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Lucky Chances
Written By: XPud hoo © 2017

Standard disclaimer: This story depicts sexual acts between siblings and minors. There is also some watersports/omorashi (desperation/urination) in it. You”ve been warned.

Author’s Note: If you like this story, feel free to check out my other work, a serial fiction: Stories of an Old Boy. It has omorashi, twins, and young friends in it, too! Also, if you have anything at all to say, feel free to drop me a line: xpud at yahoo dot com. I love hearing from readers!

Credit goes out to Nifty prolific author JD for helping with formatting, editing, and suggestions. If you like stories in a similar vein as this, check out his works: fty//authors.htmljohndazel

Support Nifty:Please remember readers, without the generosity of Nifty, we would not have this great place for these stories. Please donate whatever you can to keep it open and running for years to come!


“Oh hey, Chance!” A short-haired black kid, probably about my age, was waving me over to come sit at a nearby cafeteria table. The words stopped me in my tracks.

First off, my name”s not Chance. It”s Luke.

Secondly, this is my first day at this school, and only my third day living in this city.

With a mixture of confusion and curiosity, I walk over and sit down nervously. “Um, hi?”

“Sup, man? He holds his hand up and out, ready to bring it in on a slap-and-tap kind of hand shake. “Hey, where”s your uniform?” he adds.

“I”m sorry,” I say awkwardly, “but, um, I don”t think I know you.” God, there”s like 7 things wrong here, but that”s the only one I can get out.

The boy wrinkles his brow. “You okay? You hit your head or somethin”? You knew me yesterday.”

“Wh–? Yesterday? I was at home the whole day, unpacking! I mean, we stopped by the school to get me registered, but seriously, that”s it.”

“Bro, you been livin” here for years, and you were in class yester–are you trollin” me? You”re trollin” me.” He barks a laugh and pats my shoulder. “You got me good, man.” Suddenly, a bell rings out from the loudspeakers, reverberating over the loud cafeteria. He says, “In case you “forgot,” it”s class time. Good to see you again, bud.” He walks off, laughing, and merges with the crowd filtering into the halls.

What the heck just happened? I run a hand through my hair and puff out my cheeks, sighing out the stress and confusion. I”m sure he just made a mistake. A really bad mistake. One with some easy answer that I just don”t know. I smooth out my green t-shirt and dark blue jeans, noticing that there are still plenty of people who don”t yet have the standard black shirt with gold emblem on it yet, and focus back on getting to class.

I get out my schedule that we picked up yesterday and look at my classes. This “block” scheduling thing is weird…I”ve never had different classes on different days. Since it”s Tuesday, though, Life Sciences is first, so I head to the room, still bewildered from my first encounter. I mean, what the heck? It”s not like I”m super common-looking. I kinda stand out: obnoxiously red hair, stand-out-in-a-crowd green eyes, enough freckles to hide a leopard, radar ears, shorter than everybody my age…nobody mistakes me for someone else.

That guy had to be trolling me. There”s no other way. I reach Room 96, the Biology classroom, and walk in. Most of the desks are already filled, so I take a seat near the middle of the room (all the back rows are filled, of course) when a boy next to me, a brown-hair-and-eyes kid with a mop for a hairdo, says, “Hey. How was summer?”

“Pretty good. Kinda stressful, I guess.” Is he just being friendly? Does he “know” me, too?

“Good, good. Mine was boring.” He nods and goes back to getting stuff out of his backpack.

That didn”t help me figure anything out. Eh, here goes: “I”m Luke,” I say, waiting for an answer.

I get one in the form of him pausing and staring at me like I”m an alien. “I don”t get it,” he says.

“What do you mean?” I ask, obviously missing something.

“Is there like a joke I”m missing here?”

“Um, no? I mean, people call me Lucky sometimes, but there”s no joke. It”s just Luke.”

He stares at me a moment longer and glances left and right, pausing long enough for the bell to ring. “O…kay,” he says, and faces forward for the teacher to begin class. God, this is weird. I feel like the world is playing a huge prank on me, and I just can”t find the cameras yet.

The teacher, Mrs. Bachmann, doesn”t waste time in getting textbooks passed out to us, the syllabus handed out, all that good stuff. Strangely, she then passes everyone a plastic baggie and asks us to write our name on it; when we do, she says that we have to turn in our phones and pick them up at the end of the day. We didn”t do that at my last school, but then again, everyone was always on their phones in class, so I mean, I get it. After all that, she introduces herself and then does the old “everyone say something about yourself” icebreaker that nobody likes. All the students say their name, which school they came from, and their favorite school subject. That”s not too bad, I guess, but I”m gonna stick out like a sore thumb. Er, a more sore thumb. Sorer. Whatever–it”s gonna suck.

My turn comes up, and I say, “I”m Luke, um, Luke Chatham, and I”m from Dewey Middle School in New Lancashire, Connecticut. I guess I like English.” As I sit down, there”s a little bit of muttering around the room.

The next guy goes, and so on, and we finally get to do an activity with the Scientific Method, where we”re broken up into groups and all start brainstorming ridiculous ideas that we could test using the method. The group I”m with seems pretty cool, two girls and a boy who sound like they”ve been friends a long time; they have a ton of inside jokes, but they seem interested in working together.

Time passes by quickly, and the bell rings before I realize it. On my way out, another kid walks up with Mop-head (whose name, by the way, turns out to be Lucas, weirdly enough). Lucas says, “Hey Chance.”

There”s that name again. “It”s Luke,” I say cautiously.

The other boy, also with longer hair, though swept to the side in traditional “Emo” style (I think his name is Scott), says, “He is acting weird.” Then he asks me, “What gives?”

Lucas adds, “Why are you trying to copy my name? Are you making fun of me?”

“Okay, I”m lost,” I admit, throwing my hands in the air. “I don”t know why everybody is acting all weird in this school. New town, new school, new everything, and now all the people in this school are being weird as heck to me. Is this some kind of initiation? Is that what this is?!” I realize I”m almost yelling by the end of it, so I breathe a few times, noting the stunned faces of the two boys I just practically screamed at. I manage to say, “Um, sorry, I”m just–just gonna go. See y”all,” and I turn and power-walk away, face burning in embarrassment. Now they”re going to start talking about me, and rumors are gonna go everywhere. Great way to fit in, Luke. Real smooth.

So my next class is–oh. Oh no. I have Science Lab right after this. I”m in the same class with all the same students, including the boys that now probably think I”m insane. I mean, everyone here is insane, but whatever. I sit in the very front and make it a point never to look back at them throughout the class. Thankfully, it”s boring safety stuff, so there”s no group work or anything to worry about, and I zip my happy butt out of there as soon as I can. I can feel them all staring at me as I leave, and it makes my neck burn.

Looks like my next class, Orchestra, is broken up by lunchtime in the middle. Good–I”m already hungry, and stressing out isn”t making it any better. Please let me have just one class where people aren”t freaking weird. I get to the class and have a seat in one of the chairs, which are all arranged in traditional Orchestral fashion. I usually play the cello (yeah yeah, short kid playing a big instrument), so hopefully I can get that at this school, too.

Surprisingly, the first half of class passes by without anybody even so much as looking at me funny. Lunch time comes, and I stare with dread at the cafeteria. That”s a lot of people, and I don”t really want to talk to anyone at all.

“Hey…Luke, is it?” a tall Asian boy with the typical spiked black hair thing going on, asks.

“YES!” I say excitedly, before realizing how stupid I sound. “I mean, sorry…people keep calling me the wrong name and looking at me like I”m a freak when I correct them. I don”t get it. Um, sorry.” I”m sure my cheeks are redder than my hair right now. Ugh.

He smiles shyly and says, “I”m Quoc.” (He pronounces his name so it rhymes with “clock.”) He continues, “Do you want to sit at lunch together? I”m new here, and don”t really know anyone yet.”

I shrug. “Sure. I brought my lunch, so I”ll just wait for you?”

“I brought mine, too.”

We go sit at a far corner table in the cafeteria, me facing away from everyone else. I already hate large crowds, and with how weird everyone is being, I might have a panic attack if they come and start talking to me.

He takes out a Tupperware tub of rice and veggies and starts chowing down on them with fine, shiny wooden chopsticks. I”ve never seen real ones; I was wondering if there was something against making them out of high quality wood. Anyway, I”m just sitting and eating my PB the spot isn”t very big, and it”s barely noticeable on the dark blue of my jeans, thank God, but if anyone is interested in staring at my crotch, well…yeah. Anyway, I answer, “That”s okay. I…just give me a sec.” I tuck my shirt back in and take one last deep breath, finally getting the courage to open the door and face myself.

I see me looking back at me, like I were staring into a mirror with different emotions. Well, almost: he is dressed in the uniform shirt and khakis, but other than that, we are identical. Not just “uncanny resemblance,” mind you–completely, unmistakably identical. His hair is even more or less the same style (not as good as my dad”s haircuts, but it”s pretty close); I mean, it”s kind of a popular look these days, but still. “Hi,” I say with all my bravery. “I”m Luke.” I extend a hand.

“…Chance,” he says, taking my hand in a tentative handshake.

I decide to bite the bullet and say it: “I have to know: When”s your birthday? Mine is August 3, 2004.”

His eyes go a little wider. “I…me too. Who–who are your parents?”

This is the part where I get embarrassed. “I don”t really, um, know. I was adopted.” Not embarrassed about being adopted, but right now it just seems really awkward.

“Your parents told you that?” he asked, confused.

“They”re both men, and not red-headed, so yeah, it wasn”t a secret.” My dads are both badass, and I”ll fight anyone that says differently.

His eyebrows shoot up to the sky. “Oh. Um, then I don”t know how to say this, but…I think you”re my brother.”

Nope. I thought I could handle this, but nope. My eyes fill with tears and I start crying like a little bitch (yeah, I said it). I never knew my biological parents, and really, I don”t care to–if they didn”t want me, I don”t want them–but to know that I had a brother all this time, and I grew up as an only child, is too much for me. He puts his hands out to touch me, but I really can”t, this is too much–too fast–can”t be touched right now, just gonna back up and lean on the wall and cry for a moment. I put my hand up to tell him to wait, not right now, and manage to squeeze out, “I”m sorry, please, I”m sorry,” before crying into my hands for a little bit longer while hyperventilating again.

When I finally regain control of myself, I open my eyes to see Chance standing there with paper towels. Fighting off the urge to start crying again, I take one and mop my face up, muttering, “Thank you,” under my breath.

“It”s okay,” he coos comfortingly. “It”s cool. This is freaking weird. I get it. So, I really wanna talk more, but we kinda…have to get back to class. Are you gonna be okay?”

“I think so. Just give me another minute.”

The awkward silence that follows is broken by him asking, “So were you here yesterday?”

I shake my head. “I just moved here from Connecticut, like, literally just this Sunday. We rushed to get me in school as fast as possible, but after unpacking for two days, it was just easier to start today, so yeah.”

“Oh. I was here yesterday, but then I had a doc appointment to get my shots today. They figured one of the earlier days would be best, but not the first day, so yeah.” He even ends his sentences like me. I do notice that he speaks a little bit differently than me, a little more Louisianan, or Cajun, or whatever. Not much, though. Probably wouldn”t have noticed unless Quoc pointed out that I sounded different.

I decide it”s not the time to talk about all of his annoying friends mistaking me for him–we need to get back to class. I say as much, and we both head back to the classroom and are greeted by a ridiculously awkward silence. Twenty pairs of eyes stare us down and light my cheeks on fire as we both find seats, though not next to each other. I think that”s for the best, anyway. The teacher lets us take our seats and continues where she left off explaining the syllabus, all the while handing us our materials. I notice that her eyes linger on me and Chance a little while longer than the others, but she basically ignores it otherwise. I skip ahead to where she”s reading so I can follow along, but my eyes are really only scanning over the paper as my mind is racing, trying to find a way to make all this work in my head. I mean, it makes sense, but what are the chances?

I just realized how bad that pun was. I”m sorry.

So I”m sure that her lecture was really interesting, but I don”t hear a word she says until we”re told to get into groups and discuss an article that she hands out. We”re seated at tables already as it is, so we just work in our groups.

The girl with the amazingly long, dark brown braid sitting next to me says, “So what the hell is going on? Who”s the guy that looks like you? Is that your twin?”

“Well, he”s Chance,” I say, and she takes a moment to realize she”s not talking to the right one. I mean, we”re not even wearing the same clothes. Come on.

“Oh,” she says. “Well, hi. I”m Brandi.”

“Luke. And he and I don”t actually know each other.”

“What?!” the boy across from us shrieks. “No way!” Clearly either Indian or somewhere around there (but with a completely American accent), the boy continues, “How could you two not know?!”

The teacher, Mrs. Clemens, walks over by the table and says in a quiet voice, “Others are reading. Let”s focus.” She walks off and visits another table.

I look my Indian group-mate square in the eyes and say, “I”m adopted.” He looks appropriately horrified once he realizes his insensitivity, and immediately goes back to reading the article. I whisper, “It”s cool, but we literally don”t know each other.”

“Yeah,” he says, “but that”s so weird!”

“I know. Trust me.” I go back to reading it, myself. It”s an interesting article about how people fear public speaking more than even death itself, and I can understand why. At least when you”re dead, you”re not embarrassed in front of a classroom full of people. Then it goes on to mention some techniques you can use to get over it, blah blah. It”s kinda interesting, but not worth repeating.

But, of course, repeating it is exactly what we”re supposed to do. Well, summarize it. Aloud. To the class. Because of course we would have to do that in Speech class. At least it”s a very small bit that each group has to do: so each group gets a chunk of the article, and each member gets a part of that chunk. Since we”re apparently Table 1 (yay…), I take the first section talking about the fear thing, since it kinda, y”know, hits close to home.

I stand and look down at the paper, and say, “The first part talks about–“

“Could you speak up a little bit?” asks the teacher.

I clear my throat and try again, this time a little louder. “The first part is about fears, and how–“

“Now that you”ve read it and know what it”s talking about, can you look at us when you speak? Eye contact is a very important part of public speaking.”

I flush with embarrassment and anger, and briefly consider darting out the door to get my schedule changed. I try again, and manage to look at her once or twice, but then it messes me up and I lose my place multiple times. By the time I get through it, like three freaking sentences, I”m shaking as I sit down. I”m glad I peed–and cried–earlier, because I think I”m out of both. The thought reminds me that my balls are sitting against the cold, wet fabric of my underwear right now. I admit that, normally, thinking about my balls is enough to get me hard. Right now, though, I”m too embarrassed and nervous to have anything going.

When Chance”s turn comes up, he confidently stands and summarizes his part, detailing the “eyes to the back of the room” approach, where you look almost at people but not quite, so that you can get more comfortable with the whole eye contact thing. When he”s done, he sits and starts talking quietly to a friend like nothing ever happened. I swear, does anything get to him?

When class is over, I look at my schedule to see that it was actually the last class of the day. I”m so not used to only 4 classes per day, even though they”re way longer. Wrapped in my own thoughts, I go to my first period class, pick up my phone, and start heading outside to where the buses are, when someone grabs at my backpack.

“Wait!” Chance calls out behind me. I turn around and see a sort of desperation in his eyes. He takes a moment to say anything else, but finally the words, “Do you want to come over?” come out of his mouth in a big rush.

The thought fills me with panic. I don”t want to meet my real parents. I don”t even know if I want to be here with him, but I don”t think i can avoid it since we share classes, so that”s out, but I don”t–ARGH! All I say is, “N-not today. I can”t.”

