My Brother Would Be Better
by Pan
Chapter 2
For the rest of the week, Olivia refused to get off.
These thoughts were starting to get out of hand. When she’d been comparing the strange men she was hooking up with to her brother…well, she’d just been using him as a baseline. She may as well have been comparing the man to a randomly-selected New Zealander, or co-worker.
But what had happened when she’d played with herself…
It made her uncomfortable.
And so for the next few days, Olivia tried very hard not to think about sex. It wasn’t easy; going from picking up every night to not letting it be on her mind at all was quite a jump, but she managed. She tried not to think about it as she scurried between the large, humming machines that surrounded her all day.
Despite the fact that sex wasn’t on her mind, however, she continued to compare people to her brother.
One of her bosses opened the door for her on the way into work one morning.
My brother would be better, she thought, even as she thanked them. Not that there was anything wrong with the way the door had been opened, per se. She just knew; her brother would have been more polite. Faster.
Better.
He’s always been very polite, Olivia reflected, and then didn’t give it another thought.
The next day, she was given a fistful of coins by a cashier.
My brother would be better, she reminded herself. He was, after all, a whiz at math. He would have counted it up much quicker, and probably dropped it in her hand more accurately.
That night, she was honked at by a random driver.
My brother would be better.
She’d only driven with him a handful of times, and only seen him use the horn once, but he’d been…better at it.
Somehow.
When the weekend arrived, Olivia’s refusal to get off was starting to get to her. She was more aroused than she’d been in a long while, and couldn’t stop comparing almost everyone she met to her brother.
My brother would be better, she thought, as she turned on the TV to someone reading the news. She wasn’t quite sure how—the journalist was clearly an accomplished public speaker, whereas her brother had never been particularly confident. The anchor was well-dressed, suave, handsome…
Yet Olivia knew that her brother outclassed him in almost every way.
My brother would be better, she realized, as she passed a mall Santa. Her brother was younger, thinner, and didn’t have a beard…but she knew he’d be better, nonetheless.
My brother would be better, she observed, as she looked at the logo on her new headphones. The logo was a pirate sporting a big blue beard. Her brother would…he would be a better logo, somehow.
This, she knew.
She considered going out, meeting someone, but she decided against it.
No matter who she met, she knew they’d fall short.
My brother would be better.
And so, after a day of reading (and concluding that her brother would be better than the model on the cover, the author, and every single character within the book) she decided to cease her self-imposed masturbation break, and try to relieve the tension that had been building inside her all week.
As soon as her hand reached between her legs, however, the thought was back.
My brother would be better.
She stopped, rolled over, sighed, and tried to work out what the thought even meant.
Her brother would be better at…touching her?
The more Olivia thought about it, the more she realized it was true.
After all: she was straight. He was a man. Ignoring the fact that he was her brother, Olivia would always rather be touched by someone else. Given the choice between masturbation and having someone else get her off, she’d take the other person every time.
He was a man, roughly her age. He was fairly attractive (again, ignoring that they were related) and probably had some sexual experience. Quite a lot, perhaps.
Her brother would be better.
Olivia rolled onto her back once more, and reached between her legs.
My brother would be better.
Yes, but that didn’t matter. He wasn’t there—she was.
She licked her fingers, and moved them to her clit.
My brother would be better.
He would probably play her clit like an instrument, instead of the clumsy rubbing Olivia partook in when she just wanted to get off.
Her other hand reached up and grabbed her nipple.
My brother would be better.
If nothing else, he’d be able to use his mouth. Olivia loved having her nipples bitten. Sucked.
She pinched her nipple, harder.
My brother would be better.
Her new penchant for rough play just highlighted what masturbation wasn’t able to provide.
If her brother had been there, he would have been able to slap her, to blindfold her.
To surprise her.
Just like it’s impossible to tickle yourself, you can’t really dominate yourself in the bedroom.
But her brother would be able to.
He’d be better.
After forty-five minutes of attempted masturbation, Olivia finally gave up.
The more she played with herself, the more her hands roamed around her body and got her all worked up, the more inadequate she felt.
Yes, she could have gotten herself off…but it would have been a clumsy attempt, compared to what her brother would have been capable of.
My brother would be better.
“How can I help you?” the manager asked as Olivia walked through the door.
My brother would be better, she thought. He’d had a job in retail for a few months during high-school.
Yes, he’d been fired…but he was a smart guy. He’d probably used that as a wake-up call to improve. By now, he probably would have vastly surpassed this manager’s customer service skills, solid as they were.
“Hi,” Olivia replied, slightly flustered. She’d never been to a sex store before.
“Let me know if you need a hand,” the manager replied.
My brother would be better. He was…intuitive. He would have known whether she needed help, without forcing her to ask.
“Actually, yeah,” Olivia murmured. “I’m after…”
My brother would be better, she thought, as the manager waited patiently for her to finish her thought.
Her brother wouldn’t have stammered over the request as she had, or waited silently, like the manager was. He would have finished this conversation already, and probably been driving home by now.
“…uh, a toy.”
“Of course,” the manager smiled. “A vibrator, perhaps?”
My brother would be better, Olivia thought, but she wasn’t quite sure why she felt that way.
After all, that was how she’d decided to go with a sex toy—because they had capabilities her brother didn’t. He couldn’t pleasure her like a vibrating machine, specifically designed to get women off.
Not that he’d ever try, of course.
“Yes,” she said, blushing furiously. “Please.”
