Cheryl And Meryl Pt 01

Cheryl and Meryl

Kathryn M. Burke

It's not necessarily any fun being identical twins.

First of all, there's the problem that few people can tell you apart unless they've been with you a long time. Then there's the problem of your dopey parents, who want to dress the two of you in matching outfits, until as a teenager you rebel and are able to choose your own clothes. Finally, you have to deal with the weird feeling people have that you are somehow incomplete without your twin being right there beside you and doing the same things you're doing. Sure, twins have a mysterious mental and psychological unity, but there are times when a twin wants to step out on his or her own. You want to be a person in your own right, don't you?

That's the way Cheryl Landon felt—and that's why, much as she loved her twin sister Meryl, she decided to go to a different college than her sister. God knows, the Boston metropolitan area had no shortage of colleges, and with both Cheryl and Meryl getting good grades and doing lots of extracurricular activities, it was fairly easy to get into good schools.

By the time they had turned eighteen, in the summer before they entered their respective colleges, subtle differences in their appearance had begun to show, although it took a keen eye to detect them. Both girls were petite (about five foot four), with striking blond hair that had lots of dark highlights in it. Both had scrumptious figures—generally slim, but with nice curves in all the right places. And both had open, honest faces: piercing green eyes, a cute little button nose, Cupid's-bow lips, and rosy cheeks that showed off a clear complexion.

But their differences in personality were far more pronounced. Cheryl was bubbly, outgoing, voluble, faintly cynical, and inclined toward mischief. Meryl was shy, subdued, naïve, and perhaps a little afraid of the world. Cheryl was sure that wasn't merely because Meryl had emerged from Mom's womb a few minutes after her; maybe her own vivaciousness had intimidated her twin and made her retreat into herself.

So it wasn't entirely a surprise when Cheryl blandly announced that, during her college's long Christmas break (which extended far into January and would last almost a month), she would be bringing a boyfriend home with her.

This guy, Jeremy Mathers, had taken the same Introduction to European History class as Cheryl, and they'd hit it off immediately. But by the time final exams at the end of that first semester were over, they were far more than friends—and Cheryl wanted the world to know about it.

When she thrust Jeremy into the family home a few days before Christmas, everyone gaped at him: Cheryl's mom, Shirley; her dad, Daniel; and most of all, Meryl. The twin gazed at the tall young man—a full five foot ten, fairly slender but with nice musculature around the chest and thighs—as if he were an alien from outer space. In some ways, amusingly enough, he resembled Meryl in temperament: he was basically shy and withdrawn, but he won over the family (especially Shirley) by exhibiting an old-world courtesy and charm.

But Meryl couldn't wait to have a heart-to-heart talk with her sister about this new man in her life. The chance didn't come until the next day, when Daniel enlisted Jeremy's help in buying a Christmas tree and setting it up.

While the two men were on their mission, Meryl leaped on Cheryl's bed—a bed that, as she shiveringly realized, had held a full-grown man's body the night before—and said: "So . . . Jeremy."

It wasn't the most brilliant remark she could have made, but it would have to do to get the conversation started.

"What about him?" Cheryl said with a deliberate lack of interest.

"He's nice-looking," Meryl admitted.

"Yeah, I'd say so. But there's a lot more to him than just looks."

"Well, of course there is."

"I mean, he's really smart, and he's also a

nice

guy. I've always wanted a nice, sweet guy to cuddle with."

That last phrase, innocuous as it was, concealed a lot of meaning.

"So," Meryl said slowly, "is that what you do—cuddle?"

"Yup."

"What's it like?"

"What's what like?"

"You know, sis! What's it like to"—and her voice suddenly descended to a whisper, even though their mom was nowhere around—"have a guy put his thing in you? You do that, don't you?"

"Yeah," Cheryl said with a smirk, "we do that."

Another shiver went through Meryl. "So what's it

like?"

she said insistently.

"You're telling me," Cheryl said teasingly, "you haven't done it?"

"Of course I haven't! Who would I have done it with?"

"There must be lots of presentable guys at your college."

"Maybe, but I haven't gotten to know any. Please, sis, what's it like? What does it

feel

like?"

Cheryl looked up at the ceiling in frustration. "Meryl, there's no way I can describe it. If you haven't done it, then you simply can't understand."

"That isn't fair! You can tell me

something,

can't you?"

"What do you want to know? That it feels like being filled up in the most delicious way possible? That it's as if the entire guy has gone into you? Would that convey anything to you?"

"No, not really." After a pause: "Does it hurt?"

