~Chapter 1: Jason and I

The rhythmic creaking of the bed is what catches my attention. As I creep closer to the door, the creaking is joined by moans and groans. The door to Jason’s bedroom is slightly ajar and the sounds are coming from in there. I peak inside, a blush immediately spreading across my face. My cock is instantly hard as I gape at Jason’s milky white cheeks bouncing up and down, his pink hole clenching with every thrust, his massive balls slapping against Amy Dawson’s ass.

But what really catches my eyes and makes my heart race and sends chills of anticipation throughout my entire body, is what’s buried halfway inside of Amy’s soaking wet pussy. I’ve always known that Jason was big; I’ve seen him naked before, whether it was in the locker room after gym class or at home when he almost never bothered to take a towel with him before hopping in the shower, thinking that he was home alone. He would prance around the house buck naked, his big meaty (and more importantly not erect) dong swinging this way and that.

He is fully erect now and it fills me with the desire to take, what I think, is ten inches of hard veiny cock into my hungry mouth and down my throat. I grab my bulge and give it a nice hard squeeze, never taking my eyes off the spectacle before me. I lick my lips and a sigh escapes them.

“Ow! Stop! That’s too much!”

Amy’s shrilly voice snaps me out of my trance.

“Goddammit, you son of a bitch!” she yells and pushes Jason off her, his dick making a sopping wet popping sound as it jerks out of her pussy. I see a trickle of blood mingled with her feminine juices running down her thigh. “I told you not to go so deep! Do you know how much it hurts to be split in half by that monster?!”

“Well, no, since I don’t have a vagina.” Jason says this with one of his I-don’t-give-a-fuck smirks, but I sense that he is also deeply annoyed.

“Well, fuck you, Jason Connor!” Amy shrieks.

She collects the remainder of clothes and storms out, pushing me out of the way and leaving me standing in the doorway. I look into the room and Jason is just sitting on the bed, his massive fuck stick, even bigger than I had imagined, fully erect and glistening with fresh pussy juice and I have the sudden urge to walk over to him, drop to my knees and clean him off. Pussy juice and all. But then I remember the blood. Ugh.

Jason has an annoyed look on his handsome face.  “Can I help you with something?” he asks, still looking annoyed. “If you don’t mind I’d like to get off now.”

My face becomes a deeper shade of red. “Uhm… I… what… you want me to…”

“No, you fucking faggot!” His annoyance is quickly replaced by disgust.

The word smacks me in the face at the speed of light. And it hurts. He sees the hurt in my eyes and begins to apologize, but I turn around and leave, tears rolling down my blushing cheeks.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Elijah, I’m sorry!” he calls to me. I hear frustration in his voice. Then anger. “Don’t close the fucking door or anything! I’ll fucking do it myself!”

I disappear into my room and hear his door slam shut. I dive onto my bed and remember that word. “Faggot.” Such an ugly word, especially coming from your own stepbrother, which makes it hurt even more. I bury my face in my pillow and scream into it. A fresh torrent of tears and sobs soon follow, muffled by the thick fluffiness of the pillow

But my hurt is soon again replaced by arousal when I think back to a few minutes ago… Jason’s rock hard cock. Ten or eleven inches of it. Strong and veiny. Powerful. I imagine him shoving it down my throat, mercilessly plugging my air hole. I imagine him fucking me deep and hard. I wouldn’t complain like that bitch Amy Dawson. I would relish in the fact that something as hot and hard as Jason’s cock was sliding in and out of my tight hole, shafting me with much vigor. And then he shoots his load inside of me. I imagine it being a massive load, gushing out of my worn out hole when he pulls out.

I jump out of bed, shove my sweatpants down, kicking them in a corner of the room, and whip out my rock hard cock, standing tall at a length of 8 inches. My left hand finds the shaft and begins to stroke, causing me to moan softly. With my right hand I pinch my nipples, making my hands glide across my lean dancer’s body. I’m tired from dance practice, my body aches and I want to sleep, but with the image of Jason’s cock branded in my mind, I can feel the pressure building. I conjure up the image of his beautifully untouched pink hole in front of me, angrily twitching at me, wanting me to pleasure it with my eager tongue. I imagine Jason moaning my name as he fills my throat with his hot thick (and possibly sweet) man juice.

