Nate and Jake

It is month three of the pandemic and I have been told I can no longer stay in my apartment on campus. Well, the exact phrasing was more complicated. I only keyed in on the part where they assured us this was an effort to ensure our safety in these trying times, they are sorry for any inconvenience, etc., etc.

The idea of moving back to my parents' house for who knows how long makes me sick to my stomach. Sleeping in my childhood bed while pictures of Jesus and the only personal touch I was allowed, a picture of my favorite hockey player, stare at me, judging my choice to move as far away as possible and end my hockey career before it began. I call Nathan and basically beg him to let me crash at his place until this madness is over.

Nobody is sure when over will be. Could be a couple months, could be a year or more. Experts are all battling each other with differing opinions they are passing off as facts. Despite the uncertainty, Nathan has come through for me, again.

His apartment has two bedrooms, one of which he is using as his office. Nathan was lucky enough to be working from home before the lockdown was put in place. I feel bad throwing a wrench in his otherwise peaceful transition from work at home Web designer who occasionally travelled to a client's place of business to never having to go more than fifty feet to work every day.

Nathan assures me it's no big deal to move his desk into his bedroom and work from there. I promise him I won't be a burden.

I'd like to believe I can live up to that promise, but I haven't seen Nathan in person for longer than a few days on a long weekend. He escaped to California two years ago but made sure to come home often enough to keep me out of trouble. I moved to the Arizona State University campus six months ago, far away from mom and dad but not close enough to Nathan that I'd be tempted to just show up out of nowhere and never leave.

That's two and a half years of only occasionally having to dance around feelings I have been suppressing for far too long. I wonder if it would be better to just go home. The thought passes as quickly as it enters my mind. I'd rather endure the torture of being in the presence of someone I should not have feelings for than spend any time in the house of religious horrors.

Google maps says it will take me just over twelve hours to drive from Tempe to Los Angeles. I plan on driving straight through, only stopping for gas and food. It takes me ten hours.

--

It is month six of the pandemic. Nathan and I have settled into a routine that works well for us. My classes have moved to online remote learning and his job has continued to keep him busy at home. We have bitch and moan sessions in the kitchen mid-day while we eat a quick lunch, and we watch sports or play video games at night.

We try not to complain about what the pandemic is doing to our psyche, choosing instead to recognize how lucky we are to not be on the front lines of the health crisis. We have many conversations about politics and the state of the world, which is equally depressing and confusing.

When Nathan lets out a deep sigh, I figure we're about to embark on another journey into the world of systemic racism and how we as privileged white men need to do more, be better, step up. I agree with him one hundred percent and I welcome the discussion despite our being on the same page making it more a series of head nods and declarations of 'yes, totally' rather than any sort of real in-depth debate. I often wonder if I should try to disagree to make it a challenge, but I haven't found anything I can honestly argue for or against, so I continue to nod, assure him he's right and promise to be a better human.

Tonight, things go in a wildly different direction. One I have been avoiding since the moment I picked up the phone and asked him if he was willing to take me in.

"What's up?" I ask.

Nathan doesn't look at me. "This stay-at-home shit is killing me Jake," he starts. And then, never one for subtlety he follows with "I need my dick sucked."

My body reacts immediately. Blood rushes in two different directions. My face turns bright red and sweat beads on my neck and forehead. My dick is throbbing. I can't tell if Nathan is looking at me. I don't dare look at him in abject fear that I am imaging things and he did not just say what I think he did.

After a long silence I steal a glance. Nathan is staring at the TV seemingly enthralled in the hockey game. Thankfully the piped in crowd noise is masking my heavy breathing and the sound of my heart beating out of my chest.

"I get it and all, close contact, bodily fluid, bad news." He's still staring at the TV.

What I do next can only be described as having an out of body experience and if I am ever forced to explain myself, I will plead insanity.

I slide off the chair, landing softly on my knees next to Nathan's left leg. I use my back and ass to move the coffee table out of the way, place my hand on his thigh. His skin flinches against my fingers, his leg tenses, presses against me, stops me from moving any closer. He looks at me, eyebrows raised. "What'cha ya doin'?"

