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Author Topic: My Brother's Best Friend (F lf M)  (Read 863 times)

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Offline wolventearsTopic starter

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My Brother's Best Friend (F lf M)
« on: October 28, 2016, 02:52:36 pm »
Maxine "Maxi" Stewart:
Growing up, Dean had always been around for as long as I could remember. His mother had died when he was only nine and soon after that, his father had become a drunk, and needless to say, Dean didn't like being home any more than he had to. He had just lived down the street a couple houses down, so it hadn't been a big deal for Evan to have his best friends over all the time. And for me, it wasn't either. Until puberty hit and everything changed.
I don't know if the extra hormones caused boys to outright become assholes, but the nice boy I had grown up with, wasn't there anymore. I went from being Maxine to just Max, and he would say it with those lips that looked so soft twisted into a sneer.
When puberty hit for me, it wasn't a good thing, I can say. I grew, but in the most unattractive way. My hips spread, my boobs got bigger. Weren't guys supposed to like that though?
Some did and men do give me heated looks, but it was never from the one boy I had wanted it from. Hell, just to have him look at me with warmth again would make me smile.
The end of my sophomore year, Dean and Evan graduated. Evan was going to college to become a big time Lawyer but Dean didn't do well with school work, so instead, he went off to become a marine.
That was eleven years ago.
He's back home and we are both very much grown up. There are some very big differences about us now, him more so than me, and as much as I wish the asshole was gone, it isn't and I learned that the first night he showed up on my doorstep.

Dean Forrester:
Being back in Colorado was almost eerie. So much had changed in the eleven years I had been gone, but at the same time, so much hadn't, to look at it.
Evan had become a big time lawyer and had married Tiffany Wells, his high school sweetheart, fathered two beautiful children with her and had another on the way. Mrs. Stewart still made the best chocolate cream pie and Mr. Stewart was still putting together custom wooden furniture, but now, he owned the business.
My father died when I was in Afghanistan and I hadn't been able to come out for the funeral, but honestly, I wasn't too upset about that. The old man, once mom had passed, had become a drunken dick and when he was drunk, he lashed out and I was usually the closest thing, so that was why I was always down the road.
But, to tell you the truth, I hadn't even heard about his death until about a month after it happened, so even if I had wanted to, there was no way I was going to be able to come home for the funeral.
No, I was being hospitalized due to my team being ambushed. I still remember it as if it were yesterday.
Hawkins being shot right between the eyes after he had taken off his helmet to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Shaw taking bullet after bullet through his torso, making him look like the human version of swiss cheese.
Then the green egg landed right in front of Benn. He was the closest to me, so I had jumped to his side and kicked the grenade away after pushing him back, but only it had been a second too late.
It had went off anyways, the blast lifting me off my feet and throwing me yards away from my fallen men. But as I tried to get up to get back to Benn, I couldn't get both of my knees under me. When I looked down, blood was beginning to pool where my right leg should have been, but in its place, nothing but empty space, save for the flaps of skin that remained where my knee should have been.
After that, it all happened in a blacked out blur.
My men had died and I had been the only survivor and that knowledge, along with the pain, I nearly lost my mind.
Finally, after being discharged, I could either go home, or could become a desk jockey and push papers because no one legged man could be one the field. That, I knew, would kill me, so I decided on going home. I could find some kind of physical labor, something to do with my hands. I only had one leg but I wasn't an invalid.
Coming home though, I needed somewhere to stay. I didn't want to stay in the PT hospital on base, that was for soldiers still enlisted. They needed that bed. And my father's house had been auctioned off after his death, so I didn't even have that.
I had talked to Evan and he had offered, but he had little ones and a very pregnant Tiffany, so I didn't want to impose, but then he had an idea.
I had thought about Evan's little sister a lot, while I had been out there. Her smiling face, her soothing voice. It had been wrong of me to even think of her, but that was something about myself I couldn't change.
I had tried to make her dislike me, hate me even. I put hurt into those gorgeous eyes of hers over and over again, but I never saw that hate. Only a hope. And it killed me.
Then that night I stood on her doorstep, soaked to the bone, my bag on my shoulder, she opened the door and I hadn't thought it possible, but she had managed to become even more gorgeous than she had been before and now she was all woman.
The woman who I would be living with.
Fuck. Evan was going to kill me if I couldn't keep it together and he found out about it.
So I put on my cockiest grin as she looked me up and down.
"Long time, no see, Max!"

So, I'd like to write a story of a love that she obviously think won't ever happen and he thinks is very much forbidden. Along with the obvious stress between the two, I also want him to have some PTSD issues along with being slightly self conscious about only having the one leg. The night he shows up on her doorstep, she won't know it to look at him since he is in pants and boots, having worn an actual fake leg, but any other time, he'll be wearing his C-Leg prosthesis, since he does tend to stay active and work out.

I need a male to play Dean with some knowledge of the marines and military or who is up to do some research. Check my O &O's in my signature and PM me if interested and we can talk about how the story will go.
« Last Edit: November 05, 2016, 08:11:44 pm by wolventears »