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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o  	The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of  o
o  stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the  o
o  world.  Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups).   There is no  o
o  particular  order  other than offering them to you in  alpha-  o
o  betical directories.                                           o
o  	I don’t believe in categorizing things. "I don’t want to  o
o  be typed therefore I don’t type things myself."  I think it’s  o
o  a lot more fun to browse around and find  'little'  surprises  o
o  that you might not have even thought of looking for.           o
o   	Lest we forget!!!   This story was produced as adult en-  o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors.   Kristen         o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o


Double Trouble - 1 (MM)
by Randu (c) 1991

*

    I was working on the final chapters of my latest book when I heard
the moving van come to a stop outside the building.  My former
neighbors -a very nice elderly couple who had lived next door to me for
several years- had retired to Florida the week before.  I lived in a
four-unit, condo-style townhome (in fact, that's what the whole
neighborhood was) and I was sorry to see them go.  They were one of the
few neighbors I had gotten to know, always having the bachelor-writer
over for dinner and telling me how much their grandson enjoyed my books.
I met him once, a very cute eight-year-old who had me autograph the
books he owned that were written by me.
    I got up from my computer and looked out the front window, watching
the movers open up their truck and begin carrying boxes and furniture
into the unit next door.  I didn't see any signs of the owners of these
belongings however, so I went back to my desk figuring I'd meet them
when they got settled in. 
    I hadn't been working very long when I heard someone knocking
lightly on my door.  When I opened it I was momentarily speechless, for
there on my doorstep were two identical-twin boys, about nine or ten
years old, each with long brown hair and dressed in shorts and
tank-tops, revealing their well-tanned limbs.
    "Hi!" said the one on the left.  "We're your new neighbors!" piped
the one on the right.  I silently thanked my guardian angel-boy for
delivering these two urchins into my life, into a neighborhood
sorrowfully short of young boys.
    The boy on the right was looking at me rather curiously, almost as
if he knew what I was thinking, and I realized I had been staring.  I
held out a finger and made a show of bringing it closer to my nose,
following it with my eyes until they crossed, and said, "I seem to have
been sitting at my computer too long; I'm seeing double."
    They giggled at my small joke and the left one said, grinning,
"You're not seeing double, we're twins!  I'm Cory and that's my baby
brother,Chris." 
    Chris gave his twin a withering look and said, "Will you STOP
calling me that? You're only ten minutes older than I am!"
    Hoping to head off a brotherly battle I said, "I'm pleased to meet
you! I'm Tom."
    Chris, the one on the right, looked at me strangely again and said,
"I know." As soon as he said it his brother looked sharply at him and
elbowed him in the ribs.  Chris's expression immediately became worried,
as if he'd been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. 
    "How do you know my name already?" I asked, wondering what was going
on.
    Cory's eyes darted quickly around until they landed on my door,
still standing open.  "There," he said, looking relieved, "your name's
on the door: `Tom Jannings'."
    Of course, I thought, it's right there for all to see.  "You guys
are pretty quick.  You'd make good detectives," I said, smiling at them.
"Are you all through moving in already?" I could see the movers starting
to clean up.
    "Almost," said Cory.  "Mom's inside unpacking but she said to `get
out of her hair' for awhile." 
    "We were only trying to help," Chris informed me.
    "Is your Dad still at work or something?" I asked, wondering why he
hadn't been mentioned.
    "No..." said Cory, hesitantly, "he doesn't live with us anymore."
    "He doesn't even want to SEE us anymore," said Chris, looking
dejected.
    I could tell this was a sore topic, and knew they probably blamed
themselves for their parents divorce.  Young kids almost always do.  I
changed the subject.  "Would you like to come in for a drink or
something or shall we carry on our conversation in the doorway?"
    They looked at each other, and finally Chris nodded, as if to tell
his brother it was OK to go in.  I ushered them into the kitchen,
noticing how they stared at the `U2' poster on the wall of my living
room, the one with a young, bare-chested boy with his hands on his head.
As I got some glasses and ice they sat at the table and began their own
questioning.
    "Are you married?" asked one.
    "No."
    "You live here alone?" asked the other.
    "Yes."
    "Any girl-friends?" 
    "No."
    "How old are you?"
    "32."
    "Don't you work?" They were obviously wondering why I was home in
the afternoon on a weekday.
    "Yes." I felt like I was playing twenty questions, being grilled by
identical inquisitors.
    "Well, what do you do?"
    "I write books." I gave them their sodas and sat down.
    "Thanks," they said simultaneously, then they looked at each other
and giggled at their stereo effect.  I looked at them closely and could
see that if I got to know them better I would probably be able to tell
them apart.  There were subtle differences in their expressions and
appearances, the way they smiled and carried themselves.  I hoped I
WOULD get to know them better!  They were certainly very cute, both with
dark brown eyes and expressive faces,and strong, lean bodies full of
boyish energy.  I found myself staring at their smooth necks and
shoulders, admiring the skin exposed by their tank-tops.
    "How old are you two?" My turn for questions.
    "Nine," answered the one I thought was Chris.
    "Almost ten," added his twin.
    "Are you from around Chicago, or did you move here from somewhere
else?"
