Brad Comes Home

By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
Artwork (c) 2004 by Vitaly

Illustration of Brad Comes Home

I found Brad in the front yard when I got home from school and I shouted at him and waved, grinning like a madman. My initial look of happiness evaporated when I saw he was looking up at the sky. Looked up myself...nothing but some smallish clouds so blown by the wind that they had feathered out to near-nothingness...then back at Brad. His eyes weren't moving, but his mouth was. Open and closed like a fish out of water. His head was shaven entirely bare, his skin was the same deep brown shade as ever, but it was like his eyes, they were bigger now, the whites were extended, he was staring at the sky as widely as he could. I could see that the words he was saying, whatever they were, were the same few, over and over again, his broad black lips were cracked and dry and yet they said it over and over again, an "M" and an "O" and an "R", I could make out those three sounds from his lips and how they moved, but not what words they were connected to.

His arms came upwards, his thick biceps bulged out from his sleeveless t-shirt as he raised them to the heavens. I looked up at the sky again. What was Brad seeing? What was my brother doing, praying to God? Was he asking God something? Brad had never been religious, but he'd been away for over a year, he'd been in battles over in a nasty little tropical country, his letters had described the heat and the mosquitoes and the stink...nothing in any of it about God, his letters instead had gotten increasingly obscene in language and thoughts alike....

Mom came out on the porch. "Leave him be." She said to me, her body was dark black on the blackness of the porch which was heavily screened. Only her dress showed clear, a white rectangular shape that flared near the bottom slightly.

"What's wrong with him, Mom?" I asked plaintively. I'd been waiting for Brad to get back from the Army for months now, waited for him to get back, we were going to play football like before, go out and ride around town together, like before, we were brothers and we were friends as well, and now with Brad back home, things had to be like they were before.

Didn't they?

"He's been wounded." Mom said to me.

"I didn't hear about that!" I protested, going to her quickly. When had Brad been wounded? He hadn't been in battle in some months now...

"Inside, baby." Mom said to me. "He's been hurt inside, where it don't show."

"Oh!" I said, a small sound. And thought it through. "So what do we do?"

"We leave him be." she said, and her hand came up and rested on my arm. "We give him time to find out he's gone through it, he's done with it, he's back home." she said. "That'll heal him quicker'n anything else."

"Shouldn't he have doctors?" I said. "Shouldn't he be in a hospital where they can help him?"

She shook her head fiercely. "Home'll cure him." she said emphatically. "Love will cure him. You and me...we'll cure him."

"Okay." I said doubtfully. When Mom sets her mind to something, she gets her way. It explained why the U.S. Army would release Brad to her when they might not have otherwise. I told myself that if anything happened, I would call them myself!

Brad's arms lowered, and it was like he was done, he blinked hard several times, and his head turned and looked at me, at Mom, at our house.

"Welcome home, Son." Mom said to him, quietly.

"Welcome home." I said a heartbeat later.

"Hi, Mom." Brad said, and his voice was...still. Flat and dull-sounding. "Hi, Jerry." to me. The same, dull tone.

"Come on inside now, Son." Mom said to him. "I'll get supper going. What would you like tonight?" Just like she'd said to him a hundred times before.

His face made a smile, a timid mouse of white on his black face, but it was there. "I been hankering for some of your fried chicken." he said.

"Then that's what we'll have." Mom said. "And I made a peach pie."

"Oh, boy." I said myself. I always said something like that when Mom made her peach pies, she won prizes at the county fair with her pies. "I get the first piece!"

"The hell you will, sucker." Brad said.

Mom didn't chastise him for his language. Not that I blamed her one bit. For Brad was moving up the porch, and a bit of the old Brad was in that movement.

Not a lot. But some.

The old Brad flickered on and off throughout the meal. We'd get him to talking and laughing for a moment, just like old times...and then it would die out, like a match you hold upright after you strike it. The match flares up with a big, beautiful flame...then the chemical is gone and the wood alone can't sustain the fire, and the burned area doesn't feed it, and it dies out, leaving only gray smoke, leaving Brad quiet again, chewing quietly, his eyes and face dead as they could be.

After a time, the old Brad went away and didn't come back. The Brad that was left just froze as he was, his fork down on the plate, resting on its tines, but still in his fingers. Like he had forgotten to move. He was staring at the salt and pepper shaker, and his lips were moving again the same as before. "M." "O." "R."

"Brad." Mom said to him softly. "Brad. Come home again, son. Come home again."

I decided to help. As I laid a hand on his shoulder, I said, "Hey, Brad, big brother...."

That's when my hand landed on him and that's when Brad moved. God, he was so fast, I hardly saw what he did, he dropped his fork, scooped up his knife and his other hand grabbed my arm and then the knife was right at my throat! I pulled away as far as I could, but Brad's knife-point was sticking me!

