Date: Mon, 29 May 2006 15:31:08 -0400 From: A. Cheshire Cat Subject: The Brothers Mauve The Brother's Mauve By: A.Cheshire Catt Mid-May 2006 email me: kierkegaard_is_cool@hotmail.com The summer after I graduated with honors from grade eight, with the potential of my high school years still tightly bound in the bud, my father was diagnosed with a cancer in the brain. It was so hard, it was a time when my whole family shuddered to think God could be so cruel, and I mean my family's not really religious but it was like a family of tree-dwelling monkeys figuring out gravity: terrifying, the consequences of suddenly realizing what it is to fall. By the time school started the funeral was over and I was without a father. My mother was a basket case. She'd been such a hard-working woman before that early autumn, one without any Indian Summer, and that was when she was slowly heaped with the stresses of my father's fading existense, she became less a woman and more an automaton. My brother and I watched her change, change into something unpretty, something that needed pills to forge smiles, something that cried while she was faced away from us doing the dishes, something that penalized herself for her awkwardness constantly. My brother and I would tell her that we loved her but she withdrew from our attempts to bring her back, she pulled further and further away, and by the end of my first year she had become a wilted thing, graying, with hard brittle edges. By Christmas she had become a creature of her own addictions, pain killers, overwhelming amounts of coffee that made her smell funny, her smoking had escalated to such a ridiculous extreme that the doctors were afraid she'd do serious damage if she didn't stop, and into such misery she would thrust herself; such as grief is prone to do: make a garden fill with weeds, unkept. I was trying my best to maintain an existense at school that was satisfactory. In some classes I was failing though and my mother didn't really even look at the terrible tests she signed. At one time in my life she would have hugged me for my greatness, only now she was mute to my flaws. It was tearing me to pieces because i felt as though I could not reach the only anchor I had left and that, with her receding further and further into herself there was less for me to reach for, with less to reach for the less I tried, and by the time the first summer of my high school years came along my mother had been in the hospital once for trying to take her life by esphyxiation in the garage. As the winter winds raged outside our house the following winter I shaved my face for the first time. I was blooming in the coldest of seasons. My brother was the one who gave me my first lesson, he said it was something very important in a young man's life and that our father would have been proud to see us doing this little thing together. It was funny, my brother made me so happy. My brother at that time was about 20, I was 15. He stood behind me in the cramped washroom while I quickly rubbed along my jaw with my fingers, rubbing the stray hairs growing down cheek and neck as perhaps I thought med did, looking at him while he readied for a lesson. He was taller than me, like I leaned my head against his football forged chest, his arms wrapped around mine smelling of deoderant and soap, his hips wrapped in a cool damp towel pressed against my back. He'd say, "The hotter the better, the water softens the skin, get your cheeks all red to get ready." He'd shave too with me tucked in front of him. The washroom we shared was between the two rooms on the north side of the house, darker than the master bedroom, without the splash of sun in the afternoon to brighten things up, but the view from the tiny window was that of the bush in the backyard, the trees beyond, and beyond that was the swamp." My brother would put a dollup of cream in my hand, just a soft drop of it, and he would tell me how to lather it in my palm and work it around my features. I was a thin boy, too, scrawny. I was so afraid of being effeminate that I had started working out with my brother at home. It was something that took us into long spells of grunting and groaning and laughing while we strained ourselves. We'd seperately shower and today he told me it was time to shave. Pressing the warmed blade against the virgin skin at my throat he taught he told me that there would be a day eventually when my beard would be thick, that it's not cool to let patchy, badly-filled beards grow out. When a young man starts shaving there's barely a reason, and it's done once, maybe twice a week. Those first few times I shaved made me feel like a man, watching my brother sculpt his face with such meticulous grace, the stroke and the plunge of the razor, the swoosh of the blades in the water to be cleansed, the soft skin, it was like watching greatness being performed for my instruction. He'd twist his head up and to the left, his eyes never leaving the reflection of his stretched neck. My brother was done high school by then, he'd moved to the city to go to University the same year that I was done primary school. We were never in high school at the same time. By the time I was in grade 10 my brother's life had changed substantially in that I would never have been able to imagine him in my desk with those books and that teacher pushing to the limits that schedule between bell-tolls. My brother was cool. He was what I'd read about in some books that were about Bohemians, he made me think of the seventies, a rockstar. He had that funny residual stench of pot always clinging to him, he carried a bag made of soft sand-colored suede with the strap across his chest, some soft running shoes on and low-riding jeans. His hair was shaggy, it curled in bulky clumps at his ears and he'd push back his sideburns when he put his headphones on to lose himself in some electronic beat, the thick brown locks essed and twisted at the back where he'd run his fingers while he read some paperback with the cover torn off, and in the middle of his noble chin was a dimple that never went away, though was never frighteningly obvious, and it was the sort of accessory no amount of money could ever get anyone, it was that thing that made him cute, that made him adorable, that made him more like our father than anything else either of us had. I was never jealous of my brother, he was so nice to me. When the weather was just right he would tell me to get ready for a drive and he would take me with him to the city to just hang out in parks under trees, to go for coffee in cafes with his friends, we'd read the papers and it showed me the world was full of so much opportunity. On the way down the highway we would listen to music like Creedance Clearwater Revival, or Joplin, or Hendrix even. He listened to the coolest stuff, it seemed. I'm terrible