Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, mt/ft, mt/Fa, Consensual, Rape, Violent,
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - His values, his beliefs, his attitudes, and his skills had been developed since a young age, through many experiences - some unique, some thrilling, some terrifying. There came a time when he had to evaluate them all and depend on them all as never before.
Cal should have been used to it by then. His three golfing partners were outwardly polite and friendly to the eleven-year-old, but underneath, two of them were seething at the drubbing he was handing them. Cal had a feeling one of them would lose his cool before the round was over, so he used his standard escape strategy. Walking up the fifteenth fairway, he pointedly looked toward his house and announced "Sorry, guys. I need to drop off here. That's our house and the signal is out for me to come home."
It was, in fact, his family's home there on the fifteenth, but there was no signal. If anyone ever pushed the issue, he would point out the orange card that he kept in his own bedroom window. After several angry, embarrassing scenes from beaten club members, Cal had worked out the tactic of bailing out at fifteen, before his defeat of the adults was final.
And a defeat it almost always was. Having lived on the course as long as he could remember, Cal had almost grown up with a club in his hands. On top of that, he had an unbelievably smooth, consistent swing. Members who played with him always wondered if that was how Jack Nicklaus had played as a boy. His reputation was such that the men were constantly trying to get in a group with him. It had taken a while, but he had come to understand that many could not stand the ego hit of having an eleven-year-old considered better than they were. On his own, he had decided it was best not to 'finish them off', much as it aggrieved his naturally competitive personality.
Of course, not all of his partners reacted badly. There were some who sincerely appreciated his talent and told him so. He had no problem finishing rounds with them. Likewise with the really good players who could beat him honestly. He never bailed out of a round if he was trailing, or if another player had a legitimate chance to overtake him.
The country club was quite exclusive and the surrounding homes very expensive. Cal's father, Martin, a highly successful real-estate developer, had been on the board several times. That was part of the reason Cal was allowed on the course, where children under twelve were normally prohibited. The other reason was the publicity value of a potential junior champion among the membership.
Cal's game needed more length before he was a legitimate junior contender, but all of the other elements for success were there. It was a rare day, even during the school term, that Cal did not play at least the equivalent of nine holes. Often, it would all be done on the four or five holes closest to their home, and sometimes, he would play three or four balls simultaneously.
Leaving the course as he did took a lot of self-control for someone his age. A naturally fierce competitor, he was very keyed up as he walked in through the back door of the garage and picked up a basketball. For over twenty minutes, he shot basket after basket, dashing to get the rebound if there was one, which was not often. Even at eleven, Cal was a deadly shooter.
John Calvin Banner had been named in honor of a grandfather, with his parents totally unaware of his name's connection to the historic Christian leader. When he entered first grade, he counted the 'Johns' in the room and insisted thereafter that he be called 'Cal'. That, of course, endeared him greatly to his namesake grandfather.
Demanding the use of that name was a very uncharacteristic move for young Cal, whose most notable characteristic seemed to be his 'averageness', bordering on anonymity. It would have been much more in keeping with his personality to remain lost among the sea of 'Johns'.
Being an 'unexpected' child made Cal even more of a misfit. He was a product of his parents' first union after his mother, Elaine, was almost recovered from birthing his older sister Rebecca. Somehow, she had thought she could not yet be fertile - wrong! To his parents' credit, they in no way resented his birth, planned or not. But there was no doubt that the difference from the rest of the family in his appearance and his personality kept them off balance much of the time.
Genetically, it was no surprise that Cal was athletically talented. His father was a three-sport high school athlete and a running back in college. His mother had been a competitive skater through her early teens, then switched to volleyball. His older brother, Pete, soon to enter ninth grade, appeared to be following in his father's footsteps. Even his sister Rebecca, just a year older, was naturally athletic. She was a brain and a musical prodigy, so she did not spend much time on sports. When she did, though, it was obvious that they all came naturally.
What was not explainable about Cal genetically was his size. Smaller and thinner at the same ages than Pete, his three-years-older brother, it was already apparent that he would never achieve the well over six foot stature of his father and his brother. It was also obvious that if he was ever to play football, it would have to be as a kicker. Certainly eleven-year-olds could bulk out later, but he was much more slender and wiry that Pete had been at that age.
The nature of Cal's athletic talent was also different from his father and brother. He excelled at anything that required planned, controlled motion. Golf, pool, bowling, shooting baskets: those were all activities at which he shone. It wasn't that he was slow of foot or reflexes - far from it. It was just that when he could plan an action he was unbelievably precise and accurate.
