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To The Milton Ends

As little girls we giggled about boys. As young women we'd learnt by experience that we'd get to know a bloke properly before we'd tell them we have an identical twin. It was another introduction night.

We arrived at Norman's wearing the same clothes we bought identically for such occasions, sometimes just for fun.
   As John, my sister and I drank, he started to have a problem telling us apart.

Drunk and back at our flat, we were all on my bed, messing about. Letting his hands wander. Breathing words into each of his ears.
   So when he said, “oh come on, the three of us, it'll be fun.”
   My sister answered, “John you are sexy and I fancy you but you're my sister's new bloke and I'm not coming in-between you. Good night, lover boy.”

The next morning, after he'd gone, we sat across the kitchen table drinking coffee.
   “What did you think?”
   “Think? He couldn't even tell the difference between us and he doesn't have a clue about sex, does he?”
   “Yeah, you're right and he is bloody awful in bed. Well that's that. Fancy going out tonight?”
   “We should.”

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