Date: Wed, 1 Jun 2005 15:53:09 EDT
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: Brad Comes Home

			      BRAD COMES HOME
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
			WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM

     I found Brad in the front yard when I got home from school and I
shouted at him and waved, grinning like a madman. My initial look of
happiness evaporated when I saw he was looking up at the sky. Looked up
myself...nothing but some smallish clouds so blown by the wind that they
had feathered out to near-nothingness...then back at Brad. His eyes weren't
moving, but his mouth was. Open and closed like a fish out of water. His
head was shaven entirely bare, his skin was the same deep brown shade as
ever, but it was like his eyes, they were bigger now, the whites were
extended, he was staring at the sky as widely as he could. I could see that
the words he was saying, whatever they were, were the same few, over and
over again, his broad black lips were cracked and dry and yet they said it
over and over again, an "M" and an "O" and an "R", I could make out those
three sounds from his lips and how they moved, but not what words they were
connected to.
     His arms came upwards, his thick biceps bulged out from his sleeveless
t-shirt as he raised them to the heavens. I looked up at the sky
again. What was Brad seeing? What was my brother doing, praying to God? Was
he asking God something? Brad had never been religious, but he'd been away
for over a year, he'd been in battles over in a nasty little tropical
country, his letters had described the heat and the mosquitoes and the
stink...nothing in any of it about God, his letters instead had gotten
increasingly obscene in language and thoughts alike....
     Mom came out on the porch. "Leave him be." She said to me, her body
was dark black on the blackness of the porch which was heavily
screened. Only her dress showed clear, a white rectangular shape that
flared near the bottom slightly.
     "What's wrong with him, Mom?" I asked plaintively. I'd been waiting
for Brad to get back from the Army for months now, waited for him to get
back, we were going to play football like before, go out and ride around
town together, like before, we were brothers and we were friends as well,
and now with Brad back home, things had to be like they were before.
     Didn't they?
     "He's been wounded." Mom said to me.
     "I didn't hear about that!" I protested, going to her quickly. When
had Brad been wounded? He hadn't been in battle in some months now...
     "Inside, baby." Mom said to me. "He's been hurt inside, where it don't
show."
     "Oh!" I said, a small sound. And thought it through. "So what do we
do?"
     "We leave him be." she said, and her hand came up and rested on my
arm. "We give him time to find out he's gone through it, he's done with it,
he's back home." she said. "That'll heal him quicker'n anything else."
     "Shouldn't he have doctors?" I said. "Shouldn't he be in a hospital
where they can help him?"
     She shook her head fiercely. "Home'll cure him." she said
emphatically. "Love will cure him. You and me...we'll cure him."
     "Okay." I said doubtfully. When Mom sets her mind to something, she
gets her way. It explained why the U.S. Army would release Brad to her when
they might not have otherwise. I told myself that if anything happened, I
would call them myself!
     Brad's arms lowered, and it was like he was done, he blinked hard
several times, and his head turned and looked at me, at Mom, at our house.
     "Welcome home, Son." Mom said to him, quietly.
     "Welcome home." I said a heartbeat later.
     "Hi, Mom." Brad said, and his voice was...still. Flat and
dull-sounding. "Hi, Jerry." to me. The same, dull tone.
     "Come on inside now, Son." Mom said to him. "I'll get supper
going. What would you like tonight?" Just like she'd said to him a hundred
times before.
     His face made a smile, a timid mouse of white on his black face, but
it was there. "I been hankering for some of your fried chicken." he said.
     "Then that's what we'll have." Mom said. "And I made a peach pie."
     "Oh, boy." I said myself. I always said something like that when Mom
made her peach pies, she won prizes at the county fair with her pies. "I
get the first piece!"
     "The hell you will, sucker." Brad said.
     Mom didn't chastise him for his language. Not that I blamed her one
bit. For Brad was moving up the porch, and a bit of the old Brad was in
that movement.
     Not a lot. But some.