"Brad!" Mom said, just a little sharper. She didn't scream at all. Just spoke to him like was doing something a little wrong.

"Mom?" I said, my eyes wide.

"Hush, babe." Mom said to me. "Brad, Brad, come home again. Come home again."

Brad's hand trembled.

"Brad, it's over, son." Mom said now. "It's over and you're home. It's over, baby, it's over."

"Mom?" Brad said, a small voice.

"It's over now, baby." Mom said. "Come home, baby."

Brad dropped the knife, it hit the edge of the table and bounced away with a tink-tink-tink-tink! Brad was trembling all over now.

"God, Brad!" I said with a shiver in my voice.

"I'm sorry." he said to me. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

Watching him say that, I knew them what he'd been saying so much, over and over again. "M" "O" and "R"; it was "I'm sorry!"

"Jesus." I said.

Brad let go of my arm and dashed out the back door, the screen door hitting the sill with a clang.

"Let him be." Mom said to me. "He's got some healing to do, is all."

"He had a knife to my throat!" I said to her, rubbing my neck.

"He didn't mean to." Mom said.

"Not mean to!"

"He's lost, baby." Mom said to me. "He has to find his way home. He's going to be all right, soon as he finds the way."

"But what should we do now?" I said. "Hide all the knives?"

"Leave it all be for now." Mom said. "He'll come back when he's ready."

"Okay." I said doubtfully. I spent the next couple of hours watching television like I always did. Hell of a way to welcome your brother home after over a year of combat, with him outside somewhere, half out of his mind, while you sit watching television! But it was what Mom did, so it was what I did.

I decided though that, come morning, I was calling those doctors to come get my brother, fast!

I got in bed and lay there. I was hearing something outside in the back yard. Something whimpering, like a dog. Only it wasn't quite a dog. Something else, something hurting.

I decided maybe I'd better see what it was. Sometimes a wild animal would come trying to find a place to get food, when it was wounded. I'd found a raccoon once, like that, its foot gone, because it'd been caught in a trap and had to chew his foot off to get out of it. Only the raccoon had been silent, it had been the blood that had let us find it, hiding under the back porch, unable to go any further.

I took the flashlight and went outside, wearing only a pair of shorts that I usually slept in. The sound was coming from under the back porch. This space was not a crawlspace; underneath the porch was quite large, maybe four feet tall, as our house was on the side of a hill and the back of the house was up high to keep the floor level. Another couple of feet, and we could have done a second floor or something; as it was, we just had a house with its rear in the air.

So I went down the back steps and shone the light on what was underneath.

Brad. He was hunkered down there, whimpering. It was him I'd heard.

"I'm sorry!" he said, over and over. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Brad?" I said to him. "Brad, what is it? What are you sorry about?"

He didn't hear me.

I stood there, looking at my brother. My big brother, sitting on the dirty ground under the back porch, hunched down, looking like the exact opposite of the big football-playing, rough-housing, muscular male he'd always been, the big brother I'd worshiped for as long as I could remember.

And Brad had always been there for me. When I needed him, he was always there for me. Whether it had been bullies as a kid, or a playmate for games, or someone to teach me how to throw the football or baseball, or to play a game of one-on-one basketball that was just friendly enough to be fun and yet competitive enough to stretch my limits....Brad had always been there for me.

Well, it was my turn now. I could be there for him! All I had to do was figure out how.

I set the flashlight down on the ground, it was a big model, not a small stick-type, it was meant to be set down on its big, square battery and I could aim the light. I set it to shine straight up, that gave us light under the porch. And I sat down by Brad, at his side. Where he'd always been for me. And I waited.

Brad stopped his litany of apology after a time and seemed to shake himself, looked over at me. "Hey, Jerry." he said.

"Hey, Brad." I said as casually as I could, under the circumstances.

He looked around. "What are we doing here?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"It's where I found you." I said.

"What time is it?"

"About midnight."

"Over four hours." Brad said.

"More like five." I agreed.

"Longer than it usually is."

"How long do you usually go off like that?" I asked.

"Couple of hours." Brad said. "At most."

"Okay." I said, digesting this. Then, because I had to ask, after all. "But why?"

He didn't have to ask for clarification. "Because it hurts." he said, and his tone went from plaintive to angry in a hurry. "It just hurts so much and that's all I can do about it! Okay?"

"Okay, okay!" I said quickly.

"Shit!" Brad said. "What am I doing here?"

And I didn't have to ask him, he didn't mean under the back porch. "Because this is your home." I said. "And we're your family. You belong here."

"I don't belong anywhere." Brad said. "Except maybe in hell for what I did."

I licked my lips. "Want to tell me about it?"

"No." he said.

