The Surviving Twin Part 1
Introduction:
Tragedy can tear a family apart, and bring it closer together
My parents told me about him when I was five or six. I had been born the second of two twins. The first, whom they named Joshua, had been born with a variety of ailments, most of them respiratory. He was taken immediately to NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit), and died within two hours. My parents were heartbroken. But they also knew they were still blessed to have another son, a healthy, vibrant, lucky-to-be-alive child. Me. They named me Daniel.
My childhood was mostly normal, but I can see now that my parents never quite healed from the loss of their other son. They cherished me greatly, and I always felt very loved, very appreciated, and well-cared for. But knowing what I know now about how normal families function, I can see in retrospect that there was a hole through the family that nothing could fill. I was ten when my folks split up. They didn’t even fight much, and neither one betrayed the other in any way I knew about. But I think they grew apart, each unable to express their grief to the other. Dad packed up the VW van and moved across town, leaving Mom and I the house and old Volvo station wagon by way of apology.
Life was different after that, spending weekends with Dad, weekdays with Mom, trying to have friends in both places. But at least one thing did not change: Mom still came in and lay with me. I didn’t realize it was even weird until I hit high school, and I deduced that nobody else’s mothers were slipping into their son’s rooms to cuddle with him each night, nor had they ever, at least since they were toddlers. It started to make me uncomfortable, though at the same time, it was so familiar and comforting. I was torn, though I didn’t say anything to Mom about it. In fact, we had never talked about it before, which also started to seem weird.
Dad and I took a camping vacation the summer between 9th and 10th grade. We canoed through a vast series of lakes up in Canada, portaging up to a mile between each one. It was grueling, but beautiful. Dad and I really renewed our relationship in those two weeks. I saw the sadness that still clung impossibly to this gentle man, a life never quite made whole, even sixteen years later. He had never remarried, never even had a serious relationship. He worked hard as a professor of paleoanthropology at the University, biked to work and back each day, spoiled his cat, read lots of books, and built beautiful wooden boats in his large garage. He showed me the half-finished wood canoe he was going to give me for graduation. It was beautiful, but also sad that he had no other outlet or focus for his love and attention.
Because I was gone so long, Mom and Dad had agreed that I’d spend the next two weeks and weekends with Mom. It was good to be home, and I realized how close we were and how much I’d missed her. And when she came into my room again the first night back, I just pretended, as I had since forever, that I was asleep, and simply enjoyed her touch, her closeness, her warmth. I pushed back the doubts I had, the reservations about how this was an unhealthy and prolonged excuse for not letting go of Joshua. Her soft hand, her gentle touch, her loving kisses. I fell asleep while she caressed me. It was good to be home.
Mom was also a teacher, though at the elementary school level, so she could often share summer breaks with me. I remember as a young kid feeling so lucky that both parents could spend the whole summer break with me. None of my friends had that; they had older siblings or babysitters much of the time. Not me. But now that I was older, she worked part time during the summer at a women’s clothing boutique, for extra income and to give her something to do during those hot summer months.
The first weekend home, Mom and I decided to go shopping for school. We both needed new clothes, and we both needed some supplies. And even though school was still a month away, we thought it best to get it out of the way. It was Saturday evening by the time we finished, and we decided to celebrate with a nice meal at the local Italian eatery. I convinced Mom to relax and enjoy some wine with dinner, which she did. She wasn’t much of a drinker, so she had two glasses and I could see her eyes start to glaze over. We laughed, ate well and had a nice time. She was fine to drive, apparently, and we got home safe.
I changed into my pajamas, and Mom put on a robe. She opened a bottle of wine, a rarity in our house. I had rented a few movies the day before, and I put one in. We settled down into the couch to watch it. It was kind of a snoozer, and we both fell asleep before it ended, cuddled on the couch, my head on her shoulder, her head on mine. I awoke with the credits rolling. Mom slept on, even as I moved my head. Her robe had loosened as she slept, and I could see deep into her cleavage, and the tops of her thighs. I got up, turned off the TV, took the nearly-empty wine bottle and glass to the kitchen, and came back to the couch.
