Date: Fri, 14 Apr 2017 15:32:51 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Brother Bear 1

This story and its characters are fiction. If any character resembles you
or someone you know, it is pure coincidence and, anyway, I WANT DETAILS,
you lucky fucker! It is, of course, copyrighted by the author with all
rights reserved and very, very negotiable. Also, keep the cum coming --
Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html! I'm an old guy
(>30). I know what it was like when you had to BUY porn. Five miles uphill
both ways in the snow just to GET to the XXX store. You whippersnapper
don't know how good you've got it.

This involves sex between consenting adult males, two of whom are related;
if that is illegal for who/where you may be right now, fuck off and get
thee to a monastery (where you might just find scenes similar to some
below). Also, please note that all my stories exist in a world where STDs
are neither common nor deadly. Don't be a fucking idiot; use
protection. 'To die for' sex should never lead to your actual death.

I like hearing from people but I will not tolerate folks who flaming
people; please know that you will HATE the results. I will read your
missive and weave you and your comments into my next story to the point
that you cry like a little girl. Bullies get as bullies give.

*****

Brother Bear 1: Friday in Minneapolis

by Bear Pup

M/M/M; incest situation; role-play; no out-and-out sex (or in-and-out sex)
yet

*****

So, for those of you who don't know, there is a place in the middle of,
well, nothing in the northern tier of the United States that is a pretty
important industrial hub. No one know why. It's called Minneapolis,
Minnesota, and it's unlivable for six months out of the year because it
becomes a frozen tundra. It's barely survivable the three months of summer
because the State Bird is the mosquito and the State Flower is the traffic
cone. For those other three months? Paradise on Earth. A food mecca filled
with truly wonderful people and amazing arts and music. Absolutely
incomparable.

Or so I'm told. It is the first week of December which, where I live, is
starting to get chilly. Minneapolis? There is a coating of snow six inches
deep, or would be if the crap would stop blowing all over the place in wind
that comes straight from Siberia or some shit. It was five below zero when
I woke up. Five below zero FAHRENHEIT; for the rest of the world, that's
lower than -20C. I have two more days in this Norse Hell and then I can
escape to someplace where humans are supposed to live.

Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm James (Jimmy) Duval,
salescreature-extraordinaire for Sherst Pharma PAO, a Russian company
trying to make inroads into the American Pharmaceutical industry. My job,
quite simply, is to get doctors to recognize that Sherst's products are
just as good as, perhaps better than, many American and German competitors
and... blah blah blah. My job is to dump enough free samples and goodies
that doctors prescribe our brands first. In fact, our stuff really *is* as
good or better, but like that mattered. What mattered was the
schmooze. Ain't nobody better than Jimmy Duval at schmooze.

It's Thursday. Normally, I'm on my way home on a Friday mornign. But
nooooooo, I have three clients whose specialty is day-workers and they're
open Saturdays. What can I say? It's a Midwest thing. So it's Thursday
night and I'm in the bar, looking forward to another day of smiling at
arrogant bastards with medical degrees and flirting with power-maniac women
doctors, in the vain hope that my charm and blatant... samples (shh --
don't say 'bribery') will do the trick.

My wife and I have a very interesting arrangement. When we married, she
knew I was constantly on the road and constantly on the rod -- I have a
serious libido. Even before the nuptials, the agreement we still have was
set forth: I can have any form a safe sex I want, paid or not, as long as
the woman never comes within the borders of Tennessee and never has a way
to contact me later. Oh, and I can't see the same woman twice in a row in a
given city. In other words, one-time flings are fine because they can't
threaten her hold on me. Not that any woman could. Shelly is the hottest,
sexiest, nastiest, lustiest, most-perfect creature for me that I could
imagine. And for some insane reason, she loves me.

So, back to the bar. It's been a grueling week. I hate it here and it
shows. Every time I have to smile or flirt costs me an "energy point" and I
only start with so many per day, often tied to the temp. So a bright spring
day at 70°? No problem. Today, I started in negative territory when I
dragged my sorry ass out of bed! I have always been able to run or work out
or (best) swim to build up more, but it's a negative-sum game. The doctors
know I'm snowing them (ha! snow) and which med they pick is as much based
on who was here last as it is on the merit.

