THINGS FALL APART
The truth is I ran away. And I did it so much more than just once. I'd run, figuratively, and then I'd be pulled back. Because the other truth is that I've never been able to resist him. We're twins. We were made to be together, and I love him too much.
The worst part is that I'm probably going to run away again, and he's going to let me, and then we'll both act like it's ok and get on with our intertwined lives, and then one day I won't be able to stand it anymore and I'll go back to him and say,"I'm sorry, but I have to be with you." Like I've said so many times before. I've lost count how many times I've said it, but it'll be as true and heartwrenching as every other time, and he'll feel the same and he'll take me back.
I'm not sure if I'm running away or towards him or parallel. I just know I'm always running. It's become a metaphor of our feelings towards life: just get through it. Run run run, through a thousand oceans, and get through the damn monsoon. And the end isn't any better because it never ends.
And maybe that's why I'm writing this, because I — because we keep running, but I don't actually want my life to end. I don't want to reach the end so fast. I want to die with him, but not so soon.
Having said that, let me get back to how I want him back again. I want my cake and to eat it too, you could say. I've been that way my whole life. Since I was little, I wanted to kiss my brother but I wanted to kiss girls too. Later, I wanted a normal life with a normal girlfriend — as long as I could keep my cars and bike — but I always wanted Bill too. There are times this tears me apart and other times I tell myself it's fine because at least Bill understands. And it's not like he's innocent in all this. I'll be damned if he didn't gussy himself up for my sake when we were young. Especially in our teens.
In our teens... Man, there were tough times then, but sometimes I want to crawl back there. Sure, we had the whole world famous rockstars thing happening, and dealing with lawyers and accountants, and that fucking sucked at that age — seriously — but there was also this bubble, this protection. Safety makes you feel empowered and bold. I was a teenage kid and thought the world was my oyster. I was a sexgod. Remember that era? I fucked so many girls, dude. Thing was, that I'd go back to Bill at night afterwards, and like I said, there were times when I felt awesome, and other times when I'd feel so guilty. And at first I had no real reason to be, I just felt that way. He'd be tucked into a hotel bed, and I'd get in with him, and we'd talk in the dark like normal, and I'd pull him close, and I... wanted him. Instead of just going to bed sometimes, I wanted to crawl into the same skin with him. Seriously, it felt so natural, because it was this silent and subtle feeling, but there were times, especially when I felt guilty at night and I started to understand it was because I felt like Bill was mine already. So we'd talk like normal, but there I were some nights when I held him and I wanted just that tiny bit more from him. And that's it basically. It was years and years that we'd had an on-and-off sexual tension between us, and then one night I broke it. Power makes you do crazy things, so I turned flirtation into action. And this opened a whole new door. I'd push, and then he'd push back, and we'd get more lewd and bold, and have so much fun hiding behind doors and laughing about how bad we were being while pulling the wool over everyone's eyes, and before we knew it we were crossing lines that... well, I should be saying lines that should never be crossed, but I honestly don't know.
I was so oblivious to the repercussions of what we were doing. I mean, yeah, I knew I shouldn't be sexing my brother, but still. It didn't hit me for a few years at least. I was too high off being a guitarist and having girls scream my name. Seriously. You think you could never be that shallow to lose touch with reality, right? But try having girls follow you and throw bras at you since you're 12 and see how quickly it warps you. There are some ways Bill and I are totally fucked up because of that. We didn't grow up normal. We grew up on a tourbus with little impulse control. I'm amazed we've only done light drugs and aren't dead yet. But I think it's because we're together, because we always have some kind of balance in each other, I think that's what keeps me even remotely functional.
Don't tell him I said that, because one: he already knows, and two: I'd never hear the end of his "little Tomi" jokes.
Anyway, so there was a time before I thought too hard about what I'd started, where I thought the "hiding in plain sight" thing was so fucking clever, that we'd outsmarted everyone. And you know Bill loves that shit. That's one of his biggest highs. I admit it thrills me too, still, to this day, in a juvenile way. I feel powerful when I'm with him. And vulnerable. And I... well, I don't want to admit this so easily, but I'll say it: I don't like being vulnerable. I don't cope well with it. I fight back violently and victims be damned. That's how Bill describes it, and of course he's right because he knows me so well.