As evidence of his overall athleticism, Cal was quite good at soccer. He did not particularly like the strange game, but his best friend Khalid was an avid player, and Khalid's father, a native Saudi, was an excellent coach.
As if he did not have enough things that made him unique in his family, he was a quiet, reflective boy in a household of flaming extroverts. He was by no means shy; he just preferred to observe and listen while the rest of his family seemed to be in a constant battle for center stage. From his earliest years he had been adept at lurking unnoticed, seemingly merging into the surroundings.
All good athletes and all good warriors have exceptional visual and spatial awareness. They are able to integrate everything that is going on around them and take the optimal action. Cal had definitely inherited that ability. He seldom chose the wrong club or aimed a shot foolishly. He always seemed to be in position on the soccer pitch, an unusual trait for a young player. As he grew, it would be a great asset in all team sports.
Cal's innate stealthiness and visual acuity were important for what had become his hobby, besides his sports, that is. Since he was seven or eight, he had been fascinated with photography. In a family where money was no problem, he had been given cameras that most adults longed for.
Unlike many children blessed with too many things, Cal treated his possessions with care and skill. Not only did he take many pictures that would have left his extended family and their large circle of friends amazed and pleased if they had seen them, his gear was always meticulously cleaned and stored. When school had let out after his fifth grade year, his dad had given him a darkroom. His mother had been rightfully concerned whether he was mature enough to handle anything so complex and technical, but when he produced his first self-developed photos of her on the day it was completed, her concern was vanquished.
It was only occasionally that anyone saw Cal's pictures. They were usually carefully filed away in his workroom adjacent to the darkroom. What he did show to other people were usually fairly ordinary, giving no hint of the real talent he had for capturing people.
It was a torrid late-June day, just before noon, and Cal was drenched in sweat after shooting baskets vigorously until his competitive buzz from the abandoned golf round diminished. Someday, he told himself, he could finish his rounds no matter how badly he was embarrassing some rich, lazy weekend hacker. For now, a dip in the pool and some fresh clothes were what he needed. Instead of going in to put on his suit, though, he thought he would see if his neighbor and best friend, Kal, could join him.
Kal's real name was Khalid Mussafi, and it was a very bad idea to let his father hear him called Kal. For their circle of friends, though, the duo of Cal and Kal was just too choice.
Rachman Mussafi was one of the thousands of Saudis peripheral to the royals but close enough to have accumulated a sizable hoard of oil money. In his early thirties, while studying for an MBA in the States, he had met a blonde California woman who taught a business writing class. Amelia Barnes was blessed with a centerfold's body and face and a brilliant mind. Rachman was a dead ringer for a young Omar Sharif and had the cultured manner of one who had sampled much of the world's bounty. Instant physical attraction was no surprise: blonde vs. dark; West vs. East; liberated vs. Muslim...
That, of course, was the problem. To Rachman, beautiful women were always available - available to be acquired and used as he saw fit. Amelia, however, was something he had never encountered. Female attire appropriate for California college teaching in that day was much closer to that of a houri belly dancer than to a Saudi wife or mother. Rachman naturally approached Amelia as a potential acquisition, and the battle was on.
It was really an uneven fight. She was on her turf where her rules dominated. She was painfully experienced in the battle of the sexes, while he had to learn to think of a woman as an actual person. In the midst of the battles, the two found genuine love. In the end, they willingly overlooked the problems of a Muslim-Christian union and married.
Amelia was a confident and strong-willed young woman in addition to her extraordinary beauty, and her father was a successful lawyer. Rachman required her to sign a pre-nup, and she had a document of her own drawn up, one which nearly scuttled the wedding. Her agreement stated that the family would live in the U.S. and specified a generous divorce settlement if he reneged. It also stated that the children would not be raised Muslim.
The agreement that Amelia insisted on sent Rachman's family into an absolute rage, and he was forced to choose between his love and his family. He was a perfect example of many upper-middle-class Saudis: officially a devout, even fanatical follower of Wahabi Islam. In practice, he was a bon vivant who on his regular trips to London, Vegas and other European or U.S. cities partook freely of the bounty of the Satanic West. Though he regretted the estrangement, his love for Amelia was so strong that he turned his back on Islam and the Mussafi clan. They were married in a civil ceremony.
Subsequently, Rachman became a very worldly, fairly normal American husband and father. If he had any inclination to revert to the 'women-as-chattel' ways of his upbringing, Amelia was quick to disabuse him of those thoughts. She knew the hold she had on him and used it willingly. There was true shared loved between the two, and he did his best to shed his old-world attitudes to please her.
