I was too young to stay home by myself. I pleaded for it anyway, knowing I'd end up with Aunt Jo and Uncle Al, or maybe at my best friend David's for the weekend. Or as a last resort, with Aunt Donna and her new husband Phil.

That was the last place I wanted to go. I loved Donna to death, but Phil was an absolute asshole.

"Forget it," Mom said disgustedly. "No 14-year-old is staying home by himself."

This was on Wednesday, the last time I made the appeal. I was shocked shitless then, when I responded to Mom's call to come to the living room Thursday afternoon. She was fit to be tied.

"What's wrong? Did I do something wrong?"

"I'm sure you did," she said hotly. "But right now it's not about you. Your Aunt Jo called me this afternoon. Uncle Al has the flu and they put him into the hospital this morning."

"No way!" I exclaimed, genuinely appalled. Uncle Al was the favorite of my relatives. He bought my first gun, and we shot squirrel and rabbit and other shit whenever we went there to visit. It meant I'd be staying at Aunt Donna and Phil's place.

Fuck!

"Is he OK?"

"They've got him hooked up to IV's to keep him hydrated. Like everyone else his age, this flu knocked him flat." She ground her teeth in frustration.

"What about Aunt Jo?"

"She's fine, so far. You can't stay there, though."

I brightened. "David? It's not too late to call his mom. Maybe she'll ... what? You already called her?"

Her glower was all the answer I needed.

"They made last minute plans to see her dad this weekend. He's got the flu, too! And so does Phil! It's a stupid epidemic or something. We only have one choice, I'm sorry, Matthew. You'll have to come with us."

I groaned in actual pain. "Aw, come on! Can't you cancel or something?"

I winced at her glare. "Get out of my sight before I forget you're 14 years old and take a belt to your backside, young man."

Grumbling, I shuffled off to my room, hands jammed in my pockets.

It was Casey's first year at Penn State, the weekend before the start of school. Mom and Dad were taking her up to move in. It boggled how much shit she planned taking with her. She would room with some unknown female student. Her named was Nikki, I later found out.

I'd get hauled along for the ride, subjected to her unbearable fucking tongue. I began to realize I might actually miss the witch, though. Wednesday night we'd had our first conversation in four years without Casey ripping me a new ass. She had actually effing hugged me. I couldn't get over that. So maybe I should go on this trip, I thought.

Upstairs, I dropped on my bed and stared at the effing ceiling. Around five, Mom tapped on my door.

"Yeah?"

She eased it open.

"Your father and I had a talk," she said.

Here it comes, I thought. They're not going, and Casey'll be after me like a 20' alligator. I should buy a bulletproof vest.

"What?" I asked.

"About you staying home by yourself this weekend."

I eyed her uncomprehendingly.

"I'm against it," she said. "Adamantly. But your father thinks you're mature enough to spend two nights alone without getting yourself killed. Or burning down the house. Or having friends over for a wild party." Her lips disappeared in a scowl. I had better not fuck up, that look said. It dawned on me what she was saying.

"You're letting me stay home?" Pure disbelief.

"I can't believe it either. But you're father is right. At some point, we have to start trusting you. Otherwise, you'll never grow up. This is your chance to prove that you can. Are you mature enough to be left alone in charge of the house, Matthew?"

I gaped at her.

"You're not instilling a lot of confidence here, Matthew. If I can't trust you, I have no choice but to overrule your dad and take you along with us. Is that what you want?"

I thought of Casey's room and the packed boxes and how Saturday morning those boxes would go in the SUV and Casey's room would be empty of all the things that made it Casey's. I looked past her at the wall, seeing through it to Casey's room across the hall.

"Matthew?"

I looked back at her. "Is there room for me?"

She blinked in surprise. "What?"

"If I decide to go, is there room for me in the car?"

For just a moment, her mouth fell open, but then she shook it off.

"Your sister would be dumbfounded to hear you ask that question, Matthew."

I nodded, thinking I had dumbfounded myself.

