Date: Thu, 13 Jan 2000 03:19:27 -0500 (EST)
From: David Lemmaire <lemmaire@email.com>
Subject: LOVING ANDY - Part 1 (t/b, inc, mast)

LOVING ANDY - Part 1 (t/b, inc, mast)
by Lemmaire

There's a different world that brothers share.  I wish I could say it always
made sense, or that it was always innocent, or always very pure the way it
should be...but sometimes it's not.  Sometimes it goes past innocence and
becomes things that brothers should never be to each other.  Or maybe they
should.  I don't know.  Even after we did it, I still don't know.

I guess I'm feeling guilty, so forgive me if this is starting off mushy.  I
want you to know, I'd never do anything to hurt Andy.  I'd die first.  He's
so much a part of me -- he depends on me so much.  If what I'm doing is
wrong, I'll never, ever be able to forgive myself.  Never.

Let me try to explain it better.  When you're, 16, and your little brother
is younger, 12, you're sort of put into a protector role.  Sure, you're
always going to share regular, expected, brotherly things...advice, secrets,
trust, companionship...but being older also puts you into a situation of
responsibility.  You're part brother, part father-figure.

When something goes wrong, you're the one who has to fix it.  When their
days start getting sad, you're the one who makes them happy again.  It's a
role...a job.  Hell, maybe at 16, it's the most important thing you do in
your life.  A younger brother looks up to you...depends on you...and
sometimes that's a hard position to be in.  You know, it's hard to balance
trust with temptation.  To know your responsibilities when all you want to
do is act on the things you really feel...the things you think...the needs
you have.  It's very hard.  And when you're gay, it's a tightrope that never
ends.

I realized I was gay when I was about nine years old.  I may have had
feelings or attractions to other boys before then, but that was the first
time I gave it a name and understood, finally, without any doubt, that's
what it was.  I'd been at camp for two weeks that summer...my first
time...and being in a group of nothing but boys made me realize, even in my
young mind, that I liked them more than I should have.  More than boys
usually liked other boys.

I watched them sleeping after lights-out in the cabins.  Watched their
chests rise up and down as they slept in their bunks.  Listened to the
sounds of their soft breathing.  Watched their hands move to their heads as
they dreamed.  Their heads, their necks, their hard penises under the
sleeping bags.

I stared at them in the showers -- I tried not to, but I was fascinated by
their bodies -- so like mine -- but so different in a million different
ways.  All I wanted to do was look and touch and explore them.  It was like
a banquet.  Or a huge, unexplored forest full of wonders.  There was so much
possibility there -- so many choices and chances for mystery and adventure.
I longed to touch, to kiss, to feel.  But I didn't, of course.  Instead, I
watched, and tried my best not to get hard.

I took all my showers those two long weeks, guilty and ashamed, sneaking
every peek I could reasonably get...feeling sick, excited and
dangerous...fantasizing even then of what I could do with those other naked
bodies...the whole time, saying the alphabet backwards in my head, over and
over, trying futively not to get erect.  I hid my erections with cupped
palms and fast trips back to my towel.  I don't think anyone knew.  I hoped
they didn't.  Even at nine, the closet was an easy room to find.

So, what can I say?  I grew up.  Got a little older.  Turned ten, then
eleven, then twelve.  Discovered masturbation somewhere in there...and did
it every chance I got, harboring those same fascinated feelings, not
thinking of girls at all.

Whenever I was around other boys my age, my heart hurt.  I felt so alone.
Always watching, always wanting...never daring to act.  Never even
considering it.  Kids learn fast what other kids accept.  There's a whole
unwritten code of conduct in our world...and it starts before we even
realize we're growing up in it.

My brother Andy was eight the first time he caught me masturbating, so I
guess that would have made me twelve.  School let out early that day -- it
was snowing hard, and the bus drivers wanted to make their runs early before
the roads got bad.  So, with half a snow day on my hands and parents still
working and not home until four, I guess I got a little careless in my rush
to start touching myself.  The door to my room, which was normally locked
for my after-school fantasy sessions, was open a crack.  And Andy, of
course, walked right in and saw what I was doing to myself, right there on
the middle of my bed, pants pulled down, dick in my hand, pumping away like
I didn't have a care in the world.

