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STRANGER STILL


By: Barrett Cart and JesusChriss




“The sick sun slumbers underneath an arch,
And like a shroud strung out from east to west,
Listen, my Dearest, hear the sweet night march!”
-Charles Baudelaire






It’s dark, and as murky as a bar can be without having the drunks colliding. In this hole in a wall, the twins sit on two bar stools pushed together absorbing the humidity and clove smoke like dry sponges. Nothing is clean, from the bartenders teeth to the bar covered in a substance like roach oil, its dirt.


These are the only kind of places the twins can agree on. They’ve stuck out their whole lives. Now in this darkness, black and sticky as hot tar, they are stuck in it and sinking. It’s New Orleans, where it’s forever night. Where gloom only hides from the sun behind beer bottle-filled dumpsters and tombstones where it’s called shadows. A city made of only bars and cemeteries, night can never abandon this city and neither can the beautiful twins.


Maria and Theresa know each other like the back of their own hands. It is their hands that they have learned to share, being connected at the hip. Just breaking from the circus after 23 years, for the first time they are free, free to roam drunk and careless like the marks, carnival-goers, they used to watch stumbling from tent to big top tent so easily amused. Never touching a dollar they made with the traveling carnival, the sisters had saved up enough to buy a townhouse in the Marigny area just outside of the French Quarter.


Beyond any high all the drugs of the city combined could offer, sex is the ultimate high for the twins. A city with so many forbidden flavors, where spicy taboo’s and sizzling fetishes overwhelm you like perspiration, could not be passed. Never have they seen so many eyes look over their deformed bodies with such glazed desire. It could only have been destiny for their circus to stop in this city. To ever leave would be to defy fate itself.


In discovering their sensuality a single dilemma was found. Maria, elegant as ever with emerald green eyes and red lips that makes you think of Christmas, lusts over men, wanting to be crushed by their powerful arms and smothered by their weight. She is the epitome of passive. To make up for lost time Maria is led to fantasies of being in a prison with only men where she and Theresa would be raped over and over, not leaving a single orifice of their connected bodies undiscovered.


Theresa, on the other hand, thirsts for the juices of a petite girl. She is blessed with the same Christmas elegance as Maria; slender, milk white bodies with natural raven black hair, though Theresa bleached hers and dyed a single bang a green that matched their emerald eyes. Unlike her sister, Theresa now lives to dominate and spank, then keep the trembling girl safe in her arms forever. Dicks are disgusting, clumsy sticks of meat that could just as well be food for the nuetra rats; maybe the rodents would quit eating away at the swamp land. She only hopes the day will come for Maria to change her mind about men and participate. What a kinky duo they could be, Maria lifting a young girl’s clit hood as Theresa sucks on the slippery clitoris like a nipple.


Tonight is Maria’s night. Taking turns, they switch from Theresa’s gay clubs to this bar, The Hideout on Decatur. Maria’s catch for the past month has been a boy poet named Toby. She adores his attitude, somewhat street-wise with a mouth full of blasphemy and fillings. He only wears black clothing, which Theresa believes is a manifestation of small town angst. Toby reluctantly admitted he was originally from Morgan City, a small town an hour southwest of New Orleans. Theresa also believes he just wants attention, although black in this bar is more like camouflage. Regardless, Toby is vain, the trait in man that Theresa despises most. She just bites her tongue and anticipates the nights in between where the bars fly rainbow colored flags and pink triangles.


Toby splits a cloud of clove smoke as he draws near the sisters. His beer sweat and cheap cigarettes somehow overcomes the modern gothic scents of patchouli and melting makeup, “Sorry I’m late.” He kisses Maria lightly on the cheek.


“It’s okay.” Maria knew it wouldn’t be until 3 a.m. that he’d show. She had already dismissed the lie of him being here at midnight. She is in love. Even his exaggerations are welcome.


“What’s going on, sister?” Toby directs attention to Theresa.


“I’m not your sister.”


Toby raises his arms in mock surrender, “I’m pretty drunk, can we go back to your place?”


“You didn’t want to hang out here?” Maria smiles, “maybe talk shit at the pool table a bit?”


“Nah,” Toby squeezes her thigh, making sure the leg is on Maria’s side. “I’d rather be talking shit to you.”


“I love when you talk dirty.” Theresa rolls her eyes as they stand.


