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Subject: Title story: "Butterfly kisses" Author: David Lemmaire 49880243
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Date: Tue, 26 Jul 2005 12:17:26 +0000
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My little brother has always been James -- not Jim, not Jimmy, not Jimmer, not
Jay -- just James.
Since he was five-years-old, he preferred his full identity. He was barely out
of training pants before he was correcting the foolish adults who dared to
invent a diminutive. I guess I knew even then he was a demanding little man in a
little boy's body.
Me? I'm Marky...four years older than him. When this story took place, I was 15
and he was 11.
No name rules required when you talk about me. The "y" has been at the end of my
"Mark" since before I can remember. I figure the longer I keep it, the longer
it'll be before I'm forced to grow up. So, call me Marky. Baby-talk me. I don't
mind at all.
James was a blond boy -- a striking contrast to my own dark brown hair. Mine was
lighter too at his age, but darkened as I entered puberty and my body decided to
take off in its own random directions.
I was proud of my brown hair and matching brown pubes. Nothing special. Nothing
more than any of the other guys I eyed up and down in the locker room,
lustfully and secretly. I was comfortably equal. Normal. No cause for
developmental alarm, but no cause for cocky showing-off either. I had what they
had. It worked fine for me.
James was lighter, softer -- his pubic hair was wispy and straight, just coming
in -- not curled and obvious like mine -- but downy and nearly invisible -- his
body just entering that delicious, mysterious stage between boy and teen.
I don't think I really harbored any lustful, deviant sexual desires toward my
younger brother. I knew he was an attractive boy -- no, actually a pretty boy --
with light blue eyes and fair, soft skin. It was the kind of skin that glows a
youthful perfection, unblemished and creamy -- shining sweetly in any light. The
kind I would have wanted to touch and taste if he hadn't been my brother.
I was well aware of my own impending homosexuality -- something I viewed with a
curious mix of unfazed tingling and dooming eventuality. I wasn't quite sure I
wanted to be gay at 15, but I knew my sailboat was headed toward that particular
shore, and unless the wind changed drastically, there wasn't much I could do but
lay out on the deck, look at the boys in the locker room and enjoy the waves.
"Hey Marky," James said, smiling at me slyly. "I learned something from this
girl in school today. Wanna see it?"
I looked up from my monitor where I was working on a book report for English.
Bored out of my mind. Fuckleberry Fucking Finn.
He was standing in my doorway in shorts and a t-shirt. I think he was already
hard, but I ...
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