He furrows his brow and squints his eyes a little, as if I just insulted his entire family. “Do I…are you scared of me?” he asks in a strained voice.

“I–no! It”s just…” My God, can this be any more awkward? As people are streaming by us both, I yell over the noise, “It”s just me. I have a hard time dealing with…all this.”

He beckons me with a hand over to a spot in the foyer out of the way of the river of students. “Look…” he begins, and looks around the room, physically searching for the words to use. “I”ve never had a brother, and if you really are my brother, I don”t want to lose it–you, I mean. I know that sounds ridiculous and cheesy and–and stupid, but I”ve always felt like I was missing something in my life. I think maybe you”re what was missing.”

He”s right. That does sound pretty stupid and cheesy. But there”s something in the way he says it, after showing all that confidence in class and earlier, that makes me think that maybe this is more important to him than, well, anything else. I mean, if anything, maybe I can get some answers from his…our parents. I take out my cellphone and offer it to him. “Put your number in.”

He looks at it a moment and quickly fishes his out of his pocket. We trade phones (unfortunately, his is an iPhone–I have the new Google phone) and add ourselves in each other”s contacts. I look at his name: Chance Lockhart. Nice ring to it. Luke Lockhart sounds kinda weird, though, so maybe that”s okay that mine is different. Wait, I probably was named by my adoptive parents, not–you know what, I”m getting way off topic here. We hand phones back, and he gives this huge grin, saying, “Sweet. I”ll text you later!” and dashes off to catch his bus. I do the same, as they”re looking ready to go, and I”d hate to be the guy who misses the bus on his first day.


My dads both work; one”s in law, and the other is a hairstylist (yeah yeah, go ahead and get your stereotype jokes in; my hair is always awesome, though), so I”m a latchkey kid. I get home and slough off my backpack in the dining room, kick my shoes off, and sit on the couch, completely drained after the WTF-ness of this day. I have a freaking brother? A twin brother?! Here?! What–how–but–this is the kind of crap they put in Lifetime Original Series shows, not real life! I just can”t even.

Thankfully, my cat totally can even, and he jumps up in my lap when my eyes are closed. He”s 16 pounds of black-and-white, mostly lean, large cat, some kind of Maine Coon mutt, and he”s basically the chillest, softest, awesomest cat you could find on the side of the road and rescue (which is, in fact, what we did). He stands up on me, and then half-turns around, stopping with his butt in my face to sniff at my crotch. “Yes,” I say, “it smells like pee. You don”t have to rub it in. And get your butt out of my face.” I push it to the side and he walks off my lap, but I get up before he can make his return. I head upstairs to my room and shuck my pants and white (well, mostly white) briefs off, heading to the shower to clean up–not that I mind the smell of pee, but it”s not the best thing if others can smell it on you.

I enjoy my time in the shower usually, but today it feels practically like it”s washing a year of stress out of my muscles. Turning it up as hot as I can stand, I just let the water wash over my body and soak in. After about maybe 10 minutes of just slowly swaying back and forth under the steaming spray, I finally get to scrubbing myself down. I wash my hair, thankful that it”s at least straight (curly red hair would be probably the worst “sore thumb” problem ever, unless I was like, I dunno, deformed or something). I work my way down my hairless chest, wishing that maybe it had some muscle on it, underneath my armpits (which DO have some hair finally), and then my crotch, taking a little extra time with the body wash to make sure the pee residue is all gone.

I lather up the body wash in the little bush that I have, just a little bit that started growing at the very base of my dick, and rub the wash around my dick and balls. I mean, I”m a pretty small guy in general, and a little bit of a later bloomer than some of my friends back home, but my voice is finally in the cracking stage and I have a decent set of balls. What? A guy can like his balls. They”re not like ugly saggy ones or anything, just nice and tight, out of the way so I don”t sit on them, you know. Decent. (I”ve seen my dads” balls when we used to shower together when I was way younger, and they”re all saggy and low and ugh.)

All this thinking about my balls and washing them causes another part of me to make a good point, if you know what I mean, and point up it does: when I”m hard, it”s annoyingly like straight up against my belly. It”s not nearly long enough to reach my belly button or anything, though, just like maybe a little over 4 inches now? It”s definitely thicker than it used to be, too. Not huge or anything, but maybe like about as big around as a quarter. However you wanna call it, though, I found out last year just how fun it is to play with, and also how much shampoo and soap sting if you get them in your pee hole. Conditioner, though, is amazing, and I”m sure it”s great for my skin, too.

I sit down in the shower and point the spray where it”s not straight on me (we have an awesome shower wand, by the way), and squirt a glob of conditioner onto my dick, rubbing it around with both my hands. Working it down my dick with one hand and around my balls with the other, the feeling I get is just bliss. I close my eyes and massage myself for a while, letting my mind wander. One of my friends back home–well, back at what was home–broke into his dad”s porn DVD stash, which was all straight porn, right? I mean, I”m pretty sure if my dads have a stash, it”s probably gay porn, but I”ve never gone looking for it anyway. So he and I watched a few during a couple of sleepovers and jacked off together; back then, I couldn”t even cum yet, but the orgasm was nice. He was a few years older and could, like, shoot himself in the eye if he wasn”t careful. It was nuts. Um, pun not intended.

I think about those videos we watched, and imagine myself in them. It turns me on thinking about having sex at all, really, but my mind also drifts to other fantasies and things, like–I”m a little embarrassed to admit it–peeing my pants. I mean, I know I did earlier today, but it was only a little bit, and I don”t like the embarrassment of it being not on purpose. Instead, I think back to last year in Technology class at my old school, where we didn”t have a uniform and I would always wear dark blue or black jeans to school. I would get super bored in class (my lawyer dad, Chris–I call him “Papa Chris” to make it clearer–is a computer geek, so I knew everything we were learning in that dumb class) and while the teacher was lecturing, I would push and let just a little bit of pee out. Like, just enough to fill up my penis, and then clench my muscles and squeeze it out into my underwear. The feeling of the pee slowly warming up my balls, and the tickle of peeing just a little bit over and over, felt amazing. That, and there was the thrill of doing it without being caught that really got me hard, and then I couldn”t pee anymore until it went down. Surprisingly, I never got caught, even though I myself could smell the pee while I was sitting in my next class. I was sure someone would find out sometime, but if they did, nobody said anything. I”ve actually been helping with laundry since I was 9, so I would always make sure to do my own laundry if I, um, “had fun” like that. I was always too scared to really let go, though, and totally pee myself. There was the one time back in third grade, though, when we were running the mile for the first time in P.E., and by the time I was done, I was so out of breath and tired that I just started peeing in my P.E. shorts and couldn”t stop. They told me later that it was kinda common if people weren”t used to running so much, but I was still super-embarrassed about it. Later on, though, I thought about it, and now it”s kinda hot.

All of these thoughts definitely have me pretty turned on, and my hand on my balls feels them start to pull up and to the sides of my dick like they do when I”m about to shoot–sometimes they go all the way up and hide, and I have to push them back down. I let go of my balls and scoop some of the conditioner off my dick with my middle finger, using it to put a little on my butthole. I stick my finger in pretty easily and curl it upward, moving around until I find the super sensitive spot I love so much (I found out in the stupid Sex Ed class that that”s apparently the prostate gland; whatever it”s called, it”s the Awesome Button to me). As soon as I push in and rub that spot a little bit, a rush of feeling shoots through me, making my muscles tighten and pull me forward as I shoot a glob of cum onto my chest, another on my belly, and one more that dribbles down my fingers as I milk all the rest of it out. I take a deep breath and sigh, running my fingers over the sensitive head of my dick, making me jump a little bit and giggle. I would relish in the feeling a little longer except that I hear the front door close downstairs. They get mad at me if I shower for too long, so I get the shower wand and rinse myself off, scrubbing the sticky cum off of my chest and such. Then I point the wand underneath my balls and try hard not to laugh at how much it tickles–but it feels so good that I keep doing it a few more seconds before I turn off the water.

I get dressed and head downstairs to say hi to Papa Chris (my other dad, “Papa Davy,” doesn”t get home until closer to like 7:30). I give him a big hug as his beard scratches the top of my head.

“Hey, Squirt!” he says, holding me by the shoulders at arms” length. “Well, I guess you”re not really a “Squirt” anymore–I think you”ve started a growth spurt. Maybe I”ll call you “Spurt” instead.” My face must give away how stupid that sounds, because he busts into laughter. “Okay, okay. Maybe just Luke, then. How was school?”

I duck out from under his hands and walk towards the stairs. Sitting down heavily, I say, “Crazy.”

He takes off his blazer and hangs it in the coat closet. “Oh? How so?”

God, do I want to go into all this yet? “Um, you know. First day of 8th grade. Weird schedule, don”t know anybody, stuff like that.”

He stops and looks at me for a moment before removing his tie. “I know, son. It”s hard, moving to a new place. I was an Air Force brat; I hardly ever stayed in one place for long. I promise you that, as long as this job holds out, we”re staying here until you graduate and move out. Speaking of which,” he says while taking his shoes off in the foyer, “I think this was the right decision; just looking at the history of the firm here, I”m thinking you”re going to get to go to a nice college.” He pats me on the back and heads into his office. “Meet anybody interesting today?”

“Um…” I begin, not sure how to go about this. “Maybe we can talk about that at dinner.”

“Oh…?” Papa Chris draws out the word with a raised eyebrow. “Already?”

I roll my eyes. “Ugh, Pop, no, not like that. Just…it”d be better if I waited for Papa Davy to come home, okay?”

He shrugs, “Suit yourself. Well, as long as you”re adapting to things, I”m happy. Run along upstairs; dinner will be at 7:30 when David gets home.”

I do, and I get on my new computer for a bit–Papa Chris decided to get a new computer for his new job, and I got to inherit his old one. I”ve never had a computer in my own room, so I”m pretty excited. I check on Instagram to see if any of my old friends have said anything. I didn”t really have a huge group of friends or anything, but a couple of boys and girls that I used to hang out with had posted things like “i miss you so much” and “hope you”re having fun in Luisiana” and such. I”m not the best at Geography, but I know how to spell “Louisiana” at least. Oh well.

I load up Minecraft, the only game I really had time to install so far (don”t judge) and am about to play, when my phone goes off on my desk. I check to see what the notification is, and it”s a text. From Chance Lockhart. I freeze, but my heart starts racing. I can already tell that I”m about to enter panic mode again, so I put the phone down and breathe a few times. It”s the one thing my therapist gave me that works–the medication only barely helps, but I guess it counts, too. I focus instead on Minecraft, chopping down a few trees in a new world, making a little cabin, upgrading my tools…the whole time, though, my brain keeps tugging at me to go back to the phone and check it.

Finally, when a Creeper blows me up on the stupid game (I didn”t need that cabin anyway), I turn it off, take another deep breath, and pick up my phone. I unlock it and open the message:

Chance: Hey, u there?

I stare at it for a good minute, and finding nothing else to say, I respond,

Me: Yeah, sup?
Chance: I know we barely got to talk to each other but u seem like a pretty cool person
Me: Thanks lol. You seem pretty popular, a lot of people thought I was you and said hi lol
Chance: Oh no! lmao sorry bout that!
Me: It”s okay now that I don”t think I”m crazy anymore 😛
Chance: ROFL I bet!
Chance: Hey if u need anything at all I can help you out
Chance: I got alot of friends at the school and stuff
Me: Thanks, I appreicate it
Me: Appreciate*
Chance: No prob 😀 hey if its still weird to be brothers can we just be friends?
I take a long time to think about this one. I”m torn. I really want to have a brother, but I don”t know if I”m ready to just accept that. But also, I don”t want to just call someone who”s my completely identical twin just a “friend.” That”s somehow even weirder than this whole thing.

Chance: u there?
Me: I think I want to be brothers. 🙂
Chance: Yeah!!!! C u tomorrow at school??
Me: See you then lol
Yup. My fate is sealed. I”m so stressed out by everything that I actually decide to take a nap while waiting for Papa Davy to get home. It helps; when I finally hear my name being called from downstairs, I feel a whole lot calmer.

During my nap, I totally missed the smell of burgers cooking, but I can smell it all the way upstairs. Man, I love Papa Chris”s burgers! I scramble downstairs, almost eating carpet instead of food at the bottom of the stairs, if not for grabbing the rail tightly.

“Whoa!” Papa Davy says, getting up quickly from his chair in the kitchen. “You all right, Champ?” They both have their own pet name for me, I dunno. I”m not sure what I”m a “Champ” at, to be honest.

“Yeah, I”m good,” I say, regaining my footing. “Sorry. I smelled burgers.” They both laugh as I straighten out my shirt and have a seat.

The conversation starts out with Papa Davy”s day, how people never know how to ask for the hairstyles they really want, and how it”s always the same at any place you work: “Just let me tell you what will make you beautiful, and I promise you results.”

“Dude, I know,” I say over a mouthful of waffle-cut French fries. I swallow, and continue, “Some of the people at school, I”m like, did you fall on a propeller or something? What happened?”

Papa Davy almost spits food out, and even Papa Chris has to try super-hard not to laugh. “Well,” Papa Davy continues, “you”re welcome for not looking like you fell on a p-p-pffhaha!” He can”t even finish the sentence, and this sets me laughing, too. I can”t help it, but when it”s really funny, I sound like a squeaky toy. Squeak squeak squeak! At least I don”t snort.

Then the conversation moves on–after we calm down–to Papa Chris”s day, which was a lot calmer; work was mostly about reorganizing to get him situated in the office, and to get him up to speed on the workings of that particular firm. He worked in a branch of theirs in Connecticut, but when you”re halfway across the nation, people just do it differently.

“So how was your day, Lucky-Luke?” Papa Davy asks.

I take a deep breath and sigh, which makes Papa Davy frown a bit. Before he can ask, though, I say, “Okay, so it”s not that bad. Mostly. It”s just…well, I got to school and people were all talking to me like they knew me.”

“They sound pretty friendly,” Papa Chris says.

“No, like, they called me the wrong name and thought I was someone else.”

Papa Davy gets this look on his face and backs his head up like he just saw something gross. “That”s odd. What did they call you?”

“Chance. It gets worse, though.”

Papa Chris asks, “How so?”

“I met this “Chance” person they were talking about…”

“…and?” Papa Chris prods.

I stay silent a moment, not sure how to say it the best way. “And he looks like me.”

Papa Davy raises an eyebrow. “Sometimes people look alike. That”s not that bad.”

I shake my head slowly. “No. Exactly like me. Eyes, nose, hair–not as good as mine, Papa Davy, but same style–height, voice…”

Papa Chris”s face is stony, but Papa Davy looks at me with this skeptical look. He says, “There”s no way. I mean, there are coincidences, but that”s pretty out there.”

“We have the same birthday,” I mention. “I think–I think we”re twins. Like, real actual twins.”

“What is this, The Parent Trap?” Papa Davy remarks. “If it is, I kocaeli escort bayan ain”t marrying some lady just “cuz our kids look alike.” He does the sassy pucker-your-lips-and-snap thing, which always makes me giggle.

Papa Chris looks at Papa Davy with this look…I can”t really describe it, but Papa Davy gets serious real fast. Papa Chris says, “We adopted you from an agency that specialized in helping same-sex couples adopt,” he says. “For the protection of the biological parents, they didn”t disclose any information regarding birthplace, parents, siblings, or any other identifying information other than birth date and name. Technically we could have named you something else when we adopted you, but “Luke” worked just fine for us.”