I look up over my screwdriver and my brow furrows. I come from
a... challenging family. Nothing cruel or abusive or crazy, just... not
close. I have a brother but he's nine years younger so we never really
interacted much as kids, other than babysitter and babysat. I think I saw
him last, um, maybe seven years ago? Eight? Anyway, there is this bunch of
guys about his age at the end of the bar. Seriously geeked-out. I mean, I
practically expect propeller-beanie hats. One, though, kinda looks like
Billy. Not exactly, I guess, but close.

I use the mirror behind the bar to try and figure out why Billy's named
popped up for me. The guy is the right age, about 28 or so. Really nice,
lush, well-trimmed beard which Billy definitely never had. He's going bald
early. I smile. I got mom's family's hair, thick and a bit curly, but 'til
death takes them there is no hint of bald. Dad had a comb-over in his
wedding picture!

The guy is short. Maybe 5' 6"? That's probably what made me think of
Billy. Then again, Billy had always been pudgy and this guy, at least from
what I can see, is practically ripped. It's what makes him stand out a bit
from the laughing and chatting group. A few are skinny rails, most are
pudgy or at least flabby, but this kid is stacked. Nah, not Billy. The
clencher is how loose and relaxed this guy is. Billy always looked sorta
like he had a lemon up his ass. Uptight was his 'relaxed' mode.

I chuckle and turn my attention back to my screwdriver, debating on a
third. I look around the bar. As with any business hotel, there are at
least a couple hookers and several on-the-make women. Sadly, all of them
are either skanks or have set their sights on richer- or nicer-looking
guys. Normally, there'd be at least one spare, hot housewife looking for a
quick piece of strange, but no luck tonight. As a matter of fact, part of
the reason for my mood is the lack of tail. I got one squirmy-giggly young
thing who'd married rich instead of sexy. But that was Tuesday, my first
day in town. Since then? Nada.

I head up to the room and take matters into my own hand, you know, then hit
the sack. Another reason to hate this part of the country. It's still full
dark when I get up and grab breakfast in the lobby. There's a hint of light
as I make my way to the donut shop (never, NEVER go into a practice unless
armed with food. You will never get past the front desk).

I get to the first office, an early riser, at 8:40 as they're unlocking and
talk to the two partners for 20 minutes before they even start letting
patients in. It's a relatively-new practice and they're actually interested
in the pitch as well as the samples. Good start! The rest of the
day... sucks. I'm not in the best of moods when I get back to the
hotel. It's already full dark and not even 5:00, and the snow turned to
these fucking tiny ice pellets while I was sitting in that last waiting
room getting the cold shoulder. The crap drives right through my overcoat.

I look forward to a quiet night. By Friday, every other businessman has
fled to home, or at least warmer climes. I step through the inner slider
after shaking off the ice and... freeze.

I take a moment, standing there. My first thought, hand to God, is that I'm
having a flashback from some acid I dropped in college. My second is that
the stress had finally snapped me.

In front of me is a convention sign-in table manned (rodented?) by a giant
Beaver. Next to... it... is an über-geek from central casting wearing
red pointy ears like a fox. They are handing a badge to a woman who can
charitably be called "plus sized" who has a long, fluffy, tabby-colored cat
tail dangling from her equator/waist. She turns and I see a pair of
matching ears on her head and painted-on whiskers.

To the right, a cartoonish Bear in what seems to be a dirndl is talking to
a, um, an Elk? With plastic horns, black slacks and a garish plaid
tie. Three guys and a girl are chatting and laughing with the pair, one guy
feeding a sip-tube up under the Elk's... muzzle? Whatever you call the
front end of a walking piece of venison.

I was in Denver last week and there was... something in the news. Furs?
Fuzzies? Nah. Close but not right. Something about people in animal
costumes calling each other Nazis. Furries! Pretty sure they said
Furries. One group or the other was called something like the Furry Raiders
and it made me laugh. I turn and find myself face to... beak? with a
bright-green something that might be a gussied-up Lizard or down-market
Dragon who excuses himself by bowing at me and steps around. Only one word
really comes to mind: BOOZE.