So in our teen years, we had this bubble of security from the real world around us, and it absolutely fueled my impertinence. Once I figured out Bill was game, it was on. I mean, it wasn't so easy when I wasn't sure how far I could push, but any tiny tiny step I made always came back to me and the game became bigger and bigger. First it was jokes, and then it was him singing to me on stage, and I could tell there was at least once when it wasn't just acting for the fans, and then he'd put his hand on my shoulder in a way that looked normal but felt... well, it felt normal, but there was something there. Just something really subtle. In his look too. I probably gave him the same looks. I’ve seen old videos and I swear it says “I want to fuck my brother” in bold letters on our foreheads. I don’t know how anyone didn’t accuse us more seriously. But I guess it was because the fans loved all that twincest shit. Thing was, all that and more existed in our private time. This “there’s more going on here” thing would be in these really subtle gestures too, which puzzled me before I had words for how I felt, but then I thought maybe, just maybe, he'd be ok if I pushed a little. So I touched back when he touched me. Actually, that's always been one of my favorite things — touching the small of his back. I think that move especially pushed a bunch of boundaries for us. He'd be brushing his teeth over a sink and I'd come up behind him, just to talk, but I'd lean on the counter and run my fingers along the base of his spine, like I was playing. I was, but I also wanted to touch him. Literally anywhere I hadn't already touched him. And he asked me for a massage a few times afterwards. It became a signal pretty soon. I'd caress his back and then he'd say how tense he was and say, "Tomi, massage please," and I'd pretend to sulk because it was hard work, and he'd turn around and put his arm around my neck and say, "C'mon, you're so good at it. Who else would I ask?"
And so I did give him his back massages. We'd watch a shitty movie while I'm pretty sure neither of us watched the screen, and I'd feel pleased and brave and anxious at the same time because I was touching him. And oh god... the sounds he made. I think that's what made the activity so bad back then. It felt really sexual to me, even if it wasn't. I mean, at first. Take into account that we'd been touching each other more than normal since we were babies. If we felt lonely we even kissed on the lips, but it was still within that family context. But the way he breathed for me those times was something a bit different. It was just his little huffs of air, little exhales of pleasure, and they would drive me up a wall. We've talked about it since, and he says it was pretty much the same on his end, which is why he says he had to hold back from breathing the way he wanted to. In retrospect it's comforting we felt the same. We still feel mostly the same I think. So it was those little breaths I paid attention to instead of the movie playing. And the braver I felt, the longer I used to sit on his legs and rub his back, so that after a few months I was basically just sitting there touching him for no reason and he was still breathing that way. Because my hands are fucking skilled, but I'm not going to give a massage for a fucking hour. Hand-cramps, man, hand-cramps. And that's when I started touching just a tiny bit more... like, well, I loved his spine. And I'd follow it with my finger and get really damn close to his tailbone, and then all the way back up into his hair, and I'd run my hands over his neck and wrap my fingers down over his collarbones. And he honestly seemed to like it, not just let me do it. He used to say it "calmed him", but let's be real, I'm dense, but not that dense. It took me a while, but I figured out it wasn't calming him down but riling him up. And even if we hadn't yet talked openly about anything being weird, that felt like some kind of license to touch more.
This was around the time he started looking really pretty. I couldn't take my eyes off him sometimes. Which was more fuel to the fire. I'd watch him take off his makeup at night and it felt like I was watching a girl, and that did the weirdest things to my stomach. I'd go up to him and smell him and he'd laugh and say it tickled. But then next week, there he was doing the same thing to me and laughing it off. He was irresistible and back then I had no reason to resist him. So one night we were spooning, as had become normal between us — and let me clarify that even though I knew in the back of my head that some of this stuff was a bit sexual, most of the time it didn't feel that way. I just felt like being closer. So I was his big spoon one night, and finally he said to me I should go shower, that I smell. And it's not that he'd never said that before — he tells me I smell all the damn time when I know I smell fucking awesome — but it was that something told me he meant something different this time. I think he was sleepy and it slipped into his tone, but it meant something more like, "Wash the stink of sex with someone else off you before you get into bed with me, motherfucker."
So I went to take a shower and then I came back feeling even more guilty. And what tore me up inside was that he turned to me, cuddled into my shoulder so we were facing into each other this time, and I put my leg between his, and he hugged me closer and we could have fallen asleep like that. He looked ready to, and I was sleepy too. But I wanted to say sorry somehow. It wasn't like was I cheating on him, because it's obvious I was free to be with as many girls as I wanted, but something pulled at me that I needed to apologize, so I bent a bit and kissed the top of his head like our mother used to do, and he hugged me closer. It was just supposed to be a little "I'm sorry" kiss. It was best of he didn't know why I did it. And goddamnit, I wonder to this day what my life could have been like if I kept myself in check and didn't do anything after that. If I'd just gone to sleep. But I didn't. I slid my hand under his t-shirt — which by the way, was one of mine that he was sleeping in — and started touching his back. And so after a few minutes of this, he wasn't sleepy anymore. I could tell because I wasn't either. That had passed and now we were silent and holding on to each other and so damn awake. And then he shifted farther up the bed so he was facing me directly instead of being tucked into my shoulder, and our legs got completely entwined. I had one of my thighs right up between his legs, so he was literally sitting on me and I could feel him. Yeah, and it was so fucking erotic, I swear.