    "We used to live right in the city," explained Cory, taking a drink,
"but we moved to here in Glenwood 'cause Mom got transferred."
    "What's your mom do?"
    "She's a nurse at the hospital," said Chris proudly.  Having a
conversation with these two was like watching a tennis match.  Chris
looked at me and smiled, as if to say he knew it, it's just the way they
were.
    "Hey," exclaimed Cory, looking at me as if he'd suddenly realized
something, "are you the same Tom Jannings that wrote all those books we
have?"
    "Well, I don't know what books you have but I'm the only Tom
Jannings that I know of." I grinned at him slyly.  I really did love
being recognized by my young fans.  My books were written for boys
between 8 and 12, full of adventure and daring just like their readers,
and also about everyday stuff like new siblings, school, divorce, even
one about death.  I always answered every letter I got from a reader,
and also from appreciative parents who were grateful that my books had
turned their kids onto reading.
    Chris was looking at me again."It IS you," he said, sure of himself.
"We've got every book you wrote! I think they're really good, too."
    "Thank you!" I said, my ego always glad of praise from a young
admirer.  He had said that they had ALL of my books and I was trying
to remember how many there were.
    "Eleven," said Chris.
    "What?"
    "That's how many books we have that you wrote." I heard Cory kick
his brother under the table and he quickly said, "I mean, you looked
like you couldn't remember how many there were."
    "You're right, I didn't." I couldn't help thinking that this boy
seemed to be able to read me as well as he could read my books.
Strange.
    "We better go now," said Cory, giving his brother a look I couldn't
understand. "Mom's wondering where we are."
    "Tell her to stop by later on for a cup of coffee, and let me know
if she needs any help with anything.  Feel free to come by yourselves
anytime, too."
    "OK, Tom," said Cory, politely putting his glass and his brother's
in the sink. "See ya later!"
    As they left I found myself looking at their tight little buns and
the smooth backs of their legs.  Chris turned around just then and
smiled at me, before running to catch his brother.  It seemed my life
had taken an interesting turn, and there was definitely something
strange about my new friends that I couldn't quite put my finger on.
    Later in the day I hadn't gotten very far with my book.  My thoughts
kept returning to Cory and Chris, and it was hard to keep them separate
from the boy I was writing about.  I got up and started a pot of coffee
brewing, and was about to watch the news on TV when someone knocked on
the door.  The boys were back with their mother in tow, a nice looking
woman with brown, wavy hair like her sons', about my age or maybe a
little older.  "Hi," she said, smiling and holding out her hand, "I'm
Susan, your new neighbor.  The twins said we had a celebrity living next
door so we came for your autograph." She looked at the box the boys were
carrying between them as I shook her hand.
    "Nice to meet you Susan, I'm Tom Jannings but I guess they already
told you that.  Come on in, I just started some coffee a few minutes
ago." I lead the way to the living room and the boys dropped their box
on the floor, flopping down next to me on the couch while Susan took a
chair.  "Did you bring me a gift or are you moving in with me?" I asked
the twins.
    They smiled and one of them said, "No, these are all your books."
    "Well, just because my name is on them doesn't mean you have to give
them back to me," I said, playing dumb.
    "No, silly," said the other one (Cory?), "we want you to autograph
'em."
    "You're supposed to ASK him, Cory," said his mother reprovingly.
    "He would have," I said, coming to his defense, "if I wasn't having
such fun teasing him." I grabbed his bare leg just above the knee and
squeezed, making him laugh.  That's always been one of my favorite
places to tickle a boy.  "Why don't you guys come to the kitchen with me
and we'll get something to drink while your mom rests her bones?  You
take anything in your coffee, Susan?"
    "Black, please. Are you sure I can't help?"
    "Positive.  You just take it easy," I said, getting up.  The boys 
followed me into the kitchen and I showed them where the glasses were,
telling them to make themselves at home and help themselves to ice and
pop while I got the coffee.  When we returned to the living room Susan
was standing by my computer desk, and I could see her looking at the
bronze figurine of a nude boy laying on his side, next to my terminal.
    "Inspiration?" she asked.  I was sure she had noticed the poster on
the wall, also.
    "You could say that," I answered.  I gave her one of the cups of
coffee and took a pen from the desk before sitting back down between
Cory and Chris.  I opened the box the boys had brought in and groaned.
"You guys want me to sign ALL of these?"
    "Please?" said the one on my left (Chris?), giving me that pleading
puppy-dog look that little boys are so talented at, and which I'm
totally defenseless to resist.
    "We really do like 'em," his brother informed me from the right.
"They're our favorite books."
    "Ah, flattery will get you everywhere," I said, digging into the box
and beginning my task.  They must have read the books often; most were
faded and dog-eared.  I came across the first one I ever wrote
(dedicated to my parents), and noticed it was from the first printing,
almost five years ago.  "You guys couldn't have been more than five
years old when this one came out," I observed.
    "That's the first book they ever read by themselves," Susan told me
proudly.  "They were reading Mark Twain, Moby Dick, Hardy Boys, all
before they were seven."
    "And you like my books best?" My books sold well but I wasn't used
to being compared to Mark Twain.
    "Yeah, we really do," said Chris.  "You write stories about boys but
it's not like you're a grown-up talking to a kid, using simple words and
stuff.  You know what I mean?" He wasn't sure if he was getting his
point across.
    "Yes, I do.  That's why I put a glossary in the back of each book,
so a kid can look up a word I used that he doesn't know."

