I’ve often said that there are too many people in the world making unfounded statements and you know, while I’ve breakfasted at Tiffany’s, lunched at Nepenthe down along highway one and eaten like a tribal chief at Carnivore in Nairobi, Tiffany’s was the only place which didn’t have either mist or fog swirling around it or in it. Instead it had a glut of precocious people saying silly things like ‘this steak is great!’ and ‘you look fabulous!’

I had to leave my coffee half drunk at one point, not being able to stand the nonsense any longer. I mean, who the hell has a steak the size of Tasmania for breakfast anyway? Bloody madness if you ask me! And as for looking fabulous, well that was a matter of opinion.

But foodstuffs aside, factual statements about sexy women are even harder to reconcile. Some of them in fact border on the criminal. Most are made by blind morphodites who have never lived anywhere except a twelfth floor cave in a city centre tower block.

But because it was a Sunday and a Sunday in Summertime what’s more, I forgot all about arguing and trying to prove anyone wrong or right. Being a thoughtful host I took my guests a tray of tea upstairs instead. There are times when I am good like that – if I like you I will give you the pink guest room with the four poster bed and the en-suite. If I don’t like you you’ll get the haunted attic room with only a squeaky cold tap on a cracked basin in the corner.

And now let me offer you a simple statement of fact of my own: I knew my guests were awake because I could hear them. At least I could hear something akin to distant thunder or the rumble of a cattle stampede. It was the bedside hifi of course, tuned to radio four with some wildlife programme about the Serengeti on it. The place which got me talking about eating meat in the first place.

Alright! Erotic it may not have been, initially, the bare African breast being somewhat dusty most of the time and exceptionally saggy the rest, except when very new, but after a while, when the mists cleared a little I opened the door and saw my guests were sitting up, side by side in the bed.

They greeted me cheerily, nightdresslessly naked and obviously unembarrassed, either of them, by my tea laden appearance. Funny thing you know, I’d taken them for sisters when I first met them, which was some time ago now, oh, I’d say last year, maybe. Sisters ‘cos they looked so alike, twins even, you’d think, until you really got to know them. Oh I know they confuse and upset a lot of people, most, at first sight get the wrong idea. And thinking them to be sisters is only the start of it. Sometime later you’d swear they were lesbians, but that isn’t so either. Which leaves the question are they even Bi or what? There surely aren’t many other choices. If I just said ‘Very Sexy’ would that do? I know, as a statement of fact it doesn’t mean very much. Eight little letters which could be interpreted in almost any way. Some people might say the same about a car or a piece of Stinking Bishop cheese because yes, it is a broad and virtually meaningless statement. Slightly better than ‘you look fabulous’ or ‘this steak is great’ I suppose. “Very Sexy” Slightly better. But not much.

The radio programme ended just then and, before the news came on one of them leaned over and clicked the hifi off.

“How nice!” the other one said “Tea in bed! What a treat!”

If I just said “Very Sexy” would that do? No, No and NO it damn well would not do at all! It would be entirely and utterly inadequate! Because either one of the girls on her own was probably six times more sexy than any other half a dozen other girls put together. Combined they constituted something which could easily move mountains or be the cause of an outbreak of the third world war.

The frightening thing was, they were unaware of it.

Let me give you a for instance:

You may recall reading about a particular traffic accident some time ago. Maybe you saw it on the television? A busy road junction in central London. A place where five main roads meet with pedestrian crossings, central refuges, several different lanes and a mass of assorted traffic lights. Oxford Circus is it? I’m not sure. It may be. Where ever it is I think you will find it is closed at the moment, closed for some time to come, most likely, while repairs are carried out on it. And on the surrounding buildings too, lets not forget them!

“We were only crossing the road!” one of them told me later.

You know, it’s amazing how much damage a London bus can do when it is driven at full speed into a shop front.

“Yeah!” the other one said.

Unbelievable how many cars can be wrecked in a split second of gaping inattention.
“We were only going for a coffee” they said together.

“Well you shouldn’t have been!” it felt like half the world wanted to tell them.

And that’s another, unnervingly frightening thing.

You can forget the crash of falling streetlights, the honking of horns, the screeching of tyres and all the other pointless destructive racket when the words “two skinny lattes please” is recited in unison but slightly out of sync and with the most upsettingly erotic tiny hint of a lisp. And that’s one of their little secrets I think. When they speak their voices are not quite in unison by about a millisecond. An interval sufficiently noticeable to make everything they say appear to have a slight echo. Can you begin to see what I mean? Disturbing, isn’t it? And that’s only their voices. It gets worse! I mean even covered from head to foot in several layers of upholstery grade hessian and gaffer tape they’d still be ten times sexier than any other two dozen people I can think of…… So when they leant and laughed and made fun of me as I stood there with their tray of tea I might easily have passed out from a loss of blood. No I mean it all rushed from everywhere else down into my prick.

But no-one could really be that casually, unwittingly naturally sexy naturally.

Could they?

Yes! These two could, undoubtedly.

Undressed they looked even more like twins. No, more like they were one person and a perfect mirror. But then one had a little dimple, there, while the other did not.