with cars but his was one of those long ones, the low ones, the ones that guzzle gas and roar at intersections. The window would be rolled down on his side as he smoked a cigarette, his arm would rest in the window, one arm dangling from the steering wheel, his hand draped from the arc. His hair would be tossed lightly by the wind and in my memory of my youth the movement is captured as if at a high speed and I remember it now slowly. He'd look over at me, smile, tell me we were almost there. I was a quiet kid too, so I would sit there at the edge of the circle of his friends as they lounged in the springtime grasses in the park by Parliament and watch them as they smoked their joints and giggled ridiculously about nothing. I would easedrop on the plans for wild parties in strange sounding clubs open in the middle of the day. Sometimes the girls in the group would sit down with me and they would act as though I had just been cracked out of a nutshell and was intended to be handled as the Chinese might, with chopsticks. My brother would tell me that this or that girl had thought I was cute, but they were all far too old for me, not to mention they were all in my brother's shadow. Sometimes I would just sit there and watch him as he would suddenly remember something and pull out that book he was reading and ream it open to that part he'd just discovered. He was like some park lawn Aristotle, wise in the ways of afternoon ideas. He was amazing to me. We'd go out for dinner in diners on busy streets before heading back to the country where the house was pressed against the bush in the backyard, in front of the trees, waiting for the swamp. Back in those vibrant days of my youth, when it seemed my family had survived the worst it could ever imagine, survived God's indifference, my brother knew that I needed him and my need for him was only the lightest of burdens. When we would come through the door he'd take care of supper while I cleaned up, he would make sure my homework was done right. It was as though he was becoming my father, and I didn't even realize it then, it was like I was becoming his lover. My mother was gnarled in her rocking-chair throne on the back steps one night when the autumn winds were coldest, when they brought a calamity upon the houses from the falling leaves and acorns and twigs. The evenings were shorter and the darkness more haunted as the seasons changed, fading to black it seemed. As I was growing I was becoming more like my brother, I let my hair grow, I still worked out. We still hung out all the time with each other. We'd become a bit popular, always helping out the elders in our family with lawn work and moving furniture. Our grandmothers would pinch our cheeks still and tug on our ears as if we were five and ten years old, our grandfathers would say we were "fine lads" and tell us our father would be proud. But my mother was strange now, my mother was a Halloween Lily, loaded with mysticism and toxic with an embittered seed. She would rock back and forth, back and forth, not really ever saying much, perhaps humming a tune as if she were at her wedding reception and loved it, as if she could remember something that had happened that was nice and it just let itself replay and replay her soul. Dripping as a faucet might in a room with the lights out. We took her from the porch to the living room when finally the frosts were too much. We made a decadent feast for the three of us plus her parents' for Thanksgiving. But soon it was obvious something more than merely the grief was happening in her, we could see her changing physically, turning pale, almost yellow, and then one day she dropped her cigarette before she lit it, and she just slouched over in the chair: dead. Of a broken heart. The funeral was a week before Christmas and that year no one gave presents. For a week or so my grandmother came to stay with me but it was obvious what was going to happen. We started cleaning out the house, room by room, starting with hers. Her mother wept while she washed the smell of dead daughter off the walls of the master bedroom. The bedrooms, the office where she'd once been busy with her journey toward prosperity. One night my brother brought some beer and we sat on the floor in the living room, as if crushed beneath the weight of the stuff on the walls, on the shelves, in the curio, on the coffee table. He threw me a cigarette. See, it was hard on us but we'd had each other. And though one might say that it may not have been right, he started treating me with a certain dignification, I was about to turn 18, school was over next year, he said, "Go ahead, you've earned it." Earned it. We sat and drank beer, taking things from their places and putting them in boxes. The picture of everyone at the trailer in Algonquin Park, the memory of that day when my father's laughter seemed to cling, echoing. The little statue of Michaelangelo's David, in a fine cut of stone, bought the afternoon my mother took me for a walk in the Market in the city and we stopped at little shops to buy little mementos. The books that I looked at the spines of when I was a kid, the collection of various tomes that it seemed had never been moved, had been dusted around. The movies that we'd watched as kids, VHS tapes, useless cargo. All of it was. "Every once in a while there's something that happens in the lives of each and every one of us." My brother was poetic. He'd say a sentence and then he'd stop. There was always more to come but he'd just think about it first, picking words, making sure it was structured to last the turbulence of memory. We hadn't been saying much since the first beer had opened but now that he was coming back into the living room with a second for himself he reached for a cigarette, put it in his mouth and gazed upon the clutter of deconstruction. "Every once in a while," he started again, "there are certain people who have extraordinary things happen to them that set them apart, generally speaking. Now, I'm not talking about the person who doesn't pay his bills and the bank comes to take the blood from their stone, that's only something really that they've done to themselves. I'm not talking about having a kid and everything changing about life and responsibility, the child was conceived from an act. I'm really meaning things like what has happened to our family. Death is not something we control. It came upon us. Madness does not discriminate and it is ruthless. We may let it happen, but it enters us." I was listening to him and nodding. I was packing books, on my knees at the shelf by the window. It was dark out. We had no neighbors. He was standing at the archway into the living room, legs slightly apart, stylish jeans and a white teeshirt with red cuffs and collar. I noticed he wasn't wearing his socks, his bared toes would curl as he