Chapter 2.1: Bro-Trip to Nowhere
“ONE PUUUUUUUUUUUUUNCH!” JAM Project screeches through my radio, rudely yanking me out of my slumber. I knew it was a mistake to set that as my alarm tone, but it does its job, so I shouldn’t be complaining. But I still feel like I could’ve used an extra five to ten minutes of sleep. Accepting my fate, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and just sit there for a few minutes, drifting in and out of La La Land, while JAM Project screams “Power! Get power!” and provides me with background music.
The sun is barely up and I feel like I shouldn’t be either, but I have to go for my morning run, have to keep in shape. Nobody loves an overweight blob. Well, there are those people that actually prefer a little cushion for the pushin’, but I didn’t want to be that kind of person. I like to keep myself as healthy as possible, only eating junk food once every other week, while consuming lots of fruit and vegetables any other day.
I’m not overly muscular (and to be perfectly honest, I don’t want to be), but I have very nice built, if I may so myself. I have just the right amount of muscles in just the right places with just the right amount of body fat. I stand tall at a length of 6’2” and had developed a lean muscled runner’s body over the years. I don’t go to the gym, because I find it to be a waste of time and don’t particularly like it when I’m being ogled by one of those guys that are so swollen that it looks like they could start floating up into the air at any moment. Jeff and I call them Balloon Men. Haha, we’re hilarious!
I notice the massive tenting that has formed from under my Captain America bedsheets. Apparently last night’s jack off session did diddly squat to relieve the tension that seemed to be constantly building in groin. My ten-inch monster of a cock is again rock hard, already staining the sheets with pre-cum. I still have a few minutes before I usually start my morning routine, so I decide to take care of it myself. I throw of the sheets off and slick both my hands with saliva, which I use to grasp my throbbing erection. I lay back, my feet still dangling of the edge of my bed, close my eyes and slowly start stroking, sliding both hands, one on top of the other, over the length of my morning wood. I let out an involuntary sigh each time my top hand slides over my enflamed cockhead. My already slicked hands are made even slicker by the pre-cum that oozes out if my piss-slit in great volumes.
Before long I am aggressively thrusting into my hands as if they formed the last willing hole on earth. I reach an almost explosive climax, stifling my openmouthed groans and moans, jets of cum flying left and right and over my head. One jet in particular lands on my parted lips and slowly streams into my mouth, which my tongue makes short work of. Some of it also wound up in my tangled blonde hair and just above my left eyebrow, threatening to enter my unsuspecting eye. I quickly scoop it up and lick my finger clean. My abs are also coated in a healthy spray of fresh warm cum, which I also scoop up and devour without a second thought.
The last bits of this session’s man juice flow out of the tip of my penis at a slow, but steady pace. I slowly keep stroking my now semi-erect cock, milking every last bit of cum out and clean my hands off with my tongue. Ah, nothing like a little pre-breakfast before actual breakfast. Kind of like having a first and second breakfast. I wish that was an actual thing…
I heave out a sigh of pure content and catch myself imagining that my hands were actually the mouth or hole of a willing candidate. Someone not scared to take all ten inches down their throat or deep in their anal cavities. My mind automatically drifts to Elijah…
No! I can’t! He’s my brother! Maybe not by blood, but definitely by marriage. That’s just as bad… or was it? I mean, really think about it. Sure, it would be frowned down upon by the general public, but would that really matter at the end of the day? In the end, all that matters is love.
Whoa! What was that? Why am I thinking of love all of a sudden? Yes, I’ve masturbated while fantasizing about Elijah and I doing the do. Yes, I may moan his name every now and then (okay, always!) when I shoot my load. And yes, maybe (just maybe!) I am more than sexually attracted to the guy…! Fucking sue me!
I sigh and try to focus on my morning run. That’s when I realize I still have to wash cum out of my hair. I do that while brushing my teeth, in awe by what I see in the reflection. My good looks are no joke, even with a toothbrush sticking out of my mouth and my lips coated in a minty froth, which is more than most people can say.
I rinse my mouth and just sort of ruffle my damp hair, which results in it sticking up all over the place, but still… It only ads to my handsome exterior. All that in combination with my hot bod makes me damn near irresistible to the masses.