“Mom, we should probably go to bed,” I said quietly, sorry to wake her. She didn’t respond.
“Come on, Mom, let’s get you to bed,” I said rhetorically, placing my hands on her cheeks.
Her eyes slowly opened, and she smiled wearily.
“Hi, Dan,” Mom cooed. “Is it bedtime?”
“Yep,” I smiled, “Let’s get you to bed.”
I helped her get up, and I carried much of her weight as we got her down the hall to her room. Perhaps this was why she doesn’t drink much. I left the light off, relying on the dim hallway light to navigate her bedroom. I stood her in front of her bed, where she swayed slightly.
“Help me get this robe off, honey,” Mom slurred.
Sitting in front of her on the bed, I loosened the knot and pulled the robe from her shoulders. It slid down to the floor. Mom was naked before me. Her breasts sagged from age, her hips and stomach had a little extra padding. She was no model, but she was an active woman in her fifties, and I found her beautiful. I was staring, and she slowly realized this.
“Checkin’ out your mom’s wrinkles, eh? I used to be pretty foxy,” Mom said wryly, again with a slur.
“You’re beautiful, Mom,” I stammered, and got up from the bed. “Get some sleep.”
I dashed from the bedroom, brushed my teeth, and got in bed. I pulled off my pajama shirt, which I never actually wore to bed, threw it at the closet door, and tried to go to sleep.
The minutes ticked by like hours. Burned into my mind was the shadowy image of my mother’s naked form. The gentle curves of her torso, her pronounced nipples, the mysterious fur of her bush. I imagined myself touching her, and my cock throbbed in my shorts.
In the darkness I stared with dread at the door. Would my mother, drunk, naked and sad, come through it for her nightly ritual? I distant snore made me realize she was fast asleep. There would be no night visit tonight. I closed my eyes, and tried to calm my breathing and my racing heart.
And yet sleep would not come. It wasn’t just this disturbing arousal centered on my mother that kept me up. Something was missing. Of course! In my sixteen years, I hadn’t gone hardly a night at home without being lulled to sleep by her gentle touch. And now, when I most feared it, I needed it the most. I swam in my sheets, praying for sleep, but it would not come. I even prayed that she would sober up just enough to administer her touch. But she never came.
My alarm clock read 3:28AM. I was more awake now that I had been all day. I threw back the sheets and walked quickly to Mom’s room. The moonlight through the window cast the room in a cold blue. Mom was sprawled across the bed, above the sheets. Her bare ass was aglow in the blue light. I tried to move her gently, to get her aligned on the bed, and covered with sheets and blanket. She mumbled incoherently as I gently pushed and pulled. I got her mostly tucked in, sleeping safely on her side, and I couldn’t get over how out of it she was. I lay down behind her, and decided to administer the nightly touch to her.
I coursed my hands across her wide, smooth back. I placed a few kissed on her shoulder. She didn’t move. Emboldened, I touched her breast. Her nipple poked into my hand, and I rolled it slightly between my fingers. She breathed deeper, but didn’t move. I ran a hand down across her stomach, feeling the ripples of her time-worn skin. I felt the first traces of her furry thatch. Fearlessly I ran my fingers into it, feeling a damp warmth that terrified and exhilarated me. I kissed her shoulder again, and pressed my fingers against her sex. This time she did move, parting her legs slightly, rolling onto her back towards me. In the blue moonlight, my mother’s naked body was laid out for me, even as I touched her with my hands. I leaned over and took her nipple into my mouth, sucking it gently. My hand continued to work against her pussy. Mom moaned slightly, and her lips parted. I kept sucking on her nipple, while boldly I slipped a finger into her pussy. She gasped now, pressing back against my hand, pulling my finger further in. I slipped another digit in, and soon I was finger-fucking her in earnest. Mom’s legs were splayed now, as I pumped my fingers deep into her. Her nipple was enormous in my mouth, and my cock was tearing at my shorts. Finally, as my hand began to tire, Mom’s breathing went from raspy to vocal, and I realized she was having an orgasm. Her pussy squeezed around my fingers and her hips pumped back and forth. Finally the noise and the movement abated, and Mom fell back into a deep slumber. I pulled my gooey fingers from her slick hole and slid silently from the bedroom.
