Date: Tue, 20 Jul 2004 18:57:16 -0400
From: T.K. Walters <writtenbyachild@hotmail.com>
Subject: All For Him, Chapter One

ALL FOR HIM
By MKP


Chapter One


For as long as I can remember, I loved seeing my big brother naked.  This
happened long before I knew anything about sex; or for that matter, dicks
and what they were used for.  When he was ten, and I was eight, I would
sneak peeks at his soft dick in the showers at the communal pool.  I always
was smart about it and only did looked at him for so long or when there was
a big crowd-so I fell into the swarm of people; and if he ever did see me
staring at his sleek, wet body, he never said anything about it.

Sure, other men interested me, but at that age, the only person in my life
that I really looked up to was my brother.  No one could compete with him in
beauty.  In looks, he was a god.  Blessed with locks of sunlight blond hair
and green eyes, he got his share of second and third looks come his way,
from boys and girls.  He was often considered a bit feminine by the boys
because he looked very glam when he was at that age but when they were the
opposite team in any sport he liked, they soon lost that notion from his
athleticism and strength.

It was probably around his sixth grade year, when my father bought a gym
membership-that was supposed to help his heart condition-that my brother
started to look less like a little girl and more like a defined and sinewy
boy.  Seeing as my father rarely did go to the gym (it took a heart attack
when I was twelve for him to get his act together and start working out), my
brother used his membership more than he did.  And, whew, did it do my
brother good.  If ever I was not in love with him before the moment I found
him undressing after his work out, I became an adherent of his immediately.
He liked to shower right after working out but he says that the locker-room
always made him feel slightly dingy, even after washing off the sweat that
he had accumulated over the two hours he spent.

I brushed open the bathroom door a crack and through the small gape, I saw
him.  His black wife-beater fixed to his body-due partially from his sweat
and partially from the tightness of the cloth itself-sticking desperately to
the muscles of the tenth grader.  Working out for almost five years, his
small but strong muscles grew even stronger and leaner, protecting him with
a suit of armor that no one dared to challenge.

Locks of hair, drenched in his sweat clung to his neck.  Even as a child, I
knew that my brother's body was sweated a great deal, no matter if it was
just a small piece of work to do or a little warmer than usual, he sweated.
But that didn't mean he ever did reek; never once would anyone complain that
he should take a bath in an odor connotation, since he always was a sweet
smelling boy.

My heart was beating as I stood outside of the doorway, looking in and
seeing my big brother undress.  A fluid sound hit my ears when I saw his
shirt drop down to the ground.  His tight pants, always cupping his muscled
ass, also, stuck close to his body.

Then all of the sudden, he called out to me, "Kiddo?"

I froze.  My body was a stone and if you threw me in a watery grave that I
deserved, I wouldn't have been able to swim back up to save my life.

"Kiddo, is that you?" he asked.  As soon as he said that, I got some feeling
into my body and my waist snapped up and my chest jutted out, a position
that I always took in front of my militant mother.  Then the door was pulled
open and there was my big brother, nude as that day that doctor was lucky
enough to pat that stunning ass of his.  He was holding in his hand, his
clothing, all of his clothing, and he handed it to me.  I don't remember
what I exactly said or did, but I think my voice let out a squeak.

"Hey, buddy," he said, "could you take these to the washer.  I'll wash them
tonight or mom will kill me for leaving those smelly clothes in the hamper."

Of course I nodded.  I was blind-sighted by his pert, pink nipples that lay
on his tanned, strong, and cut chest.  My head was down, as I tried to avoid
eye contact, but I reached for the clothing, my hand shaking and twitching
the whole three inches that he was away from me.  I heard him chuckle and
then felt his hands muss my brown hair before he shut the door.  The pipes
groaned slightly from the hot water that started to fill the tub.

I looked down at the wet clothes and took his scent from the cloth and a
shiver went down my spine.  It was torture for me to put them into the
washer and add soap that would bastardize his scent that was still tickling
my nostrils.  After I shut the cover to the washer and left the room, I ran
to my room grabbed a pillow to muffle my gleeful squeal/scream.

"What are you doing?" a voice from my doorway asked.

The pillow left my face in a blaze and was soon over my crotch.  "Nothing,
um, just fooling around," I told the person, who happened to be my father.

