I was working on the final chapters of my latest book when I heard the
moving van come to a stop outside. My former neighbors (a very nice
elderly couple who had lived next door to me for several years) had
retired to Florida a few weeks ago. I lived in a four-unit, condo-style
townhouse. In fact, that's what the whole neighborhood was, and I was
sorry to see them go. They were one of the few neighbors I had gotten
to know, always having the bachelor-writer over for dinner and telling
me how much their grandson enjoyed my books. I met him once, a very
cute eight-year-old who had me autograph the books he owned that were
written by me. I got up from my computer and looked out the front
window, watching the movers open up their truck and begin carrying
boxes and furniture into the unit next door. I didn't see any signs of
the owners of these belongings however, so I went back to my desk
figuring I'd meet them when they got settled in.

I hadn't been working very long when I heard someone knocking lightly
on my door. When I opened it I was momentarily speechless, for there on
my doorstep were a pair of identical-twin boys, smiling shyly at me.
They were about nine or ten years old, each with long brown hair and
dressed in shorts and tank-tops, revealing well-tanned, shapely limbs.

"Hi!" said the one on the left. "We're your new neighbors!" piped the
one on the right. I silently thanked my guardian angel-boy for
delivering these two handsome lads into my life, into a neighborhood
sorrowfully short of young boys...into the unit next door!

The boy on the right was looking up at me rather curiously, his head
cocked to one side, almost as if he knew what I was thinking. I
realized I had been staring. I held out a finger and made a show of
bringing it closer to my nose, following it with my eyes until they
crossed. "I seem to have been sitting at my computer too long," I
teased. "I'm seeing double."

They giggled at my small joke and the left one said, grinning, "You're
not seeing double, we're twins! I'm Cory and that's my baby brother,
Chris."

Chris gave his twin a withering look and said, "Will you STOP calling
me that? You're only five minutes older than I am!"

Hoping to head off a brotherly battle I intervened. "I'm pleased to
meet you," I said quite honestly. "I'm Tom."

Chris, the boy on the right, looked at me strangely again. "I know," he
said, as if I were stating the obvious. As soon as he said it his
brother looked sharply at him and elbowed him in the ribs. Chris's face
immediately became worried, as if he'd been caught doing something he
wasn't supposed to do.

"How do you know my name already?" I asked, wondering what was going
on.

Cory's eyes darted quickly around until they landed on my door, still
standing open. "There," he said, looking relieved, "your name's on the
door: 'Tom Jannings'."

Of course, I thought, it's right there for all to see. "You guys are
pretty quick. You'd make good detectives," I said, smiling at them.
"Are you all through moving in already?" I could see the movers
starting to clean up.

"Almost," said Cory. "Mom's inside unpacking but she said to 'get out
of her hair' for awhile."

"We were only trying to help," Chris informed me, sounding slightly
hurt that their efforts hadn't been appreciated.

"Is your Dad still at work or something?" I asked, wondering why he
hadn't been mentioned.

"No..." said Cory, hesitantly. "He doesn't live with us anymore."

"He doesn't even want to SEE us anymore," said Chris, looking dejected.

I could tell this was a sore topic, and knew they probably blamed
themselves for their parents' separation. Young kids almost always do.
I changed the subject. "Would you like to come in for a drink or
something or shall we carry on our conversation in the doorway?"

They looked at each other and finally Chris nodded, as if to tell his
brother it was okay to go in. I ushered them into the kitchen, noticing
how they stared at the 'U2' poster on the wall of my living room, the
one with a young, bare-chested boy with his hands on his head. As I got
some glasses and ice they sat at the table and began their own
questioning.

"Are you married?" asked one.

"No."

"You live here alone?" asked the other.

"Yes."

"Any girl-friends?"

"No."

"How old are you?"

"32."

"Don't you work?" They were obviously wondering why I was home in the
afternoon on a weekday.

"Yes." I felt like I was playing twenty questions, being grilled by
identical inquisitors.

"Well, what do you do?"

"I write books." I gave them their sodas and sat down.

