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Related article: Date: Mon, 17 Feb 2003 12:38:55 -0800 From: Andrew ~ Subject: Adam's Scrapbook "Did you get them?" Chris asked. "Yeah," I nodded. I sat down on the bench next to him and slipped one of the magazines out of the bag -- just long enough for him glimpse its cover. "Dope," he said, reaching to grab the plastic sack out of my hands. "Let me take a look." "Not here," I pulled the bag out of his reach. "Wait till we get home." "Don't be such a dick, Adam. Hand them over." "Aren't you even going to thank me?" "Thank you, " he said, rolling his eyes. "Hey, what are big brothers for?" I didn't really give a damn that his gratitude had been fake. I could pretend, couldn't I? "So seriously, let me see them." Chris was back to business. "What do you think you're going to do? Whip your dick out and start jerking off in the middle of the mall? Have a little self-restraint," I said. "I think I can hold off till we get home." He rolled his eyes again. "Hell, I've been holding off for a couple days now. I just want to survey the goods in the meantime." "Chris, I'm not going to be seen letting my little brother - my little underage brother, might I add - look at dirty magazines in public. Period." He glowered at me. "Totalitarian cretin." "Libidinous brat," I shot back. He sat pouting for a moment, one arm slung nonchalantly over the back of the bench, and one leg bent to rest on the seat. "So did you get a look before you bought them?" he asked after a while. "Yeah." "And?" He looked at me expectantly. A grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. "Damn hot." It was Chris's turn to grin now. "Sweet. But damn, Adam, the suspense is killing me. Not even one little peek?" "What the hell part of my refusal went over your head? I said no. Besides, you'd better be careful or you'll be sporting wood before we even get back to the car." Another mischievous grin crossed his face. "Too late." He grabbed his crotch and gave it a good squeeze. "You really do have no shame, do you?" I shook my head at my brother's typical unabashed candor. "I'd bet good money you're every bit as hard as I am right now," Chris said. I could feel my cheeks flushing. Whichever genes or whatnot had given Chris his brazenness had certainly passed right over me. "What does it matter whether or not I'm... you know... excited?" "You are, aren't you?" Chris said, his grin widening further still. I glared at him. "Adam's got a boner, Adam's got a boner," Chris gleefully taunted me in juvenile singsong. "Shut the fuck up. I don't want the whole world to know my dick's hard in my pants," I hissed. "So you admit it!" he exclaimed, the same impish grin still plastered all over his features. "I suppose you'd like it in writing too," I rolled my eyes. "Nah. Not like I find it too hard to Black Nymphets believe an old hornball like you'd bone up looking at some dirty pictures, anyway." He gave me a playful slug on the chest. "At least I've got an excuse for my... condition. I actually saw some nudie pics. What about you? The mere anticipation was enough to get you all hot and bothered," I shifted in my seat, moving the slender bag to cover my lap - suddenly paranoid that any attention might be directed at it. "Not quite, Sherlock. Better luck next time." He sat up and leaned forward (changing position for the first time since I'd sat down), and pointed in the opposite direction. I turned to look where he was directing my attention. "You see that fountain over there?" he asked. "Yeah." It was kind of hard to miss, being that it was only about fifteen feet away. "Nothing gets by you, does it?" "Get to the point, reject." "Ooh... harsh words. Am I supposed to be intimidated?" I turned to look my brother in the eye. "You tell me." "Downright ominous, Hitchcock." After rolling his eyes yet again, Chris gave me a jocund pat on the shoulder, then directed my attention outward again. "Seriously, you see all those people by the fountain over there?" "They're kind of hard to miss too." There were about a dozen teenagers milling about the fountain - basically the only other people in the entire lower level of the mall. The place was relatively deserted. The mall had lost popularity, and its stores had consequently lost business. Downstairs was a ghost town for all intents and purposes (with a few notable exceptions, such as the bookstore at which I'd procured my dirty magazines). As such, the adjacent clique stood out rather prominently. "Good job. Now - you see the guy standing next to the fountain on our right?" My eyes went where Chris had directed them, and saw a guy I'd previously overlooked. The dude was gorgeous. He looked to be about seventeen or eighteen - roughly my age. He had light brown hair with the tips bleached blond, agonizingly smooth skin, and a killer smile. He was only wearing a tight wife-beater and old denim shorts. The ensemble left little to the imagination, revealing his finely sculpted musculature for all to see. Though fabric covered his torso, his Black Nymphets muscles were still visibly defined, and I could even make out the imprints of his nipples. His legs were equally buff, and his calves were covered with an ample layer of light hair. "Damn," was all I could utter. "I know," Chris said, observing the specimen as raptly as I. "The dude's a fucking Adonis." "I apologize for what I said earlier. You had ample excuse to bone up." "Careful not to be too blatant. You don't want to give us away, do you?" Chris said. I tore my eyes off of the demigod long enough to look at my brother askance. "This from the boy who only moments ago couldn't wait to publicly ogle gay porn, who was grabbing his hardon, and was loudly crooning about mine?" "Hey, my actions could be interpreted many different ways by an ignorant passerby. At least I wasn't sitting there agape with my tongue practically hanging on the floor." "At least that's not half as bad as what I'm sure you wanted to do with your tongue," I rebutted. "Hey, what I do with my tongue in my fantasies is my business. But here in the real world I'd prefer if you didn't give us away, okay?" "At this point do you really think I care if some random, albeit gorgeous, guy knows I swing this way? I just went in and bought four magazines with mostly naked men on the cover back in that bookstore. Do you really think -- after the deprecating look that bulky clerk gave me -- that I give a damn what yonder hotty thinks? I'm here. I'm queer. So are you. Whoopty-shit." "Hey, maybe you're comfortable waving rainbow banners around wherever you go, but I'm not quite to that point yet, so I'd appreciate it if you'd keep