Bryan McIntyre

The summer of ‘85 was proving to be a real disappointment to me. Dad and Mary had come up with the idea for a trip to Yellowstone the previous fall and mentioned it to me. The original idea had been to take it at the end of the summer, when I was through with summer classes or during the break between the summer sessions. Then Mary came up pregnant, so we would have to leave earlier than planned (before she was too big to go). Okay, no huge problem. I was using the summer classes to breeze through some of the easiest requirements from which I’d not been able to test out. I’d just skip a week of classes. Dad knew I was a good student and agreed with the idea, and that’s how we made our plans.

It’s too bad the stomach flu didn’t check with me before moving in for a few days. Not quite a week before we were supposed to leave, I spent two days with a high fever, not daring to move too far away from the crapper, and a third too weak to move anywhere.

That Thursday I would have preferred to still be in bed, but I dragged myself to the campus and sat through both of my classes. I had a doctor’s note, so the professors were very understanding, but there was clearly no way I was going to be able to miss the next week as well and still pass the classes.

The saddest thing was, I think it disappointed my little brothers more than it did me.



As much as I’d been looking forward to the trip, it turned out to be a decent week for me. I’d decided I really needed to quit Comics and Stuff, and this week gave me time to find a new job. Without the boys around, I was easily able to catch up on my studies. I even had enough time to do a couple of jobs around the house about which Dad had been bugging me and still have time to catch up with a few old friends, who’d apparently been spreading rumors that I was either dead or in prison.

It wasn’t as much fun as going to Yellowstone would have been, but it was nice in its own way.

They’d left very early on Saturday morning and weren’t due back until Sunday afternoon a week later. The week had gone by and it was almost time for them to arrive back. It was Saturday morning, and I was lying in bed, stroking myself, and trying to decide if I should have a good rub and then go back to sleep, or get up and fix breakfast. The jangling of the phone decided the issue for me.

I’m sure my voice still sounded sleep-addled because the first thing Grandma said was, "I’m sorry, Honey. Did I wake you?"

"No," I assured her. "I was awake, just not up yet."

"Okay. Well, we have a little problem I thought you might want to help us with."

"What? You have some leftovers you need someone to get rid of for you?"

"No," she laughed, "Well, actually, I made some goulash last night. If you want…."

"I was joking, Grandma. What can I do for you?"

"Did you know your cousin Bryan was in town?"

Actually I had, but had pretty much forgotten it, since I’d been planning to be on the way to Yellowstone the only chance I’d had to see him. Even though I’d not gone, I’d been helping everyone else get ready to depart, and hadn’t even thought about it until it was too late.

Bryan McIntyre was my Uncle Rodney’s only child. Even though Rodney was eight years older than my mom, Bryan was eight years younger than me. I think that was because of a combination of Uncle Rodney’s time in the Navy and Mom having me when she was sixteen.

I’d always been close to Uncle Rodney. The only reason he wasn’t the real father figure in my life was that his family had lived in Houston when I was younger, so I’d not got to spend tons of time with him. They did eventually move back to the Dallas area, only about twenty minutes from Bransom, but not until I was thirteen and had spent time with my dad. Even with the geographical difference, Rodney had always been kind and supportive to me. He’d treated me decently and acted politely and patiently when we’d been together. It used to tick my Dad, and especially my step-dad off, that I’d happily spend time helping Rodney do things that I’d fight with them about tooth and nail. They never did figure out why.

Which isn’t to say that Rodney and I didn’t have our bad times. Well, my bad times more than ours. I can very distinctly remember three times growing up that he’d had to heat my backside for various reasons, but I’d always known I’d deserved it and never held it against him.

I wasn’t as close to Bryan, since he was basically one more kid brother, and not one with whom I got to spend a ton of time. On the other hand, when I did spend time with him, he was always a nice kid and fun to be around. He was much closer to our cousin Evan since Rodney and Evan’s mom Diane had lived close to each other in the Houston area; but Evan and I were good friends, and Bryan seemed to look up to us both as the closest thing to older brothers he had.

