Lockdown with Str8 Big Bro

I was working as a server in LA when the shelter-in-place orders started coming down. My restaurant closed abruptly and I was suddenly left unemployed, aimless, and really goddamn lonely.

Want to come up here? My older brother texted me, completely out of the blue, at 1AM on the first day of quarantine. The date stamp on our previous text exchange was his birthday, six months prior. We hadn’t spoken since.

Angie’s worried about you being down there alone. come stay with us bro

Angie, my brother’s wife, was a goddess— I adored her. The kids, however... let’s just say being cooped up with those little monsters twenty-four hours a day was not my idea of a good time.

And then there was my big brother, Vinnie. Did I really want to be trapped in a house with my conservative, uber-Catholic, overly macho big brother?

But as I looked around my empty studio apartment in the dark of the wee hours, feeling the existential dread of quarantine setting in, I thought: why the fuck not? They drive me crazy, they’re fucking nuts, but they’re the only family I’ve got and I love them. If I was going to get cabin fever either way, I might as well do it with people around in the place with better cable.

Plus, my brother is a fucking hunk, so at least I’d have some eye candy to distract me.

K. need me to bring anything? I texted in reply.

His answer came almost immediately: Nah we got plenty of everything you know i’m a prepper LOL

I actually did let out a morbid laugh at that. “Doomsday Prepping” had always been a sick hobby of my brother’s, his excuse for obsessive planning, hoarding, and judgment of others. I could only imagine what his garage looked like these days.

Cool. i’ll drive up tmrw I answered, adding: Got nothing else going on haha. And damn if it wasn’t true.

I had plenty of time to think about my big brother on the long drive the next morning. Vinnie and I had never really been close: he was older than me by ten and a half years and we’d only lived under the same roof for a short time. He dropped out of high school when I was seven and my parents promptly kicked him out of the house. Mama would say, literally to her dying day, that this was the source of the heart attack that claimed Pop a few years later. Vinnie wasn’t around much when I was growing up so we never really had a chance to bond— that, and the fact that he was my polar opposite. My brother was a red-blooded, blue-collar, God-fearing, pussy-loving, Italian American family man.

Which, of course, only made him hotter to me.

By the time I graduated high school, Vinnie— or Vincenzo, as only Mama was allowed to call him— had cleaned up his act, gone back to school, and made himself a great life as the chief building inspector for his county. His wife, Angie (the goddess) snagged him early in his rebellious teens and stuck with him all the way to his responsible adult years. They still seemed to adore each other, too, which was quite a feat considering how long they’d been together. They certainly must have boinked on the regular because she always seemed to be pregnant. They were at five kids and counting, all under the age of ten, with the next one due in August.

Vinnie’s ranch-style house sat on an acre of fertile land in Northern California surrounded by farms and sparse forest. The closest neighbor was nearly a mile away, the closest town much further. I felt like I was driving off the edge of the world as my little car wound down the empty country road. But as soon as I pulled into the familiar gravel drive and saw my little brat nieces and nephews playing in the front yard, I knew I had made the right call. My heart swelled as they swarmed my car and screamed out, “Uncle! Uncle!”

“Alright, alright!” I laughed. The kids threw open both doors and clamored into my car as soon as it stopped moving. “Let me get out, you little monsters, so I can say hi!”

They screamed and squealed, carrying on three conversations at once, none of it making any sense. The little one scrambled up onto my lap and I got a distinct whiff of stale diaper. It was utter chaos. Dear God, I thought, did I make a terrible mistake?!

“Kids! Out!”

The bass rumble of my brother’s voice cut across the racket and suddenly the kids were gone. They scrambled out of my car as quickly as they’d come and immediately became distracted by something else. I was old news before I’d even taken off my seat belt.

“Sorry bro. They’re attention-starved.”

My brother sidled up to the car and just like that, all my doubts evaporated. Of course I had made the right call. Where else could I see this absolute hunk? He wasn’t on Facebook, never returned a phone call, and after Mama passed we never really visited. It took a statewide lockdown to bring us together but fuck it, he was my only family and I was damn happy to see him.

I could tell Vinnie was glad to see me too when he threw his arms wide and gave me a big, smothering bear hug. We usually hugged when we greeted each other— we are Italian, after all— but these were always quick and non-committal, with lots of back-slapping thrown in to make it “not gay” (Vinnie had been weird with the gay thing ever since I came out, like he might ‘catch it’ if he ever showed too much affection). But this hug was tight, warm, and weirdly relieved. Our closeness gave me a chance to inhale my brother’s aftershave and the hint of manly odor wafting from his pits.

“Glad you made it, bro,” he said over my shoulder. I was just beginning to melt into the embrace when he pulled away and held me at arm’s length. “Let me look at you.”

He did, and I looked back. Vinnie had been taller than me for most of our lives but now that we were adults I had a good two inches on him, standing just over six feet. My eyes were level with his wavy black mane, just like Pop’s, darker than mine but just as thick. Vinnie’s hair had receded a bit in the past few years only to explode everywhere else on his body. His goatee was thick and lustrous, perfectly paired with his strong Italian features. Deep-set chocolate-brown eyes, identical to my own, twinkled with mischief as they scanned me head to toe. “What would Mama say?”

“Are you eating?” I droned.

“Damn right. Look at you! What the fuck?” he bellowed. “You going vegan down there or some shit? We need to get some pasta in you pronto. And what’s with the hair? You growing that shit out? You look like Cousin Jeannie on steroids.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. Poor Cousin Jeannie. “Yeah? Look at you, you fucking perv!” I retorted with as much disgust as I could muster. “They let you hang out at kids’ parks with that facial hair? And you need to cool it with the pasta, buddy boy. I thought Angie was supposed to gain the pregnancy weight!”

He threw back his head and cackled, then slapped my arms and started to unload the car. It felt good to be back with my big brother again. Even after all these months apart we still fell right back into our routine of ball-busting and profanity. And, secretly, I was thrilled with the changes to his body since our last meeting. Vinnie now had the textbook definition of a dad-bod— thick in all the right places and covered in whorls of curly black hair. He still had the bulging biceps and meaty thighs from his weightlifting days but now those muscles were lined with an extra layer of padding. He even had the beginnings of a manly paunch pushing out the hem of his plain black t-shirt. And that ass! It was high and round, tight with muscle and just the right amount of jiggle when he walked. I couldn’t help but stare as he bent over to grab my bag out of the car. I silently thanked Mama and Pop for the good genes they passed on to us both.

“Go ahead and set me up in the master bedroom, Jeeves,” I quipped. “And make it snappy.”

“Go ahead and fuck yourself. You’ll take the couch and like it.” He tossed my bag over his bulging shoulder and sauntered off toward the house.

“Great. I drove all the way out here to sleep on a couch?”

“We’ll figure something out for the long haul, if it gets there,” he said nonchalantly. “Who knows how long this shit’s gonna go on.”

Oh, if we only knew.

*  *  *

The first week felt pretty normal, given the circumstances. Angie (the goddess) made our every meal, kept house, basically refused to sit down or take a break even though she was super pregnant. Vinnie was on a limited schedule, working from home most days with a few onsite projects at essential workplaces. When he was around, he was the kids’ de facto teacher and babysitter. When he wasn’t around, that job fell to me. At first I was intimidated— they outnumbered me five to one— but the little rascals actually enjoyed learning and seemed to be genuinely interested. You just had let them blow off steam every once in a while. And boy, did they have a LOT of steam.

That ran in the family, apparently. My brother was the worst of them all— in fact, Vinnie seemed to be the most stir-crazy out of all of us. Sure, he kept up appearances the first week, but by the following Monday I could tell something was up. He was snapping at the kids more often, totally absorbed in his phone, and I’d never seen him and Angie more distant. They’d been orbiting each other for days, always at opposite poles of the house, and their usual touchy-flirty banter was completely absent.

It took a while, but I finally got a rare moment alone with my brother to ask him what was up. He had just yelled at the kids for being too loud and sent them to the next room to play. Now it was just the two of us in the family room, sprawled on the sectional, half-watching the news on a lazy weekday evening before dinner.

