Date: Thu, 22 May 2003 21:33:05 +0100
From: J Smith <jsmith381@hotmail.com>
Subject: I think I do

The usual comments: this is pornography, it is designed for you to
masturbate to, I loved writing it, and I hope you enjoy reading it.  Don't
read it if you are too young or if you might be offended by brothers getting
it on.  That is all.

jsmith381@hotmail.com

*********************************


I THINK I DO


Great!  Home at last.

I hadn't actually been away that long, but when you share a student house
with three party girls and two rugby blokes, there is no space for anything
other than high living, and home seemed to offer a break.  I mean, if the
bath isn't full of bottles of beer it's being used to soak muddy sports kit.
  It was good to load the car up with dirty laundry and get away once a
month or so for a weekend with the rents.  Mum complained about the washing,
but she did it with a glint in her eye that said welcome home, boy.

Home wasn't quite as crowded as the student pad, but not far off.  Two young
teenage sisters, who seem older than when I saw them even just a month ago.
They pretended to be completely unmoved by my arrival, trying to affect the
don't-give-a-shit air of young adolescents looking for conformity, although
they soon started laughing and squealing when I chased them into outside and
squirted them with the garden hose.  Mum, looking on, wondering how she can
get her daughters to eat more.  Dad, in residence for a couple of days
before another business trip abroad.  And Ed.  The most ungrateful moody
asshole brother any guy was ever saddled with in the entire history of
brotherhood.  Seventeen years old, clever but idle, seriously hostile to
incursions into his own space and utterly uncommunicative under any
circumstances.  Mum says I was just like that, but I hope for everybody's
sake I wasn't.

Secretly delighted that I was still a couple of inches taller than Ed, I
teased him a bit about whatever came to mind.  Sitting at the supper table,
he was forced to listen and take it on the chin, he and I both knowing that
if the rents hadn't been there we would have either resorted to fists or,
more likely, not have started the conversation in the first place as we
weren't actually bothered enough about the other to speak.

I'd love to say it wasn't always like it, but it was.  Shame eh?  Still, the
fact that I didn't get on with Ed didn't stop him being an asshole to almost
everyone else, so at least I wasn't singled out for this honour.

Saturday turned into Sunday and I'd had a shedful of beer the night before
with some old schoolfriends.  My old bedroom seemed small, sad and dated
after the groove of living with party girls, but with the hangover I was
nursing that Sunday morning I didn't care about the Manchester United
wallpaper much.  The rents left for somewhere without even poking a head
round the door, I'd like to think church, but it was probably more like a
pub lunch with friends, and the girls were off riding for the day.

Smashing!  House To Myself.  Well, apart from the asshole Ed of course, but
seeing as I was around he was almost certainly not going to leave his room,
so effectively, house to myself.  Great!  The hangover definitely retreated
a bit at this realisation.  Half an hour later having gulped about 2 litres
of orange juice, ground up about half a pound of my parents' best coffee
beans and fried about ten rashers of bacon, that old hangover was definitely
on the run.  It was warm and I opened up the garden doors and sat on the
terrace with one of the best breakfasts known to man: coffee and bacon
sandwiches.  Hey, I'd come to see my family and they were all out, but,
nevermind.  It was looking like I could even catch some rays if I could be
arsed enough to get a sunbed out.

Sitting on one of the benches outside I dozed in the sun a little, I
realised perhaps that hangover wasn't completely eradicated yet.  A sunbed
and a gallon of chilled water seemed the best bet, and after slamming ice
into a jug and dragging a lounger out of the garden room I ventured back
upstairs to strip down to some boxers and scratch round for a towel.

Big Mistake.  Massive.  Huge.

I won't bore you with the geographical layout of the first floor of my
rents' place.  All you need to know is that to get to the clean towels I had
to pass my brother's room.  Hey.  Now maybe he liked the idea of House To
Himself as well.   In all probability he'd forgotten I was even here that
weekend (although I'd made a ton of noise with the ice).