It hadn’t quite been a year since Rodney had received a promotion, but it had involved him moving to the Los Angeles area. It turned out that Bryan had kept in contact with some of his close friends, an amazing feat for an eleven-year old boy, and wanted to come back to visit them. He was on a two-week trip, which had started with some time in the Houston area, visiting Aunt Diane and her family. After most of a week there, he’d come up, spent a day with Grandma and Grandpa, and then they’d dropped him off with one of his friends.

Bryan later told me he’d had a great time, staying with one friend for several days, then moving to another’s house. That visit, however, was interrupted by tragedy. His friend had lost an older family member, and their family had to leave for the funeral, leaving Bryan with no place to stay, since the previous boy’s family had left on vacation. Before leaving for the funeral, Bryan’s friend’s parents had dropped him back at Grandma’s house, and he now had two days to kill before his plane left.

Grandma explained the details to me, and what she wanted was quickly evident.

"We don’t have anything for him to do over here, and I know you two like each other. Since Patrick and everyone are on vacation, we thought he might stay with you. You didn’t have any plans, did you?"

Honestly, I’d been building myself up to visit Dallas, stop at a gay bar, hit the bookstores, and pick up some new porn. Since that’s not exactly something you can tell your Grandmother (at least, I certainly would never have been able to without dropping dead from terminal blush), I told her, "Nothing at all. I’d be glad to have him."

The plan was for Bryan and me to spend Saturday and Sunday together, then I would take him back to Grandma’s Sunday night, where he’d spend the night, before she took him to the airport Monday morning. Since he was right at the same age as my little brothers, it wouldn’t be any problem. I was sure that, after being cooped up for the drive home, assuming Dad hadn’t had to pull the car over, they’d have plenty of energy to burn.

I grabbed a quick shower, then headed for Grandma’s house. I’m sure she could have brought him over, but then I would have missed her fixing me breakfast. (I loved Grandma for a lot of reasons, but her cooking was sure one or two of them.)



It hadn’t been quite a year since I’d last seen Bryan. I’d missed him and his parents at Christmas, but understood there was no way for them to break free, as recently as they’d moved. Still, it hadn’t seemed the same without them. I still remember on Thanksgiving or Christmas afternoons, when all the families would be together at Grandma’s house. Evan and I must have been twelve or thirteen, and we’d be playing dominoes with our little sisters in the short amount of time that holiday cheer allowed us to stand them, and Bryan would move back and forth between Evan’s lap and mine as he watched the game.

Of course, he’d been eleven when they moved, not four or five, but twelve tends to be a major year in the life of boys on both sides of my family. It’s sometimes hard to remember exactly how big someone is when you’ve not seen him for a while, but I have a very distinct memory of Bryan and me clinging to each other in a tight hug the day before they’d left for California. In that memory, his head rested against my chest and I had to dip my chin a bit to rest it atop his head.

When Bryan bounced over to great me as I walked into Grandma’s house, the top of his head was well over my chin—he must have grown four or five inches in the last year. He’d also changed his hairstyle from the basic boy’s bowl he’d had all his life to what I guess you’d have to call an early mullet—the back wasn’t permed (thank God), but it was almost shoulder length in the back, barely feathering his ears on the sides, and parted on the top. Of course, in 1985, especially in Texas, it was an unusual look and it really did suit his face. Bryan had the same brown hair and blue eyes as most of our family, but his features mostly came from his mom. His face was much narrower than the rest of us cousins, and his nose was long and narrow, barely ending over thin lips. He did have the same high forehead and rounded chin as the rest of us, so he didn’t look like a total stranger, but he seemed like one when I realized how much of his growth I’d missed. Still, Bryan was excited to see me and glad I’d not made the trip after all, and was anxious to catch up on my news and to tell me everything that had been happening to him. The drive between Grandma and Dad’s wasn’t especially long, but I’m not sure he shut up once during it.

Bryan hung around with me while I took care of a couple of things around the house, then the rest of the day was ours. Grandma had even ‘forced’ me to take some money so I wouldn’t have to pay for him. We played Putt-Putt, rode the Go-Carts, spent some time in the arcade wasting quarters, then went to the theater and saw The Legend of Billie Jean (notable mostly for a theme song by Pat Benatar and being the start of my crush on Christian Slater). Before heading home, we drove around a bit and just talked, then ended up having dinner at Neon’s, which was a slightly upscale place, like Cheddars or TGIFridays. It was a great day, and by the end of it, both of us were feeling sated.

