The Foxwood Chronicles

By FreeThinker

Chapter Eight

            “You fag!”

            Brandon Atherton stood in the front yard of his huge, old house on Court Street laughing with Jeremy Duncan as Dylan Stuart writhed in the grass, grinning despite the pain of his balls ending the flight of Brandon’s Frisbee. Dylan, despite the pain, was watching Brandon and as soon as the dark haired boy wasn’t looking, he grabbed the Frisbee and, with a quick and totally unexpected, (by Brandon), flick of the wrist, sent it shooting into the other boy’s crotch.

            Jeremy rolled in the grass, hysterical.

            “You asked for that,” he said between breaths as Brandon fell to his knees, clutching his abdomen. “If you weren’t so cocky, you’d have seen that coming!”

            “Cocky my ass,” Brandon retorted with just a touch more emotion than might have been necessary. “At least, I got a cock instead of that teeny weenie you got.”

            Dylan watched the interplay between the two best friends and saw the momentary flash of pain on Jeremy’s face. Brandon stood, announced he had to piss, and marched toward the house. When he disappeared through the front door, Jeremy sat in the grass, appearing to relax.

            “You know,” said Dylan softly, “Brandon’s kind of a dick to you, sometimes. Why do you let him talk to you like that?”

            “He’s just playing around,” Jeremy replied. “That’s just his way.”

            However, Dylan saw the embarrassment Jeremy was trying to hide. He smiled at him and said, “I guess. Sorry.”

            For several minutes, they sat in the shade of the giant maple tree, luxuriating in the thick, cool grass. Blue jays called at each other from above as Dylan examined his friend.

            “You know, Brandon isn’t really as nice as his brother. I don’t think he treats you  right.”

            “He’s my best friend,” Jeremy objected. “He always has been. He’s just different from Ryan, that’s all.”

            Dylan shrugged and decided to let it go. As he did, the screen door crashed open as Brandon emerged from the house. He stood on the porch looking out across the yard and then up the street. He seemed to Dylan to be looking intently at something.

            “Hey, Dylan,” he called out. “I think that’s your brother up there with the new faggy guy. I think something’s wrong.”

            Dylan looked to the north and saw, a half-block away, Adam walking with a more exaggerated lope than usual and Evan at his side, an arm around Adam’s shoulder. Instantly, Dylan was standing, a look of concern on his face.

            “They’re supposed to be playing tennis at the country club all afternoon,” he said. “Something’s wrong.”

            He took off and ran toward the two older boys. As he approached, he yelled to Evan, “What happened?” What did you do to him?”

            Evan shook his head.

            “It wasn’t me,” he protested as Dylan came up.

            “Adam!” Dylan said urgently. “Are you OK?”

            “Evan helped me,” he said softly. “Evan is my friend.”

            “The new tennis pro at the club said something rude about Adam and he… well, you know.”

            “I am  not retarded,” Adam said plaintively.

            “We all know you’re not retarded, Adam,” said Evan, still holding the boy around the shoulder as Dylan watched. “No one as brilliant and as talented as you could be retarded.”

            “It’s not just that,” said Dylan hotly. “Autistics aren’t retarded. They just think and communicate differently. There’s nothing wrong with Adam. He’s just… Adam.”

            “I want to go home,” Adam repeated.

            “We’re almost there,” said Evan as he continued to hold Adam around the shoulder. Dylan looked on, following behind, a sense of frustration and jealously clear on his face.

They passed by the Atherton house and Jeremy asked, “What happened?”

“Some tennis pro at the club said something mean to Adam and…”

Brandon snorted.

“Michael Sanchez? He’s like the coolest guy in town. If he’s laughing at you, you’re just screwed.”

Dylan’s eyes shot fire at the dark-haired boy as Jeremy looked at his best friend with alarm.

“Shut up, butthead!”

Brandon’s eyes grew wide with surprise. Then, he balled up his fists and started toward Dylan, only to be stopped by Jeremy, whose alarm was evident.

“It’s his brother, man.”