I pause again at the door into the bar, scattered with people, some in
ears, tails, paws. A few in full outfits, but most in what I used to call
the Convention Uniform: jeans, wildly-colored shirts, badges dangling from
lanyards and the inevitable fanny-packs. I blush as I realize that if the
ears had been pointed without the fur and the getups changed slightly, it
would be the Sci-Fi/Fantasy convention that my girlfriend dragged me to in
my Freshman year of college. To each their own.

I order a screwdriver, then look around and tell the bartender to add a
vodka-shot to the order. Yeah, this is gonna need some shots to get
through. I'm three shots and a double-tall screwdriver into the evening
when two seven-foot-tall dogs come in holding hands, um, paws. One is a
Dalmatian wearing a fireman's helmet and vest. The other is a German
Shepherd with a cop's hat, fully-stocked web-belt and shiny boots. I turn
to the bartender, "Check, please."

I take a peek at the elevator lobby and decide the stairs are a good
idea. I just don't think I can take riding with a Panda and five guys in a
variety of ears. One came straight from the Easter aisle at the costume
store, including a giant fluffy cottontail and fake giant front
teeth... well, I hope they're fake. Oh my.

The booze leaves me a little winded by the time I get to the third
floor. I'm toward the end of the hall, but I notice that there is quite a
bit of traffic. I pass a door labeled "Sponsor's Lounge" and roll my
eyes. Greaaaaaat. I'm walking past something labeled "Headless Lounge" when
the door opens and several people start to troop out. My eye is caught by
the Bear in the dress and the business-Elk, costume heads off. They're
kissing. They're both guys. The bear is that little balding pocket Hercules
from the bar. He pulls out of the kiss and turns toward the door and a pair
of brilliant hazel eyes pop HARD. "Jimmy?"

*****

I stand there, blinking slowly, waiting for the universe to yell "April
Fools!" or for this weird drug episode to pass. Billy-head-Bear-body walks
toward me, complete with dirndl. I move closer to meet him halfway. It's
unquestionably Billy. Oddly, what had basically thrown me most in the bar
was the guy's body. In the bear suit, I can think of him as the pudgy kid I
knew.

"Um, Billy! Good to, um, see you." My voice is a low baritone, almost a
bass. Even surprised and shocked, it has carrying power. It's one of the
reasons I'm successful getting in to pitch the doctors (and get a little on
the side). A deep rumbling purr that I can bring to bear is what seals the
deal more often than not.

"Will," says the headless business-Elk as he turns, "who is this? And why
is he calling you Billy?" Jerome's voice matches everything else about the
guy. A rich tenor with a sharp edge, perfect for a geek.

"Um, er, Jerome, meet my br-brother, Jimmy." And that is damned sure
Billy's voice. Higher than mine, but certainly deeper than most men. He'd
dropped when I was back for the summer between my Sophomore and Junior
years -- the last time I'd lived in the house, actually. I made sure that
Dad had given him The Talk, then showed him where I kept my stash of
rubbers with a stern big-brother warning that they had damned well better
be replaced if he was lucky enough to use any. Back in the present, his
voice was cracking again, almost as cute as when he was going through The
Change.

"Jimmy, this is Jerome, my, um..."

The Elk's eyes narrow. "Husband, Will. I am pretty sure you know the word
by now." Jerome-Elk shoots a blazing glare at Billy, and is now eyeing me
with a mix of wary protectiveness and gay appraisal.

I put on what is left of my professional charm. I smile and say, "Good to
meet you Jerome," and reach to shake his... hoof? The door had closed
behind me as I stepped forward, so I'm now standing in the midst of, and
the center of attention for, a dozen folks plus perhaps ten or so
headless... I have no words.

"Jimmy, our room is right down the hall. Join us for a drink and a, uh,
chat?" I nod mechanically, genuinely-fake smile still in place and turn
toward the door. As I open it and turn, Billy and Jerome are no longer in
evidence, just the Bear and the Elk. I let them lead me and am both
horrified and fascinated that their room shares a wall with mine. I have
the room at the very end (mini-suite with extra windows), so they are my
only wall-neighbors. What are the odds? I make a note to buy a lottery
ticket as soon as I'm up in the morning -- or as soon as these drugs wear
off.