When we got home, it wasn’t especially late and I was sure neither of us would be ready for bed for a while. I set up my old Atari system and we played games for a while and ended up wrestling around in an argument over what we’d play next. We decided to watch a movie, but I ended up settling back with my book while he tried to reach the next level of Pitfall. Finally, about 9pm, he decided he’d had enough and asked about the movie.

Neither of us had to be up the next morning, and I wasn’t particularly sleepy, so the time didn’t really matter. However, it was summer in Texas, and we’d spent a fair amount of time outside that day. I was starting to feel itchy and decided to take a shower before we settled in to watch a video and insisted that he did as well.

"What are we gonna watch?"

"I don’t care," I assured him. "Pick something out."

My bedroom was big for a kid’s room, but not especially huge. Besides having my own bathroom, I had room for the typical bedroom stuff, a small dining room table (used mostly for studying, role-playing, and board games), and a small sitting area that had two chairs, a hideaway couch, and my TV and stereo. The TV, VCR, and stereo all rested on a weird cabinet that Grandma had once had in her office at work. Besides a long, flat surface, it had two cabinets underneath. Grandma had used them for files. I used them for music, movies, and a few assorted things. My video collection, which was very small at the time and consisted mostly of stuff I’d recorded off cable, was all in one compartment, along with the other cartridges for the Atari.

"Go ahead and pick out a couple of things you want to see, and I’ll pick the one I want to see out of those when I get out of the shower."

"Okay," he said, even as he dove into it.

I started getting undressed while he was looking and grabbed a clean towel and briefs, but Bryan stopped me before I could get to the bathroom. "What’s in this one?"

"Records and some reference books," I answered.

"What about this one?" he asked, indicating a small, separate cabinet that stood next to the ‘entertainment center’.

"None of your business."

"You got porn in there?" he pursued the matter, suddenly excited.

"First, if I did have porn, it wouldn’t matter, because I’m twenty, but you’re only twelve. Two, I told you that stuff was none of your business, so you need to just drop it. Three, it really is just extra school supplies and junk. There’s nothing you want to look at, so just stay out of there. Now pick out your movie so we can watch it after we‘ve showered."

"I really don’t need a shower," he asserted in one last attempt to avoid his watery doom.

"I’m not sleeping anywhere near you the way you smell, and I don’t have that much Lysol, so you’re taking a shower."

With that exaggeration (which I saw as I closed the bathroom door behind me, had him sniffing his pits), I retired to a hot shower. The best thing about missing the vacation trip with everyone else was I could shower as long and hot as I wanted and still not use all the hot water.



I came out of my bathroom in my briefs. My skin was flushed but dry, though I was still toweling my hair. When I told Bryan to hit the showers, he made one last, token protest before showing me the videos in which he was interested and starting to move. I started to glance at the movies he’d selected, but mostly watched as he stripped down to his briefs, grabbed clean jockeys, t-shirt, and towel, then hit the bathroom. He must have been 5’3", so I wasn’t surprised to see a noticeable bulge in the front of his shorts. Where my attention was really drawn was when he had his back to me. Bryan was firm, but very lean, and saying he didn’t have much in the way of hips would probably have been generous. When he finally turned to walk into the bathroom, I gave him my full attention. His briefs were thin and snug and highlighted his backside, rather than disguising anything. It was too small for his size, so you couldn’t call it a great bottom, but what he had was very well shaped. Beyond having almost nothing in width, he didn’t have a lot of backward sway either, but what was there was very defined, especially on the lower curve where his cheeks met his legs. He also had fairly deep dimples. Each cheek was so well shaped, however, that it almost looked like they didn’t meet in the middle. Unlike some boys whose cheeks run right into each other at the crack, Bryan’s cheeks were very distinct from each other. Smiling to myself as he shut the door behind him, I wondered if his rear would be firm with a little bounce, or merely hard, and, as I turned back to the videos, wondered if I could provoke a little wrestling that might give me the chance to find out.

