The Making of a Gigolo(12) - Janet Griswold

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

Chapter Eight

Jill walked through the door that was so familiar, and yet so strange. Always before, when she'd walked through this door, it had been to go to work. It had been to put on an apron, and serve Sal's customers, make them happy, and hope for good tips in return.

Now that door seemed like something from a dream, long past. The dream intensified as the door pushed open and the smells of the diner hit her nose. She marveled at the sensations, trying to remember getting to smell that delicious aroma every day. She was somewhat saddened when she realized she'd taken that for granted back then.

Sal looked over, and his face rippled through a couple of unidentifiable emotions before he smiled.

"'Bout time you came back to get a decent meal," he said, trying to bluster.

Jill stared at him, looking so familiar in his own apron, stained with various food items. She realized she had taken him for granted too. She'd never really looked at him as a man. He was just ... Sal. That had all changed a mere half a month ago, when she had danced with him a dozen times in the heat of the night. He had still been Sal ... but he had suddenly been somebody else too. She'd thought of him dozens of times since then. He hadn't called. She didn't know what that meant, but there was a subtle disappointment there. It was that that had brought her into the diner again ... and not the food.

Still, she was unsure of herself. When she was with Bobby, she could be herself. Bobby took her any way she wanted to present herself, from blushing girl, to wanton slut. Bobby just loved her, and he'd made her feel truly alive again. Dancing with Sal, she'd wondered how he looked at her. Part of her kept saying that he'd only asked her to dance ... over and over again ... because he was being polite.

Her mind dredged up an attitude from the past ... an attitude that had displayed itself here, in this place, on a fairly regular basis.

"I haven't been sick for a long time," she said, grinning. "I thought I'd come by here and remember what it's like."

"I am wounded!" moaned Sal, clutching at his chest. "I thought you liked working here."

He was joking. She knew that. She knew that he knew she'd been joking too, but it still didn't seem nearly as funny as it might have a year ago.

"I didn't really mean that," she said, seriously.

He looked surprised, and then vaguely uncomfortable.

"I know." He fidgeted. "Um ... what can I get you?"

About then the high school girl who had replaced Jill approached and offered to seat Jill.

"I just needed to talk to Sal for a minute," said the former waitress.

She walked behind the counter, like she still worked there, and went to stand in front of Sal.

"How come you haven't called?" she asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

Sal's eyes darted around, for a single second or two, and his fingers fluttered against his apron.

"I didn't know I was supposed to," he said, looking scared, suddenly. It was a look she'd never seen on his face, and it looked wrong somehow.

"I think you were," said Jill.

Sal's eyes went round then, and he actually backed up a step.

"You mean it?" he asked.

"No, I just thought I'd come in here and tease you." It was difficult to banish that old attitude, or the snide comments they had traded a hundred times. "Are you going to call me?" she asked.

"Yes," he whispered. He looked like he was ready to bolt for the door any second.

"I'm going home," she said as she pointed at the grill. "That burger is burning."

She left, looking over her shoulder at him three times, watching him try to salvage the meat on the grill, and look over his own shoulder at her. She felt a surge of something very close to joy at the look on his face.

The twins were given even more to think about when Renee came home from the hospital with her new son. It wasn't that it was Bobby who brought her home. That didn't seem odd to them. Nor did it seem odd that Renee was almost jubilant, as she carried her son into the house.

What made them look at each other, with that look that only twins can trade, and which communicates much more than the looks that the rest of us give each other, was when they got introduced to the cute little baby boy. Renee uncovered his tiny face, and held him where both girls could see him.

"I'd like you to meet Robert," said Renee, looking lovingly at the scrunched up face, with the thick mop of coal black hair above it. "Isn't he just gorgeous?"

It didn't take long, then. As if they were waking up from a comfortable dream, that they really didn't particularly want to wake up from, the twins began to think about all the clues that had been all around them ... for years. They worked for Renee ... were around her all the time. They knew she wasn't seeing any men. That she had gotten pregnant at all was one of the clues they had ignored.

It wasn't that they were stupid. They just hadn't been paying any attention to the world around them. Not really. They had had their own little world of friends, and school, and family, and in that world, women got pregnant. It was just something that happened, as far as they were concerned. Their mother's friends got pregnant, without any particular man being identified as the father, so an unamarried pregnant woman wasn't that odd to them. At the same time, the fact that women got pregnant was part of their thinking, at least when it came to what they had done with Chuck, their now ex-boyfriend. That's why they had insisted he wear rubbers when he fucked them.

Now, though, their comfortable little world had changed. It had shrunk, a bit, which might explain why they paid more attention to what was going on around them. They didn't see all their friends from school, now that they had graduated. They weren't distracted by that part of their life any more. They worked with babies and children daily, now, for hours on end, and saw the personalities of those children evolve, with the extended exposure to them.