“Actually,” Papa Davy adds, “they spelled it really weird, just “L-U-K.”

“Yeah, but we figured that was a misspelling. Who knows if they were even literate?” Papa Chris has a kinda disgusted look on his face when he says that.

Papa Davy picks up with, “Anyway, you”re sure of this? Like, you saw him yourself, and he looks exactly like you. Correct?”

I nod. “Like a mirror.” Thinking about it, I add, “So why is he down here?”

“No telling,” Papa Davy says. “Plenty of jobs down here, so maybe they moved down here. Maybe the adoption agency separated y”all so that there”d be less chance of you meeting up. Protection of identity, and all that.”

“So you believe me?” I ask carefully.

Papa Davy shrugs. “Why wouldn”t I? You don”t make random lies like this up. It”s crazy, but truth is stranger than fiction, sometimes.”

“So…” I stammer, “…does that mean he lives with his–my–um, our biological parents?”

Papa Chris exchanges a worried look with Papa Davy. “Why would you want to know?” he asks after a moment.

I look at the remainder of my fries. “To ask why they abandoned me.”

Papa Davy almost jumps out of his chair as he whips around the table and kneels next to me. “Luke, honey, no. Don”t think like that. This isn”t about “who abandoned who” or “who doesn”t love you” or whatever. You know that. Whatever reason your biological parent or parents had, they knew that you would have a better life this way. Imagine how hard it would be to give up your own child.”

“Not hard to if you don”t love them.” I don”t even know why I just said that.

“And do you believe that someone who gave birth to a person as loving, caring, and amazing as you could possibly not love you? You had to get it from somewhere.”

Dang it, Papa Davy always knows how to make me smile. “You two are good examples.”

“We learned from the best.” He boops my nose and stands back up. “Now. No more talk about parents, not even us.”

Papa Chris interjects, “What I want to know from you, personally, is this: How do you feel about this? Is it a good thing? Are you okay with the fact that you may have a brother?”

I can”t help but smile a bit. I say sheepishly, “Kinda, yeah. But I sorta freaked out when I saw him first.”

“Sweetie,” Papa Davy says with a soothing voice, “did you have a panic attack?”

“I got over it,” I said quickly. I really don”t like making them worry about me. “He and I talked after classes, before we got on our buses.”

Papa Chris interjects, “Since you go to the same school, it would be cruel of us to say you just can”t talk to him or anything, so for now, he”s just another friend at school. I don”t want you going over to his place until his parents give the “okay” for it; I”m certain that…Chance, was it? …will tell his parents about you, so they”ll have time to talk it out and think about how they want to handle things.”

“I guess that makes sense,” I concede.

“So is he as cute as you?” Papa Davy asks.

“What? No!” I say, realizing too late that it”s a trap. “I mean, I don”t know! I”m not that cute, God.” I can feel my cheeks catch fire as Papa Davy just cackles.

The truth is that I kinda do like boys, but it”s like, I think maybe I like girls, too? I mean I liked watching those straight porn videos, right? So maybe the whole “liking boys” thing is a phase. Then again, it”s been a phase for, well, ever since I knew what sex was, so I don”t really know how much I believe that–I mean, I even had a crush on my older friend (and kinda still do, not that it matters now). I kinda don”t want to like boys, though. I know that sounds wrong, especially with gay dads, but–so I heard my dads talking one day about the “haters” who all say that gay couples are adopting just so they can “convert” more people and all that stupid stuff, and they sounded so confident that I was going to prove them right, that I would be straight and they could be all “look at our straight son” and…yeah. I don”t want to let them down.

“What”s the matter, Champ?” Papa Davy asks.

“Huh?” I respond automatically, and add, “Oh, uh, sorry. I was just thinking. I”m okay. M-may I be excused? I want to go chill out a while and prepare for bed.”

Papa Chris looks at me like I”m an alien. “You want to go to bed early?”

“What? Today was stressful.”

“Okay, suit yourself. Clean off your plate, first.”

I really just wanted away from the table for now. I think I”m done thinking about this whole thing. I know this is going to sound incredibly nerdy, but later on, I actually take my syllabi out of my backpack and start reading them, just to take my mind off things. After that, I sit down to try and put some of the emotion today into a poem, but nothing comes out easy and I eventually give up. By that time, I”m pretty tired–even with the short nap from earlier–so I lay down to rest. One thought keeps me up a lot longer than I expected, though: if I think that I”m so ugly, why do I find him cute?


I head to school the next day, both excited and super-nervous about seeing Chance again. On one hand, I keep thinking that I”m over-reacting and being stupid, but on the other hand, how often does something this crazy happen? I kinda have a right to freak out over this.

Nobody comes over and says anything to me in the cafeteria before class, which is totally cool with me. I also chose a spot in the far corner, out of the way, so that I could hide and go quickly to class. First period is Reading, so at least there”s that. Of course, on the way there, someone has to call out, “Chance!” I roll my eyes and turn to see who it is. It”s that black kid from yesterday morning. “You remember me yet?” he asks.

“I do from yesterday,” I say, but I don”t let him interrupt me. “So, I”m not Chance. I”m Luke. Chance is my brother. It”s nice to meet you.” I hold out a hand as confidently as I can.

“Man,” the boy says, “Why you trollin” like this? You”re freakin” weird this year, man.” He starts to walk away.

“Hey, hold on!” I say quickly, stopping him. “Just…I know it”s weird, but Chance and I are twins. I promise you I”m not lying to you.” I look up at the digital clock in the hallway, and realize I don”t have much time. “Can you just please tell me your name so I know it?”

He squints at me. “If you”re his brother, why”d you act like you never heard of him?”

“Because I hadn”t! Look, I have to go. I”m sure we”ll talk later.”

As I turn to leave, he gives me a skeptical glare, but finally says, “Jay. Call me Jay. I swear if you”re just playin” me…” he doesn”t finish his sentence before the bell rings.

“Crap. Gotta go. See you later, Jay!” I turn and jog to my class.

Jim N. Eisenhower Middle School is a pretty big school, so when I get to Reading class, I”m not surprised that my twin isn”t in it. Even if he had Reading first period, there are probably like two or three Reading teachers for 8th grade alone, so the chances are pretty low.

Dang it, bad pun again.

I”m already a little late to class, so I don”t have time to talk to anybody before the teacher gets started. It”s the same boring first-day procedures and all that, still have to turn in our phones, but at least the teacher seems to be pretty cool. Surprisingly, nobody says anything to me during class, but as I”m walking to my next class, Lucas from my Science class of all people finds me in the hall. Great.

“Hey…” he says, but doesn”t mention a name.

“Yeah?” I say impatiently.

“Are you…Luke?” he asks carefully. I nod and wait for what he has to say. “Hey, so, I saw you get on the bus yesterday and then I got on my bus, and, um, Chance was on it. So I believe you, and I feel like a total jerk for being so rude. I”m sorry.”

I can”t help but smile a little bit. “It”s okay. Did Chance explain?”

“That you guys never met? Yeah. How freaky. But I”m really sorry. I felt so bad after I found out.”

I hold out my hand. “It”s cool. I didn”t know, either. It”s strange, but life is strange, right?”

He shakes my hand. “You”re pretty cool,” he says with a goofy smile. “Um, I have to go to class. Talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“All right,” I say. “Bye, Lucas!”

“Bye, Luke!”

This is going to get really exhausting, I can already tell. So I head to US History, right, and guess what–three people mistake me for Chance. Dang, he”s popular. So this time, I decide to have a little fun. The whole little group of them comes up to me: one short boy (still a little taller than me, though) with brown hair and glasses, one girl with blond wavy hair, and a boy with reddish brown hair–oh my God, I just realized that they totally look like they could cosplay Harry Potter. That”s awesome. Anyway, so the glasses boy is like, “Yay, Chance is in our class!” They cheer a little bit as well.

“Well, yeah, but they might change my schedule,” I lie. “Ask me later on, if I forget.”

“Aww!” the boy says. “We could totally be the whole team again!”

“I know, I”m sorry,” I say. I”m not a great actor, but I guess it”s not hard to be someone who looks and sounds like you. “Um, talk later? Class time now.”

That gets a weird look from the girl, who says, “Since when did you ever stop talking?” and sticks her tongue out at me.

“Roasted,” I say, rolling my eyes and sitting down in my seat. Interestingly, the teacher passes around a sign-up sheet with our names on it, so that we can just sign that we”re here. That seems…boring. How is he ever going to know our names?

The rest of the class passes by boringly (it IS History, after all): we talk syllabus, the teacher lectures a while about why US History is so important, and then it”s on to the next class, P.E. Oh, wait, it looks like I go to lunch first and then to P.E. Good; I”m already hungry.

I stand in the line at lunch and look around. I don”t really recognize anybody that knows Chance, and nobody comes up to talk to “Chance,” either. I get a plate with an apple, a chocolate milk, a tray of…I guess vanilla pudding, and school pizza (you know, the weird square one? Apparently it”s like that at all schools), and look around for a place to sit. I notice there”s a lot less talking going on than yesterday, and lots of people are in little clumps around the lunch room. Then I realize that everyone here looks really young, so this is probably mostly 6th graders. I see one boy that is sitting at the edge of a table and staring at his tray silently, and decide to go sit next to him. There”s not really anywhere left over that isn”t going to be next to someone or another, so this is as good as anywhere.

I take my seat and say, “Hi.” No response. Well, this is awkward. I take a bite of pizza, unsure of what to say. The boy, a very short kid with light blond buzzed hair and a couple of freckles, doesn”t touch his food. Well, actually, he does touch his food, but only to pick at the pepperoni chunks and move them around on his pizza.

Well, I tried. I don”t say anything else, but continue eating my pizza. After a few minutes, I look over, and the boy has arranged the pepperoni chunks in a perfect circle on the pizza. Then he picks it up slowly and bites off a piece of the outer pizza, chewing it slowly. Wait a minute…there was this boy I knew back in Connecticut who he reminds me of. We were kinda good friends–I say “kinda” because, well, he was autistic and it was hard to tell if he thought about it the same way. Anyway, he would do things like this; I learned a lot about autism from him and his mom.

I wonder… “Do you like circles?” I ask.

He pauses mid-chew, almost perfectly frozen, and looks me straight in the eyes for just a quick moment before looking back down at his circle. “Yeth,” he says with a full mouth, “Thircles are perfect, there are no cornerth anywhere on them, you can jutht go around them forever, and you can use pi to figure out their thircumferenth.” He stops to swallow his food, and bites off another piece, being very careful not to mess with the circle of pepperoni in the middle.

It makes me smile watching him go. He really does remind me of my old friend. “My name is Luke. What is your name?” I ask it very carefully to make sure he understands my meaning, just in case.

“My name is Scott.” He takes another bite. Suddenly, there is a loud bunch of laughter coming from a couple of tables over, and Scott jumps, sending the pepperoni pieces all over his tray. He starts to say, “Oh man. Oh man. Oh man,” as he stares at the scattered pieces of meat.

“Quick, there”s a circle inside that square on your tray,” I say, pointing to the spot that holds either a canned drink or a boxed milk. “You should make a circle inside of that one. Can I help?” He starts putting the little pepperoni chunks carefully in a circle as I hand them to him to speed up the process. As soon as he places the last piece in the circle, he stops, looks at it a moment, and takes a bite of pizza.

“Do you feel better?” I ask. He nods after a moment. We both go back to eating quietly, until he stops to stare at the pepperoni pieces while holding his almost perfectly circular piece of pizza. After about 15 seconds of him locked in place, he starts to say “Oh man. Oh man,” again. Oh, they”re not on the pizza anymore. Hmm.

I get up and go around to his side of the table, sitting down in the seat next to him. “Here, try this,” I say, and guide his hand with the pizza over to the pepperoni. I guide him to put it upside-down on the circle, and then push down slightly. When we pick his pizza slice back up, most of the pepperoni pieces stick to the cheese. “Quick, fix the circle!” I announce, picking up a stray piece and putting it in its rightful place. He quickly reassembles the circle, and without wasting any more time, shoves the whole piece in his mouth, not missing a single pepperoni.

“Does it taste like a perfect circle?” I ask with a smile. He nods, not smiling, but chewing very energetically. He”s a good kid. I hope nobody messes with him.

“You are being nice to me,” Scott states.

“I am,” I confirm.

“Are you being nice so that we can be friends?” he asks bluntly.

“I am being nice because it makes me happy,” I answer. “But if you want to be friends, we can be friends, too.”

“I don”t have any friends here yet,” Scott says in the same tone that he has been using.

“Can I be your first friend, then?” I ask, smiling.

He looks right at my lips, leans in a little bit, and nods. “Yes, you can be my first friend, Luke.”

“Thank you, Scott.” I don”t know what it is that makes me so happy about all this. I think maybe knowing that I can make someone else less anxious helps me feel not as bad about my own anxiety.

“How do you spell your name?” Scott asks. I tell him, and he notes, “Your name doesn”t have any circles in it. If you spelled it L-o-o-k-e, then it would have two circles in it and it would still sound the same.”

I giggle, thinking about it. “My teachers won”t let me change it, but you can spell it that way. That way I can always have at least two circles.”

“Yes. Two circles.” He smiles at the thought; so he can smile.

Sadly, the bell is about to ring, so I say, “Scott, it is nice to meet you. I”m glad I can be your friend. Have a good day, Scott.”

“Have a good day, Looke.” He actually adds a little bit of stress on the vowel to let me know that he changed it. He stands up and goes to throw his trash away, and I follow suit. After that, he doesn”t say another word to me or even look my way, but I don”t expect him to, really. He”s just being himself. I hope he”ll be okay here.

I make my way to P.E. class after lunch and go have a seat in the bleachers where the other kids are gathering. Shortly after I sit down, I catch a glimpse of red hair coming in the door; it turns out I have at least one class today with Chance. I wave at him, and his face lights up as he runs over to the bleachers. “Hey! Luke!” he says with a hand out for the slap-and-tap. Our hands smack together and we fist bump before he sits down.

Funny enough, the kid with the glasses from US History walks in shortly afterward. Chance calls out, “Hey Paul!” Paul looks up to see him waving; I look over and smile stupidly because I”m made of awkward. The look on Paul”s face is amazing, though: first he”s all smiling because he has a friend here, and then he stops and his smile kinda fades as he squints at me, and then as he gets a little closer, he takes his glasses off and looks at them. Chance just starts cracking up laughing and calls out, “Nah, you”re fine. Come here! I wanna introduce you to my brother.”

He walks up the bleacher stairs and over to us. “Since when did you have a broth–are y”all twins?!”

“Since yesterday, if you”d believe it,” Chance remarks with a side smile. “He”s my brother from another mother…except I guess we had the same mother. It”s a long story.”

“Duuuuuuuuude!” Paul says, “That is so cool! Hi, I”m Paul!”

We shake hands. “Luke. Um, I”m actually the one in your History class.”

Paul”s jaw drops. “I–what? No.”

I point out that I”m still not in school uniform yet (I”m picking it up after school, though), and that Chance is. Paul”s eyes almost pop out of his head as he says, “How did I not see that?”

Chance shoots back, “Racist.”

Paul just stands and stares, completely confused. I get it immediately, and snicker. “How do you “Nazi” anything at all?” I ask; after another moment of blank stare, I put my arm up in the air in the Nazi “Heil” gesture, and that finally does it.

