What Is Yet To Come free porn video

I’d just entered high school when my mother died. She’d had breast cancer and hadn’t caught it in time. It had metastasized to other parts of her body, and although they fought it, there was no way there would be a different outcome. But no matter how prepared you are for the end, it is devastating.

Both my dad and I were distraught, but each of us also tried to be brave for the other. I think that is what got us through those first weeks and even months. You think you’re getting stronger, and then you just break down.

But trite as it is, time does heal, well, most wounds. I graduated from high school and went off to college, leaving dad all alone. The first year was difficult. I felt guilty for leaving him, not knowing how he was filling his time.

I came home for the holidays and breaks, but those were brief visits. When summer finally arrived, I talked to him about the necessity of getting out and to resume living his life. With my encouragement he joined a couple of social groups, like a group of men his age who met to play cards each Thursday night.

I returned to school relieved that I had convinced him to rejoin the world, knowing he still had many more years left. He wasn’t old or disabled. His doctor had declared him healthy, and he began to improve his outlook on life.

In one of those groups he met a woman whose husband had also died from cancer. They commiserated with each other. They understood each other. My dad asked her out to dinner, and she responded by inviting him to her home for a home-cooked meal.

Things evidently progressed from there.

When I came home for the Christmas holidays he insisted I meet her. I have to admit I was a little reluctant. Not so much because of the idea of someone trying to take my mom’s place, or even replacing me, but because I’d heard of women taking advantage of grieving men.

But I agreed, and we all went out to dinner, including her son, whom I didn’t know about. He was sixteen, and I was a twenty-year-old college student. I felt superior. Why? I think now for the same reason I was wary about her. He was just part of the package.

But before the evening was over, Mrs. Mulligan had won me over. She seemed a perfect fit for my dad, and it was apparent she cared for him. They were completely relaxed in each other’s company and laughed together a lot. I decided that whatever my dad did, he knew what was best for him, and I’d support him all the way.

There wasn’t any talk yet about marriage, and I thought they’d join the modern crowd and just move in together.

When I came back home for spring break dad told me he was thinking about asking her to marry him. He told me all about their financial conditions and what they’d lose and what they’d gain by the union. It was clear he’d put a lot of thought into the situation. I said that whatever he decided, I was with him one hundred percent.

“But,” he said, making me wonder what was coming, “there’s Ewan. If we marry he comes too, you know.”

“Of course,” I scoffed. “What did you expect, she’d put him in a shelter for someone else to adopt?”

“No, of course not. I mean he’ll be living here, when you come home.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Dad, what the hell? I won’t care, unless he has some dire disease you haven’t told me about.”

“Not exactly,” he said.

Now I was perplexed. “We aren’t going to be sharing a room, are we? I mean there’s the guest room, and if he wants my room I can take that one. I’m only here for a few days or weeks at a time.”

“But you’ll be under the same roof.”

“For god’s sake, Dad. What is it?”

Dad cleared his throat. “He’s gay, Son.”

For a split second I didn’t know what to say. Then I started laughing. “God, Dad. I wasn’t born in the last century. I’ve known gay guys my whole life, although in grade school I didn’t know they were gay. But there were three in high school that everyone knew about, and probably a dozen more.”

“Do you have any gay friends at the university?”

“Actually, no. I know several, but there aren’t any in the group I hang with. To tell the truth, I don’t know why not. I’m sure they’d be welcomed, but we just haven’t connected with any. They mostly keep in their own little clique, anyway. You know, birds of a feather.”

“So, it wouldn’t make you uncomfortable having him around.”

“No. Why? What about you? Is it really you that’s afraid?”

Now he was the one who scoffed. “Me? Of course not. I’m an old man. He wouldn’t be interested in me.”

“Don’t be too sure, old man.” I put the emphasis on ‘old man’. “First, you aren’t that old. Second you’re still a stud.”

He laughed. “You really think so?”

“And what do you think? That that kid is going to be stalking me around the house? Come on, he seemed like a nice kid.”

So now my opinion had changed and I was defending Ewan, whom I hardly knew?

“No, and you’re right. He’s a very nice kid. Esther raised him well. So, again, you’re right. See, old geezers like me can learn from you modern kids.”

The conversation was over and the matter seemed settled. And he hadn’t said how soon he was going to ask for Esther’s hand, or when the wedding would take place.

