Anyhoo, She took us to a very un-scientific lounge area and invited us to sit down. Out of instinct, we took the small two-seater couch, rather than the other, single chairs in the room. Within a minute, Janice introduced to the guy we’d spoken to yesterday; Dr Kevin Daniels who turned out to be English, just like I suspected. He had got a grant to conduct this study (he told us), and was thrilled to meet us.
“Do you know why?” he said, his well spoken tones giving the air of both professionalism with their soft, soothing quality.
“‘Cuz we’re, like, athletes?” Timmi ventured. Dr Daniels smiled and nodded.
“Yes. Although that’s only the half of it. To be honest, the reason I’m so excited is that you are identical twins. You are identical, aren’t you?” He added, as though checking a fact he was suddenly unsure of. I nodded.
“Uh-huh. Right down to the DNA.”
“Excellent! Excellent. Well, let me explain what we’re hoping to achieve, what we’d like to involve you with, and, of course, how much compensation you can expect to receive.”
We sat forward on the couch, and listened.
I won’t get all the details right, so I won’t try to remember it the way Dr Daniels said it. I’d get the words wrong, or something messed up and you say to yourself ‘Hey, Clay’s talking a load of old horse here. That word Cyto-fyto-mono-whatsititis has nothing to do with muscle stimulation or cell regeneration! He’s making the whole Goddamn thing up!’
So, what it boiled down to were the layman’s headlines. Dr Daniels and his team were trying to figure out a way of muscle stimulation for athletes and sports enthusiasts without falling foul of the incredibly strict drugs controls within most sports. They reckon they had a bead on it, and needed test subject. The experiments involved a series of six injections, administered first by Dr Daniels or his team, or by each other when we had been trained how to do it. The project was likely to last six weeks, with a few further weeks of observation and check-up. Our main concern was, not surprisingly, that we would be labelled as drugs cheats if we took part in any athletics meets during or after the test.
“There may be side effects, that’s true.” said Dr Daniels in his oh-so-soft English voice. “To be honest, we’re breaking new ground here, and that’s why the compensation is so generous.”
And, boy, was it generous all right! Timmi and I were getting three thousand dollars each for the ten week trial, and all it involved was a few injections, and about two hours’ a week monitored exercise, some tests and ‘personal feedback’, whatever that was. Anyway, I was interrupting my own story. Dr Daniels was trying to ease our fears about the prospect of being labelled drugs cheats.
“I can’t see the side-effects, if there are any, lasting much longer than the duration of the project” he said. “Do you have any important trials or competitions during the next month?”
I looked at Timmi and he shrugged. “There’s the season trials,” he said “for selection at the end-of-academic-year games, but Clay and I already have our places on that.”
Dr Daniels sat back, finger on his chin in an almost effeminate pose.
“Hmm. Well, I should steer clear of college meets for the duration of the test, if I were you.” He said. “I’ll speak to your coach this evening, if you leave me his number, and explain what’s happening. He should be able to field any criticism.”
Timmi looked at me and, this time, it was my turn to shrug. “When do we start?”
Dr Daniels smiled broadly, showing a gold tooth on the left hand set of his jaw. “How about now?”
*****
Janice took us into a much more experimental station and asked us to change into running shorts and vests. A male assistant in a lab coat (who, I swear to all things holy, looked to be about twelve years old) attached electrode pads to our heads, chests, stomachs and thighs. Then we got up onto a pair of running machines and started to jog. Dr Daniels talked to us through a loud speaker, telling us this was just an exercise to get a ‘base-line’ for his study. After ten minutes’ gentle jogging – just over a mile in fact, the machines stopped and we got off. We’d barely broken a sweat.
Dr Daniels came in with a small trolley and some medical implements on it. He asked us if we were ready for the injections and we said yes. He took a syringe for each of us and injected the electric blue cyto-fyto-whats-it into our arms. It stung a little, but wasn’t too painful. Dr Daniels asked us if we were okay and we both said yes. Then he asked us to rest for twenty minutes and run the distance again. We did so, only this time we did sweat. A lot more than either I or Timmi would have expected.
After we finished, and showered, he took some test measurements, spoke to us again about the project, and about talking to Coach Nieberson, and warned us once again that If we should feel any side-effects, we should call him, or Janice once again. We smiled, nodded and met Janice for the last time as she showed us out. Once again, Timmi and I grinned at each other as we stared at her tight ass as she walked us out.
