Twelve Nights

by Remy, Carole

  “Yes you are,” Aggie contradicted him. “Your mouth can make me come till I’m exhausted.”

  Andrew grinned. “No way.”

  “Yes, way. Get your mouth down here.”

  Aggie lifted up on her elbow and grabbed the back of Andrew’s head with one hand. She guided it into place above her cunt.

  “Taste me,” she urged. “Do I tasted good?”

  Andrew licked.

  “You taste sweet and a little salty,” Andrew analyzed.

  Aggie laughed. “Get your mouth in there and eat me, you hunk.”

  Andrew separated her labia with tentative fingers and stroked down the crack he created. Aggie arched up into his hand.

  “Use your tongue,” she whispered.

  Andrew settled his mouth between finger-stretched labia and lapped the soft flesh like a little kitten.

  “That’s it,” Aggie urged, though that wasn’t it. “You can suck harder if you want to.”

  Andrew’s tongue laved her labia with broad strokes. He seemed to be searching for the key to the portal, the key that would unlock her ecstasy.

  “A little higher,” Aggie directed.

  The tongue shifted up and narrowed and dragged against the little bud that contained the secret entrance.

  “Yes,” Aggie gasped. “Right there.”

  Andrew stroked harder and faster and Aggie reached up toward him. Her hands stroked and pulled his hair as his tongue herded her toward fulfillment. So close, so close. But not far enough. Bite me, she wanted to say. Be a little rougher. Touch my asshole. Just stroke it. The inner fantasy became more insistent. Hold my knees apart. Restrain me, the voice commanded. Put your finger up my ass, Don’t give me a choice. Make me come.

  “Do anything you want to, Andrew,” Aggie whispered. Please do the things I want.

  “Like what?” Andrew lifted his head to ask.

  Aggie groaned.

  “Come inside me now,” she offered.

  “Did you come?”

  “I want to come with you inside me.”

  Andrew tore off a condom and rolled it down his still solid shaft.

  “Here?” he asked. “On the table.”

  Aggie nodded. Andrew shrugged and lifted her buttocks. With her feet still resting on his shoulders, he bent forward over her and slid himself inside. Aggie tightened around him, and the unfamiliar position and the pressure of his shoulders against her legs awakened the beast she had tried to tease into awareness before. She felt the orgasm approach and hugged the anticipation into her squeezing vagina. Andrew panted and pumped above her and she closed her eyes and imagined. He shocks me. His hand slips down my backside and parts my buttocks and I protest no, but I mean yes and he slips his finger inside me. His finger is big, no it’s two fingers and he strokes me and strokes me brutally front and back. In and in and out the cock pounded and the rhythm and the fantasy engulfed Aggie’s slow-burning heart and flooded her with shudders and moans.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”

  As the trembling subsided and sense returned, she stroked Andrew’s hair. She squeezed the muscles of her vagina and was rewarded by a groan as his organ swelled to its final engorgement. The groan turned to a yell as the pumping built to frenzy. Then Andrew collapsed across her chest, the fury spent.

  Aggie continued to stroke his hair as his breathing calmed. When he lifted his head, she was surprised and touched to see tears leaking from pale unfocused eyes.

  “Did you have an orgasm?” he gasped.

  Aggie smiled and nodded. “The mother of all orgasms.”

  “Good,” Andrew sighed and dropped his head back onto Aggie’s chest.

  Chapter 4

  “Hi, Boo.” Angel felt the reservation in her voice and smiled to brighten the tone.

  “Boo!” her sister Aggie screamed. “I can’t believe you phoned. Wow!”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t …”

  “No! No, no,” Aggie interrupted. “Don’t you dare hang up. I’m so glad you called. How are you? Where are you?”

  “You know me, been better, been worse.” Though not much. “I’m still living in New York.”

  “I tried to find you. Is your number unlisted? Why didn’t you call me?”

  Angel winced at the accusation in her sister’s words. She lowered the phone.

  “Wait!” Aggie’s voice screamed from the earpiece. “Don’t hang up!”

  Angel pulled the phone back to her ear. “I’m here.”