I went back to school and back to my other life. I did tell one of my buddies about the conversation, and he thought it was funny. He made no mention about living under the same roof with a gay guy. It was irrelevant.

My sophomore year was coming to an end when I got an email from my dad. The wedding date had been set. They were waiting for me to come home, as I was to be his best man. I was a little surprised it was to be that soon, but I had no objection.

I packed up my things, said goodbye to friends and drove home. I had two weeks to get settled into my summer life before the celebrations began. Dad insisted on having another talk about the change in our living arrangements, but I assured him that for me there would be very little change, and nothing I couldn’t handle.

One amusing detail was that Mrs. Mulligan had decided that instead of a matron of honor, that part of the wedding party would be taken by her son, Ewan.

The wedding took place without a hitch. It was a small affair, attended by only close friends of the bride and groom, and a few relatives. The reception was a sit-down dinner in the hotel where the wedding was held. There was no honeymoon.

A couple days before the wedding all of Mrs. Mulligan’s and Ewan’s possessions had been moved into our house and fitted into their designated spots, so that after all the festivities were over, we four went home to start our new way of living.

One of the first things that happened after we walked in the door was that my new step-mom said to me, “Finn, you know you can’t call me Mrs. Mulligan anymore. She doesn’t exist. I don’t expect you to call me Mom, so why don’t we right here decide what it will be.”

I hadn’t really thought about that aspect of our living together.

“Gee, I don’t know. You got me,” I lamely said.

“Well, why don’t you just call me Esther.”

So that was settled.

I had more trouble dealing with Ewan, or rather my relationship with him. I’d never had a brother, nor had I any friends who weren’t my age. It hadn’t been that long since I’d been sixteen, but it seemed like eons ago. I’d left all that behind me.

But my concern didn’t turn out to be warranted. As the days passed we became acquainted with each other – our likes and dislikes, our quirks, our interests. He was funny in ways I wasn’t. He was great at slapstick. It was silly, but it made me laugh.

Breakfast for the past few years had been quiet, almost somber affairs, with both Dad’s and my noses buried in the morning newspaper. Now they verged on the nutty.

Saturdays he insisted he and I do something together, whether it was what I considered a stupid waste of time, like the roller derby, or something I liked such as playing tennis, which I always crushed him at. We went to the local lake where we rented a boat and I taught him how to row properly. He showed me the correct way to build a beautiful kite that would fly.

We drove to the beach and spent the day building shitty sand castles and getting sunburned. I forced him to go to the art museum, which it turned out he loved. I persuaded him to eat sushi, which he hated. We found out that both of us had seen all the Lord of the Ring movies, and neither of us had liked them.

He found an abandoned kitten and I helped him sneak it in the house and then helped him convince our parents that we needed a cat. And he convinced me that Spot was as good a name for a cat as for a dog.

The summer went by, and in all that time there was no talk, no hint, no thought about him being gay. I can honestly say to you that I had virtually forgotten my dad had ever brought it up, and yet, despite my saying that, it was there, underneath the surface.

I felt that Ewan and I had connected. I didn’t think of him as my step-brother. He was now my brother. Whenever I said anything about my brother to my friends, they knew I was referring to my step-brother, and if people who didn’t know me well thought he was my brother, it didn’t matter.

Summer was coming to an end and it was time to return to school. I was glad to see my friends again and find out how their summer had gone. Before long I was back in student mode.

I was a junior and taking courses for my elective, which made school both more fun and more serious, but I didn’t let my social life wither and die. I hung with my buddies and did well in the romance department. I had no intention of getting involved with some girl in anything that would complicate my life before graduation, so I kept things varied and light.

After Mom had died, Dad and I had acknowledged Thanksgiving and Christmas by having dinner in a restaurant. Esther was determined to have a complete traditional Thanksgiving with a turkey and everything else, including corny decorations. She wrote me imploring me to come home. I was a long drive for such a short visit, but I relented.

Actually, it wasn’t a hard decision. I wanted to go. I wanted to have a get-together with my new family, and that included my new brother. Maybe it was more than just including him. I’m not sure.

The three days went by quickly and they were an enjoyable break from studying. Not only Thursday, but the two following days were full of activity and fun and good meals. But I was faintly aware that what I had described as being underneath the surface was stirring in some undefined way.