Half the movies he wanted to see were rated R, so they went right to the side. Uncle Rodney had always been more patient and tolerant with me than any other man in my life since David Wilson and Mom had divorced, but he was a stickler for following rules. Not only did I know he wouldn’t allow Bryan to watch them, but I had a firm enough memory of the rare times he’d spanked me that I wasn’t tempted to let him watch them anyway, even with me twenty and him in California. The man was tolerant, but not someone you wanted to deliberately provoke: my uncle didn’t spank in anger, but he did it to make sure you learned a lesson and was willing to devote time so that he was sure of it. As a matter of fact, I took a lot of my spanking technique from Uncle Rodney.

I made two selections that I was happy to watch again, then put them aside to put away the rest. When I leaned forward, something caught my eye. It took me a moment to figure out what it was, when I finally realized the door to my little storage cabinet was standing open. I leaned over and pushed it shut, then watched it swing slightly open again. Then I reached up and pushed in just a bit on the upper edge of the door and closed it again. This time it stayed shut. I opened it and looked inside, but nothing appeared disturbed.

In one way, it really didn’t matter. Except for my personal journal, there was nothing in there that I’d worry about someone seeing. Of course, I would have been very upset for someone to read my journal, since it had less to do with Thoreau’s Walden, than a survey of spanking information from boys I knew and had known going back quite a few years. Almost anytime I’d been able to glean a spanking fact or two, much less an entire story, I’d jotted it down there as soon as I could.

The real importance of the cabinet didn’t lie inside it, but beneath it, and even that was now gone. Once upon a time, though…. When I was in seventh grade, my friend Brett was spending a couple of nights. We’d just been fooling around, wrestling, looking for something different to do, and came up with the idea of ‘risqué pictures’. I think I showed him my Polaroid Instamatic, then joked around enough to get him to suggest it. Except for the pictures, it wasn’t even a big deal, since we were in the same gym class. After we’d both taken a couple of pictures of each other, he was ready to move on and wanted to throw them away for safety. I wanted to keep them, but didn’t really want to admit that too strongly, so instead I directed the conversation to hiding places. I certainly didn’t want to tell him about the one good place I did have in my room, since I would have had to explain the items that were already there. He forgot about the pictures, and we settled down to read comics.

The next day, Brett surprised me by suggesting a fantastic hiding place. With my parents gone, we emptied that same cabinet and turned it on its side. When you opened it, the bottom shelf rested on four pegs, then there was about a two inch gap before it touched the floor. Brett and I went to the garage and dug through until we found a thin piece of plywood that we cut to fit the bottom of the cabinet. We nailed it in place, then removed one of the back pegs that supported the bottom shelf. By emptying the bottom shelf, then pushing down carefully, you had a secure hiding place that was only about two inches deep, but was about two foot by two foot square. It was perfect for the pictures (and later for a few spanking magazines and novels I was able to acquire). Of course, by the time I was living at Dad’s house, I had a number of comic and magazine boxes, and all my porn and souvenirs lay in the back of one of those boxes, carefully covered, so only an intense search would uncover them.

So it wasn’t that he might have found anything by going where he wasn’t supposed to go, but simply that he’d disobeyed me. I could have let it go. While Uncle Rodney was tolerant, I knew he was pretty strict about obedience. Still, Bryan was my cousin, not my son. I have to admit, the thing that settled it was the memory of when I was twelve and Bryan was only four, and him watching while his dad wore me out. Besides, trying to be honest with myself, here was a twelve-year-old boy whom I’d not seen naked in years, whom I’d never spanked, and who’d given me a perfect reason.

I walked to the bathroom door and checked the knob. The door was locked, but it was one of those simple ones. Even as I found a paperclip and was straightening it, the shower shut off. I slipped the wire in, felt around for just a second until I found resistance, then quietly clicked the lock open. I waited for a minute, picturing him standing there, skin flushed from the hot water, steam swirling around him, dripping wet, and naked. I could see him pushing the water off of him, and even as I was visualizing that, I heard the shower curtain slide back.

I gave him a moment, then pushed through the door. I was met by a sharp, but quiet ‘Hey’ as I stepped into the room. Glancing at him, he was holding the towel lengthwise in front of him, to cover nearly his entire body. I looked at the counter and walked past him.

