A Family Affair

by Frank Sol

Overview

Edward has been dating Sophia in a tempestuous relationship. After yet another startling fight, why is he thinking more and more about her twin brother?

After Edward rescues Marco as a passed-out drunk in the street, Edward finds that his feelings for the materialistic Sophia is less intriguing than her twin brother. The openly gay young man has a strong crush on his shining knight. From brotherly affection, Edward finds his feelings for his new friend are growing more and more sexual.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9798223748120
Publisher:	Cosmic Legends Publishing
Publication date:	06/06/2023
Series:	Novels of the Sensual City
Pages:	122
Product dimensions:	5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.29(d)

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

Well, I certainly do know how to pick a winner.

Why the hell does every single one of my relationships seem to be destined for disaster? Samantha, Mary, Elizabeth ... every last damn one has crashed and burned.

I mean, I certainly do alright for myself in other areas. I have a great job, working at the local radio station. No, I don't work on-air; I'm one of the guys who works behind-the-scenes, keeping everything flowing smoothly. The salary is not spectacular, but it's more than enough to allow me to rent my own place, keep a decent car, party it up a bit, and all that sort of thing. It certainly puts me above the average twenty-three year-old.

However, when it comes to relationships, forget it. Every single one always goes badly in the end. Sophia is only the latest in my unbroken string...

Sophia dumped me earlier this evening. Well, she didn't exactly dump me, but we had a fairly public screaming match which ended with her telling me to go and fuck myself and never come near her again, which I guess amounts to the same thing as being dumped.

It's for the best really, or so I tried to console myself. To tell the whole truth, I don't think Sophia was really all that interested in me as a person. What she was really after was my bank balance. As long as I was buying her nice presents and taking her out to clubs and things like that, she was happy. It was a shallow relationship between two extremely shallow people. Yes, it was long past time that I faced up to the bitter truth. I knew how things stood between us. I knew she couldn't give a damn about me and, if I'm honest--which I really did owe it to myself to be--I felt pretty much the sameabout her.

Honestly, I let things continue for as long as they did because Sophia was a real looker. When she was dressed to kill, everyone noticed, and having her with me gave me one hell of a boost. How shallow is that?

We'd had fights before, of course. What couple doesn't have fights? They usually happened when Sophia didn't get her own way about something. In the end I'd give her what she wanted and everything would go smoothly again.

This time, though, it was different. This time it was really over.

This particular trouble started a few days ago when I went round to Sophia's house to pick her up and found out that she'd already left. Her mother was home and invited me in. Like a complete moron, I accepted the invitation. Janice had obviously decided that she wanted a taste of the sort of life her daughter was enjoying, and the woman practically threw herself at me. I suppose, for a forty-year-old, she was quite attractive. But I'm not into older women, period. I tried to point this out to her in a nice way, but she was having none of it. As soon as she was sure that she had no chance with me I suddenly became a pervert who was only interested in young girls. Suddenly Sophia was an innocent little seventeen-year-old, and I had used my money to brainwash her into going out with me. Innocent? Yeah, whatever. Sophia had told me herself that she had lost her cherry at twelve and had been screwing around ever since then. Anyway, the scene was rapidly turning ugly so I came to the conclusion that the best thing was to get out of there, and quick. I decided it was probably best not to mention this little scenario to Sophia. However, her mother was obviously not happy about me repelling her advances, and if she couldn't have me, then neither could dear little Sophia. When I stopped by the house to collect the girl earlier this evening, she almost gouged my eyes out. She was blazing mad, accusing me of trying to get it on with her mother. I tried to put her right, telling her that it was really the other way around, but she refused to even listen. The fight got louder and louder, and then she physically came at me, her hand flying at my face. Those bloody nails of hers could have done serious damage. Luckily, all I got was a couple of scratches. That's when I decided I didn't want to hang around any longer, and as I left she told me, in no uncertain terms, not to come back.

Yes, I think it's probably fair to say that me and Sophia are no longer an item.