It could have still been nothing, at this point. We'd curled up in each other a bunch of times before, but man, that night, he was breathing in my face, and I had his junk right up on my hip, and I was touching so low on his back. And he was looking at me and I was so scared right then. Like, what the fuck was I doing??! But there we were, eye to eye, and I touched low on the small of his back, and then a little lower, and even though I didn't think we could get closer, he'd get imperceptibly closer to me. At first it was just his back, but then I was toying with the hem of his boxer-briefs and he smiled. It was really really slight, because it was a pretty serious moment, but he smiled, I swear. So I had dipped my fingers into his boxer briefs, slowly, just past the edge at first, still tracing his spine, and then I... Oh god. I just touched lower and lower, by the millimeter, I swear. And the expression on his face and his dick right on me. I mean, I could feel his growing hardness by now, and I know he felt me too. But it was so so slow. It was a moment that just dragged on forever, because I didn't know how to stop it, and I didn't want to, and my curiosity was eating me. Especially since he was so so good and receptive. I've jacked off so many times to that memory of the first time we broke some serious rules. That night was definitely a turning point. So it was getting intimate. I won't exactly say sexual, but really personally intimate that was weird even for us. He kissed the corner of my mouth then. Lightly, like I had kissed the top of his head. And he was so fucking close we were breathing the same air then, and I could see right in his eyes, because we were well adjusted to the darkness by then and I could see every detail. I felt his breath hitch and his dick tighten, and my fingers had gone so low at that point that I was basically avoiding touching his asshole on every pass even though I'd dipped further than that even. And then he said my name. "Tomi," he said, ever so gently. And it wasn't, "Tomi, I think we should stop." It was more like, "Tomi, you're turning me on so much." And for a moment I was so stuck, like, what do I fucking do right now?
I palmed one of the globes of his ass and pulled him close to me, and then we were kissing. And that's when I stopped thinking. Which was completely idiotic to throw caution to the wind like that, but hey, I was stupid. And his mouth was like no other kiss ever before. We'd kissed on the lips before, like I said, not much, but sometimes, and it was nothing like this. I mean, we were seriously making out in no time. And I tipped him back and got both my legs between his, and then it felt so natural to me. It was like being between a girl's legs, which was familiar, but so much better with Bill. It felt like nothing before. It felt like him, obviously, because that's what made it good, but it felt like this other level. I kissed him so hungrily and he kissed me back and then — oh my god, he stuck his tongue in my mouth. With that fucking tongue stud of his, and it was a part of him I'd never touched before, and it was intoxicating. It was like having had a carrot dangled in front of me all my life, and finally reaching the unreachable. I'd never known how much I wanted to suck at that fucking tongue stud until that moment. It was this super intimate thing to me, a part of him that I'd never touched, even being his twin. Meaning, I think over the years I'd touched just about every visible part of him, but not that part before. I mean, why would I have had a reason to? But now I was getting this extra privilege. It was so overwhelming, I wasn't thinking at all about the reality of how bad it was to be making out with my brother and how it was quickly getting past second base now. I was thinking about how I wanted that feeling to never end, only to intensify. And I was chasing that high with him. As we kissed passionately, I hiked his ass up a bit higher and started dipping my fingers into his boxer-briefs again. I was basically pushing them down off his butt in as smooth and slow of a transition as I could. And he let me. I mean, he was rubbing up on me by that point and I figured I was green-lighted for going a tiny bit further. I coated one of my middle fingers in saliva real quick and brought my hand back down to his ass, and I was fingering all over his asshole at this point. And I remember we stopped kissing because we were both really wound up by this point so, we were rutting against one another, building this really great friction and then he pulled me down on him so his breath was right in my ear, and said, "Tomi, you can, you know." And so I went for it. I pushed my finger past his sphincter, and he hitched his breath so sexily and dug his claws into my skin, and I went deeper. One finger in and he was so hard against me. Hell, I was too. We were right against each other, grinding together, even though there was still fabric in the way — I don't think I was ready to remove it. It didn't even occur to me that night. So our dicks weren’t skin on skin, but I was fingering his ass, deep enough for a prostate massage — actually, that's what I was doing — and it was so sexy. I remember his breath in my ear, and when I couldn't take it anymore, I spit more on my fingers, sunk two of them into him and then I kissed him like my life depended on it. It was so sloppy. I just wanted to melt into his mouth, and press all his body into mine. We didn't kiss for long after that because I was trying to make him come. God, it was so fucking good. I thrust my fingers up in him and he thrust back against my dick, and so I was going crazy too. I think that night was super intense, but for him it was even more of a shock. I can't imagine what I would have done in that situation, but he said he loved it.