Something I have wanted to do since I got here. I don't say that. "Don't make a big deal out of it, Nate, it's just a blowjob."

I brace for his response. There is no way he is going to agree to this. I try to come up with a million reasons why he should just let me suck him off, if nothing more than to give him what he needs. His eyes dart from me to the TV and back again.

I'm pretty sure I know what he's thinking. It's what I think every time I wake up drenched in sweat and cum after having had a vivid dream about Nate ravishing me until I am no longer able to function.

"Don't." I break the silence. "I've thought about this for several long, painful years. All the reasons this is wrong don't apply to us." I tell him what I try to tell myself when I feel guilty for having such unsavory thoughts.

I know deep down that is an oversimplification of a complicated situation. Tonight, I don't care.

Nate gives me an incredulous look. "No?"

I shake my head no. "It's just a blowjob, Nate." I say again.

To my surprise, he relents. His muscles relax, making it easy for me to get between his legs. I keep my hand on his thigh and wait for him to tense up again. He doesn't.

My heart races. The outline of his shorts tells me Nate's cock is hard. I try not to be too excited about the implications, he just said he was horny as hell. It has nothing to do with me. I'm just a means to an end.

I reach for the band of Nate's shorts. A stifled moan escapes his lips when my fingers lightly graze the tip of his dick. I pull his shorts and boxer briefs down to his knees in one motion. I want to slow down but I fear if I do Nate will realize what I'm doing, change his mind and make me stop.

I pull his shorts to his ankles, slide them over one foot, move closer. Nate adjusts his position bringing me so close to his crotch I can smell the musk of his sweat mixed with soap and cologne. The rest of my senses come to life as my fingers wrap around the shaft of his cock. I have goosebumps, my mouth is watering, my eyes water, I can hear his breathing quicken.

My heart is beating so hard I wonder if Nate can hear it. I have no doubt he can feel me trembling. Before I lose my courage, I wrap my lips around the head of his dick. Another moan, this one more audible. It drives me forward. I pull him deeper, opening my throat until I can no longer take anymore. His back is arched, his stomach tense under my hands. His hand grasps at the back of my head.

We are in this now. There is no turning back. I am determined to give him the best blowjob he has ever had. In case I never get to do it again. Or maybe to ensure he'll want me to.

"I'm coming." Nate's breathless voice is a welcome warning. I don't slow down. I want this more than I have wanted anything in my life.

His legs press against my sides. His body convulses. Salty heat fills my mouth.

I swallow hard. Lick my lips. I don't dare look at him as I stand up. I don't want to see his face for fear of any sign of regret.

Despite an overwhelming desire to run straight to my room and never leave it again, I take a step back and fall into the chair that has become 'my spot' by default of the couch being so small Nate can barely sit comfortably on it.

It was just a blowjob.

I repeat the mantra a couple more times to calm myself.

We do not speak. I think I fall asleep a few times but I'm not sure. The room darkens and I realize Nate has turned off the TV.

"I'm gonna head to bed." His voice is quiet, shaky.

I feel stupid, selfish, embarrassed. I worry I just bullied him into something he didn't want.

I climb into my own bed, curl up into the fetal position and cry myself to sleep.

--

I had a restless night's sleep. If I got any at all. I know I watched night turn into morning. Flashes of what I did keep invading my thoughts. It was reckless.

I have to pee but I don't want to get out of bed. Scratch that, I don't want to run into Nathan in the hallway. There's either going to be a long, painful conversation that will likely end in me having to find a new place to stay, or we won't talk at all. I don't know which will be worse.

I am not against wetting the bed. I've done it before, a few times, more often than I'd like to admit, honestly. It started out of a combination of laziness and an overwhelming desire to avoid whoever my roommate brought home the night before. It continued after I discovered how much I enjoy the wet heat of my piss against my bare skin and the idea of doing something I shouldn't.

My dick twitches. I figure if avoiding an awkward encounter with a stranger was a good enough reason to wet the bed, surely running into Nathan is an even better one. The heat against my skin and the release of pressure on my bladder gives me immediate relief, sending goosebumps all through my body. I wrap my hand around the shaft of my hard cock until cum soaks into the piss wet sheets.

