Date: Wed, 14 Jan 2004 00:37:02 +0000
From: Brewster Hardy <brewsterhardy@hotmail.com>
Subject: Ballard Boys Part 8
Ballard Boys Part 8
The author claims all copyrights to this story and no duplication or
publication of this story is allowed, except by the web sites to which it
has been posted, without the consent of the author.
This story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to person's
living or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely
coincidental. Moreover, none of the actions of the characters in this story
is meant to condone, approve, or sanction their behavior.
*Chapter 19*
Jerry was scarcely able to think. The physical and emotional
experiences of the past twenty-four hours had brought him to a place of
turmoil and deep uncertainty.
Who am I?
What am I?
What have I done?
Where do I go from here?
Realizing that he desperately needed to talk to someone -- a
knowledgeable, trustworthy and sympathetic ear -- he scrambled to assemble
a short list of possibilities.
Trish? Impossible.
One of his fellow teachers? Absolutely not. If information like this
leaked, it would surely spell the end of his career.
The Methodist pastor? God forbid...
Then, with stunning clarity, he had the answer -- Chris -- his baby
brother.
Chris Ballard was eleven years Jerry's junior, making him currently --
Jerry did a quick calculation -- 27 years old. Chris had bolted from their
small New Hampshire hometown mere days after his high school
graduation. After studying art and design in New York, he had spent the
next few years traveling the globe -- Europe, Africa, and the Far East. He
was now residing in Boston.
Chris had maintained only minimal contact with the Ballard family over
the years, and his life was a bit of a mystery to them all. The young man
appeared to be a confirmed bachelor; in recent years, Jerry had begun to
suspect that the kid might be homosexual -- but no one in the family ever
discussed the matter.
Jerry tried to recall the last time he had laid eyes on his
brother. It had to be seven or eight years ago -- and the contact had been
brief and unremarkable, as the demands of their small family monopolized
Jerry and Trish's focus, while Chris was touching down only for a moment,
en route to some exotic locale.
Still, Jerry had fond memories of a young kid who had seemed to
idolize him. He remembered the boy as being bright, funny as hell and
deeply thoughtful.
If, indeed, Jerry's suspicions about his brother's sexual orientation
were correct, Chris might be the ideal person to with whom to talk. The
fact that he preferred to maintain a distance between himself and the
family could actually work to Jerry's advantage.
Jerry walked into the bedroom, sat at his desk, found the number and
dialed. As he heard the first ring of the faraway telephone, his hand began
shaking. By the next ring, second thoughts were riddling his mind and he
was about to hang up.
"Hello?"
The voice was surprisingly deep and resonant. Jerry cleared his
throat.
"Hey, Chris..."
"Jerry?"
"I can't believe you still recognize my voice, after all these years."
"Well, Jerry, I only have one oldest brother."
"Yeah, I guess so," Jerry was almost smiling now. "So...how are you
doing, little brother?"
"Um, great...busy..." Chris paused for a moment. "You?"
"Well," Jerry cleared his throat again, "I, um..." Suddenly he was
close to tears. "Listen, um, I, uh, really...need to talk to someone..."
"Jesus Christ, Jerry, what's going on?"
"I don't want to talk about this on the phone," now he was whispering
-- voice breaking. "I guess I was hoping..."
"Listen, Jerry, do you want me to drive up?"
"NO! Sorry...if it's ok, I'd like to come see you in Boston...today."
"Wow. That's kind of short notice, but...sure...yeah..."
"Thanks, Chris..."
************
By mid-afternoon, Bob and Ian had each taken a quick bath and now the
brothers were in their shared bedroom -- with the door locked.
Bob -- naked -- lay facedown on his bed while Ian gently massaged
lotion over the welts on his broad back. Ian was nude as well -- straddling
Bob's strong thighs -- and he couldn't help smiling as he glanced down at
his own hefty cock and balls, enjoying the visual of his momentarily
flaccid man-flesh lying against the curve of his older brother's firm,
satiny butt.
"I can still feel you inside me, you know..."
It was true. Even though several hours had passed since Bob had fucked
his virgin asshole, Ian was still tingling with the wondrous sensations.
"Oh yeah?" Bob was half lost in a myriad of thoughts. "Do you like
it?"
"Uh huh..."
Ian squeezed more lotion into his palm, and then continued the
manipulation of Bob's muscular flesh.
The brothers had spent much of the past few hours filling each other
in on their recent adventures. Bob's description of the photo shoot was
thrilling for Ian, and hearing about the incident with Carlo left him
breathless. When he realized that it had been Carlo's dried cum that he had
ravenously licked from Bob's body earlier that morning, it was all Ian
could do to restrain himself from jacking off again.
Bob, on the other hand, wasn't quite clear on how he felt about Ian's
tales. The voyeuristic moment on the beach -- well, ok, that was a
turn-on. However -- seducing their Dad? Bob was still grappling with it as
he felt Ian's hands working their way down to his lower back. He wasn't
sure if he was upset or angry or...jealous. Just last night, he had lost a
bit of his heart to the beautiful Brazilian musician. Now, he recognized
that he had always thought of their Dad as the perfect man. He wanted to be
just like him when he grew up. However, after listening to Ian's graphic
descriptions of his intimate contact with Jerry's flawless body and
monumental, uncircumcised cock -- suddenly, Bob couldn't figure out if he
wanted to be like Jerry or if he simply wanted to have sex with the
man. This was a prospect he had never previously contemplated.
Bob shifted his slim hips slightly to accommodate the growing bulk of
his reawakening cock. As he arched his butt upward, he felt Ian slip back
between his spread legs. "Hey...what are you doing?"
"Mmm...I just want to make sure there's no damage down here." With
that, Ian had both hands on the ripe globes of Bob's ass -- gently
separating them while leaning in with his outstretched tongue.
"Hey!"
"Just relax, Bob..."
Bob struggled inwardly for a moment, and then decided to do as his
brother suggested. Breathing deeply, he willed his large, powerfully built
frame to let go -- even as he became aware of Ian's long, silky hair
gliding against his skin, and the texture and pressure of Ian's moist
tongue as it began to bathe the vulnerable flesh surrounding his tightly
constricted asshole.
"Aw, fuck..."
