The following is a side-story within the Ordinary Sex Life series. This story assumes you know the primary characters from that series. Don't bother reading this if you haven't at least read An Ordinary College Sex Life.
-- JUNE 1989, SPRING BREAK --
"Mommmm!" I cried pitifully, limping my way down the street. On a normal day, I could cross each square of the sidewalk in two steps. Running, I could do it with one. But the way my right leg hurt, it felt like it was taking a -million- steps just to go from one square to the next. And there were like... thousands of sidewalk squares between me and the house. I was never going to make it.
I was going to DIE.
"Mommmm!" I cried again.
I finally dragged myself up the driveway several days later. Blood was gushing out from my wound, so much that I was sure I'd left a bright red trail running down the sidewalk for miles and miles and miles. I'd made it to the house without dying, but now I would surely die from blood loss. It wasn't fair. It wasn't my fault! Stupid Jimmy Hershey had dared me to try and jump the old creek bed. HE should have been the one to fall off that unstable old boulder. But no, he made me go first. And now I was going to die from my injuries.
Or maybe I wouldn't die. Maybe they would just have to amputate my leg.
"Mommmm!" I whined as I got the door open. Tears were running in rivers down my cheeks.
"Carter?" a voice called from the kitchen.
"Mom?" I gasped with relief, knowing she would come rescue me. Actually, she wasn't even my real mom. My real mom had died when I was little (well, littler-er), before I could even remember. This one was my step-mom, after marrying Dad a few months ago.
But I never called her 'Step-Mom'. Dad tried to explain it to me once, but saying 'Mom' was just easier. And after never knowing what life could be like with a mother, I really didn't mind that she wasn't my real mom. She still took care of me. She was the ONLY one that took care of me since Dad was always working and never home.
But Mom wasn't home. My new step-sister came out of the kitchen, holding a bowl of ice cream in her hands. She took one look at my bloody stump of a leg and immediately looked worried. "Oh, no! What happened?"
"It's Jimmy Hershey's fault!" I whined, feeling death crawling up my limbs with lightning bolts of pain.
She put the bowl down on the dining table and came over to me in the living room. "Let me look at it."
"And do what? You can't do anything. I need a grown-up!"
She bit her lip and shrugged. "But Mom's out. She said she forgot something at the store and had to go."
"Oh, no! I'm gonna DIE!"
My step-sister smiled and shook her head at me. "I won't let you die. Here, come with me." She took me by the hand, and ignoring my pain, she led me into the kitchen.
"OWW!" I yelled at her. "My leg HURTS! I can't WALK!"
"Oh, okay. Well then you just sit here." She moved me to the couch and sat me down. She then turned and started walking away. "I'll get the medicine kit."
"And do what? You're not a doctor! You're only nine!"
She grinned at me. "I still know how to put on a band-aid." And then she turned and skipped into the kitchen.
I sulked for a minute, rolling my eyes. So what if she was nine? I was seven, which was almost nine. What could a girl do that I couldn't? I was going to die without proper medical attention. Didn't she know that?
But she came back holding a plastic box with a red cross logo on top of it. She knelt down on the floor next to my leg, then reached forward and grabbed onto my foot. Instinctively, I kicked her away. "You can't do anything," I complained.
"I'm your sister now. I can help you."
"You're not even my real sister."
Gently, she touched my knee and looked up at me. There was something in her big green eyes that made me stop squirming, and made me look straight at her. And very calmly, she stated, "You're the only brother I have. I'm going to take care of you."
For some reason, I believed her. And she did take care of me.
It hurt when she disinfected my cut, but she held my hand and told me the pain would go away soon. The pain -did- go away, just like she said. And for the first time, I realized that I wasn't going to die.
She cleaned up the cut and put on a big glob of Neosporin, adding more when I asked her to really make sure everything was covered. Then she put on the band-aids, needing two since the cut was so big. And when she was done, she bent down and kissed my knee, promising, "Everything will be okay."
Her words reverberated around my head. Everything will be okay. Everything will be okay.
