My Kid Brother

Copyright © 2003
By Lee Mariner

This ADULT fantasy depicts homosexual acts and erotic situations.  Should you not be of age in your locality to be reading this story, or should you find such material as offensive, please leave.

This work is copyrighted © by the author, and all Rights are reserved.  The story may not be copied or reproduced in any manner, and it may not be archived on any web site without the specific written consent of the author.   It is assigned to the Nifty Archives for posting as outlined in their story submission guidelines.

Comments and constructive suggestions are welcome.



Chapter XLV

As the plane taxied down the runway, I lost sight of, Dalton, and I felt a large lump growing in my throat.  Producing a handkerchief, I swallowed several times, and while I wiped the moisture from my eyes, a soft voice asked, "Are you all right, Sir? Can I get you something?"

"No, I'm fine," I answered, looking up at a very attractive Stewardess.  "This is only my second time flying."

Smiling softly, she said, "I understand. If you should need anything, the call button is overhead."

The young lady had dark brown hair swept back into a bun and tucked neatly at the base of the small uniform cap she was wearing that matched her obviously well tailored uniform.  Her lips were full, and her lipstick was a light pink shade that matched lightly applied cheek rouge. Oval shaped hazel eyes did not detract from the petite shape of her nose, and her softly rounded chin.   Neatly, well manicured nails were finished with a natural polish so unlike the garish shades of red many women wore.

"Man," I thought as she moved away. "If I wasn't gay, I could go for a girl as beautiful as she is." 


The plane leveled off but the 'no smoking and seat belt sign's' remained lit for a few minutes longer before being extinguished. Not being a smoker, I set the adjustable air jet on full open before adjusting my legs in the small space between the seats.  I was regretting the decision to wear tight jeans, my cock, and balls felt like they were in a vice. I did a quick cabin check before lifting my hips and adjusting the family jewels.

I was gazing out the window at the snow white fluffy clouds drifting past the plane, lost deep in thought thinking about the time that, Dalton and I had spent together, and the discovering that we both were gay.   I enjoyed the long talks we had about his frustrations, and I had enjoyed showing him what it meant for two men to love each other. In particular, I loved him because he was my kid brother, and he meant more to me than my own life. "God, two years is a long time, and maybe longer if he joins the marines," I groaned silently to myself, a sudden feeling of loss hitting me in the gut.

I was trying to find a comfortable position by leaning the seat back only a little, so as not to disturb the passenger behind me, and resting my head on the planes inner wall when I heard, "Would you like a pillow, Mr. Evers?"

"Hey, that would be great," I answered, glancing up at the stewardess, smiling and holding a small but sufficient sized pillow. "It beats, the wall," I said, as I took the proffered pillow.

Placing the pillow behind my head, I promptly fell asleep awakened only by the planes wheels touching the tarmac in Pittsburgh.  It was only a fifteen-minute stop to deplane and board passengers. The passengers not deplaning were advised to keep their seats for the short time we would be on the ground.

Fortunately, my dreams about Dalton while I was sleeping were not erotic enough to result in a 'wet dream' but, I was more interested in hiding my hard cock than I was in who was leaving the plane.  The pillow that, I had rested my head on was placed into secondary service to hide the condition in my crotch until, hopefully, l it corrected itself.

Six or seven passengers left, and then several replacements for their seats boarded.  I had traveled the first leg of the trip with no one next to me but, from the number of people boarding, I didn't expect it to be the same on the rest of the flight to New York, and I was right.  A well-dressed, middle-aged man probably somewhere in his mid-forties placed an attaché' case in the overhead luggage rack. While he was stretching his arms upwards to put his case away, his crotch was in line with my eyes; but there was no indication of what might be hidden by the obviously expensive gabardine of his trousers. I won't say that, I was disappointed; it was a natural reaction for a gay man to be curious.  While he was removing his coat, he looked down, and said, "It looks like we are going to be seat mates to the Big Apple, the names Hunter, Brett Hunter."

"Carlton Evers," I replied, while shaking his extended hand.

His dark brown eyes were friendly, and his handshake was firm unlike some. When he placed his coat with his case, it was obvious that he was extremely well built. His shoulders were broad, and the thin fabric of his shirt revealed his flat abdomen, the smallness of his waist, and the outline of impressive chest and rib muscles. His thick dark hair was neatly trimmed with a hint of gray at the temples. 

