Cal felt the urgent need to pee 15 minutes before he reached home, and he willed himself to hold it until then. He had learned at an early age that he had the ability to control his body with his mind, and it had come in quite handy at times. Now, instead of squeezing to keep from releasing the pressure building up in his bladder, he slowly 'talked himself down' until the need no longer dominated his thinking, but just stayed ever present in the back of his mind.
Upon arriving home he walked deliberately into the little two-bedroom home he had shared with his mother and two sisters since his father deserted them 11 years earlier, not rushing but willing his body to wait until the proper time to find relief in release. He shouldn't have drunk that last 32-ounce Pepsi while waiting for his shift to run out.
As he approached the bathroom, he heard the steady beat of the shower, and knew his older sister, Lydia, must be getting ready for a date. As was the custom in the household – which had only one bathroom to be shared by the four adults – he knocked twice on the door and waited for his sister's lilting voice to call out, "It's okay, come on in."
He entered the room to see Lydia's face framed in wet curls sticking out from behind the shower curtain.
"I've got to pee in the worst way," he explained, heading for the commode.
"Help yourself," his sister giggled as she ducked back behind the curtain, "Just don't splash any on me!" He smiled as he stepped to the commode. What a wonderful relationship he, his sisters and their mother had. Body functions were body functions, and carried no sexual connotation whatsoever.
As he finished urinating, he looked down at his penis. It wasn't large or small, just normal. He hadn't been circumcised as a baby so he had to pull back the outer sheath of foreskin each time before urinating so there would be no chance for deposits of the discharge getting under the folds and causing infection. His mother had patiently emphasized that with him as a child, and he had always been careful to pay attention as he grew up. "After all," she had said, "you may want to keep this monster around with you as you grow up and you don't want it to shrivel up and fall off!" It still didn't look like a monster, but he knew that it sometimes tried to control him like one.
He flicked the last few drops of urine off the end of his penis into the bowl, then waited patiently for a couple of seconds until the final 'wave' came, dribbling off the end of his dick into the bowl. He flicked once more and then began to put the 'monster' away.
"Do you always do it that way?" he heard his sister's voice at his elbow, and looked up in surprise to see her watching him from around the end of the shower curtain, a mischievously wicked smile on her face. He knew that smile, and that she was just playing with him.
"Well, we always say in the locker room, 'It don't matter how much you shake and dance, the last few drops are in your pants,'" Cal said, laughing slightly.
"Save that locker room talk for your buddies and get out of my way, I need to dry off," she said, smiling lovingly at him. He moved aside and she slid out of the shower stall, wrapped a towel around her still-wet body and headed for the door. "Come on, let's talk," she said casually and he knew he was in for one of those wonderful sessions when she would leisurely dry off and get dressed in front of him, allowing him to admire her youthful body, unashamedly posing in provocative postures for him on occasion and then laughing as he let his tongue hang out and bugged his eyes.
They had a relationship that even their mother was totally unaware of, which spanned the last four years. Cal thought back over the events of time that had brought him and his now stark-naked sister to this point.
*****************************************
Their father had turned into an abusive drunk by the time their younger sister, Tricia, was born. He did not focus his abuse on the children, though, but on his faithful, loving wife, who tried her best to meet his every need while raising the three children.
Lydia was eight, Cal seven and Tricia two when he decided he no longer wanted them as a family.
Cal and Lydia had come out of their bedroom one morning – all three children shared the same bedroom and double bed, since there was no where else to sleep in the small house – to see their mother crying silently as she tried to glue back together several large pieces of her mother's antique pitcher which lay broken on the table in front of her. She hugged the two children, kissed them and watched them walk out to the bus stop before returning to her heart-breaking task.
The children had lain in bed hugging each other the night before as the angry words erupted from their father's lips, to be answered by the pleading voice of their wonderfully soft, warm and loving mother. Finally there was the sound of things breaking and of their mother's weeping. They looked at each other with eyes filled with despair as they waited for the bus.
That afternoon when they arrived home, their father was filling the family car with personal belongings. Their mother was no where to be seen – she had taken Tricia for a walk to the park to avoid what might have been a violent farewell. Lydia took one look at her father and then went to the children's bedroom, closing the door behind her. Cal just sat on the front porch steps and watched his father with cautious eyes. When the man was finished, he approached the child, trying to be friendly and fatherly.
"I've had enough of this shit," he said, spitting into the grass at his feet. "I'm getting the hell out of here." The boy just watched him, no emotion showing in his carefully guarded eyes. "Maybe someday I'll drop by and show you how to throw that football you got for Christmas." The child still did not reply, either by word or gesture.
