This is my virgin attempt in stories, please forgive me for any mistakes and do ups me if you like the story!
Cheers bros!
My older brother Russell had everything in life, so it seemed. He had been blessed with extraordinary good looks and intelligence. Although he did have a rather quirky side, for the most part you could call him the All-American male, at least in public.
Russell graduated from Pitt law school and then joined my father's firm. A couple years later he married his college sweetheart, Laurie. They often talked about having children, many children. Laurie and I became very close. She even confided in me about their wonderful sex life. Although Laurie admitted, with a wink, that Russell liked to get kinky on occasion. And she said she readily indulged his fetish because she loved him so much.
Kinky? Well, I did know Russell liked to wear lingerie. I first discovered that fact one day when I came home from school early because I didn't feel well and I found Russell in my bedroom. Naked. Going through my dresser drawers. I watched him pick out a bra and admire it. Then he turned and saw me. He didn't seem startled.
I didn't know what to say, so I said, "Uh . . . uh . . . Russell . . . so you like my push-up racerback bra?" I didn't think it would be wise to comment on his huge boner. At that point in my life I wasn't too sure what I might be expected do with such a thing.
"Yes, it's lovely. What color is this?" he asked as he licked the insides of the cups.
"Periwinkle," I replied.
I hurried out then, saying I had to get back to school. So I went back and suffered with the cramps. Better than watching my brother act like a pervert I thought. I never said anything about that incident but every time Russell came home from college I knew he had been into my intimate apparel. And his fraternity became infamous for clandestine panty raids. The coeds complained vociferously that the thieves not only took panties, but bras as well. They bitched incessantly about having nothing to wear under their tight sweaters. But nobody else complained. University police thought the matter rather humorous and gave the main culprits names like Bra-man and Thong-dong.
Once when Russell came home on break I got into his laptop computer when he went out with his buddies. I wouldn't exactly call it porn. Breasts. He had thousands of pictures of breasts, every size and shape imaginable. And then I opened his briefcase. Victoria's Secret catalogues. He had circled some of the bras with a magic marker. He didn't circle the girl in the bra, just the breasts in the bra.
I also found a notebook in his briefcase. He doodled. Not that he could draw but I knew what they were supposed to be when he put one or two word captions under the pictures like bahama mamas, balloons, bawagos, bazongoes, bazookas, beamers, bee stings, big brown eyes, blinkers, bodacious tatas, bombs, bosom, boulders, Bristols (English--if you've never been hit on by an English dude and seen the "Aaah, Bistol" advertisements you won't get this one. Bristols is rhyming slang, short for Bristol cities, meaning titties), brown suckies, bust, Cadillac bumper bullets, and on and on and on through the rest of the alphabet.
But time passed and I mostly forgot about Russell's little idiosyncrasies.
* * *