Date: Thu, 1 Oct 2015 10:58:58 +0000 (UTC)
From: a4f101@yahoo.com
Subject: The Model and the Meathead

Greetings, dudes. Been stroking my dick to the amazing stories on Nifty
since 1999, so I figured it was about time to do my part. I've been writing
dirty family stories on my Tumblr – a4f101.tumblr.com – for a few
months now, and I'm sharing them here with you too. There's more there, too
– more stories, from me and my likeminded buds – so come check it
out. Hit the Story Time link at the top for more than 250 dirty tales, all
by me, with the pics that inspired them.

You can see this story, and the pic that inspired it, here:
http://a4f101.tumblr.com/post/110287054394/

This story is an original work of fiction, copyright me 2015. I own it, and
all legal rights to it. If you're not of legal age in your jurisdiction to
be reading it, do us both a favor and come back to it when you are.

Love to hear from you guys. a4f101@yahoo.com. And hey – Nifty is an
incredible, free resource. Changed my life, and probably did the same for
you, this amazing treasure-trove of fantasies. If you can, please support
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*****

Porter was a man now, no doubt about it. Fresh out of his teens, with a
nice scruff of beard along his square jawline, a ruff of fine fur coming in
real nice between his solid, pumped pecs, teasing down that cleft to his
rock-hard six-pack. The kid - sorry, man, I guess - was beautiful, and I
wasn't at all surprised when he half-sheepishly, half-proudly told me that
he'd had a couple of talent agents interested in him. Fuck yeah, he could
be a model for sure.

Me? No way. I was a big dude, played football in high school, club rugby in
college, and I was all brawny, seriously furry chested, with the kind of
big, beefy muscles that didn't work for modeling, not that I was into that
idea anyhow. I looked like a big, dumb meathead, which was fine, because it
turns out there's a real big subset of dudes that are into that kind of
thing in a big city like San Francisco. And it seemed like they all got off
on the idea that this big, kind of caveman-looking lunk with the great big
cock to match also just happened to have invented the hookup app that my
marketing guys guesstimated lived on the phones of a solid 60% of America's
gay and bi dudes.

Of course, when my little bro asked to come crash on my sofa while he met
with some agents, I had to cool it a bit with the fuckfest action for a
weekend. Could have used the break anyway, we were prepping a big update
and tinkering with a version of the app for the straights and I was pulling
80-hour weeks. So I switched my phone off, told my team I was off the grid
for the weekend, and picked my baby bro up at the airport.

Damn, the little fucker had really shot up, and clearly he was putting in
some serious hours at the campus gym. He'd always been a fit kid, an
athletic little soccer jock and baseball player, like pretty much every boy
in suburban America, but now he was a legitimate young stud. I figured he'd
have a very good couple of meetings, and I was right, because when he got
back to my place the first afternoon, he was all smiles, announcing he had
a deal for a sportswear campaign, whatever that meant. We celebrated with a
killer meal of Chinese food unlike any he'd ever had before, and since he
was with big ol' me, he had no trouble getting served drinks. We were
rolling by the time we got home, loose and easy and laughing our asses off,
and finally I felt like I was relaxing from my seemingly endless grind.

I was pretty interested in this whole model thing he was trying out, just
because it was so alien to me, and I've always been fascinated by
process. He told me all about the meetings, how he'd had to strip down to
his underwear, get test shots done, parade around like a show horse for
them, get ogled and scrutinized and everything but felt up,
apparently. Even drunk in my living room, he could put on a good model
face, turning his big, easygoing smile into a steely, direct gaze that was
a revelation. My little kid brother was definitely a man, for sure, and
that gaze more than anything proved it. It was a look that conveyed a
smoldering inner heat, one that toed the line between wanting to fuck you
or eat you alive, possibly both at once. I found myself getting a bit of a
chill, to be honest.