The man spat into the grass once more.
"You kids are just like her," he said, turning to walk toward the car. "Gutless. The least you could do is fight," he threw back over his shoulder. The child smiled slightly at the remark. His mother had taught him the year before – when he had entered battle with another child in kindergarten who had tried to bully him – that there is more than one way of fighting. Sometimes silence and indifference were more powerful than physical violence. He did not totally understand all that was involved, but believed inside that he had just won an important battle for his family – for which he was now the 'man of the house.'
As the children grew up, and Lydia began to develop physically, they all worked together one summer to complete a small room in the attic for Cal to use so the two girls could have some degree of 'girl privacy' in their room.
The family was very close and their mother had no sexual hang-ups, so the children grew up accepting each other's body differences, without making it a major issue. Jackie, their mother, had talked with each of them individually about "the birds and the bees," and they had always felt free to bring troubling questions to her when they heard certain things at school.
Cal was accustomed to seeing his mother and sisters in their underwear, although his mother always wore at least a half-slip on the bottom. The girls had always felt free to run around in their panties and, then, when they began to develop, in their panties and bra. He had heard the other boys talk in their special "sex sessions" outside of the listening ears of adults about seeing their mothers, sisters or other members of the opposite sex in their underwear and had wondered what was the big deal. He saw that all the time and it didn't seem to matter to him or them. But he kept these thoughts to himself, grateful for his relationship with his mother and sisters and not wanting to become like the other boys.
As he and Lydia grew older, one of his favorite times with her was when they would come home from junior high – and later, high school – and talk about things while they changed out of their school clothes into their work clothes. Lydia never stripped completely, but watching her strip down to her underwear and then getting dressed again – all the while talking to him about who in her class had a new boyfriend or girlfriend, schoolwork, cheerleading, band, etc. – was a special pleasure for him. He did not analyze why, just enjoyed each moment for itself.
That changed, however, one fall week in his freshman year. Lydia had developed into a very attractive sophomore and was on the cheerleading squad and in the marching band as a twirler.
One school day after a particularly tough football practice, Cal was in the locker room getting dressed after his shower when he heard his sister's name mentioned several lockers away. As he listened, he realized it was one of the seniors, Jack Perkle, a star running back and fairly good linebacker, who was doing the speaking.
"Ain't no sense in taking that Lydia Benton out, she won't do anything, and I don't think it's because she's a virgin, either, I think she is getting poked regularly by that old man she works for down at the grocery store," Perkle said with a sneer in his voice. "Or maybe it's that English teacher, Radley, he seems to get a hard-on every time she gets around him, maybe he is getting into her sweet little whore-ass when she works for him in free period."
Cal saw the sideways glances being thrown his way by other players who could not help but hear the remarks, and decided that more was needed today than just silence and indifference. He pulled his polo shirt over his head and walked slowly toward the older boy's locker, checking out the situation as he did.
Perkle was sitting in his jockey shorts, looking straight at Cal as he approached, a disdainful smirk on his lips. Several of the other older students had gathered around him to get in on the conversation, but moved back some as Cal approached.
Cal was only 5'7" to Perkle's 6"1" and the older boy outweighed him 180 to 125, but Cal had developed a reputation during practices and the first couple of junior varsity games that he had started as strong safety. He had learned the art of hitting hard. Keep your body relaxed until the point of impact. If you were tense at impact, it would jar you as much as it did the one being hit; but if you were relaxed, focusing all of your power at the point of impact and not spread over your whole body, you could deliver a blow that almost entirely transferred all force to the one being hit.
Every person on the team, including Perkle, had been tackled hard by Cal in practice and they notably avoided contact with him whenever they could without drawing the coaches' ire. The coaches themselves had noted the youngster's ability to deliver punishment on the football field and had told him he would probably be moved up to varsity before the end of the season and playoffs – if for no other reason than to give him experience for his last three years of competition.
Despite Perkle's bravado, Cal saw just a hint of uncertainty in the older boy's eye just before he delivered a blow to Perkle's midsection that whooshed all the air out of his lungs and drove him back against his locker. Perkle recovered quickly and went for Cal's face, while the younger boy delivered several more body blows. He was just getting ready to finish the senior off with another one-two to the ribcage when he felt one of the coaches' hands pulling him away. He did not resist, but just stood back, breathing heavily.
Perkle was on his knees leaning over and clutching his midsection, his face distorted in pain – and shame. Cal had a cut above his eye that was bleeding down the side of his face, and his upper lip was broken and bleeding in one corner.
When the head coach got to the scene, he took one look at his star running back and then focused on the slight freshman in front of him.