  “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” her sister asked. “My wrist hurt when I got up this morning. What did you do to your wrist?”

  “It’s okay,” Angel lied. “I slammed it in a door by accident.”

  “What’s your phone number?”

  “I’m about to move,” Angel lied again. She rushed on. “I thought I might fly home for Thanksgiving. Do you want to come?”

  “I thought you hated Mary.”

  “She’s okay. I just hated that Dad took up with her so soon after Mom died. His secretary – what a cliché. She’s not even pretty.”

  “Still as shallow as ever?” Aggie needled. “No, I don’t mean that. And yes, I’ll go home for the weekend with you. God, Boo. You haven’t called me since last Christmas.”

  “Let’s not fight, okay?”

  “Okay. I won’t ask.”

  “Still dating the boy wonder?”

  “I thought we weren’t going to fight.”

  “Sorry,” Angel apologized.

  “Andrew and I are still together.”

  “How old is he? Twenty-one?”

  “Andrew is twenty-five and he’s brilliant.”

  “But can he fuck? No, forget I said that.”

  Silence on the line.

  “Boo, I’m sorry,” Angel tried. “I bet he’s a great fuck.”

  Aggie laughed. “No, he isn’t, but he’s sweet. I won’t ask you about your love life.”

  Angel had told her sister that she had gotten a job as a secretary in a big Manhattan firm. She hadn’t added that the firm was a call girl operation and that she had rapidly moved from the phone to the bedroom. Aggie thought her sister was too busy, and too cold, for a boyfriend. In a way, she was right.

  “Nil,” Angel answered. For love life, it was true. Fucking was an entirely different matter.

  “When are you flying into Atlanta? Can we meet at the airport and drive to Auburn?”

  “It’s all set,” Angel admitted. “I already bought the tickets and rented the car.”

  “What if I’d said no?”

  “I would have been out a few dollars. No biggie.”

  “It’s a biggie to me,” Aggie bristled. “Just because you’re ten minutes older…”

  “Don’t start,” Angel laughed. “Mea culpa. The big sister sins again. So I bought you a plane ticket. Are you going to divorce me?”

  “I love you, Angela.” Aggie’s voice broke on the last word. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “We’ll catch up on the weekend, Boo,” Angel promised, her voice steady. She couldn’t afford to get sentimental. Not now. “I’ll Fed Ex the tickets to you.”

  “Use my work address at the library.”

  “Will do.”

  “Don’t hang up yet, Boo,” Aggie pleaded. “I’m scared I’m imagining this.”

  “You’ll get the ticket tomorrow, Aggie. This is getting to me, Boo. I gotta go.”

  Angel heard her sister’s sob as she hung up the phone. She wondered whether she would be able to carry out her plan, but what was the alternative? On October twenty-eighth, Angel had written a letter to the box number on the classified ad. The odds were one in a lot, but still better than a lottery, she hoped. The ad said over thirty; she was twenty-eight. The ad said normal. Hah. Who was normal, anyway? The ad said no prostitutes, so Angel borrowed her twin’s persona, right down to name, occupation and social security number. And photograph.

  Angel hadn’t gone back to work. She had enough money to last a few weeks and she need
ed time to think, time for the bruises and the memories to fade. But by February she’d be out on the street with no rent money. Either this guy came through or she’d be back to work on her back.

  A week later Angel had gotten an express delivery to the post office box she rented. The form letter requested further information regarding her application. Annoyed and sure now that the ad was a scam, Angel had scrawled ‘Thanks anyway’ across the questions, and sent the pages by return mail to the box number of the ad.

  Two days later a dozen red roses had arrived at her doorstep. The card said only, ‘Sorry for the inquisition.’ Angel’s address was private; her phone unlisted. The arrival of the roses made her think that maybe some guy did have a hundred twenty thousand dollars to throw around. And that maybe he was a little scary. The next day when the phone rang, Angel hesitated before picking up the handset.

  “Hello.” She used her Aggie-voice just in case.

  “Is this Agnes Trout?” The voice was a young man’s.

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “You remember the personal ad?”

  “You placed the ad?” Angel asked. The voice was too young and innocent.

  “No,” he responded. “My brother did.”

