The Ritual

David came back from taking a pee, already with the makings of another hard-on. He climbed on the bed saying, with a smile, “Let’s fuck.”

“Again?”

“What do you mean again? It’s been, like,” glancing at the bedside clock, “eight hours.” David had fucked me around midnight, when we went to bed, and around four yesterday afternoon, shortly after his arrival. He was insatiable.

“I’m not even awake yet,” I protested.

“Well wake up, bro!” giving my hip-roll a slap. “Actually you don’t have to be all that awake. All you have to do is lie on top of a stack of pillows and spread those girly legs of yours. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“You think I have girly legs?”

“What do you think? Even mom used to say you had the legs of a girl. Long and slender? A girl model’s legs, she used to say. She used to worry about you.”

“About me? Why?”

David, for some reason, was lubing up his middle finger rather than his cock. Which was standing straight up now. My brother had a pretty one. Medium-sized but very pretty, with a rosy, flower-like head. I was jealous. Just as, perhaps, he was jealous of my legs.

“She was worried you had come out a boy but were supposed to be a girl. It didn’t help matters when she caught you dressing up in her underwear that time. Roll over.”

“Why?”

“Just do it,” my sometimes imperious older brother said. I obeyed.

“They wanted to send me to a shrink.”

“Yeah. I’m the one who talked them out of it.”

“You did?”

“You never knew that? I was home from college, freshman year. I was taking Psychology 101.” David laughed. “They thought I knew something.”

“What’d you tell them?” I asked, as my brother inserted his lubed finger. It went in easily—to the knuckle.

“Man what a difference!”

“What?”

“Between how tight you were yesterday and the way you are today. I’ll be putting a fist up you soon, you shit.”

Ugh, I thought. I’d seen pics of “fisters.” With their prolapsed rectums? No thanks. I liked weird, kinky stuff but not that kinky. I said: “If we’re going to fuck again I should douche myself.”

“No worries. Wouldn’t be the first time I got a little chocolate on the wick.”

I’d never heard this expression before. Chocolate? Wick? Wasn’t a wick the thing that protruded from a candle? The thing you lit?

My brother, somehow, pushed even deeper, the knuckles of his other fingers pressing into my buttock flesh. “Yep. I can feel one,” he declared.

“One what?”

“Your first turd of the morning.”

I frowned. “That’s gross, David!”

“It’s an asshole. It is what it is, bro,” he advised, withdrawing his lubed finger. He wiped it on my buttock like a chef sharpening a knife.

“What’d you tell ‘em?” I persisted.

“When?” David was stacking the two pillows on his side of the bed in its center. My perch, I assumed. Yesterday afternoon he’d fucked me on my hands and knees; last night he’d fucked me on my back, my legs in the air. “Stretching to the ceiling!” he’d joked. I was guessing that by the time David left, on Monday afternoon, we would have cycled through every conceivable position. He’d already talked about fucking me in the shower, up against the tiles. Or better yet fucking me bent over, grasping my ankles. Like—

“After they caught me,” I said.

“Oh. Mom and dad?” David patted the pillow stack. Up and at ‘em, boy!

“Yeah.”

David shrugged as I sluggishly, sleepily rolled into position, ass in the air.

“I told ‘em not to worry. You’d grow out of it.”

“And I did.”

“Well,” David laughed, giving my poised buttocks a spank as he climbed into position behind them, “from the looks of that cute little panty I pulled down yesterday when we first went to bed...I’d say you were still going strong.”

“I’m talking about back then. That was, like, eight years ago. You were right. I got over it.”

“Well when did you get back into it, bro?”

One second the lubed head of David’s cock had been pressed stickily to my hole; the next it was six inches in. In all the way and I could feel, for a brief moment, his golden-brown pubic hair flush against my crack. As “opened up” as I was I still grimaced with the hasty penetration, and moaned.

“Huh?” David asked, beginning his motion. He was relentless.

“After,” I replied, “the other time you visited me here. When you helped me…move out of the dorm. And we had sex for the first time,” I said in a rush. After that, however, my words came haltingly, between pounding blows. Was this why David, at such a young age, was so successful a broker on Wall Street? First he took what he wanted, then pounded it in? “After you fucked me that first time…”

“You were a virgin.”

Somehow, despite all the physical mayhem, I got in a nod. “Yeah. And afterwards…I saw stars.”

“Stars?”

Another nod. “When you pushed through…all the way in…I saw, like, stars. A girly type…orgasm I guess you’d say. And after that…,” wiping away some saliva that was about to escape, “…like next day, after you left…I went online and bought some…fem stuff. Panties and…stockings and stuff.”

David was holding his own taut body erect and still now. It was my prone body, diving forward and down, and then rising upwards and back, with a slap, that was in motion, courtesy of his propelling hands.

“Well I’m glad,” David grinned, “I could help contribute to your…relapse.”

Lapse? I said to myself, the image of a prolapsed rectum again flashing before my eyes. Gross!

“So do you dress in front of your roommate, when he’s around?”

“No. Only in my room. And in bed at night. Fortunately, though…he’s away a lot. On weekends. His parents live…not too far away. Then I can parade around at my…”

“Parade?”

“Well, you know.”

“Is he gay?”

“No.”

“Like you?”

“I’m not gay!” I protested. Earning a hearty laugh from my older brother.

“What do you call this?”

“You’re married.”

“So?”

“And you’re having sex with another man right now. I’d say that’s…pretty gay.”

“But this is a ritual. This is family.”

“Yeah. I’m family. I’m your brother, remember? Tell me about it!”

David continued to pound it home. Pound it home, the spongy head of his cock, presumably, bumping against what would be my the first turd to exit my body later this morning. If he didn’t care I didn’t. I did, but…

It was David who, on that first visit months ago, when I lost my virginity, my anal virginity that is (not that I wasn’t still a virgin in the other regard, too), taught me how to properly prepare myself, as a bottom, for sex. He’d even driven me to the nearby drugstore in his BMW to show me which brand of disposable enemas to buy. But all of that had abruptly gone out the window this morning, owing to David’s insatiable needs. He said he hadn’t had sex in weeks when he arrived. Didn’t he ever fuck his beautiful wife? Or a girlfriend? (Or boyfriend?)

At 28 David was already rich. Couldn’t he afford, and get—take—anything or anybody he wanted?

We both fell silent for a time, gratefully. I mean aside from David’s baritone grunts and groans and my higher-octave, rhythmic moans. And love-cries. “Oh darling!” I caught myself—but not soon enough—saying at one point.

David didn’t care for this. “Don’t call me ‘darling,’” he said. “I’m not your boyfriend or your gay husband, dumbass, I’m just your brother.”

He didn’t appreciate afterwards kisses, either. On his shaved cheeks, his shoulders, his spent penis…

“Sorry,” I replied meekly. I had indeed crossed a line. But the pleasure of my dilated rectum sliding up and down David’s shaft was so intoxicating, so mesmerizing I’d entered, momentarily, the realm of near delirium. Oh!

David came—in his typical uninhibited window-rattling sort of way. My brother came in me and pulled out, his glossy penis still engorged, his mouth open. Emptied of the last shouts and cries. “Oh god…,” he said, letting go of the minimal flesh of hips, his guiding grip having left multiple pink finger-marks. “What have I done?”

I looked over a shoulder, smiling. “The same thing you did last night and the—”

“Shut up!” David barked. “Go get me a towel you little slut.”

I rose. As did my cock—limp against the pillows the whole time David was fucking me. I’d grown used to my brother’s immediate, post-coital personality change. Fortunately it didn’t last long. In fact, by the time I’d finished wiping the lube from his shrinking shaft and the “chocolate” from his glans the anger and guilt and confusion—if that’s what it was—had mostly dissipated. Like a morning fog the sun had burnt off. In fact, David looked down at my lap guiltily.

“You want me to do something about that?” he asked, vaguely.

“No.”

“Jack you off?”

“No.”

David frowned, as if he’d discovered, or rediscovered, something radically wrong with me. “How come you never want me to pleasure you afterwards. It’s your turn.”

“It’s like I told you,” I reminded him. “You fucking me makes me feel very fem inside. And ejaculating isn’t very fem, is it? Besides, I like the feel. The tingle of it. I like to go as long as I can before, you know, giving into temptation.”

“Temptation?” David half-laughed. “You sound like our priest when we were kids. Remember?”

“Vaguely. That was kind of before my time though. Mom stopped going to church after dad left us. We went on Christmas and Easter, but…”

“Lucky you.”

“Dad leaving us?”

“No, church, dumbass. If you’re gonna sit here with a hard-on staring up at me I’m gonna have to stroke it. Put it out of its misery.”

“It’s not miserable,” I smiled. “I’ll go put my panties on. A black pair so it won’t bother you.”

