Me two

by BRK

 Chris has some time off from his celluloid heroics as an A-list movie star and is going through fan mail when he finds a joke twin-making machine. Amused, he tries it out, with… unexpected results.

Added: Jan 2021 2,725 words 3,638 views 5.0 stars (10 votes) This story was commissioned via Patreon Vignette Party.


A lot of my fans don’t speak English, really, which is great—even though I play the blond, blue-eyed all-American hero type in my movies, I love that I’m appreciated all over. Okay, stop smirking. I know I’m appreciated “all over”, especially in my nearly-nude scenes, which seem to be happening a lot lately. I swear I’m not putting it into my contracts or anything, not that I read my contracts all the way through every time. Have you seen those things? Like The Brothers Karamazov in six point type. Anyway, I like that people from places all over the world enjoy my movies and want to reach out to me. I get tons of fan mail, and other stuff, and it’s in every language known to man. And, sometimes, no language. Sometimes it’s just drawings, a certain percentage of which are actually really good. I’ve kept a few, for no particular reason. Mostly the ones with me and a certain rakishly handsome co-star. Shut up, I’m not showing them to you.

So I wasn’t too surprised when I got something like that the other day, something with no words, just pictures. I had a few days off and I was bumming around my Laurel Canyon home in just my boxers, a little bored, kinda randy—I’m actually kind of turned on most of the time, which can get awkward (but that’s another story). I wandered into the dining room and saw that my assistant, Troy, had left a few of stacks of selected fan mail on the big glass dining table like he does every week. Next to them there was this odd-looking box the size of a short tissue-box that I assumed was part of the drop-off. There was no envelope, no note, nothing. I was pretty intrigued, so I took a closer look.

It was a bit heavier than it looked when I picked it up. The surface was like shiny chrome, only really slick, like there was no coefficient of friction at all (shut up, I went to college). All the edges were rounded and smooth. On one side, right in the middle, was this round, shiny-black inset about the size of a nickel. Onyx, maybe. It seemed to sort of tug at you when you looked at it. Weird but cool.

On the back were three sets of images that were inscribed into the chrome, or whatever it was. They looked like wordless instructions, like you get with cheap furniture you have to put together, only more detailed and better done. There were three groupings. On the left was a pretty nifty etching of my smiling face. The middle one showed the box being held, onyx-circle-side toward you, and the two sides being pressed in with the thumbs at the same time, with little block arrows showing the thumbs pushing in. Finally, there was another etching of happy-me again, only this time there was another, equally happy me-face next to it.

Wild. I turned the box over in my hands, and saw that both ends did indeed have long, flat buttons set flush into them, as if this box-thingie were an actual device designed to produce the result indicated in the drawings. In fact, if you assumed they were instructions, it was pretty clear exactly what was supposed to happen. There was no way to open it, as far as I could tell. Just the onyx disc, the instructional diagrams, and the two buttons on the side. Couldn’t be simpler.

I grinned, wondering what it would be like to be able to take all of this for real and at face value (so to speak). After all, I had the afternoon free—and the truth was I had always wondered what it would be like to have a twin brother. Especially after meeting those platinum-blond twin acrobats who worked on my first movie. Man, I’d flogged my meat so many times thinking about those two. They seemed, like, so close and intimate with each other…

Hrm. Anyway. Remembering those acrobat twins made me need to adjust myself in my boxers, and the rush of heat from thinking about them must have blunted my brain a little because I started thinking, What the hell, let’s make a twin! Impulsively, before I could even second-guess myself, I lifted up the device, cradling it with my thumbs positioned against the sides, and held it up in front of me. Staring right into the little kinda-mesmerizing onyx disc I was reminded of a camera—shit, this thing probably was a camera, the rational part of my brain said. No way it could actually be a magical twin-making machine. Right? But I was okay with whoever it was in Vladivostok or Buenos Aires or wherever getting a free selfie, too, after going to all the trouble of doing the engraved images and everything. It’d be a good pic, too—bare-shouldered (showin’ off my aesthetic traps, man!) and a little stubbly, just like a lot of my fans like me.

So, I did the good movie star thing. I flashed him, whoever it was, my trademark super-handsome shit-eating grin, looked right into the creepy black disc… and pressed the buttons, all while secretly pretending to myself this box-thingie really could do the impossible and twin me.

