The Legend of the Ditto Twins (6 page)

"I shouldn't let you in on
this..."

"Aw, c'mon." Again in
unison.

"Well. You know the new
highway?"

We nodded.

"You know the rest stop?"

We nodded.

"Sure, we stopped in there
once..."

“...to take a leak..."

“...and get a Coke. Why?"

"Notice anything?"

"
Whaddayah
mean? Just..."

“...a lot of cars parked and..."

“...guys walking around, stretching
their legs."

"Anything else?"

"Some of em were wandering off
into the woods."

"Where the hell did you think
they were
goin
?"

"To take a leak, so they
wouldn't..."

“...have to wait in line at the men’s
room? Why else?"

The Go-To Guy didn't even try to swallow
his sneer. Instead, he made a V of his tongue and spat on the ground.
"Jesus, you two really are retards. Why, hell, I'll bet you haven't even
figured out how to jerk off yet."

Neither of us answered.

"Well, have you?" he asked.

"What's that got to do with
anything?" I demanded.

"Have you?"

"Hell yes!" Clark snapped.

"Lots of times. For years now.
Ever since..."

“...we were ten! Jeez, what..."

“...do you think we are,
anyway?"

He laughed. "Retards. That's what
you are. Hell, I'll bet you don't know the first thing about jerking off."

"You don't know shit," said
Clark.

"Okay,
whaddayah
use? Spit or Vaseline?"

"Both," we replied
defensively.

He spat again. "Natural born
liars, that's what you are."

He aimed a finger at my crotch, but I
pulled back fast. "You didn't answer my question." I tried to be
firm, not let him see how embarrassed I was. I did wonder, though, if I was
blushing, but I hung in there. "What the hell does jerking off have to do
with the rest stop?"

"First-class retards." He
groaned. "Look, don't you know anything? There's lots of guys out at that
rest stop who'd pay good money just to watch you guys jerk off."

I think he added something else, like
"For starters." But we were so stunned that I'm not sure exactly what
he said. I do remember him asking, "How big are your dicks?"

"Big enough."

"Yeah. Why do you wanna
know?" demanded Clark. "Anyway, who goes around measuring his
Little... his thing?"

"Out at the rest stop, they like
to know what they're
gettin
' before they
plunk
down good money,
y'know
?" He jabbed me in the
ribs. This time I
wasn
't fast enough. He got me. "Hey, dudes, forget
it. I better get
goin
." He chuckled and spat
again for good measure. "Maybe I'll see you out there
one
of these days. If I don't go to Chicago first."

And he
was gone before we could give him the finger.

After
supper, the instant we were in our room, Clark went right to the windows and opened
them, then raced about to get the towel and Scotch tape. All I did was stand
there, clutching my backpack, watching him. He was quite a sight, whizzing
around like some kind of Olympic gold medal marathon man.

"Well?"
he said, soon grabbing for my backpack.

Prolonging
my surprise, I pushed him away and adjusted my backpack between my legs to
unzip it. Very slowly—very, very slowly—I reached into it and brought the red
and white carton into view.

"Ta
dah
!"

Clark
gasped. "A carton?"

I just
smirked silently and produced the second one.

"Two?"
Clark fell back on the bed and started bouncing up and down and kicking his
long Olympic legs in the air.

Reflexively,
I dived for him and pinned him to the mattress. "
Shhh
.
Do you want Mom and Dad up here asking what all the ruckus is about?"

"I'm
sorry."

He
wriggled out of my grasp and threw his arms around my neck to pull me close and
kiss me. It was a nice moment, I gotta tell you.

"God,
I love you so much," he exclaimed in passing and promptly sat up to rip open
one of the cartons.

"
Here.
Let me do it," I said, taking out one of the
packs, peeling off the cellophane, opening the lid, and pulling out the
tinfoil, just as I'd seen The Go-To Guy do. Then, in the deepest voice I could
manage, I eased one cigarette half out of the box and offered it to my brother.
"Cigarette, man?"

He laughed out loud, then slapped his
hand across his mouth to smother his giggles. "Don't mind if I do,"
he replied in his own version of Clint Eastwood and screwed the cigarette
deftly between his lips. He looked good. Flicking the Bic twice before it
caught, I eased the flame toward him. He cupped his warm, lean hands around
mine and inhaled. Then I lit up, and we sat there cross-legged on our bed for a
long time just watching each other smoke.

"Would you actually run
away?" I finally asked.

He shrugged and sighed. "I don't
want you to sleep in Grandma's room." He inhaled and slowly exhaled.
"Yeah. I suppose if it came down to something as crucial as not sleeping
together, I could leave. Could you?"

"If you came with me."

"Well, of course." He
sighed again. That's all he seemed to be doing recently. "Only, first we
gotta get some money."

"Well, we could always go check
out the rest stop." I think I meant it as a joke.

"Do you think
guys'd
really pay to watch us jerk off?"

"I would."

"But... we haven't even done it
yet. Fired off a load, I mean." He blanched. "What if we still
can't?"

