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“I’ve only read about what to do. I’ve never…”
“Just touch me. I’m that close.” I shove my pants and underwear down, springing my cock free. She wraps her fingers around it and her eyes go wide.
I can’t hold back. The intensity of the release blinds me. My seed surges out.
“Oh!” she screams.
I pry my eyes open to see white streaks splat up her body and onto her face as I come completely undone to her touch.
Eight
Cindy
Mybrothershaveneverbeen known for waking up early. I can’t sleep late. I also can’t wash my face with my favorite minty vanilla sugar scrub, grab my bathrobe, or warm my feet in my fuzzy slippers.
I grab a hockey jersey from on top of a dresser, and cautiously bring it to my nose. Being engulfed in their scent…priceless. Smelling like I’m wearing a shirt that’s been sitting balled up and wet in a locker for a week…not so much.
It’s clean. I slip it over my bare body and pad quietly to the living room with my phone. It strikes me as funny that I don’t feel like I walk the same. Will it be obvious to people that I had at least five orgasms last night? And that I didn’t give them to myself? Surely it’s not as obvious as it feels.
Grabbing a blanket off the arm of a chair, I head to the couch that’s near the Christmas tree. They went with all blue ornaments. It’s either team spirit, or represents their love of ice, and snow, and cold weather. Maybe it’s reminiscent of that. And all white lights, just like Mom and Dad always did.
My toe bumps a package under the tree. Soft and lightweight. I squat, squish the package, and smile that Dad’s name is on the tag. Every year, they get Dad a team blanket. It’s sweet that they’ve kept things the same.
On the couch, I curl my legs under me, tuck the blanket around myself, then start my Morning Pages. They help me clear my thoughts each day. Calmness settles over me that this piece of my routine can remain the same.
I open my app and start typing:
Why are orgasms given by stepbrothers so much better?!?! The floating feeling was surreal, perfect. I felt so safe in Balthazar’s arms, his body securing me. That even if I floated free, I would be floating with him, on his command. And when Adrian called Ballz ‘Dad’! My heart still flutters at that, but Jeff is more of a dad type than Ballz.
A shiver runs through me and I tug the blanket up over my shoulder, bringing my phone closer to my waist.
Tingles in my sex reawaken at the remembrance of Balthazar’s mastery of me. I try not to think about all the women he learned on. I know he’s experienced. I know that all the men that were at the auction last night were experienced. That was the goal. Know how good things can be. Give myself confidence for the future.
The future? What future? What does that even mean?
I go through my routine day after day. Up until now, the future meant more of the same and that was comforting. I’m no longer typing, just thinking.
I angle my arm so I can see my tattoo. Am I finally understanding the true meaning of my blowing wild, throwing caution to the wind and trusting that I will still be capable?
When Dad talked to me about that, I doubt he meant to let my brother give me orgasms.
I usually get through my three Morning Pages without interruption. I resume typing:
The path forward will not be the same as the path behind, even if I control all of the factors.
The question is, would I want to control all of the factors? The way Jeff spoke to me outside of his car, I wanted him to tell him me what to do. And I enjoyed Ballz taking control. I love giving myself to them. That’s a revelation. My whole life is built around control, but what I really want is to let go.
People say you can have epiphanies writing morning pages. And I do have some profound moments, like when I realized I didn’t enjoy crossword puzzles so I switched to word searches. That was a good call. But there, even a word search is like a command: find this word and circle it.
There’s no real thinking, it’s just doing. I like that.
Wanting my brothers, I mean my future sexual partners, to be in control… Is that normal? Is that some primal need?
And why is an orgasm given by someone else so much better? That’s a silly question. Of course, it’s better. Eating food cooked by someone else is better. Getting a head massage by someone else is better. We’ve all been to the hairdresser and experienced that.
I’m typing away:
Is it a mistake to date my brothers…fake date my brothers?!?! It’s only making me want them more.
