Date: Tue, 31 Dec 2019 10:06:07 -0500
From: MC VT
Subject: Super Eight '73 Gay Incest

Super Eight `73
 ©MCVT2017  December 27, 2019

Delightful moments captured and sold; recaptured and kept.

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Adult content, 100% fiction:  bt, MMM, inc, firsts, rom.
=============================================================================

My thirteen-year-old brother pulled out a joint, or what looked like one
from an old Camel innertube-repair tin.  He lit it and passed it to me.  We
sat on an old olive-green wool blanket on the side of Mt. St. Helens in the
sun, coughing and laughing, trying to look cool, and looking like fools.
It was all okay, being silly and acting stupid, actually it was prized.

Thorny vines heavy with black, ripe dewberries hung down the rocky wall
behind us.  Brother turned and pulled one off and ate it.

I did, too.  When I got thorns in my fingers, he pulled them out and kissed
the spots on my purple stippled fingertips.  Affectionate act as we picked
and squeezed the tiny, warm fruit against the roof of our mouths with our
tongues.

He pulled one off and pressed it on my nose, squeezing some of the juice
out.  It dropped on my chin and I swiped it away, leaving two short stripes
of color across my face.  We continued picking and eating, feeding each
other, feeling the first hot days of summer on our bare skin.

Brother picked a big, juicy berry and held it between his lips; motioned me
to come get it with my teeth.  I did and when I did, he grabbed my head and
kissed me.  Being ten at the time, I felt that was gross, and tried to pull
away.  Shortly, we were wrestling and laughing -- he'd let me loose. I'd
back away, then pounce on him, he'd get me in a hold quickly; size was on
his side.  Then we felt a light breeze and we stopped, slowed down.  From
somewhere close, a soft whistle, like a bird's call and we went back to
rough play and enjoying our naked selves on the rough wool fabric
underneath us.

Around noon, we continued as brother pulled a wrinkled brown paper bag from
our knapsack.  Inside were several dinner rolls and a small tub of
margarine.  He dumped the rest on the knapsack on the blanket. There were a
few books and some art supplies.  He took a book.  I took a paint brush and
rubbed the soft bristles of the fat sumi brush on my face.  It was so soft.
Nothing stopping me, I brushed my nipples, then my cock very slowly,
feeling what that was like.  Knees splayed, I rubbed the soft bristles
between my legs, then looked toward my brother, laying on his back in the
sun, book covering his face.  Puff of air and I slowed my personal dusting,
but lifted the brush toward his smooth groin and painted invisible lines
along his nuts, then his stiffening shaft.  He lay still while his nuts
tightened and his dick stood upright, full to bursting.  Skin taut around
his short staff topped with a dark rose-colored knob.  He grunted as I
flicked the brush, soon, he opened his legs, asking for the brush along the
pale skin and thin, knotty line.

My brother's body was the world to me for those sixty days during the
summer of '73.  A few dark hairs under his arms, a few on his groin.
Strange to a hairless adolescent, masculine by comparison; manly.  He
looked more like our dad every day, taller, stronger and opening the path
to my manhood for me as his body changed. His physical changes would be
mine in time.

He kept the book on his face, moaning softly as I slowly shifted myself to
sit on his belly, my rear over his navel, rubbing our rods together in the
sunlight.  Sumi brush still in hand, I held my short dick against his
bigger one -- back and forth from his pee slit to mine, around our shafts.
I felt his muscles move under my butt.

"Hungry?"

"Yeah."  I nodded and watched him pull the brown paper bag to his chest.
He took out a dinner roll and opened the tub of margarine and swiped the
bread through the liquified oil.  Handing it to me, he lay his head back
down and ran his fingertips through the margarine.  With his other hand, he
gently pushed me forward.  On my elbows, between his knees, I nibbled on
the bread and butter, occasionally enjoying a juicy, ripe dewberry.

Brother stroked my back with one hand and oiled my cleft, slowly with his
greasy fingers.  His cock was rubbing my chest as I tossed the roll aside,
pulled his legs together and lay my head on his thighs staying very still
after a soft rush of air.  Stayed that way for a long time, till my leg
muscles began to ache.  Cupping my butt cheeks in his palms, my brother
lifted my rear to tuck his erection behind me.  I took that opportunity to
move about a little, giving my thighs a rest.

Gentle breezes and bird's song and my brother in the sunlight...

