Date: Thu, 17 Mar 2016 22:04:32 +0000 (UTC)
From: a4f101@yahoo.com
Subject: Becoming Something More

Here's a story taken from my Tumblr, at a4f101.tumblr.com/storytime. You
can find this one, and the pic that inspired it, here:
http://a4f101.tumblr.com/post/114061122004/

This story is purely a work of adult erotic fantasy, copyright me 2016. I
own it and all legal rights to it. If you're under the age of majority in
your jursdiction, please come back when you're of legal age.

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I love hearing from you guys. a4f101@yahoo.com. Enjoy...

*****

So, Mom and Dad won this cruise vacation thing, an all-expenses deal for
four people down to the Caribbean. I was hoping to invite my buddy Craig
along to make up the fourth - me and Craig were having a blast together our
senior year, and I knew that come fall, we'd be going to separate colleges
thousands of miles apart, and that was bumming me out a bit, especially
given how... tight we'd gotten lately. Instead, they asked my big brother
Mike to come, so he took a week off work and flew down to Florida to join
us.

Yeah, I was kind of annoyed about that - sharing a room with Craig on a
weeklong cruise through the tropics would have been a dream come true. Mike
was 25, and the eight-year difference between us seemed more like 30, the
past few years. In hindsight, I'd been a bit of a punk, a pain in the ass
through my mid-teens - shit, who isn't - and it was hard to remember
sometimes how much I'd looked up to my big baseball player brother when I
was a kid. It had been a little while since I'd seen him, and the last time
we'd mostly ignored each other. Admittedly, I could run my mouth sometimes,
and he'd just give me this look, like he couldn't believe what an
incredible shithead asshole kid I was being, then shake his head and ignore
me. Like I wasn't worth wasting his breath on anymore. Which hurt, though I
would never let on about that - but I will admit, it kind of made me think
a bit more about how I acted.

But he seemed to be OK, seeing him again now, and given how tight our
shared room was going to be, it was a good thing. He was always a big dude,
manly as hell, thick-built, strong, solid. He wasn't as trim and tight as
he'd been during his playing days, like I was now, but the thickness worked
for him, along with his beard and the carpet of dark fur on his big pecs
and solid stomach. I was a little jealous of all the fur, I barely had
any. Jealous, and I'll admit, intrigued. He was just so damn manly, in a
way I couldn't hope to be for another few years. Manly, and... secretly
intriguing. Like I said, me and Craig had gotten real tight, real close
this past year, and I was thinking about dudes in a whole different way
now. Thinking about myself, and dudes, and all kinds of things.

It was good to catch up with him, and since Mom and Dad were using this
trip as kind of a second honeymoon, we basically never saw them, except
sometimes at meals. So it was the two of us, Mike keeping an eye on me
without being too obvious about it, which I kind of appreciated.

"You boys enjoy yourselves, stay out of trouble, and don't let Brandon
drink," Dad had said the first day as we boarded, Mom smiling indulgently
as they headed to their own cabin, probably to do things that I did not
want to think about. Gross.

So me and Mike explored the big ship together, played some video games,
checked out the gym, the pools. There were a few cute younger girls, and
they all gravitated to Mike, especially when he had his shirt off, but he
was never anything more than polite and friendly to them. Didn't seem to be
chasing tail. Which was good, because our room wasn't that big, but then
also, a part of my brain kind of liked the idea of pretending to be asleep
while spying on Mike's big, muscular ass plowing some hot little thing in
the other bed.

Maybe it was thinking that way that made me a little ornery, that and the
surprisingly few opportunities to get five minutes of privacy to jack out a
load. But halfway through Day Two, I heard myself being a little bit of a
prick again, testing the limits, trying to sneak beers which Mike firmly
removed from my hand and dumped overboard. It seemed like he was never too
far away from me, keeping an eye on me, and now that was starting to chafe
a bit. I started calling him Dad in a sarcastic teenager way, and all that
seemed to do was make him act more like Dad.

"We should head down and meet Mom and Dad for dinner," he'd say. "Yes,
Dad," I'd shoot back, rolling my eyes.

"Dude, can you stop leaving your wet towels all over the floor?" he'd say,
exasperated. "Yes, Dad," I'd reply smarmily.