     The old Brad flickered on and off throughout the meal. We'd get him to
talking and laughing for a moment, just like old times...and then it would
die out, like a match you hold upright after you strike it. The match
flares up with a big, beautiful flame...then the chemical is gone and the
wood alone can't sustain the fire, and the burned area doesn't feed it, and
it dies out, leaving only gray smoke, leaving Brad quiet again, chewing
quietly, his eyes and face dead as they could be.
     After a time, the old Brad went away and didn't come back. The Brad
that was left just froze as he was, his fork down on the plate, resting on
its tines, but still in his fingers. Like he had forgotten to move. He was
staring at the salt and pepper shaker, and his lips were moving again the
same as before. "M." "O." "R."
     "Brad." Mom said to him softly. "Brad. Come home again, son. Come home
again."
     I decided to help. As I laid a hand on his shoulder, I said, "Hey,
Brad, big brother...."
     That's when my hand landed on him and that's when Brad moved. God, he
was so fast, I hardly saw what he did, he dropped his fork, scooped up his
knife and his other hand grabbed my arm and then the knife was right at my
throat! I pulled away as far as I could, but Brad's knife-point was
sticking me!
     "Brad!" Mom said, just a little sharper. She didn't scream at
all. Just spoke to him like was doing something a little wrong.
     "Mom?" I said, my eyes wide.
     "Hush, babe." Mom said to me. "Brad, Brad, come home again. Come home
again."
     Brad's hand trembled.
     "Brad, it's over, son." Mom said now. "It's over and you're home. It's
over, baby, it's over."
     "Mom?" Brad said, a small voice.
     "It's over now, baby." Mom said. "Come home, baby."
     Brad dropped the knife, it hit the edge of the table and bounced away
with a tink-tink-tink-tink! Brad was trembling all over now.
     "God, Brad!" I said with a shiver in my voice.
     "I'm sorry." he said to me. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"
     Watching him say that, I knew them what he'd been saying so much, over
and over again. "M" "O" and "R"; it was "I'm sorry!"
     "Jesus!" I said.
     Brad let go of my arm and dashed out the back door, the screen door
hitting the sill with a clang.
     "Let him be." Mom said to me. "He's got some healing to do, is all."
     "He had a knife to my throat!" I said to her, rubbing my neck.
     "He didn't mean to." Mom said.
     "Not mean to!"
     "He's lost, baby." Mom said to me. "He has to find his way home. He's
going to be all right, soon as he finds the way."
     "But what should we do now?" I said. "Hide all the knives?"
     "Leave it all be for now." Mom said. "He'll come back when he's
ready."
     "Okay." I said doubtfully. I spent the next couple of hours watching
television like I always did. Hell of a way to welcome your brother home
after over a year of combat, with him outside somewhere, half out of his
mind, while you sit watching television! But it was what Mom did, so it was
what I did.
     I decided though that, come morning, I was calling those doctors to
come get my brother, fast!
     I got in bed and lay there. I was hearing something outside in the
back yard. Something whimpering, like a dog. Only it wasn't quite a
dog. Something else, something hurting.
     I decided maybe I'd better see what it was. Sometimes a wild animal
would come trying to find a place to get food, when it was wounded. I'd
found a raccoon once, like that, its foot gone, because it'd been caught in
a trap and had to chew his foot off to get out of it. Only the raccoon had
been silent, it had been the blood that had let us find it, hiding under
the back porch, unable to go any further.
     I took the flashlight and went outside, wearing only a pair of shorts
that I usually slept in. The sound was coming from under the back
porch. This space was not a crawlspace; underneath the porch was quite
large, maybe four feet tall, as our house was on the side of a hill and the
back of the house was up high to keep the floor level. Another couple of
feet, and we could have done a second floor or something; as it was, we
just had a house with its rear in the air.
     So I went down the back steps and shone the light on what was
underneath.
     Brad. He was hunkered down there, whimpering. It was him I'd heard.
     "I'm sorry!" he said, over and over. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
     "Brad?" I said to him. "Brad, what is it? What are you sorry about?"
     He didn't hear me.
