My brother “Will” is ten years younger than I am, with no siblings in between. And no, he was not an “accident.” As a twenty-four-year-old, I am halfway in between friend and authority figure to my fourteen-year-old brother. He tells me about the R-rated movies he sneaks into, and I don’t squeal, but if he ever did anything that could seriously compromise his safety or reputation, it would be my obligation to step in.
At the end of the summer before he entered high school, he sent me a facebook message from his apartment to mine. To briefly explain our set up, he lives in the apartment next door with my parents. Considering the distance over which the message was sent, in combination with the content of the message, I knew it would be good. When a little brother says, “i have something to ask u, ” it is like when a boyfriend says, “We have to talk.” It could mean one thing and one thing only: Trouble with a capital ‘T.’
Here is our lovely little facebook chat:
i have something to ask u
because of your age, would u buy me certain beverages?
mom would kill me
she would also kill u if she knew u had weed in ur bedroom
but nice try blackmailing me
i saw it
and thanx for the bubbler
when you guys were out
and rolling paper
i’ve never owned a bubbler, so apparently you don’t know what that is.
uh… nice fucking try
u have 4
ill show u where they r
in ur room
it’s called a pipe
please explain this weed?
Will enters my apartment and says, “Busted!” I say, “I’m not getting you anything.” Will says, “I still busted you.” I say, “Congratulations!” and shake his hand. He starts entering my room. I say, “If you look through my stuff, I’m telling mom you’re looking through my stuff.” Will says, “Try; I have ultimate blackmail power.” Will pokes his head into my bathroom and says “Oh yeah, you’ve already moved your stuff; no more dildos in the bathroom!” Exit Will.
Moments later something he had said to me coalesced. Thanks for the bubbler? Does this mean that he stole my stuff?!? I made a beeline for my contraband drawer and shocked upon my discovery, sent my friends the following message:
I just looked through my room and my favorite bowl is missing. I’m furious. But I can’t tell my brother that I’m going to fucking kill him until my mom is out of the house. I can’t believe I am being blackmailed by a fourteen year old. I guess I always knew the time would come when he would surpass me in height and wit.
Will texted me before I even approached him. The text message finale:
I’m sry. I’m sry 4 looking at ur stuff and I wuld nvr tell anyone.
If you don’t return what you took by the end of the day tomorrow I will fucking kill you and tell mom.
And if I ever find out that you went through my shit, took my shit, or tried to blackmail me again, I will fucking kill you and tell mom.
Will comes in and hands over the goods. I explain that he can’t fuck with me, because there are certain things my mom wouldn’t mind from a 24-year-old, but she would be pretty shocked to find out her 14-year-old son possesses illegal drugs. Exit Will.
Nice doing business with you. Don’t think I will negotiate with you again. Not funny. That was from Portland. Had you broken it, I would have fucking killed you.
I don’t believe you.
I am. I wuldnt have broken it
11:20 From: Me
Well, well, little will [our last name] is the new little jenny humphrey. Congrats like in the coat episode of gossip girl. And you know what stealing got little j.
Spotted: little will playing big shot.
I have no comeback
Like blaire, I win.
I told me best friend about the dildo thing as she said, “Who does he think he is!” There is no reason to expose the dildos. He can’t blackmail me with dildos. What could my mom possibly say, “Awesome, my daughter is fucking plastic, not men.” And, besides, he would never tell my mom because it would be way to embarrassing to bring up. He brought up the dildos for one reason and one reason only: to shock me, to let me know that he owned me because he had the power to shock me. I’m sure he felt very grown-up. He wanted his older sister to think he was cool.
And here is the most ridiculous part of the whole situation: He stole my keys to get into my apartment to steal stuff to blackmail me with so I would buy him alcohol. But there is an abundant amount of alcohol in my apartment. He could have easily stolen my keys to attain alcohol in a more direct and less involved fashion, which probably would not involve his getting caught, because I would never notice a beer or two missing. But he wanted to get caught; he wanted to implicate me in this situation, because he wanted his older sister to think he is cool—he can pull this shit. Too bad he couldn’t pull it off.
