I Am My Brother's Keeperbyamischiefmaker©
I protected my younger brother his entire childhood. I thought that would change when we got to be adults but it didn't. In fact the most important protection I ever gave my brother was after he'd married.
I'm Will Grimes, thirty years old at the most critical point of this tale. My brother Jimmy is two years younger.
I was always big and strong for my age, and had a daring mindset. I guess I don't have most of the genes that prevent people from doing risky things. Since I was big and fearless after I beat the shit out of the kids in my first four fights in school – three of my opponents were significantly older than I was – I was never really challenged again. The only guy tougher than me in the entire area, Brett Hogan, was one of my best friends, and we never did anything more than playfully wrestle.
Jimmy is the opposite of me in many ways. He is of average size and has the most pleasant, kind, disposition of anyone I have ever met in my life. While we have facial features and coloring in common (both favoring our mother) my personality is "killer," his is "compassionate." I'm a fighter but he avoids confrontation at all costs.
Jimmy has lived "kind and gentle" his entire life. When he was six years old he cried on and off for a week after he saw a crow steal a baby robin from its nest. When he was in sixth grade he set up a program to get school supplies for poor kids in the district, a program still in existence today. When a freshman in High School he started a school-wide campaign to put together care packages for troops serving oversees. In summers during High School and college he worked with charities restoring and building homes for people displaced by floods. Whenever a member of the family was down Jimmy would comfort them, tell some jokes, give them a hand-made present, or otherwise cheer them up. The world is a much better place because of Jimmy.
Despite his winning personality, because he is so meek the only reason that Jimmy got through school without being bullied was because everyone knew that if they messed with him I'd kick their ass. I only needed to actually do that once, when he was a freshman in High School and two thug sophomores picked on him. That wasn't one of the four "fights" I referred to earlier since this wasn't really a fight but a massacre, ending up with me suspended from school for a week and the two thugs in the hospital for two nights.
While I loved Jimmy more than anyone else in the world the rest of my family was just so-so. My father was basically an uncaring boor; at least he was a good provider of material things. My mother was a buxom, feisty, hot-blooded vamp. While she did most of the things that a mother should it was always clear that she came first, the kids second, Dad third. She was also beautiful; what she ever saw in my relatively plain looking father I never knew.
Although my parents had their share of arguments it normally wasn't tense around our house because my mother's temper usually fairly quickly backed my father down. That wasn't the case, however, on one of the most unforgettable days of my life.
I was a junior in High School serving the last day of my week-long suspension for massacring the two thugs I mentioned earlier. I was in the basement weightlifting when my parents both came home for lunch, as far as I knew a highly unusual event. They likely forgot that I was home on suspension since they both had been at work the entire time the first four days of my "sentence."
As soon as both were there a heated argument started. My father had found out – exactly how I was never sure since that part of the argument was both technical and garbled – that Jimmy was not his biological son. While I was shocked that did explain a lot about the differences between him and me.
My father called my mother every name in the book; she cried hysterically, and for the first time in my memory she was not giving as well as she was getting. I just listened at the door from the basement to the kitchen, having decided not to reveal my presence, until my father started screaming about how he was going to tell Jimmy that he was a bastard, in addition to all of their friends and relatives.
When I opened up the door and walked into the kitchen my parents turned ashen. "Hey, Dad," I said as calmly as possible. "I really don't think that you should do that. You know how sensitive Jimmy is. You both need to swear to me that you will never, ever, tell him, or anyone else where it could get back to him."
"You have no fucking say in this," my father screamed at me. "Butt out."
"Dad, I insist; don't tell him, or let him find out. I mean it!" I replied having great difficulty maintaining my cool.
"Or what, asshole," my father smirked.
In a flash, before I could even think, I was on him. I put one arm under his chin and with the other pinned his shoulder against the wall. Even though he was my size I had twice his strength and "attitude." I had never been physical with any member of my family before, but they all knew how tough I was from visits to the superintendent's office after my fights.