Ian's sturdy hands were further pressing apart the heated mounds of
ass-flesh, and his tongue was probing insistently at the newly exposed
pinkness. Bob felt the inevitable wetness of his own pre-cum where his now
fully erect organ pressed against his rock- hard belly. He couldn't
suppress the sharp intake of breath when he felt his brother's tongue
accomplish the penetration, forcing the clenched sphincter to open up.
"Oh, oh, oh..."
Now Ian's tongue was inside him and Bob, recalling his own pleasurable
self- exploration of the previous afternoon, gave himself over to the novel
sensations.
"Mmmmggnn..."
His pre-cum was flowing steadily as he felt Ian sucking on the
intimate flesh with his full lips while continuing the deep tongue massage.
"Oh my god..."
Now Ian began alternately chewing Bob's ass-meat and swirling his
tongue in and out while still sucking hungrily at the sweet, pungent
hole. Bob felt these secret, most private muscles slackening -- giving in
to the rhythmic manipulation and generously flowing bath of saliva coming
from his brother's mouth. He instinctively arched his butt further upward
to meet the newly welcome invasion.
"Oh, yeah...oh, yeah..."
Abruptly, the tongue and lips were gone and Bob was writhing solo --
almost hypnotized by the sound of his own heavy breathing as the blazing
summer sunlight streamed through his bedroom window.
"Huh...huh...huh..."
There was a new pressure against his spit-drenched asshole -- not
tongue -- finger? No.
OH!
"No, Ian...DON'T!"
It was too late -- as his molten, tenderly acquiescent opening
welcomed the overexcited, tumescent head of his brother's cock.
"NO!"
However, he was too oddly weak to resist as the thick, rigid shaft
began to slide in with surprising ease.
"Oh my god..."
"Shhhh...quiet...you'll like it..." Ian's hands slipped between Bob's
body and the bed sheets -- cradling and caressing the manly pectorals,
grazing the large erect nipples -- as his oversized flesh-pole continued
its descent into Bob's bowels.
"Oh, god..." Bob whispered as he felt Ian's lips at the back of his
neck. It was impossible. Although his body seemed unable or unwilling to
offer opposition, the pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It
was as though a burning iron sword was tearing through his very core.
"I can't..."
"Shhhh...it gets better...trust me..."
"Oh god...oh my god..."
As the assault continued, Bob thought of Carlo. How had he managed? He
thought of Ian -- only a few hours ago. He bit down hard on his lower lip
-- trying not to scream aloud -- as unyielding rod drove deeper
still. Christ -- how long was Ian's fucking cock? Then he felt the touch
of his brother's dark pubic hair against his skin.
"Ian...please...just hold still for a minute..." Bob struggled to
catch his breath as the tortured tissue of his plundered asshole throbbed
and burned in protest. Relax -- he commanded himself -- relax. He felt the
softness of his brother's lips once more as they moved across his back,
tenderly kissing the scraped skin. Then the lips were on the back of his
neck, the side, teeth nibbling at his earlobe, tongue exploring the inside
of his ear.
The younger boy's cock pulled back ever so slightly, and Bob gasped.
"Huh..."
Then it pushed back in...
"Unnngh..."
...and somehow, the sensation was beginning to shift...
Out...
"Huh..."
In...
"Nnggh..."
...a profoundly satisfying wave began to roll through his body...
"Oh, Ian..."
"It's getting better, isn't it?"
"Oh, yeah..."
Ian arched his pelvis back until only the blood-purple crown of his
cock remained in the grip of Bob's asshole.
Bob, feeling the sudden emptiness, reached back with both arms --
grasping Ian's butt and pulling him back inward.
"Yesssssss..."
Now, with the younger boy's flesh penetrating the elder's fully, the
two brothers lay very still for a moment. Bob felt the warmth and weight of
Ian's body as it stretched across the length of his own. He also felt an
indefinable fullness. The source, he assumed, was the connection between
his suddenly hungering rectum and his brother's heavy, pulsating cock. By
some means, however, the sensation seemed to reverberate throughout his
entire being.
Now Ian was nuzzling his ear and whispering, "Ok, Bob...are you
ready?"
"Yeah, Ian...go for it."
Apparently that was all Ian needed to hear. With the force, fervor,
need and power that only a hormonally overactive 16-year-old boy can know,
he began pile-driving Bob's creamy butt.
"AAAAUUUUGGHHHH!" Bob bellowed, as the battering limb smashed through
to new depths. It was all he could do to press his outstretched palms
against the headboard of his bed in an effort to prevent his own head from
bashing against it. Stunned as he was by the breathtaking, terrifying,
soul-rending sensations resulting from the relentless, ever- deeper
quick-fire pounding of Ian's ruthless cock, he was also aware of the
thunderous pleasure coming from his own massive, achingly tumescent shaft
as it thrust and rolled over and over again between his belly and the bed
sheets. His orgasm was imminent and unstoppable.
"Yeah, Ian" he said, "Give it to me."
With that, Ian's pace bumped up yet another notch. Bob's head snapped
back as the kid's hands grabbed onto his blond hair, nearly ripping it from
the roots, while the pitiless flesh-pole pulverized his asshole harder and
harder -- deeper and deeper.
"NOW, IAN, NOW...GGGGGGGHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAA..."
Bob's cum burst through the tortured head of his cock in shockwaves
just as Ian's teeth sank into the flesh of his shoulder blades. The
explosive orgasm only escalated in force, as Ian's mechanically thrusting
cock somehow seemed to expand further in girth while the younger boy's
copious sperm shot incessantly into the violated depths of Bob's
bowels. Pounding, banging...
Ian collapsed, shuddering, onto Bob's back.
Bob's cock had one final eruption and then he too was done --
decimated. His own rich fluids coated his chest and torso -- and his bed
sheets -- while his guts, he knew, were full of his younger brother's
semen. With Ian's thick cock still buried deep in his tender asshole, Bob
felt and then heard his brother giggling.
"What?"
"Oh," said Ian, "I was just thinking -- I guess we're even now."
Bob smirked and ground his sumptuous butt up against his brother's
pelvis.
"We'll see about that..."
************
As he pulled into the driveway of Chris's home, Jerry felt another
wave of panic roll over him. This was a mistake. It was all too fresh. Even
if Chris was a queer -- and that was still mere conjecture -- there was no
guarantee that he wouldn't find the thought of parent-child incest
revolting.
