In My Brother's Embrace

NOTE: All characters are over 18 years old during all events depicted in this story. S.L.

*

It was dark except for my flashlight which I held between my teeth. I bent slightly and opened the wooden doors beneath the bathroom sink and, naked, I stooped over to crawl inside, letting my bare butt rest softly on the towels I had lain down there the night before. After I was situated upon the make-do little towel seat, I pulled the wooden doors to a barely opened position so that there was a small slit where I could look out towards the shower. I turned off my flashlight, put it to the side, and waited, breathing heavily. My skin shivered with anticipation.

I tried to control my breathing, to be quiet, but it was so difficult being cooped up in the dark in that small, tight area. And my nude body was cold, my penis lay small upon my curled-up stomach. All kinds of thoughts circled through my brain, but one in particular: what if I got caught? Getting caught doing something like this could ruin my life. It was such a risk . . . but I needed this. I had been considering doing this for weeks now, and only now had mustered the courage to try it. Too late now though. I'm already this far. I need to go on. I closed my eyes and waited. Waited for what seemed like forever.

Then I heard the footsteps down the hall, coming towards the bathroom. The door just to my right opened with a creaking noise, and the bathroom light switch was flipped on. I heard the noises I was expecting: the morning grunt, the smooth rustling of night clothes as their owner shuffled through the bathroom door towards the slit directly in front of my face. I struggled to hold my breath in, to be as quiet as I could despite my nearly unbearable anxiety, my furious heartbeat, my skin popping with cool sweat. Now the show would begin, I knew. It was time for the plan to come to full fruition.

Through the slit I watched as my older brother removed his pajamas. He and I lived together as roommates, with separate rooms, in a little house we rented just off campus where we both went to school, he a senior and me a freshman. He and I looked alike, but he was taller: light blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, slightly larger than normal nose, and a thin, slender body (though I was more slender than he—especially lately since he had started going to the gym). I watched, holding my breath, as he took off his night shirt exposing that tan chest of his (tan because of all the time he spent on the beach during the summer). I watched, my eyes eager, as with one sweeping graceful motion he bent slightly to remove his pajama shorts—along with his boxers. There it was, his penis, flopping out of his clothes as he stood fully in front of the slit I had made with the wooden doors. It was long, but flaccid, hairier than mine. He reached down with his arm and grabbed onto it, balls included, and rubbed. It was as if he knew I was watching and was thus giving me a show in which I was seated in the front row. As he fondled his penis before me, I brought my own two hands onto my own penis which was beginning to twitch and grow.

As I continued to peer through the little slit, he moved now towards the shower, pulled open the glass door, and turned the facet. His butt, during this, was in full on view and I looked those bumps up and down admiring his perfect curves. He rose a hand to the water to judge the temperature and then moved under the shower after closing the door behind him. I watched, caressing my now erect penis, as he soaped himself up starting with his penis where the soap lathered very well. He was a quick shower-taker and so all of it was done in a few minutes but by the time he had finished and had exited the shower stall, I was already well on my way to an orgasm, furiously caressing and squeezing my pre-cumming penis. I had to stop--check myself--when he approached to the spot right in front of my slit so that he could look at himself in the mirror. His penis, now grown slightly but still flaccid, was only a couple of inches away. I was staring directly at its head. Another moment passed and he was wrapping a towel around himself and leaving the steamy bathroom, turning off the light as he went out.

I stayed in that same spot for about another ten minutes, until I heard his footsteps trail along the hall again, through the little kitchen we shared, and out the front screen door. I knew that it must be light out by now, and that he was off to his summer job that morning. I knew his schedule very well.

When I knew the coast was clear, I emerged from my hiding spot and stood, stretching, in the middle of the bathroom floor. My penis was now back to its regular size. I had not cum but I would in a few minutes after getting back to my room where I would continue with the masturbation. I found my brother's pajamas on the top of the counter. I sighed and put my hand over them, pursing my lips. What's this? They are slightly wet . . . I rummaged through the small pile and found his boxers and yes, indeed, they were wet. I brought them to my nose and immediately recognized the small of semen. He had had a wet-dream. Either that or he had masturbated himself just before entering the bathroom a few minutes before. Oh, this is his cum, I said to myself noiselessly.

