Gemini Summer Ch. 01


This is my first stab at a story in these deep, dark and dangerous waters. Please be gentle. This is intended to be a ten part story. Constructive feedback is always greatly appreciated.

My name is Connor MacCailin and I hate the color blue.

My vendetta is not against every shade, understand. My hatred is focused upon one particular pastel atrocity that haunts me like a fucking family curse. I am completely unable to escape this color. It comprises roughly half my wardrobe (the half I don’t wear), almost all of my bedding, and even my wallpaper. I have three pairs of shoes in this color that I certainly didn’t buy for myself. The only reason that my first car wasn’t this color was because my father proved too much of a cheap Scot to spring for this thankfully custom color. The hated hue has a name – baby blue.

The origin of my vendetta is perhaps obvious. I am a fraternal twin, roughly thirty seconds older than my little sister, Parisa. The defining aspect of both our lives is that we are twins. I was born June 7th, so my astrological sign is Gemini – the twins. My sister and I are the only twins in, as far as anyone can tell, the entire expansive history of the clan MacCailin. And if that were not enough, though we are fraternal, there are identical twins who look less similar than us.

If you saw Parissa alone, the first word that would enter your mind is pixie. She’s a short slight pretty lass with bright green eyes and long red hair so intensely flame orange most assume she dyes it. She has pale skin but few freckles. Oregon, our life long home, provides little of the sun she needs to acquire them in any great abundance.

Myself, I have the same hair color, eyes, complexion and build as my sister. I am few inches taller and broader than Parisa and my hair is cropped a bit shorter, but otherwise we are a perfect matched set. In fact, when we were very young, we were almost impossible to tell apart. Now that she’s filled out, the differences are more obvious. And though I wish I could grow even the smallest hint of a moustache or a goatee, the truth is that I have one of those Scotch-Irish almost elfin faces.

But why is this color-born affliction so persistent? Can I not just tell my loving family “I hate baby blue”? Ah, and there’s the rub. We come from a large catholic family and for dozens of uncles, aunts, cousins and even more distant relations we are simply “the Twins”. On our shared birthday, we receive almost certainly the same present, one pink for Pasia and one, predictably, baby blue for me. This has snowballed over the years. It infected Christmas, where ninety plus percent of our presents do not bear our individual names, but instead simply say “for the Twins”.

My father began the curse. He customized two nurseries for us while mom was expecting. He painted one pink, one baby blue and everyone, I’m told, loved and lauded his efforts. The nurseries later became our bedrooms and even after the cribs were long gone, the color scheme remained. By the time I was six, I was sleeping in baby blue pajamas beneath baby blue sheets while looking up at a baby blue ceiling. My fate was sealed.

I get that this is a first world problem. People are starving to death in Africa right now, trapped in shit-colored hells who would gladly trade all they had for my baby-blue American middle-class life. They dream of any shoes at all, let alone blue sneakers. But at least when they die, they are not certain that they are going to be buried in a baby blue coffin. I fear this is my fate. And Parisa, I know, dreads that she’ll be right beside me in a matching pink casket.

I have tried for the entirety of the latter half of my life to turn this baby blue boat around. I have mentioned to anyone who cared to listen that I am not fond of baby blue. Anyone who breaks the mold and buys me something in any other color, I thank them profusely and publically. I wear it or play with it as conspicuously as I am able. I make a point at Thanksgiving of trotting it out for all the relations to see. Oh, how I love you not-blue thing!

But today it is Saturday, June seventh and I am eighteen years old. It is my birthday and as I sit beside my sister and we stare out across a sea of pink and baby blue wrapping paper, listening to a slightly off-key cacophony of “Happy Birthday”, it is all too clear. I am sitting in front of a cake that is half baby blue and half pink, each aside adorned with a cluster of matching lit similarly colored candles.

And I realize then that I am defeated.


After the party, the crowd slowly dwindled away. By ten p.m., our suburban house in the hills outside of Portland, Oregon is again occupied only by immediate family. Mom and dad are quick to bed, exhausted after all the party preparations and entertaining. Since it is a weekend and my birthday, as a special treat I have no particular time I have to be in bed. Parisa is equally awake. We are together in the first floor living room of our three story house, looking through our pile of loot and contemplating görükle escort what to do with it all. Truth told, despite my lengthy bitching about color, we mostly scored. This wasn’t just a birthday after all, there were also graduation gifts here and lots of them.