* * * *

Following our fight, I really needed a serious drink. I took the Audi home, quickly doctored up my damaged face, and then walked round to my local bar, which was just a couple of streets away.

"Hey, Eddie!"

I waved back at Mason, got myself a beer from the bartender, and headed to that table where Mason was sitting. I knew a few of the other people there, and I took one of the chicken wings as the platter made its round of the table.

"Early night?" Mason asked. "I thought you had a hot date."

"Sophia made other plans."

Mason laughed. "Had another fight?"

"A doozey this time."

"Don't sweat it." Mason refilled his glass from the pitcher resting on the table. "There's plenty of chicks out there just waiting for a taste." The rest of the table nodded their agreement with that.

"I've had more than just a taste."

"Yeah, well girls are like cars ... the new model is always hotter than what you're currently driving." He drained his glass.

Even before I'd finished my first beer, it was readily becoming apparent that I really wasn't in the mood for socialising. The alcohol, instead of relaxing me, was simply making me feel more depressed. "I'm just not in the mood for the bar tonight," I told Mason after hastily downing my second. "I think I'm just gonna call it a night and head home."

Mason nodded. "Yeah, sometimes that's the best thing you can do." With his square jaw and blond surfer-style looks, he certainly never had any trouble landing himself a girl. He was currently eying a brunette in a low-cut tee-shirt.

"Good luck," I told him.

* * * *

It was an impulse to walk through the park; it isn't something I normally do. For one thing, it's not the safest place to wander alone after dark. But I needed to try to clear my head. It was a mild night and there was something therapeutic about walking through the darkness, looking up at the stars and realising that, compared to the vastness of the universe, my own problems were fairly insignificant; I should mention that after a little alcohol I tend to become an amateur philosopher. I'd only been walking for a few minutes when I noticed the crumpled heap lying across the path a short distance ahead of me. I'm almost ashamed to say that at this point my first reaction was to turn around and walk the other way; I had enough problems of my own without worrying about some drunk, passed out in the park. But my conscience got the better of me and I felt I had little choice but to make sure that the person was alright. I'd go and check, and if he was indeed a drunk, I'd leave him where he was to enjoy his temporary yet blissful release from this cruel and unforgiving world. Not just a philosopher but a poet as well; the small amount of beer I'd consumed really was working overtime this evening.

Cautiously I approached the shadowy heap. "You okay, buddy?"

There was no response.

Now my imagination kicked in, big time. Suppose this wasn't a drunk, but a dead body? The last thing I needed at the moment was to get involved in a murder investigation, right? I took a few tentative steps closer, telling myself not to be so stupid. He won't be dead, just dead to the world. "You okay, buddy?" I repeated.

This time there was a mumbled response, more of a grunt than anything else.

At least he was alive, I thought to myself. "You need any help or anything?" Silly bloody question. Of course he needed help. The real question was whether I was prepared to give it.

"Leave me alone." Even though the muttered words were slurred, the message was clear enough.

Normally, under circumstances like these, I wouldn't need telling twice. However, there was something familiar about that voice. I remained frozen in my place, frowning as my mind spun. Surely it couldn't be! "Mark?"

"Leave me alone," the figure repeated, an arm flopping out aimlessly.

Now I was almost sure. Sure enough to want to confirm my suspicions, anyway. I knelt over the figure to get a look at his face and managed a quick glimpse before I had to step back, reeling. "Christ, Mark, you stink." Trying to hold my breath so as not to inhale the foul mixture of odours, I again knelt down and rolled the figure over onto his back. Yep, it was definitely Sophia's twin brother.

"Oh, shit!" I muttered as I saw the state he was in.

From the overwhelming smell of alcohol on his breath, he'd drunk himself almost into insensibility. Unfortunately, that wasn't all he'd done. There was vomit down the front of his grey hoodie and, from the strong smell of urine, it was reasonable to assume that he'd also pissed himself.

"Leave me alone," the boy repeated, his words barely intelligible.