More margarine and his finger began pressing into my butt.  I didn't like
the feeling, but stayed still knowing this was supposed to feel good and
get better.  I lay my head down again as he slowly opened me first with his
little finger, then moving to his ring finger, then his middle finger.  It
didn't feel much better as he pushed and pulled his digits though my
opening.  He stopped with his finger inside me and started feeling around,
curling and wiggling his middle finger.  That made me grunt and moan a
little.  It was feeling somewhat better, but not great.

Then everything stopped for a moment and I felt him pushing again.  My
brother pulled me back against his chest, my face was to the sky, the sun
was behind the trees.  He opened my legs and reached around me to stroke
his dick.  Holding me against his chest, he put me in the right place and
soon I felt his delicate foreskin up and down my cleft.  That felt good,
and I was warm and relaxed on my brother's chest as his thumbs pulled my
cleft wide apart at my hole, while he whispered that I was a fantastic kid,
"No one better than you."

Brother's fingers weren't blunt, his dick at my hole was.  He pushed me
downward a little and I felt his hands holding his cock at my hole, and
slowly pushing in.

Hushed tone: "Push."

Grunting and pushing, it felt like a dream as his intruder went in and was
caught by my tiny muscles; my chest tightened.  I didn't expect it to
happen this way, but it did: He pulled me into a sitting position on his
dick and my skin prickled all over my body.  Thought he might come out my
throat it felt so deep.  My eyes were huge, filled with tears -- my mouth
hung open.  I couldn't move with all the new feelings so deep.  His hands
came to my hips and he rubbed my butt on his groin causing his rod to move
around inside me.  Leaning forward to grasp his thighs with my hands, I
began to sweat.  My body began moving, wanting to feel more of him inside
me. It wasn't good, or great, it was interesting and I was curious.  A few
gasps, a few moves in the right direction and it started to feel better.  I
moved my hips around and felt different places inside me.  I became
accustomed to the newness, something about it teased me to continue.

Brother cupped my butt again and lifted me slightly, I leaned forward,
weight on my feet, still crouched over his groin with him deep inside me.
He began short movements, in and out, like he'd done with his fingers.
This felt completely different.  His movements became rapid, he was pushing
his whole cock in me and out, breathing fast and faster.  Suddenly he
grabbed my hips and pulled me against him hunching a few times, then
everything stopped except our breathing, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
For some reason, during the peak of his activity, I began rubbing my cock
fast, one hand, pulling hard, like I had to; needed to.  Squeezing and
rubbing until I couldn't anymore, I stopped to feel a rush that felt better
than anything I'd known in my life.  Strange, foreign and filling, yet
emptying at the same time.  A puff of air and I froze, but I couldn't have
moved anyway, I was dreamily exhausted.

My brother rolled me off his legs and lay beside me, plucking more sweet
berries and feeding them to me with a kiss after each one.  We lay there
for a long time.  He gently sneaked his hands between my legs and his
fingertips rubbed my hole, telling me that was fantastic...  Then he held
me close while we both closed our eyes and rested.

...

We packed up all our junk and Dad took us back to a rented cabin, cut off
all our dyed-auburn hair, right down to our scalps.  Scrubbed off the
temporary birthmarks and went back home.  My brother Will and I just
finished four films that were about to be processed and edited in our
basement.  Dad's friend from the military would copy and sell our "Brothers
in The Sun" series for more money than we could comprehend.

We never said anything about that summer, not because we were threatened or
anything, but because it was ours.  Private memories between me, Dad and
Will.  Ours alone.

Those funds sent Will to Berkley, me to UCLA and opened a camera shop where
Dad processed film, privately, of course, and carried the best and finest
cameras, projectors and equipment for the professionals of the area.  Not
everyone who came to his shop was into film and cameras.  We weren't
allowed to go to there often, but neither Will nor I was interested in
cameras.  We were excited about rockets, space flights and jets.

...

Perhaps it was that secret summer that kept us close through the years,
Will and I stayed in touch weekly through the marriages, children, all the
big events.  We all still lived in Washington state, Dad and I were outside
Seattle, Will in Bellingham.

Will and I enjoyed lives much easier than our parent's life with good
education, professional careers.  Mom and Dad sold their business and
retired earlier than most.  Mom passed first, and Dad, well, he was in good
shape, but for his feet.  Didn't slow him down, he continued processing and
editing films converting the old super-eights and eight mms to CDs; kept
his finger in the pot from his basement.  I moved in to help him around the
house after my second divorce.

