Chapter 2

Sisters

Peter stepped out of the shower. He went immediately to the bathroom door to confirm that it was firmly locked. His life had changed dramatically since the last time he’d forgotten to lock that door, and he wanted no more surprises. He had even swung the closet door open, blocking the doorway as additional insurance.

He examined himself in the mirror as he toweled himself dry, marveling at the sheer size of his penis. It had been about the size of a pencil stub, both in length and girth, only two years before, but now it measured ten-and-a-quarter inches! When it was hard, he could barely wrap his hand around its almost five-and-a-half-inch circumference. He hadn’t realized that this was unusual until the past weekend, when his Uncle Pete had visited. He’d thought his rapid and excessive penile growth normal, and that most boy’s penises were just as big; the man had disabused him of those notions. Among other things, they had measured one another. Peter’s “peter” was almost an inch longer than that of the thirty-three-year-old man and almost as thick. This was at least twice the length of the average adult man’s penis; of course, young Peter had still not reached his full growth. In fact, at not quite 5 feet and 85 pounds, he was the smallest boy in his grade. Not down there, he smiled. `Damn, though,’ he thought. `How big is this thing gonna get?’

Unprepared for his weekend visit and surprised by its purpose, Peter had missed the opportunity to talk with his uncle about something that had been bothering him for some time. He’d started to wonder during his uncle’s last visit whether they had a secret in common. That, of course, was before he learned of the anatomical oddity that would link them forever.

His thirty-three-year-old uncle was single. He’d never mentioned a girlfriend and had never taken or received any phone calls from friends of any kind, even during extended visits. Coupled with the way he sometimes looked at him and some of his friends, Peter had started to wonder if his uncle might be gay.

This question was of pressing interest to Peter because he had realized over about the past year that he was more attracted to boys -- and men -- than to girls. He had no need to fake it for his friends, though, because he liked to look at girls; but he fantasized and even had dreams about boys. His best friend, Jake, figured prominently in many of those dreams, though he’d dreamed about Uncle Pete last night. He didn’t know how he felt about being gay. He thought it might be a hard way to live, and wished he’d had the courage to broach the subject with his uncle before he returned home. He suspected that his prodigious penis might further complicate things.

He put on his robe and cinched it tight. Until recently, he’d felt comfortable walking around in just his underwear, but those days were gone.

As he made his way down the hall, he spied Molly, the oldest of his four sisters, staring up at him from the main floor of the house. She hadn’t looked at him the same since she’d walked in on him in the bathroom and discovered his anomaly. Very conscious of his penis swinging back and forth under his robe, he stepped into his bedroom and closed the door. Not for the first time, he considered what to do about her. He’d asked his Uncle Pete, but he had no suggestions. He was on his own. Not knowing what else to do, he changed into his pajamas - another change in his routine spurred by recent events - and slid under the covers.

The next morning, he woke to the sound of his two youngest sisters, Emma and Lillie, arguing over the bathroom. He swung out of bed and was confronted by “morning wood.” This, at least, wasn’t new. He got up, threw the comforter back over the bed, and laid out his clothes for school while he waited for his half-erection to go down. Even semi-flaccid, his penis was too large to go out into the hallway with his sisters present.

He decided to wear his new compression shorts under baggy jeans. He and his uncle had determined that this was one of the better ways to conceal his “package.” He, his uncle, and his mother had concluded that the smart move would be to keep his anatomical peculiarity “under wraps” as long as possible, knowing that it would result in the worst kind of celebrity -- something Peter desperately hoped to avoid.

When the shouting had subsided, Peter hurried to the bathroom, only barely beating Miranda, another of his older sisters, to the door. He quickly urinated, then washed his face, brushed his teeth, applied deodorant, and generally made himself presentable for a day in the eighth grade. When he opened the door, the fifteen-year-old was standing there, waiting. She silently stood back and let him pass, her piercing blue eyes never leaving his face. Peter was struck by how different she seemed. Ordinarily, he would have expected her to demand over and over that he “Hurry up, Peter,” then would have pushed past him into the bathroom. `Shit,’ he thought. `Molly told her.’

