Facets Of Love Ch 12

All characters either participating in or observing sexual activity are over eighteen years of age.

***

Facets of Love

Chapter 12

2040

-

Dr. Martha Weaver Spencer

I moved in with James and never slept in Robert's and Mary's house again.

It took us a few days to figure out that Robbie was solely responsible for the underhanded and unsolicited meddling in our personal lives. My first response was to disown the boy. However, when James pointed out that Robbie not only acted in both our best interests, but also took several pages out of my own personal playbook, my rage turned to pride. Pride in the knowledge that there was indeed a good amount of his grandmother in him.

Moving one house down didn't result in a great change to my previous lifestyle. We still ate many of our meals in the big house and I continued to preside over the mandatory Sunday evening dinners. But living with James brought order and purpose back to my life. He became the anchor I'd lost when Frank died. Knowing who I would sleep with every night and whose cock I would suck every morning freed my brain to delve deeper into my chosen profession.

Being the most widely read and quoted sex therapist in the country, and no longer having to rely on my clients for the occasional release of sexual energy, I enjoyed the luxury of only accepting patients I thought worthy of my talents. And, after nearly forty years of teaching people how to pleasure each other in bed, I was eager for something different. I needed a new challenge. Preferably an undertaking nobody had ever done before.

A wise woman once said, be careful of what you ask for. You might get it.

The biggest challenges of my life were referred to me by a therapist in St Petersburg, a 45-minute drive from my office.

"I've worked with these two since they were in middle school," the harried woman told me. "And now, almost ten years later, frankly, I'm out of ideas."

"What's their issue?"

"I'd rather not say. I think it's best if you start with a clean slate."

-

I was accustomed to being around beautiful women. When I was younger, I saw one every morning when I looked in the mirror. Both of my daughters were gorgeous, and my granddaughter made all of us look plain in comparison. But when Kristen and Kirsten McGonagall walked into my office, for the first time in my life, I was momentarily speechless.

Rivulets of red wavy hair curled around sky high cheek bones, emerald-green eyes, button noses, and full, sensual lips. They possessed the hourglass figure of a swimsuit model, the toned legs of a professional athlete, and the grace of a ballerina. And there were two of them. Identical twins.

"Wow," was my initial response, although I didn't mean to say it out loud.

"Yeah," the twin on the left said.

"We get that all the time," the right twin added.

"Sorry, I'm sure it gets annoying over time. I'll try my best to be underwhelmed the next time we meet. Please have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? Water, tea, or a soda?"

"No thank you..."

"... we're not thirsty."

"Right. Then let's get the formalities out of the way. I'm Doctor Martha Spencer and you two are?"

"We're Kirsten and Kristen."

"Yes, I know that. But which one are you?" I asked the twin on the left.

"It doesn't matter..."

"... we're the same person."

Ah hah. A clue to the nature of their psychosis.

"I disagree. It does matter. Each person on this earth is an individual. You may appear similar to people you have just met but, just under the surface, I am sure you are completely different from your sister.

"Now, if you don't mind," I said, looking at the left twin again, "tell me your name."

"Kristen..."

"... or Kirsten."

"We'll answer to both..."

"... or either one."

"Ladies, I understand that the two of you are close. That's not unusual for twins. However, if I am to help you, I will need to talk with each one of you individually and that will be difficult if I can't distinguish one of you from the other."

"That is why we're here..."

"... it is impossible to speak with only Kirsten or Kristen."

"When you speak to one of us..."

"... we both hear you."

"Of course you do now. We're all in the same room. That obviously won't be the case when we do individual sessions."

Both girls exhaled with an audible sigh. One of them rose from her seat, walked to a bookshelf, and pulled a journal from my extensive collection.

"Do you have a highlighter we can borrow?" the other twin asked.

I nodded and pulled a yellow marker from my desk drawer.

The first twin handed me the journal and said, "please highlight a short passage and remember the words you highlighted."

The second twin purposely turned her head away from me while I turned to an arbitrary page in the middle of the journal and highlighted a short sentence halfway down the page.

