Twin Sister Gilda by Anonymous


                                            >You are Anon, and you are in your bedroom at your desk.

                                            >Your biology textbook is open, and you're just finishing up your homework.

                                            >You're in your senior year in high school, alongside your twin sister, Gilda.

                                            >Even though you were born on the same day, you couldn't be more different.

                                            >You've always been quiet, but Gilda's always been outgoing and loud.

                                            >And frankly, kind of an asshole.

                                            >You don't even hang out much together when you're not in the house, so most people don't even know you're siblings.

                                            >Fine by you; you don't need people getting revenge on you for shit your sister did to them.

                                            >Knock knock knock

                                            >"Hey. Hey, Anon."

                                            >Oh, christ, it's Gilda.

                                            >Maybe if you stay quiet, she'll think you're asleep.

                                            >"I'm respecting your privacy by coming in any-wait, shit. No, I'm respecting your privacy by knocking, but... aww, fuck it. I'm coming in, dweeb!"

                                            >FUCK.

                                            >The doorknob twists and the door swings open behind you.

                                            >Gilda strolls into your room like she owns the place, expertly side-stepping a pile of dirty laundry on the floor.

                                            >"I need help with calculus, Anon, and you said you'd start tutoring me if I agreed to stop toughening you up."

                                            >Is THAT what she calls fucking bullying you at school?

                                            >You let out a sigh and spin your chair around and take in the form of your sister, who is wearing her usual attire.

                                            >She's got her dumb ripped jeans (so that everyone knows how tough she is), she's got YOUR Ghostbusters hoodie on.

                                            "Listen, Gil. I don't-"

                                            >...the fuck?

                                            >Gilda takes a step back and starts to fiddle with the zipper on your - YOUR - hoodie.

                                            >Which she is wearing - she stole it without asking you, and now she wears it whenever she wants to piss you off.

                                            >But you aren't paying attention to that part.

                                            >Because she's slooowly pulling the zipper down in a decidedly erotic fashion.

                                            >"Buuut," she coos, "You blew me off even after I stopped being a good sister for you-"

                                            "You seriously call shoving me into a locker, 'being a good sis-' "

                                            >"Shut the fuck up!" she barks, her soft expression sharpening for just a moment, "I SAID, you never tutored me as per our agreement, and I really need that C+ in calc. So... I figured that you're a growing boy, and you need some proper motivation to help your big sis."

                                            >You're paralyzed there in your chair, watching with equal parts trepidation and a confusing sense of desire as the head of the zipper goes lower and lower.

                                            >More and more creamy white cleavage is revealed.

                                            >Your sister's breasts press and strain against against the fabric of your hoodie.

                                            >You can't look away.

                                            >What the fuck is wrong with your sister?

                                            >What the fuck is wrong with YOU, for that matter?

                                            >Why is she doing this?

                                            >You don't understa-

                                            >"Hah!"

                                            >After slowly pulling the head down about a third of the way down her front, she quickly yanks it down the rest of the way.

                                            >Your heart skips a beat, and then you realize what you're seeing.


                                            >She has a fucking tank top on underneath it that she had pulled down extra low to give the illusion of being topless underneath YOUR FUCKING HOODIE GOD DAMNIT

                                            >With a cackle, she whips the hoodie off and tosses it at your face.

                                            >Without another word - because cackling is not a word - she plonks herself down next to you on your bed and slams her book onto the surface.

                                            >"No, but seriously," she says, still giggling, "Gimme a hand. This derivative bullshit is confusing."

                                            >You sigh and fish out your calc textbook.

                                            >"And I had better not find another crusty sock here on your bed, you dweeb. That shit's nasty."

                                            "I don't jerk off into socks."

                                            >"Anymore."

                                            "Yeah, because you keep stealing my fucking laundry."

                                            >She's so grossed out by the occasional sock she finds - which, to be fair, you don't have time to hide because fuck you if she keeps bursting into your room whenever she feels like it - that she throws them the fuck out.

                                            >Like an ASSHOLE.

                                            >Man, if she didn't beat the shit out of any bully who dared to pick on you, you wouldn't even put up with your sister's bullshit.

                                            ---

                                            >An hour later, Gilda slams her book shut and stands up.

                                            >She yawns and stretches, planting her hands on the small of her back and leaning back; you hear a few muffled pops coming from her spine.

                                            >"Welp!" she sighs, "I think I get it now!"

                                            >Before you can so much as utter a "get the fuck out of my bedroom, and stop stealing my goddamn clothes", Gilda swoops down with almost falcon-like speed.

                                            >She grabs the side of your head and pulls you towards her, planting a kiss on your cheek.

                                            >It's over as soon as it started, and she's walking out your bedroom door before you can even react.

                                            >"Thanks a lot, dweeb."

                                            >SLAM

                                            >You stare at your door, not sure what to feel.

                                            >She's NEVER been anywhere near that affectionate in the past.

                                            >She's never fucking strip-teased you before - that's new, let me tell you - and she's never so much as hugged you, let alone given you a kiss on the cheek.

                                            >Is she sick?

                                            >Are YOU sick?

                                            >Oh god, is one of you DYING?!

                                            >You stare at the door for a long time, and then pick up your sweater.

                                            >...

                                            >It smells like Gilda.

                                            >Something falls out of the pocket; some sort of stiff cloth tube.

                                            >The fuck is-

                                            "Is that my sock?"