thought about things. He was deep in thought. "Let's smoke a joint." He mentioned it to himself, I thought, but he asked me for my opinion, "Want to smoke a joint?" "Um sure, I guess." He sat at the coffee table, his suede bag was right there, he grabbed an Altoid mint container from it and displayed his weed. While he rolled it I went back to packing some stuff. He crumbled the dry bud and made sure all the impurities were gone, picking out sharp bits of stem. Making a little green pile there in front of him, and using his pack of smokes to get it ready for the paper, he again spoke of the things that happen to people. This time he veered toward a point. "When these things happen to us, these extraordinary things, we are forced to change, we become something that seems so unintentional, steering us in a new direction. It's these things that really make us, and we must not ever wonder or worry about what might have been, what we might have been, we must become what we are, and we must do it well." He looked over at me. "Almost done there?" "Yup, just one shelf left." "Is there anything at all worth any amount of money?" "Nah, just garage sale material." He'd sealed the paper of the joint with a swift flick of his tongue. The opus was complete, ready to be performed, the maestro held it up and adored it. He laughed at himself. He turned to me again and said, "Leave it, just come over here." "Wait," I'd found a strange book on that shelf of books that hadn't moved in ages. "I found something." It was a book sincerely engraved, "The Complete Works of William Shakespeare." A heavy volume, hard-covered and looking relatively new, but as soon as I picked it up there was obviously something strange about it, it was so light. "Bring it here man, let's open it together." "It's probably nothing." I went over and took a spot across the coffee table from him, myself on the floor as well. He lit the joint and the acrid smoke rose from it, bent to the still air, slithering about the room. The book was put between us and opened. The guts of the tragedies and comedies and sonnets and such had been cut out, dissected. The book was hollow. Inside was a video tape, black, with a red peice over the part where the film ran along the top. There was nothing written on it and only the residue left behind from a previous label, a small mar on the black surface, other than that my brother and I had no idea what it was. "Porn." My brother laughed. "No. Mom and Dad wouldn't have had porn. Come on." "Whatever, everyone gets porn eventually. If we could all afford hookers would all have hookers crammed in hollowed out books too." "All you do is think about sex sometimes." We both looked around, we'd packed the clocks in this room. He passed me the joint and grabbed the tape. "Well you know what we have to do, right?" He went over to the television. We'd had a DVD player for a while but the old VCR was there too, dusty and untouched. He wiped off the front of the old machine as he looked at the tape more closely, "It's in the middle of something." The tape had not been rewound. Putting it in, he turned on the television and returned quickly to his side of the table to take the joint back. The remote for the television was nearer me so I grabbed it and turned it on. To be honest I wasn't really even thinking about it, it wasn't that curious to me. Channel 3. I had not really thought about sex. The people that my brother hung out with were very cool people, well-dressed in fashionable things, and always looking spectacular in their conditioned, slick style. Was I gay or straight though? No one had reflected any particular part of my personality in just such a way that I might seem one thing or another. I hadn't found a girl friend, perhaps, that may have been all that was going on. At school I had a friend that was a girl that I spent a lot of time with, but I mean that was at school and I wasn't really the sort of person who lived at school, it was that place I went and then came home at the end of it to my life. My brother thought about sex. He talked about sex. He talked about it like it was an easy thing to get. He never went into much detail, he wasn't crass about it. He'd say someone was hot, someone was a slut, someone looked like they needed a good fuck. He'd never broached the subject of masturbation with me, never insinuated that I needed to have sex, never really ever mentioned it. Because I spent so much time with him and being as that time was mostly spent laughing and thinking about our life as brothers, without parents now, I never thought about it. I never got hard about anything in particular. But all that was about to change. The movie that was on that tape was porn. Straight porn. It looked as though it had been made in the nineties and even though the first scene that we saw wasn't one laden with profanities, the tone of the music, the terrible soundtrack filled with birds singing in someone's backyard and nearby traffic, the buzz of a plane in the sky invisibly, the glint of the silver watch the man wore, all of these suggested it wasn't a really great movie. It was just porn. There was a business-type man, dressed in a white-collared shirt and gre pants, his tie was several colors, a paisley pattern upon it. It was done up to his neck in a big knot, the first button undone. The dark orange tan this guy had looked as though it would stain his collar. The guy was probably in his late 30s, blonde hair and sunglasses that looked so dated, like the pleats in his pants. He was sitting at a desk interviewing a woman. The woman looked like a floozy. And that's how I knew. My brother passed me the joint but my eyes were glued to the screen, he noticed what I was doing and smiled and made sure I took the joint. He got up and came to my side of the table, pushing it out of the way, he said, "Let's get comfortable." It was like he was showing me how to shave again. We put our backs against the bottom of the couch and our legs were out on the carpet of the living room floor, he pointed out her tits. I didn't get it. Was he joking about them or, like some tour guide in a museum, was he pointing out the more important details that should be appreciated? I was kind of confused. "You're probably looking at the guy." I retaliated, "No I'm not." I think it was the first angry face I'd ever made at my brother. "Hey man, it's cool." "No it's not." "Yes it is. I mean, whatever, if you like guys that's awesome." I looked at him. Why is it that I liked men, where did it come from? At no point before had anything happened to me, there was no reason for it, I looked at my brother again and he smiled at me, he offered me the last of the joint. No, I was high enough already. Suddenly the music queued and the man was standing behind the desk assuring the woman there something hot about to happen, "hot" or