Brandon struggled with himself for a moment and then relented. Dylan followed Evan and Adam, Brandon no longer existing in his mind.

Dylan struggled with himself, as well, battling jealousy of Evan and concern for Adam. He was all too familiar with Adam’s reactions to cruelty and usually it was he, Dylan, who comforted the boy and eased his anxiety. And, now, someone else was able to do so.

“We can go in the front door,” Dylan said as they crossed the lawn in front of the small bungalow. “Mom’s gone to see some ladies from the church.”

He ran ahead of the others and unlocked the door as Evan led Adam up the steps of the front porch. Once they were inside the living room, Dylan ran to the side window and turned on the air conditioner. Adam stood still and seemed to be thinking. Evan squeezed his hand.

“Are you OK now, Adam?”

The boy didn’t respond, but after a moment, he turned toward the piano, gazing at it for several seconds before stepping toward it. He sat down on the bench and looked at the keys as he had the day before. Evan looked at Dylan, who nodded.

“It helps him,” he said. Evan smiled and sat down on the arm of an easy chair near Adam, who finally raised his hands to the keyboard and began to play.

Evan was not familiar with classical music, but the speed and intricacy of the piece seemed of a familiar style to him, much like the piece Adam had played Monday, except faster and with more intensity.

“The harder he plays,” said Dylan, ‘the more upset he is. He’ll play a slower piece after awhile.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Evan whispered as Adam’s fingers furiously worked the keys of the piano.

Dylan shook his head.

“Just sit there and listen. He likes for people to listen to his music. I think that sometimes he feels he can communicate better through the music than he can through talking.”

Dylan leaned against the frame of the doorway leading to the dining room as Evan frowned and nodded. Adam’s fingers flew across the keys and Evan marveled at the skill of Adam’s performance.

“He’s incredible. Why aren’t you people getting him training? He should be going to Julliard or something.”

“We know. We know,” said Dylan softly. “But, he’s just as good at chess and math. I mean, he could do just about anything. We tried school, but the kids… Well, we can’t really afford tutors. Dad’s just a minister. But, he’s been talking to some of the professors at Foxwood College and I think we can get some of them to work with Adam.”

Dylan paused a moment and then said, with wonder and love in his voice, “He’s really a genius.”

Evan nodded and looked back at the slim figure of his friend as Adam’s hands seemed less agitated in their playing. The piece had taken on a less urgent tone and suddenly, stopped. Adam paused a moment and then began another piece, quiet and reflective, almost romantic. Evan watched as Adam’s eyes closed and his head seemed to roll slightly from side to side as he played. Once again, Evan did not recognize the music, but thought it might be something from the nineteenth century.

Dylan watched Evan looking at Adam. He saw the older boy’s eyes and his heart tightened. Evan had seemed like such a… well, super-something. What was the word his father had used once to describe people who were something on the outside but something else inside? Superficial. Adam had seemed so superficial, so fake at first. He had acted like a stupid pretty boy. Yet, here he was, showing such compassion and caring. And, love. He saw the look in Evan’s eyes and the way the older boy placed his hand, gently and lovingly, on Adam’s back as he listened to the music.

Dylan turned and walked slowly toward the kitchen. He stopped at the refrigerator and withdrew a pitcher of iced tea. After pouring a glass and replacing the pitcher, he opened the back door and wandered out to the yard.

Dylan’s mind was a torrent of conflicting emotions. His whole life had been spent in Adam’s shadow. Adam was so brilliant and so talented and everyone was so impressed with Adam. He could do things Dylan could never hope to do. Yet, whenever something happened, it was Dylan who took care of Adam, acting like the older brother instead of the younger, as he was. Dylan wanted to shine, to be free. Yet, he loved his brother and Evan’s sudden intrusion into their lives, his unusual ability to reach Adam and the emotion he seemed to feel after only two days, seemed to rip Dylan’s heart from his chest.