  “Is this on the level?” Angel asked. “How did you get my phone number? It’s unlisted.”

  “I liked your letter, Agnes.” The man ignored Angel’s question.

  “Call me Aggie,” Angel answered automatically. “Did you send the flowers?”

  “Did you like them?”

  “They’re beautiful. Why did you send them?”

  “He shouldn’t have sent the letter.”

  “Who?”

  The young man again ignored her question. “He was suspicious. You gave a New York box number but you work in Cincinnati.”

  “I explained that. I’m visiting my cousin.”

  “Not your sister?”

  “I don’t have a sister,” Angel lied. “Why are you calling me?”

  “I can’t talk him into interviewing you.”

  “Your brother?”

  “My brother’s lawyer.”

  “Lawyer?”

  “There’s a contract. So you can’t sue.”

  “Look,” Angel searched for words. “What’s your name?”

  “Danny.”

  “Look, Danny. This is too complicated for me. Lawyers and contracts.”

  “A hundred twenty thousand dollars, Aggie.”

  It was a lot of money. Enough to move her out of New York. Enough to buy her out of prostitution. Angel swallowed her protest.

  “You’re right,” she agreed. “Look, who is your brother?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Would I recognize his name?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Is he in the mob or something? I don’t want anything…”

  “No,” the young man interrupted. “He’s smart-rich, not crooked-rich. Anyway, we’re Canadian.”

  Maybe Canada wasn’t as mob-infested as the United States. Still Angel couldn’t picture a rich legit guy putting an ad like that in the paper. But then, would a legit woman answer it?

  “Okay, Danny. I’ll answer the questionnaire.”

  “It’s too late. The lawyer got angry and threw away your letter.”

  “Then how did you find me?”

  “I remember things. Be in Vancouver on December 15th. That’s a Monday.”

  “A Monday,” Angel repeated.

  “I’ll send you a ticket. Take a cab from the airport to the Vancouver Hotel. Check into the Queen Anne suite. I’ll leave a message at the desk for you.”

  “What are you going to do? Smuggle me in for an interview?”

  “Probably,” the young man answered seriously. “I haven’t worked it out yet.”

  “What if you can’t get me in?”

  “You’re still in Vancouver,” he offered. “It’s a pretty city.”

  “Send me the ticket for Saturday the thirteenth, then,” Angel said, playing along. Nothing would come of it anyway. She doubted a ticket would arrive. “May as well make a holiday of it.”

  “Sure,” the young man agreed. “Bring the other one too.”

  “What?” Angel asked as the phone clicked. She was only too aware who the other one had to be, but how could Danny know?

  And now all she had to do was go to Auburn for Thanksgiving, make peace with her twin and persuade her to go to Vancouver for an impromptu December vacation. Angel knew she could fool the john once she got into bed with him. Sweet and innocent was one of her better gigs. But the lawyer? She might need her sister for the interview.

  Sure.

  There weren’t two hopes in hell that the ticket would arrive, that the interview was real, that some rich loony would give her the money to quit turning tricks. But what the heck. She wasn’t working anyway and like the man said, Vancouver was a pretty city.

  Chapter 5

  Aggie arrived in Atlanta two hours ahead of her sister. She went through the paperwork to pick up the rental car Angela had reserved. Then she went to Waterston’s, her favorite airport bookstore, and bought a recent paperback bestseller. She found an empty row near her sister’s arrival gate and settled in to wait. Aggie hadn’t seen or heard from Angela in almost a year. Anticipation and the CNN broadcast made it hard to concentrate on her book and soon she tossed the machinations of the San Diego district attorney into her bag.

  Pacing the hallway beside the gate, Aggie chewed one fingernail absently. She checked her watch and the arrivals board every few minutes, certain that something would go wrong. Eventually the first passengers began to trickle out the corridor from the plane. Aggie had a clear view over the heads of most of the waiting greeters and she saw Angela as soon as she came through the door. Every hair in place. Impeccably tailored suit. Aggie’s shoulders sagged as she looked at her still perfect twin. Her sister’s head was turned back in conversation with the proverbial tall, dark, handsome man. Trust Angela to pick up the one good prospect on the plane.

