This fantasy is about two brothers who find themselves in a number of sexual situations with adults and other boys. It is not just a sexual story and there will actually be a plot, but there will be many sexual scenes. If you will be offended by this or if it would violate the law in your area to read this, then please don't. This story does not condone any of the behaviour described herein. Please let me know what you think of my story! You can write to me at JeffWriter@nycmail.com.
The last words spoken by my father were to my older brother, Stevie: "Watch out for Scotty. He needs you."
I was standing beside my father's hospital bed, watching the emaciated man whom I had known all my life as the strength and rock of my existence, slowly slip away. Stevie stood to my right. He was holding my father's hand and his eyes were moist. He nodded and replied, "I will Dad. I promise."
And, then, my father's eyes closed, his grip on Stevie's hand loosened, and the beeping on the monitor became one long, mournful tone.
No one was with us. Mother and Patty, our little sister, were waiting outside in the hallway. We didn't know what to do. I looked up at Stevie's face and he looked down at me and nodded. Eventually, a nurse came in.
The summer of 1965 began as the worst of my life. Loosing a father when one is seven is difficult; but it is especially so for a ten year-old. Stevie took Daddy's death very hard. And, what made it worse was the almost total lack of support from our Mother.
It was a hot and muggy Monday afternoon in late June when we returned from the funeral. The house was full of relatives we hadn't seen in years, some of whom I had never even heard of. There were also neighbors and friends of my parents and Mother was putting on a bravura performance in the living room as the grieving widow. I couldn't take it and rose from my chair as some elderly lady whom I had never seen before commented, "Those poor boys. This will be so rough on them."
Mother recovered enough from her grief to comment, "Oh, Stevie and Scotty will be all right. It's poor little Patty I'm worried about. She was her Daddy's Little Girl. She's so sensitive."
She's so bratty, I thought as I maneuvered my way through the crowd eating in the dining room. The kitchen was not quite as crowded and as I looked out the back door, I could see Stevie's blond head rising up from behind the holly bush Dad had planted along the red brick wall around the patio. I stepped outside and walked over to the redwood bench he was sitting on and sat down beside him.
I took off my jacket, unclipped my tie, and opened the first couple of buttons on my shirt. Stevie remained motionless in his, starring off at the rose bushes along the wooden fence around the backyard. His blue eyes were red and moist and his face was trembling slightly. I reached over and took his hand.
"Are you OK, Stevie?" I asked nervously.
"No," he replied in an angry, shaky voice. "But, I will be. I have to be. I promised Dad that I'd watch out for you, and I will."
I was frightened. Stevie was my hero. I had always looked up to him. He was three years older than me, the most intelligent guy I knew, and the most handsome. Everyone commented on his blond hair, his blue eyes, his perfect complexion, his slender build. And, Stevie had never been mean or bullying to me, as many older brothers were to their younger siblings. He loved me as much as I loved him and always tried to include me in his activities and games. He was strong and brave and smart and good-looking. He was everything I wanted to be. And, to see him scared and hurt was rocking one of the last foundations of my life.
"You don't need to watch out for me, Stevie. I'll be OK."
Slowly, he looked down at me and replied softly, "You know what Dad meant."
I swallowed and looked down at the Bermuda grass Dad was so proud of.
"Yeah, I know."
Neither of us said anything until Stevie sat back and sighed. I looked up at him and asked, "Why does she hate us?"
"I don't know," Stevie replied, shaking his head. "Dad never could figure it out, either. I don't even think she loved him. Patty's the only one she's ever cared for. And, I just don't know why."
"What are we gonna do, Stevie?"
My brother, my hero, looked down at me and smiled.
"We're gonna deal with it and it'll be easier because we'll have each other. We're brothers."
He held his right hand out with his index finger hooked. I did the same and we locked fingers in a gesture of solidarity. At that moment, the sliding glass doors leading from the dining room to the patio opened and the hordes spilled outside. Stevie sighed and sniffed. We stood and walked inside to the bedroom we shared at the back of the house.
The room had originally been intended as a study or an office, but Mother had insisted that Stevie and I take it as our bedroom because she felt we would be a bad influence on her precious Patty if we had a bedroom upstairs with everyone else. Daddy thought she was nuts, but actually felt it was better to have us downstairs away from Mother. It was perfect for us, large and roomy with bookshelves, which we put to good use, and large windows with a great view of the backyard.