"Okay." I was relieved. Whatever had driven Brad over the edge like this couldn't have been anything I wanted to hear.

Brad began to shake and shiver. And then to cry, not quietly, not whimpering. "God!" he cried out. "I messed up so bad! So bad! I messed up so bad and I'm sorry!"

"Brad, stop it!" I said. I didn't want him going back into that "I'm sorry" mode again. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!"

He put his head down. "I messed up so bad." He said. "Those kids, those kids, they were just kids!"

Oh, God! "Brad! Brad!" I said desperately. "It's okay, you don't have to say it!" I didn't want to hear it, not from my big brother, who had always protected little kids, and not just me. I knew the people we were fighting armed very young boys. That could have put Brad in a position where he had to shoot and kill boys no older than I had been, when he had been my protector, my friend, my big brother. Oh, God! Poor Brad!

Brad put his head on my shoulder and cried and I let him. The crying was the regular sort now, not that heart-tearing sound it had been earlier. I just held him and let him cry.

After a time, he was done and yet he stayed where he was and I continued to hold onto him. "Jesus, Jerry." he said to me after a while. "What am I going to do?"

"I don't know." I said. "But whatever you do, me and Mom are here. We'll help you."

Brad looked up at me, his eyes damp from his tears sparkled in the light. He looked just then not at all like my big brother, but like someone who needed to be comforted. Who needed to be loved. Who needed to be...kissed?

When I reached my lips towards my brother's, he met me halfway, and our lips meshed. His were rough, cracked, dry...and felt wonderful! Brad's strength returned as we kissed, I could feel it welling up inside him and bulging out his lips as they worked on me harder...harder.

As Brad's strength returned, I went from holding him to being held. He was almost swelling up before me. He moved and his leg came over mine. Yes, he was swelling up in more ways than one!

"Jesus, Brad." I said to him, but it was a husky whisper out of my throat and into his mouth, barely audible. His only answer was to slide off my lips and across my jaw, it was like he was trying to physically devour me, but without biting, just trying to swallow me down whole. His mouth worked, opened and closed, like a fish. Nibbling at me like the fish does at bait before it strikes.

Brad struck. His powerful body trained by the Army into a machine of manhood overtook me. I was flat on my back and Brad over me, his hands pulling at my shorts, my sole article of clothing. The elastic of the shorts was loose (one reason why I wore them to bed, they were comfortable) and they slid off me easily. Brad's broad muscles slid up his arm as he tugged and he looked at me, my own face wrinkled in bewildered willingness, and he grinned, his teeth were a blast of whiteness in the darkness of his face, like a flare bursting over a battlefield. Bright, clear, clean light to guide the way.

I grinned back as Brad's hand closed on my pud, a happily erect black snake that writhed warmly in his palm. It was heavily calloused, those hard bumps of thickened flesh made it feel kind of odd, places where his hand was warmer and softer, and places where it was cooler and harder. Both of them were up against my prick, working my skin in different ways at the same time. Then he shifted his grip and that changed the sensations and he pumped me harder. I threw my head back and just moaned as my big brother's horned hand was pummeling my prick.

"Oh, oh, oh, shit!" I grunted as my passion built up in a hurry.

And like a hammer falling, my brother let go of me! Panting, I looked at him wide-eyed, and he said, the old Brad there strong and real and alive as he could be, the old Brad grinned and said, "Not yet, little brother."

"Oh, God!' I gasped. "Brad, God!"

"Time for me now." Brad said as his hands went up to his pants. He was still wearing the clothes I had seen him in that afternoon, the sleeveless t-shirt and the army fatigue pants, it was these pants that he was opening with the ease of long use. As he opened them, the off-white boxers underneath parted to let the hard dong underneath them bulge out, the head still trapped but the shaft was arcing out. And Brad's hand reached in and gave a tug and that huge schlong popped out, the head was thick and plum-shaped, the slit winked a glint of precome at me.

"Come on, little brother, chow down." Brad said and he winked the wink he'd always given me while growing up, any time we shared a secret, I'd get that wink from him. "My turn now."

"Yeah." I breathed. I squirmed around and half-crawled, half-slid over to him and rose up to get to his dong. The precome was now reaching out and down his cock-slit, and I stuck out my tongue and caught it before it could dribble on down.

"Uhhhhh!" Brad groaned as my tongue, now dabbed with his juice, reached up and tasted his pud. "Yeahhhh, uhhhhhh!" Now I had his prick in my mouth and I was sucking on it with the blissful joy you can only have when you finally, finally, get to do what you always dreamed of doing. Brad was back! Brad was back, and he was mine!