I believed her, because she was my big sister. She was an angel, sent from heaven to save me from certain death. When she was done, I smiled at her and said, "Thank you, Cameron."
She didn't say 'you're welcome'. Instead, she looked up at me and replied, "I love you, little brother."
-- MAY 1996, 8TH GRADE --
Elena parked the car in the garage. After my dad's business had taken off, he'd moved us to some ritzy neighborhood and hired a couple of servants around the house. Elena was my old, wrinkly nanny who drove like the grandma she really was. I didn't need a nanny. I wasn't a kid anymore. I'd just turned fourteen. I could take care of myself.
But I still couldn't drive, so I suppose getting a ride to and from school was better than walking.
Shutting the engine off, Elena sniffed the air and then looked over at me with a sigh. "You should probably take a shower," she said in her thick Mexican accent. Gawd I hated Mexicans. They all smelled funny.
Speaking of smelling funny, I couldn't blame the stench in the car on Elena. Not this time, since it was coming from my own body. Rotting bits of food were stuck to my clothes and skin, even after I'd vigorously tried to brush them off. The banana chunks in my hair especially were going to be hard to get out.
It wasn't MY fault I was the new kid in town. I didn't want to move here and leave all my friends. It also didn't help that I was the shortest kid in eighth grade. I was a late-bloomer, that's all. That didn't give guys the right to pick on me whenever they felt like it. I wasn't some punching bag that existed for their amusement. But rights or not, I was still the kid most picked on at school. And the bullies had decided that today was good day to shove me into the cafeteria dumpster before it got picked up at the end of the day. But not until after they'd stolen all the money out of my wallet, of course. Sixty bucks was a big deal to punks like that.
Glumly, I kicked open the car door and kicked it shut after me. I then stomped my way up the stairs, pissed off at this cruel world and all the bullies who made my life so miserable.
I went straight to my room and started ripping my clothes off. I threw them straight into the hamper, rotting food and all. Elena had to do my laundry. Let HER deal with that crap. And wearing only my tighty-whitey underwear, I went and opened the door to my adjoining bathroom.
Now in my defense, I didn't know Cameron was already in the bathroom. The shower was off, and there were no sounds coming from inside. Plus, she should have locked the door. The bathroom was a jack-and-jill shared between her bedroom and mine, and we'd already had a couple of near-accidents since moving in.
But she didn't lock the door, so I opened it and went straight in. And though she technically was in the shower, the water wasn't running and the shower curtain had been pulled wide open as she reached for her towel. So standing before me, literally two feet away, was the most gorgeous girl I'd ever seen in my entire life.
Unlike me, Cameron was an early-bloomer. She'd first got her boobs when she was eleven and they'd only been getting bigger until now, almost fully grown at sixteen. I hadn't really paid much attention, other than to notice that older boys would all stare at her chest whenever they talked to her. And I knew that a chick's boobs were supposed to be really important, since lots of the boys at school would comment about the nice rack on some girl or another. But I hadn't really seen the appeal. They were just boobs; half of the people on the planet had them.
But for some reason, I got the appeal right now. Maybe it was because I'd never seen a naked pair of boobs before. Her nipples were just like mine, small and crinkly and dark pink. But hers were bigger, much bigger, sticking out like pencil erasers.
I'd also heard guys talking about "hourglass" figures. Cameron didn't really have one yet. She was still pretty skinny, with small hips. But as I continued my analysis of her figure, I noticed that she had hair growing between her legs, the same dark color as on her head.
I'd just gotten my first hairs down there a couple of months back. It was weird, growing hair around my penis. I wouldn't say it was the most interesting thing, but it was different. At least, I knew I was supposed to have it, since seemingly every other guy my age had a full bush by now. Cameron didn't quite have the full bush; hers was neatly trimmed into an even surface like when our gardener Omar mowed the lawn.
That was about all I had time to analyze, because once Cameron realized I'd come into the room, she shrieked and grabbed at her towel. Realizing that I wasn't supposed to be there, I immediately turned and closed the door behind me. And as I stood there, facing back into my room while panting to catch my breath, I realized that I was feeling a sensation I'd never felt before.
.... There is more of this story ...