"Maybe your father is right. To answer your question, yes, there is room in the Highlander if you want to come. It'll be cramped, with all the boxes your sister is taking--" She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "--but we can fit you in. We can certainly use an extra pair of hands and a strong back unloading Casey's stuff."

She paused as Dad tapped on the door and stuck in his head.

"So are we decided?"

Mom looked irritated. "We decided Matthew might want to come after all. I told him yes, but he hasn't said yes or no." She eyed me, eyebrows raised.

Dad said: "That might not be an option."

"What?"

Apologetically, he explained how he'd taken another look at the Highlander and there was no way everything would fit. Sure as hell not me--too much stuff. A disgruntled Casey was in her bedroom doing inventory right now.

I shrugged. "She needs her stuff more than she needs me."

"Matthew, that's not true," Mom objected.

"Yes is it. I wouldn't even mention I suggested it. She hears that, she'll get pissed and leave even more stuff behind and then blame me for it later. No thanks. I'll stay home."

"Fine." She dropped Bomb Number Two on me.

"We're leaving tomorrow afternoon instead of Saturday morning. Casey wants to spend time with your grandfather, so David's taking the day off to pack the car with Casey. We'll leave as soon as I get home and drive directly to Dad's.

"Sunday morning we'll hop over to her dorm and get Casey moved in. We'll be home about five o'clock or so." Her tone hardened. "There are some ground rules."

I nodded. "No visitors, right?"

"First, and foremost, no visitors. You stay inside and give no one cause to wonder why a 14-year-old is home alone for the weekend. We don't want any child endangerment issues, Matthew."

"No problem there," I agreed immediately. "What else?"

"No alcohol," Mom said.

I turned red. I'd been a bad boy and gotten myself grounded for a month recently. I told her absolutely no alcohol.

"To make sure you comply with Rules Number 1 and 2," Mom said firmly, "your dad mounted a webcam in the living room pointed at the front door. I trust you not to sneak out the balcony door, Matthew. You can go out for some fresh air Friday and Saturday night if you need, on the balcony, just use some discretion. No talking to the neighbors. No calling your friends and telling them you're alone. If anyone asks, we are in residence, okay?"

"Sure," I agreed. I had no intention of calling or seeing anyone. I planned to be alone.

She nodded, cast an irritated glance at my father, and then left my room to go confer with her flaky effing daughter.

I stood in the middle of the living room, uncertain what to do next. Mom, Dad and Casey were gone. The quiet was a little intimidating. I had no plan, no idea what to do.

I stared at the webcam. It was not mounted to anything, but sat on the end table at the end of the couch. Dad's laptop had a window open showing the direct feed. If there were two of me, I could look at myself staring at the webcam. Glowering at it, I thought: What a pain in the ass. I was fourteen, not four. I didn't need a nanny.

There was only one cam, and it couldn't look everywhere. The balcony doors and most of the vertical blinds were out of frame, so that was good. I could use the balcony undetected. What good that did me was questionable. Climb down three stories to the ground? The accessibility lightened my mood, anyway.

There were two cams, excuse me. The second guarded Mom and Dad's bedroom. My excursion inside to check the laptop was okay. They gave me permission for that, but nothing else. Mom guarded her privacy like an effing bank vault. No more excursions into Mom's bedroom.

I could watch TV. About the only thing I could do was watch TV. Mom worked for Comcast and showed Dad exactly how to password protect the digital channel box. I was not watching The Playboy Channel or anything like that. They monitored my browsing habits too; so no help there. I was in solitary effng confinement.

I made a sandwich and carried it and a Diet Coke to the den. At least Friday night had some decent TV shows: Fringe, CSI NY and Blue Bloods. I just had to figure out what to do between then and eight o'clock.

The DVR had an episode of Chicago Fire and one of Elementary, so I watched those. It killed roughly an hour and a half. That took me to seven o'clock. Why hadn't I gone with them, I wondered.

I got up and wandered around. I passed business-like in front of the cam on my way to nowhere, proving I wasn't bored mindless. I stood outside Mom's bedroom a time, mentally locating the cam and visualizing any blind spots. There were none. I wanted to forage, invade her dresser drawers, her bedside table, and the walk-in closet. I thought of Mom in lingerie and laughed. And then stopped laughing.