I turned my head away to draw in some clean air while I thought about the situation I was now in. "What the hell am I supposed to do with you?" I asked. Leaving him lying on the ground was out of the question. The kid was only seventeen, and God knows what might happen to him if I simply went home and left him like this. "I suppose the easiest thing to do is to call 911 and let the cops take care of you." I left my cell-phone clipped to my belt though. I didn't like the idea of leaving him to the not-so-tender mercies of 'the city's finest'. He'd certainly end up spending the night in the police cells, and would probably even get charged with something or other. "I could drag you back home." That really would be the best thing to do with him ... only I could think of a number of reasons not to do that. Firstly, he lived a good couple of miles away and obviously would never be able to walk there in this condition, and I certainly wasn't going to have him in my nice car seeing as he was covered in piss and sick. Secondly, I had no desire to show my face round at their house at the moment. And thirdly, it was unlikely there would be anyone in anyway. Sophia would be out with her friends, no doubt telling them what a complete bastard I was, and her mother would be out on the prowl for herself; there was no father around.

"I'm just too damned soft-hearted," I grumbled aloud. "That's always been my trouble, Mark. Come on." I reached under his arms and, with a struggle, lifted him into a standing position. "I'm gonna have to take you home with me."

Since Mark showed no signs of being able to support himself, I had to almost carry him. Luckily he wasn't especially heavy; even though he was seventeen, he was extremely small for his age.

Slowly, and with a great deal of effort, we made the half-kilometre journey to my apartment. It was with great relief that I finally kicked the door closed behind me. That had to have been the longest half-kilometre of my life. It wasn't just the effort of dragging Mark, but also the smell, which I was sure was getting worse all the time. Almost exhausted, I hauled him the last few metres down the hallway into the bathroom, and then dumped him unceremoniously down onto the tiles.

Then I took a step back to get my first good look at him. If anything, the boy looked even worse than I had first imagined.

Mark sat there, his back propped against the side of the tub. His face was pale and his eyes flicked open and closed as if he didn't have full control over them.

An unpleasant thought occurred to me. "Mark, have you taken anything, or is this just from drink?"

"Leave me the hell alone."

"Mark, talk to me," I said, taking hold of his shoulders and shaking him. "Have you taken anything? Any pills or stuff?" I pushed the sleeve of his hoodie up past the elbow. There were no marks on his inner arm; not that I really knew what I was looking for, of course. Quickly I repeated the procedure on his other arm. At least it didn't look like he'd injected anything. "Have you taken any drugs?"

"Don't do drugs. Just drink. Now leave me alone."

That's a relief. "So now I just have to decide what to do with you." I could leave him like this on my bathroom floor until he came to his senses and then send him on his way, or I could clean him up. It had to be the latter, for my sake as much as for his; the smell was awful. "Mark, I can't leave you like this. I'm going to put you in the bath, and then I'll lend you some of my clothes. Is that okay?"

The boy raised his head and looked at me. "Edward." A silly grin spread over his face. At least he recognised me. "Edward," he said again. Then the grin disappeared and he started to cry.

Now what was I supposed to do? If it had been a girl, I would have tried to comfort her, maybe even put my arm around her; that's assuming, of course, she wasn't covered in sick. But what the hell do you do with a crying seventeen-year-old boy? "Erm, you alright, Mark?" I tried, feeling more uncomfortable by the moment.

He looked up at me, his face screwed up in that ugly way that people do when they cry, the tears forming streaks down his dirty face.

At a bit of a loss, I put my hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "You'll be alright. Let's get you cleaned up and then you'll feel a lot better."

I made a quick visit to the kitchen and picked up a black garbage bag. I had to have something to put his clothes in and I certainly wasn't about to attempt to wash them or anything like that. I'd tie them up in the bag and then it would be up to Mark what he did with them. My Good Samaritan streak only went so far.