Day Three, I guess I finally pushed him to the brink. I'd found a group of
guys and girls around my age to hang with, and we'd managed to locate a
bunch of beers and wine coolers, and were clustered around one of the
tables on the quieter upper deck, overlooking the pool. I was a little
buzzed, enjoying the relaxed vibe, trying to avoid the looks this cute
chick was shooting my way with increasing obviousness, trying not to think
about how awesome it would have been to have Craig here, the things we
could be doing together right now. I looked over the railing to the pool
deck below, and saw Mike, shirt over his shoulder, ballcap on, his
blue-striped board shorts a little damp, clinging to his powerhouse thighs,
his big, muscled ass, talking to a couple around his age. He looked thick,
strong, manly, hot as hell. I felt my cock stirring a little in my shorts,
as I half-drunkenly zoned out, beer in hand, looking at him, thinking about
my big bro. How good he'd been to me when I was a kid, showing me proper
batting stance, playing catch with me, when any other big popular
18-year-old high school jock could have been doing a million other, more
fun things than spending time with his kid brother. How much I missed that
kind of tightness between us, while I was being a teen asshole. And that's
when he looked up and saw me. The smile on his face from his conversation
dissolved, his face hardened, a frown coming over it as he looked at me and
the drink in my hand. Busted. Fuck. I hurried to get rid of the beer, and
when I looked back over the rail, he was gone. This couldn't be good.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, I felt his big hand fall heavily on my
shoulder. The rest of the group looked up at him, the girls with interest,
the guys with maybe a little awe as the big, muscled hairy-chested dude
squeezed my shoulder in a firm and not at all friendly way. I was already
blushing bright red.

"A word, Brandon?" he said, his voice deep and dangerously quiet, already
pulling on my shoulder.

"Yes, Dad," I said, rolling my eyes for effect, for my new friends'
benefit, and the way they chuckled just made it worse. I felt his thick
fingers digging hard into the tanned muscle of my shoulder, and he pulled
me up out of the seat before I could shake his big mitt off, shooting him
an angry look as he propelled me around the corner.

"Fuck, Mike -" I started, already hating the whiny, kiddish tone in my
voice. Seeing we were alone, he gave me a hard shove against the wall,
leaning in close with a quietly seething expression.

"Enough, Brandon," he growled, pointing one thick finger in my
face. "Enough with the fuckin' attitude, enough with the games, and enough
with this fuckin' `Dad' shit, you hear me?"

"Yes, Dad," I snapped. I wouldn't have blamed him if he slapped my face for
that. I would have. Instead, his eyes widened and his nostrils flared, just
like Dad's did when you pushed him too far. I was intimidated, for
sure. Maybe even more than when Dad did it, because Dad wasn't as big and
fit a specimen as Mike was. Somehow, the way Mike just stared at me for a
long minute only made it worse. My stomach flip-flopped. He looked like he
wanted to grab me and just toss me over the side, into the sea, and I knew
he was physically capable of it. Worse, I knew I probably deserved it.

Instead, he grabbed my upper arm in a firm, just short of painful grip, an
marched me back to our cabin, wordlessly. Swiped the keycard, shoved me
inside, and slammed the door closed behind him. Our room was dim, the
curtains half-closed, and weirdly quiet. We just stared at each other,
chests heaving, his angrily, mine more nervously. His voice, when he
finally spoke, was low, intense, dangerous. Quietly seething.

"You think the way you're acting is fucking cute, Brandon? You think I'm
somehow impressed that a 17-year-old who should be acting like a man is
acting like a little 14-year-old bitch?"

I felt my face flush even more, opened my mouth to snap back at him, but he
pointed at me again, and silenced me just like that.

"No, you shut the fuck up, kid," he growled. "I've had it with your
crap. The attitude, the eye-rolling, the smart-assing. I'd hoped you were
over this phase, that we could be buds again, and instead I'm stuck on a
fucking boat in the middle of the goddamn ocean with the same smarmy-ass
punk you've been these past few years. Calling me fucking `Dad'. Maybe
that's what you fucking need, is someone to act like a genuine god damn
parent to you."

"Jeez, come on, Mike," I half-whined. "I was just playing -"

"Well I'm not playing," he growled, backing me up against the wall of our
room. "You need to straighten the fuck up, kid. Get your mind right. Get
your fucking attitude in check. I guess Dad can't make you do that. Guess
you need somebody who will. That what you want, Brandon? That what you
need... Son?"

Suddenly, I was hard as fuck in my board shorts. I dunno where it came
from, but the buzz I still had, Mike's closeness, his physicality, his
scent, a little sweaty and musky, the heat from his body, the fiery look on
his handsome face - something inside me, that bitchy, button-pushing part
of my teenage brain, suddenly seemed to snap.

"Yes," I muttered, soft and quiet. The prick of shamed tears in my
eyes. Mike looked briefly taken aback, and a weird, silent minute passed
between us. Then he nodded, his mouth a tight line.

"Yes what, kid?" he said, voice low and intent, commanding. I looked up and
met his eyes, big and blue like mine. Unreadable. My mouth was on
autopilot, speaking the truth my brain was a half-step behind in
acknowledging.