our mutual preferences on the down-low, okay?" "You should watch what you say. You're lucky I went into that store and outed myself for your future masturbatory pleasure. How's about that gratitude I requested earlier?" "Oh, whatever. I know you, Adam. You're the only person I've ever met who actually masturbates more than I do - and that's quite a feat. You'd've gone and bought a dirty magazine sooner or later after you turned eighteen even if I hadn't asked you to." "True as that may be, I'd still appreciate some gratitude," I said. "Fine," Chris sighed. "Thank you ever so much, big brother, for your purchase of this fine pornographic material of a homosexual nature. My masturbation sessions will never be the same again. From this point forward, whenever I take my penis in my hand, I'll Black Nymphets think only of your benevolent countenance as I stroke myself to ecstasy." "Whoa... that's a tad more than I had in mind," I said. Chris shrugged, his face the very picture of innocence. "Ask and ye shall receive." "More like ask and ye shall unwittingly become the subject of incestuous fantasy." Once again, Chris patted my shoulder. "Adam, I can assure you with great certainty that that will never, never, NEVER be the case in reality." "And I can assure you with great certainty that the feeling is absolutely mutual," I returned Chris's wry smile. "So, shall we get going?" Chris asked. "My dick's just about hard enough now to substitute as an ice pick." "I can assure you that that feeling is also absolutely mutual," I replied. "So shall we be on our way?" "I think we shall," I said. And with that, we rose from our bench and began our trek to my car. We passed by the fountain and the group of teenagers adorning its periphery, including the post-pubescent hotty. I glanced at him as we walked by. Damn, he was even hotter up close. Unfortunately, he didn't even seem to notice us. Oh well. "He's totally into guys," Chris whispered once we'd passed. "Oh, whatever. He didn't even see us." "Yeah - but I could tell that he WANTED to look," Chris insisted. "That's just wishful thinking," I dismissed the notion. "Yeah? Well, that's just pessimistic thinking. The guy was a total closet-case, I'm sure of it." I turned to face Chris, sending a bemused glance in his direction. "Unlike you?" He glowered at me, stuffing his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders. "Shut up." We reached the escalator. "You still hard?" he asked as we stepped on. "As a rock. What about you?" "You know it." "Of course I do. Why else would you have both hands stuffed in your pockets like that?" I said. "Once again, nothing gets past you, does it?" We were silent for a moment. "You're playing pocket pool, aren't you?" I asked. "What? Come on, Adam. I'm not an animal." "Chris," I crossed my arms, glaring at him with my 'no-bullshit' face. "All right, yeah," he admitted sheepishly. "Seriously, man, have some self-restraint. You don't want to bust a nut before we even get home, do you?" I said. "But my dick's SO fucking hard it hurts!" Chris whined, stamping his foot on the grooved escalator stair. His protestation was greeted with high-pitched giggling. We looked up to see that we were nearing the upper level, and there were three popular girls from our school standing right by the railing - obviously well within earshot. I had to work damn hard not to burst out laughing. Chris's cheeks turned utterly crimson. He bowed his head in abashment, as if hoping the visor of his baseball cap might somehow render him invisible. With his hands still firmly planted in his pockets, Chris disembarked from the elevator and whisked past the tittering girls, issuing a curt "hey, ladies," as he went. No way in hell he could rescue himself from that one. Once I reached the top, I followed him, exchanging glances of scarcely contained gleeful bemusement with the girls before continuing on my way. Once I caught up with Chris (who hadn't changed his posture one iota since he'd scurried off from view), he beat me to the punch: "Don't you dare say a fucking word or I'll make sure YOUR dick will never get hard again." "I wouldn't dream of adding insult to your injury," I said as we traversed a sea of discount women's clothing, then added, "besides, that was so blatantly obvious that it would take all the fun out of mocking you." He stopped, pivoted toward me, made a snipping gesture in midair, then was on his way again. I got the drift. "I promise I won't even mention your boner anymore." "I assure you, my dick is no longer hard," Chris marched onward, briskly apace. I looked around to make sure no one was near, then grabbed Chris's arm and pulled him behind a rack of pink sweatpants. "What?" he glared at me, his sullen features shadowed by his hat's brim. Looking around one more time to ensure our isolation, I reached into my bag, pulled out a magazine, and opened it to the centerfold. Chris was transfixed. There before us was a young model in all his glory. He was easily just as gorgeous as the guy we'd been spying on downstairs was -- if not even more so. He had his hand wrapped around his massive, moist tool, and he had an expression of pure ecstasy on his face. Unless he was simply a damn good actor, the guy in the picture was mere seconds away from shooting a creamy load all over that gorgeous, smooth chest of his. If I spent much more time looking at him, I was pretty sure I'd soon be in the same condition. I tore my eyes away to glance at Chris. He wasn't even blinking. "Damn," he murmured. "Feel any better?" I asked. "You could say that," he said, his eyes still fixed on the model. After a little while, I saw a lady walking in our direction. Quickly, I shut the magazine and stuffed it back into the bag. We were on our way again. I figured Chris had been in enough incriminating situations for one day. "It's back," Chris whispered as we walked side by side to the exit. "Glad things are looking up again," I said. "What a great brother," Chris grinned at me mischievously. "I lose my hardon, so he shows me another guy's." "That's me: just a regular old philanthropist," I said. "There are several things wrong with that sentence - but I could care less. My erection is back!" Chris beamed. "After our last little encounter, I'd think you'd be a bit more discreet about what information you publicly divulge," I said as I pushed the mall's door open. "There's practically nobody around for miles this time," Chris shrugged. "Whatever. It's your dick," I shrugged. "And don't you forget it," he proclaimed with an air of finality. I stopped, puzzled by his non sequitur, and looked at him quizzically. Then we both burst out laughing. After