The Tiller Twins

The Tiller twins, Tigger and Tagger, (not their given names) lived in South Crest, on the rich side of town. They were handsome boys, full of spit and vinegar; totally made of sticks and snails and puppy dog tails. With their curly black hair, smile dimples on each cheek, and perfect teeth; some people considered them beautiful, even pretty. By some people I mean me. Woof. Talk about two peas in a pod. Those boys were so identical, even their father had trouble knowing which son he was talking to at any given time, a fact they delighted in compounding. They would often assume the other’s mannerisms, or idiosyncrasies if you will. Teachers were through trying to know which was which by the time they were in seventh grade. They just called out Tiller! Both would respond. Somehow, I never had a problem knowing Tigger from Tagger, especially when they smiled. I could sense they each had a certain unmistakable vibe. They were impressed by that. We became good friends.

I first met them in the eighth grade, when my family moved into town. Not in their neighborhood though. The eighth grade was the first year we were required to shower after gym class. They were even better looking, to me, without clothes on. That first time in the showers together, I was amazed that both got boners yet acted as if nothing was wrong with that. Of course, I got a boner too but tried to hide it from sight as most boys would do. They were kidded about that but they calmly rebuffed any criticism of their acceptance of being randy boys. It’s natural to get a boner at our age they said. I was sure I got a boner because they did. I think now I would have sprouted a woodie by myself just seeing them naked. It’s true. I’m gay. I’ve known it for a long time. I knew it before homosexuals adopted the term “Gay”.

I had heard the negatives all my life. The way older boys and men would denigrate and belittle any man who was not a gun-toting, heavy drinking, foul-mouthed sports fan was suspect. Any man with a speech impediment or who didn’t walk like a linebacker (with a corn cob up his ass) was obviously “one of them” and deserved ridicule and damnation.

I often wonder if homophobe described them accurately. Did they fear homos? Not really. They were not afraid of gay guys; they simply hated them. I’m sure a few were truly afraid that “the gay” was contagious, that one could be turned queer just by being nice to them. Pretty irrational, I think. The dictionary defines phobia as an irrational fear OR hatred of any thing or person. The key is “irrational.” That is what comes of ignorance. Willful ignorance, a conscious decision to ignore facts and realities.

Until I met the twins, I was homophobic myself. I had no fear of homos. I had a fear of anyone knowing I was one. I feared the painful consequences of straight guys who might try to beat some sense into me. I was afraid of being ostracized, shunned, rejected, or dismissed. I was afraid the twins would change their mind about me too. So, I found ways to enjoy my attractions to people of my same sex. I became a furtive crotch gazer. I masturbated looking at pictures of men’s well-packed bulges. I stared at bulges whenever I wore mirrored sunglasses. Mostly though, I clipped photos of men in underwear and swim suit ads from the Sears or JC Penny catalogs. I hoarded them in a cigar box hidden between my mattress and box spring. I poured through them as I masturbated.

The twins changed all that for me and helped me come to grips with being gay. During the Christmas holiday break, the twins’ parents flew to New York to celebrate their wedding anniversary. They were planning a week of sight-seeing and theatre going and trusted their boys to be grown up enough to stay home alone and not burn the house down.

During winter break that first year, you can imagine how thrilled I was when Tigger called me on the land line to invite me to an end of year party at their house.

“Billy, It’s Tigger”

“I’m on an extension in the kitchen,” said Tagger.

I thanked them for calling.

They took turns laying out the details of the party they wanted me to attend. I could tell they were excited. They kept interrupting each other or talking at the same time. They often did that in general conversation too. Don’t bring presents or anything. We will feed you, too.

I agreed to go to their house the next day. They said I should bring a swimsuit. I didn’t understand that, since it was late December in Wisconsin, but I wadded my speedos into my jacket pocket and headed over at the appointed time, noon. Their house was festooned, decked out in all the holiday cheer. It was decorated outside and in and the twins claimed to be responsible for the design and the placement of it all. The house smelled of spiced apple cider and soft music was piped throughout. The presentation was flawless. (In retrospect, I could have taken their interior decorating skills as proof of their poof.) After about fifteen minutes I realized we were still the only three at the party. Tigger looked at Tagger with a smile and said that was all part of their plan. They had told me to bring no presents. My presence was present enough. You are a gift to us, Billy.

We were in the living room near the Christmas Tree when I became the filling in a Tiller twins’ sandwich. They both hugged me at the same time, one on my left, one on my right. Their closeness, their bodies pressing against mine, the feel of their hands hugging me, I melted inside. This was a moment I had been dreaming of. I immediately sprang a boner, “tenting” my loose sweatpants. Tigger took my chin in his hand and turned my face to face his. I looked deeply into his eyes. I smiled. He smiled. His dimples sparkled. His head slowly closed the gap between us. He kissed me on the lips at the very instant Tagger grasped my tent pole. I trembled at their presumptive and audacious intimacy Tigger and Tagger then traded places. Tigger grabbed my cock and Tagger continued the kiss.

I managed to regain my composure after a minute or two. I didn’t want to break the contact but I was still afraid of being found out. I was confused. I pulled away and yelled Stop! My breath was labored, my heart racing. Stop. What are you doing? Why are you teasing me like this?

They looked at each other, their smiles gone, and motioned for me to sit in an overstuffed armchair. They sat on the sofa facing me. Tigger smiled again, and apologized if they had gotten the wrong impression about me. They thought they had me pegged right after I got that boner in the locker room. They had noticed me gazing at their crotches dozens of times in classes and in the hallways. In my defense I blurted out, What can I say? You knew how to fill out a pair of jeans. They knew I wasn’t into sports. They knew I wasn’t dating any girls. Their calculated guess was I would like to play around with them. They claimed to be genuinely sorry if they had offended me.

For a brief moment, I sat there in dread that if they had realized my “secret”, that other less magnanimous boys had figured it out too. I feared for the pain the future held for me. I told them they needn’t apologize, that they were right. I admitted I was very attracted to them both, individually and as a pair. I told them they had pegged me right. I would love to play with them, with their sexy bodies.

Tigger was visibly relieved to know I liked what had just happened between us. He openly massaged his crotch. Tagger smiled and nodded agreement as he too grabbed his cock. They said they didn’t know I was so uptight about male-to-male attraction.

They explained that their intimacy with each other since before they were born made it seem perfectly natural to embrace each other, to play with each other as they grew up. They admitted their favorite toys had always been each others dicks. I found out later that as they grew into adolescence the physical changes in their bodies as they reached puberty, prompted them to experiment with a variety of kinky practices. But this was their first three-way. They thought of themselves as brothers or mirror images of each other, not homosexuals. They understood that not everyone would accept their casual attitude toward public nudity, like in the showers, but they refused to be limited by narrow-minded people afraid of having fun.

Tigger suggested we continue our conversation about man-to-man sex. Tagger agreed and said that first, we should all change into our swimsuits and take a dip in the pool. You have an indoor pool? Wow. Rich people are so…rich. I excused myself and went to the bathroom to put on my speedo. When I was done I came back to the living room to find it empty. I started exploring the rest of the house calling out their names. Hearing no response, I ventured down a long hallway searching for the pool room. At the end of the hall was a glass door, fogged over on the inside. I opened the door just a little when I heard them talking. He’s wants to play with us, Tigger. Trust me.

I threw the door wide open to find Tigger naked, standing on a diving board. Tagger, also naked, stood behind him on the ground. They stood there, still dripping from a recent plunge. Commenting on my surprise to find them naked, they explained that they considered their birthday suits as their swimsuits. They only wear speedos when other people are around, present company accepted. I didn’t hesitate to join this little nudist colony.

We romped and splashed and played grab-ass in the water for about an hour. Three young, buck-naked bucks sat in the shallow end, chatting and feeling sorry for people who would never be comfortable in their own skin. I reminded them that their invitation included a promise to feed me. Tagger climbed out of the water. Tigger followed him. Silently, they each grabbed large beach towels and motioned for me to join them. I found a towel and wrapped it around my waist. We left the pool room and I assumed we were headed to the kitchen. But four doors down the hall, before we got to the kitchen, Tigger entered the door on the left. Tagger stopped at the door, waiting for me to catch up. He smiled. Hungry? He asked.

I entered the room and saw Tigger laying across a king sized bed, his rock-hard erection pointed at the ceiling. Tagger dropped his towel revealing his identical monster prick. Let’s have dessert first, they said in unison. The phrase, when in Rome, do as the Romans do, raced through my head. I dropped my towel too, my penis matching the other two; not necessarily in length or girth, but surely in enthusiasm. Tagger wrapped his hand around my glans and led me to the bed as if his hand was my leash. I was not about to admit to either of these oversexed animals that I had never yet engaged in Fellatio. The thought of the mental image of that made my mouth water. I gladly dropped to my knees beside the bed and wrapped my mouth around Tigger’s raging hard-on. He groaned softly and expressed his desire for me to keep on sucking. I was happy to oblige.

Meanwhile, Tagger got down on the floor between my legs and took my cock into his mouth. That sensation nearly caused premature ejaculation, but I was able to suppress the orgasm, and slowly relaxed into it to enjoy his wet mouth sucking while he tickled my hanging balls. I was in heaven. Without going into the “blow by blow” description of the rest of that afternoon, suffice to say we “ate” our fill of each other, producing multiple orgasms for each of us. Love your brother as yourself took on new meaning that day.

We grew older together. From that first three-way soon after reaching puberty, we met at least once a week to pursue our “randy games”. We didn’t wait for their folks to leave town. We got together every Wednesday when Dr. and Mrs. Tiller were busy at choir practice. Face fucking was our forte. We took turns sucking each other off. The twins introduced me to the pleasures of sixty-nine. We didn’t graduate to anal penetration for over a year when Tigger found out about condoms. The twins wouldn’t fuck each other because they thought that might be considered incest. So, I had to plow them both. This went on once a week until we graduated. We all applied and were accepted at the same university in Arizona. We rented an apartment together for four years and all three got BA degrees on the same day. During our school years, I grew into an alpha Top. They call me Master Billy. Tigger and Tagger are closer than ever before. Both are puppies in my Kennel. I have five PUPS who all wear my collar and love wagging their puppy tails. But that is a whole other story.

Today, as I recall those simpler times, I look around the world at all the hate and cruelty and violence and ponder how we might change the world into a more loving place. The activities of three boys playing intimate games with each other certainly hurt no one. In fact it brought each of them a few moments of person to person touching and fondling and cuddling. It was an afternoon of loving and being loved. The semen they exchanged caused no unwanted pregnancies and did not alter reality one iota for anyone who was not one of those three.

Is it too much of a stretch of the imagination to envision a world where recreational sex can be allowed and encouraged between members of the same sex?