The next day my mother entered my apartment and said, “You are right; I would have killed you had you bought it for Will.” I replied, “Oh, you found the conversation.” She said, “Yeah, he left it on the computer. I’m not sure why.” I asked if he was in trouble and she said, “No, I know kids his age experiment, it is normal. And I know he doesn’t want to drink, that he is just doing it to impress his friends, so I asked him if he wanted to drink with me.” He declined her offer. Even though my brother is second child, I’m somewhat shocked that he received absolutely no consequence, no slap on the wrist. After all, half of parenting is letting your kids know that you care about what they do; the actual transgression for which you punish them is somewhat unimportant, provided that it has little potential to harm them or others. Underaged drinking seems like a punishable offense, or at least one that deserves cautioning about. A pamphlet, perhaps, on the dangers of drinking or quantitative equivalencies of beverages with different alcohol contents.
I said to my mom, “Look, I agree that experimenting with alcohol is not a big deal at Will’s age and is probably nothing to be concerned about. But what should warrant some concern and reproach is the fact that he is violating his sister’s privacy and bribing her.” My mom asked, “He bribed you? What did he offer you, money?” Did she even read the conversation? I replied, “No, he blackmailed me. He told me that if I didn’t get him alcohol, he would disclose certain things about me that he thought you didn’t know.” My mom said, “Oh yeah, I am mad at you for that.” I said, “Mad at me? But he is the one searching through my stuff!” She said, “I know, but I am mad at you for not hiding it.” She is obviously missing the point. I explain, “I was hidden; he searched through all my stuff!” She concluded, “Well, hide it someplace else. I don’t want him getting into it.” Clearly the problem in this situation is not that I am bad at hiding things. In fact, I managed to avoid having my brother find my pornography, although I sort of wish he had found that instead. He could have kept it. I would gladly pass it on. My mom, at least, agreed to hide her set of keys to my apartment someplace else, so my brother couldn’t get to them.
Of course, I didn’t tell my mom about my brother’s dildo discovery, because that would have been way too embarrassing! And, to tell you the truth, those aren’t well hidden, partially because of the difficulty that storing dildos entails. The problem with storing dildos is that you don’t want to put them in a sealed box, because if they are a little damp when you take them out of you or after you wash them—if you are meticulous enough, i.e., prissy enough, to do such a thing—you want to avoid the possibility of cultivating mold. You also want to avoid storing them in black backpacks, which will look fucking disgusting, i.e., crusty, by the end of the semester. I have learned these lessons the hard way. Okay, so the first lesson didn’t really involve a dildo—it involved one of those candy wands with a plastic, dildo-shaped cover—but same concept.
And this is why for years—before I got one of those drawers with a hand-notch, which I consider to be an air hole—I stored my dildos in towels. It was the perfect storage place because it served two purposes: I initially used a towel to catch my cum (I am a gusher), then I would use an already dry cum towel to store my dildos post-use. Cum towels: the dual purpose cleaner upper. My towels had roughly a two-day cycle. Towels are additionally a great way to conceal dildos if you need to transport them to the shower. I have lots of experience with this from college and from living in my parent’s apartment in high school. If you enter a bathroom with two towels—one filled with dildos—people still assume you have a body towel and a head towel. Vagina towel: I’m pretty sure that never occurs to anyone. My usage of cum towels separates me from my peers. My friends believe that having one’s own linens is a sign of adulthood, among more conspicuous tokens like having one’s own dishes and attending non-ironic cocktail parties.
Once upon a time when my brother was eleven, he was sitting on my bed with me, in fidgeting he picked up my dildo towel, and dildos flew out. In shock, I grabbed them, stuff them back into the towel, and sat on the towel to prevent his access. This is like olden times when people sat on their loot. My brother said, “Wait, these are really cool; what are they?” Obviously he was referring to the texture, not the shape. He missed the shape, thank God. Unfortunately, he didn’t miss my reaction and he knew they were something he wasn’t supposed to know about under any circumstances. So when I told him I wasn’t telling him, he said he was asking mom. Except he didn’t, because even though he didn’t know what I was concealing, he knew it would be way too embarrassing. My friends all agreed that the worst part of the incident was that my brother would eventually grow up and realize what they were.