"Yes... Dad," I murmured. Swallowed hard. Looked down again to avoid his
eyes, down the big, hairy swells of his pecs, my eyes following the thick
fan of fur across his tight, hard abdomen, down into his shorts... and
shit. Fuck. He was hard too. Big, and hard, like a club in his damp swim
shorts. I swallowed hard, heard my throat click. He saw me look down,
looked down himself, and then our eyes met, both faces flushed,
embarrassed, but there was something else there too. An intensity. An
understanding. When he spoke again, his voice was deep, low, determined,
but the hard edge had gone out of it. A different edge in it
instead. Huskier. More primal, somehow.

"What's it gonna take, to get that sweet, funny kid back... Son?" he said,
trying the word again. My cock throbbed when he did. He noticed. "What's it
gonna take, for you and me to be buddies again, kid? Close, like we used to
be?"

I swallowed again, looked at him, feeling small, shamed... but
hopeful. Almost eager to make it up to him. To do better. To be better. To
be close with him. Close in ways I'd tried not to think about, even.

"You... Dad," I said, a little stronger now. "I want to be like that
again. With you. Close. Like we used to be, Dad."

He made a quiet noise in the back of his throat, and I felt him edge closer
to me. Welcomed it. Edged slightly closer to him. Then tentatively reached
out, my body acting before my brain again, and laid one hand lightly on the
big, sun-warmed swell of his furry pec. Felt his heart racing underneath
it.

"Like we used to be? Or..." he started, and I suddenly leaned up and kissed
him. Quick. Firm. Like I'd wondered about doing, these past few years. He
stiffened, his lips still firm, unyielding for a moment... and then I felt
them soften. Move with mine. Just for a quick moment, really, but it felt
like a year.

"Closer, Dad," I finally admitted, voice soft and small. He tilted my chin
up to look him in the eye.

"This close... Son?" he said huskily, then kissed my lips. Slow. Soft. Like
just before, but more. I gasped when he broke it off. "Or like this?" he
finished, then kissed me again. Really kissed me. I felt my lips part for
his tongue, a hungry moan escaping me, into his mouth, as he slipped inside
mine. A whimper, needy, as I kissed him back, felt his big, muscled body
press more into mine, two big hard cocks brushing as he pressed me into the
wall and really kissed me. Better than Craig did. Better than anyone ever
had.

"Yeah, Dad," I panted when we came up for air. "Just like that. More than
that. Everything, Dad. All for you."

The words tumbled out of me, straight out of my subconscious, and then we
were kissing again, kissing and groping, hard-cocked and hungry for each
other, two brothers becoming something more. Becoming what we needed to be
for each other, as our shorts fell to the floor and we tumbled naked onto
his neatly-made bed. A rolling, writhing, moaning mass of flesh, my big,
hunky, hairy, Dad-like ex-ballplayer brother, and his little jock brother,
little brother and son all in one. I wrapped myself around him as best as I
could, my body taking control, expressing the deeply hidden yearnings I'd
had for years, the need to learn, to understand, to be with a man. Someone
to show me how to be a man myself, to be bigger, stronger, better. And Mike
showed me, his big manly body pressed in tight to me, like he'd pressed
into and surrounded me with his bigness when we were 10 and 18 and he was
showing me that batting stance. Only so much better now, closer and deeper,
as we moved together in a different rhythm, as our cocks leaked clear young
juices all over each other, as our tongues plunged wet and hot and hungry
inside each other's mouths. As my big brother became my Dad in bed, and
brought me to a shuddering, moaning, intense orgasm, my fingers clawing the
thick, rippling muscles of his broad back, calling him Dad as I blasted my
hot teen cum up between us, and he answered it with a growl and his own
load, thick and potent, scalding against my smooth skin.

We lay wrapped in each other, sweating, bodies still heaving and twitching,
his sheets a tangled, cum- and sweat-soaked pile around us. His big
ex-ballplayer mitts stroked my body with tenderness, with experience, and I
kissed him deeply, slowly, softly. Being that sweet loving kid he
remembered, that he wanted back, but in a totally different way now. There
was something tender and paternal in the way he languidly kissed me back,
looked into my eyes, that just added to the erotic intensity of what had
just happened, was still happening. I found myself growing hard again after
a few minutes, and he grinned and wrapped one paw around my sticky, shiny
young cock, giving it a playful stroke-squeeze that had me moaning into his
mouth.

"Fuck, Dad," I moaned, loving how his eyes sparked and his smile widened,
as his big cock twitched against my muscled young ass, responding to my
need, to my new name for him. To the promise of this new bond between us.

"That's my boy," he said, with real paternal pride in his deep young voice,
and I rolled over into his big arms and kissed him, deep and long, as we
geared up for round two. Let him be my Dad in the most intimate way
possible, a way I'd never be with our actual father, and would never want
to anyway. Mike was the Dad I needed right now, and who knew - hopefully
when this ship docked at the end of the week, I could keep on learning how
to be a man from him.