Closing the bathroom door, I brought the wet boxer shorts up to my face again. Only this time I stuck out my tongue and, trembling, licked the wet spot. I had tasted cum before—my own—but this was so exhilarating, so exciting that instantly my penis began to go erect again. I sat down upon the closed toilet lid and furiously licked up my brother's semen. Pretty soon I was putting the boxers into my mouth, entirely, and sucking the semen out of the fabric, swallowing as my saliva mixed with the tasty treat there. While my mouth worked at the boxers, my free hand squeezed my penis --until I came. I scrambled to conceal my own cum with that hand but some escaped out onto the floor beneath. With raging breath, and incredible pleasure, I slumped back against the toilet seat, my brother's boxers falling to my side, my wet penis losing its solidity second by second. It was over.

I showered up and, using one of the towels beneath the sink, covered the lower half of my nude body and headed out into the hall towards my room. There, stripping myself again of the towel, I bent over to reach beneath my bed, to a box that I had hidden there. I removed the box and found my long-collected and much revered "shrine" to my brother—to my Andrew. In it were pictures of Andrew—on the beach, at various events in his life, some recent events from our college experiences so far, and much more. Every night before bed I would pull out the box and rummage through the photos, looking at him, at that body I wanted so badly to be next to me in bed that night, at those lips I wanted to smooth over with my mouth. I had some other things of his—a sweaty T-shirt he had "lost" one day after basketball practice, an old ring he used to wear, and some other little things that reminded me of him. To these, I added the now-drenched boxers he had cum in that morning. Though most of the actual semen was now in my stomach or still in my mouth somewhere, the smell of it—of him—lingered with the silky smooth boxers. That was a prized possession. I would masturbate to it again in no time, I knew.

The day passed as each of them always did this summer; without work, I would sit at home idling away the hours either watching T.V., going outside to sit on the grass beneath the shade of a tree in our backyard, or alone in my room masturbating. Sometimes one or two of the girls who lived in a house next door would come over and try to flirt with Andrew (never with me). Our house was very easy to get into so masturbating in the confines of my dark room was the only choice I had.

Sometime that afternoon I sat at my spot on the grass beneath the shade, a notebook in front of me and a pen in my hand. I had written about Andrew before—in my journal—but this time I wanted to direct my scrawling to him directly. I could close my eyes and see his naked body—wet with spuds as he lathered himself up and rinsed. Before seeing him like that this morning, I had only been able to fantasize about what he must look like naked. Now I had such a clear image—felt a much deeper connection to him than I had before—a burning in my breast.

I put my pen to the paper and wrote, wrote about how beautiful I thought he was, and how I loved the way his smile caused his cheeks to dimple in such a cute way. I told him that I loved him—had had a crush on him for months now ever since my 18th birthday in February. I told him how I day-dreamed about his embrace. He was constantly on my mind—my tortured soul longed for him, for a love I wanted so much to be possible but seemed at this moment so far away. That desire consumed me, I told him. Made me feel after him, yearn for his affection.

"Aaron, what's up man?" A voice, from above and behind me. It was Andrew's voice. Was it a dream of mine?

I turned around halfway and, squinting, gazed up at his half-smiling, beautiful face. "Hey," I said, turning around a bit more so that now I lay with my front facing him completely. I bit my lip, as my heart beat wildly. "You scared me," I told him.

"What's that you're writing?" he asked, looking to my side at the notebook filled with my love letter. I quickly brought it up to against my chest to hide it.

"Oh nothing," I said. "Some homework."

Andrew smiled, and scratched his arm. "Homework? But you don't have any classes this semester?" he asked. "Is it . . . a love letter?"

"Um, no," I said. I gulped. Had he been able to read any of it from there? I wondered. "It's nothing. How was your day?"

"Here, let me read it man," Andrew said. With that he dropped onto his knees onto the grass next to me. He grabbed at the notebook with his slender fingers and—to my horror—he ripped it loose from me.

"NO!" I called out, jumping up after him as he got up and headed towards a chair on the back porch. "It's personal!" I yelled. Panic struck my heart! He would see! He would read it! "Please, Andrew," I said, trying to take it from him as he struggled to keep it out of my reach.

