[H] Brother’s Skirt - Chapter 7.2

Seeing my brother’s intact legs on the beach proved that his foster parents still had some sense, though I have no idea what lies he told to get past them.

The weather in May was already quite hot, making a dip in the ocean genuinely refreshing. The girl had brought a large inflatable raft, and my brother and I helped to inflate it, pumping the yellow inflator until we were both drenched in sweat. The girl handed a tissue to my brother and pulled out another for me, but instead of handing it to me, she pressed it against my face to wipe off the sweat herself. She leaned in close, her chest brushing against my arm.

By senior year, everyone had grown into their bodies.

I took the tissue from her hand to wipe my face myself, then told her, “Check if the raft is firm enough.”

The raft was so large she could roll around on it; her body’s curves spilled over the edges of her bikini, drawing glances even from passersby.

“Could you help me apply some sunscreen?” she asked.

I could, but I just slapped some on her back hastily and said, “You can do your hands and feet yourself.”

My brother had been quiet for a while, then suddenly told the girl, “You missed a spot on your back. Can you reach it?”

My brother’s pure-hearted appearance in front of others only made him seem more considerate and gentle. The girl looked at me, saw that I didn’t object, and tried to even out the sunscreen on her back herself.

“A little down, to the left,” my brother guided as if he were directing someone parking a car.

The girl twisted her arms trying to reach, her face scrunched up, until she finally whispered to my brother, “Could you help me with it?”

My brother happily obliged, touching her back with the tips of his fingers.

Quite amusing.

I tugged at my brother. “Put some sunscreen on me.”

He had just been smiling at the girl, but turned to me with a cold face. “Do it yourself.”

“Are you sure?” I gripped his arm tightly.

He tilted his head to look at me for a moment, then whispered in my ear, “I’ll get hard.”

The thin fabric of his shorts wasn’t the best at hiding things, so I had to let my brother be.

It was crowded on the beach for the weekend, and the raft was in the way, so we found a secluded spot along the shore. The girl lay on the raft while my brother and I swam alongside, pushing it towards deeper waters. I had objected to going out too far, as out of the three of us, only I could swim well. Despite having flotation sleeves, the ocean still posed a risk. The girl grabbed my hand and promised to stay still on the raft.

“If I don’t behave, you can make me bring you breakfast for a month,” she said.

By the time exams rolled around, who would be thinking about breakfast?

My brother, watching the scene, imprudently supported the idea. “It’s too crowded in the shallow area; the raft won’t fit.”

Then I saw my brother, with his dog-paddle swimming style, pushing the raft further out with me.

The girl lying on the raft asked me, “Which university are you planning to apply to?”

I glanced at my brother and told the truth: “It depends on him.”

The girl seemed surprised and turned to ask my brother, “And you?”

“Somewhere in the capital.”

Everyone knew my brother’s grades were good enough to aim for top universities.

“My grades probably won’t get me there,” the girl said, looking dejected.

My brother comforted her, “You have good grades.” He glanced at me, then told her, “If you need, I could help you with your studies.”

Many people said I was better looking than my brother, but that didn’t mean he was unattractive—her expression when looking at him proved it.

The sun was intense, and I floated on my back in the water, eyes closed, letting those two talk.

Suddenly, the water churned more violently. I opened my eyes just as a big wave crashed over us, filling my ears with water and screams. The salt water stung my nose as I coughed and turned to look for my brother. The girl had been knocked off the raft by the wave, and my brother, holding her waist, tried to keep her upper body above water. I swam over, pulled the girl’s arm to help her back onto the raft, and then supported my brother so he could catch his breath. He coughed, his eyes and cheeks as red as a rosefish.

“Let’s head back to shore,” I said.

Without asking the others, I pushed my brother ahead, letting him swim back with a dog paddle while I took care of the raft.

Once ashore, shaken and silent, I became increasingly irritated and didn’t want to stay any longer. I headed straight for the showers. My brother grabbed me.

“If you want to keep playing, go ahead. I’m leaving.” I shook off his hand without looking at the girl’s reaction.

The lockers required a fee, and I had stored my stuff with my brother’s, holding the key. As I thought about giving him the key later, my wrist was grabbed. No one else would do that but my brother. I pried his fingers open, placed the key in his hand, grabbed my things, and headed for the showers without another word.

The shower area consisted of individual stalls, often shared when crowded. My brother, following suit, squeezed into the small space with me.

“I’m not playing anymore; I’m going with you,” my brother insisted, holding my wrist to stop me from undressing.

