The Legend of the Ditto Twins (22 page)

"Do
me a favor. Don't sleep in the nude tonight."

"I'm
not going to rape you."

"Please
put something on."

He hurried
to his side of the bed, crawled under the covers, fully clothed, and stayed
close to the far edge, as far away from me as possible. Not having the
slightest idea what to do next, I hit the play button again and stared at the
video until the footage played out and turned into a
screenful
of snow. Lulled by its serenity, I gazed at it blankly until I got up enough
nerve to turn to my brother.

"Clark?"

No answer.

"Ditto, ditto, ditto."

No
response.

I leaned
over and lightly touched his back.

"Don't!"

It was
the cruelest thing he'd ever said to me.

Pulling
back, I turned my attention to the screen and the endless snow flickering
across it as the tape played inexorably on. I have no idea how long I stared at
it until suddenly the snow vanished, and the footage abruptly began again. I
gasped. It was another old eight-millimeter home movie that had been
transferred to videotape. Only this one was different. Really different! Now,
the camera was focused on the very four-poster bed in which we were lying, only
its occupants were the adolescent Clay and Jay, already naked, joyous, erect. I
bent forward. For a moment, I thought it was Clark and me. I released a
guttural groan, and my brother turned over.

"What
now?"

I pointed
at the screen.

"Oh,
my God," he gasped. "Somebody taped us."

"No,
it's Clay and Jay. They filmed themselves!"

He sat up
to confirm my assessment. "Oh, thank God."

Neither
of us suggested we turn it off. On the contrary, we both hunched forward as if
afraid we'd miss a single detail. Every now and then, one or the other of them
would wink directly into the camera, which (I guess) was on a tripod at the
foot of the bed. Now and again, one would laugh or smirk or offer up his
erection to the lens or proudly demonstrate his oral abilities. Clearly, they
were having as much fun as we always do.

By then,
of course, I was hard, and I looked over at Clark, but his focus remained
strictly on the TV. I knew he was hard, too. I just knew. But I also knew he
would have to make the first move. When he didn't, I flipped around, on my
stomach, my head now at the foot of the bed, closer to the screen. A moment
later, he did too but still refused to acknowledge my proximity or even my
existence.

Then Clay
and Jay began to kiss, and they were almost as good at it as Clark and I. In
time, they stopped to have a Marlboro. It seemed an excellent idea, so I lit
two cigarettes at once, and passed one to Clark. He took it but avoided my
gaze. I found the ashtray and put it in front of us. He grunted a thank you but
did not meet my eye. Later, when we started to put out our cigarettes
simultaneously, we would have brushed knuckles had he not pulled back. And
still he refused to look at me.

Onscreen,
Clay and Jay were now going at it hot and heavy. Kissing turned to sucking, and
soon they had twisted into a sixty-nine to slather each
others
balls and, little by little, to follow their tongues into the gutter between
each other's buttocks. That sort of thing had never occurred to me before.

What
happened next nearly knocked me out. With one swift movement—and a delighted
"Yes!" from Jay—Clay spun his brother around, lifted his legs into
the air, and buried his own glistening erection in Jay's ass. Now, I had seen
anal action before in the porn films we'd been watching all summer, but fucking
had never interested me much (or Clark either, for that matter). In fact,
that's when we usually hit the fast forward button. This, however, was
different.

More and
more hypnotized by the film, I began to imagine that it was not Clay who was
fucking Jay, but me who was fucking Clark. And later, when Jay turned the
tables and began to top Clay with equal fervor and finesse, I closed my eyes
and let Clark invade me. I'm not sure if the sounds I heard were Clay's or
mine, but soon I exploded in my shorts. Clark didn't seem to notice, but when
he finally sat up after the footage ran out, there was an obvious spot on his
shorts that was the absolute duplicate of the one on mine. He shook his head,
furious at himself.

All he
said was: "God, what kind of a family were we born into, anyway?"

We did
not come into the kitchen together for breakfast. Clay was sitting on the
counter, peeling an orange.

"Where's
Clark?" he asked casually.

"Showering.
He'll be out in a few minutes."

"Is
anything wrong?"

I
shrugged. "I uh... don't know."

"Ready
to talk about it?"

"Not
yet. Uh... Clark and I have to talk first."

"Your
call. What're your plans for the day?"

"Work
on the Mazda. If Clark wants to."

"If
Clark wants to what?"

My
brother had wandered in.

"Work
on the car," I said.

"Sure.
Great," he said unenthusiastically.

"Breakfast?"
asked Clay. "There's..."

"Not
hungry," said Clark.

"Me
either," I said.

"Well,
then let's get to work." Clark started toward the back door. "You
coming, Clay?"

Our uncle
paused to consider the situation, then slipped down off the counter.
"Yeah. I think I'll join you."

