Date: Mon, 29 May 2006 15:31:08 -0400
From: A. Cheshire Cat <kierkegaard_is_cool@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Brothers Mauve

The Brother's Mauve
By: A.Cheshire Catt
Mid-May 2006
email me: kierkegaard_is_cool@hotmail.com

The summer after I graduated with honors from grade eight, with the
potential of my high school years still tightly bound in the bud, my
father was diagnosed with a cancer in the brain. It was so hard, it was a
time when my whole family shuddered to think God could be so cruel, and I
mean my family's not really religious but it was like a family of
tree-dwelling monkeys figuring out gravity: terrifying, the consequences
of suddenly realizing what it is to fall. By the time school started the
funeral was over and I was without a father. My mother was a basket case.
She'd been such a hard-working woman before that early autumn, one
without any Indian Summer, and that was when she was slowly heaped with
the stresses of my father's fading existense, she became less a woman and
more an automaton. My brother and I watched her change, change into
something unpretty, something that needed pills to forge smiles,
something that cried while she was faced away from us doing the dishes,
something that penalized herself for her awkwardness constantly. My
brother and I would tell her that we loved her but she withdrew from our
attempts to bring her back, she pulled further and further away, and by
the end of my first year she had become a wilted thing, graying, with
hard brittle edges. By Christmas she had become a creature of her own
addictions, pain killers, overwhelming amounts of coffee that made her
smell funny, her smoking had escalated to such a ridiculous extreme that
the doctors were afraid she'd do serious damage if she didn't stop, and
into such misery she would thrust herself; such as grief is prone to do:
make a garden fill with weeds, unkept.

I was trying my best to maintain an existense at school that was
satisfactory. In some classes I was failing though and my mother didn't
really even look at the terrible tests she signed. At one time in my life
she would have hugged me for my greatness, only now she was mute to my
flaws. It was tearing me to pieces because i felt as though I could not
reach the only anchor I had left and that, with her receding further and
further into herself there was less for me to reach for, with less to
reach for the less I tried, and by the time the first summer of my high
school years came along my mother had been in the hospital once for
trying to take her life by esphyxiation in the garage.

As the winter winds raged outside our house the following winter I shaved
my face for the first time. I was blooming in the coldest of seasons. My
brother was the one who gave me my first lesson, he said it was something
very important in a young man's life and that our father would have been
proud to see us doing this little thing together. It was funny, my
brother made me so happy. My brother at that time was about 20, I was 15.
He stood behind me in the cramped washroom while I quickly rubbed along
my jaw with my fingers, rubbing the stray hairs growing down cheek and
neck as perhaps I thought med did, looking at him while he readied for a
lesson. He was taller than me, like I leaned my head against his football
forged chest, his arms wrapped around mine smelling of deoderant and
soap, his hips wrapped in a cool damp towel pressed against my back. He'd
say, "The hotter the better, the water softens the skin, get your cheeks
all red to get ready." He'd shave too with me tucked in front of him. The
washroom we shared was between the two rooms on the north side of the
house, darker than the master bedroom, without the splash of sun in the
afternoon to brighten things up, but the view from the tiny window was
that of the bush in the backyard, the trees beyond, and beyond that was
the swamp." My brother would put a dollup of cream in my hand, just a
soft drop of it, and he would tell me how to lather it in my palm and
work it around my features. I was a thin boy, too, scrawny. I was so
afraid of being effeminate that I had started working out with my brother
at home. It was something that took us into long spells of grunting and
groaning and laughing while we strained ourselves. We'd seperately shower
and today he told me it was time to shave. Pressing the warmed blade
against the virgin skin at my throat he taught he told me that there
would be a day eventually when my beard would be thick, that it's not
cool to let patchy, badly-filled beards grow out. When a young man starts
shaving there's barely a reason, and it's done once, maybe twice a week.
Those first few times I shaved made me feel like a man, watching my
brother sculpt his face with such meticulous grace, the stroke and the
plunge of the razor, the swoosh of the blades in the water to be
cleansed, the soft skin, it was like watching greatness being performed
for my instruction. He'd twist his head up and to the left, his eyes
never leaving the reflection of his stretched neck.

My brother was done high school by then, he'd moved to the city to go to
University the same year that I was done primary school. We were never in
high school at the same time. By the time I was in grade 10 my brother's
life had changed substantially in that I would never have been able to
imagine him in my desk with those books and that teacher pushing to the
limits that schedule between bell-tolls. My brother was cool. He was what
I'd read about in some books that were about Bohemians, he made me think
of the seventies, a rockstar. He had that funny residual stench of pot
always clinging to him, he carried a bag made of soft sand-colored suede
with the strap across his chest, some soft running shoes on and
low-riding jeans. His hair was shaggy, it curled in bulky clumps at his
ears and he'd push back his sideburns when he put his headphones on to
lose himself in some electronic beat, the thick brown locks essed and
twisted at the back where he'd run his fingers while he read some
paperback with the cover torn off, and in the middle of his noble chin
was a dimple that never went away, though was never frighteningly
obvious, and it was the sort of accessory no amount of money could ever
get anyone, it was that thing that made him cute, that made him adorable,
that made him more like our father than anything else either of us had.

