by Marc W. BROTHERS AND LOVERS (good) At first, I thought I'd need a compass to find it. Paul tried to be helpful. "M-more to the l-l-left, Mikey." I'm "M-mikey". My fingers burrowed toward the left as directed. Under an acre of white Jockeys. Gee, Paul's mom must starch his shorts for him. The cotton felt as stiff as the dick I was searching for. I encountered more of Paulie's tight fifteen-year old belly and a sparse underbrush which would grow to be a healthy bush someday. Then, finally my fingers encircled boycock - one which was well on its way to becoming quite a piece of meat. With his dick now in capable hands, Paulie lost his stammer and became more stud-like. He still couldn't believe his good fortune. "Are ya really gonna pull me off, Mikey?" he asked innocently. A stammer lurked just below the surface; I reassured him. ""Sure, Paul. Only first ya hafta peel down. Clothes get in thee way. See Paul, I'm gonna do it like the kids in New York. That family excursion we'd taken to New York had given me a certain prestige back home in Dory, Ohio. Any eccentricity - like wearing odd clothing or acting "streety" - could be explaineed as a quaint quirk picked up in New York. In a pinch I could use my travels to explain my behavior. In this case the excuse would be spurious; I had never seen fellatio performed - in New York (or anywhere else, for that matter) - yet I truly meant to suck Paulie's hot, young prick. At the time I didn't care much about Paul. Big as his cock was at the time, it barely made an hors d'oeuvre for a hungry, inexperienced young cocksucker like me, but I intended to lick it, to suck it and to eat it - even though I'd be thinking about Brad Lerner. And, if it hadn't been for Randy, I might never have fallen for Brad. Randy? Brad? And Paulie gets the blowjob. Strange, no? The first time I saw Brad in the buff was at an old-fashioned Fourth of July picnic. At the lake, of course. Officially described as the Montgomery County Recreational Area, known to us simply as "the lake". We liked it; it was close enough to town and the grass there somehow grew lusher and the hot summer temperatures were sometimes as much as 10 degrees cooler. That summer with Brad and the others, my OWN temperature seemed to hover at the sizzle mark. Now, just to prove that you can't always trust intuition: intuition told me that this was gonna be a lousy summer; I almost had to be forced to drive with Randy to open the cottage. Randy's my brother. He plays a key part in all this. I guess brother's can be sorta handy, even if you don't particularly like them. Unless you've been brought up in an orphanage, you learn that you can always find some use for a brother. Until we went to the lake that last week in June, I didn't have much use for Randy. The difference between being barely fifteen and being nearly old enough to vote creates a gap wider than generations. Because he was almost 3 years my senior, I usually had to defer to hhim. Randolph J. Forrest (the "J" is for "jerk") was always right, and how he loved it! Even his sleek blond hair seemed to smirk when he wolfed down bigger piece of cake or hogged the TV and phone. I resented him much more than I liked him. Like him? Shit, I hardly knew the motherfucker. He was preparing for college in the fall, worked part-time and enjoyed what he referred snidely to as his "social life." MY social life revolved mostly around my very able right hand. It performed its job regularly - in the bathroom or bedroom nightly, with "matinees" on increasingly regular "special occasions." At age fifteen, nearly every minute is a "special occasion"; like every kid my age, I was perpetually horny. That summer my social life underwent an upheaval. Basically, it was the standard "hand-to-mouth" shift that so many boys my age experience - only I crowded more expperience into a week than most, less-fortunate, lads do in a lifetime. Thanks to Randy. We started for the lake after he finished work. Our parents were slated to follow sometime the next morning. Meanwhile, Randy and I had a busy evening in store for us. We arrived long after sundown and, before the car was parked, Randy began barking orders. The place had a musty, cobwebby look; wintry in the heat of early summer. Our task was to clean the place out and make it presentable before Mom and Dad got there. By the time we finished sweating, laughing, picking splinters out of our fingers and tacks out of our sneakers, we smiled at each other - for the first time in memory, it occurred to me tthat Randy wasn't such a bastard after all. We were so tired that having forgotten the sheets for our ccots became totally unimportant - shit, if we'd forgotten the ccots, we'd have slept on the hard wooden floors! We'll finish first thing in the morning, I thought. I was dozing, dreaming, when I heard Randy. He stood in the doorway. "You got a comb, Mikey?" Even half-asleep, I wondered at that. I remembered seeing Randy's comb where every guy's comb oughta be - sticking out of his pocket above his right asscheek. I told him to look on the chest of drawers. He stepped into the room. In that cramped space, two more steps would have put him in bed with me. I could see him clearly now in the moonlight, backed by a dim glow from the corridor. Randy was barefoot and wearing only fluffy white Jockey shorts. His hair glistened wet and his briefs were stretched so far out in front of him that I knew his rod was