We talked about it later, and at the time I knew it was the first time he'd been fingered, which in retrospect makes that night even more crazy. Like, why on Earth would I think it was ok to finger Bill when to this day I have problems when it's done to me? Like, what was going through my head thinking that it was ok? But Bill was ok being the bottom. For me, he says. Only for me. I take a really sick pride in that fact. It was the same back then. Like, I'm the champion who is solely endowed with this great honor and I got to make him come first that way. At first I wasn't sure what was happening, because he'd frozen in the middle of our kiss (if you could still call it that with the way we were eating each other’s faces) and was clenching randomly on my fingers and then I got it, and it toppled me over the edge too. I trust deeply, keeping my fingers on that spot and came between us. I swear I saw stars behind my eyelids. And then I was laying on him and I hadn't pulled off him yet, and I was just trying to catch my breath like he was. And then I finally did pull away, slowly, tracing around that ring of muscle as I pulled my fingers out, as if to check if he was still in one piece.
He sucked in a breath through his teeth then, and I kissed him once, on the jaw, as if to quiet him. He said to me, "God, I haven't come in my underwear since wet-dreams." I laughed. I was so proud of my achievement. Of course, my boxers were a mess too, but I wasn't thinking about that at all. I mean, I was aware it happened, but all I did was I got up and got two new pairs, one for me and one for him, and tossed him a pair of my underwear. We changed quickly, throwing our soiled pairs at the foot of the bed, and I crawled back into bed with him.
And that was basically it. We fell asleep too quickly after that to talk more that night.
The funny thing is that he'd worn my underwear before — seriously, back when we were children, you think our mom gave a shit enough about our laundry to care whose boxers were whose? No. It was easier to tell them apart when Bill started wearing the tighter boxer-briefs, but he still wore my boxers sometimes. Actually, I'm not sure if they were mine, they could have been his at one point, but by then it was assumed that all the boxers were mine and the boxer-briefs were his. At least, that's how Mom sorted our laundry when she gave it back to us.
The thing I'm trying to say is that it wasn't weird seeing Bill in my boxers, but seeing him in them that next morning held a different significance. I woke up with him in my arms, he was curled around one of my legs and up against my side, with the blanket twisted around us in a way that was partially falling off the bed, and partially revealing his underwear, and I stared down at that garment for what felt like hours. Like, oh my god, I had touched there. In the morning, I wasn't brave enough to check what my fingers smelled like, if anything. I was definitely petrified then, and thank god it took him a while to wake up after me, because I needed to settle my feelings a bit while I looked down at our bodies together. Again, it wasn't like we'd never woken up twined together like that, it was the fact that it was different this time. Or at least, it felt like it was different. Thing was that the rest of that day was pretty damn normal. I don't even remember what we did, I just remember that nothing seemed to have changed all that much. Bill gave me a few of these really demure glances, looking at me bashfully through his eyelashes, a few times afterwards, but other than that, we were basically back to normal, with jokes and innuendo and all. Except for those little hints that were getting stronger. Like I said, I would push a bit, and he would push back, and a couple weeks later we were making out again. I didn't get so far as that first time for a really long time. But we had started making out from time to time. Especially late in the night when we didn't talk about it. Because for the longest time — it was almost years — we didn't talk directly about that part of what we were doing. It was indirect, and we were on the same page I think most times, but it took us years to finally have a discussion about why were kept making out and orgasming together. We had developed his game almost, not just when we wanted closeness and intimacy, but when we felt like being dangerous, we'd come on to each other out of pride for how clever we could be behind people's backs. We were so bad. Like, I pulled him behind so many doorways to make out right there against it, and there was someone right on the other side of it and we didn't care. That's why I loved those teen years. It felt so easy, so free. We kissed, and grinded on each other until we came, and that was our thing. Somewhere along the lines we'd evolved to sometimes giving each other handjobs in order to orgasm together, that too. It wasn't very often that I fingered Bill again. I think I was scared, but he never complained about it; that's another thing we didn't talk about for many years.
