As you can guess from my screen name, I usually post in the Fetish section. This is a somewhat auto-biographical fantasy and my first submission to the Gay Male category, so please be gentle!
-- Peebudy
***********************************
I'm not gay.
But my brother is.
Danny is 7 years older than me and we've always been polar opposites.
He's the oldest, I'm the youngest. He's into art and music, I'm into sports and women. He's tall and thin, I'm shorter and pudgy.
But the biggest difference between us, and the one that always pissed me off the most, was that he is very well endowed, and I have a smaller than average cock.
Danny and I shared a room growing up in our parent's small house, so there were several opportunities to see each other, as he liked to sleep in the buff. His cock was long and thick, and even soft, hung down way past his balls. I had always hoped that mine would grow as big as his when I hit puberty, but alas, it never did.
I think this is where my fascination with large cocks stems from. Classic penis envy.
Like I said, I'm not gay, but every time I watch porn (which is a lot!) I find myself as enthralled with the size of the actor's cocks, as I am watching the actresses lick, suck and take them in every one of their holes.
The differences between my brother and I continued through our adulthood as well.
He went to college for photography, I went to engineering school. He never settled down with one partner, I got married shortly after college and recently celebrated my 10th anniversary. He lives in a downtown flat, I live out in the suburbs.
But we're family, and we love each other. And even though he's my big brother, I've been the one looking out for him and protecting him over the years.
You see, my brother is promiscuous, and he has a bit of a drinking problem, and often times finds himself in touchy situations. He's not an alcoholic, it's just that if he has a one too many drinks, he gets mouthy, and if he has three too many drinks, he just blacks out.
I can't count the number of times I've gotten a call in the middle of the night to come rescue him from some abusive dude's apartment, or retrieve him from one of the downtown gay bars. It's gotten so I'm on a first name basis with many of the managers of those establishments.
This story is about one of those nights.
Even after 10 years of marriage and two kids, my wife is still as sexy and attentive as when we were dating. I guess one benefit of not having six-pack abs or a horse cock is that you base your relationships on more substantial qualities, like love, shared values and commitment.
Like me, Cindy carries a little extra weight, but she's got beautiful curves, striking green eyes, auburn hair and an infectious smile. And she's very open-minded, both in and out of the bedroom. Over the years we've experimented with most sexual acts, positions, role play and toys, and she's always been an eager participant, looking to give as much pleasure as she receives.
On this night, she was kneeling on the floor in front of the couch between my outstretched legs, expertly using her mouth and tongue on my 5 and a half inch erection, while our favorite porn flick played on our 50" flat screen TV. The kids were off at sleep-away camp, so we had the house to ourselves.
I was alternating between watching my cock disappear between her plump ruby lips, and watching Jenna Jameson working her skills on some dude with a cock easily 12 inches long and four inches across. Admiring the purple head and the thick veins that ran down his shaft, I was secretly wishing I possessed such a tool to stretch Cindy's lips wide, and to reach depths of her pussy that have never been introduced to the pleasure of well endowed cock.
RIIIIING....RIIIING.
Just as I and the dude in the movie were about to cum, my cell phone started to ring. Looking at the clock it was 1:45am, and I knew that there could only be one reason for a call at this hour of the night, so I slid out from under Cindy and went and begrudgingly answered the call.
"Hello?...Don't worry about it...Is he okay?...I'll be right down...Thanks for calling...Bye."
That's what Cindy heard on my side of the call, and she knew that our play-time was over for the night.
The phone call was from Sid, the manager from The Hub, one of the downtown gay bars. Danny had gotten into a screaming match with his boyfriend on the dance floor, and then proceeded drink himself into oblivion after his beau left in a huff. It was my duty now to go and retrieve him.
It was a 20 minute ride to get downtown from my place, and since the bars close at 2:00am, I just threw on my pajama bottoms and a t-shirt and headed out the door.
I pulled up in front of The Hub, Sid stood out front, having a smoke with of the bouncers.
Sid was an extremely sharp dresser, and I always admired the way his tailored suits fit his athletic frame. He was about 6 foot tall and in terrific shape. I guessed he was in his late 40s, about 10 years older than me, based on his striking white hair that was always impeccably groomed.
I guessed the other guy to be a bouncer, as he was clearly a half a foot taller than Sid, wearing tailored black pants and a tight black t-shirt that accentuated the fact that his muscles had muscles. And he was black as the clear night sky! At 5-foot-9, I felt small like a child as I approached the two men.
"He's sleeping it off in the back in my office," Sid said to me, as the bouncer gave me the once over, my flannel PJs and flip-flops definitely not what would be considered homo-chic!
Sid and I had been through this drill quite a few times with my brother, so it was old hat by now. Danny was a great customer, and his well known for his photography within the gay community, so Sid put up with his crap, and kind of watched out for him too.
The house lights were up and the bar was mostly empty, except for the band breaking down and a couple of guys in the back feverishly making out with one another. Oddly, rather than being disgusted, I felt my cock stir under my loose fitting bottoms at the sight of the intense passion being shared in that lip-lock. Like a deer caught in headlights, I continued to watch, and my cock continued to stiffen.
Shaking my head I just chalked it up to the severe case of blue-balls I was experiencing, being called out just as I was about to spray my load over Cindy's tonsils. "Silver lining!" I thought to myself, knowing that with such a small cock, nobody's be able to know I had a hard on, even in these flannel pajama bottoms, so my masculinity wouldn't be questioned.
Back to reality now, I continued to the back of the bar, past the rest rooms, and through the thick door with a big sign that read "MANAGER."
Sid's office was as impressive and meticulously appointed as his wardrobe. Tiffany lamps, a large mahogany desk with two burgundy leather chairs in front, and a matching leather couch on the far wall, where my brother lie, buck-ass naked and completely passed out.
Immediately, I felt the pang of my childhood jealousy in the pit of my stomach, looking at Danny's thick flaccid cock lying lewdly across his left thigh, appearing even bigger than I remember, as his crotch and balls were now cleanly shaven, smooth as the day he was born.
A flicker out of the corner of my eye interrupted my envious stare at my brother's cock, and I noticed that Sid now had huge flat panel TVs on each wall of his office. I presumed these were for the feeds from the security cameras during business hours, but saw that they now displayed changing images of erotic art.
Looking at the monitors, there were reproductions of paintings from every era, showing men in various stages of different sex acts with each other, and again I felt my cock rise to almost full attention.
"Get a grip man," I said to myself, as I walked over to my brother and tried to bring him back to the land of the living. "DANNY!" I shouted into his ear, slapping him gently on the face, trying to rouse him, but there was little response other than his deep breathing and mild snoring.
Looking around the room, doing my best to avoid the images on the TV screen, I was trying to locate Danny's clothes, which he apparently threw off his body in his rage and/or drunken stupor. I found his pants in a bundle in the far corner of the room. His shirt was flung over the arm of one of the leather chairs. One sock was hanging off one of the Tiffany lamps, the other I found in the trash can.