"Then we'll just have to keep
trying and wait till we can."

"By Saturday?" Clark's
voice of doom sounded like Mom's did the day she told us Grandma had died.
"
Saturday'll
be here before you know it."

I looked him right in the eye.
"Clark, I don't think I could ever fall asleep by myself."

"Me either. Look out or you'll
burn a hole..."

We'd been using one of my sneakers
for an ashtray, and I was getting so riled up in the monumental tragedy we were
facing that I'd nearly missed it. I stood, brushed off the bedspread, and
dumped my shoeful of butts in the toilet.

"Do you think it's... uh...
weird to sleep with your brother?" Clark called after me.

I flushed the toilet. "Not for
me, it isn't."

"Not for me either. Do you think
we’re abnormal?"

I didn't answer; I was too busy
lighting up again.

Clark started flicking the Bic and
staring at the flame. "Why do you suppose The Go-To Guy asked us how big
our Little Fellas are?"

"Probably wanted to see em. I
dunno."

"Do you think he's a
faggot?"

I shrugged. I'd been doing a lot of
shrugging lately. Just like Clark. Maybe that's what puberty is all about.

"Do you think he's a fag?"
Clark repeated.

"Maybe. He jerks off for guys at
the rest stop, I'll bet. I mean, he practically told us so."

"Does jerking off make you a
faggot?"

"I don't think so," I
assured him. "Doesn't everybody jerk off? I mean, as soon as they're able
to?" We contemplated the question for a while. "Maybe we should go to
the library tomorrow and check out a book on the subject."

"I wonder if "Jerking
Off" is in the card catalogue..."

"Whatever. You just find a book.
I'll swipe it."

"Okay."

We lit another cigarette and smoked
some more.

Clark was the first to speak.
"You know, it bugs the shit out of me that he wanted to see our Little
Fellas."

"Yeah, me, too." I started
to undress. "God-damned faggot." My voice was assertive. Though I had
a vague idea, I still wasn't totally, one hundred per cent sure what a faggot
was.

"That's what he is, I'll
bet."

"No one gets to see em but
us." I pulled off my jeans and shirt and tossed them on the floor.
"Right?"

"Right." Clark got out of
his clothes and pitched them on top of mine. "You glad we stopped wearing
underwear?"

"Yeah. It's..."

“...nice. Really nice." He
scratched idly at his crotch. "And asking us how big we were. None of his
damned business."

"C'mon, Clark. It’s a natural
question. Don't you ever wonder?"

"Well, sure. Don't you?" He
reached down and pulled on his penis, stretching it out as far as he could.
"What would you say? Two, three inches?"

I reached for mine and pulled on it
too. "Maybe more."

Neither of us let go of himself until
Clark finally broke the silence. "There's a ruler in the desk."

I had it in hand almost before I knew
it.

"Okay, here goes," I said.
"Grab a hold of your Little Fella and get it out of the way. I'll just put
the ruler here down at the base, like this. Okay, now lift it up and press it
against the ruler."

Clark complied. "Well?"

I bent down and leaned in closer to
read the little black markings. "Uh... three and... three-eighths."

My brother took the ruler away from
me. "Now yours."

I leaned back, spread my legs, and
grabbed my penis. "It'll be the same, I bet."

Clark slid the ruler down into place
and leaned in. Deadly silence, and then: "Shit."

"What?"

"Uh... three and...
seven-eighths." Panic drained his face. "Shit. You're half an inch
bigger. Measure mine again!"

"Okay, okay. Relax!" I
swiveled around and pressed the ruler into place. "Shit. Now you're four
inches. Weird." Clark seemed to relax a little, but I sure as hell didn't.
"I know I didn't read it wrong the first time. I know I didn't! Measure me
again."

My brother breathed easier now.
"Mark, an eighth of an inch isn't the end of the world. Lean back."

He retrieved the ruler, and I grabbed
my dick in my sweaty palm, waiting breathlessly. He bent down, even closer this
time.

"Four inches. Weird. I know I
didn't read it wrong the first time." He stopped short. "Oh, my
God!"

"What?"

"I think we're getting our first
real hard-on! Man-size! And it feels different, too. Like it was
loaded..."

Speechless, I looked down at my
groin. There was my Little Fella turning into a Man Dick right before my very
eyes. The sight, I decided then and there, was truly one of God's wonders.
Yeah, it was actually rising out of my pubic hair and starting to stand tall.
Well, pretty tall. Then I remembered to check Clark's. I looked over. So was
his.

"'Bout time," he muttered
as he ran one forefinger lightly up and down his shaft, almost in disbelief.

I squeezed my own stiffening dick to
be sure that we weren't imagining what was happening, then let go.

"I think we're ready," I
announced.

"I bet we are."

We must have been driven by instinct,
because I can honestly say we sure as hell didn't know exactly, for sure, what
to do. Or what would happen.

"Clark?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's have another cigarette
and try it, okay?"