Date: Mon, 30 Jun 2008 18:09:13 -0700 (PDT)
From: Tim Stillman <novemberhourglass@yahoo.com>
Subject: Gazebo

				  Gazebo
				    By
			       Tim Stillman

(For David--with many blue sky balloons--and thank you for touching whole
worlds-this is a piece of one of those worlds touching back)


Gazebo is such an ugly sounding and looking word. It sounds like a
description of a duck whose back is broken. But it is a lovely place to be
in summery time. Michael and I always called summer summery as long as I
can remember. He is now in his 14th year. I his sister am 16 and am in love
with Michael of the berry berry breath and the sweet smile and the midnight
eyes that have little circular moons dancing round in them. Michael is in
love with Gabe who is our gardener, for our family has more than a little
money and our home is more than a house. Our grounds are extensive and in
summery, says Papa, though he calls it summer, the huge acres of green
grass are as green as paper money, and he laughs, does Papa, though he does
not know about Michael and Gabe, nor does he know about Michael and I. I am
called Delicate Flower by my parents. Sometimes Frail Flower. I am called
Delicious by my brother. I was a sickly child and am still frail.

And Michael and I love lying on the warm wood floor of the gazebo in
summery, hidden from night view by the rose trellis flowers all round as he
kisses me, my brother, and puts my hand to his penis that he has unbuttoned
from his shorts as I hold the delicious delicate flower of Michael and
press his forehead with my cool hand, for I have cool hands even in summery
no matter how hot the air gets and we remember as he leans his small head
on a delicate flower neck over to my exposed young girl's breasts. He sucks
my nipples hard and so they are almost hurtful. I am the pale one. Michael
is robust and the manly boy, but when we explored each other, he was a
little boy and I was the big sister he tagged along behind.

It was when he was 12 and small boned and hairless, save for the dark crop
on his head. He was lying on my bed when I came out of the shower, naked,
save for my towel, most surprised, actually more horrified really, to find
him equally naked and on his side stroking his small hairless penis, with
that laughing sweet goony look right at me. All over me. He says I was a
sight, as I dropped the towel, thus accidentally in shock, exposing myself
further, and turned to the wall to keep my breasts and my pubic hair
hidden, thus giving him a good view of my backside as well. He laughed and
I was mortified, for no male save my father in passing had ever seen me
naked. I thought, are my breasts going to always be this small and is my
pubic thatch ever going to grow as that of a real woman's? And my backside
was it flat, to his eyes, and I could not stand to hear him laughing at me
for I loved him dearly. And that was the first moment I knew I loved
him-romantically. For I was flower frail and he was to become muscular but
in that summery bedroom encounter, we were more alike than separate.

Michael's little penis was indeed that as I felt it against my skin as he
pressed against me, as I hurtled him away by pushing, and rushed to my bed,
climbing under the too hot covers in the July afternoon, as he rushed to me
all legs and arms and his penis jiggling this way and that; it was the
first time I had seen a hard-on and it embarrassed me and excited me just
as much. Just as immensely. He told me as he sat on the bed and did
something he would do often after that, till Gabe won his heart with his
beefy body and his large moonstruck eyes, though different mooneyes than
Michael's, for Gabe was "slow." He too had been ill as a child. And
frail. But he worked hard outside, all his life, and toughened up his body
if not being able to toughen up his brain, and I feel an ass in saying
that.

Michael held my hand on his uncut penis and I felt it grow, so I had to
look, hadn't I? I mean if a girl weren't to be thought odd, she had to look
at that first penis growing even harder in my hand, all warm and stiff and
a little wet, even if it was her brother's penis, I mean, it seemed, I
framed it smilingly later, as if my duty. And Michael rolled his little boy
body up against me, so I could see his rounded backside in the bureau
mirror; oh he looked so adorable and tanned already from the summery sun,
and he rough housed with me, being careful however, and kissed my on the
mouth which I wiped off with my hand and thus distracting me with that,
clever little fellow, he pulled the covers down and saw my breasts up close
and my nipples hard with excitement, to which he put his mouth, the left
one, and his fingers, the right one, as I gasped in utter sexual joy in my
canopy bed with my brother who finally coaxed me to pull the covers all the
way down, and there I lay on my back shivering in the summery naked before
my naked brother.

It was, in a word, wonderful. He suckled on my nipples like a little
boy. When of course that was what he was, the same mouth he would use to
suck Gabe's ugly hairy cock one night in the summery in our gazebo, which
hurt me terribly.  Michael and I were of the same blood, and it seemed
right to me that first afternoon that we should only make love with each
other and he sat on me, my Michael and wiggled his penis back and forth. He
dared me to take it in my mouth, leaning forward to let me. I brushed it
back and he giggled in my girl pink room and he tickled it on my lips and
pressed, but I would not let him do it--at first. He lay off me and peered
at all my body while I stroked my brother's penis and tiny balls. He
examined every part of me as though it would be important later on, or was
that my own reasoning? I saw all of him. His pale chest. His prominent ribs
and collar bone, his weak chin, his knock-knees, his scrawny frame, his
little butt, his flat feet.

