Lockdown with Str8 Big Bro

It finally happened at the end of Week Two.

By then my brother was clearly at the end of his tether. The whole family had given up on trying to brighten his mood. Even the youngest, barely a toddler, got the hint and steered clear. It was just easier to keep our distance from him and hope he’d snap out of it soon.

But at Angie’s behest, Vinnie and I were suddenly thrust together on a round of chores. There was a decrepit old RV on the outskirts of their property, long out of commission, that Vinnie had been vaguely promising to fix up so I could have some space of my own. By the end of Week Two it was pretty clear things were not going “back to normal” any time soon and my stay would be prolonged. So Angie, goddess that she is, handed her husband a twelve pack of cheap beer and handed me a bucket of cleaning supplies and chased us out of the house.

“That RV needs a lot of work,” she called after us, “and it’s not going to clean itself!”

I was more than eager to help if it meant I’d get my own space. The novelty of sleeping in the living room had officially worn off and now the kids were just bugging the crap out of me. I missed privacy. I missed jerking off. And good God almighty, I missed sex. I missed fucking. I missed getting fucked. My hole twitched just thinking about it. I shifted the bucket of cleaning products in front of my growing bulge as we trudged out to the old mobile home.

Vinnie threw open the squeaky door and squinted into the dark, musty interior. “Fuck. This shit is gonna take all day.”

He wasn’t lying. The RV hadn’t been touched in years and it was caked with dust and grime. Two of the windows were busted out— the kids’ doing, no doubt— and bits of shattered glass and dried leaves crunched under our feet. But it was fairly spacious, not too smelly, and better than sleeping on the couch surrounded by the rugrats from hell.

“Quit bitchin’ and pitch in,” I mumbled, quoting Mama’s favorite catch phrase for chore time.

We worked a solid four hours before we finally stopped for a break. The time passed easily between us and we worked pretty well as a team, which I think surprised us both. The place was looking fairly decent by the time the sun went down.

The beer was also down by then— ten out of twelve cans down, most of them in Vinnie. I definitely had a solid buzz-and-a-half going but he seemed to be just fine. The guy could sure hold his liquor. I was feeling tipsy as hell when we finally settled down, him on the bed and me at the kitchenette table, to polish off the last two beers.

“Gettin’ dark,” he mumbled. “No power out here, shoulda brought a lantern.”

“All good,” I shrugged. “I see super well in the dark.”

Vinnie chuckled between slurps. “Bullshit. Why do you say dumb shit like that?”

“Because I can, dipshit.”

“Yeah? Then what am I doing right now?”

He was a good ten feet away in the bedroom and shrouded in shadows, but it was still unmistakable: my brother had his big sweatpants bulge cupped in one hand and was furiously shaking it in my direction.

“Same thing you do every night, bro, playing with yourself.”

Vinnie busted up laughing and gave his junk one last squeeze. “Yeah pretty much. Actually took your advice the other day and jerked off.”

I sat forward on the bench seat, my beer can sloshing in my hand. Now he had my attention. Vinnie laid back on the RV bed and took a deep swig of his brew. Through the bedroom doorway I had a great view of his splayed legs, clad in those ever present sweatpants. I could just make out his sparkling eyes peering over his expanding beer belly. His crotch, in all its splendor, thrust out toward me.

And now the conversation had turned to sex.

“Yeah?” I said after a moment. “How’d that go for you?”

Vinnie scoffed and threw his head back. “Terrible, bro. I’m a married man! I shouldn’t have to jizz in my bathroom sink first thing in the morning.”

A shudder ran through my body. I pictured my handsome big brother, underwear bunched around his ankles, one hand propped against the wall, the other hand stroking his meaty Italian schlong. I heard his desperately muffled groans of pleasure, pictured his potent dad sperm firing out into that lucky, lucky bathroom sink...

“Fuck,” I breathed.

“I know, right?” Vinnie took another swallow of beer and shook his head ruefully. “This quarantine shit has been the death of my sex life.”

“Tell me about it.” For once, we were in agreement when it came to sex. Neither of us was getting enough. And since we were doing so well, I decided to pry a little further.

“So what’s the deal with Angie, man?” I asked. “She just won’t put out when she’s pregnant?”

“Pretty much, once she gets to a certain point.”

“Fuck, you must have to jerk off all the time then,” I laughed. “How many kids do you have again? She’s pregnant every other week.”

“Tell me about it, bro.” Vinnie took a deep breath and let it out in a long, low whistle.

“So... are you always this much of a shithead then?” I half-teased him. “Cuz your whole family hates you right now.”

Vinnie guffawed and lifted his beer can as if to throw it at me. I ducked beneath the flimsy table, laughing along. When I looked back, Vinnie had gulped down the last of his suds and let out a long, satisfied “Aaah!” We passed a few moments in silence. I could barely make out Vinnie’s face in the dimming light but it almost looked like he was working his way up to something. I just sat quietly, sipped my beer, and watched. After a moment he sat up a bit to peer through the askew blinds next to the bed. Satisfied that the nearby yard was empty, he settled back into the bed. His dark eyes sparkled in the twilight.

“Usually I got other options,” he said at last.

I blinked, genuinely shocked. “Wait... what? You have other...?”

Vinnie nodded, sniffed, looked away. The Catholic guilt was strong with this one. “Yeah. You know. I’m a man. I got options.”

“What... options are we talking about here?”

Vinnie tsked dismissively, as if I’d just asked the world’s stupidest question. “Look at me. I got options.”

Oh, I looked— and I had no doubt that my cocky hunk of a big bro could get just about any piece he set his sights on. But I wanted to hear him say it. I wanted him to admit it.

“Yeah I get it, Fabio. So, what, you got a housewife on the side or what?”

He smiled wolfishly, his teeth agleam in the dark. “Couple of ‘em.”

I sat back and shook my head with a chuckle. “You dog. You motherfuckin’ dog! Are you serious?”

Vinnie shrugged, nodded, beamed. Now he was getting cocky, feeding off his little brother’s shock and awe. My usually tight-lipped brother was opening up about his sexploits and I couldn’t get enough.

“So how many are we talking about here?”

He shrugged again. “Just two.”

“Two? Two mistresses? Two side pieces?”

“Yep. Two different married broads on opposite sides of town. Their husbands have no idea,” Vinnie said, clearly satisfied with himself.

“Does... does Angie know?”

“Fuck no!” he exclaimed. He sat up and tried to find my eyes in the dark, but ended up glaring a foot to my left. “And you better not fucking tell her, bro!”

“Damn Vinnie... I can’t believe you’d cheat on Angie,” I said in a mock-serious tone. “I mean, she’s a goddess, bro!”

“Will you stop fucking calling her that all the time?” Vinnie roared. His anger was fierce, sudden, and totally overblown— classic Italian. I was used to it and didn’t react. “I know she fucking is but you don’t need to remind me. I love Angie and I’d do anything for her, anything! You know that. I only ever do it when shit gets like this— when she can’t fuck, or doesn’t wanna fuck, or whatever. I mean what the fuck am I supposed to do? I’m a red-blooded man, bro. I need to fucking cum in a hole. Don’t tell me you and your fag friends don’t do the same shit all the time and don’t fucking judge me when I do it.”

My pulse rose to meet his immediately. Ahh, famiglia. “Don’t call my friends and me fags, bro. And I’m not the one who judges people, that’s for you and all your church friends. I love that you all play holier-than-thou, Jesus this Mary that and bitch about my lifestyle while you and your friends do all the same fucked-up shit— and worse!”

“Fuck that,” he spat. “I don’t fuck dudes in the ass.”

“No, you just fuck behind your wife’s back.”

“Fuck you,” he said, but I could tell his heart wasn’t in it. His anger was already cooling off. Sure, he ran hot, but he almost always lost steam before things got too far. “Knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Whatever, bro. Honestly, I don’t care what you do with other chicks. That’s your business, bro. I get it. I’m glad you told me.” I took a quick sip and added, “And you know I’d never tell Angie, right?”

“Shit, you better not,” said Vinnie. “You’re my little brother, not hers. Don’t ever forget that.”

I couldn’t help but get a warm fuzzy feeling in my stomach— and my pants— from his oddly fraternal sentiment. “I know, bro. I got you,” I replied simply.

Vinnie seemed satisfied with that and lay back on the bed. We passed a few moments in companionable silence— me finishing my final beer, him feeling the effects of his last one— and I could tell that the subject was over. Soon we would get up, decide we’d done enough for one day, and drunkenly stroll back to the house. We’d be surrounded by kids and food and chaos and who knows when we’d have a moment like this again... just the two of us, talking about sex.

I couldn’t just let it pass by.

“I’m just amazed you get any sex at all,” I blurted out. “Especially with that thing on your balls.”

Vinnie perked up. My eyes had adjusted enough to see the amused confusion on his face. “The fuck?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“What? What thing on my balls? You’re fucking crazy.”

“Are you serious right now?” I asked incredulously. “That big weird thing on your balls.”

“There’s nothing weird on my balls,” Vinnie insisted. But he also sat up fully, abuzz with caution. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Now it was my turn to get cocky— I had him right where I wanted him. My brother could be such a hypochondriac. “Haven’t you and Angie ever talked about it?”