When she’d gotten home, Olivia sat down with a smile and opened the box.
Five speeds—her brother didn’t have that—and the ability to download patterns.
Perfect.
As she waited for the device to charge, Olivia paced up and down her apartment.
My brother would be better. He paced with the best of them. And he would have thought to buy one that came charged, or could be plugged in. And he wouldn’t have needed a vibrator in the first place. He’d be able to get himself off without needing help.
Olivia blinked twice. Where had that thought come from?
My brother would be better. He wouldn’t be having weird sexual thoughts about his family.
Finally, the light blinked, and Olivia disrobed. She briefly admired her naked form in the mirror—My brother would be better. As a straight guy, he’d have been admiring women’s bodies for decades—before laying down on the bed and turning the vibrator on.
As soon as Olivia’s new toy make contact with her clit, she moaned with pleasure.
She was so wet. So horny. So close…
The toy buzzed against her aching button, when she realized something.
My brother would be better.
The young woman wanted to throw her toy across the room in frustration.
Of course her brother wouldn’t be better than the vibrator…but he’d know how to use the vibrator better than she ever could.
He’d always been a technophile, getting his hands on the latest gadgets all through their childhood, pulling them apart to see how they worked.
He hadn’t always been able to rebuild them, but as he grew older, he got better and better at taking advantage of features no one else knew about.
Within a few minutes of getting his hands on her new toy, he’d probably have mastered it, bringing her to orgasm after orgasm without even breaking a sweat.
Her eyes rolled back in her head with pleasure just at the idea.
God she wanted to cum…
For the rest of the evening, Olivia continued to try to get off. She used her hands, the toy—she even briefly watched some porn, but it was just so obvious—her brother would so much better than every performer, better than the cameraman, the director, the writer…
Not that being a better porn writer would be much of a challenge.
She even managed to get close, once or twice, but as soon as she felt her orgasm approaching, her own inadequacy overcame her, and she had to stop.
It only served the purpose of getting her more and more worked up, and by the time she was ready for bed, Olivia was practically thrumming with desire.
She needed to get off. She needed it.
But she couldn’t. Not by herself. She wasn’t good enough.
Her brother would be better.
“Olivia!”
Her brother looked surprised to see her, as if he’d forgotten that she worked at the same company as he did.
She squeezed into his office, closing the door behind him.
“Nice digs,” she joked.
My brother would be better.
Don’t joke, she reminded herself. You’re not as funny as your brother is.
“Thanks,” he said, looking around the tiny room. “Yeah, I’m hoping to get a bigger office once…once I get my project working.”
“You’ll do it,” she said confidently. “You deserve it.”
“Thanks,” he said again. “What can I do for you?”
My brother would be better, she thought, wanting to slap herself. She’d made him ask her why she came—he would never have done that. He would have stated exactly what he was after, rather than making the other person do all the work.
“Olivia?” he said.
My brother would be—…
“Did you want to ask me for something?” he offered helpfully, before her train of thought could be derailed once more.
“Yeah,” she replied, not wanting to make eye-contact. “Are you free tonight?”
“I can be,” he said casually. “What’s up?”
“I need a favor,” she asked. My brother would be better.
“Of course,” her brother responded. “How about I come around to yours after work?”
“Thanks,” she said shyly. My brother would be better.
“Great,” he said, standing up and shaking her hand. “See you then.”
“Thanks,” she repeated.
My brother would be better.
Olivia left work almost two hours early, claiming a sore throat.
Her supervisor was happy to let her go—she hadn’t had a particularly productive day. She was stumbling over her words, unable to focus on her tasks.
My brother would be better. My brother would be better. My brother would be better.
“Feel better tomorrow,” he said, and she just nodded and fled the building.
My brother would be better.
She wanted to clean her entire apartment. Obviously she could never get it up to the perfect standard her brother would have achieved, but she could try.
Two hours later, Olivia wanted to cry. Everything was spotless; she’d vacuumed the carpets, mopped the floors…she’d even popped down to the florist to get some plants, to spruce up the apartment…
My brother would be better.
…but it wasn’t good enough.
None of it was good enough.
She wasn’t good enough.
But she was at the end of her rope, and didn’t know what else should could possibly do.
My brother would be better. He would have had a better plan.
He wouldn’t have gotten himself into this situation in the first place.
At exactly six, her brother knocked once on the door. Olivia opened it before he could knock a second time.
He looked surprised.
Too eager, Olivia silently berated herself. My brother would be better.
“Hey,” he said. “Can I come in?”
“Yes!” she squeaked. “Of course. Please. Please come in.”
As he did, he shot her a sideways glance.
My brother would be better.
“What do you need help with, sis?”
Unable to help herself, Olivia dropped to her knees.
“Please,” she said desperately. “Please…I need you.”
“Oh?” he said, his face neutral. “What can I do for you?”
My brother would be better.
“I need…”
My brother would be better.
“God, please…”
My brother would be better.
“I need you to help me get off,” she whispered, ashamed.
My brother would be better.
A slow grin spread across her brother’s face.
“Is that all?” he asked casually.
Olivia stared back at him. He didn’t seem surprised.
My brother would be better.
“No,” she confessed, after moment’s pause. “I also thought…”
My brother would be better.
My brother would be better.
My brother would be better.
Her brother patted her on the shoulder.
“There there,” he said. “How about from now on, I do all the thinking for both of us?”
“Yes,” Olivia whispered, a tear rolling past the smile on her face. “Please. That…that would be better.”