CHAPTER 11: THE FIGHT

We were in the shed.  Billy pulled down his shorts and boxers and out sprang his hard on. I couldn't help but stare. His penis swung over and bent like a banana pointing toward his left hip once freed of his shorts and that started a response in my shorts. I had seen photos on the internet of guys with curved dicks, but never one as curved as Billy's was. He was also circumcised, which didn't surprise me since most of the guys I had seen were. 

Then he took my pecker in his hand and pulled me toward him like it was a short leash.

He was half sitting, half leaning against a dust crate.  I knelt down on the dusty cement floor positioning myself between Billy's legs.  I leaned forward and drew my tongue up the underside of his penis, starting at the base and licking all the way along Billy's shaft up towards the tip, then swallowed as much of Billy's engorged cock as I could manage and began to suck, and from the way he reacted I could tell Billy was lost in a new wave of pleasure. Billy groaned as my mouth slid up and down his plump shaft.

I slid my hand up and down Billy's stiff shank as I concentrated on his fat head with my tongue. Billy started breathing more deeply, and I felt his body begin to tense a little. When I drew him in I could feel Billy's dark blond pubic hair on my face, tickling his nose. The smell of him was powerful and musky.  Billy sighed and gave himself over to the surge of feelings that coursed through him as I picked up speed. He moaned softly again and placed his hand on the back of my head, running his fingers through my short hair and urging me on.

I took the head of his cock between my lips as his curved shaft slid into my mouth, and I could taste him. Then took Billy's dick further into my mouth and began to suck, very gently at first, slowly increasing the tempo. Billy's fingers began to twine into my hair, to twist and pull as his climax neared. He pushed more and more of his thick cock deeper into my mouth until he reached the entrance to my throat. Despite his girth I was able to take him.  His shank stroked my throat smooth as buttered silk.  Impossibly deep.  Billy withdrew a little bit, but then grabbed my head and thrusted his shank powerfully into my mouth. As he went deep in my throat, I took the whole length and girth of him without gagging.  Even deeper this time.  I knew I was born to suck dick.

Billy's dick.

With Billy moving his thick shaft in and out of my mouth. I started to taste a slightly salty sap seeping out of the end of his dick in an endless stream, substantially more than I had tasted giving blow jobs to Chuck.

Then Billy started to get a little forceful, sliding his cock all the way in and out of my mouth. Because of its thickness, it filled my entire mouth and touched the back of his throat, forcing me to open my jaws even wider to avoid scraping his shaft with my teeth. I wanted to feel him buried deep inside me.  I wanted to show him what he meant to me, what I could master to show him my love for him.

"I'm gonna cum, Davy!" Billy said. He had a serious look on his face, as his nostrils flared slightly. I felt his penis grow even more rigid in my mouth and began working my fingers up and down the base of his rod as I sucked. A copious amount of boy juice was leaking from the tip of Billy's dick. There was so much of it that I wondered if Billy had already discretely exploded in my mouth already. Then his dick then got noticeably harder and fatter and the skin on his balls tightened as they drew up.

"I love you, Billy," I said to him, out loud when I caught my breath.  It came out half a moan.

His moans took on an urgency and he writhed and I realized he was on the edge of explosion. His eyes opened wide and he gasped out, "Oh, man, I'm going to shoot!" and I felt Billy's body shudder and tense, felt his balls tighten, and then Billy was convulsing in pleasure. Billy's inhaled sharply, his body clenched and his hips bucked upwards as his cock start to pulse and surge in my mouth.  Volley after volley of his semen shot out of him and I swallowed it all.  I looked down at his erection, still bobbing, hoping he would take me from behind.  I wanted to feel him deep inside me.  "Fuck me, Billy." I said, again my words were mostly garbled, it was so hard to speak, as I turned and felt his hands on my butt, his dick poised to penetrate me.  "Don't fuck this up," he warned me as my dream mixed into waking reality.

I was hard as a nail when I woke up and my cock would not go down. I was in my room, not the shed.  Billy was nowhere around, and I hadn't even talked to him in forever.  My underwear was sticky with the residuals of my wet dream.  On top of all that I had to pee with a painful intensity that would not allow me to linger in my bedroom until my erection softened, I really needed to go. It was damn hard to piss with a boner but I had already learned that there did come a point where my valves would give way even if it meant I had to piss straight up.   But I could taste Billy's load in my mouth as sure as if he'd just shot his load.  

Dreams are funny that way.    

