadder.

Unknown number:

come back.

Remo:

?!

Unknown number:

be a good boy and come back. I have a treat for you

I grab my phone in a fury, the covers flying over my body to land on the floor. A good boy would pick them up and fold them to place them on his bed, but today, I pretend to be angry at my perverted neighbor.

My distorted face must pique the interest of the other neighbors, in case they’re watching, but I’m too far gone to care. I stomp back into Mr. David’s house, announcing myself by slamming the door behind me shut. The rude sound echoes in my head, creating waves of guilt. Mom would be ashamed if I terrorized a wounded hero.

Unknown number:

I heard that.

I scoff. So what?

Something inside of me tells me that it’s the wrong time to start a rebellion, but I ignore the sane side of me. I’ve got aggressions, tiny prickles of nerve endings that are revving up.

The staircase is endless this time around, and my throat tightens in anticipation of what’s coming. A lecture? Praise? A gift?

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