Clark and
I had never before invited anyone to come back to the shed when we were working,
since we usually took long breaks to store up memories for the week ahead. I
know it sounds selfish, but I was hoping Clay wouldn't stay long.

Ordinarily,
Clark and I took off our T-shirts before starting to work, so that we'd already
be nice and slimy by the time we took our first break. But I knew there would
be no break today. I lay down to slide under the car.

"What
are you working on?" asked Clay, squatting down.

"The
muffler. The new one's right there, ready to go. But the old one's all rusted.
Clark, hand me a wrench."

Clark
passed it over to Clay, who handed it to me and then turned to slide in behind
the wheel of the Mazda.

"Mark,
you should work with your shirt off," he said. "We always worked with
our shirts off, Jay and I." He gripped the steering wheel tightly, as if
he were waiting for the starting pistol of the Indie 500. "Our baby was a
'57 Corvette. That's how I got into this fuckin business in the first
place."

"Oh,
yeah? Go on," urged Clark.

"Do
I get a cigarette if I tell you the story of my life?"

Clark
passed him a Marlboro.

Clay took
it and stuck it behind his ear. "
Y'now
, Jay and
I, we used to go down to the city dump after school every day to sneak a smoke.
Sometimes there'd be an abandoned car or
a
wreck that had been hauled in. We'd cannibalize the parts
and sell em. But one day, one fuckin' day we saw this beautiful red Corvette,
lying on its side. It'd been totaled. Beyond repair. Took us more than a
year... but we fuckin' brought her back to life."

He took a
lighter out of his pocket—a Zippo. He started flicking it, but didn't light up.
"Best year of my life. And then... I fucked everything up."

I slid
out from under the car.

Clay
looked down at us as if trying to decide what to say next, or maybe if he
should say anything at all. I waited. So did Clark. Finally, Clay spoke.

"Yeah,
it's time. It's time."

It must
have been nearly a hundred degrees in that sweatbox of a shed, but lying there
flat on my back on the concrete, I felt colder 'n hell.

"Unless
I miss my guess, it's time we talked. But it's gonna cost you. So. I'll tell
you the story of my life. No lies. Not a single one. But then you've got to
tell me yours. No lies. Not a single one. Deal?"

I
answered him instantly. "Deal."

Clay
looked at Clark.

He nodded,
sort of.

Clay
settled back as best he could in the cozy little roadster and stared through
the dusty sunlight at the past.

"Where
to start? The bedrooms? Jay and I always had our own rooms. Separate bedrooms.
Your Grandpa always wanted us to be fuckin' independent. Individual. Thought
twins were a curse. Never allowed Mama to dress us alike. Sent us to different
schools. Made sure we learned different skills. A lot of fuckin good it did
him. He may have put us in separate bedrooms, but we never used more than one
of em at a time. Sometimes, we slept in my bed, sometimes in Jay's. But always
together."

I glanced
over at Clark just as he glanced over at me, but he quickly turned away.

"And
then one day, fuckin' puberty snuck up on us. Overnight, we were bursting with
curiosity, raging with hormones, waking up every morning drenched in our wet
dreams. We couldn't ask Mama—she probably never saw a dick in her whole fuckin'
life." He chuckled. "The only time my father mentioned sex to us, you
know what he said? 'Never do it with the lights on. Always in the dark—it's
less offensive that way.' We sure as hell couldn't talk to him."

Finally,
he remembered the cigarette behind his ear and lit it. His words somersaulted
out on a lungful of smoke.

"The
inevitable happened. The magic. First, we discovered how to make ourselves feel
fuckin' electric, then how to work the magic on each other. One night we each
came five fuckin times. God, those were the days! Thought our hands and our
dicks were gonna fall off, but couldn't stop
whackin
'.
God, I fuckin loved puberty."

My eyes
met Clark's. I could hear him remembering just as clearly as if he were
shouting at the top of his lungs. I know
he
heard me.

"Does
any of this ring a bell with you two?"

We nodded
cautiously.

"I
figured."

The
silence just sat there. Heavy as hell.

Finally,
I said, "Don't stop."

Clay's
magical laugh shattered the air. "That's what Jay always used to
say." He couldn't stop laughing.

I lost
it, too. Clark didn't.

"That's
the way it went for a year or more. Couldn't fuckin' keep our hands off each
other. Whacked each other raw, and we'd be ready to go again five minutes
later. Then, just before the start of our senior year, we got up the balls to
go into this fuckin' sex shop out on the highway and buy a girlie magazine.
I'll never forget the fuckin' title:
Carnal
Couples.
That's how we
discovered blowjobs."

I closed
my eyes. When I opened them, Clark was looking at me but again turned quickly
away. Clay noticed, too, but continued as if he hadn't.

"We
memorized every photo in that fuckin rag, like we were nailing em to our
eyeballs. I suspect, in retrospect, that Jay was too concentrated on the good
time giving head to think we were missing out on 'real sex.' Know what I mean?"