“How do I tell you apart?” I’d asked them, semi deliriously after, or during, one of our early lovemaking sessions.

“Does it matter?” they’d answered, the echo alone almost enough to bring a man to orgasm.

Matter? No of course it didn’t.

Nothing mattered when I was with them.

There were a few differences of course, apart from the dimple. There had to be, didn’t there? But even the differences were interchangeable. They wore each others jewellery and clothing for instance. Worse their smells and tastes changed back and forth between the pair of them, even though, needless to say, they both had their period in the same week.

Can you begin to see what I mean? Yes, these two are the original weapons of mass destruction no dictator would ever get the opportunity to brag about. Because his armies would be immobilised, his missiles rendered mere fireworks the instant Nina and Tina called around to see him.

“You’re very good to us!” they chimed together their eyes focussing on a place rather lower than the tray of tea I still held.

I couldn’t say anything. No, I had trouble keeping my balance, to tell the truth.

Light headed, and that’s an understatement.

Oh the four poster bed is plenty big enough for three people. It has had five or six in it together at times. Plenty big enough for the three of us, and when two of them are Rita and Tina that bed suddenly becomes as big as the world.

Someone put the tray down somewhere. I didn’t see it again. Someone suggested a couple of somethings I’ve been strongly advised not to write down here. Someone giggled and I sort of fell into their bed.

There was a long black double ender nestling between some pillows and a tube of Smarties lower down the sheet. I don’t recall taking anything off, not even undoing any buttons. Things just happen like that. It was like being hypnotised and drugged deeply, both at once yet with all one’s senses alert and sharply available.

I have no idea which of them did what to begin with and, like they said, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. There was more than enough of them to go round. About four times enough in fact and scarcely enough, of course, of me.

Once upon a time I was concerned about doing something to one which I wouldn’t then have the energy, inclination or capacity to immediately do to the other. I soon learned however that there was absolutely no need to worry about jealousy, or anything else, so far as these two were concerned because the first time I found myself with them I almost immediately discovered neither of them really made any attempt to make love to me.

Rather they made love to each other with me being used as an accessory.
That was what happened this time too, though in a slightly different way.

There was a double ended dildo in the bed, as I’ve already mentioned, a substantial black thing of disturbingly belittling proportions. What I didn’t see at first was the other one, a greenish pink coloured peculiarity shaped like a capital letter Y and obviously intended to be enjoyed by a trio.

“That looks like fun!” I said rather dubiously and right on cue they giggled not quite in harmony.

“’s only a threeway” they said “so you’ll be alright……”

“My other half would love to have met you……” I stated in one, still lucid moment as I drew breath. “But she is……”

“Yes, we know” they chorussed. “And we did bring the quad, just in case……”

It must have been sometime around then when that particular session began though for the life of me there seemed to be so little about it to actually remember. It wasn’t as if I really did anything, quite possibly I didn’t do anything at all, which brings me back to my theory of hypnotism.

I know I orgasmed several times in quick succession, itself a feat of hitherto unknown proportions. I know they did too for I could sort of still feel the remnants of my overwhelmed senses through the haze of sexual euphoria. Whether the cracking noises I heard several times came from my ribs, part of the bed or something else entirely I have no idea but thank goodness for the strength of the old oak four poster!. No modern bed could have withstood their onslaught for more than a few minutes.

All I was aware of were the noises they made, some of them at any rate and they way they managed to do absolutely everything together but after a while I became overwhelmed and confounded utterly, bewitched beyond all hope of rescue by the magic of those heavenly twins.
……………

Eventually I returned from Nirvana.

Or think I did.

Someone clattered a cup and saucer.

“Oh dear, the tea has gone cold” they said.
“Fear not!” I gasped manfully “I’ll make some more!”

“That’d be nice……” they said, only out of sync by a millisecond.

Under any other circumstances it could have been quite embarrassing when the misplaced quad dildo fell out of the bed. It was my fault I know for getting out so clumsily but I was exhausted and they laughed uproariously anyway while it lay on the floor, like one of the letters off a shopfront, a substantial plastic X in a particularly perfect shade of pink.

“So that’s where it went” one of them said.
………………

Unsteadily I made tea, my hands still shaking while their whoops and yelps reverberated down the stairs. I knew that whatever I did would be construed as a challenge, something else to be incorporated into their already madly epic sessions of sex, so I put a packet of chocolate fingers on the tray with the tea and one of those aerosol cans of foaming cream next to it. Needless to say my reappearance in the bedroom was met with screams of glee.

Its not easy for me to say this but I’ve had to have time off work because of them. The truth is I got exhausted, dehydrated and a very bad back. My other half was not really sympathetic. They’d gone by the time she got home from her meeting but before they left they promised to come for lunch on Sunday. I told them we were having an especially nice bit of beef.

It will be midday when they get here, if I know them as well as I do, so we have a little time yet. A little time in which to muster our resources and decide on a plan of action.

I may see you tomorrow, or the day after. On the other hand by that time I may have expired from sexual exhaustion……

It really doesn’t matter about that either.

© Aahlu. 4th July 2010.

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