“These matching blue and pink hoodies also have a gift receipt,” said Parisa. “Add ’em to the return pile.”

I smiled I said, tossing them on the heap. “Excellent. That’s thirteen items we can cash in at the mall plus the gift cards. It looks like our shopping spree tomorrow is a go.”

“So, what are you going to get with your share of the loot?” asked my sister.

“Oh, I was thinking about saving it all up and getting a baby blue facial tattoo. I was thinking ‘Hail Satan’ right on the forehead. Something that’ll make the folks proud.”

“Great idea! I could get a matching pink one!” she said with a giggle.

“You know, seriously, this is probably the last one of these we’re ever going to have. After eighteen we’re officially not kids anymore. It’s like an unspoken rule in the clan.”

“Yeah, it’ll probably just be dinner with the folks,” said Parisa with a shrug. “So, do you feel any different, Mr. Grownup?”

“Different? I guess not. I mean, I still kind of feel like a kid.”


“Yeah. I mean I love mom and dad, but you got to admit they’re hyper-protective. I’ve never had a job or been out on my own or even had a girl friend.”

“What about Holly?” asked my sister.

“We were friends, sis. We went out a couple of times before her parents moved but … we never really did anything. We held hands mostly. And only kissed … really kissed once. I’m eighteen and I still have a bed time for Christ sakes. Yeah, I feel like I’m still treated like a child.”

Parisa suddenly was more serious. “I’ve got it even worse. You’ve at least kind of dated. I’ve never been out at all except with my girlfriends. Nobody wants to date the principal’s daughter. I’ve never been kissed by a boy even once.”

“God, what a pair of sad nerds are we?” I said with a sigh.

“Well, at least we’ve got each other,” said Parisa. I had been so distracted by own ennui that my sister had managed to sneak up behind me and tackle-hugged me. I fell rather unceremoniously on my face and she began to try and tickle me. That was her mistake. We may be not far from the same size, but I have one great advantage on my dear sister. She is easily the most ticklish person I’ve ever encountered. And as she tried to tickle me to little effect, she was wide open for full-scale retaliation.

All too late, she cried out, “Wait! No!” And I had her! She spasmed in full-body laughter and I rolled her off me. After just a few seconds, she was laughing so hard, she could barely breathe. I kept up the tickle onslaught.

“The circle is complete. When first you tickled me, I was but the learner. Now I am the master…”

She barely managed to gasp out between guffaws, “Only a … master of nerdity.”

And at that we both laughed and collapsed in a heap amidst the scattered wrapping paper and birthday cards.

Parisa regained her composure first. “You know what we need to do this summer, brother o’ mine?”

“Pack up and get ready to go to college in about three months?”

“Yeah, yeah, other than that.”

I shrugged. “I give. What do we need to do this summer?”

“We need to catch up. We need to do all the irresponsible things most normal kids do in high school, but we didn’t thanks to both our over-protective parents and, let’s face it, our own personal nerdiness and academic competitiveness.”

“Like … what are we talking about here?”

“Like, we should go to a party and get drunk. We should smoke some weed. We should stay out late and go on a real date with someone.”

“All at once? That’s going to be a hell of a date.”

“No, not all at once, you goofball. I mean over the course of the summer.”

“Go out on a date with whom?”

“I don’t know…we need to find someone to date,” And suddenly Parisa was no longer joking. “Look, we’re both eighteen years old. I am the Salutatorian of our class, and you because you are a cheating cheater who cheats, you are the Valedictorian. And when we get to college, let’s face it…I know us. We are going to totally throw ourselves into our studies and once more be lifeless nerds. This is our summer. We can go a little wild.”

“Mom and dad are going to totally freak,” I said.

“Yeah, well, they can fucking bill me,” said Parisa. Her rather pointed use of a cuss word stunned me for a moment. Had I ever heard my sister swear before that moment? Parisa, however, was not done.

“We did what they wanted. We graduated from a magnet high school with honors at the top of our class. I engaged in a diversity of electives that looked good on my college resumé. We got accepted with free-ride academic scholarships to Oregon U. I brush my teeth twice a day, jog every morning and eat my damn broccoli. I am way … way overdue bursa escort bayan for some fun. We both are.”