It wouldn't normally have been any kind of issue; there had long been a ban
on going in each other's rooms.  But his door was open a crack, so I guessed
he was in the bathroom.  A moment of mad curiosity made me poke my head
round the door to see what kind of room he lived in these days.  It used to
be all white with a massive tree fern in a pot dominating the entire room,
and after that it was like a shrine all lit with candles, faintly
reminiscent of Notre Dame before they cleaned it up inside.  But on the
whole what I saw that Sunday morning wouldn't ordinarily call Notre Dame to
mind, or any other place of worship to be honest.

My brother was not in the bathroom.  In fact Ed was laying on his bed,
although laying is not the really the right word as only his feet and the
back of his neck were in contact with the bedclothes.  The rest of him was
arched up into the air trying to thrust his achingly hard dripping cock as
close to the ceiling as he could.  As I saw him from end-on, I could see
clearly his right fist working his cock in fast tight lunges, with periodic
moments when he would slam his hand down into his body and then stop, which
caused his foreskin to be yanked violently back as far as it would go and
made his whole cock throb angrily.  I couldn't see his head or indeed
anything higher up his body than his waist as it was hidden behind his
arching torso, but I didn't need to see the look on his face to know that
there was no doubt he was having a wild time.

I should have walked silently away.  But I was transfixed.  I had never seen
anything like this before.  OK, once on a skiing holiday I walked in on a
good friend who was sitting on the edge of the bath while he was pulling a
quick one off the wrist, having forgotten to lock the bathroom door.  We had
a laugh about it afterwards but I don't remember feeling that I couldn't
tear my eyes away from him.  Johnny had an average sized cock which he
stimulated with a quick and simple up-and-down of the hand, which was so
exactly like me that it wasn't even worth commenting on; certainly he didn't
have the wide range  of techniques or commitment to the cause or level of
enjoyment that Ed appeared to have.

His whole body was writhing in ecstasy.  His legs were so widely spread that
I wondered how his back didn't break under the strain of holding his body so
high off the bed, and a surprisingly hefty pair of balls bounced in the gap
his open legs left.  I remember faintly feeling pleased that not only was I
taller then Ed, but I was also hung better, probably not by much, and it was
difficult to tell from the angle I was watching him at, but I would have
said at first glance that I might have had an inch over him.  Perhaps I
could tease him about that later.  Oh, as if I could ever own up to spying
on him wanking.  Hmm, being blunt about it, maybe my dick was bigger or
maybe not, but on the other hand Ed was certainly equipped with something
that I wasn't: a large blue jelly dildo that was about two-thirds poked into
his tight little twat.

His left hand was roving over his chest, I guessed pinching or teasing his
nipples from the noise he was making, and then it scooted underneath him and
I watched as he grabbed the bollock-end of the dildo and frigged it in and
out of his ass a few times, slowly but deeply.  The groan that sounded in
the room seemed to get right inside my head and chest, and I looked intently
at my brother, knowing I was watching him at the most intimate moment
imaginable, that vast areas of his life and secrets guarded more closely
than anything were being exposed to me the longer I stood there.  Ed was a
complete master of self-pleasure.  Precum splattered over his chest and
stomach as his hands worked cock and balls and dildo, as he stroked and
caressed and rubbed himself, as he tasted his own honey from willing
fingers, as his legs tensed and his back arched higher and his groaning
began to come in little whispers.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, oh please please please just do it..."

It was a strangely moving moment.  I felt that my brother, who I disliked
intently, had suddenly stripped away the years of bullshit, hate and anger
and had said to me, "Hey Charlie, don't flip will you, but I just gotta tell
someone I'm gay or I'm gonna go mad".  But I was going to have to postpone
Ed's coming out party until he had actually told me himself, because
although it seemed like I was now in possession of a fact that might help
explain Ed's outrageously aggressive behaviour, there remained the small
detail that Ed didn't have a clue I was watching him.  I felt a surge of
sympathy, of compassion, perhaps even of love.

