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Your name, is Dirk Strider, or, Bro as you go by.

And there is a lot of stuff you don’t tell your brother Dave. Right now for example, you don’t tell him you work for a real porn industry, one that makes movies and pictures, no; he found that out on his own. You had rushed to his room after hearing him scream in fear, he hastily pulling his pants up as you look at the screen, there you are, with two chicks, and you are being utterly dominated. “I thought it was just lesbians! What the fuck Bro!”

You also don’t tell him that despite your size and how you act, videos like that are common with you, the domination part, like fuck if Dave needs to know that. He should not know his brother is really just a submissive bitch. After all, you do have an image to keep up.

No, you also don’t tell him why you threw a bag and some unfolded boxes at him, leaving only after a quick, “Pack the room, use the bag for shit you can take on a plane.” You ignored his protests and questions, opting to start packing yourself, quickly becoming lost in the mindless task.

You won’t tell Dave that you guys are moving to Washington, some town called Maple Valley. You won’t tell him it’s because the company you work for has been relocated, and they offered to pay half of the cost of your house. It’s the lest they could do, you have worked for them for so long now. And you certainly don’t tell him that you took care of everything already, house bought, already looked into the area for DJ jobs, and at collages for Dave. Little shit will be heading there soon, hopefully.

You don’t tell him, because you don’t think he cares one way or another. Why should he? The only people he talks to are on the internet, he doesn’t have a job, a constantly complains about the heat, whiny little shit. Nothing ties him here, why should he care where he lives.