“Talked about what?” he yelled, exasperated. Then he shifted and settled back on the bed. “Wait— go fuck yourself. You’ve never seen my balls. When did you ever see my balls? Get the fuck outta here.”

“No, I’m serious,” I said quickly, not wanting to break the spell. “Remember the camping trip? You, me, Angie? Remember our hike?”

“Yeah I fucking remember,” he grumbled.

Vinnie had only ever taken me camping once when I was eleven and he was twenty-one. This was years after he’d dropped out and moved away, when Vinnie suddenly got it in his head that I needed a big brother in my life. So he and Angie convinced our parents that I was mature enough to accompany them on a four-day trip deep in the Redwoods. It was pretty fun, actually, except for our disastrous hike. Vinnie read the trail map incorrectly and got us lost, turning a three-mile trek into somewhere around eight miles of panicked wandering. When we finally got back to camp we were starving, dehydrated, exhausted, and pissed at each other.

But that’s also when the incident occurred. And that incident made it all worth it.

“We had just gotten back to camp,” I reminisced. “And we were sweaty and gross, covered in mud from that creek you made us slog through—”

“Yeah, yeah, boo-fucking-hoo—”

“And you said you were gonna change first, so you went into the tent and...”

“And?!” Vinnie prodded. He was hanging on every word.

“And you zipped the tent back up but you only did the screen, not the door, so we could still see right through into the tent. And I guess you couldn’t find clean clothes cuz you took off your shorts and you were all bent over with your ass facing out the screen door.”

“Okay...”

“And I walked by and your big bare ass was right in my face, practically.” A dreamy tone invaded my voice as I related the oft-recalled memory. “I could see right up your hairy crack and your balls were like, hanging down between your legs and... and that’s when I saw it.”

“Saw what?” he asked timidly. He sounded like a scared kid listening to a campfire ghost story.

“I saw the thing on your balls,” I said matter-of-factly. “It’s on the back, that’s probably why you never saw it.”

“What... what is it?” He sat up further and glanced down at his generous crotch bulge. “What does it look like?”

“I’m surprised Angie never mentioned it,” I mused. “But she probably just didn’t want to scare you.”

“What the fuck does it look like?!” he pled. Panic seized him. “Do I need to see a doctor? You know how hard it’s gonna be to see someone with all this shit going down?”

“Dude, relax!” I said nonchalantly. “That was over a decade ago. If it hasn’t killed you yet, you’re probably fine.”

Vinnie bolted up off the bed and glared at me. Then he lurched and grabbed the doorway for support— his rolling eyes told me he’d just felt all those beers hit him at once. He regained half his composure and pawed his way to the bathroom compartment. “I swear to God bro if you’re fucking with me right now I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t fucking know,” he said with a burp. “But I gotta piss like a race horse and I’m checking this shit out.”

“Good luck!” I laughed. Vinnie stumbled into the bathroom and slid the louvered door shut. The tiny space amplified the sound of his zipper and the voluminous splash of his piss in the dry bowl— Jesus, it sounded like he was manning a fire hose in there. After nearly two solid minutes of urination the RV went eerily quiet and I knew my brother was inspecting his balls. The dim glow of his phone screen lit the crack in the door, followed by a lot of heavy, clumsy bumping sounds. Finally, he cursed under his breath and threw the door open. He entered pulling up his sweats and a whiff of stale crotch and beer piss hit my nose.

“You’re full of shit, bro. My balls are beautiful.”

I couldn’t argue with that— I’d been jerking off to the memory of those balls for well over a decade. But I wasn’t about to tell him that. “Fine bro. Don’t believe me.”

Vinnie perched on the edge of the bed, still self-conscious. “You were just a dumb kid. You didn’t know what a man’s balls looked like.”

Couldn’t argue with that, either— and all I wanted was to see them again.

“Okay. So prove it.”

Vinnie sniffed and licked his lips. “Prove what?”

“Drop those nasty sweatpants and I’ll show you what I’m talking about.”

Vinnie expelled a puff of air dismissively. “Fuck you. I’m not showing you my balls.”

“Whatever,” I said as if I couldn’t care less. “Just ask Angie tonight if you don’t believe me. She still lets you get naked in front of her, right? Or are you not allowed to do that when she’s pregnant, either?”

Emasculating him did the trick. Vinnie stood up, swayed a bit on his feet, and stubbornly stuffed his thumbs into the loose elastic of his waistband. “Fine. But if this is some fucking joke, bro, you’re dead meat.”

And with that, my big brother turned his back to me and bent over. With one swift yank, his sweatpants slid all the way to his ankles. He wore no underwear beneath them, just as I suspected.

It was exactly as I remembered.

*  *  *

To be continued...

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By Jim Selfie. © 2020. All Rights Reserved. 

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