His face was contorted in a bewildered expression but he didn't ask anything
more.  "Alright, just get ready.  Take a bath, mom's coming home soon and
we'll probably go out for dinner."  He smiled.  I returned the same smile.
Mother was a horrible cook but if she was bad, father was an abomination to
all that is culinary.  He boils eggs and comes out with burning hotdogs.
"Be ready in thirty minutes," he said, sternly.  "Oh, and tell Pete not to
take too long."

Nodding, I watched him leave my room and heard him walk down the stairs,
making the third to last step creak along the way.  Standing up, I threw the
pillow on my bed and closed the door behind me as I walked to my brother's
room.  Opening his closet, I pulled out clothing he'd probably wear out-a
button up tee and slacks.  Grabbing boxers, socks, and an undershirt from
his dresser, I walked back to the bathroom door where Pete was soaking in
the tub.

I knew him and I knew me, whenever we would work out, we both like to sit
and lay in a hot tub of water and just rest for at least an hour or two.
The door was closed so I knocked softly and called out to him, "Pete?  Dad
said to hurry up.  We're going out today."

"Like every day," he called back.  I chuckled.  He was right, if we ever did
have a home cooked meal that didn't end up being nuked in the microwave, and
then we'd go out.

"Pete?" I called, again, "I have some clothes.  I'll leave them out here."

"No, don't.  They'll get dirty; I used my shoes up here.  Just bring them
in."

I dreaded this very notion.  If I went in, I would be stuck with a woodie in
front of him and if I don't, there might not be a chance for me to see him
naked again.  What to do?  What to do?  "Are you sure?  I can just leave it
in your room."

"Nah, it'll save me a trip.  Just come inside.  I feel weird talking to a
disembodied voice when I'm in the tub.  It's too Alfred Hitchcock."

"Are you sure?" I asked, tenaciously trying to get out of going in there
while trying to get in there at the exact same time.

"Yeah, already!" he said, sounding a little exasperated.

I opened the door, since I never wanted to see my older brother flustered
because it robs him of his beauty and grace.  Walking in and closing the
door behind me, I saw the bronze claw foot tub with my brother pecs deep in
the water.  His arms were gripping on the sides of the tub and his hair was
wet from the bath.  Steam was everywhere and it was getting in the way of
him and I cursed it.  I cursed the inanimate object.

"I'll just leave them over here."  I gestured to the double sinks.

"Actually," he said, "do you mind putting them down on the hamper and hand
me the towel on the rack?"

I took a big gulp and walked over to him and place the clothes where he
said, two feet from him.  The floor had condensation from the cold tile and
the warm air.  I almost slipped but caught myself.

"Be careful!" he said.

After I nodded, I took the towel of the rack and handed it to him.  I turned
away when he started to stand, embarrassed to be in such a compromising yet
arousing situation.  Water droplets fell from his body as I heard the
trickling and the splashing, and yet, I kept my head turned away.  He
chuckled.

"What?" I asked when I felt the towel leave my hand.

"You never was this modest when you were this younger.  Weren't you the boy
who got a stiffie in the locker-room?"

My eyes blew open!  How did he remember that?  It happened such a long time
ago, my first time in a locker-room at school with all the young flesh
surrounding me, what else could a soldier do but salute?  I told him what
happened when I was at that age but no one else knew of it.  I knew that
everyone would call me names like fag, fudge packer, brown hatter, queer,
and all that shit but Pete never did.  He laughed about it at first but then
he told me that it happened to everyone and when it was his first time in
that same locker-room, he saw half the guys looking down at each others'
crotches and get hard themselves.  Even Pete admitted to having checked out
a few!

He reached for his clothing, which was now starting to moisten from the
humidity of the room.  His body flashed in my face and my already flushed
body turned a shade of blood red.  "Excuse me," he said, reaching for the
clothes on the hamper.  But he didn't wait!  Pete just thrust his hand
directly to the clothes and his wrist dragged slightly against my tight
jeans.  The same shiver that I felt earlier, crawled down my neck and into
my feet when he did that and I just couldn't help it, I moaned.  He
chuckled, again.  "It's your turn," he said, as he pulled at my sleeve
trying to get me to face him.  All that time, I kept trying to avoid eye
contact but when Pete ordered me to do something, I did it, no questions
asked.  He held-and still does-a lot of power over me.