Taking the journal from my hand, the first twin dog-eared the selected page, closed the book, and walked out of my office, shutting the door behind her.

Not sure of what they were up to, I quietly sat in my chair and studied the face of the remaining girl. Even though her shimmering green eyes were locked on mine, she at first appeared to be looking through me. And then, after perhaps a minute's pause, she scrunched up her endearing little nose and chuckled.

"Oh my. Are you sure about that?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"The sentence you highlighted. Is it true that 'a majority of women prefer a thick erection over a long one'?"

"How?" I asked. "How did you do that?"

"Okay. That makes sense."

"What makes sense?"

"What you say next... about men with both thick and long erections."

"I didn't highlight that part."

"We know, but once we started reading about erections, it's hard to stop."

"We?" I asked. "Only your sister read the journal."

"Yes. We," the other twin said as she returned to my office, journal in hand.

"We are telepaths..."

"... we can read each other's mind."

"Don't worry, we don't know what you are thinking..."

"... although, if we had to guess..."

"... we'd surmise you are wondering how we did it..."

"... how we pulled off our magic act."

"Feel free to test us again..."

"... all of the other shrinks did..."

"... but you'd only be wasting your time."

"The sooner you get used to the fact that we are literally of one mind..."

"... the sooner we, the three of us, can find a solution."

"A solution to what?" I asked. "You haven't told me why you're here."

"Isn't it obvious?"

"We want to have careers..."

"... of our own."

"We want to go on a date..."

"... without the other tagging along."

"We want to have sex..."

"... and not share the experience."

"We want to fall in love..."

"... with different men."

"We want to live separate lives..."

"... but still remain sisters."

"We are tired of being freaks."

"We want to be like everybody else."

"But..."

"... as long as Kirsten and Kristen share their thoughts..."

"... we will never be free."

"You are asking me to remove your telepathic abilities," I said. "Treat it as a disease and eradicate it. Is that correct?"

"Yes," the two said in unison.

"How old are you?"

"We turned twenty last month."

"How long have you had this gift?"

"If you are asking how long we have been telepathic; the answer is..."

"... all our lives..."

"... but we don't consider it a gift..."

"... it is indeed a curse."

"We don't know how to turn it off..."

"... we can't separate one mind's thoughts from the other."

"If Kirsten watches a sad movie..."

"... Kristen cries."

"When a boy slips his hand down Kristen's blouse..."

"...Kirsten's nipples get hard."

"And, when either of us has to pee..."

"... we both have to find a toilet..."

"... which gets extremely embarrassing..."

"... when there is only one available."

Our conversation continued for another hour. The longer we talked, the more intrigued I became. I had spent my entire professional career trying to keep couples together. Angry men and scorned women came to me on the verge of divorce. In nearly every case, I talked them off the ledge, explained why they couldn't live without each other, and turned them back into loving partners.

Kirsten and Kristen were just the opposite. They were so in tune with each other that it was ruining their lives. They needed a divorce, and I was just the one to arrange it.

-

Robert Ryan Jones

"How long will it take to build four more houses?"

Before I continue, let's take a step back and consider the timing of Mary's question.

For the past hour or so, I had finger fucked my wife to a warmup orgasm, licked her to a more significant second coming and, just before she asked her 'out of left field' query, she rode both of us to a nipple hardening, toe curling, pussy squirting, womb whitewashing event that registered well up on the Richter scale. And yet, even as my still stiff cock enjoyed the aftershocks of her quivering cunt, she retained the mental capacity to ask me about real estate.

"I'm sorry," Mary said as she bent forward, pressed her magnificent breasts against my chest, and kissed me on the lips. "Did I ruin the moment?"

"No, not at all. Just give me a minute to catch up with you. And a little context might help us get on the same page. How big will these houses be? Where do you want them built? And who will be living in them."

"As far as size goes, I'm thinking good-sized single-family homes with three or four bedrooms each. And since your children and grandchildren will be living in them, we should build them on our street."