the tension of the escalator incident, we both needed a bit of release to clear the air. Yes, yes, I know, we were both in need of another kind of release as well. That was simply another one of those instances where I thought it was simply too obvious to comment. "Come on, you dork," I said, still laughing, and gestured for him to follow me into the parking lot. We were on Black Nymphets our way. Once we got in the car, Chris made another grab for the magazines, but I stuffed them under my chair. He gave me his sad puppy eyes, but to no avail. "You've already had one sneak preview," I said. "You're not getting another." We were soon on the road. We couldn't have arrived home soon enough. Though I'd mocked Chris's horniness, the truth was that I too felt like I'd explode if I didn't give my dick some attention and soon. We both flew out of the car, tore through the house, and practically took running leaps into my room. I shut the door, locking it behind us, and Chris seized the bag out from under my arm. He dumped its contents out onto my bed, picked one of the magazines without being terribly discerning (I don't think he cared which naked guys he was seeing so much as he cared that he was seeing naked guys), and plopped himself down onto my bed with his eyes already glued to the pages. "Damn, that guy's tool is fucking colossal," Chris gawked. He fumbled with his zipper, reached into his fly, and pulled his engorged dick out into the open. He already had a steady rhythm of stroking going before I could even sit down in the swivel chair by my desk. As I scooted it across the room I commented: "Damn, you don't waste any time getting down to business, do you?" He stopped stroking long enough to glower at me. "I think I've held off quite long enough, thank you very much." "Just giving you a hard time," I grinned at him, and snagged a magazine for myself. He rolled his eyes, then returned his attention back to the boys baring themselves on the pages before him. Soon his hand was faithfully back to work. His dick was already sopping wet. His five-inch tool had already been drenched with precum by the time he'd removed it from his pants. And now, my brother was going to town on his own organ. I actually thought it was slightly funny, the way he was so intently focused on his first dirty magazine, the way he was pumping so earnestly on that little dick of his. Well - it wasn't that little. Like I said, it was about five-inches long - not too bad for such a pipsqueak of a fifteen-year-old guy. Maybe it just looked dwarfed by the big, baggy jeans out from which it was jutting. Chris had a relatively diminutive form to begin with - he'd always looked a bit young for his age. In fact, his dick seemed rather proportionate to his frame. From a purely aesthetic standpoint, my brother actually had Black Nymphets a pretty nice dick. I was actually kind of envious. Even though mine was bigger, Chris's dick had a light pink head that was the perfect size for his shaft. At the moment, all the generous globs of precum were making it shine in the light. A few stray, wiry pubic hairs poked out from the creased, plaid fabric of Chris's red boxer shorts. Watching Chris beat off was making me jealous - not to mention horny. I decided that if I didn't start ministering to my dick pretty soon I'd go mad. So I took my magazine and opened the pages. The first thing I saw was a drop-dead gorgeous guy stroking his dick and tweaking a nipple. I was hooked. I reached into my pants and gave my dick a squeeze. Enough temptation was enough. I just wanted to have at it. I unzipped my fly and released my dick. Damn, did it feel good to be free. With my seven-inch member bobbing up and down in the open, I gripped it in my fist and got to work. For a while, the only sound that could be heard in my room was that of moist slapping, and Black Nymphets occasionally of turning a page. I couldn't believe how hot the models were. How come I never ran into guys like that in real life? Oh well. I wasn't complaining that at least these hotties were baring all for my viewing pleasure. "Take a look at this," Chris said. He scooted across my bed, then knelt on its edge. My brother's wet dick stuck up at an angle from his lap, my view of it unobstructed as he used both hands to hold up his magazine and display its centerfold for me. "Awesome," I murmured, taking in the model's beauty. "With guys like this to ogle, I'm having a damn hard time holding back my orgasm... but I want to make it last," Chris said. "I hear ya," I nodded. Instead of moving back to his previous spot, Chris sat down on the side of my bed, and got back to work beating his meat. Our dicks were only a foot or two apart as we stroked ourselves. Even though I honestly wasn't the least bit attracted to my brother, I was getting turned on simply from sharing such a private, personal, taboo experience with another guy. It was hardly the first time we'd jacked off together, but never before had either of us been nearly so horny from the get-go due to such immense build-up. I set down my magazine between us. This time it was my turn to share. "Take a look at him," I said, pointing to another unbelievably hot guy. Chris set his magazine down, and both of us concentrated our attention on my magazine. We each leaned forward to drink in the model's beauty, and we each kept stroking our dicks. With the magazine laid between us, I could see the centerfold and both of our dicks all at once. It made for a damn hot view. Chris couldn't help but let a moan escape. I looked up, caught his eye, and we both sheepishly smiled at each other as we continued mutually pounding our dicks. "If it's all right with you, I think I'm Black Nymphets going to get a little more comfortable," Chris Black Nymphets said. "Sounds like a good idea," I agreed, and immediately pulled my shirt over my head. Chris set his magazine down and stood up to disrobe. He was wearing a slightly oversized red and black polo shirt (the variety skaters sometimes wear) with a plain white T-shirt underneath. He attempted to pull both over his head at once - but he only managed to get the conglomeration of clothing stuck on his baseball cap. I couldn't help but chuckle a bit, watching him struggle around with his arms flailing in the air, his head encased in a tangled wad of fabric, the flesh of his slim chest exposed, and his petit stiffy wagging around in front of him. He finally managed to get his shirts over his head, but his cap went flying to the ground. He reached down to put it back on his head, then dropped his big, baggy pants to the ground. He stepped out of them, then shucked his boxers off as well. Totally