Mom was kinda hot. She looked something like that chick on The Wire, the one who fucked the black guy from Fringe. I can't remember either of their names. She was a state's attorney? Deirdre something ... I couldn't remember. Mom looked like her.

Casey's door was closed. Violating Casey's room was a death sentence, even with her gone. She was four years older than me and equated me with toe fungus. I'd no more go in there than play with a live hand grenade. I unconsciously glanced over my shoulder and licked my lips; she had me so well conditioned.

I jumped half out of my skin when my cell phone rang. I dug it out of my pocket and counted to five before answering. Of course, it was Mom.

"Hi, sweetie. You OK?"

"I should have gone with you," I said.

"Don't be cranky, Matthew. We're ten minutes from Grandpa's house. We'll settle in, and I'll call you later. I just wanted you to know where were we were--"

"Not in the parking lot?" I asked.

"-so you wouldn't worry. No we're not in the parking lot, smarty-pants. Are you behaving yourself?"

"Define behaving?" I quipped.

"Not doing anything that'll you'll get spanked."

"I'm too old to be spanked," I said, grinning.

"Remember that when I have you over my knee, paddling your bare behind with my spanking hand."

"Ooooo," I said mockingly.

"Smarty-pants."

Bitch, I almost said. "I actually miss you guys. It's not like I thought it would be, you know, being alone. It's kinda spooky."

"I thought you were fourteen."

"It's still kinda spooky. Like, sleep with the light on, spooky."

She laughed. "Imagine you're a girl. Then think about being scared, Matthew.

For a moment, I imagined it too plainly.

"Good bye. Talk to you later, sweetheart."

"Bye, Mom."

No bedtime, I just realized that. I could stay up all night and she wouldn't know. All night doing what, I wondered. Fuck.

I tried Casey's knob and it turned. I swung open the door and looked inside. No alarms blared, no camera pointed its blunt nose at me. Neatly made bed covered with stuffed animals and a pink comforter. The top of her dresser inexplicably clean. No clothes on the floor and none draped over her red chair. Her laptop and color printer gone. Her iPad too, undoubtedly, and her flat screen TV. Dad would need to buy her another one before she came home at Thanksgiving.

Casey's empty fucking bedroom. It made me depressed.

I went to the den and dropped into the chair, shell-shocked. Casey was actually gone. I was alone until she came home in November. Or popped in for a visit. But she had no effing car, so would she borrow one? Why was I missing her like this, for fuck's sake? I returned to her room and plopped down on her bed.

My iPhone rang at exactly 9 o'clock. It started me awake and it took a moment to equate the name Frank Carver, with Grandpa. I fumbled the pass-code and finally said hi.

Her voice was instantly sharp.

"Matthew, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I responded tightly. "Just tired, that's all."

"You were asleep?" she asked. Her disbelief was obvious.

"Yeah, I dozed off, I guess. I haven't been drinking," I said, heading her off, "if you want to know. I had an empty-next syndrome shock."

I gulped loudly.

"Don't you tell her I miss her this much. I'll never live it down. She'll use it against me like a pitchfork the rest of my life."

"Now, sweetie," she cautioned. "You should have come with us, you're right. Anyway, did you want to talk to her?"

I recoiled. Fuck no, I almost blurted. "I'm the last person she wants to talk to, Mom."

Mom laughed softly. "Don't be so sure of that. If I didn't know better, I'd say she's showing her own signs of separation anxiety. I told her about you wanting to come, and you should have seen her face."

"Yeah, like the Cheshire Cat," I muttered.

"Not at all. She was shocked. The closer this day got, the worse it affected her. She was too pig-headed to admit it. I don't know which one of you is worse, who I want to brain more, you or your sister. Here, she wants to talk to you."

I sat bolt upright and scrambled off her bed. I scooted through her door as she took the phone and said, "Matthew?"

"I'm not in your room! Jesus, I'm sorry!" I exclaimed. "I looked inside, but I didn't touch anything, I swear!"

I laughed. "If you really want to know, I fell asleep on your bed. You can kill me when you get home. I'm sorry."

She started laughing. "I miss you too, asshole. I never thought I would say that, but I do."

She laughed again, probably at the glare she got from Mom for using the A-word.

"Wait a minute. I want to talk to you a minute in private. I need to go outside."

I waited, wondering what was going on. She wanted to talk in private?

"I'm back."

"Okay," I said uncertainly.

"I have a question for you, and I'd like an honest answer. Have you ever snooped in my room?"

I laughed, before telling her no.

"I didn't think you had. You are the only brother in the United States who respects his sister's privacy. I always appreciated that, and I always respected you for it, Matthew."

I held the phone away from my ear and gaped at it. Who was this person?

"I didn't snoop, because you would kill me, for it," I pointed out. "Your appreciation was misplaced, Casey."

"I know that too." She laughed. "I absolutely would have. I left little telltales around and never found one disturbed. By you, anyway. Mom had no problem searching my room any time she wanted. I hid things from her, not you. You couldn't ground me or take away my license. You couldn't spank me either," she said, snickering, "although I bet you'd like to sometimes."

I stared at the phone again. My sister'd been abducted by aliens.

"Thank God, she never found what I'm about to tell you about now."

She was quiet a moment and I realized she was embarrassed.

"What?" I asked cautiously.

"I tell you this, you don't tell anyone, and you don't throw it back in my face. If you ever try to blackmail me over it, I will..."

I laughed, disbelieving my ears. "I won't go in your room, and you think I'd try embarrassing you about something?"

"I said blackmail, not embarrass. I need your word on this, or this conversation is over right now," she said shortly.

I shook my head. This shit was just crazy.

"If this is something embarrassing to you," I said slowly, "something I could actually blackmail you over, then maybe you shouldn't tell me about it, Casey."

She was silent a time. "Was that a yes of a no?"

I took a deep breath. "It was yes," I said.

"Good. I left something home that I originally packed. I can't believe I'm actually telling you this. On my closet floor on the right-hand side are a bunch of stacked boxes. The one marked HS Stuff is the box you're looking for. Third box down in a stack of four. The label is turned to the wall, so you'll have to find it.

"Inside is a shoebox with something in there for you. God, I'm actually doing this, aren't I? Two boxes--the shoebox, and the box right under it."

She paused a moment, mentally clearing her throat, I think.

"I am completely insane. I am lending you the things in those boxes, Matthew. Not giving, lending. You'll understand when you see them, and maybe having them will keep you from missing me so much."

She laughed in obvious embarrassment. "Anyway, I got to go before Mom starts giving me the third-degree. I love you, Matthew. And I do miss you."

"I love you too," I said numbly. "Can I look at anything else?"

She snorted. "Stay out of my damned drawers, Matthew. Anyway, I got to go. You want to talk to Mom?"

"Fuck, no!" I exclaimed.

She giggled. "She'll call you another couple of times tonight, I'm sure. Try not to give yourself away. Especially after you look in the boxes. Enjoy your little present," she finished, hanging up quickly.

I stared at the phone, looking at it front and back. Maybe it had been abducted by aliens.

Inside the boxes were three wigs: one brunette, one blonde and one maroon. She had gifted me a metal-tipped plastic vibrator, a huge black dildo, and a red, baby-doll nightie with red panties. The accompanying bra was designed not so much to encase the breasts, but to prominently display them, nipples bared, encircled by cutouts in the cups. I found a matching red garter and black silk stockings. I had a fearsome erection demanding freedom. I didn't know what to make of this. She had told me the wrong box. Boxes. Fuck.

I went back to looked again: HS Stuff in magic marker. The two boxes inside were the only shoe and clothing box.

My sister wore this? More importantly, she used this stuff?

The dildo was 9" long, the shaft 1-1/2" in diameter. The shaft was 7-1/4" long, with a base to stand upright on: two huge testicles with a flat bottom. The center was hollow in the exact shape of the metal tipped vibrator. Touching it made me feel squeamish.