Walking the few blocks to the apartment, Toby stumbles along watching the blackness roll across the moon and over haunted buildings. Anything but the people around them, people with too much mascara around the windows of their lobotomy’s.


In the twin’s town house and on their bed, Toby is able to indulge in his every desire on his submissive twin. Theresa is used to reading a book, usually something from Sylvia Plath, as her sister performs sodomy. She is used to the jerking as Toby thrusts into whichever cavity of Maria he decides. The rules are simple: Toby can never touch Theresa, neither with his clammy hands or his hot streaming cum. And Maria only has one complaint: she catches Toby’s eyes straying to Theresa’s body from time to time.


Only Theresa hears Maria’s grumbling about Toby’s sneaky, ogling eyes, cycling from Maria’s tight, round butt to her twin’s identical ass. And when his view wanders back to his lover and catches her annoyed stare peeping over her drooped shoulders he just plays it off or laughs or sometimes suddenly decide that right then is the perfect time to take another sip from his beer, or a gulp, or sometimes a cigarette.


Theresa is solid with her less than caring help, telling her sister that it doesn’t matter because, “I’m not interested in any men, much less the type you pick up. I would never let that touch me,” or one time saying, “Don’t worry. I won’t let your drunk boyfriend fuck me, okay? No matter how much he wants me.” And Maria would be silenced by the fact that the person attached to her own body since birth could speak such shit to her, suggesting that not only were they far from the same, but that Theresa was the better one and she could have her lover any second she wished; if only she didn’t have such high standards, women.


It was always the end of the private talks the girls would have when Theresa would bring up how much they differed from each other or about how sick she was of everyone always calling them both Theresa, instead of Theresa and Maria. The shame no one could understand was that Maria sincerely always enjoyed sharing organs and flesh with her beloved sister and she could never comprehend why Theresa purposely refused to attempt to accept it; going so far at times to slyly condemn the life the led.

Before Maria met Toby she cried herself to sleep every night for a week, while Theresa pretended to be asleep so she wouldn’t have to comfort her sister, what she called “dry her pathetic drama tears.” But Maria wasn’t so naďve as to believe that Theresa didn’t know why she was so upset. Of course, she knew and they always knew. There were no secrets.


Theresa took home a young raver-girl who called herself Tweety from a lesbian club she’d been going to pretty regularly the past two months. Tweety and Theresa spent a few nights eyeing each other down, waiting until the right time, when both were alone, or as alone as Theresa was going to get in her unique situation.


One night as the club’s slow hours were beginning to fade in, the seats started emptying in large groups, and the lights above the lonely dance floor even gave up and shut down, Tweety walked up to the twins who had just slammed back another shot of Chartreuse and introduced herself.


“Hello,” the stranger greeted the two. “My name is Tweety, like the bird, you know? Tweetybird?” And on and on she blabbed to Theresa about her favorite everythings while Theresa so attentively hung on every boring drop of nonsense the rolling girl could spew, while Maria sat to her side, drinking alone, having a hard time not eavesdropping and not exactly trying too hard not to. The night dragged on ridiculously full of nauseating strobe lights, the head-pounding sounds of club music, the loud squeaks coming from Tweety’s pouty mouth, and shot after shot of whatever was closer to the bartender at the time, because Maria didn‘t want to be a burden and by then it didn‘t matter what went down as long as she would go with it.


In the messy hangover of the next day Maria, as always, woke up next to her sister, who was next to the girl who so cutely and cleverly named herself after a big-headed, cartoon bird. It was the same bird she never once watched on television but got sick of seeing as a stuffed toy that all the “marks” would spend fifty bucks trying to win for their smiling girlfriends at the balloon-pop games just before paying the two dollars and fifty cents to walk behind a curtain and catch an eyeful of Theresa and herself, The Amazing and Twisted Siamese Stork Twins, usually accompanied by the guy laughing and crunching on his popcorn and the girl he was with holding her hand over her mouth so she couldn’t vomit. “Dis-gus-ting!” she’d say as she pulled her boyfriend out of the tent.


