1
She never calls me, you think.
You pick at your noodles – some shiny, greasy mess from the Chinese take out again – and toy with your phone. It's a well practised routine with recognisable signs you're about to cave in and make the call.
Just like the last times you've given in to the urge for some excitement, food has stopped having any taste and you're restless and ready to scream at the mediocrity of daily life.
Well, the mediocrity of your day to day existence. Giselle's life, you know from the all too limited occasions you've been a tourist in her world, is far from dull. Fancy hotels and film sets and packs of slavering men completely under her control are the routine for your sexy almost-twin.
You toss your phone aside and push the noodles away. If you knew why she didn't call, that might make it easier, you tell yourself.
The first time, of course, you had to call her. She was the one who'd given you her business card after all. The card you'd stuttered, speechless over, knowing even then that she'd seen something in your eyes that you didn't allow yourself to see in the mirror.
Perhaps that was what it was. You look so alike, she just saw herself in you and that was enough for you to imagine what you could be. Unfortunately, the similarities between Giselle and you end at the way you look. Your day starts and finishes on the sofa in your tiny apartment, after a dreary day of commute, office, commute, TV, eat, sleep. Even the day off you've got tomorrow is just another helping of The Same with a side order of Routine. Grocery shopping and running errands is all you have planned.
You can see that Giselle doesn't need you to liven up her days like you need her. But after that last time, when you'd shadowed her in stripping off for a roomful of bachelors, playing with her breasts and sliding your fingers inside her for her pleasure as much as the roaring spectators? After that time, surely she'd have wanted to bring you along again?
Something warm uncurls between your legs as the memories wake up. The roaring spectators as Giselle's brown nipples pressed against yours and she tugs your top down, exposing you to them first. Her fingers playing out what they wanted to do to you, if only they could touch. Her writhing against the men while you took your satisfaction, even as they thought they were the ones being serviced.