Sisters weekend visit with their big brothers chapter 1
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Like Brothers, Like Sisters -- Part 1 free porn video
Like Brothers, Like Sisters -- Part 1
By Amy Lynn
A gentle breeze blew along the Sherman Street and the dandelions in
everyone's yard waved back and forth in response, the fluff of those that
had turned to seed hanging on for the ride. Timmy Stazny whipped his
cruiser bike around the corner, a cloud of grass clippings trailing
behind him. It was April of 1971 and the gentle scene on the street
contrasted with the turmoil of America and the whirlwind Timmy was about
to meet up with.
As he pulled his bike into the driveway, he overheard his mother
screaming at the top of her lungs. He knew this wasn't a good sign.
"Just wait until your father gets home. How do you think he'll feel? Who
would ever want something like this, someone like you?"
The breeze died down and a still silence added blackness to the scene.
Timmy knew it was best to wait outside when his mother was in one of her
moods.
"Go on! Get out of my sight. I can't even stand to look at you."
With that he heard the footsteps of someone running down the stairs from
the second floor of the house. The screen door off the kitchen flew open
smacking against the aluminum siding of the house as his brother ran past
him. Jeff was 16, and 13 year old Timmy thought the sun rose and set in
him.
"Jeff?" he called out.
Jeff paused and turned his head slightly and motioned with his hand for
Timmy to leave him alone. He then slowly walked into the woods behind
their house, as Timmy stood there confused. As Jeff faded into the
shadows of the leafy sanctuary, the boy's mother opened from the kitchen
door.
"Timmy, get in this house right now before I give you the same thing your
brother got!" she yelled.
Timmy turned and slowly entered the house. As he suspected, a bottle of
gin and a glass of ice filled with booze sat on the kitchen counter. The
acrid smoke of a cigarette curled through the air.
"I need you to come upstairs with me, NOW!" Timmy's mom ordered.
Knowing that it was in his best interest to not risk getting slapped,
Timmy followed his mother upstairs and then down the hall to his
brother's bedroom.
Jeff's bedroom looked like that of any typical 16-year-old boy in 1971. A
poster of the earth from outer space was tacked on the wall above Jeff's
desk; above his bed was a poster of Susan Dey who played Laurie Partridge
in the Partridge Family. About the only things among the peace signs and
pop art posters that didn't quite fit the typical boy's room were a large
poster of supermodel Twiggy, looking rather boyish with her short hair
style on the closet door, and total lack of anything having to do with
sports.
The disarray of a busted-up wooden and cardboard steamer trunk were
strewn on the Jeff's bed. Timmy recognized the crate as the one thrown
out by their neighbor Mr. Lehman last fall. Two big black garbage bags
sat on the bed.
"I want you to take these out to the garage and then put them into the
back of my car. That's an order!" his mother barked.
Timmy picked up one of the bags. It seemed quite heavy and felt like it
had some books or magazines in it. He carried it down the stairs and out
to the garage, where he placed it the back of his mother's Ford Country
Squire Station Wagon. When he returned to the bedroom she had gathered up
the broken pieces of the trunk and was tossing them out the bedroom
window onto the drive way.
Timmy picked up the other bag. It was much lighter and felt all squishy
as if was filled with clothes. A colorful bit of slippery fabric peeked
out of a hole in the bag. Just as he was about to exit the room his
mother grabbed the poster of Twiggy off the closet door and balled it up
before tossing it out the window.
"This shit can go too!" she spat.
Timmy turned to walk down the stairs and his mother called to him.
"Timmy. Undo your jeans let me see your underwear. I need to see
something. Do it NOW!" she said as grabbed him by the arm.
"Mom?" Timmy asked.
"Just shut up and do what I told you to do or you'll feel my hand across
your face," she ordered.
Timmy did as he was told and stood there in just his shirt and boy's
briefs. His tummy felt as if he had been kicked and dull pain coursed
through his mid-section.
His mother smirked. "Fine! Pull up your pants."
As Timmy was pulling up his jeans his mother's eyes narrowed to thin
mean-looking slits.
"Has your brother Jeff, ever touched you?" she asked.
Timmy looked confused "Huh?" he asked.
"Answer me you no good little bastard! Has Jeff ever touched your
privates?" she demanded.
"Mom! No. He'd never...." Timmy sputtered.
"Ah shut up. You're probably as touched in the head as he is. Get that
shit into my car, gather the stuff off the lawn, and then get your
brother out of the woods for supper. I have to run to the city dump.
Gawdamit if the neighbors ever found such shit in our trash."
Timmy took the bag down to the car and then tossed the broken shipping
trunk in with it. As he finished, his mother came out of the house, her
glass of gin in one hand and car keys in the other
Timmy watched her pull out of the driveway and disappear into an angry
cloud of burnt motor oil. Turning to the woods he went to find his
brother Jeff. They had a special place near a cave, that no one, not even
their parents knew about. It was a 15-minute trek up the hill, but well
worth the walk for the solitude, where the sun was warm, the birds sang,
and squirrels played.