The smells of the bar still clung to her breath as she lifted her head in a daze and was pulled back down by Theresa rolling over to kiss her lover. All Maria could remember about the night before was birdgirl telling Theresa how gorgeous she was and Theresa telling birdgirl how gorgeous she would’ve been if not for having been born a Siamese twin, connected to someone so depressed and boring, someone who stole every beautiful physical trait from her, the same someone who the doctors proclaimed a miracle for surviving, which up until that point had been a secret the twins solely shared. And the last thing Maria remembered about the night before was the tattoo of Tweety Bird above the girl’s vagina coming closer and closer to her as the bird girl squatted over Theresa’s face. And Maria just closed her eyes and dealt with the girl’s knee pressed against her forehead and she cried herself to sleep.



And then that next week Maria met Toby at the Hideout and all Maria’s cries quieted and her cheeks began to stretch, birthing smiles on the girl’s face. A month rolled by quicker than ever for the twins; good times filled with adolescent lust and grand ideas of love that people grow more envious of as they get older. Even Maria’s cold attitude became warmer, her sadist side learning how to share herself with her only true companion. It was the least the twins ever spoke to each other, a wonderful break, a brand-new, nearly-normal world.


Toby visited Maria regularly and Tweety met up with Theresa every other night at one club or another, usually going home with her when the sun came up, sometimes taking a friend along for some extra fun. And sometimes Theresa would get jealous and sometimes she’d urge it on, depending on how beautiful the girl was, compared to herself, of course.



In New Orleans, downtown mornings moved like rusted gears. People slowly exiting the bars, squinting at the unexpected daylight. The sun warms the streets that flow with beer and hangover sweat into the gutters. Winos, street kids, and their dogs lay around Jackson Square as still as cobblestone.


Inside the twins townhouse, the details of morning are blocked out with blinds and floor length sheers. From a liquid dreamworld Toby awakes into a desert dry hangover by Maria’s kiss. “Can I die now?” Toby responds.


“Not yet.”


“Yes”, Theresa cuts in.


Maria pushes Theresa with the left arm and Theresa retaliates with the right. Maria moves to kick and Theresa holds Maria’s two legs together with both of her own legs.


Toby is amazed by this exotic dance, but decides he should leave the two alone for some thinking time in the shower. “Bathrooms are the best places for private thoughts,” He thinks in agreement with his other muddy thoughts. “Gonna take a shower,” Toby grunts off the bed. “Try to wash last night off.”


“Okay baby,” Maria replies sweetly.
Toby sits Indian style beneath the shower head as it sprays hot water almost too hard. He thinks of Ashley but it was no good. His dick lay limp. Toby couldn’t even imagine his ex-girlfriend being good in bed.


It’s Theresa that his fantasies linger on now. Not that she looks any different than Maria. It’s the naughtiness of it, the ultimate taboo. Two identical sisters joined at the hip like a single altar with two rare offerings. It’s these thoughts that Toby needs this alone time to sort out how to deliver these thoughts to the sisters. How to get this debauchery going. These thoughts immediately flood his cock with blood. He is so solid it feels as if his skin wrapping will burst and thick blood will run till the veins and meat of his penis will clog the drain. Before the thoughts of gore could soften his erection, Toby begins to stroke it with a gob of conditioner.




“Hey Tweety,” Theresa leaves her thirteenth message on her girlfriend’s recorder. “I was just calling to tell you that it’s my night to go out where I want. I hope you get this message. I’m going to the rave at the State Palace Theatre tonight. I know you’ll be there. You told me that they have the best raves, so . . . Okay, bye-bye.” Click.


“Now that was almost eerie,” Maria suggests.


“How’s that?”


“You sound obsessed,” Maria straightens her posture and kinks her elbow resting her fist on their hip to resemble a big man. “I know where you’re going tonight and I’m going to be there watching you,” she mocks in a deeper voice. “God, you sound like a stalker.”


“I did not sound like that,” laughing.


“And that was like the fifteenth time you called in like thirty minutes.”


“Thirteenth.”


“It’s crazy tha-”


Ring-ring. Ring-


“Hello?” Theresa anxiously answers.


“Hey,” Tweety’s familiar voice is timid.


“Where have you been? I’ve been calling al-”


“I know,” Tweety interrupts. “You’ve been calling like too much. It’s not even normal, you know?”


“Sor-ry,” Theresa exaggerates.


“It’s just way too fucking weird for me.”


“Well I’ll call just once every other day, on my days.”