The two children born to Rachman and Amelia were as beautiful as one could imagine. Fourteen-year-old Ismi was the prototypical virgin that so many Islamist fanatics looked forward to having in paradise. In future years, many such fanatics would willingly martyr themselves to possess a harem of Ismis in paradise. At eleven, Khalid was almost too pretty to be a boy. As Westernized as he became and despite the agreement, Rachman had held very firm in his insistence on Islamic names for their children. Amelia had thought it a wise and harmless concession.
Using his capital wisely, Rachman had bought and expanded an importing business, and had more than enough money to live in the exclusive country club community next to the Banners. Amelia had obtained another college teaching position, and was on a tenure track, having completed her Ph.D. For over a decade, the Mussafis were a happy couple and a happy family, as American as any third or fourth-generation immigrant family might be.
Ismi grew up as an American first-born child. Essentially, boy or girl makes relatively little difference. The first-born is the pathfinder, the groundbreaker. The first-born typically has the fiercest battles with the parents over privileges and limits, but usually ends up with the stronger lifelong bonds to the parents, as well.
Being drop-dead gorgeous and an early bloomer, it was almost cruel to allow Ismi in the company of teenaged boys. She was a good girl, not at all promiscuous, nor even much of a tease. She did, however, adhere strictly to the fads of teenaged dress.
In Muslim society, rights and privileges are not considerations for girls: they have almost none. Furthermore, modesty to the point of total concealment is a deeply ingrained cultural and religious imperative. Rachman had done an admirable job of adapting to America mores, but the puberty and exploding sex appeal of his stunning daughter was more than he could handle.
From the first appearance of Ismi's nascent breasts and incipient hips, domestic tranquility at the Mussafi home was doomed. In his gorgeous wife, Rachman had always accepted and treasured her open sexuality and borderline exhibitionist leanings. Somehow, he could not transfer that same tolerance to his daughter. Perhaps latent guilt over his own unavoidable responses to Ismi's sexuality was at the core of his problem.
Even though Amelia kept the girl's dress very mainstream, the exposure bothered Rachman more and more. As the two began to argue about the subject, his long-suppressed feelings that wives should be silent and obedient also surfaced more and more. All of the beliefs that he had scoffed at on his younger globe-trotting trips and seemingly abandoned at the altar began to become important to him.
It was a gradual descent into open warfare, but their home had now become a battleground, a fact not well hidden from friends and neighbors. Amid the growing tension, Rachman had returned to the mosque and under the urging of the mullahs was trying to impose the strict observances of his youth on his Americanized family. While in his younger years he had followed the requirements mechanically, with no true spiritual commitment, he now was becoming a true believer.
Amelia, for her part, would have no part of Islam, something she had been steadfast about since their first date. Every time she reminded him of his promises and the signed agreement, he flew into a rage. The marriage was obviously on its last legs, but even that posed a huge problem. Only immoral behavior by the wife justified divorce to a Muslim. The fact that theirs was not even a legitimate Muslim marriage did not make the idea of divorce any easier for him.
As a sweaty Cal walked next door to fetch his pal for a swim that Sunday morning, the battle over Ismi's modesty had reached a new level of frenzy. Cal heard the yelling when he opened the patio door, his usual entrance. He could have, and probably would have, returned home at that point, but it was another of his signature traits that prevented him from leaving.
Cal had always carried a heightened awareness of and abhorrence of anything that was unfair or unjust. He was the one in the family or among his friends who would actively intercede to stop any activity he considered harmful to any person. He was always the arbiter at childhood games and the one to break up scuffles between friends or classmates.
From his youngest days, the one thing that would make Cal the center of family conversation was some situation of unfairness or inequity. He would hold forth in childish fervor for many minutes at a time while his parents and siblings suppressed their mirth - usually. Somehow linking a passion for fairness with the practice of law, his parents assumed that their youngest was headed for a law career, a perfectly reasonable and acceptable goal for one of their offspring.
Just as Cal was turning to close the Mussafis' patio door and avoid violating their privacy, he heard a ripping noise, a shriek from Ismi and Amelia's shout of "Don't," followed by the unmistakable sound of a hard slap and a body falling. That was too much for Cal.
As he quickly but quietly walked toward the family room where the conflict was raging, Cal heard Rachman yelling "If she will not cover herself properly, why should she be allowed to wear anything? There is no difference! You have let her become nothing but a typical American whore!"
