Fuck you, Greg. That’s disgusting... – Scott said to himself as he picked up two sweaty socks and a pair of boxer-briefs from the bathroom floor.
He was really pissed off. His big stepbrother, Greg, had come back from college for the summer holidays a couple of days before. Just two days under the same roof with that obnoxious bastard, and Scott was already going insane.
At nineteen, Greg was almost two years older than Scott. They had never got along very well. In fact, as far as Scott remembered, they had hated each other from the first time they met. Scott’s father and Greg’s mother were both divorced and started their relationship when Greg was 15 and Scott 13.
Greg didn’t like Scott’s father and he used to vent his anger on Scott. He always enjoyed bullying his younger stepbrother in a lot of nasty ways. For example, he used to put Scott’s head, face up, under his armpit to make him smell his sweat after his workout with weights. Sometimes he was even nastier: he used to push Scott on the ground, then sat on his chest forcing his stinky feet on Scott’s face, laughing his ass off as the weaker boy struggled to free himself from that degrading torture.
Scott’s worst nightmare through the years, though, had been Greg’s infamous “squirrel grip”. Yeah, that big son of a bitch sometimes just grabbed Scott’s balls out of nowhere screaming: “SQUIRREL GRIP!” and then he squeezed his younger stepbrother’s testicles until Scott begged for mercy.
It was painful. And humiliating.