I sat and contemplated my sister’s words. I paused and let her suggestion rattle around in my head for a few seconds. My fierce and fearless little sister may relish the idea of these adventures, but they terrified me. Still, what if she tried them without me? That would be even worse. “Fine. I’m in on two conditions.”

“Name ’em.”

“We each have veto power over all these ‘wild’ activities. We do ’em together or we don’t do ’em.”

“Agreed. Second?”

“We should make an itemized list of exactly what we’re trying to accomplish. You know … action items.”

She paused. “God, you are a nerd…”

“I’m being called a nerd by a girl who still wears batgirl underroos?” This rebuff earned my sister sticking her tongue out at me. But she denied nothing. “And anyway, tell me making a list is not a great idea?”

“Okay, it’s a great idea, even if it is just a minor refinement of my highly innovative original suggestion,” she said with a huff.

“Refinement… yes, that’s what separates a Valedictorian from a Salutatorian,” I said with a smirk.

And that earned me my second tackle of the night. This attack was much less like a hug.


Monday afternoon, June ninth. Mom and dad were at work, leaving us with the run of the house. We had been given a small list of chores all of which were already done. Now Parisa and I had settled down to get about the serious business of making the list.

“Okay, that’s how many?” I asked.

“Nine,” she said looking over the list written on a small yellow notepad.

“From the top.”

“Number one, attend a party without parental chaperone. Number two, stay out without parental approval past two a.m. Number three, drink alcohol to the point of intoxication. Number four, consume marijuana (via edibles or inhalation) also to the point of intoxication. Number five, watch a pornographic film…”

“I still cannot believe you haven’t done that one,” I said. “This house has broadband you know.”

“Dad put safety locks on my computer,” said Parisa.

“Seriously? I’ve known the password and how to wipe the logs since like seventh grade. Dude, you should have come to me. What is having an ultra-nerdy brother for…”

Parisa stuck out her tongue at me. “What can I say? I never thought to ask my brother for porn.”

“Yeah, well … I guess that would be a little weird,” I answered.

“And thanks to your condition, we have to pick one we both like and we have to watch it together.”

That took me back. “What?! Wait… that’s not what I meant.”

“No backing out now, buster. We have a pact,” said my sister sternly.

“Fine… anyways… the rest of the list.”

“Number six,” my sister continued. “Watch an R-rated movie in the theaters we are certain mom and dad would not approve of.”

“Again, an easy one with mom and dad gone all day.”

“Number seven, go to strip club featuring female dancers.”

“I can’t believe you agreed to that one,” I said with a laugh.

“Could be fun and it’s certainly something I’ve never done before. Number eight, go on an unchaperoned date. Number nine, receive kiss on lips from non-familial member of the opposite gender. That’s it.”

“That list sounds pretty good to me,” I remarked. “Definitely going to be a memorable summer.”

“I think we’re lacking one,” interjected my little sister. “Number ten … lose virginity.”

And that was it. As soon as Parisa said that, the oxygen immediately left the room. Utter complete silence. I could neither believe that she had said it or had any idea what to say next.

Awkward silence went on for way too long. Finally Parisa spoke, “What? You don’t like the idea?”

“Parisa, that’s… uh…” No, still nothing.

“Well, speak up.”

“No way. First of all, it’s not happening. I mean you’re a girl. And not just any girl, but a very beautiful girl. Easily the most beautiful girl I know. You go to a college frat party and act a little drunk and … well, it’s over.”

Parisa blinked. “You really think I’m the most beautiful girl you know?”

“Well, of course you are. Everybody knows that,” I said.

“I … I didn’t know that,” she said in a low whisper.

“My point is … I don’t even have a girlfriend. There’s no way it’s going to happen.”

Parisa seemed deep in thought. “Is it that you don’t want to do it or that you simply think you can’t?”

“Well, of course I want to do it. I like girls…”

“So, I can help!” she exclaimed.

“You can help me … get laid?” I asked suddenly very dubious.



“I can set you up with one of my girlfriends. I know a few who’ve occasionally asked about you.”


“Oh, no. It’s not that easy, buster. That’s my little secret for now. Let me talk to them first. So, what you think? Is that our tenth … what did you call them … action item or what?” bursa escort She smiled wickedly at me tapping her pencil on the small notepad.

