Chapter 7

The whole conversation I described, which took place after I basically mauled the two poor girls I was supposed to be taking care of, was had while we were still naked, and still covered up by the blanket made of sleeping bags. The odd part is that I wasn’t really aware I was lying naked with two girls while it happened. It was just as normal and comfortable as if we’d been clothed, talking about it in their living room.

Of course I did eventually become cognizant that their warm, naked bodies were pressed up against mine.

It happened when Sam’s hand wandered to my groin.

“It feels so different when it’s soft,” she murmured.

“What?” asked Karla. Then she said, “Oh,” and I felt her hand join Sam’s. “It does!” she added.

“Girls,” I said, my voice heavy and serious. “If you do that things will get out of hand again.”

“I’m a little sore right now,” said Sam. “But maybe later, okay?”

“No, it’s not okay,” I groaned. “What did we just talk about?!”

Karla’s hand had found my balls and was cupping them. As she spoke, she squeezed gently for emphasis.

“We discussed how we love you [squeeze] and you love us [squeeze] and how this is perfectly legal [squeeze] and that we’re all consenting adults.”

I knew reminding her she was a minor would do no good.

“And we discussed about not wanting to make any babies,” I tried.

“I already told you that’s not going to happen with me,” said Karla. “And Sam’s cycle is the same as mine, so she’s safe, too.”

“Sore, but safe,” said Sam, as if that was important information.

“Okay,” I said. “So now we’re friends with benefits. I’ll admit I want to fuck your socks off, both of you. And you seem willing to play, too. That’s great for now, but what happens three days from now when I come over and look at you and get horny and get a boner and want to stick it in one of you? Is the other going to distract your mother while I boff the crap out of the other on one of your beds?”

“We could do that,” said Karla, maddeningly.

“You don’t get it!” I yelled. “I’m going to want to fuck you every day!”

“Every day?” asked Sam, who finally started to sound like she was taking this seriously.

I looked at her.

“Sometimes more than once a day,” I said, calmly. “Sam says you rub off more than once a day,” I reminded her.

“Wow,” she said, her eyes wide.

“If we keep doing this, I’m going to knock you both up,” I said. “So you need to start thinking about having a conversation with your mother, when we get home, about how to prevent that. Are you ready for that conversation?”

Finally, the twins fell silent.

“Because if you can’t do that, then I will,” I warned.

“You’d tell Mom we made love?”

“We didn’t make love,” I snorted. “You humped me and lost your virginity. I raped Sam and then forced you as well. There was no love involved. We fucked, pure and simple. We mated.”

“Well, if all that was just fucking, then I can’t wait to actually make love,” said Karla.

“Me, too!” chimed in Sam.

And that’s when I knew that thinking about controlling this situation was a pipe dream.

I got up (with another fucking erection) and got dressed. I made them get dressed, too. While they did that I checked the lines and found two fish on them, a nice bass and another pike, a smaller one, this time. I turned around with them to find Sam lacing on her skates. Karla was holding hers, watching Sam.

“I can’t believe you’re doing that,” I said.

She just glanced up at me as Karla sat down and started working off her boots.

“Why? I’m not going to fall through the ice twice.”

“Get back on the horse,” I muttered.

“Besides, I need to stretch my muscles out and get rid of this soreness.”

“I’m not sore at all,” observed Karla. “I was after the first time, but not now.”

“Good,” said Sam.

It was obvious she assumed there would be a second time.

“If you fall through the ice this time, I’m leaving you there,” I growled.

She stood up on her skates and walked over to me. With them on her face was level with mine. She put her hands on both sides of my head and kissed me on the lips.

“I love you,” she said. She grinned. “I never thought I’d say that to a guy, but it’s true. I love you. You popped my cherry and I’ll always love you.”

I felt awful. By any legal standard I’d raped her.

“I’m sorry I was so rough,” I said, softly.

“It’s okay. It was probably better that way. I’d have been too chicken to let you.” She kissed me again, just a peck, and grinned again. “But not anymore.”

“I guess we’re both sluts, now,” said Karla, standing up. She wobbled a bit. Karla wasn’t into hockey, but she’d learned to skate on hockey skates.

“Knock that off,” I barked. “Neither of you is a slut.”

Karla walked over to me and did the same thing her sister had done. After she kissed me, she said, “I want to make love with you. I want it to take a long time, and I want to have more than one orgasm. I’ve heard that can happen, right?”

“You guys are killing me,” I sighed.

“I don’t think so,” said Karla. “I think you’re strong enough to last this weekend.”

