Stepbrother Desires by Lauren Branford Page A

wasn’t a match for me. Sebastian was the one thing that I wanted the most, and I wasn’t about to give up on my desire.

Hidden Desires
    Michael
     
    Swirls of oil poured from the tops of her bare breasts and ran in thick streams down the sides. She loved to begin at the peaks of her nipples, and caress the dark liquid all over her chest. Each day, her tanned body would bask in the garden, just behind the gate. My bedroom window just happened to be able to overlook the white picket fence, and onto her luscious body. Over the past week, I had become obsessed with her figure. The breasts were like two large, perfectly ripe fruit on a branch that was out of my grasp. After all, she was my new stepmother.
    Lydia wouldn’t sunbathe for much time, unlike her son who loved to lie about all day as if it were his profession. She would be there for a half hour; just enough time for me to pull out my cock, and begin stroking.
    In my twenty-five years on this world, I never would imagine myself in this position. Pleasing myself to images of my father’s new wife wasn’t just wrong, but it was exciting. Each time I thought about being discovered watching my stepmom, my heart raced, and my blood boiled.
    My father left my mother when I was still very young for another woman. They married, and right away she gave birth to my little sister, Audrey. I despised my new stepmother. She was a stuck up fashionista with a prima donna attitude. Nothing seemed to phase her, and my presence always felt like a nuisance. For years, I blamed her for the lack of bonding between my father and me. To this day, our relationship has never fully blossomed into much of anything. My mother assured me that one day my father, and I would bud and bloom. However, we always felt less like a flower and more like a pinecone ready to fall into the dirt.
    When I became an adult, I saw that our lack of a healthy relationship is because my father was simply an asshole. He was the one who decided to leave and start a new family somewhere else. They planned trips to France, Spain, and Italy, while I got the occasion postcard or two from him.
    “Wish you were here, Michael!” read one with a picture of the Trevi Fountain in Rome.
    “Missing you!” said another from Barcelona.
    “Your father loves you,” assured my mother time and time again. Still, he never wrote me an authentic note. It was always just what the postcard had preprinted, and then he would sign and sometimes date it. The entire thing felt like pomp– and court-ordered.
                  The surprise came after my I graduated from Harvard University. After years of not hearing his voice, he called me out of the blue on my cell.
                  “Michael!” he shouted from the receiver. “It’s Robert– I mean, your dad!”
                  He sounded terribly gleeful.
                  “Hi, dad,” I said somewhat warmly. He would call me from time to time just to say hello when he was feeling “fatherly”, I suppose. Then he would offer to send me money, which I never felt bad about accepting. After all, he was the one who leveraged me to attend Harvard.
                  “What’s going on, little guy?” he asked.
    Little guy ? I though before realizing that we hadn’t seen each other in two years. Even then, I was just under him in height. However, after a growth spurt in my senior year in high school, I was six foot, four inches. I worked out all of the time since I came to college. The girls that once started I looked like boy, now follow me around campus. I supposed without seeing me, my father couldn’t possibly known that I would tower over him.
    “I’m doing well,” I replied. “How about yourself?”
    “Great, great,” he answered listlessly. “So, Michael, I have some fantastic news. I’m getting married!”
    Though my schedule conflicted with their wedding, I agreed to come as soon as I was able. The next thing I