"Holy cow!" he yelled, in a voice so loud I didn't know whether to laugh at
his enthusiasm or die of embarrassment.

"You squirt," I laughed, grabbing my pillow and throwing it quickly over my
crotch.  "Haven't you ever heard of knocking?"

"Jeeeeesus, Mikey," he whispered in awe.  "You got a wiener the size of a
horse!"

I laughed again.

"Not quite," I blushed.  "Maybe a pony."

He didn't get it.  He stood there starting at me, dripping a Popsicle on my
floor.

"Do you mind?" I asked, trying to sound annoyed, which he didn't buy for a
minute.  Andy already knew I'd climb mountains for him.  Putting my dick
back in my pants to spend some time with him probably didn't seem like too
much of a stretch to him.

So, I did.  As quickly as I could, under the pillow, trying not to let him
see too much more than he'd already seen, I stuffed my rapidly deflating
"wiener" back in my jeans, zipped them up, and sat up on the bed to amuse my
little brother.

"Yikes, Mikey," he said, still awed.  "What the hell were you doing with it?
Was it itching?"

I couldn't help grinning again.

"Yeah, it was itching," I laughed.  "And in a few more years, you'll figure
out where the itch comes from."

He looked at me blankly again.  Thankfully, at eight, he didn't understand
his older brother's urges.

"Whatever," he shrugged, unimpressed with my humor.  "Batman's on."

A rare treat for him -- an afternoon Batman cartoon.  We usually got home
too late to see it.  He'd be in his glory tonight.  I was sure by six, he'd
be jumping off the couch in a towel and his underwear -- fake cape, fake
tights -- saving Gotham City from evil everywhere.

"I'll be right down," I told him, still trying to adjust my wilted willie
with one leg.

He left the room and shut my door.  I didn't have the steam to finish what I
started, so I sighed, shut off my light, and joined him downstairs for
Batman.

____________________________________________________________

Years later, I asked him if he remembered that day...walking in, catching me
masturbating.  He swears he doesn't remember it.  I don't know whether to
believe him or not.  I think right now he's trying to make me feel less
guilty about the things we've been doing together.  Maybe he doesn't want me
to think I warped his young mind back then.

Who knows.  He's a hard kid to figure out.

My sweet, beautiful, gentle Andy, the mystery.  I don't know how it started,
Squirt.

I mean, I know how it started on the timeline.  I just don't know how it
started in my heart.  Maybe I'm not supposed to know that part.  Maybe
that's what love does.
____________________________________________________________

It was snowing again, the night he came to me.

I'm 16 now, and Andy is 12.  Gone is that eight-year-old cherub who flew
around the house in his Batman suit.  Now he's a confident young man...
athletic, handsome, friendly to everyone.  He's approaching his teen years
with a casual mix of innocent sweetness and effortless daring.  Blond,
blue-eyed, strong and tan, he's the younger brother any older kid would be
proud to have.  Even a closeted, lonely, half-joke of a gay one like me.

But snow, I said.  It was snowing.

Our parents were sound asleep upstairs -- I was down in my basement
bedroom...a little chilly, but I like the privacy.  Andy's room was upstairs
too...that's why I was surprised when I heard him tapping lightly at my door
way past midnight.  Usually, he was in bed, sleeping like a log by ten.

"Mikey?" he stage-whispered.  "Are you asleep yet?"

"Come on in, Squirt," I answered, putting down the book I'd been reading in
bed.  Paul Monette.  "Becoming a Man."  In my secret, late night reads of
library checkouts, I was slowly learning at 16, that other kids had grown up
gay, too.  It was sad world -- and a scary one sometimes -- but not an
exclusive one.  People got through it and made it to adulthood.  I was
starting to think maybe I'd get through it, too.

