TwinPlay

By Tiina Walsh

If you could try out a different life, would you take the chance?

Identical twins Sorcha and Sara occupy opposite sides of the moral fence. Sorcha has always been the apple of her Irish Catholic father’s eye, while Sara looks up to their free-living Swedish Mamma.

But when devoutly Catholic Sorcha accidentally steps into the life of her sister – and into the arms of her lover John – she realises just how much she might enjoy being sex-beast Sara.

What happens to Sorcha, when her guilt catches up with her?

Will Sara learn anything from her sister’s devotion to her lover?

(Adult content)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tiina Walsh
• Release date: Mar 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781505511574

Tiina Walsh

Tiina Walsh, originally from Finland, lives in Ireland. She is married to an Irishman, who is a piano tuner with a passion for personal development. Tiina has a number of businesses in the property sector. She also enjoys teaching Finnish language and culture classes in Dublin, Ireland, reading a huge number of books, and ballroom dancing. Tiina is also an author of Finnish language children’s book series (“Tyttö/Poika, joka unohti nimensä”).Connect with me:Twitter: @Tiina WalshWebsite: www.tiinawalsh.com

Book preview

TwinPlay

By Tiina Walsh

Copyright 2015 Tiina Walsh 

Smashwords Edition

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Chapter 1

‘Passion. Oh, yes, that is exactly what it is all about.’ Sara’s pupils were dilating just with the thought. ‘The mechanics of sex is just such a small part of it... putting this into that is not sex.’ She was using her hands to demonstrate her point, and her sister Sorcha cringed. Sara was always so theatrical with everything she did and said.

‘It is all about feeling that undeniable, mysterious pull towards the other person,’ Sara continued, clueless about Sorcha’s discomfort at her increasing volume. ‘The thrill of the potential pleasure to come. The anticipation of all kinds of unexpected treasure to be uncovered, together, with another human being. The excitement of the game: will you or will you not be able to get physically closer? The sensation of feeling the other person looking at you, feeling desirable, sensing that they want you: there is nothing better. That they want to touch you, kiss you, and caress you. That they want to come inside the invisible boundary we all have around ourselves. A real communion, closeness with another being.’

Sara felt teary. She could talk about this all day. It was her favourite subject. She continued:

‘And flirting is the best foreplay there is. It’s the reason I get out of bed in the morning. It is such a beautiful thing. A promise to get to know one another better, so much better...’

‘OK, OK.’ Sorcha put her hands up. She looked around the Dublin city centre café. She had to make this stop. It was making her super-uncomfortable. ‘It all sounds nice, although I haven’t got a clue about what you are talking about. Can you stop drooling now? Just tell me why I’m here. You’re embarrassing me. Everyone is looking!’

‘Oh, Sorcha, nobody is looking. Live a little. It really is incredible…’

Sorcha rolled her eyes.

‘Hey, I’m not talking about sex just now. I’m talking about the two of us. You look exactly like me, but nobody would ever think you to be me. You dress so differently, so conservatively, wearing all the wrong colours for our complexion. We really don’t look good in grey – I could teach you so much about all that, as well. Don’t take it the wrong way, sis. You could be absolutely drop-dead gorgeous. Well, like me,’ Sara smirked. ‘Your hairstyle’s the same, true – but I only wear mine natural and straight down the back because it really is the best look for us. We were lucky to get Mamma’s gorgeous, naturally blonde hair. But you never, ever wear any make-up. Why is that? It’s not a sin, you know.’

‘Well, there was never any point.’ Sorcha didn’t want to have this conversation with Sara. She was so pushy. Sorcha hated Sara’s forceful opinions about their looks and behaviour and the way Sara always managed to make her feel terrible about herself. Sister-dearest had not inherited an ounce of Daddy’s gentle tact. Sorcha sighed and continued to explain her viewpoint, as she knew Sara was not going to stop without some further input from her. Sara really should have become a lawyer; she had the attack-mentality down. ‘You were always the pretty one, the popular one, so why bother? Look at you: you’re gorgeous. And I don’t like people looking at me, and baggy clothes are just so much more comfortable...’