Before him, Cal saw Amelia lying on the floor, stunned and holding her hand to the side of her face. Ismi was bending over facing away from the others and covering her exposed breasts with her arms. Rachman was waving the tank top he had apparently ripped from his daughter as he continued to rage about her exposure. Khalid stood to one side, poised as if to intercede, but motionless.
Completely overtaken by his rage, Rachman came up behind his daughter and yanked down her shorts and panties, exposing her bottom and causing her to fall as she struggled to get away. Instantly on his knees over her, he began pulling at the garments, trying to get her naked, spouting invective all the while.
Khalid had been watching in stunned silence until then, but that was too much. He adored his beautiful, loving older sister, and even his carefully nurtured respect for his father would not let him stand by as he humiliated Ismi. Dashing across the room, he shouted "Father! Stop! Don't do that!" and grabbed a hold of Rachman's arm.
With the strength and the single-minded oblivion of mindless rage, Rachman threw his arm back with stunning force, sending Khalid flying across the room, out of control. He continued his efforts to denude his sinful, errant daughter without a thought to his impertinent son. Cal and the recovering Amelia, however, saw what happened to Khalid.
It was to be stamped indelibly in his memory for life, the permanent condemnation of hatred and bigotry, as far as Cal was concerned. Khalid lost his balance and fell awkwardly, his head smashing into the stone hearth. Cal was closest and pulled his stricken pal into his arms immediately, somehow knowing the accident was fatal. Khalid began convulsing violently for many long seconds before falling totally still, not breathing.
It was Amelia's frantic screams that broke through Rachman's rage enough to make him turn and see his son. "You killed him!" Cal could not help screaming out. Rachman froze for a moment, trying to absorb the enormity of what he had heard. Turning toward the fireplace, what he saw convinced him that it was true.
The shock of having killed his son should have broken through the rage and calmed the man, but it had the opposite effect. A son was a man's treasure, meant to carry on his name and his legacy. Now, his only son was gone. A girl was a useless burden, her only value a future dowry, which his slut of a daughter would never earn him. How quickly the old ideas regained control of him.
Even more strongly consumed by his rage and his religious fervor, Rachman diverted the blame to his daughter, still cowering on the floor with her shorts and panties around her lower legs. "Now your whorish behavior has caused me to lose my son! You made me lose my son!" He began shouting over and over. When he stood and began kicking her, Cal could not take it. Releasing Kal's inert body to his hysterical mother, he leaped across the room and fell on top of Ismi, trying his best to shield her from the power of her father's doubly enraged kicks.
It was only in the ER later that Cal learned what had happened. Both he and Ismi suffered cracked ribs, concussions, and uncountable bruises from Rachman's mindless kicks. It took Amelia several seconds to come out of her shock over her son's death enough to realize what was happening to her daughter and to Cal. Using the strength of her own rage, she was able to grab a fireplace tool and attack her husband. He was so lost in his grief and the venting of his rage that he was unaware of her and her first blow was to his head, which knocked him out. There were several more blows before Amelia turned her attention to the two badly beaten youngsters.
Showing remarkable presence of mind, Amelia called 911, then tried mouth-to-mouth and CPR on her son, all to no avail. She was almost catatonic with shock and grief when the police and paramedics arrived, erroneously believing that Ismi and Cal had been killed, as well. The commotion brought Cal's family out and it was a terrible shock to them to see Cal wheeled out on a gurney.
The incident was of course the major local news story for days, and a major setback for the Islamic community. For Cal, it was unwanted attention, painting him as a young hero for trying to shield Ismi. He was kept in the hospital overnight for observation, a standard precaution with concussions. With bandaged ribs and more sore spots than he could count, he went home, only to be faced with a gaggle of reporters in front of the house.
The first instinct of both Cal and his parents was to send the reporters away. The family attorney, who had been quickly called in, however, recommended that they allow one interview with one reporter and one cameraman. The attorney counseled them that the pressure would never stop by itself. The attorney was assigned the task of choosing the reporter, and insisted on a written list of the questions that would be asked. Cal's parents and the lawyer spent an hour going over the questions with a very reluctant Cal.
When the actual interview occurred, Cal was very self-effacing, to no one's surprise. When asked what he thought when he fell on top of Ismi, he answered. "I couldn't let him kill both of my friends."
"Weren't you worried about being hurt or killed yourself?" came the question.
"I never thought about it," was his answer. "I had to protect her."
"Why didn't you try to stop the father?" was the next question.
"Kal is bigger than me and..." Here his voice broke. He did not cry, but he turned his head away and he paused for a moment. "He w... was bigger and stronger, and his dad just... All I could do was protect her."