“OH!” Paul exclaims, and then sits down next to Chance. “Nazi! Right, right. I just remembered that I hate you.”

“But I”m not even Jewish!” Chance just has this ridiculous smile on his face right now, or at least he does until Paul slugs him in the leg.

I start laughing and squeaking, of course, and Paul says, “That”s freaky–he even laughs like you. So what did you mean by “another mother”?”

“I was adopted when I was still a baby,” I explain. “Speaking of which, hey Chance–did, uh…have you talked to your parents about me yet?”

“Oh.” Chance”s face turns very serious. “Yeah.” Before he can say anything else, though, a whistle blows loudly and we all turn our heads to see the coach, a tall bald man with a stern face.

“All right, boys,” he says in a deep, booming voice, “welcome to Physical Education, P.E.” He does attendance, goes over the basic rules and all that, hands out stuff, the usual. He does point out that since we have 6th, 7th, and 8th graders in the same class, he”s extra harsh on bullying or picking on people. Basically, no hitting people, throwing balls at them on purpose, all that.

Then we head to the locker room to get designations; while we have to provide the combination lock for our own locker (or trust everybody not to mess with our stuff, ha), they actually provide the gym clothes, which is pretty cool. My old school never did that. He shows us the restroom and the showers (ohhhh joy), and finally we get in line back in the gym to get our gym clothes. There are a few long tables set up in the middle of the gym with simple black basketball shorts and red shirts with a black-and-blue picture of a wolf (our mascot) and the school name on them. We basically help ourselves to a set of them, and he suggests that we go to the locker room to try them out. When we find what fits, we go tell him, and then just hang out while everyone finishes. He mentions that it will probably take the rest of the time, so he gets a few different beach balls and other sports” balls out for if we are done early.

I dressed out in my old school just fine, but now that I”m here in a new place with a bunch of new people, I get really anxious and kinda wait for the others to dress out first. Chance comes in and sees me waiting, and asks, “You okay, bro?”

“Heh. “Bro.” I”ll never hear that the same way now.” I smile nervously. “Um, I”m just gonna wait for the others.”

He stands and thinks a moment. “What size did you get?”

“Smalls on both,” I admit.

“Good,” he says. “I got this.” Chance sits on the bench in the room, among all the other boys who are kinda murmuring to each other and such, ignoring everyone else, and he removes his shoes and shirt. I immediately feel my cheeks heat up, and I have no idea why–he”s my brother and he”s got the same body as me. Maybe it”s just that I”m looking at a bunch of shirtless boys, some of them in their undies, some of them in briefs, too, no less. So much for it being a phase, right?

Chance then takes off his khaki pants and lets them drop to the floor, showing off his dark green boxer briefs and, well, his package. As I expected, it”s physically the same as mine…except that his isn”t getting hard like mine is right now–stop that go down, stop stop stop! Think about ugly people, and being scared, and History class…

Chance stands up and puts his arms out to his sides like a mannequin, showing how the Small-size gym clothes fit; they fit nicely, actually, just enough room not to be tight, but definitely not baggy. He says, “Perfect. And now you don”t have to try yours on right now.” He smiles proudly at his solution.

Well, now I”m blushing even harder. “Oh. Th-thanks.” He winks. I”m sure I can”t get any redder.

“Go ahead and wait for me outside–I”ll be right there.” Chance starts putting back on his other clothes, and I head out of the locker room for a breath of fresh air, hoping to calm down a bit. Chance comes up next to me and half-whispers, “Sorry. I noticed that you were getting embarrassed, so I figured this would be better.”

“Oh God, is it that noticeable?” I slide down the wall I was leaning against and hide my face.

He slides down to me and whispers, “I get the same thing, dude. People used to call me “Cherry Chance-stick.””

I look over at him, and sure enough, even thinking about it makes his cheeks flare up, too. I push myself back up and take a deep breath; even though lots of other kids are walking back out after getting dressed again, none of them bother to look at us. Paul, though, walks by and asks, “Y”all okay?”

“We”re fine,” Chance says. “Just talking.”

So there”s like somewhere around forty kids in the class–much higher than in the regular subject classes–so it takes a while for the coach to record everyone”s locker assignment and what size uniform they have. Chance and I get in line behind Paul and as the line slowly makes its way up, I mention, “So uh, you never told me what happened when you told your parents about me.”

“Oh, right,” he says in an annoyed voice. “So I was all like, “Hey, I have a twin brother,” and they acted like they had no idea what I was talking about. I asked Mom why she never told me, and she and Dad got real quiet for a while, and then Mom said I”d have to wait until the weekend to find out the reason for it. She said that it”s “just too much to explain right now,” and that they wanted to meet you first, if that”s okay with you and your parents.” He sighs. “They”re acting really weird about it, like there”s something they”re hiding. Like, why would they put you up for adoption?”

“Hm,” I grunt. “Well, she wants to meet me, so I mean that”s a good thing, right?”

“I guess. Something seems fishy, though.”

“Well, funny thing is that my parents told me they wanted me to wait until your parents said I could come over, so that means I can, now!”

A huge smile takes over Chance”s face. “Yeah! When do you want to?”

“Well, I mean, I guess I could after school today? I”ll call after classes and ask Papa Chris.” After he gives me a funny look, I add, “Two dads. It”s to say who”s who.”

“Ahh, right, right.” The conversation dies down after that; we move up a few more places in line, and he asks, “So what do you like to do? You know, like for fun.”

I shrug. “You know, play around on my phone, talk to my friends back home–I mean, back in Connecticut, write…”

“What do you write?” he asks with interest.

I stammer, “Uhh, just, y”know, poetry sometimes, sometimes stories. It”s not really all that good, though. I mean, it”s okay, but I write way better than I talk, you know? I wish I could just talk to people the way you do.”

“What?” he says incredulously. “Nah, it”s nothing. I just have a lot of friends. I can”t write at all, though…I kinda hate it, actually, heh.”

At this point, Chance gets to the front of the line, so the conversation stops. By the time we both get through it, it”s almost time to go anyway, so we go get our stuff and the coach gives us a brief run-down of what we”re doing for the week before the bell rings, letting us out like a stampede.

Chance asks, “What”s your next class?”

“Pre-Algebra,” I say across the stream of students.

“Dang. I have Science next.”

“Hey,” I say quickly, “meet me at the office after school? I have to pick up my uniform.”

“Sure!” he says as he turns and fades into the crowd. Well, as much as someone with our hair can “fade,” anyway.

So Pre-Algebra is okay as a class; I recognize some classmates from other classes, but nobody who is part of Chance”s fan club. We don”t really do any talking to each other in the class, just a questionnaire and a pre-test to see what we know about math. It”s pretty boring, really, I guess. Anyway, so then I go pick up my phone from my first period teacher and head over to the office, calling Papa Chris on the way.

“Hey Papa Chris? Hey, uh, so you know how I was gonna pick up my uniform after school and you were gonna pick me up? So, Chance”s parents already said they wanna meet me. Is it okay if I just hop on the bus with him? … Yeah, I mean I think so. If they don”t let me on the bus, I can just call you back. … I dunno, maybe through dinner? I wouldn”t be spending the night. … That”s fine. I”ll call you to let you know. … Okay, love you too. Thanks! Bye!”

I rush over to the office and ask for a uniform. They actually even have the khaki pants here, but we have to pay for the uniforms either way–store or here–so it works. I”m not picky. I give them my measurements, which turns out to be a size 12 slim (though, as always, I”ll need to get the stupid legs hemmed–being slim and short is annoying), and give them the cash I got from Papa Davy this morning to buy the uniform.

As I”m walking out of the office, Chance is jogging across the foyer to me. “Hey!” he says, half out of breath. “Did you call?”

I smile. “They said I can,” I say with a growing grin.


We both practically fly out of the door to go get to the buses; as I get on his bus, the bus driver gives us a double-take, but doesn”t say anything else. Maybe she just thought she didn”t see me the first time or something. I laugh at the silliness, and a little bit at the fact that I”m pretty sure this is against the rules. I never rode a bus back in Connecticut, but this can”t be just okay for anybody to ride whatever bus. I dunno.

We sit down near the front, since all the other kids got on first and took the better seats. Chance ends up introducing me to a few people he knows on the bus, everybody freaks out over how weird it is that I”m his long-lost twin brother, and the ride is over before we know it. You know what? I think I”m getting used to this so fast only because of how I”ve had to explain it over and over to everyone in just 2 days. It”s getting really old.

We hop off the bus and race each other to his house halfway down the block. We get there at almost the same time (he knows the area, and I had to watch out for a tree root in the sidewalk path), and he leads me up his driveway and across a little stone path through a garden (Papa Chris would like this yard) to his front porch. He swings the door open and calls, “Mom, I”m home!”

“Hi, dear,” we hear from the kitchen, “how was school tod–” She stops as she comes around the corner and sees me. “Chance Lockhart, you did not ask for permission for people to come over!”

He stops, face getting red, and his jaw drops. “Oh no! I forgot to call! Mom, I”m sorry, I just–I meant to call, but I got so excited that he said he could! I”m sorry, Mama.” Geez, the redness goes all the way down his neck. Do I get that bad, too?

His mom, a kinda tall woman with dark, wavy red hair and a face that always looks like she”s puckering for a kiss, sighs and says, “Well, don”t let all the flies in. Close the door, come on in. You must be Luke.” She walks up to me with a friendly smile and holds out her hand. “I”m Carly. It”s wonderful to meet you.”

Something doesn”t add up, here. If this was my mom, I”d think she would be crying, or at least something more emotional than just a “nice to meet you.” Does she really hate me that much?

“Luke is a bit shy sometimes,” Chance says, and I realize that I hadn”t said anything back to her. I shake her hand quickly, start blushing (I swear I”m going to give myself a sunburn today), and stutter out, “Uh, h-hi. Sorry.”

“You”re just as adorable as Chance is, aren”t you?” she says, patting my cheek lightly before swinging her hips off to the kitchen. I follow Chance through the entry hall and the dining room into the kitchen, which connects to the backyard and the living room. In one corner of the living room they have a grand piano, and they have a really nice TV on the wall on the other side. Neat.

“Make yourselves at home–there”s some fresh fruit punch made, and I stocked up on Little Debbie cookies.” Chance”s mom (I don”t want to call her my mom until I get some answers) starts cleaning the counters in the kitchen, but when she says “Little Debbie,” Chance lights up and zips over to the pantry. I hear a box rip open and plastic rustling as he pulls out an Oatmeal Cream Pie and tosses it to me, getting one for himself as well. “I love these things,” he says before stuffing half of it into his mouth.

I haven”t had one of these in forever; my dads are kinda health nuts, so I don”t get a lot of sweets. The little cake is freaking fantastic, though, and I”m tempted to ask for another one.

Chance leads me on a tour through the house, showing off his backyard and then leading us upstairs to his room. It”s not very big, but he has the area pretty well set up. The posters on the walls are of Final Fantasy XV, the first Transformers movie, and a swimsuit model that I don”t recognize. Very interesting mix. Other than that, it”s just a dresser, a closet, and a long wooden crate, like the kind you see full of dynamite in cartoons.

“What”s the crate for?” I ask.

“What? Oh, that”s my Legos!” He opens the crate (it has hidden hinges on the back) to show multiple boxes of Lego sets and a few plastic containers of other Legos, though I can”t figure out what the organization is of it all. He beams with pride. “I”ve been collecting since I was 6.”

“Cool!” I say, though I”m not quite sure why that amount of Legos is a “collection.” Then he opens his closet, and I understand: there are boxes stacked on boxes in his closet, barely leaving room for hanging clothes. More Lego boxes sit on a shelf above the clothes. “Whoa,” I say after taking it all in.

“I know, right?!” he says excitedly. “One day I”ma build a castle. Like, one I can fit in. Maybe right here in this side of the room. It”ll be awesome. Anyway, come this way.” He heads out of his room and across the hallway, pointing out the bathroom before leading us into the guest room. There”s a queen-size bed and a fancy armoire in the room, as well as a TV with a couple of Nintendo-brand systems from different eras. “Is that…a Super Nintendo?” I ask, looking inside the glass display case underneath the TV.

“Yup! Dad used to play it. I think it still works, actually.”

“Dude, that”s awesome.”

“Do you have any game systems at home?”

“Eh,” I say, “I guess if you count my computer. I don”t have any consoles, though, if that”s what you mean.”

“PC counts,” he points out. “What kind of games you play?”

“Uh, like, y”know, couple of shooter games like Overwatch, um, Minecraft…”

“Dude, I LOVE Minecraft! Dad let me get it on my phone. Can I join your server?”

I roll my eyes. “No, because phone and PC are different versions. They aren”t compatible.”

He looks disappointed. “Well, that”s dumb,” he mutters. I agree.

We eventually settle down to play Smash Brothers on the Nintendo Wii U. I”m terrible at it since I never play consoles, but it”s so stupidly funny, even when you die a lot, that it doesn”t matter. We”re both cracking up laughing, almost crying, the whole time. One match, we just turned on bombs. Nothing else. 8 players, small map, full of bombs. I almost peed myself laughing.

So a little while later, we hear a man”s voice call out, “Chance!”

“Yeah, Dad?” he calls back over the explosions on the game.

“Why don”t y”all come down, say hi?”

“Yeah, one sec!” There”s literally 5 seconds remaining in the game, and Chance picks up a bomb, tries to throw it at me, and ends up hitting a wall and blowing himself up.

“Nooooooo!” he cries, laughing too hard to say anything else.

“I gotta stop, I can”t breathe, I can”t breathe!” I manage to gasp out, wiping my eyes. I take a deep breath, laugh more, and try again until I can actually calm down. We both head downstairs and meet the father. His dad is a nice-looking man, thin, light brown hair cut in one of those short-but-businesslike haircuts, waved over to the side, you know? Eh. Anyway, he has a short, trimmed beard and is wearing the suit-and-tie getup. I guess he”s probably in sales or law or something where you have to dress up.

He walks up to me and shakes my hand, “Good to meet you. I”m Terrance, but I often go by “Dad.””

“I”m Luke,” I say softly. Neither of them are crying or anything, not like you see in movies. Not that I think they need to or anything, I”m not conceited like that, but this seems really off. “You two really are the spittin” image of each other. That”s incredible.” He looks back and forth between us both. “So I”m sure you have lots of questions, but I”m going to have to be very rude and say that the answers will have to wait until we can have both sets of parents in the same place.”

“But you said Friday!” Chance snaps, his voice cracking.

“Well, that all depends. Luke, would it be okay if I could have your parents” phone numbers? I would like to set up a dinner so that we can all meet and talk.”

“Um, sure.” I pull up their information on my phone and show it to Mr. Lockhart so he can copy it into his own phone.

After he does so, he looks at Chance. “Listen to me very carefully. I promise that everything will be explained to both of you, but I want you to keep a very open mind. The answers are a lot more kocaeli sınırsız escort complicated than you expect.”

“So wait,” Chance asks, “you”re just not–”

“Please, Chance,” Mr. Lockhart says in a firm tone, “I know it”s going to be very hard to just leave this alone right now, but I need you to trust me. It will be best if everyone is present for this discussion. For now, why don”t we celebrate meeting your long-lost brother and new friendships, eh?”

Chance gives his dad a long, skeptical stare, but finally gives in. “Fine. But I wanna know why you have to hide it from us until then.”