“I … I don’t know.”

“You’re call, big brother. Veto power and all that. Are you in or are you out?”

“I guess I’m…” I swallowed hard. What the hell was I going to do? Say no and I’m a pussy. Say yes and … I might actually have to go through with this. And that aroused with in me a very primal fear. Did I have any idea what I was getting into? On the other hand, what did I have to lose? Besides, this is never going to really happen. Parisa is going to gossip with her friends, they are going to turn her down cold and then that’s that. Perhaps it was that very rationalization that cause me to blurt unexpectedly…


Parisa finished the list with a flourish of the pen and then perused the list in order. “This is going to be one hell of a summer.”


Tuesday, June 10th. Chores were done. House was empty. Parisa and I were having lunch. We were both making a lazy day of it, jeans and t-shirt for me. Parisa hadn’t even made it out of black sweat pants and a loose fitting t-shirt that read “If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the precipitant.”

“So, we could do number five today,” I said, trying to sound casual about it and like I hadn’t spent the whole morning trying to figure a way to bring it up.

“Really? You want to watch a porno?”

“It is the easiest item and there are no real consequences. I even have a suggestion for a movie…”

“Oh, this should be good,” my sister said with a smirk.

“This movie won nine awards at the APN including Best Picture and Best Screen Play.”

“Wait, this porn won an award for best writing?”

“Yep. It’s a little … umm… gothy. It’s got guys on stilts with scissors on their hands. But I still think it’s worth a shot. It’s called Jessica in Hell. I even burned a blu-ray last night so we can watch it on the big screen without any latency issues.”

“Wow, you really thought this through,” said Parisa.

“If we’re going to do this list project, we might as well do it right. Besides, this is within my area of expertise. I’m an eighteen year old nerd with no girlfriend and a broadband connection. Porn and me … we’ve met.”

Parisa laughed. “Okay, my darling porn-expert brother, I’m in. Let’s earn our first check on!”

We quickly finished lunch at the breakfast nook and made our way downstairs to the TV room. I retrieved the unlabeled blu-ray from its hidden location in my room and loaded it into the player. The sofa in our TV room was a giant black leather sectional that we had spent many an hour on since our parents had installed it six years ago. We flopped down and I retrieved the universal remote. Soon enough the movie began to spin and the giant plasma screen made a pleasant beep and warmed with light.

The movie started slowly. This was actually a porn with a plot. Jessica, our heroine, was in a car crash and was in the hospital being prepped for a surgery that might save her life. She was under anesthetic and was either having sexual fever dreams or perhaps had been transported to a netherworld between life and death. The porn was ambiguous on that point.

What wasn’t ambiguous was the sex and there was a lot of it. There was sex before the credits were finished and virtually every major scene was punctuated with more sex. I could tell Parisa was taken back at just how much sex there was on offer here and how unabashedly graphic it was. There were giant cocks pounding vast high-resolution pussies all across our sixty inch screen. With each passing moment, I began to get more and more nervous about this whole affair. There were two reasons for this.

First, I doubted my choice. Maybe I should have picked something a little more subtle and a lot less edgy. Maybe our list of ten was about to come crashing down as Parisa proclaimed what a stupid idea this was. Maybe she was going to hate me for inflicting such filth upon her. Maybe she was going to never speak to me again after this fiasco.

But such gnawing fears aside, the second reason for my nervousness was quickly becoming more pressing. After the first sex scene, it was all I could do to contain a raging hard-on. I was trying my level best to conceal it, positioning my legs just so, but Parisa was draped across the sofa’s only pillow. I was wearing jeans, so the denim helped constrain me a little…but only a little. It’s an awkward thing to be sitting on a sofa alone with your sister trying to keep a raging hard-on in check and with no real way to hide it.

Parisa for her part remained a total poker face. She was watching the movie attentively and without saying a word. She didn’t look unhappy, but she didn’t exactly look pleased either. I had no idea what to make of it. To say it was awkward … well, understatement seems almost like too understated of a word.

And then this happened.

Parisa shuttered. It was subtle thing – a deep breath, pursed lips, a slight tremor of the flesh. And that’s when I noticed – my twin had her hand down her pants. She was doing her best to conceal it using the pillow and her loose-fitting t-shirt, but there it was. About five feet away from me on the sofa, my sister was touching herself.

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