My wood has always pointed straight up.  Bending my dick downward hurts like a motherfucker, and just guarantees that no flow will come out.  Makes pissing into a toilet real difficult on a woody morning!  There were a lot of mornings I just had to go on and get in the shower, bladder aching, feeling like it was going to burst, and try to let my boner soften enough that I could finally pee.  It’s weird to watch my own urine stream shoot straight up like a geyser and then arc down into the bathtub, mixing with the rest of the spray from the shower head. 

My brother Mark was still in bed, which meant I could get the restroom first if I hurried. 

I rolled over and as my feet hit the floor Mark turned over onto his side to look at me sitting at the side of my twin bed. The bunk beds were gone.  Mom had put in twin beds when Mark had moved into the room.  Without thinking I pulled my sheets up over my lap to keep my morning woody from being so obvious. 

"You don't think I don't already know what you got?" Mark said, starting out the morning with a sneer. “I was bigger than you when I was ten!” 

I could tell it was going to be one hell of a wonderful day! 

I sat there on the edge of the bed, not wanting to get up and walk past his bed, which was on my way to the door of our room.  My woody was showing no signs of abating.  I needed to go pee, but getting up meant letting him get a look at my woody, which would only assure another heavy dose of teasing from my younger brother. 

"You definitely got a Vienna sausage there, LD," he continued, "Mine's bigger soft that yours is hard." Mark shook his head in mock consolation. I had heard it all before, and I would hear it again.  Mark had been teasing me about me having a dick smaller than his since that incident with Chuck and Jimmy in our room.  Chuck had repeated several times to Mark in front of me that his penis was already much larger than mine, even though I was almost three years older.  Mark had developed the truly irritating habit of repeatedly saying “I’m bigger,” sometimes just under his breath, sometimes in an argument, sometimes passing on the stairs.  He knew it bothered me.   

Nothing had been the same since that day when Chuck, Mark and I had gotten into it in our room.  Now Mark and I shared the room since Chuck had moved out and gone to college.  Mom had converted his old room into a sewing room and was doing some tailoring for extra money. 

LD (1993)

The fraternal pecking order had shifted and somehow, my younger brother managed to usurp my position as "middle" child. Little dick meant little brother.  Age had nothing to do with it.  I was taller than Mark, but he was stockier, which came from playing football and basketball instead of swimming, which was my sport. Since the stuff at school had happened, Mark had clearly done everything he could to distance himself from me, including repeatedly saying, "It's embarrassing being your brother!" 

Mom had done nothing to help me maintain my position as middle brother.  After Chuck left, she adopted the habit of alternating which one of us was “in charge” while she was gone.  As the older brother it should have fallen to me to be “in charge” to my way of thinking, but instead half the time she put Mark in charge, and he lorded that over me.  When I asked her why she did that, once she just said, “some of us are leaders, and some are better as followers,” she answered.  “Mark has those leadership qualities.”  She didn’t actually say out loud, “and you don’t,” but she didn’t need to.  It was there in her eyes and in her tone.  Even she thought of Mark as a better big brother than me. 

There is nothing like family to make sure you know your place in the scheme of things.

That whole experience with my two brothers had been my first lesson in the importance of dick size in the male pecking order.  A man can be smart and rich and powerful, but the alpha male will always be the guy with the largest muscles and the biggest dick.  And that is just the way it is, rationalize it however you want to! 

Mark stood up.  Back then he had light brown hair, almost blonde with a very short haircut and bright blue eyes.  He was also pitching a substantial tent.  I tried not to look, but it was hard not to notice how grown-up Mark was. I sat there pretending not to notice as my urge to piss just got stronger and stronger until I was sure my bladder was on a countdown to exploding soon.

"Jealous?" He smirked again. 

See the really horrible thing was that I was jealous of him, and it ate me up that I was jealous of my younger brother who inherited better genetics than I had.  On some level he knew that too.   

He had noticed me glancing at his boner.  Mark wrinkled his nose in disgust and walked over towards me so that his boner was straining against his briefs right in front of my face as I sat on the bed.  He even made a couple of vulgar pelvic thrusts in the direction of my face and flexed his arms like a wrestler.  "Face it, little brother.  I'm bigger.  Always have been.  Always will be." 

"Don't call me that," I argued back, feeling the last of my dignity begin to fray, "Stop it!" 

Mark grinned and grabbed the sheet I was holding across my lap and started a tug of war with it, trying to pull it out of my hands.  I tried to keep my lap covered, but his first tug had wrenched about half the sheet out of my grip before I could stop him. 