Instantly, as soon as my thumbs released the buttons, my head started swimming. No, worse than that, it was like my head started drowning. I must have let go of the box-thingie because I heard it clatter onto the glass dining room table. But I could barely track anything beyond this overwhelming state of mental nausea I was experiencing. Something somewhere ripped loudly. I lost my balance and almost fell… except that by sheer chance I had been standing directly in front of one of the dining room chairs, so instead of falling all the way to the ground I fell very awkwardly onto this chair, almost tipping it over backwards in the process. My legs shot out wildly in front of me, heels pushing through the soft carpet. I rocked my head back deliriously, eyes squeezed closed, struggling to hold into consciousness as this tidal wave washed over me.

Finally the craziness started to subside. Feeling spent and weak as a kitten, I let my head loll limply to the right—where it hit something hard with an audible thunk.

“Ow,” someone complained quietly… just a second before I did.

My eyes popped open. I looked right.

Blue eyes. Very, very close, almost too close to focus on.

I knew those blue eyes.

“Fuuuuuck,” he and I said together.

I’d made a twin. For real.

Only… no, it didn’t make sense. His face was way too close. Like, that close he’d practically have to be using my shoulders instead of… his own…

I glanced down, more or less at the same time as other-me, and just kind of stared. My twin and I, we were both using the same body. My body. Or—my stomach fluttered—I guessed now it was our body.

Not that I totally recognized everything I saw. Sure, the hero physique I’d worked hard as fuck year after year to make strong and beautiful (without being too big or body-builder-y) was still there in all its glory, only wider in the shoulders, and—this was weird—with three thick, perfect pecs instead of two. The waist was still pretty damn tight below my gently cut six-pack, which was in itself damned impressive considering I now had three long, lightly hairy gymnast-type legs instead of the two I was used to seeing. I had heard a rip, as it turned out: sprouting a third leg had torn my—our—smile-emoji boxers wide open at the inseam while leaving the elastic waistband intact, so that we were now wearing what amounted to a cutely-decorated, ripped-up skirt over our… over our…

Fuck. I… we… fuck, there were two sets of junk down there. Two groins, two… groinal areas.

As we watched, they shifted together, and the warm flush I was experiencing suddenly made me realize just how incredibly turned on and utterly satisfied I was by everything that was happening to me.

“Coool,” other-me said, his voice low and rough, and in that moment I discovered something else that for me was totally unexpected: I liked hearing my voice like that, all rumbly and resonant and very, very close, like it was almost inside me. I’d heard my voice constantly in my acting career, in playbacks and on screen, and I thought I was used to it. But I’d never heard it like this.

Craving more, I shamelessly brushed my stubbly jaw against his. “Say ‘cool’ again,” I murmured, in the same low, rough voice. Our cocks twitched and jumped under the remains of the boxers. We were definitely boning up.

I felt him smile as I nuzzled his face. “‘Coooool’,” other-me repeated, drawing it out just a little more.

I reached for our thick triple pecs with both hands. Both hands responded easily, though I sensed that there was another will that also had the same use of the famously fetishized muscles of my tanned, sculpted, camera-loved arms, and that this other will wanted to feel us up, too, so we were both doing it together. I mouthed along his bristly jaw, almost completely boned now, and experimented. It was kind of like using a ouija board—we could move our hands together easily if we both wanted to, say, explore our new middle pec. If we wanted to slide our hands in different directions—him wanting to grope northward and me southward, say—I could feel resistance, and I could push to assert control or let him have the power. It wasn’t long, though, before our hands moved down our super-fit, slightly hairy torso together with a single purpose… to grasp our now achingly hard, very needy erections.

I could feel both hands and both cocks—our body was completely shared between us—and fuck, it really did feel like I was being flooded with twice as much pleasure as we firmly clenched our beefy, iron-hard, almost insatiable pricks at the same time.

Our mouths moved toward each other along our blood-warmed cheeks, and then we were kissing. Our heads were almost too close to manage it, but we could do it, and fuck it felt good. Our hands found a shared rhythm almost on their own as we started stroking in earnest, and I lost all sense of there being anything in the world but our shared sexual gratification. After we’d been kissing and stroking for a while he finally slipped his lips off of mine and started wetly mouthing along my own jaw, and just feeling his hot tongue and warm breath as we stroked our shared dicks started to push me over the edge.

