by Avery Aster
Another night spent without his mummy.
He didn’t know what they’d meant by strapping him down or he never would’ve asked, “Can Dash use a phone and call me?”
Scared, Dejon couldn’t lie anymore on the trembling bed, in the dark room, with those noises and flashing lights, all while the men hollered at him.
The door opened.
Two technicians entered, leather straps in their hands. First they grabbed Dejon’s hands.
“Wait. I’ll relax.”
They tied his arms to the bed.
“Stop!”
Then they secured his feet.
“You’re hurting me….”
The screams in his head weren’t what woke him up. Inviting and friendly, it was a female’s voice asking him if he wanted a beverage and the vision of a bright gold star.
“Soda. Snacks. Cocktails,” called out the Air Africa’s flight attendant, whose nametag celebrating a decade of service with a gold star read ‘Taneka.’ She tapped Dejon’s shoulder. She appeared older than the average crewmember, the years of altitude exaggerating her wrinkles.
“Pretty name there, Taneka. It suits your exquisite features,” his brother complimented her from the next seat over.
Blimey. She won’t fall for that line. Catching himself about to tsk-tsk, he bit his tongue. Dejon knew every come-on that came out of Dash’s horny lips. Never original, nothing new. It didn’t matter where they were or what she looked like. Dash couldn’t help himself. Flirting for his twin was as natural as breathing—or, in Dash’s case, having sex.
Taneka’s face suddenly lit up. Maybe Dash had made her day. “Why, thank you.” She glanced down at the passenger manifest and then addressed him. “Mr. Turay. It’s nice to have you with us today in first class.”
“Please, call me Dash.”
Get me off this plane. Time for music, Dejon searched around for a pair of earphones in hopes of tuning out Mr. Flirty. He’d packed them in his check-in luggage. Damn.
“Taneka is an old family name, from my mammy.” Shooting Dejon an acknowledging wink, she handed him a cocktail napkin, then returned her attention to Dash and asked, “Is this your first trip to Freetown?”
“We were born seven minutes apart from one another in Sierra Leone. Now I’m in London. Dejon, here, is in New York.”
“Twins?” Taneka studied them with approval.
“Obviously.” Dejon wasn’t having any of it.
“Yes. I see some resemblance.” Taneka giggled. “Shoot, you two are the most identical twins I’ve ever seen, and handsome, as well. Ain’t that something?” Fanning herself intentionally, she tilted her round face slightly upward, perhaps evaluating them a bit more before saying, “I bet you two got in tons of trouble when you were in school.”
“Why’s that?” Dash milked her. He loved the attention.
“Switching identities, playing tricks on your teachers and girlfriends.”
If Dejon had a dollar for every time he’d heard that, they wouldn’t need to steal the blood diamonds to give back to their people. He could’ve written them a check. He tried not to roll his eyes.
“Taneka, baby, we still do play…tricks.” Dash slung his arm around his brother. “Don’t we, Dejon?”
Eyes fixed on the beverage cart, hoping Taneka would get back to work, he ignored Dash.
She got the hint. “Now…what may I get you fellas to drink?”
“A Pimm’s, please.” His brother pulled down his beverage tray from the seatback in front of him.
“You got it, Dash from London. And what about you, Dejon from New York?”
Glaring at him, Dejon shook his head. He didn’t think they should be flying under their real names, let alone having any type of conversations with flight crew that might later identify them all the more. There was no arguing with Dash, though, so he added, “Same, plus a bag of prawn cocktail crisps.”
“Make it two.” Seated to his left, Dash nudged him from 6A.
He spread his legs out, not forgetting that, in a backpack underneath his seat, 6B, disguised in an empty thermos, was a rock a little smaller than the size of his fist weighing 575 carats. Banja had written in his notes that the stone would sell for around $130 million.
Taneka handed them their order, then went on to the row behind them.
The Iced Sherbet mission hadn’t gone as planned. Unlike in Dubai, the autodialing machine they’d used before with no problems to crack the safe had taken an hour longer in Stockholm. Panicked, Dash had busted out Banja’s Plan B diagram and started weak-point drilling.