She wasn't kidding about intimate. This being blackmail material. Problem was what would I do with it?

She knew. She'd known before me that I was queer.

I picked up the vibrator. It could be used separately or with the dildo, which was plain enough. I knew which went where, with her. Did she think I'd use them together or separately in me?

I twisted the knob on back, winced when it came alive in my hand. My sister had used this, probably up her ass. I couldn't imagine she would put the dildo there. I knew I would, the vibrator too.

My mouth was suddenly desert-dry. I couldn't effing swallow. I looked at the bedroom door, at my sister's bedroom window, safely hidden behind wood-slat blinds, and rubbed my palms up and down the sides of my shorts.

I was a queer boy. I wanted boys, but wanted girls at the same time. That made me bisexual, I guessed. It was still queer, doing stuff with this stuff.

I had done it before. Put things up my ass. I was anal-centric, putting things up me all the time. I had never seen a real vibrator or any kind of dildo, and I had one of each of my own now. For a time, anyway.

She wanted these back? I wouldn't want them back. Then it hit me I was effectively, taking them back.

Make this effing erection go away, I thought.

Queer boy. Fag. Cocksucker. Not yet, I thought.

It was 9:45 p.m. Mom would call soon. I wasn't doing anything.

I picked up the bottle of KY Personal Lubricant, tipped back the nozzle, and took a sniff.

Nice ... lavender, or something, very girly.

I squeezed out a drop onto my fingertip and rubbed it with my thumb.

That's what lubricant felt like, huh? Just like cooking oil. Probably what it was, I thought wryly. Or petroleum based.

I put down the bottle, stripped off my t-shirt, undid my shorts, and let them drop. I slipped out of my boxer shorts and dropped everything on Casey's bed. I was naked now. My hard-on raged. All 5-1/2 pitiful inches of it.

I wanted the bra. I wanted something inside to make it work like a bra. My only option was socks or something. I imagined Casey's nipples protruding through the holes and put the bra down. Then I picked it back up, knowing that Casey had done this for a reason. She knew I would imagine her very desirable body clad in this bra, her panties, and bad-doll nightie, impaling herself with the vibrator and dildo.

I held up the bra and said: "I can't not imagine you in here, Casey. I can't imagine you not fucking yourself with your toys, Casey, I can't. You know I will. You gave me permission to."

I stared at the bra, preparing for what I said next: "You also know I want to fuck you. I always have wanted to fuck you. You know that, or you wouldn't have given me these things. I'm only part queer, Casey."

I put the bra on around my waist, fastened the hooks and awkwardly worked it into place. This was completely ridiculous. I felt totally foolish. If anyone ever saw me like this...

I gazed around, at once paranoid as crap. Had she just set me up? Trapped me into making a queer of myself on camera? Why the fuck was my cock getting hard as steel? I stared down at it, pissed.

I put on her red panties, and then took them off, realizing the garter and stockings went on first. I was careful not to cause any runs. I shivered, aware that everything fit perfectly. Was I exactly Casey's height and weight? I must be, I thought. I laughed, embarrassed, giddy, and excited. This was totally fucked up.

I slipped the panties on and wiggled the nightie down over my head, laughing. The red panties had no design intent for an aching erection. I hoped I wouldn't rip them out. I could order replacements online, I guessed. Let's not make that necessary.

I had to move. No way could I stay in Casey's bedroom. Her invitation would not include that. I was surprised she hadn't ruled it out over the phone. That might have given it away, of course.

I gathered everything and made two trips to my bedroom. I had to remember the fucking living room and the webcam. DO NOT wander out there accidentally, I told myself. To avoid that happening, I stacked the two boxes at the end of the hallway, effectively blocking it. No wandering out now. I did something almost as bad though.

Fuck! I dropped to my knees and scrambled to unplug the lamp I'd turned on. My bedroom windows were open and anyone could see me. I inched up, just high enough to see out. So many lighted windows out there.