“You just don’t get it,” Tweety sighs. “It’s all too weird. You, your Siamese twin, and me? And her boyfriend? It doesn’t work, it’s creepy.”


Theresa looks to Maria. Without Maria even hearing the conversation she knew that Theresa is going to make her feel bad for something that isn’t even her fault. Maria is always hurt by Theresa’s words. The way she just goes on and on about how perfect the world would be without her. Theresa could have become the first female president. The oxygen would be easier to breathe and the grass would grow greener on both sides.


“I understand,” Theresa whispers mildly.


“Great, so you won’t call anymore?”


“No. . . I won’t.”


“Good, I’m glad. Peace!” Click.





Just as Theresa was going to go off and blame Maria for everything that wasn‘t her fault, Toby opens the bathroom door and walks out with a cloak of steam and a smile that says relief. Walking up to the sisters shirtless and wet Toby begins, “Look, I know you’ve been upset with me for looking at Theresa, but, I have an idea.”


“Don’t tell me,” Theresa knew Toby was shady and by telepathy, or otherwise, the message is sent to Maria.


“It could fix everything if we just-” Toby begins before being interrupted.


“You better not,” Maria gets the message. “Please don’t say it Toby.”


“And why not?” A mischievous smile sneaks onto his face. Now Maria can see perfectly; Toby’s nickname, Loki, fits him snuggly.


“I don’t like that kind of talk.”


“Well you should. I want all of you, and your sister is part of you.”


“But it’s wrong.”


“That’s disgusting,” Theresa intercepted.


“It’s all in your mind. I would go to Hell and back to have felt and manipulated every sense. I want you in every way,” Toby takes a step closer. “I would eat you raw just to know how your mother felt before ya’ll were born.”


“Toby!”


“I want to feel you with my most private member, especially those parts that have not been touched by man yet.”


“Just leave!” It seems that Maria didn’t even have to tell him. Toby already has his shirt on and is pulling on his oxford’s. It almost seems like he didn’t expect to get what he wanted. Toby’s idea was thrown out with no conviction of his own. The courage of his words has Theresa silently perplexed. The twins’ thoughts are in fragments.


“Well, don’t say I didn’t try to make this work!” Toby finishes with humorous last words before slamming the door behind him, shattering all of their fragmented thoughts.


The girls sat their drowning in confusion, unable to cry, scared to admit that they both lost and are once again left alone, with each other. They had both just lost their true loves and also share the fear to mention the fact that they both are lost in the very same minute. It isn’t by chance or coincidence and they know it, regardless of how shitty it feels for them to lose the way they did. It was the only way it could have ended, no matter how incessantly they told their hard, thumping hearts that they’d be victorious in this love. They demanded that they conquer their new change! Regardless of how much Theresa plays the opposites game, trying to be different or how much she tries to deny the truth, it is simple and plain, they are the same; plain and simple, truth.


The day painfully limped forward and by the time the sun found it’s hiding spot on the other side of the their world, the girls were ready for a drink, twenty drinks, strong ones that could either help them forget or just help their minds feel as pitiful as their emotions are feeling.


They stray into the first bar they come across when they finally reach the Quarter, a small niche with cheap drinks and cheaper women called Checkpoint Charlie’s. Stares of shock come from all six people sitting together in front of the bartender. One man spills his beer into his lap instead of his mouth as he attempts to finish off his mug while the old lady full of makeup caked deep into wrinkles and a short spandex skirt shamelessly showing every varicose vein her legs managed to grow screeches, “Oh, shit,” as if she had just been crowned in a beauty pageant, which would probably be called Mrs. Old Whore Lady With Too Much Lipstick Showing Too Much Leg Drinking Too Much Liquor With Two Little Teeth.


Maria and Theresa Stork sit anyway, as far away from the others as possible, which blesses them with spots next to the loud speakers blaring a jukebox hit from Alan Jackson; and who in their right mind could like Alan Jackson? The twins order their drinks tripled, push their stools together, and prepare themselves for a night full of uncomfortable looks or questions and enough excessive drinking to give them hangovers for many days to come. But it turns out that they aren’t there long enough to finish their sad quest of self-destruction.