Pete dressed in front of me, but I tried to keep my eyes away.  I heard his
zipper being pulled up and picked up my head.  He was dressed, at least on
the bottom half of his body.  And as he pulled his white tee over his head,
I pulled off both of my shirts, a buttoned up shirt and a white tee.
Unbuttoned and zipper down, I yanked off my slacks and threw them in the
hamper as Pete sat on the sink.

"Hey," he said, "did you put them in the washer?"

"Yeah," I told him, remembering his scent.  "It's washing right now,
actually."

He nodded and said, "Cool, thanks."

I half expected him to leave and half wanted him to stay; and stay he did,
not moving as soon as he buttoned up his shirt and pulled on his socks.  I
guess there was no way around it.  He had to stay, at least for now.  We
talked about a few things, sports, the weather, and girls, the last not
really interesting to me.  We got into a conversation about sex, like all
teenage boys' conversations seem to end up in.  He asked me how often I
jacked off.  Again, I froze.  The new hot water from the faucet was the only
thing that could be heard in the room.

"Its okay, you don't have to tell me," he said.  "But then again, your
silence tells me everything, so do your sheets.

Off went my boxers as I stepped into the hot water.  You might wonder what
happened to my modesty, or for that matter, Pete's.  I only got modest when
I'm in front of someone like Pete and his body.  I have no problem with my
nudity.  The bath was calming and soothing but not so soothing that I could
get out of his question or comments.

"What exactly do you mean my sheets?" I asked when I calmed quite a bit.

"Please!  Ever wonder why your sheets are always miraculously clean after
you `accidentally' spilled yourself all over yourself?  I usually wash them
just in case Mom or Dad has to go into our rooms."

"But how do you know?"

"Easy.  You're a moaner.  Hell, I think if you were horny enough, you'd be a
screamer.  Thin walls, thin walls," he mumbled the last sentence to himself.

I was tempted to splash some water on him but he was already dressed and
looking magnificent that I thought it would be a waste, so I let that
comment go.  Instead, I just told him that I walked the dog, pounded the
pud, and made my Jack rip at least once a day.  Pete took it upon himself to
let out a harsh laugh.  Again, I blushed.

"Oh," he said, still holding his sides from laughter, "I'm not laughing at
you.  To tell you the truth, I did the same thing when I was your age.
Here's another question:  Do you have a jack off buddy?"

"Uh, what exactly are you saying?"

"You know; a person you jack off with.  Do you have one?"

"You mean a fuck buddy?  Like someone I call for sex?"

His face scrunched up in thoughts for a moment, then he said, "No," in that
long, drawn out way he does, "not exactly.  I think you're thinking about a
girl.  What I was thinking about was a buddy, a guy, that you . . . you
know, help each other with your problems . . . tension problems?"

I shook my head in response but soon was thinking about that image, me and
my best friend Jake, hand in . . . can't exactly say `hand' here, can I?
Anyway, the way things were going, you'd think that he just asked if I was
gay, which I am, for you clueless but loveable people out there.  But I
can't really say that I am, can I?

"Really?" he asked.  I expected him to drop the subject and go on to a new
one but the next thing he said, blew my mind.  "I just lost my jack off
buddy."  My eyes flew open, as did another body part.  I never once heard
him tell me about his jack off buddy.  I never even knew what one was!  And
now, after he tells me what it was, he goes and says that he lost his.  Who
could it be?

Kevin Donahue!  He moved away just a few months ago.  Pete and he were
inseparable, always seen, hand in-god, for the rest of my life, I will never
be able to let go of an image like this as long as I repeat that phrase.
Well, they were never really hand in hand, maybe just shoulder to shoulder.
People say that they were born twins but to different parents, not from the
way they looked, but in the way they acted and the way they were always
together-one always relying on the other.  I don't even recall any time on
my life that they fought.  Sure, there was that little squabble in '92 but
they were young then and it was a tiny argument about something I can't even
remember-I doubt that even Pete remembers what it was.

"Kevin?" I said, whispering at first before I repeated his name, "Kevin
Donahue?"

Pete had dropped his head while I was contemplating it but I could see his
smile and maybe a drop of tear fall on to his lap, from the way light shone.
  Maybe it was just condensation, I thought to myself.  But it might have
been.  "Yeah," he laughed, his voice breaking at first.  It took a minute
for him to say anything else and I didn't want to say anything because it
was just too awkward.  "Yeah, it was Kevin.  He was a jack off buddy."
Again, he laughed to himself but this time it was filled with grief.