He slapped a mosquito on his arm as he sat in an ancient canvas lawn chair. The hot afternoon breeze tossed the lavender hydrangeas around the yard back and forth and brought him the fragrance of the honeysuckle lining the fence. Dylan wanted to cry with frustration. He was so confused, so emotional.

He could hear the piano had finally stopped. After a long moment, he stood, feeling he should check on Adam to make certain everything was OK and to ascertain his and Evan’s plans for the afternoon.

He approached the back porch and heard Adam’s voice. The porch extended along the entire back side of the house, but the left half had been enclosed and turned into a sunroom. This was Adam’s bedroom and as he stood on the second step leading up to the porch, he heard voices coming from the other side of the screen over one of Adam’s windows.

“You have a really cool room, Adam,” Evan was saying. “It’s so neat and organized and clean.”

“Thanks. Do you like my telescope?”

“Yeah, that’s really cool.”

Dylan felt guilty eavesdropping, but he wasn’t completely certain he trusted Evan. What if he really was a fag, like Brandon and Jeremy said he was? What if he tried to take advantage of Adam and… do stuff? What if he did other things, like embarrass or humiliate Adam?

“OK. We’re going to sit on my bed now,” he heard his brother declare with his monotone certainty.

“Well, OK. What do you want to do?” Evan asked.

“I want you to hug me again.”

There was a pause and, then, Dylan peeked through a space between the curtains. He saw the two older boys sitting side by side, Evan leaning back against the wall, his arms around Adam who was leaning into Evan, his head resting on Evan’s shoulder. Dylan was stunned. Autistics did not usually like to he touched, let alone held. Yet, here was Adam actually asking to be held. And, Evan certainly seemed to be happy. Dylan could see the look of love in Evan’s face as he held Adam, the way he held him, as if he were holding something fragile and precious.

Dylan entered the kitchen and numbly set the glass on the counter and walked back out the door.

“Adam, I’m going walking,” he called out.

“OK, Dylan. Evan and I are going to be here.”

“OK.”

He walked over to the driveway and then around the back of the church. Dylan was so confused, so angry, so hurt, so thankful, so relieved, so confused.

He had no idea how long he walked or where. He would later remember that at one point he must have been downtown because he remembered traffic and a tall, ornate looking government-type building. He remembered more houses similar to the ones in his neighborhood and he was certain he must have walked through the campus of Foxwood College. His arms and face were sunburned as he approached the church. He knew his way back home, even though he had lived in Foxwood for only a month, because he could see the tower of the church from almost any point in town.

As he walked across the grass in front of the church, toward his house, he saw Evan slowly walking away toward his house at the end of the street. Dylan hurried around toward the back, concerned that Adam was alone in the house. As he rounded the back and started up the steps, he paused to glance in the window to Adam’s room and froze.

Adam was sitting on the edge of the bed, his shorts lowered, exposing his penis, his very erect penis, which he was rapidly stroking with his right hand.

Oh, my God! He thought to himself. Adam’s jacking off!

How could he know how to do that, Dylan asked himself. Who could have taught him? Adam never had any friends and he was never around other boys enough to pick up any of the things boys normally talk about, like jacking off. How… unless…

He hurried into the house and around to Adam’s room.

He knocked on the door, which was partially open.

“Adam?”

“Yes?”

“Can I come in?”

“Yes,” Adam replied happily, if not a bit breathlessly.  

         As Dylan pushed the door open, he was amazed to see Adam still sitting on the edge of the bed as if nothing were amiss, his shorts down by his ankles, and his right hand wrapped around a very erect six inch penis. Adam looked at Dylan with his usual blank expression and made no effort to hide what he was doing, or even to show the slightest amount of embarrassment.

         “Um, what are you doing, Adam?”

         “I am masturbating.”

          OK, thought Dylan. Well, that’s a good answer.

          “Um, yeah. I can see that. So, how long have you been doing that?”

            Adam looked at his watch and replied, “Four minutes.”

            Well, I deserved that,” Dylan thought to himself.

            “I mean, how long have you known how to masturbate?”