“I’d totally fuck me,” I say to the handsome devil in the mirror. “I’d fuck me so fucking hard.” No, I am not a narcissist! I just love myself. I love my baby blue eyes, my blonde hair, my slightly pointed nose, my near-elvish ears, my rose colored lips, and my ever so lightly chiseled jawline.
I love my body: my nipples, my six-pack abs, my muscled thighs and calves, my size 13 feet, my well-developed arms and long fingers, my trimmed pits, and above all, I fucking love my ten-inch penis and perky butt. Hell, I even love that mole on my right ass cheek. And I love that others take pleasure in my appearance. It makes me feel good (well, better) about myself.
I smack my lips at my reflection and tug at my limp, yet still meaty cock. I regret it almost instantly as I can feel it engorging itself with blood yet again, rising only halfway through its full length. I walk out of my bathroom and step into my running jockey, then pull on my running shorts. I don’t bother showering, because it’s like carrying water to the sea. I’ll do that when I get back.
I take the time to admire my half naked frame in the full length mirror and can't resist the urge to snap a quick pic for Instagram. Chicks really dig that. I am guaranteed to get at least 100+ likes on this one, which only serves to feed my narcissism even further.
Shit, I wasn't wearing my running shoes in that one, so I put on my neon green running shoes and snap another pic. Hmm, it'll be even hotter if I have my earpiece in, so I plug them into my phone and snap yet another pic. Yes, this one is perfection! Selected, filtered, captioned and uploaded. Now to watch the likes and comments roll in.
I'm completely hard by now, but know that it'll go down in an instant once I get my body moving and when I return to stretch my muscles, it will most likely return with a vengeance and demand my immediate attention, which I shall do with much pleasure.
I select my Work It Out! playlist and descend the stairs, where mom and dad have already started on their own morning routine, which consists of a set of yoga stretches, followed by fifteen minutes on the treadmill and balance ball each, a series of jumping jacks, mountain climbers and burpies, and ending in another set of yoga stretches, all the while guided by the soothing sounds of nature, after which they'll take a shower together and probably (nay, definitely!) fuck each other's brains out, to Elijah's dismay.
His routine usually consists of him waking up to the sound of my parents going at it like rabbits in the shower, after which he would put on the tightest pair of hot pants and lead his morning workout with probably the hottest stretches I've ever seen in my entire life and always with his back to the door, facing the window, the muscles of his lean dancer's body rippling with his every movement, his perfect ass in full view. After his stretch he put on some music, any genre ranging from pop to reggae, and busted some very impressive moves. All the while looking sexy as fuck. It is to this day one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen, Elijah’s dancing, in his natural element. Always so expressive and graceful, not overly feminine, with pointed toes and outstretched arms.
One time he had left the door open and proceeded with his provocative routine in the nude(!). Thinking I was on my run and knowing he wouldn't be disturbed by our folks, he unknowingly gave me an eyeful of his ass cheeks as they spread open and exposed his pink pucker as he bent over to touch the floor, his legs in a wide stance. Then he slowly dropped into a side split and I damn near busted a nut without even touching myself!
I was as hard as a fucking diamond and wanted nothing more than to rub my throbbing erection between his beautifully parted cheeks and prod his sphincter with the tip. (Side note: I don't identify as either gay or bisexual, I just have the hots for my stepbrother. But I don’t really know how to express these emotions, so I choose to bury them under layer upon layer of sarcasm and assholery. I know, it’s stupid, but I won’t apologize for who I am!)
I was already late for my run, so I dashed out in the hopes that my body in motion would bring down my boner. It did not. I ran the entirety of my five mile run, but to no avail. No doubt some jaws had dropped at the sight of the fleshy tube slithering down my thigh. Neither the stretching nor the cold shower helped and it had started to ache. I fucking needed release and I needed it fast, so I called Amy, but she was being stuck-up bitch for no reason, which meant that it was just me and my hands. In the immortal words of the Titan Thanos: “I'll do it myself.” The orgasm was phenomenal, nonetheless.