something anyway. She started by taking off his clothes and when there was a body there my whole opinion of things changed. I saw the bronze pecs stretch out like Superman's emblem upon his chest, the buttons of the shirt ripped from the fabric as the woman tore into him without any emotion. I saw the curl of the man's smile as he moved in to embrace her. I started to get hard. The music was driving me wild. It sucked but it was as if it had been arranged to please me. My brother stirred. "Haven't you ever seen a porn?" "No, I don't think so." "Wow, that's cool." The two people on the screen started to grab at each other. "Do you jerk off?" "No, I don't." That's what wankers did, not me, I was too cool for that. "Really, I mean, there's nothing wrong with it bud, everyone does it. If they don't they're lying." "Honestly. I've never done it." "Well we're going to do it right now. It's damn well time you learned how." I watched the man's pants come undone and suddenly I saw his cock, blonde bush of hair above it, the balls swinging, the wide thighs strong with intent. The woman went down and started sucking on the length of it. That made me really hard. My brother said, "Let me see your dick man." I blushed. "No, it's totally cool. It's not like Mom and Dad are going to find out, right?" Suddenly something happened to my brother and I, maybe it would have eventually happened, but it was at that moment for us because never before had our parents' deaths been spoken of as a convenience. It hadn't been, and it seemed sometimes that there were too many things for us to deal with as kids for this situation to be a good one. "Let me see yours." I said it like a kid. "Okay." My brother hopped up and started at his belt and in a moment his pants dropped and he stood there in his boxers. "Don't stare at me like that, come on buddy, you're cool with this aren't you?" "Of course I am, but you're my brother." His boxers were old, the elastic barely held them up. I'd never seen my brother naked, never really knowing that there would be something about him that I'd need to see. Then he lowered his boxers and a long flacid cock dangled darkly in a clump of dark hair. He threw his tee shirt over his shoulders and he was naked. He sat back down. "Now your turn." I stood up and lowered my jeans and stood there in tightie-whities. They were cute things. My brother had got them for me for Christmas, not the one that had just passed but the Christmas before that. He told me they looked hot on me. I blushed to think he was staring at me like that. The pot was making me swim in paranoia, I got a little dizzy. He pointed at them and told me to take them off too. So I did. My cock was not as big as his and I knew it too. When I lowered my undies he looked at me there, awkward like a fawn, all dangling like a lot of limbs and lines. He told me to take off my shirt too, that it was only fair and when I did I sat down next to him. I could smell him. He smelled warm. He was warm. I wanted to be closer to him because I was kind of cold. I didn't dare do it though. He started to watch the movie again and I watched his hand on his cock as he stroked the length of it, making it harder and harder. I didn't even watch the movie at all anymore, I just watched his cock swelling, watched his belly while he breathed. He was naturally smooth but for a small patch of hair on his chest. I was smooth as hell, only some little hairs were growing around my balls, but I had a long cock really, when it got hard. My brother and I had both been circumsized. My head rushed and I leaned back and got comfortable as my own cock started to slap against my belly. That's what I'd learned on my own, but not having seen very much sexuality growing up I didn't even know what masturbating really was. I was curious why my brother kept rubbing the shaft. "Try it man, it feels really great." I grabbed my cock and started jerking it and knew immediately the greatness that my brother meant. "Cool." We started watching the movie again, the guy was fucking her up the ass, holding her legs up in the air, the camera looking down her chest, through her tits at his navel as he pounded her, she screamed stuff about it feeling so great and the guy broke out in a sweat under the intense lights of the set. The window was open in the background, the sounds of the world came through there. My brother was looking at my cock now. He said, "Can I touch you like this?" He put his hand on my thigh. "Sure." As soon as it hit my skin it was as if he was sending a magic through his body into mine. The heat of the palm of his hand on my bared thigh was as a branding poker might feel upon a calf who really wanted it, excruciatingly hot with pleasure. He rubbed my leg a bit and I slowed my jerking. I asked, "Can I touch you?" "Sure." As soon as my hand touched his thigh I felt that magic again, it was something about the softness of his skin, the feeling of the hairs that were smooth like his suede bag. I held my cock in my left hand while rubbed his leg, reaching as far as I could then rubbing back up where the hairs grew more darkly. His cock was hard, pressed against his belly, creased as it was with muscles. Tan from days in the park when he'd lay next to his friends to bake in the sun, but it was soft, as it was only late winter now, it had been a long time since he'd lay in the sun. He had an idea. "You hold mine and I'll hold yours and we'll jerk each other." "Okay." I touched his balls on my way to his cock and he shivered, smiling, he said, "That feels so good." When he gripped mine he did it really tight in his hand and I smiled saying the same thing. He started to slowly massage my cock and I couldn't believe the sensations that went through my body. It was stunning, as it was a form of clarity in my spirit. His was big in my hand, it was a fat cock, it was strange to hold one so big. We did this for a moment or two. He said to look at the television. The guy had pulled out of the woman to shoot his blasting load, in long jetting streams all over her tits. He rubbed the spill of it in and she even scooped some up and licked it. The screen faded and the next scene started, with the roar of the terrible soundtrack being softened by a lame tune that sounded like the masterpiece of a synthesizer rookie. It was a sun lit poolside this time, there was a woman tanning and a poolboy with massive shoulders and darker skin than the last guy, black hair that ran down his back like a greasy oil spill. He wasn't really that attractive, his thong merely contained a large package. Just as it was about to start into what seemed like an obvious sequence another character, another man came onto the set, he seemed to be a butler of some sort because he was wearing the livery of a man of service and carried a tray with a bottle of what appeared