We felt okay. Really. We felt like there was nothing wrong.
We caught the bus home, and I kept checking on Timmi from the corners of my eyes as we travelled, making sure he was okay; not sweating too hard, or grimacing in some inner pain. If there was some inner pain, he didn’t show it. And I suspect he was checking me out just as much as I was checking him. It was a funny thing, come to think of it; watching my brother like that. I guess that maybe it started as early as that bus ride home. I can remember looking at the way Timmi blinked; how those long, fat eyelashes we shared dipped over his eyes and rose back up again; almost lazily, sensuously. I stared at the soft jaw line, tracking a smooth cheek down to a finely pointed chin. I looked at his lips, seeing if there was any mumbling evidence there of pain being battened down, but noticing how full and plump they were, how red they looked in the late afternoon glow. I looked at the only other thing that was visible from the clothes he was wearing; his hands. I knew that Timmi and I shared the same, long, slim fingers attached to a small-palmed hand. But, on that bus journey home, they looked graceful somehow. Delicate, rather than skinny. None of that mattered at the time. My twin brother looked okay, and that was that.
We got home, storing the first instalment of the money from Dr Daniels into a shared pot we kept in our room.
“You feeling okay?” I asked Timmi, as we got changed into some suitable lounge wear to hang about the house.
“Yeah. I’m okay. In fact, I feel pretty good.”
“I feel sweaty.”
“So take a shower.”
“Yeah, I might.”
And there, dear readers, is a snapshot of the scintillating world of dialogue between the Jones brothers as was three months ago. Yep; talking to each other was about as dull as mustard. Functional, restricted to sports, house chores, homework, sports, food, girls and sports, it would have bored the ass off a prairie dog. Seems almost quaint now.
So I’d taken a shower and, when I closed my eyes to the hot cascade of water over my head and down my shoulders, became aware of a rising sense of erotica within me. With some surprise, I looked down and saw that my cock was jutting quite proudly from my body; a full 90 degrees from the dark, wet tufts of my pubis. I felt like touching it; taking hold of it in an instinctive way, but held back. There was something even more erotic in not jerking off. I picked up the soap instead and started soaping myself down, feeling the suds glide over my lean body. I rubbed the smooth bar across my nipples and got a satisfying ripple/thrill as it brushed over my nipples. I did it again; rubbed the soap bar over my nipples, and marvelled at the thrill. But I didn’t expect the next part.
Soaping up my fingers, I reached behind me and started to rub the crack between my ass cheeks, with no other thought than to clean myself ‘down there below’ as mom used to say. But when my middle- and index-fingers brushed up against my anus, I felt another one of those weird erotic thrills. I stopped, did it again, and shuddered. On impulse, I bent my back within the shower cubicle, parted my legs a little, and reached behind me. This time, I rubbed at the soft skin around my hairless asshole, and pushed in with my finger. My middle finger slid up to the first knuckle inside me, and it felt good. It felt damn good, so I just pushed it in a little more. I got it up as far as I could and held it there inside me. I could feel my breath coming quick, and didn’t even need to look to see that my cock was straining at my foreskin. I slid my middle finger out slowly and teased my anus again. This time with my middle and index fingers.
And when I pushed two fingers up inside my asshole, it didn’t surprise me that the feeling was even more intense. A little uncomfortable, sure. But intensely erotic. I slid my fingers in and out, using the soap and hot water as the lubricant. And, after I held my finger up inside myself as long as I could, waggling them within me, I surprised myself even more by cumming involuntarily on the shower cubicle floor. I hadn’t even touched my cock!
I finished my shower, then got out, determined not to tell Timmi anything about it. I even succeeded in forgetting about it completely until bed time, when, feeling the cooler air on my nipples as I undressed, I felt my cock start to rise once more. Timmi was still in the bathroom, and thank God for that. Imagine my twin brother walking in to see me with a seven incher stabbing the bedroom air? I hurried into bed wearing only my boxer shorts, and tried to stop myself from jerking off. I couldn’t. My cock was like this elemental thing attached to me that craved to be touched, held. I was laying on my side, waking furiously, when Timmi walked in.
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