Oh Eddy Eddy Eddy, I thought as I watched him tug madly on his balls.  Is
that why you hate me?  Is there denial, or jealousy, or both?  Do you crave
my frankly quite dull straight-boy sex life?

Ed had a good body.  He was lithe and muscly, with smooth skin and hair
where you would expect.  He must have been to the gym a bit, I surmised,
looking at a beginner six-pack straining in impossible directions as his
torso squirmed.  Well, the gym was definitely a bit of a hint, but not as
much as a give-away as the mag that I noticed lay on the floor next to his
bed, which was open at a page showing a young model with spiky hair and a
ridiculously large erection.  But hey I guess these things are academic
after seeing the skill with which he worked a dildo and hearing the raw
sense of need in the desperately whispered exhortations to his imaginary
lover.

I was fascinated, but the realisation that my brother was gay was the least
interesting thing by a long way.  Ed was literally making love to himself,
and I thought hard for a while and realised that I had never done this.
Well sure I wanked at the same impossible rate as the next guy.  Only just
out of my teenage years myself, I still felt the need to bring myself off a
couple of times a day.  But that's exactly what it was when I did it; a
quick jerk, almost like a bodily function.  But Ed was slowly and expertly
propelling his entire body towards a deep physical and emotional climax.  I
wondered briefly if he might give me a few tips after.

After.  After what?  I ought to have just walked away, in which case "after"
didn't have a meaning.  But I didn't want to just walk away.  I felt that
for the first time that I understood my brother, that I wanted to help him,
that I might even like him.  But what on earth could I actually do?  To
reveal my presence now would be catastrophic to our relationship and the
fall-out was likely to be thermo-nuclear.

Ed's hands seemed to find a new gear and I felt a stab of pain on his behalf
as I watched him pull the dildo out entirely then jam it fully back in with
one strong thrust and an almighty animal grunt of lust.  How long had he
been working his little hole?  He was only seventeen after all, yet it
looked to my novice eyes like these were well-practised manoeuvres.  The one
and only time in my life a girl suggested taking it up the ass, she and I
were both shocked at how fucking stubborn the sphincter is.  After bloody
hours of hard work I eventually popped my knobend inside but as she was
yelling blue murder I very quickly pulled out in favour of a mediocre
blowjob and that was the end of that particular game.  But Ed's hole looked
awesome stretched around that blue invader: incredibly small and impossibly
tight, yet attractively clean, malleable and elastic.  Also there's the
prostate thing of course.  Adam, a friend of mine with an impressive history
of about 50 boyfriends in three years, says that when your guy gets it just
right, it's like fireworks in your whole body.  If this is true, and looking
at Ed I had no reason to doubt it, it kind of makes me wonder why women do
it at all, if there's all the pain of stretching with none of the fun of the
magic button.  Definitely Ed had found his target spot, listening to him
churn out a constant stream of moans and groans and desperate please fuck
me's, and watching the almost continuous fountain of precum drip onto his
stomach.

He was obviously getting close, and his body dropped back flat on the bed as
his right hand closed round his shaft with an air of building for the
finale.  I was far more vulnerable now: if he opened his eyes he would see
me simply standing inside his door, watching him pump his cock and writhe
around on a dildo.  Suddenly he stopped all movement and turned slightly
onto one side as he reached into the drawer next to his bed for something.

As it happens it was a small bottle of poppers, but my surprise at that fact
got lost considering what happened next.  Naturally Ed opened his eyes while
he was rummaging in the drawer, but still he hadn't looked in my direction.
I stood as still as was humanly possible, not breathing, cursing my
curiosity.  Why on earth hadn't I just slipped out a couple of minutes ago?
But although Ed was engaged in the act of finding the small bottle and
unscrewing the lid, his body was still on fire, and he was still writhing,
panting, moaning and dripping.  It was in this very state, that, as he
raised his head to inhale from the bottle, his line of sight took in the
posters on the wall, the doorframe, and me.