     I stood there, looking at my brother. My big brother, sitting on the
dirty ground under the back porch, hunched down, looking like the exact
opposite of the big football-playing, rough-housing, muscular male he'd
always been, the big brother I'd worshiped for as long as I could remember.
     And Brad had always been there for me. When I needed him, he was
always there for me. Whether it had been bullies as a kid, or a playmate
for games, or someone to teach me how to throw the football or baseball, or
to play a game of one-on-one basketball that was just friendly enough to be
fun and yet competitive enough to stretch my limits....Brad had always been
there for me.
     Well, it was my turn now. I could be there for him! All I had to do
was figure out how.
     I set the flashlight down on the ground, it was a big model, not a
small stick-type, it was meant to be set down on its big, square battery
and I could aim the light. I set it to shine straight up, that gave us
light under the porch. And I sat down by Brad, at his side. Where he'd
always been for me. And I waited.
     Brad stopped his litany of apology after a time and seemed to shake
himself, looked over at me. "Hey, Jerry." he said.
     "Hey, Brad." I said as casually as I could, under the circumstances.
     He looked around. "What are we doing here?" he asked, genuinely
curious.
     "It's where I found you." I said.
     "What time is it?"
     "About midnight."
     "Over four hours." Brad said.
     "More like five." I agreed.
     "Longer than it usually is."
     "How long do you usually go off like that?" I asked.
     "Couple of hours." Brad said. "At most."
     "Okay." I said, digesting this. Then, because I had to ask, after
all. "But why?"
     He didn't have to ask for clarification. "Because it hurts." he said,
and his tone went from plaintive to angry in a hurry. "It just hurts so
much and that's all I can do about it! Okay?"
     "Okay, okay!" I said quickly.
     "Shit!" Brad said. "What am I doing here?"
     And I didn't have to ask him, he didn't mean under the back
porch. "Because this is your home." I said. "And we're your family. You
belong here."
     "I don't belong anywhere." Brad said. "Except maybe in Hell for what I
did."
     I licked my lips. "Want to tell me about it?"
     "No." he said.
     "Okay." I was relieved. Whatever had driven Brad over the edge like
this couldn't have been anything I wanted to hear.
     Brad began to shake and shiver. And then to cry, not quietly, not
whimpering. "God!" he cried out. "I messed up so bad! So bad! I messed up
so bad and I'm sorry!"
     "Brad, stop it!" I said. I didn't want him going back into that "I'm
sorry" mode again. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!"
     He put his head down. "I messed up so bad." He said. "Those kids,
those kids, they were just kids!"
     Oh, God! "Brad! Brad!" I said desperately. "It's okay, you don't have
to say it!" I didn't want to hear it, not from my big brother, who had
always protected little kids, and not just me. I knew the people we were
fighting armed very young boys. That could have put Brad in a position
where he had to shoot and kill boys no older than I had been, when he had
been my protector, my friend, my big brother. Oh, God! Poor Brad!
     Brad put his head on my shoulder and cried and I let him. The crying
was the regular sort now, not that heart-tearing sound it had been
earlier. I just held him and let him cry.
     After a time, he was done and yet he stayed where he was and I
continued to hold onto him. "Jesus, Jerry." he said to me after a
while. "What am I going to do?"
     "I don't know." I said. "But whatever you do, me and Mom are
here. We'll help you."
     Brad looked up at me, his eyes damp from his tears sparkled in the
light. He looked just then not at all like my big brother, but like someone
who needed to be comforted. Who needed to be loved. Who needed to
be...kissed?
     When I reached my lips towards my brother's, he met me halfway, and
our lips meshed. His were rough, cracked, dry...and felt wonderful! Brad's
strength returned as we kissed, I could feel it welling up inside him and
bulging out his lips as they worked on me harder...harder.
     As Brad's strength returned, I went from holding him to being held. He
was almost swelling up before me. He moved and his leg came over mine. Yes,
he was swelling up in more ways than one!
