Twins: Unveiled

My brother Chris and I are twins. And, like most twins, we've been pretty close all of our lives. Our mom even said we had our own language when we were toddlers, though neither of us remembers it. We figure she's probably just making it up. But she made sure even our names were close. Christopher and Kristin. Or Chris and Kris. Yeah. It's embarrassing.

I go by Krissy to avoid confusion. I have since I was 6 when our dad decided he was done specifying which kid he meant when he called. Our mom is really the only one who still calls me Kris. Unless Chris is trying to annoy me, then he does it too. But I call him Chrissy when I'm trying to annoy him, so it's even.

Like I was saying, my brother and I are close. Really close. There's never been a time when we haven't been. Sure, we're not always together. We've had a few separate classes, and I did gymnastics and tennis while he did baseball and tennis. Ok, yeah, we both played on the tennis team, but boys play in the fall and girls play in the spring, so there.

Our parents run a small diner in town, so naturally we even work together there. It's hard to explain to someone who's not a twin. We just have a special bond that we've always shared. He's my brother, and he's my best friend. Always has been. I think he'd say the same about me.

Things changed at the end of our senior year of high school, when he started dating Samantha Dean. He'd spend time with her most nights, at her place, or at the roller rink, or a spot they had in the woods. Our rooms had a mutual bathroom, so I always knew when he came in, sometimes later than his curfew. Then I'd get to hear all about Samantha and the way she'd blush when he sucked on her nipples, and how her eyes would roll back when he ate her out. I wasn't jealous, per se. More just annoyed. Not that he was having sex, but that I wasn't.

I had briefly dated a jock named Marcus, and at the time I really still had feelings for him. He had taken my virginity and treated me like a queen for two months. Chris always said he was a dick and a player. I honestly thought he was just jealous. But it turned out he had been right. Marcus had been cheating on me the whole time. Then he dumped me, and I hadn't been with anyone since.

Not that I didn't have opportunities. I'm fit and lithe, with a good figure and moderate C-cups. I have long, black hair that reaches just past my shoulder blades, and, judging by the amount of attention I've gotten from guys in my life, I'm good looking. I just hadn't felt like dating anyone else. And it was annoying. Annoying to hear my brother talk about how he fucked Samantha, in great detail, while I'd try to hide the fact that I was getting wet just hearing about it. More than once I'd finger fuck myself to sleep after he left my room.

Anyway, things really changed the night of our 19th birthday party. We had an official party at the diner, then afterwards we went out to the woods with a few friends and a few more bottles of liquor. It was a nice night. We made a fire and my brother and his friend brought their guitars, and after a while we were all singing bad songs around the fire.

Towards the end of the night, my friend Kelsey said something about needing to get laid, and I said "same, girl." And, like that, it started the chain of events that led up to...well, what it led up to.

Out of nowhere Kelsey blurts out, "What, Chris hasn't fucked you lately?"

Everything stopped when she said it.

She looked around at everyone and laughed. She said, "What, you two aren't doing it?"

"What are you talking about?" Chris said.

"Everyone just assumed you two...y'know...bang," she answered with a chuckle. "You guys are like, always hanging off each other."

"What do you mean, 'everyone'?" he asked, looking around at the dozen or so friends we had with us.

They all got quiet, looking down at the ground or up into empty tree branches. I couldn't believe it.

One of our mutual friends, Tom, spoke up. "I mean, some kids at school think you're boyfriend and girlfriend, not brother and sister." With that he cracked up into uproarious laughter. He doubled over when he saw the looks Chris and I gave him. "Well, it's true."

"Oh my god," I said, standing up. "Who all believes this?"

"C'mon, Krissy, I was just joking," Kelsey said, trying to lighten the mood.

I wasn't having it. "Wait, everyone here thinks we've fucked?" I motioned towards my brother.

"Well, not everyone," Tom said in between breaths as he tried to keep from laughing harder.

"I mean, you two are the closest cou--pair--at the school. You've been draped all over each other since as long as I've known you," Kelsey said, giving up on changing the topic.

"We're twins!" I nearly shouted. "We've always been close! That doesn't mean we've..."

"No one would think any less of you," Kelsey retorted.