Despite the careful coaching, he deviated from one agreed-on answer in a way that caused no small stir in the Islamic community. The wrap-up question was a rather inane "How do you feel about the whole incident?"
"I just don't understand it," he replied. "My best friend is dead and it's all because of religion. How... how should I feel about that?"
Cal did not visit Ismi in the hospital. He was not there very long, and she had to be sedated for her anguish over her brother's death. The loss of Khalid and, for all practical purposes, her father all at once stressed the girl's psyche to the limit.
It was three days before Ismi came home, and Cal was waiting when she arrived. Obviously, because of the age difference, Cal had been much closer to Kal, but Ismi had loved her little brother and had always spent time with both boys. In Cal's mind, she was not far behind his sister Rebecca as a recipient of his devotion.
Both youngsters had broken ribs that made hugging painful, and Ismi was in a wheelchair because of a hairline fracture of her hip. Nevertheless, she pulled Cal's head to her chest and squeezed his face between her breasts, rocking and cooing as a mother would comfort an infant. Over and over she thanked him for protecting her. Then she kept repeating "You're my little brother, now!" again and again like a mantra.
Cal's family was not cold or distant, but neither were they very demonstrative about their feelings toward each other. He had received many hugs from his mother and his sister, but this encounter with Ismi was something else. At eleven, the fact that his face was entrapped in a heaven of teenaged loveliness was lost on him. What was not lost on him was the anguished need of the sweet girl that was his friend and the only remaining link to his dead buddy. From that moment, Cal and Ismi were bonded in a unique way.
The physical restrictions because of his injuries were very frustrating to Cal, but the loss of his pal was truly agonizing. The two shared many interests, golf being the only notable exception. They were about as close as two boys ever got. For the first few days at home, Cal would burst into tears spontaneously, unable to keep from thinking about his friend.
And there were the nightmares. They started the first night in the hospital, but since he was mildly sedated, they did not draw any attention. At home, Cal tried his best not to let his parents know about them. Every night he would wake up in a sweat, sometimes screaming, and after only a few days, they knew what was happening.
The nightmares all had him standing helpless, unable to do anything as his friends were brutalized. He would try to get to them to help, but it was the standard nightmare scenario where he was either unable to move or his friends were always farther away no matter how hard he ran. At first, it was either Ismi or Kal or Amelia who were being attacked, but soon, the victims began to be his sister Rebecca or his mother. Those were the times he screamed.
Always one to understate his problems to his family, Cal tried to hide the effects of the dreams, but his parents were not fooled. The occasional screams gave him away, and as the days passed, he became haggard, drawn, and listless. Wisely, they sought counseling for him.
With money no object, his parents decided to engage a psychiatrist rather than a child psychologist. In many ways, they thought of Cal as more of a teenager or a small adult, rather than an eleven-year-old. They also reasoned that the trauma might carry beyond his childhood years, requiring long-term help.
What with the typically crowded schedules of most therapists, the only highly recommended psychiatrist who could take him quickly was Dr. Julia Waxman. At about thirty years old, she had established her practice but still had occasional slots open. They insisted on a session with her themselves before scheduling Cal.
Martin's first impression upon meeting the voluptuous young redhead was that they had wasted an hour's fee. There was no way he could take this babe seriously. Elaine shared some of the same thoughts, but was not quite so quick to judge.
"I've read about your son's heroics," Julia started out, "and I have read the complete police report. It would be a privilege to work with a young man like that - I can't really think of him as a boy after what he did."
"I have to tell you, though," Julia went on, "that I do not have a lot of experience with children or teens. If you decide I am not appropriate to help your son, I won't bill you for this meeting."
"Just how would you approach him?" Elaine asked.
"Well, as you may or may not know, there are many approaches to determining a patient's core problem. Basically, they fall into two areas. In one approach, the therapist painstakingly covers the patient's entire background and experience to build a good picture of the psyche. The other way is to try to hone in on what is troubling the patient the most, then branch out from there."
"Which would you use with Cal?" Martin asked.
"From what you said in our brief phone conversation," Julia replied, "we need rapid help with his nightmares. I believe the second approach is indicated here."
"Isn't it pretty obvious what is causing the nightmares?" Elaine asked. "What can you do to stop them?"
"In a way it is obvious: he went through a terrible traumatic experience. But usually, there is one part of the experience; one particular feeling; one dominant fear or emotion that is the trigger of his distress."
"But even if you find out what that is, what can you do about it?" Elaine asked again.
"First of all, I would talk to you again," Julia assured her. "I would bring one or more recommendations that we hopefully could agree upon."