With that came a heightened interest in those children, and other children they saw, but didn't necessarily take care of. And, with that heightened interest, they looked at those children in different ways than they had in the past.

After learning that Renee's baby was named Robert, it was almost impossible for them not to connect the fact that the only man Renee spent much time with at all was ... Bobby ... whose formal name was ... Robert.

The epiphany they shared was so bright, and so obvious, that they disbelieved it, at first. It was like they went for a walk in one of the wheat fields they had worked in, as children, and were suddenly surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of trees. In this case, the trees were babies. There weren't hundreds and hundreds of them, but to take the tree analogy perhaps a bit too far, they all seemed to be the same species ... with the same appearance.

And when they started looking for the gardener who had planted all those trees, the pool of possibilities was pretty small. In fact, it was a puddle, instead of a pool.

That's what they couldn't believe. They identified at least eleven boys who looked startlingly like Bobby, now that they thought about it. Two of those boys were delivered by their older sisters. One was delivered by their mother. And one, Kyle, had a twin sister, which meant that the father of Kyle was also the father of Katherine. That opened the can of worms that was girls, and there were half a dozen of them who were born to women who either had no husband, or who had a husband who didn't seem to have given much to the appearance of their daughters.

You can't just "accept" that your big brother has sired a dozen and a half children, with more than a dozen women, none of whom he is married to, and three of which he is related to by blood.

They didn't argue about it. They just pointed things out to each other, and then traded off saying, "It can't be. It just can't be!"

And who do you ask, in that situation, for clarification, or information with which to form an alternate hypothesis? You can't just go up to your mother and say, "Hey Mom, I was just wondering ... Theodore looks an awful lot like Bobby, and ... well ... did you, by chance, sort of have our brother's baby?"

They couldn't ask Mary either. Her two boys looked completely different. Besides, she was too much like their mother, in their eyes.

And you can't go up to a woman you've known all your life, but who isn't in your family, and just ask, "Hey, did my big brother just happen to knock you up?"

Then there was Bev. And they didn't want to ask her either. It was still too easy to believe it was all some kind of massive conclusion they had jumped to, and they didn't want Bev to hate them forever for thinking something was true that wasn't.

That left Bobby.

In the end, as they finally thought of just asking Bobby, they couldn't believe they hadn't thought of that earlier. Bobby was ... well he was just Bobby. He was their big brother. He did chores with them, hardly ever bossed them around, played with them as kids, built things for them, including their secret tree house that their other sisters still didn't know about ... he was just their big brother. He wouldn't be mad if they were wrong. Somehow they just knew it. If they were wrong, he'd just laugh.

That was what led them to his bedroom door, on a hot night in late July, after everybody else in the house was in bed for the night.

Matilda turned the knob slowly. There was light coming from under the door. She pushed the door open slowly, not wanting to knock, for some reason. Bobby's reading lamp was on, and there was a book lying on the sheet. It was summer, and that sheet was all that was on the bed, except for the book.

"Where is he?" asked Betty, from behind her.

"The light wasn't on in the bathroom," pointed out Matilda. "Maybe he's getting a snack. We'll just wait."

Ten minutes later, they got tired of waiting, and went to the kitchen, which was dark and empty. Only one other light was on in the whole house, and that sent dim beams under their mother's door. They could hear the faint sound of voices from inside. It had to be Bobby in there with her.

At that point, habit took over. They had been taught to knock, but Mamma's room was different, somehow. Mamma was always alone. If her light was on, she was awake. Why knock?

They found out when they pushed that door open, and saw their naked mother, sitting upright, looking up at the ceiling, her mouth open and her eyes tightly shut. She looked like she was screaming, but only a long, low groan came from her mouth. Bobby's fingers were pulling at both her nipples, stretching her breast flesh out until those breasts looked pointed, like a pair of very strange dunce caps or something. Bobby was naked too. His head rolled, and his blue eyes stared at the intruders.

So quickly that it seemed like a snake, his right hand let go of the nipple it was holding. The breast snapped back to its normal shape, and that hand whipped toward the two astonished girls, bending at the wrist, and then flipping toward them again. The meaning was as instantly clear as if their brother had barked: "Leave!"

Then his hand, still moving so fast it was almost a blur went to his face, and his index finger pressed to his lips, a silent caution for them to leave quietly. Only the fact that her fingers were between the door and the jamb stopped it from slamming shut, as Matilda's butt backed into her sister and she pulled the door closed. She gulped breath, to keep a scream of pain inside, and extracted her fingers. Paying particular attention to the door, instead of the pain, she closed the door as quietly as she could. Then she danced, trying to be silent, shaking her fingers and moaning softly.

Betty wanted to talk, but Matilda pushed her. Somehow they ended up back in Bobby's room, where the light was on. It only took half a minute for the pain in Matilda's fingers to subside to the point where she turned to her still speechless sister and said, "It's true!"