We emerged from the room only a few of times that afternoon and evening, to get food from the buffet that had been set-up in the dining room, and to take our showers. No one was really interested in speaking with us and Mother certainly had no need to see us. We spent most of the time on the floor playing Battleship and listening to the radio. I actually laughed and Stevie actually smiled when the radio would play something he liked and he would sing along, especially The Supremes’ “Stop! In the Name of Love.” I rolled on the floor laughing at Stevie’s imitation of Diana Ross. He grinned at me, pleased with my reaction.
Later, Herman’s Hermits came on with “Mrs. Brown, You’ve Got a Lovely Daughter.” Stevie looked at me quizzically and then said, “You know, I think Peter Noone is cute.”
I didn’t think anything about the comment and smiled.
“Yeah, he is.”
“I love his hair. I’d love to wear mine that way.”
“Yeah, you’d be cute, too.”
“You don’t think I’m cute now?” he asked as if offended.
“Yes!” I quickly replied. “I think you’re the best looking guy in the world!”
“You’re sweet,” Stevie replied with a grin. He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead.
It was quite late when we went to bed. We heard the last of the crowd babbling their good-byes at the front door and then the house was quiet. No one came to check on us or tell us to go to bed, but at eleven thirty, Stevie said, “Well, I guess we ought to go to bed.”
“Yeah,” I replied as I began to put the Battleship game away. We had already taken our showers and changed into our summer pajama shorts. Neither of us was wearing the accompanying shirts as the air coming from the vents in the floor wasn’t that cool. As I sat in the middle of the floor packing the game away in its box, I watched as Stevie stood up in his pajama shorts and walked to the door. Stevie was going through a growth spurt, everyone said. His arms and legs were getting longer and more slender and I could count the ribs along his sides. He was slender, but not overly skinny. It gave me a nice feeling to look at him.
He peeked out the door and then closed it.
“Everyone’s gone to bed,” he said as he turned. That’s when I noticed the front of his pajama shorts was tented outward slightly. As he walked back toward his bed, it seemed that his peepee was swinging back and forth a little and was a little bigger than normal. Mine got stiff and long sometimes, like when I had to pee or when I was lying on the living room floor watching TV or even when I was playing on the jungle gym at school and rubbing my crotch across one of the bars. But, Stevie’s seemed a lot bigger than mine. But, of course, it would be since he was bigger than me and three years older.
“Your peepee’s getting big,” I said with a grin as I pointed to his shorts. Stevie blushed and made a sort of cross between a grin and a frown on his face.
“Hurry up and get in bed,” he replied. I stood up and carried the game over to the shelf and set it atop the pile that was already there. When I turned around, Stevie was lying on his stomach.
“Turn the light off,” he said softly.
I switched off the lamp on his desk, as well as the radio, and walked over to Stevie’s bed. The darkness was mellowed slightly by the green glow of the gas yard light in the backyard shining through the curtains.
“Stevie,” I whispered. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”
Stevie waited a second before answering.
“You aren’t afraid, are you?”
“No,” I responded, embarrassed by my obvious weakness. “I just feel funny and lonely and just want to sleep with you tonight. Can I?”
Stevie rolled over on his side and smiled.
“Sure. Come on.”
He moved over to the side to give me more room, but when I lay beside him, I scooted up next to him and whispered, “Will you hug me?”
Stevie paused a second and then scooted up next to me. He pushed his left arm under my head and wrapped his right one around me. His skin felt so warm and nice against mine. I could feel him breathing on my neck and it made feel safe.
“I love you, Stevie,” I whispered.
“I love you, too, Scotty.”
He raised his right hand we hooked fingers again.
It was then that I noticed his peepee was pressing against my butt. It was hard all the way and seemed a lot bigger than normal.
Sleeping in the same bedroom my whole life with him, I had seen Stevie naked a million times. His peepee had always been a little bigger than mine, but this seemed enormous. It was like he was two or three inches long!
“Stevie, your peepee’s hard. It’s sticking in my butt.”
I heard and felt his sigh as he shifted his hips back.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
“You’re not hugging me tight enough,” I complained.
“Well, if I hug you tighter, than my dick will poke you.”
“Why is it so big?”
There was a pause before I replied, “I don’t know. It just does it, sometimes. Stop talking about it.”
“Can I see it?”
I was afraid that I was irritating Stevie because his voice had sounded a little harsh before. However, when he replied with a soft, “Yes,” I felt a strange thrill.
Stevie rolled away from me and lay on his back. I rolled over facing him and could see his peepee was long, definitely at least two inches long and it was pushing up through the fly of his shorts. It had a wide cone at the end and a pink band around it behind the head and the rest was a long white tube that disappeared into his shorts.