By Sunday I was feeling uneasy and I was anxious to return to the sanctuary of the campus. On the long drive I kept turning things over in my mind. Had there been more physical contact between Ewan and me when we were playing around, or was I just imagining things – making something out of nothing?

Those thoughts and feelings were soon forgotten with the opening of books and preparing for exams. There were only three weeks of classes before the Christmas break began, and I headed home again, and once again I found I was eager to get home.

I arrived on the twentieth and was immediately put to work by Esther. As with Thanksgiving she was determined to resurrect Christmas in our house. That meant rushing out to buy a tree, climbing up into our attic to dig out decorations which hadn’t been used in over six years and pulling out the boxes that had been stored in our garage which contained her decorations.

It seemed she planned to decorate every inch of the house, and Ewan and I were conscripted to do the going up and down the step-ladder, wrapping bannisters with garlands and making the tree stand up straight and secure.

It was madness and a lot of fun. Dad sat in his armchair and watched, shook his head and laughed. Christmas day arrived and it was almost like the ones I remembered with Mom. Before a big breakfast gifts were exchanged and unwrapped and thanks were offered all around.

Everyone helped in the kitchen in the manner we could, usually getting in Esther’s way. It was just us for dinner, and it was just perfect. I’d say it was one of the best days I’d had in years.

And the days after should have been just as great, but that feeling of uneasiness returned, and this time I was sure Ewan was touching me more, and in different ways than he had before.

Classes were scheduled to resume on the sixth, which meant I had to leave on Sunday. Ewan’s seventeenth birthday was the following Thursday, so on Saturday I said I wanted to take him out for a celebratory dinner – just he and I. That would be something different for us, so I thought it would be special.

And it was. There was something about just the two of us – two young men on an adult-free evening out. And something special about it being an adult-like evening of dinner in an upscale restaurant. Of course, we didn’t conduct ourselves as mature adults the whole evening.

We kidded around, and laughed too loudly, but we had a good time and stayed too long. When we got home it was well past Ewan’s curfew time. I knocked on Dad and Esther’s bedroom door to let them know we were home safe. We said goodnight and went to our individual bedrooms.

This may be more info than you want to know, but for years I’ve felt it was unhealthy to sleep in the same briefs I’d been wearing for hours. I felt my balls needed some breathing space, so to speak. So long ago I bought a package of boxers and use those for sleeping. They’re well past their normal lifespan, but I’ll probably keep using them until they fall apart.

I stripped down, put on my sleeping boxers, brushed my teeth and took a piss. I had just sat down on the edge of the bed and was reaching for the bedside lamp when there was a tap on the door. It opened and Ewan stepped in and closed the door behind him.

“What’s up?” I asked lamely. We’d just spent hours talking. What more could there be to talk about?

He walked over to the bed and sat down beside me.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you, but been afraid to. But I don’t feel afraid tonight.”

I looked at him with a frown on my forehead.

“Ewan, why would you be afraid to ask me anything? Am I scary?”

“No, but it is personal. Are you sure?”

At that moment I wasn’t sure I was sure. What had I opened myself up to?

But I said, “Go ahead. Out with it.”

He looked down and then back up at me before asking, “How old were you when you first did it?”

“When I first did it?” I said, cruelly. I knew, of course, what he meant, but I was playing for time, or hoping he’d give up and go away. He didn’t

“You know, when did you lose your virginity?”

I wasn’t going to make this any easier for him, all because I felt uncomfortable.

“I’m not sure, but technically I think only girls can lose their virginity.”

I looked at him and could see a combination of frustration and anger starting to come in his eyes.

“Damn it, Finn, stop it. I was trying to be nice. So, when did you first have sex? How old where you? Is that clear enough for you?”

I’d never heard him curse before, and although it was as mild as you could get, it startled me. I guess it had its desired effect, because I answered him.

“I was nineteen. No, wait, twenty. It was in my second semester at university.”

“That old? Why?”

I shrugged. “It was the right time for me. The opportunity hadn’t presented itself before, and if it had I doubt I’d have known what to do.”

“Who was it?”

I looked at him again. “It wasn’t an “it”. It was a girl I was dating.”

“Did you do it more than once?”

“With her? No.”

“But you have done it more than once?”

