By Edmondo Forelli
This story is based on real events in my life


My big brother was named Umberto Giovanni Forelli, but he always Berto to me. The story goes like this: when I first started to talk I couldn't say the whole name Umberto and would just say the ending, Berto. As I grew up it became kind of my pet name for him. He returned the favor by calling me Mondo.

We were raised in a mostly Italian community on Long Island about an hour outside of the city. The streets were filled with hairy macho men with gold chains and dark beautiful women, also with gold chains. It wasn't anything to see the most beautiful man or woman walking down the street every day--although, each day it was someone new. As for me, well, by the age of 11 I only had eyes for Berto. It wasn't just that I was lusting after him (although I did most of the time), I just loved to be with him...around him...near him.

I guess I should back up a bit. Berto is 5 years older than me. Later in our lives he told me that when I first came home from the hospital he hated me. Supposedly, I had taken all the attention away from him and according to him--all I could so was lay there and drool. By the time I was walking and talking, around the age of 4, we had become best friends. Even though he was 9 and almost ready for Junior High, he still would hang out with me and take me with him sometimes when he would go out with "the guys" . I was kind of like his sidekick.

When he was 15 (I would have been 10) he started bugging our parents for a weight set--he had really gotten into the whole big macho Italian thing (he had a few chest hairs by that point) and thought he was too skinny. That Christmas they fulfilled his wish with a new set of free weights and a weight bench. He was ecstatic and he and I set them up in the basement almost immediately. All winter, each day after school he would venture down to the basement and lift for an hour or two as I sat nearby on the old couch watching him. Between sets we would talk about stuff and he'd show me his development--kind of showing off for me I guess. By this time, we had begun to see less of each other as he started becoming interested in girls and "hanging out" with his friends. (The difference between 10 & 15 is eons greater than 4 & 9.) Those two hours together quickly became the highlight of each days. I didn't know why at the time but, watching him, I'd get this tingly feeling all over my body that was like a drug. [I hadn't started masturbating yet, I didn't even really know what it was. It was 1975 and in a Catholic home you didn't talk about these things.]

This kept up throughout the winter and the wet Spring that followed, each day 2 hours of bonding with Berto. When Summer came and it warmed up, I helped him move the weights and stuff into the backyard and we'd have our time together out there. The same feelings would course through my body each time and after each session I would feel myself "coming down" from my high.

In July he asked to go away to a summer camp that our Parish (St. Anthony's) ran in Vermont. I admit I cried when we drove him to the bus at the church--3 weeks without my big brother? What was I supposed to do? He said goodbye to our mom and dad and moved down the line to me. He stooped down so we were the same height and said "I'll miss you Mondo. Try to be good while I'm gone". He gave me a tight hug and a quick kiss on the cheek and got on the bus. (That's the strange thing about straight Italian men…they act all tough and macho but they're not afraid to show emotion when they want to.)

The first few days without Berto were the hardest. I'd go out in the backyard each afternoon and just sit there for a while, thinking about a previous day we had spent out there, trying to get the same feeling that I got when we were together out there. It was close but not the same…not as good. One afternoon, I was bored and went into Berto's room. Don't think I'm sick, but I wanted to get a pair of his boxers. I thought if I wore them all day it would be like he was there with me, maybe even give me that high that I craved like a crackhead or something.

I walked over to his dresser and started to open the drawer when the magazine laying on the top caught my eye. It was one of those muscle magazines, not the gay workout kind, but the "real" bodybuilder one with the contest results and workout tips from the pros. On the front cover was a beach scene with this immense, darkly tanned guy in a just a pair of shorts, with two kind of slutty but still pretty women clinging to each of his legs. In seconds that wonderful feeling was coursing though my body again, but it was so much more intense than it had ever been before. As I stood there looking at the cover I started to think that that was what Berto would look like in 10 years or so, and he'd no doubt have girls clinging to him too.

I noticed that a small wildfire had started in my shorts and while it was a little scary it felt great at the same time. [At that moment I figured it was because of the bikini-clad girls in the sand.] I knew I had to get my little penis out and hold it like I used to do sometimes. I darted to the door and checked the hall to see if my mom was around. She wasn't so I ran back and got the magazine, put it in my pants and under my shirt and walked down the hall to my room. I closed the door quietly behind me and threw the mag on my bed as I stripped out of my clothes. I'd never seen my penis so hard, it had grown beyond it's usual 3 inches and was much fatter than usual. The colors were different as well, darker more purple than it usually got. For a second I wondered if I had ruptured something, but I touched it and it didn't hurt so I figured I was OK.

I laid down on my side on top of my bed and started to flip through the 100 or so pages of the Special Summer Issue. I did this slowly, savoring each image and holding myself tightly as I did. 10 or 15 pages in I reached the Table of Contents and saw that the cover was just part of a layout about summer workouts. I jumped to page 55, the first page of that article and was greeted with another picture of the same guy and just one of the girls. He held her tightly against him and it looked like she had removed her top but you couldn't see anything because his bicep was flexed in front of her. I stared at his arm for a long time, trying to see if I could catch a glimpse of her nipple or something.

After a few minutes, I forgot she was even there as I became entranced by his large, perfectly formed and darkly tanned muscles. The more I looked at him, the more my penis began to throb and seemingly beg me to help it out. Out of instinct, I released my grip and started to run my fingers over the underside. It felt good--actually better than good it was amazing. My other hand was shaking as I turned the page.

The next 2 pages were filled with pictures of just the guy without the girls, laying on the sand, standing in the surf, doing various exercises on the beach...each one getting better than the previous. I forced my self to look at only one at a time, studying each curve and notch of his body. My stroking naturally got faster, like my hand had a mind of it's own--actually it did at this point I was too busy lusting at the photos.

The final picture on that page was my favorite--still is today. The guy had on these thin blue running shorts and he was flexing his biceps and abs as he stood under one of those showers they have at the beach. His long black hair was all slicked back (like Berto's when he'd get out of the shower) and the water sprayed on his shorts making them cling to his midsection. As I looked closely, I swear I could see his cock beneath his shorts, and I swear he was hard. I moved my eyes closer to the photo and started to study his wet shorts.

A new sensation was starting to brew in my body. I didn't know what was happening, but at this point I didn't want it to stop--ever. The heady feeling ran over my body, taking control of every inch. My penis seemed to start to spasm and my eyes left the photos and looked down at it. My hand was a blur as it moved back and forth at a super-human speed.

Suddenly, my head fell back, my eyes closed and I felt a tightness in my throat that turned my exhaling into a sort of growl. Visions of Berto flew through my head, each lasting just a fraction of a second. My entire body tensed and contorted as I felt something shooting up the inside of my penis--like I was peeing but so, SO much better. It reached the head and I felt it push out onto my stomach causing my body to shake and twitch.

My hand kept up it's quick strokes as my body emptied itself of the remaining drops. That first orgasm, my very first, lasted for only seconds but the endorphins kept coursing through me for the next half hour or so. My hand released my throbbing granite-like penis and I ran my fingers through the thick gel on my stomach as I lay there in a trance, panting hard and dreaming of Berto.

There is more...