Every morning over coffee, Dad recounted different parts of his life.  In
the military, learning first the electricians trade, he went into lighting
the runways in Spokane County at the base.  It was through his military
friends that he was recruited to light informal sets in hotel rooms.  Said
he didn't like the hurried, predictable scenes, yet couldn't help but like
the extra income.  Extra funds bought the engagement ring for our mom.
Theirs was a romance to envy, our family was closer than most families.
Dad had the soul of an artist and I didn't realize it until later, and an
extremely loving nature -- more than other parents, he cherished us almost
to the point of worship.

We weren't spoiled with the regalia of childhood; it wasn't about the money
because there wasn't much when Will and I were little.  It was the films,
watching the home-movies and all the attention we got.  Dad never showed
our movies to anyone but us -- well, not that I knew of.  We'd sit on the
couch, Dad threading the tail of the small reels into the projector and he
would comment.  "Thank you, Mother for my sublime sons."  Things like that.
Affection?  We were held and stroked, kissed and hugged -- always wanting
more as we felt that rich, warm feeling of being deeply loved by the man we
looked so much like.  No punishment was needed, just the thought of
disappointing Dad kept us in line.

...

Now, being older, Dad became rattled, which was odd for him.  He was
usually calm, easy-going.  After a long discussion, I found out it was
about the basement.  That's where he kept all his films, and he had plenty.
We started sorting through them and found a buyer for the rarest of his
porn collection.

Came to the "Brothers" series.  He began revealing his secrets.  We knew
his puffs of air were cues, Dad had one of the first cameras that recorded
sound.  Being visually-oriented, he slowed the action down by blowing on
us.  When he made the bird whistle, that meant he was finished with a
close-up or taking stills.  He had a lot of clever tricks he used with Will
and me, like the joint, a bit of sedative in the margarine.  "I didn't want
you to get hurt.  I did my best to keep you happy and safe."  He continued
sorting out the family home movies from the bluer reels.  He thought for a
while, "I consider our work as art.  It was beautiful.  Too bad it all had
to stay underground."

"It was beautiful.  Enjoyable making it -- it was easy, guess that's why it
looks so relaxed, comfortable."

...

Dad called Will to pick up some things he wanted him to have - childhood
toys, model rockets, the last of the school and baby photos.  While he
visited, we were able to speak freely.  Mom always said that Will's
marriage was like the relationship between pen pals.  "Detached" was how
she described it.  They were planning a permanent separation.  Will seemed
relieved about it.

We talked films, and found ourselves back in the basement watching the old
reels on a small screen.  We watched our work from '73.  "So natural," Will
commented, "How did you make that happen?"

Dad told us that he never called us actors, he didn't want acting, he
wanted to catch the spontaneous responses to our sexual exploration.  His
directing was sketchy, his assurances of our privacy were abundant during
filming.  He was relaxed; we relaxed and explored our bodies without
reserve.  Dad didn't plan much and never forced us to do anything.  Eating
the berries was our idea -- what kid wouldn't enjoy that?  He was right,
our natural, spontaneous responses to each other and our environment
charmed millions of men and millions of dollars from their wallets through
the years.

Will and I told ourselves we were giving lonely men brothers for a few
minutes.  Brothers and memories of finding sex and an innocent, playful
kind of love.  Perhaps we were naive in thinking that, and we weren't
ashamed.  The summer of '73 was our treasured memory now - no regrets for
our frolics in front of Dad and his cameras.

...

Dad watched the news for a while as Will and I showered.  We all slept
together on Dad's big bed that night.  Dad kissed us, "Lots of lonely men
out there buying quick fantasies, and I've got it all, filmed it all, had
it all and love it all."

That was another cue.  Dad liked sucking two cocks -- our cocks.

With the same tenderness he offered us through our lives, we knelt at his
shoulders, each straddling one of his thin arms, then allowing his hands to
harden us toward release while we kissed.  Maybe it was the familiarity of
our bodies, or the relaxed ease in the way we made love, wasn't sure, but
it was better with Dad and Will.  Much better.  Almost like making love
with two of myself -- the three of us looked so much alike, spoke the same
way, moved and gestured like each other.

With my arm on Will's shoulders, I leaned slightly and stroked Dad's hair,
along his eyebrow.  He looked up at me warmly.  I wanted to kiss him, but
couldn't.  The feel of Will's cock against mine, hearing him sigh deeply,
Dad's lips holding our hard dicks tightly and his tongue on the underside
of our rods, I was mesmerized until Will's hand came to my face, he turned
and kissed me deeply.  I could only tremble, afraid to move with the rush
of pressured fluid climbing from my groin.  Gripping his shoulder, I stared
into his eyes and it happened.  He smiled though our kiss, a few hunches
toward Dad and we filled our father's throat with love.


Fin.
Super Eight `73