Well, then one day we did talk about it, we were almost out of our teens, and I felt like I'd had enough of bedding bodacious babes, and I said to Bill, "Listen, I only want you." And he seemed honestly surprised about that, but I insisted until he believed me, and then he was my biggest cheerleader. I thought, ok, I'm going to be monogamous; it's time for me to settle down. Because our eighteenth birthday was coming up, and I had my eye set on fucking Bill. I thought, if I'm going to take this next step, then I've gotta do it right. Hell, I was in love. I wanted to devote my life to him. I thought I was ready to be a stand-up guy and go steady and that was going to be my life from then on: hiding a secret relationship with my brother. And it wasn't like I was happy about it — honestly, it still terrifies me — but I thought I could conquer that fear, so I plunged forward. I told him I wanted to go all the way, that I love him, that I can't stand being apart from him, that I want to grow old with him. And you know what? All of that is true. But it didn't last as long as I thought I could manage.
Around our eighteenth birthday there was some tension between us because I'd finally broken a big taboo and said very directly what I wanted, and he took his time wrapping his mind around what I was asking for. In the end, he said he'd never been waiting for any other true love except me and soon after we actually had sex. It's hard to believe we waited that long to go all the way, but that's what happened, and it really changed us.
There was this honeymoon phase right after where it was so amazing you couldn't stop the chemistry. And Bill was so proud of me for being a one-man guy suddenly. He told so many people about how I was older and ready to look for real love, that I believed in it suddenly. It hurts me to think about now. I know what I'd said, but every time he repeated it, it felt like he was pressuring me and I got goosebumps thinking about how this was my brother. I'd stare at him sometimes in those days talking about how we could weather anything together and buy a house together and have dogs instead of children, and move somewhere people wouldn't know we were brothers, and he seemed to have our whole life planned, and every time he spoke it started freaking the shit out of me. I'd look at him, talking so ecstatically, and by this point he had those long black and white dreads, and his makeup was so flawless, it almost hurt my eyes to look at how beautiful he'd become. But there was this flipside where it made my stomach turn at how gay he looked, how he seriously looked like a girl, and I know I loved it, and I thought to myself: how did I end up here??! I was freaking out secretly and I was too scared to tell even Bill. Bill was the one I talked to about everything, literally everything since I was born, and now I found myself looking at his alien creature made up of sexy fluttering eyelashes and smiles. Where was my crazy little brother who used to gel his hair with watered down glue and smudge eyeliner under his eyes totally crooked and wear t-shirts made of torn up Salvation Army crap? It was still Bill under all that fashion garb, but he was like a fantasy object, like he was too good for me now. He was so sexy, such a bombshell, and I mean that like the way you talk about girls; it really freaked me out, because I'd never thought of myself as gay before. But essentially, that's what we were planning: my secret gay life with my brother. Among all the times where I found him drop-dead irresistibly sexy, there started to be more times where it made me want to run for the hills.
I developed this idea that he was too good for me. I think to this day that thought eats at me, but back then, I thought, I need to go be with a normal girl. I need to escape this incestuous hell I've created for myself. One day I got super drunk, and I hadn't fucked a real girl in at least two years, and I snapped. I disappeared for a week after texting Bill, "I need time. I'll be back when I'm ready." I stayed fucked up that whole week and I was lucky not to get an STD, I swear. I was so careless. And when I returned, because I couldn't take any more time away from our business engagements, Bill tried not to push the subject, but he knew something bad was happening between us.
I watched him take the pancake of makeup off his face one night and I decided to bite the bullet and be straight with him: "I have to break up this thing we have going," I said.
He turned back to me, and I could see in his eyes already he knew what I was talking about. "What are you talking about, Tomi?"
"This sexual boyfriend thing we have going on. I just... I can't do it."
Of course he was distraught because I'd been the one who pushed us over the edge. It was me that wanted to top him, me what said I wanted a white picket fence and two dogs with him. I was the one who'd unleashed this monster upon us, and it was too late to contain it. He called me a coward and a hypocrite and a thousand other names that night, and it’s all true. Bill obviously loves me too and wanted that dream I'd painted, but I ruined it. Sometimes I think he might still want that with me, but it's a bit harder to talk about these days.