"Oh my god." It was all I could say. I sat back down and shook my head.

People started speaking up.

"We're sorry, we just thought you were."

"You guys really aren't? Wow."

"Would've sworn they had."

"I can't believe they're not."

There were even a few who said, "I would" and "Why not?"

Everyone seemed to be having a good time with it.

I could feel myself getting redder.

Some of Chris's buddies teased him. "C'mon dude, you have, haven't you? I know you have. She's so hot."

"Holy shit, shut up," he said weakly. I could hear the strain in his voice.

In what seemed like no time, the conversations changed and the laughter rang through the trees again, like it hadn't even happened.

But I couldn't get it out of my head. It was ridiculous. I mean, sure, Chris and I, being twins, growing up together, sharing the same bathroom...we've probably been a bit more "intimate" than other siblings. And Chris was good looking. A few inches taller than me, he had the same athletic physique. He even started using the weight room at school the year before, and it showed. I couldn't help but notice the six-pack he had developed.

But he was my brother. And ok, when I was younger, going through puberty, I may have watched him more closely. Touched him more. But we'd always touched a lot. We held hands practically all the time until we were like, 12. We hugged every chance we got, and one of us would usually be leaning on the other when we were together. But it was because we were twins. We were close.

Fuck.

That's what I thought sitting there.

Fuck, we did look closer than most couples.

But it's not like we had ever thought about each other in that way. My mind raced through the years we spent together, the intimacy that we shared. Sometimes, we'd even still huddle under the covers in my bed, watching a movie. It didn't seem odd or creepy. It just felt...natural.

Soon, we were breaking up and saying our goodbyes and Chris and I walked home. We were still living at home then, while we were attending the local college on the other side of town.

We kept a little more distance between ourselves than we normally would. Neither of us said a word.

Was he going over all the times we'd spent together too? All the touches, the play fights, the blanket sharing? All the times I'd put my legs over his lap on the couch? Did I...want him to touch them? To touch me?

I felt my stomach sink at the answer, an answer so deep in my subconscious I couldn't even admit it to myself. I was bombarded with images, flashes of memory, times when I had played with myself, and in the deepest ecstasies right before I came, my mind picturing him. They were so brief and so outside the realm of normalcy I had never given them any thought. Hell, I had never even let the thought linger except for those briefest of moments.

We avoided all conversation on that walk, and when we would make eye contact, one of us would look away quickly. Was he...? Could he be thinking about me in that way? Were there times, alone in his room, stroking his cock, right about to cum, when he thought of me?

No, that was silly. He had a girlfriend. Of course he wouldn't think of me.

God, it was so stupid.

We got home around midnight, and our parents and little sister were already asleep. We quietly made our way up to our rooms, and each went our respective ways, without a look or a word. It was so awkward. And to make it worse, I was drunk. He was too.

I stumbled around trying to get my jeans off for a good five minutes before I gave up with them halfway down my thighs. I could hear Chris in the bathroom brushing his teeth. I'd have to wait and brush mine after. So I took another shot at the jeans. With one leg off the ground, I lost my balance and bumped into the bathroom door.

A few seconds of silence passed. Then Chris opened it.

I was half laying/half leaning on my bed with my jeans above my knees. Goddammit, why do women's jeans have to be so tight!?

"Need some help?" Chris asked softly. It wasn't the first time he had helped a drunken me out of some clothes.

I didn't answer at first. Finally, I just said, "Ok."

He walked into my room. He was shirtless, and I noticed the abs, the muscle on his arms and shoulders.

He motioned for me to stand up and I did, while he went down to his knees. He gently tugged the fabric down my legs, slow and steady, until my jeans were puddled around my feet. He seemed to stay on his knees longer than necessary, and, my god, I felt myself start to get wet with his head so close to my...well, you know.

"Leg up," he said, and I obeyed. He pulled my jeans off my right foot. When we repeated it with the left, I stumbled, and reached out to hold onto his shoulders. It was something I'd done a million times before, shirt or no shirt.

This time, it felt different. His skin was hot under my touch, and when he stood up, my hands stayed on his shoulders.

We looked into each other's eyes, like we had a million times before.

He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it. My mind was muddied, and I was having trouble catching my breath until I realized I wasn't breathing.

"It's stupid," he said.

"Yeah," I answered.

Both of us used the same tone: weak, shaky, unbelievable.

He took a step back to leave, then stopped. My hands were still on his shoulders, and I suddenly didn't want him to leave. I didn't want to have to take my hands off of him.

I honestly don't remember who moved first. I think he did. Maybe I want to believe that.

Either way, before I knew what was happening, his lips were on mine. Not gently, either. Hard and passionate. I'd never been kissed like that in my life.

My arms had slipped around his neck, my fingers twirling in his hair as we kissed. His mouth opened and so did mine, and our tongues met.

His hands were over my breasts, and he pushed my back up against the wall. It all happened so fast, like a dam suddenly bursting. My mind raced through all the cracks that had developed in that dam over the years. All the times that I may have been turned on by him. It was nothing like this though.

His hands were under my shirt, grasping my breasts. I quickly tore it over my head and tossed it. His lips were hot on my neck, and I tilted my head to give him better access.

His hands wrapped around my waist and squeezed my ass. God, I almost came right there, with my brother's hands on my ass. He gripped it and pulled my hips to his.

My hands grabbed his belt, holding his hips to mine. Seemingly on their own, they moved to the buckle, fingers undoing it. I couldn't believe what I was doing, couldn't believe what he was doing. It was bonkers, lunacy, madness.

Maybe the alcohol had numbed our ability to think, to think about all the reasons we shouldn't be doing this. Maybe it lowered our inhibition, the inhibition that had held us back from giving in to this sooner. I know it played its part. Both of us were drunk, and it made us bold. It pushed us into things we had only dreamed of before in the deepest parts of our subconscious.

We talked about it later, when we had time and clear heads.

Then, it was only a time of action.

My hands unbuckled his belt and popped open the button of his shorts. I could feel the hardness of his cock pushing against the fabric. My fingers found the zipper and pulled it down, over the bulge in his boxers. His shorts dropped around his ankles.

While I was doing that, his hands were reaching around my back, fumbling for the clasp of my bra as he sucked and kissed on my neck. As his shorts fell, the clasp came undone.

It was a watershed moment.

Up until that point, clothing still covered our most intimate areas. Removing it was ushering in a whole new chapter of our lives. It was like Caesar crossing the Rubicon.

Drunk or not, both of us seemed to understand the gravity of the moment.

He pulled his lips away from my neck and inched back. His eyes caught mine, and, like we had for all of our lives, we instantly understood that we were on the same page, were thinking the same thing. More like feeling the same thing.

His hands were light on my hips, ready to pull them off of me should I ask, should I object to revealing my body to him.

I had a hard time thinking. I knew I should stop, should tell him to stop. To make him go to his room and never speak of this again. But I couldn't find the words.

I pressed my shoulders inward, letting the straps fall over them. Our eyes locked. I let my bra fall to the floor.

He kissed me then, tenderly, passionately. My hands moved to his head, fingers playing in his hair as I held him to me. Our kiss deepened, turned fiery. Only then did he pull back and look at my breasts.

He leaned down and sucked a nipple into his mouth, and I shuddered. He licked and flicked at it with his tongue, and it sent shivers down my spine. He moved to the other breast and did it again, sucking and licking and pulling on my nipple with his lips. I arched my back to push it into his mouth. My panties were soaked.

My hands moved to his waist again, again as if on their own. For the first time in my life, I touched my brother's hard cock. I just brushed my fingertips against it over his boxers. Then I closed them around it. He gasped over one of my nipples, then continued licking it.

When my fingers closed around his hard cock over his boxers, my body caught fire. It wasn't just the physicality. It was the intimacy of the taboo. It was knowing that this was something we shouldn't be doing. It was sharing this with the person I was closest to in all the world. The person that I loved more than anything or anyone.

It was wrong. And, god, it was so right. The feelings are indescribable. I loved this man my entire life. And I knew he loved me. This was love in overdrive. More intense than I thought was possible. The love of a brother and sister. Of twins. Of man and woman. Combined. Explored. Unveiled.

I squeezed his cock and he moaned around my nipple. I started stroking it, and I could feel the wetness through his boxers near the head. I knew he was feeling all the things that I was, and it made it so much more special.