By that point, Martin's misgivings had changed to outright enthusiasm for the obvious intellect that he saw across the table. Not wanting to usurp his wife's opinion, he asked "Cal is in the car. Can he use the rest of this hour?" Fortunately, Elaine agreed with a smile.
Julia may not have treated an eleven-year-old before, but she spent some intensive after-hours study on the best approaches to child emotional trauma. She knew the nightmares were the manifestation of Cal's distress. She needed to find out the thing he feared the most.
On her list of areas to explore were the domestic tension, the exposure of his friend Ismi's body, Rachman's rage, the loss of his friend, and the horror of his friend dying in his arms. One or more of those must be the dominant cause of the nightmares.
After her initial session and two more, Julia called Martin and Elaine back in. "Your son," she began, "has two very strong, very admirable traits. He has as strong a sense of fairness as I have ever seen, and his protective instincts are off the chart."
"Can't argue with that," Martin quipped.
"What I believe is contributing most to the nightmares is the feeling of helplessness - not being able to protect his friends. He has also had dreams where he was unable to protect you, Elaine, and his sister."
"But we were not involved," Elaine protested.
"No, of course not," Julia answered, "but you are the most important women in his life. Because he could not stop the bad things from happening to his friends, he has become afraid that he could not stop something if it was happening to you. That is the nature of trauma and of nightmares."
"What can we do about it?" Martin asked.
"This may sound like highly unusual treatment," Julia told them, "But I recommend that you enroll him in martial arts."
"Wow. That is unusual," Martin agreed. "How will that help?"
"It will let him feel like he is doing the best he can to be able to protect his loved ones," Julia explained. "Some of that belief is probably fed by all the action movies. His expectations may be unrealistic, but the important thing is that he will be taking action to alleviate his worst fear."
With moist eyes, Elaine asked "Is that really his worst fear - not being able to protect us?"
"I believe it is," Julia assured her.
"And you think this will stop the nightmares?" Elaine queried.
"It may take some time for them to disappear, but the frequency and severity should start to decrease."
"Do you have a recommendation on where to take him?" Martin inquired.
To his parents' surprise, Cal was very adamant about where he wanted to take lessons. He had seen the mobs of gi-clad youngsters disgorging from mini-vans into the Tai Kwon Do studios that dotted suburban strip malls. He wanted no part of that. He found a large, rather rundown dojo in an old industrial area that had mostly teenaged or adult students, and decided that was the place for him. From the first day, he entered and left the studio in street clothes.
Julia's prediction proved to be accurate. After his very first class, Cal had his first night without a bad dream. They still came, but less and less often and they were less and less frightening. He continued his sessions with Julia with decreasing frequency for the next year.
What neither his parents nor Julia anticipated was the passion with which the eleven-year-old entered into the martial arts training. His unassuming, introspective demeanor masked an intensity that took to the discipline enthusiastically.
What made the sensei, Mr. Yokata, aware of his newest student was the unusual interest in the mental and spiritual aspects of the training. Usually, only the older practitioners were able to appreciate the balance between the physical and non-physical. Within a few weeks, Cal was asking for maintenance tasks that would allow him to stay longer at the dojo. Mr. Yokata realized that the boy was actually seeking more exposure and spent quite a bit of extra time with Cal. The newcomer was a refreshing change from all of the Bruce Li wannabes that unfortunately paid the rent.
As his training progressed, Cal surprised his sensei by proclaiming that he had no desire to test for any belts or degrees. He declared that knowing he had the skills was all that interested him. If no one else knew of his capabilities, that was fine with him.
Having never encountered such a wish before, Mr. Yokata was concerned that he had misjudged Cal's interest and potential. However, when the boy's intensity continued to increase, he decided to accede to Cal's wishes. His eagerness and his interest in the mental and spiritual elements of the art were more than enough compensation for his lack of drive toward ranking and status.
At the dojo, Cal met a boy named Dex Madison [see 'Redemption']. A year older than Cal's bother Pete, Dex had lost both of his parents and had come to town to live with an aunt and uncle the previous year. His motivation for learning was similar to Cal's and he was a recognized basketball star. Despite the four year age difference, the two became friends rather quickly.
Cal talked very little about his training. Pete thought it was 'cute' and something he would outgrow. Martin and Elaine saw the nightmares disappearing and everything else returning to normal. If that was what it took, they were perfectly happy for Cal to train all he wanted. Rebecca had an instinctive disdain for 'macho crap', but since Cal never bragged or even talked about it, she accepted it because it was important to him.