My discomfort had taken a new form. This wasn’t going where I wanted to go, but for strictly personal reasons.

“Ewan, you said this was personal, and it is. There are some things I want to keep to myself.”

“Does that mean you never did it again?” he asked with what came too close to a smirk.

“NO, it doesn’t.”

“One more question, okay? Will you answer one more?”

“Okay, one more, and then you need to get to bed.”

“In total, how many times? Wait, let me be clear, how many times have you had sex?”

The first word that sprung to my mind was ‘shit’. I’d dug a hole.

“Twice.” I could have lied, but for what purpose?

“With a girl?”

“What?” I spurted out. “Of course.”

I pushed him up off my bed. “Go to bed.”

He turned and stood in front of me.

“One more question.”

“No. You had your question. Two, in fact.”

He smiled. “Then we broke the rule, so that rule doesn’t count.”

“It wasn’t a rule.”

“Anyway,” he continued as if I’d given my permission. “I want you to do me a favor. Sort of like a birthday present. Will you?”

“What is it?”

I was in no way prepared for what came next.

“Show me your dick.”

My first exclamation was, “No!”

Then I indignantly asked, “Why would you ask me to do that?”

His answer seemed somehow logical. “Because I want to see it. I want to know how big it is. Because it’s yours.”

Now, I have a problem in that I’ve always been pleased with my dick. By that I mean I think it’s a good-sized one.

Another problem is that maybe I like it too much when someone complements me on some physical attribute of mine, like my eyes, or my hair, or my build. But no one has ever commented on the size of my dick. ‘No one’ would, of course, mean neither of the two girls I’d had sex with. And why would they have, but still…

Anyway, I did the most stupid thing. I actually said, “Okay, but then you have to get out of here and go to bed.”

And I actually stuck my finger into the fly opening of my boxers to fish my dick out. I was surprised that in this short time of this short conversation, my dick was half hard. I pulled it out and held it at the base so it half stood up.

“Oh, it’s so big,” was what Ewan said, which was exactly the right thing to say.

Without my prompting it, it raised its head.

Which prompted Ewan to say, “Oh, it’s getting hard.”

“Okay.” I tried to tuck it back in, but had some difficulty. “That’s it. Get out of here.”

“No, don’t put it back. Let me see it hard. Let me see how big it gets.”

Just that… That bit about how big it gets, did it. I stopped trying to hide it and subtly squeezed it a couple of times to urge it to a full erection. I slid my hand down to the base and pushed down in order to show off its full length.

Ewan sat back down on the bed beside me. He was seemingly entranced by the sight of my dick, and I was completely conquered by his apparent adoration of it.

He reached his hand for it, and then paused and looked up at me. I didn’t move or say anything, which of course was silent consent. He wrapped his hand around it, his fingers not quite meeting his thumb. I imagine that no matter how many times someone touches your dick, the feeling is still magical.

I waited, I think to see if he was going to squeeze it, or move his hand up or down, or do something I hadn’t even thought about.

And that’s what he did. He leaned over to get a closer look, is what I thought in my stupidity. Instead, he kissed the tip of it, and it was like one of those static electricity shocks you get sometimes, but a shock of pleasure.

I reacted by putting my hands on his back, but that didn’t produce the effect I’d intended. Instead of my touch dissuading him, the feel of his skin made me caress his back.

He opened his mouth and slid down, taking most of my dick into the confines of his warm mouth. I drew in a quick breath and dug my fingernails into his back. He moved his head up and I moved my hands to rest on the back of his head.

He slid down again and I buried my fingers in his hair. He moved up again and I held him in place as I lay back and turned onto my side.

He went back down and back up and I moved my hips, driving my dick back into his mouth and continued, out and in, out and in.

In only a few movements I reached the climax I was striving for. I wrapped my arms around his head as my dick squirted my cum into his mouth, again and again until my supply of cum was exhausted.

I lay there, my arms still encircling his head, my mind swirling with thoughts. ‘What had I just done? How could I have shot my load of cum into my little brother’s mouth?’

Ewan made a, “mmmphmm” sound, and I realized my now soft dick was still stuffed in his mouth. In one combined movement I released his head and shoved him away as I drew my hips back. My dick left his mouth with a wet ‘plop’.