At that same time my own juices start shooting from the tip of my penis, splattering onto the unsuspecting carpeted floor, trying not to moan out loud. “Fuck,” I say under my breath. I milk my cock for a while longer, forcing out pearly gobs of cum, which I scoop up and bring to my mouth. I fucking love the taste of cum! I wonder what Jason’s cum tastes like…

One might think that all cum tastes the same, but they would be wrong. The flavors couldn’t be more different, but then again I guess that depends on the person ejecting they’re frustrations from their bodies or the person receiving said frustrations.

Pushing the thought aside, I grab my towel and head for the shower.

When we gather at the dinner table for breakfast the next morning, it’s like nothing happened the night before. For me at least. It’s one of my gifts to not make things awkward.

“Good morning!” I say as cheerful as possible.

My mother flashes me a smile. She’s busy putting the finishing touches on today’s breakfast: toast with eggs and bacon and coffee. It’s the same as every other morning, except Sundays. On Sundays we have pancakes.

My stepfather, David, sits at the head of the table. He grumbles something to me and I just assume that it is “good morning,” which is all that I will ever get from him. He’s not a fan of my faggenheit.

I take my seat on the right side of the table with Jason sitting across from me. He’s frantically swiping away at his tablet, playing Food Ninja or some shit, but I know he’s only doing that to avoid making eye contact. Normally he would have made some tasteless joke about the postman. No one would laugh, but I would give him a pity chuckle and he would give me one of his gratuitous grins. His gratuitous grins would always be so fucking sexy. When he wasn’t being an asshole, we got along pretty well, but that never lasted long. We are two completely different people. The only thing we seem to have in common, is the fact that we’re both male.

“Morning, Jason,” I say.

“Hey,” he says without looking up.

I take satisfaction in that.

Mom places a huge pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice in the middle of the table, then the freshly made toast, freshly fried eggs and bacon, and of course the freshly ground coffee. Mom makes the best coffee. Starbucks has got nothing on her!

“Dig in,” she chirps cheerfully. It’s not one of those fake chirps from someone who is trying to avoid an awkward situation, but a genuine chirp. My mom is a very happy and carefree woman. It’s just in her nature to not give a damn. Unless shit gets out of hand. Then we get to see a whole other side of her personality, which is not a pretty at all.

We eat our breakfast in silence.

I glance in Jason’s direction and I catch him looking away, quickly shoving a piece of toast in his mouth, followed by bacon and a big gulp of orange juice. I can tell that he is ashamed about what happened last night and doesn’t know how to deal with it.

I decide to meet him halfway. “Can you pass the butter?” I ask him.

“Yeah, sure,” he says and hands me the butter. He does so without looking at me, still swiping away at God knows what.

Perhaps I should meet him all the way. “So, how’s the band?” Jason was lead singer in a band, which he and his best friend Jeff had started when they were in Middle School. They called themselves ESM, stylized E$M, which was short for Electronic Sex Machines. It’s a stupid name, but then again, they were young and stupid when they came up with it and it just sort of stuck.

They mostly sang cover versions of popular electro songs, usually from artists such as the Pet Shop Boys or Depeche Mode. I’ve heard them play at school events before and must say that they are pretty good; Jason has a really nice voice and plays the electric guitar, while Jeff makes magic with his keyboard. Not that they plan to make big bucks with their music or anything, it’s just a hobby. They must have dozens of recorded tracks on their computers, but no one has ever heard their music outside of their live performances. Well, maybe Amy Dawson and Jeff’s girlfriend, Elaine McAllister.

“Fine, I guess,” Jason replies, still refusing to look at me.

“You guys going to play at the game next Friday?” I try again.