It struck Jerry that he truly did not know his brother. When they were
both living in their parents' home, Chris had been only a little boy. When
Jerry and Trish had left for San Francisco, Chris must have been -- what --
maybe eight years old.
Jerry pulled the car to a stop. He just sat for a moment, looking at
the house. It was a treasure -- obviously very old -- red brick, perfectly
maintained shrubbery and flowerbeds, one large tree...
He thought of his sons. He hadn't seen either of them since returning
from the Falls. He was relieved at that -- and it made him feel ashamed.
He thought of the lie he had told Trish. "Something's wrong with
Chris...I don't know what it is... he wouldn't say...he begged me to go see
him..."
It was too much. It was all too much, and he had to do something about
it.
He concluded that, at this point, Chris was his best and only hope.
Jaw set, shoulders back, he got out of the car and walked purposefully
up the path to the front steps.
Taking a deep breath, he rang the doorbell.
A moment passed...just enough time for the doubts to begin swarming
back in.
The door opened.
The door opened wide, and the two men simply stared at each other
openmouthed.
As Jerry searched the depths of his brother's dark glistening eyes, as
his glance took in the finely sculpted nose and cheekbones, the sensuous
lips, the dark hair, the strong arched brows, the long thick lashes, the
close-cropped beard, he realized what it was -- the unnerving sensation. It
was as though he were looking into a living, breathing mirror. The only
discernable difference was the small gold ring that pierced one of Chris's
earlobes.
"Chris?"
"Jerry..."
They stepped tentatively toward each other and then stopped. They did
not break eye contact -- even for a moment.
Chris reached out first -- literally -- with his hand and then his
voice.
"Hey, brother..."
The embrace was long. Jerry held onto his brother as though his life
depended upon it. Perhaps it did. As he felt Chris's strong arms wrap
around his body, all his fears, confusions, and questions surfaced and
burst through in the form of tears -- hot, salty tears that coursed from
his sad, dark eyes and ran down his cheekbones, even as his body shook and
shuddered.
"Oh, Jerry...sweet, beautiful Jerry...what have they done to you?"
Jerry began sobbing uncontrollably -- chest heaving, legs buckling.
Chris virtually carried him into the living room, laying him out on
the couch.
"I'll be right back."
There was music playing. It was melancholy, yet somehow soothing.
Rubbing the tears from his eyes, Jerry saw the album cover leaning against
the stereo -- Roberta Flack. Never heard of her...must be new. He did
catch some of the lyrics.
"...misbegotten moon shine for sad young men...let your gentle light
guide them home again..."
Chris was back, carrying a tray that held two beers, a bottle of
tequila, glasses, a saltshaker and a bowl of lemon slices.
"Oh no, Chris...I don't..."
"Fuck you, Jerry. You're in my world now. When I say drink -- you
drink."
Jerry was sitting up now -- feeling embarrassed and vulnerable.
"Listen, Chris, I'm really sorry about all that..."
"Jerry, shut up and drink."
They downed the shots of tequila. Jerry took a swig of beer as a
chaser. He couldn't remember the last time he had allowed himself to drink
hard liquor. He watched as Chris produced a bag of pot and some rolling
papers.
"Oh no, Chris...I haven't smoked that stuff since..."
Chris raised his eyebrows and gave Jerry a severe, unwavering look.
Jerry sighed, "Ok, ok...listen -- I need to use the can."
"End of the hallway, hang a right..."
Jerry moved through his brother's home, taking note of the mix of
contemporary and antique furnishings, the fine fabrics and polished wood
and art -- everywhere -- art. Paintings, sketches, sculptures, photography
-- it was inescapable. He also noted the subject matter; it was almost
exclusively men -- beautiful, god-like, naked men.
Shutting the bathroom door, Jerry closed his eyes and just stood
there, breathing deeply for a moment.
Willing himself to "pull it together", he moved to the toilet. The
seat was already up.
He smiled. Neither he nor the boys would ever get away with that in
Trish's house!
He unzipped his jeans and then reached in with his right hand --
releasing his prodigious manhood from its crushing confinement. He stared
at his cock as the piss- stream began. He cradled the weight and girth of
it in his hand, and he blessed it and cursed it. Such pleasure and such
misery, he thought.
When he was through pissing, he flushed the toilet and moved over to
the sink. Out of years of habit, he laid his cock across the rim of the
basin so that the length of it arced over into the porcelain bowl. He
turned on the faucets, adjusting them until the temperature was
perfect. Grabbing the soap, he pulled back the velvety foreskin and
lathered up the head and then the shaft of the great organ, shuddering
slightly -- as he always did -- with the pleasurable sensation. Rinsing and
massaging away the last traces of soap, he towel-dried his cock and
carefully crammed it back into his jeans.
Only then did he look into the mirror. His eyes were red and puffy
from crying. Damn, he thought, Chris must think I'm a blubbering
fool. Hurriedly, he splashed cold water over his face and then held a wet
facecloth to his eyes for a few moments.
Looking once more into the mirror, taking in the face and the
impeccably maintained physique, undisguised by his tight T-shirt and jeans,
seemingly untouched by time, he thought, hmmm -- not bad for thirty-seven.
My god -- what is happening to me? Giving his head a quick shake, he
made his way back to the living room and rejoined Chris on the couch.
Chris sparked up the joint immediately, and the brothers didn't speak
a word until they had smoked it to the end.
Stubbing out the roach, Chris looked intently at Jerry. Their faces
were mere inches apart.
"So?" he asked.
Jerry, already beginning to feel the effects of the pot and the
alcohol, broke eye contact as he reached for his beer. You know what you
have to do, he reminded himself. Taking another deep swig of the beer to
steel his nerves, he looked back at Chris. The younger man's gaze was
steady as he waited.
"Ok, Chris, um, I do need to talk...but first, I, um, I..."
"What, Jerry?"
"I need to ask you a question." He blurted it out, and now it was real
-- the road had begun.
"Sure...what's the question?"
Dear sweet Jesus...help me.
"Chris...have you...have you ever had sex with a man?"
Dead silence.
Chris leaned toward the coffee table. "I think we need another shot of
tequila."
He poured. They silently toasted and drank.
After another moment of silence, Chris looked up into Jerry's eyes and
spoke.
"Yes."