to by tanning lotion on it. "I think it's going to be a threesome." "A threesome." "Ya, both guys are going to bang her." First the butler started by greasing her up. The butler took off his jacket to do this, and while he worked the lotion into her skin she commanded that he untie the strap of her bikini, and smoothly he did it without too much effort. At the same time the movie showed the pool boy taking notice and then reaching into his thong to move his cock around, to loosen it up. The woman started to moan and the next time I looked at the screen, taking my eyes away from my brother's cock for a second, she was sucking on the butler's cock. "What does that feel like?" "What's that?" "Well, she's sucking on it, what does that feel like?" "To suck or be sucked?" I didn't know. But really I did, and I meant to suck. He said, "Try it, you can suck mine." I turned so I could get at his cock a little easier and leaned over to put it in my mouth. I tasted him. He was delicious. The sausage in my mouth was like a peice that had been missing. I slowly lifted my head and then lowered it again, each time going deeper and deeper and until the head of his cock touched the back of my throat and I gagged a bit, gasping for air. Saliva ran down his shaft, a pool of drool collected on his balls, I licked at it. He moaned, he said that it felt good. I agreed with a humming, mmhmm. He let me play with his cock in my mouth for a while then instinctively reached down and started to jerk himself while my mouth was still around the head of it. He said, "Watch it now, watch out: I'm cumming." He hesitated a second and I felt him get hard in my mouth. I pulled off but not really quick enough and he shot his load, getting some on my lips and chin. I licked at it and tasted my brother's cum. He said that it had been amazing. He said that I should try cumming next. I wondered then why he didn't suck mine. He didn't though. Maybe it wasn't something he liked doing but he didn't do it and I lay there watching the movie, putting my brother in the role of the butler and the poolboy was me. Soon it was as my brother had imagined and the two guys were filling her with their meat, the butler getting a blow job while the pool boy fucked her ass. She moaned and the sound of her voice was annoying to me. The sight of them degrading her in some fashion, skewering her, that was hot. Suddenly it happened though. It felt like I was about to pee but I kept it up and then all of a sudden I convulsed with ecstasy, and in a quick splash a large load of semen fell upon me, my belly and chest, some shot way up to my shoulder even. I sat there a while and was wowwed by the spectacle of my first orgasm. My brother jumped up and grabbed the paper towel from the kitchen, coming back he saw that I hadn't moved and was watching the movie still. He laughed at me. "Is everthing alright?" As he stood there watching me watch the television something might have happened to him, I'm not really all that sure. But he was looking at me a little differently. He blurted out that this had been very cool and it was great that I'd finally learned how. It was cool. "I sucked your cock, why didn't you suck mine?" He thought about it. He told me he didn't really know. We got dressed and decided we'd done enough packing for the day and that it was time for bed. I had school in the morning. The next morning when I woke up I had a huge boner. I was so proud of it too, I lay there in bed and stared at it. I reached for a ruler that was nearby and decided that I'd measure it. About seven inches. That wasn't too bad, but I had no idea really. My brother's was probably about eight inches. I started to jerk myself again. I thought about my brother, as if he'd been the girl on the settee, and I was the butler and I was sitting down to rub oil on his back. I could see it all so clearly. I rubbed and rubbed myself like mad and shot my load all over the place. It felt so good to do it. Suddenly I realized all I wanted to do all day was stay home and suck my big brother's cock. Suddenly everything seemed somehow different, particularly when I got downstairs and my brother was frying eggs in the nude with an apron on. The sun was shining and it was a beautiful day. He looked at me with a grin, cigarette dangling from his lips. "Good morning, I was thinking we could have some breakfast and hit up the weights for a bit before I take you in?" And that's what it was like really, until that summer came along. I had only the next year to do in school and I would be done. My brother insisted that I stick to it, that he'd be there for me and that we'd still have lots of fun, but I had to finish school. It was a must. The will had been taken care but it really didn't leave us much, the insurance policy my father had taken out on himself had paid for his funeral and my mother's funeral but there were still several bills that any other money absorbed. When summer came we decided it was a must, we would definitely sell the house. Cutting the lawns and manicuring the gardens, we made for the prospective buyers a lovely home. Since the area around the house was undeveloped the property value had soared in the last while. We had a buyer and they'd heard out story, they even had the peculiar idea of giving us more than the asking price. My brother said that we should move somewhere smaller. The garage sale that we had for the stuff in the house did not include that video. We made our money and the banks were happy, the bill-collectors grinned as we closed accounts with various places. I was smaller next to him, I was always wearing my blonde hair short, smiling broadly when the sun came out and draped us in warmth. Essentially we'd started living the life then that we'd be living for a long time. With our little bit of money we moved to the city. I changed schools for the last year and hung out with my brother and his friends all the time. The girls would still sit next to me and tell me that I was cute but they started to catch on that I was gay. Even though no one ever said the word, even though no one cared really, they still loved me and still treated me with the respect the little brother of their friend deserved. Our apartment in the city became a bit of a party place, not much actually. I'd eventually see crazier houses, ours was bad because my brother took up dealing a few drugs to help us make ends meet. It was great. While I was working on my last year I worked a small job at a grocery store in the back with the boxes, working my muscles at night with my brother. It's not like we jerked each other all the time, really we didn't see all that much of each other. Only sometimes on Saturdays, you know, if it was raining and the porn on the internet started to drive one of us crazy, that's when we'd help each other out. Still, we didn't fuck