As part of his agreement to live at home while attending college locally, Mom and Dad promised Henry they'd finish the basement and convert it into an independent apartment for him. Surprisingly - or maybe not that surprisingly - the cost of the renovation was less than the tuition plus board of a single year of the out of state schools he'd been considering. State University maybe wasn't top 5 in the country in the engineering subjects he was interested in, but top 30? Sure. And it was Division I in wrestling, which was his sport, so, it didn't take *that* much to convince him. He had his own independent entrance on the side of the house, but could access the house itself (which Mom and Dad liked to remind him he was always free to do) through another door in the utility room with the washing machine and drier. It was a nice place - bedroom, kitchenette - and even a decent sized living room that Henry had turned half of into his own personal fitness studio. Mom and Dad had been super willing to invest in that, too, since Henry was actually a good enough wrestler to get a scholarship at State.
My brother had "come a long way", as they say. He began high school nerdy, doughy, and uncoordinated. A prime bully target, which is something he very much wanted not to be. So, he'd worked at it. By sophomore year he was on the wrestling team, and by junior year he was Varsity, and then part of a state high school championship team before he graduated.
Now, he used the Uni gym all the time and worked out with his team at practices, but at home, he'd devote almost as much time to working out as to his homework, which he never neglected. He'd learned in high school that discipline and dedication worked to get you what you wanted. In high school it gave him self confidence, a slowly growing medal shelf, and a respectable report card, and more freedom than many of his classmates. In college, they might just get him the whole scholar-athlete experience. Mom and Dad treated the finished apartment as if it wasn't part of the house, and bothered Henry unless invited.
I was only a year (ok, a little more, but only one grade) behind Henry, and I'd seen his evolution and the way it had made so many things work out for him. Still. I resisted walking the same path, in part because I had never been in bad shape, or had grade or social troubles.But, frankly, I was also a little jealous of Henry. As a younger sibling, I should have been able to ride the trail of privilege blazed by her elder, but my freedoms were slower in coming. I blamed parental sexism, but knew it was that I had simply not shown the same motivation and dedication as Henry to get the good things I wanted. Also, well, I had most of the things I wanted without trying too hard. Still it bolstered my irrational overabundance of sibling stubbornness that didn't want to do or like the things he did or liked.
That changed fall of my senior year, when I realized I really, finally wanted to make the Varsity cheer squad, and even though on JV I had a fair way to go to be good enough. It meant upping my game. So, reluctantly, a few weeks before tryouts, I headed down to "Henry's house" to ask to use the equipment myself, and maybe even swallow my pride and ask for some pointers or coaching.
Mom and Dad had soundproofed the room as one of the final touches to the apartment after the first week of clanging weights, so that Henry's workouts - and his occasional small social gatherings with classmates (college is college, after all) didn't disturb the rest of the house. That meant the music I could hear only faintly though Henry's door into the utility room must have been blasting pretty loud. Too loud for Henry to hear me knock, I discovered, so after 2 tries, before stomping off to walk around the house and ring the doorbell at his "front" door, I tried just turning the doorknob, assuming it would be locked. It wasn't, to my surprise. So, figuring I could simply apologize for the interruption, I opened the door and stepped in-
Only to stop dead and stare. The heavy beat of one of his favorite bands filled the room. Henry was reclined on his bench pushing a heavy-looking barbell up and down steadily over his head. His muscular body shone with sweat - and it was his whole body that I saw, because except for sneakers, he was working out naked. More, his cock, which I hadn't seen since we took baths together as small children and had never really thought of, much less visualized in the last decade and a half, was not only exposed, but fully erect. It even throbbed noticeably every time he raised his weights.
He was facing slightly away from the door at this station toward a mirror on the side wall, which was partially obscured by the projection screen installed there - something that could be lowered down from the ceiling so he could watch workout or coaching videos or match replays, or use as a tv/movie/game screen for his living area.
It was the screen he was staring at now as he worked, but it wasn't a match of his, or a workout video. It also wasn't porn, which would be the obvious guess given his... state. It was weirder -- and I have to say unnerving. It was a recording from one of the high school's recent basketball games - but not of the game itself. He was watching clips of the JV cheer team Mom had recorded. But not even all of that. He was watching, specifically, me.
Mom and Dad were hugely supportive of both of us and one or both of them attended and recorded every match of Henry's they could, and every game I cheered at as well as the few competitions my squad had been in. Of course, Mom and Dad focused on Henry when they filmed him, and me when they filmed me, but they always had a lot of other things in the recordings. What Henry was watching, however, had been edited from that - I can only assume by him. None of the filler of the game was there. None of the other girls on the squad were in view except in the background or partially in the crop, which was always centered on me. The video cut between scenes from the sidelines sitting, chatting with someone off frame, getting ready, stretching on the floor doing routines, leading cheers, doing lifts with the squad, walking off. The sound was faint with the music, but I could make out my calls and shouts. The editing was... focused. When I kicked, or got tossed up by squad mades for an acrobatic, or went down into the splits, or wiggled my hips to flare my skirt, or spun, sometimes the scene would repeat, slowed down, zoomed in, centered on my ass, or my breasts, or my crotch.
My brother's video editing skills were maybe not surprising, given his ability to focus on things he wanted, but his subject absolutely was. And, amazingly, disconcertingly, I realized his workout was in time with the video. When he relaxed and lowered the weights, it coincided with a normal view of something I did, but the upward presses where he really exerted himself matched the slow-motion zoom on what could only be called the titillating part of the replay. That was also when his cock twitched, I realized.
I was shocked into paralysis long enough for him to finish his sets and clang the weights back into place. Long enough for him to reach for his cock and begin stroking it while watching me slowly sink into a split on the screen, view zooming closer between my opening legs as I sank down, as if trying to peer under my uniform skirt. Long enough for him to finally notice me in the mirror.
Henry startled and stopped stroking. At least he had the decency to blush deeply at being caught masturbating to his own personal spank bank - of his sister. But instead of reaching to cover up, or shouting at me to get out, he just kind of shrugged and gave me a sheepish half smile. His eyes traveled down and up my body, but then focused on my waist - below my waist - and he raised an eyebrow.
Nonplussed, I looked down, then over at myself in the mirror. My yoga pants were stained dark, wet between my legs. I knew I got pretty wet when turned on - that's why I always wore liners to school these days with all the boys... but normal exertion didn't do that to me, and I hadn't expected to be aroused in my brother's gym, and, Oh God... I was.
And not just a little. I had just discovered that Henry - my scholar-athlete brother - my suddenly, surprisingly very hot brother, naked and erect in front of me, was hot for me. Not just hot, but devotedly so, for some time, enough to edit videos to perv to. Enough to work out naked and jack off to. I'd just discovered he wanted me about as much as any man could want a woman. In the mirror, I was the one blushing the deeper red.
I don't know about you, but knowing I was the focus of that kind of intense, dedicated, overtly sexual desire had a significant effect on this hormonal teen. I realized I was flooded inside, the kind of aroused that preceded only my most intense wanks, usually reserved for when Jake Gyllenhaal, or Peter Hammond from chemistry class starred in my fantasies or wet dreams. And there was Henry, right there, hard and staring at my arousal. His cock visibly twitched again - not from looking at a video this time, but from looking at me, right there.