"Thank you for being honest with me," Jerry felt his body
trembling. He wasn't sure whether it was the drugs or the alcohol -- or the
intensity of the situation. "May I ask you another question?"
Chris shrugged his shoulders and smiled wryly. "Sure. I can't imagine
it could get much worse."
"Are you a homosexual?"
Chris frowned suspiciously as if trying to ascertain what his brother
was truly seeking. "Um, sure Jerry...I guess you could call it that. Why?"
"I'll get there, Chris. Please be patient with me. Another
question...when did you figure out you were...'that way'?"
"Wow...Jerry...let me think...um...ok...uh...right, ok, well, I guess
I would have to say that it was around the time I hit puberty that I knew
for sure," Chris paused for a moment, unsure of how much he really wanted
to share with his brother. "I started to figure out that -- even though I
was supposed to be interested in girls -- my fantasies and obsessions were
all about boys. I had a massive crush all the way through high school on
one poor guy. It was hopeless. That's the main reason I needed to get out
of town in such a hurry."
"I'm sorry Chris. I had no idea. Did anything ever come of it?"
"Hell, no...he had no idea. Plus, he was straight as a fucking
arrow...that's why I had to go..."
"It must have been tough in that little town."
"Yes. It was."
Silence again.
"Alright, Jerry...now it's my turn. Why the sudden interest in me and
my sordid sex life?"
Jerry looked into his brother's eyes long and hard, then sighed
deeply. "Chris, maybe we should have another shot of tequila."
This time Jerry poured.
Slowly, carefully, he told Chris -- to the best of his memory -- about
the long ago incident with the sailor in San Francisco, the kiss, the
overpowering longing.
When the account ended, Chris was smiling. "Well, Jerry, from my jaded
perspective, that's a very sweet, romantic story. If you're trying to tell
me that -- after all these years - - you're worried that you might be
queer, I think I can safely assure you that you have very little to be
concerned about."
Jerry poured two more shots of tequila. "Chris, we need more beer."
While his brother was out of the room, Jerry took stock of the
situation. He concluded that -- if he was to attempt to work through his
recent experiences -- he was in the right place, and talking to the best
possible listener.
The younger brother returned.
"There's more," Jerry said. Determined to be honest and accurate, he
took another generous swig of beer and began to tell Chris about what had
happened on the previous day -- all of it.
Chris sat silently -- listening attentively -- until Jerry started to
describe the moment when Ian's 16-year-old cock had entered his mouth.
"Jesus Christ."
Then he shut up again and continued to listen.
When Jerry was done, the brothers were still sitting on the couch --
but they were no longer looking into each other's eyes. Rather, they sat
side-by-side staring straight ahead at the far wall.
The stillness was uncomfortable, hanging dark and heavy between them.
Finally, Jerry spoke again. "I don't know what to do."
The silence returned.
They just sat there for a while. Neither one moved. Neither spoke.
After some time, Chris leaned forward and began rolling another joint.
As he rolled, he started to talk. "Ok, Jerry. I think there are two basic
things here. Number one -- you just had sex with one of your kids. Number
two -- you're worried that you might be queer."
"Uh..."
"Shut up Jerry. It's my turn to talk. First, we're gonna smoke this."
Chris turned so that he was facing his brother once more. Jerry turned
as well, and as they smoked, he studied the younger man's face again,
pondering the stunning likeness to his own. Almost identical...a living
mirror...fascinating...
"Ok, brother," said Chris, "this is the way I see it. If what you told
me is accurate, then I think it's fair to say that Ian -- the little bugger
-- seduced you..."
"But..."
"Shut up, Jerry! You need to listen to ME now. What I'm trying to tell
you is that -- in terms of Ian wanting to get it on with you -- I actually
understand it."
"What..."
"I'm trying to tell you something important here, Jerry. Listen
carefully. Do you remember earlier this afternoon when I told you that, as
a teenager, I was totally obsessed with this straight guy?"
"Yes."
"Well, Jerry...that guy was you."
Jerry felt universe roaring in his ears. Thoughts of escape filled his
mind -- flying, screaming from the darkening room -- but he remained
frozen, petrified in his position.
"You need to understand, my sweet naïve brother, that you are a
stunningly handsome, sexy, hot hunk of man. In addition, it's apparently
not enough that you have the face and body of a god...that summer when you
and Trish came back from San Francisco with the kids...you probably don't
even remember...that day I when accidentally walked in on you while you
were dressing...your cock...Jesus Christ...your fucking cock...to my
12-year-old eyes, it was...fuck...I can't even describe what it did to
me...just seeing it...fuck. I can tell you that my complete and utter
fascination with dick began on that day."
Jerry remained speechless.
"Furthermore, as I look at you now, I can tell you honestly that
you've only grown more handsome over the years. You're still young, for
chrissake! I don't blame Ian a bit. Frankly, as far as I can see, the only
difference between me and him is that he actually had the balls to go
through with his fantasies."
Jerry was staggered. He had imagined many different scenarios, but
none was anywhere near approaching this disclosure.
"As for the other part," Chris continued, "if you do -- for whatever
reason -- think you may have 'gone queer', I have the perfect test for
you. I'm going to a party tonight and you're coming with me. It'll be
probably the gayest soiree in Boston this season. Trust me; by the end of
the night you'll know whether you're homo or hetero..."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that it'll be all men -- one hundred percent. A whole party of
wonderful, gorgeous, horny men..."
"Oh, jeez Chris...I don't think...that sounds...what the hell kind of
party is this anyway?"
"It's in a great club...it's a costume party, actually. A midsummer,
overheated, oversexed costume party..."
"Oh God...please count me out."
"Why?"
"Well...for starters -- other than the fact that it's obviously a
completely insane idea -- I don't have a costume, Chris."
Now the younger Ballard brother smiled knowingly. "As a matter of
fact, Jerry, you DO have a costume."
"Huh?"
"Well...when I was shopping for my own outfit, I found two that I
loved. I couldn't decide which I preferred -- so I bought both."
"You're putting me on."
"Nope."
"Aw jeez...what are they?"
"One is the devil and the other is an angel...and I suspect, from
looking at you, that we're exactly the same size, so that won't be a
problem..."
"I'm sorry...devil and angel?"
"Uh-huh. Oh, don't worry -- you can be the angel, if you think it'll
make you feel safer." Chris was grinning broadly -- almost leering.