So I devastated him that day. He still writes songs about his broken heart and I know that's the one that was most painful, that first break-up, that neither of us is over yet.
There's this macho part of me somewhere inside that's actually a scared little puppy with a fragile ego, who's also a bit of a homophobe. After I tore that band-aid off, that part took over and I pulled as much tail as I could after I broke Bill's heart. I'd broken mine too. And I needed to drown it out somehow. So I found girls again, and then slowly, I'd settled into the routines I had had with Bill, but with this other chick. And Bill acted like he was ok with it. He made real effort to move on. I knew he wasn't ok, because I wasn't ok either, but I tried not to think about it. We had a chill life and I had a hot normal girlfriend, and this was going to be my new normal. I'd finally figured it out again. I wanted Bill as my brother and I wanted this other girl to be my cookie-cutter girlfriend and I told myself I had the perfect life. But like I said, I was just running away. And it caught up to me.
It took me until we got shoved in the recording studio again, after we weren't so focused on learning to speak English, and our life in LA had finally settled down, that those old feelings that I'd pushed back for years were flaring up again. And it pissed me off this time. I told myself I was too old for this shit. I don't have the time to be playing hooky with my brother. I was a man now, not a teenager. So I got really frustrated and sunk it all into our work. I've always been a workaholic, but this got unsustainable. I'd sleep in the studio, and wake up and keep working, and Bill seemed to catch on that something was going on with me.
"Tomi, are you sure you're ok?" he'd ask.
"Yeah, Bill, it's fine. It's this so and so hook that sounds like crap," I'd say. He'd pause and watch me tinker with the computer for a moment before leaving me be. Then as soon as he was gone, I'd whip out my dick and jerk off right then and there. And then I'd feel so fucking stupid. I mean, I had a hot girlfriend — she was generic but there was nothing wrong with her — and there I was jerking off to the image of my brother again, like I was a teenager high on puberty hormones or something! And he didn't even look like a girl anymore! By this point Bill was sporting stubble and some horrible trash clothing style, and I still wanted to top him.
God, how I wanted to fuck him again. Mainly, because I missed the closeness and what we used to have. It started getting really bad by the end of recording that album. I'd snap at him just for being in the same room sometimes. Me and my stupid temper. Of course, I know why I do it now that it's been done, but back then I just thought he was pissing me off by being clingy. He wasn't. He knew something was up with me, but he wasn't being annoying or anything. He was just genuinely concerned and curious.
Finally he pushed my buttons one night. It started off as a quiet night between us, just smoking on the balcony, and I guess that's why he brought it up that night, because I'd surfaced from the studio and looked calm with my nicotine stick. "So what's up with you lately?" he asked.
And I tried to stay calm even though my mood was instantly soured. "Nothing."
"Don't give me that. Will you tell me what's bothering you already? Let me help."
"You can't help. It's nothing."
"Tom. I can tell it's not nothing. Maybe I can't help, but just tell me what it is."
I insisted I couldn't tell him. He got angry at me and started to leave. He did this monumentally annoying thing where he counts down from five, like an uppity teacher or parent, and said he would leave when he reached one. So he counted real slow, and he reached one as I looked him in the eye, and then he huffed and turned to walk away, and I could have let him go. But the truth was that my life flashed before my eyes: a vision without him, and I couldn't stand it anymore. How could I have picked some random pussy over Bill? I caught his wrist and he stopped walking, but didn't turn around yet. "You going to apologize now, Tom?"
I started to cry. Because I had been so stupid. How could I ever be away from Bill when he was the only real thing in my life; the only person that matters. He's more to me than my own life. And I threw it away! I felt so stupid in that moment. Built up tears and frustrations were gushing out of me and instead of talking about my feelings, I tugged Bill's arm real hard which sent him toppling my way, and kissed him hard against the glass door of our balcony. I hadn't kissed him in so long. Not like this. This was like the first time all over again. I found everything I'd ever wanted in that kiss, and he wiped my tears and took me to bed, and I fucked him so slow and tender that night. I missed him, I missed his body, I missed that next level of intimacy between us. I wanted my life back. I wanted Bill, and this time I didn't care if it made me gay. This many years later, the world no longer cared and nor did I. Or so I thought.
Truth is, I still care, because I still don't think I'm gay. It's only Bill I want that way. I don't even top girls that way. Anyway, that's neither here nor there. That night felt like I was coming home after a long detour. And I kept it up for a week really smoothly until my girlfriend called to ask why I hadn't called her. I'm not a big texter, but I do pick up calls. And I'd missed at least two of her calls. So this weird thing started happening, where I didn't break up with my girlfriend, and Bill knew this, yet I was sleeping with him again. Literally, we were fucking a couple times a week, and I was still fucking my girl occasionally too.