I looked down my body at him. He was looking up at me with a grin on his face. I struggled to my feet and grabbed his arm, pulling him up and off the bed.

“Go to your room. Go on! Get out of here,” I said as I propelled him to the door.

He sort of struggled, but the momentum of my pushing him left him with little purchase.

I got the door open and pushed him through, repeating, “Go to your room. Go to bed.”

I closed the door and stood there for a minute, half listening to see if there was any protest, half in a daze. I turned and returned to the bed, turned off the bed lamp and collapsed on the bed. I pulled the pillow from under my head and covered my face with it. It wasn’t long before sleep overtook my confused thoughts and I slept the night through.

I awoke shortly after sunrise and got up, showered, packed my bag, went to the kitchen and fixed a cup of instant coffee and waited for either Dad or Esther to come downstairs. I said my good-byes and got on the road.

This time the ride back to school was filled with different thoughts. I kept re-asking myself, ‘What have I done?’ It was a moot question. I knew what I had done. I’d had sex with my stepbrother. The question should have been, ‘Why did I do it?’ But I didn’t want to face the answer to that one, so I avoided it. But it kept resurfacing, forcing its way into my consciousness.

Even after returning to campus I continued to question my actions, my motives, my excuses. Like most of the people from my generation, I don’t believe in sin. But if what I did was wrong, what did you call it? And if it didn’t have a name, then was it wrong?

I awakened to something, but not like a slap on the forehead. It was something I slowly acknowledged. In all my thoughts and worries and concerns about having sex with my stepbrother, I hadn’t once wondered at the fact I’d had sex with another male. When I finally did think about that my reaction was, ‘so what?’

It just didn’t seem that important, at least not in the light of my other transgressions. And then the more I thought about that I realized that I had liked it. It had felt good. Good? Shit, it had felt fantastic.

So what was it that had made it feel so fantastic? Only the pleasure of sex, or was it sex with another male? Or was it sex with my stepbrother, because that was forbidden? But was it forbidden? And if so, why?

Or was it sex with Ewan?

These thoughts had to be put aside, or better buried. The new semester began, and my classes needed all my concentration, all my focus.

The semester went by, day by day, until spring break arrived. As fate would have it on Friday afternoon the water pump on my car broke. It took all of Saturday morning to have it replaced and it was early afternoon before I was in the car and headed for home.

Why was I so anxious to get home? Why was Ewan in my thoughts? What did I plan to say to him? What was this strange feeling I had somewhere in the middle of my body? What did I expect to happen?

I left campus and drove above the speed I usually kept the car at. I had to continuously put my foot on the brake and drop the speedometer needle back down.

Winter decided to make one last appearance. By the time I got home it was completely dark and the temperature had dropped dramatically. Esther welcomed me with a hug and said she had a pot of chili on the stove. I dumped my suitcase in my bedroom and she, Dad and I sat down at the kitchen table to eat and get caught up on what was going on in our lives.

When I felt enough time had passed so as not to be out of place I asked, “Where’s Ewan?”

It was an innocent question and wouldn’t have raised any red flags whenever asked, but my new feelings were making me over cautious.

“He had a book report to do he’d put off, and had to go to the library,” Dad said.

“I hope he took his heavy coat with him. It’s becoming freezing out there,” Esther worried.

“I can go get him,” I volunteered.

“No, don’t bother. The library will be closing soon, so he should be home within the hour.”

So I had to wait.

When he finally got home he was questioned about his tardiness and where he’d been. Angry words were exchanged and he and I didn’t have a chance to do more than greet each other. He was fed and sent to bed. He was seventeen, but there were house rules which had to be obeyed. Dad and I talked some more until eleven when he went up to bed. I decided it were better if I did the same.

Sunday turned out to be unusual. A day that often passed with nothing happening suddenly seemed crowded with activity. Something charitable was going on at the church which Esther wanted to be a part of. That interrupted the regular Sunday dinner schedule, so we all went to a local family-style restaurant for a late afternoon dinner.

After we got home a couple who Dad and Esther had known from the senior center where they’d first met dropped by. Just as they were leaving two of Ewan’s schoolmates showed up. Shortly after they left Esther fixed a light supper, and that was followed by a movie they’d rented which I’d been wanting to see.