“I told you,” Terrance emphasizes, “it”s going to be best for everyone to be here. It wouldn”t be fair if some people weren”t here to give their side of the story and all that. Chance…” Terrance drops to a knee so that he can look at Chance eye-to-eye. “You know how much your mom and I love you. I promise I”ll explain everything soon.”

Chance takes in a deep breath and sighs through his nose. “Okay, Dad.” After a moment of thought, he asks, “Hey, what”s for dinner?”

“Well…” Mr. Lockhart draws out the word, “we were just going to have sandwiches, but this is a special occasion. How about I order some pizza?”

“YES!” Chance shouts. “Extra Canadian bacon!”

“Dude,” I say, “I love Canadian bacon.”

“Well, yeah, we”re twins, right?” he says, smiling.

So we order pizza and his dad gets out the “Sorry!” board game. We play a while until the pizza arrives; the conversation ends up basically about Connecticut and where I grew up, since that”s the part that none of them knew much about. I really do miss it up there, but now that I found out my twin brother lives here, Louisiana is looking a lot cooler. When I tell them that I live with my dads, they look at each other and seem pretty happy to know that; neither one of them, like, freaks out or anything, which is good, I guess. You can never tell. We talk about school and how Speech sucks and I”d rather write essays, and Chance is all like “Are you kidding?! I”ll talk all day, but I don”t want to write a paragraph!”

Eventually, things wind down and Chance”s dad offers to take me home. I call my parents to let them know what”s going on (Papa Chris is irritated that I didn”t call before dinner, and he ended up cooking too much spaghetti), and we hop in his dad”s Camaro. It”s a way older car, like maybe 70″s? I”m not good at cars. Anyway, it”s fast and awesome and before I know it, I”m home.

“Thanks, you guys,” I say to them both.

Chance climbs out of the car and walks over to me. He looks at me for a moment, his mouth moving without words, and he finally asks, “Can I give you a hug goodbye?”

“Yes,” I answer with a grin. I”m usually not a huggy kind of person, except with my family, and this is my brother, after all. He squeezes me like a juice box until I choke out, “Okay, can”t breathe,” and he lets go, laughing.

He takes one last look at me and my house, and says, “Um, I guess see you tomorrow in Speech?”

“See you tomorrow!” I say, hoisting my backpack onto my shoulder and making my way inside.

Okay, so I”m going to fast-forward here a little bit if that”s okay, “cuz I want to get to the interesting parts. I let my parents know about Friday being a possible meet-up date, and they are both available on Fridays, so it works out well. Thursday is boring and slow, but at least everyone knows that Chance and I are twins now, or at least most people that matter, so there”s a lot less “OMG” and “I DON”T GET IT” and all that. The day finally passes by, Friday arrives, and it”s another stupidly slow day until the end, when I head home and get ready for the evening. I ask Chance to ask his parents if I can spend the night, and he texts back, “THEY SAID YES” in all caps, so I get my pillow and a change of clothes, my toothbrush, and my medication, and we head over around 6 o” clock to Chance”s house.

My parents introduce themselves to Chance and his parents, and vice-versa. They actually have a pot roast cooking, making the entire place smell delicious, so I guess we”re eating here.

Papa Davy and Mr. Lockhart go and talk in the living room while Papa Chris and Mrs. Lockhart talk in the kitchen over the pot roast, probably trading cooking secrets. Chance and I go upstairs and play a few more rounds of Smash Brothers while we wait.

“So what do you think the “big secret” is?” Chance asks. “What if you”re my clone?!”

I look at him right as I fall offstage on the game. “Pff. You”d be my clone.”

“What? Naw! I”m the New and Improved model!”

“I”m the Luxury model,” I say, turning my head to the side like a dramatic runway model. Chance just busts out laughing. “You could be the Sports model, if you want.”

“Eh,” Chance says, shrugging. “Sports are okay. I”m kinda meh about playing them, though.”

“Same,” I admit. “So never mind, no Sports models. Hey, what about being the Video Game model?”

“…what,” Chance says in a flat, skeptical tone.

“Like, they have Sports models, why not Video Game models? Like, you could have a car that you drive with a controller instead of a steering wheel!” I hold out the controller and swerve it back and forth, making motor sounds. “Vroooommmmmmm SKREEE Nyowmmm!”

Chance just starts doing the squeaky laugh that I hate so much when I do it, but somehow, he makes it sound, I dunno, better. It makes me laugh, too, and we both get the giggle fits again. Shortly, his parents call us down for dinner. We all sit down around the table with a plate of pot roast and gravy with mashed potatoes and garlic green beans. It smells amazing. The conversation is mostly the parents talking about their jobs and histories, and all that, really boring tune-out kind of stuff. I stay quiet and eat my food; I notice occasionally that Chance looks over at me, but he doesn”t say anything. I mean, I admit that I was looking over at him, too, but yeah, neither of us say anything at dinner.

Then we all go into the living room with a few extra chairs; Chance and I sit on the sofa, his parents take the love seat and turn it to face us a bit, and my parents bring kitchen chairs in to complete the circle.

“All right,” Mr. Lockhart says heavily, “I promised you”d get all the answers today, so now that we all have a full stomach, and Luke”s parents and we have had a chance to talk, it”s time to tell you guys everything.” I get this sense of foreboding, like a terrible thing is about to happen. Maybe it”s his tone of voice. He continues, “Before y”all were born, your mother and I took a trip up to Connecticut on a very special mission.”

Wait, what? “You guys were in Connecticut?” I blurt out.

“Let him finish,” Papa Chris says firmly but nicely.

“We had loved each other for a very long time, and we decided it was time to have a child. The problem was that we…weren”t able to have children of our own.”

Oh, God. I look over at Chance, who is still processing the information. I know where this is going–that”s why they didn”t act like I was their long-lost son. I”m not.

“We needed to go to Connecticut because there is a special place that helps…couples like us, get kids. So we checked into all of our options, and decided on adopting a very young little baby boy whose mother didn”t want to be known.”

At this point, Chance”s eyes widen, and I can see his breathing get fast. “Whoa whoa whoa wait, adopt? Which one are we talking about?”

Chance”s father continues. “We didn”t know if she had any other children, as the agency didn”t disclose any of that information.”

Chance”s eyes start crying, but his voice stays strong. “So we”re both adopted?”

Papa Chris interjects, “If I may interrupt: the agency, as Luke knows, specialized in helping same-sex couples adopt, and there aren”t often a lot of children available to the agency due to various states” laws regarding same-sex adoption, as well as a lack of people willing to put their children up for adoption to a place where they might end up with two fathers or two mothers. It”s sick and sad, but that”s the truth still. So they do whatever they need to do to protect people”s identities. It”s not fair, but it”s the only way–”

“Not FAIR?!” Chance screams. “Not fair to WHO? To the twins you split up?!”

Chance”s mom says in a soothing voice, “Honey, you have to understand: we had no idea. Besides, you could have just stayed in an orphanage, or ended up on the street, but both of you went to caring, loving parents. Besides, the odds of you finding your twin across the nation with different names and not knowing your mother is so tiny that maybe, maybe they felt it would be okay this way. Have we not been good parents to you?”

“Yeah, but–” Chance says, and then stops. “Wait. You said the agency helps same-sex couples.” He stares at his mom and dad, waiting for an answer. (As for myself during all this, I already knew about the adoption, but not all the details. I mean I guess it makes sense, but it doesn”t really hit me like it does Chance.)

The Lockhart parents look at each other for a good 5 seconds, and Mr. Lockhart says, “You were going to know about all this after your 13th birthday party, but after the bad storm just before school, and the craziness at work, it just kinda slipped to the side.”

“Know about what.” His words aren”t a question so much as a demand.

His father says slowly, “First off, about the adoption, and secondly, that I started my life as a girl. I transitioned before we adopted you, but legally, they still considered me a woman, and therefore we were a “same-sex couple” in the eyes of the law.”

Chance”s jaw drops as far as mine does. He”s a–was a girl? How did–but his voice is deep…well, I mean, it”s at least not girly. I guess he started hormones a while back.

Chance says in a hoarse, cracking whisper, “What?”

“Like I said, we were looking for a good time to tell you, but now that this…unlikely scenario has happened, we–”

“You–you lied to me!” Then, louder: “You”ve lied to me for years! Everything! You, me, my brother, that I”m–I…you…LYING…” he yells the last word, but can”t seem to put together anything coherent. He scrambles over me, runs past my dads, and dashes upstairs.

“Chance, wait! I–” Mr. Lockhart stands up and calls, but Chance is already up the stairs. “Well, that could have gone better,” Mr. Lockhart says after a moment.

“You think?!” I say before I realize it. “You were just gonna wait until he found out or something?!”

“Lucas Augustine Chatham,” Papa Chris says in his most serious tone, “you will treat adults with respect, do you hear me?”

I stand up quickly. “Did you hear him?” I ask, pointing to the stairs. “I”ve only known him for three days, but right now, I care more about his feelings than you all do!” I know that was absolutely not the right thing to say, but I said it, and right now, I”m out of this pit. I begin to walk past my parents, and as they both stand up, I leap past them and run upstairs. I see his door closed, so I walk over and knock on it.


“It”s me,” I say gently. No response.

I push the door open slowly to see Chance balled up on his bed on his side, holding his knees, tears streaming down his face from tightly-shut eyes. I slowly walk over and sit cross-legged next to him on the bed. “Hey. It”s me.”

Without opening his eyes, he replies in a weak, shuddering voice, “Go. away. You”re part of this whole lie, too.”

“No, I”m not,” I say calmly, though I can feel the anger and empathetic sadness boiling inside me. “I had no idea. They told me just as much as they told you. The only reason I knew I was adopted is because, hello, two dads.”

“And I have two moms, apparently, so what”s your point?” he says petulantly.

I had the joy and honor of knowing a few transgender people back in Connecticut, mostly friends of my dads, but one who knew even back in 5th grade that she wasn”t supposed to be a boy, like she was born. I say slowly, “No, Chance. You have a father and a mother, even if they”re not your biological parents. Dude–think about how hard it was for your dad to admit that he was the wrong gender when he was born. Think about how much he trusts you and cares about you that–that he”d actually admit that.”

Chance snaps, “He didn”t for 13 years!”

“But he did, didn”t he? He could have kept it secret, maybe forever.”

“Only because you came around.”

I fight every urge to give in to his attacks; it”s only because of my old therapist that I understand the feelings he”s going through and how to approach this. “Life…would have been easier, maybe, if we never met, but…which would you choose: never being told the truth, or…knowing about me? Sure, “ignorance is bliss,” but is that bliss more important than, than us knowing each other?” I know I”m taking a dare on that last statement, but I need to know where he stands on this. If I had a new therapist here, they”d probably scold me for that last statement.

He opens his eyes just a little bit, fresh tears spilling out, and breathes silently a few times, sobbing once or twice as he stares forward. Finally, he pushes himself up to a sitting position, and opens his mouth to say something, when I hear the doorknob click. I swing myself around to see his dad entering the room, followed by the other parents. Suddenly, I”m hit with this rush of anger and, like, protective instinct, I guess, because I automatically put my hands across his legs, like I”m guarding him, and give the parents a look, the “so help me God, if you mess with me…” kind of look, and they stop in their tracks.

“Not. Now.” I say as calmly as I can.

“You will NOT get in the way of my–” says his dad, but Mrs. Lockhart says over his shoulder, “Terrance, please.” Her tone of voice isn”t asking nicely, though.

Mr. Lockhart stares a moment, then sighs through his nose with lips pressed together as he backs out and closes the door. I realize that my hands are on his legs and I quickly jerk them back, blushing. “Sorry. I–I don”t know why I, uh, did that.”

He just looks at me through bleary eyes and smiles, just a tiny bit. “It”s okay. Thanks.” A sob overtakes him before he can control his breath again. “At least I know you aren”t lying to me.”

I smile, and put my hand back on his knee comfortingly. After a moment, I say, “Listen. I know it”s going to be hard to accept right now, but you have to believe that they did what they did because they thought it was best for you. That…may just mean that they were incredibly stupid and totally underestimated you, but they didn”t hide it from you because they, like, hate you or whatever. Sometimes even adults are really, really stupid.”

Chance laughs through his nose. “How do you know all this? You seem, like, way calmer than…I dunno, than me, for one. But why aren”t you…you know…?”

“For one,” I start, “I knew I was adopted, so I guess that helps. The big one though is that I”ve gone to therapy for years now.”

“Like a shrink?” he asks bluntly.

I roll my eyes a little. “Yeah. For the anxiety. You know, like you saw when we first met, and, um, in the bathroom.” And again with the awkwardness.

“Oh,” he says, thinking. “Well, I mean, you don”t have to be anxious around me. I–I promise I got your back.” He pauses, and adds, “You”re my only real family, now.”

I grab his shoulders and turn him to face me directly. “You need to stop that, right now. Your parents love the heck out of you, and have for 13 years. They loved you so much that they went to a special office just to find you and bring you home to take care of you. Just like mine did with me. Let me tell you a little secret, one that my dads told me one day when I was feeling depressed and lonely: when you”re adopted, that means that your parents want you more than money, more than free time, more than you”d ever know. When parents have a kid, sometimes they just take care of it because they have to, like “oops, I had a kid, now what?” Your parents raised you because they chose to. Like mine. Trust me, they love pointing this out: they could have had a Ferrari with the money they spend just feeding me, and that”s not counting clothes, school supplies, games, birthdays, all that. …So I like to think I”m better than a Ferrari, personally.”

I try to keep a straight face as Chance stares at me, but we both break at the same time and start giggling stupidly. Chance looks down at his legs and mutters, “Thanks. I really owe you one.”

“No,” I point out, “we”re even. I mean, this isn”t the bathroom, but it”s the same thing. You cared about me. I care about you. You know what? We”re not even; we”re brothers.” This time, I”m the one who offers a hug with my hands outstretched.

He lunges forward and hugs me tightly, though not so much as the last time, and even though our legs are all up in front of us and getting in the way and making this super-awkward to do, it”s still warm and fuzzy and comforting.

After a few moments, we let go and look at each other a moment. It”s still freaky, like looking in a mirror, only this time my reflection has been crying a while rather than the other way around. I sigh and remark, “We should go back downstairs. If you”re ready to, anyway.”

He glances about, thinking. “Yeah, I think so. I mean, what you said makes sense. I don”t really trust them that much right now, but I guess I”ll give them the benefit of the doubt.”

We talk a little bit longer, preparing ourselves to present our sides to the parents. We head downstairs and back into the living room, where the parents have taken up the couch and love seat. Mrs. Lockhart has a tissue and is blotting her eyes with it, sniffling quietly. Mr. Lockhart is stony-faced, listening to Papa Chris talk. I clear my throat, and their conversation stops immediately.

“We talked it out, and we both have things to say.” I look at the Lockharts. “I”m sorry for yelling at you and being disrespectful.” To my parents, I say, “And I”m sorry that I talked back to you. That was also very disrespectful.”

Chance sniffles and meets eyes with his mom, whose eyes immediately tear up. Chance had calmed down earlier, but now he says in a suddenly wavering voice, “I”m–I”m sorry that I got so angry and c-called y”all liars. I just…this is a lot to t-take in all at once.”

Mr. Lockhart stands up and walks a step closer. It”s pretty obvious now that he had been crying a little bit, too, though it”s really only in the redness of his eyes. “Chance. You know that this changes nothing about us, right? We still love you. We always have, and always will. Nothing is different, okay?”

