Everyone thinks being a twin must be so great, but trust me, it’s a fucking nightmare. I’m sorry for swearing.
I’m younger than Aimee by just twenty-two minutes, and ever since she could speak, she has reminded me every sodding day. Perfect Bloody Aimee, everyone’s favourite friend, is the girl all the boys want to date. We are so different, in so many ways, that it is amazing that we are related at all. She had the looks, the figure, the big, perfect boobs, and the extrovert personality to go out and flaunt it. I got the brains, the body of a pubescent boy, bugger all tits, and am painfully introverted.
Aimee takes after our outrageously flirtatious mother, who, thanks to her endless gym and keep-fit classes, still has a great figure too. There was a rumour that went around school recently that a group of college guys had had sex with Aimee and our mum at a lake house party over spring break. It sounds quite plausible to me, except we had all driven to stay with our grandparents and were a hundred miles away at the time. Aimee does nothing to stop the rumour as she revels in the attention and kudos it gives her.
Aimee has a constant stream of boyfriends; they seem to last a couple of weeks before being replaced. She dates boys from school, college guys, and even a few who have already graduated. She has quite the reputation and enjoys reminding me how popular and experienced she is, in stark contrast to my quiet, sheltered, innocent life. Mum doesn’t help, often joining Aimee in pointing out that I should be out enjoying myself, not poring over the pages of books. I would guess half the guys around have slept with her; the other half are probably just boasting and lying.
I’m Abby, by the way. I suppose I should start by explaining why I am sitting in my favourite booth in the basement of the adult bookstore again. It is entirely Aimee’s fault, although she has no idea I am here, and I would never tell her either. It started as twisted revenge, but I’m fast becoming addicted to this seedy place and all it offers me. I’ve never had a boyfriend, never been kissed; grandparents and mothers don’t count, and until a short while ago, I had never even touched a cock.
In the grand scheme of things, it is our mother's fault that I am here, but she could have had no idea that an innocent diary would cause so much trouble. Every Christmas, we have both been given a little lockable diary as a part of our presents. I have always used mine to keep track of classes, revision targets, exams, and other important things. Every year, Aimee leaves hers untouched; planning and recording things are just not important to her.
A few months ago, I noticed Aimee’s diary by her bedside. I should not have been in her room, and I wondered what she could have found to use it for. I waited until the next time I was alone at home and used my diary key to open hers. I was quite stunned by what I began to read. I discovered Aimee is the biggest prick tease going, and from what I read, she has never had sex at all. I also read that Aimee started the Lake House sex party rumour herself.
Over the following week, I read through the entire diary. I found out that Aimee had been spreading rumours about herself and others since the New Year. The diary also recorded when all of the girls in her little clique, the Drac-pack, had their first sexual experiences and eventually full sex. As I read more, it became obvious that Aimee was using rumours to appear just that bit more daring than her friends.
The Drac-Pack has been responsible for a lot of my misery over the last couple of years. They are the beautiful but vacuous girls, all tits and makeup, obsessed with boys and fashion. I have long preferred to dress in baggy jeans, my battered Converse, and a loose hoody, keeping my long hair tied up and hidden. As soon as I am eighteen, I’m going to have it cut short and dyed like a rainbow. I’m not gay or bi, but as an act of rebellion, my mother refuses to let me cut it short until then. I get around on a skateboard; it's cheap, and I can be on my own, but I was called a skater girl as a putdown for a long time.
Someone in the Drac-pack came up with the idea that the name Aimee was made up of A1 me, and Aimee latched on to it. She reminded me all the time that she was A1. Quite soon, they decided that Abby sounded just like A-B, which they delighted in making up seemingly endless meaning for. A particular low point was when they called me After-Birth for a while; currently, they are saying it stands for A Boy. Now I generally get called skater boy or just boy, and it has spread to be used by most kids at school now.
The first rumour in the diary was that Aimee had blown four boys in secret at a New Year's party. It must have been a hell of a party, as we were all at home that year with the flu—Mum, Aimee, and me—and there were definitely no boys there. I remember hearing that one and laughing it off as a lie. There were rumours in the diary that I had never heard; some I had heard versions of, but I could not see how she was starting them.
In case you are wondering, Dad is no longer with us, and I really miss him. He was killed in a firefight while on duty as a marine, and I’m not supposed to talk about it. It was five years, three months, and seven days ago that it happened. He was a big, friendly, happy-go-lucky man and a perfect dad when he was home. He was away a lot. He had a big USMC tattoo on his leg, which he told me was because he was one of Uncle Sam’s Misguided Children.
Sorry, I’m rambling; the rumours covered all sorts of sexual adventures with a wide variety of people. Then I looked forward in the diary and found Aimee had ideas and things noted over the coming weeks. An entry for the coming weekend, ‘Dance audition at Mike’s DD bar, 3-PM, Saturday’ stood out. This had to be another rumour idea; the bar was in a dodgy part of town, and in the evenings it had topless dancers and was strictly members only. If Aimee was going there, I knew I had to be around with my phone to record her going in and score at least one point back against her.
I skated down and hung around at the end of a nearby alley; no one paid any attention to a kid on a skateboard. I waited nearly an hour and was not surprised that Aimee never showed up. I knew somehow a new rumour would be spreading on Monday. I was about to head off when a car pulled up, and a group of men climbed out and began walking towards the alley. I thought I could see weapons, and my dad’s advice to always go away from trouble came to me. I quickly skated down the alley, but it came to a dead end.