"Why don't I trust you?"
"Why should you?"
"Hmmm...touché...well...ok...IF, hypothetically, I were actually going
to attend this...thing...I suppose the angel outfit would be my
preference..."
"Excellent." Chris looked at his watch. "You know, it's getting
late. I think we should do another shot, smoke a joint and get changed."
************
Twenty minutes later, a very high Jerry was standing beside his
brother's king-sized bed, looking down at what Chris had described as his
"angel costume". What he saw was this: a pair of downy white wings (made of
actual feathers), a pair of golden sandals with extra-long ribbon "laces"
(to wind up the calves, he supposed), and a tiny piece of shimmering gold
fabric connected to some sort of arrangement of fine gold elastic thread
(neckpiece? headdress?).
Honestly puzzled in his drug-induced haze, he turned to his brother.
"Um...yeah...that's nice Chris. Where's the rest of it?"
Chris, seriously stoned himself, smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm afraid that's all there is, Jerry."
"Huh?"
"Mm-hmm..."
"It's a pair of sandals and some wings, for chrissake! Oh -- wait a
minute -- I get it. I just pull them on over my jeans and T-shirt..."
"Oh, no you don't." Picking up the bit of fabric and elastic, Chris
said, "You have to wear this."
"What the fuck is that? Some kind of necklace?"
"Um, no Jerry. This would be a g-string -- sort of like a
mini-jockstrap."
Briefly nonplussed, Jerry simply stared at the thing. "You know,
Chris," he said finally, after clearing his throat, "not to make too fine a
point of it, but...have you noticed how small it is?"
"It stretches."
"Fuck off."
"No, seriously. Try it on. Would you like me to leave the room?"
Jerry shook his head and laughed helplessly. "You've lost your mind,
Chris. I swear you have lost your mind. Get outta here!"
Jerry pushed his brother out into the hallway and slammed the door
shut behind him. Moving over to the bed, he threw himself down on his
back, covering his face with his hands.
What am I doing? What in hell am I doing?
Everything was moving too fast. Things had happened over the past
thirty-six hours that he couldn't even have conceived of only days
ago. Chris was strong -- truly strong. Jerry realized that he had
essentially been following the kid's orders, virtually since setting foot
in the house.
Now this. Jerry reached over and picked up the little g-string,
dangling it over his face -- dumbstruck, yet admittedly fascinated on some
level.
Oh, well...when in Rome...
He swiftly peeled off all his clothing. Good thing you've kept
yourself in shape, Jerry- boy, he thought as he caught a quick glimpse of
his naked form in the large full-length mirror at the foot of the bed.
First, the sandals...he slipped one onto his right foot, quickly
figuring out how to work the gleaming gold ribbons, winding them crisscross
up over his calves and tying them off just below his knee. When both
sandals were on, he stood up and inspected his work in the mirror. Nice
legs, Jerry, he complimented himself with a smirk.
He decided he would need Chris's help to get the wings on properly.
All right, then, he thought...time for the
piece-de-resistance. Picking up the little golden strap-contraption thing
once again, he examined it from several different angles before deciding on
an approach. This is ridiculous, he thought grimly, as he slipped one
sandaled foot and then the other through the tiny elastic waistband and
then again through the leg straps. As he pulled the absurd garment up over
his legs, it struck him for the first time that there was no fabric
whatsoever on the back. He would be exposing his butt completely to the
world, except for the terrifyingly thin, flimsy length of gold elastic that
would run from his waist, down into his butt-crack and between his legs to
join the end of the tiny "pouch". Who in hell came up with this genius
design, he wondered, standing up straight to begin the seemingly impossible
task of maneuvering his sexual equipment so that it might somehow be
contained within the little scrap of cloth. He cradled his balls -- and as
much as he could of his unwieldy shaft -- in his left hand, while with his
right he attempted to spread the glittering fabric to some degree of width,
gradually sliding his left hand upward while slipping the stretchy material
over the newly exposed area. Unbelievable as it seemed to Jerry, the stuff
-- obviously some sort of miracle synthetic -- was flexible and malleable
enough that indeed, within moments, it did completely contain his
genitalia.
Wow, he thought, amazing...
However, when he looked back up into the mirror to study the finished
effect, his mouth fell open in alarm. The pouch did hold his goods in
place, but it also did a couple of other things. Because of the character
of the fabric, his cock and balls were being lifted upward and outward,
protruding as if he were offering them up to the gods -- or the highest
bidder. To make matters worse, the shiny, metallic look of the stuff and
its clinging properties accentuated and exaggerated every line, curve,
highlight and shadow of his already abundant manhood -- making him appear
to be even larger than he was. Furthermore, the volume and mass of his
genitals was stretching the fragile elastic waistband perilously downward,
almost to the breaking point.
All in all, Jerry thought, this is downright obscene...and
preposterous.
"Hey...Jerry...what's taking so long?" Chris hollered through the
closed door.
"I can't do it, Chris. This is insane." Jerry yelled back
"Aw, fuck it...I'm coming in."
Before Jerry could protest, Chris had reentered the room.
"Holy shit..."
"I tried to tell you...it's ludicrous..."
"Oh...my...god..."
"Yeah, I..." Jerry stopped in mid-sentence when he realized that Chris
was mesmerized -- blatantly drinking in the vision of Jerry's form, top to
bottom -- his gaze lingering time and again on the near-bursting, golden
g-string.
"Jerry, turn around...really slowly..."
Once again unable to resist his brother's suggestion, Jerry complied.
Gradually pivoting away from Chris, he became highly conscious of the
muscles flexing in his legs and ass.
"Fuck." Chris whispered.
Jerry continued turning until, finally, he was facing his brother
again.
"Oh, Jerry," Chris shook his head, "Jerry, Jerry, Jerry...I think I
may lose my mind tonight. Tom of Finland, eat your heart out..."
"What do you mean?"
"Never mind...let's get those wings on."
"You don't think I'm actually going to wear this in public do you?"
"Oh, yes," Chris began tying on the wings. "In fact, I insist. You are
going to be my little gift to the party tonight. Those girls won't know
what hit them."
"Girls...?"
"Just an expression, Jerry -- look!"