"It's okay," he said. "Let's see . . ." He pursed his lips and looked over the page. I slumped back in resignation. It's over, I thought. He rose his voice a bit in order to quote from the letter, his letter: " . . . your dimples make me cry. How I long to touch your smooth cheek with my lips, and caress your perfect, slender neck with kisses from a too-unquenched mouth . . . your eyes remind me of the sky on an early summer's eve, inviting, beckoning for a long, sensuous warm night to enter like a dancer upon the vague horizons on the . . . Dude, this stuff is good!" Andrew looked at me with surprised eyes. "Aaron, this must be quite the girl! You're writing poetry here, man!" With that he held the notebook out to me, and I took it and brought it again to my chest.

"Thanks," I said, swallowing. I had been spared? He had not seen his name? It was a miracle! If he had gone even on into the middle of the next paragraph he would have read my description of his penis glistening wet in the shower that morning!

"So, who is the girl? She's not one of those girls next door is she?" he asked now, sitting back in the chair. "I haven't heard about this one until now, bro."

"Oh, she's kind of new around here," I said. "I met her a couple of weeks ago during finals . . ."

"Sweet man, sweet," Andrew said, nodding his head in approval. "It's good to have a girl around, for sure."

"Yup."

"Anyhow, I'm going to get some lunch." He got up and left me clutching my notebook. I decided that I would stop right there and finish it tomorrow.

I tried to act normal around my brother, but he could tell there was something wrong since he kept looking at me with a slightly amused, slightly puzzled expression on his face. He mentioned the "girl" a few more times but seemed to respect my privacy when I told him I didn't want to talk about it much. He said he understood.

"So any prospects for you, big bro?" I asked. We were sitting down on the couch watching some idiotic news special on T.V.—it was hardly audible. Andrew's face shone in the light from the screen.

"Prospects? As in girls?" he asked. "Well, I haven't been having too much luck lately, honestly." He looked away, eyes to the ground. "It kind of sucks, man. Ever since Julie and I broke up I haven't been able to date girls, really. I just don't . . . have as much motivation I guess."

Slowly, my arm trembling, I reached out to touch him on the shoulder. "Hey," I said. "It's okay. You're quite a catch you know." I smiled at him as he smiled back. "Really, you're so strong, so handsome, athletic, and so sweet too . . . " I scooted over next to him. "You were always so kind to me—especially when I first moved into this house with you a few months ago. I was so silly and childish, and just NOT USED to being away from home, and away from Mom. I really needed you to . . . comfort me like you did."

"Yeah, those were . . . well interesting times," he said, turning to face the T.V. "Don't worry, it's our secret. Everybody has a hard time leaving home, becoming an adult. I won't tell anyone how we used to . . . sleep in the same bed at first like we did when you moved in. They wouldn't understand how . . . we can be."

"Yeah," I said, remembering the heat our bodies shared beneath his comforters. "I remember I would come in and just crawl up next to you under the sheets. It got to be . . . a habit for me! But it was good though, right? I enjoyed how . . . close we got during those first couple months. Sometimes a little too close, eh?" I giggled, and he laughed a little.

"Yeah," he said. "It was okay . . . normal."

During my recent masturbation sessions I would think back on those first couple of months here when we shared his bed. I would imagine myself curled up next to my brother, my arm resting on his side, our legs intertwined. In the morning when I woke I'd often stare at the bulge in the covers, or in his pajamas, where his penis was fully erect pointing towards me as mine was also erect. And then there were a couple of times when he or I would have a wet dream and together we rolled in one another's cum. Those were such good times. It all stopped though about 2 months ago, soon after we began sleeping naked and after I began to touch him and rub myself against him in a not-so-brotherly way. It had been all right during the first few nights of that—he had even touched me back, rubbed my side, grazed my butt. Yet it was all too much for him, I guess. I will never forget the night that, after I had pressed my chest against his back with my arm around his side and onto stomach, he turned towards me in the dark and said, "I can't do this anymore, Aaron. This is getting . . . weird." With that I had got up from the bed, put my clothes back on, and walked back to my room. Until now we had never talked about it since. He seemed really embarrassed. I truly believed him when he said he would never mention it to a soul.

"Do you ever . . . want to do it again?" I asked, my voice trembling. I was afraid of the answer to that question.