naked, except for a black baseball cap on his head and a ring of plastic pooka shells around his neck, Chris lay back down on my bed. He picked up a new magazine and, gripping his firm boyhood in his other hand, started to stroke again. "That's more like it," he murmured, groaning a bit as well. Watching my brother masturbate for a moment, I was struck by how dissimilar we really were. If a stranger saw us, he or she would probably never guess that we were brothers. By this point, I was naked too, so it was fairly easy for me to compare our bodies. Chris had always looked a bit young for his age. Though he was almost sixteen, he looked at least a year younger than he really was. He was short and slim. Though he wasn't scrawny to the point where you could easily make out his ribs or anything like that, his frame was still quite slender nonetheless - not to mention smooth. Chris had always had very little body hair. What little he had was the same color as the short dirty blond mop on his head (which was rarely visible, due to his incessant insistence upon hats). He didn't have a single hair on his chest, and his arms and legs were almost as smooth. He did have small tufts of fluff under each arm, and he had a compact patch of light brown fuzz above his dick. About the only thing we had in common was our propensity to tan, so we each naturally had a rich, creamy skin tone (though where my skin got bronze, his skin got tan). His skin was virtually flawless, marred only by the occasional freckle, and two small tan nipples atop his utterly flat chest. I, on the other had, was much taller than he was. I stood at least a half a foot higher, and my mesomorphic frame dwarfed Black Nymphets my brother's. Where people had always told Chris that he looked young for his age, I'd always been told the exact opposite. I had a decent amount of muscle - though due to a lack of exercise, it wasn't that well defined. Where Chris's hair was light, mine was dark brown - not to mention that I had a fair amount of it covering my body. Chris had been a late bloomer, and I had been an early bloomer. I had a decent covering of soft brown hair between my pecs and on my abdomen. And of course, if I already had a decent amount of hair on my chest at eighteen, I had plenty elsewhere. My legs were hairy, I had plenty of hair under each arm, and I had a sizeable black bush crowning my seven-inch dick. (My ballsack was also quite a bit heftier than Chris's.) I had a five o'clock shadow by the time I got home every day, whereas Chris only had to shave about once a week. I had brown eyes; Chris had blue eyes. Chris was circumcised; I was uncut. The list of differences went on. Suffice it to say, Chris took after our father (who had never had more than five fine hairs on his chest for his entire adult life), and I took after our mom's side of the family. Her brothers were regular fuzzballs. Beyond our physical disparities, there were many other things Chris and I didn't have in common. He was extroverted; I was introverted. He was a bit of an athlete; I was an artist. He liked rap; I liked rock. He was a skater; I was preppy. He was a bit of a punk; I was a bit of a goody-goody. The clothes we'd just shed reflected our differing tastes. His were big and baggy; mine were brand name. He always wore his requisite baseball cap, whereas I customarily decorated my short brown hair with hi-lights. The main thing we had in common was our homosexuality - and believe me, that was more than enough Black Nymphets to forge a huge bond between us. Truth be told, before I learned that Chris was gay, he and I had hardly ever spent any quality time together. (Back then, I'd spend most of my time with our Black Nymphets other [eldest] brother, Mike. But in the past few years, as Chris and I had grown closer, Mike and I had grown progressively more distant. It didn't help that now he was off at college and hardly ever came home.) But once we'd learned about each other, Chris and I really had become inseparable. Having Chris around was like having a built-in support net. I was the only person who knew he was gay, and vice versa. It was our mutual, well-kept secret. I'm sure I would have been a lot lonelier over the last two years if I hadn't had Chris there to share this experience with me. Sometimes, it was just pretty dang cool to be able to come home and talk to my brother about guys we liked. Or, on worse occasions, it was a godsend to have someone I implicitly trusted with whom I could confide my most intimate fears about being gay, and then be able to do the same for him when he needed an empathetic shoulder to cry on. Basically, I was glad my brother was gay. Actually, I was pretty shocked when I discovered Chris liked guys. Though I don't like to perpetuate stereotypes - he really defied all of them, which had really thrown me off. Chris was pretty damn masculine. He was Black Nymphets a bit of a jock, and bit of a skater punk. I wasn't effeminate by any stretch of the imagination - but I'd always been a bit more in touch with my feminine side than most guys. I was pretty sensitive - pretty into art and stuff like that. It had never even crossed my mind that Chris might be attracted to guys. However, that all changed one fateful afternoon. A little over two years ago, when I was fifteen and Chris was thirteen, I'd needed to write a report for my history class. My computer, unfortunately, was broken. So, I decided to go into Chris's room and use his to do some online research. Our rooms are adjacent, and separated by a shared bathroom. I decided to take a shortcut into his room and entered via the bathroom. I entered just in time to see him shoot a small load of cum on his chest. I felt stupid, not having knocked. But, as brothers, Chris and I had become accustomed to disregarding each other's privacy. (As it turned out, I later learned he'd locked the main door to his room but he'd forgotten about the bathroom door.) Nevertheless, I'd never barged in on him masturbating before. In theory, this needn't have been quite the insurmountable obstacle between us it might have seemed - I'd actually been the one to teach Chris to masturbate, after all - so it wasn't as if I'd never seen my brother with a boner before. However, what made this instance so atypically awkward was that there was a huge picture of a naked man filling his computer screen. I'd caught Chris jerking off to gay porn. Chris looked up at me with honest to God terror in his eyes. There he was, with his erection in one hand, a tiny puddle of cum on his chest, and a naked man displayed on his computer screen. He knew he'd been discovered and there was no way in hell he