Even more of turn on than being well built, there was no sweat stains in the armpits of his shirt.  He was probably using a powder deodorant or, he shaved under his arms.  Some men, including gay's, often said shaving the underarms was a 'feminine' habit, and for men to do it, it detracted from their masculinity.  Although, I didn't shave my underarms, I disagreed, and because of my doing it, I had received several ribald remarks that I thought was good-natured kidding from some of my shipmates but.  There was never a hint, at least in my presence, that I acted  'queer.'

"Woof," my seat mate said, exhaling sharply as he sat down and buckled his Seattle. "It feels like I've been on my feet forever."

His presence so close to me, and the heat that I felt radiating from him combined with a faint hint of Musk cologne was not helping my cock soften. In fact it was doing just the opposite, and I was thankful for the pillow. 

"Jesus Christ," I thought, clamping my teeth shut, and feeling a little guilty. "I haven't been away from, Dalton a full day, and someone I don't know has me as hot as a schoolboy."


When we reached flying altitude for the last leg of the flight, the signs went off, and the sound of seat buckles being removed could be heard.   My cock was still hard, and for a moment while unbuckling my Seattle the pillow started to slide forward on my thighs.

"Oops," Brett said, quickly laying his hand on the pillow, and preventing it from falling on the floor. 

"Thanks," I said, quickly replacing his hand with mine.  "I took a nap after leaving Indianapolis, and the stewardess gave it to me."  I explained, hoping it did not sound as lame to him as it did to me.

"Is Indianapolis, your home?" he asked, turning his head to the left to look at me as he spoke.

His right arm rested on the seat armrest but, with only a single armrest between the seats, his left hand rested casually on his crotch, his fingers extended over where his balls would have been.  His brown eyes appeared to darken slightly as he glanced at me, and a feeling that he could read my mind swept over me.

"I was born and raised there," I answered, swallowing in an attempt to hide my nervousness. "I was home on leave visiting my parents, and my kid brother, Dalton."

"Leave, leave," he mused out loud. "I think that means you are in the Navy, right. I always get mixed up between furlough and leave," he said, turning toward me as he spoke, his left leg briefly pressing against mine.

"Navy, furlough is what the Army calls being on vacation," I answered, surprised by the unexpected intimacy of his leg touching mine but, glad the conversation seemed to be helping my cock soften. "I have to report in to the Brooklyn Navy Yard tomorrow for transportation to my next duty station in Panama."

"Brooklyn Navy Yard, boy," he said whistling softly. "Unless you know the subways, a taxi will cost you double what it would cost a native new Yorker."

"Why?" I asked.

Turning slightly in his seat with one arm sort of crossed over the other with his hand resting on the middle armrest, his fingers dangling close to my pillow, one knee pressed into my thigh as he explained New York city taxi drivers, chuckling every now and then. "Taxi drivers in the Big Apple look for what they call 'outsiders', travelers that don't live in the city.  When they spot one, you, they will take the longest route before reaching your destination."

"That's a rip off," I exclaimed indignantly.

"That, Carlton is New York City," Bert answered, leaning forward with his hands moving over the inside of his thighs as he looked at me smiling broadly, his pearl white teeth flashing brilliantly.

I was so angry, I clutched the pillow tightly to my chest, my mind in a whirl thinking over what, Bert had said.  I had to decide if, I wanted to be ripped off by an unscrupulous taxi driver or take a chance on finding my way to Brooklyn on the subway.

"Damn, Brett, you would think they would help strangers instead of ripping them off," I said, twisting in the seat to face him, lowering the pillow but still clutching it to my stomach. 

His eyes quickly dropped to my crotch, and then looking into mine, the tip of his tongue caressed the inside of his lower lip as he replied. "Do you remember what P.T. Barnum said years ago?" he asked, leaning closer but not waiting for an answer. "He said 'there is a sucker born every minute, and five to take him'.  I guess in a city as big as New York the people sort of think they'll never see the sucker again, and they don't care."

"I guess; but, that's a hell of a way to live," I said softly, his face only a few inches from mine. 

Brett started to speak when our stewardess interrupted him. "Would you gentleman care for a drink or perhaps coffee?"

"Sure," Brett answered, quickly leaning back, and glancing up at the stewardess. "I'll have a bourbon on the rocks. How about you, Carlton?"

"If you have a Schlitz beer, I'll have one."

"Beer man?" Brett asked hesitantly as he dropped the seat back tray.

"Most of the time," I replied, as I followed suit.  "My dad is the hard stuff man in the family but, every now and then, I have a shot of rye with him."

