DOPPLEGANGER NEXT DOOR, part 1

You pushed me once too far again
I’d like to break you fucking teeth.
Stick a knife in the center of your back.
You better grow some eyes in the back of your head.
I fight dirty, just like your looks. Can’t take, can’t take, can’t take anymore!

Green Day’s rapid-fire hardcore chant to violence sounded loud, furious in the penthouse bedroom. On the bed, with the same speed and violence, fingers were moving in and out of wet, hot pussies that were seconds away from orgasm. Outside, a furious storm roared, thundering as the two rival beauties snarled with hatred and pleasure, rain falling ferociously against the skylight glass, lightning flashing in the night sky and illuminating sweaty bodies in torsion, flushed cheeks and desperate panting mouths.

With an earthquake shattering the depths of her pussy with unwanted joy, she couldn’t believe what was happening. That she was fucking with another woman was astonishing, but it was everything that had brought her to this moment that was blowing her mind. Just three days ago, they had met each other for the first time, and already the animosity and mutual obsession had pushed them beyond any known limits, forcing them both into the unknown terrain that was what was happening in that bed. That was sex, but not ordinary sex—there was no hint of love or respect there, for in the dense woman-scented air of the room there was raw hatred, unhealthy lust for domination and an unmatched rivalry, because what she had hugged against her was a perfect reflection of herself—like a doppleganger, but not one of those fantasy beings, but a more terrible one: a real one.

A lightning bolt too close blasted over penthouse and the dueling naked women, and it was then that the desired climax was finally triggered by long, skilled fingers. Screams of victory and defeat echoed in the walls of the bedroom, and…

***

Three days ago…

The sky was overcast over the city that late autumn Saturday, and in tune with the cloudy thoughts that Katja Thorn held in her head. The blonde beauty was fed up that day, and was unable to disguise her bad mood as she drove back home—she had honked the horn of her old Volkswagen T2 the whole time, and had complained loudly to almost every driver she came across, with her angry voice booming even over the punk rock music that blasted noisily from the radio in her vehicle. Not even when after a long traffic jam she finally reached her street on the outskirts of the city did she find solace.

“There is no free parking spot, fuck!” she cursed, noting that part of the street was undergoing renovation work, leaving little place to leave her van. Carefully overtaking a small bulldozer, Katja saw at the end of the street the towering building she had moved into just four days earlier. The sight of that huge and ugly white structure made her grunt bitterly, for she had decided to move to Ebeltoft, she had dreamed of living in some nice house with a garden like the one she had grown up in in her hometown, not in a concrete giant.

But it’s the only thing I could afford on the crappy salary I have, Katja spat out inside her head. Despite her previous experience as a bar waitress at a glamorous rock bar, there she had only found work at a cheap burger joint where she would never, ever dare to eat. At least she could get some entertainment every weekend by going out to see a few local punk rock and hardcore bands, and enjoy the feeling of being everyone’s favorite groupie—because of her raw and authentic enthusiasm, but also because of her undeniable, mesmerizing sex appeal.

“Oh, there’s a spot!” Katja said excitedly, revving up the van so that no one would take her parking space. Skillfully, she turned the steering wheel and, in just a few seconds, left her V2 next to the curb. “Well, finally some good fucking luck,” she exclaimed, turning off the engine and getting out of the van.

Rocking her long golden hair in the air, the blonde locked the vehicle. For a moment, she gave herself a moment to catch her breath and observe the van, the last memory of her previous life. She remembered like it was yesterday buying the old van, fixing it up, painting it black and decorating it with big vinyl stickers with flashy rock and roll motifs—an intertwined bass and guitar, The Offspring’s igneous skull, some musical notes, the Dead Kennedys’ symbol…. Katja looked proudly at her V2, remembering how many concerts and festivals she had been to with it.

“Good times,” the blonde whispered just before turning her eyes away and starting to move towards her building, some sixty or seventy meters away. Walking down the street, Katja gritted her teeth and lost her mood again as she kept remembering why she hated her job so much.