‘Sorcha, you are exactly as pretty as me. How could you not know that? We are identical twins, for God’s sake. How can you honestly think that? You could be strutting your stuff on the runway, if you wanted to. And I bet you are about the same weight as me, although it’s a little difficult to tell with that lumpy jumper. People just always notice me more, because I smile and engage in conversation, and –’

‘Yeah, you flirt like a hooker with every male around. I’ve even seen you flirt with masculine lesbians. There are so many other interesting things in this world. Just tell me why I’m here.’ Sorcha could feel a headache starting.

‘In a minute. I need you to do a little favour for me,’ said Sara. Her eyes were scanning the café for any potential meat. Sorcha rolled her eyes: so typical of her sister never to miss an opportunity. Sara was such a player.

‘But first I need to tell you about who I met the other day,’ Sara continued, eyes focused back to Sorcha. ‘I mean, who I slept with the other day. You’ll never guess! The dirty little fecker was online, looking for NSA sex, and I didn’t know who it was until I arrived at the rendezvous point. I had to look twice to make sure he was the one I was supposed to be meeting. It was Daragh McDonagh, you know, the redhead economist! Can you believe it?’

Sorcha felt she needed a shower. She wanted to put her fingers in her ears, like she used to do as a child. Even a brief encounter with Sara always made her sweat like a pig and feel dirty all over. ‘Enough, please. But I don’t get it, Sara. Your real job takes up so much of your time, you are always working so hard, such long hours; surely you don’t have time to be always thinking about men?’

‘Yes, I do.’ Sara was nodding her head vigorously. ‘Perhaps you’ve noticed that I only work with men, as far as I can choose? If I’m not screwing them, I need to be surrounded by them at all times...’

‘I don’t judge your lifestyle,’ said Sorcha. ‘I just can’t understand why you wouldn’t want to find a nice husband for yourself. There are benefits, you know...’

‘Yeah, I’m sure there are, Sorcha. But sleeping with just one man? Forever? I couldn’t do it. I can’t help it that I just love men. I mean, let’s face facts: everyone is completely obsessed with sex at all times. If they say anything else, they are lying. Everyone is either going at it or wanting it. I just never believed in denying myself the pleasure.’

‘Well, it can get a bit boring...’ admitted Sorcha. She needed to change the subject. ‘What is this favour you need me to do?’

‘Oh that. I was hoping you could mind my apartment from time to time when I’m away. I mean, I’ll pay you for it.’ Sara looked Sorcha a little nervously.

‘Of course I’ll do that for you.’ Sorcha had not missed the unusual moment of vulnerability in Sara’s eyes. ‘And of course you don’t need to pay me.’

‘It’s just that there has been some break-ins recently in the area, and I’d feel better knowing that there is someone checking up on the place. The cleaner comes around once a week, but I don’t feel it’s enough. And I don’t really have anyone else to ask…’

‘Of course I’ll help you. Just tell me when you need me.’ Sorcha felt surprised her sister had asked her, as well as about her vulnerability about asking her. Sara never needed anyone to do anything for her. But perhaps this was precisely why she couldn’t ask anyone else. She didn’t have any friends.

‘Great, that’s settled then! Let me tell you more about this economist… I can’t believe he was looking for sex in his own home town, that’s just stupid. Or at least, he should have gone for a hooker, who’d never tell anyone. What do you think?’ Sara was back in her comfort zone.

‘I suppose so...’ and Sorcha was back to cringing. It never took Sara long to get back to sex-business.

‘But back to you. You were saying that married sex is a bit boring? You could say that again, judging by how many married men I have crying like a baby with gratitude after a few hours with me.’ Sara leaned back in her seat, with a self-satisfied look.

‘Too much information, Sara. It really is hard to listen to you, can’t you just tone it down a bit?’

‘Okay, okay, I’ll try my best,’ Sara promised, theatrically holding her fingers up in the sign of promise, her index and middle fingers crossed. ‘But tell me, I want to know what you were going to say earlier. ’ Sara pulled the chair closer to the table. She really wanted to hear this.

Sorcha took a deep breath. It was difficult to talk about her private life with her husband Seán, it felt like a betrayal of sorts to say anything to anyone else. ‘Well… I was just saying that married sex can be a bit… you know… boring. After 10 years of marriage, I can tell you that it is just so predictable, nothing like what I read about in books or magazines. It’s just very pleasant and nice, but...’

‘Just say it, little sis – he doesn’t make you come, does he?’