     "Jesus, Brad." I said to him, but it was a husky whisper out of my
throat and into his mouth, barely audible. His only answer was to slide off
my lips and across my jaw, it was like he was trying to physically devour
me, but without biting, just trying to swallow me down whole. His mouth
worked, opened and closed, like a fish. Nibbling at me like the fish does
at bait before it strikes.
     Brad struck. His powerful body trained by the Army into a machine of
manhood overtook me. I was flat on my back and Brad over me, his hands
pulling at my shorts, my sole article of clothing. The elastic of the
shorts was loose (one reason why I wore them to bed, they were comfortable)
and they slid off me easily. Brad's broad muscles slid up his arm as he
tugged and he looked at me, my own face wrinkled in bewildered willingness,
and he grinned, his teeth were a blast of whiteness in the darkness of his
face, like a flare bursting over a battlefield. Bright, clear, clean light
to guide the way.
     I grinned back as Brad's hand closed on my pud, a happily erect black
snake that writhed warmly in his palm. It was heavily calloused, those hard
bumps of thickened flesh made it feel kind of odd, places where his hand
was warmer and softer, and places where it was cooler and harder. Both of
them were up against my prick, working my skin in different ways at the
same time. Then he shifted his grip and that changed the sensations and he
pumped me harder. I threw my head back and just moaned as my big brother's
horned hand was pummeling my prick.
     "Oh, oh, oh, shit!" I grunted as my passion built up in a hurry.
     And like a hammer falling, my brother let go of me! Panting, I looked
at him wide-eyed, and he said, the old Brad there strong and real and alive
as he could be, the old Brad grinned and said, "Not yet, little brother."
     "Oh, God!' I gasped. "Brad, God!"
     "Time for me now." Brad said as his hands went up to his pants. He was
still wearing the clothes I had seen him in that afternoon, the sleeveless
t-shirt and the army fatigue pants, it was these pants that he was opening
with the ease of long use. As he opened them, the off-white boxers
underneath parted to let the hard dong underneath them bulge out, the head
still trapped but the shaft was arcing out. And Brad's hand reached in and
gave a tug and that huge schlong popped out, the head was thick and
plum-shaped, the slit winked a glint of precome at me.
     "Come on, little brother, chow down." Brad said and he winked the wink
he'd always given me while growing up, any time we shared a secret, I'd get
that wink from him. "My turn now."
     "Yeah." I breathed. I squirmed around and half-crawled, half-slid over
to him and rose up to get to his dong. The precome was now reaching out and
down his cock-slit, and I stuck out my tongue and caught it before it could
dribble on down.
     "Uhhhhh!" Brad groaned as my tongue, now dabbed with his juice,
reached up and tasted his pud. "Yeahhhh, uhhhhhh!" Now I had his prick in
my mouth and I was sucking on it with the blissful joy you can only have
when you finally, finally, get to do what you always dreamed of doing. Brad
was back! Brad was back, and he was mine!
     As teenagers we had horsed around a lot, Brad would even pretend-fuck
me when we were wrestling at times. And yet, somehow, we'd never gone
beyond that. Until now, there, under the back porch, with Brad fresh out of
the Army, and he was a wounded spirit reviving under the calming balm of
home, and now Brad and I weren't pretending anymore.
     So I sucked his pud and after a time, he was groaning as hard as I
had. I heard him building up to a climax and just like him (he was my
brother, I had to play him the way he played me, keep the balance of
power), I let go of him and said, "My turn again!"
     "You're damned right it's your turn." Brad said. "Lay back down little
brother, and I'll give it to you but good."
     So I lay back and Brad lifted up a leg of mine and put it on his
shoulder and I didn't think much of that until he lifted it right up into
the air, my foot's sole scrap ed the bottom of one of the beams of the
porch over us. Then I felt his cock, lubed up with my spit, touching my
butt.
     "How'd you like a bit of what I used to give the guys in my squad?"
Brad said to me, his voice husky with his need.
     "Yeah, big brother, come one, shove it in me." I panted. "Just like
you did in the Army, yeah, yeah!"