He looked up at me, his face expressionless for a moment, and then said, "I . . . I don't know, Aaron. It starting getting so . . . well so un-brother-like, ya know? I started to think that maybe you . . . nevermind." He turned his neck away from me towards the ceiling, deep in thought.

"Loved you?" I asked now, and reached my hand out to touch him again on the shoulder. "That I was . . . in love with you?"

Andrew looked at me, and slowly nodded. He turned away again, swallowing. "Yeah," he said. "I . . . do you l-love me then?"

I sighed. It was time to let him know, I knew then. I looked at him and said, "Yes . . . Andrew, yes. I do love you. I have been keeping this in for a little while now, going crazy. I am in love with you."

His eyes squinted at me, all the blood gone from his cheeks so that he was paling. He shivered and gulped. "I see . . . I knew that—"

"It's okay Andrew if you don't . . . well if you don't feel the same way about me," I said. "We're brothers, after all. It's not . . . natural. I understand if you don't . . . like me."

"It's not that," Andrew said now, and to my surprise he let his hand fall upon mine. "I . . . I do have feelings for you . . . I . . . can't get you off my mind, lately. I know it's wrong but it . . . it's natural all right."

I wanted to kiss him then as he stared at me—like that—and caressed my hand. I felt like crying. Was I dreaming? Did he just say that? This is too good to be true! Just one of my wet dreams!

"Do you . . . want to, uh, go out?" I asked him now. I could hardly say the words they seemed so alien to me—someone else was saying them. "I mean . . . do you want to be my boyfriend?" Did I just ask that!? Stupid me! Stupid! Stupid! I should know—

"Yes," he said, cutting off my self-rebuke. "I would like that."

"Oh Andrew!" I said and leaned over to hug him. "I thought that—"

"Let's take it slow though," he said. "It's . . . it has to be a secret between us. And I want to take it slow . . . easy steps, ya know?"

"I understand perfectly," I said, smiling. I bit my lip, "Do you want to start out by . . . kissing me?"

He coughed. "Um . . ." He looked around. "N-not here. Too many risks. Let's go to the bathroom. In case the girls come over."

He got up, his eyes darting around the T.V. room. I felt like I was floating as I got up after him and followed him as he moved towards the bathroom. The house was silent--no annoying neighbors.

Once inside the bathroom, door closed, we stood facing each other, but Andrew could not look into my eyes for more than a second, while I was lost in his. I felt like I was going to fall right into those big baby blue irises, and splash around to and fro around the well of his pupil.

"Well," he said now. "So, let's uh, go ahead?"

"Yeah," I said, my voice cracking. "Um, sure."

Both of us timid, trembling, we approached one another. He put his hands on my sides around my hip, and I followed suit, my quivering fingers feeling the warmth about his hips. Breathing hard, we held each other, our eyes locked for the first time since reaching the bathroom. We held the pose for several seconds, neither of us daring to make the move. Finally, eyes wide open, he leaned in and—in a moment filled with such a bizarre and otherworldy set of feelings—our lips touched in a soft embrace. It lasted only about two or three seconds, and we both backed up again by a few inches, staring at each other.

"Wow," Andrew said with a swallow. "That was . . . interesting."

"Yeah," I said, hardly able to breathe. "Nice though."

"Well," he said. "You want to do it again?"

I smiled and taking the initiative this time I leaned over to kiss his lips full-on. This time, however, I did not release from him but wrapped my lips around his in a passionate—much repressed—desire to really taste him and to give him the pleasure that I got from just looking at him. I slurped at his saliva as our closing and opening mouths played, curious at the soft tissue of the other with which they both were intertwined. While we kissed I felt his hands stray down my sides and towards my butt, which he lightly brushed with the tips of his fingers. A few more kisses later and we both retreated again, exhaling loudly, shook with delight. Was this a dream?

"Oh my god," Andrew said. "I . . . really enjoyed that, Aaron. A lot."

"Me too," I said with a smile. I went as if to lean in again but he stopped me:

"Let's take it slow . . . like we said, right?" he asked. "I mean, it was really nice . . . and you're beautiful"—(at this point I blushed)—"and I want to kiss you . . . a lot more, but I need time to get used to this. It's all so, so strange, Aaron."