They badge their way into their room. It's a full suite with a
sitting/eating area and a separate bedroom. "Have a seat. Ice in the
fridge. Booze in the bag there," the Bear says and he and the Elk head to
the bedroom.

The 'bag there' is a hard-side roll-aboard on a luggage rack. I pop it open
and... boggle at it. It is a fully-stocked, top-shelf bar. Vodka, dark rum,
gin and tequila are in 1.75 liter bottles sitting cross-wise in the bottom
half of the case, each with a labelled, padded niche. The top of the lower
section has four ranks lined up top-bottom with 750-sized white rum,
vermouth, bitters and spiced rum. The top section is all smaller bottles,
including just about every mixer, liquor and liqueur you can imagine. Every
single one is from the "money" section of the liquor store.

I'm still standing there when Jerome comes out, followed in a moment by
Billy. Both are bright red and a wall of man-musk smacks me between the
eyes. I don't know why, but that scent has always made me chub. Even in
school, and to this day in a gym, a guy with serious musk on has nearly as
strong an effect on me as a sexy woman's perfume. This scent has a strange
overlay that seems equal parts wet carpet and wet dog, but that rich and
powerful musk is still the major chord of the symphony.

And, yeah, before you ask, yeah, I've acted on that once or twice... let's
change that to 'occasionally'. I have never really seen the point of saying
no to head from a willing and talented mouth, and guys really know how to
work a dick since they have one of their own. Two of the three best
blowjobs of my life came from guys, one in a high school musci room and one
in, of all places, an airport men's room.

They're both wearing basketball shorts and tee shirts, soaked to the skin,
using large fluffy towels (NOT hotel brand) to dry their faces and
hair. Jerome is really trying to get as much moisture as he can from his
longish hair. Billy moves to the case and extracts some bottles quickly,
then stands at the counter.

His back is to me and his muscular physique is... impressive. I keep myself
toned, but he's all the way to buff and headed towards ripped. He had what
looks to be a seriously-nice ass and his back is, well, stunning. He has a
golden glow that speaks of either an outdoor lifestyle or a tanning booth.

"Martinez?" He asks me. I assume that my hearing is as fucked as everything
else and that he said 'martini'. I nod and sink into the hard-backed chair
at the table. He opens the fridge and tosses his... wait -- did he say
HUSBAND?? -- a bottle of water from the freezer and takes the other for
himself. Billy takes out three thick martini glasses that frost and steam
as he closes the freezer door. Like it's some sort of dance that he's
practiced for years, he has gin, vermouth, bitters and some red shit into
the shaker and flips it quickly to blend. The three glasses are now full of
a ruby-red concoction. I take a sip and gasp. It's strong, sweet, smooth
and fucking fantastic.

Billy heads to the sofa next to Jerome, both sitting on the stringy hotel
towels. He sits both glasses on the table in front of them and bolts half
the icy water (I can see a bit of slush has formed), then grabs the bridge
of the nose and does what I have always called the Brain Freeze
Dance. Yep. That's Billy.

I half-turn in the chair and have one arm over the back so I'm facing
them. "So," Billy starts nervously, "are you here for the con?"

"Um, uh, no. I, uh, am here bringing samples and literature to doctors
about the medications that my company makes." I frantically scan my
memory. Have I told him what I do before? "So, do you live here?"

"Oh, hell no. We live in Chicago. You?"

"Oh, uh, still in Memphis. Just got another historic flip started. Maryann
is handling it while I'm up here on the tundra. Um, I've got to ask...?"

He sighs deeply. Apparently, there'd been 'words' when they were climbing
out of the costumes earlier because Jerome sits like a classical statue of
Geek Watching Gorgon. "First, it's fucking hot in here, Jimmy. I need to
cool down. I'm sorry if it's offensive, but Jer and I need to strip some of
this wet shit off?"

"Your room your rules, little brother!"

Both stand and peel off the shirts and I am a bit shocked when they take
off the basketball shorts as well. Both start drying themselves like it's
another day at the gym. Maybe for them it is? Jerome wears a jock strap
that, wet as he is, hides nothing of a rather shockingly-impressive
package, especially on such a thin, geeky frame. I don't know how large Elk
penises are supposed to be but... I shake my head to quash that
thought. Billy wears, well, I guess they are extremely low-rise briefs. I
try to recall if I'd seen him nekkid since I bathed him as a toddler. Cuz I
sure don't recall a small fireplug 'down there'.

