(All characters are 18 or over. This is fiction. Please enjoy!)
The twins spent all morning in their pajamas, eating Trix out of a giant mixing bowl that they passed back and forth on the couch. Tracy's pajamas were panties and a camisole in mismatched pinks. Seay's pajamas were boxer briefs. Red. They were twins and utterly used to each other's everything and anything. Her BO, his BO, both pungent, as neither planned to bathe until after they'd had a swim in the lake. Her morning breath, his morning breath, both acrid, as neither planned to brush until after they'd finished their breakfast. Her musky hindquarters, his morning wood, both conspicuous, as neither had found a chance to masturbate yet on this trip.
It was a tension they tolerated once each year, for two weeks at the tail end of summer. This was cabin life, went the mantra. At least, this was the version of cabin life they'd had to learn to accept ever since adolescence. Their perennial confinement to the stuffy, low-ceiling upstairs bedroom had made sense when they were grade schoolers and so brimming of summer vacation zeal as to not mind so much infernal heat or so little privacy. They'd also been shorter then, so the stupid ceiling had made the space feel magical, fantastical, Hobbit-like. Now it stooped them. It was awkward, crawling around each other up there. The heat forced them down to their skivvies. The near nudity had been no big deal back in their Hobbit days. But they'd long since grown used to having separate bedrooms, separate bathrooms, and separate nudities. Twins they were, sure, but also normal everyday siblings who preferred to do certain things in private.
The shapes Tracy had grown into were a problem. They were around each other on all fours so much. Her pajamas were really just panties and a camisole. Camel toes bulged too often for his comfort. Breasts hung, swayed, jiggled. Nipples slipped. The odors made it so, so intense. Pheromones that shouldn't normally have had an effect on a sibling, especially a twin sibling, built up to unbearable, no longer ineffectual intensity.
They slept fitfully in their two twin beds.
In the mornings, whenever they climbed down the steep, ladder-like stairs and out into the living area of the cabin, to the sinus- and mind-clearing aroma of coffee and the homey chatter of Mom and Dad, they arrived wheeling their torsos side to side, arching their backs, and crackling their poor, bent spines back into their upright and locked positions. Curiously enough, they always both donned shorts before coming down if they knew Mom and Dad were around. It wasn't something either twin had ever brought up to the other, but they both just understood it was weirder around Mom and Dad than it was around each other, to be in just their underwear like that.
This morning's TV viewing and Trix eating had begun with shorts on. Then Mom and Dad had of course left for the Pattinsons' cabin, across the lake. The kids had waited until the sound of the boat's motor had disappeared. And then, first Tracy, then Seay, had doffed their shorts again. Each had done it while the other was enjoying their turn with the Trix bowl. Mom and Dad never came back from the Pattinsons' earlier than sundown. Rob and Kris were their very favorite couple on the planet. Mom and Dad barely ever drank at home. But at the lake? With the Pattinsons? They drank like sailors. Seay and Tracy had gotten used to having the cabin to themselves most of the time they were there.
"This is it," sighed Tracy.
"What is?" said Seay.
"Our last summer here."
"Oh," Seay said. He frowned at her. Her camel toe was bulging again. This gaudy way she liked to sit, sometimes, with her knees apart and her feet up and wide apart had been cute once. Today, at 18, it was borderline profane. She had pubic hair for pete's sake. A couple little curls of it peeked out either side of her pale pink gusset.
She caught him looking. He was looking. She blushed and closed her legs, folded them to the side, and said, as if the thought had just occurred to her, not as though it had been the thing they always did after breakfast:
"Wanna go swimming?"
"Sure?" Seay said, painfully embarrassed. He was hornier than he knew how to manage.
"It's fine," Tracy said. She glanced at his bulge inside his briefs. It looked good in the soft, smelly crimson.
He caught her looking. She blushed even harder. He laughed uncomfortably. She produced a giggle.
