Feedback and suggestions always welcome. This story is a continuation of chapter 22, read the note below to get caught up.
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You must be 18 to read this story, be able to read erotica in your community, not be offended by the contents of it...blah blah, you know the rest.
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This is Part 23 of an ongoing series. Yes I know the celebs don't act like this in real life, but this is a fantasy after all.
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(To catch everyone up: The main character, Dean Simonds, upon leaving a hot tryst with Jennifer Lopez meets a girl in the parking lot who shatters his entire family history. She tells him that she is actually his sister, something that he didn't know until just now, having thought for his entire life that he was an only child, his only living relative a party loving half-brother.)
My head was spinning. I felt confused and a little angry that this stranger would approach me with such a claim. I tried to poke holes in her story.
"That's impossible. I'm an only child. I think I'd know if I had a sibling running around somewhere," I said preposterously, snorting at her claim.
"That's the same way I felt too. That is until my father passed away last year and I found this in his old photo album," she said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a photo. What I saw left no doubt in my mind.
The photo was an old one of my mother, clutching two babies on her lap. Both looked to be the same age, one a boy the other a girl. Flipping it over on the back, I read the caption: ALLISON AND DEAN - 2 MOS.
"We're twins. And that's not the only thing - you know your half brother Jacob?" she said, my mouth still hanging slack jawed from this new discovery.
"Yes. How did you know about him?" I asked, things just getting stranger and stranger.
"The way he acts around you isn't his real personality. I think that he may be planning something involving you in the near future, although I can't say what," the girl, who I'm assuming was Allison, said. "Look, I don't feel real safe standing around here. Want to go get some coffee and talk about it?"
I nodded and we both climbed into my car, peeling out of the now deserted parking lot. The concert traffic was pretty thick, bumper to bumper, but soon eased as we passed the freeway.
"How did you find me? And I mean, of all the nights and places to look," I asked, my hands fidgeting nervously on the steering wheel.
"Well, when I found that photo I did a little bit more investigating into my fathers things. Turns out of course that he wasn't my real father, only my adopted father. I found the adoption certificate to prove this in his safe deposit box. Apparently when we were both three months old, your mother, I mean OUR mother put me up for adoption. I don't know why or what for, but regardless I was put up for adoption and taken a few months later. I spent my entire life growing up in Chicago, living with my adopted father and his wife. She died a few years back but never mentioned the adoption to me," Allison said.
"Ok, but that still doesn't answer my question. How did you find ME?" I again asked, strange parallels in our lives starting to come together - growing up not knowing our fathers, our mothers (or in her case her adopted mother) dieing when she was younger. It was eerie.
"I'm getting to that. I went to the adoption agency and asked for my records on my biological parents. Things are different these days, agencies seem very open to helping adults find their real parents. It's not like in the movies where everything is some sort of epic," Allison said. "So I got our mothers name and looked her up last year, only to find she had passed away. Eventually I got your name from the obituary and when I went to visit you in New York the neighbors told me how you ended up here. It didn't take long to track down your company and then your personal assistant, a nice guy named Damon I think, told me you were at the show tonight," she finished breathlessly.
"Well, that's quite some homework you've done," I said. "But now that you've found me, and don't get me wrong, I am happy to see you. The bigger question on my mind though is what do you want?"
"No, I understand. I'd be a little freaked out if someone tracked me down across the country," Allison said. "Tell ya what, let's pull into this coffee shop and I'll explain."
I made a sharp cut across lanes and pulled into the diner's parking lot, a rusty old place that looked like it hadn't aged well since the 50s, when it probably opened. We walked silently from the car and stepped inside. The place was mostly deserted, except for a small gaggle of stoned teenagers off in the corner, laughing at God knows what. The inside of the coffee shop was just like you'd imagine it to be - pale lights hanging over the table, grizzled truckers sitting at the bar with a plate full of steaming fatty food and a cigarette in their hand, and the waitresses wearing faded pink uniforms that covered their bodies in the non-flexible material of starched linen. In a word, it was like walking into any movie you could ever imagine.
"Seat you two?" the hostess said, an older woman with frazzled gray hair, the bags under her eyes hanging like sad little pouches from beneath her blood shot eyes.
I nodded at the woman and she led us to a back far table. A waitress appeared shortly thereafter, taking our order. Neither of us were hungry, but both Allison and I ordered coffee - black.
"I guess we are paternal twins then," I said, stirring my coffee when the waitress returned. "Because other than the hair and maybe a few facial features, you and I look nothing alike,"
"That's what I figured too. That's why I was so hesitant to speak to you, thinking that it really wasn't you standing there since we DIDN'T look that much alike. But I took a risk and well, here we are," Allison said.
I sipped my coffee. It was bitter and lukewarm, but I wasn't going to send it back. The waitress looked too lonely to bear the burden of my picky tastes.