I was never jealous of my brother, he was so nice to me. When the weather
was just right he would tell me to get ready for a drive and he would
take me with him to the city to just hang out in parks under trees, to go
for coffee in cafes with his friends, we'd read the papers and it showed
me the world was full of so much opportunity. On the way down the highway
we would listen to music like Creedance Clearwater Revival, or Joplin, or
Hendrix even. He listened to the coolest stuff, it seemed. I'm terrible
with cars but his was one of those long ones, the low ones, the ones that
guzzle gas and roar at intersections. The window would be rolled down on
his side as he smoked a cigarette, his arm would rest in the window, one
arm dangling from the steering wheel, his hand draped from the arc. His
hair would be tossed lightly by the wind and in my memory of my youth the
movement is captured as if at a high speed and I remember it now slowly.
He'd look over at me, smile, tell me we were almost there. I was a quiet
kid too, so I would sit there at the edge of the circle of his friends as
they lounged in the springtime grasses in the park by Parliament and
watch them as they smoked their joints and giggled ridiculously about
nothing. I would easedrop on the plans for wild parties in strange
sounding clubs open in the middle of the day. Sometimes the girls in the
group would sit down with me and they would act as though I had just been
cracked out of a nutshell and was intended to be handled as the Chinese
might, with chopsticks. My brother would tell me that this or that girl
had thought I was cute, but they were all far too old for me, not to
mention they were all in my brother's shadow. Sometimes I would just sit
there and watch him as he would suddenly remember something and pull out
that book he was reading and ream it open to that part he'd just
discovered. He was like some park lawn Aristotle, wise in the ways of
afternoon ideas. He was amazing to me. We'd go out for dinner in diners
on busy streets before heading back to the country where the house was
pressed against the bush in the backyard, in front of the trees, waiting
for the swamp.

Back in those vibrant days of my youth, when it seemed my family had
survived the worst it could ever imagine, survived God's indifference, my
brother knew that I needed him and my need for him was only the lightest
of burdens. When we would come through the door he'd take care of supper
while I cleaned up, he would make sure my homework was done right. It was
as though he was becoming my father, and I didn't even realize it then,
it was like I was becoming his lover.

My mother was gnarled in her rocking-chair throne on the back steps one
night when the autumn winds were coldest, when they brought a calamity
upon the houses from the falling leaves and acorns and twigs. The
evenings were shorter and the darkness more haunted as the seasons
changed, fading to black it seemed. As I was growing I was becoming more
like my brother, I let my hair grow, I still worked out. We still hung
out all the time with each other. We'd become a bit popular, always
helping out the elders in our family with lawn work and moving furniture.
Our grandmothers would pinch our cheeks still and tug on our ears as if
we were five and ten years old, our grandfathers would say we were "fine
lads" and tell us our father would be proud. But my mother was strange
now, my mother was a Halloween Lily, loaded with mysticism and toxic with
an embittered seed. She would rock back and forth, back and forth, not
really ever saying much, perhaps humming a tune as if she were at her
wedding reception and loved it, as if she could remember something that
had happened that was nice and it just let itself replay and replay her
soul. Dripping as a faucet might in a room with the lights out. We took
her from the porch to the living room when finally the frosts were too
much. We made a decadent feast for the three of us plus her parents' for
Thanksgiving. But soon it was obvious something more than merely the
grief was happening in her, we could see her changing physically, turning
pale, almost yellow, and then one day she dropped her cigarette before
she lit it, and she just slouched over in the chair: dead. Of a broken
heart.

The funeral was a week before Christmas and that year no one gave
presents. For a week or so my grandmother came to stay with me but it was
obvious what was going to happen. We started cleaning out the house, room
by room, starting with hers. Her mother wept while she washed the smell
of dead daughter off the walls of the master bedroom. The bedrooms, the
office where she'd once been busy with her journey toward prosperity.

One night my brother brought some beer and we sat on the floor in the
living room, as if crushed beneath the weight of the stuff on the walls,
on the shelves, in the curio, on the coffee table. He threw me a
cigarette. See, it was hard on us but we'd had each other. And though one
might say that it may not have been right, he started treating me with a
certain dignification, I was about to turn 18, school was over next year,
he said, "Go ahead, you've earned it."

Earned it. We sat and drank beer, taking things from their places and
putting them in boxes. The picture of everyone at the trailer in
Algonquin Park, the memory of that day when my father's laughter seemed
to cling, echoing. The little statue of Michaelangelo's David, in a fine
cut of stone, bought the afternoon my mother took me for a walk in the
Market in the city and we stopped at little shops to buy little mementos.
The books that I looked at the spines of when I was a kid, the collection
of various tomes that it seemed had never been moved, had been dusted
around. The movies that we'd watched as kids, VHS tapes, useless cargo.
All of it was.

"Every once in a while there's something that happens in the lives of
each and every one of us." My brother was poetic. He'd say a sentence and
then he'd stop. There was always more to come but he'd just think about
it first, picking words, making sure it was structured to last the
turbulence of memory. We hadn't been saying much since the first beer had
opened but now that he was coming back into the living room with a second
for himself he reached for a cigarette, put it in his mouth and gazed
upon the clutter of deconstruction. "Every once in a while," he started
again, "there are certain people who have extraordinary things happen to
them that set them apart, generally speaking. Now, I'm not talking about
the person who doesn't pay his bills and the bank comes to take the blood
from their stone, that's only something really that they've done to
themselves. I'm not talking about having a kid and everything changing
about life and responsibility, the child was conceived from an act. I'm
really meaning things like what has happened to our family. Death is not
something we control. It came upon us. Madness does not discriminate and
it is ruthless. We may let it happen, but it enters us."

I was listening to him and nodding. I was packing books, on my knees at
the shelf by the window. It was dark out. We had no neighbors. He was
standing at the archway into the living room, legs slightly apart,
stylish jeans and a white teeshirt with red cuffs and collar. I noticed
he wasn't wearing his socks, his bared toes would curl as he thought
about things. He was deep in thought. "Let's smoke a joint." He mentioned
it to himself, I thought, but he asked me for my opinion, "Want to smoke
a joint?"

"Um sure, I guess." He sat at the coffee table, his suede bag was right
there, he grabbed an Altoid mint container from it and displayed his
weed. While he rolled it I went back to packing some stuff.

