Page 41 of The Twins

“I know, right?” I gulp down the nervous tick that always shows when Mr. David does something unexpected. I’m breathless, holding myself in place between his legs by sheer force against the water.

“You’re growing bigger every time I see you,” he observes, and I feel like cowering, but I don’t. I may not be as big as my brother just yet, but I’m getting there. “You’re becoming a big boy.”

Him calling me a boy should offend me, but it feels natural. I may have left my nest, but I’m not a man yet. I haven’t proven myself.

Our eyes meet, and I lose myself in the paradise of his irises.

“I brought a new bottle,” Mr. David finally explains. His hand leaves my head, and he grabs the bottle. “It’s supposed to be environmentally friendly. A good friend sent me some samples.”

“Can we just be here for a moment? I don’t want to move,” I confess. I decide to use his lap as my pillow, getting comfortable on his muscular thigh. He doesn’t move an inch, allowing me to set my pace and limits.

We trust each other enough to know that we won’t cross a line the other hasn’t agreed to. I keep my arms in the water, and he runs his fingers across my shoulders. “For a Californian boy in Georgia, you sure don’t see a lot of sun.”

“I spend most of my time inside,” I tell him. “Old habits die hard.”

“You should go out more,” he suggests, and I moan in frustration. I hate this sentence. I heard it a lot during my teens.

“With whom? I don’t entertain people, and all my favorite people are in San Ricardo,” I remind him.

“Lose the attitude,” Mr. David suggests, and I nod against his lap, apologetic whispers leave my lips. “I want you to live a little. That’s not a criticism of your character. Don’t give me that look.”

“What look?” I ask, rubbing my eyes. Swiftly, I move my hand back into the water. I can feel Mr. David’s body, and if he could see what went on with mine, he’d freak. We’re walking down a dangerous path here. He’s supposed to be my secret best friend, my mentor. He’s an angel sent to kick me in the balls and urge me to be the best version of myself that I can be. “You can’t even see my face right now.”

“You either rolled your eyes at me, or you frowned. Either way, you gave out that troubled teen vibe just now,” Mr. David comments. There’s no humor in his voice, and I should fear the repercussions, but I don’t. He’s good to me, and he’s grown. He never stays mad for long.

We talk it out like adults.

Because I’m an adult now, almost legal enough to drink.

Not that I’ll ever drink or smoke. I’m a good boy, remember?

“Am I making your lap wet?” I ask, aware of the droplets of water and sweat sliding down my neck.

“That’s what she said,” Mr. David replies, and I’m taken aback. He massages my shoulder, but the tension doesn’t subside.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re cute, Remo,” he says to me, and I relax. “Don’t ever say that to a girl. Not in that way. We have to refine your dirty talk.”

“Is it dirty to… Oh.” I blush against Mr. David’s lap. “Wet. Pussies are wet, right?”

“When you treat the owner of said pussy right, yeah, they can be wet,” he explains, a certain amusement to his tone. “Actually, women’s wetness is a complex subject.”

“For a gay man, you’re awfully familiar with a woman’s reproductive system,” I tell him, pouting.

“In contrast to popular belief, I don’t hate women. I’m fascinated by them and their anatomy. I simply prefer dick so much more,” he says. I sway on the water, forgetting about my troubles. Mr. David holds me up, and I don’t have to work as hard to stay afloat.

“You never dated a woman, right?”

“I’ve never even kissed one,” he reveals. There’s no regret in his voice, and I cherish that. I’m curious about my body, and I love that Mr. David is open about his experiences with me. He doesn’t judge me, and he has a filthy humor.

“But you watch their porn?”

“I do.” His grin makes me hot.

“What’s so fascinating about porn like that? Since you’re gay and all,” I ask, merely out of curiosity. My head’s heavy on his lap, and I can feel his warm body against my skin. It’s an intimate moment that he would break if he were in a bad mood, but he feels vulnerable today for some reason.

He wasn’t like that before I accidentally called him Daddy.

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