"I'll change first," she said, rising from the sofa. Barefoot, she plucked her shorts up with her toes and handed them - footed them - up to herself. She crossed between her brother and the TV. She paused at the base of the stair-ladder. "Okay? Don't come up."
"Cabin life," Seay responded, and thudded his fist on his chest. That was his way of promising her privacy. The stair-ladder led directly into their loft bedroom, no door, no lock, no nothing but trust and careful communication to keep one sibling from barging in on the other. They'd had some oopsies over the years. But so the less said the better.
"Cabin life," Tracy echoed appreciatively, and climbed up and out of sight. If Seay peeked at her panty-clad butt one last time before it disappeared over the top riser-rung, it was unintentionally. She simply had shapes that, despite belonging to his sibling, registered to his mammalian brain as suitable for looking at. Anyone would look. Tracy was lean and poised and effortlessly appealing to behold.
Seay was a similar, male model of that same type of person. Lean, poised, and effortlessly appealing. In the last couple of years, he'd gone from being a pretty, androgynous kid, to a tall, strikingly handsome teen. His hair, eyes, and skin were a shade darker than Tracy's, and he had a bit of a surfer dude thing going, and a smattering of freckles on his nose. The freckles and the blond hair were their mother's. The dark, tawny complexion was their father's. The good looks, the graceful carriage, and the poise, the twins both owed to their mom, who'd been a professional dancer before she'd married and given up dancing for children.
Seay turned off the TV, and took the bowl of Trix to the sink. He washed it out, and then washed out Mom and Dad's coffee mugs, too. He had a habit of tidying up after everyone. It was the way his brain worked. He liked everything neat and in order.
Upstairs, Tracy stripped. She pulled off her cami and tossed it toward the hamper. She shimmied out of her panties. She crouched nude at the head of the stair-ladder, her clothes in a heap at her feet, and waited. Listened. Waited.
The cabin was silent. She heard the faucet in the kitchen. He was washing up. Good. She had a minute.
She started vigorously rubbing herself. She didn't even care what kind of mess she made. She hadn't masturbated in more than two days. She needed a release. She got off quickly, quietly, biting the back of her hand to keep from whimpering too audibly.
And then she pulled another swimsuit out of her suitcase, and hurriedly put it on. She didn't love this one. It was two summers old. Out of style. But all her other suits were dirty. Tonight would have to be laundry night. Couldn't just rewear something that had stewed in lake water. Ew.
She hopped back onto the stair-ladder. She slid down. She ta-dah'd for her brother. She was ready for the lake.
"Go change," she told him.
He was sitting at the kitchen table now, in front of a second, smaller helping of Trix. He had watched her slide fireman style down the ladder. His eyes were glued to his sister. Her long soft tummy. Her doe-like eyes. Her pretty hands and feet. They were always the first parts of her to tan, for some reason. Seay, he tanned all over, all at once, practically the second he stepped outside with his shirt off.
Which is what he did a minute later, after changing into his own rank, wrinkly pair of swim trunks. The only ones he'd brought. The only ones he'd owned for god knows how long. They were snug on him now, was one way of putting it. He'd cut the mesh out. Sometimes if he sat down with his cock at the right (wrong) angle, the tip poked out. Just a little. It had happened twice already this trip. The second time, Tracy hadn't even said anything. Cabin life.
"We swimming or what?" Seay said. He loomed over his sister, laid out flat on her towel on the dock.
She lifted her sunglasses and squinted up at him.
She wasn't a big for-fun swimmer. She never had been. She'd been a dancer. A gymnast. She swam as exercise. But hadn't she been the one to say she wanted to swim today? A calm had come over her, seemingly out of nowhere. He eyed her suspiciously.
"You wearing sunscreen?" he asked.
"Not yet. Lemme cook a little first."
"How long?" Seay sighed. He raised his wrist. Readied his waterproof wristwatch.
"Ten minutes?"
"Half an hour."