Timmy reached the special spot and found Jeff staring off into space. He
sat next to him, but Jeff didn't budge. He just continued to stare, his
puffy red eyes giving up the fact that he had been crying. Timmy had
never seen Jeff crying, except when grandpap John died a few years ago.
To Timmy, this signaled that something really bad had happened.
"Jeff?" Timmy asked.
"What?" Jeff answered with a sigh tainted with sadness.
"Are you okay? What happened?" Timmy asked.
"I can't tell you. I don't want to talk right now, okay?" Jeff answered.
For the next several minutes, the brothers sat at the mouth of the cave.
Only the tweeting of the birds accompanied the sorrow. Finally Jeff spoke
up.
"Where's mom?" he asked.
Timmy looked at him. "She went to the dump with some garbage bags from
your room. What was in them Jeff?"
A tear rolled down Jeff's cheek. "I can't tell you, Okay?"
"I suppose," Timmy answered. After another few minutes, Timmy spoke
again. "She was drunk again you know."
"I know."
"She tore up your Twiggy poster," Timmy then told his brother.
Jeff turned his head away from Timmy and stared across the forest. "She
just doesn't get it," he laughed. "She really doesn't get it."
"Doesn't get what, Jeff?" Timmy asked.
"Oh nothing. It doesn't matter. What else did she do?" Jeff asked.
It was Timmy's turn to cry and his eyes filled as he answered. "She made
me pull down my jeans and show her my underwear. I don't know why she did
that, do you?"
Jeff leaned forward and put his face in his hands.
Timmy continued. "Then she asked me the strangest question. She wanted to
know if you ever touched my privates. Why would she ask me such a stupid
question, Jeff?"
With that Jeff began sobbing. "I'm so sorry Timmy, I'm so sorry." With
that he hugged his brother. "You know I'd never do anything like that to
you or to anyone!"
Timmy looked at his brother. "I know that, Jeff"
They sat there for a few minutes. Timmy had to say something to cheer up
his brother.
"You know that I overheard some of the girls in school say that Carol
Rullo has a crush on you."
"Really?" For the first time Jeff smiled.
"Yep, she thinks you're really cute, even cuter than any of the Osmond
Brothers, especially since you have long hair."
With that Jeff started to cry again. "I think I might have to get my hair
cut. Jeez, the first girl to really like me, and then this."
"What? Oh no, I'm sorry." Timmy knew how proud Jeff was of his shoulder
length hair.
"'Look, we better get home, Timmy. I don't want to get in any more
trouble."
"Jeff?" Timmy began. "You're my big brother. I know that you'd never do
anything bad or ever hurt me. I'm sticking with you."
Jeff reached out a hand to help his brother stand up. "I know. I know."
Quietly and slowly, almost like two prisoners sentenced to the gallows
the brothers made their way down the hillside and through the forest.
A chill poisoned the atmosphere at supper that night. All that could be
heard was that clanking of silverware as the bloody juices dripped from
the rare roast beef their mother had prepared.
By the time Jeff finished he felt like vomiting, for he knew his dessert
would be a slice of vindictive abuse from his father.
Jeff and Timmy's father set down his silverware, and poured a shot of
bourbon over a small glass filled with ice. Jeff began to get up from the
table.
"Did I tell you that you could leave?" he father growled.
"No sir," Jeff meekly replied as he sat back down.
Pointing a finger at Timmy, the boy's father directed his remarks to him.
"You! Get up to your bedroom and close the door. I don't want to see you
or hear you, you little son of bitch."
"Yes sir," Timmy replied.
Timmy went upstairs and closed the door. All he could hear was some
muffled shouting. Timmy really couldn't make out any words, except for a
few that sounded like pervert and faggot, although Timmy didn't have any
idea what they meant. He then heard his brother cry out, "No! Please!
No!"
After about 10 minutes he heard Jeff come up the stairs, run into his
bedroom, and then slam and lock the door.
The following morning yielded a secret from the night before. Jeff sat at
the kitchen table eating Cheerios. His beautiful long hair was chopped in
a fashion that looked like he would need a rake to comb it. Timmy stood
there shocked, and felt a venomous spite built inside himself toward his
father. Jeff raised a finger to his lips and shook his head as signal for
Timmy to stay silent.
As they walked to school, Jeff explained, "Dad is making me get a real
man's haircut."
"What does that mean, Jeff?" Timmy asked.
I don't know, but it doesn't matter. I might as well just die," Jeff
answered.
Timmy stopped in his tracks. "NO JEFF!" he shouted. "I need you. Let me
help you. This is what brothers are for."
"I know Timmy, I know. I'll be okay, but I feel dead inside," Jeff
sighed. "Timmy? Do you think a real man would ever hurt his children?"
Timmy scrunched up his face. "I don't think so, I think a real man loves
his children. And so does a real father and a real mother."
