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VISIT
I'm bored, and Patrick isn't back yet from whatever the fuck
it is he does all day. If I were a different person, I might say that I'm
lonely, that I miss my brother, that I've been here for two days and he's
barely said three words to me. But I'm not a different person, and I'm not
lonely, and Patrick is so abysmal that when he's here I mostly just wish he'd
leave again.
But I really am bored, and I'm hard for some reason, so I decide to search his
room for something to jerk off to, besides that view and all of his fucking
furniture, glittering coffee table and a kitchen full of shiny metal shit I
know he never uses. The sterility of this place disturbs me, so I go into
Patrick's bedroom, which is just as clean and blank as the rest of his place,
walls white and unmarred by decoration. It looks anonymous, like a porn set, so
I know he fucks here, at least.
I slip my hand down the front of my pants to adjust my erection.
His drawers are boring--there are no clothes in them, and I know its because he
has no casual clothes. All of his clothes are meant to be hung carefully on
hangers, dry-cleaned, even his workout outfits, of which he has several pairs.
Maybe if I searched long enough, I'd find an underwear drawer, but I find
something else first, a drawer full of broken wire hangers, several different
kinds of knives, what appears to be piano wire.
What’s strange about it is that all of them are incredibly, immaculately clean.
Smudged with fingerprints but clear of anything, anything else.
There's also what appears to be a date book. Only half of it is filled with
words, dates, appointments--the rest of it is drawings. Women, nude, screaming,
legs thrown apart and mouths wide open. I didn't know Patrick was an artist. I
know almost nothing about Patrick, in fact, but that won't stop me from going
through his shit.
I settle on his bed and open my pants, jerking off and looking only
occasionally at the date book, which is lying open on the pillow next to me.
When my brother comes in, he simply looks at me, loosening his tie and raising
his eyebrows.
"We're going to dinner with some friends of mine later, Sean. Be sure
you're appropriately dressed by then."
I shut my eyes, working my hand on my cock. I haven't jerked off with Patrick
in the room since we were kids, back when we shared a room. "I'll--oh, fuck--be
ready."
"By six, Sean." He makes appropriate little background noises--taking
off his tie, his cufflinks clinking as he drops them on the bedside table, but
when all that is done he has no excuse not to leave.
He doesn't leave.
After awhile I realize I can't come with him in the room, not anymore, and I
give up, hand still on my cock but not moving. My eyes are still closed, but I
feel his weight settle next to me on the bed. His hand brushes mine away and he
jerks me off, twice as fast as I'd been doing it before.
"Be sure to wear a suit. One of mine--you should be able to fit into it,
despite all the weight you've gained."
Thumb beneath the head, rubbing.
"And a tie. Not one of yours, one of mine also. The blue silk, I think,
should suit you."
Sharp tight twist.
"After all, I can't have people thinking my little brother is some
uncultured Neanderthal. How would that reflect on me?"
I come into his hand. When I open my eyes, he's sniffing it, just a little, and
then puts his hand over my mouth until I'm forced to lick it, which I do, while
he stares down at me, still talking about what sort of cologne I should wear,
and the shoes, the coat, the underwear.
That night I put on my brother's clothes. I don't want to end up in the office
next to his, in an apartment like his, in a life like his, but I have to admit
it feels pretty good to have him dress me up for awhile. I like that he knows
that I'm wearing underneath his clothes, and I like that when we come back to
his apartment, he'll take them off of me.
I even like that, after that, I don't know what will come next.
end