When things had finally run their course and the day officially came to an end, Dad and Esther went upstairs to bed. On her way up the stairs Esther cautioned, “Ewan, you have school tomorrow. Don’t stay up too late.”

We were alone for the first time. We sat looking at each other, not speaking.

I smiled at him and said, “Well, I don’t even know how you are, so how are you?”

He laughed. “I’m fine, thank you very much.”

I nodded my head. “Good. Very good.”

I waited a beat, and then asked, “Would you like to come to my room and talk a while?”

We got up, clicked off the lights and ascended the stairs, my hand resting on his shoulder. We went into the room and I closed the door. When I turned in his direction we both began slowly undressing, as if by some previous secret agreement.

When we got down to our undershorts we stopped. I walked over to the bed and he followed. I went around to the other side and again we stood looking at each other. I unsnapped my boxers and let them fall. He hooked his thumbs in the elastic waistband of his briefs and pushed them down and kicked them off.

We climbed onto the bed and turned toward each other. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him close. Our soft dicks touched. I didn’t even think about the fact that I was pressing my dick against another male’s dick.

I smoothed my hands over his back and down to his butt. I felt the curvature of his ass and the firm smoothness. My dick was growing hard. His was already stiff. He moved so that they rubbed together.

I brought my hands up and placed them on his shoulders, and gently pushed, urging him down. He slid down, kissing and licking my body as he went. The adoration of my body was something I’d never experienced.

He planted a dozen kisses on my groin, my pubes, my dick. I grasped the base of my dick with my thumb and two fingers and rubbed it across his face. I moved my hips back so my dick was sticking straight out from my body. He opened his mouth slightly and I pushed my dick in, thrilling at each centimeter, until the tip was touching the back of his throat.

I held still for several seconds, excited by the sensation, the idea of him taking my dick into his mouth, the warmth of his mouth on my dick. I looked down and marveled as slowly I withdrew my dick until only the head was still in his mouth, and then watched as I pushed it back in.

I loved the fact it was Ewan whose mouth I was sticking my dick in. I loved the idea that my step-brother was sucking my long dick. I loved the feel of his tongue caressing my fat dick. I wanted to fuck his mouth, ram my long, fat dick down his throat. I wanted to shoot my cum into his mouth, filling it, making him swallow it.

Where these thoughts came from, I can’t say. But at that moment I wasn’t concerned with their origin. I was filled with a combination of lust and affection. I was caught in the whirlpool of sex.

For several minutes I lay still and let him suck, lick, kiss my dick as he wished. I ran my fingers through his hair and over his shoulders and back. I laced them with his fingers and squeezed. I threw one leg over his waist and trapped him so he could not escape. He was mine.

I began moving my hips in concert with his movements. He paused and I took over, fucking my dick in and out of his mouth. I held his head with both hands. I felt my balls stirring, contracting. I knew I was about to cum, and I wanted to cum in Ewan’s mouth. I wanted him to taste and swallow my cum.

My dick erupted, and sent shot after shot of cum into his mouth, down his throat. Some of it spurted out onto my pubes. I pulled my dick back an inch and shot two more globs onto his tongue.

When my dick had no more to give we lay there without moving for ten or fifteen seconds. I then pulled back and removed my softening dick from my step-brother’s mouth. He moved up and wrapped his arms around me. He kissed my neck. I didn’t move. I wasn’t sure what I should do or say. Should I apologize?

Ewan spoke. He softly said, “Finn, I love you.”

I hadn’t anticipated that. Without thinking I answered, “No you don’t. You’re too young to be in love.”

He pulled his head back so he could look in my eyes. “Are you the wise old man who knows everything? You don’t know shit about what I feel.”

It wasn’t a very convincing argument, but I’d said something that had offended him, that much was clear.

“Shush,” was the insipid thing I came up with, but to my own surprise I moved my head the half dozen inches that separated us and kissed him on the lips. It wasn’t an open mouth, sexy kiss. But it was the first time I’d kissed him. It was also the first time I’d kissed a man. There seemed to be a lot of firsts happening in my life.

He looked in my eyes and then smiled. I think he was going to kiss me, but I broke our embrace.

“I gotta piss,” I lied, and got up and headed for the bathroom.

I’d taken my boxers with me and put them on before I returned to the bedroom. When ITo continue reading this story you must be a member. Join for FREE here.