"Sorry," I told my cousin, "need to get a couple of things. I’m going to need this," I said, lifting my hairbrush, "and you aren't going to need these," I finished, as I picked up his briefs and tee.

As I left the bathroom, the start of his protest was cut off as I pulled the door closed behind me.



A few minutes went by, long enough for Bryan to finish drying off, then a little more. I was sitting on one of the table chairs, with it turned to face into the room. His underclothes were on the table behind me, the brush sitting on top of them. I was starting to think that I’d have to go get him when the door finally opened.

Bryan stuck his head out the door and looked at me, then finally stepped out. He was looking nervous, but had the towel wrapped around his waist.

"Is everything okay, Jack?"

"No, Bryan, not really. Do you have something you want to tell me, or are you going to make me say it?"

Bryan looked at me for a minute. He looked around. He looked at the cabinet. He finally looked back at me and shrugged. "How’d you know?"

"There’s a trick to shutting it."

"I’m sorry?" he offered.

"I really don’t think sorry’s good enough, Bryan. I hate that you were snooping through my stuff, especially since you were apparently looking for porn, but you disobeyed me. I don’t know how you’d feel about someone digging through your stuff, but I do know how your dad feels about obedience."

I stopped for a moment and watched him realize exactly what I was talking about. "C’mon, Jack, I didn’t…."

"Yeah, you did, Bryan. I told you to stay out of there. Didn’t I?"

For a moment, Bryan found the pattern of the carpet absolutely fascinating. After a few seconds’ deep study, he looked up at me. "I really am sorry, Jack."

I sighed. I really did love the kid. If he’d begged and pleaded, I would have been disgusted with him. If he’d argued with me and tried to lie, I would have felt fully justified. As it was….

"You know sorry’s not good enough, Bryan. What am I supposed to do with you?"

It was his turn to sigh. It looked good on him. The towel wrapped all the way around his waist, but there was so little to the hips, that the towel had slid down, exposing that beautiful ‘V’ of his hips below a flat belly. He didn’t have much to his chest, but the line bisecting it slid all the way down his belly, through his little outtie, before disappearing just above the towel. As he fidgeted and even literally wrung his hands, he moved enough for me to see that his underarms were still smooth. I’d already noticed that his lower legs were still smooth, so now I was dying with curiosity as to whether he had any hair yet. The thing is, I knew how badly I wanted to get that towel off and spank him. I might not have had as much self-control at twenty as I do now, but I honestly think that, if he’d asked, I would have let him off.

"I guess you should spank me. I know I deserve it."

"Why do you deserve it, Bryan?"

"For snooping in your stuff. Especially after you told me not to."

"That’s disobeying, isn’t it?"

"Yeah."

"Uncle Rodney would spank you for it, wouldn’t he?"

The boy’s look turned even grimmer as he nodded. "Yeah."

"The thing is, Buddy, I’m not your dad, I’m your cousin. This is my dad’s house. I’m the only adult around, but you’re really just staying here. It’s not like I’m babysitting you or something," I said, not believing the words coming out of my mouth. I wanted to spank him, wanted it badly, and he’d already told me he deserved it. If one of my brothers had done it, I’d probably have yanked him naked out of the shower and started heating his rear. Still….

"It’s only 7:30 in California. Do you think we should call Uncle Rodney and see what he thinks?"

It wasn’t hard to tell that Bryan didn’t like that idea, though whether it was his pale face, wide-eyes, or dropped jaw that gave me that idea, I’m not sure. Maybe it was just the way his head was shaking.

"Don’t call him, Jack. He’ll just tell you to whup me, then he’ll be mad at me, too."

I nodded, but couldn’t help answering. "Not too. I’m not mad at you. Well," I added, after a second’s pause, "not much. If I’m going to spank you, though, it’s gonna be hard. Got me?"

He nodded, then looked at my small couch—really just a love seat. "You’re gonna spank me over your lap?"

It was my turn to nod. "Your dad uses the strap on you now?"

"Yeah. He whupped me with it some even before we moved."

"Well, I don’t like the belt, so I’m gonna spank you like he used to do. But since you’re big enough now, I’m not gonna use my hand."

He looked a little nervous now as he glanced over my shoulder. "That brush?"