“Maybe.” I expect him to go on, but he doesn’t. He shoves more food in his mouth and takes another gulp of juice.

Defeated in my conquest to get him to look at me, I then decide to leave the situation be. This is so unusual. In any other case he would’ve tackled this issue head on, but now he’s just sort of sitting there like a love struck schoolgirl who refuses to talk to her crush, despite the urgings of her girlfriends.

I gather up all the dirty dishes and as I’m depositing them in the sink, mom appears next to me, sliding a slender arm around my waste.

“And how’s my cute as a button little boy this morning?” she asks in very endearing tone.

I am instantly on high alert. The tone in her voice is the dangerous kind, that you don’t hear very often. “Uhm, good?”

She seems to smell my fear and grins. Her grip on my waste tightens. “I like hearing that. Wouldn’t do anyone any good if there was trouble on the horizon.” With her other hand grabs my chin and turns my face to hers. “You know how I loathe squabbles.” The fact that she says this with that bright smile of hers, makes it all the more terrifying. And she knows what effect it has on all of us. The only reason my stepfather had even considered somewhat accepting me for who I am, is because she had worked her magic on him. However, it’s a whole different story when you’re on the receiving end of said bright smile.

I gulp involuntarily. “Yes, mother.”

“Wonderful,” she chirps, releasing me from her grip and I can breathe again. She kisses me on the cheek and leaves the kitchen, shouting, “Fix it!” as she does so.

I can’t help but smile.

Later that same day I’m sitting on my bed, click clacking away at my keyboard, listening to music, when Jason shows up. I don’t notice him at first, but then he clears his throat.

“Oh,” I say looking up, “what’s up?”

Jason seems hesitant, scratching the back of his head nervously and then running his fingers through his blonde hair. He’s blushing, I notice. “Well,” he starts and has to clear his throat again. “I just came by to tell you that I am sorry for calling you fucking faggot,” he blurts out, his face a deeper shade of red.

“It’s okay,” I say with a smile, then I add, “Mom got to you too, huh?”

He laughs at that. “Yeah, she did.” He shoves his hands in his pants pockets and just sort of stands there wobbling on his heels, still looking ashamed. “So, we cool?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Cool.” He exits my room, leaving the door open.

“You left the door open!” I shout after him.

“Fuck off!” he shouts back, followed by a surprised yelp and some scuffling. A few moments he’s back, his face as red as beet.

“Mom?” I ask knowingly.

He grumbles something unintelligible.

“Mom,” I say affirmatively, smiling at him.

Jason smiles back. “A real trooper that one. Was she in the army or something?”

“No, but my dad was.”

I see that he’s taken aback by that, probably thinking that he’s hit a touching subject. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he begins, but I stop him.

“It’s okay, dude, it’s perfectly fine. My dad died ages ago.”

“I mean, I knew, but I forgot at the same time, which is why I—”

“Hey,” I say firmly, looking him in the eye, “it’s fine…”

He presses his lips together, takes deep breath and shuts the door… with him still inside my room, which I find very strange and even stranger so when I see that his eyes are glistening. He quickly wipes at his eyes, but I’ve already seen the tears. I don’t know what’s going on, but I hear myself saying, “Come here,” which he does. I set my laptop aside and he sits down on the edge of the bed.

“I’m still not over it,” he says, his voice thick with grief. And fresh tears roll down his blushing cheeks, this time undisturbed by his hands. “I… I can’t…” And then he breaks down, sobbing into his hands, trying to hide his tears.

This is the very first time that I’ve encountered him in such a vulnerable position. Hell, I thought he had no emotions! Always being a snarky asshole and giving me a hard time. But I can now see that it was all an act, a guise to hide what’s underneath.

I tentatively reach out and put a hand on one of his quivering shoulders. “Hey, look at me.” I can hear the thickness in my own voice. “Look at me.” I pull his hands away from his face, but he still refuses to look at me. “Jason, godammit, look at me!” I say in a half shout, half whisper, clearly frustrated, tears now streaking my own face and he finally looks at me. He looks so fragile, helpless even and all I want to do is take him in my arms and whisper sweet nothings in his ear, but that would freak him out, so instead I place both my hands on his trembling shoulders. I try to smile, but fail miserably.