"Okay, this is con for the Furry Fandom, folks who like amination,
especially fuzzy, anthropomorphic creatures and enjoy taking on such a
character to entertain others. Sort of like sports mascots? There's a lot
more to it, but that's the basics."

"So, the, um, costumes?"

Jerome bristles but stays silent, and Billy puts his hand on the young
man's knee. "Costumes is, um, a pejorative term to a lot of Furries. We
call them fursuits. Each has its own personality, background,
everything. They're not costumes, they're characters."

"Okay, so the fur, um fursuits. Why was yours wearing a dress and his
wearing slacks and a tie?"

Billy takes a long, slow breath that I know he'd always tried
(unsuccessfully) to use instead of a blush. A bright red line appears at
the top of his chest and climbs like the alcohol in a thermometer. He also
rolls his eyes is a completely-Billy eye-roll. If there had been any doubt,
that expression of pained forbearance cinches it. "That fursuit is, well,
it's Lilly. She's a girl bear."

Have you ever blinked and found that the eyelids stay closed way too long
as your brain goes dark? It happens. I finally un-blink and ask, "And the,
um, slacks and tie?"

"That's {didn't catch that, Ze-Eh?}. Jerome's character. He's an
office-dwelling Elk." Jerome has a similar but oddly different eye-roll. I
notice the two badges on the table. One says 'Lilly' in a flowery, girlish
script over a brown-and-pink bear who is blushing -- yeah, blushing -- and
the other is an almost-Copperplate calligraphy reading Dze'eh, the letters
supported by an ornate, hyper-realist set of antlers.

Jerome speaks for the first time. "So, Jimmy, you work in pharmaceuticals?"
I grab that conversational gambit like drowning sailor would grab
driftwood. I detect or imagine a trace of scorn in there.

"Yes, but the drug companies aren't that bad! I work for a Russian one
called..."

"Don't get me wrong! I'm not criticizing. I work for an investment bank. If
you guys are Beelzebub we're Satan, dude."

"Oh! Got it! Office-Elk! So, um, Billy..."

"Actually, Jimmy, I haven't gone by Billy for a really long time. Everyone
calls me Will or occasionally William."

"Oh. Um. Uh. Okay, Will. I get it that you're, um..."

"Furries."

"Well, actually, I was going for 'gay'. You introduced Jerome as your,
well, your husband?"

Billy smiles and even through the beard I can see the dimples. "Yeah,
Jimmy. I always was." He turns to Jerome and smiles wider, "but didn't
really admit it until I was out of college. I met Jerome through another
boyfriend with whom I moved to Chicago. We, well, we fell in love and have
been together ever since, nearly six years now." Billy's hand runs over
Jerome's leg and the young man relaxes and returns that deep and loving
smile.

I should be shocked at my brother's admission and disgusted at his display
of gay affection. I'm not, though, and feel as comfortable with Billy and
Jerome as I would any straight couple. Oddly, more so. With most couple we
know, I end up thinking about the wife. Here, there is so such
complication.

"You have no idea how happy I am for you, B--Will. Love is really rare and
I see you found it." Jerome is obviously delighted by the response.

Billy looks at me oddly. "You're not shocked? Upset?"

I laugh, "No, but I can pretend if you want. HOW DARE YOU, HEATHEN SPAWN!
Sorry, you'll need to give me a script for anything else."

Jerome, for the first time, laughs. "Will, I think I might be getting to
like your brother.

"So what about you, Will's Brother Jimmy?"

I chuckle, "Well, my spouse is a woman, if that's what you're asking."

"No, Jer was asking if you fool around," said Billy with a relatively harsh
glare. Jerome blushes and looks down, but doesn't deny
it. Very... interesting.

"Mostly with women."

"Wait, what?" I have Billy's full and undivided attention on that one. "You
cheat on your WIFE?" He is genuinely shocked and upset, an interesting
tibit. He turns, "The 'cut your nuts off while you sleep' thing is still in
place, you know. So don't use Jimmy as an excuse unless you want to go back
to soprano."