"You miss him, don't you?"

"Yeah, he was my best friend. Anyways," he said, changing the subject
abruptly to my relief.  "I was wondering if you had one because I need a new
one."  Suddenly, his voiced seemed much cheerful and more warming than it
had before Kevin was mentioned.

My eyebrows scrunched as I asked him, "You want me to set you up with one of
my friends, a guy friend?"

"No!" he exclaimed.  "No, Doofus, I want you to be my new jack off buddy."
The water around my crotch splashed as my erection said hello to the world,
and to Pete's face.  "I take it, you want that, too?  Look, if you really
want, then get dressed and go to my room.  No pressure.  But if you don't
want, finish your bath and then we'll go downstairs to Dad.  Mom will be
home soon, so, either way, you'd better hurry."
__________

So, there I was; my heart beating, with nothing but a towel on and soaking
wet from the speed I carelessly dried in.  I faced my brother's bedroom
door, and I could hear the sound of music playing.  I heard it almost
everyday when Kevin was still here and now I knew why.  It was to drown out
any sound that came from inside.  I never noticed that it stopped anything
other than sweet, soft music from coming out the small gap between the door
and the floor.

How was he so sure that I was going to go to his room?  How was he so sure
that I would even do it?  Why am I asking myself these questions and why
don't I just go in?  As soon as I reached for the door, I remembered that
Pete hates it when I don't knock, or for that matter, when anyone doesn't
knock.  It was a habit that was forced on us by out parents.  Respect other
people's privacy, they said.  Knock before entering, they berated.  "Pete?"
I said, knocking twice.

The music was lowered and I heard someone say, "Kiddo?  Come in!"

So I did.  And lo and behold, Pete was undressing again, before my very
eyes.  The same tan body that was in the bathroom looked as beautiful as
ever, but this time, his dick looked a lot bigger!  He wasn't at all done
growing at that moment but was it huge!  I guess since I was so young at the
time, every dick looked big to me, but damn, if it didn't stop growing any
time soon, he'd have to have a blood transfusion.  Luckily enough, it did,
so there was no unneeded interruption of having to rush my sick and blood
lost brother to the hospital.  Try explaining that to the doctor.

"I knew it," he said under his voice.  His cockiness annoyed me to an extent
that thrilled me.

"You think you know everything," I told him as I walked in the room.  I
didn't notice it before when I got his clothes but now that I froze my butt
off in the hallway, I realized that his room was rather warm and inviting.
Then again, so was Pete, so it would make sense that his style would rub off
on everything he touched.

"Close the door."  After the door was shut, and after Pete walked over to me
and pulled off my towel, I felt very much like I was in a porn dream, and
that I was gonna wake up soon, but I didn't.  I just stood there while Pete
began to touch my body.  My sensitive nipples started to burn as his
calloused palms, from baseball practice, glided on them.  His hands wandered
farther, tickling the fine hairs, which were my forming treasure trail,
rubbing my bellybutton.

I giggled like a child.  He knew what he was doing to me and to make more of
a statement about it, he dropped the whole seduction act, and just started
tickling the shit out of my sides.  That made me curl into my usual
protection position.  I thrust my waist down to try and stop him but he was
more powerful and he just grabbed me by my sides and threw me onto his bed.
  We wrestled for a while, which I was winning, or so I thought.  I didn't
know it at the time, but he was just playing with me, he really could have
beaten me if he wanted.  I was on top of him at the end, straddling his
waist and pushing him down on the bed and grinning like a mad man.  Before I
knew it, the ice had been broken.  All thoughts of masturbation with my
brother that caused an unnerving feeling in me were gone and all I could
think about was his smile, his body.

"You're ready for it now, aren't you?" he asked, lifting his head off the
bed and looked down toward my crotch.  I was sporting a full hardon and was
leaking a major amount of precum that was gathering on his abs.  But soon,
fear took hold of me again and I started to get off of him, apologizing.
"Don't!" he almost yelled.  His killer smile broke out as I looked down at
him, then at the minute puddle, then at my dick.  I was extremely turned on.
  Has this really happened?

"Don't say you're sorry.  This is what I did with Kevin and he never once
said that he was sorry for dripping on me."

"Sorry," I said, obliviously.