He examined my vagina and his mouth was in an O of wonder. He licked it
like a puppy licking it, with his wide night eyes peering up so like a kid
on Christmas morning at my girl breast with the nipples so rubbery
painfully tight, his fingers traducing them as he licked my pussy and
gradually gradually began to suck as I told him how. I would watch him
masturbate (that first shoot of silver was quite a shock or me) and he
would watch me. It was so intensely erotic, my mind can't say.

As gradually I learned to play with his tiny rose nipples so pale they were
hard to see, as I sucked them and he played with all of me, as we danced
our fingers on each other and reveled in each other's nakedness and in our
own; he said my vagina was pinker than anything in my pink room (my mother
overdid that little girl stuff sometimes, I think) and finally two
afternoons later, I let him inside me. I was taller and more arms and legs
than he, and as he fucked me his head came to my breasts and only a little
higher; I helped stuff him in me and it was like magic and forth of July
and summery forever more; we were the two happiest children ever born.

It hurt when he broke my cherry and he was so concerned about that and the
little blood emitted; he kept apologizing and I kept hugging him and my
legs around his little boy body, as he and I got the rhythm together and
became non-virgins, as his cum entered me and splashed and he began to
stop, but I whispered desperately, no not yet a while longer and I held his
boy rump as he continued on, and then I came and gripped his penis, he
said, harder than the times before he came, and said I did it so hard that
he came again. And we said we loved each other. And meant it.

It was too dangerous to keep doing this in the house, so we settled late
night meetings in the gazebo. He brought me a mum the first time, culled
from our garden, and brought me my favorite chewing gum, vanilla flavored,
the second time, and was such the little gentleman and charmed me on our
dates--for that was what they were---and we would so delicately undress-me
the frail flower-him the growing power of the sun--we delighted in our
growing pubic hair and his penis getting bigger and I did take it in my
mouth, and he said O Sister! And it was so sexual and so warm.

In winters and Falls we made love in the storage room outside but it was
just that-a storage room and made us feel wrong somehow. And the how wrong
it was was that final, though I did not know how final it was to be, when
we were naked in the summery and I pretended I had not seen one month three
nights four hours ago my brother, my love, sucking the gross cock of Gabe
in this same gazebo. I have never cried like that and shall never let
anyone, even and especially Michael, hurt me like that again.

I denied I saw it and I denied the joy on their faces, the slack face of
Gabe and the ruddy strong full face of my brother. They had only their
penises out side their clothes and I thought I was not frail enough, for I
wanted to die like a flower in wintertime. Gabe was frail only in his mind,
not his body; I could never compete with that or the world Gabe knew and
the world he would or had already introduced Michael into.

Michael had been doing that and I supposed other things for perhaps a while
or some time, and as Michael was fucking me this final night in the gazebo
or anywhere else, as I held my more womanly legs around him and he was
close to cumming, I saw Gabe at the doorway of the white latticed door way
of the Gazebo, and I let Michael hump me-love was gone--Gabe was the
gazebo, the word and his name fit together; he was it and the garden and
the brute physical power to keep the world at bay and bearable.

I was a flower in summer good for summer alone, for Michael would need
adults now, an adult world of work and grime and patience and strength,
because Michael was tender in his mind and did not want to go from me, not
really because of me anymore, but because he was scared. I looked at Gabe
as Michael fucked me and Gabe was crying as Michael came and I was an
orifice because I pulled away from Gabe's lover.

Michael as usual collapsed on me and whispered frail flower in the summery
summery. I kissed his mouth. I told him to get dressed, we had company.
Michael in horror it was mother or father pulled off me and hid his
genitals as he turned on his back next to me, his mouth coming up with some
kind of explanation, though none would possibly suffice, then tense more
when he saw who it was, that big shambling man in the gardening work
clothes, eyes weeping. Michael then turned to me, trying to explain when no
explanation was possible, but he saw in my eyes, as I pushed gently away
from him, as I unashamedly dressed, for Gabe had hidden his eyes and had
turned his back in propriety.

"You are going to your life, Michael," I whispered to him. "I will always
remember. Remember that sweet funny sexy kid brother you were and how you
made a frail flower bloom." I kissed him on the lips, and it was a hello to
the world kiss, not a sad goodbye one. And I took Michael's hand and put it
in Gabe's. Who startled at the touch. "We'll be friends forever, Frail
Flower," Michael said.  As Gabe spoke in his gruff kitteny voice, "I will
tend the gardens free of charge the rest of always." He was such a sweet
man, such a lonely man. He would not be lonely again for I also saw the
adoration in their eyes for one another.

"Run," I said. "Run and be happy. And if they give you any lip, just say
BITE ME." We laughed and there was to be a little more of summery for all
of us. Don't anybody tell you there is no magic in the world. We three have
experienced more than our share. And are here to tell the tale I just
told. Be well. For we decree it so. In the gazebo of the summery summery
where you are too.