though, no, that never came up. My brother would go out to a party without me and he'd come back refreshed in a couple of days, slapping my bum as we passed by each other in the hallway of our new home. But I never did anything. I was just sort of quiet still. Then I graduated from high school. It wasn't like I'd made lots of friends in school. A few kids kind of followed me around because they thought it was cool that I lived with my brother and that he sold pot. They were always talking about getting freebies but I didn't smoke without my brother around at that time and I never let them get any for free. They followed me to the door of the school and I tossed my bag in the garbage just inside the door. It had been unseasonably warm and sunny the last week, it was a brilliant day to be finished with school. My friends and I laughed and said our farewells and I ran down the stairs in my boarding shorts and a white muscle shirt. When I got to the bottom I tore the shirt over my head and my matured body was free to the world. My nipples were hard at the sight of my brother leaning against the driver's side door, Steppenwolf blaring on the radio, "Why don't you come with me little girl, on a magic carpet ride." My brother was wearing some cargo shorts of an army green color, they hung right down to his calves. His shirt was already off and he was hot, man he was hot. A car went between us before I could cross the street and the wind from it tossed up some dust. With his glasses on and a toothpick hanging from his mouth he glared into the dust, and when it was over he looked across the street at me coming for him and smiled broadly. There were some girls there that I would never see again and they saw the two of us getting in the car with him. I hopped in the front seat to smoke a joint with him on our way home. He played some songs really loud on our way to the highway and we took the scenic route through the market to make ourselves feel good. We were hot driving around in the car together. I never really knew if he was gay or straight. He acted straight, and yet his affection for me was too sweet to be completely heterosexual in basis. I just asked him. "Are you gay or straight?" He turned down the music, we were at an intersection and a bunch of people were walking right in front of us. He looked at them, and asked what I'd said. "Are you straight or gay?" "I'm -- I dunno -- does it matter?" "I don't know. I think it does though. I mean, do you have a girlfriend?" "I've had girlfriends, you remember, um, what was her name, Karina?" "That was when Mom died, wasn't it?" He laughed, "Well, girlfriends don't grow on trees?" "Do you fuck guys?" I actually worded that exactly right. "Sometimes. I guess I'm bi." "I want to have sex." That's right, that's how I said it and my brother looked at me squarely. "Excellent then, we'll get started on that right away." He revved the engine just before the light changed and the squeal of his tired echoed down the corridor of buildings, people looked at us and shook their heads. I laughed and gave a bunch of them the finger out the window. "You probably want me to fuck you, right?" I was hard in my seat and I couldn't figure out what I was thinking. "I don't know man," he said, "that's a bit weird right?" "Really, I mean, what's weird about it. We fool around and stuff ..." "So?" I didn't know. I was almost getting upset about it. In fact, I was getting upset about it. "Ever since mom died we've been together all the time." "We're brothers though, and I'm your big brother, right? I mean, I was supposed to take care of you like that." "Not like that though. I mean, there aren't very many brothers out there who get their kid brother to suck them off." "True, but I mean, you totally wanted to." "How come you never sucked me off?" "Because man, I don't know. I don't like sucking cock man. I'm not a faggot." A faggot sounded so derogatory and it hurt a little. "Ah come on," I whined. He laughed. "Whiner." We got home and he seemed to be lost in thought. He was letting me smoke a couple of joints more than usual to celebrate being done. I had to work not the next day but the next, so we were going to go out and he was going to get me into one of the bars that he knew the owner of. I loved going out with my brother and his friends were all so cool with me. He called me into his bedroom and told me he had a surprise for me. He held out a small box, just slightly larger than a ring box, and it was wrapped nicely. When I opened it I found inside a couple of vials with a strange clear syrup inside. I held it up. I had no idea what was. "It's G." "G?" "Ya. It's a drug. We're going to try some tonight. I've heard it's great and ..." Suddenly he grabbed them from me. It was rather uninspiring, like when a football star gets his bookworm brother a football for Christmas and it's obvious who he really got it for. I thanked him with a grumble but he was still going on about the process of taking it and telling me that we can't drink with it, that we didn't want to like die or anything. From the kitchen he said something but I didn't quite hear him and by the time I'd asked him what he was coming back down the hall and he repeated himself clearly. He said, "It's great for sex." I blushed. "I mean, I didn't think you were going to ask in the car or anything. Man I love you bro. I was just kind of waiting for something special, you know, so you could know what it's like to feel so great, to feel like a man. Ya. I fuck guys and I fuck girls, but you're my only brother and I really fuckin' love it that we've grown up to have each other. No matter what bro, you and I are going to make it because we have each other. We can fuck who ever we want but our blood runs thicker than any bullshit spit and cum relationship out there. You got it man?" At that he grabbed my head in his left hand and brought it up to his. He was so hot. We kissed then. That was the first time that we'd actually kissed and it was totally passionately, a love-making kiss. I put my hands on the sides of his warm body and held him there and it was powerful to be held by him. He pulled away. He had with him two glasses of a simple, sugary juice that was blue in color. Not very much, just a couple of mouthfuls each. He told me that we were going to do the same amount. That it was kind of hot for us to just go nuts and get right fucked up for this. He told me that later we could do some pills and pick ourselves up, but right now we should just get fuckin' ripped. He sat in the chair at his desk in his room. This was a business for him, the handling of narcotics, and he was told that this shit was fuckin' amazing. He said, "Tastes like crap, but we can chase it with juice, not much juice, cuz it's not cool to dillute it, but," he sniffed it, "woohoo, it stinks." I wasn't sure about