by Marc W.

   BROTHERS AND LOVERS (good)


    At first, I thought I'd need a compass to find it.

    Paul tried to be helpful.  "M-more to the l-l-left, Mikey."

    I'm "M-mikey".  My fingers burrowed toward the left as directed.  Under
an acre of white Jockeys.  Gee, Paul's mom must starch his shorts for him.
The cotton felt as stiff as the dick I was searching for.  I encountered
more of Paulie's tight fifteen-year old belly and a sparse underbrush which
would grow to be a healthy bush someday.  Then, finally my fingers
encircled boycock - one which was well on its way to becoming quite a piece
of meat.

    With his dick now in capable hands, Paulie lost his stammer and became
more stud-like.  He still couldn't believe his good fortune.  "Are ya
really gonna pull me off, Mikey?" he asked innocently.

   A stammer lurked just below the surface; I reassured him.  ""Sure, Paul.
Only first ya hafta peel down.  Clothes get in thee way.  See Paul, I'm
gonna do it like the kids in New York.

    That family excursion we'd taken to New York had given me a certain
prestige back home in Dory, Ohio.  Any eccentricity - like wearing odd
clothing or acting "streety" - could be explaineed as a quaint quirk picked
up in New York.  In a pinch I could use my travels to explain my behavior.
In this case the excuse would be spurious; I had never seen fellatio
performed - in New York (or anywhere else, for that matter) - yet I truly
meant to suck Paulie's hot, young prick.

    At the time I didn't care much about Paul.  Big as his cock was at the
time, it barely made an hors d'oeuvre for a hungry, inexperienced young
cocksucker like me, but I intended to lick it, to suck it and to eat it -
even though I'd be thinking about Brad Lerner.  And, if it hadn't been for
Randy, I might never have fallen for Brad.  Randy?  Brad?  And Paulie gets
the blowjob.  Strange, no?

    The first time I saw Brad in the buff was at an old-fashioned Fourth of
July picnic.  At the lake, of course.  Officially described as the
Montgomery County Recreational Area, known to us simply as "the lake".  We
liked it; it was close enough to town and the grass there somehow grew
lusher and the hot summer temperatures were sometimes as much as 10 degrees
cooler.

    That summer with Brad and the others, my OWN temperature seemed to
hover at the sizzle mark.  Now, just to prove that you can't always trust
intuition: intuition told me that this was gonna be a lousy summer; I
almost had to be forced to drive with Randy to open the cottage.

    Randy's my brother.  He plays a key part in all this.  I guess
brother's can be sorta handy, even if you don't particularly like them.
Unless you've been brought up in an orphanage, you learn that you can
always find some use for a brother.  Until we went to the lake that last
week in June, I didn't have much use for Randy.

    The difference between being barely fifteen and being nearly old enough
to vote creates a gap wider than generations.  Because he was almost 3
years my senior, I usually had to defer to hhim.  Randolph J. Forrest (the
"J" is for "jerk") was always right, and how he loved it!  Even his sleek
blond hair seemed to smirk when he wolfed down bigger piece of cake or
hogged the TV and phone.  I resented him much more than I liked him.  Like
him?  Shit, I hardly knew the motherfucker.  He was preparing for college
in the fall, worked part-time and enjoyed what he referred snidely to as
his "social life."

    MY social life revolved mostly around my very able right hand.  It
performed its job regularly - in the bathroom or bedroom nightly, with
"matinees" on increasingly regular "special occasions."  At age fifteen,
nearly every minute is a "special occasion"; like every kid my age, I was
perpetually horny.

    That summer my social life underwent an upheaval.  Basically, it was
the standard "hand-to-mouth" shift that so many boys my age experience -
only I crowded more expperience into a week than most, less-fortunate, lads
do in a lifetime.  Thanks to Randy.

    We started for the lake after he finished work.  Our parents were
slated to follow sometime the next morning.  Meanwhile, Randy and I had a
busy evening in store for us.  We arrived long after sundown and, before
the car was parked, Randy began barking orders.  The place had a musty,
cobwebby look; wintry in the heat of early summer.  Our task was to clean
the place out and make it presentable before Mom and Dad got there.

    By the time we finished sweating, laughing, picking splinters out of
our fingers and tacks out of our sneakers, we smiled at each other - for
the first time in memory, it occurred to me tthat Randy wasn't such a
bastard after all.

    We were so tired that having forgotten the sheets for our ccots became
totally unimportant - shit, if we'd forgotten the ccots, we'd have slept on
the hard wooden floors!  We'll finish first thing in the morning, I
thought.

    I was dozing, dreaming, when I heard Randy.  He stood in the doorway.

    "You got a comb, Mikey?"

    Even half-asleep, I wondered at that.  I remembered seeing Randy's comb
where every guy's comb oughta be - sticking out of his pocket above his
right asscheek.  I told him to look on the chest of drawers.  He stepped
into the room.  In that cramped space, two more steps would have put him in
bed with me. I could see him clearly now in the moonlight, backed by a dim
glow from the corridor.  Randy was barefoot and wearing only fluffy white
Jockey shorts.  His hair glistened wet and his briefs were stretched so far
out in front of him that I knew his rod was rigid.  I sat up in bed,
curious.

    "Find it?"

    "Sure."  He picked up my comb and, standing in front of the bureau at
the side of the bed, started to comb his hair.  I kept staring at the bulge
in his underpants.