Regardless, Dejon’s heart hadn’t stopped beating—in his throat. The chips were the first thing he’d eaten all day. Hoping he’d be able to keep them down, Dejon studied the newspaper in the empty seat to his right.
The day’s coverage on their heist read ‘global’ and news-breaking.’ Other than the same fake stones they’d used to weigh the floor of the safe in Dubai, nothing else had connected them—yet.
“Stop that.” Ripping the paper from his brother’s hands, Dash held up his drink for a toast. When Dejon didn’t give him cheers back, he lowered his voice and murmured, “Dude, you’re going to freak yourself out. We agreed not to look at the media.”
“Right.” He folded the periodical, put it in the seat pocket in front of him, and took a sip of his Pimm’s. Hoping the gin would put him in a better mood, he thought about Kiki. “Looking forward to coming back to New York with me?” Dejon had been trying to get himself motivated for his brother’s visit.
“Very. Can’t wait to meet your woman. Mum says Kiki has no airs or graces and is unique. Unlike any girl you’ve ever dated.”
“You and Mum talked about my fiancée?” He hadn’t heard Jilly’s thoughts on Kiki. That surprised him, considering she’d usually given her opinion, even when not solicited. Dash had that trait in common with their mother. “What else did she say?”
“That Kiki was sweet and worked at a bright red high-rise in Times Square.”
“Brill, Inc.” Dejon smiled, thinking about her office on Forty-Second Street. It stood out, even in a skyline such as New York’s. He hadn’t told Dash that she repped Paloma Gems. No need to start more drama. “It’s a lifestyle firm, press and stuff.”
“Mum asked if I’d slept with her, too.” Dash smirked.
“Bloody hell, it drives me mad that you and Mum talk about our sex lives. You don’t think that’s wonky?” Ummm, and Kiki and I haven’t even slept together yet.
“Mum’s a liberal. We’ve always talked to her about everything. Ever since we told her what Dr. Hanzfeld did to us, Mum made us swear not to keep secrets from her.”
“I get that. Mum’ll always feel bad for our telepathy tests. But we still should have some privacy, Dash.” His seat felt as if it had suddenly shrunk.
“All Mum wants is to see her twins’ happiness. Besides, she knows we’ve always shared our lovers.”
“Not anymore.” Air. I need to breathe. Feeling warm, Dejon reached up and adjusted the vent above his seat.
“Although, what Mum did think was odd is that you’ve been with this girl for two years and yet you never talk about her. One day we’re saying au revoir to Dad and then”—Dash slammed his fist against the plastic tray, causing Dejon to flinch, and shouted—“you’re getting married.”
“Mum said that, huh? Or you’re saying it now?”
“Does it matter who said what? Bloody fuck, dude. We just wanna know why.”
“‘Til a few weeks ago, it’s been mostly long distance.”
“Mum says Kiki didn’t know squat about her, or me, when they met. She was shocked. You never talked about us to your fiancée, either.” Chewing on the ice from his glass loudly, Dash’s scrunched face showed his unhappiness with the whole situation.
Dejon wondered how long Dash had been holding this in.
“I don’t want to jinx it. You’re meeting her next week, mate. Chill.”
“You never got my approva
l before asking her to marry you.”
“Approval? Ha! You ain’t Daddy. I’m good, thanks.”
With an exaggerated grunt, Dash folded his arms over his chest. “It’s fucked up that you’ve been with Kiki for two bloody years and I’ve never met her. You and I, we’re not only brothers, Dejon, but identical twins. I can’t help but take it personally, dude. You’re supposed to be my best friend.”
“Yup.” He didn’t have the patience to stroke Dash’s ego and lick his wounds, not today. There was a $130 million piece of glitz under his ass. The Iced Sherbet still had to be snuck through customs when they landed. Then taken to Banja’s contact, who spearheaded more missions in his father’s absence.
“We’ll see what happens when Kiki and I meet, dude. I’m sure things will find their place. They always do.” Annoyingly confident, Dash drained the last of his drink, then sat up higher in his seat, glanced out for an attendant, and ordered another Pimm’s.
Shit, Dejon wanted to punch him. He knew exactly what his brother meant by ‘finding their place.’ Dash hoped Kiki would sleep between them. That was a big no, so he argued, “Not going to happen.”