“It’s not this weekend I’m worried about,” I said.

She smiled and then joined Sam to leave the tent. I heard the click and swish of skates cutting ice, getting softer and softer as they went away from the tent.

I took the fish out to the truck to clean.

It was while I was doing that that I realized I’d basically admitted they could do whatever they wanted for the rest of the weekend.

And maybe even beyond that.

This time there were no accidents. They didn’t stray all that far. I could hear the swish of their blades on the ice, and their banter as they called out to each other.

It was surreal, because some missing information began to appear in my mind, like little notes being unfolded. Memories bubbled to the surface from the depths they’d been hiding in. I could now remember their naked bodies pressing against mine ... their willing hands pulling at me ... kisses I hadn’t known we exchanged ... Karla’s taste ... the feel of being inside them ... the joy of spurting in a woman I loved. But watching them gliding over the ice, laughing and shouting, made it obvious they were just girls - young girls - having fun like millions of girls did every day. I couldn’t fit them into a category in my mind that seemed real anymore.

Sam veered toward me and skated towards me at full speed. It looked like a collision was inevitable, but she jumped, turned sideways, and showered me with ice chips as she dug her way to a stop. She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me. It was a very adult kiss. With an impish grin and a careless, “I love you!” she was off again, chasing her sister. And all that did was buttress the feeling that I had slipped into an un-aired episode of some TV show like The Outer Limits.

They skated for an hour, before gliding up to stop beside the truck, huffing and puffing, their breath frosting in the air. It had warmed up a little, and was actually a degree or two above freezing, but nothing was melting or anything. As they unlaced their skates, prior to going into the tent, I wondered what was next. I know that sounds goofy, but I really did that. I mean the girls were acting like girls again, completely normal, and it was tempting, if that’s the right word, to believe that everything else that had happened was just a dream.

Of course I knew differently. The only way I can describe it is like when you have a wife or girlfriend. You have an intimate relationship, but that’s not all you ever think about. You don’t think about sex every time you talk to her or see her. Sex is only part of the relationship, and in reality, it’s usually only a small part of the overall relationship. Well, actually, the percentage that sex claims changes. Newlyweds think about sex a lot more than they will five years in the future.

I’m rambling, but my mind was rambling then.

They continued to act like girls as they went into the tent and changed into boots. They huddled over the heater, rubbing their hands. They weren’t cold. they’d just engaged in an hour of vigorous exercise, but it was cold weather, so they did “cold weather things.” It was just very normal. At the same time, I was a newlywed ... if you get my drift.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that they acted normal, and all I could think about was being naked with them again and ... well ... you know.

Do you see what was happening to me? Did you notice I said “them” in that sentence? I was already thinking in polygamous terms. And it felt completely normal. I’m telling you this because I didn’t think about it clearly at all, then. I only came to these conclusions after I’d had time to reflect on everything. I’m talking days later.

I checked lines while they talked softly. All three lines had fish on them. As I pulled them out, I remembered some “research” I had done one day when I was bored. I did a lot of fishing in Canada, so I had looked up Inuit traditions concerning fishing. It sounds silly, but I wanted to know which god to nod towards, to encourage a good catch. The Inuit didn’t invent a plethora of gods and goddesses, like many other cultures did. Some cultures have a god of pots and pans, and such. So the closest I could find, was Qailertetang, who is a sort of weather spirit, guardian of animals and matron of fishers and hunters.

Qailertetang was happy with me that day. We would feast, and our bellies would be full.

Being a ‘newlywed’ thinking about bellies being full of fish made me think about bellies being full of other things. I knew that, as normal as the girls were acting at the moment, sooner or later they’d remember they were ‘newlyweds’, too.

“You guys clean these,” I said. “I need to do something.”

“Do we have to?” moaned Karla.

“Yes,” I said, carrying the fish to the door flap. “Somebody open this for me.”

“What got you all bossy, all of a sudden?” asked Sam.

“Would you please unzip this so I don’t have to lay fish on the floor?” I asked. I admit I sounded sarcastic.

“Sure!” said Sam, suddenly chipper.

I got them started and then got in the truck so I could plug my phone in while I did a Google search.

I identified Akna as the Inuit goddess of fertility, the deity I would petition, later, to withhold her maternal blessing from the two girls I knew I was going to sleep with that night.

It had warmed up enough that parkas weren’t required inside the tent. We had plenty of fish to eat and we feasted like gluttons. We didn’t talk about it, but the atmosphere seemed a little manic. It reminded me of the first day of high school, just before I entered the building. I knew what was going to happen, but I didn’t know how it was going to play out. It could go well, or poorly. As I said, we didn’t talk about it, but I think the girls were feeling that same mild trepidation about things, too.

