I'm Jana, maybe I am not, I was Jean, once but not anymore, my thoughts battle, ot just maybe, I don't know who am I anymore, I've been dwelling on these questions recently, but I'll tell you my story.
For as long as I can remember, my twin Jane and I have been so close, we were never the average twins, we were mirrors of each other, or maybe I was a mirror of her, a full reflection of her heart and soul, living in a world that couldn't pin us down.
Our faces were almost identical, heart-shaped, with high cheekbones and wide, ocean-blue eyes that seem to hold secrets we haven't told anyone other than each other.
Our lips, plump and pink, unapologetically kissable, curl into the same shy smile, and our long blond hair, always swept into messy buns, shimmering like spun gold under the North Dakota sun.
We're androgynous, our bodies lean and smooth, hairless as if we were sculpted from the same ivory clay, Jane's small A-cup breasts barely distinguished her from me.
When we're side by side even if we stood naked, no one could tell us apart, and if it weren't for my boyish clothes, these old faded jeans, t-shirts, and scuffed sneakers, people would think I'm Jane's identical twin, We've always used that power on everyone.
Growing up in our sprawling estate on the outskirts of Bismarck, Jane and I were inseparable, two peas in a pod, as Maman used to say.
Maman--Maryan--is a vision of French elegance, her accent soft as silk, her dark hair always pinned up as she chisels away at marble in her sunlit studio. She's an artist, a sculptress who sees beauty in raw stone and in us, her wild twins.
She was barely nineteen when she married my Dad, Travis, back then he was a mere junior liaison at the American embassy in Paris, getting to know the locals, making friends with prominent French families.
Mom and dad's love was a wildfire, passionate, consuming. I've overheard Maman whisper to to my dad about their nights in Paris, tangled in silk sheets, his hands tracing her curves as candlelight flickered across their skin, "you were irresistible," she say, her voice thick with memory, "and I was your sinful muse."
"I unzipped you, freeing your thick cock pulsing for me," she said. "I kissed the tip, tasting your American salt, then took you deep" she said remembering her lips stretching.
"I groaned, my hands in your silky hair, guiding gently while you licked my cock and groaned like a bear." my father said. Maman replied with a sultry voice "My panties slid off, my pussy was flooding with lust, your balls were heavy and your dick was throbbing ready, my entrance was melting by your fingers probing, stretching. "Ready?" you asked."
Father echoed " your eyes were loving, hungery, you clearly needed a good fuck, your legs spread like a seasoned whore, my heart was racing. I entered you, slow, filling Your virgin passage."
Maman said "I gasped, the stretch intense yet perfect, months of waiting and desiring had prepared me, your thrusts, sure and steady, hitting deep, sparking my virgin orgasms"
Father moved closer the bed creaking under him whispering " you cried out, your body was shaking violently, your wetness smelled of lust it flowed down on my cock lubing it, being sucked inside your eager pussy."
Mother whispered ""More" I said, I begged. My nails digging into your back my love. Your pace quickened, our moans blending, the bed was shaking."
I imagined dad's hands searching Maman's body as i continued eavesdropping. Father whispered "you orgasmed again like a bitch in heat, a shuddering climax, your pussy twitched, my balls pulsing. I followed, groaning, filling You with hot cum,"
She replied with lustfull voice" your warmth was flooding deep. I orgasmed a third time and then a forth time waves crashing my body, your cock was forging my pussy, our lust mixing and hearts were melting."
I was always fascinated by the sexual depravity my parents shared when they were alone together, mistakingly thinking no one was listening.
My Dad now is a senior diplomat and business man, over the years he has become wealthy beyond measure, he leveraged his diplomatic job in every seemingly legal way, our family's fortune rooted in the middle eastern oil and US farm land, his companies do all sorts of business, here and abroad.
He had been always traveling, his presence in our lives was as fleeting as a summer storm, a Freedom he enjoyed, a freedom I had to pay for with my fractured musculinty and self esteem.
When he came home from a long trip, he took me camping or hunting in the nearby woods, a hopeless son salvage attempt, teaching me to track deer through the pines or start a fire with nothing but flint and steel. Those trips just made me fearless and wild, but failed to ground my musculinty as he wished they would.