Somehow altering the overall balance, the wings created a magical
white aura behind Jerry's neck and shoulders. The white satin ribbon that
held them in place ran over his shoulder blades and under his armpits,
accentuating his broad, bronzed pectoral muscles and solid, sculpted
shoulders. Soft, white feathers were also visible behind his trim waist,
throwing his taut, tanned trunk into majestic relief. Looking over his
shoulder into the mirror, Jerry saw that the feathers cascaded just
slightly over the beginnings of the achingly ripe globes of his golden
butt.
Well, Jerry thought with a little irony, something good came from
spending a day naked with Ian; I'm tan all over.
"You're beautiful, Jerry...absolutely, stunningly beautiful."
"Oh, come on Chris...you don't mean that."
Chris stepped in toward Jerry and placed his hands on his older
brother's broad shoulders. As their dark eyes met, Jerry once again felt
the sensation that he was looking into a live mirror. He had just brushed
the unsettling thought aside when Chris moved in and kissed him lightly --
but tenderly -- on the lips.
"Yes, my brother, I mean that...with all my heart."
Jerry froze, but something monumental stirred deep within him. The
skin of his shoulders felt as though it were electrified where Chris's
hands touched him. Neither man moved. Something had altered in the room --
in their relationship. Neither man dared break eye contact. For a long
moment, they stayed -- motionless in time.
"I should get changed," Chris finally said, very quietly.
"Yes."
It didn't even cross Jerry's mind to leave the room. More stoned than
he had been in many years, he just stood and observed as his brother
undressed. When the T-shirt came off, he thought...that's my chest...that's
my torso; he recognized every contraction of muscle, every shift of
burnished flesh. When the jeans fell away, he knew the thighs, the knees,
the calves, the ankles. He knew how they would smell, and he knew how they
would feel and taste.
When Chris had his hands at the waistband of his jockeys, he stopped
and looked directly into Jerry's eyes again. Neither brother breathed for a
moment. Then Jerry -- glittering in golden sandals, distended g-string and
ethereal angel wings -- spoke.
"Do it, Chris."
Slowly, Chris revealed the lean Ballard hips, the dark pubic hair and
then, inch by inch, the extraordinary, uncircumcised phallus that Jerry --
though he had never seen it before -- knew so very well.
"You have it too."
"Yes, Jerry. I have it too."
As Jerry's head began to reel, he took a step backward, then another
step, and then another until, finally, his back was against the wall.
Chris just stood there naked...unashamedly, stunningly, resplendently
naked.
"Get dressed," Jerry managed to choke out.
************
The devil costume was a wicked complement to Jerry's angel outfit; the
sandals and the bulging g-string were flaming red and -- instead of downy
white wings -- there was a short black shimmering cape lined with the same
fiery red.
There was a bit of comfort to be found in the fact that Chris's
exceptional body was every bit as exposed as Jerry's. The overall effect,
however -- as they stood side-by-side in front of the large mirror -- was
eerie and bewildering for the older brother.
It was nearly midnight.
"Well, Mister Ballard," Chris said as he wrapped his arm around
Jerry's waist, "shall we go to the ball?"
"Perhaps, Mister Ballard," Jerry answered, wrapping his arm around his
brother's shoulder, "we need to have one more round of tequila first."
************
When the brothers walked into the club, the party was full-tilt,
crushing, swarming, bacchanalian madness. Still, as they were both 6'3",
movie star handsome, near naked and virtually identical, they did create a
stir.
Initially, Jerry was oblivious to the rumbling commotion. At his
current level of intoxication, it required most of his concentration merely
to keep from staggering. In the dim light, he did not see the eyes that
scrutinized and worshipped his face and body; he was only cognizant of
grand explosions of color and glitz as the carnival of outrageous costumes
swirled about him. He did not hear the gasps, whispers, and murmurs; he was
only aware of the thunderous beat of the insistent, throbbing music.
Chris leaned into his ear and yelled, "TAKE MY HAND. I DON'T WANT TO
LOSE YOU."
And so, hand-in-hand, with Chris leading the way, the brothers worked
their way slowly across the swarming dance floor. Through the unrelenting
bumping and jostling of the hard-muscled bodies of hot, sweating dancers,
Jerry gradually recognized that much of the physical contact was not
accidental. Repeatedly, he felt strangers' hands caressing the smooth skin
of his exposed butt, gliding across his bare, sensitive nipples, stroking
his balls and the blatantly protruding, barely concealed shaft of his
cock. He held tighter to his brother's hand and kept moving -- but they
were moving so slowly. Part of him was beginning to revel in the
unadulterated sensuality of the anonymous, intimate touching; while another
part of him was aghast. Both the stimulation and the panic were physically
manifesting by the time they reached the lengthy bar on the far side of the
room; sweat drenched his body, and his cock had become partially erect.
As Chris yelled at the bartender for tequila and beer, Jerry hugged
the bar in complete mortification.
"WHAT'S WRONG?" Chris yelled.
"I'VE GOT HALF A FUCKING HARD-ON," Jerry yelled back.
Chris looked down and then slapped his brother on the butt, laughing.
"YES YOU DO, BABY. YOU'D BETTER NOT TURN AROUND FOR A MINUTE," he looked
back over his shoulder and observed a large group of men ogling them. "ON
THE OTHER HAND, THESE BOYS SEEM TO BE ENJOYING THE VIEW OF OUR FINE BUTTS."
Jerry glanced back hurriedly, "WHY THE FUCK ARE THEY ALL STARING AT
US?"
The drinks arrived, and the brothers toasted before downing the
tequilas.
"THEY ARE STARING AT US," yelled Chris, "BECAUSE TO THEM WE LOOK LIKE
SOME KIND OF HOMO PORN FANTASY."
Swallowing a swig of beer, Jerry smiled drunkenly, "WELL THEN, LET'S
REALLY GIVE THEM SOMETHING TO LOOK AT." Putting down his drink, he placed
his hands on either side of Chris's face and kissed him warmly on the
lips. When he pulled back, Chris was staring at him wide-eyed and
openmouthed. Then, the younger brother's eyes smoldered and without a word,
he slipped an arm around Jerry's waist, under the wings, pulling him in
until they were in full body contact -- chest-to-chest, thigh-to-thigh,
cock-to-cock. Feeling Chris's tongue slip into his mouth, Jerry almost lost
consciousness for a split second, and then gave in to the deep, greedy kiss
-- tongues searching, lips yearning. They only broke it off when the
applause grew louder than the pounding music. Together, they turned toward
the room and Jerry, even though the hours of drinking had caused his vision
to become increasingly blurry, could see that the crowd was growing --
standing there, staring at the brothers, clapping, screaming.
