Big Boy Undies 3

Don’t be stupid, STUPID.

If Mateo by chance happened to flush the toilet, as a prank, while his older brother, Jose, was in the shower, of their shared bathroom, surely, he’d expect some payback. Especially after hearing, “I’m gonna get you back you lil shit!”

Maybe he’d be on alert when his brother walked past him in the hall later and didn’t do a damn thing. Would he think his older brother had just simply forgotten it? No way, Mateo wasn’t stupid. He’d be on the ready watching for the smallest sign of revenge. Jose ignoring him all day would only put his awareness even higher. 

“Pass the rice,” at dinner would have to be code for something. The first words Jose would speak all day. A meaning was there; Mateo just had to find it. Mateo was a prankster and Jose was a jock. Their wars could get pretty heated. Therefore, a calm Jose had to be a sign for something. Surely, it’d be something big, a grandiose statement to get back at Mateo.

And so, he’d think nothing of spotting Jose’s boxer briefs left on the bathroom floor and his brother’s hat on the toilet. Jose was already a messy guy in his own room; it’d be just another day. And their Mama had made them clean after each other before. Mateo would walk in unassuming, not knowing he should have thought more. How many underwear had Mateo stolen or ruined in the past? An annoying mixture of curiosity and pranking. As a little brother perhaps, it was in his nature, but he couldn’t outright ask about Jose’s underwear choices and expect a direct answer. Therefore, he wasn’t above being a thieving gremlin to mess with Jose. Sometimes he’d throw on the fresh pairs and Jose’s other clothes and pretend to be a jock. Boxer briefs equated to jock men in Mateo’s mind while regular briefs were for classy pranksters like him.

But why, oh why, would Mateo ever think Jose would just leave his boxer briefs out? After the nonsense Mateo had pulled? Placing the hat on his head was ill advised. Stepping into Mateo’s underwear was pure idiocy. A trap would be sprung, as Mateo’s body would bulk up, spine pulled like a slinky. Inches would pile onto him as his thighs swelled to fill up the leg holes. Pecs would press onto his body, spurred by nothing, as his limbs’ reach expanded. His arms were stronger, stance wider. Abs settled into place on his brown skin. The hat would squeeze Mateo's head, only letting up seldomly. A massaging feeling—a milking sensation. Mateo would look down at his cock lengthening, stretching the pouch of Jose’s underwear, just like his brother's cock did. All the pranks in his head would vanish, heading south into his expanding balls, hanging low and full. The rest of Mateo’s humor piled into his cock, morphing it into an eye-catching appendage. Forever unable to stuff back into his smaller briefs. Knowledge about shit Jose cared about, like sports, would cram into Mateo’s head leaving no empty space. Meanwhile his face would broaden as his jaw came into dominance.

He’d be left a jock, with an overweight cock throbbing in his big brother’s underwear. His head empty, when not thinking of plays and how to release the pressure in his balls. Another jock with no pranks in the house.

If Mateo by chance happened to do that, that’s exactly what would happen. 

And unfortunately, that’s what stupid Mateo did.