     Brad's cock pushed against my butthole, and I was glad, feeling that
huge prick, that I'd had a couple of guys before him or I'd never have been
able to take him without screaming.
     Even so, it was a lot to take. I don't know what they did in the Army
with Brad, but Brad's cock was big and hard and he was pushing into me
harder than my buddies ever had. I gave out a yelp when he got too much and
Brad's reaction was to put his hand over my mouth and push in even harder!
But he was inside me pretty much and the rest of it wasn't too bad, when he
got all the way inside me, he let go, and said, "You about ready for your
turn now, little brother?"
     I was panting hard, it was better than screaming. "Oh, oh, oh, fuck!"
I said.
     "You ready, little brother?"
     "Yeah, yeah, uh, uh, huh!" I replied.
     Brad began to move in me, his cock was so fucking hard and firm and it
drove in and out of me. Brad fucked me with a gusto he had always brought
to his life in every way, whether playing sports or training in the Army (I
had seen him once on a visit) or now, fucking me, he did it with all the
energy and vigor he could give to it.
     After a while, the pain was gone and I could enjoy Brad's fucking, my
ass had accommodated him. He was big and heavy and sweating on top of me,
and his eyes were looking right into mine, and his face had a peacefulness
it hadn't had all that day. Until now, when he was fucking me! Now, my
brother was at peace.
     So I reveled in his fuck, I clung to his back and felt the strong
muscles there as they moved with his hips, and I my passion rose in
me. "God, God, Brad." I gasped. "God, I'm going to come!"
     "Yeah, come on, Jerry, shoot that spunk all over me." Brad said. "Give
me a nice, big load, just like they do in the Army. I want a lot of hot
teenaged jizz, right on me!" And he hunched at me harder, slower, it was
huh-huh-huh-huh-huh as he drove into me in hard separate rams of his dong.
     And as he rammed me, I grunted and I hung on and my ecstasy built up
and I moaned and I closed my eyes tight shut and when I did, there was a
roaring in my ears and the blackness of my eyelids turned red and with a
blast of marvelously coalescing delights that rippled through my body, I
squirted my load up and all over myself, and onto Brad.
     Brad grunted when I did that and he hunched at me harder. He must have
been close himself, for I had barely finished my own climax, still panting
hard, still unable to see clearly, and his grunts suddenly caught and
extended themselves, and with a low, long sound, his salty spunk shot into
me and burned my bowels with his brotherly seed.
     Done, he almost fell on top of me. "Good job, soldier." He said to me.
     "Thanks." I said. "You were good, too, big brother."
     Brad pulled away and seemed embarrassed now, yanking his pants back
up. I caught some of his shame and put my own shorts back on. Brad, the old
Brad, the bubbly bright star Brad, was fading again. His face was darkening
once more.
     "Brad, what's wrong?" I asked him.
     "It's okay, little brother." He said to me. "I'll be all right for a
while." And then, a whisper only, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry."
     I looked at him, at this sunken, weak, silent stranger my brother had
become. It was like he was two different people, alternating in the same
body. Where was the horny, rutting big brother that had been nearly playful
with me when he had fucked me? God, I still had my come on my chest from
that, and now he was almost like a new person.
     "We should go get in bed." I said to him. And then, before Brad
totally went away, I said, "I think you need to get some help. More than me
and Mom can give you."
     Brad just nodded. But he went with me back into the house.
     We're getting help for my brother now. He has nightmares still, and
sometimes he slips into that trance-like state. But he has medication and
he has help. And when the nightmares come, Brad has learned to come get in
bed with me instead of running out into the outdoors. He'll sleep with me,
sometimes we make love and sometimes not. And sometimes the old Brad comes
into my room even without having a nightmare, and those times are just
great.
     Mom insists on keeping him here with us, and the doctors don't mind as
long as we make him keep his doctor's appointments.
     Maybe someday, the old Brad will be back for good.
     Maybe, someday, Brad will have apologized enough for staying alive,
and coming home again.

				  THE END
		   Comments, complaints or suggestions?
		  E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
			WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM