Brother From Another Mother

Intro

If you have read some of my other stuff, you will have seen a theme in them about wives or women who are seemingly sexually repressed, barren or dormant who appear to have no interest in sex. Their husbands being emasculated, rejected, or denied sex or intimacy in any way shape or form, and their desperation to right this wrong; their strong belief that the wife is actually a closet nymph, a slut awaiting to be awakened in the right circumstances, by the right man, with the right tools. The husband becomes obsessed with seeing his wife's metamorphosis from prude to promiscuous, and watching real men satisfy her every need. His wife is acutely aware of her husbands tastes, his fantasies, and though she secretly finds them intriguing, she dismisses them with impunity.

This story has the same connotations, so to this end I won't go in to a more detailed backstory on the couple to save time, but suffice to say that the husband is such a man, and the wife is such a woman.

(All persons are entirely fictitious.)

Dylan

I had known Dyl since he came to our school, after his family had moved to the north, from the south. He struggled a bit to fit in, a southern softie in a northern school; and I felt a bit sorry for him so took the time to talk to him and hang around with him.

He lived with his older sister, and his mum. His dad was ex military, and now lived with another woman. They didn't talk much. His sister was a bit of a free spirit. She reminded me of a hippy and was always flouncing around the house in a state of semi-undress, smoking weed and screwing her boyfriend in her room while mum was out working. She was a hell of a flirt, and I admit I soon developed my first crush on her.

We became best mates. When his mum died suddenly, just as school ended and careers beckoned, my family took care of him for a while, he practically lived at our house and our bond was cemented forever. We were brothers.

After a short while, he decided to follow in his Dads footsteps and join the army, which became his new family.

We kept in touch. He found love and when they married I was his best man. Sadly it didn't last - his wife not able to stay faithful, while he was away serving Queen and Country. He had a daughter by then though, who he rarely saw due to his service, but also through his bitter and vindictive ex making life difficult.

Sadly, I also lost touch with Dyl for a while too - largely thanks to tours of Iraq and Afghanistan amongst others.

Diane had met Dylan only a handful of times before, in our early years as a couple, when he would visit so we could go out and get leathered, chatting shit. He stayed at ours. Pissed. Then left the next day. This happened a couple of times. I can't really say that they spoke much, but that wasn't because they didn't get on, just that he arrived, we went out, we came back pissed, slept and then he left. No time for her to really get to know him, but she was acutely aware that I considered this man a brother. That I would do anything for him, and he for me.

It had been some years since I had heard from Dyl when the advent and explosion of social media created new and multiple opportunities to keep in touch. We sought each other out, connected, and spent a few long hours catching up by DM.

I met up with him again in person though around 10 years after his last visit for a drinking session. By now he had done his 25 years service and demobbed and was working as a carpenter, or a handy man, having retrained.

He lived on the east coast, and it turned out I was staying in a hotel overnight only a few miles away for work. We met up, went for a curry, got pissed again. It was great to see him, but he was a different man to the happy, cheeky chappie I grew up with. The scars of war, the emotional and mental trauma of those campaigns, of near death experiences leaving physical scars also; and the continued absence of his daughter, and no loving partner in his life, clearly leaving him somehow hollow.

It was heartbreaking to see, and I urged him to come visit us. So I could put him under my wing once more.

He never did. I think I knew why. He considered himself a burden, and ex military guys do not like considering themselves a burden.

He eventually moved back north. Living only 30 miles or so from me. Promises of visits and meeting up for a beer never materialised. To be fair I had my own family and demands too by then, often being away all weekend engaged in watching my son play his chosen sport.

Then one day, out of the blue, I got a text.

"Working down the road from you today. Got time for a brew if I call in?"

"Fuck yeah. That would be ace mate. What time?"

"Be bout 3."

"Sound see you then". (I don't do the C U shit...an age thing.)

True to his word, the door bell rang precisely at 3pm. Thats the military for you.

I hugged the shit out of him on the doorstep. Then smiled at him ruefully.

"What the fuck kept you. Its great to see you. Come in."