            Once again, Adam seemed to think and then replied, “Since we lived in the first house in Columbus.”

            Dylan couldn’t keep his eyes away from the sight of Adam’s erection. He struggled not to let his brother see him looking at him in that way, but he was growing hard himself and something impelled him to press his brother further.

            “Did Evan touch you down there?”

            Adam cocked his head and paused a second before answering, “No.”

            However, Dylan noticed Adam’s hand had begun to move up and down his erection very slowly.

            “Evan is really pretty. I wish I could touch him down there.”

            Before Dylan could even begin thinking of a reply, he heard the family car chug up the driveway.

            “Mom’s home. You should probably keep the door closed when you do stuff like that. OK, Adam?”

            “OK, Dylan. I will.”

            Dylan’s consternation was such that he closed the door and immediately went to his own room, closed the door to avoid speaking to his mother in such a state, and lay on his bed. His unruly dark curls fell across his face as he lay rigidly erect, the image of his brother, his sweet innocent brother, danced before him. It had never occurred to Dylan that his brother was even capable of sexual feelings, let alone capable of acting on them, let alone, even more, that he might have them for another male.

            For the rest of the day, Dylan was quiet, so much so that both his parents inquired as to his health during dinner. In the evening, he and Adam focused on several games of chess on the picnic table in the back yard, thus enabling Dylan to avoid conversation with his parents. Adam, naturally, won each game rather easily. Dylan was playing even worse than he normally did, as he kept trying to think of ways to discuss with Adam what he had seen earlier and its implications.

            The twilight was growing deeper and the lightening bugs were darting around the back yard when their father came out and announced it was time to come in. Adam looked up at the stars just becoming visible.

            “I am going to get my telescope and look at the stars,” he announced.

            “This might not be a good night for you to do that, son,” his father said walking across the grass. “Why don’t you come in and get some rest tonight. Maybe tomorrow you can look at the stars.”

            Adam looked down at the chess board as Dylan removed the pieces.

            “I am going to get my telescope and look at the stars,” he repeated, this time with a hint of rebellion in his voice that did not go unnoticed by his father. The man sat down beside Adam and put his arm around his son’s shoulder. Adam immediately jerked away and stood.

            “I am going to get my telescope and look at the stars,” he declared forcefully as the fingers on his right hand began their intricate movements again.

            “Son, sometimes you can’t always do what you want. Sometimes…”

            Adam’s face took on a look of frustration and his right hand rose suddenly, his fingers doing their dance beside his head. He began moaning and humming with agitation. His father stood and approached. Adam jumped away, his eyes focused on the ground, the humming and groaning growing louder.

            “Adam,” his father said forcefully. “Stop it. You know you can’t do this anymore. You’re not a little boy anymore…”

            “Dad,” said Dylan. His father, however, shot him a look and the younger boy sighed.

            “Adam, you don’t do this anymore. You can’t start doing it again. You know we love you, but sometimes…”

            “I want Evan,” Adam declared. “I want Evan.”

            “Evan can’t come over. It’s too late. Now come on in and we’ll have some chocolate ice….”

            “I want Evan. I want Evan.”

            His father sighed and struggled with his frustration.

            “Son, please.”

            Adam fell to his knees, still clutching his head.

            “I want Evan! I want Evan! I want Evan!”

            Dylan jumped up and rushed over to his brother, dropping beside him and wrapping his arms around him. He held him tightly as Adam rocked back and forth. However, Dylan’s hugging him seemed to have the desired effect. Slowly, Adam’s agitation began to subside and as their father stood over them, tears in his eyes, Adam finally quieted down.

            “It’s OK, Adam. It’s OK. Why don’t we go inside and after we eat ice cream, you and I can talk. I need you to help me, OK?”

            Slowly, Adam nodded, his fists still guarding his ears, his eyes averted to the ground.

            “OK, Dylan. I will help you.”

            Standing, Dylan pulled his brother to his feet and the two slowly walked, with Dylan’s arm still around Adam, to the porch and into the house.