Breakfast was uneventful, except for some odd looks from his mother, and some unusually polite interactions with his two older sisters. `At least,’ he thought, `Lillie and Emma aren’t treating me any different. Maybe Molly didn’t tell them.’ The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that Molly wouldn’t have told the nine- and eleven-year-olds, but he was increasingly certain that fifteen-year-old Miranda knew. `I guess I’d better talk with mom about this,’ he thought as he cleared his dishes and escorted the two younger girls to the bus stop. He was in middle school -- eighth grade. The elementary school bus came first, then his own about fifteen minutes later; Molly and Miranda’s bus wouldn’t arrive for another thirty minutes after that, but they followed him out and were standing there when Lillie and Emma disappeared into their bus.

The two older girls stood looking at their brother for a long moment. Molly spoke. “Miranda wants to see your...” She blushed. “ ... you know.”

Peter decided to play dumb and make them say it. “No. I don’t know.” He looked at Miranda. “What do you want to see, Miranda?”

The fifteen-year-old didn’t speak but just stood there, her eyes directed at his crotch. This reminded Peter of what her friend, Christine had said to him only a week before. His voice sharp, he snarled, “Hey, Miranda. My eyes are up here!”

She snapped her eyes to his face guiltily, much as he had when reprimanded by her friend. Molly spoke. “I told Miranda what I saw in the bathroom, but she doesn’t believe me. You have to show us. If you don’t, I’m gonna tell everybody. I know you don’t want that; I overheard you talking with mom and Uncle Pete.”

Peter’s bus turned the corner. He looked from Molly to Miranda, shaking his head. “No way, Molly. No fuckin’ way. That’s fuckin’ sick.” The bus door opened, and he climbed aboard, shaken by his sister’s threat. “I definitely need to talk with mom tonight,” he muttered as he dropped into a seat.

“Huh? What?” asked his best friend, Jake. He turned, surprised. “Oh. Nothing. Was just thinking about ... umm ... something I have to do tonight. They quickly moved on to discussions of the drama and intrigue of the middle school social world; but Peter was unable to get over the idea that nothing would ever be the same for him again.

Peter wanted desperately to talk with someone about his secrets. He could feel them weighing him down; in fact, the newest secret was a literal weight in his pants as he walked. But who could he trust? He knew he could trust his best friend, Jake; but could Jake handle them? Would he be jealous of his big dick? Angry? Disgusted that he might be gay? Would he reject him? Thinking back to the discussion he’d had with his mother and uncle; he decided not to risk it. ‘But’ he wondered, ‘will Jake be mad when he finds out and realizes I didn’t tell him? Damn! This is so fucking complicated!’

By the time Peter got home from school he’d figured out that he would have to deal with his sisters on his own. Nothing his mother said or did would stop Molly from “accidentally” letting his secret slip. After all, it was bound to get out eventually; they just wanted to delay that as long as possible.

Oddly, his strategy for dealing with the older girls came out of a discussion in Language Arts class. During a discussion of Shakespeare’s `Merchant of Venice,’ the teacher had compared Shylock’s demand that Antonio promise a pound of his own flesh to having “skin in the game.” Peter’s mind had whirled as he considered how to create a situation in which Molly would have as much to lose as he.

Miranda was already home when Peter walked into the house, but he went directly to his room, announcing that he had lots of homework. He didn’t want to talk to Miranda; Molly was the threat.

After dinner, he signaled the older girl, then went up to his bedroom, leaving the door open. As expected, the two girls joined him almost immediately. He gestured for Molly to come in, leaving Miranda in the hall.

“You think about my proposition, little brother?” Molly smirked. “It’s not like you have a choice.”

“Yeah. I thought about it. But what’s in it for me? Right now, you’ve got no proof. If I show Miranda, you have a witness. Why would I want to make it worse?”

Smiling, Molly took out her phone. “Okay, then. I guess I’ll just have to let it slip to a few of my friends.” She scrolled through her contact list. “I’ll bet Christine’d be really interested. She smirked. It’s too bad she’s such a horrible gossip.” She looked at her brother pointedly.

Peter cocked one eyebrow, his face rigid. “You really are an evil bitch. Y’know that, Molly?” When she didn’t respond, he continued, “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it. I just want something in return.”