As soon as my brain emerges from the fog I am ashamed at my total lack of self-control over the past 24-hours. I vow to stop being so careless, and never tell Nate I do this. If we ever talk to each other again.

--

I have been lying in bed for over an hour. I finally decide it's better to face the consequences of what I did last night than to lay here with my thoughts. Plus, I'm cold and the wet sheets against my skin no longer entice me. Another bout of shame. Another silent vow to never do it again.

My face turns red with both anger and embarrassment as I step into the hallway, see Nate's door securely closed and hear him on a video conference call I know he has every morning.

There was never any chance of running into him, I just needed an excuse to justify my overwhelming desire to wet the bed. Why am I like this?

I step into the bathroom, look at myself in the mirror. The face looking back at me is sullen, judgmental. He averts his eyes. The coward.

--

I have not paid one bit of attention in class. My teacher hasn't noticed, he's adjusting to Zoom life about as well as the rest of us. I am focused solely on lunch and the impending encounter with Nathan I know I can no longer avoid. I still can't decide which is worse, no words at all or words I don't want to hear.

During my short but welcome shower this morning I promised myself I would stop being a baby and just go about my day like I would any other. "It was just a blowjob." I repeat the words and try to believe them. The bedwetting session though, that was dangerous. I tell myself it was a momentary lapse. A wave of sadness washes over me as I once again promise I won't do it anymore.

As expected, Nate is in the kitchen when I get there. He does not ignore me. Instead, he turns toward me and launches into a speech I'm certain he's been preparing for longer than the fifteen hours we've been out of each other's presence.

"You're right. This is different. Nobody's getting pregnant and we're not fucking up a kid's life by mixing our DNA. Despite that, we can never be openly together or tell anyone about us. Especially not mom and dad. They would drown us in holy water and then have us arrested or committed. You are my baby brother. I will do anything to protect you. That will never change. But I am also selfish. And I cannot imagine a world in which I can never touch you, hold you, love you. We shouldn't have to suppress our feelings, our attraction, in private, because we're afraid it will bother someone else's perceived notion of how brothers are supposed to behave. No one needs to know. It's none of their business."

My knees buckle and I hold on to the counter to steady myself. Not only does Nate have zero regret about last night, he wants to continue doing it. No. He wants more. He wants me. The tension of years of suppressed feelings I buried deep and a night's worth of nightmare scenarios releases itself and I burst into tears.

Nate wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me closer. "Talk to me Jake," he whispers in my ear.

I try to explain everything I am feeling between sobs and heaving breaths. I can't get the words to make sense, so I just bury my face in Nate's neck and tell him I love him.

--

My afternoon class goes no better than the morning session did. My thoughts keep drifting back to Nate's words. I spent half my life keeping my feelings for him a secret. If he thinks I would risk being separated from him for the rest of my life just so I could announce them to the world, he's much mistaken. Also, when did those feelings become our feelings? How long has he had the same feelings? Better yet, how long has he known about my feelings?

My temples throb against my skull. I try to pay attention to the teacher. It doesn't work.

It isn't long before my bladder asks for relief. I still have an hour left of this class. I could run to the bathroom and be back before anyone notices. A voice inside my head tells me it's too much of a risk. I decide I can wait.

I fidget in my chair, bounce my legs, pull at my cock. Once again I assure myself I can be in and out of the bathroom in minutes, and once again the nagging voice at the back of my mind insists I will be in trouble if I'm wrong.

The clock at the top corner of my screen says it's a quarter to four. Only fifteen minutes left to wait, which seems reasonable. My body feels differently about it. My need to pee has gone from probably a good idea to go as soon as possible to without a doubt I'm going to piss myself if I even try to get up from my chair.

The fifteen minutes seems like it will last fifteen hours. I can't wait anymore. I tell myself this will be the last time, really and truly.

My underwear fills with hot liquid. It tickles my skin as it runs down my legs and pools at my feet. My heart races, my breathing quickens. When it's over a wash of emotions overtakes me. Elation. Excitement. Embarrassment. Guilt. I wonder if there's something wrong with me. No, I know there's something wrong with me.