Before I could pull his cock out of his boxers, he dropped to his knees. I whimpered as his cock slipped out of my hand. I just wanted to touch it.

But his mouth quickly erased those thoughts. He pressed kisses down my stomach, and I whimpered again at the feel of his lips and tongue on my bare skin. The hot kisses on my flesh, followed by the cold on the wet, abandoned area as he moved lower. Fire and ice on my skin.

My back was still against the wall as his fingers reached the waistline of my panties. His fingers pressed inside them, and I shivered. Before he removed them, his lips kissed over the thin sheer of the cotton. His tongue found the wet spot, and made it even wetter, as he lapped at my pussy through my panties.

I wriggled impatiently, my hands finding the top of his head, fingers grasping at his hair. The teasing was almost more than I could take. But before I could complain, he slid my panties down and off me.

He kneeled in between my legs, looking at my freshly shaven pussy for a few seconds. As if he wanted to remember every detail about my body. I was practically dripping.

He ran a thumb up over it, and I shuddered. He looked up at me then and smiled, that same boyish smile I had seen so many times over my life. God, how I love him.

I don't know if I smiled back or made a face or what. All I know is that he saw in my eyes how much I wanted this, and it was all the encouragement he needed.

His tongue flashed out in one long, slow lick up to my clit. I moaned, and he did it again, then again. My fingers twisted in his hair.

My back pressed against the wall as I arched my hips towards his mouth. His hands firmly held my hips as he explored my pussy with his tongue, one long, slow lick after another. I could've screamed.

His thumbs opened my lips so he could lick inside them, and my legs started to shake as his tongue reached my clit again. Then, suddenly, he closed his mouth over my clit, sucking and lapping at it wildly. Fuck, no wonder Samantha loved when he ate her out. He's amazing at it.

I grasped his hair, whimpered and moaned. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna cum."

I let go of his hair with one hand so I could bite the knuckles. My eyes clenched shut. His relentless assault on my clit continued, and the orgasm ripped through my body. My hips flung forward as the shaking progressed through my legs into my entire body, my shoulders pressed firm against the wall. I would've screamed if not for the knuckles in my mouth. I'm pretty sure they had teeth marks for days.

As my orgasm subsided, he pulled his head back, still holding onto my hips, as if he wasn't going to let me get away. Slowly my senses returned, and I opened my eyes. They took a few seconds to focus.

He lapped lazily at my pussy, which drove me back to reality. I looked down at him, trying to catch my breath. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Still, I tried. "You're...Oh my god...I can't...Wow."

It was a pathetic attempt, but he got it. He stood up and smiled broadly, pulling my body into his. He leaned forward and kissed me, deep and slow. I could taste myself on his tongue.

My fingers twirled in his hair as the kiss deepened and turned fiery again. My god, he's an excellent lover.

He slid his arms around my waist and lifted me off the floor, our lips still locked in a steamy embrace, tongues fighting for dominance. He twisted and walked us to the bed, laying me down gently, his body on top of mine. It was so sweet and romantic and sexy, to be in his arms, to be carried, held.

We stared into each other's eyes for a long moment, our bodies tight, arms and legs and souls entangled. He brushed the hair from my forehead and ran his hand down my cheek.

"I love you."

I've heard him say that to me thousands of times in our lives, but this time it hit me. He did love me, and I loved him. As a sister. As a brother. As lovers.

Those words melted my insides. They took my breath away, and I couldn't respond.

I didn't need to. He saw it in my eyes. He knew. Just like he always had.

Before I regained the ability to speak, his lips covered mine, kissing me deep and tenderly. Our actions were slower, more subtle, but no less filled with desire.

Our love turned fiery again, and our mouths grew hungrier; kisses becoming more passionate, more longing, but no less deep.

I knew I should have told him that I loved him too, knew I should have responded in some way. I knew that he knew, that he knew I loved him like no one else, knew I wanted him like no one else. But I still felt like I should have responded, to let him know for sure.

I decided to show him.

As we kissed, my hands moved to his waistline, to the top of his boxers. As we kissed, I began to pull them down. I wanted him to know. I wanted him inside me.