“Okay…sure,” his brother said insincerely.
“Don’t be such a wanker, Dash. You so much as wink at Kiki and I’ll set your face so you never blink again.” He plopped his almost-full glass on his brother’s tray to have at it.
“Ha ha. Who do you think you’re kidding? Not me.” Dash turned his body into their row and faced Dejon directly as he took the drink from the stewardess. He gave his brother that ‘game on’ stare, the one he’d used since their first year of playing rugby in school. “Are you forgetting that you’ve never been with a woman without me? Kiki is your first.”
“It only takes one woman to make me happy. I’m not like you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dash’s voice rose up a guilty octave. Since meeting Kiki, Dejon hadn’t been with any other girl. His departure from their bed games left Dash on his own, to be as wild as he so desired.
“In the last two years, how many girls have you had?”
“Beats me. I don’t keep count.” With a shrug, Dash downed the next glass faster than the first.
Dejon regretted giving him his drink, but the gin was too strong for his taste. He hoped it would mellow Dash out, but he feared three cocktails might only fire him up. “Lies. You do, too. How many?”
“A few.”
“Ah-huh. A few hundred. I’m surprised you don’t have a tribe of children running around Notting Hill.” If he knew Dash, he’d flip a comeback, possibly sending Dejon over the edge, but he didn’t care. Not anymore. He’d never stood up to Dash in his entire life—these missions were the perfect example—but he was going to start right now.
“Condoms, ever hear of ‘em?”
“Don’t be smug.”
“So Kiki doesn’t know that you’ve never been with a woman without me in the same bed?”
Unbuckling his seatbelt, Dejon shifted his body, trying to get comfortable. In his head he counted how many more hours he’d be stuck on this plane—too many. “Dash, I hate to break it to ya, buddy, but Kiki and I don’t sit around drinking tea talking about you the way you and Mum discuss my life without me around. In fact, Kiki doesn’t know much about you. You’re not a celeb in our world, merely my bro. Some bloke who lives in England. One who works for our mum.” That was a dig. Nevertheless, it was going to get a lot worse if Dash kept pushing.
“Hmmm.” Cracking his knuckles, Dash asked, “Haven’t you shown Kiki pics of me? Totties always ask to see a pic of you. Shit, that’s usually what gets the fun going.”
Bloody hell! If he revealed to his brother exactly how little Kiki knew about their family, Dash would open the emergency door and throw him from the plane. Not fond of skydiving, or Morocco, he reached back for the newspaper. “Let’s change the subject. Just know that those days of us together in bed are over.”
The anti-anxiety medication he’d been on for a few years now enabled him to sleep alone. Still, it was when awake that he couldn’t relax, and his sexual performance anxiety festered whenever he got close to anyone. But he was going to fix it. Once he and Kiki married, he’d tell her everything. They’d work on it together.
“Won’t you miss me?” Dash pouted childishly. Then he burst into a deep laugh, perhaps trying to get Dejon to lighten up.
“You’re an arse.” For the time being, he had to ignore his brother. Dash acted badly out of rejection; their father had never come and visited them, and growing up, Jilly hadn’t let them travel to Africa.
“Likewise.” Dash’s eyes darkened.
Trying to comfort him, Dejon reached over and placed his hand on Dash’s knee. His brother had his own issues, too. He never talked about them but they were there, deep inside, brewing as a storm. Anyone who had a father as well off and famous as Sir Banja Turay and who didn’t make any effort to see his sons while they grew up would.
Dejon had anxiety disorders, mostly around the bed.
Dash had abandonment issues, usually not allowing himself to leave home or travel without Dejon or Jilly.
Two hot messes!
“Hey…we’re cool. Nothing is going to change.” That was a lie. Once he married Kiki, everything was going to be different. But why piss his brother off? Upsetting Dash would mean no one won. That’s how his twin ruled their lives.
Dash faced out the small round acrylic window. No acknowledgement of Dejon. For several minutes, they sat in silence as the jet’s engines hummed. Then his brother said, “I have one question. You don’t have to answer it, but if you don’t, then I’ll have my answer. And I’m only asking ’cause I care. Ready?”
