On the Beach Ch. 09

It takes a while. I've cum so much the last day. Mom has one or two orgasm before she pushes dad's mouth away. She wiggles from underneath his face and kneels beside me. She leans against me, rubbing my clenching ass with one hand and holding her husband's ass open with the other, eyes fixed on the sight of her son's cock plowing his father's ass.

I pull out, grab my cock and jerk. A few watery jets fall onto his ass and begin to run down the crack. My cock isn't that large. His asshole closes back up. I don't know if mom confines the scope of her tongue to his ass crack or if she includes his no longer virgin hole.

I leave them there. I walk down the hall to the bathroom. There are a few smudges on my cock, and I assume on my hand but I don't look. I turn on the shower and wash my cock, ass, and hands. I don't bother drying off.

I go outside, stretch out on one of the lounge chairs, and watch the afternoon drift toward evening. When I get hungry, I go inside. Jill and Jim are at the counter, eating a couple of sandwiches. I make my own and eat, standing there.

When I'm finished, I walk around the counter and stand between them. I kiss Jill on the cheek, then Jim.

"Thank you," I tell them and go back downstairs.

I can hear my father's snoring coming from Jill's room as I walk past the door. I figure mom is still asleep as well. I glance at the TV, decide I'm not in the mood for TV or video games, and return outside. The air is still warm. The sky is still blue but darkening and shadows are growing long. There's a light on over at Muriel's.

Mom and Jill had said we should leave Mark alone. I hesitate. I don't want to intrude, but I can't help wondering how I would feel if no one came to check on me.

The garden gate is open, so is the patio door leading into the house. The living room and kitchen are empty. There's a light on down the hall. I don't sneak. I walk. On the other hand, I don't call out, "anyone home", either.

Mark's eyes are closed. His chest heaves. Muriel is finger fucking him, his cock held lightly between her lips. His body convulses as he cums.

I go to him. Muriel moves aside to make room. My brother rests his head on my chest. I cradle his head in the crock of my arm.

I hold him as he sleeps. When I wake, I am still holding him.

------

Muriel is gone. I hear her out in the kitchen. I can tell she's trying to be quiet but it's simply not possible to make a pot of coffee and fix yourself something to eat without making some noise. I'm lying on top of one of Bill's arm's. I have a close up view of the soft black hairs that ring his nipple. He might be a newbie when it came to nude sunbathing but his back and chest have seen plenty of sun. His chest is a golden brown. The areola is darker but the nipple itself is lighter, with shades of dark rose.

I shake my head. Confused. I'm not gay. I'm sure of that. I have never stared at my brother or any man's chest with such intensity. My dick is hard but that doesn't count. It's always hard in the morning. I'm not gay. So why am I so fascinated with his nipple? My brother's nipple? I realize, lying there, that I want to touch it with my tongue. I'm losing my mind. I don't want to touch Jim like that. Why Bill?

"What are you thinking about?"

I jump. I thought Bill was asleep. He doesn't move, doesn't repeat the question. He waits. He's always been a patient guy.

"I was wondering," my voice is hoarse. I need a drink of water but I don't want to get up to get one. "I was wondering," I begin again. "Why, if I'm not gay, why I'm lying here staring at your nipple and wanting to touch it with my tongue."

Bill moves his arm under my head, re-positioning it so that his hand rest on the side of my head. I'm the older brother. Why do I feel like such a child?

"You aren't gay."

"How can you say that? I let dad, our dad, put my cock in his mouth. I just told you I was fantasizing about licking your nipple."

"Dad did that, not you. You pulled away. You can appreciate something, a breast, a nipple, a cock, without being gay. I am gay and I can appreciate the beauty of a woman's breast, of her butt, without wanting to fuck her."

He's silent for a time.

"Curious enough, I was wondering, if I'm gay, which I am, how is it that I enjoyed fucking Jill so much? I've fucked women before. It didn't do much for me. Why Jill? Why my sister?"

"You've always loved Jill," I reply.

"And you've always loved me. So? Sure I love Jill but I've never wanted to fuck her before."

He falls quiet again. In the kitchen, all is quiet as well. I picture Muriel sipping her coffee, legs crossed and swinging one foot the way she does when she's thinking.

"I don't know, maybe I was trying to claim her," Bill says softly. "Let Jim know that even if I couldn't have him, I could have her. She was mine first."

I shake my head. "Nope. Sorry, bro but that's bullshit. That's not you at all."

The arm beneath my head moves as my brother shrugs his shoulders.

"What then? We're all, the whole family, a bunch of incestuous degenerates all of a sudden?"

"You boys are thinking too much," Muriel drawls from the doorway.

I smile at the sight of her. She's got her hair pulled back. She's carrying a tray with a pot and a three cups on it. I can smell the coffee.

"I figured I have an easier time just bringing the coffee to y'all than trying to get you out of that bed." She sat the tray down on the bedside table. "Decent folks been up for hours," she harrumphs.

"That," Bill drawls, "is what we're debating, our decency or lack thereof."

"Sit up," she commands. "I don't need your momma on my ass for scalding your manliness with hot coffee. I'm probably on her shit list anyway."

Bill scoots up and rests his back against the headboard. I join him. I hope Muriel will come sit beside me, though it would make more sense for her to sit at the foot of the bed. She pours a cup of coffee and hands it to Bill, pours another and hands it to me. She pours a third and, glory be, walks around the bed to my side.

"Scootch your butt over, Mark."

I'm happy to oblige. There's not enough room for our shoulders. I lean forward. I feel two hands on my back. One is Muriel's. The other is Bill's. Muriel's rests on the bed and her fingers trail across my skin, just above my butt. Bill's rests on my shoulder.

We sip our coffee. I wish I could read their minds. Maybe they know what is going on.

-----

Mark shifts under my fingers. He looks at me over his shoulder. I crane my neck to see his eyes. God, he's a pretty man. I tell myself to get a grip. I'm too old to be this foolish.

"What do you mean, we're over thinking this?" he asks. "It seems like this is a situation that needs a lot of thinking."

I shrug, careful with my coffee. I take a sip. I've already had a cup. This one is more of a prop than a drink. Sipping from it gives me time to weigh my words. Sipping from the mug lends an air of unconcern to my appearance. Truth is, I am worried about the nutty family I've let under my skin.

If old H.G. appeared with a poof of smoke in my bedroom right this minute, would I hop in his time machine, go back, change what had happened?

The answer is I don't know. It wouldn't be the truth to claim I got involved in this by accident, not even all those years ago.