My Kid Brother
Copyright ©
2003
By Lee Mariner
This ADULT fantasy
depicts homosexual acts and erotic
situations. Should you not be of age in your locality to be
reading this
story, or should you find such material as offensive, please leave.
This work is copyrighted © by the author, and all Rights are
reserved.
The story may not be copied or reproduced in any manner, and it may not
be
archived on any web site without the specific written consent of the
author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives for posting as
outlined in their story submission guidelines.
Comments and constructive suggestions are welcome.
mariner23502@hotmail.com
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§
Chapter XLV
As the plane taxied down the runway, I lost sight of, Dalton,
and I felt a
large lump growing in my throat. Producing a handkerchief, I
swallowed
several times, and while I wiped the moisture from my eyes, a soft
voice asked,
"Are you all right, Sir? Can I get you something?"
"No, I'm fine," I answered, looking up at a very attractive
Stewardess. "This is only my second time flying."
Smiling softly, she said, "I understand. If you should need anything,
the
call button is overhead."
The young lady had dark brown hair swept back into a bun and tucked
neatly at
the base of the small uniform cap she was wearing that matched her
obviously
well tailored uniform. Her lips were full, and her lipstick was a
light
pink shade that matched lightly applied cheek rouge. Oval shaped hazel
eyes did
not detract from the petite shape of her nose, and her softly rounded
chin.
Neatly, well manicured nails were finished with a natural polish
so
unlike the garish shades of red many women wore.
"Man," I thought as she moved away. "If I wasn't gay, I could go
for a girl as beautiful as she is."
§
The plane leveled off but the 'no smoking and seat belt sign's'
remained lit
for a few minutes longer before being extinguished. Not being a smoker,
I set
the adjustable air jet on full open before adjusting my legs in the
small space
between the seats. I was regretting the decision to wear tight
jeans, my cock,
and balls felt like they were in a vice. I did a quick cabin check
before lifting
my hips and adjusting the family jewels.
I was gazing out the window at the snow white fluffy clouds drifting
past the
plane, lost deep in thought thinking about the time that, Dalton and I
had
spent together, and the discovering that we both were gay. I
enjoyed the
long talks we had about his frustrations, and I had enjoyed showing him
what it
meant for two men to love each other. In particular, I loved him
because he was
my kid brother, and he meant more to me than my own life. "God, two
years is
a long time, and maybe longer if he joins the marines," I groaned
silently
to myself, a sudden feeling of loss hitting me in the gut.
I was trying to find a comfortable position by leaning the seat back
only a
little, so as not to disturb the passenger behind me, and resting my
head on
the planes inner wall when I heard, "Would you like a pillow, Mr.
Evers?"
"Hey, that would be great," I answered, glancing up at the
stewardess, smiling and holding a small but sufficient sized pillow.
"It
beats, the wall," I said, as I took the proffered pillow.
Placing the pillow behind my head, I promptly fell asleep awakened only
by the
planes wheels touching the tarmac in Pittsburgh. It was only a
fifteen-minute
stop to deplane and board passengers. The passengers not deplaning were
advised
to keep their seats for the short time we would be on the ground.
Fortunately, my dreams about Dalton while I was sleeping were not
erotic enough
to result in a 'wet dream' but, I was more interested in hiding my hard
cock than
I was in who was leaving the plane. The pillow that, I had rested
my head
on was placed into secondary service to hide the condition in my crotch
until,
hopefully, l it corrected itself.
Six or seven passengers left, and then several replacements for their
seats
boarded. I had traveled the first leg of the trip with no one
next to me
but, from the number of people boarding, I didn't expect it to be the
same on
the rest of the flight to New York, and I was right. A
well-dressed, middle-aged
man probably somewhere in his mid-forties placed an attaché'
case in the
overhead luggage rack. While he was stretching his arms upwards to put
his case
away, his crotch was in line with my eyes; but there was no indication
of what
might be hidden by the obviously expensive gabardine of his trousers. I
won't
say that, I was disappointed; it was a natural reaction for a gay man
to be
curious. While he was removing his coat, he looked down, and
said,
"It looks like we are going to be seat mates to the Big Apple, the
names
Hunter, Brett Hunter."
"Carlton Evers," I replied, while shaking his extended hand.
His dark brown eyes were friendly, and his handshake was firm unlike
some. When
he placed his coat with his case, it was obvious that he was extremely
well
built. His shoulders were broad, and the thin fabric of his shirt
revealed his
flat abdomen, the smallness of his waist, and the outline
of impressive
chest and rib muscles. His thick dark hair was neatly trimmed with a
hint of
gray at the temples.