    "It's your fault I had to go out and buy a college dictionary for
them," said their mother, grinning. "I've read all your books myself," 
she added, "and I always imagined a man with such insights and
understanding of boys must have a dozen of them running around the
house." I saw her glance at the poster.  "Chris and Cory said you
weren't married; I hope they weren't rude with all their questions." 
She gave each boy a stern look, who, of course, looked innocently back
at her.
    "No, they weren't rude at all.  In fact, I asked my own questions,
too, just to get even." I grabbed a boy in each arm and tickled their
sides, their giggling laughs like music in my ears.  Although I wanted
to keep my arms around them in a hug I didn't want to risk being too
forward in front of Susan, and returned to my task of book signing.  "As
to my so-called understanding of boys," I told her, reaching for another
book, "I guess it helps that I'm still a kid at heart.  I try to look at
the world with a kid's eyes, wondering how things work, playing games on
the computer and so on...It also helps that I don't have a real job," I
added, giving her my best boyish grin.
    She laughed and said, "Yes, I suppose not having to go to work every
day would definitely help keep you young.  I certainly envy you on that
count.  My father is buying our condo for us, but it's still hard to
make ends meet.  I hate to accept charity like that, but this place is a
lot better for the boys than in the city."
    Cory and Chris had sat quietly while we talked, very well-mannered
for nine-year-olds, I thought.  I signed the last of their 11 books and
held my arm out, with my wrist limp.  "I may be a writer but this is the
first time I've ever had `writer's cramp'."
    They all laughed and the boys said `thanks' in stereo, laughing
again.  They asked about the neighborhood: where the stores were, where
McDonalds was.  Cory wanted to know where the nearest soccer field was
while Chris was interested in the library.  They might be identical in
appearance but they had two separate and distinct personalities.  They
were both interested in the swimming pool by the clubhouse, however, and
eagerly asked their mom if they could go swimming tomorrow.  She said
she would be too busy unpacking to be able to watch them.  I saw their
faces fall in dissapointment and seized opportunity by the horns,
volunteering to take her place.
    "Are you sure you don't mind?" she asked.  "They can be quite a
handful." Cory and Chris gave her comical looks of indignation, as if
such a suggestion were ridiculous. 
    I assured her it would be no problem at all, and she gave her
consent.  Then she told the boys to pack up their books, thanking me for
the coffee and getting up to leave.  The twins thanked me again for
signing all the books, telling me with boyish sincerity that they would
keep them forever and never ever sell them.  I told them to come get me
when they wanted to go swimming, and told Susan to drop by anytime as
they left.  If I hadn't been the sort of man who was romantically
inclined to young boys I suppose I would have been attracted to her,
instead. Such was not the case, however.
    
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