“You’re hard, too,” he whispered. I looked down at my shorts and saw my own peepee sticking out the fly, though not nearly as long as Stevie’s. Mine probably was maybe only an inch. It didn’t look like Stevie’s either. It had the cone that Stevie’s had, but the skin was folded up behind it.
“Mine’s different,” I whispered.
“Mine used to look like that,” he replied. “When you get older, it gets longer and the skin stretches out,” he explained.
“Why do they get hard?” I asked.
“I don’t know. They just do. It feels good though when they do, doesn’t it?”
Suddenly, Stevie hooked his thumbs inside the elastic band around the top of his shorts and pushed them downward. He kicked them off and lay naked beside me. I giggled as I looked at his nude body and fully exposed peepee. It was pulsing and throbbing above his tummy and I could hear his breathing had become labored. I felt a growing thrill and pushed my own shorts down.
My peepee was standing straight up, while Stevie’s was pointing toward his belly button. His was really jumping. Without thinking, I reached toward it, but stopped just before I touched it. I looked up to him for permission. He was looking down with his mouth open and his eyes wide. When I stopped, he looked up at me.
“Can I feel it?” I asked. He simply nodded.
I touched it just under the pink band with my index finger. I pushed down slightly and it pushed back at me. I moved my finger upward and over the pink area. Stevie moaned softly. I jerked my hand away, afraid I had hurt him.
“Keep doing it,” he whispered urgently. “It feels good.”
I decided to sit up Indian style beside him. My peepee was standing outward, pointing toward Stevie’s face. I reached forward and placed three fingers on his peepee. He squirmed and then sat up in front of me, his peepee standing up rigidly and parallel to his tummy.
“Grab it,” he said.
I wrapped my fingers around it and he groaned. Quickly, he reached across and began to feel mine and suddenly, I thought I was going to pass out. I cried out and he whispered an urgent, “Shhh!”
“I can’t help it!” I whispered. “It feels so good!”
“Yeah, it feels great,” he replied. “Rub my dick! Come on, rub it!”
Quietly, desperately, we rubbed each other, felt each other’s dicks, and watched what we were doing with unbridled amazement. Stevie began to squirm around as I rubbed his dick and his breathing became ragged. My dick just felt so good that I was speechless.
Suddenly, Stevie grabbed my hand and whispered, “Stop!”
“What’s the matter?” I asked with concern. “Did I hurt you?”
Stevie had a stunned and confused look on his face.
“I don’t know. It just felt so good and then, all of a sudden, something happened and I thought I was going to pee. It was weird.”
He had stopped rubbing mine in his confusion and consternation and urgently whispered, “Keep doing it to me!”
He nodded and started rubbing me again. After a moment, he whispered, “Do me again.”
I wrapped my fingers around his dick again and began to rub. I loved the way his dick felt, so hard, yet so soft. I was concentrating so much on how cool it felt and hot it looked in my hand that I was surprised when I suddenly felt myself become frantic. For several seconds, I felt my dick pulsing and pumping on its own and the feeling just built up to the point I couldn’t stand it. Then, after maybe two seconds, it was over.
“What happened?” Stevie asked as my hand stopped pumping his dick and sat before him panting.
“I don’t know, but it was great.”
“Maybe that’s what was going to happen to me,” he whispered.
I pulled my hand away and just sat there relaxing in a warm glow. Stevie wrapped the fingers that had been on my dick around his and began to rub himself. He started doing it a lot faster than I had and suddenly his face scrunched up in a look as if he were in pain. He grunted and groaned and suddenly started jerking all over as he moaned audibly.
“Shhh!” I warned, but Stevie was too far-gone to listen or hear. He pumped and twisted and moaned for several seconds and then collapsed back on the bed.
“Wow,” he whispered. I simply looked on in amazement.
“I don’t know, but I like it. I think it was the same thing that happened to you.”
“But, yours was so much… more.”
Stevie looked up. His dick was still just as hard as it had been.
“Maybe it’s because I’m older. You know what? I think that was sex.”
“You know. How babies are made.”
“I don’t get it,” I replied.
“I can’t explain it. I wish Dad were here. I wish Uncle Ted had come to the funeral. I’d ask him.”
At the mention of our father, I frowned, unhappy that I had been reminded of what had happened and angry with myself for momentarily forgetting. Stevie saw and sat up. He scooted closer and we wrapped out legs around each other’s hips. He kissed me on the forehead and whispered, “I love you, Scotty. Let’s do it again.”
I nodded and for a long time that night, we played with each other, discovering new ways to pleasure our selves and building a bond that could never be severed.
Thanks for reading Chapter 1 of Survivors. If you would like me to send more, please let me know at JeffWriter@nycmail.com