    Grinning, Randy said, "Gotta give it the old beauty treatment down
there!"

    I watched him, eyes wider than windows.  He rolled down his shorts 'til
his thatch was exposed.  Pushed to the side as it awas, his throbbing cock
threatened to tear through the confining cotton.  A wet spot glistened in
the moonlight.  I gaped as he applied the comb to the curly blond hair of
his bush.

    Randy glanced at me, grinning again.  The grin was like a stage prop,
just like the pocket comb.  Inside, I knew he wasn't grinning.  He was
breathing hard, serious.  Excited, though he mmanaged to sound disarmingly
casual.

    Didn't you ever comb your bush, Mike?  Good way to cum off.  I can
shoot my wad if a -uh-chick-uh combs it!"

    I just stared.  Combing hadn't untangled the curly mat of pubes; only
loving fingers can do that.  "Jeez, I have a hard-on already!" Randy
yelped.

    My whole body tingled.  I looked at him calmly and bit my lip to keep
from shouting "Show me, Randy, show me your cock and let me kiss it!"

    He heard the cry that was never shouted.  He rolled down his shorts all
the way and his naked teenaged tool popped out, fully erect.  A long,
impressive piece of meat, pale in the moon-light.  Only the flaring head
blazed deep red, enormous, wet.

    Randy kept his voice deliberately casual.  "Ain't ya never seen a hard
on before?"  I didn't answer.  He went on, speaking faster, slurring the
words, looking everywhere but at me.  "Bet I can shoot my load right now -
even if YOU were to run a fuckinn' comb down there.  G'head, Mikey."

    He handed me the comb and without appearing to move, he siddled closer
'til his raging cock waved only inches from my chin..  "G'wan, Mikey, IT
won't bite..."

    Fingers shaking, I flicked the comb through his blond pubic hairs.  I
felt the flesh of his rod against the palm of my hand.  The comb fell
unnoticed and there was nothing to stop me.  Nothing!  I grabbed the shaft
and started to stroke its length.  Then Randy expelled the sigh he'd been
saving up since he woke me.  ""Like it Mike, dontcha?  G'head, don't stop
now, I'm so fuckin' horny.  Pull me off, little brother, make me shoot my
cream!"

    I masturbated him for a few hectic seconds, relishing our new intimacy.
Fuck our intimacy!  I relished the DICK I was rubbbing.  I wanted to gobble
it up completely.  A similar idea struck Randy.  He moved back
abruptly. "Hold off, Mikey, don't make me cum that way.  Look, why dontcha
just sorta put your lips to it...just to the tip...just for a second.  They
say a hot cock tastes great - if you like it.  G'head, kiss it!"

    I was panting to kiss it although I realized that if I were to submit
(as I really wanted to) immediately, I'd be his slave forever.  I didn't
know a lot about cocksucking, but I DID know a lot about my brother.  Let
him force me. I kept my lips sealed and my head shaking in a determined
negative.

    Raspy, with a different kind of determination, Randy leaned forward,
muttering.  He raised his fist as if he'd rather punch me than fuck my
face.

    His stiff prick bobbed up and down with each movement.  His voice
cracked with brotherly feeling, and he began to cajole.

    "Aw c'mon Mikey, just this once.  Take it in your mouth for a second.
It's OK, we're brothers."  On a shrewder note, he added, "You know you want
it!"

    Imminent ejaculation sharpened Randy's perceptions.  With his fingers
on his dick, near the root, he held it so that the head flattened against
my lips.  In that position he jerked his pole lightly.  "Guess I'll hafta
cum this way," he said, knowing damned well that he wouldn't.  So much for
my show of reluctance.  I opened my mouth and he forced the entire length
of his stiff meat down my virgin throat - he started to pump it into me.  I
sucked hungrily on the meaty head, the smooth, rigid muscle.  Randy pressed
his palms on my shoulders as if to prevent escape.

    I had no intention of escaping or of letting his swollen boytool out of
my mouth for a second.  Estimating, based on many aa subsequent mouthful,
I'd say my brother had 7" with another inch plus as a dividend.  Nothing to
break the jaw of a buddy - or a brother, but it was substantial --
especially since it was the first dick I ever had in my mouth.  It was just
right for a very willing beginner.  I took it all easily; I could have kept
sucking forever.

   Suddenly, his grip tightened.  He groaned and his slim body twitched all
over.  Randy started to shoot - jet after jet of hot creamy cum.  Wierd, I
hadn't realized that if I sucked his dick I'd get to taste his load too!
He came in my mouth.  Rich sweet boy juice - nothing at all like my own cum
that I always scooped up from my belly and devoured.  A pungent reward for
some novice, yet expert cocksucking.  I loved the taste of it and I licked
frantically to catch every drop.  My brother unloaded his cum in torrents
and I swallowed hungrily.

    Randy swaggered around the tiny room.  My brother, my lover.

    "You swallowed the stuff, huh?  That makes you worse'n a cocksucker,"
he exploded with his own perverse logic.  "You're a fuckin' faggot, I
oughta smash yer fuckin' faggot teeth in!"

    My brother, my lover.  I was too fucking dumb or too damned happy or
just too wierded out to be frightened.  My voice may have wavered slightly,
but I piped up, bravely:

    "Go ahead, Randy.  Get it hard again.  Smash my teeth in!!