"JESUS CHRIST," said Chris, "THIS IS GETTING OUT OF CONTROL. LET'S GET
OUTTA HERE."
"WHERE ARE WE GOING?"
"THERE'S ANOTHER ROOM IN THE BACK -- A PIANO BAR. IT'LL BE QUIETER,"
he grabbed Jerry's hand again. "DON'T LET GO."
Following his brother once more, Jerry stumbled past the gaping men.
Chris led him around a corner, and now they were in a crowded, faintly lit
corridor. Slowly, methodically, they moved forward, Jerry -- progressively
more tipsy -- struggling to hang onto Chris's hand. Men were coming and
going in both directions, cowboys, pirates, drag queens, cops, sailors, men
of every shape and size -- Jerry began to feel a little
lightheaded. Someone lurched hard against him, and in his inebriated state,
he stumbled too -- losing Chris's hand and falling to the floor, bumping
against several other men on the way down.
Fuck. That hurt. Hands reached down to help him up. Thanks, Chris. But
it wasn't Chris. He didn't know these faces. Standing immobile for a
moment, he attempted to reorient himself. Where's Chris? The nonstop music
was hammering at his heart. The masses of men kept moving, this way and
that. Don't panic. It's easy. Just follow the hallway. But which way had
they been going before he fell? Fuck. Move to the wall. There. That feels
safer. Now -- choose a direction and go. He took a deep breath and tried to
compose himself. Don't let yourself look like an asshole, Jerry. Smarten
up. But the corridor was spinning a little. Clinging to the wall now, he
moved one foot in front of the other, ignoring the stares and the whispers,
the fingers touching him -- everywhere. Just keep moving. There it is -- a
doorway. This must be it. He wanted to weep with relief. He squeezed around
through the entrance, and now he was in a darker passageway. It was less
crowded in here. Good. It was a short passageway. Ten steps and he had
reached the end. Wait. There's another doorway -- beaded. It was very, very
dark in there. In fact, there was no light at all, except for what spilled
in from the passageway. There were people in there, though. He could make
out some movement. Something was wrong. This was not the piano bar.
Standing tall in the doorway, feet spread wide to keep from swaying,
he wondered what to do next. Chris? A hand was stroking his forearm --
another took hold of his right hand and gently pulled him into the room. He
followed, puzzled, intrigued. Someone was leading him deeper into the
darkness. Soon, he sensed he was near a wall. He wanted to lean against
it. Pulling away from his guide, he moved to where he thought the wall was.
He was almost touching it when someone slipped in front of him. He was
facing the wall with both hands pressed against it, but someone was
standing in-between. His forearms were resting on the stranger's
shoulders. The stranger was kissing him. Hmmmm. It felt good. Really
good. Friendly. Caring. He returned the kiss. Hands were stroking his
biceps and chest. Several hands. His nipple -- someone was sucking on his
right nipple. Mmmm. A tongue was licking up and down between his spread
thighs. Teeth nibbling on his left nipple. His butt cheeks -- teeth and
tongues and lips on his butt cheeks. Still kissing the unknown
stranger. Liquid. Melting. So much touching. So good. His big cock was
hard. Hard, hard, hard, hard, hard. Someone pulling the elastic
waistband. Silly costume. Elastic snapped. Broken. Ouch. Hands stroking up
and down his giant, hard cock. Yes. The kissing stranger
moving. Down. Down. Taking Jerry's hard, hard, hard cock in his
mouth. Yes. Oh, yes. Thank you. His hips slowly thrusting. Wet on his butt.
Tongue. Licking. Licking his asshole. Yes. Nipples, cock, raising his
arms, chewing on his armpits, licking his asshole. Oh. Yes. That's
good. Arching his butt back and out. Something else now. Fingers. Two,
three, feeling tentatively around inside his asshole, probing, massaging,
stretching. It feels so good. Cocksucker trying to swallow the whole,
throbbing shaft. Something else in his asshole. Yes. Yes. I want it. Give
it to me. Please. Cock pushing into him slowly. Butt arching back to meet
it. Push in harder, harder. Yes. Yes. Pumping now. Fuck
me. Yes. Please. Fuck me. Holding onto the wall. Don't slip. Cock pumping
harder inside him, faster. Yes. Harder. Harder. Kind of jerky now. Hands
gripping his waist roughly. Cock thrusting, banging at his insides.
Screaming in his ear. What? Hot cum filling up his guts. Cock pulling
out. No. Not yet. Too soon. No. Butt arching back,
out. More. More. Fingers on his shoulder blades. Untying the ribbons.
Twisting, tearing his wings away. Gone. Good. New pressure against his
asshole. New hands on his waist. New cock. Thicker. Aaaaaah. Ramming in all
the way. Rough. Hard. Ow. And again. That hurts. And again. Oh,
god. Shoving him against the wall. Fucking him hard. Hard. Banging his
face against the concrete wall. Fuck. Ouch. Pounding faster, faster,
faster, harder, harder, harder. Yelling in his ear. What? Shoving in
hard. Cumming and cumming in his ass. Pulling out. Aaaaaaah. Someone
pulling him away from the wall. Pushing his head down. Bending him over. On
his hands and knees. Cock in his mouth. Fucking his mouth. Cumming in his
mouth. That was really fast. Swallow. Tastes good. Another cock in his
mouth. Suck. Mmm. Good. Hands spreading his butt cheeks. Oh. Fingers
probing asshole again. More fingers. Four? Five? Fingers gone. Keep
sucking. New cock pushing into his asshole. Sliding in easier. Lots of
fluid now. Cock cumming in his mouth. Lots of cum. Still cumming. Swallow
it all. Cock pumping his ass. New cock in his mouth. Foreskin. Good. Suck
the skin. Cock fucking his asshole harder, deeper. Can't breath. Stop
it. It's too hard. Stop. Cock fucking his mouth hard.
