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Eki 3, 2022 // By:analsex // No Comment

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Angela White

Subject: “I Didn’t Pee the Bed, part one…. Incest Gay This story contains sexual situations between two bothers and other males. If you are under the age of 18 and are legally not allowed to read this story, or if material of this nature is offensive to you, then you should skip this story. The author claims the copyright to all parts of this story and no duplication or publication of this story is allowed except by the author. This is my second story for NIFTY. The first is in High School, Danny’s First Love. Last posted on June 27th. I’m not a writer, but I thought I’d again try my hand at fiction. The seeds for this story were planted by an ex-lover. I’m a college graduate who majored in the hard science, did post-graduate work in medical research. English has always been my worst subject. So here goes. I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think. Please donate to Nifty! I Didn’t Pee The Bed, part one By Anthony Scordato “Hey, Drew, over here,” I called out. He spotted me and walked toward me. He waved to his friend, Eric. Eric walked over to us. He said to me, “Have you seen my brother?” “Well, yeah, I had first and fourth period with him. I haven’t seen him after the bell. “I’m supposed to wait, but�” “We’ll wait with you.” “No, that’s okay. Maybe I’ll wait a few more minutes and then I walking home.” “We’ll wait. We’re in no rush,” I said. “Why don’t you guys go mess around. I’ve got some reading to do. I’ll just sit over there. I’m sure he’s coming.” I watched as Andrew ran off with Eric. Eric was his only friend. Maybe it was because James and I had become best friends. We hung out at school and recently started meeting up after school to play ball. Other than that, a few times over the years, Eric and I hung out at their house. It wasn’t long until James came walking up. “Hey, Jason, what ya doing here?” “I showed up to pick up Andrew and Eric was concerned�” “I had a make up quiz to do. I guess I didn’t tell him.” Eric and Andrew ran up to us. The four of us walked about a half mile together and then we headed into different directions. Andrew and I made this two-mile walk home everyday after school. I was fourteen and in the ninth grade in high school, and he was twelve and in the seventh grade in middle school. We were only eighteen months apart in age, but two years apart in school. We lived in a small town along the Northern California coastline. “Do you have homework?” I asked. “Just a math worksheet.” “Okay. We’ll do it after dinner.” He walked beside me saying nothing. He had always been a quiet kid, scared of everything. “Something happen at school today?” “No.” He looked up at me. “Billy was making fun of my clothes.” “He’s an asshole. Just ignore him.” “That’s what Eric said.” We never had money to buy new clothes. Our mother was a single mom. Our dad left her soon after Andrew was born. My mother bought our clothes at the Salvation Army store. Kids at school figured it out and often teased Andrew. They had teased me when I was younger, but then I beat the shit out of two of them and the teasing stopped. “I’m hungry,” he said. “Hopefully, mom came home and brought food. All we have is stuff for pancakes and a couple of hot dogs.” “If she doesn’t bring food we won’t have food for lunch again tomorrow.” “We can hope.” “I like your pancakes “Yeah, I like pancakes too, but we had that for dinner last night.” “I know, but I like it anyway.” “Me too,” I said. Our mother told us that she worked in a bar in town. When she did come home, it was usually after Andrew and I left for school. At the time, I didn’t know that all bars closed at 2:00 A.M; and most people didn’t work seven days a week; and if she was working that much, why were we so poor. We arrived at our one-bedroom apartment. “Okay,” I said putting the key in the lock. “No talking. You know how crazy she gets if we wake her up.” He nodded and took a deep breath. I opened the door and looked in. Our one bedroom apartment was very small. We had a sofa and TV in the living room; a small table and chairs in the kitchen and one bed in the bedroom with one dresser of drawers that the Andrew and I shared. We also shared the one bed at night. When my mother was around usually slept on the sofa during the day. She wasn’t on the sofa, the door to the bedroom was open, which meant that she was not asleep in there and since I didn’t see her in the kitchen, and the bathroom door was open, she was not home. “She’s not here,” I said. “Good,” he said and glanced at me. We put our book bags down and closed the door and locked it. Andrew went to the bathroom. I went to the kitchen, hoping that she had been home and left food. I opened the refrigerator. She had been home. There were more hot dogs, two hamburger patties, a big block of cheese, four apples, four bananas and a container of milk. I opened the cupboard. escort izmit In it I found two new boxes of cereal, a new box of pancake mix, a big jar of peanut butter, jelly, bread, a big bag of white rice and six cans of black beans. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. I pulled open one of the kitchen cabinet drawers. Usually, she’d leave one or two dollars for us to buy milk. Sometimes she left nothing. I found two dollars. “Is there food?” “Yeah, all kinds of good stuff. I think we’ll have hamburgers and rice for dinner.” “But I’m hungry now.” “How about we share an apple and I can put peanut butter on it. You like that.” “Okay.” He watched as I went into the bedroom. “How much did she leave? “Two dollars.” I scooted under the bed. “Can’t we spend a dollar?” “We need to save this money in case she doesn’t show up. Remember last month she wasn’t here for two weeks and we had to buy food.” There was a tear in the material on the underside of the mattress. I reached in and pulled out a small can that held our savings. I added the dollars and stuffed the can back into the mattress. After dinner we did our homework and then watched some TV. Then it was bath time and then to bed. Each night we would share a bath. My mother removed the showerhead. We could use as much cold water as we wanted. We didn’t pay for water. But we couldn’t use much hot water because we paid for the gas to heat it. So we usually filled the tub with about six inches of warm water and climbed in. We had been bathing together since before I could remember. My mother had instructed me on how to bathe Andrew and, in turn, he insisted on bathing me. We undressed and climbed in, facing each other. I had reached puberty two years prior. He had months ago. When I started getting pubic hair he became intrigued. Why are you getting hair there? Will I get hair too? How come your dick is getting bigger? Will mine get big too? I answered his question as best I could. I said, “It’s your turn to wash your hair tonight.” He got on your knees. I got on mine. He used a plastic cup to scoop up water. He poured water over his hair, which was short. I handed him the bar of soap. He rubbed it against his head. He bent his head forward. I took the cup and scooped up water and poured it over his head and rinsed off his hair. “You’re getting soap in my eyes. “Sorry, I’m almost done.” I would wash my hair the next night. If we did both of us, one of us got rinsed with soapy water. He wiped his face with a dry towel and we sat down in the tub. He soaped up his hands and washed his face, chest and arms. He got on his knees and turned around. I washed his neck and back. He bent over and spread his buttocks. “You know you can do this,” I said. “You do it better,” he said. I washed his butt crack, being sure to clean his butt hole. “Do it again,” he said. “It’s clean.” “Be sure.” I again ran my finger over his hole and pressed my finger into him. He laughed and looked back at me. He turned and stood up. I washed his legs and each foot. He then pressed his hips forward and smiled at me. I watched as his penis became erect. I soaped up my hands and washed his scrotum and penis. He watched as I ran my fingers over and around it. “Again.” “You like that, don’t you?” “You like it too,” he said, looking at me. I nodded. “It feels good.” I ran my fingers over and around his erection. He took the soap from me. I got on my knees. This was our bathtub nightly routine. He had insisted that he wash my chest, shoulders and stomach. I turned and he washed my back. “Bend over,” he said. He pressed his finger into my butt hole. It felt like he was knuckle deep. I stood. He washed my legs and feet and then looked up at me. It had become clear to me years ago that he enjoyed getting me erect and I did also. He had always been fascinated by the change that would occur. He soaped up his hands and took hold of my cock. He rubbed and squeezed and pulled until I was fully erect. Then we used the bath water to rinse off. On several occasions, I suggested that we could still bathe together but we could wash ourselves. He would sulk and plead, saying he liked the way it felt. What I knew about Andrew was that he needed routine and I was the only person who provided that for him. So, we continued our nightly bathing routine. Besides, I enjoyed it. Still erect, we dried off and headed to bed. I checked that the alarm was set for the morning and climbed into bed behind him. He was afraid of the dark, so he slept between the wall and me. We had always slept in the nude, because we didn’t have a lot of underwear and I didn’t want to spend the money to do a wash too often, so we’d wear the same underwear three or four times, turning them inside out each day. So we couldn’t wear them to bed and we had nothing else to sleep in. “Are