could explain his way out of this one. He was gay, and I knew it. I was shocked. I didn't know what to think. I was honestly overwhelmed. I'd just found out that my little brother was also gay -- not to mention that I'd just barged in on him jerking off. I didn't know what to say or what to do. I must have gone into sensory overload or something, so I just turned around and got the hell out of there as quickly as I could. I slammed the door behind me, then leaned up against it. I slid down to the floor, trying to process what I'd just seen. Chris was gay. My brother was gay. I'd just spent the last two years grappling with my homosexuality - trying to come to terms with it. I'd felt so alone. Little had I known that my brother, just one room over, had been going through the exact same thing all along. I wasn't the only fag in the family. I wasn't the odd man out (or, should I say, I wasn't the queer man out). I wasn't the black sheep, or the ugly duckling (or any other proverbial animal pariah). Chris was gay too. I was shocked, but also relieved - not to mention worried. I was experiencing a whole smorgasbord of emotions, and quite frankly I had no clue what I was supposed to do with myself next. I hoped Chris hadn't been struggling with himself as much as I had been recently. Though I had come to terms with my sexuality by that point, it had been an arduous process. I hoped Chris hadn't had such a rough time. Though he and I weren't very close at that point in time, I still wished him the best. I wondered what would happen if I told him I was gay too. I wanted to be there for him - to make his journey lighter than mine had been. But I was scared. Even though I knew Chris was gay too, I was still scared to tell him. I'd never told anybody about my homosexuality before. I was sure Chris would be grateful for such an admission. I knew there was no greater chance of him rejecting my homosexuality than there was of me rejecting his. But telling someone for the first time - even an undoubtedly sympathetic, understanding someone - still represented more of a challenge than I felt prepared to face at that point in time. And I felt like crap for being such a coward. Chris probably felt a hell of a lot worse than I did right about then -- struggling with the mortification of having been discovered by a family member, and fearing the outcome. I wanted to go in there, to tell him that everything was fine - to tell him that he had a friend, a confidant, a peer in me. But I was too scared. I was too fucking scared to be the good brother Chris needed me to be. So I avoided him for the next few weeks. We really didn't even talk. We'd pass each other in the hall, but it would be like two ships passing in the night. He wouldn't look at me, and I wouldn't look at him. Both of us were too fucking petrified for our own reasons. And the entire time, I Black Nymphets really did feel like total shit. Every time I missed another opportunity to tell him the truth I'd kick myself. Why the hell couldn't I overcome my fucking cowardliness? Why was I such a fucking Black Nymphets coward to begin with? So finally I got to the point where I couldn't live with myself anymore. I was too disgusted; so I told him. I mustered up every single iota of courage I had within me - it took at least that much courage simply to walk the eight feet from my door to his. I stood there, taking a few deep breaths. I stared into the white paint on his door. I had to do this if I ever wanted to look in the mirror without disgust again. I had to do this because I loved my brother. I had to do this because it was the right thing to do. And it was now or never. This time I knocked. The door cracked open, and Chris's face appeared on the other side of the aperture. He stared at me for a moment. It was the first time we'd made eye contact in weeks. "What do you want?" he asked me. I took a deep breath. "I want to show you something." He stared at me for a second - undoubtedly trying to ascertain my intentions. Those were the first words we'd exchanged since I'd caught him dick in hand. It was understandable that he should be wary of my intentions - and for my part, I certainly wasn't being very forthcoming. But after a moment, I guess he realized I bore him no ill will. I suppose he at least hoped so. Who'd want to be rejected by his own brother? So he followed me - wordlessly. I led him to my room. When we got in there I closed the door behind us. I turned to look at Chris. He seemed so vulnerable standing there. He had his hands in his pockets, and he was looking up at me with dish plate eyes. I knew his secret, and he knew that I was finally going to address it. This was to be the moment of truth. But what would my verdict be? "Come here," I ushered for him to follow me as I walked over to my bed. Tentatively he took a seat beside me. He looked at me again - still anticipating (maybe even dreading a bit) whatever it was that I was about to say. I melted a bit. Yes, I was still absolutely dreading telling Chris my secret - but it was hard to feel the least bit threatened when met by such sincerely plaintive eyes. I took a deep breath. This was it. "Okay. What I'm about to show you is a work in progress. It's something I began... it think it was a little after my twelfth birthday. And I've been working on it ever since then. It's really personal to me... I've never showed it to anybody else before... ever. You're the first person besides me ever to lay eyes on it." He gave me a quizzical look. "Don't worry. You'll understand soon," I said. I reached underneath my bed and pulled an old, ragged spiral notebook out from beyond the bed skirt. Some pages were ripped, and some were stuck together. Parts of the cover were bent. The spiral binding was coming undone. Yet that dilapidated old notebook held more sentimental value than practically anything Black Nymphets else I owned. It had been worn ragged from use time and time again. I couldn't count the number of times I'd leafed through its pages over the last few years. I couldn't put a price on how much I cherished it. I couldn't relate how personal and secret its existence was to me. But I wanted to share it with Chris now. I took a deep breath, and I handed it to him. "I want you to be the first person to see what's inside," I told him. Not knowing quite what to think, Chris took the notebook in his hands. He looked down at the cover for a moment, probably trying to figure out why I was making such a production out of showing him a beat-up old notebook. But despite his lack of comprehension, he couldn't dispute what significance this book obviously held for me. That much was apparent. So