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IN MY BROTHER'S ARMS

PART II - Big Bro's Boots

Author: Jörn Roth (jrnroth@aol.com)

Feel free to reach out if you enjoyed it.

Note: This is a work of fiction. It has no connection to real people or events.

Main Characters:

Davide, age 10

Skinny, nerdy, shy, and harboring an unrequited love for his brother.

Alessandro (Alex), age 34

Davide's brother, a hunky construction worker with a passion for soccer.

Massimo (Max), age 39

Alex's best friend, divorced, father of a twelve-year-old.

Nothing had changed dramatically between my brother Alex and me since the little accident, which had encouraged me to fall even more in love with him. My face lit up whenever he came to pick me up from school instead of dad; we would play videogames and wrestle together, he would read me the sports section of the newspaper--which I wasn't terribly interested in, but endured out of devotion for him.

Sneaking into his room when he wasn't home had quickly developed into a little hobby of mine, which I partook in almost every day for months. It was the next best thing to being with Alex. The game I had discovered by rubbing my dickie on his old soccer ball allowed me to play with the fantasy of being with him in all possible senses. I hadn't told of the game to anyone, partly because I was shy and partly because it was my game. I felt like the first man on the Moon. I had invented the thing. It was my thing. Even Alex, my prince charming, couldn't know that I had found a way of loving him even if he did not want to--in my fantasy.

One day, my eyes fell on the heavy work boots Alex had left lying about in his room after changing for a soccer game. Just like the soccer balls, the boots were old and frayed. They were sprayed with splotches of plaster and paint.

The same fascination seized me as when I had seen the balls. I was seeing the boots as for the first time. The mere thought of my brother spending most of his day in contact with them made them worth more than gold in my little child's mind. Instinctively, I reached for the left one and began rubbing my stiffy against its side, jolt after jolt of pleasure traversing my body.

Then I thought I could do even better. I put the boot back on the floor, pulled down my pants and knelt in front of it. Then, as if to do a push-up, I leaned forward, letting my penis slide inside the boot. Its padding was warm, soft, somewhat wet from the sweat of Alex's feet, but the long tongue was still rough enough to provide friction, and the bottom was hard and waterproof.

Slowly, I began humping the boot, and I imagined, this time, that I was sitting astride Alex's lap as he lay in bed, my weenie grazing the hair on his jock's abs. The more I played my game, the more it was easy to imagine wilder and wilder scenarios. I did not last long. Soon, the now familiar sensation of pure bliss engulfed me, annihilating every thought, drowning every other sensation. My weenie contracted inside the shoe, and I struggled to keep the position. The expected fall into a disillusioned stupor soon followed. I left Alex's room promising I wouldn't do it again, and knowing already I would break the promise.

* * *

"Have you been to my room?" Alex asked me the following morning. He had a puzzled look in his large clear eyes, as though he wasn't really sure what to say. But those words fell on my head like a cold shower.

"No!" I protested, more forcefully than honestly. For a second I thought he was going to bring up some evidence of my crime, but he didn't. Instead, he looked at me, his head cocked to one side, his beautiful eyes squinting with the strain of thinking what to do or say.

"Ok," he said simply, and went back to dressing up for work. When he came down for breakfast, he was wearing a different pair of boots. His look was one I would never forget: it was unbelief.

"I took the afternoon off. Massimo is coming for lunch, then we can go to the game together, ok?" he said, a change of subject that made me even more anxious.

I would have wanted to bolt to his room to see what evidence I had left behind, but soon dad growled from the garage that it was time for school.

The morning was miserable. I couldn't concentrate on anything, not even on the math test.

When Alex came to pick me up in his car, Massimo was sitting beside him. He was Alex's best friend, although I hadn't seen much of him since Alex had gotten himself a girlfriend. He was shorter than Alex, of darker complexion and much more buff from spending a lot of his free time at the gym. He had an ex-wife and a son two years older than me.