‘No need to be so blunt and rude.’ Sorcha’s face was beetroot-red. She had been with Seán for forever. He had been her first boyfriend, and they had married very young. She had never wanted it any other way – except that lately she had started to think about sex. A lot. And for the first time in her life, she had wondered if she should have indulged in a bit of premarital romping. But it had been lovely, so romantic getting married as a virgin. Just the right way: it had fit just right with her religious beliefs. She had worn a chastity ring when she was younger, and when she had met Seán, he had understood her thoughts on the subject so well, and he had thought the same.

‘And Sara, I’m only 10 minutes younger than you. Would you ever stop calling me little sis? You know bloody well that it always gets on my nerves. So much for twins getting on, like, really well, and having this amazing sixth sense about each other. We never had that, did we?’

‘We did, when we were very small, but you were always so... Irish Catholic about everything . May I remind you that you are only half-Irish, for God’s sake? It is as if you are pure Irish and I Swedish, as far as our sense of morality is concerned. You do know, don’t you, that our parents weren’t even married when they conceived us? We are the result of a lusty, probably drunken, roll in the hay, or most likely a quick shag in the forest, at a rock festival in Sweden. Our saintly Daddy Dearest was just a typical, horny young man, going after a hot Swede.’

‘Stop! You are making my head hurt.’ Sorcha had to resist the impulse to actually put her hands over her ears. ‘You’re always needling me about Dad. Would you ever get over your issues with him? He’s a wonderful man.’

‘Yeah, yeah. I will when he’ll get over the issues he has with me and my chosen lifestyle. But Sorcha…’ A horrible thought had occurred to Sara. ‘Did you and Seán wait until you were married?’

‘We did. And we were both virgins.’

‘Oh my God! How did I not know this before?’ Sara was dismayed. She didn’t think there was a person on the planet any more – or in Ireland, at any rate – that went into a marriage as a virgin.

‘Well, you’ve always been too busy talking about your own conquests; I don’t think you’ve ever stopped for one minute to think to ask me about my life, have you?’ Sorcha felt good to be able to needle her sister back a little bit. Blame felt great.

But she needed to say something difficult… She gulped and took a deep breath.

‘Sara. I am not happy with my sex life with Seán.’

There. She’d finally said it. She’d wanted to talk to Sara about it for ages, but had never had the courage. But somehow Sara asking for her help had made it easier for her to tell Sara.

‘Sorcha! You said sex!’ Sara looked so shocked that Sorcha felt like laughing, except that the situation was no laughing matter. Sorcha took a gulp of her coffee, hoping it would give her courage to continue the conversation. The Dublin café they were sitting in was luckily very quiet now that Sara’s earlier loud and lewd conversation had driven away the last few of the older ladies that had been sitting at a table near them. The dirty looks they had given them had Sorcha’s cheeks still aflame.

‘I suppose it had to happen sometime. You never stop saying the word sex.’ Sorcha used her fingers to make quotation marks. ‘You’re always burning my ears off about some stud-of-a-lover, and perhaps I’m jealous. Like today it was some economist I’ve never even heard of. I love Seán, but it’s just so... predictable.’ And boring... Sorcha could go on. She chewed her lower lip nervously, feeling her face redden again. Why couldn’t she be a little bit more like Sara? Always an endless stream of lovers on the go, her single life filled with sexcapades (a term Sara used a lot). Sorcha was happy in her marriage, and she didn’t want anyone else other than Seán, but she did want a bit more spice in their lovemaking.

‘Sorcha! I can’t believe my ears!’ Sara shook her head for good measure. ‘I thought you were happy with Seán?’

‘I am very happy with him. Everything else is great, except in the bedroom. I just don’t seem to be able to... you know... ever...’ Sorcha didn’t know how to continue. She wanted to die. What had possessed her to start this? She wanted to get up and run out of the café.

‘Well, this is a turn-up for the books. My good-as-gold little sis, talking about sex. And with the Big Bad Sister of all people.’

‘Stop teasing me, Sara – this is really difficult for me to talk about it. I’m trying to ask for your help here. You are always just so... argh, impossible!’ Sorcha took a big gulp of her latté and managed to make it go the wrong way. She coughed and spluttered, tears running down her face, while Sara patted her back in a lacklustre manner. Sorcha knew that some of her tears were born of frustration at the impossibility of their conversation.

‘OK, little s– ah, Sorcha. There, there.’ Sara gave her a final pat on her back. ‘Are you OK now? I am here for you – I’m always here for you, not that