this. "Isn't this the date rape drug? What if we end up killing ourselves right here, right now?" "Ah, fuck, stop being such a dink, you've taken a fair share of pills and shit, you've packed your nose with some blow and survived. I mean, come on man, we've got all the rest of our lives now, what with you out of school. We can kick our asses out of this town, head for the hills and no one would know. We could drive off into the sunset and not look back at this town, the grocery store that you won't work at forever wouldn't even notice a missing crate emptier, I know my friends wouldn't care, we could always come back. On a fresh slate we'd be beautiful, we wouldn't even have to tell them we're brothers. It could be our little secret." Somehow my reluctance to do drugs had become a thing about me not being man enough to let go completely of things and move on. He handed me a vial. "What do you say?" I held it up and saw my brother through the stuff as if I were looking at him through ice. I remembered him standing behind me when I was learning how to shave. I remembered the stroke and plunge of the razor into the soapy water, the sculpting of his face. He was still so beautiful to me. "As brothers, as lovers, as friends, as family: let's get the fuck away from winter and be where the sun's always shining." He and I both took our swigs from the vial. It was raunch on my tongue. It was like tasting melted plastic. It was disgusting. I took a gulp of the juice, as did he, and when it was all gone we gasped and laughed. "How long does it take?" "I don't care, I want a cigarette." We lit a cigarette each and made our way back into the living room, the television was playing an old Star Trek episode and we laughed at something Captain Kirk was saying because he was talking exactly as he was supposed to. We got on the couch and really it just sort of started after the next commercial break. I told him I was getting really hot and he said we could open the windows. We did. Both of us. We went around the apartment opening everything up, and then when I went back to the couch he went to the kitchen. He grabbed us a couple beers and the digital camera from on top of the fridge. When he came back inthe room he snapped a picture of me sitting there, it was a terrible shot. The next one he took was hot. Sitting there in my boarder short and nothing else, my feet suddenly tingled and then --- woosh --- my whole body was awash in sensation. I panted and smacked my lips. "I want something." My brother was laughing because the beer he'd been drinking had spilled and was running down his chest, through the patch of hair there. He started to pour the beer on him and he said it felt incredible. "Look at that mess," I said, pointing at the puddle of beer on the floor. "Ah come on, man, who cares fuck." I looked at my beer and dribbled some on my own chest, it was so cold. It was awesome though, I felt really soft and wet like I'd been swimming in booze. I stood up and poured more on me and very soon I was covered in beer, my shorts were wet. My brother came closer and as he poured some of his beer on my belly he rubbed it with his hand and slipped his hand into my shorts. The drawstring came undone and they were just hanging on my hips, all wet and dark. I threw some beer at my brother and he jumped out of the way. He lunged at me and grabbed me and soon we were wrestling each other to the floor. Splashing in the puddle and had me arrested in his grip, he tickled my sides and I laughed so madly I thought my head would explode. I kicked at him in self-defence and he said, "Whoa man, what's that move all about? I couldn't stop laughing and he wasn't letting me up, I told him I have to pee. "Ya! Ya! What, you want to go to the bathroom?" "Come on man, I'm going to totally piss right here." "No way man, don't do it. Don't piss on yourself." "I gotta, stop tickling me Fuck!" But he wouldn't and then all of a sudden I couldn't hold it anymore and I started pissing in my shorts and it was hot as it poured down my legs, soaking my shorts. My brother smelled it at the same time I did and shouted something, and pulled down my short to expose my pissing shaft. He held it up to his mouth and took the piss like it felt good, his lips pressed against the crown of my cock, my urethra spewing hot piss all over his face. It was fucking gorgeous and dirty and ridiculous. When I was done peeing he told me to lay still. He grabbed the camera He took a picture of me lying there soaked in piss and beer, my cock hanging out where he left it. Then he undid his short and pulled out his cock and started pissing on me right there on the living room floor. That was hot too. He took another picture but it was blurred because I was getting up to shower in his golden piss. It hit my chest like a acidic blast and I fuckin' loved it. He let his shorts drop and I was there on my knees loving the urine soaking my hair and stuff, it was fuckin' delirious. My brother stepped up to me then and shoved his cock in my mouth, it hard and long and he fucked my face with it. He was shoving the shaft and letting me open up my throat to the girth. I felt the curly hair on his balls grazing my chin, I grabbed his legs and he held my hands in place while he started to fuck me throat. He threw up his head and languished in the beauty of my sucking face, milking him. I felt his balls and then realized that this was it, this was what I'd been waiting for. I stood up and pressed against him, our piss-soaked, beer-stinking bodies, hot and horny and lean and beautiful, pressing and wrapping around each other. He took me by the arms and threw me back. I was stunned and he told me to take off my shorts. I let them fall easily. He came up to me and grabbed and pushed me more, back into the wall, a great bang, my head thudded against the wall and we were laughing as he grabbed me more and wrestled with me and made my body bend to his whim. I loved it. I was at his mercy, in his control. He was rapturous. He was longingly slobbering as he kissed me ferociously. I felt him grab my cock in his hand and he suddenly dived and for the first time in my life I felt what it was like to have a blow job. Oh God it was amazing. He was gobbled on it and was great with it, he yanked my balls and I squirmed but he slapped my thigh to make me straighten up my act. I could barely stand. I looked down and saw my hands grabbing at his great hair, I pushed his head back and saw the bottom lip redden with desire, swollen with lust. His pout lured me down and we started making out on the hardwood floor, inching back to where the puddles of piss and beer were. When we started to grope ourselves, or bodies being painted with the sticky liquids collected there, I pulled my head back and savored being so close to him. I kissed his lips tenderly while we pressed our