“I gotta go pee,” Maria says. It isn’t the greatest thing to hear if you are in Theresa’s particular position. Obviously because while Maria is able to sit softly on the ceramic seat to piss, Theresa is forced to squat as if in a short chair next to her. It sounds like a simple trick to pull off, but the more you drink, the harder it gets and you never know exactly how long the person is going to go. And since Maria’s digestive system worked for both girls, Theresa fell victim to every time and doubled a normal humans.


“Sorry,” Maria says opening the ladies room door.


And there is a familiar face being fucked from behind by some strange man with hair almost like Lyle Lovett’s, but much stranger. Hair fluffs out of his plain white t-shirt, under the shirt, out of his ears, out the crack of his ass. “I’m gonna fuck your fuckin’ brains out ya fuckin’ bitch whore! Fuck ya ‘til ya explode! Bitch! Bitch whore!” And she is moaning to these words in ways Theresa could never make her, to words Theresa feels are too harsh to tell to someone she loves so much.


“Tweety!” Theresa yells in shock.


“What the fuck!” the hairy man exclaims. “That shit is crazy, yo! I must be trippin’!”


“You fucking followed me?” Tweety asks with sure accusation. “I can’t believe this shit!”


“You know dem, hoes? That shit is whack, yo. They like those weird circus bitches I saw a few months ago.” the man asks, dick still bedded into Tweety’s fleshy skankhole.


And Theresa stands there looking without much to say. She can’t even remember if she had followed her or not to defend herself. So she just stands there and looks at the two of them connected together like two dogs caught fucking. “I. . . I. . . ,” she begins to speak before Maria makes the first step out of the bathroom, instinctively making her sister follow.


“Stop following me! Crazy bitch!” the twins hear Tweety yell as the bathroom door swings shut and they make their way out of the bar, ignoring the big-eyed bartender bitching about the seven dollars they still owe him for their last drinks.



“Don’t you realize that this kind of shit wouldn’t be happening to me if I didn’t have you growing out of my hip?” Theresa continues to slag on Maria. “I should have had you cut out like the festering boil you are!”


Maria had silently snapped. Just on the short walk back to their house, as they stepped over people on the sidewalk not knowing if they were alive or dead nor cared, Maria has been broken. She can no longer be hurt by Theresa’s words. Not after she lost Toby, not anymore.


“You know, I feel like I could kill you,” Theresa doesn’t stop even as they approach their house. “I’d be doing you a favor. I don’t see how you could live with yourself after what you’ve done to me.”


“Don’t do me any favors,” Maria thinks an unspoken reply. “I’ll be the one killing you.”


Once inside their unlit townhouse Theresa finally shuts up. Maria has ridden her thoughts till she found the answer. Through process of elimination, she is left with the murder of her sister. “How else could Toby have her and her sister without bloodshed?” Maria pondered the entire evening, desperately searching for an angel hair strand of love she might have left for her sister. But if there was such a thing, Theresa ripped it to shreds with a bitter mouth on the walk back to their place.


“I’m sorry,” Theresa drops a slow tear as they feel their way to the bedroom. “I’m just so tired Maria, so tired and hurt.”


These apologies don’t move Maria, though “sorry” is a word completely foreign in Theresa’s mouth.


“You know I really love you,” Theresa continues with a sniff as they reach the bed.


“Is it the liquor,” Maria wonders. “Or maybe never having her heart broken before. Either way Theresa is being a complete stranger.” It matters not whether Theresa is possessed by Casper the friendly ghost or if she decided to become a nun, it’s too late. On this note, Maria feels the knife underneath her pillow that she put there earlier in the evening. Then turning on the bed side lamp the room is illuminated by only an orange, dusty hue.


“That’s better,” Theresa moans with a sniff as Maria helps take off their clothes.


The sisters lie down openly bare, the room being too warm and stuffy for covers. Theresa releases a slight twitch as Maria’s soft, damp hand touches her thigh, ever so timid. As Maria’s fingers move north to the sacred mound, Theresa is petrified, coated in goose flesh. Her sister’s forefinger is now circling her moist clitoris and her brain floods with sweet embarrassment like the first time masturbating. Maria slid a finger, then two fingers inside her twin with the labia seeming to dilate, anxiously welcoming her other half in.


“Mmmm,” Theresa groans with new tears of joy fresh as spring rain. “Why have we waited so long.”