"The first time, you mean? Of course it hurts. It always hurts a girl." The sour look on Cheryl's face said it all:

It never hurts a guy.

"Did you—did you bleed?" Meryl said in terror.

"Yes, I bled," Cheryl said wearily.

"A lot?"

"No, not much. I mean, that little membrane is pretty small. Some girls don't bleed at all, even after a guy has ruptured it."

"But you did."

"I did—a little. But I managed not to stain the sheets!" And Cheryl let out a raucous laugh.

"I guess you do other stuff than just that," Meryl went on.

"Oh, God, yes!" Cheryl burbled. "Penetration is just the culmination. There's lots of stuff leading up to that—it's called foreplay, you know."

"I know that! I'm not a complete idiot." After a pause: "I guess you mean sticking his thing into your . . ." She pointed to her mouth.

"You bet!"

Meryl made a face. "That doesn't sound so nice."

"Hey, girl, you better get used to it! There's no guy on earth that doesn't want you to suck him. I mean, it's like

de rigueur,

if you'll pardon my French!" Cheryl let out another high-pitched laugh.

"Very funny," Meryl said acidly.

"But look, it's really not bad at all. In fact, I like it. I tell you, it's such a strange feeling: when a guy is erect, his cock is both hard and soft."

"Soft? How's that?"

"The skin is so velvety soft, but it's surrounding something that feels like it's made of stone or something."

"Doesn't it, um, smell?"

"I guess, a little—not so much if the guy has good hygiene. Anyway, you'll

like

the smell if you're excited."

"I hope the guy does something to excite you aside from just shoving his cock into your face."

"Sure, he does. Jeremy does, anyway. I tell you, girl, he has magic fingers! Not to mention a magic tongue."

Meryl placed a hand over her heart. "You let him, um, lick you down there?"

"Well, of course!" Cheryl cried. "Every girl loves that—and most guys do too. Well, okay, some guys seem to think the smell and the taste of a girl's pussy isn't so nice—that's what Jeremy says. But

he

likes it—and he can lick and lick and lick until I come!"

Meryl lapsed into a brooding silence. "You know," she said reflectively, "I think the strangest part of sex would be to come in the presence of a guy. I just feel I'd be so awkward and embarrassed that I just couldn't do it."

"Oh, you'll think different when you're actually in that situation. You'll come over and over again! And Jeremy, bless his heart, actually likes to make me come

before

he does. What a sweetheart! He says some guys don't even care if a girl comes at all: they just want to shoot their load and then roll over and fall asleep!"

"How inconsiderate of them."

"You're telling me! But not only does Jeremy make me come multiple times, but

he

comes twice or even three times in a single session."

Meryl's jaw dropped. "No way!" she cried. "I heard that's not even possible."

Cheryl looked stupefied. "You heard what?"

"One of my girl friends told me that a guy has to wait twenty-four hours before he can come again."

"Oh, Meryl, you silly goose, that's so wrong! Your head must be so full of misinformation that it'll take weeks to get it out of you."

"So you're telling me," Meryl said skeptically, "that Jeremy does you over and over again."

"Yes."

"And he comes over and over again?"

"Yes."

"God! Your pussy must be really sore afterwards."

Cheryl gazed at her twin and said nothing for quite a while. Then at last she went on. "Um, he doesn't go just into my pussy."

"Well, you said he put his thing in your mouth." Then, suddenly aghast: "Oh, don't tell me he comes in your mouth!"

"Sure he does."

Meryl made a frightful grimace. "Eew! That slimy stuff in your mouth, on your tongue! I hope you spit it out."

"Are you crazy?" Cheryl said sternly. "You'll really hurt a guy's feelings if you spit his stuff out."

"I am

not

swallowing a guy's come!"

"Oh, come on, it's no big deal. It's a little salty—"

"Salty?" Meryl interrupted. "I hadn't heard that. Why is it salty?"

"I have no idea. It just is."

"That makes it sound even worse."

"Believe me, it's nothing to get all het up about. Just let it slide down your throat like an oyster."

"If you say so," Meryl said, totally unconvinced.

"Anyway," Cheryl went on carefully, "there's another spot he puts his thing into."

"What other spot?" Meryl said, befuddled.

"Girl, there are three places in a girl's body a guy can go into. Don't tell me you don't know—"

Cheryl stopped as she saw her sister's eyes get so wide she might faint away.

"No," Meryl said in a frenzied whisper, "not back there!"

"Yes, back there," Cheryl said a bit wearily.