“It’s not bothering me,” my brother said, as I ran to my second-hand chest of drawers. A heavy, antique thing David had helped me carry up the steps months before in this windy old rental house. As I fished around in the middle drawer for something appropriate, something sexy but discreet, as discreet as a microfiber panty can be, I said to my brother: “What did you mean by ‘ritual’?”

“Ritual?” David watching as my erection disappeared inside the opaque panty I pulled up. Up my skinny, girly, model’s legs.

“Yeah. When you were fucking me just now. You called it a ritual.”

“Oh. Right. Well…”

I rejoined my older brother, my mentor, my sometimes hero, on the bed. He was sitting cross-legged so I sat cross-legged too, the erection in my panties slanting off to one side, constrained by the lace waistband. Most of my panties were laceless bikinis, or thongs, but this one was an old-fashioned full-cut. Sometimes you needed a panty that came up to the waist. David said:

“What our dad handed down to me I’ve handed down to you.”

“What was that?”

“This. Sex. Two brothers. Only I didn’t have an older brother like you,” David explained. “I had dad.”

“Dad.”

“Yes. You didn’t know him like I did.” My brother shook his head. “Dying like that at such a young age…”

“Mom said it was his past catching up to him. Retribution.”

“I’m not gonna go there, bro. The time for recriminations is long over, OK? Accept it for what it is.”

“Tell mom.”

“Fuck mom. OK?”

Fuck your black panty, too, my brother seemed to say. Reaching out he began caressing me, my aslant penis, in the silky microfiber.

“I’m gonna cum if you…”

“So?” my brother’s hand keeping up its motion. “Cream your little panties. We’ll take a shower afterwards. Maybe I’ll fuck you again in the…”

“No way.”

“Way. You’re turning me on, bro. My little brother in mom’s panty? With a hard-on?”

“They’re not mom’s.”

“It’s the principle of the thing. The symbolism. Symbols go deep.”

My brother seemed to be rambling. I wanted to get back to the subject at hand. Literally and figuratively. “What are you talking about, David? Tell me about you and dad.”

For once my brother hesitated. Seemed to measure his words, his thoughts. “OK…just like with you, when I was your age and in college…”

“Yeah.” Get to the point.

“Dad came to visit me one weekend. It was a holiday weekend like this one. I was out of the dorm; my roommate was gone, visiting his parents or whatever. Just like yours. I had the place to myself.

“Dad said…,” my brother went on, as he continued to fondle and caress me in my panty, “‘…it’s important a young man your age have every experience. Have you ever had sex with another man?’ I said no, truthfully, I hadn’t. Dad said, ‘Well, we need to fuck then. I need to fuck you.’

“I was blown away,” my brother said. “Me and my dad? Was he kidding? Crazy? This was incest! It was, like, forbidden.

“He said, ‘Let’s go to bed, David.’ There were no preliminaries like I did with you the first time. That came later. We simply went to bed and fucked. It was painful. It was really, really weird. Sex with our dad? His big cock up my ass? And he did have a big one…

“He fucked me four or five times that weekend, I forget. He came back for more, often, whenever my roommate was away. Over the course of two years or so we must’ve had sex a hundred times, dad and me.”

“Christ,” I said.“But a curious thing happened along the way. Or maybe not so curious. Dad pegged me as a natural-born top. Versatile anyway. I began fucking him.” David laughed. “He had a big flabby ass at that stage. He’d put on weight. But I enjoyed fucking him. And fucking him. And...He enjoyed it too. Incest? It was wild the sex we had!

“One day toward the end he says to me… ‘OK, you’ll have to pass this along to your brother when he comes of age. Our little’—he laughed—‘ritual.’ He called it a ritual, like we were Satanists or some thing. ‘I’m too old,’ dad said. ‘It’ll be on you. But your brother’s not like you. He’s a wimp. A’—““Wimp?” I felt wounded.“I’m just telling you what he said, bro. I think, looking back, dad sensed the end was near. He knew he had a bad heart. Then two months after I got my Master’s…he dropped dead.”

“Of a heart attack,” I added superfluously.”

My older brother nodded. “So that’s the so-called ritual. Dad to me and now me to you. The family,” he laughed, “tradition. If only mom—you’ve gone all sticky, hon…”

“Sorry. Thank you. I...” I was confused. Had my own brother just called me “hon”?

“…knew. She—”

“Maybe she does,” I said perversely, one of her panties filled with warm, seeping cum. She brought me a few pair with just about every visit. And now it—my sperm—rather than in her vagina, was down to my spent balls. “She’s visiting next week,” I told David.

“Mom?”