"Let me make this clear, Dad. If you tell Jimmy or let him find out I'll kick your ass, plain and simple," I told him, as forcefully as possible. "Understood?"
He nodded, I released him, and as he stormed out of the house yelled to my mother "I'm not done with you, slut."
I turned to my mother and said "Mom, make sure that Jimmy never finds out." Through her tears she said "I promise."
We didn't see my father for a week. My Mom told Jimmy that he had to go on an unexpected business trip.
When my father returned, in Jimmy's typical manner he threw his arms around him and said "Dad, I really missed you. I hope you don't have to go away for a while." That, combined with my mother and I being as pleasant to my father as we could be, seemed to diffuse the situation.
A week later my parents went on a trip together – the first time just the two of them did that I could remember – and when they came back from it things were more upbeat around our house than I could ever remember. I noticed that my Mom was no longer her number one priority – my father was. I got the impression, confirmed by noises coming from the master bedroom that I had rarely heard in the past, that my mother was fucking his brains out, and any way that he wanted it.
Speaking of fucking, I did my share in High School and college. Definitely my most memorable partner was Abigail Britton; everyone called her "Gail," never "Abby." She was in Jimmy's class, though old for grade, and maybe the biggest flirt in the school. She had a slightly above average face and a killer body. On a scale of one to ten her face and hair were probably a six, maybe seven; her body was a 9.99999. Her personality was close to zero – she was tawdry and snarky, and acted like her shit didn't stink.
When I was a 19 year old senior and Abigail an 18 year old sophomore I had the pleasure of nailing her twice at the end of the school year, and once during the summer. She had been coming on – in her inimical insufferable manner – to me in a geography class that we had together, including by flashing her beaver at me on two occasions. We both also had last period gym, required at our High School in those days, although the guys and gals were separated.
When gym class was over on a Friday and everyone else was clamoring to get out of school as fast as they could, I went behind the partition between the girls' and boys' parts of the gym, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her into the divider curtain. "Gail, it's time to put up or shut up," I murmured as I drew her close to me, planted a fat kiss on her, and mauled her gigantic boobs."
"Assuming you can get little Willy up," she snickered after I broke our kiss, "will you give me a ride home afterwards, Grimes?"
"Sure will," I chuckled, "but you won't be able to walk right for two days; I hope you don't have any hot dates this weekend."
"You're a conceited fucker, aren't you," she sneered.
I didn't want to talk to her, just fuck her, so I led her up the back gym stairwell to the wrestling practice area. That area was deserted since wrestling season was long past and wrestling was not part of the gym class curriculum. By the time that I had grabbed two mats from the top of a stack, threw them on the tile floor, and turned around Gail already had her gym suit and exercise bra off, and was reaching for her panties. I was so excited that despite her head start I was naked by the time that she flipped her panties to the side.
The woman's naked body was even better looking than I had thought it would be. Her beaver was sparse with beads of sweat from gym class, her pussy lips full, her hips and thighs from a porno magazine, and her tits turgid even though they were massive. My dick saluted so quickly that it hurt!
I immediately lay her on the double mat and went for her cunt with my tongue and lips. She apparently wasn't used to that; most guys probably just fucked her as quickly as possible, but it really turned me on to inspect and stimulate a pussy before porking it. Surprisingly the beads of sweat on it, and a slight musk smell emanating from it, enhanced my libido rather than depressing it.
I was a whirling dervish in attacking her labia, clitoris, and G-spot. This type of attack may have been a first for her since she started screaming in pleasure. I had to break off my attack, crawl to retrieve her panties, and then tell her "Shove this in your mouth, I don't want the gym teachers rushing up here to see who's being murdered." Without hesitation she did as told, and I resumed my attack.
I never had a sex partner climax with the ferocity that she did. She spasmed, jerked, and bucked, all at the same time as a first orgasm, then an even harder second orgasm, hit her. After I let up and her quivering finally ceased I put her on her hands and knees and buried my cock in one thrust. I kneaded her ass – also something unique in her experience based upon the pleasure groans clearly audible even through the panties in her mouth – while pounding her pussy with everything I had.
