Getting My Brother Back

Boy. Where do I start? Certainly not here, with my younger brother's naked body draped over me; his incestuous cum seeping out of my pussy.

I guess we need to back up, what, four or five days... no, lets go back a little further and pick up some backstory first. Yeah, let's start there. Everything will make more sense by the end.

My name is Sarah and I have a younger sibling, my brother, Kyle. Now, Kyle and I weren't what you would call close-close, but we got along pretty well, for brother and sister. Growing up we never had any big blowout fights with each other and, as I got older, Kyle seemed to appreciate me more and maybe even idolized me a little before I left for college.

Kyle was always the happiest of our family. Mom and I got along better than most mothers and daughters. Our family drama never rose beyond little, annoying things. Kyle and I had the kind of mom who never got mad or angry with us when we did something wrong or got into trouble. She would just look hurt and disappointed, which was way worse than yelling at us. So we tended not to get into any trouble, or we were damn sure we wouldn't be caught. We knew that if the police brought either of us home it would have broken her heart to pieces. So we made sure that never happened and she doted on us and loved us and let us go when it was time. All in all, a pretty decent environment to grow up in.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. Kyle. Like I said, he was always the 'happy' kid, nothing ever seemed to darken his mood for long. Honestly, it was always refreshing and nice to have him around. He wasn't the most popular but you always wanted him at your party because he was so likeable. And by his senior year, he had grown to a hunky 6'1" and 185 lbs of sculpted muscle. Even I, his sister, had to admit to his premium fuckability.

When I headed off to my first year of college, out of state, Kyle put on a brave face but he couldn't hide his tears as I waved goodbye. That was the last time I saw the Kyle that was, the Kyle I remember.

I say "was" because something had changed after I left for college. Kyle had changed. Only, I hadn't really noticed he had been replaced until I moved back to my home city where Mom and Kyle lived. The six years I had been away flew by in the blink of an eye. I did my best with phone calls to Mom and Kyle during that time; first weekly then monthly and finally every other month. The calls tended to be the same... "No, no. Nothing new. Same here." we would all tell each other.

Looking back on it, I should have noticed the change in Kyle through our phone calls. He sounded a little less happy each time we spoke. Oh, sure, he was enthusiastic to hear my voice but, I don't know, there just seemed to be an underlying sadness in his tone, which only deepened as the years rolled by. I was just too self-absorbed to notice.

I had called Kyle to let him know I was back in town with a new job and I would be around for a while. I asked if I could crash at his place for a week, just until my new apartment was ready.

There was something in his voice, or rather, missing from his voice. It was Kyle's voice, but it was devoid of any happiness, any joy, any life.

"Yeah, sure. No problem." he said. "I gotta go. I'm at work. Key's under the mat." his voice monotone, flat.

"Okay. I love yo..." I started to say.

*click, beep-beep-beep* my phone let me know he had hung up on me.

Yeah. Something was definitely wrong. Not just 'off' but seriously wrong.

It was around 11am when I arrived and the key was under the mat, just as Kyle had promised. Kyle's apartment was a 1 bedroom in a building with 6 apartments, three upstairs and three downstairs, Kyle's place being on the ground floor. Three other similar buildings made up the complex.

The first thing I noticed about the place was how sparse it was... like, post-apocalyptic sparse. The living room contained a not-so-new sofa, a small coffee table with a magazine, a couple of pieces of junk mail and a single coaster on it, a 30" television on some thrift store drawer-less desk, and that was it. There were no pictures on the walls, no plants, no rugs, no decorations of any kind. It looked like either someone was just moving in or were almost finished moving out. Mom had told me that Kyle had been living here for almost two years.

'Jesus, Kyle. What is going on with you?' I thought as I surveyed the scene. This place was as lifeless as Kyle seemed to be on my brief phone call with him.

The kitchen was separated from the living room by a short counter with one rickety bar chair. There were a couple of dirty dishes in the sink. Nearly all the cabinets were empty except for two that held a handful of mismatched plates and a half dozen different cups and glasses. One drawer had a mix of forks, spoons and differing knives. I don't think he had more than four of each. There wasn't anything on the counters, aside from some dish soap and a sponge near the sink. Not a single appliance, no microwave oven, no mixer, no crock pot, not even a coffee maker. I couldn't even guess if he had any pots or pans. The refrigerator had three energy drinks and a pizza box with a couple of dried up, petrified slices still in it. The only other things in the fridge were a few packets of takeout ketchup, hot sauce and a jar of pickle juice with some pickle pieces from the 1900's at the bottom.