"Will, now, wait a second. 'Fool around' and 'cheat' are two different
things. Maryann knew when she met me that I had a sex drive that doesn't
quit. I can have sex on the road, with limits. Mainly that it can't be more
than a quick fix, and the woman can't come to Memphis... well, any of
Tennessee, actually."

"Your wife says--" Will starts and Jerome cuts over him.

"You said 'mostly' and 'the woman'. So you ever cross over that line? Even
a little bit?"

"JEROME!" I suddenly got the 'Bear' thing. That growl belongs in a cave,
and promises either death or serious pain if defied.

"Now, Will," Jerome's voice is as innocent as a hooker in Church, "You have
said for years how hot it wrmflblwflx..." The last part gets a bit garbled
as Billy's hand claps hard over his mouth. But Jerome's smirk leaks
through, probably in the eyes, as they go back and forth from my crotch to
Billy's face.

Time stops. Billy had fully turned to silence his husband, so I am looking
at Billy's back after drifting away from that oh-so-suggestive glance. His
back and shoulders are wide, furred a little heavier than I am -- would be;
I laze my back and shoulders at Maryann's orders. His waist is trim. Truth
be told, he has a lot less around the middle than I do. Serious gym work is
involved in that. The fur picks up again in a feature that I don't have, a
thick patch like a treasure trail and fuzzy pubic bush right over his ass
crack.

And yeah, I can see a LOT of his crack, the sweat pouring down that
fur-forested valley. I pretend for a minute that this is not Billy. That
I'm in a random, on-the-road gym's sauna and a nameless guy makes a pass at
me then shows me his ass--ets. A lean week on the road? A cold bed? A
little pocket hunk with a bristly beard? I'd give it up in a heartbeat. I
don't fuck ass (well, not male ass), but guys are phenomenal cocksuckers.

But this IS my brother, not an anonymous hookup in a sauna. Okay, what does
that mean, really? A giant neon sign begins to flash in red "SIN! SIN!
SIN!" But really, every hookup I have is a sin. As for the incest thing, I
can't get him pregnant and have deformed kids, even if we did fuck (and we
obviously won't). We were never that close. Brothers, sure, but we each
basically grew up as an only child. I did babysitting duty all the way
through Junior High. Fuck, I changed the kid's diapers more than mom and
dad, either one, and was the only one in the house that could always,
*always* get him to settle down from a crying jag. If anything, we were
like cousins...

I freeze as it hits me. I am rationalizing why I COULD do this, not why it
is a bad idea. And it's a terrible idea. Horrible, terrible... um, idea?
Time pops back.

"Billy?" I put a little of the growl in, because it always gets
attention. "I mean, Will, look at me." Hand still firmly in place, he turns
and finally looks me in the eye. I can see he is blushing and ashamed and
horrified by what his husband let slip.

"Will, is what he said true? That you have thought about me... like that?"

Will sits and fidgets and starts to respond but all the tells are
there. "Will, you never could lie to me, ever. You SUCK at lying, little
brother. You don't even have to SAY the lie for me to know. So, it's
true. Now let Jerome go before he smothers."

We sit and simply look at each other. Well, I look at Billy and
occasionally Jerome. Jerome watches me like a guard-dog standing over his
human. Billy stares at his glass with frequent, millisecond-long glances at
my face and, I'm a bit shocked to see, my crotch as well. I stall by taking
a long swig of that amazing cocktail. Cock. Tail. Hmm.

"Will, look at me. Please?" He does and there is a defiance there, a
tightening of his muscles. Jerome is staring at me with a wary and very
protective look, but he is also thrilled and intrigued. "Now, don't try to
lie, but tell me... well, why? I'm nothing special to look at!"

And truth be told, I'm not. I'm in shape, I have a great voice and not-ugly
if too-square face. I've got game with the ladies and usually can get one
to go home with me, but I'm not that much of a catch. And, truth again,
Billy is a hunk.

His mouth works for a minute then he sags back into Jerome's arms that
close around him like a blanket. He takes a deep breath. Then another.