My pussy whacking caused her mammoth mammary glands to swing wildly, slapping into each other with such force that it sounded like I was getting an ovation from a crowd. I bent over to watch the swinging, banging, orbs for a few seconds and it was so erotic that I immediately blew my wad, my largest to date. That triggered another massive orgasm in her, and by the time that I pulled out she was virtually comatose.
I lay next to Abigail for about ten minutes, sucking on one tit while massaging the other. God they felt good! Unfortunately, then she started talking and this great piece of ass turned into an obnoxious twit, so I broke it off. I had to help her get dressed and after we showered in our separate locker rooms I drove her to her trailer park home, as she had requested. On the ride there she apparently tried her version of "sweet," which for most people would be "mildly caustic."
On the drive to her trailer park Abigail did say over and over again that it was her best sex ever, but I didn't know whether to believe her. I started to think it might be true when she ramped up her flirting to high gear the next week in school Two weeks after our first fuck she told me that her sister's trailer would be available on Saturday night; I actually sprang for dinner before taking her there and fucking her three times that night. However, the pillow talk with her was disturbing, her personality did not start to "grow" on me, and I never hooked up with her again during the school year. The only other time I significantly interacted with her was two days before I left for college when I badly needed to get my knob polished.
Although I certainly didn't want a "relationship" with Abigail, I will have to admit that the three times I fucked her were probably the most physically satisfying of my life, even if emotionally bankrupt. Because I didn't want a "relationship" with her I never returned the phone calls and emails she sent my way during the summer, and my first two years of college. Her attempts to communicate with me finally stopped when I started my junior year.
During college I studied criminal justice, computer science, forensics, and – of course – female anatomy. I did fairly well in all of them, best in female anatomy although I never had a relationship that lasted more than three months.
To afford school I worked as a bouncer two nights a week and during the summer. I learned a lot doing that. Foremost was that while I was tougher than 98% of guys, there were some dudes you do not mess with alone. One particular ass kicking taught me that in spades. Secondly, team work was necessary to diffuse the worst situations. Third, conversation and sincerity were often as important as toughness in dealing with difficult situations.
I learned in college that a desk job wasn't for me, that I was clever and resourceful more than I was smart, and that the career that likely most suited me was being a bounty hunter.
I teamed up with Bret Hogan, my tough buddy from High School, at that time a 6 foot 4 inch, 290 pound hunk of granite with biceps as big as tree branches, thighs as thick as tree trunks, and no gut. He was working some dead end job, and although he was not the sharpest tool in the shed he had everything, including the experience of three years in the Marines – that I needed to safely do my work. I provided the brains and muscle, and he provided muscle and intimidation.
Bret and I were fairly successful, but I was doing all my own skip tracing and computer work, inefficient at best. After a year and a half we added Austen, a computer geek I knew from college, as a skip tracer and computer expert, and six months later combined forces with Becca, an experienced cerebral female private investigator.
By the time that I had been out of college four years the synergy established by our group made us very successful, and I was making more money than I thought that I ever could. We were all comfortable splitting the take 30% for me, 25% each for Austen and Becca, and 20% for Bret, since that truly matched our individual contributions, and working together provided double the pie to split up that the four of us working individually could obtain. We all made sure to establish a good relationship with the local cops, providing them with leads and never obstructing anything they were doing; it also didn't hurt that Becca was the Assistant Police Chief's favorite niece.
At that time my Mom and Dad were still, surprisingly, getting along great, and Jimmy had graduated college and was making good money as a Computed Tomography Technologist at the biggest local hospital. Also, he had fallen in love. Here's where my story really starts. Who did Jimmy fall in love with? Abigail Britton!
I couldn't fucking believe it! The sweetest, most compassionate and kindhearted person I knew in love with an obnoxious slut. When I first saw them together I was almost speechless for a full minute; my brain was incapable of processing the information.