            Later, after ice cream and showers, Dylan entered his brother’s room and approached the bed. Adam was laying on his back in only a pair of running shorts. Dylan’s eyes roamed over the slender body of the older boy and he felt a stirring within. Guiltily, he bit his lower lip and leaned over, kissing Adam on the forehead.

            “What do you want me to help you with, Dylan?”

            The younger boy stood and frowned.

            “I need to think about it, first. Maybe I’ll talk to you about it later. OK?”

            “OK. Good night. I love you, Dylan.”

            With deep feeling, Dylan replied, “I love you, too, Adam.”

            For several hours, Dylan lay atop his bed as the breeze from the attic fan pulled the warm night air through the window and over his sweaty body. He was unable to sleep and his emotions were in chaos. He was rigidly erect, something not that uncommon, now that he was twelve. He knew about sex and masturbation; indeed, he had for several years. However, he also knew that what he was feeling at that moment was significantly different from anything he had known in the past. He wanted his brother and it made him feel like such a perv.

            His brother. His brother! His sweet innocent brother! It was bad enough that he was feeling this way about another boy; but, his brother! And, he was actually considering doing what he had in his mind accused Evan of doing, seducing the beautiful trusting soul in the neighboring room.

            But, Adam was gay. He was obviously attracted to Evan. And Evan had to be queer. Could Adam understand what it meant to be gay? Did he understand the concept of sex beyond feeling good? Well, Adam was a genius. He might be autistic, be he was brilliant. He had to know.

            Dylan was so hard. He reached down and grasped himself through his shorts and moaned at the sensations that burst forth. Maybe he should just jack off and get it over with and then, he wouldn’t be plagued with such disgusting feelings. But, maybe he could just sneak into Adam’s room and look at him. Maybe he could just jack off on the floor and look at Adam when he was asleep. He’d never know. No, that was sick. He couldn’t do that. Besides, Adam was his brother.

            Dylan unconsciously squeezed his erection again and, without thinking, slipped his shorts down and off. Naked, his hairless erection bobbed stiffly above his abdomen until he wrapped his right fist around it and began to pump. He held his breath as his hips fucked upward and his hand worked his rigid penis.

            Adam. Sweet, beautiful Adam. His pretty, almost girlish face, his wonderful, wild hair, that penis. That glorious long, thin penis. The vision of Adam holding himself, pleasuring himself, turned Dylan on so intensely that he thought he would explode after only a few seconds. He released his penis, afraid of cumming too soon.

            Yes. He had to.

            Quickly, silently, Dylan sat up and slid naked off the bed. Carefully, his penis pointing the way before him, he padded across the rug in the center of the floor until he came to the hardwood before the door. He peaked out into the dark of the hallway. He could hear nothing over the roar of the attic fan in the hallway and see nothing through the dark. Quickly, he slipped naked into the hall and to the right toward Adam’s cracked door. Peering around into Adam’s room, his heart and his penis jumped when he saw Adam laying atop the covers, naked. He was asleep, his right leg splayed out and bent at the knee, his foot beside his left knee. His right hand rested on the bed beside it, his left hand laying outward toward the wall the window beside the bed. Dylan saw that his penis was flaccid, indeed, quite small and withdrawn under the small patch of dark hair above it.

            He tried to talk himself out of what he was about to do, but Dylan knew he wouldn’t. He slipped into the door and tip-toed across the rug. Grasping himself, it was all he could do not to moan or to pump his hand up and down his own erection. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, released his penis with his right hand and grasped it with his left as he raised his right hand upward and rested it on the bed beside Adam’s knees.

            His brother was in deep sleep. He could see his eyes darting back and forth beneath their lids and his breathing was slow and steady. The way his hair swept over his forehead and down to his pillow was so beautiful. His delicate lips just seemed to beg Dylan to kiss them. He hadn’t felt like this since the time he had jacked off over the picture of Bo Derek in People. And, even then, that was only physical. This was far more than merely physical.

