“What about your brother?” he asks, stroking my cock with his other hand, playing me like a trombone.
“Gross,” I tell him, shifting on the bed to urge him on.
“You never fantasized about your brother’s dick?” Cassius asks in between French kissing my asshole.
“Shut up. That’s wrong.”
“So, you did then?” he says, and I can hear the smile on his face. “That’s okay, Adam, I won’t judge. I’m sure it was hard not to. Little brother on the bottom bunk pretending to be asleep while older brother gets ready for his morning shower, stripping himself naked, completely unaware that he has an admirer. And you, poor thing, seeing all that manly body hair while scenting his ripe musk. I would have sneaked a peek too. No wonder you were such a shameless slut for the baseball team. Did you ever offer to suck him off?”
“Obviously not. My brother’s straight.”
“But you thought about it,” he says smugly, and I want to protest that it wasn’t my fault. Isaac wasalwaysthere. I didn’t have access to porn or even cable television, just my brother.
“Tell me what you thought about, Adam,” Cassius says, kissing my hole so that it makes a loud, smacking sound.
“Just his dick,” I say and that’s true. No face or body parts, not even his hands because that would make it too icky.
“What about his voice?”
It feels like a betrayal to admit it but, “Yeah, his voice too.”
“Telling you what to do?”
“Yes.”
“Shoving his dick down your throat.”
“Or just letting me touch it.” Squeeze it, lick it, put it in my mouth to see what it tasted like. My fantasies weren’t all that developed back then, nor did they need to be. Sometimes just the scent of him was enough.
“How many times did you come thinking about your brother?”
“A few.” Trying to do the math would be too hard.
“More than a few, I’d bet. Do I remind you of him?”
“I don’t know. Not really. Well, maybe a little bit, only when you boss me around.”
“That’s most of the time.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” My mind is bombarded with images of Cassius and Isaac, their expressions ranging from grumpy to pleased—smiling, frowning, laughing—one after another until their faces blend and become indistinguishable. It’s good that I got out of there when I did. “Are you going to tell anyone?” I ask, sounding like a little boy. That was my biggest fear as an adolescent, that Isaac would somehow discover the perverse things I was thinking about and hate me for it. Just like my father hated me for being gay.
“Of course not, babe. Your secrets are safe with me.”
His tongue sweeps my hole once more and then his fingers are back, prodding at my prostate while I drag my forehead across the bedding, butting against the pillows like a frustrated bull.
“Please, Cassius, why do you have to draw this out so much?” Why does he have to know every little thought running through my head?
“Because I like it when you’re defenseless, when I can see through your skin and bones and straight to the marrow. Now take a deep breath and push out.”
I inhale as something other than his fingers stretches me, to the point that it burns. “What’s that?”
“A pink, sparkly butt plug for my dumb Barbie slut. It’ll make you walk funny, especially with the high heels.”
“You want me to look stupid?”
“The stupidest slut in all the land.”
Easy enough.At least the subject of my brother has passed. He guides me to sit at the edge of the bed and fits me with my red fuck-me pumps. He painted my toenails and fingernails earlier today, so that the color matches almost exactly. “What about this does it for you?” I ask while he strokes up and down my calf and kisses the inside of my knee.