Eventually he announced he needed a shower, and I guess he was pretty
comfortable with stripping down for an audience, because he shucked all his
clothes except for a smoking hot pair of tiny designer briefs that
showcased the twin muscled mounds of his soccer jock ass, showing off the
long, strong muscled of his thighs, and a damn fine bulge in front. Looked
like big dicks ran in the family. If he were on my app, he'd get a
swipe-right from me for sure, big time. Well, if he wasn't my little
brother, but fuck it, I was drunk, he was hot and nearly naked, and I've
always had a weakness for muscled-up little jock boys in briefs. I could be
forgiven for a few idle, gay big bro ideas, surely.

When he got back, I was smoking a joint with the balcony door cracked open,
looking down at the city 20 floors below, seriously, blissfully mellowed
out. I saw his reflection in the glass first, all wrapped up in my
bathrobe, which was too big for him, but he fucking wore it like it was
made especially for him. Yeah, he was going to do just fine as a
professional clothes horse and hot dude.

His eyes lit up when he spotted the fattie I was toking on, so I passed it
over, and we killed it, and then plonked our asses down on the couch so I
could roll us another, which we also killed pretty quick. In my beautifully
chilled state, I couldn't help but stare at his long, tanned, muscular
young thigh, peeking out from the robe. Fucking nice legs, he'd always had
good ones, and I had to stop myself from licking my lips as I checked them
out. Then, when he shifted a little to lean in and take the last inch of
the J from me, the robe pulled open a bit more, showing the long, defined
bulge of his big quad, that smooth young skin going up to his bare hip - oh
fuck, he was naked under there. My big dick awoke with sudden interest,
like it was trying to stand up and take a look for itself. Fuck, I was
high. Fuck, these old mesh basketball shorts were a mistake, because my big
unit was tenting like a motherfucker, a fat, veiny, eight inch piece of
ex-jock beef in my shorts that I was ordinarily very proud of, enjoyed
showing to the right dudes... but in no way was Porter the right dude.

Evidently Porter had other ideas about that, because his eyes dropped to
the big navy-blue bulge I was trying and failing to hide, and his eyes got
all big and interested just like when he'd spotted the joint I'd been
hitting earlier.

"Fuck, Mase," he grinned, that charming smile of his mixing with that
steely, smoky gaze he'd perfected. "Nice fucking cock, big bro."

I swallowed, my mouth even more dry than it had been from the
smoke. Speechless. I was used to dudes being direct with their interest in
me, because they figured I was stupid and wouldn't get nuance. But I had no
idea how to handle this. Instead, Porter handled it, quite literally,
reaching out slowly to graze his hand over my fat, throbbing mound. Just a
light graze, and then a firmer one, then a gentle, friendly squeeze while
he murmured about its fatness, its heat, its throb, and just like that, we
were kissing.

I ran my hand up that long, sexy jockboy thigh of his as we hungrily
swapped tongues, rubbed and squeezed and stoked its perfection, doing what
thousands of gay dudes in America would probably be fantasizing about as
soon as his pics got out into the world. He kissed like a fucking pro,
hands squeezing my big, beefy, hairy brother pecs, kneading the chunky
thickness of my fur-trimmed muscles, the big leather couch creaking and
squeaking underneath us as we moaned, writhed, slowly made our way out of
our clothes. Well, out of my clothes. It took all of three seconds to
unknot the robe that covered that gorgeous young bod of his, less than that
to begin hungrily licking him all over, exploring my hottie of a little
brother while he moaned my name and pawed at my dark buzzcut head and
beard.

Now, every time I saw Porter modeling designer underwear in the men's
magazines, I grinned as I stared at the contours of that perfect, muscular
young ass, the ass that had sold thousands of pairs of undies already,
remembering how I'd plowed it deep with my big fucking dick. My fucking big
brother dick, to be precise. Several times over that hot, stress-killing
weekend of his visit, and again every time we found ourselves in the same
town now. And the thing I was most proud of? That designer brand had spent
big on in-app advertising in my booming little app, and now every time I
opened it on my phone, there was Porter, my smoking hot baby bro, ass
stretching those designer briefs perfectly, looking over at his shoulder
with that sexy, smoky, steely gaze. Like he was giving it directly to me.
Yeah, he was gonna do just fine in this game.