Even more of turn on than being well built, there was no sweat stains
in the
armpits of his shirt. He was probably using a powder deodorant
or, he
shaved under his arms. Some men, including gay's, often said
shaving the
underarms was a 'feminine' habit, and for men to do it, it detracted
from their
masculinity. Although, I didn't shave my underarms, I disagreed,
and
because of my doing it, I had received several ribald remarks that I
thought
was good-natured kidding from some of my shipmates but.
There was
never a hint, at least in my presence, that I acted 'queer.'
"Woof," my seat mate said, exhaling sharply as he sat down and buckled
his Seattle. "It feels like I've been on my feet forever."
His presence so close to me, and the heat that I felt radiating from
him
combined with a faint hint of Musk cologne was not helping my cock
soften. In
fact it was doing just the opposite, and I was thankful for the
pillow.
"Jesus Christ," I thought, clamping my teeth shut, and feeling a
little guilty. "I haven't been away from, Dalton a full day, and
someone I
don't know has me as hot as a schoolboy."
§
When we reached flying altitude for the last leg of the flight, the
signs went
off, and the sound of seat buckles being removed could be
heard. My
cock was still hard, and for a moment while unbuckling my Seattle the
pillow
started to slide forward on my thighs.
"Oops," Brett said, quickly laying his hand on the pillow, and
preventing it from falling on the floor.
"Thanks," I said, quickly replacing his hand with mine. "I
took a nap after leaving Indianapolis, and the stewardess gave it to
me." I explained, hoping it did not sound as lame to him as it
did
to me.
"Is Indianapolis, your home?" he asked, turning his head to the left
to look at me as he spoke.
His right arm rested on the seat armrest but, with only a single
armrest
between the seats, his left hand rested casually on his crotch, his
fingers
extended over where his balls would have been. His brown eyes
appeared to
darken slightly as he glanced at me, and a feeling that he could read
my mind
swept over me.
"I was born and raised there," I answered, swallowing in an attempt
to hide my nervousness. "I was home on leave visiting my parents, and
my
kid brother, Dalton."
"Leave, leave," he mused out loud. "I think that means you are
in the Navy, right. I always get mixed up between furlough and
leave," he
said, turning toward me as he spoke, his left leg briefly pressing
against
mine.
"Navy, furlough is what the Army calls being on vacation," I
answered, surprised by the unexpected intimacy of his leg touching mine
but,
glad the conversation seemed to be helping my cock soften. "I have to
report in to the Brooklyn Navy Yard tomorrow for transportation to my
next duty
station in Panama."
"Brooklyn Navy Yard, boy," he said whistling softly. "Unless you
know the subways, a taxi will cost you double what it would cost a
native new Yorker."
"Why?" I asked.
Turning slightly in his seat with one arm sort of crossed over the
other with
his hand resting on the middle armrest, his fingers dangling close to
my
pillow, one knee pressed into my thigh as he explained New York city
taxi
drivers, chuckling every now and then. "Taxi drivers in the Big Apple
look
for what they call 'outsiders', travelers that don't live in the
city.
When they spot one, you, they will take the longest route before
reaching your
destination."
"That's a rip off," I exclaimed indignantly.
"That, Carlton is New York City," Bert answered, leaning forward with
his hands moving over the inside of his thighs as he looked at me
smiling
broadly, his pearl white teeth flashing brilliantly.
I was so angry, I clutched the pillow tightly to my chest, my mind in a
whirl
thinking over what, Bert had said. I had to decide if, I wanted
to be
ripped off by an unscrupulous taxi driver or take a chance on finding
my way to
Brooklyn on the subway.
"Damn, Brett, you would think they would help strangers instead of
ripping
them off," I said, twisting in the seat to face him, lowering the
pillow
but still clutching it to my stomach.
His eyes quickly dropped to my crotch, and then looking into mine, the
tip of
his tongue caressed the inside of his lower lip as he replied. "Do you
remember what P.T. Barnum said years ago?" he asked, leaning closer but
not waiting for an answer. "He said 'there is a sucker born every
minute,
and five to take him'. I guess in a city as big as New York the
people
sort of think they'll never see the sucker again, and they don't care."
"I guess; but, that's a hell of a way to live," I said softly, his
face only a few inches from mine.
Brett started to speak when our stewardess interrupted him. "Would you
gentleman care for a drink or perhaps coffee?"
"Sure," Brett answered, quickly leaning back, and glancing up at the
stewardess. "I'll have a bourbon on the rocks. How about you,
Carlton?"
"If you have a Schlitz beer, I'll have one."
"Beer man?" Brett asked hesitantly as he dropped the seat back tray.
"Most of the time," I replied, as I followed suit. "My dad
is the hard stuff man in the family but, every now and then, I have a
shot of
rye with him."