he opened the book. On the first page I'd pasted a photo of myself and several of my friends from junior high posing in our swimming trunks in front of a pool. Chris stared at it for a moment, then turned to the next page. On the left there was a large clipping from the newspaper: a black and white advertisement with a muscular young man modeling a pair of boxer shorts. On the opposite page I'd posted two smaller Black Nymphets pictures I'd torn from magazines: the first one featured three preteen boys running around on the beach, and the other picture showed two shirtless teen guys playing soccer. Chris stared for a time - still clearly unsure what to make of the book in his hands. He turned to the next page - and there was a shirtless photo of Devon Sawa I'd taken from a magazine. The opposite page had more clippings of cute young guys. The next page had a picture I'd printed off of my computer: a young, spiky-haired twink jerking off. The next page had several pencil sketches of naked boys. Chris flipped through more and more pages. He looked up at me - realization dawning in his eyes. He looked down again, and kept flipping through more and more pages of cute young boys in various stages of undress. He came to a page with a Polaroid bust of a friend I'd met in middle school named Jesse. We'd Black Nymphets met each other when I'd gone to visit my dad in New York for a few weeks during the summer between seventh and eighth grade. Jesse had a fair complexion, and light brown hair he parted down the middle. In the picture, Jesse had a big smile on his face, and he was wearing a bright red T-shirt and a thin gold chain around his neck. There were a bunch of hearts sketched around the photo's periphery. One especially large heart had "A+J" written in its center. On the opposite page there was another Polaroid - this one had Jesse posing by a swimming pool. He was wearing only blue board shorts, and he was flexing his pubescent "muscles". He had a very serious look on his face, but from the twinkle in his eye it was clear he was just about to burst out laughing. The rest of his body was just as fair as his face. He had the faintest hints of muscle definition on his chest, and his pecs were each capped with a tiny nipple that was only a few shades darker than the rest of his skin. With his arms lifted in the picture, a few faint wisps of hair were visible in each armpit. Underneath the photo, I'd written: "I think I've died and gone to heaven. Today Jesse invited me to go swimming at his neighborhood pool. He's such a cutie. I was really excited cuz I was looking forward to seeing him in a bathing suit. I've jacked off every night since I met him imagining what he looks like without his shirt on. But I didn't just get lucky today - I hit the jackpot. When I got to his place, I was already dressed and ready to go, but Jesse wasn't. He still had to put his swimming suit on. But he did it with me in the room!!! Oh my God! I actually got to see his dick! It was about two inches long, and he had a really nice little patch of black pubic hair on top of it. And then after we went swimming, Jesse said we should take a shower before we went back to his place. I was scared to death of him seeing my boner, but the offer was just too tempting to refuse. So we went into the locker room. We stalled a bit, but we both finally took off our trunks. I was really afraid what he'd say when he saw that I was hard, but then I turned around and saw he was hard too. His dick was like four or five inches long. Mine was an inch or two longer - but I'm used to that. I've always been big for my age. We just kind of smiled at each other, then went to take a shower. We were the only ones in there - so we kind of took our time. I couldn't take my eyes off of his body. (I wish I could have taken a picture of that!) I was so hard I was throbbing. I was working up the courage to ask Jesse if he thought maybe we should do something about our raging hardons when some other guys came in. We were scared they'd see our boners, so we got out of there really fast and got dressed. I was disappointed it was over, but I was still really glad I got to see Jesse with a hardon. I'd like to see him naked again, but dammit, we're leaving to go back home tomorrow. Oh well. I guess I'm still pretty lucky - not to mention hard as a rock. I think I'm going to go take care of my dick now." I couldn't believe I'd just let Chris read that. That was one of my most cherished, most intimate memories from my early teens. Jesse was the only other person in the whole world who knew we'd showed our boners to each other in the shower that day. But now Chris knew. I'd feared I'd be mortified - but in actuality, I was actually kind of glad he knew. It felt good to share such a special memory with somebody I really cared about - especially if it was for a good cause. The admissions in this scrapbook were my gift to him. And anyway - if Chris thought that story was personal, he hadn't seen nothing yet. He turned the page. The left page was blank, but on the right side, there was another Polaroid at the top. This one was pretty damn pornographic - and it was a picture of me at the age of thirteen. I was holding the camera at arm's length, so my chest, pelvis, and the top of my legs were visible. I was seated on the floor, totally naked, and holding my dick with my other hand. A rope of cum was shooting out of my dick onto a piece of paper. There was a stain underneath the photo, and an arrow pointing to it, reading: "First cum after shower with Jesse - preserved for posterity." It was a pretty damn big stain. I'd had an absolutely huge crush on Jesse (I'd moped around for weeks and weeks once we arrived home from our visit to New York), and seeing him naked and erect had obviously gotten me REALLY horny. I'd basically soaked the page in my splooge. Chris looked up at me, obviously shocked at the content of the new page. I blushed sheepishly. "Oh my God," he said, then laughed. I couldn't help but laugh a bit as well. I couldn't believe I'd actually had the guts to take that picture. Chris looked back down at it - and there I was to see - my naked glory preserved forever and ever. I was actually kind of glad I'd taken the picture. It was nice to have a record of what I looked like at that point in time. My chest was smooth, but I had a fair amount of hair under each arm even at that age. My dick was about six inches long then, and I had a fairly sizeable bush of pubes. I even had the beginnings of a treasure trail starting to show. Chris looked up again, still shaking his head in mild disbelief. It really had taken a lot of balls (both literally and