For the twins, what they had seen was received as validation for all their suspicions. Just as, only moments before, they could not believe that Bobby was the father of all those babies ... right now, the scales tipped hard in the other direction. This, though, was uncharted water, and both of them felt like they were floating in a vast ocean, with no land in sight. It was really that that kept them in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed. They no longer knew how to navigate, or what direction in which to swim.

"What do we do?" It was Betty who finally spoke.

"I don't know." Matilda sounded as lost as Betty felt.

It took another half hour before they recovered enough to realize that Bobby didn't appear to be coming back any time soon. The image of their mother, looking astonishingly sexual - something neither girl had ever imagined before - kept bounding around in their heads.

Finally, they crept back to their room. They didn't turn on a light, but got into bed instead.

"I wish Chuck was here," whispered one.

"Me too," whispered the other.

His mother had needed him badly, tonight. Bobby knew that, because she had come to his room, and just stood in the door. She had done that only twice before. Usually, it was he who went to her room, and walked in. When he did that, he saw a range of emotions on her face, but she never told him to leave.

On nights like this, he knew she would need a lot of loving, and that's what he had given her. She had moaned her way through four orgasms - was in the middle of her fourth - when the twins opened the door. He had known, somehow, that it would not be good if she knew they had been observed. Mary knew about them, and Flo and Suzie. Some of the others might suspect, but it had never been talked about. Mamma pretended no one knew, except Prudence, but since Prudence also let him between her legs, now and then, that was all right.

So he had waved them away, and been very thankful that they'd done what he told them to do. Mamma had gone on for a fifth orgasm, and had a sixth when he rolled her over and lunged into her, slamming his prick deep, before finally spending himself next to her womb.

Even then she had clung to him, not talking. She had wanted kisses, and he had given them to her until he stiffened again. Her whispers of "I love you," had been soft in his ears, as he made love much more gently with her. She hadn't even tried for an orgasm then, just loving the feeling of him stroking in her, and telling him how much she loved that. He had cum in her again, almost overwhelmed by the love her lips poured into his ears, and her hands expressed all over his body.

She would have let him stay the night, but he knew he had to talk to the twins, so with a final long kiss, he said he was going to the bathroom. He knew she'd be asleep before he got back, if that's what he really meant to do, so he tucked her in and left. Her eyes were already heavy. The smile on her face was one of the most wonderful things he'd ever seen.

His light was on, and his door was open, but the twins weren't there. He went as silently down the hall as the squeaky boards would let him, but when he pushed open their door, he could clearly hear the deep, slow breathing that told him they were asleep.

He decided to wait until morning.

Constance opened her eyes to the morning light. The first thing she thought about was Tim. That was still the way it was. Then she thought about having to get up and going to work. Finally, she thought about the fact that Bobby had said he'd set aside Saturday, the next day, to spend some time with her.

It was the thoughts of Bobby that got her up and out of bed. Once up, she was all right. Getting ready for work was a habit, now, and she didn't have to think about that. Work would take care of itself. She didn't want to think about Tim. So she thought about Bobby, and the next day, instead.

Mirriam was up and gone to work when the twins woke up, though they didn't know that then. Full of a strange energy, they bounced out of bed and almost ran to the kitchen, where the smell of bacon and eggs was coming from. Both wondered what it would be like to see their mother, simply cooking breakfast, after the way they had seen her the night before.

Both stopped in their tracks as Bobby's broad back was exposed to them, when they came around the corner and into the doorway. He seemed like a stranger to them, suddenly.

"It's almost ready." His voice came without him turning his head.

He sounded so normal. But nothing was normal anymore. This ... man ... this ... person they had known for so long, but felt like they didn't know at all ... was standing there doing something they'd seen him do a hundred times. He finally looked over his shoulder.

"Either run away, or sit down," he said calmly.

Everyone thought the twins were as identical to each other as they looked. That wasn't true, though. Matilda was the elder, and she was the leader, in those few situations where whatever action was called for wasn't quite clear. She walked in and sat down. Betty followed.

The man put plates in front of them, and then dropped forks on the table, with what seemed like loud clangs.

"Milk or juice?" asked their big brother, just as normal as pie.

Neither could speak. He looked like their big brother...

He got a glass of each for them both, and then juice for himself. He sat down, across from them.


He sounded like their big brother, just then, like he had sounded in the past when he caught them doing something they weren't supposed to do, and was demanding an explanation. Usually he got one, because they had learned that if they confessed all to him, it rarely went any further.

"We were looking for you," mumbled Matilda, out of pure reflex.

"You found me."

"Boy, did we!" yipped Betty, unable to keep it in.

They sat there. Bobby sipped his juice. Finally he ordered "Eat!"