The bathroom was clean-ish with one of each of the basics; toothbrush, razor, etc. Under the sink was a half package of toilet paper and a few cleaning supplies. There was a single bath towel on the toilet seat. If he had more towels, I had no idea where he was hiding them. In the shower/tub there was a bottle of body wash, shampoo, and one of those cheap, neon pink, nylon mesh body scrubbers. There wasn't a single thing to indicate a female presence, past or present, or that one was anticipated in the future.

The bedroom had to be the worst. A full-sized bed, a beat up nightstand with what looked like a child's lamp on it, and a pile of dirty clothes in one corner, near the closet. The closet, pfft. Not even one quarter full and nothing but jeans and two long sleeve shirts hung there. The shelf above had what looked like a set of poorly folded bed sheets and, ah, there they are, three clean towels. On the floor were a small pile of t-shirts, underwear, socks, a pair of army style boots and some worn out sneakers.

Everything about Kyle's 'life', all the evidence, would have been enough to convict him, in any court, of having given up on life. All I could think was, 'What happened to you, Kyle?. Who or what has sucked the color out of your world?'

Kyle got home a little past 6pm. "Kyle! Brother, how've you been?" I happily greeted him as I went in for a hug.

"What's up, sis?" Kyle sounded tired and looked exhausted; defeated. And then there was the hug. When Kyle was a kid, he would give me the biggest hugs, using his whole body and all his strength to hug me. Now, it seemed like he was actively trying to keep from touching me, using just one arm lightly wrapped around my shoulders and broke the hug almost immediately. When had he become so allergic to me?

Crossing the room, he tossed his keys on the kitchen counter. "Sorry about the place. Um... I've got to be at work in 20 minutes. You need anything?"

"No. I'm fine. Kyle, is everything alright? You seem..." I didn't want to jump right into an interrogation. It was too soon for a confrontation, so I tried the subtle approach. "...tired."

Just before he disappeared into his bedroom. "I'm fine. Just... long hours."

I was shaken. I've never felt so unwelcome in a home and I never thought I would feel that way in my own brother's apartment. I didn't know when Kyle could make the time but we were going to have a serious conversation... soon.

Five minutes later, Kyle was off to his second job. With a curt 'See ya later. Don't wait up.' Kyle practically ran out of the apartment even as I moved to hug him goodbye... my brother just left me hanging?

It was past midnight when Kyle got home. I had dozed off but woke up as he entered the apartment. As I was rising from the sofa I tried to get a conversation going. "Kyle. How was work?"

"Work was work." he said in a tired voice.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I hopefully asked.

"No. Go back to sleep. I'm going to bed. I gotta get up early. Goodnight." Kyle said as he tossed his keys on the counter and headed to his bedroom just as I was standing.

I stood in the middle of the living room like a statue. I debated... should I knock on his door and try to steal a few minutes... maybe get him to open up a bit, but decided against it. It was obvious he had had a long day. It took me a while to fall back asleep as my mind ran possible reasons for Kyle's uncharacteristic behavior.

PTSD? A phase? Chemical imbalance? I kept adding to the list of possible reasons for my brother's personality change. The worst one being the idea that his brain had restructured itself in the years I was gone. I vaguely remember reading something about people becoming completely different people overnight, for no apparent reason. I probably read that in a tabloid somewhere, but it did make me think... 'What if I "can't" get my Kyle back?' That last one kept me awake for a long time.

The sound of the front door closing woke me. I peered at the clock... it was a little past 4:30am. My sluggish mind was trying to do the math from what I could remember of his work schedule. I was just too tired so I let my head fall into the pillow and fell back asleep.

Kyle came home around 6:30pm and tossed his keys on the counter.

"Hey." was all he said.

"Kyle. What's wrong?" I got right to the point.

"Nothing. I'm just really... tired."

After my sleepless night I was cranky and tired of his cold shoulder. I'm not the most patient person at the best of times and the lack of sleep didn't help. I impatiently called his bluff. "No. You've changed. I'm not buying this "I'm tired" crap. What happened to that sweet kid I grew up with?"