"Thanks," they said simultaneously, then they looked at each other and
giggled at their stereo effect. I looked at them closely and could see
that if I got to know them better I would probably be able to tell them
apart. There were subtle differences in their expressions and
appearances, the way they smiled and carried themselves. I hoped I
WOULD get to know them better! They were certainly very cute, and
definitely sexy, both with dark brown eyes and expressive faces, and
strong, lean bodies full of boyish energy. I found myself staring at
their slender necks and rounded shoulders, admiring the tempting skin
exposed by their tank-tops.

"How old are you two?" My turn for questions.

"Nine," answered the one I thought was Chris.

"Almost ten," added his twin.

"Are you from around Chicago, or did you move here from somewhere
else?"

"We used to live right in the city," explained Cory, taking a drink,
"but we moved to here in Glenwood 'cause Mom got transferred."

"What's your mom do?"

"She's a nurse at the hospital," said Chris proudly. Having a
conversation with these two was like watching a tennis match. Chris
looked at me and smiled, as if to say he knew it, it's just the way
they were.

"Hey!" exclaimed Cory, looking at me as if he'd suddenly realized
something. "Are you the same Tom Jannings that wrote all those books we
have?"

"Well, I don't know what books you have but I'm the only Tom Jannings
that I know of." I grinned at him slyly. I really did love being
recognized by my young fans. My books were written mainly for (and
about) young boys, full of adventure and daring just like their
readers, and also about everyday stuff like new siblings, school,
divorce, even one about death. I always answered every letter I got
from a reader, and also from appreciative parents who were grateful
that my books had turned their kids onto reading.

Chris was looking at me again. "It IS you," he said, sounding sure of
himself. "We've got every book you wrote! I think they're really good,
too," he told me candidly.

"Thank you!" I said, my ego always glad of praise from a young admirer.
He had said that they had ALL of my books and I tried to remember how
many there were.

"Eleven," said Chris.

"What?"

"That's how many books we have that you wrote." I heard Cory kick his
brother under the table and he quickly said, biting his lip, "Um, I
mean, you looked like you couldn't remember how many there were."

"You're right, I didn't." I couldn't help thinking that this boy seemed
to be able to read me as well as he could read my books. Strange.

"We better go now," said Cory, giving his brother a look I couldn't
understand. "Mom's probably wondering where we are."

"Tell her to stop by later on for a cup of coffee, and let me know if
she needs any help with anything. Feel free to come by yourselves
anytime too," I added sincerely.

"OK, Tom," said Cory, politely putting his glass and his brother's in
the sink. "See ya later!" I was glad he hadn't called me 'Mr.Jannings'.
Neighbors should always be on a first-name basis.

As they left I found myself looking at their tight little buns and the
smooth backs of their legs. Chris turned around just then and smiled at
me, before running to catch his brother. It seemed my life had taken an
interesting turn, and there was definitely something strange about my
new friends that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

Later in the day I hadn't gotten very far with my book. My thoughts
kept returning to Cory and Chris, and it was hard to keep them separate
from the boy I was writing about. I got up and started a pot of coffee
brewing and was about to watch the news on TV when someone knocked on
the door. The boys were back with their mother in tow, a nice looking
woman with brown, wavy hair like her sons', about my age or maybe a
little older. "Hi," she said, smiling and holding out her hand, "I'm
Susan Gibson, your new neighbor. The twins said we had a celebrity
living next door so we came for your autograph." She looked at the box
the boys were carrying between them as I shook her hand.

"Nice to meet you Susan, I'm Tom Jannings but I guess they already told
you that. Come on in, I just started some coffee a few minutes ago." I
led the way to the living room and the boys dropped their box on the
floor, flopping down on either side of me on the couch while Susan took
a chair. "Did you bring me a gift or are you moving in with me?" I
asked the boys jokingly.

They smiled and one of them said, "No, these are all your books."

"Well, just because my name is on them doesn't mean you have to give
them back to me," I said, playing dumb.

"No, silly," said the other one (Cory?), "we want you to autograph
'em."

"You're supposed to ASK him, Cory," said his mother reprovingly.

"He would have," I said, coming to his defense, "if I wasn't having
such fun teasing him." I grabbed his bare leg just above the knee and
lightly squeezed, making him laugh and squirm. That's always been one
of my favorite places to tickle a boy. "Why don't you guys come to the
kitchen with me and we'll get something to drink while your mom rests
her bones? You take anything in your coffee, Susan?"

"Black, please. Are you sure I can't help?"