He was so visibly shocked that he was literally incapable of a reaction.
There wasn't fury, or shame, or sarcasm, or embarrassment, or violence, or
resignation, or anything.  His eyes remained glued to mine, in mid-sniff
over the bottle, his legs wide, his cock dripping and his slick little hole
pulsing around the dildo.  His eyes were wide in sheer disbelief.  Both at
what he was seeing and of the likely consequences.  He didn't even try to
cover himself up, and I remember thinking that in some ways he was lucky it
was me who had disturbed him; our sisters would have been either distraught
or mercilessly ridiculing (depending on how grown up they were now, which I
really couldn't judge), our mum would have been heartbroken and disappointed
and our dad would have been furious and disgusted.  But instead it was me,
and I found myself to be understanding, sympathetic and on some level
intrigued.  Not that Ed knew that though.

I wondered who would speak first.  This didn't seem to be the kind of
occasion where I could just say "erm, sorry..." then just slide out the door
and leave him to finish off, then both of us spending the rest of the day
pretending nothing had happened.  Still the look of manic incredulity on my
brother's face, still the view of angrily aroused cock and over-stuffed,
twitching twat from I where I stood.  Twenty seconds, thirty.  Neither of us
had a clue what to do.

I felt that it was definitely my role to apologise.  I was in his territory,
and had invaded his privacy inexcusably, but how could I even begin to say
anything?  Anything I said would have to acknowledge that I had discovered
his darkest secret, and, worse, had discovered it by being nosey and not
from earning his confidence.  Subconsciously I took a step towards him.  I
just felt I had to comfort him, to say "hey Ed, no shame buddy, you get off
how you want, I'll even help you tell mum and dad if it'll help," but I just
couldn't say anything.  Ed would explode into the furious vindictive bastard
that lurked in him at all times, armed with all the moral high ground there
was to be found in the room that day.

As I took a second and third steps towards Ed, I noticed that although the
bottle was still held under his nose, and although his body was still in a
state of hyper-arousal, and although he was staring at me approaching, there
was something in the room that I had missed.  Ed had not missed it though.
His eyes weren't staring at my face any more.  His disbelief didn't stem
from just my presence any more.  He was staring straight at my crotch.

Wearing only the boxers I had intended to sunbathe in, I looked down to see
what he was looking at.  Now both Ed and I were staring at the clear outline
of a rock hard erection caught under the elastic of the boxers, with a patch
of the white fabric around the cockhead transparent from the substantial
leak of precum.  I had no idea I had even begun to get an erection.  As I
looked at my own boner, it felt like it belonged to someone else, a
stranger.  It had never been that big, that angry, that wet, that hard
before.  Ed took in every detail of what was throbbing in my underwear, then
slowly moved his eyes back up to my face.  I thought that at least now Ed
might feel slightly less insecure, as he was now not the only one in a
compromising condition.  Deeper inside my head was a confusion as to why I
had an erection, which I just brushed aside with the excuse that seeing him
masturbate had just made me remember I hadn't had a wank yet that Sunday
morning, and one was overdue.  My cock throbbed even more desperately.

I took the last few steps to the bed.  He could have touched my cock if he'd
wanted, and I could have reached down and lifted the tiny brown bottle out
of his hands.  His own cock had not deflated even one percent.  Up closer I
could see that he was better hung than the previous angle had shown, and I
guessed we were very evenly matched.  The small part of the dildo not
embedded in his rectum was slick with lube and glistened slightly, and
little tracks and pools of precum shone and glinted over his flat muscly
stomach in the sun that was flooding through his window.  As I stared at the
incredibly sexual being that was my brother, so he stared at me.  Right at
my crotch.  Right into the heart of my own sexuality.

Oh my God.