“Yeah,” he grunted in my ear, “do it. Want to cum together. Gonna cum so hard.”

Talking dirty to myself. Who knew it would do it for me? Okay, well, I did, actually, I’d done it plenty of times jerking off, but it had never been another me doing it. Lightning sparks tingled instantly along our forked spine, and I felt our thick balls abruptly tighten up in tandem. “Yeah, bro,” I responded urgently as he licked my jaw. “We’re gonna blow all over us!”

He moaned deep as he twisted his head to brush his bristly lips along the sensitive side of my neck, and—fuck, I lost it. We started cumming hard in almost perfect unison, shooting fat strings of thick, hot jizz all over our beautiful abs and pecs as we rubbed our cheeks together and gasped in combined, double-orgasm ecstasy. Our body seemed to melt as our sustained release finally subsided, our balls aching and our cum-slicked hands slowly stroking as our heels slid forward a little on the carpet. Our heads rested together as we panted in sated exhilaration.

“I’m not going to be the one to undo this,” other-me murmured after a while. He sounded doped up, clearly experiencing the same brain-melting pleasure I was.

I’m not going to do it,” I protested indistinctly. Some people said movie stars belonged to the world, and I was dimly and almost guiltily aware that the world probably not accept a two-headed version of me; but giving up this kind of awesome felt wrong, and totally beyond me. Beyond both of us, it looked like.

Not wanting to get a stiff back from slumping bonelessly in the dining room chair like this, and aware of the tendency of our sparse but not insignificant chest and ab hair to grip onto cum like one side of a Velcro patch meeting its mate, we climbed dazedly to our feet and, exerting the totality of what concentration we could muster on figuring out how to walk on three big feet without falling, we made it to the shower. After cleaning ourselves off mechanically, we dried off and stumbled faces-first into bed, spiraling almost immediately into a deep and thoroughly contented sleep.

We woke up together. We were lying on our back, the afternoon sun shining brightly through the windows, and we turned at almost the same time to catch each other’s bright, blue eyes. Yeah, I thought I was handsome. Hey, I ended being a movie star for a reason. Lots of folks think I’m handsome, so don’t hate me if I’m one of them.

The night-stand was beyond my new body-mate, and I noticed something I didn’t expect to see amidst to the lamp, my reading glasses (shut up), and the copy of A Storm of Swords I was rereading. I took control of our right hand to reach out for the chrome box that had made us like this, now inexplicably here in the bedroom instead of back in the dining room where we’d left it. We both frowned as we looked it over.

The etchings had changed.

Instead of one face becoming two, like before, the inscribed images now showed two faces next to each other on the left, the thumbs pressing in on the buttons in the middle, and, on the right, the same two me-faces further apart, with a double-headed arrow in between them. Separation. It had to mean separation.

I exchanged a glance with my new conjoined twin. Was this a way to become two separate bodies? And… did we want that?

I mean, obviously we had to do that. And soon. For one thing, my, or, I guess, our assistant, Troy, would be by in an hour to drop off dry cleaning and go over upcoming video interviews. So splitting into two people was absolutely imperative, and yet…

This arrangement, us sharing a body, was so right for me. For both of us. I didn’t want to end it at all. Ever.

Holding the device carefully in our left hand, keeping well away from the side buttons, I brushed our right index finger curiously along the etchings, trying to test whether they were really engraved. They were definitely incised into the metal (or pseudo-metal or whatever it was)—I could feel the cuts and ridges. But then… as I moved our finger along the smooth surface, the images started to move with it. I kept moving our finger, amazed, and we watched open-mouthed as the images essentially swiped right off of the surface of the device. In their place there was a new set of diagrams. On the left, the two happy me-faces close together, as before. In the middle, the thumbs pressing, but with double arrows—press twice, I guessed. On the right were the two me-faces again, but this time they were above and below each other, the bottom one upside-down.

We looked at each other and slowly grinned in unison. If we had to rejoin reality, we might as well have some fun first.


For more on BRK’s Patreon click here or go to  (Credit: alfa27)


For more on BRK commissions click here or go to  (Credit: Aaron Amat)

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