Coming home for the summer is always a bittersweet experience. It feels good to take a break from classes—college is demanding, and I enjoy giving my brain a chance to rest. At the same time, dealing with my mom—and especially my older brother—isn’t exactly something I look forward to.
Home is a farm with horses, pigs, chickens, bulls, and cows. My family runs several businesses centered around the livestock, and after my father died of cancer a few years ago, my brother took over.
I’ve never gotten along with my brother—or rather, we’ve always been distant. The ten-year age gap between us certainly doesn’t help. My mom says that when I was a baby, he was very protective and always looked after me, but I don’t remember any of that. All I remember are the bullying and the beatings he used to give me throughout my teenage years.
Jacob is a rough, old-fashioned man who’s never traveled outside the country and lives for work and taking care of the farm and the animals. He rides horses, drinks constantly, and spends his evenings smoking Cuban cigars while sipping whiskey. In reality, he’s only twenty-nine, but he carries himself like a fifty-year-old family man. I’ve never known him to have a serious girlfriend. In fact, around town, my brother has a reputation as a playboy who’s slept with the waitresses at every diner.
By the time I arrived at the farm, it was almost nightfall. The trip by plane and bus had been long, and I was exhausted. I only had a backpack with my essentials since I still kept plenty of clothes in my room. Whenever I came home, I only wore old clothes I didn’t mind ruining because I knew my days would be spent working among manure, mud, and dust.
“Son, you’ve gotten so skinny!” my mother, Linda, said as she wrapped me in a tight hug. She’s a plump blonde woman whose love language is food. She’s only truly happy when she sees her children eating enough to feed an army. Much to her delight, my brother Jacob eats enough for three people.
“What do you expect from a kid who thinks he’s some kind of intellectual? I bet he skips meals so he can buy weird books with the money we send him.”
And there he was in all his charm and sensitivity—my brother, Jacob. Short hair, a cowboy hat indoors, sun-bronzed skin, dark stubble, much taller than me, and nearly three times as broad. He didn’t even bother saying hello. He walked right past me and headed for the porch to smoke one of his cigars before bringing the animals in for the night.
“Nice guy,” I muttered to my mom.
She just gave me a sympathetic look that silently begged me not to start another argument.
“How are classes going?” she asked. “Did you get good grades?”
“Yes, Mom. Luckily, Jacob donated his tiny share of intelligence to me so I could become the first person in the family to earn a college degree.”
“Harry, don’t be like that. Your brother is very smart and incredibly hardworking.”
“And a jerk,” I muttered under my breath as I carried my backpack to my room.
My room looked exactly the same as I’d left it, with posters of my favorite movies and singers still covering the walls. I stretched out on my bed to rest after the long trip before taking a long, hot shower.
Later that night, after dinner, I took a walk around the farm to check on the animals. During the meal, Jacob had made a point of criticizing everything about me—my lack of a beard, my medium-length hair, the colors I wore, the way I talked, and just about everything else. Mom asked him several times to stop, but it was like talking to a brick wall. As far as Jacob was concerned, he was always right. Ever since Dad passed away, he’d been running the farm. Honestly, I was grateful for that—I wanted nothing to do with country life.
The lights were still on in the horse stable, probably by accident, so I went inside. I’ve loved horses ever since I was a kid. I’ve never been as good a rider as my brother, but I can hold my own.
Speaking of my brother, there he was, whistling with a toothpick between his teeth while he cleaned saddles and listened to country music on his phone. The moment I saw him, I turned to leave, but I was already too late.
“Hey, you. Get over here. Time to justify the money we send you every month for your little college life.”
I walked toward him with my head down.
“Jacob, I’m tired.”
He let out a contemptuous laugh.
“And you think I’m not? I’ve been working since six this morning while you’ve been sitting on your ass riding planes and buses.”
Without warning, he grabbed the collar of my old, baggy T-shirt and yanked me toward him.
“Listen up, little brother.”
He practically spat out the last two words. His breath reeked of cigars and whiskey.
“I’m the one making the rules this summer. Got it?”
I didn’t answer. I was too stunned. Up close, I could see the sharp line of his jaw beneath the dark stubble and the coarse hairs on his chest peeking through the open buttons of his black shirt.
“You’ve got two options. Two jobs, so to speak. Two career paths available to you this summer.”
“Let go of me, Jacob.”
The muscles and veins in his forearm bulged as he tightened his grip.
A moment later, he shoved me away, and I crashed onto the straw-covered floor.
He planted himself in front of me, his dirty jeans stretched tightly over his powerful legs. He slowly unbuckled his belt.
My brother spread his legs in front of me, his dirty, tight jeans hugging his thick legs. He unbuckled his belt, and underneath he wasn’t wearing any underwear—just his pubic hair. He pulled a long, flaccid cock out of his pants and, without any warning, started to pee. Peeing all over me.
“Jacob, what are you doing?” I tried to get away but couldn’t; I was completely paralyzed, and my brother’s hot stream of piss was soaking my face and clothes.
“I know full well what your reputation is in town, faggot. Do you think I don’t have to listen to the jokes from the guys whose dicks you’ve sucked? Whose asses you’ve given yourself to?”
The stream was strong, and my T-shirt was already completely soaked. The smell was pungent and intense. When he was done, he shook his dick until not a single drop remained.
“Do you want to work like a slave or be my whore this summer, little bro? You’ve got ten seconds to decide. 10, 9, 8, 7…”
My heart was pounding. Without realizing it, my brother had just fulfilled one of my deepest fantasies: being pissed on by a straight man. His question echoed in my mind, and before I could even think it through, I answered on pure instinct.
“I want to be your whore, Jacob.”
He burst out laughing, his contempt unmistakable.
“Of course you do. That actually works out a lot better for me. Those skinny arms of yours are useless around the farm, and this way I won’t have to listen to Mom nagging me about working you too hard. Besides, it’ll save me money on hookers.”
He tucked himself back into his jeans, zipped them up, and fastened his large gold belt buckle.
“Go take a shower and wait for me in your room. I’ll be there in half an hour. I’m going to show you who the manliest man in this town really is, little brother.”
I struggled to my feet, straw clinging to my clothes and skin, still damp from my brother’s urine. My heart hammered in my chest as I hurried back to the house.
My brother was the hottest, most masculine man I’d ever seen. As much as I feared him, I’d wanted him ever since I realized I was gay.
Was I dreaming?
In the distance, I could hear Morgan Wallen singing from my brother’s phone:
Blue ribbon bottles
Big black throttles
Marlboros if you want ’em
Go on and take a drag
Little small-town freedom
Little taste of dreamin’
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