Brett's bourbon, "Jim Beam", was served in a small 'short snorter'
bottle with a plastic glass containing a few ice cubes. I would
have normally
drunk my Schlitz from its bottle, but under the circumstances, I used
the
plastic glass.
"Here's to it where ever it may be at," Brett said, lifting his glass
and glancing at me as he took two healthy swallows.
"Where ever," I mumbled a little perplexed by his strange toast.
The beer felt good as it slid down my throat, and finishing the beer
quicker
than I thought, I asked for another. My tray was a little wobbly, and I
shoved
my pillow under it for more support. Seeing me shove the pillow
under
the tray, Brett asked the stewardess for one, and following my example,
he
exclaimed, "Hey, Carlton, that's a hell of a lot better; it gives the
tray
more stability. I'll have to remember that the next time I fly."
Looking out the planes windows, we could see twilight setting in the
further
the plane flew eastward. The cabins interior lights came on, and
looking
at his wristwatch, he said, "It will be completely dark by the time we
land."
Several of the passengers who were probably reading had turned on the
personal
lights over their seats. We hadn't finished our drinks but we
didn't need
any more light than the soft cabin lights.
"How long are you going to be in Brooklyn, Carlton?" he
asked, turning
his head sideways on the seats headrest to look at me, the tone of his
voice
noticeably softer.
"That's up to the Navy, Brett." I answered. " It might be a day,
a week or longer but, I won't know until I report in," I said, turning
my
face to his as I lifted the beer bottle to my lips
"Are you going to try and report in tonight? " He asked, his
eyes glancing down at the pillow as he spoke, his voice almost
a whisper.
Setting the empty beer bottle on the tray, and turning as much as I
could, I
shifted to one cheek, facing him. Moving the pillow, and holding it on
my left
thigh, I spread my legs exposing the jeans covered impression of
my
cock. "That all depends, Brett,"" I said softly, looking
around the cabin as I spoke.
Looking down, Brett inhaled between his clinched teeth hissing, "Jesus
Christ," as he exhaled.
His hand twitched perceptively as if he was going to reach out and
touch my
cock but, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the stewardess coming down
the
aisle toward us. Closing my legs, I said, "From what you told me
about the taxis and the subways, I might see if I can find a hotel for
the
night and report in tomorrow morning."
For a moment, Brett looked surprised until he saw the stewardess.
Seeing
her, he retracted his hand slightly, and we sat quietly as she passed
on her
way back to here station at the rear of the plane. I could hear
him
breathing anxiously while we waited, and knowing he was as horny as I
was, it
made the urgency in my loins even more intense. His anxiety
surprised me
though when, she had no more then passed, he leaned over, and
whispered,
"It looks like we have the same problem, Carlton."
"What problem?" I asked coyly.
His brown eyes darkened in intensity as they bored into mine. A
few
centimeters from my throbbing cock, I felt his fingers brush my
thigh.
When I didn't flinch at the touch, he became bolder, and hesitating for
a
second, he looked around the planes cabin as he placed his hand over my
throbbing cock growling softly as he squeezed it's turgid length, "That
problem."
The weight and feel of his hand squeezing my cock, sent and bolt of
fire into
my loins, and I felt my balls tightening from the almost overpowering
urge to
ejaculate. Inhaling deeply, and sucking my gut in, my asshole
automatically tightened in an attempt to prevent my load from
involuntarily
exploding. "Easy, Brett or your going to compound the problem,"
I hissed, exhaling slowly.
Quickly flipping up the middle armrest, he glanced over his shoulder as
he
spread his legs whispering, "Me too."
Glancing down, I saw the very respectable impression his cock
stretching down
his left trouser leg, and I felt a spasm of desire in my breast.
Looking
in the direction he had looked, I placed my hand over his cock and
squeezed. Brett gasped breathing in deeply as I massaged his cock
and, I
heard a low, "God that feels good."
"I know," I replied squirming a little from the pleasure of my cock
being held tightly; but, "Right now there is not much that can be done
about the problem," I said, moving my hand reluctantly from the source
of
eminent pleasure as the public address system announced that New York
City
could be seen out the planes right windows, and we would be landing at
LaGuardia in a few minutes.
The 'fasten seat belts - no smoking' signs came on and there was a
flurry of
materials being replaced in the overhead compartments, and the sound of
buckles
being fastened.
After one last pronounced squeeze, Brett replaced the middle armrest,
and
straightened his clothes before buckling his seat belt. Glancing
quickly
at me and then down at my wilting cock, he leaned closer and said,
"After
we land, and you want to, we can take care of the problem at my
apartment on
the Upper East Side."
"That sounds good, Brett, and as much as I know we both would enjoy it,
I'm not sure," I replied.
"About what?" he asked quickly, and just a little loudly.
"Not about you that's for sure," I answered softly, glancing
furtively around hoping he hadn't been over-heard.
