The whole thing about us being together started when I was about 15 as I said, but in a way I didn’t really understand then I had liked him as more than my brother from likely when I was 13 or 14. When we were little we did everything together, bathing, even peeing, in some ways we were more like twins than kids separated by two years. He says that he was aware of me for pretty much the same reasons but probably earlier than I was of him. He’d always been curious about what was between my legs and I remember him asking to have a look when I was about 8, nearly 9, there was no need for me ask about his stuff as it was always on show, boys are so different from us that way. For us it’s all hidden, down there, very private, and has to be revealed.
I showed him and he looked for a long time, moving things around so he could see better, of course there isn’t all that much to see down there when you are 9, but it satisfied his curiosity for a couple years. Next time he asked I was 12 or so and had some hairs. He looked with the same careful curiosity as before, but this time when I looked at his it was very changed, he was 12 then, has some hairs and was much longer and thicker than before. I wanted to touch it to feel what it felt like, to see if it was different. He got an erection and it was very different from before, the top was so soft and silky and it was so much thicker that I wondered how it would fit inside a women. At that stage I didn’t think about it fitting inside me, for even though I had had my finger inside me I hadn’t thought about him in me at all.
We talked about touching ourselves, masturbation wasn’t a word that I felt easy with, so that was what we called it. He said he did and I said I did, so that was that. We talked about what happened and decided that we had both had orgasms and left it there. I don’t remember masturbating about him for quite a while. Later he told me that he didn’t begin making sperm until he was nearly 13, but when he did he started to think about me and us doing stuff, but that he was much too shy and unsure of the appropriateness of what he was thinking, or getting caught or told on, so he never said anything. We knew that brothers and sisters weren’t supposed to do stuff and probably to not even look and talk about it. It was the beginning of the very gradual change in the focus of our relationship.
I talked and listened to the girls at school, the usual source of (mis)information then, I looked at other boys, decided that I was a bottom fancier and realised that I like my brother’s bottom, because it was so nice and round and tight, not at all like teen girls’ bottoms that were fuller and softer. He wore tighty whities that were always snug and let me see his roundness perfectly, I liked to see him in his underpants if I could and often did as he got dressed before we went to school. I think that in gradually seeing the attractiveness of each other I was probably in front of him in that respect, perhaps not, it’s hard to know. I liked his male thin-ness, his middle-teen arms were still thin and boyish and his tummy was flat, he was still physically in that in-between stage, not a child and not yet a man. He had some hairs on his legs, but not many. Still not many between his legs, really just a clump at the base of his penis, nothing at all on his face.
He is a quiet, gentle man now and was a quiet, gentle boy then, nothing has changed. He was one of those kids who was comfortable with silence, he was an observer, a reader, I am too, and that is another of the reasons why we get along so well. I said that I knew by the time I was 15 that I knew that he was who I wanted as my partner in life, but this was not something that was achieved either easily or quickly. It was a difficult period of secret turmoil and guilt. I knew all too well that girls were not supposed to think about their brothers they way I thought about him, feeling that way about another girl’s brother was one thing, it was quite another for me to be thinking and speculating and dreaming about my brother in that way. By this time I thought about him when I masturbated. No matter which way I looked at it, this remained a huge problem as he became increasingly central to my thinking, not an obsession but certainly he occupied a lot of my private time. If anything the problem of him in my life became an even bigger problem. He hasn’t said much about how he dealt with he in his life, other than to say he felt scared and very guilty as well until I finally broached the subject with him when I was 15.
While I was discretely observing his changes, change had come to me. My breasts grew, hair came in all the usual places and, most dramatic change of all, my periods came. I was ambivalent about that, because it meant that my life had changed forever. There was the inconvenience of it, my fear of getting caught out and bleeding through my clothes so boys would see, the feeling of dull heaviness that accompanied my cycle immediately before they came. But I liked my breasts and what happened when I rubbed and pinched my new large nipples, there seemed to be a hard-wired nerve straight down to the opening of my vagina. He liked my new breasts, too, they were the next thing he asked to see. He asked me many questions about what it felt like for them to begin to grow, did I like them, did I want them bigger or was I happy with little ones, was wearing a bra comfortable, those sort of boy questions that I had heard from girls at school. I was very curious about what it was like for him, I knew that boys has problems with unpredictable erections, some with cumming in their underpants at things like dances and making out, did his balls ever get in the way, where did they go when he sat down, (I was very curious about that) was it true about blue balls or was that just a ploy to get a girl to touch or masturbate or suck. Boys seemed obsessed with every aspect of sex, especially where it concerned us. They tried to see our panties when we sat down when we wore dresses and skirts, that was tiresome, at dances they ran their hands down your back to see if you were wearing a bra, they always wanted to kiss you, some were brave enough to try to put their hand between your legs, it was constant sex, sex and more sex. I was 13 and going on 14 and didn’t want that attention at all, so it quickly became tedious, I was so sick of boys looking either at my chest or at my crutch. I was gradually turning off boys and looking more and more at my brother.
He didn’t have the same issues, girls are much more reticent, sure we look, but we don’t generally touch until much later in a relationship, the bottom line was pregnancy and being labeled a slut, the latter was the greatest fear, and even if you wanted a boy to touch you where ever, you always knew that the next day the whole school knew that he’d had his hand up your shirt or between your legs. The labeling came from other girls, other girls were the eagle-eyed morality police, not wanting anyone who did what they dreamed of but didn’t do, to have any fun by actually doing it. I was most afraid of other girls, then and later, when we turned our backs on that teen world for each other. I had no close girl friend whom i trusted unconditionally, there was no-one I could tell, confide in, and the way things turned out for us that was just as well.