"I can't sleep," Andy said, coming into my room and shutting the door behind
him.  He was dressed in his underwear and one of my t-shirts. Mickey Mouse.
It was big on me, so it was way too big on him.  It hung down like a
nightshirt.  He looked adorable, like always.  His blond hair was messed
up...ruffled from tossing and turning on his pillow, no doubt.

"My legs ache," he complained, walking through the room to sit on the foot
of my bed.

"Here," I said, patting the mattress.  "Hop up here.  I'll rub them for
you."

I assure you there was nothing sexual about what I offered.  My realization
that I was gay and my thoughts of other guys simply did not transfer over to
Andy.  Okay, I'll admit, I thought his features were very attractive, and I
thought his body was smooth and firm...but I noticed all of those things in
a brotherly way...in a detached, intellectually curious way, like looking at
a painting and admiring it's colors.  There never had been, and there wasn't
now, any sexual overture in my offer to rub his sore legs.

"Mmmm, that feels nice," he sighed, as I slowly kneaded his tense, long
limbs.  His skin was warm.  His legs were still smooth...with just a trace
of light-colored hair.  From his position on the bed, I could his white
briefs under the t-shirt.

"Ha-ha," he grinned, lifting up his t-shirt.  "Caught you looking at my
weenie, Beany."

"You're such a moron," I smiled, slapping his hands down with a gentle tap.
"Stretch out.  You want an aspirin or something?"

"Nah," he said, lying down on my bed, half dozy and dreamy looking.  "Just
keep rubbing for a while.  I'll feel better."

He closed his eyes and I watched him breathe softly as I continued to work
the tension out of his muscles.  He moaned sweetly and gently a few times.
"Mmmm...thanks, Mikey...you're the best."

"The world for you, Squirt," I winked back.

A few minutes later, after the rubbing continued and the room had gone
silent, with just the sound of our breathing breaking the night, he
yawned...stretched his arms a little, and with his eyes still close, spoke
out --

"You're gay, right Mikey?"

It took me by surprise.  I didn't answer for a second.  He must have noticed
the pause, because he added quickly --

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"No," I said.  "No...I don't mind at all.  I just didn't think you knew,
that's all."

"Kind of hard not to guess," he smiled, nodding toward the Monette book on
my bedside table.  "'Cause if you're not gay, you sure read about a lot of
them."

I laughed.  Andy has a way of putting the most sensitive topics into the
most direct conversations possible.  Most people light candles.  Andy shines
spotlights.

"Yeah," I sighed.  "Your brother's a bender, all right.  What can I say?  It
just happened to turn out that way.  Hope you don't think less of me."

He reached up and punched me in the leg, lightly.

"I'd never think less of you," he said, complete seriousness in his tone.
"No matter what you did or who you were.  I mean that."

I smiled and said, "thanks."  There was more silence in the room.

Then he spoke again.  Almost inaudibly.  I wasn't quite sure he actually
said it, because his voice was so low, and scared-sounding.

"You can get gay with me, you know."

There was a long pause as I tried to understand what he'd just said to me.

"I mean..." he continued, awkward and shy.  "I wouldn't mind."

"Andy," I began...flattered, but hesitant.  "We're brothers.  Of course I
love you, but..."

I couldn't even finish what I'd started to say.  He sat up in the bed and
before I could react, he leaned forward and kissed me tenderly on the lips.
It was a very gentle kiss, his warm lips barely brushing mine, his eyes
still closed.

"I think about a lot of gay stuff too," he said, watching for my reaction.
"I've read some parts from some of your books.  It makes me feel--"

He stopped, searching for the right words.

"Scared?" I said, knowing almost all of them.  "Different?  Scared?
Excited?  A hundred things at once?"

"Yeah," he said.  "Exactly."

"Come here, Squirt."

I laid down next to him and wrapped a protective arm around him.  He
snuggled into me and laid on my chest.  I pulled the covers over us and
stroked his hair.