Today that fucking guy touched my ass. The humiliating memory reddened her cheeks. And then my boss, the shitty bastard, instead of standing up for me, had justified it because he said that an ass like mine deserved such attention. I hate you, you fucking sexist piece of shit! she screamed inside her head, unable to believe that she hadn’t quit her job at that moment. If I didn’t need the money…

Katja kept shouting mentally until, suddenly, something caught her attention so much that she was pushed out of her furious thoughts: in front of the door of her building, a black van decorated with yellow lightning bolts, guitar and drums icons, and some icons from bands such as Black Flag, Social Distortion and Bad Religion stood out among the other monotonous cars.

Another T2? Here? With all that punk rock stuff? No way… she questioned, noting how similar it was to her own van—it was of the same model and year, that much was certain, and the style of the decoration moved in the same standards. For an instant, Katja’s good-looking face lit up, and a small spark burst in her heart, with the possibility that the owner of that Volkswagen was an attractive new neighbor with tastes akin to her own. A bearded, lanky rocker guy, just the way I like them, she daydreamed. I’ve gone too long without a good hard cock, so I could really use one right now!

For a beauty like Katja, it was surprising that she had gone several months without sex. At just turned 30, she appeared to be a few years younger, and looked better than ever. She certainly had no shortage of suitors, but for a punk-rocker woman like her, she didn’t want any good daddy’s boy with slicked-back hair and a expensive suit. She was wild, and wanted the same in a man—she wanted to fuck to the rhythm of The Exploited or Misfits, and scream their lyrics at the same time as her sexual partner.

Unfortunately for her and her wet dreams, the pessimism and bad luck of that fateful autumn day took hold of her again as soon as she stepped through the doorway and found several boxes piled up, some of which were obstructing access to the elevator. It was undeniable that her intuition about a new neighbor had been right, for the boxes were labeled as in a moving operation.

“What the hell?” Katja protested, stretching out her right leg to step over one of them. “How can people be such fucking assholes? This shitty building and its people make me sick of it.” The van outside and what it could mean came back to fill her head with an obsessive idea. “This new neighbor better be really hot to make up for it. But really, really hot, because if not I’m going to…”

Suddenly, the elevator doors opened, silencing the gorgeous woman. Certainly, as she had desired, the one who appeared in front of her was really, really hot, but something went awry in Katja’s wish because there wasn’t a man there, but a woman…and not just any woman.

“What the fuck!” she said at the same time as the new neighbor. The sight of who was in the elevator hit Katja’s emotions as it had never hit anyone before—except, precisely, the other woman, whose facial expression made it quite clear that she too was being punched by the same intense and unanticipated rush of emotions. Blood rushed immediately to the cheeks of both females, reddening them at the most unexpected moment of their lives.

Opening their eyes wide, one and the other seemed to forget all social considerations to brazenly move their gazes up and down across the other face and body. Katja felt the imperious need to pinch herself, because she was sure she was dreaming since the one with her mouth open in surprise a few steps away from her was herself. Or, pragmatically, a twin sister of whom her parents had never told her about, because there was no other real option to explain what she was seeing. Their pretty, sexy white-skinned faces mirrored each other perfectly, with blue eyes, delicate noses and full, heart-shaped lips matching witch each other as if they were cloned elements in a laboratory, and their equally long almost-platinum golden hair fell like twin waterfalls over bodies that, taken from the same mold, were equal in height, weight and complexion, all their curves replicated no matter where Katja looked: breasts, waists, hips…

The attractive blonde was so bewildered that it even took her a few seconds to realize that they were both wearing identical outfits, with military boots with chains and buckles, tight leather pants and a Ramones T-shirt, all in seductive black, although at least she felt somehow comforted that they were not wearing the exact same model and brand name.

“H-hi,” the new neighbor, that unexpected Katja-who-wasn’t-Katja, stuttered.

“Hi,” Katja managed to respond after swallowing some saliva. In her mind, she cursed that even their voices were alike in tone and femininity. “I…You…I mean…” she stumbled, unable to give form to what she was feeling.

“Yeah, I…” the other woman tried to say, her blue eyes still fixedly roaming over Katja. “Well…”

“You just moved in, didn’t you?” she managed to spit out in one breath, and it felt like overexertion.

“Yes, I just got here.” Katja almost didn’t hear her, as her gaze was fixed on the other female’s beautiful chest. Under the T-shirt, it looked as firm and big as her own. “Do you live here?”

“Yes,” she said back. “Since only four days ago.”

“I see…”

Like a dead weight, silence fell heavily on both blondes, the reason for the discomfort of both still unnamed.