He crumbled the dry bud and made sure all the impurities were gone,
picking out sharp bits of stem. Making a little green pile there in front
of him, and using his pack of smokes to get it ready for the paper, he
again spoke of the things that happen to people. This time he veered
toward a point. "When these things happen to us, these extraordinary
things, we are forced to change, we become something that seems so
unintentional, steering us in a new direction. It's these things that
really make us, and we must not ever wonder or worry about what might
have been, what we might have been, we must become what we are, and we
must do it well."

He looked over at me. "Almost done there?"

"Yup, just one shelf left."

"Is there anything at all worth any amount of money?"

"Nah, just garage sale material."

He'd sealed the paper of the joint with a swift flick of his tongue. The
opus was complete, ready to be performed, the maestro held it up and
adored it. He laughed at himself. He turned to me again and said, "Leave
it, just come over here."

"Wait," I'd found a strange book on that shelf of books that hadn't moved
in ages. "I found something."

It was a book sincerely engraved, "The Complete Works of William
Shakespeare." A heavy volume, hard-covered and looking relatively new,
but as soon as I picked it up there was obviously something strange about
it, it was so light.

"Bring it here man, let's open it together."

"It's probably nothing."

I went over and took a spot across the coffee table from him, myself on
the floor as well. He lit the joint and the acrid smoke rose from it,
bent to the still air, slithering about the room. The book was put
between us and opened. The guts of the tragedies and comedies and sonnets
and such had been cut out, dissected. The book was hollow. Inside was a
video tape, black, with a red peice over the part where the film ran
along the top. There was nothing written on it and only the residue left
behind from a previous label, a small mar on the black surface, other
than that my brother and I had no idea what it was.

"Porn." My brother laughed.

"No. Mom and Dad wouldn't have had porn. Come on."

"Whatever, everyone gets porn eventually. If we could all afford hookers
would all have hookers crammed in hollowed out books too."

"All you do is think about sex sometimes."

We both looked around, we'd packed the clocks in this room. He passed me
the joint and grabbed the tape. "Well you know what we have to do,
right?"

He went over to the television. We'd had a DVD player for a while but the
old VCR was there too, dusty and untouched. He wiped off the front of the
old machine as he looked at the tape more closely, "It's in the middle of
something." The tape had not been rewound. Putting it in, he turned on
the television and returned quickly to his side of the table to take the
joint back. The remote for the television was nearer me so I grabbed it
and turned it on. To be honest I wasn't really even thinking about it, it
wasn't that curious to me.

Channel 3.

I had not really thought about sex. The people that my brother hung out
with were very cool people, well-dressed in fashionable things, and
always looking spectacular in their conditioned, slick style. Was I gay
or straight though? No one had reflected any particular part of my
personality in just such a way that I might seem one thing or another. I
hadn't found a girl friend, perhaps, that may have been all that was
going on. At school I had a friend that was a girl that I spent a lot of
time with, but I mean that was at school and I wasn't really the sort of
person who lived at school, it was that place I went and then came home
at the end of it to my life. My brother thought about sex. He talked
about sex. He talked about it like it was an easy thing to get. He never
went into much detail, he wasn't crass about it. He'd say someone was
hot, someone was a slut, someone looked like they needed a good fuck.
He'd never broached the subject of masturbation with me, never insinuated
that I needed to have sex, never really ever mentioned it. Because I
spent so much time with him and being as that time was mostly spent
laughing and thinking about our life as brothers, without parents now, I
never thought about it. I never got hard about anything in particular.
But all that was about to change.

The movie that was on that tape was porn. Straight porn. It looked as
though it had been made in the nineties and even though the first scene
that we saw wasn't one laden with profanities, the tone of the music, the
terrible soundtrack filled with birds singing in someone's backyard and
nearby traffic, the buzz of a plane in the sky invisibly, the glint of
the silver watch the man wore, all of these suggested it wasn't a really
great movie. It was just porn. There was a business-type man, dressed in
a white-collared shirt and gre pants, his tie was several colors, a
paisley pattern upon it. It was done up to his neck in a big knot, the
first button undone. The dark orange tan this guy had looked as though it
would stain his collar. The guy was probably in his late 30s, blonde hair
and sunglasses that looked so dated, like the pleats in his pants. He was
sitting at a desk interviewing a woman. The woman looked like a floozy.
And that's how I knew.

My brother passed me the joint but my eyes were glued to the screen, he
noticed what I was doing and smiled and made sure I took the joint. He
got up and came to my side of the table, pushing it out of the way, he
said, "Let's get comfortable." It was like he was showing me how to shave
again. We put our backs against the bottom of the couch and our legs were
out on the carpet of the living room floor, he pointed out her tits. I
didn't get it. Was he joking about them or, like some tour guide in a
museum, was he pointing out the more important details that should be
appreciated? I was kind of confused.

"You're probably looking at the guy."

I retaliated, "No I'm not." I think it was the first angry face I'd ever
made at my brother.

"Hey man, it's cool."

"No it's not."

"Yes it is. I mean, whatever, if you like guys that's awesome."

I looked at him.

Why is it that I liked men, where did it come from?

At no point before had anything happened to me, there was no reason for
it, I looked at my brother again and he smiled at me, he offered me the
last of the joint. No, I was high enough already. Suddenly the music
queued and the man was standing behind the desk assuring the woman there
something hot about to happen, "hot" or something anyway. She started by
taking off his clothes and when there was a body there my whole opinion
of things changed. I saw the bronze pecs stretch out like Superman's
emblem upon his chest, the buttons of the shirt ripped from the fabric as
the woman tore into him without any emotion. I saw the curl of the man's
smile as he moved in to embrace her. I started to get hard.

The music was driving me wild. It sucked but it was as if it had been
arranged to please me.