Pete glared at me before his finger took a swipe at the fluids that were
falling of the tip of my dick.  A clear line of precum stuck to his thumb
and to the puddle, which by now was growing in superfluously.  Before I
could do anything about it, he took his thumb and dragged the liquid over
his tongue and tasted me.  I frowned at him, but all he did was smile at me.
  I had no choice but to smile back.  He encircled my dick and started to
use slight pressure to jack me off, using my precum as lube.  I trembled in
his grip, though it was softer than what I would've wanted.

"How is it?" he asked, like it was something I could explain.

"Tighter," I told him, not knowing anything else to say.

He let go of me and wiped all of the precum that gathered between his chest
and abs; he smeared it on my dick and proceeded with a tighter grip.  Most
of the precum was his though, and it increased the sensations in my
dick-just the thought of something belonging to him used like this
completed one of my fantasies.  "Kevin never did like it this tight.  He
was uncut and he liked the feeling of his foreskin dragging on his head than
anything else."

"Uh-huh," I said, closing my eyes.  I involuntarily started to plunge into
his hand, not really listening to the entire story.  All I could do was
focus on his palm.  I was close so I told him to slow down.  He did, but
then that didn't work; I was too much in a hurry to cum.  Then, he told me
to lie down next to him.  Half of me, the left half, lay on the bed and my
right was on top of him, my leg twisted with his.  He started rubbing my
pubic hair, massaging that area, before he moved down to my balls,
completely and deliberately bypassing my dick.  He tugged at them softly,
and rolled them his hand.

It took about five minutes for me to calm down for him to continue but now
that I could see his body clearly, I told him not to touch me anymore.
Instead, I touched him.  I trembled as I tried to touch his dick, which was
sticking straight up, pointing at the ceiling.  Globs and globs of clear,
sticky fluid flowed copiously out of his slit and matted his light blond
pubic hair.  This position mainly gave him the advantage and let him do
everything, but it was my turn to roam around his body.  So, I sat up and
straddled him again, this time, hovering with my knees over his shins so I
could look closely at the organ that I needed to manipulate.  I took his own
question from him, "How is it?"

"Don't focus so much on the head.  I don't want to cum to early," he told
me, clearly forgetting that Mom's due back in a few minutes.

I nodded and moved down to the base of his dick, which I was tempted to lean
down and lick.  I wanted to do what he did, also, to reach down and try his
precum but I wasn't as daring, instead when he closed his eyes I massaged
his pubic area to coat my hand in his fluid.  I tried the sticky liquid and
it tasted incredible.  Maybe it was just because it was Pete but it was just
heaven.  Sure, it was kinda salty but I don't know why, it just thrilled me
even more.  With my free hand, I did the same as he did to me, I tugged at
his balls and at the same time, I stroked his dick, only touching the tip
every tenth stroke.  It surprised me, the stamina my brother had.  I kept
doing all I did on my dick to try and coax myself to cum on his but it
didn't help.  If Pete didn't want to cum, I guess, he didn't cum.  Out of
the blue, Pete grabbed my wrist and brought it to his left nipple.  In the
future, I would finally realize that my brother was way into nipple play.  I
didn't really know what to do and I guess he knew that because when I didn't
do anything but drag the balls of my index and thumb against it.  He took my
hand and licked the fingers I used and set them back.  Without telling me
out flatly, he began to rub his nipple with only my slicked index finger and
every once in a while he would use both of my fingers to lightly squeeze the
harden button.  That made his dick bounce in my hand, which I never stopped
manipulating.

"Wait," he breathed out, his eyes still closed, "I'll cum if you don't."

But I ignored his pleas and sped up my hand.  "We can't wait any longer.
She'll be home in a few minutes."  I looked at the clock on his nightstand.
"We've been at this for forty minutes already.  She must be home!"

Persistent, my brother insisted on trying to get me to stop.  He sat up and
tried to pull my hand away but in the process his dick throbbed and grew
even bigger in my hand and cum flew straight out of his slit and all over
him and me.  The first of his shots jumped two feet above us and landed on
my cheek.  The next ones were strong but not as strong as the first.  Pete
fell over onto my shoulder, moaning constantly, but the music kept its hold
and drowned him out.  His breath was on my chest, and his lips were right
above my own nipple.  It was enough for me to get two hard little buttons,
myself, but not enough to make me cum.