"There's your little pee pee," he announced way too loudly, as my small pup tent came into view.  The door to our room was standing open and I worried that mom might have heard him. 

Both Chuck and Mark used to tease me by calling my penis a "pee pee".  It was a silly little word my mom had used for "penis" when we were little kids.  Then just before he graduated and went off to college Chuck had told me that I had a "pee pee" and not a "dick", cause mine was still a "baby penis", not a man's penis.  I reacted (big mistake) and the die was cast.

Mark had caught on to my elder brother's joke, and started jumping up and down repeating over and over, "Davy’s got a pee pee," until at last he messed up and said, "Pee Wee's got a pee pee," which Chuck thought was snot snorting hysterical, which was how Chuck started calling me “Pee Wee”.  Luckily it never caught on, Chuck and Mark used to use it a lot before I got nicknamed LD at school.  Once I got the name LD mark used it all the time, even Chuck during the occasional visit or phone call.  About the only people who called me “Dave” or “Davy” was my mom and the teachers at school, mom’s friends, or relatives.  Years later when I wrote a set of stories, loosely based on my experiences as a guy with a small dick, I used the name “Pee Wee” for the central character instead of having him get called “LD”.   

Now Mark was tugging at the sheet I had trying to cover up my little erection, which was so hard that it was throbbing painfully, and I'd had enough, and let go of the sheet, then tried to push past him to get to the door.  I really needed to get to the toilet.  But Mark caught me with one arm around my upper chest as I tried to push by him. 

"Where you going in such a hurry?" my younger brother asked. 

"I gotta go," I said, trying to pull myself free, which only made Mark tighten his hold. 

We fell back onto my bed, and he rolled more or less on top of me, then pinned me with his legs.  Suddenly I was back down on my bed with Mark straddling my chest.  He had on a pair of tighty whiteys, and there was his manly prick proudly bouncing around inside his briefs.  I tried with all my might to push him off me, and almost did, but before I could give it a another thought, Mark had me on my stomach, sitting across my back, with his arms around my head cinching me in a headlock.  I could feel his boner digging into my lower back. 

I struggled again and all of a sudden felt a single spurt of urine manage to break through all my efforts to hold it in, squirting right into my underwear.  Desperately I tightened up to stop the flow, but I could feel the warm wet spot around my dick where it was digging into the mattress of my bed. 

"I really gotta go!" I said, desperately trying to pry Mark's arm free.  I could feel his muscles get taught as he continued to grapple with me. 

"You gotta go?"  Mark asked, "Real bad, huh?"  Mark let go of my neck quickly with his left arm to reach down and tickle me in the ribs. 

When I was younger I had some problems learning to get through the night without wetting the bed.  Mark was too young to remember that, but Chuck remembered and had shared that facet of family history with Mark. Mom had adopted the habit of buying protective mattress covers because of me.  She said that it protected the beds since stains voided the warranty. 

"No, stop!" I hated being tickled. I've always hated it. It was the one thing that turned me from easy going into a hitting, kicking, flailing maniac. I had no control over my actions to protect myself again my attacker when I got tickled.  He also, I'm sure, remembered a couple of times I'd pissed myself getting tickled by Chuck. 

But with me on my stomach, pinned to my mattress Mark had the advantage, and he knew it.  All he had to do to win was delay me just a few more seconds.  I was wriggling, trying to get away, trying to stop it, trying to escape his fingers as he tickled relentlessly. I squirted again, and intensified my struggle to break free. 

"Mark, you ass hole."  I exclaimed. 

With my loose t-shirt shirt pulled up to my neck, Mark managed to reach down and tickle my ribs just below my armpits, sending the into convulsions once again.  I was thrashing and straining to get loose.  The tickling intensified and I felt another squirt of urine jet into my briefs and I used everything I had to clamp the flow shut.  Even so it had lasted too long, there'd be a big wet spot for sure.  And I knew I'd never be able to stop the next stream.  My legs were trembling, and Mark still had me in a headlock. 

I was getting really angry at that point, and starting to cry.  I still cry when I get really angry. I've always been that way, and now the tears were starting. I reached back with my hands and tried to grab hold of his legs and pull him off me as I kicked. I got a good hold of one leg, and started pulling him sideways when one of his hands came down immediately, picked up  my hand and twisted my arm.  He moved it away until he had me pinned impotently to my mattress.

