by Grant Kayashima
The door slammed, the sound reverberated throughout the household. I knew what that meant, mother was away. This was my chance, I told myself. This is my only chance. I stole myself away to my brother’s dwellings. He’s asleep, good. Brother had always been a hard sleeper. Once when the house was on fire due to mother’s wondrous cooking lessons for father. During this time, even with the fire alarms buzzing and the fire engines, brother never stirred. I gazed at him though, lovingly. I would never be able to get him to understand my feelings. They are too complex. But now, now is my chance. This moment is just for me. I came in as though it were natural. But why not, I live in this house, why shouldn’t I be allowed in? Making my way to his bed I found what I wanted; my brother’s masculinity, the object of my desire. I gazed at it for a few moments. After some time I built up some courage. To hell with dignity, this time is for me and for me alone. I touched it. I quivered with anticipation. Would I continue, or would I stop? I must continue, I’ve gone too far to turn back, I had soiled it with my hands and that was the way life now was. Grabbing it, I uncovered it from its wrapping; it seemed to gleam in the sunlight from the window. I stroked it some more, and quivered once more. How exciting! I am stroking the form of my brother’s masculinity right here in his very room. Would I be caught? I feel like an exhibitionist hiding from people in a restaurant. Once again, I can’t stop, my hands wouldn’t let me. I gave in and brought it to my breast, cradling as though to protect it from predators. Holding it, I felt sad, it was still sheathed. Why? Why must it be contained in yet another wrapping? So I unsheathed it. Be free my object of desire, show the world what you are and be free! I gazed at its new look, how strange, it looks so differently now. How perverse I am. I stared some more and random thoughts seemed whisk by internally. I wondered what it tastes like. What a strange thought, but I decided to humor my thoughts and gave it a lick. How strange, nothing. It must have been cleaned before brother went to bed, there’s no other explanation right? Just then I heard the front door open, it had to be father coming home. I must hurry, I returned my beloved object to its resting place, covered and concealed like always. I mustn’t let anyone, least of all my brother, know I was here. Quickly, I walked to the door and slipped out, looking back once more from the doorway. The item of my desire was now in the shade. I smirked. Turning away, I gently shut the door. One day, I too will have my very own sword.
Grant Kayashima is a student at the State College of Florida.