Chance nods. “I know.”

Mr. Lockhart takes Chance into a comforting embrace for a moment. “We talked with Luke”s parents while y”all were upstairs, and we learned a lot about each other”s families. It”s great to know that not only do you have a brother, but his parents are wonderful people, too.” He takes Chance by the shoulders and asks, “Can you forgive me for not telling you everything?” He says it calmly, but the look on his face is begging Chance for forgiveness.

Chance, however, takes a moment to answer. “I”m still mad,” he says. “But…Luke helped me understand. I know you”re transgender, but can I just pretend I never knew that?”

Mr. Lockhart gets this huge grin. “That”s almost exactly why I never told you. Honestly, I wish I could forget that I was ever a girl. No offense to woman-kind…I do like them, after all.” He gives a knowing look back at Mrs. Lockhart.

“Dad. Ew. Stop.” Chance makes a gagging sound.

I tap Chance on the shoulder and whisper, “The adoption part…”

“Oh yeah,” he whispers back. To the parents, he continues, “I also understand that I was being…insensitive about the adoption thing. I just…you didn”t have to lie to me. You could have just said so years ago.”

The Lockharts both look a little ashamed when he says this. His mom stands up from the couch and joins us, replying, “We know that now, honey. We were always afraid of messing up what we had, and we ended up messing up anyway. We”re both really sorry.” She holds her hands out to Chance, who gives her a huge hug as well.

Papa Davy says, “Well, I mean, if everyone”s getting hugs, where”s mine?” He puts his hands on his hips and puts on his sassy face.

I roll my eyes and walk over, squeezing him until he threatens to throw up dinner on me. “Better?”

He coughs dramatically. “Yeah, we”re good.”

“Well,” Papa Chris says, “We should probably be going home. Get your stuff ready, Luke.”

“But you said–”

“Luke, the Lockharts have a lot to talk about. We should go home.”

Chance grabs my hand and pulls me toward him, catching me off-guard and making me blush as he holds my hand tightly. “No! We–you guys promised he could spend the night!”

Mr. Lockhart crosses his arms. “Chance, it”s been a long day. Don”t argue with us.”

Chance stares at his dad, pulling my hand up as if to show off how tightly he had it gripped. “You promised.”

“I didn”t promise any–” Mr. Lockhart begins, but his wife places her hand on his shoulder.

“Dear,” she says, “he has all of his stuff here, we have an extra bed, and it”s Friday. It”ll be fine.” She puts extra stress on the last word.

Chance”s dad looks at Chance and me, at his wife, at my parents (who nod back at him), and then back to us. “I don”t want you two staying up too late, now.”

“YES!” we both shout at the same time. We look at each other, both say, “JINX!”, and then crack up laughing. He lets go of my hand and we both hug our respective parents. I hear Chance”s dad say quietly to his mom, “The things you let him get away with…” My parents wish me a good night and tell me to call when I need to be picked up tomorrow, and then head out.

Chance and I head upstairs and rock out on Smash Brothers a while longer, cracking up laughing and making all kinds of noise. After a while, his mom comes up and checks in on us.

“Are y”all doin” okay in here?” she says in her Southern accent.

“Yeah, Mama, we”re good,” Chance calls back as he smashes me off the stage and pauses the game. He stands up, apparently knowing what she came upstairs for. I follow suit.

“We”re headed to bed. Don”t stay up too late, okay? I know that you two are still getting to know each other, but we”ve got plenty of time for that, so get good sleep, okay?”

“Yes, Mama,” he says in an exasperated voice. “Good night.” He goes and hugs her.

She looks to me and smiles. “It was very nice to meet you, Luke. I look forward to seeing you more often.”

“You too,” I say after an awkward pause. Um, do I hug her? How is this supposed to work? I offer my hands in a hug gesture, which she smiles at and happily squeezes me. Bear hugs apparently run in the family, but I have to admit, it”s kinda nice; even though I”m not usually a hug person, it”s different with these people. Also, I usually don”t have boobs in my face unless it”s a holiday and we”re talking to my dads” relatives, but hey–they”re soft. She wishes us goodnight again and heads downstairs. We finish the round of Smash Brothers that we were playing (he totally blew me out of the water), and he turns to me and says, “All right, I think I”m done for now. I wanna get to know more about you.”

“Uh, okay,” I reply, putting the controller away. “Like what?”

He hops up on the queen-size guest bed and pats it, inviting me up. Strangely, it”s higher than a normal bed, so I actually have to, like, jump a little to make sure I can sit on it. Sucks being small, sometimes. Anyway, I do so, and he says, “I dunno, like everything. I feel like we should get to know each other like brothers. You know, like all the stuff.”

“Geez, I mean where do we start?”

“Hm.” He thinks a moment. “I mean I guess we could just take turns asking questions.”

“You mean like Truth or Dare?” My friend (whom I had the crush on) told me about playing that with his friends, and it always ended up sexual. The thought sends blood to my cheeks and to, well, you know.

“Yeah, kinda! Yeah, let”s do it that way!” He smiles excitedly. I sit awkwardly, the pressure of my awkward boner making a lump in my khakis that I try to hide as best I can. He says, “You go first!”

“Uh, wait, you mean I ask or I answer?”

“Truth or Dare?” he asks me, holding an invisible microphone to my mouth.

I wouldn”t dare Dare. “Truth,” I say quickly.

“Oh,” he says, almost disappointed-sounding. “Um, so…what”s life like in Connecticut?”

“Cooler,” I say confidently. “Way cooler. Like, the temperature, I mean. Other than that, I mean I guess it”s like down here. I went to school, I played with friends. You know. Not crazy different. Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” he answers.

I take a silent moment to consider my options, but the first burning question to pop in my mind is, “Why are you so damn popular?”

He gets this weird look, like I just spoke a bunch of gibberish. “Me? Popular? Pff, not really. I–”

“Nah, nuh-uh-uh,” I scold him with a wagging finger. “I had to deal with too many kids calling me “Chance” to believe that. A ton of people know you here. If this school is anything like my last one was, I was the weird, awkward short kid with big ears and red hair, the “Soulless Ginger Nerd.” Why–how…I mean, you know. How did you get so popular?”

“Oh.” He scratches the side of his neck. “So I used to be basically the same way, really shy and nobody talked to me, all that, a couple years ago. But…I guess I got tired of being called a “nerd,” so I started watching the cool kids to see why they”re so cool and all. So I started basically acting like them, and, I dunno, it worked. I just started making jokes and acting really friendly to the new people, and even some of the old ones, and soon everybody was like, hey, he”s pretty cool.” He shrugs.

I roll my eyes and groan. “You make it sound so easy,” I say with a sigh. “I just can”t say the right things when I want to. It”s so much easier to write things down. I sound way better when I write.”

“Now see, that”s something I can”t do worth crap,” Chance admits. “Like I said, I hate writing even a paragraph. It always comes out stupid-sounding. Like, if the teacher would just let me talk the answers out, I”d be okay.” I make a sort of “mm” sound, not really sure what else to say. He asks, “Truth or Dare?”

“Look,” I say irritatedly, “let”s just drop the “T or D” thing and ask each other stuff.”

He stares blankly at me. “That was your idea.”

I scratch my head, trying to hide my irritation at myself. “Really, I just don”t want to do anything Dare-like, and I don”t even know what I”d make someone else do. I”m sorry. I”m just being stupid. Me and my stupid mouth again.”

“No, it”s fine, dude!” Chance says with a giggle. “I”m not mad or anything, just…anyway, it”s my turn to ask a question. So, you said you write stories. What kind?”

“What? Oh, you know…” I get super nervous talking about my writing. He won”t take that for an answer, though, so I finally say, “Um, fantasy, sometimes? Like, kinda like superhero things, but with kids instead of adults. Like, imagine if you had a superpower. What would you choose?”

“Flight,” he says without hesitation. “I”d look all cool floating down the street, bein” all, “Bow before me!” and stuff. You?”

“…Invisibility.” I don”t care to explain. Thankfully, he doesn”t ask me to; he probably knows, anyway. I hate being the center of attention. “So…” I stammer, “when I said I was adopted, did you think of me…any differently?”

He gives me his confused look again. “No. Why?”

“N-no reason. It”s just…the bullies back home used to make fun of me for it, and for having two dads. Said I was gonna “grow up to be a fag like my dads.” I”m okay with being adopted, but it always made me on my guard.” “You know,” Chance remarks, “your old school sounds like it sucked.” I sit and think about it. It was literally the only school I”d been to–the primary and the secondary campuses were connected by the same parking lot–and other than the weirdness that started out here, I haven”t seen any of the crap that happened over there yet. “I…guess so. I liked my friends, though.” “Yeah.” He hesitates.

“It”s your turn to ask,” I remind him.

He kinda shrinks inward just a little bit, as if the question he”s going to ask is embarrassing. “Um…” he starts out, “Have you ever, you know…messed around with anyone before?”

I immediately feel strangely dizzy when he asks me that. I really can”t tell if I”m excited or panicking. I try to say “No,” even though I know that”s not true, but I don”t want to admit to it, but I don”t want to lie, either; all that comes out, though, is, “N-n…um, wh-what do you mean?” Well. I might as well have just yelled, “YES!” for as good as I am at lying.

He has this weird look in his eyes; I can”t quite figure out what he”s thinking, but he”s looking around like he can”t find the words he”s trying to say. He opens his mouth, but it takes a few seconds for words to come out. “So, my friends and I…we joke a lot about sex and stuff, and girls, and I–I don”t know why I”m telling you this, but–like, a couple of them talk about how they already had sex, and I”m pretty sure they”re lying, but like, I dunno. I mean, I”m popular, but I”ve never, y”know.” By this time, he”s hunched over like he”s trying to protect himself, and his face matches his hair. “You know what, forget I asked it. Just–it”s your turn.”

I realize right then that he”s not so different from me. Underneath that cool, popular exterior, he”s just an anxious, unsure…me. “I have, um, “messed around” with someone before.” He immediately perks up and looks at me. I tell him the story of my friend and all that, and how we jerked off together to porn. I leave out the part where I really wish we did more.

He stays silent, but not like scared or anything, more like, I guess just thinking. I decide that, since we broke that barrier, I go for broke. “Do you ever jack off?”

“What? No!” He sounds disgusted by the idea.

Confused, I say, “Um, can I ask why not?”

“”Cuz that”s weird,” he says.

Honestly, I personally know that people aren”t supposed to talk about it, but I live with two men, and when Papa Davy opened my bedroom door one day and caught me on the bed jacking off, we had that whole awkward birds-and-the-bees conversation; my dads said that it”s normal and natural to masturbate, that it”s actually healthy, it”s my business, and don”t make any stains. It was super awkward and embarrassing, but at least I know that they know to knock on my door now, and nobody is pretending one way or the other in our house. Also, we had this stupid sex-ed class in 7th grade where they showed us how our bodies were going to change, and all the STDs we could get if we did stupid things, so it”s old news to me.

I shrug and tell Chance, “Actually, it”s healthy to do. It”s supposed to make sure everything keeps working down there.” I mean, I”m just guessing, really, but what other kind of “healthy” would it be?

He gives me the “I don”t believe you” look, but asks, “…Really?”

“Well, that”s what they say.” I didn”t say who said that, but yeah.

“…Huh.” He takes a while to think about that one. I adjust the way I”m sitting again, because all this talk about jacking off is giving me another stiffy. He suddenly drops to a really quiet voice and asks, “Can I ask a really embarrassing question?”

“Sure,” I reply, though I”m not entirely sure, to be honest.

“How do you, um…jack off?”

I”m really not sure what he”s trying to ask here, so I say, “Me personally?”

“Like, at all.” He keeps looking away, but then back directly at me, as if he”s afraid I”m going to hurt him for asking that.

“You mean you don”t know?!” I reply a lot louder than I mean to. He immediately starts to turn away and get up, but I quickly add, “Sorry! No no no, I didn”t mean to make it a big deal. Please.” I put my hand on his knee to keep him in place; he stops, sighs, and sits down. “It”s just…have you never seen someone jack off, like in porn?”

He starts picking at a fingernail and mutters, “I”ve never watched porn.”

“Not even on your phone?”

“Dude, if my parents found out I looked at porn on my phone, I wouldn”t get it back until I was 18!”

I stop and think about the fact that I”d never looked at porn until my friend showed me, and he”s probably too embarrassed to ask his friends. I wouldn”t look at porn on my phone, either, “cuz if anyone ever found out, I”d be bullied way worse than I ever was. I can see why Chance is so scared to do it. I mean, he”s basically me.

I take a deep breath. Am I really about to teach my long-lost twin brother how to jack off? “So, when you jack off, you basically just move your hand up and down your dick until you cum. I mean, that”s pretty much it.” I mime the motion in mid-air with one hand to emphasize, feeling both stupid and turned on at the same time.

“Like, how long does it take before you, you know?” As he asks the question, he leans forward as if asking a secret question, but then he reaches down and adjusts himself. I catch a glimpse of the lump of his erection as he moves it to point upward, like I do.

“I mean, it depends. Like, on how horny I am or what I”m thinking about.”

At this point he gets very quiet. There”s a long pause before anyone says anything, but then we both speak at the same time. “Okay, I just have to–” he says as I say, “What”s the mat–?” We stop and laugh nervously, and I ask, “What were you going to say?”

He takes in a deep breath. “So you know how they say twins think alike and all that?”

“Yeah,” I say, having seen plenty of evidence of that already.

“You promise you won”t hate me or tell anyone?”

“About what?”

“About what I”m going to ask.”

I look back and forth, trying to think about what he could possibly ask. “I promise.”

“Do you…think you might be gay, too?”

Oh my God, he just asked that question. “Look, just because my dads are gay doesn”t make me automatically gay.”

“Oh yeah, duh,” he says. “I already forgot about them.” He seems relieved.

“W-wait,” I stammer, “Then who did you mean, “too”?”

Suddenly, he seems very small, almost like a little brother instead of a twin. “Since you have gay parents, I guess I can, well…I haven”t ever told anyone, but when my friends are all talking about going and “fucking bitches” and all that, I kinda…I, uh, don”t like girls. That way. I like boys.” Oh shit. Of course. Why didn”t I think about that? If I”m–well, if I like guys, then it makes sense that he would, too. He quickly adds, “Don”t ever tell anybody! I mean it!”

“I do too.” There. I said it. “I”ve never said that to anybody, either.”

“What?!” he says, eyes open huge. “No way!” Then he stops, furrows his brow, and asks, “You mean you haven”t told your dads? Why not?”

“I…” I sigh. “I don”t want to disappoint them.”

“What the heck are you talking about? They wouldn”t care. They are gay, right?”

“I”m not gay,” I say, and then quickly add, “I mean, I think I like girls too.”

He thinks about it for a moment. “I don”t think I do at all. Like, even thinking about a naked girl doesn”t really give me a boner or anything.”

I…wait. I take a moment to think about naked izmit anal yapan escort girls, like those pin-ups and all that, and some of the dirty magazines that my friend found with his dad”s DVDs, and he”s right–I don”t really find that interesting. But wait–when I was watching the straight porn, I was totally into it…but–oh. That was with my crush, and there were guys in the porn, too. I was really only watching them, wasn”t I? “God, I”m an idiot.”

“What do you mean?”

It takes me a second to even realize I said that last thought out loud. “I…I think I am gay. I just don”t want my dads to think that they, like, made me turn out gay or something.”