It was a small thing that broke the stalemate. Of all the girls, the twins were the ones who ate the least. That probably accounted for their slim body shapes. But it was practically routine for them to take more than they actually wanted, and it was also routine for Bobby to pick up the slack.

He reached across the table and lifted a piece of bacon from Betty's plate, taking a bite of it, and chewing slowly. It was so normal that the girls relaxed.

"Is Theodore your baby?" asked Matilda, suddenly.

"Yes," he said, reaching for a piece of bacon from Matilda's plate too.

His voice was so casual. It was like he was saying "Yeah, that's my shirt."

"And Kyle and Katherine?" Betty stopped, with her fork halfway to her mouth.


Another forty-five seconds went by before it was Matilda's turn.


"Uh huh." He picked up one of the two pieces of toast he had put on Betty's plate, and took a bite.

"And Stevie?" Betty sounded almost interested now, and less shocked.

"He's mine too."

Matilda put her fork down and sat up straight.

"Andrew Thompson?" She took a breath. "Christopher ... and Jordan?"

He only nodded this time.

"All of them?" Betty asked, helplessly.

"Not quite all," he said softly.

"But how?" Betty's voice went up at least an octave.

He finally smiled. "I think you know how."

This, again, was Bobby. He didn't tell her she was stupid. He just teased a little.

"When did all this happen?" It was Matilda's turn to sound helpless.

Bobby stood up to get more juice.

"I thought you knew. Everybody else seems to know. Even Suzie knows."

"You did it with her?!" squeaked Betty.

He grinned. "No, not with Suzie. She didn't want that."

It wasn't hard to figure out that his specific mention of Suzie, by herself, suggested that all their other sisters ... all their other sisters ... had done the same thing with him that they had seen him doing with their mother last night.

"All of our sisters?" Matilda's voice was weak.

"Except Suzie," he admitted. "And you two, of course. Neither of you ever showed any interest that way."

"You mean they ... asked?!" Matilda was astounded.

"Mary did," he said. "Bev did too, after she caught us. And Linda, kind of. It was complicated. Whenever somebody caught me with one of the others, they had to kiss me, so they couldn't tattle." He looked genuinely contrite. "I guess they liked kissing me, and wanted more."

The twins could understand that. That's how it had started with Chuck. Kissing was fun. The other stuff was more fun. But kissing ... Bobby?

"Wait!" blurted Betty. "Does that mean we have to kiss you?"

He smiled. "Who would you tattle to?"

He had a point.

"Do they all know about ... Mamma?" That was Betty.

"Some know, and I imagine some suspect," he answered.

"And they all just ... let you?" That was Betty again.

"I never did anything to any of them that they didn't agree to," said Bobby solemnly. "Like I said, some of them asked me to."

"I can't believe that!" squealed Betty. "Why would they ask you to get them pregnant?!"

"Oh ... that," said Bobby, understanding that her previous question had been about the pregnancies, and not just the lovemaking. "That wasn't really ... um ... exactly planned, I guess. Not with Mary and Bev. I don't think Linda planned it either. She was kind of mad at Paul when that happened, and she stopped taking her pills."

"Were any of them planned?" Now it was Matilda who sounded ... interested.

"Not with my sisters," he admitted. "Not Mamma either, but some other women wanted that."


They said it in unison.

That was pretty much it, for that morning. The twins had received much more information in the last twelve or so hours than they could assimilate, without talking it through, as was their habit. Bobby said he had something to do, and left, which left them with plenty of time to talk.

What Bobby had to do that day was take Constance to Kansas City, where he showed her some of the things he'd seen while there with Felicity. They spent the majority of the day in the Nelson Art Gallery, on the Plaza, where both of them stood, amazed, at what was on display. They knew about art, of course. But they'd never seen it like this.

On the way back to Granger they tried to find a radio station that had songs they knew, and could sing along with. When he delivered her to her mother's house, she took his hand as they walked up to the door.

"I can't tell you how much fun that was," she said.


"Was this a date, Bobby?" she asked, suddenly.

"I don't know," he said. "Do you want it to have been a date?"

"I want to kiss you," she said. "That makes me feel weird. But if it was a date, maybe not so weird."

"You've kissed me before," he said, his voice neutral.

"Not since Tim."

"Ahhh." His voice held understanding. "Tell you what. When you're ready, I'll kiss you."

"Do you want to kiss me?"

"Did I want to kiss you last time?"

She thought about that. It seemed like it was eons ago that his lips had touched hers. But the memory of that first kiss was just as stark and clear as it was possible to be. That he had wanted to kiss her then ... that his kiss had communicated that without any doubt ... was a memory she would never forget.

"You did," she said.

"And what has changed?" he asked.

"Everything has changed," she moaned.

"Not that."

He did kiss her then, but only on the forehead.

"We going to do this again?" he asked.

"Go out like this?"

"Uh huh."

"I think ... yes."

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