            Adam’s balls lay loose between his thighs in the warm night air. As he stared at them, Dylan was stunned to see that they were moving. Slowly, in smooth, gradual movements, they were churning around in the loose sac. He had never seen such a thing and gazed in amazement as they rolled around slowly. He also saw Adam’s penis move slightly. The head occasionally seemed to grow a millimeter or two away from the scar and then retract. Or, it would roll slightly to the side and then move back again. Dylan was fascinated.

            Adam’s pubic hair wasn’t thick, but it was silky and shiny and Dylan ached to feel it, to run his fingers through it. His left hand squeezed his penis and Dylan moaned softly. His heart jumped as he looked fearfully at Adam’s face. However, the teenager made no sign of hearing him. Dylan waited a moment.

            Adam was slightly sweaty in the heat of the night air. Dylan could smell the slight odor of teenage boy as he knelt beside him and it simply drove him mad. His right hand was trembling with passion as he raised it from the bed. Slowly he reached across Adam’s right thigh, his hand just an inch about the smooth skin, until the tips of his fingers neared Adam’s balls. He extended his index finger and lightly touched the lower of Adam’s two balls.

            Carefully checking Adam’s eyes, Dylan saw no reaction, but when he looked down, he saw a definite reaction. The ball had suddenly begun to move upward toward the base of Adam’s penis. He rubbed the finger gently across the smooth, only slightly wrinkled skin his ball sac and saw both balls begin to move upward. He brought his middle finger and ring finger into the action, gently and lovingly caressing Adam’s balls. Suddenly, he saw it. The head of Adam’s penis began to move again. It extended outward from the circumcision scar. His penis was laying atop the silky public hair to the right and the head was extending outward. This time, however, it did not stop. It continued, millimeter by millimeter, to extend, to lengthen. And, then, it seemed to stand vertically for a second, before the part beneath the scar began to swell. At that point, the head of his penis pulled it backward and it lay atop the pubic hair above the base of the penis. From there, it continued to lengthen and thicken.

            Dylan was fascinated as he watched Adam’s penis become erect. Soon, the penis lifted up from the bed of hair supporting it and throbbed with Adam’s heartbeat over his abdomen.

            Dylan jumped and his hand darted away from Adam’s balls and back below the side of the bed as he heard a quiet sniff from Adam’s nose. He looked up, but the teenager was still asleep. The twelve year-old watched for a long moment and then extended his trembling hand again. This time, his index finger hovered over the sensitive area between the head of Adam’s penis and the scar. He hesitated a moment, screwing up the courage, and then, dropped the tip of his finger down. Adam’s penis pulsed and pressed stiffly against his finger. Dylan smiled and looked upward, still seeing no reaction from his brother. Looking back down at the beautiful, rigid six inches, he ran the tip of his finger around in circles over the sensitive skin, from the bloated cone, along the ridge running from the slit, and down to the scar and back again. All the while, Adam’s penis kept pulsing stiffly against his finger.

            Adam snorted and sniffed, but Dylan was feeling reckless. He kept rubbing, indeed, adding his middle finger to the play, one finger rubbing the left side, the other the right side. Up and down fingers caressed Adam’s penis. Dylan let them trace all the way down the rigid, throbbing penis until he came to the balls, which, by now, were tight and snug against the base of Adam’s penis. Back up again, the fingers traced.

            Adam’s hips squirmed slightly, but Dylan was relentless. He couldn’t wait. When his fingers reached the top again, he gently wrapped his hand around Adam’s firm erection. He couldn’t believe how astonishing, how brilliant it felt to hold his brother in his hand.

            Adam moaned softly. Dylan watched the delicate, androgynous face for any sign the teenager was awakening, but there was none. Adam’s breathing had picked up some and his hips seemed to squirm some, but he was still asleep. Dylan slowly moved his hand downward along the turgid shaft.