Brett's bourbon, "Jim Beam", was served in a small 'short snorter' bottle with a plastic glass containing a few ice cubes.  I would have normally drunk my Schlitz from its bottle, but under the circumstances, I used the plastic glass. 

"Here's to it where ever it may be at," Brett said, lifting his glass and glancing at me as he took two healthy swallows.

"Where ever," I mumbled a little perplexed by his strange toast.

The beer felt good as it slid down my throat, and finishing the beer quicker than I thought, I asked for another. My tray was a little wobbly, and I shoved my pillow under it for more support.   Seeing me shove the pillow under the tray, Brett asked the stewardess for one, and following my example, he exclaimed, "Hey, Carlton, that's a hell of a lot better; it gives the tray more stability.  I'll have to remember that the next time I fly."

Looking out the planes windows, we could see twilight setting in the further the plane flew eastward.  The cabins interior lights came on, and looking at his wristwatch, he said, "It will be completely dark by the time we land."

Several of the passengers who were probably reading had turned on the personal lights over their seats.  We hadn't finished our drinks but we didn't need any more light than the soft cabin lights.
"How long are you going to be in Brooklyn, Carlton?" he asked, turning his head sideways on the seats headrest to look at me, the tone of his voice noticeably softer.

"That's up to the Navy, Brett." I answered. " It might be a day, a week or longer but, I won't know until I report in," I said, turning my face to his as I lifted the beer bottle to my lips

"Are you going to try and report in tonight? "  He asked, his eyes glancing down at the pillow as he spoke, his voice almost a whisper.

Setting the empty beer bottle on the tray, and turning as much as I could, I shifted to one cheek, facing him. Moving the pillow, and holding it on my left thigh, I spread my legs exposing the jeans covered impression of my cock.  "That all depends, Brett,"" I said softly, looking around the cabin as I spoke.

Looking down, Brett inhaled between his clinched teeth hissing, "Jesus Christ," as he exhaled.

His hand twitched perceptively as if he was going to reach out and touch my cock but, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the stewardess coming down the aisle toward us. Closing my legs, I said,  "From what you told me about the taxis and the subways, I might see if I can find a hotel for the night and report in tomorrow morning."

For a moment, Brett looked surprised until he saw the stewardess.  Seeing her, he retracted his hand slightly, and we sat quietly as she passed on her way back to here station at the rear of the plane.  I could hear him breathing anxiously while we waited, and knowing he was as horny as I was, it made the urgency in my loins even more intense.  His anxiety surprised me though when, she had no more then passed, he leaned over, and whispered, "It looks like we have the same problem, Carlton."

"What problem?" I asked coyly.

His brown eyes darkened in intensity as they bored into mine.  A few centimeters from my throbbing cock, I felt his fingers brush my thigh.  When I didn't flinch at the touch, he became bolder, and hesitating for a second, he looked around the planes cabin as he placed his hand over my throbbing cock growling softly as he squeezed it's turgid length, "That problem."

The weight and feel of his hand squeezing my cock, sent and bolt of fire into my loins, and I felt my balls tightening from the almost overpowering urge to ejaculate.   Inhaling deeply, and sucking my gut in, my asshole automatically tightened in an attempt to prevent my load from involuntarily exploding.  "Easy, Brett or your going to compound the problem," I hissed, exhaling slowly.

Quickly flipping up the middle armrest, he glanced over his shoulder as he spread his legs whispering, "Me too."

Glancing down, I saw the very respectable impression his cock stretching down his left trouser leg, and I felt a spasm of desire in my breast.  Looking in the direction he had looked, I placed my hand over his cock and squeezed.  Brett gasped breathing in deeply as I massaged his cock and, I heard a low, "God that feels good."

"I know," I replied squirming a little from the pleasure of my cock being held tightly; but, "Right now there is not much that can be done about the problem," I said, moving my hand reluctantly from the source of eminent pleasure as the public address system announced that New York City could be seen out the planes right windows, and we would be landing at LaGuardia in a few minutes.

The 'fasten seat belts - no smoking' signs came on and there was a flurry of materials being replaced in the overhead compartments, and the sound of buckles being fastened.

After one last pronounced squeeze, Brett replaced the middle armrest, and straightened his clothes before buckling his seat belt.  Glancing quickly at me and then down at my wilting cock, he leaned closer and said, "After we land, and you want to, we can take care of the problem at my apartment on the Upper East Side."

"That sounds good, Brett, and as much as I know we both would enjoy it, I'm not sure," I replied.

"About what?" he asked quickly, and just a little loudly.

"Not about you that's for sure," I answered softly, glancing furtively around hoping he hadn't been over-heard. 