What I'm trying to say is that my family are a physically active bunch that fit well together perfectly, despite our many differences. It took me a while to get used to Lexi, but she was cool. From the moment my dad introduced us, I knew she would do us both good. Back then I thought that she could never replace my mom, but I must admit that she’s come pretty damn close these last three years, getting my dad (who is as homophobic as they come) to accept her openly gay son as his own.
I leave the house as the first song on my playlist starts to play. It is to the beats of Love etc. by Pet Shop Boys, that I start my morning run, taking off at a brisk pace and not stopping until I’m back, hopefully catching the last bit of Elijah’s morning workout.
This morning I’m not as lucky as I encounter my stepbrother in the kitchen with his back turned to me, chugging down a tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. He’s wearing a sweatshirt over his tight blue hot pants and I can’t help but notice the sheen of sweat on his forehead and toned legs. His Caesar’s cut, which he usually styles in a spikey model, is a mess of dark brown hair, not yet having felt the heavenly touch of gel this morning. I imagine his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down every time he swallows.
He notices me when downs the last bit of the beverage. “Oh, good morning, Jason,” he greets me and I watch in silent admiration as he licks his sensually thin lips. “How was your run?”
“It was alright,” I answer, a bit out of breath. The run had done its job at giving me a good cardio workout and getting rid of that pesky erection. “How was your fancy tip toeing?”
Elijah stares daggers at me, but the murderous look falters quickly and he smiles, surprising me. I half expected him to grab the nearest kitchen knife, lunge over the island that separates us and stab me in the neck. “It was alright,” he says and puts his hands on the smooth surface of the island. “It’s usually very relaxing, but today I felt a bit off.” He doesn’t explain why he felt a bit off, but I know.
It was three days ago that he and I had our little heart to heart session, where we may or may not have cried in each other’s arms and I may or may not have wiped the tears from his blushing cheeks all lovey dovey-like. Oh! And I may or not have told him that he looks cute when cries. Since then I’ve sort of been avoiding him, occasionally stealing fleeting glances in his direction. But this time it was a two way thing! He was also avoiding me, but now it seems that fate has thrown us together yet again.
“Wanna cry some more?” he asks jokingly.
“Nah, I’m good,” I reply, wrinkling my nose.
“Listen,” he begins in a serious tone, but at that moment Muse’s Uprising announces that I’m receiving a phone call phone.
It’s Jeff. Strange, since he’s not an early riser. “Yo, Jeffrey, my main man, my brother from another mother, the yin to my yang!” Elijah throws me a disgusted look. “I don’t know,” I mouth to him to which he giggles. “What’s up, man?” I say to Jeff. “Whoa, buddy… Hey, Jeff… Jeffrey slow down… Slow down, man… Take a deep breath…” I glance at Elijah, whose face is expressing concern. I shrug at him. “Yeah… You calm? Okay, go ahead… Shit… No… Dude, really?” I’m suddenly seething with rage. “Ah, damn, dude… You know what, come on over. No, it’s totally cool. I got you, man, you know I always got you. Okay. See you soon. Ciao.” I hang up and sigh deeply.
“So… what’s up?” Elijah asks.
“Elaine broke up with Jeff.” It must seem like I am the one who just got dumped, because Elijah tells me so. “Well, yeah, I mean, he’s like a brother to me, you know. We went through a lot shit together. His parents’ divorce, his grandparents’ simultaneous passing, his first crush, his first heartbreak, all lot of shit.” I feel a lump in my throat. No! Not again! I simply refuse to show any emotion this time. Papa didn’t raise no crier! He raised a fucking sex god! I swallow the lump and blink the tears away, sure that Elijah hadn’t seen them.
“That’s seriously fucked up, I’m sorry.” He seems genuinely sorry.
It’s quiet for a while and I am horribly made aware of the fact that our parents are going at it upstairs. Elijah probably woke up to the sound of them having sex. I throw him a knowing glance and he reciprocates with snorted laughter, which seems to be contagious, because I too begin to laugh.
After the laughter dies down, I have a light bulb moment. “I’ve got it.”
“You’ve got what?”
“He thinks!” Elijah shrieks and dramatically throws his hands up in the air. “Praise the thirteen gods, the asshole has an original thought!”