"You have to stop." I had tears streaming down my cheeks now, and my sides were hurting. "I'm pissing myself." I said, and realized I was begging, which was exactly what he wanted. 

I was in a panic. Even when I felt his fingers stop tickling me, the panic didn't go away. I was wriggling and flailing with everything I had to try to get away. 

“Want free?” he asked, then tell me, “Who’s your big brother?" 

As I shared with you before, I don’t do well with the “Say uncle” game, but I was fast running out of time, the front of my underwear were already soaked from all the little squirts I’d barely been able to close off.  I figured him make me piss myself would be a greater victory than making me say “uncle”.

“You are,” I said.  I hated it.  Hated it.  But I was about to lose all bladder control. 

“And why am I the big brother?”  he asked. 

“Mark please, just tell me what you want me to say, I’ll say it, tell me what you want me to do, I’ll do it.”  I was desperate. 

“Then answer the question.” 

“Fuck,” I said, as I managed to clench off another squirt.  This time it took me a few seconds to clench hard enough to stop the flow.  “Cause you have a bigger dick.” 

"Sorry, little bro, I couldn't hear."  Mark tightened his headlock and tickled me again.  "Say it louder!  Say it!"  I immediately lost control and spurted a stream of urine into my already wet underwear again. 

“Cause you have a bigger dick.  You have a bigger dick, okay.” 

"Say it louder!  Say it!"   

I looked at the open door.  Mom was downstairs and would hear me for sure if I said it any louder.  

“You win, okay.  You’re bigger. That's what you wanted to hear, right?  Now please!" I begged, "Lemme go or I'm gonna pee all over you and me both!"  I could feel something starting to give.  “I gotta go now," I pleaded, "Mark, you gotta lemme go or I'm gonna pee all over my bed," which I guess, in retrospect, was the wrong thing to say 'cause he reached down and started tickling me hard again, and this time when the flow started, and there was no stopping it.   

About the time Mark realized I was pissing myself and there was no stopping the flow he jumped off me and looked down at me shaking his head in mock disappointment.  I may forgive Mark for a lot of things, but the look of delight he had watching me piss myself in complete humiliation, that I will never forgive, or forget! 

I peed for what seemed like five minutes. There was nothing to do but lay there and let it happen.  There was no shutting it down now, the flow was too strong and the damage was already done.  My body, my sheets, comforter and underwear were awash with my own warm urine.  I managed to pull the saturated sheets off the bed.  Luckily Mom had covered the mattress with a cover. 

As if on cue mom shouted up from the bottom of the stairwell asking, "What's going on?  Are you two arguing again?" 

Mark's sardonic smile unnerved me. "I guess I really should tell mom how you've started wetting the bed again."  He looked at me and knew that he had me. 

"Please, no." I whispered repeatedly, "no, no!"  The situation was so frustrating I could feel both eyes welling up again. 

A decidedly evil grin spread across Mark's face, he gathered up a pair of shorts off the floor next to his bed and crossed our bedroom to the doorway.  He stood there looking down the stair where I knew she was standing, "Mom, he’s wet the bed again!" 

I felt myself blushing in anger, not just embarrassment. 

"Did you wet the bed last night, Davy?"  She asked from below.  It was a rhetorical question. 

I knew what was coming next, managed to lip sync the words as she said them.  "Come down and get the Lysol.  You will need to wash down the bed and spray it.  Bring your soiled sheets down to wash." 

Mark saw the misery on my face and snickered, and something inside me snapped. 

Still covered in my own urine, I leapt off my urine soaked mattress and tackled him against the wall. 

He let out a yelp that let me know I'd gotten him good, but then landed a punch into my gut and I grunted and fell.  I grabbed Mark by the hair and pulled him down with me.  He decided to hit me in the  stomach again and connected once more, but I was too enraged to notice. 

As we struggled, Mark got the upper hand and tried to punch me in the groin.  He missed, but was thrown off balance.  I shoved him into the wall and grabbed his t-shirt by the collar.  It tore.  I struggled back up, then slammed my right knee sharply up into his meaty balls and nailed them into the wall.  I could actually feel one of them pop as I drove my knee home. Mark fell back against the wall clutching his nuts as the wave of pain and nausea hit him, but the tough little motherfucker refused to drop to the floor. 

While he was paying attention to his tender nuggets I landed a solid punch targeting his nose.  Mark screamed out in pain, suddenly grabbing his nose and trying to protect his face as he fell back against the bookshelf next to the doorway.  Snorting blood and snot out of his nose, Mark threw more wild punches at my gut but he was so distracted by his nose bleeding he couldn't land a good punch.  I was too pissed off to care even if he had.  I followed up with a second solid kick to his crotch. 