After he cooled down and his breathing returned, Pete sat up.  I didn't want
to move him at all, even though his cum that was on my cheek was closing
down to his hair.  I hated being bothered right after I cum, so I guessed
that he did.  I was right because when I tried to move my hand up and down
his still rock hard dick, he let out a yelp that sounded like, "No!"  Afraid
that I hurt him, I let him go.

After a minute, Pete smiled at me before he took snatched a rag out from
under his pillow.  He ensued at wiping off the cum that was on his lower
abdomen and thighs and my pubic area, which was surprisingly enough, as
flaccid as a wilted flower.  I craned my neck out to him, expecting him to
wipe it off.  But instead, he leaned over and licked my cheek, savoring the
taste of himself.  Not only that but when he noticed that it was everywhere
on my face, he apologized and took my chin in his mouth and licked off the
remaining cum that was there.  God, I blew up like a balloon!  I wanted him
to kiss me right then and there and I knew if he did, I would've cummed
buckets full.  But he didn't.  After he got everything on my face, he
licked off my neck, which was still orgasmic but not as much as it would
have been if his lips touched mine.

Busy trying to get all of the feeling to my neck, I was jolted when he
grasped my dick.  He stroked it down, coating it with left over cum; I
slumped forward onto his body, resting my head on his shoulder.  I was close
and I knew he knew; my breathing was quite audible even in the music filled
room.  He knew exactly how to control my dick and its spasms.  He focused
mainly on the head of it, which caused me to bite my lip.  I think in my
mind I drew blood.  I licked and nibbled his shoulder as he brought me
closer and closer to the edge.  The skin was hot and smooth to the touch and
it increased the sensations in my crotch.  He was doing it without
abandonment now, using every trick he knew, forcing me to cum.

"Pete!  Nick!" my father yelled from downstairs.  I froze but he kept on.

"Stop," I told him, which he did.  I got off of him and walked over to the
window which was at the other side of the room.  I moved the blinds down a
bit and saw my mothers Durango sitting in the garage.  "Shit!  She's home."

"We can finish," he said, reluctantly.  He and I both knew that there was no
way he could finish up on time, seeing as my erection was already began to
droop.

The animalistic pressure that was throbbing in my head told me to try but my
fears overrode it and I told him no.  "I'll go get dressed," I told him as I
picked up the towel.  I can only hope that neither of my parents was in the
hallway.  After I wrapped it tightly around my waist, I walked to the door.
The music was playing but I didn't hear it.  I could only pick up on his
breathing and his looks that was locked straight on to me.  "Thanks," I
said; it was the only thing I could think of that wasn't praising him and
making him a god in my eyes, which he already was.
__________

We had found Marcello's a long time ago and it was a nice place to eat, with
quiet booths, a bar, and a small waiting area, which, even in the packed
nights, never was uncomfortable to be in.  We were sat at a booth near a
window, me next to Pete (I was near the window), our parents were across us.
  After we had ordered, Dad began the conversation, talking about school
first, of course.

"Well," Pete started, "It was okay but the dipshit coach kept bitching at
me."

"Pete . . ." Dad warned.

"Sorry, but you had him in high school, you know!"

Dad smiled over at mom and said, "Yeah, he was."  Mom glared at him.

Our food came and our waitress, Katie, set them on the table.  She took a
quick look at Pete, which only I noticed; Pete and my parents were totally
oblivious to her hair flips and of her dirty pillows.  She leaned over the
table and made sure that Pete got a good look when she gave him his plate.
This got his attention.  My parents were still unaware of her and Pete.

Picking up the big brown tray, she flipped her hair once more and left.  I
was so fucking confused and pissed off.  I mean, I knew that we didn't have
anything going on and we were just jack off buddies but that didn't mean
that he had to flirt back with her.  That slut!  With her big boobs and her
fake hair, and her . . . ugh, she disgusts me.  Okay, I admit that was
harsh, and all of it was untrue, but it did annoy me that she kept his
attention when she sauntered away.

I guess he sensed my hatred toward her because I felt his knee push against
mine.  I looked up and saw him smiling at me.  He shook his head in a no and
put his hand on my thigh, going up a little to show that he still wanted
what we had.  Or have.  I forget.

"What?" Dad asked my brother and me.

"What?" I said, jumping up from my seat.

"Honey," Mom said, "Is something wrong?"

