I remained in the shower for an extended period of time, trying to deal with the conflict that was overwhelming me. I could not quite get my mind around what had just occurred; and what I had done.
I had just masturbated my younger brother to orgasm. And the excitement and thrill of seeing my first penis erupt with ropes of translucent semen shooting inches into the air before coming to rest upon my arm, legs and shirt was simply too much. With only the pressure of me squeezing my thighs together as my brother ejaculated, I too climaxed. It was the most profoundly erotic moment of my young life.
But now I was feeling pangs of remorse.
In a moment of weakness, I had crossed a line that our society has deemed un-crossable. I had violated one of the most fundamental taboos that exist; a taboo that has existed since biblical time.
I was ashamed, and guilt ridden; at the same time I was excited and confused. I did not fully understand my reaction to the events of an hour ago; but the image of Gary's magnificent erect cock as it erupted with the remarkable spewing of semen was profoundly stimulating to me. Even now, awash with guilt and shame, I could not deny that by simply recalling these events, I grew aroused almost instantly.
To say I was conflicted does no justice to the inner turmoil I was experiencing. Part of me wanted to recoil and pretend my wicked behavior this morning never occurred; and part of me wanted to see and touch that marvelous erection again.
I exited the shower, dried and quickly dressed in gym shorts and an athletic top. I did not want to face Gary, or anyone else right then; I needed time alone.
There is one activity of total solitude which allows me to search my most inner thoughts: running.
I donned my running shoes, and exited the house, grabbing an apple as I started my run. It was 3.4 miles from my front door to the closest Starbuck's, and I headed that direction at a furious pace. I was perspiring lightly when I arrived at the coffee shop about 30 minutes after leaving my house.
I ordered a 'venti coffee', doctored it of my liking, and sat in one of the overstuffed chairs in the corner. As I sat there, sipping my coffee, I replayed the events of that morning.
Yes, I was ashamed; and yet my vagina was lubricating as I recalled what I had done. I wanted to garner some genuine regret, and contrition; but I could not deny that I was aroused by the thought of Gary's erection, his ejaculation under my manual stimulation. My own surprising climax as my brother shot his semen all over was undeniable proof of the magnitude of my arousal at the sight and touch of my brother's rigid cock. And now, the memory was indelibly etched in my mind.
The events of this morning had been more than a physical or sexual experimentation for me; it was a significant emotional event. The intimacy that Gary and I shared this morning, which led to powerful orgasms for both of us, had resulted in a very real emotional connection from my perspective. I had no idea what Gary was feeling at this moment.
As I sat there, sipping my coffee, I feared that I was about to learn a valuable lesson in the difference between how men and women view intimacy. On some level, I knew that often times men can be intimate without an emotional connection. Men are capable of 'sport humping' or, to be more crude, 'sport fucking'. Women on the other hand have a tendency to tie deep emotional connections to real intimacy.
And as absurd as it now sounds, the physical exchange that Gary and I shared this morning had touched me more deeply than a simply being physical release. I was now emotionally attached to my brother in a way that certainly was not normal, and arguably not healthy.
I needed to find and confront Gary to determine his state of mind.
I took a convoluted way home. I needed time to think about what I wanted to say to my younger brother about our encounter this morning. My best guess is I made the return trip 5 or 6 miles long, and took a little better than an hour to complete the run. It was approaching noon when I arrived home, sweating heavily and having run some of the anxiety out of my body. But I was no closer to understanding my feelings or knowing what I should do next than when I left.
Mom was sitting at the kitchen table sipping coffee and nursing her daily hangover. If she stayed true to form, she would start drinking sometime in the early afternoon, be drunk before dinner and be asleep by 8 or 9 p.m. tonight. I felt badly for her, wished I knew how to help her, but I realized I had nothing to offer her. Hopefully, some day she would pull herself out of the alcoholic abyss she occupied, but that would depend on her, not me. Right now, I had my own issues to deal with.
I looked for Gary, but could not find him. I was not sure what I would say, if anything, when I found him; but I knew we needed to talk. He was not home.
"Where is Gary?" I asked mom.
"I don't know. He set out of here like a bat on fire about an hour ago. He did not say where he was heading, or when he'd be back. He really doesn't talk to me much anyway. I guess it is just the stage he is going through." Mom continued, almost talking to herself. "I am glad you and I still communicate well."
I thought to myself how silly the last statement sounded. Mom & I had not really talked since Dad died. But I did not see any reason to correct her illusion that we were still communicating and talking.
Gary's absence caused my anxiety level to jump. My mind raced with all kinds of scenarios about what he was feeling and thinking, and what he was doing right now. It was concerned that he might be sharing the details of this morning with one or more of his friends. That thought scared me beyond belief.
I tried to focus on a book I was reading, but mostly just sat there, staring at the pages without reading them, reliving the events of the morning, and working various scenarios about the future in my head. The daydreams both scared and excited me. Try as I might, I could not purge the vivid images from my brain, and my body reacted to the memories; I was wet and aroused, and ashamed that I was.
I decided to abandon this effort and watch some TV. It was mid-afternoon, and Mom was just now starting her ritual of orange juice and vodka.
I occupied myself for several hours, waiting for Gary to return, and avoiding Mom. I was getting increasingly pissed that Gary had abandoned me this way. Why wasn't he as anxious as I was to discuss this? Why wasn't he as concerned with my mental and emotional state. It was one of my earliest lessons that men are insensitive bastards; and we really should not expect them to act any better than they do.