Theresa’s sadistic urges pump out simmering from her frigid heart into her finger tips tightening around Maria’s nipple. The pain is like an anchor pulling Maria down to passivity where she must fight the undertow to execute her diabolical plan. Now with three fingers, she plunges into her sister’s hot, swampy hole rapidly till Theresa’s juices splattering onto her inner thighs are audible.


“That’s it,” Theresa grunts. “Abuse my pussy.”


Maria pulls her hand out of her sister all wet and wrinkled. Theresa can still feel the friction inside like a phantom penis as Maria reaches for the butcher knife beneath her pillow.


“Maria?” Theresa senses her death like Maria’s thoughts had carried. “Is this what suicide is like?” She questions herself just before Maria brings the pain.


“Shut up!” Maria screeches her first words of the entire evening as the knife tears deep into her sister’s tender vagina.


“No!” Theresa pleads feeling herself being ripped in half. “Please no!”


“Shut up! Shut up!” Forcing the knife deeper and deeper while twisting it to carve and tear the inner walls of her sister’s now tightening cunt; Maria can feel Theresa’s warm, ruby life cover her hand with each heart beat, thick and slow with pressure.


“Maria!” Theresa continues to scream no longer with words and no longer even human. Shrieking in the way only few people have been unlucky enough to hear. All the while, as Theresa’s pain intensifies, Maria’s been receiving white flashes in her brain like sparks. Only slightly can she feel Theresa’s agony, not so much as her own limb, but more like sharing her sister’s dementia.




“Shut up!” Maria drops the knife and reaches inside her sister’s mutilated cunt, the rotten cunt that she hates with her whole bruised heart, the evil cunt that started all of this, the clit that swelled for that selfish raver bitch, the desirable devil cunt that called out to Toby. Maria scrapes out the now shredded tissue of Therese’s grotesque cavity with her fingernails like some sort of primitive pap smear. With a weighty, handful of vaginal flesh, Maria stuffs her twin’s mouth. Finally everything is quiet except for Theresa gargling and choking on her own flesh and blood. The bed, lamp, nightstand, sheers, and even the floor is covered in blood. In the rusty light all the puddles are black.



“Shit!” Toby complains as he rolls off of the young brunette underneath him to answer the telephone next to the bed that would not quit ringing. “What?” he asks into the receiver.


“Hey, it’s me,” Maria mumbles on the other end.


Toby groans in annoyance and sighs and rolls back over to the girl who is lighting up half of a joint. He pushes his hand up her thigh tickling her, making her giggle and choke on smoke. “Quit it, Toby!” she laughs loud.


“What do you want, Maria?” he asks putting the joint in his mouth.


“I want to see you.”


“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”


“But-” Maria starts.


“We gave it a shot,” taking in a long lung full of smoke, “It just didn’t work out.”


“Toby-”


Blowing out, “Some things just weren’t meant to be I guess. You know what I mean.?”


“Who are you talking to anyway?” the brunette asks grabbing the joint out of Toby’s mouth. He motions a hand to quiet her. “Get off the phone and get some of this,” she purposely says loud enough so that Maria can hear her.


“Please, just come over, Toby.” Maria begs.


“Cool, we can be friends still, maybe fuck sometimes, that’s cool, but right now just isn’t a good time for me. Call me up tomorrow or something. I’ll talk to you then,” Toby says putting his mouth over three of the brunete’s toes.


Maria can hear him slobbering over the girl’s feet and her moans. “Toby, why do you want to do this to me?”


“What? I’m not doing anything,” he tells her while the girl laughs harder in the background. “Yeah, we’re not doing anything.”


“Theresa changed her mind. She wants to do it now. And I want to do it too. Just please come over. We’ll fix everything right. I promise, whatever you want. Please,” Maria says begging, streams of tears falling from her chin.


“Right now?” Toby asks sitting up from the girl’s feet.


“Yes.”


The brunete puts an arm around Toby’s shoulders and tries to give him the joint, but he pushes her off of him. “Okay. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”


“What?” the brunete gripes in confusion while Toby motions for her to stay quiet again. “You fucking asshole!”


“I’ll see you in a little bit. . . Okay, bye.”



Toby gives the door a warning knock before letting himself into the dark apartment. He can see silhouettes of Maria and Theresa’s naked bodies against the moonlight cast through the window. As he gets closer to the bed he can see Maria clearly, noticing that she had bleached her hair the same as Theresa’s, with the same green streak. And he can see that Theresa had been blindfolded and gagged.