"No, Mom," I told her, "nothings wrong."  She looked at me with that knowing
glare she has and started to play around with her chicken parmesan.  Dad
also looked at me but I knew that he didn't really have a clue onto what was
going on.  Neither did Mom but I'm not always positive about her and her
intuitions.

I sensed Pete's grin from far away and I couldn't help but smile myself
before poking my veal Marsala.  My left hand was off the table and I felt a
snake, my brother's pinkie, intertwine with mine and he kept it there
throughout the whole meal, much to my exuberance.

The meal ended in about an hour.  Katie the Slut gave us our check, which
Dad picked up.  After we had paid and left about twenty dollars on the
table, we stepped outside.  But Pete went back for a few minutes, much to my
worry.  When he came back, Dad asked what that was all about.

"Nothing, just needed to go to the rest room," he said, calmly, but I knew
he was lying, so did Mom but I doubt that Dad did.  Mom smiled, Dad went
inside the car, and I huffed into my seat; well, I huffed in my mind.  Pete
held in his hand a card, which we all knew was Katie's number.
__________

Pete and I were in our beds two hours after we got home, around 11 o'clock,
and so were my parents.  It was around 11:45 when I heard a tapping outside
of my door.  I was groggy and about ten minutes into slumber.

"Nick?" I heard Pete whisper from beyond my door.

"Wait," I said as I woke up in a flash.  "Let me just . . ." I began to say
but thought about it twice.  I needed to adjust myself.  I was having a good
dream about good ole Pete before he woke me up.  Opening the door, I saw him
in his white shirt, probably the one I gave him earlier, and the same
boxers.  He had a big grin on his face, just like a cat in cream.

The feline meandered close to my door but never entered, waiting for me to
invite him in.  "Well?  Can I come in?" he asked.

I wanted too much to turn him down, to make him pay for the fact that he got
the slut's number, but I couldn't.  No matter how much he sleeps around, or
the fact that he goes both ways (which, personally, I think is kinda gross,
all those girl parts mixing with boy parts is just plain wrong), I can't
turn him down.  I never can, never will.  So, I sighed, a small sigh,
dropped my head into submission, and let him in.  He sat down on the bed,
and called for me to sit next to him.  Outside, he whispered, but inside, he
talked in his normal tone.

"Listen, I wanna just tell you what's up.  You know that thing we had,
earlier?"

"You want to break it off, don't you?" I asked, devastated.

"NO!  God, no!  I love what we have, and had.  But I want you to know that
it's not all I do.  You know that, right?"

"Yeah," I said, bowing my head down further.  "Kinda guessed it when you got
the slu-Katie's number."

"Be nice," he warned in that I'm-just-kidding tone.  "But really, you do
understand that I love what we have but that doesn't change the fact that I
do sleep with girls.  So, it's now time for that talk."

"Which talk?" I asked, knowing full well which one.

Pete glared at me and then smiled, "You know which talk.  All the stuff
you've been doing, at the gym, locker-room?  Don't make me come out and say
it!"

In my mind I sank lower, and I was sure I hit the floor but in real life, I
ended up blushing.  "So you knew?"

"Yup," he said, with a proud grin.

"And you never mentioned anything about it?"

"Well, I figured that if you were already checking me out at that time, what
can I do to stop you when you become such a little hornball?"

"What . . .?" I said with a laugh.  I think I said it too loud because he
covered my mouth and put a finger over his.  He giggled and it was amazing
to see him giggle, his blond hair bounced and his eyes lit up.

"Well," he started, "you barely could stand to look at me when I'm naked.
But just a few hours ago, you jacked me off!"

I smiled and was about to yell at him but I lowered my tone, so I wouldn't
wake up our parents.  "You did the same thing.  And by the way, you never
finished!"

It was his turn to grin.  "So, that's what you want.  Does my little brother
have blue balls?"

"Yup, caused by my older brother who molested me and made me do things to
him and-and-and . . ." I pretended to cry.

All of the sudden, Pete wrapped his arm around my neck, his bicep almost
squeezing the life out of me, and pushed me onto my bed.  It made my bed
squeak when he hit a certain spot.  I didn't understand why it made him
laugh so much.  But he did.  He released me and lay down on his back,
staring up at my ceiling that had a tableau of the night sky.  His right
hand was behind his head which he used as a pillow, and his left hand was on
his stomach, stroking the lines of wrinkled shirt.  I laid down about two
feet from him before he grabbed me roughly by my elbow and pulled me toward
him.  He proceeded to hug me, his left arm around my neck this time.  Pete
was a few inches taller than me, about five to be accurate, and in this
position, I was able to rest my head on his shoulder.  His right hand,
though trapped under his head, was stroking my hair with a gentle ease.  We
sat there for a while, not speaking, but reflecting on all that was said.
When it was time to talk, I took the lead.