bodies into the grooves and curves of each others' being. My face pressed against his left cheek, I moaned as though I'd pressed my flesh against the stinging branding iron with the enthusiasm of naivety. His loins pressed and pushed at my body in search of the place he wanted to be for so long and I let him grab at my ass to stear my longing in the right direction. Oh what a warmth his fiery cock had as it search the crease of my butt, pressing tenderly at the puckering hole of my youth. When we were blended like that we lay still. My face was so close to his that I could see all the little hairs of his beard. He told me then, "You can not lose your virginity like this." "Like what?" "In all this piss and slop." "But it's hot bro, I mean like I fuckin' love it man." "No." There was something happening in that drugged-up head of his. It wasn't the delirium one might think, it wasn't the carnal madness of a lust insufferable, there was in his voice a tone that I'd not heard often really. Much of what I held in my heart as emblematic of my brother washed away, like paint on a polished breast plate, washed off in the rains of a battle about to happen, I saw what my brother was then. Just a warrior, not anymore noble than anyone else: his voice was a tenderness like the reflection of the long ago boy when father had died and brother taught me to shave. He led me to the shower where he warmed the water and drew the shower curtain. At the right moment I he placed me inside and stepped in with me. Instantly the warmth, steamy and smelling of some spring-fresh soap, like fresh fern greens, mosses on damp rocks, the sky blue summer songbird soaring perfumes filling my senses as his hands worked to take off the filth that we'd made for ourselves. He lathered so slowly and rubbed my arms longly and delicately, I lazily allowed him, as if I were suddenly an invalid, suddenly star-struck, suddenly immobile and dangling and everything depended on him. His arms wrapped around me and we held each other and it seemed then something even more powerful was happening to my brother. We looked into each other's eyes and something happened to me then, it was as though I knew something about myself more than I'd known it before, like I knew the steps I'd take on the journey I'd take with him at my side. His eyes gripped mine with a delicious vibrancy that I was rigid, paralyzed by a force, as if standing at the mercy of the tug and pull and magnetism of electricity. He said, "You are so important to me, little bro, I will never hurt you, I will never lie, I will never make my own meal without thinking of yours. We will sleep in one bed, we will love each other. We are beautiful." I smiled and got close to his face and said so slyly with a grin, "Hot." Slowly a climbed down his body, pressing my hands against his brown nipples, massaging the muscles, admiring the soap as it flowed through the grooves and curves of his abs, into the fuzz of his hair, into the flavor of his cock. Grabbing the limp appendage I felt the throb of every vessel in the appendage, I put it in my mouth and it grew hard as I sucked it and when he was hard and started to mildly thrust into my face he told me to stop. That that was it. Next to the bed, the sun shining in warmly, the city outside blistering hot. The windows were open and there was the hum of the city as dinner rushes started in the market district and the offices closed. He lay me down and kissed all the places his soft lips could tickle. He held up my arms and with broad sweeps he scooped my boy-ish taste from my pits, the sensation drove me wild and I lunged at him but he held me down. He instructed me to lay on my belly, to arch my butt into the air. He began licking my clean boy bum, the virgin pucker of it, he massaged it open with his tongue tenderly, working it more and more with his finger. The first penetration made me so tense, I cringed. He said to relax and taught me to breathe deeply. When he was able to smoothly slip one, two fingers in he climbed up and licked his hand to rub his cock's head, make it sloppy with his saliva. I couldn't see him, I wish I could have, but he slid himself inside me and I grabbed at the sheets, pulling them into my clenched fists. I widened my legs. I put my back into it. I felt a sheen of sweat glisten my back, my brother's breath upon my flesh like cool wisps of breeze from the mouth of a cave that leads to a paradise I'm being shown. My flesh pimpled with ecstasy as he pushed in more and more. I was in pain, it hurt, I can't explain it though. I knew it was the answer, I knew it was had to be done. It was like the greatest sentence of the greatest novel, this relationship that had built between my brother and I, and now it was time for the completion of it. Delicately he fucked me and then suddenly his force strengthened with an unintentional primal desire. His hands reached around to my chest as he started the full assault. As he fucked me I imagined myself in dewy warm grass, the words of books I'd read in the past filled my head, the words like the petals of a tropical flower that blooms in abundance on a thick vine fell, fluttered, snowed down on me, and soon I was swimming in the delicious intoxication of poetry: my brother fucked me. My brother took my virginity. He suddenly moaned and stiffened. I felt only the satisfaction of knowing he was inside me, all of his essence was instantly sucking into the flesh that, so softly, can't be seen. I imagined the color of him bleeding with mine and suddenly a new color, the mauve of us, was created. I lay still and my brother lay upon me and I throbbed and bounced beneath the pound of his blazing body. Blanketed by him he held me closely, I felt safer than I'd ever felt; enveloped in him, I felt invincible to any outside force and at the same time absolutely vulnerable to him. After a couple weeks of the summer, my brother having been working extra hard down at the body shop where he'd been hired years before, myself in shipping and receiving at a bookstore, my brother made dinner for us one night and passed me an envelope for me to read. I wasn't sure what it was. It was a part of the will of my parents, it devulged the information about an inheritance that came from my some loop hole in something about my grandfather's will on my father's side. Suddenly I came into money. He said the he'd been given it about a week before. He didn't want me to waste it. He wanted me to go to school. But I told him I didn't want to leave town or anything. He rolled his eyes, there's nothing here for us. "Why don't we both leave," I begged, "there's enough money here for the both us? We could set up somewhere else, somewhere they don't know we're brothers, somewhere we could just live as people and not with a past that haunts us." He smiled and said, "Pass the potatoes."