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Subject: Title story: "Butterfly kisses" Author: David Lemmaire 59456249
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Date: Mon, 14 Nov 2005 08:04:34 +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 couldn't tell from a distance. I'd seen him jacking off before, so I
knew it was possible. I used to peek my head in his door at night, passing in
the hall on my way to the bathroom. I stole secret glances and watched him
writhing in his own self-delight, smiling at the memories of my own, earlier,
erotic discoveries. When James jacked off, he liked do it with his ass propped
up on a pillow. Arched. Eager. He did it slow. Much slower than I did.
I didn't think much of it then. I was trying not to think too much of it now.
His sweet, perfectly shaped toes scrunched into the carpet as he stood there in
my doorway, waiting for an answer. I shut off the monitor and turned to him,
giving him my full attention.
"Sure," I shrugged. "Whadja learn, kiddo?"
"Butterfly kisses," he giggled. "Want one?"
I smiled. "As long as it doesn't fucking hurt."
He laughed and came over to my chair. He climbed up on my lap, straddling me,
and threw his arms around my neck, giving me a hug. I wasn't shocked by it.
James was affectionate. Not yet old enough to be shy about sitting on his
brother's lap and showing his closeness. He was only a kid. Kids hug.
"I won't hurt you, Marky," he grinned. "Trust me."
That I did.
"Okay," he giggled. "I'm gonna butterfly kiss you. All you have to do is relax
and close your eyes."
I did. Half amused. Half bored in that patient, just-get-it-over-with older
brother way. I wasn't quite sure what he wanted to do. I didn't quite trust
myself to react the right way.
As soon as he saw that my eyes were closed, he nuzzled my neck slightly with the
top of his head. The reaction was instantaneous. His hair against my neck sent a
surge of blood to my groin, and half-embarrassed, I could feel myself beginning
to get hard under his childish weight. His ass was on my lap -- sharp bones
almost digging into my legs. Under different circumstances it would have been
painful. At this particular moment, as I breathed in and smelled his wonderful,
clean hair, all I could feel was arousal.
"Now," he said simply. "Check this out."
He raised his head to my face and rested his right eye on my cheek. Lightly,
with a feather touch, he began flickering his eyelash up and down at frantic
speed, sending a burst of tickles all the way up my spine -- my nerve endings
flailing wildly to keep up with the sudden burst of sensory input. It was a
sweet, soft, fluttering feeling ...
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