He'd grown a beard, all salt and pepper and bushy. His cheeks and brow wrinkled and weathered from outdoor working, his hands rough from working with wood and tools. He was still lean, not an ounce of fat on his sorry arse and he had regained some of his old self, his cheeky cockney swagger. Or so it appeared.

Diane was home, she came and said hello, embracing him and kissing his bearded cheek, then left us to talk.

The longer we talked, the more it was clear that his outward persona was a bluff. He admitted he had no one in his life, and hadn't for a long time. Women came and went, but never stuck around. They couldn't deal with his depression, his moods - the affects of his past life. The continued pain of having a now grown daughter who would not see him, thanks to her poisonous mother, also weighed heavy on his heart. He was so clearly and painfully lonely.

Longer story short, he left promising to be in touch more often, and offering us his services at mates rates when we needed any jobs doing round the house.

THE MOVE

We had decided to move house. We were at an age now where the kids had both got homes of their own and the house was too big for us. Downsizing was in order.

We had also both reduced our hours at work, to give us more time for ourselves and I at least hoped it might give us a fresh start, to help us re-connect. We had not been intimate for a long, long time now - though I still kept telling her how fucking hot she was. I still dropped hints and innuendo when I could, and still whispered my fantasises to myself, muttering about her riding a big fat cock of a stranger, as I stroked my own meagre cock beside her in bed, while she pretended to sleep. I know she heard me. I know she listened to me cum many times with murmurs of her being pleasured by other men.

We bought a fix-me-upper. Something dirt cheap because it needed gutting; figuring we could devote more time to it as we worked less, and could also ask Dyl to do some of the work. Perhaps keeping him occupied would help with his demons as well?

It would be at least a couple of months work, full on, possibly more - with Dyl doing the lions share when we had to work, and us helping on our days off. Because of this I suggested Dyl should stay with us, as it would be easier than travelling 60 miles everyday and we could work as long as we could. Diane was ok with this, and so was Dyl, especially because he would be getting paid, as well as board and lodgings, saving him money too.

Dyl brought his gear with him on a Saturday morning, and took up a spare room - one that had been renovated in advance.

It was a much smaller house than our other one, and with three adults in it, it meant that there were some awkward moments, especially when it came to bathroom arrangements. There was only one bathroom, and one shower, meaning we all had to take turns. It became a common site to see one of us exiting the bathroom with a towel, or robe in Dianes case, wrapped around us.

Dyl's torso was toned, he still had a six pack and defined muscular arms and pecks from his service and his manual labours and I caught Diane admiring his physique on more than one occasion. She would be self conscious at first, blushing, and trying to look away, but the more often it happened (most days) the more relaxed about seeing him semi-naked she became, to the point that one day as he passed her on the hall, swapping over with him for use of the shower, she stopped and gently touched a scar on his breast; it was long and thin. She ran her fingers over it softly as I watched from our bedroom, the door wide open.

"What's this from Dyl?" She asked.

His head bowed both in a sign of having to relive a painful memory, but also to stare intently at her finger nails softly tracing the scar. She continued running back and fourth feeling the raised ridge of healed skin.

"Its a knife wound. I was stabbed fighting an insurgent in hand to hand combat."

"Oh my god, how awful...what...I mean your alive so I assume you, erm what happened, how did you survive?"

"I killed him." Was Dyl's flat response. "It was him or me. Thankfully it was me. It was war."

He turned away from her and moved off to his room, her hand left suspended in the air.

I don't think she noticed, but I did, that the front of Dylans towel had trunked outward a little from her touch. I knew Dyl was hung from our youth, so a flimsy towel would not constrain his growing shaft. The touch of a woman must have aroused him, after all from what he had told me it had been a while for him to, without a partner. Without intimacy.

A wicked vision shot through my mind, of Dyl sliding his fat cock in to Diane's hungry, eager cunt. And I grew hard as the image lingered, then bloomed in to a fantasy.

Diane walked in to the room, snapping me out of my trance. "God, did you hear that, he's killed someone."

