The summer after graduation, Keri and I raced each other home every single day.
She was working at local fast food institution McTracy's, and I held a regular afternoon shift at Wingman: the strip club famous for its chicken.
We both got off work at the same time every night, and our companies operated on the same block, so we were always racing home (Ferris Bueller style, cutting through yards and discovering new shortcuts) to get there first.
Whomever got home first got to use the bathroom first.
This made a big difference, to both of us, in how the rest of the evening went.
Keri was working in a place where she was on her feet all day, and dealing with nonstop customers. To keep her spirits and energy up she had a 64-oz styrofoam cup of coffee at her workstation that she sipped on throughout her shift.
But the last 2 hours of her shift overlapped with the dinner rush hour, and McTracy's was always understaffed, so it was rare for her to get even a single chance to dash off to the bathroom.
It meant that she rushed home at the end of every shift bursting with the need to piss.
If she made it to the bathroom first, she relieved herself happily and came out with a bright smile.
But the first time I made it home before her, I emerged from the bathroom to find her waiting in the hallway with a strange expression - a sort of embarrassed glower of pleasure - and a puddle on the floor beneath her feet.
I vowed to beat her home all the time so I could keep seeing that look on her face and getting that delicious tingle when I looked at the puddle and thought about where it came from.
For me, the problem was that I was surrounded by hot girls all day. The servers at Wingman were gorgeous: just a step away from strippers themselves, as they were required to wear nothing but booty shorts and pasties. And of course, the girls that got hired were ones with fabulous bodies.
I was staring at a variety of tits, a true cornucopia, all day: gently rounded, sloping, pointed, firm, round, ovoid, pyramidal, you name it. No discrimination against cup size, with as many tiny-titted girls represented as ladies with larger breasts. A medley of skin colors and shapes and luscious-looking curves. And that was just the servers. From my line cook station in the kitchen, they were whom I interacted with most.
But when I ventured out into the main area - on breaks, or when business was slow - I got to sit in a plush chair in the back and watch these amazingly beautiful women on stage work their stripping magic. There were so many, it was hard to know which to look at or focus on.
My younger self would never have guessed that I'd be surrounded by so many naked beauties that I'd take them for granted. But there were girls all around: girls with curves, girls with plunging cleavage, girls on heels with their tits at my eye level and their breasts on display, girls with smooth thighs and short shorts...
At the end of the day, when I desperately needed to relieve the erotic tension that had built up all day, the very last thing I wanted was to come home and run into my sister in her clingy fast food uniform, stripes accentuating the fullness of her breasts, apron tied around her slender waist, grinning with relief and satisfaction as she exited the bathroom. Like...fuck. That frustration was enough to keep me in a sullen mood all night.
So when I made it home first, I took a shower and locked the door and masturbated furiously, half-standing and half-leaning against the tile. I'd blow my wad, and follow it up with a good relaxing piss, and when I exited the bathroom feeling slow and satisfied, then I'd find Keri there, glaring at me, shifting her weight back and forth in the hallway while uncontrollable trickles ran down her inner thighs. And it would be sexy as fuck, but my dick wouldn't be jumping out of my pants. Win win.
At first it was a pretty even split. Some days she beat me home, and other days I got there first. Then I deliberately sped home, trying to win out all the time. After a straight week of getting to watch Keri wet herself, she wised up and shaved a few minutes off her own routine so that she made it home first for two weeks in a row. That was a miserable time for me.
When that happened, and I got home just in time to see Keri slinking around looking as sly and content as a cat, I had no choice but to beat off to the thought of my sister relieving herself. Like, when I came home straight from work then I could think about Missi, or Laurie, or Bette. But those lovely images of those other lovely women were cut straight through by the distracting and overwhelming thought of fluid bubbling out between my sister's legs while she sighed with pleasure.
And then those images would stay with me all night: while we ate dinner with Mom and Dad, while we sat next to each other on the floor and watched TV, or any time she stood up again and announced, "be right back," for the rest of the evening.
Even from the TV room I could hear the echoing sound of her urine striking the toilet bowl whenever she went to the bathroom. It was distracting as fuck. I'd go to bed feeling frustrated and out-of-sorts.
It was much better to get home first and get it out of my system.
Then one night, I rounded the corner to our block and saw Keri coming from the opposite direction. We were about the same distance apart. As soon as Keri saw me, she started to sprint for the front door.
I broke into a run and reached the door first, but Keri already had her keys out and ready, and she squirmed around in front of me while I was fumbling in my pocket. At this proximity, she was literally crushed between my stomach and the door, and I was uncomfortably aware of my erection pressing into her ass.
She didn't seem to notice. We were scrabbling against each other in our haste to open the door and get through it first. We nearly fell onto the floor together in a heap when the door swung open suddenly, but Keri caught herself and was running to the bathroom before I was fully upright.
I made one last half-hearted attempt to pursue her, but even before I turned the corner I heard her swear loudly.
The bathroom door was closed, and locked.
"Fuck!" Keri said again, wiggling the handle. "Mom? Dad? Are you in there?"
There was no answer. She turned to me. "You didn't see either of their cars in the driveway, did you?"
"No." I was trying to focus on her face, and not on the fact that her nipples were visible through her uniform or that the curve of her hip looked as delicious to me as a three-tier chocolate cake.