As teenagers we had horsed around a lot, Brad would even pretend-fuck me when we were wrestling at times. And yet, somehow, we'd never gone beyond that. Until now, there, under the back porch, with Brad fresh out of the Army, and he was a wounded spirit reviving under the calming balm of home, and now Brad and I weren't pretending anymore.

So I sucked his pud and after a time, he was groaning as hard as I had. I heard him building up to a climax and just like him (he was my brother, I had to play him the way he played me, keep the balance of power), I let go of him and said, "My turn again!"

"You're damned right it's your turn." Brad said. "Lay back down little brother, and I'll give it to you but good."

So I lay back and Brad lifted up a leg of mine and put it on his shoulder and I didn't think much of that until he lifted it right up into the air, my foot's sole scrap ed the bottom of one of the beams of the porch over us. Then I felt his cock, lubed up with my spit, touching my butt.

"How'd you like a bit of what I used to give the guys in my squad?" Brad said to me, his voice husky with his need.

"Yeah, big brother, come one, shove it in me." I panted. "Just like you did in the Army, yeah, yeah!"

Brad's cock pushed against my butthole, and I was glad, feeling that huge prick, that I'd had a couple of guys before him or I'd never have been able to take him without screaming.

Even so, it was a lot to take. I don't know what they did in the Army with Brad, but Brad's cock was big and hard and he was pushing into me harder than my buddies ever had. I gave out a yelp when he got too much and Brad's reaction was to put his hand over my mouth and push in even harder! But he was inside me pretty much and the rest of it wasn't too bad, when he got all the way inside me, he let go, and said, "You about ready for your turn now, little brother?"

I was panting hard, it was better than screaming. "Oh, oh, oh, fuck!" I said.

"You ready, little brother?"

"Yeah, yeah, uh, uh, huh!" I replied.

Brad began to move in me, his cock was so fucking hard and firm and it drove in and out of me. Brad fucked me with a gusto he had always brought to his life in every way, whether playing sports or training in the Army (I had seen him once on a visit) or now, fucking me, he did it with all the energy and vigor he could give to it.

After a while, the pain was gone and I could enjoy Brad's fucking, my ass had accommodated him. He was big and heavy and sweating on top of me, and his eyes were looking right into mine, and his face had a peacefulness it hadn't had all that day. Until now, when he was fucking me! Now, my brother was at peace.

So I reveled in his fuck, I clung to his back and felt the strong muscles there as they moved with his hips, and I my passion rose in me. "God, God, Brad." I gasped. "God, I'm going to come!"

"Yeah, come on, Jerry, shoot that spunk all over me." Brad said. "Give me a nice, big load, just like they do in the Army. I want a lot of hot teenaged jizz, right on me!" And he hunched at me harder, slower, it was huh-huh-huh-huh-huh as he drove into me in hard separate rams of his dong.

And as he rammed me, I grunted and I hung on and my ecstasy built up and I moaned and I closed my eyes tight shut and when I did, there was a roaring in my ears and the blackness of my eyelids turned red and with a blast of marvelously coalescing delights that rippled through my body, I squirted my load up and all over myself, and onto Brad.

Brad grunted when I did that and he hunched at me harder. He must have been close himself, for I had barely finished my own climax, still panting hard, still unable to see clearly, and his grunts suddenly caught and extended themselves, and with a low, long sound, his salty spunk shot into me and burned my bowels with his brotherly seed.

Done, he almost fell on top of me. "Good job, soldier." He said to me.

"Thanks." I said. "You were good, too, big brother."

Brad pulled away and seemed embarrassed now, yanking his pants back up. I caught some of his shame and put my own shorts back on. Brad, the old Brad, the bubbly bright star Brad, was fading again. His face was darkening once more.

"Brad, what's wrong?" I asked him.

"It's okay, little brother." He said to me. "I'll be all right for a while." And then, a whisper only, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry."

I looked at him, at this sunken, weak, silent stranger my brother had become. It was like he was two different people, alternating in the same body. Where was the horny, rutting big brother that had been nearly playful with me when he had fucked me? God, I still had my come on my chest from that, and now he was almost like a new person.

"We should go get in bed." I said to him. And then, before Brad totally went away, I said, "I think you need to get some help. More than me and Mom can give you."

Brad just nodded. But he went with me back into the house.

We're getting help for my brother now. He has nightmares still, and sometimes he slips into that trance-like state. But he has medication and he has help. And when the nightmares come, Brad has learned to come get in bed with me instead of running out into the outdoors. He'll sleep with me, sometimes we make love and sometimes not. And sometimes the old Brad comes into my room even without having a nightmare, and those times are just great.

Mom insists on keeping him here with us, and the doctors don't mind as long as we make him keep his doctor's appointments.

Maybe someday, the old Brad will be back for good.

Maybe, someday, Brad will have apologized enough for staying alive, and coming home again.


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E-mail me at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM