went straight for the waist of my pants, pulling them straight down, past my ankles. He then began to undo his belt buckle. He pulled his pants down along with his boxers, revealing his long, semi-erect penis. I reached out and grabbed onto it, playfully. I began to jerk him off slowly. I could feel his cock begin to throb in my hand.
We heard someone walk by the doorway and we both froze. We stared at the closed door like deer staring at a speeding car. My hand remained clamped on his cock.
“Frank is home. Come get some dinner!” James’s mother yelled.
We heard footsteps move away from the door. James looked over at me, wide-eyed and smiled. I let go of his dick and he began to pull up his pants.
CHAPTER THREE
THE NEW BROTHERS
I sat quietly next to James at the dinner table. There were mountains of food on the table; roast beef, ham, mashed potatoes, scalloped potatoes, peas, carrots, peas and carrots, a pile of dinner rolls, and two different kinds of gravy. It was quite the feast for five people on a Tuesday.
Frank walked in from the kitchen holding two bottles of wine. His arms were large, filling out his tight t-shirt. His chest was stacked. I could see his perky nipples pushing against the tight fabric. He had very short brown hair.
“I got a red and a white. The red is a Merlot and the white is a Pinot Gris,” he said.
“I’ll have the Pinot Gris,” Patricia said, reaching out for it like a hungry African child.
Frank passed her the wine.
“Which one do you want?” James asked me.
“Whichever,” I said. I forced a smile.
“Pass the red this way, when you have a chance,” James said to his brother.
Frank walked around the table and handed the red wine to James. He planted his hand on James’s head and ruffled up his hair.
“It’s been too long, bro,” Frank said.
Bro : A word reserved for the weight room at the gym, and the weekend nightclubs. Frank’s thick muscles were no longer of any meaningful purpose. Since college, Frank hadn’t played any sport on a professional level. He still hit the gym every day like clockwork, making sure his body was perfectly sculpted for Friday night at the club.
Frank sat down across from me.
“Everyone eat,” Patricia said, already spooning potatoes onto her plate.
“It’s Brenna, right?” Frank said.
“That’s right,” I said.
“Walt has told me lots about you,” Frank said to me.
“Really?” I asked.
“Yeah. The only time I’ve ever seen him smile was when he was talking about you,” he said. “Or when the Leafs beat the Sens.” Frank laughed.
I looked over at my father. His eyes darted away from me awkwardly.
“How do you like my brother?” Frank asked.
“He’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of, and more,” I said, smiling.
Frank laughed, showing off his immaculately chiselled jawline.
“Yeah, yeah. You say that now,” he said, laughing.
“Where are you from, Brenna?” Patricia asked.
“Pat—” my father said.
“What?” Patricia said.
“You know damn well where she’s from.”
“I’m just starting conversation!” Patricia said. She looked back at me and smiled, awaiting the answer she already knew.
“I’m from California,” I said. “I was born in Oregon, but we moved south when I was really little.”
Frank reached across the table and grabbed the plate of ham. The muscles in his arms flexed as he reached. His veins were thick and dark.
“And that’s where you met James? In California?” Frank asked.
“That’s right,” I said.
“Can you pass the peas, please?” Patricia asked me.
I reached for the peas, but Frank beat me to them. My hand momentarily landed on his hand.
“I got it,” he said.
I pulled my hand back. His hand was so big, so strong.
“What do you do?” I asked Frank.
“I work as a welder,” he said.
“A welder,” I said. “Do you like it?”
“It’s great. It pays well and I get to work with good people,” he said.
“That’s
We heard someone walk by the doorway and we both froze. We stared at the closed door like deer staring at a speeding car. My hand remained clamped on his cock.
“Frank is home. Come get some dinner!” James’s mother yelled.
We heard footsteps move away from the door. James looked over at me, wide-eyed and smiled. I let go of his dick and he began to pull up his pants.
CHAPTER THREE
THE NEW BROTHERS
I sat quietly next to James at the dinner table. There were mountains of food on the table; roast beef, ham, mashed potatoes, scalloped potatoes, peas, carrots, peas and carrots, a pile of dinner rolls, and two different kinds of gravy. It was quite the feast for five people on a Tuesday.
Frank walked in from the kitchen holding two bottles of wine. His arms were large, filling out his tight t-shirt. His chest was stacked. I could see his perky nipples pushing against the tight fabric. He had very short brown hair.
“I got a red and a white. The red is a Merlot and the white is a Pinot Gris,” he said.
“I’ll have the Pinot Gris,” Patricia said, reaching out for it like a hungry African child.
Frank passed her the wine.
“Which one do you want?” James asked me.
“Whichever,” I said. I forced a smile.
“Pass the red this way, when you have a chance,” James said to his brother.
Frank walked around the table and handed the red wine to James. He planted his hand on James’s head and ruffled up his hair.
“It’s been too long, bro,” Frank said.
Bro : A word reserved for the weight room at the gym, and the weekend nightclubs. Frank’s thick muscles were no longer of any meaningful purpose. Since college, Frank hadn’t played any sport on a professional level. He still hit the gym every day like clockwork, making sure his body was perfectly sculpted for Friday night at the club.
Frank sat down across from me.
“Everyone eat,” Patricia said, already spooning potatoes onto her plate.
“It’s Brenna, right?” Frank said.
“That’s right,” I said.
“Walt has told me lots about you,” Frank said to me.
“Really?” I asked.
“Yeah. The only time I’ve ever seen him smile was when he was talking about you,” he said. “Or when the Leafs beat the Sens.” Frank laughed.
I looked over at my father. His eyes darted away from me awkwardly.
“How do you like my brother?” Frank asked.
“He’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of, and more,” I said, smiling.
Frank laughed, showing off his immaculately chiselled jawline.
“Yeah, yeah. You say that now,” he said, laughing.
“Where are you from, Brenna?” Patricia asked.
“Pat—” my father said.
“What?” Patricia said.
“You know damn well where she’s from.”
“I’m just starting conversation!” Patricia said. She looked back at me and smiled, awaiting the answer she already knew.
“I’m from California,” I said. “I was born in Oregon, but we moved south when I was really little.”
Frank reached across the table and grabbed the plate of ham. The muscles in his arms flexed as he reached. His veins were thick and dark.
“And that’s where you met James? In California?” Frank asked.
“That’s right,” I said.
“Can you pass the peas, please?” Patricia asked me.
I reached for the peas, but Frank beat me to them. My hand momentarily landed on his hand.
“I got it,” he said.
I pulled my hand back. His hand was so big, so strong.
“What do you do?” I asked Frank.
“I work as a welder,” he said.
“A welder,” I said. “Do you like it?”
“It’s great. It pays well and I get to work with good people,” he said.
“That’s
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