“Weren’t you having a good chat?”

“You know I was doing it on purpose.”

He started to play the martyr.

“I need to shower; if you’re not showering, get out.”

Seeing no room for negotiation, my brother sheepishly let go.

As I undressed, he remarked, “You don’t have any injuries on you.”

The last time my brother had broken down the door, it had scared my foster parents enough to stop their ‘side quests’ for a while.

Showering didn’t take long, and as I dressed, my brother gave me another “surprise.”

He whispered, “I forgot to bring underwear.”

If I believed that, I’d be an idiot. “Forgot? You mean you deliberately didn’t bring it.”

My brother didn’t deny it, instead asking, “What should I do?”

Looking at his bare lower half, I said, “Go commando, it’s cooler.”

No tricks would work on him today.

The girl seemed to have lost the desire to play as well, and joined us on the bus back. With most people heading to the beach and few leaving, there were two empty seats on the bus. The girl took one, and I didn’t hesitate to claim the other. I closed my eyes, pretending to sleep to avoid chatting. I heard the girl apologizing to my brother, who responded briefly and then fell silent.

The ride from the beach to the city was long and lulling. But I was restless and remained alert. Suddenly, a weight pressed down on my lap—I opened my eyes to find my brother sitting on me. His shorts were pulled, exposing a swath of flesh below his waist where his underwear should have been. Like the other passengers, the girl was asleep.

It seemed my brother had decided to provoke me.

He whispered, “Don’t be mad.”

I sat motionless.

“Punish me by making me bring you breakfast for a month.”

Before I could react, he grinned.

Given our current financial straits, his promise of breakfast for a month was likely to involve theft or worse. I couldn’t afford that.

My brother was a quick study, especially at learning bad habits. With his legs crossed over mine, his back to my chest, he shifted to lean against me, teasing me with his movements. The gap in his shorts widened and narrowed with his fidgeting. He must have seen me swallow because he laughed out loud. I covered his mouth, then recoiled as his breath moistened my hand.

“Still mad?”

I nodded.

Despite the gentle motion of the bus, my brother managed to mimic the turbulence of a storm at sea. I pressed my palm against his abdomen to stop him from swaying.

“What can I do to make you not mad?”

“Can I set the terms?”

He nodded with a smile.

I was good at embarrassing my brother. I didn’t state my terms until we got off the bus, keeping him in suspense the whole ride, during which he leaned on me and fell asleep.

After parting with the girl, I led my brother on a random walk through the streets, looking for a secluded place, eventually turning into an underground parking garage. We circled the garage until we found a blind spot away from the cameras.

“Which hand did you use to apply sunscreen?” I asked.

My brother raised his right hand.

I grabbed his right index finger and bit down hard near the base.

“Which hand did you use to hold her?” I asked next.

He endured the pain without crying out, though his eyes reddened. Obediently, he extended his left hand.

I did the same to his left index finger, biting down just as hard.

Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but he still asked, “Still mad?”

I pulled something from my backpack and tossed it to him: “Put this on.”

He caught it and unfolded it, disbelief written all over his face.

It was a swim dress, which I had stealthily taken from the girl while she was asleep on the bus. Naturally, my brother recognized it and hesitated to put it on.

“Are you trying to get back at me?”

“I’ve worn it three times already; one more time won’t hurt.”

The dress was still damp and uncomfortable to wear. He asked, “How long do I have to wear it?”

That was the crucial question. I said, “Wear it, and do it for me.”

My brother looked both shocked and hurt. I didn’t give him time to think, adding, “You can choose to wear it here in this blind spot, or under the cameras.”

My brother doesn’t have a delicate build, and the dress did not suit him. However, once he reluctantly put it on, I understood why he had looked me up and down that time—he has light body hair, his calves slightly sunburned, his thighs paler under the shorts like pink knee-high socks. The tension of uncovering clues escalated, a series of jolts like adrenaline shots to the heart—the skirt fluttered with each movement, the glimpse of thigh in and out of view, sea water gathering at the hem, trickling down his skin in small, clear droplets that disappeared before reaching his ankles. Without tasting, I knew it was salty. I didn’t have heart issues, but I nearly couldn’t handle the rush.

After he was dressed, he stood there motionless, head down. I asked him, “Is it that you can’t get hard unless I’m wearing a dress?”

My brother softly hummed in response, “I don’t look good like this.”

He truly thought I was punishing and shaming him. I pulled his hand to my bulging groin: “It says you look good.”