Meryl wrapped her arms around her stomach if overcome with sudden nausea. "Sis, please don't tell me you let him do that."

"Of course I do! Why the hell shouldn't I?"

"But—but—it's so . . ." She couldn't find a word vile enough to describe her feelings.

Cheryl sighed impatiently. "I just don't understand why you're so discombobulated. It's—"

"It's what gay guys do!"

Meryl almost shouted.

"Keep your voice down!" Cheryl ordered, giving a quick look at the bedroom door as if worried that cavalry might rush in. "Listen, I'm not saying it's for everyone: lots of girls, and lots of guys for that matter, don't like it—and that's okay. But

I

like it, and Jeremy does too."

"Whose idea was it to do this?"

"Both of ours, I guess. Just to have some variety."

"But—doesn't it really, really hurt?" She made it sound like some major operation that you had to undergo without anesthetic.

"Oh, it doesn't hurt that much. The first time, maybe—first couple times, in fact. Then you get used to it."

"Do you really?"

"Yeah, you do."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Hey, I'm not telling you to do it—but don't rule it out before you give it a try."

"Yeah, well," Meryl said, abruptly getting up from the bed, "I'll take it under advisement."

But that wasn't the end of the discussion. The very next day, Meryl dragged Cheryl into her own bedroom. She had just seen Jeremy emerge from the bathroom after a shower, with only a towel around his waist and thighs. He had scooted into Cheryl's bedroom with a red face, and Cheryl had almost burst out with laughter at her boyfriend's discomfiture.

"Too bad that towel was around him," Cheryl said, chortling. "Jeremy has a really cute butt."

"That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about," Meryl said, blushing furiously.

"What? About his butt?"

"No, no. Not exactly."

"Then what?"

"Well, it's like this." Meryl paused, looking everywhere but at her twin sister. "I wonder if—if Jeremy could, um, do me."

"Do what?" Cheryl said, pretending ignorance. In fact, she had been suspecting Meryl might ask this very thing—but, in spite of her façade of blasé cynicism, she was quite shocked that Meryl had actually done so.

"You know," Meryl said, writhing in frustration. "

Do

me." And with the thumb and index finger of her left hand she formed a circle, and then shoved her right index finger through it.

"You mean have sex with you," Cheryl said with slow precision.

"Well, yeah. Why not?"

"Why not?

Because he's my boyfriend!"

"Oh, I know that! I just want to get rid of my virginity so that when I get my own boyfriend there won't be all that blood and mess and stuff."

"He's my boyfriend!"

Cheryl bellowed.

"Jesus, keep your shirt on, Cheryl!" Meryl cried, gesturing with her hands. "I'm not trying to take him away from you. I mean, he's awfully nice and all that, but I just—"

"You just want to borrow his cock for a few minutes for the purpose of your deflowerment."

"I don't like that word," Meryl said, making a face. "It makes me think of a guy pulling up a flower by the root and then tossing it aside."

"But that, in essence, is what you want, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Well, sorry it's not gonna happen."

"Oh, Cheryl, why not? It's not that much to ask, is it?"

"It's a

lot

to ask! Jesus, it's not like you just want him to cut away a hangnail or something!"

"But—"

"Look, dear heart, sex is not just a physical act. There's an emotional component too—even a spiritual one. It's like a total mind-body-spirit experience. Your relationship with him—and me—will never be the same afterward."

"Hey, I'm not even going to see him—at least, not for a long time—after this Christmas vacation is over. You two will go back to your college, and I'll go back to mine."

"What if he comes to stay with us all summer?"

"Well, then, maybe . . ." Cheryl suppressed the thought:

Maybe he could do both of us in turn—or even together!

Suddenly she was struck with inspiration. "Listen, how about this? He probably can't tell the difference between us. So one night you come out of your bedroom and go to the bathroom or something. And I'll sneak in and slip into bed with him. He'll do me, and he'll never even know what happened!"

"Meryl, he'll know. He's not stupid. Anyway, I don't like the idea of deceiving him like that."

"Well, then, can you just ask him? It should be his decision."

"I think it should be

my

decision also."

"Okay, fine. But I'd just like to know what he thinks."

"Oh, come on, girl! He's a guy: what guy is going to turn down free sex?"

"Maybe he doesn't think I'm—you know, bedworthy."

"Are you kidding? I've caught him staring at your boobs and your butt—and even your pretty face—any number of times. God, why do guys think we don't notice when they size up other girls? We

always

notice!"

"He—he looks at me?" Meryl said with a blush of both embarrassment and pride.