After several uncharacteristic outbursts from Cal, the family soon accepted that he really wanted his martial arts to be, if not secret, at least not spoken of openly.
By the time he was able to golf again, after his injuries had healed, Cal's game took a big jump. Though Martin chalked it up to a growth spurt, Cal was certain that the teachings about focus, concentration, and control of emotions were the reason. He had grown some over the summer, but not enough to explain the dramatic increase in the length of his shots. Always quiet and undemonstrative on the course, he became an ice man. Some of his adult partners found him almost frightening.
Mr. Yokata had questioned Cal very carefully before accepting him, mainly because of his youth. He had even called and talked to Dr. Waxman. After Cal's first few sessions, the sensei explained that Cal should concentrate on using his legs and feet. A pre-pubescent boy, like most women, had much better muscle development in his lower body than in the upper. His arm, shoulder, and torso muscles just had not started to develop yet.
When school started in the fall, Cal began getting up very early every morning for a workout. At an age when most boys had to be dragged from bed, he was up before the rest of the family.
About a month after the tragedy, the Banners invited Elaine's sister, Laura, along with her husband Will and daughter Jolie over for a barbecue and pool party. Laura was three years younger than Elaine, but the sisters had always been quite close.
Not that they were all that much alike, at least personality-wise. Physically, it was obvious that they were sisters, and Laura was as athletic as Elaine, having played basketball in high school. Laura was much more demonstrative and flamboyant than her big sister. She always dressed in more provocative outfits and spoke and acted in a more suggestive manner.
It took a lot of sisterly love to invite Laura and her family that day for a couple of reasons. First was Will. None of the Banners could figure out how Laura fell for the asshole. He was a college basketball player, undeniably handsome, and came from old money. Other than that, it seemed to be all bad news. He was arrogant, condescending, rude, and he treated his wife and daughter like dirt. Martin and Elaine strongly suspected that Will bounced Laura around at times, but had no proof.
The other reason it was hard to invite Laura was her penchant for wearing outrageous swimwear and not bothering with wraps of coverups when she left the pool. The sisters had been taught modesty. Neither had held that closely to what they had been taught, but Elaine was much less willing to bare herself than was Laura. Because of Pete, then fourteen, Elaine had asked Laura to tone it down, but was never taken seriously.
For that party, Laura had a new suit, basically a thong. Her ass was for all intents and purposes bare. She giggled about the cold feeling when she first sat on a plastic bench. Elaine's advice to cover has ass, however, was laughingly ignored.
Martin and Elaine both knew that Laura had been in love with Martin almost since they first met. To Laura's credit, she had never done anything inappropriate: except for the way she delighted in showing herself to Martin. Both Elaine and Martin were bothered by it, but Will seemed to revel in it. Laura was his possession and showing her off gave him an ego boost.
For some reason, Will was in a strange mood that day, not for the first time. By the time the food had been eaten, he had done his best to wipe out the Banners' supply of booze. Within thirty minutes he was almost comatose in a lounge chair. Laura and Jolie seemed to blossom when he checked out.
After some relaxing and some swimming, Laura grabbed Pete and told him 'Come on, Pete, I can still take you one on one." Pete was a very good athlete, but basketball was not his sport. Still, it had been a while since Laura had been able to beat him. At fourteen, his muscles had developed amazingly well. Being bigger and stronger, his rebounding alone made her days of winning seem gone forever.
Wanting to do anything she could to ease Cal's recovery, she called to him "Come on along, Cal. After I whip your brother, I'll take you both in H-O-R-S-E."
Pete had been suffering from a hardon most of the day. As many times as he had seen Laura similarly exposed, there was no way he could get used to it at his age.
Cal did not have Pete's problem, but he had looked at his aunt in a very different way that day. Amidst the terror and anguish of that horrible day when Kal died, there were other impressions that refused to leave his mind, ones that he felt guilty about.
After her father had ripped off her tank top, Ismi was unable to completely cover her breasts, and the swell of the flesh and a few peeks of rosy nipples seemed fixed in Cal's memory. After Rachman had yanked down her bottoms and she had fallen to the floor, her smooth buttocks were fully exposed for a few moments, along with some dark hair winking between her legs.
When Cal had fallen atop her to take the beating himself, she was essentially naked. At the time, he had felt nothing but the pain of the rage-driven kicks, but the sensations from Ismi's bare body beneath him were etched in his memory, to be dredged up many times later.
Because of his interest in photography, Cal had always appreciated the beauty of the females who surrounded him. But that had been as an artist. It was not quite the same as appreciating a thoroughbred racehorse, but it definitely had no component of sexual lust.