Back in the bathroom, Mark had slid down until he was now sprawled out on the tiled floor. He was mumbling something, but it was impossible to make out what it was, and I doubt that it would have made sense anyway. I managed to get him sitting up again, and then pulled the hoodie up over his head. The dark green tee-shirt that he was wearing underneath followed it up, so I just pulled both of them off together and bundled the stinking garments into the garbage bag. The smell of vomit was as bad as ever and I realised that I had some of it down my own shirt from when I had supported the boy on the journey home.

"Damn it," I sighed to myself, and then pulled off my own polo shirt and tossed it aside. Only then did I turn my attention back to the teenager. What I saw came as a bit of a shock. I've already mentioned that Mark was small for his seventeen years. However, now that he was bare-chested, I could see exactly how underdeveloped he really was. His baggy clothing had gone a long way towards covering up his thin frame. From the looks of him, a few good meals wouldn't go amiss. What shocked me the most, however, were the bruises. Mark had dark bruises on both of his upper arms as though someone had gripped him and squeezed, digging in their fingers. There were also large bruises on the side of his chest; it looked like he'd been either punched or kicked at some time in the recent past.

I lifted my eyes to the boy's face to find him smiling once more. His upper body swayed backwards and forwards as he looked up at me with what I can only describe as 'trusting' eyes. "You look like you've been having a rough time," I said, smiling back. "Have you been fighting with someone?"

He shook his head in a rather comical way. "I don't fight. I'm a good boy." The he gave a short giggle. His mood changes were certainly mercurial, though it was probably the after effects of everything he'd been drinking. Mark watched me as I pulled off his sneakers and then his socks. His socks went into the bag with the other clothes, though I threw his sneakers over towards the wall, out of the way; he'd need something to wear on his feet and it was unlikely anything of mine would fit. "What're ya doin'?" the boy asked as my hands went to the zipper at the front of his baggy jeans.

"I'm taking these off for you."

"Why?"

"Because you need get in the bath and you can't get in with your pants on." I didn't bother to mention the fact that he'd pissed himself; I can be quite diplomatic when I need to be. I grimaced to myself as I fumbled with his zip, knowing I was getting his pee on my fingers; I suppose there are worse things you can get on your hands. The jeans followed the other clothes into the bag. This left Mark wearing just a pair of filthy briefs.

Mark looked down at his underwear and ran his fingers across the front. "They're wet," he observed.

"Yeah, they sure are."

"Do I have to take them off?"

"I think you'd better."

The boy gave another giggle. "Don't look," he said. He took hold of the briefs at the sides and pushed down, though when he tried to lift his backside up off the floor, he toppled over. "Oops!" he laughed. Mark continued to laugh as I went to his assistance and pulled the briefs all the way off, touching them as little as possible as I dropped them into the bag. Quickly, I tied a knot in the top of the bag to keep in the smell and then went to the sink to wash my hands. By the time I turned back to Mark he'd curled up into a ball on the floor and looked like he was going to sleep.

"Not yet you don't," I said, pulling on his arm. "You can't sleep yet. Bath first, and then you can sleep."

"Don't want a bath," he muttered, ineffectually trying to free his arm from my grasp. "Want to sleep now."

I briefly considered letting him have his way, and leaving him on the bathroom floor for the night. It would certainly be the easiest option.

But I knew from the condition he was in that he was going to feel like shit when he woke in the morning, and spending the night dirty and stinking on a cold, hard bathroom floor was, if anything, likely to make him feel an awful lot worse. "Bath first," I insisted. "Come on. It'll only take a few minutes."

"Don't want to." The smile had now disappeared and he was starting to get awkward.

Changing my mind about the bath, I suddenly had a much better idea. I bent and scooped him up, depositing him into the empty bathtub. He gave a moan and put up a token struggle, but he was in the tub before he even realised what was happening. While he lay there, complaining, I freed the shower attachment from the wall and turned on the spray.