"What aren't you sure of, Carlton?" he asked again, a little less
excitedly.
"I still have to find my way to the Navy Yard, Brett, and Upper East
Side
or wherever, I have no idea where to even start except paying for a
taxi, and
you said they are a rip off."
"I did, and they are," he said, hesitating and looking up, and then
quickly glancing at my crotch as the stewardess passed checking seat
belts.
"You recover quickly," he said, grinning broadly his eyes twinkling
brightly.
"Not entirely, Brett," I replied, returning his grin. "I pushed
it down."
"There was a time when, I would have had to do the same thing until, I
learned about jock straps; but, I take it you don't wear one," he said,
chuckling softly.
"No, I don't but, you must be kidding me, Brett, you don't look that
old," I said, indirectly asking his age.
"Physically, I stay in shape, Carlton; but, when you reach your fifties
or
so certain things change, and there are some body parts that start
slowing
down," he said, just a tad mournfully. "I hope that won't
effect your acceptance of my offer, there may be a little snow on the
roof but,
there is still plenty of fire in the boiler."
I had heard Jerry Hawes say the same thing once, over the years with
him, I had
learned how much fire there was in his boiler, and I had to chuckle
softly.
As the plane banked left on its approach, Brett's ear was closer and, I
said,
"I'll bet there is, Brett."
"There is one way to find out," he replied, his eyes twinkling.
"I guess so," I said, feeling the heat of desire building in my loins
as I looked into his eyes. " I'd like to find out; Brett but, I can't
be
late reporting in."
"You won't be, I promise," he said, the force of the plane landing
pushing us back into our seats, and then forward as the engines were
reversed
to slow the forward momentum.
§
The
'fasten seat belt' sign was still on but, passengers were in the aisles
pulling
their coats, small valises and attaché' cases from the overhead
storage
compartments. Brett stood, and while he was putting on his
jacket, the
prominent display of his cock was clearly visible. There was a
sudden
twinge in my groin, and I quickly averted my eyes - I didn't have a
jacket.
I was hoping to follow close behind Brett as we deplaned but the surge
of
passengers in a hurry to get off separated us. I didn't need to
worry though;
he was waiting at the bottom of the ramp. He put his
arm around
my waist pulling me closer, and raising his voice over the hubbub of
the crowed
terminal, he said, "We don't have far to go but, stick close."
"Count on it," I replied, with ever intention of gluing myself to his
hindquarters. Crowded was not a proper description for the mass
of people
rushing pell-mell up and down the wide corridors. I was relieved
when I saw;
Brett was heading in the direction of an overhead sign that indicated
the
corridor leading to where incoming luggage could be picked up.
I found my sea bag and small suitcase on the first baggage delivery,
and while
we were waiting for the second delivery, I was surprised when I heard a
smooth
well modulated voice behind us say, "Welcome home, Mr. Hunter."
"Kita," Brett said turning quickly. "Good to see you, have
a hard time with traffic?"
Turning with Brett, I saw a tall, strikingly handsome man of
unmistakable Asian
descent standing a few feet behind us. He was wearing an
obviously
expensive, well-tailored black suit, with white shirt, a four-in-hand
black tie,
and gleaming black military style shoes. His slightly shaped almond
eyes were
tar-black but, unlike other men whom I had met with black eyes, Kita's
were not
beady. His tailored suit enhanced the width of his shoulders, the
breadth of
his chest, and the smallness of his waist. His hips were small, and
there was
no hint of a bulge from his chin to his knees. A matching
chauffeur cap
covered ink-black hair allowing only tapered side-burns and the smooth
tapering
of the hair on the nape of his thick neck. The lightness of his
complexion, the softness of his cheek bones and rounded chin combined
with his
unusual height for a person of Asian descent gave the hint of his
ancestry
being AmerAsian.
"No more than usual, Sir," he replied in answer to, Brett's inquiry.
"You always say that," Brett replied as he slipped his arm around my
waist and pulled me forward. "Kita, this is Carlton Evers," he
said in a matter of fact tone as he introduced us. "His luggage
was
on the first tram," he said, indicating my gear. "You can bring it
along with my two-suiter which should be on the next tram."
"It's my pleasure, Mr. Evers," the chauffeur replied, his eyes
twinkling as he bowed quickly, doffing his cap. Replacing it as
he
turned, and spoke to, Brett. "Your two-suiter, Sir! Yes
Sir," he said in a muted tone. You'll find the car in its usual
place at the curb."
"Whoa, Brett," I exclaimed as we walked away. "You didn't say
anything about all of this."
"I'm sorry, Carlton, I'll explain it all later when we are home," he
said, as we approached a gleaming maroon Lincoln limousine parked in a
VIP
designated area.