"Aren't you putting the cart a mile ahead of the horse? None of the girls have shown an interest in being intimate with anybody outside of the family. And hopefully you aren't suggesting that Robbie or I get the sisters pregnant."

"Of course not. It's time to move on to the next stage of our lives. Mom and James have done it. They are blissfully content with living next door to us. And say what you will about nurse Angela, I've never seen Gloria happier.

"Think back to the six months we lived together in Auburn. Just the two of us in that tiny little trailer. Those were some of the best days of my life. At the time, when I dreamed about our future together, I envisioned the two of us raising a couple of kids in a small house... all by ourselves."

"Yeah, so did I. And then life took us down a road we would have never imagined."

"I'm not complaining. It's been a bumpy, twisty road, and although I like where it's taken us-."

"You'd like to get back to your original dream. You want to kick the kids out of the nest and live like normal people."

"Don't you?" she asked.

"More than anything. I'm not proud of my affairs with Martha and Gloria. And giving our kids sex lessons... I know why we did it, but the sisters turn twenty in a few weeks and Robbie will be twenty-two in September."

"That's why it's time," Mary said. "Time to send them away. Thanks to you and Robbie, the sisters know what kind of man they should be looking for. And, conversely, Robbie won't settle for any girl that doesn't measure up to his standards."

"But if we send them away, why do we need to build four more houses?"

"So they'll come back. That's my plan. We send each kid to a different college. I'm not talking about a four-year stay. Just a semester or two. Enough time to find a mate but not so long that they forget their roots. I want them out of the house but not out of my life."

"And you think a free house will bring them and their future spouses back to us?"

"It worked for my parents. It should work for us."

-

Dr. Martha Spencer

Kirsten and Kristen were harder nuts to crack than I originally thought. Every study I could find on telepathy insinuated that 'the gift' was usually a hoax used by entertainers. The rare, documented cases of one person's thoughts being mysteriously transferred to another were transitory at best and the 'thoughts' were usually more like a shared feeling of fear, morose, or delight.

I have to admit that my first few sessions with the twins were counterproductive. I, like the many therapists that preceded me, spent a good bit of time trying to disprove Kirsten's/Kristen's self-diagnosis.

With the help of a trusted colleague, I drove one twin south for an hour while my colleague drove the other north the same distance (I still didn't know which one was which and, if they did, they refused to tell me). Once the two were over a hundred miles apart, I showed my twin a short video and challenged the other twin (using cell phones) to tell my compatriot what she saw in her mind. The second twin not only gave an accurate account of what my twin was seeing, but also immediately knew when my video device ran out of power (I'd forgotten to charge it).

Locking them both in separate bank vaults got similar results. Several inches of steel and reinforced concrete didn't affect their ability to communicate with each other.

Convinced that they were indeed telling me the truth, I needed to find a way to separate them. Not because I wanted to. I thoroughly enjoyed the time I spent with them. They were two of the smartest, most quick-witted women I'd ever met and, frankly, I was afraid of what would happen if I split the atom known as Kristen-Kirsten. After twenty years of sharing the same life, would they be able to function as separate people?

It was a chance they were more than willing to take. The twins were two beautiful creatures trapped inside a gilded cage, and it was my duty to set them free. But how?

-

Robbie Jones

Our parents sent us kids to four different colleges. April spent a semester at FSU in Tallahassee studying literature. June went to the University of Miami to hang out with the theatre majors. Julie was in Gainesville taking broadcast journalism classes. I was exiled to USF in Tampa, with instructions to "not come home until Thanksgiving".

College sucked.

The food wasn't half as good as what came out of Mom's kitchen.

The coeds were easily seduced, bubble-brained bimbos who knew less about pleasing a man than I knew about sixth century Chinese philosophers. That was the major of a bleached blonde from Boston. One of many girls I rejected out of hand after a single date.

And, even though my professors could spew out theories and mathematical equations for hours at end, they didn't have a clue as to how an actual factory worked. Case in point. When one of the test machines in the materials lab broke, I was the only person on campus that knew how to fix it.