“I need a bath,” said Karla, suddenly.

“No bathtubs around here,” I said, needlessly.

“I took a bath last time,” said Sam, “but I don’t recommend it.” She grinned like she’d told the joke of the year.

“Yes, you do,” said the ever-pragmatic Karla. “You told me it was the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“Only because I got to sleep with Uncle Bob,” said Sam.

I suddenly noticed that the “Uncle” part of my name had increased ... a lot. My mind tried to assign meaning to that increase. Our relationship had changed significantly. Did “Uncle” push me farther away from them ... or did they somehow think of me as being closer ... close like family?

“Which brings us back to why I wish I could take a bath,” said Karla. “I probably stink.”

Something came over me. I crawled over to Karla and pushed her back onto the mattresses. She squealed and complained, but she wasn’t really struggling. I lifted the front of her shirt, but I couldn’t get it far enough to bare her breasts. I pushed my face against her ribs and started sniffing as loud as I could.

“Ugh! Karla not need bath!” I said in my best caveman imitation. “Karla smell good. Me want smell more of Karla.”

Sam came to the aid of her sister and bowled me over. The two of them lay across me, instinctively working together. They didn’t try to remove my clothes, but Karla started sniffing back at me.

“Ugh!” she said, imitating me. “Bob stink bad! Bob smell like fish!”

“My hands might smell like fish,” I corrected, “but you’re not smelling my hands.”

“I do wish I could take a shower” said Sam. “It just feels wrong to stay here three days and never bathe.”

“So take a whore’s bath,” I said. I regretted my comment immediately.

“What?” came twin squeals of outrage.

“Don’t tell me you never heard of a whore’s bath,” I bluffed.

Suddenly I wasn’t being held down by girls anymore. They were both indignant.

“Calm down. I’m not calling you whores,” I said. That would fix things. Right?

“You most certainly did just call us whores!” shouted Karla.

“I did not,” I said. “I suggested you take a whore’s bath. Anybody can do that, not just a whore.”

“I hate that word,” said Sam. “Whore. It just sounds so awful!”

The ever-pragmatic Karla had calmed down. She pulled the neck of her shirt out and sniffed her chest.

“What’s a whore’s bath?” she asked, looking from her cleavage to me.

“Damp washcloth,” I said, quickly. “It removes bacteria that produce odors. Doesn’t get you wet, but makes things better. If you want to go the extra mile, follow it up with an alcohol rub.”

“What?” Karla’s eyebrows rose.

“Not booze,” I said. “Rubbing alcohol.”

“That would stink even worse,” said Karla, wrinkling her nose.

“It doesn’t smell like anything,” I said. “It just kills bacteria and then evaporates.”

“Did you bring rubbing alcohol?” asked Karla. Her voice made it clear she thought I had not.

“Of course,” I said. “It’s part of the first aid kit.”

“You never talked about this before,” said Karla, still suspicious.

“Most people can go two or three days without a shower,” I said, shrugging. “In western culture, we actually take too many showers sometimes. It washes away essential oils that are good for our skin. Big business wants to sell us soap, though, so they’ve convinced us a daily shower is mandatory.”

Both girls just looked at me. Finally I held the front of my own shirt away from my body and said, “Come on. Sniff. See if I actually smell bad.”

I was taking a risk, but I didn’t think it was a big one. I hadn’t done a whole lot of physical activity and my body had gotten “aired out” regularly on this trip. I hadn’t worn the same clothes day after day. So the chances were, my body odor wasn’t strong.

I had to badger them into doing it, but eventually both put her nose into the opening and gave tentative little sniffs.

“What do you smell?” I asked, boldly.

“Not a lot,” said Karla, leaving room to expand if the need arose.

“You,” said Sam. She came back for another sniff and breathed deep this time. “I just smell you.”

“Well there you go,” I said, relieved that it had worked out.

“I still feel icky,” said Karla.

“I have a wash cloth,” I said.

She looked at me, her gaze level.

“I’d be happy to help,” I said, giving her what I hoped was a creepy grin. I don’t have a lot of practice at trying to look creepy, though.

Her eyes widened, fractionally, and her face softened.

“That might be interesting,” she said.

Which is the long story of how it came to be that my lovely next-door neighbor girls were naked, and I was “cleaning” them with a washcloth, dampened with hot water from a pan on the stove.

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Ice Fishing With the Twins

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