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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
"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
"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
"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
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
"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,"
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
"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
"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
"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
"Good job. Now - you see the guy standing next to the fountain on
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
"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
"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
"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
"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
"More like ask and ye shall unwittingly become the subject of
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
"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'
"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
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,
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
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
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
"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
"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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
"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.
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
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
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
"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
"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
"Hehe, you're fuzzy," he giggled, running his fingers over my
"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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