Date: Mon, 13 Jun 2011 17:21:06 +0200 From: Mark Gouwen Subject: Symmetry part 4 Jamie and Ste are 15 yo brothers but they are also more than brothers. They are one. Or, at least, they used to be. Several years ago, Jamie took their intimicay too far and they broke into fragments. Still nursing their hurt two years later, they'll have to do something or be overtaken by the facts. Category: gay male / highschool Part 4 of a series LtHawk ========================================================== As we stood there in the woods, and I felt his strong arms around me, so different from just-over-two-years ago, so strong, so manly ... well, haha, perhaps not manly, but a very different kind of boyish from before ... as we stood there, I felt our souls fusing into one again. I held him, and he held me - we held each other - until his crying stopped. That's when I felt like our soul was fully healed. Fully fused again. Identical. One. And with our souls fused, our bodies didn't need to be. Simultaneously, our grip on each other lightened, then fell away, and we stepped back, and looked deep into each other's eyes. Damn this language. Not "each other's". Just "ours". Just "us". Looked deep into eyes, deep into our soul. Soul spoke unto soul. I'd spoken to reset the clock back to our earliest memory: 'We'll do feet and toes tonight. We'll start with feet and toes, and see where it goes.' A daily ritual right up to and including *that night*, just before we turned thirteen, just over two years ago: start with feet and toes, as we talk through the day, as soul communes with soul, and body with body; one soul, one body, connecting to itself, growing together. 'We'll do feet and toes tonight. We'll start with feet and toes, and see where it goes.' There was so much to explore, so much that had been missed, so much that had changed. The strength in those arms had taken me aback. New height, new length and girth and strength of limb, so much growth, to explore. And as we jerked I'd wanted to examine cock, so changed since we last ... examined. I was curious. We had grown apart. It was time to grow back together, to be one again. Maybe not all of that tonight. I don't want him to ... I don't want us ... to get broken again, confused, out of sync ... asymmetrical. Please no. Maybe just feet and toes. 'We'll do feet and toes tonight. We'll start with feet and toes, and see where it goes.' We stepped back, and looked deep into eyes, deep into soul. Soul spoke unto soul. "Toes and feet," Jamie confirmed. "No more. Or..." Deep into eyes. Deep into soul. 'Can we spoon?' I thought. I heard the words out loud as I thought them. My lips weren't moving. Ste's were. One soul again. Fused again. Healed. I shrugged. What did it matter what I said, if we were one soul again. "I guess so." I look deep into his eyes, his soul, and see damage still. Hurt. And desire. I guess it's just a mirror of my own. "So, uh," ... how to fill the day? "Rabbiting?" --------------------- Day was turning to dusk as we headed back to the farmhouse with our quarry. What is this unique thing that only identicals can share? What name can it have? What words? Is it love? "Do you love me, Ste?" He lists the family. "Course I love you. I love mom and dad too, and Bill, and Cathy and Christy and little Sam and Neil..." No, Ste. I rest my hand on his shoulder. I feel us connect. "No, not like that. I mean... love... like, I dunno..." More than family. More like ... "like what people who get hitched feel for each other." Sounds hopelessly inadequate now that I've thought it out loud. They can never have what we have. "You mean married folk... like mom and dad?" I backtrack by making a joke of it. "Not like uncle Bob and aunt Marsha!" We laugh. Pause. "Yeah, like mom and dad I guess." It sounds lame. The idea is draining away. The original question - 'Do you love me, Ste?' - hangs unanswered, unanswerable, meaningless, inadequate, the wrong question, a pointless question. We are what we are. Identicals. Not two but one. Nothing compares. There is no analogy. There is no word. There is only us. Back home it was like the last just-over-two-years never happened, just like we'd never been broken. We moved and nodded and decided and realised exactly in sync. We finished each other's sentences - I mean, we spoke our sentences - without pause. We only went asymmetrical at the bathroom, showering before dinner. Ste held back. I went in alone. I felt dreadful for what I'd done to him, what I'd made him; what I'd done to *us*. But it was healing time now. It might be slow, but it was healing time. I felt drained, but ready. I move back into the bedroom, and he passes me, head down, into the bathroom. I sigh. I hear the shower start up. And I hear him making heavy weather of showering. No, hang on, it's worse than that. The shower sounds strange. And he sounds strange. Damn it, he's leaning back against the tiles and sobbing. Oh Ste, oh my soul. I wait a while, expecting it to pass. Instead it grows louder, an animal howl. I go to meet my other self. I walk in with a towel around me. I see him naked under the shower, broken, back against the tiles. He has three-quarters of an erection left, and there's cum on his chest and stomach and in his pubes and dripping from his hand. The water continues to fall. He looks up at me like a injured animal or a terrified child, and lets out another cry. Damn it boy, we're only fifteen. Or - we've reached fifteen. Either way, this is not appropriate! I drop my towel to the floor and join him in the shower. Just for the record, my cock is shrivelled, like someone who has something else to concentrate on. I gather up my broken other self in my arms, like I'm putting him back together. I pull him upright, and hold him against myself tightly like I'm a splint for a broken limb. My, we've both grown. Damn, that feels good. My Ste. My other self. I hold one hand tight in the small of his back, and let the other fall to his ass, like we used to in bed sometimes, and hold him against me there. His arms hang lifeless at his sides. My, that is a fine muscular ass. So much has changed. He still hangs limp against me. I hold him for a while. "Stand up you twat," I tease, eventually. "Pull yourself together." The shower pounds down on our heads and faces. I feel the strength creep back into his legs. He finds some stability. I stand back, and put my hands on his shoulders, and look into his ... look into *eyes*, into wounded soul. I don't need to say anything. He catches his breath, his breathing settles, he puts his hands on each side of my chest. "OK?" He nods. I step back, and out of the shower, and start to dry myself again.