The attempt doesn’t go unnoticed and Jason covers my hands with his own. In any other situation this gesture would’ve been strange, but all morals and beliefs are out the window. In this moment we were two young adults, who had both lost a parent, the only difference being that my father died in the war and that his mother succumbed to cancer. The realization, that we have more in common than our reproductive organs, hits me hard and this time I’m the one that starts sobbing uncontrollably, which seems to trigger Jason, as he also starts sobbing, pulling me into a hug. I bury my face in his neck and together we bawl our eyes out, holding onto each other for dear life.

No words need to be said.

Our sobs of mutual loss are enough for now.

Jason is the first one to calm down, but keeps holding me in his arms, until I too am calm and even then he doesn’t let go. I take a deep shuddering breath and get a good whiff of Jason’s scent. “You smell nice,” I want to tell him, but that might just ruin the moment.

“You good, Elijah?” he asks.

I just nod, afraid to speak.

He chuckles. “I never knew how much I needed that. Fuck, I’m a mess.”

“A hot mess,” I want to say, but again refrain from doing so. I nod again, my face still firmly planted in the crook of Jason’s neck.

“You’re mom’s amazing,” he says, the awe clear in voice. “Is she like… a witch or something?”

At this I look up at him, our faces mere centimeters away from one and other, more than close enough to kiss. “If you had gone for that in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this fucking predicament,” I finally say and playfully shove him away from me.

“Hey, what can I say? I’m a dickhead,” he chuckles, wiping his drying tears away with the sleeve of his shirt. His face is still flushed, which accentuates his already handsome features, his glistening eyes seem bluer than normal and his hair is a tangled mess.

“No, you’re not,” I want to say, but go for, “Yeah, you are,” instead.

Then he does something really strange: he reaches for my face and gently wipes at my tears, a look I have never seen before in his beautiful eyes. I’m sure that not even Amy Dawson has had the satisfaction of being granted that look of total admiration. And I would know! I’ve been witness to the many make-out sessions between the two (third wheeling was no fun!). It was a whole different Jason that I was seeing right now and it sort of frightened me. What does this mean? What the fuck is happening?

“There, all gone,” he says and he smiles at me, that look still lingering in his eyes.

“What the fuck was that?” I want to ask, but choose for silence. I thank God that my face is already flustered, but no doubt Jason can see the red turning a darker shade. I am suddenly aware that my face isn’t the only place blood is rushing to. My treacherous body has betrayed me and I have a raging boner! Thankfully, Jason doesn’t seem to notice.

There is a knock at the door.

“You boys okay in there?” comes the chirpy voice of my mother.

Jason and I exchange a derisive look.

“Yes, mother,” we both drawl, rolling our eyes, but smiling.

“Good. Dinner’s ready.” And we hear her padded footsteps taking off.

“Yeah, she’s definitely a witch, that one,” I joke.

“Called it!” Jason shouts.

And we both burst out laughing.

“So, we good?” he asks after the laughter has died down.

“We good.”

“Okay.” He turns to leave and before exiting the room, he looks back. “You’re pretty damn cute when you cry,” he says and closes the door behind him, leaving me dazed and confused.

“What the fu—!”

To be continued...

Note from the author: Constructive criticism is highly appreciated!

Synopsis for Bro-Trip to Nowhere (The Ballad of Jason & Elijah #2)

Elaine McAllister breaks up with Jeff and I take it upon himself to cheer my best buddy up by spending a weekend in the woods. I ask Elijah to join us on our so called bro trip and he seems than eager to come along. It’s the first time since never that I’ve asked Elijah for a favor and I choose to use this opportunity to get to know my stepbrother a little better. But when we take one too many shots of tequila and are high on THC, things get complicated...



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