Chance laughs. “…Really, dude? That”s what you”re scared of?”

“What?” I say defensively.

“Well, I”m gay, and they didn”t raise me.”

“Well, yeah, but, it”s not like I”m gonna be all, “Hey dads! I”m gay, but so is my brother so it”s not you guys” fault!”

Chance starts cracking up laughing. “Your face when you do that!” He begins to squeak-laugh, like we do, except somehow better than I do.

“But no, seriously,” I say, trying to calm him down, “if they find out I”m gay, I”m afraid that they”ll still blame themselves somehow, like…I dunno. Maybe I”m over-thinking this.”

“Yeah, maybe a little.” His tone is sarcastic as heck.

Another long silence. Then, he asks, slowly and quietly, “Would…you…” He stops and takes off his shirt. “Would you show me what you did with your friend? I”ve always been way too scared to ask my friends to do things like that. I”m afraid I”ll, y”know, lose all of them.”

Oh God. Oh God oh man oh shit. I all of a sudden feel like Scott, and all of my pepperoni pieces just hit the floor. I say, as awkwardly as ever, “Yes. I, yeah. Sure. Yeah.” I quickly take off my shirt and unbuckle my belt, but I stop before I remove my pants. “This is for real, right?”

He unbuckles his own belt and unbuttons his pants. Unzipping them, he says, “Yeah.”

“Okay,” I say, swinging my legs over the bed so I can stand up and take my pants off. He jumps off as well, and we both hesitate, staring at each other, holding our pants at our hips.

“You first,” he says.

“Let”s both do it together, so neither one has to go first.”

“Okay. On the count of 3?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You mean like 1, 2, go, or 1, 2, 3, go?”

“The second one.”

We both brace ourselves, standing straight up, hands on our pants. We count together, “1, 2, 3, go!” and we shove our pants down to our ankles. We stand back up and look at each other, and the sight is both brand-new and familiar. I”ve looked at myself in the mirror this way before, standing just in my briefs, though usually it”s just to hate on the way I look. Now, though, looking at him, it seems to mean so much more, like, I dunno, like it”s totally different now that it”s someone else”s body. What”s no big surprise is that we”re both pointing straight up and completely hard, making a symmetrical shape in our briefs–well, my briefs, his boxer briefs–of a nice tight sack and straight, hard dick, both of us almost poking out of the top of our underwear. It”s crazy sexy.

Well, it”s now or never. “Here, let me do yours and you can do mine.” I take a step forward and kneel down, grabbing the sides of his briefs carefully. He just looks down and moves his hands out of the way, watching. I pull down slowly and seductively on the legs of his boxer briefs, but the waistband catches the head of his dick and pulls it down. I try to jiggle it free without letting go of the legs, but just as I pull down a little more, his dick slips free from the briefs and flicks the underside of my nose as it springs back into place by his belly, leaving a cold, wet trail on my nose.

“Oh my God, I”m sorry!” he says, half horrified, half laughing. “Are you okay?!”

I wipe my nose off and taste it. “It”s salty.”

“Ew! Really, dude?!”

“What, it”s not like it”s pee or anything.”

“Well, I know that, but…”

Dang. I want him to finish the sentence, but I”m too scared to mention anything about pee, myself. I pull his underwear down his smooth, slender legs and he steps out of them once I reach his feet. Before I get up, I get a good look at his dick. It”s literally a mirror of mine: a little over 4 inches, about a quarter in width, and he”s apparently circumcised, too. I think he may even have a freckle in the same spot on his balls that I do, just on the other side. For some reason, looking at his, I realize that the heads of our dicks are kinda big, at least from what I remember seeing on those porn videos. I mean, their dicks were like a million inches long, and super thick, but their heads weren”t, like, as big compared to the shaft part as ours are.

As I stand up, he says, “My turn,” and kneels down in front of me. Learning from my mistake, he pulls my undies forward to let go of my dick before he pulls them down. He gets close enough that I can feel his breath on my balls, and it sends a shudder through my entire body. I step out of my briefs and we look at each other again for a long moment.

“Okay, sit down on the bed,” I instruct, and we both hop back up on the bed. Sitting next to each other, dicks pointing straight at our chins, legs both spread just enough so that we”re not scrunching our balls up, I put my hand on my dick. It”s just big enough that I can wrap all of my fingers around it and still have the head and a little bit poking out of my grip. “It”s really super easy. All you have to do is grip it like this and then pull up and down, so that your skin moves up and down the shaft, like this.” I demonstrate, showing him that the skin can move a decent bit.

As I demonstrate for a few strokes, he watches with complete attention, and then he grabs his own and starts doing the same thing. After a few of his own strokes, he says, “Wow, that feels good.”

Watching him stroke makes me all the hornier, but I don”t want to just go crazy jacking off right now. I”m a teacher right now, so I need to teach, right? We do that for a minute, stroking slowly, not saying anything to each other. I mention, “If it, you know, starts to get sore or whatever–sometimes I jack off too much or too hard–you can use conditioner on it. It feels really good. Oh, but don”t use soap! It burns if it gets in your pee-hole. Like, bad.”

Chance grimaces. “Ow, I bet!” We stroke for a few moments longer, and he asks, “Can I, um, do yours?” He offers his other hand.

“Uh…yeah, sure!” I”ve never been touched like that by anyone else before, and now my twin brother, who I for some really stupid, crazy, messed-up reason have a crush on, wants to jack me off? I move my hand out of the way and he very softly takes my dick and moves his hand up and down on it. His hand is cold at first, making my balls shrink up a bit, but soon the thrill of feeling someone else giving me a hand job makes me forget everything else.

“Wow, it”s starting to feel really good,” he says, looking at his own dick.

“Well, wait, you don”t wanna cum just yet,” I point out. “I, uh, wanted to try some other things.”

He takes his hands off our dicks. “Like what?”

I mean, we”ve gone this far, so what the heck, right? “Um, so I watched some things on porn with my friend, and I wanted to try maybe giving you a blow job.”

“You mean, like, suck my dick?” He seems amazed that I”d say that.

I nod. “I mean, if that”s okay. I”ve never had the chance to try it, and I kinda always wanted to.” Yeah, for some reason that wasn”t enough evidence for me to realize I”m gay–every time I watched a blow job video, I came while thinking of being the one doing the blowing.

“Yeah, go ahead,” he says. I direct him to swing his legs up on the bed and lean back on his elbows, so I can get between his legs. I take his dick in my hand and slowly lick up the bottom side of it. He immediately twitches and says “Holy shit dude, that feels cool.” I smile at him over his dick and pop the head in my mouth. It”s kinda big, and I have to be very careful not to put my teeth on it, but I start moving my lips and tongue just a little bit over the top of it. It definitely tastes like precum, and he keeps making more of it.

He sucks in a shuddering deep breath and holds it, eventually saying, “Wow…that”s awesome.”

I kinda wish I could go farther down on it, but every time I do, I almost feel like I”m going to gag, so I don”t try it. As I”m sucking him, though, I notice this smell, not like armpit or gross, but like, kind of like when they call a cologne “Mountain Breeze” or something stupid? Like that clean, open smell? I dunno, smells are super weird to describe, but his crotch smells like that, and for some reason, it really turns me on. I suck him a little longer, and then I say, “Okay, you do me now.”

“Um, okay,” he says, and we switch positions. The first thing I feel, though, is teeth scraping across my head. “Ow, ow, watch out for the teeth!” I say quickly.

He pops his mouth off my dick to say “Oh, sorry!” and tries again. He just moves his lips up and down on it, keeping his mouth as open as he can. It feels okay, but it would be better with some tongue, I bet. Oh well. I lean back and moan, enjoying the feelings. About a minute later, he comes back up for air and says, “This is kinda hurting my jaw. Can we go back to jacking off?”

“Um, well,” I stutter, “I was thinking maybe, um, we could, you know.” Real smooth, Luke.

“We could what?” he asks innocently.

I sit up on my knees, dick throbbing painfully at the thought of what I”m about to suggest. “Have…sex.”

“You mean,” he says, and pauses. “Like, sex sex?”

“Yeah.” I scoot a little bit closer. “Like, maybe I could do you and then show you what it feels like, and you could do me.” Even though I”ve never done it, I still have to look like I know what I”m doing. And, I mean, I did watch one anal sex video and even though it was straight porn, it can”t be that different, right?

He thinks about it, and the intense throbbing in his dick gives his thoughts away. “Okay,” he says tentatively. “What do I have to do?”

“Just lean back.” I have used toys in my butt a couple of times, like I had this one vibrating pen that drew squiggly lines, and it was amazing. Point is, I”ve had some practice getting things in there. Chance leans back, and I suck on one my middle finger for a moment, getting it nice and wet. I slowly put it up to Chance”s butthole and push softly. (This is one of the only times I”m glad I bite my nails, “cuz I barely have any left on that finger, so I can”t scratch him on accident.)

He immediately clenches down on it and says, “Hey!”

“Relax,” I say soothingly, “just relax. I do this to myself all the time.” I push the finger all the way in and twist it around a bit, moving it in and out. Chance goes from “tight and clenched” to “moaning and loose” in only like 10 seconds. I know how he feels…I love butt-play, I admit it. “Okay,” I say. “Ready for another finger?”

His response is, “Go slow.” Wow, he”s really getting into this.

I look down and notice I”ve been making a small wet spot on the comforter with my precum. Oops. I pull that finger out, suck on my pointer finger with it, and this time scoop up some of the precum that I”m dripping and rub that on my fingers. Then I slowly put them both in, stopping as Chance gasps a little, and only moving when he relaxes his sphincter (I love that word, by the way: “sphincter”). Eventually, I get both fingers in and do the same thing, twisting them back and forth, moving them in and out, occasionally curling them and touching the inside walls with them. Then, with an evil smile, I curl them up toward his privates and press my fingers in, searching around for his “Awesome Button.”

He moans a little and props himself up to look at me. “That feels pretty good. Where did you–” His eyes suddenly shoot open as he throws his head back and exhales, “Whoaaaa! What was that?!” Yup, I found the “Awesome Button.”

“That”s your prostate,” I say happily, pushing on it again and rubbing it a bit. He bucks his hips up and clenches tight, precum dripping from his dick.

“Dude, whoa, that”s intense!” he says, panting.

“Is it…good?” I ask carefully.

“Yuh-huh,” he says between breaths.

I slowly pull out my fingers and dribble a little spit on my dick, rubbing it and the precum around my head. Careful not to get too carried away with it, I try to figure out the best way to do this; in that anal video, the guy put her on her back and went in that way. I end up lifting his legs and putting them on my shoulders, pulling him a little closer to me. “Are you ready?” I ask. “I-I”ll be gentle.”

“O-okay. Just…go slow,” he says.

I put the head of my dick right against his hole, which clenches immediately. I push a little bit, but it doesn”t budge. “Um, try relaxing a bit,” I suggest.

“I am trying,” he says.

“Oh.” I push a little bit more, but it doesn”t want to do anything. “Hm. Let”s try this. Stand over me.” I lie down on my back. He stands over me, and I direct him to basically sit on my dick. He gets on his knees, my dick directly against his hole, and he very, very slowly pushes himself down on my dick. Eventually, I feel the soft opening of his hole across my head and the pop of it wrapping around behind the head, slowly sliding down my dick and wrapping it in soft, warm insides. Holy crap, this is way better than jacking off already.

He moves up and down a few times, trying to get used to the feeling. “I can feel your head moving in me,” he says with an awkward smile.

“Does it–” I try to say, but then he sits all the way down on me, and the feeling is so powerful that my breath catches and I inhale sharply. “Does it hurt?” I finally manage to say.

“Only a little bit at first,” he admits, “but it actually feels pretty good. You?”

“Holy crap,” I say, staring straight at him. He giggles. He slowly moves up and down on it a while, and I”m just in heaven watching this cute boy (even though he looks like me) slowly screwing himself on my dick with his penis dripping a river of precum onto his balls.

We do that for about a minute or so, which is good because I might have cum if we kept it up, and he says, “Sorry, my legs are kinda burning. Can I try doing you now?”

“Sure.” We switch over to doing the same thing, except this time I go ahead and finger myself since I”m pretty good at it. Then he lies on his back and I put my mouth on his dick to get it all nice and wet, which totally takes him by surprise, making him squirm on the bed a moment. Then, I slowly sit down on his dick, taking extra time to make sure I”m loose enough that I don”t tear anything. As soon as his head is even halfway in me, his eyes roll up in the back of his head and he moans for like all of his breath. I go down farther, pressing his dick against my prostate, making lightning shoot through that whole area. “Oh God…” I moan.

“Yeah,” he says, exhaling. I do my best to move up and down on his dick, both of us loving it, until I realize that my legs are also on fire. Man, how do porn stars do this so long in the videos?

“Okay, I”m getting tired. I have an idea, though. Get behind me,” I say as I move myself over and plop down on my stomach with my butt facing him and my legs spread a little like a frog. “Okay, now put your legs between mine and see if you can put it in.” He does so, but ends up poking too high. “Hold on,” I say, reaching back, taking his dick in my hand, and pointing it to where I can feel my hole start to open. I wiggle his dick up and down to put more precum on my hole, and then put it back in place. “Okay, now try.”

“Okay, here goes,” he says, slowly pushing straight in, deep into my butt, where I can feel his balls at the bottom of my crack. The feeling is the most amazing, awesome, wonderful, I-can”t-think-of-the-words, badass, I-just-went-to-Heaven feeling I”ve ever had, like, even better maybe than orgasms. The feeling of him rubbing against my walls and filling me up, the weight of his hips on my butt, and when he lies down on top of me and whispers in my ear, “Is this okay?” all send me into bliss. Like, if I was touching myself right now, I”d make a huge mess on his bed. “Yessss,” is all I can whisper in reply.

He slowly starts moving his hips, bring himself out to where I can feel his head just begin to pop out, and then slowly back in. Slowly out, pop, all the way back in. I manage to moan, “Ohhhhh God,” but that”s really all the words I can think of. He takes his arms and puts them under mine to get them out of the way and starts to screw me just a little bit faster. The only sounds I hear are me and him moaning, and his fast, heavy breath in my right ear.

Time just stops making sense for a while. I have no idea how long it lasts, but it”s all just the best feeling that could ever exist. Then, I hear him make a sort of whimpering sound that cuts off as I feel his body start to clench up and I feel my hole stretch out more, as if his dick was getting thicker; suddenly, he clamps his groin into my butt and hugs me tight with both arms. Then, I feel a thump-thump-thump, almost like a heartbeat, pulse against the bottom of my sphincter about 4 or 5 times, and he collapses on top of me, breathing like he just ran a mile.

“Did you…did you just cum in me?!” I ask.

He says sheepishly, “Maybe? I think so. That was aaaaawesome.” He laughs a little with this stupid grin and half-lidded look on his face, like he just, well, had an orgasm. Inside me. I feel another pulse from his dick, and then another a few seconds later. Suddenly, I feel this absolute rush of being super-horny, like I need to screw something right now, but I instead clench my butt muscles on his dick, squeezing any more cum out that he might have. Sure enough, I feel his dick pulse again. I clench a few more times, and I feel him pump more each time. That”s incredible-feeling. He begins to laugh stupidly as I”m doing it, saying, “What”re you doin”? That feels crazy.”

“Oh, this?” I do it again, just to tease him, and he laughs a bit. Finally, when I think he”s done with his orgasm, I say, “All right, my turn,” and start to move out from under him. Secretly, I”d be okay if we just fell asleep that way, with him on top of me and his dick filling my butthole up, but I really need to cum. I flip him on his back, admiring his softening red dick (if you think our faces blush bad, our other heads are worse, apparently), and position my dick against his hole again. This time, it”s much more relaxed, probably half from earlier and half from the orgasm, so it”s much easier to slip in.

He moans loudly, “That”s way more intense now, whoa,” as I start thrusting in and out. To save my legs, I grab a small pillow from the bed and wedge it under his butt to lift it a little bit, and then I lean over him to where we”re face-to-face. It makes it a lot easier to push in and out, this way, and I get to see the look on his face while I do.

I”m so turned on by everything that has happened tonight that after only like maybe 15 seconds I tell him, “God, I”m gonna cum.” He just nods with a little smile, and three more thrusts later, I feel the same way he did: I grab him tightly, hugging him for all I”m worth, pushing my dick in as far as I possibly can, and just feel myself unloading glob after glob of sperm into him, while pulse after pulse of pure pleasure rushes through me. When I can finally think straight again, I breathe, “Okay. That”s the best orgasm I”ve ever had.”

“Orgasms are awesome,” he agrees. “Now I know why people like sex so much.”

I mention, “So, you know how I showed you how to jack off and all that? Well, normally you have to clean up cum because it gets sticky and stuff. I guess this works better?” I feel my dick still throbbing a few last times, like his did in me.

“Works for me,” Chance says with a stupid grin.

Thankfully, they keep the house pretty cool, because I worked up a little bit of a sweat during all that. But lying here, on top of my brother, looking at his beautiful green eyes and cute smile (and with my dick still in him), makes me not want to move. Instead, I rest my head just underneath his in a kind of hug. To my surprise, he puts his arms over me and rests them there in his own passive hug. It feels like I”m protected here, but it also feels like I”m doing the protecting, too. It”s weird, but it”s really nice.

“Hey, uh, Luke?” Chance says.

I say into his shoulder, “What?”

“I kinda have to pee.”

“But I don”t wanna move.”

“But if I pee the bed, you won”t have anywhere to sleep.”

“I can sleep in your room with you.”

“On my little bed?”

“Yup. Just like this.” I reposition my head to emphasize my point.

He thinks a moment. “But if I pee like this, it”ll get us both all wet, too. You”re kinda on my wiener.”

Heh, he calls it a “wiener.” “So then we can just shower in the morning.” Suddenly, the image of him peeing over all of us goes through my brain, and, well, dammit.

“Ew! We”d be sleeping in pee all night like we were bed wetters or something…” he pauses a moment. “Are you getting another boner?”

Damn! I kinda forgot I was inside him. Crap crap. “Uhh, yeah, you were talking about wieners, and it kinda just happened.”

“Haha, you must be really horny.”

I finally decide to get up off of Chance, at least back up into a sitting position. “Maaaaaaaybe,” I answer, and to “point” it out, I pull my dick halfway out and push it in again a little bit.

“Hey whoa whoa whoa!” he says. “It”s like, super-sensitive down there now. Could you, you know…”

“Oh! Sure.” I pull out, making a slapping sound on my belly with my completely hard dick. “So…we just had sex.”

“Yeah.” He sits up, his dick only semi-hard and twitching slightly to his heartbeat.

“So we”re not virgins anymore.”


“Um…” I stammer. “So we also just had incest.”

He stops and thinks about it. “Yeah, I guess so. We are brothers.”

We both sit and let that sink in for a moment. I break the silence: “But, like, you”re not supposed to do that because of inbreeding and stuff, but neither of us can get pregnant.”

“Ew, I hope not!” Chance says with a wrinkled nose and a laugh. “You”re not, like, some weird hermaphrodite, are you?”

“No, I”m not.” I give him a flat stare.

“Hey, just checking,” he says with his hands in the air.

“If I was, then you”d be, too,” I point out.

“Oh, right.” We both laugh at how stupid this conversation is.

“So…we can”t tell anyone about this.” I say it with as serious a face as I can.

“Right,” Chance says. “So I guess if anyone else asks, we”re still virgins.”

“Right.” Another long silence follows and is broken by Chance getting up. “I”m gonna go pee. I”ll be right back.”

“Wait!” I say before I can stop myself.

“What? I really have to go.” He squirms his legs a little to show it.

“Well, we have to take a shower anyway, “cuz we”re both sweaty, and you can just pee there. Don”t waste water, right?”

He rolls his eyes and bounces a little. “Well, hurry up then. I gotta go.”

I leap off the bed and we go to the bathroom down the hall a little bit. He turns on the water and wiggles around, sitting on his legs trying not to pee. It”s a ridiculous turn-on for me, and I can feel my heartbeat in my dick as I watch it start drooling again. He gets the temperature to the right place, and we both get in after he starts the shower. He almost immediately starts peeing, even before he touches himself, but I decide that, if we just had sex, he might as well know this about me, too. I take his dick, while he”s peeing, and point it at myself.

He begins to pee all over me with a powerful stream, and he says, “What the heck, man?! What are you doing?!” He doesn”t try to take his dick away or stop peeing, though. It must just feel that good.

I don”t answer until he”s done peeing, which is all basically washed off immediately from both of us. “What? We”re in the shower. It”s fine.”

“Yeah, but you just made me pee all over you.”

I look down at my aching dick. “I, uh, kinda have a fetish for it.”

He looks where I”m looking, and says, “DAMN, dude! You”re like super-hard!” He squeezes my dick with two fingers to confirm it.

That”s not the response I expected at all. “You”re not weirded out by that?”

He points down to his rapidly stiffening dick. “I mean, I”ve never done that before, but it was kinda hot.”

Oh my God, I can die happy. “You think so?”

“Yeah. I mean, look.” He”s got a full-on stiffy now.

“Have you…ever had an accident? Like “peeing yourself”-type accident.” I can”t believe I”m going here with this. I”ve never told a single person even about liking guys, and here I am about to talk about how deep my weirdest, sickest secret fetish goes.

“I mean like once in second grade,” he admits. “We were playing Hide-and-Seek, and I dunno why, but I always have to pee when I”m hiding. I just couldn”t hold it and totally soaked my pants.”

I”m already jacking off halfway through his story. “Have you ever done it on purpose?”

“No? Well, I mean, I used to be a bed-wetter, up until I was like 9. There were a couple of times that I had already wet the bed, and I woke up and still had to pee, but I didn”t want to get up, so I just laid back, aimed it up, and peed in the bed.”

“Oh God,” I say, feeling the next orgasm already creeping up. “You wanna see someone cum?” He doesn”t get to answer before the feeling takes me over, making me dribble cum onto my hand. It”s not nearly as powerful, but it”s still an orgasm, and it”s amazing.

“Holy crap, that”s hot,” he says, jacking himself off quickly.

After my eyes uncross (okay, not really, but still), I watch him jack off for a moment. I can tell he”s brand new at it, so I get a fun idea. I grab the bottle of conditioner and squirt a glob of it into my hand. “Here, let me do that,” I say, tugging his arm.

He lets go and before he can even ask what I”m going to do, I grab his pole and smear the conditioner on it. I kneel down, water streaming down my face, and use both hands to start rubbing the head of his penis and slowly jack it off. He almost loses his balance when I start, and he starts making funny sounds like, “Ho-o-o–whoa!” and “Ah-haaaahhhh.” I”m trying not to laugh, but he sounds so stupid right now.

After about a minute of that, he manages to grunt out, “I-I”m gonna–” before he grabs my head with both hands to steady himself and leans over me as I feel the pumping muscles start up. I get close and open my mouth just in time to catch the one small drop that comes flying out, but it lands on my nose instead. The rest of it dribbles down his dick, like mine did. The water quickly washes the little glob off my nose; I”d eat the rest of it–cum tastes weird, but kinda neat–but I just used conditioner on him and it”ll taste like that, instead. Ick.

He recovers a lot more quickly this time, saying, “Jesus, man, what are youaaAAHHH–!” He doesn”t finish his sentence because I start rubbing my palm over the top of his dick. He squeaks, “Stop, stop man, stop!”

I laugh and stand back up, making sure he doesn”t fall over as well. He”s still laughing from what I just did, but I can”t help but stare at him. He”s so adorable when he laughs like that. Papa Davy was wrong; Chance is way cuter than I am.

Suddenly, as if nothing ever happened, he asks for the shampoo. We basically finish up the shower quietly, except to ask for something in each other”s reach. The whole time, I think to myself, am I falling in love with my brother? That”s sick. I”m sick and twisted. This was just teaching him about sex since he didn”t know yet. I mean, we”re brothers; brothers teach each other about that kind of stuff, right? This didn”t mean anything. I”m just thinking this way because I”m still high on sex feelings, or whatever. I can”t be falling for him. I can”t.

After we dry off, we head back into the guest room, where Chance makes sure the bed has enough blankets and pillows and all that (we didn”t think about checking that earlier–we were, um, busy). I put on my undies, which is all I sleep in usually, and climb up on the bed. Chance looks at me and smiles a friendly smile, but I can tell there”s something on his mind. I”m usually pretty good at reading people, and, I dunno, I just kinda get that feeling about him, almost like I can tell what”s going on up there.

Chance hops up on the bed, still naked, and asks, “You going to bed right away?”

“I mean, I”m pretty tired. What”s up?”

“I just wanted to say “Thank you” for everything that we just did. It was…it was really cool. Nice. Um, you know.” He starts blushing a bit.

“I mean, I liked it too, you know.” I smile comfortingly at him. “So thank you.”

“Man,” Chance says, running a hand through his hair. “I thought when I met you that you were just like a super-shy, nervous version of me, but now I find out that you”re, like, way cooler than I knew. It”s like, when I see you like this, you”re the kinda person I want to be.” He keeps looking at his crossed legs while he says this.

“Whaaaat?” I screech (my voice even cracked a bit at the top). “No way. When I saw you in school, I was totally jealous that you could just talk to anybody, and stand up and speak in class, and, and just, I dunno, be cool. I wish I were cool like that, but instead I stick my foot in my mouth and trip over my own shoelaces.”

He laughs and responds, “Oh come on, you”re not that bad.”

“I did three times at my old school. In one year. I literally had to get Velcro shoes in 5th grade so I”d stop hurting myself.”

“You did not.”

“I did.”

“Well, still.” The smile falls off his face. “You”re just so…you know so much, and you, like, read my mind almost, I dunno. Like earlier when in my bedroom, all the stuff you said was just so smart. And even when you”re in class, you just have this focus, you can just sit there and quietly work, and I always feel super uneasy when it”s totally quiet. You also can write really good, and I”m kinda jealous about that.”


“Well what?” Chance looks at me, befuddled (another great word, but not as good as “sphincter”).

“I can also write really well.”

“See?!” His voice spikes on the word. “Like, I can talk and talk all day in front of people or whatever, but when you talk, it just seems so much more, I dunno, grown-up.”

“Yeah, but then people call me “nerd” and all that.”

“I”d get my friends to kick someone”s butt if they called you that.”

I just smile. “Well, maybe we can learn from each other. You can show me how to “talk and talk all day in front of people,” and I”ll teach you how to write well.” I wink on the last word.

“Yeah! That”d…that”d be nice.”

Chance and I just kinda look at each other for a moment, just long enough to be awkward, and then I say, “All right. I need to get to sleep. I”m pretty tired.”

“Can I–” he says quickly, and stops. In a softer voice, he says, “Um, it gets pretty cold in my room. Um, the vent points like right at me, so sometimes I sleep in here instead. Can I sleep in here with you? There–there”s plenty of room, in the bed. It”s fine if you don”t want to, “cuz I do have my own–”

I”ve slipped under the covers by this point; I pull down the sheets on the other side of the bed and interrupt him with, “Come on.” He hops in excitedly and snuggles up under the blankets, with just a little bit of room between us so we can look at each other. “You don”t want your undies?”

“Nah, I usually sleep naked.”


“So I was wondering,” he says out of the blue, “have you ever gone out with anyone?”

“Why are you asking me that?” I ask with suspicion.

He shrugs. “Oh, uh, just, y”know, I was curious. I went out with a girl in third grade, but we broke up like 2 days later. Then there was another one in 5th grade, and that was like 3 weeks, but we never even kissed. It was weird.”

“That doesn”t even sound like you were going out at all.”

“Maybe we weren”t.” He giggles a little at the absurdity.

“Okay,” I say after another pause. “I”m gonna go to sleep now. Um, Can you get the lights? I don”t know where they are in the room.” I mean, I could find them, but these blankets are nice and warm.

He hops out of bed and says, “I”m gonna go brush my teeth anyway, so I”ll be right back.” Ugh, I should probably do that, too, but…so soft and cozy…eh, I”ll brush in the morning twice as much. Well, no, because I really do need to take my medication. Blah. I follow Chance into the bathroom, taking the little bag with my toothbrush and medication with me. As I plop it down on the counter, the rattle of my meds catches Chance”s attention, and he looks at me as if to say, “I thought you were staying in bed.”

I answer his unspoken question, “Had to take my pill anyway.” He glances over as I shake a pill out of the container and pop it in my mouth, ducking my head under the running faucet for a quick drink to wash it down.

Chance spits out his toothpaste as I start my own brushing, but he waits patiently until I”m done before asking, “What”s the medicine?”

“Huh? Oh, my meds. It”s nothing.” He gives me the same look as always when I try to brush something off; besides, we”re brothers, and we just freaking had sex, so I guess I can explain more. “It”s for the anxiety,” I add with a rueful smile.

“But I thought you went to a shr–um, a therapist for that.”

I sigh. “Yeah. The therapist helps and all, but…sometimes, you just need medication to help a little more than a therapist can. Talking doesn”t fix everything.”

“Oh.” He seems a little embarrassed at having asked. “I”m sorry.”

“No, no, it”s fine. I”m okay with it.” I laugh, adding, “I”m probably mostly okay with it because I take it, honestly. Without the meds, it”s not like I”m freaking out all the time or anything, but they just kinda help calm me down in general. I have to take them at night, though, because they kinda make me sleepy. But hey–at least I don”t have problems sleeping, right?”

He laughs a little in response, and says, “Well, I mean it–if there”s anything I can do to help out, you…you don”t have to be anxious around me. I”m here for you.”

I don”t really know what to say in response, but I can”t help but smile anyway. He really is a sweet guy. A sweet guy that is my brother, and I need to stop it, stop falling in love with my freaking brother. What the hell is wrong with me? Stupid stupid stupid.

We both head back to the room; Chance waits for me to get back to the bed before hitting the light. I get back into the nice warm covers and turn over toward the wall. Shortly, I feel the bed shift as he hops up and snuggles back in.

Maybe about 10 minutes later, after I start to drift a bit from the medication, I feel the bed shift a little bit. I open my eyes just enough that I can see through my eyelashes but they still look closed, and I see Chance looming over me, looking at me. He slowly, gently lies back down, and, ever so softly, I feel something brush my side. A moment later, an arm very delicately drapes over me, elbow at my sides, hand resting just under my ribs. I breathe normally as best I can so I don”t ruin things, and after no response from me, he scoots up completely next to me, his warm body snug against

me. Not a word is spoken. It”s probably good I”m on this side, because naked Chance pressed up against me makes me, well, you know. All I hear and feel is our synchronized breathing and his warmth, until I begin again to drift off to sleep.

I think I really like Louisiana.

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