"Pete?  I think I'm gay."

He chuckled, and his stroking never ceased.  "Nick?  I think you're gay,
too.  But you know what?  I think I like having sex with men."

"Is that why you and Kevin got together?" I asked, changing the subject back
to my brother's first jack off buddy.  Though the fact that he had other
sexual pleasures bothered me, I did want to know about Kevin.  It seemed
like these two loved each other very much.

"Yeah, it is why I ended up with him.  It was weird not to have sex together
when we first met.  I mean, you've seen him, he's a catch."

"You're a catch," I said, stroking his ego.

"Thanks, but I'm not talking about me.  Let's talk about Kevin."  That
surprised me.  When Kevin moved and my parents wanted to talk about him, or
about how Pete feels about it, he wouldn't say a thing and would just leave
the room.  So, it's kinda weird that he'd want to start up a conversation
about him.

"Okay, what about him?"

"Well," He said, as he switched positions, this time on his side and his
elbow was on the bed supporting his head on his hand.  "How come it bothers
you when I asked Katie out?  I mean, we haven't even done anything and when
I told you about Kevin, you didn't seem to have a problem with it and we
went father than I think me and Katie would go."

I sighed.  I knew he was going to ask this sooner or later.  I used a
response that I thought of, "I guess maybe it's because Kevin's a guy and
Katie's a girl.  It's different with guys.  I mean, sure, I know that gay
guys and their boyfriends do remain faithful to each other, but most of us,
me for sure, for sure, like to fuck around.  With girls, it's extremely
taboo.  Around school, whenever a guy supposedly cheats on a girl, then the
whole school knows and with guys, he is praised, with girls, he's scorned."

"True.  I get what you mean.  Like how I was considered a man whore because
I like to sleep around."

"You sleep around?" I asked, sincerely.  I sat up and crossed my legs.

He scoffed in my face, "Where have you been?  Danielle?  Jennifer?  Gracie?
I've slept with most of the girls in my class!"

"Wow, you are a man whore!"

He scoffed again but this time with a laugh added at the end.  "Dork, I'm
not whoring myself out.  I like sex.  That's it . . . period.  I don't know
why people focus so much on relationship bullshit and don't focus on what's
important in our lives for now, sex.  Sex isn't just for college kids and
repressed men in back alleys.  It's also for people mature enough to handle
it."

"Does that mean, you think I could handle it?"

"Sure, that's why I got you into this whole thing.  I don't mean to sound
all judgmental, but you did seem like you needed guidance.  Actually, that's
a lie.  I didn't really notice anything until Kevin pointed it out.  That
time we were at the community pool, you were watching me while you were
swimming laps and you ran into that giant woman!"

"Thanks for that frightful image, again."  I shuddered.  "A thong," I
groaned and shuddered again.

Pete smiled and then said, "Well, when we were in the showers, and while you
and dad were playing around, Kevin told me that he caught you checking me
out."

"Do you mind, by the way?"

"No, not really, actually, I like checking you out too.  Now stop
interrupting!"

It was my turn to smile.  "'Kay."

"Anyways, we were in the showers and he told me that when we were in there,
you kept rubbing your dick.  So, he thought you needed someone to help you
with that."

"Well," I said, after I took in his story, "I'm thankful for that."

We went silent after that, both remember Kevin in our minds.  Then a
question suddenly popped in mine.  "Pete?"

"Hmm?" he said, sounding a little bit sleepy.

"Is Kevin gay?"

Pete lay down on his back and stared up at the ceiling.  "Yeah, he is."

"Pete?"

"Hmm?"

"Were you boyfriends?"  I could tell he was half asleep already, but he did
answer my last question.

"Yeah, we were."

**********

To Be Continued

Send all thoughts, critiques, or grammar changes to the address above.
Responses will decide whether or not I continue witht he story.

Thanks for taking the time to read this story.  I know its not exactly the
best story ever, but I'm trying.  I do get points for that, right?  Well, I
hope you aren't too harsh.  And again, thanks.

-MKP