That afternoon spent with his nearly-naked aunt had brought back and amplified the after-the-fact feelings and impressions of Ismi in her distress. He felt that his eyes could not be pulled from Laura, and he kept his camera ready as an excuse for watching her. Several times, he felt the strange pressure in his penis that he had been waking with once in a while.
When Laura and the boys headed for the driveway, there had been a minor shouting match between the sisters over her nudity. As usual, she did not give an inch. The driveway was not actually visible from the road or from any other houses. What bothered Elaine was that her sister was on almost complete display to her sons. She had noticed that Pete had been sporting an erection almost from the time Laura arrived.
As they all came to the front of the house where the basket was, Pete said "OK, Aunt Laura. How many points do I have to give you today?" Cal thought that his brother's voice was a lacking a little of its usual confidence.
"What? You don't want a handicap? You're just going to take your beating like a man?" Pete said with more of his usual bravado.
"Like a man, nothing!" Laura laughed. "This is my handicap today." With that, she put a hand under each breast and bounced them a little. Then she turned around and slapped one bare ass cheek lightly. "Oh, and that!" She was pointing directly at Pete's crotch where his appreciation of her skin show was sticking out and up.
Pete went flame red and started to turn away, but Laura was on him in a flash. She took his face in her hands and pulled him down for a quick kiss. "Sorry, Pete. I won't tease. At least no more than I have to to win!" She followed that with all-out giggles.
Turning suddenly serious, Laura said "Hey, you guys would never say anything about this, would you?" She pointedly included Cal who shook his head firmly.
Despite his blush, Pete put up a good front. "Nah, I'll just tell 'em how bad I whipped that bare ass!" With that he picked up the basketball and the game was on.
Laura had been an exceptional player. She was a deadly shot and had learned excellent footwork. When she and Pete played, she often got position for rebounds on his shots. Unfortunately for her, he was tall enough to jump up from behind and reach over her for the ball.
Pete missed his first shot, not being very accurate. In position for the rebound, Laura felt him behind her. This time, she backed up until her ass made contact. Then, she rose on her toes and wiggled against his erection. She got the rebound and quickly scored. The same tactic worked again for a 2-0 lead.
Pete's hardon never completely deflated. He avoided her tactic on rebounds after that, and the score progressed to 7-7. She crouched on defense as he dribbled toward the basket. Suddenly, she stood straight up, revealing that her suit top had slipped down on one side, exposing her breast. Poor Pete stopped in mid dribble and Laura just took the ball past the exchange line and drained a long shot.
When it was 9-9, Pete was once again moving toward the basket. He always had to dribble carefully because he was not a great ball handler and her hands were lightning quick. Once again, she stood straight up, but her top was perfectly in place for what little support and coverage it normally gave.
Not so her suit bottoms. They tied at the sides and she had surreptitiously undone the left side tie, holding the loose ends in her left hand. As she stood with her legs tight together, the hanging bit of cloth revealed the small patch of hair over her mound, but nothing else. It was enough. Grasping the untied ends with her left hand, she poked away the ball with her right. She then dribbled in and scored the winner one-handed.
Although the one-on-one lived up to Laura's boast, the H-O-R-S-E game did not, as Cal wiped out the others handily. Surprised, Laura insisted on another. When two more games ended exactly the same way, she stayed and had Cal try a variety of shots for another twenty minutes. Pete left, quite likely to try to stave off blue balls.
Laura was a fun, vivacious person, and she was always good to her nephews and her niece. As avid a sports fan as her sister, she really loved basketball. Discovering Cal's phenomenal shooting skill moved him to the top of the list for her attentions.
Even beyond the sports connection, Cal had always been a favorite of Laura's. Perhaps she sympathized with his rather unique position in the family. Perhaps she just appreciated his calm, deliberate approach to most things. It was so unlike her daughter Jolie who was impetuous, volatile, and at ten, already distressingly unpredictable.
Cal was certainly aware that his mother and his sister only rarely displayed as much skin as he could see on his aunt. Both Elaine and Rebecca wore stylish two-piece suits, but they were not in the same league as Laura's. Cal also knew that his aunt's undress created tension. He knew she was beautiful and he liked looking at her. That day, for the first time, his penis responded to her presence.
When dusk settled in seriously, Laura and Jolie managed to get Will roused and into the car for the three-block trip home. As they had been trained to do, all three of the Banner kids helped clean up and before long, they had all retreated to their rooms. Elaine and Martin were alone in the kitchen, sharing another glass of wine.