"Sure he does. You're reasonably pretty, I'll have you know."

"Thank you very much."

"But—"

"Just ask him, okay?" And Meryl actually threw her arms around her sister's neck. "Please, please, please? You two will be doing me such a big favor!"

Rolling her eyes, Cheryl pried out of Meryl's grasp. "Oh, all right. But I think I'm going to regret this!"

That evening, after everyone had gone to bed, Cheryl dutifully brought up the matter as she was lying in bed with Jeremy.

"Hey, here's something funny. You'll never guess what Meryl wants."

"What's that?" Jeremy said, not very interested.

"She wants you to sleep with her."

Jeremy almost fell out of bed. "She

what?

You're not serious."

"You bet I am—or I should say

she

is. That's exactly what she wants you to do."

"But—but that's crazy!"

"Yeah, I tried to tell her that. But she's insisting. She's a virgin, you know."

"No, I didn't know," Jeremy said, blanching.

"Yup. So she just wants you to ram that cock of yours through her—"

'Hey, hey! Don't speak about her like that! Anyway, the whole thing is ridiculous. How can I do that? She's your sister, for God's sake—your twin sister!"

"Yes, but there it is. So you're saying you don't want to?" Cheryl glared meaningfully at her boyfriend.

"Well, um—I mean . . ." he stuttered.

"You

do

want to! I knew it!" Cheryl cried in baleful triumph.

"No, no, I didn't say that!" Jeremy said desperately. "But, you know, she's awfully nice-looking . . ."

"Yeah, I know. She looks just like me," Cheryl said sourly.

"Not

exactly

like you."

"So you can tell us apart?"

"I think so. Kind of. Anyway, you're very different people in other ways."

"I hope we are. So you're saying you want to go ahead and—"

"Only if it's okay with

you,

dearest."

"Don't try to butter me up—and don't put all the burden of this on me!"

"It's just that—"

"Look," Cheryl said with a sigh of exasperation, "I kind of figured it would be like this. Sure, go ahead and fuck her all you want."

"I won't if it's going to make you so upset."

"I'm not upset. Just a little annoyed, that's all."

"You sure it'll be okay?"

"No, I'm not sure at all. But just go ahead."

Next morning, over breakfast, Cheryl leaned over to her sister and whispered, "Okay, it's on."

"What's on?" Meryl whispered back, wide-eyed.

"What you want." And Cheryl made the same hand gestures that Meryl had made the day before.

"Jesus, put your hands down!" Meryl said. "Mom and Dad might see!"

"Yeah, well, you get the message. Tonight, I guess."

"Um, how, exactly?"

"We'll figure it out. Just come into my bedroom after everyone's gone to sleep, okay?"

Meryl was on tenterhooks the whole day. More than once she found herself just staring off into space, failing to respond when someone spoke to her. At times she just laughed at nothing; other times she turned crimson from neck to forehead. She thought the night would never come; but at last, around midnight, it seemed safe to venture out of her bedroom. She didn't even want to risk her parents hearing her knock on the door of Cheryl's bedroom, so she just opened it quietly and slipped into the room.

She flushed when she saw Cheryl and Jeremy lying flat on their backs—a bit like corpses laid out on a bier—on the queen-size bed. She could tell that her sister was wearing a nightgown, just as she was. What Jeremy was wearing, she didn't know—but he was clearly bare-chested. Could he already be naked, in preparation for the night's festivities?

"Hi, guys," she whispered.

"Hi," both of them said back, but in very different tones: Cheryl sounded annoyed, Jeremy nervous as hell.

Cheryl heaved herself out of bed, and in doing so she revealed that Jeremy was wearing only his underwear. Meryl had heard that a lot of guys sleep that way, not bothering with pajamas. She also got a brief glimpse at what she thought was an erection, but she couldn't be sure.

Cheryl came up to her sister, made a gesture in the direction of her boyfriend as if she were an emcee introducing a special guest, and said:

"Okay, sis, have at it."

"Where are you going?" Meryl said in alarm.

Cheryl gave her sister a strange look. "I'm heading to your bedroom, where else? I figured you'd want privacy in what you're about to do."

After a tense pause, Cheryl blurted out: "Stay with me, Cheryl!"

"What?"

Cheryl exclaimed. "Are you crazy?"

"I—I just want you here!"

"You want me to witness the puncturing of your hymen by my boyfriend? I don't think so!"

"No, it's not that! I'd just like you to stay. You can help me."

"

Help

you? How the hell do I do that? You know what to do, don't you?"

"I guess. Maybe. Not entirely."