I think after a while, even if we hadn't talked so much about these new rules between us, Bill was getting his hopes up that I'd come to my senses and would settle down with him, even while keeping a girlfriend. Well, in some ways that's true. I was head over heels in love with him again. Not that there's ever a time when I'm not, but I mean romantically again.
We were both older, more experienced sexually, and that was some of the best sex of my life. Bill had become super kinky — as if he wasn't already — but he was so open with his body around me those days. I felt I had no reason to hold back either. He'd gotten more gutsy in the bedroom since the last time we'd been in a heated sexual situation together. We were no longer challenging ourselves by how risky we could get away with being without someone catching us in the act, because we'd grown some brains since those days, but now the exploration was with the actual sex. We kept it to all around our house, no public places, but we were experimenting with everything. Everything feels good with Bill, I found. There's no place on his body that I don't want to lick and fuck. And god, it feels so good to be so open with him. I don't regret starting up our affair again one bit. For being the one the Tokio Hotel fans used to call sexgod, it's actually Bill that's opened up my world. I barely knew what hit me in those days.
Seriously, it was like I was high for Bill. I'd get around him, and the next minute we'd be fucking over the kitchen countertops and he'd pull my hair as I pushed into him, and I swear I never want another haircut again because of those moments. I know he likes my hair to be consistent, because his never is these days. So yeah, he kind of upped by game in the bedroom up from vanilla. The most significant part was when he took over. That scared the shit out of me at that point, because he turned the tables on me a few times; where he came on to me, pushed me against a wall! And hiked my leg around his waist so we could grind together! And that completely blindsided me. Always has, always will. But in the moment, it has a chilling effect on me. I still never know whether to surrender to this new kind of pleasure or go back to my comfort zone where I'm the dominant one. But I gave in a bunch when he'd push that way. It was new, I was safe with Bill, and I felt that if he could push his comfort zone with me, then I could do the same with him. So it wasn't unheard of for Bill to be over me in bed, where I had my legs around him, and he'd be the one kissing the life out of me. That tongue stud never gets old, but when he gets aggressive with it, I swear my knees shake.
Don't tell him I said that.
But oh my god, I'd never felt anything like it before. He was putting all my moves on me. So one night we were in that position and he took it further. Like that first time we came together, except backwards, he was caressing the small of my back while we rutted together, and I didn't realize where it was going until his finger was circling my asshole, and suddenly I froze. Of course, he was waiting for this. "We don't have to," he said, "but I've wanted to for so long."
So I thought about it for way too short a time and said, "Do it."
He worked my body like I had done to him that first time. Slowly, one finger first, while we kissed. I felt like a marathon runner, like I could do more, run faster, go harder. "Lube," I said, and he came back with a tube of the stuff. He coated two fingers, pushed my knees back and inserted the digits slowly, massaging them into me. It was as good as that kind of thing could ever feel. I'm not sure if it's my thing — actually, it's not really my thing — but with Bill, it feels good. With him it feels like I don't need to be Tom, I could be Tomi, and it's ok to be vulnerable. I pulled my knees back further, and pulled him back on me to kiss him. "Don't stop," I said, and he didn't. He stretched me so good and had me panting from a feeling I'd never felt before. And I'm not sure if I was ready, even though I loved it, but when I saw him lubing up his dick, and I knew what he was about to do, I allowed it. I pulled him to me and said, "Fuck me."
"I'll do my best to make you feel what I feel."
He doesn't fuck quite like I do, doesn't have my stamina, but he's way more inventive and drives you to the peak faster. At least, that's how I feel about his sex. So that first time, it was like zero to sixty. I must have looked like such a virgin for peaking that quickly. But in no time, I was gagging for more, "fuck me harder," I said and he did, and literally it was mixing up my sense of direction, because he was in me and at the same time tugging my dick and it was sensory overload. I deal with it a bit better now, but I'm still a lightweight when it comes to bottoming. I'm fucking easy. Bill knows how to make me come so fast if he wants. He's good at these short sharp thrusts that hit you square on, and the few times he's bent me over a countertop, my knees seriously buckle. So you can imagine that even if I was taking it like a champ on my first ride, I was still in way over my head. I came embarrassingly quickly, and he came just a little after me and I thought it was the most erotic thing in my entire life, the way he looks on top of me, in his peak. He fucking topped even that experience though, a few weeks later when he licked me. There.