"Aaarghhhhh!" He let out a scream as cold water splashed down over his body. It seemed that he was no longer quite so sleepy after all. Now it was my turn to laugh as he made a completely uncoordinated attempt to climb out of the bath, his arms thrashing wildly; this was the most life he'd shown since I'd found him. His struggling eased as the water quickly warmed up, until he was lying there passively, allowing me to rinse him down.

I picked up the soap and handed it to him. "Here, rub that over yourself."

He looked at me blankly.

With a sigh, I leaned forwards and rubbed the soap across his chest. While I did this, he lay back in the tub, a picture of wide-eyed, trusting innocence. I moved the soap lower, onto his stomach, rinsing as I went. "Open your legs," I instructed.

Obediently, he opened up his legs as far as he could within the confines of the bath tub, revealing an untidy bush of pubes, dick, and balls.

At this point I hesitated. Washing his upper body for him was one thing, but touching him down there was a whole different ball game, if you'll excuse the pun. I once more considered handing him the soap and getting him to do it himself, but just as quickly dismissed this idea as a waste of time. Instead I settled for directing the spray over his exposed groin area, washing it as well as I could without actually touching it. At least this should clean him up a little; he could do a more thorough job himself when he came to his senses.

"That'll do for now," I announced, turning off the water.

Mark made to get up, but slipped on the wet surface, banging his head.

"Hold on a minute," I said, quickly putting my arm behind his shoulders and supporting him. "You okay? Did you hurt yourself?"

He blinked a couple of times and shook his head.

Getting him out of the tub was harder than getting him in, and wasn't helped by the fact he was now wet and slippery. Eventually, with a lot of pulling and very little help from him, I got him sitting up on the edge of the bath. He was swaying dangerously and I didn't dare let go of him in case he lost his balance. Holding onto him with one hand, I dried him off as best I could with the other, running the towel over his slim chest and back and down over his arms and legs. Soon all that remained was the private region between his legs. Trying to get him to dry his own groin area proved fruitless, and by this point I was starting to get tired and more than a little irritable. "To hell with it then!" With my hand inside the towel, I rubbed it over his pubes, then his dick and his balls, and then leaned him forwards and reached around and dried his ass.

"You'll do," I said, draping the wet towel over the rail. "Now let's sort out where you're sleeping."

"Need to pee," he said, the words coming out as little more than a mumble. He looked up at me with those big trusting eyes.

"Shit!" I muttered, looking up at the ceiling and counting to ten. I was starting to wish I'd left him where he was. Though even as I had this thought, I knew I didn't mean it. Even in this condition, there was something about Mark that I couldn't help but like. "Hold onto it a minute. You make a mess on my bathroom floor and I'll put you out of the door exactly as you are."

He gave another little giggle as though his drunken mind found this idea rather amusing.

I helped him over to the toilet and sat him down on the seat. "Right, go ahead and pee." I held onto his shoulders, just to make sure he didn't fall over, at the same time praying that he didn't do anything else. The idea of standing here holding him while he took a crap was one that I didn't care to dwell on.

"Done," he said.

I let him sit there a little longer, just to be sure, and then half-dragged, half-carried him through to my bedroom, where I dumped him onto my queen-sized bed. "Don't get too comfortable," I warned. "That one's mine. I'll sort something else out for you."

I did have a small guest room, but decided against putting Mark in there. If he was to be ill in the night, I wanted to be on hand to deal with it. Instead, I dragged the single mattress from the guest bed into my own bedroom and threw a sheet and duvet over it. "You can manage on this. It's certainly better than that path in the park."

Mark was sprawled out on his back, apparently already asleep. He was, of course, still completely naked, and I wondered whether to root out a pair of boxer shorts for him. Though getting them on him would be a struggle, and if he needed the toilet again in the night, he was easier to deal with as he was. He moaned and complained as I dragged him from my bed onto the mattress, but once in place he immediately settled down and appeared to be asleep again almost straight away.

"Goodnight, Mark," I grinned, as I looked down at his sleeping form. I stripped down to my silk shorts, made a quick visit to the bathroom, and then gratefully climbed into my own bed.