In the secrecy of my dark bedroom, I tasted my sticky fingers while furiously jacking off. In a very intense orgasm I blew a massive load across my stomach and chest. I realized my vacation with Dad had meant I’d stored up two weeks worth of ejaculate, quite a large amount for a healthy teenager. Even as terror and exhilaration swept over me, I fell asleep almost immediately, my hand sticky with my Mom’s pussy and my torso caked with my own cum.
The next day, we both acted completely normally. I sure knew what had happened, though I couldn’t be sure if she did. If she did, she was playing along perfectly, and I managed to keep from throwing up all day. The day passed without incident, each of us with our own chores and Sunday past times. Dinner was pleasant enough, and Mom opened another bottle of wine.
“This time,” Mom said, “you’re going to try some.”
“But, Mom, I’m only sixteen!”
“Well, I don’t see any cops in here, do you? I’m not going to tell anyone what we do in the privacy of our own home.”
She gave me a wink, and my stomach churned in horror. Had she known? I watched her fill both our glasses.
“Bottoms up!” I said bravely, with a weak smile.
I sipped the heavy red wine, and suddenly understood the phrase ‘acquired taste’. But I kept at it through dinner, and it actually did go well with the roast beef she’d cooked all afternoon.
The evening was almost a photocopy of the night before: pajamas and robe, movie on TV, only the bottle of wine was split down the middle, and we were both tipsy without being wasted.
“Okay, time for bed, Mom,” I roused her.
“Already?” Mom yawned, and was able to get up under her own power.
Her robe was falling open again, and I saw her breasts and a flash of pubic hair. My cock stiffened instantly, and I struggled to hide the bulge in my thin pajama shorts. I walked Mom to her bedroom, and she led me in.
“Can you pull out my nightie while I use the bathroom?”
She shuffled to the bathroom to wash her face, take out her contacts and brush her teeth. I rummaged around in her drawers, looking for her sleepwear. I could hear her urinating in the toilet behind me. I finally found the nightie, and pulled it out. It was small, lacy, and very sexy. I hadn’t seen it before. My cock ached in my shorts. I heard the toilet flush behind me.
“Oh, sorry, honey, I meant the one hanging in my closet,” Mom mumbled as she shuffled back over to the bed.
“But since you’ve already got that one out,” and Mom opened her robe.
It fell again to the floor, and her glorious nude body was before me one more.
“Help me put it on, dear,” Mom entreated.
I pulled it over her head and down over her body. It was way too small for her, and her breasts thrust out angrily. It showed every curve and bulge, and her nipples looked impossibly hard.
“Oh, maybe I’m too old to even wear this thing anymore.”
I swallowed hard, tempted to express my disagreement, to exalt her beauty, but I knew the cat would be out of the bag. Instead, I turned and left the room.
I lay in bed, fighting for sleep. I missed her touch, and I desperately wanted to see and touch her again. As if in answer to prayer, I heard the squeak of my mother’s bedroom door, a few footfalls, and then the squeak of my own. I closed my eyes, resuming my long-practiced pretended sleep. Mom crawled in beside me, immediately her hands exploring my chest. Her body against mine was electric, and my erection was painful. Mom’s gentle fingers ranged across my abdomen. She placed a kiss on my chest, then another on my stomach.
And then, in one alarmingly fast move, Mom pulled back my shorts and put her mouth on my cock. The shock of her warm mouth so suddenly engulfing my member made me shudder, and Mom slowly sucked me deeper into her throat.
=====To Be Continued======