I was backlit by the bedroom door. Still on hands and knees, I crawled over and shut it, then stood up. I moved the bedside table and plugged in the lamp, thinking how stupid I was. My condo was twelve stories tall and faced another condo at a forty-five angle across the big parking lot. A fifteen-story condo faced the rear of the building. It was a large, if expensive and inclusive, development. Dozens of people may have spotted me. Why did my fucking erection like that idea?

I went to the window and peered out. I'd been visible for what? Five seconds maybe? Another ten seconds in the weak light from the hallway? I'd done far worse, intentionally appearing from the closet naked in front of partially open blinds. Pretending to be surprised by the open window, darting out of sight? Or scuttling to the window to close the blinds? I was an exhibitionist, on his way to becoming a faggot. The window only caught me by surprise this time, was all. I swiveled the slats closed.

My hard-on was relentless. God, how it liked these flimsy red panties. I went to the bed and grabbed up my clothes and chucked them into the closet. I picked up the maroon wig. I didn't know about this. I looked inside and found a label identifying the wig as a Christine Jordan. 100% human hair, hand woven. I erupted into gooseflesh and crossed to the mirror. Boy, what a shock that was. I flinched, seeing myself the first time. I grinned, foolishly, blushing.

"You are a fag," I told the reflected boy in the baby-doll nightie. It fit him so well. He looked like a girl, just like my sister. I watched him pull the wig down over his head and awkwardly adjust it. I made a better-looking girl than a boy, I thought sourly. I really did.

I turned my head this way and that, tilted my chin, raised my eyebrows, puckered my lips, and then-though I battled against the damned urge-I struck a sexy pose in the mirror. I laughed, feeling insanely stupid. Thank God no one could see me now.

My arousal was unbearable. I was trembling uncontrollably, my cock straining the front of the red panties, exceeding the tear factor. If any doubt in my mind existed about using Casey's sex toys, the wig had destroyed them. I wanted that vibrator up me, and I wanted the world to see.

Not with the light on, of course; I'm not that effing crazy! It was a tease, against myself; I told you I walk out of the closet naked sometimes. Well, this was so much worse, what I wanted to do now. Why do this crazy shit?

Lights off, open the blinds. I was trembling all over again, my hands shaking wildly. I had never done anything like this. I was doing it sober for God's sake!

"You know," I criticized myself aloud, "someone with night-vision glasses or a low-light camera could short-circuit your lights-out safeguard right away. Have you considered that, Sherlock?"

I was considering it now.

But I was a boy. Who scopes the darkened bedroom of a teenage boy? No one. Unless he's a faggot like me, or someone out for revenge. I had no enemies here, and did I really mind a faggot getting his rocks off on me? That would be kinda cool, actually. In theory.

I stripped the comforter off my bed and put it safely away. Wouldn't do to get lubricant on my comforter. Or something worse. It was dry-clean only. Explain that to Mom.

To be on the safe side, I grabbed two bath towels from the hall closet and laid them out across the bed, lengthwise.

I sat down and held the vibrator aloft. It whirred when I turned it on, which turned me on even worse. I was having trouble breathing, or controlling my breathing, let's say; my heart pounded against my breastbone. Was I really gonna do this?

This was insane. No way had Casey meant for me to use this. I looked at the dildo, imagining that up Casey's vagina, and up my rear end. Visualizing either was tough.

It was a giant cock, 7" long, twice the thickness of the vibrator purring in my hand. Putting that up me was the same as fucking a cock. It was a cock, dammit! It just had no boy attached.

"I'm gonna fuck?" I asked aloud. I flinched, remembering the camera. I had no idea if the thing streamed audio as well as video. Be careful about that, I thought, because Dad's laptop might just have been turned down. No caterwauling in ecstasy, Matthew...

I turned off the vibrator. What makes this different, I wondered?

The shape was plainly phallic, an unimaginative dildo. Putting it up my ass was no different than letting a boy fuck me. I might as well be. Fucking another boy. Is that what I wanted? It's not a stretch, I thought. Best not to think about that.