"What aren't you sure of, Carlton?" he asked again, a little less excitedly.

"I still have to find my way to the Navy Yard, Brett, and Upper East Side or wherever, I have no idea where to even start except paying for a taxi, and you said they are a rip off."

"I did, and they are," he said, hesitating and looking up, and then quickly glancing at my crotch as the stewardess passed checking seat belts. "You recover quickly," he said, grinning broadly his eyes twinkling brightly.

"Not entirely, Brett," I replied, returning his grin. "I pushed it down."

"There was a time when, I would have had to do the same thing until, I learned about jock straps; but, I take it you don't wear one," he said, chuckling softly.

"No, I don't but, you must be kidding me, Brett, you don't look that old," I said, indirectly asking his age.

"Physically, I stay in shape, Carlton; but, when you reach your fifties or so certain things change, and there are some body parts that start slowing down," he said, just a tad mournfully.  "I hope that won't effect your acceptance of my offer, there may be a little snow on the roof but, there is still plenty of fire in the boiler."

I had heard Jerry Hawes say the same thing once, over the years with him, I had learned how much fire there was in his boiler, and I had to chuckle softly. 

As the plane banked left on its approach, Brett's ear was closer and, I said, "I'll bet there is, Brett."

"There is one way to find out," he replied, his eyes twinkling.

"I guess so," I said, feeling the heat of desire building in my loins as I looked into his eyes. " I'd like to find out; Brett but, I can't be late reporting in."

"You won't be, I promise," he said, the force of the plane landing pushing us back into our seats, and then forward as the engines were reversed to slow the forward momentum.


The 'fasten seat belt' sign was still on but, passengers were in the aisles pulling their coats, small valises and attaché' cases from the overhead storage compartments.  Brett stood, and while he was putting on his jacket, the prominent display of his cock was clearly visible.  There was a sudden twinge in my groin, and I quickly averted my eyes - I didn't have a jacket.

I was hoping to follow close behind Brett as we deplaned but the surge of passengers in a hurry to get off separated us.  I didn't need to worry though; he was waiting at the bottom of the ramp.   He put his arm around my waist pulling me closer, and raising his voice over the hubbub of the crowed terminal, he said, "We don't have far to go but, stick close."

"Count on it," I replied, with ever intention of gluing myself to his hindquarters.  Crowded was not a proper description for the mass of people rushing pell-mell up and down the wide corridors.  I was relieved when I saw; Brett was heading in the direction of an overhead sign that indicated the corridor leading to where incoming luggage could be picked up.

I found my sea bag and small suitcase on the first baggage delivery, and while we were waiting for the second delivery, I was surprised when I heard a smooth well modulated voice behind us say, "Welcome home, Mr. Hunter."

"Kita," Brett said turning quickly.  "Good to see you, have a hard time with traffic?"

Turning with Brett, I saw a tall, strikingly handsome man of unmistakable Asian descent standing a few feet behind us.  He was wearing an obviously expensive, well-tailored black suit, with white shirt, a four-in-hand black tie, and gleaming black military style shoes. His slightly shaped almond eyes were tar-black but, unlike other men whom I had met with black eyes, Kita's were not beady. His tailored suit enhanced the width of his shoulders, the breadth of his chest, and the smallness of his waist. His hips were small, and there was no hint of a bulge from his chin to his knees.  A matching chauffeur cap covered ink-black hair allowing only tapered side-burns and the smooth tapering of the hair on the nape of his thick neck.  The lightness of his complexion, the softness of his cheek bones and rounded chin combined with his unusual height for a person of Asian descent gave the hint of his ancestry being AmerAsian.   

"No more than usual, Sir," he replied in answer to, Brett's inquiry.

"You always say that," Brett replied as he slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me forward.  "Kita, this is Carlton Evers," he said in a matter of fact tone as he introduced us.  "His luggage was on the first tram," he said, indicating my gear. "You can bring it along with my two-suiter which should be on the next tram."

"It's my pleasure, Mr. Evers," the chauffeur replied, his eyes twinkling as he bowed quickly, doffing his cap.  Replacing it as he turned, and spoke to, Brett. "Your two-suiter, Sir!  Yes Sir," he said in a muted tone.  You'll find the car in its usual place at the curb."

"Whoa, Brett," I exclaimed as we walked away. "You didn't say anything about all of this."

"I'm sorry, Carlton, I'll explain it all later when we are home," he said, as we approached a gleaming maroon Lincoln limousine parked in a VIP designated area.