  “Bye, Angel.” The man handed her sister a carry-on bag. His voice oozed seduction. He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, then watched longingly as she walked away.

  “Angel?” Aggie asked as her sister approached.

  “I go by that in New York,” Angel explained.

  “Do you want me to call you Angel now?”

  “No. Angela’s fine.” She opened her arms. “Inside I’m still Boo.”

  Aggie burst into tears and pulled her twin into a fierce hug. Her first emotion spent, she raised her fist and pounded Angela’s shoulder.

  “You!” Aggie gulped. “Boo, you’re awful. You don’t call for a year and then you walk off the plane with the most handsome man I’ve seen since you left. Where do you find them?”

  Angela laughed and Aggie tightened her grip. Her sister squeezed back then put her hands on Aggie’s shoulders and held her away.

  “Look at you, Boo,” she whispered. “Still the same Aggie.”

  “We’re the Boo-Boo twins,” Aggie said, wiping her eyes. “Let’s go. I filled out the papers for the car. We just need to give them your driver’s license number and we can go. Do you have any more luggage?”

  Angela shook her head and the two women started down the long corridor toward the car rental booth. Angela linked her arm in Aggie’s and seemed oblivious to the glances that Aggie felt boring into her skin.

  “You need a haircut, Boo!”

  Aggie reach up a hand and tousled her shag. “Do I?”

  “Yes,” Angela insisted. “We’ll stop and get you done on the way home to Dad’s.”

  “Time to make over the ugly twin, Angela?” Aggie asked.

  “No, silly. You’re gorgeous, of course. ’Cause if you weren’t, how could I be?”

  “I might have known.”

  “Aggie, do you remember what we used to do, when we fooled people about who was who?”

  “Sure, back when we were ten or so.”


  “Let’s do it again.” Angela’s voice sounded suspiciously eager.

  “Why?” Aggie asked bluntly.

  Her sister shrugged. “Just for fun. My treat.”

  “Boo,” Aggie blurted, “I don’t really want to look like you.”

  Angela stopped in the middle of the corridor and hurrying passengers split around them like a wave. She dropped her bag and grabbed Aggie’s shoulders with both hands.

  “Aggie,” Angela shook her sister gently. “Maybe I want to look like you this time.”

  Aggie’s eyes teared. “Don’t, Angela. Don’t mess with my head.”

  Angela released Aggie and picked up her bag.

  “I’m not messing with you,” she protested, her voice gruff. “I want a new look, okay?”

  When they got to the car, Angela insisted that Aggie drive. She explained that she hadn’t been behind the wheel since she moved to New York. Even the straight highway to Auburn made her nervous. As they headed out of Atlanta, Angela made her sister stop at Old National Square Shopping Center.

  “One hour,” she commanded. “Indulge me for one hour.”

  “Okay,” Aggie agreed as she pulled into the parking lot maze.

  “Gayfer’s,” Angela directed, and Aggie pulled into a spot near the upscale store. First stop was a hair salon next to the mall entrance to the store.

  “Get your hair however you like,” Angela offered.

  “I intend to.” Aggie lifted an eyebrow and frowned. What was wrong with her sister?

  “I’m paying.” Angela added.

  “Go right ahead.”

  Once Aggie was seated in a salon chair and halfway to a fresh cut, Angela dropped into the seat next to hers.

  “Do my hair exactly the same,” she told her stylist. “Exactly.”

  The two stylists looked at each other and at the twins.

  “You’re models, right?” the woman behind asked. “You’re in Atlanta for a photo shoot or something.”

  “No,” Aggie began.

  “Yes,” Angela interrupted. “Watch for the ads in Vogue in about five months.”

  Aggie looked at her sister’s hand and sure enough her baby finger was crooked up in a C, their childhood symbol of complicity. A sense memory of Angela’s fun stole over her and she relaxed back into the seat with a smile. Aggie watched as the stylist lopped off Angela’s careful curls. Her own shag shortened to a pixie cut of chin length. She liked it better on Angela than she did on herself, but looking at them both in the mirror she had to admit that in reality they were identical.