My brother stirred. "Haven't you ever seen a porn?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Wow, that's cool." The two people on the screen started to grab at each
other. "Do you jerk off?"

"No, I don't." That's what wankers did, not me, I was too cool for that.

"Really, I mean, there's nothing wrong with it bud, everyone does it. If
they don't they're lying."

"Honestly. I've never done it."

"Well we're going to do it right now. It's damn well time you learned
how."

I watched the man's pants come undone and suddenly I saw his cock, blonde
bush of hair above it, the balls swinging, the wide thighs strong with
intent. The woman went down and started sucking on the length of it. That
made me really hard.

My brother said, "Let me see your dick man."

I blushed.

"No, it's totally cool. It's not like Mom and Dad are going to find out,
right?"

Suddenly something happened to my brother and I, maybe it would have
eventually happened, but it was at that moment for us because never
before had our parents' deaths been spoken of as a convenience. It hadn't
been, and it seemed sometimes that there were too many things for us to
deal with as kids for this situation to be a good one.

"Let me see yours." I said it like a kid.

"Okay." My brother hopped up and started at his belt and in a moment his
pants dropped and he stood there in his boxers. "Don't stare at me like
that, come on buddy, you're cool with this aren't you?"

"Of course I am, but you're my brother."

His boxers were old, the elastic barely held them up. I'd never seen my
brother naked, never really knowing that there would be something about
him that I'd need to see. Then he lowered his boxers and a long flacid
cock dangled darkly in a clump of dark hair. He threw his tee shirt over
his shoulders and he was naked. He sat back down. "Now your turn."

I stood up and lowered my jeans and stood there in tightie-whities. They
were cute things. My brother had got them for me for Christmas, not the
one that had just passed but the Christmas before that. He told me they
looked hot on me. I blushed to think he was staring at me like that. The
pot was making me swim in paranoia, I got a little dizzy. He pointed at
them and told me to take them off too. So I did. My cock was not as big
as his and I knew it too. When I lowered my undies he looked at me there,
awkward like a fawn, all dangling like a lot of limbs and lines. He told
me to take off my shirt too, that it was only fair and when I did I sat
down next to him. I could smell him. He smelled warm. He was warm. I
wanted to be closer to him because I was kind of cold. I didn't dare do
it though.

He started to watch the movie again and I watched his hand on his cock as
he stroked the length of it, making it harder and harder. I didn't even
watch the movie at all anymore, I just watched his cock swelling, watched
his belly while he breathed. He was naturally smooth but for a small
patch of hair on his chest. I was smooth as hell, only some little hairs
were growing around my balls, but I had a long cock really, when it got
hard. My brother and I had both been circumsized. My head rushed and I
leaned back and got comfortable as my own cock started to slap against my
belly. That's what I'd learned on my own, but not having seen very much
sexuality growing up I didn't even know what masturbating really was. I
was curious why my brother kept rubbing the shaft.

"Try it man, it feels really great."

I grabbed my cock and started jerking it and knew immediately the
greatness that my brother meant. "Cool."

We started watching the movie again, the guy was fucking her up the ass,
holding her legs up in the air, the camera looking down her chest,
through her tits at his navel as he pounded her, she screamed stuff about
it feeling so great and the guy broke out in a sweat under the intense
lights of the set. The window was open in the background, the sounds of
the world came through there. My brother was looking at my cock now. He
said, "Can I touch you like this?"

He put his hand on my thigh.

"Sure." As soon as it hit my skin it was as if he was sending a magic
through his body into mine. The heat of the palm of his hand on my bared
thigh was as a branding poker might feel upon a calf who really wanted
it, excruciatingly hot with pleasure. He rubbed my leg a bit and I slowed
my jerking.

I asked, "Can I touch you?"

"Sure." As soon as my hand touched his thigh I felt that magic again, it
was something about the softness of his skin, the feeling of the hairs
that were smooth like his suede bag. I held my cock in my left hand while
rubbed his leg, reaching as far as I could then rubbing back up where the
hairs grew more darkly.

His cock was hard, pressed against his belly, creased as it was with
muscles. Tan from days in the park when he'd lay next to his friends to
bake in the sun, but it was soft, as it was only late winter now, it had
been a long time since he'd lay in the sun.

He had an idea. "You hold mine and I'll hold yours and we'll jerk each
other."

"Okay."

I touched his balls on my way to his cock and he shivered, smiling, he
said, "That feels so good."

When he gripped mine he did it really tight in his hand and I smiled
saying the same thing. He started to slowly massage my cock and I
couldn't believe the sensations that went through my body. It was
stunning, as it was a form of clarity in my spirit. His was big in my
hand, it was a fat cock, it was strange to hold one so big.

We did this for a moment or two. He said to look at the television. The
guy had pulled out of the woman to shoot his blasting load, in long
jetting streams all over her tits. He rubbed the spill of it in and she
even scooped some up and licked it. The screen faded and the next scene
started, with the roar of the terrible soundtrack being softened by a
lame tune that sounded like the masterpiece of a synthesizer rookie. It
was a sun lit poolside this time, there was a woman tanning and a poolboy
with massive shoulders and darker skin than the last guy, black hair that
ran down his back like a greasy oil spill. He wasn't really that
attractive, his thong merely contained a large package. Just as it was
about to start into what seemed like an obvious sequence another
character, another man came onto the set, he seemed to be a butler of
some sort because he was wearing the livery of a man of service and
carried a tray with a bottle of what appeared to by tanning lotion on it.

"I think it's going to be a threesome."

"A threesome."

"Ya, both guys are going to bang her."