"Positive. You just take it easy," I said, getting up. The boys
followed me into the kitchen and I showed them where the glasses were,
telling them to make themselves at home and help themselves to ice and
pop while I got the coffee. When we returned to the living room Susan
was standing by my computer desk, and I could see her looking at the
bronze figurine of a nude boy laying on his side, next to my terminal.

"Inspiration?" she asked. I was sure she had noticed the poster on the
wall also.

"You could say that," I answered. I gave her one of the cups of coffee
and took a pen from the desk before sitting back down between Cory and
Chris. I opened the box the boys had brought in and groaned. "You guys
want me to sign ALL of these?"

"Please?" said the one on my left (Chris?), giving me that pleading
puppy-dog look that little boys are so talented at, and which I'm
totally defenseless to resist.

"We really do like 'em," his brother cajoled me from the right.
"They're our favorite books."

"Ah, flattery will get you everywhere," I said, digging into the box
and beginning my task. They must have read the books often; most were
faded and dog-eared. I came across the first one I ever wrote
(dedicated to my parents) and noticed it was from the first printing,
almost five years ago. "You guys couldn't have been more than five
years old when this one came out," I observed.

"That's the first book they ever read by themselves," Susan told me
proudly. "They were reading Mark Twain, Moby Dick, Hardy Boys, all
before they were seven."

"And you like my books best?" My books sold well but I wasn't used to
being compared to Mark Twain.

"Yeah, we really do," Chris told me eagerly. "You write stories about
boys but it's not like you're a grown-up talking to a kid, using simple
words and stuff. You know what I mean?" He wasn't sure if he was
getting his point across.

"Yes, I do. That's why I put a glossary in the back of each book, so a
kid can look up a word I used that he doesn't know."

"It's your fault I had to go out and buy a college dictionary for
them," said their mother, grinning. "I've read all your books myself,"
she added, "and I always imagined a man with such insights and
understanding of boys must have a dozen of them running around the
house." I saw her glance at the poster. "Chris and Cory said you
weren't married; I hope they weren't rude with all their questions."
She gave each boy a stern look, who, of course, looked innocently back
at her.

"No, they weren't rude at all. In fact, I asked my own questions too,
just to get even." I grabbed a boy in each arm and tickled their sides,
their giggling laughs like music in my ears. Although I wanted to keep
my arms around them in a hug I didn't want to risk being too forward in
front of Susan, and returned to my task of book-signing. "As to my so-
called understanding of boys," I told her, reaching for another book,
"I guess it helps that I'm still a kid at heart. I try to look at the
world with a kid's eyes, wondering how things work, playing games on
the computer and so on...It also helps that I don't have a real job," I
added, giving her my best, boyish grin.

She laughed and said, "Yes, I suppose not having to go to work every
day would definitely help keep you young. I certainly envy you on that
count. My father is buying our condo for us, but it's still hard to
make ends meet. I hate to accept charity like that, but this place is a
lot better for the boys than in the city."

Cory and Chris had sat quietly while we talked, very well-mannered for
nine-year-olds, I thought. I signed the last of their 11 books and held
my arm out, with my wrist limp. "I may be a writer but this is the
first time I've ever had 'writer's cramp'."

They all laughed and the boys said 'thanks' in stereo, laughing again.
They asked about the neighborhood: where the stores were, where
McDonalds was. Cory wanted to know where the nearest soccer field was
while Chris was interested in the library. They might be identical in
appearance but they had two separate and distinct personalities. They
were both interested in the swimming pool by the clubhouse however, and
eagerly asked their mom if they could go swimming tomorrow. She said
she would be too busy unpacking to be able to watch them. I saw their
faces fall in disappointment and seized opportunity by the horns,
volunteering to take her place.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" she asked. "They can be quite a
handful." Cory and Chris gave her comical looks of indignation, as if
such a suggestion were ridiculous.

I assured her it would be no problem at all, and she gave her consent.
Then she told the boys to pack up their books, thanking me for the
coffee and getting up to leave. The twins thanked me again for signing
all the books, telling me with boyish sincerity that they would keep
them forever and never ever sell them. I told them to come get me when
they wanted to go swimming, and told Susan to drop by anytime as they
left. If I hadn't been the sort of man who was romantically inclined to
young boys I suppose I would have been attracted to her, instead. Such
was not the case, however.

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