you going to do it tonight?” he asked. “Yeah,” I said. izmit escort bayan “Me, too.” “We do it every night,” I said. “Not always.” I began stroking my still hard cock. “Turn on the light,” he said. He liked to watch me come. When I went into puberty and started masturbating and coming, I’d try to hide out in the bathroom. But that wasn’t working. He insisted that I keep the door open because he was afraid that someone might break in to our apartment while I was locked in the bathroom. So, our bathroom door was always to remain open. If I closed it, but didn’t lock it, it wasn’t long before he turned the knob and slowly opened the door to look in. And there I’d be cock in hand. Once he understood what I was doing, he never let me alone in the bathroom if the door was closed. He became fascinated with me coming and would stroke his cock as he watched. Soon, I became comfortable with the situation. We lay beside each other and masturbated. Of late, he started having pretty intense orgasms. His orgasm brought a good amount of clear sticky liquid. I explained to him that as he got older, he’d have thick white cum like me. He stroked his seven-inch erection with enthusiasm as I stroked my eight-inch cock. I’d glance over at him and he glance over at me. Soon, he was breathing loudly and quickly and then he moaned as his body tensed. I watched as several shots of cum landed on his stomach. “Go again,” I said stroking. “After you’re done. I want to watch.” He sat up cross-legged at my hips and stared at my cock. “Can I do it for a little bit?” I took my hand off my cock. He wrapped his fingers around it and began masturbating me. I put my hands behind my head and watched. “I want mine to be big and fat like yours,” he said. “I’m sure it will be.” “Can I make you come tonight?” “We’ll see how you do.” He kept stroking my cock. I was sure he liked masturbating me more than I liked him doing it to me. My hand always seemed to do a better job. But sometimes I just let him work my cock until I came because he always seemed to get so much enjoyment out of it. When I got close, I said, “Keep going and I’m going to come.” “Cool,” he said. “Don’t point it at you or you’ll get it all over your face again.” He laughed. “That was funny,” he said. “It squirted me in the mouth.” “It’s not an it. It’s my cock and I’m going to come.” I thrust upward and shot cum into the air. It landed on my chest and face and on his arm and shoulder. “Wow, that’s so cool,” he said, laughing and still stroking my cock. “It’s like the fountain at the mall.” I smiled. “Okay, stop, for a minute.” He let go of my cock and then wiped his fingers on my stomach. He lay beside me and started stroking his cock again. I watched. “You do me now,” he said. I reach over him and took hold of his cock and stroked him to orgasm. Then, while he watched me, I masturbated myself and came again. We got up and wiped ourselves clean with toilet paper and then after turning off the light, we climbed into bed. “Good night, Andrew,” I said. “Good night, Jason. I love you.” “I love you, too.” “The rice and hamburger was good.” “Better than pancakes?” “Yes. And I’m glad mom wasn’t home.” We lay still for a while. Then he sat up. “What?” I said. “Did you lock the door?” “Yes.” “Please go check.” “You go check.” “No. Please.” I got up. As I stepped out of the room, he yelled. “Turn on the light.” I stepped back into the bedroom, turned on the light and then checked the front door. “It was locked and the chain was on,” I said as I turned off the bedroom light. “Thank you.” Silence. “Are you angry?” he asked. “No. Of course not. Now go to sleep. We have school tomorrow.” He moved close against me. I knew, as most nights, he was now having anxiety about the dark and us being home alone. I rolled onto my side and pulled him against me and put my arm over him. He snuggled up against me. The alarm woke us. He sat up and checked the bed around him as I got out of bed. “I didn’t pee the bed,” he said as he scooted out of bed. “Good job,” I said. We both had morning wood. We stood side-by-side and peed into the toilet. “Maybe it won’t happen anymore,” he said. “Probably not. They say it stops when you get into puberty.” Andrew had started wetting the bed when he was five years old. Most of the time I didn’t wake up and neither did he. We’d wake up and the sheets would be wet. He’d start to cry, because he knew that if my mother saw the wet sheets and mattress, she’d become enraged. We’d take the sheets off the bed, wash them in cold water in the bathtub, try to squeeze the water out and hang them up over the shower rod and hope that she wouldn’t come home that day or that they’d dry before she got home. As we would approach the apartment after school, kocaeli anal yapan escort he would begin to shake. “I hope she’s not home.” “I’ll tell her it was me.” “She knows it’s me.” Once, when he was