“Shut up, faggot,” I want to say jokingly, but don’t know how it would be received, so instead I say, “Shut up, twinkle toes,” which causes Elijah to have another laughing fit.
“Let me hear it,” he says after catching his breath.
“A bro trip.”
“Cool idea, bro.”
“No, really! Remember that cabin in the woods by the lake?”
“I vaguely remember that cabin, yes.”
Ha! Vaguely, my ass, brother. It was in that very same cabin that Elijah had brought his first real boyfriend to about two years ago and where his (I assume) sweet cherry was popped.
“It’s perfect,” I say out loud, “just the three of us chilling and having fun, helping poor Jeffrey cope with the breakup.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Time out!” Elijah crosses his two index fingers in front of my face. “What do you mean ‘three of us?’ ‘Three of us’ who?”
“Come on, Elijah,” I plead, “it’ll be fun. Just us bros hanging out. No parents or anyone hovering over our every movement. It’s perfect!”
“Since when did I become part of the ‘just us bros’ posse?”
“Just now.” I award Elijah with a sheepish grin, one of his few weaknesses.
“That’s not fair,” he says, pointing an accusing finger at me. “So not fair!”
This time I flash him a gratuitous grin, another one of his weaknesses to which he lets out a frustrated groan and stomps out of the kitchen. “Fuck you, Jason!” he calls over his shoulder.
“Thank you, Elijah,” I say in a sing-songy voice.
* * *
“This is not what I signed up for,” Elijah says, his arms crossed over his chest.
I shrug. “Well, at least he’s not crying anymore.”
We are both standing over Jeff’s unconscious body. He’s lying face down in a pool of his own vomit, snoring softly. I knew that Jeff wouldn’t be able to hold his liquor, but still I let him drink too much.
The three of us had arrived at the cabin in the woods by the lake at around eleven o’clock in the morning. It was a three hour ride from our neighborhood and the trip had started out great, with Jeff declaring that he was ready to party hard and “Fuck, Eliane McAllister!” So from the beginning there had been a lot of energy. Elijah still wasn’t too keen on the idea of being in the same space as someone who had just gotten dumped, but he didn’t say a word. He and Jeff weren’t necessarily close, so it was understandable why he was reluctant to join us on our little adventure.
“That’s the spirit,” Elijah said, while patting Jeff on the back, but I could detect a hint of sarcasm. “Fuck Elaine McAllister,” he whooped. He was wearing blue beach shorts and a white wife beater with a flannel shirt, in different shades of blue, tied around his waist. On his feet he wore black Timberland boots and his eyes were hidden behind a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses. His dark hair was covered by a blue backwards baseball cap with a bit of his spiked hair sticking out of the half-moon shaped opening. He was a sight to behold and I could feel a familiar stirring in my groin.
“Fuck Elaine McAllister!” Jeff was wearing blue ripped jeans, a red Keep Calm and Shut the Fuck Up t-shirt with Nike sneakers on his size I don’t care feet. His brown shoulder length hair was tied in a ponytail and his hazel eyes, still red from hours of crying, had a little twinkle in them, which was good, I guess.
Not wanting to feel left out (and to draw attention away from my hardening penis), I also shouted, “Fuck Elaine McAllister!” I was wearing a black wife beater and blue jeans with orange flip flops on my feet, my hair was unkempt (as usual) and my blue eyes, like Elijah’s, were concealed by sunglasses of the Police brand. One might say that I was dressed pretty casually, but it was more than enough to let the panties drop.
We hopped into the Jeff’s jeep, with me behind the wheel, Jeff in the passenger’s seat, and Elijah in the back with most of our luggage, and we were on our way.
Almost immediately Jeff popped in a CD and Evanescence started blaring through the speakers. I did my best to sing along, but I wasn’t really into the metal scene and didn’t know many of their songs, so I just hummed along and banged my head. Elijah seemed to be in his element as he and Jeff formed a temporary duo, singing each and every track of The Open Door at the top of their lungs, drawing attention from everyone on the road.