Oh my god, it wasn't something I'd even done to him, and it was crazy. He was giving me a blowjob that just didn't stop, until he flipped me over — and I went with it because sexual exploration was our thing those days — and licked right over me. I would have jumped if he hadn't held be down. His tongue was there. Like, rimming me. Let me tell you, if I thought being a bottom was crazy, this was insane. It's more subtle, for sure, but I was so in the mood, he seriously timed it so well, that I was barely touching myself and yet he had me so close, with just his tongue.
I'm getting to the part where I fall apart again. You see, all this sexual stuff we'd been doing, it was getting to me and I don't think I even knew it. I honestly thought this time I would be with Bill forever. Even with my girl as a side thing. I don't know what was in my head thinking that was fair to Bill at all. I wasn't thinking. And then suddenly one day, my world shifted again.
I was on my knees blowing Bill. He was sat on the closed toilet lid in our master bathroom at home, with his hands in my loose hair, while I bobbed by head on his dick. It was not the first time, it was not the last time since then, but suddenly I had an epiphany and it was the last time I blew him for at least another year. Actually, I broke up with him again the day after.
I just... I had this vision of myself from above. There I was with my brother's dick in my mouth and I couldn't believe the perverted pussy I'd become. What was wrong with me? Why couldn't I be happy to have Bill as a normal brother and go back to my perfectly nice girlfriend, instead of lying to her why I had Bill's fucking hickies on my neck? That image hit a soft spot for me, one I'm still surprised I have, but it's humiliating seeing myself like that. How did I become someone who fucks and gets fucked by their twin? Willingly, no less.
So I ran again. And the for the next couple years I played hacky-sack with Bill's heart. I went back to him a few months later on our birthday. I was looking at him from across the room of the party, all dolled up and talking with some schmuck, and I got so possessive. Because like I said, I want my cake and to eat it too. That's how much of a coward I am; even though most of the time I've learned to deal with everything on legs hitting on my brother. But in that spout of sudden jealously, I marched over to Bill, whispered in his ear in the middle of his conversation and told his company that we were leaving. I dragged us out of our own party, and I think he knew what was coming. It was like a birthday gift to both of us. I fucked him so damn well. Hard and fast make-up sex, that night. Like I wanted to brand him. Bill understands why I left marks all over him. I was so rough that night because he's mine and I'm his. And it was our goddamn birthday. I needed to give my baby brother a good present.
So that lasted another few weeks.
It's usually me that breaks it off between us, only to restart it because I can't stand being apart, but it's been him a few times too. Let me tell you, it doesn't feel good. But I've done the joyride so many times, I'll admit it's probably easier than the first couple times I broke his heart. I know it was truly heart wrenching then because I was in pain so bad also.
People and events go by, and I've noticed a pattern nowadays: it doesn't seem to matter if either of us have another person on the side while we're in an "on" period. I can say that when I'm with Bill, I don't care much about the secondary person. If they get caught in the crossfire, so be it. Bill is the most important person. I feel comforted, and my ego is stroked, to know that it's the same with him. I don't care if he has some other candy blowing up his phone because I know I matter a million times more to him. It just sucks in those moments when I crave normalcy. Because waking up beside your naked cum-covered brother is not normal. Even if in some weird fucked up way it's normal for us. So those are the times I run away. I try and stay away too, telling myself, I have to lean myself off this incestuous habit eventually. One day I'll want real kids not just dogs, I tell myself, and maybe Bill will too. But that's a really big lie, because I know neither of us has wanted that much "normal" in our lives, ever. Not even when we were little. We used to chase girls mostly because the other one of us was chasing her. Not much because we had a romantic interest in them. And it's funny, because I'm not sure if we ever grew out of that. Our dream for our life was always "rockstars", never "wife with kids".
So anyway, here I am pining over Bill again. I'm fucking 27 years old, I've divorced my wife, and I desperately want to go find my brother again. No matter if I'm fucking him or not, I love him more than life, and right now I need to be beside him, inside him, around him. I want to breathe him in, luxuriate in his body, and keep him in my heart. He's my curse and my security blanket, and I don't care about much else right now. I've learned that the world will go on, we're not stupid enough anymore to get found out, and if I want to fuck my brother, it's nobody's business but ours. Or, that's what I feel like now in my hour of need.
I'm texting Bill now. Where are you?
I'll be home in 10.
I'm going to fuck you so hard when you get here, Billy. I want to make your toes curl. I love you so much.
I love you too.