seven, he wet the bed. We washed the sheets. Unfortunately, she did come home and the sheets were still wet and hanging in the bathroom. When we entered the apartment, she grabbed Andrew, pulling him into the bedroom. I said, “It was me. I wet the bed.” She turned, stared at me and slapped my face. “Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me.” She grabbed Andrew and started pulling his cloths off him. Andrew stood frozen. “What are you doing?” I yelled. Andrew was soon naked. She spun him around and pushed him onto the bed and pressed his face into the still damp pee stained mattress. She screamed, “Dogs pee on furniture. You’ve ruined the fuckin’ mattress. There are more pee stains that clean areas. This room smells of you fucking piss.” She held his face down and started hitting him on his back and butt. She screamed and hit him over and over. He seemed to be gasping for air. “Mom, stop. He can’t breathe.” She continued holding his face down and hitting him. “Mom, stop, please.” She just became more enraged, screaming at him and cursing. I charged at her and hit her hard. She and I feel to the floor. I heard Andrew crying. My mother grabbed me by the hair and yanked hard. She stood and pulled me to my feet by my hair. I tried to pull her hand from my hair. She then slapped me hard. She let go of my hair and then started punching and kicked at me. I fell to the floor and curled up into a ball, trying to protect myself. She turned and walked out of the bedroom and then out of the apartment. She didn’t return for five days. We had the last of the food, which was cereal for dinner on the third day. That time we went two days without food. She left food for us on the fifth day but we didn’t see her for almost two weeks. Andrew stopped wetting the bed when he was eight, but started again when he was ten. I read that it happens to boys when they are under a great deal of stress and anxiety, which in Andrew’s case was right on. As we left the apartment for school, Andrew whispered, “I think I don’t wet the bed anymore because you said it was okay that I was gay and that you are gay too and that we beat our meat before we go to sleep.” I looked around us and then said, “You shouldn’t talk about that so people can hear you.” “Why?” “I don’t think people should know we’re gay. And everyone beats their meat, but no one admits it. It’s like everyone takes a shit every day, but people don’t talk about taking a shit.” He looked at me and nodded. “And you can’t ever tell anyone that we beat each other’s meat.” “I promise.” We walked in silence. I asked, “You okay?” “She left food, so maybe she won’t be home again today.” “Probably not.” “I wonder where she sleeps.” “At the bar where she works. She has to clean up the place too.” “Cool. I hope it’s really dirty.” We didn’t see her for almost a month. But every four or five days we’d find food in the refrigerator and cupboards. Then one day she was home asleep on the sofa when we opened the door. She would no longer sleep on the mattress. She claimed that it smelled of piss. We very quietly walked through the living room to the bedroom. “I’m hungry,” Andrew said around dinnertime. “I am too, but she’s still sleeping.” At eight o’clock, I turned the bedroom light off, opened the door, tip toed to the kitchen and got the loaf of bread, peanut butter and jelly. I tip toed back to the bedroom, closed the door and turned on the light. We sat on the floor. “Fuck,” I said. “I forgot a knife.” I glanced back at the door. “You going again.” “No. I’ll just my finger.” I spread peanut butter and jelly on a slice of bread and handed to him. Then I made myself one. We each had two slices. “Thank you,” he said. “We’re cool.” We had done our homework and now there was nothing to do but go to bed. I pushed the bread, and the jars of peanut butter and jelly under the bed. We undressed and climbed into bed. He began stroking his cock. “You have to be quiet.” “I will,” he said. “You going to do it?” “Of course,” I said and began stroking my cock. Then we heard a noise from the living room. My mother was up and doing something in the kitchen. We both lay still and listened. “Is she angry,” Andrew asked. “I don’t think so. Just make out like your sleeping.” “You should have put the stuff back.” “Shh.” I heard her walking toward our room. We both turned and faced the wall. She opened the bedroom door. I could hear my heart beating in my ears. I felt Andrew shaking. She closed the door. After going to the bathroom, she left the apartment. “I don’t think she locked the door,” Andrew said about ten minutes after she left. I got up. She hadn’t locked it. “I’m glad she’s gone,” he said as I climbed into bed. “It’s late. Go to sleep.” I put my arm over him. He was masturbating. I lay there and watched. My cock got hard, so I started stroking my cock.

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