Abigail had changed somewhat, for the better, since High School. She had actually gotten a decent job as a cosmetologist, and cleaned up her appearance so that she didn't look like trailer trash, and she was not as surly. What hadn't changed was that 9.9999 body, although with her modern hairdo and makeup her face was now a clear 7. However, I found it difficult to believe that she had learned how to keep her thighs together around any guy who struck her fancy, or that she could be easy to live with.
When Jimmy confided in me how serious he was about Abigail, in as gentle a manner as possible I tried to point out her past difficulties. I also leveled with him and told him that "She and I had intercourse several times."
Jimmy's response, "I know that she had a reputation in the past, and she told me that you and she had sexual relations a few times. However, she's a changed woman and I know – and she swears – that she'll be faithful to me when we're married. Also, once you get to know her she really is sweet."
Poor, clueless Jimmy, I thought. I wanted to believe that she had really changed, but I wasn't that trusting or naïve. My suspicions were confirmed when I heard about the bachelorette party sweet Abigail and her trashy slut of honor, Jersey, had planned. Jersey was the biggest slut in High School when I attended, even an order of magnitude bigger than Abigail, and clearly a bad influence.
It really helped to be on a team with a razor-sharp female P. I. Becca was clued in to almost everything going on in our city. Also, Bret was dating one of Abigail's less-slutty friends and though Bret was not smart he was discrete and never told his girlfriend about my relationship with Jimmy. Brett only reported things to me – he didn't give out information. From Becca and Bret I got all the data I needed.
Abigail and Jersey had planned to send Abigail off on her "chaste" married life by arranging a gangbang for her three days before the wedding. The participants were four low-lives from their High School days. While these four guys were not the lowest pond scum, they were just a notch above.
Bret and I got the four guys together and had a "talk" with them. Since Bret and I were armed even if they could have handled us we were safe; however, they couldn't handle us. Only one of them was stupid enough to tell us to get fucked, and Bret hit him so hard that he actually left a "silhouette" in the wallboard he was smacked into. After that – and the fact that I gave them $50 each for a prostitute – there was no doubt that the four miscreants would do as we said. "Simply don't show up. Don't tell anyone that you won't ahead of time, and if questioned afterward just say that you got a better offer," I instructed them.
Austen planted a GPS in the limo that Jersey had rented to take the bachelorette party bar-hopping after they got stood up for the gang bang. Brett, Becca, and I – in fairly decent disguises – tracked them the entire night. Our job was made a little easier when we paid a decent looking biker $200 to put the moves on Jersey and take her out of the picture. Abigail got completely shit-faced and groped, but the three of us were able to insure that she didn't get fucked, probably much to her disappointment.
Jimmy and Abigail's wedding and reception were anti-climactic after the bachelorette party. The only disgusting feature was when Abigail grabbed my crotch while licking her lips at me when we danced at the reception. The rest of Abigail's family was on their best behavior since they knew that she was marrying up in financial and social status.
After they had been married about two years I almost started to believe that maybe Abigail would be able to remain faithful to Jimmy. Abigail had toned down her flirting and wandering eyes whenever I attended any function that they were at, and they always seemed to be affectionate. Whenever Jimmy and I talked he seemed happy, and he was never good at hiding his feelings if he wasn't.
At about the two year mark was when I got the first report of Abigail stepping out on Jimmy. Becca got the original tip, Austen did the necessary investigation, and on a slow day I went in search of actual proof. I was lucky. That very day during her lunch break I watched Abigail get in a car around the corner from the hair salon she worked at, kiss the guy in the driver's seat, and proceed to a nearby sleazy motel. I got good photos of the guy and using my charm and "court employee" badge – that looked like a cop's badge although I never said I was one – got his name from the motel register. The name was legitimate since he paid with a credit card.
The guy's name was Sam Hastings. He was thirty, single, clean, nice looking, and a skilled carpenter; I was thankful that at least he wasn't a low life.