"I know Di, he was a soldier for 25 years and fought in Iraq, Afghanistan and other campaigns too, its what happens in war. Its what haunts him now. Its why he's ended up lonely, as women can't cope with his moods as he calls it. Shit like that does things to you, things that are hard to deal with. He has told me some of them, but I know there are more, many more. It's why I want to be back in his life, to look out for him, to help him get over what he can, to find someone. I want to help him be him again. I told you he's my brother, and I will do what ever it takes to make him happy. Absolutely anything."

I said the last part gazing directly in to her eyes, trying to convey my veiled meaning; for the encounter in the corridor, and my fantasy of Dyl taking her, had now firmly planted a new mission in my head, one that could ultimately benefit all three of us. I had no idea why this had never occurred to me before, but it hadn't. Of all the men in the world, I had never even entertained the possibility of "my bro from another mo, making my wife a hoe". A phrase that made me chuckle.

"What's funny?"

"Oh nothing, nothing."

Di stood looking at me suspiciously, wondering why I would be laughing about such a serious conversation, but then turned and went for her own shower. She seemed to take a little longer than usual, and in my new found aroused state, wondered if she was playing with herself in the shower at the memory of touching Dyl's scarred breast, and his ripped, naked torso.

The days passed, and I noticed Dyl and Di getting on so well, as they worked along side each other. She seemed to bring out the best in him, and his wicked sense of humour came to the fore and brought out the best in her.

It was almost as if his sadness, his torment from experiences past, his continued silent pain of loneliness urged her to comfort him, to want to help rehabilitate him and help him find solace, peace and happiness too.

It developed, unchecked by me of course, I wanted them to get close. I wanted them connected. In a physical way.

Harmless flirting followed once there was a comfort between them, once they knew what they could get away with - what the imaginary boundaries were. Just playful stuff. Her stuffing up his ego by telling him any woman should be lucky to have him, and him flattering her by calling her a MILF - something I had to explain to her, and she was shocked by.

Di had a great figure still. I would describe her as voluptuous. She wasn't skinny thin, but she wasn't fat either, she had curves, a beautiful firm ass, and large, soft breasts with dark areola and perky nipples. Green eyes, with dark (dyed) hair setting off her rosy cheeks and pouting, very kissable lips. Her pussy had a small pillow of mousy blonde bush, nice and trimmed the last time I had seen it. All of which only served to increase my own frustration of having no intimacy with her for so long, and the burgeoning of my desire to see her fucked hard by another cock, if I couldn't have her.

Her dress and appearance seemed to change the longer Dyl was around. From the conservative nothing on show, everything covered look, to the let it all hang out look.

She wore short skirts, or tight fitting shorts and vest tops working in the house, and I noticed Dyl more than once staring at her ass as she bent over sometimes - especially when she wore the denim mini skirt, which presented a clear view of the cleft of her pussy lips sheathed in their tighty white cotton briefs. I could see his cock harden from across the room, as he stared intently. I wondered if she knew, and did it on purpose. Dyl always seemed to work closer to Di when she wore that skirt, and

I had noticed it was being worn more frequently, being washed and tumble dried to within an inch if its life.

One day, about 3 weeks in to the renovation work, I was stunned to notice that she was not wearing a bra under her flimsy cotton vest top. Her girls bouncing and jiggling around in complete freedom as she worked alongside Dyl.

I also noticed that when she leant forward you got any eyeful of her ample tits from both the side and the front, including those erect nipples. Dyl definitely noticed too, as his cock swelled in his pants, and for the first time I noticed Di gaze at his crotch as she leaned forward, and stare intently at the thick ridge running across and up to his waist, and lick her lips.

I was rock hard myself.

The day shift habits migrated in to night shift habits. At first we all sat apart in separate seats in an evening, or Dyl would just stay in his room. But as the days and weeks wore on we all sat together on the large sofa so we could all see the TV. We had no functioning satellite TV but had lots of stuff to watch on other media, and with nothing else to do after long hours, just crashed and watched DVD's or other recorded or streamed programmes.