“What’s going on?” he asks standing directly before the twins, not noticing that he is standing in a sticky puddle of blood that still leaks from the sheets.


“Isn’t this what you wanted? Come get in the bed,” Maria says, patting the tiny space between Theresa and herself.


Toby pulls his shirt over his head and drops his pants before climbing into the soaked bed. “What the fuck is this?” he asks, holding his hand up to the window to examine his wet fingers. But before he could see the red tint of the blood on his skin, Maria pulls him down on top of her and begins kissing his neck. She pushes him over on his back licking down his stomach, making her way to his already stiff penis. He moves his hand up between Theresa’s legs and rubs her moist thighs, taking his time before his fingers reaches her sopping pussy. And though he feels something very strange about it, he decides that maybe it is just deformed, and that after all, it could explain a lot of things, such as why the girl is so disgusted by men.


“You sure you don’t like guys?” he asks the corpse, referring to how wet she is. And he laughs about it as Maria’s head goes all the way down on him.


“You want to fuck us?” Maria asks Toby as she lays back against the body pillow. “Fuck us both. Come on. She wants you to.”


It isn’t hard for Toby to decide who to go for first. He climbs onto Theresa’s limp body and shoves his dick inside of her lacerated vagina. He fucks her for a few minutes before stopping, sensing something is terribly wrong. There is no feeling there, nothing gripping his penis, only the extreme wetness and the feeling that a piece of meat slips out of her.


“What’s wrong?” Maria asks him. “You don’t like it?” Toby feels for the lamp switch next to the bed.


“Don’t do that,” Maria pleads before he turns it on, splashing a dim glow across the blood drenched room. Suddenly he finds himself deep in a nightmarish world of ink like puddles. Now he can see Theresa’s carved up corpse laying there motionless in the same position he fucked her less than a minute before. He turns to Maria in confused disgust and falls to the floor clumsily trying to get off of the bed.


“Don’t go, Toby. I love you,” Maria cries out. But he had already balled his clothes into his hands and was stumbling to the door. Maria stands and limps toward him, carrying her dead twin from her side. She nearly catches up with him until they got to the stairs. He doesn’t look back again as he scales three or four steps at a time, where she is having difficulty getting down one without tripping over her sister’s dangling legs.


“Toby! I love you!” she yells out into the busy street as Toby’s car speeds off. And everyone comes out of their apartments to see Maria carrying around her bloody, lifeless Siamese twin, begging her love to return, until finally the exhaust fumes of Toby’s car fade away and is replaced with ambulances and police cars.

































Comments

The following comments are for "Stranger Still"
by BAAL

jc and the BAALdit
Wow, looks like I've reached a new low with unfunny subject headings.

I liked this story just as much as the first but found it to be very different. I like bars, warped sex and circus oddities although I guess there's a more PC name for it.

I like Toby even more as an anti-hero and while I guess he's not supposed to be likeable for some, I think his charactor is true.

Tweety was an excellent stock charactor. I especially liked this line.

"...so cutely and cleverly named herself after a big-headed, cartoon bird."

I knew a girl once who had a Tweety fixation, she was on prozac and constantly trying to find a man to father children with her.

The twins, well I guess some people would be disgusted with the death scene but not me. I wouldn't think anything less of dominating/submissive nymphomanical siamese sisters.

When everything's said and done, I suppose it's a very sad story but an 'enjoyable' read. I'm looking forward to the next.

Emlyn

( Posted by: Emlyn [Member] On: June 28, 2005 )

The Stranger Still
this was, well, disturbingly well written, folks. I'm a bit sick now, but I commend your skills.

Lans

( Posted by: GibsonGirl [Member] On: June 28, 2005 )

Thank ya'll
I'm overwhelmed that you like Toby. You see, Toby was the name my father was going to give me at birth but my mother refused naming me Barrett because it means, "mighty as a bear" and she loved Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
Anyway, Toby is my alter ego. He is not to unlike me. I except my flaws though I grew out of most. Which you will see if you read the conclusion, "From the Grave to the Cradle."
Thank you Gibsongirl for all your comments. I hold your writings with the utmost respect.
As far as sickness level, ya'll haven't seen anything yet.

( Posted by: BAAL [Member] On: June 28, 2005 )





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