I had always found him hot, but not handsome. He could not compare with Alex, whom I found more naturally beautiful. There was something excessive to him, to the way he looked. He had always been cordial to me, friendly even, but this time, in greeting me, he regarded me with sly eyes, as though he knew exactly what I was about.

When we got home, Alex and Max went to his room and closed the door. Panicking, I pressed my ear against the door.

"Look, isn't it..." Alex said.

"Sure smells like it," Max said.

"It's starting to soak into it, but this morning there was much more," Alex said.

What was it? Damn it, what was it? I asked myself. But I had to run back into the kitchen to avoid getting caught.

* * *

That afternoon, we drove to pick up Wahid, a schoolmate of mine of Moroccan origins. He enjoyed soccer much more than me, so he had insisted on coming. I was only there for Alex, to show him my support. Yet what I had overheard disquieted me. It made me feel that I would lose him. To make matters worse, Alex's girlfriend, Anna, was in the public too.

The game passed uneventfully. I did not take my eyes off my Alessandro as he became covered in sweat and his uniform remained glued to his lean, athletic frame, his hair plastered on his forehead in damp shocks. I spent my time running along the field's limit to be near him, and quickly became just as sweaty.

But his team lost, which normally I wouldn't care too much about, except that I hated to see his pretty face turn all sad and sulky. I would have wanted to run up to him and hug him and tell him that he had played wonderfully--not that I had any idea what playing well meant, but Alex could do no wrong in my eyes.

But instead of turning toward me, he went to Anna, and I became inflamed with jealousy. They kissed, they hugged, they exchanged some words I couldn't hear. Then he spoke to Massimo, who nodded, before walking up to me.

"Hey champ," he said with a sad smile, his fair skin glistening with sweat. He gave me a pat on the shoulder. "I'm going to Anna's for the evening. I'll shower there. Massimo can take you home with my car. He has stuff to do in the city anyway."

Reluctantly, I nodded. He must have seen the disappointment in my face, because he added, "tomorrow we can play some videogames together, ok?"

I smiled, and off he went with Anna.

"You look like you need a shower too," Massimo said from behind me. And it was true. I was as sweaty as any of the players. So together we entered the locker room.

* * *

Most of the other players had already showered and were heading home.

With a swift movement, Massimo kicked his shorts off and then removed his underwear and his shirt, remaining completely naked. Sure he was handsome. Perfectly sculpted, his body veiny and a bit hairy, he regarded me with sufficiency as though I were a garden gnome.

"Come on, then I'll drive you home," he said, and I got naked and walked behind him, my eyes falling on his chiseled butt cheeks. I made to enter the stall next to his when he said, "don't wanna shower with me?"

"I--I thought..." I mumbled.

"Come on, what's the big deal? There'll be more space for the others," he said with a foxy smile. So, despite the fact that the showers were empty except for one where a young man was seemingly taking his time, I entered Max's stall and he closed the door.

In another moment, the cubicle filled with steam. We began soaping ourselves, not looking at each other. Quickly, the smell of clean overtook that of sweat.

Then Max turned toward me nonchalantly, and I toward him, and I couldn't help but notice that his enormous penis was completely rigid, its skin pulled back on a shiny head. I had never seen such a thing. I had seen Alex and dad naked, but their penises had always been flaccid.

Massimo's weenie was so stiff and so outrageously long that, combined with the difference in height between me and him, it was almost level with my chin. Veins pulsated gloriously through it, just as they ran the length of his muscular body. I had never seen something more beautiful. If Massimo's was like this, how much more gorgeous would Alex's be?

"Care to soap it for me?" he said offhandedly, noticing that I had a hard time taking my eyes off it, "it's best if somebody else does it."

"I don't know..." I muttered.

"Come on, I know you can do it. We aren't very different, you and I," he said.