As well as the seating arrangements, the attire also changed over this time. Diane replacing her full on PJ's and robe, with just the PJ's and then losing these in favour of her silky shorts and matching vest number, which again left nothing to the imagination - and on occasion, afforded glimpses of naked breast, as well as her naked pussy with no underwear in place at night time. Dyl had stopped sitting with us fully clothed, and now sat in his shorts (no t-shirt) - he had also stopped walking out of the shower with a towel around him, but with tight fitting briefs on, accentuating the outline of his long, fat cock which Di's gaze latched on to at every chance.

The atmosphere was so erotically charged in the house right now, we could have produced our own electricity to power it, it was palpable. It seemed each of us was willing the others to make the first move, it felt like we all knew something would happen, it was just a case of when. Di was constantly looking down at the bulge in Dyl's shorts, and he didn't try to hide it when he got hard, which caused Di to fidget and her hands to make involuntary movements, fingers rubbing against each other, finger nails clicking off each other. Fighting off the desperation to touch his mighty rod.

In turn Dyl would gaze at her exposed legs from foot to thigh, then at her covered sex under that silky, skimpy material - wondering, and imagining what lay beneath. His eyes would travel to her breasts, metronomically rising and falling softly with each breath, the nipples hard and tenting the gossamer cloth, captivating him. His erection was enough evidence of his transgressions, whilst mine was evidence enough of the hope I would see my wife impaled on on his throbbing, hard shaft very soon.

Diane knew my fantasies; correction, my obsession. I suspect she expected I would be OK if she ever did make the first move, but there was no way she would, not with Dyl being my brother from another mother. She was waiting for either me or Dyl to take the lead, with my blessing.

One night, Di had gone out for the night with the girls, leaving just me and Dyl and plenty of ale to ourselves.

We worked latish and then called it a day, flopping exhausted on to the sofa, beers in hand, watching some shite movie we'd selected.

I can't remember how but the conversation got round to personal stuff, we were probably just bored shitless watching the wank movie we chose, and the beers loosened our tongues.

"You are a lucky man Paul" said Dyl.

"How so mate?'

"Well everything mate, I mean semi-retired, nice gaff, or it will be, few quid in the bank, got your family, and no, well you know, no baggage like mine. And of course you have Di...she's bloody great mate, your very lucky there to be wed so long to a fab woman, to have that, erm I dunno whats the word, companionship? No, but you know what I mean, that woman in your life who is your rock, that sort of thing."

"Yeah well, like you my friend, perceptions can be deceiving."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean just like you put on a brave face to hide your pain, and your depression from all you went through in the army, missing your daughter and your own loneliness, that I too am putting on a front, a brave face of sorts of my own."

"I don't understand mate. I mean OK I know you are well aware of my erm, troubles, but are you trying to say you and Di are having problems? If so I am bloody gob smacked pal cos you look like you are made for one another and have a solid relationship."

I decided to speak the truth. Oh yes, don't get me wrong, I hoped what I told him might somehow escalate matters between Di and Dyl, but it was also genuinely cathartic to confess to him, the man I loved as a brother, of my own troubles.

I laughed at his words first, with a solemn face belying my outburst.

"OK Dyl, I am going to tell you something now cos I love you bro, but I expect it will shock you. But I just have to get this off my chest or it will consume me."

"OK...but I don't like the sound of this."

"We'll see. OK here goes mate, so Di and I have not been intimate in over 18 months now. And I don't just mean sex, I mean intimate in any or every way. It seems I no longer do it for her, but in all honesty, I suspect I never did. Our sex life was always....well difficult, awkward and a one way street. Oh don't get me wrong, I love her, and she says she loves me too, but when it comes to sex, well we are just poles apart mate. So there you go, everything is not as it seems."

"Sorry to hear that bro, I mean, I was always envious of you two, your relationship, how you've lasted so long, and had what seemed a perfect life together. Even in the last few weeks I've been here, you still seem to be a great team you know, buying this place, planning the changes, working to make it happen, planning the next phase of your futures. I mean there was no hint of it."

"Really? You really hadn't noticed any changes?"

"No..no mate honestly can't say I have. So erm, if you don't mind me asking, is it serious like, I mean are you trying to resolve it, are you going to counselling, or are you on the verge of splitting up? Is there nothing you can suggest to try and sort of compromise, meet half way?"