I glanced behind me, at the wooden hairbrush lying symbolically atop his briefs. It wasn’t especially big or heavy-- much smaller than the novelty paddle laying in the drawer to my nightstand, though, at a half-inch, it was more than twice as thick. It might not have looked like a lot, but my little brothers all swore it burned worse than alcohol on road rash. "Yup." I answered him. "Now, you gonna get over my lap?"

He hesitated a few more seconds, but apparently decided it was best to just get it over with. He stepped to my side and I lifted my arm, but also realized the towel was still covering what I really wanted to see.

"I know your dad never spanks you on clothes, so lose the towel."

He kept coming and even sped up a bit, like if he moved fast enough, he could get away with it. I was about to stop him, when his hands went to his waist and unfastened the towel. He’d waited so long and was moving quickly enough when he did it, that the towel ended up caught between us. I couldn’t say much, because his backside was bared. It wasn’t like I could tell him to stand up and take the towel off because I wanted to see how he was hung. Still, I could at least make sure I got a good look when we were through. I had him lift his hips for a second and snagged the towel out from under him, tossing it to lie over the back of the other chair.

With the towel out of the way, I could feel his warm body pressed against my bare legs. It wasn’t the first time I’d spanked a boy like that, but I didn’t get to do it often, and I loved the sensation of skin-on-skin. As a matter of fact, I loved it so much that I made very sure that there was a little space between his hip and my crotch. I could feel his boyhood brushing against the inside of my right leg as we settled him into place, and wanted to ask how the hair of my legs felt against his smooth belly, but didn’t think it would be real appropriate.

It hadn’t been that long since Bryan was making regular trips over his dad’s knees. Of course, I wasn’t used to spanking boys his size (even though my brother, Mike, was older, he was shorter), so it took me longer to be sure I was comfortable than it took him to settle down. Still, it wasn’t a minute before I was reaching behind me to grab the brush.

I remember Uncle Rodney had been pretty strict about position when he spanked me, and it looked like Bryan had gone into it naturally. His right hand was already behind his back, waiting for me to pin it, he was forward enough that his head was definitely down, and his legs were spread. If he was anything like me, I was sure he wouldn’t be able to stay that way for long.

Even while reaching behind me for the brush with my left hand, I ran my right hand over his cheeks. I think the belt really would have been a better choice. His bottom had just a hint of softness to it, but it was so lean, I didn’t doubt he was going to bruise easily. I wasn’t too worried about it in those days, but I didn’t want him to hate me after this, either. After a second, I pinned his hand with my left arm, grabbing his waist with that hand, then lifted the brush.

When the first stroke of the brush cracked down on that pretty little bottom, his whole body jumped, like he’d just been shocked. Positive he wouldn’t be able to take a long, hard spanking, I took my time, carefully placing each swat, and giving each one with nothing but wrist. Because his cheeks were so clearly separated, I worked on each one at a time, back and forth.

Each buttock was like a small, slightly rounded mesa. I did most of my work on the apex of each, from the upper cheek, but working down the lower slope to the sit spots. The sides and what I could reach in-between got some attention as well, but not nearly what those two lines were receiving.

It was almost Zen-like. Bryan took his spanking fairly quietly and without a lot of struggle. His whole body continued to jump and jerk with each swat, but he wasn’t kicking real hard or trying to fight his way up. He took the first several swats silently, but, as his rear reddened, he began to quietly gasp, and then yelps began to escape him. The worst he did was that his toes began to dig into the carpet, so I paused a minute and scooted him a few inches further up my lap, which lifted his toes from the floor, and made the jerks of his legs much more pronounced, though it was more like he was trying to run in place than like he was kicking.

Though he was used to hand or belt, though his yelps had been getting damp, I thought the squirt was actually going to disappoint me and tough it out. Almost his entire butt was a deep, dark red, and the summit of each firm, velvet mound was starting to dry out, showing that if I gave them much more attention, he was going to blister and bruise. Now that I was doing it, I wanted badly to hear him cry, but I didn’t want to mess up that pretty bottom too badly (or our relationship). Bryan must have heard my thoughts and not wanted me to be unhappy, because as the brush smacked down on his upper legs for what I knew had to be the last time, those damp yelps broke into sobs and soft crying.