I complained to Mom, Dad, and Uncle James every day for weeks but all I got was "stick with it, you're there for a reason."

April was the first to figure it out.

"They've purposely separated us," she said during a four-way face time session with the other sisters.

"Why"? Julie asked.

"So we'll date other people."

"What was wrong with the people we were dating?" June asked.

"You mean Robbie and Dad? I was perfectly happy fucking them."

"And I was perfectly happy sleeping with you three," I said.

"I think they want grandchildren."

"Oh."

"And us out of the house."

"But not too far," I said. "Jerry tells me that Dad's building four more houses on our street."

"Four houses for his four kids? Isn't that a bit presumptuous of him?"

"Maybe, but I'm sure not going to turn down a free house. Especially if it's a three-minute walk from Mom's kitchen," April said.

-

USF was only a thirty-minute drive from home. I could have commuted to college, but, as my sisters so aptly described, we weren't in college to learn, we were there to socialize. So, I rented a small apartment just off campus and, for the first time in my life, questioned my parents' judgement.

A month into my exile, I got a call from Mr. Tucker, chief of the Spencer Manufacturing maintenance department.

"Hey Robbie, I need a favor. You know that 3D laser scanner that talks to the carboard cutter who then tells the creaser how to make custom sized boxes?"

"The upgraded fully automatic system we installed last spring?"

"Yeah. That's the one. Except there ain't anything upgraded about it. I don't know why, but the cursed thing started spitting out boxes half the size of what they're supposed to hold."

"Did you call the vendors? The equipment should still be under warranty."

"Of course I called the vendors. All three of them... since each part comes from a different company."

"And?"

"They all say it's the other guy's fault and even if it wasn't, none of them can get a repair man out to us before next week."

"You want me to give them a call?"

"No. Your Uncle James already tried that, and they gave him the same story."

"So, what do you want me to do?"

"Get your backside home and fix the damn thing. We're losing thousands of dollars every hour that hunk of junk stays down and you're the only one in the company that understands how it works."

"You know I'm not allowed home until Thanksgiving. If Dad catches me in the plant, we'll both be in trouble."

"I already cleared it with your dad. He says to come on out but don't tell your mom, grandma, or Doc Carter that you were here."

"Okay. I'll be there first thing tomorrow morning."

"Thanks Robbie. I'll owe you one."

-

It took me two hours, three system reboots and a large rubber mallet to get the supposedly smart machines back on track. Mr. Tucker thanked me profusely for saving his bacon, but I could tell there was something else on his mind.

"You mind running by Doc Spencer's office and hanging a ceiling fan?" he asked. "I'd normally send another guy to do such a simple job but, both Ramon and Harvey called in sick today, and you know how your grandma gets when somebody tells her no."

"I thought she wasn't supposed to know I was here."

"I already checked on that. She's got a session that will keep her couped up in her office until noon. The fan's in her waiting room. It's a twenty-minute job. Sneak in, change out the fan, sneak out. She'll think one of my guys did it and I won't have to explain why her fan is last on my list of priorities."

-

Dr. Martha Weaver Spencer

The McGonagall twins continued to stymie me. Kirsten and Kristen had been my clients for almost a month, and I was not making an inch of headway. Part of the problem was that I didn't know who I was talking to. Didn't know if it was Kristen or Kirsten laying on my couch. Because they also didn't know.

My latest tactic was to separate the two and interview them one on one while the other sat in the waiting room. I didn't know if this would lead to anything, but I was getting sick and tired of asking a question and getting half of the answer from one twin and the second half of the sentence from the other.

"Do you really not know which one you are or are you just being obstinate?" I asked the twin de jour out of frustration one morning.

"We really don't know," the girl said.

"Is there any way to find out? Suppose one of you died. How would the survivor know who she was?"

"Our DNA is identical... but our fingerprints are slightly different... although not different enough for us to tell the difference."

"But somebody, a fingerprint expert perhaps, can distinguish one of you from the other."

"That's true... although the effect only lasts for a short period of time...