"That what's I used to think," Jeff offered.
As the next few weeks went by Jeff looked as if he was dead. The color of
life seemed to have drained out of his cheeks as he plodded through
school and his job at Ferguson's Market. For the first time ever Jeff got
a C on a test at school. Jeff didn't even go up the cave anymore. He
spent most of his time just staring at the wall of his room, a wall where
a Crucifix hung. As he stared Timmy could see his lips moving. It was
more than as if in prayer, but almost like a personal conversation.
Then one day, about four weeks later, Timmy noticed that Jeff was
smiling. He looked as if Carol Rullo at school had kissed him. There was
a spring in his step that Timmy hadn't seen since that fateful day in
April.
He didn't need to ask him why his mood had changed, but when his parents
informed them that they were going way to gamble in Las Vegas for the
weekend he figured that had something to do with it.
"Jeff is going to be in charge. But I warn you, if either you little
bastards get into trouble, I'll send you both to military school," the
boy's dad grumbled.
Jeff mood change was striking. He started coming out of his room. Timmy
watched as his brother seemed to grow happier. Some days he'd see him
return for work at Ferguson's on his bike and then hustle off into woods
with a paper bag under his jacket.
On the Saturday that Jeff and Timmy were by themselves, Timmy rode his
bike to the library to do some research for a school paper. Jeff sat
watching American Bandstand on TV. It was quiet and peaceful, something
that this house hadn't felt in years.
After a few hours Timmy returned home. He could hear Jeff playing records
in his room, the sound of Bette Midler singing Friends filled the air.
"...you got to have friends; the feeling's oh so strong ..."
Timmy went upstairs and down the hall to Jeff's room. The door was partly
opened and Timmy peeked inside. Someone dressed in a white slip sat at
Jeff's desk, the outline of a bra and colorful pattern of a pair of
bikini panties clearly seen through the silky fabric. A dress hung on the
doorknob to Jeff's closet. Timmy's eyes grew huge as the person sat there
putting pink nail polish on their fingernails. It was then that the
person jumped and looked straight at Timmy. It was Jeff, he lips done in
red lipstick, and his eyelids shining with bluish-green eye shadow.
"Ahhhhhhh!" Jeff screamed as he jumped to his feet!
"Jeff? Is that really you?" Timmy inquired.
Jeff quickly ran to the corner of his bedroom and slumped to the floor.
The tears began to flow. "Please Timmy; please don't tell mom and dad.
Please don't let them hurt me again."
Timmy stooped down and looked at his brother. "Why would I tell them?
Over this? Is this why they hurt you? Is this what mom found?"
Jeff lifted his head and looked Timmy in the eyes, his tears making
streaks of mascara down his cheeks. "Yes" he replied.
Timmy got up, pulled Jeff's desk chair turned toward the bed and then sat
on at the end of the bed.
"Come on Jeff, have a seat and talk to me about it," Timmy said as he
motioned toward the chair.
Jeff got up and sat down. He took a tissue and blew his nose, then took
another and wiped the mascara and tears mix off his cheeks.
"Timmy, first I want you to know that I like girls. I like them a lot.
Girls are about the grooviest things anywhere. I dunno, maybe I like
girls too much, cause I like everything about them. I like the way they
look, I like their clothes and I like the way they look. I guess I just
like to get dressed up like girls do," Jeff explained
"Even Carol Rullo?" Timmy asked.
"Especially Carol Rullo. I go to sleep at night dreaming about getting
all dressed up in her clothes and doing each other's makeup." With that
Jeff grinned a big smile.
"So what happened last month?" Timmy asked.
"Mom found my clothes. She destroyed all my bras and panties and the two
dresses I had. The only bra and panties she didn't get were the one I
wore to school that day along with some in a knapsack up at the cave. I
had kept everything in that old steamer trunk Mr. Lehman had thrown out."
"You wore girl's underwear to school? Cool! You are super brave," Timmy
observed.
"Ah it's easy. It just feels good," Timmy replied. "Anyway mom slapped me
and took scissors to all my girls clothes. She threw away all my girls
magazines like Seventeen. When dad got home that night he punched me in
the back about five times and called me a homo and pervert. Then he took
the scissors to my hair."
"I'm so sorry Jeff. Don't cry. It'll be okay. Like I told you, I'm
sticking with you," Timmy pointed out.
"You mean you don't think its creepy of icky or anything like that," Jeff
questioned his brother.
"Creepy? Icky? Hey, you're my big brother, you could never be icky or
gross or creepy," Timmy responded.
The brothers sat for a few minutes, the Bette Midler album was at an end
and a peaceful stillness filled the air.
"Jeff? Can I ask you a question?" Timmy said as if he was testing the
waters of a cool, but inviting lake.
"Sure, I suppose," Jeff answered slowly.
Timmy held out his hand. "Would you do my fingernails too? I kinda like
that pink nailpoilsh."
Jeff smiled and took Timmy's hand....
(please look for part 2, coming soon)
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