"I grew up."

"No. You've changed. There's a difference."

Kyle sighed as if he was tired of everything, not just this conversation. "I don't know what to tell you, sis. I've got three jobs. Doesn't leave a lot of time for much else." he said before adding sarcastically "Might explain why I'm tired all the time."

"You have three jobs?! What?... Why?"

"I like to stay busy." was all he said. He seemed so dead tired that I couldn't tell if he was lying or not.

"Really, Kyle? Nobody works three jobs because they want to 'stay busy'. What about fun? You could stay busy having a little fun. When was the last time you had any fun? Or relaxed? Or got laid?" I pressed.

Kyle let out an exasperated sigh. "Don't worry about it. You're only here for a few more days, then you can get back to your life and get out of mine." Kyle said as he headed to his bedroom.

"Kyle!" I shouted, following after him. I could not believe he just said that to me.

"Sorry. Sorry, I didn't mean it. I'm just really, really tired." He sighed. "Look, I've got Saturday off, if you want to hangout but, right now, I need some sleep." and then he closed his door.

I didn't see or speak to Kyle for the next two days... he left before I woke up and came back home after I was asleep. On Saturday morning, I woke to find him cleaning his pile of dirty dishes; a plate, two coffee mugs and a fork. As soon as he put the last mug away he grabbed his keys off the counter. "I've got some stuff to do. I'll be back soon." He said. I had doubts about both things Kyle said but I didn't say anything.

As noon turned to late afternoon, I must have texted him four 'Where R U?' messages before he responded, 'Busy. C U @ club. 7pm.'

'This is ridiculous.' I thought to myself. One way or another I was going to get some answers. Not only was Kyle not the brother I remembered, at all, but it seemed he was trying to work himself to death. It was as if he was getting ready to check out of Hotel Life and his bags were in the lobby. That last thought terrified me and I quickly pushed it away.

If I thought I was concerned for Kyle when I first got here, I was now terrified for him. I was afraid that whatever was troubling him was slowly killing him. If I couldn't figure out what was going on with him I'd have to convince Mom to do an intervention with me.

I walked into the club and immediately began scanning the crowd for Kyle. I found him sitting at the bar with a glass of beer in his hand, staring straight ahead. He seemed detached from every other living soul in the club, which was filled with young, horny, good-looking patrons looking for their next hook-up. The place was loud with conversation and thumping music.

"Hey, bro. Where were you all day? I thought we were gonna hang out." I questioned him as I leaned on the bar.

The bartender came by. "What can I get you?" he asked. I ordered a dark draft beer.

As I took a sip I tapped Kyle on the shoulder. He looked at me and I simply said "Well?" and shook my head to say 'I'm waiting.'

Kyle looked in my eyes for a couple of seconds before replying flatly "Sorry. I had a few things to do."

"Like what?" I asked as a perky, over-sexed blonde who either had a damn good fake ID or was the youngest looking 21 year old I'd ever seen, came up to the other side of Kyle.

She put a hand on his shoulder. "Hi!" she said bouncing lightly, making her spherical tits jiggle. 'God, was this kid even out of high school?' I wondered.

"My name's Emma. Me and my friends were wondering if you want to join us." I followed her eyes as she looked to a near table where three other, just as beautiful, just as young, girls were watching their friend try to pick up Kyle. They all smiled and looked hungrily at Kyle.

Kyle gave her a weak smile and called the bartender over. As he slide a $100 bill at the bartender, Emma's eyes lit up and her smile almost blinded half the bar. She really was cute, in an innocent sexual pixie kind of way. Kyle nodded to Emma and pointed to the table of gorgeous young women. "Whatever she and her friends want, put it on my tab." The bartender took the $100 and nodded to Kyle and then Emma.

Emma looked like she had won the lottery and slide her hand seductively over Kyle's shoulders. Her eyes were on fire for him and it looked like Kyle would have some company for the night. Lots of company if Emma's girlfriends thirsty looks were any indication. Good for him, I thought. Maybe that will snap him out of whatever he was going through. God knows he could use a lively night of sex with four, highly fuckable, nymphomaniacs.

But before she could open her mouth to say anything Kyle turned to her and (I can't believe he did this) said "There. You got what you wanted..." throwing his head in the direction of a group of about 5 or 6 loud, young studs "...now why don't you go see if those cowboys over there will ride you."