His thighs weren’t as bad as his bottom, so I placed a few more there to make sure he’d be crying for a bit, then dropped the brush and helped him up. Bryan shot to his feet and was much too concerned about the fire in his backside to have any worry left for his modesty. He was dancing around, bobbing up and down, shifting from foot to foot, and constantly rubbing his backside. I didn’t understand how as much rubbing as he was doing wouldn’t be painful, but he seemed to like it.

While his rear was his main concern, I was interested in finally getting a look at the flip side. I don’t know if he was extremely well hung for a boy not that far from thirteen, but he wasn’t tiny, either. With all the bouncing around he was doing, the first thing I noticed was that he had a small, but surprisingly thick thatch of dark-brown hair around the upper base. Even with all the bouncing around, it wasn’t hard to tell that his balls were a pretty good size, and that his sac was pretty loose. His dick was flopping so much that I couldn’t get a good look at it. At least not at first. Apparently, his boyhood enjoyed all that bouncing around as much as I did, and it quickly became obvious that he was getting a stiffy. It was obvious to me, but he didn’t seem to notice it, and when all his bouncing and bobbing came to an end, there was a brief moment when he was standing there, his stiff boyhood, which looked to be nearly four inches long, though, like him, maybe still a little lean, standing straight out in front of him. I was trying to watch his face, which still glistened with dampness, though he’d almost stopped crying, but my eyes kept stealing down his belly. He must have caught that, because he suddenly went crimson and tried to hide it behind his hands.

I laughed at that. "There’s not much use in that, Bryan. I’ve already seen everything you have. It’s too late to be modest now."

My assurances didn’t seem to comfort him, though; and, even as I said it, I picked up his briefs and tossed them to him.

The thin cotton didn’t actually hide anything and really just accentuated his hard on. It was funny watching him pull them on, because he wanted them on badly, but wasn’t too happy about bending over to pull them on, and looked like he wanted to yelp again when the elastic brushed his cheeks in his hurry to cover his boyhood. He stopped with the jockeys not quite all the way up, then pulled the front up and reached down to adjust Mr. Happy, before easing the back up over his enflamed tush.

Once he had that white cotton sop to his modesty, he seemed to feel a bit better.

"I think you have something to say to me, don’t you, Bryan?"

He grimaced like this part was worse than the spanking, but replied in a fairly convincing tone, "I’m sorry I didn’t mind you and for poking in your stuff." A brief hesitation and a sigh, before he finished, "Thank you for spanking me."

"Apology accepted, Bryan," I said, as I stood, "though I doubt you really mean that last part." I spread my arms and he stepped into them, bringing his smooth, bare chest into contact with my slightly hairy one. He jumped back at the feel and looked at it for a second, but then leaned into me again and bent down just enough to put his head against my shoulder.

"Yeah," he agreed, "I really don’t; but I guess I did deserve it."

"That’s okay, bro. Part of growing up is doing stupid stuff that we know we shouldn’t do."

He’d stopped crying, but I could feel a little patch of damp forming, where his still-damp cheek rested against me. After a few moments of silence, just enjoying the sensual, yet innocent feel of our nearly naked bodies pressed up against each other, I finally asked, "You gonna live?"

"Yeah. I might not every want to sit again, but I’m gonna live."

"C’mon, Bryan. That couldn’t have been harder than you’d get from your dad."

"Maybe not, but that brush hurts! And you sure do spank harder than Evan."

Evan spanked you! That jerk! My mind spun, trying to think of some innocent sounding way to get that story from my little cousin. Before I could find any traction, he derailed me.

"You ready to watch the movie?" "Yeah, you want some popcorn?"

"Not right now, but is it okay if I use your bed? I don’t think I can handle the couch right now."

I couldn’t stop a laugh. "Go ahead. I’ll use the couch."

He made himself comfortable and we enjoyed the movie, though we were both worn out by the time it was over. After everything we’d been through, Bryan didn’t even insist on my making up the fold-out bed, which was nice, in that I enjoyed his body next to me as I drifted off to sleep, but bad, since it made me have to wait for him to fall asleep, so I could go to the bathroom and relieve my tension before I had any hope of falling asleep myself.



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