Was that the way to say sorry?  Was that the way to say I understood?  Was
that the way to show solidarity, and brotherhood?  Was that what Ed
expected, hoped for, desired?  Was that why he was staring at my cock?
Could I do it?  Did I want to?  Were my own wishes irrelevant?

My hands and body betrayed my willingness before my mind had even begun to
address the issue.  I leaned in further over the bed, my crotch within
inches of Ed's face.  Just one tiny reaction from him and I would do it.  I
knew deep down.  If he even looked for one microsecond that that's what he
wanted, all morals and ethics and scruples and preconceptions and taboos and
fears would go out the window.  I would do it.  After all, he wanted it so
much, so his desperate whispers had betrayed, and I owed him something here,
something more than a shallow apology that would precede a lifetime of
awkwardness.  Here and now I could show him it truly was OK, OK to feel
whatever he did, OK for him to be what he wanted.  And he would know that it
was OK by me too, because I would take him on this first step myself,
perhaps the most noble thing an older brother could do.

His mouth opened and closed in silent indecision on this very point.  Was he
daring to think what I was?  His eyes stared right into the sopping mess of
precummy fabric that clung to my cockhead.  I urged him silently to give me
some sign.  I couldn't ask, but I had to know.  Time stopped.  All there was
the beating of our two hearts and the throbbing of our two cocks.

Imperceptibly he relaxed.  All the while I stood there, so the threat of
exposure receded, and he must have sensed that.  And then after what seemed
like hours, he slowly recapped the poppers bottle and replaced it unused on
his bedside table.  Such a definite movement seemed to shatter the
incredible sense of expectation that was burning between us, and replaced
the expectation with decision.  He looked without any emotion into my eyes,
then unbearably slowly placed a hand on my hip, pulled my boner towards his
face, and exquisitely gently licked its whole length through the white
cotton.

I gasped at this most incredible feeling.  I had asked for a sign, and what
a sign he had given me.  Oh Eddy, I thought, what a guy you are deep down.
I had a vision of my younger brother one day blissfully making love with
some future terrific boyfriend, perhaps in a field of long grass, perhaps in
an elegant bed in a simple hotel in France, perhaps even at the wheel of a
sports car, zooming through the countryside, roof down, sun blazing, filling
his boyfriend's mouth with his special stuff.  Eddy, I thought, you are
going to be fine.  There's nothing to worry about.  He licked me again, and
I shivered in ecstasy.  He wanted it.  I would give it.  Our contract was
sealed.

I stepped back from him but he didn't appear worried that I might be backing
out of our deal.  Without any shame I pushed my boxers down and we both
watched my boner spring into view.  There was the slightest smile from both
of us, perhaps at the realisation that as I was seeing my brother in a new
light, so my cock was meeting its own brother for the first time; but that
smile was also from a flash of recognition: we both had the same cock.  They
were practically carbon copies.  Still no words had been spoken, and I
instinctively wanted to joke "reckon dad's got one like this too?" but we
both knew a joke would bring the whole thing crashing down.  He opened his
mouth partially, an indication he would have pleasured me in any way I
chose, but I couldn't let him do that.  I remembered the note of desperation
in how he had whispered earlier on, and I knew there was only one thing he
wanted, and if he wanted it I was going to give it.

I knelt on the bed between his legs, not breaking eye contact.  A brief look
of relief passed over his face when he realised my intention, and he moved
his hand to his ass, but I stopped him.  I got hold of his legs and pushed
them way back towards his shoulders, making the bollock-end of the dildo
point out at me, and slowly and unsurely, I held it and began to pull it
out.  My brother's eyes bore into mine.  That look said "don't you dare in a
million years use this against me in the future".  I recognised his
apprehension.  It was such an intensely personal thing I was doing, removing
a sexual toy, and I had never once in my life done anything to deserve a
fraction of this level of intimacy with him.  For a second the mood in him
bristled as he felt that by removing the dildo I was drawing attention to
the very fact that he owned and used one.  But I tried to soothe his
anxieties with my own eyes, and, as his vacuum-like asslips eventually gave
up their prize and the blue dildo slithered out into the air, I smiled at
him, to show all was well, that I was never going to throw this back in his
face in a future argument, that this moment was far too important for that.