"You've got lots of time to decide who you are and how you're going to be,"
I told him quietly.  "Don't rush your way into growing up so fast.  And as
much as I love you, Squirt, I'm probably not the right person to be asking.
You should find someone your own age...someone who might be looking for you,
too."

"But why?" he said softly.  There was a note of sadness in his voice that
almost broke my heart.  "You know everything about me, Mikey.  You know who
I am, and what I like, and how to act around me. You know my whole heart
already.  I don't have to teach it to you.  And besides, I'm not scared of
you, like I'd be with other guys.  I wouldn't even know how to find another
guy who feels like this."

"But, Andy, we're brothers," I repeated...

"And that makes it wrong?" he asked incredulously.  "Someone loves me more
than anyone, and I love them back, and I can't show them?  I can go pick out
a stranger and that would be fine -- nobody would care -- but if I pick you,
because I already love and trust you already, then I'm some sort of a
freak?"

There were tears in his eyes.

"You're never a freak, Andy.  You just have feelings you don't understand
yet.  Hell, I don't even understand half the feelings I have.  I think you
have to realize that--"

"Kiss me, Mikey."

He looked up at me with tears in his eyes and I was lost.

"Please?" he whispered.  "Kiss me like you love me."

I looked in his eyes for the longest time.  He was so sweet...so completely
sincere.  And I saw in him a longing I'd seen when I looked at myself in the
mirror at his age.  Just wanting to love and be loved.  Not understanding
why everything that felt so right in my heart was so damn wrong out there in
the world.  Without stopping to explain it to myself or to consider the
consequences of what I was doing, I took his head in my hands, leaned
forward and kissed him.

My lips touched his, and he moaned.  His back arched up, and his small hands
reached around my neck, and I felt his tongue start exploring mine.  I may
have resisted at first, but his softness, his warmth...it was too much to
say no.  Soon, I was kissing him back...hungrily, greedily, listening to his
soft moans and whimpers as his mouth melted into mine.

He lowered his hand.

I felt it slide down the skin of my chest, and gasped quietly as it slid
past the waistband of my briefs.

Before I knew what was happening, his warm hand was wrapped around my rigid
cock, stroking gently, sliding firmly up and down.

Still kissing him, never parting for a minute, I slid my hands into his
underwear and did the same.

With awkward, clumsy grasping, we managed to pull down each other's briefs,
so we could stroke each other easily.

We didn't say a word.  Just laid in my bed, side by side, kissing
passionately, moaning softly, tasting each others' tongues, feeling the
delicious soft warmth of our cocks pressed together...stroking, caressing,
feeling a million different emotions.

He came with a shudder.  I was surprised to feel his cum spurt and hit me in
the stomach.  The feeling of the hot sticky liquid against my bare skin
pushed me over the edge, and I came, too -- driving my tongue into his
mouth, spurting thick wads of sperm onto his flat, smooth belly.

"Andy," I began, not knowing what to say.

"Don't talk," he whispered.  "Please don't wreck it."

"But, Andy...we..."

"Shhh," he said, kissing me softly, licking at my lower lip with his sweet,
warm tongue.  "We can talk about it tomorrow, okay?  Tonight, let's just
love."

I sighed and closed my eyes.  I didn't want to think of what I'd just done
with my little brother.  Something like this could change his whole life --
who he was -- what he'd be.  Waves of guilt washed over me instantly.

He sensed it.

"It's okay, Mikey.  Really.  I love you."

"I love you too, Squirt," I whispered in the darkness.

I felt his chest rise up and down.  I listened to him breathing.  Soon, he
was sleeping.

My sweet, beautiful brother.  We crossed a bridge that night...not right,
not wrong, but somewhere in between.  I wasn't quite sure where it was
leading or how either of us would be able to handle the walk -- but as I
felt his warm body pressed against mine...his soft arms wrapped around my
chest as he spooned into me like a second heartbeat, I knew no matter what
became of this "accidental" adventure, I'd still wake up in the morning
loving Andy.

END OF PART 1
to be continued....