By the time of the album’s final song, we reached our first stop, Danny’s Diner, where Jeff treated us to a late breakfast, which we devoured hungrily in front of the place, not wanting to leave the jeep unattended. After the last bite of the food was gone and the last sip of coffee was downed, we continued on our journey.
Jeff popped in another CD, but this one was one of our own. And not just any one of our own. To my horror I saw that it was a disc with titled Original Tracks, Part 1! As the title suggested, it was a compilation of songs Jeff and I had written and recorded. No one, but the two of us had ever heard these songs, not even Amy or Elaine! As far as everybody else knew we only did cover versions of popular songs. It was sort of our little secret. Panic rose in my chest and I glanced at Elijah through the rearview mirror as the first track began to play.
His eyes widened in shock as he immediately recognized my voice. “Is this…? Is this you guys?” he asked, rapping me on my shoulder.
“Maybe,” I answered, trying to dodge the question all together.
“Yeah, it is,” Jeff quipped, a broad smile on his handsome face, “I wrote the music and Jason here,” he ruffled my already messy hair, “wrote all the lyrics.”
“All of them?” Elijah asked, excitement rising in his voice.
“All of them.”
“This… is awesome!”
“Okay, settle down, Knives,” I joked, more at ease now that I had seen Elijah’s reaction to our original material. Surprisingly he got the reference and began squealing like an overzealous fangirl, causing both Jeff and I to burst out in laughter.
“We have our very first real fan, bro,” Jeff told me with a wide smile on his face.
“Yeah, we do,” I said, looking at Elijah through the rearview mirror, bobbing his head to beat of my electric guitar. He caught my eyes with his own and smiled at me, which sent an electric shock from my brain to my groin, which in turn almost led to me driving us off the road.
However, things started going downhill when Elaine started playing. A while ago Jeff had asked me to write him a song about his now ex-girlfriend and I happily obliged. He described to me what he wanted in the song and I worked my magic and wrote a masterpiece, probably the best that I had written so far. He was going to give the song to her as an anniversary present, but before that could happen, she had brutally ripped out his heart and devoured it.
The mood in the car had changed from energy laden to doom and gloom. I glanced at Elijah in the rearview mirror again, this time our eyes locking almost instantly. He had a grim look on his face. I knew that look. He hated being around distraught people, because then his empathic nature would kick in and he didn’t want to be a Debby Downer.
Luckily that role had fallen to Jeff, who had started to cry. Oh, he was such a blubbering mess. “I don’t know what I did wrong,” he sobbed, “I gave her everything, did everything for her and for what? A dagger in the heart!” He buried his face in the palms of his hands, his body convulsing with every breath.
“Ah, come on, buddy,” I tried, massaging his neck, “who needs that bitch?”
“I need that bitch!” Jeff yelled into his palms.
“No, you don’t,” I tried again, “there’s literally millions of girls out there, ready to hop on that dick.”
“But I want Elaine to hop on that dick!”
“And how long has it been since she last did that?” I then asked, knowing it would snap some sense into him. His silent sniffling was the only answer I needed. “Exactly.” I removed my hand from his neck. “You deserve better…” I look for Elijah’s eyes in the rearview mirror, but he’s looking out the window, gnawing on the earpiece of his sunglasses. “We both do,” I wanted to say, referring to Jeff and I, but instead I said, “Besides, you know you’re not pretty when you cry.”
Jeff’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What the fuck, dude?” he half yelled, half laughed. “What the actual fuck?” And he started to laugh uncontrollably, holding his stomach and trying hard not to choke. “I can’t breathe,” he wheezes, “fucking hell, I’m dying, I can’t breathe!” And another fit of laughter bubbled up, and I was legitimately worried that his lungs were going to explode. His laughter died down at some point and his breathing returned to normal.
“You good?” I asked him.
“I’m good,” Jeff answered, ruffling my hair. “Thanks, man.”
“Anytime, brother.” My eyes drifted back to the rearview mirror and my eyes locked with Elijah.
“Wow,” he mouthed and gave me thumbs up.
“Sorry,” I mouthed back.
He just smiled. “So,” he announced out loud, “what do we do about lunch?”
To be continued...
Note from the author: Had a great time writing this one! Chapter 2.2 coming soon!