Mark's mouth dropped open in surprise and he clamped his hands between his legs as he doubled up.  His breath whooshed out of him as he hit the floor and curled up in agony, coughing and gasping as the waves of pain swept up from his balls into his guts. Mark turned white and doubled up retching. He'd started this fight, but I was so goddamned angry I was going to finish it even if it killed him. 

By that time my mom had made her way up the stairs, rushing to our room, and stood there staring wide-eyed looking like she had just glimpsed Armageddon.  Mark whimpered while I stood over him in my urine soaked boxers, still bawling, and wearing an expression of genuine fury. I had a hold of the stretched and torn neck of his t-shirt, and was getting ready to punch him in the face again, but then realized that mom was standing there.  I let him go instead.  He slumped down into a fetal position cradling his balls and blubbering.  His mouth and shirt were covered with blood and snot.

It was one of the few times I remember my mom actually being speechless.  I couldn't tell if she was angry at the fact we were fighting, or surprised at the fact that I had just won this round for a change. 

She opened her mouth to say something when Mark yelled out in anger "Fuck you, you dickless faggot!" which turned her attention back to him.  There was a look of shock on her face I had never seen before.  I don't think she'd every heard Mark use such language. “I know you're Billy’s little bitch you cocksucker.” 

Mom was between us so there was no punching him again, even though I wanted to just that. 

As I walked over to my bed, I could feel Mark staring into my back, and I hated him.  At that moment I wished he were dead.  I suspect he was having similar thoughts.  I grabbed my urine soaked sheets and comforter, preparing to haul them downstairs to wash.  It was the last thing I’d heard mom tell me to do before the fight.  Then realized that I was still in my urine soaked underwear. 

"Fuck all," I said to myself, mumbling. 

No one heard it. 

I wanted to explain to her what had happened, that things were not what they seemed.  That I hadn't wet the bed like a little boy, that Mark had held me down and tickled me until I peed myself.  And then I realized that getting so defeated by my little brother was just as bad.  I looked down at Mark still clutching at his scrambled eggs and realized that at least, this time, I had evened the score just a bit.  I’d never once won a fight with Chuck.  Mark might like to think of himself as the big brother, but I’d at least held my own against him in a fight. 

I wanted to kick him in the nuts again, but instead I quietly and slowly carried my urine soaked comforter and sheets past them, still in my underwear, and then walked it down the stairs, stopping every few steps to catch my breath and regain my composure.  I could smell my own urine.  It was a symbol of my shame. 

I hauled the soiled laundry out to the garage where the washer and drier were, and shoved everything into the washer, poured some detergent into the machine and pushed the button.  Stood there for a bit listening to the sound of water filling the drum.  I fantasized about going back inside, packing a few belongings into a rucksack and running away.  I had enough money to get on a bus. 

But where could I go that was so far I would not drag my problems along with me.  My baby dick was attached.  No matter where I went that would not change.  The only difference might be that someplace else no one would know about it. I could have a somewhat more normal life. 

Then I went back inside, took the stairs up to my bedroom.  I still had a chip on my shoulder.  It seemed right then like everything was going in slow motion around me. I could hear Mark in the shower, and knew by the time he finished there'd be no hot water left.  He was always selfish that way. 

Bastard! 

More than anything I wanted to be somewhere else, someone else, a member of a different family maybe.  I pulled off my wet underwear and went into the restroom where he was showering.  I turned on the hot water in the sink and listened to him scream when the water went cold in the shower.  

Fuck him. 

I pulled the hand towel off the rack and took a fast bird bath, then left the restroom after turning the hot water in the sink up to full blast.  I walked out listening to him screaming about the water going cold in the shower. 

I couldn't find any clean underwear back in my bedroom so I grabbed some of Mark’s, threw on a clean t-shirt and some shorts, then went back outside and grabbed my bike. 

I got halfway to school before my anger finally faded.   

So I just rode. 

"Cocksucker!" a voice shouted from a car that passed me rather slowly on the intersecting street. 

I turned to look and saw my mom's car.  She was scolding Mark for yelling obscenities at me out the window, especially in a place where the neighbors might see it.  I stopped my bike on the shoulder of the road as they drove by.  Mark still looked pissed and reached out the window to flip me off as they passed. 

It had already turned out to be one turdfest of a day!