The Zoom session ends and I know I need to get up and change out of my wet clothes. Instead, I open my browser to Google and search for wetting and mental illness. I fall into rabbit hole of articles, none of which say I am a damaged monster. Many go as far as suggesting I shouldn't be ashamed or keep what I like to do a secret. I give the thought of telling Nathan one tiny moment and then push it aside.

My brain is at odds with what I've found. On the one hand I feel better. There's nothing wrong with me, I have a fetish, and that's ok, a lot of people do. On the other hand, I sort of wanted them to tell me I'm a freak for liking something many find gross. For once I'm mad at the Internet for being so positive.

Then I remember I'm about to embark on an incestual relationship with my brother. If I ever need a dose of negativity, I'll Google how people feel about that.

--

Nate is opening the door to his bedroom just as I step into the hallway. My heart stops when I see him. I am so used to cutting my feelings off before they lead me down dangerous paths it takes me a second to remember I don't have to suppress my desire for him anymore. He steps forward, stopping in front of me.

"Hi." His voice cracks.

"Hi." Mine barely makes a sound.

Everything inside me breaks, again. I press my mouth against his. Our lips move in unison, pressing, nibbling. His tongue finds mine. I reach for his waist, pulling him closer, holding on so I don't pass out.

I guide him away from my bedroom, toward his. Shame threatens to derail my plan. My bed might not be dry yet and there's a wet towel soaking up the piss under my desk. I curse myself for threatening our moment, but Nate doesn't hesitate as we move further into his room.

Nate has swiftly and adeptly removed my shorts and underwear. We fall on his bed together, laughing, breathing hard.

This time my fingers fumble their attempt to pull Nate's shorts and briefs down in one motion. I try again. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely get them to function. Nate wraps his fingers around my wrists. He sits up, bringing his face closer to mine.

"Hey," he whispers. "I'm not going anywhere. Relax."

I pause. Take a deep breath. Big mistake. I start to cry until I am hyperventilating.

"Breathe Jake." Nate's desperate voice barely gets through my fog.

I steady my breathing, clear my head, calm down. I look at Nate. His soulful, caring eyes stare back at me. "I'm sorry," I say through jagged breaths. "I'm just." I laugh uncontrollably. "I'm a mess."

Nate laughs with me. "We don't have to do it all now."

Panic threatens to overtake me. I steady myself, force a smile. "I know." I need this. I don't tell him that. "I'm okay."

My hands are still shaking but I pull Nate's shorts and boxer briefs off without issue.

Nate's cock is hard. I try not to over-excite myself as I realize it is because of me. It was last night, too.

On the few occasions I have allowed myself to think about this moment, I'm always careful to remain on the outside looking in, to keep myself from ever believing it could happen. Now that I'm in it I want to rush headlong into everything all at once and take my time, being sure to imprint each feeling to memory.

I lay flat against Nate's body, straddle his waist, rub his cock against my ass. "I need you inside me," I whisper in his ear.

I lean forward, open myself up, help guide him into me. I welcome the momentary pain, wait for the absolute pleasure. Every movement, every touch, makes my entire body react. I moan into his mouth as he kisses me. I tell him how much I've wanted this. We come together, moving in unison as I cover his chest and he fills my ass.

--

It is month seven of the pandemic. Despite there still being no end in sight, I am happier than I have been in years. Nate and I have a new lunch routine which still involves a lot of moaning but is much more pleasurable.

Classes are boring as all hell. My philosophy teacher is droning on about something I should probably be paying attention to but, I keep zoning out.

My mind is off in some other land when my full bladder pulls me out of the daze. It has been over a month since my last wetting session. Goosebumps form on my skin and my cheeks go flush. An internal battle between wanting to keep my promise and aching to fill my underwear and shorts with my piss rages within me.

I hold on until there are only five minutes left in class. Then I hold it five minutes longer. I am once again at the point where I have left myself no other choice. I welcome the sensation of wet heat against my skin.

As usual a wave of emotions overtakes me, bringing with a whole new set of guilt.

--

I'm in the kitchen staring into the refrigerator, trying to find something to make for dinner. Nate steps into the room. "There's nothing in here worth eating."