He was quivering in expectation.  I pushed his legs back right into his neck
and his ass rose up towards me, his crack slick with some lubricant, his
little ring stretched by the dildo but still tightly puckered up.  I was
aching to thrust in there.  My own cock was literally dripping in
anticipation.  But I didn't want this just to be a hard fuck.  I owed Ed
something here, and suddenly I knew how to pay.

Almost without thinking I hunkered down and lapped my tongue along his crack
and, even though the whole area was sanitised by the taste of the lube, I
enjoyed the sound of Ed's involuntary gasps.  Again, I licked his crack
right from the small of his back to his ballsac.  He groaned and then I
kissed his anus, first tentatively, then when I realised it tasted fine,
swirling my tongue firmly and more insistently.  It was a beautiful feeling
and I began to wonder why I had never done this before.  Ed's lips seemed to
kiss back against my own, and I tried to drive my tongue inside him.  He
cried out.

"Oh Charlie, oh my fucking Christ..."

It was the first thing either of us had spoken aloud, and it convinced me
kissing him there had been the right thing to do.  I tried to snog harder at
his ring, slurp longer along his crack, tongue his balls more roughly.  He
writhed and moaned.  Hey, I thought, making love to boys is easy.  I smiled,
really enjoying myself.  Then I pulled away from his ass, pointed my hardon
at his ring, and looked straight down at my dick as I pushed it inside my
brother, watching the cockhead pop through, then seeing the effortless way
in which it disappeared inch by inch into the core of his being.  No
sensitive penetration was necessary here; loosened by the dildo he opened up
for me like pushing a silver spoon through caviar.

"Oh man...!"

Once I was in him he opened his eyes again, and we looked at each other.  It
was the most exquisite feeling I ever had, and my cock throbbed inside the
tight warm space.  He gripped hard with muscles I didn't know existed,
squeezing my shaft a couple of times.  I nearly lost it, and he grinned.

"Better than you expected?" he asked softly.  "Better than pussy...?"

I nodded.  My brother's ass was awesome.  For the first time as I watched
him writhe beneath me, I sensed his expertise and his experience.  It
occurred to me that Ed was not a virgin.  I was not doing the noble thing
and helping my younger brother over a difficult obstacle in the comfort of a
non-threatening situation.  I was not being charitable, not saying I'm
sorry, not saying I shouldn't have disturbed you.  I had been drawn into
this fuck through my own desire.  His eyes were alive with excitement.  He
wrapped his legs around my back and dug his heels into my cheeks, pulling me
deeper inside him.

"Come on, then, Charlie," he goaded, "show me how good you are..."

Hot breath rasped over my neck as he clung tightly to me, squeezing his body
and his ass around me.  His tongue began to play delicious tricks over my
neck and face and ears, and his legs rubbed against my back.  I felt his
cock mashing against my stomach, and his smooth chest rub against mine.
When a hand pinched one of my nipples I felt a rush of sexual desperation,
and instinctively I began to fuck his ass.  I didn't know about angles, or
prostates, or technique, I just knew I had to fuck this ass or die trying.
In and out slowly, and Ed teased me "is that all you can do?" and I felt my
pride rise.  I concentrated on a hard driving rhythm with my hips, but each
time I plunged in, his anal muscles teased my cock so expertly that I didn't
want to pull out again.  But I forced myself, and after a while I felt like
I might be beginning to satisfy him.  I had never felt fucking like this
before.  We were truly connected, two animals striving for the same goal,
but it was so tender, so magic.  I realised that ordinarily I am a lazy
lover.  I prefer to lay on my back and be ridden, or have the deep-dick
pleasure of doing it doggie style, which is often not much more than using a
fanny to wank yourself off with.  The position Ed wanted forced me to work
hard, forced me constantly to acknowledge his presence, and forced me with
every thrust to remember that I was fucking my little brother, and he was as
hot as anything I have ever dreamed of.  After a little while longer we were
sweating and panting as we moved together at high speed, and our actions
became possessed.  I thought it couldn't get any better.  Then he kissed me.