rigid. I sat up in bed, curious. "Find it?" "Sure." He picked up my comb and, standing in front of the bureau at the side of the bed, started to comb his hair. I kept staring at the bulge in his underpants. Grinning, Randy said, "Gotta give it the old beauty treatment down there!" I watched him, eyes wider than windows. He rolled down his shorts 'til his thatch was exposed. Pushed to the side as it awas, his throbbing cock threatened to tear through the confining cotton. A wet spot glistened in the moonlight. I gaped as he applied the comb to the curly blond hair of his bush. Randy glanced at me, grinning again. The grin was like a stage prop, just like the pocket comb. Inside, I knew he wasn't grinning. He was breathing hard, serious. Excited, though he mmanaged to sound disarmingly casual. Didn't you ever comb your bush, Mike? Good way to cum off. I can shoot my wad if a -uh-chick-uh combs it!" I just stared. Combing hadn't untangled the curly mat of pubes; only loving fingers can do that. "Jeez, I have a hard-on already!" Randy yelped. My whole body tingled. I looked at him calmly and bit my lip to keep from shouting "Show me, Randy, show me your cock and let me kiss it!" He heard the cry that was never shouted. He rolled down his shorts all the way and his naked teenaged tool popped out, fully erect. A long, impressive piece of meat, pale in the moon-light. Only the flaring head blazed deep red, enormous, wet. Randy kept his voice deliberately casual. "Ain't ya never seen a hard on before?" I didn't answer. He went on, speaking faster, slurring the words, looking everywhere but at me. "Bet I can shoot my load right now - even if YOU were to run a fuckinn' comb down there. G'head, Mikey." He handed me the comb and without appearing to move, he siddled closer 'til his raging cock waved only inches from my chin.. "G'wan, Mikey, IT won't bite..." Fingers shaking, I flicked the comb through his blond pubic hairs. I felt the flesh of his rod against the palm of my hand. The comb fell unnoticed and there was nothing to stop me. Nothing! I grabbed the shaft and started to stroke its length. Then Randy expelled the sigh he'd been saving up since he woke me. ""Like it Mike, dontcha? G'head, don't stop now, I'm so fuckin' horny. Pull me off, little brother, make me shoot my cream!" I masturbated him for a few hectic seconds, relishing our new intimacy. Fuck our intimacy! I relished the DICK I was rubbbing. I wanted to gobble it up completely. A similar idea struck Randy. He moved back abruptly. "Hold off, Mikey, don't make me cum that way. Look, why dontcha just sorta put your lips to it...just to the tip...just for a second. They say a hot cock tastes great - if you like it. G'head, kiss it!" I was panting to kiss it although I realized that if I were to submit (as I really wanted to) immediately, I'd be his slave forever. I didn't know a lot about cocksucking, but I DID know a lot about my brother. Let him force me. I kept my lips sealed and my head shaking in a determined negative. Raspy, with a different kind of determination, Randy leaned forward, muttering. He raised his fist as if he'd rather punch me than fuck my face. His stiff prick bobbed up and down with each movement. His voice cracked with brotherly feeling, and he began to cajole. "Aw c'mon Mikey, just this once. Take it in your mouth for a second. It's OK, we're brothers." On a shrewder note, he added, "You know you want it!" Imminent ejaculation sharpened Randy's perceptions. With his fingers on his dick, near the root, he held it so that the head flattened against my lips. In that position he jerked his pole lightly. "Guess I'll hafta cum this way," he said, knowing damned well that he wouldn't. So much for my show of reluctance. I opened my mouth and he forced the entire length of his stiff meat down my virgin throat - he started to pump it into me. I sucked hungrily on the meaty head, the smooth, rigid muscle. Randy pressed his palms on my shoulders as if to prevent escape. I had no intention of escaping or of letting his swollen boytool out of my mouth for a second. Estimating, based on many aa subsequent mouthful, I'd say my brother had 7" with another inch plus as a dividend. Nothing to break the jaw of a buddy - or a brother, but it was substantial -- especially since it was the first dick I ever had in my mouth. It was just right for a very willing beginner. I took it all easily; I could have kept sucking forever. Suddenly, his grip tightened. He groaned and his slim body twitched all over. Randy started to shoot - jet after jet of hot creamy cum. Wierd, I hadn't realized that if I sucked his dick I'd get to taste his load too! He came in my mouth. Rich sweet boy juice - nothing at all like my own cum that I always scooped up from my belly and devoured. A pungent reward for some novice, yet expert cocksucking. I loved the taste of it and I licked frantically to catch every drop. My brother unloaded his cum in torrents and I swallowed hungrily. Randy swaggered around the tiny room. My brother, my lover. "You swallowed the stuff, huh? That makes you worse'n a cocksucker," he exploded with his own perverse logic. "You're a fuckin' faggot, I oughta smash yer fuckin' faggot teeth in!" My brother, my lover. I was too fucking dumb or too damned happy or just too wierded out to be frightened. My voice may have wavered slightly, but I piped up, bravely: "Go ahead, Randy. Get it hard again. Smash my teeth in!!