I thought about hiding behind one of the many dumpsters. I even thought about hiding in a dumpster. I was that scared. An old guy came out of a solid black door, flung a bin liner into a dumpster, and went back in without noticing me. The door slowly swung to close, and before it did, I caught it with my fingertips and peered inside. It was dreary; a corridor went to one side, and stairs went up and down into more gloom. I slipped silently through and let the door close behind me, feeling safer than before.
I guessed I was in the back of some run-down offices or perhaps a vacant unit. I hoped to hide unnoticed for a while and then slip away. I heard voices and footsteps from upstairs, so I headed down the stairs to avoid being found and thrown out. As I reached the foot of the stairs, another corridor led away to my left. I saw about eight doors on each side; they were too close together to be rooms; some were open, but most were closed. I saw light spilling down another staircase at the far end of the corridor.
There were posters and pictures stuck on the walls; scanning them, I was painfully aware I should not be there. Shadows moving on the far stairs alerted me to someone coming, and I dove into the nearest open door and locked it behind me. My heart was banging as I stood against the door, clutching my board to me, listening to a muffled conversation outside. I looked around for another way to escape, but the room I was in was so dark that I could barely make out the walls. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see a TV screen on the far wall, a chair, and a bench seat in front of me. The room was only about four feet wide and six feet long at the most.
I could hear moans and noises that seemed to be coming from all around me. I knew I was in some sort of sex shop or establishment; I was inexperienced, not naïve. Moving warily forward, I noticed a pool of light visible through a hole in one side of the room. The hole was six inches or so around. I could see a similar hole in the other side wall, but the space beyond it was as dark as my room. I cannot remember what possessed me to move slowly closer and look through into the lit room. They say curiosity killed the cat, and curiosity completely took over all sense and reasoning in me.
I had my back almost against the wall as I bent down and eventually kneeled on the floor to look through. I had the unlit opening directly behind me and kept the lit opening three feet away, through which I could see bare legs—man’s hairy legs. Looking straight through, I saw another hole in the far side of the room next door, and a moment later I was transfixed by the vision of an erect cock pushing through it. I’d seen hard cocks before; college lads would sometimes flash a girl walking on her own. I never understood why they did it, as surely no one was going to do anything other than run away like I did.
I kneeled in the darkness and watched the man next door close his hand around the cock and begin to wank it slowly. A minute later, he was bending forward and licking the cock as he held it; soon after that, he was sucking it. I found myself staring open-mouthed and trying to take in everything he was doing. I didn’t feel connected to what was going on; I didn’t even feel turned on by watching it; it felt more like a strange learning experience as I watched.
Over a period of around ten or maybe twenty minutes, I watched the two men take turns to wank and suck each other through the hole. I had also unwittingly moved a half way across the floor while watching to get a better view. The room next door went dark just as they finished, and then I heard doors banging and both men left. I sat on the bench seat under the TV screen and started to count to one hundred to hopefully give the men time to be gone so I could make my escape.
I should explain that I’m a little on the autism scale, which is why I tend to hop between topics or appear to ramble, and it also leads me to easy obsessions. Sorry, I’m doing it again. I had counted to seventy-three when I heard a door close and voices beside me. I heard some coins drop onto the floor and someone cursing, followed by the sound of money being fed into a coin slot. Moments later, the room next to me was lit up. I stared at the TV screen above my head and, for the first time, noticed a coin slot next to it and a sign about tokens.
From the bench seat, I could see at least two pairs of feet through the hole. I moved away and knelt to look through as before. I saw jeans being lowered, voices chattering, and some giggling. One pair of legs looked smooth and shapely, and then I saw why as one of the two people next door sank to their knees. It was a woman, a little older than me. I saw lace knickers as she bent down, and a matching lace bra holding a large pair of boobs.
I sat down on my heels to be able to see higher up, and I saw the woman was already sucking and wanking the cock of a man standing in front of her. The cock was longer than either of the two I had seen earlier and a bit thinner too. She had short blonde hair, looked quite pretty, and was taking almost the whole length of the cock into her mouth. I saw big hands reach down, and by kneeling up higher, I saw them holding her boobs through her bra. Moments later, I watched her reach around, unclasp the bra, and let it fall down her arms. I was jealous of her firm boobs, her pointed nipples, and how his big hands could not fully enclose them.
Her technique of wanking and sucking him was very different from the two men I had seen earlier—more sensual and erotic. I found myself becoming drawn nearer the hole to be able to see her sucking and him massaging her boobs at the same time. I began to imagine his hands on my excuses for tits, and I wondered if he would even bother to hold them. I began to imagine what it would feel like to be holding a hard cock, to taste it, and to have it slide in and out of my mouth.
I shuffled forward, just a little closer to the hole. I could hear her slurping on his cock and him muttering and encouraging her. I slid a hand up under my hoody and squeezed one of my tits in time with his hands on hers. I was becoming turned on by watching the show; they were blissfully unaware I was enjoying it. I was startled when she put one of her hands up to the hole, partly blocking my view for a second, and I backed away into the shadows. She turned her hand palm upwards as if begging or waiting for something; I froze and held my breath.
She pushed one finger onto the very edge of the hole; I noticed she had well-manicured nails, and she ran the finger around the hole. I kept well back, unsure of what was going on. It was obvious she had seen me, and I feared I was about to be in a lot of trouble. I did not expect people would take kindly to being watched while doing that kind of thing in private.