If I had thought that the bond between my engorged cock and his magic ass
was spectacular, I was blown away by the power of this new connection: mouth
to mouth, lips to lips, tongue to tongue.  I had never imagined what it was
like to kiss another guy.  Ed's breath was smokey and masculine, his mouth
firm and strong, his lips full and his tongue probing and insistent.  The
feel of a slight brush of his stubble against my own jaw made me shake with
excitement.  He moved his mouth to my ear and breathed a few words right
into my mind:

"You're even better than I dreamed you would be.  Now cum, Charlie.  Shoot
your jizz.  Deep inside me."

He clung to me tighter and we fucked with even more energy.  Occasionally
the sheer force of our actions pushed us into new positions and twice he
banged his head on the wall, but we didn't care.  I felt like I could have
done that all day, just held my brother in my arms as I continuously
assaulted his back passage, but Ed had other ideas and was aiming for higher
goals. He wanted the ultimate climax and was pulling me with him.  As his
ass gripped my cock and his mouth made love to mine and his hands and
fingers caressed my back and chest and nipples, he pushed me over the edge.
Once he had triggered it, I couldn't have held it back for a million pounds.
  I felt it rising and rising, and he was staring at me, his eyes wide in
delight at what he had done.

"Go on," he purred in my ear.

I shouted as I let go.  This orgasm had taken so long to arrive, I had been
so tantalisingly close for so long, that the release felt almost surreal in
its beauty when it bathed me in bliss.  It was a powerful, bone-cracking
climax, one of the best any human has any right to hope for, but it was also
deeply special, completely unique: as my cock burned and pumped out a huge
load into Ed's guts, I felt a sense of privilege I'd never got close to
before.  Ed was staring at me, taking in all aspects of the orgasm he had
given me, enjoying it as much as if it were his own.  As I collapsed in
grateful rest on his chest, he whispered to me "wank me off, please,
Charlie?"

I grabbed his cock between our stomachs, and within a few strokes I saw his
head fall back in rapture and his eyes screw shut.  He gasped and I squeezed
harder and jacked quicker, his cock feeling so like my own.  Then I used my
other hand to tug on his balls while I yanked his foreskin back and upped
the speed again.  It was enough, and I stared at Ed as he had stared at me,
as I watched his body shake uncontrollably and he cried out in ecstasy as my
hands pushed him into his orgasm.  A flood of spunk landed on his upper
chest and then a great deal more gushed onto his stomach and my wrist.  He
just kept coming.  I was in awe.  My hand slowed as his climax faded, and
then slowly I stopped and let go.  He opened his eyes, and looked at me
again.  There was no smile, no thanks, but something deeper, some new
respect perhaps, something from which we might be able to abandon the old
hatred and build something new.  As I tried to determine what he was
thinking, his hand scooped up some of his spunk, and he lifted the fingers
to his lips.  I was again captivated.  He scooped up some more, and offered
me the taste of him.  I hesitated for a second, never even having tasted my
own, and then licked his fingers clean.  Oh man.  After a few more licks we
filled our mouths with his spunk and kissed deeply again, my cock still
firmly embedded in his ass.

Eventually it felt like all the need had passed.  Ed squirmed beneath me and
I pulled out of him and sat up next to him on the bed, not knowing what to
say.  He delved into his bedside drawer and fished out cigarettes and an
ashtray.  We smoked in silence, but not in awkwardness.

"Wanna do that again?" asked Ed.

"Yeah," I said.  "I think I do."

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jsmith381@hotmail.com