figuratively) to take that picture. And it had taken even more to show it to Chris. I supposed now we were really even. Not only did he now know I was also gay, but he'd now seen a picture of me shooting a load, just as I'd walked in on him doing the same. He finally turned the page, and continued skimming the remaining pictures till he reached the point where I'd left off. The rest of the pages weren't quite that explicit. The rest had more clipped underwear ads, more printouts of Internet porn, more lewd sketches, and plenty of handwritten logs of my most intimate fantasies. Once Chris had reached the end of the content, he closed the book, and we sat there in silence for a moment. He sat there, looking down at the tattered old notebook he had in his hands - digesting all he'd seen and the significance of what had been shared. Then he set the book down, and looked up at me. I remember thinking how somber he looked, how sincere. This was a sacred moment between the two of us. Something intensely important and personal had been shared. He took me in his arms and hugged me tighter and longer than he'd ever hugged me before. And I hugged him back. We stayed like that for a long time. I don't know how long. What I did know was that, for the first time in ages, I could feel good about myself again. And not only that, but I felt closer to my brother than I'd ever felt before. I'd been scared of telling him, but now I was so glad that I had. What I'd done had clearly meant a lot to him, and our relationship would be much better as a result. He was my brother, and I loved him like a brother - only now, our connection ran much, much deeper. It was much more real. "Thank you," he whispered into my ear. Then, he gently let go. We sat there for a moment. Then Chris got up, looked at me and gave me one more smile, then exited my bedroom. He was gone. But something important had happened, and we both knew it. I smiled as I recalled that tender moment, and was then brought crashing back to reality by a piercing grunt. I looked up, and there was Chris - lying totally naked on my bed, thrashing his hand wildly up and down on his hard cock, and thrusting his pelvis around as if humping the air. He'd set his magazine down, and he had his eyes closed as his face went into contortions. Animalistic grunts and moans escaped from his lips. "Penny for your thoughts," I looked at Chris bemusedly. Neither stopping for a beat nor opening his eyes, Chris grunted, "Fucking Patrick Carter." "Yeah... he is hot, isn't he?" I said, lazily stroking my own cock as I pictured the attractive sophomore from our school. "Hell yeah," Chris grunted. He paused and sat up for a moment. I wondered if maybe he'd decided to engage me in conversation. I couldn't have been more wrong. He released his turgid dick, spit on his hand, then lay back down and got back to work jerking it as furiously as ever. Clearly, he wasn't in the mood for talking. He had more pressing matters at hand. I couldn't say I blamed him. I was also a huge fan of masturbation (not to mention of Pat Carter's biceps). Shortly after I came out to Chris we discovered our mutual affinity for masturbation. We both already knew that the other engaged in the activity. After all, I'd taught Chris how when he was twelve, then I'd walked in on him that one fateful day. And he'd seen my picture in my scrapbook. But we hadn't quite realized the extent of the other's preoccupation with the activity. We were both basically masturbation junkies; we did it all the frickin time. Chris and I had had numerous conversations about our sexuality in the weeks following my revelation. But we'd never broached the topic of masturbation. Then one day Chris came into my room asking if I had any porn saved on my computer. He was tired of the same old "crap" he'd seen on his computer a million times before, and he wanted to know if I had anything fresh and exciting. So, always happy to oblige, I booted up my computer to show him my collection. Chris was pleased, to say the least. Over the years I'd found a few web sites that were absolute gems. "Now this is more like it," Chris commented. Pretty soon it was plain to see that we were both sporting major wood. Soon the tension was simply too much to bear. Chris unzipped his fly and let his boner spring out into the open. That was all the invitation I needed. Soon were both naked and jerking as we scanned through my archives. That was the first of many joint masturbation sessions we've shared. Once the ice had been broken that initial time neither of us were nearly so reluctant to broach the topic in the future. A few weeks later, Chris came to me again to see if he could "borrow" my porn collection. And from there, it became progressively more commonplace for the two of us. We'd often share porn together. Sometimes one of us would jerk off in the shower while we were both in the bathroom getting ready for school. Sometimes we'd just be hanging out in one of our rooms, and one of us would get horny and just whip it out then and there. That was considered acceptable decorum between the two of us. It was just natural for the two of us to jerk off together. It wasn't really a sexual thing - I was honestly pretty repulsed by the thought of sex with my brother. After all... he was my brother. Masturbation was simply an activity we both enjoyed and liked sharing together. It brought us closer together without bringing us TOO close for comfort. After our first masturbation session together I'd deemed it another momentous occasion. So, with Chris's permission, I'd dragged out the old Polaroid. Still naked (and with stomachs covered in puddles of dribbling cum), the two of us sat down next to each other on my bed. We both put an arm around the other's shoulder, then I lifted the camera above our heads, we looked up and smiled, and I snapped two shots: one for Chris, and one for me. My copy had a special page in my scrapbook. Immediately after I'd taken the photos, I felt a wet slap in the face. Disoriented and confused, I lifted my hand to my cheek, and realized I had a blob of Chris's cum smeared across my cheek. Still shocked, I looked up. Chris was practically bursting with scarcely contained laughter. "You little bastard," I said, then rubbed my hand in a puddle of my own jism. Before Chris could leap away, I grabbed him by the shoulder and smeared my cum all over his face and into his hair. Laughing uproariously, he jumped up, and we proceeded to chase each other buck-naked around my room. Thus was the first of one of the few semen fights in which Chris and I have partaken over the last few years. By the end, we were both lying on the floor