Choking. Stop. Almost throwing up. Hand slapping his butt. Hard. Again and
again. Cock driving hard, pumping his ass. Enough. Dizzy. Can't stay in
this position. Can't. Can't. More cum shooting deep into his asshole, cum
flowing down his thighs, filling his mouth, dripping down his chin and
neck. Eyes adjusting to darkness. Men all around, stroking their hard
cocks. Waiting their turn. Strong hands on his ribcage, turning him over,
laying him on his back on the hard, fluid-sticky floor. Voices
chanting. "Go, go, go, go, go..." Someone climbing on top of him. Between
his legs. Spreading his legs. Pressing them back against his chest. Can't
see the face. Only the top of the head. Long, black, curly hair. Cock
sliding into his open, cum-drenched asshole. This one is big. Bigger than
the rest. Slowly penetrating. The face is turning upward. Looking into
Jerry's eyes as the cock keeps moving inward. Young. This one is very
young. Maybe 18, 19. Dark. Beautiful. Kissing, tenderly, while huge, thick
cock plunges deeper inside. Oh god. This is good. Very good. Yes. Fill
me. Deeper. Yes. Boy whispering in Jerry's ear. "You're so beautiful. Why
are you doing this?" Thick, hard cock pulling back, pushing in, deeper,
penetrating, perfect fit, stay, stay, stay inside me. Whispering again. "We
should be making love, not fucking like pigs on this filthy floor." Yes,
make love, now. Beautiful boy filling his asshole perfectly, pumping,
thrusting, touching new places, inside, oh, god, now stroking Jerry's cock
with one hand. Thank you. Pulling back. Boy- cock pulling back, still
fucking. Boy leaning head down, taking Jerry's cock in his mouth. Sucking
Jerry's cock and fucking Jerry's ass. Sucking, fucking, sucking,
fucking. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, close, oh, so close, balls tightening, cock
throbbing, pumping boy's mouth, ass gripping thick boy-cock, voices louder,
"Go, go, go, go, go, go..." Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh. Starting. Deep
inside. Growing. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. I'M CUUUUUUUUUUMMMINGGGG. "Go, go,
go, go, go, go..." Thrashing, thrusting, exploding into boy's beautiful,
wet, yielding mouth. "Go, go, go, go, go, go..." Huge boy-cock blasting,
pummeling, ripping through deep, so deep into Jerry's asshole, oh god. "Go,
go, go, go, go, go..." Rivers of cum, torrents of cum, hammering,
battering, roaring boy-cock erupting deep inside. YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.
FUUUUUUUUUUCK MEEEEEEEEEEEE. Huh, huh, huh, huh...huh...huh.......slowing,
slowing, slower, slow.
Stop.
All the men, still chanting, stroking their cocks, "Go, go, go, go,
go, go..." Beautiful boy holding on, caressing, embracing...big, thick cock
still buried deep inside. Kissing. So good. So good. "Go, go, go, go,
go..." Waiting their turn. Boy looking into his eyes. Stay. Please
stay. "Go, go, go, go, go..." Louder, impatient, angry voices. Boy
whispering in his ear, "Come with me."
************
Slowly, cautiously, the young man withdrew from Jerry's battered,
beaten rectum. Jerry felt the boy's strong arms helping him up from the
floor. The chanting had ceased, and the gang of men parted, half-grudgingly
-- allowing the youth to guide Jerry's naked, slumping body through the
room. Someone tried to hand over the broken wings. The boy shook his head
and kept moving -- through the beaded doorway into the little darkened
passageway. The music was markedly louder out here. Maneuvering Jerry's
body against a wall, the boy leaned into his ear.
"Can you stand by yourself for a minute?"
After a moment, Jerry nodded.
The kid released him and swiftly tore off his own oversized
pirate-shirt. He wrapped it around Jerry's naked waist, tying the sleeves
together, covering the violated perfection with a makeshift loincloth.
"Hold onto my shoulder."
They began the torturously slow journey along the crowded corridor,
past the teeming bar, through the mass of dancers. As they made their way,
Jerry was vaguely aware of a buzz, a murmur rising below the pounding of
the music. The partiers were staring again - - but this time it was
different, as the dancers fell back, allowing them to pass.
They were very near the main entrance.
"JERRY!"
He raised his head and saw Chris's horrified face.
"FUCK!"
He heard the youth speaking, "YOU ARE HIS BROTHER?"
Now, the two young men quickly, carefully carried Jerry out into the
sultry night air.
"What...oh my god...what...FUCK...how...?" Chris was audibly sickened,
barely able to speak.
"I have a rental -- a car. Please...let me take you home. I'll
explain."
Exiting the parking lot -- Jerry wrapped in Chris's embrace in the
back seat -- the boy turned and spoke again. "I'm sorry. I don't know
Boston well. You'll have to direct me."
Chris told the boy to turn right, and as the journey home began, the
motion of the vehicle lulled Jerry into a dreamless sleep.
************
"Jerry...Jerry...come on, baby...wake up..."
Opening his eyes, he was confused for a moment. Everything was
hurting, aching. His body, his face...
"Come on, Jerry. We're home."
Chris was helping him out of the car. Ok, Jerry. Get it
together. Stand up. His legs felt very weak. Don't fall down. Chris was
talking to somebody.
"Thank you. Thank you so much. I'm sorry we fucked up your night."
"No, no, please." Of course...the beautiful boy...
"Oh, shit...is this your shirt wrapped around him?"
"Don't worry about it. I'll be fine."
"You're a good man," Chris said. "Listen...do you have a pen...paper?"
"Just a moment."
Jerry leaned heavily against the car as Chris quickly scrawled down
his name and phone number.
"Please. Call me whenever you're in the city again. I...I'd like to
thank you properly."
"Oh. Ok...sure. Um, I'd better be going. Take care of your brother."
"Thank you. I will. By the way...I didn't catch your name..."
"I'm sorry. I have been very rude..."
The sun was just beginning to peek up over the rooftops of the city,
as the exquisite young man's gaze swept back and forth between the
brothers' faces, scrutinizing the distinctively handsome Ballard features
-- frowning slightly, as though trying to sort out a mystery, a puzzle.
Jerry just longed to be in bed, to sleep. Please. Let me sleep.
"My name is Carlo."
...to be continued.
Thank you all for waiting so patiently. Thank you, also, to those of you
who have sent the great, thoughtful (and, sometimes hot!) emails. Although
I am not always able to respond right away, all your thoughts and feedback
are important to me.
All the best,
Brewster Hardy
brewsterhardy@hotmail.com