The perky blonde with nice tits and lickable ass first looked confused, then shocked, then, with a scowl on her face, she headed back to her table of friends, sticking her tongue out and giving Kyle two middle fingers behind his back as she left.

What were smiles and flirtatious looks one minute ago were now scowls and looks of disgust directed at Kyle.

With my mouth half open in disbelief at what I just witnessed, I pulled Kyle's shoulder, making him face me. "What the fuck was that, Kyle?"

His dead eyes looked at me for a second before, in an annoying tone, blurting out. "What? Afraid there won't be any fuck-boys left for you?"

"Crack!" I slapped Kyle in the face, hard. My hands immediately covered my open mouth. I didn't mean to do that... it was automatic. Not that he didn't deserve it but I have never struck my brother like that. Ever. I was hurt and angry, but mostly I was on the edge of freaking out over a brother I no longer recognized... and didn't know how to help.

Kyle didn't react to my slap at all, although the slapped side of his face was noticeably redder than the other. He just set his beer on the bar and headed in the direction of the rest rooms. "Kyle, wait..." I called to his back.

"Is he giving you trouble, miss?" the bartender asked, looking at me and then in Kyle's direction. "You want me to call someone...?" he asked with concern on his face.

"What? No. He's my brother. It's okay. I was just leaving." I shouted to him over the music and noise before walking out of the club and heading home.

It was at this point that I should've probably called for professional help. That would've been the smart thing to do. Yeah. I didn't do that. I still thought I could "fix" Kyle if I could just figure out what was going on inside his head.

It was almost midnight before I heard keys jingle and a key inserted into the lock. Kyle walked in, looking an angry kind of tired.

"You're still up." he mumbled.

I was standing, arms crossed, leaning on one hip, just staring at Kyle.

"Who are you and what have you done with my brother Kyle."

"Ha ha. Very funny." Kyle said dryly.

"I'm not laughing." I fixed him with a stern gaze.

"Just stop, Sarah. I'm not playing your stupid game." he said, annoyed and exhausted.

'Why was he so pissed?' I wondered. It didn't make any sense. Come to think of it, why has he been avoiding me this whole time? He used to follow me everywhere. And why would any man, in his right mind, turn down an orgy with four, drop dead gorgeous, nubile, sex faeries? That's right, none.

"Kyle. You know all my faces. Does it look like I'm playing? Seriously, what the fuck is going on with you? That tight piece of ass at the bar wanted to fuck your brains out, bro. Probably her friends too, and you blew her off... insulted her. And you've ignored me since I got here! What the fuck?!"

I started to get that dizzy feeling, like I had just been transported to an alternate universe.

He startled me when he shouted.

"Fine! You wanna know?!" and he quickly marched off to his bedroom. There was some rattling before he stomped back into the living room carrying the nightstand drawer. Angrily staring at me as he did so, he reached in and stood a roll of paper towls upright on the coffee table, then, he pulled out a big bottle of lotion and slammed it next to the paper towels. Finally, he pulled out a small framed picture, probably the only bit of decoration in the entire place, and tossed it on the coffee table.

Kyle just stood there, huffing like he had just run 5 miles. He was still angry but I could also see worry and hurt in his expression. I slowly bent down and picked up the picture.

It was a selfie portrait of me from one of my social media posts. In it I was holding my phone high and looking up into the camera. It was a windy day so my hair was a cute, wind-blown mess and I was between smiling and laughing. It's one of my best selfies.

I could just imagine Kyle, lying in his bed, his cock covered in lotion as he stared at my face and furiously jerked off to it. I felt my heart break into several pieces. 'Oh, Kyle.' I thought.

As I set the picture back down, Kyle yelled at me. "So there's my big secret! Happy now?! Your virgin brother is a sick, twisted, pathetic, pervert who beats off to a picture of his own sister!"

Wait, did he just say 'virgin'... at 22?! I felt I had just been stunned by a phaser on maximum setting. That can't be right. How was that even possible? Kyle's good looking... I mean, really good looking. He had to have been beating women off with a crowbar to keep from losing his virginity. And how did he resist urges that are usually irresistible for any normal man? Remember what I said about his fuckability? I guess the three jobs, the avoiding me, his behavior at the club, all made sense now. Sort of. It explained the 'what' but not the 'why'.