"I've, um, well I've always thought you were the perfect guy." His voice
goes from contemplative to fast. "Jimmy, I'm sorry, I know you'll probably
hate me. That maybe you already do. It's been nearly seven years since we
talked and this might be the last time that you ever talk to me. But
Jerome," emphasized with a sharp elbow to the gut, "is right that I've,
well, always had a thing for you, Jimmy."

They both stare at me, clearly ready for me to go postal and start ripping
up the furniture. They don't relax a muscle as I sit and absorb that.

"So, when I lived at the house that summer and talked to you about safe sex
and all...?"

He's smiling at the memory. "I was so worked up I nearly died, Jimmy. And
you showed me your condoms and lube?" I showed him my lube? I don't recall
showing him my lube! "I nearly fainted. All that summer and even the one
before I..." His voice comes to a cartoonish, screeching halt.

"You watched me in the shower, didn't you?" The basement had been
semi-finished. It had walls, but only the long, main room had more than
beams for a ceiling. The laundry and bath, and my own room at the end, were
bare beams and ductwork above. I'd watched dad shower a couple of time by
standing on my chest of drawers and peeking between the beams -- just to,
you know, compare. I was getting hair in the fucking strangest places and
asking, I knew, would get me nowhere. The little fuck must have snuck into
my room and used my own trick, except to watch me.

He can't blush any harder but he does grin. "And the reverse." I furrow my
brow then it dawns on me. If I could stand on my bedroom chest and see into
the bathroom, he could...

"You little shit! You watched me jack off, didn't you!?!"

"I didn't know it. I mean, I didn't know jacking off from being an
astronaut. But I watched. You made the coolest faces!" It was my turn to
blush. I have never done 'quiet' well, and keeping from screaming my
orgasms must have made me look like a baboon with serious constipation.

Billy unconsciously moves his hand down. Out of my peripheral vision I see
him adjusting a very respectable chub. Fuck it! I look down fully to see
what's 'up'. Yes, the fireplug analogy from earlier is right. Billy is
thick, real thick. And as hard as it looks like it's getting, it probably
isn't very long. I feel my own trousers tighten appreciably. The musk from
earlier had given me (and kept me on) a chub. Hearing this and watching
Billy's absentminded grope has me rodding quickly.

A moment comes when it hits me: I'm throwing a bone over not just a guy,
but a married guy, and he's my own fucking brother. And the overwhelming
majority of me goes, 'So the fuck what? He's hot and wants it. Why be cruel
and deny the poor boy?'

"You're right. It is warm in here." I slowly crawl my way out of my shirt,
making a meal of it. I may not be ripped, but I have serious pecs. I've got
a little layer of keg covering my six-pack, but my arms and chest are
solid. I keep careful watch on both of them. Billy is goggle-eyed and does
not seem to be breathing. Jerome is feasting on me with his eyes. "Mind if
I get comfortable, too?" Billy shakes his head and Jerome nods, both
apparently meaning, 'Bring it on.'

I stand up and unbuckle, then unzip my way-too-full slacks. I turn 'to
steady myself on the chair' as I pull them off my very nice ass. One of the
guys I lift with always makes fun of me, calling me T&A for 'Tits and Ass',
my two great features. A tiny, stifled, shuddering gasp makes a part of me
crow with joy. When the pants are around my ankles, I bend over to slowly
unlace and remove my shoes, letting my ass muscles writhe in the
form-fitting boxer-briefs as I move. I finally step out of the clothes and
turn, knowing that my modest, 6.5" log is on full and rampant display.

Jerome is openly salivating, and Billy does not appear to be breathing
except in mouse-like gasps. I spin the chair and sit, my junk pressed into
the foot-tall gap between the seat and the back, chair-legs framing my
package and my thick thighs wide.

"So, Bi--Will, what did you tell Jerome here that you fantasized about?
With me? With you and me?" I've put in that purr that works so well. That
unble-rumble that makes girls and even some guys quiver a little.

Jerome gives Billy a hug that is just shy of a Heimlich to get him
breathing again. When my brother finds his voice, it's smaller and higher
than before.

In a breathy whisper, Billy says, "Everything."

<eof>

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 18 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 10 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 13 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Off the Magic Carpet: 7 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/
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Dear John Letter: 1 chapter .../military/dear-john-letter/
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