“No.” Whenever Dash played these games with him, Dejon never won. This reading of the minds felt more like mind-fuckery than ever before. They may not be telepathic twins but each knew how to push the other’s buttons.
His brother leaned in. The gin drinks had awoken the devil in his black hooded eyes. “Without me in your marriage—or dare I say my body between your wife’s legs—who’s going to guarantee Kiki orgasms?”
Whack! Dejon punched his brother’s right arm. “Enough!” Ready to take him down, he pushed his food tray up.
“Iced Sherbet,” Dash snarled under his thin lips, eyeing 6B.
Ugh. Cool it. He knew he must. If they drew any attention to themselves, they’d for sure get caught with the diamond. “Drop it. I’m serious.”
“Dude, so am I. Think about it. Sure, you’re a smooth talker. You might get the girls a lil wet. They might even curl a toe, or quiver their upper lip. But have you ever had Kiki cum on your face?”
“Dash, you know why that is hard for me….”
“I’m talking ’bout flat-out face creamin’ while going down between those folds. Wet and thick! Enough to wish you’d worn snorkel equipment to stay alive.”
“Stop it!”
“What about all over your cock. Huh? How ’bout that one? Has Kiki shot bangers and mash all over your fat dick, yo?”
“Dash!” He sensed his brother’s hurt.
A lightweight, anytime Dash said ‘yo’ he was tipsy. Dash was not a part of this new chapter in Dejon’s life, and it must’ve been driving him crazy. First Jilly had chosen England over Africa. Then Banja had picked diamonds over his kids. Now he was taking Kiki over Dash. Dejon realized he should’ve looped his twin in much earlier on his intentions with Kiki. In his defense, he couldn’t risk losing her.
“There’s my answer. Kiki hasn’t enjoyed herself with you.” Dash’s forehead wrinkled, almost as if he were concerned. “How in the fuck are you, as a husband, going to spend the rest of your life with a bride who never orgasms? God gives ladies spasms for a reason. Helps those eggs fertilize with da sperm. Makes babies.”
“Bullshit. Ever hear of artificial insemination? Moron. Those mothers don’t orgasm as if the ever-so-hung Dash Turay has fucked them senseless before they inject the sperm inside.”
He dismissed the truth to prove some point. “No orgasm. No babies. Mum’ll be devastated to learn she ain’t getting grandchildren from you, dude.”
Poke. Dejon jabbed his brother’s chest a second time—hard, to knock it off. He’d crossed the line. “Don’t worry about my wife, or my life. It rhymes and is easy to remember. Happy to get you a bumper sticker for your Fiat or a T-shirt that has the mantra. You’ll need to memorize it, buddy. I’ll say it again—my wife, my life.”
“Sounds like a pretty miserable marriage to me.”
“Thanks, Dash. Love you, too, mate.” On his feet, Dejon eyed him to watch the diamond. Sick to his stomach, he couldn’t believe they’d argued. “I’m going to take a piss. When I get back, do not talk to me ‘til we’re in baggage claim.”
His brother gave him the ‘whatever, go fuck yourself’ hand.
Dejon hovered over him, then lowered his face to Dash’s and said, “I get that you’re mad. I’m getting married to an amazing woman, one you’ll never be allowed to touch. If you want me in your life, you’ll accept and respect my choices.” Not waiting for his brother to reply, he made his way to the bathroom. A splash of cold water on his face would do him some good.
Times like this made him wish he weren’t a twin. Not because what Dash said had hurt his feelings—although it did hurt, but because what Dash spoke was the truth.
How could he marry Kiki with his intimacy problems lurking?
He wondered what the sex would be like between them after they married. What if Kiki never found bliss? Could he do it without his twin?
An alpha, Dash had this gifted way of making a woman orgasm just by kissing her. Playing with her clit. He’d tongue-fuck every orifice, drink the sweet nectar from her pussy, and say crazy perverted freaky-ass shit.
She’d explode!
No matter how many times Dejon had tried to do any of it with his fiancée, it hadn’t worked. Kiki froze. On the inside, he died a little bit more each time, knowing she hadn’t come.
He couldn’t help but wonder if it was him, her, or both of them together. Everything between them was pure utter love. Why should the bedroom be any different?