Part 2 - A New Kind of Heaven

Part 2 - A New Kind of Heaven

This story relates how I morphed from being straight as a ruler to being bisexual. These events happened in spring '03. While I obviously can't remember every detail, the basic story is true. I've added detail where it was needed. If you haven't read part one, you should before reading this or it won't make much sense.

The morning dawned bright and clear, a beautiful spring day. Thank God it's Saturday, I thought to myself. I glanced over at the clock by the bed. 8:13. I'd slept in.

I oozed out of bed and tugged on a pair of shorts. Standing, I looked out the window. The hillside rose up behind the house, home after spacious home piling up to the top. I glanced to the left into the backyard. Sure enough, Mitch was swimming. He liked to do a few dozen laps in our small pool in the morning on the weekends. I, on the other hand, hated working out, and I only did it on weekdays, driven only by my desire to try to keep pace with the rest of the squad. I noted that he was just now climbing out of the pool, reaching for a towel on the chair.

I stumbled my way to the bathroom and moved to the mirror. I rubbed absently at the day-old scruff on my face and grabbed a glass of water, only drinking half of it. I grabbed my shaver and turned it on, feeling it buzz against my face.

Suddenly, Mitchell stepped into the bathroom, sporting only his speedo swimsuit, his hair a wild mop of damp hair and beads of water still clinging to those parts of him he hadn't bothered to dry. He slid up beside me, examining his sparse facial hair in the mirror. Then he looked at me and gave me that boyish grin. "How'd you sleep?" he called over the buzz of the shaver.

"Fine, once I got to it. You?"

"Great. Did Andrea say anything to you?" He turned on the water, splashed his jaw line, then stopped up the sink, letting it fill with water.

"Yeah, she went with Dad. They'll be gone until Tuesday."

"Cool." He reached up and grabbed his shaving cream and a new razor. He squirted some into his palm and started applying it to his youthful face.

"Hey, you manage to nail down that pep rally you mentioned yesterday?"

"Yeah." He paused in his application and grinned. "You know, those rich bitches don't like 7:30 phone calls." He chuckled. "Anyway, after she realized who I was, she was perky enough. We're on at the same place as last time, about 9:00 this evening."

"Great. They're always a good crowd."

"Yeah, they are. Wild chicks with daddy's cash always pay good." Mitch resumed spreading his cream.

I finished shaving and clicked off my shaver, setting it back into its cradle. Feeling the urge, I turned and stepped over to the toilet. Aiming absently, I closed my eyes as I emptied my bladder. I heard the water turn off. By the time I had finished and flushed, Mitch was running his razor over his skin and swishing it in the water after each pass.

As I looked at him, that moment suddenly crystallized in my memory. Everybody remembers certain moments in their life. It might be when you lost your virginity. It might be the first time you drove a car by yourself. It might be something else. At this moment, as I gazed at his fabulous body bent over the sink, his unruly mop of hair, his fine, rounded ass covered with that single, tight piece of cloth, his individually distinguishable swimmer's abs, his bicep flexing and relaxing as he guided the razor, I realized that for the first time, I was sexually attracted to another man.

And I liked it.

I wanted to feel him. I wanted to embrace and enfold him. I wanted to breath in that perfect body, that boyish face. I watched as he took his last stroke, double checked his job, and unstopped the sink. It was then that he noticed me staring at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing, I was..." I grinned. "I was just enjoying the show."

He laughed and splashed the shaving cream from his face, reaching for a hand towel at his side. Burying his face into the towel, he turned to me. "God, can't you get enough?" he teased. I just smiled at him. "Why don't you come over here and join the show, Trevor?" he said playfully, leaning casually back against the sink, arms crossing over his defined chest. I smiled wider and moved to him. He looked down into my eyes and I placed my hands on his waist. Looking down at his body, I began moving my hands up and down him, feeling his hard muscles, his arms, his stomach, his slightly hairy bronze chest.

I slid around behind him and explored from there, my own chest pressing into his back. Mitch reached back and placed his hands on my waist, grinding his ass against me slowly in a circle. I reached down with one hand and caressed the front of his swimsuit, rubbing and squeezing the fleshy mass.

"Let's take a shower, Trev," he mumbled. "We can mess around for a while, we've got the house to ourselves." Good idea. I thought he'd never say it. I turned and reached into the shower stall, turning on the hot water. Mitchell reached behind me and closed the door to keep the heat in.

"Hey, Trevor." I turned to my stepbrother. "We trust each other." He paused. "I want to try things."

"Like what things?"

"New things. Everything. Anything we can think of."

"Alright," I said, my mind already running through the possibilities.

The water was hot, and I reached in, adjusting the temperature. Behind me, Mitch reached into the cabinet and grabbed a new can of shaving cream. "For later," he winked at my questioning glance. I smiled as he looped his thumbs into the waistband of his speedos, dropping them to the floor and stepping into the stall in front of me. I dropped my own shorts and followed, bolting the glass door behind me.

He was already under the water, running his hands over his tilted head, the water flowing down in sheets over his perfect body, a small stream falling off the tip of his semi-erect penis.

"Fuck, I can't believe we're doing this, Mitch." I grinned at him dumbly as he stepped close to me.

"Don't think too much. Let's just have fun." Suddenly he wrapped his arms around my back and we embraced hard and kissed passionately, long. Just like the night before, the kiss was superlative, masculine, sensual, and passion-kindling.

We breathed each other in, and he pressed me back against the wall, rubbing his wet body against mine. God, I was getting into it. We were on a par, our bodies matching and able to exert all our passionate force into one another without fear of harm. I pushed back, turning us around, our lips locked. I pushed his hands against the wall above his head and held them there. Our cocks were fully hard now, dueling fiercely with each other. Mitchell broke the kiss. "Oh God," he moaned, "I could fucking get used to this."

I stepped back and smiled, turned on by the lust I saw in his boyish face, the fire burning in his deep brown eyes. He smiled back, then stepped to the front wall, grabbing the bar of soap. The aroma of Irish Spring permeated the air as he moved behind me and started rubbing the bar against my chest, over my hard pecs and solid abs.

What followed can only be described as worship. He told me to just stand there, not to move a muscle. Then he began working up lather. He rubbed every square inch of my body from my neck down, slowly, hard, working the suds, more groping and massaging than cleaning. As he went, he kissed and licked and nibbled and bit and sucked. He explored, feeling every part of me, saving my waving cock and supple balls for last. Finally, he kneeled in front of me, lathering up my erection, kissing, slowly rubbing, admiring.