First the butler started by greasing her up. The butler took off his
jacket to do this, and while he worked the lotion into her skin she
commanded that he untie the strap of her bikini, and smoothly he did it
without too much effort. At the same time the movie showed the pool boy
taking notice and then reaching into his thong to move his cock around,
to loosen it up. The woman started to moan and the next time I looked at
the screen, taking my eyes away from my brother's cock for a second, she
was sucking on the butler's cock.

"What does that feel like?"

"What's that?"

"Well, she's sucking on it, what does that feel like?"

"To suck or be sucked?"

I didn't know. But really I did, and I meant to suck. He said, "Try it,
you can suck mine."

I turned so I could get at his cock a little easier and leaned over to
put it in my mouth. I tasted him. He was delicious. The sausage in my
mouth was like a peice that had been missing. I slowly lifted my head and
then lowered it again, each time going deeper and deeper and until the
head of his cock touched the back of my throat and I gagged a bit,
gasping for air. Saliva ran down his shaft, a pool of drool collected on
his balls, I licked at it. He moaned, he said that it felt good. I
agreed with a humming, mmhmm.

He let me play with his cock in my mouth for a while then instinctively
reached down and started to jerk himself while my mouth was still
around the head of it. He said, "Watch it now, watch out: I'm cumming."
He hesitated a second and I felt him get hard in my mouth. I pulled off
but not really quick enough and he shot his load, getting some on my lips
and chin. I licked at it and tasted my brother's cum.

He said that it had been amazing. He said that I should try cumming next.

I wondered then why he didn't suck mine. He didn't though. Maybe it
wasn't something he liked doing but he didn't do it and I lay there
watching the movie, putting my brother in the role of the butler and
the poolboy was me. Soon it was as my brother had imagined and the two
guys were filling her with their meat, the butler getting a blow
job while the pool boy fucked her ass. She moaned and the sound of her
voice was annoying to me. The sight of them degrading her in some
fashion, skewering her, that was hot.

Suddenly it happened though. It felt like I was about to pee but I kept
it up and then all of a sudden I convulsed with ecstasy, and in a quick
splash a large load of semen fell upon me, my belly and chest, some shot
way up to my shoulder even. I sat there a while and was wowwed by
the spectacle of my first orgasm.

My brother jumped up and grabbed the paper towel from the kitchen, coming
back he saw that I hadn't moved and was watching the movie still. He
laughed at me. "Is everthing alright?"

As he stood there watching me watch the television something might have
happened to him, I'm not really all that sure. But he was looking at me a
little differently. He blurted out that this had been very cool and it
was great that I'd finally learned how.

It was cool.

"I sucked your cock, why didn't you suck mine?"

He thought about it. He told me he didn't really know.

We got dressed and decided we'd done enough packing for the day and that
it was time for bed. I had school in the morning.

The next morning when I woke up I had a huge boner. I was so proud of it
too, I lay there in bed and stared at it. I reached for a ruler that was
nearby and decided that I'd measure it. About seven inches. That wasn't
too bad, but I had no idea really. My brother's was probably about eight
inches. I started to jerk myself again. I thought about my brother, as if
he'd been the girl on the settee, and I was the butler and I was
sitting down to rub oil on his back. I could see it all so clearly. I
rubbed and rubbed myself like mad and shot my load all over the place. It
felt so good to do it. Suddenly I realized all I wanted to do all day was
stay home and suck my big brother's cock. Suddenly everything seemed
somehow different, particularly when I got downstairs and my brother was
frying eggs in the nude with an apron on. The sun was shining and it was
a beautiful day. He looked at me with a grin, cigarette dangling from his
lips. "Good morning, I was thinking we could have some breakfast and hit
up the weights for a bit before I take you in?"

And that's what it was like really, until that summer came along. I had
only the next year to do in school and I would be done. My brother
insisted that I stick to it, that he'd be there for me and that we'd
still have lots of fun, but I had to finish school. It was a must.

The will had been taken care but it really didn't leave us much, the
insurance policy my father had taken out on himself had paid for his
funeral and my mother's funeral but there were still several bills that
any other money absorbed. When summer came we decided it was a must, we
would definitely sell the house. Cutting the lawns and manicuring the
gardens, we made for the prospective buyers a lovely home. Since the area
around the house was undeveloped the property value had soared in the
last while. We had a buyer and they'd heard out story, they even had the
peculiar idea of giving us more than the asking price. My brother said
that we should move somewhere smaller. The garage sale that we had for
the stuff in the house did not include that video. We made our money and
the banks were happy, the bill-collectors grinned as we closed accounts
with various places.

I was smaller next to him, I was always wearing my blonde hair short,
smiling broadly when the sun came out and draped us in warmth.
Essentially we'd started living the life then that we'd be living for a
long time. With our little bit of money we moved to the city. I changed
schools for the last year and hung out with my brother and his friends
all the time. The girls would still sit next to me and tell me that I was
cute but they started to catch on that I was gay. Even though no one ever
said the word, even though no one cared really, they still loved me and
still treated me with the respect the little brother of their friend
deserved.

Our apartment in the city became a bit of a party place, not much
actually. I'd eventually see crazier houses, ours was bad because my
brother took up dealing a few drugs to help us make ends meet. It was
great. While I was working on my last year I worked a small job at a
grocery store in the back with the boxes, working my muscles at night
with my brother. It's not like we jerked each other all the time, really
we didn't see all that much of each other. Only sometimes on Saturdays,
you know, if it was raining and the porn on the internet started to drive
one of us crazy, that's when we'd help each other out. Still, we didn't
fuck though, no, that never came up. My brother would go out to a party
without me and he'd come back refreshed in a couple of days, slapping my
bum as we passed by each other in the hallway of our new home. But I
never did anything. I was just sort of quiet still.

Then I graduated from high school. It wasn't like I'd made lots of
friends in school. A few kids kind of followed me around because they
thought it was cool that I lived with my brother and that he sold pot.
They were always talking about getting freebies but I didn't smoke
without my brother around at that time and I never let them get any for
free. They followed me to the door of the school and I tossed my bag in
the garbage just inside the door. It had been unseasonably warm and sunny
the last week, it was a brilliant day to be finished with school. My
friends and I laughed and said our farewells and I ran down the stairs in
my boarding shorts and a white muscle shirt. When I got to the bottom I
tore the shirt over my head and my matured body was free to the world. My
nipples were hard at the sight of my brother leaning against the driver's
side door, Steppenwolf blaring on the radio, "Why don't you come with me
little girl, on a magic carpet ride." My brother was wearing some cargo
shorts of an army green color, they hung right down to his calves. His
shirt was already off and he was hot, man he was hot. A car went between
us before I could cross the street and the wind from it tossed up some
dust. With his glasses on and a toothpick hanging from his mouth he
glared into the dust, and when it was over he looked across the street at
me coming for him and smiled broadly. There were some girls there that I
would never see again and they saw the two of us getting in the car with
him. I hopped in the front seat to smoke a joint with him on our way
home. He played some songs really loud on our way to the highway and we
took the scenic route through the market to make ourselves feel good. We
were hot driving around in the car together.

I never really knew if he was gay or straight. He acted straight, and yet
his affection for me was too sweet to be completely heterosexual in
basis.

I just asked him. "Are you gay or straight?"

He turned down the music, we were at an intersection and a bunch of
people were walking right in front of us. He looked at them, and asked
what I'd said.

"Are you straight or gay?"

"I'm -- I dunno -- does it matter?"

"I don't know. I think it does though. I mean, do you have a girlfriend?"

"I've had girlfriends, you remember, um, what was her name, Karina?"

"That was when Mom died, wasn't it?"

He laughed, "Well, girlfriends don't grow on trees?"

"Do you fuck guys?"

I actually worded that exactly right.

"Sometimes. I guess I'm bi."

"I want to have sex."

That's right, that's how I said it and my brother looked at me squarely.

"Excellent then, we'll get started on that right away." He revved the
engine just before the light changed and the squeal of his tired echoed
down the corridor of buildings, people looked at us and shook their
heads. I laughed and gave a bunch of them the finger out the window.

"You probably want me to fuck you, right?"

I was hard in my seat and I couldn't figure out what I was thinking.

"I don't know man," he said, "that's a bit weird right?"

"Really, I mean, what's weird about it. We fool around and stuff ..."

"So?"

I didn't know. I was almost getting upset about it. In fact, I was
getting upset about it.

"Ever since mom died we've been together all the time."

"We're brothers though, and I'm your big brother, right? I mean, I was
supposed to take care of you like that."

"Not like that though. I mean, there aren't very many brothers out there
who get their kid brother to suck them off."

"True, but I mean, you totally wanted to."

"How come you never sucked me off?"

"Because man, I don't know. I don't like sucking cock man. I'm not a
faggot."

A faggot sounded so derogatory and it hurt a little.

"Ah come on," I whined.

He laughed. "Whiner."

We got home and he seemed to be lost in thought. He was letting me smoke
a couple of joints more than usual to celebrate being done. I had to work
not the next day but the next, so we were going to go out and he was
going to get me into one of the bars that he knew the owner of. I loved
going out with my brother and his friends were all so cool with me.

He called me into his bedroom and told me he had a surprise for me.

He held out a small box, just slightly larger than a ring box, and it was
wrapped nicely. When I opened it I found inside a couple of vials with a
strange clear syrup inside. I held it up. I had no idea what was. "It's
G."

"G?"

"Ya. It's a drug. We're going to try some tonight. I've heard it's great
and ..." Suddenly he grabbed them from me. It was rather uninspiring,
like when a football star gets his bookworm brother a football for
Christmas and it's obvious who he really got it for. I thanked him with a
grumble but he was still going on about the process of taking it and
telling me that we can't drink with it, that we didn't want to like die
or anything. From the kitchen he said something but I didn't quite hear
him and by the time I'd asked him what he was coming back down the hall
and he repeated himself clearly. He said, "It's great for sex."

I blushed.

"I mean, I didn't think you were going to ask in the car or anything. Man
I love you bro. I was just kind of waiting for something special, you
know, so you could know what it's like to feel so great, to feel like a
man. Ya. I fuck guys and I fuck girls, but you're my only brother and I
really fuckin' love it that we've grown up to have each other. No matter
what bro, you and I are going to make it because we have each other. We
can fuck who ever we want but our blood runs thicker than any bullshit
spit and cum relationship out there. You got it man?" At that he grabbed
my head in his left hand and brought it up to his. He was so hot. We
kissed then. That was the first time that we'd actually kissed and it was
totally passionately, a love-making kiss. I put my hands on the sides of
his warm body and held him there and it was powerful to be held by him.

He pulled away. He had with him two glasses of a simple, sugary juice
that was blue in color. Not very much, just a couple of mouthfuls each.

He told me that we were going to do the same amount. That it was kind of
hot for us to just go nuts and get right fucked up for this. He told me
that later we could do some pills and pick ourselves up, but right now we
should just get fuckin' ripped. He sat in the chair at his desk in his
room. This was a business for him, the handling of narcotics, and he was
told that this shit was fuckin' amazing. He said, "Tastes like crap, but
we can chase it with juice, not much juice, cuz it's not cool to dillute
it, but," he sniffed it, "woohoo, it stinks."

I wasn't sure about this. "Isn't this the date rape drug? What if we end
up killing ourselves right here, right now?"

"Ah, fuck, stop being such a dink, you've taken a fair share of pills and
shit, you've packed your nose with some blow and survived. I mean, come
on man, we've got all the rest of our lives now, what with you out of
school. We can kick our asses out of this town, head for the hills and no
one would know. We could drive off into the sunset and not look back at
this town, the grocery store that you won't work at forever wouldn't even
notice a missing crate emptier, I know my friends wouldn't care, we could
always come back. On a fresh slate we'd be beautiful, we wouldn't even
have to tell them we're brothers. It could be our little secret."

Somehow my reluctance to do drugs had become a thing about me not being
man enough to let go completely of things and move on.

He handed me a vial. "What do you say?"

I held it up and saw my brother through the stuff as if I were looking at
him through ice.

I remembered him standing behind me when I was learning how to shave. I
remembered the stroke and plunge of the razor into the soapy water, the
sculpting of his face. He was still so beautiful to me. "As brothers, as
lovers, as friends, as family: let's get the fuck away from winter and be
where the sun's always shining."

He and I both took our swigs from the vial. It was raunch on my tongue.
It was like tasting melted plastic. It was disgusting. I took a gulp of
the juice, as did he, and when it was all gone we gasped and laughed.

"How long does it take?"

"I don't care, I want a cigarette."

We lit a cigarette each and made our way back into the living room, the
television was playing an old Star Trek episode and we laughed at
something Captain Kirk was saying because he was talking exactly as he
was supposed to. We got on the couch and really it just sort of started
after the next commercial break. I told him I was getting really hot and
he said we could open the windows. We did. Both of us. We went around the
apartment opening everything up, and then when I went back to the couch
he went to the kitchen. He grabbed us a couple beers and the digital
camera from on top of the fridge. When he came back inthe room he snapped
a picture of me sitting there, it was a terrible shot. The next one he
took was hot. Sitting there in my boarder short and nothing else, my feet
suddenly tingled and then --- woosh --- my whole body was awash in
sensation. I panted and smacked my lips. "I want something."

My brother was laughing because the beer he'd been drinking had spilled
and was running down his chest, through the patch of hair there. He
started to pour the beer on him and he said it felt incredible.

"Look at that mess," I said, pointing at the puddle of beer on the floor.

"Ah come on, man, who cares fuck."

I looked at my beer and dribbled some on my own chest, it was so cold. It
was awesome though, I felt really soft and wet like I'd been swimming in
booze. I stood up and poured more on me and very soon I was covered in
beer, my shorts were wet. My brother came closer and as he poured some of
his beer on my belly he rubbed it with his hand and slipped his hand into
my shorts. The drawstring came undone and they were just hanging on my
hips, all wet and dark. I threw some beer at my brother and he jumped out
of the way. He lunged at me and grabbed me and soon we were wrestling
each other to the floor. Splashing in the puddle and had me arrested in
his grip, he tickled my sides and I laughed so madly I thought my head
would explode. I kicked at him in self-defence and he said, "Whoa man,
what's that move all about?
I couldn't stop laughing and he wasn't letting me up, I told him I have
to pee.

"Ya! Ya! What, you want to go to the bathroom?"

"Come on man, I'm going to totally piss right here."

"No way man, don't do it. Don't piss on yourself."

"I gotta, stop tickling me Fuck!"

But he wouldn't and then all of a sudden I couldn't hold it anymore and I
started pissing in my shorts and it was hot as it poured down my legs,
soaking my shorts. My brother smelled it at the same time I did and
shouted something, and pulled down my short to expose my pissing shaft.
He held it up to his mouth and took the piss like it felt good, his lips
pressed against the crown of my cock, my urethra spewing hot piss all
over his face. It was fucking gorgeous and dirty and ridiculous. When I
was done peeing he told me to lay still. He grabbed the camera

He took a picture of me lying there soaked in piss and beer, my cock
hanging out where he left it. Then he undid his short and pulled out his
cock and started pissing on me right there on the living room floor. That
was hot too. He took another picture but it was blurred because I was
getting up to shower in his golden piss. It hit my chest like a acidic
blast and I fuckin' loved it. He let his shorts drop and I was there on
my knees loving the urine soaking my hair and stuff, it was fuckin'
delirious. My brother stepped up to me then and shoved his cock in my
mouth, it hard and long and he fucked my face with it. He was shoving the
shaft and letting me open up my throat to the girth. I felt the curly
hair on his balls grazing my chin, I grabbed his legs and he held my
hands in place while he started to fuck me throat. He threw up his head
and languished in the beauty of my sucking face, milking him. I felt his
balls and then realized that this was it, this was what I'd been waiting
for. I stood up and pressed against him, our piss-soaked, beer-stinking
bodies, hot and horny and lean and beautiful, pressing and wrapping
around each other. He took me by the arms and threw me back. I was
stunned and he told me to take off my shorts. I let them fall easily. He
came up to me and grabbed and pushed me more, back into the wall, a great
bang, my head thudded against the wall and we were laughing as he grabbed
me more and wrestled with me and made my body bend to his whim. I loved
it. I was at his mercy, in his control. He was rapturous. He was
longingly slobbering as he kissed me ferociously.

I felt him grab my cock in his hand and he suddenly dived and for the
first time in my life I felt what it was like to have a blow job. Oh God
it was amazing. He was gobbled on it and was great with it, he yanked my
balls and I squirmed but he slapped my thigh to make me straighten up my
act. I could barely stand. I looked down and saw my hands grabbing at his
great hair, I pushed his head back and saw the bottom lip redden with
desire, swollen with lust. His pout lured me down and we started making
out on the hardwood floor, inching back to where the puddles of piss and
beer were.

When we started to grope ourselves, or bodies being painted with the
sticky liquids collected there, I pulled my head back and savored being
so close to him. I kissed his lips tenderly while we pressed our bodies
into the grooves and curves of each others' being. My face pressed
against his left cheek, I moaned as though I'd pressed my flesh against
the stinging branding iron with the enthusiasm of naivety. His loins
pressed and pushed at my body in search of the place he wanted to be for
so long and I let him grab at my ass to stear my longing in the right
direction. Oh what a warmth his fiery cock had as it search the crease of
my butt, pressing tenderly at the puckering hole of my youth. When we
were blended like that we lay still. My face was so close to his that I
could see all the little hairs of his beard.

He told me then, "You can not lose your virginity like this."

"Like what?"

"In all this piss and slop."

"But it's hot bro, I mean like I fuckin' love it man."

"No."

There was something happening in that drugged-up head of his. It wasn't
the delirium one might think, it wasn't the carnal madness of a lust
insufferable, there was in his voice a tone that I'd not heard often
really. Much of what I held in my heart as emblematic of my brother
washed away, like paint on a polished breast plate, washed off in the
rains of a battle about to happen, I saw what my brother was then. Just a
warrior, not anymore noble than anyone else: his voice was a tenderness
like the reflection of the long ago boy when father had died and brother
taught me to shave.

He led me to the shower where he warmed the water and drew the shower
curtain. At the right moment I he placed me inside and stepped in with
me. Instantly the warmth, steamy and smelling of some spring-fresh soap,
like fresh fern greens, mosses on damp rocks, the sky blue summer
songbird soaring perfumes filling my senses as his hands worked to take
off the filth that we'd made for ourselves. He lathered so slowly and
rubbed my arms longly and delicately, I lazily allowed him, as if I were
suddenly an invalid, suddenly star-struck, suddenly immobile and dangling
and everything depended on him. His arms wrapped around me and we held
each other and it seemed then something even more powerful was happening
to my brother.

We looked into each other's eyes and something happened to me then, it
was as though I knew something about myself more than I'd known it
before, like I knew the steps I'd take on the journey I'd take with him
at my side. His eyes gripped mine with a delicious vibrancy that I was
rigid, paralyzed by a force, as if standing at the mercy of the tug and
pull and magnetism of electricity. He said, "You are so important to me,
little bro, I will never hurt you, I will never lie, I will never make my
own meal without thinking of yours. We will sleep in one bed, we will
love each other. We are beautiful."

I smiled and got close to his face and said so slyly with a grin, "Hot."

Slowly a climbed down his body, pressing my hands against his brown
nipples, massaging the muscles, admiring the soap as it flowed through
the grooves and curves of his abs, into the fuzz of his hair, into the
flavor of his cock. Grabbing the limp appendage I felt the throb of every
vessel in the appendage, I put it in my mouth and it grew hard as I
sucked it and when he was hard and started to mildly thrust into my face
he told me to stop. That that was it.

Next to the bed, the sun shining in warmly, the city outside blistering
hot. The windows were open and there was the hum of the city as dinner
rushes started in the market district and the offices closed. He lay me
down and kissed all the places his soft lips could tickle. He held up my
arms and with broad sweeps he scooped my boy-ish taste from my pits, the
sensation drove me wild and I lunged at him but he held me down.

He instructed me to lay on my belly, to arch my butt into the air. He
began licking my clean boy bum, the virgin pucker of it, he massaged it
open with his tongue tenderly, working it more and more with his finger.
The first penetration made me so tense, I cringed. He said to relax and
taught me to breathe deeply. When he was able to smoothly slip one, two
fingers in he climbed up and licked his hand to rub his cock's head, make
it sloppy with his saliva. I couldn't see him, I wish I could have, but
he slid himself inside me and I grabbed at the sheets, pulling them into
my clenched fists. I widened my legs. I put my back into it. I felt a
sheen of sweat glisten my back, my brother's breath upon my flesh like
cool wisps of breeze from the mouth of a cave that leads to a paradise
I'm being shown. My flesh pimpled with ecstasy as he pushed in more and
more. I was in pain, it hurt, I can't explain it though. I knew it was
the answer, I knew it was had to be done. It was like the greatest
sentence of the greatest novel, this relationship that had built between
my brother and I, and now it was time for the completion of it.
Delicately he fucked me and then suddenly his force strengthened with an
unintentional primal desire. His hands reached around to my chest as he
started the full assault.

As he fucked me I imagined myself in dewy warm grass, the words of books
I'd read in the past filled my head, the words like the petals of a
tropical flower that blooms in abundance on a thick vine fell, fluttered,
snowed down on me, and soon I was swimming in the delicious intoxication
of poetry: my brother fucked me. My brother took my virginity. He
suddenly moaned and stiffened. I felt only the satisfaction of knowing he
was inside me, all of his essence was instantly sucking into the flesh
that, so softly, can't be seen. I imagined the color of him bleeding with
mine and suddenly a new color, the mauve of us, was created.

I lay still and my brother lay upon me and I throbbed and bounced beneath
the pound of his blazing body. Blanketed by him he held me closely, I
felt safer than I'd ever felt; enveloped in him, I felt invincible to any
outside force and at the same time absolutely vulnerable to him.

After a couple weeks of the summer, my brother having been working extra
hard down at the body shop where he'd been hired years before, myself in
shipping and receiving at a bookstore, my brother made dinner for us one
night and passed me an envelope for me to read.

I wasn't sure what it was.

It was a part of the will of my parents, it devulged the information
about an inheritance that came from my some loop hole in something about
my grandfather's will on my father's side. Suddenly I came into money. He
said the he'd been given it about a week before. He didn't want me to
waste it. He wanted me to go to school. But I told him I didn't want to
leave town or anything. He rolled his eyes, there's nothing here for us.

"Why don't we both leave," I begged, "there's enough money here for the
both us? We could set up somewhere else, somewhere they don't know we're
brothers, somewhere we could just live as people and not with a past that
haunts us."

He smiled and said, "Pass the potatoes."