            This time, it was Dylan who softly moaned. His left hand was fondling his own erection as his right slowly pumped Adam. This was too much. Dylan felt he could cum even if he released his own penis. He did, just as Adam startled him. With a groan, Adam straightened his right leg. Dylan froze and watched Adam’s face for signs he was awakening. Seeing none, though feeling his penis pulse and throb within his fist, Dylan slipped upward and carefully sat on the edge of Adam’s bed, his own right leg bent to the side, his penis standing stiffly vertical.

            Dylan began to gently pump Adam’s penis again. Slowly, lovingly, he moved his hand up and down and the rigid penis, loving the soft skin over the hard shaft. His breathing was ragged and his whole body seemed to tremble with excitement. It was all he could do not to scream with his lust.

            “Mmmm.”

            Dylan jumped and looked upward. Adam’s eyes were barely open, but he was watching Dylan slowly masturbate him.

            “Mmmm, Dylan,” he mumbled in his half-asleep delirium. “Oh, oh, ohhhhh.”

            Dylan said nothing, but continued to fondle and stroke his older brother. Adam’s breathing was becoming heavier and Dylan could see his eyes looking down between Dylan’s legs. He released his own penis, giving the aroused teenager an unobstructed view of his young erection.

            “Dylan… Dylan…” the teenager moaned. Then, Dylan was shocked, but thrilled, to see Adam’s hand move from his side and slide across Dylan’s calf toward his penis. Adam moaned when his own hand wrapped around Dylan’s erection and began to roughly stroke it.

            “Oh, God, Adam,” he whispered raggedly. “That feels so good. I love you Adam.”

            “I love… you… Dylan,” Adam was barely able to reply. His breathing had become even more uncertain and he was squirming uncontrollably under Dylan’s steady, relentless pumping.

            Suddenly, Adam’s hand tightly, almost painfully squeezed Dylan’s erection. The teenager’s eyes grew wide and then his face closed in a rictus of agony as he moaned and began to writhe and buck beneath Dylan’s hand. He came, thin streamers of white cum squirting from the tip of his penis, landing across his stomach and dripping down on Dylan’s hand. His own hand was tightly squeezing Dylan’s penis and that sent the twelve year-old over the edge. Dylan grunted and squirmed beside his brother, his own young penis struggling to pump the non-existent semen.

            The two boys sat silently, catching their breath and gazing at each other. Dylan was afraid that he might be overwhelmed with shame and remorse, but he wasn’t. He felt nothing but love and gratitude for his big brother. Adam looked upward at Dylan, breathing through his mouth.

            “I… love… you, Dylan,” he whispered.

            “I love you, too, Adam,” the younger boy replied. He leaned down and, for the first time in his life, kissed his brother on the lips. He raised his face up a few inches and saw Adam looking deeply into his eyes. Adam seemed to trap his eyes and not let them go. He couldn’t stop looking into Adam’s eyes and, suddenly, the emotion became too intense. Breathlessly, Dylan looked away.

Adam was still holding Dylan’s still rigid penis and asked softly, “Dylan, do you want me to make you feel good again?”

Dylan shook his head and smiled uncertainly. The emotions within him were too confusing, especially after the moment of eye contact. Dylan stood unsteadily and looked downward at Adam. His penis still stood out rigidly before him, standing over Adam’s prone form below. With a final smile at Adam, whose face was inscrutable, he whispered, “Good night, Adam. I love you.”

But, Adam had withdrawn, as he sometimes did when emotions were too great for him. He was relaxed as he lay on his back, but he was gazing upward at the ceiling and Dylan knew he had withdrawn into whatever place to which he escaped when things became too intense. Perhaps he was processing what had happened, seeking to understand it. Or, maybe he was reliving it. Or, maybe, he simply needed to escape from the intensity.

Maybe it was a compliment to him, Dylan thought. Maybe the love he felt at that moment was too intense. He smiled uncertainly at his brother and turned. Adam was a deep and special person and Dylan had been privileged to share an emotion with him tonight that he had never shared before. He could go to sleep now and find peace with the knowledge of that love and moment.

But, his heart froze as he entered his own room and realized that he might not be the only person with whom Adam might choose to share that.