I did not know exactly what he meant. But I felt drawn to that giant, twitching shaft, under which large, hard balls hung. I moistened my lips, contemplating the task at hand. Then I rubbed some soap into my palms and began working the length of Massimo's penis. Upon looking up to him, I recognized the face he was making. It was the face of bliss. The bliss I had felt in Alex's room. And my dickie began raising its head.

My hands ran along the length of the veiny shaft of Massimo's cock, leaving little trails of soap behind. They reached the head, and I began soaping it and pulling the skin up and down to let the foam inside.

"Oh," Massimo moaned, "Oh! Oh! Here it comes!"

He drew himself up a little. Then a rope of white goo left the tip of his penis and hit me right in the cheek. Then another one came, this time hitting my nose, from which it hung before dropping. Another shot came. This one landed on my ears. Another shot hit me on the chin. Then Max's dick pulsated a couple more times, and then it was over.

"What was that?" I asked, scandalized, trying to rub the goo off my face. Had he just peed on me?
"This is what happens when you masturbate," he said, taking his quickly deflating weenie off my hand, "it's where babies come from. And it's the little gift you left in your brother's boot."

I was shocked.

"What? I don't do this stuff!" I said defensively.

"Of course you do. Everyone does."

"But--but that white stuff, I don't do it," I said.

"Well, then you must have started doing it while you were fucking your brother's boot. You're starting to come of age," he said with a wink.

I felt defeated and a bit humiliated.

"Have you cleaned your butt?" he asked me abruptly.

"What?"

Before I could say anything else, Max dropped on his knees and, with his soapy middle finger, he reached between my legs. Then I felt it forcefully penetrate between my butt cheeks. I let out a scream.

"Shhh," Max said. The stab of pain receded behind a curtain of low intensity pleasure. His finger, longer and wider than my dickie, went up and down, up and down my rectum. Somehow, even though he wasn't touching it, the pleasure reached my weenie. I locked eyes with Max. His raw, squarish jaw twitched and he smiled. With my arm I leaned on his shoulder to resist the tsunami of pleasure that was flooding my whole being. I felt possessed by that strong, large hand that was capable of inducing such pure bliss in me. I felt like an appendix of Max's will.

Then it happened. One. Two. Three shots of white goo left the tip of my weenie. And they landed one after the other on Max's manly face, the third on his hairy chest. He looked me in the eyes, admiringly. After that, I felt spent.

It had never happened to me to produce that goo! Or maybe I had started when I was playing with Alex's boot and I didn't see it?

Max and I finished washing off the soap from our bodies. My butt burned in a pleasant sort of way, and I felt that my little balls were empty.

"Does Alex know?" I asked, embarrassed, while we were getting dressed in the empty locker room. Max insisted on dressing me, and took his time putting my undies on.

"What, that you fucked his boot? Of course he knows," he said, casually playing with my puny dick.

"And... what does he think about it?" I asked.

"I don't think he knows exactly what to think."

"Does he hate me?" I asked, worried.

"Of course not. You are ok, dude. You've got a hot brother, I'd have done the same to be honest," he said, patting me on the back. Then he insisted that I help him with his underwear, which was a difficult undertaking, for his penis had started swelling again and wouldn't fit into it. In the end, I had to manipulate his cock into the boxers, and my hands filled with a clear, sticky liquid that was slowly oozing from it. I rubbed them clean on my trousers.

With a last, unexpected move, Max forcefully took my head and rubbed it against the large mound in his boxer. Briefly he moaned, then a man came in to look for something he'd left behind, so Max let go of me, murmuring, "Maybe another time, ok?"

With that, he hugged me close to him. It was different from the way Alex hugged me. There was more lust in it and less love. But I still liked it.

Then we left the locker room. Wahid was waiting for us outside.

"What have you been doing?" he asked, annoyed.

"Just... washing ourselves," Max said.

And I watched Wahid in the eyes and smiled, but I saw that in him something hadn't yet fully matured. There was innocence in him. There was something I felt I had lost.