“So... what’s up with you, bro?” I asked casually. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah dude.”

I let a few moments pass before I pressed. “You sure? Everything good at work? With Angie...?”

“Yeah yeah,” he mumbled distractedly. I wasn’t buying it.

“Is it me, bro?” I added sheepishly. “Am I like... putting a strain on you guys?”

“Fuck no, dipshit,” Vinnie scoffed. “We’re glad you’re here. Seriously, thank God you’re here. You know Angie loves having you around.” I took that to mean they both loved having me around, though my big brother would never confess to such a feeling.

“Cool,” I said, satisfied that I was not the problem. “So what is bugging you?”

Vinnie let out a pffft of air, his mustache curled up in disdain. “The world,” he said flatly, gesturing to the yammering heads on TV. I couldn’t blame him, but I knew that wasn’t the only thing.

I kept staring at him, taking the opportunity to study his beefy body. Those charcoal grey sweatpants were starting to get ripe— he’d worn them just about every day this week. Luckily they left very little to the imagination and framed his prominent bulge perfectly. His white tanktop clung to his frame with corkscrews of curled body hair spilling out on every side. His big feet were bare, surprisingly clean, and stretched out invitingly toward me. Fuck he was one good-looking man.

“And?” I pressed further.

“And what?” he said, finally making eye contact.

“And what’s really bugging you?”

“What do you think?” Vinnie whispered huskily. His eyes darted to the next room where his kids played, then back to me. To my surprise, he reached down and lewdly wagged the floppy bulge in his sweatpants. “You think Angie’s giving it up with my kid kicking the shit out of her? I haven’t busted in a week.”

My cock lurched in my jeans. I had to gulp down a mouthful of drool as the image of my brother ‘busting’ filled my imagination.

“So?” I asked dryly.

“So what?” he hissed. “So I’m fucking pent-up is what.”

“Dude... is that all?” I laughed, even though this was deathly serious to me. “Why don’t you just jerk off like the rest of us?”

“In this fucking house? I can’t get a moment’s peace anywhere, you think I got time to jerk off?” He shot another glance to the next room and adjusted the growing bulge in his sweats. “Fuck. My balls hurt they’re so full.”

I felt his pain— my own cock was painfully hard in my pants right now just thinking about it. My brother and I had never spoken so intimately and I was thrilled. I could have laid there and watched him fondle himself through his pants all day. But somehow, I managed to fire back, “Join the club, douchebag! You think I’m getting any play sleeping on your crummy couch? We’re all hard up right now... like, the entire world is on lockdown, everybody’s horny. It’s no excuse to be a dick, bro. Just get over it and chill.”

Vinnie scoffed again and shifted on the couch. His hand remained in his lap, absently adjusting his growing hard-on. He never looked away from the TV, which was good because I was openly staring at him. My lips parted and I had to stop myself from panting like a dog. Oh, to see the mound of flesh hidden beneath those lucky sweats!

At this point in our lives I had still never seen my brother’s cock. Since we didn’t grow up together I had missed out on seeing his developing body— still one of the great regrets of my youth. But I had given his junk enough sidelong glances over the years to know that Vinnie was packing heat. Plus, there was the simple fact that the men of our family were blessed with respectable slabs of meat, myself included. But I had never actually seen my brother’s goods, neither soft nor hard, and the curiosity was eating me up inside.

There was just that one notable exception, of course: one incident, one cherished memory that fueled decades of masturbatory fantasies after...

“Dinner!” screamed one of the kids. The spell was broken, Vinnie’s hand withdrew from his bulge, and he jumped up as if nothing had happened.

But I couldn’t get the thought of my brother’s full balls out of my mind. That youthful fantasy had come back full force and I was determined to finally do something about it... but what? My big brother was the straightest person I knew. His full balls were not, and never would be, my problem.

Or so I thought.

*  *  *

To be continued...

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By Jim Selfie. © 2020. All Rights Reserved. Do not copy or repost without consent of author.