laughing, covered in each other's sticky seed. "Oh, fuck!" Another grunt from Chris brought me back to reality. I looked over at my bed just in time to see record volumes of cum start squirting out of his dick. His fist was moving so quickly it was practically a blur. After Chris's first few shots of splooge, his dick started acting almost like a faucet, simply letting a steady stream of the gooey liquid flow out like running water. His chest was covered in the stuff, and his coarse nest of pubes was getting utterly drenched. His body shook with mild convulsions as his dick launched load after load in orgasmic bliss. This was the most intense orgasm I'd ever seen Chris have. I didn't know that little body of his could produce so much cum. "Oh, damn..." I grunted, and I started to shoot too. Damn it felt good. I let my left hand go roaming over my sensitive skin as my own body went into convulsions. I ran my hand over my chest, running my fingers through my soft hair, tweaking my pink nipples with my fingertips. Rivulets of cum drenched my chest, my arm and my hand. I let my left hand venture south, and grasped my spasming dick with both of my hands. It just kept shooting and shooting. There is simply no greater pleasure than the intense orgasmic release only a teenaged boy can know. It was over. I just sat there, totally spent. I didn't open my eyes; I didn't move a muscle. My limbs felt like they were made of jelly. I just sat there, draped over my chair, taking one slow deep breath after another - reliving the glory of my orgasm. Finally, as the afterglow began to subside a bit, I opened my eyes. Chris was still lying on my bed, a silly grin plastered all over his face. His eyes were bearly open. He was slowly stroking his dick, coaxing any last drops of semen out into the open. He succeeded in liberating a bit. A tiny droplet of white goo appeared at the tip of his dick, then dropped into the veritable flood of cum that was covering his body. "That was fucking amazing," he finally said. "I don't think I've ever had a better orgasm," I said. "That was so good I'm honest to God lightheaded right now," Chris said, still lazily stroking his waning hardon. "I wish I could bottle that last orgasm and keep it for future use." "I wonder if sex is that good," I pondered. "If it's even half that good, it'll be fucking amazing," Chris said. "If it's actually even better than that - damn, are we in for at treat." Chris reached down under the far side of my bed, and pulled out an old rag I always use to clean up after I jerk off. He lifted it to his nose and took a whiff. "Damn, Adam, this thing is fucking rank. You should really wash it." I shrugged. "I'll get around to it." Chris started wiping off his chest. By the time he reached his pubes, he shook his head, then scooted across the bed over toward me. "Take a look at this," Chris said, gesturing toward his crotch. "I've never done anything like this before. My pubes are fucking drenched." I reached out and ran my hand through my brother's coarse, brown pubes. He was right; they were literally soaked with his gooey teen cream. "Damn," I murmured. "You weren't kidding." I ran my hand up and down the length of his semi-hard dick once for good measure. It was just as wet. He pushed my hand out of the way and got to work drying the area. He scrubbed his soggy pubes, then got to work drying his dick. He wrapped the towel around his shaft and rubbed it up and down a few times. Any time he'd rub down, its little pink head would peak out on top. "Here you go," he said once he was finally through with the rag. He handed it to me. The fabric was totally soaked. "Thanks a lot," I rolled my eyes. "Sorry," he said, "but you saw how much cum there was on my chest! I've never ejaculated that much in my whole life." "If it's possible, I don't think I have either," I said, looking down at my body. My torso was covered in the stuff, and it was matting down a lot of the hair on my chest. Taking the rag that had recently been soaked in my brother's spunk, I started to try and wipe the mess off of my own body. I met with only minimal success. By the time I'd wrapped the fabric around my own shaft, I realized that I was fighting a losing battle. "This isn't working," I said. And before Chris knew what had happened, I'd snatched his shirt off of the floor and was wiping my dick off with it. "You fucker!" he yelled. "Get my shirt off of your dick!" Once I'd cleaned up, I tossed it over to him. "Here you go." He inspected his shirt, then looked up at me scowling. "Damn you." I shrugged innocuously. "You owe me now," he said. "What do you call the magazines I just bought?" I asked. "Irrelevant," he said. "You messed up my shirt." "Oh, for God's sake, Chris. Just toss it in the washer. It's not like your bed sheets get all ruined every time you get excited in your sleep." "Hey, I haven't had a wet dream in, like, two years," Chris said. "Yeah, that's because you jerk off so frickin much," I replied. He shrugged. "Hey, I'm not the only one. But seriously, that was a new shirt." "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Look - would it make you feel any better if I took you out for pizza?" "Hell yeah," he grinned. "Okay, then pizza it is. Just let me jump in the shower first, and then we'll go," I said. No sooner had I stood up then I was knocked down onto the ground. Chris had me locked in a tight bear hug. "Thank you for the porn, Adam," he grinned. "You're the best big brother in the whole world!" "Don't mention it," I said, not quite sure what to make of this scene. "Hehe, you're fuzzy," he giggled, running his fingers over my chest. "Shut up," I said, and rolled my brother off of me. I stood up, and looked down at him. He was just lying there naked on the floor, looking up and laughing with a big grin on his face. "Go get dressed," I said, "then we'll go get some pizza." "Sounds good to me," Chris said, propelling himself up off of the ground, then bounding into his bedroom. I smiled and shook my head as I headed into the bathroom. As I turned the warm water on in the shower, I couldn't help but think now lucky I was to have such a cool brother. He'd become more than my brother over the years: He was my best friend. And there was nothing that could come between us.----------Okay, that's it. This is the first erotic story I've written in quite a while, so I hope everyone enjoyed it. I've got some ideas for follow-up stories, so I'd love to hear what people thought of this one. Feel free to contact me with input, be it either positive or constructive, at cute_gay_boyhotmail.com. Thanks! Black Nymphets

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